Four Tragedies and Octavia

by Seneca

  OCTAVIA: The emperor’s greater.

  NURSE: In time he will respect you as his wife.

  OCTAVIA: Not while his mistress lives; she will prevent it.

  NURSE: No one respects her.

  OCTAVIA: But her husband loves her.

  NURSE: He’s not her husband, nor is she his wife.

  OCTAVIA: She will be soon, and mother of his child.

  NURSE: A young man’s love is hot in its first flush,

  And cools as quickly; in a lawless amour

  ’Tis no more lasting than a puff of smoke;

  His love for a chaste wife will last for ever.

  There was another once1 who dared to steal

  Your husband from your bed, and, though a slave,

  Long ruled her master’s heart; she knew what fall

  She had to fear –

  OCTAVIA: The rise of her successor.

  NURSE: And she, deposed and humble, left behind

  A monument of stone set up to be

  A witness and confession of her fears.

  This other too will find herself disowned

  By the inconstant winged God of Love.

  For all her eminent beauty, proud position,

  Her triumph will be short.

  The Queen of goddesses herself

  Had the like pains to bear:

  The Lord of Heaven, Father of the Gods

  Would borrow many different shapes –

  A flying swan, a horn’d Sidonian bull,

  A falling shower of gold.

  Now Leda has her star in heaven,

  Bacchus his seat beside his father’s throne,

  Alcides lives among the gods

  With Hebe for his wife;

  The wrath of Juno is appeased

  Since he whom once she hated is become

  Her son-in-law.1 That august wife

  Could curb her wrath and learn

  To conquer by compliance.

  Now none but Juno holds

  The Thunderer’s love, no power

  Can move her from her heavenly couch,

  No mortal beauty now

  Tempts Jupiter to leave his court on high.

  You are a Juno upon earth,

  Sister and spouse of the August,

  And you must conquer grief.

  OCTAVIA: Sooner will come the day when raging seas

  Are mingled with the stars, when fire drinks water,

  When heaven’s high pole is sunk in Tartarus,

  When kindly light is one with darkness, day

  With dewy night – sooner than can my heart,

  Which never may forget my brother’s death,

  Be one with my vile husband’s evil soul.

  Would that the ruler of the gods in heaven

  Might send his fire to strike the sinful head

  Of that foul emperor – if he can shake

  The earth with horrid thunder and affright

  Our mortal senses with his sacred fires

  And portents strange: comets and shooting stars

  Have blazed their fiery trail across the sky

  Where cold Boötes stiff with Arctic ice

  Wheels his slow wagon through the march of night.

  Look, how the air of heaven is diseased

  By the infection of this monstrous tyrant’s

  Destroying breath, when over all the world

  Ruled by this evil monarch stars foretell

  Renewed calamities. Less dread attended

  The giant Typhon whom the angry Earth

  Once spawned in spite of mighty Jupiter.

  A far more dangerous monster now, the foe

  Of gods and men, has driven the holy ones

  Out of their temples, banished citizens,

  Taken his brother’s life, and drained the blood

  Of his own mother’s body – and still lives,

  Still looks upon the light, still draws

  His poisonous breath. O Father of mankind!

  How can your royal hand so heedlessly,

  So indiscriminately, hurl your weapons

  Wide of their mark, yet spare a man so guilty?

  May the full forfeit of his crimes be paid

  By this false Nero, this Domitius’ son,

  Whose infamous yoke oppresses all the world,

  Whose sins besmirch the name he bears, Augustus.

  NURSE: I grant he is not fit to be your husband.

  Yet let your destiny, your fortune, rule you,

  Dear child, I beg. Do not excite his anger,

  Which can be terrible. Some god there may be

  Who can avenge your wrongs; some day will dawn.

  OCTAVIA: Too long the anger of the cruel gods

  Has pressed upon my house; Venus at first

  Brought ruin on it, through the fatal error

  Of my ill-fated mother; married once,

  Infatuated by illicit passion,

  She made a second marriage,1 had no thought

  For children or for husband, or for law.

  On that infernal marriage vengeful Fury,

  Her flying locks with serpents bound, attended,

  To snatch the torches from the nuptial chamber

  And quench their fire in blood; ay, she it was

  That spurred the emperor’s heart with savage wrath

  To impious murder. So my hapless mother

  Fell to the sword, and by her death condemned me

  To everlasting anguish; husband too,

  And son, she took down with her to the grave,

  Betrayer and destroyer of our house.

  NURSE: Repeat no more your pious lamentations,

  No longer call upon your mother’s shade;

  She has paid heavily for her offences.

  *

  CHORUS: What new report is this?

  Pray God it be but idle talk,

  As all too often heard before

  And no more worth the hearing.

  Our emperor to take another wife?

  That must not be; his lawful spouse

  Octavia must retain her place

  In her own father’s house.

