A Very Old Problem
I
Drusus had at last finished the business which centred around the
death of his uncle, old Publius Vibulanus. He had walked behind the
bier, in company with the other relatives of the deceased--all very
distant, saving himself. On the day, too, of the funeral, he had been
obliged to make his first public oration--a eulogy delivered in the
Forum from the Rostra--in which Drusus tried to pay a graceful but not
fulsome tribute to the old eques, who had never distinguished himself
in any way, except the making of money. The many clients of Vibulanus,
who now looked upon the young man as their patron, had raised a
prodigious din of applause during the oration, and Quintus was
flattered to feel that he had not studied rhetoric in vain. Finally,
as next of kin, he had to apply the torch to the funeral pyre, and
preside over the funeral feast, held by custom nine days after the
actual burning, and over the contests of gladiators which took place
at this festivity. Meanwhile Sextus Flaccus had been attending to the
legal business connected with the transfer of the dead man's estate to
his heir. All this took time--time which Drusus longed to be spending
with Cornelia in shady and breezy Praeneste, miles from unhealthy,
half-parched Rome.
Drusus had sent Agias ahead to Cornelia, as soon as the poor boy had
recovered in the least from his brutal scourging. The lad had parted
from his deliverer with the most extravagant demonstrations of
gratitude, which Quintus had said he could fully repay by implicit
devotion to Cornelia. How that young lady had been pleased with her
present, Drusus could not tell; although he had sent along a letter
explaining the circumstances of the case. But Quintus had other things
on his mind than Agias and his fortunes, on the morning when at last
he turned his face away from the sultry capital, and found his
carriage whirling him once more over the Campagna.
Drusus had by personal experience learned the bitterness of the
political struggle in which he had elected to take part. The Caesarians
at Rome (Balbus, Antonius, and Curio) had welcomed him to their
number, for young as he was, his wealth and the prestige of the Livian
name were not to be despised. And Drusus saw how, as in his younger
days he had not realized, the whole fabric of the state was in an evil
way, and rapidly approaching its mending or ending. The Roman Republic
had exported legions; she had imported slaves, who heaped up vast
riches for their masters, while their competition reduced the free
peasantry to starvation. And now a splendid aristocracy claimed to
rule a subject world, while the "Roman people" that had conquered that
world were a degenerate mob, whose suffrages in the elections were
purchasable--almost openly--by the highest bidder. The way was not
clear before Drusus; he only saw, with his blind, Pagan vision, that
no real liberty existed under present conditions; that Pompeius and
his allies, the Senate party, were trying to perpetuate the
aristocracy in power, and that Caesar, the absent proconsul of the
Gauls, stood, at least, for a sweeping reform. And so the young man
made his decision and waited the march of events.
But once at Praeneste all these forebodings were thrust into the
background. The builders and frescoers had done their work well in his
villa. A new colonnade was being erected. Coloured mosaic floors were
being laid. The walls of the rooms were all a-dance with bright Cupids
and Bacchantes--cheerful apartments for their prospective mistress.
But it was over to the country-house of the Lentuli that Drusus made
small delay to hasten, there to be in bliss in company with Cornelia,
"And how," he asked, after the young lady had talked of a dozen
innocent nothings, "do you like Agias, the boy I sent you?"
"I can never thank you enough--at least if he is always as clever and
witty as he has been since I have had him," was the reply. "I was
vexed at first to have a servant with such dreadful scars all over
him; but he is more presentable now. And he has a very droll way of
saying bright things. What fun he has made of Livia's dear mother, his
former mistress! I shall have to give up reading any wise authors, if
it will make me grow like Valeria. Then, too, Agias has won my favour,
if in no other way, by getting a thick grass stem out of the throat of
my dear little pet sparrow, that was almost choking to death. I am so
grateful to you for him!"
"I am very glad you are fond of him," said Drusus. "Has your uncle
come back from Rome yet? I did not meet him while there. I was busy;
and besides, to speak honestly, I have a little hesitation in seeing
him, since the political situation is so tense."
"He returns to-night, I believe," replied Cornelia. Then as if a bit
apprehensive, "Tell me about the world, Drusus; I don't care to be one
of those fine ladies of the sort of Clodia,[71] who are all in the
whirl of politics, and do everything a man does except to speak in the
Senate; but I like to know what is going on. There isn't going to be a
riot, I hope, as there was two years ago, when no consuls were
elected, and Pompeius had to become sole magistrate?"
[71] She was a sister of Clodius, a famous demagogue, and was a
brilliant though abandoned woman.
"There have been no tumults so far," said Drusus, who did not care to
unfold all his fears and expectations.
"Yet things are in a very bad way, I hear," said Cornelia "Can't Caesar
and my uncle's party agree?"
"I'm afraid not," replied Drusus, shaking his head. "Caesar wishes to
be consul a second time. Pompeius and he were friends when at Lucca
six years ago this was agreed on. Caesar was then promised that he
should have his Gallic proconsulship up to the hour when he should be
consul, and besides Pompeius promised to have permission granted Caesar
to be elected consul, without appearing as a candidate in Rome; so at
no moment was Caesar to be without office,[72] and consequently he was
not to be liable to prosecution from his enemies. All this was secured
to Caesar by the laws,--laws which Pompeius aided to have enacted. But
now Crassus the third triumvir is dead; Julia, Caesar's daughter and
Pompeius's wife, whom both dearly loved, is dead. And Pompeius has
been persuaded by your uncle and his friends to break with Caesar and
repudiate his promise. Caesar and Pompeius have long been so powerful
together that none could shake their authority; but if one falls away
and combines with the common enemy, what but trouble is to be
expected?"
