by F. W. Farrar
CHAPTER VIII
_SENECA AND HIS VISITORS_
‘Videtur mihi cadere in sapientem ægritudo.’--CIC. _Tusc. Disp._ iii. 4.
Burrus was a man in the prime of life, whose whole bearing was thatof an honest and fearless Roman; but his look was gloomy, and thosewho had seen him when he escorted Nero to the camp and the senatehouse, noticed how fast the wrinkles seemed to be gathering on hisopen brow.
We need not repeat the conversation which took place between thefriendly ministers, but it was long and troubled. Burrus felt,no less strongly than Seneca, that affairs at Court were dailyassuming a more awkward complexion. The mass of the populace, andof the nobles, rejoicing in the general tranquillity, were happilyignorant of facts which filled with foreboding the hearts of the twostatesmen. The nobles and the people praised with rapture the speechwhich Nero had pronounced before the Senate after the funeral honourshad been paid to the murdered Claudius. ‘I have,’ he said, ‘nowrongs to avenge; no ill feeling towards a single human being. Iwill maintain the purity and independence of legal trials. In thePalace there shall be no bribery and no intrigues. I will commandthe army, but in no particular will I encroach upon the prerogativesof the Conscript Fathers.’ Critics recognised in the speech thestyle and sentiments of Seneca, but that only showed that at lastphilosophy was at the helm of state. And the Fathers had really beenallowed to enact some beneficent and useful measures. It was thebeginning of a period of government of which the public and externalbeneficence was due to Seneca and the Prætorian Præfect, who actedtogether in perfect harmony, and with whom Nero was too indolent tointerfere. Long afterwards, so great a ruler as Trajan said that hewould emulate, but could not hope to equal, the fame of Nero’s golden_quinquennium_.
But, meanwhile, unknown to the Roman world in general, the ‘goldenquinquennium’ was early stained with infamy and blood; and thecontemporary Pliny says that _all through his reign_ Nero was anenemy of the human race.[9]
The turbulent ambition of Agrippina was causing serious misgivings.When the senators were summoned to meet in the Palace she contrivedto sit behind a curtain and hear all their deliberations. WhenNero was about to receive the Armenian ambassadors she would havescandalised the majesty of Rome by taking her seat unbidden besidehim on the throne, if Seneca had not had the presence of mind towhisper to the Emperor that he should step down to meet his motherand lead her to a seat. Worse than this, she had ordered the murder,not only of Narcissus, but of the noble Junius Silanus, whosebrother, the affianced suitor of Octavia before her marriage withNero, she had already got rid of by false accusations which brokehis heart. She was doubly afraid of Junius, both because the bloodof Augustus flowed in his veins, and because she feared that he mightone day be the avenger of his brother, though he was a man of milddisposition. She sent the freedman Helius and the knight PubliusCeler, who were procurators in Asia, to poison him at a banquet,and the deed was done with a cynical boldness which disdainedconcealment. So ended the great-great-grandson of Augustus, whomhis great-great-grandfather had just lived to see. It was onlywith difficulty that Seneca and Burrus had been able to stop moretragedies, and they had succeeded in making the world believe inNero’s unique clemency by the anecdote, everywhere retailed bySeneca, that when called upon to sign a death-warrant he hadexclaimed, ‘I wish I did not know how to write!’ It was looked onas a further sign of grace that he had forbidden the prosecution ofthe knight Julius Densus, who was charged with favour towards thewronged Britannicus.
But now a new trouble had arisen. Nero began to seek the company ofsuch effeminate specimens of the ‘gilded youth’ of Rome as Otho andTullius Senecio. They were his ready tutors in every vice, and he wasa pupil whose fatal aptitude soon equalled, if it did not surpass,the viciousness of his instructors.
Partly through their bad influence, he had devoted himself heart andsoul to Acte, the beautiful freedwoman of Octavia. It was impossiblethat any secret of the Palace could long be concealed from thevigilant eyes of Agrippina. She had discovered the amour, and hadburst into furious reproaches. What angered her was, not that theEmperor should disgrace himself by vice, but that a freedwoman shouldinterfere with the supremacy of her will, and be a rival with herfor the affections of her son. A little forbearance, a little calmadvice, might have proved a turning point in the life of one whowas not yet an abandoned libertine, but rather a shy and timid youthdabbling with his first experiences of wrong. His nature, indeed, wasendowed with the evil legacy of many an hereditary taint, but if itwas as wax to the stamp of evil, it was not as yet incapable of beingmoulded into good. But Agrippina committed two fatal errors. At firstshe was loudly indignant, and when by such conduct she had terrifiedher son into the confidence of Otho and Senecio, she saw her mistaketoo late, and flew into the opposite extreme of complaisance. Nero atthat time regarded her with positive dread, but his fear was weakenedwhen he saw that, on the least sign of his displeasure, she passedfrom fierce objurgations to complete submission. In dealing with herson, Agrippina lost the astuteness which had carried her triumphantlythrough all her previous designs.
