ROBERT GRAVES
CLAUDIUS THE GOD
AND HIS WIFE MESSALINA
THE TROUBLESOME REIGN OF TIBERIUS CLAUDIUS CAESAR, EMPEROR OF THE ROMANS (BORN 10 B.C., DIED A.D. 54), AS DESCRIBED BY HIMSELF; ALSO HIS MURDER AT THE HANDS OF THE NOTORIOUS AGRIPPINA (MOTHER OF THE EMPEROR NERO) AND HIS SUBSEQUENT DEIFICATION, AS DESCRIBED BY OTHERS
First published by Arthur Barker 1934 Published in Penguin Books (Volumes I and II) 1943 New edition in one volume 1954 Reprinted 1956, 1957, 1959, 1961, 1963, 1965, 1966, 1968, 1970, 1972, 1973, 1975 (twice), 1976 (twice), 1977 (twice)
Copyright 1934 by Robert Graves, All rights reserved
Author's Note
THE `gold piece', here used as the regular monetary standard, is the Latin aureus, a coin worth 100 sestertii, or twenty-five silver denarli ('silver pieces') : it may be thought of as worth one pound sterling; or five (pre-war) American dollars. The `mile' is the 'Roman mile, some thirty paces shorter than the English mile. The. marginal dates have for convenience been given according to Christian reckoning: the Greek reckoning, used by Claudius, counted the years from the First Olympiad, which took place in 776 B.C. For convenience also; the most familiar geographical names have been used: thus `France', not `Transalpine Gaul', because France covers roughly the same territorial area and it would be inconsistent to call towns like Nimes and Boulogne and Lyons by their modem names - their classical ones would not be popularly recognized - while placing them in Gallic Transalpine or, as the Greeks called it, Galicia. (Greek geographical terms are most confusing: Germany was called `the country of the Celts'.) Similarly the most familiar forms of proper names have been used - 'Livy' for Titus Livius, 'Cymbeline' for Cunobelinus, `Mark Antony' for Marcus Antonius. Claudius is writing in Greek, the scholarly language of his day, which accounts for his careful explanation of Latin jokes and for his translation of a passage from Ennius quoted by him in the original.
Some reviewers of I, Claudius, the prefatory volume to Claudius the God, suggested that in writing it I had merely consulted Tacitus's Annals and Suetonius's Twelve Caesars, run them together, and expanded the result with my own `vigorous fancy'. This was not so; nor is it the case here. Among the Classical writers who have been borrowed from in the composition of Claudius the God are Tacitus, Dio Cassius, Suetonius, Pliny, Varro, Valerius Maximus, Orosius, Frontinus, Strabo, Caesar, Columella, Plutarch, Josephus, Diodorus Siculus, Photius, Xiphilinus, Zonaras, Seneca, Petronius, Juvenal, Philo, Celsus, the authors of the Acts of the Apostles and of the pseudo-gospels of Nicodemus and St James, and Claudius himself in his surviving letters and speeches. Few incidents here given are wholly unsupported by historical authority of some sort or other and I hope none are historically incredible. No character is invented. The most difficult part to write, because of the meagreness of contemporary references to it, has been Claudius's defeat of Caractacus. For a plausible view of British Druidism, too, I have had to help out the few Classical notices of it with borrowings from archaeological works, from ancient Celtic literature, and from accounts of modern megalithic culture in the New Hebrides, where the dolmen and menhir are still ceremonially used. ,1 have been particularly careful in my account of early Christianity to invent no new libels; but some old ones are quoted, for Claudius himself was not well-disposed to the Church and derived most of his information about near eastern religious matters from his old school-friend Herod Agrippa, the Jewish king who executed St James and imprisoned St Peter..
I again thank Miss Laura Riding for her careful reading of the manuscript and her many suggestions on points of literary congruity; and Aircraftman T. E. Shaw for reading the proofs. Miss Jocelyn Toynbee Lecturer in Classical History at Newnham College, Cambridge, has also given me help for which I am: most grateful; and I must acknowledge my indebtedness to Signor Arnaldo Momigliano's monograph on Claudius recently published in translation by the Oxford University Press.
