University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

Hall in the gardens of Marc Antony. Arcades in the background; through the central arcade, over which a curtain is suspended, the garden is seen; doors right and left. In the walls of the hall, niches with statues on high pedestals, on the steps of which, as well as under the arcades, a number of gladiators are disposed in picturesque groups. On the pedestal of the foremost statue, R., Thumelicus—on that of the foremost statue, L., Këyx, Apex, and Gnipho.
Enter Cælius and Glabrio (L.H.)
Cæl.
I tell you, it can't be.

Glab.
Best, have a care!
I am Glabrio, look you,—Glabrio, the head
Of the Ravenna Gladiator-school.
And Caius Cæsar sent me his command
To bring my troop, the picked ones of the lot,
To Rome, for the great fight comes off to-morrow;
So I have brought them, as I used to do,
Here to the gardens of Marc Antony,
Where they may be well cared for and well fed.
And now you come and tell me, “It can't be!”
I tell you, I won't stand it!

Cæl.
Hark awhile!
It can't be here, here in the left wing. This
Is used as the State prison; that is why
The right wing's been got ready for your use.
Here, should there be occasion, we'll arrange
A quiet spot for you.

Glab.
Indeed! indeed!
In the right wing! It seems I've lost my way!
And this wing here, you say—Now, by my troth,
A queer State prison! Open doors all round,
And sentries nowhere!—Is it empty, then?

Cæl.
(pointing to the right).
In there two German women have been living
This many a year, not under strict restraint;
They're free to stir about in-doors, or in
The gardens, unattended, as they please;
And so you comprehend—

Glab.
Ay, ay, all right!
My lads and I must to the other side!

Cæl.
Where are they?

Glab.
Yonder, under the arcades;
And on the steps there, stretching their tired limbs,
Just anywhere and anyhow they can,
And look, what limbs they are—
(Giving Gnipho a kick where he lies.)
Up, Gnipho, up!
Stretch out your arm! There's sinew for you, look!
And what a chest!— (striking it with the palm of his hand.)

All sound, rings like a bell!
A splendid pair these, he and Këyx here,—
Oh, he's a second Hercules, in fact
King of my troop, that soars above the rest
As your hawk soars above a flight of crows.

Thumelicus
(springing up and muttering to himself).
Lie, lie away until you choke yourself!

Glab.
And yonder lad. Come here, Thumelicus!
Just look at this young fellow. Ain't he now
A clipper? Two-and-twenty years of age,
Handsome as Phœbus, fresh as any rose!
Won't he set all the women in a flutter,
Won't there be making eyes and catching breath,
When he appears on the arena!

Këyx
(aside).
Pimp!

Glab.
What say you? Have I not for Cæsar reared
A batch of stalwart springalds?

Cæl.
That you have!
Quite first-rate goods! But now come in with me,
And to the tribune show yourself, that he
May tell the Cæsar you've arrived.

Glab.
All right!
But first, before I have to trot them out,
Let my lads have their breakfast and a bath!

Cæl.
Ay, ay, it shall be seen to!

(Exeunt Glabrio and Cælius (L.) through the principal entrance.)
Thum.
(advancing).
Grant me patience,
Ye gods, or make me mad! King! he the king
Of all our company!—It makes me laugh!
King Këyx! King. Ho, Gnipho!

Gnipho.
What's up now?

Thum.
You're a great chum of his?

Gnipho.
Of who's?

Thum.
Of Këyx;
Këyx, our king! Ask him from me, will you,
If from King Midas he can claim descent?

Këyx
(rising, while Apex also rises).
What do you mean by that? A quarrel, eh?

Thum.
I do, thou humbug Hercules! Thou King
Of Nothing and of Nowhere!

Gnipho.
You are mad!

Apex
(who has stolen round to the right of Thumelicus).
Give it him hot and heavy as you can!

Thum.
I do, you night-owl! You a hawk, forsooth!
Yes; I mean business!

Këyx.
Seek it somewhere else!
I have no time to trounce such trash as you!

