At the hour when Cornelia was setting out on her expedition to the
temple of Isis, Lucilia and Claudia, escorted by their brother, reached
home. The Flamen was still at work in his study; his grave and anxious
face could be seen through the half-open door, bowed over his table.
Even the sound of steps, which rang through the silence of the atrium,
did not interrupt his busy labors.
Quintus hesitated; he would gladly have gone in to embrace his father,
but after brief reflection he decided not to interrupt his late
studies. He bid his sisters good-night, waved his hand affectionately
towards the motionless figure that leaned over the desk, and left the
house. His slaves and freedmen were waiting for him outside.
“All go home!” he said shortly.
His people were accustomed to his moods, and no one was surprised. But
Blepyrus reminded him, with a shudder, of the attack in the Cyprius
street.
“Fear nothing,” replied Quintus; “I am armed. Besides, who could
expect to meet me to-night in the streets.”
So his followers went on their way through the _Forum Romanum_, which
was still crowded with people, while Quintus turned northwards across
the _Circus Flaminius_[261] and the Field of Mars. He soon found
himself in the heart of that city of marble, which Caesar Augustus had
created here as if by magic. A sombre blue overarched the labyrinth of
pillars and domes, of friezes and statues, of groves and glades, where
by day such motley crowds were busy. No light but the pale glimmer of
the stars--whose mist-veiled brightness gave warning of the autumn
rains--fell on the chaos of ill-defined forms; the moon had not yet
risen. Utter solitude, utter silence prevailed. The listener could
almost fancy he heard the rush of the river Tiber past the piers of the
Aelian Bridge[262]--or was it only the plash of water in one of the
many aqueducts[263] which, at that time, were so splendid a feature of
the city?--A mysterious dreamy whisper!
Possessed by the sense of this stilly solitude, Quintus Claudius went
on till nearly on the shore of the river. Under the avenues of trees it
was blackly dark, and the air came up chill and damp from the stream;
Quintus shivered slightly. Then he turned off in the direction of
the _Via Lata_--the Broad Way, now the Corso. He did not know what
mysterious influence had driven him out into the darkness and silence.
He had felt as though he must fly from the vast mass of Rome, from its
numberless market-places, its proud temples and basilicas--and now
he was seized with homesickness for the familiar, beloved and hated
hive of two million human souls. He shook himself. All that was most
dissatisfied and contradictory in his nature rose clearly before his
conscience. It was exactly in this way, that he had worked through all
the systems of philosophy in turn--now flying from what at first he
had eagerly run after, and now craving for what he had but just cast
from him; one day an enthusiastic disciple of Epicurus, and the next
a follower of the Stoics. But in neither of these views of the world
could he find rest and refreshment for his truth-seeking soul. Zeno’s
contempt for all the joys of life seemed artificial to his ardent and
poetic fancy, while the method and practice of Epicurus, ingeniously
wreathing the mouth of the pit with roses to cover the depths below,
stirred in him an irresistible impulse to sound those depths. That
old Sphinx we call Life offered him a fresh riddle at every step,
while forever denying all possibility of answering them. Thus, by
degrees, he had wandered into that moral _Via Lata_--that broad way
along which almost every educated Roman of that day walked, for better
or for worse; that path of sceptical indifference, which made short
work of every metaphysical belief, and lived so literally from day to
day. Only a few men, like Titus Claudius the Flamen, clung to the old
Latin religion and fulfilled its precepts in their highest sense, and
so had effected a compromise with the needs of the times; most men
looked down with contempt on the myths of popular belief without,
however, being able to replace them by anything better. Nay, even the
women of the educated class found no satisfaction in the worship they
had inherited; they turned in crowds to the mystical rites of the old
Egyptian goddess Isis, to whom a number of magnificent temples had been
erected so early as at the time of the first Caesars. Quintus himself
had drank of that shallow stream, but had found no comfort in it.
