_Chorus:_[51] Sing Phoebus' praise, O ra_The Tragedies of Seneca Translated into English Verse, to Which Have Been Appended Comparative Analyses of the Corresponding Greek and Roman Plays, and a Mythological Index

With festal laurel wreathe your heads;

And let your virgin locks flow free,

Ye Argive maids.

And ye who drink of the cold Erasinus,

Who dwell by Eurotas, 315

Who know the green banks of the silent Ismenus

Come join in our singing;

And do ye swell our chorus, ye far Theban daughters,

Whom the child of Tiresias, Manto the seer,

Once taught to bow down to the Delian gods. 320

Now peace has come:

Unbend thy victorious bow, O Apollo,

Lay down from thy shoulder thy quiver of arrows,

And let thy tuneful lyre resound

To the touch of thy swift-flying fingers. 325

No lofty strain be thine today,

But such as on thy milder lyre

Thou art wont to sound when the learnéd muse

Surveys thy sports.

And yet, an' thou wilt, strike a heavier strain, 330

As when thou didst sing of the Titans o'ercome

By Jupiter's hurtling bolts;

When mountain on lofty mountain piled,

Pelion, Ossa, and pine-clad Olympus,

Built high to the sky for the impious monsters 335

Their ladder's rocky rounds.

Thou too be with us, Juno, queen,

Who sharest the throne of heaven's lord. 340

Mycenae's altars blaze for thee.

Thou alone dost protect us,

Anxious and suppliant;

Thou art the goddess of peace,

And the issues of war are thine; 345

And thine are the laurels of victory twined

On the brow of our king Agamemnon.

To thee the boxwood flute resounds

In solemn festival;

To thee the maidens strike the harp 350

In sweetest song;

To thee the votive torch is tossed;

The gleaming heifer, all unmarred

By the plow's rough touch

Falls at thy shrine. 355

And thou, child of the Thunderer,

Pallas illustrious, hear;

Before whose might the Dardanian walls

Have trembled and fallen to dust.

Thee maidens and matrons in chorus united 360

Exalt and adore; at thy approach

Thy temple doors swing open wide,

While the welcoming throng, with garlands bedecked,

Rejoice at thy coming;

And feeble, tottering elders come

To pay their vows of thanks and praise, 365

And pour their offerings of wine

With trembling hands.

And to thee with mindful lips we pray,

Bright Trivia, Lucina called.

Thy native Delos didst thou bid

Stand fast upon the sea, and float 370

No more, the wandering mock of winds.

And now, with firmly fixéd root,

It stands secure, defies the gale,

And, wont of old to follow ships,

Now gives them anchorage.

Proud Niobe thy vengeance felt 375

Who thy divinity defied.

Now, high on lonely Sipylus,

She sits and weeps in stony grief;

Though to insensate marble turned,

Her tears flow fresh forevermore.

And now both men and women join 380

In praise to the twin divinities.

But thee, above all gods, we praise;

Our father and our ruler thou,

Lord of the hurtling thunderbolt,

At whose dread nod the farthest poles

Do quake and tremble.

O Jove, thou founder of our race, 385

Accept our gifts, and have regard

Unto thy faithful progeny.

But lo, a warrior hither comes in haste,

With wonted signs of victory displayed;

For on his spear a laurel wreath he bears-- 390

Eurybates, our king's own messenger.

FOOTNOTES:

[51] The line arrangement of Schroeder has been followed in this Chorus.

ACT III

[_Enter_ Eurybates _with laurel-wreathed spear_.]

_Eurybates:_ Ye shrines and altars of the heavenly gods,

Ye Lares of my fathers, after long

And weary wanderings, scarce trusting yet

My longing eyes, I give ye grateful thanks.

Pay now your vows which you have vowed to heaven,

Ye Argive people; for behold, your king, 395

The pride and glory of this land of Greece,

Back to his father's house as victor comes.

[_Enter_ Clytemnestra _in time to hear the concluding words of the

herald_.]

_Clytemnestra:_ Oh, joyful tidings that I long to hear!

But where delays my lord, whom I with grief

For ten long years have waited? Doth the sea

Still stay his course, or hath he gained the land?

_Eurybates:_ Unharmed, by glory crowned, increased in praise, 400

He hath set foot upon the long-sought shore.

_Clytemnestra:_ Then hail this day with joy, and thank the gods

Who, though their favoring aid was late bestowed,

At last have smiled propitious on our cause.

But tell me thou, does yet my brother live?

Say, too, how fares my sister Helena? 405

_Eurybates:_ If prayer and hope prevail, they yet survive;

No surer tidings is it given to speak

Of those who wander on the stormy sea.

Scarce had the swollen highways of the deep

Received our fleet, when ship from kindred ship

Was driven, and lost amid the gathering gloom.

E'en Agamemnon's self in doubt and fear 410

Went wandering upon the trackless waste,

And suffered more from Neptune's buffetings

Than he had e'er endured in bloody war.

And now, a humble victor, home he comes,

With but a shattered remnant of his fleet.

_Clytemnestra:_ But say what fate has swallowed up my ships,

And scattered our great chieftains o'er the sea? 415

_Eurybates:_ A sorry tale 'twould be: thou bid'st me mix

The bitter message with the sweet. But I,

Alas, am sick at heart, and cannot tell

For very horror our most woeful tale.

_Clytemnestra:_ But tell it even so; for he who shrinks

From knowledge of his woe has greater fear.

And ills half seen are worse than certainty. 420

_Eurybates:_ When Troy lies smouldering 'neath our Grecian fires

We quickly lot the spoil, and seek the sea

In eager haste. And now our weary sides

Are easéd of the falchion's wonted load;

Our shields along the vessels' lofty sterns

Unheeded hang, and once again our hands,

Long used to swords, are fitted to the oar; 425

And all impatiently we wait the word.

Then flashed from Agamemnon's ship the sign

That bade us homeward speed, and clear and loud

The trumpet pealed upon our joyful ears;

The flagship's gilded prow gleamed on ahead,

The course directing for a thousand ships. 430

A kindly breeze first stole into our sails

And urged us softly on; the tranquil waves

Scarce rippled with the Zephyr's gentle breath;

The sea was all a-glitter with the fleet

Which lit e'en while it hid the watery way.

'Tis sweet to see the empty shores of Troy, 435

The broad plains left in lonely solitude.

The eager sailors ply the bending oars,

Hands aiding sails, and move their sturdy arms

With rhythmic swing. The furrowed waters gleam,

And sing along the sides, while rushing prows 440

Besprinkle all the sea with hoary spray.

When fresher breezes fill our swelling sails,

We cease from toil, and, stretched along the thwarts,

We watch the far-off shores of Ilium,

Fast fleeing as our vessels seaward fare; 445

Or tell old tales of war: brave Hector's threats,

His corpse dishonored, and again restored

To purchased honors of the funeral pyre;

And Priam sprinkling with his royal blood

The sacred altar of Hercean Jove.

Then to and fro amid the briny sea

The dolphins sport, and leap the heaving waves 450

With arching backs; now race in circles wide,

Now swim beside us in a friendly band,

Now dash ahead or follow in our wake;

Anon in wanton sport they smite our prows,

And so our thousand rushing barks surround. 455

Now sinks the shore from view, the spreading plains;

And far-off Ida seems a misty cloud.

And now, what but the sharpest eye can see,

Troy's rising smoke blurs dim the distant sky.

The sun was bringing weary mortals rest, 460

And waning day was giving place to night;

When clouds began to fill the western sky,

And dim the luster of the sinking sun--

The grim prognostic of a rising gale.

Young night had spangled all the sky with stars, 465

And empty sails hung languid on the masts;

When low, foreboding sighings of the wind

Spring from our landward side; the hidden shore

Resounds afar with warning mutterings;

The rising waves anticipate the storm; 470

The moon is blotted out, the stars are hid,

The sea leaps skyward, and the sky is gone.

Gloom broods o'er all, but not of night alone;

For blinding mists add blackness to the night,

And murky waves with murky sky contend.

Then in concerted rush from every hand

The winds fall roughly on the ravished sea,

And heave its boiling billows from the depths; 475

While east with west wind struggles, south with north.

Each wields his wonted arms to lash the sea:

The fierce Strymonian blast with rattling hail

Roars on, and Libyan Auster heaps the waves

Upon the seething sands. Nor those alone 480

Provoke the strife: for raving Notus first

Grows big with bursting clouds and swells the waves;

And boisterous Eurus shakes the Orient,

The far Arabian realms and morning seas.

What dire disaster did fierce Corus work,

His dark face gleaming forth upon the deep?

We thought the very heavens would be rent, 485

The gods fall down from out the riven sky,

And all revert to chaos as of old.

The waves opposed the winds, the winds in turn

Hurled back the warring waves. Nor was the sea

Within itself contained; but, lifted high,

It mingled with the streaming floods of heaven. 490

Nor were we solaced in our dreadful plight

By open view and knowledge of our ills;

For darkness like the murky night of Styx

Hedged in our view. Yet was this darkness rent,

When flashing lightnings cleft the inky clouds 495

With crashing bolts. Yet e'en this fearful gleam

Was welcome to our eyes: so sweet it is

To those in evil plight to see their ills.

The fleet assists its own destruction, too,

Prow dashing hard on prow, and side on side;

Now sinks it headlong in the yawning flood,

And now, belched forth, it sees the air again. 500

One plunges down, of its own weight compelled;

Another, through its gaping side, invites

Destruction from the raging floods; a third

Is smothered by the tenth and mightiest wave.

Here idly floats a mangled, shattered thing,

Of all its boastful decoration shorn;

And there a ship sans sails and oars and all.

No lofty mast with hanging spars remains, 505

But, helpless hulks, the shattered vessels drift

Upon the boundless sea. Amid such ills,

Of what avail the hardy sailor's art?

Cold horror holds our limbs. The sailors stand

In dumb amaze, and all their tasks forget;

While all, in abject terror, drop their oars,

And turn their wretched souls to heaven for aid. 510

Now (marvel of the fates!) with common vows

The Greeks and Trojans supplicate the skies.

Now Pyrrhus envies great Achilles' fate;

Ulysses, Ajax'; Menelaüs, Hector's;

And Priam seems to Agamemnon blest:

Yea all who perished on the plains of Troy,

Whose lot it was to die by human hand,

Are counted blest of heaven, secure in fame, 515

For they rest safely in the land they won.

"Shall winds and waves engulf in common fate

The faint of heart who nothing noble dare,

And those brave souls who quit themselves like men?

Must we for naught resign ourselves to death?

O thou of gods who art not even yet

With these our evil fortunes satisfied, 520

At last have pity on our woeful plight,

Which Ilium itself would weep to see.

If still thine anger holds, and 'tis decreed

That we of Greece must perish utterly,

Why doom these Trojans, for whose sake we die,

To share our fate? Allay the raging sea: 525

For this our fleet bears Greeks and Trojans too."

So prayed we, but in vain; our suppliant words

Were swallowed by the raging storm. And lo,

Another shape of death! For Pallas, armed

With those swift bolts her angry father wields,

Essays what ruin dire her threatening spear,

Her aegis set with stony Gorgon's head, 530

And these her father's thunderbolts, can work.

