A crowd of magistrates, proconsuls, priests, Senators, and ambassadors
were in the polished-marble council chamber in a sumptuous palace on
the Palatine Hill. Seated on a curule chair on a raised platform was
a man sixty-two years old. His face was handsome, but disfigured with
pimples and plasters. His eyes were large and, like those of a bat,
could see in the dark. His lips were thick, puffy, and usually moist
and shiny. His stern forehead was so furrowed by a frown that his
eyebrows touched. His long hair fell upon and greased his toga. His
figure was large and robust, his bearing erect; he held his head stiff
and upright. Around his neck, over his imperial tunic, he wore a golden
chain studded with jewels. As he sat there he was approached, from time
to time, by different men who respectfully bowed and proffered words of
salutation. From his demeanor and the manner of those who addressed him
it might be inferred that he had no higher rank than that of a consul.
Yet the man seated there was feared and hated by every one. He was the
most powerful man in the Roman Empire. He was the Emperor, Tiberius!
His early life had been full of disappointment. As step-son to the
Divine Augustus he always considered himself worthy of great honors.
His aspiring hopes, however, were continually shattered. Augustus,
marrying his daughter Julia to his nephew Marcellus, had first adopted
Marcellus as his heir. When that unfortunate youth died, Augustus
married Julia to Agrippa, and then adopted Julia’s second husband
as his heir. Agrippa dying and leaving five children, Augustus then
adopted as heirs two older sons of Agrippa. Tiberius was then compelled
to divorce his wife Vipsania, and to marry the twice-widowed Julia.
While married to Julia he became so gloomy, sullen, and disappointed
that, hating the sight of relations and friends thus forced upon him,
he voluntarily exiled himself from Rome and lived alone at Rhodes. At
that time he was thirty-seven years old. His actions were so childish
that he sulked, and hid himself even from friends who passed through
Rhodes on their way to the East. To give an appearance of honorable
distinction to the exile, Livia, his mother, succeeded in obtaining the
title of lieutenant for him. However, such a lewd and vicious life did
he lead at Rhodes that the Rhodians insulted him and hurled down his
statues.
But Livia worked strenuously for her son. Years before, the death of
Marcellus had been accomplished. Now, while her son corrupted the youth
of Rhodes, Caius and Lucius were both mysteriously murdered. Tiberius
and “Little Agrippa,” as he is sometimes called, the third and last son
of Agrippa and Julia, were then conjointly adopted by Augustus. But the
young Agrippa was cunningly surrounded by such wicked companions that
he became demented and was exiled to an island called Planasia. Thus
Tiberius finally became the last reluctant choice of the old emperor.
During the mild reign of Augustus the malevolence of Tiberius was
restrained. The sullenness of the heir was hidden behind the benign and
resplendent deeds of the benefactor. But after the death of Augustus
the accumulated evil that had been dammed up for so many years burst
forth with terrific violence. The deaths of Marcellus, Caius, and
Lucius were secretly accomplished. Now the poor Agrippa was openly
murdered. The hand of outrage was then stayed, but for only a short
time. The good and loyal Germanicus, the beloved of the Roman people,
was the next victim. He was poisoned in Syria. But this only whetted
the appetite for crime and intensified the thirst for blood. It seemed
as if the infernal region had at last found a medium through which
to pour forth its Stygian essences; for when Tiberius sat on the
throne the Roman people became submerged in intemperance, felony, and
licentiousness, confiscations, pillage, and robbery, envy, hatred, and
murder.
Although he behaved deferentially to the Senate, prefixing his remarks
when he addressed them with “By your leave,” “With your permission,”
etc., yet that servile body dared not assert its rights, but cringingly
obeyed his every request. He detested vice in others, but he himself
was saturated with abominations. He also detested men pre-eminent
in virtue, because of the unfavorable light in which they placed
him. He financially helped some Senators, but others he mercilessly
robbed and murdered. Few men were trusted by him. He was taciturn,
and rarely smiled an honest smile. He was suspicious of every one. He
hated flattery. Gladiatorial combats he prohibited; yet he watched men
tortured to death with no nice compunction at seeing blood thus spilt.
