University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

Scene as in the First Act.
Enter Glabrio from the back (R.), with Lycisca, who has a chaplet of roses in her hair, several chaplets on her arm, and a basket of flowers in her hand.
Glab.
Not to the Forum, no! You're to come here;
I want you here.

Lyc.
And shall I learn at last,
Why you make me, who, scarce arrived in Rome,
At once betook me to my trade, and had
Buyers like bees come swarming round me, why
You make me leave the cheery market-place,
And come on here to this dark dismal house?

Glab.
Why, quotha? Why? Because I am dead beat,
Too tired to stir a finger, that's a fact,
With laying roundly on these rascals' backs;
Because 'tis you must bring the knaves to reason,
And smooth them down!

Lyc.
(sets down her basket, and throws the chaplets upon it).
Why, what has happened, eh?

Glab.
Fighting has happened! all because of you,
Between Thumelicus and Këyx.

Lyc.
Fools!

Glab.
And then the lad Thumelicus, he found
His mother here, a German woman, whom
Rome keeps in prison here! Now, as this woman
Is, as her husband was, of princely birth—

Lyc.
Is't possible? Why then Thumelicus should be
A prince as well! And we, we ventured, we,
To be upon such easy terms with him!
His ancestors will not half like it, will they?

Glab.
Oh, 'tis a great mischance! Just what you said,
The rest of my young fellows also said;
“My prince! my king!” was everywhere the cry;
With here and there a “Savage!” “German Bear!”
And every one was ready with his joke!

Lyc.
And he?

Glab.
Struck with his fists all round about,
And as the rest would pay him off in kind,
Out with the whip's the word! and, as I said,
I've trounced the knaves till I am fairly beat.
Therefore I sent for you to quiet them,
And bring my lads into right trim again;
The fight comes off to-morrow, and, you know,
Fretting before a fight will never do.
Moreover, Cæsar picked Thumelicus
Out from the rest at the parade to-day,
And bade me bear in mind the lad should prove
His pluck and training in to-morrow's show.

Lyc.
A bootless hint, methinks! He's up in all
The school can teach, and valiant as a lion.

Glab.
School-teaching, pah! The arena's sand is hot,
And he who for the first time fights with bare
Cold steel instead of the school's sword of wood,
Who sees himself set face to face before
Such an antagonist as Diodorus—

Lyc.
Not, sure, the Cappadocian Diodorus,
“The Son of Victory,” as they call him here,
For that Colossus ne'er has met his match.

Glab.
That's why they chose him for antagonist!

Lyc.
Then has the Cæsar sworn he is to die;
Need must that he should fall!

Glab.
What nonsense, girl!
No one can ever tell who is to fall.
And if the lad but step into the lists
As cool and plucky as has been his wont,
Who knows to which side victory may incline?
So set his mad head straight upon his shoulders,
Smooth down the wrath-swollen veins upon his brow,
That rage and hatred draw no blinding veil
Across his eyes to-morrow; make him laugh,
Caress him—

Lyc.
No, I must provoke him first
To vent his fury all on me, and then
He'll do from sheer remorse whate'er I wish!

Glab.
Good, good, I will not cobble at thy craft;
But tell him,—for he dearly loves display—
That he shall fight in the arena, armed
In German fashion.

Lyc.
Shall he?

Glab.
Not a word
Of Diodorus! Speak of Këyx, rather,
As chosen out for his antagonist.

Lyc.
And how if Diodorus kill him, eh?

Glab.
Why, who can tell? Confound him! Though he did—

Lyc.
Ay, ay! He is a gladiator! Meant
In shame to die, as I in shame to live!
What matter we, if only Rome's amused?

Glab.
What nonsense you do talk! Are you gone mad?
No feeling, mind—no pity, no emotion,
Unless you wish to taste this whip of mine!
Think, girl, of gold and gain, and your own good—
All else is stuff, not worth a moment's thought!
But hush, he comes! And see, how red he looks,
How out of sorts, and clean distraught with rage!
By all the gods, did ever lad look thus,
Who had to fight next day before the Cæsar?
To work, then, girl! Take him in hand, use all
Your skill! Meanwhile, 'tis best I step aside!

(Exit up the stage, L., as Thumelicus comes down from the back, R.)
Thum.
(who has not noticed Glabrio and Lycisca, advances).
Plague on my fate! I had to do without
A mother when as child I needed her,
And find her now, when I could do without her!
By blood I am a prince of high degree,
A prince, without a rap! And all the fruit,
I gather from the news of my descent,
Is that the mongrel scum here rail at me
As Bear-Prince, Beggar-King! But wait a bit;
I've scored it up, and they shall pay for it!

