by Sax Rohmer
In consequence, Apollonius and his fellows were looked at askance, and it was generally believed that he had encouraged Demetrius to proceed thus, which belief was strengthened on the occasion of Nero’s completion of the great baths in Rome.
Now, the better to understand Demetrius’s subsequent action, it is necessary to remember that bathing was a veritable vice with certain Romans, and some of them would bathe six or seven times a day, and remain in the tepidarium for hours together, in a condition of semi-conscious lassitude.
From the tepidarium one could enter either the sudatorium (vapour bath) or the calidarium (water bath). In the former, the bather reposed in an atmosphere of spicy fragrance, whilst slaves massaged and scraped his body. Thence he passed to the water, sweet with fresh perfumes, and, retiring by another door, enjoyed a cooling shower. Returning to the tepidarium, he was anointed, if of the wealthier class, by his slaves, with rare ointments and oils of the costliest description, whilst soft music played in an adjoining chamber!
The Imperial Thermae of Nero were veritably a small town, comprising not only all the chambers for bathing, but huge apartments devoted to gymnastic games, extensive libraries, lovely gardens, lecture halls, spacious theatres and schools, restaurants, tennis-courts, and porticoes. Many Roman citizens loafed away the greater part of their lives in the Imperial Thermae, entering directly the doors opened in the morning, and remaining there until they closed at night.
Nero, with the Senate and the whole of his Court, coming to open the great baths, Demetrius, from within the thermae, delivered himself of a pungent philippic against bathers; declaring that, far from the habit being a cleanly one, these bathers enfeebled and polluted themselves! He then proceeded to show that such institutions were a useless expense.
We are prepared, of course, to learn that he was instantly slain, since none other than Nero was the object of his attack; but it was actually because none other than Nero was its object that he escaped. For “he was only saved from immediate death as the penalty of such language by the fact that Nero was in unusually good voice when he sang on that day, and he sang in a tavern which adjoined the gymnasium, naked except for a girdle round his waist, like any low tapster.”
Such were the mountebank caprices upon which depended life and death in the Rome of the mad Emperor.
Demetrius, however, did not wholly escape the peril which he had openly courted by his language; for Tigellinus banished him from Rome, on the ground that he had ruined the bath by the words he had used; “and he began to dog the steps of Apollonius — secretly....”
Suspicion of the man of Tyana was intensified by words which he uttered in connexion with a prodigy. For at about that time there was an eclipse of the sun and a clap of thunder was heard, “a thing which very rarely occurs at the time of an eclipse.” Thereupon Apollonius glanced up to heaven and said:
“There shall be some great event and there shall not be.”
At the time, those who heard these singular words were at a loss to comprehend their meaning; but three days later every one understood what was meant; “for while Nero sat at meat, a thunderbolt fell on the table, and clove asunder the cup which was in his hands and was close to his lips.”
Evidently, it was argued, the fact that he had so narrowly escaped being struck was intended by the words that a great event should happen and yet should not happen. Tigellinus, when he heard the story, began to dread the mysterious Apollonius “as one who was wise in supernatural matters; and though he felt that he had better not prefer any open charges against him, lest he should incur at his hands some mysterious disaster, nevertheless he used all the eyes with which the government sees, to watch him, whether he was talking or holding his tongue, or sitting down or walking about, and to mark what he ate, and in whose houses, and whether he offered sacrifice or not.”
His opportunity arose when Nero had an attack of what was apparently influenza. The temples were filled with crowds who supplicated the gods to restore the Emperor’s voice; and Apollonius denounced this folly, speaking of those who took “pleasure in the mimes of buffoons.”
Spies reported these words to Tigellinus; Apollonius was immediately arrested, upon a charge of impiety against the divine Nero, and one of those base creatures who, in that and subsequent reigns, fattened upon blood-money, was retained as his accuser.
We now come to a very curious incident, which shows Apollonius an apt pupil of the Brahmin Masters, and illustrates, I think, how hypnotism played a part in the very earliest sorceries.
