Outside, under the branches of the elm and sycamore-trees, which
stretched in long avenues up the Viminal and down again on the farthest
side, an ingenious intendant had devised much such an entertainment
as in our days would be given under corresponding circumstances.
Thousands of colored lamps hung in long festoons from tree to tree.
The quaintly-clipped laurel and yew bushes, that stood between the
six great avenues, were starred with semicircular lights, and the
bronze and marble statues held torches and braziers of flame. The
open space between the two centre avenues was screened by an immense
curtain of purple stuff, which was fastened to two tall masts and waved
mysteriously in the night air, casting strange reflections; to the
right and left also a space was enclosed and screened from prying eyes
by boards hung with tapestry.
“This promises something delightful,” said Clodianus, addressing
Quintus for the first time during the evening. “She is a splendid
creature, this Lycoris! Always ready to spend millions for the pleasure
of her guests. Did you ever see handsomer hangings? Nero’s enormous
velarium[178] was not more costly.”
“Oh! gold is all-powerful!” Quintus said absently. “Listen,” he went
on, taking the officer on one side, “quite in confidence.--Is what I
heard to-day at the baths of Titus[179] true?--that you had really been
to Domitia?”
“As you say.”
“It is true then?”
“And why not? You know what happened in the Circus?”
“Of course; but I thought....”
“No, there was no help for it this time. I solemnly and formally
offered her the hand of reconciliation in Caesar’s name.”
“And Domitia?”
“To-morrow she will return an answer to her husband’s message; but, of
course, she is only too ready.”
At this moment the fair Massilian came up to them.
“Quintus, one word with you,” she begged with an engaging smile. “You
will excuse him, Clodianus?”
The officer bowed.
“Listen,” said Lycoris, as she drew Quintus away, “you must tell me all
you can about your provincial friend. The man is unbearable with his
strictness and sobriety, and yet there is something in him--how can
I explain it?--something that is wanting in every one of you others
without exception; a balance of mind, a steadfast certainty--one may as
well give in as soon as he opens his mouth.”
And as she spoke she laid her hand familiarly in the young man’s arm.
“Very true,” he said coldly. “Aurelius is not much like those oiled and
perfumed gallants, who think themselves happy to kiss the dust on your
sandals. But that boy is waiting to speak to you.”
Lycoris looked round; a young slave, who had slowly followed her,
glanced at her significantly.
“Madam,” he said, “everything is ready.”
“Ah?” said the lady. “The actors are ready? Very good; then let the
music begin.”
The slave bowed and vanished. Lycoris imperceptibly guided her
companion into a thickly overgrown sidewalk.
“We have time to spare,” she said, “and the music sounds much better
from here than up there from the terrace. What were we talking
about?... oh! the Batavian.... Why did you not bring your strange
specimen to my house sooner?”
“Because he has not long been in Rome.”
“In Rome....” repeated Lycoris vaguely. Her eyes were searching the
shrubbery. Then, recollecting herself, she went on talking vivaciously.
Thus the couple lost themselves farther and farther in the recesses of
the garden; their conversation ceased, and they listened involuntarily
to the Dionysiac hymn which reached them in softened tones from
the distance. Out here even, in this remote alley, everything was
festally illuminated; every leaf, every pebble in the path, shone
in many-colored hues. And yet, how deserted, how lonely it was, in
spite of the lights! there was something uncanny and ghostly in their
doubtful flicker and sparkle. Suddenly Lycoris stood still.
“By the Styx!” she exclaimed. “I have lost my most valuable ring. Not
two seconds since I saw it on my finger! Wait, you must have trodden
on it; it cannot be twenty paces off and must be lying on the ground.”
Before Quintus fairly understood what had happened, she had vanished
down a side path. The young man waited. “Lycoris!” he called out
presently.
No answer.
He went back to the turning--of Lycoris, not a sign.
“This is strange!” thought he. “What can it mean?”
Suddenly he stood stock-still, for in the middle of the path stood
a girlish form, small, but well made and of the sweetest grace. She
pressed her finger mysteriously to her rosebud lips, and then made
unmistakable signs to the youth that he was to follow her.
“What do you want?” asked Quintus, going up to her.
“Above all things silence,” said the girl. “My errand is to you alone.”
“Speak on then.”