Unconquered by his ills, with daring soul,

Bold Ajax struggles on. Him, shortening sail

With halyards strained, a falling thunderbolt

Smote full; again the goddess poised her bolt 535

With hand far backward drawn, like Jove himself,

And hurled it true with shock impetuous.

Straight fell the bolt, and, piercing man and ship,

It strewed them both in ruin on the sea.

Still undismayed, he overtops the waves,

All charred and blasted like some rugged cliff, 540

And bravely breasts the wildly raging sea.

Still gleaming with the lightning's lurid glare,

He shines amid the blackness like a torch

Which sheds its beams afar upon the deep.

At length a jutting rock he gains, and shouts

In madness: "Now have I o'ercome the sea, 545

The flames; 'tis sweet to conquer sky, and waves,

The thunderbolts, and her who brandished them.

I've braved the terrors of the god of war;

With my sole arm I fronted Hector, huge,

Nor did the darts of Phoebus frighten me.

Those gods, together with their Phrygians, 550

I set at naught; and shall I quake at thee?

Thou hurl'st with weakling's hand another's bolts:

But what if Jove himself--"

When madly thus he dared blaspheme the gods,

Great Neptune with his trident smote the rock,

And whelmed its tottering bulk beneath the sea. 555

So, falling with its fall, the madman lies

By earth and fire and billows overcome.

But us, poor shipwrecked, hopeless mariners,

A worse destruction waits. There is a reef,

Low lying, treacherous with ragged shoals,

Where false Caphereus hides his rocky foot

Beneath the whirling waters of the sea. 560

Above this reef the billows heave and dash,

And madly seethe with each recurring wave.

High o'er this spot a frowning crag projects,

Which views on either side the spreading sea.

There distant lie thine own Pelopian shores,

And there the curving Isthmus, deep withdrawn,

Shielding the broad Aegean from the west. 565

There blood-stained Lemnos looms; here Chalcis[52] lies;

And yonder wind-locked Aulis' peaceful port.

This lofty cliff old Nauplius occupied,

With hate inspired for Palamedes' sake.

There his accurséd hand a beacon raised

And lured us onward to the fatal spot. 570

Now hang our barks by jagged rocks transfixed,

Or founder, wrecked and wrecking in the shoals;

And where but now our vessels sought to land,

They flee the land and choose the angry waves. 575

With dawn the sea's destructive rage was spent,

And full atonement had been made to Troy.

Then came the sun again; and brightening day

Revealed the awful havoc of the night.

_Clytemnestra:_ I know not which were better, grief or joy.

I do rejoice to see my lord again, 580

And yet my kingdom's losses counsel tears.

O father Jove, at whose august command

The sounding heavens quake, regard our race,

And bid the angry gods be merciful.

Let every head be decked with festal wreath,

The flute resound, and at the stately shrine

Let snowy victims fall in sacrifice. 585

But lo, a grieving throng, with locks unkempt,

The Trojan women come; and at their head,

With step majestic, queenly, heaven inspired,

Apollo's bride, with his own laurel tired.

[_Enter band of_ Trojan women, _led by_ Cassandra.]

_Band of Trojan women:_ Alas, how bitter, yet how sweet a thing,

This love of life we mortals cherish so!

What madness, when the door stands open wide 590

That frees us from our ills, and death calls loud

And welcomes us to everlasting rest!

Who finds that refuge, fears no more

These nameless terrors, these assaults,

These insolent assaults of fate,

And sidelong-glancing bolts of Jove. 595

Deep peace of death!

No frenzied burgher-throng to fear,

No victor's threatening madness here;

No wild seas ruffled by the blast;

No hosts in serried battle massed,

Where whirling clouds of dust disclose 600

The savage riders to their foes;

No nation falling with its city's fall,

'Mid smouldering battlement and crumbling wall;

No wasting fires,

No burning pyres,

And all the horrors impious war inspires.

They from the servile bonds of fate 605

This human life emancipate,

Who fickle fortune dare to brave,

And face the terrors of the grave;

Who joyful view the joyless Styx,

And dare their mortal span to fix.

How like a king, how like a god on high

Is he who faces death nor fears to die! 610

In one dark night we saw our city doomed,

When Doric fires the Dardan homes consumed;

But not in battle, not by warlike arts,

As once it fell beneath Alcides' darts.

No son of Thetis dealt the blow 615

Which wrought our final overthrow,

Nor his loved friend, Patroclus hight,

When once, in borrowed armor dight,

He put our Trojan chiefs to flight;

Nor when Pelides' self gave o'er 620

The fierce resentment that he bore,

And sped him forth on vengeance bent--

Not even in such evils pent,

Did Troy to cruel fortune bend,

But struggled bravely to the end.

Her bitter fate--for ten long years to stand,

And fall at last by one vile trickster's hand. 625

In memory still we see the monstrous bulk

Of that pretended and most fatal gift,

The Grecian horse, which we, too credulous,

With our own hands into our city led.

The noisy-footed monster stumbled oft 630

Upon the threshold of the city gate,

While in its roomy hold crouched kings and war.

And we might well have turned their crafty arts

To work their own destruction. But alas,

We neither saw nor heeded. Oftentimes

The sound of clashing shields smote on our ears,

And low and angry mutterings within 635

Where Pyrrhus 'gainst the shrewd Ulysses strove.

Now free from fear our Trojan youth

Crowd round to touch the sacred cords

With joyous hands. Astyanax

Here leads his youthful playmates on,

While 'midst the maidens gaily comes

The maid Polyxena, foredoomed

To bleed upon Achilles' tomb. 640

Mothers in festal garments bring

Their votive offerings to the gods,

And sires press gaily round the shrines. 645

Throughout the town all faces tell

One tale of joy; e'en Hecuba,

Who, since her Hector's fatal pyre,

Had never ceased her tears, was glad.

But now, unhappy grief, what first,

What last, dost thou prepare to weep? 650

Our city walls in ruin laid,

Though built by heavenly hands? our shrines

Upon their very gods consumed?

Nay, nay; long since our weary eyes

Have dried their tears for these. But now

We weep, O father, king, for thee. 655

We saw, with our own eyes we saw,

The old man slain by Pyrrhus' impious hand,

Whose scanty blood scarce stained the gleaming brand.

_Cassandra:_ Restrain your tears which lingering time awaits,

Ye Trojan dames; weep not for me and mine. 660

Let each bewail her several woes; but I

For my own heavy grief have tears enough.

_Band:_ Yet 'tis a balm of grief to know

That our own tears with others' flow;

More sharply gnaws the hidden care 665

Which we with others may not share:

And thou, though strong of soul, inured to grief,

Canst not in thine own weeping find relief.

Though Philomel for Itys sing 670

Her sad, sweet notes in wakening spring;

Though Procne, with insistent din,

Bewail her husband's hidden sin; 675

Not these, with all their passionate lament,

Can voice the sorrows in thy bosom pent.

Let Cycnus raise his dying song,

And its soft, plaintive strains prolong;

Let Halcyon mourn her Ceyx brave, 680

A-flutter o'er the tossing wave;

Let priests of tower-crowned Cybele 685

Their tears for Attis share with thee:

Still would our tears in no such measure flow, 690

For sufferings like these no limits know.

[Cassandra _lays aside her fillets_.]

But why dost lay aside the sacred wool?

Most by the wretched should the gods be feared.

_Cassandra:_ But ills like mine o'erleap the bounds of fear. 695

I'll supplicate the heavenly gods no more,

For now am I beyond their power to harm,

And I have drained to dregs the cup of fate.

No country have I left, no sister, sire;

For tombs and altars have my blood consumed. 700

Where is that happy throng of brothers now?

Departed all! And only weak old men

Remain within the lonely palace walls

To serve the wretched king; and these, alas,

Throughout those stately chambered halls behold,

Save Spartan Helen, none but widowed wives.

And Hecuba, proud mother of a race 705

Of kings, herself the queen of Phrygia,

Fecund for funeral pyres, became the mock

Of fickle fate; and now in bestial form,

Barks madly round the ruins of her home,

Surviving Troy, son, husband, and herself.

_Band:_ Why falls this sudden silence on her? See 710

Her cheeks are pale, and fits of trembling fear

Possess her frame; her locks in horror rise,

And we can hear, though pent within her breast,

The loud pulsations of her fluttering heart.

Her glance uncertain wanders; and anon

Her eyes seem backward turned into herself, 715

Then fix again and harshly stare abroad.

Now higher than her wont she lifts her head

And walks with stately step; and now she strives

To open her reluctant lips. At last,

Though struggling still against th' inspiring god,

The maddened priestess speaks with muttered words.

_Cassandra:_ Why prick me on with fury's goads anew, 720

Ye sacred slopes of high Parnassus? Why

Must I, insensate, prophesy afresh?

Away, thou prophet god! I am not thine.

Subdue the fires that smoulder in my breast.

Whose doom yet waits my frenzied prophecy?

Now Troy is fallen--must I still rave on, 725

And speak unheeded words? Oh, where am I?

The kindly light has fled, and deepest night

Enshrouds my face, and all the heavens lie wrapped

In deepest gloom. But see, with double sun,

The day shines forth again; and doubled homes

In doubled Argos seem to stand. Again

I see Mount Ida's groves. The shepherd sits 730

Amid those awful goddesses to judge

(Oh, fatal judgment!) twixt their rival charms.

Ye mighty kings, I warn ye, fear the fruit

Of stolen love; that rustic foundling soon

Shall overthrow your house.

Beware the queen!

Why does she madly in her woman's hand

Those naked weapons bear? Whom does she seek 735

With brandished battle-ax, though Spartan bred,

Like some fierce warrior of the Amazons?

What horrid vision next affronts mine eyes?

A mighty Afric lion, king of beasts,

Lies low, death-smitten by his cruel mate;

While at his mangled[53] neck a low-born beast 740

Gnaws greedily.

Why do ye summon me,

Saved only of my house, ye kindred shades?

I'll follow thee, my father, buried[54] deep

Beneath the stones of Troy; and thee, O prop

Of Phrygia, the terror of the Greeks,

I see, though not in brave and fair array,

As once thou cam'st, still flushing with the glow 745

Of burning ships; but with thy members torn

And foully mangled by the dragging thongs.

And thee, O Troïlus, I follow too,

Alas, too quickly met with Peleus' son!

I see thy face, my poor Deïphobus,

Past recognition scarred. Is this the gift

Of thy new wife? 750

Ah me, 'tis sweet to go

Along the borders of the Stygian pool;

To see the savage hound of Tartarus,

The realms of greedy Dis, and Charon old,

Whose dusky skiff shall bear two royal souls

Across the murky Phlegethon today,

The vanquished and the vanquisher. Ye shades,

And thee, dread stream, by which the gods of heaven 755

Do swear their straightest oaths, I pray ye both:

Withdraw the curtain of your hidden realm,

That so yon shadowy throng of Phrygians

May look upon Mycenae's woes. Behold,

Poor souls; the wheel of fortune backward turns.

