[1]
October 13th marked the start of a most promising era. The following account records the events that ushered in this newest of ages.
I write without bias or prejudice: all this stuff is true. That said, if anyone wants to bring in the fact checkers, you can bet I’ll ignore them. It’s a free empire now – or, at any rate, I’m no slave – and I have the right to remain silent! There’s no way I’m going back to the days of Claudius, when there was truth to the old saying that “one ought to be born either a king or a fool.” Claudius was both.
Should I choose to answer the skeptics, I’ll say whatever lands on my lips. My contemporaries have reached new heights of absurdity: mark my words, they’ll soon be crying “Perjury!” if a historian so much as SNEEZES without first assembling a retinue of sworn witnesses. If you absolutely must know, my informant is Livius Geminius, the traffic warden of the Appian Way. You might recognize the name – he also saw Caligula’s sister Drusilla climb up to the sky. Well, this same man saw Claudius hobble up to heaven, following the path traversed by Deified Augustus and Tiberius Caesar: his civic duty obliges him to witness all celestial comings and goings, whether he likes it or not.
Livius will talk to you one-on-one, but he won’t answer to the crowd. With good reason, too. Consider what happened the last time he addressed the senate, when he swore he’d seen Drusilla’s heaven-bound ascent: not a single person believed him. That’s what you get these days for good news. Well, Livius decided he’d had enough. He vowed under oath that from then on he would clam up about EVERYTHING he saw, even if he witnessed a murder in the middle of the Forum. I, on the other hand, am perfectly willing to share what he told me, plain and true. I swear it on my life – or better yet, on the life of my source! If anything I say is false, may the gods strike down Livius Geminius!
[2]
The Sun drew back his blazing arc of light
and Sleep cocooned the earth in shrouds of mist.
The Moon’s triumphant beams usurped the sky
as puckered Winter plucked the pleasing fruit,
depleting Autumn’s bounty and the vines.
A vintager, too late, plucks the few grapes that remain.
Ah poetry… so elegant, so abstruse. I’ll make things easier for you: it was mid-autumn. The exact minute eludes me (philosophers, I fear, will agree about the meaning of life before two water-clocks display the same time). In any case, it was between noon and one in the afternoon. I can already hear the critics’ rebukes. “You sound like a country bumpkin! Are you going to sully the hour of the century with this prosaic dreck?” Those damned poets are all the same. They refuse to sate their ravenous pens on descriptions of dawn and dusk, but insist on meddling with the middle of the day as well. Fine, have it your way:
The Sun had split the sky in two and shook
his wearied reins, beaming down dwindling light
as slanting shadows whispered night is near.
Claudius began to give up the ghost, but he couldn’t find the exit sign.
[3]
Mercury, who always had a soft spot for Claudius – apparently the god of cunning knows a genius when he sees one – took pity. He pulled aside one of the three Fates and asked, “Are you truly so sadistic as to prolong the agony of this poor wretch? [...] I'm begging you, do what must be done. As Vergil advises,
‘Let him die, and the better man be king.’”
“Butter my butt and call me a biscuit!” Clotho responded. “I was just trying to extend Claudius’ life-thread a teensy weensy bit, so he’d have enough time to grant citizenship to those last few stragglers: he’s promised to give citizenship to the Greeks, Gauls, Spaniards, and Britons. But I hear you loud and clear: the world is not yet ready for total togafication. As you wish: we’ll leave behind some foreigners to breed like rabbits.”
[...]
[4]
Wordlessly she whirled his ghastly spindle
and snipped his stupid lifespan’s royal thread.
Then Lachesis, crowned with Muses’ laurel,
her tresses prettified by bows and plaits,
drew out from snowy fleece the thread of Nero,
which flashed the gods’ assent in shifting shades.
Her sisters gaze in awe upon her distaff,
she fashions precious ore from worthless wool
and expert fingers ply the well-wrought spindle,
which – finally! – turns out a Golden Age.
Those ever-toiling sisters never weary:
their hands rejoice to spin auspicious yarn,
and spindles start to twist the threads unguided.
Nero’s years outstrip old Tithonus,
he’ll even beat the years of prudent Nestor.
Phoebus starts to sing and strum his lyre:
the Fates obey the rhythm of his song,
and as he hums the joys of the future,
his tune deflects attention from their slog.
“ENCORE!” they shout, and twirl their fingers faster.
Phoebus says: “Don’t spare an inch of thread!
Allow this man – his face and voice like mine! –
to mirror me as well in endless life.
He’ll offer joyous ages to the weary
and polish laws long rusty from decay.
He’ll tower like the Morning Star ascending,
or rather like the Evening star he’ll surge.
And as when Dawn’s dispelled the gloom, the Sun
mounts his steeds and speeds across the sky:
just so will Rome catch sight of Nero’s rise!
His flashing visage gleams with gentle blazes,
his neck aglow with streams of flowing hair.”
[...]
After Claudius released a thunderous fart from his buttocks (he always spoke more readily from that orifice), he delivered his final remarks: “Oh no! I think I just shat all over myself!” Whether he actually uttered these words, I am unable to confirm, but I can ascertain that, as a general rule, he was an expert at shitting all over everything.
