Octavia: Act I

Octavia: Now doth the flushing dawn from heaven driveThe wandering stars; the sun mounts into sightWith radiant beams, and brings the world once moreThe light of day. Up, then, my heavy soul,With grievous cares o'erburdened, and resumeThy woe; out-wail the sea-bred Halcyons,And those sad birds of old Pandion's house;For this thy lot is heavier far than theirs.O mother, constant source of tears to me,Hear now thy woeful daughter's sad complaints,If aught of sense remains among the shades.Oh, that the grizzly Clotho long ago,With her own hand had clipt my thread of life!Through blinding tears I saw thy bleeding wounds,Thy features sprinkled with defiling blood.Oh, light of day, abhorrent to my eyes!From that dread hour I hate the day's pure lightMore than the night's dark gloom; for daily nowMust I endure a cruel stepdame's rule,Must daily bear her hateful looks and words.She, she the baleful fury fiend it wasWho at my marriage rites bore torches litWith hellish fires; 'twas she who wrought thy death,O wretched father, whom but yesterdayThe whole world owned as lord on land and sea;To whom the Britain bowed, though ne'er beforeHad he a Roman master known or owned.Alas, my father, by thy wife's fell plotsThou liest low, and I and all thy houseLike captives groan beneath the tyrant's sway.

Nurse [entering]: Who stands in wonder, smitten by the glossAnd splendor of a princely court, amazedAt sight of easy-won prosperity,Let him behold how, at the stroke of fate,The house of Claudius is overthrown,To whose control the world was subjugate,Whose rule an ocean, long to sway unknown,Obeyed, and bore our ships with subject will.Lo, he, who first the savage Britains curbed,And filled an unknown ocean with his fleet,And passed in safety 'mid barbaric tribes--By his own wife's impiety was slain.And she is destined by her son to fall,Whose hapless brother lies already slainBy poison's hand, whose sister-wife aloneIs left to mourn. Nor may she hide her grief,By bitter wrath impelled to speak. She shunsHer cruel lord's society, and, firedWith equal hate, with mutual loathing burns.Our pious faithfulness in vain consolesHer grieving heart; her cruel woes rejectOur aid; the noble passion of her soulWill not be ruled, but grows on ills renewed.Alas, my fears forebode some desperate deed,Which may the gods forbid!

Octavia [heard speaking from within her chamber]: O fate of mine,that can no equal know!Thy woes, Electra, were no match for these;For thou couldst soothe with tears the grief thou hadstFor thy dear father's fall; thou couldst avengeThe murder by thy brother's ready hand,Who by thy piety was saved from death,And whom thy faith concealed. But me base fearForbids to weep my parents reft awayBy cruel fate; forbids to weep the deathOf him, my brother, who my sole hope was,My fleeting comfort of so many woes.And now, surviving but to suffer still,I live, the shadow of a noble name.

Nurse: Behold, the voice of my sad foster-childFalls on my list'ning ears. Slow steps of age,Why haste ye not within her chamber there?

Octavia: Within thy bosom let me weep, dear nurse,Thou ever trusty witness of my grief.

Nurse: What day shall free thee from thy woes, poor child?

Octavia: The day that sends me to the Stygian shades.

Nurse: May heaven keep such dark omens far away!

Octavia: 'Tis not thy prayers, but fate that shapes my life.

Nurse: But God will bring thy life to better days.Do thou but be appeased, and win thy lordWith mild obedience.

Octavia: I'll sooner tameThe savage lion's heart, the tiger's rage,Than curb that brutal tyrant's cruel soul.He hates all sons of noble blood, and godsAnd men he sets at naught; nor can he bearThat high estate to which along the pathsOf shameful crime his impious mother led;For though it shames him now, ungrateful one,To hold the scepter which his mother gave;And though by death he has requited her:Still will the glory of the empire wonBelong to her for centuries to come.

Nurse: Restrain these words that voice thy raging heart,And check thy tongue's too rash and thoughtless speech.

