by Mika Waltari
Nero remained inactive, hurt by the lies and public insults he had had to endure. Galba’s troops marched victoriously and, thanks to Nero, untested in battle toward Rome. Then the day before Minerva day arrived. Tigellinus, to save his own skin, placed the Praetorians at the Senate’s disposal. First the Senate was summoned in secret to an extraordinary meeting at dawn. Not all the members who were in Rome received a summons, but only the trustworthy ones and naturally not Nero, although he had had the right to attend since he was as much a senator as the others and of higher rank than they. Tigellinus saw to it that the Praetorian guards and the German life guards were withdrawn from the Golden Palace at the changing of guard during the night.
Both the Consuls whom Nero had illegally dismissed took the chair and the Senate decided unanimously to appoint Galba, a bald and debauched old man who favored athletic lovers, as their new Emperor. Equally unanimously, the Senate declared Nero an enemy of the State and condemned him to death, in the way of their forefathers, by scourging. In this respect the Senate acknowledged that Nero was a senator with full rights, for a senator can be judged only by his equals. Everyone took it for granted that Nero would commit suicide to escape such inhuman punishment. Tigellinus was, of course, one of the most eager voters.
Nero awoke at midnight in the bedroom of his abandoned Golden Palace with his faithful “wife” Sporus in the other bed. Only a few slaves and freedmen were left in his service, and although he sent messages to his friends, not one of them sent him a reply, not to mention their support. To experience fully the ingratitude of the world, Nero set out on foot into the city with a few faithful followers, to knock vainly on the doors of some of the houses he had once lavishly presented to his friends. But the doors remained closed and not a word was heard from behind them in reply. For safety’s sake, the inhabitants had even bound the jaws of their dogs.
When Nero returned to the Golden Palace and his bedroom, he saw that it had already been robbed of its silken bedclothes and other valuable articles. He mounted and rode off barefooted, his head covered and he himself dressed in nothing but a tunic and a slave mantle, to a farm owned by one of his freedmen, which according to this man’s own story he had offered Nero as a hiding place. This villa lies by the via Salaria, at the side of the road near the fourth milestone. You will remember that Seneca spent the last day of his life in his house near the fourth milestone and that Cephas turned back to Rome by the fourth milestone on the via Appia.
Nero was accompanied by four men, Sporus, the freedman, surprisingly Ephaphroditus, and a man whom the Senate executed after he had been all too talkative in the forum. Acte was already at the villa, waiting for Nero. I thought the scene had been carefully set and was performed well. Nero was one of the finest actors of his time and set great store on staging, so that at the theater he was always remarking on a malplaced pillar or faulty lighting which emphasized a minor character while he was singing.
While he was on his way, there was an earthquake and lightning struck the road in front of Nero and his horse shied at the smell of a corpse and rose on its hind legs. Nero had covered his head, but when the horse reared the hood fell back and revealed his face. An ancient retired Praetorian happened to recognize him and greeted him as the Emperor. This increased Nero’s haste, for he feared his plan would be exposed too soon. This is all according to the testimonies of the freedman and Epaphroditus. Sporus later vanished without a trace and Otho never found him, although he would have gready liked to test his talents in bed. Otho also proposed to Statilia, relying on Nero’s experienced taste in these matters.
I do not wish to repeat everything these two men had to tell of Nero’s agony of mind, his terror and suffering; of how Nero drank by scooping water from a pool with his hands and plucked the thorns from his slave mantle after creeping through the bushes to the villa. Un-blinkingly they reported everything, to the considerable joy of the Senate and the historians. Nero had planned everything so carefully beforehand that he had even left behind a written speech in which he asked forgiveness for the crimes he had committed for political reasons and begged the Senate to spare his life and appoint him procurator in some modest Eastern province, for in his view he had served the Senate and the people of Rome well. In this way Nero created the impression of acting under the threat of death and being in the grip of blind terror. But these two eyewitneses could not have succeeded in convincing any reasonable listener. The only ones to be convinced were those who had done all they could to drive Nero to suicide and who therefore thought that their hopes had been fulfilled.
