AGRIPPINA

(The courtyard of the Imperial villa at Baiae. A moonlit night in late March. Occupying the left half of background is seen a portion of the villa. A short, broad flight of steps leads through the arched doorway to a pillared hall beyond, vague, but seeming vast in the uncertain lights that flicker in the draught. To the right of the doorway is a broad open window at the height of a mans head from the courtyard. An urn stands near window in the shadow to the right. From within harp music is heard threading the buzzing merriment of a banquet that is being given to celebrate Nero’s reconciliation with his mother. To the right of stage a glimpse of the moonlit sea is caught through trees.)

(Enter from left walking toward the sea, Anicetus and the Captain of a galley.)

Captain

(Pointing toward sea.)

Yon lies the galley weltering in the moon.A fair ship!—like a lady in a swoonOf languid passion. Never fairer craftFlung the green rustle of her skirts abaftAnd wooed the dwindling leagues!

Yon lies the galley weltering in the moon.

A fair ship!—like a lady in a swoon

Of languid passion. Never fairer craft

Flung the green rustle of her skirts abaft

And wooed the dwindling leagues!

Anicetus

A boat’s a boat!And were she thrice the fairest keel afloatTonight she founders, sinks—make sure of that!

A boat’s a boat!

And were she thrice the fairest keel afloat

Tonight she founders, sinks—make sure of that!

Captain

And all to drown one lean imperial catWith claws and teeth too sharp despite the purr!Ah, scan the graceful woman lines of her!Fit for the male Wind’s love is she—alas!Scuttled and buried in a sea of glassBy her own master! It will cost me pain.Better a night of lightning-riven rainWith hell-hounds baying in the driven gloom!

And all to drown one lean imperial cat

With claws and teeth too sharp despite the purr!

Ah, scan the graceful woman lines of her!

Fit for the male Wind’s love is she—alas!

Scuttled and buried in a sea of glass

By her own master! It will cost me pain.

Better a night of lightning-riven rain

With hell-hounds baying in the driven gloom!

Anicetus

The will of Nero is her wind of doom—Woe to the seaman who defies that gale!Go now—make ready that we may not failTo crown the wish of Caesar with the deed.

The will of Nero is her wind of doom—

Woe to the seaman who defies that gale!

Go now—make ready that we may not fail

To crown the wish of Caesar with the deed.

Captain

Aye, Master!

(Exit Captain toward sea.)

Anicetus

And no brazen wound shall bleedRed scandal over Rome; the nosing mobShall sniff no poison. Just a gulping sobAnd some few bubbles breaking on the swell—Then, good night, Agrippina, rest you well!And may the gods revamp the silly fishWith guts of brass for coping with that dish!

And no brazen wound shall bleed

Red scandal over Rome; the nosing mob

Shall sniff no poison. Just a gulping sob

And some few bubbles breaking on the swell—

Then, good night, Agrippina, rest you well!

And may the gods revamp the silly fish

With guts of brass for coping with that dish!

(A muffled outburst of laughter in banquet hall.Anicetus turns toward window. Uproar dies out.)

They’re drinking deep—the banquet’s at its heightAnd all therein are kings and queens tonight.

They’re drinking deep—the banquet’s at its height

And all therein are kings and queens tonight.

(Goes to urn, mounts it and peers in at window.)

A merry crew! Quite drunk, quite drunk I fear,My noble Romans!—Burrus’ eyes are blear!One goblet hence, good Burrus, you will howl!E’en Seneca sits staring like an owlAnd strives to pilot in some heavy seaThat wisdom-laden boat, his head. Ah me,Creperius Gallus, you are floundering deepIn red Falernian bogs, so you shall sleepQuite soundly while your mistress takes the dip!Fair Acerronia thinks the place a shipAnd greenly sickens in the dizzy roll!There broods Poppaea, certain of her goal,Her veil a sea-fog clutching at the moon,A portent to wise sailors! Very soonThe sea shall wake in hunger and be fed!She smiles!—the glimmer on a thunderheadThat vomits ruin!—What has made her smile?Ah, Nero’s wine is sugared well with guile!So—kiss your mother—gently fondle her—Pet the old she-cat till she mew and purrUnto the tender hand that strokes her back:So shall there be no sniffing at the sack!Would that her eyes, like his, with wine were dim!Gods! What a tragic actor died in himTo make a comic Caesar!I surmiseBy the too rheumy nature of your eyes,Divine imperial Nero, and their sunkLugubrious aspect—pardon!—but you’re drunk,Drunk as a lackey when the master’s out!O kingly tears that down that regal snoutPour salty love upon a mother’s breast!So shall her timid doubts be lulled to rest!