Thum.
(seizing him, while the gladiators in the background start up, and advance).
By all the gods, you scoundrel—

Gnipho
(holding Thumelicus back, and tearing him away).
Back, I say!
Bethink yourselves! Be rational! No blows!

Këyx.
Yes, take him off, and get a doctor for him!
Poor devil, he has gone clean off his head,
Ever since Glabrio called him a fresh rose,
And since that worthy parent's worthy child,
Lycisca, off and on at leisure times,
Fondles and plays the wanton in his arms!

Thum.
Envy, all envy! You don't fare so well!

Gnipho
(trying to pull him away).
Come, come, don't be a fool!

Këyx.
Not fare so well?
Why, she has kissed me too, you simpleton,
Ay, many a time! Whom has she not kissed? Pooh!

Thum.
(breaking away, and rushing at him).
Dog, cur, you lie!

(Strikes him.)
Këyx
(returning the blow).
So ho! You want a beating?
Well, take it then!

Gnipho
(interposing).
No, no, you shan't. Hands off!

Apex
(coming to Thumelicus's assistance).
Pitch into him! I'm game to help you.

(Confusion; some of the gladiators stand off, others mix in the fray.)
(During the last few sentences Glabrio has come in at the back (L.). He lays about him upon the combatants with a whip.)
Glab.
Fire and fury!
Stand back, knaves! You have gone too long without
A taste of my stout whip! Hands off, I say,
You ill-conditioned louts! Do you suppose,
I've crammed you to the throat with mutton, groats,
And barley scones, that you may drub your hides
All in the way of pastime for yourselves?
The Circus is the market you are meant for,
Ay, there, and nowhere else! Bear that in mind,
And now be off to the right wing, ye knaves!
Away with you! Begone!
(The gladiators, all but Këyx and Thumelicus, retire up slowly, and exeunt L.)
Do you hear, Këyx?

(Striking him.)
Këyx.
Ay,
You strike me, but this fellow, who began
The fray, goes off scot-free! Well, he shall pay for't!
Fresh Rose, to our next meeting in the Circus!

(Retires up, and exit L.)
Thum.
(springing after him).
The Circus! yes, you insolent braggart—

Glab.
(seizing him by the hand and coming forward with him).
Stay!
Stir not an inch! What was it all about?
Why, son of mine, you're quite upset?

Thum.
If you
Have ever truly cared about me, now,
Now is the time to show it; let me meet
This Këyx front to front in the next match!

Glab.
H'm! Këyx! Why, the knave has seen blood flow,
He's bold and sturdy, master of his weapon!

Thum.
A Hercules, no doubt. Soars o'er us all
As a hawk soars above a flight of crows.
King of our troop? It may be that he is,
But if he is, I shall not live, not I!

Glab.
Tush, madcap! What a fuss about mere words?
Is not a merchant bound to praise his wares?
You fight as well, as true to rule, as he,
And, if he's stronger, you are more adroit!
So hug your own deserts, and grant him his!

Thum.
He spoke ill of Lycisca, and shall die!

Glab.
Spoke ill of her? Why, man, this only shows,
She doesn't care for him! Don't vex yourself
About such silly trash! And, by the by,
Lycisca follows us.

Thum.
To Rome? Lycisca?

Glab.
She's off with Marcus Bibius—you know—
Her friend that was, and now to Rome she comes
To push her fortune.

Thum.
Push her fortune? How?
What do you call her fortune?

Glab.
Look you now,
One cannot live on nosegays and on wreaths!
Are you not Cæsar's, soul and body, bound
To peril both to serve his merest whim?
That's her case too! Who wants to live must serve!
That's how the world wags!

Thum.
Këyx then has cause
For what he said about her, and her charms
Are only wares to sell, and I—

Glab.
Good lack,
You'd like to have them to yourself for nothing!
A pretty business truly. A fine woman
Is like the sunshine, everybody's boon,
Yet out of which each gets a pleasant snack!
Now must I to the palace to report
Myself; but you—or we'll have brawls again—
You must not join the others over there;
I'll give you up the little chamber here,
For which I bargained for my private use.
(Pointing to a side-door, L.)
'Tis there, my beauty! Now compose yourself,
And try to rest, until your bath is ready,
And when Lycisca comes, I'll send her here!
Now, will that suit you? Only do not fret,
For fretting makes you pale and haggard! Go,
Go sleep, my beauty!
(While speaking, he has led Thumelicus to the door, L.; after he has disappeared.)
What a rogue it is!
Must play the jealous fool! What silly stuff!

