Drusilla, eager in uncertain hopeTo meet the pleasure of the emperor,Promptly sent Simon to him as he said.She charged her minion to bend all his craftTo win his mistress way that she in proofUpon that youngster emperor of the worldMight, without let from other present, tryIf for once only what of power was leftHer, after such misfortunes suffered late,To steal possession of the hearts of men."Consider, Simon, what might not I doFor thee, once seated in that place of power?"She with such words and with a subtle smileOf deep insinuation cheered him forth.But Simon, in an outer anteroomOf the imperial palace with its guards—Many removes from where the emperor was—Long hung in waiting day by day in vain.At length Poppæa, not the emperor,Sent gracious word that she would see that Jew."Thou hadst perhaps forgotten who it was,"The favorite, drunken-fond of power nor lessOf demonstration too of power, began,To dash the sorcerer in his confidence—"Say, hadst thou not forgotten who it wasGave thee for thy Drusilla her desiredAccess to the imperial presence late?"Simon saw what she wanted, and was quickTo humor to the full her proud caprice.He readily commanded to his faceA trouble of confusion and chagrin,And stammered something inarticulate.The merciless Poppæa pressed her point:"Was it to me, or to somebody else,I heard thee offer service of thine art?Methinks thou spokest, or perhaps I dreamed,Of certain potencies thou couldst exertOn my behalf—or some one's—if thou wouldst,To make at need a mind amenableTo reason that might otherwise resist?"Simon her humor flattered to its height,And artfully grew more and more confusedBefore her, till he judged her satisfiedThat his humiliation was complete.Then, with abject profession of remorseAnd shame that he so far forgot her dueAs to seek audience with the emperorIn any way other than through herself,He humbly asked her what her wish might be;In short, renewed the proffer of himselfTo be her faithful servant all in all."But art thou not in prior duty boundTo that Drusilla fair of thine?" she asked."Yea, doubtless," the adroit dissembler said—A protestation of deep loyaltyTo his old mistress, not to be seduced,Commingling strangely in his look and toneWith offer to be serviceable now."Supposing beautiful Drusilla's aimsAnd mine should clash?" Poppæa said. But he:"That were calamity indeed—for her;The far more beautiful must needs prevail.She has perhaps her too aspiring hopes;Her hopes, I own, I have no heart to dash.Let her nurse them; but be it mine meanwhileTo watch and strive they do not pierce the breastThat suckles them in vain." "What meanest thou?"Poppæa asked. "Why, this," the sorcerer said,"Lady Drusilla's interests and her aimsMay not agree. They do not, if her aimsAnd thine, O empress, clash. Her interests,True interests, I mean, she best consultsIn being to her sovereign loyal liege.I serve the subject, when I serve the queen.""'Empress,' thou namest me," Poppæa said."Thou knowest I am not empress." "Yea, I know,"Said Simon, "empress not in name—as yet.""Another," with deep implication saidPoppæa, "that imposing title bears.""Were it not so," with apt intelligence,Made instant answer Simon, "thou wouldst notNeed modestly disclaim the title—thouWho worthily possessest now the power.""Not all the power," Poppæa sagely said;"Some real part of the power is in the name.Help me to win the name, and fix thy price.""My price would be the pleasure I should haveTo see thee sitting, where thy right ere nowHad placed thee, on the half throne of the world"—So Simon with devout obeisance said.Then added: "If the emperor should suspect—But, pardon, thou hast asked me nothing yet.""I ask thee now, speak freely out to meAll that is in thy mind," Poppæa said."If then, I say, the emperor should suspect—Of course with ground for the suspicion (thatWell understood, no innocent to be wronged)"—And Simon grinned intolerably a wryInvoluntary grin of import such,So horribly conveyed, that almost she,Poppæa, shuddered in recoil from him—"Suspect, with reason shown, a full supply,That the young partner of his bed and throne,Octavia, is less worthy of his faithThan were to—""Aye, I see, I see," brokePoppæa, her instinctive first recoilQuite overmastered; it was of the flesh,Mere backward creep of muscle and of nerve,Repugnance of the inner spirit none."But to supply the reason—""Shall be mine,"Said Simon, finishing her arrested speech.He undertook at venture in the dark;But to gain time, and to secure access,His present errand, to the emperor,He added, with demure and downcast look:"The ground beneath us now is treacherous;I could with greater freedom utter allThat might be needful in such case as this,To other ear than thine, O empress fair,Or any woman's. Let me, pray thee, seeThe emperor. Thou shalt be well satisfied,I pledge me, with the issue when it comes."So Simon won him clear for then, and went—His way made easy by Poppæa's part;Yet not as with her privity, much lessAs with her favor openly displayed—To his wished waiting on the emperor."Thou art a go-between, I understand,"Abruptly and ambiguously saidThe emperor to Simon. Simon wincedA little, he so little wont to wince.What did it mean? Had Nero overheardThrough some eavesdropper what had just now passedBetween him and Poppæa? Was he vexed?Himself at least was inly vexed to hearThe opprobrious name of 'go-between' applied,Where he had hoped for honor as a mageAnd wielder of weird supernatural power.He wavered, and found nothing to reply."Thou art modest," Nero said, with irony;"But I have heard thy fame, thou needst not blush,Pallas has told me how as go-betweenThou servedst his brother Felix in the East,Finding for him a really royal spouse.I hope thy go-between officiousnessEnded with bringing the devoted pairTogether? Nothing after had to doWith the late parting of the same by death?"Simon was stumbled at such raillery,Uneasily uncertain what it meant.He writhed and wriggled on his feet; but deemedThe emperor best were pleased to have his willOf banter, unreplied to—banter