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QUINTUS CLAUDIUS
A ROMANCE OF IMPERIAL ROME
BY
ERNST ECKSTEIN
FROM THE GERMAN BY CLARA BELL
IN TWO VOLUMES--VOL. II.
REVISED AND CORRECTED IN THE UNITED STATES
NEW YORK
GEO. GOTTSBERGER PECK, PUBLISHER
11 MURRAY STREET
1893.
Copyright, 1882, by WILLIAM S. GOTTSBERGER
THIS TRANSLATION WAS MADE EXPRESSLY FOR THE PUBLISHER
QUINTUS CLAUDIUS.
CHAPTER I.
The same day, which saw our friends in the country house at Ostia, and
the bond of love sealed between Aurelius and Claudia, had been one of
infinite agitation and annoyance to the Emperor Domitian.
The very first thing in the morning came vexatious tidings from
the town and provinces. At the earliest dawn inscriptions had been
discovered on several of the fountains, columns and triumphal arches,
of which the sting was more or less covertly directed against the
Palatium and the person of Caesar. “Enough!” was attached to the base
of a portrait bust.[1] “The fruit is ripe!” was legible on the arch
of Drusus. In the fourth, eighth and ninth regions the revolutionary
question was to be seen in many places: “Where is Brutus?” and at
the entrance of the baths of Titus, in blood-red letters, stared the
appeal: “Nero is raging; Galba, why dost thou tarry?”
Domitian, who had heard all this from his spies, long before the court
officials even suspected what had happened, received these courtiers
in the very worst of tempers. His levée was not yet ended, when a
mounted messenger brought the news, that a centurion had raised the
standard of revolt on the Germanic frontier,[2] but that he had been
defeated and slain after a short struggle.
At noonday the soldiers of the town-guard seized an astrologer,
Ascletario by name,[3] who had publicly announced that ruin threatened
Caesar. Before the moon should have twelve times rounded--so ran his
prophecy--Caesar’s blood would be shed by violence. The immortals were
wroth at his reprobate passion for a woman who, by all the laws of gods
and men, he had no right to love.
At first Domitian laughed. His connection with Julia seemed to him
so dull and pointless a weapon for his foe to turn against him, that
the stupidity of it astonished him. However, he commanded that the
astrologer should be brought before him.
“Who paid you?” he enquired with a scowl, when the prisoner was dragged
into the room.
“No one, my lord!”
“You lie.”
“My lord, as I hope for the mercy of the gods, I do not lie.”
“Then you really assert, that you actually read in the stars the
forecast you have uttered?”
“Yes, my lord; I have only declared, what my skill has revealed to me.”
The superstitious sovereign turned pale.
“Well then, wise prophet, you can of course foretell your own end?”
“Yes, my lord. Before this day is ended, I shall be torn to pieces by
dogs.”
Domitian looked scornfully round on the circle of men.
“I fancy,” he said, “that I can upset the prophetic science of this
worthy man. Carry him off at once to execution, and take care that his
body is burnt before sundown.”
The astrologer bowed his head in sullen resignation. He was led away to
the field on the Esquiline, and immediately beheaded before an immense
concourse; within an hour Domitian was informed that all was over. At
this news his temper and spirit improved a little. He congratulated
himself on the prompt decision, which had so signally proved the
falsehood of the prophecy.
At dinner he carried on an eager conversation with Latinus, the
actor[4] who, among other farcical parts, filled the role of
news-monger.
“You are later than usual to-day,” said Caesar graciously. “What
detained you?”
“A most laughable occurrence,” replied the comedian. “By a mere chance
I passed by the Esquiline. There, in the public field, an astrologer
had just been executed. The dead body was still lying there, when a
stranger came by with three huge dogs.[5] Before the slaves could
prevent it, the three hounds had rushed upon the carcass and had torn
it literally to bits. The dogs were killed at once with loud outcries;
the owner had vanished completely. Immediately after, Clodianus came
up to me and asked me if I had not seen the fellow, with a long red
beard. One thing led to another, till your adjutant quitted me to make
farther enquiries. I hastened hither and, as it was, arrived later than
I ought.”
