A week later, old Faustina wandered up the steep inclines on the Island
of Capri. It was a warm day and the dread consciousness of old age and
feebleness came over her as she labored up the winding roads and the
hewn-out steps in the mountain, which led to Tiberius’ villa.
This feeling increased when she observed how changed everything had
become during the time she had been away. In truth, on and alongside
these steps there had always before been throngs of people. Here it used
fairly to swarm with senators, borne by giant Libyans; with messengers
from the provinces attended by long processions of slaves; with
office-seekers; with noblemen invited to participate in the Emperor’s
feasts.
But to-day the steps and passages were entirely deserted. Gray-greenish
lizards were the only living things which the old woman saw in her path.
She was amazed to see that already everything appeared to be going to
ruin. At most, the Emperor’s illness could not have progressed more than
two months, and yet the grass had already taken root in the cracks
between the marble stones. Rare growths, planted in beautiful vases,
were already withered and here and there mischievous spoilers, whom no
one had taken the trouble to stop, had broken down the balustrade.
But to her the most singular thing of all was the entire absence of
people. Even if strangers were forbidden to appear on the island,
attendants at least should still be found there: the endless crowds of
soldiers and slaves; of dancers and musicians; of cooks and stewards; of
palace-sentinels and gardeners, who belonged to the Emperor’s household.
When Faustina reached the upper terrace, she caught sight of two slaves,
who sat on the steps in front of the villa. As she approached, they rose
and bowed to her.
“Be greeted, Faustina!” said one of them. “It is a god who sends thee to
lighten our sorrows.”
“What does this mean, Milo?” asked Faustina. “Why is it so deserted
here? Yet they have told me that Tiberius still lives at Capri.”
“The Emperor has driven away all his slaves because he suspects that one
of us has given him poisoned wine to drink, and that this has brought on
the illness. He would have driven even Tito and myself away, if we had
not refused to obey him; yet, as you know, we have all our lives served
the Emperor and his mother.”
“I do not ask after slaves only,” said Faustina. “Where are the senators
and field marshals? Where are the Emperor’s intimate friends, and all
the fawning fortune-hunters?”
“Tiberius does not wish to show himself before strangers,” said the
slave. “Senator Lucius and Marco, Commander of the Life Guard, come here
every day and receive orders. No one else may approach him.”
Faustina had gone up the steps to enter the villa. The slave went before
her, and on the way she asked: “What say the physicians of Tiberius’
illness?”
“None of them understands how to treat this illness. They do not even
know if it kills quickly or slowly. But this I can tell you, Faustina,
Tiberius must die if he continues to refuse all food for fear it may be
poisoned. And I know that a sick man can not stay awake night and day,
as the Emperor does, for fear he may be murdered in his sleep. If he
will trust you as in former days, you might succeed in making him eat
and sleep. Thereby you can prolong his life for many days.”
The slave conducted Faustina through several passages and courts to a
terrace which Tiberius used to frequent to enjoy the view of the
beautiful bays and proud Vesuvius.
When Faustina stepped out upon the terrace, she saw a hideous creature
with a swollen face and animal-like features. His hands and feet were
swathed in white bandages, but through the bandages protruded
half-rotted fingers and toes. And this being’s clothes were soiled and
dusty. It was evident he could not walk erect, but had been obliged to
crawl out upon the terrace. He lay with closed eyes near the balustrade
at the farthest end, and did not move when the slave and Faustina came.
Faustina whispered to the slave, who walked before her: “But, Milo, how
can such a creature be found here on the Emperor’s private terrace? Make
haste, and take him away!”
But she had scarcely said this when she saw the slave bow to the ground
before the miserable creature who lay there.
“Cæsar Tiberius,” said he, “at last I have glad tidings to bring thee.”
At the same time the slave turned toward Faustina, but he shrank back,
aghast! and could not speak another word.
He did not behold the proud matron who had looked so strong that one
might have expected that she would live to the age of a sibyl. In this
moment, she had drooped into impotent age, and the slave saw before him
a bent old woman with misty eyes and fumbling hands.
Faustina had certainly heard that the Emperor was terribly changed, yet
never for a moment had she ceased to think of him as the strong man he
was when she last saw him. She had also heard some one say that this
illness progressed slowly, and that it took years to transform a human
being. But here it had advanced with such virulence that it had made the
Emperor unrecognizable in just two months.
She tottered up to the Emperor. She could not speak, but stood silent
beside him, and wept.