“Nay, not here, noble Quintus; consider a moment--with impenetrable
hedges on each side of us! If any one came upon us, how could we
escape?”
“And who are you?” asked Quintus with a meaning smile.
“Only a slave--named Polycharma. Will you come with me?”
“Certainly, Polycharma, I follow you.”
About a hundred yards farther on a small circular clearing opened
to their right; the entrance to it was decorated with gold-colored
festoons. Just before reaching this spot the path became so narrow,
that a stout man could hardly pass along it; the wall of yew on each
side had overgrown three-quarters of its width. Polycharma drew the
folds of her dress more closely round her slim limbs, while the young
man pushed aside the branches to the right and left. He looked round
once more to see if he could discover Lycoris, but behind him all was
silent and deserted. Even the sound of the music was only heard faintly
and as if in a dream. Having reached the round plot, the slave girl
took a letter out of her bosom. “My lord,” she said, “I must exact a
solemn oath from you....”
“What about?”
“That you will keep my errand an absolute secret, and return me this
letter when you have read it.”
“Good, I swear it by Jupiter!”
Polycharma handed him the note; the mere sight of it filled him with a
suspicion of its origin. He hastily broke the seal and the silk thread,
and by the light of the colored lamps which lighted the place, he read
as follows:
“She who is wont only to command, humbles herself to the dust--so
terrible is the power of love to change us. The cruel wretch who
scorns me--he is the god of my aspirations! Have pity, O Quintus!
have pity on the miserable woman, who is dying of love for you.
Caesar, my husband, holds out his hand to me in reconciliation. It
costs me but one word, and I shall be again, as I have been, the
mistress of Rome and sovereign of the world. But behold, beloved
Quintus, all this might and all this splendor I will cast from me
and go into the remotest banishment without a tear, if you will
give me, for one second only, the happy certainty of your love.
Crush me, kill me, but ere you kill me say you are mine! Quintus,
I await my sentence. At a sign, a glance, from you I reject all
reconciliation.”
The young man was stunned; he stared speechless at the letter, which
declared in such plain terms a consuming passion. And yet, in spite of
the answering emotion which any love--even though it be rejected--must
rouse in the recipient, he could not shake off the feeling which he had
already experienced at Baiae. A dull, unutterable loathing remained
paramount in his soul, and the foppish figure of Paris, the actor, rose
clearly before his fancy. Had not the ear of that slave drunk in the
same flattering words, as were now intended to intoxicate and ravish
him? Miserable, contemptible woman--ah! how differently and how truly
beat the proud heart of his Cornelia!
Cornelia!--The thought of her turned the balance finally; Quintus drew
a wax tablet out of his bosom and wrote on it:
“I feel and acknowledge the greatness of the sacrifice, which your
Highness proposes to make; but, as a true patriot, I must prefer
the advantages which will ensue to the state from the reunion of
the sovereign couple, even to the duties imposed by gratitude.”
He folded the tablet in the letter, tied it up again and gave it
to Polycharma, who swiftly vanished. When her steps were no longer
audible, Quintus pressed his hand over his eyes and sat down on a
marble bench to reflect. Oh! that sly, intriguing Lycoris! She too,
then, was paid by the Empress as well as by Stephanus! Subsidized by
both, and a traitoress to both--for so much at any rate was certain:
Stephanus knew nothing of this nocturnal meeting. He, the real
instigator of the scene in the circus, could evidently have no part in
an intrigue, of which the issue would be diametrically opposed to his
own efforts.
Sunk in gloomy reflections on these unpleasing details, Quintus sat
staring at the ground. Suddenly he heard footsteps, and confused cries
were audible in the distance, mingled with the clatter of swords and
arms. The next minute two dark figures ran across the entrance to the
rotunda, and up the narrow path towards the top of the hill. They were
followed by two others, who came less rapidly than the first.
“Leave me, for Christ’s sake, I can go no farther!” groaned a piteous
voice, which touched the young man strangely, and at the same time
the light of the lamps fell on a pale and suffering face. Quintus
recognized the victim he had seen at Baiae tied to the stake.
“Courage, Eurymachus,” whispered his companion, a square, thick-set
man who held him stoutly up. “Hang on to my shoulders; a hundred steps
farther, and you are safe.” And they disappeared among the shrubbery.
