University of Virginia Library

ACT THE SECOND.

SCENE THE FIRST.

Poppæa, Tigellinus.
Pop.
To-day a common danger we incur;
Oh Tigellinus, it behoves us then,
To-day, to seek a common remedy.

Ti.
And what? Fear'st thou Octavia? ...

Pop.
Certainly
Not her allurements; hitherto have mine
Prevail'd in Nero's eyes: I apprehend
Her feign'd affection, her feign'd gentleness;
The arts of Seneca, and his reproaches,
The violence of the people, the remorse
Of Nero; these I fear.

Ti.
Long has he loved thee,
And dost thou not yet know him? His remorse
Springs from an incapacity to injure.
Believe me now, 'tis but to consummate
A more complete revenge, that he to Rome
Thus draws Octavia. Let it work in him
That innate rancour, fathomless and bitter;
This, added to the inveterate abhorrence
His fruitless bed inspired; these are alone
The sure preventives to our common danger.

Pop.
Feel'st thou secure? Not I.—But thy frank converse
Induces me to speak. I know full well
The soul of Nero; of compunctious workings
It is not capable: but terror, say,
Is terror not omnipotent in him?
Who did not see him tremble at the sight
Of his detested mother? Was he not
Wholly possest with love for me; yet dared he,
While she was living, give to me his hand?
By the mere sternness of his silent scowl
Did not e'en Burrhus awe him? Finally,
Of all power destitute, and garrulous,
Does Seneca sometimes not even yet
Affright him with his magisterial prate?
These are the mirrors, whose reflection forms
The semblance of a conscience. The remorse
Is this, of which I think him capable.
Now add to these the uproar of the rabble,
The menaces of Rome ...

Ti.
These will consign
Octavia more quickly to the fate
Which fell on Agrippina and on Burrhus,
To which so many, many more were doom'd.
Suffer that to his ancient enmity
Fresh fears be added, in a breast like his,
T'inspire the wish, and lastly to mature it,
For the destruction of thy rival. He
Has not discover'd yet to me his thoughts,
But I'm aware that nothing sharpens more
Nero's fierce cunning than his boundless fear.
Rome, clamorous for Octavia, kills Octavia.

Pop.
Yes; but meanwhile Octavia may usurp
A transient glimmering of capricious favour?
Octavia hates us both: what would defend thee
From such effective wrath? Th'irresolute,
And frail reluctance of a trembling lord?
One untoward instant may alone suffice
To o'erwhelm us both; what consolation then
To us, if we are doom'd to fall the first,
That she fall after us?

Ti.
Fear not, oh no!
That she secure e'en a brief flash of favour.
The way to Nero's heart Octavia knows not.
Her weak parade of austere virtue frets him;
Obedience, love, timidity, in her,
Alike displease him; and that very bait
With which by us he's caught, in her he hates.
But yet, if I can any thing perform,
What ought I now to do?

Pop.
Sagaciously
Explore, and warn me of, the smallest trifles;
Exert keen foresight; to his rage bring fuel;
Invent contrivances, propose to Nero
A thousand, for the ruin of my rival;
Tax her with faults where she has none: in short,
As far as thy dexterity suggests,
Apply a thousand means; go, come, assail him,
Work on his passions, blind them; and watch always:—
This shouldst thou do.

Ti.
This will I do: fear not:
But the best instrument for such effects
Is Nero's own dark heart; he in the lore
Of vengeance is a master; and, thou knowest,
If others shew in this an equal skill,
He is incensed.

Pop.
That all conspires to inflame
His rage, I know full well. With my excess
Of love erewhile he reprimanded me;
And spoke to me already of the throne
Like a ferocious despot.

Ti.
Take thou heed
Not to provoke him ever: o'er his heart
Thy power is great; but impulses of rage,
Intoxication of supreme command,
And a fierce thirst of vengeance, can controul,
Far more than love, the workings of his heart.
Depart: he wished to speak with me alone
In these apartments: all thy interests
Implicitly confide to Tigellinus.

Pop.
I swear to thee, that, if in this thou serv'st me,
None that approach the person of the emperor,
Shall equal thee in power and confidence.

SCENE THE SECOND.

