Chapter XII
PSYCHE had passed her second month in solitude in the prison of the Praetorian Camp. Her first days had been lived under the crushing effects of her grief. Gradually the hope that throbs in the heart of youth gave her some consolation. Full of thankfulness for the warning of Gyges, which had sealed her lips concerning the writing on Gannon’s tunic, she concluded that she had nothing to fear. There were no proofs against her that could keep her under restraint for a great length of time. But the days passed slowly.
Her cell was a rectangular room, with a bed in one corner. There were no openings except a small grating that looked towards the Campagna. For hours she would stand and look out of this small window upon the enormous sweep of cultivated land, bordered by the Sabine Mountains, that appeared to frown upon the all-powerful city of Rome. On clear days Tibur would sparkle amidst the purplish-green background of the mountains, like some little city seen in happy dreams. The Viae Tiburtina, Nomentana, andPraenestina ran through the farms and cultivated fields of the Campagna like large light-colored veins on an enormous leaf.
But there were times when mountains, fields, and even the prison seemed to the captive Psyche to vanish in a cloud of oblivion. However, the breaking of the cloud would reveal plaintive and pleasant recollections of the past. Not as sensations are stimulated by the impulsations along the five different roads of the senses did these recollections come to her, but as beautiful and pure thoughts born from the sowing of seeds in solitude.
She would think of her dear brother, the remembrance of whose words and acts became clearer since his death. The bright and happy face she saw, the ringing words of cheer she heard, the laugh that would irresistibly bring smiles to other lips, the quick movements that kept the watching eyes alert,—all these things were in her dreams of her brother. “Poor Gannon!” she would say to herself, “thy life was like the incessant tremble on a summer sea. Ah! poor, poor Gannon!”
Her home-life had been an experience of unbroken peace. Her mother had been her only friend in childhood, maidenhood, and womanhood; and her father had found no pleasures outside of his own family. She recalled thehappy evenings together when they would talk of art, beauty, and the glorious country of Greece. The songs that were sung after the evening meals would come floating into Psyche’s memory like sweet exhalations from rivers of melody.
With tearful eyes she would recall the happy days spent with her lover. In imagination she would see his strong, quick, and handsome figure. She would hear whispered words of love that would come to her like distant music from the doors of a temple. So ardent were her recollections, that she seemed to feel again his actual caresses. The last afternoon they had passed together appeared like some sunny day that would never come again. She would take the necklace he had given her and fondle it as if she saw in the gems his eyes, and in the little golden links the visible tokens of the ties which had bound their hearts together during many happy days. She pictured their lives like two votive candles, waiting to be lighted upon the altar in the temple of love.
On the second day of her imprisonment she asked the keeper, “Knowest thou of a Greek man and wife imprisoned in the camp?”
The keeper made no reply.
“Canst thou tell me whether a young man named Gyges has been arrested?”
There was no reply.
“Tell me, O keeper, when shall I be free?”
Still there was no reply. Her words seemed to die in the air before they reached him. Again and again she repeated her questions, but received no satisfaction. Her jailer was deaf and dumb. With gestures she tried to procure a tablet and stylus; but the jailer worked like an automaton and she accomplished nothing. With no words to break the stillness, she became like a daughter of silence surrounded by profound solitude. In her loneliness she would approach the thrones of the gods, with offerings and prayers. The ways were quiet along which her thoughts danced, marched, and fell. Yes, in her world of silence her spirit would hear celestial melodies and human sobs; it would see bright thrones of her hopes and dark beds of her sorrows; it would taste the sweet juices of joy and the bitter acid of torment; it would breathe the perfume of peace and the exhalation of strife; it would gently touch a living form and a dead body. But all these things were the works of imagination. No messages from her loved ones reached her through the impenetrable and silent walls of her cell. She sat as if immersed in oblivion.
Harrowed by the uncertainty regarding the fate of Gyges and her parents, she passed her days in hope, fear, and despair. One morning she was surprised to hear a commanding voice give anorder in the corridor. These were the first words she had heard since her imprisonment. When she recognized the voice of Sejanus, she gave a start. She heard him stop before her door and order that no one should be allowed to walk in the corridor while he was there. When he had entered and locked the door, he noticed that Psyche had retreated to the farther end of the cell.
“Thou fearest me?” he said.
Psyche made no reply. She stood upright and clenched her hands.
“Thou dost not fear me,” he said, answering his own question as he sat down upon her bed.
Still Psyche remained silent.
“If thou dost not fear, thou must be glad to see me,” he said with an evil smile.
“What dost thou wish here?” she asked.
“Be not frightened. I am not a severe man. I have even refrained from torturing thee. I keep thee and thy parents in the camp, on account of laws that rule me. In my soldier nature, O light-footed dancer, there runs a vein of kindness. Thy brother was treated well in the camp. I even promoted him. But in despair at being caught in a dishonest act, he threw himself from the roof of the barracks. Oh that he might have given me an opportunity to forgive him!”
