Day was dying; the sun sank, blood-red, into the Tyrrhenian sea. The
Capitol and the arches of the Amphitheatre still glowed in fiery
purple, when the streets already lay in cool twilight. Then the last
glory died away from their topmost crests, and the blue darkness stole
up the walls; night enveloped the pleasure-loving crowd and their
martyred victims--at last the people seemed to have had their fill.
They poured out of the Amphitheatre like an overflowing stream, over
the Forum, through the Vicus Cyprius and the neighboring streets.
While Rome was resting and refreshing itself after the exciting
pleasures of the day, and giving itself up to the sweet influences of
the warm spring evening, six noble ships were flying before the wind
from the island of Igilium.[161] At about three hours before midnight
the vessels came to anchor close by Alsium[162] and landed their
passengers--three cohorts of picked men--without let or hindrance.
The son of the Propraetor of Lugdunensis, was at their head, and
with him were Caius Aurelius Menapius and the one-armed centurion.
The Propraetor himself was advancing with the rest of the forces by
the main north road, the Via Cassia,[163] and had already reached
Clusium,[164] while the rest of the conspirators were coming round
south-eastwards with a smaller following from Luna,[165] and Pisae[166]
to Rusellae,[167] to join the Propraetor’s troops at the Forum
Cassii.[168]
Domitian knew only of the advance of the Propraetor, and still supposed
that it was in fulfilment of his own orders. Completely hoodwinked as
he was by Clodianus, he had himself insisted on reinforcements within
the city itself. The adjutant had indeed here taken advantage of the
circumstance, that Caesar had received repeated and mysterious warnings
that a great conspiracy was on foot. The disembarkation at Alsium was
the first step towards open revolt, and though Clodianus, in collusion
with Parthenius, did his utmost to prevent this news from reaching the
Palatium and the Praetorian guard, whom they could not yet regard as
secured--nay, though he was prepared in case of need to account for it
by some plausible lie, still they could not but expect every instant
that the mask would be torn aside. Clodianus and Parthenius spent the
evening outside the walls of Rome in the adjutant’s villa, and after
midnight they adjourned to the house of a freedman of Parthenius's,
where they held a momentous conference with Norbanus, the prefect
of the body-guard. After much parleying and persuasion he was won
over to the side of the conspirators. Caesar’s latest outrages, more
particularly his monstrous injustice towards the senators and knights
who had lingered, untried, in prison since the day when they were
arrested, struck the balance in the upright and honorable soldier's
mind. But even then, to the great regret of the conspirators, Norbanus
could only answer for the adhesion of three of the cohorts under his
command; the others had been freshly recruited at the New Year, and the
growing distrust of the Emperor had filled every post, particularly
those of the officers in command, with his own special favorites and
creatures. Whatever the result might be, it was too late to avail
themselves of every resource; the road straight forward was the only
one now open to them. Still, an attempt was worth making at any cost.
At the worst the Praetorian guard could certainly be kept in check
for two days, and by that time the Propraetor and his forces might
have reached Rome. Possibly too there might be another solution of the
difficulty.--Clodianus was thinking of Stephanus.
By the time the sickle of the waning moon rose ruddy above the horizon,
the Propraetor’s son and his eager troops had already left half the
road between Alsium and the capital behind them. Aurelius, accompanied
by the faithful Herodianus and the Goth, rode by the young leader's
side, marking with happy anticipation the growing distinctness of
a black cloud on the southern horizon--that dark silhouette was
Rome. Now, as the moon rose, Aurelius fancied he could recognize the
buildings on the Janiculum, and distinguish to the left the temple on
the loftier Quirinal. Between these points--which he saw more in fancy
than in fact--dwelt his Claudia--adored and beautiful, “the only She.”
What must she not have suffered during these last months! Ah, and
even now be suffering! This very day probably the brother, that she
so devotedly loved, had fallen a victim to Caesar’s hideous mania for
persecution. Clodianus had indeed promised to do everything, even the
impossible, only to postpone the frightful climax; but who could tell!