See, see! the squalid sisters come, 760

Their bloody lashes brandishing,

And smoking torches half consumed.

A sickly pallor overspreads

Their bloated cheeks; and dusky robes

Of death begird their hollow loins.

The gloomy night with fearsome cries 765

Resounds, and to my startled eyes

Dread sights appear: there lie the bones

Of that huge giant, far outstretched,

Upon a slimy marsh's brink

All white and rotting. Now I see

That old man, wan with suffering,

Forget awhile the mocking waves, 770

Forget his burning thirst, to grieve

For this disaster hovering

About his house;

But Dardanus exults to see

His foeman's baleful destiny.

_Band:_ Now has her rage prophetic spent itself, 775

And fall'n away; like some devoted bull,

Which sinks with tottering knees before the shrine

Beneath the sacrificial axe's stroke.

Let us support her ere she faint and fall.

But see, our Agamemnon comes at last

To greet his gods, with bay of victory crowned;

And, all in festal garb, with glad accord, 780

His consort welcomes her returning lord.

FOOTNOTES:

[52] Reading, _hinc et Chalcida_.

[53] Reading, _vexatus_.

[54] Reading, _totâ Troiâ sepulte_.

ACT IV

[_Enter_ Agamemnon. _He is met and greeted by his wife, who returns

into the palace._]

_Agamemnon:_ At last in safety am I home returned.

Oh, hail, belovéd land! I bring thee spoil

From many barbarous tribes; and Troy at length,

So long the mistress of the haughty east, 785

Submits herself as suppliant to thee.

But see, Cassandra faints, and trembling falls

With nerveless form. Ye slaves with speed uplift her;

Revive her drooping spirits with the chill

Of water on her face. Her languid eyes

Again behold the light of day. Arise,

Cassandra, and recall thy sluggish sense.

That shelter from our woes, so long desired, 790

Is here at last. This is a festal day.

_Cassandra:_ Remember Ilium's festal day.

_Agamemnon:_ But come,

We'll kneel before the shrine.

_Cassandra:_ Before the shrine

My father fell.

_Agamemnon:_ We will together pray

In thankfulness to Jove.

_Cassandra:_ Hercean Jove?

_Agamemnon:_ Thou think'st of Ilium?

_Cassandra:_ And Priam too.

_Agamemnon:_ This is not Troy. 795

_Cassandra:_ Where a Helen is, is Troy.

_Agamemnon:_ Fear not thy mistress, though in captive's bonds.

_Cassandra:_ But freedom is at hand.

_Agamemnon:_ Live on secure.

_Cassandra:_ I think that death is my security.

_Agamemnon:_ For thee there's naught to fear.

_Cassandra:_ But much for thee.

_Agamemnon:_ What can a victor fear?

_Cassandra:_ What least he fears.

_Agamemnon:_ Keep her, ye faithful slaves, in careful guard, 800

Till she shall throw this mood of madness off,

Lest in unbridled rage she harm herself.

To thee, O father, who the blinding bolt

Dost hurl, at whose command the clouds disperse,

Who rul'st the starry heavens and the lands,

To whom triumphant victors bring their spoils;

And thee, O sister of thy mighty lord, 805

Argolic Juno, here I offer now

All fitting gifts--and so fulfil my vow.

[_Exit into the palace._]

_Chorus of Argive women:_ O Argos, famed for thy worthy sons,

And dear to the jealous Juno's heart,

How mighty the children who feed at thy breast! 810

Thou hast added a god to the ranks of immortals;

For Alcides has won by his labors heroic

The right to be named with the lords of the sky.

Alcides the great! at his birth were the laws

Of the universe broken; for Jove bade the night

To double the dew-laden hours of the darkness. 815

At his command did the god of the sun

To a sluggish pace restrain his car;

And slow of foot around their course,

O pale, white moon, thy horses paced.

He also checked his feet, the star,

Which hails the dawn, but glows as oft 820

In the evening sky; and he marveled that he

Should be called Hesperus. 'Tis said that Aurora

Roused to her wonted task, but again

Sank back to her sleep on the breast of Tithonus:

For long must the night be, and tardy the morning,

That waits for the birth of a hero divine. 825

The swift-whirling vault of the sky stood still

To greet thee, O youth to the heavens appointed.

Thy labors how many and mighty! Thy hand

Has the terrible lion of Nemea felt, 830

The fleet-footed hind, and the ravaging boar

That Arcadia feared. Loud bellowed the bull

When torn from the fields of Crete;

Thou didst conquer the Hydra, which fed on destruction, 835

And severed the last of its multiplied heads.

The dread giant, Geryon, three monsters in one,

Fell slain with one blow of thy crashing club;

But his oxen, the famous Hesperian herds,

Were driven away as the spoils of the east. 840

The terrible steeds of the Thracian king,

Which their master fed not on the grass of the Strymon,

Or the green banks of Hebrus (but, cruel and bloody,

With flesh of the hapless wayfarer he fed them), 845

These steeds did our Hercules take, and in vengeance,

As their last gory feast gave the flesh of their master.

The spoil of her girdle Hippolyte saw

A-gleam on her conqueror's breast.

The Stymphalian bird fell down from the clouds 850

By his arrows death-smitten,

And the tree which bears the fruit of gold

Feared his approach, but, despoiled of its treasures,

Lifted high in the air its burdenless branches.

Forth from the ravished grove he strode 855

With its golden fruit full laden; in vain

Did the deadly, sleepless dragon guard

Hear the sound of the musical metal.

By triple chains to the upper world

The hound of hell was meekly dragged; 860

His three great mouths in silence gaped,

Amazed by the light of day.

And, greatest of toils, beneath his might,

The lying house of Dardanus

Was overthrown, and felt the force

Of that dread bow which it was doomed

In far-off time to feel again.

Ten days sufficed for Troy's first overthrow; 865

As many years her second ruins know.

ACT V

_Cassandra_ [_alone upon the stage, standing where she can see the

interior of the palace, describes what is going on there;

or else she sees it by clairvoyant power_]:

Great deeds are done within, the cruel match

For ten long years of suffering at Troy.

Alas, what do they there? Arise, my soul,

And take reward for thy mad prophecies.

The conquered Phrygians are victors now.

'Tis well! O Troy, thou risest from the dust, 870

For thou hast now to equal ruin brought

Mycenae too. Low lies thy conqueror.

Oh, ne'er before has my prophetic soul

So clearly seen the things of which it raved.

I see, and no false image cheats my sight,

I see it plainly, there, within the hall, 875

A royal feast is spread, and thronged with guests,

Like that last fatal feast of ours at Troy.

The couches gleam with Trojan tapestries;

Their wine they quaff from rare old cups of gold

That once cheered great Assaracus; and see,

The king himself, in 'broidered vestment clad,

Sits high in triumph at the table's head, 880

With Priam's noble spoils upon his breast.

Now comes his queen and bids him put away

The garment which his enemy has worn,

And don instead the robe which she has made

With loving thoughts of him.

Oh, horrid deed!

I shudder at the sight. Shall that base man,

That exile, smite a king? the paramour

The husband slay? The fatal hour has come. 885

The second course shall flow with royal blood,

And gory streams shall mingle with the wine.

And now the king has donned the deadly robe,

Which gives him bound and helpless to his fate.

His hands no outlet find; the clinging gown

Enwraps his head in dark and smothering folds.

With trembling hand the coward paramour 890

Now smites the king, but not with deadly wound;

For in mid stroke his nerveless hand is stayed.

But, as some shaggy boar in forest wilds,

Within the net's strong meshes caught, still strives

And strains to burst his bonds, yet all in vain:

So Agamemnon seeks to throw aside 895

The floating, blinding folds. In vain; and yet,

Though blind and bound, he seeks his enemy.

Now frenzied Clytemnestra snatches up

A two-edged battle-ax; and, as the priest,

Before he smites the sacrificial bull,

Marks well the spot and meditates his aim:

So she her impious weapon balances. 900

He has the blow. 'Tis done. The severed head

Hangs loosely down, and floods the trunk with gore.

Nor do they even yet their weapons stay:

The base-born wretch hacks at the lifeless corpse,

While she, his mate, pursues her bloody task. 905

So each responds to each in infamy.

Thyestes' son in very truth is he,

While she to Helen proves her sisterhood.

The sun stands doubtful on the edge of day;

Shall he go on or backward bend his way?

[_Remains beside the altar._]

[_Enter_ Electra, _leading her little brother_, Orestes.]

_Electra:_ Flee, sole avenger of my father's death, 910

Oh, flee, and shun these impious butchers' hands.

Our royal house is utterly o'erthrown,

Our kingdom gone.

But see, a stranger comes,

His horses driven to their utmost speed;

Come, brother, hide thyself beneath my robe.

But, O my foolish heart, whom dost thou fear? 915

A stranger? Nay, thy foes are here at home.

Put off thy fears, for close at hand I see

The timely shelter of a faithful friend.

[_Enter_ Strophius _in a chariot, accompanied by his son_ Pylades.]

_Strophius:_ I, Strophius, had left my Phocian realm,

And now, illustrious with th' Olympic palm,

I home return. My hither course is bent

To 'gratulate my friend, by whose assault 920

Has Ilium fallen after years of war.

[_Noticing_ Electra's _distress_.]

But why these flowing tears and looks of woe?

And why these marks of fear? I recognize

In thee the royal house. Electra! Why,

When all is joyful here, dost thou lament?

_Electra:_ My father lies within the palace, slain 925

By Clytemnestra's hand. His son is doomed

To share his father's death. Aegisthus holds

The throne which he through guilty love has gained.

_Strophius:_ Oh, happiness that never long endures!

_Electra:_ By all thy kindly memories of my sire,

By his proud scepter, known to all the earth, 930

And by the fickle gods, I pray thee take

My brother hence, and hide him from his foes.

_Strophius:_ Although dead Agamemnon bids me fear,

I'll brave the danger and thy brother save.

Good fortune asks for faith; adversity

Compels us to be true.

[_Takes_ Orestes _into the chariot_.]

My lad, attend:

Wear this wild-olive wreath upon thy brow, 935

The noble prize I won on Pisa's plain;

And hold above thy head this leafy branch,

The palm of victory, that it may be

A shield and omen of success to thee.

And do thou too, O Pylades, my son, 940

Who dost as comrade guide thy father's car,

From my example faith in friendship learn.

Do you, swift steeds, before the eyes of Greece

Speed on in flight, and leave this faithless land.

[_Exeunt at great speed._]

_Electra_ [_looking after them_]: So is he gone. His car at reckless

pace

Fast vanishes from sight. And now my foes, 945

With heart released from care, will I await,

And willingly submit my head to death.

Here comes the bloody conqueror of her lord,

And bears upon her robes the stains of blood.

Her hands still reek with gore, and in her face

She bears the witness of her impious crime. 950

I'll hie me to the shrine; and, kneeling here,

I'll join Cassandra in our common fear.

[_Enter_ Clytemnestra, _fresh from the murder of her husband_.]