feltAs far too formidable for right zest,Proceeding from a prince, and such a prince!"Wilt ply again thy skill of go-between,And faithfully, for me?" the emperor said.A question fairly asked, which must be met:Could it concern—Poppæa? In such case,The office of the 'go-between'—as pleasedThis jocular young ruler of mankindTo name him ignominiously—might takeA dignity almost imperial on;Simon would frame reply comportably:"If the august will of his majesty,The emperor of the world, should condescendTo make one most unworthy of the graceIn any wise elect ambassadorTo serve the imperial pleasure at what courtSoever of such beauty as were fitTo be assumed for partner of his throne—Why, Simon could but pledge his loyalty,And trust his wonted fortune might not fail.""Thou takest thy pander's part full seriously,"The emperor, bantering still, but curious, said:"Perhaps our grave ambassador of loveMight, from his pregnant wit, even nominateThe court of beauty where befitting wereThe majesty of empire should pay suit.The Roman state impersonate in meGives ear."Played with in such ambiguous wiseSimon was much perplexed to choose his way.He flung himself on rumor, and replied:"The Roman state, embodied in thyselfMost worthily, most worthily has madeIts choice already; mine to serve that choice.""Thou art an oracle; who knows so much,Should needs know more," the emperor teasing said."Advise me, thou who knowest so easilyWhat my choice is, how I may win my choice.Consider that the emperor of the worldIs after all the veriest slave in Rome;The rascal people lord it over him.I have no trouble with the senators,They follow like whipped spaniels at my heels—The reverend 'conscript fathers,' to be sure!But the great Roman people is a spellI am afraid of; I must please the mob,Who will not let me marry as I would;The many-headed monster mob of Rome."The emperor gave his peevish humor vent,Contemptuously regardless of who heard.But Simon was alert and caught his cue."The tyrant mob may easily be fooled,"He said with politic suggestion deep;"Fooled rightly, they will clamor, not against,But for, the emperor's wish." "Open thy thought,Said Nero; "be an oracle indeed—For wisdom; for equivocation, not.""What the imperial wish is," Simon said,"It were impiety in me to guess.But grant it were a prince's natural wishTo change a barren or a faithless spouseFor one more suited to his princely mind,Ways might be found to make his realm agree.""Suppose the case, then; how wouldst thou proceed?"So, as if only idly, Nero asked."Let me suppose a case of faithlessness,"Simon, with study of the emperor's face,Adventured; "that is the more simple sort,More likely, or at least of easier proof.The offended prince reluctantly succumbsTo testimony—whereof the supplyWill manifestly equal the demand"—This with both look and tone sententious said—"He makes his loving people confidantOf his misfortune—which is also theirs—And with one voice they generously cry,'Put her away, and wed a worthy mate.'"The emperor listening sank into a muse,Which Simon as of happy omen took.Nero was deeper than the sorcerer guessed;His muse had really, as that worthy framedHis speech to have it, of Octavia beenAnd of Poppæa in Octavia's room;But for his present prurient whim the youngImperial profligate was fain to makeMisdeem the Jewish pander otherwise.As if Drusilla, not Poppæa, had,Unnamed between them, been that worthier oneOf whom the sorcerer darkly all the timeHad hinted, and whom he himself the whileHad understood him tacitly to mean,Nero now said, rousing from reverie—Ejaculation like soliloquy:"Worthy to be the consort of a king!Perhaps well widowed—for some nobler fateHers by the right of beauty and of wit—Drusilla, thy good mistress, that born queen!Tell her this from the emperor, and askWhen she will let the emperor himselfPay her his personal homage at her court;Some night it needs must be, and in disguise—To fool the prying people as thou saidst.Prove thou thy prowess as ambassador,And bring me speedy word of thy success."The emperor let the sorcerer retire.A little pleased, but disappointed more,Simon his message to his mistress brought.He wreaked his disappointment upon her,By rendering Nero's proffer of himselfIn terms the most offensive to her pride:"Know, O my lady—empress, by just rightOf high ambition and of mettle high—Lucius Domitius Nero Cæsar, proudYoung wearer of the crown that Julius wore—Or would not wear, but three times put it by—Successor to the great Augustus, whoEarth's jarring fragments welded to a whole,And settled order government and peace—Conscious of his own merit, condescendsTo ease his aching shoulders of the weightOf empire by indulging now and thenIn certain little pranks of pleasantry,More lively, as might seem, than dignified.He dons him his disguise and sallying forthGoes roystering through the streets incognito,Attended by a well-becoming routOf boon companions in hilarity—Much to the scandal of good citizens,Specially such as happen to be out;These often get quite tumbled up and downIn the wild frolic of imperial sport.They make the night—these rouses are by night—Merry with jocund laughter, and with songThat would be ribald save that it is sungBy a divine Augustus in his cups.I am permitted, as ambassadorFrom this imperial personage, to bearThee courteous salutations, and to sayThe emperor deems thee worthy to be queen,Thinks thou perhaps wast widowed in good timeTo make thee to a nobler fortune free;Begs thou wilt name the night when he may comeIn person and pay imperial court to thee.""This, Simon, is impudence insufferable,Equal affront to Nero and to me,"Drusilla in a flame of fury said."Thou hast overstepped thy limit jesting so.Repair thy fault forthwith, or suffer for it!Tell me in terms, and without flourishes,What word, if any, the emperor charged thee with."Maliciously unmoved, the sorcerer said:"With some loss doubtless—most regrettable,Granted; yet scarce avoidable, confess—From the august imperial dignityOf the first utterance, I have told thee trueThe message