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THE
INFLEXIBLE CAPTIVE:
A TRAGEDY.
IN FIVE ACTS.
AS IT WAS ACTED AT THE
THEATRE ROYAL, AT BATH.
The man resolv'd, and steady to his trust,
Inflexible to ill, and obstinately just.
* * * * *
Drawn from:
THE
WORKS
OF
HANNAH MORE.
VOL. II.
LONDON
PRINTED FOR T. CADELL, STRAND
1830.
* * * * *
TO
THE HONOURABLE
MRS. BOSCAWEN.
MY DEAR MADAM,
It seems somewhat extraordinary that although with persons of great
merit and delicacy no virtue stands in higher estimation than truth,
yet, in such an address as the present, there would be some danger
of offending them by a strict adherence to it; I mean by uttering
truths so generally acknowledged, that every one, except the person
addressed, would acquit the writer of flattery. And it will be a
singular circumstance to see a Dedication without praise, to a lady
possessed of every quality and accomplishment which can justly entitle
her to it.
I am,
MY DEAR MADAM,
With great respect,
your most obedient,
and very obliged humble servant,
THE AUTHOR.
THE ARGUMENT.
Among the great names which have done honour to antiquity in general,
and to the Roman Republic in particular, that of Marcus Attilius Regulus
has, by the general consent of all ages, been considered as one of the
most splendid, since he not only sacrificed his labours, his liberty,
and his life for the good of his country, but by a greatness of soul,
almost peculiar to himself, contrived to make his very misfortunes
contribute to that glorious end.
After the Romans had met with various successes in the first Punic
war, under the command of Regulus, victory at length declared for the
opposite party, the Roman army was totally overthrown, and Regulus
himself taken prisoner, by Xantippus, a Lacedaemonian General in the
service of the Carthaginians: the victorious enemy exulting in so
important a conquest, kept him many years in close imprisonment, and
loaded him with the most cruel indignities. They thought it was now
in their power to make their own terms with Rome, and determined to
send Regulus thither with their ambassador, to negotiate a peace, or
at least an exchange of captives, thinking he would gladly persuade
his countrymen to discontinue a war, which necessarily prolonged his
captivity. They previously exacted from him an oath to return should his
embassy prove unsuccessful; at the same time giving him to understand,
that he must expect to suffer a cruel death if he failed in it; this
they artfully intimated as the strongest motive for him to leave no
means unattempted to accomplish their purpose.
At the unexpected arrival of this venerable hero, the Romans expressed
the wildest transports of joy, and would have submitted to almost
any conditions to procure his enlargement; but Regulus, so far from
availing himself of his influence with the Senate to obtain any personal
advantages, employed it to induce them to reject proposals so evidently
tending to dishonour their country, declaring his fixed resolution to
return to bondage and death, rather than violate his oath.
He at last extorted from them their consent; and departed amidst the
tears of his family, the importunites of his friends, the applauses of
the Senate, and the tumultuous opposition of the people; and, as a great
poet of his own nation beautifully observes, "he embarked for Carthage
as calm and unconcerned as if, on finishing the tedious law-suits of his
clients, he was retiring to Venafrian fields, or the sweet country of
Tarentum."
* * * * *
==> This piece is, in many parts, a pretty close imitation of the
_Attilio Regolo_ of Metastasio, but enlarged and extended into a tragedy
of five acts. Historical truth has in general been followed, except in
some less essential instances, particularly that of placing the return
of Regulus to Rome posterior to the death of his wife. The writer
herself never considered the plot as sufficiently bustling and dramatic
for representation.
PROLOGUE.
WRITTEN BY THE REV. DR. LANGHORNE.
Deep in the bosom of departed days,
Where the first gems of human glory blaze;
Where, crown'd with flowers, in wreaths immortal drest,
The sacred shades of ancient virtue rest;
With joy they search, who joy can feel, to find
Some honest reason still to love mankind.
There the fair foundress of the scene to-night
Explores the paths that dignify delight;
The regions of the mighty dead pervades;
The Sibyl she that leads us to the shades.
O may each blast of ruder breath forbear
To waft her light leaves on the ruthless air,
Since she, as heedless, strives not to maintain
This tender offspring of her teeming brain!
For this poor birth was no provision made,
A flower that sprung and languish'd in the shade.
On Avon's banks, forsaken and forlorn,
This careless mother left her elder born;
And though unlike what Avon hail'd of yore,
Those giant sons that Shakspeare's banners bore,
Yet may we yield this little offspring grace,
And love the last and least of such a race.
Shall the strong scenes, where senatorial Rome,
Mourn'd o'er the rigour of her patriot's doom;
Where melting Nature aw'd by Virtue's eye,
Hid the big drop, and held the bursting sigh;
Where all that majesty of soul can give,
Truth, Honour, Pity, fair Affection live;
Shall scenes like these, the glory of an age,
Gleam from the press, nor triumph on the stage?
