The Roman

Book XIV

I made use of the intervening period to prepare my case with Vespasian in devious ways and he no doubt took the hint, but he was a cautious man. Nero died the following spring, that is, if he is dead. Within a year, Rome was ruled by three different Emperors, Galba, Otho and Vitellius. In some ways by four, if one counts the shameless coup d’etat in Rome the eighteen-year-old Domitian performed at his own father’s expense. But that was swiftly dispensed with.

It amused me that it was Otho who became Emperor after Galba. Poppaea would have been the Imperial consort after all, even had she not divorced Otho, so the prophecy was doubly confirmed. I am not superstitious, but every sensible person should occasionally keep an eye on the signs and omens.

Vitellius then took over the reins, supported by the German legions, as soon as he learned of Galba’s murder. I think the reason for Otho’s swift downfall was that he was bold enough to steal the sacred sword of your ancestor, Julius Caesar, from the Mars temple, which he had neither a legal nor a moral right to do. That right is yours, Julius Antonianus Claudius, since you are directly descended from both the Julian and Claudian lineages, as were all the Julian Emperors. Fortunately the sword was returned and was once again dedicated in the Mars temple.

Otho’s legions were defeated at Bedriacum and Otho committed suicide, for he did not wish to prolong the civil war although he had fresh troops to draw on. His last letter was written to Nero’s widow, Statilia Messalina, and in it he regretted that he could not fulfill his promise to marry her. His body and his testimony, he said in this letter, which for a commander and an Emperor was most inappropriately emotional, he left in Statilia’s care. In this way Statilia had, within a very short time, two Imperial graves to care for.

It is enough to say of Paulus Vitellius that he had spent his early youth in Capri as companion to Emperor Tiberius. I gladly acknowledge his famous father’s services to the State, but Paulus was so depraved that his own father did not even wish to give him the office of Proconsul. He managed to secure the favors of three Emperors by his vices rather than his virtues. Nero counted him among his friends, but I was never friendly with him. Indeed, I avoided his company as far as was possible.

His only honorable action was when he defied the Senate by daring to celebrate a sacrifice to Nero on Mars field in the presence of all the colleges of priests, after which, at the banquet he gave, he asked Rome’s most famous cittern-player to sing only songs which Nero had written and composed, and applauded them as enthusiastically as he had when Nero was alive. In this way he made good the insulting letter which Propraetor Julius Vindex had written to Nero and which became the cause of the civil war. In his letter Vindex called Nero a poor cittern-player, for he knew this would offend him more than any other accusation.

In my opinion, Vitellius’ great political mistake was that he disbanded the Praetorian cohorts and had a hundred and twenty men executed, among them tribunes and centurions, who were responsible for Galba’s murder. From his point of view they deserved rewarding rather than punishing. It is no wonder that such fickleness made the legion commantlers quite justifiably doubt his reliability as an Emperor.

I do not wish to say more about the ruthless murders of so many noblemen. I shall just mention that he did not even spare certain bankers who could have been useful to him but, hoping for easy gain, had them executed and confiscated their property, without realizing that it is wiser to milk a cow than to slaughter it.

When Vitellius was reigning for the eighth month, certain information came that made me think that the moment to persuade Vespasian had come. I promised to lend him my entire fortune, with part of the treasure of the temple in Jerusalem and other war booty as the only security, to finance his accession to the throne. I referred to my twenty iron chests of gold. Naturally they did not contain my entire fortune, but I wanted him to realize how I trusted his chances.

The cautious Vespasian resisted for so long that finally Titus, on my advice, had to forge a letter in which Galba appointed Vespasian as his heir. Titus was the most skillful forger I have ever met and can faithfully copy any handwriting. What this proves about his character must remain unsaid.

Whether Vespasian believed in the authenticity of the letter from Galba, I cannot say. He knows his son. In any case, he moaned all night in his tent until I could stand it no longer and had a few sesterces per man dealt out to the legionaries so that at dawn they could acclaim him Emperor. They were glad to do this and would probably have done so for nothing, but I hoped to gain time. On my advice, they spread it around the other legions what a good and understanding and gifted commantler Vespasian was from the simple soldier’s point of view.

After being acclaimed Emperor outside the walls of Jerusalem, Vespasian was surprised a few days later to receive a message from the legions in Moesia and Pannonia who had sworn an oath of loyalty to him without his knowledge. He hastened to send their long overdue pay to the Danube legions as they requested in their letter. My money chests in Caesarea proved most useful, although at first Vespasian had muttered that he was sure his good name would provide credit with the rich merchants of Syria and Egypt. At first we did not share the same opinion on my rightful share of the temple treasure.

I reminded him that Julius Caesar had managed to raise immense debts on nothing but his name and his hopes for the future, and that his creditors were forced to support him politically since it ultimately required all the spoils from wealthy and fertile Gaul to repay them. But Caesar had still been young then and both politically and militarily had been infinitely more outstanding than Vespasian, who was already aging and well known for his simplicity. After some bargaining, however, we came to a reasonable agreement.

But as long as Nero lived, Vespasian would never have betrayed his military oath or Nero’s confidence. Loyalty is estimable, but the political circumstances do not take a man’s honor into consideration when they change.

Despite this, Vespasian agreed to assume the heavy burden of Imperial duties when he saw that affairs of State were in ruins and that the civil war would go on forever if he did not act. He intervened for the sake of the ordinary people in the country who wanted only peace and quiet and a modest, happy family life. Most people are like this, and so do not have much say in the ordering of world affairs.

