Though not what Rome would call a wealthy man, T. Domitius Afer was of sufficient means, and from his connection with Fabricius, we may gather, of sufficient right of birth, to rank him among the equestrian order. His house, though small, was incontestably ruled by a master possessing the somewhat rare quality of exquisite taste. Harmony and symmetry reigned over all its appointments, ordered by the still more rare magic of the hand, which rounds off the formal chilliness of perfect chastity and regularity, by an artful and timely touch of graceful negligence.
There was no painting, statue, nor carved vase, nor couch, which might not, from its beauty and delicacy of design and finish, have had a place amid the household magnificence of Caesar. The combination of faculties which we call taste can perform wonders of delight with the meanest appliances. It requires inexhaustible resources, together with barbaric ignorance and coarseness, to shock the senses.
Afer remained some minutes pacing up and down the atrium of his house in deep thought. Then rousing himself [pg 33]he beheld his slaves awaiting his departure, with towels, unguents, and other necessaries. Without further delay, therefore, he left the house and proceeded to some private baths in the neighbourhood, where he enjoyed the company of some acquaintances, as well as the physical refreshment of what moderns call a Turkish bath. When he had leisurely gone through this delightful process; when he had finally been scraped with the strigil, rubbed dry and anointed from head to foot with a perfumed unguent, his youthful Greek attendant robed him with most elaborate care to suit his exacting taste, and he left the baths to step into a kind of sedan chair, which awaited him at the doors. He was borne thus, the short distance which intervened, to the house of one Apicius, on the Palatine, the most fashionable quarter in Rome, and finally to become almost the exclusive property of the emperors.
He alighted in a courtyard, whereon opened the magnificent entrance of a very large and imposing mansion. He went in. The lofty interior gleamed with rich marbles and gilding, and the air was laden with the scent of the perfumed fountain which twinkled and sparkled in the shaft of light, descending from the blue sunny sky through the square opening in the centre of the roof. Beyond was the vista of the entire length of the house, through its columns and peristyle to a portico and ornamental garden beyond. The sumptuous magnificence which met the eye at every turn, the priceless statuary, the frescoes on every wall, the rare, polished, carved wood and stone, the ivory, gilding, and tapestries, betokened the lavish extravagance of vast wealth. Crossing the spotless floor of marble, Afer was ushered into a reception room of the same rich character, where lounged or stood some half dozen guests engaged in conversation. Our knight’s attire, though of irreproachable taste and fashion, was modest compared with the superlative richness displayed by some of those he now rubbed against.
Charinus was a dandy of the first water, whose glorious garments, oppressive perfumes, smooth, well-tended, effeminately handsome face and languid hauteur, at once betrayed his disposition and ambition. Flaccus was a dandy, whose still youthful and ambitious mind animated a physical organisation [pg 34]long since bereft of vigour and beauty. Art did its best to disguise the ruthless blight of time, and age put a good face on its impotence, whilst it was being racked with follies and excesses which belonged to its grandchildren. So the withered old trunk stuck itself over with green boughs, seeking to hide its sapless rottenness, but succeeding only in rousing the laughter of men.
In the puffy face, and uncertain wavering eyes of Pansa, together with his nervous, trembling fingers, could be seen the demon of drunkenness; whilst his seat apart, and his sullen, dejected, downcast looks, marked a nightmare depression of spirits, during a brief separation from the wine cup.
Torquatus, unlike Flaccus, retained no foolish vanity in his advanced years, and his simple attire bore a strong contrast to the rest. Curiosity might be awakened as to the reason why he was included in the company present, for peevish, snappish acidity was plain as written symbols in his prying, sharp, small eyes, in his hard, withered, wrinkled face, and thin, sourly down-drawn lips. To the host, in the middle of these, Afer proceeded to pay his respects. Unheedful, unanswering to the chatter around his chair, the lord of the house sat absorbed in his reflections. He leant his head first on one hand and then on the other, shifting continuously and restlessly, as if a prey to uneasy thoughts. His face was pale, and his brows slightly contracted. Ever and anon, when his attention was desired to hear something of interest, he gave a nod, or glimmering smile, rather weary and ghastly than otherwise. His dress was the envy even of the dandies, his guests; for his ‘synthesis,’ or loose upper garment, which all wore, as more convenient for table than the toga, was made of silk—a fabric, at that time, in Rome, of such extravagant cost, as to be forbidden by imperial edict only a few years before the date of this story. The appearance of Afer before him roused him from his reverie.
‘Welcome, my friend,’ said he, extending his hand, and shaking himself, as if to clear away all thoughts that interfered with his duties as host; ‘welcome to my poor house!’
‘I trust you marked the poverty as you came through,’ rasped the voice of Torquatus, the sour, ever on the watch to vent a sneer.
‘I came hastily to greet Apicius, our generous host,’ returned Afer, as he exchanged courtesies with the smiling guests, all of whom he knew.