John G. Neihardt - The d**h of Agrippina - Part I lyrics

I [The courtyard of the Imperial villa at Baiae. A moonlit night in late March. Occupying the left hand 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 man's 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 swoon Of languid pa**ion. Never fairer craft Flung the green rustle of her skirts abaft And wooed the dwindling leagues! Anicetus. A boat's a boat! And were she thrice the fairest keel afloat, Tonight she founders, sinks - make sure of that! Captain. And all to drown one lean imperial cat With claws and teeth too sharp despite the purr! Ah, scan the graceful woman lines of her! Fit for the male Wind's love is she - alas! Scuttled and buried in a sea of gla** By her own master! It will cause 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 fail To crown the wish of Caesar with the deed. Captain. Aye, master! [Exit Captain toward sea.] Anicetus. And no brazen wound shall bleed Red scandal over Rome; the nosing mob Shall sniff no poison. Just a gulping sob And some few bubbles breaking on the swell - Then, good night, Agrippina, rest you well! And may the gods revamp the silly fish With guts of bra** for coping with that dish! [A muffled outburst of laughter in dining hall. Anicetus turns toward window. Uproar dies out.] They're drinking deep - the banquet's at its height And all therein are kings and queens tonight. [Goes to urn, mounts it and peers in at window.] A merry crew! Quite drunk, quite drunk, I fear, My noble Romans! - Burrus' eyes are blear! One goblet hence, good Burrus, you will howl! E'en Seneca sits staring like an owl And strives to pilot in some heavy sea That wisdom-laden boat, his head. Ah me, Creperius Gallus, you are floundering deep In red Falernian bogs, so you shall sleep Quite soundly while your mistress takes the dip! Fair Acerronia thinks the place a ship And greenly sickens in the dizzy roll! There broods Poppaea, certain of her goal, Her veil a sea-fog clutching at the moon, A portent to wise sailors! Very soon The sea shall wake in hunger and be fed! 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! [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 colour 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 endeavours 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 't was, Lucius - you remember? - When Claudius' spirit like a smouldering ember Struggled 'twixt flame and ash - do you forget? Nero. Ha ha - 't was snuffed - ho ho! Agrippina. [Stroking his hair.] 'T was then I set The imperial circlet here; 't was 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? Agrippina. It all comes back like an enchanted tale - The moon set and the sun rose - Nero. Dead and gone - The sun set and the moon rose - Agrippina. Nay, at dawn The blear flame died, the new flame blossomed up. Nero. Did someone drop a poison in my cup? The windless sea crawls moaning - [They move slowly down steps, Nero clinging to his mother.] Agrippina. Son of mine, Cast off the evil humours 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 none are left to shed! I live - I live - I live! And I was dead. Nero. [Clinging closer.] Dead - dead - what ails the sea - 'tis going red - [Laughter in banquet hall.] Who's laughing? - Mother - scourge them from the place! Who gave the moon Poppaea's dizzy face To fright the sea? Agrippina. 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 was here. [Placing hand on heart.] Nero. [Staring into his mother's eyes.] Too harsh perhaps - Agrippina. Yea, so we mothers err: Too long we see our babies as they were, And last of all the world confess them tall. They stride so far - we shudder lest they fall - They toddle yet. And she who bears a son Shall be two women ever after; one The fountain of a seaward cooing stream, And one the shrouded virgin of a dream Whom no man wooes, whose heart, a muted lyre, Pines with a wild but unconfessed desire For him who - never understands, my son! I'll be all fountain - k** that other one! Nero. That other one - Agrippina. Oh, like a wind of Spring Wooing the sere grave of a buried thing, Your summons came! Such happy tendrils creep Out of me, in that old ache rooted deep, To blossom sunward greener for the sorrow. And, O my Emperor, if on the morrow Your heart could soften toward that gentle one, That frail white lily pining for the sun, Octavia, your patient little wife, Smile, smile upon that flower and give it life! Make of my Lucius emperor in truth, Not Pa**ion's bondman! 'T is 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! 