THE WORLD WELL LOST.
Cleanor had been back in Rome some four months, and had nearly completed
his work with the committee of translation, when he received a visit
from the young Scipio. The latter had not been one of the party at
Misenum during the holidays of Saturn, having been summoned to Sicily to
fill a casual vacancy on the staff of the quæstor in that province.
"Well," said Cleanor, after an affectionate exchange of greetings, "and
how did you like your quæstor's work in Sicily?"
"I found it most interesting," replied the young man, "and, I must say,
most agreeable. My name made me most welcome everywhere. You can hardly
imagine what an impression my uncle's action in giving back the statues
to the cities has made on the whole island. The simple fact that I was
his nephew was enough to make them almost worship me. I happened to be
at Agrigentum when the famous Bull was solemnly put back into its place.
If I had been the founder of the city come to life again I could not
have been treated with more respect. I should be quite ashamed to
describe all the oratings and crownings and embracings that I went
through. In fact, if I had any complaint to make, it would be that
to a modest young man like myself the honours were just a little
overpowering."
"And what," asked Cleanor, "are you going to do now?"
"That," replied the young Roman, "is just what I want to talk to you
about. Lentulus, who is proconsul of Sicily, as I dare say you know, has
expressed himself very handsomely about my services, and, what is more,
has offered to propose me as one of the regular quæstors for next year.
This is all the more satisfactory because he is no kinsman of mine, and
in fact is not on the same side in politics as my uncle. If my uncle
were to nominate me, I should probably get my election, but this will
make it quite certain."
"Well," said Cleanor, "of course you won't hesitate to accept. I give
you my congratulations in advance. It will be the first step in the
ladder, and we shall see you climb, as your forbears have climbed before
you, to be ædile, prætor, consul."
"Yes, yes," said the young man, "that is so. It is the first step, and I
could not take it under better auspices, but--" and he paused, looking
like anything but the ambitious young man before whom the greatest
career in the world was opening.
"What is the hindrance, then?" asked the young Greek.
Scipio's embarrassment seemed to increase. "I have been to my aunt
Cornelia's at Misenum," he added after a long pause.
"And what was her advice?" asked Cleanor. "Surely she had nothing to
say against it. I should even have thought, as far as I know anything of
your Roman politics, that she would have been especially well pleased to
see you come out in public life under the auspices of Lentulus."
"Oh, yes!" returned the young Roman. "That was exactly her view. But--"
and the speaker paused in still greater embarrassment than ever.
"Well--I must say it sooner or later--I have seen your sister."
"My sister! What has my sister got to do with it?" asked Cleanor in
utter bewilderment. "I don't suppose you asked her advice, and if you
did, she would not hinder you, I should suppose, from serving your
country."
"Well," said Scipio, "I did ask her, though not exactly for her advice,
and she said exactly what you supposed she would say."
"Then where is the difficulty? You want the thing yourself; all your
friends advise you to take the chances. What is it that hinders? For
heaven's sake, my friend, do explain what you mean, for it is quite past
my understanding."
"Then, Cleanor, listen; if I offend you, as I can hardly help doing, be
patient with me. First and foremost, then, I love your sister Cleoné. It
is the dearest wish of my heart to make her my wife, and I think, that
is, I hope, that she cares a little for me."
"I am delighted to hear it," cried the young Greek, as he sprang up and
seized his friend's hands. "I am delighted to hear it. There isn't a
better or braver girl in the world, if I may say so much of my own
sister. You have heard her story, of course. Well, she deserves a good
husband, if ever a girl did, and I am glad to think that she is likely
to find one."
"I am delighted to hear you say so, though I don't feel anything like
worthy of her. But now comes what I find it so hard to say. Cleoné is a
match for anyone in the world, in birth as well as in herself. But, in
the eyes of our law, she is not a match for a Roman citizen. By some
accursed chance--though, indeed, but for this said chance I should never
have seen her--she was made a slave, and is now a freed woman. Out of
that _status_ nothing, as far as I know, can raise her, and being in
that _status_ she cannot be my wife. In one sense there may be a
marriage between us, but it would not be a marriage that would give her
the rights and privileges of a Roman matron; it would not be a marriage
which would open to our children the career of a Roman citizen. There,
my dear friend, the murder is out; that is the bare fact, and if it
seems an insult to you--and an insult, I fear, it must seem--pray
remember that it is not of my making or doing."
"My dear friend," said Cleanor, "I won't pretend that what you have said
hasn't hurt me. We have always been accustomed to think ourselves as
good as anybody in point of birth and standing. In fact we Greeks are
not a little exclusive, and it is a blow to be told that we are
ourselves outside the social pale. But for you, I assure you I haven't a
feeling that is not all friendship. I don't draw back from a single word
of what I said about my sister. Still we must consider; and of course,
before all things, she must know."
"Yes, she must know," replied Scipio. "Of course I have said nothing.
She does not know--so far at least as anything that I have said is
concerned--that I love her."
"Well," said Cleanor, "we will leave that then for the present. Now
listen to what I have been thinking about myself and my own future. I am
in love, too, and you have seen the lady. Can you guess who it is?"
