Darkness and Dawn; Or, Scenes in the Days of Nero. An Historic Tale

by F. W. Farrar

  CHAPTER XLV

  _POPPÆA VICTRIX_

  ‘On that hard pagan world disgust And secret loathing fell; Deep weariness and sated lust Made human life a hell.’

  MATTHEW ARNOLD.

  Not long after the arrival of Paul at Rome, Burrus died. He wasseized with inflammation of the throat, and Nero, under the pretenceof solicitude, betrayed an ill-concealed satisfaction. He had notdared to get rid of Burrus, whom the Prætorians loved; but he frettedunder the restraint of the soldier’s presence, and resented aninfluence which endeavoured to exert itself for good. Nero could notmistake the innuendos of Tigellinus, that this was a good opportunityto set himself free. He promised to send Burrus a remedy recommendedby his own physician. The remedy was a poison. Burrus perceived thefact too late. When Nero came to visit his sick bed, he turned awayfrom him, with undisguised aversion.

  ‘How are you, Præfect?’ asked the Emperor, taking his hand as it layon the coverlet.

  Burrus hastily withdrew his hand. The question recalled to him thescene of the death of Scipio, the father-in-law of Pompey, who,seeing his ship in the possession of the enemy, stabbed himself,and on hearing the question, ‘Where is the general?’ answered, ‘Thegeneral is well.’ Burrus remained silent, but when the Emperor oncemore asked how he was, answered, ‘I am well.’ They were the lastwords he spoke, and every good man in Rome mourned the loss of oneof the few virtuous men of whom the state could yet boast.

  Nero might have bestowed the vacant command on the best soldier ofhis time, the brave and honest Corbulo, who had supported the fameof Roman courage on so many a hard-fought field.

  He thought of no such man. In spite of Corbulo’s utter loyalty Nerofeared to trust him. He divided the office between Fenius Rufus andSophonius Tigellinus. The former was popular from his generosityas corn commissioner in a time of famine, and it was hoped that theappointment would cover the deadly unpopularity of his colleague.But it was with Tigellinus that the real power rested. In his handswas the sword of Nero, and the secret of his influence lay in thesimilarity of his vices to those of the Emperor. The career of theman from boyhood upwards had been a career of infamy. He had been alover of Agrippina, and of her sister, and he had paraded his crimewith cynical coolness. With him Nero could always throw off the mask,and display the depths of his own turpitude. He was a tenth-rateSejanus, only more deeply dyed in infamies. If he pandered to Nero’svices with sumptuous profligacy, this was part of a deep-laid designto drag the imperial purple through the foulest mire. But the scum ofmany nations which called itself the populace of Rome applauded eachvileness, in proportion to its monstrosity, and was glad to see itsEmperor the slave of passions as abject as its own. The degeneracycaused by such scenes was incredible. The ultimate result was that--

  ‘Rome now might nowhere rid herself of Rome: The heavens were all distempered with the breath Of her old age. She, very nigh to death, Paced through her perishing world in search of air Unpoisoned by herself.’

  Though Britannicus had been done to death, there were still two menwho might stand seriously in the way of the new favourite’s schemes.One was Faustus Cornelius Sulla, the last of that famous name. He waspoor and slothful, but he had for a time been the husband of Antonia,the daughter of Claudius, and the freedman Graptus had alreadypersuaded Nero to banish him to Marseilles, on a trumpery chargeof complicity in a plot. Tigellinus persuaded Nero that Sulla onlysimulated indolence, and that he was tampering with the legions inGaul. Executioners were sent to Marseilles, and Sulla was murderedas he lay at supper. Rubellius Plautus was the next victim. He hadimperial blood in his veins, and many had fixed their eyes upon himwith hope, for he was a man of Stoic dignity and domestic virtue.In A.D. 60, a comet had been interpreted to indicate a change in theEmpire, and Nero recommended Plautus, though he was only living thequiet life of an ordinary citizen, to retire to his estates in Asia.He obeyed without a murmur, living in simple duties with his wifeAntistia, and devoting his thoughts to philosophy. Soldiers were nowdespatched to murder him. A faithful freedman, at imminent risk ofhis life, made his way to Asia, arrived before Nero’s centurion,and warned Rubellius of his impending doom. He was the bearer of aletter from his father-in-law, Antistius Vetus, urging Rubellius nottamely to submit. Only sixty soldiers were coming to carry out theiniquitous mandate of Nero; let him repulse them, throw himself underthe protection of Corbulo, and all would be well. But Rubellius wassickened by the thought of doubtful hopes. He wished, if possible,to avert, by submission, the future ruin of the wife and childrenwhom he loved. Further than this, his philosophic teacher, Cœranus,persuaded him that a firm death was preferable to troubled anduncertain life. He therefore took no step in self-defence. Thecenturion found him at mid-day, stripped of his clothes, takingathletic exercise in his gymnasium, and butchered him on the spot,in the sight of the worthless eunuch, Pelago, whom Nero, as thoughhe were some Asiatic despot, had sent to keep watch over the officerand soldiers. According to the ghastly fashion of the times his headwas carried back to Nero. ‘Why did you want to be a Nero?’ said thebrutal jester. ‘Gods! what a nose the man had!’

