When Caius Aurelius had finished the fourth canto of the Thebais,
Octavia put an end to the reading; breakfast was waiting in the little
dining-room. The young man was invited to join them, and they passed a
pleasant hour over the meal. They were all accustomed to their father’s
absence, for business had lately so completely absorbed him, that he
would hardly give himself time to drink a glass of Falernian, as he
sat at work, or to snatch a morsel of food. Octavia lamented it, but,
on the other hand, she was proud of it as well; she rejoiced too in
the confident anticipation of a long period of rest and enjoyment to
succeed this last great effort. Lucilia found dinner without him very
dull, as she took an opportunity of whispering very pointedly to her
sister. This was, in fact, rather strange, for Aurelius, whose tongue
seemed to have been loosed by the reading of the heroic poem, displayed
the greatest aptitude for all the accomplishments of social life. The
triclinium positively sparkled with good humor, even Lucilia belied
herself, for more than once she broke out into a merry laugh, the
very reverse of dull. Herodianus, who had come to escort his master
home, and who had the honor of being invited to share the meal, was
astonished at the brilliancy of the young man, who was usually so
silent and glanced suspiciously at the crystal cup, as if that might be
accountable for so strange a phenomenon. And Baucis swore by the great
Isis, that never in her life had she known a Roman knight with such
delightful qualities as Aurelius, who had a kind word even for her, a
stupid old woman, and who read poetry so divinely.
The Batavian took his leave about mid-day; he sent his respectful
greetings through Octavia to the master of the house, fearing to
disturb so busy a personage at this hour of the day.
“And what next?” cried Lucilia, as the door closed upon Aurelius.
“Shall we lie down to sleep, sweet Claudia, or order the litter to go
to the Campus Martius?”[299]
“Just which you please. The day is fine, and we might walk for an hour
under the colonnade of Agrippa.”[300]
“Will you come with us, dear mother?” asked Lucilia.
“How can I,” said Octavia smiling. “I must be on the spot, when your
father leaves his work. If you are not content to go alone, Baucis
may....”
“Oh no, no!” interrupted Claudia. “The worthy Baucis may remain at
home. When we get into the laurel groves[301] we shall walk, and Baucis
is so slow that she would be a hindrance.”
The litter was soon ready. Four Numidians, with waving feathers in
their heads, marched in front, and they proceeded northwards, by the
same way which Quintus had taken two days since, in the moonless night.
“I am glad that we left Baucis at home,” said Claudia in Greek. “We can
talk undisturbed for once. You are so dreadfully sleepy, when we go to
bed....”
“And with good reason,” replied Lucilia, also in Greek. “I am tired
out and over-excited. The amusements of the last few days are telling
on my nerves. First, there was the evening at Cornelia’s; then a
recitation for two hours from the charming Claudia on the merits of
Caius Aurelius....”
“I beg your pardon, but you are reversing the position. It was mistress
Lucilia, who went on talking about Caius Afranius.”
“Indeed! and why? Simply and solely as a counterpoise, an antidote to
Aurelius. Besides, with your kind permission, his name is not Caius,
but Cneius Afranius. Of course, you have nothing but Caius running in
your head.”
“That is just like you now,” said Claudia with a sigh. “Lately there
has been no speaking a rational word to you.”
“I am over-tired,” Lucilia repeated. “Two cantos of Statius yesterday
morning, two more again this morning; to-morrow, two cantos of Statius,
that involves a fourth! It is a mercy, that the Thebais consists only
of twelve altogether, so it must come to an end at last! Certainly,
when we have done Statius, he might read us Virgil[302] and afterwards
the Battle of the Frogs and Mice.”[303]
“Go, Lucilia--you are quite odious--and I wanted to confess something
to you.”
“A confession? my darling Claudia, a confession?” cried Lucilia,
seizing her sister’s hand. “Will you own at last that you love him?
That you are a perfect fool about him? Oh! silly child! did you not
perceive, that I only wanted to punish you for trying to deceive me?”
Claudia colored deeply, and involuntarily drew the embroidered curtain,
as if she feared that the litter-bearers might read her secret in her
face.
“Not so loud!” she whispered, and then she softly kissed her cheek.
“You confess?” asked Lucilia. But the only answer was a closer caress
and a fervent kiss on her lips.
“That is enough,” said Lucilia. “Your kiss says everything. No girl
gives such a kiss as that, who is not desperately in love. It was meant
for Caius Aurelius.”
“Hush!” Claudia entreated, laying her hand on the audacious girl’s
mouth. “Promise me....”
“Not to mount the rostra[304] and proclaim in the Forum: Claudia is
in love with Aurelius!...? You little fool! Just the reverse; I will
keep it a dead secret, and do all I can to clear the road for you. For
things will not run so smoothly as you think. A mere provincial knight,
and Claudia, the daughter of the first senatorial house in Rome! You
cannot take it ill in your father if he maintains the rights of his
position, and intends his daughter to marry a consul.”[305]
“But if his daughter objects?”
“Then Titus Claudius must give way, or the gentle Claudia is not
incapable of running away with Caius Aurelius.”
“What are you saying!” exclaimed Claudia horrified. Then she sat
looking thoughtfully into her lap.
“Do you suppose,” she said presently, “that his allusion, yesterday, to
Sextus Furius was meant seriously?”
“What else could it mean? The worthy man is three times too old for
you, to be sure, but the names of his ancestors have been splendid for
centuries. Only think of Furius Camillus, the glorious conqueror of the
Volscians and Aequians. Sextus Furius, to be sure, has conquered no
insurgent nations, but the consulate undoubtedly lies before him, and
his wealth is enormous.”
“Ah!” sighed Claudia. “We Roman girls have a bad time of it. How rarely
do we have a free choice in the tie which lasts one’s life-long! A
stern father or guardian brings a husband on the scene, before our
hearts have a chance of deciding. Such a betrothal as that of Quintus
and Cornelia is as rare as a white raven. How beautiful, how honest
by comparison is the custom in the North, where the lover first
wins the affection of a girl, and then seeks the approval of her
parents. Aurelius has told me wonderful stories of the fidelity of the
tawny-haired Rugian to the wife of his choice, and of how the treasure
is often won in fights to the death, after years of constancy. It must
be glorious to be loved and wooed in that northern fashion! Do you know
that Aurelius has some Germanic blood in his veins...?”
“Indeed?” said Lucilia surprised.
“Yes, really. His grandmother was a Frisian, from the shores of the
Baltic, where the Weser falls into the sea. There are large and wealthy
families among them, valiant warriors and chiefs, who will bow their
necks to no Roman consul. If only they were of one mind, Aurelius says,
Rome herself might tremble before these tribes. But, strangely enough,
though in their family life they are so loving and constant, their
feuds are perennial, tribe against tribe and prince against prince. It
is only under stress of imminent peril, that they league themselves
under one banner, and woe then to the foe they turn upon! You have read
of Varus[306] and how his legions were cut to pieces in the Saltus
Teutoburgiensis, while he fell on his own sword?”
“Yes, Baucis has told us the story. But after all--who cares what
goes on in Germania!--our legions are constantly engaged in fighting
on the frontier, now against the Dacians and now against the
Parthians[307]--I do not trouble myself about the where and the why.
Moral struggles, the battles we must fight at home, interest me far
more....”
“Particularly the law pleadings in the Senate, and before the court of
the Centumvirate!” said Claudia smiling.
“Certainly! out there, brute force decides the matter, but in the Forum
it is superior intellect that wins the day.”
“And one of the boldest champions is Cneius Afranius.”
“It is quite true; his whole individuality, his undaunted honesty, his
unfailing energy....”
“Hey day! what eloquence. Before long we shall see you in the Basilica
among the candidates for applause.”
“Laugh away, by all means! I assert my right and liberty to admire all
that is noble. If I were better looking, I should very likely exert
myself to achieve a conquest, for I frankly confess that I regard the
future wife of Afranius as a woman to be envied.”
“You are frank indeed.”
“I always am. And I find it all the easier, since I do not allow my
consciousness of my defects to destroy my peace of mind. The Gods
are unjust? For aught I care! You have a mouth like a rose-bud, I
have a muzzle like a Cantabrian bear![308] Fate we call that, or
Ananke![309]--Well, it is a lovely day for us both alike! Just see
what a crowd and bustle there are out here; I think we had better walk.
There is the portico with its hundred columns.”
Claudia stopped the bearers, and the two girls walked on to the
magnificent hall of Agrippa, followed at a short distance by the
Numidian slaves. Arm in arm they walked along the arcades, by the
famous mural paintings,[310] representing in the highest style of art,
scenes from the stories of the Greek divinities--the rape of Europa,
Cheiron the Centaur, and the voyage of the Argonauts. To the right they
saw the marble enclosures--Septa[311] they were called--in the midst
of which the Roman people assembled when the centuria[312] were called
upon to vote. Lucilia hoped she might one day be present at some stormy
debate here. Claudia found it more interesting, to linger over the gay
booths[313] and bazaar for luxurious trifles at the northern end of the
portico, where the precious produce of the remotest provinces of the
empire was displayed.
