you were grown up and a man, and not a schoolboy like Philip.
DON JUAN. Then you think that a maiden could look at me without
disgust?
LUCASTA. Oh, sir!
DON JUAN. Even if at first I found her heart hard as adamant, if she
will only let me plead my cause I feel certain I can soften it. That
is all I ask--a hearing.
LUCASTA. I should tell her at once, sir, in your place. Girls are
often bashful. (_She blushes._)
DON JUAN. Then there is another grisly fear that haunts me. She may
already have given her heart away. She may already have a betrothed.
LUCASTA. That is not likely if it’s any of the girls in our county.
They are all so young; and the others are married--except Dianeme,
and then she’s a fright, so it could hardly be her.
DON JUAN. Then you think I ought to be bold?
LUCASTA (_clapping her hands_). Oh yes, do be bold!
[DON JUAN _seizes_ LUCASTA _and endeavours to kiss her. She gives
him a very smart box on the ears._
LUCASTA. Sir, what does this unpardonable liberty mean? I thought you
were a gentleman and a nobleman.
DON JUAN (_kneeling_). Forgive me. I thought you had understood. I
thought you must have guessed--don’t interrupt me, only hear me--I
thought you must have known when I described to you my heart’s
desire; when I told you that you had her every feature; but I
was mad. It was unpardonable of me; but hear me all the same,
Lucasta; adorable, lovely, perfect Lucasta, I love you; I love you
passionately. I offer you my hand, my life, my fortune.
LUCASTA. Please get up, sir. I hate men who kneel--they look so
silly; and if you are going to talk nonsense any more I shall go
upstairs.
DON JUAN (_rising_). Then you mean that I may not even hope?
LUCASTA (_bursting into peals of laughter_). Forgive me, but I can’t
help it.
DON JUAN. It is really no laughing matter. (_He draws his sword._) I
am ready to stab myself.
LUCASTA (_still shaking with laughter_). Please do not be so foolish.
Why, you’re much older than my father. Here is my mother.
_Enter the_ COUNTESS OF WESSEX, _a handsome lady.
She curtsies deeply._
LUCASTA (_aside to her mother_). Oh! he’s so funny.
[_She runs away, vainly suppressing a peal of laughter._
CURTAIN.
XIII
CALPURNIA’S DINNER-PARTY
SCENE.--_A room in_ JULIUS CÆSAR’S _house. Discovered:_ JULIUS
CÆSAR _and_ CALPURNIA.
CALPURNIA. Catullus has accepted, so that will make us thirteen.
CÆSAR. I won’t sit down thirteen to dinner; it isn’t fair to one’s
guests.
CALPURNIA. What nonsense! They none of them mind.
CÆSAR. I beg your pardon. I happen to know that Cicero is intensely
superstitious. Of course I don’t mind personally, but one must think
of others.
CALPURNIA. Then what shall we do?
CÆSAR. Ask some one else.
CALPURNIA. Then you must get another man. You are sure to see some
one at the Forum.
CÆSAR. I will ask Calvus.
CALPURNIA. How like a man. In the first place he is in mourning.
CÆSAR. Who for?
CALPURNIA. Quintilla, of course.
CÆSAR. We need not go into that.
CALPURNIA. He won’t go anywhere--at present--but even if it wasn’t
for that, don’t you see that it would quite spoil the dinner to ask
Calvus with Catullus?
CÆSAR. Why?
CALPURNIA. Because they both write poetry.
CÆSAR. What does that matter?
CALPURNIA. Of course, if you want to spoil the dinner----
CÆSAR. Must it be a man?
CALPURNIA. Yes; we have got quite enough women.
CÆSAR. Why not ask Atticus?
CALPURNIA. Then we should have to ask Pilia.
CÆSAR. She hates going out.
CALPURNIA. It is impossible to ask him without her--and I won’t ask
her; she would ruin the dinner. Besides, I told you we can’t have
another woman.
CÆSAR. What about Cinna?
CALPURNIA. Cornelia’s got him. She always gives a dinner the same
night as I do, so as to take away the people I want from me.
CÆSAR. I can’t think of anybody.
CALPURNIA. You will see some one at the Forum; but mind you are
careful, and don’t ask some one nobody else knows, or some one whom
they all hate.
CÆSAR. There’s nobody in Rome just now.
