Italian Literature taken from The Edinburgh Magazine and Literary Miscellany October 1820 to June 1821/Caius Gracchus, Monti
The Edinburgh Magazine, June 1821, pages 515-519
ITALIAN LITERATURE.
No. IV.
Caius Gracchus, a Tragedy, by Monti.
This tragedy, though inferior in power and interest to the Aristodemo of the same author, is, nevertheless, distinguished by beauties of a high order, and such as, in our opinion, fully establish its claims to more general attention than it has hitherto received. Although the loftiness and severity of Roman manners in the days of the Republic, have been sufficiently preserved to give an impressive character to the piece, yet those workings of passion and tenderness, without which dignity soon becomes monotonous, and heroism unnatural, have not been (as in the tragedies of Alfieri upon similar subjects) too rigidly suppressed. The powerful character of the high-hearted Cornelia, with all the calm, collected majesty which our ideas are wont to associate with the name of a Roman matron; and the depth and sublimity of maternal affection more particularly belonging to the mother of the Gracchi, are beautifully contrasted with the softer and more womanish feelings, the intense anxieties, the sensitive and passionate attachment, embodied in the person of Licinia, the wife of Gracchus. The appeals made by Gracchus to the people are full of majestic eloquence, and the whole piece seems to be animated by that restless and untameable spirit of freedom, whose immortalized struggles for ascendancy give so vivid a colouring, so exalted an interest, to the annals of the ancient republics.
The tragedy opens with the soliloquy of Caius Gracchus, who is returned in secret to Rome, after having been employed in rebuilding Carthage, which Scipio had utterly demolished.
Caius, in Rome behold thyself! the night
Hath spread her favouring shadows o'er thy path;
And thou, be strong, my Country! for thy son,
Gracchus, is with thee! All is hush'd around,
And in deep slumber, from the cares of day.
The worn Plebeians rest. Oh! good, and true,
And only Romans! your repose is sweet,
For toil hath given it zest; 'tis calm and pure,
For no remorse hath troubled it. Meanwhile,
My brother's murderers, the Patricians, hold
Inebriate vigils o'er their festal hoards,
Or in dark midnight-councils, sentence me
To death, and Rome to chains. They little deem
Of the unlook'd for and tremendous foe,
So near at hand!—It is enough. I tread
In safety my paternal threshold.—Yes!
This is my own! Oh! mother! Oh my wife!
My child!—I come to dry your tears. I come
Strengthened by three dread Furies. One is Wrath,
Fir'd by my Country's wrongs; and one deep Love,
For those, my bosom's inmates; and the third—
Vengeance, fierce Vengeance, for a brother's blood!
His soliloquy is interrupted by the entrance of Fulvius, his friend, with whose profligate character, and unprincipled designs, he is represented as unacquainted. From the opening speech made by Fulvius (before he is aware of the presence of Caius) to the slave by whom he is attended, it appears that he is just returned from the perpetration of some crime, the nature of which is not disclosed until the second act. The suspicions of Caius are, however, awakened, by the obscure allusions to some act of signal, but secret vengeance, which Fulvius throws out in the course of the ensuing discussion.
Ful. This is no time for grief and feeble tears,
But for high deeds.
Caius. And we will make it such.
But prove we first our strength. Declare, what friends
(If yet misfortune hath her friends) remain
True to our cause?
Ful. Few, few, but valiant hearts.
****
Oh! what a change is here! There was a time,
When, over all supreme, thy word gave law
To nations and their rulers; in thy presence
The senate trembled, and the citizens
Flock 'd round thee in deep reverence. Then a word,
A look from Caius, a salute, a smile,
Fill'd them with pride. Each sought to be the friend,
The client,—aye, the very slave, of him,
The people's Idol; and beholding them
Thus prostrate in thy path, thou, thou thyself,
Didst blush to see their vileness!—But thy Fortune
Is waning now, her glorious phantoms melt
Into dim vapour, and the earthly god,
So worshipp'd once, from his forsaken shrines,
Down to the dust is hurl'd.
Caius. And what of this?
There is no power in Fortune to deprive
Gracchus of Gracchus. Mine is such a heart,
As meets the storm exultingly; a heart
Whose stern delight it is to strive with fate,
And conquer. Trust me, Fate is terrible,
But because man is vile. A coward first
Made her a deity.**
**But say, what thoughts
Are foster'd by the people? Have they lost
The sense of their misfortunes? Is the name
Of Gracchus in their hearts, (reveal the truth,)
Already numbered with forgotten things?
Ful. A breeze, a passing breeze, now here, now there,
Borne on light pinion, such the people's love!
