When depressed with distrust, when oppressed with suspicion, and when
burdened with discontent, the heart looks to the future, from which
it hopes to drink the nectar of peace. But the golden chalice from
which Agrippina had hoped to drink the blessings of peace had become a
brazen cup filled with intense and increasing bitterness. Over twelve
months had elapsed since her beloved son Nero had reached the manly
age; and each month had brought with it fresh disaster. So undermined
had her courage become that, when alone, her soul, in terrible silence,
listened and awaited the next calamity without a respiration.
She trembled at the movements of the wings of her imagination, at the
fall of the withered leaves of her hope, at the overflowing drops from
the fountain of her grief. The parched lips of her soul craved a cool
spring from which they might drink of peaceful strength. She longed for
a strong arm that would help her carry her burdens, for a confiding
friend who would direct her thoughts and actions, and for a tender
heart that would reciprocate her affection. For these things did she
strenuously seek as a grand oak in the dark earth gropes for strength
and sustenance.
At times, so enshrouded was she by her danger that the sun and moon
appeared to vanish, the world to disappear, and the stars to melt away.
Through the profound darkness of this oblivion a beautiful face would
sometimes glow and deceive her. It seemed the face of hope. On close
scrutiny she would see around this face vipers and snakes. It was the
head of Medusa. With her blood congealed by terror, Agrippina would
try to close the eyes of her imagination, but the face of the horrible
gorgon would still be before her, turning into stones both her thoughts
and her actions.
During the year her son Nero had married Julia, the daughter of
Livilla, and had left the small house on the Palatine Hill, moving into
the palace that belonged to his uncle Drusus, on the Esquiline. Her
second son, Drusus, had assumed the manly robes, and having married
Aemelia Lepida, a descendant of an illustrious family, lived in a
palace on the Quirinal. Agrippina, her oldest daughter, had been given
in marriage to a brutal and villanous man, Cneius Domitius. The bitter
seeds of hatred that Sejanus had sown in the hearts of her sons had
now matured, and the brothers had become violent enemies. With infernal
art the malicious minister had even succeeded in breaking through the
reserve with which Agrippina had received him.
Tormented by the discord engendered in her family and by the sufferings
of her friends, the poor woman had become dangerously ill. She was
now convalescing, and was permitted to receive short visits from her
friends.
Always alert, and never losing a chance to advance his cause, Sejanus
was the first to visit the convalescent. When he called, Agrippina was
resting upon a _cathedra_ in the atrium. Her face was pale and thin,
her eyes were still piercing and melancholy. Although weakened by her
illness, she still bore herself proudly. She languidly returned the
greeting of the minister.
“Have I the honor to be the first among thy friends to call on thee, O
woman favored of the gods?”
“I have no friends,” she coldly replied.
“Truly thou hast suffered!” he exclaimed.
“Ay,” she slowly replied.
“Thou art better?” he asked.
“My body is better; my mind worse.”
“Thy body should then control thy mind,” said Sejanus.
“Would that my mind controlled my body! Then would my body die.”
“But thou hast suffered pain. Convalescence is a new birth, and thou
wilt find life happier when thou art stronger. A trip to Velletri or
Baiae would benefit thee. Wilt thou not go to Baiae?”
“A prisoner doth not choose his cell.”
“What dost thou mean, O Agrippina?”
“The mind tied to this body is freer than Agrippina is in her own home,
watched by such a vigilant jailer.”
“I do not understand thee,” said Sejanus, who comprehended her meaning
only too well.
“Have words lost their meaning since I have been ill, O Sejanus?”
“Art thou still distrustful?” he asked reproachfully.
“I trust no one,” she impressively responded.
“What if the emperor should leave Rome?” he said, as he watched her
closely. Agrippina did not move a muscle.
“He has daily been threatening for a year to leave the city,” she said.
“Ay; but I believe he will go shortly.”
“Well?”
“If he leaves Rome he may never return.”
“Well?”
“Friends may become friends again.”
“And what then?”
“While the emperor is away great events may happen.”
“I do not understand thee,” she faltered.
“Have words lost their meaning since thou hast been ill?” he asked,
quoting her own words with an evil smile.
