Of the many irreparable losses sustained by classical literature few are
more to be deplored than the loss of the closing chapters of Tacitus'
_Annals_. Nero, it is true, is a far less complex character than
Tiberius; and there can be no question that Tacitus' sketch of Nero is
less elaborate than his study of the elder tyrant. Indeed, no historical
figure stands out for all time with features of such hideous vividness
as Tacitus' portrait of Tiberius; nowhere do we find emphasised with
such terrible earnestness, the stoical poet's anathema against tyrants
"Virtutem videant intabescantque relicta." Other writers would have
turned back sickened from the task of following Tiberius through mazes
of cruelty and craft. But Tacitus pursues his victim with the patience
of a sleuth-hound; he seems to find a ruthless satisfaction in stripping
the soul of its coverings; he treads the floor of hell and watches with
equanimity the writhings of the damned. The reader is at once strangely
attracted and repelled by the pages of Tacitus; there is a weird
fascination that holds him fast, as the glittering eye of the Ancient
Mariner held the Wedding Guest. It was owing partly, no doubt, to the
hideousness of the subject that the Elizabethan Dramatists shrank from
seeking materials in the _Annals_; but hardly the abominations of Nero
or Tiberius could daunt such daring spirits as Webster or Ford. Rather
we must impute their silence to the powerful mastery of Tacitus; it was
awe that held them from treading in the historian's steps. Ben Jonson
ventured on the enchanted ground; but not all the fine old poet's wealth
of classical learning, not his observance of the dramatic proprieties
nor his masculine intellect, could put life into the dead bones of
Sejanus or conjure up the muffled sinister figure of Tiberius. Where Ben
Jonson failed, the unknown author of the _Tragedy of Nero_ has, to some
extent, succeeded.
After reading the first few opening-lines the reader feels at once that
this forgotten old play is the work of no ordinary man. The brilliant
scornful figure of Petronius, a character admirably sustained
throughout, rivets his attention from the first. In the blank verse
there is the true dramatic ring, and the style is "full and heightened."
As we read on we have no cause for disappointment. The second scene
which shows us the citizens hurrying to witness the triumphant entry of
Nero, is vigorous and animated. Nero's boasting is pitched in just the
right key; bombast and eloquence are equally mixt. If he had been living
in our own day Nero might possibly have made an ephemeral name for
himself among the writers of the Sub-Swinburnian School. His longer
poems were, no doubt, nerveless and insipid, deserving the scornful
criticism of Tacitus and Persius; but the fragments preserved by Seneca
shew that he had some skill in polishing far-fetched conceits. Our
playwright has not fallen into the error of making Nero "out-Herod
Herod"; through the crazy raptures we see the ruins of a nobler nature.
Poppaea's arrowy sarcasms, her contemptuous impatience and adroit tact
are admirable. The fine irony of the following passage is certainly
noticeable:--
"_Pop_. I prayse your witt, my Lord, that choose such safe
Honors, safe spoyles, worm without dust or blood.
_Nero_. What, mocke ye me, Poppaea.
_Pop_. Nay, in good faith, my Lord, I speake in earnest:
I hate that headie and adventurous crew
That goe to loose their owne to purchase but
The breath of others and the common voyce;
Them that will loose their hearing for a sound,
That by death onely seeke to get a living,
Make skarres their beautie and count losse of Limmes
The commendation of a proper man,
And so goe halting to immortality,--
Such fooles I love worse then they doe their lives."
It is indeed strange to find such lines as those in the work of an
unknown author. The verses gain strength as they advance, and the
diction is terse and keen. This one short extract would suffice to show
that the writer was a literary craftsman of a very high order.
