On the border of a desert where vegetation struggles against the arid
breath of sterility, appear smiling and restful oases. But these oases
perish, one by one, with the drying up of the life-giving springs. When
the flame of an untempered summer burns out life, when the brackish
water sinks in the wells under the spade of anxious man, when all
the emerald isles of the desert vanish until one only is left, there
arises in that one, amid the cries of overwhelming despair, a fervent
prayer for help and protection. Such was the life of Agrippina,[2] the
solitary grandchild of the Divine Augustus.
The early springtime of her life was filled with sunshine and the
blossoms of happiness. Her mother, Julia, was the proud daughter and
only child of Augustus. Her father, Agrippa, was the greatest general
of his day, and a man of noble character. She had three brothers and
one sister. All were smiled upon by Fortune, and all were loved by
Augustus and the Roman people. When her father died, Augustus, still
living, watched over her and her family. Her widowed mother then
married Tiberius. The entrance of this man into the Julian family was
the ominous cloud that first veiled the effulgence of her springtime.
She had married Germanicus, the son of Drusus, and brother of Claudius
and Livilla. He was the noblest endowed, both in body and mind,
of any Roman of that day. He was a man of handsome appearance, of
extraordinary courage, of wonderful oratorical talents, and of powerful
influence. Happy in the possession of the love of this best of men,
the life of Agrippina was as beautiful and joyous as a perfect day in
spring.
Suddenly, in the clear day of her life, her brother Caius was murdered
in Lycia. Eighteen months later another brother, Lucius, was murdered
in Marseilles. Shortly after, her mother was exiled to the island of
Pandataria, and her sister to another island, Trimetus. When her mother
left Rome, Tiberius crawled from his vile nest at Rhodes, and braving
the insult and opprobrium of the people, came back to the city.
But the terrible disaster which then happened to the legions under
Varus in Germany threw the aged emperor into paroxysms of grief
and fear. Too old to go in person to the borders of the empire, he
despatched Tiberius. The voluntary retreat of the Germans removed the
menace that hung over Italy; but the people suffered the indignity
of seeing the standards of the Roman legions fall into the hands of
barbarians. Tiberius was then recalled. The old emperor chose him as
his heir, in conjunction with Agrippa, Agrippina’s only surviving
brother. Some time afterward Agrippa, becoming demented, was sent away
in exile. In making his final choice of an heir, Augustus wavered
between Tiberius and Germanicus; but that important title was finally
bestowed upon Tiberius on account of his years and military experience.
Germanicus was forced to become the adopted son of the new heir.
With increasing anxiety Agrippina beheld the gradual extinction of her
family. When her brother Lucius fell a victim to the intrigues of the
mother of Tiberius, she was distressed, but not dismayed. She was still
loved by her aged grandfather, for her noble character and virtuous
life. Before the emperor died she had given birth to eight children.
The first and second died in infancy. A third, a boy, was so beautiful
that his statue, carved in marble, was placed in the Temple of Venus on
the Capitoline Hill. In the bedroom of the emperor was placed a similar
statue, which Augustus kissed every time he entered the apartment. But
this child also died. Of the other five children,--two girls and three
boys,--Caligula, the youngest, was three years old when Augustus died.
Three years after that event, the last child, Julia, was born.
With seeming tranquillity, after the adoption of Tiberius as his heir,
Augustus gradually withdrew from the affairs of government. Germanicus
was ordered to take command of the legions in Germany, and Agrippina
accompanied him. Drusus, the son of Tiberius, was sent to pacify the
mutinous legions in Pannonia. The emperor passed the remaining days of
his life at Capri, Neapolis, and Nola. In the last-named town he died.
Soon after the death of this great man Agrippa was murdered. Two years
later Agrippina’s mother was starved to death. Then in the following
year Germanicus was poisoned in Syria.
Thus had the life of this noble woman been blasted by the violent deeds
of the Claudian family. Thus, one by one, had dried up the fountains
that gave her life and courage. Thus was she driven to one solitary
comfort, to one refreshing oasis,--the love of her family. For six long
years after the death of Germanicus she had guarded her children with
jealous care and anxious forebodings.