_Enter a_ SLAVE, _with a letter for_ CALPURNIA
THE SLAVE. They are waiting for a verbal answer.
[CALPURNIA _takes the letter and reads it._
CALPURNIA. It is from Lucullus; he wants us to dine with him
to-night--quite a tiny dinner, he says--he wants us to taste some
oysters from Britain.
CÆSAR. I suppose we can’t put off our guests?
CALPURNIA. Certainly not. It _is_ unlucky. (_She sits down at a
table and writes an answer._) It is the sort of thing that’s sure to
happen. I wish you hadn’t asked all these people.
CÆSAR. I didn’t ask a soul.
CALPURNIA (_to the_ SLAVE). There’s the answer.
[_The_ SLAVE _bows and retires. He returns again immediately with
another letter, which he gives to_ CALPURNIA.
CALPURNIA. Is there an answer?
THE SLAVE. The slave is waiting.
CALPURNIA (_reading out_). “MOST ILLUSTRIOUS AND CELESTIALLY
FAVOURED CALPURNIA”--it is from the Persian Ambassador--“Pity me.
The gods are most cruel and unpropitious. Owing to the extraordinary
carelessness of my private secretary I find that I have been engaged
for several weeks to dine with Lucullus to-night. As I only know
him slightly, I am sure you will understand that in this case I
must sacrifice pleasure to duty, and miss a brilliant and charming
evening. Alas, alas, pity me!--Your slave, ZOROASTER SORHAB JEMSHID.”
(_To the_ SLAVE) Say I quite understand. (_Exit_ SLAVE.) Jemshid
always, always throws one over.
_Enter the_ SLAVE _with two letters. He gives
one to_ CÆSAR _and one to_ CALPURNIA
THE SLAVE. Both waiting for an answer.
CALPURNIA. Who is yours from?
CÆSAR. Mark Antony. (_He reads_) “DEAR OLD BOY--I am frightfully
sorry, but I can’t dine with you to-night. I have had a tooth pulled
out this morning, and the doctor says I mustn’t go out, worse luck.
My respects to Calpurnia. I will look in to-morrow if I am well
enough. Don’t bother to come and see me, as I can’t talk.--M. A.”
CALPURNIA. He’s dining with Lucullus, of course. If you had only let
me engage that cook from Gaul, nobody would ever throw us over.
CÆSAR. Who is yours from?
CALPURNIA. Lucilius. (_She reads_) “MOST ILLUSTRIOUS AND EXQUISITE
CALPURNIA--I have got into the most frightful muddle. Last Monday,
Lucullus asked me to dinner to-night, and I accepted. Then the next
day I wrote to him and said I could not dine with him after all, as
I had to go into Court the day after, and I should have to work all
night. The day after I wrote this letter my case was put off, and
then you kindly asked me to dinner, and of course I accepted; and now
Lucullus has found out that I am dining with you, and thinks I threw
him over for you. He says he’s a man short, and that as I was engaged
to him first, I simply must come to his dinner. So I am writing to
know whether you could possibly let me off? And as I have already
been obliged to throw Lucullus over twice lately, I am sure you will
understand that I cannot very well come to you to-night. I am too
sorry for words.--LUCILIUS.”
CÆSAR. I suppose the answer is “Very well” in both cases.
CALPURNIA. Yes. (_Exit_ SLAVE.) Of course they will all throw us over
now.
CÆSAR. Well, in that case, the matter would be solved, and we could
dine with Lucullus.
CALPURNIA. But they won’t _all_ throw us over. Portia’s certain to
come.
_Enter the_ SLAVE _with two letters. He gives
them to_ CALPURNIA
THE SLAVE. No answer.
CALPURNIA (_eagerly_). This is from Clodia. I wonder what lie she
will tell. (_Reads_) “DARLING CALPURNIA--I am _too_, _too_ miserable.
Everything has gone stupidly wrong. When you asked me to dinner and
said Friday, I thought Friday was the 10th, and now I see it is the
11th, and I have been engaged for ages to that tiresome old Lucullus.
Of course I would throw him over _at once_, but Metellus won’t hear
of it, and he says it will serve me right if you never ask us again.
So like a husband! It is _too_ unlucky, darling, isn’t it? You will
feel for me, I am sure.--Your loving CLODIA.” Well, Catullus won’t
come now.
CÆSAR. Is the other letter from him?