_Clytemnestra_ [_to_ Electra]: Thou base, unfilial, and froward girl,

Thy mother's foe, by what authority

Dost thou, a virgin, seek the public gaze?

_Electra:_ Because I am a virgin have I left 955

The tainted home of vile adulterers.

_Clytemnestra:_ Who would believe thee chaste?

_Electra:_ I am thy child.

_Clytemnestra:_ Thou shouldst thy mother speak with gentler tongue.

_Electra:_ Shall I learn filial piety of thee?

_Clytemnestra:_ Thou hast a mannish soul, too puffed with pride;

But tamed by suffering thou soon shalt learn

To play a woman's part.

_Electra:_ A woman's part!

Yea, truly, 'tis to wield the battle-ax. 960

_Clytemnestra:_ Thou fool, dost think thyself a match for us?

_Electra:_ "For us?" Hast thou another husband then?

Speak thou as widow, for thy lord is dead.

_Clytemnestra:_ As queen I soon shall curb thy saucy tongue,

And break thy pride. But meanwhile quickly tell, 965

Where is my son, where is thy brother hid?

_Electra:_ Far from Mycenae fled.

_Clytemnestra:_ Then bring him back.

_Electra:_ Bring back my father too.

_Clytemnestra:_ Where lurks the boy?

_Electra:_ In safety, where he fears no rival's power.

This will content a loving mother.

_Clytemnestra:_ Yes,

But not an angry one. Thou diest today. 970

_Electra:_ Oh, let me perish by thy practiced hand!

Behold, I leave the altar's sheltering side;

Wilt plunge the knife into my tender throat?

I yield me to thy will. Or dost prefer

At one fell stroke to smite away my head?

My neck awaits thy deadly aim. Let crime 975

By other crime be purged. Thy hands are stained

And reeking with thy murdered husband's blood:

Come, cleanse them in the fresher stream of mine.

[_Enter_ Aegisthus.]

_Clytemnestra:_ Thou partner of my perils and my throne,

Aegisthus, come; this most unnatural child

Assails her mother and her brother hides. 980

_Aegisthus:_ Thou mad and foolish girl, restrain thy tongue,

For such wild words offend thy mother's ears.

_Electra:_ Thou arch contriver of most impious crime,

Wilt thou admonish me? Thou base-born wretch,

Thou sister's son, and grandson of thy sire! 985

_Clytemnestra:_ Aegisthus, how canst thou restrain thy hand

From smiting off her head? But hear my word:

Let her give up her brother or her life.

_Aegisthus:_ Nay, rather, in some dark and stony cell

Let her be straight confined; and there, perchance,

By cruel tortures racked, will she give up 990

Whom now she hides. Resourceless, starving there,

In dank and loathsome solitude immured,

Widowed, ere wedded, exiled, scorned of all--

Then will she, though too late, to fortune yield.

_Electra:_ Oh, grant me death.

_Aegisthus:_ If thou shouldst plead for life,

I'd grant thee death. A foolish ruler he, 995

Who balances by death the score of sin.

_Electra:_ Can any punishment be worse than death?

_Aegisthus:_ Yes! Life for those who wish to die. Away,

Ye slaves, seek out some dark and lonely cave,

Far from Mycenae's bounds; and there in chains,

Confine this bold, unmanageable maid,

If haply prison walls may curb her will. 1000

[Electra _is led away_.]

_Clytemnestra_ [_indicating_ Cassandra]:

But she shall die, that rival of my couch,

That captive bride. Go, drag her hence at once,

That she may follow him she stole from me.

_Cassandra:_ Nay, drag me not; for I with joy will go,

Outstripping your desire. How eagerly

I hasten to my Phrygians, to tell 1005

The news: the ocean covered with the wrecks

Of Argive ships; Mycenae overthrown;

The leader of a thousand leaders slain

(And thus atoning for the woes of Troy)

By woman's gift of wantonness and guile.

Make haste! I falter not, but thank the gods, 1010

That I have lived to see my land avenged.

_Clytemnestra:_ O maddened wretch, thy death I wait to see.

_Cassandra:_ A fateful madness waits as well for thee.

OCTAVIA

A FABULA PRAETEXTA

THE ONLY EXTANT ROMAN HISTORICAL DRAMA

INTRODUCTION

The Roman historical drama had a place among the earliest products of

Roman literature, and seems to have enjoyed a degree of popularity

through all succeeding periods. That Roman literary genius did not find

a much fuller expression through this channel was not due to a lack

of national pride and patriotism, nor yet to a dearth of interesting

and inspiring subjects in Roman history. The true reason is probably

to be found in the fact that by the time national conditions were

ripe for the development of any form of literature, the Greeks had

already worked, and well worked, nearly all available fields, and had

produced a mass of literature which dazzled the Roman mind when at last

circumstances brought these two nations into closer contact.

The natural and immediate result was an attempt on the part of the

Romans to imitate these great models. And hence we have in drama, both

in tragedy and comedy, a wholesale imitation of the Greek dramas,

oftentimes nothing more than a translation of these, with only here and

there an attempt to produce something of a strictly native character,

entirely independent of the Greek influence.

This imitative impulse was augmented by the fact that the Romans were

following the line of least resistance, since it is always easier

to imitate than to create. Furthermore, they had as yet developed

no national pride of literature to hold them to their own lines

of national development; they had no forms of their own so well

established that the mere force of literary momentum would carry them

steadily on toward a fuller development, in spite of the disturbing

influences of the influx of other and better models. They had, indeed,

developed a native Saturnian verse which, had it been allowed a free

field, might have reached a high pitch of literary excellence. But it

speedily gave way at the approach of the more elegant imported forms.

The overwhelming influence of Greek tragedy upon the Roman dramatists

can be seen at a glance as we review the dramatic product of the

Roman tragedians. We have titles and fragments of nine tragedies by

Livius Andronicus, seven by Naevius, twenty-two by Ennius, thirteen

by Pacuvius, forty-six by Accius, and many unassignable fragments

from each of these which indicate numerous other plays of the same

character. To these should be added scattering additions from nearly

a score more of Roman writers during the next two hundred years after

Accius. All the above-mentioned plays are on Greek subjects; and most

of those whose fragments are sufficiently extensive to allow us to

form an opinion of their character are either translations or close

imitations of the Greeks, or are so influenced by these as to be

decidedly Greek rather than Roman in character.

And what of the genuine Roman dramatic product? Speaking for the

_fabula praetexta_, or Roman historical drama, alone, the entire

output, so far as our records go, is contained in the following list of

authors and titles.

From Naevius (265-204 B.C.) we have the _Clastidium_, written in

celebration of the victory of Marcellus over Vidumarus, king of the

Transpadane Gauls, whom Marcellus slew and stripped of his armor,

thus gaining the rare _spolia opima_; this at Clastidium in 222 B.C.

The play was probably written for the especial occasion either of the

triumph of Marcellus or of the celebration of his funeral.

We have also from Naevius a play variously entitled _Lupus_ or

_Romulus_ or _Alimonium Remi et Romuli_, evidently one of those

dramatic reproductions of scenes in the life of a god, enacted as a

part of the ceremonies of his worship. These are comparable to similar

dramatic representations among the Greeks in the worship of Dionysus.

The _Ambracia_ and the _Sabinae_ of Ennius (239-169 B.C.) are

ordinarily classed as _fabulae praetextae_, although Lucian Müller

classes the fragments of the _Ambracia_ among the _Saturae_ of Ennius;

while Vahlen puts the _Ambracia_ under the heading _Comoediarum et

ceterorum carminum reliquiae_, and classifies the fragments of the

_Sabinae_ under _ex incertis saturarum libris_. The _Ambracia_ is

evidently called after the city of that name in Epirus, celebrated for

the long and remarkable siege which it sustained against the Romans

under M. Fulvius Nobilior. That general finally captured the city in

189 B.C. If the piece is to be considered as a play, it was, like the

_Clastidium_, written in honor of a Roman general, and acted on the

occasion either of his triumph or of his funeral.

We have four short fragments from the _Paulus_ of Pacuvius (220-130

B.C.), written in celebration of the exploits of L. Aemilius Paulus who

conquered Perseus, king of Macedonia, in the battle of Pydna, 168 B.C.

The fragments of the plays already mentioned are too brief to afford

any adequate idea of the character or content of the plays. But in the

_Brutus_ of Accius (b. 170 B.C.), which centers around the expulsion of

the Tarquins and the establishment of the Republic, we have a larger

glimpse into the play through two most interesting fragments consisting

of twelve iambic trimeters and ten trochaic tetrameters, respectively.

In the first, King Tarquin relates to his seer an ill-ominous dream

which he has had; the second is the seer's interpretation of this

dream, pointing to Tarquin's dethronement by Brutus. Other short

fragments give glimpses of the outrage of Lucretia by Sextus at

Collatia, and the scene in the forum where Brutus takes his oath of

office as first consul. This play, unlike its predecessors, was not

written at the time of the events which it portrays, but may still

be classed with them, so far as its object is concerned, since it is

generally thought to have been written in honor of D. Junius Brutus

who was consul in 138 B.C., and with whom the poet enjoyed an intimate

friendship.

Another _praetexta_ of Accius is preserved, the _Decius_, of which

eleven short fragments remain. This play celebrates the victory

of Quintus Fabius Maximus and P. Decius Mus over the Samnites and

Gauls at Sentinum in 295 B.C. The climax of the play would be the

self-immolation of Decius after the example of his father in the Latin

war of 340 B.C.

In addition to these plays of the Roman dramatists of the Republic,

we have knowledge of a few which date from later times. There was

a historical drama entitled _Iter_, by L. Cornelius Balbus, who

dramatized the incidents of a journey which he made to Pompey's camp

at Dyrrachium at the opening of civil war in 49 B.C. Balbus was under

commission from Caesar to treat with the consul, L. Cornelius Lentulus,

and other optimates who had fled from Rome, concerning their return to

the city. The journey was a complete fiasco, so far as results were

concerned; but the vanity of Balbus was so flattered by his (to him)

important mission that he must needs dramatize his experiences and

present the play under his own direction in his native city of Gades.

We have mention also of an _Aeneas_ by Pomponius Secundus, and of two

_praetextae_ by Curiatius Maternus, entitled _Domitius_ and _Cato_.

These eleven historical plays are, as we have seen, for the most part,

plays of occasion, and would be at best of but temporary interest,

born of the special circumstances which inspired them. They are in

no way comparable with such historical dramas on Roman subjects as

Shakespeare's _Julius Caesar_ or _Coriolanus_, whose interest is for

all times.

We have still a twelfth play of this class, which enjoys the unique

distinction of being the only Roman historical drama which has come

down to us--the _Octavia_. Its authorship is unknown, although

tradition gives it a place among the tragedies of Seneca, the

philosopher. The general opinion of modern critics, however, is against

this tradition, chiefly because one passage in the play, in the form

of a prophecy, too circumstantially describes the death of Nero, which

occurred three years after the death of Seneca. It is generally agreed

that the play must have been written soon after the death of Nero, and

by some one, possibly Maternus, who had been an eye-witness of the

events, and who had been inspired by his sympathies for the unfortunate

Octavia to write this story of her sufferings.

