fiftieth repetition of 'Pugnare nolumus,' for instance--the great
national peace anthem of the period--with the feeling that he had heard
the same tune at least twice before, and preferred something slightly
fresher, while others had taken a much shorter time in arriving at the
same conclusion.
The elder Duilius, the Consul's father, was perhaps the most annoyed by
it; he was a nice old man in his way--the glass and china way--but he
was a typical old Roman, with a manly contempt for pomp, vanity, music,
and the fine arts generally.
So that his son's flute-player, performing all day in the court-yard,
drove the old gentleman nearly mad, until he would rush to the windows
and hurl the lighter articles of furniture at the head of the persistent
musician, who, however, after dodging them with dexterity, affected to
treat them as a recognition of his efforts, and carried them away
gratefully to sell.
Duilius senior would have smashed the flute, only it was never laid
aside for a single instant, even at meals; he would have made the player
drunk and incapable, but he was a member of the _Manus Spei_, and he
would with cheerfulness have given him a heavy bribe to go away, if the
honest fellow had not proved absolutely incorruptible.
So he could only sit down and swear, and then relieve his feelings by
giving his son a severe thrashing, with threats to sell him for whatever
he might fetch: for, in the curious conditions of ancient Roman society,
a father possessed both these rights, however his offspring might have
distinguished himself in public life.
Naturally, Duilius did not like the idea of being put up to auction, and
he began to feel that it was slightly undignified for a Roman general
who had won a naval victory and been awarded a first-class Triumph to be
undergoing corporal punishment daily at the hands of an unflinching
parent, and accordingly he determined to go and expostulate with his
flute-player.
He was beginning to find him a nuisance himself, for all his old shy
reserve and unwillingness to attract attention had returned to him; he
was fond of solitude, and yet he could never be alone; he was weary of
doing everything to slow music, like the bold bad man in a melodrama.
He could not even go across the street to purchase a postage-stamp
without the flute-player coming stalking out after him, playing away
like a public fountain; while, owing to the well-known susceptibility of
a rabble to the charm of music, the disgusted Consul had to take his
walks abroad at the head of Rome's choicest scum.
Duilius, with a lively recollection of these inconveniences, would have
spoken very seriously indeed to his musician, but he shrank from hurting
his feelings by the plain truth. He simply explained that he had not
intended the other to accompany him _always_, but only on special
occasions; and, while professing the sincerest admiration for his
musical proficiency, he felt, as he said, unwilling to monopolise it,
and unable to enjoy it at the expense of a fellow-creature's rest and
comfort.
Perhaps he put the thing a little too delicately to secure the object he
had in view, for the musician, although he was obviously deeply touched
by such unwonted consideration, waived it aside with a graceful fervour
that was quite irresistible.
He assured the Consul that he was only too happy to have been selected
to render his humble tribute to the naval genius of so eminent a
commander; he would not admit that his own rest and comfort were in the
least affected by his exertions, for, being naturally fond of the flute,
he could, he protested, perform upon it continuously for whole days
without fatigue. And he concluded by pointing out very respectfully that
for the Consul to dispense, even to a small extent, with an honour
decreed (at his own particular request) by the Republic, would have the
appearance of ingratitude, and expose him to the gravest suspicions.
After which he rendered the ancient love chant 'Ludus idem, ludus
vetus,' with singular sweetness and expression.
Duilius felt the force of his arguments: Republics are proverbially
forgetful, and he was aware that it might not be safe, even for him, to
risk offending the Senate.
So he had nothing to do but just go on, and be followed about by the
flute-player, and castigated by his parent in the old familiar way,
until he had very little self-respect left.
At last he found a distraction in his care-laden existence--he fell
deeply in love. But even here a musical Nemesis attended him, to his
infinite embarrassment, in the person of his devoted follower. Sometimes
Duilius would manage to elude him and slip out unseen to some sylvan
retreat, where he had reason to hope for a meeting with the object of
his adoration. He generally found that in this expectation he had not
deceived himself; but always, just as he had found courage to speak of
the passion that consumed him, a faint tune would strike his ear from
afar, and, turning his head in a fury, he would see his faithful
flute-player striding over the fields in pursuit of him with
unquenchable ardour.
He gave in at last, and submitted to the necessity of speaking all his
tender speeches 'through music.' Claudia did not seem to mind it,
perhaps finding an additional romance in being wooed thus, and Duilius
himself, who was not eloquent, found that the flute came in very well at
awkward pauses in the conversation.
Then they were married, and, as Claudia played very nicely herself upon
the _tibiae_, she got up musical evenings, when she played duets with the
flute-player, which Duilius, if he had only had a little more taste for
music, might have enjoyed immensely.
As it was, beginning to observe for the first time that the musician was
far from uncomely, he forbade the duets. Claudia wept and sulked, and
Claudia's mother said that Duilius was behaving like a brute, and she
was not to mind him; but the harmony of their domestic life was broken,
until the poor Consul was driven to take long country walks in sheer
despair, not because he was fond of walking, for he hated it, but simply
to keep the flute-player out of mischief.
He was now debarred from all other society, for his old friends had long
since cut him dead whenever he chanced to meet them. 'How could he
expect people to stop and talk,' they asked indignantly, 'when there was
that confounded fellow blowing tunes down the backs of their necks all
the time?'
Duilius had had enough of it himself, and felt this so strongly that one
day he took his flute-player a long walk through a lonely wood, and,
choosing a moment when his companion had played 'Id omnes faciunt' till
he was somewhat out of breath, he turned on him suddenly. When he left
the lonely wood he was alone, and somewhere in the undergrowth lay a
broken flute, and near it something which looked as if it might once
have been a musician.
The Consul went home and sat there waiting for the deed to become
generally known. He waited with a certain uneasiness, because it was
impossible to tell how the Senate might take the thing, or the means by
which their vengeance would declare itself.
And yet his uneasiness was counterbalanced by a delicious relief: the
State might disgrace, banish, put him to death even, but he had got rid
of slow music for ever; and as he thought of this, the stately Duilius
would snap his fingers and dance with secret delight.
All disposition to dance, however, was forgotten upon the arrival of
lictors bearing an official missive. He looked at it for a long time
before he dared to break the big seal and cut the cord which bound the
tablets which might contain his doom.
He did it at last, and smiled with relief as he began to read; for the
decree was courteously, almost affectionately, worded. The Senate,
considering (or affecting to consider) the disappearance of the
flute-player a mere accident, expressed their formal regret at the
failure of the provision made in his honour.
Then, as he read on, Duilius dashed the tablets into small fragments,
and rolled on the ground, and tore his hair, and howled: for the
Senatorial decree concluded by a declaration that, in consideration of
his brilliant exploits, the State thereby placed at his disposal two
more flute-players, who, it was confidently hoped, would survive the
wear and tear of their ministrations longer than the first.
Duilius retired to his room and made his will, taking care to have it
properly signed and attested. Then he fastened himself in, and when they
broke down the door next day, they found a lifeless corpse, with a
strange sickly smile upon its pale lips.
No one in Rome quite made out the reason of this smile, but it was
generally thought to denote the gratification of the deceased at the
idea of leaving his beloved ones in comfort, if not luxury; for, though
the bulk of his fortune was left to Carthaginian charities, he had had
the forethought to bequeath a flute-player apiece to his wife and
mother-in-law.
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