I, Claudius - Robert Graves [93]
I will not write more about Augustus' funeral, though a more magnificent one has never been seen at Rome, for I must now begin to omit all things in my story except those of the first importance: I have already filled more than thirteen rolls of the best paper—from the new paper-making factory I have recently equipped—and not reached a third of the way through it. But I must not fail to tell about the contents of Augustus' will, the reading of which was awaited with general interest and impatience. Nobody was more anxious to know what it contained than I was, and I shall explain why.
A month before his death Augustus had suddenly appeared at the door of my study—he had been visiting my mother who was just convalescent after a long illness—and after dismissing his attendants had begun to talk to me in a rambling way, not looking directly at me, but behaving as shyly as though he were Claudius and I were Augustus.
He picked up a book of my history and read a passage.
"Excellent writing!" he said. "And how soon will the work be finished?"
I told him, "In a month or less," and he congratulated me and said that he would then give orders to have a public reading of it at his own expense, inviting his friends to attend. I was perfectly astonished at this but he went on in a friendly way to ask if I would not prefer a professional reciter to do justice to it rather than read myself: he said that public reading of one's own work must always be very embarrassing—even tough old Pollio had confessed that he was always nervous on such occasions. I thanked him most sincerely and heartily and said that a professional would obviously be more suitable, if my work indeed deserved such an honour.
Then he suddenly held out his hand to me: "Claudius, do you bear me any ill-will?"
What could I say to that? Tears came to my eyes and I muttered that I reverenced him and that he had never done anything to deserve my ill-will. He said with a sign: "No, but on the other hand little to earn your love. Wait a few months longer, Claudius, and I hope to be able to earn both your love and your gratitude. Germanicus has told me about you. He says that you are loyal to three things—to your friends, to Rome, and to the truth. I would be very proud if Germanicus thought the same of me."
"Germanicus' love for you falls only a little short of outright worship," I said. "He has often told me so."
His face brightened. "You swear it? I am very happy. So now, Claudius, there's a strong bond between us—the good opinion of Germanicus. And what I came to tell you was this: I have treated you very badly all these years and I'm sincerely sorry and from now on you'll see that things will change." He quoted in Greek: "Who wounded thee, shall make thee whole" and with that he embraced me. As he turned to go he said over his shoulder: "I have just paid a visit to the Vestal Virgins and made some important alterations in a document of mine in their charge: and since you yourself are partly responsible for these I have given your name greater prominence there than it had before. But not a word!"
"You can trust me," I said.
He could only have meant one thing by this: that he had believed Postumus' story as I had reported it to Germanicus and was now restoring him in his will [which was in charge of the Vestals] as his heir; and that I was to benefit too as a reward for my loyalty to him. I did