The shortest way to the house of Thrax Barbatus would have been across
the Alta Semita[264] and past the temple on the Quirinal. But Quintus
made a détour; after his late experiences he was anxious to avoid the
less deserted streets; and not merely because fate had made him the
accomplice in a deed, which by the laws of Rome was punished with the
utmost severity; he could now no longer doubt that Eurymachus, Thrax
Barbatus and Euterpe were attached to the sect of Nazarenes, and just
at this very time the most stringent measures were in contemplation
to suppress the disciples of the Nazarene. Indeed, if his father’s
views met with approbation in the Senate, nothing short of a regular
persecution must ensue. In that case his share in the escape and rescue
of a Christian slave might very likely be construed as treason against
the safety of the state; and though Quintus felt no fears as to what
might be the issue for himself, the thought of his father’s grief
filled him with anxiety.
He wrapped himself more closely in his ample cloak, and looked
cautiously about him as he hastened along the northwestern declivity
of the Quirinal hill. A company of the city-guard marched past him
with an echoing tread, the smoke of their torches[265] blew hot in his
face, but no one noticed or recognized him. The streets grew narrower
and more tortuous, the houses more squalid, the whole neighborhood
was visibly plebeian. At last he reached the old wall,[266] built--so
tradition said--by Servius Tullius; this quarter, in the time of
the emperors, was of the worst repute in all Rome. Quintus stole
cautiously along under the wall, for a few drinking-shops were still
open and busy. Wretched girls from Syria and Gades here plied their
shameful trade by the light of flickering clay lamps, while wrinkled
and watery-eyed old hags poured the muddy wine of Veii[267] out of
red jugs. Drunken men lay snoring under the tables, and coarse songs
were roared out from hoarse throats, half-drowned, however, by the
uproarious shouts of two fellows who were playing the favorite game of
odd and even[268] with copper coins.
Suddenly the noise became three times louder than ever; there was a
wild uproar, and piercing shrieks. The gamblers had fallen out over
their petty stakes. After a short squabble one had drawn his knife on
the other and stabbed him in the side. The wounded man fell, howling,
on the ground and the assassin took to his heels. But the dancing
girls, heedless of the catastrophe, began at once to rattle their
castanets once more, and sway and whirl in their disgraceful pantomime.
Quintus hurried on, filled with loathing. Never had the heartless
turmoil of the great capital seemed so hideous as at this moment,
in this obscure lair of humanity. Was not this squalid tragedy a
reflection of all Rome--of the vast and mighty metropolis, with all
its crimes, its contempt for the suffering of others, its mad lust of
pleasure? It was but a short while since he had witnessed the very
same scene, with more splendid surroundings and distinguished actors.
For, had the events in Lycoris’s garden been at all less horrible? Had
not a man lain there too, bleeding and dying, while a prostitute--aye!
for the brilliant and elegant Gaul was nothing else--had bewitched a
heartless crowd by her fascinations? There, no doubt, were all the
splendor and luxury of wealth--here the foul brutality of misery; but,
at the bottom, they were the self-same thing, at the bottom each was a
sign, easy to read, of degeneracy, decrepitude and decay.
And suddenly Quintus felt transported, as it were, from the life
which surrounded him, into a new and unfamiliar atmosphere and light;
and, strangest thing of all, that light seemed to shine forth from a
pale face that he had seen but twice in his life; from the face of
the humble and despised slave, who had so loftily smiled down on his
persecutors and executioners. Could it be that such a thing existed as
some supernatural magic? Or was it only admiration for the fortitude of
a heroic nature?
It was about midnight, when Quintus reached the house the flute-player
had described to him. It was one of those tall, ill-constructed
houses,[269] built by speculators to let in floors, and which abounded
in the poorer parts of the city to the great risk of the public. Fairly
substantial as to the ground floor, story towered over story till the
topmost floor consisted of a single room, hardly better than a booth
built of boards at a fair. The walls were cracked and sprung in many
places, and here and there, where the wretched structure threatened to
fall, the inhabitants had tried to prop them with beams, thus adding to
their unsafe appearance.
