This is how the old woman came to live in the vine-dresser’s hut. And
she conceived a great friendship for the young people. But for all that
she never told them whence she had come, or who she was, and they
understood that she would not have taken it in good part had they
questioned her.
But one evening, when the day’s work was done, and all three sat on the
big, flat rock which lay before the entrance, and partook of their
evening meal, they saw an old man coming up the path.
He was a tall and powerfully built man, with shoulders as broad as a
gladiator’s. His face wore a cheerless and stern expression. The brows
jutted far out over the deep-set eyes, and the lines around the mouth
expressed bitterness and contempt. He walked with erect bearing and
quick movements.
The man wore a simple dress, and the instant the vine-dresser saw him,
he said: “He is an old soldier, one who has been discharged from service
and is now on his way home.”
When the stranger came directly before them he paused, as if in doubt.
The laborer, who knew that the road terminated a short distance beyond
the hut, laid down his spoon and called out to him: “Have you gone
astray, stranger, since you come hither? Usually, no one takes the
trouble to climb up here, unless he has an errand to one of us who live
here.”
When he questioned in this manner, the stranger came nearer. “It is as
you say,” said he. “I have taken the wrong road, and now I know not
whither I shall direct my steps. If you will let me rest here a while,
and then tell me which path I shall follow to get to some farm, I shall
be grateful to you.”
As he spake he sat down upon one of the stones which lay before the hut.
The young woman asked him if he wouldn’t share their supper, but this he
declined with a smile. On the other hand it was very evident that he was
inclined to talk with them, while they ate. He asked the young folks
about their manner of living, and their work, and they answered him
frankly and cheerfully.
Suddenly the laborer turned toward the stranger and began to question
him. “You see in what a lonely and isolated way we live,” said he. “It
must be a year at least since I have talked with any one except
shepherds and vineyard laborers. Can not you, who must come from some
camp, tell us something about Rome and the Emperor?”
Hardly had the man said this than the young wife noticed that the old
woman gave him a warning glance, and made with her hand the sign which
means—Have a care what you say.
The stranger, meanwhile, answered very affably: “I understand that you
take me for a soldier, which is not untrue, although I have long since
left the service. During Tiberius’ reign there has not been much work
for us soldiers. Yet he was once a great commander. Those were the days
of his good fortune. Now he thinks of nothing except to guard himself
against conspiracies. In Rome, every one is talking about how, last
week, he let Senator Titius be seized and executed on the merest
suspicion.”
“The poor Emperor no longer knows what he does!” exclaimed the young
woman; and shook her head in pity and surprise.
“You are perfectly right,” said the stranger, as an expression of the
deepest melancholy crossed his countenance. “Tiberius knows that every
one hates him, and this is driving him insane.”
“What say you?” the woman retorted. “Why should we hate him? We only
deplore the fact that he is no longer the great Emperor he was in the
beginning of his reign.”
“You are mistaken,” said the stranger. “Every one hates and detests
Tiberius. Why should they do otherwise? He is nothing but a cruel and
merciless tyrant. In Rome they think that from now on he will become
even more unreasonable than he has been.”
“Has anything happened, then, which will turn him into a worse beast
than he is already?” queried the vine-dresser.
When he said this, the wife noticed that the old woman gave him a new
warning signal, but so stealthily that he could not see it.
The stranger answered him in a kindly manner, but at the same time a
singular smile played about his lips.
“You have heard, perhaps, that until now Tiberius has had a friend in
his household on whom he could rely, and who has always told him the
truth. All the rest who live in his palace are fortune-hunters and
hypocrites, who praise the Emperor’s wicked and cunning acts just as
much as his good and admirable ones. But there was, as we have said, one
alone who never feared to let him know how his conduct was actually
regarded. This person, who was more courageous than senators and
generals, was the Emperor’s old nurse, Faustina.”
“I have heard of her,” said the laborer. “I’ve been told that the
Emperor has always shown her great friendship.”
“Yes, Tiberius knew how to prize her affection and loyalty. He treated
this poor peasant woman, who came from a miserable hut in the Sabine
mountains, as his second mother. As long as he stayed in Rome, he let
her live in a mansion on the Palatine, that he might always have her
near him. None of Rome’s noble matrons has fared better than she. She
was borne through the streets in a litter, and her dress was that of an
empress. When the Emperor moved to Capri, she had to accompany him, and
he bought a country estate for her there, and filled it with slaves and
costly furnishings.”