Tigellinus.
Ti.
'Tis certain, if Octavia triumph'd now,
That fatal injury would result to us.
Nero himself assures me. Too intense
Is his disdain; Octavia's innocence
Too manifest; no refuge has she left.
Yet I'm constrain'd to summon up to-day
All my dexterity. I must persuade him
That all his fear is provident precaution;
And make him fancy that the guiltiest vengeance
Would be pronounced, even by sages, just.
Lord of the world, I hold thee; I alone
Hold thee, and absolutely. To myself
Shall it belong, in time, t'intimidate
And to encourage thee. Woe, if thou lose
This salutary fear! To evil deeds,
What further impulse, or to virtuous deeds,
What further hindrance would remain to thee?

SCENE THE THIRD.

Nero, Tigellinus.
Ti.
Great emperor, why didst thou not come before?
Thou wouldst have heard the sobbings of a lady,
Who loves thee too intensely. In the bosom,
The true and tender bosom of Poppæa,
A conflict fierce, doubt, fear, and love, have waged.
A lady who adores thee so, canst thou
Thus cruelly afflict?

Ne.
She will not see,
Blinded by unjust jealousy, the truth.
I love her only ...

Ti.
This I've said to her;
But who could better calm the bitter pangs
Of jealous fear than a beloved lover?
From her, ah hide, in pity to her sex,
That terrible majesty, that in thy face
Conspicuous shines. Thou with a word, a smile,
A look, couldst calm the tempest that assails
Her trembling heart. I, in thy name, have dared
To swear to her, that in thyself the thought
Hath never entered to abandon her.
That, though I know them not, for mighty reasons,
Thou summonedest Octavia to Rome;
But never to Poppæa's detriment.

Ne.
My faithfullest interpreter, for me
The truth thou swaredst. This I also swore
To her: but deaf she stood. What avail words?
The day that rises, will, perchance, scarce be
Completed, ere Octavia's destiny
Shall be, and irrecoverably, seal'd.

Ti.
May all thy cares be wound up in her fate,
Provided thou wouldst condescend to prove
How criminal she is to Rome.

Ne.
To Rome?
As guilty as 'tis possible to be
Is she, since I abhor her. Is it needful
That I by proofs legitimate my will?

Ti.
'Tis but too needful. Thou canst not yet hold
The impious multitude in the contempt
Which it deserves. 'Tis true, it held its peace
At Agrippina's and at Claudius' pyres:
That of Britannicus it saw in silence:
Yet at Octavia's fate it dares to-day
Murmur and weep. Reveal Octavia's crimes,
And all men will be mute.

Ne.
I never loved her;
She evermore displeased and wearied me;
She had the boldness to lament her brother;
I saw her too implicitly obey
The turbulent Agrippina: oft to me
I heard her name her sceptred ancestors:
These are atrocious crimes, and they suffice.
On her already have I sentence passed:
To execute it there is nothing wanting
Except her presence. That she is no more
Rome shall discover: this is the account
Which of my purpose I shall give to Rome.

Ti.
Emperor, thou mak'st me tremble for thyself.
It is not prudent in thee thus to brave
The boisterous people. If thou canst on her
With justice death inflict, why wouldst thou now
That she of thy despotic will alone
Should seem the victim? Were it not more wise
Of her authentic crimes to drag to light
The most enormous? As she is, in fact,
To prove her guilty, while she is esteemed
Reproachless?

Ne.
Other ... more enormous ... crimes?

Ti.
No man presumed to mention them to thee:
But should they be concealed from thee, since now
She is, by her legitimate divorce,
No more thy consort? The unworthy lady
Yet held her station in thy court; with thee
Yet shared thy bed and throne; and yet usurp'd
The homage due to an imperial princess;
When lower than the most abandon'd woman
She had herself degraded; when, alas!
She had conceived the thought to prostitute
To a vile minstrel, that had caught her eye,
Her noble blood, her honour, and herself,
And her imperial ancestors ...

Ne.
Oh infamy!

Ti.
The slave Eucerus pleased her: hence she bore
Her banishment from Rome, and her divorce,
With so much resignation. He sufficed
Amply to compensate for Nero's loss;
Companion, and inseparable solace,
He, of her exile was; ... why call it exile?
The soft Campania, exquisite retreat,
In their voluptuous wallowings shelter'd them.
There on the flowery turf, or on the brink
Of crystal stream, she listened to the notes
Now drawn in symphony from the sweet lyre
By his effeminate hand, in concert now
To his melodious voice: hence she resign'd
The dazzling splendour of her former state
Without regretful thoughts.

