Thus the first five years of Nero’s rule went by for me. This was probably the happiest and most flourishing time the world had ever known, or even ever will know, but I felt like a caged animal. I gradually began to neglect my office, gave up riding and put on an excessive amount of weight.
Nevertheless, there was no great difference between me and other young men in Rome. Numerous unkempt long-haired men could be seen on the streets, dripping with sweat, singing and playing on lyres, a new generation in society who despised the rigid old customs. I myself simply felt indifferent to everything, for the best part of my life had already drifted unnoticeably by, although I was not yet thirty.
Then Nero and Otho fell out. To annoy Nero, Otho took Poppaea to Palatine with him one day. Nero naturally fell blindly in love with her and, like a spoiled child, he was used to getting what he wanted. But Poppaea rejected his advances and said that Nero had nothing which Otho could not also offer.
After the meal, Nero had a bottle of his most expensive perfume opened and all the guests were allowed to rub a little of it on themselves. When Nero was later a guest at Otho’s house, Otho had the same perfume sprayed in a mist over all those present.
It was said that Nero, in his morbid love, once had himself taken to Otho’s house in the middle of the night and hammered in vain on the door. Otho would not let him in, because Poppaea thought it was an unsuitable time for a visit. It was even said that Otho, in the presence of several people, had said to Nero, “In me you see the future Emperor.”
Whether he had got this idea from some prophecy or from elsewhere, I do not know. Nero had, however, kept his temper and laughed at him scornfully.
“I can’t even see you as a future consul,” he said.
To my surprise, Poppaea sent for me one lovely spring day when the cherry trees in the Lucullus gardens were in flower. I thought I had managed to forget her, but my indifference was obviously only on the surface for I obeyed her summons immediately, trembling with ardor. Poppaea was more beautiful than ever. Her little son was with her and she behaved as befits a loving mother. She was dressed in a silk gown which revealed rather than hid the entrancing beauty of her figure.
“Oh, Minutus,” she cried, “how I have missed you! You are the only unselfish friend I have. I must have your advice.”
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I could not help feeling some distrust, remembering what had happened the last time I had been her adviser. But Poppaea gave me such an innocent smile that I could think no evil of her.
“You must have heard of the fearful difficulty I am in because of Nero,” she said. “I don’t understand how it happened. I myself have not given the slightest cause for it. But Nero is harassing me with his affec- tion, even to the extent that dear Otho is risking falling from grace for protecting my virtue.”
She looked at me attentively. Her gray eyes suddenly turned violet and she had had her golden hair arranged so that she looked like an ivory and gold statue of a goddess. She twisted her slim fingers.
“The most terrible thing is that I cannot be entirely indifferent to Nero,” she said. “He is a handsome man, with his red hair, and his violent feelings only attract me. He is so noble, too, and such an artist when he sings. When I hear him play and sing, I am so entranced that I can only stare at him. If he were unselfish, like you for instance, he would try to protect me from my own feelings and not fan the flame in them. But perhaps he does not himself see what feelings his very presence evokes in me. Minutus, I tremble all over as soon as I see him, as I have never before trembled in the presence of a man. Fortunately, I have been able to hide it and I try to avoid him as far as is possible in my position.”
I do not know if she herself knew how I suffered when she spoke in this manner.
“You’re in great danger, Poppaea dear,” I said in horror. “You must flee. Ask Otho to apply for a proconsulship in one of the provinces. Move away from Rome.”
Poppaea stared at me as if I were mad.
“How could I live anywhere else but in Rome?” she said. “I should die of grief. But there is a much worse and even stranger thing. I shouldn’t even dare tell you if I couldn’t trust your discretion completely. A Jewish soothsayer, and you know how clever they are at that kind of thing, told me a little while ago—don’t laugh now—that one day I’d be the consort of an Emperor.”
“But my dear sweet Poppaea,” I said, “haven’t you read what Cicero says about prophecies? Don’t bother your pretty little head with such madness.”
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