In the fourth scene, where the conspirators are met, the writer's power
is no less strikingly shown. Here, if anywhere, his evil genius might
have led him astray; for no temptation is stronger than the desire to
indulge in rhetorical displays. Even the author of _Bothwell_, despite
his wonderful command of language, wearies us at times by his vehement
iteration. Our unknown playwright has guarded himself against this
fault; and, steeped as he was to the lips in classical learning, his
abstinence must have cost him some trouble. My notes will shew that he
had not confined himself to Tacitus, but had studied Suetonius and Dion
Cassius, Juvenal and Persius. He makes no parade of his learning, but we
see that he has lived among his characters, leaving no source of
information unexplored. The meeting of the conspirators is brought
before our eyes with wonderful vividness. Scevinus' opening speech glows
and rings with indignation. Seneca, in more temperate language, bewails
the fall of the high hopes that he had conceived of his former pupil,
finely moralizing that "High fortunes, like strong wines, do trie their
vessels." Some spirited lines are put into Lucan's mouth:--
"But to throw downe the walls and Gates of Rome
To make an entrance for an Hobby-horse;
To vaunt to th'people his ridiculous spoyles;
To come with Lawrell and with Olyves crown'd
For having been the worst of all the singers,
Is beyond Patience!"
In another passage the grandiloquence and the vanity of the poet of the
_Pharsalia_ are well depicted.
The second act opens with Antonius' suit to Poppaea, which is full of
passion and poetry, but is not allowed to usurp too much room in the
progress of the play. Then, in fine contrast to the grovelling servility
of the Emperor's creatures, we see the erect figure of the grand stoic
philosopher, Persius' tutor, Cornutus, whose free-spokenness procures
him banishment. Afterwards follows a second conference of the
conspirators, in which scene the author has followed closely in the
steps of Tacitus.
One of the most life-like passages in the play is at the beginning of
the third act, where Nimphidius describes to Poppaea how the weary
audience were imprisoned in the theatre during Nero's performance, with
guards stationed at the doors, and spies on all sides scanning each
man's face to note down every smile or frown. Our author draws largely
upon Tacitus and the highly-coloured account of Suetonius; but he has,
besides, a telling way of his own, and some of his lines are very happy.
Poppaea's wit bites shrewdly; and even Nimphidius' wicked breast must
have been chilled at such bitter jesting as:--
"How did our Princely husband act _Orestes_?
Did he not wish againe his Mother living?
_Her death would add great life unto his part_."
As Nero approaches his crowning act of wickedness, the burning of Rome,
his words assume a grim intensity. The invocation to the severe powers
is the language of a man at strife at once with the whole world and
himself. In the representation of the burning of Rome it will perhaps be
thought that the author hardly rises to the height of his theme. The
Vergilian simile put into the mouth of Antonius is distinctly misplaced;
but as our author so seldom offends in this respect he may be pardoned
for the nonce. It may seem a somewhat crude treatment to introduce a
mother mourning for her burnt child, and a son weeping over the body of
his father; but the naturalness of the language and the absence of
extravagance must be commended. Some of the lines have the ring of
genuine pathos, as here:--
"Where are thy counsels, where thy good examples?
_And that kind roughness of a Father's anger_?"
The scene immediately preceding contains the noble speech of Petronius
quoted by Charles Lamb in the _Specimens_. In a space of twenty lines
the author has concentrated a world of wisdom. One knows not whether to
admire more the justness of the thought or the exquisite finish of the
diction. Few finer things have been said on the _raison d'être_ of
tragedy from the time when Aristotle in the _Poetics_ formulated his
memorable dictum. The admirable rhythmical flow should be noted. There
is a rare suppleness and strength in the verses; we could not put one
line before another without destroying the effect of the whole; no verse
stands out obstinately from its fellows, but all are knit firmly, yet
lightly, together: and a line of magnificent strength fitly closes a
magnificent passage. Hardly a sonnet of Shakespeare or Mr. Rossetti
could be more perfect.
At the beginning of the fourth act, when the freedman Milichus discloses
Piso's conspiracy, Nero's trepidation is well depicted. It is curious
that among the conspirators the author should not have introduced the
dauntless woman, Epicharis, who refused under the most cruel tortures to
betray the names of her accomplices, and after biting out her tongue
died from the sufferings that she had endured on the rack. "There," as
mad Hieronymo said, "you could show a passion." Even Tacitus, who
upbraids the other conspirators with pusillanimity, marks his admiration
of this noble woman. No reader will quarrel with the playwright if he
has thought fit to paint the conspirators in brighter colours than the
historian had done. When Scevinus is speaking we seem to be listening to
the voice of Shakespeare's Cassius: witness the exhortation to Piso,--
"O _Piso_ thinke,
Thinke on that day when in the _Parthian_ fields
Thou cryedst to th'flying Legions to turne
And looke Death in the face; he was not grim,
But faire and lovely when he came in armes."
