_Sen._ And all my good tried friends.
_Luc._ Uncle!
_Sen._ Eh!
_Luc._ They say
Poppæa hath Octavia’s head in the palace
To play with.
_Sen._ ’Tis a journaler’s lie.
_Luc._ Did Fulvia
Not pierce the tongue of Cicero dead?
_Sen._ Fie! fie!
Let journalers traduce their filthy souls:
Why bring ye me their scandals, when to truths,
That daily I must hear, I wish me deaf?
_Luc._ O sir, Rome thinks thou árt deaf: and men whisper
That creeping time devours thee sense by sense,
While thou, death’s willing prey, dost sit at home
Wreathing philosophies to hang the tomb
Of liberty, and crown the coward brows
Of icy oblivion. Sir, if this were true,
Well mightst thou wish not hear: but if thou hast not
Forgot the murder of Britannicus....
_Sen._ Hush, hush!
_Luc._ Or sweet Octavia’s wrongs....
_Sen._ Stay, nephew! I say.
_Luc._ The shame of her divorce....
_Sen._ None of this, prithee!
For true it is I wish I could forget.
_Luc._ Her transportation and imprisonment
Upon an outlawed isle; that calumny,
Dumb in her faultless presence, might dare trumpet
Charges incredible: and last her death 481
By a clumsy soldier, ’gainst whose butcher’s knife
She struggled childishly, to the stony walls
Screaming in terror. O sir, let no Roman,
Who hath one hand unbound, wish he were deaf.
_Sen._ Enough! enough!
_Luc._ Why this, sir, is a tale
Would damn a tragedy for the overdoing
Of the inhumanities.
_Sen._ Ay, and I think,
Nephew, it gains not by thy rhetoric.
_Lat._ But Nero, sir, is held thy pupil, and thou
In part discredited,—nay, none but thou
Since Burrus died.
_Sen._ Well, well: but Burrus’ death
Hath halved my power, and left the lesser half
Helpless in isolation.
_Lat._ That’s a fact.
We come, my lord, to bid thee join thy hand
With them that look to thee. There’s Fænius Rufus,
That’s now in Burrus’ place, another Burrus.
_Sen._ Another Burrus! Fifty Rufuses
Would make no part of Burrus. Why! I am grieved
More for his goodness, when I think of him, 500
Than by all Nero’s ill. My staunch friend was he,
Stern as a Roman, tender as a woman:
A simple mind, a clear head, and true heart;
Faithful, unblenched and certain of his path.
All that philosophy has ever taught me
He knew by instinct, and would hit the mark
With careless action, where my reason fumbled
And groped in the dusk. I say, if all the books
I have ever read or writ, could make one man
Like Burrus, with so natural a touch,
And such godlike directness, none would doubt
Of our philosophy.
_Luc._ But now he’s gone.
_Sen._ There’s none like Burrus.
_Lat._ Lo, my lord, I am one
To dare what Burrus never dared.
_Sen._ What’s that?
_Lat._ The tyrant’s death.
_Sen._ (_rising_). Ha! Now we have it!
Seal your lips and depart.—And thou too, nephew,
To seek to engage me!
_Lat._ First, my lord; our safety.
_Sen._ Alas, alas! Nay, leave me. I know nothing.
Ye heard I did but guess.
_Luc._ Thou didst guess right.
_Sen._ Ye have wronged me, gentlemen, choosing to make me
Privy to your distempered plots; but rightly
Judged that I would not sacrifice your lives
To save the monster’s. Nay: were Nero’s death
God’s will, as yours it seems, I might rejoice.
But in your scheme to whom would ye entrust
The absolute power? If Nero be pulled down,
Whom would ye bid us worship? The empire needs
A god,—or, if not that, a godlike man,
Plato’s philosopher for king.
_Lat._ Agreed!
’Tis a philosopher we have chosen, sir. 530
_Luc._ Speak not to us of kings and emperors, uncle;
Wé restóre the republic.
