CHAPTER XIX.THE END OF VITELLIUS.“I never made a greater mistake in my life,”said Longa Duilia,“and I cannot think how you allowed me to make it.”“What mistake?”asked the Chaldæan.“The mistake of inviting the uncle in place of the nephew to my little supper. As to that supper, I flatter myself it was perfect—so finished in every detail, as becomes our position; so delicately flavored with reserve, as becamemyposition as a widow; and you recommended me to invite Flavius Sabinus, the Præfect,—and now hehas been. That delicate little supper thrown away, and my attentions so nicely adjusted to the circumstances, all that trouble and thought gone for nothing. Do you know that Flavius Sabinus is now in bits? He has been positively hacked to pieces. It is not the supper itself I regret, and my best Falernian wine—but I gave him a gold signet-ring with a cameo, representing Daphne. It had belonged to my dear Corbulo, and was valuable. But I considered it as a means to an end. And now—where is that ring? But for your counsel, I might have invited the nephew.”“Madam, I counselled aright.”“You have the face to say that? Do you not know that Sabinus has had his head struck off, and his bodydragged by hooks down the Gemonian stair, and then positively torn to pieces—but there? Who has got hold of the ring? I have lost it—through you.Youpretend to read the stars and peer into futurity!”“Lady, I do see into what is to be, and counsel accordingly.”“Oh, yes! glimpses as of light in a wood through thick foliage. Plenty of obscurity, very little light.”“Madam, consider. Had you not invited the Præfect who has been, you would not have seen the nephew who is, and who came in at the supper to call his uncle away. It was thus he arrived at a knowledge of your house, and your friendly disposition, and thus it was that he was induced to throw himself on your protection.”“There is something in that,”observed Duilia.“But how much better had the invitation been sent to Domitian himself.”“On the contrary, that would not have been judicious, therefore I did not recommend it. Had the nephew come here along with his servants, immediately his escape from the Capitol was discovered, and they were tortured to disclose his place of concealment, they would have betrayed this house: but as it has happened they could not suppose he would take refuge here.”“There is a good deal in that,”answered Duilia meditatively.“Well, it is only the ring that I regret. If I had but known—something of inconsiderable value but showy would have sufficed. Moreover, I might have done without that dish of British oysters—very expensive, and, as you see, thrown away. Yet! well, I enjoyed them.”“Even that ring is not lost.”“How so?”“It is on Domitian’s finger.”“You really say so?”“When the Præfect bade his nephew and sons attempt to escape from the Capitol, he recommended the former to engage your protection, and in token of this, he put the ring that you had given him, on his nephew’s finger, that he might present it to you—should there be mistrust, in pledge that he came from Flavius Sabinus. I encountered Domitian in the street, I knew him and conducted him to your door, and obtained his admission. There was no necessity for him to show his ring, as I stood sponsor for him.”“You are a good old creature,”said Duilia,“I withdraw any offensive expressions I may have used. To gratify you, I will pay that old woman, Senecio, his wage and bid him pack.”“Then, madam, my services shall be amply repaid. The man himself is harmless. Engage him as a clown,—he is consumed with conceit, and so renders himself a laughing-stock. That is all he is qualified to be.”“Go—send me Domitia. She has behaved like a fool.”Shortly after the girl entered the room where was her mother. The latter at once exclaimed:—“My dear, the ring is notlost.Domitian has it. By the foresight of the Gods, Sabinus removed it from his finger, and confided it to his nephew, before unhappy circumstances arose which might have led to the ring getting into the hands of any Cyrus or Dromo.”“Was it to hear this that you sent for me?”asked Domitia sullenly.“No, it was not. Your conscience must upbraid you.Youhave acted in an insensate manner. You have flouted and angered the son of him who in—perhaps half an hour—will be an Augustus, supreme in the state.”“Mother, I do not like him.”“Ye Gods of the Capitol!—confound them, by the way, they are all burnt! O Tellus and Terminus! Do you suppose we are to see and be courteous only to those whom we like? What cared I for that paragon of virtue, Flavius Sabinus, who talked to such an extent that I could not get in a word edgeways. But I gave him a nice little supper—and oysters from Britain, my best Falernian, and that ring of your father’s, because I thought he might be useful. And now Titus Flavius Domitianus is our guest—in hiding till matters are settled one way or the other—and you insult him to his face. It is not conduct worthy of your mother. You interfere with my plans.”“What plans?”“My dear child, Vespasian is old—about sixty I think, and has but two sons, of whom Domitian is the youngest. The elder, Titus Flavius Sabinus Vespasianus has but a daughter. Do you not see? Do you not smell?”“I do neither, mother.”“More the pity. You sadly take after your father, who had no ambition. Give the old fellow ten years before he becomes a god; the eldest son, if the worst comes, may succeed and be Augustus for another ten, and then,—the second son, Domitian, will be prince. My dear, what opportunities! What gorgeous opportunities!”“Opportunities for what?”“For push, my dear, push to the purple. Your dear father, ah, well! We are not all made of the same clay.”“Mother, that is precisely what fills me with dread. He will then be the eighth, for these adventurers of a few months do not count,—the new Nero.”“But consider—the purple. My dear, do you remember how Valeria caught the dictator Sulla. She sat behind him in the theatre, and picked some flue off his toga. He turned round and caught her doing it.‘Sir,’said she,‘I am but endeavoring to get to myself some of the luck that adheres to you!’I could have loved that woman. It was so happy, so neat. That bit of wool drew Sulla and the Dictatorship to her. You, what a blunderer you are. You have offended Domitian, who may some day be greater than was Sulla, when you had it in your power by a word, a look, a dimpled smile, to win him, and with him the purple.”“Mother, I do not covet it. You forget—I am promised to Lucius Ælius Lamia.”“Oh! Lamia! He could be bought off with a proconsulship.”“I do not desire to be separated from him. I love him, and have loved him since we were children together.”“Well, you have done for your chances. If I surmise aright, the young man entertains a great grudge against you.”At that moment Eboracus came in.“Madam,”said he,“the Illyrian legions have entered the city, under Primus, and there is fighting in the streets. The people on the housetops cheer onthis side or that, as though they were at a show of gladiators.”“Well—those things happen. We shall know for certain which shall be uppermost, and if fate favors Vitellius—Then, daughter, I shall not scruple to give the young man up.”The condition of the capital was frightful. Vitellius had called in levies from the country to support him, and the prætorian soldiers stood firm. But many men of direction were with the partisans of Vespasian, who advanced steadily over the bodies of the troops opposing them. Fifty thousand persons lost their lives in these eventful days of the Saturnalia.The legions under Primus succeeded in recapturing the Capitol, which was still smoking, and pushed forward into the Forum.Meanwhile, Vitellius, in the Palatine palace, a prey to irresolution, had filled himself with wine, and then fled along with his cook and pastrycook to his wife’s house on the Aventine. Then deceived by a false report that his troops were successful, he returned to the Palatine, and found it deserted, but a roar of voices rose from the Forum below, and from the Capitol the cries of the legionaries were wafted towards him along with the smoke.He hastened to collect all the gold he could lay his hands on, stuffed it into his cincture, assumed an old ragged suit, and then again attempted to escape; but now he found every avenue blocked. Filled with terror he crawled into the dog-kennel where the hounds, resenting the intrusion, fell on him and bit his neck and hands and legs. But now Vespasian’s soldiery invaded the palace, and a tribune, Julius Placidius, discovering the bloated, bleeding wretch, drew him out by the foot, and he came forth thus, his hands full of dirty straw, and strands adhering to his hair and garments. A howling rabble at once surrounded him, leaping, jeering, throwing mud and stones; a few soldiers succeeded in surrounding him. His hands were bound behind his back, and a rope passed about his neck. Thus he was dragged through the streets an object of insult to the people. Some struck him in the face, some plucked out his hair. In the Forum the rabble were breaking his statues and dragging them about. One ruffian thrust a pike under the unfortunate prince’s chin and bade him hold up his head. Then said Vitellius:—“Thou, who thus addressest me—a tribune thou art, remember I was once thy commander!”Thereupon a German soldier, desirous of shortening his misery, struck him down with a blow of his sword, and in so doing cut off the ear of the tribune who had insulted the fallen Emperor.At once the body of the prince, from whom the life was not sped, was dragged to the Gemonian stair, a flight of steps down which the corpses of malefactors were flung, and there he was despatched with daggers.Longa Duilia had been kept well informed as to all that took place.No sooner was she assured that Vitellius was dead, than she rushed into the apartment given up to Domitian.“Salve, Cæsar! As the Gods love me, I am the first to so salute you, son of the Augustus! Oh, I am so happy! And it might have been otherwise, butyouthey never would have reached save over my body.”CHAPTER XX.CHANGED TACTICS.The anarchy which had lasted from the 11th June, 68, when Nero perished, came to an end on the 20th December, in the ensuing year. In that terrible year of 69, three emperors had died violent deaths, and Rome had been in a condition of disorder on each occasion, and intermittent violence had lasted all the time. Men now drew a long breath, they were disposed to blot out the memory of those eighteen months of misery and national humiliation, as though it had not been, and to reckon the strong Vespasian as prince next after Nero. Indeed, on the morrow of the death of Vitellius, when the Senate assembled and decreed the honors of the former princes, they recited those of the first Cæsars, but ignored the three last who had perished within a twelvemonth, as though they had never been, and were to be forgotten as an evil dream.That same day also, Domitian received the title of Cæsar, and was made Prince of the Youths, and Præfect of Rome in the place of his uncle, who had been murdered.That day, also, Mucianus arrived with the Syrian legions, and with plenitude of authority from Vespasian to act in his name.To Duilia’s vast delight Domitian did not forget hisobligation to her, but paid frequent visits to her house, and it was a matter of pride to her to have his attendant lictors standing outside her door, as in former days.When he came, she made a point of summoning her daughter, and requiring her to be present during the interview. But she could not make her speak or compel her to graciousness of manner towards the visitor.The young prince’s eyes watched the girl with question in them, but he addressed all his conversation to the mother.Longa Duilia did her utmost to disguise her child’s incivility, attributed it to shyness, and used all her blandishments to make a visit to her house agreeable to Domitian.At length, the irksomeness caused by Domitia’s irresponsive manner seemed to satisfy the mother that she did more harm than good in enforcing her attendance, and she ceased to require the girl to appear.Some months passed, and Domitia had not given a thought to Glyceria, and her offer to revisit the sick woman, when, all at once, in a fit of weariness with all things that surrounded her, and a sense of incapacity to find enjoyment anywhere, she started from her languor to bid Eboracus go forth, buy honey-cakes and toys, and accompany her on a visit to the Suburra.As she was on her way, Domitian came by with his lictors and other attendants. Since his elevation from poverty and insignificance to ease and importance, he had acquired a swagger that made his manner more offensive than before in his phase of cubbishness.He at once addressed her, for though veiled he recognized her.“May I attend you? I have at the moment nothing of importance to occupy me.”“I am bound for the Suburra.”“For the Suburra! What can take you into the slums of Rome?”“I am going to see the wife of Paris, the tragic actor.”“Oh! the wife of the actor, Paris,”with a sneer.“I said so—the wife of Paris the actor,”she withdrew her veil and looked him straight in the eyes. He winced.“And pray—is she a visiting acquaintance of the family?”“She is our freedwoman. Paris was freed by my father likewise. Are you content? I may add that she has met with an accident and is crippled and confined to her bed.”“Oh!”with a vulgar laugh,“and you are infected with the Christian malady, and go among the sick and starving.”“I know naught of this Christian malady. What is it?”“We have had the contagion touch us. There is my cousin Clemens, and his wife Domitilla, both taken badly with it. He is a poor, mean-spirited fool. He has been offered excellent situations, with money to be made in them, in bushels, but he refuses—will not swear by the genius of my father, will not offer sacrifice to the Gods. Such thin gruel minds I cannot away with. Were I Augustus, such as would not serve the Commonwealth should be sent to kick their heels in a desert island. These Christians are the enemies of the human race.”“What, because they visit the sick and relieve the poor?”“The sick are smitten by the Gods and should be left to die. The poor are encumbrances and should be left to rot away. But a man of rank and of family—”“Flavius Clemens! of what family?”Domitian bit his lip. The Flavians were of no ancestry; money-lenders, tax-collectors, jobbers in various ways, with no connections save through the mother of Vespasian, and that middle-class only.“I say that a man who will not serve his country should be pitched out of it.”“About that I have no opinion.”“Clemens was cast to the lions by Nero, but some witchcraft charmed them, and they would not touch him.”Domitia said nothing to this. She was desirous of being rid of her self-imposed escort.“You must wish me success,”said the young prince.“I am off to Germany. There has been revolt there, and I go to subdue it.”“By all means carry with you a pair of shears.”“What mean you?”“To obtain a crop of golden hair from the German women, wherewith to grace your triumph.”Domitian knitted his brows.“You have a sharp tongue.”“I need one. It is a woman’s sole defence.”“Come, if a cousin, as your mother asserts,—though by the Gods! I know not where the kinship comes in,—wish me well. Such words as yours are of ill-omen.”“I wish confusion and destruction to the worst enemies of Rome,”answered Domitia.“That suffices. I will offer the spoils to you.”“Thank you, I do not yet wear wigs.”He turned away with an expression of irritation.“You are either silent, or stick pins into me,”he muttered.Domitia continued her course, but as she entered the“Island”in which was the home of Paris, she observed the young Cæsar still in the street, at a corner watching her.Much annoyed, and with her temper ruffled by this meeting, she ascended the steps to the first story and at once turned towards the apartments of Paris and Glyceria, but had to thread her way among poor people, women weaving and spinning, and children romping and running races.She was welcomed with pleasure, Glyceria would have raised herself, had she been able; as it was, she could show her respect only by a salutation with the hand, and her pleasure by a smile and a word.The chamber was fragrant with violets.Domitia looked round and saw a small marble table on which stood a statuette of a shepherd with panpipes, and a lamb across his shoulders. Violets in a basin stood before the figure.