After a journey of four hours, Aricia was reached,—a small village, embraced by the pine woods of the Alban Hills. Here Tiberius owned a villa that had once belonged to Clodius, the bitter enemy of Cicero. From the beautiful flowered terraces of this villa the whole sweep of the Roman Campagna spread out like a vast rug, woven by the deft fingers of some divinity. At sundown Tiberius and Sejanus stood on one of these terraces looking at the glorious panorama. Turning to the minister, the emperor said, “Tell me, O Sejanus, can there be in the whole empire a view to compare with this?”
“How small Rome appears! Seems it possible that in that speck there can be so much dissension?”
“Ah, farewell to Rome and its deceptions! Didst thou hear the cry of joy from the people when we left the city? Bah! Let them hate me, O Sejanus, so long as they fear me.”
As the ride from Aricia to Terracina would require ten hours, the party must needs leave the Alban Hills before the break of dawn on the following morning. The emperor’s ill-humor and bitterness had increased. Because his groom had awkwardly fastened the emperor’s sandal, Tiberius struck him and felled him to the floor. The servant who had brought his morning meal was sentenced to be deprived of food for three days, because the meal was served cold. When they changed horses at the miserable town of Forum Appii, on the edge of the Pontine Marshes, the displeasure of Tiberius had so increased that he ordered his followers not to speak without his permission. In consequence, the flippant talk of the Greeks was hushed, Nerva and Atticus remained silent, and the princes, Tiberius and Caligula, spoke to each other only in whispers. But on the heights of the beautiful town of Terracina, in a comfortable villa fanned by sea-breezes, Tiberius regained his customary composure. He remained there a day to conduct necessary business. After state affairs had been attended to, letters received and answered, and the terrible order forwarded for the instant death of Sabinus, the party revelled in the mellow wine of that luxuriant country. The lad Caligula was plied with wine until he became intoxicated, so that by his delirious antics he might add to their amusement.
On the following day they went to Formiae. They stopped for their midday meal at a villa near the sea. The day being warm, the meal was served in a grotto. Youths dressed as fauns and satyrs passed the different courses, while young maidens in gauzy attire danced before the revellers. Suddenly, when the meal was at its height, a bank of earth at the entrance to the grotto became detached and fell in upon them all. There was great confusion. However, every one escaped serious injury. The emperor, moving too slowly, had his feet caught by the falling earth. Seeing that all danger had passed, Sejanus quickly threw himself over the emperor, as if to protect him from further harm. At this show of absolute self-sacrifice after all danger was over, Tiberius loaded the minister with praises and expressions of gratitude.
From Formiae the party went to Capua. In this important and luxurious city Tiberius dedicated the temple to Jupiter. From there, with his followers, he went to Nola. In this town, where the death of Augustus had occurred, Tiberius dedicated a temple to his illustrious predecessor. During the journey from Nola to Neapolis the emperor again became sullen and ill-humored. An officer whose duty it was to precede the party neglected to remove a small branch of a tree that projected over the road. This negligence so enraged Tiberius that he commanded the party to halt. Then, ordering the officer to be stripped and beaten, he compelled the party to watch the brutal punishment for this trivial offence. Silenced by fear and by the emperor’s displeasure, the party then quickly moved towards Neapolis.
When they embarked for Capri, the bay of Neapolis was as calm and innocent as a sleeping child. The crystal air seemed alive with light. Sharply outlined against the clear deep-blue sky were the edges of the hills that nearly surround that magic circle. The abrupt cliffs of Surrentum, the peaceful slopes around Sabia, the gentle sweep of the land between Vesuvius and Neapolis, and the bold, volcanic islands of Procida and Ischia, were gently kissed by the transparent waters of that glorious bay. Between the promontories of Surrentum and Ischia, Capri, with its profile of a human face, appeared like a huge dark sapphire on the bosom of the sea.
In the bay floated little sprigs of sea-weed, purple fucus, like ravellings from kingly robes, sea-grass and leaves, like waving hair and green roses, watery flowers, as soft as feathery plumes or lashes of dreaming eyes. Under the surface were little sea-horses, swarms of tiny fish that moved among branches of fleshy coral like humming-birds among branches of small blossoming trees. Medusae, living vacuities, trembled and floated like transparent lilies detached from their stems and imbued with life and motion. Ah! the bay of Neapolis appeared like a huge flower-garden, flooded with sparkling dew.
Circling the peaceful garden and crowning the hill-tops and slopes, like an immortal wreath, were the orange and olive groves of Surrentum, the laurels and myrtle of Sabia, the vineyards and fields of Vesuvius—that colossal verdant bell of spring—the pines and cypresses of Neapolis, and the vineyards of Procida, Ischia, and Capri. It seemed as if Nature were intoxicated with beauty. It seemed as if celestial harmonies, borne on the rays of light, touched the ears with an infinite melody.
A gilded bireme, with purple sails and polished bronze trimmings, floated gracefully on the lovely bay, like some enchanted boat sent by the gods to bear spirits to happy havens of peace. Attached to the mast, the emperor’s golden ensign languidly fluttered in the quiet air, like expiring flames on a sacrificial altar to the goddess Flora. Around the bireme were numerous small boats filled with happy people dressed in bright colors. Songs and laughter filled the air. Cheers and acclamations gradually increased in volume as the emperor and his retinue neared the shore. They hastened into the small boats that awaited them, and were soon conducted aboard the bireme. The anchor was quickly raised, the poised oars began to move with regular rhythm, and the boat bounded forward like a living thing. The bow cleaved the smooth water in gentle ripples, and the dripping oars, when raised for the next stroke, showered sparkling drops in the air like tears of joy.