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Nero himself, smoke-stained and soot-flecked, hurried together with his life guard from place to place, calming and giving instructions to the anxious people. He might take a weeping child into his arms and hand him to his mother, as he told people to seek safety in his own gardens on the other side of the river. All public buildings by Mars field were thrown open as quarters for the refugees But the senators who tried to save at least their family masks and household gods could not understand why soldiers chased them out of their own houses with the flats of their swords and then set fire to the building with torches. Unfortunately this huge fire gave rise to a violent wind which flung flames and sparks right over the cleared protective area, the width of a whole stadium. The firemen, exhausted after several days� exertions, could not stop the fire from spreading and many of them collapsed from exhaustion at their posts in the duty- chain and fell asleep, to be consumed by the flames. Another and even wider fire-break was cleared to protect Subura, but Tigellinus was no more than human and was tempted to spare the ancient trees in his own garden, so the fire, which on the sixth day had almost died down, flared up again in them and spread to Subura, where it rushed through the tall, partly timbered buildings with such speed that the people in the upper stories did not even have time to get down to the street. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, were burned alive. This was when the rumor began that Nero had had the city set on fire deliberately. The rumor was so insane that there were at once people who believed it. There were, after all, innumerable witnesses who had themselves seen soldiers with torches setting buildings on fire. The general confusion due to lack of sleep and the exertions of the people was so great that some people also believed the rumor the Christians had spread about the day of judgment. Of course, no one dared to tell Nero about this allegation. Excellent actor that he was, he retained his calm and while the fire was still raging, he summoned all the best architects in Rome to plan the rebuilding of the city. He also saw to it that food supplies were brought in to the needy in Rome. But on his daily round of inspection of the extent of the fire, at which he made
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encouraging promises to those who had lost everything, there were more and more threatening cries, people threw stones at the Praetorians and some distracted people blamed Nero for the destruction of the city. Nero was deeply offended, but kept a good face. �The poor people must have lost their senses,� he said with compassion. He turned back to the gardens of Maecenas and finally gave the order for the aqueducts to be opened, although this would mean a drought in the remaining parts of the city. I hurriedly rode to the menagerie to tell them to fill all the water-tanks in time. At the same time I ordered that all the animals should be killed if the fire spread as far as the wooden amphitheater. Such an event seemed impossible just then, but with my eyes smarting and my burns stinging, I was prepared to reckon on the total destruction of the city. I could not endure the thought of the animals getting free and roaming among the homeless and fleeing people. That evening I was awakened from the deepest sleep I had had for a long time by a messenger summoning me to Nero. As soon as I had gone, Sabina issued a counter-order to the effect that anyone who tried to harm the animals would be killed on the spot. As I walked to the gardens through the city illuminated by the flames, a wet mantle wrapped around my head for protection, a feeling that the end of the world had come predominated in my tired mind. I thought of the terrible prophecies of the Christians and also of the ancient philosophers of Greece who had maintained that all things had once sprung from fire and would perish by fire. I met some shouting babbling drunks who, for want of water, had slaked their thirst in an abandoned wine shop and were dragging women along with them. The Jews, packed in tight crowds, were singing hymns to their god. At one street corner I bumped into a confused man who, his beard reeking, embraced me, made the secret signs of the Christians and demanded that I should do penance and repent, for the day of judgment had come. At the Maecenas tower, Nero was waiting impatiently for his friends. To my surprise, he was dressed in the long yellow cloak