Thus, chatting and laughing, they reached the shady avenues of plane
and laurel, which extended almost to the shores of the river and, with
their temples, columns, terraces and works of art, were the scene of
enjoyment for a numerous throng of citizens. Here hundreds of handsome
chariots--most of them with two wheels--rushed to and fro on a broad
causeway; graceful horsemen dashed along the gravelled way, while the
motley crowd of pedestrians slowly loitered along the side alleys.
Here a following of young men pressed round the litter of some woman
of rank; there a grave and morose-looking pedagogue led his flock
to a grass-plot, where boys were exercising themselves in wrestling
or throwing the discus.[314] Pairs of lovers strolled away hand in
hand to remoter bowers; slaves--male and female--with their owners’
children, crowded round a juggler’s booth, applauding the skill with
which Masthlion[315] balanced a heavy pole on his bare forehead, or
the strength Ninus[316] displayed in supporting half a dozen boys
upon his shoulders. Among the mob a legion of fruit and cake sellers
wriggled and squeezed themselves; fortune-tellers twitched at the robe
of the passer-by, urgently pressing their services on them; shipwrecked
sailors sat begging by the wayside, with tablets on their knees[317]
relating the history of their woes; flute-players piped their latest
tunes from Gades; dark Egyptians exhibited tame snakes, which twined
round the body, neck and arms of the owner to the measure of a dismal
tom-tom.
Lucilia and Claudia followed the shady alley, that ran parallel to the
main road, greatly amused at the dazzling, noisy and ever-new scenes
that met them at every turn.
“Supposing we should meet your Aurelius--” said Lucilia.
“My Aurelius! My sweet child, pray do not get into the habit of saying
such things.”
“Well, then--Caius Aurelius.”
“It is not likely. He rarely comes now to the plain of Mars.”
“Indeed. What has he to attend to of so much importance.”
“He is studying hard; and for the last few days he has been a good deal
with Cornelius Cinna, who generally admits him at this hour. Cinna
thinks very highly of him.”
“Well, for my part, I must confess I should prefer a ride here under
the green trees, to all the harangues of that perverse old man.”
“Aurelius finds him most interesting; he considers him quite a genius.”
“What next?--A genius in the art of seeing the whole world black!”
“Nay, quite seriously. Cinna is initiating Caius into the mysteries
of state-craft, teaching him philosophy and history. Caius said, that
in the few hours he had been permitted to converse with Cinna, he had
learnt more than in many years of solitary study.”
“Well; then our Caius--you yourself called him simply Caius--will soon
begin to wrinkle his brows and to scent ruin and misery in everything.
Do you know, child, this Cinna....”
She broke off suddenly, for some one called her by name; she looked
round and saw Quintus, who came out from among the trees.
“Well? Are you often to be met out here? And always close to the
highway! You must take an extraordinary interest in fine horses....”
“We do indeed!” said Lucilia pertly. “For instance, look at that noble
grey just now turning into the avenue. What a head! what a mane!”
Claudia squeezed her saucy sister’s arm, for the rider, who came
galloping towards them, was none other than Caius Aurelius. By
his side rode Herodianus, rather roughly exercised on a tall,
high-stepping steed; his empurpled face betrayed but little liking for
the performance. Aurelius, by contrast, looked all the more radiant,
guiding his noble horse as if it were child’s-play among the throng of
vehicles, and enjoying to the utmost the sense of power and security.
He now caught sight of Claudia, and the blood mounted to his brow. He
was so much occupied in looking at the two girls, to whom he bowed in
agitated confusion, that he did not notice, that one of the very small
horses, called by the Romans “mannie,”[318] was rushing towards him
like an arrow. Its rider, a boy of about twelve, tried to turn the
pony’s head, but not soon enough to avoid the grey, which tossed its
head aside. So the pony’s mane just tickled the horse’s lower jaw, and
the boy only escaped a violent collision by ducking widely on one side.
The Batavian’s horse, at all times an irritable beast, gave an ominous
snort, and reared straight up, trembling in every muscle, and in the
next instant would inevitably have fallen backwards if Quintus had not
made a bold leap over the brushwood, seized the horse by the bridle,
and after a short struggle brought him to a stand-still on all fours
again. Herodianus, meanwhile, who was frightened out of his senses, was
thrown up from his saddle by a sudden spring of his steed, and reseated
in front of it; he threw his arms round the beast’s neck, and remained
a comical picture of woe. After Quintus had quieted the Batavian’s
excited grey, he came to the freedman’s help.
“By Jove the avenger!” cried Herodianus, shuffling back into his saddle
with much difficulty, “this wild horse of the Sun[319] was within a
hair’s breadth of trampling me under his hoofs. Thanks, earnest and
warmest thanks, heroic Quintus Claudius! I will drink a dozen bowls to
your health this evening.”
“I have to thank you too,” said Aurelius with feeling. “If it is ever in
my power to render you such a service....”
“By all the gods!” said Quintus. “It might be supposed....”
“Nay, but I saw how close my horse’s hoofs were to your head.”
“Really? However, do you know who the little dare-devil was who shot
by you at such a pace? That was Burrhus, the son of Parthenius;[320] a
scatter-brained little rascal. He inherits it from his mother.”
“Burrhus?--the boy that Martial praises so extravagantly?”
“The very same. He flatters the son, and so touches the father.”
“Well, if he hears that Burrhus nearly rode me down, it may perhaps
afford him materials for fresh adulation. I, at any rate, have reason
to be glad that his heroic attempt was not altogether successful; that
I owe to you, my valiant and fearless friend! As I say, if ever you are
in a position....”
“Say no more about such a trifle, I beg of you,” said Quintus. “Though
indeed,” he added smiling, “it is not impossible, that I may claim your
kind offices sooner than you expect, though not as a return for my
performances as a horse-tamer.”
“I am happy to hear it. Come when you will, I am entirely at your
disposal.”
“Very well then,” said Quintus with emphasis; “expect me this evening
by the end of the second vigil.”
“Unfortunately I am engaged at that hour.”
“Later then, an hour before midnight?”
“That will do; I will expect you,” said Aurelius.
The two girls had stood quite still during this short dialogue. Claudia
was still struggling with the remains of her agitation, even Lucilia
had turned pale. Aurelius now stammered out a confused apology, bid
them farewell, and set spurs to his horse, while the freedman dragged
with all his might at the wolf’s-tooth bit[321] of his hard-mouthed
jade. They vanished in the crowd, Aurelius as straight and free
as a young centaur, and his companion like a clumsy bale of goods
incessantly tossed and jolted.
“You are a fine fellow!” cried Claudia, clasping her brother’s hand
with eager emotion. “What strength, what courage, what promptitude! Oh!
my heart nearly stood still with terror, when the rearing brute’s hoofs
hung just above your head--I shall never forget it!”
“I am sure I am very much obliged to you, my dear little sister. It is
a long time, since I last heard you speak to me in such an enthusiastic
key. Confess, Claudia--the fact that the rider’s name happened to be
Caius Aurelius, does not diminish your ardent appreciation of the feat?”
“You may laugh at me, if you will. I respect and admire you, and
forgive all your former sins.”
“Are you coming with us?” asked Lucilia.
“For ten minutes; then I must turn back again. Clodianus expects me at
the Baths.”
“And where do you dine to-day?” asked Claudia.
“With Cinna.”
“It is a long time since you dined with us.”
“I will to-morrow, if it is convenient. I will see whether he will
allow me to bring Cornelia with me....”
“Hardly,” said Lucilia. “Since the day before yesterday he has been in
a desperately bad humor. This morning early I had a note from Cornelia,
begging me to go and rescue her from the depths of melancholy.”
“What does Cornelia wish for?” said Quintus. “In my presence she is
always cheerfulness itself.”
“That is the magic of love,” replied Lucilia. “Its charms conquer all
griefs.”
“You seem highly experienced!”
“Theory--pure theory.”
They walked on towards the river. There they stood for a few minutes,
watching the boats and gondolas, which gently drifted down to the
Aelian bridge or struggled up stream under the stout strokes of the
oarsmen. Beyond the opposite shore the beautiful hills, strewn with
gardens and villas, smiled invitingly down on them, and farther off
still rose the five peaks of Soracte.[322]
“They will soon be crowned with snow,” sighed Claudia.
“Yes, it is wearing into autumn,” said Quintus. “But now, my children,
you must amuse yourselves without me. Till we meet to-morrow.”
“You fellows,” said Claudia, turning to the Numidians, when Quintus
was lost in the crowd. “Do you know what? You ought to be ashamed of
yourselves, down to the very ground. If it had not been for Quintus,
Aurelius would have been under the horse’s hoofs. Cowards! By the gods,
but I am minded to have you punished, that you may remember this hour!”
The Africans opened their wide thick mouths, and stared at their
mistress as if some marvel had happened. None of her slaves had ever
heard such words before from Claudia’s lips.
“That comes of her being betrothed to that rich Furius,” whispered one
of them. “I always told you, that the gentlest turn haughty when there
is a husband in sight.”
FOOTNOTES:
[299] CAMPUS MARTIUS. The name given to the public pleasure grounds
in the north-western part of Rome. Strabo describes them
minutely. (V, 3.)
[300] COLONNADE OF AGRIPPA. The most renowned object in the Campus
Martius was the hundred-columned portico of Vipsanius Agrippa.
