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A CHRISTIAN BUT A ROMAN
by
MAURUS JOKAI
[Illustration]
Doubleday & McClure Co.
New York 1900
Copyright, 1900, by
Doubleday & Mcclure Company
* * * * *
By the Same Author
[Illustration]
DEBTS OF HONOR,
THE POOR PLUTOCRATS,
A HUNGARIAN NABOB,
THE NAMELESS CASTLE,
ETC., ETC.
* * * * *
TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHAPTER I. 1
CHAPTER II. 40
CHAPTER III. 56
CHAPTER IV. 66
CHAPTER V. 80
CHAPTER VI. 90
CHAPTER VII. 96
CHAPTER VIII. 104
CHAPTER IX. 119
CHAPTER X. 133
CHAPTER XI. 149
CHAPTER XII. 163
A CHRISTIAN BUT A ROMAN.
CHAPTER I.
In the days of the Caesars the country surrounding Rome vied in
splendour and luxury with the capital itself. Throughout the whole
region appeared the villas of Roman patricians, abodes of aristocratic
comfort, where every artist, from the sculptor to the--cook, had done
his utmost to render them attractive and beautiful.
These noble patricians, many of whom had incomes of eight or nine
millions, often found themselves in the unpleasant position of being
obliged to avoid Rome. Weariness, wounded vanity, insurrections of the
people and the praetorians, but especially distrust of the Caesar,
compelled them to turn their backs upon the imperial city and retire
to their country estates.
Thus, for several years, Mesembrius Vio, the oldest Senator--who since
the death of Probus had not set foot in Rome nor given the Senate a
glimpse of him--had resided on his estate at the mouth of the Tiber.
True, he said it was on account of the gout and the cataracts from
which his feet and his eyes suffered; and his visitors always found
him sitting in his curule chair, with his ivory crutch in his hand and
a broad green shade over his eyes.
The old man had two daughters. One, Glyceria, had married when very
young, thanks to the imperial favour, a great lord who had become a
libertine; soon after the libertine lost his head, and his property,
as well as the imperial favour, went to the beautiful widow, who in a
short time had the reputation of being the Aspasia of the Roman
capital. Of course, Mesembrius was not only blind, but deaf, when
Glyceria was mentioned in his presence; he himself never permitted her
name to cross his lips. His second daughter was Sophronia, who was
always by the old man's side at his country estate. A beautiful and
virtuous maiden, she seemed to unite the charms of three Greek
goddesses: the graceful form of Venus, the noble beauty of Juno's
countenance, and the purity of Psyche.
Yet Sophronia owed no special gratitude to heathen goddesses; on the
seashore nearby lived the wise Eusebius, the descendant of the
apostle, and the beautiful girl had long attended the secret meetings
where the holy man announced to the followers of Christ the doctrine
of the one God who dwells in the soul.
Old Mesembrius knew that his favourite daughter was secretly a
proselyte of the new faith, and he did not oppose it; nay, he did not
even let his daughter perceive that he had any idea of it.
Young sons of patrician families often came from Rome, lured by the
fame of the maiden's beauty, and all cherishing the hope of obtaining
her hand and with it her millions. Mesembrius received them very
kindly, arranged great banquets in their honour, and brought out wine
a century old. The youths were soon intoxicated by the liquid fire,
and after the last libation each one showed himself in his true
colours and poured forth the most secret thoughts in his heart.
Old Mesembrius listened and reflected. One unmasked himself as a
profligate; another was free from such tastes, but developed great
talent for being slave and despot in the same person; and even if an
_omnibus numeris salutus_ was found, he showed, when the last
subject--his opinion of Christianity--was introduced, like all the
rest, that it was his conviction that the Christian religion was
nothing more than a sect which denied the gods and, by withdrawing
from the popular pleasures, games, and combats in the arena,
embittered every joy by their obdurate melancholy and in their stead
celebrated horrible rites in gloomy caverns, compelled their followers
to pierce with their knives the heart of an infant rolled in flour,
and to drink its blood; till the gods, in their wrath, visited the
earth with floods, pestilences, earthquakes, and barbarians, and that
consequently there could not be enough of these people boiled in oil,
burned in pitch, torn by wild beasts, and buried alive to avert from
the land the severe punishments sent by the wrathful gods.