Forbid it, Britons! and, as Romans brave,
Like Romans boast one citizen to save.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
REGULUS, _Mr. Henderson._
PUBLIUS, his Son, _Mr. Dimond._
MANLIUS, the Consul, _Mr. Blisset._
LICINIUS, a Tribune, _Mr. Brown._
HAMILCAR, the Carthaginian } _Mr. Rowbotham._
Ambassador, }
ATTILIA, daughter of Regulus, _Miss Mansell._
BARCE, a Carthaginian captive, _Miss Wheeler._
Guards, Lictors, People, &c.
SCENE--_Near the Gates of Rome._
THE INFLEXIBLE CAPTIVE.
ACT I.
SCENE--_A Hall in the Consul's Palace._
_Enter_ LICINIUS, ATTILIA, _Lictors and People_.
_Lic._ Attilia waiting here? Is't possible?
Is this a place for Regulus's daughter?
Just gods! must that incomparable maid
Associate here with Lictors and Plebeians?
_At._ Yes, on this threshold patiently I wait
The Consul's coming; I would make him blush
To see me here his suitor. O Licinius,
This is no time for form and cold decorum;
Five lagging years have crept their tedious round,
And Regulus, alas! is still a slave,
A wretched slave, unpitied, and forgotten;
No other tribute paid his memory,
Than the sad tears of his unhappy child;
If _she_ be silent, who will speak for Regulus?
_Lic._ Let not her sorrows make my fair unjust.
Is there in Rome a heart so dead to virtue
That does not beat in Regulus's cause?
That wearies not the gods for his return?
That does not think all subjugated Afric
A slender, unimportant acquisition,
If, in return for this extended empire,
The freedom of thy father be the purchase?
These are the feelings of Imperial Rome;
My own, it were superfluous to declare.
For if _Licinius_ were to weigh his merit,
That he's _thy father_ were sufficient glory.
He was my leader, train'd me up to arms;
And if I boast a spark of Roman honour,
I owe it to _his_ precepts and _his_ virtues.
_At._ And yet I have not seen Licinius stir.
_Lic._ Ah! spare me thy reproaches--what, when late
A private citizen, could I attempt?
'Twas not the lust of power, or pride of rank,
Which made me seek the dignity of tribune;
No, my Attilia, but I fondly hop'd
'Twould strengthen and enforce the just request
Which as a _private_ man I vainly urg'd;
But now, the people's representative,
I shall _demand_, Attilia, to be heard.
_At._ Ah! let us not too hastily apply
This dang'rous remedy; I would not rouse
Fresh tumults 'twixt the people and the senate:
Each views with jealousy the idol, Power,
Which, each possessing, would alike abuse.
What one demands the other still denies.
Might _I_ advise you, try a gentler method;
I know that every moment Rome expects
Th' ambassador of Carthage, nay, 'tis said
The Conscript Fathers are already met
To give him audience in Bellona's temple.
There might the Consul at my suit, Licinius,
Propose the ransom of my captive father.
_Lic._ Ah! think, Attilia, who that Consul is,
Manlius, thy father's rival, and his foe:
His ancient rival, and his foe profess'd:
To hope in him, my fair, were fond delusion.
_At._ Yet though his rival, Manlius is a _Roman_:
Nor will he think of private enmities,
Weigh'd in the balance with the good of Rome:
Let me at least make trial of his honour.
_Lic._ Be it so, my fair! but elsewhere make thy suit;
Let not the Consul meet Attilia _here_,
Confounded with the refuse of the people.
_At._ Yes, I will see him _here_, e'en _here_, Licinius.
Let _Manlius_ blush, not _me_: _here_ will I speak,
_Here_ shall he answer me.
_Lic._ Behold he comes.
_At._ Do thou retire.
_Lic._ O bless me with a look,
One parting look at least.
_At._ Know, my Licinius,
That at this moment I am all the _daughter_,
The filial feelings now possess my soul,
And other passions find no entrance there.
_Lic._ O sweet, yet powerful influence of virtue,
That charms though cruel, though unkind subdues,
And what was love exalts to admiration!
Yes, 'tis the privilege of souls like thine
To conquer most when least they aim at conquest.
Yet, ah! vouchsafe to think upon Licinius,
Nor fear to rob thy father of his due;
For surely virtue and the gods approve
Unwearied constancy and spotless love.
[_Exit_ LICINIUS.
_Enter_ MANLIUS.
_At._ Ah! Manlius, stay, a moment stay, and hear me.
_Man._ I did not think to meet thee here, Attilia;
The place so little worthy of the guest.
