  (The courtyard of the Imperial villa at Baiae. A moonlit night in late March. Occupying the left half of background is seen a portion of the villa. A short, broad flight of steps leads through the arched doorway to a pillared hall beyond, vague, but seeming vast in the uncertain lights that flicker in the draught. To the right of the doorway is a broad open window at the height of a mans head from the courtyard. An urn stands near window in the shadow to the right. From within harp music is heard threading the buzzing merriment of a banquet that is being given to celebrate Nero’s reconciliation with his mother. To the right of stage a glimpse of the moonlit sea is caught through trees.) Captain (Pointing toward sea.) Yon lies the galley weltering in the moon. A fair ship!—like a lady in a swoon Of languid passion. Never fairer craft Flung the green rustle of her skirts abaft And wooed the dwindling leagues! Anicetus A boat’s a boat! And were she thrice the fairest keel afloat Tonight she founders, sinks—make sure of that! Captain And all to drown one lean imperial cat With claws and teeth too sharp despite the purr! Ah, scan the graceful woman lines of her! Fit for the male Wind’s love is she—alas! Scuttled and buried in a sea of glass By her own master! It will cost me pain. With hell-hounds baying in the driven gloom! Anicetus The will of Nero is her wind of doom— Woe to the seaman who defies that gale! Go now—make ready that we may not fail To crown the wish of Caesar with the deed. Captain Aye, Master! (Exit Captain toward sea.) Anicetus And no brazen wound shall bleed Red scandal over Rome; the nosing mob Shall sniff no poison. Just a gulping sob And some few bubbles breaking on the swell— Then, good night, Agrippina, rest you well! And may the gods revamp the silly fish With guts of brass for coping with that dish! (A muffled outburst of laughter in banquet hall. They’re drinking deep—the banquet’s at its height And all therein are kings and queens tonight. (Goes to urn, mounts it and peers in at window.) A merry crew! Quite drunk, quite drunk I fear, My noble Romans!—Burrus’ eyes are blear! One goblet hence, good Burrus, you will howl! E’en Seneca sits staring like an owl And strives to pilot in some heavy sea That wisdom-laden boat, his head. Ah me, Creperius Gallus, you are floundering deep In red Falernian bogs, so you shall sleep Quite soundly while your mistress takes the dip! Fair Acerronia thinks the place a ship And greenly sickens in the dizzy roll! There broods Poppaea, certain of her goal, Her veil a sea-fog clutching at the moon, A portent to wise sailors! Very soon The sea shall wake in hunger and be fed! That vomits ruin!—What has made her smile? Ah, Nero’s wine is sugared well with guile! So—kiss your mother—gently fondle her— Pet the old she-cat till she mew and purr Unto the tender hand that strokes her back: So shall there be no sniffing at the sack! Would that her eyes, like his, with wine were dim! Gods! What a tragic actor died in him To make a comic Caesar! I surmise By the too rheumy nature of your eyes, Divine imperial Nero, and their sunk Lugubrious aspect—pardon!—but you’re drunk, Drunk as a lackey when the master’s out! O kingly tears that down that regal snout Pour salty love upon a mother’s breast! So shall her timid doubts be lulled to rest! (Bustle within as of many rising to their feet.) They rise! The prologue’s ended—now the play! Heralds (Crying within.) Make way for Caesar! Ho! Make way! Make way! (The musicians within strike up a martial strain. After a few moments, within the hall appear Nero and Agrippina, arm in arm, approaching the flight of steps. Nero is robed in a tunic of the color of amethyst, with a winged harp embroidered on the front. He is crowned with a laurel wreath, now askew in his disordered hair. Agrippina wears a robe of maroon without decoration. Nero endeavors to preserve the semblance of supporting his mother, but in fact is supported by her, while he caresses her with considerable extravagance. They pause half way down the steps, and the music within changes to a low melancholy air.) (Lifting her face to the moon seaward.) How fair a moon to crown our happy revel! Nero (Gazing blankly at the moon.) Eh? Veil the hussy! Agrippina Son, son! Nero She’s a devil! Agrippina (Placing a loving arm closer about Nero.) Just such a night ‘twas, Lucius—you remember?