The narrator had not observed, that every trace of color had faded out
of the Emperor’s cheeks. As he ceased speaking, Domitian sprang up and,
without saying a word, rushed out of the triclinium and into his own
apartments. An intolerable dread almost deprived him of breath;[6] he
ran like a hunted deer from one room to another, now shaking his fists
in impotent fury, and again stopping to look suspiciously round him on
every side. In this wretched frame of mind he was found by Julia, who
had been seriously ill ever since the return of Domitia. In spite of
the Empress’s commands, she had not yet quitted the palace. She came
in, fevered and pale, to implore protection against her haughty rival,
who had threatened to turn her into the street. The palace servants
had tried to stop her at the entrance to Domitian’s apartments, but
she had thrust them aside with the strength of desperation. At the
sound of footsteps Domitian started and turned round. She stood before
him--young, lovely, wretched--the victim of his remorseless passion.
But the sight of her, far from stirring his pity, roused him to foaming
rage. Was it not she, the abandoned creature, who had brought down on
him the wrath of the gods? Was it not for her sake, that his blood
was to be shed, if the astrologer had prophesied truly? And he had
prophesied only too truly! His own end had borne witness to the truth
of his mission.
“Hussy!” yelled the Emperor. “Have you come to mock me? Are you
plotting to murder me, that you come sneaking round me? It is your
doing, and no one else is to blame if Caesar perishes in his blood...!
Go, serpent! This very day quit Rome, or I will have you flogged
through the gates.”
The hapless girl drew herself up proudly.
“This,” she cried, “to crown my misery. Are you not satisfied with
having betrayed my youth, and poisoned my innocence? Is this the
compensation for a life of horror?”
“Silence! It is a lie! It was your own vanity, that ruined you--your
ambition, hoping to share a throne. Out of my sight, I say--you have no
one to blame but yourself.”
“Miserable coward! Are you frightened by the forecast of a soothsayer?
Well, your fate will overtake you; but not for my sake--no; for the
sake of Rome!”
“Go ...” shrieked Domitian, “or I shall kill you!”
“Well then, kill me. Add the crowning stroke to all your crimes! What
do I care? I do not ask to stay in this world of misery and infamy, or
in this proud Empire of Rome whose Emperor is an executioner.”
At this instant the slaves, who were waiting in the anteroom, heard a
dull sound as of a blow or push, a piercing scream, and a heavy fall,
and the next moment Domitian called out in a hoarse, choked voice:
“Phaeton!” When the slave entered the room, Julia was senseless on the
floor.[7] She was lying doubled up in a convulsed attitude, and her
face was livid rather than pale.
“Carry her away,” said Caesar; “she is ill.”
The senseless girl was carried away, and that same day she died of an
internal injury.
Domitian spent a terrible night. In the course of the third vigil he
sent an express to Norbanus, the general of the Praetorian Guard. For
hours he sat up in torment on his couch, making his slaves sing to the
lute. Now and again he asked for a weapon, or for drink, or sent all
the attendants out of the room excepting Phaeton, his favorite slave,
who was to bar the door, and guard it sword in hand.
At last the day broke. It was Domitian’s birthday, the 24th of
October.[8] During the first hour after sunrise the usual ceremonious
reception took place of magistrates, senators, and knights.[9] Outside
the palace there was a scene of confusion, such as was rarely seen
even in Rome. All the suburbs seemed to have emptied themselves, and
the people to have converged on the Forum. Instead of one cohort of
the praetorian guard, two had been posted on guard, and the sentinels
at the palace gates were also doubled. The officials, whose business
it was to check the admission of visitors, straightly enquired of each
individual as he crossed the threshold of the audience chamber, whether
he had any weapon about him. It was many years since this had last been
done, and the effect was paralyzing.
Domitian received the senators, not merely with reserve, but with
evident repugnance, nor did he bestow on one of those who attended the
customary honor of a kiss. A dull atmosphere of suspicion brooded like
a vapor, and seemed to fill the splendidly-decorated room.[10] As the
last visitors retired from the presence, it was rather like an escape
or a flight. _Atra cura_, as sung by Horatius Flaccus,[11] seemed to
have flung her dark robe over the palace.
At last three men were left in attendance on the Emperor: Clodianus,
Parthenius, the high-chamberlain, and Norbanus, the general of the
guard. This last was perhaps the only person, whom Domitian had
received with politeness--indeed, so far as he was concerned, with
marked attention. The tyrant, who, to every one else was cold and
contemptuous, turned from time to time to the noble soldier with an
engaging smile to assure him, half stammering, of his unaltered favor.
The ruler of the world had altogether lost his command of himself.
“And you have found no trace, formed no guess?” he asked with a
frightened glance in the general’s face. “Your efforts too, Clodianus,
have been unsuccessful?”
“Alas, my lord and god! I have offered great rewards, I have bribed
dozens of idlers--all in vain; and to crown our ill-luck, when the
slaves burnt the pile intended for the astrologer’s body, they flung
in, not merely the remains of Ascletario, but the dead hounds as well.