[301] LAUREL GROVES. Within Agrippa’s colonnade were laurel and
plane-groves. (Mart. _Ep._ I, 108, etc.)
[302] VIRGIL. The author of the Aeneid had always been one of the
most popular writers. He was even studied in the schools, as
Schiller is in Germany at the present day.
[303] BATTLE OF THE FROGS AND MICE. (βατραχομυομαχία) The Battle
of the Frogs, a parody upon the Iliad; falsely attributed to
Homer, and probably composed by Pigres of Halicarnassus.
[304] ROSTRA. The name of the orator’s platform, adorned with a
ship’s beak (rostrum, the ship’s beak) in the Forum Romanum.
[305] INTENDS HIS DAUGHTER TO MARRY A CONSUL. Roman women married at
a very early age, therefore in the nature of things, parents
made the choice for the inexperienced girls. Thus Junius
Mauricus requested the younger Pliny, to propose a husband for
the daughter of his brother Junius Rusticus Arulenus. (See
Book II, p. 55.) Pliny (_Ep._ I, 14) recommends his friend
Minucius Acilianus, and in a quiet, business-like manner
enumerates his excellent qualities, among which he does not
forget to mention a considerable fortune. To be sure, the
daughter’s formal consent was necessary. The young girls of
our story, by the way, out of respect for our modern ideas,
are described as young girls at an age, when Romans were
usually married women. For the ordinary marriageable age,
see Friedländer’s detailed description in the appendix to
the first part of his “_Sittengeschichte_,” where he gives a
number of inscriptions taken from the tombs, where the age
of the girl at the time of her marriage is either directly
stated, or may be ascertained by deducting the years of
marriage from those of life. Twelve of the wives mentioned,
married before they were fourteen, four at fourteen, three
at sixteen, one at nineteen, and one at twenty-five. We are,
however, expressly told that marriages of girls under twelve
were by no means rare.
[306] VARUS. The famous victory of the Germans over Quintilius Varus
occurred in the year 9, A.D.
[307] PARTHIANS. A people who lived south of the Caspian sea. Their
territory afterwards extended to the Euphrates. The Romans had
numerous feuds with this nation.
[308] CANTABRIAN BEAR. Cantabria, the mountainous region in the
north of Spain, supplied most of the bears for the Roman
wild-beast combats.
[309] ANANKE (Ανάγκη) personifies, like the Latin Fatum, the idea,
that in every event which happens, there is an unalterable
necessity, to which not only human beings, but even the gods
are subject.
[310] BY THE FAMOUS MURAL PAINTINGS. See Mart. _Ep._ II, 14. Ill,
20, etc.
[311] SEPTA. See Mart. _Ep._ II, 14; IX, 59.
[312] THE CENTURIA. Even under the kings, the Romans were divided
into five different classes, since the part taken by each
individual in government affairs, especially concerning
taxes and military service, depended on the amount of his
property. Each of these classes consisted of a certain number
of centurias, for instance, the first class contained eighty,
the fifth thirty, etc. Centuria was the name originally given
to a military division of 100 men, then to a certain number of
citizens, from whose midst such a military organization could
be formed. These centuries--in a civil sense--voted on public
affairs in the _comita centuriata_ (assembly of the centuries)
each century having one vote.
[313] GAY BOOTHS. See Mart, _Ep._ IX, 59, v. I:
“Mamurra many hours does vagrant tell,
I’th’ shops, where Rome her richest ware does sell.”
The same epigram describes the goods to be purchased in
these booths; slaves, table-covers, ivory for table legs,
semicircular dinner-couches (called _Sigma_ from their shape
resembling the old Greek C) Corinthian brass (a mixture of
gold, silver, and copper, very popular in those days) crystal
goblets, _vasa murrhina_, chased silver dishes, gems, jewels,
etc., etc.
[314] WRESTLING OR THROWING THE DISCUS. Physical exercises of all
kinds were highly esteemed by the Romans. Racing, wrestling,
and throwing the discus (a flat, circular piece of stone or
iron) were specially popular. See Hor. _Od._ I. 8 (_saepe
disco_, _saepe trans finem jaculo nobilis expedito_) where the
exercises in the Campus Martius are mentioned.
[315] MASTHLION’S SKILL. See Mart _Ep._ V, 12:
“That the haughty Masthlion now,
Wields such weights on perched brow.”
[316] NINUS’S STRENGTH. See Mart _Ep._ V, 12:
“Or that Ninus finds his praise,
With each hand eight boys to raise.”
Giants, as well as dwarfs, and monstrosities of every kind
were extremely popular in Rome. They were even frequently
kept in aristocratic families as slaves and jesters. See Mart
_Ep._ VII, 38, where a gigantic slave of Severus is mentioned.
According to Plutarch, Rome ad a special market for monsters
(ἡ τὼν τεράτων ἀγορά) where persons crippled in all kinds of
ways were offered for sale. As the business was lucrative,
certain deformities were artificially produced.
[317] TABLETS ON THEIR KNEES. See Hor. _Epist. ad Pis._, 19, etc.
[318] MANNIE. Such ponies are mentioned by Lucr., Hor., Prop., and
Sen. They were distinguished for speed. The word is of Celtic
origin.
[319] THIS WILD HORSE OF THE SUN. Herodianus alludes to the steeds
of Helios and the fate of Phaethon, who obtained his father’s
permission to guide the chariot of the Sun one day in his
stead, but had so little control over the unruly steeds, that
to save the earth from burning, Zeus was compelled to slay
him with a thunderbolt and hurl him from the chariot into the
river Eridanus.
[320] BURRHUS, THE SON OF PARTHENIUS. See Mart. _Ep._, IV, 45; V, 6.
[321] WOLF’S-TOOTH BIT (_lupata frena_) a curb furnished with iron
points shaped like a wolf’s tooth, used for hard-mouthed
horses. See Hor. _Od._ I, 8, 6; _Nec lupatis temperat ora
frenis_....
[322] SORACTE. A mountain north of Rome. See Varro R.R. II, 3, 3;
Virg. _Aen._ VI, 696, Hor. _Od._ I, 9 (_alta nive candidum._)
CHAPTER XVIII.
It was dark. In the dining-room of Cneius Afranius a small party had
just risen from table. Six guests had shared the modest meal--men
differing in age and position, but agreed in feeling, unanimous in
their hatred of the imperial reign of terror, and alike in courage and
strength of character. During the meal none but commonplace topics were
discussed, convinced as Afranius was of the fidelity of his slaves;
under Domitian’s rule, suspiciousness had risen to the dignity of a
virtue. Even the _commissatio_--the friendly cup which, in accordance
with time-honored custom, closed the meal--lent no impetus to the
conversation. Each one was thinking of the discussion, that was now to
follow.
They all went into the colonnade, if the small and unpretending
court-yard deserved the name. Cneius Afranius, the son of a poor family
of knightly rank of Gallia Lugdunensis,[323] would probably have been
obliged to start on his career in Rome as a mere lodger in hired rooms,
but that a childless friend of his father’s had bequeathed to him a
small legacy,[324] which enabled him to purchase a little house, which
had formerly belonged to a seaman, on the right bank of the Tiber, and
in the midst of a very humble quarter.[325] The situation was crowded
and almost squalid, and the little villa was only rendered rather less
unattractive, by the visible care bestowed on its arrangement by its
new owner, and yet more by the pretty little garden in its peristyle.
Afranius was very conscious of its defects, but they did not distress
him. That painful sensitiveness, which torments many men in narrow
circumstances, when intercourse with other men of greater wealth
reminds them of their poverty, was unknown to him. And as his dress
was always in the best style, though of plain materials, those who
met him elsewhere than in his own house supposed him to be well-to-do;
this impression was partly the result of his general appearance and
demeanor. Aurelius, who had crossed his threshold today for the first
time, thought as he entered the vestibule, that he must have made a
mistake; it seemed impossible that the self-possessed, easy-mannered
Afranius could live in so humble a dwelling.
The six men went slowly and in order from the dining room to the study.
First came the tall figure of the grey-haired Marcus Cocceius Nerva,
leaning on the arm of Ulpius Trajanus; Publius Cornelius Cinna followed
with Caius Aurelius, and last came the host with an old centurion,
who had long served in the wars in Germania and Dacia, and had lost
his left arm in the service. Now, robbed by Domitian of a pension
which had formerly been granted to him, he had for years earned his
living wearily as a teacher in an elementary school kept by a retired
physician, until Ulpius Trajanus had granted the veteran free quarters
in his own house.
The slaves were now strictly enjoined to admit no one to disturb the
party, and Momus, the confidential servant of Afranius, posted himself
at the door of the room, that no eavesdropping intruder might come too
near.