Mesembrius had heard enough, and gave his daughter to none of these
youths. He honoured the martyrs, but did not wish to find Sophronia's
name among them.
Not one of the rejected suitors saw her face.
One day a sun-burned youth entered Mesembrius's dwelling. The old man,
who sat in the trichinum of his summer-house, saw him, and, in spite
of the cataracts on his eyes, shouted:
"Are you coming to see me, Manlius Sinister? Come, come, here I am."
The old man could still see when he chose.
The youth hastened up to him, embraced him, and pressed his hand.
"How manly you have grown!" said Mesembrius, smiling; and, as if his
eyes were not enough, he felt with his hands the youth's face, arms,
and shoulders. "You have become a man indeed since you marched away
with Probus. So you've come to ask me for my daughter's hand?"
Manlius seemed disconcerted by this straightforward question.
"I am not so selfish, Mesembrius. Our ancient friendship brought me to
your house."
"I know, I know. We are aware of the kind of friendship which exists
between an old man and a young one, especially when the old man has a
beautiful daughter. For my daughter is very beautiful, Manlius, very
beautiful! If you could see her! Don't say that you saw her four years
ago--what was that? You were then a child, and so was she; what did
you know about it? But now! O Manlius! it would be a great mistake of
yours if you did not fall in love with her."
"What use would it be, old friend? You have refused so many suitors
who were better, richer, and more powerful than I that I do not even
venture to hope."
"Why, Manlius? Cannot you, too, gain power and wealth? Is not your
uncle, worthy Quaterquartus, the most famous augur in Rome, whose
prophecies always prove true, who holds in his hands the future of the
Caesar and the state?"
"That is all true."
"Then you see you may yet become a great man. You need only seek the
favour of Carinus a little, and win your uncle's good will. Surely it
is easy?"
"At least it is not difficult."
"See! See! Who knows how far you may go? What will it cost Carinus to
have a rich old Senator drowned, and give you his palaces and
treasures? Then you, too, will own mansions and slaves, will bathe in
rose-water and eat peacock's tongues. What bars your way? You can gain
all these things, by cringing. Cringing, I say."
Manlius let the old man talk on.
"But stay with me as long as you feel inclined, and be of good cheer."
In the evening a magnificent banquet was served in honour of Manlius;
everything that could please the palate, eye, and heart appeared.
The young man's face glowed with the fire of old Falernian wine, and
he often struck the table with his clenched fist, entirely forgetting
the respect due to his host.
Mesembrius saw that the soul of his guest was beginning to open and,
propping his cheek upon his hand, he commenced the examination.
"Well, Manlius, how do you like the Falernian? Am I not right in
saying that Italy is the bosom of the earth, for here are the
breasts--namely, the mountains which produce this wine?"
"Yet I have quaffed a more inspiring drink in my life-time."
"A more inspiring drink, Manlius? At whose table?"
"From the Euphrates."
"What do you mean?"
"It was after the battle of Ctesiphon. We had fought all day long, my
arms were dripping with blood and my brow with sweat. In the evening
the Persian army was scattered, and on that one day the Euphrates
overflowed its banks."
"And you drank from it?"
"Yes. That water has an intoxicating effect."
"Fame intoxicated you, Manlius. It was in that water."
"I don't know what was in it; for when I raised my helmet, which I had
filled with it, to my lips, I did not set it down until the last drop
was drained."
"And then other good things awaited you? You could indulge yourselves
to your heart's content in conquered Ctesiphon. I can imagine how well
you fared with the beautiful dark-eyed women whose husbands were
obliged to abandon them, and the palaces and storehouses of which you
took possession. Every soldier was swimming in milk and honey."
"Well, we didn't do much of that sort of swimming, for we marched
farther that very night; and as for the dark-eyed wives, all the
leaders had issued strict orders that the captured women should not be
insulted by the soldiers."
"Well, well, such orders are not usually taken too strictly. We know
that."
