BLACKWOOD’S
STANDARD NOVELS
VALERIUS
VALERIUS.
BOOK I. CHAPTER I.
Since you are desirous, my friends, that I should relate to you, at length and in order, the things which happened to me during my journey to Rome, notwithstanding the pain which it must cost me to throw myself back into some of the feelings of that time, I cannot refuse to comply with your request. After threescore years spent in this remote province of an empire, happy, for the most part, in the protection of enlightened, just, and benevolent princes, I remember, far more accurately than things which occurred only a few months ago, the minutest particulars of what I saw and heard while I sojourned, young and a stranger, among the luxuries and cruelties of the capital of the world, as yet imperfectly recovered from the effects of the flagitious tyranny of the last of the Flavii.
My father, as you have heard, came with his legion into this island, and married a lady of native blood, some years before the first arrival of Agricola. In the wars of that illustrious commander, during the reigns of Vespasian and Titus, he had the fortune to find opportunities of distinguishing himself; but when his general was recalled, by the jealousy of Domitian, he retired from public life, and determined to spend the remainder of his days in peace, on the lands which belonged to him in right of his wife here in Britain. He laid the foundations of the house in which I have now the pleasure of receiving you; and here, in the cultivation of his fields, and in the superintendence of my education, he found sufficient employment for an active, though no longer an ambitious mind. Early in the reign of Trajan he died. Never did either Roman or British dwelling lament a more generous master.
I cannot pretend to regret the accident which immediately afterwards separated me from a gentle mother—never to see her more upon the earth. Yet deeply was the happiness of my returning hour stained by that privation. It is the common rule of nature, that our parents should precede us to the grave; and it is also her rule, that our grief for them should not be of such power as to prevent us from entering, after they are gone, into a zealous participation both of the business and the pleasures of life. Yet, in after years, the memory of that buried tenderness rises up ever and anon, and wins rather than warns us to a deliberate contemplation of our own dissolution.
Towards the end of the winter following the death of my father, there arrived letters which engaged [pg 3]anxious consideration. They were from members of his family, none of whom either my mother or myself had seen. It was explained, especially by Caius Licinius, the lawyer, (who was near of kin to our house,) that by the death of a certain Patrician, Cneius Valerius by name, I had become legally entitled to a very considerable fortune, to claim and take possession of which, demanded my immediate presence in the metropolis. My rights, said this jurist, were indeed called in question by another branch of the family, but were I on the spot, his professional exertions, with whatever interest he or any of his friends could command, should be at my service, for the sake of my father and of my name.
The love of travel had never before been excited in my bosom; but now that I knew I was so soon to embark for Italy, the delights which I might there hope to experience came crowding upon my imagination. The dark and pine-clad banks of my native Anton, said I, shall now be exchanged for that golden-waved Tiber, of which so many illustrious poets have sung. Instead of moving here among the ill-cemented and motley fabric of an insulated colony, and seeing only the sullen submission of barbarians on the one hand, or the paltry vanity of provincial deputies on the other, I shall tread the same ground with the rulers of the earth, and wear, among native Romans, the gown of my ancestors. I shall behold the Forum, which has heard the eloquence of Cicero and Hortensius; I shall ascend to the Capitol, where Cæsar triumphed; I shall wander in the luxurious gardens of Sallust, or breathe the fresh air in the fields of Cato: I shall gaze upon the [pg 4]antique majesty of temples and palaces, and open my eyes on all that art and nature have been able to heap together through eight centuries, for the ornament of the chosen seat of wisdom and valour.
A single trusty slave was selected to accompany me. It was not certainly on account of his accomplishments that Boto had been chosen for this duty; for although he had lived all his days in the vicinity of the colonists at Venta, there was scarcely a person within the bounds of the British Belgæ that spoke worse Latin. He was, however, a man of natural sagacity, possessing shrewd discernment concerning whatever things had fallen under his customary observation; and he shewed no symptom either of diffidence respecting his qualifications for this new office, or of regret at being separated from those in whose company many years of gentle servitude had glided over his sun-burnt countenance. It was reported to me, that he invited several of our rustics to drink with him in one of the out-houses, where his exultation knew no limits. He was going to Rome, for his young master very well knew he could never get on in such a journey without the helping eye and hand of Boto; and he had a brother in Italy already, (he had gone over with a distinguished legionary some ten years before,) and from him (for he would of course meet with him as soon as our arrival should be known) he would receive all requisite information concerning the doings of the great city. The usefulness which, he doubted not, I should be constrained to acknowledge in his manifold qualifications, would, without all question, entitle him to some signal reward—perhaps nothing less than manumission on his return.
Two days passed more quickly than any I ever remember to have spent amidst a strange mixture of mirth, and sorrow, and noisy preparation.
Where that single tall naked pine now stands buffeted by the wind, then grew a thick grove, of which that relic alone survives. It was there that I turned round to gaze once more on the quiet verdure of these paternal fields, and our small pastoral stream glistening here and there beneath the shady covert of its margin.
I had at first intended to cross over to Gaul, and traversing that province, enter Italy, either by the route of the Alps, in case we could procure convenient guides and companions, or by some vessel sailing from Marseilles or Forum Julii to Ostium. But the advice of one of my neighbours, who had himself been a great traveller, made me alter this plan, and resolve to commit myself to the care of an experienced mariner who was just about to sail for Italy, by the way of the pillars of Hercules, in a vessel laden chiefly with tin; and on reaching the Clausentum, I found this man, with several passengers, ready for the voyage.
For the first three or four days, I was so afflicted by the motion of the vessel, that I could bestow little attention on any external object; my eyes were so confused and dazzled, that I saw nothing beyond the corner of the deck on which I had caused my carpets to be laid; and a few ejaculations to Castor and Pollux were all the articulate sounds that I uttered. By degrees, however, the weight of my depression began to be alleviated; and at intervals, more particularly during the night watches, if I was not altogether in possession of myself, I was at least well enough to enjoy a sort of giddy delight in [pg 6]watching the billows as they rose and retreated from the prow. There were moments, also, in which the behaviour of Boto, under this new species of calamity, could furnish me, as it had already done the more hardy of my fellow-voyagers, with store of mirth. Near us frequently, upon the deck, sat a Captain of the Prætorian Bands, who, more than any other of these, displayed a florid complexion and cheerful eye, unalterable by the fluctuation of the waters. This Sabinus had served in all the wars of Agricola, and accompanied him even in his perilous circumnavigation of the islands which lie scattered to the north of Britain. He had also gone back to Rome with his commander, not, like him, to extenuate imperial jealousy by the affectation of indolence, but to seek for new occupation on some other disturbed frontier of the Empire. In Syria and Cappadocia he had spent some years; after which, he had attended the Emperor himself through Mæsia and Illyricum, and all those countries he traversed and retraversed, during that shameful contest in which so many Roman eagles were made the prey of barbarous enemies, and which terminated at last in that cowardly treaty, by which Domitian granted a diadem to Decebalus, and condescended to place the Roman Senate among the tributaries of a Dacian. Our friend had also strutted his part in that gorgeous triumph, or rather succession of triumphs, by which the defeated and disgraced Prince, on his return from the Ister, mocked the eyes and ears of the incredulous and indignant Romans. In a word, he had partaken in all kinds of fortune, good and evil, and preserved his rubicundity and equanimity unaltered in them all. Having attained [pg 7]to a situation of some dignity, he had now been visiting Britain on a special message from the new Emperor, and was returning in the hope that no future accident of fortune, or princely caprice, would ever again make it necessary for him to quit the shows and festivities of the capital.
This good-natured man sat down beside my suffering peasant, endeavouring to withdraw his attention from the pangs of his sickness, by pointing out the different boats which came in view as we held on from the Gobæan rocks, keeping close to the shore as we went, in order to shun, as well as we could, the customary fury of the Aquitanic Ocean. “Behold these fishing-vessels,” he would cry, “which have undoubtedly been upon the coast of Rutupia for oysters, or it may be about the mouth of yonder Ligoris for turbot, and are now stretching all their canvass to get home with their booty to Italy. Smooth be your winds and fair your passage, oh rare fish!” To which the downcast Boto would reply, “Lavish not, oh master, your good wishes upon the mute fish, which have been tossed about all their lives, but reserve them rather for me (unhappy) who am thus tormented in an unnatural and intolerable manner;” or perhaps, “Speak not, I beseech you, of oysters, or of turbot, or of any other eatable, for I believe I shall never again feel hungry, so grievously are all my internal parts discomposed. Oh, that I had never left my native fields, and bartered the repose of my whole body for the vain hope of gratification to my eyes!”
By degrees, however, custom reconciled all of us to the motion of the bark, and the weather being calm during the greater part of the voyage, I enjoyed, at my [pg 8]leisure, the beauties, both of the sea, and of the shores alongst which we glided. From time to time, we put in for water and other necessaries, to various sea-ports of the Spanish Peninsula; but our stay was never so long at any place as to admit of us losing sight of our vessel. Our chief delight, indeed, consisted in the softness and amenity of the moonlight nights we spent in sailing along the coasts of Mauritania,—now the dark mountains of the family of Atlas throwing their shadows far into the sea—and anon, its margin glittering with the white towers of Siga, or Gilba, or Cartenna, or some other of the rich cities of that old Carthaginian region. On such nights it was the custom of all the passengers to be congregated together upon the deck, where the silent pleasures of contemplation were, from time to time, interrupted by some merry song chanted in chorus by the mariners, or perhaps some wild barbarian ditty, consecrated by the zeal of Boto to the honour of some ancient indigenous hero of the North. Nor did our jovial Prætorian disdain to contribute now and then to the amusement of the assembly, by some boisterous war-song, composed, perhaps, by some light-hearted young spearman, which our centurion might have learned by heart, without any regular exertion, from hearing it sung around many a British and Dacian watch-fire.
Thus we contrived to pass the time in a cheerful manner, till we reached the Lilybæan promontory. We tarried there two days to refit some part of our rigging, and then stretched boldly across the lower sea, towards the mouth of the Tiber. We were becalmed, however, for a whole day and night, after we had come within [pg 9]sight of the Pharos of Ostium, where, but for the small boats that came out to us with fresh fish and fruit, we should have had some difficulty in preserving our patience; for, by this time, our stock of wine was run to the last cup, and nothing remained to be eat but some mouldy biscuit which had survived two voyages between Italy and Britain. During this unwelcome delay, the Prætorian endeavoured to give me as much information as he could about the steps necessary to be pursued on my arrival in the city. But, to say truth, his experience had lain chiefly among martial expeditions and jovial recreations, so that I could easily perceive he was no great master of the rules of civil life. From him, however, I was glad to find, that the reputation of Licinius was really as great at Rome as it had been represented in our province; and, indeed, he treated me with a yet greater measure of attention after he was informed of my relationship to that celebrated jurist.
Early in the morning, a light breeze sprung up from the west, and with joyful acclamations the sails were once again uplifted. The number of mariners on board was insufficient for impelling the heavily laden vessel altogether by the force of oars, but now they did not refuse to assist the favouring breeze with strenuous and lively exertion. The Prætorian cheered and incited them by his merry voice, and even the passengers were not loath to assist them in this labour. My slave, among the rest, joined in the toil; but his awkwardness soon relieved him from his seat on the bench; a disgrace which he would have shared with his master, had I been equally officious.
Ere long, we could trace with exactness those enor[pg 10]mous structures by which the munificence of Augustus had guarded and adorned that great avenue of nations to the imperial city. Those mountains of marble, projected on either side into the deep, surpassed every notion I had formed of the extent to which art may carry its rivalry of nature. Their immovable masses were garnished here and there with towers and battlements, on which the Prætorian pointed out to me the frame-work of those terrible catapults, and other engines of warfare, of which no specimens have ever been seen in Britain.
No sooner had we stept upon the shore, than we were surrounded by a great throng of hard-favoured persons, who pulled us by the cloak, with innumerable interrogations and offers of service. Among these, the varieties of form, complexion, and accent, were such, that we could not regard them without especial wonder; for it appeared as if every tribe and language under heaven had sent some representative to this great seaport of Rome. The fair hair and blue eye of the Gaul or German, might here be seen close by the tawny skin of the Numidian or Getulian slave, or the shining blackness of the Ethiopian visage. The Greek merchant was ready, with his Thracian bondsman carrying his glittering wares upon his back; the usurer was there, with his arms folded closely in his mantle; nor was the Chaldean or Assyrian soothsayer awanting, with his air of abstraction and his flowing beard.
Boto, as if alarmed with the prevailing bustle, and fearful lest some untoward accident should separate us, kept close behind me, grasping my gown. But our good friend Sabinus did not long leave us in this perplexity; [pg 11]for, having hastily engaged the master of a small barge to carry him to Rome, he insisted that I should partake of this easy method of conveyance. We found the vessel small but convenient, furnished with a red awning, under which cushions and carpets were already stretched out for our repose. The oars were soon in motion, and we began to emerge from among the forest of masts with a rapidity which astonished me; for the multitude of vessels of all sizes, continually crossing and re-crossing, was so great, that at first I expected every moment some dangerous accident might occur.
By degrees, however, such objects failed to keep alive my attention; the sleeplessness of the preceding night, and the abundance of an Ostian repast, conspiring to lull me into a gentle doze, which continued for I know not what space. I awoke, greatly refreshed, and found we had made considerable progress; for the continual succession of stately edifices already indicated the vicinity of the metropolis. The dark green of the venerable groves, amidst which the buildings were, for the most part, embosomed, and the livelier beauties of the parterres which here and there intervened between these and the river, afforded a soft delight to my eyes, which had so long been fatigued with the uniform flash and dazzle of the Mediterranean waves, and the roughness of the sea-beaten precipices. The minute and elaborate cultivation every where visible, the smoothness of the shorn turf on the margin, the graceful foliage of the ancient planes and sycamores,—but, above all, the sublimity of the porticos and arcades, and the air of established and inviolable elegance which pervaded the whole region, kept my mind in pleasurable wonder. [pg 12]Here and there, a gentle winding conducted us through some deep and massy shade of oaks and elms; whose branches, stretching far out from either side, diffused a sombre and melancholy blackness almost entirely over the face of Tiber. Loitering carelessly, or couched supinely, beneath some of these hoary branches, we could see, from time to time, the figure of some stately Roman, or white-robed lady, with her favourite scroll of parchment in her hand. The cool and glassy rippling of the water produced a humming music of stillness in the air, which nothing disturbed, save only the regular dash of the oars, and, now and then, the deep and strenuous voice of our cautious helmsman. Anon would ensue some glimpse of the open champaign, descending with all its wealth of golden sheaves to the very brink of the river—or, perhaps, the lively courts of a farmyard stretching along the margin of some tributary streamlet—or some long expanse of level meadow, with herds of snow-white heifers. I could not gaze upon the rich and splendid scene without reverting, with a strange mixture of emotions, to the image of this my native land; its wild forests, shaggy with brushwood and unprofitable coppice, through which of old the enormous wild deer stalked undisturbed, except by the adder of the grass, or the obscene fly of the thicket; its little patches of corn and meadow, laboriously rescued from the domain of the wild beast, and rudely fortified against his continual incursions;—the scattered hamlets of this Brigian valley, and my own humble villa—then humbler than it is now. Trees, and temples, and gardens, and meadows, and towns, and villages, were, ere long, lost in one uniform sobriety of twilight; and [pg 13]it was already quite dark, when the centurion, pointing to the left bank, said, “Behold the Gardens of Cæsar: beyond, is the Portian Gate, and the street of the Rural Lares. In a few moments we shall see the lights of the Sublician Bridge, and be in the city.” At these words I started up, and gazing forward, could penetrate through the mists of evening into the busy glare of a thousand streets and lanes, opening upon the river. The old wall was already visible; where, after having swept round the region towards the Vatican and Janicular Hills, it brings the last of its turrets close down to the Tiber, over against the great dock-yards by the Field of Brutus.
Through a forest of triremes, galleys, and all sorts of craft, we then shot on to the bridge—beneath the centre arch of which our steersman conducted us. Beyond, such was the hum of people on the quays, and such the star-like profusion of lights reflected in the water, that we doubted not we had already reached the chief seat of the bustle of Rome. On, however, we still held our course, till the theatre of Marcellus rose like a mountain on our right. It was there that we ran our bark into the shore, not far from the little bridge—the third as you ascend the river—which conducts to the Island and the Temple of Æsculapius. While our friend was settling matters with the master, and the attendants were bringing out our baggage, I stood by myself on the elevated quay. Here a long tier of reflected radiance bespoke, it may be, the vicinity of some splendid portico—of palace, or temple, or bath, or theatre; there a broad and steady blaze of burning red, indicated the abode of artizans, resolved, as it seemed, on carrying [pg 14]their toil into the bosom of the night. Between—some speck of lustre betrayed, perhaps, the lamp of the solitary student, or the sober social hour of some peaceful family, assembled around the hearth of their modest lares. Behold me then, said I, in the capital of the globe; but were I to be swallowed up this moment in the waves of Tiber, not one of all these lights would be dimmed.
CHAPTER II.
Being told that my relation had his residence at no great distance, the friendly Sabinus insisted upon escorting me thither in safety. We walked, therefore, along two or three proud streets, which brought us near to the Pantheon of Agrippa, and there the house was easily pointed out to us; its porch decorated with recent palm-branches, which the Centurion said must have been placed there by the joyful hands of some fortunate client. Here having thanked this kind person, and left honest Boto among the crowd of slaves in the vestibule, I was speedily conducted into the presence of the Patrician.
I found him in a small upper chamber, lighted by a single silver lamp suspended from the roof, enjoying, as it appeared, repose and relaxation after the exertions of the day. He was reclining when I entered; and although supper was long over, some fruits and other trifling things still remained on the board. At table with him there was no one present, excepting a Greek of solemn aspect, whom he introduced to me as the superintendent of his son’s education, and Sextus himself, a modest and ingenuous youth, who sat at the lower extremity of his father’s couch. He was [pg 16]indeed a very mild and amiable young man, and I had more pleasure, after a space, in surveying his features, than the more marked lineaments of the other two. At first, however, nothing riveted my attention so much as the energetic physiognomy of the Senator. The forepart of his head was already quite bald, although the darkness of the short curls behind testified that age was not the cause of this deformity. His eyes were black and rapid, and his eyebrows vibrated in a remarkable manner, not only when he spoke, but even when he was silent; indicating, as it appeared, by their transitions, every new train of thought and imagination within his mind. His style of conversation was quick and fervid, and his gestures vehement as he spake; it being apparent, that, from restlessness and vanity of disposition, he was continually exercising a needless measure of mental activity and anxiety. Not satisfied with his own sufficient richness of ideas, no thought could be expressed which he did not immediately seize upon, and explain, even to him by whom it had been first suggested, with much fluency and earnestness of illustration. On the other hand, the guest, who wore a long beard reaching to his girdle, preserved in all things an uncommon demureness of manner, restraining every salient movement of his mind, and watching, with the gravity of a Numa, the glancing eyes and sharp features of his patron. A roll of yellow parchment graced his left hand, but the other was employed in selecting from the table such articles as were most agreeable to his palate. Licinius, although meagre in person, and at that time parched with declamation, seemed to live in such a state of intellectual excitement, [pg 17]that he thought little either of eating or drinking; therefore, the Athenian, resigning, for the most part, his share of the conversation, amused himself, in exchange, with the more trivial gratifications abandoned to him by his host. Nor, if one might draw any conclusion from his complexion and figure, was this the first occasion on which Xerophrastes had exercised that species of humility.
When Licinius had inquired of me concerning my native place, and also given a few words to the affairs which had brought me to the city, his conversation was naturally directed to subjects more new to me, if not more interesting to him. “You would observe,” said he, “the palm branches at my door. They were won to-day by a five hours’ harangue before the Centumviri. It is only in contests such as these that men of my order have now any opportunity to exercise themselves, and preserve some remembrance of those ancient worthies and great public characters that once adorned the state. To these things, therefore, young kinsman, I entirely devote myself; nor aim, like other citizens of rank, at passing the day in diversion, and ending it with luxuries. At supper my table is furnished with moderate fare, while in other houses I know not how many roasted boars and pompous sturgeons have been regaling with the rich perfume of their sauces and stuffing, guests who love the meat more than the man who gives it. This learned person knows how laborious is my course of life, and what an impatient crowd awaits my appearance every morning. His pupil will, I hope, tread in the same steps, and afford to a future generation the image of the former Licinius.” [pg 18]With these, and the like discourses, he occupied our ears till it was time to retire; and then intimated that he had allotted to me an apartment which he expected I would continually occupy during my residence in the city. But being informed that I had a British slave with me, he insisted on having this man sent for, that he might see him, as he expressed it, before the genuine unsophisticated barbarian had been corrupted by keeping company with the cunning menials of the metropolis. Whereupon, it was commanded that Boto should come up, and he was forthwith ushered in by a certain leering varlet, with rings in his ears, whose face resembled some comic mask in the habitual archness of its malicious and inquisitive look.
Not few were the bows and scrapes with which my Briton entered these penetralia; nor was the astonishment inconsiderable with which the orator regarded Boto. “So, friend,” said Licinius,—“and you have ventured to come to Rome, without so much as shaving your beard?” But the merry and good-natured tone in which these words were uttered, having somewhat reassured the bashful rustic, he gave a sly side-look towards the philosopher, (who, I think, had never once glanced at him,) and replied to Licinius, “Pardon me, O master, for coming thus into your presence; but I knew not, till Dromo told me, that beards were worn in Rome only by goats and the wisest of mankind.” The words of the barbarian amused the orator—but, turning round to his own slave, “Ah! Dromo,” said he, “do I already recognize the effects of your teaching?—beware the whip, corrupt not this good Briton, at your peril.” He then asked of Boto [pg 19]various questions concerning his recent voyage; to all of which he made answers after his own fashion, sufficiently sagacious. Great contempt, however, was depicted on the face of the silent stoic during this conversation; which he, no doubt, looked upon as a very unworthy condescension on the part of Licinius; till at last, having, in a leisurely manner, poured out the last of the flagon, Xerophrastes arose from his couch and departed. As he withdrew, he unfortunately struck his knee on the corner of the table, which elicited from his stubborn features a sudden contortion. This, however, he immediately smoothed of, twisting his involuntary stoop into an obeisance to the Senator.
