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OCTAVIA, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Now bright aurora, shining in the heavens
Last Line: In her own children's blood rome takes delight.
Alternate Author Name(s): Seneca


DRAMATIS PERSONÆ

NERO.
SENECA.
PREFECT OF THE PALACE.
OCTAVIA.
POPPÆA.
GHOST OF AGRIPPINA.
NURSE OF OCTAVIA.
NURSE OF POPPÆA.
MESSENGER.
CHORUS OF ROMAN WOMEN.

SCENE: Nero's Palace.

ACT I

SCENE I

Octavia.

NOW bright Aurora, shining in the heavens,
Has put the stars to flight; with radiant beams
The sun is rising, giving back to earth
Clear day. Sore burdened by thy many griefs,
Return again to thy accustomed plaints,
Let them exceed the watery Halcyon's tears
And sad Pandion's winged children's cries,
Thy fortunes are than theirs more hard to bear.
O mother, primal cause of all my woe,
Ever for thee thy daughter must lament;
Hear her sad cries, if in the land of shades
Thou yet mayst hear. Would Clotho's aged hand
Had cut my thread of life ere I had seen
With bitter grief thy wounds, had seen thy face
Defiled with loathsome blood. O light of day,
Ever to me calamitous, since then
Thou art, O light, more hated than the dark.
I must obey a cruel stepdame's laws,
Her hostile will, her glances full of hate.
That baleful fury to my marriage-bed
Bore Stygian torches, blotted out thy life,
My father, whom the whole round world obeyed,
Even beyond the ocean, before whom
The Britains, to our leaders else unknown,
Fled. Father, woe is me, thou liest now
O'erwhelmed by thy wife's craft. Thy house, thy child,
Are slaves—a tyrant's captives.

SCENE II

Octavia, Nurse.

