09 - Sabina Poppea

Sabina Poppea was the granddaughter of Sabinus Poppeus, a Roman governor of many provinces and much honored by Caesar. Poppea’s mother had been a famous beauty of whom many countless odes had been written by the poets of her time. Poppea inherited her mother’s stately figure, rosy, luminous skin, and her magnificent crown of copper colored hair, which her slave hairdressers had a special way of shaping in cunningly wrought waves and hollows that caught and hid the sunlight in a strange translucent play.

There were two features of Poppea that made men crazy and drove women into paroxysms of jealousy. Those were her slender, towering throat and her dazzling skin. She heightened the effect of the latter by constantly bathing in donkey’s milk and by the use of exotic oils and balsams prepared and applied by a large staff of experts.

As a teenager, Poppea married and disposed of two husbands and inherited a huge fortune from each. Her wealth, added to her beauty, made her the most famous and most desired woman in the imperial court.

Poppea’s ambition was every bit as magnificent as her beauty. She aspired to be the wife of Caesar, not in name alone, but in power as well. So the first time she met him, she showed that she was not easily won, although she knew she’d overwhelmed him with her beauty. She played, she encouraged, she retreated. She flirted with Otto, the handsome young prince, right in Caesar’s presence. And she let Caesar understand that if he wanted her for a wife, he’d have to rid himself of his mother, the ambitious and scheming Agrippina. She even ridiculed him for remaining tied to his mother’s apron strings and for compromising his dignity. She threatened to leave Rome, and go to some distant province, so that she wouldn’t have to see his humiliation. In the end she had her way, and Nero put his mother to death.

But even then the wedding didn’t happen right away. Even though Seneca consented to the suggestion that Nero divorce his wife, to whom he owed his throne, old Burrus, the commander of the Praetorian Guard, couldn’t permit Nero to cast away Octavia, the daughter of Claudius and granddaughter of the mighty Augustus. Poppea conspired with Tigellinus and Burrus was poisoned.

Nero then divorced Octavia, which caused a storm of resentment among the Romans, who respected Octavia as the representative of the glorious Julian line. And Seneca moved to his country estate to dedicate whatever remained of his life to his studies and to the famous moralistic letters he wrote to his friends. Faenius Rufus and the infamous Tigellinus took over the reins of government.

Banishing Octavia was not enough and Poppea didn’t rest until she sent Octavia into that banishment from which there is no return. Twelve days later, Poppea came to the palace as Nero’s wife, accompanied by her five hundred donkeys, the providers of her baths.

One of the odd things about Poppea was that she had a queer inclination toward monotheism, and even flirted with the Jewish God of Jerusalem. Roman matrons in general were currently under the influence of the priests of Isis, who were as numerous in Rome as in their native Egypt. And this ordinariness was precisely why Poppea attached herself to the Palestinian deity. For her it was a mark of distinction, like her baths of donkey’s milk and her exotic perfumes. She got a perverse pleasure from her attachment to the universally despised monotheism of the Jews.

Not that she had any intention of actually making the Jewish God the dominant principle of her life, of course, or to accept any moral responsibility. Poppea had only one worship, her own beauty, and one morality, her dominion over Caesar. Her body was her temple, and she the high priestess. She prayed to her white skin, her large, almond-colored eyes and her copper-colored hair. She would rather die before these objects of adoration lost their magic. Her flirtation with the Jewish God was only an expression of her boredom.

There was enough of it, though, to allow certain Jews to exploit it for the benefit of some of the prisoners who rotted in Caesar’s prisons.


One day, a Jewish actor of Rome brought a young aristocrat of Jerusalem, a member of the priesthood, to Sabina Poppea. The young man had a thorough and worldly education. He spoke excellent Greek, was acquainted with Greek literature, and had taken to writing history. He’d asked for the introduction in order to plead for three priests who’d been sent to Rome as prisoners by the Proconsul Felix. His elegant speech, sprinkled with many quotes, greatly impressed her, and she decided that she could learn everything about the mysteries of the Jewish God and the services in His famous Temple from this man. So she took care of the business he’d asked, and began peppering him with questions about life after death, a known feature of the Jewish religion.

