University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

Scene same as in previous Act. In the foreground, R., a couch, with the head of it so placed that any one lying on it looks towards the back of the stage; over the lower end of it a green coverlet has been thrown, and a pole fixed, upon which a kind of trophy, composed of various pieces of armour, a helmet with vulture's wings, a shield decorated with bosses, a short sword, and a bearskin, are being arranged by slaves under Glabrio's direction.
Glabrio.
Set up the helmet here above the shield!
Now here the sword! That's right! quite right! And now
We're ready! So be off, and, look you, see
That all's kept quiet, that no sudden noise
Can find its way into the chamber here,
To scare him from the sleep he needs so much!
These are your orders, so away and mind them!
(As the slaves retire, contemplating the trophy.)
'Faith, a fine suit of arms! Clumsy a bit,
No doubt, and heavy, showy though, and quaint,
Just what your young fools like! I'm pretty sure,
They'll please his fancy: but time's running on,
The hour appointed for the games is near!
Where is the youngster loitering?
(Sees Lycisca, who enters from the side-door, L.)
Here she comes,
My purple rose-bud! Well, how goes it on?
What, since I left him, has he been about?

Lyc.
He had a bath, then breakfasted—

Glab.
And now?

Lyc.
Anoints himself, and puts his hair all straight.

Glab.
But what condition is he in? I mean,
How does he look and talk and bear himself?

Lyc.
Oh, brisk, as he were going to a dance!

Glab.
A fine young fellow that! In very sooth,
It almost makes me sad—

Lyc.
That Diodorus
Is chosen for his antagonist? Does that
Still hold?

Glab.
It does! and Diodorus has
His orders not to spare him.

Lyc.
Then his death
Is certain, eh?

Glab.
His death? Why, who knows that?

Lyc.
You know it well!

Glab.
Tush, child! don't fret.

Lyc.
Me fret!
Alas! I feel that I should envy him!

Glab.
What's this, wench? Envy him! What nonsense! Yet
You look quite pale; you're feverish, you are ill—

Lyc.
In truth, I know not what's come over me!
It very often happens with me, that
I tumble from a state of mad delight
Heels over head into the deadliest dumps,
And hug to-day what yesterday I spurned.
Mere idle fancies!

Glab.
Ay, wench, nothing more!
Begot of stagnant blood and heated liver!
I'll send for Simon, the old Jew, and he
Will put you straight! But see, here comes the lad!
So, then, be off; he must not meet you now!
You're out of sorts, and seeing you might damp
His spirits! Go, child, to the market-place,
And there see to your flowers!

Lyc.
See to my flowers!
You're right! What boots to swim, no shore in view?
No, better sink, and in the whelming flood
Find quiet and a long forgetfulness!

(Exit up the stage, L.)
Glab.
What's in the wench's head! Is her heart touched
By the young fellow really? Pah! she has
No heart! Yet what else can it be? Humph! What
But silly youth that, overjoyed for nought,
Frets for mere nought, and is with nought appeased?
She'll be herself again ere eventide!

Enter Thumelicus from the side-door, L., in a short tunic, his arms bare almost to the shoulders, with the sword of Arminius at his girdle.
Thum.
Here I am, Glabrio!

Glab.
And high time too!
The fight will soon be on, and you, my boy,
Must rest a bit, and get your strength well up!
You know the saw—
“Swordsman, rest before the fight
Then you strike with triple might.”

Thum.
Oh yes, I know it!

Glab.
Act upon it, then!
There in your little room it is too close,
So I have had a couch placed for you here;
Here it is cool, and yonder curtain, see,
Will keep the sun from striking on your eyes!

Thum.
Thanks, thanks, good Glabrio!

Glab.
And just look here!
I've had your weapons carefully laid out.
How do you like them, eh? The skin, the casque,
With vulture's wings; ha! don't it flash and gleam?
Why, you'll look like the God of War himself!

Thum.
Oh, German arms! Again this mockery! Well!
Of the bear's claws ye wolves had best beware!

Glab.
Right! give it them well home! For every word
Deal out a swashing blow! Right, right, my lad!
Now make yourself quite comfortable! Come,
Unloose your belt. Why do you lug about
This clumsy whinger? Sure, you never dream
Of entering the arena, man, with that?

