Part 2
(_They pass out toward the sea, Nero caressing his mother. The guests now throng down the steps into the courtyard. They are in various states of intoxication. Many are dressed to represent mythological figures: Fauns and Satyrs; Bacchus crowned with grape leaves, wearing a leopard skin on his shoulders; six Bacchantes; Psyche with wings; Luna in a spangled tunic with silver horns in her hair; Mercury with winged sandals and the caduceus; Neptune in an emerald robe, crowned and bearing the trident; Iris, rainbow-clad; Silenus. Some are dressed in brilliant oriental garments. There are Senators in broad bordered togas with half moons embroidered on their sandals; Pages dressed as Cupids and infant Bacchi; Officers of the Praetorian Guard in military uniform. Turbaned, half nude Numidian slaves, with bronze rings in their ears, come trotting in with litters, attended by torchbearers. Some of the guests depart in the litters. The music continues in banquet hall._)
NEPTUNE
(_Staggering against Luna._)
Who’d be a sailor when great Neptune staggers Dashed in the Moon’s face!—Calm me, gentle Luna, And silver me with kisses!
LUNA
(_Fleeing from his outstretched arms, but regarding him invitingly over her shoulder._)
Fie, you wine-skin! A hiccough’s not a tempest! Lo, I glide, Treading a myriad stars!
(_Neptune follows with a rolling gait._)
A SATYR
(_Looking after them as they disappear._)
Roll, eager Tide! Methinks ere long the wooing moon shall fall!
(_Those near laugh._)
FIRST SENATOR
(_To Second Senator._)
Was Nero acting, think you?
SECOND SENATOR
Not at all. ‘Twas staged, no doubt, but—
FIRST SENATOR
Softly, lest they hear!
SECOND SENATOR
The mimic is in mimicry sincere— The rôle absorbed the actor. So he wept.
(_They pass on, talking low._)
A PRAETORIAN OFFICER
(_To Psyche leaning on his arm._)
Was it a vision, Psyche? Have I slept? By the pink-nippled Cyprian, I swear Our Caesar knows a woman! Gods! That hair! Spun from the bowels of Ophir!
PSYCHE
Who’s so fair?
PRAETORIAN
Poppaea!
PSYCHE
She?—A Circe, queen of hogs! A cross-road Hecate, bayed at by the dogs! A morbid Itch—
PRAETORIAN
Sh!
PSYCHE
—strutting in a cloak Of what she has not, virtue!
PRAETORIAN
Ha! You joke! All cloaks are ruses, fashioned to reveal What all possess, pretending to conceal— Who’d love a Psyche else?
(_They pass on._)
IRIS
(_To a Satyr who supports her._)
A clever wile Her veil is! Ah, we women must beguile The stupid male by seeming to withhold What’s dross, displayed, but, guarded well, is gold! Faugh! Hunger sells it and the carter buys!
SATYR
Consume me with the lightning of her eyes! She’s Aphrodite!
IRIS
Helen!
SATYR
Helen, then! A peep behind that veil, and once again The sword-flung music of the fighting men, Voluptuous ruin and wild battle joy, The swooning ache and rapture that was Troy! Delirious doom!
IRIS
(_Laughing._)
O Sorcery of Night! We’re all one woman in the morning light!
SATYR
(_Laughing._)
You’re jealous!
IRIS
No, I rend the veil in twain!
(They mingle with the throng.)
SILENUS
(_To a Naval Officer._)
The wind veers and the moon seems on the wane! What bodes it—reinstatement for the Queen?
NAVAL OFFICER
No seaman knows the wind and moon you mean; Yet land were safer when those signs concur!
(_They pass on._)
MERCURY
(_To a Bacchante._)
‘Twould rouse compassion in a toad, and stir A wild boar’s heart with pity!
BACCHANTE
(_Placing a warning hand on his mouth._)
Hush! Beware!
MERCURY
Could you not feel the hidden gorgon stare The venom of her laughter dripping slow?
(_The musicians from within, having followed the departing throng from the banquet hall, and having stationed themselves on the steps, now strike up a wild Bacchic air._)
BACCHUS
(_Swinging into the dance._)
Bacchantes, wreathe the dance!
BACCHANTES
(_From various parts of the throng._)
Io, Bacche! Io!
