Then an amour commences that approaches frenzy. Messalina wants to see her lover at all hours, whenever she pleases. Although he is married to a beautiful young woman, Junia Silana, she sends for him if Claudius absents himself, even in the middle of the night. An imperious message sometimes summons him when he is in the Senate, and the messenger is ordered to bring him to her even if he is addressing the assembly. As soon as he arrives, as soon as they are alone, she throws off her garments furiously and tears off his.
If they go for an excursion in the country it is sometimes necessary to stop the chariot and hire a room in some rustic tavern in order to possess one another. Once, not far from Rome, Caius has to take her in a ditch, almost on the road. She marks his body with bites, in order that Junia Silana can have no doubt as to his treason. Soon, however, she cannot bear the idea of another woman approaching the man she loves and she obliges him to divorce.
That is not sufficient for her. She wants to efface all the caresses that Caius has received. She has an order given to a woman named Cytheria, whose lover Caius once was, to quit Rome immediately. She has another, who has boasted about having had him, poisoned. Her desire for possession is less sated the more she satisfies it.
And then, a singular desire comes to her to make her liaison known to everyone. In the guise of a joke she tells Claudius that Caius is her lover. He laughs. She gives him intimate details that she appears to have invented, but which are true. “I’m going to meet my lover,” she tells him when she leaves, and she does, in fact, go to meet Caius, and that gives Claudius a complete security.
She takes Narcissus, Pallas, all the freedmen, and Calpurnia and Cleopatre as confidants. She tells Vitellius, who continues to love her and suffer for her, about the pleasures she obtains with Caius, shows him her weary eyes, the shoulders that he has held forcefully, and the traces of fingers above her knees. In public, she affects to put her arm around the neck of the man she loves, whispering to him cheek to cheek. In the evening, when she crosses the forum to go to meet him, she would like trumpeters to precede her chariot and announce to the people the name of the man who is going to give her joy.
One evening, in her house near the Circus Flaminius, she makes Calpurnia and Cleopatra hide behind a curtain in the room where meets Caius, forbidding them to reveal their presence. She gives herself with more ardor than ever. The next day she heaps the two slaves with presents, because they have seen.
That obsession only increases. She would like public recognition of her amour. From that comes the extravagant idea of her marriage, which she realizes as soon as she has conceived it.
She had a limitless confidence in the stupidity of Claudius. She frightens him by telling him that a dream has announced her husband’s death to her. Destiny, however, can be deceived, in such a way as to deflect the misfortune on to a new husband. Claudius does not say no, and in the meantime, he leaves for Ostia, where he goes to supervise the transportation of provisions for Rome that are arriving by sea.
Then Messalina, as if intoxicated by a bizarre desire to see her amour consecrated by public witnesses, hastens to press forward with the marriage ceremony.
She commences by having transported to Silius’ house a part of the imperial riches: jewels, statues, even items of furniture. She gathers the witnesses, the Grand Pontiff, the Flamen Dialis, and has herself served wheat bread and honeyed wine.
In the midst of a large number of friends, in accordance with the consecrated rites, she married Caius Silius.
An intelligent and sane man sometimes accomplishes great follies because he believes in his lucky star and tells himself that chance will intervene in the danger. Caius Silius, who was related to the greatest families, a consul of Rome, thought that he would only get out of such a singular and dangerous adventure by killing Claudius. He thought of having himself proclaimed Emperor in his stead, but he only prepared for that insufficiently. In any case, he did not have a minute to himself in order to prepare for it. Messalina wanted to have him in her bed incessantly, and it was there that he spent almost all his days and nights. He abandoned himself to events, since pleasure did not give him time to organize them, and left his head empty, his spirit irresolute.
On the brazen tripods of the temples, incense and perfumed gums burn. Cavalcades of cataphracts ride along the Appian Way going toward the Palatine. In gala togas the senators, tribunes and aediles come to bring their felicitations to the Augusta’s new wedding. No one really understands what is happening. Surprised glances are exchanged. Comments are made in low voices. People laugh surreptitiously. They wait. But it is noticed that Narcissus, Pallas and Vitellius are not present, nor any of Claudius’ freedmen.
