legend has reported, he attempted as far as he was able to prevent the
two parties from going to extremes. But what pain, repugnance, and
fatigue it must have cost him to make the effort necessary for
maintaining a last ray of reason and justice among so many evil
passions, animosities, ambitions, and rivalries! It must have cost him
dearly, for he had grown up in the time when the dream of a great
restoration of the aristocracy was luring the upper classes of Rome
with its fairest and most luminous smile. As a young man he had known
and loved Vergil, Horace, and Livy, the two poets and the historian of
this great dream; like all the elect spirits of those now distant
years, he had seen behind this vision a great senate, a glorious and
terrible army, an austere and revered republic like that which Livy had
pictured with glowing colors in his immortal pages.
Instead of all this, he was now forced to take his place at the head of
this decadent and wretched nobility, which seemed to be interested only
in rending itself asunder with calumnies, denunciations, suits, and
scandalous condemnations, and which repaid him for all that he had done
and was still doing for its safety and the prosperity of the empire by
directing against his name the most atrocious calumnies, the fiercest
railleries, and every sort of ridiculous and infamous legend. He had
dreamed of victories over the enemies of Rome, and he had to resign
himself to struggling day and night against the hysterical extravagance
of Agrippina: he had to be content, even without the sure hope of
success, if he could convince the majority that he was not a poisoner.
Authority without glory or respect, power divorced from the means
sufficient for its exercise--such was the situation in which the
successor of Augustus, the second emperor, after twelve years of a
difficult and trying reign, found himself. He no longer felt himself
safe at Rome, where he feared rightly or wrongly that his life was
being continually threatened, and it is not astonishing that, old,
wearied, and disgusted, between the years 26 and 27 he should have
retired definitely to Capri, seeking to hide his misanthropy, his
weariness, and his disgust with men and things in the wonderful little
isle which a delightful caprice of nature had set down in the lap of
the divine Bay of Naples.
But instead of the peace he sought at Capri, Tiberius found the infamy
of history. How dark and terrible are the memories of him associated
with the charming isle, which, violet-tinted, on beautiful sunny days
emerges from an azure sea against an azure sky! That fragment of
paradise fallen upon the shore of one of the most beautiful seas in the
world is said to have been for about ten years a hell of fierce
cruelties and abominable vices. Tiberius passed sentence upon himself,
in the opinion of posterity, when he secluded himself in Capri. Ought
we, without a further word, to transcribe this sentence? There are, to
be sure, no decisive arguments to prove false the accounts about the
horrors of Capri which the ancients, and especially Suetonius, have
transmitted to us; there are some, however, which make us mistrust and
withhold our judgment. Above all, we have the right to ask ourselves
how, from whom, and by access to what sources did Suetonius and the
other ancients learn so many extraordinary details. It must be
remembered that all the great figures in the history of Rome who had
many enemies, like Sylla, Caesar, Antony, and Augustus himself, were
accused of having scandalous habits. Precisely because the puritan
tradition was strong at Rome, such an accusation did much harm, and for
this reason, whether true or false, enemies were glad to repeat it
whenever they wished to discredit a character. Lastly, all the ancient
writers, even the most hostile, tell us that up to a ripe age Tiberius
preserved his exemplary habits. Is it likely, then, that suddenly,
when already old, he should have soiled himself with all the vices? At
all events, if there is any truth contained in these accounts, we can
at most conclude that as an old man Tiberius became subject to some
mental infirmity and that the man who took refuge at Capri was no
longer entirely sane.
