Quintus Claudius, Volume 1

CHAPTER XVI

Quintus rose very early the morning after his visit to Thrax Barbatus, and the stars were still sparkling brightly, when he got into his litter and in a weary voice bid the slaves carry him to the palace. He almost fell asleep again within the curtains, so coolly and indifferently could he look forward to his interview with the awe-inspiring Caesar, who was always treated with a degree of cautious respect, even by his intimates and favorites – somewhat as a tame tiger is treated by its keepers. This coolness he derived from a sense of the justice of his cause; he was still young enough to have preserved that noble simplicity of a lofty nature, which attributes irresistible power to Truth, and which cannot use the specious defences, with which vulgar humanity is content to arm itself.

In the outer court of the palace a tumultuous crowd had already assembled – of magistrates, senators, and foreign ambassadors. Quintus gave one of the chamberlains on duty292 a note from the Flamen Titus Claudius Mucianus, to deliver to Caesar in his audience chamber, and so powerful was the effect of this venerated name, that Domitian granted an immediate interview to the young patrician, in the midst of the terrific pressure of official receptions.

Quintus entered the presence chamber with a fearless and independent mien, but with the calm dignity and winning courtliness of the Roman aristocrat.

“My lord,” he said, as a sign from the emperor bid him speak, “it is as the son of Titus Claudius, that you have so readily granted me a hearing, but it is as the future husband of Cornelia, the niece of Cinna, that I craved an audience. I stand before you as a petitioner. Cornelius Cinna, the illustrious senator – whose intrinsic value you must certainly have discerned, even under the husk of some singularities – is suffering under the sense of an insult, as he deems it. That midnight banquet, of which all Rome is talking, was of course, no more than a harmless prelude to the Saturnalia293– the overflow of festive whimsicality. But Cinna, who is rigid and impervious to all joviality, regards the jest as a humiliation and dishonor. It lies in your power, my lord, to efface this painful feeling from the noble senator’s mind. One gracious word of explanation…”

Domitian did not let the bold youth finish his sentence. The mere mention of the name of Cinna had been enough to set his blood boiling. And now, what was this audacious, seditious, rebellious suggestion? – If he still kept some check on his anger, it was that the grave, steadfast figure of the Flamen floated, unbidden, before his eyes, and compelled his respect for all who bore his name. Still, the glance he threw at Quintus out of his cunning green eyes gave grounds for reflection.

“My dear Quintus,” he said with forced composure, “our time is too precious for such follies. It is not Caesar’s business, either to console Cinna or to offer him explanations. Remember that. And now leave us, lest the welfare of the commonwealth should suffer.” With these words he turned his back on Quintus.

Quintus was speechless; he angrily quitted the audience chamber, feeling as if every slave must read in his face how insultingly the emperor had treated him. Incapable from indignation, to judge accurately and fairly, he felt as a bitter disgrace, what was, in fact, the inevitable result of a false assumption. Standing apart as he did from the life of the court, and strongly influenced by his father’s views, he had always regarded Caesar in too favorable a light; still, he might have been shrewd and judicious enough, to have understood the folly and impossibility of his preposterous suggestion; he might have told himself that, even under the most favorable conditions, only those, who have sinned unintentionally, ever make advances towards reconciliation.

From the palace Quintus hastened on foot to his father’s residence, which lay at no great distance. He desired his clients and slaves to wait in the vestibule, and went first to the women’s large sitting-room, where he found his mother and the two girls, with Caius Aurelius in attendance. The Batavian was holding a book in his left hand, and with an awkward blush on his face was standing near the window, while the ladies leaned expectantly on their couches.

A shade of annoyance flitted across Claudia’s brow as her brother entered the room; the young Northman flushed a shade deeper, and dropped the hand which held the roll as he, not too warmly, returned his friend’s greeting.

“I am disturbing a recitation,” said Quintus apologetically.

“Oh! the day is before us!” cried Lucilia, and Octavia asked her son what had brought him so early to the house.

“Nothing of much importance,” said Quintus vaguely; “a request to my father. I am only waiting, till the atrium is perfectly clear. Pray go on reading, Aurelius. I will sit quite still in this corner and listen for a time. Meanwhile, will Lucilia fetch me a cup of mead294; my tongue is literally parched.”

“‘He spoke, and the dark-browed Kronion nodded assent!295’” quoted Lucilia, going to a side door. “Baucis,” she called out, and gave her orders in a lower voice. Caius Aurelius, obeying Octavia’s glance of request, had already unrolled the book again, and he now began to read in a full and pleasant voice. In truth, the much-lauded Papius Statius might have been satisfied. He himself, a master in the art, could not have read his own poem better or more effectively. Quintus was astonished beyond words. What delightful tones, what various modulation, and above all what supreme intelligence of interpretation! and though Lucilia now and then struggled with a yawn, it was evidently from sheer physical fatigue, for it had been past midnight before she had gone to sleep.

When Aurelius had got to the end of the second canto of the poem, Quintus drank the remainder of his draught of mead and desired old Baucis to enquire in the atrium, whether Titus Claudius had not yet received the last of his morning visitors and, hearing that his father was alone, he took leave and hastened to the priest’s study. He found his father deep in work, even at his son’s greeting he only just raised his head.