"Guess!" said Scipio with a smile. "There is no need of guessing. I have
known it a long time. Well, I will allow that your Daphne is the fairest
woman in the world,--with, of course, one exception."
"Well, when a man is in my plight, he naturally, if he is worthy of
being called a man, begins to think of his future. And what future have
I here in Italy? I have property enough to live upon, but that is all.
But what career is there before me? I have turned the matter over in my
mind, and I have asked for information from others. There seems to be
positively but one thing for a man in my situation to do. I might
become a teacher of rhetoric. That is the one solitary employment open
to a Greek stranger, and a very precarious employment too. The
old-fashioned nobles don't like Greek rhetoricians, and it is quite
possible that some fine day I might find myself banished.[70] That, you
will allow, is not a prospect with which a man will readily content
himself."
"And do you see any way out of it?" asked Scipio.
"I have dreams," replied the young Greek, "and I have always had, and
the dreams of to-day fit on curiously enough to the dreams of the past.
When I was a boy I had an ambition to be something beyond the chief
citizen of Chelys. As for Carthage, though no one thought that her end
was so near, I knew that there was nothing there to satisfy me, even if
her honours had been open to me. But there is a world beyond Carthage,
and even beyond Rome. It is of that that I dreamed then, and of which I
dream still. Say, Scipio, my friend, shall we go and look for it?"
The young men had a long talk on the subject. Cleanor poured out the
store of knowledge which, with an enthusiasm that dated back to very
early years indeed, he had gathered from every available source. There
was, of course, a plentiful admixture of fiction, or fact so transmuted
and idealized that it almost had become fiction. There were legends and
traditions, travellers' tales, and yarns of adventurous seamen; but
there was also a solid substratum of truth. Cleanor's sheet-anchor, so
to speak, was the famous _Circumnavigation_ of Hanno.[71] That famous
voyager had beyond all doubt passed into the great western ocean through
the Pillars of Hercules, and turning southward had seen many a strange
and beautiful land, aye, and lived to bring back the report of them. All
these things the ardent Greek dwelt upon with an enthusiasm which at
last fired the duller fancy of the Roman. Scipio left the house more
than half persuaded.
A few days afterwards Cleanor, having fairly finished his part in the
work which had so long occupied his leisure, went down with Scipio to
Misenum. They had agreed to say nothing of their scheme till they had
heard what their hostess had to say to it. Cornelia was doubtful.
Cleanor indeed had her fullest sympathy when he declared that he could
not be content with any career that fate had left open for him, and that
he must seek one elsewhere. It was about her great-nephew that she
doubted. She could not bring herself to think him right when he proposed
to relinquish his Roman birthright. Not for any woman, not though she
was, as Cleoné, one among ten thousand, should a man give up the
splendid opportunities of service and reward which Rome held forth to
her sons.
The young man found an unexpected ally in his cousin Tiberius. "My
duty," he said, "keeps me here; but if I could choose my own way, I
would join your search. Sometimes I seem to see further into the future
than is commonly given to man, and what I see is dark with the shadow of
disaster and death. Our great kinsman has won splendid victories for
Rome, and has others to win, but I doubt whether the gods have not
granted these victories to our country more in wrath than in love. When
we have trodden all our foes and rivals under our feet we shall turn our
swords upon ourselves. The wealth of the world that is pouring into our
treasury will kindle to a deadlier rage the eternal quarrel between
those who have and those who have not. My lot is cast in with the
unhappy. The love of woman is not for me; I shall not be able even to
keep the affection of my kinsfolk. But I would not avoid my fate, even
if I could. You are happier. It would be as great a folly for you to
stay, as it would be a crime for me to depart."
After this Cornelia, who was always overawed when the deeper nature of
her son revealed itself, silently withdrew her opposition. The elder
Scipio, who would almost certainly have used all his influence to bring
it to nothing, was fortunately absent from Italy. Daphne put no
hindrance in the way. She had secretly worshipped the magnificent
hero--for such he seemed to her--who had rescued her and hers from the
deadliest peril, and was ready to follow him, if he willed it, to the
ends of the world, and, if it might be, even beyond it.
But Scipio found Cleoné far more difficult to deal with. She was very
far from disdaining his love, but it filled her with something like rage
to think that for her sake he should abandon his career. It was partly
that her pride was touched. That she, the long-descended daughter of
heroes, who reckoned Ion himself among her far-away ancestors, should
bring humiliation and disability on the man to whom she gave her hand!
The bare idea was beyond endurance. Such love was a disgrace to both of
them. She peremptorily commanded her suitor to forget it. But this stern
mood did not last. She was moved not a little by the sight of Daphne's
happiness. She was conscious of a craving in her own heart for a
happiness of her own. She had herself suffered so much, and it was hard,
when at last the sunshine came, to have to shut it out, and still to sit
in the darkness. Then the strongest influences were brought to bear upon
her. Her brother was urgent in his entreaties that she should not mar
their plan. And her refusal would mar it. He could not go if she stayed
behind. And the sight of Scipio's suffering touched her, for indeed she
loved him tenderly. In the end she gave way.
FOOTNOTES:
70: The Greek teachers of rhetoric were actually banished thirty
years after this date.
71: The _Periplus_ of Hanno, probably written early in the
fourth century B.C.