Amid the legions in Gaul and in the palaces of Syria she had passed
with her husband the last years of his life. She had once been gentle,
with a sweet disposition and a peaceful face. The six years of her
widowhood had embittered her life. Her face was now impassive and
determined, her eyes piercing and melancholy, her mouth nervous and
firm. “The Mother of the Camp,” as the soldiers had honorably addressed
her, the proud mother of nine children, and the descendant of a family
that had been pronounced divine, would not bow her princely pride
before the vulgar and domineering son of Livia. Although nearly crushed
by disaster, yet she bravely and imperiously carried herself through
all her tribulations.
With her six children she lived in a small house that Germanicus had
built near the Temple of Jupiter Victor on the Palatine Hill. Alongside
and connected to the house by a crypto-porticus was the sumptuous
palace erected by Tiberius. The contrast between the imposing palace
of Tiberius and the small house of the daughter of divine ancestors
aroused in the Roman people sarcastic criticism.
The house of Germanicus[3] was divided into two parts,--one for the
reception of friends and clients, the other for family life. The part
where the family lived consisted of two stories. The first story was
on a level with the street, which bordered it on three sides. In this
story were the sleeping, dressing, and bath rooms. The servants
occupied the story above. These stories were connected to the part
where friends were received by a narrow staircase, which opened into
the rectangular atrium, sunk considerably below the level of the
street. On one of the long sides of the atrium were three halls or
rooms; on the other the vestibule, which was the only entrance to the
house. The vestibule connected with the crypto-porticus that led to the
Palace of Tiberius. On one of the short sides of the atrium was the
dining-room; the other was a plain wall. Near it was an altar that held
the family gods.
In the largest of the three rooms opposite the vestibule Agrippina was
reclining one morning on a richly covered couch. Her son Drusus was
seated at her head, on a Syrian rug, which partly covered the mosaic
floor. A few days had elapsed since the terrible death of Drusus, the
son of the emperor.
The lad Drusus was a graceful lad of fifteen. He had an unhappy face,
with dull black eyes, a large mouth, with thick lips. He had just
returned from the palace on the Esquiline and had thrown himself near
his mother to report what he had seen there.
“Is thy grandmother, Antonia, still at the palace?” asked Agrippina.
“Ay, my mother; Julia has not left her room since her father’s death.”
“Is she ill?” asked the mother.
“Not seriously,” answered Drusus.
“Verily, I must go and see her. And how is thy aunt Livilla?”
“She smiled at me,” replied the youth. “Truly, no one laments my
uncle’s death but his daughter Julia. Even thou, O mother, art not sad.”
“Ah, my son, I have suffered and still suffer,” sadly responded
the mother. “Nothing but excruciating sorrow can affect one who is
constantly beset with grief.”
“Didst thou not like Drusus, my mother?”
“In his death the family of Germanicus suffered a great loss,” replied
Agrippina.
“Why, O mother?”
“He loved thy father. He loved thee, thy sisters, and thy brothers.
He suffered from the neglect of an unnatural father. Sejanus was his
enemy. Beware of that man, my son! Ay,” she continued, as if dreaming,
“Drusus loved us, but his love brought with it the hate of Sejanus.
Now the minister, in these few days, has become friendly. I repeat it,
beware of that man! His words are poison. Hast thou seen the emperor?”
“He will see no one but Sejanus,” replied Drusus.
“What news of Livia?”
“She is resigned. She also will not leave her palace. But when my
father died the whole city put on mourning. Now the death of the
emperor’s son causes only an extra meeting of the Senate.”
“Thy father was idolized by the people,” said Agrippina, proudly. “Hast
thou forgotten the encomium that was pronounced when his body was
reduced to ashes? I taught thee the words. Let me hear thee say them.”
The youth thought a moment and then began: “He was as graceful as
Alexander the Great; of equally illustrious descent; in years the
same; both fell victims to the machinations of their countrymen, in
the midst of foreign nations; but Germanicus was gentle towards his
friends, moderate in his pleasures; the husband of one wife; his
children legitimate. Had he been sole arbiter of his destiny, had he
possessed the sovereignty and the title of royalty, he would have
surpassed Alexander in military renown as greatly as he surpassed him
in clemency, in moderation, and in all other virtues.”
