by Mika Waltari
The humming, the sighs and clapping came in the right places. The usual audience joined willingly in the applause. But when Nero rushed onto the stage at the end with bloodstained hands, the sounds of loud catcalls, crowing and uproar came from the seats of senators and knights and not even the loudest applause could drown it. I thought my last moment had come when, with shaking knees, I staggered backstage to accompany the unmasked Nero on to inform the people that it had been the Emperor himself who had appeared before them. But to my great astonishment, Nero was weeping with joy as he stood there, drenched with sweat and his face distorted with fatigue.
“Did you notice how I got the crowd with me?” he said. “They catcalled and crowed at Orestes to bring the penalty for matricide down on his head. I don’t think such complete entering into the spirit by an audience has ever happened before.”
Wiping the sweat away and smiling triumphantly, Nero stepped forward to receive the applause, which swelled to thunderous proportions when I announced that it had been the Emperor in person performing in the play. The crowd shouted as one man that he should sing again.
I had the honor of taking Nero’s cittern to him. He sang willingly and accompanied himself to show his skill on the cittern until it grew so dark that one could no longer discern his face. Not until then did he reluctantly finish, but he had it announced that he would appear before the people in future, should they so wish it.
When I handed him the money order for one million sesterces, I told him I had arranged for a thank-offering to be made to his own genius, to his dead daughter and also, for safety’s sake, to Apollo.
“Though I think you’ve already surpassed Apollo and no longer need his support,” I added.
While he was still overflowing with joy, I made a passing request that he should quietly dissolve my marriage, on the grounds of irreconcilable incompatibility between Sabina and myself, who both wished for a divorce and had our parents’ approval of it.
Nero said with a laugh that he had long since realized that it was only from sheer depravity that I had for so long continued my strange marriage. He asked inquisitively if it were true that Sabina had sexual intercourse with the giant African apes, as it was said in the city, intimating that he himself would have no objection to watching such a performance in secret. I asked him to consult Sabina directly on the matter, since she and I were so hostile that we did not even wish to speak to one another. Nero asked that, divorce notwithstanding, I should allow Sabina to continue to perform in the amphitheater for the entertainment of the people. I received the divorce papers the following morning and did not even have to pay the usual fee for them.
My reputation became one of a bold and unscrupulous man, as Nero’s performance as Orestes aroused surprise and endless discussion. At this time, Nero’s enemies began to invent ugly stories about him founded on the same basis he himself had used when he had announced Octavia’s adultery: “The greater the lie, the more easily it will be believed,” he had said.
This was a truth which turned back on himself, for the more shameless the invention about Nero, the more willing the people were to believe it. True accounts of his many good deeds aroused little interest.
Not that Rome’s rulers had not lied to the people before. The god Julius was forced to establish a daily written proclamation to counteract his lack of esteem, not to mention the god Augustus whose handsome burial inscription fails to mention innumerable crimes.
By staking my life to acquire a divorce, I nevertheless landed myself in a dilemma. The divorce offered relief in that I was free of Sabina’s domination. But naturally I could not even consider marrying Claudia. In my own opinion, she exaggerated absurdly the significance of the bagatelle that we had happened to sleep together by chance attraction in the days of our youth.
I told her straight out that I did not consider that a man had to marry every woman who of her own free will fell into his arms. In that case, no sane relationship between human beings would be possible. In my opinion, what had happened was neither sinful nor degrading to her.
Not even Christ himself during his life on earth had wished to judge an adulteress, for he said that those who accused her were as guilty as she was. I had heard this said of him. But Claudia was angry and said that she knew the stories about Christ better than I did, having heard them from Cephas’ own mouth. She had fallen once and sinned with me, so she was sinful and felt even more sinful every time she saw me.
So I tried to avoid her as best I could, so that she would not be forced to see me too much. I devoted my time to new business deals to further my own position and calm my fears. One of my freedmen made me realize that the really great fortunes lay in the grain trade and the importation of cooking oil. Compared with these fundamental needs, silk from China, spices from India and other luxury goods for the rich nobility are mere trivialities. Thanks to my dealings in wild animals, I already had good trade connections with Africa and Iberia. Through my friendship with Fenius Rufus, I received a share in the grain trade, and my freedman himself traveled to Iberia to set up a buying office for olive oil.
In connection with these matters, I often visited Ostia and I saw that a whole new and beautifully built town had grown up there. I had long been irritated by Claudia’s accusations that I made criminal profits out of my tenements in Subura and on the circus side of Aventine. She considered that the tenants there lived in inhumanly crowded, dirty and unhealthy conditions. I realized that the poor Christians had been complaining to her to have the rents lowered.
If I had lowered the rents, the rush to my properties would have been even greater and all the other landlords would have angrily accused me of unfair undercutting. I could also see that the buildings were in wretched condition and to repair them would have meant great expenditure at a time when I needed all my ready money and had to apply for loans to finance my grain and oil enterprises. So I made a swift decision, sold a great many blocks of tenements all at once and instead bought several cheap empty sites on the outskirts of Ostia.