  Thus it was reserved for a Domitius Ahenobarbus to put to deathRubellius Plautus, the last descendant of Tiberius, as he afterwardsput to death L. Junius Silanus, the last descendant of Augustus.

  But there was an influence over Nero which was more powerful thanthat of all the other wretches of his Court. It was the influence ofPoppæa. His infatuation for this beautiful, evil, astute woman hadtaken complete possession of him. She had led him on step by step,now alluring, now repelling him, keeping him ever in a maddeningfever of passion, on which she played as on an instrument. Alreadyshe had sufficiently established her empire over him to permit of hissending Otho to Lusitania. Nor had she hesitated to leave her homeand to become an inmate of Nero’s Palace. But it was far from herintention to sink into the humble position which had been enough forActe, who, in her ignorance, had felt for Nero a love ten times moregenuine than that which she had inspired. Poppæa, whose infantine andcherubic loveliness could easily have secured for her the hand of thenoblest of the patricians, intended to be Empress and nothing less.She knew the evanescent character of such love as she had kindled,and she bent the powers of her mind to rule Nero by playing withhis hopes. There was but one obstacle in the path of her ambition.Octavia still lived, and Octavia must be got rid of.

  It is true that the hapless Empress had long been reduced to acipher by the mutual repulsion of herself and her husband. She couldscarcely help shrinking from his touch. To look in his face madeher shudder. While still in the charm of youth he had been odiousto her. Now that his face was unhealthy with excess, his cruel frownand lowering countenance wore in her eyes the look of a demon. Hisfaithlessness did not wound her, for the gleams of happiness whichrarely illumined the tragedy of her life came to her only when heneglected her utterly. Nevertheless, she was Empress. She had theundeniable rights of her position, and in public it was necessary forNero to treat with decency the daughter of the divine Claudius andthe granddaughter of the beloved Germanicus.

  Yet Poppæa had determined that, on one pretext or other, she shouldbe set aside, and never doubted that sooner rather than later shewould goad the timid Emperor to repudiate his wife, that he might befree for another marriage.

  One day when Poppæa knew that Nero intended to visit her sheprepared all her wiles. He came in after the mid-day prandium, andhe found her reclining on her couch of ivory and silver in the cool,well-shaded, voluptuously-furnished room. She had let loose over hershoulders the splendid ripples of her golden tresses. An odour asof blown roses clung to her person and her robes. Every jewel thatshe wore, whether ruby, or sapphire, or emerald, or diamond, was soarranged as to set off her soft and glowing complexion, and there wasexquisite grace in her way of handling the fan of peacock’s featherswhich swept in iridescent glory over her dress from the golden handlewhich drooped from her right hand. Nero, as he took
his seat besideher, felt like a clumsy and awkward boy.

  ‘Why do you pretend to love me, Nero?’ she asked.

  ‘Love you!’ he said. ‘It is not love, it is passion, it is adoration!’

  ‘Words are all very well, Nero,’ she said, in a voice which seemedto tremble with tears; ‘but see how you treat me! When I came to thePalace you were not Emperor, but the slave of Agrippina. I helped youto free yourself from that bondage. You have taken me from Otho, mydear and noble husband--’

  Nero frowned angrily, but Poppæa took no notice.