[72] Without the _imperium_--so long as a Roman official held this
he was above prosecution.
"The enemy! the enemy!" repeated Cornelia, looking down, and sighing.
"Quintus, these feuds are a dreadful thing. Can't you," and here she
threw a bit of pathetic entreaty into her voice, "join with my uncle's
party, and be his friend? I hate to think of having my husband at
variance with the man who stands in place of my father."
Drusus took her face between his hands, and looked straight at her.
They were standing within the colonnade of the villa of the Lentuli,
and the sunlight streaming between the pillars fell directly upon
Cornelia's troubled face, and made a sort of halo around her.
"My dearest, delectissima," said Quintus, earnestly, "I could not
honourably take your hand in marriage, if I had not done that which my
conscience, if not my reason, tells me is the only right thing to do.
It grieves me to hurt you; but we are not fickle Greeks, nor servile
Easterns; but Romans born to rule, and because born to rule, born to
count nothing dear that will tend to advance the strength and
prosperity not of self, but of the state. You would not love me if I
said I cared more for keeping a pang from your dear heart, than for
the performance of that which our ancestors counted the one end of
life--duty to the commonwealth."
Cornelia threw her arms around him.
"You are the noblest man on the whole earth!" she cried with bright
enthusiasm. "Of course I would not love you if you did what you
believed to be wrong! My uncle may scold, may storm. I shan't care for
all his anger, for you _must be_ right."
"Ah! delectissima," cried Drusus, feeling at the moment as if he were
capable of refuting senates and confounding kings, "we will not look
at too gloomy a side of the picture. Pompeius and Caesar will be
reconciled. Your uncle's party will see that it is best to allow the
proconsul an election as promised. We will have wise laws and moderate
reforms. All will come out aright. And we--we two--will go along
through life as softly and as merrily as now we stroll up and down in
the cool shade of these columns; and I will turn philosopher and
evolve a new system that will forever send Plato and Zeno, Epicurus
and Timon, to the most remote and spider-spun cupboard of the most
old-fashioned library, and you shall be a poetess, a Sappho, an
Erinna, who shall tinkle in Latin metres sweeter than they ever sing
in Aiolic. And so we will fleet the time as though we were Zeus and
Hera on Olympus."
"Zeus and Hera!" repeated Cornelia, laughing. "You silly Graecule.[73]
You may talk about that misbehaved pair, who were anything but
harmonious and loving, if Homer tells truly. I prefer our own Juppiter
and our Juno of the Aventine. _They_ are a staid and home-keeping
couple, worth imitating, if we are to imitate any celestials. But
nothing Greek for me."
[73] Contemptuous diminutive for Greek.
"Intolerant, intolerant," retorted Drusus, "we are all Greek, we
Romans of to-day--what is left of old Latium but her half-discarded
language, her laws worse than discarded, perverted, her good pilum[74]
which has not quite lost its cunning, and her--"
[74] The heavy short javelin carried by the Roman legionary, only
about six feet long. In practised hands it was a terrible weapon,
and won many a Roman victory.
"Men," interrupted Cornelia, "such as you!"
"And women," continued Drusus, "such as you! Ah! There is something
left of Rome after all. We are not altogether fallen, unworthy of our
ancestors. Why shall we not be merry? A Greek would say that it was
always darkest before Eos leaves the couch of Tithonus,[75] and who
knows that our Helios is not soon to dawn and be a long, long time ere
his setting? I feel like throwing formality to the winds, crying
'Iacchos evoe,' and dancing like a bacchanal, and singing in tipsy
delight,--
[75] The "rosy-fingered Dawn" of Homer; Tithonos was her consort.
"'Oh, when through the long night,
With fleet foot glancing white,
Shall I go dancing in my revelry,
My neck cast back, and bare
Unto the dewy air,
Like sportive faun in the green meadow's glee?'[76]
[76] Milman, translator.
as old Euripides sings in his 'Bacchae.' Yes, the Hellenes were right
when they put nymphs in the forest and in the deep. Only our blind
practical Latin eyes will not see them. We will forget that we are
Romans; we will build for ourselves some cosey little Phaeacia up in
the Sabine hills beside some lake; and there my Sappho shall also be
my Nausicaa to shine fair as a goddess upon her distressed and
shipwrecked Odysseus."
"Yes," said Cornelia, smiling, "a delightful idyl; but Odysseus would
not stay with Nausicaa."
"I was wrong," replied Drusus, as they walked arm in arm out from the
portico, and down the broad avenue of stately shade trees. "You shall
be the faithful Penelope, who receives back her lord in happiness
after many trials. Your clever Agias can act as Telemachus for us."
"But the suitors whom Odysseus must slay?" asked Cornelia, entering
into the fun.
"Oh, for them," said Drusus, lightly, "we need not search far. Who
other than Ahenobarbus?"