But Claudia reproached me bitterly and said that I had put the tenants in an even worse position than before. Their new landlords made no repairs but simply raised the rents to retrieve the huge sums they had paid me for the buildings. I told Claudia that she had not the slightest grasp of finance, but just wasted my money on charity which did not bring in anything, not even popularity. The Christians consider that it is natural to help the poor and they themselves thank only Christ for the help they receive.
Claudia on her part reproached me for wasting enormous sums of money on godless theater performances. She did not even differentiate between drama and animal displays in the amphitheater and she would not even listen to me when I tried to explain that it was my duty because of my rank of Praetor and my father’s position as senator. The favor of the public was necessary for a man in my position. The Christians are mostly slaves and rabble without citizenship.
I could not silence Claudia until I told her she was obviously not a genuine Claudian. Her father had been so passionately fond of displays in the amphitheater that he would not even go and take a meal while the wild animals tore the condemned to pieces, although respectable people usually went out for a meal at that time and left the amphitheater for a while. Nero, who was more humane, had early in his reign forbidden the throwing of the condemned to the animals and no longer allowed the professional gladiators to fight to the last drop of blood.
I admit that I occasionally used Claudia’s womanly weakness to silence her eternal talk. I closed her mouth with kisses and caressed her until she could no longer resist the temptation and laughingly threw herself into my arms. But afterwards she was more melancholy than ever and even threatened me with the anger of her half-sister Antonia if I did not expiate my sins by marrying her. As if Antonia’s anger had any political significance any longer.
When we were together in this way, I gave no thought to taking precautions. I knew about Claudia’s experiences in Misenium e
ven if I did not wish to think about them, as I had been in some way responsible. But if I thought about it at all, it was in terms of the proverb which says that no grass grows on public ways.
So my surprise and horror were all the greater when on my return from Ostia one day, Claudia took me secretively to one side and with her eyes shining with pride, whispered in my ear that she was pregnant by me. I did not believe her and said she was a victim of her imagination or of some woman’s sickness. I hastily summoned a Greek physician who had studied in Alexandria, but did not even believe him when he assured me that Claudia had not been wrong. On the contrary, he said, her urine had swiftly caused a grain of oats to germinate, a sure sign of pregnancy.
When I returned home to my house on Aventine one evening, in a reasonable mood and quite unsuspecting, I found in my own reception rooms both Claudius’ daughter, Antonia, and old Paulina, whom I had not seen since my departure to Achaia. She had grown very thin from so much fasting and was still dressed in black as before. Her old eyes shone with a supernatural brilliance.
Antonia presumably felt uncomfortable meeting me, but she retained her haughty poise and held her head high. While I was wondering whether I should offer belated condolences for her husband’s sudden departure, Aunt Paulina suddenly spoke.
“You have neglected your duty to Claudia,” she said sternly. “In the name of Christ, I demand that you immediately undergo legal marriage with her. If you have no fear of God, then you shall fear the Plautians. The reputation of the family is at stake.”
“I cannot admire your behavior toward my half sister,” added Antonia. “Neither would I wish for such an undesirable husband for her. But she is pregnant because you have seduced her, and so it can’t be helped.”
“Do you believe that insane story of her descent too?” I said in surprise. “You, who are a sensible woman. Claudius never legitimatized her.”
“That was for political reasons,” said Antonia. “My father Claudius separated from Plautia Urgulanilla in order to marry my mother, Aelia, who was Sejanus’ adoptive daughter, as you know. Claudia was born five months after the divorce and out of consideration for my mother, Sejanus considered it unsuitable to give her the legal position of daughter of the Emperor. You know how influential Sejanus was then. It was to win his favor that Claudius married my mother. I remember that she many a time deplored my father’s behavior. But there was much talk about Claudia’s mother. I was much too proud even to acknowledge Claudia as my half sister in secret. But there is little left of my pride and so I feel the need to make good the injustice I did Claudia.”
“Have you too become a Christian?” I asked sarcastically.
My question made Antonia blush.
“I am not yet initiated,” she said, “but I allow the slaves in my house to worship Christ. I understand you do the same. And I do not wish the ancient line of Claudians to die out with me. I am prepared to adopt your child if necessary, if you are not content with less. It might give Nero and Poppaea something to think about.”
I realized she was doing this more from hatred for Nero than from love of Claudia.
“On her deathbed,” put in Aunt Paulina now, “Urgulanilla swore the most solemn oath that Claudia was truly Claudius’ daughter. I was not a great friend of Urgulanilla, because of her depraved life in later years. But I do not believe any woman on her deathbed could perjure herself on such a serious matter. The difficulty from the very beginning has been that you who are of the Noble Order of Knights did not consider that you could marry a bastard. For the same reasons and for fear of Claudius, my husband refused to adopt Claudia. But in fact Claudia is legally both a Roman citizen and was born in wedlock. That would be incontestable if she hadn’t been the Emperor’s daughter.”
Claudia now burst out weeping.
“I don’t think my poor father even really hated me,” she cried. “In his weakness he was probably so influenced by the luckless Messalina, and then by the wicked Agrippina, that he dared not acknowledge me as his daughter even if he had wished to. In my heart, I have forgiven him that.”
