Octavia

OCTAVIA Now shining Aurora puts the wandering stars to flight in the sky. Titan rises with radiant hair and gives back the bright day to the world. Come, you who are burdened with so many great ills, take up again the laments now familiar to you, and surpass the seabird halcyons, surpass too the birds of Pandion: for your fortune is heavier than theirs. O mother, ever to be wept by me, first cause of my evils, hear your daughter's sad laments, if any sense remains in the shades. Would that, before this, with her own aged hand, Clotho had broken my thread, before I saw, grieving, your wounds and your face sprinkled with foul gore! O light ever deadly to me, from that time you are a light more hateful than darkness: we have borne the orders of a cruel stepmother, her hostile spirit and savage looks. She, she, the grim Erinys, bore before my marriage the Stygian torches and extinguished you, pitiable father, to whom of late the whole world was subject, and to whom the Britons, beyond the Ocean, gave their backs, unknown before to our leaders and free of any law but their own. By your wife's plots, alas for me, father, overcome you lie, and the house with your offspring is held captive by a tyrant.

NURSE Whoever, caught by the first dazzle and the fragile good of the deceitful court, stands amazed, stunned, let him behold, by the sudden onset of hidden Fortune, the once all-powerful house overthrown, and the stock of Claudius, to whose rule the world was subject, to whom the Ocean, long free, submitted and received the ships unwilling. Lo, he who first laid the yoke on the Britons, who covered the unknown straits with such great fleets and was safe among barbarous nations and savage seas, fell by his wife's crime; then she by her son's: whose brother lies slain by poisons; the unhappy sister mourns, who is also his wife, nor can her wrath, forced, hide her heavy griefs at her cruel husband; whom, holy, she ever shrinks from, and the husband, burning with equal hatred, blazes with a mutual torch. Our faith and devotion vainly console the grieving heart: harsh grief overcomes our counsels, and the noble ardour of her mind cannot be ruled, but takes strength from her ills. Alas, what unspeakable crime our fear foresees, which may the divine power of the gods avert.

OCTAVIA, NURSE OCTAVIA O my fortune, to be matched by no woes, though I should recall, Electra, your grief. You, mourning, were allowed to weep your slain parent, to avenge the crime with an avenging brother, whom your devotion snatched from the foe and your faith protected: but fear forbids me to mourn my parents, snatched by a cruel lot, and forbids me to weep my brother's death, in whom had been my one hope and a brief solace of so many ills. Now, kept alive for my own grief, I remain, the shadow of a great name.

NURSE Lo, the sad voice of my nursling has struck my ears; shall my slow old age delay to bring its steps to her chamber?

OCTAVIA Receive my tears, nurse, faithful witness of my grief.

NURSE What day will free you from such great cares, pitiable one?

OCTAVIA The one that will send me to the Stygian shades.

NURSE I pray that such omens be far off.

OCTAVIA Not your prayers now, but the fates rule my fortunes.

NURSE A kind god will give the afflicted better times; only do you, calmed, overcome your husband with gentle compliance.

OCTAVIA Sooner shall I overcome the savage lions and fierce tigers than the wild heart of the savage tyrant. He hates those born of bright blood, he scorns the gods and men alike, nor does he himself comprehend his own fortune, which his unspeakable mother gave him through monstrous crime; though it shame him, ungrateful, to have taken this empire by his dread mother's gift, though he repay so great a gift with death, yet that woman shall bear this title after her death, forever, through the long age.

NURSE Restrain the words of your raging spirit, suppress your rashly uttered voice.

OCTAVIA Though I endure things to be endured, never can my woes be ended save by a sad death. My mother slain, my father snatched by crime, robbed of my brother, overwhelmed with miseries and grief, pressed by sorrow, hateful to my husband and subject to my own handmaid, I enjoy a light not welcome, my heart ever trembling, not from fear of death, but of crime—let crime be absent from my fate. It will be sweet to die; for a heavier punishment than death is, in my wretchedness, to see the swollen and savage looks of the tyrant and to join kisses to my foe, to fear the nod of one whose compliance my grief could not bear, after my brother's death, killed by crime, whose empire he holds and rejoices in the lot, the author of the unspeakable murder. How often does the sad shade of my brother present itself to my eyes, when rest loosens my limbs and sleep, wearied with weeping, has pressed down my eyes: now he arms his feeble hands with black torches and, hostile, attacks the eyes and face of his brother; now, trembling, the same one flees into my chamber; the enemy pursues, and as I cling to him, violent, he drives the sword through my side. Then trembling and great terror shake off my sleep and renew, in my wretchedness, my grief and my fear. Add to these the proud mistress, gleaming with the spoils of our house, for whose sake the son set his own mother on the Stygian ship, whom, after the dread shipwreck, the sea overcome, he slew with the steel, more savage than the straits of the sea: what hope of safety after so great a crime is mine? The hostile victress threatens my marriage-bed and burns with hatred of me, and as the price of her adultery she demands the head of the husband of his lawful wife. Emerge from the shades and bear aid to your daughter who calls you, father, or break open the earth and open the Stygian gulfs, where I may rush headlong.