"By Hercules! Then you know very little about it!" exclaimed Manlius
furiously. "We took it so strictly that I had one of the soldiers in
my legion, who abducted a maiden, bound by the feet to two trees which
had been bent down and tore him asunder when they sprang back again."
"Well, you won't tear me asunder on that account," laughed old
Mesembrius, delighted with the noble indignation displayed by his
guest. He beckoned as he spoke to a Numidian slave who stood near,
holding a richly engraved silver basin: "Come, Ramon, fill my guest's
goblet."
"No," cried Manlius; "I can fill it myself. I need not be served like
Carinus, who is too indolent to hold his goblet when he drinks, and is
afraid of wearying himself if he lifts a fig from the dish to his lips
with his own hands."
"Ho! ho! Manlius Sinister! You are slandering the Caesar!"
"_Aecastor!_ It is no slander. Is it not well known that his feet never
touch the earth, and that, even in his bathroom, he uses a
wheel-chair? To-day he had a ring on his finger and, complaining that
he could not endure the burden of its weight, ordered it to be drawn
off. Recently he had a notorious forger of documents, who understands
how to imitate other people's writing marvellously well, released
from prison, and appointed him his private secretary, to be spared
the trouble of inscribing his signature with his own hand. Now this
cheat provides every document with the Caesar's name."
"O Manlius! You are saying a great deal about Carinus, who was once
your schoolmate."
"I have no inclination to boast of that. True, I often shared my bread
with him when he had none, and exchanged his tattered pallium for
mine, but I feel no desire that he should ever recognise me, since I
might easily fare like the rest of his schoolmates who appeared before
him to remind him of former days, and whom Carinus unceremoniously
thrust into the 'Tower of Forgetfulness,' to rid himself of the
uncomfortable feelings of the past."
"Ah! Manlius, you are talking like Seneca. You will never rise high in
Carinus's favour in this way."
"When was that necessary for a free Roman?" cried the knight, raising
his head proudly. "I have a sword and a brave heart; if these will not
lead me to fame, I want no power which can be obtained by crawling in
the dust. It suits only dogs and libertines."
Mesembrius laughed and rubbed his hands in delight; then he urged the
youth to drink more, and the wine began to restore to the face trained
amid the corruption of Roman society to dissimulation, its real
character.
"Go on with your story, my good Manlius; we stopped at the battle of
Ctesiphon. That is the enemy stopped there, while you went on as far
as you could."
"With all due respect to your grey beard, Senator, never say to me: as
far as you could. For we might have gone to the Juxartes--there were
none who could have opposed us. The flying Persians vainly destroyed
everything before us: not even deserts and wildernesses can offer
obstacles to the Roman legions; every soldier carried provisions
enough for ten days on his back. I ought to add that, during the whole
dreary campaign, we slept on the frozen ground in the severest winter
weather. The Persians convinced themselves that they could not check
our advance, and, when we reached a city whose barbarous name the gods
cannot expect a Roman tongue to utter, we encamped there. As twilight
closed in, the envoys of the Persian monarch--magnificently dressed
men with braided hair, rouged, with black eyebrows and fingers laden
with rings--came and asked to be led before the Augustus: I mean
Carus, don't confound him with Carinus. They were conducted into the
presence of a man who was sitting on the bare ground, with a yellow
leather cap on his head, eating rancid bacon and raw beans. He had
thrown over his shoulders a coarse, shabby purple mantle, which
distinguished him from the others."
"That was Carus; I recognise him," muttered the old Senator.
"The Augustus did not even permit the entrance of the envoys to
interrupt him in his meal, and while he was quietly crunching the
beans with his strong teeth, they delivered, with theatrical pathos,
their carefully prepared speeches, whose glittering promises and
high-sounding threats harmonised ill with the raw lupines which the
Caesar was eating. When they finished at last, Carus took the yellow
leather cap from his smooth bald head, and, pointing to it, said to
the ambassadors: 'Look here, and heed my words. If your king does not
acknowledge the supremacy of Rome and restore her provinces, I'll make
your country as bare as my head.'"
"I recognise Carus there, too."
"The envoys went off in great alarm, and the legions struck up the
war song, whose refrain is: _Mille, mille, mille occidit_."
