He had a party behind him, one
made up of old Neronians, the army of the discontented, who wanted
a change, and greatly admired this charming young prince whose
hours were passed in killing flies and making love to married
women. The pretorians too had been seduced. Domitian could make
captivating promises when he chose.
As a consequence Titus, like Vespasian, was uneasy, and with
cause. Dion Cassius, or rather that brute Xiphilin, his
abbreviator, mentions the fever that overtook him, the same his
father had met. It was mortal, of course, and the purple was
Domitian's.
For a year and a day thereafter you would have thought Titus still
at the helm. There was the same clemency, the same regard for
justice, the same refinement and fastidiousness. The morose young
poet had developed into a model monarch. The old Neronians were
perplexed, irritated too; they had expected other things. Domitian
was merely feeling the way; the hand that held the sceptre was not
quite sure of its strength, and, tentatively almost, this Prince
of Virtue began to scrutinize the morals of Rome. For the first
time he noticed that the cocottes took their airing in litters.
But litters were not for them! That abuse he put a stop to at
once. A senator manifested an interest in ballet-girls; he was
disgraced. The vestals, to whose indiscretions no one had paid
much attention, learned the statutes of an archaic law, and were
buried alive.
Pages:
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86