Octavia: Though I should bear what may be borne, my woes,Save by a cruel death, could not be ended.For, since my mother was by murder slain,And my father taken off by crime most foul,Robbed of my brother, overwhelmed with woe,Oppressed with sadness, by my husband scorned,Degraded to the level of my slave,I find this life no more endurable.My heart doth tremble, not with fear of death,But slander base, employed to work my death.Far from my name and fate be that foul blot.For death itself--Oh, 'twould be sweet to die;For 'tis a punishment far worse than death,To live in contact with the man I loathe,To see the tyrant's face all passion puffed,And fierce with rage, to kiss my deadliest foe.That I should fear his nod, obey his will,My grief, resentful, will not suffer me,Since by his hand my brother was destroyed,Whose kingdom he usurps, and boasts himselfThe author of that shameful deed. How oftBefore my eyes does that sad image come,My brother's ghost, when I have gone to rest,And sleep has closed my eyelids faint with tears!Now in his weakling hand he brandishesThe smoking torch, and violently assailsHis brother to his face; now, trembling sore,He flees for refuge to my sheltering arms.His foe pursues, and, as his victim clingsConvulsively to me, he thrusts his swordWith murderous intent through both our sides.Then, all a-tremble, do I start awake,And in my waking sense renew my fear.Add to these cares a rival, arrogant,Who queens it in the spoils of this our house;At whose behest the mother was enticedTo that fell ship which should have carried herTo Orcus' depths; but when o'er ocean's wavesShe triumphed, he, than ocean's waves more harshAnd pitiless, despatched her with the sword.Amid such deeds, what hopes of peace have I?O'erblown with hate, triumphant, doth my rivalWithin my very chamber's hold defy me;With deadly malice doth she blaze against me,And as the price of her adulterous sweets,Doth she demand that he, my husband, giveMy life, his lawful wife's, in sacrifice.Oh, rise thou, father, from the gloomy shades,And help thy daughter who invokes thine aid;Or else cleave wide the earth to Stygian depths,And let me plunge at last to shelter there.

Nurse: In vain dost thou invoke thy father's soul,Poor child, in vain; for there among the shadesHe little thinks upon his offspring here;Who, when in life, unto his own true sonPreferred the offspring of another's blood,And to himself in most incestuous bondsAnd rites unhallowed joined his brother's child.From this foul source has flowed a stream of crime:Of murder, treachery, the lust of power,The thirst for blood. Thy promised husband fell,A victim slain to grace that wedding feast,Lest, joined with thee, he should too mighty grow.Oh, monstrous deed! Silanus, charged with crime,Was slain to make a bridal offering,And stained the household gods with guiltless blood.And then this alien comes, Oh, woe is me,And by his mother's wiles usurps the house,Made son-in-law and son to the emperor,A youth of temper most unnatural,To impious crime inclined, whose passion's flameHis mother fanned, and forced thee at the lastIn hated wedlock into his embrace.Emboldened by this notable success,She dared to dream of wider sovereignty.What tongue can tell the changing forms of crime,Her impious hopes, her cozening treacheries,Who seeks the throne along the ways of sin?Then Piety with trembling haste withdrew,And Fury through the empty palace hallsWith baleful tread resounded, and defiledThe sacred images with Stygian brands.All holy laws of nature and of heavenIn mad abandon did she set at naught.She mingled deadly poison for her lord,And she herself by the impious mandate fellOf her own son. Thou too dost lifeless lie,Poor youth, forever to be mourned by us,Ill-starred Britannicus, so late, in life,The brightest star of this our firmament,The prop and stay of our imperial house;But now, Oh, woe is me, a heap of dust,Of unsubstantial dust, a flitting shade.Nay, even thy stepmother's cruel cheeksWere wet with tears, when on the funeral pyreShe placed thy form and saw the flames consumeThy limbs and face fair as the wingéd god's.Octavia: Me, too, he must destroy--or fall by me.

Nurse: But nature has not given thee strength to slay.

Octavia: Yet anguish, anger, pain, distress of soul,The ecstasy of grief will give me strength.

Nurse: Nay, by compliance, rather, win thy lord.

Octavia: That thus he may restore my brother slain?

Nurse: That thou thyself mayst go unscathed of death;That thou by thine own offspring mayst restoreThy father's falling house.

Octavia: This princely houseExpects an heir, 'tis true; but not from me,For I am doomed to meet my brother's fate.

Nurse: Console thy heart with this, that thou art dearUnto the populace, who love thee well.

Octavia: That thought doth soothe, but cannot cure my grief.