I feel I must tell you all I know about Nero’s death, although I was not an eyewitness to it. But as a friend of Nero’s and from human curiosity, I thought it my duty to look into this, to say the least, obscure story as carefully as the altered circumstances afterwards allowed.

Statilia Messalina firmly believes that Nero died in the way which is told and which the historians confirm. But Nero had banished her to Antium, and she was not an eyewitness. As for Acte, I am not certain, for she visits Nero’s grave so faithfully that I am inclined to think she had something to hide. She was one of the few people present when Nero committed his now famous suicide.

When Nero saw that the Gallic revolt under Vindex was beginning to become dangerous, he returned from Naples to Rome. He had not at first taken the matter seriously, although naturally he was hurt by Vindex* shameless letter. In Rome, Nero summoned the Senate and the most influential members of the Order of Knights to a secret council in the Golden Palace, but sensitive as he was, soon noticed the coldness and ill-will they felt for him. After this meeting he began to be truly frightened. When he heard that Galba had joined the rebels in Iberia he fainted, for he realized that the man he had sent had not reached Galba in time to tell him that for the good of the State he should commit suicide.

When the news of Galba’s treachery spread over Rome, there was a wave of insane hatred for Nero such as had not occurred since the days of Octavianus Augustus and the downfall of Marcus Antonius. I do not wish to repeat everything that was said about him and what infamies were scrawled on his statues. The height of insolence was when the Senate hid the keys to the Capitoline after Nero had asked both the Orders to renew their oaths of loyalty and their sacred promises. The keys were soon found, of course, when after a long wait and in a rage, Nero threatened to execute all the leading Senators on the spot, the sanctity of the Capitoline notwithstanding. But the disappearance of the keys was interpreted among the impatiently waiting spectators as the very worst omen for Nero.

Nero still had many possibilities left. Tigellinus had made out a long list which I later found in his secret hiding place and which also had my name prominendy on it. But I forgave him that gladly for the sake of our friendship. I was more surprised at how clearly he had recognized the necessity of executing certain key State officials when the revolt flared in Gaul and Iberia.

On the list were both the Consuls and so many senators that I was horrified when I read it. I was vexed that I had to destroy it for political reasons. It might have been amusing some time later to read chosen names from it to certain guests whom I was forced to invite home for my position’s sake, although I did not particularly wish for their company.

But Nero contented himself with dismissing both Consuls and taking over himself, since his sensitivity and love of mankind hindered him from putting into action the rigorous program which alone could have saved him. He still had the support of the Praetorians, thanks to Tigellinus. But this would have involved pruning the tree to the last branch and he thought that even the strongest tree would not stand such treatment.

After his artistic success in Greece, Nero had grown even more weary of his Imperial duties. Had the Senate been more reliable then, I think he would have gradually transferred a great part of his powers to it. But you know about the disunity in the Senate, and its internal envy and constant intrigues. Not even the most enlightened ruler can trust the Senate completely, not even Vespasian. I hope you will always remember that, although I myself am a senator and do my best to defend its traditions and authority.

Even so, the Senate is a better tool by which to govern the country than are the irresponsible people. To be a member of the Senate, certain qualifications are demantled, while the people blindly follow the man who promises free oil and arranges the best theater performances and the most free days under the cloak of new festivals. The people are a dangerous and unreliable factor in the sound development of the State and they can nullify even the best calculations. So the people must be kept in order and satisfied.

Nero did not want war, least of all civil war, which for all Julians with their bitter memories is the worst thing that can happen to an Emperor. Yet he did nothing to suppress the revolt, for he wished to avoid unnecessary bloodshed. He answered his critics by saying ironically that perhaps it would be best if he met alone the legions approaching Rome in a triumphal march and won them over to his side by singing to them. To me this showed that he might have had plans entirely of his own. It was not just empty talk that in his youth he would have preferred to have studied in Rhodes rather than take up politics. He had always longed toward the East and had never managed to get farther than Achaia.

Nero knew more about Parthia than the usual military information concerning grazing lands, roads, springs, fords, mountain passes and fortified points. He also liked to talk about the Parthians’ distinctive civilization, although we laughed at him since to Romans the Parthians are and always will be barbarians until the day Rome civilizes them.

After Nero’s death, I thought that perhaps his talk about holding a concert in Ecbatana had not been entirely a joke. I have discovered that cittern-playing and singing are now the height of fashion in the aristocratic circles of Parthia. In that case, they are behind the times. Here in Rome, as the worst consequence of the conquest of Jerusalem, we have a constant jingling and jangling of Eastern musical instruments. Sistrii and tambourines, or whatever they are called.

Young people’s new-fangled music makes an aging man like me quite ill. Sometimes I remember the cittern-plucking of Nero’s time as a vanished golden age, although I am not musical, as I am always being told by you and your mother.

But it is just as incomprehensible to me that you have to have a slave behind you while you are studying, waving a sistrum or banging two copper saucepan lids against each other while a hoarse singer wails Egyptian street ballads. I should go mad if I had to listen to such things all the time. Yet you seriously maintain that otherwise you cannot concentrate on your studies and your mother is on your side, as usual, and tells me that I do not understand anything. No doubt you would grow a beard too, if fifteen-year-olds could.

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 Senate 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.

