XV
THE STOIC’S DAUGHTER
Scene.—A room in the house of Burrus, Prefect of the Prætorian Guards of Nero. Burrus is discovered in an attitude of despondency.
Enter a Slave
Burrus. Well?
Slave. Caius Petronius would like to speak to you.
Burrus. I will see him.
Enter C. Petronius—Petronius Arbiter, middle-aged, but very elegant
Petronius. Good morning. I’ve come about that dinner. The Emperor quite approves of the list of guests....
Burrus. I don’t suppose you wish me to come now.
Petronius. Why not?
Burrus. Well, after Lucius’s—er—unfortunate escapade——
Petronius. My dear fellow, I assure you that’s not of the slightest consequence. If we had to be responsible for our sons’ misdeeds life would become impossible. As it is, the Emperor, while sympathising with your feelings——
Burrus. Please don’t talk about it. You can understand how inexpressibly painful it is to me.
Petronius. It might have been worse. He might have gone on the stage.
Burrus. The gods spared us that. That would have killed Æmilia.
Petronius. I suppose she feels it dreadfully.
Burrus. It’s not so much the thing she minds, but the family name being dragged into publicity—people making bets——
Petronius. Yes, yes—but there’s nothing to be done. After all, when all’s said and done it is much less degrading to be a gladiator than an actor—or a charioteer. Piso’s nephew is a charioteer, and Tigellinus’s brother appeared on the stage for some charity.
Burrus. I don’t know what the world is coming to.
Petronius. I suppose he’ll drop it immediately. Then I should send him abroad for a little, and the world will forget all about it. These things are forgotten so quickly. After all, boys will be boys. Believe me, young men must sow their wild oats, and the sooner they get it over the better. Well, please give my respects to Æmilia, and I can count on you for certain for the fifteenth?
Burrus. I shall come without fail.
[Exit Petronius.
Enter Æmilia—Burrus’s wife
Æmilia. Well? What did he say?
Burrus. Nothing, practically. The Emperor doesn’t seem to have said anything.
Æmilia. But do you mean to say you haven’t arranged anything?
Burrus. What about? The dinner-party?
Æmilia. Dinner-party, indeed! I mean about Lucius not appearing at the Games again.
Burrus. No, I haven’t. What is there to arrange?
Æmilia. You really are too helpless. You must get him banished, of course—just for a short time.
Burrus. I didn’t like to—but I’ll write to Seneca.
Æmilia. Seneca’s no use. Write to Petronius. He’ll arrange it without any fuss.
Burrus. I hardly like——
Æmilia. If Lucius appears once more in the circus as a gladiator I shall open my veins in my bath.
Burrus. Oh, well, of course, if you insist——
Æmilia. Yes, I do insist.
Enter a Slave
Slave. Lucius, Annæus Seneca, and Annæus Serenus wish to see you.
Burrus. Show them in.
Enter Lucius, A. Seneca, and A. Serenus
[Exit Slave.
Seneca. I’ve only just heard the news, or else I would have come sooner.
Serenus. And I had no idea until Seneca told me.
Burrus. I suppose it’s all over Rome by now.
Seneca. You mustn’t take these things to heart.
Æmilia. It’s all very well for you to talk, Seneca; you haven’t got a son.
Seneca. I would esteem it a privilege to be visited by troubles of this nature. It is only the noblest souls that the gods plague with such disasters in order that, tempered by affliction, the true steel, emerging triumphant from the trial, may serve as an example to mankind.
Serenus. Not being a stoic, Burrus, I take a different view of the incident. I consider that man is born to enjoy himself, and that the opportunities of enjoyment are rare and far between. Life is monotonous. If your son finds a relaxation from the tediousness of existence in fighting as a gladiator, by all means let him continue to do so. It is a profession which calls forth many of the noblest qualities of man.
Æmilia. But think of the family, Serenus. Think of us, of my sisters, my sisters-in-law, my cousins; think of my husband and the harm that it may do him professionally.
Seneca. Vain thoughts, I assure you, Æmilia. A man’s merit depends on the aspirations of his soul and not on the idle gossip of his relations.
Serenus. All one’s relations are liars. It is much better that they should say your son is a gladiator who fights in public—which is true—than that they should say he is a drunkard who drinks in secret, which would be untrue. They would no doubt say that, had they no other food for gossip.
Æmilia. But Lucius never drinks. He had never given us a day’s anxiety until this.
Burrus. He got all the prizes at school.
Æmilia. He was working so hard to become an officer.
Serenus. Ah! Over-education, I see. I assure you the whole matter does not signify.
Æmilia. It is breaking his father’s heart.
Burrus. I shall never hold up my head in public.
Seneca. Come, Burrus, think of Brutus, and what he had to endure from his son.