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 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 pa** out toward the sea, Nero caressing his mother. The guests now throng down the steps into the courtyard. They are in various states of intoxication. Many are dressed to represent mythological figures: Fauns and Satyrs; Bacchus crowned with grape leaves, wearing a leopard skin on his shoulders: six Bacchantes; Psyche with wings; Luna in a spangled tunic with silver horns in her hair; Mercury with winged sandals and the caduceus; Neptune in an emerald robe, crowned and bearing the trident; Iris rainbow-clad; Silenus. Some are dressed in brilliant oriental garments. There are Senators in broad bordered togas with 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 torch-bearers. Some of the guests depart in the litters. The music continues in the banquet hall.] Neptune. [Staggering against Luna.] Who'd be a sailor when great Neptune staggers Dashed in the Moon's face! - Calm me, gentle Luna, And silver me with kisses! Luna. [Fleeing from his outstretched arms, but regarding him invitingly over her shoulder.] Fie, you wine-skin! A hiccough's not a tempest! Lo, I glide, Treading a myriad stars! [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! [Those near laugh.] First Senator. [To Second Senator.] Was Nero acting, think you? Second Senator. Not at all. 'Twas staged, no doubt, but - First Senator. Softly, lest they hear! Second Senator. The mimic is in mimicry sincere - The role absorbed the actor. So he wept. [They pa** 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 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 - Praetorian. Sh! Psyche. - strutting in a cloak Of what she has not, virtue! Praetorian. Ha! You joke! All cloaks are ruses, fashioned to reveal What all possess, pretending to conceal - Who'd love a Psyche, else? [They pa** on.] Iris. [To a Satyr who supports her.] A clever wile Her veil is! Ah, we women must beguile The stupid male by seeming to withhold What's dross, displayed, but, guarded well, is gold! Faugh! Hunger sells it and the carter buys! Satyr. Consume me with the lightning of her eyes! She's Aphrodite! Iris. Helen! Satyr. Helen, then! A peep behind that veil, and once again The sword-flung music of the fighting men, Voluptuous ruin and wild battle joy, 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! Satyr. [Laughing.] You're jealous! Iris. No, I rend the veil in twain! [They mingle with the throng.] Silenus. [To a Naval Officer.] The wind veers and the moon seems on the wane! What bodes it - reinstatement for the Queen? Naval Officer. No seaman knows the wind and moon you mean; Yet land were safer when those signs concur! [They pa** on.] Mercury. [To a Bacchante.] 'T would rouse compa**ion in a toad, and stir A wild boar's heart with pity! Bacchante. [Placing a warning hand on his mouth.] Hush! Beware! Mercury. Could you not feel the hidden gorgon stare, The venom of her laughter dripping slow? [The musicians from within having followed the departing throng from the banquet hall, and having stationed themselves on the steps, now strike up a wild Bacchic air.] Bacchus. [Swinging into the dance.] Bacchantes, wreathe the dance! Bacchantes. [From various parts of the throng.] Io, Bacche! Io! [Pirouetting to the music, they a**emble, circling about Bacchus, joining hands and singing. When the song is finished, the circle breaks, the dancers wheel, facing outward. Bacchus endeavours 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 dying out. 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 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 Grey 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 d**h folds her and she cannot come. Vague, gaping mouths that hunger and are dumb Mumble the tired heart so ripe with woe, Where night is but a black wind breathing low And daylight filters like a ghostly rain! O Mother! Mother! Mother! - [With arms extended, he stares seaward a moment, then covers his face, turns, and walks slowly toward entrance of villa.] Vain, 'tis vain! How shall one move an ocean with regret? [He has reached the steps and pauses.] Ah, one hope lives in all this bleakness yet. Song! - Mighty Song the hurt of life a**uages! 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, strung Harplike, endure till this last song be sung, Then break - then break - [Turns and mounts the steps.] Oh Fate, to be a bard! The way is hard, the way is very hard! [A dim outburst of laughter from the revellers in the distance.]