Nurse. Whoe'er thou art who by the novelty
And outward splendor of the treacherous court
Art captive led, in admiration lost,
Behold great Claudius' house and lineage
Wrecked by one blow of skulking Fortune's hand.
The world was subject to his rule, the sea
Obeyed him long and, though unwillingly,
Floated his vessels. Lo, the man who-first
Subdued the Britains, covered unknown straits
With countless fleets, and moved' mid barbarous tribes
And over cruel waters all unharmed;
He by his wife's crime fell, she by her son's,
Whose brother now lies dead by poison killed.
Deeply the wretched wife and sister mourns,
Nor can she hide her hate though urged by fear
Of that harsh man—with equal hate they glow.
Her husband (such the chaste have ever shunned)
Burns with an impious flame. In vain I strive
With love and loyalty to soothe her grief,
My counsel is by boundless woe made naught,
Nor can her generous spirit be controlled,
It only serves to give her grief new strength.
Alas, how base a crime my fear foresees,
May god avert it!
Octavia. Oh, my bitter fate,
Equalled by none! Would that I might endure
Thy woes, Electra; thou mightst weep the fall
Of thy dead father, and mightst see the crime
Punished by thy avenging brother's hand,
A brother whom thy love had snatched from harm,
Thy faithfulness concealed. But fear forbids
That I should mourn my parents snatched away
By cruel fate, forbids that I should weep
A brother's death—in him my only hope
Was found, brief solace of my crowding woes.
Now am I left the shadow of a name
Once great, spared but for sorrow!
Nurse. Hark, the voice
Of my sad nursling strikes upon my ears.
What, do thy slow feet cease to bear thee on
Into the bridal chamber, aged one?
Octavia. O nurse, behold my tears, my grief's sure sign.
Nurse. Poor child, what day will free thee from thy care?
Octavia. The day that sends me to the Stygian shades.
Nurse. Far be the omen.
Octavia. Not thy prayers control
My lot, but fate.
Nurse. A milder god will give
A happier time. With soft compliance win
Thy husband's love.
Octavia. Ah, sooner could I tame
The savage lion or the tiger fierce,
Than that wild tyrant's cruel heart, he hates
Those sprung of noble blood, he scorns alike
The gods and men. He knows not how to wield
The fortune his illustrious father gave
By means of basest crime. And though he blush,
Ungrateful, from his cursed mother's hands
To take the empire, though he was repaid
The gift with death, yet shall the woman bear
Her title ever, even after death.
Nurse. Restrain the words that speak thy spirit's rage,
And let thy voice be silenced by thy fear.
Octavia. Whatever may be borne I will endure.
Nothing but bitter death can end my woes.
A mother slain, a father basely killed,
Reft of my brother, sunk in misery,
Bowed down by sorrow, by my husband's hate
Oppressed, the servant of my slaves, no more
Can I enjoy the light. With throbbing heart
It is not death I fear but worse than death.
Be but my death unmingled with reproach
I would be glad to die; 'tis worse than death
To look upon the tyrant's swelling pride,
His face so terrible to wretched me,
To feel the hated kisses of my foe.
Since the great sorrow of my brother's death,
Murdered so basely, scarce can I endure
The author of that murder, him who holds
My brother's kingdom and enjoys the crown.
How oft my brother's spirit comes to me
When, worn with weeping, slumber seals my eyes
And holds my weary limbs: with fury's torch
He armed weak hands, and in his brother's face
He waved it; then again in fear he fled
Into my chamber, by the foe pursued,
And, clinging to me, through my side received
The sword. Then shuddering terror broke my sleep,
And fear and grief and misery returned.
Besides all this that haughty concubine,
Made glorious with the plunder of our house,
For whom the son placed on the Stygian boat
His mother—shipwrecked, from the ocean saved,
He, harsher than the billows, with the sword
Slew her—what hope of safety can be mine
After such crime? That hostile victress stands
And threats my marriage-bed, with hate of me
She burns, and for adultery's recompense
Asks that the husband give his true wife's head.
O father, come from Hades bringing help
To thy poor child who calls to thee for aid;
Or through the riven earth lay bare the Styx
And swiftly bear me thither.
Nurse. All in vain
Thou callest on thy father's ghost for aid.
In vain, O wretched one! Among the dead
No more for any child of his he cares,
Who could prefer a child of alien blood
To his own son, who took his brother's child
To wife—an impious marriage whence has sprung
Full many a crime, murder, and treachery,
Desire of rule, and thirst for noble blood.
The son-in-law was slain, a sacrifice
In honor of the father's marriage-bed,
Lest by thy marriage he should grow too strong.
O monstrous sin! Falsely accused of crime,
And to a woman made a sacrifice,
Silanus' blood pollutes the household gods.
The enemy has entered, woe is me,
The captured home! The stepdame's wiles have made
The emperor's son his son-in-law as well;
A youth of base soul, capable of crime,
For whom his mother lit the marriage torch,
And, though thou wert unwilling, yet through fear
Made thee his wife. By such success made bold,
She dared, victorious one, to lay her hand
Upon the sacred scepter of the world.
Who can relate the many forms of crime,
Base hopes, and flattering wiles whereby she sought,
Climbing through evil deeds, to gain the throne?
Then holy love withdrew with fearful feet,
The dread Erinnyes with destroying step
Entered the empty courts, with Stygian torch
Defiled the sacred altars of the home,
Trampled the laws of nature and of god;
Wife for her husband mixed the poisonous draft,
And fell ere long a victim to her son.
Thou also liest dead, unhappy boy,
Ever by me to be lamented sore,
Star of the world, prop of a noble house,
Britannicus! Ah, me, thou art become
But ashes and a shadow 'mong the shades;
Even the cruel stepdame wept for thee
When on the funeral pyre thy form was laid
For burning, and the mournful flame destroyed
Thy face and form so like the winged god's.
Octavia. Let him slay also me, lest by my hand
He fall.
Nurse. Thou wert not gifted with such strength
By nature.
Octavia. Anguish, wrath, and grief, and pain,
Will give the wretched strength in time of need.
Nurse. Nay, conquer by submission that hard man.
Octavia. That he may give me back a brother slain?
Nurse. That, helpless as thou art, thou mayst restore
Thy father's tottering palace through thy sons.
Octavia. The royal house must look for other sons.
The dread fates drag me to my brother's side.
Nurse. The nation's love should make thy spirit strong.
Octavia. It comforts me, but cannot ease my pain.
Nurse. The people's power is great.
Octavia. The king's is more.
Nurse. He will with favor look upon his wife.
Octavia. His concubine forbids.
Nurse. She is, forsooth,
Hated of all.
Octavia. Yet to her husband dear.
Nurse. She is not yet his wife.
Octavia. She soon will be—
A mother too.
Nurse. A young man's passion burns
Fiercely at first, but soon it languishes;
Not long will he be swayed by sinful love,
Which is as changing smoke to constant flame.
Ever abides the love for a chaste wife.
He who first dared to violate thy bed,
The slave who long possessed thy husband's heart,
Already fears—
Octavia. One placed above herself.
Nurse. Subject she is and humbled, and she builds
Memorials that testify her fear.
Her will winged Cupid; false and fickle god,
Also forsake; though she be beautiful
And proud of power, her joy will be but brief.
Such griefs the queen of heaven herself has borne:
The father of the gods and king of heaven
Took every form, the plumage of the swan
He wore, the horns of the Sidonian bull,
In golden showers he fell; now in the sky
Shines Leda's constellation, Bacchus dwells
In high Olympus, in his father's home
Alcides, now become a god, enjoys
Hebe, nor longer Juno's anger fears,
He is her son-in-law who was her foe.
The wise obedience, jealousy suppressed,
Of the high-hearted wife has overcome;
Juno alone, secure, all-powerful,
In the celestial marriage chamber holds
The Thunderer, nor by mortal beauty won
Does Jupiter desert the heavenly halls.
Thou also, earthly Juno, sister, wife
Of great Augustus, hide thy heavy grief.
Octavia. Sooner the raging seas shall mate with stars,
The flood with fire, the sky with Tartarus,
Sweet light with darkness, day with dewy night,
Than mine with my sin-burdened husband's soul.
Ever I think upon my brother's death.
Would that the ruler of the skies would come
And smite that impious tyrant's hated head
With flames, he often with his thunderbolt
Makes the earth tremble, terrifies our souls
With sacred fires, prodigies unknown.
I saw a glittering meteor in the sky,
A comet showed in heaven its dreaded torch,
There where forever slow Boötes drives
In the cold north his wagon through the night.
With the fierce leader's breath the very air
Is heavy. Slaughter new the star forebodes
To all the nations that this vile king rules.
Typhoeus whom the parent earth brought forth,
Angered by Jupiter, was not so fierce;
This pest is worse, the foe of gods and men;
He from their temples drives th' immortal gods,
The citizens he exiles from their land,
He took his brother's life, his mother's blood
He drank, he sees the light, enjoys his life,
Still draws his poisonous breath! Ah, why so oft,
Mighty creator, throwest thou in vain
Thy dart from royal hand that knows not fear?
Why sparest thou to slay so foul an one?
Would that Domitian's son, the tyrant harsh,
Who with his loathsome yoke weighs down the earth,
Who stains the name Augustus with his crimes,
The bastard Nero, might at last endure
The penalty of all his evil deeds.
Nurse. I own him all unmeet to wed with thee,
But to the fates and to thy fortunes bow,
O foster child, nor, I beseech thee, stir
Thy passionate husband's rage. Some god, perhaps,
Will come avenging, happier days will rise.
Octavia. Long since the bitter anger of the gods
Pursued our house. First wrathful Venus filled
My wretched mother's heart with sinful love,
Married already, madly she embraced
A new, incestuous union; of her child,
Her husband, and the holy marriage vows
Unmindful, serpent-girdled, with loose hair,
The avenging goddess visited that couch,
Snatched from the hellish marriage-bed the torch,
And quenched its light in blood. With passion's heat
The cruel emperor's bosom was inflamed
To hideous murders. With the sword he slew
My wretched mother! Me, alas, he whelmed
In everlasting mourning by her loss,
His wife and son he dragged away to death,
And faithlessly betrayed our tottering house.
Nurse. Do not renew thy filial laments,
Nor trouble with thy tears thy mother's soul,
She suffered grievously for all her sin.