Thum.
My mother thought—

Glab.
Pah! Let your mother think!
That short blade will not do!
(Takes off the sword and lays it on the couch.)
Away with it!
And now to sleep, to sleep! I'll wake you up,
And arm you, when they come.

Thum.
Come! When they come!
And who are coming, then?

Glab.
Who coming? Why,
Who but the Cæsar, who in person means
To come and fetch your mother and yourself,
And to the Circus to conduct you both
With festal music, and in solemn state.

Thum.
Cæsar himself?

Glab.
Himself! Never before
To gladiator was such favour shown;
So in the Circus prove you merit it!

Thum.
That will I, never fear!

Glab.
I've stinted you
Neither in sturdy blows nor good advice,
So, hark you, do me credit now! Be cool
And confident. To feel that you will win
Is half the victory. Watch your opponent's eye,
See what he means, before he stirs his hand—

Thum.
I know, I know!

Glab.
Just one thing more!

Thum.
What's that?

Glab.
When falling—understand me right, you won't,
But it might chance,—in falling, should you feel
Yourself hard hit—a serious wound—remember
To drop on your left knee, your left knee, mind,
And, stretching out your right leg, mark me, thus,
Let your left arm upon your body rest,
And, bending back with a fine showy grace,
Await the final stroke.

Thum.
Make your mind easy!
Oh, I know all the business!

Glab.
Good, then, good!
So farewell for the present! I must hence,
To see about the others! Now lie down,
And rest till I return.

Thum.
If you see Këyx,
Who's chosen, I know, for my antagonist—

Glab.
And you know that?

Thum.
If you should see the cur,
Tell him to do his very best to-day,
For, best or worst, this day shall be his last!

Glab.
(as he is going out, and closing the curtain across the principal entrance).
Good! He shall have your message! Lie you down.
Tut, tut, be quick! I'll wake you in good time!

(Exit behind the curtain.)
Thum.
A little snatch of sleep! And wherefore not?
A few brief winks can do no harm; last night
I could not sleep for thinking of the games!
(Sits down upon the couch, and leans his head upon his hand.)
How evenly my life has passed till now!
The fighting-school, sound whippings, now and then
A scrap of praise, mutton to eat at noon,
So one day glided by,—so thousands did!
And now in some few hours how much has chanced!
Këyx's lies, the jeers of my companions,
The coming fight for life, that messenger
From Germany, and now the Cæsar's self
Who takes us to the games! My head is all
A-spin! And this is why I was so harsh,
So savage to my mother! Oh, I do
So long to get some rest! the day is hot,
And thinking makes one drowsy—
(Observes Thusnelda, who appears at the side-door, in a white robe, with a purple mantle, and an oak wreath in her hair; he springs up, and advances to her.)
Ha! see there!
'Tis thou! I did not hear thee come, but thou
Art come, I think, to herald my success,
For, as the song says, Joy comes light of foot,
And Bliss is winged with air!

Thusn.
'Tis winged indeed!

Thum.
How beautiful thou art! How stately shows
Thy wreath! how brilliantly the purple flames!
These trappings are well timed, for Cæsar's self
Intends to lead us to the games in state.
We must not shame him, must we?

Thusn.
Nor ourselves.

Thum.
These are the weapons, see, I am to wear!

Thusn.
Oh, speak not of the future as 'twere past;
The future to the gods pertains!

Thum.
One word.
I am, so Glabrio says, to keep quite quiet,
But first all must be clear between us. You
Are wroth with me, I see, for yesterday;
You're wroth, because we follow different roads,
Because what I have been I must remain!
Nay, be not wroth! Thy counsel may be wise,
Thy road the better one; but can I therefore
Walk in it? can I be what I am not?
Were I the man for these great schemes of yours,
No doubt I'd feel the impulse for them too.
I don't! A gladiator I will be,
The foremost of my peers, and of the time.
Worthy of thee I'll prove myself as such;
And, let him try his utmost, can a man
Be better or more perfect than he is?
So pardon, not what yesterday I said,
But how I said it; that which I've resolved,
I cannot help, so therefore hate me not!

