“What good would it do to exchange a cittern-player for a philosopher?” I asked. But when I thought about it further, I realized that it was a clever suggestion. Both the people and the provinces agreed that Nero’s first five years, when Seneca had ruled, were the happiest Rome had ever known. It still stands out as a golden time, now when we have to pay taxes even to sit in public privies.
Seneca was immensely rich—three hundred million sesterces was most people’s guess. I thought I knew better. And best of all, Seneca was already sixty years old. Thanks to his Stoic way of life, he would easily live for another fifteen years. Even if he did live out in the country, keeping away from the Senate for health reasons and but seldom visiting the city, all this was nothing but a pretext to calm Nero.
In fact the diet he had had to keep to because of his stomach complaint had done him good. He had grown thinner and become more energetic, no longer panting as he walked, nor did he have those fat pendulous cheeks, so unsuited to a philosopher, any longer. He might rule well, persecuting no one, and as an experienced businessman could put Rome’s economic life back on its feet and fill the State treasury instead of wasting it. When his time came, he might even voluntarily hand over power to some youth who had been brought up in his own spirit.
Seneca’s mild disposition and love of mankind did not differ greatly from the Christian teaching. In a work on natural history he had just completed, he had implied that there are secret forces hidden in nature and the universe which are above human understanding so that the lasting and the visible are really like a thin veil hiding something invisible.
When I had got so far with my thoughts, I suddenly clapped my hands together in surprise.
“Claudia!” I cried. “You’re a political genius and I apologize for my unpleasant words.”
Naturally I did not tell her that by suggesting Seneca and then supporting him, I could then acquire the key position I needed in the conspiracy. Later I could be sure of Seneca’s gratitude and I was in some ways one of his old pupils, and also in Corinth I had been tribune under his brother and enjoyed his complete confidence in secret affairs of State. Seneca’s cousin, young Lucan, had been one of my best friends ever since I had praised his poems. I am no poet myself.
We talked about this together in the greatest harmony, Claudia and I. We both found more and more good points to our case and became more and more delighted with it as we drank some wine together. Claudia fetched the wine quite of her own accord and did not reprove me for drinking deeply in my excitement. Finally we went to bed and for the first time in a long while I fulfilled my marital duties toward her, to calm finally any suspicions she might have.
435
When I awoke later at her side, my head hot with enthusiasm and wine, I thought almost with sorrow how I should one day have to free myself of your mother for your sake. An ordinary divorce would not do for Antonia. Claudia would have to die. But there were ten or fifteen years until then, and much could happen. Many spring floods would flow beneath the bridges of the Tiber, I said to myself consolingly. There were epidemics, plagues, unexpected accidents and above all the Parcae guiding the fates of mankind. I had no need to grieve beforehand for the inevitable and how it would happen.
Claudia’s plan was so self-evident and excellent that I did not consider it necessary to tell Antonia about it. We were forced to meet seldom and in secret so that there would be no malicious talk which might arouse the suspicions of Nero who, of course, had to keep an eye on Antonia.
I went to see Seneca at once on the pretext that I had business to see to in Praeneste and was simply making a courtesy visit on my way. For safety’s sake I arranged to have something to do in Praeneste.
Seneca received me in a most friendly manner. I could see he was living a luxurious and comfortable life in the country with his wife, who was half his age. At first he muttered about the pains of old age and so on, but when he realized I really had an errand to carry out, the old fox took me to a distant summerhouse where he retreated from the world to dictate his books to a scribe and to lead the life of an ascetic.
As evidence of this and of other things too, he showed me a stream from which he could scoop running drinking water with his cupped hand, and some fruit trees from which he could choose what he ate, and he also told me how his wife Paulina had learned to grind their corn with a hand-mill and make his bread herself. I recognized these signs and realized he lived in constant fear of being poisoned. In his need for money, Nero might be tempted by his old tutor’s property and even find it politically necessary to rid himself of him. Seneca still had many friends who respected him as a philosopher and a statesman, but for safety’s sake he seldom received guests.
436
Pages: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110 111 112 113 114 115 116 117 118 119 120 121 122 123 124 125 126 127 128 129 130 131 132 133 134 135 136 137 138 139 140 141 142 143 144 145 146 147 148 149 150 151 152 153 154 155 156 157 158 159 160 161 162 163 164 165 166 167 168 169 170 171 172 173 174 175 176 177 178 179 180 181 182 183 184 185 186 187 188 189 190 191 192 193 194 195 196 197 198 199 200 201 202 203 204 205 206 207 208 209 210 211 212 213 214 215 216 217 218 219 220 221 222 223 224 225 226 227 228 229 230 231 232 233 234 235 236 237 238 239 240 241 242 243 244 245 246 247 248 249 250 251 252 253 254 255 256 257 258 259 260 261 262 263 264 265 266 267 268 269 270