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iv
ACT. I.
v
CORNELIUS.
BOUGHT FROM PERTINAX?
ABASCANTUS.
BUT SECRETLY.
THE EMPEROR, IT WAS RUMOURED, SEt A TRAP
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Of every luxury dead Commodus
Left treasured in the palace: those who bought
Would be accounted shamefully inclined
To softness and expense. My head is long,
A Syrian head in fine; my patron lusted
To own these tables wrought of thuja-wood,
On ivory feet, and these enamelled beds;
These priceless vases of Corinthian bronze
And murrhine that at touch of poison breaks:
He lusted; it was clear I must obtain.
No member of his household, slave or free,
Peered in upon the sale, but eastern merchants
Bought, as if self-directed, at my choice.
Now, during this most private hour of day,
When visitors and clients have withdrawn,
My patron will review his purchases
By sunlight and in peace.
CORNELIUS.
Gods, Abascantus,
But for your constant friendship to my hopes
I should despair!
ABASCANTUS.
You come of noble race,
And though you are but poor, a wealthy kinsman
Lies on his death-bed.
CORNELIUS.
And a month ago
A gypsy-Jewess, by a shady tree,
Asked from her bed of hay a passing alms,
Boasting she knew the Talmud and was born
The High Priest's daughter. When I loosed my purse,
She took a pigeon's entrails from her wallet,
And told me my rich uncle would be dead
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The dotard is immortal as Tithonus.
ABASCANTUS.
All obstacles are mortal to the strong;
Obstruction on the highway every freeman
Clears as his will inclines.
CORNELIUS.
The man is dead
By right of years, by justice of the Fates;
I find him on his couch expressionless
As if his soul had through his wrinkles ebbed,
And madden with the near accomplishment
Of all my youth desires . . . he will not die.
That green senility should waste my life,
Ha!—it is monstrous.
ABASCANTUS.
And you never thought
That chance can have a port, if mortals steer?
Abridge the journey to your heritage,
And so attain your wedding.
CORNELIUS.
Abascantus!
ABASCANTUS.
Seduce Euanthes, his Cilician page,
To mix his bowl of wine.
CORNELIUS.
And afterward
You are persuaded Didius Julianus
Will freely yield his daughter?
ABASCANTUS.
She has reached
Her eighteenth year and soon she must be married
To satisfy the law. She was a child
When her new-plighted husband, still a boy,
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Has kept her by its jealousy a virgin
Longer than custom warrants; but 'tis noted
You have a kindlier welcome from your host
Than any other youth.
CORNELIUS.
I have your favour;
On that I build. Is Didius hard to move?
Read me his temper, for I find his face
Inscrutable as Fortune's.
ABASCANTUS.
He possesses,
And yet he has no hold on anything.
Flutists and poets, the young pantomime
Of the imperial household, Pylades,
Surround and entertain him, but he shares
None of their gifts: he is a magistrate;
Before him all incline, while none obey
His large commands: he loves his opulence;
No miser like your uncle, but a judge
And purchaser of beauty. Have you marked
His countenance?—a very Jove's in beard
And hair and open brow; and yet his eye
Has never dealt the lightning and his lip
Makes bond-slaves happy . . .
You are lost in thought.
CORNELIUS.
The drug, the drug . . .
ABASCANTUS.
Consult Diodotus,
My rare physician.
CORNELIUS.
You have intellect
To hold the earth itself in stewardship,
Imperial treasurer!
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The very office
I covet most. But what we might have been
With opportunity is of such thinking
As enervates our present; therefore peace!
My patron!—like a sea-god from the bath.
(Enter Didius Julianus,)
DIDIUS.
Cornelius Repentinus?
CORNELIUS.
Noble sir,
Your friend.
DIDIUS.
And welcome! How much of a friend
I see that Abascantus has discovered,
Since he, the prudent, sets you in the midst
Of private treasure.
Ah, this work is fine,
As if the dawn had turned to craftsmanship
And traced a pearly chequer. How the touch
Yearns to these handles, the delicious bronze,
With the white smoothness of its fashioning.
Those tables, those great vases! Abascantus,
See, they lack space & light & long approach—
A palace to surround them. Lovely things
Are made for their own universe, and these
Are gods in exile, for this narrow house
Seems a mere prison: I have had fresh courtyards
But newly built, and yet I breathe no air;
Fresh alleys added to the garden, yet
No coolness greets me; all is circumscribed.
CORNELIUS.
You need a golden palace.
DIDIUS.
