"I am generous," replied Ausonius. "It pleases me to discover in this
way a favorite dish of my usually Spartan friend. I will avenge myself
by placing before you, if possible, the delicious fish this lake
contains; for in its green depths are balche and trout of the most
delicate flavor. They are even better than those of the Mosella: I
could surely have supplied you with them if the Barbarians had not all
fled from the shore before our troops. When, five years ago, I spent
several months on the opposite side in Arbor Felix, to investigate the
condition of the frontiers, what magnificent fish I had!" Then, as if
lost in reverie, he sighed: "Ah, those were happy days! My dear wife,
my gentle Sabina, was living."
"Hail to thy memory, Attusia Lucana Sabina!" said the nephew.
"And my dear children! Then my beautiful, spacious house in the city,
and the charming villa outside the Garumna gate were not empty and
desolate. How gaily the songs of the young girls echoed through the
country during the season when the vine blossoms poured forth their
fragrance! Then I still saw around me the beloved faces of my kindred,
did not stand alone, poor with all my wealth, as now--"
"Uncle!" interrupted Herculanus, trying to assume a tone of most tender
reproach, in which, however, he was not entirely successful. "Stand
alone? Have you not me, who love you so tenderly?"
The Tribune gazed coldly at the over-zealous nephew.
But Ausonius replied kindly: "Certainly, my dear fellow, you are left
to me, but you alone out of the whole circle of my family swept away in
a single year by the pestilence: my Sabina, my three children, my two
sisters and two sweet young nieces. Can you alone fill the places of
all? I often feel so lonely. And you are a man. My gentle wife, my
daughters, my sisters, my nieces, how I miss them! I confess it: I need
the melody of women's voices, their graceful movements around me. I
miss something!"
The young Roman, excited, hastily seized the goblet. The Tribune looked
him keenly in the face and, without averting his eyes from the nephew,
suddenly said to the uncle in a very loud tone: "You must marry again!"
Then the Illyrian turned away from Herculanus: he seemed to have seen
enough.
"Yes," said Ausonius slowly, almost solemnly, "I have often thought of
it. It is a serious, a very serious matter--at my age."
"At any age," said Saturninus. "Years will not stand in your way. You
are perhaps fifty?"
"Fifty-two," sighed the Prefect. "And my hair is gray!"
"Not very yet! Besides, mine is too. In my case from the weight of the
helmet. And it is becoming. You are a--"
"Handsome old man, you are going to say," replied Ausonius smiling.
"That is not exactly what pleases maidens."
"Well, you need not choose a girl of sixteen."
"But not one much older!" said the poet quickly. "No, my friend! I want
youth and charm near me."
"That you may have too," said the Illyrian. "You can select from your
whole province, nay, the whole Empire. You, the highest official in
Gaul, the Emperor's tutor and favorite, the celebrated poet and--"
"And the richest match in the whole West," interrupted the nephew
sharply. Hitherto he had remained persistently silent, his eyes cast
down and the expression of his mouth covered by his hand. "The richest
gray beard on this side of the Alps!" he added.
"Yes, that is it," said Ausonius bitterly. "Herculanus only says openly
and frankly what has secretly tortured me so much all these years, nay,
what has alone deterred me. You know, my friend,--or rather, you blunt
Tribune of the camp, you do not know,--for what reasons parents in our
large cities marry their daughters, nay, how these girls themselves,
almost before they have laid aside their dolls, instantly look out for
'a good catch'! In sooth, neither Eros nor Anteros, but Hermes and
Plutus unite couples now."
"Yes, they marry only for money!" cried Herculanus wrathfully. "I am
poor; the girls all shun me--"
The Tribune was about to answer, but only laughed and drank his wine.
"Although I am nearly thirty years younger than my uncle! Fathers,
mothers, guardians, nay, even the forward girls themselves, all cajole
him, till I can scarcely warn and guard enough."
"That's the way the bee-keeper guards the honey from the mice," growled
the Illyrian under his breath.
"My nephew is perfectly right. A friend of mine, Erminiscius, a rich
merchant who deals in gems, fifty years old, married a girl of twenty.
A week after, she disappeared with all his antique jewels and--his
youngest freedman. Another, Euronius, a large owner of vineyards,
somewhat older, married a young widow of twenty-five; that is--he was
married by her; for she did not rest until she had him. Even before the
wedding he was obliged to make his will; she dictated it to him word
for word. He died at the next kalends--violent colic. I did not like it
at all; I hate colic! And so many wild cherries grew close by his
garden! You ought to see how much this double widow enjoys life now.
She once paid me a visit--she is very beautiful and was bewitchingly
amiable to me; but I thought of the dead Euronius's colic, and escaped
unwedded. I don't imagine in all cases an elopement or a wild-cherry
cake; every one is neither a Helena nor a Locusta. Suspicion is not
usually one of my faults."
"Rather the contrary," observed Saturninus.
"But, I confess it, my gray hairs make me distrustful. I should be so
unhappy--Apollo's richest laurels would not heal the wound--if I were
forced to believe that I had been married only for the sake of my
wealth. I do not deserve it."
"No indeed, you do not," cried the Tribune, pressing his hand warmly.
"Your heart is tender, kind, and frank. Whoever feigned love for the
sake of your money would be contemptible. And I hope that you may yet
see a band of children playing around your knees in the beautiful villa
gardens on the flowery shores of your beloved Garumna."
Ausonius smiled. The picture seemed to please him. Then his eye met the
glance of his nephew, who seemed to be gazing into the distance less
complacently. "Don't be uneasy, Herculanus," he said. "Even if it
should be so, my will would not forget you. And your creditors," he
added, smiling compassionately.
"Will! What an ill-omened word! Far be it," cried the young Roman.
"Well, people don't die from making wills, or I should have left the
living long ago. A Roman citizen sets his house in order for every
emergency, death included. So, though Herculanus according to the law
would now be my sole heir, I made my will before the magistrate in
Burdigala before joining the army, formally naming him my heir: a few
little legacies and the liberation of some faithful slaves still
remain. To you, Saturninus," he added, laughing, "I shall bequeath
after my return, in a codicil, a valuable memento of this evening."
"Well?"
"A copy of the 'Mosella'; but the verses about the fish are to be cut
out by way of punishment."
He quaffed his wine, pleased with his own jest.