I, Claudius (17 page)

What a chance he has!' "

"You didn't put any of this in your history," said Livy.

"Not in the public editions," said Pollio. "I'm not a fool. Still if you like to borrow the private Supplement which I have just finished writing, you'll find it there. But perhaps you'll never bother. I'll tell you the rest: Caesar was a wonderful mimic, you know, and he gave them Pompey's dying speech, preparatory to falling on his sword [the radish again--with the end bitten off]. He railed, in Pompey's name, at the Immortal Gods for always allowing vice to triumph over virtue. How they laughedl Then he bellowed: 'And isn't it true, though Pompey says it? Deny it if you can, you damned fornicating dogs, you!' And he flung the half-radish at them. And the roar that went up!

Never were there soldiers like Caesar's. Do you remember the song they sang at his French triumph?

'Home we bring the bald whore-monger, Romans, lock your wives away.' "

Livy said. "Pollio, my dear fellow, we were not discussing Caesar's morals, but the proper way to write history."

Pollio said. "Yes, that's right. Our intelligent young friend was criticising your method, under the respectful disguise of praising your readability. Boy, have you any further charges to bring against the noble Livy?"

I said: "Please, sir, don't make me blush. I admire Livy's work greatly."

"The truth, boyl Have you ever caught him out in any historical inaccuracies? You seem to be a fellow who reads a good deal."

"I would rather not venture..."

"Out with it. There must be something."

So I said: "There is one thing that puzzles me, I confess. That is the story of Lars Porsena. According to Livy, Porsena tailed to capture Rome, being first prevented by the heroic behaviour of Horatius at the bridge and then dismayed by the astounding daring of Scaevola; Livy relates that Scaevola, captured after an attempt at assassinating Porsena, thrust his hand into the flame on the altar and swore that three hundred Romans like himself had bound themselves by an oath to take Porsena's life. And so Lars Porsena made peace. But I have seen the labyrinth tomb of Lars Porsena at Clusium and there is a frieze on it of Romans emerging from the City gate and being led under a yoke. There's an Etruscan priest with a pair of shears cutting off the beards of the Fathers. And even Dionysius of Halicamassus, who was very favourably disposed towards [in] us, states that the Senate voted Porsena an ivory throne, a sceptre, a golden crown and a triumphal robe; which can only mean that they paid him sovereign honours. So perhaps Lars Porsena did capture Rome, in spite of Horatius and Scaivola. And Aruns the priest at Capua [he's supposed to be the last man who can read Etruscan inscriptions]

told me last summer that according to Etruscan records the man who expelled the Tarquins from Rome was not Brutus but Porsena, and that Brutus and Collatinus, the first two Consuls at Rome, were merely the City Stewards appointed to collect his taxes."

Livy grew quite angry. "I am surprised at you, Claudius.

Have you no reverence for Roman tradition that you should believe the lies told by our ancient enemies to diminish our greatness?"

"I only asked," I said humbly, "what really happened then."

"Come on, Livy," said Pollio. "Answer the young student. What really happened?"

Livy said; "Another time. Let's keep to the matter in hand now, which is a general discussion of the proper way to write history. Claudius, my friend, you have ambitions that way. Which of us two old worthies will you choose as a model?"

"You make it very difficult for the boy, you fealous fellows," put in Sulpicius. "What do you expect him to answer?"

"The truth will offend neither of us," answered Pollio.

I looked from one face to the other. At last I said, "I think I would choose Pollio. As I am sure that I can never hope to attain Livy's inspired literary elegance, I shall do my best to imitate Pollio's accuracy and diligence."

Livy grunted and was about to walk off, but Pollio restrained him. Bottling down his glee as well as he could he said: "Come, Livy, you won't grudge me one little disciple, will you, when you have them in regiments all over the world? Boy, did you ever hear about the old man from Cadiz? No, it's not dirty. In fact. it's rather sad. He came on foot to Rome, what to see? Not the temples or the theatres or the statues or the crowds or the shops or the Senate House. But a Man. What man? The man whose head is on the coins? No, no. A greater than he. He came to see none other than our friend Livy, whose works, it seems, he knew by heart. He saw him and saluted him and went straight back to Cadiz--where he immediately died; the disillusion and the long walk had been too much for him."