_Sen._ Hey! Is’t Thrasea
Ye would make emperor?
_Luc._ Thrasea hath no wealth
Nor favour with the people.
_Sen._ Who is’t then
That leads your dream a-dance?
_Lat._ Sir, ’tis no dream.
_Sen._ Who then?
_Fla._ (_advancing_). Hail, Cæsar, hail!
_Sen._ Why, man, what’s this?
_Fla._ We choose thee Cæsar.
_Luc._ We crown thee.
_Lat._ Hail, great Cæsar!
_Sen._ Me! madmen, me! Cæsar! me! I am retired ...
And—oh! no—never. Who hath chosen me?
Is this thy folly, nephew, when thou tell’st me
My friends decrease?
_Luc._ I said the truth: ’tis time
Thou rise and rally them. We have a party.
_Sen._ I have no party.
_Luc._ We may count for yours
All the republicans. Your oratory
Will win the senate, and your wealth the people.
Rufus is ours, and brings the guards; Vestinus,
The consul, ours; here’s Lateranus with us,
The consul designate; at Nero’s death
Corbulo and the eastern army... ’Tis no party:
’Tis all except a party.
_Sen._ Patience, nephew. 550
I weigh the names we count. I see . but . yet ...
_Luc._ Nero once slain, ’tis needful for the hour
To name an emperor. The pillaged world,
That tasted five years of thy regence, loves thee;
While those that would restore Rome’s public rule
Will hail thy leadership.
_Fla._ Princeps Senatus!
_Sen._ Pray, how far hath this gone?
_Luc._ I have sounded many,
And found them eager if but thou assent.
Yet none knows that we ask thee.
_PRISCUS._
Thrasea knows.
_Sen._ Ha! Priscus, thou hast been silent all this while:
And what said Thrasea?
_Pr._ In my credit, sir,
I may not tell.
_Sen._ Indeed! And while ye invite me
To plunge into the bowels of Hell, and wrap me
In the blóody purples of a murdered Cæsar,
Thou wouldst hide from me, for some petty scruple,
What my best friend says of it!
_Pr._ I should tell:—
He said you would refuse.
_Sen._ And he said right.
I do refuse.
_All._ Refuse!
_Luc._ Uncle, consider!
_Fla._ We cannot take that word, sir; ’tis not thine.
The state requires thee: there is none but thou. 570
_Sen._ My word is No, I will not.
_Luc._ Thou wilt nót?
Wilt nót throne virtue in the seat of might?
Not crown philosophy? and in thyself
Fulfil the dream of wisdom, which the world
Hath mocked at as impracticable?
_Sen._ Yea,
And yet shall mock. ’Tis not for me. Ye think
Because I am rich, that I despise not wealth;
Because I have been involved in courtly faction,
I loathe not crime; that what ye have seen to touch me,
Thát I would handle. Can ye thus mistake me?
And deem that I, being such an one to serve you,
Might be entrapped with flattery,—that ye style me
The one man worthy? ay, to rule the world
Ye said: Well! I shall rule it; but not so.
I make my throne here, and with these nibbed reeds
Issue my edicts to the simple-hearted,
To whom all rule shall come: Yes, it shall come
If God’s will count for aught.
_Pr._ My lord, consider.
This is the hour to set you right for ever.
’Twas of your doing Nero came to power: 590
Now with one word you may blot out the past.
_Sen._ Priscus, if thou didst think I was to blame
For all the wrongs and crimes, which by thy speech
Thou wouldst impute, wouldst thou be here to-day
To hail me Cæsar? ’Tis a stingless taunt.
_Lat._ Thou shalt not be reproached.
_Fla._ We do not blame thee.
_Luc._ We ask but thy consent.
_Sen._ Shame, nephew; shame!
_Lat._ Sir, you mistake: we ask not your consent
Unto the deed.