_At._ It would, indeed, have ill become Attilia,
While still her father was a Roman citizen;
But for the daughter of a slave to Carthage,
It surely is most fitting.
_Man._ Say, Attilia,
What is the purpose of thy coming hither!
_At._ What is the purpose, patience, pitying heaven!
Tell me, how long, to Rome's eternal shame,
To fill with horror all the wond'ring world,
My father still must groan in Punic chains,
And waste the tedious hours in cruel bondage?
Days follow days, and years to years succeed,
And Rome forgets her hero, is content
That Regulus be a forgotten slave.
What is his crime? is it that he preferr'd
His country's profit to his children's good?
Is it th' unshaken firmness of his soul,
Just, uncorrupt, and, boasting, let me speak it,
Poor in the highest dignities of Rome?
O glorious poverty! illustrious crime!
_Man._ But know, Attilia----
_At._ O have patience with me.
And can ungrateful _Rome_ so soon forget?
Can those who breathe the air _he_ breath'd forget
The great, the godlike virtues of my father?
There's not a part of Rome but speaks his praise.
The _streets_--through them the _hero_ pass'd triumphant:
The _Forum_--there the _Legislator_ plann'd
The wisest, purest laws:--_the Senate House_--
There spoke the _patriot Roman_--there his voice
Secur'd the public safety: Manlius, yes;
The wisdom of his councils match'd his valour.
Enter the _Temples_--mount the _Capitol_--
And tell me, Manlius, to what hand but _his_
They owe their trophies, and their ornaments.
Their foreign banners, and their boasted ensigns,
Tarentine, Punic, and Sicilian spoils?
Nay, e'en those lictors who precede thy steps,
This Consul's purple which invests thy limbs,
All, all were Regulus's, were my father's.
And yet this hero, this exalted patriot,
This man of virtue, this immortal Roman,
In base requital for his services,
Is left to linger out a life in chains,
No honours paid him but a daughter's tears.
O Rome! O Regulus! O thankless citizens!
_Man._ Just are thy tears:--thy father well deserves them;
But know thy censure is unjust, Attilia.
The fate of Regulus is felt by all:
We know and mourn the cruel woes he suffers
From barbarous Carthage.
_At._ Manlius, you mistake;
Alas! it is not Carthage which is barbarous;
'Tis Rome, ungrateful Rome, is the barbarian;
Carthage but punishes a foe profess'd,
But Rome betrays her hero and her father:
Carthage remembers how he slew her sons,
But Rome forgets the blood he shed for _her_:
Carthage revenges an acknowledged foe,
But Rome, with basest perfidy, rewards
The glorious hand that bound her brow with laurels.
Which now is the barbarian, Rome or Carthage?
_Man._ What can be done?
_At._ A woman shall inform you.
Convene the senate; let them strait propose
A ransom, or exchange for Regulus,
To Africa's ambassador. Do this,
And heaven's best blessings crown your days with peace.
_Man._ Thou speakest like a _daughter_, I, Attilia,
Must as a _Consul_ act; I must consult
The good of Rome, and with her good, her glory.
Would it not tarnish her unspotted fame,
To sue to Carthage on the terms thou wishest?
_At._ Ah! rather own thou'rt still my father's foe.
_Man._ Ungen'rous maid! no fault of mine concurr'd
To his destruction. 'Twas the chance of war.
Farewell! ere this the senate is assembled----
My presence is requir'd.----Speak to the fathers,
And try to soften _their_ austerity;
_My_ rigour they may render vain, for know,
I am Rome's _Consul_, not her _King_, Attilia.
[_Exit_ MANLIUS _with the lictors, &c._
_At._ (_alone._)
This flattering hope, alas! has prov'd abortive.
One Consul is our foe, the other absent.
What shall the sad Attilia next attempt?
Suppose I crave assistance from the people!
Ah! my unhappy father, on what hazards,
What strange vicissitudes, what various turns,
Thy life, thy liberty, thy all depends!
_Enter_ BARCE (_in haste_).
_Barce._ Ah, my Attilia!
_At._ Whence this eager haste?
_Barce._ Th' ambassador of Carthage is arriv'd.
_At._ And why does _that_ excite such wondrous transport?
_Barce._ I bring another cause of greater still.
_At._ Name it, my Barce.
_Barce._ _Regulus_ comes with him.
_At._ My father! can it be?
_Barce._ Thy father----Regulus.
_At._ Thou art deceiv'd, or thou deceiv'st thy friend.
_Barce._ Indeed I saw him not, but every tongue
Speaks the glad tidings.
_Enter_ PUBLIUS.
_At._ See where Publius comes.
_Pub._ My sister, I'm transported! Oh, Attilia,
He's here, our father----Regulus is come!