II
Rather late in the afternoon, a few days subsequently, the most noble
Lucius Cornelius Lentulus Crus, consul-designate, and one of the most
prominent politicians of his time and nation, arrived at Praeneste;
having hurried away from Rome to escape for a little while the summer
heats which made the capital anything but a pleasant place for
residence. Drusus's travelling cortege would have seemed small enough
compared with the hedge of outriders, footmen, and body-servants that
surrounded the great man. But notwithstanding his prospective
dignities, and his present importance, Lentulus Crus was hardly an
imposing personality. He was a bald-pated, florid individual, with
rough features, a low, flat forehead, and coarse lips. He was dressed
very fashionably, and was perfumed and beringed to an extent that
would have been derided anywhere save in the most select circles of
Rome. He was stout, and when he alighted from his carriage, he moved
away with a somewhat waddling gait, and lifted up a rasping,
high-pitched voice in unsonorous complaint against a slave who let
fall a parcel of baggage.
Clearly the master of the house had returned, and all the familia and
freedmen bustled about their various tasks with the unusual
promptitude and diligence which is the outcome of a healthy fear of
retribution for slackness. Lentulus went into the atrium, and there
had an angry conference with the local land-steward, over some
accounts which the latter presented. In fact, so ill was the humour of
the noble lord, that Cornelia avoided going out from her room to meet
him, and pretended to be so engrossed in her Ennius that she did not
hear he had come.
This pretence, however, could not last long. Lentulus called out in a
surly tone to know where his niece was, and the latter was fain to
present herself. It could not be said that the meeting between
Cornelia and her uncle was extremely affectionate. The interchange of
kisses was painfully formal, and then Lentulus demanded somewhat
abruptly:--
"How have you been spending your time? With that young ne'er-do-weel
son of Sextus Drusus?"
"Quintus was here this morning," said Cornelia, feeling a little
reproachful at the manner in which her uncle had spoken of her lover.
"Just back from Rome, I presume?" said Lentulus, icily, "and he must
fly over to the cote of his little dove and see that she hasn't
flitted away? He'd better have a care in his doings. He'll have
something more serious on hand than lovemaking before long."
"I don't understand you, uncle," said Cornelia, turning rather red;
"Quintus has never done anything for which he has cause to fear."
"Oh, he hasn't, eh?" retorted Lentulus. "_Mehercle!_ what donkeys you
women are! You may go, I want to see your mother."
"She is in her own room," said Cornelia, turning her back; "I wish you
would not speak to me in that way again."
Lentulus wandered through the mazes of courts, colonnades, and the
magnificently decorated and finished rooms of the villa, until he came
to the chamber of Claudia, his sister-in-law. Claudia was a woman of
the same fashionable type as Valeria, good-looking, ostentatious,
proud, selfish, devoid of any aim in life save the securing of the
most vapid pleasure. At the moment, she was stretched out on a thickly
cushioned couch. She had thrown on a loose dress of silken texture. A
negress was waving over her head a huge fan of long white feathers. A
second negress was busy mixing in an _Authepsa_,--a sort of silver
urn, heated by charcoal,--a quantity of spices, herbs, and water,
which the lady was to take as soon as it was sufficiently steeped.
Claudia had been enjoying an unusually gay round of excitement while
at Baiae, and she had but just come up to Praeneste, to recover herself
after the exertions of a score of fashionable suppers, excursions on
the Lucrine Lake, and the attendant exhausting amusements. When her
brother-in-law entered the room, she raised her carefully tinted
eyebrows, and observed with great languor:--
"So you have gotten away from Rome, at last, my Lucius?"
"For a few days," replied Lentulus, in no very affable tone; "the heat
and din of the city will drive me mad! And I have had no end of
troublesome business. The senators are all fools or slaves of Caesar.
That treacherous rascal, Curio, is blocking all our efforts. Even
Pompeius is half-hearted in the cause. It wouldn't take much to make
him go back to Caesar, and then where would we be?"
"Where would we be?" said Claudia, half conscious of what she said,
turning over wearily. "Don't talk politics, my dear brother. They are
distressingly dull. My head aches at the very word." And she held out
her hand and took the golden cup of hot drink which the negress
offered her.
"Aye," replied Lentulus, not in the least subdued, "where _will_ we
be, if Pompeius and Caesar become friends? If there is no war, no
proscription, no chance to make a sesterce in a hurry!"
"My dear brother," said Claudia, still more languidly, and yawning at
length, as she handed back the cup, "have I not said that the mere
mention of politics makes my head ache?"
"Then let it," said the other, brutally; "I must have some plain words
with you." And he pointed toward the door. The two serving-maids took
the hint, and retired.
Claudia settled her head back on the pillows, and folded her hands as
if to resign herself to a very dull tete-a-tete.
"Have you any new debts?" demanded Lentulus.
"What a tiresome question," murmured the lady. "No--no--yes; I owe
Pomponius the fancier--I don't quite know how much--for my last
Maltese lap dog."
"Thank the gods that is all," went on her brother-in-law. "Now listen
to me. I have been living beyond my means. Last year the canvass to
get on the board of guardians of the Sibylline Books--in which that
graceless son-in-law of Cicero's, Publius Dolabella, defeated me--cost
a deal of money. This year I have the consulship. But it has taken
every denarius I own, and more too. All my estates are involved, so
that it will require years to redeem them, in the ordinary way."
"How extremely unfortunate!" sighed Claudia, looking dreadfully bored.
"If that was all I had to tell you," snapped back Lentulus, "I would
not have disturbed your ladyship's repose. But you must be so
indulgent as to listen."
"Well?" said Claudia, yawning again and settling herself.
"Your late husband left some little property," began the other.
"Yes, to be sure; oh! my poor Caius!" and Claudia began to sob and
wipe away the tears.
"And this property I have involved," continued Lentulus, driving
straight ahead and never heeding the widow's display of emotions. "It
will be impossible for me to clear away the encumbrances for some
little time."