Thusn.
Hate thee! This heart can wither in its woe,
It can despair, can nourish murderous thoughts—
But hate thee—hate my child! Eternal gods,
Ye witness if I hate him!

Thum.
That's all right,
So let my fortune find me my own way;
The thing that is, it is; the gods so will it.

Thusn.
Can nothing, nothing turn or hold thee back?
Is, then, thy purpose fixed to fight to-day?

Thum.
How often must I tell you? I will fight!

Thusn.
The future to the gods pertains! Proceed!

Thum.
Resign yourself to the inevitable,
And be no longer wroth! Give me your hand,
Let us not part in anger.

Thusn.
Part! No, no;
We go the self-same road. Not in farewell,
But as thy guide I give my hand to thee,
As thy companion kiss thee, to my heart
Enfold thee, and if e'er a blessing lay
In tears, such blessing overflows thee now.
Why was I doomed, ye gods, to lose him? Why,
Lost for so long, to find him thus again?
(Pushing him from her.)
Enough! Away!

Thum.
I understand you not,
And never shall, I fancy! But the time
Is slipping by, and I must rest! I need it!
(Flings himself upon the couch.)
Oh, yet there's something! Keep my sword for me!

Thusn.
Arminius' sword? Thou givest it me thyself?

Thum.
You'll keep it for me, eh? for Glabrio vows
It's quite unfit for the arena!

Thusn.
For
The arena—yes, for that 'tis quite unfit.

Thum.
(pointing to the sword upon the couch).
Here 'tis, and mind you take good care of it.
And now, I've nothing more to say.
(Letting his head drop.)
Sleep, sleep,
Now take me hence!

Thusn.
(turning away).
Ay, sleep, sleep!

Thum.
Going? How!
No, stay, you don't disturb me! Stay, and if
You know a song, a pretty one, you may
Sing me to sleep.

Thusn.
I know no songs!

Thum.
Have you
Forgotten them? You knew some well of old!
Upon my eyelids hangs a weight of lead.
How ran that song, Lycisca, yesterday?—

(Falls asleep.)
Thusn.
(after a pause, returns to the side of the couch).
The hour's at hand, and what is to be done
Must be done now! He sleeps! How sweet, how still!
How often has he lain on this same spot,
A rosy infant on my breast, whilst I
Have lulled his sleep, and covered up his face
When the chill night-winds swept along these halls,
And if a fly came I have brushed it off,
And waked him if ill dreams disturbed his sleep!
And now I stand beside him threatening ill,
My hand uplifted, and my purpose steeled
To cut him off in his youth's perfect bloom,
Even as a withered bough from the tree of life!
The wild beast of the woods fights for her young,
The snake bites if you pluck the rose away,
And I—Yes, I will kill the innocent sleep;
I, I, a mother, murder my own child!
(Rushes to the front of the stage.)
No, no, ye righteous gods! Give back my vow—
I cannot pay it—give it me again!
I cannot, where I gave, take life away,
Nor murder, murder, where I'm bound to love!
(After a pause, returns to the couch.)
Whither, perturbèd spirit, dost thou stray?
What would I now, but, as in that old time,
To shield thee from the winter frost of life,
To wake thee from existence' troublous dream,
To guard thee from the fly-swarm of the passions,
Which come to all men, even the happiest?
What but to shield thee from the deathblow, dealt
By a vile butcher's mercenary hands?
No, Sigmar, no!—If that this trembling hand
(Seizes the sword, which is lying on the couch.)
Strikes to thy heart, it is not hatred; no,
'Tis love, ay, love, that little recks to ask
How bitter is the potion, so it save,
And therefore—
(Raises the sword to strike, but recoils, and lets it fall.)
No! I cannot!
(Drops on her knees, while music is heard at a distance of a gay Festival March, which gradually comes nearer.)
Ye eternal gods!
If for my country's weal ye claim his life,
Then take it! Let the atmosphere he breathes
Be turned to poison; bid the earth to quake,
That these walls toppling may entomb us both;
Blast us to ashes with your lightning's fires!
The power is yours! Accomplish your high wills!
But in my hands place not his destiny,
Demand not from the mother her son's blood!
(Listens, and then starts up.)
Hark! what was that? If mine ear cheats me not,
'Tis music! 'Tis—it is Caligula.
They come to fetch him. The thronged Circus heaves
And roars! Rome claims her gladiator, but
I will not give him up. I am a woman,
Helpless and weak, but will not give him up.
See! who shall tear him from me?
(Snatches up the sword.)
If, ye gods
That dwell on high, ye will not launch your bolts,
So be it, then I will guard my country's honour!
Sport on, sport on in revelry and mirth!
Around my brows the oaken chaplet stirs,
I am Arminius' wife—a German, I,—
And these I was before I was a mother.
You claim Thumelicus, the gladiator?
Sigmar, my son is called, mine, mine he is,
And mine he shall remain unto the last.
Here with this blow I strike his fetters off!