(_Pirouetting to the music, they assemble, circling about Bacchus, joining hands and singing. When the song is finished, the circle breaks, the dancers wheel, facing outward. Bacchus endeavors to kiss a Bacchante who regards him with head thrown back. The dance music becomes more abandoned, and the Bacchante flees, pursued by Bacchus, who reels as he dances. All the other Bacchantes follow, weaving in and out between pursuer and pursued. The throng laughingly makes way for them. At length the pursued Bacchante flings off in a mad whirl toward the grove in the background, followed by Bacchus and the Bacchantes. Fauns and Satyrs now take up the dance and join in the pursuit. The throng follows eagerly, enjoying the spectacle. All disappear among the trees. Laughter in the distance, growing dimmer. The musicians withdraw into the villa and disappear, their music dying out. The lights go out in the banquet hall. The stage is now lit by the moon alone, save for the draughty lamps within the pillared hall._
_After a period of silence, re-enter Nero, walking backward from the direction of the sea toward which he gazes._)
NERO
Dimmer—dimmer—dimmer— A shadow melting in a moony shimmer Down the bleak seaways dwindling to that shore Where no heaved anchor drips forevermore Nor winds breathe music in the homing sail: But over sunless hill and fruitless vale, Gaunt spectres drag the age-long discontent And ponder what this brief, bright moment meant— The loving—and the dreaming—and the laughter. Ah, ships that vanish take what never after Returning ships may carry. Dawn shall flare, Make bloom the terraced gardens of the air For all the world but Lucius. He shall see The haunted hollow of Infinity Gray in the twilight of a heart’s eclipse. With our own wishes woven into whips The jealous gods chastise us!—I’m alone! About the transient brilliance of my throne The giddy moths flit briefly in the glow; But when at last that light shall flicker low, A taper guttering in a gust of doom, What hand shall grope for Nero’s in the gloom, What fond eyes shed the fellows of his tears? She bore her heart these many troublous years Before me, like a shield. And she is dead. Her hand ‘twas set the crown upon my head; Her heart’s blood dyed the kingly robe for me. Dank seaweed crowns her, and the bitter sea Enshrouds with realmless purple! Round and round, Swirled in the endless nightmare of the drowned, Her fond soul gropes for something vaguely dear That lures, eludes forever. Shapes that leer, Distorted Neros of a tortured sleep, Cry “_Mother, come to Baiae_.” Deep on deep The green death folds her and she can not come. Vague, gaping mouths that hunger and are dumb Mumble the tired heart so ripe with woe, Where night is but a black wind breathing low And daylight filters like a ghostly rain! _O Mother! Mother! Mother!_—
(_With arms extended, he stares seaward a moment, then covers his face, turns, and walks slowly toward entrance of villa._)
Vain, ‘tis vain! How shall one move an ocean with regret?
(_He has reached the steps and pauses._)
Ah, one hope lives in all this bleakness yet. Song!—Mighty Song the hurt of life assuages! This fateful night shall fill the vaulted ages With starry grief, and men unborn shall sing The mournful measure of the Ancient King! I’ll write an ode!
(_He stands for a moment, glorified with the thought._)
Great heart of Nero, strung Harplike, endure till this last song be sung, Then break—then break—
(_Turns and mounts the steps._)
Oh Fate, to be a bard! The way is hard, the way is very hard!
(_A dim outburst of laughter from the revellers in the distance._)
II
(_The same night. Nero’s private chamber in his villa at Baiae. Nero is discovered asleep in his state robes on a couch, where he has evidently thrown himself down, overcome by the stupor incident to the feast of the night. Beside the couch is a writing stand, bearing writing materials. A few lights burn dimly. Nero groans, cries out, and, as though terrified by a nightmare, sits up, trembling and staring upon some projected vision of his sleep. He is yet only half awake._)
NERO
Oh—oh—begone, blear thing!—She is not dead! You are not she—my mother!—Ghastly head— Trunkless—and oozing green gore like the sea, Wind-stabbed! Begone! Go—do not look at me— I will not be so tortured!—Eyes burned out With scorious hell-spew!—Locks that grope about To clutch and strangle!
(_He has got up from the couch and now struggles with something at his throat, still staring at the thing._)
Off! Off!
(_In an outburst of terrified tenderness extends his arms as toward a woman._)
Mother—mother—come Into these arms—speak to me—be not dumb! Stare not so wildly—kiss me as of old! Be flesh again—warm flesh! Oh green and cold As the deep grave they gave you! ‘Twas not I! Mother, ‘twas not my will that you should die— ‘Twas hers!—I hate her! Mother, pity me! Oh, is it you?—Sole goddess of the sea I shall proclaim you! Pity! I shall pour The hot blood of your foes on every shore, A huge libation! Hers shall be the first! I swear it! May my waking be accursed, My sleep a-swarm with furies if I err!