"It was composed in honor of Carus, who is said to have killed in many
a battle more than a thousand foes."
"Yes, yes, that's true."
"His son would kill ten times as many, but of his own subjects. Never
mind that, however. Go on, Manlius; tell me what else befell you.
Every one has a different story about that whole campaign. One says
you were attacked by the black legions, a second speaks of tumults, a
third of miracles. This much is certain: instead of pressing onward,
you suddenly turned back, although no one could resist you, you said."
"And it is true; men could no longer resist us, but is there no
mightier power on earth?"
"Certainly; the Roman gods. But I hope you did not draw their wrath
upon you, and that your augurs had favorable omens. Your uncle, the
world-renowned Quaterquartus, was with you."
"Yes, he was with us, and there was no lack of victims or of the
entrails of beasts, and plenty of crows were caught."
"Manlius, you speak of these sacred things in a very profane way."
"I have every reason to do so. Our soldiers once captured a man clad
partly in skins who, according to his statement, had retired into the
wilderness to mortify his body in honor of an invisible God. He had
built a pillar of stones, on whose top he had already spent thirty
winters and summers, exposed to frost and scorching heat. There he
stood all day long, with arms outstretched like a cross, bending
forward and striking his head against his knees. Several legionaries
were curious to learn the number of these bows, but when they had
counted nineteen hundred they grew weary, dragged him from his
pillar, and killed him."[1]
[Footnote 1: Simeon the Stylite.]
"And did you pity this Nazarene?"
"Let us speak lower, Mesembrius. It is dangerous to utter and to hear
my words. Do not think that I am intoxicated and invent this tale. I
saw this man breathe his last; for I came too late to save him. He did
not curse his murderers. An expression of supernatural bliss rested
upon his face, he raised his eyes rapturously toward heaven, and died
blessing those who slew him. I drove them away and, to relieve his
suffering, gave him some cold water. He thanked me and, with his last
strength, whispered in my ear: 'Roman! do not cross the Tigris, for
there lies the Eden of the invisible God, who is not to be offended.'
I repeated the warning to the Caesar's younger son, Numerian, who was
the friend of every good soldier, and he carried it to the Augustus,
who, struck by the ascetic's words, asked Quaterquartus to hold an
_augurium_. My uncle's skill in announcing oracles which no one can
contradict is well known."
"Your words are very bold, Sinister."
"Thus he once predicted to Probus that, after a thousand years, his
family would restore the ancient glory of Rome."
"After a thousand years!"
"At the end of a long mummery we learned from my uncle's muttering
lips that God would fight in the next battle."
"Without adding whether with or against us?"
"The Imperator ordered us to march forward and, on the very same day,
we crossed the Tigris. At sunset several of the men who had killed the
martyr Simeon Stylites were suddenly filled with horror and cried out
loudly; for lo! he stood before them on a hilltop with arms
outstretched like a cross, while amid continual bowing he struck his
knees with his head. And I had helped to bury the lifeless form! The
night was dark; clouds, rising from all directions, covered the
horizon; flashes of lightning darted to and fro in the distance as if
they were fighting with one another. The pealing of thunder echoed
nearer and nearer, the world was veiled in gloom, sounds never heard
before began to roar about us, and when a vivid flash of lightning
seemed to cleave the depths of the firmament, we imagined that we
beheld countless shining forms gazing down at us. It appeared to every
legion as though the other legions were engaged in a fierce, bloody
conflict, the clashing of swords and lances echoed around us, but
there was no fighting anywhere. In the darkness we thought that our
whole army was transformed into a single vast, confused mass, in which
man fought against man, the mounted cohorts trampled down the
foot-soldiers, the tribunes rode at the head of the legions, and the
troops met in desperate, destructive shocks. Only while the lightning
glared did we see the legions standing in motionless squares in their
places. Suddenly, amid a terrific peal of thunder, a quivering mass of
fire crashed down amid our ranks, shaking the earth beneath and the
air around us. Horror made us fall upon our knees, every animal hid
its head in the earth, and the fearful tumult roared into our ears the
judgment of a mighty God. When we ventured to look up again, a fire
was blazing in the midst of our camp. The lightning had struck the
tent of the Augustus. No one dared to extinguish it, though the Caesar
and the statues of the protecting gods of the army were within its
walls. All were burned. Then who are the gods, if not they? O
Mesembrius, is it true that above us dwells an invisible Being, who is
the Lord of heaven and earth, and that the lifeless stone images
which we worship are not even able to defend themselves?"