Lyc.
(dropping her basket and wreaths as if by accident).
Oh dear, my flowers!

Thum.
How! You here in Rome,
Lycisca! Can it be?

Lyc.
(kneeling and picking up her flowers).
And is that all?
You here in Rome! and never budge an inch
To help me with my flowers?

Thum.
Flowers? How!
You have already stocked your shop with wares,
And ply, though scarce arrived, to make me wild,
The old disgusting business?

Lyc.
How! disgusting?
Are my poor flowers disgusting? Just look here,
These lovely roses, these anemones.

Thum.
Away! Is this a market-place for flowers?
Be off, I say! Seek purchasers elsewhere!

Lyc.
(who meanwhile has refilled her basket, and laid the wreaths upon it).
And so I will, you ill-conditioned churl,
Evermore scolding, finding fault! The Consular
I met just now, was more polite a deal;
A man well up in years, grey hairs, and yet
He smiled and patted me upon the cheeks,
And threw this tablet here into my basket.
(Hands him the tablet.)
Just look there, read! you can't, though, by the by!

Thum.
Might if I liked, but won't!

Lyc.
Well, listen, then!
“Thou with the beautiful roses, what sellest thou, roseate maiden?
Roses? Or is it thyself? Or both together? Confess!”

Thum.
And that you call polite? By all the gods,
Then are the lashes of a whip polite!

Lyc.
You naughty one, be good! 'Twas all a jest!
Come, you wild creature, let us make it up.
What's the old man to us? Look at me straight,
And smile! You won't? Oh, what's that dangling from
Your girdle there? What can you want with such
A butcher's knife?

Thum.
That's no affair of yours!

Lyc.
Do tell me what it is—

Thum.
My father's sword.

Lyc.
Your father's sword? Who was your father, then?

Thum.
He was a German prince, his name Arminius,
And smote the Romans in—what was the name
My mother gave't?—the Teutoburger Forest!

Lyc.
German! The word is hideous to the ears!
A German prince! Then you too are, no doubt,
A German prince, just as your father was?

Thum.
What! Will you also mock me, like the rest?
As a Wild Man and Bearskin rail at me?
You dare, you jade, you?

Lyc.
Oh ye righteous gods!
I rail at you? Not I! I mock you? No!
Not I indeed! Ah, how you frighten me!
I'm all a-tremble! Why make such a fuss
About a heedless word? For my part, I
Would rather not be German, I confess.
'Tis but at best—

Thum.
A bit of ill-luck? that
Is what you think? Well, on the market-place
To post one's self for show, tricked out, like you,
To titter, ogle right and left, to sell
Vile favours for vile gold, that surely is
More than a bit of mere ill-luck, 'tis shame
As well!

Lyc.
Oh excellent! This is my thanks
For coming from Ravenna after you—
For stealing to you from the market-place—
I could not get to see you soon enough—
And therefore—

Thum.
Peace! No whimpering!

Lyc.
Yes! Despise,
Abuse, and scold me!—Oh, it serves me right!
Fool that I am, why am I fond of you,
And cannot bear you should—

Thum.
There, there, don't weep!
It makes me furious, to see you weep!
Come now, dry up your eyes! My mother's talk,
My comrades' gibes, the sneers of Këyx had
Set all the blood a-boiling in my veins,
And now you come to—

Lyc.
I? By all the gods,
To me 'twas glorious, that a German prince,
For such you are, should fight to-morrow, armed
In German fashion, in the Circus—

Thum.
I?
I? Armed in German fashion, in the Circus—

Lyc.
A casque with vulture's pinions—think of that!—
A bearskin on your shoulders, and your shield
Studded with bosses!—How! this fires you not!
You're not delighted! Time was, you were fond
Of fine array, and foreign armour, now—

Thum.
No, no, I tell you, no! I will not fight
In German armour!

Lyc.
Have you lost your wits?
Or has your mother put you out of heart?

Thum.
My mother? Pshaw! She does not even know—

Lyc.
Not know, that you're a gladiator? You
Have kept it dark from her, have never said—

Thum.
She never asked, and what was I to say?

Lyc.
What then, by all the gods, should keep you back?—

Thum.
I will not fight in a bear's garb; I won't
Be made the laughing-stock, the scoff, the jeer
Of yonder scum—

Lyc.
How? Frightened they will scoff
And jeer at you? And just then I was glad,
That now it was your turn to scoff at them,
Chastise them, too—

Thum.
Chastise them? How, wench, how?
With what? Speak, speak!