(_He has advanced a short distance toward what he sees, but now shrinks back burying his face in his robe._)
Go!—Spare me!—Guards! Guards!
(_Three soldiers, who have been standing guard without the chamber, rush in and stand at attention._)
Seize and shackle her! There ‘tis!—eh?
(_He stares blankly, rubs his eyes._)
It is gone!
(_Blinks at soldiers, and cries petulantly._)
What do you here?
FIRST SOLDIER
Great Caesar summoned us.
NERO
(_Glancing nervously about._)
The night is blear— Make lights! I will not have these shadow things Crawling about me! Poisoners of kings Fatten on shadows! Quick there, dog-eyed scamp, Lean offal-sniffer! Kindle every lamp!
(_Soldier tremblingly takes a lamp and lights a number of others with its flame. Stage is flooded with light._)
By the bronze beard I swear there shall be lights Enough hereafter, though I purge the nights With conflagrating cities, till the crash Of Rome’s last tower beat up the smouldering ash Of Rome’s last city! So—I breathe again! Some cunning, faceless god who hated men Devised this curse of darkness! What’s the hour?
SECOND SOLDIER
The third watch wanes.
NERO
Too late! Too late! The power Of Nero Caesar can not stay the sun! The stars have marched against me—it is done! And all Rome’s legions could not rout this swarm Of venom-footed moments! —She was warm One little lost eternity ago.
(_With awakening resolution._)
‘Twas not my deed! I did not wish it so! Some demon, aping Caesar, gave the word While Lucius Aenobarbus’ eyes were blurred With too much beauty! Oh, it shall be done! Ere these unmothered eyes behold the sun, She shall have vengeance, and that gift is mine!
(_To First Soldier._)
Rouse the Praetorians! Bid a triple line Be flung about the palace!
(_To Second Soldier._)
Send me wine— Strong wine to nerve a resolution!
(_To Third Soldier._)
You— Summon Poppaea!
(_The Soldiers go out._)
This deed I mean to do Unties the snarl, but broken is the thread. Would that the haughty blood these hands will shed Might warm my mother! that the breath I crush— So—(_clutching air_) from that throat of sorceries, might rush Into the breast that loved and nurtured me! The heart of Nero shivers in the sea, And Rome is lorn of pity! Could the world And all her crawling spawn this night be hurled Into one woman’s form, with eyes to shed Rivers of scalding woe, her towering head Jeweled with realms aflare, with locks of smoke, Huge nerves to suffer, and a neck to choke— That woman were Poppaea! I would rear About the timeless sea, my mother’s bier, A sky-roofed desolation groined with awe, Where, nightly drifting in the stream of law, The vestal stars should tend their fires, and weep To hear upon the melancholy deep That shipless wind, her ghost, amid the hush! Alas! I have but one white throat to crush With these world-hungry fingers!
(_From behind Nero, enter Page—a little boy—bearing a goblet of wine on a salver. Nero turns, startled._)
Ah!—You!—You!
PAGE
I bring wine, mighty Caesar.
(_Nero passes his hand across his face, and the expression of fright leaves._)
NERO
So you do— I saw—the boy Brittanicus!—One sees— _Things_—does one not?—such eerie nights as these?
PAGE
(_With eager boyish earnestness._)
With woozy heads?
NERO
(_Irritably._)
The wine!
(_The Page, startled, presents the salver, from which Nero takes the goblet with unsteady hand. Page is in the act of fleeing._)
Stay!
(_Page stops and turns tremblingly._)
Never dare Again to look like—anyone! Beware!
(_Page’s head shakes a timid negative. Nero stares into goblet and muses._)
Blood’s red too. Ah, a woman is the grape Ripe for the vintage, from whose flesh agape Glad feet tonight shall stamp the hated ooze! It boils!—See!—like some witch’s pot that brews Venomous ichor!—Nay—some angry ghost Hurls bloody breakers on a bleeding coast!— _’Tis poisoned!—Out, Locusta’s brat!_
(_Hurls goblet at Page, who flees precipitately._)
‘Twas she! The hand that flung my mother to the sea Now pours me death! Alas, great Hercules Too long has plied the distaff at the knees Of Omphale, spinning a thread of woe! Was ever king of story driven so By unrelenting Fate? Lo, round on round The slow coils grip and choke—a mother drowned, Her wrathful spirit rising from the dead— A gentle wife outcast, discredited, With sighs to wake the dread Eumenides! Some thunder-hearted, vaster Sophocles, His aeon-beating blood the stellar stream, Has flung on me the mantle of his dream, And Nero grapples Fate! O wondrous play! With smoking brand aloft, the haggard Day Gropes for the world! Pursued by subtle foes, Superbly tragic ‘mid a storm of woes, The fury-hunted Caesar takes the cue! One time-outstaring deed remains to do, Then let the pit howl—Caesar sings no more! Go ask the battered wreckage on the shore Who sought his mother in a sudden sleep, To be with her forever on the deep A twin ship-hating tempest!
