_Supper-room in the Palace. All are reclined at two
tables, thus_:
_Agrippina_, _Nero_, _Poppæa_.| _A gentm._, _Octavia_, _A lady_.
_Tigellinus_, _A gentm._ | _Britannicus_, _Paris_.
_A lady_, _Domitia._ |
_Petronius_, _Lucan._ |
_Waiters, tasters, etc. Some are talking._
_NERO._
I will propose a question to the table:
Which of the arts is greatest? Lucan, these sausages
Are something new: try them.
_POPPÆA._
You question, Cæsar,
Which of the arts is greatest? I would answer
The one which Cæsar honours.
_TIGELLINUS._
But if Cæsar
Should honour more than one?
_PETRONIUS._
The sausages 1529
Are good enough. As for the arts, here’s Lucan
Can speak for poetry.
_Ner._ If any man
Could prove one art beyond contention first,
I would reward him excellently. With me
To know the best and follow it are one:
Success being easy in all, my difficulty
Lies in distraction: show me then the best,
I’ll perfect that.
_Pop._ What! Cæsar give up singing?
_Ner._ For better things.
_Tig._ Which be the arts?
_Petr._ (_to servants_). Here, vermin,
This wine’s half-way to vinegar.
_Ner._ Who will name
The arts? There’s sculpture, painting, poetry, 1540
Singing..
_PARIS._
And acting.
_Ner._ Well, what more?
_Tig._ Horse-racing.
_Pop._ (_across_). Ruling I think’s an art.
_AGRIPPINA_ (_across_).
And making love.
_Ner._ ’Tis of the fine arts we would speak.
(_To servants_) Ho! fellows,
Pour out the wine! Ah, here’s a lovely mullet.
Has this been tasted?
_TASTER._
Ay, Cæsar. ’Tis stuffed with truffles.
_Ner_. A mullet stuffed with truffles. Now, Poppæa,
Will not this please?
_Pop._ I thank you.—(_aside_) Prithee, bid
Lucan to speak for poetry.
_BRITANNICUS_ (_to servant_).
Nay, the mullet.
_Ner._ Lucan, what say you for your art?
_LUCAN._
I claim
The first place for it, and I say ’tis proved 1550
Nobler than any plastic art in this;
It needs not tools nor gross material,
And hath twin doors to the mind, both eye and ear.
Nay, even of drama Aristotle held,
Though a good play must act well, that ’tis perfect
Without the stage: which shows that poetry
Stains not her excellence by being kind
To those encumbrances, which, in my judgment,
Are pushed to fetter fancy.—Then hath our art
Such strong and universal mastery 1560
O’er heart and mind, that here ’tis only music
Competes, and she is second far in scope,
Directness, and distinction.
_Ner._ You think that?
_Luc._ Ay, Cæsar.
_Ner._ Do you! you who have ever been
More gracious to my voice than to my pen!
Am I a better singer then than poet,
Think you?
_Luc._ Nay, Cæsar; but....
_Ner._ Ha! then you are envious.
You would not have me write because, forsooth,
You write yourself. Now, by the god, I swear
Thou shalt not publish nor recite a verse 1570
Within my empire till I give thee leave.
One man to keep the muses to himself!
Monstrous!
_Pop._ And serve him right.
_Luc._ (_aside_). Monstrous indeed!
_Ner._ (_to servants_). Heat me some wine.
Come, lords, ye drink not. Eh! what have we here?
_Servant._ Cherubim, Cæsar.
_Ner._ What is Cherubim?
_Petr._ The gods of the Jews.
_Ner._ Hoo! let us eat their gods.
They are much like pheasants.
_Servt._ ’Tis a pheasant, Cæsar,
And stuffed with woodcock.
_Petr._ Cæsar, there’s one art
Has not been mentioned; though I think at table
It should not be passed o’er. 1581
_Ner._ What art is that?
_Petr._ I shall contend it is the first of all.
_Ner._ Name it.
_Petr._ It hath no name. It scarce exists.
I think the goddess never walked the earth.
_Par._ Ranks she with poetry?
_Petr._ I avouch above.
_Par._ Cæsar, if this be proved, thou must rescind
Thy poet’s sentence.
_Ner._ Let him prove it first.
_Petr._ I see in other arts some wit or fancy
Extrinsical to nature. I can find
No ground of need in any, save maybe 1590
In architecture,—which ranks not so well
As to be mentioned by you.—Now, if I
Show you an art whose matter every day
Is life’s necessity, which gives more scope
To skill than any other, which delights
Among the senses one which the other arts
Wholly neglect, would you not say this art
Hath the first claim? See, I could live without
The joys of harmony, colour, or form,
But without this it were impossible 1600
To outlast the week.
_Par._ Oh! Cookery.
_Several._ Cookery, cookery!
_Petr._ There’s the mistake I gird at. None of you
But thinks this art I speak of, which includes
Pleasures of entertainment, ease and elegance,
The mind’s best recreation, the satisfaction
Of the body’s nearest needs, the preservation
Of health, and with all this, the gratifying
Of that one sense, which above all the senses
Is subtle, difficult, discerning, ticklish,
And most importunate,—that this great art 1610
Is a cook’s province.
