Part 4

_Dom._ Admit him. [_Exit Servt._ Paris, I’ll tell thee later of my plans. Meanwhile keep close with Nero: let me hear Aught he lets fall that might advance our matter: Seleucus’ visit is a part of it; I’ll speak with him alone.

_Par._ Madam, I go. [_Exit._

_Enter Seleucus._

_Dom._ How now, Seleucus? Foiled!

_SELEUCUS._

I warned you, lady, How impotent and vain an arm hath truth Unhelped by art.

_Dom._ Thou did’st but well, and now I shall lean more on thee. Hast thou persuaded 1200 Poppæa of her fortune?

_Sel._ Ay, my lady, I promised her two Cæsars.

_Dom._ Two! how two?

_Sel._ A secret that of art; our divination Hath many such. The gods are favourable.

_Dom._ Talk not to me of gods. One was enough; Yet the other matters not. Two Cæsars indeed! Most favourable gods!—See, here I give you Two hundred sesterces: but for that sum Require another service.

_Sel._ I thank you, madam.

_Dom._ Locusta hath been seen with Nero.

_Sel._ Ah, 1210 How knew you that?

_Dom._ Attend to what I say. I fear ’tis for Britannicus: the Empress, Ridding herself, cannot have quitted him. If ’tis his death is aimed at—and ’tis for thee To probe and reach the truth—then if ’tis possible Thou must prevent it. Go, give him a message, He must not sup with Cæsar if he is bid. Find you the probabilities, and lay The warning where is need.

_Sel._ ’Twere a good office, lady.

_Dom._ Go quickly then. If thou do well in this, I will reward thee well. 1221

_Sel._ I will deserve it. [_Exeunt._

SCENE · 3

_The room in Otho’s house. Enter POPPÆA and MAID._

_MAID._

Madam, the litter waits.

_POPPÆA._

Give me my mirror, miss. Why, see how slovenly thou’st done my hair; ’Tis out already.

_Maid._ With your pardon, madam, ’Tis very well. Nay, ’tis as firm as a rock. You look your best to-night.

_Pop._ Where is the flower I gave thee?

_Maid._ Here, my lady.

_Pop._ Put it in. There, there. Ay, that will do. Now where’s my cloak? [_Exit Maid._

_Enter Otho._

_OTHO._

So then you are going?

_Pop._ Yes, I go alone, 1230 Since you will not come with me.

_Oth._ You are always free To have your way; but when your wish is mine, It is twice yours. This time you know ’tis not: And were I used to set constraint upon you, Could it be said Otho e’er crossed his wife With a command, it should be now: I’d say This I forbid.

_Pop._ And why?

_Oth._ I entreat you, dearest.

_Pop._ I am pledged to go.

_Oth._ Go not.

_Pop._ There’s now no choice.

_Oth._ A light excuse would serve: a sudden sickness, A cold, a headache. Do not go.

_Pop._ Why, look! 1240 If you are not jealous, Otho! jealous, jealous. You see not straight.

_Oth._ I see you smile on Cæsar.

_Pop._ And think you, then, I must have turned my love Where I have smiled? that I would play you false For the pleasure of it?

_Oth._ Why then sup with Cæsar?

_Pop._ A trifle hangs upon him I would wear,— The world.

_Oth._ So dazzled by the imperial splendour! Think: to be Cæsar’s mistress for a year Is not to rule the world.

_Pop._ I will be Cæsar’s wife.

_Oth._ Ah! look you then so high? 1250

_Pop._ Who shall be called my rival?

_Oth._ Cæsar’s wife.

_Pop._ She hinders not.

_Oth._ Oh, thou would’st never dare it, Did’st thou not love him.

_Pop._ What should I not dare?

_Oth._ Hast thou considered well the ambiguous style Thou goest to take, and yet determined?

_Pop._ Ay.

_Oth._ ’Tis death, ’tis death. I speak now but for thee: Not for myself. The cup Octavia drinks To quit thy place thou too wilt come to taste.

_Pop._ That is my risk. The sport were tame without it: The game can boast a sting. 1260

_Oth._ Weigh well the danger: Think of it thus; to live on a caprice Whose jealousy is death; where for the reason One seems to love thee will be ten to hate thee; Where not to be beforehand with a treachery Is to be victim.