But at this point Seneca also made a mistake no less ruinous. If hehad remonstrated, and endeavoured to awaken his pupil to honourableambition, it was not impossible that the world might have found inNero a better Emperor than most of his predecessors. Instead ofthis, the philosopher adopted the fatal policy of concession. Heeven induced his cousin Annæus Serenus, the Præfect of the police,to shield Nero by pretending that he was himself in love with Acte,and by conveying to her the presents which were, in reality, sentto her by the Emperor. Seneca soon learnt by experience that thebad is never a successful engine to use against the worst, and thatfire cannot be quenched by pouring oil upon it. When Nero had beenencouraged by a philosopher to think lightly of immorality,the reins of his animal nature were seized by ‘the unspiritualgod Circumstance,’ and with mad pace he plunged into the abyss.
Burrus had come to tell Seneca that Nero’s passion for Acte was goingto such absurd lengths that he talked of suborning two Romans ofconsular dignity to swear that the slave girl, who had been broughtfrom Asia, was in reality a descendant of Attalus, King of Pergamus!The Senate would be as certain to accept the statement as they hadbeen to pretend belief that Pallas was a scion of Evander and theancient kings of Arcadia; and Nero had actually expressed to Burrusa desire to divorce Octavia[*2] and marry Acte!
‘What did you say to him?’ asked Seneca.
‘I told him frankly that, if he divorced Octavia, he ought to restoreher dower.’
‘Her dower?’
‘Yes--the Roman Empire. He holds it because Claudius adopted him asthe husband of his daughter.’
‘What did he say?’
‘He pouted like a chidden boy, and I have not the least doubt that hewill remember the answer against me.’
‘But, Burrus,’ said Seneca, ‘I really think that we had betterpromote, rather than oppose, this love-affair. Acte is harmless andinnocent. She will never abuse her influence to injure so much as afly; nay, more, she may wean Nero from far more dangerous excesses.I think that in this case a little connivance may be the truestpolicy. To tell you the truth, I have endeavoured to prevent scandalby removing all difficulties out of the way.’
‘You are a philosopher,’ said Burrus, ‘and I suppose you know best.It would not have been my way. We often perish by permitted things.But, since you do not take so serious a view of this matter as I did,I will say no more. Forgive a brief interview. My duties at the camprequire my presence. Farewell.’
Seneca, as we have seen, had spent a somewhat agitated day, buthe had one more visitor before the afternoon meal. It was thephilosopher Cornutus, who had been a slave in the family of theAnnæi, but was now free and had risen to the highest literarydistinction by his philosophical writings.
‘Cornutus is always a welcome visitor,’ he said, as he rose to greethim; ‘never more so than this morning. I want to consult you, in deepconfidence, about the Emperor’s edu
cation.’
‘Can Seneca need any advice about education?’ said Cornutus. ‘Who haswritten so many admirable precepts on the subject?’
Seneca, with infinite plausibility, related to his friend thearguments which he had just used to Burrus. He felt a restlessdesire that the Stoic should approve of what he had done. To fortifyhis opinion he quoted Zeno and other eminent philosophers, who hadtreated graver offences than that of Nero as mere _adiaphora_--thingsof no real moment. Cornutus, however, at once tore asunder his web ofsophistry.
‘A thing is either right or wrong,’ he said; ‘if it is wrong noamount of expediency can sanction it, no skill of special pleadingcan make it other than reprehensible. The passions cannot be checkedby sanctioning their indulgence, but by training youth in themanliness of self-control. You wish to prevent the Emperor fromdisgracing himself with the crimes which rendered execrable thereigns of Tiberius and Gaius. Can you do it otherwise than byteaching him that what he _ought_ to do is also what he _can_ do?Is the many-headed monster of the young man’s impulses to be checkedby giving it the mastery, or rather by putting it under the dominionof his reason?’