Apollonius seemed a little surprised at the gray legionary bread and sour wine which Vespasian offered him, for he had always been used to better food and never deprecated the art of cooking, although now and again he fasted to cleanse his body. But he continued in the role he had chosen and praised Vespasian’s simple habits by saying that they were evidence of all that was right and for the good of the State in Vespasian’s victory over Nero.

“I should never have revolted against the legal Emperor,” replied Vespasian shortly.

Apollonius, who had thought he would be able to make a good impression by boasting of his part in Vindex’ Gallic rebellion, fell into a baffled silence and then asked if he might call in two of his famous companions who were still waiting at the entrance. Vespasian’s own escort was sharing the meal with him. Vespasian was a little impatient, for he had been awake half the night, dictating the most urgent orders and messages. But he controlled himself.

“My doors will always be open to wise men,” he said, “but to you, incomparable Apollonius, my heart is also open.”

In the presence of his disciples, Apollonius then gave a convincing lecture on democracy and the necessity of bringing back a democratic state instead of the autocracy which had proved so disastrous. I grew anxious, but Vespasian took no notice of my nudges and winks, and patiendy listened to the end.

“I am very much afraid,” he then said, “that the autocratic power which the Senate has tried its best to limit has managed to ruin the people of Rome. So it is difficult to carry out what you suggest at present. The people must first be prepared to accept the responsibility which freedom brings with it. Otherwise the result will be endless disputes, disturbances and a constant threat of civil war.”

Apollonius replied so swiftly that I could only admire his flexibility.

“What do I care about the building of the State?” he said. “I live for the gods alone. But I should not wish the majority of humankind to be brought down for the lack of a good and wise shepherd. In fact, when I think about it, an enlightened autocracy, carefully watched over by a well-chosen senate whose highest aim is the common good, is the best and most highly developed form of democracy.”

He then began to explain in a roundabout way that he wished to acquaint himself with Egypt’s ancient wisdom, investigate the pyramids and possibly drink from the source of the Nile. But he could not afford to hire the necessary riverboat and oarsmen, although he was an old man whose feet were worn out from many journeys. So Vespasian took the opportunity to point to me.

“I have no money,” he said, “except for the most unavoidable needs of the State, which I am sure you know, dear Apollonius. But my friend here, Minutus Manilianus, is, in his capacity as senator, as keen a friend of democracy as you are. He is wealthy and will probably give you a ship with oarsmen if you ask him, as well as pay for your journey to the source of the Nile. Nor need you fear any danger during the journey, for an expedition of scientists is on its way there now, sent by Nero two years ago and protected by Praetorians. Join them if you can.”

Apollonius was delighted with this promise, which did not cost Vespasian a single coin.

“Oh Capolitian Jupiter,” he cried ecstatically, “healer of the chaos of State, preserve this man for your own. Your temple, which godless hands are now destroying in the light of the flames, he will build up again.”

We were all dumbfounded at this prophecy and vision of his. To tell the truth, I took his behavior to be sheer pretense. Not until two weeks later did we hear of Vitellius’ deposition and how Flavius Sabinus and Domitian had been forced to entrench themselves on the Capitoline.

Domitian fled the siege like a coward, after shaving off his hair and disguising himself as a priest of Isis. He joined a group of sacrificial priests when Vitellius’ soldiers, after setting fire to the temple and destroying its walls with their machines, released the imprisoned priests before the final slaughter. Old as he was, my former father-in-law Flavius Sabinus died there bravely for his brother Vespasian, his sword in his hand.

Domitian fled to the other side of the Tiber and hid with the Jewish mother of one of his former school friends. All the members of the families of the Jewish sovereign princes go to the Palatine school. One of them was the son of the King of Chalcis, whose fate drove my son Jucundus to join the youthful conspiracy to destroy Rome and move the capital to the East. I mention this too, although I had thought to say nothing of it.

Tigellinus had made the Prince of Chalcis drunk and then used him for his desires. In the presence of his school friends, the boy then committed suicide, for his religious prejudices forbade him to have intercourse with men, and after this he would never be able to inherit from his father and become King of Chalcis. It was in revenge for this that Rome had begun to burn once again, starting in Tigellinus’ gardens after the great fire had already begun to die out. Jucundus was involved in this and so did not die an innocent victim. But the old Subura went with the fire and with it a shameful stain on Rome.

In his cowardice, Domitian guessed that no one would think of looking for him in the Jewish section ctf the city, for the Jews hated Vespasian and his whole family because of the siege of Jerusalem and the losses his fateful pmcer movement had caused the Jews when the rebels had attempted to fight out in the open field.

At the mention of losses, Apollonius of Tyana again tried to intervene on the side of the Greeks in the internal struggle for power in Alexandria. As he left Vespasian before going on board the Nile boat I had bought him, he said, “I pricked up my ears when I heard that you had destroyed thirty thousand Jews in one battle and fifty thousand in another. Even then I thought: Who is this man? He could do better things. The Jews have long betrayed not only Rome but also the whole of mankind. A people who seek to isolate themselves from all other peoples, who will not eat or drink in the company of others and even refuse to perform the usual traditional prayers and incense offerings to the gods, such people are more distant from us than Susa and Bactra. It would be better if there were not a single Jew left in the world.”

The wisest man of our times spoke so intolerantly that I was glad to finance his journey and earnestly hoped his boat would sink or the Nubian savages would impale him on a roasting spit. Naturally his eternal talk about democracy disturbed me most. Vespasian leaned far too far toward righteous meditation and gave more thought to the good of the people than to his own advantage as Emperor.