_Pop._ I can steer my way.

_Oth._ And for this desperate venture wilt cast off My love, our love?

_Pop._ What is love?

_Oth._ Art thou Poppæa? Wer’t any else but thou that questioned thus, My answer then were ready: I should say Ask of Poppæa, ’tis the thing she knows; 1270 Ask Otho’s wife what love is, she can tell. And thou to ask! as if ’twere some strange matter Wide of experience, and to ask of me Who won thee for my teacher!

_Pop._ ’Tis true the impeachment I make of love is that he hath exhausted His treasure rather than denied us aught.

_Oth._ Exhausted love! how mean you?

_Pop._ See! I am made Of other stuff and passions besides love. You cannot wish that all my life should move Pent in this narrow circle, day by day 1280 Keeping the pretty game up which I learned When I was green: that I should ne’er do else Than this one thing, and that so constantly That even the habit and the practice of it Are scarce employment; that I should grow grey, And see the wide and seasonable field Of life’s exertion and excitement fallow With this one weed of love?

_Oth._ A weed, you say!

_Pop._ I have other motions in me. I’ve an itch Men call ambition, and I see a prize 1290 Looks worth the having.

_Oth._ ’Tis not worth the having.

_Pop._ Why, what were I to thee, could’st thou be Cæsar?

_Oth._ Even all thou art; I have no itch to rule Merely to see that game played out, and cry At the end—what is ambition?

_Pop._ It hath no end.

_Oth._ ’Tis plain love hath an end.

_Pop._ Nay, as I love thee, I still shall love thee. Only, Otho....

_Oth._ What?

_Pop._ I thought your eye was open to perceive The grandeur of my scheme.

_Oth._ Thou wert mistaken.

_Pop._ Upon what falls to-night, let us decide. 1300 I have no secrets from you: if I prosper, Desert me if you will, but blame me not: For dared I combat Cæsar’s inclination There were as much to lose. The thing I do Will be your safety.

_Oth._ Rather would I die, Ay, rather far that thou should’st die than do This baseness willingly.

_Pop._ Nay, speak not so. I shall do nothing base.

_Oth._ Thou must succeed. Only before thou goest I’ll kiss thee once. [_Kisses Pop._ Otho’s last kiss. Farewell. 1310

_Pop._ Good night. I go. Lesbia, my cloak! I shall have news ere morn. [_Exit._

_Oth._ Gone! With a grace As firm, as pleasant, gay and self-possessed As that with which she hath come a thousand times To meet me, kiss me, and call me hers, she goes To change her husband .. gone! and not a sign To show that leaving me was losing aught! Fool that I was! To the soul I knew her vain, Self-seeking, light, petulant at the breath Of contradiction, and yet I trusted. What, 1320 Asks she, is love. Ay, what? I love my dog; He is devoted beyond reason, pitiful In his dependence; he will scarce reproach me With some short wondering sorrow, if I strike him— I love my horse; he bears me willingly, Answering spiritedly; with all his strength Generous and gentle. But woman, if man love her,— Seeing she is less devoted than the hound, Less noble than the horse,—’tis that we deem, That being human she can gauge the worth 1330 Of our intensity, and in kind somewhat Repay it: ’tis a delusion; spite of shew, She hath not in her heart that which her eyes Fondly declare. There is no passion possible Which beauty can interpret or soft speech Express, which was not mine; ay, by that title O’er and o’er; yet I think no dog in Rome Would leave the meanest slave that fed him once, As hath this woman left the man that loved her.

[_Knocking._

_Enter Lucan and Petronius._

_LUCAN._

Ha! here he is. We have come to fetch you, Otho.

_Oth._ I do not go to-night. 1341

_PETRONIUS._

Not go! What is’t, man?—ill?

_Oth._ My wife has gone, therefore I do not go:— You see the matter, maybe have foreseen it; I was too blind. Spare me your condolence; I do not wish even sympathy. You know I loved her, but ’tis over. Let me give you Such knowledge as I wish my friends to have, Else might they mistake somewhat. See! she is gone To-night against my wish: ’tis nothing more: 1350 But this will lead to much. I let my house; Sell you my wine, Petronius, if you wish it, And take—I shall not want for interest— The Lusitanian proconsulate.