The character of Piso, for whom Tacitus shows such undisguised contempt,
is drawn with kindliness and sympathy. Seneca, too, who meets with
grudging praise from the stern historian, stands out ennobled in the
play. His bearing in the presence of death is admirably dignified; and
the polite philosopher, whose words were so faultless and whose deeds
were so faulty, could hardly have improved upon the chaste diction of
the farewell address assigned him by the playwright.
While Seneca's grave wise words are still ringing in our ears we are
called to watch a leave-taking of a different kind. No reader of the
_Annals_ can ever forget the strange description of the end of
Petronius;--how the man whose whole life had "gone, like a revel, by"
neither faltered, when he heard his doom pronounced, nor changed a whit
his wonted gaiety; but dying, as he had lived, in abandoned luxury, sent
under seal to the emperor, in lieu of flatteries, the unblushing record
of their common vices. The obscure playwright is no less impressive than
the world-renowned historian. While Antonius and Enanthe are picturing
to themselves the consternation into which Petronius will be thrown by
the emperor's edict, the object of their commiseration presents himself.
Briefly dismissing the centurion, he turns with kindling cheek to his
scared mistress--"Come, let us drink and dash the posts with wine!"
Then he discourses on the blessings of death; he begins in a
semi-ironical vein, but soon, forgetful of his auditors, is borne away
on the wings of ecstacy. The intense realism of the writing is
appalling. He speaks as a "prophet new inspired," and we listen in
wonderment and awe. The language is amazingly strong and rich, and the
imagination gorgeous.
At the beginning of the fifth act comes the news of the rising of Julius
Vindex. Like a true coward Nero makes light of the distant danger; but
when the rumours fly thick and fast he gives way to womanish
passionateness, idly upbraiding the gods instead of consulting for his
own safety. His despair and terror when he perceives the inevitable doom
are powerfully rendered. The fear of the after-world makes him long for
annihilation; his imagination presents to him "the furies arm'd with
linkes, with whippes, with snakes," and he dreads to meet his mother and
those "troopes of slaughtered friends" before the tribunal of the Judge
"That will not leave unto authoritie,
Nor favour the oppressions of the great."
But, fine as it undoubtedly is, the closing scene of the play bears no
comparison with the pathetic narrative of Suetonius. Riding out,
muffled, from Rome amid thunder and lightning, attended but by four
followers, the doomed emperor hears from the neighbouring camp the
shouts of the soldiers cursing the name of Nero and calling down
blessings on Galba. Passing some wayfarers on the road, he hears one of
them whisper, "Hi Neronem persequuntur;" and another asks, "Ecquid in
urbe novi de Nerone?" Further on his horse takes fright, terrified by
the stench from a corpse that lay in the road-side: in the confusion the
emperor's face is uncovered, and at that moment he is recognized and
saluted by a Praetorian soldier who is riding towards the City. Reaching
a by-path, they dismount and make their way hardly through reeds and
thickets. When his attendant, Phaon, urged him to conceal himself in a
sandpit, Nero "negavit se vivum sub terram iturum;" but soon, creeping
on hands and knees into a cavern's mouth, he spread a tattered coverlet
over himself and lay down to rest. And now the pangs of hunger and
thirst racked him; but he refused the coarse bread that his attendants
offered, only taking a draught of warm water. Then he bade his
attendants dig his grave and get faggots and fire, that his body might
be saved from indignities; and while these preparations were being made
he kept moaning "qualis artifex pereo!" Presently comes a messenger
bringing news that Nero had been adjudged an "enemy" by the senate and
sentenced to be punished "more majorum." Enquiring the nature of the
punishment, and learning that it consisted in fastening the criminal's
neck to a fork and scourging him, naked, to death, the wretched emperor
hastily snatched a pair of daggers and tried the edges; but his courage
failed him and he put them by, saying that "not yet was the fatal moment
at hand." At one time he begged some one of his attendants to show him
an example of fortitude by dying first; at another he chid himself for
his own irresolution, exclaiming: [Greek: "ou prepei Neroni, ou
prepei--naephein dei en tois toioutois--age, egeire seauton."] But now
were heard approaching the horsemen who had been commissioned to bring
back the emperor alive. The time for wavering was over: hurriedly
ejaculating the line of Homer,
[Greek: "Hippon m'okypodon amphi ktypos ouata ballei,"]
he drove the steel into his throat. To the centurion, who pretended that
he had come to his aid and who vainly tried to stanch the wound, he
replied "_Sero_, et _Haec est fides_!" and expired.