Without doubt Apollonius of Tyana possessed supernatural powers. Later we decided that he had in fact seen the Capitoline burning in his mind’s eye as it was actually happening. Several days later Domitian crept out of the Jewess’s cellar and insolently proclaimed himself Emperor. Naturally the Senate must bear some of the responsibility for this, for they thought they would profit more from having an eighteen-year-old on the throne instead of Vespasian, who was used to giving orders if necessary.

Domitian avenged his terror and humiliation on Vitellius by having the people hang him on a pole in the forum by his feet and then slowly kill him with dagger pricks. His body was then dragged to the Tiber on an iron hook. For this reason, too, never entrust yourself to the arbitrariness of the people. Love your people as much as you wish to, my son, but discipline your love.

We did not yet know all this in Alexandria. Vespasian was still hesitating over the form of government, although he had been proclaimed Emperor. Republicanism was dear to him, as it was to all the older senators. We discuss it often and gladly, but do not act foolishly because of that. Apollonius’ ecstasy did not convince him, for the slow postal system gave him no chance to investigate the truth of his vision. Then the priesthood in Alexandria confirmed his own divinity so that all the prophecies of a century which had spoken of an Emperor from the East would at last come true.

One hot morning, when Vespasian was sitting in judgment outside the Serapis temple where he had had his judge’s podium set in honor of the gods of Egypt, two sick men were brought before him and asked for help. One was blind and the other lame. Vespasian had not wished to try, for outside the temple a great crowd had assembled to stare at the Emperor and he had no desire to make a fool of himself before the people.

But I was seized with a feeling of having experienced all this before-the temple columns, the judge’s seat and the crowd. I even seemed to recognize the two men. Suddenly I remembered the dream I had had in my youth in the land of the Brigantes. I reminded Vespasian of it and urged him to try to do what I had seen him do in my dream. Reluctantly Vespasian rose and spat a great blob of spittle into the eyes of the blind man, then kicked the lame man hard on his leg. The blind man regained his sight and the lame man’s shriveled foot grew well again so rapidly that we could hardly believe our eyes. Then Vespasian at last believed that he had been born to be Emperor, although after this event he did not feel any holier or more godlike than before, or if so he hid all such feelings.

I know for certain that he never again tested his powers in this way, though once I asked him to put his divine hand on my bleeding rectum when he came to see me on my deathbed. Vespasian refused and explained that his strange experience in Alexandria had affected him to such an extent that he had seriously feared he would become deranged. “Rome has had enough deranged Emperors,” he said. I must admit that one could not expose Rome to such a threat, not for your sake or that of my own health.

Many people who believe only what they themselves can see, hear and smell, however misleading the human senses can be, are inclined to disbelieve my story, for the sorcery of Egyptian priests is famous. But I myself can certify that the Serapis priests examine a patient extremely carefully and ascertain whether he is really ill before they practice faith-healing on him. In their view, pretense and a cure of an imaginary illness would be an insult to the gods.

I know that Paul was also very particular as to whom he allowed to receive his sweat-clothes as a cure for serious illnesses. He would mercilessly banish from the Christian community a man pretending to be ill. So judging from my own experience, I consider that Vespasian really did cure the two sick men, although I do not wish to explain how such things are possible. I also admit that Vespasian is wise not to wish to test his ability further. The loss of strength suffered in faith-healing is probably great.

It is said of Jesus of Nazareth that he could not bear anyone secretly touching even the tassels on his cloak, for he could feel his strength ebbing away. He did cure the sick and raise the dead, I know, but only when begged to, or from compassion for their kin. In general he seems to have set little store by his miracles. He used to criticize those who saw but did not believe and praise the blessed who believed although they had never seen. Or so I have heard told. Not that my own belief weighs more than a grain of sand. I am very much afraid that it will not be sufficient for him, but I shall at least try to be honest to him.

Speaking of Egyptian miracles makes me think of a Greek there who had used his inheritance and his wife’s dowry for insane inventions. This madman insisted so stubbornly on an audience with Vespasian that we finally had to receive him. With shining eyes, he told us about his inventions and especially praised the power of steam from water, which he believed would drive the heaviest grindstones.

“What would we do with the slaves who live by turning the grindstones?” asked Vespasian. “Try to calculate how many unemployed the St ate would then have to support.”

The man calculated rapidly in his head and admitted honesdy that he had not thought of the damage to the national economy his invention might cause. Hopefully he went on to explain that the power in boiling water could be used to drive oars, if only he had enough money to make some necessary experiments. Then ships would no longer be dependent on the winds, as merchant ships and warships are.

I intervened at this and explained how appallingly inflammable the expensive grain ships would be, not to mention passenger ships, if one were forced to have fires constantly burning on board to heat the water. Already the cooking of food on board had shown itself to be so dangerous that at the slightest sign of a storm the cooking-fire had to be extinguished at once on its bed of sand. Every seaman preferred dry food to exposure to fire at sea.

Vespasian remarked that the Greek trireme has been, is, and always will be the most brilliant weapon in sea warfare, although on the other hand, he admitted, the Carthaginian merchant ships were the best in the world and there was no reason for altering them.

The inventor looked downcast, but Vespasian had a considerable sum paid to him if he would refrain from further insane inventions. He said that for safety’s sake the money was to be paid to the inventor’s wife, so that the husband would not be able to spend it on his unnecessary inventions.