(Exit up the stage, L.; after a pause a side-door, R., opens.)
Enter Ramis.
Ram.
The tumult has calmed down! They are all gone!
Why linger? Come, Thusnelda! Let the breath
Of the spring breeze expand thy weary breast;
The fresh May green will cheer and give thee strength!
(Enter Thusnelda.)
Thou answerest not, and pain and grief, methinks,
Lie heavier on thy soul than e'er before.
Speak, dearest, speak! What ails thee? Speak!

Thusn.
'Tis nought!
For what are wild, and wandering, idle thoughts,
Anger that cannot strike, despairing prayers,
And hate and love that cannot find a vent—
What more are they than this? A world of woe,
And yet but nothingness, blank nothingness!

Ram.
Enough, Thusnelda! Come into the air,
And from thy suffering turn thine eyes away!

Thusn.
And whither turn them, that they may not light
On what has cursed and agonised my life,—
Not light on Rome, Rome everywhere? Shall I
Look forward? To a grave in Roman earth?
Or shall I rivet them upon these walls,
Wherein Rome builds for me a living tomb?
If back I look, is it not Rome, still Rome,
I see envenoming my girlhood's years?
Was it not Rome, with glozing crafty words,
Upon my agèd father worked so long,
Till he, Segestes, the free German prince,
False to his people, heedless of my prayers,
Became the Roman general's serf and spy?
And when Arminius, Germany's noblest son,
Sued for my hand, Segestes spurned his suit,
Spurned with harsh terms Rome's dread antagonist;
And when beneath the cloud of night I fled
On a swift steed with him my heart had chosen,
Was it not Rome, yes, Rome, revengeful Rome,
That from my father's livid lips drew forth
The curse, that, like a ceaseless thunder-peal,
After long years still vibrates through my heart?

Ram.
Heavy have been thy sorrows, but not less
The power to bear them nobly and in silence!
Be this thy comfort! By the bitter pangs
Of year-long slavery tried, thou hast displayed
A spirit greater than thy fate; yes, thou
Hast proved thee worthy of thy race, thyself,
And thy great spouse Arminius.

Thusn.
Woe is me!
Dost mock me, woman? Or dost thou not feel
What thou extollest is my shame, and that
Arminius' wife, made captive by the foe,
Should of her triumph have despoiled proud Rome,
Have hurled her scorn on Rome's omnipotence,
And cheated her by dying? And I wished
To die, and would! With proud exultant step
And head erect, I faced Germanicus;
I was already thinking, how I might
Snatch from some Roman satellite the sword
Should set me free in death, when suddenly
I felt a something stir beneath my heart,
And the first warning of a life to be
Thrilled me with secret rapture through and through.
The mother's heart was born within me then,
And with its first pulsation came a voice
That whispered “Live and love!” Then my head drooped,
My resolution fled, and to the chains
Without a word I rendered up my hands.

Ram.
How? You repent you could not with your own
Destroy a second unborn life—

Thusn.
And why,
Why could I not? For what did I refrain,
Save to give Rome a firmer hold on me?
To give her power, by threatening my boy's life,
To make me follow on the car that bore
Germanicus in triumph through her streets?
For what did I refrain, save that they might
Tear my child from me, o'er me hold the threat
To slay him limb by limb, if ever I
Should venture to lay hands upon myself?
Oh foolish pity, thus to spare my son
For grief and shame and Rome's insulting jests!
Oh nature's voice, that flattered to deceive,
Luring me on to live, when life's best crown,
Freedom and fame, were to be found in death!

Ram.
And yet, if it were true what thy heart's voice
Spoke to thee then? If all more gloriously,
For being long delayed, the bliss should bloom,
Which to thy blind despair seemed lost for ever,—
Thusnelda, if thou wert to hope—

Thusn.
To hope?
I hope for nothing!