Such is the tragic tale of horror told by Suetonius. Nero's last words
in the play "O _Rome_, farewell," &c., seem very poor to "_Sero_ et _Haec
est fides_"; but, if the playwright was young and inexperienced, we can
hardly wonder that his strength failed him at this supreme moment.
Surely the wonder should rather be that we find so many noble passages
throughout this anonymous play. Who the writer may have been I dare not
conjecture. In his fine rhetorical power he resembles Chapman; but he
had a far truer dramatic gift than that great but chaotic writer. He is
never tiresome as Chapman is, who, when he has said a fine thing, seems
often to set himself to undo the effect. His gorgeous imagination and
his daring remind us of Marlowe; the leave-taking of Petronius is
certainly worthy of Marlowe. He is like Marlowe, too, in another
way,--he has no comic power and (wiser, in this respect, than Ford) is
aware of his deficiency. We find in _Nero_ none of those touches of
swift subtle pathos that dazzle us in the _Duchess of Malfy_; but we
find strokes of sarcasm no less keen and trenchant. Sometimes in the
ring of the verse and in turns of expression, we seem to catch
Shakespearian echoes; as here--
"Staid men suspect their wisedome or their faith,
To whom our counsels we have not reveald;
And while (our party seeking to disgrace)
They traitors call us, each man treason praiseth
_And hateth faith, when Piso is a traitor_." (iv. i);
or here--
"'Cause you were lovely therefore did I love:
O, if to Love you anger you so much,
You should not have such cheekes nor lips to touch:
You should not have your snow nor curral spy'd;--
_If you but look on us, in vain you chide:
We must not see your Face, nor heare your speech:
Now, while you Love forbid, you Love doe teach_."
I am inclined to think that the tragedy of _Nero_ was the first and last
attempt of some young student, steeped in classical learning and
attracted by the strange fascination of the _Annals_,--of one who,
failing to gain a hearing at first, never courted the breath of
popularity again; just as the author of _Joseph and his Brethren_, when
his noble poem fell still-born from the press, turned contemptuously
away and preserved thenceforward an unbroken silence. It should be
noticed that the 4to. of 1633 is not really a new edition; it is merely
the 4to. of 1624, with a new title-page. In a copy bearing the later
date I found a few unimportant differences of reading; but no student of
the Elizabethan drama needs to be reminded that _variae lectiones_ not
uncommonly occur in copies of the same edition. The words "newly written"
on the title-page are meant to distinguish the _Tragedy of Nero_ from
the wretched _Tragedy of Claudius Tiberius Nero_ published in 1607.
But now I will bring my remarks to a close. It has been at once a pride
and a pleasure to me to rescue this fine old play from undeserved
oblivion. There is but one living poet whose genius could treat worthily
the tragical story of Nero's life and death. In his three noble sonnets,
"The Emperor's Progress," Mr. Swinburne shows that he has pondered the
subject deeply: if ever he should give us a Tragedy of Nero, we may be
sure that one more deathless contribution would be added to our dramatic
literature.
_Addenda_ and _Corrigenda_.
After _Nero_ had been printed I found among the Egerton MSS. (No. 1994),
in the British Museum, a transcript in a contemporary hand. The precious
folio to which it belongs contains fifteen plays: of these some will be
printed entire in Vols. II and III, and a full account of the other
pieces will be given in an appendix to Vol. II. The transcript of _Nero_
is not by any means so accurate as the printed copy; and sometimes we
meet with the most ridiculous mistakes. For instance, on p. 82 for
"Beauties sweet _Scarres_" the MS. gives "Starres"; on p. 19 for "Nisa"
("not _Bacchus_ drawn from _Nisa_") we find "Nilus"; and in the line
"Nor us, though _Romane, Lais_ will refuse" (p. 81) the MS. pointlessly
reads "Ladies will refuse." On the other hand, many of the readings are
a distinct improvement, and I am glad to find some of my own emendations
confirmed. But let us start _ab initio_:--
p. 13, l. 4. 4to. Imperiall tytles; MS. Imperial stuffe.
p. 14, l. 3. 4to. small grace; MS. sale grace.--The allusion in the
following line to the notorious "dark lights" makes the MS. reading
certain.--Lower down for "and other of thy blindnesses" the MS. gives
"another": neither reading is intelligible.
p. 17, l. 5. MS. rightly gives "_cleave_ the ayre."
p. 30, l. 2. "Fatu[m']st in partibus illis || Quas sinus abscondit.
