To circumvent these Mamaea refused to allow Alexander to eat anything from the imperial kitchens and set up a kitchen and establishment of her own in the palace, an arrangement which would scarcely have been sanctioned by Antonine if he had had any definite murderous object in view, because it would have interfered too materially with such plans. But there was obviously some gross negligence afoot. Any resolute ruler, given a couple of days (even without Locusta’s famous stew of poison and mushrooms, which Nero, in allusion to Claudius’ apotheosis, called the food of the Gods), would have given the lie to that pious generalisation of Lampridius about the impotence of the wicked, and done it in much the same manner that Nero, Domitian, Commodus, and Caracalla had done; not to mention others whose names it would be invidious to bring forward, but who still firmly believe that the wicked, when suitably backed, have a certain power in this world of woe, the wicked naturally being those whom we personally dislike. Antonine seems to have been quite indifferent as to what was going on; he knew that his position was precarious; Syrian divines had told him that his doom was near; in consequence of which he prepared several devices for a unique and splendid suicide; and lived his life, a life in which the spintries—a form of amusement with which Tiberius had refreshed an equally worried frame—figured largely, along with other equally reprehensible enjoyments. Of the actual politics we know little or nothing from the time of this so-called revolution, until by some means or other, unknown to the Emperor, Maesa got Alexander designated Consul for the year of grace 222. Here Antonine struck. He refused point blank to go to the Senate to be invested with the dignity unless some one else were designated instead of his cousin. He saw the game as clearly as you and I can see it, and resolved to create a deadlock in the constitution. There should be an Emperor, but no Consuls, unless, of course, the women and Senate were prepared to give way. He was _not_ going to give official position and authority to enemies whose object he knew only too well. Up to this juncture he had succeeded in nullifying their machinations; did they think he was going to give away his whole position now? Not he, and so on, and so on. Here was a real difficulty—Rome without Consuls was unthinkable. Antonine without supremacy was almost as impossible a suggestion; still the women resolved to hold on, and try whether patience and diplomacy would not appeal to his sentimental nature, and thus overcome the last bit of opposition. After all, he was young, and affection with children is so much more powerful than reason.