(_Enter Anicetus excitedly._)
ANICETUS
Lost! We’re lost! The Roman ship yaws rock-ward tempest-tossed And Nero is but Lucius in the wreck!
NERO
Croak on! Each croak’s a dagger in that neck, You vulture with the hideous dripping beak, The clutching tearing talons that now reek With what dear sacred veins!
ANICETUS
O Caesar, hear! So keen the news I bear you, that I fear To loose it like the arrow it must be. I know not why such wrath you heap on me; I know what peril deepens ‘round my lord; How, riven by the lightning of the sword, The doom-voiced blackness labors round his head!
NERO
Say what I know, that my poor mother’s dead— So shall your life be briefer!
ANICETUS
Would ‘t were so!
NERO
(_A light coming into his face._)
She lives?
ANICETUS
Yea, lives—and lives to overthrow!
NERO
Not perished?
ANICETUS
—And her living is our death!
NERO
She moves and breathes?
ANICETUS
—And potent is her breath To blow rebellion up!
NERO
(_Rubbing his eyes._)
Still do I sleep? Is this a taunting dream that I may weep More bitterly? Or some new foul intrigue?
ANICETUS
‘Tis bitter fact to her who swam a league, And bitter fact to Nero shall it be! At Bauli now, still dripping from the sea, She crouches snarling!
NERO
(_In an outburst of joy._)
Oh, you shall not die, My best-loved Anicetus! Though you lie, Sweeter these words are than profoundest truth! They breathe the fresh, white morning of my youth Upon the lampless night that smothered me! O more than human Sea That spared my mother that her son might live! What bounty can I give? I—Caesar—falter beggared at this gift Of living words that lift My mother from the regions of the dead! Ah—I shall set a crown upon your head, Snip you a kingdom from Rome’s flowing robe! I’ll temple you in splendors! Yea, I’ll probe Your secret heart to know what wishes pant In wingless yearning there, that I may grant!
(_Pause, while Anicetus regards Nero with gloomy face._)
What sight thus makes your face a pool of gloom?
ANICETUS
The ghost of Nero crying from his tomb!
NERO
(_Startled._)
Eh?—Nero’s ghost—mine?
ANICETUS
Even so I said. The doomed to perish are already dead Who woo not Fate with swift unerring deeds! That breathless moment when the tigress bleeds Is ours to strike in, ere the tigress spring! What could it boot your servant to be king While any moment may the trumpets cry, Hailing the certain hour when we shall die— Caesar, the deaf, and his untrusted slave? Peer deep, peer deep into this yawning grave And tell me who shall fill it!—Wind and fire, Harnessed with thrice the ghost of her dead sire, Your mother is tonight! She knows, she knows How galleys founder when no tempest blows And moonlight slumbers on a glassy deep! The beast our wound has wakened shall not sleep Till it be gorged with slaughter, or be slain! Lull not your heart, O Caesar! It is vain To dream this cub-lorn tigress will not turn. Lo, flaring through the dawn I see her burn, A torch of revolution! Hear her raise The legions with a voice of other days, Worded with pangs to fret their ancient scars! And every sword-wound of her father’s wars Will shriek aloud with pity!
NERO
(_During Anicetus’ speech he has shown growing fear._)
Listen!—There! You heard it?—Did you hear a trumpet blare?
ANICETUS
‘Tis but the shadow of a sound to be One rushing hour away!
NERO
(_In panic._)
Where shall I flee?— I, the sad poet whom she made a king! At last we flesh the ghost of what we sing— We bards!—I sang Orestes.
(_His face softens with a gentler thought._)
Ah—I’ll go To my poor heartsick mother. Tears shall flow, The tears of Lucius, not imperial tears. I’ll heap on her the vast, too vast arrears Of filial love. The Senate shall proclaim My mother regnant with me—write her name Beside Augustus with the demigods! Yea, lictors shall attend her with the rods, And massed Praetorians tramp the rabble down Whene’er her chariot flashes through the town! One should be kind to mothers.