_Luc._ You go from Rome?

_Oth._ I do.

_Petr._ Break not with Cæsar.

_Oth._ I’ll take employment.

_Petr._ Jove! I think you’re wise, Otho; you’re wise. I’ve half a mind myself To give my friends the slip. But as it is, Well .. come, I’ll take the wine; what is your price?

_Oth._ The price I gave. 1360

_Petr._ A bargain. I shall send for it.

_Luc._ (_to Otho_). Otho, I will not go. Although thy wrong Cannot be stayed, yet would I rather die Than sit and smile on it.

_Oth._ I thank thee, Lucan. I’d ask thee rather look upon the matter As on a thing of course: I think it is. Go, take no note of it.

_Luc._ If ’tis thy wish.

_Oth._ It is. Good night.

_Luc. and Petr._ Good night. [_Exeunt._

SCENE · 4

_A room in the Palace. Enter AGRIPPINA._

_AGRIPPINA._

Thus must it be then. I must be cast out, Turned from the palace, lodged in a private house, Retired, reduced, forgotten, like any relic 1370 Of barbarous royalty, caged out of reach Of good or ill; my state just so much show As has no meaning. Now may some god of mischief Dare set me in the roll of puny spirits. Ah!—Hath this my seal, seemeth it? O may my foes Be fooled so far to think that guile will stay First in catastrophe. Nay, if I crouch, ’Tis but to plant a foot whence I may bound With braver spring.—I am clear; the right’s my hope. Right against blood hath still been honourable. 1380 Men love the name of Brutus. The first Brutus Slew his own son; the last his Cæsar. Ha! ’Tis madness; nay, that’s not my thought, not that. ’Twould fright the world that there should be a woman Who could slay Cæsar and son in one. Nay, nay, That lies beyond all fate. Yet, short of that,— O blood, thou sacrament and bond of nature, Look to the strain: summon thy best allies, Thy yearnings and thy shudderings, thy terrors And dreams of dread; marshal the myriad fingers Of scorn and hate: else, O thy rottenness 1391 Will out. Indeed I think thou’rt a weak thing, Bred of opinion; when I would have trusted thee, Hath not that other rivet of thy chain Snapped at the mutual end? Thy boasted anchor Drags on the bottom, and my ship drifts on To the rocks, to the rocks: missing that hold, the sense Is dizzy with madness; ay, and whither I go Is hidden; nor aught I know, save that the future, Whate’er it be, I shall do much to make. 1400

_Enter Britannicus._

Ah! ah! ’tis thee. Speak softly, for these walls have ears.

_BRITANNICUS._

Thou thinkest That Cæsar watches me.

_Agr._ To-day thy spies Are mine, but must not hear.

_Br._ Hast thou seen Burrus?

_Agr._ He is thine enemy: no hope from him.

_Br._ I would not have this spoken of as my hope.

_Agr._ True, boy. I mentioned not thy name, and Nero, Being now persuaded thou art innocent, Forgives thee. Let the risk I ran for thee Be earnest of more good. 1410

_Br._ I thank thee for it.

_Agr._ ’Tis nothing, this. Thou yet shalt reign.

_Br._ I pray thee Draw me not into thy deep-plotted schemes That rush on guilt. If I have hope or wish, ’Tis but to live till the divorce be writ ’Twixt Cæsar and my sister: that is not long To wait; and then her exile, which must follow, If I may share, I think some days of peace May be in store for both. That is my hope, Not Rome, nor empire, but some tranquil spot Where innocence may dwell, and be allowed 1420 To be its own protection.

_Agr._ Are you that fool?

_Br._ I would none doubted it.

_Agr._ Can it be possible That thou, who in thy veins hast the best blood Of Rome, should’st own so beggarly a spirit, And being the heir of all the world should’st wish Only to hide thy claim, so thou may’st live The life which broken-hearted slaves, and men Diseased and aged scarce prize?

_Br._ I hear, I hear, And am not shamed.

_Agr._ Nay, then I have more to say.

_Br._ I too might say somewhat. Is it not strange, Thou being a lady, should’st possess a heart 1431 So fond of wrong, and blood, and wrathful deeds?

