Part 7
CLODIA. What a charming room. (_Pointing to a statue of Hermes_) That’s a Praxiteles, isn’t it?
LUCULLUS. No; it’s only a copy I had made by a little man at Puteoli.
CLODIA. I think it’s wonderful.
LUCULLUS. It is clever.
CLODIA. You got my note?
LUCULLUS. Yes; I’m delighted you can come.
CLODIA. Well, that’s just what I wanted to explain. Metellus says you’ve asked Catullus, and last night we were all dining with Pollio, and Catullus was there. Of course, I don’t know him very well, but I’ve always been civil to him because of Metellus, who happens to like him. Well, last night he was so rude to my father-in-law that I don’t feel as if I could meet him again to-night. I mean I don’t think it would be right. Couldn’t you put him off and say he made you thirteen?--otherwise I don’t think I can come, and I wouldn’t miss your dinner for worlds.
LUCULLUS (_enchanted_). Quite delighted, I assure you, to render you the smallest service. I will write at once. (_He scribbles two notes._) Lucius! (_Enter a_ SLAVE.) Take this note to Caius Valerius Catullus at once, and this one to the Queen of Egypt, and tell Æmilius we shall only be nine. (_To_ CLODIA) I assure you it won’t matter to him, as Cleopatra is giving a dinner to-night and is looking out for a man. I have written to tell her.
CLODIA. Cleopatra! Oh!
LUCULLUS. Yes; don’t you like her?
CLODIA. Metellus hates Greeks; and I only just know her, but I do admire her. Metellus thinks she’s so second-rate. I don’t see it.
LUCULLUS. She’s cultivated.
CLODIA. Yes; Greeks always are.
_Enter a_ SLAVE _with a letter, which he gives to_ LUCULLUS
THE SLAVE. Waiting for an answer.
LUCULLUS. May I read this?
CLODIA. Please.
[LUCULLUS _opens the letter and looks at the signature._
LUCULLUS. It’s from one of my guests--Cynthia. I can’t read it; I’m so short-sighted and I left my emerald upstairs.
CLODIA. Shall I read it for you?
LUCULLUS. That would be very kind.
CLODIA (_reads_). “DEAR LUCULLUS--I find I can come to dinner after all. I have just found a letter which has been going all over Rome for me for the last week, from the King of Nubia, who had asked me to-night (and of course it was a command), saying that his dinner is put off. So I shall be delighted to come to-night if I may.--CYNTHIA.” That will just make you a woman over, won’t it; but it will be all right if I don’t come.
LUCULLUS. On the contrary----
CLODIA. Of course it will. You see I may just as well come another night, and Metellus will come without me--husbands are always so much nicer without their wives. As a matter of fact, Metellus didn’t much want me to come, because my throat’s been rather bad lately, and he thinks I oughtn’t to go out at night; so it all fits in. Good-bye, Lucullus.
LUCULLUS. Good-bye. (_Exit_ CLODIA.) She’ll go to Cleopatra’s--after all, food is wasted on women. Lucius!
_Enter the_ SLAVE
THE SLAVE. If you please, sir, Æmilius has killed himself!
LUCULLUS. Then who’s going to cook the dinner?
THE SLAVE. The head sauceman says he can manage the nightingales’ tongues and the fish, but he’s no experience of peacock.
LUCULLUS. Peacock! I should think not. He’s not to touch the peacock. (_He walks up and down in great agitation, thinking._) Tell the head sauceman--who is it--Balbus?
THE SLAVE. Yes, sir.
LUCULLUS. Tell Balbus I will have dinner in my room an hour and a half before the other dinner. He can give soup, fish, pheasant, nightingales’ tongues, the cold boar pie which was left from yesterday, and some hoopoe’s eggs--and as for the dinner, you can send out for it. Send now to Varro’s shop and order dinner for nine--eight courses--anything you like. Go at once. They may not be able to do it in time.
THE SLAVE. If you please, sir, one of the slaves was over at Varro’s this morning about the extra slaves to wait, and they said they had a dinner ordered and countermanded by Calpurnia on their hands.