Yet have they claims on pardon, for their faults
Are of their miseries; and their feebleness
Is to their woes proportioned. Haply still,
The secret sigh of their full hearts is thine,
But their lips breathe it not. Their grief is mute;
And the deep paleness of their timid mien,
And eyes in fix'd despondence bent on earth,
And sometimes a faint murmur of thy name,
Alone accuse them. They are hush'd, for now,
Not one, nor two, their tyrants; but a host,
Whose numbers are the numbers of the rich,
And the patrician Romans. Yes! And well
May proud oppression dauntlessly go forth,
For Rome is widow'd! Distant wars engage
The noblest of her youth, by Fabius led,
And but the weak remain. Hence every heart
Sickens with voiceless terror; and the people,
Subdued and trembling, turn to thee in thought.
But yet are silent.
Caius. I will make them heard.
Rome is a slumbering lion, and my voice
Shall wake the mighty. Thou shall see. I came
Prepar'd for all; and as I track'd the deep
For Rome, my dangers to my spirit grew
Familiar in its musings. With a voice
Of wrath, the loud winds fiercely swell'd; the waves
Mutter'd around; Heaven flash'd in lightning forth,
And the pale steersman trembled: I the while
Stood on the tossing and bewilder'd bark,
Retir'd, and shrouded in my mantle's folds,
With thoughtful eyes cast down, and all absorb'd
In a far deeper storm! Around my heart,
Gathering in secret, then my spirit's powers
Held council with themselves—and on my thoughts
My country rose,—and I foresaw the snares,
The treacheries of Opimius, and the senate,
And my false friends, awaiting my return.
****
Fulvius! I wept! but they were tears of rage!
For I was wrought to frenzy, by the thought
Of my wrong'd country, and of him, that brother,
Whose shade, through ten long years hath sternly cried
"Vengeance!"—nor found it yet.
Ful. It is fulfilled.
Caius. And how?
Ful. Thou shalt be told.
Caius. Explain thy words.
Ful. Then know, (incautious that I am!)
Caius.Why thus
Falters thy voice? Why speak'st thou not?
Ful.Forgive!
E'en friendship sometimes hath its secrets
Caius.No!
True friendship, never!
Caius afterwards inquires what part his brother-in-law, Scipio Emilianus, is likely to adopt in their enterprises.
His high renown,
The glorious deeds, whereby was earn'd his name
Of second Africanus; and the blind,
Deep reverence paid him by the people's hearts,
Who, knowing him their foe, respect him still;
All this disturbs me: hardly will be won
Our day of victory, if by him withstood.
Ful. Yet won it shall be. If but this thou fear'st,
Then be at peace.
Caius. I understand thee not.
Ful. Thou wilt ere long. But here we vainly waste
Our time and words. Soon will the morning break,
Nor know thy friends as yet of thy return;
I fly to cheer them with the tidings.
Caius. Stay!
Ful. And wherefore?
Caius. To reveal thy meaning.
Ful. Peace!
I hear the sound of steps.
Their conversation is interrupted by the entrance of Cornelia, with the wife and child of Caius. They are about to seek an asylum in the house of Emilianus, by whom Cornelia has been warned of the imminent danger which menaces the family of her son, from the fury of the patricians, who intend; on the following day, to abrogate the laws enacted by the Gracchi, in favour of the plebeians. The joy and emotion of Gracchus, on this meeting with his family, may appear somewhat inconsistent with his having remained so long engaged in political discussion, on the threshold of their abode, without ever having made an inquiry alter their welfare; but it would be somewhat unreasonable to try the conduct of a Roman (particularly in a tragedy) by the laws of Nature. Before, however, we are disposed to condemn the principles which seem to be laid down for the delineation of Roman character in dramatic poetry, let us recollect that the general habits of the people whose institutions gave birth to the fearful grandeur displayed in the actions of the elder Brutus, and whose towering spirit was fostered to enthusiasm by the contemplation of it, must have been deeply tinctured by the austerity of even their virtues. Shakespeare alone, without compromising the dignity of his Romans, has disencumbered them of the formal scholastic drapery which seems to be their official garb, and has stamped their features with the general attributes of human nature, without effacing the impress which distinguished "the men of iron" from the nations who "stood still before them."
The first act concludes with the parting of Caius and Fulvius in wrath and suspicion, Cornelia having accused the latter of an attempt to seduce her daughter, the wife of Scipio, and of concealing the most atrocious designs under the mask of zeal for the cause of Liberty.
————————Of liberty
What speak'st thou, and to whom? Thou hast no shame,
No virtue, and thy boast is—to be free!
Oh! zeal for liberty! eternal mask
Assum'd by every crime!
In the second act, the death of Emilianus is announced to Opimius, the consul, in the presence of Gracchus, and the intelligence is accompanied by a rumour of his having perished by assassination. The mysterious expressions of Fulvius, and the accusations of Cornelia, immediately recur to the mind of Caius. The following scene, in which his vehement emotions, and high sense of honour, are well contrasted with the cold-blooded sophistry of Fulvius, is powerfully wrought up.
Caius. Back on my thoughts the words of Fulvius rush,
Like darts of fire. All hell is in my heart!
(Fulvius enters.)
Thou com'st in time. Speak! thou perfidious friend!
Scipio lies murder'd on his bed of death!