Claudia was excited now. She sprang up from her cushions and cried, or
rather screamed:--
"Brute! Robber of orphans and widows! Heartless wretch! Have you
pledged the slender fortune Caius left me, and the dowry of my poor
dear Cornelia?" And her voice sank into hoarseness, and she began to
sob once more.
Lentulus regarded her with vexation and contempt. "_Mehercle!_ what a
fuss you are making! The deed is done, and there's no helping it. I
came here, not to offer excuses, but to state the facts. You may call
me what you please; I _had to do it_, or lose the consulship. Now look
the matter in the face. You must contract no more debts; I can't
discharge the old ones. Live as reasonably as you can."
"And no more nice dinners? No more visits to Baiae?" groaned the lady,
rocking to and fro.
"Yes, yes," broke in her brother-in-law, sharply, "I can still raise
enough to meet all ordinary expenses. If I let down in my household,
my creditors would see I was pinched, and begin to pluck me. I can
weather the storm. But look here: Cornelia must have an end with that
young Drusus. I can never pay her dowry, and would not have him for a
nephew-in-law if I could."
"Cornelia break off with Drusus?" and Claudia stopped whimpering, and
sat staring at Lentulus with astonished eyes. To tell the truth she
had always liked the young Livian, and thought her daughter was
destined for a most advantageous match.
"Certainly, my dear Claudia," said the consul-elect, half relieved to
change what had been a very awkward subject; "I can assure you that
Quintus is far from being a proper and worthy man for a husband for
your daughter. I have heard very evil reports of him while in the
city. He has cast in his lot with that gang of knavish Caesarians
centring around Marcus Antonius, Caelius, and that Caius Sallustius[77]
whom our excellent censors have just ejected from the Senate, because
of his evil living and Caesarian tendencies. Do I need to say more of
him? A worthless, abandoned, shameless profligate!"
[77] Sallust, the well-known historian.
Claudia had a little sense of humour; and when Lentulus was working
himself up into a righteous rage over the alleged misdoings of Drusus,
she interrupted:--
"You do well to say so, my dear Lucius; for all men know that your
life is as morally severe as your good friend Cato's."
Lentulus was silent for a moment, and bit his lip; then recommenced:--
"What I meant to say was this. Quintus Drusus and I are enemies; and I
will not give him my niece in marriage. If we were friends, I would
not be able to pay the dowry. You can complain if you please; but you
can't alter my inclinations or my inability to carry out the marriage
agreement."
Though Claudia in many respects was an empty woman of the world, she
had in a way a desire to promote her daughter's happiness, and, as has
been said, she had been extremely fond of Drusus. So she replied
diplomatically that Quintus was probably willing to wait a reasonable
time for the dowry; and that even if he had held communication with
the Caesarians, he was little more than a boy and could be shaken out
of any unfortunate political opinions.
"I will be reasonable," said Lentulus, after pacing up and down for a
few minutes. "I was told of his folly by Caius Calvus.[78] Calvus is
as a rule accurate in his information. He said he met Drusus in
company with Balbus and Curio. But there may have been some mistake.
And the lad, as you declare, may be willing to cut loose from a bad
course. If he really cares for Cornelia, he will be moderate in his
demands for the dowry. Your suggestion is worth taking, Claudia. Let
us send for him, and let him know the only terms on which he can have
my niece."
[78] A distinguished poet and orator--a friend of Catullus.
Lentulus clapped his hands, and a serving-boy came in for orders.
"Go to the villa of Quintus Drusus," commanded the master, "and tell
him that I would see him at once on business of weight."
Claudia arose, and let her maids throw over her a long white
_stola_,[79] with deep flounces and an elaborate embroidery of
sea-nymphs and marine monsters. Lentulus went out into the atrium and
walked up and down, biting his nails, and trying to think out the
arguments by which he would confute the political heresies of Drusus.
Lentulus was too good a politician not to know that the young man
would be a valuable catch for the party that secured him; and the
consul-elect was determined, not so much to spare breaking the heart
of his niece, but to rob the enemy of a valuable adherent. Cornelia
had gone back to her book; but when she saw the boy go down the path,
evidently on an errand to the villa of the Drusi, she rolled up the
volume, and went into the atrium.
[79] A long tunic worn by Roman ladies.
"You have sent after Quintus, uncle?" she asked.
"I have," was the reply; "I expect him shortly."
"What is the matter?" continued Cornelia, growing apprehensive.
"I wish to make the arrangements for your wedding," replied Lentulus,
continuing his pacing to and fro.
"Oh, I am so glad!" cried Cornelia, cheerily. "I am so pleased you
wish to make everything agreeable for Quintus and for me!"
"I hope so," was the rather gloomy response.
Presently Drusus was seen coming up the shaded path at a very brisk
stride. He had been playing at fencing with old Mamercus, and his face
was all aglow with a healthy colour; there was a bright light in his
eye. When he saw Cornelia in the doorway he gave a laugh and broke
into a run, which brought him up to her panting and merry.
Then as he saw Lentulus he paused, half ashamed of his display of
boyish ardour, and yet, with a smile and a gracious salutation, asked
the older man if he was enjoying good health, and congratulated him on
his election.
The consul-designate was a little disarmed by this straightforward
mode of procedure. He dropped unuttered the elaborate exordium he had
been preparing on the tendency of young men to be led astray by
speciously pleading schemers, and found himself replying mildly to
questions about himself and various old friends of his, whom Drusus
had known as a boy before he went to Athens. But finally the young man
interrupted this pacific discourse with the query:--
"And, most noble Lentulus, what is the business on which you sent for
me? So far as I am able, the uncle of Cornelia has but to command."