ANICETUS
Yea, and be Kind to the senseless fury of the sea, Fondle the tempest in a rotten boat!
NERO
What would you, Anicetus?
ANICETUS
Cut her throat!
(_Nero gasps and shrinks from Anicetus._)
NERO
No, no!—her ghost!—one can not stab so deep— One can not kill these tortures spawned of sleep! No, no—one can not kill them with a sword!
ANICETUS
Faugh! One good thrust—the rest is air, my lord!
(_Enter Page timorously. Nero turns upon him._)
PAGE
(_Frightened._)
Spare me, good Caesar!—Agerinus—
NERO
Go! Bid Agerinus enter!
(_Page flees. Nero to Anicetus menacingly._)
We shall know What breath from what damned throat tonight shall hiss!
(_Enter Agerinus, bowing low._)
AGERINUS
My mistress sends fond greetings and a kiss To her most noble son, and bids me say, She rests and would not see him until day. The royal galley, through unhappy chance, Struck rock and foundered; but no circumstance So meagre might deprive a son so dear Of his beloved mother! Have no fear, The long swim leaves her weary, but quite well. She knows what tender love her son would tell And yearns for dawn to bring him to her side.
NERO
(_To Anicetus._)
So! Spell your doom from that! You lied! You lied! I’ll lance that hateful fester in your throat! Yea, we shall prove who rides the rotten boat And supplicates the tempest!
(_With a rapid motion, Nero draws Agerinus’ sword from its sheath. Anicetus shrinks back. Nero cries to Agerinus._)
Wait to see The loving message you bear back from me!
(_Nero brandishing the sword, makes at Anicetus. As he is about to deliver the stroke, enter Poppaea from behind. She has evidently been quite leisurely about her toilet, being dressed gorgeously; and wearing her accustomed half-veil. Her manner is stately and composed. She approaches slowly. Nero stops suddenly in the act to strike Anicetus, and stares upon the beautiful apparition. Anger leaves his face, which changes as though he had seen a great light._)
POPPAEA
(_Languidly._)
My Nero longed for me?
(_Nero with his free hand brushes his eyes in perplexity._)
NERO
I—can not—tell— What—‘twas—I wished—I wished—
POPPAEA
(_Haughtily._)
Ah, very well.
(_She walks slowly on across the stage. Nero stares blankly after her. The sword drops from his hand. As Poppaea disappears, he rouses suddenly as from a stupor._)
NERO
Ho! Guards!
(_Three soldiers enter. Nero points to Agerinus._)
There—seize that wretch who came to kill Imperial Caesar!
(_Agerinus is seized. Nero turns to Anicetus._)
Hasten! Do your will!
(_Nero turns, and with an eager expression on his face, goes doddering after Poppaea._)
III
(_The same night. Agrippina’s private chamber in her villa at Bauli near Baiae. There is one lamp in the room. At the center back is a broad door closed with heavy hangings. At the right is an open window through which the moonlight falls. Agrippina is discovered lying on a couch. One maid, Nina, is in attendance and is arranging Agrippina’s hair._)
AGRIPPINA
He was so tender—what should kindness mean?
(_The maid seems not to hear._)
I spoke!—you heard me speak?
NINA
I heard, my Queen.
AGRIPPINA
And deemed my voice some ghostly summer wind Fit for autumnal hushes? He was kind! Was ever breath in utterance better spent?
NINA
Your slave could scarcely fancy whom you meant, There are so many tender to the great.
AGRIPPINA
When all the world is one sky-circled state, Pray, who shall fill it as the sun the sky? The mother of that mighty one am I— And he caressed me! I shall feel no pain Forever now. So, drenched with winter rain, The friendless marshland knows the boyish South And shivers into color! On the mouth He kissed me, as before that other came— That Helen of the stews, that corpse aflame With lust for life, that— Ah, he maidened me! What dying wind could sway so tall a tree With such proud music? I shall be again That darkling whirlwind down the fields of men, That dart unloosed, barbed keenly for his sake, That living sword for him to wield or break, But never sheathe!
(_Lifts herself on elbow._)
O Nina, let me be Robed as the Queen I am in verity! Robed as a victrix home from splendid wars, Whom, ‘mid the rumble of spoil-laden cars Trundled by harnessed kings, the trumpets hail! Let quiet garments be for those who fail, Mourning a world ill-lost with meek surrenders! I would flare bright ‘mid Death’s unhuman splendors, Dazzle the moony hollows of the dead! Ah no—
(_Arising and going to window._)
I shall not die yet.
(_Parts the curtains and gazes out._)
NINA