“Ah! Hermes,”said Domitia, and plucking a little bunch of the purple flowers from her bosom she laid it in the bowl with the rest.“Nay, dear Lady, not Hermes,”said Glyceria,“though indeed it was sculptured to represent him—but to me that figure has another meaning. And I hold your offering of the violets as made to Him who to me is the Good Shepherd.”4“Whom mean you? Atys?”“Not Atys.”Domitia was not particularly interested in the matter. She presumed that some foreign cult was followed by Glyceria, and foreign cults at this time swarmed in Rome.“Do you believe me, Glyceria,”said Domitia,“as I came hither, the Cæsar Domitian accompanied me, and said that I must be a Christian to care for the sick and suffering. What are these Christians?”“I am one,”answered the paralyzed woman.“What! and Paris?”“Nay, he hovers between two opinions. His business holds him and he will not give that up, he thinks that, were he to do so, he and I might starve. But with the mind I think he is one.”“And what are these Christians?”“Those who believe in Christ.”“And he?—is that his image?”pointing to the Good Shepherd.“Oh Lady! it is only so much His image as the words Good Shepherd written in characters are such, they call up a notion and so does that figure. But in our worship we have no images, no sacrifices.”“What is Christianity?”“That is long to answer, but I may say in two words what it is to me.”“Say on.”“The Daylight of the soul.”“How mean you?”“I once was in darkness. I knew not why I was set in the world, whither I was going, what I ought to worship, what were my duties, where was right andwhat was wrong. I had no light, no road, no law. Now I have all.”“So every votary of every new religion says. Where is your guarantee that you are not in delusion?”“Madam, when the sun rises and there is day, you do not suppose the light, the splendor, the confidence inspired by it is a delusion. You know that you see, and see that you may walk, and act with purpose and direction. The soul has eyes as well as the body. These eyes behold the light and cannot doubt it, by internal conscience that distinguishes between the truth and falsehood. By that internal conscience I am assured that the light is as real as that seen by eyes of flesh.”“I cannot understand you,”said Domitia.“Now for other matters—I have made Eboracus bring you some dainties for yourself and presents for the children who are so kind to you. Where is your husband?”“He is rehearsing. Better times have arrived, and he is now occupied.”“And you see less of him.”“Yes—but we must live. When away from me, I know that in heart he is with me.”“You are sure of that?”“Yes.”“What, by the conscience that establishes between truth and falsehood?”“Nay—by trust. We must trust some one and some thing. We trust God, we trust His Revelation, we trust in the goodness there is in mankind.”“There is evil rather than good.”“There is good—but that is oft astray because of the darkness, and does not know its course.”Domitia did not remain long in the Insula. Shebade farewell to the wife of the actor and promised to revisit her. The presence of Glyceria refreshed, soothed, sweetened the mind of the girl that was heated, ruffled and soured by contact with so much there was in pagan life that jarred against her noble instincts, by the uncongeniality of her mother, and by the disgust she felt at association with Domitian.When she arrived at the palace, she heard that her mother had been inquiring after her, and she at once went to her apartments.Duilia asked where she had been, but did not listen for an answer, or pay attention to what was said, when the reply came.“What is this I hear?”said Duilia, in a tone of irritation.“Lucilla tells me you have been chatting with Domitian, and in the street too——”“I had no wish to speak with him. He came after me.”“Oh! he went after you, did he? And pray what had he to say?”“He is going to Germany to conclude a campaign already fought out and come back and triumph for another man’s victories.”“You did not say so to him?”“Not in so many words.”“My dear, it is true. He is going, and whether he be successful or not, will return wearing the title Germanicus. I shall have a little supper.”“For whom?”“For whom, do you ask? For him to be sure, to wish him good success on the expedition.”“You will allow me not to be present.”“As you will, perverse girl. My dear,”in a confidential tone,“if kittens can’t catch rats, cats can.”CHAPTER XXI.THE VIRGIN’S WREATH.“My dear,”said Longa Duilia to her daughter,“with wit such as you have, that might be drawn through a needle’s eye, it is positively necessary to have you married as quickly as possible. I can no longer bear the responsibility of one so full of waywardness and humors as yourself.”“That, mother, is as Lamia chooses. You know that I can marry only him.”“And I do not ask you to take another. I will get it settled forthwith. I’ll see his father by adoption and have the settlements looked to. You are a good match. I presume you are aware of that, and this explains certain poutings and bad temper. Well—reserve them for Lamia, and don’t vex me. I wash my hands of you, when that you are married. A camel carries his own hump, but a man his wife’s humors.”Domitia was sufficiently acquainted with her mother’s elasticity of spirit and fertility of invention to be satisfied that she had a motive for pressing on her marriage, and what that motive was seemed obvious. But it was one that distressed her greatly.“My dearest mother,”she said timidly,“I hope—I mean, since you are so good as not to urge me further to break my engagement with Lamia, that you have not set your mind—I mean your heart——”“My excellent child,”answered Longa Duilia cutting her daughter short,“make no scruple of blurting out what is on your tongue. You allude to Domitian. Well! If you had common sense, you would know that to get on in life, one must fit one’s heart with the legs of a grasshopper, so as to be able to skip from an inconvenient, into any suitable position. When a dish of ortolans is set on table, none but a fool will dismiss it untasted to be devoured by the servants in the kitchen!”“But, mother, he is quite young.”“By the favor of the Gods, Domitia, youths always fall in love with women somewhat older than themselves. The Gods ordered it for their good. If they, I mean the young men—would only follow their—I mean the Gods’—direction, there would be fewer unhappy marriages. For my part, I can’t see anything attractive in half-baked girls.”But the thoughts of her own future, and approaching happiness took up the whole of Domitia’s brain, and left no space for consideration of her mother’s schemes, and their chances of success.The young prince was away. It was, as had been feared, too late for him to reap laurels in Germany, the revolt had been quelled by Cerealis, but as there was a ferment working in Gaul, it was deemed advisable that Domitian should go thither and overcome the dissatisfied instead of crossing the Alps. He had accordingly changed his route, and had appeared in Lyons.The marriage between Domitia and Lamia could not take place so speedily as Duilia desired. She was wishful to have it over before the return to Rome of Domitian, so that she might be left a freer hand, andher daughter put out of the way who, she thought, exercised a peculiar fascination over the young prince; but she was unable to decide in her own mind whether what drew his eyes towards Domitia was dislike or love; possibly it was a commingling of resentment at her treatment of him, and admiration for her loveliness.But hindrances arose. Lamia was absent on his estates in Sicily, where there had been disturbances among the slaves, and till matters were settled there, he could not return.Then came the month of May in which no marriages might be performed owing to the hauntings of theLemures, or ghosts of bad men, and such as had not received burial. These, seen in the forms of walking skeletons or bugbears, rioted in that sweetest month of the whole year. Then they obtained opportunities among the incautious to slip into their bodies, and possess them with madness, or to take up their abodes in dwelling-houses and disturb the living occupants by phantom appearances and mysterious sounds.On three days in the month of May special means were adopted to propitiate or scare away these spectres. On the 9th, 11th, and 13th, at midnight, the master of a house, or, in the event of his death or absence, his widow or wife, walked barefoot before the door to a flowing fountain, where the hands were thrice washed, and then the propitiator of the ghosts returned home, and threw black beans over the shoulder, saying:“These I give to you, and with these beans I ransom myself and mine.”It was supposed that the ghost scrambled for the beans, and so enabled the owner of the house to reachthe door before them. There stood the servants beating brazen vessels, pots and pans, shouting,“Out with you! Out with you, ye ghosts!”At the beginning of June was the cleansing of the Temple of Vesta, and till that was completed, on the 15th, marriages were forbidden.Consequently the wedding could not take place much before midsummer, and to this Longa Duilia had to submit.Domitia was content and happy. She had not been so happy since her father’s death. Indeed till now she had not been able to shake off the pain she had felt at his loss. For to her, that father was the model of noble manhood, high-minded, full of integrity, strong yet gentle. She had often marvelled at the manner in which he had dealt with her mother, whom she indeed loved but who somewhat rasped her. With his wife he had ever been firm yet forbearing. He allowed her to form her little schemes, but always managed to thwart them when foolish or mischievous, without her perceiving who had put a spoke in the wheel.Lucius Ælius Lamia she looked upon as formed in her father’s school, upon his model. He was modest, honorable, true; a good man to whom she could give her whole heart with full assurance that he would treasure the gift, and that she could trust him to be as true to her as she would be true to him.Since her father’s death, Domitia had felt more than previously the incompatibility of her mind with that of her mother. They had no thoughts, no wishes, no feelings in common. Domitia was a dreamer, speculative, ever with eager mind seeking the things beyond what was known, whereas Duilia had not a thought, acare that were not material. The lady Duilia cared not a rush about philosophy or the theory of emanations. It was to her a matter of complete indifference whether the established paganism was true or false. For she had no apprehension of the importance of Truth. And she had no wish that could not be gratified by money or the acquisition of position.Now also the haunting horror of those waking dreams that she had seen in the Temple of Isis passed from the heart of the young girl, like the vapors that roll away and disclose the blue heavens and the glorious sun. She had been drifting purposeless; now she saw that she was about to enter on a condition of life in which she would have an object, and would find complete happiness in the pursuit of that object,—in the fulfilment of her duties as housewife to a loved husband, in whom she would find strength, sympathy and love.And now also, for the first time since the death of Corbulo, she sang as she went about the house, or worked at her bridal dress.Lamia, on his return from Sicily was surprised to note the change in her appearance. She had been as a beautiful flower bowed by rain and pinched with cold, and now, as in renewed sunshine, she bloomed with expanded petals. Light danced in her blue eyes, and a delicate rose suffused her smooth cheeks. She had stepped back into the childhood out of which she had passed on that terrible day at Cenchræa.And as he looked at her, her eyes sparkling with love and tears of joy, he thought he had never seen one sweeter and to whom he could so wholly devote himself as to his dear Domitia.Then arrived the eve of the marriage.The young girl was in the garden, stooping, picking the flowers of which her virginal crown was to be woven, and singing as she plucked.Then she came with her lap full of herbs and blossoms to her mother, who said:—“That is right. None may gather the flowers but the bride. By the way, have you heard? Domitian is back from Gaul. I was rejoiced at the news, and have despatched an invitation to him to attend the wedding.”“Oh, mother! it is a bad omen.”At the mention of the name, the vision of the red face, seen at Gabii between her own and that of Lamia, started up before her, and she let drop the lap of flowers, and they fell at her feet.“By the Gods! what a silly thing thou art! Quick, gather up the herbs and then go fetch thy dolls and toys of childhood, they must all this evening be offered on the altar of the household gods.”“I have them not, mother.”“Not your dolls!”“Not one.”“But what have you done with them? I know they were all brought from Antioch.”“Mother, they have been given away.”“Given away! to whom?”“To Glyceria, the sister of Euphrosyne.”“But what can have induced you to do this?”“She is paralyzed, and served by little children in the story of theInsulawhere she lives. I considered that it would amuse her to dress the dolls afresh, and perhaps mend broken limbs, and after that she willdistribute them among the little willing children that help her in her infirmity.”“As the Gods love me!”exclaimed Duilia,“Whoever heard before of such madness. Hellebore would not cure it. Verily the more you labor at a hole the greater the hollow. You are a fool, and your folly grows daily greater. Youmustpresent your toys of childhood to theLares, they expect it—it is the custom, it is right.”“But I have none left.”“Mother Ops! what is to be done? Run, Eboracus,—run and buy me half a dozen dolls—dressed if possible. Domitia, you are determined to bring ill-luck on yourself. There is nothing else to be done but for you to spend an hour in playing with the dolls, and then you can present them at the altar, and the Gods will be none the wiser. Between me and you and the pillars of the peristyle, they are bigger fools than us mortals, and easier gulled.”Domitia stooped to collect the fallen flowers.“What is that?”asked her mother—“Oh! right enough,natrix,5that drives away ghosts and nightmare. And that of course is in the virginal wreath,myosotis(Forget-me-not) it dries tears. An Egyptian slave I had—he fell ill, so I exposed him on the isle between the two Bridges—he told me that if one ate the root in the month of Thoth—that is August, one escaped sore eyes for a twelvemonth. That is right also, the scarlet anemone, it betokens the flame of love—and that evergreen its continuance. The centaury—that is the herb of union, it will close a wound so asnot to show even a scar—and in marriage, no better symbol than that. What have you here? Thelysimachia, that gives harmony and agreement of mind. They say that a plant of it fastened to the pole of a chariot will make the wildest and most impatient horses pull together. And the herb of the Twelve Gods! quite right, always remember the gods, they come in useful. The vervain—of course, it will give you all you will. But, ye Gods of Olympus! What have you done to pluck cypress! My dear Domitia, are you mad? Thyme, mint, if you will—but cypress! the tree of the infernal gods, and—as the Gods love me! let me look at your hands! They are red—what have you plucked—plucked till your hands are dyed—theandrosœmum!Oh! Domitia! ill-fated child—look, look at your hands, the juice has stained them, they are dipped in blood.”ILL-FATED CHILD, LOOK AT YOUR HANDS.“ILL-FATED CHILD, LOOK AT YOUR HANDS.”Page 176.
