CÆSONIA [calmly]: No, Caligula. A remedy for asthma.
[A short silence.]
CALIGULA [gazing down at MEREIA]: No matter. It all comes to the same thing in the end. A little sooner, a little later.…
[He goes out hurriedly, still wiping his hands.]
LEPIDUS [in a horrified tone]: What … what shall we do?
CÆSONIA [coolly]: Remove that body to begin with, I should say. It’s rather a beastly sight.
[CHEREA and LEPIDUS drag the body into the wings.]
LEPIDUS [to CHEREA]: We must act quickly.
CHEREA: We’ll need to be two hundred.
[Young SCIPIO enters. Seeing CÆSONIA, he makes as if to leave.]
CÆSONIA: Come.
SCIPIO: What do you want?
CÆSONIA: Come nearer. [She pushes up his chin and looks him in the eyes. A short silence. Then, in a calm, unemotional voice] He killed your father, didn’t he?
SCIPIO: Yes.
CÆSONIA: Do you hate him?
SCIPIO: Yes.
CÆSONIA: And you’d like to kill him?
SCIPIO: Yes.
CÆSONIA [withdrawing her hand]: But—why tell me this?
SCIPIO: Because I fear nobody. Killing him or being killed—either way out will do. And anyhow you won’t betray me.
CÆSONIA: That’s so. I won’t betray you. But I want to tell you something—or, rather, I’d like to speak to what is best in you.
SCIPIO: What’s best in me is—my hatred.
CÆSONIA: Please listen carefully to what I’m going to say. It may sound hard to grasp, but it’s as clear as daylight, really. And it’s something that would bring about the one real revolution in this world of ours, if people would only take it in.
SCIPIO: Yes? What is it?
CÆSONIA: Wait! Try to call up a picture of your father’s death, of the agony on his face as they were tearing out his tongue. Think of the blood streaming from his mouth, and recall his screams, like a tortured animal’s.
SCIPIO: Yes.
CÆSONIA: And now think of Caligula.
SCIPIO [his voice rough with hatred]: Yes.
CÆSONIA: Now listen. Try to understand him.
[She goes out, leaving SCIPIO gaping after her in bewilderment. HELICON enters.]
HELICON: Caligula will be here in a moment. Suppose you go for your meal, young poet?
SCIPIO: Helicon, help me.
HELICON: Too dangerous, my lamb. And poetry means nothing to me.
SCIPIO: You can help me. You know … so many things.
HELICON: I know that the days go by—and growing boys should have their meals on time … I know, too, that you could kill Caligula … and he wouldn’t greatly mind it.
[HELICON goes out. CALIGULA enters.]
CALIGULA: Ah, it’s you, Scipio. [He pauses. One has the impression that he is somewhat embarrassed.] It’s quite a long time since I saw you last. [Slowly approaches SCIPIO.] What have you been up to? Writing more poems, I suppose. Might I see your latest composition?
SCIPIO [likewise ill at ease, torn between hatred and some less defined emotion]: Yes, Cæsar, I’ve written some more poems.
CALIGULA: On what subject?
SCIPIO: Oh, on nothing in particular. Well, on Nature in a way.
CALIGULA: A fine theme. And a vast one. And what has Nature done for you?
SCIPIO [pulling himself together, in a somewhat truculent tone]: It consoles me for not being Cæsar.
CALIGULA: Really? And do you think Nature could console me for being Cæsar?
SCIPIO [in the same tone]: Why not? Nature has healed worse wounds than that.
CALIGULA [in a curiously young, unaffected voice]: Wounds, you said? There was anger in your voice. Because I put your father to death?… That word you used—if you only knew how apt it is! My wounds! [In a different tone] Well, well, there’s nothing like hatred for developing the intelligence.
SCIPIO [stiffly]: I answered your question about Nature.
[CALIGULA sits down, gazes at SCIPIO, then brusquely grips his wrists and forces him to stand up. He takes the young man’s face between his hands.]
CALIGULA: Recite your poem to me, please.
SCIPIO: No, please, don’t ask me that.
CALIGULA: Why not?
SCIPIO: I haven’t got it on me.
CALIGULA: Can’t you remember it?
SCIPIO: No.
CALIGULA: Anyhow you can tell me what it’s about.
SCIPIO [still hostile; reluctantly]: I spoke of a … a certain harmony …
CALIGULA [breaking in; in a pensive voice]:… between one’s feet and the earth.
SCIPIO [looking surprised]: Yes, it’s almost that … and it tells of the wavy outline of the Roman hills and the sudden thrill of peace that twilight brings to them …
CALIGULA: And the cries of swifts winding through the green dusk.
