University of Virginia Library

SCENE II

Scene.—The tiring chamber of Poppaea—signs of luxury, implements of a Roman lady's toilet of the period. Poppaea reclining, with a single maid
Poppaea.
Myrrha, more gold upon these builded curls.
How often, child?

Myrrha.
Mistress, forgive me.

[A slave has entered.
Poppaea.
Well?

Slave.
Mistress, the Emperor's minister, Tigellinus.

[Poppaea signs Myrrha to go.
Enter Tigellinus
Tigellinus.
Lady, I am loth to interrupt this toil,
But come on a secret errand.

Poppaea.
Well, what is it?

Tigellinus.
Long have I watched you, and to me it seemed
You had some mighty wish within your soul
As yet unspoken? Ah, I know it well.
You would climb high, even to the very height?

Poppaea.
[Rising.]
I would.

Tigellinus.
You would be—mistress of the world?

Poppaea.
Ah!

Tigellinus.
And shall be: we aim at the same goal.
You from ambition, I from policy.

Poppaea.
Speak clearer.

Tigellinus.
'Tis our wish to free young Nero
From Agrippina's dangerous dominance—
To free him of her quite. Now she too stands
In your own path. Your loveliness may work
Upon him: and we with policy the while—
Will you make cause with us?

Poppaea.
I understand.
You need this beauty as an added bait
To lure when policy can drive him not.
What do I gain at last?

Tigellinus.
The throne itself.
Octavia is a shadow: cannot stand
Between you and the world: but Agrippina,
Never will suffer you while she has breath.

Poppaea.
I will not tempt him to a mother's murder.

Tigellinus.
Nor do we ask it: only that you draw
His wandering fancy from her with a sweet
Interposition of this loveliness,
Free him of her, then bind him to yourself.

Poppaea.
I will attempt it. I will fly at it.
I go to him to Baiae this same day.

Tigellinus.
Remember all the earth is in thy reach.
[Exit Tigellinus.

Poppaea claps her hands—enter various maids
Poppaea.
Lorilla, see, this henna is o'erdone.

Lorilla.
O pardon, mistress.

Poppaea.
And you, Lalage,
My lips more brilliant.

Lalage.
Yet—

Poppaea.
Remember, child,
That I walk ever veiled: what in the sun
Glares, being veiled a finer richness takes
And more provokes: how many struggling flies
This veil, the web of mine, hath struggling held
Which else were freed!
[Gazing at her face in mirror.
Ah! this left eyebrow—who?
Who painted this?

Maid.
[Trembling.]
I, madam.

Poppaea.
You are young:
Else I would have you stripped and lashed till blood
Flew from you.

Maid.
Mercy!

Poppaea.
Call old Lydia.
Lydia, this eyebrow—the old touch.

Lydia.
My hands
Tremble, but I'll essay.

Poppaea.
[Gazing in mirror.]
So—that is well.
Children, when there shall come, and come there must,
The smallest marring wrinkle on this face,
And come there must—our bodies fall like flowers,
This face shall feel the ruin of the rose—
When time, howe'er light, shall touch this cheek,
Then quick farewell! Listen, I will not live
Less lovely, nor this cruel beauty lose,
And I perforce grow kind: I'll not survive
The deep delicious poison of a smile
Nor mortal music of the sighing bosom
That slowly overcomes the fainting brain.
It shall not dawdle downward to the grave;
I'll pass upon the instant of perfection.
No woman shall behold Poppaea fade:
And now to Baiae!

Myrrha.
Thence the Emperor
Hath sent three messengers already.

Poppaea.
Ah!
Blue Baiae, warm beside a sparkling sea
Where I will win young Nero—and the world!

Enter Otho hastily
Otho.
The Emperor hath sent three messengers
Demanding you for Baiae: yet am I
Not asked: what means this lonely summons, wife?

Poppaea.
Can you not trust me?

Otho.
When I gaze on you,
‘Yes’—when your voice is murmuring at my ear,
‘Yes’—but at times when I am pressed by crowds
Or yearn alone beside the breaking wave—

Poppaea.
Will you not trust me? Why then do I go?
Is't for myself? You know well—'tis for you;
To praise the Emperor's verses—but for you;
To applaud his feeblest gesture—but for you;
To coax from him a kingdom—but for you!
Yet are you angered.