“My friends,” began Marcus Cocceius Nerva, when they were all seated,
“we have met expressly to hold pregnant and momentous council. Our
aim is to find the ways and means of at last carrying into effect the
steps, which we have been deliberating on for many months. The reign
of terror of Domitian has from the first been well-nigh unendurable,
and now his outrages, his unblushing insolence, have reached a pitch
at which our very blood curdles in our veins. Two days since, we all
heard from Cinna of the incredible insults offered by Caesar to the
most illustrious members of the Senate and of the knightly order; since
then other outrages have come to our ears. If Titus[326] once declared
that he regarded a day as lost, in which he had done no good action,
this, his degenerate brother,[327] accounts each day as misspent, in
which he has not trampled justice under-foot, and crowned tyranny
with boastful insolence. You all knew Junius Rusticus;[328] he was an
excellent man, experienced in every branch of learning, generous, and
of the loftiest morality. This illustrious philosopher was, yesterday,
crucified. And why, my friends, why? Because he dared to assert that
Paetus Thrasea, Nero’s noble victim, was a man of blameless character.
For this, and this alone, Junius Rusticus died the death of the basest
assassin.”
A gloomy murmur rose from the audience. All, with the exception of
Aurelius, already knew the facts, but they sounded with renewed horror
from the lips of the venerable man.
“Nor is this all,” Cocceius went on. “A second crime almost throws the
murder of Rusticus into the shade. Not long since a man of fortune
named Caepio,[329] of the order of Equites, died here. His heiress was
his niece, a young girl of about fourteen. However, a man was found,
who would declare openly that in Caepio’s lifetime he had frequently
heard him say, that Caesar was to inherit his fortune.[330] On the
strength of this lie, the property was unhesitatingly appropriated.
The hapless girl, alone and inexperienced, fell into infamy. Sunk in
wickedness, crushed by shame and sickness, a few days since she placed
herself in the way, as Caesar was being borne to the Forum. She lifted
up her hands to the throne on which he was carried, and cried in
desperate accents for justice. She was seized by the body-guard, and
flogged to death this morning.”
“Death to her murderer!” cried Cinna, shaking his fists in the
direction of the palace. “The fate of this poor child may fall on
you, O Nerva! on you, Ulpius Trajanus, on you, Cneius Afranius. In
the empire of this tyrant there is but one law: the mad whim of a
blood-hound.--To-day his Falernian has gone to his head--a beck, a
nod, and the daughters of our noblest families are stolen[331] for his
pleasure. To-morrow he has eaten and is full--he must be amused, and
Rome breaks out in flames. Ah! hideous, bottomless pit of disgrace!
Decide as you will, my resolution is taken. In the Senate, in the
Forum, in the theatre--meet him where I may--I will kill him.”
“Be easy, my dear friend,” said Cocceius. “You are the last man, who
would ever be allowed to get near enough. The suspicious tyrant, who
has the walls of his sleeping-room lined with mirrors,[332] so that
he may see what is going on behind him--he will know how to protect
himself from Cinna. Besides, never let us stain our just cause with
unnecessary bloodshed! The goal, that glimmers before us, can be
reached without the murder of Caesar. If the revolted nation brings him
presently before the judgment-seat of the Senate, he will be legally
condemned to death, and then he may meet the fate he has merited a
thousand times over. But we, whose purpose it is to open an era of
freedom and justice, must, whenever it is in any way possible, keep
our hands clean. We are conspirators against his throne, but not his
executioners.”
Muttered words of approbation assured the orator, that he spoke the
feelings of his friends. Even Cinna agreed.
“You are right,” he said frowning. “You are always clear and logical,
when my heart seethes with rage. It is well, my worthy colleagues,
that you did not put me at your head. I am good in action, or where
energetic decision is needed; but in the history of the world
well-meditated plans and calm resolve weigh heavier in the scale.”
“And their union will suffice to break our bonds,” added Afranius.
“But I must confess I am burning to know how Ulpius has solved the
problem.--I know how I should solve it....”
“Well?” asked Ulpius Trajanus. “You have always been the silent member
at our meetings. Perhaps I may be able to avail myself of what you have
to suggest, to strengthen my own web.”
“What I have to say is very little, but it seems to me all the clearer
and more simple for that very reason. Rage, hatred, and desperation are
fermenting in every soul The fuel is piled, nothing is needed but the
spark. Let us fling the spark in among the masses. Let us boldly and
unreservedly call the people of Rome to open rebellion.”
“Moderation!” exclaimed Cocceius Nerva. “Wildly as our hearts may
throb, let us take no step which calm wisdom cannot approve! We must
not act from sentiment! You are in error, Afranius, if you think that
the populace, which clamors for bread and the Circus, will ever feel
any enthusiasm for liberty. What has this rabble of idlers, this
self-interested mob, that lives on the _largesse_ of the State, to fear
from Caesar? Lightning blasts oak-trees, but not the brushwood that
cumbers the ground. Whether Titus or Domitian rules, whether the Senate
is respected or insulted--it is all the same to the herd, so long as
there are wrestling, running, and fighting to be seen. They would sell
themselves bodily to the first Barbarian, who would buy them, so long
as they had bread and amphitheatres, and a Sicambrian is just as good
in their eyes as the direct descendants of Romulus. Alas! my friends,
when I look out on the scene of confusion I am seized with sudden
terror, and the outlook on the future waxes dim before my eyes. This
indifference and want of patriotism is spreading on all sides; it has
even tainted the army.--If some change for the better does not soon
appear, it may well happen that this haughty city may ere long crumble
into ruins--aye, my friends, into ruins--destroyed and sacked by the
insolent rout of Germanic tribes, who are already thundering at our
gates. They will overcome the small remains of our virtue with the
sword, and the vast host of our crimes with their gold.”
He ceased; an expression of deep grief clouded his handsome features.
Then, turning to Afranius, he said: “And so what I meant to say was,
that the mob of the capital must, come what may, be kept out of the
game.”
“You say the mob,” said Afranius, “but there is a class closely
allied with the mob which, though small in number, is all the greater
in force, high-mindedness, and dignity. Believe me, even among the
third estate--among the fishermen and dealers, the artisans and
handicraftsmen, there still are Romans to be found.”
“Very possibly. But large schemes cannot take account of so small a
factor. The very way in which the State has developed, has thrown the
chief power into the hands of the troops, and he who is master of the
soldiery, is master of Rome and the Empire. You know how completely
the legions in the provinces are dependent on the impression of an
accomplished fact. It can scarcely be expected, that any single
division of the army outside the walls of Rome will take up arms for
Domitian, if once we have the metropolis in our power. We can gain over
the Praetorian guard with a word. Ulpius, my beloved son, make known to
us now, what you have attempted and achieved in this direction.”
Ulpius Trajanus leaned back in his chair, and crossed his arms over his
breast. His noble and frank countenance, stamped in every feature with
generous honesty, suddenly grew anxious and grave. Lucilia had been
right when she said incidentally, that Ulpius Trajanus reminded her of
Caius Aurelius. Although considerably older and of a dark southern
type, the Hispanian, like the young Northman, had that look of genuine
human benevolence, which lends a bright and harmonious expression to
any features.
“My friends,” began Ulpius Trajanus, coloring a little; “I can as yet,
to my great regret, report nothing decisive. I came hither not to
announce a success, but to hear what you had to say. Within the last
few months many new recruits have joined the ranks of the Praetorians;
magnificent gifts of money are distributed every week to the officers
and men. Norbanus, the officer in command, is loaded with favors, so it
would be difficult to find an opening--! Indeed, I am firmly convinced
that Norbanus, who is an honest man, places the welfare of the country
far above any other consideration; however, up to this moment, all my
efforts to fathom him have been in vain. He speaks out more frankly
than many others, it is true, but his openness always bears upon
trifling matters. He instinctively knows the limits of discretion.
It would be waste of words to tell you of every detail. I have given
myself no rest from labor or vigilance, and it is not my fault if the
rock repeatedly rolls back into the gulf.”
“Promise him the consulate,” muttered Cinna frowning; “trip him up,
trample on him, hold the dagger to his breast....”
“The dagger’s point might only too easily be turned upon us,” said
Trajanus smiling.
“He is right, Cinna,” Nerva threw in. “It is precisely his self-command
and coolness, that fit him for the part assigned to him, and he must
play it to the end in the spirit of those who have trusted him.”
“But self-command must come to an end and issue at last,” said
Afranius, leaning his round chin on his hand. “I have no thought of
even hinting a reproach to our worthy Ulpius; I only mean, that if
Lucius Norbanus persists in the part of the mysterious oracle, and
Trajanus waits for the spirit to move him, without giving it a helping
hand, our work of redemption will remain in the clouds. Besides,
nothing is more dangerous than a long-planned conspiracy. Before you
can turn round the palace will have caught wind of it, and by the day
after to-morrow, the splendid museum of Domitian’s victims will be
increased by a few valuable specimens.”
Cornelius Cinna nodded assent.
“Excess is mischievous in anything, even excess of caution,” he said
eagerly. “We must strike now, if not with the aid of the body-guard,
why, then without it--or, if need be, against it. There are troops
enough in Gallia Lugdunensis,[333] to defeat the few cohorts of
Norbanus. Cinna is thought highly of by the legions, and I myself have
many devoted allies among the officers; while not a few of the soldiers
will remember, that I have always been a friend and supporter of the
third estate.”
“I can answer for that,” said the old centurion, who had till this
moment sat silent in his easy-chair. “Nor am I altogether devoid of
adherents, though I cannot compete with Cinna. I should think it would
not be difficult....”