— When Claudius’ spirit like a smouldering ember Struggled ‘twixt flame and ash—do you forget? Nero Ha ha—‘twas snuffed—ho ho! Agrippina (Stroking his hair.) ‘Twas then I set My boy with world-robes! Nero (Still staring at moon and pointing unsteadily.) Have that vixen choked! Her staring makes me stagger—where’s her veil? Agrippina It all comes back like an enchanted tale— The moon set and the sun rose— Nero Dead and gone— The sun set and the moon rose— Agrippina Nay, at dawn The blear flame died, the new flame blossomed up. Nero Did someone drop a poison in my cup? The windless sea crawls moaning— (They move slowly down stairs, Nero clinging to his mother.) Son of mine, Cast off the evil humors of the wine! I am so happy and was so forlorn! Ah, not another night since you were born Has flung such purple through me! Son—at last The haggard hours that parted us are past; I’ve wept my tears and have no more to shed! I live—I live—I live! And I was dead. Nero (Clinging closer.) Dead—dead—what ails the sea—‘tis going red— (Laughter in banquet hall.) Who’s laughing?—Mother—scourge them from the place! Who gave the moon Poppaea’s dizzy face To scare the sea? Agrippina Your message gave me life! Ah, Lucius, not for us to mar with strife Lucius dear, I was too harsh, perhaps; the fault is here. (Places hand on heart.) Nero (Staring into his mother’s eyes.) Too harsh perhaps— Agrippina Yea, so we mothers err: Too long we see our babies as they were, And last of all the world confess them tall. They stride so far—we shudder lest they fall— They toddle yet. And she who bears a son Shall be two women ever after; one The fountain of a seaward cooing stream, And one the shrouded virgin of a dream Whom no man wooes, whose heart, a muted lyre, Pines with a wild but unconfessed desire For him who—never understands, my son! Nero That other one— Agrippina Oh, like a wind of Spring Wooing the sere grave of a buried thing, Your summons came! Such happy tendrils creep Out of me, in that old ache rooted deep, To blossom sunward greener for the sorrow. And, O my Emperor, if on the morrow Your heart could soften toward that gentle one, That frail white lily pining for the sun, Octavia, your patient little wife, Smile, smile upon that flower and give it life! Make of my Lucius emperor in truth, Not Passion’s bondman! ‘Tis the way of youth To drive wild stallions with too slack a rein Toward fleeing goals no fleetness can attain! Oh splendid speed that fails for lack of fear! The lyric fury heeds the master beat And is the freer for its shackled feet! You who are Law shall be more free than others By seeming less so, Lucius. Nero Best of mothers, Tomorrow—yes, tomorrow—Mother, stay! You must not go so far, so far away! Agrippina Only to Bauli. (They have reached the extreme right of stage. The guests now begin to come out of banquet hall, scattering a rippling laughter. Nero is aroused by the merry sound, looks back, gathers himself together with a start.) Nero Ah! The moon is bright! The sea is still! We’ll banquet every night, Shall we not, Mother? Weigh heavily—‘tis awful to be great— Nay, terrible at times! Can I be ill? It seemed the sea moaned—yet ‘tis very still! Mother, my Mother—kiss me! Let us go Down to the galley—so. (They pass out toward the sea, Nero caressing his mother. The guests now throng down the steps into the courtyard. They are in various states of intoxication. Many are dressed to represent mythological figures: Fauns and Satyrs; Bacchus crowned with grape leaves, wearing a leopard skin on his shoulders; six Bacchantes; Psyche with wings; Luna in a spangled tunic with silver horns in her hair; Mercury with winged sandals and the caduceus; Neptune in an emerald robe, crowned and bearing the trident; Iris, rainbow-clad; Silenus. Some are dressed in brilliant oriental garments. There are Senators in broad bordered togas Neptune (Staggering against Luna.) Who’d be a sailor when great Neptune staggers Dashed in the Moon’s face!—Calm me, gentle Luna, And silver me with kisses! Luna (Fleeing from his outstretched arms, but regarding him invitingly over her shoulder.) Fie, you wine-skin! A hiccough’s not a tempest! Lo, I glide, Treading a myriad stars! A Satyr (Looking after them as they disappear.) Roll, eager Tide! Methinks ere long the wooing moon shall fall! (Those near laugh.) First Senator (To Second Senator.) Was Nero acting, think you? Second Senator Not at all. ‘Twas staged, no doubt, but— First Senator Softly, lest they hear! Second Senator The mimic is in mimicry sincere— The rÔle absorbed the actor. So he wept. (They pass on, talking low.) A Praetorian Officer (To Psyche leaning on his arm.) Was it a vision, Psyche? Have I slept? Our Caesar knows a woman! Gods! That hair! Spun from the bowels of Ophir! Psyche Who’s so fair? Praetorian Poppaea! Psyche She?