After this, the vine-dresser and his wife never again spoke to the old
woman about the Emperor. Between themselves they marveled that she, at
her great age, had had the strength to renounce all the wealth and power
to which she had become accustomed. “I wonder if she will not soon go
back to Tiberius?” they asked themselves. “It is certain that she still
loves him. It is in the hope that it will awaken him to reason and
enable him to repent of his low conduct, that she has left him.”
“A man as old as the Emperor will never begin a new life,” said the
laborer. “How are you going to rid him of his great contempt for
mankind? Who could go to him and teach him to love his fellow man? Until
this happens, he can not be cured of suspicion and cruelty.”
“You know that there is one who could actually do it,” said the wife. “I
often think of how it would turn out, if the two should meet. But God’s
ways are not our ways.”
The old woman did not seem to miss her former life at all. After a time
the young wife gave birth to a child. The old woman had the care of it;
she seemed so content in consequence that one could have thought she had
forgotten all her sorrows.
Once every half-year she used to wrap her long, gray mantle around her,
and wander down to Rome. There she did not seek a soul, but went
straight to the Forum. Here she stopped outside a little temple, which
was erected on one side of the superbly decorated square.
All there was of this temple was an uncommonly large altar, which stood
in a marble-paved court under the open sky. On the top of the altar,
Fortuna, the goddess of happiness, was enthroned, and at its foot was a
statue of Tiberius. Encircling the court were buildings for the priests,
storerooms for fuel, and stalls for the beasts of sacrifice.
Old Faustina’s journeys never extended beyond this temple, where those
who would pray for the welfare of Tiberius were wont to come. When she
cast a glance in there and saw that both the goddess’ and the Emperor’s
statue were wreathed in flowers; that the sacrificial fire burned; that
throngs of reverent worshipers were assembled before the altar, and
heard the priests’ low chants sounding thereabouts, she turned around
and went back to the mountains.
In this way she learned, without having to question a human being, that
Tiberius was still among the living, and that all was well with him.
The third time she undertook this journey, she met with a surprise. When
she reached the little temple, she found it empty and deserted. No fire
burned before the statue, and not a worshiper was seen. A couple of
dried garlands still hung on one side of the altar, but this was all
that testified to its former glory. The priests were gone, and the
Emperor’s statue, which stood there unguarded, was damaged and
mud-bespattered.
The old woman turned to the first passer-by. “What does this mean?” she
asked. “Is Tiberius dead? Have we another Emperor?”
“No,” replied the Roman, “Tiberius is still Emperor, but we have ceased
to pray for him. Our prayers can no longer benefit him.”
“My friend,” said the old woman, “I live far away among the mountains,
where one learns nothing of what happens out in the world. Won’t you
tell me what dreadful misfortune has overtaken the Emperor?”
“The most dreadful of all misfortunes! He has been stricken with a
disease which has never before been known in Italy, but which seems to
be common in the Orient. Since this evil has befallen the Emperor, his
features are changed, his voice has become like an animal’s grunt, and
his toes and fingers are rotting away. And for this illness there
appears to be no remedy. They believe that he will die within a few
weeks. But if he does not die, he will be dethroned, for such an ill and
wretched man can no longer conduct the affairs of State. You understand,
of course, that his fate is a foregone conclusion. It is useless to
invoke the gods for his success, and it is not worth while,” he added,
with a faint smile. “No one has anything more either to fear or hope
from him. Why, then, should we trouble ourselves on his account?”
He nodded and walked away; but the old woman stood there as if stunned.
For the first time in her life she collapsed, and looked like one whom
age has subdued. She stood with bent back and trembling head, and with
hands that groped feebly in the air.
She longed to get away from the place, but she moved her feet slowly.
She looked around to find something which she could use as a staff.
But after a few moments, by a tremendous effort of the will, she
succeeded in conquering the faintness.