Thus we lost the last clue to the discovery.”
“Let them be crucified! idiotic fools!” shrieked Caesar, trembling in
every limb.
“They richly deserve it,” said Clodianus. “Still, I cannot comprehend
the matter. The strange man, who suddenly appeared with the dogs, has
suddenly vanished, as if the earth had swallowed him; and from among a
knot of old women I heard a voice exclaim: ‘It is Ahasuerus!’”
“Ahasuerus!” shouted the Emperor, starting up. “Then have Ahasuerus
advertised for.”
“Impossible,” replied Clodianus. “Ahasuerus is a boguey creature of
the Nazarenes, a restless spirit that wanders over lands and seas. I
only mentioned the fact, to show you the impression produced by the
apparition. There was something supernatural and appalling in his
appearance....”
Domitian was more agitated every moment; he paced the room excitedly.
“Are all those infamous inscriptions torn down and wiped out?” he
suddenly asked, addressing Parthenius.
"Can you doubt it?... Why, the very morning dew, disgusted at the
crime, did its best to wash them away."[12]
“Why did you not tell me of the inscription at the baths of Titus?”
“My lord, you knew of it....”
“From Latinus, who came to me at break of day.”
“My lord, I thought....”
“Silence. It was your duty to tell me the whole truth. Only by complete
knowledge can an evil be met; a blind man falls into the pit.”
“My lord, if you desire it....” said Parthenius, laying his hand on
his heart. Clodianus also bowed in sign of utter devotion, and his
eye was positively radiant with fidelity and reverence--only on his
full underlip there was the faintest possible twitch of self-satisfied
irony.
Again Domitian took to pacing the room, which was lined with mirrors.
On every side he could see his pale, bloated face, here and there
distorted and lengthened by some imperfection in the mirror. He
shuddered.
“I am ill, my faithful friends,” he said in a low voice. “I need rest
and quiet reflection--but the good of the Empire is paramount. Listen
and perpend.” He sat down and went on deliberately: “The times are
perilous; treason lurks in every corner. Rome relies on Caesar; I must
act. Terror alone can suppress treason, and I will strike terror into
the traitors. The law against the Nazarenes is a good beginning, but it
is merely a beginning. It only attacks the Catilines among the slaves
and lowest class. We must go farther. We must strike at Caesar’s foes
in the houses of the great and noble among the knights, and in the
Senate. Numbers are suspected by us, and to be suspected is to deserve
death. Our heart, in its tender mercy,[13] has too often held our hand,
but now the hour is come. In profound silence, but without delay, we
must act--must strike the guilty with the swiftness and certainty of
lightning. This very day vengeance must be planned. Once more, valiant
Norbanus: how about the trustworthiness of your cohorts?”
Norbanus bowed. "They are Caesar's--heart and soul and body."
“The little gold Domitians have pleased the good fellows? Keep them
warm, dear Norbanus, and if the two millions are not enough for you,
say so without reserve. The soldiers, who protect my Empire, must learn
to believe, that liberality sits on the throne of the Caesars.”
“Many thanks, my lord, but greater largesse might weaken discipline.”
“But the centurions?”
“They are without exception strict and faithful. At a nod from me they
would ride through fire and water.”
“Capital!” said Domitian with a bitter-sweet smile; for, without
intending it, the general had given utterance to a painful sentiment,
of which the Emperor had long been conscious: namely, that the
praetorian guard would first obey their general, and at his orders only
were devoted to their sovereign. This did not escape the keen insight
of Clodianus, and again a subtle line of malicious satisfaction curled
the lips of the man, who usually played the part of stolid honesty with
the greatest success. As chance would have it, on this occasion the
Emperor, looking up suddenly, caught the last quivering trace of this
smile. He took no notice of it; he perhaps became a shade paler--but he
turned to whisper to the prefect of the guard.
“Only let this cloud of disaffection and excitement pass over,” he
said, clapping him on the shoulder, “and, I promise you, Caesar will
not forget you. Now, my friends, farewell, and await our commands.”
The general received a farewell kiss, and quitted the room.
“What an age is this, by all the gods!” exclaimed Domitian, throwing
up his arms. “To contend against the malice of the people, Caesar is
forced to sacrifice the hours, which he owes to the happiness and
welfare of the people. Woe is me, that the immortals should allow such
things to happen! Up and to work then! That is the word.”
As he spoke, he rose and, followed by Parthenius and Clodianus, he went
into his private study. The chamberlain closed the door behind him;
Phaeton was on guard in the anteroom.