—A Circe, queen of hogs! A cross-road Hecate, bayed at by the dogs! A morbid Itch— Praetorian Sh! Psyche —strutting in a cloak Of what she has not, virtue! Praetorian Ha! You joke! All cloaks are ruses, fashioned to reveal Who’d love a Psyche else? (They pass on.) Iris (To a Satyr who supports her.) A clever wile Her veil is! Ah, we women must beguile The stupid male by seeming to withhold What’s dross, displayed, but, guarded well, is gold! Faugh! Hunger sells it and the carter buys! Satyr Consume me with the lightning of her eyes! She’s Aphrodite! Iris Helen! Satyr Helen, then! A peep behind that veil, and once again The sword-flung music of the fighting men, Voluptuous ruin and wild battle joy, Delirious doom! Iris (Laughing.) O Sorcery of Night! We’re all one woman in the morning light! Satyr (Laughing.) You’re jealous! Iris No, I rend the veil in twain! (They mingle with the throng.) Silenus (To a Naval Officer.) The wind veers and the moon seems on the wane! What bodes it—reinstatement for the Queen? Naval Officer No seaman knows the wind and moon you mean; Yet land were safer when those signs concur! (They pass on.) (To a Bacchante.) ‘Twould rouse compassion in a toad, and stir A wild boar’s heart with pity! Bacchante (Placing a warning hand on his mouth.) Hush! Beware! Mercury Could you not feel the hidden gorgon stare The venom of her laughter dripping slow? (The musicians from within, having followed the departing throng from the banquet hall, and having stationed themselves on the steps, now strike up a wild Bacchic air.) Bacchus (Swinging into the dance.) Bacchantes, wreathe the dance! Bacchantes (From various parts of the throng.) Io, Bacche! Io! After a period of silence, re-enter Nero, walking backward from the direction of the sea toward which he gazes.) Nero Dimmer—dimmer—dimmer— A shadow melting in a moony shimmer Down the bleak seaways dwindling to that shore Where no heaved anchor drips forevermore Nor winds breathe music in the homing sail: But over sunless hill and fruitless vale, Gaunt spectres drag the age-long discontent And ponder what this brief, bright moment meant— The loving—and the dreaming—and the laughter. Ah, ships that vanish take what never after Returning ships may carry. Dawn shall flare, Make bloom the terraced gardens of the air The haunted hollow of Infinity Gray in the twilight of a heart’s eclipse. With our own wishes woven into whips The jealous gods chastise us!—I’m alone! About the transient brilliance of my throne The giddy moths flit briefly in the glow; But when at last that light shall flicker low, A taper guttering in a gust of doom, What hand shall grope for Nero’s in the gloom, What fond eyes shed the fellows of his tears? She bore her heart these many troublous years Before me, like a shield. And she is dead. Her hand ‘twas set the crown upon my head; Her heart’s blood dyed the kingly robe for me. Dank seaweed crowns her, and the bitter sea Enshrouds with realmless purple! Round and round, Swirled in the endless nightmare of the drowned, Her fond soul gropes for something vaguely dear Distorted Neros of a tortured sleep, Cry “Mother, come to Baiae.” Deep on deep The green death folds her and she can not come. Vague, gaping mouths that hunger and are dumb Mumble the tired heart so ripe with woe, Where night is but a black wind breathing low And daylight filters like a ghostly rain! O Mother! Mother! Mother!— (With arms extended, he stares seaward a moment, then covers his face, turns, and walks slowly toward entrance of villa.) Vain, ‘tis vain! How shall one move an ocean with regret? (He has reached the steps and pauses.) Ah, one hope lives in all this bleakness yet. Song!