been employing Xerophrastes in some such embassies; and, if I mistake not
the matter, he would feel himself quite as much in his element, trotting
along the Sacred Way, and so forth, on such delicate errands for the
father, as in expounding musty parchments to the son.”—“No matter for all
that,” quoth Dromo, rubbing his hands; “the more enemies the more glory.
Would Miltiades have been pleased had the Spartans arrived?—Leave all to
me—take you care only of Sextus, and I am not afraid for any reinforcement
that rascally rhetorician may bring against me.”—While he was saying so,
the face of the Cretan exhibited symptoms of incipient glee; and he
concluded with snapping his fingers, and uttering a short keen whistle,
such as you have heard from the lips of a hunter, when the dogs begin to
bay around a thicket.
Seeing his eyes dance with the expectation of some bustling scene, I could
not help participating, in some measure, in the feelings of the Cretan;
and, “Dear Dromo,” said I, “I beseech you, if it be possible, let me have
a share in whatever you resolve upon.”—“Watch well,” replied he, “during
the day, and you shall see what you shall see, when the moon mounts above
the Cœlian, and the hour for grubbing among herbs and bones is come.—But
now I hear some one coming—it is Licinius.”—Dromo, finger on lip, glided
from the room. Nor had his well-practised ears deceived him, for he
scarcely vanished, before my kinsman entered.
“Valerius,” said he, saluting me affectionately, “I thought you were
probably much fatigued with your spectacles, so I desired that nobody
should call you this morning; but I met Boto in the hall, and hearing that
you were astir, I have come up, for I wish a little private conversation.
Shall we walk in the eastern portico, till Xerophrastes leaves Sextus at
liberty?”
He led the way along the gallery, and in passing, we also heard the deep
voice of the rhetorician resounding among the pillars, and could even
catch a few of the magniloquent phrases with which he was feeding the ears
of his pupil. “Ay, ay,” says Licinius, “I wish, indeed, it were possible
to inspire the youth with some sense of what is due to the dignity of
principle, and how absurd it is to think of gratifying whims at the
expense of duty. But I fear the boy is incorrigible; and, Caius, I am
sorry to say, I suspect you have been looking on his errors with a
countenance rather of favour and of confirmation, than, as I should have
expected, of rebuke.”
“Licinius,” said I, “you know not how much you distress me. I could rather
die than encourage Sextus in any thing I thought evil; but, indeed, I have
seen nothing to make me imagine him capable of such conduct.”
“Come, by Hercules,” returned he, “there is no occasion for so many words.
I thought it very odd that you went away so soon from the Forum the other
day, considering that you had never been there before; but I thought it
doubly and trebly remarkable that Sextus should have accompanied you, when
the case in hand affected the affairs of Rubellia. But I have since found
out that it was not the society of old Capito which attracted him—no, my
friend, nor yet the alarm of a thunder storm that detained you at the
villa. In a word, Valerius, I strongly suspect that Sextus is carrying on
an intrigue with a young lady whom I never saw, but who, I am quite sure,
will never be mistress of a dozen lizards, and that this is the true cause
of his reluctance concerning a match, which, to say nothing of the
pleasure it would give to me, is the only means by which I can see any
prospect of the young man’s fortune being made, and the dignity of his
family kept up, after another effigy shall have been added to our hall.
Infatuated and headstrong boy! if he owes nothing to himself or to me, is
it possible that he can look upon that venerable line of sages and heroes,
without feeling shame in the degradation of his own earth-stooping
desires?”
“Without question,” said I, “you allude to the Lady Rubellia, whom, as I
have heard from various quarters, you are desirous of seeing wedded to
Sextus.”
“Yes, Caius Valerius, it is indeed to her I allude; and it is of the
obstacle which—unwittingly, I doubt not—you yourself have been throwing in
the way of that union, that I have now to make my complaint. Not such the
service that I had expected from my kinsman. Rubellia is descended from a
noble family, and, both in possession and expectation, her wealth is
great. Two heavy fines laid upon me by Domitian, and the expense at which
I have maintained my rank among the great patrons of Rome—these things
together have impoverished me, and to an extent not altogether convenient.
