ly Rome talks of naught else. We
went directly to Baiae, where at first memories of the mother attacked
us, and reproaches of conscience. But dost thou know to what Ahenobarbus
has gone already? To this, that for him even the murder of his mother is
a mere theme for verses, and a reason for buffoonish tragic scenes.

"Formerly he felt real reproaches only in so far as he was a coward;
now, when he is convinced that the earth is under his feet as before,
and that no god is taking vengeance, he feigns them only to move people
by his fate. He springs up at night sometimes declaring that the Furies
are hunting him; he rouses us, looks around, assumes the posture of an
actor playing the role of Orestes, and the posture of a bad actor too;
he declaims Greek verses, and looks to see if we are admiring him. We
admire him apparently; and instead of saying to him, Go to sleep, thou
buffoon! we bring ourselves also to the tone of tragedy, and protect the
great artist from the Furies. By Castor! this news at least must have
reached thee, that he has appeared in public at Naples. They drove in
from the city and the surrounding towns all the Greek ruffians, who
filled the arena with such a vile odor of sweat and garlic that I thank
the gods that, instead of sitting in the first rows with the Augustians,
I was behind the scenes with Ahenobarbus. And wilt thou believe it, he
was afraid really! He took my hand and put it to his heart, which was
beating with increased pulsation; his breath was short; and at the
moment when he had to appear he grew as pale as a parchment, and his
forehead was covered with drops of sweat. Still he saw that in every row
of seats were pretorians, armed with clubs, to rouse enthusiasm if the
need came. But there was no need. No herd of monkeys from the environs
of Carthage could howl as did this rabble. I tell thee that the smell of
garlic came to the stage; but Nero bowed, pressed his hand to his heart,
sent kisses from his lips, and shed tears. Then he rushed in among us,
who were waiting behind the scenes, like a drunken man, crying, 'What
were the triumphs of Julius compared with this triumph of mine?' But the
rabble was howling yet and applauding, knowing that it would applaud to
itself favors, gifts, banquets, lottery tickets, and a fresh exhibition
by the Imperial buffoon. I do not wonder that they applauded, for such a
sight had not been seen till that evening. And every moment he repeated:
'See what t