LUCULLUS. That will do. But tell Balbus if my nightingales are not satisfactory he shall be impaled.
CURTAIN.
XV
THE STOIC’S DAUGHTER
SCENE.--_A room in the house of_ BURRUS, _Prefect of the Prætorian Guards of Nero._ BURRUS _is discovered in an attitude of despondency._
_Enter a_ SLAVE
BURRUS. Well?
SLAVE. Caius Petronius would like to speak to you.
BURRUS. I will see him.
_Enter_ C. PETRONIUS--PETRONIUS ARBITER, _middle-aged, but very elegant_
PETRONIUS. Good morning. I’ve come about that dinner. The Emperor quite approves of the list of guests....
BURRUS. I don’t suppose you wish me to come now.
PETRONIUS. Why not?
BURRUS. Well, after Lucius’s--er--unfortunate escapade----
PETRONIUS. My dear fellow, I assure you that’s not of the slightest consequence. If we had to be responsible for our sons’ misdeeds life would become impossible. As it is, the Emperor, while sympathising with your feelings----
BURRUS. Please don’t talk about it. You can understand how inexpressibly painful it is to me.
PETRONIUS. It might have been worse. He might have gone on the stage.
BURRUS. The gods spared us that. That would have killed Æmilia.
PETRONIUS. I suppose she feels it dreadfully.
BURRUS. It’s not so much the thing she minds, but the family name being dragged into publicity--people making bets----
PETRONIUS. Yes, yes--but there’s nothing to be done. After all, when all’s said and done it is much less degrading to be a gladiator than an actor--or a charioteer. Piso’s nephew is a charioteer, and Tigellinus’s brother appeared on the stage for some charity.
BURRUS. I don’t know what the world is coming to.
PETRONIUS. I suppose he’ll drop it immediately. Then I should send him abroad for a little, and the world will forget all about it. These things are forgotten so quickly. After all, boys will be boys. Believe me, young men must sow their wild oats, and the sooner they get it over the better. Well, please give my respects to Æmilia, and I can count on you for certain for the fifteenth?
BURRUS. I shall come without fail.
[_Exit_ PETRONIUS.
_Enter_ ÆMILIA--BURRUS’S _wife_
ÆMILIA. Well? What did he say?
BURRUS. Nothing, practically. The Emperor doesn’t seem to have said anything.
ÆMILIA. But do you mean to say you haven’t arranged anything?
BURRUS. What about? The dinner-party?
ÆMILIA. Dinner-party, indeed! I mean about Lucius not appearing at the Games again.
BURRUS. No, I haven’t. What is there to arrange?
ÆMILIA. You really are too helpless. You must get him banished, of course--just for a short time.
BURRUS. I didn’t like to--but I’ll write to Seneca.
ÆMILIA. Seneca’s no use. Write to Petronius. He’ll arrange it without any fuss.
BURRUS. I hardly like----
ÆMILIA. If Lucius appears once more in the circus as a gladiator I shall open my veins in my bath.
BURRUS. Oh, well, of course, if you insist----
ÆMILIA. Yes, I do insist.
_Enter a_ SLAVE
SLAVE. Lucius, Annæus Seneca, and Annæus Serenus wish to see you.
BURRUS. Show them in.
_Enter_ LUCIUS, A. SENECA, _and_ A. SERENUS
[_Exit_ SLAVE.
SENECA. I’ve only just heard the news, or else I would have come sooner.
SERENUS. And I had no idea until Seneca told me.
BURRUS. I suppose it’s all over Rome by now.
SENECA. You mustn’t take these things to heart.
ÆMILIA. It’s all very well for you to talk, Seneca; you haven’t got a son.
SENECA. I would esteem it a privilege to be visited by troubles of this nature. It is only the noblest souls that the gods plague with such disasters in order that, tempered by affliction, the true steel, emerging triumphant from the trial, may serve as an example to mankind.