My possessions
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Is it not strange that Pertinax should ravish
The well-filled Regia of its ornaments,
And cast them out as sometimes stars are cast
From their fit setting?
CORNELIUS.
Strange!—Unnatural.
DIDIUS.
The word; and tasteless. Yet the good old man
Is not a miser, but economist,
Making life paltry for its benefit;
As if the lust of prodigality
Could be removed and life still own its power,
Or he gain aught but hatred.
ABASCANTUS.
Those who rule
Must spend as sowers.
CORNELIUS.
Pertinax, they say,
Would rather rule with innocence a realm
Poor as himself than fill a treasury
By wise offence.
DIDIUS.
We must commend his wish;
His practice soon will ruin him. Ah, well,
I praise your purchase, treasurer, and blame
My house alone that I am discontent.
Command the slaves to carry out these treasures.
(To Cornelius, who advances to say farewell.)
Nay, nay, Cornelius, 'tis a festival;
My wife and daughter, far too long a while
Absent at Tibur, yielding to my prayers,
Return to me at last. If you would greet them,
Extend your courtesy and sup.
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My heart
You know full well is ever in this house.
DIDIUS.
There goes my vase to darkness; and it wounds
Some bounty in me when such loveliness
Is buried as if dead, for I would grant
All that is fair the light; it is the gold
By which true beauty lives; and I am driven,
Beneath the curse of Pertinax, to starve
Gems of their sun, myself of my desire.
(Exeunt Abascantus and all the slaves.)
And you will stay? 'Tis well.
CORNELIUS.
I am impatient
Once more to see your daughter.
DIDIUS.
She is fair,
My Didia Clara.
CORNELIUS.
Hebe not so fair!
DIDIUS,
And is a perfect Grecian; she can speak
The language of delight without the flaws
That mar her native tongue; and she can dance
And play upon the lute, yet is not learned,
A woman's weariest failing, but is nourished
On arts and pleasant culture.
(Enter Didia Clara and Manlia Scantilla.)
Why, you come
As from the springs of Tibur like a nymph,
Fresh crispness in your hair and on your cheek
How delicate a bloom! Wife, she is well?
MANLIA,
But truly I am thankful she returns,
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Grows so resplendent it is perilous
To let her take the air.
CORNELIUS.
Then, noble lady,
Consign her to my charge.
MANLIA.
Cornelius!
(To Clara.)
Greet him!
CLARA.
Most ceremonious greeting.
Give me news,
The newest news; I am behind all count.
There must have been a fire; the wind was high,
It promised wrecks.
CORNELIUS.
Three off Misenum swallowed
Entirely by the swell. And in the dark
Five houses on the Aventine collapsed,
Making a funeral without expense
For five-and-eighty corpses.
DIDIUS.
Leave disaster!
The athlete, young Narcissus, has prevailed
Against Aurelius Helix and has won
The wreath of oak and olive intertwined.
CLARA.
And Pylades?
DIDIUS.
Is in disgrace. One day
While dancing Leda with soft witchery,
Beyond all praise, and sure that anything
Would be permitted to his impudence,
When Marcus Curius the Praetor hissed,
Our fair girl-boy with jeering finger showed
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Next morning to complaints, for Pertinax
Was never friend to art, and gave command
That Pylades should be chastised at noon
Upon the public stage; I saw him there,
For once unheralded by music, stripped,
And fronting us the first time in his life
With naked face, one fire and then one snow.
He stood against the rods unflinchingly,
His hum of pain was scarcely audible,
And soon as he was loosed with mocking gesture
He gave salute as if he took applause,
But left the theatre with no golden youth
Of Rome to give him escort. Days and nights
The boy lay sick and inconsolable;
Till, healed at last and muffled in his cloak,
He sought the theatre yesterday. We waited;
Before us tents and deftly-painted waves
Illusive stretched: then Ajax held the scene,
With movements full of curses, gory weapon
And raging hands and head. The people rose,
While “Pylades, our Pylades!” was shouted
As if from earth to heaven. It seemed we saw
The open breast of wrath before our eyes;
Its conflagration seethed expressively,
As, Proteus-like, the dancer took each figure
And shape of rage—the vehemence and swiftness
Of flame in motion, fury of a lion,
And fierceness of a leopard; then the shaking
Of oak the winds have lashed, or else the current
Of Tiber's flood: it was a miracle!
For by the outer gestures of his body
His passion was discovered and released,
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And so behaved, not once too much transported
Beyond his art's decorum. He had snatched
A triumph out of shame; 'twas rarely done.
CLARA.
Is the boy here?
DIDIUS.
No, but is coming soon.
