It was a crime to undress before a statue of Augustus, to
mention his name in the latrinae, to carry a coin with his image
into a lupanar. The punishment was death. Of the property of the
accused, a third went to the informer, the rest to the state. Then
abruptly terror stalked abroad. No one was safe except the
obscure, and it was the obscure that accused. Once an accused
accused his accuser; the latter went mad. There was but one
refuge--the tomb. If the accused had time to kill himself before
he was tried, his property was safe from seizure and his corpse
from disgrace. Suicide became endemic in Rome. Never among the
rich were orgies as frenetic as then. There was a breathless chase
after delights, which the summons, "It is time to die," might at
any moment interrupt.
Tiberius meanwhile had gone from Rome. It was then his legend
began. He was represented living at Capri in a collection of
twelve villas, each of which was dedicated to a particular form of
lust, and there with the paintings of Parrhasius for stimulant the
satyr lounged. He was then an old man; his life had been passed in
public, his conduct unreproved. If no one becomes suddenly base,
it is rare for a man of seventy to become abruptly vile. "Whoso,"
Sakya Muni announced--"whoso discovers that grief comes from
affection, will retire into the jungles and there remain."
Tiberius had made the discovery. The jungles he selected were the
gardens by the sea.
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