  ‘You have,’ she continued, ‘banished him to Lusitania, and havebrought me to this dull Court, under pretence that you would makeme Empress. Yet I am no nearer becoming your wife. Go to your pale,sad Octavia: doubtless you think her common features fairer thanmine. Her dreary talk and drearier silence cannot fail to be morefascinating.’

  ‘I loathe her,’ said Nero.

  ‘And she loathes you, whereas I worship the ground you tread upon.No, no!’ she said, as he attempted to seize her hand; ‘I will notlive here to be your mere plaything. I will rejoin Otho in Lusitania.He loves me, and knows how to treat me properly.’

  Nero rose in a passion. Fearful lest she should goad him too far,Poppæa called him to her side and changed her tone.

  ‘Your home is empty, Nero,’ she said. ‘No child will succeed you. Ihave a little son. Octavia must be dismissed, if you would have anheir to be Emperor of Rome.’

  ‘How can I dismiss her?’ said Nero gloomily. ‘Even my freedmenespouse her cause. Doryphorus is for her, and Pallas.’

  ‘Doryphorus! Pallas!’ she repeated, with a laugh of ringing scorn.‘An effeminate slave-minion; a miserly dotard! Tush, Cæsar! be aman. Sweep aside these flies. Poison them both; no one will missDoryphorus, and Pallas has riches which will prove very convenientto you.’

  ‘That shall be done,’ said Nero. ‘I am sick of Doryphorus, and Pallashas lived long enough. But to repudiate Octavia is different. She isstrong in the name of her father, and stronger still in the favour ofthe people and the Prætorians.’

  ‘Is Cæsar truly Cæsar?’ she asked, with contempt.

  ‘Cæsar can do what he likes in his own private life,’ he answered;‘but woe to Cæsar if he degrade the majesty of Empire by any publicdeed.’

  He said truly, and she knew it; but she knew also that he had not yetfathomed, as she had done, the abysses of Roman servility. Had theynot applauded him after the murder of Agrippina? Had they not passedin silence the murder of Britannicus? Had they not suffered the doomof Sulla and of Plautus to pass by without creating so much as aripple on the surface of the general tranquillity?

  By her urgency, by her wiles, by her taunts, by the supremeascendency which she had now acquired over the Emperor, she prevailedon him at length to divorce Octavia on the plea of her barrenness,and to make Poppæa his wife. This, however, did not content her,while her unhappy rival remained an inmate of the Palace. Poppæatherefore endeavoured to blacken her character. She put into playevery poisonous art of slander. In most cases nothing was easier thanto trump up a false charge against any one whom the Emperor desiredto ruin. The white innocence of Octavia, her stainless purity in thatage of infamy, were no protection to her. The faithful love of herfew attendants was a partial safeguard. Most of them were tamperedwith in vain. At last, however, a worthless Alexandrian flute-player,who had sometimes played before her to while away a heavy hour, wasinduced by a great bribe to swear that he had been her lover. Thecharge was too monstrous to deceive a single person, but on thispretext Octavia’s handmaids were seized and tortured. The majority,however, stood firm even against the torture-chamber, and one ofthem, named Pythias, cried out to Tigellinus, as he heightened thetorture and pressed her with questions, that Octavia’s worst offencewas white as snow beside the blackness of his best virtues. It wasimpossible to pretend a conviction on evidence which would have beeninvalid against the humblest slave.

  It was, nevertheless, decided that Octavia should be removed fromthe Palatine, and she was sent from the home of her father with theill-omened gifts of the estate of Plautus as her dower, and the houseof Burrus as her residence.

  The unhappy girl--she was but nineteen--obeyed without a murmur. Shehad wept floods of tears when her husband, instigated by his cruelparamour, had attempted to stain her name. She shed no tear whenshe laid aside the purple of the Empress, and, clad in the simplestgarb of a Roman matron, was conveyed to her new home. Thither,too, were sent her unhappy maidens. Those who had most enjoyed herconfidence--and among these the poor Christian girl, Tryphæna--werestill disabled by the dislocations of the torture. With tenderestsolicitude Octavia herself visited their cells, and ministered totheir infirmities. She flung her arms, weeping, round Tryphæna’sneck, and thanked her and Pythias for the heroic constancy with whichthey had held out and, when stretched on the rack, had unflinchinglyasseverated the stainless honour of their mistress.