SCENE III

Chorus of Roman Women.

What tale is this we hear? Would it were false,
And might lose credit, told in vain, though oft.
May no new wife to our chief's chamber pass,
And may his bride, the child of Claudius, keep
Her place within his home, and bear him sons,
Pledges of peace which an untroubled world
May long enjoy; may Rome forever know
Her ancient glory. Juno was and is
Her brother's wife, why from her father's court
Should Cæsar's wife and sister be expelled?
Does not her loyalty, her father crowned
A god by death, her chaste virginity,
Her purity, avail her anything?
We, too, would be forgetful of our prince
After his death, should we desert his child
Because we were afraid of Cæsar's wrath.
Right Roman valor had our ancestors,
Theirs was the very race and blood of Mars,
They from the city drove the tyrant kings,
And well avenged thy fate, unhappy maid,
Child of Lucretius, by thine own hand slain
Because by tyrant's lust thou hadst been stained.
Tullia and her husband Tarquin paid
The penalty for sins unspeakable—
Over her murdered husband's form she drove
Her cruel chariot; and the furious child
Refused her murdered father's corpse a grave.
This age has also seen a son's base crime,
When in the Tuscan seas, on that dread ship,
The emperor drowned his mother treacherously;
At his command the sailors swiftly left
The quiet harbor, with the sounding oars
The strait reëchoed, and the ship moves on
Into deep waters; there with parted keel
Sinking, it swallowed through its yawning side
The ocean. Great the cry that to the stars
Is borne, and mingled with it is the sound
Of mourning, women beating on their breasts.
Grim death was there, each sought from death to flee;
Some, naked, clung to the wrecked vessel's planks,
And strove to float; some swimming sought the shore,
The fates drowned many in the ocean's depths.
Augusta rent her clothes and tore her hair,
Her face with tears of bitter grief was marred.
When there was left no hope of being saved,
Glowing with anger, conquered by her woes,
'Is this,' she said, 'thy recompense to me,
My son, for all I gave thee? I confess,
Full worthy am I of this sinking keel,
I brought thee forth, I gave thee light, ah fool!
I gave an empire and the Cæsar's name!
O husband, lift thine eyes from Acheron
And feed upon my punishment, behold,
I who brought death to thee and to thy sons
Graveless am borne to thee as I deserve,
Drowned in the waters of the raging sea.'
While she yet spoke the water smote her face,
She sank into the sea, then on the wave
She rose again. She strove against the sea,
Impelled by fear, but wearied sank at last.
Faith that scorned death remained in silent hearts,
Many there were who, weakened by the floods,
Yet dared to bring their drowning mistress aid;
As with weak arms she swam they called to her,
Lifted her in their arms; but what availed
That thou wert rescued from the cruel sea?
By thy son's sword thou wert about to die.
Scarcely will future ages, slow of faith,
Credit such crime. The monster, conscienceless,
Rages to see his mother still alive,
Saved from the sea; and he repeats his crime.
He speeds her to her death, he cannot brook
Delay, at his command a soldier hastes,
Who pierces with his sword his mistress' heart.
Unhappy mother, in her death she prays
That in her womb the murderer sheathe his sword.
'This, this,' she cried, 'must with the sword be pierced;
This which has borne a monster such as he.'
Then with a dying groan she rendered up
Through the deep wound her sorrow-burdened soul.

ACT II

SCENE I

Seneca.