CHAPTER XIX.THE END OF VITELLIUS.“I never made a greater mistake in my life,”said Longa Duilia,“and I cannot think how you allowed me to make it.”“What mistake?”asked the Chaldæan.“The mistake of inviting the uncle in place of the nephew to my little supper. As to that supper, I flatter myself it was perfect—so finished in every detail, as becomes our position; so delicately flavored with reserve, as becamemyposition as a widow; and you recommended me to invite Flavius Sabinus, the Præfect,—and now hehas been. That delicate little supper thrown away, and my attentions so nicely adjusted to the circumstances, all that trouble and thought gone for nothing. Do you know that Flavius Sabinus is now in bits? He has been positively hacked to pieces. It is not the supper itself I regret, and my best Falernian wine—but I gave him a gold signet-ring with a cameo, representing Daphne. It had belonged to my dear Corbulo, and was valuable. But I considered it as a means to an end. And now—where is that ring? But for your counsel, I might have invited the nephew.”“Madam, I counselled aright.”“You have the face to say that? Do you not know that Sabinus has had his head struck off, and his bodydragged by hooks down the Gemonian stair, and then positively torn to pieces—but there? Who has got hold of the ring? I have lost it—through you.Youpretend to read the stars and peer into futurity!”“Lady, I do see into what is to be, and counsel accordingly.”“Oh, yes! glimpses as of light in a wood through thick foliage. Plenty of obscurity, very little light.”“Madam, consider. Had you not invited the Præfect who has been, you would not have seen the nephew who is, and who came in at the supper to call his uncle away. It was thus he arrived at a knowledge of your house, and your friendly disposition, and thus it was that he was induced to throw himself on your protection.”“There is something in that,”observed Duilia.“But how much better had the invitation been sent to Domitian himself.”“On the contrary, that would not have been judicious, therefore I did not recommend it. Had the nephew come here along with his servants, immediately his escape from the Capitol was discovered, and they were tortured to disclose his place of concealment, they would have betrayed this house: but as it has happened they could not suppose he would take refuge here.”“There is a good deal in that,”answered Duilia meditatively.“Well, it is only the ring that I regret. If I had but known—something of inconsiderable value but showy would have sufficed. Moreover, I might have done without that dish of British oysters—very expensive, and, as you see, thrown away. Yet! well, I enjoyed them.”“Even that ring is not lost.”“How so?”“It is on Domitian’s finger.”“You really say so?”“When the Præfect bade his nephew and sons attempt to escape from the Capitol, he recommended the former to engage your protection, and in token of this, he put the ring that you had given him, on his nephew’s finger, that he might present it to you—should there be mistrust, in pledge that he came from Flavius Sabinus. I encountered Domitian in the street, I knew him and conducted him to your door, and obtained his admission. There was no necessity for him to show his ring, as I stood sponsor for him.”“You are a good old creature,”said Duilia,“I withdraw any offensive expressions I may have used. To gratify you, I will pay that old woman, Senecio, his wage and bid him pack.”“Then, madam, my services shall be amply repaid. The man himself is harmless. Engage him as a clown,—he is consumed with conceit, and so renders himself a laughing-stock. That is all he is qualified to be.”“Go—send me Domitia. She has behaved like a fool.”Shortly after the girl entered the room where was her mother. The latter at once exclaimed:—“My dear, the ring is notlost.Domitian has it. By the foresight of the Gods, Sabinus removed it from his finger, and confided it to his nephew, before unhappy circumstances arose which might have led to the ring getting into the hands of any Cyrus or Dromo.”“Was it to hear this that you sent for me?”asked Domitia sullenly.“No, it was not. Your conscience must upbraid you.Youhave acted in an insensate manner. You have flouted and angered the son of him who in—perhaps half an hour—will be an Augustus, supreme in the state.”“Mother, I do not like him.”“Ye Gods of the Capitol!—confound them, by the way, they are all burnt! O Tellus and Terminus! Do you suppose we are to see and be courteous only to those whom we like? What cared I for that paragon of virtue, Flavius Sabinus, who talked to such an extent that I could not get in a word edgeways. But I gave him a nice little supper—and oysters from Britain, my best Falernian, and that ring of your father’s, because I thought he might be useful. And now Titus Flavius Domitianus is our guest—in hiding till matters are settled one way or the other—and you insult him to his face. It is not conduct worthy of your mother. You interfere with my plans.”“What plans?”“My dear child, Vespasian is old—about sixty I think, and has but two sons, of whom Domitian is the youngest. The elder, Titus Flavius Sabinus Vespasianus has but a daughter. Do you not see? Do you not smell?”“I do neither, mother.”“More the pity. You sadly take after your father, who had no ambition. Give the old fellow ten years before he becomes a god; the eldest son, if the worst comes, may succeed and be Augustus for another ten, and then,—the second son, Domitian, will be prince. My dear, what opportunities! What gorgeous opportunities!”“Opportunities for what?”“For push, my dear, push to the purple. Your dear father, ah, well! We are not all made of the same clay.”“Mother, that is precisely what fills me with dread. He will then be the eighth, for these adventurers of a few months do not count,—the new Nero.”“But consider—the purple. My dear, do you remember how Valeria caught the dictator Sulla. She sat behind him in the theatre, and picked some flue off his toga. He turned round and caught her doing it.‘Sir,’said she,‘I am but endeavoring to get to myself some of the luck that adheres to you!’I could have loved that woman. It was so happy, so neat. That bit of wool drew Sulla and the Dictatorship to her. You, what a blunderer you are. You have offended Domitian, who may some day be greater than was Sulla, when you had it in your power by a word, a look, a dimpled smile, to win him, and with him the purple.”“Mother, I do not covet it. You forget—I am promised to Lucius Ælius Lamia.”“Oh! Lamia! He could be bought off with a proconsulship.”“I do not desire to be separated from him. I love him, and have loved him since we were children together.”“Well, you have done for your chances. If I surmise aright, the young man entertains a great grudge against you.”At that moment Eboracus came in.“Madam,”said he,“the Illyrian legions have entered the city, under Primus, and there is fighting in the streets. The people on the housetops cheer onthis side or that, as though they were at a show of gladiators.”“Well—those things happen. We shall know for certain which shall be uppermost, and if fate favors Vitellius—Then, daughter, I shall not scruple to give the young man up.”The condition of the capital was frightful. Vitellius had called in levies from the country to support him, and the prætorian soldiers stood firm. But many men of direction were with the partisans of Vespasian, who advanced steadily over the bodies of the troops opposing them. Fifty thousand persons lost their lives in these eventful days of the Saturnalia.The legions under Primus succeeded in recapturing the Capitol, which was still smoking, and pushed forward into the Forum.Meanwhile, Vitellius, in the Palatine palace, a prey to irresolution, had filled himself with wine, and then fled along with his cook and pastrycook to his wife’s house on the Aventine. Then deceived by a false report that his troops were successful, he returned to the Palatine, and found it deserted, but a roar of voices rose from the Forum below, and from the Capitol the cries of the legionaries were wafted towards him along with the smoke.He hastened to collect all the gold he could lay his hands on, stuffed it into his cincture, assumed an old ragged suit, and then again attempted to escape; but now he found every avenue blocked. Filled with terror he crawled into the dog-kennel where the hounds, resenting the intrusion, fell on him and bit his neck and hands and legs. But now Vespasian’s soldiery invaded the palace, and a tribune, Julius Placidius, discovering the bloated, bleeding wretch, drew him out by the foot, and he came forth thus, his hands full of dirty straw, and strands adhering to his hair and garments. A howling rabble at once surrounded him, leaping, jeering, throwing mud and stones; a few soldiers succeeded in surrounding him. His hands were bound behind his back, and a rope passed about his neck. Thus he was dragged through the streets an object of insult to the people. Some struck him in the face, some plucked out his hair. In the Forum the rabble were breaking his statues and dragging them about. One ruffian thrust a pike under the unfortunate prince’s chin and bade him hold up his head. Then said Vitellius:—“Thou, who thus addressest me—a tribune thou art, remember I was once thy commander!”Thereupon a German soldier, desirous of shortening his misery, struck him down with a blow of his sword, and in so doing cut off the ear of the tribune who had insulted the fallen Emperor.At once the body of the prince, from whom the life was not sped, was dragged to the Gemonian stair, a flight of steps down which the corpses of malefactors were flung, and there he was despatched with daggers.Longa Duilia had been kept well informed as to all that took place.No sooner was she assured that Vitellius was dead, than she rushed into the apartment given up to Domitian.“Salve, Cæsar! As the Gods love me, I am the first to so salute you, son of the Augustus! Oh, I am so happy! And it might have been otherwise, butyouthey never would have reached save over my body.”CHAPTER XX.CHANGED TACTICS.The anarchy which had lasted from the 11th June, 68, when Nero perished, came to an end on the 20th December, in the ensuing year. In that terrible year of 69, three emperors had died violent deaths, and Rome had been in a condition of disorder on each occasion, and intermittent violence had lasted all the time. Men now drew a long breath, they were disposed to blot out the memory of those eighteen months of misery and national humiliation, as though it had not been, and to reckon the strong Vespasian as prince next after Nero. Indeed, on the morrow of the death of Vitellius, when the Senate assembled and decreed the honors of the former princes, they recited those of the first Cæsars, but ignored the three last who had perished within a twelvemonth, as though they had never been, and were to be forgotten as an evil dream.That same day also, Domitian received the title of Cæsar, and was made Prince of the Youths, and Præfect of Rome in the place of his uncle, who had been murdered.That day, also, Mucianus arrived with the Syrian legions, and with plenitude of authority from Vespasian to act in his name.To Duilia’s vast delight Domitian did not forget hisobligation to her, but paid frequent visits to her house, and it was a matter of pride to her to have his attendant lictors standing outside her door, as in former days.When he came, she made a point of summoning her daughter, and requiring her to be present during the interview. But she could not make her speak or compel her to graciousness of manner towards the visitor.The young prince’s eyes watched the girl with question in them, but he addressed all his conversation to the mother.Longa Duilia did her utmost to disguise her child’s incivility, attributed it to shyness, and used all her blandishments to make a visit to her house agreeable to Domitian.At length, the irksomeness caused by Domitia’s irresponsive manner seemed to satisfy the mother that she did more harm than good in enforcing her attendance, and she ceased to require the girl to appear.Some months passed, and Domitia had not given a thought to Glyceria, and her offer to revisit the sick woman, when, all at once, in a fit of weariness with all things that surrounded her, and a sense of incapacity to find enjoyment anywhere, she started from her languor to bid Eboracus go forth, buy honey-cakes and toys, and accompany her on a visit to the Suburra.As she was on her way, Domitian came by with his lictors and other attendants. Since his elevation from poverty and insignificance to ease and importance, he had acquired a swagger that made his manner more offensive than before in his phase of cubbishness.He at once addressed her, for though veiled he recognized her.“May I attend you? I have at the moment nothing of importance to occupy me.”“I am bound for the Suburra.”“For the Suburra! What can take you into the slums of Rome?”“I am going to see the wife of Paris, the tragic actor.”“Oh! the wife of the actor, Paris,”with a sneer.“I said so—the wife of Paris the actor,”she withdrew her veil and looked him straight in the eyes. He winced.“And pray—is she a visiting acquaintance of the family?”“She is our freedwoman. Paris was freed by my father likewise. Are you content? I may add that she has met with an accident and is crippled and confined to her bed.”“Oh!”with a vulgar laugh,“and you are infected with the Christian malady, and go among the sick and starving.”“I know naught of this Christian malady. What is it?”“We have had the contagion touch us. There is my cousin Clemens, and his wife Domitilla, both taken badly with it. He is a poor, mean-spirited fool. He has been offered excellent situations, with money to be made in them, in bushels, but he refuses—will not swear by the genius of my father, will not offer sacrifice to the Gods. Such thin gruel minds I cannot away with. Were I Augustus, such as would not serve the Commonwealth should be sent to kick their heels in a desert island. These Christians are the enemies of the human race.”“What, because they visit the sick and relieve the poor?”“The sick are smitten by the Gods and should be left to die. The poor are encumbrances and should be left to rot away. But a man of rank and of family—”“Flavius Clemens! of what family?”Domitian bit his lip. The Flavians were of no ancestry; money-lenders, tax-collectors, jobbers in various ways, with no connections save through the mother of Vespasian, and that middle-class only.“I say that a man who will not serve his country should be pitched out of it.”“About that I have no opinion.”“Clemens was cast to the lions by Nero, but some witchcraft charmed them, and they would not touch him.”Domitia said nothing to this. She was desirous of being rid of her self-imposed escort.“You must wish me success,”said the young prince.“I am off to Germany. There has been revolt there, and I go to subdue it.”“By all means carry with you a pair of shears.”“What mean you?”“To obtain a crop of golden hair from the German women, wherewith to grace your triumph.”Domitian knitted his brows.“You have a sharp tongue.”“I need one. It is a woman’s sole defence.”“Come, if a cousin, as your mother asserts,—though by the Gods! I know not where the kinship comes in,—wish me well. Such words as yours are of ill-omen.”“I wish confusion and destruction to the worst enemies of Rome,”answered Domitia.“That suffices. I will offer the spoils to you.”“Thank you, I do not yet wear wigs.”He turned away with an expression of irritation.“You are either silent, or stick pins into me,”he muttered.Domitia continued her course, but as she entered the“Island”in which was the home of Paris, she observed the young Cæsar still in the street, at a corner watching her.Much annoyed, and with her temper ruffled by this meeting, she ascended the steps to the first story and at once turned towards the apartments of Paris and Glyceria, but had to thread her way among poor people, women weaving and spinning, and children romping and running races.She was welcomed with pleasure, Glyceria would have raised herself, had she been able; as it was, she could show her respect only by a salutation with the hand, and her pleasure by a smile and a word.The chamber was fragrant with violets.Domitia looked round and saw a small marble table on which stood a statuette of a shepherd with panpipes, and a lamb across his shoulders. Violets in a basin stood before the figure.