“Titus Claudius is dying!” the slaves whispered to each other in the
silent and deserted rooms, where notwithstanding the dignity and
gravity of the master, so much gay laughter had once been heard, so
much young life had once been busy and gay.
“He is dying!” Octavia sighed, as she gazed in despair on the pale,
altered face lying on the pillow, bathed in cold sweat, and with eyes
half closed.
Behind that high, pale forehead dreadful havoc had been made during the
last few days. All the tortures of martyrdom, to which the barbarous
law condemned the son, the father had suffered a thousand-fold. In the
delirium of fever, again and again he was dragged out to the hideous
scene, where his boy was to be butchered and mangled; the merciful
cloud which, at first, had darkened his consciousness by degrees had
lifted, only to add to his sufferings, and his fancy ran riot in sights
and images which threatened his life. Octavia and Claudia had watched
by his bed with infinite patience, forced to control their own grief
and look on, stricken and inconsolable, while the unhappy man wrestled
day and night with the demons that possessed his mind, and poured out
furious curses on himself and his fate.
Now, after the storm, he had sunk into the calm of lethargy. His
strength was visibly sinking, and the leeches turned away in helpless
silence.
“He is dying!” was sorrowfully repeated in the remotest rooms of the
house; for not the lowest of his slaves was so dull or so base, as not
to mourn for so revered a master from the bottom of his heart. But he
is sitting up, he is speaking--listen.
“No, no--you will forgive me,” he murmurs hardly audibly. “You will,
Quintus? You will not curse me? I have always loved you--oh! loved you
more than my life! That dreadful decree! Woe, woe is me! he turns away!
A murderer, he calls me a murderer!” And he sank back on his pillows,
gasping for breath; his hands clutched convulsively at the quilt.
“Quintus,” he began again, softly, coaxingly--like a child. “Say one
kind word to me. Oh! Quintus, can you for a moment imagine, that I am
your enemy! This hand has so often stroked your cheek, smoothed your
hair, your beautiful, long, waving hair! Ah! the beasts--the horrible
wild beasts! Caesar, this is a hideous crime; mercy, pardon! Let me go
down to them, let me die, but spare his youth! in vain, in vain--they
have rushed upon him, they have seized him--ye gods! ye gods! have pity
on me!”
A hoarse, dull scream, and then total silence.
“Father, Father, do you not know me?” said a trembling voice. “It
is I, your son--I myself; not a delusion, not a dream.--And here is
Cornelia--and here is Caius Aurelius, who has snatched us from the jaws
of death.”
Titus Claudius started up at the sound of this voice. He fixed his
glassy gaze on the figure of the young man, who was kneeling by his
side and covering his wasted hands with tears and kisses. Then,
suddenly a light passed into his face, a shiver thrilled through his
enfeebled frame, and with a joyful cry of “Quintus! my son!” he fell
back senseless. There he lay, motionless as the dead. His face grew
paler and paler, and his arms hung helplessly by the side of the couch.
The by-standers were paralyzed with dismay; only Claudia had enough
presence of mind to fly out of the room and call for assistance. In
two minutes she brought back old Palaemon,[177] a freedman of the
household, who was versed in all the mysteries of Greek and Roman
medicine. He came up to the couch with a look of the deepest grief, and
laid his hand on the unconscious man’s forehead, feeling at the same
time his scarcely fluttering pulse. Claudia, always brave and calm,
told him of what had happened.
“Give him quiet,” said Palaemon, waving them all back with his hand.
“This moment is decisive.”
The family left the room; Octavia herself in an almost fainting state.
Leaning on Aurelius, she went to her own apartments. Claudia only, with
Baucis, remained with the leech to watch the sick man.
Palaemon forced a few drops of Samian wine,[178] between the sufferer's
livid lips, and then seating himself on a chair at the foot of the bed,
he kept his eyes fixed on the senseless form.
"Courage, my child!"[179] said, as he caught sight of Claudia's
tearful face. “He knew him, and that is everything. That will be better
medicine, than all the herbs and decoctions known to our art. See, he
is already breathing more quietly and regularly--that is not a swoon,
it is sleep. If he does not sink from mere weakness, this sleep will
check the violence of the fever and save his life. Open the door,
daughter; quite wide, that the fresh spring air may come in. Baucis, do
you go and fill a bowl with snow-water and wet a handkerchief--I will
lay it on his forehead, and that will cool him. But make no noise, not
a sound--lest you should wake him.”
A delightful breath of roses was wafted into the room, as Claudia
softly opened the door, and in a few minutes Baucis had brought the
cold water. The cooling application evidently had a soothing effect on
the sleeping man. He sighed deeply and turned on his side; his features
relaxed, and he slept soundly and easily.
