entrance for some space, contemplating the augmented stream as it fell
from the superincumbent rock, and regretting the ravage which the nightly
tempest had made among the delicate flowers round its basin. Twice I
thought I heard the murmurs of a voice, and twice I persuaded myself that
it was only the rippling of the waters; but the third time I was satisfied
that some person must be near. I passed between the water and the rock,
and beheld the fair creature that had been occupying so many of my
thoughts, kneeling far within the grotto, as it seemed, in supplication.
To disturb her by advancing farther, would have been impious; to retire,
without the risk of disturbing her, almost impossible; but I remained
there fixed to the spot, without perhaps considering all these things as I
should have done. The virgin modesty of her attitude was holy in my eyes,
and the thought never occurred to me, that I might be doing wrong in
permitting myself to witness the simple devotions of Athanasia. “Great
God, listen to my prayers,” was all I understood of what she said; but she
whispered for some moments in a lowly and fervent tone, and I saw that she
kissed something with her lips ere she arose from her knees. She then
plunged her hands into the well, by whose brink she had knelt, and turned
round to the light. “Athanasia, forgive me,” was already on my lips; but
on seeing me, she uttered a faint cry and fell prostrate upon the marble.
I rushed forward, lifted up her head, and laved water from the fountain,
till I saw her lips tremble. At last she opened her eyes, and after gazing
on me wildly for a moment, she gathered her strength, and stood quite
upright, supporting herself against the wall of the grotto. “Great
heavens!” cried I, “in what have I offended, that I should be rendered the
cause of affliction to Athanasia? Speak, lady, and say that you forgive
me.”
“I thought,” said she, with a proud calmness, “that Valerius was of
Roman—of Patrician blood. What brings him to be a spy upon the secret
moments of a Patrician maiden?”—Then bursting into a tone of unutterable
fervour, “Speak,” said she, “young man, what have you heard? How long have
you stood here? Am I betrayed?”
“Witness, heaven and earth!” cried I, kneeling, “and witness every god,
that I have heard nothing, except to know that you were praying. I have
only seen you kneeling, and been guilty of gazing on your beauty.” “You
heard not the words of my prayer?” said she. “No, not its words,
Athanasia, nor any thing of its purpose.” “Do you swear this to me, young
man?” “Yes, I swear by Jupiter and by Rome—as I am a man and a Roman, I
know not, neither do I desire to know, any thing of what you said. Forgive
me for the fault of my indiscretion—you have no other to forgive.”
Athanasia paused for a moment, and then resuming more of her usual tone of
voice, (although its accents were still somewhat disturbed and faltering,)
said to me, “Valerius, since the thing is so, I have nothing to forgive.
It is you that must pardon me for my suspicion.” “Distress me not,
Athanasia,” said I, “by speaking such words.” “From this hour, then,” said
she, “what has passed here is forgotten. We blot it from our
memories;”—and with that, as if in token of the paction, she extended to
me her hand. I kissed it as I knelt, and swore that all things were safe
with me; but added, as I arose, “that I was afraid I should be promising
more than I should be able to perform,—did I say I should be able to
forget any hour, or any place, where I had seen Athanasia.” “Nay,” said
she, “no compliment, or I shall begin to suspect you of insincerity.” I
was then about to withdraw from the grotto; but seeing a scroll of
parchment lying at the feet of Athanasia, I stooped, and presented it to
her, saying, “I was afraid she might forget it.” She took it eagerly, and
saying, “Of that there was no danger,” placed it in her bosom, within the
folds of her tunic. She was then gathering up her black tresses, and
fastening them hastily on the back part of her head, when we heard the
sound of footsteps not far off, and beckoning to me to remain where I was,
she darted from me, and in a moment vanished among the trees. I waited for
a few minutes, and then stepping forth, beheld her walking at a distance,
beside her sister, in the direction of the villa. They were soon lost
among the paths, and I returned alone into the grotto.
