University of Virginia Library

SCENE I

Scene.—A tower overlooking Rome
Enter Seneca, Burrus, and Physician
Seneca.
How dark the future of the Empire glooms!

Burrus.
Now the Gaul mutters: the Praetorians
Sullenly snarl.

Seneca.
The Christians privily
Conspire.

Burrus.
The legions waver and whisper too.

Seneca.
[To Physician.]
What of the Emperor?

Physician.
Through Campania
He rushes: and distracted to and fro
Would fly now here, now there; behind each woe
He sees the angered shade of Agrippina.
Now hearing that Poppaea sinks toward death.
Hither is he fast hurrying.

Seneca.
Ah, Poppaea,
No sooner Empress made than she must die—

Burrus.
See: she is carried hither.

Seneca.
Here to look
Her last upon the glory of the earth.

[Exeunt Seneca, Burrus, and Physician.
[Poppaea enters, supported by handmaids. She takes a long look at Rome, then is assisted down to couch.
Poppaea.
Give me the glass again: beautiful yet!
This face can still endure the sunset glow,
No need is there for me to sue the shadow,
Perfect out of the glory I am going.

Myrrha.
Lady, the mood will pass: still you are young.

Poppaea.
Why comes not Nero near me? O he loathes
Sickness or sadness or the touch of trouble,

Myrrha.
Nay, lady; hither he is riding fast,
In fury spurring from Campania,
And trouble upon trouble falls on him—
Misfortune follows him like a faithful hound.

Poppaea.
I snared him, Myrrha, once; let him flutter away!
But to relinquish the wide earth at last,
And flit a faint thing by a shadowy river,
Or yearning without blood upon the bank—
The loneliness of death! To go to strangers—
Into a world of whispers—
[Looking at and lifting her hair.
And this hair
Rolling about me like a lighted sea
Which was my glory and the theme of the earth,
Look! Must this go? The grave shall have these eyes
Which were the bliss of burning Emperors.
After what time, what labour the high gods
Builded the body of this beauty up!
Now at a whim they shatter it! More light!
I'll catch the last of the sun.

Enter Slave
Slave.
Mistress, below
The lady Acte stands and asks to see you.

Poppaea.
Come to inspect me fading: I fear not.
Even a woman's eyes I need not shun.
Bring her.
[Exit Slave.
Now, Myrrha, watch her hungering eyes.

Enter Acte, ushered by Slave
Poppaea.
[Vehemently.]
Take Nero! I am dying.

Acte.
Ah, not yet!

Poppaea.
I am dying. But you shall not hold him long—
O, do not think it. Can you queen his heart?
Can you be storm a moment, sun the next?
A month, a long day under open skies,
Would find your art exhausted, ended. I!
I was a hundred women in an hour,
And sweeter at each moment than them all.
Why, I have struck him in the face and laughed.

Acte.
I love him: that concerns not him, nor you.
A different goal I would have sought for him,
A garment not of purple, but of peace.

Poppaea.
Of peace! Ha, ha!

Acte.
Vain now—I know it, vain.
But if your words are true, and death is on you,
Let us two at the least be friends at last.

Poppaea.
I bear no rancour—and yet if I dreamed
That I was leaving you upon his bosom—
But no: let there be peace between us two.
[Acte comes and kisses her.
Your kiss falls kind upon my loneliness.
But, Acte, to let go of glory thus—
For I have drunk of empire, and what cup
Afterward can you offer to these lips?

Acte.
Of late there has been stealing on my mind
A strange hope—a new vision.

Poppaea.
What is this?

Acte.
Do not laugh out at me: a sect despised—
The Christians, tell us of an after life,
A glory on the other side the grave.
If there should be a kingdom not of this world,
A spirit throne, a city of the soul!

Poppaea.
I want no spirit kingdom after death.
The splendid sun, the purple, and the crown,
These I have known, and I am losing them.

Acte.
Yet if the sun, the purple, and the crown
Were but the shadows of another sun,
Splendider—a more dazzling diadem?

Poppaea.
These can I see at least, and feel, and hear.

Acte.
Yes, with a mortal touch that falters now.

Poppaea.
[Sobbing.]
O Acte, to be dumb, and deaf, and blind!

Acte.
Or live again with more transcendent sense,
Hearing unchecked, and unimpeded sight.
If we who walk now, then should wing the air,
Who stammer now, then should discard the voice,
Who grope now, then should see with other sight,
And send new eyes about the universe.

Poppaea.
O, this is madness!

Acte.
Is it? Is it? Well—
Yet have I heard this ragged people speak,
And they have stirred me strangely: life they scorn,
And yearn for death's tremendous liberty,
But I—I cannot speak; yet I believe
There is a new air blowing on the world,
And a new budding underneath the earth.

Poppaea.
Ah, ah! the sun! The sun! It goeth down,
How cold it grows: the night comes down on me.
I'll have no lamp: but hold my hand in thine.

Acte.
Sister, forget the world, it passeth.

Poppaea.
[Falling back.]
Rome!