The creature who was paid to compass his destruction had his tirade written upon a scroll, and this, we read, he brandished like a sword against Apollonius, crying that it should ruin and slay him. The two, accused and accuser, came before Tigellinus, and we can imagine that scene as vividly as though art had limned it for posterity; the craven prostrated to the ground, crawling in the dust, I conceive, to the feet of the formidable judge, and Apollonius, white-robed, composed, a man conscious of inner power, advancing stately, as one who numbered kings among his friends and gods among his counsellors. Also, we can see the judge, but vaguely, since imagination must fail to depict him as he was. Let us step aside for a moment, and glance at him, the accumulated evils of his age incarnate in one man.
Sofonius Tigellinus, Praetorian Prefect, had been so created by Nero, in the words of Tacitus, “purely from partiality to the inveterate lewdness and infamy of the man.” He was grand master of debauchery and vice. Doubtless to him, and not to Nero, were due the Christian persecutions and the burning of Rome; for his was the evil power behind the throne. His infamy is assured of immortality by one achievement alone: the banquet on the lake of Agrippa — which was in the gardens adjoining his house.
“For this purpose,” says Tacitus, “he built a raft which supported the banquet, which was moved by other vessels, drawing it after them: the vessels were striped with gold and ivory, and rowed by bands of pathics, who were ranged according to their age and accomplishments in the science of debauchery. He had procured fowl and venison from remote regions, with sea-fish even from the ocean: upon the margin of the lake were erected bagnios, filled with ladies of distinction: — over against them naked courtesans were exposed to view: — now, there were beheld obscene gestures and motions; and as soon as darkness came on, all the neighbouring groves and circumjacent dwellings resounded with music, and glared with lights....”
This, then, the giver of the banquet on the lake of Agrippa, was the man before whom Apollonius of Tyana stood, accused of a crime than which no greater was recognised in Rome. This was the man who took from the informer’s hand the scroll of indictment, unrolled it, and prepared to read — which point of my narrative brings me to the really extraordinary part of the interview.
For, to the eyes of Tigellinus, the scroll appeared quite blank; not a single word, not a letter, was traced upon it!
Needless to say, Sofonius Tigellinus was a prey to ceaseless fear — fear of the supernatural, of that underworld to which he had consigned so many unhappy souls. He came to the conclusion, we are told, that he had to do with a visitant from Hades — which renders it the more remarkable that he should have decided to interview him in private. Yet such was his decision, prompted, we must assume, by an anxiety to placate.
Apollonius, at that interview, explained his motive in practising wisdom, declaring that the sole use he made of it was to gain a knowledge of the gods and an understanding of human affairs, for that the difficulty of knowing another man exceeded that of knowing oneself.
“And how about the demons,” said Tigellinus, “and the apparitions of spectres? How, O Apollonius, do you exorcise them?”
“In the same way,” he answered, “as I should murderers and impious men.”
The reference to Tigellinus himself was broad enough, for all the world knew that he was Nero’s master and guide in every excess of cruelty and wanton violence. But Tigellinus seems to have overlooked it.
“And,” he contin
ued, “could you prophesy if I asked you to?”
How,” said Apollonius, “can I, being no prophet?”
“And yet they say that it is you who predicted that some great event would come to pass and yet not come to pass.”
“Quite true,” said Apollonius, “is what you heard, but you must not ascribe it to any prophetic gift, but rather to the wisdom which God reveals to sages.”
“And why do you not fear Nero?”
“Because the same God who allows him to seem formidable has also granted to me the absence of fear.”
“Then what do you think of Nero?”
And Apollonius answered:
“More highly than you do; for you think it dignified for him to sing, but I think it dignified for him to be silent.”
Tigellinus was astonished at the calm effrontery of his prisoner.
“You may go,” he said, “but you must give sureties for your person.”
To which Apollonius answered:
“And who can give surety for a body that no one can bind?”
This answer, we learn, struck Tigellinus as inspired and above the wit of man; and since he was not anxious to offend a god, he said:
“You may go wherever you choose, for you are too powerful to be controlled by me.”