“What dishonest act did he perform?”
“He read my private letters.”
“Art thou sure, O Sejanus?”
“Ay; thy parents have confessed that he did.”
“Where are my parents?”
“They still live in the barracks, prisoners, as thou art.”
“And Gyges, O Sejanus, where is he?”
“He escaped; but shortly he will also be a prisoner.”
“I thank the gods that he is free. But why dost thou keep me here?”
“Thou hast told me that thou didst not read the writing on thy brother’s tunic. I believe thou didst read it.”
“I can say no more than I have not, O Sejanus. Is it just to imprison innocent people?”
“Thou findest life a burden here? Thou wishest to be free?”
“Ay, O Sejanus. Why am I kept here? Why are my parents prisoners? Why is Gyges to be arrested?”
“I cannot tell thee, my graceful creature. Pray be calm. Sit thou down near me.”
Psyche still remained in the corner of the cell. She was frightened at the familiar tone of her oppressor. She asked, “What dost thou wish here?”
“I have come to relieve the monotony of thy solitude.”
“Then leave me. I prefer to be alone,” she pleaded.
“So thou art the dancing-girl who delightedst the people with thy impersonations?” he asked, disregarding Psyche’s trembling appeal. “I have seen thee dance. Truly thou hast mastered well that art.”
“I am a dancing-girl. ’Tis an honest profession.”
“Ay; all professions are sometimes honest.”
“The life of a dancing-girl is sometimes misunderstood,” she replied.
“Nay, O pretty one, not by me. The lives of dancing-girls are never monotonous. A lover is always at hand. Presents brighten their fleeting days. Loving words and tender glances cheer their lives. Art thou not lonely in this cell?”
Psyche knew not what reply to make. His voice had become soft and enticing. She said: “When can I see my parents? Persecute me no longer, O Sejanus! I am innocent.”
“Thou art not persecuted, O pretty maiden! Thy cell is bright; we have darker ones below the ground. Thy food is good; we sometimes only give bread and water. Thou art lonely and I have come to relieve thy solitude.”
“Then leave me,” said Psyche, in a commanding tone.
“Leave thee? Why, I too am often lonely.This day I feel the need of some one to share that loneliness with me. Come, sit thou down.”
“Leave me, I pray thee!”
“Thou art a dancing-girl and hungerest after love.”
“Leave me, I say, I understand thee not,” she cried.
“Dancing-girls need little instruction in the art of love.”
“I have told thee that they are misjudged.”
“I have told thee that they are not misjudged by me. Come, confess thy thoughts to me.”
“I have nothing to confess.”
“Confess that thou dost love.”
“Love! Whom?” she asked.
“Love me,” he replied with a wicked smile. “Confess that thou wishest to love me, as thou didst love the youths at the theatre. Prison life will soon lose its dulness if thou wilt love me.”
“I do not understand thy meaning!” said Psyche, white with fear.
“Cell life has dulled thy senses. Come, sit thou down. I ask not for thy respect, but for thy love.”
“Respect! Love! Art thou mad? Thou, the murderer of my brother; thou who art tormenting my parents; thou who wouldst thrust into thy dungeon an innocent man,—thou now comest before me, before one whose heart is torn andwhose wounds are still fresh, and, villain that thou art, thou askest for love! Thou mayest be the emperor’s minister, but there is a limit to thy power! I detest thee! Leave me!”
“Hold, my pretty one! Thou sayest that I am powerful. Ay; that is true. My power can and will win thee. I have come here to love thee and I will not leave without that satisfaction.”
With intense fear the poor maiden threw herself on her knees and, looking up to heaven, cried in tragic accents: “O Mother of God, Celestial Rhea, hear the prayer from virgin lips! Deliver me from the power of this fiend! Grant me death rather than defilement! Protect thy persecuted child! Save! Oh, save!—”
“The gods hear no prayers in the Praetorian Camp,” jeered Sejanus, with an infernal smile on his lips.
He approached her and caught her in his arms.
“O Gyges, Gyges!” she screamed, struggling against him with all her might.
“Struggle, scream, ay, yell! Thy cries fall on deaf ears. No one can save thee.”
Although excitement gave her unnatural strength, yet in the arms of Sejanus she was powerless. He kissed her cheeks, though she tried to avoid his caress by leaning backwards. He whispered words of love, but she spat in his face. She clutched his head in her handsand tore his hair. But this nervous force soon spent itself, and she grew weak. She sobbed, pleaded, and struggled; she called upon the gods, but with no avail. Sejanus, like an enraged beast, threw her on her straw mattress—but a loud knock on the door arrested him. Infuriated by the interruption, and fully prepared to fell the man who had broken his strict orders, he opened the door, and saw standing in the corridor his master—the Emperor.