‘I cannot judge by abstract considerations of ethics. I must judge asa statesman,’ said Seneca, somewhat offended.
‘Then, if you are only a statesman, do not pretend to act as aphilosopher. I speak to you frankly, as one Stoic to another.’
Seneca said nothing. It was evident that he felt deeply hurt by thebluntness of Cornutus, who paused for a moment, regarding him with alook of pity. Then he continued.
‘If it pains you to hear the truth I will be silent; but if you wishme to speak without reserve, you are committing two fatal errors.You dream of controlling passion by indulging it. You are concedingliberty in one set of vices in the vain hope of saving Nero fromanother. But all vices are inextricably linked together. And youhave committed a second mistake, not only by addressing your pupilin language of personal flattery, but also by inflating him with abelief in his own illimitable power.’[10]
‘Nero is Emperor,’ answered Seneca curtly, ‘and, after all, he cando whatever he likes.’
‘Yet even as Emperor he can be told the truth,’ replied Cornutus. ‘Ifor one ventured to offend him yesterday.’
‘In what way?’
‘Your nephew Lucan was belauding Nero’s fantastic verses, and said hewished Nero would write four hundred volumes. “Four hundred!” I said;“that is far too many.” “Why?” said Lucan; “Chrysippus, whom you arealways praising, wrote four hundred.” “Yes,” I answered, “but theywere of use to mankind!” Nero frowned portentously, and I receivedwarning looks from all present; but if a true man is to turnflatterer to please an Emperor, what becomes of his philosophy?’
‘Yes,’ sighed Seneca: ‘but _your_ pupil Persius is a youth of thesweetest manners and the purest heart; whereas Nero is--Nero.’
‘A finer young Roman than Persius never lived,’ replied the Stoic,‘but if I had encouraged Persius in the notion that vice washarmless, Persius might have been--Nero.’
‘Cornutus,’ said the statesman--and as he said it he sighed deeply--‘your lot is humbler and happier than mine. I do not follow, but Iassent; I am crushed by an awful weight of uncertainty, and sometimeslife seems a chaos of vanities. I wish to rise to a loftier gradeof virtue, but I am preoccupied with faults. All I can require ofmyself is, not to be equal to the best, but only to be better thanthe bad.’[11]
‘He who aims highest,’ said the uncompromising freedman, ‘will reachthe loftiest ideal. And surely it is hypocrisy to use fine phraseswhen you do not intend to put your own advice into practice.’
Seneca was always a little touchy about his style, and he was nowthoroughly angry, for he was not accustomed to be thus bluntlyaddressed by one so immeasurably beneath him in rank. ‘Fine phrases!’he repeated, in a tone of deep offence. ‘It pleases you to be rude,Cornutus. Perhaps the day will come when the “fine phrases” ofSeneca will still be read, though the name of Cornutus, and evenof Musonius, is forgotten.’
‘Very possibly,’ answered the uncompromising freedman. ‘Nevertheless,I agree with Musonius that stylists who do not act up to their ownprecepts should be called fiddlers and not philosophers.’
When Cornutus rose to leave, the feelings of the most envied man inRome were far from enviable. He would have given much to secure theStoic’s approval. And yet the sophistries by which he blinded hisown bitter feelings were unshaken. ‘Cornutus,’ he said to himself,‘is not only discourteous but unpractical. Theory is one thing; lifeanother. We are in Rome, not in Plato’s Atlantis.’
Seneca lived to find out that facing both ways is certain failure,and that a man cannot serve two masters.
In point of fact the struggle was going on for the preponderance ofinfluence over Nero. Agrippina thought that she could use him as agilded figurehead of the ship of state, while she stood at the helmand directed the real course. Burrus and Seneca, distrusting hercruelty and ambition, believed that they could render her schemesnugatory, and convert Nero into a constitutional prince. Both effortswere alike foiled. The passions which were latent in the temperamentof the young Emperor were forced into rank growth by influencesincomparably less virile than that of his mother, and incomparablymore vile than those of the soldier and the philosopher. Otho was amore effective tutor than Seneca, and Seneca’s own vacillation pavedthe way for Otho’s corrupting spell. Claudius had been governed byan ‘aristocracy of valets;’ Nero was to be governed neither by thedaughter of Germanicus nor by the Stoic moralist, but by a despicablefraternity of minions, actors, and debauchees.