He did not sleep, and from the earliest hour
The Dancing School is open, he attended,
Perfecting some new part untiringly,
With spell-bound eyes: he should be calmed and kept
From such excess of work, although it heals
The wound his pride has suffered.
CLARA.
He will dance?
DIDIUS.
I found the Emperor incensed so far
Against the arrogance of Pylades,
He thought the rods too light to punish it,
Unless with them he coupled banishment:
I had to plead his promise of the loan
For your return of his rare pantomime,
Though justice was not satisfied. My child,
Your pulse is hurried, you have felt the heat
Of the Flaminian Road beneath the sun.
CLARA.
Nothing!—fatigue.
CORNELIUS.
You favour Pylades,
He is your chosen dancer? You choose well.
I will implore the gods for his success
In the new part he cons, since all you love
Is to my heart preferred.
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How amiable!
Husband, this noble youth and our dear child
Have common admirations, common tastes,
Are matched in height, and each is foil to each
As ruby to the diamond: let them wed.
CORNELIUS.
I kneel as to a god.
DIDIUS.
Nay, patience, sir.
When we desire what is so beautiful
We do not lose our patience . . . And to part!
Clara, my child! Would you had been a vestal,
Then I had seen you often in high place,
Sure that no man could ever call you his.
Clara!
CLARA.
Dear father, yours indeed is love
Such as I may not look for in a husband.
Why, I have all your thoughts, & how to please me
Is, I dare boast, the purpose of each hour.
DIDIUS.
My chief ambition.
MANLIA.
It is supper-time,
Cornelius; after supper, I again
May try to urge your suit. A meal revives
Our hopes and our persistence.
DIDIUS.
Stay a little;
The lady Marcia prayed to welcome you.
So old a friend!
CLARA.
Gods, how I hate old friends!
And you, Cornelius?
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Tell me of your hatreds;
They shall be mine.
CLARA.
I hate your poverty.
Grow rich!
CORNELIUS.
I promise.
CLARA.
Rome shall never say
You sought me for my fortune. How I wish
Your uncle could be murdered!
CORNELIUS.
You will yield me
Your hand when I inherit?
DIDIUS.
Loveliest jewel,
You jest at murder!
CLARA.
Every one I hate
I instantly wish dead. Old Pertinax,
Who grows each day a little worthier still,
More careful of the poor, more scrupulous,
Can no one murder him?
DIDIUS.
Hush, child! No bloodshed!
And do not rage at Pertinax; his sale
Of slaves has given me opportunity
Of purchasing a dwarf, a very gem,
The creature Commodus had cast in bronze.
They bring him.
(Enter Slaves with Gabba and with rich gifts.)
CLARA.
Something fresh at last! I know
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Of having our dependants ranked in groups
According to their colour, blond with blond,
One lovely, golden group, and in relief
The duskier complexions of one dye
So delicately matching that the choice
Of ministrant leaves in the memory
No little, jarring hollow: Commodus
Was served with such perfection.
MANLIA.
You have touched
The very point: we are not rich in slaves.
DIDIUS.
My carefulness for safety! Pertinax
Looks ill on all display. You do not notice
Your most engaging monster.
CLARA.
Can it dance,
Or stand upon that Atlas-ball of skull?
It cannot catch my skirt, it has no hands.
The lump is cross and stupid; put it down!
It shall be whipped unless at supper-time
It wake up to buffoonery.
DIDIUS.
Nay, nay!
Even prodigies must learn they are at home.
CLARA.
He cost you dear?
DIDIUS.
Ah, child, he is a gift.
So are these pearls, this hyacinth-coloured mantle,
Once owned by an Augusta.
Yet, alas,
While Pertinax is watchful, these must lie
Unworn within your press.
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Would he could go
The way of Commodus!
CORNELIUS.
We must be married,
For we are one already.
(Enter Marcia.)
MANLIA.
Dearest Marcia,
At last we welcome you.
MARCIA.
Hush! There is news
I have no strength to utter, and a peril
I must not think of. Pertinax is dead,
More terrible, is slain.
CLARA.
The gods be praised!
CORNELIUS.
They bless our wishes.
MANLIA.
Marcia, do not gasp . . .
Is slain—by whom?
MARCIA.
By his Praetorian Guard
The good, old man was butchered. Infamy!
DIDIUS.
I do not like this violence . . .
MANLIA.
But the issue?
Dear Marcia, calm yourself.
DIDIUS.
You spoke of peril . . .
Your husband! Is Eclectus safe?
MARCIA.
God knows!
He would not leave his Emperor.