The young man confirmed that the Jews believed that each person would rise from the dead in the same form he had in life. The thought that she could arrange to be resurrected in the beauty and charm she alone possessed deeply interested Poppea. So she decided it would be a good idea to please the Jewish God. She felt she’d gotten off to a good start by her intervention on behalf of the three priests. She also saw to it that the young aristocrat, whose name was Josephus, not leave the palace empty-handed. She made a mental note to issue instructions that her body not be burned when she died. And she decided to obtain a couple of Jewish priests to form part of her suite and accompany her, with her other attendants, when she passed through the streets of Rome.

But that was about as far as she could go. It just wasn’t her style to be bound up with obligations, penalties, or discipline of any kind. Her dream was to become the “Helen of Rome,” with a temple of her own, in which worshippers would offer sacrifice after her death. She certainly couldn’t openly ally herself with a people who were universally ridiculed in the theaters and circuses and were the butt of every satirist and pamphleteer, who were said to worship an ass’s head and to waste one day of every seven in meaningless idleness, and who refused to touch pork.

But she liked the part about resurrection, and so whatever service she could render to this God, without too much effort, she would do. There was the freeing of the priests, the presents to the visitor, and the occasional favors to the Jews, such as purchasing cosmetics and balsams from the Jewish women. What more could be expected of her?


On another day, two Jewish balsam sellers stood before the great lady as she sat back luxuriously on her couch. Her white skin filled the room with a subdued luster, overlaid by the glow of her hair. Countless vases and phials, of bronze, silver and glass, filled with the essence of Oriental plants were ranged about her. The instruments of her toilet, scissors, tweezers, and files of every shape, lay on a table, while a row of hair curlers glowed in a brazier. A staff of naked slaves attended her under the direction of her chief masseuse. The utmost care had to be taken to cause her no physical pain while attending to her beauty. The slightest twinge brought immediate retribution, usually in the form of glowing tweezers applied to the skin of the clumsy slave. And if Poppea happened to be in a less gracious humor, she might condemn the sinner to the crocodiles.

While some of the slaves worked on her hair, weaving it strand by strand into cunning folds, others applied layer after layer of salve on the white skin, then removed it and poured on precious oil. One specialist was occupied with Poppea’s eyebrows, another with her breasts, and others with her fingernails and toenails. Egyptian slaves behind curtains produced soft music. Other slaves laid out tunics, veils, and sandals that Poppea would wear to that night’s banquet.

Suddenly, Poppea’s face clouded over, and her delicate rose-white face turned to crimson. She reached over and thrust the prongs of a pair of tweezers into the breast of the slave who was manipulating her eyebrows. Without a word, she closed the tweezers with all her strength. The slave turned white, but uttered no sound. Her knees gave way, and she fell to the floor. Two African slaves came forward and carried her away. Poppea didn’t even look around. She only signaled to the two Jewish women to speak.

“Great lady!” said one. “This oil I bring you today is pressed from a secret plant that grows only in one part of the world, the wilderness of our native Judea. Only our priests know the secret of extracting its essence. One drop of this oil, mixed with salve, brings a sunlight brightness to the skin. There is not a queen anywhere in the world to whom this oil has been offered before. Today, for the first time, we received a few drops direct from Jerusalem. I mixed it with salve and I bring it as a gift to our great lady.”

The speaker, Dark Hannah, who was known to many Roman matrons, bowed low before Poppea.

Then her companion spoke, “And I have brought you O Empress, a balsam pressed out of a cactus plant that grows in our land. The cactus is as hard as granite, but it cannot be ground, for in grinding it loses its virtue. It must be beaten softly for three months, until the oil comes out on its own. The oil is called Helbonah, and it is treasured more than precious stones. Queen Bernice is the only one who has had the use of it till now, and she had it only in tiny measure. We had the cactus sent to us from the Holy City, and we beat it for three months.”