Who slew him?
Ful. Ask'st thou me?
Caius. Thee!—thee, who late
Did'st in such words discourse of him, as now
Assure me thou'rt his murderer. Traitor, speak!
Ful. If thus his fate doth weigh upon thy heart,
Thou art no longer Gracchus, or thou ravest!
More grateful praise, and warmer thanks, might well
Reward the generous courage which hath freed
Rome from a tyrant, Gracchus from a foe!
Caius. Then he was slain by thee!
Ful. Ungrateful friend!
Why dost thou tempt me? Danger menaces
Thy honour, Freedom's wavering light is dim;
Rome wears the fetters of a guilty senate;
One Scipio drove thy brother to a death
Of infamy; another seeks thy fall;
And when one noble, one determin'd stroke,
To thee and thine assures the victory, wreaks
The people's vengeance, gives thee life and fame,
And pacifies thy brother's angry shade;
Is it a cause for wailing? Am I call'd
For this a murderer? Go!—I say once more,
Thou art no longer Gracchus, or thou ravest!
Caius. I know thee now, barbarian! Wouldst thou serve
My cause with crimes?
Ful. And those of that proud man,
Whom I have slain, and thou dost mourn, are they
To be forgotten? Hath oblivion then
Shrouded the stern destroyer's ruthless work,
The famine of Numantia?—Such a deed,
As on our name the world's deep curses drew!
Or the four hundred Lusian youths betray'd,
And with their bleeding, mutilated limbs,
Back to their parents sent? Is this forgot?
Go, ask of Carthage!—bid her wasted shores
Of him, this reveller in blood, recount
The terrible achievements!—At the cries,
The groans, th' unutterable pangs of those,
The more than hundred thousand wretches, doom'd
(Of every age and sex) to fire, and sword,
And fetters, I could marvel that the earth
In horror doth not open!—They were foes,
They were barbarians, but unarm'd, subdued,
Weeping, imploring mercy! And the law
Of Roman virtue is, to spare the weak,
To tame the lofty! But in other lands,
Why should I seek for records of his crimes?
If here the suffering people ask in vain,
A little earth to lay their bones in peace;
If the decree which yielded to their claims
So brief a heritage, and the which to seal,
Thy brother's blood was shed; if this remain
Still fruitless, still delusive, who was he
That mock'd its power?—who to all Rome declar'd
That brother's death was just, was needful?—Who,
But Scipio?—And remember thou the words,
Which burst in thunder from thy lips e'en then,
Heard by the people! Caius, in my heart
They have been deeply treasur'd.—He must die,
(Thus didst thou speak,) this tyrant! We have need
That he should perish!—I have done the deed.
And call'st thou me his murderer?—If the blow
Was guilt, then thou art guilty. From thy lips
The sentence came. The crime is thine alone.
I, thy devoted friend, did but obey
Thy mandate.
Caius. Thou, my friend! I am not one
To call a villain friend. Let thunders, fraught
With fate and death, awake, to scatter those,
Who, bringing liberty through paths of blood
Bring chains!—degrading Freedom's lofty self,
Below e'en Slavery's level!—Say thou not,
Wretch! that the sentence and the guilt were mine!
I wish'd him slain—'tis so—but by the axe
Of high and public justice; that, whose stroke
On thy vile head will fall. Thou hast disgrac'd
Unutterably my name—I bid thee tremble!
Ful. Caius, let insult cease, I counsel thee,
Let insult cease! Be the deed just or guilty,
Enjoy its fruits in silence. Force me not
To utter more.
Caius. And what hast thou to say?
Ful. That which I now suppress.
Cains. How! are there yet,
Perchance, more crimes to be reveal'd?
Ful. I know not.
Caius. Thou know'st not!—Horror chills my curdling veins;
I dare not ask thee further.
Ful. Thou dost well.
Caius. What saidst thou?
Ful. Nothing.
Caius. On my heart thy words
Press heavily. Oh! what a fearful light
Bursts o'er my soul!—Hast thou accomplices?
Ful. I have.
Caius. And who?
Ful. Insensate! ask me not.
Caius. I must be told.
Ful. Away!—thou wilt repent.
Caius. No more of this, for I will know.
Ful. Thou wilt? Ask then—thy sister.
Caius. (alone) Ask my sister!—what?
Is she a murderess?—Hath my sister slain
Her lord?—Oh! crime of darkest dye!—Oh! name
Till now unstain'd, name of the Gracchi, thus
Consign'd to infamy!—to infamy?
The very hair doth rise upon my head,
Thrill'd by the thought!—Where shall I find a place
To hide my shame, to lave the branded stains
From this dishonour'd brow?—What should I do?
—There is a voice whose deep tremendous tones
Murmur within my heart, and sternly cry,
"Away!—and pause not—slay thy guilty sister!"
Voice of lost honour, of a noble line
Disgrac'd, I will obey' thee!—terribly
Thou call'st for blood, and thou shalt be appeas'd.
(To be continued.)