_Letter from a Greek Traveller to his friend in Athens_
It is fifteen years since I was last at Rome, and although I was
prepared to find a change in everything, I had not expected this
complete transformation. The Rome I knew, the Rome of the straggly
narrow streets and rotting wooden houses, has disappeared, and in its
place there is a kind of Corinth on a huge scale, marred of course by
the usual want of taste of the Romans, but imposing nevertheless and
extraordinarily gay and brilliant. The fault of the whole thing is
that it is too big: the houses are too high, the streets too broad,
everything is planned on too large a scale. From the artist’s point of
view the effect is deplorable; from the point of view of the casual
observer it is amusing in the highest degree. The broad streets--a
blaze of coloured marble and fresh paint--are now crowded with
brilliant shops where you see all that is new from Greece and the East,
together with curiosities from the North and the barbarian countries.
Everybody seems to be spending money. The shops are crowded from
morning till night. The display of gold trinkets, glass vases, carpets,
rugs, silks, gold and silver tissues, embroideries, all glittering in
the sunlight, dazzles the eye and imposes by the mass and glare of
colour and gaudiness.
There is no doubt that the Emperor is extraordinarily popular, and
whenever he shows himself in public he is greeted with frantic
enthusiasm. Of course there are some mal-contents among the
old-fashioned Liberals, but they have no influence whatever and count
practically for nothing, for what are their grumblings and their
eternal lamentations about the good old times and the Empire going to
the dogs, in the scale with the hard solid fact that ever since Nero
came to the throne the prosperity of the Empire has increased in every
possible respect? For the first time for years the individual has been
able to breathe freely, and owing to the splendid reforms which he
has carried through in the matter of taxation, an intolerable load of
oppression has been lifted from the shoulders of the poor, and I can
assure you they are grateful.
A few nights ago I had dinner with Seneca, to meet some of the leading
literary lights. He is somewhat aged. Discussing various differences
between our people and his, Seneca said that it is all very well for
us to talk of our intellectual superiority, our artistic taste, our
wit, our sense of proportion, but we had no idea either of liberty of
trade on the one side, or liberty of thought on the other. “That kind
of liberty,” said Seneca, “always fares better under a King or a Prince
of some kind than under jealous democrats. We should never tolerate
the religious tyranny of Athens.” I could not help pointing out that
what struck me at Rome to-day was that whereas almost everybody had
“literary” pretensions, and discussed nothing but eloquence, form,
style, and “artistry,” nearly everybody wrote badly with the exception
of Petronius Arbiter, whom the literary world does not recognize. The
Romans talk a great deal of “art for art’s sake,” and language, instead
of being the simple and perfect vesture of thought, is cultivated
for its own sake. “This seems to us Greeks,” I said, “the cardinal
principle of decadence, and the contrary of our ideal which is that
everything should serve to adorn, but all that is dragged in merely for
the sake of ornament is bad.” I think Seneca agreed, but the younger
literary men present smiled with pitying condescension on me and said
patronizingly: “We’ve got beyond all that.”
After that dinner I made up my mind that I had seen enough of the
literary set. Seneca was kind enough to get me an audience with the
Emperor. I was received yesterday afternoon in the new gold palace
which Nero has built for himself. It is a sumptuous building, to our
taste vulgar, but not unimposing, and suits its purpose very well,
though all his _suite_ complain of the insufficient accommodation
and the discomfort of the arrangements. I was taken into a kind of
ante-room where a number of Court officials, both civil and military,
were waiting, and I was told that the Emperor would probably see me in
about a quarter of an hour. They all talked for some time in subdued
tones as if they were in a temple; as far as I could see there was no
reason for this as the Emperor’s room was at the other end of a long
passage, and the doors were shut. At the end of a quarter of an hour a
young officer fetched me and ushered me into the Emperor’s presence.
He was seated at a large table covered with documents and parchments
of every description, and had evidently been dictating to his
secretary, who left the room on the other side as I entered. He is
very like his pictures, which, however, do not give one any idea of
his short-sighted, dreamy eyes, nor of his intensely good-humoured
and humorous expression. He has a kind of way of looking up at one in
a half-appealing fashion, as much as to say “For Heaven’s sake don’t
think that I take all this business seriously.” His movements are quick
but not jerky. He held in his hand a chain of amber beads which he kept
on absent-mindedly fingering during the whole interview. His fingers
are short, square, and rather fat. He spoke Greek, which he speaks
very purely indeed and without any Latin accent. Indeed, he speaks it
too well. He asked me whether I was enjoying my visit to Rome, how
long it was since I had been here, what I thought of the improvements,
and if I had been to the new theatre. I said I had not been to the
theatre, but that I was told the games in the Circus were extremely
well worth seeing. The Emperor laughed and shrugged his shoulders, and
said that it was very civil of me to say so, since I knew quite well
that those spectacles, although hugely enjoyed by the ignorant rabble,
were singularly tedious to people of taste and education like myself.