NURSE In vain you call on the shade of your father, pitiable one, in vain, for whom no care of his own offspring remains among the shades: he who could prefer to his own son one born of another's blood, and joined to himself in an unspeakable marriage, by a tearful torch, the daughter of his brother, betrothed to him. From this arose the train of crimes: murders, tricks, the lust for the kingdom, the thirst for noble blood; slain in his father-in-law's chamber fell the son-in-law, a victim, lest he become powerful by your marriage. Oh, the great crime! Silanus was given as a gift to a woman, and stained with his own blood his fathers' household gods, accused of a feigned crime. The enemy entered, alas for me, the captured house, made son-in-law by the prince's stepmother's wiles, and son in one, a youth of unspeakable nature, capable of crimes, for whom his dread mother kindled the torch and joined you, unwilling, through fear. And, made fierce, victorious by so great a success, she dared to threaten the empire of the sacred world. Who can recount so many forms of crime, and the woman's unspeakable hopes and flattering wiles, seeking the kingdom through the steps of every crime? Then holy Piety lifted her trembling steps, and the savage Erinys with her deadly foot entered the empty court, polluted with the Stygian torch the sacred household, and, raging, broke nature's laws and all right: the wife mingled savage poisons for her husband, and the same woman fell soon by the crime of her own son; you too lie slain, ever to be wept by us, unhappy boy, of late the star of the world, the pillar of the august house, of Britannicus—alas for me—now only light ash and a sad shade; for whom even the savage stepmother gave tears, when she gave your limbs to the pyre to be burned, and the funeral flame bore away your face and limbs, like a flying god's.

OCTAVIA Let him destroy me too, lest he fall by my hand!

NURSE Nature did not give you such great strength.

OCTAVIA Grief, wrath, sorrow, misery, mourning will give it.

NURSE Conquer rather your harsh husband by compliance.

OCTAVIA That he may restore to me the brother taken by crime?

NURSE That you yourself may be safe, that you may one day restore the falling house of your father by your offspring.

OCTAVIA The house awaits another offspring of the prince; the dread fate of my wretched brother draws me on.

NURSE Let so great a favour of the citizens strengthen your spirit.

OCTAVIA That consoles, it does not relieve, my ills.

NURSE Great is the force of the people.

OCTAVIA Yet the prince's is greater.

NURSE He himself will regard his wife.

OCTAVIA The mistress forbids it.

NURSE Surely she is hated by all.

OCTAVIA But dear to her husband.

NURSE She is not yet his wife.

OCTAVIA Soon she will be, and a mother at once.

NURSE A youthful ardour rages in its first onset, the same easily languishes and does not endure long in base love, like the vapour of a light flame: the love of a chaste wife abides perennial. She who first dared to violate your marriage-bed and, a handmaid, long possessed her lord's heart, now fears the same thing—

OCTAVIA That he is preferred to her, no doubt.

NURSE Subjected and humble, she builds monuments by which, confessing her fear, she bears witness to it. And her too the fickle and deceitful god, winged Cupid, will abandon: though she be eminent in beauty, proud in wealth, she will take a brief joy. The queen of the gods herself suffered like griefs, when the lord of heaven and father of gods turned himself into all shapes— and now took the wings of a swan, now the horns of the Sidonian bull, the same, golden, flowed down in a shower; the stars of Leda gleam in heaven, Bacchus dwells on his father's Olympus, the god Alcides possesses Hebe and no longer fears Juno's wrath, whose son-in-law is he who was her foe; yet wise compliance and suppressed grief conquered the lofty wife: alone, greatest Juno holds the Thunderer, untroubled, on the ethereal bed, nor, caught by mortal beauty, does Jupiter desert his lofty hall. You too, another Juno on earth, sister and wife of Augustus, overcome your heavy griefs.

OCTAVIA Sooner shall the savage straits be joined to the stars and fire to water, the pole to grim Tartarus, kindly light to darkness, day to dewy night, than my mind be joined to the impious mind of my wicked husband, ever mindful of my slain brother. Would that the ruler of the gods would prepare to overwhelm with flames the dread head of the unspeakable prince, who often shakes the lands with his hostile thunderbolt and terrifies our minds with sacred fires and new portents; we have seen in the sky a burning radiance, a comet, spread its hostile torch, where slow Bootes guides his wains in the eternal turn of night, stiff with northern cold: lo, the very air is polluted by the dread breath of the savage leader; the stars threaten new disasters to the nations which the impious leader rules. Not so fierce a Typhon did the angry mother Earth once bring forth, Jove neglected: this is a heavier plague than that one, this the enemy of gods and men, who has driven the gods above from their temples and the citizens from their country, taken his brother's life, drained his mother's blood—and he sees the light and enjoys life and draws his guilty breath! O highest father, why do you so often hurl in vain your unconquered weapons rashly with royal hand? Why does your right hand hold back from one so guilty? Would that the tyrant of the world might pay the penalty for his crimes, who oppresses it with a foul yoke and stains the name of Augustus with the vices of his morals!