Mesembrius pressed the youth's hand. He had heard enough.
"We will say no more about it, Manlius. You shrank from the power that
barred your way. It was God! How did the army behave later?"
"The soldiers could not be induced to march forward; they walled up
the place where Carus Augustus was helplessly burned with the
protecting gods of Rome, and now there stands in the midst of the
wilderness a building with neither doors nor windows, that no human
foot may enter the spot which God has cursed. The troops chose
Numerian for their commander, and demanded that he should lead them
back to Illyria. I was commissioned to bear these tidings to Carinus;
that is why I am here with you."
"I hope you will do this often. It is a great pleasure to be able to
live in Rome, is it not?"
"No pleasure to me; I would rather go back to my legions."
"Really? Then surely you have not yet seen Carinus' circus and the
magnificent games which only Rome can offer; you have not visited the
baths of Antonius, the warm baths scented with the fragrance of roses
in walls adorned with gems--you have not yet found the woman you love
in Rome, eh?"
"I have seen all, without finding pleasure in it. What am I, a
battle-scarred legionary, just from the rude land of Scythia, to
admire in the bloody fool's-play of your arenas? Here they make a game
of war; we make war a game. And I never cared for the thermae; warm
baths are only fit for _quirites_, not for soldiers. Blood can be
washed off with cold water; true, a polluted man needs warm."
"But you have not answered my third question. Have you found no fair
woman in Rome? Yet why do I ask? They will find you, even if you do
not seek them. Oh, the Roman beauties are neither proud nor arrogant.
When you have once appeared in the Forum, and they have seen your
stately, well-formed figure, I shall have to ask: Did they not drag
you away with them? Did they not tear you to pieces as the Bacchantes
did Orpheus?"
"Oho! Mesembrius, the falcon is not caught with lime-twigs."
"Go! go! Why should you be a falcon any more than the rest? As if the
doves of Venus had not built their nests in the helmet of Mars! Go!
Dissimulation does not suit your face. You flushed crimson and lowered
your eyes. Why do you wish to deceive an old man like me? Or have the
morals of Rome improved under the shadow of Carinus? And while
formerly, when one of the Vestal Virgins died, a substitute could
scarcely be found, have all who once worshipped Aphrodite become
priestesses of Vesta?"
"I did not say so, Mesembrius."
"Then it is the other way. Come, don't deny that you have had an
interesting adventure. Five or six women surrounded you at once,
laying their hearts and fortunes at your feet, and you chose the
fairest, the one whose embraces were most ardent, whose kisses were
most glowing? Or you could not choose, and loved them all? One crowned
you with garlands in the evening, another in the morning; you vowed
fidelity to one by the sun, to another by the moon, and loyally kept
your vow to every one? Very good, very noble! This is the joy of
youth, Manlius! In my early years I was no better!"
"But, Mesembrius, you gave me no time to speak; all that you are
saying has nothing to do with me. I will frankly confess that during
my one day's stay in Rome I had more to do with the slaves who were
sent to me by their mistresses than with their husbands, to whom I had
been sent; but it is not my habit to attribute any special importance
to such matters. I am a member of the Manlius family, in which it is
an ancient custom for the men to love only one woman, but faithfully
and forever--to mourn her constantly if she dies, to kill her if she
betrays him, and to avenge her if she is wronged."
"These are fine words, Manlius, but I see a ring glittering on your
finger of a style which men do not wear; I suppose it belongs to the
woman you love."
"You are not mistaken in one thing. The ring belongs to a lady, and I
wear it solely on your account."
"Mine, Manlius? What is the ring to me?"