A merry crew! Quite drunk, quite drunk I fear,

My noble Romans!—Burrus’ eyes are blear!

One goblet hence, good Burrus, you will howl!

E’en Seneca sits staring like an owl

And strives to pilot in some heavy sea

That wisdom-laden boat, his head. Ah me,

Creperius Gallus, you are floundering deep

In red Falernian bogs, so you shall sleep

Quite soundly while your mistress takes the dip!

Fair Acerronia thinks the place a ship

And greenly sickens in the dizzy roll!

There broods Poppaea, certain of her goal,

Her veil a sea-fog clutching at the moon,

A portent to wise sailors! Very soon

The sea shall wake in hunger and be fed!

She smiles!—the glimmer on a thunderhead

That vomits ruin!—What has made her smile?

Ah, Nero’s wine is sugared well with guile!

So—kiss your mother—gently fondle her—

Pet the old she-cat till she mew and purr

Unto the tender hand that strokes her back:

So shall there be no sniffing at the sack!

Would that her eyes, like his, with wine were dim!

Gods! What a tragic actor died in him

To make a comic Caesar!

I surmise

By the too rheumy nature of your eyes,

Divine imperial Nero, and their sunk

Lugubrious aspect—pardon!—but you’re drunk,

Drunk as a lackey when the master’s out!

O kingly tears that down that regal snout

Pour salty love upon a mother’s breast!

So shall her timid doubts be lulled to rest!

(Bustle within as of many rising to their feet.)

They rise! The prologue’s ended—now the play!

(He gets down from urn and goes off toward sea.)

Heralds

(Crying within.)

Make way for Caesar! Ho!Make way! Make way!

Make way for Caesar! Ho!

Make way! Make way!

(The musicians within strike up a martial strain. After a few moments, within the hall appear Nero and Agrippina, arm in arm, approaching the flight of steps. Nero is robed in a tunic of the color of amethyst, with a winged harp embroidered on the front. He is crowned with a laurel wreath, now askew in his disordered hair. Agrippina wears a robe of maroon without decoration. Nero endeavors to preserve the semblance of supporting his mother, but in fact is supported by her, while he caresses her with considerable extravagance. They pause half way down the steps, and the music within changes to a low melancholy air.)

Agrippina

(Lifting her face to the moon seaward.)

How fair a moon to crown our happy revel!

Nero

(Gazing blankly at the moon.)

Eh? Veil the hussy!

Agrippina

Son, son!

Nero

She’s a devil!

Agrippina

(Placing a loving arm closer about Nero.)

Just such a night ‘twas, Lucius—you remember?—When Claudius’ spirit like a smouldering emberStruggled ‘twixt flame and ash—do you forget?

Just such a night ‘twas, Lucius—you remember?—

When Claudius’ spirit like a smouldering ember

Struggled ‘twixt flame and ash—do you forget?

Nero

Ha ha—‘twas snuffed—ho ho!

Agrippina

(Stroking his hair.)

‘Twas then I setThe imperial circlet here; ‘twas then I cloakedMy boy with world-robes!

‘Twas then I set

The imperial circlet here; ‘twas then I cloaked

My boy with world-robes!

Nero

(Still staring at moon and pointing unsteadily.)

Have that vixen choked!Her staring makes me stagger—where’s her veil?

Have that vixen choked!

Her staring makes me stagger—where’s her veil?