Lyc.
You still can ask, with what?
If you, whose German lineage they made light of,
You they dubb'd Bearskin, Savage, if you now,
As if in sheer defiance of their gibes,
Show in the lists to-morrow as a German,
And if you win,—and win you surely must—

Thum.
Ha! as a German conquer them! I see!

Lyc.
If Këyx, chosen for your antagonist—

Thum.
Këyx, you say?

Lyc.
If that insulting braggart,
Torn by the strong claws of the German bear,
Lies bleeding in the dust beneath your feet,
Is that not chastisement, that not revenge?

Thum.
Këyx, picked out as my antagonist!
Oh that I had him here, that eye to eye
I had him now before me! From his jaws
That I might tear out his blaspheming tongue!
Oh that it were to-morrow!

Lyc.
You will fight, then?
Seriously now, you will?

Thum.
Wither this hand,
If 'tis not bathed in Këyx's blood to-morrow!

Lyc.
You shrink no longer from the German garb?

Thum.
In a fool's jacket I'd array myself,
So I might strike this villain Këyx dead!

Lyc.
Ha! your eye kindles, and your cheek's on fire!
Look, now you please me, now are once more
My own dear handsome gladiator,—yes—
And therefore you shall—No! not just quite yet—
Not till this evening, when I come again,
And if you're brisk and all alive, as now—
Then I'll repay you with a little kiss!

Thum.
(catching her as she tries to step away.)
And why not now? Oh, let me have it now!

Lyc.
(slipping from his grasp).
No! Loose me! Go!

Thum.
(running after her).
You shall, you must!

Lyc.
No, no!
Not till this evening!

Thum.
(embracing her).
No, no, now!

Enter Thusnelda by a side-door, R.
Thusn.
My son!

(Thumelicus takes his arms from Lycisca.)
Thusn.
Who is that woman, boy?

Lyc.
(to Thumelicus).
Is this thy mother?

Thusn.
And thou, who art thou? Speak!

Lyc.
(who has replaced her wreaths upon her arm, and caught up her basket).
Why, like thyself,
A woman, only younger by a trifle,
Not high-born, but good-looking, lively, too;
No princess truly, but a Roman; I
Am like the roses 'tis my trade to sell—
I have a bloom, and prickles, too, at need;
Now, German princess, art content?
(Throwing Thumelicus a kiss.)
To-night!

(Exit up L.)
Thusn.
I know, my son, misfortune to base souls
Is but a mark for scoffing and for scorn;
Nor do I marvel that this creature, like
Her fellows, was most insolent and rude;
I marvel thou canst find her worthy thee,
And that thy love—attempt not to gainsay it—
Thou lovest her—

Thum.
I? Well, yes! I like the girl.
She's pretty, very pretty, and beguiles
The dull hours—

Thusn.
Do I hear aright? She is
Merely the plaything of thy idle hours?
Thou lovest her not, scarce feel'st respect for her?
In Germany, my son, they honour woman;
In each and all the rudest warriors prize
The mother who has borne them on her breast,
And in full faith expect prophetic words
From bashful maids' undesecrated lips!

Thum.
Oh yes, in Germany, but we're in Rome.

Thusn.
We are indeed, and there have been too long!—
Enough! As I have hitherto lived on
But for the joy of having you once more,
Turn we our thoughts to things of grave account!
For a great future lies before you now,
And on thy head, my son, and in thy hands
Have destinies been laid will shake the world!

Thum.
Again you speak what I don't understand!

Thusn.
In time thou wilt. At present only this!
What thou wert born, being Arminius' son,
Sigmar, thou knowest; now I fain would learn,
What, from my care estranged, thou hast become,
Whilst tended by my foes?

Thum.
What I've become?
Tall, as you see, and strong in wind and limb!

Thusn.
Thanks to the gods, that they have lent thee strength,
A man's best heritage! But tell me, how
And to what uses Rome has trained thy strength?
To menial service? To the plough, perhaps?
Or in some workshop did she place thee, there
To learn some mean degrading handicraft?

Thum.
I never fingered tool except the sword;
To handle arms, that is the craft I learned!

Thusn.
They trained thee as a warrior? They! In this
I see your guiding hand, ye mighty gods!
You blind the man you purpose to destroy;
You do not strike him down, you do but strew
A pebble in his path, you let him slip,
Then stumbling, by his own weight overborne,
Down, down he rolls amain to the abyss
Himself has cleft, anon to close him in!
Now they are ours! Thanks, thanks, ye mighty gods!
Themselves they tied the scourge upon their backs,
Themselves they for their bosoms bared the knife;
No longer you uphold them, they are lost.