Aurelius set spurs into his horse, as if he could not bear a moment's
delay till he dashed through the streets of Rome, tore open the
prison doors, and clasped his rescued friend in his arms. How could
he face Claudia, if he came too late to save her brother? Why had
the execution of the conspiracy been so long postponed? The reasons,
it is true, had been irresistible--even Cinna had confessed that;
but an aching, longing heart ignores every motive of strategy and
of state-craft, and the days, which had been allowed to slip by in
inactivity, had seemed a dreary eternity. Well, the immediate future
would put an end at any rate to suspense, and surely the gods could not
so cruelly betray his fervid hopes. If he should succeed, if fate had
such mercy in store--what joy for him of all men to break the chains,
what a triumph over the stern and inexorable father, who to uphold the
law could not spare his own son!
Aurelius was half-ashamed to find himself thinking so exclusively
of his own future, when the next few hours must decide the fate of
millions--nay, of the Empire. But of what avail were strength of
resolve and effort of will? His thoughts would revert to the scene he
so fondly pictured in his dream, when he should clasp his Claudia in
his arms, and stand proudly before the high-priest with the words: “_I_
restore you your son.”
The road was lonely, the step of the marching men sounded loud in the
silence. The few passengers and vehicles that they met were allowed
to pass on; but all who were going towards Rome were, willy-nilly,
detained, and only allowed to proceed in the midst of the cohorts.
In spite of these precautions they kept on the alert. At about half a
mile outside Rome, Clodianus and Parthenius joined the force, as had
been agreed, and the soldiers halted for a moment. The conspirators
greeted each other warmly. Still, it was only with a determined effort,
that Aurelius could find a civil word for the chamberlain, for whom he
had always felt a deep aversion, and who, even now, impressed him as
odious and repulsive. The loud bluntness of Clodianus, on the contrary,
who harangued at some length about freedom and patriotism, he felt had
the ring of genuine coin.
“I received your father’s last message,” said Parthenius to the young
captain. “Well, I must submit. A woman on the throne of the Caesars
seems to you dangerous, and still more so Cornelius Cinna’s scheme of
re-establishing the Republic. Your father’s arguments have, on the
whole, convinced me, so we will agree.--Your candidate is also mine.”
“You have our thanks,” replied the Propraetor’s son. “Our troops
are already informed as to the work in hand. Nerva’s name has been
mentioned in the ranks, more than once. You will see, my noble friend,
that only a spark is needed to fire their faithful hearts.”
He turned his horse, and faced the troops.
“Men,” he cried in a voice of thunder: “Your Caesar is Marcus Cocceius
Nerva!”
“Nerva!” was shouted by a thousand voices. “Down with Domitian! Long
live Nerva _Imperator_!”
The scattered natives, that dwelt near the high-road, might start from
their sleep in astonishment at this rolling peal of shouts, and ask
themselves what such a roar of voices could mean. But seeing presently
that these were armed cohorts, marching in close order on Rome, they no
doubt crept back under their coverlets with a shake of the head, and
the time-honored comment that the soldiery were allowed to do just what
they pleased,[169] even to rouse the peaceful peasant from his dreams.
The cohorts themselves set out again with a will, and soon reached the
western slope of the Janiculum, where, thanks to Clodianus' cautious
foresight, no obstacle stood in their way.
Quintus and Cornelia, meanwhile, were enduring a terrible night. After
the unhoped-for issue of that first combat, they had been led back into
the underground vault, and there they were left--either for convenience
sake, or for fear lest the populace should give too emphatic expression
to its sympathy, if the prisoners should be seen on the way back to the
Mamertine prisons. A few rugs were flung on the stone pavement, and a
man at arms was posted in the cell, while two more guarded the door
outside. No one thought of giving the exhausted wretches food or drink,
for their being yet alive was no part of the programme, and the master
of the festival had too important business on hand, to trouble himself
as to die fate of two “postponed” victims.
Cornelia, utterly crushed by all she had gone through, sat in a corner
sunk in a heap, and silently wringing her hands. It was certain, quite
certain, that the tyrant was pitiless; the whole thing was merely a
prolongation of their misery, a postponement of the inevitable, a slow
sipping of the cup of agony, which others had been allowed to swallow
at a gulp! It was more than she could bear.