Agrippina

It all comes back like an enchanted tale—The moon set and the sun rose—

It all comes back like an enchanted tale—

The moon set and the sun rose—

Nero

Dead and gone—The sun set and the moon rose—

Dead and gone—

The sun set and the moon rose—

Agrippina

Nay, at dawnThe blear flame died, the new flame blossomed up.

Nay, at dawn

The blear flame died, the new flame blossomed up.

Nero

Did someone drop a poison in my cup?The windless sea crawls moaning—

Did someone drop a poison in my cup?

The windless sea crawls moaning—

(They move slowly down stairs, Nero clinging to his mother.)

Agrippina

Son of mine,Cast off the evil humors of the wine!I am so happy and was so forlorn!Ah, not another night since you were bornHas flung such purple through me! Son—at lastThe haggard hours that parted us are past;I’ve wept my tears and have no more to shed!I live—I live—I live! And I was dead.

Son of mine,

Cast off the evil humors of the wine!

I am so happy and was so forlorn!

Ah, not another night since you were born

Has flung such purple through me! Son—at last

The haggard hours that parted us are past;

I’ve wept my tears and have no more to shed!

I live—I live—I live! And I was dead.

Nero

(Clinging closer.)

Dead—dead—what ails the sea—‘tis going red—

(Laughter in banquet hall.)

Who’s laughing?—Mother—scourge them from the place!Who gave the moon Poppaea’s dizzy faceTo scare the sea?

Who’s laughing?—Mother—scourge them from the place!

Who gave the moon Poppaea’s dizzy face

To scare the sea?

Agrippina

Your message gave me life!Ah, Lucius, not for us to mar with strifeA world so made for loving!Lucius dear,I was too harsh, perhaps; the fault is here.

Your message gave me life!

Ah, Lucius, not for us to mar with strife

A world so made for loving!

Lucius dear,

I was too harsh, perhaps; the fault is here.

(Places hand on heart.)

Nero

(Staring into his mother’s eyes.)

Too harsh perhaps—

Agrippina

Yea, so we mothers err:Too long we see our babies as they were,And last of all the world confess them tall.They stride so far—we shudder lest they fall—They toddle yet.And she who bears a sonShall be two women ever after; oneThe fountain of a seaward cooing stream,And one the shrouded virgin of a dreamWhom no man wooes, whose heart, a muted lyre,Pines with a wild but unconfessed desireFor him who—never understands, my son!I’ll be all fountain—kill that other one!

Yea, so we mothers err:

Too long we see our babies as they were,

And last of all the world confess them tall.

They stride so far—we shudder lest they fall—

They toddle yet.

And she who bears a son

Shall be two women ever after; one

The fountain of a seaward cooing stream,

And one the shrouded virgin of a dream

Whom no man wooes, whose heart, a muted lyre,

Pines with a wild but unconfessed desire

For him who—never understands, my son!

I’ll be all fountain—kill that other one!

Nero

That other one—

Agrippina

Oh, like a wind of SpringWooing the sere grave of a buried thing,Your summons came! Such happy tendrils creepOut of me, in that old ache rooted deep,To blossom sunward greener for the sorrow.And, O my Emperor, if on the morrowYour heart could soften toward that gentle one,That frail white lily pining for the sun,Octavia, your patient little wife,Smile, smile upon that flower and give it life!Make of my Lucius emperor in truth,Not Passion’s bondman!‘Tis the way of youthTo drive wild stallions with too slack a reinToward fleeing goals no fleetness can attain!Oh splendid speed that fails for lack of fear!The grip of iron makes the charioteer!The lyric fury heeds the master beatAnd is the freer for its shackled feet!You who are Law shall be more free than othersBy seeming less so, Lucius.

Oh, like a wind of Spring

Wooing the sere grave of a buried thing,

Your summons came! Such happy tendrils creep

Out of me, in that old ache rooted deep,

To blossom sunward greener for the sorrow.

