University of Virginia Library

ACT I

Scene: the Harbor of Pompeii
Enter Clodius and Sallust meeting
Clodius:
Hail to you, Sallust! You have favored Rome
More than we liked. What kept you there?

Sallust:
I stayed
To see the Emperor installed. A sight
To make a native of this little place
Scarce breathe for wonder. Have you aught that's new?

Clodius:
Here in Pompeii?

Sallust:
Yes.

Clodius:
Not much; unless
You call our frequent earthquake something new.

Sallust:
Moving, at least.

Clodius:
It will amuse you, Sallust,
At the next shake, to see our people run,
Like frightened sheep, to the Egyptian fane
Of Goddess Isis. Our poor Latin gods
Are out of fashion; deemed unskilled to cure
This earth's grim cholics.

Sallust:
Is Arbaces here?

Clodius:
A seeming fixture. You must see his ward,
The fair Ione. You have asked for news:
Here is a novelty, and wonder too,—
This young Greek damsel with her Psyche face,
Diana's virtue, and proud Juno's port.

Sallust:
What, Clodius, what! are you in love at last?

Clodius:
And all Pompeii with me. Not to skip
Glaucus, my rich Athenian friend. No, no;
I am no rival to his wealth, his grace,
His cultured mind and splendid equipage:
And he is wild about her.

Sallust:
Did you say
She is Arbaces' ward? I like not that.

Clodius:
Nor I, Nor any one that cares for her,
Nor, chiefly, Glaucus. Hence his fiery zeal
To free her from the dark Egyptian's power.

Sallust:
The swarthy conjurer! how I hate a man
That makes your skin creep when he speaks to you!

[Clodius:
If that were all!—By Jupiter, I think,
In that man's heart is wickedness enough
Richly to furnish and endow a hell
That would make Pluto jealous.

Enter Dudas
Dudas:
Hail!—hail!—hail!—
If I could be myself, I'd be more mannered!—
Oh! my poor nerves!—I have seen such a sight!

Sallust:
Indeed!

Dudas:
Yes; two four-footed gladiators.

Clodius:
Four-footed men!

Dudas:
I'll bet a pound of gold,
I said not men. Are you a taker?

Clodius:
Pshaw!
But are not gladiators men?

Dudas:
Not always.
For example: a lion and a tiger,
Fresh from the desert's and the jungle's depths,—
Insane with rage, death in their very looks;
What do you think of them as gladiators?

Clodius:
As somewhat better than the human brutes.

Sallust:
But what had you to do with them?

Dudas:
You know,
I am near-sighted; and I chanced to venture
A step too near the lion's cage. By Jove!
Ere you could wink, his furious fore-claw
Was buried in my toga; and the beast
Was in the act of gathering me in,
All to himself, just as a cat a mouse,
When Pansa's bondman thrust a burning torch
Full in the monster's yellow eyes. Hercules!
'Twas a sensation! I am on my way,
To buy that bondman's freedom.

Clodius:
Only quits.
But the poor lion lost a meal. Have you
No feeling for him?

Dudas:
Just this much. I would
That I might see another fill my place,—
Some criminal or Christian; but to see
How I had fared, had lion had his way.

Sallust:
But that is hopeless at the coming sports.
There's no obliging murderer in view:
Nor make the Christians sacrilegious mouths,
As once they did, even at the cow-faced Isis.

Clodius:
Dudas, oblige us; as an amateur,
In Nero's way, pray try another bout
With your familiar lion. Ha, my man!
You owe a breakfast to him. Come, pay up!

Dudas:
If you and Sallust will attend the feast,
I shall be glad to have the mighty cat
Purring about our table. Fare you well!
I must to Pansa.

(Exit)
Clodius:
And to Glaucus I.]

Sallust:
Ha! who comes here? I shall take flight myself.
Cross your forefingers! dread his evil eye,
As an infection!

Clodius:
Nay, retreat were best.

Exeunt severally
Enter Arbaces and Calenus, accompanied
Arbaces:
Apaecides is discontented then?

Calenus:
Yes, more than that.

Arbaces:
As how?

Calenus:
He swears outright
To quit the priesthood.

Arbaces:
Dare he? This appears
To be more grave. That weak boy, to rebel
Against my teachings! I must gather him
Within the veil of Isis: there to live,
Loyal till death; or—Well, you know how soon
Death comes to the unfaithful!