Lentulus glanced at Claudia, as if expecting her to open a delicate
subject; but that excellent lady only fingered her _palla_,[80] and
gave vent to a slight cough. Cornelia, whose fears had all passed
away, stood beside Drusus, with one arm resting on his shoulder,
glancing pertly from one man to the other. Lentulus began:--
[80] A shawl worn over the stola.
"I am very sorry to tell you, Quintus, that I fear your wedding with
Cornelia cannot be celebrated as soon as you hoped."
"Must be postponed!" exclaimed the young man, in alarm; and Cornelia
dropped her arm, and stared at her uncle in dismay.
"I fear so," said Lentulus, dryly. "I have done my best to husband the
fortune Caius left his daughter; but, as perhaps you know, I invested
a very large part of it in the tax farming syndicate for farther
Spain. The speculation seemed safe, but local wars have so reduced the
profits that they amount to nothing, and it will be some time before
the principal is set free. Of course, in ordinary times I would make
up the sum from my own means, but I have had very heavy expenses
lately; consequently, I fear you cannot marry Cornelia until I am in a
position to pay over her dowry."
Drusus burst out into a hearty, boyish laugh.
"My dear uncle," cried he, "for do let me call you so, I would have
you know that when I take Cornelia I have dowry sufficient. Thanks to
old Vibulanus's will, I may call myself passing wealthy. As far as I
am concerned, you may pay over the marriage portion to my heirs, if so
you wish."
Lentulus seemed considerably relieved. Claudia broke out with loud
ejaculations to the effect that Drusus, she always knew, was a
generous, affectionate fellow, and she loved him dearly. Cornelia,
however, looked disturbed, and presently exclaimed:--
"It isn't right, Quintus, that I should come into your house with not
a sesterce in my own name, as if you had married some low farmer's
daughter."
"_Phy!_ pish!" replied Drusus. "You always scold the Greeks, my good
mistress, and yet, like them, you hold that a marriage between people
of unequal means is unhappy. A penny for your scruples! I have more
money to-day than I know what to do with. Besides, if it will make you
happier, your uncle can doubtless pay over the dowry before a great
while."
"It's certainly very kind of you, Quintus," said Lentulus (who had
quite made up his mind that if the young man could wait for what was a
very tidy fortune, through sheer affection for Cornelia, he would be
pliable enough in the political matter), "not to press me in this
affair. Rest assured, neither you nor my niece will be the losers in
the end. But there's one other thing I would like to ask you about.
From what Calvus told me in Rome, Curio and certain other still worse
_Populares_[81] were trying to induce you to join their abominable
faction. I trust you gave those men no encouragement?"
[81] The party in opposition, since the time of Tiberius Gracchus,
to the Senate party--Optimates; at this time the _Populares_ were
practically all Caesarians.
Drusus was evidently confused. He was wishing strongly that Cornelia
was away, and he could talk to her uncle with less constraint. He felt
that he was treading on very dangerous ground.
"It is true," said he, trying painfully to answer as if the words cost
him no thought. "Antonius had met many of my father's old comrades in
Gaul, and they had sent a number of kind messages to me. Then, too,
Balbus invited me to a dinner-party and there I met Curio, and a very
pleasant time we had. I cannot recall that they made any special
efforts to enlist me as a partisan."
In this last, Drusus spoke truly; for he had already thrown in his lot
with the Caesarian cause. But Lentulus knew enough of the case to
realize that he was receiving not the whole truth but only a half; and
being a man of a sharp temper that was under very imperfect control,
threw diplomacy to the winds, and replied vehemently: "Don't attempt
to cover up your folly! I know how you have put yourself in the power
of those conspirators. Are you planning to turn out another Catilina?"
"My dear sir," expostulated Drusus, doing his best to retain his
outward calm, "I cannot understand of what fault I have become guilty.
Is it wrong in Rome to accept a kindly invitation from an old family
friend to a dinner? Am I responsible for the persons the host summoned
to meet me there?"
Drusus had been simply sparring to ward off the real point at issue;
like many persons he would not assert his convictions and motives till
fairly brought to bay. But that moment came almost instantly.
"Don't equivocate! _Mehercle!_" cried Lentulus, getting thoroughly
angry. "Can't you speak, except to lie and quibble before my face?
Have you joined the gang Curio is rallying for Caesar?"
Drusus was losing his own patience now.
"Yes! And we shall shortly see whether the Republic is to be longer
ruined by incompetence and corruption!"
"Uncle! Quintus!" implored Cornelia, forcing herself between them, and
casting out of her wide-open eyes on each a look full of distress.
"Don't contend! For my sake be friends!"
"For your sake!" raged Lentulus, his florid face growing redder and
redder. "I will take care to keep you out of the clutches of a man who
deliberately chooses to associate with all that is base and villanous.
Until your handsome lover throws over connections with Caesar and his
fellow-conspirators, let him never ask for your hand!"
"Sir," burst in Drusus, flushing with passion, "do you dare to set at
naught the will of your brother and its express commands? Dare you
withhold from me what is legally my own?"
"Legally?" replied Lentulus, with sharp scorn. "Don't use that word to
a consul-elect, who has the whole Senate and Pompeius behind him. Laws
are very dangerous tools for a young man to meddle with in a case like
this. You will be wise not to resort to the courts."
