Claudia wiped away a stealing tear, while Lucilia in a clear, ringing voice shouted across the waters:
“Farewell, lovely Baiae!”
CHAPTER VI.
The house of Titus Claudius Mucianus, the high-priest of Jupiter, stood at no great distance from the precipitous Capitoline Hill,[125] looking over the Forum Romanum[126] and the Sacred Way.[127] Simple and yet magnificent, it showed in every detail the stamp of that quiet, self-sufficing and confident wealth, that ease of distinction, which is so unattainable to the parvenu.
It was now October. The sun was just appearing above the horizon. There was a motley turmoil in the house of the Flamen; the vast atrium positively swarmed with men. Most of these were professional morning visitors—waiters in the ante-chamber—known also from the gala dress in which they were expected to appear, as “Toga-wearers;” the poor relations of the house, clients and protégés.[128] Still, there were among them not a few persons of distinction, members of the senate and upper-class, court officials and magistrates. It was a scene of indescribable variety and bustle. The world of Rome in miniature. Petitioners from every point of the compass eagerly watched the slaves, on whom their admission depended. Rich farmers, who desired to bring a private offering to Jupiter Capitolinus, sat open-mouthed on the cushioned marble seats, gaping at the handsomely-dressed servants or the splendid wall-paintings and statues. Young knights from the provinces, whose ambition it was to be Tribune of a legion,[129] or to obtain some other honorable appointment, and who hoped for the high-priest’s protection, gazed with deep admiration at the endless series of ancestral images[130] in wax, which adorned the hall in shrines of ebony.
And in fact these portraits were well worthy of study, for they were an epitome of a portion of the history of the world. Those stern, inexorable features were those of Appius Claudius Sabinus, who, as consul, wreaked such fearful justice on his troops. Beside him stood his brother, the haughty patrician, Caius Claudius, knitting his thick brows—an embodiment of the protest of the nobles against the rights contended for by the popular party. There was the keen, eagle face of the infamous Decemvir, the persecutor of Virginia—a villain, but a daring and imperious villain.—Claudius Crassus, the cruel, resolute foe of the plebeians—Appius Claudius Caecus, who made the Appian Way—Claudius Pulcher, the witty sceptic, who flung the sacred fowls into the sea because they warned him of evil—Claudius Cento, the conqueror of Chalcis—Claudius Caesar, and a hundred other world-renowned names of old and modern times.... What an endless chain! And just as they now looked down, head beyond head from their frames, they had been, all without exception, stiff-necked contemners of the people, and staunch defenders of their senatorial privileges. A splendid, defiant and famous race! Even the tattooed native of Britain,[131] who came to offer fine amber chains[132] and broken rings of gold,[133] was sensible of an atmosphere of historic greatness.
One after another—the humbler folks in parties together—the visitors were led from the atrium into the carpeted reception-room, where the master of the house stood to welcome them in robes of dazzling whiteness[134] and wearing his priestly head-gear.[135] He had already dismissed a considerable number of important personages, when a tall officer, stout almost to clumsiness, was announced and at once admitted, interrupting as he did the strict order of succession. This was no less a person than Clodianus, the adjutant of Caesar himself. He came in noisily, embraced and kissed the priest and then, glancing round at the slaves, asked if he might be allowed a few words with Titus Claudius in private. The priest gave a sign; the slaves withdrew into a side room.
“There is no end to it all!” cried Clodianus, throwing himself into a large arm-chair. “Every day brings some fresh annoyance!”
“What am I to hear now?” sighed the high-priest.