His soul was filled with evil which was reflected in all his acts. He
was gloomy, revengeful, and unforgiving. He was easy to anger. He never
forgot an injury. His acts of tyranny were covered by the cloak of
hypocrisy. He was a heavy drinker, a profligate, an insatiable, bloody
tyrant.
In the council chamber of the palace the emperor had just received a
foreign delegation. Orientals clad in silken robes, embroidered with
gold and silver, mingled with the high Roman officials, clad in their
soft white togas bordered with purple. Both costumes were imposing in
their different styles,--the one luxuriously royal, the other regal
in its proud simplicity. Among the Romans present were the young sons
of Agrippina,--Nero and Drusus. These young princes, grandsons of
the Divine Augustus, were loved for their manly virtues and for the
veneration in which their murdered father, Germanicus, was held by the
Roman people. The simple and childlike brother of Livilla, Claudius,
walked among the guests, smiling at the nods of recognition, as if they
were great favors bestowed upon him. Drusus, the son of Tiberius, was
present. Although he was angered at the wrong done him by his father in
the Senate that day, yet he forced a respectful tone when he addressed
him.
“Is not the audience at an end, O father?” he asked.
“Ay, my son, ’tis over; but I would see Sejanus before the delegation
leaves.”
Drusus slightly frowned when the name of Sejanus was pronounced.
But smothering his resentment, he said: “Thy presence, O father, is
expected on the Esquiline this night. Fail us not. Many days have
passed since thou hast honored my home.”
“Gladly will I be there, O my son,” said Tiberius.
“Let nothing hinder thee,” persisted Drusus.
“I will be there. But why art thou so anxious?”
“I have much to tell thee,” replied the wronged son.
“Thou hast complaints to make?”
“Nay, O father. We shall drink the cup of peace.”
“I have told thee I will be there. But what makes Claudius so happy
to-day, O my son?”
“He is promised some amphorae from Velletri. He is partial to the wine
of that district,” replied Drusus, with a mechanical smile.
“Happy Claudius!” said Tiberius, working his fingers as he talked and
giving to all his words a nasal twang. “Happy Claudius, who lives only
for his stomach!”
An attendant here announced to Tiberius that Livia was in the vestibule
and would enter.
“Tell my mother, Livia,” said Tiberius, the frown on his forehead
deepening, “that I will not see her to-day.”
But the order was futile. Livia had already walked into the council
chamber and was directing her way towards the tribunal on which
Tiberius was seated. The people had respectfully divided, leaving a
passage for her. The attendant approached her and gave her the reply of
Tiberius. Livia received the rebuke, but continued on her way.
The mother of Tiberius was eighty years old. She was a remarkable
woman. Her face, although wrinkled, was yet full of healthy color; her
eyes were bright and piercing; her hair was white. She walked upright,
her bearing full of dignity.
Tiberius hastily rose and went to meet her. The swelling veins on his
forehead and the red color of his face showed his anger, yet he dared
not use violent words before such a gathering. Watching the quiet
dignity of the aged mother and the smothered anger of the enraged
son, the guests remained spellbound. Controlling his anger, Tiberius
requested her to meet him on the morrow. The wronged mother, however,
braved his displeasure and demanded an immediate audience. They retired
into an adjoining room. Livia was the first to speak.
“In the Senate to-day thou didst insult me, O Tiberius!” she slowly
said, in an injured tone.
“’Twas not meant as an insult, O mother,” he snarled.
“Then see that thy words are expunged from the records of the Senate,”
she majestically commanded. “Know, O son, that before a body of august
men an insult to a Roman matron, ay, to thy mother, rebounds with
redoubled force upon thee. An official position for a friend was my
small request. But thou, childish and bitter as thou art, didst say
unto the Senate that the position had been extorted from thee by me.”
“Ay, ’tis true. I like not thy friend,” whined the emperor.
“Say, rather, thou likest not honesty!” firmly declared the aged mother.