  And let us pray that she may bear

  A child to pledge our peace,

  The peace of an untroubled world

  In which the honoured name of Rome

  May ever live.

  Queen Juno shares in heaven by right

  Her brother’s bed; shall our Augustus

  Banish from her ancestral house

  His sister wife? What then avail

  True goodness, fatherhood divine,

  Pure virtue and virginity?

  We are to blame; we have betrayed,

  After his death, our emperor’s child,

  To sacrifice her to the fears

  That threatened us. Yet our forefathers knew

  True Roman virtue; they were men

  In whom the seed and blood of Mars still lived.

  They were the men who drove proud kings

  Out of this city. They did well

  When they avenged the dying soul

  Of a pure maiden whom her father slew

  To save her from base servitude,

  To rob vile lust of its unlawful triumph.1

  And, sad Lucretia, for thy sake

  Grim war began, when thou wast wronged

  By a base tyrant’s lust, and died

  By thine own hand. The price was paid

  Not by Tarquinius alone

  For his foul deed, but by his wife2

  Tullia, who mutilated

  Her own dead father’s limbs

  Under her flying chariot wheels,

  Inhuman daughter, and refused his aged corpse

  The rite of funeral fire.

  We in our time have seen

  A son’s iniquity:

  The emperor’s mother lured

  Into a ship devised for death

  On the Tyrrhenian sea.1

  The crew obeyed their orders; made all has
te

  To leave the innocent harbour; plash of oars

  Sang on the waves; the ship sped out to sea,

  There to collapse, timbers falling apart,

  To split, filling with water, and to sink.

  Shouts rise up to the heavens, despairing cries

  Of weeping women. Spectre of terrible death

  Meets every eye; which every man for himself

  Seeks to escape. Some on the wrecked ship’s planks

  Clinging, naked, battle against the waves.

  Some make shift to swim to the nearest shore.

  Many are doomed to drown.

  The emperor’s lady rends her clothes,

  Plucks at her hair, and tears

  Course down her cheeks.

  She saw there was no hope;

  Helpless in her distress, but loud in wrath

  ‘Is this,’ cried she, ‘my son’s reward

  For all that I have given him?

  Is this what I have earned? This ship

  Is my just punishment

  For having mothered such a son,

  For having given him life.… O fool!

  For having made him Caesar, Emperor!

  Lift up your eyes from Acheron,

  My husband, and enjoy the sight

  Of my just punishment!

  Your death, poor wretch, was of my doing;

  Your son’s assassination was my work.

  Unburied now, as I deserve,

  Sunk in the cruel sea,

  I come to join your soul in death.’

  Upon her speaking lips

  The wild waves beat.

  She plunged into the sea, sank down,

  And rose again above the billows.

  Fear forced her hands

  To strive against the surging flood,

  But soon she tired. Yet in her heart

  Remained unspoken hope

  And courage to defy death’s angry face.

  Many there were that rendered gallant aid,

  Though with spent strength,

  Under the onslaught of the sea.

  And while her arms flagged limply

  They bore her up and spoke assuringly.

  For what then, lady, were you saved

  From the destroying sea? You were to die

  By your son’s sword – a deed

  Our sons will shudder to believe

  And after ages for all time

  Think unbelievable.1

  Hearing that she was rescued from the sea

  And still alive, this impious son

  In rage and desperation planned

  A repetition of his villainy.

  In haste to seal his mother’s fate

  He would allow his infamy no pause.

  An underling was sent,

  And did what he was told to do –

  Pierced with a sword his mistress’s breast.

  Then, dying, the unhappy woman

  Implored the murderer to thrust his blade

  Into her belly. ‘Let the sword

  Sink in this womb,’ she cried, ‘this flesh

  That brought so foul a monster forth!’

  And with that word,

  And a last cry of pain, her stricken soul

  From her torn body fled away.

  *

  SENECA: Almighty Fate, why hast thou smiled on me

  With thy deceiving face? Why hast thou raised me

  When I was satisfied with what I had,

  To this high eminence? That I might see

  From this exalted seat how many dangers

  Encompassed me, and from this altitude

  My fall might be the greater? Happier far

  Was my retreat upon the rocky shores

  Of Corsica, removed from envy’s snares.

  My carefree mind, owning no other master,

  Was mine to use for my own chosen studies.1

  My greatest pleasure was to scan the sky,

  That noblest work of the great architect

  Of infinite creation, Mother Nature,

  Marking the motions of the universe,

  The passage of the chariot of the sun,

  The night’s recurring phases, and the moon’s

  Bright orb encircled by the wandering stars,

  The vast effulgence of the shining heavens.

  Is all this glory doomed to age with time

  And perish in blind chaos? Then must come

  Once more upon the world a day of death,

  When skies must fall and our unworthy race

  Be blotted out, until a brighter dawn

  Bring in a new and better generation

  Like that which walked upon a younger world

  When Saturn was the ruler of the sky.1

  That was the age when the most potent goddess,

  Justice, sent down from heaven with Faith divine,

  Governed the human race in gentleness.