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Loyal heart!
Can such fidelity be possible,
Do mortals knit so close?
MARCIA.
They died together,
If he were in the palace.
DIDIUS.
Nay, I trust—
At noon he crossed the Stadium leisurely—
You are not yet a widow.
(Re-enter Abascantus.)
Abascantus,
There is a passion in your steps as if
The treasure-vessels from your Syrian coasts
Had touched at Ostia: check your eagerness,
For Pertinax is dead. When Cæsar dies,
He still is Cæsar, and the throne is shaken
As if an earthquake passed.
ABASCANTUS.
An hour ago
That was the talk of Rome. The corpse must cool
Before the funeral-rites; a yesterday
Must be of age, to interest. Noble patron,
The past is swept away, our policy
Changed on the instant, and the loaded coffers
I guard and with my watchfulness increase
Surrendered to your service, for the world
Is now at auction, and your price the highest
That any Roman has the power to bid.
Come quickly to the camp.
DIDIUS.
You break designs
As if they were accomplishment.
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They are
When revenue conducts them.
MARCIA.
Rome for sale!
The Empire offered! Didius, do not listen;
There is no verity behind this cry:
The world may be possessed in many ways,
It may not know its lord; but, oh, believe me,
It has its Cæsar; nothing alters that,
No howling of a little, greedy crowd.
Why should you rule this city? Have you raised it
To higher honour? Have you borne its griefs?
Will it remember you?
ABASCANTUS.
On all the coins
A safe, a graven memory. (To Didius.)
Do you stoop
To justify yourself to . . . oh, a lady
High in esteem, but not a lawful Empress,
A Nazarene and friend of slaves. More meetly
You should desire the quickening approbation
Of wife and daughter. An imperial beauty
Is at your side, a noble consort, wealth
To make all unaccustomed places smooth
As the floor's treading . . . and you hesitate!
Come with me to the camp.
DIDIUS.
So suddenly
This fortune crosses me.
CLARA.
But claim it, father;
I stifle with impatience.
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Dearest husband,
You have the very majesty of Jove,
So gentle, so urbane, that you will slip
Into a throne nor note its quality.
All is so smooth!
DIDIUS.
Ay, in Olympus, smooth!
Among the happy gods, there I could rule;
But to contend . . . Go, treasurer, to the camp
With a large freedom. Bring me word again
How you have prospered.
MANLIA.
Say that he will rule
Nobly as Numa.
DIDIUS.
That would damage me,
That was the error of poor Pertinax.
Be lavish, Abascantus.
ABASCANTUS.
Come yourself.
Men do not win the world by sending stewards
With liberty of purchase: all is vain
Without the master's voice.
DIDIUS.
I will not come;
I cannot. Do I ever choose the slaves,
Or look upon my treasure till 'tis wiped
Of blood and filthy contact? Must I strive,
All Plutus in reserve? Do what you will,
Take any means, but keep me from the forum,
Men's faces; there are murderers in the crowd:
All men in mass are murderers. Stand aside,
Mutter your promises; if you can buy
A palace, paying honestly the price,
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No deity
Making the contract awful . . .
ABASCANTUS.
(Aside to Clara.)
Work on him;
I fear that woman.
(Exit.)
DIDIUS.
(To Marcia.)
Is Rome bought and sold?
Alas, you see, she is. A purchaser
Is not ashamed to trade in noblest blood,
If once a state of servitude is owned:
We traffic in all creatures, and, if fate
Allow the traffic, we are justified.
MARCIA.
You are forbidden; something holds you back.
Rome to be bought! (Showing the city.)
Look there!
DIDIUS.
But if I stood,
An army at my back to overwhelm,
You would not interpose.
MARCIA.
It is the strong,
And they must be accoutred by the gods—
What helmets and what spears!—who may prevail
In circumstance so awful. Dare you call
The Mighty Helpers who have fought for Rome
To aid you in this enterprise? I know
The day will come she will bear many evils,
And many kingdoms build their seat on her:
But touch her with a manacle for gold!
O Didius, do not dream that what is done
Of foolish men can ever come to pass;
It is the Sibyls' books that are fulfilled,
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They are laid by as dust. “If fate allow,”
You say, “the traffic!” You may change the current
And passage of whole kingdoms by not knowing
Just what is infamy: a common deed
It may be, nothing monstrous to the eye,
And yet your children may entreat the hills
To hide them from its terror. Be dissuaded:
I know what one may do, and what it is
To strike predestined blows; but this attempt
Will lead you to wide ruin.
DIDIUS.