“Enough!” interrupted Cocceius Nerva with a friendly wave of his hand.
“I see that your opinions are divided. Allow me to make a suggestion.
The danger of discovery does not seem so imminent, as to compel us to
forego all attempt to rely on the support of Rome. Let us separate in
the firm determination, to prepare and meditate everything that can
help us towards our goal. I am chiefly thinking of Caius Aurelius,
who made friends so rapidly with Norbanus, and who is regarded with
less suspicion at the palace than Ulpius Trajanus. We will meet again
fourteen days hence, here, in the house of Afranius, and at the same
hour. If in the meanwhile our plan has made no progress, we will give
up the City of the Seven Hills, and set to work in Gallia Lugdunensis.”
This proposal was unanimously agreed to.
“Yet one thing more. It is quite possible, that in the course of these
fourteen days events might occur, on which it is impossible to reckon
beforehand. I am perfectly convinced, that not a soul in the palace
suspects anything as yet; but spies are innumerable, and an accident, a
heedless word, a glance, a gesture, might betray us. Just at this time
fresh suspicions have been roused in Caesar’s court. Let us be ready to
fly at a moment’s notice.”
“To fly!” exclaimed Cinna. “Is that the road to victory?”
“I only say in the worst extremity....”
“That would indeed be the worst! Do you already know of any mischief?
Do you know, that a spy has already betrayed us?”
“No, my dear Cinna, I know nothing; I was only considering
possibilities.”
“But that possibility is exactly what is not to be borne! I feel now,
twice as strongly as before, that our only safety is in action.”
“But can you act?” asked Cocceius. “Is Norbanus our ally? Are the
legions under your command? If so, act, and at once, Cinna! Stand up on
the platform in the Forum, and proclaim that Domitian is deposed.”
“You are very right,” snarled Cinna. “Right as usual! but what is to
happen if the possibility becomes a fact? When flight has dispersed us
to all the four winds...?”
“Then, my friend, the essential point is to agree on a spot, where we
may all quietly meet again. Let that spot be Rodumna,[334] the native
town of Afranius. It is in every respect favorable--at only a short
distance from Lugdunensis, and yet so small as to be out of the turmoil
of the world. There will we meet, rouse the legions to our support, and
march upon Rome!”
“Good, good!” cried Cornelius Cinna.
“Rodumna!” echoed the rest.
Nerva rose.
“One word!” implored Caius Aurelius.
Nerva, who had already grasped their host’s hand in leave-taking,
turned enquiringly to the young man.
“Worthy friends,” the Batavian went on. “Allow me to say, that down at
Ostia lies my trireme. The captain and the crew are all men, whom we
may blindly trust. If anything should occur to drive us hence, we could
not do better than meet on board my bark and reach Gallia by sea.”
“That is a good idea,” said Nerva. “But still one question arises. Does
any one in Rome know of the existence of this trireme?”
“Hardly a soul. The high-priest’s family, it is true, were on board
with me, when I came from Baiae. But here, in Rome, where there is
so much to distract the attention, so trivial a circumstance would
scarcely dwell in their minds.”
“But the slaves!” cried Cinna. “If you are suspected at the palace,
they have been cross-examined ere now....”
“I do not honestly believe, that I have been considered worthy of so
much attention at the palace.”
“And even if it were so,” Nerva added, “there is a way of escape.
To-morrow morning, spread a report among your friends and
acquaintances, that your vessel is on the point of starting to return
to Trajectum. Go to Ostia yourself, and let her set sail with all
ceremony; then, at night, when she is well out at sea, order the
captain, instead of steering southwards, to make a detour to the left
and sail past the islands of Pontia[335] and back to Antium, as if
he had come direct from Messana.[336] There he may wait till we need
him. By the Appian Way and Aricia[337] and Lanuvium,[338] it is not
more than twice the distance to Antium, that it is to Ostia. Give your
captain the name of Rodumna as a password; whoever goes on board with
that token is to be received unquestioned. What do you think of my
plan?”
“Nothing could be better arranged, it seems to me,” exclaimed Cinna.
“In this way we need neither fit out a vessel for ourselves, nor yet
travel by land. The one would excite suspicion, and the other would be
both dangerous and expensive. So let it stand: if the situation should
seem in any way perilous, we meet on board the trireme in the harbor of
Antium.”
The conspirators rose and slowly dispersed.
FOOTNOTES:
[323] GALLIA LUGDUNENSIS. Lugdunian Gaul (_Gallia Lugdunensis_, so
called from the principal city Lugdunum, now Lyons) extended
from the Seine (_Sequana_) to the Garonne (_Garumna_) and
westward to the Atlantic Ocean. On the south, it was separated
from the Mediterranean by Narbonensian Gaul.
[324] BEQUEATHED TO HIM A SMALL LEGACY. Legacies bequeathed by
childless persons to those not connected by ties of blood,
played a very important part in the society under the
emperors. Legacy-hunting thrived greatly in consequence of its
frequent occurrence.
[325] IN THE MIDST OF A VERY HUMBLE QUARTER. The right bank of the
Tiber, in the (14) district, which bore the name “_Trans
Tiberim_,” was inhabited exclusively by tradesfolk, sailors,
etc.
[326] TITUS. The brother and predecessor of Domitian.
[327] THE FLAVII had come into possession of the government with
Vespasian, the father of Titus and Domitian. The latter’s full
name was: Titus Flavius Domitianus Augustus.
[328] JUNIUS RUSTICUS. See Suet. _Dom._ 10; Dio Cass. LXVII. 13.
[329] CAEPIO. Suet. _Dom._ 9, mentions a man of this name.
[330] CAESAR WAS TO INHERIT HIS FORTUNE. See Suet. _Dom._ 12:
“Estates to which the emperor had no claim were seized, if
only some one could be found to declare he had heard the dead
man, during his life-time, say that the Caesar was to inherit
his property.”
[331] THE DAUGHTERS OF OUR NOBLEST FAMILIES ARE STOLEN. That this
was really to be expected, is proved by the incredible
description Dio Cassius gives us of Nero’s conduct, (LXII, 15.)
[332] THE SUSPICIOUS TYRANT WHO HAS THE WALLS OF HIS SLEEPING-ROOM
LINED WITH MIRRORS. See Suet, _Dom._ 14.
[333] THERE ARE TROOPS ENOUGH IN GALLIA LUGDUNENSIS. True, nothing
is expressly stated concerning this fact in the reign of
Domitian; but as it was the case under Nero, this extremely
probable opposition certainly scarcely involves a license. The
liberty I take in the treatment of the conspiracy itself, is
much greater. Strictly speaking, it was only a revolution in
the palace. Considerations more important to the novelist than
strict historical accuracy, compel me here to deviate from the
accounts of Suetonius and Dio Cassius.
[334] RODUMNA on the Liger, (now the Loire). Called at the present
day Roanne.
[335] ISLANDS OF PONTIA. Now Isole di Ponza, opposite the Gulf of
Gaeta.
[336] MESSANA. Now Messina.
[337] ARICIA. Now Ariccia.
[338] LANUVIUM. Now Civita Lavigna.
CHAPTER XIX.
On the second day after the incidents just related dark clouds had
risen over the Tyrrhenian sea and spread in long, heavy banks across
the sky, which a short while since had been so deeply blue. A stiff
south-westerly breeze blew up the stream of the Tiber, and tossed the
little boats and flat-bottomed barges, which lay at anchor at the
foot of the Aventine,[339] till they jostled and bumped each other.
Sudden squalls of rain swept down at short intervals, and obliged the
people to throw on their leather cowls or their long-haired woollen
cloaks.[340] All the life of the streets took refuge in the arcades and
pillared halls; the atria, with their slippery marble pavements, were
deserted, and the water from the guttered roofs dripped dolefully into
the overflowing impluvia.[341] A strange atmosphere of discomfort and
oppression lay over the whole city. Some great races, which were to
have been run in the Circus Maximus, were postponed at the last moment.
The flow and ebb through the palace gates was less persistent than
usual. The Senate even, notwithstanding the importance of the matters
awaiting their debate, came in fewer numbers than usual to the sitting.
In short, the air was full of that dull uneasiness, which infallibly
accompanies the first symptoms of the decay of the year.
The storm increased as evening fell. Quintus, who had dined with no
other company than two of his clients, stood, as it grew dusk, at the
door of the dining-room, looking out at the dreary prospect. The clouds
chased each other wildly, and the wind groaned and howled through the
colonnade like the wailing of suffering humanity.
“Good!” said Quintus, turning back into the room. “And very good! The
wilder the night, the better for our undertaking.”
He signed to the shrewd slave, Blepyrus, who at this moment passed
along the passage with a brazier full of burning charcoal.[342]
“Where are you going?” he asked doubtfully; and when the slave
answered: “To your study, my lord,” he said:
“Very good, I am coming--but take care that we are alone.”
Blepyrus went on through the arcade, and when he had reached his
master’s private room, he carefully set the brazier on the floor. Two
lads, who were standing idle, he promptly dismissed as Quintus came
into the room.
“Listen, Blepyrus,” he began. “Just fancy for a moment, that to-day
is the feast of Saturn.[343] Tell me your honest opinion, frankly
and without reserve, just as if you were sitting at table after the
old-fashioned custom, while I, your master, waited upon you?”