—Mighty Song the hurt of life assuages! This fateful night shall fill the vaulted ages With starry grief, and men unborn shall sing The mournful measure of the Ancient King! (He stands for a moment, glorified with the thought.) Great heart of Nero, strung Harplike, endure till this last song be sung, Then break—then break— (Turns and mounts the steps.) Oh Fate, to be a bard! The way is hard, the way is very hard! (A dim outburst of laughter from the revellers in the distance.) II(The same night. Nero’s private chamber in his villa at Baiae. Nero is discovered asleep in his state robes on a couch, where he has evidently thrown himself down, overcome by the stupor incident to the feast of the night. Beside the couch is a writing stand, bearing writing materials. A few lights burn dimly. Nero groans, cries out, and, as though terrified Nero Oh—oh—begone, blear thing!—She is not dead! You are not she—my mother!—Ghastly head— Trunkless—and oozing green gore like the sea, Wind-stabbed! Begone! Go—do not look at me— I will not be so tortured!—Eyes burned out With scorious hell-spew!—Locks that grope about To clutch and strangle! (He has got up from the couch and now struggles with something at his throat, still staring at the thing.) Off! Off! (In an outburst of terrified tenderness extends his arms as toward a woman.) Mother—mother—come Into these arms—speak to me—be not dumb! Be flesh again—warm flesh! Oh green and cold As the deep grave they gave you! ‘Twas not I! Mother, ‘twas not my will that you should die— ‘Twas hers!—I hate her! Mother, pity me! Oh, is it you?—Sole goddess of the sea I shall proclaim you! Pity! I shall pour The hot blood of your foes on every shore, A huge libation! Hers shall be the first! I swear it! May my waking be accursed, My sleep a-swarm with furies if I err! (He has advanced a short distance toward what he sees, but now shrinks back burying his face in his robe.) Go!—Spare me!—Guards! Guards! (Three soldiers, who have been standing guard without the chamber, rush in and stand at attention.) Seize and shackle her! (He stares blankly, rubs his eyes.) It is gone! (Blinks at soldiers, and cries petulantly.) What do you here? First Soldier (Glancing nervously about.) The night is blear— Make lights! I will not have these shadow things Crawling about me! Poisoners of kings Fatten on shadows! Quick there, dog-eyed scamp, Lean offal-sniffer! Kindle every lamp! (Soldier tremblingly takes a lamp and lights a number of others with its flame. Stage is flooded with light.) By the bronze beard I swear there shall be lights Enough hereafter, though I purge the nights With conflagrating cities, till the crash Of Rome’s last city! So—I breathe again! Some cunning, faceless Devised this curse of darkness! What’s the hour? Second Soldier The third watch wanes. Nero Too late! Too late! The power Of Nero Caesar can not stay the sun! The stars have marched against me—it is done! And all Rome’s legions could not rout this swarm Of venom-footed moments! —She was warm One little lost eternity ago. (With awakening resolution.) ‘Twas not my deed! I did not wish it so! Some demon, aping Caesar, gave the word While Lucius Aenobarbus’ eyes were blurred With too much beauty! Ere these unmothered eyes behold the sun, She shall have vengeance, and that gift is mine! (To First Soldier.) Rouse the Praetorians! Bid a triple line Be flung about the palace! (To Second Soldier.) Send me wine— Strong wine to nerve a resolution! (To Third Soldier.) You— Summon Poppaea! (The Soldiers go out.) This deed I mean to do Unties the snarl, but broken is the thread. Would that the haughty blood these hands will shed Might warm my mother! that the breath I crush— So—(clutching air) from that throat of sorceries, might rush Into the breast that loved and nurtured me! And Rome is lorn of pity! Could the world And all her crawling spawn this night be hurled Into one woman’s form, with eyes to shed Rivers of scalding woe, her towering head Jeweled with realms aflare, with locks of smoke, Huge nerves to suffer, and a neck to choke— That woman were Poppaea! I would rear About the timeless sea, my mother’s bier, A sky-roofed desolation groined with awe, Where, nightly drifting in the stream of law, The vestal stars should tend their fires, and weep To hear upon the melancholy deep That shipless wind, her ghost, amid the hush! Alas! I have but one white throat to crush With these world-hungry fingers! (From behind Nero, enter Page—a little boy—bearing a goblet of wine on a salver. Nero turns, startled.) Page I bring wine, mighty Caesar. (Nero passes his hand across his face, and the expression of fright leaves.) Nero So you do— I saw—the boy Brittanicus!—One sees— Things—does one not?