NURSE Unworthy he is, I confess, of your marriage-bed, Nero the grafted, born of his father Domitius, but yield to the fates and to your fortune, my nursling, I beg, and do not stir the violent wrath of your husband. Perhaps some avenging god will arise, and a glad day will come.

OCTAVIA Long since has our house been pressed by the heavy wrath of the gods, which Venus first oppressed through the frenzy of my wretched, hard mother, who, married, mad, wedded again with an incestuous torch, forgetful of us, of her husband, unmindful of the laws. To her, with loosened hair, girt with serpents, the avenging Erinys came to the Stygian bed and quenched with blood the torches snatched from the marriage: she kindled the prince's breast with savage wrath to unspeakable slaughter: my unhappy mother fell, alas, by the steel, and overwhelmed me with perpetual grief, slain; she dragged her husband and her son to the shades, and betrayed the fallen house.

NURSE Cease to renew, with weeping, your pious griefs, and do not disturb the shade of your mother, who paid heavy penalties for her own frenzy.

CHORUS OF ROMANS What rumour has just now come to our ears? Would that, believed in error, it might lose the credit so often vainly bruited about, and that no new wife enter the marriage-bed of our prince, and that the Claudian offspring, wedded, keep her own household; let her bring forth in childbirth the pledges of peace by which the tranquil world may rejoice and Rome may keep its glory eternal. The greatest Juno, allotted her brother's marriage, holds it; the sister of Augustus, joined to him in marriage, why is she driven from her native court? What does her holy devotion profit her, and her deified father, what her virginity and chaste modesty? We too are forgetful of ourselves after the death of our leader, whose stock we betray at the prompting of sickly fear. Once the true valour of our forebears was Roman, and the true race of Mars was in those men, and their blood, they drove the proud kings from this city and well avenged your shade, slaughtered, pitiable, by your own hand, daughter of Lucretius, having suffered the rape of the savage tyrant. Tullia, the wife, paid the penalties of unspeakable crime along with Tarquin, who over the limbs of her slaughtered parent impiously drove her savage chariot and, violent, denied a pyre to the mangled old man, his daughter. These ages too have seen a son's great crime, when on a funereal ship the prince sent his mother, captured by guile, into the Tyrrhenian sea. The sailors hasten, bidden, to leave the peaceful harbours, the straits resound, struck by the oars: the ship is carried far out to sea, which, the timber loosened, slipping, weighed down, gapes apart and drinks in the sea. A great cry is raised to the stars, mingled with women's wailing. Dread death wanders before their eyes; each seeks for himself an escape from death: some cling to the planks of the mangled stern, naked, and cut the waves; others swimming seek again the shores; the fates plunge many into the deep. The Augusta tears her garments and rends her hair and wets her face with sad tears. After there was no hope of safety, burning with wrath, now conquered by her ills: "These," she cries, "are the rewards you give me, my son, for so great a gift? Of this ship I am worthy, I confess, who bore you, who gave you the light and the empire and the name of Caesar, out of my senses. Show your face from Acheron and feast on my punishments, my husband: I am the cause of your death, pitiable one, and the author of your son's funeral. Lo, as I deserved, I shall be borne to your shade unburied, overwhelmed by the savage waves of the sea." The waves strike the face of her as she speaks, she falls into the deep and, pressed down by the brine, rises again, beats the straits with her palms, fear compelling her, but, weary, she yields to the toil. There remained in their silent breasts faith, though grim death was now scorned: many dare to bear aid to their mistress in the sea, their strength shattered, and as she draws her slow arms, they encourage her with their voice and lift her with their hands. What did it profit you to have fled the savage waves of the sea? You are to die by the steel of your son, whose crime posterity will scarcely, ever slow, the ages, believe. He rages that his mother was snatched from the sea and lives, the impious one, and doubles his vast crime: he rushes upon the fate of his wretched parent and suffers no delay of his crime. The henchman, sent, carries out his orders: he unbars his mistress's breast with the steel. Dying, the unhappy woman begs the minister of her slaughter to bury the dread sword in her womb: "Here, here it must be pierced," she says, "with the steel, which bore such a monster." After this word, mingled with her last groan, she gives back at length her sad soul through the cruel wounds.

