_NERO AND HIS COMPANIONS_
‘Res pertricosa est, Cotile, bellus homo.’--MARTIAL, iii. 63.
Nero had been spending the morning with some of the new friends whose
evil example was rapidly destroying in his mind every germ of decency
or virtue. Though it was still but noon, he was dressed in a loose
_synthesis_--a dress of light green, unconfined by any girdle, and
he had soft slippers on his feet. This negligence was due only to
the desire for selfish comfort, for in other respects he paid extreme
attention to his personal appearance. His fair hair was curled and
perfumed, and his hands were covered with splendid gems.
But even a brief spell of imperial power, with late hours, long
banquets, deep gambling, and reckless dissipation, had already left
their brand upon his once attractive features. His cheeks had begun
to lose the rose and glow of youth and to assume the pale and sodden
appearance which in a few years obliterated the last traces of beauty
and dignity from his ruined face.
With him sat and lounged and yawned and gossiped and flattered a
choice assemblage of spirits more wicked than himself.
The room in which they were sitting was one of the most private
apartments of the Palace. It had been painted in the reign of Gaius
with frescoes graceful and brilliant, but such as would now be
regarded as proofs of an utterly depraved taste. As he glanced at
the works of art with which the chamber was decorated, Otho thought,
not without complacency, of the day when the prediction made to him
by an astrologer should be fulfilled, and he too would be Emperor of
Rome. He highly approved of frescoes such as these, though even Ovid
and Propertius had complained of their corrupting tendency.
Otho was now nearly twenty-three years old, and was a characteristic
product of imperial civilisation. His face was smooth, for he had
artificially prevented the growth of a beard. To hide his baldness,
which he regarded as the most cruel wrong of the unjust gods, he wore
a wig, so natural and close-fitting as scarcely to be recognisable,
and this was arranged in front in the fashion which he set, and which
Nero followed. Four rows of symmetrical curls half hid the narrow
forehead. Those curls had cost his barber two hours’ labour that
morning, and they were dyed with a Batavian pomade into the blonde
colour which was the most admired. In figure Otho was small; his legs
were bowed, and his feet ill-shaped, but his large eyes and beautiful
mouth gave him a sweet and engaging, though effeminate, expression.
Indeed, effeminacy was his main characteristic, and there was a touch
of effeminacy even in the much belauded suicide to which his destiny
was leading him. When he was a boy, his father was so disgusted by
his ways that he flogged him like the lowest of his slaves. He was
one of those creatures of perfumed baths, delicate languor, soft
manners, and disordered appetites, who, in that age, so often took
refuge from a depraved life in a voluntary death.[12] He was entirely
impecunious, and was loaded with debts--a circumstance which he did
not regard as any obstacle to a life of boundless extravagance. In
order to get introduced to Nero he had the effrontery to make love
to a plain and elderly freedwoman, who had some influence at Court.
When he had once secured an introduction he became the ardent friend
of Nero, and the intimate accomplice of his worst dissipations. Being
six years older than the Emperor, and far more accomplished in vice,
he exercised a spell which rapidly undermined the grave lessons
of Burrus and Seneca. Precociously corrupt, serenely egotistical,
cynical in dishonour, and gangrened to the depth of his soul by
debauchery, Otho, though still a youth, had so completely got rid of
the moral sense as to present to the world a spectacle of unruffled
self-content. A radiant and sympathetic softness reigned smiling on
his smooth and almost boyish face.
By the side of Otho lounged another youth, whose name was Tullius
Senecio. He was wealthy and reckless, and he had made himself a
leader of fashion among the young Roman nobles. With them was the
brilliant Petronius Arbiter, a man of refined culture and natural
wit, but the most cynically shameless liver and talker even in
Rome. The group was completed by the able and rough-tongued but
not over-scrupulous Vestinus, the dissolute Quintianus, and the
singularly handsome Tigellinus, who was as yet only at the beginning
of his career, but who, of all the minions of that foul Court, became
the most cruel, the most treacherous, and the most corrupt.