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of a singer and had a wreath on his head. Tigellinus was standing respectfully beside him, holding Nero�s cittern. Nero needed an audience and had sent messages to all the highly placed people he knew were in Rome. He had also ordered a thousand Praetorians to come and they were eating and drinking, seated on the grass under the well-watered trees in the gardens. Below us, the burning parts of the city glowed like crimson islands in the darkness, and the great swirls of smoke and fire seemed to reach right up into the sky. Nero could wait no longer. �In front of us lies a sight such as no mortal man has seen since the destruction of Troy,� he said in ringing tones. �Apollo himself has come down to me in a dream. When I awoke from this dream, stanzas came welling out from my heart as if in divine madness. I shall sing to you a verse I have composed on the burning of Troy. I think these stanzas will reverberate through the years to come and will make Nero immortal as a poet.� A herald repeated his words as Nero climbed up the tower. There was not room for many people but naturally we did our best to get as near to him as possible. Nero began to sing, accompanying himself. His powerful voice rang out high above the sound of the fire and reached his hearers in the surrounding gardens. He sang as if bewitched and his poetry secretary supplied him with stanza after stanza which had been dictated during the day. But during the song, Nero composed new ones and another scribe was kept fully occupied writing more and more stanzas. I had been to the theater to hear the classical drama often enough to know that he was quoting freely and had changed well-known verses either unconsciously in the moment of inspiration or using the license an artist is entitled to in such things. He sang for several hours on end. The centurions were hard put to keep the exhausted Praetorians awake with their batons. But the experts kept saying that they had never heard such brilliant singing against such a splendid background. They applauded loudly iii the intervals and said that what they had just experienced would be something to tell their children and grandchildren in times to come. In the back of my mind, I wondered if Nero could possibly
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have become mentally deranged to choose to perform on a night like this. But I comforted myself with the thought that he had probably been deeply hurt by the accusations made by the people and so had transferred his great burden to artistic Inspiration to relieve his feelings. He stopped when the smoke forced him to and he began to cough and blow his nose. Then we took the chance to call out as one man, begging him to preserve his divine voice. But afterwards he was still scarlet in the face and radiant with sweat and triumph, promising to continue the following evening. Here and there on the edges of the fire, great clouds of steam rose into the sky as the aqueducts were opened and the water poured out into the smoking ruins of the city. Tullia�s house on Viminalis lay quite near at hand, so I decided to go there and get a little sleep during the hours of the morning. I had not been worried about my father hitherto, for their house was safe for the time being. I did not even know whether he had come in from the country or not, but I could not see him among the other senators in Nero�s audience. I found him alone, guarding his almost abandoned house, his eyes inflamed by the smoke. He told me that Tullia, with the help of a thousand slaves, had on the first day of the fire moved all the articles of value from the house out to a country property. Jucundus, who had had his boy�s hair cut in the spring and had a narrow red border on his tunic, had run off to look at the fire with his friends from the Palatine school. Both his feet had been badly burned when a stream of molten metal had suddenly poured down a slope from one of the burning temples. He had been carried home and Tullia had taken him with her into the country. My father thought I would be a cripple for life. �Then your son at least won�t have to do military service,� he added, stammering a little, �and spill his blood in the deserts of the East somewhere beyond the Euphrates.� I was surprised to see that my father had been drinking too much wine, but I realized that he was very shaken by Jucundus� accident. He saw me looking at him. �It doesn�t matter that I am drinking wine again for once,� he said angrily. �I think the day of my death is approaching. I am not grieving over Jucundus. His feet were much too swift and had
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already taken him along dangerous paths. It is better to find the kingdom of God as a cripple than to let your heart be destroyed. I myself have been a spiritual cripple ever since your mother�s death, Minutus.� My father was already well over sixty and he liked to return to the past in his memories. One thinks about death much more at his age than mine, so I did not take much notice at the time. �What were you muttering about the deserts of the East and the Euphrates?� I asked him. My father took a large gulp of the dark wine in his gold goblet and then turned to me. �Among Jucundus� school friends,� he said, �are the sons of kings from the East. Their parents, who are friendly to Rome, consider the crushing of Parthia absolutely vital to the East. These youngsters are more Roman than the Romans themselves, and Jucundus will soon be the same. In the Senate�s Eastern committee the question has been brought up many times. As soon as Corbulo has achieved peace in Armenia, Rome will have support there and Parthia will be caught between the two.� �How can you think about war now when Rome is suffering a disaster?� I cried. �Three whole sections of the city lie in ruins and six others are still burning. Ancient landmarks have vanished in the flames. The Vesta temple has been burned to the ground, the tabularium too, with all the law tablets. Rebuilding Rome alone will take many years and will cost such an enormous amount that I can�t even imagine it. How can you think that a war is even possible at all?� �Just because of that,� my father said thoughtfully. �I neither see visions nor have revelations, although I have begun to have such premonitory dreams that I must think about their contents. But dreams are dreams. Speaking logically, I think the rebuilding of Rome is going to mean heavy taxation in the provinces. This will arouse discontent, for the wealthy and the merchants usually let the people pay the taxes. When this discontent spreads, the government will be blamed. According to the greatest statesmanship, a war is the best way to provide an outlet for internal discontent. And when the war has once started, there is always money to keep it going. �You yourself know,� he went on, �that in many quarters there