Quintus was not a little bewildered.
“What is going on here?” thought he, rising and quitting the open plot
for one of the side paths. “Is this park peopled with demons?”
Again he heard steps and voices, more numerous and wrathful than
before. “This way, men! There, up the path between the hedges!”
“Do not let them get away. Ten thousand sesterces to the man, who
brings the villains back alive!”
And shouting thus in loud confusion, a party of armed men came in
sight, running in breathless haste through the narrow paths. The
foremost of them was now standing in front of Quintus.
“Make way, my lord!” he exclaimed in eager hurry: “We are seeking a
criminal,” and he tried to push past Quintus.
Strange! but Quintus, the proud and high-born Quintus, suddenly felt an
unaccountable impulse to protect and shield the wretched and contemned
slave.
“Insolent knave!” he exclaimed in well-feigned indignation: “Would you
dare to touch Quintus Claudius?” And seizing the astonished man by
the wrist he flung him violently from him. Meanwhile the others had
come up. Quintus still barred the way simply by standing there. The
band of men looked doubtfully now at the young nobleman, and then at
their comrade, who got up, grumbling, from the stones. Thus a precious
moment was gained. At last Quintus thought it as well to understand the
situation.
“Idiots!” he exclaimed. “Why did you not explain at once what you
wanted?--instead of that, you storm and rave like madmen....” And he
stood aside.
The pursuers rushed by him in breathless fury.
“On with you!” he said to himself, as he looked after the armed men.
“But unless I have reckoned very badly, the game has this time escaped
the hunters.”
Quintus found the company in the greatest excitement; they were
standing in agitated knots vehemently discussing something;
uncertainty, alarm, and consternation were visible in all. The only man
who appeared altogether calm and indifferent was Stephanus, haggard and
diplomatically reserved. He was sitting apart, not far from the spot
where the avenue by which Quintus returned, opened on to the terrace. A
man of athletic build was lying on the ground, bleeding from numerous
wounds; in his right hand he held the hilt of a broken sword and his
left was pressed in speechless anguish to his breast, where the enemy’s
blade had pierced him. Five or six slaves, who had carried him hither,
were standing round him with expressive gestures, while Stephanus was
making a pitiable abortive attempt to cross-examine the dying man. At
about forty paces farther away four slaves, fearfully injured, were
lying in their blood. One had had his skull cleft to the neck, and the
others were covered with hideous and gaping wounds. All four were dead.
On the spot too, where just now the curtain of gold-tissue had
waved, there was the greatest confusion. The curtain[180] had been
lowered--the fanciful decorations of one side had been overthrown and
nearly half-burnt, while hammers, nails, ropes, fragments of dresses,
and rubbish of every kind strewed the stage. In the midst of this
hideous disorder a tall cross[181] stood upright.
It was some time before Quintus could get any connected account of what
had happened; at first ten voices were raised at once to their highest
pitch of explanation. Lycoris was sulky and peevish, because the best
effect of her whole programme had been spoilt. Her friend Leaina,
on the contrary, swore by Hercules that Quintus had lost the finest
sight in the world. His wily acquaintance Clodianus, who took every
opportunity of assuming airs of frank bluntness, railed in threatening
bass tones at the audacity of the rascals, and others wandered off
into questions, so that Quintus at last lost patience. He went to the
captain of the Praetorian guard, took him by the arm, and asked almost
angrily:
“Norbanus, will you tell me in plain words? I was absent, in the
remotest part of the wood, and on my return I find a perfect chaos.
What does it all mean?”
“It means one more sign of the times. Rome is become a perfect
Vesuvius; there are rumblings and mutterings on every side and in every
corner. What do you think? We were sitting here very contentedly on
the garden seats, enjoying the pleasures of digestion. Well, I was
just wondering to myself what this Massilian bay mare could still have
in reserve, and somewhat excited with curiosity, when the curtain was
lowered. A grand burst of music! and a fellow dressed in scarlet came
to the front and informed us in well-turned trimeters,[182] that a
devilish funny piece was about to be performed, the capital punishment
of a criminal slave[183] named Eurymachus....”
“What?” cried Quintus horrified.
“As I tell you--the execution of the slave Eurymachus, who had sinned
gravely against his illustrious master Stephanus, and so had forfeited
his life.”