  ‘How could you endure it, Tryphæna?’ she asked. ‘The blood of theClaudii and of deified emperors flows in my veins, yet if my framehad been wrenched with such pangs, I know not what my lips might nothave said.’

  ‘Lady,’ said the slave-girl, ‘I hardly felt it. The spirit sustainedthe body. I thought of--’

  ‘Go on,’ said Octavia.

  ‘I thought of Him of whom I have read to you in the letter of Peterof Bethsaida; and how He had endured the contradiction of sinnersagainst Himself; and I was not weary, and did not faint in my mind.’

  ‘How could the Crucified One help you?’

  ‘He is not the Crucified One now,’ answered Tryphæna. ‘He is theRisen, the Ascended: and He sits on the right hand of the Father.’

  ‘Oh that I could believe all this!’ said Octavia. ‘I have scarcelyhad a happy hour in all my life. I have been more miserable than anyslave-girl. If He whom you called the Risen One were all that yousay, why does He not help the innocent?’

  ‘He does help them,’ she said. ‘Not by delivering them out of alltheir troubles, but by enabling them to bear, and by making them feelthat their brief troubles, which are but for a moment, are nothing tothe eternal weight of glory.’

  ‘Did He help you?’

  ‘He did. As I lay outstretched on the rack I saw Him for a moment,His hand upraised to bless.’

  ‘Does He do so for all Christians when they suffer?’

  ‘I think He does, for all His true children. Lady, do you know thatPaulus of Tarsus--the Apostle whose letters to the churches I haveread to you--is in Rome?’

  ‘So Pomponia told me,’ said Octavia, ‘and she asked if I would notsee him. But how can I? Burrus is dead, and Paulus sits chained to aPrætorian soldier in his own lodging.’

  ‘He has friends who would bring you his teachings,’ said Tryphæna.‘One of them I have seen. His name is Lucas of Antioch, and he isa physician. To comfort me after I had been tortured, he told mehow Paulus, before his conversion--when he was a blasphemer, andpersecutor, and injurious--had witnessed and even incited the stoningof our first martyr, the young deacon Stephen; and how when Stephenstood before the Council, and they were all gnashing their teeth athim, his face was as an angel’s. And he says that Stephen saw theheavens opened, and Jesus standing at the right hand of God.’

  While Octavia stood talking with the young slave-girl, she wastold that Pomponia had come to see her, and humbly kissing the poorsufferer on the brow, she went to the tablinum to receive her guest.

  ‘Wherever sorrow is, there Pomponia comes,’ she said, embracing her.

  ‘That is not my individual virtue,’ said Pomponia. ‘We Christians are_all_ taught to be kind to one another, tender-hearted, forgiving oneanother, even as God in Christ forgives us.’

  ‘Your faith seems to make you all very happy.’

  ‘It does indeed. Oh, if you could see our Paulus, how would hecomfort you!’

  ‘What made him a Christian?’ asked Octavia. ‘Tryphæna has just beentelling me that he was once a persecutor.’


  ‘He saw a vision of Christ, as he went to extirpate the Christiansat Damascus. From that time he has preached the faith which he oncedestroyed. While Burrus lived the guards were bidden to leave himwhen his friends came, but since Tigellinus has been Præfect hislot is harder. I know not how you can with safety visit him. But hisfriend and companion is Lucas the physician. Why should you not havehim sent for to tend your poor wounded slaves?’

  The hint was taken. Octavia’s household was now a very simple andquiet one. The swarm of courtiers had deserted her. None of the fineladies of Rome who desired the approval of Nero, came near her gate.The last of the great house of the Claudii, the wife and daughter anddescendant of emperors, was left to her seclusion, and she rejoicedin it. She spun wool among her maidens; she was considerate of thehappiness of her slaves. She manumitted Pythias and Tryphæna, whohad suffered for her. Fair peace began to reign around her, and shenursed the hope that she might be suffered to live out her life inquietude until a fairer day should haply dawn. Lucas was summoned,and to her, as to the Christians of her household, he proved himselfto be indeed also a physician of the soul.