Presently, outside in the colonnade, appeared Caius Aurelius; he
glanced into the sick-room, asking for a report. Claudia rose and
went to meet him, smiling through her tears; regardless of Palaemon's
presence, she threw her arms round her lover and laid her head on his
shoulder with a deep sigh of relief. “He will live,” she whispered,
looking up in his face; “only look how quietly and peacefully he is
sleeping.”
“Jupiter be praised! Oh! my darling, what have we not gone through
those last few months!”
“More than we could have borne, if it had not been for our love.”
He kissed her, looked once more at the sick man, and left her.
The sun sank behind Mons Janiculus, and the worn-out Flamen still lay
in his death-like sleep. About two hours before midnight he moved and
asked for Quintus. Claudia, who had not quitted him, bent over him and
said gently:
“He is safe, Father, you know,” and her father looked up at her with a
beatific smile. Then he asked for something to drink, greedily emptied
a cup of water with fruit syrup, and at once fell asleep again. When
day began to break, Palaemon, who had taken some hours' rest in the
adjoining room, sent Claudia to lie down. In all human probability the
danger was now over, and Claudia obeyed, for she could scarcely hold up
her head.
The sun rose in a cloudless sky--the first day of freedom in redeemed
and regenerate Rome. The people set to work on all hands, to prepare
a worthy welcome for the new Emperor, the gentle and high-souled
Nerva, who was expected to arrive the following morning. Every arch of
triumph, every colonnade, every temple was decked with garlands. Rome
was like one vast festal hall. The Praetorian guard and the soldiers
of the city-garrison marched in noisy troops through the streets, to
overturn the statues of Domitian and to set up hastily-modelled images
of Nerva in their stead.
But all the tumult and noise failed to wake Titus Claudius Mucianus,
who lay sleeping and gaining strength every hour on the couch in his
airy cubiculum. It was not till late in the afternoon, that he began
to grow restless and to toss from side to side. Palaemon called the
family, and they assembled in the room: Octavia, Claudia, Lucilia,
Cornelia, Quintus and Caius Aurelius, who, now that the great political
revolution was accomplished, felt himself quite free and had flown at
an early hour to see his Claudia. But with them there also came, to the
great surprise of the worthy Baucis, a stranger, a knight from Rodumna,
who to this day had never before crossed the Flamen’s threshold; our
esteemed friend Cneius Afranius, the advocate. Lucilia’s eyes, which
in the midst of her anxiety sparkled with an anticipation of imminent
happiness, whenever they met those of the man she loved, might have
explained to the old nurse, that the unexpected guest had not come
altogether unbidden--nay, that something must have passed between
the two young people, which was of the deepest interest to Afranius
himself, as well as to the girl who--once so saucy--now looked up at
him with an air of maidenly reserve. Cneius Afranius remained modestly
in the background, as if he was quite satisfied for the present to
leave the old slave-woman’s doubts unsettled.
Palaemon met them with the smile, that gives new life to the relations
of a sick man.
“Only go very gently,” he said, as Lucilia and Quintus began to
question him.
Presently they heard a deep sigh from Titus Claudius, who was sitting
up in bed, and gazing at the assembled family with wide and eager eyes.
“It is you!” he said, trembling with excitement “You, Quintus, my son,
my adored son.”
“Father!” was all Quintus could say, and he fell sobbing aloud into
those trembling, wasted arms.
“Was it delirium?” asked the high-priest, “or is it true? Was it you,
Caius Aurelius, who saved my son?”
“As you say, my lord,” replied the Batavian.
“How did you do it? Did you procure his pardon? Did you succeed, when
we had all failed, in touching Caesar’s heart?”
“Domitian is dead,” said the Batavian, solemnly. “Before his rule was
wrenched from him, he died by the hand of an assassin. But Nerva, our
new Emperor, is innocent of blood; he, mild and just, ordered me to
strike off the chains of the Nazarenes. We hurried at our utmost speed
from the shores of Gaul to Rome, and the gods willed it, that I should
arrive just in time to rescue Quintus and the noble Cornelia. The
decree, which pronounced them guilty, is abrogated.”
The high-priest had listened to him, motionless and silent; Palaemon
went forward to interrupt the conversation.
“Not yet, my good friend,” said Titus Claudius with a grateful smile.
“You need fear nothing for me. New life is dancing in every vein.
Suspense alone was crushing me to death; the truth will restore me to
life. Let our young friend tell us what has happened. Domitian dead!
Nerva Emperor! The Nazarenes released...! I feel as if it were all a
dream!”
Aurelius told his tale, and Titus Claudius listened, clinging to
his son’s hands with both his own. The one feeling that he had been
preserved from the last, worst horror, without having to reproach
himself with any breach of his duty as a statesman and an official,
triumphed over all the other various emotions, that Aurelius' narrative
might have roused in him. Again and again his eye turned to rest on the
radiant face of the son he had believed to be lost beyond recall, and
whom he now saw and held in the flesh. Every other consideration was
swept away in the current of a father’s love, so long held in unnatural
check.