I was content, why hast thou flattered me,
O potent Fortune, with thy treacherous smiles?
Why hast thou carried me to such a height,
That lifted to the palace I might fall
The farther, look upon the greater crimes?
Ah, happier was I when I dwelt afar
From envy's stings, among the rugged cliffs
Of Corsica, where my free spirit knew
Leisure for study. Ah, how sweet it was
To look upon the sky, th' alternate change
Of day and night, the circuit of the earth,
The moon, the wandering stars that circle her,
And the far-shining glory of the sky,
Which when it has grown old shall fall again
Into the night of chaos—that last day
Has come, which 'neath the ruin of the skies
Shall bury this vile race. A brighter sun,
Newborn, shall bring to life another race,
Like that the young world knew, when Saturn ruled
In the high heavens. Then great among the gods
The virgin goddess Justice, with fair Faith,
Sent from the skies, ruled on the tranquil earth
The race of man. The nations knew not war,
Nor the harsh trumpet's sound, nor clash of arms,
They were not wont about their towns to raise,
Protecting ramparts, every path was free,
All things were used in common, the glad earth
Bared willingly for man her fruitful breast,
A happy mother, in her foster-sons'
Untainted love secure. Another race
Less peaceful rose, a third in new arts skilled,
But law-abiding; then a restless one
That dared to hunt the wild beasts in the chase,
To catch in nets the fish in stormy seas,
Or with the fowler's rod beguile the birds,
Or to the yoke subject the savage bull
And hold him with the halter, they first turned
The free earth with the plough; she, wounded, hid
Deeper within her sacred breast her fruits;
But even to the heart of Mother Earth
A more degenerate generation pressed,
Brought gold and iron thence, and by-and-by
Armed their fierce hands with weapons; cities rose,
Their own they kept from danger with the sword.
The virgin goddess Justice was despised
And fled from earth, from men of cruel ways,
From hands by blood polluted, to the skies.
Longing for war and avarice for gold
Grew through the world, and luxury arose,
Greatest of ills, a flattering, noisome thing,
To which through man's delusion time gave strength.
The garnered vices of so many years
Abound in us, we live in a base age
When crime is regnant, when wild lawlessness
Reigns and imperious passion owns the sway
Of shameless lust; the victress luxury
Plundered long since the riches of the world
That she might in a moment squander them.
But see, where Nero comes with hasty steps,
What will he do?

SCENE II

Seneca, Nero, Prefect of the Palace.