The slave looked up at him in bewilderment.
“You do not seem to understand me,” Quintus continued. “I want to
hear from you, how far you are satisfied with your master. If I have
been unjust, if I have hurt your feelings, or wronged you without
cause--speak! I entreat you--nay, I command you.”
“My lord,” Blepyrus stammered out, “if I am to speak the truth, you
have said many a hard word to your other slaves, but to me you have
never been anything but a kind and just--indeed a considerate master. I
could only say the same, even if the feast of Saturn really licensed me
to complain.”
“I am glad to hear you say so, my good friend. I mean well by you
all, and if I ever.... Ah! I remember now what you have in your mind.
You are thinking of the evening, when I struck Allobrogus in the
face[344] for breaking that precious vase.--You are right; the poor
fellow’s teeth were more precious than the broken jar. It was my first
angry impulse. Believe me, Blepyrus, I have never hurt or injured any
one of you out of ill-will; and you, especially, have always been a
friend rather than a slave. You shared my earliest sports--do you
remember by the Pons Milvius[345] how I sprang to your assistance,
when your arm was suddenly cramped in swimming? And then again, on
the wrestling-ground in the Field of Mars, where we enacted the fight
of Varus against the Germans? You snatched me up and rescued me from
my foes, like a young god of war, when the game suddenly became
earnest....”
“I remember, my lord,” said the slave with a gratified smile.
“Well,” continued Quintus, “then tell me one thing. Are you still ready
to stand in the breach for your master? Understand me, Blepyrus--this
time it is not a question of fisticuffs or even thrashed ribs. It is
for life and death, old fellow. To be sure, your reward now should not
be, as it was then, a saucerfull of Pontian cherries, but the best of
all you can ask....”
“My lord,” said the slave, trembling with agitation, “I will do
whatever you desire.”
“Can you hold your tongue, Blepyrus? Be silent, not merely with your
tongue, but with your eyes--your very breath? You have done me good
service before now, I well remember, which required secrecy--but only
in trifling matters. This time it is not a tender note to the fair
Camilla, not even an assignation with Lesbia or Lycoris. Swear by the
spirit of your father, by all you hold sacred and dear, to be silent to
the very death.”
“I swear it.”
“Then be ready; at the second vigil we must set out on an
expedition--out into the storm and darkness. You can tell your
comrades, that I am going by stealth to Lycoris. The rest you shall
hear later.”
Three hours after this the little gate creaked open, which led from
the cavaedium to the street, and Quintus and the slave, both wrapped
in thick cloaks, slowly mounted the Caelian Hill,[346] and then took
a side road into the valley. Here, on the southern slope, the storm
attacked them with redoubled fury; the blast howled up the Clivus
Martis and the Appian Way. The streets were almost deserted; only
a solitary travelling-chariot now and then rolled thundering and
clattering over the stones.
“We must mend our pace,” whispered Quintus, as the slave paused a
moment, fairly brought to a standstill at the corner of the Via
Latina[347] by a sudden squall of rain. “We have still far to go,
Blepyrus; and we shall have it worse still out there in the open.”
The road gradually trended off to the right; that dark mass, that now
lay to the left, was the tomb of the Scipios,[348] and there, in front
of them, hardly visible in the darkness of night, rose the arch of
Drusus,[349] through which the road led them. They were now outside
the limits of the city itself--the fourteen regions, as they were
called, of Augustus Caesar. But Rome, the illimitable metropolis, flung
out her arms far beyond these prescribed boundaries. That undulating
plain, which we now know as the Campagna, was then dotted over with
villas and pleasure-gardens. The main artery of this straggling suburb
was the magnificent Via Appia--the noble work of a Claudius--leading
to the south. The greater number of these villas were at this time
abandoned, and the tombs that stood by the road-side[350] on either
hand were hardly more silent, than the dwelling places of the living,
before whom these stone witnesses were set to remind them, that life is
fleeting and must be enjoyed to the full while it lasts.
Quintus and his companion went onwards, still to the southwards. The
country-houses became more and more scattered; they might now have
walked about two Roman miles beyond the arch of Drusus. A heavily-laden
wagon, with an escort of riders, had just driven past them, and the
gleam of the lanterns was dwindling in the distance. Quintus stopped in
front of a high-vaulted family tomb, of which the façade was decorated
with a semicircular niche containing a marble seat.
“If I am not mistaken in this Cimmerian blackness,” he muttered, “this
is the spot....”
And at the same moment they heard, approaching from the opposite tomb,
the sound of cautious steps.
A broad beam of light fell on the young man’s face.
“God be praised!” cried a woman’s voice; and in an instant Euterpe,
darkening her lantern again, stood by the side of the two men. The
young woman was trembling with wet and cold; her clothes clung to her
limbs, and her hair hung in dark locks over her forehead and cheeks.
“Are you alone?” asked Quintus.
“With Thrax Barbatus. Here he comes.”
“In such weather!”
“God bless you!” said the old man, coming up to Quintus. “Who is this
with you?”
“Blepyrus, my trusted friend. He will not betray us.”
“My lord, what return can I ever make....”
“Go on, push on!” was the young man’s answer. “Only look how the black
clouds are driving over the hills; it gets worse every minute. Have we
far to go?”
“About three thousand paces,” said Barbatus.
“Then lead the way, my good Euterpe. Come, old friend, lean on me.
Blepyrus, support him on the left.”
“You are too careful of me, my lord,” said the old man, flinging his
wet cloak over his shoulder. “A merciful Providence still grants me
strength, that my white hairs belie, and I am used to rougher roads
than you suppose. It is you, the son of a noble house, accustomed to
tread only on polished marble or soft carpets....”
“Nonsense--why, even this storm is nothing to speak of.”
They turned eastwards, and leaving the high-road, soon reached a
wooden bridge across the waters of the Almo,[351] a rivulet now
swollen by the storm. From hence the path led them across the Via
Latina and through a dense wood. The pine-tops sighed weirdly under
the lashing wind that rocked and bowed them, while now and again, as
one bough crashed against another, there was a sound as of distant
axe-strokes. They first followed a foot-path, which crossed the wood
in a south-easterly direction, but presently--about half way through
the pine forest--their guide pushed aside the boughs of a sturdy
laurel, that stood on the right side of the alley, and they plunged
into the brushwood. Here another path was presently discernible, though
overgrown by a seemingly impenetrable tangle of shrubs, and this
presently brought them out close to a grass-grown mass of rocks. By
walking round one of the huge boulders, they reached an opening into an
old and long-disused stone-quarry. A low passage was visible, sloping
down underground.
“Here we are,” said Euterpe. A gleam from her lantern revealed a
high-piled mass of dèbris. “I will go in first.”
She placed her lantern, half open, on a shelf in the tufa rock, at
such an angle as to light up the passage; then, stooping down, she
disappeared in the doubtful shadow cast by a natural buttress on the
rocky wall. Thrax, Quintus, and Blepyrus followed, the slave bringing
the lantern in his hand. At the spot, where the flute-player had
disappeared, the passage was cut in steps, which led abruptly downwards
about thirty feet underground; then a broad and fairly lofty gallery
ran about fifty paces on a level, opening into a cross gallery.
Quintus signed to his slave to remain where these cross-roads met,
while he followed Thrax Barbatus to the right, where a dim light was
visible at some considerable distance. Approaching nearer, he perceived
that the source of this light lay somewhat on one side, where a large
hall opened out, strangely decorated and lighted up by a few tapers.
At the farther side, opposite the entrance, stood an altar hung with
black, and over it was a wooden image of the crucified Christ. To the
left was a brick-walled hearth, where a bright fire was blazing. The
smoke rose in a tall column to a square opening in the roof. On the
floor, in a niche on one side, Eurymachus--the slave who had escaped
from Stephanus--lay on a straw mat, his pale face resting on his hand.
Glauce, his betrothed, was occupied in mixing the juice of some fruit
with water, to make a drink for the fevered sufferer, while Diphilus,
kneeling in front of a rough-hewn wooden stool, was folding a broad
strip of stuff to make a bandage. He rose as the new-comers entered.
“The Lord is merciful!” said Thrax to Eurymachus. “Greet our deliverer.
All will be well. The night is stormy and dark; we can rest for a short
while and dry our cloaks by the fire; then, by God’s help, we will set
forth with a good courage.--By mid-day you will be in safety.”
The sick man’s features brightened; joyful surprise and eager gratitude
sparkled in the dark eyes, which as suddenly closed again, as though
dimmed by weakness. Euterpe had meanwhile taken the soaked and dripping
cloaks from the shoulders of the two men, and had hung them over two
seats in front of the fire. Then she fetched a little table and spread
it with bread, fruit, and wine, while Glauce brought platters and cups
from a cave in the wall.
“Do us the favor of accepting a little refreshment,” she said, pulling
forward a bench.
Quintus, whose walk through the stormy night, and still more his
anxious excitement, had made very thirsty, emptied his cup at a
draught, and then turned sympathetically to Eurymachus.
“Do you know me again?” he asked smiling.