Young Sextus conducted me to my chamber; and we conversed together with easy juvenile confidence for some time before he left me.
CHAPTER III.
My sleep was sound and sweet; nevertheless, when the morning began to dawn, I was awakened by its first glimmerings, and found that my thoughts became at once too busy to admit of a return to slumber. I therefore arose, and went to walk in an open gallery, with which my chamber was connected. This gallery commanded a prospect of a great part of the city, which at that hour appeared no less tranquil than stately, nothing being in motion except a few small boats gliding here and there upon the river. Neither as yet had any smoke begun to darken the atmosphere; so that all things were seen in a serene and steady light, the shadows falling broadly westward over streets and squares—but pillars, and obelisks, and arches, rising up every where with unsullied magnificence into the bright air of the morning. The numerous poplars and other lofty trees of the gardens, also, seemed to be rejoicing in the hour of dew and silence; so fresh and cheerful was the intermixture of their branches among the piles of white and yellow marble. Near at hand, over the groves of the Philoclean Mansion, I could see the dome of the Pantheon, all burnished with living gold, and the proud colonnades of the Flaminian Circus, [pg 21]loaded with armies of brazen statues. Between these and the river, the theatres of Pompey and Marcellus, and I know not how many temples, were visible. Across a more crowded region, to the westward, my eye ascended to the cliffs and towers of the Capitol; while, still farther removed from me, (although less elevated in natural situation,) the gorgeous mansion of the Emperor was seen, lifted up, like some new and separate city, upon its enormous fabric of arcades. Behind me, the Flavian Amphitheatre, the newest and the most majestic of all Roman edifices, detained the eye for a space from all that lay beyond it—the splendid mass of the Esquiline—and those innumerable aqueducts which lie stretched out, arch after arch, and pillar after pillar, across the surrounding plain.
As I stood upon a projecting balcony, I heard some person stepping softly along the floor, and, being screened by some pillars, looked back into the gallery without subjecting myself to observation in return. The noise, I found, was occasioned by one of the slaves of Licinius, (the same I had remarked over night,) who had an air of anxious vigilance on this occasion, looking about from side to side as if afraid of being detected in some impropriety. I heard him tap at one of the apartments adjoining my own, and young Sextus, opening the door, eagerly asked, “Well, Dromo, good Dromo, what news?—Have you seen or heard any thing of her?—Speak low, I beseech you, and remember that my preceptor is near.” “Which preceptor?” replied Dromo; “count me your best, and I will teach you how to manage all besides.”—“Hush!” whispered the young man; “he may be astir with these eternal parchments.”[pg 22]—“Be easy,” returned the slave; “I have found out facts which will serve to bridle that tongue at any time.”—“Dromo,” said Sextus, “have a care; remember the thong of sleek leather which hangs at the foot of the stair-case; and many is the time I have saved you from it; for which you may, perhaps, have to thank the beauty of her who has rendered you necessary to me, as much as my own good nature. But no more idle words at present—what have you to tell me?”
“I have just been down,” answered he, “to the herb-market. I had made my bargain, and was coming away, when I met one of old Capito’s men, driving an ass laden with articles from the country. So I asked if he was carrying a present to his master’s brother. He said he had brought nothing for Lucius but a letter; and that he believed its purport was to invite the two young ladies, to come out to-day and enjoy the beauty of the season. I no sooner got this information, than I ran hither as swiftly as my legs would carry me. You can easily go out, as if by chance, to pay your respects to the Patrician.”
“Ah, Sempronia!” sighed Sextus, “shall I approach you at last?—What will she think when she sees me there?—Oh, how will she speak to me?”
While he was uttering these words, Dromo suddenly started, and came peeping on tiptoe towards the place where I stood. I stepped from behind my pillar, and said to the astonished youth, “Fear not, Sextus, that I shall intermeddle with your secrets, or make any use of what I have accidentally overheard. But I wish you would satisfy my curiosity, and inform me who is this [pg 23]lady, and what may be the meaning of all this concealment?”
Here Dromo, perceiving that his young master was a good deal confused, came forward and said, “From observing your looks last night, when I was making a handle of yon barbarian to torture our friend of the porch, I think you are a good-natured person, who would not willingly bring any of us into trouble. The truth is, that Licinius wishes my young master here to marry a certain lady, who has already had wet eyes over the ashes of a first husband; but who is of noble birth, and very rich. Now Sextus, being only eighteen, does not like this great lady so well as she likes him; and has, in fact, lost his heart elsewhere.”—“Dromo,” answered I, taking young Sextus by the hand as I spoke, “this is a pretty common sort of story; but I shall take no side till I have seen both of the ladies; and the sooner your ingenuity can bring that about, the more shall I be beholden to you.”—“We shall try,” replied the slave, observing that I had overcome the reluctance of the lover; “but in the meantime I observe that the clients are beginning to assemble in the porch, to await the forthcoming of Licinius. Go, therefore, and get some breakfast, for, by and by, you will both be expected to accompany the Senator to the Forum, to hear him plead; which, between ourselves, will be a six hours’ job for you, unless you manage matters dexterously.”
This hint produced a visible effect on Sextus; but we went down together immediately to an apartment, where some bread and grapes were prepared for us; and there, with much ingenuousness, he opened his [pg 24]heart to me. But what surprised me most of all, was to hear, that although he had been enamoured of Sempronia for several months, and was well acquainted with several of her relations, he had never yet seen her, except at certain places of public resort, nor enjoyed any opportunity of making known his passion.
While I was expressing my astonishment at this circumstance, we were interrupted by Xerophrastes, who came to inform us that Licinius, having already descended into the hall, was about to issue forth, and desirous of my company, if no other occupation detained me. We accordingly followed the philosopher, and found his patron where he had indicated, pacing to and fro, in the highest state of excitation, like a generous steed about to scour the field of battle. The waxen effigies of his ancestors stood at one end of the hall, some of them defaced with age; and upon these he frequently fixed his ardent eyes. Seeing me enter, he immediately cried out, “Come hither, young friend, and I shall presently conduct you to a scene worthy, above all others, of the curiosity of a stranger.”
With this, arranging his gown, and putting himself into a dignified attitude, he ordered the porter, who stood chained by the door, to throw wide its massy valves; which being done, the litigants and consulters, who were without, received the orator with acclamations, and surrounded him on all sides. Some of the poorer ones, I observed kissing the hem of his garment, and dodging wistfully at his elbows, without ever attracting a word or look from him; while those of a higher class came forward more familiarly, seeking to impress particular circumstances upon his memory, and [pg 25]paying him compliments on the appearance he had made the day before in the Centumviral Court. Encircled by this motley group, he walked towards the great Forum, followed at a little distance by Sextus, the preceptor, myself, and some freedmen of his household. In moving on, we passed, by accident, the door of another great pleader, by name Bruttianus, who stood there attended in a similar manner. When he perceived Licinius, this man took from his door-post a green palm-branch, and waved it towards us in a vaunting manner; but our friend, saluting him courteously, cried out, with his sharp and cutting voice, “We shall try it again.” Whereon Xerophrastes, immediately stepping up to his patron, began thus, “How this vain-glorious person exposes himself!—he is certainly a weak man; and his tones, by Hermes, are more detestable than those of an African fowl.”—At which words, Sextus tipped me the wink; but I did not observe that Licinius was at all displeased with them. Yet, soon after, Bruttianus having overtaken us, the processions were joined, and the two pleaders walked the rest of the way together in a loving manner, exchanging complimentary speeches; to which Xerophrastes listened with edifying gravity of visage.
At length we entered that venerable space, every yard of whose surface is consecrated to the peculiar memory of some great incident in the history of Rome. Young Sextus allowed me to contemplate for some time, with silent wonder, the memorable objects which conspired to the decoration of this remarkable place; but after the first gaze of astonishment was satisfied, proceeded to point out, in order, the names and uses of [pg 26]the principal structures which rose on every side over its porticos—above all, of its sublime temples—into whose cool and shady recesses the eye could here and there penetrate through the open valves. Nor did the ancient rostrum from which Tully had declaimed, escape our observation—nor within its guarding rail of silver, the rising shoots of the old mysterious fig-tree of Romulus—nor the rich tesselated pavement which covered the spot that had once yawned an abyss before the steady eye of Curtius—nor the resplendent Milliary pillar which marked the centre of the place. In a word, had the gathering crowds permitted, I could have willingly spent many hours in listening to the explanation of such magnificent objects; but these, and the elevated voice of Licinius, who was just beginning his harangue, soon compelled me to attend to things of another description.
Within one of the proud ranges of arcade, on the side nearest to the Capitoline stairs, a majestic Patrician had already taken his seat on an elevated tribunal—his assessors being arranged on a lower bench by his side, and the orators and clients congregated beneath. When I heard the clear and harmonious periods of my kinsman; when I observed with what apparent simplicity he laid his foundations in a few plain facts and propositions; with what admirable art he upreared from these a superstructure of conclusions, equally easy as unexpected; when he had conducted us to the end of his argument, and closed with a burst of passionate eloquence, in which he seemed to leave even himself behind him, I could not but feel as if I had now for the first time contemplated the practised strength of [pg 27]intellect. Yet I have lived to discover that the talent which so greatly excited my wonder is often possessed from nature, or acquired through practice, in a measure which at that time would have afforded me scarcely inferior delight, by men of no extraordinary rank.
The keen and lively gestures of the fervid Licinius, whose soul seemed to speak out of every finger he moved, and who appeared to be altogether immersed in the cause he pleaded, were succeeded by the solemn and somewhat pompous stateliness of Bruttianus, who made a brief pause between every two sentences, as if he were apprehensive that the mind of the judge could not keep pace with the stream of his illustrations, and looked round ever and anon upon the spectators with a placid and assured smile, rather, as it seemed to me, to signify his approbation of their taste in applauding him, than his own pleasure in their applauses. Nevertheless, he also was a splendid speaker, and his affectation displeased the more, because it was evidently unworthy of his understanding. While he was speaking, I observed that the Stoic preceptor was frequently shifting his place among the crowd, and muttering every where expressions of high contempt. But this did not disgust me so much as the fixed attitude of ecstasy in which he listened to the discourse of his own patron, and the pretended involuntary exclamations of his delight. “Oh, admirable cadence!” he would say, “I feel as if I were draining a honey-comb. Oh, harmonious man, where have I, or any other person here, sucked in such sweetness!” These absurd phrases, however, were caught up forthwith, and repeated by the numerous young men who hung upon the skirts of [pg 28]the orator, and seemed, indeed, to be drinking in nectar from the speech, if one might judge from their countenances. From their taking notes in their tablets from time to time, and from the knowing looks they assumed at the commencement of every new chain of argument, I guessed that these might be embryo jurisconsults, preparing themselves by their attendance for future exertions of the same species; and, indeed, when I listened to their conversation at the close of every speech, I thought I could perceive in their tones and accents, studied mimicry of the natural peculiarities of Licinius, Bruttianus, and the other orators. Altogether, the scene was as full of amusement as of novelty, and I could willingly have remained to the end of the discussion. But my eyes chanced to fall upon young Sextus, and I could not but see that his mind was occupied in matters remote from the business of the Forum. He stood with his arms folded in his gown, and his eyes fixed upon the ground, only lifting them up from time to time with an impatient air towards a side entrance, or to observe by the shadows on the porticos what progress the sun was making.
Perceiving, at length, that Xerophrastes had his back turned to us, and that his father was engaged with his tablets, he plucked me by the sleeve. I understood his meaning, and followed him quickly through the crowd; nor did we look back till we had left the noise of the Forensic assembly entirely behind us. “I am depriving you,” he said, “of no great gratification, for that old creature is, indeed, possessed of much natural shrewdness, but he is bitter from observing that his reputation is rather eclipsed by younger people, and looks like [pg 29]some worn-out and discarded cat, grinning from the top of the wall at the dalliance of some sleeker rival. You could find no delight in the angry sneerings of such an envious person; and his age would prevent you, at the same time, from willingly giving way to contemptuous emotions. I will be your guide to the villa. But if any questions be asked on our return, you can say I was anxious to shew you something of the other regions of the city.”
He hurried me through noble streets, and past innumerable edifices, before each of which I would gladly have paused. Nevertheless, seeing him wrapped up in anxious thoughts, I did not oppose myself to his inclinations; and ere long, having passed the Hill of Gardens, I found that we had gained the eastern limit of the city.
CHAPTER IV.
A sharp walk of about an hour and a half on the Salarean Way, brought us within sight of the Suburban of Capito.
A lofty wall protected the fields of this retirement from the intrusive eyes of passengers. We entered by a small side-door, and found ourselves, as if by some magical delusion, transported from the glare of a Roman highway, into the depth and silence of some primeval forest. No nicely trimmed path conducted our feet. Every thing had at least the appearance of being left as nature had formed it. The fern rustled beneath us as we moved; the ivy was seen spreading its careless tresses from tree to tree; the fawn bounded from the thicket. By degrees, however, the gloom lessened, till at length, over an open space of lawn, we perceived the porch of entrance, and a long line of colonnade. We passed under the porch, and across a paved court where a fountain was playing, into the great hall, which commanded all the other side of the place—a noble prospect of elaborate gardens gradually rising into shady hills, and lost in a distance of impenetrable wood.
Here a freedman attended us, who informed us that Capito had retired into a sequestered part of the grounds [pg 31]with some friends from the city; but that if we chose we could easily join him there. We assented, and, following his guidance, ere long traversed no narrow space of luxuriant cultivation. From one perfumed terrace we descended to another; till, having reached a certain green and mossy walk, darkened by a natural arching of vines and mulberries, the freedman pointed to a statue at the farther end, and told us it stood over against the entrance of his master’s summer-house. When we reached the statue, however, we could perceive no building. The shaded avenue terminated in face of a precipitous rock, from which there fell a small stream that was received in a massive basin, where the waters foamed into spray without transgressing the margin. A thousand delicious plants and far-sought flowers clustered around the base of the rock and the brink of the fountain, and the humming of innumerable bees mingled with the whispers of the stream. We stood for a moment uncertain whether we should move on or retire, when we heard one calling to us from beyond; and passing to the other side of the basin, descried, between the rock and the falling water, a low entrance into what seemed to be a natural cave or grotto. We stooped, and found ourselves within one of the most luxurious retirements ever haunted by the foot of Dryad. A sparry roof hung like a canopy of gems and crystals over a group of sculptured Nymphs and Fawns, which were placed on a rustic pedestal within a circular bath shaped out of the living stone. Around the edge of the waveless waters that slumbered in this green recess, were spread carpets rich with the dyes of Tyrian art, whereon Capito was reposing with [pg 32]his friends. He received Sextus with kindness, and me with politeness, introducing us both to his companions, who were three in number—all of them, like himself, advanced in years, and two of them wearing long beards, though their demeanour was destitute of any thing like the affected stateliness of our friend Xerophrastes. These two, as our host informed us, were Greeks and Rhetoricians—the third, a Patrician of the house of the Pontii, devoted, like himself, to the pursuits of philosophy and the pleasures of a literary retirement.
They were engaged, when we joined them, in a conversation which had sprung from the perusal of some new metaphysical treatise. One of the Greeks, the more serene-looking of the pair, was defending its doctrines with earnestness of manner, although in a low and measured cadence of voice; the other espoused the opposite side, with quickness of utterance and severe animation of look; while the two lordly Romans seemed to be contenting themselves, for the most part, with listening, although it was not difficult to perceive from their countenances, that the one sided in opinion with the Stoic, and Capito himself with the Epicurean.
They all arose presently, and proceeded to walk together, without interrupting the conversation, along the same shaded avenue which Sextus and myself had already traversed. He and I moved along with them, but a little in their rear—my companion being still too much abstracted to bestow his attention on what they were saying; while I myself, being but little an adept in such mysteries, amused myself rather with the exterior and manners of the men, than with the merits of the opinions they were severally defending. The [pg 33]Greeks were attired in the graceful costume of their country, which was worn, however, far more gracefully by the Epicurean than his brother,—the materials of his robe being delicate, and its folds arranged with studied elegance, whereas the coarse garment of the Stoic had apparently engaged less attention. Nevertheless, there was a more marked difference between the attire of Capito and that of Pontius Mamurra; for the former was arrayed in a tunic of the whitest cloth, beneath which appeared fine linen rollers, swathing his thighs and legs, to protect them, as I supposed, from the heat and the insects, and a pair of slippers, of dark violet-coloured cloth, embroidered with silver flowers; while the other held his arms folded in the drapery of an old but genuine toga, which left his yet strong and sinewy nether limbs exposed to the weather, all except what was covered by his tall black sandals and their senatorian crescents.
As we passed on, our host from time to time directed the attention of his visiters, more particularly of the two Greeks, to the statues of bronze and marble, which were placed at convenient intervals along the terraces of his garden. The symmetry of these figures, and the graceful simplicity of their attitudes, inspired me with I know not what of calm and soothing pleasure such as I had never before tasted, so that I thought I could have lingered for ever amidst these haunts of philosophic luxury. The images were, for the most part, portraits of illustrious men—Greeks, Romans—sages and heroes; but beautiful female forms were not wanting, nor majestic representations of gods and demi-gods, and all the ethereal imaginations of the Grecian poets. Seeing the [pg 34]name of Jupiter inscribed upon one of the pedestals, I paused for a moment to contemplate the glorious personification of might and wisdom, depositing, at the same time, a handful of roses at the feet of the statue—upon which I could observe that my behaviour furnished some mirth to the Epicurean Demochares; while, on the contrary, Euphranor, the disciple of the Porch, approved of what I did, and rebuked his companion for saying any thing that might even by possibility disturb the natural piety of an innocent youth. But the Roman Stoic stood by with a smile of stately scorn; and utter indifference was painted on the countenance of Capito. At another time, Sextus having staid behind to examine the beauties of a certain statue of Diana, which represented the goddess stretched out in careless slumber on the turf, with a slender grayhound at her feet, the Epicurean began to rally me on having a taste inferior to that of my friend, whose devotion, he said, could not be blamed, being paid to an exquisite imitation of what the great Nature of things had decreed should ever be the most agreeable of all objects in the eyes of a person of his age.—“Whereas you,” continued he, “appear to be more occupied with deep-hung eye-brows, ambrosial beards, and fantastic thunderbolts, and the other exuberances of Homeric imagination.”
To this reproach I made no reply, but Capito immediately began to recite some verses of a Hymn of Calimachus, in which both the Greeks joined him; nor could any thing be more delightful than the harmonious numbers. A sudden exclamation of my friend, however, interrupted them, and Capito, looking up a long [pg 35]straight pathway, said, “Come, Valerius, we shall see whether you or Sextus is the more gallant to living beauties, for here come my nieces. I assure you, I know not of which of them I am the more proud; but Sempronia has more of the Diana about her, so it is probable she may find a ready slave in our Sextus.”
We advanced, and the uncle, having tenderly saluted them, soon presented us to their notice. Sextus blushed deeply when he found himself introduced to Sempronia, while in her smile, although she looked at him as if to say she had never seen him before, I thought I could detect a certain half-suppressed something of half-disdainful archness—the colour in her cheeks, at the same time, being not entirely unmoved. She was, indeed, a very lovely girl, and in looking on her light dancing play of features, I could easily sympathize with the young raptures of my friend. Her dress was such as to set off her charms to the utmost advantage, for the bright green of her Byssine robe, although it would have been a severe trial to any ordinary complexion, served only to heighten the delicious brilliancy of hers. A veil, of the same substance and colour, richly embroidered with flowers of silver tissue, fell in flowing drapery well-nigh to her knees. Her hair was almost entirely concealed by this part of her dress, but a single braid of the brightest nut-brown was visible low down on her polished forehead. Her eyes were black as jet, and full of a nymph-like vivacity.
The other, Athanasia, was not a dazzling beauty. Taller than her cousin, and darker-haired, but with eyes rather light than otherwise, of a clear, somewhat melancholy gray—with a complexion paler than is usual in Italy, [pg 36]a demeanour hovering between cheerfulness and innocent gravity, and attired with a vestal simplicity in the old Roman tunic, and cloak of white cloth—it is possible that most men might have regarded her less than the other. A single star of diamonds, planted high up among her black hair, was the only ornament she wore.
At the request of the younger lady, we all returned to the grotto, in the neighbourhood of which, as I have already mentioned, our tasteful host had placed the rarest of his exotic plants, some of which Sempronia was now desirous of inspecting. As we paced again slowly over those smooth-shaven alleys of turf, and between those rows of yews and box, clipped into regular shapes, which abounded in this more artificial region, the conversation, which the appearance of the cousins had disturbed, was resumed; although, as out of regard to their presence, the voices of the disputants preserved a lower and milder tone than before. I must confess, however, that mild as was the manner of the discourse, I could not help being somewhat astonished, that a polite Roman could permit such topics to be discussed in the hearing of females; above all, that he did not interpose to prevent Demochares from throwing out so many sarcastic reflections concerning the deities whose statues decorated the garden. A beautiful Mercury, in particular, which we all paused to admire, elicited many observations, that I could easily see were far from being agreeable to the fair cousins. But greatest of all was my wonder at the behaviour of Capito himself, who, after we had again entered that delightful grotto, turned himself to me as if peculiarly, and began [pg 37]a deliberate and ingenious piece of declamation concerning the tenets of his favourite philosophy;—such as the fortuitous concourse of atoms, the transitory and fluctuating nature of all things, and the necessity of snatching present enjoyments, as nothing permanent can be discovered whereon to repose the mind. With great elegance, indeed, did he enlarge on these golden theories, nor did he fail to intersperse his discourse with many exquisite verses from Lucretius and other poetical followers of his sect. Such, however, was the earnestness of his declamation, that I could not help believing him to be quite sincere to what he said, and asked him, not without anxiety, whether he had all his life been an Epicurean, or whether it was only of late that he had espoused that discipline.