Ne.
Could she belie
The blood of Messalina, who her birth
From her derived?—Now say; could proofs be brought
To certify the deed?

Ti.
Yes; to this fact
Are more than one of her attendants privy;
And, if appeal'd to, would depose the truth.
If e'er Octavia had possess'd thy love,
I ne'er had spoken thus. What do I say?
Had she possess'd, had she deserved thy heart,
Such an offence she ne'er could have imagined,
Much less have perpetrated. To thy arms,
Reasons of state, in spite of thy dislike,
At first consigned her. Well she knew herself
Of thee unworthy; hence her abject heart
Thus abjectly she fix'd.

Ne.
But yet I fear
That were I now to opprobrious light to drag
This obscure crime ...

Ti.
Their's is the infamy
Who did the crime.

Ne.
'Tis true.

Ti.
Thus their deserts
Will all obtain: she that of culpable;
Thou that of just; and so thou mayest be
Without incurring risk.

Ne.
Thou speakest wisely.
Be bold in deeds as thou art wise in words.

SCENE THE FOURTH.

Seneca, Nero, Tigellinus.
Sen.
Emperor, already hath Octavia passed
Thy royal threshold: whether I to thee
Bring unpropitious or propitious news,
I cannot tell. But no one emulous
Of such a task, anticipates my coming:
A luckless omen this.

Ne.
Go, Tigellinus;
My orders execute:—and thou retrace
Thy previous footsteps; meet Octavia, tell her
That I await her coming here alone.

SCENE THE FIFTH.

Nero.
Ne.
Guilty, and greatly guilty, is Octavia;
What doubt is there of that? I grieve alone
That I suggested not this project first
Thus to convict her. Can it then be so—
That Nero should from others learn the art
To crush an enemy? But the day comes
When to get rid of those that I abhor,
A signal from my throne will be sufficient.

SCENE THE SIXTH.

Nero, Octavia.
Oct.
In the deep horrors of a gloomy night
By armed guards surrounded, I am dragged
Into this very palace, whence I saw
Myself, two months ago, by violence torn.
May I presume now of my lord to ask
The cause of this?

Ne.
For lofty purposes
Our parents joined us in connubial ties
From our most tender years. Yet since that time
I never saw thee, as thou wert in words,
Conformable in actions to my will:
For a long time thy contumely I bore;
And should, perchance, have borne it longer, hadst thou
Made me the father of a royal offspring,
Numerous and lovely; in whose cheering presence
I might have found some solace to my cares.
I hoped for this in vain; a sterile plant
By thee the throne remain'd devoid of heirs;
By thee my hopes of being a father cross'd.
Hence I divorced thee.

Oct.
Emperor, thou didst well;
Provided that another happier consort
Than I, alas! e'er was, could render thee
The joyful father of a numerous offspring.
I know thou hast not found, nor e'er wilt find,
One that, as I love, loves thee. What of this?
Have I perchance e'er murmur'd at thy will?
Seeing my husband in another's arms,
I've wept, and still I weep. Except my tears
And silence, and obsequiousness and sighs,
Has aught been heard from me?

Ne.
Perpetual sweetness
Dwells on thy lips; but not within thy heart.
Thy words betray thy rancour: ill thou hidest
The anger thou conceivest in thy breast
Against Poppæa. And far less hast thou
Concealed thy other proud remembrances
Of unauthentic rights.

Oct.
Ah, couldest thou
Also forget, as much as I forget
These not imaginary rights of mine,
Since no imaginary ills they cost me! ...
Hatred and fury glisten in thy eyes.
Ah! I too plainly see that thou dost hate me,
More vehemently hate me, than a husband
From mere sterility could hate a wife.
Unhappy lady that I am! I most,
When most I love thee, have offended thee.
What have I asked of thee? What ask I now?
An obscure and a solitary life,
And liberty to weep.

Ne.
And I, indeed,
Assured that thou wouldst in an obscure life
Be better satisfied, to thee prescribed
The life; but afterwards ...