The slave drew a deep breath, and said in a weak voice:
“Yes, my lord, I know you. In such a moment of torture a man’s memory
is sharpened. It was you, who on that awful day poured balm into my
wounds, you and the fair youth with a grave, kind face....”
“My word for it, but you put me to shame! It was not I, but my
companion, who first made his way through the hedge--it was not I, but
my companion, who gave you that human consolation.”
“Not so,” replied Eurymachus solemnly. “Proud and haughty as you
looked, in your heart there was some stirring of the sense of common
humanity, which is our inheritance from our Heavenly Father. It was but
a small matter, that betrayed this impulse, but--I know not why--it
sank deeper into my soul, than even the brave words of your companion.
In truth, noble Quintus, the touch of your hand, as you tried to drive
away my greedy tormentors, fell like balm upon my heart; it fanned
the dying spark of courage in my soul--aye, and I remembered it when,
in Lycoris’ garden, they were preparing to nail me to the cross. You
smile, my lord, and think me a raving enthusiast--but so it is. When
you came towards me through the gap in the hedge, you appeared to me as
the type of the illustrious Roman--handsome, haughty, absorbed in the
natural desire for enjoyment, and with no heart to pity the sufferings
of the baser millions. But when you turned to go, you left me with a
revived belief, that the gulf, which severs the classes of men, may
be bridged over. Often have I discussed it with Thrax Barbatus.--He
declares, that the doctrine of Nazareth is destined to be the belief
of all mankind; I, on the contrary, maintain that it will never be
the creed of any but the wretched and oppressed. For the noble and
wealthy--so I argue--will naturally cling to their luxury-loving
idols, to whom they attribute their power, dominion, and riches. But
since that hour, when Quintus Claudius came up to me filled with pity,
a divine revelation lives and shines in my soul. And has not the
current of my own fate justified this presentiment? The wealthiest
and haughtiest youth of the City of the Seven Hills, the son of the
all-powerful Flamen, is the deliverer of the wretched slave! Verily,
Quintus, I say unto thee: Thou art, though thou knowest it not, a
follower of the crucified Jesus.”
“I?” said Quintus startled and bewildered.
“Yea, my lord. ‘Not every one that saith unto me Lord, Lord, is my
disciple,’ saith Jesus of Nazareth, ‘but he that doeth the will of my
Father in Heaven.’”
“I do not altogether understand what you mean; the mysteries of your
religion are as yet unknown to me.”
“The doctrine of Jesus is simple and clear. The Master himself has
summed it up in two laws: ‘Thou shalt love the Lord thy God above all
things,’ and the second is like unto it: ‘Thou shalt love thy neighbor
as thyself.’”
Quintus looked down in silence.
“You speak of God,” he said at last. “Which God do you mean,
Eurymachus? Jupiter, whom our forefathers worshipped, is to you a mere
idol. What name then do you give to the Divinity, who commands your
love? And what proof have you, that he too is not a false God?”
“My lord,” said Eurymachus, “our God has no name by which he is known.
A name is used for distinction, and to mark a difference from others of
the same, kind; but He is one alone and eternal from the beginning. He
reveals himself to us through the myriad marvels of the universe, which
would never cease to rouse our awe-struck admiration, but that custom
has dulled our sense. He is manifest in the impulses and emotions
of our own nature, in the ardent yearning for immortality--that
home-sickness of the soul which, in the midst of all the joys and
blessings of this life, makes us aware of an infinite void, a gulf
which nothing else can fill. It is He, whom we apprehend in the joy,
that thrills us like a tender mother’s kiss, when we lift up our
hearts to contemplate Him by faith. We know Him by the strength, the
constancy, the scorn of death, that He can inspire, when every nerve of
our frail body is quivering with pain. Think of our fellow-believers,
who were butchered by Nero--the bloody slaughter in the Arena, the men
burnt alive, buried alive! What upheld these martyrs through their
unspeakable torments? The grace of God, the Almighty and All-merciful,
whom Jesus Christ hath taught us to know.”
“Amen!” whispered Glauce, with an admiring glance at her lover, whose
face glowed with enthusiasm.
Barbatus went anxiously up to him, and laid a hand on his brow.
“Do not agitate yourself,” he said with tender sympathy. “You have
still much to go through.”
“Nay, it is well,” replied Eurymachus. “I feel strengthened since
I have set eyes on my preserver.--Aye, noble Quintus, this is the
God, whom the disciples of the Nazarene worship--this is the faith,
which your empire brands as a crime. Conspirators, they call us, and
traitors. We conspire, it is true, but not against Caesar, to whom
we freely render the things that are Caesar’s, as our Master taught
us; only against sin, against crime and evil-doing. We swear to each
other by the memory of the Crucified,[352] not to betray each other,
nor to lie, nor steal, nor bear false witness, nor commit adultery. We
hate no man for his faith’s sake, for we know that grace is a gift of
omnipotent God, and that, even in the shadow of the false god Jupiter,
a gleam of divine truth may be seen. We are quiet, peaceful folk, who
ask nothing more than to be allowed to live undisturbed in our faith
and hope.”
“You forget one thing,” exclaimed Barbatus, as Eurymachus paused.
“Christ teaches us, that we are all the children of God. In his sight
all differences of high and low, rich and poor, lofty and humble are
as nothing; and we, as true disciples of the Redeemer, must strive to
work out this principle. We must try to found a state of human society,
in which all the distinctions which have hitherto existed are utterly
dissolved.”
“Nay, you are in error,” replied Eurymachus. “Those differences are
not to be done away with. If you levelled them all to-day, they would
originate again of their own accord to-morrow. Their form and aspect
will be modified, but their existence is inevitable. Jesus of Nazareth
never conceived of such changes. He only sought to revive in those,
who have lost it in the varying chances and turmoil of life, some
consciousness of the intrinsic worth of all that is truly human. As
soon as the great ones of the earth learn to see, that even slaves
are their brothers, that even the base-born are the children of the
Almighty, all the most violent contrasts of class will be smoothed
away, and things that now weigh upon us as a yoke, will be turned
into a bond of union. ‘My Kingdom is not of this world,’ said Jesus
of Nazareth. He will indeed regenerate man, but through his heart and
spirit, and not with force or violent upheaval.”
“Then you insist on being miserable, come what may?” cried Barbatus
vehemently.
“By no means. I only dispute the idea, that the teaching of Christ
leads to such issues. Whether rich or poor, master or slave, matters
not in the balance of our salvation. Many a one, who holds his head
high and free, bears heavier fetters, than the convict in the mines of
Sardinia.”
Quintus Claudius once more emptied the cup, which Glauce had filled.
His brain was in a whirl, and his throat parched. The sight of this
slave, lying on a straw mat, and weighing the future destinies of man,
and the mystery of existence, with such calm decision, troubled and
excited him to an extraordinary degree. At this moment he was in a
wilder fever than Eurymachus. He looked down with admiration--almost
with envy--at the pale face, which looked so radiant in the midst of
suffering, so sublimely happy in spite of wretchedness. And he himself?
Did not the saying about the convict in the mines apply to him? Was he
not in fact more fettered and bound, than this fugitive slave? What
was the liberty that Rome--that the whole world was ready to offer to
him? Had he ever been able really to purchase release from that dark
melancholy, which oppressed him like an ever-present incubus? What a
God must He be, who uplifted the slave to such serene heights!
“It is time to start,” he said at last, waking from a deep reverie.
“The roads are bad; I fear we can proceed but slowly; besides, we must
not keep Caius Aurelius waiting too long. He shares our danger, and is
watching in anxious uncertainty.”
“Noble Sir!” exclaimed the slave, deeply moved, “are you really
prepared again to risk your life? You know, Father, how strongly I set
my face against this project; and even now, at the eleventh hour, I
entreat you: Consider well what you are doing.”
“It has all been considered,” said Thrax impatiently. “If you were to
perish in this cavern, would not our fate also be sealed? Do you think,
that Glauce would survive your death? Look at her; see how the mere
thought frightens her.”
“But who talks of my dying? You should have waited eight or ten days,
till the first fury of our persecutors had cooled.”
“And meanwhile you would have cooled, never to be warm again. Your
wound, at first scarcely worth speaking of, has become so much worse in
the unwholesome air of this vault....”
“And your fever increases every day,” interrupted Euterpe.
“Waste no more words!” cried Thrax angrily. “Help him, Diphilus. You
see he can hardly drag himself up.”
Diphilus, zealously seconded by Euterpe, lifted the wounded man from
his wretched couch, and they carried him carefully out into the
gallery, where Blepyrus was wearily leaning against the rough-hewn
wall. A litter was standing there with some thick woollen coverlets,
and Eurymachus was laid upon it as comfortably as possible. Glauce, who
had followed with a clay lamp, pressed a long kiss on his forehead,
and then hurried away, crying bitterly. Quintus had also accompanied
them, and as soon as he saw that all was ready for the start, ran back
to fetch his hardly-dried cloak. But he involuntarily paused at the
entrance of the cavern; the sight that met his eyes was as pathetic as
it was fair to look upon. The young girl had fallen on her knees before
the altar, her slender hands uplifted in prayer; she gazed up at the
cross in a transport of devotion, smiling ecstatically, though tears
rolled down her pale cheeks. Her lips moved, at first inaudibly, but
presently in a low murmur.