“Valerius,” said he, “the question is not discreditable to your tender age and provincial education. To be born wise, Fate or Heaven has denied to the human race. It is their privilege to win wisdom for themselves; the fault is their own, if they do not die wise. When the stripling enters upon the theatre of the world, bright hopes are around him, and he moves onward in the buoyancy of conscious power. The pride of young existence is the essence and extract of all his innumerable sensations. Rejoicing in the feeling of the real might that is, it is his delight to think—to dream—of might existing and exerted as for ever. New to the material, but still more to the moral world, he believes in the stability of all things whose transitory nature has not been exhibited before him. New to the tricks of mankind, he believes that to be said truly, which, why it should be said falsely, he is unable to conjecture. For him, superstition has [pg 38]equal potency to darken the past, and illuminate the future. At that early period, when ignorance is of itself sufficient to produce a certain happiness, the ambition is too high to admit such doctrines as I have no shame in avowing. But time moves on, and every hour some tender plant is crushed beneath his tread. The spirit clings long to its delusions. The promise that is destroyed to-day springs into life to-morrow in some new shape; and Hope, like some warring deity of your poets, bleeds and sickens only to revive again. But disappointment at length gathers to itself the vigour of an enduring form. The horizon becomes colder around us—the soul waxes faint and more faint within. It is then that man begins to recognize the true state, not of his own nature alone, but of all things that surround him—that having tasted much of evil, he is taught to feel the value of good—and weaning himself from vain-glorious dreams, learns the great lesson of wisdom, to enjoy the moments as they pass—to snatch some solid pleasure, at least, amidst a world of vision and imagination; so, in a word, as the poet has expressed it, he may not have reason to complain in the hour of death that he has never lived.
“In me,” he continued, “you behold one that has gone through the experience necessary to produce an entire acquiescence in these doctrines. I am one of those, Valerius, who have resolved to concentrate, after this fashion, the whole of my dreams upon the hour that is. There are not wanting, indeed, here and elsewhere, persons who profess the same theories, only in the view of finding excuse and shelter for the practice of vice. But till it be proved that the practice of vice [pg 39]is the best means of enjoyment, in vain shall it be asserted that our doctrine is essentially adverse to virtue. The mistakes or the misdeeds of individuals must be estimated for nothing; for where is the doctrine that may not be shewn to have been defended by impure livers? The founder of our sect is acknowledged, by its most virulent enemies, to have been the most blameless of men, and they, I must take leave to believe, can never be sincere friends of virtue, who doubt, that he who is a true worshipper of pleasure, may also be the worshipper of virtue.”
There was a certain something, as I thought, more like suppressed melancholy than genuine hilarity, in the expression of the old man’s face, as well as in the tone of his voice, while he gave utterance to these sentiments; nor did any of those present appear desirous of protracting the argument; although I did not imagine from their looks that any of them had altered their opinion. What, however, I could not help remarking in a particular manner, was the gentle regret painted in the countenance of the elder niece, while Capito was speaking. The maiden sate over against him all the while, her cheek supported on her left hand, with an expression of tender affection. From time to time, indeed, she cast her eye upward with a calm smile, but immediately resumed her attitude of pensive abstraction. Her uncle took her hand in his when he had done speaking, and kissed it gently, as if to apologize for having said any thing disagreeable to her. She smiled again upon the sceptic, and walked by herself, (for I could not help following her with my eye,) down into a dark walk of pines that branched off [pg 40]at the right hand from the entrance into the grotto. There I saw her stoop and pluck a pale flower. This she placed in her bosom, and then rejoined us with a more cheerful aspect; after which, we all walked towards the villa. Nor did it escape my notice, that, although Sempronia appeared willing to avoid Sextus as we went, it always happened, by some accident or other, that he was nearer to her than any other person of the company.
They were both at a little distance behind the rest of the party, when Euphranor addressed himself to me, saying, “Is not this youth, your companion, the same that is under the guidance of a certain Xerophrastes?”—“The same,” said I, “and a wary, sage-looking Athenian is his tutor. I believe he also is of the Porch.”—“No doubt,” interrupted Demochares; “he has a beard that Zeno might have been proud of, and walks as if he conceived himself to be the chief pillar of the Porch, if not the Porch itself.”—“Who shall prevent Demochares from having his jest?” replied Euphranor. “The man is by birth a Thessalian, and his gutturals still remind one strongly of his native hills.”—I would gladly have heard more of it, but he was interrupted by the nearer approach of the rest.
CHAPTER V.
Before the hour of taking the bath, we exercised ourselves for some time in the tennis-court, where I could not but admire, especially after having heard Capito philosophise, the vigour and agility displayed by him as well as his companions. I was then conducted into the baths, where, after being washed and perfumed in the most luxurious manner, I was arrayed in an elegant supper-garment by one of the slaves of our host. At table we were joined again by the ladies, who both reclined on the same couch with their uncle. Three comely youths attended us, in short tunics, and girt with napkins of fine linen; but, during the repast, an ancient female slave stood in silence behind the couch of the young ladies. A small fountain of alabaster played between two tall candelabra of the same material, at the farther end of the apartment; and a young damsel stood beside them, swinging slowly from time to time a silver censer, from which clouds of delicate odour rolled up to the mirrored roof.
In all things the feast was splendid; but there was no appearance of useless or vain ostentation. Every thing was conducted in a style of great calmness and order, without the least formality. The repast inter[pg 42]rupted not the conversation, which went on in a manner to me equally instructive as entertaining; although I must confess the presence of Athanasia sometimes rendered me inattentive to what was spoken. I could not divest myself of the idea, that some unknown circumstance was pressing on the mind of the fair creature, and that when she smiled upon those who addressed her, it was sometimes to conceal her ignorance of that which had been said.
Being asked by Capito, I endeavoured, among other things, to inform him and his friends, as far as I could, concerning the then condition of this island, which, more particularly after the exploits of Agricola, had come to be a subject of some interest. In return, the chief topics which then occupied the capital were discussed by them, as I perceived, in a great measure on my account; and I listened with delight to the praises, which they all agreed on bestowing on the new Emperor. Many anecdotes were narrated, which tended to strengthen the feelings of admiration, with which I had already been accustomed to contemplate his character. But others were told, as the conversation went on, which I could not so easily reconcile with the idea I had formed of him.
For example, I was somewhat disturbed with what they told me concerning his treatment of the Christians, who, as we understood in Britain, had been suffered to live in tranquillity ever since Nerva acceded to the empire. But now, from the circumstances related, it appeared that the mild and humane Trajan had taken up, in regard to this sect, the whole aversion of Domitian; every day some cruel catastrophe was made known [pg 43]of some person who had adopted their tenets. Being ignorant of the nature of those tenets, and having heard only in general terms that they were of Jewish origin, dark, and mystical, I was at a loss to account for the extreme hatred of the Prince, or rather for his condescending to give himself so much trouble concerning a matter so obscure and seemingly trifling.
Capito, however, assured me, that although I might have good occasion to wonder at the steps taken by the Emperor, it would no longer be said by any one, that the progress of the Christian sect deserved to be considered as a matter either of obscurity, or of no consequence. “On the contrary,” said he, “from what you have just heard of the numbers and quality of those that have lately suffered various punishments, you cannot hesitate to admit that the head of the empire has been justified in considering it as a subject worthy his attention.”
“We have adopted the gods of many nations,” said Pontius Mamurra, “nor do I see why, because the Jews have been unfortunate in a contest with Rome, we should take it for granted that theirs are unworthy of respect. If, however, as we have heard asserted, he who embraces this creed becomes an infidel in regard to the deities of Rome, I say Cæsar does well in refusing toleration to the intolerant superstition. Domitian was a tyrant, and a monster of humanity; the late prince was wise and good; and yet it may be, that, in regard to these Christians, the principle of Domitian’s conduct was right in the main, and that of Nerva’s wrong. But you, Capito, regard both sides of the question, I have no doubt, with the same indifference.”
“I hope,” replied Capito, “I shall never regard with indifference any question, in which the interest of the empire and the honour of Trajan are concerned. But if you mean only that I am indifferent about the nature of this Syrian superstition, you are in the right. I have no knowledge of its dogmas, nor desire to have. I presume they have their share of that old eastern barbarity, in the shady places of which the elder Greeks used to think they could discover the outlines of something really grand and majestic.”
“It may be so,” said Mamurra; “but if the superstition be found dangerous to the state, the Prince does well in repressing its progress. That is the only question of which I spake.”—“There is, indeed, no other,” said Capito; “I thought of none.”—“And how do you answer it, dear uncle?” said Athanasia, (lifting herself up, for the first time, to take part in the conversation.)—“Nay, my love,” said the old man, “to answer that is the business of Cæsar, and of the Senate. I only regret, that blood should be shed, and citizens exiled; above all, in the reign of a just and merciful Prince.—Sempronia,” continued he, “what is that strange story your father was telling about one of the daughters of Serennius?”
“They only allege,” replied Sempronia, with a smile, “that Tertulla had a flirtation with a handsome young Greek, and the Greek happened to be a Christian,—and she was converted by the Greek,—and she was found out in going with him to some secret assembly of these people, in a vault by the Vatican Hill,—and her father has been glad to send her to Corsica, partly to escape the lawyers, and partly, I suppose, in hopes [pg 45]that the quietness of the island, and the absence of handsome young Christians, may perhaps, in time, restore poor Tertulla to her right mind—This is all. Do you think that a strange story, uncle?” “Not, if it be exactly as you have told it, Sempronia. What says Athanasia?” Athanasia answered gravely, that she was sorry for Tertulla, and had never heard any thing of the young Greek before.
By this time, the increasing darkness of the chamber had warned me that we ought to be thinking of our return. I had more than once looked towards Sextus, but he refused to meet my eye. When I was on the point of speaking, Sempronia, starting from her couch, exclaimed, that she was sure there was thunder in the skies; and presently flash after flash gleamed along the horizon. All sat silent, as if awe-struck; but Sempronia was the only one that seemed to be in terror from the tempest. Nevertheless, my eyes rested more on Athanasia, who looked paler than she had done, although her countenance preserved its serenity. “How awful,” said I, “is the voice of Jupiter!” Athanasia folded her arms upon her bosom, and lifting her eyes to heaven, said in a whisper,—“How awful is the voice of God!” She then dropt her hand on the end of her couch, and half unconsciously taking hold of it in mine, I asked her if she was afraid. “No,” said she, “I am not afraid, but the heaviness of the air makes me faint, and I never can listen to thunder without feeling something extraordinary within me.”
Capito said, he could not think of our going into the city that evening, and that we must all make up our minds to remain in the villa. The countenance of [pg 46]Sextus brightened up, and he looked to me as if to ask my assent. I was easily persuaded, and our host despatched a messenger to inform Licinius of the cause of our absence. The old man then led us into another apartment, which was richly furnished with books and paintings. Here he read for some time out of one of the poets, to a party, none of whom, I am afraid, were very attentive in listening to him, till, the hour of rest being come, we were conducted to our several apartments, Sextus and myself, indeed, being lodged in the same chamber.
We were no sooner left alone than I began to rally my friend on the beauty of his mistress, and the earnest court he had been paying her. The youth listened with blushes of delight to her praises, but seemed not to have the least idea that he had been so fortunate as to make any impression on her mind. On the contrary, he scarcely appeared to be aware of having done any thing to attract attention from her, and expressed astonishment when I assured him, that his behaviour had been such as could not possibly admit of more than one explanation in the eyes of a person so quick and vivacious as the lovely Sempronia.
After we had both retired to our beds, and the lights were extinguished, we still continued for some time to talk over the incidents of our visit, and the future prospects of Sextus and his love; until at length sleep overpowered us in easy bonds, and agreeable dreams followed, I doubt not, in the hearts of us both, the thoughts and sights of a delightful day. Mine surely were delightful, for they were all of Athanasia. Yet, even in the visions of the night, I could never gaze [pg 47]on her face without some strange impression of mystery. I saw her placid smile—I heard the sweet low cadence of her voice—but I felt, and I could not feel it without a certain indescribable anxiety, that her deep thoughts were far away.
CHAPTER VI.
I awoke early, and drew near to the bed of Sextus; but seeing that he was fast asleep, and that a quiet smile was on his lips, I could not think of awakening him. The sun shone bright into the apartment, and I resolved to walk forth and breathe the balmy air of the garden.
The moisture was still heavy on the green paths, and the birds were singing among glittering leaves; the god-like statues stood unscathed in their silent beauty. I walked to and fro, enjoying the enchantment of the scene;—a new feeling of the beauty of all things seemed to have been breathed into my soul; and the pensive grace of Athanasia hovered over my imagination, like some presiding genius of the groves.
I found myself near the favourite grotto, and had stood over against its 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 [pg 49]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 [pg 50]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 [pg 51]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 [pg 52]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 [pg 53]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 [pg 54]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 [pg 55]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 [pg 57]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 [pg 58]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 [pg 59]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 [pg 60]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 recita[pg 61]tion, 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 [pg 64]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.
We had proceeded along the street of the Suburra for a considerable space, and were already beneath the shade of the great Temple of Isis and Serapis, (which stands on the northern side of the Esquiline Hill, nigh over against the Amphitheatre of Vespasian,) when, from the opposite side of the way, we were hailed by a small party of soldiers, who, as it turned out, had been sent from the Prætorian camp in search of Sabinus, and one of whom had now recognized his gait and stature, notwithstanding the obscurity of the hour. The Centurion went aside with the leader of these men for some moments, and then informed us that it was very fortunate they had so easily recognized him, as the business on which they had been sent was such as did not admit of being negligently dealt with. “To-morrow,” said he, pointing to the Amphitheatre before us, “that glorious edifice is to be the scene of one of the grandest shows [pg 65]exhibited by Trajan since his accession to the empire. It is the anniversary of the day on which he was adopted by Nerva, and the splendour of the spectacle will be in proportion to the gratitude and veneration with which he at all times regards the memory of that excellent benefactor. But there are some parts of the exhibition that I am afraid old Nerva, could he be present to behold them, would not regard with the same feelings as his successor.” “Surely,” said I, “the beneficent Trajan will not stain the expression of his gratitude by any thing unworthy of himself, or that could give displeasure to Nerva?” “Nay,” replied the Centurion, “it is not for me to talk about any thing that Trajan chooses to do being unworthy of Trajan; but you well know that Nerva would never suffer any of the Christians to be molested during his reign, and now here are some of these unhappy fanatics, that are to be compelled either to renounce their faith in the face of the assembly to-morrow, or to die in the arena. It is to inspect the condition of these unfortunates, who, I know not for what reason, are confined in a dungeon below the ramparts in the vicinity of our camp, and to announce to them the final determination of their fate, that I, as Centurion of the night, have now been summoned. If you are curious to see the men, you are at liberty to go with me, and I shall be obliged to you for your company.”
My curiosity having been excited in regard to the new faith and its adherents, I was very desirous to accept of this offer. Nor did Sextus any sooner perceive that such was my inclination, than he advised me to gratify it, undertaking, at the same time, to satisfy his father, in [pg 66]case of any inquiry, that I was in a place of safety, and under the protection of Sabinus. With him, therefore, and with his Prætorians, I proceeded along various streets which led us by the skirts of the Esquiline and Viminal Hills, on to the region of the Mounds of Tarquin, over against which, as you have heard, the great camp of those bands is situated;—if indeed that ought of right to be called by the name of a camp, which is itself a city of no slender dimensions, and built with great splendour of architecture, spread out beyond the limits of Rome, for the accommodation of that proud soldiery. There my friend took me into his chamber, and furnished me with a cloak and helmet, that I might excite no suspicion by accompanying him on his errand. The watch-word of the night also was given me, Silent faith; and proceeding again, we shortly reached the place where the Christians were lying.
CHAPTER VIII.
Entering the guard-room, we found it crowded with spearmen of Sabinus’s band, some playing at dice, others carousing jovially, many wrapt up in their mantles, and asleep upon the floor; while a few only were sitting beneath the porch, with their spears in their hands, and leaning upon their bucklers. From one of these, the Centurion, having drawn him aside, made inquiry concerning the names and condition of the prisoners, and whether as yet they had received any intelligence as to the morrow. The soldier, who was a grave man, well stricken in years, made answer, “that the men were free-born and of decent estate, and that he had not heard of any thing else being laid to their charge, excepting that which concerned their religion. Since they have been here,” he continued, “I have been several times set on watch over them, and twice have I lain with one of them in his dungeon; yet have I heard no complaints from any of them, for in all things they are patient. One of them only is to suffer to-morrow—but for him I am especially concerned, for he was known to me of old, having served often with me when I was a horseman in the army of Titus, all through the war of Palestine, and at the siege of Jerusalem.”
“And of what country is he?” said Sabinus. “Is he also a Roman?” “No, sir,” answered the spearman, “he is no Roman; but he was of a troop of the allies that was joined often to our legion, and I have seen him bear himself on the day of battle as well as any Roman. He is by birth a Greek of the Syrian coast; but his mother was of the nation of the Jews.” “And yet, although the son of a Jewess, he was with us, say you, at the siege of Jerusalem?” “Even so,” replied the man; “and not he only, but many others; for the Jews were divided against themselves; and of all them that were Christians, not one abode in the city, or gave help to defend it. As this man himself said, the oracles of the Christians, and their prophets, had of old given warning that the city must fall into the hands of Cæsar, by reason of the wickedness of that people; therefore, when we set our camp against Jerusalem, these all passed out from the city, with their wives and children, and dwelt safely in the mountainous country until the fate was fulfilled. But some of their young men fought in our camp, and did good service, because the place was known to them, and they had acquaintance with all the secrets of the Rock. Of these, this man was one. He and all his household had departed from the ancient religion of the Jews, and were believers in the doctrines of the Christians, for which cause he is now to suffer; and of that, although I have not spoken to him this evening, I think he has already received some intelligence, for certain of his friends passed in to him, and they covered their faces as they went in, as if weeping.” “Are these friends still with him?” said Sabinus. “Yes,” answered he, “for I must have seen them had [pg 69]they come forth again. Without doubt, the two women are still with him in his dungeon.” “Women?” quoth Sabinus; “and of what condition think you they may be?” “That I know not,” replied the soldier; “for, as I have said, they were muffled in their mantles. But one of them, at least, is a Roman, for I heard her speak to him that is by the door of the dungeon.” “How long is it,” said the Centurion, “since they went in to the prisoner?” “More than an hour,” replied the soldier, looking at the water-clock that stood beneath the porch; “and if they be Christians, they are not yet about to depart, for they never separate without singing together, which is said to be their favourite manner of worship.”
He had scarcely uttered these words, when the soldiers that were carousing within the guard-room became silent, and we heard the voices of those that were in the dungeon singing together in a sweet and lowly manner. “Ah, sir!” said the old soldier, “I thought it would be even so—there is not a spearman in the band that would not willingly watch here a whole night, could he be sure of hearing that melody. Well do I know that soft voice—Hear now, how she sings by herself—and there again, that deep strong note—that is the voice of the prisoner.”
“Hush!” quoth the Centurion, “heard you ever any thing half so divine? Are these words Greek or Syrian?” “What the words are I know not,” said the soldier; “but I know the tune well.—I have heard it played many a night with hautboy, clarion, and dulcimer, on the high walls of Jerusalem, while the city was beleaguered.” “It is some old Jewish tune then,” said Sabinus; “I knew not those barbarians had had half so much art.”
“Why, as for that, sir,” replied the man, “I have been all over Greece and Egypt—to say nothing of Italy—and I never heard any music like that music of the Jews. When they came down to join the battle, their trumpets sounded so gloriously, that we wondered how it was possible for them ever to be driven back; and then, when their gates were closed, and they sent out to beg their dead, they would play such solemn awful notes of lamentation, that the plunderers stood still to listen, and their warriors were delivered to them with all their mail as they had fallen.” “And the Christians also,” said Sabinus, “had the same tunes?” “Oh yes, sir—why, for that matter, these very tunes may have been among them, for aught we know, since the beginning of their nation. I have stood sentinel with this very man, and seen the tears run down his cheeks by the star-light, when he heard the music from the city, as the Jewish captains were going their rounds upon the battlements.” “But this, surely,” said the Centurion, “is no warlike melody.” “I know not,” quoth the old soldier, “whether it be or not—but I am sure it sounds not like any music of sorrow,—and yet what plaintive tones are in the part of that female voice!” “The bass sounds triumphantly, in good sooth.” “Ay, sir, but that is the old man’s own voice—I am sure he will keep a good heart to the end, even though they should be singing their farewell to him. Well, the Emperor loses a good soldier, the hour Tisias dies. I wish to Jupiter he had not been a Christian, or had kept his religion to himself. But as for changing now—you might as well think of persuading the Prince himself to be a Jew.”
“That last high strain, however,” quoth Sabinus, [pg 71]“has ended their singing. Let us speak to the women as they come out; and if it be so that the man is already aware of what is to be done to-morrow, I see not why we should trouble him with entering his cell. He has but a few hours to live, and I would not willingly disturb him.” “I hear them coming,” said the soldier. “Then do you meet them,” said Sabinus, “and tell them that the Centurion wishes to speak to them ere they go away—we will retire out of hearing of the guard.”
With that he and I withdrew to the other side of the way, over against the door of the prison; and we stood there waiting for the women under a fig-tree, close by the city wall. In a few minutes two persons, arrayed as the soldier had described, drew near to us; and one of them, without uncovering her countenance, said,—“Master, we trust we have done no evil in visiting the prisoners; had it been so, surely we should not have been permitted to enter without question.”
