The armed band reached the villa late at night, burst open the gates, and advanced rapidly to the chamber where the empress had retired to her bed. All the slaves encountered on the way were seized. In the chamber of Agrippina a dim light was burning, and one maid was in attendance. The assassins surrounded the bed. The leader struck her a heavy blow on the head with a club: the rest plunged their daggers into her heart. She slept in death, the guilty mother of a demoniac son.
“In these particulars,” writes Tacitus, “authors are unanimous; but as to whether Nero surveyed the breathless body of his mother, and applauded its beauty, there are those who have affirmed it, and those who deny it.”
After the murder of Agrippina, which was so openly perpetrated as to render it vain to attempt any disguise, Nero, either consumed by remorse or distracted by terror, retired to Naples. It is said that his appearance and movements indicated that he was the victim of utter misery; while at the same time his demoniac malice blazed forth more luridly than ever. He sent a communication to the senate, stating that he had caused the death of his mother because she was plotting his assassination. His sister Octavia and his wife Poppæa soon fell victims to his insane vengeance: the one was placed in avapor-bath, had her veins opened in every joint, and then had her head cut off; the other perished from a brutal kick.
Immediately there ensued a series of executions and assassinations of the most illustrious men of Rome, who were accused of conspiring against the tyrant. Tacitus gives the details of many of these atrocities. The recital would be but wearisome and revolting to the reader.
Rome was stricken with terror. No one was safe from either the poisoned cup, the dagger, or the headsman’s axe. At length, human nature, even unspeakably corrupt as it had become in Rome, could endure the monster no longer. Servius Galba, seventy-two years of age, was governor of Spain. He was a man of unusual virtues for those times, was of pensive, thoughtful temperament, and endued with courage which no peril could intimidate. Placing himself at the head of his devoted legions, he openly proclaimed war against the tyrant, and commenced a march upon Rome for his dethronement. The tidings outstripped the rapid movements of his troops, and garrison after garrison unfurled the banners of revolt.
One night, Nero, dressed in woman’s clothes, was in one of the palaces of Rome, surrounded by his boon companions, male and female, indulging in the most loathsome orgies, when a great uproar was heard in the streets. A messenger was sent to ascertain the cause. He returned with the appalling tidings, that Galba, at the head of an avenging army, was marching rapidly upon Rome; that insurrection had broken out in the streets; and that a countless mob, breathing threatenings and slaughter, were surging toward the palace.
The wretched tyrant, as cowardly as he was infamous, was struck with dismay. He sprang from the table so suddenly as to overturn it, dashing the most costly vases in fragments upon the floor. Beating his forehead like a madman, he cried out, “I am ruined, I am ruined!” and called for a cup of poison. Suicide was the common resort of the cowardly, in those days, in their hours of wretchedness. Nero took the poisoned cup, but dared not drink it. He called for a dagger, and examined its polished point, but had not sufficient nerveto press it to his heart. He then rushed from the palace in his woman’s robes, with his long hair fluttering in the wind. Thus disguised, he almost flew through the dark and narrow streets, intending to plunge into the Tiber. As he reached the bank, and gazed upon its gloomy waves, again his courage failed.
Several of his companions had accompanied him. One of them suggested that he should flee to a country-seat about three miles from Rome, and there conceal himself. Insane with terror, bareheaded, in his shameful garb, he covered his face with a handkerchief, leaped upon a horse, and succeeded, through a thousand perils, in gaining his retreat. Just before he reached the villa, some alarm so frightened him, that he leaped from his horse, and plunged into a thicket by the roadside. Through briers and thorns, with torn clothes and lacerated flesh, he reached the insecure asylum he sought.
In the mean time, the Roman senate had hurriedly assembled. Emboldened by the insurrection, and by the approach of Galba, they passed a decree, declaring Nero to be the enemy of his country, and dooming him to death more majorum; i.e., according to ancient custom. Some one of Nero’s companions brought him the tidings in his hiding-place. Pallid and trembling, he inquired, “And what is death more majorum?” The appalling reply was, “It is to be stripped naked, to have the head fastened in the pillory, and thus to be scourged to death.”
The monster who had amused himself in witnessing the tortures of others recoiled with horror from this dreadful infliction. Seizing a dagger, he again endeavored to nerve himself to plunge it into his heart. A prick from its sharp point was all that he could summon resolution to inflict. He threw the dagger aside, and groaned in terror. Again he strove to talk himself into courage.