When I in all seriousness considered the legal complications of the matter, I remembered how ingeniously I had made Jucundus into a Roman citizen by birth.
“Claudia was forced to live hidden in a country town for many years,” I said thoughtfully. “It would not be utterly impossible to have her name put on the roll of citizens in some distant town as daughter of a deceased father A and mother B, if one chose a town in which, for instance, a fire had destroyed the archives. There are millions of citizens in many different countries, and we all know that several unscrupulous immigrant Romans maintain they possess citizenship without being charged, because these things are nowadays difficult to prove otherwise. In that way, I should be able to marry Claudia.”
“Don’t try any alphabets on me,” said Claudia angrily. “My father was Tiberius Claudius Drusus and my mother was Plautia Urgulanilla. But thank you for agreeing to marry me. I accept your word as a proposal. And I have two respected witnesses to your suggestion.”
Paulina and Antonia hurried smilingly to congratulate me. I realized I had fallen into a trap, although I had really only been speaking theoretically about a legal problem. After a brief struggle, we agreed to draw up a document referring to Claudia’s descent, and this Antonia and Paulina would deposit as an unconditionally secret paper in the archives of the Vestals.
We decided that the wedding would take place quietly without sacrifices or festivities, and in the citizens’ roll Claudia’s name would go down as Plautia Claudia Urgulanilla. It was left to me to see to it that the registration authorities did not ask any unnecessary questions. Claudia’s position would in itself not change, for she had already managed my household for a long time.
I agreed to everything with a heavy heart, for I could hardly do otherwise. I was afraid I had now involved myself in a political intrigue against Nero. Aunt Paulina almost certainly had no such idea, but with Antonia it was different.
“I am several years younger than Claudia,” she said finally, “but Nero will not permit me to marry again. No man sufficiently noble would dare to marry me if he remembers what happened to Cornelius Sulla. Perhaps everything would have been different if Sulla had not been such a fumbling idiot. But he could not help himself. So I am glad on Claudia’s behalf that she as an Emperor’s legal daughter may marry, even if in secret. Your cunning, my dear Minutus, your unscrupulous-ness and your wealth will perhaps compensate for the other qualities I should have wished to see in Claudia’s husband. Remember that you are binding yourelf to both the Claudians and the Plautians by this marriage.”
Paulina and Claudia asked us to pray together with them in the name of Christ for the blessing on our marriage. Antonia smiled contemptuously.
“A name is a name,” she said, “if you believe in the power of it. I myself support him because I know how bitterly the Jews hate him. The Jews are in favor at the court at this moment to an intolerable degree. Poppaea helps them into office and Nero showers insane gifts onto a Jewish pantomimic, although he insolently refuses to appear on Saturdays.”
The proud Antonia in her bitterness obviously had no thought for anything but opposing Nero by every means. Even if she had no influence, she could be a dangerous woman. I thanked my stars that she had had the sense to come to my house after dark in a sedan with drawn curtains.
But I was so oppressed that I humbled myself to the extent of taking part in Christian prayers and praying for forgiveness of my sins. I thought that I needed all the heavenly help I could get in this matter. Cephas and Paul and several other holy Christian men had been able to perform miracles on the strength of the name of Jesus of Nazareth. I went so far that together with Claudia, after our guests had gone, I drank from my father’s goblet before we went to bed, for once reconciled with each other.
After that we slept together as if we were already married, and no one in the household took much notice. I cannot deny that my v
anity was flattered by sharing my bed with the daughter of an Emperor. So I was attentive to Claudia and submitted myself to her caprices during her pregnancy. The result was that the Christians got a firm foothold in my house. Their cries of praise echoed from morning to night so loudly that our nearest neighbors were disturbed.
Book IX
Tigellinus
No rain had fallen for a long time, apart from thunderstorms, and Rome was tormented by the heat, the dirt, the smell and the dust. In my garden on Aventine, the leaves on the trees were covered with dust and the grass rustled dryly. Aunt Laelia was the only person to enjoy the heat. She, who because of her age was usually cold, had herself carried out into the garden where she sniffed with an experienced air.
“Real fire weather in Rome,” she said.
It was as if for a moment her head had cleared. She began to relate for the hundredth time the story of the fire which had ravaged the slopes of Aventine many years ago. My father’s banker had bought the burned-out sites cheaply and had had the apartments built on them which provided me with the whole of the income required for the Order of Knights, until I sold them the previous winter.
When I sniffed the air I could smell the smoke, but it did not worry me, for I knew that the fire brigades in all sections of the city would be on the alert in this heat, and that it was forbidden to light a fire unnecessarily. It was not even windy. The air was still and suffocating from the early hours of the morning onward.
From somewhere far away came the sound of horn signals and a curious murmuring, but not until I was on my way into the city did I see that the side of the great race-course facing Palatine was in flames. Huge clouds of smoke were billowing up from the wax, incense and cloth booths. These highly inflammable small buildings had no firewalls at all, so the fire had caught on and spread like lightning.