These words were spoken in a voice tremulous, as if with grief rather than with terror; but I could not help starting when I heard them. However, I commanded myself, and heard in silence what Sabinus replied.—“Be not alarmed,” said he; “there is no offence committed, for no orders have been issued to prevent these men from seeing their friends. I sent for you, not to find fault with what you have done, but only to ask whether this prisoner has already been told that the Emperor has announced his resolution concerning him, and that he must die to-morrow, in the Amphitheatre of Vespasian, unless he renounce his superstition.”—“He knows all,” answered the same voice; “and is prepared for all.”
“By heavens! Valerius,” whispered Sabinus; “it is no mean person that speaks so—this is the accent and the gesture of a Roman lady.” Then raising his voice, “In that case there is no need for my going into the dungeon; and yet, could I hope to say any thing that might tend to make him change his purpose, I would most gladly do so. The Emperor is as humane as he is just, and unless when rebellious obstinacy shuts the gates of mercy, he is the last that would consent to the shedding of any blood.—For this Tisias, of whose history I have just been hearing something, I am in a particular manner interested, and to save him, I wish only I had power equal to my inclination. Is there no chance of convincing him?”—“He is already convinced.”—“Could his friends do nothing?”—“His friends have been with him,” said the voice.—This last sentence was spoken so distinctly, that I knew I could no longer be mistaken; and I was on the brink of speaking out, without thinking of the consequences that might occur, when she that had spoken, uttered a faint cry, and dropping on her knees before Sabinus, said,—“Oh, sir! to us also be merciful, and let us go hence ere any one behold us!”—“Go in peace, lady,” answered the Centurion, “and henceforth be prudent as well as kind;” and they went away from us, and were soon lost to our sight in the windings of the street.
We stood there for some moments in silence, looking towards the place where they disappeared. “Strange superstition,” said Sabinus; “what heroism dwells with this madness!—you see how little these men regard their lives;—nay, even women, and Roman women too—you see how their nature is changed by it.”—“It is, indeed, a most strange spectacle,” said I; “but what is to be the [pg 73]end of it, if this spirit become diffused widely among the people?”—“In truth I know not,” answered the Centurion; “as yet we have heard of few who had once embraced this faith, renouncing it out of fear for their lives.”—“And in the days of Nero and Domitian,” said I, “were not many hundreds of them punished even here in the capital?”—“You are within the mark,” said he; “and not a few of those who were sent into exile, because of their Christianity, were, as you may have heard, of no ordinary condition. Among these there were Flavius Clemens, the Consular, and his wife, Domitilla; both of whom I have often seen in my youth—both relations to the family of Vespasian—whom, notwithstanding, all the splendour of the imperial blood could not save from the common fate of their sect. But Nerva suffered all of them to live in peace, and recalled such as were in exile, excepting only Domitilla, whose fate has been regretted by all men; but I suppose it was not at first judged safe to recal her, lest any tumult should have been excited in her name, by those that regretted (and I am sorry to say these were not a few) the wicked license of which they had been deprived by the death of her tyrannical kinsman, and the transition of the imperial dignity into another line. She also with whom we have been speaking, is, I am sure, a Roman lady of condition; and you may judge of her zeal, when you see it brings her hither at midnight, to mingle tears and prayers with those of an obscure Asiatic. Did you observe, that the other female both walked and stood behind her.”
“I observed all this,” answered I. But little did Sabinus suspect that I had observed so much more than [pg 74]himself had done. Before parting from him, I said I should still be gratified with being permitted to see the prisoner; and although he declined entering himself, he accordingly gave command that the door of his dungeon should be opened for me, requesting me, at the same time, to refrain from saying any thing more than was necessary for the explaining the apparent purpose of my visit,—the communication, namely, of Trajan’s decree.
The Centurion withdrew to his camp; and the same old spearman with whom we had conversed at the Porch, carried a torch in his hand, and shewed me the way into the dungeon.
Between the first door and the second, which appeared to be almost entirely formed of iron, there intervened a few broad steps of mason-work; and upon the lowest of these, I stood waiting till he should open the inner door. Several keys were applied before he discovered the right one; but at last the heavy door swung away from before him so speedily, that the air, rushing out of the vault, extinguished the torch; insomuch, that we had no light excepting that which streamed from an aperture high up in the wall of the dungeon itself; a feeble ray of star-light alone—for the moon had, long ere this time, been gone down—which, nevertheless, sufficed to shew us to the prisoner, although we at first could see nothing of him.
“Soldiers,” said the old man, in a voice of perfect calmness, “for what reason are you come?”—“We come,” said my companion, “by command of the Centurion, to inform you of things which we would willingly not have to tell—To-morrow Trajan opens the [pg 75]Amphitheatre of Vespasian.”—“My comrade,” said the prisoner, “is it your voice I hear? I knew all this already; and you know of old that I fear not the face of death.”—“I know well, Tisias, you fear not death; yet why, when there is no need, should you cast away life? Think well, I beseech you, and reserve yourself for a better day.”—“The dawn of that better day, Romans, already begins to open upon my eyes. I see the east red with the promise of its brightness. Would you have me tarry in darkness, when I am invited to walk forth into the light?”—“Your words rejoice me,” answered the spearman; “and I am sure all will rejoice in hearing that you have at length come to think thus—Trajan himself will rejoice. You have but to say the word, and you are free,”—“You mean kindly,” said the old man, rising from his pallet, and walking towards us as far as his fetters permitted; “but you are much mistaken—I have but to keep silence, and I am free.”—“Alas! what mean you? Do you know what you say? You must worship the gods in the morning, else you die.”—“Evening, and morning, and for ever, I must worship the God that made heaven and earth. If I bow down to the idols of Trajan, I buy the life of a day at the price of death everlasting. Tempt me not in your kindness: I fell once. Great God, preserve me from falling! I have bade farewell to my friends already. Leave me to spend these few hours by myself.—Leave me to prepare the flesh for that from which the spirit shrinks not.” So saying, he extended his hand to the spearman, and the two old men embraced each other before me.
“Prisoner,” said I, “if there be any thing in which [pg 76]we can serve you, command our aid. We have already done our duty; if we can also do any thing that may give ease to your mind now, or comfort to your kindred, you have but to speak.”—“Sir,” replied he, “I see by the eagle wings on your helmet, that you are one in authority, and I hear by your voice that you are young. There is a certain thing, concerning which I had some purpose to speak to this old brother.”—“Speak with confidence,” said I; “although I am a Roman, and bear all loyalty to Cæsar, yet this Prætorian helmet is not mine, and I have but assumed it for the sake of having access to your prison. I am no soldier of Trajan: Whatever I can do for you without harm to others, speak, and I will do it. I will swear to you——” “Nay, sir,” said he, “swear not—mock not the God of heaven, by invoking idol or demon—I believe your word—but, since you will hear, there is no need why any other should be witness to my request.”—“I will retire,” said the other, “and keep watch at the door. I am but a poor spearman, and this young patrician can do more than I.”—“Be it so,” said the prisoner, a second time embracing him; “I would not willingly expose you to any needless danger; and yet I see not what danger there is in all that I have to ask.”
With this the spearman withdrew; and being left alone with Tisias, I took his hand, and sitting down beside him on his pallet, shortly explained to him the circumstances under which I had come thither.
“Young sir,” said he, “I know not what is about the sound of your voice, and the frankness of your demeanour, that makes me feel confidence enough to intrust you with a certain thing, which concerns not [pg 77]myself, nor any hope of mine, for that were little—but the interests of one that is far dearer to me than I can express, and who, I hope, will live many happy days upon earth, after I shall have sealed my belief in the message of God, by blood that has of old been exposed a thousand times to all mortal perils, for the sake of worthless things. But a very short while ago, and I might have executed this thing for myself; but weakness overcame me at the moment of parting.”
“If it be any thing which you would have me convey to any one, say where I may find the person,” said I, “and be assured I shall deliver it in safety.”
“Sir,” he proceeded, “I have here with me certain writings, which I have carried for these twenty years continually in my bosom. Among these, is one of the sacred books of the faith for which I am to die, and I would fain have it placed in the hands of one to whom I know it will be dearest of all for the sake of that which it contains; but, I hope, dear also for the sake of him that bequeaths it. Will you seek out a certain Roman lady, and undertake to give into her own hands, in secret, the scroll which I shall give you?”—“I will do my endeavour,” said I; “and if I cannot find means to execute your command, I shall destroy the book with my own hands before I quit Rome—for my stay here is uncertain.”—“If you cannot find means to do what I ask safely,” he replied, “I do not bid you destroy the book—that is yours to do with as it shall seem good to you—but I conjure you to read it before you throw it away. Nay, even as it is, I conjure you to read it before you seek to give it to her whose name I shall [pg 78]mention.”—“Old man,” said I, “almost I believe that I already know her name, and more besides. If it be so that I have conjectured aright, be assured that all you ask shall be fulfilled to the letter; be assured also, that I would die with you to-morrow, rather than live to be the cause or instrument of any evil thing to her that but now visited you in your dungeon.”—“Alas!” cried the old man, starting up, “lay not this also, O Lord! upon my head. Let the old bear witness—but let the young be spared, to serve thee in happier years upon the earth!”—“Be not afraid,” said I, “if it was Athanasia, no one suspected it but myself; and I have already told you that I would die rather than bring evil upon her head.”
“Yes,” he answered, after a pause—“it was, indeed, Athanasia. Who is it but she that would have left the halls of nobles, and the couches of peace, to breathe at midnight the air of a dungeon, that she might solace the last moments of a poor man, and, save the bond of Christ, a stranger! But if you have known her before, and spoken with her before, then surely she must indeed be safe in your hands. You know where she dwells—that I myself know not. Here is the scroll, from which that noble maiden has heard my humble voice essay to expound the words of eternal life. I charge you to approach her with reverence, and give into her own hands my dying bequest; yet, as I have said, deliver it not to her till you have yourself read what it contains.”—“Christian,” said I, placing the writing in my bosom, “have no fear—I will read your book, and ere two nights have gone over my head, I shall find means to place it in the hands of Athanasia; and now, fare[pg 79]well.”—“Nay, not yet for the last time. Will you not come in the morning, and behold the death of a Christian?”—“Alas!” said I, “what will it avail that I should witness the shedding of your blood? The Prince may have reason to regard you as an offender against the state; but I have spoken with you in your solitude, and know that your heart is noble. Would to Heaven, that by going thither I could avert your fate!”—“Methinks, sir,” he replied, “it may be weakness—but yet methinks it would give me some farther comfort in my death, to know that there was at least one Roman there, who would not see me die without pity; and besides I must have you constrain yourself, that you may be able to carry the tidings of my departure. Her prayers will be with me, but not her eyes. You must tell Athanasia the manner of my death.”—“For that cause,” said I, “I will constrain myself, and be present in the Amphitheatre.”—“Then, farewell,” said he; “——and yet go not. In whatsoever faith you live,—in whatsoever faith you die, the blessing of an old man and a Christian can do you no harm.” So saying, the old man stood up, and leaning his hand on my head as I sat, pronounced over me a blessing which I never shall forget. “The Lord bless thee—the Lord enlighten thy darkness—the Lord plant his seed in thy kind heart—the Lord give thee also to die the death of a Christian!”
When he had said so, he sat down again; and I departed greatly oppressed in spirit, yet feeling, I know not how or why, as I would rather have lost many merry days, than that dark and sorrowful hour. The soldiers in the guard-room were so much engaged in [pg 80]their different occupations, that they heeded me not as, dropping my borrowed habiliments, I stept silently to the gate; and I was soon out of sight of their flaming watch-fires, and far from the sounds of their noisy mirth.
CHAPTER IX.
The Roman streets were totally silent and deserted. It was the first time that I had been in the presence of a human being, foreseeing distinctly, and quietly waiting, the termination of his mortal existence, and I could not help asking of myself, how, under similar circumstances of terror, I should have been able to sustain my spirits?—to what resources I should, in such a moment, look for the support which seemed to have been vouchsafed so abundantly to this old man; by what charm, in fine,—by what tenet of philosophy, or by what hope of religion,—I should, in the midst of life, be able to reconcile myself to a voluntary embrace of death! To avoid disgrace, indeed, and dishonour, said I, I think I could be Roman enough to dare the worst; but this poor man is willing to die, rather than acknowledge, by one offering on the altar, the deities in whose worship all his Greek ancestors have been trained; yet who, except perhaps a few obscure individuals that have adopted the same new superstition, would think this man dishonoured by returning to the religion of his fathers? Deep, indeed, must be his conviction of the truth of that which he professes to believe—serious indeed must be his faith, and high his trust. What if, [pg 82]after all, his faith should be true, and his trust wise? And the gentle Athanasia!—She too a Christian! Might not this mystery be hereafter explained to me by her lips?
Musing and meditating thus, it was no wonder that I, who knew so little of Rome, should have soon wandered from the straight way to the home of my kinsman. But that I at last caught, at the turning of a street, a glimpse of the Flavian Amphitheatre, which I had before passed on my way from the feast of Rubellia, I might, perhaps, have wandered long. I had some notion how that grand edifice was situated with respect to the house of Licinius, and therefore moved towards it immediately, intending to pass straight down from thence into the Sacred Way. But when I came close to the Amphitheatre, I found that, surrounded on all sides by a city of sleep and silence, that region was already filled with all manner of noise and tumult, in consequence of the preparations which had begun to be made for the spectacles. The east hardly yet indicated dawn; but the torches and lanterns of workmen and artificers were in motion every where. On one side, the whole way was blocked up with a throng of waggons; the conductors, almost all Ethiopians and Numidians, lashing each other’s horses, and exchanging, in their barbarous tongues, outcries of wrath and execration. The bellowings that resounded from any of the waggons, which happened to be set in motion amidst the throng, intimated that savage beasts were confined within them; and when I had discovered this, and then regarded the prodigious multitude of the vehicles, I cannot say what horror came over me at thinking [pg 83]what cruel sights, and how lavish in cruelty, were become the favourite pastimes of the most refined of nations. I recognized the well-known short deep snort of the wild boar, and the long hollow bark of the wolf; but a thousand fierce sounds, mingled with these, were new to my ears. One voice, however, was so grand in its notes of sullen rage, that I could not help asking a soldier, who sate on horseback near me, from what monster it proceeded. The man answered, that it was a lion; but then what laughter arose among some of the rabble, that had overheard my interrogation; and what contemptuous looks were thrown upon me by the naked negroes, who sate grinning in the torch-light, on the tops of their carriages! Then one or two of the soldiers would be compelled to ride into the midst of the confusion, to separate some of these wretches, fighting with their whips about precedence in the approach; and it seemed to me that the horses could not away with the strong sickly smell of the wild beasts; for they would prance, and caper, and rear on end, and snort as if panic-struck, and dart themselves towards the other side; while some of the riders were thrown off in the midst of the tumult, and others, with fierce and strong bits, compelled the frightened or infuriated animals to endure the thing they abhorred—in their wrath and pride forcing them even nearer than was necessary. In another quarter, this close-mingled pile of carts and horses was surmounted by the enormous heads of elephants, thrust up into the air, some of them with their huge lithe trunks lashing and beating (for they, too, as you have heard, would rather die than snuff in the breath of these monsters of the woods,) while the tiara’d [pg 84]heads of their riders would be seen tossed to and fro by their contortions. What a cry of cursing, what cracking of whips and cords, what blowing of horns, and whistling and screaming; and all this mixed with what roaring and howling from the savage creatures caged in darkness!
I went, however, for a moment, into the Amphitheatre, by a little side-way, where admission was cheaply obtained. Here, as yet, all things were in order, for the hour had not yet come for giving the wild beasts entrance to the huge dens prepared for them. A few carpenters only were seen in one corner, erecting a sort of low stage, and singing merrily, of whom, when I made inquiry concerning the purpose of that erection, one of these fellows also began to jeer; “Whence come you, good sir, that you do not know a common scaffold when you see it? It is surely not the first time that a Christian has had his head chopped off in the Flavian?”—“By Pluto, I am not so sure about that matter,” quoth another. “I don’t know whether any of the dogs were ever beheaded here or not; if they have been, I can only say it was better than they deserved.”—“There spoke a true man,” cries a third. “No, no; keep beheading for Romans—let citizens have their own. Things are come to a pretty pass, when they shew us nothing but tigers against tigers. By Jove, I would rather see one of those misbelieving Atheists set right before the mouth of a true Getulian lion’s cage, and hear his bones cracked ere all be over,—I say, I would rather see that, than fifty of your mere beast fights.”—“After all,” rejoined the first, “it must be allowed that our Cæsar had a fine eye for the Amphitheatre.”—[pg 85]“Who doubts it?” says the other. “Rome has never seen any thing that deserved to be called a show, since he was killed by sneaking traitors. They say, Nero was still better at that sort of work; but ‘let the skinless Jew believe,’ as the saying is. I desire to see no better sport than Domitian gave us the very week before his death. We shall never live to see his like again!”—“Come, boys,” rejoins one of the rest; “no despairing! I had begun to think that these good princes, as they call them, would never shew us a bit of real sport again. Here, now, is at least something. Who can tell what may follow? and, besides, if the worst come to the worst, we shall still have lions against lions, tigers against tigers, Dacians against Dacians, and now and then a Jew or a Christian, or whatever you please to call him, exhibited solus on such a stage as this. Come, come, don’t make matters worse than they are.”
The ruffians shewed that they knew well enough I was displeased, and I half regretted, as I strode away from them, the want of that Prætorian helmet, which would have preserved me from the insolence of their mirth. However, I was well pleased to gain a distance at which I could no longer be troubled with them, and walked with rapid steps along the wide streets, over which morning was now beginning to shine; while the air, agitated with a quick breeze, refreshed my cheeks and temples—of which I had need, being heated with the glare and noise, and, perhaps, faint, too, after the manner of the young, from want of sleep.
I was admitted into the house by Dromo, who seemed to have been looking out for me; for he opened the [pg 86]door almost before I had time to knock at it. He regarded me as I entered with a very cunning face; insomuch, that I comprehended without difficulty, he believed me to have spent the night in some scene of debauch; but he, nevertheless, attended me, without saying a word, into my chamber. He then assumed a countenance of great reflection, and advised me, with much appearance of friendly concern, to go to bed, even although I could not stay long there; “because,” said he, “you will feel much fresher when you get up; and let me tell you, you must be up early, for I have already been with Licinius, who intends to send Sextus with a present to Rubellia immediately after breakfast; and you may be sure he will insist on your company, for he can do nothing without you. Ah! had it not been for a certain pretty creature, the young gentleman would not, I am confident, have permitted you to be going the rounds in this way by yourself. But I take it something amiss, and shall tell him so, that he did not depute me (who am not particularly enamoured just at present) to go with you, and take care of your safety. I only wonder how you have got home so well as it is.”—“Indeed,” said I, “good Dromo, I cannot help wondering a little at that myself—for I have been all through the city, and lost my way half-a-dozen times over, and yet here you see I am.”—“The more reason,” quoth the slave, “that you should send some little offering to Mercury’s Temple over the way, in the morning—a few sesterces will be sufficient—and if you have no objections, I shall willingly take care of them for you. Mercury is the guardian of all that travel about in the dark; and besides, he is the special patron [pg 87]of love expeditions. But to say the truth, you are not the only person that owes a gift to that shrine; for the worthy sage—Xerophrastes—he, too, has been a night-wanderer—and he has not yet come in. I have my doubts whether, when he does so, he will be as sober as you are; but I must take care to be at my post, and admit him in silence, for the time is not yet come to uncloak his doings. Trust me, this is not the only vagary I have set down to his account—all in good time. But what says my master Valerius, touching the offering to the great God Hermes?”
I saw, by the knave’s face, that it was necessary the sesterces should be forthcoming. “Here they are,” said I, “good Dromo; and remember, that although Mercury, among other things, is the god of thieves also, he will not be well pleased if you curtail his offering.” “Never mind,” answered the varlet, as he was shuffling out of the room, “Mercury and I understand each other of old. Go to bed, and try to get a little of your own old British red into your cheeks again; for Licinius has a hawk’s eye, and will be sure to have his suspicions, if he sees you come down with such a haggard look. Remember you have not a beard to cover half your face, and all your iniquities.”
So saying, he left me to my couch, indeed, but not to slumber; for busy thoughts kept me broad awake, till, after the lapse of perhaps an hour, young Sextus entered my apartment, already arrayed with more than usual elegance, to execute, however unwillingly, the message of his father. He had in his hand a small casket of open ivory-work, which he flung down on my bed, saying, “Get up, dear Valerius, and save me [pg 88]at least from the pain of going alone with these gewgaws. Would to Heaven my father would marry her himself, and then I should have no objection to carry as many caskets as he pleases. But do you get up and assist me; and as we go along, you shall tell me what you have seen and heard in company with your jovial Prætorian.”
I was soon ready, and ascended, along with my young friend, the chariot which Licinius had commanded to be ready. I told him, as we glided through the streets, as much as I judged expedient; and, in particular, when I perceived that our charioteer was making a circuit, in order to avoid the neighbourhood of the Amphitheatre, I could not help expressing to him the effect which had been produced in my mind, by my casual inspection of the preparations. “I am afraid, then,” said he, “that you will scarcely be willing to witness the exhibition itself; and yet I would fain have you to overcome your aversion, both because, whatever you may think of such things, it is not fitting that you should go from Rome without once, at least, seeing how they are conducted; and more particularly, because I much suspect Rubellia intends to be present at the festival—in which case I should be sorry to be compelled to attend upon her without you; and as to leaving her at the gate of the Amphitheatre, that, you know, would be quite impossible, unless I wished openly to contradict the wishes of my father.”