SERENUS. Not being a stoic, Burrus, I take a different view of the incident. I consider that man is born to enjoy himself, and that the opportunities of enjoyment are rare and far between. Life is monotonous. If your son finds a relaxation from the tediousness of existence in fighting as a gladiator, by all means let him continue to do so. It is a profession which calls forth many of the noblest qualities of man.
ÆMILIA. But think of the family, Serenus. Think of us, of my sisters, my sisters-in-law, my cousins; think of my husband and the harm that it may do him professionally.
SENECA. Vain thoughts, I assure you, Æmilia. A man’s merit depends on the aspirations of his soul and not on the idle gossip of his relations.
SERENUS. All one’s relations are liars. It is much better that they should say your son is a gladiator who fights in public--which is true--than that they should say he is a drunkard who drinks in secret, which would be untrue. They would no doubt say that, had they no other food for gossip.
ÆMILIA. But Lucius never drinks. He had never given us a day’s anxiety until this.
BURRUS. He got all the prizes at school.
ÆMILIA. He was working so hard to become an officer.
SERENUS. Ah! Over-education, I see. I assure you the whole matter does not signify.
ÆMILIA. It is breaking his father’s heart.
BURRUS. I shall never hold up my head in public.
SENECA. Come, Burrus, think of Brutus, and what he had to endure from his son.
SERENUS. Yes, and think of the many Roman sons who have killed their fathers.
SENECA. In every evil, in every misfortune there is always a seed of consolation. You must, of course, deal kindly with him, but firmly, and I am convinced he will listen to reason.
ÆMILIA. He wouldn’t listen to us at all. We all tried our best to dissuade him--except his cousin Lesbia. Heartless woman! It was entirely her fault.
BURRUS. He shall never cross this threshold again as long as I live.
SENECA. Set a noble example of forgiveness, Burrus, and the world will be grateful to you.
BURRUS. I will never set eyes upon him again. He has disgraced himself and his family for ever. There are certain stains of dishonour which can never be effaced.
_Enter a_ SLAVE
SLAVE. Paulina, the wife of Seneca, is here. She wishes to speak to you.
SENECA. My wife! What can she want?
BURRUS. Show her in.
[_Exit_ SLAVE.
_Enter_ PAULINA
PAULINA. Forgive me, Burrus, for forcing my way in--they said you were not at home to any visitors--but it is a matter of life and death--and I must speak to Seneca. (_To_ SENECA) I have been hunting for you the whole morning, and it’s by the merest chance I found out you had come here.
SENECA. What is it?
PAULINA. A terrible catastrophe has befallen us.
SENECA. My Greek vases?
PAULINA. No, it’s nothing to do with your horrible collections.
SENECA. Then don’t you think we had better go home and discuss the matter in private?
PAULINA. No, I want Burrus’s help.
SENECA. What can have happened?
PAULINA. It’s Julia.
SENECA. I suppose she’s run away with some one.
PAULINA. Oh no; it’s far worse than that.
SENECA. You mean----
PAULINA. I don’t mean anything. I mean she has disgraced us all.
SERENUS. These little affairs blow over so quickly.
PAULINA. But you don’t understand--you will never believe it. The girl has become a Christian.
SENECA. A Christian!
BURRUS. No!
ÆMILIA. My poor Paulina!
SERENUS. Curious!
BURRUS. She must have been got hold of by the Jews.
ÆMILIA. They are terribly cunning; and people say they’re everywhere, and yet one doesn’t see them.
SERENUS. But surely there is nothing irretrievable about this. As long as nobody knows about it, what does it signify?
SENECA. You don’t understand. It’s a matter of principle; I could not possibly harbour a daughter under my roof whom I knew to be a traitor to the State.
SERENUS. It is annoying.
PAULINA. But you don’t know the worst: she has gone to prison.
SENECA (_very angry_). Well, I hope you will let her know that she shall never come back to our home as long as she lives. Her conduct is not only immoral, but it is immodest. It is inspired solely and simply by a passion for self-advertisement. It is this modern craze for publicity which is the ruin of our children; she is bitten by this same passion for notoriety which--you will excuse me saying so, Burrus--led your son to be a gladiator. I call it vulgar, tawdry, Byzantine, hysterical, and essentially un-Roman.