“An execution as a garden comedy? This is something new, by Jupiter!”
“New indeed! hardly heard of since the days of the divine Nero.”
“Well, and what next?”
“The speaker announced that Lycoris had obtained leave from Parthenius,
the head chamberlain, to have the execution carried out in the
semblance of a jest before the eyes of her illustrious and noble
guests; he begged our indulgence for the performers, bowed, and the
entertainment began.--You know me, Quintus, and that I am no lover of
such horrible buffoonery. I fought for many years against the Daci[184]
and Germanii, and the gods know that the sight of death turns me cold.
Merely to see an unarmed wretch butchered--do you know, Quintus, it
always reminds me of slaughtering swine. When I sit there at my ease,
looking on, a lump rises in my throat, even in the amphitheatre. It may
be outrageously simple and quite out of fashion, but for the life of me
I cannot help it.”
“Go on, go on!” cried Quintus in growing excitement.
“Well then; the performance began. They dragged the man in, half-naked
and crowned with roses. I cannot say he looked to me like a dangerous
character; quite the contrary--even at that moment, when his life was
at stake, he was quite quiet; only his paleness betrayed that the
proceedings were not altogether pleasant to him. Then all sorts of
mocking and games began at his expense; men scourged him or kicked
him--all with consummate grace--and half-naked girls danced and leaped
round him like mad things, nipped and pinched him, boxed his ears,
and played all kinds of stupid tricks. This went on for about ten
minutes. Then the executioners set a ladder by the cross there, flung
a rope round him under the arms, hauled him up, and the first blow of
the hammer was on the point of hitting the nail in, when a part of
the side scene fell in with a tremendous crash. Four men, with their
faces blackened with soot, rushed in like a thunder-storm, seized
Eurymachus--who was as pale as death--by the arms, and were gone
before the pack of slaves had recovered their senses. The spectators
thought at first that this was part of the entertainment, till they
were enlightened by the angry shouts of Stephanus and Lycoris. Then it
occurred to the half-stunned executioners, that they might pursue the
men. But then they perceived, that in the breach made by the fallen
scenery a tall giant of a man was standing. He received the pursuers
with a perfect storm of sword-strokes. Rhodius, the gardener’s son,
fell without a cry, and the second man fared no better; the uproar
was general, and the scenery broke out in flames. The whole gang of
them fell back before the one with a howl, like dogs before a wolf at
bay. The tall fellow, however, retired through fire and smoke till he
was safe outside it all, and then he planted himself up above at the
entrance of the avenue of elms, sword in hand. Eight men rushed upon
him at once, but for fully five minutes not one could get at him. Three
of the assailants bit the dust, before a well-aimed thrust pierced the
Hercules through the breast. He started, once more gathered himself
together, and a fourth man fell in front of him, cleft through the
skull. That was the last of it.”
“A noble ending truly to a friendly festival!” said Quintus glancing at
Lycoris, who still was fuming over the disaster. “And the rash defender
is dead?”
“Not yet,” said Clodianus joining them. “Stephanus is questioning him.
But as the fellow refuses to give any information, they propose to
torture him to make him speak.”
“Impossible!” cried Quintus furious. “His wound is mortal, he fought
like a hero. At any rate leave him to die in peace!” Clodianus shrugged
his shoulders.
“Settle that with Stephanus! If the villain will not confess, it is
certainly permissible to egg on his loquacity.”
Quintus frowned. After a few minutes of reflection he went up to
Stephanus, at the very instant when two slaves came on to the terrace
with a steaming cauldron of water.
“A very painful incident!” said Claudius coolly.
“Most painful!” replied Stephanus in the same tone. “I mean to try,
whether the error may not be remedied.” And as he spoke he gave a
highly-significant nod to the slaves, who had set the cauldron down on
the ground close to him. Quintus involuntarily stepped forward and put
out his hand in remonstrance.
“I hope, my good friend,” he said, still perfectly coolly, “that
you only intended to frighten this villain--good taste alone must
prohibit....”
Stephanus changed color slightly, and the slaves looked terrified into
his face. The tension of the situation was interrupted by the return of
the armed men, who had been sent after the fugitives and now came back
breathless and streaming with sweat.
“My lord,” the foremost began, “we return as jaded as a pack of hounds,
but with empty hands.”