“Thou hast the best memory of all my sons!” said Agrippina, smiling
sorrowfully.
“Where will they bury Drusus, my mother?” asked the lad.
“In the mausoleum destined for our remains,” replied Agrippina,
“among the ashes of Marcellus, Octavia, my father, Agrippa, thy
great-grandfather, the Divine Augustus, my brothers Caius, Lucius, and
Agrippa, and thy noble father.”
“Ay, my mother; but Drusus belongs not to the Julian family.”
“As husband to Livilla, my son, his ashes will have that distinction.”
“Although I was but a child of nine,” said Drusus, thoughtfully, “when
I went with Nero to meet thee, at Terracina, carrying the ashes of my
dear father, yet clearly do I remember that day.”
“’Twas the saddest day of my voyage home,” she sadly replied. “At
Brundusium, O my son, the country round about poured forth its people
so that the wharves, the buildings, and the temples of that city
were black with crowds clad in mourning robes. In that dense throng
were friends and relatives, as well as officers and soldiers who had
served under thy father in many campaigns. When the bireme that bore
thy father’s remains floated into the harbor of that great city, a
simultaneous groan arose from that multitude. As I walked from the
bireme, carrying the urn that contained the ashes of thy father, and
followed by Caligula and the babe Julia, in the arms of her nurse, men
wept like women, women like children. The journey from Brundusium to
Terracina was one long lament.”
“Ay, mother, I remember to have seen the people throw stones at the
temples, in anger that the gods should have permitted that catastrophe.”
“Thine uncle Drusus has been called a stony-hearted man; but when he
met me at Terracina he burst into tears,--may the gods grant peace to
his spirit! With him were Claudius, Nero, Agrippina, Drusilla, and
thyself, O Drusus. As we moved on towards Rome, every temple along the
way poured forth clouds of incense. Traffic ceased in the cities, and
the people lined the road in one compact mass. A catafalque covered
with wreaths and flowers and bearing the silver funeral urn was borne
upon the shoulders of tribunes and centurions. At Albanum I was met by
the consuls, the Senate, the knights in purple mantles, and the Roman
people in black robes. Their sobs and cries rent the air. Never before
had such mourning been seen and heard in the streets of Rome.” As she
lived over in memory that sad journey to Rome, tears filled her eyes.
“Weep not, O mother,” said Drusus, laying his hand upon hers.
“Ay, but what followed?” said Agrippina, drying her eyes and sitting
upright upon the couch. “Did the emperor meet me? Did he pay any
respect to those precious ashes? Where was Livia? The mother of
Germanicus, Antonia, was at home, prostrated. But, my son, where
was the public funeral that great men deserve? When the father of
Germanicus died, Tiberius met his body, and, in the depths of winter,
from the snowy mountains he came on foot to the city. At Rome, around
the bier of that illustrious man, were the images of the Claudian and
Julian families. In the Forum he was mourned. Encomiums were pronounced
on the rostra. Every honor that could be conceived was heaped upon
him. But thy father, the great Germanicus, had nothing. Except for the
moaning of the people, his remains were silently placed beside those of
his father and my Divine grandsire.” She paused a few moments and then
continued: “Amid those groans could be heard passionate exclamations.
People cried: ‘The commonwealth is lost! Henceforth there remains no
hope for Rome!’”
“Ay, O mother, despair not; for the sons of Germanicus will sit on the
throne of their father’s hopes,” said Drusus, full of enthusiasm.
“But nothing, my son, pierced the heart of Tiberius more than the
titles bestowed upon me. Then prayers--”
“Thy children know well those titles, O mother. Do not hesitate to
mention them. Of a truth they were right when they called thee
‘the ornament of her country, the only blood of Augustus, and an
unparalleled example of primitive virtue.’”
“Then prayers,” continued Agrippina, slightly smiling at her son’s
loyalty, “were offered in the temples for the preservation of you
children, that you might outlive your oppressor.”
“But the emperor loves the children of Germanicus, O mother. Does he
not provide for them?”
