“’Twas the saddest day of my voyage home,” she sadly replied. “At Brundusium, O my son, the country round about poured forth its people so that the wharves, the buildings, and the temples of that city were black with crowds clad in mourning robes. In that dense throng were friends and relatives, as well as officers and soldiers who had served under thy father in many campaigns. When the bireme that bore thy father’s remains floated into the harbor of that great city, a simultaneous groan arose from that multitude. As I walked from the bireme, carrying the urn that contained the ashes of thy father, and followed by Caligula and the babe Julia, in the arms of her nurse, men wept like women, women like children. The journey from Brundusium to Terracina was one long lament.” “Ay, mother, I remember to have seen the people throw stones at the temples, in anger that the gods should have permitted that catastrophe.” “Thine uncle Drusus has been called a stony-hearted man; but when he met me at Terracina he burst into tears,--may the gods grant peace to his spirit! With him were Claudius, Nero, Agrippina, Drusilla, and thyself, O Drusus. As we moved on towards Rome, every temple along the way poured forth clouds of incense. Traffic ceased in the cities, and the people lined the road in one compact mass. A catafalque covered with wreaths and flowers and bearing the silver funeral urn was borne upon the shoulders of tribunes and centurions. At Albanum I was met by the consuls, the Senate, the knights in purple mantles, and the Roman people in black robes. Their sobs and cries rent the air. Never before had such mourning been seen and heard in the streets of Rome.” As she lived over in memory that sad journey to Rome, tears filled her eyes. “Weep not, O mother,” said Drusus, laying his hand upon hers. “Ay, but what followed?” said Agrippina, drying her eyes and sitting upright upon the couch. “Did the emperor meet me? Did he pay any respect to those precious ashes? Where was Livia? The mother of Germanicus, Antonia, was at home, prostrated. But, my son, where was the public funeral that great men deserve? When the father of Germanicus died, Tiberius met his body, and, in the depths of winter, from the snowy mountains he came on foot to the city. At Rome, around the bier of that illustrious man, were the images of the Claudian and Julian families. In the Forum he was mourned. Encomiums were pronounced on the rostra. Every honor that could be conceived was heaped upon him. But thy father, the great Germanicus, had nothing. Except for the moaning of the people, his remains were silently placed beside those of his father and my Divine grandsire.” She paused a few moments and then continued: “Amid those groans could be heard passionate exclamations. People cried: ‘The commonwealth is lost! Henceforth there remains no hope for Rome!’”