Calenus:
'Twas a step
In that direction brought these humors forth.
The other day, I showed our neophite
How I made Isis' eyeballs roll and glare,
With cranks and levers and my naphtha lamps:
That seemed to horrify him. When I took
My long brass trumpet up, and roared amain,
Through Isis' inner lips, some gibberish,
To show how neatly works the oracle—
That is my pride, for I invented it—
He dashed me and my trumpet to the ground,
And half drew out his stylus, in a rage
That made me tremble for my life.

Arbaces:
So, so!
This must be looked to. For his sister's sake
I can bear much from him; but not too much—
Not to the loss of Isis, and her sway
Above these Romans.

Calenus:
No, by Jupiter—
Forgive me Isis, for that pagan oath!—
Else where would go our temple's revenues,
And my small scrapings?

Arbaces:
Miserable miser!
Wealth is a means, that only.

Calenus:
And a power.

Arbaces:
Over the brainless. Mark you, who comes here—
Our modern Alcibiades—this fop
Of fickle Athens, with his haughty sweetness,
His mien of grandeur; as though he disdains
The mere barbarians whom he condescends
To honor with his presence. Ach! my bird,
If I should ever get you in my claws,
I'd send your fine plumes flying! See the slaves—
Degenerate Romans—cowering at his glance,
And worshipping each footstep!

Calenus:
For his wealth.

Arbaces:
Wealth! Something far more potent, silly man;
The fellow is the fashion. And this thing
Of silks and jewels, and presumptuous airs,
Dares to aspire to my Ione's love!
One of my brood, my very nestling she—
A peacock mate with eagles!

Enter Glaucus and Clodius, accompanied by nobles, freedmen, slaves
Glaucus:
Mark, Clodius!
Look at our everyday, yet ever-new,
Wonder of wonders, here, before our eyes,
With all its azure depths and starry waves;
As though the happy synod had dropped down
Into our bay a portion of their heaven,
To cheer the spirits of ungrateful men.
Look, friends, I pray! Can mortals, upon earth,
Stand nearer heaven than we are now?—Look, look!

Clodius:
A happy heart is ever close to heaven.
My Glaucus, let me share your joy. What hap
Uplifts you thus?

Glaucus:
The happiest of haps:
Surely the gods have fallen in love with me.
A secret, Clodius, which must so remain,
Until I give it to the world.

Clodius
I guess it.
The fair Ione—

Glaucus:
Yes, yes, conjurer!
How could you know that which I hardly hoped?
'Tis so indeed; and I have walked the air,
And felt Elysian breezes on my cheeks
Since I first heard—Nay, she said nought in words:
She only slid her little dove-like hand
Into my own; and, with her pleading eyes,
Looked truth and faith out of my eager heart,
And was therewith content.

Clodius:
The day is fixed
When we must lose you then?

Glaucus:
All time stood fixed
When we exchanged our troth. Futurity
Limps, like a slave, beside love's chariot.
All things, between themselves, belong to those
Who truly love. The world may rage outside,
And shake Love's throne, but cannot overthrow
Him or his loyal subjects.

Clodius:
Recollect,
Arbaces is her guardian.

Glaucus:
But in name.
A year ago his tutelage expired
By law's decree, her father's testament,
And the insistence of Apaecides—
Her brother, and a priest of Isis too,
But seemingly not over-full of trust
In guardian Arbaces.

Clodius:
Wise young man!

Arbaces advances. Clodius makes the sign against the evil eye
Arbaces:
You speak of me.

Glaucus:
Yes, truly; but what told you,—
A tickling nostril, or a burning ear?

Arbaces:
A goddess' whisper.

Glaucus:
Isis, woman-like,
Listens to gossip then.

Arbaces:
Our butterfly
Still flaunts his reckless Attic wit.

Glaucus:
Oh, yes!
Even as the laboring beetle of old Nile
Rolls his dark ball before him.

Arbaces:
Scoff not, man,
At things above your knowledge.

Glaucus:
Or beneath.

Arbaces:
Beneath a Greek! 'twere low enough indeed!

Glaucus:
Just low enough to touch the highest flight
Of an Egyptian's spirit.

Arbaces:
Fie! I'll go
To Isis' temple, and implore her grace
To pardon you.

Glaucus:
To Isis' temple, hah!
'Tis but four lustra since the Senate's voice
Decreed that not a temple to your goddess
Should stand in Italy.

