turned to Burrhus and asked what might happen, if an order were given
the Praetorians to kill Nero's mother. Burrhus understood that his
colleague, although the first to give the fatal advice, was trying
to shift upon him the much more serious responsibility of carrying it
out; since, if they reached the decision of having Agrippina disposed
of by the Praetorians, no one but he, the commander of the guard, could
utter the order. He therefore protested with the greatest energy that
the Praetorians would never lay murderous hands on the daughter of
Germanicus. Then he added cogitatively that, if it were thought
necessary, Anicetus and his sailors could finish the work already
begun. Thus Burrhus gave the same advice as Seneca, but he, like his
colleague, meant to pass on to some one else the task of execution. He
chose better than Seneca: Anicetus, if Agrippina lived, ran a serious
risk of becoming the scapegoat of all this affair. In fact, as soon as
Nero gave his assent, Anicetus and a few sailors hastened to the villa
of Agrippina and stabbed her.

The crime was abominable. Nero and his circle were so awed by it that
they attempted to make the people believe that Agrippina had
committed suicide, when her conspiracy against her son's life had been
discovered. This was the official version of Agrippina's death,
sent by Nero to the Senate. But this audacious mystification had no
success. The public divined the truth, and roused by the voice of
their age-long instincts, they cried out that the Emperor no less than
any peasant of Italy must revere his father and his mother. Through a
sudden turn of public feeling, Agrippina, who had been so much hated
during her life, became the object of a kind of popular veneration;
Nero, on the other hand, and Poppaea inspired a sentiment of profound
horror.

If Nero had found the living Agrippina unbearable, he soon realised
that his dead mother was much more to be feared. In fact, scared as he
was by the popular agitation, not only had he temporarily to give up
the plan of divorcing Octavia and marrying Poppaea, but felt obliged
to stay several months at Baiae, not daring to return to Rome. He was,
however, no longer a child: he was twenty-three years old and had some
talent. Men of intelligence and energy were also not wanting in his
_entourage_. The first shock once over, the Emperor and his coterie
rallied. The first impression had indeed been disastrous, but had
brought about no