OCTAVIA

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

OCTAVIA Stepsister and wife of Nero.

_Nurse_ of Octavia.

_Poppaea_ Mistress and afterward wife of Nero.

_Ghost of Agrippina_ Mother of Nero, slain by him.

_Nero_ Emperor of Rome.

_Seneca_ Former tutor of Nero, and later one of his chief counselors.

_Prefect of Roman Soldiers._

_Messenger._

_Chorus of Romans_ Sympathetic with Octavia.

_Chorus_ Attached to the interests of the court.

THE SCENE is laid throughout in different apartments of the palace of

Nero, and is concerned with the events of the year 62 A.D.

ACT I

_Octavia:_ Now doth the flushing dawn from heaven drive

The wandering stars; the sun mounts into sight

With radiant beams, and brings the world once more

The light of day. Up, then, my heavy soul,

With grievous cares o'erburdened, and resume 5

Thy woe; out-wail the sea-bred Halcyons,

And those sad birds of old Pandion's house;

For this thy lot is heavier far than theirs.

O mother, constant source of tears to me, 10

Hear now thy woeful daughter's sad complaints,

If aught of sense remains among the shades.

Oh, that the grizzly Clotho long ago,

With her own hand had clipt my thread of life! 15

Through blinding tears I saw thy bleeding wounds,

Thy features sprinkled with defiling blood.

Oh, light of day, abhorrent to my eyes!

From that dread hour I hate the day's pure light 20

More than the night's dark gloom; for daily now

Must I endure a cruel stepdame's rule,

Must daily bear her hateful looks and words.

She, she the baleful fury fiend it was

Who at my marriage rites bore torches lit 25

With hellish fires; 'twas she who wrought thy death,

O wretched father, whom but yesterday

The whole world owned as lord on land and sea;

To whom the Britain bowed, though ne'er before

Had he a Roman master known or owned. 30

Alas, my father, by thy wife's fell plots

Thou liest low, and I and all thy house

Like captives groan beneath the tyrant's sway.

[_Exit to her chamber._]

_Nurse_ [_entering_]: Who stands in wonder, smitten by the gloss 35

And splendor of a princely court, amazed

At sight of easy-won prosperity,

Let him behold how, at the stroke of fate,

The house of Claudius is overthrown,

To whose control the world was subjugate, 40

Whose rule an ocean, long to sway unknown,

Obeyed, and bore our ships with subject will.

Lo, he, who first the savage Britains curbed,

And filled an unknown ocean with his fleet,

And passed in safety 'mid barbaric tribes--

By his own wife's impiety was slain. 45

And she is destined by her son to fall,

Whose hapless brother lies already slain

By poison's hand, whose sister-wife alone

Is left to mourn. Nor may she hide her grief,

By bitter wrath impelled to speak. She shuns

Her cruel lord's society, and, fired 50

With equal hate, with mutual[55] loathing burns.

Our pious faithfulness in vain consoles

Her grieving heart; her cruel woes reject

Our aid; the noble passion of her soul

Will not be ruled, but grows on ills renewed.

Alas, my fears forebode some desperate deed, 55

Which may the gods forbid!

_Octavia_ [_heard speaking from within her chamber_]: O fate of mine,

that can no equal know!

Thy woes, Electra, were no match for these;

For thou couldst soothe with tears the grief thou hadst 60

For thy dear father's fall; thou couldst avenge

The murder by thy brother's ready hand,

Who by thy piety was saved from death,

And whom thy faith concealed. But me base fear

Forbids to weep my parents reft away 65

By cruel fate; forbids to weep the death

Of him, my brother, who my sole hope was,

My fleeting comfort of so many woes.

And now, surviving but to suffer still,

I live, the shadow of a noble name. 70

_Nurse:_ Behold, the voice of my sad foster-child

Falls on my list'ning ears. Slow steps of age,

Why haste ye not within her chamber there?

[_Starts to enter the chamber, but is met by_ Octavia _coming forth_.]

_Octavia:_ Within thy bosom let me weep, dear nurse,

Thou ever trusty witness of my grief. 75

_Nurse:_ What day shall free thee from thy woes, poor child?

_Octavia:_ The day that sends me to the Stygian shades.

_Nurse:_ May heaven keep such dark omens far away! 80

_Octavia:_ 'Tis not thy prayers, but fate that shapes my life.

_Nurse:_ But God will bring thy life to better days.

Do thou but be appeased, and win thy lord

With mild obedience. 85

_Octavia:_ I'll sooner tame

The savage lion's heart, the tiger's rage,

Than curb that brutal tyrant's cruel soul.

He hates all sons of noble blood, and gods

And men he sets at naught; nor can he bear 90

That high estate to which along the paths

Of shameful crime his impious mother led;

For though it shames him now, ungrateful one,

To hold the scepter which his mother gave;

And though by death he has requited her: 95

Still will the glory of the empire won

Belong to her for centuries to come.

_Nurse:_ Restrain these words that voice thy raging heart,

And check thy tongue's too rash and thoughtless speech.

_Octavia:_ Though I should bear what may be borne, my woes, 100

Save by a cruel death, could not be ended.

For, since my mother was by murder slain,

And my father taken off by crime most foul,

Robbed of my brother, overwhelmed with woe,

Oppressed with sadness, by my husband scorned,

Degraded to the level of my slave, 105

I find this life no more endurable.

My heart doth tremble, not with fear of death,

But slander base, employed to work my death.

Far from my name and fate be that foul blot.

For death itself--Oh, 'twould be sweet to die;

For 'tis a punishment far worse than death,

To live in contact with the man I loathe,

To see the tyrant's face all passion puffed, 110

And fierce with rage, to kiss my deadliest foe.

That I should fear his nod, obey his will,

My grief, resentful, will not suffer me,

Since by his hand my brother was destroyed,

Whose kingdom he usurps, and boasts himself

The author of that shameful deed. How oft 115

Before my eyes does that sad image come,

My brother's ghost, when I have gone to rest,

And sleep has closed my eyelids faint with tears!

Now in his weakling hand he brandishes

The smoking torch, and violently assails

His brother to his face; now, trembling sore,

He flees for refuge to my sheltering arms. 120

His foe pursues, and, as his victim clings

Convulsively to me, he thrusts his sword

With murderous intent through both our sides.

Then, all a-tremble, do I start awake,

And in my waking sense renew my fear.

Add to these cares a rival, arrogant, 125

Who queens it in the spoils of this our house;

At whose behest the mother was enticed

To that fell ship which should have carried her

To Orcus' depths; but when o'er ocean's waves

She triumphed, he, than ocean's waves more harsh

And pitiless, despatched her with the sword.

Amid such deeds, what hopes of peace have I? 130

O'erblown with hate, triumphant, doth my rival

Within my very chamber's hold defy me;

With deadly malice doth she blaze against me,

And as the price of her adulterous sweets,

Doth she demand that he, my husband, give

My life, his lawful wife's, in sacrifice.

Oh, rise thou, father, from the gloomy shades,

And help thy daughter who invokes thine aid; 135

Or else cleave wide the earth to Stygian depths,

And let me plunge at last to shelter there.

_Nurse:_ In vain dost thou invoke thy father's soul,

Poor child, in vain; for there among the shades

He little thinks upon his offspring here;

Who, when in life, unto his own true son

Preferred the offspring of another's blood, 140

And to himself in most incestuous bonds

And rites unhallowed joined his brother's child.

From this foul source has flowed a stream of crime:

Of murder, treachery, the lust of power,

The thirst for blood. Thy promised husband fell,

A victim slain to grace that wedding feast, 145

Lest, joined with thee, he should too mighty grow.

Oh, monstrous deed! Silanus, charged with crime,

Was slain to make a bridal offering,

And stained the household gods with guiltless blood.

And then this alien comes, Oh, woe is me, 150

And by his mother's wiles usurps the house,

Made son-in-law and son to the emperor,

A youth of temper most unnatural,

To impious crime inclined, whose passion's flame

His mother fanned, and forced thee at the last

In hated wedlock into his embrace.

Emboldened by this notable success, 155

She dared to dream of wider sovereignty.

What tongue can tell the changing forms of crime,

Her impious hopes, her cozening treacheries,

Who seeks the throne along the ways of sin?

Then Piety with trembling haste withdrew, 160

And Fury through the empty palace halls

With baleful tread resounded, and defiled

The sacred images with Stygian brands.

All holy laws of nature and of heaven

In mad abandon did she set at naught.

She mingled deadly poison for her lord, 165

And she herself by the impious mandate fell

Of her own son. Thou too dost lifeless lie,

Poor youth, forever to be mourned by us,

Ill-starred Britannicus, so late, in life,

The brightest star of this our firmament,

The prop and stay of our imperial house;

But now, Oh, woe is me, a heap of dust,

Of unsubstantial dust, a flitting shade. 170

Nay, even thy stepmother's cruel cheeks

Were wet with tears, when on the funeral pyre

She placed thy form and saw the flames consume

Thy limbs and face fair as the wingéd god's.

_Octavia:_ Me, too, he must destroy--or fall by me.

_Nurse:_ But nature has not given thee strength to slay. 175

_Octavia:_ Yet anguish, anger, pain, distress of soul,

The ecstasy of grief will give me strength.

_Nurse:_ Nay, by compliance, rather, win thy lord.

_Octavia:_ That thus he may restore my brother slain?

_Nurse:_ That thou thyself mayst go unscathed of death;

That thou by thine own offspring mayst restore

Thy father's falling house. 180

_Octavia:_ This princely house

Expects an heir, 'tis true; but not from me,

For I am doomed to meet my brother's fate.

_Nurse:_ Console thy heart with this, that thou art dear

Unto the populace, who love thee well.

_Octavia:_ That thought doth soothe, but cannot cure my grief.

_Nurse:_ Their power availeth much. 185

_Octavia:_ The prince's more.

_Nurse:_ He will regard his wife.

_Octavia:_ My foe forbids.

_Nurse:_ But she is scorned by all.

_Octavia:_ Yet loved by him.

_Nurse:_ She is not yet his wife.

_Octavia:_ But soon will be,

And mother of his child, his kingdom's heir.

_Nurse:_ The fire of youthful passion glows at first

With heat impetuous; but soon abates, 190

And vanishes like flickering tongues of flame.

Unhallowed love cannot for long endure;

But pure and lasting is the love inspired

By chaste and wifely faith. She who has dared

To violate thy bed, and hold so long

Thy husband's heart in thrall, herself a slave,

Already trembles lest his fickle love 195

Shall thrust her forth and set a rival there.

Subdued and humble, even now she shows

How deep and real her fear; for her, indeed,

Shall wingéd Cupid, false and fickle god,

Abandon and betray. Though face and form

Be passing fair, though beauty vaunt herself,

And boast her power, still are her triumphs brief, 200

Her joys a passing dream.