_Agr._ Ah, ah! Thou thinkest that thou know’st me rightly, And yet would’st dare to taunt me, and to thwart My stablished purpose? Child, I say, remember The deeds thou castest in my teeth, and think Whether it were not much better now at last To side with me, and take the help I proffer. I have sworn to set thee on the throne; think twice Ere thou oppose my will.

_Br._ Did’st thou not say 1440 Thou had’st persuaded Nero of my innocence?

_Agr._ Say I was wrong.

_Br._ Nay, thou wert right in that, Wrong now returning on disclaimed ambition.

_Agr._ Art thou content to see thyself deposed, Thy sister thus dishonoured....

_Br._ Say no more.

_Agr._ Consider!

_Br._ Nay, I’ll not consider.

_Agr._ Now This once again I bid thee, child, consider. Doubt not my power.

_Br._ No more. I will not join thee.

_Agr._ Then hear me, child. Whether thou join or not, Whether thou wilt be Cæsar, or refusest, 1450 Thou shalt be Cæsar. If thou wilt not plot, It shall be plotted for thee: in my hands I hold thy life, and guard it but for this, To make thee Cæsar. Ay, and if thou shrinkest When the day comes, I’ll have a doll made like thee; My men shall carry it about, and style it Britannicus, and shout to it as to Cæsar. I say thou shalt be Cæsar, think it o’er. Dare not refuse me: ’tis not yet too late; To-morrow I will speak with thee again. 1460 Now to thy better thought. [_Exit._

_Br._ O murderess! And for this last turn must I thank my folly, That partly trusted her. Now would to heaven, If live I must, that I might change my lot With any man soe’er, though he be chosen And picked for misery. Surely there’s none In all the empire can show cause to stand And weigh his woe with mine. Find me the man, If such there be, that hath an only sister ’Spoused to a murderer and adulterer, 1470 Who hates her virtue, since it shames pretext To cast her off: or, if such man be found, Hath he for mother one that slew his father, And threats him with like death? or if all this Be matched in one, hath he no remedy? Is his speech treason? Is his silence treason? Is he quite friendless, helpless? Forbidden to budge a foot from the dread focus Of crime and anguish? ’Mongst his lesser wrongs Hath he this brag, that he hath been robbed, as I, Of the empire of the world? O happy hinds, 1481 Who toil under clear skies, and for complaint Discuss long hours, low wages, meagre food, Hard beds and scanty covering: ye who trail A pike in German swamps, or shield your heads On Asian sands, I’d welcome all your griefs So I might taste the common nameless joys Which ye light-heartedly so lightly prize, And know not what a text for happiness Lies in a thoughtless laugh: what long, impassable, Unmeasured gulfs of joy sunder it off 1491 From my heart-stifling woe.

_Enter Octavia._

Thou art welcome, sister.

_OCTAVIA._

Brother, a request you must grant.

_Br._ Anything, Dearest, to thee.

_Oct._ Sup not to-night with Cæsar.

_Br._ I must. Yet what’s thy reason? Thou art moved Strangely beyond the matter.

_Oct._ Read this paper.

_Br._ (_reads_). _Britannicus, sup not to-day with Cæsar._ How came you by it?

_Oct._ ’Tis from Fulvia, The maid that loves Seleucus; whence ’tis his.

_Br._ Most like; I know the turbaned mountebank Keeps an old kindness for me. Yet nay, nay— 1500 If this should now be found—nay, he’s too shrewd To put himself in writing.

_Oct._ He might dare With Fulvia.

_Br._ Nay. I cannot think ’tis his. And were it, what’s his credit? I do not trust These fellows far. They trade in mystery, And love to thicken water,—and if there be A plot to poison me, to-day’s occasion Offers no easier vantage than to-morrow’s. My safety lies elsewhere.

_Oct._ O do not go.

_Br._ Fear not, Octavia, I am very careful, 1510 And eat but sparingly of any dish, Nor aught but what goes round. To stay away Might show suspicion, and could serve no end.

_Oct._ Brother, be warned, go not to-night; to-morrow We may learn more. I beg...

_Br._ Nay, urge me not, Since with this warning I am doubly safe.