“Saviour of the world,” she prayed, “Thou who hast died for us on the
cross.--If Thou requirest a victim, take me, and let me suffer a
thousand deaths, but spare, oh spare my Eurymachus!”
“Where are you, my lord?” called Blepyrus.
“I am coming,” answered Quintus in an agitated voice. “Forgive me,
gentle worshipper, for interrupting your prayer. Your God will hear and
grant it none the less.”
And as he spoke he went up to the fire-place, threw the cloak over
his shoulders, and followed the litter which, borne by Blepyrus and
Diphilus, had already reached the entrance of the quarry. Euterpe also
was with the wounded fugitive. Only Thrax Barbatus remained behind
in the underground cavern, to help Glauce, who had now recovered her
cheerful composure, to deck the altar and throw wood on the fire. It
was nearly midnight, the hour at which a little knot of believers in
the Nazarene were wont to meet and keep the Feast of Love in memory of
their Redeemer.
FOOTNOTES:
[339] AT THE FOOT OF THE AVENTINE was a slip arranged by the aediles
M. Aemilius Lepidus and L. Aemilius Paulus in the year 193
B.C. Ships still lie at anchor there at the present day.
[340] LONG-HAIRED WOOLLEN CLOAKS. The _paenulae_, the travelling and
winter garments made of rough woollen material or leather. The
_lacerna_ differed from the _paenula_ in being an open garment
like the Greek pallium, and fastened on the right shoulder by
means of a buckle (_fibula_), whereas the _paenula_ was what
is called a _vestimentum clausam_ with an opening for the
head. (Mart. XIV, 132, 133.) See Becker’s _Gallus_, vol. II,
p. 95, etc.
[341] IMPLUVIUM. The cistern, in the floor of the atrium, intended
to receive rain-water.
[342] A BRAZIER FULL OF BURNING CHARCOAL. In ancient Rome, heat was
usually supplied by means of movable stoves and iron braziers.
Chimneys were also known.
[343] FEAST OF SATURN. The so-called Saturnalia. See note, 292, Vol.
I.
[344] WHEN I STRUCK ALLOBROGUS IN THE FACE. This, according to Roman
views, was a mild punishment for such an offence. It sometimes
happened in such cases, that slaves were instantly condemned
by their angry masters “to the _muraenae_,” that is, to be
thrown into the fish-ponds for food for the _muraenae_.
[345] PONS MILVIUS. Now Ponte Molle.
[346] THE CAELIAN HILL. (_Mons Caelius_) south and south-east of the
Coliseum.
[347] THE VIA LATINA branched off to the left, on entering the Via
Appia, from the north.
[348] TOMB OF THE SCIPIOS. Portions of this tomb, (discovered in the
Vigna Sassi in the year 1780,) still exist at the present day.
Here lay buried: among others: L. Cornelius Scipio Barbatus,
Consul 298 B.C.; his son. Consul 259 B.C., the poet Ennius
etc. The tomb was originally above the ground.
[349] ARCH OF DRUSUS. This monument, still extant, was erected in 8
B.C. to Claudius DRUSUS Germanicus.
[350] THE TOMBS THAT STOOD BY THE ROAD-SIDE. Abundant traces of
these tombs on the Via Appia still exist.
[351] ALMO. The little river still bears this name; it rises at
Bovillae; mentioned by Ovid. (_Fast._ IV, 337-340.)
[352] WE SWEAR TO EACH OTHER BY THE MEMORY OF THE CRUCIFIED. See
Plin. _Ep._ X, 97, where in a report about the deeds of the
Christians, he says: “But they assert that their guilt or
error consisted in meeting before dawn on a certain day,
singing hymns in honor of Christ as a god, and binding
themselves by a vow, not to commit a crime, but to neither
steal, commit adultery, break their promise, nor deny the
possession of accumulated property; after which they usually
dispersed, only meeting again at an innocent meal, shared by
all without distinction of persons.”
CHAPTER XX.
The little procession slowly made its way through the brushwood;
Euterpe, indefatigable, led the way. In her left hand she carried the
dark lantern, with which now and again she lighted up some especially
perilous spot, while with her right hand she held aside the boughs of
the shrubs. The gale was still blowing through the dripping trees, and
squalls of rain swept over them with a rush and roar. After a short
but difficult walk they reached the foot-bridge, and turned off to
the east, leaving the brook Almo behind them, and then by degrees the
forest grew thinner.
When at last they reached the open, they saw before them the arches of
the Claudian aqueduct,[353] stretching black and ponderous across the
plains. The wind had parted the clouds here and there over the eastern
horizon, and a few stars shone fitfully through the rifts, but this
made the darkness, which brooded over the whole creation, all the more
sensible.
Again they went over a wooden bridge--then under an arch of the
aqueduct, and a few minutes after through that of another, the Aqua
Marcia.[354] So far they had kept to the road. Now, however, they
quitted it, and for a time cut across fields and meadows, over wide
pools and ditches, and through brushwood. A quarter of an hour, half
an hour, a whole hour of this toil, and they had not yet reached the
Labicanian Way,[355] towards which they were marching.
Diphilus held out bravely, but Blepyrus, who was not of the strongest,
and who was accustomed only to the lightest toil, panted so painfully,
that Quintus could not bear to see it.
“Give me hold,” he said with rough good nature. “Why, you are groaning
like a mule dragging blocks of stone.”
“My lord!” said Blepyrus out of breath. “You see I can hold out a
little longer.”
“I see just the reverse. Stop a minute, Diphilus--there! now get your
breath again, Blepyrus, and fill your lungs. In ten minutes we will
change again.”
“But, my lord, what are you thinking of?”
“Do not talk, but save your wind.”
Euterpe, always thoughtful, offered the exhausted man a draught of
mead. Blepyrus drank it eagerly, and the strange convoy went on its way
again through the silent night.
They were indeed a strange party for any one who could have seen them!
A youth of senatorial rank serving as litter-bearer to one slave, while
another walked idle by his side! Quintus thought of his friends and
equals, and could not help smiling; but with his next breath he sighed,
for he thought of his father. He knew indeed, that Titus Claudius would
not have hesitated to lend a hand if needed for the rescue of the
meanest of his dependents; Titus Claudius, no less, would have bent his
shoulder to the strap of a slave’s litter in case of need. And yet,
what bitter grief, what implacable resentment would that generous man
feel, if only he could see--could guess...!
Quintus gazed vaguely up at the driving clouds, that scudded wildly
along like a host of uneasy spirits. They packed and tumbled together,
hiding the few stars which had peeped forth in the dark sky.
“I cannot help it,” thought Quintus, tightening his lips. “I have no
choice in the matter. If the whole world round me crumbles into eternal
night--I cannot help it!”
The wounded man, exhausted by his too eager talk with Thrax, lay
meanwhile silent and motionless on his couch. Even when Quintus slipped
the straps on to his own shoulders he seemed indifferent to the fact;
only a faint cry of surprise betrayed, that he had not swooned or
fallen asleep.
They had gained the Via Labicana at last, and were toiling up the
slippery way. Blepyrus was just going to take his master’s share of the
burden again, when he suddenly became aware of a shade at a few paces
distance, which at first stole stooping down close to the hedge, and
then suddenly made for the open country, bounding across the road with
long steps.
“What was that?” asked Quintus, who had also observed the noise and
running figure.
“Some wild creature perhaps,” said Euterpe.
“It was a man,” said Eurymachus.
Quintus stopped and gazed out into the darkness; then, turning to
Eurymachus, he asked with evident anxiety:
“When did you first see him?”
“This minute, as we came upon the road.”
“I saw him before,” said Blepyrus in a whisper, as though a similar
shade might at any moment start forth in the gloom. “Out there, by that
bush in the middle of the field something moved and scudded past. I
thought it was some night-bird.”
“They are sitting snugly in their nests,” said Diphilus. Blepyrus did
not answer; he was considering.
“It seems to me,” he said at length, “that I have seen that peculiar
skulking walk and sudden disappearance before. He vanished like
lightning.”
“And he meant no good,” added the flute-player. “In short, it was a spy
sent out by the slave-catchers, and before we can reach the gate the
town-watch will be upon us.”
“Then we must be doubly careful,” said Quintus, forcing his pulses to
beat more calmly. “We must toil across country again as far as the Via
Praenestina.[356] It will be heavy walking, almost up to our knees in
the soil.--But listen! is not that the tramp of horses? Coming from the
city--not a thousand paces away.”
“Lord and Saviour!” groaned Euterpe. “The man must have flown like the
wind.”
“He must indeed, if these horsemen have come at his call. No, the
swiftest cannot be so swift as that. It is all the same; forewarned is
forearmed. What is that to the right of the road?”
“A fountain, or something of the kind,” replied Blepyrus.
“We will hide behind the wall, till the horsemen have passed.”
In a few seconds they had reached the fountain, of which the basin was
raised about three feet above the ground. By day it would have been a
perfectly unavailing shelter, but in the darkness it was a sufficient
cover. If the horsemen should have lanterns, to be sure--and this could
not yet be seen for a rise in the ground--they might easily detect the
track of the fugitives across the weeds and grass, and then....