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POPP^EA VICTRIX 383
But it was far from her intention to sink into the humble
position which had been enough for Acte, who, in her ignorance,
had felt for Nero a love ten times more genuine than
that which she had inspired. Poppaea, whose infantine and
cherubic loveliness could easily have secured for her the hand
of the noblest of the patricians, intended to be Empress and
nothing
less. She knew the evanescent character of such
love as she had kindled, and she bent the powers of her mind
to rule Nero by playing with his hopes. There was but one
obstacle in the path of her ambition. Octavia still lived, and
Octavia must be got rid of.
It is true that the hapless Empress had long been reduced
to a cipher by the mutual repulsion of herself and her husband.
She could scarcely help shrinking from his touch. To
look in his face made her shudder. While still in the charm
of youth he had been odious to her. Now that his face was
unhealthy with excess, his cruel frown and lowering countenance
wore in her eyes the look of a demon. His faithlessness
did not wound her, for the gleams of happiness which rarely
illumined the tragedy of her life came to her only when he
neglected her utterly. Nevertheless, she was Empress. She
had the undeniable rights of her position, and in public it was
necessary for Nero to treat with decency the daughter of the
divine Claudius and the granddaughter of the beloved Germanicus.
Yet Poppsea had determined that, on one pretext or other,
she should be set aside, and never doubted that sooner rather
than later she would goad the timid Emperor to repudiate his
wife, that he might be free for another marriage.
One day when Poppsea knew that Nero intended to visit
her she prepared all her wiles. He came in after the mid-day
prandium, and he found her reclining on her couch of ivory
and silver in the cool, well-shaded, voluptuously-furnished
room. She had let loose over her shoulders the splendid
ripples of her golden tresses. An odour as of blown roses
clung to her person and her robes. Every jewel that she
wore, whether ruby, or sapphire, or emerald, or diamond, was
so arranged as to set off her soft and glowing complexion, and
there was exquisite grace in her way of handling the fan of
peacock's feathers which swept in iridescent glory over her
dress from the golden handle which drooped from her right