The musician met the young man at the entrance; ninety steps--which,
but for Euterpe’s little lamp, he could never have mounted without
mishap--led him to her habitation.
“Stop here!” said Euterpe, as Quintus was about to go up to the topmost
floor. “Thrax Barbatus does not live quite under the tiles;”[270] and
as she spoke she knocked at a door. Thrax Barbatus opened it, looking
calm, almost cheerful.
Quintus entered a room, of which the neat and comfortable aspect
quite delighted him. A three-branched lamp hung from the low ceiling;
the walls were neatly colored of a reddish brown; small, but
beautifully-executed paintings of flowers and fruit, showed brightly
and prettily against this background. The floor was covered by a
carpet, somewhat worn, but so handsome as to tell of better days in the
past. A table, a chair, a few low seats and a small chest of dark oak
composed the furniture--humble, no doubt, in the eyes of a Roman of
rank, but still much better than Quintus had expected after climbing to
such a height.
“You are welcome to your servant’s house,” said the old man, to whom
Quintus gave his hand. “We have looked for you with longing. I was
almost afraid you might have repented....”
“You had my word that I should come,” said Quintus.
He sat down on a wooden bench, and Thrax Barbatus went to a door at the
other end of the room, which he opened and called out: “Glauce.”
In a few minutes a young girl came into the room. Her face was sweet
and pleasing, but bore traces of weeping; her brown hair fell loosely
over her shoulders, and her tunic was ungirdled. Worn out with the
anxiety and grief of the last few days, she had sunk on her bed and
fallen asleep, and now, standing in the door-way, dazzled by the light
and confused by the presence of the noble stranger, she was a pretty
picture of maidenly bashfulness and timidity.
“Come, my sweet child, and welcome the protector of Eurymachus,” Thrax
began in caressing tones; “this noble youth is Quintus Claudius, the
friend of the helpless. He will save the persecuted victim, and obtain
his freedom from Stephanus, and procure him Caesar’s pardon.”
Glauce stood motionless for a moment; a faint flush tinged her cheeks.
Then, weeping loudly, she flung herself into her father’s arms and hid
her face on his shoulder. Euterpe, meanwhile, had set a wine-jar and a
dish of fruit on the table.
“It is but little, but heartily offered,” she said smiling, “and after
your late walk you will not refuse such slight refreshment.”
Then, taking a pine-log from the hearth-place, she struck the floor
three times at short intervals.
She listened--all was still.
“He is asleep,” she said to Thrax, who had soothed his daughter’s sobs,
and now took a seat by the brightly-lighted table.
“He has earned it!” said Glauce.
Euterpe repeated the knocking, and this time with better success. Some
one could be heard moving below. In two minutes the stairs creaked, and
a weather-tanned figure of middle height cautiously entered the room.
Euterpe met him and respectfully introduced him to Quintus. “This,
my lord, is my husband,” she said modestly. “He too had a share in
the bold attempt in the park, for he has the greatest reverence for
Eurymachus.”
“To be sure--I recognize you! It was you, who offered the fugitive your
arm to help him up the narrow path to the top of the ridge.”
Diphilus gazed astonished into the young man’s face.
“It is true, my lord,” he said hesitatingly. “But how should you know
that?”
“Oh! I was nigh at hand. If I had come forward, I could easily have
stopped the way.”
Diphilus sank on to the seat by the side of Thrax with an expression
of unconcealed astonishment, fixing his eyes on the young man’s face,
as if to stamp the features of this mysterious ally indelibly on his
memory.
Thrax Barbatus now solemnly extended his bony hand over the table, like
a speaker beginning his discourse. Then he said in a low voice:
“Above all, my friends, remember that in Rome every stone has eyes
and ears,[271] and the thin walls of a lodging-house are as good as a
spider’s web to the spy.”
