POPPAEA: O, nurse, confused by the sad and fearful sights of the past night, disturbed in mind, and deprived of feeling, I am borne along. When joyful day gave place to gloomy stars and heaven to night, clasped in the embrace of Nero, I could not sleep nor rest for a long time. For a sad throng seemed to celebrate my nuptials.[90] Roman matrons with flowing hair made doleful lamentations. Often amid the terrible blasts of trumpets, my husband’s cruel mother shook the blood-stained torch. When resistless fear compelled me to follow her, the sundered earth opened before me in a vast chasm.
Borne headlong, I see the marriage couches and I marvel at mine in which, wearied, I reclined. I see my former husband and son coming with a crowd of attendants. Crispinus[91] hastens to embrace and kiss me. Just as he entered my dwelling, trembling Nero buried the savage sword in his throat. Then overwhelming terror seized me. Horrible fear shakes my body and brings anguish to my heart. Anxiety has kept me speechless, but now thy faithful loyalty induces me to speak. Alas, why do these departed spirits come from the lower world to threaten me? Why have I witnessed the death of my husband?
NURSE: Whatever the restless activity of the mind considers, divine consciousness silently and swiftly recalls in sleep.[92] Dost thou wonder that, clasped in the embrace of a new husband, thou hast dreamed of thy former one, of the bridal room, and nuptial couch? But on such a happy day, does it disturb thee that matrons with flowing hair beat their breasts? They mourn the divorce of Octavia among the sacred Penates of her brother and in the home of her own ancestors. That torch which thou didst follow, borne aloft by the hand of Augusta, predicts to thee a royal and envied name. It foretells that the temples of the lower world will be thy eternal couches.
It does not predict war that thy chief buried the sword in his throat, but it meant that he sheathed his sword in peace. Collect thy thoughts, accept thy good fortune, I implore thee, and casting aside all fear return to thy bridal apartments.
POPPAEA: I have determined to seek the shrines and sacred altars, to propitiate the gods with sacrifices that terror and astonishment may return upon my enemies. Offer up vows for me and honor the god with devout prayers that the present state of affair may continue.
CHORUS: If gossiping rumor which now rules and again abandons the stars, should tell of the true stratagems of Jove and his pleasing loves—Jove who disguised as a swan had slept upon the breast of Leda, and who, as a fierce bull, had carried the stolen Europa through the waves—he will seek thy embraces, Poppaea, whom he prefers to Leda and to Danae to whom he once descended in a golden shower. Although Sparta may boast of Helen’s beauty and Paris, the shepherd of Phrygia, may tell of his reward, Poppaea is more beautiful than the Spartan Helen who caused such fierce wars and overthrew the kingdom of Priam. But who rushes in with astonished step, and what news does he bring with gasping breath?
MESSENGER: May the soldiers who guard the palace of the emperor defend the hall which the furious people threaten. Behold, the anxious cohorts bear aid to the city. The anger of the people rashly aroused does not yield to fear but gathers strength and force.
CHORUS: What madness and terror distract his mind?