Ram.
While there's life, there's hope;
And thou—thou livest still, and soon wilt feel,
With an intensity ne'er felt before,
What life is and pure joy! Needs it that I
Speak out my thought more plainly! Oh, rejoice,
The time is come, deliverance near at hand!

Thusn.
Deliverance?

Ram.
This morning—you were still
Tossing and moaning in your fevered dreams—
The porter had unbarred the grated door,
And I stole out to cool my burning brow;
And walking through the shrubs beneath the wall
Which leads to the Prætorians' Hall along,
A stone fell suddenly before my feet!
I took this for some boyish frolic, but
Behold a second, then a third! I stopped.
In the fresh sinewy accents of our speech,
In the full tones that in our forests ring,
These rhyming words came slowly on my ear:—
It ceased, and I heard footsteps stealing off!
Back to the house I reeled in ecstasy,
To share with thee my rapture! But I found thee
Silent, thine anger turned against thyself,
And, fearing to increase thy torturing doubts, said nothing.
But now 'tis near high noon, the time at hand!
Now follow me, come out, to meet high fortune,
The tidings of release Arminius sends.

Thusn.
Arminius is dead!

Ram.
The Romans said so!
The wish was father to the words!

Thusn.
He's dead;
Were I no widow, I had not been here.

Ram.
Wherefore drop poison into each glad hour,
And wormwood into every joyful word?
Come, come, Thusnelda! Not go with me?

Thusn.
No!

Ram.
Well then, I go alone. Wait for me here,
And I on my return into thy lap
Shall pour the ripe fruit of assurèd joy.

(Exit up R.)
Thusn.
So oft deceived, and yet so prone to trust,
So worn with suffering, yet so full of hope!
Shall I despise her mood, or envy it?
And if perchance she should be right? No, no!
The gods are strangers to Thusnelda now!
For if they knew of her, if they looked down
Into her mother-heart, reft of her child,
Her only child, by fraud and ruthless force,
Both parted, yet both knit together by
One threat of death held over both their heads,
And could they see how, lonely and forlorn,
I curse each day that comes, and yet live on,
Scorn myself daily that I live, yet daily
Go on accumulating scorn on scorn,
Oh, if they saw me from their cloudy home,
They could not choose but weep, weep scalding tears,
There though enthroned above the dust of earth,
Divine and inaccessible to pain!
But no, they see it not; they turn in wrath
Their radiant gaze from the base heart, preferred
Disgraceful slavery to eternal fame;
The gods take of Thusnelda heed no more!

Ram.
(rushing in from the principal entrance, R.)
'Tis he! He comes, Thusnelda!

Thusn.
How! He comes?
Whom mean'st thou? Speak—

Ram.
Oh brightest day, that e'er
With golden radiance kissed the dusky earth!
'Tis he! He follows me—

Thusn.
Who follows thee? Speak! speak!

Ram.
Here, look thyself!

Thusn.
(seeing Merovig, who meanwhile has entered at the back, R.).
How? Do my eyes deceive me?
'Tis thou! Oh, Merovig, the tears that course
Each other down thy agèd beard proclaim,
'Tis thou indeed!

Mer.
(kneeling).
My princess!

Thusn.
Do not weep!
The gods have willed it, that we thus should meet,
And power abides with them! Rise up, my friend,
And now, before of lesser things you speak,
Tell me one thing. How died Arminius?

Mer.
Thou know'st, then—

Ram.
How! It was not all a lie,
Trick, and deception, then?

Thusn.
Hush! No complaints!
I mourned for him, while you still cherished hope;
I mourn no longer now, I envy him!
How died my dear one? Tell me!

Mer.
How he died?
I cannot bear to speak—

Thusn.
Say on, say on!

