SUETONIUS ON THE DEATH AND CHARACTER OF DOMITIAN
With respect to the contrivance and execution of Domitian’s death, [he says] the common account is this. The conspirators being in some doubt when and where they should attack him, whether while he was in the bath, or at supper, Stephanus, a steward of Domitilla’s, then under a prosecution for defrauding his mistress, offered them his advice and assistance; and wrapping up his left arm, as if it was hurt, in wool and bandages for some days, to prevent suspicion, at the very hour appointed for the execution of the plot, he made use of this further stratagem. He pretended to make a discovery of a plot, and being for that reason admitted, he presented to the emperor a writing, which whilst the latter was reading with the appearance of one astonished, he stabbed him in the groin. But Domitian making resistance, Clodianus, one of his chamberlains, Maximus a freedman of Parthenius’, Saturius a superintendent of his bedchamber, with some gladiators, fell upon him, and stabbed him in seven places. A boy that had the charge of the Lares in his bedchamber, then in attendance as usual, when the transaction was over, gave this further account of it; that he was ordered by Domitian, upon receiving his first wound, to reach him a dagger which lay under his bolster, and call in his servants; but that he found nothing at the head of the bed, excepting the hilt of a poniard, and that all the doors were secured; that the emperor in the meantime got hold of Stephanus, and throwing him upon the ground, struggled a long time with him; one while endeavouring to wrench his sword from him, another while, though his fingers were miserably mangled, to pull out his eyes. He was slain upon the 18th of the calends of September, in the forty-fifth year of his age, and the fifteenth of his reign. His corpse was carried out upon a common bier by the public bearers, and buried by his nurse Phyllis, on an estate which had belonged to him by the Latin way, not far from Rome. But his remains were afterwards privately conveyed into the temple of the Flavian family, and mixed with the ashes of Julia, Titus’ daughter, whom the same woman had likewise nursed.
He was of a tall stature, a modest countenance, and very ruddy; had large eyes, but dim-sighted. His person was graceful, and in his youth completely such, excepting only that his toes were bent somewhat inward. He was at last disfigured by baldness, a fat belly, and the slenderness of his legs, which were reduced by a long illness. He was so sensible how much the modesty of his countenance recommended him, that he once made this boast to the senate, “Thus far you have approved of my disposition and countenance too.” He was so much concerned at his baldness, that he took it as an affront upon himself, if any other person was upbraided with it, either in jest or earnest.
He was so incapable of bearing fatigue, that he scarcely ever walked about the city. In his expeditions and on a march, he seldom made use of a horse, riding generally in a chair. He had no inclination for the exercise of arms, but was fond of the bow. Many have seen him kill a hundred wild beasts, of various kinds, at his seat near Alba, and strike his arrows into their heads with such dexterity, that he would, at two discharges of his bow, plant as it were a pair of horns upon them. He would sometimes direct his arrows against the hand of a boy standing at a distance, and expanded as a mark for him, with such exactness, that they all passed betwixt his fingers without hurting him.
In the beginning of his reign, he laid aside the study of the liberal sciences, though he took care to restore, at a vast expense, the libraries which had been burned down, by collecting copies from all parts, and sending scribes to Alexandria, either to copy or correct from the repository of books at that place. Yet he never applied himself to the reading of history or poetry, or to exercise his pen for his own improvement. He read nothing but the commentaries and acts of Tiberius Cæsar. His letters, speeches, and proclamations were all drawn up for him by others, though he would talk speciously, and sometimes express himself in sentiments worthy of notice. “I could wish,” said he once, “that I was but as handsome as Mettius fancies himself to be.” And the head of one whose hair was part yellow and part gray, he said “was snow sprinkled with mead.”
He said “the condition of princes was very miserable, who were never credited in the discovery of a plot, until they were murdered.” When he had no business, he diverted himself at play, even upon days that were not festivals, and in the morning. He entered the bath by noon, and made a plentiful dinner, insomuch that he seldom ate more at supper than a Matian apple, to which he added a small draught of wine, out of a round-bellied jug which he used. He gave frequent and splendid entertainments, but commonly in a hurry, for he never protracted them beyond sunset and had no drinking repast after. For, until bed-time, he did nothing else but walk by himself in private.
The people bore his death with much unconcern, but the soldiery with great indignation, and immediately endeavoured to have him ranked amongst the gods. Though ready to revenge his death, however, they wanted some person to head them; but this they effected soon after, by resolutely demanding the punishment of all those that had been concerned in his assassination. On the other hand, the senate was so overjoyed, that they assembled in all haste, and in a full house reviled his memory in the most bitter terms; ordering ladders to be brought in, and his shields and images to be pulled down before their eyes, and dashed in pieces upon the spot against the ground; passing at the same time a decree to obliterate his titles everywhere, and abolish all memory of him forever. A few months before he was slain, a crow spoke in the Capitol these words, “All things will be well.” Upon this prodigy, some person put the following construction:
“Nuper Tarpeio quæ sedit culmine cornix,
‘Est bene,’ non potuit dicere; dixit, ‘Erit.’”
“The crow, which late on Tarpey one might see,