SENECA Why, mighty Fortune, having flattered me with deceitful face, content with my lot, did you lift me high, that, once raised, received in the citadel, I might fall the more heavily and look out on so many fears? Better was it that I lay hidden, far from the evils of envy, removed among the cliffs of the Corsican sea, where my mind, free and its own master, ever had leisure to cultivate my studies. O how it delighted—than which parent Nature brought forth nothing greater, the artificer of an immense work— to gaze on the sky, the alternate changes of the sun and Phoebus' orb, which the wandering stars surround, and the far-gleaming glory of the great heaven; which, if it grows old, must fall again into blind chaos: then is at hand for the world that last day, which may crush the impious race by the ruin of heaven, that, reborn, it may again beget a new and better stock, as once it bore, when Saturn held the realms of the pole, a youthful one. Then that maiden, the goddess of great divinity, Justice, sent from heaven with holy Faith, ruled, gentle, the human race on earth. They knew no wars, no savage clash of trumpets, no arms; the nations had not been wont to gird their cities with walls: the way was open to all, and there was a common use of all things; and the very Earth, glad, of her own accord spread her fruitful bosom, a happy and safe parent to such pious nurslings. But another offspring, less gentle to behold, a third race, skilful, arose for new arts, yet holy; soon a restless one, that dared to pursue in the chase the keen wild beasts, to draw out the fish covered by the heavy waves with the net, or with the light reed to catch them, or with a snare to hold the birds, to press beneath the yoke the fierce bulls, to furrow with the plough the earth untouched before, which, wounded, hid its fruits deep within, in its sacred bosom. But into the entrails of its own parent entered a worse age: it dug up the heavy iron and the gold, and soon armed savage hands too; it set up kingdoms, dividing the boundaries, built new cities, defended its own roofs, or sought another's with weapons, bent on plunder. The maiden Astraea, the great glory of the stars, neglected, fled the lands and the savage morals of men and the hands polluted with bloody slaughter. The lust for war grew, and the hunger for gold, throughout the whole world; the greatest evil arose, luxury, a flattering plague, to which long time and grievous error gave strength and lasting force. The vices, gathered through so many ages, now overflow upon us: we are pressed by a heavy age, in which crimes reign, impiety rages, frenzied, base lust holds sway, powerful in foul love, victorious luxury has long since snatched the immense wealth of the world with greedy hands, to squander it. But lo, with frenzied step Nero is borne along and savage face. I shudder in my mind at what he may bring.

NERO, PREFECT, SENECA NERO Carry out my commands: send one to bring me the severed head of Plautus and Sulla, slain.

PREFECT I will not delay your orders: I will seek the camp at once.

SENECA Nothing should be rashly determined against kinsmen.

NERO It is easy to be just for one whose breast is free of fear.

SENECA A great remedy for fear is clemency.

NERO To destroy an enemy is the greatest virtue of a leader.

SENECA To save the citizens is greater for the father of the country.

NERO It befits an old man to instruct boys, a gentle one.

SENECA Fervid youth is the more to be ruled.

NERO At this age I think there is wisdom enough.

SENECA That the gods above may ever approve your deeds.

NERO Foolishly shall I revere the gods, when I myself make them.

SENECA For this revere them the more, that so much is permitted you.

NERO My fortune permits me all things.

SENECA Trust less to her when she complies: the goddess is fickle.

NERO It is the mark of the inert not to know what is permitted to him.

SENECA It is praise to do what is fitting, not what is permitted.

NERO The crowd tramples on the fallen.

SENECA It crushes the hated.

NERO The sword protects the prince.

SENECA Faith does it better.

NERO It becomes Caesar to be feared.

SENECA But more, to be loved.

NERO They must fear—

SENECA Whatever is wrung out is grievous.

NERO And obey our commands.

SENECA Command just things.

NERO I myself will determine them.

SENECA Which consent may make valid.

NERO The respect for the sword will do it.

SENECA Let this wickedness be far off.

NERO Shall I suffer further my blood to be sought, and, unavenged and despised, be suddenly overthrown? Exile has not broken Plautus and Sulla, removed far off, whose stubborn frenzy arms ministers of crime for my slaughter, since, though absent, a great favour still remains for them in our city, which fosters the hopes of the exiles. Let the enemies suspected by me be taken off by the sword; let my hated wife perish and follow her dear brother; let whatever is exalted fall.

SENECA It is fair to stand out among illustrious men, to take thought for the country, to spare the afflicted, to abstain from savage slaughter, to give time to one's wrath, to give rest to the world, peace to one's age. This is the highest virtue; by this way heaven is sought. So that first father of his country, Augustus, embraced the stars and is worshipped as a god in temples. Yet Fortune long tossed him on land and sea through the heavy changes of war, until he crushed the enemies of his father; to you the divine power submitted itself bloodlessly and gave you the reins of empire with an easy hand, and subjected the lands and seas to your nod. Grim envy, conquered by pious consent, gave way; the favour of the senate, of the knights, was kindled; by the people's prayers and the judgment of the fathers, you, the author of peace, the arbiter of the human race, chosen, now rule the world with a sacred aspect, the father of your country: that you may keep this name Rome begs, and commends her citizens to you.

