The Dedalus Book of Roman Decadence: Emperors of Debauchery

by Geoffrey Farrington

  Messalina, meanwhile, had never indulged herself so much. It was well into autumn, so she was celebrating a mock wine-festival all round the palace. Wine-presses were working, the vats were overflowing, and women were dancing about dressed in animal-skins, as if they were Bacchantes in the frenzy of sacrifice to the winegod. She herself was there with her hair loose, waving the vine-and-ivy staff of a Bacchante, accompanied by Silius, wearing the ivy crown and high boots of the god himself and tossing his head, while all around him a disreputable chorus was shouting away. The tale is told that Vettius Valens, who had climbed into a tall tree as a joke, was asked what he saw, and said that he saw a terrible storm over Ostia - either one really was brewing, or maybe this was just a chance phrase that turned out to be prophetic.

  Meanwhile, not just rumours but also messengers were arriving from everywhere to say that Claudius knew everything and was on his way at top speed to get his revenge, therefore they split up, Messalina going to the Gardens of Lucullus, and Silius, to hide his own fear, to carry out his business in the Forum. The rest were slipping off in all directions when the centurions of the Guard caught them and put them in chains, some in the open, others when they were trying to hide. Messalina, unable to think clearly in these desperate circumstances, decided at once to meet and let herself be seen by her husband; this was a ploy that had helped her often in the past. She also sent word that Britannicus and Octavia should run and embrace their father. She also begged Vibidia, the most venerable of the Vestals, to speak to Claudius in his role as High Priest, and to beg for mercy. Then she, with only three companions (she had quickly been abandoned), crossed the entire city on foot, and then set off on the road towards Ostia in a cart that was used to take away garden rubbish. Nobody showed any sympathy for her - all that was cancelled out by the disgusting nature of her crimes.

  Claudius himself was no less agitated. The Praetorian commander, Geta, did not inspire complete confidence because he veered inconsistently between honest and wicked behaviour. For this reason Narcissus (supported by others who had the same fears) said that there was no hope of saving the emperor unless the command of the troops was transferred for that day only to one of the freedmensecretaries, and he put himself forward for the task. And just in case Claudius might be induced to relent on the way back to the city by his friends Lucius Vitellius and Gaius Caecina Largus, Narcissus demanded - and got - a seat in the carriage with them.

  The story was widely told after the events that the emperor kept saying different things, cursing the wanton behaviour of his wife at one moment, and at the next reminiscing about his marriage, and his children when they were babies. Vitellius wouldn't say anything except `Oh, what a crime! Oh, how wicked!' Narcissus pressed him to spell it out and tell the truth, but to no avail, since he answered by saying things that could be taken either way. Caecina Largus did the same.

  Now Messalina came into sight and shouted to the emperor to listen to the mother of Britannicus and Octavia. But her accuser, Narcissus, shouted out the story of Silius and the marriage, and as he did so gave Claudius a written account of all her debaucheries, to keep his attention away from Messalina herself. A little while later, when they were about to enter Rome, the children tried to come forward, but Narcissus ordered their removal from the scene. He could not rebuff Vibidia, however, who demanded with great anger that a wife should not be condemned to death without offering a defence. So Narcissus said that the emperor would hear her, that she would be able to answer the charge, and that the Vestal should go and see to her religious duties.

  Claudius was strangely silent through all this, and Lucius Vitellius looked as if he didn't know what was going on at all. The freedman Narcissus was in charge. He gave orders that the house of the adulterous Silius should be thrown open, and that the emperor should be taken there. First of all he drew attention to a statue of Silius's father in the entrance hall - statues of him had been banned by the Senate - and then to the various heirlooms of the JulioClaudian family that had been given in payment for wickedness. Narcissus now took Claudius, who had become very worked up and had started issuing threats, to the Praetorian Camp, where an assembly of the soldiers was waiting. Narcissus gave an opening statement, and then Claudius made a brief speech only, because although he was justifiably saddened, he was too ashamed to put it into words. The Praetorians then shouted continuously for the names of the offenders and that their crimes should be punished. Silius was brought before the tribunal, but offered no defence and asked for no stay of execution, begging them to kill him quickly. This steadfast attitude was imitated by various other Roman nobles, who also asked for a quick death. Titius Proculus, whom Silius had made a kind of official `guardian' of Messalina, now gave evidence and was condemned, as was Vettius Valens, who confessed, and their colleagues Pompeius Urbicus and Saufeius Trogus. The same sentence was pronounced on Decrius Calpurnius, captain of the watch, on Sulpicius Rufus, impressario of the gladiatorial games, and on the senator Juncus Vergilianus.