  He was an Asiatic in the prime of life, with a countenance singularlyradiant and refined. He spoke the purest Greek, and had beenaccustomed to the society of Theophilus of Antioch and other personsof rank, to whom he had been endeared by his medical skill. Already,during the imprisonment of Paulus at Cæsarea, he had busied himselfin the collection of those facts which he was soon to enroll in‘the most beautiful book in all the world.’ It was common for Romanfamilies to listen to readings from accomplished Greeks, and it wasnot difficult for Octavia, with the aid of Pomponia and her Christianslaves, to arrange that Lucas should read to them his yet unfinishedrecords of the Life of the Saviour. Those records, and theconversations which she held with the Evangelist, and his answersto her questions, at last convinced the heart of the Empress. Shesaw that in the faith of the gospel there was a peace, a beauty, ablessedness, such as she had never known, of which she had neverdreamed. Perilous as the decision was, she determined to be admittedby baptism into the flock of Christ. One morning, at break of day,in the presence of Lucas, Pomponia, and Tryphæna, but otherwise inthe deepest secrecy, she was baptised by Linus.

  And thenceforth there reigned in her heart a peace which no furtherwaves of trouble could disturb. She began to understand why it wasthat, in spite of her mourning garb, in spite of her many trials,Pomponia, though her face was often sad, was far happier than anyof the Roman matrons. She began to experience that there is a blissin faith and hope and love which the world can neither give nor takeaway.

  And this boon of heaven only came just in time to save her fromsinking into utter despair under the horrible tempest of afflictionswhich fell upon her.

  For though Nero would have been content to dismiss her into obscurityand oblivion, Poppæa was not content. She wearied the Emperor withher insistence that he should take still further steps against hisrepudiated wife. Nero ordered Octavia to leave Rome and live inCampania.

  As she was preparing to obey the insulting order, which was renderedstill more insulting by the addition that she was to be kept undermilitary surveillance, it struck Pomponia that it might add to thecomfort and safety of the Empress if she could once more command theservices of Onesimus. Octavia had been pleased with his assiduitywhen he was her purple-keeper, and she knew that he had once rendereda high service to her beloved Britannicus. In the solitudes ofCampania it would be well for her to have at hand a slave andmessenger whom she could implicitly trust. With the precautionof a disguise he might remain unrecognised, and serve as a mediumof communication between the ex-Empress and her friends in Rome.Onesimus was more than willing to undertake the charge. At Rome hewas never safe. After all that had occurred, he did not dare to enterthe secret assemblies of the Christians, though it was there alonethat he could hope to see Junia. After Octavia had started withher despised and scanty retinue, he made his way to her villa withletters from Pomponia, and was retained in her service as a Greekreader, under a changed name.

  But scarcely had his wife vanished from Rome when Nero became alarmedby the temper of the people. They openly murmured at his conduct. Inthe circus and the amphitheatre they received him with grim silenceor cold applause. He knew that the mob was his ultimate master, and,being a coward, he hastily sent word that Octavia might return toRome and resume the style and title of his wife.

  When this edict was published, the people went wild with joy. Allloved Octavia. No base, no cruel action, no rapacity or folly,could be laid to her charge. If deadly crimes were committed,they knew that Octavia disapproved of them no less entirely thanthemselves. Every honest citizen who enjoyed but one gleam ofhappiness on his own domestic hearth pitied the pale and neglecteddaughter of Claudius, and felt inclined to protect her from furtherwrongs. Their enthusiasm communicated itself to the crowd. WhenOctavia re-entered Rome they surrounded her litter with tumults ofdelight. Their affection cheered her heart, and, stirred by her wordsof gratitude, they broke into dangerous excitement. Rushing throughthe city, they flung down and trampled and spat upon the statues ofPoppæa. Those of Octavia they uplifted on their shoulders, showeredblossoms over them, and, carrying them to the Forum and the temples,crowned them with garlands. They shouted their approval of Nero’stardy repentance, and, donning their holiday attire, organisedan immense procession to the Capitol, to thank Jupiter for therestoration of their Empress. Returning from this processionthey crowded to the Palatine, and Nero in alarm appealed to thePrætorians. Tigellinus let loose the soldiers upon the people. He hadarmed them with batons, and they struck out without discriminationamong the swaying mob. When this was insufficient to disperse thecrowd, they drew their swords, and charged them in close array. Itwas night before they had swept the streets clear of obstruction,and replaced the statues of Poppæa upon their pedestals.

