Yet Poppæa had determined that, on one pretext or other, she should be set aside, and never doubted that sooner rather than later she would goad the timid Emperor to repudiate his wife, that he might be free for another marriage.
One day when Poppæa knew that Nero intended to visit her she prepared all her wiles. He came in after the mid-day prandium, and he found her reclining on her couch of ivory and silver in the cool, well-shaded, voluptuously-furnished room. She had let loose over her shoulders the splendid ripples of her golden tresses. An odour as of blown roses clung to her person and her robes. Every jewel that she wore, whether ruby, or sapphire, or emerald, or diamond, was so arranged as to set off her soft and glowing complexion, and there was exquisite grace in her way of handling the fan of peacock’s feathers which swept in iridescent glory over her dress from the golden handle which drooped from her right hand. Nero, as he took his seat beside her, felt like a clumsy and awkward boy.
‘Why do you pretend to love me, Nero?’ she asked.
‘Love you!’ he said. ‘It is not love, it is passion, it is adoration!’
‘Words are all very well, Nero,’ she said, in a voice which seemed to tremble with tears; ‘but see how you treat me! When I came to the Palace you were not Emperor, but the slave of Agrippina. I helped you to free yourself from that bondage. You have taken me from Otho, my dear and noble husband—’
Nero frowned angrily, but Poppæa took no notice.
‘You have,’ she continued, ‘banished him to Lusitania, and have brought me to this dull Court, under pretence that you would make me Empress. Yet I am no nearer becoming your wife. Go to your pale, sad Octavia: doubtless you think her common features fairer than mine. Her dreary talk and drearier silence cannot fail to be more fascinating.’
‘I loathe her,’ said Nero.
‘And she loathes you, whereas I worship the ground you tread upon. No, no!’ she said, as he attempted to seize her hand; ‘I will not live here to be your mere plaything. I will rejoin Otho in Lusitania. He loves me, and knows how to treat me properly.’
Nero rose in a passion. Fearful lest she should goad him too far, Poppæa called him to her side and changed her tone.