While the founder of the reign of terror thus yielded to an
ill-concealed attack of panic, and already, in fancy, heard the roar
of revolt, knocking with its blood-reddened sword at his palace gate,
the reign of terror itself was lording it abroad, apparently more
splendid and firmly based than ever. The doubled garrison had increased
the popular feeling of the Emperor’s might, and the calm, impressive
solemnity, with which the terrible edict against the Nazarenes had been
discussed and promulgated, seemed amply to prove how strong the throne
felt itself, and how completely it was master of the situation. The
numerous sacrifices which the prime mover of that piece of legislature,
Titus Claudius Mucianus, had, in his function as Flamen, offered up
to Jupiter, were both favorable and auspicious. The lower classes,
who streamed in merry troops to the Circus Maximus, rejoiced over the
gifts of corn and the gratification of their passion for a spectacle.
The shouting and chanting processions of the priests of Bona Dea
and of Isis added to the solemnity of the festival. Not a word of
disaffection, not a discordant murmur was to be heard in this universal
jubilation, which rolled in a mighty flood through the streets,
markets, and public places. Sorrow and discontent are silent on such
occasions. In the temple of Saturn a troop of blooming youths, wearing
to-day for the first time the _toga virilis_,[14] sang a high-flown
festal ode, composed by Marcus Valerius Martialis. The inspired verse
sounded out through the Forum, borne on the wings of a hundred youthful
voices:
"Hail! oh birthday of Caesar, day more bright and auspicious
Ev'n than the day when, on Ida, Rhea gave birth to Zeus[15]
Hail! and return more often than erst to Pylian Nestor,[16]
Ever as bright as to-day, or a thousand times more fair.
Many years yet may Caesar keep the feast of Minerva[17]
Held on the Alban Hill; and confer the victor’s wreath
Twined of oak-leaves, the prize to crown the worthiest singer.
Soon may he hallow the secular games with offerings and gifts!
Great is the boon we ask; but from the gods in heaven
Such a boon is due to Caesar, the god upon earth.[18]"
The melodious strain soared up from the temple of Saturn to the
towering Palatium beyond.
But he, to whom the homage was offered, heard it not. Shut up with
Clodianus and Parthenius, he was writing down on a wooden tablet the
names of those, whom he devoted to death.[19] Parthenius read them
out in a low voice, and the Emperor assented; then the chamberlain
wrote down another list of names, and again they were discussed in an
undertone. Domitian’s face meanwhile grew more and more like that of a
jaguar, lurking in ambush to pounce on his prey.
“And you, Clodianus,” he whispered, almost inaudibly. “Do not you know
of any reprobate wretch, who deserves to die?” He fixed his eye on the
soldier’s face.
“No, my lord,” said the adjutant. “It seems to me, that you have not
overlooked one.”
“It is well. You will copy out the list--at once. The tablet I myself
will keep. When Rome is saved, I will hang it up in the temple of
Jupiter.”
Clodianus took his writing implements out of the folds of his tunic.
“Perhaps,” the Emperor added with a meaning smile.--“Perhaps another
name or two may occur to me.” And he hid the strip of lime-wood in his
bosom.
“And now,” he continued, “make your plans. I will not listen to
anything till you can say to me: all is over; the deed is done. You
know how cautiously, how warily you must proceed. Remember, your
existence too is endangered; when a tree falls, the branches fall with
it.--Go, my friends. If you triumph, I will endow you with power above
all other mortals, and in splendor and honors you shall be equal with
myself. I will name you my brothers.”
He sank exhausted on to a chair; Parthenius and Clodianus left the room.
“Yes, yes!” muttered Domitian between his teeth, as the door closed
behind the two men; “one is yet wanting on the list of the elect!”
He drew forth the tablet, and, with an indescribable grimace of
hatred, wrote at the end of the long list of names: “Clodianus.”
"Wait awhile, my friend! This task you shall be allowed to finish--but
then--it is not well, when a sapling grows too proudly skywards."
FOOTNOTES:
[1] “ENOUGH!” WAS ATTACHED TO THE BASE OF A PORTRAIT BUST. See
Suet. _Dom._ 13, where it is true, the “enough” refers to
the excessive quantity of triumphal arches and statues, the
emperor ordered to be erected everywhere. Inscriptions similar
to those quoted in our chapter were, however, by no means rare
in all times.
[2] A CENTURION HAD RAISED THE STANDARD OF REVOLT ON THE GERMANIC
FRONTIER. See Dio Cass. LXVII, 11: About this time Antonius,
governor of Germany, rebelled against Domitian, but was
defeated and slain by Lucius Maximus.