On my part, I have often looked at the wonderful war machines and thought how easy it would be for a clever engineer to build machines for agriculture, for instance, to save the slaves the heavy work and a great deal of sweat. Such machines would be extremely useful for the art of ditching and drainage, which we learned from the Etruscans. One could even use baked brick pipes instead of faggots and stones on the bottom of the drainage ditches, much as we make our sewers, even if they are much larger. But I can see what appalling economic effects such inventions would have. Where would the slaves get their oil and bread then? The State has enough expenses with their distribution of free grain to its citizens. Work must be found for the slaves and preferably heavy work, for otherwise they would soon begin to think foolish thoughts. Generations of bitter experience have taught us that.

The Egyptian priests have already made all the technical inventions that are needed. For example, they have an automatic holy-water sprinkler which squirts holy water on one if one puts the right kind of coin into it. The machine even sorts out full-weight coins from filed ones, however unbelievable that may sound. The loathsome habit of filing dust from gold and silver pieces began in Alexandria. When it is a question of hundreds and thousands of coins, it is quite profitable. Who first thought it up, I have no idea. The Greeks blame the Jews and the Jews the Greeks.

I tell you this to convince you that Vespasian’s faith-healing was no sleight of hand. Thanks to their own technical inventions, the Egyptian priests are extremely distrustful.

When, after a sleepless night, Vespasian had been convinced that the gods had indeed decreed that he should be Emperor, I heaved a sigh of relief. It would have been disastrous if, inflamed by already antiquated democratic ideas, he had begun to alter the structure of the State. When I was certain of this, I at last dared to tell him my secret in a confidential moment. I told him about Claudia and your descent as the last male descendant of the Julian lineage. From that moment I gave you the name Julius in my heart, although officially you received it first when you were given your’man-toga and Vespasian fastened the Augustan brooch on your shoulder with his own hands.

Vespasian believed me at once and was not at all surprised, as one might have thought he would be. He knew your mother from the time when Emperor Caligula used to call her his cousin in order to annoy his uncle, Claudius. Vespasian began to count on his fingers to clarify the relationship.

“Then your son,” he said, “is Claudius’ grandson. Claudius was also a nephew of Tiberius. And Tiberius’ brother’s wife was Antonia, the younger daughter of Octavia, the god Augustus’ sister, born of Marcus Antonius. Octavia and the god Augustus were children of the niece of Julius Caesar. In fact the Imperial throne has constantly been passed down the female line. Nero’s father was the son of Marcus Antonius’ elder daughter. His hereditary right was as valid as Claudius’ own, although for the sake of form, Claudius adopted Nero when he married his own niece. Undoubtedly your son’s hereditary right is legally as binding as these others. What is it that you want then?”

“I want my son to grow up into the best and noblest Emperor Rome has ever seen,” I said. “I do not doubt for a moment, Vespasian, that you in your righteousness will acknowledge him as the legal heir to the Imperial throne when the moment arrives.”

Vespasian thought for a long time, frowning heavily with his eyes half-closed.

“How old is your son?” he said finally.

“He will be five next autumn,” I said proudly.

“In that case there is no hurry,” said Vespasian with relief. “Let us hope that the gods will allow me ten years or so to bear the burden of rule and put the State’s affairs into some kind of order. Then your son will have received his man-toga. Titus has his weaknesses and because of his connection with Berenice I am worried, but usually a man grows with responsibility. In ten years’ time Titus will be over forty and a mature man. In my view he has every right to the Imperial throne if he does not marry Berenice. That would be disastrous. We could not have a Jewess as the Imperial consort, even if she were of the Herodes family. If Titus behaves sensibly, presumably you will permit him to rule his time out, so that your son in the same way will have time to mature and acquire experience in office. My other son Domitian would never do as Emperor and the very thought of such a thing appalls me. In fact I have always regretted that I conceived him by mistake in a drunken moment on a visit to Rome. Ten years had passed since Titus’ birth and I did not think my marriage bed would again prove fertile. The thought of Domitian makes me feel ill. I cannot even consider celebrating a triumph, for I should be forced to take him with me.”

“Naturally you must celebrate a triumph for capturing Jerusalem,” I said uneasily. “You would offend the legions bitterly if you didn’t, and they have suffered great losses in the war against the Jews.”

Vespasian sighed heavily.

“I have not thought so far ahead as yet,” he said. “I am much too old to crawl up the Capitoline steps. The rheumatism I contracted in Britain pains my knees more and more.”

“But I could support you on one side and Titus on the other,” I said encouragingly. “It’s not as difficult as it looks.”

Vespasian looked at me and smiled.

“What would the people think of that?” he said. “But, by Hercules, better you than Domitian on one side, the immoral, crooked liar.”

This he said long before we knew anything about the victory at Cremona, the siege of the Capitoline and Domitian’s cowardly behavior. Vespasian had to allow Domitian to ride behind Titus in the triumphal procession for the sake of his grandmother’s memory, but Domitian had to ride on a mule and the people understood the implication., When we had considered the succession to the throne from all points of view, like reasonable men who are friends, I was glad to agree to Vespasian’s suggestion that Titus should rule after him and before you, even if I did not value Titus as highly as his father did. His ability to forge handwritings made me doubt his inner qualities. But fathers are blind.

When Vespasian had had his powers confirmed in Rome, Titus conquered Jerusalem on his orders. Its destruction was as terrible as the description in Flavius Josephus’ work. But the spoils were to come and I was not defrauded of my security. Titus had not wished to destroy the temple, and he had sworn this to Berenice in bed. But during the fighting it was impossible to stop the spread of the fire. The starving Jews fought from house to house and from cellar to cellar, so the legions suffered heavy losses, although they had thought that only the occupation of the city remained.