Oct.
But afterwards
Thou didst repent of this: didst feel remorse
Since I was not sufficiently unhappy.
Thou wishest me to live a witness here
Of thy new ties: thou wishest me to be
The handmaid of thy consort; to the world
A laughing-stock; derision of thy court.
Behold me then submissive to thy will:
What should I do? Speak. Issue thy commands.
Yet even in thy court entirely wretched
Thou canst not make me, if with my misfortunes
I satisfy thy heart. Say, art thou happy?
Reigns in thy heart a placid calm? Dost thou
Beside another spouse that tranquil sleep,
Of which thou robbest me, securely taste?
Does that Poppæa, whom, like me, thou hast not
Robbed of a brother, more than did Octavia
Ensure thy happiness?

Ne.
At what a price
Thou ought'st to hold his heart who rules the world,
Thou never knewest, and Poppæa knows.

Oct.
Poppæa knows how to esteem the throne
To which she was not born: I to esteem
Thyself: nor can she ever try to cope
With me in loving thee. She has, 'tis true,
Obtain'd thy heart; but I alone deserve it.

Ne.
No, no, thou canst not love me.

Oct.
Rather say,
That I ought not to love thee: but from thine
Judge not thou of my heart. I know, that now
The blood from which I spring, except in me,
Is everlastingly extinct; I know
That in my heart, thy image, with the blood
Of all my family contaminate,
Ought never to have found a place: but this
Is force of destiny. Now, if my brother,
My father, slain by thee, I ne'er remember,
Dar'st thou allege against me as a crime
That brother and that father?

Ne.
As a crime,
The vile Eucerus I allege against thee.

Oct.
To me? ... Eucerus!

Ne.
Yes; to thee Eucerus;
The lover thou deservest.

Oct.
Ah, just Heaven!
Dost thou hear this?

Ne.
There are who dare to charge thee
As guilty of adulterous servile love:
For this alone I bring thee back to Rome.
Prepare thyself for which thou likest best,
Or to refute it, or to suffer for it.

Oct.
Oh unexampled, horrible imposture!
Where is the infamous accuser? ... Ah ...
Fool that I am, what questions do I ask?
Nero accuses, judges, and condemns.

Ne.
Behold thy boasted love! ... Yes, yes, the poison
At last flows freely from thy bursting heart;
Now that I have, at least in part, discover'd
Thy secret turpitude.

Oct.
Ah wretched me! ...
What more remains for me? Driven from my bed,
My throne, my palace, and my country; this
Suffices not! ... Oh Heaven! my fame alone
Remain'd to me entire; alone consoled me
For every ravish'd good: this precious treasure
In vain, by her who lightly prized her own,
Was seen with envy: now or ere my life,
My fading life is gone, my fame is tarnished.
Haste, haste, oh Nero, why dost thou delay?
Peace, (if that blessing ever can be thine,)
Peace, I know well, thou never wilt enjoy
So long as I exist: can the means fail thee
To slay a helpless and a friendless lady?
Within the deep recesses of this palace,
The fatal dark abode of fraud and death,
Drag me at will: and let me there be slain.
Moreover, thou thyself may'st with thy hands
Cut short my life: not only will my death
Please thee, but it is necessary now.
Ah be appeased then with my death alone.
All other slaughter of my friends already
I have forgiven thee; I now forgive
The slaughter of myself; yes, kill, reign on,
And kill again: thou know'st all means of death;
Already Rome is skilful in the art
Of blazoning forth thy crimes in virtues' symbols;
What dost thou fear? In me of all the Claudii
The last survivor dies; all the remembrance,
And all the love the people ever bore them.
The gods are now accustomed to the fumes
Of thy ensanguined incense; at their altars
Still the memorials hang of every death:
And private massacres have been to thee
As trophies and as triumphs. Let my death
Suffice then to appease thee: why allege,
When death I do not shun, nay ask of thee,
Aspersions as iniquitous as false?

Ne.
For thy defence I wholly yield to thee
This dawning day. If thou art innocent
'Twill give me joy. My hate thou need'st not fear,
But thy own crime, which far surpasses it.

SCENE THE SEVENTH.

Octavia.
Oct.
Ah wretched me! ... Ah cruel Nero, fed,
For ever fed with blood, yet always craving.