—such eerie nights as these? Page (With eager boyish earnestness.) With woozy heads? Nero (Irritably.) The wine! (The Page, startled, presents the salver, from which Nero takes the goblet with unsteady hand. Page is in the act of fleeing.) Stay! Never dare Again to look like—anyone! Beware! (Page’s head shakes a timid negative. Nero stares into goblet and muses.) Blood’s red too. Ah, a woman is the grape Ripe for the vintage, from whose flesh agape Glad feet tonight shall stamp the hated ooze! It boils!—See!—like some witch’s pot that brews Venomous ichor!—Nay—some angry ghost Hurls bloody breakers on a bleeding coast!— ’Tis poisoned!—Out, Locusta’s brat! (Hurls goblet at Page, who flees precipitately.) ‘Twas she! The hand that flung my mother to the sea Now pours me death! Alas, great Hercules Too long has plied the distaff at the knees Of Omphale, spinning a thread of woe! Was ever king of story driven so The slow coils grip and choke—a mother drowned, Her wrathful spirit rising from the dead— A gentle wife outcast, discredited, With sighs to wake the dread Eumenides! Some thunder-hearted, vaster Sophocles, His aeon-beating blood the stellar stream, Has flung on me the mantle of his dream, And Nero grapples Fate! O wondrous play! With smoking brand aloft, the haggard Day Gropes for the world! Pursued by subtle foes, Superbly tragic ‘mid a storm of woes, The fury-hunted Caesar takes the cue! One time-outstaring deed remains to do, Then let the pit howl—Caesar sings no more! Go ask the battered wreckage on the shore Who sought his mother in a sudden sleep, To be with her forever on the deep A twin ship-hating tempest! (Enter Anicetus excitedly.) Lost! We’re lost! The Roman ship yaws rock-ward tempest-tossed And Nero is but Lucius in the wreck! Nero Croak on! Each croak’s a dagger in that neck, You vulture with the hideous dripping beak, The clutching tearing talons that now reek With what dear sacred veins! Anicetus O Caesar, hear! So keen the news I bear you, that I fear To loose it like the arrow it must be. I know not why such wrath you heap on me; I know what peril deepens ‘round my lord; How, riven by the lightning of the sword, The doom-voiced blackness labors round his head! Nero Say what I know, that my poor mother’s dead— So shall your life be briefer! Would ‘t were so! Nero (A light coming into his face.) She lives? Anicetus Yea, lives—and lives to overthrow! Nero Not perished? Anicetus —And her living is our death! Nero She moves and breathes? Anicetus —And potent is her breath To blow rebellion up! Nero (Rubbing his eyes.) Still do I sleep? More bitterly? Or some new foul intrigue? Anicetus ‘Tis bitter fact to her who swam a league, And bitter fact to Nero shall it be! At Bauli now, still dripping from the sea, She crouches snarling! Nero (In an outburst of joy.) Oh, you shall not die, My best-loved Anicetus! Though you lie, Sweeter these words are than profoundest truth! They breathe the fresh, white morning of my youth Upon the lampless night that smothered me! O more than human Sea That spared my mother that her son might live! What bounty can I give? I—Caesar—falter beggared at this gift Of living words that lift Ah—I shall set a crown upon your head, Snip you a kingdom from Rome’s flowing robe! I’ll temple you in splendors! Yea, I’ll probe Your secret heart to know what wishes pant In wingless yearning there, that I may grant! (Pause, while Anicetus regards Nero with gloomy face.) What sight thus makes your face a pool of gloom? Anicetus The ghost of Nero crying from his tomb! Nero (Startled.) Eh?—Nero’s ghost—mine? Anicetus Even so I said. The doomed to perish are already dead Who woo not Fate with swift unerring deeds! That breathless moment when the tigress bleeds Is ours to strike in, ere the tigress spring! While any moment may the trumpets cry, Hailing the certain hour when we shall die— Caesar, the deaf, and his untrusted slave? Peer deep, peer deep into this yawning grave And tell me who shall fill it!—Wind and fire, Harnessed with thrice the ghost of her dead sire, Your mother is tonight! She knows, she knows How galleys founder when no tempest blows And moonlight slumbers on a glassy deep! The beast our wound has wakened shall not sleep Till it be gorged with slaughter, or be slain! Lull not your heart, O Caesar! It is vain To dream this cub-lorn tigress will not turn. Lo, flaring through the dawn I see her burn, A torch of revolution! Hear her raise The legions with a voice of other days, Worded with pangs to fret their ancient scars! And every sword-wound of her father’s wars Will shriek aloud with pity! (During Anicetus’ speech he has shown growing fear.) Listen!