Even Quintus, who had at first been elated by the sense of victory,
became every moment more restless and wretched. Cornelia’s cry of
despair, when the lion made its spring--a cry of horror and yet
ecstatic--had pierced his heart. In that supreme utterance, wrung from
her very soul, she had expressed all that could never have been said
in words: a deep and tender reproach, a defiance of all their enemy's
worst efforts, and a whole world of love, which could only live for him
she loved. It was not till they were locked within the dungeon again,
that Quintus observed that Cornelia was wounded; blood was flowing
from her left arm--the brute’s claws must have touched her there. His
feelings as he perceived this were beyond words; and then--when she
refused, almost angrily, to let him stanch the blood, and at last tore
a strip off the hem of her dress, and tied it up just “anyhow!” Her
whole manner asked with gloomy scorn: “What is the good?” They knew,
both of them, full well, what the next day must bring forth.
The minutes dragged along with leaden slowness. The young man’s excited
brain had lost all power to banish the most hideous thoughts; he could
scarcely pray. He saw himself standing once more in the arena with
Cornelia at his side, repeating the scene they had just rehearsed--till
the end. This time he struck with less skill and success; the roaring
beast crouched, sprang, he felt its claws in his flesh. He was lying
on the earth, bleeding, mangled--yes, it was all true, only he felt
no pain, only utter exhaustion. And the lion had clutched her too,
Cornelia--beautiful, stately.--Then the monster was scared off from his
bleeding prey, back into his cage. The servant was coming towards him
with the harpoon--he could hear it crunching in the sand.
He started up, shuddering violently. It was a hideous dream; he had
fallen asleep after so long being restless. But the crunching and
grinding did not cease, and now he heard his name called in an eager,
loving human voice. The grey gloom was bright with the glare of
torches. Before him stood Caius Aurelius, with eight soldiers of the
northern army.
“Quintus!” he cried, with open arms. “The gods be praised! Rise, noble
Cornelia. Why do you gaze at me, as if you saw a ghost? I am Aurelius.
I have brought you freedom.”
“Caius?” stammered Quintus, almost speechless with surprise and
new-born hopes. “You here--tell me, what has happened?”
“Rome is ours. More than half the Praetorian guard have sworn fidelity
to Cocceius Nerva. The Palatium was invested an hour ago. You shall
hear it all, but oh! my senses are reeling...! Forward, men, make
way.--Oh, Quintus I who could have foreseen all this, only last
autumn...?”
Quintus, tottering like a drunken man, went up the steps into the sweet
night air, and Cornelia followed, half carried by their preserver; but
when she presently drew herself up and walked on in the torch-light,
her black hair all loose and gently stirred by the wind, her dress torn
and stained, and so stately in spite of it all, her presence touched
the heart even of her rough guards.
In the Forum they found a tremendous uproar. A strong division of the
troops guarded every entrance to the Palatium; others, and among them
many of the Praetorian guard, were being sent to various parts of the
city, to defend the most important strategic points against any plans
of their opponents; at the same time the mob came streaming in from
every quarter, shouting, shrieking and wasting its breath in questions.
Close by the Arch of Titus, Clodianus sat on horseback in the midst of
a madly-excited crowd.
“Yes, citizens,” he shouted in stentorian tones, “the tyrant reigns no
more. Too long indeed have we endured the humiliating yoke, but now we
have shaken it off. Those, who have acted for you, are grateful to you
for your unanimous and noble enthusiasm, and Nerva, _Imperator_ will
show his thankfulness by doubling the gifts of corn for the next year.”
“Long live Nerva, the father of his country!” they shouted in chorus.
But it was not only the capricious proletariat, who joined in; more
eager and joyful still were the better classes of the citizens, even up
to the knights and the few senators who, in their uncertainty as to the
issue, found courage enough to express their opinion.
“Romans!” Clodianus went on. “Never fear, that the handful of
mercenaries, who defend the Palatium, can imperil our work this day.
The legions of the Propraetor of Lugdunensis are already on their way
hither, by forced marches from Clusium. Before the sun has twice set,
they will be before the walls of Rome. Go and tell all your friends,
who still hesitate, that he himself will march in with the Propraetor;
Nerva, the choice of the people, the divine Emperor.”
“Long live Nerva! long live Clodianus!” shouted a hundred voices at
once.