SERENUS. But surely, my dear Seneca, nobody can think it amusing to go to prison? Think of the risk.
SENECA. I beg your pardon. People of her class risk nothing. They have got a morbid craze for new sensations.
SERENUS. Rather disagreeable sensations, aren’t they? To be eaten by a tiger, for instance?
SENECA. There’s no question of that. It’s only the worst criminals who are treated like that. Am I not right, Burrus?
BURRUS. Perfectly. A purely religious offender is immediately released on making the mere outward sign of allegiance to the State. An oath is not even required.
PAULINA. Well, that’s just what I’ve come about. The child is in prison, and it appears--it is very foolish and obstinate of her, but Julia always was an obstinate child--that she refuses to fulfil the necessary formality, sacrifice, or whatever it is. So I thought I would come to you, Burrus, and ask you just to say a word to the prison authorities, and then she could be let out--quite quietly, of course. Nobody need know about it.
BURRUS. My dear lady, you know how gladly I would do anything in the world to be of use to you. But in this case--and I am sure you will understand--I cannot see my way; indeed it is quite impossible for me to take any action. You see, Petronius’s cousin was released three weeks ago, and smuggled out of the country, and the demagogues got hold of it and complained to the Emperor, who--courting popularity as usual--said it was not to occur again. So you see in what an awkward position we are placed. We can’t make these distinctions simply between people of position and others----
PAULINA. But it’s always done.
BURRUS. That’s just why it can’t be done this time. The Emperor is extremely annoyed at people of good family having anything to do with those horrible Christians, and he’s determined to stamp this mania out. But all she has got to do is to sacrifice----
PAULINA. But you don’t realise how obstinate the girl is.
_Enter_ LESBIA, _a lovely gay woman, about 25_
LESBIA. Good morning, good morning. I’ve got some places for the Games, and Lucius comes on at three. You _must_ see him fight. He’s too wonderful. And it’s horrible of you not to go and see him, and then they’re going to throw _all_ the Christians to the lions directly afterwards, so you must come.
CURTAIN.
XVI
AFTER EURIPIDES’ “ELECTRA”
SCENE.--_A room in the house of_ CINYRAS, _at Athens_.
[_Reclining on couches round the tables are_ SOCRATES, ALCANDER (_a man about Athens,_) DEMETRIUS (_a critic,_) XENOCLES (_a playwright,_) ANTAGORAS (_an important official,_) NAUCYDES (_a soldier,_) HELIODORE (_wife of_ CINYRAS), _and her friends,_ LYCORIS, TIMARETA, NICYLLA, _and_ HEGESO.
HELIODORE. Euripides has promised to come; but we won’t wait for him. I don’t know what you feel, but I’m very hungry.
NAUCYDES. So am I. Makes one hungry, don’t you know--that kind of thing. Splendid show.
LYCORIS. What I say is, it’s too long. It lasted nearly all day. If he had made it about half as long, it would be just as beautiful, and much more enjoyable for us. Of course, I don’t pretend to be a judge, but I do say it’s too long.
CINYRAS. Much the best thing is to do as I do and not go to the play at all.
LYCORIS. No, I like a _good_ play. But I don’t care for Diophantus’ acting. It’s just the same with Tityus. What I say is, Diophantus is always Diophantus and Tityus is always Tityus.
DEMETRIUS. But surely the business of the actor is never to let his personality change?
NICYLLA. What did you think of the play, Demetrius?
DEMETRIUS. I am afraid I must not tell you that until my opinions are published. It wouldn’t be fair on the author.
NICYLLA. And what did you think, Socrates?
SOCRATES. I admired it immensely.
HEGESO. I thought it wonderful. I loved the story. I loved Clytæmnestra’s clothes, that wonderful, dirty, wine-stained dress, and Electra’s pale, shivering, stone-cold mask; and Orestes was such a darling. So mad, and distraught, and rebellious.