I assured him he should not want any comfort my presence could afford him; although not without, at the same time, expressing my astonishment that he should consider it at all probable that his dainty [pg 89]Rubellia would choose to sit among the spectators of an exhibition so abounding in circumstances of cruelty, and, as I had understood, forbidden to her sex. “Nay,” answered he, “laws and edicts are made to be broken in such cases; and as for the cruelty of the scene, there is scarcely a lady in Rome that would be more scrupulous on that head than my widow. To tell you the truth, one of the things that makes me most unwilling to go, is the fear that Sempronia also may be there; and, perhaps, when she sees me with Rubellia, give credence to some of the reports which have been circulated (not without my father’s assent, I think, if all were known,) about this odious marriage, which I swear to you shall never take place, although Licinius were to drive me from his door, and adopt a stranger.”—“Sextus,” I made answer, “if Sempronia thinks there is any thing serious between the widow and you, she must think you a pretty rascal, for the violent love you made to herself at the Villa. But I am sure she will easily perceive, by your countenance, that you do not regard Rubellia, handsome as she is, with any extraordinary admiration; whereas—if you were not conscious of it, I am sure she must have been so—there was never a face of more passionate love than yours, all the time you were in her company. And, even now, the very mention of her name calls a glow into your cheeks,—yes, and even into your eyes,—that I think would flatter Rubellia, could she excite such another, more than all the jewels of all the caskets your father will ever send.”—“Distract me not, O Valerius!” said the youth,—“distract me not with speaking of that too lovely, and, I fear, too scornful [pg 90]girl. Do you not perceive that we have at last struck into the Suburra, and are quite near to Rubellia’s house?”—“It is so,” said I, looking out of the carriage, “and I suspect you are right in thinking she means to be present at the Amphitheatre, for there is a crowd of urchins about her gate, and I perceive a brilliant group of equipages has attracted them. She purposes to go in all her splendour.”—“Good Heavens!” replied he, “I believe all the world is to be there. I never passed so many chariots; and as for the rabble, see what a stream of heads continues pouring down out of every alley. My only hope is, that Rubellia may arrive too late for the best situations, and perhaps disdain to witness the spectacle from any inferior part of the Amphitheatre; and yet she must have interest, no doubt, to have secured good accommodation beforehand.”
We were just in time to meet Rubellia stepping from her portico with a gay cluster of attendants. On seeing us, however, she beckoned with her finger, and said, “Oh, are you come at last? Well, I must take Valerius with myself, for I insist upon it that I shall be best able to point out what is worthy of his notice; and you, Sextus Licinius, come you also into my chariot; we will not separate you from your Orestes.” She said so with an air of sprightly ease and indifference, and sprung into the carriage. An elderly lady, with a broad merry face, went into it also, but there was still room for Sextus and myself; and the rest of the party followed in other vehicles that were waiting.
The crowd by this time had so accumulated, that our horses could not advance but at leisurely pace; but the noise of the multitude as they rushed along, and the [pg 91]tumult of expectation visible on every countenance, prevented us from thinking of any thing but the festival. The variety, however, and great splendour of the equipages, could not but attract my attention. Now it was an open chariot, drawn by milk-white Thessalian horses, in which reclined some gorgeous female, blazing with jewellery, with a cluster of beautiful boys or girls administering odours to her nostril; and perhaps some haughty Knight or Senator now and then offering the refreshment of his flattery. Then, perhaps, would come rumbling along, a close clumsy waggon, of the old-fashioned matronly sort, stuck full with some substantial plebeian family—the fat, comfortable-looking citizen, and his demure spouse, sitting well back on their cushions, and having their knees loaded with an exulting progeny of lads and lasses, whose faces would, every now and then, be thrust half out of the window, in spite of the mother’s tugging at their skirts. And then, again, a cry of “Place, place,” and a group of lictors, shoving every body aside with their rods, before the litter of some dignified magistrate, who, from pride or gout, preferred that species of motion to the jolting of a chariot. Such a portly person as this would soon be hurried past us, but not before we had time to observe the richness of the silken cushions on which he lay extended, or the air of majesty with which he submitted himself to the fan of the favoured freedman, whose business it was to keep those authoritative cheeks free from the contamination of common dust and flies. Anon, a jolly band of young gallants, pushing their steeds along, to not a few of whom the fair Rubellia would vouchsafe her salutation. [pg 92]But wherever the carriage was stopped for an instant, it was wonderful to see the number of old emaciated men, and withered hags, that would make their way close up to the windows, imploring wherewithal to obtain a morsel. The widow herself leaned back on these occasions, as if to avoid the sight; but she pointed to a bag of small coin that hung in a corner of the chariot, and from it Sextus distributed to the one side, and I to the other; and yet it was impossible to give to every one; we were surrounded all the way with a mingled clamour of benedictions from those that had received, and execrations from those that had got nothing, and noisy ever-renewed solicitations from that ever-swelling army of mendicants. At last, however, we arrived in safety at the western gate—the same around which I had, the night before, witnessed such tumultuous preparation. One of the officers in waiting there, no sooner descried the equipage, than he caused a space to be laid open for its approach, and himself advanced to hand Rubellia into the interior, but she whispered to Sextus and me, by no means to separate from her in the crowd.
CHAPTER X.
Behold me, therefore, in the midst of the Flavian Amphitheatre, and seated, under the wing of the luxurious Rubellia, in a very convenient situation. There was a general silence in the place, because proclamation had just been made that the gladiators, with whose combats the exhibition was to commence, were about to enter upon the arena, and shew themselves in order to the people. As yet, however, they had not come forth from that place of concealment to which so many of their number would never return; so that I had leisure to collect my thoughts, and survey for a moment, without disturbance, the mighty and most motley multitude, piled above, below, and on every side around me, from the lordly senators, on their silken couches, along the parapet of the arena, up to the impenetrable mass of plebeian heads which skirted the horizon, above the topmost wall of the Amphitheatre itself. Such was the enormous crowd of human beings, high and low, that when any motion went through their assembly, the noise of their rising up or sitting down might be likened to the sullen roaring of the sea, or the rushing of a great night-wind in a forest. Not less than eighty thousand human beings, they told me, were here met together. [pg 94]Such a multitude could no where be regarded, without inspiring a certain indefinable sense of majesty; least of all, when congregated within the wide sweep of such a glorious edifice, and surrounded on all sides with every circumstance of ornament and splendour, befitting an everlasting monument of Roman victory and imperial munificence. Judge, then, with what eyes all this was surveyed by me, who had but of yesterday emerged from a British valley—who had been accustomed all my life to consider as among the most impressive of spectacles, the casual passage of a few scores of legionaries through some dark alley of a wood, or awe-struck village of barbarians.
Trajan himself was already present—his ivory chair distinguished only by its canopy from that of the other Consul who sate over against him; tall and majestic in his demeanour; grave, sedate, and benign in countenance, as you have seen in his medals and statues. He was arrayed in a plain gown, and appeared to converse quite familiarly, without affectation of condescension, with such Patricians as had their places near him; among whom Sextus and Rubellia pointed out many remarkable personages to my notice; as Adrian, afterwards emperor; Pliny, the orator, a man of courtly presence, and lively, agreeable aspect; and, above all, the historian Tacitus, the worthy son-in-law of our Agricola, in whose pallid countenance I could easily recognize the depth, but sought in vain to discover any traces of the sternness of his genius. Of all the then proud names that were whispered into my ear, could I recollect or repeat them now, how few would awaken any interest in your minds! Those, indeed, which I [pg 95]have mentioned, have an interest that will never die. Would that the greatest and the best of them all were to be remembered only for deeds of greatness and goodness!
The proclamation being repeated a second time, a door on the right hand of the arena was laid open, and a single trumpet sounded, as it seemed to me, mournfully, while the gladiators marched in with slow steps, each man—naked, except being girt with a cloth about his loins—bearing on his left arm a small buckler, and having a short straight sword suspended by a cord around his neck. They marched, as I have said, slowly and steadily; so that the whole assembly had full leisure to contemplate the forms of the men; while those skilled in such business were fixing, in their own minds, on such as they thought most likely to be victorious, and laying wagers concerning their chances of success, with as much unconcern as if they had been contemplating irrational animals, or rather, indeed, I should say, so many pieces of ingenious mechanism. The diversity of complexion and feature exhibited among these devoted athletes, afforded at once a majestic idea of the extent of the empire, and a terrible one of the purposes to which that wide sway had often been made subservient. The beautiful Greek, with a countenance of noble serenity, and limbs after which the sculptors of his country might have modelled their symbols of graceful power, walked side by side with the yellow-bearded savage, whose gigantic muscles had been nerved in the freezing waves of the Elbe or Ister, or whose thick strong hair was congealed and shagged on his brow with the breath of Scythian or [pg 96]Scandinavian winters. Many fierce Moors and Arabs, and curled Ethiopians, were there, with the beams of the southern sun burnt in every various shade of swarthiness upon their skins. Nor did our own remote island want her representatives in the deadly procession, for I saw among the armed multitude—not surely without some feelings of more peculiar interest—two or three gaunt barbarians, whose breasts and shoulders bore uncouth marks of blue and purple, so vivid in the tints, that I thought many months could not have elapsed since they must have been wandering in wild freedom along the native ridges of some Silurian or Caledonian forest. As they moved around the arena, some of these men were saluted by the whole multitude with noisy acclamations, in token, I suppose, of the approbation wherewith the feats of some former festival had deserved to be remembered. On the appearance of others, groans and hisses were heard from some parts of the Amphitheatre, mixed with contending cheers and huzzas from others of the spectators. But by far the greater part were suffered to pass on in silence;—this being in all likelihood the first—who could tell whether it might not also be the last day of their sharing in that fearful exhibition!
Their masters paired them shortly, and in succession they began to make proof of their fatal skill. At first, Scythian was matched against Scythian—Greek against Greek—Ethiopian against Ethiopian—Spaniard against Spaniard; and I saw the sand dyed beneath their feet with blood streaming from the wounds of kindred hands. But these combats, although abundantly bloody and terrible, were regarded only as preludes to the serious [pg 97]business of the day, which consisted of duels between Europeans on the one side, and Africans on the other; wherein it was the well-nigh intransgressible law of the Amphitheatre, that at least one out of every pair of combatants should die. Instead of shrinking from these more desperate brutalities, the almost certainty of their termination seemed only to make the assembly gaze on them with a more intense curiosity and delight. Methinks I feel as if it were but of yesterday, when,—sickened with the protracted terrors of a conflict, that seemed as if it were never to have an end, although both the combatants were already covered all over with hideous gashes,—I at last bowed down my head, and clasped my hands upon my eyes. I had scarcely done so, when Rubellia laid her hand upon my elbow, whispering, “Look, look, now look,” in a voice of low, steady impatience. I did look, but not to the arena: No; it was upon the beautiful features of that woman’s face that I looked, and truly it seemed to me as if they presented a spectacle almost as fearful. I saw those rich lips parted, those dark eyes extended, those smooth cheeks suffused with a steadfast blush, that lovely bosom swelled and glowing; and I hated Rubellia, for I knew not before how utterly beauty can be brutalized by the throbbings of a cruel heart. But I looked round to escape from the sight of her;—and the hundreds of females that I saw fixed with equal earnestness on the same horrors, taught me, even at the moment, to think with more charity of that pitiless gaze of one.
At that instant all were silent in contemplation of the breathless strife; insomuch, that a groan, the first that had escaped from either of the combatants, although [pg 98]low and suppressed, sounded distinctly amidst the deep hush, and being constrained to turn once more downwards, I beheld that, at length, one of the two had received the sword of his adversary quite through his body, and had sunk upon the sand. A beautiful young man was he that had received this harm, with fair hair, clustered in glossy ringlets upon his neck and brows; but the sickness of his wound was already visible on his drooping eye-lids, and his lips were pale, as if the blood had rushed from them to the untimely outlet. Nevertheless, the Moorish gladiator who had fought with him had drawn forth again his weapon, and stood there awaiting in silence the decision, whether at once to slay the defenceless youth, or to assist in removing him from the arena, if perchance the blood might be stopped from flowing, and some hope of recovery even yet extended. There arose, on the instant, a loud voice of contention; and it seemed to me as if the wounded man regarded the multitude with a proud, contemptuous glance, being aware, without question, that he had executed all things so as to deserve their compassion, but aware, moreover, that even had that been freely vouchsafed to him, it was too late. But the cruelty of their faces, it may be, and the loudness of their cries, were a sorrow to him, and filled his dying breast with loathing. Whether or not the haughtiness of his countenance had been observed by them with displeasure, I cannot say; but those who had cried out to give him a chance of recovery, were speedily silent, and Cæsar looking round, and seeing all the thumbs turned downwards, was constrained to give the sign, and forthwith the young man, receiving again without a struggle the sword of the Moor into his gashed bosom, breathed forth [pg 99]his life, and lay stretched out in his blood upon the place of guilt. With that a joyous clamour was uplifted by many of those that looked upon it, and the victorious Moor, being crowned with an ivy garland, was carried in procession around the arena by certain young men, who leaped down for that purpose from the midst of the assembly. In the meantime, those that had the care of such things, dragged away, with a filthy hook, the corpse of him that had been slain; and then, raking up the sand over the blood that had fallen from him, prepared the place, with indifferent countenances, for some other tragedy,—while all around me, the spectators were seen rising from their places, and saluting each other; and there was a buzz of talking as universal as the silence had been during the combat; some speaking of this thrust and that ward, and paying and receiving money lost and won; some already discoursing of other matters, as if nothing uncommon had been witnessed; while others, again, appeared to be entirely occupied with the martial music which ever struck up majestically at such pauses, beating time upon the benches before them, or joining their voices with the proud notes of the trumpets and clarions. Rubellia talked gaily with Sextus, inviting him to ridicule me with her, for the strangeness of behaviour I had displayed.
The sun, by this, had already mounted high in the heavens, and the glare became so intolerable, that men could no longer fight on equal terms; which being perceived, Cæsar gave command to look after the wild beasts, and, in the meantime, (for I heard his voice distinctly,) to give warning to the Flamens that they should have their altar set forth.
CHAPTER XI.
Upon this, Trajan, with those immediately about his person, withdrew; but Rubellia told me he had only gone to the Palatine by the subterraneous path, for the purpose of taking some refreshment, and that there was no doubt he would return in time to witness the rest of the spectacle. This example, however, was followed in some sort by a great part of the spectators, for some departed altogether from the Amphitheatre, while many more were seen moving from place to place, crossing from one vomitory to another, and paying their respects to different parties of friends, who had occupied places at a distance from them during the combats. In the meantime, servants of Trajan’s household were observed giving directions in the arena to a great number of persons, who afterwards began to distribute baskets of dried fish, bread, and other eatables, among such as chose to accept of them; while viands of a more costly description were introduced among the wealthy, by slaves and freedmen of their own. Neither were the bearers of water-jars idle, nor the street hawkers of fruit; least of all, those whose traffic is in snow,—of whom, I believe, hundreds were scrambling in all quarters over the benches, whistling shrilly, as is their method, to announce the article in which they dealt.
The Lady Rubellia was not one of those who would ever leave her friends destitute of the means of refreshment on such an occasion as this; and accordingly two or three of her household were soon with us, bearing jars of sweet-meats, baskets of fruit, flasks of wine, with other appurtenances of a luxurious collation. We had scarcely begun to taste of these things, when our attention was attracted by some one striding, with great activity, from one row of benches to another behind us, and looking round, I discovered the rosy countenance of Sabinus, whose anxiety to join us was, as I immediately suspected, the cause of this exertion. An ordinary person would have sought some circuitous method of approach, rather than attempt the sheer descent from one of the stone parapets which rose immediately in our rear; but the brawny limbs of the Centurion shrunk not from that adventurous leap, and, in a word, I soon found him seated beside us, bowing and smiling to Rubellia with his usual mixture of boldness and suavity. He delayed not from participation in her delicacies; but lifting a goblet of Falernian, drank down, without stopping, till he could see the foundation of its interior gold. His fingers also soon became acquainted with the receptacles of fruit and confectionary; and I was half-inclined to some suspicion, that he might perhaps have remained in his original situation, had he not chanced to observe the slaves of Rubellia, as they came up the vomitory, with their comely-looking, napkin-covered baskets upon their heads. As it was, his arrival was acceptable, except perhaps to Rubellia, who I thought looked as if she were not overmuch pleased with the interruption his mirthful talk occasioned to the conver[pg 102]sation on which she had been endeavouring to fix the attention of young Licinius.
For that, however, another interruption had been already prepared in another part of the assembly, from which our Xerophrastes also had taken cognizance of our position. There was such a crowd, however, immediately below us, that I know not whether the philosopher would ever have been able to make his way to the region where we sat, had it not been that we heard his voice in disputation, and entreated those that opposed his passage, if possible, to make room for him. The first glimpse we had of his countenance, shewed us that the squeeze had been giving him serious inconvenience, for the drops of perspiration stood visible on his bald front. The persons whom he was addressing, however, seemed to listen with such unconcern, that it was impossible not to feel somewhat displeased with them, for treating so disrespectfully one whom his venerable aspect might have entitled to more courtesy. In vain did he represent to them, (for we heard his strong voice distinctly every now and then,) that it was not for the sake of any personal ease or convenience he was desirous of penetrating into an upper part. In vain did he reiterate “My pupil”—“my disciple”—“my young scholar, Sextus Licinius”—“the son of Caius Licinius”—“the son of the great orator Caius Licinius is there.” In vain did he enlarge upon the constancy of attention which philosophers owe to those who are placed by the hands of parents under their superintendence. No sooner, however, did Sextus and I begin to shew the interest we took in his situation, than Sabinus raised himself up on the bench, and called aloud on those that [pg 103]surrounded the Stoic, with a voice of much sternness and authority, to let him pass immediately at their peril.
Many eyes were forthwith turned towards us; and whether it were the dignity and haughtiness of the Centurion’s voice and attitude, or that his garb alone gave him much weight in the assembly, the resistance was relaxed, and Xerophrastes enjoyed an opportunity of almost entirely recovering his usual serenity of aspect before he reached us. The first thing he did was to accept of a cup which I held out to him, and then with much courtesy did he thank us all, but most the Centurion, for the part he had taken in working out his deliverance from the hands, as he expressed it, of those inhuman and illiterate persons; “while you,” he continued, “brave warrior, have shewn that in your breast, as in that of Epaminondas—of Alexander—and of your own Julius—the reverence of the muses, and of divine philosophy, does not disdain to inhabit with the ardour of active patriotism, and the spirit-stirring delights of Mars.”
“As for that,” said Rubellia, with a smile, “all the world knows that Sabinus is quite a philosopher—he was just beginning a very learned harangue when we were attracted by your voice in the crowd; and you have the more reason to thank him, because he was cut very unseasonably short, in consequence of the distress in which we perceived you.”
“Most noble lady!” replied the Stoic, “you know not how much you have delighted me; from the first moment, indeed, that my eyes rested upon the countenance of your heroic friend, I suspected that he had subjected [pg 104]himself to some other discipline besides that of camps. I saw the traces of thought, lady—and serious contemplation. The mind can never exercise its faculties, without conveying some symptoms of those internal operations to the external surface of the visage. The soul can never energize habitually, without betraying its activity in the delicacy and acumen, which the more elegant and susceptible parts of the corporeal frame acquire during those elaborate and mysterious processes of thought. I saw, therefore, and suspected. But what thanks are not due to you, for having so agreeably confirmed me in this happy suspicion! Of a surety, the noise and tumult of the camp is not so well adapted for the theoretic or contemplative life, as perfect leisure and retirement; yet, who shall doubt that the soul of great energy can overcome all such disadvantages? Who shall think that the spirit of Socrates did not eagerly philosophize during the campaign he served?—Who shall say that the Stagyrite must have suspended his acute, although imperfect investigations, even although he had accompanied his royal pupil across the Hellespont, and attended all the motions of his victorious army, instead of staying at home to teach the youth of Greece?—Who, finally,” said he, casting his courteous eyes full on the Prætorian, “shall suspect but that this generous warrior has been effectually advancing the growth of philosophic science, within his own mind at least,—if not composing works, in his intervals of leisure, destined hereafter to benefit and instruct the world, even although he may have been attending the flight of the Eagle from utmost Britain to the desert frontiers of the Parthian?”—“Nobody, indeed,” replied the spor[pg 105]tive lady—“nobody, indeed, who has enjoyed any opportunity of being acquainted with the Centurion, can have any doubt on that head.—Sabinus,” she continued, turning towards him, “what treatise are you at present engaged with? Come, now, speak out, and truly;—are you still busy with your περι της Φυσεως του οιστρου βακχικου,[1] that you were quoting from the other night?—or are you deep in ‘the delight of contemplation?’—or——”—“Not at all,” quoth the Centurion, interrupting her; “I am only deep in love——” Saying so, he laid his hand in a very tender fashion upon his breast, and even, as I thought, began to throw a little sentiment into his eyes; but he had no opportunity of going on with his speech, for Xerophrastes had no sooner heard him utter the word love, than he immediately began to pour out a new rhapsody.
“Love!” quoth he; “Ha! love:—in good sooth, a noble subject, and one concerning which not a few laudable treatises have been composed. Yet, without question, much remains to be done in this matter; and I should be most proud if the illustrious Sabinus would vouchsafe to me a perusal of his speculations. Without question,” he continued, “you have commenced with a proper definition and division of the subject. You have distinguished betwixt what is properly called love, and the other more or less kindred affections, with which hallucinating writers have too often committed the error of confounding it. You have described, in the first place, the difference between it and the Storgé or natural affection which parents have for their offspring—an [pg 106]affection in which not a few of the irrational tribes appear (if physiologists may be trusted) to be even superior to the human race.”—“Hens, for example,” quoth the Centurion, with a face of infinite gravity.—“Even so—hens,” continued the sage; “an apt illustration.—I perceive, indeed, lady,” whispered he to Rubellia, “that you have not deceived me concerning the attainments of this your noble friend.—Hens—a most acute illustration!—See you now, O Sextus!” he went on, “it is not the characteristic of true philosophy to despise those illustrations which are drawn from the affairs of ordinary life, and the common surfaces of things. No: it is rather her part to shew forth her own intrinsic excellence and splendour, by raising that which is in itself low and customary, to unexpected dignity, by her methods of felicitous application. See you, now, with what unexampled skill this hero—this philosopher, I should rather say—may I presume to add, this brother philosopher?—has illustrated the nature of love in this treatise of his, by introducing the domestic habits of your common household fowl. Such things should not pass unheeded by the young aspirants to learning, because these, more than any other circumstances, may furnish them with encouragement to proceed in their course, by shewing how many of the materials of philosophy lie every where under the eyes of the most common traveller of the path of life; and how assuredly it is the fault of the individual himself, if he neglect the means of spiritual advancement, which are sure to be afforded in whatever situation may chance to have been assigned to him.”