_Oct._ Oh, I dread Nero’s anger; ’tis most certain That ill will come of it.

_Br._ Nay, fear him not. Let us go sup. I will use all precaution, 1519 Thou may’st be sure, since for thy sake I do it: And while thou livest I shall have both reason And wish to live. Have care, too, for thyself; I think thy peril is no less than mine. [_Exeunt._

SCENE · 5

_Supper-room in the Palace. All are reclined at two tables, thus_:

_Agrippina_, _Nero_, _Poppæa_.| _A gentm._, _Octavia_, _A lady_. _Tigellinus_, _A gentm._ | _Britannicus_, _Paris_. _A lady_, _Domitia._ | _Petronius_, _Lucan._ |

_Waiters, tasters, etc. Some are talking._

_NERO._

I will propose a question to the table: Which of the arts is greatest? Lucan, these sausages Are something new: try them.

_POPPÆA._

You question, Cæsar, Which of the arts is greatest? I would answer The one which Cæsar honours.

_TIGELLINUS._

But if Cæsar Should honour more than one?

_PETRONIUS._

The sausages 1529 Are good enough. As for the arts, here’s Lucan Can speak for poetry.

_Ner._ If any man Could prove one art beyond contention first, I would reward him excellently. With me To know the best and follow it are one: Success being easy in all, my difficulty Lies in distraction: show me then the best, I’ll perfect that.

_Pop._ What! Cæsar give up singing?

_Ner._ For better things.

_Tig._ Which be the arts?

_Petr._ (_to servants_). Here, vermin, This wine’s half-way to vinegar.

_Ner._ Who will name The arts? There’s sculpture, painting, poetry, 1540 Singing..

_PARIS._

And acting.

_Ner._ Well, what more?

_Tig._ Horse-racing.

_Pop._ (_across_). Ruling I think’s an art.

_AGRIPPINA_ (_across_).

And making love.

_Ner._ ’Tis of the fine arts we would speak. (_To servants_) Ho! fellows, Pour out the wine! Ah, here’s a lovely mullet. Has this been tasted?

_TASTER._

Ay, Cæsar. ’Tis stuffed with truffles.

_Ner_. A mullet stuffed with truffles. Now, Poppæa, Will not this please?

_Pop._ I thank you.—(_aside_) Prithee, bid Lucan to speak for poetry.

_BRITANNICUS_ (_to servant_).

Nay, the mullet.

_Ner._ Lucan, what say you for your art?

_LUCAN._

I claim The first place for it, and I say ’tis proved 1550 Nobler than any plastic art in this; It needs not tools nor gross material, And hath twin doors to the mind, both eye and ear. Nay, even of drama Aristotle held, Though a good play must act well, that ’tis perfect Without the stage: which shows that poetry Stains not her excellence by being kind To those encumbrances, which, in my judgment, Are pushed to fetter fancy.—Then hath our art Such strong and universal mastery 1560 O’er heart and mind, that here ’tis only music Competes, and she is second far in scope, Directness, and distinction.

_Ner._ You think that?

_Luc._ Ay, Cæsar.

_Ner._ Do you! you who have ever been More gracious to my voice than to my pen! Am I a better singer then than poet, Think you?

_Luc._ Nay, Cæsar; but....

_Ner._ Ha! then you are envious. You would not have me write because, forsooth, You write yourself. Now, by the god, I swear Thou shalt not publish nor recite a verse 1570 Within my empire till I give thee leave. One man to keep the muses to himself! Monstrous!

_Pop._ And serve him right.

_Luc._ (_aside_). Monstrous indeed!

_Ner._ (_to servants_). Heat me some wine. Come, lords, ye drink not. Eh! what have we here?

_Servant._ Cherubim, Cæsar.

_Ner._ What is Cherubim?

_Petr._ The gods of the Jews.

_Ner._ Hoo! let us eat their gods. They are much like pheasants.

_Servt._ ’Tis a pheasant, Cæsar, And stuffed with woodcock.

_Petr._ Cæsar, there’s one art Has not been mentioned; though I think at table It should not be passed o’er. 1581

_Ner._ What art is that?

_Petr._ I shall contend it is the first of all.

_Ner._ Name it.