Nero. Go, do my bidding; send a man to slay
Plautus and Sulla, let him bring their heads.
Prefect. There shall be no delay, I go at once.
Seneca. It is not right to causelessly destroy
Thy kindred.
Nero. He whose heart is free from fear
May easily be just.
Seneca. Yet clemency
Is a most potent remedy for fear.
Nero. A leader's highest virtue is to slay
His foe.
Seneca. The father of his country finds
A greater in the service of the state.
Nero. 'Tis meet for boys to govern weak old age.
Seneca. 'Tis rather needful ardent youth be ruled.
Nero. I'm old enough, I think, to rule myself.
Seneca. I pray the gods approve whate'er thou dost.
Nero. I were a fool to reverence the gods,
Myself am made a god.
Seneca. Fear thou the more
Because thy power is great.
Nero. My fortune gives
To me in all things freedom absolute.
Seneca. Fortune's a fickle goddess, trust her not.
Nero. Unskilled are they who know not their own power.
Seneca. He who does right is worthy to be feared,
Not he who does whate'er his will may prompt.
Nero. The people scorn the feeble.
Seneca. They destroy One whom they hate.
Nero. The sword protects the prince.
Seneca. Good faith protects him better.
Nero. They must fear.
Seneca. Man finds oppressive what is forced on him.
Nero. They shall obey my will.
Seneca. Rule justly then.
Nero. Myself shall be the judge.
Seneca. The people's voice
Must ratify thy will.
Nero. The sword thou scornest Shall force them to it.
Seneca. God forbid that crime.
Nero. And shall I longer suffer them to seek
My death, that I, despised and unavenged,
May suddenly be slain? Removed far hence,
Sulla and Plautus have not been subdued
By exile, with persistent rage they arm
Their agents for my murder; still they find,
Though absent, many followers in the town,
This nourishes the exile's hopes. The sword
Shall overthrow suspected enemies.
My hated wife shall die, with her shall go
The brother whom she loves, the proud shall fall.
Seneca. To shine among the great is beautiful,
To keep one's hands from blood, be slow to wrath,
Give the world rest, his generation peace,
This is the height of virtue, by this path
May heaven be attained; this is the way
The first Augustus, father of the land,
Gained 'mid the stars a place and as a god
Is worshipped now in temples. Yet for long
Fate tossed him here and there by land and sea,
Through all war's changing fortunes, till he slew
His father's foes. The goddess suffered thee
To take his scepter without shedding blood,
Subjected land and ocean to thy nod;
Envy was conquered and to loyalty
Gave place; the senate's favor and the knights'
Was thine, by senators' and people's will
Thou wert elected arbiter of peace,
Judge of the human race; thou rulest now
The world in sacred majesty, art called,
In turn, the father of the fatherland.
Rome asks that thou deserve the name she gives,
And to thy care commends her citizens.
Nero. I thank the gods, Rome and her senate do
My bidding, and reluctant lips are forced
By fear of me to utter humble prayers.
Were it not madness that those citizens
Who swell with pride in their illustrious race,
Who are a menace to the king and state,
Should live, when with a word I might command
That those whom I suspect be put to death?
A Brutus armed himself to slay the prince
To whom he owed his safety; Cæsar's self,
In war invincible, the nation's lord,
By highest honors equal made with Jove,
Died by the murderous hand of citizens.
Then Rome, so often rent with civil war,
Saw her sons' blood poured forth abundantly.
How many nobles, youths, or aged men,
Driven about the world in fear of death,
Fleeing from home and the triumvir's sword,
Their names inscribed upon the fatal list
That to grim death delivered them, were slain
By great Augustus, who deserved the skies
For good and glorious deeds? The senators
In sorrow saw the heads of many slain
Exposed upon the rostrum, nor might weep
Their dead, nor groan to see the forum stained
With foul corruption, noble blood distilled
From putrid faces. Nor was this the end
Of blood and slaughter, Philippi long feared
In misery wild beasts and birds of prey,
Sicilian waters swallowed up her fleet
And oft-revolting-citizens, the world
Was shaken by the mighty leader's strength.
Conquered in war, shortly about to die,
He sought the Nile in ships prepared for flight,
A Roman leader's blood again was drunk
By Egypt the incestuous, now he dwells
Among the dead. Then impious civil war,
Long waged, at last was ended and at length
The wearied victor might lay by his sword
Blunted by savage warfare. He maintained
His throne by fea and in the loyalty
And weapons of his soldiers was secure.
He by the duteous action of his son
Was made a god, was reverenced after death,
Was honored in the temples. Other stars
Remain for us if with relentless sword
We first destroy whate'er would do us harm,
And found our house on children worthy us.
Seneca. A woman of celestial lineage,
The ornament of honored Claudius' race,
Chosen, like Juno, for her brother's wife,
With godlike sons will fill thy palace halls.
Nero. The mother's incest takes away my faith
In true-born sons. Her heart was never mine.
Seneca. Love does not show its radiance in youth,
Then it conceals its flame in modesty.
Nero. Indeed, I vainly long believed this true;
Although her hate of me was evident
In her unfriendly mien and countenance,
I judged at last the smart must be avenged.
I found a woman meet to be my wife
By birth and beauty, to whose loveliness
Venus, Jove's wife, the war-fierce goddess, bowed.
Seneca. The probity and honor of a wife,
Her modesty and gentleness should charm
Her husband; graces of the mind and soul
Alone abide forever, beauty's flower
A single day destroys.
Nero. Ah, every grace
God has united in a single form,
And fate has caused her to be born for me.
Seneca. Oh, banish from thy heart the god of love,
And put not foolishly thy trust in him.
Nero. Him whom the wielder of the thunderbolt
May not compel, the tyrant of the skies,
Who penetrates the seas and Pluto's realm,
And draws the gods from heaven?
Seneca. Man's error paints
The cruel god of love as winged, and arms
His hand with bow and arrow, gives a torch,
Believes him Venus' son and Vulcan's seed.
Love is but passion's force within the soul,
A pleasing heat, 'tis born of youth and fed
By ease and luxury when fortune smiles.
Cease thou to feed and cherish it, it fails,
Loses its strength and dies.
Nero. This I believe
The greatest source of life, from this springs joy;
The human race will never be extinct,
'Tis ever generated by sweet love,
Love soothes the hearts of savage beasts. The god
Shall bear for me the marriage torch, his fire
Shall join Poppæa to me as my wife.
Seneca. This marriage scarcely will the people brook,
And holy Justice scarce will sanction it.
Nero. Am I alone forbid what all may do?
Seneca. More is demanded of the powerful.
Nero. Whether my passion or the people's will Shall yield, I yet will

prove.
Seneca. Nay, mildly please
Thy citizens.
Nero. A state is governed ill
When by the mob its ruler can be ruled.
Seneca. When with the prince its prayers have no avail,
Surely the state has reason to complain.
Nero. May one compel when prayers are no avail?
Seneca. 'Tis cruel to refuse.
Nero. 'Tis criminal
To force a prince.
Seneca. Let himself grant their wish.
Nero. But rumor would report him overcome.
Seneca. Rumor is but a vain and empty thing.
Nero. Perhaps, but it brands many.
Seneca. Yet it fears
The throne.
Nero. Yet none the less reproaches it.
Seneca. 'Tis easily suppressed. Let thy wife's youth,
Her modesty and truth, her father's gifts,
Prevail upon thee.
Nero. Cease to harass me,
Thou urgest me too much, I well may do
What Seneca condemns. The people's will
Already long ago I put aside,
She carries in her womb my pledge of love,
Why not to-morrow take her for my bride?

ACT III

SCENE I

The Ghost of Agrippina.

