Ceased, overruled by dutiful accord.
The zeal of senators and knights was kindled
To serve you; common people in their prayers
And senators in proclamations named you
Giver of peace. Of all the human race
Elected arbiter, you rule a world
In peace and hope, the Father of our Country.
That you may ever keep this name, Rome prays,
While she commits her people to your hand.
NERO: ’Tis true I owe it to the bounteous gods,
That Rome and senate are my willing servants;
Also that by the fear they have of me
The tongues of the unwilling can be trained
To humble prayers and speeches of submission.
But to preserve the lives of citizens
Whose birth-proud arrogance is an offence
To state and throne, what madness that would be,
When by a word I can command a death
Wherever I see danger. Did not Brutus
Unsheathe the sword to take his master’s life,
To whom he owed his own? And on that day
Caesar, the conqueror of all the world,
Invincible in battle, crowned with honours
Rising from height to height until he stood
Beside the seat of Jupiter, fell dead,
Assassinated by his countrymen.
Then how much Roman blood was Rome to see
Poured out from her so often wounded body!
How many lives did your divine Augustus,
Whose virtues won his way to heaven, destroy!
How many noble Romans young and old,
Sought out in every corner of the world
When fear of slaughter by triumvirate swords
Had driven them from homeland, were proscribed
In lists for death; how many severed heads
Exposed upon the rostra, for the eyes
Of suffering senators to weep at – nay,
Weeping had been proscribed; no man might mourn
The fate of his departed sons; the forum
Stank with corruption and its floor was fouled
With putrid gore that dripped from rotting faces.
Nor was the tale of bloodshed ended there;
Philippi’s fatal fields remained long after
A place for birds and beasts to batten on.
Sicilian seas engulfed the wrack of ships
And carcases of men who fought their brothers.
The world was shaken by the embattled powers
Of its two leaders, till the vanquished fled,
In ships provided for his flight, to Egypt,
There soon to die. Thus for the second time1
A Roman general’s blood watered the soil
Of that lascivious land; where now they lie,
Two unsubstantial ghosts; and there was buried
The long-drawn infamy of civil war.
At last the weary victor sheathed the sword
That battle-blows had blunted; fear sufficed
To hold his power secure; the armed allegiance
Of soldiers was his shield. Divinity
Was given to him by his faithful son;
And when death came, his soul was sanctified
And temples consecrated to his name.
A place in heaven shall await me too,
If I fail not to use a ruthless sword
To rid me of whatever enemies
Stand in my way, and found a royal house
With offspring that are worthy of our line.
SENECA: There is a daughter of the royal blood
Of Claudius the Divine, to fill your house
With heavenly progeny – a second Juno,
Permitted to be consort to her brother.
NERO: Daughter of an adulteress – that blood
Is no more to be trusted; nor was she
Ever a wife to me in heart and soul.
SENECA: Fidelity cannot be judged in youth,
When modesty conceals the flame of love.
NERO: With that fond thought I too deceived myself,
Despite the warning of her loveless face
And unresponsive heart, which plainly told
The measure of her hatred; and at length
My own resentment thirsted for revenge.
Another consort I have found, of breed
And beauty worthier to share my bed,
With whom the wife of Jove cannot compare,
Nor Venus, nor the Goddess armed for war.
SENECA: A wife’s fidelity, honour, purity,
And goodness, should be all her husband’s joy.
Only the virtues of the mind and heart
Are everlasting, indestructible.
The flower of beauty withers day by day.
NERO: But there is one in whom the gods have joined
All excellent virtues; and for me alone
The Fates have willed that excellence to be.
SENECA: Love must be gently humoured, or you lose him.
NERO: Love? The most potent tyrant in the heavens,
Whose power the Thunderer cannot take away –
Whose presence rules the anger of the sea
And the dark realm of Dis – who can command
The gods above to walk this earth below.
SBNECA: It is the error of mankind1 that makes
The airy sprite of love a ruthless god,
The son of Venus, by the seed of Vulcan,
As they suppose, a god with bow and arrows
Grasped in immortal hands. Love is not that;
It is a powerful motive in the mind,
A pleasant warmth of soul; its seed is youth,
Its nourishment is ease and soft indulgence
Amid the benefits of kindly Fortune.
If once you cease to feed and cherish him,
Love wilts, soon loses all his power, and dies.
NERO: To my mind, Love, which is the cause of pleasure,
Must be the giver of life; he cannot die.
What other force sustains the human race
But the sweet law of love? Wild beasts obey it.