The people crowd around the palace, uttering acclamations. They cry: “Thalassio!” A distribution is made of sesterces and congii of wine. When evening comes, a festival rumor fills the air. It seems that the whole city is rejoicing and those cries suffice to give the newlyweds the security they desire. They want to persuade themselves that Rome is with them. In any case, they have plenty of time. They will put off the care of organizing the coup d’état until tomorrow. Who knows, anyway? Everything might work out for the best with the feeble Claudius.
The coral powder that has been spread over the garden makes it entirely pink in the sunset, like certain sea-shells. It is autumn, and Messalina has organized a simulacrum of grape-gathering in the garden of the palace, for the evening of her wedding. Vats and presses are brought out. The wine flows. It is spilled on the ground. A heavy odor rises beneath the trees. The women are dressed as Bacchantes; the men are only wearing animal-skins. The hymns of the feast of Bacchus are sung. Couples stray into the bushes or disappear briefly into the bedrooms of the palace. Animated by the same obsession, Messalina would like Caius Silius to possess her on the ground in front of everyone. He hesitates. Perhaps he will do it. But at that moment, Theogonius has climbed a tree, and a few people ask him what he can see.12
“A furious storm in the direction of Ostia,” Theogonius replies.
Many people knew him, and know that he was a fake madman who had acquired the habit of folly in the time of Caligula, and had retained it in order to disguise his wisdom.
“It’s raining,” he said, having descended from the tree. “I’m all wet. I need to go home before the lightning strikes.”
And he left. It was notorious that the weather was fine.
Everyone remembered the absence of the freedmen, and thought about a possible return of the irritated Emperor. In very little time, the majority of the guests had disappeared. The others sought excuses. The tribune Servinius, a simple man, who did not find one and to whom Messalina was in the process of talking, abruptly turned his back on her and fled at a run. In the palace, doors slammed. As if a signal of terror had been given and an invisible warning issued, the friends, and even the slaves, slipped away. There was a panic. Messalina and Caius Silius soon found themselves almost alone.
It was only later, during the night, that they learned that cavaliers had arrived, preceding Claudius. The Emperor was on the road from Ostia. He knew everything and was running to take his revenge.
The two lovers were infected by the general terror. They wondered what they ought to do. But Rome was asleep. Caius Silius decided to go to the Senate at daybreak in order to impose upon it by his presence and deliberate with his friends as to the best course of action. Messalina lay down on her bed to sleep for a while.
They were not to see one another again.
The freedmen had wondered what they ought to do in the presence of Messalina’s follies. They had thought of begging her to renounce her marriage, but that was dangerous. The Empress would have considered it a crime not to favor her amour. On the other hand, they feared the triumph of Silius, who would not have failed to get rid of them.
They departed in haste for Ostia, and Narcissus, who was the only resolute one among them, made a plan and took Calpurnia and Cleopatra with him. He counted on them for the first wor
ds, which would be the most difficult. He made them see that once Messalina had disappeared, it would be them who reigned over Claudius. Pallas, the richest man in the Empire, assured them of a fortune in exchange for their testimony.
Claudius needed women as much as nourishment. Installed at Ostia in a house that the Prefect of food supplies, Turranius, had on the harbor, he spent his time eating, but lacked women. His joy was great when he learned that Narcissus had had the amicable idea of bringing two women to whom he was accustomed to Ostia. It was the middle of the day. He sent everyone away, giving the order that they were to come to him immediately. And he lay down on his bed.
But it was no time for pleasure. Calpurnia spoke first and recounted everything that had happened. Cleopatra gave a further account. They also reported the scene that they had witnessed, hidden behind a curtain. Narcissus came and added, with a great surge of sincerity, everything that he knew about Messalina’s liaisons. But it was not the adultery that it was necessary to stop, he said, it was the danger that was pressing. The people, the army and the Senate might give Rome to Caius Silius at any moment.