Nero remembered to leave posterity a magnificent retort as his last words: “What an artist the world is to lose in me.” These words I gladly emphasize, for not until much later did I realize what a master of the art of living and of the arts, yes, what a true friend of mankind Rome lost in Nero, however troublesome it was at times to be with him because of his capriciousness and conceit. But no one should hold unlimited power in his hands for seventeen years; remember that, my son, if you ever become impatient over your father’s sluggishness.
When the grave was dug, the marble blocks stacked around it, sufficient wood gathered and water brought to pour over the calcified marble, a messenger arrived from Rome with a letter for the freedman. From it Nero learned that Galba had been proclaimed Emperor and that he himself was to be scourged to death. The play was to continue, to give Sporus an opportunity for a widow’s hasty grief by the body, but an unexpected event forced the plotters to make haste.
The loyal veteran who had recognized Nero on the road did not hasten to report his flight, as any sensible man would have done, but instead rushed straight to the Praetorian camp on his trembling old legs. There everyone knew his scars and reputation and as a member of the Mithras brotherhood, he also had the centurions’ confidence. The moment was as favorable as possible, with Tigellinus still in the Senate where loquacious men continued to express their rage and their patriotic zeal, now they could for once talk without being interrupted.
The old man made a speech to his comrades and told them to remember their military oath and their debt of gratitude to Nero, as well as the weals Tigellinus’ stick had raised on their backs. Both the Praetorian legions practically unanimously decided to support Nero. They were certain of his generosity, while Galba was known as a miserly man.
They decided to meet force with force and never doubted the result of the battle, for they thought many legionaries would desert Galba if they saw Rome’s elite troops set against each other. Quickly they sent a cavalry troop under the command of a centurion to find Nero and bring him back to the safety of the Praetorian camp. But the men lost much time looking for Nero’s hiding place, for at first they did not think of the freedman’s distant villa.
But Nero had had enough of power. He sent his freedman to turn back the cavalrymen as soon as he heard of their errand. Then Epaphroditus stabbed him in the throat, practiced as he was in certain games to which Nero used to devote himself. Nero evidently chose suicide by a stab in the throat in order to convince the Senate that he sacrificed even his vocal chords, so that no doubt should arise over his death. If later another great singer was to gain fame in the East, no one would even think of Nero, for it would be known that he had cut his own throat
As the blood artistically welled up from the wound, Nero, with the last shreds of his strength, received the centurion, in a broken voice thanked him for his loyalty, then turned his eyes upward and died with such a credible rattling and jerking that the seasoned centurion, tears in his own eyes, covered his face with his scarlet centurion mantle so that Nero should die in the way of Emperors, with his face hidden. Julius Caesar, too, covered his head to honor the gods when the assassins’ daggers riddled his body. Nero’s freedman and Epaphroditus now told the centurion that, for his own sake and that of all loyal Praetorians, it would be wisest to return to the camp with the news of Nero’s death, so that no one would do anything foolish. Then he should hurry to the Sena
te and say that in the hope of a reward he had followed Nero to capture him alive and hand him over to the Senate, but that Nero had managed to take his own life.
The flecks of blood on the mantle he had placed over the body were evidence enough, but naturally he could also cut off Nero’s head and take it with him to the Senate if he thought such a deed compatible with his soldier’s honor. But even without it he could be certain of a reward for his good news. Nero wished his body to be cremated quietly and unmutilated.
The centurion left his cloak behind as evidence, since the Senate would immediately send a committee to the villa to investigate the circumstances surrounding Nero’s death. As soon as he and the cavalryman had gone, the faithful conspirators had to move swiftly. It had been easy to find a body the size and build of Nero’s in these disturbed times when many lay in the ditches along the roads after the disturbances before Galba’s arrival. So the body was rapidly put on the pyre, the fire lit and oil poured over it all. Where, how and in what disguise Nero himself continued his flight, I could not possibly say. But I am fairly certain that he was taken eastward, probably to seek the protection of the Parthians. At the court of the Arsicades so many secrets have been collected over three hundred years that they could keep them better than Romans can. Even in the Senate we are talkative. The Parthians know the art of keeping silent.