“I beg your pardon for interrupting you,” said Ru[pg 107]bellia; “but Sabinus has almost finished the grapes while you have been speaking; and I would only just beg to suggest, that it is the fault of the individual, Xerophrastes, if he neglects the means of corporeal refreshment, which may yet be afforded to him by what remains in the basket.”
“Most kind lady,” resumed he, “your benevolence is worthy of your nobility.—But you know not how much the philosophy I have embraced, tends to lessen the natural desire of man for such things as you allude to—nevertheless,” he continued, “I will not refuse to partake yet farther of your bounty; for I have been sorely dealt with in the multitude, as yourselves witnessed.”
So saying, he took hold of the basket, and began to feel in the bottom of it, but found very little to his purpose; for, to say the truth, the rest of the party had been almost as eager in their attentions to it as the Centurion. A few slender bunches, notwithstanding, were still there, one of which the philosopher thrust into his mouth, and the rest he concealed beneath one of the folds of his huge mantle, until he should have made an end of his criticism. Meantime, the natural language of the broad, jovial, unreflective countenance of our worthy Centurion, seemed considerably at variance from the notion of his attainments and pursuits, which this merry lady had been instilling into the pedagogue. Rubellia herself, however, appeared to enjoy the thing far more keenly than either Sextus or I; insomuch, that I was afraid Xerophrastes would penetrate through the joke she was playing off upon him, before he had given himself his full swing in commen[pg 108]dation of the Prætorian. But Sabinus, on his side, was, as it seemed, of opinion, that he had already heard enough of such disquisitions; for he had scarcely seen out the last cup of Falernian, ere he began to give hints that he wished very much to descend into the arena, for the purpose of observing the animals about to be exhibited, while they were yet in their cages. Xerophrastes, however, even when he had heard him signify this desire, appeared still to be resolved on considering him as one of the philosophic order of mankind; for he at once offered to accompany him, saying, that the visit was of course intended for the gratification of some scientific curiosity, and that therefore he should think himself culpable did he neglect the opportunity.
“Come, then,” quoth the good-natured Sabinus, “by all means prepare yourself for the descent; but at least allow me to precede you, that there may be no risk of untimely obstructions.”—“Most assuredly, noble Centurion,” replied Xerophrastes, “in this, as in all things, I shall be proud to be enumerated among your followers. My pupil, also,” he added, “and his friend, will no doubt accompany us, that they may benefit by our discourse on whatever may be subjected to observation.”—“Venerated friend,” said Rubellia, “would you leave the ladies by themselves in the midst of the Amphitheatre? I hope Sextus Licinius, at least, will consider our weakness, and remain for our protection.”
She laid her hand on my companion’s arm, with a look which was decisive. Her ancient crony whispered something about the impropriety of leaving only one of the party to attend upon two females; but I took advan[pg 109]tage of her low tone to pretend ignorance of that hint, and rose with the Centurion.
“Go quickly,” said Sextus, “for the interval must be well-nigh at an end; and if those that have gone out begin to rush in again, you may have difficulty in regaining your places.”—“Give fear to the winds,” quoth Sabinus; “am not I with them, that know every lion-feeder in Rome? No chance of the exhibition recommencing without my having sufficient warning. It is not for nothing that I have lost and won so many thousand sesterces in the Amphitheatre. Would to Hercules as much respect were paid to experience every where else, as in the Arena to your true old Better. Already, I perceive that half a dozen of those knowing characters down below, about the entrances to the dens, have detected me. They must fancy my purse is in a poor state indeed, when I don’t seem to think it worth while to take even a single peep at the cages. Come, worthy brother in philosophy, and you, my fellow-voyager, let us be alert, lest we arrive after Platæa.”
We obeyed with due alacrity, and, leaving the reluctant Sextus to his fate, touched presently the margin of the arena. We had no sooner arrived there, than an old skin-dried limping Numidian, with a bit of lion’s hide fastened round his loins—one who, from his leanness and blackness, had very much the appearance of having been baked to a cinder, drew to the Centurion, with many nods and significant grins of recognition. Sabinus, on his part, seemed noways backward to acknowledge this acquaintance; but, on the contrary, began to talk volubly with him in a strange sort of broken dialect, chiefly composed, as I afterwards learned, [pg 110]of Punic vocables. After this had lasted some minutes, he took Xerophrastes and me by the hand, and seemed to introduce us to the Numidian, who then desired us all to come down, and he would conduct us to a place where we should see something not unworthy of being seen. About to follow these directions, I felt my gown seized from behind, and looking round, observed that it was my faithful Briton, who, from the heat and confusion of his aspect, appeared not to have come thither without a considerable struggle. Sabinus seeing him, said, “Ah! my old friend Boto, how have you come to this part of the Amphitheatre? We must not leave you behind us, however: Of a surety, you have never seen a lion—you shall descend along with your master; and who knows but we may persuade Xerophrastes that you also are a brother philosopher?”—“Most noble Centurion,” replied the grateful slave, “I saw you and my master from the very topmost bench, where I have been sitting for these three hours with Dromo, and I was determined to draw near to you, if it were possible. To go from this place up to yonder quarter would perhaps be impossible; but it is never a very difficult matter to go down in this world; so, saving your reverence, I trundled myself over the benches, and when heads were in my way, I trundled myself over them too.”—“It is well, good Briton,” quoth the Centurion—by this time we had crossed the arena—“and now prepare to exercise your eyes as well as you already have exercised your limbs; for know, that very near to you is the abode of nobler animals than even your lord hath ever observed.”
With this the African opened one of the iron doors [pg 111]edging the arena, and having received some money, admitted us to the sight of a long flight of marble steps, which appeared to descend into the bowels of the earth, far below the foundation of the Amphitheatre. “Come along, masters,” quoth he; “we had better go down this way, for we shall have a better view of the animals so, than on the other side. My master, Sabinus, will tell you all, that old Aspar knows as much about these things as any Numidian in the place.”—“Indeed, since friend Bisbal is gone,” quoth the Centurion, “there is not another of these that is to be compared to you.”—“Ah!” replied Aspar, “Bisbal was a great man; there is not a feeder in Rome that is worthy to tie the latchet of his sandals, if he were alive.”—“Why, as to that,” said the other, “old Bisbal was very seldom worth a pair of sandals worth the tying, when he was alive; but, come on, we have no great leisure for talking now, and Aspar shall shew a lion with any Bisbal that ever wielded whip.—Come on.”
We soon reached a large vaulted place, apparently below the Amphitheatre, the sides of which were almost entirely covered with iron-gratings,—while up and down the open space were strolling many strange groupes of men, connected in different capacities with the bloody spectacles of the arena. On one hand, we saw some of the gladiators, who had already been combating, walking to and fro with restless and agitated steps, as if they had not yet been able to recover themselves from the excitement into which their combats had thrown them. Even of such as had been victorious, I observed that not a few partook in all these symptoms of uneasiness; and the contrast thus exhibited to the haughty mien of calmness they had so lately been displaying, af[pg 112]fected me with a strange sense of the irrational and inhuman life these unhappy persons were condemned by folly or necessity to lead. The blood had forsaken the lips and cheeks of others, and from the fixed stare of their eyes, it appeared that their minds were entirely withdrawn from every thing passing around them. Their limbs, so recently nerved to the utmost show of vigour, were now relaxed and unstrung, and they trod the marble floor with heavy and straggling feet. But they that appeared to me to be in the most wretched state, were such as, they told us, expected to be led forth shortly to contend with the wild beasts, in whose immediate vicinity they were now walking. The summons to battle with a human opponent calls into action the fierceness and the pride of man; but he that has to fight with a beast, how should he not be weighed down with the sense of mortal degradation; how should the Reason that is in him not fill him, in such a prospect, with dispiriting and humbling, rather than with strengthening and stimulating thoughts? Howbeit, the Centurion, although the most good-natured of mankind, being rendered from custom quite callous to these things, immediately entered into conversation with some of those unfortunates, in a tone of coolness and unconcern that shocked me the more, because it did not seem in the smallest degree to shock them. Among other topics, he enlarged at much length to one of them upon the best method of evading the attack of a tiger.
“Look ye now,” said he, “there are some that are always for taking things, as they call it, in good time,—these will be pointing their swords before the creature makes his spring; but I have seen what comes of that, and so has old Aspar here, if he would be honest [pg 113]enough to confess it. The true way is to watch his eye when he is setting; let him fairly fix upon his mark, and spring; but at the moment when he is taking his leap, then is the time for the gladiator to start aside, and have at him with a side-thrust. Your side-thrust is the only one I would lay an as upon.”—“Yea,” quoth the grinning Aspar,—“it was always on your cool steady side-thrust, the moment he had sprung, that the great Bisbal used to stake himself. Ha! ha! I was fond of the side-thrust in my day myself; but I got a scratch once—witness my poor leg, masters,—and since then I am a poor feeder.”—“I was always clear for the side-thrust,” quoth Sabinus. “I never saw it fail but twice, and then, to be sure, the men died; but they could have had no chance at all with the frontguard; and it is always something,” continued he, clapping one of the poor expecting gladiators on the back,—“it is always something to have a chance. Be sure you try him with the side-thrust, if it come to your turn to-day.”
The poor creature—he also was an African—lifted up his head on being so addressed, and shewed all his white teeth in a melancholy attempt at a smile; but said not a word in reply, and forthwith became as downcast as before. But the Centurion took little or no heed of the manner in which his advice had been received. He contemplated the man’s figure for a moment, as if to form some judgment concerning the measure of his strength; and after doing the like in regard to some of his companions, commanded Aspar to shew us where the prime lions of the day were reposing.
The Numidian seized a long pole that was leaning [pg 114]against one of the pillars of the vault, and led us to a certain part of the grated wall, behind which was the den, wherein six monstrous Atlantic lions were kept. I looked in upon them with wonder, and not without dread, through the iron net-work of the doors. An imperfect gleam of light descended from above upon their tawny hides and glaring eyes. They, like the gladiators, seemed also to be preparing for the combat; but not like them in fear, nor in cold dewy tremors; for the deprivation of food, which they had been made to suffer in prospect of the exhibition, had roused all the energies of their savage natures; insomuch, that a sulky and yearning rage seemed to spread through every nerve and sinew of their gigantic frames, and to make them paw their quadrangular prison with long and pliant strides. They moved, however, as yet in total silence; so that Boto having fixed his eyes upon them, took courage to approach the grate,—slowly, nevertheless, and with a face that appeared to lengthen an inch for every inch he advanced. But when he had almost touched the bars, one of the huge lions came forward towards him, with something between a growl and a sigh, which made Boto spring backward with great and surprising agility, and with such force, that both he and Xerophrastes, who happened unfortunately to have been standing a little way behind him, were overthrown at all their length upon the floor.
The Centurion, and the limping old keeper, burst into laughter; but Xerophrastes rising, and shaking his garment, said, with some warmth, “Think not, O Sabinus, that any sudden start of fear has thus ridiculously stretched me upon the floor; but attribute the [pg 115]mischance only to this rude offspring of British earth, whose unreclaimed natural feelings are still shamefully affected by natural causes.”—“Castor and Pollux,” quoth the Centurion,—“you take every thing too seriously, my friend.”—“I take it not seriously,” replied he, with admirable gravity. “My philosophy forbids me to do so; it has steeled me against externals.”—“Has it so, in faith!” rejoined the Centurion. “I think some of your equanimity is, in fact, owing to the trifling circumstance, that you have in reality received no injury whatever from your tumble. And as to steeling, let me tell you, I think the iron in the grated door there is much better placed, than in the bosom of a philosopher; for, in the door, it serves the purpose of preventing all harm; but if these animals were once out, all the mental steel of which you boast would not save every bone in your body from being cracked in the twanging of a bow-string.”—“You speak,” replied Xerophrastes, “as if you had embraced the tenets of a sect not worthy of the lovers of wisdom—You speak as if the artificial contrivances of human workmen were all in all. An iron cage may confine wild beasts; but can cages be made for all those misfortunes to which mankind are liable, and against which the force of the mind is their only means of defence? Can you cage the Eumenides, when they come to avenge a life spent in ignoble indolence and degrading luxury?”—“In truth,” replied the Centurion with a smile, “I have never seen the Eumenides except once, and that was in the theatre of Athens. But Boto, perhaps, has been more fortunate. Did you ever see the Eumenides, good Boto?” “No, master,” replied, stupidly, the perplexed Boto, “I never was at the theatre.”
“Ye gods!” exclaimed the Stoic, “of a surety this Britain must have been the last spot rescued from the dominion of Chaos!”
But while we were yet contemplating those enormous animals, and amused with the awkward gestures of Boto, the trumpets were blown in the Amphitheatre, and no sooner did the sound of them penetrate into the vaults, than it was evident, from the bustle which ensued, that the Emperor had returned to his place. With all speed, therefore, did we reascend to the upper air, leaving the gladiators in the act of mustering in their respective quarters of the gloomy vault; and the feeders not less busied in preparing their beasts for the expected combat. Had we not been under the protection of Sabinus, we should have attempted in vain to regain our places; but he being an acknowledged and current authority, known in every department of the Amphitheatre, the door-keepers, and other functionaries, durst refuse him nothing; room was made for us where no room appeared; and, in a word, we shortly found ourselves once more seated by the side of Rubellia and Sextus.
CHAPTER XII.
The day was by this time considerably advanced; and, in spite of the awnings spread all over head, the rays of the sun were so powerful, that the marble benches felt hot to the touch, wherever they were exposed to them; and altogether there was such a glare and fervour throughout the place, that my eyes began to be weary of gazing; and very gladly would I have retired, rather than remain to see out the rest of the exhibition. Nevertheless, there was no appearance of any one having gone away in weariness; but, on the contrary, the seats, and even the passages, seemed to be more crowded than they had been in the anterior part of the morning.
The arena was vacant, when I looked down upon it; but in a short time, a single old man, who, as Rubellia told me, had, without doubt, been found guilty of some atrocious wickedness, was led forth from a small wicket on the one side, and presently his fetters being struck off, those that conducted him retired, leaving him alone upon the sand. The eyes of this malefactor refused at first to look steadfastly on the objects around him, and it seemed to me that he had probably been long confined in some dark place, so grievously did the dazzling splendour, reflected from the floor and walls, [pg 118]appear to bewilder and confound him. Nevertheless, after a brief space, he seemed in some measure to recover himself, and assumed a posture of resignation, leaning with one hand against the parapet, as if he needed support to uphold himself. Pallid and extenuated were the outlines of the old man’s visage, and his hair and beard exhibited not a little of the squalidness attendant on long confinement; yet there was something in the attitude, and even in the countenance, which made me harbour the suspicion that he had not, at some former period, been altogether unacquainted with the luxuries and refinements of social life. The beauty, indeed, of the mould in which his form had originally been cast, might, perhaps, have been the sole cause of these casual demonstrations of elegance; yet it was impossible not to regard the man with greater interest, by reason of the contrast suggested between what he once perhaps had been, and what he now was.
A feeling of the same sort seemed to pervade many more in the assembly; and I heard a continual whispering among those around me, as if there was a general anxiety to learn something of the history of the man. No one, however, appearing to be able to say any thing concerning this, I kept my eyes fixed upon himself, awaiting the issue in silence. Judge then, what was my surprise, when one of the heralds of Trajan, having commanded that there should be silence in the amphitheatre, said, “Let Tisias of Antioch come forth, and answer to the things that shall be alleged against him.” To which the old man, that was alone in the arena, immediately made reply,—“Here am I—my name is [pg 119]Tisias of Antioch.”—In vain, however, even after hearing the well-remembered voice, did I attempt to persuade myself that the face was such as I had pictured within myself; for, as to seeing it, I have already told you that utter darkness prevailed in the dungeon all the time I was there with him.
Then arose the Prefect of the city, who had his place immediately under the chair of Cæsar, and said in a voice, which, although not loud, was heard distinctly all through the Amphitheatre,—“Tisias of Antioch, being accused of blasphemy and contempt for the Gods, has been brought hither, either to refute this charge, by doing homage at the altar of Jupiter Best and Greatest; or, persisting in his rebellion, to suffer openly the punishment which the laws have affixed to such perversity. Let him remain where he is until the Flamens invite all to join in the sacrifice.”
Tisias, hearing these words, stept forth into the middle of the arena, and folding his arms upon his breast, stood there composedly, without once lifting up his eyes, either to the place from which the Prefect had spoken, or to any other region of the Amphitheatre. The situation in which he stood was such, that I commanded, where I sate, a full and distinct view of every movement of the old man’s countenance, and assuredly my eyes were in no danger of being directed away from him. For a few moments there was perfect silence throughout the assembly, until at length the same herald made proclamation for the doors to be thrown open, that the priests of Jupiter might have access. There was heard forthwith a noise, as of the turning of some heavy machinery, and a part of the ground-work [pg 120]of the arena itself appeared to be giving way, right over against that quarter in which Tisias had his station. But of this the purpose was soon manifested, when there arose from underneath into the space thus vacated, a wooden stage, or platform, covered all over with rich carpetings, whereof the centre was occupied by a marble altar, set forth already with all the usual appurtenances of sacrifice, and surmounted on one side by a gigantic statue of bronze, in which it was easy to recognize the features of the great Phidian Jupiter. Neither had the altar any sooner made its appearance there, and the sound of the machinery, by which its great weight had been lifted, ceased to be heard, than even as the herald had given command, the main gates of the Amphitheatre were expanded, and thereby a free passage prepared for the procession of the Flamens. With that, all those that were present in the Amphitheatre, arose from their seats and stood up, and a sweet symphony of lutes and clarions ushered in the sacred band to the place appointed for them. And, first of all, there marched a train of fifty beautiful boys, and then an equal number of very young maidens, all, both boys and maidens, arrayed in white tunics, and having their heads crowned with oaken garlands, and bearing in their hands fresh branches of the oak tree, which, above all the other trees of the forest, is, as you have heard and well know, held dear and sacred to Jupiter. Then these youthful bands were separated, and they arranged themselves, the boys on the right, and the girls on the left hand of the altar, some of them standing on the arena itself, and others on either side, upon the steps of the platform whereon the altar was fixed; and beauti[pg 121]ful, indeed, was their array, and comely and guiltless were their looks; and much modesty was apparent, both in the downcast eyes and closed lips, with which some of them stood there to await the issue of their coming, and in the juvenile admiration wherewith others of them were regarding the wide and splendid assemblage around them; insomuch, that I could not but feel within myself a certain dread and fearfulness, when I saw the feet of so many tender and innocent ones placed there upon the same hot and guilty sand, which had so often drunk the blood of fierce beasts and cruel malefactors—alas!—which had drunk the blood of the innocent also—and which was yet to drink thereof abundantly.
And after them there came in the priests themselves of Jupiter, arrayed in the white garments of sacrifice, walking two by two, the oldest and principal of them coming last. And behind them again, were certain younger assistants, clothed also in white, who led by a cord of silk inwrought with threads of silver, a milk-white steer, without spot or blemish, whose horns were already gilt, and his broad brows crowned with oak leaves and roses. And last of all entered the Vestal Virgins, none of whom had ever before been seen by me, and they also walked two by two; and no one could contemplate without veneration the majesty of their demeanour. With broad fillets were they bound around the forehead, and deep flowing veils hung down to their feet, entirely covering their faces and their hands; nevertheless, their dignity was apparent; and it was not the less impressive, by reason of the great mystery in which all things about them appeared to be enveloped.
Imagine, therefore, to yourselves, how magnificent was the appearance of all things, when youths and damsels, and priests and vestals, had taken their places, according to the custom of their sacred observances; and all that innumerable company of spectators yet standing up in the amphitheatre, the choral-hymn was begun, in which every voice there was united, except only that of Tisias the Christian. Now, it was the soft low voices of the young maidens that sounded, and then these would pause, and give place to the clearer and more piercing notes of the boys that stood on the other side of the altar; then again the priestesses of Vesta would break in from afar with their equable harmony; and anon these in their turn ceasing, the Flamens of Jupiter would lift up their strong deep chanting, until, at the appointed signal from him that stood on the highest step of the altar, with the cup of libation in his hand, the whole people that were present burst in and joined in the rushing stream of the burden, “Jupiter,—Jupiter, hear us!—hear us, Father of Gods and men!” while the wine was poured out, gushing red upon the marble, and the incense flung on high from fifty censers, rolled its waves of smoke all over the surface of the arena, and quite up to the gorgeous canopy of that resounding Amphitheatre. Magnificent, indeed, was the spectacle, and majestic the music; yet in the midst of it, how could I take away my eyes from the pale and solitary old man, by reason of whose presence alone all these things were so? With calm eyes did he regard all the pageantry of those imperial rites,—with closed lips did he stand amidst all the shouting multitudes. He bowed not his head; he lifted not up his hand; neither would he bend his knee, when the victim [pg 123]was slain before the horns of the altar; neither would he in any thing give semblance of being a partaker in the worship.