“If the emperor leaves Rome will blood cease to flow?” she asked.
“The guilty will always suffer,” replied the minister.
“Can friends greet each other without exile or death being pronounced?”
“Honest friends have never been molested.”
“Was Claudia dishonest?”
“I fought to save her life more than thou didst,” said Sejanus.
“It is terrible to think of that persecuted and outraged woman,” said
Agrippina, passing her hand over her eyes.
“Ay; the blame of that deed rests with the Senate.”
“That is hard to believe,” she said with a sigh.
Abruptly dropping this embarrassing subject, Sejanus exclaimed, “Thy
son Nero will rejoice when Tiberius leaves the city.”
“Has he told thee so?” she asked quickly.
“Nay; but he will be more free.”
“Thinkest thou so?”
“Ay. Nero is a promising son of the noble Germanicus. He is beloved by
the Senate.”
“He deserves their affection.”
“And Drusus is also beloved, but by the legions. He prefers the life of
a soldier.”
“Ay; but that will be denied him.”
“Why? When the emperor is absent, Drusus may not be hindered from
joining the legions. He is a noble youth, and is loved by the
Praetorians.”
“Speakest thou the truth, O Sejanus?”
“I have eyes and ears, and I can feel the pulse of the legions as no
one else can.”
“But what if the soldiers love Drusus?” she queried.
“I will make reply to that question after the emperor leaves the city.
May the gods bless thee and thy family, O granddaughter of the Divine
Augustus! I will not tire thee now with more of my words. Fare thee
well, O woman favored by the gods!”
“Fare thee well, O Sejanus!”
After passing through this ordeal, Agrippina breathed a sigh of relief.
She recalled the words that she had spoken, and analyzed them to see
what different meanings they might contain, but she could recall
nothing that could be construed as treasonable. She called for a cup of
water and ordered a slave to fan her gently. While she thus reclined on
her comfortable _cathedra_, a message was brought that the emperor was
coming to visit her.
She had not seen Tiberius since she had pleaded before him for the life
of her dear friend Claudia. When he appeared, she remained seated and
with great dignity bade him welcome. The emperor had become stouter.
The pimples on his face had disappeared, but in their stead ragged and
streaked scars had been left, resembling metallic veins in an ugly
piece of marble. When he addressed Agrippina, he never looked directly
at her, but always gave her a sliding glance.
“The gods have been gracious to thee,” he said to her.
“Ay, O Tiberius. For what ends?”
“Our lives are what we make them, O Agrippina.”
“True. There are those who smile at grief.”
“Where are thy daughters Drusilla and Julia?”
“They are with Antonia.”
“But this day I have chosen their husbands.”
“Couldst thou not have consulted me before making thy choice?”
“’Twould have been useless. Even if we might have consulted, thou
wouldst have had thine objections.”
“Ay, my objections to the villain thou didst choose for Agrippina were
well founded,” she said with deep feeling.
“Cneius Domitius is descended from honorable and illustrious
ancestors,” replied Tiberius.
“The ancestors of Domitius[4] are not to be blamed for his vicious
nature. Did his ancestors ever kill a freedman because he refused
to drink more than he could hold? Did his ancestors riding in their
chariots cruelly and purposely drive over children, crushing them to
pieces? Where is there in the record of the family of Aenobrarbi one
who thrust out the eyes of Roman knights in small quarrels? But who are
these men that thou hast chosen?”
“Julia shall marry Marcus Vinicus; Drusilla, Lucius Cassius,--both men
of renowned families. Thy daughters will not marry for some years. I
wish them to be taught to revere their ‘future husbands.’”
“Both are honorable men,” she said approvingly.
There was a studied and cold politeness in all the words they spoke.
Tiberius said, “I have also come to deprive thee of thy son Caligula.”
“What wouldst thou with him?” she nervously asked.
“Since the death of one of the twins of Livilla, I propose to rear the
remaining one under mine own eyes. I wish that Caligula may be his
companion.”
“Ay, O Tiberius; but he can be his companion and still live with me.
They will be near each other, for thy palace and my house are joined
together. Ask me not to give him up at his age.”
“There can be no reasons why he should not live in the palace,”
insisted the cruel emperor.