  Only the actor Mnester slowed the proceedings down when he tore open his clothes and shouted that Claudius should look at the weals he had received, and should remember that he had said that Mnester should carry out Messalina's orders. Others had acted out of greed, or in hope of advancement, but he had been forced. Also, he would have been the first to go if Silius had gained power. The emperor was moved by this and inclined to mercy, but the freedmen-secretaries persuaded him that, after having so many noblemen killed, he should not spare a mere Thespian, and that whether the act was voluntary or forced was irrelevant given the magnitude of the crime. Nor was the defence of a Roman noble called Traulus Montanus accepted. He was a modest and good-looking young man, and had been summoned and dismissed by Messalina, who was equally fickle in her likes and dislikes, on one single night. The death sentence was remitted for Suillius Caesoninus and Plautius Lateranus, the latter because of the distinguished service of his father's brother, Plautius Silvanus. Suillius Caesoninus was protected by his own vices - in the disgusting festivities he had only played the woman's part.

  Meanwhile, in the Gardens of Lucullus, Messalina, fighting for her life, was composing a petition in hope and sometimes even in indignation - she still retained that old arrogance, even in extremis. If Narcissus, moreover, had not hurried up the process of getting her killed, things could have turned fatally on Narcissus himself. Claudius was back at home, feeling better after an early dinner and warmed by the wine, and now ordered someone to go and tell `that poor woman' (those are the exact words he is said to have used) to come and defend herself on the following day.

  When they heard this they began to worry that his anger might fade away and his love return, especially if during the night he started having bedroom thoughts about his wife, so Narcissus rushed out and told a tribune of the guard, who was there with some centurions, to go and kill her, telling him that the emperor had given the command. Another freedman, Evodus, was sent to keep watch and to make sure that it was done. He got to the Gardens very quickly, and found Messalina prostrate, with her mother, Domitia Lepida beside her. When her daughter had been at the height of her power Lepida had been put aside, but now she had taken pity on Messalina in her hour of need, and was advising her to kill herself before someone else did so. Messalina's life was over, she said, and she should at least choose a decent death. But there was no honour in that vice-ridden soul, and she kept on weeping and asking useless questions until the doors burst open and the group rushed in. The tribune stood silent in front of her, while the freedman hurled slave-language abuse at her.

  Now she saw her fate clearly for the first time, and took the dagger. Trembling with fear, she put it to her throat and then to her breast, but all without doing anything, so the tribune stabbed her. Her mother was allowed to keep the body. It was reported to Claudius that Messalina had died, although it was not made clear whether it was by her own or someone else's hand. Nor did he ask; he called for wine and got on with dinner in the normal way. In th
e next few days he gave no signs of hatred or of joy, anger or sadness or any other human emotion - neither when he saw the freedmen celebrating, nor when he saw his children mourning. This loss of memory was helped by the Senate, which called for the name and any statues of Messalina to be removed from private and public places. Narcissus was made honorary quaestor, the last contribution to the pride of a man who rose higher than either Pallas or Callistus.

  The whole business had been necessary, but the longterm consequences were dire.

  Tacitus

  The Murder of Claudius

  The `dire consequences' that Tacitus mentions following the death of Messalina were the incestuous marriage of Claudius to his own niece, Agrippina, and the subsequent adoption by Claudius of her son by a previous marriage, the later emperor Nero. As time passed, however, Claudius tired of the turbulent and power-hungry Agrippina, and grew reconciled to his own young son by Messalina, Britannicus. Agrippina saw that if Nero was to succeed her husband as emperor she must act at once.

