I, Claudius - Robert Graves [49]
The day was chosen for our betrothal. I asked Germanicus about Urgulanilla, but he was as much in the dark as I was, and seemed a little ashamed of having consented to the marriage without making careful enquiries beforehand.
He was very happy with Agrippina and wanted me to be happy too. Well, the day came, a "lucky" one, and there I was again in my chaplet and clean gown again waiting at the family-altar for the bride to arrive. "The third time's lucky," said Germanicus. "I am sure she's a beauty, really, and kind and sensible and just the sort for you." But was she? Well, in my life I have had many cruel bad jokes played on me, but I think that this was the cruellest and worst. Urgulanilla was—well, in brief, she lived up to her name, which is the Latin form of Herculanilla. A young female Hercules she indeed was. Though only fifteen years old, she was over six foot three inches in height and still growing, and broad and strong in proportion, with the largest feet and hands I have ever seen on any human being in my life with the single exception of the gigantic Parthian hostage who walked in a certain triumphal procession many years later. Her features were regular but heavy and she wore an almost perpetual scowl. She stooped. She talked as slowly as my uncle Tiberius [whom, by the way, she resembled closely—there was even talk of her being really his daughter]. She had no learning, wit, accomplishments, or any endearing qualities. And it is strange, but the first thoughts that struck roe when I saw her were: "This woman is capable of murder by violence" and "I shall be very careful from the first to hide my repugnance to her, and give her no just cause to harbour resentment against me. For if once she comes to hate me, my life is not safe."
I am a pretty good actor, and though the solemnity of the ceremony was broken by smirks, whispered jokes and repressed titters from the company, Urgulanilla had no cause to blame me for this indecorousness. After it was over the two of us were summoned into the presence of Livia and Urgulania. When the door was shut and we stood there facing them—myself nervous and fidgety, Urgulanilla massive and expressionless and clenching and unclenching her great fists—the solemnity of these two evil old grandmothers gave way, and they burst into uncontrolled laughter. I had never heard either of them laugh like that before and the effect was frightening. It was not decent healthy laughter but a hellish sobbing and screeching, like that of two old drunken prostitutes watching a torture or crucifixion. "Oh, you two beauties!" sobbed Livia at last, wiping her'eyes, "What wouldn't I give to see you in bed together on your wedding night! It would be the funniest scene since Deucalion's Flood!"
"And what happened particularly funny on that famous occasion, my dear?" asked Urgulania.
'"Why, don't you know? God destroyed the whole world with a flood, except Deucalion and his family, and a few animals that took refuge on the mountain tops. Haven't you read Aristophanes' Flood? It's my favourite play of his. The scene is laid on Mount Parnassus. Various animals are assembled, unfortunately only one of each kind, and each thinks himself the sole survivor of his species. So in order to replenish the earth somehow with animals they have to mate with one another in spite of moral scruples and obvious difficulties. The Camel is betrothed by Deucalion to the She-Elephant."
"Camel and Elephant! That's a fine one!" cackled Urgulania. "Look at Tiberius Claudius' long neck and skinny body and long silly face. And my Urgulanilla's great feet and great flapping ears, and little pig-eyes! Ha, Ha, Ha, Ha!
And what was their offspring? Giraffe? Ha, Ha, Ha, Ha!"
"The play doesn't get that far. Iris comes on the stage for the messenger speech and reports another refuge of animals on Mount Atlas. Iris breaks off the nuptials just in time."
"Was the Camel disappointed?"
"Oh, most bitterly."
"And the Elephant?"
"The Elephant just scowled."
"Did they kiss on parting?'*
"Aristophanes does not tell. But I'm sure they did.