(Stabs him.)
Thum.
Woe's me!—that Këyx—Mother—

(Falls back and dies.)
Thusn.
O my child!

(Veils her face in her mantle with her left hand; her right drops, holding the sword.)
Glab.
(without).
Up, up, Thumelicus! (Throwing back the curtain.)
Wake up, my lad!
(Enters.)
They're coming—it is time! (Advancing and taking down the helmet from the trophy.)
Be quick, be quick,
Get on your weapons!—How, he does not hear!
Shake him up, woman, will you, till he wakes!
(Thusnelda remains as before.)
Ha! are you both deaf, you? Must I myself
Rouse up the youngster?
(Advances to the right side of the couch, and takes hold of Thumelicus.)
Up, old fellow! How—
Is't possible? (Dropping the helmet.)
Blood!
(Rushing towards the principal entrance.)
Help, ho! Come hither! Help!

(Returns, bends over Thumelicus, while guards, gladiators, and slaves rush in at the back.)
Apex.
What's up?

Gnipho.
You called for us?

Këyx.
What is the matter, speak?

Glab.
In vain! Life utterly extinct! He's gone!

Enter Flavius Arminius, followed by Cassius and several senators and knights.
Fla.
Who was it called for help?

Cass.
What's gone amiss?

Glab.
Look for yourselves, and judge! There he lies dead,
My handsome gladiator dead!

Fla.
Sigmar!
Arminius' son!

Glab.
Slain, treacherously slain!

Cass.
And who has slain him?

Enter Marcius in the background with Gallus, preceding Caligula.
Mar.
Make way, there! Room, room!

Gall.
Room for the Cæsar!

Enter Caligula in festal array, a wreath of roses on his head, leading Cæsonia by the hand, attended by Piso, Valerius, and other senators and knights.
Calig.
Is all Rome gone mad?
Why do the people stare, and block the way?
Why has the music stopped? I charge you, speak!
What is the matter here? Who is that youth?
Now, by mine anger, answer me!

Glab.
My lord,
He, lying in his blood there, is Thumelicus,
My finest gladiator.

Cæs.
How! Thumelicus!

Calig.
Arminius' son, that to my palate was
What gave these games their zest! Knave, is it thus
You keep my gladiators in your charge?

Glab.
I'm innocent, my lord!

Calig.
Who's guilty, then?
Who was it struck him down?

Thusn.
(who till now has stood veiled and immovable, letting her mantle drop).
'Twas I that did it!

Fla.
Oh my prophetic spirit!

Calig.
How! Thusnelda!
Thou—thou hast taken thy son's life? And why?

Thusn.
Why? Know'st thou not? Well, I will tell thee why!
In two poor prisoners—a woman and
A gladiator—thou didst think to make
Triumphant mockery of my native land,
And from safe distance here to put to shame
Arminius' people in his kith and kin!
I was to play Germania, such thy thought,
And see my son struck down before my eyes;
But I, though shocked and shuddering the while,
I did not play, I was Germania!
My son must never taint his mother's name,
His sire's renown, the honour of our home.
I offered up, I, with a priestess' hands,
His youth a sacrifice to our dread gods!
My people's honour I was bound to save.
I am a woman, weak, and held in chains;
And therefore, Cæsar, therefore slew I him!

Calig.
(whilst Flavius, who has hitherto been looking on in deep emotion, suddenly leaves the stage).
It was to spite me, then! Thou dust, thou worm,
Didst dream to spoil this festival of mine?
Then tremble, for I yet will have my sport—
Have it in thee, now that thy son is gone!

