Part 3

‘Tis the dread Still clinging from the clutches of the sea, That living, writhing horror! Ugh! O’er me Almost I feel the liquid terror crawl! Through glassy worlds of tortured sleep to fall, Where winds blow not, nor mornings ever blush, But green, cold, ghastly light-wraiths wander—

AGRIPPINA

(_Turning from window with nervous anger._)

Hush!

(_Turns again to window; after pause, continues musingly._)

She battles in a surf of spectral fire. No—like some queen upon a funeral pyre, Gasping, she withers in a fever swoon. Had she a son too?

NINA

(_Approaching the window._)

Who, O Queen?

AGRIPPINA

The moon! See, she is strangled in a noose of pearl! What tell-tale scars she has! —Look yonder, girl— Your eyes are younger—by the winding sea Where Baiae glooms and blanches; it may be Old eyes betray not, but some horsemen take The white road winding hither by the lake.

NINA

The way lies plain—I see no moving thing.

AGRIPPINA

Why thus is Agerinus loitering? For he was ever true.

(_Joyously._)

Ah foolish head! My heart knows how my son shall come instead, My little Lucius! Even now he leaps Into the saddle and the dull way creeps Beneath the spurred impatience of his horse, He longs so for me!

(_Pause—She scans the moonlit country._)

Shrouded like a corse, Hoarding a mother’s secret, lies the sea; And Capri, like a giant Niobe, Outgazes Fate! O sweet, too gentle lies And kisses sword-like! Would the sun might rise No more on Baiae! Would that earth might burst Spewing blear doom upon this world accursed With truth too big for hiding! See! He sleeps Beside her, and the shame-dimmed lamp-light creeps Across her wine-stained mouth—so red—so red— Like mother blood!—See! hissing round her head Foul hate-fanged vipers that he calls her hair! Ah no—beyond all speaking is she fair! Sweet as a sword-wound in a gasping foe Her mouth is; and too well, too well I know Her face is dazzling as a funeral flame Battened on queen’s flesh!

(_Turning angrily from window._)

Oh the blatant shame! The bungling drunkard’s plot!—Tonight, tonight I shall swoop down upon them by the light Of naked steel! Faugh! Had it come to that? Had Rome no sword, that like a drowning rat The mother of a king should meet her end? What Gallic legion would not call me friend? Did they not love Germanicus, my sire? Oh, I will rouse the cohorts, scattering fire Till all Rome blaze rebellion!

(_She has advanced to a place beside the couch, stands in a defiant attitude for a moment, then covers her face with her hands and sinks to the couch._)

No, no, no— It could not be, I would not have it so! Not mine to burn the tower my hands have built! And somewhere ‘mid the shadows of his guilt My son is good.

(_Lifts herself on elbow._)

Look, Nina, toward the roofs Of sleeping Baiae. Say that eager hoofs Beat a white dust-cloud moonward.

(_Nina goes to window and peers out._)

NINA

Landward crawls A sea fog; Capri’s league-long shadow sprawls Lengthening toward us—soon the moon will set.

AGRIPPINA

No horsemen?

NINA

None, my Queen.

AGRIPPINA

—And yet—and yet— He called me baby names. Ah, ghosts that wept Big tears down smiling faces, twined and crept About my heart, and still I feel their tears. They make me joyous.—After all these years, The little boy my heart so often dirged Shivered the man-husk, beardless, and emerged! He kissed my breasts and hung upon my going! Once more I felt the happy nurture flowing, The silvery, tingling shivers of delight! What though my end had come indeed tonight— I was a mother! —Have you children?

NINA

No, My Queen.

AGRIPPINA

Yet you are winsome.

NINA

Lovers go Like wind, as lovers come; I am unwed.

AGRIPPINA

How lonely shall you be among the dead Where hearts remember, but are lorn of hope! Poor girl! No dream of tiny hands that grope, And coaxing, hunting little mouths shall throw Brief glories ‘round you! Nina, I would go Like any brazen bawd along the street, Hailing the first stout carter I should meet, Ere I would perish childless! Though we nurse The cooing thing that some day hurls the curse, Forge from our hearts the matricidal sword, The act of loving is its own reward. We mothers need no pity! ‘Twill be said, When this brief war is done, and I am dead, That I was wanton, shameless—be it so! Unto the swarm of insect scribes I throw The puffed-up purple carcass of my name For them to feast on! Pointed keen with shame, How shall each busy little stylus bite A thing that feels not! I have fought my fight! That mine were but the weapons of the foe, Too well the ragged scars I bear can show. Oh, I have triumphed, and am ripe to die! About my going shall the trumpets cry Forever and forever! I can thread The twilit under-regions of the dead A radiant shadow with a heart that sings! Before the myriad mothers of great kings I shall lift up each livid spirit hand Spotted with blood—and they shall understand How small the price was!

NINA

Hark!

(_The tramp of soldiery and the clatter of arms are heard from without. Nina, panic-stricken, runs to window, peers out, shrinks back, and, turning, flees by a side door._)

AGRIPPINA

Why do you flee? Did I not say my son would come to me? ‘Tis Nero—Nero Caesar, Lord of Rome! My little boy grown tall is coming home!

(_She goes to window, peers out, shrinks back, then turns toward the door and sees three armed men standing there—Anicetus, the Captain of a Galley and a Centurion of the Navy. The men stare at her without moving._)

Why come you here?

(_Silence._)

To know my health?—Go tell My son, your master, I am very well— And happy—

(_The men make no reply. Agrippina straightens her body haughtily._)

—If like cowards in the night You come to stab a woman—

ANICETUS

(_Drawing his sword and speaking to Captain._)

Snuff the light!

(_The men spring forward with drawn swords. Agrippina does not move. The light is stricken out._)

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES

1. Added missing period to many stage directions to conform with majority practice in book. 2. Changed 'faneless' to 'faceless' on p. 54. 3. Silently corrected typographical errors. 4. Retained anachronistic and non-standard spellings as printed. 5. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.