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The Wild Beast
by
He fell before the image on his knee.
“Some one is coming,” said the priest warningly.
“Kill him.”
“It is the tribune, Cassius Chaeraea!”
“Frighten him away.”
“Chaeraea does not let himself be frightened.”
The tribune came in fearlessly and without ceremony.
“Caius Caesar, your wife is dead.”
“All the better,” answered the Emperor.
“They have dashed your only child against a wall.”
“Ah, how pleasant!” laughed the madman.
“And now you are to die.”
“No, I cannot. I am immortal.”
“I wait for you outside. It shall not take place here.”
“Creep away, ant! My foot is too great to reach thy littleness.”
Then a sound of singing rose from the basement of the temple, or from the earth; they were children’s voices.
The Emperor was again alarmed, and crept under his chair.
Chaeraea, who had waited at the door, lost patience.
“Dog! are you coming? Or shall I strike you dead here?”
“Chaeraea,” whimpered the Emperor, “do not kill me! I will kiss your foot.”
“Then kiss it now when I trample you to death.”
The gigantic tribune threw the chair to one side, leapt on the madman and crushed his windpipe beneath his heel; the tongue, protruded from his jaws, seemed to be spitting abuse even in death.
* * * * *
The Wild Beast had three heads; the name of the second was Claudius. He played dice with his friend Caius Silius, who was famous for his wealth and his beauty.
“Follow the game,” hissed Caesar.
“I am following it,” answered his friend.
“No, you are absent-minded. Where were you last night?” “I was in the Suburra.”
“You should not go to the Suburra; you should stay with me.”
“Follow the game.”
“I am following it; but what are the stakes we are playing for?”
“You are playing for your life.”
“And you, Caesar?”
“I am also playing for your life.”
“And if you lose?” asked Silius.
“Then you will lose your life.”
The Emperor knocked with the dice-box on the table. His secretary Narcissus came in.
“Give me writing materials, Narcissus. The antidote for snake-bites is yew-tree resin….”
“And the antidote to hemlock?”
“Against that there is no antidote.”
“Follow the game, or I shall be angry.”
“No, you cannot be angry!” answered Silius.
“Yes, that is true,–I cannot! I only said so!”
Messalina, the Emperor’s wife, had entered.
“Why is Silius sitting here and playing,” she asked, “when he should accompany me to the theatre?”
“He is compelled,” answered the Emperor.
“Wretch! what rights have you over him?”
“He is my slave; all are slaves of the Lord of the world. Therefore Rome is the most democratic of all States, for all its citizens are equal–equal before Men and God.”
“He is your slave, but he is my husband,” said Messalina.
“Your husband! Why, you are married to me.”
“What does that matter?”
“Do you go and marry without asking my permission?”
“Yes, why not?”
“You are certainly droll, Messalina! And I pardon you. Go, my children, and amuse yourselves. Narcissus will play with me.”
When the Emperor was left alone with Narcissus, his expression changed.
“Follow them, Narcissus!” he hissed. “Take Locusta with you, and give them the poison. Then I shall marry Agrippina.”
But when Silius and the Empress had gone without, Silius asked innocently: “Have you yourself prepared the mushrooms which he will eat this evening?”
“I have not done it myself, but Locusta has, and she understands her business.”
* * * * *
The name of the third head of the Wild Beast was Nero. He was Agrippina’s worthy son, had poisoned his half-brother Britannicus, murdered his mother, kicked his wife to death, and committed unnatural crime. He falsified the coinage and plundered the temples. He made an artistic tour to Greece, where he first appeared as a public singer and brought eight hundred wreaths home, then as a charioteer, in which capacity he upset everything, but received the prize because nobody dared to refuse it to him.
To such a depth had Rome and Greece sunk. Claudius was an angel compared to this monster; but he also received apotheosis.
To-day the Emperor had returned home from his artistic tour, and found his capital in flames. Since, in his fits of intoxication, he had so often raged against his old-fashioned Rome, with its narrow streets, and had on various occasions expressed the wish that fire might break out at all its corners, he came under the suspicion of having set it in flames.