Anyone will soon be able to see my portrait in the reliefs on the triumphal arch we have decided to erect in the forum. But to be honest, Vespasian was not entirely in agreement at first that I too deserved a triumph insignia, as I had striven for so eagerly for your sake. I had to point out to him several times that. during the siege I had been the next highest in rank under his command and that I had fearlessly exposed myself to the Jews’ arrows and stones to the extent of being wounded in the foot in my rush for the walls.

Not until Titus magnanimously put in a word for me did Vespasian award me a triumph insignia. He had never come to regard me as a warrior in the true sense, so I had deserved that much from my part in the siege and conquest of Jerusalem. We in the Senate who have triumph insignia are now so few that we can be counted on the fingers of one hand, and among us are a few who have received insignia without any service merit of their own, if I am to be absolutely accurate.

After crawling up the Capitoline steps, Vespasian filled a basket with stones from the temple ruins and carried it on his shoulder down into the valley that was to be filled in, in order to show the people his goodness, his humility, and first and foremost to set a good example. He expressed a wish that we should all share the cost of rebuilding the temple of Jupiter.

Vespasian has also collected copies of old laws and regulations, decrees and special rights dating right back from the foundation of the city from all the corners of the world. He has gathered nearly three thousand such bronze tablets hitherto, and they are kept in the newly built State archives in place of those which melted during the great fire.

As far as I know he has not gained anything from them, although he would have had an excellent opportunity to trace his descent all the way back to Vulcan if he so wished. But he is still content with his grandmother’s buckled old silver goblet. As I write this he has ruled as Emperor for ten years and we are preparing to celebrate his seventieth birthday. I myself have two years to go before I am fifty and feel surprisingly young thanks to the cures I have been taking and one other circumstance, for which reason I have not hurried to leave here, but prefer to stay and write my memoirs, as you have perhaps noticed.

The physicians gave me permission to return to Rome a month ago.

But I must thank Fortuna that I have been allowed to experience this spring, which I had not believed possible. I feel so much younger that a little while ago I asked to have my favorite horse brought so that I could start riding again, although I have been content for several years to lead my horse in processions. Thanks to Claudius’ decree, this is still allowed and we older men take advantage of it as we grow heavier.

Speaking of Fortuna, your mother has always been strangely jealous of the simple wooden goblet which I inherited from my mother. Perhaps it reminds her only too well that you have a quarter Greek blood in your veins, though fortunately she does not know how lowly that blood is. This goblet of Fortuna, because of your mother, I sent to Linus several years ago, when in a moment of satiety I thought I had had more than enough of worldly success. I think the Christians need all the good fortune they can get, and Jesus of Nazareth himself had drunk from this goblet after his resurrection. So that the wooden goblet should not become too worn, I had a cleverly worked goblet of gold and silver made to enclose it. On one side it bears a picture in relief of Cephas and on the other, one of Paul.

It was quite easy to have these portraits made, for the craftsman who did them had seen both of the men himself many times and was also helped by other people’s drawings and a mosaic. True they were both Jews who did not approve of human images, but Paul revered the Jewish laws in many other respects, so I do not think he will mind that with Linus’ help I have preserved his appearance for posterity, even if there is no future in the Christian teaching alongside other and more promising religions, from the Gymnosophists to the Mithras brotherhood.

They were both good people and now, after their deaths, I understand them better than before, as so often happens when certain aggravating characteristics no longer stop one’s creating a clear picture of a person as he really had been. Anyhow, the Christians own a picture of Jesus of Nazareth. It stuck to a piece of cloth when he fell to the ground in Jerusalem with his cross on his back and a woman handed him her own kerchief to wipe the blood from his face. This picture would hardly have stayed on the cloth if he himself had not wished it, so as far as I can make out he permitted human images, unlike the faithful Jews.

My mother’s goblet is much used, but I have a feeling its power has lessened because of the gold and silver around it. In any case, the Christians’ internal disputes continue unabated and as violently as before.

Linus has great difficulty reconciling them so that they do not take to physical violence against each other at their sacred evening meals.

What happens in the dark streets, when the locked doors are opened and the partakers of the meal leave, I shall not bother to tell you. The same intolerant envy which ruined Paul and Cephas still holds sway among them. For this reason, too, they have no future. I am only waiting for the moment when one Christian kills another in the name of Christ. The physician Lucas is so ashamed of all this that he is not able to concentrate on writing the third book to add to the work he has planned, and has stopped working on it.

It is no help that learned and educated men have begun to join them and profess themselves adherents of Christ. Indeed, it seems only to make the situation worse. When just before my illness I invited two Sophists here to a meal, in the hope that their education would be of help to Linus, they became involved in such a violent dispute that they nearly broke my valuable Alexandrian glass bowls.

The reason for the Sophists’ visit was purely a practical one. I thought that educated men such as they would understand how advantageous it would be for the Christians if their leaders began to wear some kind of insignia of rank, for instance headgear of the kind worn by the Mithraic priests, and perhaps add the soothsayer’s spiral to their simple shepherd’s stave. Such outward signs, I thought, would encourage ordinary citizens to join the Christians.

But instead of a reasonable discussion, both men began arguing.