NERO It is the gift of the gods that Rome herself serves me, and the senate, and that our fear wrings out from the unwilling their prayers and humble voices. To save citizens dangerous to the prince and the country, swollen with their bright lineage—what madness is this, when one may, with a single word, bid those suspect to him die? Brutus armed his hands for the slaughter of the leader from whom he had received his safety: unconquered in battle, the tamer of nations, equalled to Jove, ascending the high steps of honours, Caesar himself fell by the unspeakable crime of the citizens. How much of her own blood Rome then saw, torn so many times! He who earned heaven by his pious virtue, the deified Augustus, how many noble men he slew, young and old, scattered through the world, when, in fear of death, they fled their own homes and the steel of the three leaders, the list marking those handed over to a grim death! The fathers, sad, saw the heads of the slain exposed on the Rostra, and were not allowed to weep their own, nor to groan, the forum polluted with the dread corruption, the heavy gore dripping over the rotting faces. Nor did the end of blood and slaughter stand here: long the sad fields of Philippi fed the birds and savage beasts, and the Sicilian sea swallowed fleets and men, often slaying their own. The world was shaken by the great forces of the leaders: overcome in battle, with ships made ready for flight, Antony sought the Nile, himself soon to perish: incestuous Egypt drank the blood of a Roman leader again; now it covers his light shades. There the impiously waged civil war was long buried, and at length the victor, weary now, sheathed his swords, blunted with savage wounds, and fear held the empire together. He was safe by the arms and faith of his soldiers, made a god by his son's exceptional piety, consecrated after his death and given to temples. Us too the stars will await, if first with the savage sword I seize whatever is hostile to me and found my house with worthy offspring.

SENECA The glory of the Claudian race, begotten of a god, will fill your court with celestial stock, having obtained, like Juno, her brother's marriage-bed.

NERO Her incestuous mother takes credit from her birth, and my wife's spirit was never joined to me.

SENECA In tender years faith is not clear enough, when love, overcome by modesty, hides its flames.

NERO This indeed I myself believed, vainly, for long, though clear signs in her unsociable breast and face proclaim her hatred of me, which at length my burning grief has resolved to avenge. And I have found a wife worthy of my marriage-bed in lineage and form, to whom, conquered, Venus would yield, and the wife of Jove, and the goddess fierce in arms.

SENECA Let a wife's honesty and faith, her morals, her modesty, please the husband: those alone abide forever, the goods of the mind and soul, subject to none; single days pluck the flower of beauty.

NERO The god has heaped all praises into one woman, and the fates willed that such a one be born for me.

SENECA Love will withdraw from you (do not rashly believe).

NERO He whom the lord of the thunderbolt cannot drive away, the tyrant of heaven, who penetrates the savage straits and the realms of Dis, and draws the gods from the pole?

SENECA That Love is winged, an unfeeling god, is the feigning of mortal error, that arms his hands with weapons and the sacred bow, equips him with the savage torch, and believes him born of Venus, begotten of Vulcan: Love is a great force of the mind and a flattering warmth of the soul; it is begotten in youth, nourished by luxury and leisure amid the glad goods of Fortune. If you cease to foster and feed it, it falls and quickly loses its strength, extinguished.

NERO I think this the greatest cause of life, through which pleasure arises; it lacks destruction, since the human race is ever procreated by welcome Love, which soothes the savage beasts. Let this god bear the wedding-torches before me and join Poppaea to my bed with his fire.

SENECA The people's grief could scarcely endure to see this marriage, nor would holy piety allow it.

NERO Shall I alone be forbidden to do what is permitted to all?

SENECA The people always demand greater things from the highest.

NERO It pleases me to try whether the favour, rashly conceived, will yield, broken by my strength, in their hearts.

SENECA Comply rather, peaceful, with your citizens.

NERO Rule is ill exercised when the crowd governs the rulers.

SENECA When it can obtain nothing, it grieves justly.

NERO Is it right to wring out by force what prayers cannot win?

SENECA It is hard to refuse.

NERO For a prince to be compelled is wickedness.

SENECA Let him yield of himself.

NERO But rumour will report him conquered.

SENECA Rumour is light and empty.

NERO Be it so, it brands many.

SENECA It fears the exalted.

NERO Yet it carps no less.

SENECA It will be easily crushed. Let the deserts of your deified father and your wife's age move you, her honesty, her modesty.

NERO Cease at last—you are now too heavy for me— to press on: let me be allowed to do what Seneca disapproves. And I myself have long delayed the people's prayers, since she carries in her womb a pledge and part of me. Why do we not appoint the next day for the marriage?