Through the rent earth from Tartarus I come,
In my right hand I bear a Stygian torch
For that vile bridal, with such gloomy fires
As an avenging mother's hand prepares
For the sad altars, shall Poppæa wed.
My son. The memory of that murder dwells,
Even among the shades, within my heart.
Still it is unavenged, the dread reward
For all my favors was the rotten keel,
That night on which I mourned the vessel's wreck
My payment for a throne! I would have wept
The murder of my friends, my base son's crimes—
There was not time for tears, but crime on crime
He heaped, and smitten by the sword, made foul
By many wounds, my troubled life went out
Upon the sacred altars of the home;
Saved from the deep, my blood was not enough
To quench the hatred of my son, he wars,
The cruel tyrant, 'gainst the very name
Of mother, seeks to overthrow my fame.
All the inscriptions and the statues raised
In honor of his mother he destroys
Through all the world, the world my hapless love
Gave, for my own destruction, to a boy
To rule. In death my murdered husband's soul
Pursues me, presses in my hated face
The torch, he threatens, he attacks, imputes
His fate to me and murder to his son,
Demands the author of his violent death.
Ah, spare, revenge is thine! I do not ask
For long; th' avenging goddess has prepared
Death worthy of the tyrant, coward flight,
Lashes, and penalties that shall surpass
The thirst of Tantalus, the heavy toil
Of Sisyphus, the bird of Tityus,
The flying wheel that tears Ixion's limbs.
What though he build his costly palaces
Of marble, overlays them with pure gold?
Though cohorts watch the armored chieftain's gates,
Though the world be impoverished to send
Its wealth to him, though suppliant Parthians kneel
And kiss his cruel hand, though kingdoms give
Their riches, yet the day shall surely come
When for his crimes he will be called to give
His guilty soul; when, banished and forlorn,
In need of all things, he shall give his foes
His life-blood. What availed my prayers and toils?
Whither has thine own madness and the fates
Borne thee, my son, that even thy mother's wrath,
Though by thy crime she died, should faint and fail
Before such evils? Would the beasts of prey
Had torn my vitals ere I brought thee forth
A little child into the light of day
And nourished thee; still innocent and mine,
Sinless and passionless thou then hadst died
Clinging to me; thou hadst obtained a place
Of everlasting peace among the shades,
Among thy father's fathers, mighty men,
Who now must feel perpetual grief and shame
Because of thee, base one. I too must mourn,
Who bore so vile a son. I who have brought,
As stepdame, wife, and mother, to my own
Naught but misfortune—wherefore should I cease
To hide my head in gloomy Tartarus?

SCENE II

Octavia, Chorus.

Octavia. Oh, spare your tears upon this festal day,
Let not such love and kindliness toward us
Arouse the bitter anger of the king,
Let me not be a cause of woe to you.
Not for the first time do I feel the wounds,
More grievous have I borne. This day shall bring
The end of all my cares, mayhap my death.
I will not see my cruel husband's face,
The hated marriage chamber of a slave
I will not enter, I will be henceforth
The sister of Augustus, not his wife.
Let bitter pain and haunting fear of death
Depart. Ah, fool! Remembering his crimes,
Canst thou still hope for this? Too long preserved,
A victim to this bridal thou shalt fall.
But why perplexed and with wet cheeks look back
So often on thy home? Haste from its roof,
Forsake the blood-stained palace of the king,
Chorus. The day long feared, long talked of, breaks at last,
When driven forth by Nero, Claudius' child
Forsakes her marriage chamber, even now
Victorious Poppæa there abides.
Our love falls off, our wrath is crushed by fear
And fruitless; where is now the Roman power
Which oft subdued great kings and gave just laws
To an unconquered land? With honors crowned,
The worthy citizens made peace and war,
Ruled barbarous nations, and imprisoned kings.
Lo, on all sides, before our saddened eyes
The image of Poppæa stands supreme,
With Nero's joined. Oh, cast it to the ground
With violent hands, too like herself it is;
And drag her from the chamber of the king.
Seek with destroying flame and cruel spears
The prince's palace.

ACT IV

SCENE I

Poppæa, Nurse.

Nurse. O foster child, why fleest thou in fear
Thy husband's marriage chamber? Wherefore seek
Whit troubled look a solitary place?
Why wet thy cheeks with tears? The day long sought
With prayers and sacrifice now shines for us;
Thou to thy Caesar, whom thy beauty won,
Hast been united by the marriage bond.
Venus, Love's mother, mightiest of the gods,
Whom Seneca despised, has given him,
Captived, to thee. Dwelling within the court
How lovely wast thou on the princely couch.
The senate saw, amazed, thy loveliness,
When thou didst offer incense to the gods
And sprinkle on their altars holy wine;
Veiled wert thou with filmy wedding veil,
Flame colored. Close beside thee walked the king,
Triumphant 'mid the people's favorite shouts,
In his proud face and carriage shone his joy.
So Peleas once took Thetis for his bride,
When from the foamy waters of the sea
She sprang; 'tis said the heavenly deities
And every ocean god with one consent
Honored their bridal. What has changed thy face
So suddenly? Why is it now so pale?
Tell me what mean these tears.
Poppæa. Ah, nurse, my mind
Is darkened, troubled, and my senses fail
From fear of last night's visions terrible.
For when the happy day had left the sky
To darkness and the stars, I fell asleep
Encompassed by my Nero's loving arms;
But not for long might I enjoy sweet sleep.
It seemed as though a mourning company
Came to my marriage chamber; with loose hair
Rome's mothers, weeping, beat upon their breasts,
With dreadful oft-repeated trumpet notes;
The mother of my husband, with harsh threats;
Waved wildly in my face a blood-red torch;
When forced, by urgent fear, I followed her,
Earth yawned and suddenly a mighty gulf
Was opened for me whither I was plunged
Headlong, and there in wonder I beheld
My marriage bed, in which I lay me down
Sore wearied. With a throng of followers, then,
I saw my former husband and my son
Coming. Crispinus, parted from me long,
Hastened to kiss me, take me in his arms,
When Nero madly rushed into my home
And buried in that breast the cruel sword.
At length my terror roused me from my sleep,
A fearful trembling shook my very bones,
My heart throbbed, and my voice was choked by fear;
Thy love and loyalty have strengthened me.
Alas, what threat these spirits of the dead?
Why have I seen my husband's blood poured forth?
Nurse. Whatever trouble stirs the waking soul,
A swift, mysterious power of the mind
Recalls in sleep. What need to wonder then,
That circled by the arms of thy new mate
Thou sawest in a dream thy marriage-bed,
Thy husband? Did it trouble thee to see
Loose hair, breasts beaten on a festal day?
Within her father's and her brother's house
They mourn Octavia's divorce; that torch
Which thou didst follow, which the empress' hand
Upheld, was omen of the noble name
That hatred gained for thee; thy rest in hell
Promised thy marriage bond should be for ay,
That in his breast thy emperor plunged the sword
Presages that he will not stir up wars,
But sheath his sword in peace. Be calm again,
Be glad, I pray thee, put aside thy fear,
Go to thy marriage chamber.
Poppæa. I will seek
The shrines and holy altars, offer there
The blood of victims slain unto the gods,
That all the ills that night and slumber threat
May be averted, and the things I dread
Be turned against my foe. Do thou adore
With pious prayers the gods, and offer up
Thy supplications for me, that my joy
May be abiding.