[1]
Quid actum sit in caelo ante diem III idus Octobris anno novo, initio saeculi felicissimi, volo memoriae tradere. Nihil nec offensae nec gratiae dabitur. Haec ita vera si quis quaesiverit unde sciam, primum, si noluero, non respondebo. Quis coacturus est? Ego scio me liberum factum, ex quo suum diem obiit ille, qui verum proverbium fecerat, aut regem aut fatuum nasci oportere. Si libuerit respondere, dicam quod mihi in buccam venerit. Quis unquam ab historico iuratores exegit? Tamen si necesse fuerit auctorem producere, quaerito ab eo qui Drusillam euntem in caelum vidit: idem Claudium vidisse se dicet iter facientem "non passibus aequis." Velit nolit, necesse est illi omnia videre, quae in caelo aguntur: Appiae viae curator est, qua scis et divum Augustum et Tiberium Caesarem ad deos isse. Hunc si interrogaveris, soli narrabit: coram pluribus nunquam verbum faciet. Nam ex quo in senatu iuravit se Drusillam vidisse caelum ascendentem et illi pro tam bono nuntio nemo credidit, quod viderit, verbis conceptis affirmavit se non indicaturum, etiam si in medio foro hominem occisum vidisset. Ab hoc ego quae tum audivi, certa clara affero, ita illum salvum et felicem habeam.
[2]
Iam Phoebus breviore via contraxerat arcum
lucis, et obscuri crescebant tempora somni,
iamque suum victrix augebat Cynthia regnum,
et deformis hiemps gratos carpebat honores
divitis autumni, iussoque senescere Baccho
carpebat raras serus vindemitor uvas.
Puto magis intellegi, si dixero: mensis erat October, dies III idus Octobris. Horam non possum certam tibi dicere, facilius inter philosophos quam inter horologia conveniet, tamen inter sextam et septimam erat. Nimis rustice! <Adeo his> adquiescunt omnes poetae, non contenti ortus et occasus describere ut etiam medium diem inquietent, tu sic transibis horam tam bonam?
Iam medium curru Phoebus diviserat orbem:
et propior nocti fessas quatiebat habenas
obliquo flexam deducens tramite lucem:
Claudius animam agere coepit nec invenire exitum poterat.
[3]
Tum Mercurius, qui semper ingenio eius delectatus esset, unam e tribus Parcis seducit et ait: "Quid, femina crudelissima, hominem miserum torqueri pateris? Nec unquam tam diu cruciatus cesset? Annus sexagesimus [et] quartus est, ex quo cum anima luctatur. Quid huic et rei publicae invides? Patere mathematicos aliquando verum dicere, qui illum, ex quo princeps factus est, omnibus annis, omnibus mensibus efferunt. Et tamen non est mirum si errant et horam eius nemo novit; nemo enim unquam illum natum putavit. Fac quod faciendum est:
'Dede neci, melior vacua sine regnet in aula.'"
Sed Clotho "ego mehercules" inquit "pusillum temporis adicere illi volebam, dum hos pauculos, qui supersunt, civitate donaret (constituerat enim omnes Graecos, Gallos, Hispanos, Britannos togatos videre), sed quoniam placet aliquos peregrinos in semen relinqui et tu ita iubes fieri, fiat." Aperit tum capsulam et tres fusos profert: unus erat Augurini, alter Babae, tertius Claudii. "Hos" inquit "tres uno anno exiguis intervallis temporum divisos mori iubebo, nec illum incomitatum dimittam. Non oportet enim eum, qui modo se tot milia hominum sequentia videbat, tot praecedentia, tot circumfusa, subito solum destitui. Contentus erit his interim convictoribus."
[4]
Haec ait et turpi convolvens stamina fuso
abrupit stolidae regalia tempora vitae.
At Lachesis redimita comas, ornata capillos,
Pieria crinem lauro frontemque coronans,
candida de niveo subtemina vellere sumit
felici moderanda manu, quae ducta colorem
assumpsere novum. Mirantur pensa sorores:
mutatur vilis pretioso lana metallo,
aurea formoso descendunt saecula filo.
Nec modus est illis, felicia vellera ducunt
et gaudent implere manus, sunt dulcia pensa.
Sponte sua festinat opus nulloque labore
mollia contorto descendunt stamina fuso.
Vincunt Tithoni, vincunt et Nestoris annos.
Phoebus adest cantuque iuvat gaudetque futuris,
et laetus nunc plectra movet, nunc pensa ministrat.
Detinet intentas cantu fallitque laborem.
Dumque nimis citharam fraternaque carmina laudant,
plus solito nevere manus, humanaque fata
laudatum transcendit opus. "Ne demite, Parcae"
Phoebus ait "vincat mortalis tempora vitae
ille, mihi similis vultu similisque decore
nec cantu nec voce minor. Felicia lassis
saecula praestabit legumque silentia rumpet.
Qualis discutiens fugientia Lucifer astra
aut qualis surgit redeuntibus Hesperus astris,
qualis cum primum tenebris Aurora solutis
induxit rubicunda diem, Sol aspicit orbem
lucidus, et primos a carcere concitat axes:
talis Caesar adest, talem iam Roma Neronem
aspiciet. Flagrat nitidus fulgore remisso
vultus, et adfuso cervix formosa capillo."
Haec Apollo. At Lachesis, quae et ipsa homini formosissimo faveret, fecit illud plena manu, et Neroni multos annos de suo donat. Claudium autem iubent omnes
χαίροντας, εὐφημοῦντας ἐκπέμπειν δόμων.
Et ille quidem animam ebulliit, et ex eo desiit vivere videri. Exspiravit autem dum comoedos audit, ut scias me non sine causa illos timere. Ultima vox eius haec inter homines audita est, cum maiorem sonitum emisisset illa parte, qua facilius loquebatur: "vae me, puto, concacavi me." Quod an fecerit, nescio: omnia certe concacavit.