Nurse: Their power availeth much.

Nurse: He will regard his wife.

Nurse: But she is scorned by all.

Nurse: She is not yet his wife.

Octavia: But soon will be,And mother of his child, his kingdom's heir.

Nurse: The fire of youthful passion glows at firstWith heat impetuous; but soon abates,And vanishes like flickering tongues of flame.Unhallowed love cannot for long endure;But pure and lasting is the love inspiredBy chaste and wifely faith. She who has daredTo violate thy bed, and hold so longThy husband's heart in thrall, herself a slave,Already trembles lest his fickle loveShall thrust her forth and set a rival there.Subdued and humble, even now she showsHow deep and real her fear; for her, indeed,Shall wingéd Cupid, false and fickle god,Abandon and betray. Though face and formBe passing fair, though beauty vaunt herself,And boast her power, still are her triumphs brief,Her joys a passing dream.Nay, Juno's self,Though queen of heaven, endured such grief as thine,When he, her lord, and father of the gods,Stole from her side to seek in mortal formsThe love of mortal maids. Now, in his need,He dons the snowy plumage of a swan;Now hornéd seems, like a Sidonian bull;And now a glorious, golden shower he falls,And rests within the arms of Danaë.Nor yet is Juno's sum of woe complete:The sons of Leda glitter in the skyIn starry splendor; Bacchus proudly standsBeside his father on Olympus' height;Divine Alcides hath to Hebe's charmsAttained, and fears stern Juno's wrath no more.Her very son-in-law hath he becomeWhom once she hated most. Yet in her heartDeep down she pressed her grief, and wisely won,By mild compliance to his wayward will,Her husband's love again. And now the queen,Secure at last from rivalry, holds swayAlone, within the Thunderer's heart. No more,By mortal beauty smitten, does he leaveHis royal chambers in the vaulted sky.Thou, too, on earth, another Juno art,The wife and sister of our mighty lord.Then be thou wise as she, make show of love,And hide thy crushing sorrows with a smile.

Octavia: The savage seas shall sooner mate with stars,And fire with water, heav'n with gloomy hell,Glad light with shades, and day with dewy night,Than shall my soul in amity consortWith his black heart, most foul and impious:Too mindful I of my poor brother's ghost.And Oh, that he who guides the heavenly worlds,Who shakes the realms of earth with deadly bolts,And with his dreadful thunders awes our minds,Would whelm in fiery death this murderous prince.Strange portents have we seen: the comet dire,Shining with baleful light, his glowing trainFar gleaming in the distant northern sky,Where slow Boötes, numb with arctic frosts,Directs his ponderous wagon's endless rounds.The very air is tainted by the breathOf this destructive prince; and for his sakeThe stars, resentful, threaten to destroyThe nations which so dire a tyrant rules.Not such a pest was impious Typhon huge,Whom earth, in wrath and scorn of heaven, produced.This scourge is more destructive far than he.He is the bitter foe of gods and men,Who drives the heavenly beings from their shrines,And from their native land the citizens;Who from his brother took the breath of life,And drained his mother's blood.And does he live,This guilty wretch, and draw his tainted breath?O Jove, thou high-exalted father, whyDost thou so oft with thine imperial handThy darts invincible at random hurl?Why from his guilty head dost thou withholdThy hand of vengeance? Oh, that he might payFor all his crimes the fitting penalty,This son of deified Domitius,This Nero, heartless tyrant of the world,Which he beneath the yoke of bondage holds,This moral blot upon a noble name!

Nurse: Unworthy he to be thy mate, I know;But, dearest child, to fate and fortune yield,Lest thou excite thy savage husband's wrath.Perchance some god will come to right thy wrongs,And on thy life some happier day will dawn.

Octavia: That may not be. Long since, our ill-starred houseHas groaned beneath the heavy wrath of heaven.That wrath at first my hapless mother felt,Whom Venus cursed with lust insatiate;For she, with heedless, impious passion fired,Unmindful of her absent lord, of us,Her guiltless children, and the law's restraints,In open day another husband wed.To that fell couch avenging Fury cameWith streaming locks and serpents intertwined,And quenched those stolen wedding fires in blood.For with destructive rage, on murder bent,She fired the prince's heart; and at his word,Ah, woe is me, my ill-starred mother fell,And, dying, doomed me to perpetual grief.For after her in quick succession cameHer husband and her son; and this our house,Already falling, was to ruin plunged.