The flute-player drew closer to her husband’s side.
“It is only too true,” she said with a sigh, “I could almost have
sworn....”
“What?” asked Diphilus.
“That our pursuers are on our traces already.”[272]
“How?”
“Nay, it is only my feeling about it. I am always in a state of mortal
terror.”
Thrax Barbatus shook his head doubtfully. “Your fears are unfounded,”
he said emphatically. “Not a man in Rome knows of our intimate
relations with Eurymachus. My poor son, who left his home when he was
hardly more than a boy and did not return for twenty years, when his
own rather scarcely recognized him--no, Euterpe, the still face of the
dead will betray nothing.” He passed his hand over his eyes.
“I know,” replied the flute-player. “And yet....”
“What is it?” asked the old man glancing hurriedly round.
“Alas!” said Euterpe, “I am afraid I was rash. Scold me, but I could
not help it; when I heard that Philippus had been buried in the ground
set apart for criminals and outcasts,[273] my heart was fairly broken,
and I vowed that his grave should not be left bare of some pious
offering. So this evening, at the end of the first vigil, I stole out
to the Esquiline hill, carrying a consecrated palm-branch hidden in
my dress to lay on his grave. I found it after a short search, laid
the palm upon it, said a short prayer, and came away. Suddenly I heard
steps and voices; I hurried on, but they followed me, and as chance
would have it I met a litter with torch-bearers. The light fell full
on my face, though I turned away. At the same moment I heard one of
the men, who followed me, begin to run. Then I was seized with mortal
terror; by the temple of Isis in the _Via Moneta_[274] I turned off to
the left, and ran so fast into the next street, that I could hardly
get out of the way of two women, who were at that instant coming out.
The darkness protected me; I escaped and got home by a roundabout way.
If the men who followed me were the city-watch, it does not matter.
But supposing they were some of Stephanus’ people; they all knew me
at Baiae, where I often played before their master. Oh! tell me, most
illustrious patron, what shall we do if my fears are realized?”
These words were addressed to Quintus, for she saw that Thrax Barbatus
was deeply touched by her loving attention to the dead, and she wished
to escape being thanked.
Quintus Claudius, notwithstanding his strong sympathy with Thrax and
Eurymachus, could not feel quite at his ease in his new and strange
position. The idea that he--the member of a senatorial family, the son
of one of the noblest houses in the empire--should make common cause
with artizans, freedmen and slaves, was so preposterous in the state
of society then existing, that even a lofty and magnanimous nature
required time to enable it to subdue the sense of strangeness and even
of repulsion. After some hesitation he addressed himself to Thrax,
asking him--as though half conscious of a wish to justify himself in
his own eyes:
“And will you answer for the perfect innocence of Eurymachus, on your
solemn oath and pledge?”
“My lord,” said Barbatus, “he is as innocent and pure as the sun in the
sky. I will swear it by the soul of my dead son! Ah, you do not know
his persecutor, the ruthless Stephanus--if you did, you would have no
doubts in the matter. The crimes that man has committed during the last
ten years, cry to God for vengeance like the blood of the massacred
lamb of Bethlehem! I, as you see me, have been the victim of that
wretch!”
“You too? How did that happen?”
“In the way which might be called ‘the way of Stephanus.’[275] I had
inherited a little fortune from my father, and had laid it out at
interest; I intended to save it and add a little to it for Glauce, for
I could earn my living as a smith. You know, my lord, how badly free
labor is paid in Rome; however, no pressure of want had ever made me
touch that little dowry. I only spent the interest even during five
or six years, to make a comfortable home for Glauce and give her some
education. Well, one day Stephanus produced a forged will, by which the
money was left to him under some trivial pretext. He was a beginner
in those days and tried his hand on small game, but since then he has
grown greedy and gorges the fortunes of men of higher rank. However,
everything turned out as was to be feared--false witnesses, cunning
lawyers and bribed judges--I lost everything I possessed.”