“Ay, but he is my youngest son and the only one that is left me. Take
him not away.”
“I have said,” he coldly replied. “He will be free to come and see
thee, and thou canst visit him. He will not be poisoned there.”
“I fear not that, O Tiberius.”
“Then why dost thou object? He shall eat at my table and shall be
taught to trust me,--something which his mother will not do.”
“Thou askest me to trust thee, O Tiberius?”
“The mother of Germanicus trusts me; his wife fears me.”
“In the death of Germanicus Antonia lost a son, I lost a husband and a
protector.”
“Has not the emperor protected thee and thy children?”
The bitter irony hidden in his words increased the feeling of hate in
Agrippina as she said, “Thinkest thou, O Tiberius, that I am a lifeless
piece of clay, without memory, feeling, or heart?”
“Ah, Agrippina!” he exclaimed. “Thou hast always regarded me through a
veil of hate. Every good act I commit becomes distorted.”
White with indignation, Agrippina interrupted: “What hast thou done
that no one dares to visit me? Thou hast made friendship for Agrippina
a crime. Sosius and Sosia were persecuted because they loved me. O
Jupiter and ye celestial gods! what crime did the pure Claudia commit?
Domitius Afer, an unknown lawyer, with bribed witnesses, tried to
prove her an adulteress and a worker in witchcraft against thee. What
reason didst thou give me when I pleaded for the life of that chaste
and honest matron? Thy words were, ‘She shall die.’ O Tiberius, her
greatest crime was her friendship for me! What has Sabinus done? He
loved my husband; he loved me and my children. Of a truth, thou hast
turned every friend from me. Thou wouldst like my children to hate me.
Even my slaves are paid by some one to spy and lie against me. Do I
look at thee through a veil of hate? Who holds that veil?”
“Thou dost not reason calmly,” he protested.
“Afflicted as I have been, does it not surprise thee that I can reason
at all?” she bitterly asked.
“Thou placest the blame for thy troubles on human agencies. What the
gods have sent upon thee thou shouldst bear with calmness,” was the
hypocritical reply of the tyrant.
“Wouldst thou hate me less if I should respect thee more?” she asked.
“Is it thy wish that I should grovel and fawn before thee, and thus
defile the blood of the Julian family,--blood the purest and most
illustrious in Rome?”
“I have asked of thee no favors. I bestow them,” said Tiberius,
contemptuously. “Caligula shall come to the palace,” he continued
relentlessly. Then he added roughly, “Feed less, O Agrippina, on thy
daily bread of discontent, which is filled with worms of hate, and thou
wilt be happier.”
During this conversation Tiberius paced up and down upon the
tessellated floor of the atrium, before the altar that held the family
gods of Germanicus. He twitched his fingers, and from time to time
nervously adjusted the folds of his toga. Agrippina spoke without
anger, and with a certain slow emphasis that made her words pierce the
pride and dignity of the emperor.
Her mind was so overwhelmed by the flood of things she wished to say
that at first she could not think clearly. In answer to his remarks
about her food for reflection, she said: “I may eat of that bread, O
Tiberius; but who serves it? Upon my bosom I have carried an invisible
flower that has weighed upon me like a stone. The noxious odors that
I have breathed in these past years have so affected my nature that
thou now seest a hideous figure. Mine eyes have so changed that they
have become spies upon my inner thoughts. Upon my lips can now be read
bitter words that are not spoken. The light-hearted maid who married
Germanicus never knew a care. What happened? Her loving brothers,
Lucius and Caius, were murdered. By whose hands? Her mother was sent
to Pandataria and starved to death. By whose hands? Who was it who
murdered her brother Agrippa?”
“Cease thy invective,” ordered Tiberius.
But Agrippina ignored the order and continued: “By whose orders was
Germanicus poisoned? Who has killed Sosius? Who has exiled Sosia? Ay,
who strangled Claudia? The gods? Who but recently arrested Sabinus?
Dost thou wish that I should sing and dance? Oh! the aroma from that
invisible flower that drags me down bears the odors of savage hate, of
murder, of stifling blood!”