Livy said; "At any rate my readers are genuine readers, Boy, do you know how Pollio has built up his reputation?

Well, he's rich and has a very large, beautiful house and a surprisingly good cook. He invites a great crowd of literary people to dinner, gives them a perfect meal and afterwards casually picks up the latest volume of his history. He says humbly, 'Gentlemen, there are a few passages here that I am not quite sure about. I have worked very hard at them but they still need the final polish which I am counting on you to give them. By your leave....' Then he begins to read. Nobody listens very carefully. Everyone's belly is stuffed. ‘The cook's a genius’, they are all thinking. ‘The mullet with piquant sauce, and those fat stuffed thrushes and the wild-boar with truffles--when did I eat so well last? Not since Pollio's last reading, I believe. Ah, here comes the slave with the wine again. That excellent Cyprian wine. Follio's right: it's better than any Greek wine on the market.' Meanwhile Pollio's voice--and it's a nice voice to listen to, like a priest's at an evening sacrifice in summer--goes smoothly on and every now and then he asks humbly,

‘Is that all right, do you think?' And everyone says, thinking of the thrushes again, or perhaps of the little simnel cakes; 'Admirable. Admirable, Pollio.'

Now and then he will pause and ask: 'Now which is the right word to use here? Shall I say that the returning envoys persuaded or excited this tribe to revolt?

Or shall I say that the account they gave of the situation influenced the tribe in its decision to revolt? Actually, I think, they gave an impartial account of what they had seen.' Then a murmur goes up from the couches, 'Influenced, Pollio. Use influenced.’ ‘Thank you, friends,' he says, 'you are very kind. Slave, my penknife and pen. I'll change the sentence at once if you'll forgive me.' Then he publishes the book and sends each of the diners a free copy. They say to their friends, chatting at the Public Baths: 'Admirable book, this. Have you read it? Pollio's the greatest historian of our [ii?] age; and not above asking advice in small points of style from men of taste, either. Why, this word influenced I gave him myself.'"

Pollio said: "That's right. My cook's too good. Next time I'll borrow yours and a few dozen bottles of your socalled Falernian wine and then I'll get really honest criticism."

Sulpicius made a gesture of deprecation: "Gentlemen, gentlemen, this is becoming personal."

Livy was already going away. But Pollio grinned at the retreating back and said in a loud voice for his benefit: "A decent fellow, Livy is, but there's one thing wrong with him. It's a disease called Paduanity."

This made Livy stop and rum round. "What's wrong with Padua? I won't hear a word against the place."

Follio explained to me. "It's where he was born, you know. Somewhere in the Northern Provinces. There's a famous hot-spring there, of extraordinary properties. You can always tell a Paduan. By bathing in the water of the spring or drinking it--and I'm told that they do both things simultaneously--Paduans are able to believe whatever they like and believe it so strongly that they can make anyone else believe itThat's how the city has got such a wonderful commercial reputation.

The blankets and rugs they make there are really no better than any other sort, in fact rather inferior, because the local sheep are yellow and coarse-fleeced, but to the Paduans they are soft and white as goose-feathers. And they have persuaded the rest of the world that it's so."

I said, playing up to him: "Yellow sheep! That's a rarity. How do they get that colour, sir?"

"Why, by drinking the spring-water. There's sulphur in it. All Paduans are yellow. Look at Livy,"

Livy came slowly towards us. "A joke is a joke, Pollio, and I can take it in good part. But there's also a serious matter in question and that is, the proper writing of history. It may be that I have made mistakes. What historian is free from them? I have not, at least, told deliberate falsehoods: you'll not accuse me of that. Any legendary episode from early historical writings which bears on my theme of the ancient greatness of Rome I gladly incorporate in the story: though it may not be true in factual detail, it is true in spiritIf I come across two versions of the same episode I choose the one nearest my theme, and you won't find me grubbing around Etruscan cemeteries in search of any third account which may flatly contradict both--what good would that do?"

"It would serve the cause of the truth," said Pollio gently. "Wouldn't that be something?"

"And if by serving the cause of truth we admit our revered ancestors to have been cowards, liars and traitors?

What

then?"

"I'll leave this boy to answer the question. He's just starting in life. Come on, boy, answer it!"