I bowed as he made this compliment. As for himself, he continued,
the games frankly bored him to death, but, of course, it was a State
duty for him to attend them. “It is part of my profession,” he said,
“but if I had my own way I should witness nothing but Greek plays
acted by my own company in my own house.” He asked after several of my
relatives whom he had met in Greece, remembering their exact names and
occupations. He asked me if I had been writing anything lately, and
when I said that I was sick of books and intended henceforth to devote
all my leisure to seeing people and studying them, he laughed. “Nothing
is so discouraging,” he said, “as trying to improve the literary taste
in this city. We are an admirable people; we do a great many things
much better than other people--I do not mean only our colonization”--he
said smiling--“and our foreign trade, but our portrait painting and
our popular farce. But as a general rule directly we touch Art we seem
to go altogether wrong, and the result is nauseous. Therefore, if you
want to find a Roman who will be thoroughly sympathetic, capable, and
intelligent, and decent, choose one who knows nothing about Art and
does not want to. With you it is different,” he added, “Athens is a
city of artists.” He then changed the subject and referred to the
rather bitter criticisms published at Athens about his policy with
regard to the Jews, especially that new sect among them who called
themselves Christians.
“Of course,” he said, “your sense of proportion is shocked when any
extreme measures are adopted, but, believe me, in this case it is
necessary. The Jews are everywhere, and everywhere they claim the
rights of citizenship. But they do not live as citizens: they retain
their peculiar status; they claim the rights of the citizen and
exceptional privileges of their own--in fact, their own laws. They wish
to have the advantages of nationality without being a nation, without
taking part in the functions of the State. We cannot tolerate this.
The whole matter has been brought to the fore by the attitude of these
so-called Christians, who are, I am obliged to say, extremely difficult
to deal with: In the first place because they adopt the policy of
passive resistance, against which it is so difficult to act, and in
the second place because they are getting the women on their side--and
you know what that means. I have no personal objection either to Jews
or Christians. What one can’t tolerate is a secret society within the
State which advocates and preaches neglect of the citizen’s duty to
the State, the worthlessness of patriotism, and the utter non-existence
of citizenship.”
I said I quite understood this, but did not his Majesty agree with
me in thinking that penal oppressions were rarely successful, and
frequently defeated their own object.
The Emperor replied that there was a great deal in what I said, but
that he did not consider he was dealing with a national or universal
movement, which had any element of duration in it, but with a
particular fad which would soon pass out of fashion, as the majority of
all sensible people were opposed to it.
“The unfortunate part is,” he said, “the women have got it into
their heads that it is a fine thing, and of course the more they see
it is opposed to the wishes of all sensible men the more obstinate
they will be in sticking to it. The whole matter has been grossly
exaggerated both as regards the nature of the movement and the
nature of the measures taken against it; but that one cannot help.
They have represented me as gloating over the sufferings of innocent
victims. That is all stuff and nonsense. Great care has been taken
to investigate all the cases which have arisen, so that the innocent
should not suffer with the guilty. Besides which, any Jew or Christian
who is willing to make a purely formal acknowledgement of the state
authorities is entirely exempt from any possibility of persecution.
But this is precisely what they often obstinately refuse to do--why, I
cannot conceive. There is also a great deal of hysteria in the matter,
and a large amount of self-advertisement, but one cannot get over the
fact that the movement is a revolutionary one in itself, and can only
be dealt with as such. I doubt whether in any country a revolutionary
movement which has taken so uncompromising an attitude has ever been
dealt with in so merciful a manner. So you see,” the Emperor concluded,
“how grossly unfair is the manner in which I have been treated in this
matter. However, I suppose I can’t complain: whatever one does it is
sure to be wrong.”
He then rose from his table and said that the Empress wished to see me
before I went away, and he led me into her apartment, which was next
door.
The Empress Sabina Poppaea is the perfection of grace; she is more like
a Greek than a Roman, and speaks Greek better than the Emperor, using
the language not only with purity but with elegance. All the stories
we were told of her extravagance in dress and of how she powdered her
head with gold, are of course absurd. She was dressed with the utmost
simplicity and did not wear a single ornament. She was absolutely
natural, put one at one’s ease, talking continuously herself on various
topics without ever dwelling long on one, till she had said all she had
got to say, and then by a gesture delicately shadowed, she gave me the
sign that it was time for me to go.
The Emperor said that the Empress Mother would have seen me only she
was suffering from one of her bad attacks of indigestion. He told me
to be sure to let him know should I visit Rome again, that he hoped
himself to be able to spend some months in Greece next year, but he did
not think the pressure of affairs would allow him to. Farewell.
_P.S._--Later. The gossips say that the Empress Mother is being
poisoned.