“Are you come now, Faustina?” he said, without opening his eyes. “I lay
and fancied that you stood here and wept over me. I dare not look up for
fear I will find that it was only an illusion.”
Then the old woman sat down beside him. She raised his head and placed
it on her knee.
But Tiberius lay still, without looking at her. A sense of sweet repose
enfolded him, and the next moment he sank into a peaceful slumber.
V
A few weeks later, one of the Emperor’s slaves came to the lonely hut in
the Sabine mountains. It drew on toward evening, and the vine-dresser
and his wife stood in the doorway and saw the sun set in the distant
west. The slave turned out of the path, and came up and greeted them.
Thereupon he took a heavy purse, which he carried in his girdle, and
laid it in the husband’s hand.
“This, Faustina, the old woman to whom you have shown compassion, sends
you,” said the slave. “She begs that with this money you will purchase a
vineyard of your own, and build you a house that does not lie as high in
the air as the eagles’ nests.”
“Old Faustina still lives, then?” said the husband. “We have searched
for her in cleft and morass. When she did not come back to us, I thought
that she had met her death in these wretched mountains.”
“Don’t you remember,” the wife interposed, “that I would not believe
that she was dead? Did I not say to you that she had gone back to the
Emperor?”
This the husband admitted. “And I am glad,” he added, “that you were
right, not only because Faustina has become rich enough to help us out
of our poverty, but also on the poor Emperor’s account.”
The slave wanted to say farewell at once, in order to reach densely
settled quarters before dark, but this the couple would not permit. “You
must stop with us until morning,” said they. “We can not let you go
before you have told us all that has happened to Faustina. Why has she
returned to the Emperor? What was their meeting like? Are they glad to
be together again?”
The slave yielded to these solicitations. He followed them into the hut,
and during the evening meal he told them all about the Emperor’s illness
and Faustina’s return.
When the slave had finished his narrative, he saw that both the man and
the woman sat motionless—dumb with amazement. Their gaze was fixed on
the ground, as though not to betray the emotion which affected them.
Finally the man looked up and said to his wife: “Don’t you believe God
has decreed this?”
“Yes,” said the wife, “surely it was for this that our Lord sent us
across the sea to this lonely hut. Surely this was His purpose when He
sent the old woman to our door.”
As soon as the wife had spoken these words, the vine-dresser turned
again to the slave.
“Friend!” he said to him, “you shall carry a message from me to
Faustina. Tell her this word for word! Thus your friend the vineyard
laborer from the Sabine mountains greets you. You have seen the young
woman, my wife. Did she not appear fair to you, and blooming with
health? And yet this young woman once suffered from the same disease
which now has stricken Tiberius.”
The slave made a gesture of surprise, but the vine-dresser continued
with greater emphasis on his words.
“If Faustina refuses to believe my word, tell her that my wife and I
came from Palestine, in Asia, a land where this disease is common. There
the law is such that the lepers are driven from the cities and towns,
and must live in tombs and mountain grottoes. Tell Faustina that my wife
was born of diseased parents in a mountain grotto. As long as she was a
child she was healthy, but when she grew up into young maidenhood she
was stricken with the disease.”
The slave bowed, smiled pleasantly, and said: “How can you expect that
Faustina will believe this? She has seen your wife in her beauty and
health. And she must know that there is no remedy for this illness.”
The man replied: “It were best for her that she believed me. But I am
not without witnesses. She can send inquiries over to Nazareth, in
Galilee. There every one will confirm my statement.”
“Is it perchance through a miracle of some god that your wife has been
cured?” asked the slave.
“Yes, it is as you say,” answered the laborer. “One day a rumor reached
the sick who lived in the wilderness: ‘Behold, a great Prophet has
arisen in Nazareth of Galilee. He is filled with the power of God’s
spirit, and he can cure your illness just by laying his hand upon your
forehead!’ But the sick, who lay in their misery, would not believe that
this rumor was the truth. ‘No one can heal us,’ they said. ‘Since the
days of the great prophets no one has been able to save one of us from
this misfortune.’
“But there was one amongst them who believed, and that was a young
maiden. She left the others to seek her way to the city of Nazareth,
where the Prophet lived. One day, when she wandered over wide plains,
she met a man tall of stature, with a pale face and hair which lay in
even, black curls. His dark eyes shone like stars and drew her toward
him. But before they met, she called out to him: ‘Come not near me, for
I am unclean, but tell me where I can find the Prophet from Nazareth!’