“The gods have willed it so!” he said sadly, when Aurelius ceased
speaking. “I cannot hold the office, conferred on me by Domitian,
under the enemy of the murdered Caesar. But I yield to the force of
circumstances; what till now was treason is now law. I am but a weak
mortal; I do not pretend to judge the case. I can but marvel and be
silent. Justice is perhaps on the side of the stronger conviction, the
stronger will and the greater vigor--such mysteries can only be solved
by the gods. So the first words I address to you, after these days of
terror and torment, shall be words of conciliation. Cains Aurelius,
my daughter’s heart is yours--then she shall be your wife. I will not
destroy your happiness; you have all suffered enough on my account.”
But here Palaemon interfered with all the authority of his office. He
almost pushed Claudia and the Batavian from the bedside.
“Pardon me!” he said, “but this will not do. He must have perfect rest.
I only wanted him to see Quintus, that will conduce to his recovery.
He will shake hands with his worthy son-in-law quite soon enough.” The
whole party left the room.
“And we?” asked Lucilia, as Afranius came close by her side.
“Patience, my queen,” said the lawyer; “the fruit that has set is sure
to ripen. Leave him to get well and think quietly over the past; our
hour will strike in good time.”
Lucilia nodded assent, and Claudia threw her arms round her, and kissed
her ardently.
Quintus was the last to quit the room; his father gazed after him with
a look of rapture. Then, with an upward glance, he sighed deeply,
and once more closed his eyes. He was quite exhausted, and presently
again dropped asleep. His excited brain still worked in fresh and vivid
dreams, but now they were not demons that hovered round him, but kindly
ghosts, and his fancy bore him through rose-tinted clouds to the sunny
regions of freedom and peace.
Kindly genii, proclaiming freedom and peace, hovered over Rome, the
long-suffering city. The next day, two hours after sunrise, Marcus
Cocceius Nerva made his solemn entrance, amid the enthusiastic shouts
of the multitude; and before the sun had sunk on the second day, he
had accomplished that grand change, which altered the course of the
world’s history, and secured to the Roman Empire for many years the
benefits of justice and liberty. The venerable Emperor, in order not to
leave his dominions a prey to fresh political convulsions in the event
of his death, solemnly adopted the Hispanian, Ulpius Trajanus, as his
son, before the assembled Senate,[180] and with the consent of that
illustrious body, appointed him his successor on the throne of Rome.
“I know, my beloved son,” so the old Emperor addressed him, “that you
will accept this gift from your venerable father, and this highest
of all honors at the hands of the Roman Senate and people with a due
sense of gratitude. You will not be overbearing in the possession of
power, any more than you were servile when, at any moment, you might
have fallen a victim to the miscarriage of a noble cause, You will not
let yourself be befooled by flatterers, for you yourself have never
learnt to flatter. You will acknowledge, that all your dignity and
power emanate from the sovereign will of the people; that you rule only
because your country bids you rule; that you are not called to be the
tyrant, but the servant of the State.”
So spoke Nerva, and Trajan bowed his head with a grave conviction of
duty, and accepted the responsible honor.--Trajan, that noble, moderate
and just man,[181] whom the verdict of posterity has, with singular
unanimity, pronounced to be the best of all the emperors of Rome.
At the same hour, when Marcus Cocceius Nerva was returning with Trajan
from the heights of the Capitol to their residence in the Palatium, two
men, each solitary and in the plainest dress, were turning their back
on the Eternal City.
One of them, Barbillus, the priest of Isis, stole away, carefully
disguised, to Antium, where he was met by an accomplice, who had in his
charge all the treasure he had been able to collect in his haste. From
thence he purposed to reach Alexandria by sea, and so elude the wrath
of Cinna, who was now all-powerful and Cocceius Nerva’s closest friend.
But the ship was wrecked, and a week later the body of the great
magician was cast on shore near Messana.
The other of the two men was Eurymachus, who took the road to Ostia.
Lycoris, who had given up all luxury and splendor and had had herself
baptized, had anticipated all that Quintus had intended to do for him;
she had bought Eurymachus from the heirs of Stephanus, had set him free
and had provided him amply for a journey to Gaul. Thus, after all his
trials and struggles, he set forth with renewed energies, to be the
apostle of the Nazarene creed in the remotest frontiers of the Empire.
FOOTNOTES:
[177] OLD PALAEMON. See note 202, Vol. I.
[178] SAMIAN WINE. The island of Samos, near the coast of Asia
Minor, was famed from ancient times for its delicious wine.