Certain it is, in any case, that after his retirement to Capri,
Tiberius seriously neglected public affairs, and that Sejanus was
finally looked upon at Rome as the _de facto_ emperor. The bulletins
and reports which were sent from the empire and from Rome to the
emperor passed through his hands, as well as the decisions which
Tiberius sent back to the state. At Rome, in all affairs of serious or
slight importance, the senators turned to Sejanus, and about him, whom
all fell into the habit of considering as the true emperor, a court and
party were formed. In fear of his great power, the senators and the
old aristocracy suppressed the envy which the dizzy rise of this
obscure knight had aroused. Rome suffered without protest that a man
of obscure birth should rule the empire in the place of a descendant of
the great Claudian family, and the senators of the most illustrious
houses grew accustomed to paying him court. Worse still, virtually all
of them aided him, either by openly favoring him or by allowing him a
free hand, to complete the decisive destruction of the party and the
family of Germanicus,--of that same Germanicus of whom all had been
fond and whose memory the people still venerated.
[Illustration: Costume of a chief vestal (virgo vestalis maxima).]
After the retirement of Tiberius to Capri, all felt that Agrippina and
her sons were inevitably doomed sooner or later to succumb in the duel
with the powerful, ambitious, and implacable prefect of the pretorians
who represented Tiberius at Rome. Only a few generous idealists
remained faithful to the conquered, who were now near their
destruction; such supporters as might possibly ease the misery of ruin,
but not ward it off or avoid it. Among these last faithful and heroic
friends was a certain Titius Sabinus, and the implacable Sejanus
destroyed him with a suit of which Tacitus has given us an account, a
horrible story of one of the most abominable judicial machinations
which human perfidy can imagine. Dissensions arose to aggravate the
already serious danger in which Agrippina and her friends had been
placed. Nero, the first-born son, and Drusus, the second, became
hostile at the very moment when they should have united against the
ruthless adversary who wished to exterminate them all. A last rock of
refuge remained to protect the family of Germanicus. It was Livia, the
revered old lady who had been present at the birth of the fortunes of
Augustus and the new imperial authority, and who had held in her arms
that infant world which had been born in the midst of the convulsions
of the civil wars, and a little later had watched it try its first
steps on the pathway of history. Livia did not much love Agrippina,
whose hatred and intrigues against Tiberius she had always blamed; but
she was too wise and too solicitous of the prestige of the family to
allow Sejanus entirely to destroy the house of Germanicus. As long as
she lived, Agrippina and Nero could dwell safely in Rome. But Livia
was feeble, and in the beginning of 29, at the age of eighty-six, she
died. The catastrophe which had been carefully prepared by Sejanus was
now consummated; a few months after the death of Livia, Agrippina and
Nero were subjected to a suit, and, under an accusation of having
conspired against Tiberius, were condemned to exile by the senate.
Shortly after his condemnation, Nero committed suicide.
The account which Tacitus gives us of this trial is obscure, involved,
and fragmentary, for the story is broken off at its most important
point by an unfortunate lacuna in the manuscript. The other historians
add but little light with their brief phrases and passing allusions.
We do not therefore entirely understand either the contents of the
charges, the reason for the condemnation, the stand taken by the
accused, or the conduct of Tiberius with regard to the accusation. It
seems hardly probable that Agrippina and Nero could have been truly
guilty of a real conspiracy against Tiberius. Isolated as they had
been by Sejanus after the retirement of Tiberius to Capri, they would
scarcely have been able to set a conspiracy on foot, even if they had
so desired. They were paying the penalty for the long war of calumnies
and slanders which they had waged upon Tiberius, for the aversion and
the scorn which they had always shown for him. In this course of
conduct many senators had encouraged them as long as Tiberius alone had
not dared to have recourse to violent and cruel measures in order to
make himself respected by his family. But such acts of disrespect
became serious crimes for the unfortunate woman and her hapless son,
even in the eyes of the senators who had encouraged them to commit
them, now that Sejanus had reinvigorated the imperial authority with
his energy, and now that all felt that behind Tiberius and in his name
and place there was acting a man of decision who knew how to punish his
enemies and to reward his friends.