  War was unknown among the nations; arms,

  Shrill trumpets, cities guarded by strong walls,

  Were things unheard of; roads were free for all,

  And all earth’s goods were common property.

  Nay, Earth herself was happy to extend

  Her bounteous fertility to all

  Without compulsion, like a joyful parent

  Sure in the trust of her devoted sons.

  But then a second generation rose

  Less gentle than the first; and after that

  A third, gifted with skill for new inventions,

  Yet still controlled by sanctity of law.

  The next, a restless breed, presumed the right

  To hunt wild beasts, to drag the sea with nets

  For fish that sheltered in its lower depths,

  To catch small birds with reed-traps, snare wild game

  With cage or noose, and force the savage bull

  To bear the yoke; then ploughshares first began

  To cleave the yet untroubled earth, which then,

  Affronted, hid her fruit more secretly

  Within her sacred womb. But those base sons

  Spared not to rifle their own mother’s body

  For gold, and that dread iron whence ere long

  They fashioned arms to fit their murderous hands.

  This was the generation that set bounds

  To establish kingdoms; built new-fashioned cities;

  Fought to defend their neighbours’ property,

  Or marched against it, covetous for spoil.

  Then heaven’s brightest star, the maid Astraea,

  Abandoned earth and fled the wicked ways

  And blood-polluted hands of cruel man.

  So over all the world the rage for war

  And greed for gold increased; and last was born

  That most delectable destroyer, Lust,

  Whose power grew greater with the growth of time

  And fatal Folly. Now upon our heads

  The gathered weight of centuries of sin

  Falls like a breaking flood. We are crushed down

  Under our own intolerable age

  When crime is king, impiety let loose,

  And lawless love gives reign to Lechery.

  All-conquering Lust with hands long used to rapine

  Plunders the boundless wealth of all the world

  To squander it for nothing.

  Nero comes,

  With agitated steps and angry look.

  I dread to think what new intent he brings.…

  NERO: Obey your orders; tell some of your men

  To bring me the decapitated heads

  Of Plautus and of Sulla.1

  PREFECT: It shall be done

  Without delay. I’ll to the camp myself.…

  SENECA: Is that just treatment for those nearest to you?

  NERO: Let him be just who has no need to fear.

  SENECA: Best antidote to fear is clemency.

  NERO: A king’s best work is to put enemies down.

  SEN
ECA: Good fathers of the state preserve their sons.

  NERO: Soft-hearted greybeards should be teaching children.

  SENECA: Headstrong young men need to be sent to school.

  NERO: Young men are old enough to know their minds.

  SENECA: May yours be ever pleasing to the gods.

  NERO: I, who make gods, would be a fool to fear them.

  SENECA: The more your power, greater your fear should be.

  NERO: I, thanks to Fortune, may do anything.

  SENECA: Fortune is fickle; never trust her favours.

  NERO: A man’s a fool who does not know his strength.

  SENECA: Justice, not strength, is what a good man knows.

  NERO: Men spurn humility.

  SENECA: They stamp on tyrants.

  NERO: Steel is the emperor’s guard.

  SENECA: Trust is a better.

  NERO: A Caesar should be feared.

  SENECA: Rather be loved.

  NERO: Fear is a subject’s duty.

  SENECA: Duties irk.

  NERO: We order, they obey.

  SENECA: Then give just orders –

  NERO: I shall decide.

  SENECA: – approved by their consent.

  NERO: The sword will win consent.

  SENECA: May heaven forbid!

  NERO: Am I to tolerate conspiracy

  Against my life, and make no retribution?

  To suffer their contempt, and in the end

  Be overthrown? Has banishment put down

  Plautus and Sulla? From remotest exile

  Their unrepentant zeal has furnished arms

  To agents of their plot to murder me.

  If absent outlaws’ hopes can be sustained

  By the enduring favour they command

  Here in the city, nothing but the sword

  Can rid me of suspected enemies.

  My wife is one of them, and she must die,

  Like her dear brother. What stands high, must fall.

  SENECA: Yet to stand high among the eminent,

  To guard the commonwealth, to show compassion

  To the unfortunate, to sheathe the sword,

  To make an end of strife, bring to an age

  Tranquillity, and peace to all the world –

  Is not this good? It is the highest good.

  It is the way to heaven. By this way

  Augustus, our first pater patriae,

  Ascended to the stars, and has his temples

  In which we worship his divinity.

  Yet he had been some time the sport of Fortune

  In many grievous accidents of war

  On land and sea, until he had brought down

  His father’s enemies; on you the goddess

  Has with a willing and a bloodless hand

  Bestowed her sovereignty; placed in your grasp

  The reins of government, made earth and sea

  Your subjects. Then all jealous rivalry