“Ay, my son, he provides for them, but with the wealth that should be
theirs.”
“Does he not pay for the games that Nero gives?”
“Ay-- But didst thou not hear a noise?”
“What kind of noise?” asked Drusus, springing to his feet.
“Go into the atrium,” she whispered, affrightened, “and see who has
overheard us.”
Drusus rushed into the atrium, and in the room that adjoined the one
where his mother reclined, he saw a servant conceal something in the
bosom of his tunic.
“What have you hidden there?” demanded Drusus.
“Nothing, my master,” replied the servant, as he hastened away.
“Hold!” cried Agrippina, as she appeared in the atrium. “Move not a
step! What ho! Artus, Mano!” she called. When these two servants
appeared, she commanded: “Search that servant; he has stolen something.”
In a moment Artus and Mano discovered, hidden in the tunic of the
servant, a tablet with a stylus attached to it by a cord.
“Give it me,” said Agrippina. Rapidly glancing at it, she read a
portion of her conversation with Drusus. “Ah!” she exclaimed. “Thou art
a spy! Beat him and send him into the streets!” she ordered, as she
smoothed away the writing on the waxen tablet. There was a struggle
as Artus and Mano led the spy up the steps to the servants’ quarters.
Shortly after deadened blows were heard, followed by cries and groans.
“Oh that a descendant of the gods should be subjected to such
indignity!” exclaimed Agrippina. “Even my words are copied and reported
to Tiberius! O son, I have spoken to thee plainly. Thou hast good
judgment. Speak not a word of what I have said to thee. Guard well thy
words. Weigh each one of them. The walls carry messages, the stones
speak in these days of terror.”
The calls of Agrippina and the tumult of the servants had penetrated
into the room of Caligula, who was studying with his master. The lad
left his instructor and ran downstairs into the atrium, crying, “What
has happened, my mother?”
“Nothing, my child. Go back to thy master. A servant has been
corrected.”
“Nothing more?” he asked in a disappointed tone.
“Nothing, Caius,” replied Drusus, smiling.
The little fellow quickly turned, ran up the stairs, and was soon again
at work upon his studies.
“Thou always callest him Caius,” said Agrippina.
“Ay, my mother; I like not the other name.”
“Caligula is the name given him by the soldiers,” said the mother.
“Caius pleases me better,” insisted the youth.
“Thy sisters, Agrippina and Drusilla, will then remain for their
midday meal in the house of mourning with thy cousin Julia?” inquired
Agrippina, as she again reclined upon the couch in the middle room.
“Ay, mother.”
“And Nero, where didst thou leave him?”
“He left me in the Forum.”
“Whither did he go?”
“He went to the camp to see Sejanus.”
“Possibly the games will be postponed now that Drusus is dead,” said
Agrippina. “In one year thou, too, my son, wilt reach the manly age. By
that time Nero will be wed.”
“Whom will he wed, O mother?”
“The emperor has not made his--”
But she was interrupted by the appearance of Nero, who entered the
atrium, and sitting down on his mother’s couch, sadly said, “’Tis over!”
“What has been decided?” asked Agrippina.
“There will be no games,” said Nero.
Nero was the sixteen-year-old son of Agrippina, and was her favorite
because he had inherited the manly bearing and the handsome features
of his father. His black eyes were bright and quick, and his face was
expressive of joy and kindness.
“But I had already told thee that out of respect for thine uncle’s
death the games might be prevented,” said Agrippina.
“I had thought they might be postponed,” said Nero, in a disappointed
tone.
“Who has told thee?” asked Agrippina.
“Sejanus,” answered Nero. “Instead, gratuities will be given the
people.”
“Strive higher, O my son, than to amuse the people,” gently advised
Agrippina. “Aim for the greatest distinction that the Roman can
bestow,--the triumph. There is no more glorious picture than that of a
hero marching with his captives along the Via Sacra towards the Temple
of Jupiter on the Capitoline Hill. Such honors did thy ancestors enjoy.
Be a true descendant of the Divine Julius and the Divine Augustus. Be
a true son of thy father.”
“Verily, I will try,” said Nero.