Otho.
'Tis a perilous game.
Nero may ask more of your loveliness.

Poppaea.
A woman may surrender inch by inch
Even to the edge of shame: then sudden rise
Unmelting ice.

Otho.
Poppaea, I like not.

Poppaea.
All is for you.

Enter an Officer with Attendants
Officer.
Sir, from the Emperor.
Thus Caesar saith: ‘Hereby do we decree
Otho, our bosom's friend, sole governor
Of Lusitania: with imperial leave
Whom to appoint, dismiss: all revenues
In his control: thither let him proceed
To-morrow ere sunset.‘

Otho.
[Looking at Poppaea, then turning to Officer.]
I shall obey.
[Exit Officer and Others.
Dismiss the slaves.

Poppaea.
Otho, I swear—

Otho.
Dismiss them.

Poppaea.
Myrrha, stay by me! On my knees I swear—

Otho.
Stand up! You knew this?

Poppaea.
Dear, I never could—

Otho.
[Taking her by the arm.]
You go to Baie into Caesar's arms.
I am—promoted—to the ends of the earth,
Anywhere, anywhere, so I be not there
To interrupt.

[He throws her from him—snatches his dagger.
Poppaea.
Kill me then if you will.
Here—here! I will not flinch, so I die true.
You'll not suspect my corpse.

Otho.
It has been planned,
Thought out, and timed—for in his deepest plot
Our Nero has an eye for drama still.
He hath imagined that which now we act.

Poppaea.
Kill me—I love you! Ere you strike, one kiss.

Otho.
Ah!

[Recoiling.]
Poppaea.
But one kiss—a kiss of olden days,
When we two were most happy: Caesar was not,
And you had laughed at him! A harp-player,
But not my man, my Otho! Think you I
Who have had these arms about me, and these lips
Burn up my own, could languish for a mime?
I am a child—I have done wrong—forgive it—
I sighed for thy advancement—speak to me!
Now slap my hands or send me to my bed,
I am a baby in these deep affairs.

Otho.
Go not to Baiae then: depart with me
To Lusitania; words I'll count no more,
But deeds—to Lusitania, come with me.

Poppaea.
Is it wise to disobey—is it wise, I ask?
Set me aside, be mindful of yourself.

Otho.
So you'll not come?

Poppaea.
For you alone I linger.
I'll tarry but a little while behind you,
And when I come, I'll greet you full of riches.

Otho.
I dread to leave you in your love-liness.

Poppaea.
Then I'll not go with you.

Otho.
You will not—Why?

Poppaea.
Because you will not trust me. Show to me
That you can trust me, Otho; and what joy,
What satisfaction can you have to drag
Your wife behind you, from dull jealousy
Because you do not dare leave her behind
For fear—I'll not be such a wife.

Otho.
Poppaea,
No more I'll ask you to depart with me,
I'll go alone: but this remember still—
Gay have I been, a spendthrift and an idler,
A brilliant fly that buzzed about the bloom.
But I had that in me deep down, and still,
Of which you, you alone, posses the key,
A sullen nobleness to you disclosed
E'en then with shame: and by no other guessed.
This you well know: betray not that at least;
For even the lightest woman here is scared,
And dreads to dabble deeper in the soul.
We have no children.

Poppaea.
[Coming to him and putting up her face.]
Am I not child enough
Who should be woman? You shall kiss these lips
Once ere you go—so close they are to you.

Otho.
The gods laugh out at me—but I must kiss you.

Poppaea.
Can I not help your preparation?

Otho.
No.
I shall not go with pomp; but as a soldier.

Poppaea.
I think you are still angry?

Otho.
No! Farewell,
I have brief time.

Poppaea.
Ah! take me with you, then.

Otho.
What! You will come?

Poppaea.
I wish—I wish 'twere wise.
My love shall bear your litter all the way.

[Exit Otho hastily.
Re-enter Maid
Maid.
Has he gone, lady? Had I such a man
I could not let him part thus, not for Caesar.

Poppaea.
For Caesar! No: but Caesar means the world!
For Baiae! The new gold-dust!

Maid.
Here, I have it.

Poppaea.
Bear it yourself—entrust it to no other.

[Exeunt.