‘I, under fair pretence of friendly ends,
And well-placed words of glozing courtesy,
Baited with reasons not unplausible,
Wind me into the easy-hearted man,
And hug him into snares.’
Milton, Comus.
Nero was harassed night and day by a new terror. The grand spectacle of Rome in flames, and the touches of local colouring, æsthetic and realistic, which it had enabled him to add to his poem on the Taking of Troy, would have been dearly purchased if they were to involve the forfeiture of his throne and life. Yet the sinister attitude of the people could not be mistaken, nor their menacing murmurs hushed. Tigellinus began to doubt whether the allegiance of the Prætorians, Germans and other foreign mercenaries as many of them were, would remain unshaken. They showed inclination to sympathise with the proletariat in their dangerous disaffection.
Except Tigellinus and Poppæa there was no one to whom the Emperor dared open his secrets. Both of them were closeted with him, but could suggest nothing to awaken him from the abject alarm into which he was sinking. It was evident that alike the people and the Senate held him responsible for the late conflagration, and it was impossible to detect the author of the rumours which had made his actions the common theme of Roman gossip. The only way to save himself from the hatred which threatened to destroy him, would be to divert the suspicion of the masses into some other channel. But whom could Nero accuse with any semblance of probability? Tigellinus was unscrupulous and Poppæa shrewd, but they knew not what to advise.
While they were thus consulting, a slave announced that Aliturus, the Jewish pantomimist, accompanied by the High Priest of Jerusalem and a distinguished Rabbi, desired an audience.
‘Aliturus is welcome,’ said Nero; ‘but I do not want to be troubled by his countrymen.’