“Dost thou remember thy father’s triumph, O Drusus?”
“Ay, mother. ’Twas a day that I shall never forget.”
“’Twas the seventh day before the calends of June,” said Agrippina.
“Caius Coelius and Lucius Pomponius were consuls. In that magnificent
procession, led by the Conscript Fathers, there was one spectacle at
which the people, carried away by their enthusiasm, kissed their hands
and wept tears of joy. For, my children, more splendid than all the
gold or silver, ay, more splendid than all the glories of this world,
there, borne aloft, were the standards that had been recaptured by
the valor of thine august father. Ye were with him on that supremely
glorious day. But, my Nero, didst thou learn aught else this morning?”
“Ay; on my way home I went into the Temple of Concord,” replied Nero.
“The emperor was there. At last he has broken his silence. Seeing
the Consuls, out of respect for the dead Drusus, sitting with the
other Senators on the ordinary benches, he upbraided them for lack of
dignity.”
“Did he appear sad?” asked Agrippina.
“Nay,” answered the eldest son. “When some Senators shed tears, he
censured them. Without a sigh and with his usual hesitation he made an
address.--Oh for thy memory, brother Drusus!--His speech was apologetic
and yet imperious. I forget the words.”
“My sons,” warned the mother, “be not embittered when ye see the
splendid funeral of Drusus. Mark ye, the emperor will make of that a
grand display. Silently regard the pageant. Let not thy words reflect
thy thoughts during the ceremony.”
“Sejanus angered me this morning,” exclaimed Nero.
“What said he?” asked Agrippina, anxiously.
“He compared the virtues of my father with the vices of Drusus,”
explained Nero. “He said that the emperor would try to show that the
commonwealth had suffered a greater blow than when my father died. So
did he stir me that I cursed--”
“Nay, nay, my son!” cried Agrippina. “Curse no one before that man!”
“I cursed the fates who so wrongfully treat us,” replied Nero.
“Ah, my son,” exclaimed Agrippina, reproachfully, “have a care! Never
let thy feelings overcome thy judgment. I warned Drusus but a moment
ago to guard his words. Guard thine also. O my son, enemies lurk on
every side. But this morning, while talking with Drusus, we found a
servant transcribing on a tablet our conversation. Even in our home we
must be guarded in our speech.”
“Thy favorite charioteer has run away, my brother,” said Nero, looking
at Drusus.
“Who? Gyges?” quickly asked his brother.
“Ay, Gyges,” replied Nero.
“What has he done?” inquired Drusus.
“I know not. He has been tracked to Albanum,” answered Nero.
“But why should he run away?” asked Drusus. “He was the most honest
charioteer in the Circus.”
“Ay. I know not,” said Nero. “He loved the dancing-girl, Psyche.”
“The pretty little Greek?” asked Agrippina.
“Ay; she was to have danced at Pompey’s Theatre,” explained Nero.
“Did he run away with her?” asked Drusus.
“Nay; she is in prison,” said Nero.
“What has she done?” inquired Agrippina.
“No one can say. Where is Caligula?” asked Nero.
“He is at his studies,” replied the mother.
“He asked for a copy of Cicero’s orations,” said Nero. “I have brought
him this. What ho! Caligula!” he shouted, as he went to the stairs.
“But stay! I am coming up,” he added, when he heard the light patter
of Caligula’s sandals on the stairs. As he met Caligula, Agrippina
and Drusus heard him say, “Master the language of that great man, my
brother, and thou wilt become the best orator in Rome.”
“How happy thy brother is!” said Agrippina to Drusus, rising from her
couch. As she walked towards the stairs, she added: “Cultivate a happy
nature, my son. ’Twill help thee overcome burdensome grief.”
“Verily, I will try, O best of mothers,” he said as she disappeared.
Left alone, Drusus threw himself on his mother’s couch. The thought of
the disappearance of his favorite charioteer was uppermost in his mind.
Many times he had sat on the pulvinar before the palace of Augustus,
and had watched the horse-races in the Circus Maximus. With youthful
enthusiasm he had regarded Gyges as a hero. He had even entered the
stables and talked with him. “What will the green faction do without
him?” he thought. But his meditations were checked by the entrance of
Sejanus.