_Fla._ We take that on ourselves.
_Lat._ We ask of thee but this: Nero once slain,
Wilt thou be Cæsar?
_Sen._ No, sir: I will not.
_Fla._ Thou wilt not change thy books for provinces?
_Sen._ No, sir.
_Lat._ Dost thou refuse?
_Luc._ Oh, uncle, uncle!
_Fla._ My lord, allow me.
_Luc._ Hear what I would say.
_Sen._ I know it, nephew, afore. Now let this end.
’Tis said.
_Pr._ I was prepared, my lord, for this:
And we at least may spare you further danger
Of our suspicious conference. I go. (_Moving._)
_Sen._ The ill is done.
_Fla._ One word. Nero must die;
And whosoe’er but thou steps in his place 610
Must also die; for none is worthy. Come
At once, ere more be slain. This ends not here.
_Sen._ Thou dost say right: this ends not here: if more
Shall die, thou bearest some blame of it. Farewell!
God can bend all to good: this, which to me
Seems ill, may not be so.
_Lat._ (_going_). Sir, I shall trust you.
_Sen._ Indeed fear not. Now, for my safety & yours,
Leave me, I pray. Farewell!
_All_ (_going_). Farewell! [_Exeunt._
_Sen._ Nay, can it be? Fools! can it be they cried
Seneca, Cæsar? My hand is trembling, my sense
Swimming: ’tis true: my mortal stroke, & dealt me
By would-be friends. The way that least I expected,
When I least looked for it—yea—thus cometh Death.
No hope. I am named. But ah! thou bloody tiger,
Who slewest her that bare thee, now I that trained thee
Might ... yea, I might.—The whole world for a bait
Dangles upon the hook, and I refuse.
I would not; nay, I could not ... What then do?
Stand firm? with my poor palsied limbs,
Stand firm? budge not a hair, as Burrus put it? 630
—So take rank in the monster’s tale of murders:
My gravity in his comedy of crime:
Suffer in my last act of serious life
His hypocritical smile, his three or four
Crocodile tears: be waved off with a smirk,
‘A sacrifice to the safety of the state’?
Oft have I thought of death, to brave his terror,
But ne’er forereckoned thus.... Why, it were better
To give life its one chance, still play the game.
That may well be: That I’ll do: all my skill
Summon to aid me: else ’tis my death,—the end:
That execrable nothing which no art
Of painful thought can reconcile....
_Enter Paullina excitedly._
_PAULLINA._
Seneca, Seneca!
The Circus Maximus is burned; the fire
Hath reached the embankment—Ah, they have told you?
_Sen._ Nay:
What didst thou say?
_Pau._ The fire, my lord, the fire.
The Circus is burned down, and the Velabrum
Is now a field of flame, that waves in the wind.
Rome will be burned.
_Sen._ A general calamity
Might turn attention from me.
_Pau._ My lord, you are strange.
_Sen._ Paullina, it matters not to me or thee
If the whole world should burn: a little while
And all is nought. There have been here this morning
The heads of a conspiracy.
_Pau._ A conspiracy!
_Sen._ To murder Nero.
_Pau._ Indeed I wonder not.
_Sen._ But who is the man, thinkst thou, whom they would take
To set up in his place; who, if they fail,
Must fall a sacrifice? Who least desires
The crown? Who least deserves the death? ’Tis he.
_Pau._ Not thee! ah, ah, my lord, not thee!
_Sen._ Take comfort,
Be brave, Paullina; check thy tears: there is hope;
There is yet a hope. I shall renounce my wealth,
Place my possessions all in Cæsar’s hands,
And stripped to naked, harmless poverty
Fly Rome and power for ever: such a life 665
I have praised and well may lead—philosophy
Graced by the rich graceth the poor, and I,
Who have sought to crown her, may be crown’d by her.
I’ll save my life’s last remnant with applause.
Weep not, there’s hope: yes, there is yet a hope.