[179] COURAGE MY CHILD! This familiar tone from the physician’s lips
need cause no surprise. Earlier (see note 209, Vol. I.) I
have explained that a sort of filial relation existed between
the old family servants and the children, nay that the former
often took it upon themselves to reprove and scold the latter.
[180] THE VENERABLE EMPEROR, ETC. See Dio Cassius, LXVIII, 3. In
reality this adoption and the appointment of “crown-prince,”
(“Caesar” in a stricter sense) connected with it, occurred
some time later, while Ulpius Trajanus was living as imperial
governor in Upper Germany.
[181] TRAJAN, THAT NOBLE, MODERATE AND JUST MAN. See Dio Cass.
LXVIII, 5: "His character had not the slightest trace of
falsity, malice or cruelty; he loved good citizens, treated
them with respect and distinguished them: about the bad ones
he did not ask."--LXVIII, 6: "He was eminent for his love of
justice, courage, and simplicity of manners.... He envied
no one, barred no one’s path to fame; he rather honored and
exalted all merit. Hence he had no cause to fear any man.
Slanderers he did not trust. He neither meddled with the
property of others, nor allowed the innocent to be put to
death"--LXVIII, 16: "When he gave the sword to the commander
of the Praetorian guard, he drew it from the sheath and held
it up, saying: 'Take this sword and use it, if I reign well,
for me, if I reign ill, against me.'" Even the eulogy of the
younger Pliny, who was a friend of the new emperor, spite of
many exaggerated expressions, shows that it is the utterance
of sincere conviction; certain facts especially speak for
themselves; for instance the total change in the ceremonies
of the court. "Formerly"--so says Pliny--“the imperial palace
was a fortress; under Nerva and Trajan it has become a public
building. There are no bolts, no degrees of humiliation,
and when a thousand thresholds have been crossed, we do not
constantly encounter fresh forms and obstacles. We do not
come to Trajan, as was the case with former emperors, in
confusion and haste, that we may not endanger our lives by
delay, but with a feeling of security, gladly, and just as it
suits our convenience. If some pressing business detains us,
Trajan does not even require a word of apology. When we have
saluted him, we do not rush hurriedly away. We linger, stroll
comfortably about, as if the palace belonged to us--the very
palace, which but a short time ago that abandoned monster
(Domitian) surrounded with so many horrors; the very palace
where the wild-beast shut himself up as if in a den, sometimes
drinking the blood of his nearest relatives, sometimes rushing
out to slay the noblest citizens.... But vengeance burst
the wall of his guards and pressed victoriously through the
locked doors.... How much safer and more free from anxiety is
this palace, now that it is _not_ protected by the guards of
tyranny, but of love, not protected by seclusion and bolts,
but by the citizens passing in and out. You have shown us
by experience, that a prince’s virtue is his best defence,”
Pliny _Paneg._ 65: “Trajan convinced us that the sovereign is
not above the law--but the law above the sovereign,” Pliny
_Paneg._ 67, and “Usually we have taken vows of fealty simply
for the emperor’s welfare; but the expressions in which we
have sworn faith to our present government deserve to be
emphasized--if you will rule the state wisely and for the good
of all ... that is you will only be preserved by the gods,
on the condition that you rule the state wisely and for the
welfare of all.”
THE END.
Transcriber’s Note
Incidental typographical errors have been corrected, and are noted in
table below. On occasion, apparent errors, in modern usage, are allowed
to stand. In particular, the repeated use of ‘eat’ in the past tense,
even where the subjunctive is not in play, sounds odd to our ear.
On. p. 235, the footnote anchor 146 was missing from the text and has
added.
This table documents the textual issues encountered, and their
resolution.
p. 8 [h]as suddenly vanished Added.
p. 18 be[./ ]baptized in a quarry Corrected.
p. 26 in such contempt[.]" Added.
p. 35 Latin word '_religio_?["/'] Corrected.
p. 43 ["]By Castor, Added.
p. 50 n. 41 "In the commencement Added.
p. 56 n. 45 Juv. VI, 31[)] Added.
p. 60 n. 46 accidently _sic._
p. 79 come _sic._
p. 87 you may bes[ei/ie]ge me Transposed.
p. 89 to Chian figs.[)“/”)] Transposed.
p. 125 Piacenza[.] Added.
p. 128 magna[min/nim]ous Transposed.
p. 133 a[u/n]xiously Corrected.
p. 160 resolute[d]ly _sic._
p. 168 retractation _sic._
p. 169 responsib[i]lity Added.
p. 177 bursting into tears[.] Added.
p. 184 of Cornelia.["] Added.
p. 205 Febru[r]ary Removed.
p. 224 co[u]nsul Removed.
p. 234 this very spot[.] Added.
p. 242 tort[ru/ur]e Transposed.
his defenceless prey[.] Added.
End of Project Gutenberg's Quintus Claudius, Volume 2 of 2, by Ernst Eckstein