"You defy the law!" thundered Drusus, all the blood of his fighting
ancestors tingling in his veins. "Do you say that to a Livian; to the
heir of eight consuls, two censors, a master of the horse, a dictator,
and three triumphators? Shall not _he_ obtain justice?"
"And perhaps," said Lentulus, sinking into an attitude of irritating
coldness, "you will further press your claim on the ground that your
mother was a Fabian, and the Fabii claim the sole right to sacrifice
to Hercules on the Great Altar[82] in the Cattle-market by the
Flaminian Circus, because they are descended from Hercules and
Evander. I think the Cornelian gens can show quite as many death-masks
in its atria, and your mock heroics will only stamp you as a very bad
tragedian."
[82] _Ara Maxima_.
"Uncle! Quintus!" implored Cornelia again, the tears beginning to
start from her eyes. "Cease this dreadful quarrel. Go away until you
can talk calmly."
"Quintus Livius," shouted Lentulus, dropping the "Drusus," a part of
the name which was omitted in formal address, "you can choose here and
now. Forswear your Caesarian connections, or consider my niece's
betrothal at an end!"
Drusus stood looking in blank dismay from one to the other of the
little company. Claudia had started to speak, but closed, her lips
without uttering a word. Lentulus faced him, hot, flushed, and with a
cynical smile of delight, at the infliction of mental torture, playing
over his face. Cornelia had dropped down upon a chair, buried her
pretty face in her hands, and was sobbing as if her heart would break.
It was a moment Drusus would not soon forget. The whole scene in the
atrium was stamped upon his memory; the drops of the fountain seemed
frozen in mid-air; the rioting satyr on the fresco appeared to be
struggling against the limitations of paint and plaster to complete
his bound; he saw Cornelia lift her head and begin to address him, but
what she said was drowned by the buzzing and swirl which unsteadied
the young man's entire faculties. Drusus felt himself turning hot and
cold, and in semi-faintness he caught at a pillar, and leaned upon it.
He felt numbed mentally and physically. Then, by a mental reaction,
his strong, well-balanced nature reasserted itself. His head cleared,
his muscles relaxed their feverish tension, he straightened himself
and met the cool leer of Lentulus with a glance stern and high; such a
glance as many a Livian before him had darted on foe in Senate or
field of battle.
"Lucius Cornelius," said he, his voice perfectly under command, "do
you propose to defy law and right and refuse me the hand of your
niece, unless I do your will?"
Lentulus thought that in this unimpassioned speech he detected the
premonitions of a capitulation on the part of Drusus, and with a voice
of ill-timed persuasion, replied, "Be reasonable, Drusus; you have
everything to gain and nothing to lose by not thwarting my wishes."
"Your wishes!" retorted Drusus, with a menacing step forward. "Your
wishes! You are consul-designate. You have the Senate, you have your
tool, Pompeius, you have the gangs of gladiators and street ruffians
and all the machinery of your political clubs to invoke to defy the
law! I grant it; but though you deny me Cornelia, though by your
machinations you bring me any other loss or shame, the grandson of the
murdered Marcus Drusus will do that which is right in his own eyes,
and accept no mandate from you or any man, against his will!"
"Cornelia," cried Claudia, infinitely distressed, "speak to Quintus,
reason with him, implore him, pray him not to resist the requests of
your uncle."
"Yes, girl!" said Lentulus, savagely, turning livid with sheer rage,
"use all your arts on that graceless would-be conspirator now, or see
his face no more!"
But Cornelia interposed in a most summary and unexpected manner. Her
face was very white; her nails pressed into her smooth arms, her
breath came thick and spasmodically, and her eyes flamed with the
intense passion of a strong spirit thoroughly aroused.
"Go, Quintus," she cried, with a strained, loud voice, "go, and never
see my face again, until my uncle repents of his cruel madness! He is
master here; only woe will come from defying him. Do not anger him
further; depart."
"Depart?" burst from Drusus.
"Depart!" replied Cornelia, desperately; "if you stay I shall go mad.
I shall beg you to yield,--which would be base of me; and if you heard
my prayers, it would be more base in you."
"Fool," shouted Lentulus, "don't you know you will be the first I'll
mark for slaughter in the next proscription? You, mistress, go to your
room, if you cannot keep a civil tongue! And you, sir, get you gone,
unless you wish the slaves to cast you out."
"Farewell, Cornelia!" gasped the young man; and he turned his back,
and started out into the colonnade.
"Oh, Quintus, return!" shrieked Claudia, wringing her hands. "All the
gods blast you!" muttered Lentulus, quivering with fury; then he
shouted at the top of his shrill, harsh voice: "My enemies are my
enemies. You are warned. Take care!"
"And do you take warning! A Livian never forgets! _Mars regat!_ Let
War rule!" cried Drusus, turning at the vestibule, and brandishing a
knotted fist. Lentulus stared after him, half furious, half
intimidated. But Claudia glanced back into the room from the just
emptied doorway, and gave a scream.
"The servants! Help! Water! Cornelia has fainted!"
III
Drusus strode down the long avenue of shade trees. The gardener stared
after him, as the young man went by, his face knitted with a scowl of
combined pain and fury, with never a word in reply to the rustic's
kindly salutation.
"_Papae!_"[83] muttered the man, "what has befallen Master Quintus? Has
he fallen out with her ladyship?"
[83] "Strange! Marvellous!"