“Ah! Hermes,”said Domitia, and plucking a little bunch of the purple flowers from her bosom she laid it in the bowl with the rest.“Nay, dear Lady, not Hermes,”said Glyceria,“though indeed it was sculptured to represent him—but to me that figure has another meaning. And I hold your offering of the violets as made to Him who to me is the Good Shepherd.”4“Whom mean you? Atys?”“Not Atys.”Domitia was not particularly interested in the matter. She presumed that some foreign cult was followed by Glyceria, and foreign cults at this time swarmed in Rome.“Do you believe me, Glyceria,”said Domitia,“as I came hither, the Cæsar Domitian accompanied me, and said that I must be a Christian to care for the sick and suffering. What are these Christians?”“I am one,”answered the paralyzed woman.“What! and Paris?”“Nay, he hovers between two opinions. His business holds him and he will not give that up, he thinks that, were he to do so, he and I might starve. But with the mind I think he is one.”“And what are these Christians?”“Those who believe in Christ.”“And he?—is that his image?”pointing to the Good Shepherd.“Oh Lady! it is only so much His image as the words Good Shepherd written in characters are such, they call up a notion and so does that figure. But in our worship we have no images, no sacrifices.”“What is Christianity?”“That is long to answer, but I may say in two words what it is to me.”“Say on.”“The Daylight of the soul.”“How mean you?”“I once was in darkness. I knew not why I was set in the world, whither I was going, what I ought to worship, what were my duties, where was right andwhat was wrong. I had no light, no road, no law. Now I have all.”“So every votary of every new religion says. Where is your guarantee that you are not in delusion?”“Madam, when the sun rises and there is day, you do not suppose the light, the splendor, the confidence inspired by it is a delusion. You know that you see, and see that you may walk, and act with purpose and direction. The soul has eyes as well as the body. These eyes behold the light and cannot doubt it, by internal conscience that distinguishes between the truth and falsehood. By that internal conscience I am assured that the light is as real as that seen by eyes of flesh.”“I cannot understand you,”said Domitia.“Now for other matters—I have made Eboracus bring you some dainties for yourself and presents for the children who are so kind to you. Where is your husband?”“He is rehearsing. Better times have arrived, and he is now occupied.”“And you see less of him.”“Yes—but we must live. When away from me, I know that in heart he is with me.”“You are sure of that?”“Yes.”“What, by the conscience that establishes between truth and falsehood?”“Nay—by trust. We must trust some one and some thing. We trust God, we trust His Revelation, we trust in the goodness there is in mankind.”“There is evil rather than good.”“There is good—but that is oft astray because of the darkness, and does not know its course.”Domitia did not remain long in the Insula. Shebade farewell to the wife of the actor and promised to revisit her. The presence of Glyceria refreshed, soothed, sweetened the mind of the girl that was heated, ruffled and soured by contact with so much there was in pagan life that jarred against her noble instincts, by the uncongeniality of her mother, and by the disgust she felt at association with Domitian.When she arrived at the palace, she heard that her mother had been inquiring after her, and she at once went to her apartments.Duilia asked where she had been, but did not listen for an answer, or pay attention to what was said, when the reply came.“What is this I hear?”said Duilia, in a tone of irritation.“Lucilla tells me you have been chatting with Domitian, and in the street too——”“I had no wish to speak with him. He came after me.”“Oh! he went after you, did he? And pray what had he to say?”“He is going to Germany to conclude a campaign already fought out and come back and triumph for another man’s victories.”“You did not say so to him?”“Not in so many words.”“My dear, it is true. He is going, and whether he be successful or not, will return wearing the title Germanicus. I shall have a little supper.”“For whom?”“For whom, do you ask? For him to be sure, to wish him good success on the expedition.”“You will allow me not to be present.”“As you will, perverse girl. My dear,”in a confidential tone,“if kittens can’t catch rats, cats can.”CHAPTER XXI.THE VIRGIN’S WREATH.“My dear,”said Longa Duilia to her daughter,“with wit such as you have, that might be drawn through a needle’s eye, it is positively necessary to have you married as quickly as possible. I can no longer bear the responsibility of one so full of waywardness and humors as yourself.”“That, mother, is as Lamia chooses. You know that I can marry only him.”“And I do not ask you to take another. I will get it settled forthwith. I’ll see his father by adoption and have the settlements looked to. You are a good match. I presume you are aware of that, and this explains certain poutings and bad temper. Well—reserve them for Lamia, and don’t vex me. I wash my hands of you, when that you are married. A camel carries his own hump, but a man his wife’s humors.”Domitia was sufficiently acquainted with her mother’s elasticity of spirit and fertility of invention to be satisfied that she had a motive for pressing on her marriage, and what that motive was seemed obvious. But it was one that distressed her greatly.“My dearest mother,”she said timidly,“I hope—I mean, since you are so good as not to urge me further to break my engagement with Lamia, that you have not set your mind—I mean your heart——”“My excellent child,”answered Longa Duilia cutting her daughter short,“make no scruple of blurting out what is on your tongue. You allude to Domitian. Well! If you had common sense, you would know that to get on in life, one must fit one’s heart with the legs of a grasshopper, so as to be able to skip from an inconvenient, into any suitable position. When a dish of ortolans is set on table, none but a fool will dismiss it untasted to be devoured by the servants in the kitchen!”“But, mother, he is quite young.”“By the favor of the Gods, Domitia, youths always fall in love with women somewhat older than themselves. The Gods ordered it for their good. If they, I mean the young men—would only follow their—I mean the Gods’—direction, there would be fewer unhappy marriages. For my part, I can’t see anything attractive in half-baked girls.”But the thoughts of her own future, and approaching happiness took up the whole of Domitia’s brain, and left no space for consideration of her mother’s schemes, and their chances of success.The young prince was away. It was, as had been feared, too late for him to reap laurels in Germany, the revolt had been quelled by Cerealis, but as there was a ferment working in Gaul, it was deemed advisable that Domitian should go thither and overcome the dissatisfied instead of crossing the Alps. He had accordingly changed his route, and had appeared in Lyons.The marriage between Domitia and Lamia could not take place so speedily as Duilia desired. She was wishful to have it over before the return to Rome of Domitian, so that she might be left a freer hand, andher daughter put out of the way who, she thought, exercised a peculiar fascination over the young prince; but she was unable to decide in her own mind whether what drew his eyes towards Domitia was dislike or love; possibly it was a commingling of resentment at her treatment of him, and admiration for her loveliness.But hindrances arose. Lamia was absent on his estates in Sicily, where there had been disturbances among the slaves, and till matters were settled there, he could not return.Then came the month of May in which no marriages might be performed owing to the hauntings of theLemures, or ghosts of bad men, and such as had not received burial. These, seen in the forms of walking skeletons or bugbears, rioted in that sweetest month of the whole year. Then they obtained opportunities among the incautious to slip into their bodies, and possess them with madness, or to take up their abodes in dwelling-houses and disturb the living occupants by phantom appearances and mysterious sounds.On three days in the month of May special means were adopted to propitiate or scare away these spectres. On the 9th, 11th, and 13th, at midnight, the master of a house, or, in the event of his death or absence, his widow or wife, walked barefoot before the door to a flowing fountain, where the hands were thrice washed, and then the propitiator of the ghosts returned home, and threw black beans over the shoulder, saying:“These I give to you, and with these beans I ransom myself and mine.”It was supposed that the ghost scrambled for the beans, and so enabled the owner of the house to reachthe door before them. There stood the servants beating brazen vessels, pots and pans, shouting,“Out with you! Out with you, ye ghosts!”At the beginning of June was the cleansing of the Temple of Vesta, and till that was completed, on the 15th, marriages were forbidden.Consequently the wedding could not take place much before midsummer, and to this Longa Duilia had to submit.Domitia was content and happy. She had not been so happy since her father’s death. Indeed till now she had not been able to shake off the pain she had felt at his loss. For to her, that father was the model of noble manhood, high-minded, full of integrity, strong yet gentle. She had often marvelled at the manner in which he had dealt with her mother, whom she indeed loved but who somewhat rasped her. With his wife he had ever been firm yet forbearing. He allowed her to form her little schemes, but always managed to thwart them when foolish or mischievous, without her perceiving who had put a spoke in the wheel.Lucius Ælius Lamia she looked upon as formed in her father’s school, upon his model. He was modest, honorable, true; a good man to whom she could give her whole heart with full assurance that he would treasure the gift, and that she could trust him to be as true to her as she would be true to him.Since her father’s death, Domitia had felt more than previously the incompatibility of her mind with that of her mother. They had no thoughts, no wishes, no feelings in common. Domitia was a dreamer, speculative, ever with eager mind seeking the things beyond what was known, whereas Duilia had not a thought, acare that were not material. The lady Duilia cared not a rush about philosophy or the theory of emanations. It was to her a matter of complete indifference whether the established paganism was true or false. For she had no apprehension of the importance of Truth. And she had no wish that could not be gratified by money or the acquisition of position.Now also the haunting horror of those waking dreams that she had seen in the Temple of Isis passed from the heart of the young girl, like the vapors that roll away and disclose the blue heavens and the glorious sun. She had been drifting purposeless; now she saw that she was about to enter on a condition of life in which she would have an object, and would find complete happiness in the pursuit of that object,—in the fulfilment of her duties as housewife to a loved husband, in whom she would find strength, sympathy and love.And now also, for the first time since the death of Corbulo, she sang as she went about the house, or worked at her bridal dress.Lamia, on his return from Sicily was surprised to note the change in her appearance. She had been as a beautiful flower bowed by rain and pinched with cold, and now, as in renewed sunshine, she bloomed with expanded petals. Light danced in her blue eyes, and a delicate rose suffused her smooth cheeks. She had stepped back into the childhood out of which she had passed on that terrible day at Cenchræa.And as he looked at her, her eyes sparkling with love and tears of joy, he thought he had never seen one sweeter and to whom he could so wholly devote himself as to his dear Domitia.Then arrived the eve of the marriage.The young girl was in the garden, stooping, picking the flowers of which her virginal crown was to be woven, and singing as she plucked.Then she came with her lap full of herbs and blossoms to her mother, who said:—“That is right. None may gather the flowers but the bride. By the way, have you heard? Domitian is back from Gaul. I was rejoiced at the news, and have despatched an invitation to him to attend the wedding.”“Oh, mother! it is a bad omen.”At the mention of the name, the vision of the red face, seen at Gabii between her own and that of Lamia, started up before her, and she let drop the lap of flowers, and they fell at her feet.“By the Gods! what a silly thing thou art! Quick, gather up the herbs and then go fetch thy dolls and toys of childhood, they must all this evening be offered on the altar of the household gods.”“I have them not, mother.”“Not your dolls!”“Not one.”“But what have you done with them? I know they were all brought from Antioch.”“Mother, they have been given away.”“Given away! to whom?”“To Glyceria, the sister of Euphrosyne.”“But what can have induced you to do this?”“She is paralyzed, and served by little children in the story of theInsulawhere she lives. I considered that it would amuse her to dress the dolls afresh, and perhaps mend broken limbs, and after that she willdistribute them among the little willing children that help her in her infirmity.”“As the Gods love me!”exclaimed Duilia,“Whoever heard before of such madness. Hellebore would not cure it. Verily the more you labor at a hole the greater the hollow. You are a fool, and your folly grows daily greater. Youmustpresent your toys of childhood to theLares, they expect it—it is the custom, it is right.”“But I have none left.”“Mother Ops! what is to be done? Run, Eboracus,—run and buy me half a dozen dolls—dressed if possible. Domitia, you are determined to bring ill-luck on yourself. There is nothing else to be done but for you to spend an hour in playing with the dolls, and then you can present them at the altar, and the Gods will be none the wiser. Between me and you and the pillars of the peristyle, they are bigger fools than us mortals, and easier gulled.”Domitia stooped to collect the fallen flowers.“What is that?”asked her mother—“Oh! right enough,natrix,5that drives away ghosts and nightmare. And that of course is in the virginal wreath,myosotis(Forget-me-not) it dries tears. An Egyptian slave I had—he fell ill, so I exposed him on the isle between the two Bridges—he told me that if one ate the root in the month of Thoth—that is August, one escaped sore eyes for a twelvemonth. That is right also, the scarlet anemone, it betokens the flame of love—and that evergreen its continuance. The centaury—that is the herb of union, it will close a wound so asnot to show even a scar—and in marriage, no better symbol than that. What have you here? Thelysimachia, that gives harmony and agreement of mind. They say that a plant of it fastened to the pole of a chariot will make the wildest and most impatient horses pull together. And the herb of the Twelve Gods! quite right, always remember the gods, they come in useful. The vervain—of course, it will give you all you will. But, ye Gods of Olympus! What have you done to pluck cypress! My dear Domitia, are you mad? Thyme, mint, if you will—but cypress! the tree of the infernal gods, and—as the Gods love me! let me look at your hands! They are red—what have you plucked—plucked till your hands are dyed—theandrosœmum!Oh! Domitia! ill-fated child—look, look at your hands, the juice has stained them, they are dipped in blood.”ILL-FATED CHILD, LOOK AT YOUR HANDS.“ILL-FATED CHILD, LOOK AT YOUR HANDS.”Page 176.