Arbaces:
I said not temple—
Not consecrated temple: house, or hovel,
Or whatsoever shields her sacred head.
That sacrilegious Senate! Woe to it!
Woe to this land, when Isis scourges it!
And, most of all, woe to this very spot!
See, where earth's goddess lifts her threatening hand
In yonder mountain. Dead, inert, you say,
Since history began. O man, with sight
Short as his life, what are unwritten ages
To the immortals? Isis' day will come,
When, on this ancient lava where you stand—
Once more a molten sea in gales of fire—
You'll grind your knees for mercy, but in vain!

(Exit)
(Nydia sings within
Glaucus:
Prophet of evil! A foreboding tongue
Never wants ears to hear and quail at it:
And yet our Strabo said almost as much.
What think you, Clodius, will Veseveus—
Our fruitful mountain, with its cup of vines,
And flowery garlands—ever fill that cup
With stygian flames; and, from its wounded sides,
Pour burning blood upon our shrinking heads?

Enter Nydia listening to Glaucus
Clodius:
As our poor slandered hill has lived in peace
With us and all the world, since history
Was mere tradition, it will scarce begin
So wild a life within our time.

Glaucus:
Perhaps—
(Nydia advances, and touches him)
Well, maiden?

Nydia:
'Tis the voice of Glaucus!

Glaucus:
Aye.

Nydia:
Then a new heaven is spread above my head;
And stronger gods, and gods more merciful,
Rule o'er the world. My lord, when came you here?

Glaucus:
Two days ago.

Nydia:
And I not know of it!—
Not feel it in my heart! But then—ah me!—
I was in prison.

Glaucus:
How!

Nydia:
But others hear.

(Glaucus motions to Clodius and others, who retire)
Glaucus:
We are alone. In prison?

Nydia:
Worse, far worse;
If hell be worse than prison. Dare I speak?
Repeat one word I say, and worse than death,
Will be my portion. Ha! how dull I am! (Laughing)

As though I'd not be ready for my death,
When Glaucus could betray me. I have been
Shut in Arbaces' house.

Glaucus:
Poor child!

Nydia:
Fie, Glaucus!
There may be dust upon me, but no stain.

Glaucus:
Thanks, Pallas!

Nydia:
Let me kiss your hand for that.
(Kisses his hand)
I'd not be here, to tell you of my fall,
If that great bay could rock my shame to sleep.
That refuge is mine always.

Glaucus:
Were you there
Against your will?

Nydia:
My will! What is my will?
What is a slave's will but obedience?
Why, I was beaten there; dragged there in bonds;
With ever that gross threat held over me,
To make me something nameless, if I dared
Avoid my fate. Once there, I sang,—such songs,
So outward beautiful, so foul within!—
Have you a sister, Glaucus?

Glaucus:
Yea, in heaven.

Nydia:
Then you can understand. I thank the gods
That I am blind sometimes: I could not see;
But all my other senses were appalled
At the infernal orgies that went on,—
The roars of drunken laughter, and the shrieks
Of frantic women; and the rites obscene
Offered to Isis, sick with burning blood,
And torturing blows, and howls of anguish.

Glaucus:
You?
What part was yours?

Nydia:
I only sang, and sang,
Perched above all, secure but terrified,
Like a poor linnet in a thunderstorm.

Glaucus:
This is the outcome of Arbaces' zeal
For Isis then?

Nydia:
Name not that dreadful man:
It holds me spellbound.

Glaucus:
Go not there again;
I shall devise a plan for your release.

Nydia:

Glaucus:
But we have had our sorrows. One may see
The earthquake's ravages on every hand,
In prostrate walls. Even in my solid house,
The statues were cast down, the frescoes cracked,
And conduits dried.

Nydia:
Oh! it was droll indeed,
To feel the pavement slide beneath one's feet,
The columns turning, as if they would dance
A measure to the thunders under ground—
Hell's music—louder than a thousand cars
Rolling at speed along a stony road.
It made me laugh.

Glaucus:
Laugh, Nydia!

Nydia:
Yes, laugh.
The miserable have nought to dread, like those
Who love their lives, and therefore shriek with fear
At peril to their comfort.

Glaucus:
Know you, child,
What is the Greek name for this flower?

Nydia:
For what?

Glaucus:
The violet.

Nydia:
Oh yes; ion 'tis called
In my Thessalian land.

Glaucus:
Thence comes Ione.
Know you a lady of that name?