Claudius lost his head completely. He wept and uttered howls of anger. He had the Prefect Turranius summoned, and Lucius Geta, the commandant of the Praetory, and then his freedmen and friends. He ran this way and that, livid with fear, and asked everyone whether Caius Silius was not the Emperor, since he had married the Empress, and whether he was now only a simple individual. The terror that animated him infected everyone. The greatest functionaries of the Empire, who were gathered there, thought of nothing but fleeing. Vitellius marched around, his arms raised to the heavens, and every time anyone questioned him he replied: “O crime!”—an exclamation from which he only departed when he had seen how events turned out.
Turranius talked about embarking on a ship for who knows where.
Narcissus, wiser, declared that it was necessary, at dawn the next day, to go to the camp to make sure of the Praetorian cohorts, and had the Emperor entrust him with the supreme command of the soldiers until all danger was averted.
XVI. The Dung-Cart
It was the silence that woke Messalina. She called out, and no one responded. Dressing in haste, she walked through the palace. It was completely deserted. The kitchens, the stables and the gardens were equally empty. Doors were open, forgotten cloaks trailing on the floor. Even the ports had quit the palace. The negro Ahmes was on the threshold, on the lookout for news. A peaceful dawn was rising over Rome.
The sight of Ahmes rendered Messalina a part of her courage. She ordered him to prepare a chariot with the fastest horse. She could see what had to be done. Nothing was lost. She had learned during the night that Claudius would leave Ostia at sunrise. She could not have lost her empire over him. She could arrange everything if she could meet him before his arrival in Rome.
But there was no longer any chariot or any horse. The slaves had made use of them to flee. It was necessary to hurry. Followed by Ahmes, Messalina left the palace by the back door. She retraced her steps, remembering that she had not reddened her lips with carmine and made up her eyes. The beauty of her face had never been as indispensable.
She marched through the streets in quest of a hirer of carriages. Ahmes knew of one not far away. He knocked on the door for a long time. No one responded, Messalina assumed that she had been seen through a loophole and recognized, and that no one was opening up because it was her. She had the sentiment of a general malediction that was enveloping her.
She drew away and wandered at random. At a corner she almost bumped into a large cart half full of ordure. The conductor was leading the horse by the bridle. He had just stopped and was picking up vegetable debris from outside a shop with a shovel. Messalina thought that Claudius might reach Rome at any moment, and that that wretched vehicle was better than nothing.
She gave the conductor the gold coins that she had in her hand, but the man was limited. He explained that the cart did not belong to him, that a functionary at the refuse tip would demand that he account for it. In her impatience, Messalina detached a diamond necklace from around her neck and threw it at him. The man did not know its value and continued to protest. Ahmes was obliged to knock him down with a blow of his fist. Then he cracked the whip that he had seized, and they finally set off.
The diamond necklace had broken and the stones were scattered in the street. As he got to his feet the conductor contemplated in surprise the fragments of stars that the goddess he had glimpsed momentarily had left behind her, having chosen his cart in which to travel through Rome at sunrise.
Ahmes thought about getting out of the city immediately and going round it via the Pomoerium, in order to go more rapidly, for while walking they had drawn away from the direction of the road to Ostia. But the horse was thin and tired and had difficulty trotting. The axles of the vehicle screeched with each rotation of the wheels, and Messalina, tossed about on her seat of dung, experienced all the horrors of the journey bitterly.
On the Tiber Island, which they traversed, the sun set the dome of the temple of Aesculapius ablaze. Strange forms emerged from it. Beneath hoods, Messalina distinguished enormous faces the color of milk, with eyes emerging from eyelids like tumors. Hands like damp tubers appeared under the cloth of cloaks. They were lepers who had permission, four times a year, to spend the night in the temple of Aesculapius, where the gods sometimes accorded them a miraculous cure.
