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.