“’Twas not I, O mother, who counselled the death of Agrippa,” he pettishly argued.
“’Twas thou who gavest the order,” she replied in a taunting tone. “Did Germanicus, the pure, unstained son of Antonia, fall by any wish of mine? His crime was the love he inspired in the hearts of the people. A comparison between his purity and thy uncleanness was more than thou couldst endure. O Tiberius, corruption crowns thy brow! The pimples on thy face are words that all can read. Goodness flees before thee. Joy is strangled in thy presence. Love—”
“Hold!” cried Tiberius, bursting with anger. “Defy me not, O Livia! Thou wearest the honored crown of age, but before abusive words respect flees.”
“Thy respect for me, cruel son, died when I placed thee where thou art!”
“Of a truth, O mother Livia, my respect for thee was not increased when I heard, three days ago, of thy actions the night before.”
“O spiteful son! O villanous man! Whilst thou didst sleep off the effects of wine, I ran into the Forum and exhorted the men to extinguish the flames in the house of the Vestal Virgins.”
“Ay, ’tis not a creditable deed for the wife and the mother of an emperor to run through the streets crying for help. I care not if it were for the cause of extinguishing flames in the Vestals’ house. ’Tis not becoming thy sex. But thou art forever interfering in affairs that do not belong to thee. Ah, it tires me,” said Tiberius, with bitter disgust.
“Such words to me!—to one who fostered thee, and labored so diligently for thy welfare!” said Livia, astounded at the air he was assuming. “Insolence, shameless effrontery, are, then, the reward for my tireless struggles for thee. But what more should I expect from a hateful child? I gave birth to a thing that has become a monstrosity,—a vile creature, void of all human instinct,—a brazen-faced serpent that now stings me. Ah, ingrate that thou art! Well did the Divine Augustus understand thy malignant disposition. Here, here, are the letters which he wrote and which I have cherished. Read what he says of thee. He calls thee ‘a canker feeding on his happiness,’ ‘a thorn in his flesh.’ He says, ‘Thy looks are bitter, thy words gall.’ He says, ‘Thy exile at Rhodes is a relief from thy revolting and disgusting manners.’ He also says, ‘Thy friends are the dregs of the slums, thy filth a stain on his household.’ Read, O wicked Tiberius, what he says of thee, and then ponder over thine infernal life.”
Her deliberate and commanding manner and the reproachful and sarcastic tone in which she delivered the last few lines of invective so stung Tiberius that he ground his teeth in rage. She was magnificent in her self-control. He recoiled at her words, which, being sharpened by truth, pierced his very soul. He took up the letters which she had thrown near his feet, and began to destroy them, one by one. His face was purple, and the veins on his forehead were swollen to an abnormal size. Quelling the blasphemy that mounted to his lips, and drawling his words with a repulsive twang, he said: “Thou revilest me with letters written by a jealous man? Thou—”
“Have a care, O Tiberius!” she interrupted. “Revile not the gods. The Romans will not permit the name of the Divine Augustus to be vilified by thee. I will not permit thee!”