“Say rather, O mother, that I have courage to refuse to be responsible
for thy friends,” he jeered.
“Nay. The brothels and wine-shops are the schools from which men are
chosen to office in these degenerate days,” said Livia, in a tone of
disgust.
“The brothels and wine-shops have truly educated great men,” he
snarled. “But why didst thou choose this hour to pour out thy
complaints?”
“I wish that thou shouldst withdraw thy words of to-day at the meeting
of the Senate on the morrow,” she commanded. “I go not to the house of
Drusus this night.”
“That I will not do,” he emphatically declared.
“Then let the people and history judge of thy worthlessness and thy
puerile nature,” she loudly exclaimed. “But tell me, O son of evil,
why wilt thou not oblige me?”
“Already have I told thee. I like not thy friend.”
“He was trusted by thy divine step-father.”
“Ay, my mother. But now _I_ conduct the affairs of the empire.”
“Let me but speak to the people, let me but unfold to them thy nature,
and thy power will crumble like a child’s sand-hill before the rising
tide of the ocean,” threatened the mother.
“Ah! Once did I fear thee, but never more,” drawled Tiberius. “Once I
wished thy help, but now thy opinions in affairs of state are no longer
sought. Hereafter _my_ wishes shall be observed.”
“Thou mockest me, thou tauntest me, O Tiberius!” she cried. “I care not
for the loss of power. But public insult is something I cannot and will
not endure. Never did the Divine Augustus so treat me, and thou shalt
not. Ingrate that thou art! no grain of respect or gratitude lives in
thy bitter nature. But am I, the wife and the mother of an emperor, to
be buffeted about by a thing that associates with the rabble of the
street? Am I--”
“Hold, mother!” interrupted Tiberius. “I am thy son. Inheritance has
left some marks upon me.”
“Ah! Inheritance is the cloak behind which cowards hide,” she said with
bitter emphasis.
“’Twas not I, O mother, who counselled the death of Agrippa,” he
pettishly argued.
“’Twas thou who gavest the order,” she replied in a taunting tone. “Did
Germanicus, the pure, unstained son of Antonia, fall by any wish of
mine? His crime was the love he inspired in the hearts of the people.
A comparison between his purity and thy uncleanness was more than thou
couldst endure. O Tiberius, corruption crowns thy brow! The pimples on
thy face are words that all can read. Goodness flees before thee. Joy
is strangled in thy presence. Love--”
“Hold!” cried Tiberius, bursting with anger. “Defy me not, O Livia!
Thou wearest the honored crown of age, but before abusive words respect
flees.”
“Thy respect for me, cruel son, died when I placed thee where thou art!”
“Of a truth, O mother Livia, my respect for thee was not increased when
I heard, three days ago, of thy actions the night before.”
“O spiteful son! O villanous man! Whilst thou didst sleep off the
effects of wine, I ran into the Forum and exhorted the men to
extinguish the flames in the house of the Vestal Virgins.”
“Ay, ’tis not a creditable deed for _the wife and the mother of an
emperor_ to run through the streets crying for help. I care not if it
were for the cause of extinguishing flames in the Vestals’ house. ’Tis
not becoming thy sex. But thou art forever interfering in affairs that
do not belong to thee. Ah, it tires me,” said Tiberius, with bitter
disgust.
“Such words to me!--to one who fostered thee, and labored so diligently
for thy welfare!” said Livia, astounded at the air he was assuming.
“Insolence, shameless effrontery, are, then, the reward for my tireless
struggles for thee. But what more should I expect from a hateful
child? I gave birth to a thing that has become a monstrosity,--a vile
creature, void of all human instinct,--a brazen-faced serpent that now
stings me. Ah, ingrate that thou art! Well did the Divine Augustus
understand thy malignant disposition. Here, here, are the letters which
he wrote and which I have cherished. Read what he says of thee. He
calls thee ‘a canker feeding on his happiness,’ ‘a thorn in his flesh.’