And yet weariness reigned supreme over these luxurious votaries of
fashion. They had at first tried to get some amusement out of the
antics of Massa, a half-witted boy, and Asturco, a dwarf; but when
they had teased Massa into sullenness, and Asturco into tears and
bellowings of rage, Petronius interfered, and voted such amusements
boorish and in bad taste. Then they tried to kill time by betting
and gambling over games at marbles and draughts. The ‘pieces’
(_latrunculi_ and _ocellata_) of glass, ivory, and silver lay
scattered over tables, just as they were when the players got tired
of the games, and the draught boards (_tabulæ latrunculariæ_) had
been carelessly tossed on the floor. Then they sent for plates of
honey-apples, and bowls of Falernian wine, and took an extemporised
meal. Nero even condescended to amuse himself with rolling little
ivory chariots down a marble slab, and betting on their speed. Still
they all felt that the hours were somewhat leaden-footed, till a
bright thought struck the Emperor. He had passed some of his early
years in poverty, and this circumstance, together with his æsthetic
appreciation of things beautiful, made him delight in showing his
treasures to his intimates. By way of finding something to do,
he suggested to his friends that they should come and look at the
wardrobes of the former empresses, which were under the charge of a
multitude of dressers, folders, and jewellers. Orders were given that
everything should be laid out for their inspection. Except Petronius,
they all had an effeminate passion for jewellery, and they whiled
away an hour in inspecting the robes, stiff with gold brocade and
broideries of pearl, sapphire, and emerald.
By this time Nero was in high good-humour, and seized the opportunity
of a little ostentation towards the ‘lisping hawthorn-buds’ of
fashion by whom he was surrounded.
He chose out a superb cameo, on which was carved a Venus Anadyomene,
and gave it to Otho. ‘There,’ he said; ‘that will adorn the neck of
your fair Poppæa. Vestinus, this opal was the one for the sake of
which Mark Antony procured the proscription of the senator Nonius.
You don’t deserve it, for you can be very rude--’
‘Free speech is a compliment to strong emperors,’ said Vestinus,
hardly concealing the irony of his tone.
‘Ah, well!’ continued Nero, ‘I shall not give it you for your
deserts, but because it will look splendid on the ivory arm of your
Statilia. A more fitting present to you would be this little viper
enclosed in amber;[13] the viper is your malice, the amber your
flattery. And what on earth am I to give you, Senecio? or you,
Petronius? You are devoted to so many fair ladies, that I should
have to give you the whole wardrobe; but I will give you, Senecio,
a silken fillet embroidered with pearls; and, Petronius, Nature has
set out this agate--I believe it is from the spoils of Pyrrhus--for
no one but you, for she has marked on it an outline of Apollo and the
Muses. Quintianus, this ring with Hylas on it will just suit you.’
There was a hidden sarcasm in much which he had said even while
he distributed his gifts, and not a few serpents hissed among the
flowery speeches interchanged in this bad society. But they all
thanked him effusively for presents so splendid.
At this point a sudden thought suggested itself to Nero. He had not
seen much of his mother for the last few days, and being in buoyant
spirits, and thoroughly pleased with himself, he chose out the most
splendid robe and ornaments, and bade some of the wardrobe-keepers
to carry them to the apartments of the Augusta, with the message
that they were a present from her son. ‘And do you,’ he said to his
freedman Polycletus, ‘bring me back word of what the Empress says in
thanks.’
Nero and his friends returned to the room in which they had been
sitting, and had begun to play at dice for large stakes, when
Polycletus came back, flushed and excited.
Nero was himself a little uneasy at what he had done. His mother,
with her unlimited resources, hardly needed a present of this kind.
As long as she was Empress, all these robes had been her own; and
Nero was exercising an unwonted sort of patronage when he sent this
gift by the hands of an attendant. There was a certain vulgarity in
his attention, which was all the worse because it was ostentatious.
And yet, if Agrippina had been wise, she would have shown greater
command over her temper, and have prevented that tragic widening of
the ‘little rift within the lute’ which soon silenced the music of a
mother’s love.
‘Well, and was the Augusta pleased?’ asked Nero, looking up from his
dice.
‘I will report to the Emperor when he is alone,’ said the freedman.