Chapter 1
Two years have gone by since I finished writing the long story of how I, Tiberius Claudius Drusus. Nero Germanicus, the cripple, the stammerer, the fool of the family, whom none of his ambitious and bloody-minded relatives considered worth the trouble of executing, poisoning, forcing to suicide, banishing to a desert island or starving to death - which was how they one by one got rid of each other - how, I survived them all, even my insane nephew Gaius Caligula, and was one day unexpectedly: acclaimed Emperor by the corporals and sergeants of the Palace Guard. I ended the story at this dramatic point; which A.D. 41 was a most injudicious thing for a professional historian like myself to do. A historian has no business to break off at a moment of suspense. I should by rights have carried the story at least one stage farther. I should have told what the rest of the Army thought of the Palace Guard's most unconstitutional act, and what the Senate thought, and how they felt about accepting so unpromising a sovereign as myself, and whether bloodshed ensued, and what were the fates of Cassius Chaerea, Aquila, The Tiger - all officers of the Guard - and Vinicius, who was my niece's husband, and Caligula's other assassins. But, no, the last thing I wrote about was the very irrelevant train of thought that passed through my mind as I was being cheered round and round the Palace Court, seated uncomfortably on the shoulders of two Guards corporals, with Caligula's golden oak-chaplet set crooked on my head.
The reason that I did not take the story any farther was that I wrote it less as ordinary history than as a piece of special pleading - an apology for having ever allowed myself to become the monarch of the Roman world. You may recall, if you have read the story, that both my grandfather and my father were convinced Republicans and that I took after them; the reigns of my uncle Tiberius and of my nephew Caligula merely confirming my antimonarchical prejudices. I was fifty years old when I was acclaimed Emperor and at that age one does not lightly change one's political colour. So I wrote, in fact, to show how innocent I was of any desire to reign, and how strong was the immediate necessity for yielding to the caprice of the soldiers : to have refused would have meant not only my own death but that of my wife Messalina, with, whom I was deeply in love, and of our unborn child. (I wonder why it is that one feels so strongly about an unborn child?) I particularly did not want to be branded by posterity as a clever opportunist who pretended to be a fool, lying low and biding- his time until he got wind of a Palace intrigue against his Emperor, and then came boldly forward as a candidate for the succession.. This continuation of my story should serve as an apology for the crooked course that I have taken in my thirteen years of Empire. I hope, that is to say, to justify my seemingly inconsistent acts at different stages of my reign by showing their relation to the professed principles from which I have, I swear, never intentionally departed. If I cannot justify them, then I, hope at least to show the extraordinarily difficult-position in which I was placed, and leave my readers to decide what alternative course, or courses, remained for me to take.
So to pick up the thread. just where I dropped it. First let me repeat that things might have turned out considerably worse for Rome if Herod Agrippa, the Jewish king, had not happened to be here on a visit. He was the only man who really kept his head in the crisis of Caligula's assassination and saved the entire, audience of the Palatine Hill theatre from massacre by the German Household Battalion. It is a strange thing, but until almost the last page of my story my readers will not have come Across a single direct reference to Herod Agrippa's surprising history, though it intertwined closely with mine at several points. The fact was that to have done justice to his adventures, as worth reading about on their own account, would have meant making him too important a figure in the story I had to tell its chief centre of emphasis lay elsewhere. As it was, my story was constantly in danger of becoming burdened with matter of doubtful relevance. It was as well that I took this decision, because he does figure most importantly in what follows and I can now, without any fear of digressive irrelevance, tell the story of his life up to the point of Caligula's murder, and then continue it concurrently with my own until I reach his death. In this way there will be no such weakening of dramatic unity as would have occurred if I had spread the story over two books. I do not mean that I am a dramatic historian: as you have seen, I am rather wary of literary formalism. But as a matter of fact one could not possibly write about Herod without presenting the story in somewhat of a theatrical style. For this was how Herod himself lived - like the principal actor in a drama - and his fellow actors played up to him well throughout. His was not a drama in the purest classical tradition, although his life was finally cut off in classical tragic style by the conventional divine vengeance for the conventional Greek sin of arrogance - no, there were too many un-Greek elements, in it. For instance, the God who inflicted, the vengeance on him was not one of the urbane Olympian community: he was perhaps the oddest deity that you could find anywhere in my extensive dominions, or out of them, for that matter, a God of whom no image is in existence, whose name his devout worshippers are forbidden to pronounce (though in his honour they clip their foreskins and practise many other curious and barbarous rites),, and who is said to, live alone, at Jerusalem, in an ancient cedar chest lined with-badger-skins dyed blue and to refuse to have anything to do with any other deities in the world or even to acknowledge the existence of such. And then there was too much farce mixed up with the tragedy to have made it a fit subject for any Greek dramatist of the Golden Age to handle. Imagine the impeccable Sophocles faced with the problem of dealing in a serious poetical vein with Herod's debts! But, as I was saying, I must now tell you at some length what I did not tell you before; and the best plan would be to finish off the old history here and now before getting into my stride with the new.