Tiberius angrily said to her: “Thy words are the emanations of a
diseased mind. Thou wilt talk more calmly when thou art well again. I
sacrificed but yesterday to the Divine Augustus, and--”
“Such hypocrisy!” interrupted Agrippina. “Is it consistent in thee
to offer victims to the deified Augustus and then to persecute his
children? His divine spirit was not transfused into dumb statues. The
genuine images of the Divine Augustus are the living descendants of his
celestial blood. I myself am one. Why dost thou persecute me?”
“I understand thee, Agrippina. Thou thinkest thou art injured because
thou dost not rule.”
“Nay, ’tis not power I seek. Relieve my solitude. Give me a husband. I
am still young enough for the married state. Cannot Rome afford a man
who would think it no dishonor to receive the wife of Germanicus?”
At the announcement of this most just and diplomatic request Tiberius
started. He had not thought her capable of such reasoning. To have
given her a husband would have been a fatal mistake. He moved towards
the vestibule without making reply to this suggestion. He felt that he
must consult with Sejanus before committing himself to such a project.
Turning to Agrippina, he abruptly said, as he moved towards the door,
“Our interview is at an end.”
As he entered his palace, he was surrounded by suitors and petitioners,
whose noise so infuriated him in his already angered condition that he
refused to see them. Entering his private apartments, he immediately
sent for Sejanus. When the minister appeared, the ill-humor of the
emperor had moderated. “Two days hence I leave Rome. Thou shalt go
with me,” he commanded.
“What means this sudden determination?” asked Sejanus, concealing his
inward joy.
“Rome has become unbearable. Among the crowd of suitors and petitioners
I recognize the faces of too many whose friends have been condemned
according to the laws. Ay, I sometimes meet my mother, who refuses to
speak to me. The she-wolf, Agrippina, continually shows her teeth. Ay,
we will leave Rome and strike from a distance.”
“Thou hast, then, seen Agrippina?”
“Ay; but for her pale and thin face I would say she had feigned her
illness.”
“I too called upon her. She is as defiant as ever.”
“Ay; Sabinus must be killed. The order for his death shall be the first
duty on our way to Neapolis.”
“Didst thou question her?”
“Nay. She so used her invective against me that I was forced to depart.
If ’twere not for her weakened condition, I would not allow her to
leave her home for a year.”
“She already calls herself a prisoner.”
“And whom does she call her jailer?”
“She asked me, ‘When will the emperor leave Rome?’ I verily believe
she will rejoice when she hears that thou hast decided to go away.
She said, ‘My friends can then come to see me.’ Truly, O Tiberius, she
speaks too openly against thee.”
“Ay; she received me proudly and talked imperiously. Bah! Sejanus, I
hate the very air I breathe in this city of informers and evil-doers.”
“Who will go with thee to Capri?”
“Caligula and my grandchild. The pompous cubs of Agrippina can live
deceived by their free conditions; but with Caligula at Capri I will
hold him as a whip above his mother’s head. Let her understand that
the life of her youngest son depends upon her behavior. O Sejanus, no
longer can I endure the hypocrisy of the people and the Senate! The
city is a festering mass of discontent, and I will purge it. At Capri
the offensive odors of insults, cries, and cursings engendered by my
cleansing will not be smelt. In seclusion I will work. For years I have
been bound down. No freedom has been allowed me. Men abused my very
name. On their ribald lips Tiberius Claudius Nero became Biberius the
drunkard, Caldius the infamous, Mero the sot. Let them now tremble. How
brave they were in my retirement at Rhodes! My memory is good and their
names I well know. They shall be taught that Biberius Caldius Mero
never forgets.”
“Ay; but these are past wrongs,” said Sejanus. “There are now present
ones which demand immediate attention. What shall be done with Nero and
Drusus? They are being taught that they have been wronged; that their
father, Germanicus, was murdered by thine orders. Ay, these sons of
Agrippina are being told that the empire belongs to them. The speech
thou didst make a year ago, when Nero assumed the manly robe, is now
being construed as evidence of thy weakness. Mark thou, it was at thy
request the Senate passed resolutions allowing him to offer himself for
the quaestorship, five years before the law permitted him. That was
well. Look thou now what followed. With no hint from thee, with none
of thy counsel or advice, and even in thine absence, the Senate but a
few weeks ago conferred those same honors and privileges upon Drusus.
