"'Having once made a great feast for the citizens, he proposed,' says Dion, 'to follow it up with an entertainment to a select number of the highest nobility. He fitted up an apartment all in black. The ceiling was black, the walls were black, the pavement was black, and upon it were ranged rows of bare stone seats, black also. The guests were introduced at night without their attendants, and each might see at the head of his couch a column placed, like a tomb-stone, on which his own name was graven, with the cresset lamp above it, such as is suspended in the tombs. Presently there entered a troop of naked boys, blackened, who danced around with horrid movements, and then stood still before them, offering them the fragments of food which are commonly presented to the dead. The guests were paralysed with terror, expecting at every moment to be put to death; and the more, as the others maintained a deep silence, as though they were dead themselves, and Domitian spake of things pertaining to the state of the departed only.' But this funeral feast was not destined to end tragically. Cæsar happened to be in a sportive mood, and when he had sufficiently enjoyed his jest, and had sent his visitors home expecting worse to follow, he bade each to be presented with the silver cup and platter on which his dismal supper had been served, and with the slave, now neatly washed and apparelled, who had waited upon him. Such, said the populace, was the way in which it pleased the emperor to solemnise the funereal banquet of the victims of his defeats in Dacia, and of his persecutions in the city."—Merivale, ch. lxii.
It was in this palace that the murder of Domitian took place:
"Of the three great deities, the august assessors in the Capitol, Minerva was regarded by Domitian as his special patroness. Her image stood by his bedside: his customary oath was by her divinity. But now a dream apprised him that the guardian of his person was disarmed by the guardian of the empire, and that Jupiter had forbidden his daughter to protect her favourite any longer. Scared by these horrors he lost all self-control, and petulantly cried, and the cry was itself a portent: 'Now strike Jove whom he will!' From supernatural terrors he reverted again and again to earthly fears and suspicions. Henceforward the tyrant allowed none to be admitted to his presence without being previously searched; and he caused the ends of the corridor in which he took exercise to be lined with polished marble, to reflect the image of any one behind him; at the same time he inquired anxiously into the horoscope of every chief whom he might fear as a possible rival or successor.
"The victim of superstition had long since, it was said, ascertained too surely the year, the day, the hour which should prove fatal to him. He had learnt too that he was to die by the sword.... The omens were now closing about the victim, and his terrors became more importunate and overwhelming. 'Something,' he exclaimed, 'is about to happen, which men shall talk of all the world over.' Drawing a drop of blood from a pimple on his forehead, 'May this be all,' he added. His attendants, to reassure him, declared that the hour had passed. Embracing the flattering tale with alacrity, and rushing at once to the extreme of confidence, he announced that the danger was over, and that he would bathe and dress for the evening repast. But the danger was just then ripening within the walls of the palace. The mysteries there enacted few, indeed, could penetrate, and the account of Domitian's fall has been coloured by invention and fancy. The story that a child, whom he suffered to attend in his private chamber, found by chance the tablets which he had placed under his pillow, and that the empress, on inspecting them, and finding herself, with his most familiar servants, designated for execution, contrived a plot for his assassination, is one so often repeated as to cause great suspicion. But neither can we accept the version of Philostratus, who would have us believe that the murder of Domitian was the deed of a single traitor, a freedman of Clemens, named Stephanus, who, indignant at his patron's death, and urged to fury by the sentence on his patron's wife, Domitilla, rushed alone into the tyrant's chamber, diverted his attention with a frivolous pretext, and smote him with the sword he bore concealed in his sleeve. It is more likely that the design, however it originated, was common to several of the household, and that means were taken among them to disarm the victim, and baffle his cries for assistance. Stephanus, who is said to have excelled in personal strength, may have been employed to deal the blow; for not more, perhaps, than one attendant would be admitted at once into the presence. Struck in the groin, but not mortally, Domitian snatched at his own weapon, but found the sword removed from its scabbard. He then clutched the assassin's dagger, cutting his own fingers to the bone; then desperately thrust the bloody talons into the eyes of his assailant, and beat his head with a golden goblet, shrieking all the time for help. Thereupon in rushed Parthenius, Maximus, and others, and despatched him as he lay writhing on the pavement."—Merivale, ch. lxii.
Trajan stripped the palace of his predecessors of all its ornaments to adorn the temple of Jupiter Capitolinus,[151] but it was restored by Commodus, after a fire which occurred in his reign,[152] and enriched by Heliogabalus,[153] and almost every succeeding emperor, till the time of Theodoric.[154]
"'Brickwork I found thee, and marble I left thee!' their Emperor vaunted;
'Marble I thought thee, and brickwork I find thee!' the Tourist may answer."
A. H. Clough.
CHAPTER VII.
THE CŒLIAN.
S. Gregorio—S. Giovanni e Paolo—Arch of Dolabella—S. Tommaso in Formis—Villa Mattei—Sta. Maria della Navicella—S. Stefano Rotondo—I Santi Quattro Incoronati—S. Clemente.
The Cœlian Hill extends from St. John Lateran to the Vigna of the Porta Capena, and from the Fountain of Egeria to the Convent of S. Gregorio. It is now entirely uninhabited, except by monks of the Camaldolese, Passionist, and Redemptorist Orders, and by the Augustinian Nuns of the Incoronati.