CHAPTER XIX.THE END OF VITELLIUS.“I never made a greater mistake in my life,”said Longa Duilia,“and I cannot think how you allowed me to make it.”“What mistake?”asked the Chaldæan.“The mistake of inviting the uncle in place of the nephew to my little supper. As to that supper, I flatter myself it was perfect—so finished in every detail, as becomes our position; so delicately flavored with reserve, as becamemyposition as a widow; and you recommended me to invite Flavius Sabinus, the Præfect,—and now hehas been. That delicate little supper thrown away, and my attentions so nicely adjusted to the circumstances, all that trouble and thought gone for nothing. Do you know that Flavius Sabinus is now in bits? He has been positively hacked to pieces. It is not the supper itself I regret, and my best Falernian wine—but I gave him a gold signet-ring with a cameo, representing Daphne. It had belonged to my dear Corbulo, and was valuable. But I considered it as a means to an end. And now—where is that ring? But for your counsel, I might have invited the nephew.”“Madam, I counselled aright.”“You have the face to say that? Do you not know that Sabinus has had his head struck off, and his bodydragged by hooks down the Gemonian stair, and then positively torn to pieces—but there? Who has got hold of the ring? I have lost it—through you.Youpretend to read the stars and peer into futurity!”“Lady, I do see into what is to be, and counsel accordingly.”“Oh, yes! glimpses as of light in a wood through thick foliage. Plenty of obscurity, very little light.”“Madam, consider. Had you not invited the Præfect who has been, you would not have seen the nephew who is, and who came in at the supper to call his uncle away. It was thus he arrived at a knowledge of your house, and your friendly disposition, and thus it was that he was induced to throw himself on your protection.”“There is something in that,”observed Duilia.“But how much better had the invitation been sent to Domitian himself.”“On the contrary, that would not have been judicious, therefore I did not recommend it. Had the nephew come here along with his servants, immediately his escape from the Capitol was discovered, and they were tortured to disclose his place of concealment, they would have betrayed this house: but as it has happened they could not suppose he would take refuge here.”“There is a good deal in that,”answered Duilia meditatively.“Well, it is only the ring that I regret. If I had but known—something of inconsiderable value but showy would have sufficed. Moreover, I might have done without that dish of British oysters—very expensive, and, as you see, thrown away. Yet! well, I enjoyed them.”“Even that ring is not lost.”“How so?”“It is on Domitian’s finger.”“You really say so?”“When the Præfect bade his nephew and sons attempt to escape from the Capitol, he recommended the former to engage your protection, and in token of this, he put the ring that you had given him, on his nephew’s finger, that he might present it to you—should there be mistrust, in pledge that he came from Flavius Sabinus. I encountered Domitian in the street, I knew him and conducted him to your door, and obtained his admission. There was no necessity for him to show his ring, as I stood sponsor for him.”“You are a good old creature,”said Duilia,“I withdraw any offensive expressions I may have used. To gratify you, I will pay that old woman, Senecio, his wage and bid him pack.”“Then, madam, my services shall be amply repaid. The man himself is harmless. Engage him as a clown,—he is consumed with conceit, and so renders himself a laughing-stock. That is all he is qualified to be.”“Go—send me Domitia. She has behaved like a fool.”Shortly after the girl entered the room where was her mother. The latter at once exclaimed:—“My dear, the ring is notlost.Domitian has it. By the foresight of the Gods, Sabinus removed it from his finger, and confided it to his nephew, before unhappy circumstances arose which might have led to the ring getting into the hands of any Cyrus or Dromo.”“Was it to hear this that you sent for me?”asked Domitia sullenly.“No, it was not. Your conscience must upbraid you.Youhave acted in an insensate manner. You have flouted and angered the son of him who in—perhaps half an hour—will be an Augustus, supreme in the state.”“Mother, I do not like him.”“Ye Gods of the Capitol!—confound them, by the way, they are all burnt! O Tellus and Terminus! Do you suppose we are to see and be courteous only to those whom we like? What cared I for that paragon of virtue, Flavius Sabinus, who talked to such an extent that I could not get in a word edgeways. But I gave him a nice little supper—and oysters from Britain, my best Falernian, and that ring of your father’s, because I thought he might be useful. And now Titus Flavius Domitianus is our guest—in hiding till matters are settled one way or the other—and you insult him to his face. It is not conduct worthy of your mother. You interfere with my plans.”“What plans?”“My dear child, Vespasian is old—about sixty I think, and has but two sons, of whom Domitian is the youngest. The elder, Titus Flavius Sabinus Vespasianus has but a daughter. Do you not see? Do you not smell?”“I do neither, mother.”“More the pity. You sadly take after your father, who had no ambition. Give the old fellow ten years before he becomes a god; the eldest son, if the worst comes, may succeed and be Augustus for another ten, and then,—the second son, Domitian, will be prince. My dear, what opportunities! What gorgeous opportunities!”“Opportunities for what?”“For push, my dear, push to the purple. Your dear father, ah, well! We are not all made of the same clay.”“Mother, that is precisely what fills me with dread. He will then be the eighth, for these adventurers of a few months do not count,—the new Nero.”“But consider—the purple. My dear, do you remember how Valeria caught the dictator Sulla. She sat behind him in the theatre, and picked some flue off his toga. He turned round and caught her doing it.‘Sir,’said she,‘I am but endeavoring to get to myself some of the luck that adheres to you!’I could have loved that woman. It was so happy, so neat. That bit of wool drew Sulla and the Dictatorship to her. You, what a blunderer you are. You have offended Domitian, who may some day be greater than was Sulla, when you had it in your power by a word, a look, a dimpled smile, to win him, and with him the purple.”“Mother, I do not covet it. You forget—I am promised to Lucius Ælius Lamia.”“Oh! Lamia! He could be bought off with a proconsulship.”“I do not desire to be separated from him. I love him, and have loved him since we were children together.”“Well, you have done for your chances. If I surmise aright, the young man entertains a great grudge against you.”At that moment Eboracus came in.“Madam,”said he,“the Illyrian legions have entered the city, under Primus, and there is fighting in the streets. The people on the housetops cheer onthis side or that, as though they were at a show of gladiators.”“Well—those things happen. We shall know for certain which shall be uppermost, and if fate favors Vitellius—Then, daughter, I shall not scruple to give the young man up.”The condition of the capital was frightful. Vitellius had called in levies from the country to support him, and the prætorian soldiers stood firm. But many men of direction were with the partisans of Vespasian, who advanced steadily over the bodies of the troops opposing them. Fifty thousand persons lost their lives in these eventful days of the Saturnalia.The legions under Primus succeeded in recapturing the Capitol, which was still smoking, and pushed forward into the Forum.Meanwhile, Vitellius, in the Palatine palace, a prey to irresolution, had filled himself with wine, and then fled along with his cook and pastrycook to his wife’s house on the Aventine. Then deceived by a false report that his troops were successful, he returned to the Palatine, and found it deserted, but a roar of voices rose from the Forum below, and from the Capitol the cries of the legionaries were wafted towards him along with the smoke.He hastened to collect all the gold he could lay his hands on, stuffed it into his cincture, assumed an old ragged suit, and then again attempted to escape; but now he found every avenue blocked. Filled with terror he crawled into the dog-kennel where the hounds, resenting the intrusion, fell on him and bit his neck and hands and legs. But now Vespasian’s soldiery invaded the palace, and a tribune, Julius Placidius, discovering the bloated, bleeding wretch, drew him out by the foot, and he came forth thus, his hands full of dirty straw, and strands adhering to his hair and garments. A howling rabble at once surrounded him, leaping, jeering, throwing mud and stones; a few soldiers succeeded in surrounding him. His hands were bound behind his back, and a rope passed about his neck. Thus he was dragged through the streets an object of insult to the people. Some struck him in the face, some plucked out his hair. In the Forum the rabble were breaking his statues and dragging them about. One ruffian thrust a pike under the unfortunate prince’s chin and bade him hold up his head. Then said Vitellius:—“Thou, who thus addressest me—a tribune thou art, remember I was once thy commander!”Thereupon a German soldier, desirous of shortening his misery, struck him down with a blow of his sword, and in so doing cut off the ear of the tribune who had insulted the fallen Emperor.At once the body of the prince, from whom the life was not sped, was dragged to the Gemonian stair, a flight of steps down which the corpses of malefactors were flung, and there he was despatched with daggers.Longa Duilia had been kept well informed as to all that took place.No sooner was she assured that Vitellius was dead, than she rushed into the apartment given up to Domitian.“Salve, Cæsar! As the Gods love me, I am the first to so salute you, son of the Augustus! Oh, I am so happy! And it might have been otherwise, butyouthey never would have reached save over my body.”
“I never made a greater mistake in my life,”said Longa Duilia,“and I cannot think how you allowed me to make it.”
“What mistake?”asked the Chaldæan.
“The mistake of inviting the uncle in place of the nephew to my little supper. As to that supper, I flatter myself it was perfect—so finished in every detail, as becomes our position; so delicately flavored with reserve, as becamemyposition as a widow; and you recommended me to invite Flavius Sabinus, the Præfect,—and now hehas been. That delicate little supper thrown away, and my attentions so nicely adjusted to the circumstances, all that trouble and thought gone for nothing. Do you know that Flavius Sabinus is now in bits? He has been positively hacked to pieces. It is not the supper itself I regret, and my best Falernian wine—but I gave him a gold signet-ring with a cameo, representing Daphne. It had belonged to my dear Corbulo, and was valuable. But I considered it as a means to an end. And now—where is that ring? But for your counsel, I might have invited the nephew.”
“Madam, I counselled aright.”
“You have the face to say that? Do you not know that Sabinus has had his head struck off, and his bodydragged by hooks down the Gemonian stair, and then positively torn to pieces—but there? Who has got hold of the ring? I have lost it—through you.Youpretend to read the stars and peer into futurity!”
“Lady, I do see into what is to be, and counsel accordingly.”
“Oh, yes! glimpses as of light in a wood through thick foliage. Plenty of obscurity, very little light.”
“Madam, consider. Had you not invited the Præfect who has been, you would not have seen the nephew who is, and who came in at the supper to call his uncle away. It was thus he arrived at a knowledge of your house, and your friendly disposition, and thus it was that he was induced to throw himself on your protection.”
“There is something in that,”observed Duilia.“But how much better had the invitation been sent to Domitian himself.”
“On the contrary, that would not have been judicious, therefore I did not recommend it. Had the nephew come here along with his servants, immediately his escape from the Capitol was discovered, and they were tortured to disclose his place of concealment, they would have betrayed this house: but as it has happened they could not suppose he would take refuge here.”
“There is a good deal in that,”answered Duilia meditatively.“Well, it is only the ring that I regret. If I had but known—something of inconsiderable value but showy would have sufficed. Moreover, I might have done without that dish of British oysters—very expensive, and, as you see, thrown away. Yet! well, I enjoyed them.”
“Even that ring is not lost.”
“How so?”
“It is on Domitian’s finger.”
“You really say so?”
“When the Præfect bade his nephew and sons attempt to escape from the Capitol, he recommended the former to engage your protection, and in token of this, he put the ring that you had given him, on his nephew’s finger, that he might present it to you—should there be mistrust, in pledge that he came from Flavius Sabinus. I encountered Domitian in the street, I knew him and conducted him to your door, and obtained his admission. There was no necessity for him to show his ring, as I stood sponsor for him.”
“You are a good old creature,”said Duilia,“I withdraw any offensive expressions I may have used. To gratify you, I will pay that old woman, Senecio, his wage and bid him pack.”
“Then, madam, my services shall be amply repaid. The man himself is harmless. Engage him as a clown,—he is consumed with conceit, and so renders himself a laughing-stock. That is all he is qualified to be.”
“Go—send me Domitia. She has behaved like a fool.”
Shortly after the girl entered the room where was her mother. The latter at once exclaimed:—
“My dear, the ring is notlost.Domitian has it. By the foresight of the Gods, Sabinus removed it from his finger, and confided it to his nephew, before unhappy circumstances arose which might have led to the ring getting into the hands of any Cyrus or Dromo.”
“Was it to hear this that you sent for me?”asked Domitia sullenly.
“No, it was not. Your conscience must upbraid you.Youhave acted in an insensate manner. You have flouted and angered the son of him who in—perhaps half an hour—will be an Augustus, supreme in the state.”
“Mother, I do not like him.”
“Ye Gods of the Capitol!—confound them, by the way, they are all burnt! O Tellus and Terminus! Do you suppose we are to see and be courteous only to those whom we like? What cared I for that paragon of virtue, Flavius Sabinus, who talked to such an extent that I could not get in a word edgeways. But I gave him a nice little supper—and oysters from Britain, my best Falernian, and that ring of your father’s, because I thought he might be useful. And now Titus Flavius Domitianus is our guest—in hiding till matters are settled one way or the other—and you insult him to his face. It is not conduct worthy of your mother. You interfere with my plans.”
“What plans?”
“My dear child, Vespasian is old—about sixty I think, and has but two sons, of whom Domitian is the youngest. The elder, Titus Flavius Sabinus Vespasianus has but a daughter. Do you not see? Do you not smell?”
“I do neither, mother.”
“More the pity. You sadly take after your father, who had no ambition. Give the old fellow ten years before he becomes a god; the eldest son, if the worst comes, may succeed and be Augustus for another ten, and then,—the second son, Domitian, will be prince. My dear, what opportunities! What gorgeous opportunities!”
“Opportunities for what?”
“For push, my dear, push to the purple. Your dear father, ah, well! We are not all made of the same clay.”
“Mother, that is precisely what fills me with dread. He will then be the eighth, for these adventurers of a few months do not count,—the new Nero.”