And, O my Emperor, if on the morrow

Your heart could soften toward that gentle one,

That frail white lily pining for the sun,

Octavia, your patient little wife,

Smile, smile upon that flower and give it life!

Make of my Lucius emperor in truth,

Not Passion’s bondman!

‘Tis the way of youth

To drive wild stallions with too slack a rein

Toward fleeing goals no fleetness can attain!

Oh splendid speed that fails for lack of fear!

The grip of iron makes the charioteer!

The lyric fury heeds the master beat

And is the freer for its shackled feet!

You who are Law shall be more free than others

By seeming less so, Lucius.

Nero

Best of mothers,Tomorrow—yes, tomorrow—Mother, stay!You must not go so far, so far away!

Best of mothers,

Tomorrow—yes, tomorrow—Mother, stay!

You must not go so far, so far away!

Agrippina

Only to Bauli.

(They have reached the extreme right of stage. The guests now begin to come out of banquet hall, scattering a rippling laughter. Nero is aroused by the merry sound, looks back, gathers himself together with a start.)

Nero

Ah! The moon is bright!The sea is still! We’ll banquet every night,Shall we not, Mother?Certain cares of stateWeigh heavily—‘tis awful to be great—Nay, terrible at times! Can I be ill?It seemed the sea moaned—yet ‘tis very still!Mother, my Mother—kiss me! Let us goDown to the galley—so.

Ah! The moon is bright!

The sea is still! We’ll banquet every night,

Shall we not, Mother?

Certain cares of state

Weigh heavily—‘tis awful to be great—

Nay, terrible at times! Can I be ill?

It seemed the sea moaned—yet ‘tis very still!

Mother, my Mother—kiss me! Let us go

Down to the galley—so.

(They pass out toward the sea, Nero caressing his mother. The guests now throng down the steps into the courtyard. They are in various states of intoxication. Many are dressed to represent mythological figures: Fauns and Satyrs; Bacchus crowned with grape leaves, wearing a leopard skin on his shoulders; six Bacchantes; Psyche with wings; Luna in a spangled tunic with silver horns in her hair; Mercury with winged sandals and the caduceus; Neptune in an emerald robe, crowned and bearing the trident; Iris, rainbow-clad; Silenus. Some are dressed in brilliant oriental garments. There are Senators in broad bordered togaswith half moons embroidered on their sandals; Pages dressed as Cupids and infant Bacchi; Officers of the Praetorian Guard in military uniform. Turbaned, half nude Numidian slaves, with bronze rings in their ears, come trotting in with litters, attended by torchbearers. Some of the guests depart in the litters. The music continues in banquet hall.)

Neptune

(Staggering against Luna.)

Who’d be a sailor when great Neptune staggersDashed in the Moon’s face!—Calm me, gentle Luna,And silver me with kisses!

Who’d be a sailor when great Neptune staggers

Dashed in the Moon’s face!—Calm me, gentle Luna,

And silver me with kisses!

Luna

(Fleeing from his outstretched arms, but regarding him invitingly over her shoulder.)

Fie, you wine-skin!A hiccough’s not a tempest! Lo, I glide,Treading a myriad stars!

Fie, you wine-skin!

A hiccough’s not a tempest! Lo, I glide,

Treading a myriad stars!

(Neptune follows with a rolling gait.)

A Satyr

(Looking after them as they disappear.)

Roll, eager Tide!Methinks ere long the wooing moon shall fall!

Roll, eager Tide!

Methinks ere long the wooing moon shall fall!

(Those near laugh.)

First Senator

(To Second Senator.)

Was Nero acting, think you?

Second Senator

Not at all.‘Twas staged, no doubt, but—

Not at all.

‘Twas staged, no doubt, but—

First Senator

Softly, lest they hear!

Second Senator

The mimic is in mimicry sincere—Therôleabsorbed the actor. So he wept.

The mimic is in mimicry sincere—

Therôleabsorbed the actor. So he wept.

(They pass on, talking low.)

A Praetorian Officer

(To Psyche leaning on his arm.)