[GHOST OF AGRIPPINA] The earth broken, I have brought my step forth from Tartarus, bearing in my bloody right hand the Stygian torch for the wicked marriage: let Poppaea wed my son by these flames, joined to him, which the avenging hand and a mother's grief shall turn to a sad pyre. There remains for me among the shades, of the impious slaughter, the memory always, heavy on my shade, still unavenged: the deadly ship was repaid to my deserts, and the price of empire was that night on which I wept my shipwreck; to weep the death of my companions and my cruel son's crime had been my wish—but no time was given for tears, but the great one doubled crime with crime. Slain by the steel, foul with wounds, within my sacred home I poured out my heavy breath, snatched from the sea; I quenched with my blood not my son's hatreds: the savage tyrant rages against his mother's name, longs to crush my deserts, destroys my statues, my titles, through fear of his mother, throughout the whole world which my unhappy love gave to a boy to rule, for my punishment. Slain, my husband stirs my shade, hostile, and seeks my guilty face with flames, he presses, threatens, charges his death upon me and the tomb of his son, demands the author of his death. Now spare me: it will be given; I ask no long time. The avenging Erinys prepares for the impious tyrant a death worthy of him, blows and a foul flight and punishments by which he may surpass even the thirst of Tantalus, the dread toil of Sisyphus, the bird of Tityos, and the wheel that whirls the limbs of Ixion. Though he build his court of marbles and cover it with gold, proud, though armed cohorts guard the threshold of their leader, though the exhausted world send him its immense wealth, though the Parthians, suppliant, seek his bloody right hand and bring their kingdoms and riches: the day and the time will come when he must give up his guilty soul to his crimes, his throat to his enemies, deserted and ruined and lacking all things. Alas, whither had my toil, whither my prayers fallen? Whither did your frenzy, stunned, carry you, and the fates, my son, that your mother's wrath should yield to such great ills, she who fell by your crime? Would that, before I bore you, a little child, into the light and reared you, the savage beasts had torn my entrails: without any crime, without sense, innocent, my own, you would have died; joined to and clinging to me you would ever behold the quiet seat of the dead, your ancestors and your father, men of a great name, whom now shame and perpetual grief await because of you, unspeakable one, and me, who bore such a son. Why do I delay to hide my face in Tartarus, I, the stepmother, wife, mother, unhappy to my own?

OCTAVIA, CHORUS OCTAVIA Spare your tears on the festal and glad day of the city, lest so great a love and favour for me rouse the keen wrath of the prince, and lest I be to you the cause of evils. Not this first wound has my heart felt: heavier things I have borne; this day will give an end to my cares, even by death: I shall not be forced to behold the face of my savage husband, nor to enter the chambers hateful to me of the handmaid; I shall be the sister of Augustus, not his wife. Let only the sad punishments be absent and the fear of death. Of the crimes of your dread husband, pitiable, mad, can you, mindful, hope this? Kept long for this marriage, a deadly victim, you will fall at last. But why do you so often look back on your father's household, confused, with wet cheeks? Hasten to bear your steps from the house, leave the bloody court of the prince.

CHORUS Lo, the day, long suspected, so often bruited by rumour, has dawned: Claudia, driven out, has yielded the marriage-bed of dread Nero, which now victorious Poppaea holds, while our devotion, pressed by heavy fear, and our sluggish grief, fails. Where is the force of the Roman people, which often broke famous leaders, gave laws to the conquered country, the fasces once to worthy citizens, ordered war and peace, tamed the savage nations, shut captive kings in prison? Lo, heavy on our eyes on every side now gleams the image of Poppaea, joined to Nero! Let a violent hand dash to the ground the face too like its mistress, and drag her herself from the lofty bed, and then with hostile flames and savage weapons let it attack the prince's court.

NURSE, POPPAEA NURSE Whither, trembling, do you bear your step from the chamber of your husband, my nursling, or what secret do you seek, disturbed in face? Why are your cheeks wet with weeping? Surely the day sought by our prayers and vows has shone forth: you are joined to your Caesar by the wedding-torch, whom your beauty captured and the fault of Seneca; the mother of Love, the greatest divinity, Venus, handed him over bound to you. O how, how nobly you pressed the lofty couch, sitting in the hall! The senate, amazed, saw your beauty, when you gave incense to the gods above and sprinkled the sacred altars with welcome wine, your head veiled at the top with the thin bridal flame; and he himself, joined and clinging to your side, aloft, amid the glad omens of the citizens, walked with proud bearing, his face bearing joy, the prince: so Peleus received his wife Thetis, emerged from the foaming sea, whose marriage they say the heavenly gods celebrated and every divinity of the sea with equal accord. What sudden cause has changed your looks? What does that pallor mean, what your tears? Teach me.

POPPAEA Confused, nurse, by the sad fear and vision of the past night, I am borne along, troubled in mind, fainting in sense. For after the glad day yielded to the dark stars and the pole to night, joined in the embraces of my Nero, I am loosed in sleep; nor was I allowed long to enjoy peaceful rest. For a sad throng seemed to fill my chamber: with loosened hair the Latin matrons gave their tearful laments; amid the often terrible sound of trumpets my Nero's mother, sprinkled with the blood of her husband, with threatening face, shook a savage torch, and as I followed her, forced by present fear, the earth, suddenly parting, opened beneath me with a vast chasm; carried down headlong there, I behold and marvel at my marriage-bed, on which, weary, I sank down. I see, coming, with an accompanying throng, my husband of old and my son; Crispinus hastens to seek my embrace, to taste the kisses long broken off: when Nero rushed within my house, trembling, and buried the savage sword in his throat. At length a great terror shook off my sleep; a horrid trembling shakes my bones and limbs and beats my breast; fear restrains my voice, which now your faith and devotion have drawn forth. Alas, what do the shades of the dead threaten me, or what blood of my husband did I see?