Cæsar bade me bear to thee."Drusilla, with rekindled anger, cried:"Thou hast cruelly misrepresented me,To bring upon me such indignity.In what mistaken terms of complaisance,Tell me—mistaken, or even treacherous—Didst thou present me to his majesty?"Simon, exasperating purposelyBy his cool air of imperturbable,Said: "Madam, it seemed wisest policy—Best suited to avoid that compromiseI knew to be so justly hateful to theeOf dignity and modesty and shame—So I observed a careful reticence,But drew the emperor on from point to pointTo be first—as he was—in mentioning thee."Drusilla's fury now redoubled rose;With blazing eyes she rather hissed than said:"He takes Drusilla to be such as that!Will seek me under cover of the dark!Hark thee!Ito be visited by stealth,The happy finish of a night's carouse!Give him my compliments and tell him, Nay!Bid him by daylight come, in proper state,And bringing with him his empire cast it downA proffered bauble at Drusilla's feet—I will consider of the matter then.Up, go, speed, tell him what I thus have said.I am in haste to wash this stain away,And fling his insult back into his face.He is mighty, he—but I am haughty, I;I am as haughty as he mighty is:I burn in hell until he knows this from me.Thou hangest—wilt not go?—art false to me?Aye, thou art false, or thou hadst out of handTold him thou knewest Drusilla otherwiseThan to dare take her such a word as that!""The emperor should see my lady now,"Said Simon with provoking flattery,Provoking, yet it mollified her mind,And shaped her to receive what he would say—"Yea, but the emperor should behold thee thus—If he would have his beauty spiced with spite,And splendid with a little awfulness.I have never seen thee so the queen before!But, madam, in good sooth and soberness,Behooves that we consider well our way.The emperor is a dangerous man—or god,Thou knowest they deify this personage;It were not wise to tempt him overmuch.Yet I agree thy woman instinct wellAdvises thee to dictate terms to him.Let these be high—agreed; but not too high:Not quite impossible, observe; enough,No more, to give thee value in his eyes."I think of one end that thou mightst subserveBy a condition prior to consent—An end long meditated, and most dear,Not to thee only, but no less to him,Thy well-belovéd consort late. Why notSay to the emperor: 'Give thou me a pledgeBeforehand of thy worthy sentimentsToward thy poor vassal, in this little thing:Put Paul to death and all the curséd crewThat hold with him, exempting not a soul—This do thou first, O emperor august,A very little thing, and see if thenThy will find let in my will; so be IAm honored as befits my quality'—A guardian clause elastic of import,Which thou mayst after construe as thou wilt?Such terms I might obey to bear to him,And they could only heighten his regardOf thee, and more thy hold on him assure.""There was Poppæa sitting by his sideThat day!" Drusilla bitterly exclaimed."And knowest thou by what arts her place she won?"Pressed Simon; "she was not afraid to imposeConditions on her lover; she told him,'Thou must do thus, and thus,' and he admiredHer for her spirit, and succumbed; do thouLikewise, and prove thy right to reign—by reigning.It is not quite so proud to reign, I grantThee, as to spurn; but bend thy pride so much:Spurning is fine, but reigning profits more.""Thou hast well advised, my Simon," with strong qualmsSubdued of pride, and loathing sprung from pride,Drusilla made reply; and Simon leftThe humbled woman to her wretchedness.For she no longer now deceived herself,Or was by Simon deceived, to keep her hopeOf splendid triumph by the emperor's side.Salt tears and bitter, after he had gone,She stained the queenly beauty of her faceWithal and quenched the brilliance of her eyes.Her chalice was of disappointment full;She had sinned, and she was still to sin, in vain:She knew it, but she did not change her choice.Her only comfort in her hour of shameWas that at least a drop of sweet revengeAnd malice gratified might mingle yet—A dash of soothing—in the draught she drank;She yet might see her heart's desire on Paul.What if thou dost, Drusilla! Thou wilt seeThe hated dying, not as one who dies,Rather as one who, borne aloft and crowned,Rides celebrating triumph over death!The while thou seest exalted to the placeThou fain hadst purchased for thyself with crimePoppæa, empress by the emperor throned,Spouse in the room of young Octavia slain.Go, wretched woman, with thy little sonBeside thee, down the valley of the years—Years few and evil, full of many woes—Until thou shalt with him be overwhelmedIn that volcano ruin, thy fit doom!With first obeisance to Poppæa paid(And blithe report to her of progress goodToward what she wished—wanting, he cheerly thought,But one more audience to attain the goal)Simon betook him to the emperor,Who greeted him with: "Well, what, pander? Speak!No parley, no ambages; great affairsAre now engaging me. Is all arranged?What is the night appointed? O, I seeBroad written over all thy countenance,Palter, pretext, delay, to tantalizeForsooth and tease a lover's eagerness.But I am in no mood to be played with;Thou balkest me at thy peril; speak, man, speak!What message does the fair Drusilla send?"Simon came hating with a perilous hate,Hate perilous to himself, the emperorFor all the scorning poured before on him;Now, at such words of scorn more bitter yet,His fierce resentment almost overboreHis fear; it threatened to burst out in flame.But he was prudent and afraid enoughTo smother it—as yet; the deeper burnedIt in his bosom, forced to smoulder there.His hatred and his fear together madeHis wit clear, swift, and ready to command.He dared not fence, and so he answered fair—At some cost to his mistress, more than heForeshadowed in obtaining her consent:"My lady agrees, but does not fix the time.""Agrees, of course agrees," grossly repliedNero; "but when, thou paltering rascal, when?