Yesterday, we noted the anniversary of the death of Emperor Claudius, and how it is treated by the Roman historians Tacitus and Suetonius, and by the televised miniseries based on the historical novels of the British author Robert Graves, I, Claudius and Claudius the God. The title of the latter book reflects the fact that despite the generally negative assessment of Claudius in antiquity, and in modern times until Graves’ novels were published, he was declared by the Romans to be a god after his death.
At least one ancient satirical author clearly felt that this was a completely ridiculous choice to join the class of gods, which previously included men of such historical stature that there were only two of them: Julius Caesar and Augustus. The Greek historian Cassio Dio, writing in the early part of the 3rd century, says this author was the younger Seneca (4 BC – 65 AD), an attribution accepted by most modern scholars. The Greek word for “divinization” is “apotheosis”; Seneca’s satire is called the “apocolocyntosis”. This is often euphemistically translated as “the pumpkinification of Claudius,” but pumpkins are native to the New World and were unknown to the Romans. A more accurate translation would be “gourdification”, referring to the Citrullus colocynthis or colocynth, known for its laxative properties in the ancient world.
If “divinization” and “apotheosis” had not both been absorbed by English, this would make for a superb pun: “godification” versus “gourdification.” The term refers to the author’s rather rude account of Claudius’ departure from this world and his final words, quae tacendo praeterimus.
Claudius’ Arrival in Heaven
(A surviving section of the podium of the temple of Claudius on the Caelian Hill, which now supports the bell-tower of the church of Saints John and Paul.)
A good sense of the work as a whole can be drawn from the description of Claudius’ arrival in heaven:
Latin text: “Nuntiatur Iovi venisse quendam bonae staturae, bene canum; nescio quid illum minari, assidue enim caput movere; pedem dextrum trahere. Quaesisse se, cuius nationis esset: respondisse nescio quid perturbato sono et voce confusa; non intellegere se linguam eius, nec Graecum esse nec Romanum nec ullius gentis notae. Tum Iuppiter Herculem, qui totum orbem terrarum pererraverat et nosse videbatur omnes nationes, iubet ire et explorare, quorum hominum esset. Tum Hercules primo aspectu sane perturbatus est, ut qui etiam non omnia monstra timuerit. Ut vidit novi generis faciem, insolitum incessum, vocem nullius terrestris animalis, sed qualis esse marinis beluis solet, raucam et implicatam, putavit sibi tertium decimum laborem venisse. Diligentius intuenti visus est quasi homo.”
Translation: “It was announced to Jove that someone had come, a man of good stature, with white hair, making some threat or other, for he was continually shaking his head and dragging his right foot. Asked about his nation, he answered nervously and with a confused voice, and his language could not be understood—whether it was Greek, Latin, or any known tongue. Then Jupiter ordered Hercules, who had traveled the world and knew all nations, to go and find out to which group of men he belonged. Hercules, at first sight, was very shocked, even though he had never feared any monsters. When he saw this new kind of face, this unusual walk, this voice like no earthly animal but more like a sea creature, hoarse and garbled, he thought his thirteenth labor had come. But, looking more closely, he realized it was some kind of man.”