“So I see,” said Stephanus in chill tones. “And what tavern did you
stop at, and what wenches did you stop to kiss.”
“Forgive us, my lord!” groaned another sinking on to his knees, partly
from exhaustion, and partly from terror. “We rushed up the hill like
blood-hounds,[185] but they had too much the start of us.”
Stephanus looked down.
“Was the gate on to the Patrician Way[186] locked?” he asked frowning.
“Fast locked.”
“It is well. I will speak to your mistress. Woe to you, if you are in
fault!”
“My lord,” the first speaker began again. “Grant me to say one word of
explanation. In spite of the start the fugitives had gained, we might
have caught them if an accident....”
He broke off and glanced at Quintus, who smiled and told him to go on.
“Speak fearlessly,” he said kindly. “Accuse me, if you think well to do
so--in fact, you have every right.”
The slave went on to relate how Quintus had delayed him and his
comrades in the narrow hedge-grown passage. At each word Stephanus grew
paler, and Quintus became more and more scornful in air and demeanor.
“Are this man’s assertions founded on fact?” asked Stephanus as the
slave ceased speaking.
“How am I to interpret such a question?”
“Exactly as I ask it. I am interested to know whether a son of the
noble Claudia gens can so far--condescend, as to abet the flight of a
criminal?”
“That I did not say!” cried the slave, shocked.
“Never mind!” said Quintus reassuringly, to the excited narrator. “You
have spoken the truth, and I will vouch for it at any moment. When I
was loitering in the gardens of our fair hostess, how should I guess
that certain persons, who came upon me quite suddenly, were chasing a
runaway slave? And even if I had guessed it, what is there to compel
me to step among the thorns and briars, in order to make way for your
thief-catchers?”
“Politeness and a due regard for the interests of the commonwealth,”
replied Stephanus drily. “However, what is done cannot be undone. It
is all the more necessary to act promptly, in what yet remains to be
done.”
As he spoke he went close up to the blood-stained Hun, who, with his
last remaining strength, lifted himself up and cast a wild glance round
him.
“You hardened hound,” he said in a rough, hoarse voice, “I will soften
you! Do you see that cauldron? I ask you once more: Who are you? Who
are your fellow-conspirators?” The gasping man’s breast heaved more
rapidly.
“Will you speak?” repeated Stephanus furiously. And now, for the first
time the victim spoke; till now he had not uttered a sound.
“No!” he cried with his last remnant of strength, and he sank back
groaning.
“Very well; then abide by your destiny.” At this moment Quintus
Claudius stepped up to the slaves who held the cauldron, his arms
crossed on his breast.
“Enough of this horse-play!” he said curtly and vehemently. “Begone
indoors, you parcel of idiots! I, Quintus Claudius, command you to go.”
“And I, Stephanus, command you in the name of your mistress: remain and
obey! Rufus, Daedalus, lay hold!”
“We will solve this dilemma, as Alexander did in Gordium,” said Quintus
scornfully, and with these words he pushed the slaves aside and gave
the cauldron a mighty kick, so that the contents poured steaming out
all over the terrace.
“This is violence!”[187] exclaimed Stephanus, involuntarily raising his
hands.
“The violence of reason against bad taste and coarse feeling!” said
Quintus with a scowling look. “I should advise you, freedman,[188] to
keep your hand hidden away in the folds of your robe, or in the depths
of your coffers and money-boxes, or Quintus Claudius might happen to
squeeze that hand rather more tightly than you would like!”
At the word “freedman” Stephanus had turned as pale as a corpse. He
closed his eyes and staggered. His lean fingers trembled and twitched,
as if he were feeling for a dagger. Then, mastering his agitation with
an almost superhuman effort, he said faintly:
“I do not altogether understand what it is that you mean, so I will
not trouble myself to answer ... you. Meanwhile you have only given
the slaves some unnecessary extra labor.--To work, men!--refill the
cauldron.”
“Too late,” said Quintus. “Your victim has escaped you.”
“He is dead!” cried the slaves.
Stephanus muttered something unintelligible between his teeth; then he
ordered that the body should be removed.