—That is the point thou knowest, and she knows.""Lady Drusilla begs the emperorWill," wily Simon said, "do her the graceTo choose his own time; his choice will be hers.""Beyond just expectation complaisant!"With a placated grin, the emperor said.Simon made thrifty haste not to let slipHis favorable chance precarious;He spoke: "Aye, when thy gracious majestyShalt have appointed death deserved for PaulAnd for the pestilent crew his company,And shalt have signified to her thy leaveTo see the sentence visited on them—The very night which follows that bright dayOf vengeance on the emperor's enemiesShall brighter than that day to her be madeIf she may welcome then as visitantHim who shall so have pledged her his regard.""Ah, so she makes conditions after all,"Clouding his brow, but lightly, Nero said."A woman is a woman," Simon replied,"And queen Drusilla is high-spiritedDoubtless beyond the common; humor her,I pray thee, in this trifle; thou wilt noteHow that, in seeming so to save her prideSomewhat, her dignity, her modesty,She really seeks to serve a public endOf justice and of good imperial fame.""Thou makest her worthy of a throne indeed,"The emperor with indulgent sarcasm said,"With her wise forecast and expansive views.""Faith toward the person of the emperor—Faith, and perhaps some nearer sentiment—Inspires her to be large in statesmanship,"Said Simon—eased a moment in his mindTo be diplomatist in honeyed lies."Tell her I will consult my oracle,"Nero maliciously replied; "and sayMy oracle is a lady, hence will knowBetter than I should dare pretend I canWhat would be fit in such peculiar case.As fountain prime of justice to my realm,I own I have some scruples in this thing—Whether it were ideal right and goodTo barter sentences of life and deathSimply that I may please a lady fair,And be a favored suitor at her court."But I perhaps will toss a die and seeWhat chance will say; chance is a prudent god,And, in his seeming-random way, is rightAs oft as wisdom with his reasons weighed:Besides I can keep on throwing, till the turnPleases my fancy of the moment. Go,Solemn ambassador from court to court,Report what I have said, but give a winkAt end to mean thou guessest all is well."Simon, retiring, soon Poppæa sought,And, with dark hint and indirection, toldHow he had dropped into the emperor's earA seed of such suggestion as, he thought,Would quickly spring and blossom and bear fruitTo the advantage of her dearest wish:It would but need attaint Octavia's faithAs consort of the emperor, and so,By open operation of the law,Set her aside and leave him lorn of wife.The acclamation of the people thenWould join the emperor's own desire to fillOctavia's vacant room with—whom but one?But would Poppæa help him in one thing?He greatly wished to give the emperor proofOf what he could accomplish in his artOf conjuring with weird supernatural powers;He thought his weight as intermediaryIn her behalf would be increased thereby.Poppæa, promising to stir up the mindOf Nero to a proper appetiteFor Simon's thaumaturgy, let him go.While such fruits in the dark were growing ripe,Things in the open looked the self-same way.Stephen, who daily scouted in the worldWithout of Rome, its rumor, its event,Brought thence one day to Paul ill-boding word:"Burrus is dead, that just man; how he died,Whether of sickness, poison, suicide,No man can say—or rather all men say,Some, one thing, some, another; doubtful all.But two men take his place in prefecture,One, Tigellinus—baser none than he:I doubt thou wilt come to feel his heavy hand.Then that vile woman Poppæa, so they say,Has become Jewish proselyte, forsooth.Wherefore? No doubt, colluding with Drusilla—The wicked Simon with his sorcery,And with his office low of go-between,Egging them on—to be Jews good enough,The three together, to act in Shimei's placeAs thine accusers to the emperor.O, my heart sinks in doubt and fear for thee!""It need not, Stephen; my heart is buoyant," PaulSaid to his nephew in calm and firm reply."Nothing can fall out from the order fairOf God's will for His chosen and well-beloved;All things together work for good to them.""All things?" said Stephen; "Lord, increase my faith!"For he hung staggered at the paradox."O, yea, all things, exception none," said Paul.But hardly had been uttered those strong words,When, in the door, rudely burst open, stoodTwo arméd minions of the prefecture."Wanted, for torture on the witness-rack"—One of these spoke in strident tones and hard—"Onesimus, a Phrygian runaway,Slave of the late lord Felix, harbored here.Point out the rogue; we are under strait command,And Tigellinus will brook no delay.Ah, there he is—he has betrayed himself—White as a corpse; were he as innocent!Come, rascal, and cheer thee up, thou art to haveThy Syrus for a fellow on the rack."With rally such, in coarsest irony,They hurried off Onesimus to doom—Scarce time to Paul for breathing in his earTo bid him in the strength of Christ be strong."O, uncle, 'all things' to Onesimus,Him also, in a fearful stead like this?"Said Stephen, in vicarious agony."Would I could take his stead for him!" said Paul."I cannot, but Christ can, and will—nay, did,Then when He suffered all on Calvary.Pray for Onesimus that he his trustWithdraw not from the Lord who thus proves him—And pray for Syrus that his faith fail not.Now, O Lord Jesus, in GethsemaneAnd on the bitter cross of CalvaryThyself so anguished once in that frail fleshThou worest for our sake—that Thou mightst suffer!—Help, help, thy servants in their sudden hour."The soldier that was manacled to PaulWondered, but reverenced, when these things he heard.
Drusilla, eager in uncertain hopeTo meet the pleasure of the emperor,Promptly sent Simon to him as he said.She charged her minion to bend all his craftTo win his mistress way that she in proofUpon that youngster emperor of the worldMight, without let from other present, tryIf for once only what of power was leftHer, after such misfortunes suffered late,To steal possession of the hearts of men."Consider, Simon, what might not I doFor thee, once seated in that place of power?"She with such words and with a subtle smileOf deep insinuation cheered him forth.