“Atrocious!” exclaimed the young noble. “And did no one come forward to
stand up for you? Did no young advocate defend the truth for truth’s
sake?”
“No one. Oh! Stephanus went to work more craftily than you fancy. He
bribed those, who might have opposed him, with imaginary legacies from
the testator--some he frightened with mysterious threats--but in short,
he has grown rich, a perfect Croesus, and all by forged wills. Hundreds
of his victims have perished in despair and misery. He shuns neither
violence nor treachery; and he sins unpunished, for he has powerful
supporters. It is said that Parthenius, the chamberlain....”
“Enough!” interrupted Quintus. “His hour too will come; it would be
well for your safety, no doubt, that it should strike soon.”
“We are not idle,” said Glauce. “My father has now found what he long
hoped for in vain; a just and learned patron, whose liberality shrinks
from no sacrifice. You must have heard of Cneius Afranius?”
“Cneius Afranius? I know him very well, and have met him repeatedly in
the house of Cornelius Cinna. He is making himself talked about....”
“He has spoken in the Forum five or six times,” interrupted Thrax
with eager warmth. “His success was splendid.--Ah! and what a feeling
soul! What a heart overflowing with noble unselfishness. Merely for
the sake of right and enthusiasm for the truth, he is indefatigable
in his attacks on Stephanus, often as that cunning fox has succeeded
in parrying the stroke. Twice, when Afranius was on the very point of
opening his case in due form, some inscrutable power has intervened to
stop him.--However, if it is true, that dropping water wears away a
stone, even Stephanus must some day come to grief.”
Quintus sat silent for some time; he seemed to wish to reflect at
leisure on all he had heard, and no one disturbed him.
“My friend,” he said at last: “I too am ready to help you in my way, as
honestly as Cneius Afranius--but first tell me one thing. Is Eurymachus
still in Rome?”
“In the neighborhood.”
“And you will not send him farther off as speedily as possible?”
“It is impossible, my lord,” said the old man sadly. “Stephanus has set
every means to work. Hundreds of watchmen and slave-catchers are on the
alert; notices on the walls offer large sums for the apprehension of
the fugitive; even appeals have been made to the Vestal virgins[276]
to pronounce their ban, so that he may be spellbound within Rome. In
short, discovery would be certain....”
“It is so indeed, my lord,” added Diphilus. “And do you know why
Stephanus is making this mighty stir? Eurymachus knows some secret
of his life, some hideous crime, worse than all the rest he has ever
committed. And it was for that reason, that even on the scene of his
execution Eurymachus was gagged.”
“And moreover,” added the old man, “in his flight that night he wounded
his foot badly. He could not leave his hiding-place at present, even if
he wished it.”
“And what can I possibly do for you in these circumstances?”
“Procure his pardon, my lord!” cried Glauce, lifting her hands
imploringly.
“Or a mild punishment,” added Diphilus.
“Perhaps,” Thrax went on, “you might even be able to help Afranius, by
removing some of the obstacles which hinder the course of justice. Your
illustrious father--cannot he do anything he chooses in such matters?
And will not his generosity pardon Eurymachus for escaping, if you
are his advocate? I know, of course, that Titus Claudius is the foe of
the common herd; often, indeed, he has exercised the sternest severity
towards guilty slaves; still, he is wise and far-seeing--at fitting
times he can be merciful too....”
“I will see what can be done.”
“God’s blessing rest on your head!”
Quintus looked keenly at the speaker.
“Listen,” he said after a short pause; “am I mistaken, or do you
belong--as appearances would indicate--to the sect of Nazarenes?”