“I believe in an invisible kingdom,” said the one, “in the angels and that Christ is the Son of God, for this is the only possible explanation of the incomprehensible and insane way of the world. I believe so that I can understand.”

“Don’t you sec, you poor fool,” said the other, “that human reason ean never understand the divinity of Christ? I myself believe only because the teachings about him are absurd and senseless. So I believe because it is irrational.”

Before they could physically come to grips with one another I intervened.

“I myself am not a learned man,” I said, “although I have read the philosophers and a number of poets and written a book on Britain which can still be found on the shelves of the public libraries. I cannot compete with you in the art of learning and debate. I do not believe much and I generally do not pray for things, for it seems irrational to pray for things about which an inexplicable God knows best He will no doubt see to my needs if he finds reason to do so. I am tired of your long-winded prayers. Should I employ a prayer, then I should wish to be able to whisper at the moment of my death: Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me. I do not imagine that my evil deeds and crimes would be palliated in his eyes by a few good deeds. A wealthy man is never without guilt; the tears of his slaves alone are his crimes. But never mind. I understand those people who give their property to the poor to follow Christ. I myself prefer to keep what I own for my son and the common good, for otherwise it might go to someone more cruel than I, to the disadvantage of the many who receive their bread from me. Therefore spare my glass bowls from your quarrels, for they are not only expensive but also dear to my heart.”

They controlled themselves out of respect for my rank and position, although perhaps they flew at each other’s throats as soon as they had left my house and my good wine. But don’t think that by telling you this I have committed myself to Christianity, Julius, my son. I know enough of Jesus of Nazareth and his kingdom not to dare give myself such a pretentious name as Christian, so I have not been able to bring myself to receive their baptism despite your mother’s insistence.

I am content to remain what I am, with my human weaknesses and my failings, and do not even defend my actions, which you will know from these memoirs, or the reasons I have inevitably been forced to do some things which I have regretted later. But these too will be useful to you.

Of my moral failings I wish to say that practically no man is blameless, not even the holy men who are dedicated to God. But I can assure you that I have never deliberately used another person simply for my own pleasure. I have always acknowledged the human value of my bedmate, whether she was a slave-girl or a freewoman.

But I think that the greatest moral failings do not occur in bed, as many people think, but that the worst is hardness of heart. Be careful not to harden your heart, my son, however far you rise and whatever difficulties you have to face in life. A certain human vanity is perhaps permitted, within sensible and reasonable limits, as long as you yourself do not value your learned and poetic results too highly. Do not think that I do not know that you are competing with Juvenal in the art of writing verse.

As I write this I feel as if I love the whole world for allowing me to experience another spring. So I think that when I come to Rome I shall pay the debts of your friend Juvenal and he may gladly keep his beard. Why should I annoy you and put a distance between us by despising a friend to whom you are close, for reasons which to me are incomprehensible?

My heart swells with the desire to tell you things. So I shall tell you about the spring I have just experienced, for I have no one else to tell, and you will not read these memoirs until after my death, when you will perhaps understand your old father better. How very much easier it is to get to know and understand a strange child than one’s own son. But this is presumably every father’s curse, now and forever, even if we always wish for the best.

I do not know how to begin. But you know that I have never wished to return to Britain, despite my interests there and my desire to see Lugundanum growing into a real town. I am afraid I should no longer see Britain as the lovely country I experienced in my youth during my journeys with Lugunda. Perhaps I was bewitched by the Druids then and even Britain seems beautiful to me, but I do not wish to lose this memory by going there again with my fifty-year-old coarsened and dulled senses, now that I no longer believe good of human beings.

But this spring I have been able to live as if I were still young. Naturally the whole thing has been a fragile enchantment of the kind that dulls the sight with laughter and tears in a man such as I. You are unlikely ever to meet her, my son, for I myself think it better never to see her again after this, both for her own sake as well as for my own.

She is of comparatively low descent, but her parents have maintained the ancient traditions and simple customs of the country because of their poverty. She is even surprised that my tunic is of silk. I have liked telling her about past events in my life, beginning from the lion cubs which my wife Sabina took into our bed and forced me to feed. She has listened to me patiently and at the same time I have been able to observe the changes of expression in her unusual eyes.

It has also been necessary for me to search my memory in the evenings as I pardy wrote and pardy dictated these memoirs, which I hope will one day be useful to you so that you do not believe too much good of human beings and be disappointed. No ruler can wholeheartedly trust any single man. It is the heaviest burden of absolute rule. Remember too, my son, that too great a dependence brings its revenge.

For I love you with all my heart and you are the only real meaning in my life, even if you yourself do not feel it so. It is as if, by meeting in her a late, much too wonderful and tender love, I had learned to love you more than before and also understand your mother and her less weak sides better. I forgive her the words she occasionally spoke so intemperately. On the other hand I hope very much that she will forgive me that I cannot be different from what I am. No one can teach an old dog new tricks.

Nothing evil has happened between us during the whole of the time I have remained behind here at this resort, which lies near her parents’ farm. Once or twice I have kissed her and perhaps brushed the skin of her arm with my large fist. I have not wished for more, because I do not wish to do her harm or rouse her senses too soon to the desolation and hot wastes of human passion. It is enough for me that my stories make her cheeks flush and her eyes shine.

I do not wish to tell you her name. You will not find it in my will, for in other ways I have seen to it that she will never be in need and that her dowry will be sufficiently large when the day comes when she will find a young man worthy of her. Perhaps I exaggerate her intelligence just because she listens so patiently and willingly to an elderly man, but I think her future husband will find her inborn understanding and powers of comprehension useful if he wishes to create a future in the service of the State.