CALPURNIA. No. Of course they wouldn’t send them together. It is
from Cicero; if he can’t come, our dinner’s ruined. (_She reads_)
“MOST HONOURED AND EXCELLENT CALPURNIA--Owing to a quite unusual
press of business I much regret to say that I will be compelled to
forgo the pleasure of enjoying your kind hospitality to-night. The
misfortune is all the more heavy since I shall not only miss the
pleasure of enjoying your charming society, but also the opportunity
of discussing several matters of importance with Cæsar, which I was
particularly anxious to do. Believe me, I am consumed with regret,
but I will not waste your time in vain excuses and apologies,
which seem only to increase my vexation without diminishing the
inconvenience I fear I may be causing you. Hail and farewell.--M. T.
CICERO.”
_Enter the_ SLAVE _with a letter for_ CÆSAR
THE SLAVE. No answer. (_He goes out._)
CÆSAR (_opening the letter_). It is from Catullus. (_Reading_) “A
terrible catastrophe has happened. Going home last night from the
Esquiline I got my feet wet, and this has affected my style; my
hexameters are beginning to limp and my elegiacs are gouty. The
doctor says the only thing which can cure me is a quiet night’s rest
and some oysters from Britain. But it is unlikely that I shall find
any in Rome. In view of these distressing circumstances I fear I
must put off coming to-night to your dinner-party. Quite seriously,
I am unwell. With a thousand compliments to Calpurnia.--Wretched
CATULLUS.” “_P.S._--I was half engaged to Lucullus to-night, so if
you see him later, tell him I _was_ going to dine with you.”
CALPURNIA. How silly he is! I shall never ask him again.
CÆSAR. Who is there left?
CALPURNIA. Now, there are only Brutus and Portia, Cassius and Cynthia.
_Enter the_ SLAVE _with a letter for_ CALPURNIA.
_She takes it_
THE SLAVE. No answer. (_He goes out._)
CALPURNIA. It is from Cynthia. I thought she would throw us over
too. (_Reads_) “DEAREST CALPURNIA--Lucullus says you and Cæsar and
Catullus and Clodia are all dining with him. Is that right? Am I
dining with him or with you? Please arrange it with him. I will do
exactly what you like.--Your loving CYNTHIA.” Now we have only got
the bores left, Cassius, Brutus and Portia. I don’t suppose we can
very well put them off.
CÆSAR. I think we might in this case. You see, it is perfectly true
that our guests have all thrown us over, and it is much too late now
to get any one else.
CALPURNIA. Very well. You must write to Cassius and I will write to
Portia.
CÆSAR. And then we can dine with Lucullus.
CALPURNIA. Just as you think best; but if Brutus and Portia find it
out they will never forgive us.
CÆSAR. What nonsense! Besides, perhaps Lucullus will ask them.
CALPURNIA. Never. (_Reading out as she writes_) DEAREST PORTIA--It is
too unlucky, we are obliged to put off our dinner-party after all,
because everybody has thrown us over; we are dreadfully disappointed,
as we had so looked forward to seeing you. We shall have our little
dinner on the 19th instead--Friday week. We do so hope you and Brutus
are free.--Yours, CALPURNIA.
CÆSAR. That’s all right. I will write to Lucullus and say we will
come, if he has still got room for us.
CALPURNIA. Just as you like; but remember that Brutus is touchy and
that Portia never forgives.
CURTAIN.
XIV
LUCULLUS’S DINNER-PARTY
SCENE.--_A room in_ LUCULLUS’S _house. Discovered:_ LUCULLUS _(an
old man) and his_ COOK.
LUCULLUS. Of course, I don’t say that it wasn’t a good dish; but it
was not Neapolitan peacock.
THE COOK. They were straight from Naples; the same as we’ve always
had, sir.
LUCULLUS (_irritated_). I’m not talking about the bird, but about
the dish. You know as well as I do that Neapolitan peacock without
anemone seed is not Neapolitan peacock. And then the nightingales’
tongues were over-roasted. They ought to be roasted for twenty-three
minutes and not one second longer.
THE COOK. They were only twenty-four minutes on the roast.
LUCULLUS. There, you see, it was that extra minute that spoilt them.
You might just as well not roast them at all as roast them for
twenty-four minutes. And then there were too many butterflies’ wings
round the sturgeon.