But Simon, in an outer anteroomOf the imperial palace with its guards—Many removes from where the emperor was—Long hung in waiting day by day in vain.At length Poppæa, not the emperor,Sent gracious word that she would see that Jew."Thou hadst perhaps forgotten who it was,"The favorite, drunken-fond of power nor lessOf demonstration too of power, began,To dash the sorcerer in his confidence—"Say, hadst thou not forgotten who it wasGave thee for thy Drusilla her desiredAccess to the imperial presence late?"Simon saw what she wanted, and was quickTo humor to the full her proud caprice.He readily commanded to his faceA trouble of confusion and chagrin,And stammered something inarticulate.The merciless Poppæa pressed her point:"Was it to me, or to somebody else,I heard thee offer service of thine art?Methinks thou spokest, or perhaps I dreamed,Of certain potencies thou couldst exertOn my behalf—or some one's—if thou wouldst,To make at need a mind amenableTo reason that might otherwise resist?"
Simon her humor flattered to its height,And artfully grew more and more confusedBefore her, till he judged her satisfiedThat his humiliation was complete.Then, with abject profession of remorseAnd shame that he so far forgot her dueAs to seek audience with the emperorIn any way other than through herself,He humbly asked her what her wish might be;In short, renewed the proffer of himselfTo be her faithful servant all in all.
"But art thou not in prior duty boundTo that Drusilla fair of thine?" she asked."Yea, doubtless," the adroit dissembler said—A protestation of deep loyaltyTo his old mistress, not to be seduced,Commingling strangely in his look and toneWith offer to be serviceable now."Supposing beautiful Drusilla's aimsAnd mine should clash?" Poppæa said. But he:"That were calamity indeed—for her;The far more beautiful must needs prevail.She has perhaps her too aspiring hopes;Her hopes, I own, I have no heart to dash.Let her nurse them; but be it mine meanwhileTo watch and strive they do not pierce the breastThat suckles them in vain." "What meanest thou?"Poppæa asked. "Why, this," the sorcerer said,"Lady Drusilla's interests and her aimsMay not agree. They do not, if her aimsAnd thine, O empress, clash. Her interests,True interests, I mean, she best consultsIn being to her sovereign loyal liege.I serve the subject, when I serve the queen."
"'Empress,' thou namest me," Poppæa said."Thou knowest I am not empress." "Yea, I know,"Said Simon, "empress not in name—as yet.""Another," with deep implication saidPoppæa, "that imposing title bears.""Were it not so," with apt intelligence,Made instant answer Simon, "thou wouldst notNeed modestly disclaim the title—thouWho worthily possessest now the power.""Not all the power," Poppæa sagely said;"Some real part of the power is in the name.Help me to win the name, and fix thy price.""My price would be the pleasure I should haveTo see thee sitting, where thy right ere nowHad placed thee, on the half throne of the world"—So Simon with devout obeisance said.Then added: "If the emperor should suspect—But, pardon, thou hast asked me nothing yet.""I ask thee now, speak freely out to meAll that is in thy mind," Poppæa said."If then, I say, the emperor should suspect—Of course with ground for the suspicion (thatWell understood, no innocent to be wronged)"—And Simon grinned intolerably a wryInvoluntary grin of import such,So horribly conveyed, that almost she,Poppæa, shuddered in recoil from him—"Suspect, with reason shown, a full supply,That the young partner of his bed and throne,Octavia, is less worthy of his faithThan were to—"
"Aye, I see, I see," brokePoppæa, her instinctive first recoilQuite overmastered; it was of the flesh,Mere backward creep of muscle and of nerve,Repugnance of the inner spirit none."But to supply the reason—"
"Shall be mine,"Said Simon, finishing her arrested speech.He undertook at venture in the dark;But to gain time, and to secure access,His present errand, to the emperor,He added, with demure and downcast look:"The ground beneath us now is treacherous;I could with greater freedom utter allThat might be needful in such case as this,To other ear than thine, O empress fair,Or any woman's. Let me, pray thee, seeThe emperor. Thou shalt be well satisfied,I pledge me, with the issue when it comes."
So Simon won him clear for then, and went—His way made easy by Poppæa's part;Yet not as with her privity, much lessAs with her favor openly displayed—To his wished waiting on the emperor.
"Thou art a go-between, I understand,"Abruptly and ambiguously saidThe emperor to Simon. Simon wincedA little, he so little wont to wince.What did it mean? Had Nero overheardThrough some eavesdropper what had just now passedBetween him and Poppæa? Was he vexed?Himself at least was inly vexed to hearThe opprobrious name of 'go-between' applied,Where he had hoped for honor as a mageAnd wielder of weird supernatural power.He wavered, and found nothing to reply.
"Thou art modest," Nero said, with irony;"But I have heard thy fame, thou needst not blush,Pallas has told me how as go-betweenThou servedst his brother Felix in the East,Finding for him a really royal spouse.I hope thy go-between officiousnessEnded with bringing the devoted pairTogether? Nothing after had to doWith the late parting of the same by death?"
Simon was stumbled at such raillery,Uneasily uncertain what it meant.He writhed and wriggled on his feet; but deemedThe emperor best were pleased to have his willOf banter, unreplied to—banter feltAs far too formidable for right zest,Proceeding from a prince, and such a prince!
"Wilt ply again thy skill of go-between,And faithfully, for me?" the emperor said.A question fairly asked, which must be met:Could it concern—Poppæa? In such case,The office of the 'go-between'—as pleasedThis jocular young ruler of mankindTo name him ignominiously—might takeA dignity almost imperial on;Simon would frame reply comportably:"If the august will of his majesty,The emperor of the world, should condescendTo make one most unworthy of the graceIn any wise elect ambassadorTo serve the imperial pleasure at what courtSoever of such beauty as were fitTo be assumed for partner of his throne—Why, Simon could but pledge his loyalty,And trust his wonted fortune might not fail."
"Thou takest thy pander's part full seriously,"The emperor, bantering still, but curious, said:"Perhaps our grave ambassador of loveMight, from his pregnant wit, even nominateThe court of beauty where befitting wereThe majesty of empire should pay suit.The Roman state impersonate in meGives ear."