“Hail, Sejanus!” he said, as he sprang from the couch.
“Hail to thee, O son of Germanicus!” said Sejanus. “Where is thy
mother?”
“With Nero,” replied the lad.
“He is thy mother’s favorite son,” said Sejanus, as he watched the face
of Drusus.
“Ay; Nero is loved by us all.”
“By thee, too?” asked the minister, craftily trying to sow seeds of
envy in the heart of Drusus.
“Ay, by me too! Why not?”
“He loves thee not,” answered Sejanus.
“How knowest thou that?” demanded Drusus.
“He told me but this morning that thou art slow and easily imposed
upon,” replied Sejanus, contemptuously.
“Nero said that!” said Drusus, with a cry of surprise.
“Ay; that and more,” continued Sejanus. “But I do not wish to breed
enmity between brothers.”
“What more has he said about me?” commanded Drusus, angrily.
“He says thou wilt never be a man,” replied the wily Sejanus.
“And why?” asked Drusus, flushed with anger.
“Be not angry if I tell thee.”
“Nay, O Sejanus.”
“He says thou art advised too much by thy mother.”
“No one seeks her counsel more than he does,” cried Drusus.
“Princes of the blood of the Divine Augustus should receive counsel
from statesmen,” slyly suggested the minister.
“I do not agree with thee, Sejanus. The emperor has always been guided
by his mother, Livia.”
“True,” said Sejanus, for a moment caught in bad reasoning by the
answer of Drusus. He quickly added, “But Nero said other things about
thee.”
Before Drusus could reply they were interrupted by a loud knock at the
door. A soldier entered. Seeing Sejanus and Drusus, he said in a loud
tone, “Nero and Drusus are ordered by the emperor to appear at once in
the Temple of Concord.”
“What ho, Nero!” cried Drusus, calling up the stairs. “Come hither
immediately!”
A few moments after Nero appeared, followed by Agrippina.
“Hail to thee, O noble Agrippina, and to thee again, O Nero!” said
Sejanus, greeting them.
“What message hast thou brought, O Sejanus?” asked Agrippina.
“Thou and I, my brother, are ordered by the emperor to appear
immediately in the Temple of Concord. Come, let us go!” said Drusus.
“New honors may befall ye both,” said Sejanus, as the two youths
quickly left the room.
“The death of Drusus has created mixed feelings among the people,”
continued Sejanus, addressing Agrippina. “Some are sad, others are
happy.”
“Truly, no one is glad, O Sejanus?”
“Through the city reports are flying that the Julian family rejoices,”
he remarked, with a crafty glance at Agrippina.
“’Tis not true! Drusus was a protector to the Julian family,”
challenged Agrippina.
“The heir to the empire a protector to rival claimants!” exclaimed
Sejanus.
“Ay; well dost thou know he treated my children as his own,” said
Agrippina.
“I know he tried to win the love of the people by his mock protection,”
sneered Sejanus.
“Revile not the dead, O Sejanus.”
“Then the Julian family grieves?” he asked.
“The Julian family rejoices not over the grief of others,” she replied,
carefully choosing her words.
“Where is thy mourning, O descendant of Augustus?” he inquired. “When
Germanicus--peace be to his spirit!--died, the whole city put on
mourning. To-day few are clothed in black.”
“Is that fault to be charged against the Julian family?” asked
Agrippina.
“Nay,” he replied, vexed at her self-control. Then he added: “The
funeral of Drusus will take place two days hence. ’Twill be a gorgeous
display. All the effigies of the Julian and Claudian families will be
borne in the procession.”
“The effigies of the Julian family are to be carried!” exclaimed
Agrippina. “But he had not blood of that family in his veins!”
“Ay; effigies that were forbidden at the funeral of the noble
Germanicus are to be borne at the funeral of Drusus,” he declared,
rejoicing that he had at last moved her.
“Are those the orders of the emperor?” she asked.
“Ay, O Agrippina,” he replied.
“Then must we be content,” she most diplomatically responded.