THE COOK. The chief slave----
LUCULLUS. I’ve told you over and over again, till I’m tired of saying
it, that the chief slave has nothing to do with the arrangement of
the dishes. That is your affair. The chief slave can arrange the
table, but he must not touch the dishes. The look of a dish is just
as important as the taste of it. And then there was a pinch too much
salt in the wild boar sauce.
THE COOK. The first sauceman has just lost his wife.
LUCULLUS. That’s not my affair. Please make it clear that this must
not happen again. The fact is, Æmilius, you’re falling off--last
night’s dinner wasn’t fit to eat; it was filthy; the kind of food one
gets at Cæsar’s--sent for from round the corner.
THE COOK. If I may be so bold as to say so, we were saying in the
kitchen that these rehearsals of dinners the night before the real
dinner make us nervous--
LUCULLUS. All I can say is, if you can’t cook a good dinner twice
running you’d better get another place. The dinner wasn’t fit to eat,
and if it’s anything like that to-night I advise you to give up
trying to cook and to take to wrestling. That’s all; you can go.
[_The_ COOK _blushes scarlet and goes out._
_Enter a_ SLAVE
THE SLAVE. Can you see Portia, the wife of Brutus?
LUCULLUS. Yes; show her in.
_Enter_ PORTIA
PORTIA. It’s such a beautiful morning that I thought a nice brisk
walk would do me good, and as I was passing your door I couldn’t help
just looking in.
LUCULLUS. I’m delighted.
PORTIA (_sitting down_). I wanted to ask you whether you would mind
giving your patronage to the Old Slaves’ Pensions Fund? Cicero has
helped us a great deal, and Cæsar has promised. By the way, is Cæsar
dining with you to-night?
LUCULLUS. Yes, I believe he is.
PORTIA. Well, he particularly wants to see Brutus, and he said
something about meeting us here to-night, and as I had heard nothing
from you I thought I would just ask. The slaves are so stupid about
letters--not that I want very much to dine out. You see I’m very busy
just at this moment, and there’s a Committee Meeting to-night for
the O.S.P.F. (_She sighs._) But one can’t always think of oneself,
and Brutus has been so depressed lately. He sleeps badly, and we’ve
tried everything. The new Greek doctor has done him no good, and
we’ve tried fomented eucalyptus and poppy soup, and the cold-water
cure; but it all seems to make him worse, and the doctors say that
what he wants is _society_, and we so seldom see any one.
LUCULLUS. I shall be quite delighted if you both could come to-night.
(_He calls out_) Lucius. (_Enter_ SLAVE.) Tell Æmilius at once we
shall be two extra to dinner to-night; and tell him to get some more
hoopoe’s eggs.
PORTIA. Of course, I didn’t mean to propose myself (_she laughs
nervously_)--you mustn’t think that; and have you really got room for
us?
LUCULLUS. Oh, there’s plenty of room. (_Pensively_) Do you like
hoopoe’s eggs?
PORTIA (_simpering_). Well, they’re dreadfully indigestible, but I
must say I never can resist a good hoopoe’s egg. (_Getting up_) Then
I can count on your patronage?
LUCULLUS. Certainly; is there a subscription?
PORTIA. Not for the patrons. You see----
LUCULLUS. Yes, I see.
PORTIA. Good-bye. Thank you so much.
[_Exit_ PORTIA. LUCULLUS _sees her to the door and returns._
LUCULLUS (_pensively_). Brutus never drinks wine.
_Enter_ SLAVE
SLAVE. The Queen of Egypt is here. Æmilius says it’s too late to cook
dinner for twelve now without spoiling it; he says we’re one too many
as it is, and that he can’t get any more hoopoe’s eggs, and that
there won’t be enough to go round.
LUCULLUS. Show the Queen in.
[_Exit_ SLAVE.
_Enter_ CLEOPATRA
CLEOPATRA. Don’t get up, Lucullus; I’m not going to keep you a
minute. I want to know if you could possibly dine with me to-night.
I’ve got some dancing; a little Persian girl--so clever--she does a
parakeet dance with live birds.
LUCULLUS. There’s nothing I should like so much, dear Egypt; but I’ve
got a dinner of my own. Do you want a man?
CLEOPATRA. I want _two_ men, dreadfully.
LUCULLUS. I’ll tell you who are coming--Mark Antony.
CLEOPATRA. I don’t know him.
LUCULLUS. Cicero.
CLEOPATRA. I’m afraid he wouldn’t do.