At length the song ceased, and there was a proclamation again for deep silence; and the Prefect of the city, addressing himself once more to Tisias, spoke thus:—“Impious and unhappy man, with great clemency have all things been conducted as concerning thee. When, after long imprisonment, and innumerable exhortations in private and in public, thou hadst always rejected every means of safety, and spurned from thee the pardon of those in whose hands thy being is placed, yet, notwithstanding of all thine obstinacy and continual rebellion, was it determined, that, in the face of all the people, thou shouldst once more have free grace offered to thee, provided only thou shouldst, when all the assembly worshipped, join thy voice with them, and bow thy head also toward the altar of Jupiter. Nevertheless all that now hear me shall bear witness, that, with open and visible contumacy, thou hast rejected this opportunity also of being reconciled unto the prince and the empire,—that, when every knee bent, and every voice was lifted up, thou alone hast stood upright, and thy lips alone have been closed. If it be so, that, from some inflicted, rather than voluntary perversion of mind, thou hast never yet been able to understand the danger in which thou art placed, know now, that there remains no hope at all for thee, except for a moment; and let the strong fear of death open thine eyes, that thou mayst see where thou art, and for what purpose thou hast been brought hither. Thou art a born subject of Rome, and thy life can only be held by thee, [pg 124]in virtue of obedience to the laws. These are clearer upon nothing, than the necessity that all men should acknowledge the deities of Rome; and of good reason, since, if they be despised, and their authority set at nought, by what means shall an oath be ratified, or a pledge given; or how may the head, which counsels and protects, be assured that the members shall not be lifted up against it? Let silence remain in the assembly, and let Tisias of Antioch make his election, whether he will give obedience, or suffer the penalty of transgression.”
Then the Prefect, and all those round about Trajan, sat down, and there was a deep silence throughout the lower region, where, for the most part, they of condition were placed; but when the rabble, that sat above, beheld the stern and resolute countenance with which the old man stood there upon the arena, it seemed as if they were enraged beyond measure, and there arose among them a fierce uproar, and a shouting of hatred; and, amidst groans and hisses, there was a cry from innumerable voices of—“Christian! Christian!—Blasphemer! Blasphemer!—Atheist! Atheist!—A tiger! A tiger!—Let loose a tiger upon the Christian!”
Nevertheless, the old man preserved unmoved the steadfastness of his demeanour, and lifting up his eyes to the place from whence the tumult proceeded, regarded the ferocious multitude with a visage, not of anger or of scornfulness, but rather of pity and calmness; insomuch, that I perceived the nobles and senators were somewhat ashamed of the outcry, and the Prefect of the city arose from his place, and beckoned with his hand, until the people were weary of shouting, and [pg 125]order was, in some measure, re-established in the Amphitheatre.
Then Tisias, perceiving that silence once more prevailed, lifted up his hand, and bowed himself before Trajan, and the great men of authority that were near to his chair, and said, with a firm clear voice, in the Roman tongue, “My name, O Trajan, is Tisias—the son of Androboulos. I am a native of Antioch, in Syria, and have in all things, except only in what pertains to this cause, observed throughout all the years of my life the statutes of the empire, as they, by whose accusation I have been led hither, shall themselves be constrained to bear witness for me this day. My father was a Greek of Macedonian extraction, being descended from one of those that came into Syria beneath the banners of the great King Seleucus; but he took to wife a maiden of the Hebrew nation, and in process of time became a proselyte to the faith of her fathers. Nevertheless, he lived in trust and honour beneath the governors appointed by those that were before you in the empire, and brought up me and all his children to reverence, in all things that are lawful, the authority of Cæsar. But as to the faith of the true God, whose worshippers ye blindly and foolishly call atheists and blasphemers, from that he neither swerved himself, nor would permit any of those that were in his household to depart. Now, when he had been a dweller for some time in Jerusalem, the great city of the Jews, he began to examine into those things which were reported publicly concerning Jesus of Nazareth, who is also called the Christ, of which things not a few that had been eye-witnesses were then living in that city. And when [pg 126]he had been satisfied from their testimony, that those miracles, of which you have all heard, were in truth performed in the sight of the people by Jesus, and had listened unto the words of their teachers, and saw how they proved that the old prophets of the Hebrews had foretold those wonderful works, he perceived that Jesus of Nazareth was indeed the Christ of God, and the great Deliverer that had been promised to that people, even from the beginning of their nation. And he believed on him with all his household; and I also, from a stripling, have, although unworthy, been a Christian; for by that name were they first called in Antioch, the city of my birth.
“But being brought into trouble by reason of his religion, which the rulers of the Jews abhorred, my father departed, after a time, from Jerusalem, and dwelt with my mother in one of the villages of Palestine, until his death. Not long after which time, the Jews rebelled against Cæsar, and the great war began, which terminated in the overthrow of Jerusalem, and the utter ruin of their nation. Now, when Vespasian first came with his army into those regions, I, being without employment in the place where we had our habitation, and having, moreover, taken up a great, and perhaps a sinful, wrath against the Jews, on account of the sufferings which my father had undergone among them, and of the evils which, at their hands, our whole household had sustained, joined myself to one of the bands of Syrian auxiliaries; and although my mother entreated me, could not be persuaded to refrain from following the camp of Cæsar with them. Of which thing it has often since then repented me, and in which, [pg 127]it may be, I still hold myself not to have done altogether as was right; for if the Jews had offended Cæsar, it was, indeed, a reasonable thing that Cæsar should visit them with his vengeance; but, peradventure, it behoved not any of them that were descended from the fathers of that people, to take part in the warfare. Nevertheless, being then young, and, as I have said, irritated by the sense of domestic injuries, I scrupled not to fulfil in all things the duty of a soldier, and followed the eagles of Vespasian and his son, even to the day when the lines were drawn around the Holy City; and it was manifest, that the war could have no end, but in the eternal overthrow of the power of the Jews. Neither did the length of the siege weary me, or produce within me any sort of unwillingness; but, on the contrary, so long as the city was beleaguered, I remained with the band in which I had numbered myself, and did in all labours such service as my strength would permit. Even among the soldiers that have guarded my prison, since I was led into Rome for the sake of that accusation which has been brought against me in the matter of my belief,—even among them, I have seen the faces of some that were my comrades in that fierce war, and that long beleaguerment, who also, if they be commanded, will not refuse to bear testimony before you, that all these things are true, even as I have said, and that I was a faithful soldier, both of Vespasian and of Titus, unto the last. Neither, indeed, did I lay down arms immediately when Jerusalem had been sacked, and the Temple burnt, according to the prediction of Christ, but went with Cæsar along the sea-coast, and was present with him all through the journeyings he [pg 128]made in Egypt, even to the day when he made his great festival at Alexandria, and crowned the Ox Apis with his own hands, in the presence of all that people. On which day it was, that, for the first time, I also was accused of being a Christian, and at the command of Titus himself, was interrogated by one of the rulers of the army.
“Now with shame and confusion of face must I acknowledge, that on that day I, from desire of life, forgot myself utterly, and being deserted of all steadfastness, went up to the altar in presence of my judge, and offered gifts there, whereon I was declared free of all blame; and even received honour and commendation thereafter from them, on account of my services in the war. But, from that day, my spirit sunk within me, and I knew not what to do; I grew weary of all things, and determined to leave the band in which I was serving, that I might seek out, if it were possible, the habitation of my mother, and make atonement in secret for the wickedness of which I, unhappy and fearful man, had been guilty at Alexandria. Being absolved, therefore, from my oath of service, on account of the length of time I had remained with the army, I departed from Egypt, and, after a time, found out my mother where she was dwelling in the mountainous country of Palestine, to the north of Jerusalem. In going thither, however, I was constrained to pass by the place where I had so long lain in your camp, O Romans! and to look with my own eyes on the sorrowful desolation of that ancient city, where so many holy prophets of the Hebrews had ministered, and so many great kings reigned in the days of the old time, [pg 129]when their nation flourished, and was chosen and favoured of the Almighty. And it was then, indeed, that I first began to repent me of having been present in the host of Titus, and of having had a part in that terrible destruction; to which, when I added the recollection of my own miserable timorousness at Alexandria, great was my perplexity, and I fled across the mountains with much speed, seeking in vain to fly from the stings and unceasing torment of my own meditations, which nevertheless continued ever more and more to sink into my spirit; insomuch, that when I came into the place where my mother was dwelling, scarcely could she recognize me, wasted and worn as I was with that perpetual misery of shame and repentance. Without reproaches, however, and indeed with great kindness, did she receive me into her habitation, even although, as I have said, she had been much offended with me because of my going up to the beleaguerment of the city of her fathers. But when I, being humbled, made confession to her and her household, and to all the faithful that were in that place, of the grievous sin whereof I had been guilty in Egypt, both she and all the rest of them busied themselves continually to comfort me, and to assure me that there was yet hope, if my repentance were sincere, and my resolution immovable never again to yield myself to any similar temptation. One of them also, that had been set apart to minister in holy things among the scattered believers that dwelt up and down in that region, came not many days after to the same place, and having publicly heard my confession, admitted me once more to be a partaker with them in the mysteries of the sanctuary. From which [pg 130]day, O Trajan! I have never again been so far deserted of myself, as to fall back into that miserable error, or by any cowardly word of mine, to deny the faith that is in me, which is the faith of the True God that made heaven and earth, and of his Son Jesus Christ, whom he sent into the world to teach loving-kindness, and long-suffering, and patience, among all kindreds, and tongues, and nations of mankind; and to make expiation, by the accursed death of the cross, for the evil and the wickedness that is in the world. From which faith, should I now depart, out of terror for that which, by your command, may befal me in this place, of a surety no comfort could ever again come to me in my mind, for I should be bowed down, and utterly miserable, out of grief and shame; which as you yourself, O Cæsar, will admit and acknowledge, is far worse than death itself, or any evil which the body of man can sustain. Neither could I have any hope of being reconciled unto the True God, whom I should have so, once and again, denied; insomuch, that neither in life nor in death should I be able to have any happiness;—for in life, what happiness is there to him that is ashamed of himself?—and, in departing from life, what comfort can be given to him, that, knowing the truth, hath openly abjured the truth for the sake of a few, at the utmost, and these most miserable and unhappy years? I am an old man, and my near kindred and my friends are already dead, so that poor after all, and not worthy to be mentioned, is the sacrifice on which I have this day resolved. And as for you, O Romans, should I now make shipwreck of my faith, and tell a lie to save my life before you, with what contempt [pg 131]would yourselves be constrained forthwith to look upon me? Whosoever is wise among you, according to the philosophy of the earth, would utterly despise me; and whosoever is brave and steadfast of spirit, would think foul scorn that a soldier of Titus should be so much afraid to die. Therefore, O Trajan, am I resolved to endure all things rather than sacrifice to your gods; and if such be your will, I will not refuse to die for this cause, to which witness has already been borne in Rome by the blood of holy Apostles, and other noble martyrs of Christ.”
The old man, having said these words, bowed himself once more reverently before Trajan, and then folding his arms in his cloak, appeared to await whatever might be appointed. Steadfastly did I look upon his face at that moment, to see whether it might exhibit no trace of wavering, or at least, if pride barred irresolution, whether, nevertheless, there might not appear some token of natural sorrow, and human unwillingness to die; yet in vain did I scrutinize and seek for any such symptoms of spiritual weakness; for although it was visible that, with the exertion of so long standing and speaking, to say nothing of thought and anxiety, his bodily strength was much spent, still his eye preserved firmness, and his brow remained serene; and the parched lips of the old man did not once betray the least shadow of trembling. Methinks I see him even now, as he then stood—his deep calm eyes sometimes turned upwards to Trajan, but for the most part bent to the ground, beneath those gray brows of his, whose dark shade rested upon his large solemn eyelids. Upon his broad front, as he stooped, no hair appeared, but [pg 132]long hoary ringlets, clustered down on either side, mingling with the venerable, although dishevelled beard, that lay upon his bosom. Heroic meekness was enthroned visibly upon all his lineaments, and a murmur began to run through the assembly, as if—even in a Christian—it were not possible to contemplate such things without admiration.
But as they afterwards related to me—for I myself was not indeed sufficiently attentive to it—Trajan, who had as yet, during all the occurrences of the day, preserved unmoved the majestic serenity of his countenance, when he observed this last movement in the spirit of the assembly, began all at once to be very indignant, that such things should occur in such a place, in consequence of the appearance merely, and the language, of a culprit and a Christian. I confess it, that I was too much occupied with gazing on Tisias, to have any leisure for remarking the particulars of the deportment of any other person present—no, not even of Cæsar; yet such had been the effect produced on me by the history which the old man delivered of himself, that I indeed was not prepared at the moment to find the strong arm of power directed ruthlessly, and immediately against him. At least, said I to myself, the Prince will institute an inquiry among all those now present in the capital, who are likely to be able either to contradict essentially, or to confirm, the narrative in which this man has thought fit to embody his only defence. Many years indeed have elapsed since the walls of Jerusalem were shattered by the engines of Rome, and the golden gate of its antique temple refused to be any protection against the furious soldiery of Titus. Yet surely not a few of such as were present in [pg 133]that proud host, must be still in life; yea, not a few of them must be now present in the capital of the world. The old spearman, with whom I talked in the guard-room, and beside the ramparts underneath which this Christian was imprisoned, he surely cannot be the only witness that remains to give testimony. He at least there is, and we shall forthwith have him at least confronted with Tisias.
Such were my thoughts within me; judge, therefore, what was my astonishment when I heard the trumpet sound, and perceived that its note, without any word being spoken, was at once received as a sufficient warning by the priests and the vestals, and the youths and the damsels, and all those that had in any way been connected with the service of the altar, to retire from the place whereon they stood, and leave the old man there alone, to await the issue of his destiny. Immediately on the signal being given by the trumpet, did all these begin to move away; but although in silence they had at first marched into the Amphitheatre, they did not retire from it in silence. Another hymn, on the contrary, in which also, as it seemed, different parts were allotted for each different order of singers, was begun to be sung by them even before they had moved from the arena; and after the last of their procession had disappeared behind the wide folding-doors of the Amphitheatre, we still heard their voices chanting solemnly until they had entered the great Temple of Isis and Serapis, which, as I have already said, stands over against it, on the brink of the Esquiline. And while all were yet listening to their singing, and to the harmony of lutes and other sweet-[pg 134]sounding instruments that accompanied their voices, the slaves and other attendants removed every thing from the arena, except only the altar and statue of Jupiter, which were still left where they had been placed; insomuch, that ere they had made an end of singing, and we of listening, the old man was left alone there as at the beginning, when he first came forth.
But just when deep silence once more prevailed, and expectation was most intense concerning what should be at length commanded by Trajan, it fell out so, that a little bald ape escaped through the bars of one of the grated doors, which were along the boundary-wall of the arena, and leaping forth upon the sand, began to skip up and down, challenging, by all manner of foolish gestures, the attention of those that sate over against it, leaning down from the parapet. And immediately certain painted courtezans, that were sitting not far from thence, with gilded breasts and bright-coloured garlands, and all other gorgeous trappings of the degradation of harlotry, began to throw down apples and nuts to the obscene creature, and to testify much delight in the grimaces with which it received them, hopping to and fro, and casting them away, and then catching them up again, with continual gibbering and prating; and no sooner did the rabble that were above perceive these things, than they all, as with one consent, began to applaud; so that the vaulted vomitories and wide arches of entrance, and all the marble walls, re-echoed with every wild sound of carelessness and merriment. While, in the meantime, the African feeders and naked gladiators, and all those hangers-on of the Amphitheatre, whom we had seen in the dark places below, hearing [pg 135]now the sounds that had arisen among the assembly, began to shew themselves in crowds from behind the same grated doors through one of which the monkey had escaped, and to partake in the mirth of the spectators, and to whistle upon the creature, and to excite it to new caperings, by their outcries and jeerings. It seemed as if the minds of all present were entirely occupied with the pranks of this brute; and that almost it was forgotten amidst the tumult, not only for what purpose all that solemn and stately pageantry had just been exhibited before them; but even that Tisias was still standing there upon the same arena.
For myself, who had never before looked upon any creature of this disgusting tribe, and had gathered only some general notion of its appearance from the treatises of the physiologists and the narratives of travellers,—I could not, indeed, refuse to contemplate at first its motions with some curiosity; but I knew not, after the scene had lasted for a little space, whether to be more humbled within myself by the monkey’s filthy mimickings of the form and attitudes of mankind, or by the display of brutish heartlessness, which burst forth from all that countless multitude, while gazing on that spectacle of humiliation.
But it was not until my eye fell again on Tisias, who stood all this time solitary and silent amidst the hub-bub, that my sorrow and indignation were the greatest. There stood the old man even as before, with his arms folded in his gown, and his eyes resting on the sand before him, pale, calm, and unmoved in his meekness, even as if his ears had not once received any sound of all the shoutings and the joyous laughters of that unpitying [pg 136]rabble, that had come there to behold him die. Once, indeed—it was but once—I thought I could perceive that a slight emotion of contempt wreathed for an instant his thin and bloodless lips; but it seemed as if that were but the involuntary and momentary passing over him of one proud thought, which he cast from him immediately, as a thing unworthy of the resolute mind of his integrity, choosing rather to array himself in the divine armour of patience, than to oppose, with any weapon of human passion, the insults heaped upon his head by the cruel callousness of that degenerate congregation of men. And, whether it were that the sight of all this did not affect me alone with such reflections, or only that they in authority were afraid too much of the day might be occupied with what formed so unseemly an addition to the ordained business of the assembly, while the uproar of mirth was yet at its height, certain of the lictors that were about the consular chairs leapt down into the arena, and beat the monkey back again among the feeders, and other base hirelings, that stood behind the grated doors of which I have spoken. Whereupon there was at once an end of the tumult, and the lictors having reascended to their places, the eyes of all began once more to fix themselves upon the Christian.
And he also, when he perceived that it was so, and was sensible of the silence that once more prevailed, it seemed as if he, too, were aware that at last his appointed hour had come, and that he must needs prepare himself in good earnest for the abiding of the issue. For, instead of continuing steadfast in his place, as he had done during all the time he had as yet been exposed there, [pg 137]it appeared as if now at length, being swallowed up in the contemplation of the approaching fate, he had quite forgotten all the rules he had laid down to himself concerning his behaviour. Not that he now lost remembrance of the courage which hitherto he had manifested, or even, that any the least symptom of changeableness was made visible upon his countenance. But it seemed to me, of a truth, that of such things as he had determined upon within himself before he came thither, touching the mere external demeanour of his bodily frame, the memory now, in this final moment of expectation, had somewhat passed away; for Tisias stood still no longer on the centre of the arena; but retaining his arms folded as they had been, and his eyes fixed upon the sand, he began to pace rapidly to and fro, traversing the open space whereon he alone now was, from side to side, without once looking up, or exhibiting any token that he was conscious of the presence of any man. By and by, nevertheless, in the deeper knittings of his brows, and in the closer pressure of his extenuated lips, and then again in the quivering of the nerves and muscles upon the arms and legs of the old man, as he moved before us, it was testified how keenly the spirit was at work within; the strong soul wrestling, it may be, with some last stirring temptations of the flesh, and the mind itself not altogether refusing to betray its sympathy with the natural shudderings of the body. But the moment that the herald of Trajan commanded attention in the assembly, and that the Prefect of the city began again to prepare himself for speaking, that moment did the old man appear to return at once again entirely to himself; and he fixed his eyes upon the [pg 138]Prefect with even the same steadfastness as when he made his oration to Cæsar.
“By all the gods,” whispered Sabinus at that moment, “this is a true soldier of Vespasian and Titus. He will die for this superstition with the constancy of a Roman.”—“With all the constancy of a philosopher, say rather,” quoth Xerophrastes, who had overheard his whisper—“yea, with all the constancy of a philosopher. Of a surety, there must be some lessons of nobility in this faith of the Jews.”—“Now, speak not, but look at the old man,” interrupted Rubellia; “the signal is given for the executioner.”
And I looked, and saw that the Prefect was standing up in his place, immediately below the chair of Trajan, and immediately he began to speak; and he said, first looking towards the people,—“Let there be silence, and let no man stir in this place until this matter be ended.” And then addressing himself, as it seemed, to Tisias,—“With all patience,” proceeded he, “have the words which this man chose to utter in his defence, been listened to; but it must be manifest to all men, that they contain no shadow of apology, but rather afford the strongest confirmation of all that had before been alleged. Instead of departing from his error, or offering any extenuation of its magnitude, his words have tended only to shew what was already well known to all that have had any dealings with the adherents of this blasphemous sect; that their obstinacy is as great as their atheism is perverse; and that no clemency can, without blame, be extended to their wilfulness, and to the scorn wherewith they are resolved to regard all things sacred. Nevertheless, inquiry has been made, [pg 139]and confirmation has been given, by those who were present in the wars of the Divine Titus, as to that which this man hath said concerning his own service throughout the glorious campaign of Palestine, and the siege of the city of the Jews. For which service, it hath seemed right unto Cæsar, Ever-Merciful, that no circumstance of needless shame be added to the death by which this Christian must now expiate before all them who have seen his contempt of the sacrifice of Jupiter, and heard his words of blasphemy against all the gods, the guilt of which, it is manifest to all, he hath been justly and necessarily accused. Let those, therefore, who had been commanded to bring forth a tiger, depart now with their beast, and let this man be beheaded before the Altar of Jupiter; after which, for this day, the assembly will disperse; for, until the morrow, the spectacle of the wild animals, which the Prince hath prepared, must be deferred.”
The Prefect made his obeisance again to Cæsar, and sate down in his place, and immediately one of the doors of the arena was flung open, and there entered some slaves, bearing a wooden block upon their shoulders, behind whom followed also certain ill-favoured blacks, out of the company of African gladiators, one of whom carried bare in his hand a long and heavy sword, the surface of which glittered brightly as he moved, as if newly sharpened and burnished for the occasion. Seeing all which fatal preparations, Tisias immediately flung aside the long cloak in which hitherto his arms and all his body had been wrapped; and after regarding those that had come in for a moment with a steadfast eye, he turned himself to the place where the Prefect was sitting, [pg 140]as if he had yet one word to say before he should submit himself to the sword; whereupon the Prefect said,—“If the prisoner has yet any thing to offer, it is not too late for mercy—Let him speak.”