_At._ I thank you, gods: O my full heart! where is he?
Hasten, my brother, lead, O lead me to him.
_Pub._ It is too soon: restrain thy fond impatience.
With Africa's ambassador he waits,
Until th' assembled senate give him audience.
_At._ Where was he Publius when thou saw'st him first?
_Pub._ You know, in quality of Roman quaestor,
My duty 'tis to find a fit abode
For all ambassadors of foreign states.
Hearing the Carthaginian was arriv'd,
I hasten'd to the port, when, O just gods!
No foreigner, no foe, no African
Salutes my eye, but Regulus----my father!
_At._ Oh mighty joy! too exquisite delight!
What said the hero? tell me, tell me all,
And ease my anxious breast.
_Pub._ Ere I arriv'd,
My father stood already on the shore,
Fixing his eyes with anxious eagerness,
As straining to descry the Capitol.
I saw, and flew with transport to embrace him,
Pronounc'd with wildest joy the name of father--
With reverence seiz'd his venerable hand,
And would have kiss'd it; when the awful hero,
With that stern grandeur which made Carthage tremble,
Drew back--stood all collected in himself,
And said austerely, Know, thou rash young man,
That _slaves_ in _Rome_ have not the rights of _fathers_.
Then ask'd, if yet the senate was assembled,
And where? which having heard, without indulging
The fond effusions of his soul, or mine,
He suddenly retir'd. I flew with speed
To find the Consul, but as yet success
Attends not my pursuit. Direct me to him.
_Barce._ Publius, you'll find him in Bellona's temple.
_At._ Then Regulus returns to Rome a slave!
_Pub._ Yes, but be comforted; I know he brings
Proposals for a peace; his will's his fate.
_At._ Rome may, perhaps, refuse to treat of peace.
_Pub._ Didst thou behold the universal joy
At his return, thou wouldst not doubt success.
There's not a tongue in Rome but, wild with transport,
Proclaims aloud that Regulus is come;
The streets are filled with thronging multitudes,
Pressing with eager gaze to catch a look.
The happy man who can descry him first,
Points him to his next neighbour, he to his;
Then what a thunder of applause goes round;
What music to the ear of filial love!
Attilia! not a Roman eye was seen,
But shed pure tears of exquisite delight.
Judge of my feelings by thy own, my sister.
By the large measure of thy fond affection,
Judge mine.
_At._ Where is Licinius? find him out;
My joy is incomplete till he partakes it.
When doubts and fears have rent my anxious heart,
In all my woes he kindly bore a part:
Felt all my sorrows with a soul sincere,
Sigh'd as I sigh'd, and number'd tear for tear:
Now favouring heav'n my ardent vows has blest,
He shall divide the transports of my breast.
[_Exit_ ATTILIA.
_Pub._ Barce, adieu!
_Barce._ Publius, a moment hear me.
Know'st thou the name of Africa's ambassador?
_Pub._ Hamilcar.
_Barce._ Son of Hanno?
_Pub._ Yes! the same.
_Barce._ Ah me! Hamilcar!--How shall I support it! [_Aside._
_Pub._ Ah, charming maid! the blood forsakes thy cheek:
Is he the rival of thy Publius? speak,
And tell me all the rigour of my fate.
_Barce._ Hear me, my Lord. Since I have been thy slave,
Thy goodness, and the friendship of Attilia,
Have soften'd all the horrors of my fate.
Till now I have not felt the weight of bondage.
Till now--ah, Publius!--think me not ungrateful,
I would not wrong thee--I will be sincere--
I will expose the weakness of my soul.
Know then, my Lord--how shall I tell thee all?
_Pub._ Stop, cruel maid, nor wound thy Publius more;
I dread the fatal frankness of thy words:
Spare me the pain of knowing I am scorn'd;
And if thy heart's devoted to another,
Yet do not tell it me; in tender pity
Do not, my fair, dissolve the fond illusion,
The dear delightful visions I have form'd
Of future joy, and fond exhaustless love.
[_Exit_ PUBLIUS.
_Barce._ (_alone._)
And shall I see him then, see my Hamilcar,
Pride of my soul, and lord of all my wishes?
The only man in all our burning Afric
Who ever taught my bosom how to love!
Down, foolish heart! be calm, my busy thoughts!
If at his name I feel these strange emotions,
How shall I see, how meet my conqueror?
O let not those presume to judge of joy
Who ne'er have felt the pangs which absence gives.
Such tender transport those alone can prove,
Who long, like me, have known disastrous love;
The tears that fell, the sighs that once were paid,
Like grateful incense on his altar laid;
The lambent flame rekindle, not destroy,
And woes remember'd heighten present joy. [_Exit._