LUCULLUS. Brutus and his wife.
CLEOPATRA (_laughing_). They don’t know me.
LUCULLUS. Catullus. Oh, I forgot Cæsar and his wife.
CLEOPATRA. Of course Cæsar would do beautifully, but I suppose you
couldn’t spare him.
LUCULLUS. To tell you the truth, I’ve got too many guests and not
enough hoopoe’s eggs to go round, but----
CLEOPATRA. Well, I happened to meet Cæsar quite by chance this
morning, and he said that poor Calpurnia had got one of her headaches
and was dying not to dine out, but you know how dear and unselfish
she is. So if you should put them off, I think it would be rather a
relief to _her_, and then Cæsar could just run in for a moment to my
dinner.
LUCULLUS. Certainly; I’ll say I’ve mistaken the date.
CLEOPATRA. That is charming of you; thank you so much. And you must
come and dine quite quietly with me one night, and you might bring
Mark Antony; I want to know him so much.
LUCULLUS. He’s not interesting; he bolts his food.
CLEOPATRA. How funny! Just like Cæsar. Good-bye; I must fly.
[_Exit_ CLEOPATRA.
_Enter_ SLAVE
SLAVE. Clodia, the wife of Metellus Celer, wishes to see you.
LUCULLUS. Show her in, and tell Æmilius we shan’t be two extra.
_Enter_ CLODIA
CLODIA. It’s too bad of me, Lucullus, to disturb you so early in the
morning.
LUCULLUS. On the contrary----
CLODIA. What a charming room. (_Pointing to a statue of Hermes_)
That’s a Praxiteles, isn’t it?
LUCULLUS. No; it’s only a copy I had made by a little man at Puteoli.
CLODIA. I think it’s wonderful.
LUCULLUS. It is clever.
CLODIA. You got my note?
LUCULLUS. Yes; I’m delighted you can come.
CLODIA. Well, that’s just what I wanted to explain. Metellus says
you’ve asked Catullus, and last night we were all dining with Pollio,
and Catullus was there. Of course, I don’t know him very well, but
I’ve always been civil to him because of Metellus, who happens to
like him. Well, last night he was so rude to my father-in-law that
I don’t feel as if I could meet him again to-night. I mean I don’t
think it would be right. Couldn’t you put him off and say he made you
thirteen?--otherwise I don’t think I can come, and I wouldn’t miss
your dinner for worlds.
LUCULLUS (_enchanted_). Quite delighted, I assure you, to render
you the smallest service. I will write at once. (_He scribbles
two notes._) Lucius! (_Enter a_ SLAVE.) Take this note to Caius
Valerius Catullus at once, and this one to the Queen of Egypt, and
tell Æmilius we shall only be nine. (_To_ CLODIA) I assure you it
won’t matter to him, as Cleopatra is giving a dinner to-night and is
looking out for a man. I have written to tell her.
CLODIA. Cleopatra! Oh!
LUCULLUS. Yes; don’t you like her?
CLODIA. Metellus hates Greeks; and I only just know her, but I do
admire her. Metellus thinks she’s so second-rate. I don’t see it.
LUCULLUS. She’s cultivated.
CLODIA. Yes; Greeks always are.
_Enter a_ SLAVE _with a letter, which he gives to_
LUCULLUS
THE SLAVE. Waiting for an answer.
LUCULLUS. May I read this?
CLODIA. Please.
[LUCULLUS _opens the letter and looks at the signature._
LUCULLUS. It’s from one of my guests--Cynthia. I can’t read it; I’m
so short-sighted and I left my emerald upstairs.
CLODIA. Shall I read it for you?
LUCULLUS. That would be very kind.
CLODIA (_reads_). “DEAR LUCULLUS--I find I can come to dinner after
all. I have just found a letter which has been going all over Rome
for me for the last week, from the King of Nubia, who had asked
me to-night (and of course it was a command), saying that his
dinner is put off. So I shall be delighted to come to-night if I
may.--CYNTHIA.” That will just make you a woman over, won’t it; but
it will be all right if I don’t come.
LUCULLUS. On the contrary----
CLODIA. Of course it will. You see I may just as well come another
night, and Metellus will come without me--husbands are always so much
nicer without their wives. As a matter of fact, Metellus didn’t much
want me to come, because my throat’s been rather bad lately, and he
thinks I oughtn’t to go out at night; so it all fits in. Good-bye,
Lucullus.