Nay, Juno's self,

Though queen of heaven, endured such grief as thine,

When he, her lord, and father of the gods,

Stole from her side to seek in mortal forms

The love of mortal maids. Now, in his need, 205

He dons the snowy plumage of a swan;

Now hornéd seems, like a Sidonian bull;

And now a glorious, golden shower he falls,

And rests within the arms of Danaë.

Nor yet is Juno's sum of woe complete:

The sons of Leda glitter in the sky

In starry splendor; Bacchus proudly stands

Beside his father on Olympus' height;

Divine Alcides hath to Hebe's charms 210

Attained, and fears stern Juno's wrath no more.

Her very son-in-law hath he become

Whom once she hated most. Yet in her heart

Deep down she pressed her grief, and wisely won,

By mild compliance to his wayward will,

Her husband's love again. And now the queen, 215

Secure at last from rivalry, holds sway

Alone, within the Thunderer's heart. No more,

By mortal beauty smitten, does he leave

His royal chambers in the vaulted sky.

Thou, too, on earth, another Juno art, 220

The wife and sister of our mighty lord.

Then be thou wise as she, make show of love,

And hide thy crushing sorrows with a smile.

_Octavia:_ The savage seas shall sooner mate with stars,

And fire with water, heav'n with gloomy hell,

Glad light with shades, and day with dewy night,

Than shall my soul in amity consort 225

With his black heart, most foul and impious:

Too mindful I of my poor brother's ghost.

And Oh, that he who guides the heavenly worlds,

Who shakes the realms of earth with deadly bolts,

And with his dreadful thunders awes our minds,

Would whelm in fiery death this murderous prince. 230

Strange portents have we seen: the comet dire,

Shining with baleful light, his glowing train

Far gleaming in the distant northern sky,

Where slow Boötes, numb with arctic frosts,

Directs his ponderous wagon's endless rounds.

The very air is tainted by the breath 235

Of this destructive prince; and for his sake

The stars, resentful, threaten to destroy

The nations which so dire a tyrant rules.

Not such a pest was impious Typhon huge,

Whom earth, in wrath and scorn of heaven, produced.

This scourge is more destructive far than he. 240

He is the bitter foe of gods and men,

Who drives the heavenly beings from their shrines,

And from their native land the citizens;

Who from his brother took the breath of life,

And drained his mother's blood.

And does he live,

This guilty wretch, and draw his tainted breath?

O Jove, thou high-exalted father, why 245

Dost thou so oft with thine imperial hand

Thy darts invincible at random hurl?

Why from his guilty head dost thou withhold

Thy hand of vengeance? Oh, that he might pay

For all his crimes the fitting penalty,

This son of deified Domitius,

This Nero, heartless tyrant of the world, 250

Which he beneath the yoke of bondage holds,

This moral blot upon a noble name!

_Nurse:_ Unworthy he to be thy mate, I know;

But, dearest child, to fate and fortune yield,

Lest thou excite thy savage husband's wrath.

Perchance some god will come to right thy wrongs, 255

And on thy life some happier day will dawn.

_Octavia:_ That may not be. Long since, our ill-starred house

Has groaned beneath the heavy wrath of heaven.

That wrath at first my hapless mother felt,

Whom Venus cursed with lust insatiate;

For she, with heedless, impious passion fired, 260

Unmindful of her absent lord, of us,

Her guiltless children, and the law's restraints,

In open day another husband wed.

To that fell couch avenging Fury came

With streaming locks and serpents intertwined,

And quenched those stolen wedding fires in blood.

For with destructive rage, on murder bent, 265

She fired the prince's heart; and at his word,

Ah, woe is me, my ill-starred mother fell,

And, dying, doomed me to perpetual grief.

For after her in quick succession came

Her husband and her son; and this our house,

Already falling, was to ruin plunged.

_Nurse:_ Forbear with pious tears to renew thy grief, 270

And do not so disturb thy father's shade,

Who for his rage has bitterly atoned.

* * * * *

_Chorus_ [_sympathetic with_ Octavia]: False prove the rumor that of

late

To our ears has come! May its vaunted threats

Fall fruitless out and of no avail! 275

May no new wife invade the bed

Of our royal prince; may Octavia, born

Of the Claudian race, maintain her right

And bear us a son, the pledge of peace,

In which the joyful world shall rest, 280

And Rome preserve her glorious name.

Most mighty Juno holds the lot

By fate assigned--her brother's mate;

But this our Juno, sister, wife

Of our august prince, why is she driven 285

From her father's court? Of what avail

Her faith, her father deified,

Her love and spotless chastity?

We, too, of our former master's fame

Have been unmindful, and his child

At the hest of cringing[56] fear betrayed. 290

Not so of old: then Rome could boast

Of manly virtue, martial blood.

There lived a race of heroes then

Who curbed the power of haughty kings

And drove them forth from Rome; and thee,

O maiden, slain by thy father's hand, 295

Lest thou shouldst in slavery's bonds be held,

And lest foul lust its victorious will

Should work on thee, did well avenge.

Thee, too, a bloody war avenged,

O chaste Lucretia; for thou, 300

By the lust of an impious tyrant stained,

With wretched hand didst seek to cleanse

Those stains by thy innocent blood.

Then Tullia with her guilty lord,

Base Tarquin, dared an impious deed,

Whose penalty they paid; for she 305

Over the limbs of her murdered sire,

A heartless child, drove cruel wheels,

And left his corpse unburied there.

Such deeds of dire impiety

Our age has known, our eyes have seen,

When the prince on the mighty Tyrrhene deep 310

In a fatal bark his mother sent,

By guile ensnared.

The sailors at his bidding haste

To leave the peaceful harbor's arms;

And soon the rougher waves resound 315

Beneath their oars, and far away

Upon the deep the vessel glides;

When suddenly the reeling bark

With loosened beams yawns open wide,

And drinks the briny sea.

A mighty shout to heaven goes, 320

With women's lamentations filled,

And death stalks dire before the eyes

Of all. Each seeks to save himself.

Some naked cling upon the planks

Of the broken ship and fight the floods, 325

While others swimming seek the shore.

But most, alas! a watery death

By fate awaits. Then did the queen

In mad despair her garments rend;

Her comely locks she tore, and tears

Fell streaming down her grieving cheeks. 330

At last, with hope of safety gone,

With wrath inflamed, by woes o'ercome,

"Dost thou, O son, make this return,"

She cried, "for that great boon I gave?

Such death I merit, I confess, 335

Who bore such monstrous child as thou,

Who gave to thee the light of day,

And in my madness raised thee high

To Caesar's name and Caesar's throne.

Oh, rise from deepest Acheron,

My murdered husband, feast thine eyes 340

Upon my righteous punishment;

For I brought death to thee, poor soul,

And to thy son. See, see, I come,

Deep down to meet thy grieving shade;

And there, as I have merited,

Shall I unburied lie, o'erwhelmed 345

By the raging sea." E'en as she spoke,

The lapping waves broke o'er her lips,

And deep she plunged below. Anon

She rises from the briny depths,

And, stung by fear of death, she strives

With frenzied hands to conquer fate;

But, spent with fruitless toil at last, 350

She yields and waits the end. But lo,

In hearts which in trembling silence watch,

Faith triumphs over deadly fear,

And to their mistress, spent and wan

With fruitless buffetings, they dare

To lend their aid with cheering words 355

And helping hands.

But what avails

To escape the grasp of the savage sea?

By the sword of the son is she doomed to die,

Whose monstrous deed posterity

Will scarce believe. With rage and grief 360

Inflamed, he raves that still she lives,

His mother, snatched from the wild sea's jaws,

And doubles crime on impious crime.

Bent on his wretched mother's death,

He brooks no tarrying of fate. 365

His willing creatures work his will,

And in the hapless woman's breast

The fatal sword is plunged; but she

To that fell minister of death

Appeals with dying tongue: "Nay here,

Here rather strike the murderous blow,

Here sheathe thy sword, deep in the womb 370

Which such a monster bore."

So spake the dying queen, her words

And groans commingling. So at last

Through gaping wounds her spirit fled 375

In grief and agony.

FOOTNOTES:

[55] Reading, _mariti mutua_.

[56] Reading, _saevo_.

ACT II

_Seneca_ [_alone_]: Why hast thou, potent Fate, with flattering looks,

Exalted me, contented with my lot,

That so from this great height I might descend

With heavier fall, and wider prospect see 380

Of deadly fears? Ah, better was I, hid

Far from the stinging lash of envy's tongue,

Amid the lonely crags of Corsica.

There was my spirit free to act at will,

Was master of itself, had time to think

And meditate at length each favorite theme.

Oh, what delight, than which none greater is, 385

Of all that mother nature hath produced,

To watch the heavens, the bright sun's sacred rounds,

The heavenly movements and the changing night,

The moon's full orb with wandering stars begirt,

The far-effulgent glory of the sky! 390

And is it growing old, this structure vast,

Doomed to return to groping nothingness?

Then must that final doomsday be at hand,

That shall by heaven's fall o'erwhelm a race

So impious, that thus the world may see

A newer race of men, a better stock, 395

Which once the golden reign of Saturn knew.

Then virgin Justice, holy child of heaven,

In mercy ruled the world; the race of men

Knew naught of war, the trumpet's savage blare, 400

The clang of arms; not yet were cities hedged

With ponderous walls; the way was free to all,

And free to all the use of everything.

The earth, untilled, spread wide her fertile lap, 405

The happy mother of a pious stock.

Then rose another race of sterner mold;

Another yet to curious arts inclined,

But pious still; a fourth of restless mood,

Which lusted to pursue the savage beasts, 410

To draw the fishes from their sheltering waves

With net or slender pole, to snare the birds,

To force the headstrong bullocks to endure

The bondage of the yoke, to plow the earth

Which never yet had felt the share's deep wound,

And which in pain and grief now hid her fruits

Within her sacred bosom's safer hold. 415

Now deep within the bowels of the earth

Did that debased, unfilial age intrude;

And thence it dug the deadly iron and gold,

And soon it armed its savage hands for war.

It fixed the bounds of realms, constructed towns, 420

Fought for its own abodes, or threat'ning strove

To plunder those of others as a prize.

Then did abandoned Justice, heavenly maid,

In terror flee the earth, the bestial ways

Of men, their hands with bloody slaughter stained,

And, fixed in heaven, now shines among the stars. 425

Then lust of war increased, and greed for gold,

Throughout the world; and luxury arose,

That deadliest of evils, luring pest,

To whose fell powers new strength and force were given

By custom long observed, and precedent

Of evil into worser evil led.

This flood of vice, through many ages dammed, 430

In ours has burst its bounds and overflowed.

By this dire age we're fairly overwhelmed--

An age when crime sits regnant on the throne,

Impiety stalks raging, unrestrained;

Foul lust, with all unbridled power, is queen,

And luxury long since with greedy hands

Has snatched the boundless riches of the world, 435

That she with equal greed may squander them.

[_Enter_ Nero, _followed by a_ Prefect.]

But see, with frenzied step and savage mien,

The prince approaches. How I fear his will.

_Nero_ [_to_ Prefect]: Speed my commands: send forth a messenger

Who straight shall bring me here the severed heads

Of Plautus and of Sulla.