I sat down beside the dark well, wherein she had dipt her hands, and mused
in a most disturbed mood on all the particulars of this strange and
unexpected interview. Every motion of her features—every modulation of her
voice, was present with me; I had gathered them all into my heart, and I
felt that I must cherish them there for ever. From the first moment I saw
her, my eyes had been constrained to gaze upon her with an interest quite
novel to me; but now I knew that she could not smile, without making my
heart faint within me, and that the least whisper of her voice was able to
bring tears into mine eyes. Now I thought of my own unworthiness, and
could not help saying to myself, “Why should a poor ignorant provincial,
such as I am, be torturing myself with the thoughts of such a creature as
this?” Then, again, some benign glance of hers would return before me, and
I could not help having some faint hopes, that her innocent heart might be
won to me by faithful unwearied love. But what always threw me back into
despair, was the recollection of the mystery that I knew hung over her
mind, although what it was I could not know. That she had been saying
something in her prayers which could not be overheard without betraying
her, she had herself confessed. What could be this secret, so cherished in
dread, and in darkness?—A crime?—No crime could sully the clear bosom of
her innocence. No consciousness of guilt could be concealed beneath that
heavenly visage. But perhaps she had been made the confidante of some
erring,—some unhappy friend. Perhaps, in her prayer, she had made mention
of another’s name, and implored the pardon of another’s guilt. Last of
all, why might it not be so, that the maiden loved, and was beloved again;
that she might have some reason to regard any casual betrayal of her
affection as a calamity; and that, having uttered the name of her lover in
her secret supplications, her terrors might all have been occasioned by
her apprehensions of my having overheard it? And yet there was something
in the demeanour of Athanasia, that I could not bring myself to reconcile
entirely with any one of these suppositions. Had she feared that I had
overheard any confession of guilt,—even of the guilt of another,—surely
some semblance of shame would have been mingled with her looks of terror.
Had she apprehended only the discovery of an innocent love, surely her
blushes would have been deeper, and her boldness less. Yet the last
solution of the difficulty was that which haunted me the most powerfully.
When I came forth into the open air, I perceived that the sun was already
high in heaven, and proceeded in haste towards the villa, not doubting
that Sextus and Capito would be astonished by the length of my absence. I
found them and the ladies walking under the northern colonnade, having
returned, as they told me, from a fruitless search after me through almost
the whole of the garden. I looked to Athanasia, as if to signify that she
well knew where I might have been found; but, although I saw that she
understood my meaning, she said nothing in explanation. Sextus drew me
aside shortly after, and told me, that his father had sent to inform him,
that our presence was necessary in the city before supper-time, to attend
a great entertainment which was to be given that evening by the lady whose
cause he had successfully pleaded in the Forum on the preceding day; which
lady, I now for the first time learned, was no other than the same Marcia
Rubellia, to whom his father was very anxious the youth should be married.
The success of this pleading had increased very much the wealth of the
lady, and, of course, as Sextus well knew, the anxiety of Licinius for the
proposed union; and to remain at the villa any longer, was, he said,
entirely impossible, since he already suspected his father had not been
quite pleased with him for leaving the Forum the day before, without
staying to hear out a cause in which his duty, if not his inclination,
ought to have made him feel so greatly interested.
We bade adieu, therefore, to our kind host and the young ladies, not
without more reluctance than either of us durst express, and ready
promises to return soon again to the villa. We found Dromo and Boto
waiting for us at the gate, the former of whom looked unutterable things,
while the latter appeared to be as joyful in seeing me again, as if we had
been parted for a twelvemonth. The two slaves were mounted on asses, but
they led horses for our conveyance; so we mounted with all speed, and were
soon beyond the beautiful enclosures of Capito. As soon as we were fairly
out of sight of the house, Dromo began to ply Sextus with innumerable
questions about the result of the visit, all of them in bad Greek; that,
as he said, there might be no chance of what passed being understood by
the Druid; for by that venerable designation, he informed us, the
primitive Boto had already come to be best known in the vestibule of
Licinius. “Ah!” quoth he, “there is no need for many words; I am sure my
young master has not been behindhand with himself. If he has, it is no
fault of mine, however. I put Opportunity into his hands, and she, you
know, as the poets say, has only one lock of hair, and that is in front.”