Thusn.
Let those who fear thee tremble! My fear died
With him there! Rather tremble thou, ay, thou,
Outwitted by a woman, lest the scent
Of blood so noble, wafted o'er the Alps,
Arouse the men who scattered Varus' hosts!
And if thy purblind soul quail not to man,
Then quail before the gods, for here I lay
My hand in prayer on my son's head, and call
To those, the blest, who yonder throne in light,
And those who rule the shades of gloom below;
These I implore to look down on my pangs,
To see how the caprice of brutish power
Constrained a mother to destroy her child;
I call for vengeance for his precious blood,
For retribution upon thee and Rome,
Through hundreds, thousands of the years to come,
That so her children may through ages curse
This hour and thee!

Calig.
Fool! Call howe'er you will,
The gods, they hear you not—

Thusn.
Yea, they do hear!
Voices I hear far off around me float,
And forms I see that glimmer through the mist.
A roar as of thunder when billows run high,
And nations on nations come marching by;
The ramparts crash down, the walls are laid low,
The heavens are aflame, the streams ruddy with gore;
They come to chastise, they come to avenge,
And the glory of Rome, bloody Rome is no more!
Ho, victory, victory! hark, the acclaim!
From tongues that Germania moulded it came!
Ho, victory won by Germania's glaives!
The German spirit, I see it soar
From sea to sea, and from shore to shore!
Yes, ye gods of home, we no more are slaves!
And I see our oppressors in dust laid low
In vengeance for ages of bondage and woe,
Grovelling at our feet in pain,
Crying aloud for grace in vain,
Arming themselves in vain!—

Calig.
Hence with the raving beldame! Drag her hence!
Why do you stand there stricken dumb and pale?
She lies, her words are false—

Thusn.
My words are true,
Sacred and solemn, as they are my last!
(Stabs herself in the breast with the sword.)
As true as—that thy fetters, Rome, are burst—
And my free spirit freely seeks its home!

(Sinks down on the couch and dies.)
Calig.
She gone as well! (To Cæsonia.)
Look, though its light has fled,
Her eye still threatens! 'Twas the very way
The old man looked! Oh, cover up the bodies!
(Slaves spread the green coverlet over them.)
Outwitted by a woman! Never, never!
No! To despite you I will have my show!
Where's he that has the charge of it, the Ædile,
That managed matters here so vilely? Where
Is Flavius Arminius? As these
Have slipped my grasp, their kinsman shall be flung
To my pet puppies, the Hyrcanian lions.
Up! fetch me Flavius Arminius straight!

Cass.
Quick! seek him out!

Enter Cornelius.
Corn.
You seek in vain!

Calig.
In vain?
Wherefore in vain?

Corn.
For Flavius Arminius,
Maddened by self-reproach, or craven fear,
I know not which, has fallen upon his sword;
He was ashamed to live, he said, since by
His mother's hand his nephew had been slain!

Calig.
Dead, dead! He also dead! And you stood by
Faint-hearted curs, and did not hold his hands?
Oh, how I wish that all the Roman people
Had but one head! I'd know then what to do.
My festival, my games, I mean to have—
I will see blood, hear the death-rattle! Ay,
Some Jews, methinks, were recently brought in,
Men of the sect that they call Christians;
Let these then have a romp with my pet whelps!
Up! Range yourselves in order! Music! music!
A music meet for Cæsar's festival!
(Music begins.)
To the Circus! Up, and raise triumphal shouts!
For I am victor, victor I will be!
Cry “Hail, hail, Cæsar! hail, Germanicus!”

General Cry.
Hail, Caius Cæsar! hail, Germanicus!

(Exit Caligula with Cæsonia and the rest. Cassius seizes Cornelius by the hand, and leads him to the front of the stage.)
Cass.
You see, time hurries on! 'Tis he or we!
Who e'er lived safely in a tiger's den?
Know you how the Prætorians stand disposed?

Corn.
They are for us.

Cass.
So is the Senate too.

Corn.
Then, when do you suppose—

Cass.
To-morrow!

Corn.
Good!
To-morrow let it be!

(Curtain falls.)