_Prefect:_ Good, my lord;

Without delay I'll speed me to the camp.

[_Exit._]

_Seneca:_ One should not rashly judge against his friends. 440

_Nero:_ Let him be just whose heart is free from fear.

_Seneca:_ But mercy is a sovereign cure for fear.

_Nero:_ A ruler's part is to destroy his foes.

_Seneca:_ A ruler's better part, to save his friends.

_Nero:_ A mild old man's advice is fit for boys. 445

_Seneca:_ Still more does hot young manhood need the rein--

_Nero:_ I deem that at this age we're wise enough.

_Seneca:_ That on thy deed the heavenly gods may smile.

_Nero:_ Thou fool, shall I fear gods myself can make?

_Seneca:_ Fear this the more, that so great power is thine. 450

_Nero:_ My royal fortune grants all things to me.

_Seneca:_ But trust her cautiously; she may deceive.

_Nero:_ A fool is he who does not what he may.

_Seneca:_ To do, not what he may, but ought, wins praise.

_Nero:_ The crowd spurns sluggish men. 455

_Seneca:_ The hated, slays.

_Nero:_ Yet swords protect a prince.

_Seneca:_ Still better, faith.

_Nero:_ A Caesar should be feared.

_Seneca:_ And more be loved.

_Nero:_ But men must fear.

_Seneca:_ Enforced commands are hard.

_Nero:_ Let them obey our laws.

_Seneca:_ Make better laws--

_Nero:_ I'll be the judge. 460

_Seneca:_ Which all men may approve.

_Nero:_ The sword shall force respect.

_Seneca:_ May heaven forbid!

_Nero:_ Shall I then tamely let them seek my blood,

That suddenly despised and unavenged,

I may be taken off? Though exiled far,

The stubborn spirits are not broken yet

Of Plautus and of Sulla. Still their rage 465

Persistent spurs their friends to seek my death;

For still have they the people's love in Rome,

Which ever nourishes the exile's hopes.

Then let the sword remove my enemies; 470

My hateful wife shall die, and follow him,

That brother whom she loves. The high must fall.

_Seneca:_ How fair a thing it is to be the first

Among great men, to think for fatherland,

To spare the weak, to hold the hand of power

From deeds of blood, to give wrath time to think,

Give rest to a weary world, peace to the age. 475

This is the noblest part; by this high path

Is heaven sought. So did Augustus first,

The father of his country, gain the stars,

And as a god is worshiped at the shrines.

Yet he was long by adverse fortune tossed

On land and sea, in battle's deadly chance, 480

Until his father's foes he recompensed.

But fortune hath to thee in peaceful guise

Bent her divinity; with unstained hand

Hath she the reins of government bestowed,

And given world-dominion to thy nod.

Sour hate is overcome, and in its stead 485

Is filial harmony; the senate, knights,

All orders yield obedience to thy will;

For in the fathers' judgment and the prayers

Of humbler folk, thou art the arbiter

Of peace, the god of human destinies,

Ordained to rule the world by right divine.

Thy country's father thou. This sacred name 490

Doth suppliant Rome beseech thee to preserve,

And doth commend her citizens to thee.

_Nero:_ It is the gift of heaven that haughty Rome,

Her people, and her senate bow to me,

And that my terror doth extort those prayers

And servile words from their unwilling lips.

To save the citizens! seditious men,

Who ever 'gainst their land and prince conspire, 495

Puffed up with pride of race--sheer madness that,

When all my enemies one word of mine

Can doom to death. Base Brutus raised his hand

To slay that prince from whom he had his all;

And he, who never 'mid the shock of arms

Had been o'ercome, the world's great conqueror, 500

Who trod, a very Jove, the lofty paths

Of honor, he was slain by impious hands--

Of _citizens_! What streams of blood hath Rome,

So often rent by civil strife, beheld!

That very saint of thine, Augustus' self, 505

Who, as thou said'st but now, did merit heaven

By piety--how many noble men

Did he destroy, in lusty youth, in age,

At home, abroad, when, spurred by mortal fear,

They fled their household gods and that fell sword

Of the Triumvirate, consigned to death

Upon those mindful tablets' fatal lists.

The grieving parents saw their severed heads 510

Upon the rostra set, but dared not weep

Their hapless sons; the forum reeked with blood,

And gore down all those rotting faces dripped.

Nor this the end of slaughter and of death:

Long did the plains of grim Philippi feed 515

The ravenous birds and prowling beasts of prey;

While ships and men, in deadly conflict met,

Beneath Sicilia's waters were engulfed.

The whole world trembled with the shock of arms;

And now, when all was lost, with fleeing ships, 520

That mighty leader sought the distant Nile,

Doomed soon himself to perish there. And thus,

Once more incestuous Egypt drank the blood

Of Rome's great captains. Now his flitting shade

Is hovering there; and there is civil strife,

So long and impious, at last interred.

Now did the weary victor sheathe his sword,

All blunted with the savage blows he gave, 525

And held his empire with the rein of fear.

He lived in safety 'neath the ample shield

Of loyal guards; and when his end was come,

The pious mandate of his son proclaimed

Him god, and at the temples' sacred shrines

Was he adored. So shall the stars expect

My godhead too, if first I seize and slay 530

With sword relentless all who bear me hate,

And on a worthy offspring found my house.

_Seneca:_ But she will fill thy house with noble sons,

That heaven-born glory of the Claudian stock,

Who by the will of fate was wed to thee,

As Juno to her brother Jove was given. 535

_Nero:_ A child of hers would stain my noble line,

For she herself was of a harlot born;

And more--her heart was never linked to me.

_Seneca:_ In tender years is faith not manifest,

When love, by shame o'ercome, conceals its fires.

_Nero:_ This I myself long trusted, but in vain, 540

Though she was clearly of unloving heart,

And every look betrayed her hate of me.

At length, in angry grief, I sought revenge;

And I have now a worthy wife obtained,

In race and beauty blessed, before whose charms 545

Minerva, Venus, Juno--all would bow.

_Seneca:_ But honor, wifely faith, and modesty--

These should the husband seek, for these alone,

The priceless treasures of the heart and soul,

Remain perpetual; but beauty's flower

Doth fade and languish with each passing day. 550

_Nero:_ On her has heaven all its charms bestowed,

And fate has given her from her birth to me.

_Seneca:_ But love will fail; do not too rashly trust.

_Nero:_ Shall he give way, that tyrant of the skies,

Whom Jove, the Thunderer, cannot remove,

Who lords it over savage seas, the realms 555

Of gloomy Dis, and draws the gods to earth?

_Seneca:_ 'Tis by our human error that we paint

Love as a god, wingéd, implacable,

And arm his sacred hands with darts and bow,

Assign him blazing torches, count him son

Of fostering Venus and of Vulcan. Nay, 560

But love is of the heart's compelling power,

A fond and cozening passion of the soul;

Of hot youth is it born, and in the lap

Of ease and luxury, 'midst fortune's joys,

Is fostered. But it sickens straight and dies

When you no longer feed and fondle it. 565

_Nero:_ I deem the primal source of life is this,

The joy of love; and it can never die,

Since by sweet love, which soothes e'en savage breasts,

The human race is evermore renewed.

This god shall bear for me the wedding torch, 570

And join me with Poppaea in his bonds.

_Seneca:_ The people's grief could scarce endure to see

That marriage, nor would piety permit.

_Nero:_ Shall I alone avoid what all may do?

_Seneca:_ The state from loftiest souls expects the best. 575

_Nero:_ I fain would see if, broken by my power,

This rashly cherished favor will not yield.

_Seneca:_ 'Tis better calmly to obey the state.

_Nero:_ Ill fares the state, when commons govern kings.

_Seneca:_ They justly chafe who pray without avail. 580

_Nero:_ When prayers do not avail, should force be sought?

_Seneca:_ Rebuffs are hard.

_Nero:_ 'Tis wrong to force a prince.

_Seneca:_ He should give way.

_Nero:_ Then rumor counts him forced.

_Seneca:_ Rumor's an empty thing.

_Nero:_ But harmful too.

_Seneca:_ She fears the strong. 585

_Nero:_ But none the less maligns.

_Seneca:_ She soon can be o'ercome. But let the youth,

The faith and chastity of this thy wife,

The merits of her sainted sire prevail

To turn thee from thy will.

_Nero:_ Have done at last,

For wearisome has thy insistence grown;

One still may do what Seneca comdemns.

And I myself have now too long delayed 590

The people's prayers for offspring to the throne.

Tomorrow's morn her wedding day shall prove,

Who bears within her womb my pledge of love.

[_Exeunt._]

ACT III

_Ghost of Agrippina_ [_bearing a flaming torch_]: Through cloven

earth from Tartarus I come,

To bring in bloody hands this torch of hell

To light these curséd rites; with such dire flames 595

Let this Poppaea wed my son, which soon

His mother's grief and vengeful hand shall turn

To funeral fires. And ever 'mid the shades

My impious murder in my memory dwells,

A heavy weight upon my grieving soul

Still unavenged; for, Oh, ingratitude

He gave me in return for all my gifts, 600

E'en for the gift of empire did he give

A murderous ship designed to work my death.

I would have wept my comrades' plight, and more,

My son's most cruel deed: no time for tears

Was given, but even higher did he heap 605

His sum of crime. Though I escaped the sea,

I felt the keen sword's thrust, and, with my blood

The very gods defiling, poured my soul

In anguish forth. But even yet his hate

Was not appeased. Against my very name

The tyrant raged; my merits he obscured; 610

My statues, my inscriptions, honors--all,

On pain of death he bade to be destroyed

Throughout the world--that world my hapless love,

To my own direful punishment, had given

To be by him, an untried boy, controlled.

And now my murdered husband's angry ghost

Shakes vengeful torches in my guilty face, 615

Insistent, threat'ning; blames his death on me,

His murdered son, and loud demands that now

The guilty cause be given up. Have done:

He shall be given, and that right speedily.

Avenging furies for his impious head

Are planning even now a worthy fate: 620

Base flight and blows, and fearful sufferings,

By which the raging thirst of Tantalus

He shall surpass; the cruel, endless toil

Of Sisyphus; the pain that Tityus feels,

And the dread, racking anguish of the wheel

On which Ixion's whirling limbs are stretched.

Let gold and marble deck his palace walls;

Let arméd guards protect him; let the world 625

Be beggared that its treasures vast may flow

Into his lap; let suppliant Parthians bend

To kiss his hands, and bring rich offerings:

The day and hour will come when for his crimes

His guilty soul shall full atonement make, 630

When to his enemies he shall be given,

Deserted and destroyed and stripped of all.

Oh, to what end my labors and my prayers?

Why did thy frenzied madness, O my son,

And fate impel thee to such depths of crime

That e'en thy mother's wrath, whom thou didst slay, 635

Is all too small to match her sufferings?

Oh, would that, ere I brought thee forth to light,

And suckled thee, my vitals had been rent

By savage beasts! Then senseless, innocent,

And mine wouldst thou have perished; joined to me

Wouldst thou forever see the quiet seats 640

Of this abode of souls, thy mighty sire,

And grandsires too, those men of glorious name,

Whom now perpetual shame and grief await

Because of thee, thou monster, and of me.