Sextus being very shy of entering into particulars, I found myself obliged
to take upon me the satisfying of the curiosity of this inquisitive
varlet, which I did in a manner that much astonished Sextus, who by no
means suspected, that in the midst of my own attention to the other
cousin, I had been able to take so much notice of what passed between him
and Sempronia. However, the gentle youth took a little raillery all in
good part, and we laughed loudly in unison at the triumphant capers which
the whip of Dromo made his poor ass exhibit, in testimony of his
satisfaction with the progress which all things appeared to be making. We
reached the city about three hours after noon, and were told by the slaves
in attendance, that Xerophrastes had gone out some time before, and that
Licinius was already busy in arraying himself for the feast of Rubellia.
_CHAPTER VII._
Her mansion was situated about the middle of the Suburra, in a
neighbourhood nowise splendid, and itself distinguished, on the side
fronting to the street, by no uncommon marks of elegance or opulence. A
plain brick wall covered almost the whole of the building from the eye of
the passenger; and what was seen deserved the praise of neatness, rather
than of magnificence. Nevertheless, the moment one had passed the gate,
and entered the court, one could not help perceiving, that taste and
wealth had been alike expended abundantly on the residence; for the broad
terrace and gallery behind were lavishly adorned, the one with sculpture
and the other with paintings; and the gardens, which these overlooked,
appeared to be both extensive and elaborate.
We were conducted through several pillared halls, and then up a wide
staircase, of somewhat sombre magnificence, into the chamber where the
company were already in part assembled, and busy in offering their
congratulations to the mistress of the feast. She was so much engaged with
their flatteries that she did not at first perceive our entrance; but as
soon as she knew who had come, the chief part of her attention was divided
between her victorious advocate and his blushing son.
Rapidly as we have been advancing in our imitation of the manners of the
capital, our island, most unquestionably, has never yet displayed any
thing that could sustain the smallest comparison with what then met my
eyes in the stately saloon of this widow. The group around her was gay and
various, and she was worthy of forming its centre; young and handsome,
dressed in a style of the utmost splendour, her deportment equally elegant
and vivacious. Her complexion was of that clear rich brown which lends to
the eye a greater brilliancy than the most exquisite contrast of red and
white; and over which the blood, when it does come into the face, diffuses
at once the warmest and the deepest of blushes. Her hair appeared to be
perfectly black, unless where the light, streaming from behind, gave an
edging of glossy brown to the thick masses of her curls. Her robe of
crimson silk was fastened by a girdle, which seemed to consist of nothing
but rubies and emeralds, strung upon threads of gold. She wore a tiara
that rose high above her tresses, and was all over resplendent with
flowers woven in jewellery; and around her delicate wrists and ankles were
twined broad chains of virgin gold, interspersed with alternate wreaths of
sapphire. Her form was the perfection of luxury; and although I have said
that her deportment was in general lively and brilliant, yet there was a
soft seriousness that every now and then settled in her eyes, which gave
her, for a moment, a look of melancholy that seemed to me more likely to
be in harmony with the secret nature of her disposition. I watched her in
particular when she spoke to Sextus; her full rich-toned voice was then
merry, and her large eyes sparkled; but when she was engaged with any
other person, she could not help gazing on the beautiful youth in silence;
and then it was that her countenance wore its deepest expression of
calmness—I had almost said, of sadness.
I had been gazing on her, I know not how long, from another part of the
room, when I heard a hearty chuckle from behind me, and thought I could
not be unacquainted with the voice. Looking round, I saw, not without
delight, the stately figure of my Prætorian Captain, Sabinus, whose
cheerful eye soon distinguished me, and who forthwith came up to salute me
in the most friendly manner. I introduced him to Licinius and Sextus, the
former of whom expressed himself as being much gratified with the
attention the centurion had shewn to me during our voyage; so that I felt
myself, as it were, no longer a stranger in the place; and the lutes and
trumpets at that moment announcing that supper was ready to be served up,
I took care to keep close to Sabinus, and to place myself near him on the
couch.