_Ner._ True, Petronius, true;
There’s room for bettering these things.
_Petr._ Why, wine—
Just think of wine. A hundred vintages
Lie in my cellar; by my taste I tell
Each one; are eye or ear so delicate?
_Par._ Here’s half a case already.
_Petr._ Then again,
Look on this side. You bid your friends to supper:
That is a promise; and hath all your life
An hour more suitable for skilful kindness? 1619
They come perturbed, fatigued, hungry and thirsty;
Nature exhausts them for you, drains them empty
To take all kinds of pleasure; their grated nerves
Ask music, their wearied limbs soft cushioned couches,
Their harassed mind wise cheerful conversation,
Their body’s appetites fawn at the word
Of food and wine: and yet we see these things,
Which should be studied, ordered, suited, measured,
All jumbled in confusion, till a feast,
Instead of relaxation and renewal,
Becomes, I say, for body and for mind 1630
The worst discomfort and the stiffest trial
That life can show.
_Par._ Bravo! bravo!
_Ner._ For one,
I am converted. Thou shalt be henceforth
Arbiter of my table.
_Br._ (_to servt._) ’Tis boiling hot;
Taste it.
_Ner._ (_to Petron._) Accept you the office?
_Petr._ This would make me
A Cæsar above Cæsar.
_Ner._ In the province
Of imperial æsthetics.
_Servt. to Brit._ Pardon, your highness,
I will add water to it: ’tis yet unmixed.
[_They pour in the poison._
_Petr._ ’Twill be a tyranny. For look, I hold
Man’s stomach is not to be trifled with. 1640
Not only should your table give delight
Even to the ravishment of every palate,
But since the end and final cause of food
Is not to breed diseases in the flesh,
Nor heat the spirits more than they can bear,
But rather to build up and comfort health,
I’d order first that there be served at table
Nothing but what is wholesome.
_Br._ (_after drinking nubile Petr. speaks_). Ah!
[_Falls back._
_Oct._ The wine, the wine!
_Br._ Ah! [_Dies._
_Oct._ He is dead. O dead! O dead! 1650
_Lucan, Petronius and Paris go to Britannicus.
Domitia follows.—All rising._
_Agr._ What is this?
_Ner._ He hath a fit.
_Petr._ He doth not breathe.
_Oct._ (_has come round to front_). Alas, alas! my brother; he is
dead.
_Ner._ Nay, sit you down; look not aghast, I say.
He hath the falling sickness, and will oft
Faint on a sudden, as ye see. He lies
An hour as dead, and then awakes again
With nought amiss. Best take him out in quiet.
(_To servants._) Carry him from the room.
_Luc._ Lift you his feet, Petronius.
We two will take him.
_Ner._ Let him be, I say. 1660
His servants will attend him. Return to table:
We cannot spare you.
_Par._ (_to Oct._) Honoured lady, be hopeful:
For hath your noble brother e’er been taken
Like this, he may recover.
_Oct._ (_to Par._) Never—
Never! O never! he is dead! I knew it! [_Going._
_Ner._ (_to Oct._) Heh, sit you down. What could you do, I pray?
He will come round.
_Oct._ Oh! I will follow him.
[_Exit with servants who are carrying Brit._
_Petr._ (_to Par._) How happened it?
_Par._ (_to Petr._) He drank a draught of wine
Fresh mixed, and then fell back just as you saw.
What think you?
_Petr._ (_to Par._) Think you ’twas aught? 1670
_Par._ (_to Luc._) What think you?
_Luc._ Impossible.
_Dom._ (_aside_). He is poisoned. Yet my sister
Was nothing privy to it. She is pale.
_Ner._ Come, sit you down, aunt: come, Petronius,
Lucan, be seated. Let not the horrid sight
Unwhet your appetites.
_Petr._ (_to Luc._) That was no fit. [_To Par._
He is dead. What if ’twere poison? Where’s the drink?
_Par._ ’Twas hurried out.
_Luc._ O God!
_Ner._ (_to servts._) Serve out the wine.
We all must need a bumper; ’tis most natural.
I have known the mere revulsion to provoke
In a strong man a seizure similar 1680
To that which frighted him.
_Par._ (_aside_). ’Twould not amaze me,
Had he such drink to cheer him. [_All refuse drink._
_Pop._ (_to Nero_). I will not drink.
_Ner._ From my cup.
_Pop._ Well, from thine. [_Drinks._
_Luc._ (_aside_). He is self-betrayed.
_Ner._ Where were we?
_Petr._ At the point where Cæsar made me
Arbiter of his table. I shall ask
To inaugurate my office.
_Ner._ Do so, Petronius.
_Petr._ Then know you are all dismissed. Let all go home,
And for the prince’s safety offer up [_All rise._
What vows ye may unto the gods. Myself,
I set the example, and go first. Come, Lucan. [_Going._
_Ner._ Eh! eh! yet thus ’tis best. Good night, Petronius, 1691
Thou hast spoken well; may the gods hear thy prayers.
I wish you all good night.
_In disorder of going curtain falls._