“My lord,” said Barbatus, “in speaking to the generous preserver of our
Eurymachus, I may surely forget that prudence compels us to keep our
religion a secret. Yes--I will freely confess it, I am one of those
highly-favored ones, whom the people designate as Nazarenes. We are
Christians--I and mine--for so we call ourselves after the founder of
our sacred religion, who suffered death under Pontius Pilate. Diphilus
and Euterpe too have received baptism, the act of dedication which
seals our reception under the covenant of faith. We are Christians,
my lord, and no power on earth will ever lead us back to the altars
of your idolatrous worship. Caesar may revive the times of Nero, he
may stigmatize as criminals humble and innocent beings, whose only
ambition is righteousness; he can never stay the spread of the Kingdom
of Heaven. Nay, indeed, most noble youth, but I tell you that every
drop of blood that is spilt, raises up new witnesses to the eternal and
divine truth of our belief.”
The old man ceased. His withered cheek was flushed.
“Well,” said Quintus, looking down. “But tell me one thing; does not
your creed contain the dangerous doctrine of equality? Does it not
remove the ancient landmarks between the high-born and the lowly,
between the freeman and the slave? Does it not aim at the subversion of
society and the destruction of the existing state of things?”
“Yes, my lord; we do aim at the destruction of all that must inevitably
fall, if the Kingdom of the Lord is to come. We teach the equality,
freedom and brotherhood of all men born of woman. But what is this but
a return to primitive truth, to undisguised nature? Nothing can oppose
us, but the power of custom or of self-interest; God himself, and all
that is best in man, is for us. Where and when did a higher power ever
give you chosen ones a right to cast your brethren into fetters? Where
is it written: ‘You are the master, and this other man, who feels
joy and pain as you yourself do, is your slave and shall bow down to
you?’ It sounds bold, I know, O Quintus; but I ask you: What essential
difference is there between the son of the Claudia family and the
hapless Eurymachus? That which sets you above him is purely fortuitous;
that which constitutes your equality, is the divine will and act
of God. Or do you really believe, that a slave can never be wiser,
cleverer, more virtuous, courageous, and generous than the offspring of
a senatorial house? Supposing you had been changed in the cradle, do
you imagine that all the world would have read the slave’s humble birth
stamped on his brow? Nay, noble youth! The distance between you, that
looks like a gulf, is merely an artificial division, an illusory effect
of fancy, which must vanish before the light of the new revelation.
We, even we, the sons of the people--even those who are bondsmen and
slaves, who toil and suffer in your factories and prisons[277]--all,
all are alike called to be the sons of God. ‘Come unto me, all ye that
labor and are heavy laden,’ saith the Saviour, ‘and I will give you
rest.’ Yea, and his call shall not be in vain. Thousands and thousands
answer to it[278]--In remotest Asia, in Egypt, in Greece, nay, even in
Hispania and Lusitania, whole armies of martyrs are suffering for the
cross--our symbol and token, to you Romans an ignominious instrument of
death, but to us the emblem of hope and promise!
“And you too--the rich, the noble, the sovereigns of the world--do
you need no comfort, no healing, no saving light? Are you indeed so
happy in your splendor? Have you no secret craving for something, that
shall be eternal? The time will come, when you too shall bow the head
before the tree of disgrace and martyrdom, when you too shall know how
gloriously the carpenter’s son of Nazareth has solved, for us, the dark
riddle of human existence. You will soar above the dim confusion of the
fleeting present, to the realms of hope and faith and divine grace.”
It was with a strange feeling of spellbound astonishment, that Quintus
gazed into the speaker’s face, which was radiant with solemn but
triumphant peace. Glauce had gently leaned her head on her father’s
shoulder, as though it was in him that she sought and found her
mainstay in the struggle with life; and in spite of the mournful
feeling which still left its traces round her lips, silent contentment
lay on the pure young brow. She sat with downcast eyes, her hands
folded in gentle exhaustion. Euterpe and Diphilus hung in rapt
reverence on the lips of the old man, who, to them, seemed to stand in
the light of a radiance from heaven.