Poppea signaled to her slaves, who took the phials from the women.

“Try them out,” she commanded.

A drop from each phial was poured into a slave’s hand, which was rubbed and warmed, to bring out the aroma of the salves. Then the hand of each slave in turn was brought under Poppea’s nose. She seemed pleased.

She ordered that the Helbonah be applied to her skin at once, and while she was being thus administered to, the Jewish women took courage and bowed again. Stretching themselves in the manner of slaves was forbidden by their religion, so they merely inclined their heads, and bowed from the waist down.

Dark Hannah spoke, “Everywhere in Rome and throughout the world the great lady’s graciousness and goodness is spoken of as much as the beauty that has won Caesar’s heart. Loveliest of women, you who has the key to Caesar’s heart, we come before you to beg your clemency on behalf of a holy man, a messenger of God, who has been held prisoner in Rome for two years. The man is innocent of any crime and has committed nothing against the laws of Caesar or against the laws of our God.”

“Why was he brought to Rome, then?” asked Poppea.

“Great lady! The High Priest placed him under arrest for believing that the dead rise again. The priests do not believe in the resurrection, but all our rabbis do.”

“Why wasn’t the man judged in Judea, according to the laws of the land?” asked Poppea. “Why was he sent to Rome?”

“The man is a Roman citizen, and he appealed to Caesar. His name is Paul, and he is an apostle of Jesus Christ.”

Poppea paused. This was interesting. A Roman citizen had appealed to Caesar and had been kept in chains for two years without a hearing. Two years! Just because Caesar was too busy singing his own poems to his own music.


Poppea was the only person in Rome who could dare to speak the truth to Nero, and later she brought up the case to him.

“Augustus, Tiberius, and Claudius,” she said, “considered it a point of honor to try those who appealed to them in person. But this man has waited two years for justice, and my Caesar has done nothing for him.”

Thus was Paul’s appeal to Caesar finally answered. Well, not by Caesar himself, for he couldn’t tear himself away from his more important occupations despite Poppea’s reproach. A deputy heard the case in the palace of justice on the Forum.


Every lawyer brought “clients” to a trial with him to applaud his words in an attempt to influence the judges. These claques might consist of a regular group of clients or of men hired for the occasion, and they usually filled the hall. But Paul had no lawyer. So on this day, the hall was empty. Besides Paul and Caesar’s deputy, there were two advisers and secretaries.

Since the High Priest had not only failed to send a formal accuser to the trial, or even advise any Jews in Rome about Paul’s crime, the deputy’s only source of information was the report submitted by the one-time procurator, Festus. So Paul defended himself exactly as he’d done before Felix, Festus, and Agrippa.

He’d never offended against the laws of Rome or those of the Jewish faith, a faith that was sanctioned and protected by the Roman Empire. “But this I confess. I serve the God of my fathers according to the ways of my sect. I believe all that is written in the Torah and in the prophets.”

Then he added, “The only difference between them and us is that we say that Christ has already come. As to the resurrection, my sect agrees with the learned men and lawgivers of Israel. They too believe the dead will rise from their graves.

“It’s only the Sadducee sect that has persecuted me. The Pharisees in the Sanhedrin found no fault with me, neither did King Agrippa when I defended myself before him in Caesarea. King Agrippa declared me innocent, and he said to Festus that I might have gone free. But I’d already appealed to Caesar by then.”

The tribune acting as Caesar’s deputy that day had a great contempt and disgust at the mention of the barbaric cult of the Jews. He also regarded Paul as a maniac, much like Festus had. And he felt that it was a great defect in the Romans to have extended the tolerance of their laws to the Jewish faith and to have encouraged the follies of a cult that preached a resurrection, a Christ, and destructive practices that he knew were slowly penetrating into the homes of the Romans by way of the matrons of the city.

But the law was the law. It was only his job to administer it. So that same morning Paul was set free.

For nearly five years he’d been a prisoner in chains. Now his dispute with the Jews was at an end.