Epaphroditus is a citizen and an equal. Let us settle this between us. I’m sure none of us wants a public scandal.”
“I’m a hard man,” said Epaphroditus appeasingly, “but I don’t really wish to kill your husband, Sabina. He has always overlooked our relationship and he probably has his own reasons for wanting a divorce. You yourself have many a time sighed for your freedom, so be sensible now, Sabina.”
But Sabina mocked him.
“Are your knees shaking at the sight of a lame old battle-scarred ruin, you great man, you?” she said scornfully. “Hercules save us, the best thing on you is greater than your courage. Don’t you see it’d be better simply to strangle him now and inherit what he’s got, than be disgraced for his sake?”
Epaphroditus avoided my eyes and carefully grasped my neck in such an iron grip that it was pointless to struggle. My voice choked and everything began to swim before my eyes, but I tried to indicate that I wished to bargain with them over whatever my life was worth. Epaphroditus slackened his grip.
“Naturally you can keep your property and your position in the menagerie,” I managed to croak, “if we separate like sensible people. My dear Sabina, forgive my hasty temper. Your son will bear my name and receive his share of the inheritance from me in time. Because of the love which once bound us together, I don’t wish to make you guilty of a crime, for in some way or other you would be found out. Let us have some wine brought in and take a conciliatory meal together, you and I and my foster brother-in-law, the strength of whose limbs I have the greatest respect for.”
Epaphroditus suddenly burst into tears and embraced me.
“No, no,” he cried. “I could not possibly strangle you. Let us be friends, the three of us. It will he a great honor for me if you really wish to eat at the same table with me.”
I too had tears of pain and relief in my eyes.
“It’s the least I can do,” I exclaimed. “I have already shared my wife with you. So your honor is also mine.”
When Sabina saw us embracing so intimately, she also came to her senses. We had the best the house could provide brought out, drank wine together and even called in the boy so that Epaphroditus could talk to him and hold him in his arms. Now and again a cold shiver went down my spine as I thought of what might have happened because of my own stupidity, but then the wine calmed me again.
When we had drunk a good deal, I was seized with melancholy.
“How could everything end like this?” I asked Sabina, “when we were so happy together at first and I was so blindly in love with you?”
“You’ve never understood my inner nature, Minutus,” said Sabina. “But I don’t reproach you for it and I regret my wicked words that time I insulted your manhood. If only you’d blacked my eye occasionally as I did to you the first time we met, if you’d whipped me sometimes, then everything might have been different. Do you remember how I asked you to take me by force on our wedding night? But there’s nothing in you of the ravisher’s wonderful overwhelming masculinity, that does as it likes however much one struggles or kicks or bites or threatens to scream.”
“I’ve always thought,” I said, dumbfounded, “that what a woman wants of love more than anything else is tenderness and security.”
Sabina shook her head pityingly.
“That delusion,” she replied, “only goes to show how childish you are when it comes to understanding women.”
When we had agreed on necessary financial measures and I had repeatedly praised Epaphroditus as a man of honor and the greatest artist in his line, I walked to Flavius Sabinus’ house, fortified by the wine, to inform him of the divorce. To be honest, I was almost more frightened of his anger than of Sabina.
“I have long noted that all was not well with your marriage,” he said, avoiding my eyes. “But I do hope you’ll not let the divorce influence the mutual respect and friendship which has developed between us two. I’d be in a dilemma, for instance, if you foreclosed the loan you have made me. We Flavians are not so wealthy as one might wish. My brother Vespasian is said to be supporting himself by dealing in mules. As Proconsul in Africa, he became poorer than ever. The peo-pie there seem to have bombarded him with turnips. I’m afraid he’ll be forced to leave the Senate if the Censor notices he is not fulfilling the conditions of wealth.”
Nero had unexpectedly gone to Naples after taking it into his head that Naples was the place for his first great public appearance as a singer, since the audience there is of Greek descent and thus more sympathetic to art than the Romans. Despite his artist’s self-confidence, Nero was panic-stricken before every performance and trembled and sweated to such an extent that he had to have his own paid applauders who could lead the audience in the first liberating rounds of applause.
I hurriedly traveled after him, which was necessary anyway to my office. The lovely theater in Naples was full to bursting and Nero’s splendid voice sent the audience into ecstasies. Several visitors from Alexandria were especially noticeable, for they expressed their delight in their own countrymen’s way by clapping rhythmically.
In the middle of a performance the theater was shaken by a sudden earth tremor. Panic began to spread in the audience, but Nero continued to sing as if nothing had happened. He received much praise for his self-control, for the audience took courage from his fearlessness. He himself told me afterwards that he had been so absorbed in his singing that he had not even noticed the tremor.
He was so delighted with his success that he appeared at the theater for several days running and finally the city council had to bribe his singing tutor to warn him against overstraining his incomparable voice, for the daily life of the city and trade aid sea-trade were being disrupted by his appearances. He rewarded the Alexandrians for their sound judgment by giving them presents as well as Roman citizenship, and he decided to go to Alexandria as soon as possible and appear before a public which was worthy of him.
When at a suitable moment I praised his brilliant artistic success, Nero asked me, “Do you think that if I weren’t the Emperor, I could support myself as an artist anywhere in the world?”
I assured him that as an artist he would certainly be both freer and in some ways wealthier than as Emperor, for as Emperor he had to fight for every Sta’te grant with his miserly Procurators. I said that it was my duty after my time as Praetor to pay for a theater performance for the people, but that in my opinion, there was no sufficiendy good singer in Rome. So with a feigned shyness, I made a suggestion.
“If you would appear at a performance,” I said, “which I would pay for, then my popularity would be assured. I’d pay you a million sesterces as a fee and naturally you can choose the play yourself.”
As far as I know, this was the highest fee ever offered any singer for a single performance. Even Nero was surprised.
“Do you really mean that you consider my voice worth a million sesterces,” he asked, “and that you’ll win the favor of the people with its help?”
I told him that if he would agree, it would be the greatest mark of favor I could think of. Nero frowned and pretended to meditate on his many duties.
“I must appear dressed as an actor,” he said finally, “with cothurni on my feet and a mask on my face. But to please you, I can of course have the mask made to look like myself. Let us test the artistic tastes of Rome. I won’t announce my name until after the performance. I’ll accept your invitation on those conditions. I think I’ll choose the part of Orestes, for I’ve long wanted to sing that. I should think the pent-up strength of my feelings would shake even the hardened audiences of Rome.”
His vanity as an artist drove him expressly to perform this role of a matricide, to allow his own feelings to run high. In some ways I understood him. By writing an amusing book, I had freed myself of my experiences as a prisoner which had driven me to the borders of insanity. For Nero, the murder of Agrippina had been a perturbing experience of which he was trying to free himself by singing. But I was afraid that I had exposed myself to considerable danger by inviting him to do this. It could happen that the audience would not recognize Nero and would not show their appreciation sufficiently.
Worse could happen too. A mask resembling Nero in the part of a matricide might result in the audience misunderstanding the intention. The performance might be taken as a demonstration against Nero and it could sweep the audience away with it. Then I would be lost. Other people might begin to believe the rumors about Nero, and then the result would be a riot with many people killed.
So there was nothing else to do but secretly to spread it about that Nero himself was thinking of appearing as Orestes in my theater performance. Many of the more old-fashioned members of the Senate and the Noble Order of