—There! You heard it?—Did you hear a trumpet blare? Anicetus ‘Tis but the shadow of a sound to be One rushing hour away! Nero (In panic.) Where shall I flee?— I, the sad poet whom she made a king! At last we flesh the ghost of what we sing— We bards!—I sang Orestes. (His face softens with a gentler thought.) Ah—I’ll go To my poor heartsick mother. Tears shall flow, The tears of Lucius, not imperial tears. I’ll heap on her the vast, too vast arrears Of filial love. The Senate shall proclaim Beside Augustus with the demigods! Yea, lictors shall attend her with the rods, And massed Praetorians tramp the rabble down Whene’er her chariot flashes through the town! One should be kind to mothers. Anicetus Yea, and be Kind to the senseless fury of the sea, Fondle the tempest in a rotten boat! Nero What would you, Anicetus? Anicetus Cut her throat! (Nero gasps and shrinks from Anicetus.) Nero No, no!—her ghost!—one can not stab so deep— One can not kill these tortures spawned of sleep! No, no—one can not kill them with a sword! Faugh! One good thrust—the rest is air, my lord! (Enter Page timorously. Nero turns upon him.) Page (Frightened.) Spare me, good Caesar!—Agerinus— Nero Go! Bid Agerinus enter! (Page flees. Nero to Anicetus menacingly.) We shall know What breath from what damned throat tonight shall hiss! (Enter Agerinus, bowing low.) Agerinus My mistress sends fond greetings and a kiss To her most noble son, and bids me say, She rests and would not see him until day. The royal galley, through unhappy chance, Struck rock and foundered; but no circumstance Of his beloved mother! Have no fear, The long swim leaves her weary, but quite well. She knows what tender love her son would tell And yearns for dawn to bring him to her side. Nero (To Anicetus.) So! Spell your doom from that! You lied! You lied! I’ll lance that hateful fester in your throat! Yea, we shall prove who rides the rotten boat And supplicates the tempest! (With a rapid motion, Nero draws Agerinus’ sword from its sheath. Anicetus shrinks back. Nero cries to Agerinus.) Wait to see The loving message you bear back from me! (Nero brandishing the sword, makes at Anicetus. As he is about to deliver the stroke, enter Poppaea from behind. She has evidently been Poppaea (Languidly.) My Nero longed for me? (Nero with his free hand brushes his eyes in perplexity.) Nero I—can not—tell— What—‘twas—I wished—I wished— Poppaea (Haughtily.) Ah, very well. (She walks slowly on across the stage. Nero Nero Ho! Guards! (Three soldiers enter. Nero points to Agerinus.) There—seize that wretch who came to kill Imperial Caesar! (Agerinus is seized. Nero turns to Anicetus.) Hasten! Do your will! (Nero turns, and with an eager expression on his face, goes doddering after Poppaea.) III(The same night. Agrippina’s private chamber in her villa at Bauli near Baiae. There is one lamp in the room. At the center back is a broad door closed with heavy hangings. At the right is an open window through which the moonlight falls. Agrippina is discovered Agrippina He was so tender—what should kindness mean? (The maid seems not to hear.) I spoke!—you heard me speak? Nina I heard, my Queen. Agrippina And deemed my voice some ghostly summer wind Fit for autumnal hushes? He was kind! Was ever breath in utterance better spent? Nina Your slave could scarcely fancy whom you meant, There are so many tender to the great. Agrippina When all the world is one sky-circled state, Pray, who shall fill it as the sun the sky? The mother of that mighty one am I— I shall feel no pain Forever now. So, drenched with winter rain, The friendless marshland knows the boyish South And shivers into color! On the mouth He kissed me, as before that other came— That Helen of the stews, that corpse aflame With lust for life, that— Ah, he maidened me! What dying wind could sway so tall a tree With such proud music? I shall be again That darkling whirlwind down the fields of men, That dart unloosed, barbed keenly for his sake, That living sword for him to wield or break, But never sheathe! (Lifts herself on elbow.) O Nina, let me be Robed as the Queen I am in verity! Robed as a victrix home from splendid wars, Trundled by harnessed kings, the trumpets hail! Let quiet garments be for those who fail, Mourning a world ill-lost with meek surrenders! I would flare bright ‘mid Death’s unhuman splendors, Dazzle the