In this boy my hopes were placed; and see now how they are all likely to
be blasted for a dimpled cheek and a pair of wanton eyes!—or rather,
indeed, I should say, for the sake of the malignant pleasure that is
derived from thwarting my purposes; for, if beauty were what the boy
wanted, where should he find beauty beyond Rubellia? Perhaps, Caius, I
should, before this time, have made you acquainted with my intentions from
my own lips. But it is my own foolish indulgence which has made my
degenerate boy quite forget, not only what is the duty of a son, but what
is the power of a father.”
“I trust,” said I, “there is no need for all this seriousness. Sextus has
only laid aside the garb of a stripling; it is too much to be despairing
of his success in life, only because he is unwilling, at a period so
early, to enter upon a permanent connection. Is it possible, that, if he
really dislike Rubellia, you would wish to see him marry her—only to
divorce her, without question, as soon as he should find it possible to do
so without inconvenience?”—“Handsome, rich, noble, and almost as young as
himself, why, in the name of all the gods, for what cause should he
divorce Rubellia?”—“Sir,” said I, “he loves not Rubellia, nor will ever
love her; and if you cause your son to marry this woman, look you well to
it, that the unhappiness of both rest not on your head. Handsome, rich,
noble, and young she may be; but I am sure, she has neither such a heart,
nor such a mind, as should belong to the wife of your Sextus. A luxurious
woman is Rubellia, and I have seen her find luxury in the contemplation of
blood. Wed not Rubellia to your son.”—“Peace, Valerius,” he answered;
“what boyish nonsense is this?—I _will_ wed Rubellia to my son; and let
him see to it, that he tempts me not farther with his disobedience.”
Licinius said these last words in a voice of so much earnestness, that I
knew not well what answer to make to him; but while I was hesitating, one
of the little boys about the house, (I mean the children of the domestic
slaves,) said, “If it please my lord, the same senator that was here in
the morning is waiting in the hall.”—“Pontius Mamurra!” said the orator,
leaving me.
I, for my part, when I heard the name of the visiter, began to understand
somewhat of the channel through which my kinsman had been informed about
what had passed at the Suburban. I had no leisure, however, to reflect
long upon this hint; for I found Sextus waiting for me. “Come,” he said,
“I was afraid I must set off without you. My father has been looking on me
this morning with such an aspect of displeasure as I rarely before
witnessed in him, and if I defer going to the painter about this likeness,
he will be altogether enraged at supper-time. I know very well he means
the ring, in which it is to be placed, for another present to Rubellia;
but notwithstanding, what can I do? Any opposition to him in lesser
matters would only tend to bring on some final explanation about the great
affair itself, and that, whether it be weakness in me or not, I as yet
have no courage to encounter. The man must be expecting me; and I am sure
you will accompany me, for I have much need of you to keep up my heart.
Xerophrastes, indeed, has been desired to go with me; but he will be no
comfort, for I see plainly, from the drift of his harangues, that he is
enlisted against me. Dear Caius, I have nobody in the whole world I can
trust to but Dromo and yourself.”
He had scarcely said so, when we heard Xerophrastes pacing up and down
with solemn strides in the gallery; so I knew not how to excuse myself,
although I was very anxious to have staid at home for another purpose.
Sextus had taken my gown from the nail; he threw it over my shoulders
before I had time to say any thing, and we were soon on our way to his
ungrateful destination.
_CHAPTER II._
We had to traverse a considerable part of the city; for this painter was
one of those who exercise their art during the public hours of the day in
the baths of the Palatine, where, as you have heard, in the wide circuit
of the princely residence, abundant accommodation is set forth for all
such ingenious persons. We proceeded along the edge of the river, and by
the west of the Capitol, following the line of that great Triumphal Way
which has been witness of so many glorious pageants; for so, they told me,
we should most easily ascend into the Cæsarian courts. But when we had
come thither, we found the whole open space, in front of the portico and
stairs of Trajan, occupied by a detachment of the Prætorian cohorts, drawn
up in splendid array to receive some promised donative; while the music,
and the clamours of their mustering, had collected enough of spectators to
render the passage onwards in some measure difficult. We were constrained
to form part of their attendance, and stood gazing among the multitude.
