Servilia prostrated herself upon the ground, and for some time could find no voice to speak; then rising, and embracing the altar of Venus Genetrix, ‘I invoked,’ she exclaimed, ‘no infernal deities; I uttered no prayers of imprecation. The sole object of my ill-omened supplications was that thou, O Cæsar, that ye, O senators, might preserve to me this the best of fathers. I gave the Chaldeans my gems, my robes, the adornment of my matronly dignity; I would have given them, had they demanded it, my blood, my life. Let them look to it; their very existence and the nature of their arts were hitherto unknown to me. I never mentioned the name of the Emperor, except among the deities. And of all that I did my father knew nothing. If what I have done be a crime, I have sinned alone.’
‘Senators!’ exclaimed her father, Soranus, ‘let her be at once acquitted. She is free from all the charges urged against me. She did not accompany me to my province; she was too young to have known Rubellius Plautus; she was in no way implicated in the accusations against her husband. Her sole error has been her filial affection. Separate her case from mine. She is still in early youth. Let one victim suffice you. I am prepared to undergo whatever fate you inflict upon me, but spare my child!’
At those tender words he opened his arms, and his daughter sprang to his embrace, but the lictors lowered their cruel fasces, and interposed between them.
Then the witnesses were called, and a murmur of contempt and indignation broke out even among those abject senators when Publius Egnatius Celer stepped out first among them. The lip of Soranus curled in strong disdain, and he muttered the one word ‘Traitor!’ For Egnatius was a professed Stoic; he was a client of Soranus; he had been his teacher in philosophy; he was old, and Soranus young; he had received from his hands unnumbered kindnesses; he had himself encouraged Servilia to consult the astrologers. He wore the dress of a philosopher; he had trained his features to assume the aspect of Stoic dignity.But on this day he tore the mask off his own face, and revealed himself as what he was—a lecherous, treacherous, avaricious, hypocritic villain, who, having concealed his leprous character under the guise of honour, did not hesitate for a moment to sell his friend for money in the hour of calamity, and thereby dishonoured his grey hairs, and earned for himself the execration of all time.[115] The wretch lived on in deserved and general infamy. In better days he was accused by Musonius Rufus and himself condemned. But to Soranus and Servilia were meted out such justice as could alone be expected from such judges. The only mercy extended to them was the permission to choose their mode of death.
Such was the state of things in the days of Nero. The aristocracy were like men who live in an unknown land, glancing on every side at the slightest sound. Seneca, who had lived through that reign of terror, most truly depicts it. His sole remedy is stubborn resignation. Even abstinence from action requires prudence, for you may be condemned for what you do not do. Above all must men shun the Court, ‘that sad prison of slaves.’ But, after every precaution, no one could be safe, and therefore, Stoic-fashion, men must accustom themselves to regard all calamities as matters of indifference.‘Above all, is not suicide always possible?’ Seneca asks; ‘and is not that the best antidote to tyranny? The path of escape is open everywhere. Do you see this precipice? It is the descent to Liberty! Do you see this sea, this well, this river? Liberty lies hidden in their depths! Do you see this little barren, distorted tree? Liberty hangs from its branches!’[116] The historian is reminded of the picture of Pascal. ‘Imagine a number of men in chains, all condemned to death, some of whom have their throats cut daily in sight of the rest, while the survivors see in their fate their own condition, and gaze one on another with sorrow, and without hope.’
CHAPTER LXI
BEFORE THE LION
Καὶ ἐῤῥύσθην ἐκ στόματος λέοντος.
S. Paul. ad Tim. β. iv. 17.
When Onesimus had succeeded in rescuing Nereus from the pitchy tunic on the dreadful-glorious night of the Church’s martyrdom, the two made their way through the darkness to Aricia, which they reached at the earliest dawn. Old Dromo welcomed them, and Junia received her father with transports of love and gratitude. Onesimus hung modestly back during their meeting, but when the girl had ceased to weep on her father’s neck, she turned to his deliverer, and thanked him from her heart as one to whose courage and devotion she owed his preservation from that death of agony.
During that day they arranged their plans. In the little farm and vineyard of Pudens there was ample room for free labour, and it was settled that Nereus and Junia should stay there for the present, Nereus working in the vineyard, and Junia helping in the care of the flocks and fowls, and in the management of the household. Among those groves, in that remote and humble homestead, they were safe in their obscurity, and there they could abide until some other opportunity offered, or happier times came round.