“Antinous,” said he to one of the slaves, a remarkably beautiful young
fellow: “I look to you to report all that has happened here, fully and
exactly to the authorities. If Eurymachus is delivered up to me alive,
I promise you a hundred thousand sesterces.--Here comes Lycoris with
the soldiers of the town-watch.[189] Speak to them; tell them all you
know, and offer them gold; that will inspire the most dilatory.”
“I hear and obey, my lord.”
“I am tired and shall withdraw. In ten minutes I shall expect to see
you.”
“I shall be with you in five.”
The file of men at arms--a division of a military body, who performed
the duties of a town-watch, combining the functions of our modern
firemen and police--came up just at the right moment to verify the
death of the unknown victim, to take the statements of the assistants
and spend an hour very comfortably in the atrium. The guests of the
fair Lycoris had soon recovered from the unpleasant impression produced
by the untoward incident. Amusements and sports of every kind effaced
the last traces of its remembrance, and for a long time after the tones
of luxurious music sounded through the starry night.
FOOTNOTES:
[178] VELARIUM. The cloth hung across the amphitheatre, to screen it
from the sun.
[179] THE BATHS OF TITUS were located near the Cyprius Street, on
the site of Nero’s _domus aurea_, which had been destroyed
after its builder’s death.
[180] CURTAIN. The drop-scene (as we should call it) raised between
the acts of a play. The curtain, properly so-called, was the
_aulaeum_. These were not drawn up, as in modern theatres, but
lowered.
[181] A TALL CROSS. Crucifixion was the common punishment of great
crimes.
[182] TRIMETER. A verse of three double feet--the usual metre in
dramatic verse.
[183] THE CAPITAL PUNISHMENT OF A CRIMINAL SLAVE. Such executions
in theatrical form, especially pantomimic representations of
them, were no rarity in the arena. Condemned criminals were
specially trained for such performances. “They entered, clad
in costly, gold-broidered tunics and purple mantles, and
adorned with golden wreaths; suddenly, like the death-dealing
robes of Medea, flames burst from these magnificent garments,
in which the miserable creatures died a cruel death. There
was scarcely a torture or terrible end known in history or
literature, with whose representation the populace had not
been entertained in the amphitheatre. Hercules was seen
burning to death on Mt. Oeta, Mucius Scaevola holding his hand
over the brazier of coals till it was consumed, the robber,
Laureolus, the hero of a well-known farce, fastened to a
cross and torn by wild beasts. At the same spectacle, another
condemned criminal, in the character of Orpheus, ascended
from the ground as if returning from the nether-world.
Nature seemed enchanted by his playing, the rocks and trees
moved towards him, birds hovered over him, countless animals
surrounded him; when the scene had lasted long enough, he was
torn to pieces by a bear.” (Friedlaender II, 268, etc.) It
can scarcely be termed an unwarrantable license, that Lycoris
presents a similar spectacle for the amusement of her guests.
The masters’ right to dispose of the lives and persons of
their slaves had been restricted in the first century, it is
true; but the omnipotent Parthenius was doubtless superior to
such legal edicts.
[184] DACI. A people living in the region now called Hungary, east
of the Danube.
[185] BLOOD-HOUNDS. (_Molossi._) The dogs from Molossis in eastern
Epirus were famous sleuth-hounds. (Hor. Virg. etc.)
[186] PATRICIAN WAY. (_vicus Patricius_) ran between the Esquiline
and Viminal hills.
[187] THIS IS VIOLENCE! Julius Caesar’s famous exclamation just
before his murder, when Cimber Tullius, having approached him
with a petition, after a refusal, seized him by the toga.
(Suet. _Jul. Caes._ 82.)
[188] I SHOULD ADVISE YOU, FREEDMAN. Their former condition of
slavery affixed an ineffaceable stigma upon all freedmen,
especially in the eyes of the old senatorial nobility. Even
the vast power attained by some of the emperor’s freedmen, for
instance the high chamberlain Parthenius, was of no avail in
this respect; they too were at heart despised by all free-born
citizens, much as they strove, from motives of prudence, to
conceal this contempt beneath protestations of sycophantic
devotion. Quintus addressing Stephanus as “freedman,” could
not fail to be taken by the latter as a mortal insult.
[189] TOWN-WATCH, (_cohortes urbanae_). Besides the imperial
body-guard, specially devoted to the Caesar’s service, there
was a city-guard, which provided for the maintenance of public
safety.