“She has certainly fared well,” said the husband.
Now it was he who kept up the conversation with the stranger. The wife
sat silent and observed with surprise the change which had come over the
old woman. Since the stranger arrived, she had not spoken a word. She
had lost her mild and friendly expression. She had pushed her food
aside, and sat erect and rigid against the door-post, and stared
straight ahead, with a severe and stony countenance.
“It was the Emperor’s intention that she should have a happy life,” said
the stranger. “But, despite all his kindly acts, she too has deserted
him.”
The old woman gave a start at these words, but the young one laid her
hand quietingly on her arm. Then she began to speak in her soft,
sympathetic voice. “I can not believe that Faustina has been as happy at
court as you say,” she said, as she turned toward the stranger. “I am
sure that she has loved Tiberius as if he had been her own son. I can
understand how proud she has been of his noble youth, and I can even
understand how it must have grieved her to see him abandon himself in
his old age to suspicion and cruelty. She has certainly warned and
admonished him every day. It has been terrible for her always to plead
in vain. At last she could no longer bear to see him sink lower and
lower.”
The stranger, astonished, leaned forward a bit when he heard this; but
the young woman did not glance up at him. She kept her eyes lowered, and
spoke very calmly and gently.
“Perhaps you are right in what you say of the old woman,” he replied.
“Faustina has really not been happy at court. It seems strange,
nevertheless, that she has left the Emperor in his old age, when she had
endured him the span of a lifetime.”
“What say you?” asked the husband. “Has old Faustina left the Emperor?”
“She has stolen away from Capri without any one’s knowledge,” said the
stranger. “She left just as poor as she came. She has not taken one of
her treasures with her.”
“And doesn’t the Emperor really know where she has gone?” asked the
wife.
“No! No one knows for certain what road the old woman has taken. Still,
one takes it for granted that she has sought refuge among her native
mountains.”
“And the Emperor does not know, either, why she has gone away?” asked
the young woman.
“No, the Emperor knows nothing of this. He can not believe she left him
because he once told her that she served him for money and gifts only,
like all the rest. She knows, however, that he has never doubted her
unselfishness. He has hoped all along that she would return to him
voluntarily, for no one knows better than she that he is absolutely
without friends.”
“I do not know her,” said the young woman, “but I think I can tell you
why she has left the Emperor. The old woman was brought up among these
mountains in simplicity and piety, and she has always longed to come
back here again. Surely she never would have abandoned the Emperor if he
had not insulted her. But I understand that, after this, she feels she
has the right to think of herself, since her days are numbered. If I
were a poor woman of the mountains, I certainly would have acted as she
did. I would have thought that I had done enough when I had served my
master during a whole lifetime. I would at last have abandoned luxury
and royal favors to give my soul a taste of honor and integrity before
it left me for the long journey.”
The stranger glanced with a deep and tender sadness at the young woman.
“You do not consider that the Emperor’s propensities will become worse
than ever. Now there is no one who can calm him when suspicion and
misanthropy take possession of him. Think of this,” he continued, as his
melancholy gaze penetrated deeply into the eyes of the young woman, “in
all the world there is no one now whom he does not hate; no one whom he
does not despise—no one!”
As he uttered these words of bitter despair, the old woman made a sudden
movement and turned toward him, but the young woman looked him straight
in the eyes and answered: “Tiberius knows that Faustina will come back
to him whenever he wishes it. But first she must know that her old eyes
need never more behold vice and infamy at his court.”
They had all risen during this speech; but the vine-dresser and his wife
placed themselves in front of the old woman, as if to shield her.
The stranger did not utter another syllable, but regarded the old woman
with a questioning glance. Is this _your_ last word also? he seemed to
want to say. The old woman’s lips quivered, but words would not pass
them.
“If the Emperor has loved his old servant, then he can also let her live
her last days in peace,” said the young woman.
The stranger hesitated still, but suddenly his dark countenance
brightened. “My friends,” said he, “whatever one may say of Tiberius,
there is one thing which he has learned better than others; and that
is—renunciation. I have only one thing more to say to you: If this old
woman, of whom we have spoken, should come to this hut, receive her
well! The Emperor’s favor rests upon any one who succors her.”
He wrapped his mantle about him and departed the same way that he had
come.