So ended this notable encounter between the power of Rome and the powers of mystical philosophy.
During the remainder of his sojourn in the capital, Apollonius is recorded to have performed many supernatural feats, not the least remarkable being the following: —
A girl on the point of marriage seemingly died, and her bier was followed by him who was to have been her husband, in all the affliction usual in like cases of interrupted wedlock. As she chanced to be of consular family, all Rome condoled with him.
Apollonius met this mournful procession.
“Set down the bier,” said the man of Tyana to the attendants. “I will dry up the tears you are shedding for the maid.”
Almost all the spectators thought that he was about to pronounce a funeral oration; but what he actually did “was to touch the maid, and, after uttering a few words over her in a low tone of voice, he wakened her from that death with which she seemed to be overcome.”
The grateful family presented Apollonius with 150,000 drachmas, which he in return begged them to settle upon the bride as a marriage portion.
When Nero took his departure for Greece, after issuing a proclamation that no one should teach philosophy in public, the wonderful man of Tyana “turned his steps to the western regions of the earth.”
VI. THE CHARGE OF SORCERY
We shall be compelled to pass over much of the travels and exploits of Apollonius, in Egypt and elsewhere, if we are to give any consideration to the crowning adventure of his life; the accusation of sorcery and conspiracy with Nerva against Domitian. Concerning the sage’s friendly dealings with Vespasian and Titus I shall not pause to deal, otherwise than by mentioning how he is recorded to have predicted to the latter the manner of his death. That Titus was favourably disposed toward him is shown by his having said to Apollonius, on one occasion: “Although I have captured Jerusalem, you have captured me.”
His sojourn among the Naked Sages of the Nile affords few incidents of note. Of these Sages, Philostratus wrote:— “They wear next to no clothes, in the same way as people do at Athens in the heat of summer,” an interesting aside upon Athenian sartorial customs. The Sages met in a small grove, but their shrines were built, not within the grove, but apparently in various spots in the immediate neighbourhood. The Nile seems to have been the chief object of their worship; the dome of heaven their only roof. But they had built a kind of caravanserai for the reception of strangers, and it was “a portico of no great size, being about equal in length to those of Elis, beneath which the athletes await the sound of the midday trumpet.”
Nilus, the youngest of the Naked Sages, joined Apollonius, who journeyed on through Phoenicia and Cilicia to Ionia and Achaia, and thence to Italy. Space forbids us to dally with the lovesick young man who was enamoured of a nude statue of Aphrodite in the isle of Cindus, or to pause in Tarsus, whilst Apollonius heals the youth bitten by a mad dog. We must hasten to Ephesus.
There Apollonius learned that Domitian had put to death three of the vestal virgins who had broken their vows, and, later, after the murder of Sabinus, was proposing to marry the widow of his victim (she was Domitian’s own niece). Apollonius thereupon commenced to demonstrate in public against the Emperor.
Aware, in his wisdom, that Nerva would ere long ascend the throne, he declared on one occasion that not even tyrants can force the hand of destiny, and, directing the attention of his audience to the brazen statue of Domitian which had been erected close by That of Meles, he said:
“Thou fool, how wrong are thy views of Destiny and Fate! For even if thou shouldst slay the man who is fated to be despot after thyself, he shall cometo life again.”
Report of this reaching Rome, Domitian wrote to the governor of Asia, ordering that Apollonius be arrested and brought before him. The man of Tyana forestalled The order, however, and voluntarily set out for Rome.
In the gardens of the villa where, of old, Cicero had discoursed, he talked with Demetrius, who met him at Dicæarchia. The latter showed great alarm for his safety, saying that his having foreseen the order of arrest, and only ten days after its issue appearing in Rome, without having heard, by natural means, that he was to be subjected to a trial, would be ascribed To the hardihood of sorcery.