Mer.
Learn then, since so thou wilt! Germanicus,
Soon after he had made thee prisoner,
Was summoned back to Rome. Arminius then,
That he might set thee free, and punish Rome,
Resolved to force his way to Italy.
Sure of the tribes that dwell upon the Rhine,
The Ems, and Weser, he essayed to make
Pact with Marbod, the Marcomanni's King,
So from the Rhine and Danube in one mass
Might our vast Germany sweep to the South!
But Marbod, proudly trusting his own strength,
And who long since had in Arminius seen
A dreaded rival for Germania's throne,
Rejects the proffered league! Hard words ensue,
The anger of the chiefs infects their people,
And through the land rings menace, clash of arms.

Thusn.
Then strife ensued? And jealousy again,
And care for petty selfish ends, divided
The German people in the very face
Of their one common foe? Fools thus to lose
By such disunion all their vital force,
When, hand and will united, they might be
The lords invincible of all the world!

Mer.
'Twas even as thou hast said; nay, it was worse!
Warfare ensued, and Marbod vanquished threw
Himself into Rome's arms, that promised him
Protection, which was servitude in fact;
Thereon around Arminius rallied straight
All that was left of Marbod's kingdom, and
His power grew daily; so too grew his foes,
Who, now to their aforetime comrades slaves,
In feigned submission veiled their rancorous hate;
So with low cunning did they bide their time,
And, woe the while, it came. One evening we
Found our dear hero lying bathed in blood—

Ram.
Slain—

Mer.
By foul craft struck down, pierced by a spear
Clean through the back into the heart that beat,
As never heart beat, for his country's honour!

Thusn.
Assassinated! By his countrymen!
The Hero of the Teutoburger fight,
The Saviour, the Deliverer! Oh, woe!
Oh Germany, woe upon you! Did you not,
Beseech and pray for a great man, and did
The bounty of the gods not send him to you?
And when from your sore straits he set you free,
Then you hung back from him like cravens, then
Your petty souls before his greatness quailed,
And then—woe for you, Germany, oh woe!—
Then when the saviour had achieved his task,
You snatched him up, the man divinely sent,
And dashed him to destruction at your feet.
(After a pause.)
Go on! The deed, no doubt, had its reward,
Applauded by a grateful loyal people?

Mer.
No, lady, no! With the sad tidings spread
A silence o'er the country far and near!
Nor praise nor blame found voice. The years passed on,
And then a whisper here and there was heard,
And men talked vaguely of old better days,
And then they named the man through whom they came;
And now—now flies afar o'er hill and dale
A cry of yearning anguish for Arminius,
And every tongue, through all our German land,
And every song and saga with one voice
Proclaim, it never bore a nobler son!

Thusn.
Ay, even so! 'Tis ever thus with them!
They hold in scorn what lives within their midst,
And drag it down, and trample it under foot!
What is is nought, what was alone's revered;
Our German greatness grows but from the grave!

Mer.
'Twas not a name alone grew from his grave,
His spirit rose from it, a radiant power,
And swept us onwards in the path he trod!
To unify our forces was his aim,
To break the mastery of Rome his vow;
And now this purpose burns in every breast,
And for the struggle nerves each manly arm.
“A Germany all one!” rings through the vales,
“One kingdom and one leader!” is the cry;
“Who shall it be; the standard who shall bear?”
Then I reminded them, Thusnelda lives,
And to Arminius has borne a son!
“Yes!” rose the cry; “it shall be he! 'Tis he,
Arminius' son shall lead us!”

Ram.
Ye kind gods!

Thusn.
Is it some feverish frenzy mads my brain?
Are these fantastic dreams that round me float?
Is what you tell me true?

Mer.
Trust me, it is!
Yet further; with ten comrades, I was chosen,
And sent on here to Italy, to set
You and your son at liberty, and bring
You home. The readier to achieve our task,
We all took service in Rome's German cohort;
So I contrived to make my way to you;
And as a pledge and earnest of her trust
Do thou accept (kneeling)
what Germany has sent,
For thee to place in thy son's hand anon,
That he may use it, as his father did,
To uphold his country's honour and its might!