The room in which the feast was prepared, communicated by a pair of brazen
folding doors, richly sculptured, with that in which the company had
assembled; but from it, although the sun had not yet gone down, all light
was excluded, excepting what streamed from golden candelabra, and broad
lamps of bronze suspended overhead from the high and painted ceiling. The
party might consist of about twenty, who reclined along one demi-circular
couch, the covers of which were of the softest down, and the frame-work
inlaid with ivory;—the part of the room enclosed by its outline being
occupied with the table, and an open space to which the attendants had
free access. We had no sooner taken our seats than a crowd of slaves
entered, carrying large boards upon their heads, which being forthwith
arranged on the table, were seen to be loaded with dishes of gold and
silver, and all manner of drinking vessels, also with vases of rare
flowers, and urns of perfume. But how did the countenance of Sabinus
brighten, when the trumpet sounded a second time as if from below, and the
floor of the chamber was suddenly, as it were, pierced in twain, and the
pealing music ushered up a huge roasted boar, all wreathed with stately
garnishings, and standing erect on his golden platform as on a chariot of
triumph! “Ah! my dear boy,” cries he, “here comes the true king of beasts,
and only legitimate monarch of the woods. What should we not have given
for a slice of him when we were pent up, half-starved and fainting, in
that abominable ship of ours?—All hail, most potent conqueror! but whether
Germanic or Asiatic be thy proper title, I shall soon know, when that
expert Ionian has daintily carved and divided thee.” But why should I
attempt to describe to you the particulars of the feast? Let it suffice,
that whatever idea I had formed of Roman profusion was surpassed, and that
the splendour of the entertainment engaged the attention of all except
Rubellia herself, who, reclining immediately above Sextus, kept her eyes
fixed almost all the time it lasted, upon his luxuriant curls of dark
hair, unless when she caused the young damsel, her cup-bearer, to pour out
to her wine in a goblet of onyx, which she touched with her lips, and then
handed to the indifferent boy. When the supper was half over, the
folding-doors were again thrown open, and there entered a group of maidens
and beautiful youths, who danced before us to the music of the lute, and
scattered crowns of roses at the feet of Rubellia and her guests. She
herself placed one of them on the head of Sextus, and another on that of
his father, who lay on the other side of her, and then caused a large cup
of wine to be carried all around, whereof each of us tasted, and drank to
the health of the orator, in whose honour the entertainment was made. The
ladies that were present imitated the example of the hostess, and crowned
such as were by them; but Sabinus and I, not being near enough to any of
them, received that courtesy from some of the dancing maidens. Libations
were poured out abundantly on the marble floor, and all the gods were
invoked to shower down their blessings on Rubellia, and those that had
been so fortunate as to serve her. Sweet strains of music resounded
through the tall pillars of the banqueting-room, and the lamps burned
heavily in an atmosphere overloaded with perfumes.
It appeared to me, from the beginning, that my friend Sabinus witnessed,
not without some feelings of displeasure, the excessive attentions which
Rubellia lavished on young Sextus; and I gathered, from the way in which
he every now and then looked towards them during the supper, that, had the
place permitted, he would not have allowed such things to go on without
some comment. But when we had left the banqueting-room, and removed to
another apartment, where, amidst various entertainments of dancing, music,
and recitation, Rubellia still retained close to herself the heir of
Licinius, the centurion made to himself abundant amends for the previous
restraint to which his temper had been subjected. “Confess now,” said he,
“that she is a lovely creature, and that your British beauties are tame
and insipid, when compared with such a specimen of Roman fascination; and
confess, withal, that this curled boy is either the most ignorant, or the
most insusceptible of his sex. Good heavens! in what a different style was
she treated by the old magistrate, whose very bust there, in the corner,
looks quite blank and disconsolate with its great white eyes, while she,
that sate for so many months pale and weeping by his bed-side, is thinking
of nothing but to bestow all the wealth he left her on a beardless
stripling, who appears to regard the bust and the beauty with almost equal
indifference.—Alas! poor old withered Leberinus, little did you imagine
that so small a phial would suffice to hold all her tears. My only wonder
is, that she still permits your marble image to occupy even a corner of
her mansion; but, no doubt, you will soon be sent on your travels. I dare
say, some cold pedestal in the garden will, ere long, be the best birth
you need look for.—Well, well, you see what fools we may be made by the
cunning of these pretty crocodiles. I trust my dotage, when it does come,
will not shew itself in the same shape with that of my good old friend. I
hope the ghost of the worthy Prætor will not frown unseen the night she
takes this Adonis to her arms. If I were in his place, I should give her
curtains a pretty shake. By Hermes! it would not be a pretty monument and
a flowery epitaph that would make me lie still.”