LUCULLUS. Good-bye. (_Exit_ CLODIA.) She’ll go to Cleopatra’s--after
all, food is wasted on women. Lucius!
_Enter the_ SLAVE
THE SLAVE. If you please, sir, Æmilius has killed himself!
LUCULLUS. Then who’s going to cook the dinner?
THE SLAVE. The head sauceman says he can manage the nightingales’
tongues and the fish, but he’s no experience of peacock.
LUCULLUS. Peacock! I should think not. He’s not to touch the peacock.
(_He walks up and down in great agitation, thinking._) Tell the head
sauceman--who is it--Balbus?
THE SLAVE. Yes, sir.
LUCULLUS. Tell Balbus I will have dinner in my room an hour and a
half before the other dinner. He can give soup, fish, pheasant,
nightingales’ tongues, the cold boar pie which was left from
yesterday, and some hoopoe’s eggs--and as for the dinner, you can
send out for it. Send now to Varro’s shop and order dinner for
nine--eight courses--anything you like. Go at once. They may not be
able to do it in time.
THE SLAVE. If you please, sir, one of the slaves was over at Varro’s
this morning about the extra slaves to wait, and they said they had a
dinner ordered and countermanded by Calpurnia on their hands.
LUCULLUS. That will do. But tell Balbus if my nightingales are not
satisfactory he shall be impaled.
CURTAIN.
XV
THE STOIC’S DAUGHTER
SCENE.--_A room in the house of_ BURRUS, _Prefect of the
Prætorian Guards of Nero._ BURRUS _is discovered in an attitude
of despondency._
_Enter a_ SLAVE
BURRUS. Well?
SLAVE. Caius Petronius would like to speak to you.
BURRUS. I will see him.
_Enter_ C. PETRONIUS--PETRONIUS ARBITER,
_middle-aged, but very elegant_
PETRONIUS. Good morning. I’ve come about that dinner. The Emperor
quite approves of the list of guests....
BURRUS. I don’t suppose you wish me to come now.
PETRONIUS. Why not?
BURRUS. Well, after Lucius’s--er--unfortunate escapade----
PETRONIUS. My dear fellow, I assure you that’s not of the slightest
consequence. If we had to be responsible for our sons’ misdeeds life
would become impossible. As it is, the Emperor, while sympathising
with your feelings----
BURRUS. Please don’t talk about it. You can understand how
inexpressibly painful it is to me.
PETRONIUS. It might have been worse. He might have gone on the stage.
BURRUS. The gods spared us that. That would have killed Æmilia.
PETRONIUS. I suppose she feels it dreadfully.
BURRUS. It’s not so much the thing she minds, but the family name
being dragged into publicity--people making bets----
PETRONIUS. Yes, yes--but there’s nothing to be done. After all, when
all’s said and done it is much less degrading to be a gladiator
than an actor--or a charioteer. Piso’s nephew is a charioteer, and
Tigellinus’s brother appeared on the stage for some charity.
BURRUS. I don’t know what the world is coming to.
PETRONIUS. I suppose he’ll drop it immediately. Then I should send
him abroad for a little, and the world will forget all about it.
These things are forgotten so quickly. After all, boys will be boys.
Believe me, young men must sow their wild oats, and the sooner they
get it over the better. Well, please give my respects to Æmilia, and
I can count on you for certain for the fifteenth?
BURRUS. I shall come without fail.
[_Exit_ PETRONIUS.
_Enter_ ÆMILIA--BURRUS’S _wife_
ÆMILIA. Well? What did he say?
BURRUS. Nothing, practically. The Emperor doesn’t seem to have said
anything.
ÆMILIA. But do you mean to say you haven’t arranged anything?
BURRUS. What about? The dinner-party?
ÆMILIA. Dinner-party, indeed! I mean about Lucius not appearing at
the Games again.
BURRUS. No, I haven’t. What is there to arrange?
ÆMILIA. You really are too helpless. You must get him banished, of
course--just for a short time.
BURRUS. I didn’t like to--but I’ll write to Seneca.
ÆMILIA. Seneca’s no use. Write to Petronius. He’ll arrange it without
any fuss.
BURRUS. I hardly like----
ÆMILIA. If Lucius appears once more in the circus as a gladiator I
shall open my veins in my bath.
BURRUS. Oh, well, of course, if you insist----