Was it a vision, Psyche? Have I slept?By the pink-nippled Cyprian, I swearOur Caesar knows a woman! Gods! That hair!Spun from the bowels of Ophir!

Was it a vision, Psyche? Have I slept?

By the pink-nippled Cyprian, I swear

Our Caesar knows a woman! Gods! That hair!

Spun from the bowels of Ophir!

Psyche

Who’s so fair?

Praetorian

Poppaea!

Psyche

She?—A Circe, queen of hogs!A cross-road Hecate, bayed at by the dogs!A morbid Itch—

She?—A Circe, queen of hogs!

A cross-road Hecate, bayed at by the dogs!

A morbid Itch—

Praetorian

Sh!

Psyche

—strutting in a cloakOf what she has not, virtue!

—strutting in a cloak

Of what she has not, virtue!

Praetorian

Ha! You joke!All cloaks are ruses, fashioned to revealWhat all possess, pretending to conceal—Who’d love a Psyche else?

Ha! You joke!

All cloaks are ruses, fashioned to reveal

What all possess, pretending to conceal—

Who’d love a Psyche else?

(They pass on.)

Iris

(To a Satyr who supports her.)

A clever wileHer veil is! Ah, we women must beguileThe stupid male by seeming to withholdWhat’s dross, displayed, but, guarded well, is gold!Faugh! Hunger sells it and the carter buys!

A clever wile

Her veil is! Ah, we women must beguile

The stupid male by seeming to withhold

What’s dross, displayed, but, guarded well, is gold!

Faugh! Hunger sells it and the carter buys!

Satyr

Consume me with the lightning of her eyes!She’s Aphrodite!

Consume me with the lightning of her eyes!

She’s Aphrodite!

Iris

Helen!

Satyr

Helen, then!A peep behind that veil, and once againThe sword-flung music of the fighting men,Voluptuous ruin and wild battle joy,The swooning ache and rapture that was Troy!Delirious doom!

Helen, then!

A peep behind that veil, and once again

The sword-flung music of the fighting men,

Voluptuous ruin and wild battle joy,

The swooning ache and rapture that was Troy!

Delirious doom!

Iris

(Laughing.)

O Sorcery of Night!We’re all one woman in the morning light!

O Sorcery of Night!

We’re all one woman in the morning light!

Satyr

(Laughing.)

You’re jealous!

Iris

No, I rend the veil in twain!

(They mingle with the throng.)

Silenus

(To a Naval Officer.)

The wind veers and the moon seems on the wane!What bodes it—reinstatement for the Queen?

The wind veers and the moon seems on the wane!

What bodes it—reinstatement for the Queen?

Naval Officer

No seaman knows the wind and moon you mean;Yet land were safer when those signs concur!

No seaman knows the wind and moon you mean;

Yet land were safer when those signs concur!

(They pass on.)

Mercury

(To a Bacchante.)

‘Twould rouse compassion in a toad, and stirA wild boar’s heart with pity!

‘Twould rouse compassion in a toad, and stir

A wild boar’s heart with pity!

Bacchante

(Placing a warning hand on his mouth.)

Hush! Beware!

Mercury

Could you not feel the hidden gorgon stareThe venom of her laughter dripping slow?

Could you not feel the hidden gorgon stare

The venom of her laughter dripping slow?

(The musicians from within, having followed the departing throng from the banquet hall, and having stationed themselves on the steps, now strike up a wild Bacchic air.)

Bacchus

(Swinging into the dance.)

Bacchantes, wreathe the dance!

Bacchantes

(From various parts of the throng.)

Io, Bacche! Io!

(Pirouetting to the music, they assemble, circling about Bacchus, joining hands and singing. When the song is finished, the circle breaks, the dancers wheel, facing outward. Bacchus endeavors to kiss a Bacchante who regards him with head thrown back. The dance music becomes more abandoned, and the Bacchante flees, pursued by Bacchus, who reels as he dances. All the other Bacchantes follow, weaving in and out between pursuer and pursued. The throng laughingly makes way for them. At length the pursued Bacchante flings off in a mad whirl toward the grove in the background, followed by Bacchus and the Bacchantes. Fauns and Satyrs now take up the dance and join in the pursuit. The throng follows eagerly, enjoying the spectacle. All disappear among the trees. Laughter in the distance, growing dimmer. The musicians withdraw into the villa and disappear, their music dyingout. The lights go out in the banquet hall. The stage is now lit by the moon alone, save for the draughty lamps within the pillared hall.