“But consider—the purple. My dear, do you remember how Valeria caught the dictator Sulla. She sat behind him in the theatre, and picked some flue off his toga. He turned round and caught her doing it.‘Sir,’said she,‘I am but endeavoring to get to myself some of the luck that adheres to you!’I could have loved that woman. It was so happy, so neat. That bit of wool drew Sulla and the Dictatorship to her. You, what a blunderer you are. You have offended Domitian, who may some day be greater than was Sulla, when you had it in your power by a word, a look, a dimpled smile, to win him, and with him the purple.”
“Mother, I do not covet it. You forget—I am promised to Lucius Ælius Lamia.”
“Oh! Lamia! He could be bought off with a proconsulship.”
“I do not desire to be separated from him. I love him, and have loved him since we were children together.”
“Well, you have done for your chances. If I surmise aright, the young man entertains a great grudge against you.”
At that moment Eboracus came in.
“Madam,”said he,“the Illyrian legions have entered the city, under Primus, and there is fighting in the streets. The people on the housetops cheer onthis side or that, as though they were at a show of gladiators.”
“Well—those things happen. We shall know for certain which shall be uppermost, and if fate favors Vitellius—Then, daughter, I shall not scruple to give the young man up.”
The condition of the capital was frightful. Vitellius had called in levies from the country to support him, and the prætorian soldiers stood firm. But many men of direction were with the partisans of Vespasian, who advanced steadily over the bodies of the troops opposing them. Fifty thousand persons lost their lives in these eventful days of the Saturnalia.
The legions under Primus succeeded in recapturing the Capitol, which was still smoking, and pushed forward into the Forum.
Meanwhile, Vitellius, in the Palatine palace, a prey to irresolution, had filled himself with wine, and then fled along with his cook and pastrycook to his wife’s house on the Aventine. Then deceived by a false report that his troops were successful, he returned to the Palatine, and found it deserted, but a roar of voices rose from the Forum below, and from the Capitol the cries of the legionaries were wafted towards him along with the smoke.
He hastened to collect all the gold he could lay his hands on, stuffed it into his cincture, assumed an old ragged suit, and then again attempted to escape; but now he found every avenue blocked. Filled with terror he crawled into the dog-kennel where the hounds, resenting the intrusion, fell on him and bit his neck and hands and legs. But now Vespasian’s soldiery invaded the palace, and a tribune, Julius Placidius, discovering the bloated, bleeding wretch, drew him out by the foot, and he came forth thus, his hands full of dirty straw, and strands adhering to his hair and garments. A howling rabble at once surrounded him, leaping, jeering, throwing mud and stones; a few soldiers succeeded in surrounding him. His hands were bound behind his back, and a rope passed about his neck. Thus he was dragged through the streets an object of insult to the people. Some struck him in the face, some plucked out his hair. In the Forum the rabble were breaking his statues and dragging them about. One ruffian thrust a pike under the unfortunate prince’s chin and bade him hold up his head. Then said Vitellius:—
“Thou, who thus addressest me—a tribune thou art, remember I was once thy commander!”
Thereupon a German soldier, desirous of shortening his misery, struck him down with a blow of his sword, and in so doing cut off the ear of the tribune who had insulted the fallen Emperor.
At once the body of the prince, from whom the life was not sped, was dragged to the Gemonian stair, a flight of steps down which the corpses of malefactors were flung, and there he was despatched with daggers.
Longa Duilia had been kept well informed as to all that took place.
No sooner was she assured that Vitellius was dead, than she rushed into the apartment given up to Domitian.
“Salve, Cæsar! As the Gods love me, I am the first to so salute you, son of the Augustus! Oh, I am so happy! And it might have been otherwise, butyouthey never would have reached save over my body.”
CHAPTER XX.CHANGED TACTICS.The anarchy which had lasted from the 11th June, 68, when Nero perished, came to an end on the 20th December, in the ensuing year. In that terrible year of 69, three emperors had died violent deaths, and Rome had been in a condition of disorder on each occasion, and intermittent violence had lasted all the time. Men now drew a long breath, they were disposed to blot out the memory of those eighteen months of misery and national humiliation, as though it had not been, and to reckon the strong Vespasian as prince next after Nero. Indeed, on the morrow of the death of Vitellius, when the Senate assembled and decreed the honors of the former princes, they recited those of the first Cæsars, but ignored the three last who had perished within a twelvemonth, as though they had never been, and were to be forgotten as an evil dream.That same day also, Domitian received the title of Cæsar, and was made Prince of the Youths, and Præfect of Rome in the place of his uncle, who had been murdered.That day, also, Mucianus arrived with the Syrian legions, and with plenitude of authority from Vespasian to act in his name.To Duilia’s vast delight Domitian did not forget hisobligation to her, but paid frequent visits to her house, and it was a matter of pride to her to have his attendant lictors standing outside her door, as in former days.When he came, she made a point of summoning her daughter, and requiring her to be present during the interview. But she could not make her speak or compel her to graciousness of manner towards the visitor.The young prince’s eyes watched the girl with question in them, but he addressed all his conversation to the mother.Longa Duilia did her utmost to disguise her child’s incivility, attributed it to shyness, and used all her blandishments to make a visit to her house agreeable to Domitian.At length, the irksomeness caused by Domitia’s irresponsive manner seemed to satisfy the mother that she did more harm than good in enforcing her attendance, and she ceased to require the girl to appear.Some months passed, and Domitia had not given a thought to Glyceria, and her offer to revisit the sick woman, when, all at once, in a fit of weariness with all things that surrounded her, and a sense of incapacity to find enjoyment anywhere, she started from her languor to bid Eboracus go forth, buy honey-cakes and toys, and accompany her on a visit to the Suburra.As she was on her way, Domitian came by with his lictors and other attendants. Since his elevation from poverty and insignificance to ease and importance, he had acquired a swagger that made his manner more offensive than before in his phase of cubbishness.He at once addressed her, for though veiled he recognized her.“May I attend you? I have at the moment nothing of importance to occupy me.”“I am bound for the Suburra.”“For the Suburra! What can take you into the slums of Rome?”“I am going to see the wife of Paris, the tragic actor.”“Oh! the wife of the actor, Paris,”with a sneer.“I said so—the wife of Paris the actor,”she withdrew her veil and looked him straight in the eyes. He winced.“And pray—is she a visiting acquaintance of the family?”“She is our freedwoman. Paris was freed by my father likewise. Are you content? I may add that she has met with an accident and is crippled and confined to her bed.”“Oh!”with a vulgar laugh,“and you are infected with the Christian malady, and go among the sick and starving.”“I know naught of this Christian malady. What is it?”“We have had the contagion touch us. There is my cousin Clemens, and his wife Domitilla, both taken badly with it. He is a poor, mean-spirited fool. He has been offered excellent situations, with money to be made in them, in bushels, but he refuses—will not swear by the genius of my father, will not offer sacrifice to the Gods. Such thin gruel minds I cannot away with. Were I Augustus, such as would not serve the Commonwealth should be sent to kick their heels in a desert island. These Christians are the enemies of the human race.”“What, because they visit the sick and relieve the poor?”“The sick are smitten by the Gods and should be left to die. The poor are encumbrances and should be left to rot away. But a man of rank and of family—”“Flavius Clemens! of what family?”Domitian bit his lip. The Flavians were of no ancestry; money-lenders, tax-collectors, jobbers in various ways, with no connections save through the mother of Vespasian, and that middle-class only.“I say that a man who will not serve his country should be pitched out of it.”“About that I have no opinion.”“Clemens was cast to the lions by Nero, but some witchcraft charmed them, and they would not touch him.”Domitia said nothing to this. She was desirous of being rid of her self-imposed escort.“You must wish me success,”said the young prince.“I am off to Germany. There has been revolt there, and I go to subdue it.”“By all means carry with you a pair of shears.”“What mean you?”“To obtain a crop of golden hair from the German women, wherewith to grace your triumph.”Domitian knitted his brows.“You have a sharp tongue.”“I need one. It is a woman’s sole defence.”“Come, if a cousin, as your mother asserts,—though by the Gods! I know not where the kinship comes in,—wish me well. Such words as yours are of ill-omen.”“I wish confusion and destruction to the worst enemies of Rome,”answered Domitia.“That suffices. I will offer the spoils to you.”“Thank you, I do not yet wear wigs.”He turned away with an expression of irritation.“You are either silent, or stick pins into me,”he muttered.Domitia continued her course, but as she entered the“Island”in which was the home of Paris, she observed the young Cæsar still in the street, at a corner watching her.Much annoyed, and with her temper ruffled by this meeting, she ascended the steps to the first story and at once turned towards the apartments of Paris and Glyceria, but had to thread her way among poor people, women weaving and spinning, and children romping and running races.She was welcomed with pleasure, Glyceria would have raised herself, had she been able; as it was, she could show her respect only by a salutation with the hand, and her pleasure by a smile and a word.The chamber was fragrant with violets.Domitia looked round and saw a small marble table on which stood a statuette of a shepherd with panpipes, and a lamb across his shoulders. Violets in a basin stood before the figure.“Ah! Hermes,”said Domitia, and plucking a little bunch of the purple flowers from her bosom she laid it in the bowl with the rest.“Nay, dear Lady, not Hermes,”said Glyceria,“though indeed it was sculptured to represent him—but to me that figure has another meaning. And I hold your offering of the violets as made to Him who to me is the Good Shepherd.”4“Whom mean you? Atys?”“Not Atys.”Domitia was not particularly interested in the matter. She presumed that some foreign cult was followed by Glyceria, and foreign cults at this time swarmed in Rome.“Do you believe me, Glyceria,”said Domitia,“as I came hither, the Cæsar Domitian accompanied me, and said that I must be a Christian to care for the sick and suffering. What are these Christians?”“I am one,”answered the paralyzed woman.“What! and Paris?”“Nay, he hovers between two opinions. His business holds him and he will not give that up, he thinks that, were he to do so, he and I might starve. But with the mind I think he is one.”“And what are these Christians?”“Those who believe in Christ.”“And he?—is that his image?”pointing to the Good Shepherd.“Oh Lady! it is only so much His image as the words Good Shepherd written in characters are such, they call up a notion and so does that figure. But in our worship we have no images, no sacrifices.”“What is Christianity?”“That is long to answer, but I may say in two words what it is to me.”“Say on.”“The Daylight of the soul.”“How mean you?”“I once was in darkness. I knew not why I was set in the world, whither I was going, what I ought to worship, what were my duties, where was right andwhat was wrong. I had no light, no road, no law. Now I have all.”“So every votary of every new religion says. Where is your guarantee that you are not in delusion?”“Madam, when the sun rises and there is day, you do not suppose the light, the splendor, the confidence inspired by it is a delusion. You know that you see, and see that you may walk, and act with purpose and direction. The soul has eyes as well as the body. These eyes behold the light and cannot doubt it, by internal conscience that distinguishes between the truth and falsehood. By that internal conscience I am assured that the light is as real as that seen by eyes of flesh.”“I cannot understand you,”said Domitia.“Now for other matters—I have made Eboracus bring you some dainties for yourself and presents for the children who are so kind to you. Where is your husband?”“He is rehearsing. Better times have arrived, and he is now occupied.”“And you see less of him.”“Yes—but we must live. When away from me, I know that in heart he is with me.”“You are sure of that?”“Yes.”“What, by the conscience that establishes between truth and falsehood?”“Nay—by trust. We must trust some one and some thing. We trust God, we trust His Revelation, we trust in the goodness there is in mankind.”“There is evil rather than good.”“There is good—but that is oft astray because of the darkness, and does not know its course.”Domitia did not remain long in the Insula. Shebade farewell to the wife of the actor and promised to revisit her. The presence of Glyceria refreshed, soothed, sweetened the mind of the girl that was heated, ruffled and soured by contact with so much there was in pagan life that jarred against her noble instincts, by the uncongeniality of her mother, and by the disgust she felt at association with Domitian.When she arrived at the palace, she heard that her mother had been inquiring after her, and she at once went to her apartments.Duilia asked where she had been, but did not listen for an answer, or pay attention to what was said, when the reply came.“What is this I hear?”said Duilia, in a tone of irritation.“Lucilla tells me you have been chatting with Domitian, and in the street too——”“I had no wish to speak with him. He came after me.”“Oh! he went after you, did he? And pray what had he to say?”“He is going to Germany to conclude a campaign already fought out and come back and triumph for another man’s victories.”“You did not say so to him?”“Not in so many words.”“My dear, it is true. He is going, and whether he be successful or not, will return wearing the title Germanicus. I shall have a little supper.”“For whom?”“For whom, do you ask? For him to be sure, to wish him good success on the expedition.”“You will allow me not to be present.”“As you will, perverse girl. My dear,”in a confidential tone,“if kittens can’t catch rats, cats can.”
The anarchy which had lasted from the 11th June, 68, when Nero perished, came to an end on the 20th December, in the ensuing year. In that terrible year of 69, three emperors had died violent deaths, and Rome had been in a condition of disorder on each occasion, and intermittent violence had lasted all the time. Men now drew a long breath, they were disposed to blot out the memory of those eighteen months of misery and national humiliation, as though it had not been, and to reckon the strong Vespasian as prince next after Nero. Indeed, on the morrow of the death of Vitellius, when the Senate assembled and decreed the honors of the former princes, they recited those of the first Cæsars, but ignored the three last who had perished within a twelvemonth, as though they had never been, and were to be forgotten as an evil dream.
That same day also, Domitian received the title of Cæsar, and was made Prince of the Youths, and Præfect of Rome in the place of his uncle, who had been murdered.
That day, also, Mucianus arrived with the Syrian legions, and with plenitude of authority from Vespasian to act in his name.
To Duilia’s vast delight Domitian did not forget hisobligation to her, but paid frequent visits to her house, and it was a matter of pride to her to have his attendant lictors standing outside her door, as in former days.
