University of Virginia Library

ACT THE FIRST.

SCENE THE FIRST.

Nero, Seneca.
Sen.
Lord of the world, what dost thou covet?

Ne.
Peace.

Sen.
'Tis thine, if thou destroy'st it not in others.

Ne.
I should possess it fully, if I were not
Bound to Octavia by a hated tie.

Sen.
But thou, the Cæsar's successor, couldst thou
Inherit and increase their power and lustre
Without Octavia's hand? 'Twas by her means
That thou enjoyest this throne: yet in a hard
And unjust exile, this Octavia pines;
She, though thus robb'd of thee, although she knows
A haughty rival clasps thee in her arms,
(Unhappy lady!) loves, adores thee yet.

Ne.
Grant that she were the instrument to raise me,
She since has proved the instrument alone
Of my misfortunes; and e'en now, alas!
Since her divorce, her baneful influence reigns.
The faithless people dare espouse her cause,
Dare speak of her with pity? dare, oh rage!
Around my very throne to breathe their murmurs?—
I would not only that Octavia's name
Were never loudly thunder'd in my ears,
But that no trembling lip in timid whispers
Scarce audibly dared mutter it around me.—
—I am not Nero if I suffer this.

Sen.
My lord, thou hast not always in contempt
My councils held. Thou knowest well how I
Boldly, with weapons of sage argument,
Have check'd the ardour of thy youthful passions.
I threatened thee with shame, reproach, and mischief,
If thou persisted'st to divorce Octavia,
And from her cruel banishment still worse.
Octavia's image is devoutly cherish'd
In the recesses of the people's hearts:
I told thee this: and added that all Rome
Accounted as ill-omen'd gifts the fields
Of Plautus, and the bloody house of Burrhus,
On her so cruelly expelled, bestowed,
In the esteem of all men, as the types
Of predetermined outrage: and I said ...

Ne.
Amply hast thou exhorted me; but yet
Thou hast obeyed my will. Perhaps formerly
Thou taughted'st me to reign; but neither thou
Canst teach, nor man can learn, to be exempt
Always from error. Let it now suffice me,
That Rome has given me a timely warning.
'Twas no light fault that I expell'd Octavia,
For never should she have, no never long,
A dwelling far from me ...

Sen.
Thou then of this
Repentest? and 'tis true what I have heard?
Octavia returns?

Ne.
Yes.

Sen.
Thou dost feel
Pity for her?

Ne.
Pity? ... yes; I feel pity.

Sen.
And she will be companion of thy throne,
Perhaps of thy royal bed?

Ne.
Within my palace
She now returns. Wherefore, thou wilt behold.
Oh Seneca, thou wise among the wisest,
In manifold emergencies of state
More urgent and more difficult than this,
My guide and minister, I flatter me
Thou wilt not now deceive the implicit trust
That I have placed in thee.

Sen.
Counsel from me,
Alas! 'tis ever thus! thou only seekest,
When in thy heart thou hast already fix'd
The fatal sentence. I guess not thy thoughts;
But for Octavia, hearing thee speak thus,
I tremble.

Ne.
Tell me, didst thou also tremble
That day when, dragg'd to necessary death,
Her brother fell? And on that day when thou
Didst with thy lips pronounce my haughty mother,
Who was become thy foe, worthy of death,
Say, didst thou tremble?

Sen.
What is this I hear?
That infamous, that execrable day
Dar'st thou recall to mind? My hands were not
Bathed in that blood of thine; thou drankest it,
I held my peace; constrain'd, I held my peace,
'Tis true; but from my silence I was guilty,
And shall be while the vital air I breathe.
Fool that I was! I trusted to thee then,
That Nero thus would with maternal blood
Close his career of blood. Now I perceive
This scarce was a beginning. Each renewal
Of thy dire deeds to me brings tribute large
Of hated gifts, with which, I know not why,
Thou hast o'erwhelm'd me. Thou constrainest me
To take them; price of blood thy gifts wilt seem
To the malignant people: ah! resume them;
And leave to me my self-esteem entire.