So may the torches of the God of Love
Shine out to lead Poppaea to my bed!
SBNECA: The scruples and abhorrence of the people
Will give that marriage bond no countenance;
Nor does the law of sanctity permit it.
NERO: Am I forbidden to do what all may do?
SENECA: From high rank high example is expected.
NERO: Well, we shall see if I have strength enough
To break and crush this reckless partisanship.
SENECA: Better, with grace bow to your subjects’ wishes.
NERO: Fine government, when subjects rule their masters!
SENECA: Their rage has cause, if all their prayers are fruitless.
NERO: And where prayers fail, are they to win by force?
SENECA: Denial is hard.
NERO: To force a king is sinful.
SENECA: Then let him yield.
NERO: And be reputed beaten?
SENECA: Repute is nothing.
NERO: Yet it often scars.
SENECA: It fears the great.
NERO: But bites them none the less.
SENECA: It is not hard to silence rumour’s tongue.
Let the known virtues of your sainted father
And your young wife’s good name and purity
Prevail to turn your mind.
NERO: Enough of that;
You plead beyond my patience. Let me do,
For once, something which Seneca condemns.
Indeed, I am too slow in making good
The event for which my people pray; tomorrow
I shall be wedded with my bride, whose body
Already bears the token of our union
And part of my own blood.
*
GHOST OF AGRIP
PINA: Through opened earth from Tartarus I come.
My bleeding hands infernal torches bring
To greet this impious marriage; by their light
My son shall wed Poppaea; these bright flames
The avenging hands of his infuriate mother
Shall turn to funeral fires. Among the dead
The memory still lives of my foul murder,
The infamous offence for which my ghost
Still cries for vengeance – when a ship of death
Was my reward for service to my country,
And for imperial honours I was given
A night of shipwreck and bereavement; tears
I would have shed for my companions’ deaths,
My own son’s crime; but ere my tears could fall,
He wrought a second and more monstrous crime.
Barely escaped from death by sea, a sword
And hideous mutilation took my life
In my own house, and there I rendered up
My tortured spirit. Yet did not my blood
Suffice to clean the hatred from the heart
Of my inhuman son. His mother’s name
Was an abomination to the tyrant;
He would have all my honours blotted out,
All images and records of my acts
Destroyed – such was his fear – throughout the world;
That world which, for my punishment, my hand
And my mistaken love had made his kingdom.
And now my hated husband from the grave
Makes war upon my spirit, brandishing
Torches of vengeance in my guilty face.
With instant threats proclaiming me the cause
Of his own death, he asks me for the life
Of his son’s murderer.… Be patient, husband,
And you shall have it soon, ay, very soon.
The avenging Fury has a death prepared,
Meet for his crimes, for this obnoxious tyrant;
A scourge will fall upon him, ignominy
Attend his flight, and tortures shall be his
More terrible than the thirst of Tantalus,
The toil of Sisyphus, the agony
Of Tityos devoured by the birds,
The wheel on which Ixion’s limbs are racked.
Let his proud majesty build marble halls
And roof his courts with gold, let armed battalions
Stand guard upon his gates, let all the world
Exhaust her infinite wealth to do him service,
Let suppliant Parthians seek his bloody hand
To offer him their treasure and their kingdoms –
The time will come, the day will surely come
When he will pay with his own poisoned life
The forfeit of his crimes; the day when he,
Ruined, abandoned, naked to the world,
Will bow his neck beneath his enemy’s sword.
Alas, my labours and my prayers all lost!
Can this extremity, son, to which your fate
And your infatuate folly have condemned you,
Be such that in the face of all this evil
Your stricken mother’s anger should be silent,
Whom in your wickedness you killed? Not so.
Would that wild beasts had torn my womb to pieces
Ere I had brought into the light that child
Or held him to my breast! You would have died,
Unknowing, innocent, exempt from sin;
You would have died all mine, flesh of my flesh;
You would have known the everlasting rest
Of those that live no more, you would have found
Your father, and his fathers, all that line
Of noble name; whose portion now remains,
Because of you, base son – because of me,
Mother of such a son – but grief and shame
Until the end of time. Why should I stay,
And not be quick to hide in deepest hell
The face of a stepmother, mother, wife,
Face of calamity for all her kin?
*
OCTAVIA: Weep not, my friends; this day1
Of public gladness and festivity
Must not be marred by tears.
To show your love
And favour in my cause
So plainly, might enrage our emperor
And bring you sorrow for my sake.