After a period of silence, re-enter Nero, walking backward from the direction of the sea toward which he gazes.)

Nero

Dimmer—dimmer—dimmer—A shadow melting in a moony shimmerDown the bleak seaways dwindling to that shoreWhere no heaved anchor drips forevermoreNor winds breathe music in the homing sail:But over sunless hill and fruitless vale,Gaunt spectres drag the age-long discontentAnd ponder what this brief, bright moment meant—The loving—and the dreaming—and the laughter.Ah, ships that vanish take what never afterReturning ships may carry.Dawn shall flare,Make bloom the terraced gardens of the airFor all the world but Lucius. He shall seeThe haunted hollow of InfinityGray in the twilight of a heart’s eclipse.With our own wishes woven into whipsThe jealous gods chastise us!—I’m alone!About the transient brilliance of my throneThe giddy moths flit briefly in the glow;But when at last that light shall flicker low,A taper guttering in a gust of doom,What hand shall grope for Nero’s in the gloom,What fond eyes shed the fellows of his tears?She bore her heart these many troublous yearsBefore me, like a shield. And she is dead.Her hand ‘twas set the crown upon my head;Her heart’s blood dyed the kingly robe for me.Dank seaweed crowns her, and the bitter seaEnshrouds with realmless purple!Round and round,Swirled in the endless nightmare of the drowned,Her fond soul gropes for something vaguely dearThat lures, eludes forever. Shapes that leer,Distorted Neros of a tortured sleep,Cry “Mother, come to Baiae.” Deep on deepThe green death folds her and she can not come.Vague, gaping mouths that hunger and are dumbMumble the tired heart so ripe with woe,Where night is but a black wind breathing lowAnd daylight filters like a ghostly rain!O Mother! Mother! Mother!—

Dimmer—dimmer—dimmer—

A shadow melting in a moony shimmer

Down the bleak seaways dwindling to that shore

Where no heaved anchor drips forevermore

Nor winds breathe music in the homing sail:

But over sunless hill and fruitless vale,

Gaunt spectres drag the age-long discontent

And ponder what this brief, bright moment meant—

The loving—and the dreaming—and the laughter.

Ah, ships that vanish take what never after

Returning ships may carry.

Dawn shall flare,

Make bloom the terraced gardens of the air

For all the world but Lucius. He shall see

The haunted hollow of Infinity

Gray in the twilight of a heart’s eclipse.

With our own wishes woven into whips

The jealous gods chastise us!—I’m alone!

About the transient brilliance of my throne

The giddy moths flit briefly in the glow;

But when at last that light shall flicker low,

A taper guttering in a gust of doom,

What hand shall grope for Nero’s in the gloom,

What fond eyes shed the fellows of his tears?

She bore her heart these many troublous years

Before me, like a shield. And she is dead.

Her hand ‘twas set the crown upon my head;

Her heart’s blood dyed the kingly robe for me.

Dank seaweed crowns her, and the bitter sea

Enshrouds with realmless purple!

Round and round,

Swirled in the endless nightmare of the drowned,

Her fond soul gropes for something vaguely dear

That lures, eludes forever. Shapes that leer,

Distorted Neros of a tortured sleep,

Cry “Mother, come to Baiae.” Deep on deep

The green death folds her and she can not come.

Vague, gaping mouths that hunger and are dumb

Mumble the tired heart so ripe with woe,

Where night is but a black wind breathing low

And daylight filters like a ghostly rain!

O Mother! Mother! Mother!—

(With arms extended, he stares seaward a moment, then covers his face, turns, and walks slowly toward entrance of villa.)