I admit that the unexpected increase in cittern-playing in Parthia is the only definite evidence I can put forward in support of my conclusions. But I know that Nero will never again seek power in Rome. All those who attempt this or try in the future, even if they have scars on their throats, are false Neros and we crucify them without hesitation.
Nero’s companions had got so far with the cremation that when the investigators arrived they were pouring water onto the smoldering blocks of marble so that they fell apart as lime and covered the remains of the body in a shell which hid all the features. Nero had no deformities by which his body could have been identified. The tooth he had had extracted in Greece had been removed from the corpse too, for safety’s sake.
The remains were wrapped in a white cloak embroidered with gold, which Nero had used that same winter at the feast of Saturnalia. With Galba’s permission, two hundred thousand sesterces were used for the funeral ceremonies. In a porphyritic sarcophagus in the Domitians’ mausoleum there lies a half-burned body in a lime-shell. Anyone can go there to establish that Nero is really dead. Statilia and Acte have nothing against people honoring Nero’s memory.
I have told you of Nero’s death so that you will be prepared if anything unexpected happens. Nero was only thirty-two when he chose to feign death in preference to civil war in order to expiate his crimes and begin a new life. Where, no one knows. As I write this he would be almost forty-three.
My suspicions were aroused when I noticed that it had all happened on the day of Agrippina’s murder and that Nero rode out of the city with his head covered and in bare feet, dedicated to the gods. Sporus’ secretive disappearance is, I think, further proof. Nero could not live without him, for he was the image of Poppaea in appearance, as I have said. Many discerning members of the Senate hold the same opinions as I on Nero’s death, although naturally we never voice them.
Galba showed forbearance when it came to Nero’s remains, for the sake of the people who genuinely and justifiably mourned his death. Galba wished to convince the world that Nero had really gone. So he ignored the fact that the Senate had branded him an enemy of the State. Mistrusting the Senate, Galba was thinking of limiting a senator’s period of office to two years, an absurd idea since our office has always been for life, although that does mean we tolerate among us ancients who sometimes waste time eagerly talking of the former golden age. It is a disease from which we all can suffer. So we patiently respect old age and long service, in contrast to the young, who do not appreciate such things until they themselves don their senator’s boots.
So it was not surprising that Galba’s head was soon carried around the forum. Since he was so bald, the soldier who was doing it had to put his thumbs in Galba’s mouth to get a grip on the head. When this soldier had received his reward from Otho, he gave the head to the other Praetorians who carried it around the camp, laughing and shouting.
Quite apart from his miserliness, for he had not even paid them a reasonable bonus on his accession to the throne, they were embittered that he, after falling in love with a giant German life guard, kept the man with him all one night, exhausting him in every way, and then in the morning did not even give him a couple of sesterces for a cup of wine, but simply said the man should be grateful to have enjoyed the friendship of such a youthful old man. This was one of the reasons for his downfall. The Praetorians had had enough of that kind of thing during Tigellinus’ time.
I will return to Vespasian. It was a joy to see how surprised he was when the legionaries acclaimed him Emperor, how he protested and wrung his hands and several times jumped down from the shield on which they were carrying him around the walls of Jerusalem. A shield is uncomfortable to sit on anyhow, especially as the soldiers also swung him up into the air in their delight. They were as drunk as that because of the sesterces I had handed out. Of course I received some of my money back, thanks to my new Syrian freedman, since I had managed to secure the monopoly for wineselling in the camp. He also made a great deal of money by selling licenses to the Jewish vendors in the camp.