Clara, child,
You lay this dearest head against my shoulder,
You clasp my arm as if to make entreaty;
But, for your sake, if this should prove a gift
That secretly should blight you!
CLARA.
Give it me.
You say I am the apple of your eye,
You say I am your idol, praise my beauty,
And yet you shut it in the dark for ever,
As you have shut away your murrhine vase,
If now you let another rise more high,
Another pass beyond me; be most sure
I never shall have pleasure any more
From any gift you give, in any honour
You may attempt to win, if you refuse
My marvellous, full title. Indiscreetly
Cornelius let it drop into my ear;
From him it has no meaning: you may breathe it,
And with it breath of joy on all my youth.
MANLIA.
Husband, I join my prayers.
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There is no need,
For the great suit is won. I know when Jove
Flushes benignant.
DIDIUS.
Ah, Cornelius, see!
This is a smile to win, and you have heard
That I alone can win it. Is it so?
(Re-enter Abascantus.)
Well, Abascantus, do we rule the world?
ABASCANTUS.
You must appear in person. I have bribed
With promises, but still the soldiers shout,
“Let Didius come himself and raise the price
Sulpicianus bids.”
DIDIUS.
Sulpicianus!
It is unseemly he should leave the corse
Of a dear son-in-law unvisited . . .
ABASCANTUS.
His speech is artful and your fluent lips
Are needed with their generosity,
For he is winning power the thievish way
Of subtle eloquence.
CORNELIUS.
If you should speak,
Most gracious sir, we cannot doubt the issue;
Your golden mouth and not your golden coffers
Will earn you sovereignty.
DIDIUS.
If I must speak?
Why, so—it is my gift! Sulpicianus
Will scarcely there be master. You must leave me
To ponder on my periods. By-and-by,
If with security I can provide
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Eclectus lives,
Marcia, be sure of that, and if I rule
Shall be most near to me in trust. Go in!
(Exeunt all but Abascantus and Gabba, who has been forgotten.)
And, treasurer, count my gold.
ABASCANTUS.
No counting now;
You must appease the soldiers, or, inflamed,
They lift Sulpicianus on their shields.
You lose the precious instant.
DIDIUS.
Face this Rome,
This populace! I never wanted words,
They streamed up to my lips so fluently;
And now I am ashamed and cannot speak.
But leave me—count my gold; for if my treasure
Lie not in solid heaps upon the floor
I will not stir a foot.
(Exit Abascantus.)
If this delay
Should save me from my doom! And yet I fear . . .
His jaws locked on a sudden—treasurer
Of the imperial chests!—while I must traverse
Wide halls and palaces with no more right
Than if I were a ghost; I am not Cæsar;
Marcia said true; and now this awful charge
Is laid upon me a strange emptiness
Fills me with lassitude. How should I speak?
These Roman citizens, who were my neighbours,
Who were my friends, are foreign to me now:
If they will be my slaves, they may be happy;
But that is the condition, and to that
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The gold must speak; for at whatever price
Rome rate herself I am her purchaser,
And the great gods, the silent companies,
Must sit around and scoff. (Perceiving Gabba.)
Odd, little package,
In all the hubbub you have never moved.
Do you too wait on fortune?
GABBA.
I am hungry.
DIDIUS.
And I can promise supper-time. You know
Your master has been slaughtered?
GABBA.
Commodus
Was my true master.
DIDIUS.
Then you do not weep?
GABBA.
Except for supper.
DIDIUS.
Would you like to live
Again in the old palace?
GABBA.
This is scarcely
The lodging for a dwarf: I need more space.
Cooped up, I am ridiculous.
(Re-enter Abascantus.)
ABASCANTUS.
How just!
My patron, we must part with him and quickly
To the new Emperor.
DIDIUS.
Thus the coffers doom?
You have been long away.
xxvii
In colloquy
With logic and with chance. Sulpicianus
Will offer at the least five thousand drachms
To every soldier: of his honesty
He can pledge that.
DIDIUS.
And I a thousand more.
We have these sums, or they are on the way.
ABASCANTUS.
They never will arrive: but you must go
And brag like Hercules, no point reserved,
If you would give your heaps of jewels light,
See your rare vases placed, and claim the service
Of Pylades, the wing-foot dancer, perfect
As gem or vase. And there must be no question,
No scruple, if Augusta and her dwarf . . .
DIDIUS.
Clara Augusta! But revolted soldiers . . .
GABBA.
Murder!
ABASCANTUS.
And bloodshed! Hail, Sulpicianus!
Ours is but merchants' traffic.
DIDIUS.
I will bid.
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