Vain, ‘tis vain!How shall one move an ocean with regret?

Vain, ‘tis vain!

How shall one move an ocean with regret?

(He has reached the steps and pauses.)

Ah, one hope lives in all this bleakness yet.Song!—Mighty Song the hurt of life assuages!This fateful night shall fill the vaulted agesWith starry grief, and men unborn shall singThe mournful measure of the Ancient King!I’ll write an ode!

Ah, one hope lives in all this bleakness yet.

Song!—Mighty Song the hurt of life assuages!

This fateful night shall fill the vaulted ages

With starry grief, and men unborn shall sing

The mournful measure of the Ancient King!

I’ll write an ode!

(He stands for a moment, glorified with the thought.)

Great heart of Nero, strungHarplike, endure till this last song be sung,Then break—then break—

Great heart of Nero, strung

Harplike, endure till this last song be sung,

Then break—then break—

(Turns and mounts the steps.)

Oh Fate, to be a bard!The way is hard, the way is very hard!

Oh Fate, to be a bard!

The way is hard, the way is very hard!

(A dim outburst of laughter from the revellers in the distance.)

(The same night. Nero’s private chamber in his villa at Baiae. Nero is discovered asleep in his state robes on a couch, where he has evidently thrown himself down, overcome by the stupor incident to the feast of the night. Beside the couch is a writing stand, bearing writing materials. A few lights burn dimly. Nero groans, cries out, and, as though terrifiedby a nightmare, sits up, trembling and staring upon some projected vision of his sleep. He is yet only half awake.)

Nero

Oh—oh—begone, blear thing!—She is not dead!You are not she—my mother!—Ghastly head—Trunkless—and oozing green gore like the sea,Wind-stabbed! Begone! Go—do not look at me—I will not be so tortured!—Eyes burned outWith scorious hell-spew!—Locks that grope aboutTo clutch and strangle!

Oh—oh—begone, blear thing!—She is not dead!

You are not she—my mother!—Ghastly head—

Trunkless—and oozing green gore like the sea,

Wind-stabbed! Begone! Go—do not look at me—

I will not be so tortured!—Eyes burned out

With scorious hell-spew!—Locks that grope about

To clutch and strangle!

(He has got up from the couch and now struggles with something at his throat, still staring at the thing.)

Off! Off!

(In an outburst of terrified tenderness extends his arms as toward a woman.)

Mother—mother—comeInto these arms—speak to me—be not dumb!Stare not so wildly—kiss me as of old!Be flesh again—warm flesh! Oh green and coldAs the deep grave they gave you!‘Twas not I!Mother, ‘twas not my will that you should die—‘Twas hers!—I hate her! Mother, pity me!Oh, is it you?—Sole goddess of the seaI shall proclaim you! Pity! I shall pourThe hot blood of your foes on every shore,A huge libation! Hers shall be the first!I swear it! May my waking be accursed,My sleep a-swarm with furies if I err!

Mother—mother—come

Into these arms—speak to me—be not dumb!

Stare not so wildly—kiss me as of old!

Be flesh again—warm flesh! Oh green and cold

As the deep grave they gave you!

‘Twas not I!

Mother, ‘twas not my will that you should die—

‘Twas hers!—I hate her! Mother, pity me!

Oh, is it you?—Sole goddess of the sea

I shall proclaim you! Pity! I shall pour

The hot blood of your foes on every shore,

A huge libation! Hers shall be the first!

I swear it! May my waking be accursed,

My sleep a-swarm with furies if I err!

(He has advanced a short distance toward what he sees, but now shrinks back burying his face in his robe.)

Go!—Spare me!—Guards! Guards!

(Three soldiers, who have been standing guard without the chamber, rush in and stand at attention.)

Seize and shackle her!There ‘tis!—eh?

Seize and shackle her!

There ‘tis!—eh?

(He stares blankly, rubs his eyes.)

It is gone!

(Blinks at soldiers, and cries petulantly.)

What do you here?

First Soldier

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