SCENE II

Chorus.

If prating rumor's tales may be believed
Of all the amorous intrigues of Jove,
How, feathered like the swan, in his embrace
He held fair Leda, or, like fierce bull formed,
Bore on his back Europa through the waves,
He would desert the star where now he rules
To seck thy arms, Poppæa, whom indeed
He might prefer to Leda or to thee
Danae, who in wonder saw him once
Come in a golden rain. Let Sparta boast
Her daughter's beauty, Phrygia's shepherd joy
In his reward—she is more fair of face
Than child of Tyndarus who caused grim war
And whelmed the Phrygian kingdom in the dust.
But who is this who comes with troubled steps.
What message does his heaving bosom bear?

SCENE III

Messenger, Chorus.

Messenger. The guard who watches at the emperor's gates
Must now defend his courts, the populace
Is roused against him. See, the prefects bring
In haste their cohorts to defend the town.
The people's fury, causelessly conceived,
Is not displaced by fear, but grows in strength.
Chorus. What is the fury that disturbs their minds?
Messenger. Filled with affection for Octavia,
And by great wrongs enraged, the crowd rush on.
Chorus. What have they dared to do and to what end?
Messenger. They would give back again to Claudius' child
Her father's palace and the right she holds
As wedded to her brother, her due share
Of royal power.
Chorus. These Poppæa holds.
Messenger. This too great love has set their hearts on fire
And drawn them headlong into maddest deeds.
The images of marble and of brass
That have Poppæa's face lie overthrown
And broken by the mob's fierce hands and swords.
They drag the broken parts about with ropes,
And trample in the mire the shattered limbs.
Wild words and deeds are mingled, which my fear
Forbids my lips to speak. Now they prepare
To gird with flames the palace of the king,
Unless he yield to them his new made wife,
Restore to Claudius' child her former home.
That he himself may know of this revolt,
I have not tarried, but fulfilled in haste
The Prefect's bidding.
Chorus. Wherefore have you stirred
In vain this cruel war? Invincible
Are Cupid's darts. He will o'erwhelm your fires
With the same flame wherewith he oft has quenched
The thunderbolts and carried Jove himself
A captive from the sky. You with your blood
Will pay the penalty, not patient he,
Nor easy to be ruled, when once rage-filled.
At his command Achilles smote the lyre,
He quelled the Greeks, he quelled Atrides, too,
And threw the realm of Priam in the dust,
Laid cities low; for what the ruthless god
With his wild might may do, my spirit fails.

ACT V

SCENE I

Nero.

Too slow my soldiers' hands, too mild my wrath,
In view of crime like this. The people's blood
Should have put out the fires they light for me,
And Rome which bore such sons been made to reek
With slaughter of her citizens. Ah well,
The punishment of death is all too small,
Their lawless deeds deserve worse punishment;
But she for whom the angry citizens
Arose against me, my suspected wife
And sister, shall for their offence give up
Her life, shall quench my anger with her blood.
The city shall be wasted by my fires,
The guilty citizens shall be harassed
By flames, and ruin, and hard poverty,
Hunger, and bitter grief. The senseless mob,
Corrupted by the blessings of my reign,
Run riot, nor, ungrateful, comprehend
My clemency; they cannot be at peace,
But, restless, rash, and overconfident,
They rush to their own ruin. By hard means
They must be ruled, and by a heavy yoke
Subdued, that they may never dare like deeds,
Nor to my wife's fair face dare lift their eyes.
By heavy vengeance humbled, they shall learn
Through fear to give obedience to my nod.
But he whose singular integrity
And well-known loyalty have made him chief
Of all my army comes.

SCENE II

Nero, Prefect.