After sending their pay to the legions in Pannonia and Moesia together with a few mild reproaches to the cohorts in Gaul for their undisciplined plundering and outrages against peaceful inhabitants, Vespasian at once traveled to Egypt. He did not have to detach any of the troops under Titus for this purpose, for he could rely on the loyalty of the Egyptian garrison. Nevertheless he had to assure himself personally about Egypt, not because Egypt is Rome’s granary but because Egypt gives us sufficient paper for the administration of the world, not to mention the collecting of taxes.
Vespasian has developed the art of taxation to a degree previously unknown, so sometimes we wealthy men feel as if we were bleeding from both the nose and the ears as he squeezes us, not to mention the rectum, the latter being the cause of my being here in this resort. The physicians were so worried about my condition and the hemorrhages which weakened me that instead of giving me remedies they urged me to make my will.
When the physicians had given me up, the pains in my stomach made me turn to Jesus of Nazareth. Weakened people become humble on the threshold of death. But I promised him nothing. Against my many crimes and my hardness, my good deeds would not count for much on the day he sorts the sheep from the goats. So I thought it unnecessary to make any promises.
My physicians could not believe their eyes when the hemorrhages unexpectedly stopped of their own accord. They finally decided that my life had not been in danger at all, but that my illness had originated in my resentment at Vespasian’s refusing to agree to certain technical tax measures to enable me to keep my income and my property.
I must admit that he does not squeeze for his own gain but for the good of the State, but there are limits to everything. Even Titus hates the coppers which one must pay for using the public privies, even if it comes to basketfuls every day. I know there is running water in the new privies, as well as marble seats and decorative sculpture, but our ancient freedom as citizens is gone. So the poorest people are still content to make their water ostentatiously on the temple walls and at the entrances of rich men’s houses.
When we arrived in Alexandria, Vespasian decided not to row into the harbor, for all the basins were full of the stinking corpses of Jews and Greeks. He wanted to give the inhabitants of the city time to settle their internal dissension and entrench themselves in their separate sections, for he did not like unnecessary bloodshed. Alexandria is too large for the disputes between the Jews and Greeks ever to be settled as easily as they were in, for instance, Caesarea. We went ashore outside the city and for the first time in my life I set foot on the sacred
soil of Egypt so that the mud splashed and soiled my fine senator’s boots.
The following morning we were met by a deputation from the city in all its Egyptian magnificence, Jews and Greeks in harmony, all loudly apologizing for the tumult which foolish hotheads had caused and assuring us that the city police had the situation under control. In the crowd were philosophers, learned men, and the senior librarian and his subordinates. Vespasian, who was not a learned man, set great store by this.
When Vespasian heard that Apollonius of Tyana was in the city to study Egyptian wisdom and himself teach the Egyptians the Indian Gymnosophists’ contemplation of the navel, he said that he deeply regretted that the world’s greatest philosopher had not felt it compatible with his dignity to come with the others and bid his Emperor welcome.
Apollonius’ behavior was sheer calculation. He was known to be conceited and as proud of his wisdom as he was of his waist-long white beard. He wished to gain the Emperor’s favor no matter the cost, but deemed it wisest to cause Vespasian some anxiety at first with the thought that perhaps he did not approve of Vespasian’s coup d’etat. Earlier, in Rome, Apollonius had done his best to win Nero’s favor, but Nero had not even received him since he preferred the arts to philosophy. Apollonius had succeeded in frightening Tigellinus with his supernatural powers so that Tigellinus allowed him to stay in Rome, although Nero had banished all critical philosophers from the city.
Before dawn of the following morning, Apollonius of Tyana appeared at the entrance of the Imperial palace in Alexandria and demantled entry. The guards stopped him and explained that Vespasian had long since risen in order to dictate important letters.
‘That man will be a ruler,” said Apollonius sanctimoniously, hoping that his prophecy would reach Vespasian’s ears, which of course it did.
Later, he again appeared at the gate in the hope of a free morsel of food and cup of wine. This time he was at once taken to Vespasian with all the honors due to the most learned man in the world. Many people still look upon Apollonius as an equal to the gods.