My heart has borne such wounds before;
I have had worse to bear.
This day will see the end,
Be it by death, of my afflictions.
I shall no more be forced to see
My husband’s angry frown,
No longer be a slave
In a detested marriage bed.
No more his wife, but still the emperor’s sister
I shall be called; and well content,
If I am spared the penalty
And pain of death…
Have you such hope… fond hope,
Poor fool, when you remember
That evil man’s iniquities?
No; for today’s glad rite
You are the victim long prepared,
You are its sacrifice.
Look back no longer on your home and gods
With weeping eyes! Away!
Fly from this house, fly from this emperor’s
Blood-stricken court!…
CHORUS: So dawns the day that we have feared,
The day those many rumours heralded.
Octavia has been set aside,
Banished from the harsh emperor’s bed,
And in her place
Victorious Poppaea reigns.
By fear oppressed
Our loyalty must hide its face,
Our grief be dumb.
Where is that Roman people’s strength,
The strength that broke ere now
So many great men’s power;
That gave, in days gone by, just laws
To our unconquered land, authority
To men of worth;
Voted for war or peace, tamed savage tribes,
Kept captive kings in chains?
The dazzling image of Poppaea
Coupled with Nero.
Let us not spare them!
Tear them down to the ground!
Down with these too true likenesses
Of her imperial highness!
Down with her, too, from her exalted bed!
Then on to the emperor’s house
With fire and sword!…
*
POPPAEA’S NURSE: Child, why this haste to leave your husband’s chamber?
What is the meaning of that anxious look?
Where are you hurrying to hide yourself?
Wherefore these tears upon your cheeks? Surely
This day’s bright dawn has answered all our prayers,
Our vows to the good gods; by marriage rites
You are united with your Emperor;
Whose heart your beauty captured; whom great Venus,
Goddess supreme, by holy rites adored,
Mother of Love, has made your prisoner.
Ah, what a picture! When you took your seat
Upon the cushioned divan in the palace!
How the assembled senators were rapt
With wonder at your beauty, as you offered
Incense to the high gods, and poured thank-offering
Of consecrated wine upon their altars!
The golden veil that delicately floated
About your head! And when the Emperor,
Close by your side, his body pressed to yours,
So proudly walked, his happiness proclaimed
In every feature of his face and bearing!
So Peleus must have walked, to meet his bride
Thetis emerging from the frothing sea, –
A wedding celebrated by the gods,
As stories tell, of heave
n above and all
The sea’s divinities with like acclaim.
And now, what chance has changed those smiles to tears?
Why do you look so pale? Why do you weep?
POPPAEA: The bygone night, dear Nurse, a night of fear
And dreadful visions, has confused my mind
And robbed me of my senses; I am lost.
The pleasant light of day had given place
To starry darkness, night possessed the sky,
And cradled in my Nero’s close embrace
I fell asleep. But it was not to be
A long untroubled sleep; soon my whole room
Seemed thronged with a complaining multitude –
Women of Rome, mothers, with hair unbound,
Who wept and beat their breasts in lamentation.
And to a terrible continuing sound
Of trumpets, there my husband’s mother stood
Grasping a blood-stained torch, her awful visage
Threatening dire vengeance. In her steps I followed,
By fear compelled, and lo, before my feet
A huge abyss lay opened in the ground,
Where, falling sheer into its depths, I saw,
And was amazed to see, my marriage bed,
On which I sank exhausted. Then appeared
My former husband, with some friends around him,
And his young son. Crispinus hurried forward
As if to take me in his arms and taste
The lips that were no longer his to touch;
But Nero in a frenzy forced his way
Into my room and thrust a deadly sword
Into my husband’s throat. By now my terror
Had roused me from my sleep, and trembling seized
Each bone and limb; my heart leapt in my breast;
But silent I concealed my fearful secret,
Which now your faithful love has drawn from me.
What can it mean? What is this punishment
That the dead spirits have prepared for me?
Why was I forced to see my husband’s blood?
NURSE: In sleep some power mysterious and divine,
Some swift perception, gives a visible shape
To whatsoever motions in the mind
Its restless energy stirs up. No wonder
You dreamed of husbands and a marriage bed,
While lying in your second husband’s arms;
There’s nothing strange in that. And were you shocked
By lamentations, beating hands, tossed hair,
Upon a festal day? They were lamenting
The separation of Octavia
From her own brother’s house, her father’s gods.
The brand which, waved before you by Augusta,
You followed, is a symbol of the name,
The illustrious name which has been won for you