Petron."--added in margin of MS.
p. 31, l. 17. 4to. _or_ bruised in my fall; MS. _I_ bruised in my
fall!
p. 32, l. 4. 4to. Shoulder pack't Peleus; MS. Shoulder peac'd. The
MS. confirms my emendation "shoulder-piec'd."
p. 32, l. 13. 4to. shoutes and noyse; MS. shoutes and triumphs.--From
this point to p. 39 (last line but one) the MS. is defective.
p. 40, l. 8. 4to. _our_ visitation; MS. _or_ visitation.
p. 42, l. 11. 4to. others; MS. ours.
p. 46, l. 22. 4to. Wracke out; MS. wreake not.
p. 47, l. 17. 4to. Toth' the point of _Agrippa_; MS. tooth'
prince [sic] of Agrippinas.
p. 54, l. 2. 4to. _Pleides_ burnes; _Jupiter Saturne_ burnes; MS.
_Alcides_ burnes, _Jupiter Stator_ burnes.
p. 54, l. 23. 4to. thee gets; in MS. _gets_ has been corrected, by
a different hand, into _Getes_.
p. 54, l. 26. 4to. the most condemned; MS. the ------ condemned:
a blank is unfortunately left in the MS.
p. 56, l. 20. 4to. writhes; MS. wreathes.
p. 59, l. 1. MS. I now command the souldyer _of the_ Cyttie.
p. 61, l. 13. The MS. preserves the three following lines, not found in
the printed copy--
"High spirits soaring still at great attempts,
And such whose wisdomes, to their other wrongs,
Distaste the basenesse of the government."
p. 62, l. 15. 4to. are we; MS. arowe.
p. 66, l. 4 "Sed quis custodiet ipsos || Custodes. Juvenal"--noted in
margin of MS.
p. 68, l. 15. 4to. Galley-asses? MS. gallowses.
p. 69, l. 1. The MS. makes the difficulty even greater by reading--
"Silver colour [sic] on the _Medaean_ fields
Not _Tiber_ colour."
p. 75, l. 2. 4to. One that in whispering oreheard; MS. one that this
fellow whispring I oreharde.
p. 78, l. 22. 4to. from whence _it_ first let down; MS. from whence _at_
first let down.
p. 80. In note (1) for "Eilius Italicus" read "Silius Italicus."
p. 127. In note (2) for "_Henry IV_" read _I Henry IV_.
p. 182, l. 6. Dele [?]. The sense is quite plain if we remember that
soldiers degraded on account of misconduct were made "pioners": vid.
commentators on _Othello_, iii. 3. Hence "pioner" is used for "the
meanest, most ignorant soldier."
p. 228. In note (2) for "earlle good wine" read "Earlle good-wine."
p. 236. In note (2) after "[Greek: _staphis_] and" add "[Greek:
_agria_]."
p. 255. The lines "To the reader of this Play" are also found at the end
of T. Heywood's "Royal King and Loyal Subject."
p. 257, l. 1. I find (on turning to Mr. Arbor's _Transcript_) that the
_Noble Spanish Souldier_ had been previously entered on the Stationers'
Registers (16 May, 1631), by John Jackman, as a work of Dekker's. Since
the sheets have been passing through the press, I have become convinced
that Dekker's share was more considerable than I was willing to allow in
the prefatory _Note_.
p. 276. Note (2) is misleading; the reading of the 4to "flye-boat" is no
doubt right. "Fly-boat" comes from Span. filibote, flibote--a
fast-sailing vessel. The Dons hastily steer clear of the rude soldier.
p. 294. In note (1) for "Bayford ballads" read "Bagford Ballads."