Quintus was unutterably impressed by the individuality of this strong,
resolute and triumphantly happy believer. His aversion to this new
doctrine of the universe began to melt like snow on Soracte in a
spring breeze. Vigorously as self-love rebelled, conviction proved
the stronger. In his hours of solitude the same reflections had often
occurred to him, and commended themselves to his feelings, but the
denunciation of the existing state of things had never before been
so boldly presented to him. It must be a stout heart and a powerful
mind, that could deny the intrinsic justification of a social order so
complete as that of the Roman empire, and cry to a nation of nobles and
slaves: “All men are brothers!” It would be worth while to see and hear
more of this Nazarene Gracchus,[279] and to sound the depths of the
mysterious power, which gave such staunch vitality to the new doctrine,
even after the fearful persecutions of Nero.
All these reflections rushed in a tumultuous torrent through the young
patrician’s soul. He could no longer bear the confinement of the
low, hot room. He rose, trying to conceal under a smile of careless
politeness how deeply he had been interested and absorbed; he paced up
and down the little room once or twice, and then said with a certain
condescension:
“I should be grateful to you if, at an early opportunity, you would
tell me more concerning your doctrine; I am always glad to gain
information at the fountainhead. For the present I bid you farewell.
Early to-morrow morning I shall do my utmost for Eurymachus; pray to
your God, that He may crown our efforts with success.”
Euterpe conducted the visitor down stairs again, and then flew back to
the little room where Glauce and Diphilus had already moved the table
and arranged a little altar for an offering for the dead, on behalf of
the luckless Philippus.
While these good souls were kneeling in silent sorrow before the cross,
Quintus walked homewards through the darkness with a throbbing heart;
his head ached and a mighty struggle, such as he had never before
experienced, seemed to rend his heart. At the top of the Esquiline he
came to a stand-still, and as he leaned against the basin of a fountain
graced with spouting tritons, he gazed westwards over the night-wrapped
city, which lay spread abroad at his feet, like a colossus prone in
rest. He could scarcely distinguish the huge buildings--the Flavian
Amphitheatre, the palaces and the capitol. Mons Janiculus[280] stood
out like a darker storm-cloud against the blue-black sky, and a dull
moan and murmur rose upon the air like the breathing of the sleeping
giant. A sense of infinite desertedness, of unspeakable longing and
inexplicable dread fell upon him.
“Yes, ye noble souls!” he groaned, covering his face with his hands.
“I will return--I will soon rejoin your peaceful and blissful circle!
By all the anguish I ever suffered, by all the torment that gnaws at my
heart, I swear I will return!”
And with a sigh of relief like that of a man, who finds himself well
again after long sickness, he went down into the valley.
FOOTNOTES:
[261] THE CIRCUS FLAMINIUS. Located in the ninth district, of the
same name, built 221 B.C.
[262] AELIAN BRIDGE. (_Pons Aelius_,) now the Angel Bridge.
[263] AQUEDUCTS. The magnificent water-works formed one of the
principal ornaments of ancient Rome. “The mountain springs,
conveyed for miles in subterranean pipes or over huge arches
to the city, poured plashing from artificial grottos, spread
out into vast, richly adorned reservoirs, or mounted in the
jets of superb fountains, whose cool breath refreshed and
purified the summer air.” (Friedländer, I, 14.)
[264] ALTA SEMITA corresponds with tolerable accuracy to the modern
_Via di Porta Pia_.
[265] TORCHES. Street lamps were unknown in ancient times, as well
as throughout nearly the whole of the middle ages.
[266] THE OLD WALL. (_Agger Servii Tullii_) extended from the Porta
Collina to the Porta Esquilina. The neighboring region was
considered the most corrupt in all Rome. The “wenches of the
city wall” were often mentioned. (See for instance, Mart.
_Ep._ III, 82, 2.)
