The Fate of Virginia
(From the Lays of Ancient Rome)
Thomas Babbington Macaulay (1800-1859)
“Why is the Forum crowded? What means this stir in Rome?”
“Claimed as a slave, a free-born maid is dragged here from her home.
On fair Virginia Claudius has cast his eye of blight;
The tyrant’s creature, Marcus, asserts an owner’s right
O shame on Roman manhood! Was ever plot more clear?
But look! The maiden’s father comes! Behold Virginius here!”
Straightway Virginius led the maid a little space aside,
To where the reeking shambles stood, piled up with horn and hide.
Hard by, a butcher on a block had laid his whittle down,–
Virginius caught the whittle up, and hid it in his gown.
And then his eyes grew very dim, and his throat began to swell,
And in a hoarse, changed voice he spake, “Farewell, sweet child, farewell!”
Oh! How I loved my darling! Though stern I sometimes be,
To thee, thou know’st, I was not so. Who could be so to thee?
And how my darling loved me! How glad she was to hear
My footstep on the threshold when I came back last year!
And how she danced with pleasure to see my civic gown!
And took my sword, and hung it up, and brought me forth my crown.
Now, all those things are over – yes, all thy pretty ways,
Thy needlework, thy prattle, thy snatches of old lays;
And none will grieve when I go forth, or smile when I return,
Or watch beside the old man’s bed, or weep upon his urn.
The house that was the happiest within the Roman walls, -
The house that envied not the wealth of Capua’s marble halls,
Now, for the brightness of thy smile, must have eternal gloom,
And for the music of thy voice, the silence of the tomb.
The time is come. The tyrant points his eager hand this way;
See how his eyes gloat on thy grief, like a kite’s upon the prey;
With all his wit he little deems that, spurned, betrayed, bereft,
Thy father hath, in his despair, one fearful refuge left;
He little deems that, in this hand, I clutch what still can save
Thy gentle youth from taunts and blows, the portion of the slave;
Yea, and from nameless evil that passeth taunt and blow, -
Foul outrage, that thou knowest not, – which thou shalt never know.
Then clasp me round the neck once more, and give me one more kiss;
And now, mine own dear little girl, there is no way but this!”
With that he lifted high the steel, and smote her in the side,
And in her blood she sank to earth, and with one sob she died.
Then, for a little moment, all people held their breath;
And through the crowded Forum was stillness as of death;
And in another moment brake forth from one and all
A cry as if the Volscians were coming o’er the wall;
Till, with white lips and bloodshot eyes, Virginius tottered nigh,
And stood before the judgment seat, and held the knife on high:
“O, dwellers in the nether gloom, avengers of the slain,
By this dear blood I cry to you, do right between us twain;
And e’en as Appius Claudius hath dealt by me and mine,
Deal ye by Appius Claudius and all the Claudian line!”
So spake the slayer of his child; then, where the body lay,
Pausing, he cast one haggard glance, then turned and went his way.
Then up sprang Appius Claudius: “Stop him, alive or dead!
Ten thousand pounds of copper to the man who brings his head!”
He looked upon his clients, - but none would work his will;
He looked upon his lictors, – but they trembled and stood still.
And as Virginus through the press his way in silence cleft,
Ever the mighty multitude fell back to right and left;
And he hath passed in safety unto his woeful home,
And there ta’en horse to tell the camp what deeds are done in Rome.