"When I left the Capitol yesterday evening a veiled matron slipped a
thin roll of manuscript into my hand and vanished swiftly among the
colonnades; the roll was passed through this ring. From curiosity I
opened the parchment and read the following mysterious words: 'Manlius
Sinister! You love a maiden whose father is your friend. This old man
and his young daughter are threatened by a danger which, except by the
gods and their foes, is known to me alone. If you wish to learn it,
hasten to me. The bearer of this letter will wait for you at the _Pons
Sacer_, night and day, until you come. If you show her this ring, she
will lead you to me. Signed, A woman who has loved you from your
childhood, and whom you have always scorned; who is hated by those
whom she desires to save.'"
"This is a strange occurrence, Manlius."
"To me it is an incomprehensible mystery. Who has the power to look
into the depths of my heart and read its feelings? Have my dreams
betrayed me, that some one knows I love your daughter, whom I saw four
years ago, and have been unable since to forget? And who can the woman
be who seeks to save another woman whose love shuts out her own?"
The old man's face darkened. The wine stood untouched a long time
before the two who, during the conversation, had become perfectly
sober. But their hearts, which the wine had opened, remained unveiled.
"Let me look at the ring more closely," said Mesembrius in a low tone.
Manlius held out his hand. The stone in the ring was a wonderfully
carved cameo--the white bust of a beautiful woman, with Greek
features, upon a purplish-yellow ground.
Mesembrius frowned gloomily as he examined the cameo; he averted his
head, again gazed fixedly at the ring, and at last with a gesture of
loathing, thrust it from him and bowed his gray head despairingly on
his breast.
"Why do you look so sad?" asked Manlius. "Do you know this ring? Do
you know its owner!"
"I know her," replied the old man in a hollow tone.
"Speak, who is it?"
"Who is it?" repeated Mesembrius with flashing eyes. "Who is it? A
shameless hetaira, a loathsome courtesan, whose breath brings
pestilence and contagion to the inhabitants of Rome, whose existence
is a blot upon the work of creation; who has been cursed by her father
so many times that, if all his execrations were fulfilled, no grass
would grow upon the earth where she sets her foot, and compassion
itself would turn from her in abhorrence."
The old man's last words were lost in a convulsive sob.
"Who is this woman?" cried Manlius, springing from his chair.
"This woman is my daughter," gasped Mesembrius.
"Glyceria?"
"_Abraxas!_" The old man fairly shouted the word used to ward off
evil, and shuddered with loathing as he heard the name. Manlius drew
the ring from his finger and went to the window, beneath which flowed
the Tiber. Mesembrius guessed his intention.
"Don't throw it into the water! A fish might swallow it, the fishermen
catch it, and it would again see the light of day. It will poison the
Tiber, and whoever drinks from it will go mad. Keep it. I have an
idea, on account of which you must wear this ring. You said you had
done so until now for my sake."
"I kept it to save you, if need be."
"I thank you, Sinister. So you love me and my daughter. I thank you
again and again; we will be grateful. In return, I will give my age,
she her youth. We have always held you dear, always regarded you as
one of our family. If you wish to guard us from peril--keep this
ring--go with it where you are led--seek her who sent it--and kill
her."
"Mesembrius! She is your daughter."
"If the basilisk is the child of the bird in whose nest it was
hatched."
"But she desires to shield you from some unknown danger."
"For me the world has no danger except she herself! What pestilence,
earthquake, tempest, and scaffold mean to the dwellers upon earth, her
name embodies to me! If I could approach her I would kill her."
"She wishes to save you."
"Do not believe her. Every word that falls from her lips is a lie; she
has deceived her father, she deceives the gods. Her face looks as
innocent as a sleeping babe's. When she speaks you are enchanted; if
you should let her go on, she would draw the dagger from your hand,
bewitch, ensnare you, melt your heart by her accursed magic arts till
you were as cowardly as a scourged slave. She does not paint her face
like other women, but her soul; now she is luring you to her by the
pretext that she wants to save me and Sophronia, and if you go to her
and do not thrust your sword into her heart, ere she can speak one
word, she will persuade you to kill us."
"Mesembrius, what has she done to you that you speak of her thus?"
"What has she done? She buried me ere I was dead! She dragged my grey
beard in the mire! She poisoned my heart, robbed me of my sight and my
blood to paint obscene pictures with them upon the walls of the
lenocinium."