Ne.
If thou possessest it, to thee I leave it.
Thou art expert in all the milder virtues:
But thou art aware, however plausible,
These virtues are not always fit for practice.
If thou didst wish to keep thy fame untouch'd,
And incorrupt thy heart, why didst thou quit,
For this alluring splendour of a court,
Thy obscure birth-place? Thus thou seest that I,
Myself no stoic, can teach thee who art;
And yet my wisdom I owe all to thee.
Since by thy station here thou hast thyself
Impaired thy candour; since the name of good,
When tarnished once, can never be regain'd,
Thou mayest assist me. Of my former faults
Thou hast diminish'd, or wiped off, the foulness;
Proceed; applaud and varnish o'er my failings;
Thy judgment yet is held in some esteem.
Less criminal than other men, the people
Esteem thee yet; thou always art supposed
Over my heart great influence to possess:
In short, thou'rt so install'd within my palace,
That when thou blamest me, thou blam'st thyself.

Sen.
I know it pleases thee that other men
Should bear the burthen of thy trespasses.
A load divided thus becomes more light.
Yes, I, though guiltless of thy numerous crimes,
Bear all their punishment; and thus incur
That royal privilege—universal hate.
What infamous new task canst thou impose
On me that can increase ...

Ne.
Thou art required
To alienate the people from Octavia.

Sen.
The people change not, as their masters do,
Their partialities; and ill they feign.

Ne.
The wise man shapes his language and his deeds
To the occasion: and art thou not wise?
Go; on that day I shall avail myself
Of all thy virtues, whatsoe'er they be,
When I can say the empire is my own.
Meanwhile I am the master of the art,
And thou the pupil, to obtain that power:
See that I find thee pliant to my purpose.
I do not menace thee with death; I know
That death appals thee not; but of thy fame
The small remains with which thou yet art burthen'd,
Ah think, 'tis all at my supreme disposal.
I can take from thee more than thou possessest.
Be silent then, and aid my purposes.

Sen.
Absolute words I hear, and words that breathe
Rancour and blood. But I wait the event,
Whatever it may be. To thy designs
All my assistance now is vain and guilty.
Who is not well convinced that Nero now
Suffices unassisted to shed blood?

SCENE THE SECOND.

Nero.
Ne.
Thee and thy pomp of simulated virtues,
Proud stoic, I will quell. Till now with gifts
I have contrived to punish thee: I keep
The axe to fall upon thy abject neck
When to the very refuse of the people
I've render'd thee contemptible. What now
Is this my absolute tremendous power,
If on all quarters it is thwarted thus
With fresh impediments? I hate Octavia;
Poppæa I adore beyond all words;
And shall I stoop, I, to dissimulate
Aversion and regard? That privilege
Which to my vilest slaves the law forbids not,
Shall the envious whispers of the multitude
Attempt to-day to interdict to Nero?

SCENE THE THIRD.

Nero, Poppæa.
Pop.
Mightiest of monarchs, source of all my joy,
Opprest with care, and banish'd from my sight,
Thou leavest me to bitter anguish. What,
Shall it ne'er be that I shall witness thee
Blest by our mutual love?

Ne.
I, far from thee,
Am sometimes banish'd by our love, Poppæa,
And by our love alone. Thee I secured
With long and perilous toil; to keep thee now
I should assiduously strive: thou knowest,
That even at my very sceptre's risk,
I will that thou be mine ...

Pop.
Except thyself,
Who would, who could dissever me from thee?
Each nod of thine, each will of thine, in Rome,
Is law supreme. Thou, as a recompence
Of my regard, bestow'dst thyself on me,
And thou from me may'st take thyself away;
And as thou canst effectively do this,
So could I ne'er survive the loss of thee.

Ne.
Take thee from me! Not heaven itself could do it.
But guilty popular insolence, not yet
Utterly smother'd, dares meanwhile to blame
The affections of my heart: hence I'm constrain'd
To take preventive measures ...

Pop.
And dost thou
That popular insolence heed?

Ne.
I hope, ere long,
To shew how much I heed it; but I fain
Would leave without a head this frantic hydra:
Scarce will its last head tumble on the ground,
Whence Rome derives her hope, ere broken, mute,
Torn, and annihilate, to earth will fall
Her haughty multitudes. Rome has not yet
Discover'd Nero's heart; I from her thoughts
Her fond traditionary tales of freedom
Will utterly expel. Octavia, now
The last survivor of the Claudii,
Resounds in every mouth; the multitude,
In my despite, deplores her destiny,
Not from affection; in the people's heart
Love never enters: but the insolence
Of popular licentiousness it sooths
To recollect the weak and infirm sway
Of inept Claudius, and to sigh for that
Perversely, which no more they can possess.