She will probably choose a member of the Noble Order of Equestrian Knights, for she is very fond of horses. For her sake I had my favorite mare brought here and I began to ride again. I think her very presence and compassion have helped me get better and have favored my health, as our friendship lacks all exhausting passion.

I expect you have been annoyed and have even hated your father because the snow-white stallion bred from Emperor Gaius’ Lightning unexpectedly vanished from your stable. It amused me to do this to remind myself of what being a Roman senator really means. Gaius had decided to appoint Lightning a senator, which was why he was so cruelly murdered. In this the Senate overrated itself somewhat, according to my knowledge of many of its members. They should have found a more valid reason.

But I heard that after you had received your man-toga, you rode a snow-white stallion in the Noble Order of Knights’ festive procession. A youth of your age should not do that, Julius, believe me. So I thought it best to take the stallion away from you. I prefer to give it to a wise fifteen-year-old girl in the quiet of the countryside. After all, I am the one who pays for your stable, although it is called yours.

I cannot stop the Roman gossip which reaches me in different ways. Understand me when you come to read this. I have not considered it necessary to give any reasons. You may continue to hate me because your beautiful horse suddenly vanished. And you may prefer to hate me if you have not enough sense to understand why it was necessary.

I am thinking of giving this stallion to her as a farewell gift, for she did not consider she could accept a gold chain as a souvenir. I think she will be able to accept the horse. Her parents will have a small income from using it as a stud animal and at the same time the district’s horses will be improved. They are not much to speak of at the moment. Even my gentle old mare has roused envy here.

When I think of “my own life I like to remember a parable which you will recall from Linus’ lectures on the life of Jesus of Nazareth. It was a master who had left his servants several pounds of silver to administer while he was away. One servant buried his pound in the earth, while the other increased his. No one can say about me that I have buried my pound; indeed I have increased my inheritance perhaps a hundredfold, but that would sound boastful. You will see in my will. But I do not mean only earthly pounds, but also other values. Anyhow, I have used almost twice as much of the best Nile paper for my memoirs as my father used in his letters to Tullia. You will be able to read those too in time.

The master said to his servants: “Good and faithful servants, go in the joy of your Lord.” I think these are beautiful words, even if I cannot hope for any such thing for myself, since I have been neither good nor faithful. But Jesus of Nazareth has a strange way of striking one over the ear when one thinks one knows something. Hardly a week had gone by after I had boasted in front of my two quarrelsome guests that I never prayed for things, when, because of my stomach pains, I was begging him to stop the bleeding before I bled to death. Not even Rome’s best physician could stem the flood. But my complaint cured itself. Here in this resort with its mineral waters, I feel healthier and happier than I have for ten years. I also feel strangely sure that I shall still be needed for some purpose, although I have promised nothing.

But a few more words on this radiant-eyed child who has been my companion and has given me such pleasure that the very sight of her has melted my heart. At first I could not think why I thought I had met her before, for everything about her seemed familiar to me, even her smallest movements. Foolishly I gave her a piece of Antonia’s soap and a flask of perfume Antonia had used. I thought that in some remote way she reminded me of Antonia and hoped that the well-known scent of soap and perfume would make this likeness even more real.

But it was the opposite. I noticed that these overwhelming scents did not suit her fresh disposition. They simply disturbed me. But when I kissed her and saw her eyes darken, I saw Antonia’s face in her face, and also Lugunda’s face, and strangest of all, your mother’s face as it was in her youth. When I held her girlish body for a brief moment in my arms, without wishing her any harm, I recognized in her all those women I have loved most in my life. I know that after her no woman will share my life. I have had more than enough of my share of love. A man should not demand more.

When I had written down these last lines with my own hand, fate itself put a full stop after my memoirs. A messenger has just arrived on a sweating horse with a message to say that the Emperor of Rome, Vespasian, has died near Raete, his family’s home city. He never managed to celebrate his seventieth birthday, but is said to have tried to rise and die upright in the arms of those supporting him.

His death will be kept secret for two days, until Titus has time to reach Raete. Our first task in the Senate will be to proclaim Vespasian a god. He has deserved this, for he was the most benign, unselfish, industrious and righteous of all the Emperors of Rome. It was no fault of his that he was of plebeian descent. His rank as god ought to make up for that. As an old friend, I shall reserve a membership in his college of priests, for hitherto I have never held a priestly office. It will be a necessary addition to my list of merits, with the thought of the future, dear son. In haste in my own hand, your father, Minutus Latisus Manilianus.

Three months later, before I finally wall in these notes: It is as if Fortuna were beginning to avoid me. The terrible eruption of Vesuvius has recently ruined my new mansion in Herculaneum, where I was to spend my old age in a mild climate and good company. But my good fortune endured to the extent that I had not managed to go there and haggle over the builder’s bills, for had I done so I should myself have been buried under the shower of ashes.

But I am afraid that this terrible omen bodes ill for Titus as a ruler, good friend of mine as he is and wishing both you and myself well. Fortunately he still has his best years before him and is called the joy and delight of mankind. Why, I do not really know. Nero was called the same in his youth.

Nevertheless I think Titus will rule well and live as long as he can stave off all Domitian’s intrigues and in time confirm that you will be his heir to the throne. Never trust Domitian. What good can one expect of a man who spends his time impaling flies alive on his pen like a wanton boy?