moony hollows of the dead! Ah no— (Arising and going to window.) I shall not die yet. (Parts the curtains and gazes out.) Nina ‘Tis the dread Still clinging from the clutches of the sea, That living, writhing horror! Ugh! O’er me Almost I feel the liquid terror crawl! Through glassy worlds of tortured sleep to fall, Where winds blow not, nor mornings ever blush, But green, cold, ghastly light-wraiths wander— (Turning from window with nervous anger.) Hush! (Turns again to window; after pause, continues musingly.) She battles in a surf of spectral fire. No—like some queen upon a funeral pyre, Gasping, she withers in a fever swoon. Had she a son too? Nina (Approaching the window.) Who, O Queen? Agrippina The moon! See, she is strangled in a noose of pearl! What tell-tale scars she has! —Look yonder, girl— Your eyes are younger—by the winding sea Where Baiae glooms and blanches; it may be Old eyes betray not, but some horsemen take Nina The way lies plain—I see no moving thing. Agrippina Why thus is Agerinus loitering? For he was ever true. (Joyously.) Ah foolish head! My heart knows how my son shall come instead, My little Lucius! Even now he leaps Into the saddle and the dull way creeps Beneath the spurred impatience of his horse, He longs so for me! (Pause—She scans the moonlit country.) Shrouded like a corse, Hoarding a mother’s secret, lies the sea; And Capri, like a giant Niobe, Outgazes Fate! O sweet, too gentle lies And kisses sword-like! Would the sun might rise Spewing blear doom upon this world accursed With truth too big for hiding! See! He sleeps Beside her, and the shame-dimmed lamp-light creeps Across her wine-stained mouth—so red—so red— Like mother blood!—See! hissing round her head Foul hate-fanged vipers that he calls her hair! Ah no—beyond all speaking is she fair! Sweet as a sword-wound in a gasping foe Her mouth is; and too well, too well I know Her face is dazzling as a funeral flame Battened on queen’s flesh! (Turning angrily from window.) Oh the blatant shame! The bungling drunkard’s plot!—Tonight, tonight I shall swoop down upon them by the light Of naked steel! Faugh! Had it come to that? Had Rome no sword, that like a drowning rat The mother of a king should meet her end? Did they not love Germanicus, my sire? Oh, I will rouse the cohorts, scattering fire Till all Rome blaze rebellion! (She has advanced to a place beside the couch, stands in a defiant attitude for a moment, then covers her face with her hands and sinks to the couch.) No, no, no— It could not be, I would not have it so! Not mine to burn the tower my hands have built! And somewhere ‘mid the shadows of his guilt My son is good. (Lifts herself on elbow.) Look, Nina, toward the roofs Of sleeping Baiae. Say that eager hoofs Beat a white dust-cloud moonward. (Nina goes to window and peers out.) Nina Landward crawls Lengthening toward us—soon the moon will set. Agrippina No horsemen? Nina None, my Queen. Agrippina —And yet—and yet— He called me baby names. Ah, ghosts that wept Big tears down smiling faces, twined and crept About my heart, and still I feel their tears. They make me joyous.—After all these years, The little boy my heart so often dirged Shivered the man-husk, beardless, and emerged! He kissed my breasts and hung upon my going! Once more I felt the happy nurture flowing, The silvery, tingling shivers of delight! What though my end had come indeed tonight— I was a mother! —Have you children? (The tramp of soldiery and the clatter of arms are heard from without. Nina, panic-stricken, runs to window, peers out, shrinks back, and, turning, flees by a side door.) Agrippina Why do you flee? Did I not say my son would come to me? ‘Tis Nero—Nero Caesar, Lord of Rome! My little boy grown tall is coming home! (She goes to window, peers out, shrinks back, then turns toward the door and sees three armed men standing there—Anicetus, the Captain of a Galley and a Centurion of the Navy. The men stare at her without moving.) Why come you here? (Silence.) My son, your master, I am very well— And happy— (The men make no reply. Agrippina straightens her body haughtily.) —If like cowards in the night You come to stab a woman— Anicetus (Drawing his sword and speaking to Captain.) Snuff the light! (The men spring forward with drawn swords. Agrippina does not move. The light is stricken out.) PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA |
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