Nydia:
You mean,
The rich Greek damsel of Neapolis.
Yes; she has often taken flowers from me.

Glaucus:
Bear all these violets to her.

Nydia:
From you?

Glaucus:
Yes.

Nydia:
I would rather cast them in the sea,
A sacrifice to Neptune.

Glaucus:
But my days
Of voyaging are over for a space.
Take her the flowers.

Nydia:
I shall obey, my lord.
But—Glaucus!—

Glaucus:
Nydia?

Nydia:
You—forget my pay:
Remember Burbo's stick.

Glaucus:
The gods forbid!

(Gives her money)
Nydia:
Glaucus—

Glaucus:
My child?

Nydia:
Another time—farewell!

(Exit hurriedly)
Clodius:
What ails that girl?

Glaucus:
Her nature. She rebels
Against her life of servitude. She dreams
Of something better in the gift of fate
Than Burbo's mercy. Hapless, helpless child!
Think you the brute would sell her?

Clodius:
Without doubt.
A sightless slave is but poor property.—
Look, Glaucus, look!

Glaucus:
I saw, before you spoke,
And felt with all my senses.

Clodius:
Venus speed you!

(Retires)
Enter Ione, attended. Glaucus meets her
Glaucus:
Ione!

Ione:
Glaucus!

Glaucus:
Is there more to say,
Than we can gather from each other's eyes?
Oh, but to look on you, to feel you near,
To know the same world holds us both, to breathe
The air that warms itself against your cheek;
To crown that rapture with the dizzy thought
Of what to each the other is; of how
The coming days—happy and brief enough—
Will bring us closer; till possession crown
Our foreheads with one glory; that is joy
To make a man impatient of the thought
Of Jove's elysium, in a world so fair!

Ione:
I tremble at your raptures. Recollect,
Your idol is but clay, like all the rest:
Like all the rest, to clay she must return.
I trust the fact of my mortality
May not be made too obvious to you,
By any failings of my nature, ere
My sepulchre is open, to receive
My faults and me together.

Glaucus:
Dear, Ione,
What is this cloud upon your spirit? Look,
How fair the world is that encircles us,
How bright the heaven above!

Ione:
Too fair, perhaps,
To be enduring: night must follow day.
Since I arose—I cannot tell you why—
A weight, that seems like a foreshadowed ill,
Has lain upon my spirit. For relief,
Thus early to the temple of our goddess,
Pallas, I went with votive offerings.
Alas! the pure divinity's white shrine,
And every omen of my sacrifice,
Seemed but to bring me nearer to the truth
Of my foreboding, that for me—for us—
There hangs above us, in yon lucid heaven,
Disaster terrible, and soon to fall.

Glaucus:
My lovely soothsayer, you must have heard
Arbaces' oracles.

Ione:
(Starting)
Arbaces!

Glaucus:
Nay;
Why do you tremble, love?

Ione:
I know not why.
His name went through me like a pang; and brought
The cloud upon me, darker than before.
[My faithful guardian, father of my childhood,
Teacher, protector, chosen delegate
Of my own father's solemn testament,
To represent him in all things to me!
And well has he fulfilled the trust. Indeed]
Fancy betrays me. I am weak enough—
Almost enough—for your contempt.

Glaucus:
For mine!
Ione, when you know less reverence
From me than I accord the sacred gods,
Then I shall not be Glaucus, and your heart
May hold me as a stranger.

Ione:
See, 'tis gone!
Your sunny eyes have scattered every cloud,
Henceforth you shall not see these gloomy moods
In her whose duty 'tis to make your life
As bright as that which you bestow on me.

Glaucus:
My darling, be yourself, and only that,
To be my happiness. I am content,
Henceforth, to call all virtues upon earth
Ione only.

Nydia screams within
Ione:
Glaucus!—

Enter Nydia running, pursued by Burbo, Nydon and gladiators
Nydia:
Glaucus!—

(She falls at Glaucus' feet)
Burbo:
(Raising his stick over Nydia)
Slave,
I'll teach you to obey when I command!
Thank you, my lord, for catching her.

Glaucus hurls Burbo aside
Glaucus:
Back, beast!
Or you'll not thank me much for catching you.

1st Glad:
Go take her, Burbo: she's your slave.

Burbo:
Not I.
He has an arm like Vulcan's.

Glaucus:
Are you, men
Or but a pack of savage wolves, to run
This poor doe to her death? Have courage, child!
I know no scorn with which to brand the wretch
Who lifts his hand against his mother's sex.
You, Nydon? I thought better of you.

