Last night all the ships were illuminated with oil lamps, and ten thousand Egyptian slaves danced and sang in the gardens. The result was I did not get a wink of sleep, and the worst of it is that these songs and dances go on all day as well as all night. On the beach, too, there is every kind of acrobat, gipsy tumblers, and fortune-tellers. There is a woman here who tells one marvellous things by looking at one’s hand, only Julius, who, like all husbands, is now and then quite unaccountably obstinate about little things, absolutely forbade me to consult her, and so I had to give it up. She told Clodia she would be married three times.
The Persian fleet arrives here to-morrow on a visit. Julius and I are invited to dine at the Emperor’s villa, and Julius has to wear a Persian uniform as a compliment to the Persians. It is made of scarlet silk with orange sleeves, and a long green train fringed with silver; he also has to wear a high tiara of steel and gold covered with jewels, and extraordinary sandals laced up the leg with little bells. He tried it on last night, and I can’t tell you what he looked like. (Julius has grown to look much older since you saw him, and only the soberest togas suit him.) I couldn’t help telling him he looked like a circus-rider, and he was so offended that I have not been able to mention the dinner since. Men are so funny. Julius is ashamed of being thought a clever politician, which he is, and wants to be thought an excellent quoit-player, and he can’t throw a quoit a yard. He stoops and he is flabby, and yet he wants everybody to take him for an athlete!
How different from those nice sailors, who are so modest, and who are pleased because they are sailors, and wouldn’t be anything else for the world.
I must stop now, because the pinnace is “awaiting my pleasure,” and I don’t want to keep my little sailor boy waiting. Farewell. I will write again soon.
P.S.—Whenever Julius is bad-tempered now I say I wish I had married a sailor, because they are never, never, never rude to their wives. It is true, of course, that they seldom see them, but I did not say that.
P.P.S.—Later. We dined at the Emperor’s villa last night. It appears that this morning a tiresome incident occurred. A fisherman brought the Emperor some lobsters, and it turned out that one of them was not quite fresh. So the Emperor had the fisherman hurled from the cliff into the sea. He is subject every now and then to these fits of petulance; but I must say he was charming last night, and most agreeable. Of course he is self-conscious and he makes some people feel shy; but I get on with him beautifully. He knows so much about everybody. We fancy he already knew that Metellus has quite given up Clodia, and is now desperately in love with Irene. He was most tactful with me, and never alluded either to Sejanus or to Julius.
MESSALINA
Letter from Pallas, Librarian to the Emperor Claudius, to a friend
The Palatine, Rome
A slave brought your letter this morning from Antium, and since the Emperor is sending one back to-morrow I take advantage of the opportunity to obey your behest and to give you the news which you ask for.