But the man continued to walk towards her, and when he stood directly in
front of her, he said: ‘Why seekest thou the Prophet of Nazareth?’—‘I
seek him that he may lay his hand on my forehead and heal me of my
illness.’ Then the man went up and laid his hand upon her brow. But she
said to him: ‘What doth it avail me that you lay your hand upon my
forehead? You surely are no prophet?’ Then he smiled on her and said:
‘Go now into the city which lies yonder at the foot of the mountain, and
show thyself before the priests!’
“The sick maiden thought to herself: ‘He mocks me because I believe I
can be healed. From him I can not learn what I would know.’ And she went
farther. Soon thereafter she saw a man, who was going out to hunt,
riding across the wide field. When he came so near that he could hear
her, she called to him: ‘Come not close to me, I am unclean! But tell me
where I can find the Prophet of Nazareth!’ ‘What do you want of the
Prophet?’ asked the man, riding slowly toward her. ‘I wish only that he
might lay his hand on my forehead and heal me of my illness.’ The man
rode still nearer. ‘Of what illness do you wish to be healed?’ said he.
‘Surely you need no physician!’ ‘Can’t you see that I am a leper?’ said
she. ‘I was born of diseased parents in a mountain grotto.’ But the man
continued to approach, for she was beautiful and fair, like a new-blown
rose. ‘You are the most beautiful maiden in Judea!’ he exclaimed. ‘Ah,
taunt me not—you, too!’ said she. ‘I know that my features are
destroyed, and that my voice is like a wild beast’s growl.’
“He looked deep into her eyes and said to her: ‘Your voice is as
resonant as the spring brook’s when it ripples over pebbles, and your
face is as smooth as a coverlet of soft satin.’
“That moment he rode so close to her that she could see her face in the
shining mountings which decorated his saddle. ‘You shall look at
yourself here,’ said he. She did so, and saw a face smooth and soft as a
newly-formed butterfly wing. ‘What is this that I see?’ she said. ‘This
is not my face!’ ‘Yes, it is your face,’ said the rider. ‘But my voice,
is it not rough? Does it not sound as when wagons are drawn over a stony
road?’ ‘No! It sounds like a zither player’s sweetest songs,’ said the
rider.
“She turned and pointed toward the road. ‘Do you know who that man is
just disappearing behind the two oaks?’ she asked.
“‘It is he whom you lately asked after; it is the Prophet from
Nazareth,’ said the man. Then she clasped her hands in astonishment, and
tears filled her eyes. ‘Oh, thou Holy One! Oh, thou Messenger of God’s
power!’ she cried. Thou hast healed me!’
“Then the rider lifted her into the saddle and bore her to the city at
the foot of the mountain and went with her to the priests and elders,
and told them how he had found her. They questioned her carefully; but
when they heard that the maiden was born in the wilderness of diseased
parents, they would not believe that she was healed. ‘Go back thither
whence you came!’ said they. ‘If you have been ill, you must remain so
as long as you live. You must not come here to the city, to infect the
rest of us with your disease.’
“She said to them: ‘I know that I am well, for the Prophet from Nazareth
hath laid his hand upon my forehead.’
“When they heard this they exclaimed: ‘Who is he, that he should be able
to make clean the unclean? All this is but a delusion of the evil
spirits. Go back to your own, that you may not bring destruction upon
all of us!’
“They would not declare her healed, and they forbade her to remain in
the city. They decreed that each and every one who gave her shelter
should also be adjudged unclean.
“When the priests had pronounced this judgment, the young maiden turned
to the man who had found her in the field: ‘Whither shall I go now? Must
I go back again to the lepers in the wilderness?’
“But the man lifted her once more upon his horse, and said to her: ‘No,
under no conditions shall you go out to the lepers in their mountain
caves, but we two shall travel across the sea to another land, where
there are no laws for clean and unclean.’ And they——”
But when the vineyard laborer had got thus far in his narrative, the
slave arose and interrupted him. “You need not tell any more,” said he.
“Stand up rather and follow me on the way, you who know the mountains,
so that I can begin my home journey to-night, and not wait until
morning. The Emperor and Faustina can not hear your tidings a moment too
soon.”
When the vine-dresser had accompanied the slave, and come home again to
the hut, he found his wife still awake.
“I can not sleep,” said she. “I am thinking that these two will meet: he
who loves all mankind, and he who hates them. Such a meeting would be
enough to sweep the earth out of existence!”