Thusn.
His sword! Arminius' sword! I know it well.
Thou noble blade, with unpretending hilt,
I know thee well! As thou art, such was he,
The soul so rich, the man himself so simple!
It is the sword; but he that is to wear it,
My son—

Mer.
You tremble; why thus moved?—

Thusn.
The boy
Whom in my loneliness and grief I bore,—
My boy, my Sigmar, my last comfort, Rome
Tore from my arms. She gave him a slave's name,
And lets me year by year entreat in vain,
That I might see him once, but for one day!
If yet he lives, or death has set him free,
I cannot tell! Wherefore then ask from me
Arminius' son? I have him not! Alone,
A withered barren trunk, I stand and mourn!

Mer.
Nay, do not mourn, Thusnelda, for he lives—

Ram.
(who has been watching at the back, runs forward).
Away, away! I hear a noise within!

Thusn.
He lives! and where, where lives he?

Mer.
In Ravenna.
He has grown up, a vigorous young man,
And at this hour, I know, is on his way
To Rome—

Thusn.
What, here? To Rome?

Ram.
Hark! There are voices,
And footsteps near! Away!

Mer.
The hour draws nigh;
But one word more! Again thou'lt see him,—soon,
Perhaps this very day! All is prepared
To rescue him and thee! Hope, then, have trust—

Ram.
Quick! quick! Away, away!

(Exit with him up the stage, R.)
Thusn.
See him again!
But one word, Merovig! See him again!
Is't dream? Or truth? No, no; it is no dream.
This is Arminius' sword, and shall I not
Within my son's hand place it? shall I not
Incite his spirit to a hero's deeds,
Setting his father's image 'fore his eyes?
I shall, I shall! Ye great, ye gracious gods,
Oft in the silent night have I besought ye,
To place within my hands, and on my soul,
Some mighty purpose yet before I died,—
To trust me with some mission high and grave,
That, undistraught by weakness or by hate,
I might unswervingly my task fulfil,—
Might be Thusnelda still, Arminius' wife,
And worthy of the German name I bear!—
This ye have done, have trusted to my hands
My country's might, her honour, and her future;
And here I vow—clutch ye this hand I raise
In witness of my oath, and hold it fast—
I will fulfil the task ye have enjoined;
I will fulfil it, and, if fail I may,
I'll break, as breaks the oak before the blast,
But bend I will not, ever, ever more!

Enter Thumelicus.
Thum.
It is too hot within! I cannot sleep!
And still that fellow Këyx haunts my sight!
So ho! Who is that woman with the sword?

Ramis (runs in without observing Thumelicus).
Ram.
He got away! Unnoticed as he came!

Thusn.
Hush! hush! look yonder! Oh, ye gracious gods!

Ram.
What ails thee? What's amiss—

Thusn.
Dost thou not see—
There! Or is't only to my eyes revealed?
Look yonder, look!

Ram.
By the gods' cloud-wrapt throne!
It is Arminius' self from crown to sole!

Thum.
Why stare ye so at me, ye crackbrained crones?
What would ye? Speak!

Thusn.
No; it is not the shade
Of my Arminius risen from the grave!
No, thine eye flashes, and thy voice rings clear,
Thou liv'st, thou art my son, and—hence, ye tears,
With your bedimming veils!—and let these arms
Enfold thee, clasp thee to my mother-heart!

Thum.
What are you after? Let me—

Thusn.
Know'st me not?
But I, I know thee well—the dimple here,
And here the dark-brown mole. Sigmar, my son,
Dost thou disown the breast that suckled thee,
The arms that rocked thy baby limbs to sleep?

Thum.
Sigmar—I've heard that name before—

Thusn.
Here, take
This sword, 'tis thine, 'tis thy inheritance!
Now flames a brighter lustre from thine eyes!
Oh, look upon me, longer, closer still!
And let me steep and cheer my wounded soul
In the transparent depths of thy dear eyes!

Thum.
That look! That voice! Am I gone crazed?

Thusn.
Hush! hush!
Music!—These are the songs of home! Oh, list,
How soft and sweet! How! Comes on night so soon?
I see thee not, yet do I hold thee fast—
We shall not part, my son—

Thum.
She totters, sinks!
Come here!

Ram.
She faints! Support her!

Thusn.
Oh, my son!

(She is lowered to the ground in the arms of Thumelicus. Ramis kneels beside her. Curtain falls.)