Played with in such ambiguous wiseSimon was much perplexed to choose his way.He flung himself on rumor, and replied:"The Roman state, embodied in thyselfMost worthily, most worthily has madeIts choice already; mine to serve that choice.""Thou art an oracle; who knows so much,Should needs know more," the emperor teasing said."Advise me, thou who knowest so easilyWhat my choice is, how I may win my choice.Consider that the emperor of the worldIs after all the veriest slave in Rome;The rascal people lord it over him.I have no trouble with the senators,They follow like whipped spaniels at my heels—The reverend 'conscript fathers,' to be sure!But the great Roman people is a spellI am afraid of; I must please the mob,Who will not let me marry as I would;The many-headed monster mob of Rome."The emperor gave his peevish humor vent,Contemptuously regardless of who heard.
But Simon was alert and caught his cue."The tyrant mob may easily be fooled,"He said with politic suggestion deep;"Fooled rightly, they will clamor, not against,But for, the emperor's wish." "Open thy thought,Said Nero; "be an oracle indeed—For wisdom; for equivocation, not.""What the imperial wish is," Simon said,"It were impiety in me to guess.But grant it were a prince's natural wishTo change a barren or a faithless spouseFor one more suited to his princely mind,Ways might be found to make his realm agree.""Suppose the case, then; how wouldst thou proceed?"So, as if only idly, Nero asked."Let me suppose a case of faithlessness,"Simon, with study of the emperor's face,Adventured; "that is the more simple sort,More likely, or at least of easier proof.The offended prince reluctantly succumbsTo testimony—whereof the supplyWill manifestly equal the demand"—This with both look and tone sententious said—"He makes his loving people confidantOf his misfortune—which is also theirs—And with one voice they generously cry,'Put her away, and wed a worthy mate.'"The emperor listening sank into a muse,Which Simon as of happy omen took.
Nero was deeper than the sorcerer guessed;His muse had really, as that worthy framedHis speech to have it, of Octavia beenAnd of Poppæa in Octavia's room;But for his present prurient whim the youngImperial profligate was fain to makeMisdeem the Jewish pander otherwise.As if Drusilla, not Poppæa, had,Unnamed between them, been that worthier oneOf whom the sorcerer darkly all the timeHad hinted, and whom he himself the whileHad understood him tacitly to mean,Nero now said, rousing from reverie—Ejaculation like soliloquy:"Worthy to be the consort of a king!Perhaps well widowed—for some nobler fateHers by the right of beauty and of wit—Drusilla, thy good mistress, that born queen!Tell her this from the emperor, and askWhen she will let the emperor himselfPay her his personal homage at her court;Some night it needs must be, and in disguise—To fool the prying people as thou saidst.Prove thou thy prowess as ambassador,And bring me speedy word of thy success."The emperor let the sorcerer retire.
A little pleased, but disappointed more,Simon his message to his mistress brought.He wreaked his disappointment upon her,By rendering Nero's proffer of himselfIn terms the most offensive to her pride:"Know, O my lady—empress, by just rightOf high ambition and of mettle high—Lucius Domitius Nero Cæsar, proudYoung wearer of the crown that Julius wore—Or would not wear, but three times put it by—Successor to the great Augustus, whoEarth's jarring fragments welded to a whole,And settled order government and peace—Conscious of his own merit, condescendsTo ease his aching shoulders of the weightOf empire by indulging now and thenIn certain little pranks of pleasantry,More lively, as might seem, than dignified.He dons him his disguise and sallying forthGoes roystering through the streets incognito,Attended by a well-becoming routOf boon companions in hilarity—Much to the scandal of good citizens,Specially such as happen to be out;These often get quite tumbled up and downIn the wild frolic of imperial sport.They make the night—these rouses are by night—Merry with jocund laughter, and with songThat would be ribald save that it is sungBy a divine Augustus in his cups.I am permitted, as ambassadorFrom this imperial personage, to bearThee courteous salutations, and to sayThe emperor deems thee worthy to be queen,Thinks thou perhaps wast widowed in good timeTo make thee to a nobler fortune free;Begs thou wilt name the night when he may comeIn person and pay imperial court to thee."
"This, Simon, is impudence insufferable,Equal affront to Nero and to me,"Drusilla in a flame of fury said."Thou hast overstepped thy limit jesting so.Repair thy fault forthwith, or suffer for it!Tell me in terms, and without flourishes,What word, if any, the emperor charged thee with."Maliciously unmoved, the sorcerer said:"With some loss doubtless—most regrettable,Granted; yet scarce avoidable, confess—From the august imperial dignityOf the first utterance, I have told thee trueThe message Cæsar bade me bear to thee."Drusilla, with rekindled anger, cried:"Thou hast cruelly misrepresented me,To bring upon me such indignity.In what mistaken terms of complaisance,Tell me—mistaken, or even treacherous—Didst thou present me to his majesty?"Simon, exasperating purposelyBy his cool air of imperturbable,Said: "Madam, it seemed wisest policy—Best suited to avoid that compromiseI knew to be so justly hateful to theeOf dignity and modesty and shame—So I observed a careful reticence,But drew the emperor on from point to pointTo be first—as he was—in mentioning thee."
Drusilla's fury now redoubled rose;With blazing eyes she rather hissed than said:"He takes Drusilla to be such as that!Will seek me under cover of the dark!Hark thee!Ito be visited by stealth,The happy finish of a night's carouse!Give him my compliments and tell him, Nay!Bid him by daylight come, in proper state,And bringing with him his empire cast it downA proffered bauble at Drusilla's feet—I will consider of the matter then.Up, go, speed, tell him what I thus have said.I am in haste to wash this stain away,And fling his insult back into his face.He is mighty, he—but I am haughty, I;I am as haughty as he mighty is:I burn in hell until he knows this from me.Thou hangest—wilt not go?—art false to me?Aye, thou art false, or thou hadst out of handTold him thou knewest Drusilla otherwiseThan to dare take her such a word as that!"