HELIODORE. I thought it was marvellous.
NICYLLA. I think it’s so much better than Sophocles’ _Electra_.
ALCANDER. It’s very clever, of course; brilliantly clever; but it’s not a play. It’s really only a discussion.
HEGESO. But I was thrilled by the story and so frightened.
TIMARETA. You know, it’s not the story. It’s the acting. Apollodorus told me it’s the acting. It’s wonderful. It’s felt. I felt it.
LYCORIS. I must say, I don’t like that sort of play. I think it leaves a nasty taste in one’s mouth and one doesn’t quite know why. I know it’s very clever.
NICYLLA. Oh, Lycoris, how old-fashioned of you! Now don’t you think Electra was right, Socrates, to kill her mother?
SOCRATES. We’ll ask Euripides that when he comes. My business is to ask questions----
NAUCYDES (_aside to_ HELIODORE). And a great nuisance he is, too, with his questions.
SOCRATES. And not to answer them.
NAUCYDES (_aside to_ HELIODORE). I don’t believe he knows what the answers are.
NICYLLA. But don’t you think, Demetrius, that a girl is justified in taking the law into her hands in such very exceptional circumstances; or do you think a girl’s first duty is to her mother?
ANTAGORAS. I think she deserved a good whipping, if you ask me. However, it’s not the story I object to. I mean, we all know the story, and we’re quite ready to see a new play on the subject, as long as it’s treated reverently and decently; but one never knows with Euripides when he’s serious, or whether he’s laughing in his sleeve the whole time or not. Now I like Æschylus.
XENOCLES. Poor Euripides! He’s shot his bolt.
NICYLLA. Do you think he’s played out?
LYCORIS. What I say is this, that Clytæmnestra thoroughly deserved to die, but Electra wasn’t the person to kill her, and that as she did kill her mother she ought to have been punished.
TIMARETA. It was Fate, that’s what it was. Apollodorus told me it was all Fate.
HEGESO. Yes, and she was so sad, so miserable; she couldn’t bear doing it. She _loved_ her mother, although her mother had been so unkind, and turned her out of that beautiful house into a cold cruel hut, and only a herdsman to talk to. Don’t you agree, Naucydes, with me, that Electra was cruelly treated? She couldn’t help it, could she?
NAUCYDES. Rather an awkward case, don’t you know. Sort of fix when everything you do’s wrong. (_He laughs loudly._)
HEGESO. And wasn’t the music too heavenly?
ALCANDER. It’s like the play--clever; but it isn’t music, any more than the play’s a play.
ANTAGORAS. I couldn’t make head or tail of it--but then I’m not musical.
HEGESO. Didn’t you love those divine little screams, like a saw cutting ice, and the noise the cymbals made, like slippery sandals rushing down a marble mountain?
NICYLLA. What did you think of the music, Demetrius?
DEMETRIUS. There are no ideas in it, and it’s very thin; there’s no colour in it either, but a certain amount of clever arabesque work.
NICYLLA. Don’t you think music acts on one’s sub-conscious superself without one’s noticing it? When I hear certain kinds of music I go quite mad, and sometimes when I hear music I feel as if I could understand everything. I am sure you agree with me, Socrates. And now, _do_ tell me: Does music have an Apolline or a Dionysic effect on you? Sometimes it has a Dionysic effect on me and sometimes an Apolline.
SOCRATES. What is music, Nicylla? If you can answer me that, I will tell you the nature of its effect on me.
NICYLLA. Music is the language of the soul. It is to man what the perfume is to the flower.
ANTAGORAS. Music’s a nuisance.
DEMETRIUS. Not necessarily; but it is often an interruption.
ALCANDER. And sometimes an accompaniment.
LYCORIS. Yes, as in the play to-day. What I say is, all this new music isn’t music, but noise.
ANTAGORAS. I agree with you; it oughtn’t to be allowed.
DEMETRIUS. But isn’t all music noise?
HEGESO. Yes: delicious, heavenly noises, all caught like tame mice and put in chains and made to be obedient.