Even Xerophrastes caught some animation from the brilliancy of the
spectacle; and the enamoured and perplexed Sextus himself, beating time on
my shoulder, seemed to have forgotten, for a moment, the anxieties of his
situation.
Some horsemen, however, riding along to keep the ground open in front of
the soldiery, compelled us to shift to the eastward, where many chariots
were drawn up—and in one of these Rubellia. The lady looked paler than I
had before seen her, and had not the air of being in the smallest degree
occupied with what was passing. I did not think it necessary to take any
notice of her being there to my companions, and was willing, indeed, to
keep myself turned away from the place where she sat, in order to avoid
our being recognized. Yet there was something in her aspect and attitude,
that, as by a sort of fascination, drew my eyes to the spot I wished to
avoid. From time to time, therefore, I felt myself constrained to regard
the melancholy lady; and by and by, Sextus perceived what it was that
attracted my attention:—so I discovered, although he said not a word, from
a fervent pressure upon my arm as I stood before him. At that moment there
drew near a little ugly old woman, with no covering upon her head but long
coarse gray clusters of hair hanging matted and twisted down upon her
shoulders, who lifted up a basket of trinkets, and presented it; but
Rubellia started on her seat, and, looking in the face of the old
creature, manifested signs of no trivial emotion; for her colour returned
with a sudden flush, and her eyes recovered all their animation, and it
was evident she had something to say which could not regard the gaudy
ornaments offered to her view. Whatever it was, however, she did not
occupy much time in saying it; for scarcely a minute elapsed before the
basket was lowered again, and the old woman began to move towards another
part of the crowd; on which Rubellia sunk back in her chariot, and
appeared to relapse into pensive abstraction.
Presently a low voice croaking out, “Rings, rings—amulets and rings!”
amongst the crowd that stood immediately behind me; and I perceived the
same woman pushing her basket between Xerophrastes and Sextus.—“Noble
youth,” quoth the hag, leering, “lovely young gentleman—sweet Adonis, my
charming lord, do now look into old Pona’s basket—do take a look at
Ponula’s rings and amulets—her amulets and rings. Here is one that I could
have sold a hundred times, but I was determined to keep it till I should
see the prettiest young gentleman in Rome, and I will never go back to
Naples without selling it, after this day; for this little amulet must be
nobody’s but yours. You will break my heart, my prince, if you buy not my
beautiful amulet.”
“And what,” said Sextus, blushing and laughing, “may be the virtues of
your amulet?”
Then laying her yellow hand upon his shoulder, till she had made him stoop
down so that she might get close to his ear, she began to pour out, with
much mysterious volubility, all the story of its marvellous potencies; but
what she said even I could not know, only I heard the words, “Æthiopian,
Æthiopian,” and “Memnon, Memnon,” and something about “not a pretty lady
in Rome.” But just as the woman was most earnest in her whisper, and
Sextus, apparently at least, in listening, I found my gown plucked from
behind, and behold, there was Dromo, with a countenance tremulously
agitated, and white as a piece of dead parchment, pointing to his young
master and the old hag, and beseeching me to separate them, by motions in
nowise to be mistaken. How he had come thither, or what was the cause of
this anxiety, I had no time to conjecture, for before I could say a word,
he began to bellow out,—“The horses, the horses—make room for the horses;”
and immediately those that stood near him began to move a little, and
then, the cry being repeated, those that stood farther off mistaking the
noise of their feet for the approach of some new squadron, there arose a
sort of rushing among the crowd; and, in a twinkling, the voice of Pona
was heard grumbling and croaking at a distance from the place to which our
party were borne. Close, nevertheless, did the faithful Cretan stick to
us; and no sooner was quiet in some measure restored, and the false alarm
he had created at an end, than he whispered into my ear, “For the sake of
all that is sacred, let not that foul hag speak another word to my young
master—I will tell you more anon. Meantime, haste ye, haste ye. Make the
best of your speed to the Palatine; it will be much easier for you to push
your way thither, than it was for me to reach you.”