"The emperor should see my lady now,"Said Simon with provoking flattery,Provoking, yet it mollified her mind,And shaped her to receive what he would say—"Yea, but the emperor should behold thee thus—If he would have his beauty spiced with spite,And splendid with a little awfulness.I have never seen thee so the queen before!But, madam, in good sooth and soberness,Behooves that we consider well our way.The emperor is a dangerous man—or god,Thou knowest they deify this personage;It were not wise to tempt him overmuch.Yet I agree thy woman instinct wellAdvises thee to dictate terms to him.Let these be high—agreed; but not too high:Not quite impossible, observe; enough,No more, to give thee value in his eyes.
"I think of one end that thou mightst subserveBy a condition prior to consent—An end long meditated, and most dear,Not to thee only, but no less to him,Thy well-belovéd consort late. Why notSay to the emperor: 'Give thou me a pledgeBeforehand of thy worthy sentimentsToward thy poor vassal, in this little thing:Put Paul to death and all the curséd crewThat hold with him, exempting not a soul—This do thou first, O emperor august,A very little thing, and see if thenThy will find let in my will; so be IAm honored as befits my quality'—A guardian clause elastic of import,Which thou mayst after construe as thou wilt?Such terms I might obey to bear to him,And they could only heighten his regardOf thee, and more thy hold on him assure."
"There was Poppæa sitting by his sideThat day!" Drusilla bitterly exclaimed."And knowest thou by what arts her place she won?"Pressed Simon; "she was not afraid to imposeConditions on her lover; she told him,'Thou must do thus, and thus,' and he admiredHer for her spirit, and succumbed; do thouLikewise, and prove thy right to reign—by reigning.It is not quite so proud to reign, I grantThee, as to spurn; but bend thy pride so much:Spurning is fine, but reigning profits more.""Thou hast well advised, my Simon," with strong qualmsSubdued of pride, and loathing sprung from pride,Drusilla made reply; and Simon leftThe humbled woman to her wretchedness.
For she no longer now deceived herself,Or was by Simon deceived, to keep her hopeOf splendid triumph by the emperor's side.Salt tears and bitter, after he had gone,She stained the queenly beauty of her faceWithal and quenched the brilliance of her eyes.Her chalice was of disappointment full;She had sinned, and she was still to sin, in vain:She knew it, but she did not change her choice.Her only comfort in her hour of shameWas that at least a drop of sweet revengeAnd malice gratified might mingle yet—A dash of soothing—in the draught she drank;She yet might see her heart's desire on Paul.
What if thou dost, Drusilla! Thou wilt seeThe hated dying, not as one who dies,Rather as one who, borne aloft and crowned,Rides celebrating triumph over death!The while thou seest exalted to the placeThou fain hadst purchased for thyself with crimePoppæa, empress by the emperor throned,Spouse in the room of young Octavia slain.Go, wretched woman, with thy little sonBeside thee, down the valley of the years—Years few and evil, full of many woes—Until thou shalt with him be overwhelmedIn that volcano ruin, thy fit doom!With first obeisance to Poppæa paid(And blithe report to her of progress goodToward what she wished—wanting, he cheerly thought,But one more audience to attain the goal)Simon betook him to the emperor,Who greeted him with: "Well, what, pander? Speak!No parley, no ambages; great affairsAre now engaging me. Is all arranged?What is the night appointed? O, I seeBroad written over all thy countenance,Palter, pretext, delay, to tantalizeForsooth and tease a lover's eagerness.But I am in no mood to be played with;Thou balkest me at thy peril; speak, man, speak!What message does the fair Drusilla send?"
Simon came hating with a perilous hate,Hate perilous to himself, the emperorFor all the scorning poured before on him;Now, at such words of scorn more bitter yet,His fierce resentment almost overboreHis fear; it threatened to burst out in flame.But he was prudent and afraid enoughTo smother it—as yet; the deeper burnedIt in his bosom, forced to smoulder there.His hatred and his fear together madeHis wit clear, swift, and ready to command.He dared not fence, and so he answered fair—At some cost to his mistress, more than heForeshadowed in obtaining her consent:"My lady agrees, but does not fix the time.""Agrees, of course agrees," grossly repliedNero; "but when, thou paltering rascal, when?—That is the point thou knowest, and she knows.""Lady Drusilla begs the emperorWill," wily Simon said, "do her the graceTo choose his own time; his choice will be hers.""Beyond just expectation complaisant!"With a placated grin, the emperor said.Simon made thrifty haste not to let slipHis favorable chance precarious;He spoke: "Aye, when thy gracious majestyShalt have appointed death deserved for PaulAnd for the pestilent crew his company,And shalt have signified to her thy leaveTo see the sentence visited on them—The very night which follows that bright dayOf vengeance on the emperor's enemiesShall brighter than that day to her be madeIf she may welcome then as visitantHim who shall so have pledged her his regard."
"Ah, so she makes conditions after all,"Clouding his brow, but lightly, Nero said."A woman is a woman," Simon replied,"And queen Drusilla is high-spiritedDoubtless beyond the common; humor her,I pray thee, in this trifle; thou wilt noteHow that, in seeming so to save her prideSomewhat, her dignity, her modesty,She really seeks to serve a public endOf justice and of good imperial fame.""Thou makest her worthy of a throne indeed,"The emperor with indulgent sarcasm said,"With her wise forecast and expansive views.""Faith toward the person of the emperor—Faith, and perhaps some nearer sentiment—Inspires her to be large in statesmanship,"Said Simon—eased a moment in his mindTo be diplomatist in honeyed lies.