“I have nothing more to offer, O Romans!” answered the old man, “as concerning that of which I have spoken. But since already some favour has been extended to me by reason of my services in the army of Cæsar, perhaps so neither will this be refused, that my body may be given to such as shall ask for it, that it may be treated without indignity after my soul is released.”
“It is granted,” replied the Prefect.—“Is there any thing more?”
The old man was silent.
With that, the block being already fixed upon the sand immediately in front of the Altar of Jupiter, one of the Africans moved towards Tisias, as if to conduct him to the place where it behoved him to kneel; but he, observing what was his intention, forthwith prevented him, and walked of himself steadily close up to him in whose hand the sword was unsheathed. Being come thither, he immediately took his station over against the block, and having for a moment placed his hand upon his eyes, and moved his lips, as it seemed, in fervent supplication, dropped his one knee on the ground, and stretched forth his neck towards the block; but suddenly, after he had done so, he sprung again upon his feet, and began to gaze with a keen eye all around the assembly, as if he were in search of some one to whom he had something yet to say. In vain, however, as it appeared, did he make this endeavour; [pg 141]for after a little space, he shook his head despairingly, and gave over the steadfastness of his look. Nevertheless, he lifted up his voice, and, surveying once more the whole face of the Amphitheatre round about, from side to side, said audibly,—“There is one here who made last night a promise to me in my dungeon. I cannot see him where he is; but I conjure him to take good heed, and execute, as he is a man and a Roman, all those things which he said to me he would do.” Now, when I heard him say so, I well knew within myself that it was for me only his eye had been searching, and half did I arise from my seat, that he might see I was there, and observe my resolution to keep the faith I had plighted voluntarily to him in his prison. But Sabinus, having watched my earnestness in contemplating Tisias, and comprehending something of that which was meant, held me firm upon the bench, whispering, “As you regard me, Valerius, and as you regard your own safety, be still.”
Being thus constrained, I neither rose up, nor made any attempt to attract the attention of Tisias—for which forbearance, I confess to you, I have since that day undergone the visitation of not a few bitter thoughts—but remained steadily in my place, while the old man once more addressed himself to kneel down upon the block that was before him. Calmly now at length did he kneel, and with much composure did he place himself. Yet, before the gladiator was ready to strike, he lifted his head once again, and gazed upwards for a moment towards heaven, with such a countenance of faith and hope, that there went through all the assembly a murmur, as it were, and a stirring breath of admira[pg 142]tion. Then bowed he for the last time his gray hairs, and almost before he had rested his neck upon the tree, the strong sword of the African smote with merciful fierceness, and the headless trunk falling backwards upon the sand, the blood spouted forth in a gushing stream, and sprinkled all over with red drops the base of the statue of Jupiter Capitolinus, and the surface of the marble altar, whereupon the sacrifice of the Flamens had been offered.
The executioner having made an end of his duty, wiped his sword from the blood of the Christian, and advancing towards the seats of the magistrates, claimed the largess that was due to him,—which when he had received, as is the custom, he and all his attendants withdrew immediately from the arena; the Emperor, at the same moment, and the Consulars, and all they that were about him, departing also from the assembly; and the whole Amphitheatre speedily being filled with the clamours of an universal upbreaking and dispersion.
BOOK II. CHAPTER I.
I saw, my friends, that you listened with not less of indignation, than of astonishment, to the account which I yesterday gave you of a day spent in the Amphitheatre of Vespasian. Neither did I expect that it should be otherwise with young persons of ingenuous minds, whose feelings have never been hardened by any experience of the life of Rome.
And yet, when you reflect a little more upon the matter, I think you will abate something of the wonder you manifested on hearing of the fondness of the Roman people for some of those cruel, ruthful spectacles. You will admit, at least, that there is a certain natural principle, on an exaggerated and morbid obedience to which, rather than on any total and absolute departure from the laws of our mind, much of that which excited so much of your astonishment and indignation also may be supposed to depend. In and by myself, I maintain it must always be a most interesting thing for a man to witness, in whatever shape, the last moments of any human creature. I mean not those merely corporeal struggles, in which there must always be every thing to revolt, and [pg 144]nothing to interest, because in them, it is evident, the nobler part of our nature can have no share—the soul being already swallowed up, and its divinity absorbed in the intense convulsions of animal suffering. These are things on which no eyes can gaze willingly, without indicating degradation of spirit. But before that curtain falls, beyond which every one must shudder to penetrate, there is a last terrible act of the real tragedy, which must ever have power to fix the eyes with an earnestness not the less deep, because of its being preceded by some struggles of reluctance. We live in a state in which, however we may clothe ourselves in the armour of levity, or with the more effectual armour of occupation, it is impossible that the one fearful idea of dissolution should not ever and anon come to scare us with its terrors. We feel that we are walking over a soil, on the most level and the most rugged parts of which it is equally possible we may meet with the dark pit wherein it is our destiny to stumble. How sudden, or how gradual soever the inevitable fall may be, we well know we shall have little enough space to prepare ourselves for the last leap, when we shall be fairly on the declivity; and I maintain, once more, that it is a rational, no less than a natural, curiosity, which leads us to seek to supply, in some measure, this necessary defect, and to gather, if possible, from witnessing the last moments of others, some hints which may be of use to us when our own dark hour shall come. We see a being standing on the edge of a precipice, to which the only thing we know certainly, is, that we ourselves shall one day be brought; and shall it be possible to feel no curiosity concerning the manner in which he con[pg 145]ducts himself on that giddy brink? That which is denied to us in our own person, may, in part, be supplied in his; and the eyes which dwell upon his features, while they are filled with the overwhelming expectation of near approaching death, make the closest approximation of which our nature admits to penetrating the actual mysteries of the unseen region. For myself, both wiser and better did I come away from all that mournful spectacle. But perhaps I am joining together things which, after all, had no necessary connection, when I ascribe to my contemplation of the death of Tisias, and the other cruel sights which, as it seemed, were regarded with indifference by the great multitudes around me, so much of the change which, about this period, my own spirit underwent.
The slumbers which followed that busy day of novelties and terrors, were long and heavy; for utterly worn out were both mind and body, and youth hastened to repair the waste of its energies, by drinking deeply at the great fountain of natural refreshment. Nevertheless, although the hand of sleep had lain steadily upon me, when I awoke in the already-confirmed light of morning, I found myself yet filled with a confused and tremulous sense of excitation, as if the spirit had disdained to be idle after having received so much food for activity, and Fancy had still been garnishing the passive sphere of the night with aerial representations of all the gorgeous and solemn realities of the by-past day. I lay there ruminating amidst the dispersing shadows of the mysterious world of dreams, and scarcely as yet aware that a whole night had passed since I had returned from the Amphitheatre, when I was at length roused to [pg 146]a sudden and complete recollection of all things by the entrance of Boto.
“My dear master,” said he, making a sort of start after he had come in, “I was afraid you would be angry with me for not coming to you sooner, but now I perceive you have been as lazy as the rest of us. Why, surely, you are not aware what time of day it is! What would my dear old lady over the water say, if she heard of my young master lying in bed till within three hours of noon? Oh, what a place is this you have brought me to! Why, when I awake in the morning, the first thought that comes into my head always is, What, Boto, and is it really possible that all that wide roaring sea lies between you and the green banks of quiet Anton? Is it truth, good truth, and neither dream nor witching, that you, Boto, are in Rome? But I sometimes have to jump up, and take a look out of the window before I am quite convinced; and then, to be sure, I know well enough that I, who used always to dream about driving cattle to Venta, and perhaps kissing a Brigian lass by the way, could never dream of so many fine things unless I were really among them. Good heavens! what a heap of stories I shall have to tell, when we get safe back to Old Britain!”—“Indeed, Boto,” said I, “you will be quite a travelled man. Be sure you do not give yourself too many airs on the occasion.”—“Travelled man, in faith,” replied the clown. “I should like to know, who it is that will be able to hold up his head with me, when I am once fairly back again? Oh, how the old smith will be humbled! He thought himself such a mighty person, because my old master, your father, had taken him with him as far as Camolodunum, and how [pg 147]he used to brag of what he had seen there; but now, I trow, Master Pernorix will be fain to talk quietly about his journeys.—O Rome, Rome! what fine things shall I have to tell them all about Rome,—and the lions, and the monkeys, and Cæsar, and the elephants, and the fighting men, and the Christian, and all the wonderful sights we saw yesterday. But the worst of it is, that nobody will ever be able to believe one half of what I shall tell them.—And when does my dear Master Valerius think we shall be returning to my old lady, and all the rest of them in Britain?”
“Of a truth, good Boto,” said I, “that is more than I can pretend to give you any notion of; but I dare say, you shall have both time and opportunity to pick up a few more marvels still before we go. In the meantime, you are comfortable, I hope, in your quarters, and Dromo takes good heed of you.”—“Dromo,” quoth he, looking as arch as his massive features would admit of,—“Dromo, indeed!—If I had nobody to trust to but him, I should be very ill off. Dromo is a great man; the young lord of the house has him up in his chamber every day to talk with him by himself; and when he comes down again, or returns from any of the errands he is sent out upon, there is no bearing with him in the court-yard, where we are all huddled together. As for the overseer, old Sarcalus, the freed-man, he has quite given him up. Nobody dare speak about whipping him; he looks upon himself as almost as important a person as his master, I believe, if the truth were known; and yet I should not complain, for, after all, it was Dromo that carried me yesterday to the Amphitheatre.”—“Ay, that was very kind of Dromo—I should have [pg 148]thought of it myself. And did he not see that you got your supper snugly, when you came back?”—“Ah! now, master, don’t make them whip me—I see they have told you all.”—“All!” said I—“I do assure you they have told me nothing about you; but come, speak out. It must be something very bad that would make me think of having you whipt. You have only been three days in Rome—I shall make allowance for a few vagaries, provided they be not very extravagant.”—“Well, then, Master Caius,” quoth he, “since they have told you nothing beforehand, and you seem inclined to be so good-natured with me, I shall e’en tell you all myself, and I hope you won’t think me, after all, very much to blame.”—“Speak out, my honest Boto, and remember there is Dromo also to be examined, in case you keep any thing back from me.”—“Ah! master, but Dromo would not be so easily caught as poor Boto. Dromo is a cunning man, and a close; and besides, they say he was born in a city they call Crete, and the people of that place can’t speak a word of truth, even although they were willing. Do not think any thing at all about Dromo; but trust entirely to your own poor Boto, and he will tell you every thing. Dromo is a sad dog.”
I know not what more he might have proceeded to say concerning Dromo, had not that crafty Cretan, who, without question, had been listening all the while behind the door, just at that moment glided in on very delicate tiptoe, and coming close up behind the British slave, as he stood in the act of haranguing me, smote him a smart fillip upon the cheek with the back of his fingers, mimicking, at the same time, the outlandish accent of the man, and repeating after him into his tinkling [pg 149]ears, the words, Dromo is a sad dog—Dromo is a cunning man, and a close—Dromo would not be so easily caught as poor Boto.—“Ha, ha! Master Valerius,” then said he to me, “and so you would really take the trouble to ask questions of this worthy man, when you had it in your power to send for me? I thought it had not been for nothing that three persons I could name entered upon a certain alliance—but ’tis all one to the Cretan.—Both Sextus, and you, may manage your own affairs for yourselves, if such be your pleasure.”
I knew not on this whether to be more amazed with the impudence of the Cretan, or the confusion of poor Boto, who stood rubbing his cheek with a strangely mingled aspect of sheepishness and sulkiness; but Dromo soon put an end to the affair, by turning round with a face of admirably feigned astonishment to my Briton, and saying, “Good heavens! Boto, are you still there? Do you not perceive that your master and I have something to say to each other in private? Begone, my good man—shall I never be able to render you susceptible of the smallest polish?”
These last words being accompanied with a gentle push on the back, soon expelled poor Boto, who, nevertheless, did not depart without casting towards me a look of woful appeal over his shoulder. But I perceiving plainly, in the midst of all his frolicsome behaviour, that Dromo had really something to say to me; and suspecting, of course, that the interest of Sextus might be concerned in what he had to say, suffered my slave to withdraw in good earnest. Dromo, after the door was shut, laid his finger upon his lip, and stood still for a moment in an attitude of close attention; but [pg 150]the heavy heels of the reluctant Briton were heard with great distinctness, lumbering along the marble floor of the gallery; so, being satisfied that there was no eavesdropping in the case, the varlet seated himself forthwith in a posture of great familiarity on the nether end of my couch, and, to judge from the expression of his countenance, seemed evidently to be preparing himself for a disclosure of some importance. At length, after not a few winks of much intelligence, it was thus he began:—“You may hear Boto’s story, sir, at any time you please, and I dare say it will amuse you; but, in the meantime, I must really have you attend to me, for, without jesting, things are by no means in so fair a train as I had thought for my young master; and if something effectual be not speedily discovered, I am really at a loss to think how we shall be able to get out of our difficulties, in such a manner as may be either satisfactory to him, or creditable to my management. But you had better get up and dress yourself, and while you are doing so, I will tell you every thing.”
I did as he bade me, and then the Cretan proceeded:—“As I was coming out of the Amphitheatre yesterday, I happened to find myself rubbing shoulders with a certain old fat Calabrian, whom I had seen before about Rubellia’s house in the Suburra, and thinking that no harm could possibly come of being civil to him, I began immediately to ask his opinion of the spectacles. I wish you had been there to see how much he was delighted with the attention I paid him, and how he plumed himself on being admitted to talk on such subjects with such a person as me; for the man himself is but an ignorant fellow, and seems never to [pg 151]have kept company but with the grooms and hinds. From less to more, we began to be the greatest friends in the world; and by the time we got to the Arch, it was evident that we could not possibly part, without having a cup together to cement the acquaintance. Well, we were just about to dive into one of the wine-cellars there, below the gate-way, when I saw your friend Boto standing by himself in the middle of the street, apparently quite a-gaze and bewildered, and not able to form the smallest guess which way he ought to take in order to reach home; and being a good-natured fellow, in spite of all that has been said, I immediately shouted out his name till he was compelled to hear me, and then beckoned to him to come along with us, which indeed he did without much coaxing.”
“Well, Dromo,” said I, “and so all your great news is, that you have been leading my Briton into one of your debauches? In truth, I think you need not have made such an affectation of mystery withal.”—“Stop now,” quoth he, cutting me short; “if the slave be too slow, I am sure the master’s quickness will make up for it.—Hear me out before you begin commenting; such interruptions would bring the Stagyrite himself to a stand. We were soon, all three of us, seated in one of those snug little places, which if you have not yet seen, you are ignorant of the most comfortable sight within all the four walls of Rome,—a quiet cleanly little place,—three good hassocks upon the floor, a handful of sausages, a plate of dried fish as broad as the shield of Ajax, and a good old fashioned round-bellied jolly jug of Surrentine in the midst of us. I dare say, there were a hundred besides employed in the same [pg 152]way in the house; but we shut the door, and were as private as behind the altar of Vesta.”—“A tempting scene, Dromo; and what use did you make of your privacy?”—“All in good time, Master Valerius; you would have the apple before the egg. We had scarcely emptied our first jug, ere the conversation between the Calabrian and me took a turn that was not quite unnatural; for slaves, however little you may trust them, will always be smelling out something of the truth; and you may be sure, all this visiting, and feasting, and riding about in chariots, and sitting together at the Amphitheatre, has not been going on, without causing a good deal of talk both in this house and the rich widow’s. The courtship was of course the subject of our conversation, and I, pretending to know nothing of it myself, except from the common report of the slaves about our house, affected to consider it as highly probable, that the fat Calabrian might have had much better opportunities than mine of being informed how the affair really stood.”
“And did he really seem to have any knowledge about it?” said I.—“Not much—not much; but still the man did tell me something that I think may turn out to be well worth the knowing. ‘I am sure,’ said I, (by this time Boto was fast asleep,)—‘I am sure, if Rubellia won’t have my young master, it won’t be for want of presents; for we all know he has already given her a whole casket of rings and bracelets that belonged to his mother, and he is sitting for his picture, which, they say, he is to give her besides.’—‘And I am sure,’ quoth the Calabrian in return, ‘that if your young master don’t have my lady, it won’t be for want of [pg 153]presents neither; for she is the most generous open-handed lady in the world, and that her worst enemies will allow, although her father be an old rogue, and an usurer, as all the town says he is. No, Dromo,’ continued he, ‘nor will it be for want of philtres, nor of charms, nor of any thing that soothsaying can procure; for, between ourselves, my lady keeps up a constant traffic of late with all that sort of gentry; and what the issue of it all may be, Hecate only knows.’ Now, Master Valerius, when I heard him speak of philtres and charms, you may be sure I began to quicken up my ears more keenly than ever.”
“Dromo!” said I; “you are not serious. You do not mean surely to make me think that you believe in the efficacy of love-potions, or any such quackeries?” “Quackeries! do you call philtres quackeries? Why, there was a girl once gave myself a philtre that kept me raving for six months.”—“What sort of a looking girl was she, good Dromo?”—“Bah!” quoth he; “don’t expect to jeer me out of memory as well as judgment. Heavens and earth! when did any body ever hear of any body denying the efficacy of philtres? What an atheistical sort of barbarians those Britons must be. I wonder you are not afraid of some evil coming upon you. Remember Dian’s handful; remember the fate of Actæon!”—“Good Dromo,” said I, “I suppose you also suffered from peeping. But talk seriously; are you yourself a dealer in philtres, that you are so anxious I should believe in their power? Or what is your meaning?”
“My meaning is this,” quoth he, with great vehemence,—“it is, that if Rubellia gives Sextus such another [pg 154]philtre as a certain cunning damsel gave me, before I left pleasant Crete, to be a drudge and a packhorse here in Rome, where a man may sweat all his life in another’s service without being once thanked for his pains, and perhaps be laid out, look ye, for a supper to the vultures at last, because no body will treat his carcase to a blaze of old sticks,—I say, that if the Lady Rubellia contrives to give Sextus such another philtre as that, the game’s up, Master Valerius; and we may as well set about painting the dead, as try to save him from her clutches. The man’s gone—he’s as lost as Troy.”—“Well, Dromo,” said I, for I perceived there was no use in fighting it with him, “and have you not been able to hit upon any feasible scheme?”—“Ay, have you come to that at last? that is just what I have been cudgelling my brains about for the last twelve hours. But if I do hit upon any thing, I shall need assistance. In such cases, the best judgment can do nothing by itself.”—“Fear not, Dromo,” quoth I; “if my assistance can do you any good, you well know you can command it to the utmost.”—“Then prepare,” replied the Cretan, rising up with an air of much solemnity—“then prepare in good earnest; for, may Cerberus growl upon me, if I don’t find out some scheme before another day goes over, and shew you all what stuff I am made of. To think of entrapping Sextus without consulting Dromo!—No, by Cretan Jove, she shall not accomplish it—no, not even with a sea of philtres.”
“And, in the meantime,” said I, “what must Sextus do with himself?”—“He must not go near the Suburra; he must remain closely at home; and as for tasting any thing at her house, or any thing that comes from her—[pg 155]by heavens, if he does not take his oath against that—we may as well leave him to his destiny. If he will but take good care for this one day, I think there is every chance something may be hit upon ere the morning. I have got my cue, and shall not be idle, I promise you; but I undertake nothing, unless you swear to keep Sextus safe, and at a distance from her, till night-fall.”—“Good Dromo,” said I, “make yourself easy on that score; it will be a new circumstance indeed, if we find any difficulty in persuading Sextus to stay a single day away from the Suburra.”
“Persuading!” quoth the slave; “who ever heard of such a word as persuasion at such a crisis as this? I tell you he must be kept away; and if no other plan can be fallen on, I have a great mind to turn the key on him and his pedagogue both together. I heard them hammering at their lessons already as I came along—and that puts me in mind that I have a very shrewd notion there is more between that bearded goat of ours and this Rubellia, than any of us had been suspecting. Unless that Calabrian lies—and I think lying is above his sphere—this old rogue has been oftener in the Suburra of late than we had any thought of. So help me Hermes! I believe Licinius has been employing him to go his private messages to Rubellia—but that is only one insult more, and I shall have my revenge all in a lump.”
“I think it very likely,” answered I, quietly, “that Licinius may have 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 [pg 156]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 [pg 158]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 [pg 159]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 [pg 160]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 [pg 161]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 [pg 164]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 [pg 165]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 [pg 166]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 [pg 167]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 [pg 169]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 [pg 170]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 [pg 171]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.
“Then please yourself,” said the priestess, laying her hand on Athanasia’s shoulders; “but do sing, for I should fain have my maidens to hear something truly of your music.” With that she again applied her fingers to the lyre, and stooping over it, began to play some notes of prelude, less sorrowful than what we had at first heard. “Ay, my dear girl,” says the priestess, “you could not have chosen better. Heavens! how many lordly choirs have I heard singing to that old Delian air. There are a hundred hymns that may be sung to it—give us whichsoever of them pleases your [pg 172]fancy the best.”—“I will try,” replied the maiden, “to sing the words you have heard before. If I remember, you liked them.” Then boldly at once, yet gently, did her voice rush into the current of that ancient strain that you have heard so often; but it was then that I myself for the first time heard it.
The moon, the moon is thine, O night,
Not altogether dark art thou;
Her trembling crescent sheds its light,
Trembling and pale, upon thine ancient brow.
The moon is thine, and round her orb
A thousand sweet stars minister,
Whose twinkling rays dark wells absorb,
And all the wide seas drink them far and near.
They kiss the wide sea, and swift smiles
Of gladness o’er the waters creep;
Old hoary rocks rejoice, and isles,
And there is glory on the slumbering deep
Afar. Along the black hill’s side,
Right blithe of heart the wanderers go,
While that soft radiance, far and wide,
Gleams on the winding streams and woods below.
And gaily for the fragile bark,
Through the green waves its path is shorn,
When all the murmurs of the dark
Cold sea lie calm’d beneath that gliding horn.
Yet hail, ye glittering streaks, that lie
The eastern mountain tops upon!