"Fury blinds you, Mesembrius."
"Why should it not blind me? Has a Roman no right to curse when people
say to him in the Forum: 'Dismount from your horse, for your daughter
has lost her honour!' Can I show myself anywhere in Rome without
witnessing my disgrace? Is not her name prostituted in all the
shameless verses of an Aevius and Mavius? Did she not appear in the
amphitheatre in a pantomime before the exulting, roaring populace?
Does she not go in broad daylight, with her shameless train, clad in a
_tunica vitrea_ or _ventus textilis_? Does she not allow herself to be
painted as _Venus vulgivava_? And is there an orgy, a bacchanalian
festival, in which she does not play the loathsome part of queen? Oh,
Manlius, it is terrible when the hair is grey to be unable to look men
in the face, to hear everywhere and be forced to read in the eyes of
all: 'This is Mesembrius who corrupts Rome! This man gave life to the
monster who daily consumes the bread and drinks the blood of a
hundred thousand starving people. Let us beware of approaching him.'
Oh, Manlius, believe me, you will yet kill this woman."
"I have never killed a woman, and I never shall."
"Remember my words. This Megaera loves you, and she knows full well
that you love another. That this other is her sister will not trouble
her; these satiated Messalinas are fastidious, even in blood. Ordinary
blood no longer tickles their palates; that of their own kindred is
sweetest."
"Guard your tongue from omens!"
"I feel what I say, Manlius. It would be better for you to slay this
woman from caution than for vengeance. When you see a serpent, you
crush it, do you not, without waiting till it strikes its fangs into
your flesh, and gives you reason to destroy it?"
"You are a father, Mesembrius. I understand your grief, but do not
share it."
"You will become a husband, and then you will share it."
"How can you expect me to hate, old friend, after you have rendered me
happy? You talk of your wrath to a sleeper dreaming of his bliss,
while your furious words disturb the stillness of the night. From all
you say I realize only that I shall possess Sophronia's love. This
word, this thought inspirited me, even when the war cries of the
fierce Sarmatians were thundering in my ears, even during the
nocturnal attacks of the legions, and in the scorching sunshine of
Persian battle-fields. I beheld her lovely face in the river which,
swollen by streams of blood, overflowed its banks. It hovers before me
now while you talk of blood, and amid your savage speech I hear but
one thing--that she will be mine."
"Now I perceive the truth of the words that love makes us blind."
"And hate reckless, you must add."
"May the gods grant that you are right; that some day the whole world
may say: 'Mesembrius, the daughter whom you disowned is pure as Diana,
and all you said of her was slander, blind imagination!' I--but even
then I would say that you must kill her, Manlius, for she has deceived
the whole world!"
The old man's eyes were bloodshot; excitement had so wrought upon his
whole nervous system that he trembled from head to foot, and when he
rose from the triclinium he gripped the arm with such force that the
ivory sphinx remained in his hand.
"Slaves, bring torches!" he shouted loudly, forgetting that he usually
spoke with asthmatic panting. "Let us go to rest, Manlius; it is long
past midnight. May you dream of your love as I shall of my hate."
He left the pavilion as he spoke, and moved firmly, with head erect,
through the long garden to his villa, without remembering that he
could not walk a step on account of his gout. The slaves pushed his
empty chair behind him.
Manlius remained a long time in the triclinium, lost in thought.
Leaning over the sill of the window above the Tiber he gazed dreamily
into the waves, flooded with silver by the rising moon. Black boats
glittered in her rays along the shore, and the notes of a mournful
hymn echoed from the distance through the still air. The outlines of a
woman's white-robed figure were visible in one of the boats. Manlius
was reflecting upon the emotions that filled his heart. He fancied he
was dreaming, as we sometimes dream that we are awake, and now
imagined that he was dreaming of Sophronia's gentle, musing face.
He had no rest; some indescribable feeling oppressed his heart. His
excited soul longed for the open air, and, taking his sword, he
wrapped his _paludamentum_ around him, entered one of the skiffs
fastened under the window, and, loosing it from the chain, rowed in
the direction of the mysterious melody.