My friend being already weary of the heat and the pressure, we were ready
to take advantage of an opening pointed out by the Cretan. It so happened,
however, that in the same commotion the chariot of Rubellia also had
changed its situation; for just as we had escaped, as I thought, and were
about to place our feet on the magnificent flight of stairs that leads
from the New Way to the Augustan Towers, there came to us a lad of that
lady’s household, who told us she was near at hand, and desirous, if it so
pleased us, of our company. Aware that we were in sight, how could we
disobey? We found the lady in her chariot, but not such as we had seen her
before. On the contrary, the liveliness of her aspect seemed now to be
restored, and she received us with her usual gaiety of address. “Careless
men,” said she, as we drew near; “I suppose I might have sat here till the
Greek Kalends, before any one of you would have observed me.”
“Most noble lady,” quoth Xerophrastes, “bear it not indignantly, that
amidst all the confusion of men and horses, and trumpets and shoutings,
our attention was abstracted from that which was most worthy of notice. My
young friends deserve to be excused, since even I, who am not in the habit
of being much troubled by such vanities, was so bewildered that I scarcely
knew my right hand from my left, in this human chaos.—Pardon, noble
Rubellia; we have been unwitting offenders.”
“And was it so?” said the lady, not looking at the Stoic.—“But I did not
call for you to hear useless apologies. What new sight is it that attracts
you to the Palatine?—or is it only that you are desirous of exhibiting to
Valerius the old-established wonders of the place? In either case, I have
half a mind to accompany you. In spite of all they tell us about the
Golden House, I can scarcely think the Palatine shewed more splendidly
than it does now, even in the days of Nero.”
“Indeed,” said I, as we began to mount together the broad slabbed steps
which rise up, tier above tier, from the portico on the street, to that
which hangs on the brow—“Indeed, it is not easy for me to doubt that
Rubellia is in the right.”—For now, on one side, were all the pillars and
arches of the Forum stretched out below us, and, on the other, lay the
great Circus, topped with its obelisk; while before rose the gray cliffs
of the Capitoline, with their domes and proud pinnacles in the glow of
noontide—the space between, radiant with arms and banners. Even
Xerophrastes did not refrain from some ejaculations.—“Illustrious Rome!
how great is thy sublimity!” And then, after a pause, he repeated, in a
voice of much majesty, those verses from the Fury of Ajax:
“Oh! might I be where o’er the living deep
Lies the broad shadow of the Sounian cliff,
Waving with all its glorious garniture,
Of rock-sprung foliage: from old Ocean’s side,
That I might look on Athens once again!”
Some of the hints which had reached me concerning his nativity recurring
to my recollection, I could not help echoing his quotation with another
from the Æneid, about the wide tracts ploughed by the Thracians; of which
impertinence the sage took no notice.
Nor was admiration diminished when, having gained the top of that massive
staircase, or rather, as I should say, hill of marble, we passed beneath
the sounding portal, the sole remnant of the original pile of Augustus,
and found ourselves within the first of those great imperial quadrangles,
by which the whole summit of that once so variously and multitudinously
peopled region is now occupied. The light and airy porticoes—the domes—the
princely towers—the universal profusion of marble, brass, ivory, flaming
gold, lavished on arch, metope, and architrave—all conspired to dazzle the
sight, and I stood still to gaze.
“Observe,” said Sextus, “those two equestrian statues of bronze on the
left hand. I have heard my father say that they mark the sites of two
houses, which, before Augustus began to enclose the whole Palatine in his
walls, were inhabited, the one by Cicero, the other by Clodius; these are
the only traces of their mansions.”
“What grim-looking figures!” said the lady; “yet, I dare say, they don’t
cast half such fierce looks on each other, as the predecessors you
mention. I should like to have seen the countenance of old Tully, the
morning he went down the hill to deliver his harangue for Milo.”