What means this? Has the emperor no more power over these children of
Germanicus? ’Twas the wish of the Divine Augustus that Germanicus and
his children should rule, but it was not his will that they should
usurp that power. However, thou art above law. Thy will can change
even the wishes of the Divine Augustus. Has not the time arrived when
these children should be taught that they owe their positions to thee?
Ah! go to Neapolis! Go to Capri! Pull the strings from a distance and
make the people dance! Clean the city of intrigue. Make the bones of
those who oppose thee rattle in death. The lesson will be severe; but a
few deaths judiciously administered will bring the people back to the
proper conception of loyalty to thee.”
“Ah, Sejanus, thou art as necessary to me as the blood that runs
through my veins. Thy words throb with the pulsation of my thoughts.
Truly, thou divinest my ideas before they are moulded into phrases.
We will teach the Julian family that there is still left one of the
Claudian blood. The surviving twin shall be called the little Tiberius.”
“Forget not, O mighty Tiberius, that away from Rome thou wilt be
untrammelled to revel in dissipation. City gossip will not be heard at
Capri.”
“Are the pleasures of Rhodes to be enjoyed?”
“Ay! Even more! Sestus Gallus knows how to contrive new pleasures. He
was disgraced by the Divine Augustus. Even thou didst once reprimand
him in the Senate for his openly lascivious life. Now thou canst repay
him by taking him with thee.”
“Send for him. Send also for the poet, Asellius Sabinus. His witty and
unseemly verse will enliven the evenings there. Make known to him that
my liberality will be no less than when I, under the spell of Bacchus,
presented him with two hundred thousand sesterces for his poem called
‘The Dispute between the Truffle and the Fig-pecker, and the Oyster and
the Thrush.’”
“Titus Priscus would be a good addition to thy new household.”
“Ha, ha! Priscus, who is ashamed to show his face in Rome? Ay, send for
him! Capri will tremble with our orgies!”
Sejanus had never before seen the emperor so contented. Now was the
opportunity for which he had waited. On the crest of this happy wave he
floated his great and ambitious desire. He stood before the emperor,
who had thrown himself on a couch, and said: “Before thou leavest the
city, I would crave of thee a favor, O mighty Tiberius. Thou hast
been lavish in bestowing upon me honors and distinctions. True, I am
a descendant of a Roman knight and have little family record, still I
am a supplicant before thee. Accustomed I have been to the kindness
of the Divine Augustus, and subsequently to thy numerous decisions
in my favor. Therefore would I rather address my hopes and prayers
to princes than to gods. Never have I sought the glare of honors.
Watching and toiling, like one of the common soldiers, for thy safety
has been my choice. However, what has been most glorious for me has
been attained,--that is, to be thought worthy of alliance with thee.
Hence the foundation for my present hopes; since the Divine Augustus,
in the disposal of his daughter, had considered even some of the Roman
knights. Therefore I beg thee, O noble Tiberius, if a husband is sought
for Livilla, that thou wouldst remember thy friend, who would seek no
other advantage than the high honor of such an alliance.”
“I will deal candidly with thee, O faithful minister. By the marriage
to Livilla, the partisans of the house of Caesar would flame out with
far more fury. What would be the consequences if by such a marriage the
strife were inflamed? Thou art deceived if thou thinkest to continue in
the same rank as now. Livilla, who has already been the wife of Caius
Caesar and of Drusus, will not be satisfied to grow old with a husband
no higher than a Roman knight. Nay, supposing that I suffered thee
afterwards to remain what thou art; believest thou that they who saw
her father, her brother, and the ancestors of our house enjoying the
highest dignities will ever suffer such a marriage? However, neither
thine own inclinations nor those of Livilla shall be thwarted by me.
The secret purposes of my own heart towards thee and the further ties
of affinity with which I am contriving to bind thee to me I shall at
present forbear to reveal. This only will I disclose, that there is
nothing too high for thy virtues and thy zeal towards me to merit.
When opportunity presents either in the Senate or in popular assembly,
I shall not hesitate to express my sentiments.”
“Most willingly do I yield to thy decision,” said Sejanus, as he bowed
himself from the room.