‘Tush, man!’ answered Nero, nervously. ‘We are all friends here, and
if my mother was very effusive in her compliments, they will pardon
it.’
‘She returned no praises and no thanks.’
‘Ha! that was ungracious. Tell me exactly what she did.’
‘She asked me who were with you, and I mentioned the names of those
present.’
‘What business is it of hers?’ said Nero, reddening, as he noticed
the significant glances interchanged between Otho and Vestinus, the
latter of whom whispered a Greek proverb about boys tied to their
mother’s apron-strings.
‘She then asked whether you had given any other presents, and I said
that you had. “To whom?” she asked.’
‘A regular cross-examination!’ whispered Vestinus.
‘I said that you had made presents to Otho, Vestinus, and others.’
‘You need not have been so very communicative, Polycletus,’ said
Nero; ‘but go on.’
‘Her lip curled as I mentioned the names.’
‘We are not favourites of the Augusta, alas!’ lisped Otho.
‘But what did she say about the robe?’
‘She barely glanced at the robe and jewels, and when she had finished
questioning me, she stamped her foot, tossed the dress over a seat,
and scattered the gems over the floor.’
Nero grew very red, and as the freedman again remained silent, he
asked whether the Augusta had sent no message.
Polycletus hesitated.
‘Go on, man!’ exclaimed Nero, impatiently. ‘In any case _you_ are not
to blame for anything she said.’
‘I am ashamed to repeat the Augusta’s words,’ said the messenger.
‘But, if I must tell you, she said: “My son gives a part to me, who
have given all to him. Whatever he has he owes to me. He sends me
these, I suppose, that I may put in no claim to the rest. Let him
keep his finery. There are things that I value more highly.” And then
she rose, and spurning with her foot the robe which lay in her way,
she swept out of the room.’
Nero bit his lip, and his eyes gleamed with rage. He was maddened
by the meaning smiles of Senecio, and the expression of cynical
amusement which passed over the face of Petronius.
Otho came to the rescue. ‘Do not be disturbed, Nero,’ he said.
‘Agrippina only forgot for the moment that you are now Emperor.’
‘The Augusta evidently thinks that you are still a boy in the
purple-bordered toga,’ sneered Tigellinus.
Nero dashed down his dice-box, overturned the table at which they
were sitting, and began to pace the room in extreme agitation. He had
not yet quite shaken off the familiarity of his mother’s dominance.
He was genuinely afraid of her, and he knew to what fearful lengths
she might be hurried by her passion and her hate.
‘I cannot stand it,’ he muttered to himself. ‘I am no match for
Agrippina. Who knows but what she may prepare a mushroom, or
something else, for me? I hate Rome. I hate the Empire. I will lay
aside the purple. I only want to enjoy myself. I will go to Rhodes
and live there. I can sing, if I can do nothing else, and if all
else fails, I will support myself with singing in the streets of
Alexandria. The astrologers have promised me that I shall be king
in Jerusalem, or somewhere in the East. Here I am utterly wretched.’
He flung himself angrily on a couch, and a red spot rose upon his
cheeks. ‘I wonder how she dares to insult me thus! If I had sent the
robe and jewels to Octavia, the poor child would have touched heaven
with her finger. If I had sent them to Acte, her soft eyes would have
beamed with love. Of what use is it to be Emperor, if my mother is to
flout and domineer like this?’
‘Does not Cæsar know what gives her this audacity?’ asked Tigellinus,
in a low tone.
‘No,’ answered Nero; ‘except it be that she has ruled me from a
child.’
‘It is,’ said the adventurer, ‘because Pallas abets her, and
because--’
He paused.
‘Pallas? Who is Pallas?’ said the Emperor. ‘An ex-slave--nothing
more. I am not afraid of him. I will dismiss him at once, and if he
gives the least trouble, I will threaten him with an inquisition into
his account. He shall go and end his Pallas-ship.[14] But what else
were you going to say?’
‘Agrippina domineers,’ he whispered in the Emperor’s ear, ‘because
Britannicus is alive.’
‘Britannicus?’ answered Nero.
He said no more, but his brow became dark as night.