A noble nature would have been moved by the tragic appeal of so proud a mother; but the nature of Nero, essentially mean, had become constantly meaner. He trembled before those who confronted him with boldness; but he triumphed over all who showed that they feared him. He wanted to feel perfectly independent. The only person whose power he feared was his mother. And here was this all-dreaded mother pleading with him, at whose lightest look he had been accustomed for years to tremble! He was not in the least moved; he only intended to secure the ascendency of which, in that struggle, he had won the first step. ‘You curse me,’ he said, ‘one moment, and the next you are all tears and entreaties. Do you think that it is only _your_ amulet that keeps me from your Furies? You have dishonoured my image; see how much I care for your amulet. I will never wear it again.’ He unclasped the armlet from his wrist, and flung it to the other end of the room. ‘There!’ he said. ‘_You_ may have it; I have done with it!’ And with these words he turned his back upon her, and went out without a farewell. It seemed a small matter, and what else could she expect from such a being as her son--a youth soft without tenderness, caressing without affection, cruel without courage? She stood and looked towards the curtain through which he had disappeared. She stood with gleaming eyes and dilated nostrils, and firm-set lips. Every tear was dried up in her burning glance, as she outstretched her clenched hand and vowed a terrible vengeance. ‘O wronged Britannicus!’ she murmured; ‘O wronged Octavia! cannot I even now redress your wrongs? Alas! it cannot be. Their first act would be to avenge the injured manes of Claudius. But does not Rubellius Plautus live, and Cornelius Sulla? Could I not even yet brush this mean and thankless actor like an insect from my path--son though he be--and seat one of them upon the throne of the Cæsars?’ She picked up the armlet with the serpent’s skin. ‘It shall be as he said,’ she murmured; ‘he shall never wear or see it more.’ When his hour of doom had come, Nero searched for that amulet in vain! CHAPTER XV _EMPEROR AND ÆSTHETE._ ‘The skipping king, he ambled up and down With shallow jesters and rash bavin wits, Soon kindled and soon burned, carded his state, Mingled his royalty with capering fools, Had his great name profaned with their scorns.’ 1. _Henry IV._ iii. 2. Nero tried to persuade himself that he cared little for such scenes as that which we have witnessed; but in reality they troubled him. It required a strong effort to shake off their effects, and they left his small pleasure-loving nature in a state of tremor and disgust. He longed to escape from them to some complete retirement, where, away from all pomp, he could give himself up, heart and soul, to selfish æstheticism and voluptuous delight.