SCIPIO [yielding more and more to his emotion]: Yes, yes! And that fantastic moment when the sky all flushed with red and gold swings round and shows its other side, spangled with stars.
CALIGULA: And the faint smell of smoke and trees and streams that mingles with the rising mist.
SCIPIO [in a sort of ecstasy]: Yes, and the chirr of crickets, the coolness veining the warm air, the rumble of carts and the farmers’ shouts, dogs barking …
CALIGULA: And the roads drowned in shadow winding through the olive groves …
SCIPIO: Yes, yes. That’s it, exactly.… But how did you know?
CALIGULA [drawing SCIPIO to his breast]: I wonder! Perhaps because the same eternal truths appeal to us both.
SCIPIO [quivering with excitement, burying his head on CALIGULA’S breast]: Anyhow, what does it matter! All I know is that everything I feel or think of turns to love.
CALIGULA [stroking his hair]: That, Scipio, is a privilege of noble hearts—and how I wish I could share your … your limpidity! But my appetite for life’s too keen; Nature can never sate it. You belong to quite another world, and you can’t understand. You are single-minded for good; and I am single-minded—for evil.
SCIPIO: I do understand.
CALIGULA: No. There’s something deep down in me—an abyss of silence, a pool of stagnant water, rotting weeds. [With an abrupt change of manner] Your poem sounds very good indeed, but, if you really want my opinion.…
SCIPIO [his head on CALIGULA’S breast, murmurs]: Yes?
CALIGULA: All that’s a bit … anemic.
SCIPIO [recoiling abruptly, as if stung by a serpent, and gazing, horrified, at CALIGULA, he cries hoarsely]: Oh, you brute! You loathsome brute! You’ve fooled me again. I know! You were playing a trick on me, weren’t you? And now you’re gloating over your success.
CALIGULA [with a hint of sadness]: There’s truth in what you say. I was playing a part.
SCIPIO [in the same indignant tone]: What a foul, black heart you have! And how all that wickedness and hatred must make you suffer!
CALIGULA [gently]: That’s enough.
SCIPIO: How I loathe you! And how I pity you!
CALIGULA [angrily]: Enough, I tell you.
SCIPIO: And how horrible a loneliness like yours must be!
CALIGULA [in a rush of anger, gripping the boy by the collar, and shaking him]: Loneliness! What do you know of it? Only the loneliness of poets and weaklings. You prate of loneliness, but you don’t realize that one is never alone. Always we are attended by the same load of the future and the past. Those we have killed are always with us. But they are no great trouble. It’s those we have loved, those who loved us and whom we did not love; regrets, desires, bitterness and sweetness, whores and gods, the celestial gang! Always, always with us! [He releases SCIPIO and moves back to his former place.] Alone! Ah, if only in this loneliness, this ghoul-haunted wilderness of mine, I could know, but for a moment, real solitude, real silence, the throbbing stillness of a tree! [Sitting down, in an access of fatigue.] Solitude? No, Scipio, mine is full of gnashings of teeth, hideous with jarring sounds and voices. And when I am with the women I make mine and darkness falls on us and I think, now my body’s had its fill, that I can feel myself my own at last, poised between death and life—ah, then my solitude is fouled by the stale smell of pleasure from the woman sprawling at my side.
[A long silence. CALIGULA seems weary and despondent. SCIPIO moves behind him and approaches hesitantly. He slowly stretches out a hand toward him, from behind, and lays it on his shoulder. Without looking round, CALIGULA places his hand on SCIPIO’S.]
SCIPIO: All men have a secret solace. It helps them to endure, and they turn to it when life has wearied them beyond enduring.
CALIGULA: Yes, Scipio.
SCIPIO: Have you nothing of the kind in your life, no refuge, no mood that makes the tears well up, no consolation?
CALIGULA: Yes, I have something of the kind.
SCIPIO: What is it?
CALIGULA [very quietly]: Scorn.
CURTAIN
ACT III
A room in the imperial palace.
Before the curtain rises a rhythmic clash of cymbals and the thudding of a drum have been coming from the stage, and when it goes up we see a curtained-off booth, with a small proscenium in front, such as strolling players use at country fairs. On the little stage are CÆSONIA and HELICON, flanked by cymbal players. Seated on benches, with their backs to the audience, are some patricians and young SCIPIO.
HELICON [in the tone of a showman at a fair]: Walk up! Walk up! [A clash of cymbals.] Once more the gods have come to earth. They have assumed the human form of our