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are complaints that Rome has grown weak and that her warlike virtues have vanished. It is true that the young laugh at the virtues of their forefathers and perform parodies of Livy�s historical tales. But they still have wolf blood in their veins.� �Nero does not want war,� I protested. �He was even prepared to give up Britain. Artistic laurels are all he strives for.� �A ruler is always forced to follow the will of the people when necessary, otherwise he won�t stay long on his throne,� said my father. �Of course the people don�t want war, but bread and games in the circus. But underneath it all, powerful forces lie hidden who think they�ll do well out of war. Never before in history have such huge fortunes been made as are being made by individuals today. Freed slaves live more sumptuously than noblemen in Rome, for no traditions bind them to care for the State more than themselves. You don�t yet know, Minutus, what enormous power money has when it is combined with more money to reach its own objectives. �Talking of money,� he said suddenly, �there are fortunately some things which are worth more. You have your mother�s wooden goblet in safekeeping, I suppose?� I felt violently agitated, for during my quarrel with Claudia I had completely forgotten about the magic goblet. As far as I knew, my house had long since been lost and the goblet with it. I rose at once. �My dear father,� I said, �you are more drunk than you know. It would be best if we forgot your fantasies. Go to bed now, for I must go back to my duties. You�re not the only one being attacked by furies tonight.� In the mawkish way drunkards have, my father appealed to me not to forget his presentiments when he was dead, which would not be long now. I left his house and headed toward Aventine, skirting the edges of the fire. The heat forced me to cross the bridge into the Jewish section of the city and then have myself rowed back across farther upriver. Everyone who owned a boat was making a fortune ferrying refugees across the Tiber. To my surprise, the Aventine slope on the river side seemed still quite untouched. Several times I went astray in the clouds of smoke, and among other things I saw that the Moon temple and its surroundings were nothing but smoking ruins. But just
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beside the fire area, my own house stood unscathed. There was no other explanation except that the wind, which elsewhere had had such a devastating effect, seemed to have kept the fire away from the top of Aventine although there was not even a proper fire-break. Only a few houses had been deliberately demolished. The eighth morning of the fire dawned on the desolation. Hundreds of people lay tightly packed in my garden�men, women and children. Even the empty water-tanks were full of sleeping people. Taking long strides over them, I reached the house, into which no one had dared to go although the doors were wide open. I rushed to my room, found the locked chest and at the bottom of it the wooden goblet in its silk cloth. When I took it in my hands, I was seized in my exhaustion with superstitious fear, as if I really were holding a miracle-performing object. I was struck by the terrible thought that the secret goblet of the Goddess of Fortune, for which my father�s freedmen in Antioch had also shown such respect, had protected my house from the fire. But then I could not think anymore, and with the goblet in my hand, I sank onto my bed and at once fell sound asleep. I slept until the evening stars came out and was awakened by the Christians� songs and loud cries of joy. I was so dulled by sleep that I angrily called for Claudia to tell her to be quieter. I thought it was morning and that my clients and freedmen were waiting for me as usual. Not until I had rushed out into the courtyard did I remember the desolation and everything that had happened. The flaring lights in the sky showed that the fires were still raging in the city, but nevertheless the worst seemed to be over. I picked out my own slaves from the crowd and praised ,them for their courage in remaining behind to risk their lives guarding my house. I urged the other slaves to go and find their masters at once to avoid being punished for desertion. In this way I managed to reduce the crush in my garden a little, but several small traders and craftsmen who had lost everything they possessed begged to be allowed to stay for the time being, since they had nowhere to go. They had their old people and infants with them and I had not the heart to turn them out into the smoldering ruins of the city.