I, Claudius

I was a very sickly child -- 'a very battleground of diseases', the doctors said -- and perhaps only lived because the diseases could not agree as to which should have the honour of carrying me off. To begin with, I was born prematurely, at only seven months, and then my foster-nurse's milk disagreed with me, so that my skin broke out in an ugly rash, and then I had malaria, and measles, which left me slightly deaf in one ear, and erysipelas, and colitis, and finally infantile paralysis, which shortened my left leg so that I was condemned to a permanent limp.

Thus was Tiberius Claudius Drusus Nero Germanicus born into the world. Add to these infirmities a stammer and a habit of drooling and it's easy to see why the whole of the Roman Empire dismissed Claudius as a half-wit and a freak -- and it was precisely this dismissal that saved Claudius from the murderous rampage of his serial-killing grandmother, allowing him to hide in the shadows until he himself was crowned Emperor. Or, at least, that's the way Robert Graves presents the story.

Written as a fictionalised memoir, I, Claudius is a brilliant conceit: the actual Claudius was a scholar and a historian, the author of many books (including an autobiography that has been lost), who was alive during the reigns of Augustus (his well-intentioned grandfather), the cruel Tiberius, and the maniacal Caligula. From his perch within the palace, Claudius would have been privy to all of the public and private machinations that legitimatised and solidified the Claudian line's claim to rule, and Graves gives him a voice that is witty and wise, concise and confidential. Meticulously researched and entertainingly written, this is no dull history book but a recording of all of the plotting, antics, alliances and betrayals that are familiar to anyone who watches reality TV today. There is some debate over whether the historical Livia (Augustus' wife) really was the puppet-master who ruthlessly poisoned her own sons and grandsons in order to arrange succession according to her own plans, but as a fictionalised character in this book, she is the perfect antagonist to set against poor Clau-clau-claudius.

In one of my favourite scenes, after his true love is poisoned before their betrothal ceremony, Livia arranges to have Claudius betrothed to the monstrous granddaughter of her own close friend and confidante. After the ceremony:

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 grandmothers gave way, and they burst into uncontrollable 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 I wouldn't give to see you in bed together on your wedding night!…Come on, Beasts. Kiss!"

I smiled foolishly, Urgulanilla scowled.

"Kiss, I say," Livia insisted in a voice that meant we had to obey.

So we kissed, and started the old women on their hysterics again.

After treating Claudius so cruelly his entire life -- not even able to bear eating at the same table as him -- it is to this grandson that Livia turns on her deathbed, begging him to have her deified so that she can avoid the eternal torture of Hades that her earthly actions would surely warrant. In keeping with the theme of this book that Claudius is as good and dutiful as Livia is cruel and self-interested, he gladly vows to have her proclaimed a goddess. 

It was fascinating to read about the palace intrigues (even if they're not 100% historically accurate) and to witness the decline from Augustus' benevolent dictatorship to Caligula's debauchery (and although there are orgies, there's nothing graphic here). I was less interested in the military campaigns, but every time I found a battle becoming dull, its importance to someone's reputation or fate back in Rome would be explained, and in this way, the big picture of these early days of the Roman Empire was brought alive for me in a way it never has before. I, Claudius appears on both Modern Library's top 100 books and Time Magazine's top 101, and although I had avoided it as likely dry and serious in an old-fashioned way, I am happy to have been wrong. And although the sequel, Claudius the God and His Wife Messalina is reputedly not quite as well-loved, I know I'll need to seek it out, if only to discover the fate of poor Clau-clau-claudius, the reluctant Roman Emperor.