But why delay in hell to hide my face,

Since I have proved a curse to all my race? 645

[_Vanishes._]

_Octavia_ [_to the_ Chorus _in deprecation of their grief because

of her divorce_]: Restrain your tears; put on a face of joy,

As on a festal day, lest this your love

And care for me should stir the royal wrath,

And I be cause of suffering to you. 650

This wound is not the first my heart has felt;

Far worse have I endured; but all shall end,

Perchance in death, before this day is done.

No more upon my brutal husband's face

Shall I be forced to look; that hateful couch, 655

Long since consigned to slavish uses, base,

I shall behold no more.

For now Augustus' sister shall I be,

And not his wife. But Oh, be far from me

All cruel punishments and fear of death. 660

Poor, foolish girl! and canst thou hope for this?

Bethink thee of his former sins--and hope.

Nay, he has spared thy wretched life till now,

That thou mayst at his marriage altars fall.

But why so often turn thy streaming eyes 665

Upon thy home? Now speed thy steps away,

And leave this bloody prince's hall for aye.

_Chorus:_ Now dawns at last the day we long have feared

And talked of. Lo, our Claudia, driven forth 670

By cruel Nero's threats, leaves that abode

Which even now Poppaea calls her own;

While we must sit and grieve with sluggish woe,

By heavy fear oppressed. 675

Where is that Roman people's manhood now,

Which once the pride of mighty leaders crushed,

Gave righteous laws to an unconquered land,

Gave powers at will to worthy citizens,

Made peace and war, fierce nations overcame, 680

And held in dungeons dark their captive kings?

Behold, on every side our eyes are grieved

By this Poppaea's gleaming statues joined

With Nero's images--a shameful sight. 685

Come, overturn them with indignant hands,

Too like in feature to her living face.

And her we'll drag from off that royal couch;

And then, with flaming brand and deadly sword,

Attack the princely palace of her lord.

ACT IV

_Nurse_

[_to_ Poppaea, _who appears, distraught, coming out of her chamber_]:

Why dost thou from thy husband's chamber come, 690

Dear child, with hurried step and troubled face?

Why dost thou seek a lonely place to weep?

For surely has the day we long have sought

With prayers and promised victims come at last.

Thou hast thy Caesar, firmly joined to thee

By ties of marriage, whom thy beauty won, 695

Whom Venus gave to thee in bonds of love,

Though Seneca despised and flouted her.

How beautiful, upon the banquet couch

Reclining in the palace, didst thou seem!

The senate viewed thy beauty in amaze

When thou didst offer incense to the gods, 700

And sprinkle wine upon the sacred shrines,

Thy head the while with gauzy purple veiled.

And close beside thee was thy lord himself;

Amid the favoring plaudits of the crowd

He walked majestic, in his look and mien

Proclaiming all his pride and joy in thee. 705

So did the noble Peleus lead his bride

Emerging from the ocean's snowy foam,

Whose wedding feast the heavenly gods adorned,

With equal joy the sea divinities.

What sudden cause has clouded o'er thy face? 710

Tell me, what mean thy pallor and thy tears!

_Poppaea:_ Dear nurse, this night I had a dreadful dream;

And even now, as I remember it,

My mind is troubled and my senses fail.

For when the joyful day had sunk to rest,

And in the darkened sky the stars appeared, 715

I lay asleep within my Nero's arms.

But that sweet sleep I could not long enjoy;

For suddenly a grieving crowd appeared

To throng my chamber--Roman matrons they,

With hair disheveled and loud cries of woe. 720

Then 'midst the oft-repeated, strident blasts

Of trumpets, there appeared my husband's mother,

And shook before my face with threat'ning mien

A bloody torch. Compelled by present fear,

I followed her; when suddenly the earth 725

Seemed rent asunder to its lowest depths.

Headlong to these I plunged, and even there

In wonder I beheld my wedding couch,

Whereon I sank in utter weariness.

Then with a throng of followers I saw

My son and former husband drawing near.

Straightway Crispinus hastened to my arms, 730

And on my lips his eager kisses fell:

When suddenly within that chamber burst

My lord the king with frantic, hurrying steps,

And plunged his sword into that other's throat.

A mighty terror siezed me, and at last

It roused me from my sleep. I started up

With trembling limbs and wildly beating heart. 735

Long was I speechless from that haunting fear,

Until thy fond affection gave me tongue.

Why do the ghosts of hades threaten me?

Or why did I behold my husband's blood?

_Nurse:_ All things which occupy the waking[57] mind, 740

Some subtle power, swift working, weaves again

Into our web of dreams. Small wonder then,

Thy sleeping thoughts were filled with marriage beds

And husbands, when thy newly mated lord

Held thee in his embrace. Does it seem strange

That thou shouldst dream tonight of sounds of woe, 745

Of breasts hard beaten and of streaming hair?

Octavia's departure did they mourn

Within her brother's and her father's house.

The torch which thou didst follow, borne aloft

By Agrippina's hand, is but a sign

That hate shall win for thee a mighty name.

Thy marriage couch, in realms infernal seen, 750

Portends a lasting state of wedded joy.

Since in Crispinus' neck the sword was sheathed,

Believe that no more wars thy lord shall wage,

But hide his sword within the breast of peace.

Take heart again, recall thy joys, I pray,

Throw off thy fears, and to thy couch return. 755

_Poppaea:_ Nay, rather will I seek the sacred shrines,

And there make sacrifice unto the gods,

That they avert these threats of night and sleep,

And turn my terrors all upon my foes.

Do thou pray for me and the gods implore 760

That in this happy state I may endure.

[_Exeunt_ Poppaea _and_ Nurse.]

_Chorus_ [_of Roman women in sympathy with_ Poppaea]:

If babbling rumor's tales of Jove,

His secret joys in mortal love,

Are true, he once, in plumage dressed,

Was to the lovely Leda pressed; 765

And as a savage bull he bore

Europa from her native shore:

But should he once thy form, Poppaea, see,

He would leave his shining stars to dwell with thee.

For thou than Leda many fold 770

Art fairer, or that maid of old

Whom Jove embraced in showers of gold.

Let Sparta boast her lovely dame,

Who, as his prize, to Paris came:

Though Helen's beauty drove the world to arms, 775

She still must yield to our Poppaea's charms.

[_Enter_ Messenger.]

But who comes here with hurried step and wild?

What tidings bears he in his heaving breast?

_Messenger:_ Whoever guards our noble prince's house, 780

Let him defend it from the people's rage.

Behold, the prefects lead their men in haste,

To save the city from the furious mob

Whose reckless passion grows, unchecked by fear.

_Chorus:_ What is the madness that inflames their hearts? 785

_Messenger:_ The people for their loved Octavia

Are wild with rage and grief; and now in throngs

Are rushing forth in mood for any deed.

_Chorus:_ What are they bent to do, or with what plan?

_Messenger:_ To give Octavia back her father's house,

Her brother's bed, and her due share of empire. 790

_Chorus:_ But these Poppaea holds as Nero's wife.

_Messenger:_ 'Tis even she 'gainst whom the people's rage

Burns most persistent, and to reckless deeds

Is driven headlong on. Whate'er they see,

Of noble marble wrought, or gleaming bronze,

The hated image of Poppaea's face, 795

They cast it to the earth with wanton hands

And crushing bars. The shattered parts they drag

Along the streets, and with insulting heel

Deep in the filthy mud they trample them.

These savage deeds are mingled with such words

As I should fear to utter in your ears. 800

Soon will they hedge the royal house with flames,

Unless the prince his new-made wife give up

To sate the people's wrath, and then restore

To noble Claudia her father's house.

That he himself may know these threatened deeds,

I'll haste to tell him as the prefect bade. 805

[_Exit._]

_Chorus:_ Why vainly strive against the powers above?

For Cupid's weapons are invincible.

Your puny fires by those fierce flames he'll dim

By which he oft has quenched the bolts of Jove,

And brought the Thunderer captive from the sky. 810

For this offense you shall dire forfeit pay,

E'en with your blood; for hot of wrath is he,

And may not be o'ercome. At his command

Did fierce Achilles strike the peaceful lyre;

He forced the Greeks and Agamemnon proud 815

To do his will. Illustrious cities, too,

And Priam's realm he utterly destroyed.

And now my mind in fear awaits to see

What Cupid's cruel penalties will be.

FOOTNOTES:

[57] Reading, _intentus_.

ACT V

_Nero_ [_seated in a room of his palace_]: Too slow my soldiers'

hands, too mild my wrath, 820

When citizens have dared such crimes as these.

Those torches that they kindled 'gainst their prince

Their blood shall quench; and Rome, who bore such men,

Shall be bespattered with her people's gore.

Yet death is far too light a punishment 825

For such atrocities; this impious mob

Shall suffer worse than death. But she, my wife

And sister, whom I hate with deadly fear,

For whose sole sake the people rage at me,

Shall give her life at last to sate my grief,

And quench my anger in her flowing blood. 830

Soon shall my flames enwrap the city's walls,

And in the ruins of her falling homes

The people shall be buried; squalid want,

Dire hunger, grief-all these shall they endure.

Too fat upon the blessings of our age

Has this vile mob become, and know not how 835

To bear our clemency and relish peace;

But, rash and reckless, are they ever borne

By shifting tides of passion to their hurt.

They must be held in check by suffering,

Be ever pressed beneath the heavy yoke,

Lest once again they dare assail the throne, 840

And to the august features of my wife

Dare lift again their vulgar eyes. O'erawed

By fear of punishment must they be taught

To yield obedience to their prince's nod.

But here I see the man whose loyalty

Has made him captain of my royal guards. 845

[_Enter_ Prefect.]

_Prefect:_ The people's rage by slaughter of a few,

Who most resistance made is overcome.

_Nero:_ Is that enough? Was that my word to thee?

"Is overcome?" Where then is my revenge?

_Prefect:_ The guilty leaders of the mob are dead. 850

_Nero:_ Nay, but the mob itself, which dared to assail

My house with flames, to dictate laws to me,

To drag my noble wife from off my bed,

And with unhallowed hands and angry threats

To affront her majesty--are they unscathed? 855

_Prefect:_ Shall angry grief decide their punishment?

_Nero:_ It shall--whose fame no future age shall dim.

_Prefect:_ Which neither wrath nor fear shall moderate?[58]

_Nero:_ She first shall feel my wrath who merits it.

_Prefect:_ Tell whom thou mean'st. My hand shall spare her not. 860

_Nero:_ My wrath demands my guilty sister's death.

_Prefect:_ Benumbing horror holds me in its grasp.

_Nero:_ Wilt not obey my word?

_Prefect:_ Why question that?

_Nero:_ Because thou spar'st my foe.

The Tragedies of Seneca Translated into English Verse, to Which Have Been Appended Comparative Analyses of the Corresponding Greek and Roman Plays, and a Mythological Index · 第 7 / 9 章

_Chorus:_[51] Sing Phoebus' praise, O race renowned; 310