NURSE Whatever the intent vigour of the mind stirs up, that the sacred and secret and swift sense brings back in sleep. Do you wonder to have seen your husband and the marriage-bed, clinging in the embrace of your new spouse? But do the breasts beaten by palms on the glad day, and the loosened hair, move you? They wailed the divorce of Octavia amid the sacred household gods of her brother and the paternal hearth. That torch, which you followed, borne before you by the Augusta's hand, foretells a bright name gained for you through envy. The seat of the dead promises that your marriage-bed will be stable, of an eternal house. That your prince buried the sword in a throat: he will stir no wars, but will sheathe the steel in peace. Recover your spirit, take back your joy, I beg. Your fear driven off, return to your chamber.

POPPAEA I have resolved to seek the shrines and sacred altars, to appease the divinity of the gods with slain victims, that the threats of the night and of my sleep be expiated and the stunned terror return upon my enemies. Do you undertake vows for me, and with pious prayers adore the gods above, that the present state may abide.

CHORUS If talkative rumour tells truly of the thefts and welcome loves of the Thunderer (whom they say of late pressed the bosom of Leda, covered with down and feathers, and now carried off Europa through the waves, a savage bull, bearing her on his back), he who rules the stars will even now desert them and will seek your embraces, Poppaea, which he can prefer both to Leda's and to yours, Danae, to whom once, as you marvelled, he flowed down in tawny gold. Though Sparta vaunt the beauty of its nursling and the Phrygian shepherd his rewards: this woman's face will surpass that of the daughter of Tyndareus, which stirred up horrid wars and gave the Phrygian realms to the ground. But who rushes with stunned step, or what does he bring in his panting breast?

MESSENGER, CHORUS MESSENGER Whatever soldier keeps watch in the leader's house, let him defend the court, on which the people's frenzy threatens. Lo, the trembling prefects drag cohorts, garrisons, to the city, and the rage conceived rashly, not conquered, yields not to fear, but takes strength.

CHORUS What stunning frenzy stirs their minds?

MESSENGER Stricken by favour for Octavia, and made savage, they rush to vast wickedness.

CHORUS Teach what they have dared to do, or with what design.

MESSENGER They prepare to restore to Claudia her household, the deified one's, and her brother's marriage-bed, the owed share of empire.

CHORUS Which Poppaea now holds in concordant faith?

MESSENGER This favour, too persistent, burns their minds and rashly drives them headlong into frenzy: whatever statue stood in bright marble or gleaming in bronze, bearing the face of Poppaea, lies cast down by the hands of the crowd and overthrown by the savage steel; the limbs they drag in parts, pulled down by nooses, and overwhelm them, long trampled, in foul mire; their words match their savage deeds, mingled, which my fear keeps silent. They prepare to hedge the prince's seat with flames, unless he restore to the people's wrath his new wife, unless, conquered, he restore to Claudia her household. That he may himself learn the citizens' uprising, I will not delay, by my voice, to carry out the prefect's orders.

CHORUS Why do you stir up savage wars in vain? Cupid bears unconquered weapons: with his flames he will overwhelm your fires, he who has often quenched thunderbolts and dragged captive Jove from heaven. You will pay sad penalties with your own blood for the offence. The fervid god is not patient of wrath nor easy to be ruled: he bade fierce Achilles strike the lyre, he broke the Danaans, he broke Atrides, he overthrew the realms of Priam, razed famous cities: and now my mind shudders at what the violent, unfeeling force of the god may bring.

NERO O too-slow hands of our soldiery and my wrath, patient after so great a wickedness, that the blood of citizens does not quench the torches kindled against us, and that funereal Rome, which bore such men, is not wet with the slaughter of the people. But that woman, to whom the citizens' frenzy subjects me, my wife and sister, ever suspect to me, let her at length give back her breath to my grief and quench our wrath with her own blood. But now to be punished by the death she has incurred is too little: the impious crime of the people deserved heavier things: soon they shall set my city's roofs aflame, let fires and ruin crush the guilty people, and foul want, and savage hunger with grief. The corrupt mob exults in the goods of our age, nor does it comprehend our clemency, ungrateful, nor can it bear peace, but, restless, it is swept on this side by audacity, on that it is borne headlong by its own rashness: it must be tamed by ills and ever pressed beneath a heavy yoke, lest it dare to attempt anything like this and lift its eyes against the holy face of my wife: broken by punishments, through fear it will learn to obey the nod of its prince. But I see coming the man whom rare devotion and faith, known to my camp, set over it.

PREFECT, NERO PREFECT I bring word that the people's frenzy is crushed by the slaughter of a few who rashly resisted long.

NERO And is this enough? Thus, soldier, have you heard your leader? "Crushed"! Is this the vengeance owed to me?

