populace at a proper distance. The
people cursed, shouted, and hissed on seeing the retinue, but dared not
attack it. In many places, however, applause was given by the rabble,
which, owning nothing, had lost nothing in the fire, and which hoped for
a more bountiful distribution than usual of wheat, olives, clothing, and
money. Finally, shouts, hissing, and applause were drowned in the blare
of horns and trumpets, which Tigellinus had caused to be sounded.

Nero, on arriving at the Ostian Gate, halted, and said, "Houseless ruler
of a houseless people, where shall I lay my unfortunate head for the
night?"

After he had passed the Clivus Delphini, he ascended the Appian aqueduct
on steps prepared purposely. After him followed the Augustians and a
choir of singers, bearing citharae, lutes, and other musical instruments.

And all held the breath in their breasts, waiting to learn if he would
say some great words, which for their own safety they ought to remember.
But he stood solemn, silent, in a purple mantle, and a wreath of golden
laurels, gazing at the raging might of the flames. When Terpnos gave
him a golden lute, he raised his eyes to the sky, filled with the
conflagration, as if he were waiting for inspiration.

The people pointed at him from afar as he stood in the bloody gleam. In
the distance fiery serpents were hissing. The ancient and most sacred
edifices were in flames: the temple of Hercules, reared by Evander, was
burning; the temple of Jupiter Stator was burning, the temple of Luna,
built by Servius Tullius, the house of Numa Pompilius, the sanctuary of
Vesta with the penates of the Roman people; through waving flames the
Capitol appeared at intervals; the past and the spirit of Rome was
burning. But he, Caesar, was there with a lute in his hand and a
theatrical expression on his face, not thinking of his perishing
country, but of his posture and the prophetic words with which he might
describe best the greatness of the catastrophe, rouse most admiration,
and receive the warmest plaudits. He detested that city, he detested its
inhabitants, beloved only his own songs and verses; hence he rejoiced in
heart that at last he saw a tragedy like that which he was writing.
The verse-maker was happy, the declaimer felt inspired, the seeker for
emotions was delighted at the awful sight, and thought with rapture
that even the destruction of Troy was as nothing if compared with the
destruction of that giant city. W