It was with great difficulty, that Aurelius could make a way for the
released couple through the dense throng.
“Where are we going?” asked Quintus, who had scarcely been able to
speak a word.
“To your father’s house.”
“Miserable man!” groaned Quintus, bending his face on to his friend's
shoulder. “What must he not have suffered?”
And thus they made their way slowly, like a funeral procession, to the
house of Titus Claudius.
In the Palatium too there was stir and turmoil--torches, the clatter of
arms and confused shouts. At the receipt of the news of the blockade,
Domitian had almost lost his wits. He sobbed like a woman; he started
from his bed shrieking and lamenting, and rushed wildly up and down
his room, his teeth chattering with terror. When he learnt, that the
cohorts which were on guard in the palace had remained faithful, and
would resist every encroachment to the death, he recovered himself
a little, and called his palace officials together for a sort of
council of war. For an hour at least he listened to their opinions,
but rejected almost everything that was proposed, as impracticable or
useless, and at last, in great wrath, dissolved the sitting. Then he
himself went the rounds of all the posts, and condescended so far as to
overwhelm, not the centurions only, but even the private soldiers with
flattering appeals, and to implore their steadfast adherence; besides
this, he distributed gifts of money.
But, in spite of all this, he fancied that the demeanor of the guards
was less respectful than of yore, and this suspicion filled his mind
with bitterness and alarm; he swore to himself, that when once the
rebellion was quelled some, who had especially roused his ire, should
be made an example of. He was still ignorant, that the larger half
of the Praetorian guard had gone over to the enemy. Besides, he was
expecting the Propraetor of Gallia Lugdunensis who, alone, would be
strong enough to turn the balance, and who would no doubt hurry on to
Rome with double speed, when the news of the events in the capital
should meet him. In his utter bewilderment it did not occur to Caesar,
that it was Clodianus who had been in treaty with the Propraetor, and
that Clodianus was at the head of the revolution.
When noon had come and passed, and still the Praetorians had not raised
the siege by expelling the forces under Clodianus, Domitian once more
lost all self-control. He rushed from room to room in utter despair,
now breaking out into abuse of Clodianus and Parthenius, both of whom
he had raised to rank and power; now tearing his hair, now trying
to extract some comfort from those about him--particularly from his
favorite Jewish slave Phaeton, whom he commanded to sing and talk to
him and scare away anxious fears.
Stephanus, who, with Caesar, was blockaded into the Palatium, was not
less agitated than his sovereign; all night through he had sat in
his study, devising and rejecting schemes for obeying his mistress'
behests. Clodianus had indeed made him a party to the conspiracy, and
had even intended--as he declared--that he should play an important
part in it. Nevertheless, the freedman could not but confess to
himself, that the action of the piece had begun while he was still
behind the scenes; that he had had no idea of the extent of the
preparations already made, and that events were fast getting beyond his
ken.
Nothing had surprised him more than the fact, that Clodianus' intrigues
in the capital were in connection with the efforts of Cinna and
Nerva, and this discovery almost overwhelmed him. If the rebellion
were to succeed--as seemed most likely--Cneius Afranius was one of
the heroes of the situation, and a full disclosure of all the crimes
which Stephanus had, until now, so successfully concealed, was a mere
question of time. After all that the Gaulish lawyer had attempted up to
the present date, it seemed more than doubtful whether he would pay any
heed to the appeal of a moon-struck enthusiast like Eurymachus, even
supposing that Stephanus could carry into effect any scheme in favor of
Quintus Claudius. Come what might, one thing was certain: in the new
order of things, the steward of the deposed Empress must fall from his
high estate, unless he could prove his connection with the conspiracy
by some conspicuous service, and so secure beforehand the gratitude of
the future sovereign.
By degrees a resolution took form in his terror-stricken mind, which
had already suggested itself to him several times, though on other
grounds--the resolution to murder Domitian.
The Empress' lust of power and then his fears of the prosecution
under a law, which Caesar might be planning--a fable invented by
Clodianus--had some time since prompted the idea, which he had always
set aside because Caesar’s excessive suspiciousness had made it
seem impracticable. Now, however, opportunity was more favorable.
The extraordinary events of the day made an extraordinary step less
startling. Besides, he had, as he thought, no choice.