He says, ‘Thy looks are bitter, thy words gall.’ He says, ‘Thy exile at
Rhodes is a relief from thy revolting and disgusting manners.’ He also
says, ‘Thy friends are the dregs of the slums, thy filth a stain on his
household.’ Read, O wicked Tiberius, what he says of thee, and then
ponder over thine infernal life.”
Her deliberate and commanding manner and the reproachful and sarcastic
tone in which she delivered the last few lines of invective so stung
Tiberius that he ground his teeth in rage. She was magnificent in her
self-control. He recoiled at her words, which, being sharpened by
truth, pierced his very soul. He took up the letters which she had
thrown near his feet, and began to destroy them, one by one. His face
was purple, and the veins on his forehead were swollen to an abnormal
size. Quelling the blasphemy that mounted to his lips, and drawling his
words with a repulsive twang, he said: “Thou revilest me with letters
written by a jealous man? Thou--”
“Have a care, O Tiberius!” she interrupted. “Revile not the gods. The
Romans will not permit the name of the Divine Augustus to be vilified
by thee. _I_ will not permit thee!”
“Then leave me! I cannot listen to thee and remain calm. I may strike
thee. ’Tis the first time thou hast dared to thus defy me. ’Twill be
the last. Leave me, O Livia!”
“I will leave thee,” said Livia, magnificent in the control of her
temper and actions; “but before I depart I will speak some final
words.” Her voice was clear and loud as she added: “Woe unto thee,
O Tiberius! No astrologer is required to read thy future. ’Tis
written on thy evil face. The furrows upon thy brow will deepen. Thy
night-seeing, vampire-like eyes will delight in the sight of blood.
In thy nostrils will be the stench of the putrefying corpses of thy
murdered victims. Thy mouth will be red-stained like that of the
Cyclops, not by wine, but by the blood of innocent wretches. ’Twill no
longer be the face of a human being, ’twill be the sodden despotic face
of a monster.”
“Have done, O Livia! have done!” cried Tiberius.
“I will speak. Woe unto thee, Tiberius! Thy life will be more unhappy,
if that were possible. Rome, that was happy under the Divine Augustus,
will rise and execrate thee. Sejanus, who helps thee in thy infernal
plans, carries a scorpion sting behind his smooth and polished
servility. Thou shalt dwell in miserable solitude,--in a solitude that
shall resound with the yells of the despairing, with the shrieks of the
tortured, and with the groans of the dying. Hate has become incarnate
in thee. Murder, dripping with blood, will be thy spouse.”
“By the eternal gods, cease this tirade! By Hercules--” he cried, as if
to strike her.
“Ay, strike me! Strike thine old mother, who has lived too long! Oh
that I should have lived to see this unhappy day! But woe unto thee,
Tiberius! Thy relations all suffer under the pall of thy displeasure.
Thy mother is insulted. Thy son is denied his just rights. Thy adopted
daughter, Agrippina, and her children tremble in fear of thee. The
pious Antonia’s eyes are red with weeping for her son Germanicus. Only
the insanity of Claudius protects him against thy hate. The wretched
Roman people are becoming enslaved by thy dastardly system of spies.
Are thy kinsmen all wrong? Are the people also wrong? Art thou, and
thou only, the one who is right? Woe unto thee, O infamous son! I have
finished. Would that my words should always ring in thine ears! Woe
unto thee; I repeat it,--woe unto thee!”
Saying these words, Livia raised her arms to heaven as if she were
invoking a curse. She walked slowly to the door and entered the council
chamber. Her face was flushed, and her lips slightly trembled, but her
step was firm. As she smiled and bowed to those whom she recognized
among the crowd, her bearing was full of composure, dignity, and
majesty.
Instead of becoming angry at the last words of Livia, Tiberius sneered
and smiled sarcastically. Not wishing to appear before the guests, he
sent word that the audience was at an end.
When Sejanus arrived at the palace, he was immediately received.
“Hail to thee, O Tiberius!” said the minister, as he entered the room.
“Thank the gods, thou hast at last appeared, O faithful minister!” said
Tiberius, giving a deep sigh of relief.