Serenus. Yes, and think of the many Roman sons who have killed their fathers.
Seneca. In every evil, in every misfortune there is always a seed of consolation. You must, of course, deal kindly with him, but firmly, and I am convinced he will listen to reason.
Æmilia. He wouldn’t listen to us at all. We all tried our best to dissuade him—except his cousin Lesbia. Heartless woman! It was entirely her fault.
Burrus. He shall never cross this threshold again as long as I live.
Seneca. Set a noble example of forgiveness, Burrus, and the world will be grateful to you.
Burrus. I will never set eyes upon him again. He has disgraced himself and his family for ever. There are certain stains of dishonour which can never be effaced.
Enter a Slave
Slave. Paulina, the wife of Seneca, is here. She wishes to speak to you.
Seneca. My wife! What can she want?
Burrus. Show her in.
[Exit Slave.
Enter Paulina
Paulina. Forgive me, Burrus, for forcing my way in—they said you were not at home to any visitors—but it is a matter of life and death—and I must speak to Seneca. (To Seneca) I have been hunting for you the whole morning, and it’s by the merest chance I found out you had come here.
Seneca. What is it?
Paulina. A terrible catastrophe has befallen us.
Seneca. My Greek vases?
Paulina. No, it’s nothing to do with your horrible collections.
Seneca. Then don’t you think we had better go home and discuss the matter in private?
Paulina. No, I want Burrus’s help.
Seneca. What can have happened?
Paulina. It’s Julia.
Seneca. I suppose she’s run away with some one.
Paulina. Oh no; it’s far worse than that.
Seneca. You mean——
Paulina. I don’t mean anything. I mean she has disgraced us all.
Serenus. These little affairs blow over so quickly.
Paulina. But you don’t understand—you will never believe it. The girl has become a Christian.
Seneca. A Christian!
Burrus. No!
Æmilia. My poor Paulina!
Serenus. Curious!
Burrus. She must have been got hold of by the Jews.
Æmilia. They are terribly cunning; and people say they’re everywhere, and yet one doesn’t see them.
Serenus. But surely there is nothing irretrievable about this. As long as nobody knows about it, what does it signify?
Seneca. You don’t understand. It’s a matter of principle; I could not possibly harbour a daughter under my roof whom I knew to be a traitor to the State.
Serenus. It is annoying.
Paulina. But you don’t know the worst: she has gone to prison.
Seneca (very angry). Well, I hope you will let her know that she shall never come back to our home as long as she lives. Her conduct is not only immoral, but it is immodest. It is inspired solely and simply by a passion for self-advertisement. It is this modern craze for publicity which is the ruin of our children; she is bitten by this same passion for notoriety which—you will excuse me saying so, Burrus—led your son to be a gladiator. I call it vulgar, tawdry, Byzantine, hysterical, and essentially un-Roman.
Serenus. But surely, my dear Seneca, nobody can think it amusing to go to prison? Think of the risk.
Seneca. I beg your pardon. People of her class risk nothing. They have got a morbid craze for new sensations.
Serenus. Rather disagreeable sensations, aren’t they? To be eaten by a tiger, for instance?
Seneca. There’s no question of that. It’s only the worst criminals who are treated like that. Am I not right, Burrus?
Burrus. Perfectly. A purely religious offender is immediately released on making the mere outward sign of allegiance to the State. An oath is not even required.
Paulina. Well, that’s just what I’ve come about. The child is in prison, and it appears—it is very foolish and obstinate of her, but Julia always was an obstinate child—that she refuses to fulfil the necessary formality, sacrifice, or whatever it is. So I thought I would come to you, Burrus, and ask you just to say a word to the prison authorities, and then she could be let out—quite quietly, of course. Nobody need know about it.
Burrus. My dear lady, you know how gladly I would do anything in the world to be of use to you. But in this case—and I am sure you will understand—I cannot see my way; indeed it is quite impossible for me to take any action. You see, Petronius’s cousin was released three weeks ago, and smuggled out of the country, and the demagogues got hold of it and complained to the Emperor, who—courting popularity as usual—said it was not to occur again. So you see in what an awkward position we are placed. We can’t make these distinctions simply between people of position and others——
Paulina. But it’s always done.
Burrus. That’s just why it can’t be done this time. The Emperor is extremely annoyed at people of good family having anything to do with those horrible Christians, and he’s determined to stamp this mania out. But all she has got to do is to sacrifice——
Paulina. But you don’t realise how obstinate the girl is.
Enter Lesbia, a lovely gay woman, about 25
Lesbia. Good morning, good morning. I’ve got some places for the Games, and Lucius comes on at three. You must see him fight. He’s too wonderful. And it’s horrible of you not to go and see him, and then they’re going to throw all the Christians to the lions directly afterwards, so you must come.
Curtain.