Soon after sunrise a vague report spread through the Palatium that,
late the night before, Stephanus had detected a suspicious-looking
personage wandering about in a strange way, at no great distance from
the Caesar’s residence, that he had collared the man and snatched from
him an important document, relating to the conspiracy; in the struggle
the stranger had given him a somewhat deep wound in the left arm.
In point of fact Stephanus, when he came out of his office in the
morning, had his arm in a sling,[170] and to judge from the blood which
had stained through the linen, though the bandages were thick, the
wound must have been a serious one. Anyone, however, who could have
watched the steward an hour before in the solitude of his chamber,
would have seen him scratch his skin with his sharp dagger, carefully
spot the bandages with blood, and then bind the poniard itself close
to his arm like a splint, with strips and folds of linen. At the third
hour Stephanus craved the favor of an audience of Caesar, as he desired
to show him a highly-important letter, which was intended to meet no
eyes but those of the sovereign. Domitian had already heard of the
steward’s misadventure, and he had been on the point of commanding his
presence, when his petition was laid before him.
Stephanus came in, pale and excited; any one might suppose he was
exhausted by loss of blood.
“My lord,” he began, “a discovery of the greatest consequence....”
Domitian, terrified beyond measure, sent all the slaves, with the
exception of Phaeton, out of the room and bid Stephanus come closer to
him. With profound respect the freedman handed him a document, which he
himself had concocted a few hours previously. Caesar turned pale, and
hastily glanced through the craftily-composed letter.
This was the instant of which Stephanus took advantage.[171] He drew
out the dagger like a flash of lightning, and struck it to the hilt
into Caesar’s stomach. Domitian gave a fearful scream, and threw
himself on the assassin like a wild beast.
“My sword!” he shouted. “Phaeton, my sword!”
The boy flew into the next room to fetch it, while Domitian and
Stephanus struggled desperately. The Emperor tried to wrench the dagger
from his foe, but only succeeded in clutching the blade and cutting
his fingers to the bone. With a roar of pain, he tried to force out
his adversary’s eyes, or to set his teeth in his throat. The slaves
rushed in, but dared not interfere. They thought that Stephanus might
be acting under the orders of Clodianus; Phaeton alone, who had found
the sword, rushed boldly at the victorious assassin, and dealt him a
deadly blow, at the very instant when Stephanus stabbed the Emperor to
the heart.
“Phaeton!... too late[172]...!” cried Domitian as he fell. “You alone
have been faithful....” A dark stream of blood gushed from his mouth,
and Caesar, who for so many years had trampled the world underfoot, was
dead.
Stephanus did not survive him many minutes. Phaeton’s stroke had split
his skull.
Domitian’s death left the Praetorian guard no reason for resisting
the revolution; as soon as the news was known, Clodianus sent an
envoy to the Palatium, who came to an understanding with the tribunes
and centurions, and they surrendered at once. The rest of the guard,
outside the Palatium, then made no farther demur. Thus the victory of
Marcus Cocceius Nerva was an accomplished fact, and, excepting for the
two victims of the struggle within the palace, it had been a bloodless
one.
Notwithstanding the lateness of the hour, Clodianus at once summoned
the Senate to a sitting. The very men, who had hitherto grovelled
in the dust before the despot, now vied with each other in their
expressions of hatred and contempt for the dead.[173] After the
election of Marcus Cocceius Nerva had been officially ratified, and
proclaimed in high-sounding phrases to be the happiest event of the
century, the assembly passed a resolution declaring Domitian to
have been a foe and traitor to his country, and requiring the Roman
people to deface and obliterate every memorial of a man accursed.
The numerous statues of himself, that Domitian had erected, were to
be thrown down from their pedestals, and his triumphal arches laid
level with the ground.[174] Certain petty and undignified suggestions,
which had for their object extended powers of denunciation[175] such
as they had existed under Domitian, but with increased severity,
and the impeachment of some men of the highest character--as for
instance of Titus Claudius--as adherents of the late emperor, were
promptly negatived at an unmistakable sign from Clodianus, who had been
expressly informed by Caius Aurelius, that the new ruler would set
his face most positively against all the base expedients of the old
government. On the other hand, the Senate were given full powers to
provide for the liberation of all prisoners of state, inclusive even
of the Nazarenes,[176] since the decree relating to that Jewish sect
was to be reconsidered immediately after the Emperor’s arrival. In this
also Clodianus was acting under the direct guidance of Caius Aurelius,
who, after returning from the house of Titus Claudius, never quitted
his side.