The trial and condemnation of Agrippina and Nero were certainly the
machinations of Sejanus, who carried along with him not only the senate
and the friends of the imperial family, but perhaps even Tiberius
himself. They prove how much Sejanus had been able to strengthen
imperial authority, which had been hesitating and feeble in the last
decade. Sejanus had dared to do what Tiberius had never succeeded in
doing; he had destroyed that center of opposition which gathered about
Agrippina in the house of Germanicus. It is therefore scarcely
necessary to say that the ruin of Agrippina still further increased the
power of Sejanus. All bowed trembling before the man who had dared
humiliate the very family of the Julio-Claudii. Honors were showered
upon his head; he was made senator and pontifex; he received the
proconsular power; there was talk of a marriage between him and the
widow of Nero; and it was finally proposed that he be named consul for
five years. Indeed, in 31, through the will of Tiberius, he actually
became the colleague of the emperor himself in the consulate. He
needed only the tribunician power to make him the official collaborator
of the emperor and his designated successor. Every one at Rome,
furthermore, considered him the future prince.
[Illustration: Remains of the House of the Vestal Virgins.]
But having arrived at this height, Sejanus's head was turned, and he
asked himself why he should exercise the rule and have all its burdens
and dangers while he left to others the pomp, the honors, and the
advantages. Although Tiberius allowed the senate to heap honors upon
his faithful prefect of the pretorians, and though he himself showed
his gratitude to him in many ways, even going to the point of being
willing to give him the widow of Nero in marriage, he never really
expected to take him as his colleague or to designate him as his
successor. Tiberius was a Claudian, and that a knight without ancestry
should be placed at the head of the Roman aristocracy was to him
unthinkable; after the exile of Nero he had cast his eyes upon Caius,
another son of Germanicus, as his possible successor. Nor had he
hidden his intention: he had even clearly expressed it in different
speeches to the senate. Therefore Sejanus must finally have come to
the conclusion that if he continued to defend Tiberius and his
interests, he could no longer hope for anything from him, and might
even compromise the influence and the popularity which he had already
acquired. Tiberius was hated and detested, there was a numerous party
opposed to him in the senate, and he was extremely unpopular among the
masses. Many admired Sejanus through spiteful hatred of Tiberius, for
it amounted to saying that they preferred to be governed by an obscure
knight rather than by an old and detested Claudian who had shut himself
up in Capri.
And thus Sejanus seems to have deluded himself into believing that if
he succeeded in doing away with the emperor, he could easily take his
position by setting aside the young son of Germanicus and profiting by
the popularity which the fall of Tiberius would bring him. Little by
little he came to an understanding with the enemies of Tiberius and
prepared a conspiracy for the final overthrow of the odious government
of the son of Livia. Many senators had agreed to this, and certainly
few conspiracies were ever organized under more favorable auspices.
Tiberius was old, disgusted with everything and everybody, and alone in
Capri; he had virtually not a single friend in Rome; what happened in
the world he knew only through what Sejanus told him. He was therefore
entirely in the hands of the man who was preparing to sacrifice him to
the tenacious hatred of the people and the senatorial aristocracy.
Young, energetic, and the favorite of fortune, Sejanus had with him a
formidable party in the senate, he was the commander of the pretorian
guard,--that is, of the only military force stationed in Italy,--and he
had terrified with his implacable persecutions all those whom he had
failed to win over through his promises or his favors. Could the duel
between this misanthropic old man and this vigorous, energetic,
ruthless climber end in any other way than with the defeat of the
former?
[Illustration: Bust, supposed to be of Antonia--daughter of Mark Antony
and Octavia--and mother of Germanicus.]
But now stepping forward suddenly from the shadows to which she had
retired, a lady appeared, threw herself between the two contestants,
and changed the fate of the combat. It was Antonia, the daughter of
the famous triumvir, the revered widow of Drusus.