“I am glad,” said I, “that Sextus has told me this; for in reading those
famous philippics in time to come, I shall possess a new key to the
bitterness of their phraseology, knowing, as I do, that the two lived just
over the way from each other, and that the orator, when his spirits were
flagging, could derive a new reinforcement of spleen from merely putting
his head out of the window.”—“To hear you,” says Rubellia, “one would
think you were studying the art of making philippics—I am afraid, that if
it be so, my joining your party may prove to have been but an ill-judged
thing; for if any of you be preparing to abuse me, my presence will serve
to sharpen your weapons.”—“In that case, however,” interrupted the smiling
Xerophrastes, “my noble lady will admit, that the converse also will hold
good, and that if praise be in meditation, it will not be the feebler
because the subject of the intended panegyric has passed before our
eyes.”—“Most courteous of men,” replied the lady, “who talks of the
stiffness of the Porch? To-day and yesterday you have paid me as many
compliments as might give a lesson to the gayest trifler about these
baths. If all,” she continued, (gazing as she spoke, with all her eyes
upon Sextus,)—“if all were as profuse, I should be unable to sustain the
weight of their civilities.”—“Nay, Oh! generous lady,” quoth the sage
again, “it must be remembered, that, as the poet has expressed it, there
are two kinds of shame—there is the wicked shame and the good shame. Why
should it be doubted, that a modest Verecundity, not unsuitable to their
age, has laid her finger on the lips of our young friends? I swear by the
Victrix of Ida, that your presence itself is that which occasions their
silence;—bear it not ill—bear it not harshly—the young will learn—not
every one has seen Corinth.”—“No, truly,” answered the laughing lady; “but
I doubt whether they that have been so fortunate, have ever seen any thing
half so fine as what now awaits Valerius.”
She pointed to the solemn Doric columns which sustain the portico of the
famous Temple of Apollo, whose shade lay far out upon the court before us;
and, passing between those brazen horsemen, we soon began to ascend the
steps that lead up to the shrine. Nor can I tell you how delightful was
the fragrant coolness, which reigned beneath the influence of that massive
canopy of marble, to us whose eyes had been so long supporting the
meridian blaze. We entered with slow steps within the vestibule of the
Temple, and stood there for some space, enjoying in silence the soft
breath of air that played around the flowing fountains. Then passing on,
the airy hall received us; and I saw the statue of Phœbus presiding, like
a pillar of tender light, over the surrounding darkness of the vaulted
place; for, to the lofty shrine of the God of day no light of day had
access, and there lay only a small creeping flame burning thin upon his
altar; but a dim and sweet radiance, like that of the stars in autumn, was
diffused all upon the statue, and the altar, and the warlike trophies
suspended in the inner recesses, from the sacred tree of silver that
stands in the centre; amidst the trembling enamelled leaves and drooping
boughs of which hung many lamps, after the shape and fashion of
pomegranates: and out of every pomegranate flowed a separate gleam of that
soft light, supplied mysteriously through the stem of the silver tree.
There appeared presently from behind the statue, a majestic woman, arrayed
in long white garments, and having a fillet of laurel leaves twined above
her veil. Venerable and stately was her mien, but haughty, rather than
serene, the aspect of her countenance. Without looking towards us, she
went up to the altar, and began to busy herself in trimming the sacred
fire, which, as I have said, exhibited only a lambent flame. When, with
many kneelings and other ceremonies, she had accomplished this service,
the priestess turned again, as if to depart; and then first, as it seemed,
observing the presence of strangers, she stood still before the altar, and
regarding us attentively, began to recognize the Lady Rubellia; whom,
forthwith advancing, she saluted courteously, and invited to come with the
rest of us into her privacy, behind the shrine of the God.
She led the way, Rubellia and the rest of us in her train, through several
folding-doors, and along many narrow passages all inlaid, on roof, wall,
and floor, with snow-white alabaster and rich mosaic work; until at length
we came to a little airy chamber, where three young maidens were sitting
with their embroidering cushions, while one, taller than the rest, whose
back was placed towards us, knelt on the floor, touching, with slow
fingers, the strings of a Dorian lyre. Hearing the sound of her music as
we entered, we stood still in the door-way, and the priestess, willing
apparently that our approach should remain unknown, advancing a step or
two before us, said, “Sing on—I have trimmed the flame; but remember, I
pray you, that the precincts of Phœbus are not those of Pluto, and let not
your chant be of such funereal solemnity. We solitaries have little need
of depressing numbers.”
“Dear friend,” replied she that had been thus addressed, without changing
her attitude, “you must bear with my numbers such as they are; for if you
bid me sing only merry strains, I am afraid neither voice nor fingers may
be able well to obey you.”
These words were spoken in a low and melancholy voice, which I well
recognized. Sextus, also, perceived who spoke; but when he looked at me to
signify this, I motioned to keep silence.