Nurse: Forbear with pious tears to renew thy grief,And do not so disturb thy father's shade,Who for his rage has bitterly atoned.

Chorus [sympathetic with Octavia]: False prove the rumor that oflateTo our ears has come! May its vaunted threatsFall fruitless out and of no avail!May no new wife invade the bedOf our royal prince; may Octavia, bornOf the Claudian race, maintain her rightAnd bear us a son, the pledge of peace,In which the joyful world shall rest,And Rome preserve her glorious name.Most mighty Juno holds the lotBy fate assigned--her brother's mate;But this our Juno, sister, wifeOf our august prince, why is she drivenFrom her father's court? Of what availHer faith, her father deified,Her love and spotless chastity?We, too, of our former master's fameHave been unmindful, and his childAt the hest of cringing fear betrayed.Not so of old: then Rome could boastOf manly virtue, martial blood.There lived a race of heroes thenWho curbed the power of haughty kingsAnd drove them forth from Rome; and thee,O maiden, slain by thy father's hand,Lest thou shouldst in slavery's bonds be held,And lest foul lust its victorious willShould work on thee, did well avenge.Thee, too, a bloody war avenged,O chaste Lucretia; for thou,By the lust of an impious tyrant stained,With wretched hand didst seek to cleanseThose stains by thy innocent blood.Then Tullia with her guilty lord,Base Tarquin, dared an impious deed,Whose penalty they paid; for sheOver the limbs of her murdered sire,A heartless child, drove cruel wheels,And left his corpse unburied there.Such deeds of dire impietyOur age has known, our eyes have seen,When the prince on the mighty Tyrrhene deepIn a fatal bark his mother sent,By guile ensnared.The sailors at his bidding hasteTo leave the peaceful harbor's arms;And soon the rougher waves resoundBeneath their oars, and far awayUpon the deep the vessel glides;When suddenly the reeling barkWith loosened beams yawns open wide,And drinks the briny sea.A mighty shout to heaven goes,With women's lamentations filled,And death stalks dire before the eyesOf all. Each seeks to save himself.Some naked cling upon the planksOf the broken ship and fight the floods,While others swimming seek the shore.But most, alas! a watery deathBy fate awaits. Then did the queenIn mad despair her garments rend;Her comely locks she tore, and tearsFell streaming down her grieving cheeks.At last, with hope of safety gone,With wrath inflamed, by woes o'ercome,"Dost thou, O son, make this return,"She cried, "for that great boon I gave?Such death I merit, I confess,Who bore such monstrous child as thou,Who gave to thee the light of day,And in my madness raised thee highTo Caesar's name and Caesar's throne.Oh, rise from deepest Acheron,My murdered husband, feast thine eyesUpon my righteous punishment;For I brought death to thee, poor soul,And to thy son. See, see, I come,Deep down to meet thy grieving shade;And there, as I have merited,Shall I unburied lie, o'erwhelmedBy the raging sea." E'en as she spoke,The lapping waves broke o'er her lips,And deep she plunged below. AnonShe rises from the briny depths,And, stung by fear of death, she strivesWith frenzied hands to conquer fate;But, spent with fruitless toil at last,She yields and waits the end. But lo,In hearts which in trembling silence watch,Faith triumphs over deadly fear,And to their mistress, spent and wanWith fruitless buffetings, they dareTo lend their aid with cheering wordsAnd helping hands.But what availsTo escape the grasp of the savage sea?By the sword of the son is she doomed to die,Whose monstrous deed posterityWill scarce believe. With rage and griefInflamed, he raves that still she lives,His mother, snatched from the wild sea's jaws,And doubles crime on impious crime.Bent on his wretched mother's death,He brooks no tarrying of fate.His willing creatures work his will,And in the hapless woman's breastThe fatal sword is plunged; but sheTo that fell minister of deathAppeals with dying tongue: "Nay here,Here rather strike the murderous blow,Here sheathe thy sword, deep in the wombWhich such a monster bore."So spake the dying queen, her wordsAnd groans commingling. So at lastThrough gaping wounds her spirit fledIn grief and agony.