Drusus kept on, looking neither to the right hand nor to the left,
until he found himself past the boundary stone between his own estate
and that of the Lentuli. Then he stopped and passed his hand over his
forehead. It was damp with an unhealthy sweat. His hands and frame
were quivering as if in an ague. He seated himself on a stone bench by
the roadway, and tried to collect his faculties.
"Bear up, Drusus; be a Livian, as you boast yourself," he declaimed
frantically to himself. "Cornelia shall still be yours! All things are
possible to one who is young and strong, with a clear conscience!"
If this self-debate did not actually stimulate cheerfulness, it at
least revived the embers of hope; and Drusus found himself trying to
look the situation fairly in the face.
"You have thrown away your right to marry the dearest, loveliest, and
noblest girl in the world," he reflected bitterly. "You have made an
implacable enemy of one of the most powerful men of the state. In
short, your happiness is gone, and perhaps your life is in danger--and
for what? A dream of reform which can never be realized? A mad
conspiracy to overthrow the commonwealth? Is Caesar to be saviour or
despot? For what have you sacrificed yourself?"
Lentulus, he knew perfectly well, was really above law. No jury would
ever convict the leader of the Senate party. Drusus could never
contract lawful marriage with Cornelia, so long as her guardian
withheld consent. And for one moment he regretted of his
determination, of his defiance. Then came reaction. Drusus called up
all his innate pride, all the strength of his nobler inspirations.
"I have set my face toward that which is honourable and right," cried
Drusus to his own soul; "I will not doubt. Whether there be gods, I
cannot tell. But this I know, the wise and good have counted naught
dear but virtues; and toward this end I will strive."
And by a strong effort at self-command, he forced himself to arise
from the bench and walk back to his own estate, and soon he was
pouring the whole story into the sympathetic ears of Mamercus,
Pausanias, and other worthy retainers.
The scene that had taken place at the villa of the Lentuli, soon was
reported through all the adjacent farms; for several slaves had been
the mute witnesses of the angry colloquy, and had not been slow to
publish the report. The familia of Drusus was in a tumult of
indignation. All the brawny Germans and Africans whom the young master
had released from the slave-prison, and had since treated with
kindness, listened with no unfavourable ear to the proposal which
Titus Mamercus--more valorous than discreet--was laying before them:
to arm and attack Lentulus in his own villa, and so avenge their lord
in a summary fashion.
But the elder Mamercus dashed the martial ambitions of his son.
"Fool," cried the veteran, emphatically, when the project came to his
ears, "do you wish to undo yourself and Quintus too? No power short of
Jove could protect you and him, if aught were to befall Lentulus, in
the way you propose."
"But what can we do, father?" replied Titus, sorry to see his scheme
for vengeance blocked; "shall that despicable tyrant defy law and
justice, and refuse to give Mistress Cornelia to Quintus?"
"Silence your folly!" thundered the other, who was himself quite
nonplussed over the situation, and felt Titus's bold chatter would
goad him into something desperate.
The truth was, neither Pausanias nor any other of Quintus's friends
could see any means of coercing the consul-elect into receding from
his position. He was practically above law, and could not with safety
be attacked in any way. Pausanias could only counsel moderation and
patience; perhaps some fortunate chance would alter matters. Drusus
spent the evening in a pathetically forced attempt to read his
Callimachus. He was weary physically, and intended to retire early.
AEmilia, who felt sorry enough for the plight of her rather distant
cousin, had tried to console him and divert him with guitar[84] music,
and had called in an itinerant piper,[85] but these well-meant efforts
at amusement had been dreary failures. Drusus had just bidden his
body-servants undress him, when he was informed that Agias had come
from the Lentulan villa, and wished to see him.
[84] _Cithara_.
[85] Itinerant pipers have existed in Italy from earliest times;
they still survive, albeit in alien lands and with less tuneful
instruments.
Agias was full of protestations of delight at beholding his
intercessor and ransomer. Drusus could hardly recognize in the
supple-limbed, fair-complexioned, vivacious lad before him, the
wretched creature whom Alfidius had driven through the streets.
Agias's message was short, but quite long enough to make Drusus's pale
cheeks flush with new life, his sunken eyes rekindle, and his languor
vanish into energy. Cornelia would be waiting for him by the great
cypress in the gardens of the Lentulan villa, as soon as the moon
rose.
Drusus prepared himself hurriedly, and refused all the entreaties of
Titus to take him along as a body-guard. Time coursed on winged feet,
as the young man hastened out into the night, and half ran down the
familiar pathway. The day had been only moderately warm for the
season, and the night was cool, though not cold. A soft east wind was
blowing down from the distant Apennines, and all the trees were
rustling gently. Up to the giant arm of a gnarled oak, fluttered an
owl, which hooted noisily as the young man hurried beneath. The
crickets were chirping. A little way off was a small stream plunging
over a dam; from it came a liquid roar; and the little wall of white
spray was just visible in the darkness. Out from the orchards drifted
the fragrant scent of apple, pear, plum, and quince. Still more sweet
was the breeze, as it swept over the wide-stretching rose-beds.
Overhead Orion and Arcturus were glittering in that hazy splendour
which belongs to the heavens on a summer's night.
Drusus kept on, only half noting the beauty of the darkness. When he
entered the groves of the Lentulan villa, almost all light failed him,
and but for his intimate knowledge--from boyhood--of the whole
locality, he could never have kept the path. Then the moonlight began
to stream up in the east, and between the trees and thickets lay the
long, yellow bars of brightness, while all else was still in gloom.