When he came, she made a point of summoning her daughter, and requiring her to be present during the interview. But she could not make her speak or compel her to graciousness of manner towards the visitor.
The young prince’s eyes watched the girl with question in them, but he addressed all his conversation to the mother.
Longa Duilia did her utmost to disguise her child’s incivility, attributed it to shyness, and used all her blandishments to make a visit to her house agreeable to Domitian.
At length, the irksomeness caused by Domitia’s irresponsive manner seemed to satisfy the mother that she did more harm than good in enforcing her attendance, and she ceased to require the girl to appear.
Some months passed, and Domitia had not given a thought to Glyceria, and her offer to revisit the sick woman, when, all at once, in a fit of weariness with all things that surrounded her, and a sense of incapacity to find enjoyment anywhere, she started from her languor to bid Eboracus go forth, buy honey-cakes and toys, and accompany her on a visit to the Suburra.
As she was on her way, Domitian came by with his lictors and other attendants. Since his elevation from poverty and insignificance to ease and importance, he had acquired a swagger that made his manner more offensive than before in his phase of cubbishness.
He at once addressed her, for though veiled he recognized her.
“May I attend you? I have at the moment nothing of importance to occupy me.”
“I am bound for the Suburra.”
“For the Suburra! What can take you into the slums of Rome?”
“I am going to see the wife of Paris, the tragic actor.”
“Oh! the wife of the actor, Paris,”with a sneer.
“I said so—the wife of Paris the actor,”she withdrew her veil and looked him straight in the eyes. He winced.
“And pray—is she a visiting acquaintance of the family?”
“She is our freedwoman. Paris was freed by my father likewise. Are you content? I may add that she has met with an accident and is crippled and confined to her bed.”
“Oh!”with a vulgar laugh,“and you are infected with the Christian malady, and go among the sick and starving.”
“I know naught of this Christian malady. What is it?”
“We have had the contagion touch us. There is my cousin Clemens, and his wife Domitilla, both taken badly with it. He is a poor, mean-spirited fool. He has been offered excellent situations, with money to be made in them, in bushels, but he refuses—will not swear by the genius of my father, will not offer sacrifice to the Gods. Such thin gruel minds I cannot away with. Were I Augustus, such as would not serve the Commonwealth should be sent to kick their heels in a desert island. These Christians are the enemies of the human race.”
“What, because they visit the sick and relieve the poor?”
“The sick are smitten by the Gods and should be left to die. The poor are encumbrances and should be left to rot away. But a man of rank and of family—”
“Flavius Clemens! of what family?”
Domitian bit his lip. The Flavians were of no ancestry; money-lenders, tax-collectors, jobbers in various ways, with no connections save through the mother of Vespasian, and that middle-class only.
“I say that a man who will not serve his country should be pitched out of it.”
“About that I have no opinion.”
“Clemens was cast to the lions by Nero, but some witchcraft charmed them, and they would not touch him.”
Domitia said nothing to this. She was desirous of being rid of her self-imposed escort.
“You must wish me success,”said the young prince.“I am off to Germany. There has been revolt there, and I go to subdue it.”
“By all means carry with you a pair of shears.”
“What mean you?”
“To obtain a crop of golden hair from the German women, wherewith to grace your triumph.”
Domitian knitted his brows.
“You have a sharp tongue.”
“I need one. It is a woman’s sole defence.”
“Come, if a cousin, as your mother asserts,—though by the Gods! I know not where the kinship comes in,—wish me well. Such words as yours are of ill-omen.”
“I wish confusion and destruction to the worst enemies of Rome,”answered Domitia.
“That suffices. I will offer the spoils to you.”
“Thank you, I do not yet wear wigs.”
He turned away with an expression of irritation.
“You are either silent, or stick pins into me,”he muttered.
Domitia continued her course, but as she entered the“Island”in which was the home of Paris, she observed the young Cæsar still in the street, at a corner watching her.
Much annoyed, and with her temper ruffled by this meeting, she ascended the steps to the first story and at once turned towards the apartments of Paris and Glyceria, but had to thread her way among poor people, women weaving and spinning, and children romping and running races.
She was welcomed with pleasure, Glyceria would have raised herself, had she been able; as it was, she could show her respect only by a salutation with the hand, and her pleasure by a smile and a word.
The chamber was fragrant with violets.
Domitia looked round and saw a small marble table on which stood a statuette of a shepherd with panpipes, and a lamb across his shoulders. Violets in a basin stood before the figure.
“Ah! Hermes,”said Domitia, and plucking a little bunch of the purple flowers from her bosom she laid it in the bowl with the rest.
“Nay, dear Lady, not Hermes,”said Glyceria,“though indeed it was sculptured to represent him—but to me that figure has another meaning. And I hold your offering of the violets as made to Him who to me is the Good Shepherd.”4
“Whom mean you? Atys?”
“Not Atys.”
Domitia was not particularly interested in the matter. She presumed that some foreign cult was followed by Glyceria, and foreign cults at this time swarmed in Rome.
“Do you believe me, Glyceria,”said Domitia,“as I came hither, the Cæsar Domitian accompanied me, and said that I must be a Christian to care for the sick and suffering. What are these Christians?”
“I am one,”answered the paralyzed woman.
“What! and Paris?”
“Nay, he hovers between two opinions. His business holds him and he will not give that up, he thinks that, were he to do so, he and I might starve. But with the mind I think he is one.”
“And what are these Christians?”
“Those who believe in Christ.”
“And he?—is that his image?”pointing to the Good Shepherd.
“Oh Lady! it is only so much His image as the words Good Shepherd written in characters are such, they call up a notion and so does that figure. But in our worship we have no images, no sacrifices.”
“What is Christianity?”
“That is long to answer, but I may say in two words what it is to me.”
“Say on.”
“The Daylight of the soul.”
“How mean you?”
“I once was in darkness. I knew not why I was set in the world, whither I was going, what I ought to worship, what were my duties, where was right andwhat was wrong. I had no light, no road, no law. Now I have all.”
“So every votary of every new religion says. Where is your guarantee that you are not in delusion?”
“Madam, when the sun rises and there is day, you do not suppose the light, the splendor, the confidence inspired by it is a delusion. You know that you see, and see that you may walk, and act with purpose and direction. The soul has eyes as well as the body. These eyes behold the light and cannot doubt it, by internal conscience that distinguishes between the truth and falsehood. By that internal conscience I am assured that the light is as real as that seen by eyes of flesh.”
“I cannot understand you,”said Domitia.“Now for other matters—I have made Eboracus bring you some dainties for yourself and presents for the children who are so kind to you. Where is your husband?”
“He is rehearsing. Better times have arrived, and he is now occupied.”
“And you see less of him.”
“Yes—but we must live. When away from me, I know that in heart he is with me.”
“You are sure of that?”
“Yes.”
“What, by the conscience that establishes between truth and falsehood?”
“Nay—by trust. We must trust some one and some thing. We trust God, we trust His Revelation, we trust in the goodness there is in mankind.”
“There is evil rather than good.”
“There is good—but that is oft astray because of the darkness, and does not know its course.”
Domitia did not remain long in the Insula. Shebade farewell to the wife of the actor and promised to revisit her. The presence of Glyceria refreshed, soothed, sweetened the mind of the girl that was heated, ruffled and soured by contact with so much there was in pagan life that jarred against her noble instincts, by the uncongeniality of her mother, and by the disgust she felt at association with Domitian.
When she arrived at the palace, she heard that her mother had been inquiring after her, and she at once went to her apartments.
Duilia asked where she had been, but did not listen for an answer, or pay attention to what was said, when the reply came.
“What is this I hear?”said Duilia, in a tone of irritation.“Lucilla tells me you have been chatting with Domitian, and in the street too——”
“I had no wish to speak with him. He came after me.”
“Oh! he went after you, did he? And pray what had he to say?”
“He is going to Germany to conclude a campaign already fought out and come back and triumph for another man’s victories.”
“You did not say so to him?”
“Not in so many words.”
“My dear, it is true. He is going, and whether he be successful or not, will return wearing the title Germanicus. I shall have a little supper.”
“For whom?”
“For whom, do you ask? For him to be sure, to wish him good success on the expedition.”
“You will allow me not to be present.”
“As you will, perverse girl. My dear,”in a confidential tone,“if kittens can’t catch rats, cats can.”
CHAPTER XXI.THE VIRGIN’S WREATH.“My dear,”said Longa Duilia to her daughter,“with wit such as you have, that might be drawn through a needle’s eye, it is positively necessary to have you married as quickly as possible. I can no longer bear the responsibility of one so full of waywardness and humors as yourself.”“That, mother, is as Lamia chooses. You know that I can marry only him.”“And I do not ask you to take another. I will get it settled forthwith. I’ll see his father by adoption and have the settlements looked to. You are a good match. I presume you are aware of that, and this explains certain poutings and bad temper. Well—reserve them for Lamia, and don’t vex me. I wash my hands of you, when that you are married. A camel carries his own hump, but a man his wife’s humors.”Domitia was sufficiently acquainted with her mother’s elasticity of spirit and fertility of invention to be satisfied that she had a motive for pressing on her marriage, and what that motive was seemed obvious. But it was one that distressed her greatly.“My dearest mother,”she said timidly,“I hope—I mean, since you are so good as not to urge me further to break my engagement with Lamia, that you have not set your mind—I mean your heart——”“My excellent child,”answered Longa Duilia cutting her daughter short,“make no scruple of blurting out what is on your tongue. You allude to Domitian. Well! If you had common sense, you would know that to get on in life, one must fit one’s heart with the legs of a grasshopper, so as to be able to skip from an inconvenient, into any suitable position. When a dish of ortolans is set on table, none but a fool will dismiss it untasted to be devoured by the servants in the kitchen!”“But, mother, he is quite young.”“By the favor of the Gods, Domitia, youths always fall in love with women somewhat older than themselves. The Gods ordered it for their good. If they, I mean the young men—would only follow their—I mean the Gods’—direction, there would be fewer unhappy marriages. For my part, I can’t see anything attractive in half-baked girls.”But the thoughts of her own future, and approaching happiness took up the whole of Domitia’s brain, and left no space for consideration of her mother’s schemes, and their chances of success.The young prince was away. It was, as had been feared, too late for him to reap laurels in Germany, the revolt had been quelled by Cerealis, but as there was a ferment working in Gaul, it was deemed advisable that Domitian should go thither and overcome the dissatisfied instead of crossing the Alps. He had accordingly changed his route, and had appeared in Lyons.The marriage between Domitia and Lamia could not take place so speedily as Duilia desired. She was wishful to have it over before the return to Rome of Domitian, so that she might be left a freer hand, andher daughter put out of the way who, she thought, exercised a peculiar fascination over the young prince; but she was unable to decide in her own mind whether what drew his eyes towards Domitia was dislike or love; possibly it was a commingling of resentment at her treatment of him, and admiration for her loveliness.But hindrances arose. Lamia was absent on his estates in Sicily, where there had been disturbances among the slaves, and till matters were settled there, he could not return.Then came the month of May in which no marriages might be performed owing to the hauntings of theLemures, or ghosts of bad men, and such as had not received burial. These, seen in the forms of walking skeletons or bugbears, rioted in that sweetest month of the whole year. Then they obtained opportunities among the incautious to slip into their bodies, and possess them with madness, or to take up their abodes in dwelling-houses and disturb the living occupants by phantom appearances and mysterious sounds.On three days in the month of May special means were adopted to propitiate or scare away these spectres. On the 9th, 11th, and 13th, at midnight, the master of a house, or, in the event of his death or absence, his widow or wife, walked barefoot before the door to a flowing fountain, where the hands were thrice washed, and then the propitiator of the ghosts returned home, and threw black beans over the shoulder, saying:“These I give to you, and with these beans I ransom myself and mine.”It was supposed that the ghost scrambled for the beans, and so enabled the owner of the house to reachthe door before them. There stood the servants beating brazen vessels, pots and pans, shouting,“Out with you! Out with you, ye ghosts!”At the beginning of June was the cleansing of the Temple of Vesta, and till that was completed, on the 15th, marriages were forbidden.Consequently the wedding could not take place much before midsummer, and to this Longa Duilia had to submit.Domitia was content and happy. She had not been so happy since her father’s death. Indeed till now she had not been able to shake off the pain she had felt at his loss. For to her, that father was the model of noble manhood, high-minded, full of integrity, strong yet gentle. She had often marvelled at the manner in which he had dealt with her mother, whom she indeed loved but who somewhat rasped her. With his wife he had ever been firm yet forbearing. He allowed her to form her little schemes, but always managed to thwart them when foolish or mischievous, without her perceiving who had put a spoke in the wheel.Lucius Ælius Lamia she looked upon as formed in her father’s school, upon his model. He was modest, honorable, true; a good man to whom she could give her whole heart with full assurance that he would treasure the gift, and that she could trust him to be as true to her as she would be true to him.Since her father’s death, Domitia had felt more than previously the incompatibility of her mind with that of her mother. They had no thoughts, no wishes, no feelings in common. Domitia was a dreamer, speculative, ever with eager mind seeking the things beyond what was known, whereas Duilia had not a thought, acare that were not material. The lady Duilia cared not a rush about philosophy or the theory of emanations. It was to her a matter of complete indifference whether the established paganism was true or false. For she had no apprehension of the importance of Truth. And she had no wish that could not be gratified by money or the acquisition of position.Now also the haunting horror of those waking dreams that she had seen in the Temple of Isis passed from the heart of the young girl, like the vapors that roll away and disclose the blue heavens and the glorious sun. She had been drifting purposeless; now she saw that she was about to enter on a condition of life in which she would have an object, and would find complete happiness in the pursuit of that object,—in the fulfilment of her duties as housewife to a loved husband, in whom she would find strength, sympathy and love.And now also, for the first time since the death of Corbulo, she sang as she went about the house, or worked at her bridal dress.Lamia, on his return from Sicily was surprised to note the change in her appearance. She had been as a beautiful flower bowed by rain and pinched with cold, and now, as in renewed sunshine, she bloomed with expanded petals. Light danced in her blue eyes, and a delicate rose suffused her smooth cheeks. She had stepped back into the childhood out of which she had passed on that terrible day at Cenchræa.And as he looked at her, her eyes sparkling with love and tears of joy, he thought he had never seen one sweeter and to whom he could so wholly devote himself as to his dear Domitia.Then arrived the eve of the marriage.The young girl was in the garden, stooping, picking the flowers of which her virginal crown was to be woven, and singing as she plucked.Then she came with her lap full of herbs and blossoms to her mother, who said:—“That is right. None may gather the flowers but the bride. By the way, have you heard? Domitian is back from Gaul. I was rejoiced at the news, and have despatched an invitation to him to attend the wedding.”“Oh, mother! it is a bad omen.”At the mention of the name, the vision of the red face, seen at Gabii between her own and that of Lamia, started up before her, and she let drop the lap of flowers, and they fell at her feet.“By the Gods! what a silly thing thou art! Quick, gather up the herbs and then go fetch thy dolls and toys of childhood, they must all this evening be offered on the altar of the household gods.”“I have them not, mother.”“Not your dolls!”“Not one.”“But what have you done with them? I know they were all brought from Antioch.”“Mother, they have been given away.”“Given away! to whom?”“To Glyceria, the sister of Euphrosyne.”“But what can have induced you to do this?”“She is paralyzed, and served by little children in the story of theInsulawhere she lives. I considered that it would amuse her to dress the dolls afresh, and perhaps mend broken limbs, and after that she willdistribute them among the little willing children that help her in her infirmity.”“As the Gods love me!”exclaimed Duilia,“Whoever heard before of such madness. Hellebore would not cure it. Verily the more you labor at a hole the greater the hollow. You are a fool, and your folly grows daily greater. Youmustpresent your toys of childhood to theLares, they expect it—it is the custom, it is right.”“But I have none left.”“Mother Ops! what is to be done? Run, Eboracus,—run and buy me half a dozen dolls—dressed if possible. Domitia, you are determined to bring ill-luck on yourself. There is nothing else to be done but for you to spend an hour in playing with the dolls, and then you can present them at the altar, and the Gods will be none the wiser. Between me and you and the pillars of the peristyle, they are bigger fools than us mortals, and easier gulled.”Domitia stooped to collect the fallen flowers.“What is that?”asked her mother—“Oh! right enough,natrix,5that drives away ghosts and nightmare. And that of course is in the virginal wreath,myosotis(Forget-me-not) it dries tears. An Egyptian slave I had—he fell ill, so I exposed him on the isle between the two Bridges—he told me that if one ate the root in the month of Thoth—that is August, one escaped sore eyes for a twelvemonth. That is right also, the scarlet anemone, it betokens the flame of love—and that evergreen its continuance. The centaury—that is the herb of union, it will close a wound so asnot to show even a scar—and in marriage, no better symbol than that. What have you here? Thelysimachia, that gives harmony and agreement of mind. They say that a plant of it fastened to the pole of a chariot will make the wildest and most impatient horses pull together. And the herb of the Twelve Gods! quite right, always remember the gods, they come in useful. The vervain—of course, it will give you all you will. But, ye Gods of Olympus! What have you done to pluck cypress! My dear Domitia, are you mad? Thyme, mint, if you will—but cypress! the tree of the infernal gods, and—as the Gods love me! let me look at your hands! They are red—what have you plucked—plucked till your hands are dyed—theandrosœmum!Oh! Domitia! ill-fated child—look, look at your hands, the juice has stained them, they are dipped in blood.”ILL-FATED CHILD, LOOK AT YOUR HANDS.“ILL-FATED CHILD, LOOK AT YOUR HANDS.”Page 176.