[3] AN ASTROLOGER, ASCLETARIO BY NAME. See Suet. _Dom._ 15.
[4] LATINUS THE ACTOR. See Mart. _Ep._ I, 4; II, 71; III, 86; V,
61: IX, 28. The manner in which Martial, in this last-named
passage, flatters Latinus, proves how high the actor stood in
the emperor’s favor. Concerning the matter, see Suet. _Dom._
15.
[5] A STRANGER CAME BY WITH THREE HUGE DOGS. Faith in the sudden
appearance and disappearance of mysterious, demoniac creatures
was very wide-spread under the reigns of the later emperors. A
striking instance of this is found in Dio Cass. LXXIX, 18.
[6] AN INTOLERABLE DREAD ALMOST DEPRIVED HIM OF BREATH. See Suet.
_Dom._ 16: “At midnight he was seized with such terror, that
he sprang out of bed.”
[7] JULIA WAS SENSELESS ON THE FLOOR. For the death of Julia, see
Suet. _Dom._ 22. What is there related, is so ill adapted
for artistic description, that we have replaced this act of
brutality with a less loathsome one. Our invention can appeal
to historical analogies. Thus Nero, from whom I borrow various
traits for my Domitian’s character, killed his wife Poppaea,
during a quarrel, by a kick. See Suet. _Ner._ 35; Tac. _Ann._,
XVI, 6.
[8] IT WAS DOMITIAN'S BIRTHDAY, THE 24TH OF OCTOBER. The Caesars'
birthdays were great and universal holidays. At the time of
this story, the month of October was called “Domitianus”
(See Mart. _Ep._ IX, 1.) The vain ruler had hoped by this
change, following the example of Julius Caesar and the emperor
Augustus, to perpetuate his name forever. But while “Julius”
(July) for the month Quintilis, and “Augustus” (August) for
the month Sextilis, still exist at the present day, neither
“Germanicus” for September, nor “Domitianus” for October,
bestowed by Domitian, remained even a single day after the
tyrant’s reign. The emperor called himself “Germanicus” on
account of his campaign against the Chatti. (See Mart. II, 2),
where the flatterer compares the prince to Scipio Africanus,
and asserts that the surname “Germanicus” would be far more
illustrious than that of “Africanus.”
[9] THE USUAL CEREMONIOUS RECEPTION TOOK PLACE OF MAGISTRATES,
SENATORS, AND KNIGHTS. Vespasian had abolished this custom,
which flourished, especially under Claudius, even during the
civil war. See Suet. _Vesp._ 12.
[10] A DULL ATMOSPHERE OF SUSPICION BROODED LIKE A VAPOR AND SEEMED
TO FILL THE SPLENDIDLY-DECORATED ROOM. See Plin. _Paneg._
48: “Menaces and terror hovered around the doors, and those
admitted had as much cause to fear, as those who were not.”
[11] ATRA CURA, AS SUNG BY HORATIUS FLACCUS. See Hor. _Od._ III, 1,
40.
[12] WHY, THE VERY MORNING DEW, DISGUSTED AT THE CRIME, DID ITS
BEST TO WASH THEM AWAY. A flattering flowery turn of speech in
perfect harmony with the spirit of the times. (See numerous
passages in Martial’s _Epigrams_.)
[13] OUR HEART IN ITS TENDER MERCY. See Suet. _Dom._ 11: “He
never uttered a harsh sentence, without a preface about his
mildness.”
[14] TOGA VIRILIS. Donning the _toga virilis_, by which the boy was
regarded as a man, was an important family festival.
[15] RHEA GAVE BIRTH TO ZEUS. Zeus, according to Greek tradition,
was born of Rhea, in a cave on Mt. Ida, at Crete.
[16] PYLIAN NESTOR. Nestor, king of Pylos, was considered in
ancient times the type of vigorous old age.
[17] FEAST OF MINERVA. Reference is here made to the Quinquatria
(a five-day festival, principally for the benefit of workmen,
artists, etc., as well as school-boys) which Domitian ordered
to be annually celebrated in the month of March, at his
Albanian estate.
[18] THIS POEM is an almost literal translation from Martial,
_Ep._ IV, 1.
[19] HE WAS WRITING DOWN ON A WOODEN TABLET THE NAMES OF THOSE
WHOM HE DEVOTED TO DEATH. The story of this wooden tablet,
according to its actual characters, is borrowed from the
account of Dio Cassius, (LXVII, 15).