Drusus pushed on with confidence, and soon the gurgle of the tiny
cataract told him that he was near the old cypress. A few steps more,
and a figure rose from out the fern thicket. It was Cornelia. Her hair
was tumbling loosely over her shoulders; she wore a soft, light-blue
dress that covered her arms and her feet. In the moonlight her face
and hands appeared as bloodless as white marble.
"I knew you would come, Quintus," she cried. "I couldn't say farewell
to you, in the presence of my uncle!"
"My beautiful!" cried Drusus; and he caught her in his arms.
The moments that followed were as bitter-sweet as may be conceivable.
Each knew that they had small hope of an honourable realization of
their love one for another; that the moment of parting would soon
come. But for the instant they were in Elysium, caught out of mortal
care and mortal sorrow, and knowing nothing but the pure delight of
the other's presence. Then, at last, their talk became less
enraptured; the vision of Olympus faded little by little; the stern
reality confronted them in all its seriousness.
"Cornelia," said Quintus, at length, "you are still a very young
woman. This day's heart-breakings may, perhaps, be long painful to
you; but the pangs will grow faint in time. You and I may still
cherish fondness in our hearts for each other, but how dare we
reasonably hope for more? Evil times are at hand. If your uncle's
party prevail in the struggle, my ruin is assured. But not yours.
There are many worthy men who would be proud to take in marriage the
niece of the next consul; and with one of these you can live happily.
Do not try to forget me. I don't ask that. But do not let my
misfortune cast a shadow over your dear life. Marry some honourable
man. Only think kindly of me sometimes."
They had been sitting beside the brooklet, on the soft green-sward.
Cornelia had been resting both her hands in Drusus's, but now she drew
them back, and sprang to her feet, as if swept away by a gust of
anger.
"How dare you!" she cried, "how dare you bid me throw away all that my
heart has turned on, and my hopes depended on, and my imagination
dreamed of, since our fathers were slain side by side; and more
especially since you came back from Athens? Why might not I bid you
renounce your adherence to Caesar's cause, and say, 'There is no need
of blasting your career by such a sacrifice; remember Caesar and his
party kindly, wish them well, but do not dwell too much thereon;
submit cheerfully to what is inevitable'? Shall I argue thus? Have I
argued thus? If you will, abandon me, and wed some other maiden, and
many there are, fair, wealthy, noble, who will be glad to be given in
marriage to a Livius Drusus. But till you thus repudiate your father's
will, no power of gods or of men shall drive me to violate that of
mine."
"Cornelia," said Drusus, in a husky voice, "do you know what you are
saying? What resistance to threats and unkind treatment your resolve
will mean?"
"I both know the future and accept it," answered the maiden firmly,
looking fairly into his face.
"Then by all the powers of earth, sky, and Hades!" cried the young
man, lifting one arm toward heaven, and throwing the other about his
sweetheart, "I will defy Lentulus, defy Pompeius, defy Senate, army,
mob, or any other human might. Hitherto I have thought to play the
patriot in espousing Caesar's cause. Now let love and fury fire my
ardour. When the party of violence and tyranny falls, then too will
fall the power of Lentulus to outrage your right and mine! Ours shall
be a triumph of Venus as well as of Mars, and until that time, may you
and I endure faithful unto our fathers, ourselves, and one another!"
Hardly had he spoken ere loud voices were heard calling through the
grove. Torches were glaring among the trees, and the harsh tones of
Lentulus burst out:--
"Take the wretched girl into the house when you find her; but as for
her lover, let him not escape!"
"My uncle!" groaned Cornelia, quivering with terror; "one of my maids
has betrayed me! Flee! run! He has called out all his slaves; they
will kill you!"
"Kill me?" gasped Drusus, incredulously; "commit deliberate murder?"
"Yes," moaned Cornelia; "he dares anything. He is all fury and
violence. Escape! Do not throw yourself away in vain!"
The lights flashed nearer; the slaves were shouting and blundering
through the bushes.
"Two philippi to the man who strikes Drusus down!" bawled Lentulus.
It was no time for delay and affectionate leave-taking. The young man
threw his arms around Cornelia, kissed her once, twice, and then
bounded into the thicket. A moment later several of the servants came
splashing over the little stream, and found Cornelia alone beside the
great cypress, pale and trembling and sobbing. Drusus caught one last
sight of her, surrounded by the torches of the pursuers. Then he
struck off into the grove, and thanks to his perfect local knowledge
easily avoided meeting Lentulus or his slaves. Lentulus he would
gladly have confronted alone. What would have followed, the athletic
young man could only surmise grimly; but he was unarmed, and for
Cornelia's sake he must take no risks.
Close to the confines of his own land he met the Mamerci, father and
son, and several slaves and freedmen, all armed and anxious to know
whether the din that had been raised over at the Lentulan villa
betokened any danger to their young master.
Drusus satisfied them that he had suffered no injury. The personal
peril through which he had passed brought a reaction of excitement
which raised his spirits, and he went to bed in a mood at least
tolerably cheerful. If he could not enjoy his love, he had at least
something else to live for--vengeance; and he told himself that he had
a whole mature lifetime left in which to make Lentulus repent of his
folly and tyrannical cruelty. He awoke late the next morn in a calm
frame of mind, and was able to receive with outward equanimity the
news that early in the morning Lentulus had taken his sister-in-law
and niece, and a large part of his household, back to Rome. This was
only to have been expected, and Drusus listened to the information
without useless comment.