HELIODORE. Don’t let’s discuss the music till we’ve finished talking about the play. Now, Xenocles thinks that Euripides is played out.
XENOCLES. Euripides has talent, but he is essentially mediocre; his verses are vulgar and facile. However, I’ve no doubt the sausage-sellers enjoy his plays. It is the kind of thing which would appeal to them. And they say the Barbarians find them extraordinarily profound.
NICYLLA. Now, that’s one of your paradoxes, Xenocles. How brilliant he is, isn’t he?
TIMARETA. Apollodorus says his characters are too natural. They are just what one sees every day.
ANTAGORAS. Good gracious, I hope not.
NICYLLA. Now, Socrates, I know you admire Euripides, and I always have admired him. I always said from the first that he was far the greatest playwright we’d ever had. I want to know what Xenocles admires.
XENOCLES. Well, there’s Agathon, but no one else.
NICYLLA. And I’m sure you don’t admire Sophocles?
XENOCLES. The gods forbid.
DEMETRIUS. His work is quite dead. I believe his plays are still admired in Thrace.
NAUCYDES. I saw one the other day, and I’m afraid I liked it.
NICYLLA. Oh, Naucydes, how can you say such a thing? They’re so empty. There’s no soul in them. No world-sympathy. No atmospheric intuition. Nothing cosmic. And then they say his verses are all wrong. Aren’t they, Xenocles?
XENOCLES. Sophocles undoubtedly wrote some good lines, but his philosophy is childish. It is essentially Mid-Athenian.
HEGESO. Oh, I adore Mid-Athenian things. I’ve had a room furnished in the Mid-Athenian style with archaic busts; you can’t think how quaint and charming it looks.
HELIODORE. Won’t you have a little more partridge, Hegeso?
HEGESO. No, thank you, dear. I never touch food at this time in the evening. I can only eat a little parsley and mint in the morning.
HELIODORE. I’m sure you must be hungry after all we’ve gone through. I confess I cried like a child.
TIMARETA. That’s what it is--Euripides is so pathetic. He’s not great and he’s not mystic, but he’s pathetic. He touches one just here. (_She points to her throat._) Apollodorus told me he’s pathetic. He’s got bathos.
HEGESO. I felt so sorry for Clytæmnestra. I was miserable when she screamed. I jumped up in my seat and cried: “I can’t bear it, I can’t bear it; they’re killing Clytæmnestra.” And Callias, who was sitting next to me, was so cross. (_She helps herself to a quail._) It has been a wonderful day.
HELIODORE. Wonderful! I’ve never been through anything like it before.
NICYLLA. I felt as if my soul had escaped and was just floating in mid-ether between one world and another; between the two gates, don’t you know.
TIMARETA. I was moved, that’s what it was--moved. I felt like--as if I were at a funeral--a State funeral, with music and torches.
ALCANDER. Yes, it was certainly a fine performance.
NAUCYDES. By Zeus, yes!
DEMETRIUS. I don’t mind saying that I was interested.
HEGESO. I shall never get over it, never. I feel as if it had all happened to me. (_She helps herself to another quail._)
_Enter a_ SLAVE
THE SLAVE. Euripides has sent to say he is very sorry he can’t come to supper. He is too tired.
SOCRATES. I am afraid I must leave you. I have some pupils waiting for me at home.
HELIODORE. Oh, don’t go, Socrates. I haven’t spoken to you at all, and I have got so many things to say to you.
SOCRATES. I’m afraid I must go. Farewell, and a thousand thanks for your kind hospitality.
DEMETRIUS. And I’m afraid I must go. I’ve got to write about the play.
[_Exeunt_ SOCRATES _and_ DEMETRIUS.
HELIODORE. I must say I do think it’s rather thoughtless of Euripides to throw me over at the last minute. I do think he might have let me know. You see, Socrates only came because of Euripides. And you see what happens the moment he hears he’s not coming--he goes.
XENOCLES. He always does that. He’s spoilt. I told you he was overrated.