So little were social peace and order disturbed by this revolution in
the history of the world, that after midday the games and combats in
the Flavian amphitheatre were proceeded with, though it is true they
were attended by scarcely any but the lowest class, to whom it was a
matter of indifference whether a god or a demon sat on the throne, so
long as they had their largess of corn and their circus games. A few of
them complained even that, by releasing the Nazarenes, the new Emperor
had abridged the programme. But when at the close Clodianus indemnified
each by a present in money, the last dissentient voices were silenced
and “Long live Nerva!” rang loudly through the Amphitheatre, where two
days since Domitian had been no less loudly greeted with shouts of “Ave
Caesar!”
FOOTNOTES:
[161] IGILIUM, now Giglio.
[162] ALSIUM, south of Caere, an old Etrurian city, afterwards a
Roman colony, a favorite place of resort, where there were
numerous villas (see Front. “_De feriis Alsiensibus_” as well
as Cic. _Mil._ 20; _Ad fam._ IX, 6), now Palo. Some ancient
ruins still exist.
[163] THE VIA CASSIA ran between the Via Flaminia and the Via
Aurelia to central Etruria.
[164] CLUSIUM. Early mentioned as the residence of King Porsena,
between lakes Trasimenus and Volsiniensis; now Chiusi.
[165] LUNA. A city in northern Etruria, not far from the modern
Carrara; a Roman colony.
[166] PISAE now Pisa.
[167] RUSELLAE, now Roselle.
[168] FORUM CASSII, south of the Lacus Volsiniensis (Lago di
Bolsena.)
[169] THE SOLDIERY WERE ALLOWED TO DO JUST WHAT THEY PLEASED. In a
poem belonging to the early part of the second century, among
other advantages of military life, it is specially mentioned,
that the soldier can perpetrate many a wanton act upon
civilians (See Juv. _Sat._ XVI, 7-34.) "If a soldier strikes a
civilian (_togutus_,) the latter not only does not venture to
return the blow, but cannot even commence a law-suit, for the
whole cohort takes sides with the accused before the military
tribunals, by which the soldiers' offences are punished."
[170] STEPHANUS, WHEN HE CAME OUT OP HIS OFFICE IN THE MORNING, HAD
HIS ARM IN A SLING. See Suet. _Dom._ 17.
[171] THIS WAS THE INSTANT OF WHICH STEPHANUS TOOK ADVANTAGE. The
description given here corresponds in essential particulars
with the accounts of Suetonius and Dio Cassias, except that
we identify the young slave, from whom the emperor, according
to Suetonius, demands the sword, with the slave, who rushed
in and struck down Stephanus. Domitian’s murder, which for
private reasons I defer till the month of April, really
occurred on the 18th of September.
[172] PHAETON!... TOO LATE! These words are borrowed from
Suetonius’s account of Nero’s end, (_Ner._ 49) where the
centurion, who is ordered to arrest the dying Caesar, overcome
by compassion, lays the mantle over the fatal wound, feigning
to come to his rescue.
[173] THE VERY MEN, WHO HAD HITHERTO GROVELLED IN THE DUST BEFORE
THE DESPOT, ETC. See Dio Cass. LXVIII, i.
[174] THE NUMEROUS STATUES OF HIMSELF, ETC. See Dio Cass. and others.
[175] POWERS OF DENUNCIATION. See Dio Cass. and others: “Many were
also sentenced to death through false informers.”
[176] THE SENATE WERE GIVEN FULL POWERS TO PROVIDE FOR THE
LIBERATION OF ALL PRISONERS OF STATE, INCLUSIVE EVEN OF THE
NAZARENES. See Dio Cass. and others. “Nerva ordered those
accused of offences against the Caesar to be set free, and
the exiles to be recalled home.” He also allowed no one to
be dragged before a court of law, on account of a Jewish
(Christian) mode of life.