“How long is it,” said I, “since this venerable magistrate died? Surely
she has allowed him the decency of a tenmonth’s grief, before she began to
give suppers, and perceive the beauty of Sextus?” “Whether it be a
tenmonth ago or not,” replied the Centurion, “is more than I can take upon
me to decide; all I know is, that it appears to me as if it were but
yesterday that I supped here, (it was just before I set off for Britain,)
and saw the young lady reclining, even at table, with those long black
curls of her’s, in the bosom of the emaciated Leberinus. By Jupiter! the
old man would not taste a drop of wine unless she kissed the cup—she
coaxed every morsel he swallowed down his throat, and clasped the garland
round his bald pate with her own fingers; ay, twice before that sleek
physician—that solemn-faced Greek, whom you see at this moment talking
with your kinsman, advised her to have him carried to his bed. For all the
gravity of his looks, I would lay a trifle, that worthy Bœotian has his
own thoughts about what is passing, as well as I. But the worst-pleased
face in the whole room is, I think, that of old Rubellius himself yonder,
who has just come in, without, it is evident, being aware that any feast
was going forward. Without question, the crafty usurer is of opinion he
might have been invited. I promise you, I can interpret the glances of
that gray-headed extortioner; and well I may, for it is not the first time
I have had an opportunity of studying them. Ay, ay, quoth he to himself,
she may do as she will with the bonds of Leberinus; but she might have
remembered, that a codicil can be easily tacked to the end of a living
man’s testament.”
“But, after all,” said I, “one must admit, that if she married old
Leberinus to please her father, the widow has some right to choose her
second husband according to the pattern of her own fancy.” “Oh! by all
means,” answered he; “let her please herself; let her make a fool of
herself now, if she will. She may perhaps learn, some time or other, that
it is as possible to have too young a husband, as to have too old a one.”
“Come now,” said I, “Sabinus, confess that if she had selected some
well-made, middle-aged man—some respectable man—some man of note and
distinction, you would have judged less harshly of poor Rubellia.” “Ah!
you cunning dog,” said he; “who would have thought that you had brought so
much wickedness from that new world of yours? But do you really think she
will wed Sextus? The boy appears strangely cold. I should not wonder, when
all is done, if the match were more of the orator’s seeking than his own.”
“I can only tell you,” said I, “that I have never heard Licinius mention
any thing about it; and, I dare say, Sextus would be very sorry to think
of losing his liberty for the sake of the wealth of Leberinus—ay, or for
that of old Rubellius to boot.” “Young friend,” quoth he, “you are not
quite acquainted with the way in which these matters are managed at Rome.
If we had you six weeks at the other side of the Viminal, we should teach
you better.”
I know not how long this sort of talk might have lasted; but Licinius put
an end to it by joining us, and soon engaged the worthy Centurion, and
several more of us, with some lively, but unintelligible discussion on the
merits of some new edict, of which none of us had ever heard, or were
likely ever to hear any thing again. We were glad to escape from the
lawyer into another room, where some Greek slaves were performing a sort
of comic pantomime, that appeared to give more delight to old Rubellius
than any other of the spectators. As for Sextus, I saw plainly that he was
quite weary of the entertainment, and anxious to get away; but we were
obliged to remain till after Licinius was gone, for it was evident that he
wished his son to see out the last. But no sooner had we heard his chariot
drive off, than the young man and I took leave of the lady, and withdrew.
Sabinus lingered a moment behind us, and then joined us in the vestibule,
from which, his course lying so far in the same direction as ours, we all
proceeded homewards on foot.