Enter Flavius Arminius (L. centre).
Fla.
Thusnelda!

Thusn.
(shuddering).
Woe is me!

Thum.
What is the matter?

Thusn.
Did you not hear the voice that called my name?
But once I've heard that voice, and never, never,
Can I forget its deep-detested tones!

Fla.
(advances).
Thusnelda, hear me!

Thusn.
(turning slowly round to him).
It is he! 'Tis no
Delusion! Yes, 'tis he! What wouldst with me,
Thou traitor, recreant to thy native land,
Shame of a noble stock, unworthy, base—
Thou in whose name Germania and Rome,
Treason and loyalty, slavery and freedom,
Combine and clash in discord most abhorred,—
What wouldst thou, Flavius Arminius? Speak!

Fla.
I know my presence is unwelcome here!
When years ago to thee, my brother's wife,
On this same spot I offered kindly aid,
In wrath thou didst command me to be gone,
Didst curse me—

Thusn.
Did to thee what thou hadst done
To my Arminius! As on Weser's strand,
Treating his noble earnest words with scorn,
Thou at thy brother's breast did launch thy spear,
So after thee I hurled my curse, and flung
All my abhorrence at thy feet! Begone!
I cried, and go thou didst. Why here again?

Fla.
Not he, who then went from thee wild with rage—
I come again, an older, gentler man,
And I had hoped to find thee gentler too,
More just, more moderate,—not to the grave
Alone more near, but to right views as well.
For 'twas no wish of mine that parted us
Two brothers; no, the stream of destiny
Swept him away, and me it landed here!
And could his spirit now, from yonder heights,
Where truth abides and peace, descend to us,
And I, reposing perfect trust in thee,
Drew nigh to him, appeased as now he is—

Thusn.
Thou liest! Thou wouldst tremble and grow pale
Before his gaze, and hide thy face in fear
Before his light-illumined lineaments;
Dost doubt me—
(Pointing to Thumelicus, who has meanwhile been standing apart.)
Look! Here is Arminius!
Now look into his eyes, if look thou dare!

Fla.
(covering his face with his hands).
Arminius! Ye eternal gods!

Thum.
Look! Mother, what's
This all about? I'm sorry for the man!

Thusn.
Be loving as the sun to all men, show
Pity to the wild beast thou hast struck down,
The foe that's at thy feet; but to the traitor
No pity, none, but hate, remorseless hate!

Fla.
Well, then, as thou art unappeasable—

Thusn.
Yes, so I am, I am, and until death
Will to the vile be unappeasable!

Fla.
Then expiation, shame, and penitence
Be henceforth banished from my soul! Away!
You will not have my love, then have my hate!
Learn, then, the orders that the Cæsar sends!
To-morrow, in the Circus, 'tis his wish,
In princely robes, the oak-wreath in your hair,
That you be present at the games, which he
Has promised there—

Thusn.
I? I? In princely robes?
I, in the Circus? Is this jest? Or do
Thy words conceal some darker deadlier meaning?

Fla.
Segest's proud daughter is brought low at last!
Now learn this also;—'tis the Cæsar's will,
This youngster here, thy son, to-morrow should
For the first time and in thy presence show
His skill to Rome, and to her Emperor.

Thusn.
How! Show his skill? His skill? What skill? You smile.
Speak, man of half-suggested words, what is
This threatened mischief? Speak it plainly out!

Fla.
Thou know'st not then that Rome has spared thy son,
As hundreds have been spared, only to make
His wounds and gashes and his streaming blood
A pastime for the populace of Rome?
Dost thou not know they learn to fight and slay
By rule, and make a business of their art,
And are named gladiators after it?
Dost know them not? Well (pointing to Thumelicus)
, see one here, who has
To fight to-morrow, and before thy face,
In German garb and arms, for death or life!

Thusn.
For death or life! And in the German garb!
Sigmar, I don't believe him! Speak to me!
Art thou what this man says? Speak! Art thou? Speak!

Thum.
The man speaks truth! I am a gladiator!

Thusn.
A gladiator—thou?

Thum.
That's what I am! I fight
Both in the chariot and on horseback, and
Can hold my own with sickle or with net.
Ay, that I can! You just ask Glabrio!

Thusn.
Arminius' son! (hides her face in her hands; after a pause advances towards Flavius.)

Thus then it is! Thou wilt
Not merely butcher in his mother's sight
Thusnelda's and Arminius' son, but you
Will robe him first,—base plotters as you are,—
In German garb and German arms withal,
That so you may to murder add disgrace,
And, in dishonouring Arminius' line,
Dishonour Germany, from which he sprang!
This you are bent to do, but do shall not.
The gods have set a different goal for us!
Let Cæsar order, threaten as he will,
For us a greater destiny's reserved,
And brighter, nobler far, our end shall be!