“Art thou not enraged to see these symbols so dishonored?” he insisted.
“Nay; the Roman people must be the judges of this act. The lips of
Agrippina are sealed.”
“But the thoughts of Agrippina?”
“The thoughts of Agrippina are her own,” replied Agrippina, imperiously.
“Thou speakest not freely, O Agrippina. Surely thou canst trust one who
wishes thee and thy family well.”
“I trust no one,” she retorted, looking at him so piercingly that he
lowered his eyes. “My house is an ear that gathers our conversation
for a brain that is heated against us. But this morning I found a spy
writing down the words I spoke to Drusus. Ah!--but I will say no more.”
“Art thou sure he was a spy?” he inquired.
“Why dost _thou_ ask that question?” she bitterly demanded.
“Who could wish to spy upon thee?” he asked in a tone of surprise.
“That is another question, answered before asked,” she retorted.
“Confide in me, O Agrippina,” he said in a tender tone. “I revere the
Julian family. Was I not in the service of thy beloved brother Caius?
Did I not serve him well? The death of Drusus opens the way for one of
thy sons to rule. Nero will now inherit the fortunes of the empire. I
will serve him as faithfully as I do the emperor. Fear me not.”
“I do not fear thee, O Sejanus. I trust no one,” she said calmly.
“’Tis no secret that the Julian family dislikes Tiberius,” he ventured.
“’Tis no secret that Tiberius dislikes the Julian family,” she returned.
“Come, O granddaughter of the Divine Augustus, tell me thy complaints.”
“My complaints? I have none.”
“But thou sufferest!”
“I suffer not.”
“Ay, thou art distrustful.”
“But distrust is not always suffering!” she exclaimed. “I lack
resolution.”
“Then thou hast fear,” he asserted.
“Nay, nor have I fear, O Sejanus. Distrust has stunted the growth of my
faith. Mine eyes are shadowed by anxiety, my life is clouded by doubts,
but I do not fear.”
“Then if thou art so brave, I will withhold my warnings.”
“To be distrustful, O Sejanus, hinders me not from being grateful.”
“Thou hast said the emperor dislikes thee,” he said. “I will add that
thou art in danger.”
“Ha! the emperor wishes my death also?”
“Then thou accusest the emperor of causing the deaths of thy relatives?”
“I said not so.”
“Thou didst use the word ‘also.’”
“Ay; but well dost thou understand my meaning. I repeat it in other
words. Besides the indignities to which my family are already
subjected, he also wishes my death?”
“I will say, O Agrippina, that I advise thee to refrain from eating at
his table.”
“And then--”
“Good news, O mother!” cried Nero, joyfully, as he rushed into the
atrium, followed by Drusus. At the sight of Sejanus Nero checked his
enthusiasm.
“What has taken place in the Senate?” asked Agrippina.
“When we entered the Temple of Concord, we were led directly to the
emperor,” said Nero. “He took our hands in his and spoke. Repeat his
words, Drusus. Thou hast the better memory.”
“He said,” began Drusus, “‘These fatherless youths I committed to my
son Drusus to rear and nourish as his own blood, to train them so that
they might be worthy of him and of posterity. Now that my son has
been snatched from us, I address the same prayers to you, O Conscript
Fathers--’”
“Some of the Senators, at these words, burst into tears,” interrupted
Nero. “Proceed, brother.”
“He said, still addressing the Senate,” continued Drusus: “‘In the
presence of the gods, the face of your country, I conjure you, receive
into your protection, take under your tuition, the great-grandchildren
of the Divine Augustus,--children descended from ancestors the most
glorious in the state; towards them fulfil your own and my duty!’”
Drusus delivered these words like a young orator, using graceful
gestures, and giving well-marked emphasis to the phrases.
“He added more,” said Nero. “He said to us: ‘Nero and Drusus, to
you these Senators stand in the place of fathers. Such are the
circumstances of your birth that the good and evil which befalls you
must needs extend to the commonwealth.’”
Sejanus listened to the joyful words of Drusus and Nero without comment
and then said farewell. As he turned away, he said to Agrippina in
an undertone, “The gods sometimes elevate those whom they wish to
destroy.”