Nero

By Andrew Einstman

The purpose of this literary work is for me to convey to you, the reader, the importance and grandeur of my life. My name: Nero Claudius Drusus Germanicus. I was born on December 15, 37 AD in the town of Antium, near the city of Rome. My mother was Agrippa, the sister of the emperor Caligula (ruled from 37 AD to 41AD). At first, mom helped me to reach my imperial position by forcing Claudius to adopt me. At that point, she was so excited to se me on the throne, she just poisoned Claudius with some ‘shrooms and all of the sudden I have become the most powerful man in the Roman Empire in 54 AD. I’m not going to lie; maybe the power did get to my head a little bit as I look back on some of the things I did and how most of the citizens thought of me. But, I mean, it was not all bad. Except, there might me just one little aspect that I forgot to mention: I kind of had my mother killed after she decided she should be my influential in my political endeavors in comparison to my top two advisors, Seneca and Burrus. I realized that this probably was not the best idea, and the best way to dispatch of anyone causing even the slightest conflict is to kill them, obviously. However, my real claim to fame is my less than exemplary reign as emperor. Normally, I would not be one to admit fault with myself, but in retrospect and considering the fact that I was driven to suicide as I was being chased down by soldiers on horseback with intent to kill me, it is relatively clear that I might have been able to do some things better. One thing that I thought I was doing pretty well was that I made sure to institute several policies that rested in favor with the lower classes, who made up the majority of the Roman population. However, I was even criticized for taking these measures because I was accused of simply wanting popularity and more power. But the straw that really broke the camel’s back for the Roman people regarding my rule was the Great Fire of Rome in 64 AD. I was quite the musician (I played harp and sang) and I was accused of having simply sat at my porch safely away from the fire and sang and played harp while Rome burned to the ground. While Rome was burning, though, that was not all I was doing. I was thinking about important reconstruction processes, such as the one I organized on the Campus Martius simply because I felt like I needed to give back to the Roman people. But, would you believe it, people were still upset with me for my little fire feaux pas. So what I decided to do was build my own little pleasure palace up on the Esquiline Hill that I like to call the Domus Aurea. However, again, after I died, it seemed like no one really cared for me because Vespasian and Hadrian decided to fiddle with the giant statue of me, the Colossus of Nero, and Vespasian even had the nerve to build the Flavian Amphitheater over my Domus Aurea. I guess I should have been able to predict that much considering I was forced to drive a knife into my own throat as my pursuers chased after me on horseback during my death in 68 AD. If I did any good at all for the Romans, it could very well be that I set a good example for what an emperor should NOT be.