“My dear,”said Longa Duilia to her daughter,“with wit such as you have, that might be drawn through a needle’s eye, it is positively necessary to have you married as quickly as possible. I can no longer bear the responsibility of one so full of waywardness and humors as yourself.”
“That, mother, is as Lamia chooses. You know that I can marry only him.”
“And I do not ask you to take another. I will get it settled forthwith. I’ll see his father by adoption and have the settlements looked to. You are a good match. I presume you are aware of that, and this explains certain poutings and bad temper. Well—reserve them for Lamia, and don’t vex me. I wash my hands of you, when that you are married. A camel carries his own hump, but a man his wife’s humors.”
Domitia was sufficiently acquainted with her mother’s elasticity of spirit and fertility of invention to be satisfied that she had a motive for pressing on her marriage, and what that motive was seemed obvious. But it was one that distressed her greatly.
“My dearest mother,”she said timidly,“I hope—I mean, since you are so good as not to urge me further to break my engagement with Lamia, that you have not set your mind—I mean your heart——”
“My excellent child,”answered Longa Duilia cutting her daughter short,“make no scruple of blurting out what is on your tongue. You allude to Domitian. Well! If you had common sense, you would know that to get on in life, one must fit one’s heart with the legs of a grasshopper, so as to be able to skip from an inconvenient, into any suitable position. When a dish of ortolans is set on table, none but a fool will dismiss it untasted to be devoured by the servants in the kitchen!”
“But, mother, he is quite young.”
“By the favor of the Gods, Domitia, youths always fall in love with women somewhat older than themselves. The Gods ordered it for their good. If they, I mean the young men—would only follow their—I mean the Gods’—direction, there would be fewer unhappy marriages. For my part, I can’t see anything attractive in half-baked girls.”
But the thoughts of her own future, and approaching happiness took up the whole of Domitia’s brain, and left no space for consideration of her mother’s schemes, and their chances of success.
The young prince was away. It was, as had been feared, too late for him to reap laurels in Germany, the revolt had been quelled by Cerealis, but as there was a ferment working in Gaul, it was deemed advisable that Domitian should go thither and overcome the dissatisfied instead of crossing the Alps. He had accordingly changed his route, and had appeared in Lyons.
The marriage between Domitia and Lamia could not take place so speedily as Duilia desired. She was wishful to have it over before the return to Rome of Domitian, so that she might be left a freer hand, andher daughter put out of the way who, she thought, exercised a peculiar fascination over the young prince; but she was unable to decide in her own mind whether what drew his eyes towards Domitia was dislike or love; possibly it was a commingling of resentment at her treatment of him, and admiration for her loveliness.
But hindrances arose. Lamia was absent on his estates in Sicily, where there had been disturbances among the slaves, and till matters were settled there, he could not return.
Then came the month of May in which no marriages might be performed owing to the hauntings of theLemures, or ghosts of bad men, and such as had not received burial. These, seen in the forms of walking skeletons or bugbears, rioted in that sweetest month of the whole year. Then they obtained opportunities among the incautious to slip into their bodies, and possess them with madness, or to take up their abodes in dwelling-houses and disturb the living occupants by phantom appearances and mysterious sounds.
On three days in the month of May special means were adopted to propitiate or scare away these spectres. On the 9th, 11th, and 13th, at midnight, the master of a house, or, in the event of his death or absence, his widow or wife, walked barefoot before the door to a flowing fountain, where the hands were thrice washed, and then the propitiator of the ghosts returned home, and threw black beans over the shoulder, saying:“These I give to you, and with these beans I ransom myself and mine.”
It was supposed that the ghost scrambled for the beans, and so enabled the owner of the house to reachthe door before them. There stood the servants beating brazen vessels, pots and pans, shouting,“Out with you! Out with you, ye ghosts!”
At the beginning of June was the cleansing of the Temple of Vesta, and till that was completed, on the 15th, marriages were forbidden.
Consequently the wedding could not take place much before midsummer, and to this Longa Duilia had to submit.
Domitia was content and happy. She had not been so happy since her father’s death. Indeed till now she had not been able to shake off the pain she had felt at his loss. For to her, that father was the model of noble manhood, high-minded, full of integrity, strong yet gentle. She had often marvelled at the manner in which he had dealt with her mother, whom she indeed loved but who somewhat rasped her. With his wife he had ever been firm yet forbearing. He allowed her to form her little schemes, but always managed to thwart them when foolish or mischievous, without her perceiving who had put a spoke in the wheel.
Lucius Ælius Lamia she looked upon as formed in her father’s school, upon his model. He was modest, honorable, true; a good man to whom she could give her whole heart with full assurance that he would treasure the gift, and that she could trust him to be as true to her as she would be true to him.
Since her father’s death, Domitia had felt more than previously the incompatibility of her mind with that of her mother. They had no thoughts, no wishes, no feelings in common. Domitia was a dreamer, speculative, ever with eager mind seeking the things beyond what was known, whereas Duilia had not a thought, acare that were not material. The lady Duilia cared not a rush about philosophy or the theory of emanations. It was to her a matter of complete indifference whether the established paganism was true or false. For she had no apprehension of the importance of Truth. And she had no wish that could not be gratified by money or the acquisition of position.
Now also the haunting horror of those waking dreams that she had seen in the Temple of Isis passed from the heart of the young girl, like the vapors that roll away and disclose the blue heavens and the glorious sun. She had been drifting purposeless; now she saw that she was about to enter on a condition of life in which she would have an object, and would find complete happiness in the pursuit of that object,—in the fulfilment of her duties as housewife to a loved husband, in whom she would find strength, sympathy and love.
And now also, for the first time since the death of Corbulo, she sang as she went about the house, or worked at her bridal dress.
Lamia, on his return from Sicily was surprised to note the change in her appearance. She had been as a beautiful flower bowed by rain and pinched with cold, and now, as in renewed sunshine, she bloomed with expanded petals. Light danced in her blue eyes, and a delicate rose suffused her smooth cheeks. She had stepped back into the childhood out of which she had passed on that terrible day at Cenchræa.
And as he looked at her, her eyes sparkling with love and tears of joy, he thought he had never seen one sweeter and to whom he could so wholly devote himself as to his dear Domitia.
Then arrived the eve of the marriage.
The young girl was in the garden, stooping, picking the flowers of which her virginal crown was to be woven, and singing as she plucked.
Then she came with her lap full of herbs and blossoms to her mother, who said:—
“That is right. None may gather the flowers but the bride. By the way, have you heard? Domitian is back from Gaul. I was rejoiced at the news, and have despatched an invitation to him to attend the wedding.”
“Oh, mother! it is a bad omen.”
At the mention of the name, the vision of the red face, seen at Gabii between her own and that of Lamia, started up before her, and she let drop the lap of flowers, and they fell at her feet.
“By the Gods! what a silly thing thou art! Quick, gather up the herbs and then go fetch thy dolls and toys of childhood, they must all this evening be offered on the altar of the household gods.”
“I have them not, mother.”
“Not your dolls!”
“Not one.”
“But what have you done with them? I know they were all brought from Antioch.”
“Mother, they have been given away.”
“Given away! to whom?”
“To Glyceria, the sister of Euphrosyne.”
“But what can have induced you to do this?”
“She is paralyzed, and served by little children in the story of theInsulawhere she lives. I considered that it would amuse her to dress the dolls afresh, and perhaps mend broken limbs, and after that she willdistribute them among the little willing children that help her in her infirmity.”
“As the Gods love me!”exclaimed Duilia,“Whoever heard before of such madness. Hellebore would not cure it. Verily the more you labor at a hole the greater the hollow. You are a fool, and your folly grows daily greater. Youmustpresent your toys of childhood to theLares, they expect it—it is the custom, it is right.”
“But I have none left.”
“Mother Ops! what is to be done? Run, Eboracus,—run and buy me half a dozen dolls—dressed if possible. Domitia, you are determined to bring ill-luck on yourself. There is nothing else to be done but for you to spend an hour in playing with the dolls, and then you can present them at the altar, and the Gods will be none the wiser. Between me and you and the pillars of the peristyle, they are bigger fools than us mortals, and easier gulled.”
Domitia stooped to collect the fallen flowers.
“What is that?”asked her mother—“Oh! right enough,natrix,5that drives away ghosts and nightmare. And that of course is in the virginal wreath,myosotis(Forget-me-not) it dries tears. An Egyptian slave I had—he fell ill, so I exposed him on the isle between the two Bridges—he told me that if one ate the root in the month of Thoth—that is August, one escaped sore eyes for a twelvemonth. That is right also, the scarlet anemone, it betokens the flame of love—and that evergreen its continuance. The centaury—that is the herb of union, it will close a wound so asnot to show even a scar—and in marriage, no better symbol than that. What have you here? Thelysimachia, that gives harmony and agreement of mind. They say that a plant of it fastened to the pole of a chariot will make the wildest and most impatient horses pull together. And the herb of the Twelve Gods! quite right, always remember the gods, they come in useful. The vervain—of course, it will give you all you will. But, ye Gods of Olympus! What have you done to pluck cypress! My dear Domitia, are you mad? Thyme, mint, if you will—but cypress! the tree of the infernal gods, and—as the Gods love me! let me look at your hands! They are red—what have you plucked—plucked till your hands are dyed—theandrosœmum!Oh! Domitia! ill-fated child—look, look at your hands, the juice has stained them, they are dipped in blood.”
ILL-FATED CHILD, LOOK AT YOUR HANDS.“ILL-FATED CHILD, LOOK AT YOUR HANDS.”Page 176.
“ILL-FATED CHILD, LOOK AT YOUR HANDS.”Page 176.