[267] THE MUDDY WINE OF VEII. The wine made in the neighborhood
of the little city of Veii, (northwest of Rome) was little
prized. (See Mart. I, 103, 9, where the red Veian is called
thick and full of lees.)
[268] GAME OF ODD AND EVEN. This game of chance, which is still
very common, was extremely popular under the name _ludere
par impar_. The opponent had to guess whether an odd or even
number of gold pieces or other objects was held in the closed
hand.
[269] ILL-CONSTRUCTED HOUSES. Every well-to-do citizen of ancient
Rome had his own house. The great mass of poor people lived
in rented dwellings, built by unprincipled speculators with
unprecedented carelessness, on the principle “cheap and bad,”
yet nevertheless leased at high prices. The fall of such
houses was therefore no rare occurrence, as is proved by the
constant association of the words “fire and fall” (_incendia
acruinae_)--catastrophes which Strabo (V, 3, 7) characterizes
as constant. (See also Senec. _Ep._ XC, 43, Cat. XXIII, 9;
Juv. _Sat._ III, 7.)
[270] UNDER THE TILES, (_sub tegulis_,) was a common phrase for
the upper story. (See Suet. _Gramm._ 9, where it is said of
the poor schoolmaster Orbilius, that in his old age he lived
“under the tiles.”)
[271] REMEMBER THAT IN ROME EVERY STONE HAS EYES AND EARS. See
Tacit. _Ann._, XI, 27, where Rome is called a “city that hears
everything, and keeps silence about nothing.” Seneca too (_De
tranq. an._ XII) is scandalized at the eaves-dropping which is
common in Rome. Juvenal says an aristocratic Roman can have no
secrets at all, for: “_Servi ut taceant, jumenta loquentur,
et canis et postes et marmora._” “Even if the slaves are
discreet, the horses talk, and the house-dog, and the posts
and marble walls. Close the windows and cover every chink with
hangings, yet the next day the people in every tavern will be
discussing the master’s doings.” (Juv. _Sat._ IX, 102-109.)
[272] OUR PURSUERS ARE ON OUR TRACES ALREADY. There were persons in
Rome, who made a business of catching runaway slaves.
[273] GROUND SET APART FOR CRIMINALS AND OUTCASTS. The usual mode
of conducting a funeral under the emperors was to burn the
corpse on a pyre (_rogus_); the original custom of interment
had become more rare. Slaves and criminals were buried on the
Esquiline Hill.
[274] THE VIA MONETA led from the Flavian amphitheatre to the Porta
Querquetulana.
[275] THE WAY OF STEPHANUS. See (Suet _Dom._ 17,) where it is
related of Stephanus, that he was accused of embezzling money.
That such incredible forgeries of wills really occurred, is
frequently explicitly stated by the ancient authors. Pliny
(_Ep._ II, 11,) gives an amazing example of the insolence with
which influential persons conducted their bribery.
[276] THE VESTAL VIRGINS. It was believed, that the vestal virgins
possessed the power of detaining runaway slaves, by certain
spells, within the city limits.
[277] FACTORIES AND PRISONS. Ergastulum was the name given to a
kind of prison where slaves, who had been guilty of any fault
were kept at specially hard labor. The arrangement, of these
ergastula in many respects resembled our modern prisons.
[278] THOUSANDS AND THOUSANDS ANSWER TO IT. See the passages in the
letter of Pliny, who as the Christians’ foe, reports to the
emperor: “This superstition has not only spread over the city,
but through the villages and surrounding country.” (Pliny,
_Ep._ X, 98.)
[279] NAZARENE GRACCHUS. Quintus here perceives, like Thrax
Barbatus, in the carpenter’s son of Nazareth a real
representative of the people’s rights, and therefore a
companion of Tiberius and Caius Sempronius Gracchus, the two
tribunes of the people (about the middle of the second century
B.C.)
[280] MONS JANICULUS. Now Monte Gianicolo, on the right bank of the
Tiber.