Nydon:
No;
I ran to save her. I am slow of foot:
My business is to stand. Had he but struck her,
I'd made his head acquainted with the stones.

Glaucus:
What means all this?

Burbo:
She's willful, disobedient,
A very rebel.

Nydon:
Yes, she's everything
But bad, as you would make her.

Ione:
Glaucus, pray,
Buy the poor girl.

Nydia:
Whose voice is that?

Ione:
Mine, child,—
Ione of Neapolis.

Nydia:
(Aside)
Oh, gods!
My punishment begins! (Aloud)
Let me go back.
I'll be obedient, master.

Glaucus:
Nay, not so.

Burbo:
I do not want you. Take her if you will,
My lord; her temper is too much for me.
Twenty poor aureas. That's but half her worth.
She sings and dances—when she has a mind to—
Knows all about her plants and flowers; can run—
Phew!—you saw how. She has a little fault:
She's somewhat blind.

Glaucus writes on his tablets
Nydon:
Somewhat, you thief! stone blind.

Glaucus:
Take this to Sporus, at my house, and he
Will pay her price.

(Gives tablets to Burbo. Exit Burbo)
Nydia:
Then I am yours?

Glaucus:
Yes, mine.

Nydia:
Hear, people of Pompeii, hear! I am
The slave of Glaucus—Yea, his very slave—
And should he beat me, let no one prevent;
For then I shall deserve it.

Ione:
Nydia!—

Glaucus:
This would be droll, were it not pitiful:
Enter Arbaces behind, observing them
She has known nought but scourgings. Nydia,
It is not fit that you should be my slave.
My dear Ione, take the girl from me.

Ione:
Most willingly.

Nydia:
(Aside)
His “dear Ione!” No!
I'll go where I belong. I have been bought
And sold, but never given away before.
I cannot be her slave.

Ione:
You shall not be:
I set you free. Go where you will.

Nydia:
Oh, gods!
I am a woman!

Glaucus:
More, a citizen.

Nydia:
A citizen of Rome!

Ione:
My equal, child.

Nydia:
Oh no, oh no! a thousand times your slave;
If gratitude be bondage to the just.
You wish this, Glaucus?

Glaucus:
Yes, 'tis best for you.

Nydia:
Doubtless; I am a damsel. Mistress, come.
I shall be faithful, if no more.

Arbaces:
(Advancing)
Ione,
What means this comedy, and in the streets—
The public streets?

Ione:
I thank the gracious gods,
Beneath the open eye of heaven! Let man
Be silent when the gods approve.

Arbaces:
Fine words!
But as a lady, as my ward—

Glaucus:
Your ward!
Like your belated race, you still forget
All but the past. Awake! look round you, man!
This is an age when poverty has rights
That wealth must recognize; or banded want
Will know the reason why. 'Twas at your door:
Remember Spartacus!

Arbaces:
(Laughing)
Ha! ha! well said,
Opulent Glaucus!

Glaucus:
I have not usurped
Heaven's gifts to man—to all mankind alike—
Air, earth, light, water, which you hold in fee
Against your weaker brother, who may starve
With nature 's bounties in his very sight.
This I call usurpation, patent wrong.

Arbaces:
Inborn republican! Cannot your wealth
Purchase your own opinions? You are mad,
To talk rebellion in the public ear.

Glaucus:
Your former ward—fresh from a sacrifice
At Pallas' shrine—performs a duty meet,
To one oppressed by fortune and by man—
What if in public, if the deed were right?—
And you in public, like a pedagogue,
Rebuke her! Much I marvel if her act,
Or your rebuke, be the more blameworthy
For its publicity.

Arbaces:
(Laughing)
Ha! ha! Ione,
You found a slave and champion as well.

Glaucus:
Dare not—

Ione:
I pray you, Glaucus.

Glaucus:
Pardon me:
This is unseemly. No one better knows
My fault than I.

Arbaces:
That's full confession, Greek.
We may resume our argument, perhaps,
Some other time—some other time—

(Exit slowly)
Nydia:
Oh! dread,
Dread that man's purpose!

Glaucus:
I dread nothing, girl,
Made in our common likeness. He is man,
And nothing more. Nothing I dread so much
As the faint cloud that gathered on your brow.

Ione:
To hide your lightnings. That is passed—farewell!

Curtain as the characters move to depart