Prefect. I come to say the fury of the mob
Is checked by slaughter of the few who long
Resisted foolishly.
Nero. Is this enough?
Hast thou, a soldier, thus obeyed thy chief?
They have been checked? Is this the penalty
They owe me?
Prefect. By the sword the leaders fell.
Nero. Why are the rabble spared who dared attack
My home with fiery brands, who dared prescribe
A law unto their king, who from our couch
Dragged forth my lovely wife and with vile hands
And threatening words abused her? Shall not they
Endure just punishment?
Prefect. Shall wrath prescribe
The penalty thy citizens shall pay?
Nero. It shall prescribe a penalty whose fame
Shall never perish in the years to come.
Prefect. Neither thy anger nor our fear should rule.
Nero. She shall atone who first aroused our wrath.
Prefect. Whom does thy vengeance seek? Spare not my hands.
Nero. The murder of my sister, her vile life.
Prefect. Such rigor with cold horror chills my soul.
Nero. Art loth to do my will?
Prefect. Why doubt my truth?
Nero. Because thou didst not slay mine enemy.
Prefect. And can a woman be thine enemy?
Nero. When she is capable of crimes like hers.
Prefect. What proves her guilt?
Nero. The madness of the mob.
Prefect. Who shall restrain them?
Nero. She who stirred them up.
Prefect. Scarce any one, I think.
Nero. A woman can,
To whom was giv'n a spirit prone to ill,
A bosom filled with wiles for harming us.
Prefect. She has no power.
Nero. That not impregnable
She be, that wavering strength be crushed by fear,
By punishment that even now too late
Falls upon one too long at liberty,
To harm us, leave thy counsels and thy prayers,
Go do our bidding. Let her in a ship
Be carried to some distant shore to die,
That I at last may banish anxious fear.

SCENE III

Chorus.

How dangerous is popular applause,
How terrible! With favoring breath it fills
The vessel's sails and carries it along,
Then in the deep and raging seas grows faint
And leaves it. The sad mother wept her sons,
The Gracchi, of distinguished family born,
Illustrious for piety and truth
And eloquence, brave hearted, to the laws
Attentive, whom the people's too great love
Destroyed. Such violent death was, too, thy fate,
O Drusus, not thy honors nor thy home
Protected thee—how many instances
Our present grief forbids us to recall!
The citizens may see her dragged to death
And torture, weeping, sad, to whom they sought
To give again her royal dwelling-place,
Her fortune in her brother's marriage-bed.
Well may the poor, beneath an humble roof,
Be happy, for the tempest often shakes
And Fortune oft o'erthrows proud palaces.

SCENE IV

Octavia, Chorus.

Octavia. Where do you drag me? If I still may live,
Broken and humbled by my many ills,
What exile does the tyrant or his queen
Command? If he would crown my woes with death
Why does he harshly grudge that I should die
In my own land? Alas, there is no hope
Of safety, for I see my brother's ship,
Lo, in this vessel I shall be borne hence,
I, once his wife, now driven from his bed,
His wretched sister. No divinity
Protects the good from harm, there are no gods,
The sad Erinnyes rule the universe.
Who worthily may weep my misery?
With what lament can the sad nightingale
Answer my tears? Ah, would the fates might give
Her wings to wretched me! Then borne aloft
Upon bird pinions, I would flee afar
From sorrow, from the company of men,
From slaughter; in a solitary wood,
Sitting alone upon a slender twig,
I could pour forth my sorrowful lament
With querulous voice.
Chorus. Mankind is ruled by fate,
And none may trust that his will be unchanged;
We need to fear each day that brings to us
Its varying fortunes. Strengthen then thy soul
With memory of the many instances
Thy house has seen. Ah, why should Fortune be
More harsh to thee? Thee first I must recall,
Child of Agrippa, by thy marriage made
The daughter of Augustus, Cæsar's wife;
Thy name shone glorious over all the world,
Oft from thy fruitful womb thou broughtest forth
Pledges of peace, but soon thou sufferedst
Exile, the lash and chains, bereavement, grief,
And death at length with torture long endured.
Livia, wife of Drusus, in her sons
And husband fortunate, fell into crime,
She met her punishment.
Julia was followed by her mother's fate,
And though no crime was hers, was slain at last.
What power wielded not thy mother once?
She ruled within the palace of the king,
Was rich in sons and to her husband dear,
Yet, humbled by her handmaid, she was slain
By the fierce warrior's sword. What throne in heaven
Might Nero's noble mother not expect?
Yet she by sailors rude was first abused,
Then, wounded by the sword, she fell at length
A victim to her cruel son.
Octavia. Behold,
Me also does the cruel tyrant send
To the dead spirits and the land of shades.
Why vainly linger in my misery?
Ye to whom fortune gave the power to slay,
Speed now my death. I call upon the gods—
Ah, fool, what wouldst thou? Cease to make thy prayers
To gods who hate thee. Tartarus, I call
Thee as my witness, and the goddesses
Of Erebus, avengers of all crimes,
And thee, my father
I do not dread this death. Prepare the ship,
Spread to the winds the sails, the lonely shores
Of Pandataria shall the pilot seek.

SCENE V

Chorus.

Ye gentle zephyrs and soft breathing airs
That once from harsh Diana's altars bore
Iphigenia, hidden in a cloud,
Her also bear from such keen suffering,
To Hecate's temple carry her, I pray;
Milder is Aulis and the barbarous land
Of Taurus than this city, to the gods
The blood of strangers there is sacrificed,
In her own children's blood Rome takes delight.





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