As the cart moved through their troop, they perceived Messalina with her dazzling shoulders, which emerged from her tunic, and her face, where anxiety did not veil the gleam of the skin. They all extended their arms toward her, in a gesture of desperate supplication. Hoarse, inarticulate sounds emerged from their throats, by way of acclamations, and they started running behind the cart, staring at her with their bulging eyes, in order to retain for as long as they could the image of inaccessible beauty.
Ahmes drove them away with lashes of the whip.
The cart had traversed the square and moved on to the Pont Cestius when, in front of the phallic obelisk that stood at the corner of the bridge, Messalina recognized a stooped man leaning on a staff who appeared to be praying before the roseate granite phallus.
It was Chilon. Doubtless he had come to spend the night in the temples of Aesculapius in order to request the return of his lost virility. He had become a frightful old man. His unsatisfied desires were inscribed on his bestial face. He gave the impression of one of the shades of the dead whose desolation seers perceive when they attempt to satisfy a body they no longer have, in the company of the living.
Messalina saw the symbols of her life there, passed in the vain pursuit of pleasure. It was that frightful Jewish priest who had taken her virginity, and had informed her that there was no other god than the enjoyment of the flesh. It was that phallus of pink granite, reflected in the water of the Tiber an illuminated by the sun, the rigid, colored, immutable phallus, that had been the goal of her life. For the sake of swooning in beds, the strength of arms bending her back, the heat of her vagina, she had neglected the beautiful possibilities of the spirit, the world of which she had glimpsed without wanting to penetrate it.
Above the head of every woman there is a golden lotus, Simon Magus had said to her. Where was that gilded flower? She had perceived it on the stele in the mausoleum of Valerius, the wise man who had found the truth amid the life of trees. She had the knowledge of having killed something within herself, and that the crime was more serious than that of having killed the bodies of her lovers.
Her life appeared to her as a stupid error, a race for the enjoyment of her loins that had led to this triumph among lepers, on this throne of ordure, on which she was like an empress of ignominy.
As a sign of humility she touched the detritus on which she was sitting with her forehead, and she wept.
Fearful of Claudius’ changing moods, Narcissus had climbed into the carriage that was taking the emperor back, and also made the freedman Cecina and Vitellius climb in. Cl
audius had moments of tenderness. He recalled the beauty of Messalina and his past amour. Vitellius, on whom Narcissus had wanted to support himself, and whom he pressed to explain clearly, was still repeating: “O crime!” and then maintaining an ambiguous silence.
The cavaliers of the Praetorian guard who were preceding the carriage slowed their pace as they came in sight of Rome. A stationary cart was blocking the road and a woman, standing up, was making them an imperious signal to halt.
Narcissus understood that the moment was critical. With a gesture, he ordered the buccina players to sound their instruments in order to drown out the appeal he was beginning to hear. Then, as he made the painful decision, abruptly, to follow the truth to the end, he held out the tablets on which the names of all Messalina’s lovers were written, and he indicated them with a finger, forcing Claudius to lean forward to read them.
The buccinas played.
“Is that possible?” said the Emperor, several times.
“O crime!” repeated Vitellius, but while making a movement that blocked the carriage door, which made Narcissus think that he could count on him and that the game was won.
XVII. The Dead Leaf in Valerius’ Garden
Claudius was extremely popular because of an appearance of vulgar stupidity that he had, even when saying intelligent and just things, which the people adored because they saw their own image therein. He only had to harangue the Praetorian cohorts assembled at the camp to sense that he would remain the master of Rome.
Then again, a man who complains to other man about the turpitudes of his wife always encounters an indignant sympathy.
In a few hours, Narcissus had had Caius Silius arrested, along with the majority of his friends and all those suspected of having served his projects. Silius, sensing that he was doomed, did not defend himself and only asked that he be put to death rapidly. That wish was immediately realized. His accomplices were treated as if they had expressed the same desire.
The Angel of Lust Page 10