  Agrippina, who had long since decided on murder, and who certainly wasn't lacking in assistants, was now ready to seize her chance, and so she took advice on types of poison. Something drastic and too quick would give away the deed. If she chose something slow and wasting, then Claudius, faced with death and aware of her malice, might start to love his son, Britannicus, again. Her best chance was with something subtle, which would disturb his mind whilst producing a gradual demise. A real expert in the field was chosen, a woman called Locusta, who had been condemned for poisoning, but was kept alive for a long time since she was very useful to anyone ruling the empire. The skills of this woman produced a potion which the eunuch Halotus, whose job was to serve and taste the food, gave to Claudius.

  Later on, the whole story came out, and writers of the time have stated that poison was added to an especially tasty mushroom, though it was not felt by Claudius right away, either because of his general sluggishness or because he was drunk; furthermore, evacuating his bowels seemed to have saved him. In consequence, Agrippina became very frightened, but when worse outcomes are feared, who worries about immediate danger? She had already arranged for, and now used the complicity of the doctor, Xenophon. He is believed to have put a feather, dipped in rapidacting poison, down Claudius' throat while pretending to help him vomit. He was hardly unaware of the fact that the most wicked of crimes are dangerous to undertake, but very profitable, once carried out.

  Meanwhile the Senate was called together and the consuls and priests were offering prayers for the safety of the emperor at the same time as his already lifeless body was being wrapped in blankets and covered with poultices, and as measures were being taken to ensure the succession of Nero. First of all, Agrippina, apparently heartbroken and wanting to be comforted, clasped hold of Britannicus and said that he was the very image of his father, and by this and other tricks she prevented him from leaving his room. She also held back his sisters Antonia and Octavia, and closed off all means of access by posting her guards. She issued frequent public bulletins to the effect that emperor's health was improving, which kept up the hopes of the Praetorian Guard, while she waited for the auspicious time promised by the astrologers.

  Then at midday on October 13th, the palace gates were thrown open and Nero rode out, accompanied by the Praetorian Prefect, Sextus Burrus, to the guards who were there on official duty. Then, at a word from the Prefect, Nero was lifted amid cheers into a litter. It is said that some men were doubtful, and looked back and asked where Britannicus was. But soon, when no alternative lead had been given, they also followed. Having been carried into the Praetorian Camp, Nero then promised, after a few suitable prefatory comments, an accession gift matching the generosity of his adoptive father, Claudius, and he was acclaimed by the soldiers, who used the imperial title. The acclaim of the Praetorians was followed by senatorial edicts, and there was no hesitation in the provinces. Divine honours were voted to Claudius, and the funeral solemnities were based on those held for the divine Augustus, with Agrippina imitating the magnificence of her great-grandmother, Livia. The will, however, was not read, in case the preference of stepson over son should create in the popular mind any impression of injustice or invidious behaviour.

  Seneca

  Died AD 65

  That Nero was privy to Claudius' murder was demonstrated by a joke he made on one occasion at dinner, when he declared that `mushrooms are the food of gods'. The point being that following his death - by way of a mushroom - Claudius was granted divine honours, deified as a god of the Roman state as Julius Caesar and Augustus had also been following their deaths. Presumably it was Agrippina herself who instigated or inspired this posthumous honour the Senate voted her husband, to elevate her own prestige and that of the dynasty.

  At Claudius' funeral, Nero delivered an elegant eulogy in praise of his predecessor. It was written by Nero's tutor and adviser, Lucius Annaeus Seneca the younger. It was also Seneca who wrote the following work, the Apocolocyntosis or The Deification of Claudius, to privately amuse and flatter Nero, with its venomous and satirical account of the arrival of the doddering `god' Claudius in Heaven.