“If you have not forgotten the affairs of Nero’s reign,” said Demetrius, “you will remember my own case, and that I showed no craven fear of death. But Then one gained some respite: for although Nero’s harp was ill attuned to the dignity that befits an Emperor, yet in other respects its music harmonized his mood not unpleasantly with our own, for he was often induced thereby to grant a truce to his victims and stay his murderous hand. At any rate he did not slay me, although I attracted his sword to myself as much by your discourses as by my own, which were delivered against the bath; and the reason why he did not slay me was that just then his voice improved, and he achieved, as he thought, a very brilliant performance.
“But where now is the royal songster, and where the harp to which we can make our peace-offerings? The outlook to-day is unredeemed by music, and full of rancour, and this tyrant is as little likely to be charmed by himself as by others. It is true that Pindar says, in praise of the lyre, that it charms the savage breast of Ares, and stays his hand from war; but Domitian, although he has established a musical contest in Rome, and publicly offers a crown to the victor, nevertheless slew several of those who piped and sang in his last musical contest!”
Neither the arguments of Demetrius, however, nor the added advice of Damis, could turn Apollonius from his purpose.
“I will boldly wrestle with the tyrant,” he declared, “hailing him with the words of Homer: Mars is as much my friend as thine.”
Accordingly he set sail, in three days reached the mouth of the Tiber, and was drawn once more into the maelstrom of Rome. Of the counts of the indictment against him he learned that they were numerous and varied.
“Your style of dress is assailed in them,” he was told, “and your way of living in general, and your having been worshipped, and the fact that in Ephesus you delivered an Oracle regarding the famine; also that you have uttered certain sentiments detrimental to the Emperor, some of them openly, some of them obscurely and privately, and some of them on the pretence that you learned them from the gods. But the charge which most appeals to the credulity of Domitian, although I cannot credit it, knowing that you are opposed even to shedding the blood of sacrificial victims, is this: they say that you visited Nerva in the country, and that you cut up an Arcadian boy for him when he was consulting the auspices against the Emperor; and that by such rites as these you awakened his ambitions; and that all this was done by night when the moon was already on the wane. This is the accusation compared wi
th which we need not consider any other....”
Apollonius was arrested and thrown into prison. During the time that he was incarcerated, a spy of Domitian’s was introduced amongst the prisoners, but the sage of Tyana, with his usual tact and command of apt speech, frustrated the man’s designs.
Came the morning of his summons to the Palace, and he was conducted thither by four guards, Damis following in his train.
“Now the eyes of all were turned upon Apollonius, or not only were they attracted by his dress and bearing, but there was a godlike look in his eyes, which truck them with astonishment; and moreover, the act that he was come to Rome to risk his life for his friends won the goodwill even of those who, hitherto, lad been evilly disposed toward him.”
Before the Palace of the Cæsars, beholding the throng of sycophants, courtiers and courted, he made notable remark.
“It seems to me, O Damis,” he said, “that this place resembles a bath; for I see people outside hastening in, and those within hastening out; and some of them resemble people who have been thoroughly well washed, and others those who have not been washed at all.”
Coming into the Emperor’s presence, Apollonius found Domitian to be wearing a wreath of green leaves. He had been sacrificing to Athene in the Hall of Adonis; and the apartment was full of flowers.
The Emperor turned around, and met the grave glance of the philosopher. A man whom fear of that end which ultimately visited him had made mad, Domitian found a threat in every eye — even in that of his wife — and rightly; a menace in every shadow — and with justice. As the majestic power which seems to have proceeded from Apollonius once had awed Tigellinus, so now it touched the timid, cruel heart of Domitian, filling it, not with admiration, not with compassion, but with dread.
Apollonius, a rhetor of Hellenic subtlety, guided the ensuing conversation into those channels which he, and not Domitian, wished it to pursue, concluding with a defence of Nerva which inflamed the Emperor to fury.
“The accusation,” cried Domitian, “shall unmask everything; for I know, as well as if I had been present and taken part... all the oaths which you took, and the objects” (especially, he was thinking of his own death) “for which you took them, and when you did it, and what was your preliminary sacrifice.”