I said at random: "Livy begins his history by lamenting modern wickedness and promising to trace the gradual decline of ancient virtue as conquests made Rome wealthy.

He says that he will most enjoy writing the early chapters because he will be able, in doing so, to close his eyes to the wickedness of modern times. But in closing his eyes to modern wickedness hasn't he sometimes closed his eyes to ancient wickedness as well?"

"Well?"

asked

Livy,

narrowing his eyes.

"Well," I fumbled. "Perhaps there isn't so much difference really between their wickedness and ours. It may be just a matter of scope and opportunity."

Pollio said: "In fact, boy, the Paduan hasn't made you see his sulphur fleeces as snow-white?"

I was very uncomfortable"I have got more pleasure from reading Livy than from any other author," I repeated.

"Oh, yes," Pollio grinned, "that's just what the old man of Cadiz said. But like the old man of Cadiz you feel a little disillusioned now, eh? Lars Porsena and Scasvola and Brutus and company stick in your throat?"

"It's not disillusion, sir. I see now, though I hadn't considered the matter before, that there are two different ways of writing history: one is to persuade men to virtue and the other is to compel men to truth. The first is Livy's way and the other is yours: and perhaps they are not irreconcilable."

"Why,

boy,

you're an orator," said Pollio delightedly.

Sulpicius who had been standing on one leg with his foot held in his hand, as his habit was when excited or impatient, and twisting his beard in knots, now summed up: "Yes, Livy will never lack readers. People love being 'persuaded to ancient virtue' by a charming writer, particularly when they are told in the same breath that modern civilization has made such virtue impossible of attainment. But mere truthtellers--'undertakers who lay out the corpse of history' [to quote poor Catullus' epigram on the noble Pollio]--people who record no more than actually occurred--such men can only hold an audience while they have a good cook and a cellar of Cyprian wine."

This made Livy really furious. He said, "Pollio, this talk is idle. Young Claudius here has always been considered dull-witted by his family and friends but I didn't agree with the general verdict until to-day. You're welcome to your disciple. And Sulpicius can perfect his dullness: there's no better teacher of dullness in Rome." Then he gave us his Parthian shot: Et apud Apollinem istum Pollionis Pollinctorem diutissime poUeat. Which means, though the pun is lost in Greek: "And may he flourish long at the shrine of that Undertaker Apollo of Pollio's!" Then off he went, snorting.

Pollio shouted cheerfully after him: "Quod certe pollcitw Pollio.

Pollucibiliter pollebit puer.^ ["Pollio promises you he will; the boy will flourish mightily."]

When we two were alone, Sulpicius having gone off to find a book, Pollio began questioning me.

"Who are you, boy? Claudius is your name, isn't it? You obviously come of good family, but I don’t know you."

"I am Tiberius Claudius Drusus Nero Germanicus."

"My God! But Livy's right. You're supposed to be a half-wit."

"Yes. My family is ashamed of me because I stammer, and I'm lame and usually ill, so I go about very little in society."

"But dull-witted? You're one of the brightest young fellows I have met for years."

"You are very kind, sir."

"Not at all. By God, that was a nasty hit at old Livy about Lars Porsena.

Livy has no conscience, that's the truth. I'm always catching him out. I asked him once if he always had the same trouble as I had in finding the brass tablets he wanted among the litter of the Public Record Office. He said, 'Oh, no trouble at all.' And it turned out that he has never once been there to confirm a single fact!

Tell me, why were you reading my history?"

"I was reading your account of the siege of Perusia. My grandfather, Livia's first husband you know, was there. I'm interested in that period and I'm getting together materials for a life of my father. My tutor Athenodorus referred me to your book: he said it was honest. My former tutor, Marcus Porcius Cato, had once told me that it was a tissue of lies, so I was the more ready to believe Athenodorus."

"Yes, Cato wouldn't like the book. The Catos fought on the wrong side. I helped to drive his grandfather out of Sicily. But I think you are the first youthful historian I have ever met. History is an old man's game. When are you going to win battles like your father and grandfather?"

"Perhaps in my old age."

He laughed. "I don't see why a historian who has made a life-study of military tactics shouldn't be invincible as a commander, given good troops and courage--"