Pop.
'Tis true: the tongues of Rome can ne'er be silent;
But have they any power except to prate?
Should this alarm thee?

Ne.
For Octavia
A too auspicious place of banishment
Incautiously I've chosen. For the name
Of Agrippina, the entire armament
Now station'd on Campania's shores, retains
A partial recollection. In their breasts
Desire of novelty, a specious pity
For Claudius' daughter, disaffected thoughts,
And traitrous purposes, have taken root.
I have ill-chosen such a place of exile;
And should do worse in suffering her to stay there.

Pop.
And should Octavia in thy mind excite
Such keen solicitude? Why not dispatch her
Beyond the confines of thy mighty empire?
What exile more effectual than this,
If that indeed suffice? What trackless desert
Is so remote that it can sever her
Too far from thee, preposterously who dares
To attribute to herself the foolish boast
Of giving thee the throne?

Ne.
Till she has lost,
Entirely lost, the power to injure me,
In Rome, and in my palace, she will have
A residence least perilous for me.

Pop.
What do I hear? Octavia come to Rome!

Ne.
Now hear my arguments.

Pop.
Am I then she? ...

Ne.
Ah! hear me ...

Pop.
Yes, full well I understand; ...
Quickly must I depart ...

Ne.
Listen to me:
Octavia doth not to thy detriment
Return to Rome: but surely to her own ...

Pop.
That she returns there to thy detriment,
Quickly wilt thou behold. Meanwhile I tell thee
That not one city, much less then one palace,
While we are living, can at once contain
Octavia and myself. Let her return
That seated Nero on the world's proud throne;
To make him abdicate that throne she comes.
For thee I grieve, not for myself, ah no;
I am most willing to return once more
To my beloved Otho. Much he loved me,
And with no lukewarm fondness loves me still:
Ah that I could contrive to love again
That so devoted lover! But Poppæa
Her heart could ne'er divide; nor would accept
Thy heart divided with her hated rival.
I was enamour'd of thyself alone,
Not of thy throne, and still, alas! I am:
The love, not of the monarch of the world,
But of my much-loved Nero, was to me
An irresistible enticement: then
If but in part thou tak'st thyself from me,
If undividedly I do not reign
In thy great heart, I yield the whole, I yield
And spurn at all the rest. Alas! could I
Tear as effectively from my fond heart
Thy form, as I'm inflexibly resolved
On total alienation from thy presence.

Ne.
Poppæa, I adore thee, this thou knowest;
With what affection, that which I have done,
And that which I design to do, will prove.
But thou ...

Pop.
What wouldst thou? Can I at thy side
Behold that odious rival, and remain there?
Can I admit the thought? Unworthy lady!
Who knows not how, who will not, cannot love,
And yet dare feign to love.

Ne.
Ah tranquillize
Thy mind, thy heart; banish each jealous fear.
But yet respect my sovereign will. 'Tis now
Impossible that she should not return.
Already she towards Rome advances: here
To-morrow will behold her. Thy repose
Not less than mine demands Octavia's presence.
But why enumerate reasons if I wish it?
I, not accustomed, if my will is fixed,
To meet with obstacles. Believe me, lady,
I am not satisfied with such a love
As thou displayest, of all fear exempt.
Who most obey and fear me, know that they
Love me the best.

Pop.
Alas! my very boldness
Proceeds from the intensity of fear.
Oh how much may'st thou injure me! Thy love
Thou may'st withdraw fro me ... Ah! rather first
Take thou my life: that punishment were milder.

Ne.
Poppæa, cease; confide in my affection.
Doubt never of my faith; above all things
Fear to oppose my will. E'en more than thou,
Her, whom thou call'st thy rival, I detest.
Completely sever'd from her turbulent friends,
Thou here shalt see her by my guards surrounded,
No more thy rival, but thy abject handmaid.
And, finally, if I have any skill
In arts of ruling, she herself shall give thee
Over herself the entire ascendency.