  SENECA

  The Apocolocyntosis,

  I wish to write down an account for posterity of what happened in heaven on last October 13th, the beginning of this most prosperous age. It shall be written without any bias whatsoever. This is the absolute truth. If the reader wants to ask how I know these things, first of all I shall not answer if I don't want to. Who is going to force me? I know that I have been a free man ever since the day he died, thereby proving true the saying that `you have to be born either a king or a fool.' If I should wish to answer, I shall say the first thing that comes into my head. Who has ever managed to get actual witnesses out of an historian? However, if it is necessary to produce witnesses, ask the man who saw Caligula's sister Drusilla going up to heaven; that very man will swear that he saw the emperor Claudius on the same road, though, to quote Vergil, `tripping with much smaller steps.' Whether he likes it or not, he has to keep an eye on all that happens in heaven. He is the Appian Way guard, the road (as I'm sure you know) by which both Augustus and Tiberius Caesar went to the gods. If you were to question him, he will talk to you - in private. But in company he will keep mum. Because ever since that time when he swore in the Senate that he had seen Drusilla going up to heaven and no one believed all his good news, he has solemnly stated that he will never reveal what he has seen, even if he were to witness a man murdered in public. And so, I am writing down accurately and precisely the story I have heard, and I hope that he is fit and well. So,

  But I think that I shall be understood better if I explain that the month was October and that it was the 13th. I'm not exactly sure about the time, it is easier to get philosophers to agree than clocks - at any rate it was sometime between noon and one. Rather provincial, perhaps? But all the poets are in agreement: unhappy just to describe dawn and dusk, they are now disturbing the middle of the day. Will you pass over such a good hour? I hear you say. No.

  Claudius was at death's door, but he couldn't find the doorknob. Then the god Mercury, who had always enjoyed Claudius's wit, quietly took Clotho, one of the three Fates, to one side and said: `Look, you bitch, why are you allowing this miserable man to be tormented. After all of this torture, can't he have a break? It's been 64 years since he started to gasp for breath. What do you have against him and his country? Let the fortune tellers be right for once in their lives. Ever since he became emperor they have been trying to bury him every month and every year. And it's no wonder that they're wrong and that no one can predict his last hour - frankly no-one really knew that he had ever been born. Do what has to be done, just like it says in the Georgics: `kill him, and put his better on his empty throne.' But Clotho said, `For Hercules' sake! I wanted to give him a little more time, to let him give citizenship to the few people left without it (he'd already decided to see all the Greeks, Gauls, Spaniards and Britons in togas). But the idea r
ather appeals of leaving a few foreigners aside as seed, and, since you order it, well, so be it.' She opened her casket and brought out three spindles: one was for addled Augurinus, the second for babbling Baba, and the third was for C-for-Claudius. `I will make these three die in one year at short intervals, and I won't send him on his own. It isn't right for him to be suddenly left alone, used as he was to seeing so many thousand following him, with as many again in front of him and as many around him. He will be happy with these temporary companions.'

  Thus spake Apollo. And Lachesis, the second of the Fates, who was favourably disposed towards any handsome man, gave out with a generous hand and slipped Nero many years. They all ordered however, that Claudius, exactly as Euripides put it, should `be carried out by mourners with a happy and a holy reverence.' Then his soul bubbled up and he clearly ceased to be alive. When he died, however, he was listening to a group of comedians, so you can see that my horror of those types is not without cause. His last words heard on earth were these - with a loud noise coming from the end of him that communicated most easily, he said, 'oh deary me. I think I've shat myself.' I don't know whether he did or not, but he certainly shat on everything else.

  It is a waste of time to relate what happened afterwards on earth. You know very well what happened and there is no danger of forgetting the impression made by public rejoicing on the memory. No one is going to forget their own happiness. Listen, this is what happened in heaven - for more details, ask my source. It was brought to Jupiter's attention that a well built gentleman with whitish-grey hair had arrived. He seemed to be threatening something, for he kept shaking his head and was dragging his right foot. Questioned what country he was from, he gibbered something in a confused mumble - they did not understand his language. He wasn't Greek, Roman or any known race.