Fla.
Woman, thou'rt crazed! When Cæsar gives command,
Who's he will venture to gainsay him?

Thusn.
I!
Go tell thy lord, Thusnelda never shall,
Robed for a holiday, go forth to see
Her child's dishonour and her country's shame!
And never shall this youth, Arminius' son,
Equipped, in mockery, with his father's arms,
Do battle in the Circus for his life!
Never, I tell thee, never! He is my son,
And shall not fight—

Thum.
How! I not fight! Not fight!
Wilt drive me frantic?

Thusn.
Oh ye eternal gods!

Thum.
I not to fight, when Cæsar in his grace
Has given me Këyx for my antagonist?
Not fight? I craven-like to skulk at home,
Whilst my companions in the Circus give
The death-salute triumphantly to Cæsar?
Shall Këyx, Këyx point at me in scorn,
And flout me as a faintheart and poltroon?
Not fight, not fight, indeed? I'd sooner die!

Fla.
(aside).
Oh happy youth! He does not feel his shame!

Thusn.
Sigmar,
'Tis meet that men be brave, and thou art brave,
And thou shalt prove thy valour too, I vow,
On this proud Rome, right gloriously and soon;
Only not now; thou shalt not waste thy strength
And bravery on base juggling shows like these!

Thum.
What names are these? Base juggling shows, ye gods!
When Rome puts on her festal bravery—
When Cæsar, Senate, all the Roman knights,
In solemn order to the Circus wend,
Within whose vast expanse a surging sea
Of forms and voices has since sunrise roared—
When now at Cæsar's nod the lists are flung
Wide open to the combatants, and straight
A silence deep as death itself succeeds;
And now the signal shrills, the blows fall thick—
One presses on, the other with a jerk
Clips his opponent's helmet in his net,
Who struggles free, and is enmeshed again—
Then striking now, now stricken, bleeds and reels,
And striking bares his bosom to the foe,
Receives his stroke, and makes an end; and when,
As suddenly as bursts a storm-charged cloud,
Cheers, pealing thunder, shaking all the earth,
Re-echo round the victor's giddy head,
And here rain roses down, and laurels there—
The Cæsar nods applause, and “Victor, hail!”
Rings from a thousand tongues through all the air!
This nothing but a base, a juggling show?
'Tis victory, ay, victory, glory, life!

Thusn.
Thou dream'st of victory, deluded boy;
Thou dost not see, to kill thee is their aim,
To avenge the father's triumph on the son.
And thou—thou couldst—

Thum.
I am resolved to fight!

Thusn.
And Germany, which thou dost load with shame,
Thy father's name, which thou dost desecrate—
Thy mother's hopes, which thou dost turn to tears,—
Are these all nought? Art thou a gladiator,
Because Rome called thee such, as such has trained thee?
Thou art Arminius' son, thou art a German,
And thou art ours!

Thum.
What's German, Roman? Pshaw!
I am a gladiator; fighting is
My trade; and if on Germany's account
Thou art ashamed of my vocation, know,
No less blush I to bear a German name,
To be a mere barbarian; there! know that!
And here I now, once and for all, renounce
The name and kinship of my German race!
In Rome, Rome I was born, Rome brought me up;
I am—

Thusn.
No more, unhappy boy, no more!

Thum.
I am a Roman, Roman will remain!
And therefore get thee hence, and tell thy lord,
Thou Cæsar's messenger, that I will fight
To-morrow in the Circus, as he bids—
To conquer, if the gods vouchsafe success;
To fall, if on my head their doom has passed!

(Exit.)
Fla.
(after a pause, to Thusnelda, who stands with her face hidden in her hands).
Thusnelda, though your hoarded rage at me
Lives onward unappeased within your heart,
From mine all wrath has vanished from this hour!
Speak of me as thou wilt, I will not blame thee;
Plan what thou wilt, I will not stay thy hands;
Farewell! Though hardly thou hast dealt with me,
Distracted mother-heart, I pardon thee!

(Exit up the stage, through the principal entrance, L.)
Thusn.
I knew it well! Shame is the fruit of weakness.
I should have died! If now my son will turn,
Renouncing his own people, to our foes,
And recklessly disgrace his father's name,
Mine is the guilt! Yet have no fear, Arminius,
Upon thy name disgrace shall never fall;
Not thus, not thus thy son shall make an end!

(As she turns to retire, the curtain falls.)