PREFECT The leaders of the uprising fell by the impious steel.

NERO What of that throng which dared to seek my household with flames, to give a law to the prince, to drag my dear wife from our bed, to violate her, as far as was permitted, with incestuous hand and dread voice? Does the owed punishment go free?

PREFECT Shall grief determine punishment upon your citizens?

NERO It shall determine one which no age may take from fame.

PREFECT Let your wrath temper us, not our fear.

NERO She shall expiate my wrath who first deserved it.

PREFECT Tell whom it demands, that our hand may not spare.

NERO It demands the slaughter of my sister and her dread head.

PREFECT A trembling rigour has bound me, fettered with horror.

NERO Do you hesitate to obey?

PREFECT Why do you condemn my faith?

NERO Because you spare an enemy.

PREFECT Does a woman take this name?

NERO If she has taken crimes.

PREFECT Is there one to prove her guilty?

NERO The people's frenzy.

PREFECT Who can rule the mad?

NERO He who could stir them.

PREFECT No one, I think.

NERO A woman, to whom nature gave a mind prone to evil, and equipped her breast with wiles for harm.

PREFECT But denied her force.

NERO That she might not be impregnable, but that fear or punishment might break her sickly strength; which now, late, shall press her, condemned, long guilty. Lay aside counsel and prayers and carry out my commands: borne off on a ship far to a remote shore, bid her be slain, that at length the fear of my breast may settle.

CHORUS, OCTAVIA CHORUS O the people's favour, deadly to many and dread, which, when with favouring breath it has filled the ship's sails and carried it far, the same, growing slack, deserts it on the deep and savage sea. The pitiable mother wept her Gracchi, whom the great love of the people and its favour, excessive, destroyed, illustrious in birth, famous in piety, faith, and eloquence, brave in heart, keen in the laws. You too, Livius, Fortune gave to a like death, whom neither his own fasces protected nor the roofs of his house. Present grief forbids me to recount more examples: her to whom of late the citizens wished to restore her country, the court, and her brother's marriage-bed, they can now see dragged to punishment and death, weeping, wretched. Well does poverty, content with a humble roof, lie hidden: storms often shake the lofty houses, or Fortune overturns them.

OCTAVIA Whither do you drag me, or what does the tyrant or the queen command, exile, if she grants me my life, broken and conquered now by so many ills? But if she prepares to heap my slaughter upon my griefs, why does she even, savage, begrudge me to die in my native land? But now there is no hope of safety: I behold, pitiable, my brother's ship. On this, in whose keel of old my mother was carried, now I too, the sister, driven from the marriage-bed, pitiable, shall be borne. Now Piety has no divine power nor are there gods above: grim Erinys reigns over the world. Who can worthily weep my ills? What nightingale can return laments to my tears? Whose wings, would that the fates would give them to me, wretched! Borne away, I would flee my griefs on a swift wing far off, and the sad gatherings of men and the savage slaughter. Alone in the empty grove and hanging on a slender bough, I could pour from my plaintive throat a mournful murmur.

CHORUS The mortal race is ruled by the fates, nor can anyone promise himself firm and stable . . . through which the day, ever to be feared by us, rolls its varied chances; let examples strengthen your spirit, the many now which your house has borne: in what is Fortune more savage to you? You first to me, mother to be recalled of so many sons, daughter of Agrippa, daughter-in-law of Augustus, wife of Caesar, whose bright name gleamed throughout the whole world, so often bringing forth from your heavy womb the pledges of peace, soon exile, blows, savage chains you suffered, deaths, griefs, at length death, long tortured. Happy in her marriage, Livia, wife of Drusus and in her children, rushed, savage, into crime and her own punishment. Julia followed her mother's fate; yet after long time she was slain by the steel, though of no crime. What could she not once do, your mother, who ruled the prince's court, dear to her husband and powerful by her offspring? The same, made subject to her servant, fell by the steel of a dread soldier. What of her who was allowed to hope for a kingdom in heaven, the great mother of Nero? Was she not violated by the deadly hand of an oarsman first, and soon, long mangled by the steel, lay a victim of her savage son?

OCTAVIA Me too the savage tyrant sends, lo, to the sad shades and the dead. Why now, pitiable, do I delay in vain? Drag me to death, you to whom Fortune has given right over us. I call the gods to witness— What do you do, mad one? Cease to pray to those gods whose powers hate you. I call Tartarus to witness and the goddesses of Erebus, avengers of crimes, and you, father, worthy of such a death and punishment: that death is not hateful to me. Arm the ship, give the sails to the straits, and let the steersman seek with the winds the shores of the Pandatarian land.

CHORUS Light breezes and light zephyrs, who once carried Iphigenia, covered in an ethereal cloud, snatched from the altars of the savage maiden, carry her too, far from her sad punishment, I beg, to the temples of Trivia. Milder than our city is Aulis and the barbarous land of the Tauri: there the divinity of the gods above delights in the slaughter of a stranger, but Rome rejoices in the blood of her citizen.