After the death of Livia, Antonia was the most respected personage of
the imperial family in Rome. She still watched, withdrawn but alert,
over the destiny of the house now virtually destroyed by death,
dissensions, the cruelty of the laws, and the relentless anger of the
aristocracy. It was she who scented out the plot, and quickly and
courageously she informed Tiberius. The latter, in danger and in
Capri, displayed again the energy and sagacity of his best period. The
danger was most threatening, especially because Sejanus was the
commander of the pretorian guard. Tiberius beguiled him with friendly
letters, dangling in front of him the hope that he had conceded to him
the tribunician power.--that is, that he had made him his
colleague,--while at the same time he secretly took measures to appoint
a successor for him. Suddenly Sejanus learned that he was no longer
commander of the guard, and that the emperor had accused him before the
senate of conspiracy. In an instant, under this blow, the fortunes of
Sejanus collapsed. The envy and the latent hatred against the parvenu,
the knight who had risen higher than all others, and who had humiliated
the senatorial aristocracy with his good fortune, were reawakened, and
the senate and public opinion turned fiercely against him. Sejanus,
his family, his friends, his accomplices, and those who seemed to be
his accomplices, were put to death after summary trials by the fury of
the mob; and in Rome blood flowed in torrents.
Antonia might now have enjoyed the satisfaction of having saved through
her foresight not only Tiberius, but the entire family, when suddenly
one of the surges of that fierce tempest of ambitions and hatreds tore
from her side even her own daughter, Livilla, the widow of Drusus, and
cast her as a prey into that sea of blind popular frenzy. The reader
has perhaps not forgotten that eight years before, when Sejanus was
hoping to marry Livilla, he had repudiated his first wife, Apicata.
Apicata had not wished to outlive the ruin of her former husband, and
she killed herself, but only after having written Tiberius a letter in
which she accused Livilla of having poisoned Drusus through connivance
with Sejanus, whom she wished to marry. I confess that this accusation
seems to me hardly probable, and I do not believe that the denunciation
of Apicata is sufficient ground for admitting it. Above all, it is
well to inquire what proofs Apicata could have had of this crime, and
how she could have procured them even if the crime had been committed.
Since the two accomplices would have been obliged to hide their
infamous deed from all, there was no one from whom they would have
concealed it more carefully than from Apicata. We must further note
that it is not probable that a cautious man, as Sejanus was in the year
23, would have thought of committing so serious a crime as that of
poisoning the son of his protector. For what reason would he have done
so? He did not then think of succeeding Tiberius; by removing Drusus,
he would merely have improved the situation of the family of
Germanicus, which at that time was already hostile to him and with
which he was preparing to struggle. Instead, might not this accusation
_in extremis_ be the last vengeance of a repudiated woman against the
rival who for a moment had threatened to take the position from which
she herself had been driven? Apicata did not belong to the
aristocracy, and, unlike the ladies of the senatorial families, she had
not therefore been brought up with the idea of having to serve docilely
as an instrument for the political career of her own husband. Perhaps
her denunciation was the revenge of feminine jealousy, of that passion
which the lower orders of Roman society did not extinguish in the
hearts of their women as did the aristocracy.
This denunciation, however,--we know this from the pages of ancient
writers,--was one of the most terrible griefs of Tiberius's old age.
He had loved his son tenderly, and the idea of leaving so horrible a
crime unpunished, in case the accusation was true, drove him to
desperation. Yet, on the other hand, Livilla, the presumptive
criminal, was the daughter of his faithful friend, of that Antonia who
had saved him from the treacheries of Sejanus. As for the public, ever
ready to believe all the infamies which were reported of the imperial
house, it was firmly convinced that Livilla was an abominable poisoner.
A great trial was set on foot; many suspects were put to torture, which
is evidence that they were arriving at no definite conclusions, and
this was probably because they were seeking for the proofs of an
imaginary crime. Livilla, however, did not survive the scandal, the
accusations, the suspicions of Tiberius, and the distrust of those
about her. Because she was the daughter of Drusus and the
daughter-in-law of Tiberius, because she belonged to the family which
fortune had placed at the head of the immense empire of Rome, she would
not be able to persuade any one that she was innocent. The obscure
woman, without ancestry, who was accusing her from the grave, would be
taken at her word by every one; she would convince posterity and
history; against all reason she would prevail over the greatness of
Livilla! So Livilla took refuge in her mother's house and starved
herself to death, for she was unable to outlive an accusation which it
was impossible to refute.