  Poppæa was nearly wild with fear and hatred. After Nero had suppedshe entered his room, and, flinging herself at his feet withdishevelled hair, burst into passionate tears. She wailed that,though to wed with him was dearer to her than life, she had nowcome, not to plead for her marriage, but for mere safety. Who didhe suppose was the real author of that disgraceful riot? Octavia,of course. He thought her simple. Her simplicity was but the veneerof deeply-seated cunning. Was it the people who had broken intosedition? Not at all. It was only the clientage and varletry ofOctavia who had dared to assume the people’s name. If they had butfound a leader, who could say whether Nero might not by this timehave been a fugitive or a mangled corpse?

  ‘The tumult has been aimed at you,’ she cried, ‘not at me. Whatharm have I done to any one, that they should hate me? Do they hateme because I shall give Cæsar a genuine heir? Do they prefer theoffspring of Octavia and some Egyptian flute-player? Be a man,Nero! It only needs the smallest display of resolution to suppressthese disorders. But if you show yourself timid and incapable, therebellion may become formidable. If the people despair of making youOctavia’s husband, they may make Octavia another’s wife.’

  The daring and indomitable purpose of the woman succeeded. She goadedhis timidity; she fired his rage. He sent for Tigellinus, determinedat last to stop short at nothing.

  With Tigellinus he needed no concealment.

  ‘Præfect,’ he said, ‘Octavia must at all costs be got rid of.’

  ‘Locusta is here,’ said Tigellinus, with alacrity.

  ‘No, no,’ said Nero, stamping on the ground; ‘I will not have thescene of Britannicus acted over again. I am haunted by too manyghosts already.’

  ‘Devise something,’ he said, impatiently, while Tigellinus mused.‘Poppæa, suggest something to this fool.’

  ‘A charge must be made against her,’ said Poppæa, eager if possibleto shame as well as to kill.

  ‘The last charge broke down.’

  ‘Nonsense!’ answered Poppæa. ‘Say that you have positive evidencethat she has made away with her own unborn child.’

  ‘No o
ne will believe it. And, besides, I have just divorced her onthe charge of barrenness.’

  ‘Say it all the same, Nero. Some person of importance must be inducedto confess.’

  ‘Who would be so infamous?’ said Nero. ‘After all, Poppæa, you knowshe is innocent--ten times more innocent than you.’

  ‘Call me some infamous name at once,’ said Poppæa, bursting intopassion. ‘And is it for you to taunt me? Was it not for love ofyou that I became faithless to my Otho? No,’ she cried, as Neroapproached her; ‘keep away from me! I will return to the wrongedOtho. He loved me. He will take me back.’ And she rushed towardsthe door.

  ‘Poppæa,’ pleaded Nero, hasting to intercept her flight, ‘forgive me.You see how miserable I am. I have no one to love me but you.’

  ‘And who could help loving you?’ she continued, weeping crocodiletears in floods. ‘Who could resist those golden locks, that lovelycountenance, that divine voice?’

  Her cajolery won the day. Nero played with her hand, and turned aninquiring look on the Prætorian Præfect.

  ‘I have it,’ said Tigellinus. ‘Send for Anicetus.’

  Nero winced at the name. Anicetus was still admiral of the fleetat Misenum; but, since his share in the murder of Agrippina, Nerocould never see him without recalling the image of his mother’sbloodstained corpse. He had practically banished Anicetus from Court,and when the sunshine of court favour was withdrawn from him, thewretch had sunk into contempt. But now his unscrupulosity was oncemore needed for a crime which was, if possible, still blacker. Hehad murdered Nero’s mother by violence; he was to murder Nero’swife by calumny. He was offered a vast reward, and a purely nominalpunishment, if he would confess and make it public that Octaviahad treasonably tampered with him, to seduce the allegiance of theimperial sailors at Misenum, and that, in furtherance of her object,she had not stopped short of offering him her hand.

  The infamous tale was published; and since Nero proclaimed hisconviction of its truth, the world was compelled to profess beliefin it also, although every man and woman in Rome knew it to be alie. An edict was published proclaiming Octavia’s guilt, and she wasbanished to the dreary islet of Pandataria.