"Tell her I will consult my oracle,"Nero maliciously replied; "and sayMy oracle is a lady, hence will knowBetter than I should dare pretend I canWhat would be fit in such peculiar case.As fountain prime of justice to my realm,I own I have some scruples in this thing—Whether it were ideal right and goodTo barter sentences of life and deathSimply that I may please a lady fair,And be a favored suitor at her court.
"But I perhaps will toss a die and seeWhat chance will say; chance is a prudent god,And, in his seeming-random way, is rightAs oft as wisdom with his reasons weighed:Besides I can keep on throwing, till the turnPleases my fancy of the moment. Go,Solemn ambassador from court to court,Report what I have said, but give a winkAt end to mean thou guessest all is well."
Simon, retiring, soon Poppæa sought,And, with dark hint and indirection, toldHow he had dropped into the emperor's earA seed of such suggestion as, he thought,Would quickly spring and blossom and bear fruitTo the advantage of her dearest wish:It would but need attaint Octavia's faithAs consort of the emperor, and so,By open operation of the law,Set her aside and leave him lorn of wife.The acclamation of the people thenWould join the emperor's own desire to fillOctavia's vacant room with—whom but one?But would Poppæa help him in one thing?He greatly wished to give the emperor proofOf what he could accomplish in his artOf conjuring with weird supernatural powers;He thought his weight as intermediaryIn her behalf would be increased thereby.Poppæa, promising to stir up the mindOf Nero to a proper appetiteFor Simon's thaumaturgy, let him go.
While such fruits in the dark were growing ripe,Things in the open looked the self-same way.Stephen, who daily scouted in the worldWithout of Rome, its rumor, its event,Brought thence one day to Paul ill-boding word:"Burrus is dead, that just man; how he died,Whether of sickness, poison, suicide,No man can say—or rather all men say,Some, one thing, some, another; doubtful all.But two men take his place in prefecture,One, Tigellinus—baser none than he:I doubt thou wilt come to feel his heavy hand.Then that vile woman Poppæa, so they say,Has become Jewish proselyte, forsooth.Wherefore? No doubt, colluding with Drusilla—The wicked Simon with his sorcery,And with his office low of go-between,Egging them on—to be Jews good enough,The three together, to act in Shimei's placeAs thine accusers to the emperor.O, my heart sinks in doubt and fear for thee!""It need not, Stephen; my heart is buoyant," PaulSaid to his nephew in calm and firm reply."Nothing can fall out from the order fairOf God's will for His chosen and well-beloved;All things together work for good to them.""All things?" said Stephen; "Lord, increase my faith!"For he hung staggered at the paradox."O, yea, all things, exception none," said Paul.
But hardly had been uttered those strong words,When, in the door, rudely burst open, stoodTwo arméd minions of the prefecture."Wanted, for torture on the witness-rack"—One of these spoke in strident tones and hard—"Onesimus, a Phrygian runaway,Slave of the late lord Felix, harbored here.Point out the rogue; we are under strait command,And Tigellinus will brook no delay.Ah, there he is—he has betrayed himself—White as a corpse; were he as innocent!Come, rascal, and cheer thee up, thou art to haveThy Syrus for a fellow on the rack."With rally such, in coarsest irony,They hurried off Onesimus to doom—Scarce time to Paul for breathing in his earTo bid him in the strength of Christ be strong.
"O, uncle, 'all things' to Onesimus,Him also, in a fearful stead like this?"Said Stephen, in vicarious agony."Would I could take his stead for him!" said Paul."I cannot, but Christ can, and will—nay, did,Then when He suffered all on Calvary.Pray for Onesimus that he his trustWithdraw not from the Lord who thus proves him—And pray for Syrus that his faith fail not.Now, O Lord Jesus, in GethsemaneAnd on the bitter cross of CalvaryThyself so anguished once in that frail fleshThou worest for our sake—that Thou mightst suffer!—Help, help, thy servants in their sudden hour."
The soldier that was manacled to PaulWondered, but reverenced, when these things he heard.
The two slaves, Onesimus and Syrus, bear their torture with constancy, refusing to testify otherwise than in grateful praise of Paul. The emperor, at Seneca's prompting, has secretly overheard their testimony, and, obeying a caprice of justice and of pity, he follows a further hint from Seneca to let Paul go free under bond to appear again when formal accusation shall be laid against him from Jerusalem. Paul thus released sends home to Holy Land the friends that had thence accompanied him to Rome, and accomplishes his last missionary tours, with Luke only for companion.
Meantime Drusilla, in a desperate hope revived by the rumored fall from imperial favor of Poppæa, sends Simon once more to secure for his mistress the long-postponed meeting with Nero. Simon plays Drusilla false and pretends to the emperor that she had indulgently sent him, Simon, to sue on his own behalf for the privilege of practising his art in the palace. Nero agrees that he may do this on condition that he shall first have secured from his mistress fresh consent to receive an imperial visit in her house. Simon, stung by the emperor's scorn of him, had wrought himself up to the temerity of attempting to play on Nero's guilty conscience by an exhibition that should bring up before the tyrant a dreadful recollection of one of his own most heinous crimes. The result proves suddenly fatal to Simon.
Paul, brought back in due time for trial, becomes the victim not only of enmity openly working under legal forms against him, but of secret intrigue for unholy personal purposes on the emperor's part. Condemned to die, after having been permitted first to speak in his own defence, the apostle is led to a suburb of Rome, and there beheaded. Luke, enjoined thereto by Paul, gives to his kindred and friends in Palestine an account of the end, of which he was eye-witness.
THE END.