Tiberius's reign continued for six years after this terrible tragedy,
but it was only a species of slow death-agony. The year 33 saw still
another tragic event--the suicide of Agrippina and her son Drusus. Of
the race of Germanicus there remained alive only one son, Caius (the
later Emperor Caligula), and three daughters, of whom the eldest,
Agrippina, the mother of Nero, had been married a few years before to
the descendant of one of the greatest houses of Rome, Cnaeus Domitius
Enobarbus. Tiberius still remained as the last relic of a bygone time
to represent ideas and aspirations which were henceforth lost causes,
amid the ruins and the tombs of his friends. Posterity, following in
the footsteps of Tacitus, has held him and his dark nature alone
responsible for this ruin. We ought to believe instead that he was a
man born to a loftier and more fortunate destiny, but that he had to
pay the penalty for the unique eminence to which fortune had exalted
him. Like the members of his family who had been driven into exile,
who had died before their time, who had been driven to suicide in
despair, he, too, was the victim of a tragic situation full of
insoluble contradictions; and precisely because he was destined to
live, he was perhaps the most unfortunate victim of them all.
[1] There was in the Roman legal system no public prosecutor and
virtually no police. Every Roman citizen was supposed to watch over
the laws and see that they were not infringed. On his retirement from
office, any governor or magistrate ran the risk of being impeached by
some young aspirant to political honors, and not infrequently oratory,
an art much cultivated by the Romans, triumphed over righteousness. In
the earlier period the ground on which charges were usually brought was
malversation; in the time of the empire they were also frequently
brought under the above-mentioned law _de majestate_. It has been said
that this common act of accusation, the birthright of the Roman
citizen, the greatly esteemed palladium of Roman freedom, became the
most convenient instrument of despotism. Since he who could bring a
criminal to justice received a fourth of his possessions and estates,
and since it brought the accuser into prominence, delation was
recklessly indulged in by the unscrupulous, both for the sake of gain
and as a means of venting personal spite. The vice lay at the very
heart of the Roman system, and was not the invention of Tiberius. He
could hardly have done away with it without overthrowing the whole
Roman procedure.
V
THE SISTERS OF CALIGULA AND THE MARRIAGE OF MESSALINA
After the death of Tiberius (37 A.D.), the problem of the succession
presented to the senate was not an easy one. In his will, Tiberius had
adopted, and thereby designated to the senate as his successors, Caius
Caligula, the son of Germanicus, and Tiberius, the son of his own son
Drusus. The latter was only seventeen, and too young for such a
responsibility. Caligula was twenty-seven, and therefore still very
young, although by straining a point he might be emperor; yet he did
not enjoy a good reputation. If we except him, there was no other
member of the family old enough to govern except Tiberius Claudius
Nero, the brother of Germanicus and the only surviving son of Drusus
and Antonia. He was generally considered a fool, was the
laughing-stock of freedmen and women, and such a gawk and clown that it
had been impossible to put him into the magistracy. Indeed, he was not
even a senator when Tiberius died.
[Illustration: Caligula.]
As they could not consider him, there remained only Caligula, unless
they wished to go outside the family of Augustus, which, if not
impossible, was at least difficult and dangerous. For the provinces,
the German barbarians, and especially the soldiers of the legions, were
accustomed to look upon this family as the mainstay of the empire. The
legions had become specially attached to the memory and to the race of
Drusus and Germanicus, who still lived in the minds of the soldiers as
witnesses to their former exploits and virtues. During the long
watches of the night, as their names were repeated in speech and story,
their shades, idealized by death, returned again to revisit the camps
on the banks of the Rhine and the Danube. The veneration and affection
which the armies had once felt for the Roman nobility were now centered
about the family of Augustus. In this difficulty, therefore, the
senate chose the lesser evil, and, annulling a part of the testament of
Tiberius, elected Caligula, the son of Germanicus, as their emperor.