“Welcome,” said he without interrupting himself: “One moment, Quintus – ” and his reed296 went gliding on over the yellow paper. Then he laid it across a little metal rest and rose.

“You find me dreadfully busy, my dear Quintus,” he said affectionately. “Hardly am I left apparently in peace, when I am overwhelmed with a mass of work, that will bear no delay. I must take advantage of every minute, for a decision on the great question of the day is now imminent.”

“I am sorry for that, father, for I came to you as a petitioner.”

“Speak on,” said the Flamen smiling. “I must find time for my son.”

“Thank you very much, but I fear that my petition may be too trivial, to engage your interest at this moment.”

“Nay, so much the better. Small matters need few words. Speak plainly and at once.”

“You know,” Quintus began, going a step nearer, “that the Empress’s steward Stephanus is in pursuit of a slave…”

“Yes, I know,” said the priest frowning: “A criminal, who was forcibly set free by some unknown hand. All Rome is horrified at such unheard-of atrocity.”

“It is certainly unheard of, that such an attempt should succeed. To escape in the midst of such a crowd – the cowardly crew of Lycoris’ slaves seemed thunderstruck.”

“Pah! who can say, if they were not concerned in the abominable conspiracy? My word for it, Quintus, all these villains have a secret understanding; they wait only for a watchword to rise and strike as one man, and to overthrow everything we hold sacred. If the state does not ere long exercise its authority in earnest, we shall have a Spartacus297 on the throne of Rome.”

“You are jesting, father. Shall the Roman empire, borne by the eagles of her legions to the uttermost ends of the earth, the unconquerable daughter of Ares,298 tremble before her own slaves?”

“She has trembled before now,” replied Titus Claudius. “Read the chronicles of the historians. The gladiator, who escaped with a handful of rabble from the school at Capua, collected an army, before the Senate had realized the fact. He beat the praetors, he defeated the quaestor Thoranius, he overran almost a third of the peninsula…”

“Then, and now; think of the difference,” exclaimed Quintus, to whom the unexpected turn taken by the conversation was most painful. “That was possible in the time of the Republic, but the strong hand of Caesar will be able to protect us. Besides, the slaves of our day lack the one thing needful – the irresistible Spartacus.”

“He will be forthcoming, when the time is ripe. Indeed, from all I hear, I fancy a candidate for the honor has already been discovered. He is called Eurymachus.”

“Really?” cried Quintus, who was fast losing all his presence of mind. “Do you really think…?”

“Yes, my son, I do think… Does not the very mode of his rescue show how great and dangerous his personal influence must be? And I hear on all sides of this man’s defiant tenacity, contempt of suffering, strength and endurance. It is out of such rough wood as this, that a Spartacus is hewn. And a Spartacus to-day is more dangerous than his prototype; he can command a more mischievous force, against which sword and spear are wielded in vain: that of superstition. I cannot fail to see this plainly; for years I have watched the tendencies of the commonalty with all the keenness of suspicion. The creed of the Nazarenes ferments and spreads – the next Spartacus will be a Christian.”

“Father,” Quintus began after a pause, “I know that in this instance you are mistaken. This slave – I happen to know certainly – never conceived such a scheme. Besides, it seems to me, that the acumen of our statesmen is somewhat at fault, when it makes that sect responsible for everything that shocks or shakes society…”

“You do not know them,” interrupted his father, “and I do. Enough – we have digressed. What connection has all this with your request? Speak, for my time is precious.”

Quintus stood undecided. What could he hope for in this state of things? Well – he could but try.

“Father,” he began hesitatingly, “I came to speak in behalf of the very man, whom you are making every effort to brand as a Spartacus. I saw him two or three times in Baiae; he pleased me greatly, and I then determined to buy him of Stephanus. Then this most unlucky business occurred, and I lost the slave whom I had already begun to think of as my own. When I tell you, that Stephanus deliberately and maliciously tortured and punished him; when I swear to you solemnly, that the sentence of death…”

“What do you want?” asked his father coldly; “speak and have done.”

“Well, father; I want to become possessed of that slave at any price, and I ask you whether, in the event of his being captured, it would not be possible to mitigate the rigor of the law…”

“You astound me! For a mere whim you would endanger the state, cut a trench in the dyke which alone is able to protect us against the flood of rebellion? And you ask me – ME – to be your accomplice in such a proceeding? I admit, that Stephanus is brutal and tyrannical, nay – from my point of view – criminal. But then, are there not laws to protect slaves against such barbarities?”

“Laws, yes – ” cried Quintus bitterly, “but they do not exist as against the rich and powerful.”

“Every earthly thing is of its nature imperfect. If Stephanus defies the law, that does not justify us in leaving the crime of Eurymachus unpunished. I lament deeply, that my own son should so utterly misunderstand the first and highest principles of my views of life. Go, my dear Quintus, and for the future consider twice, before you trouble your father with such follies. Eurymachus must die by the hand of the executioner, though you should pledge half your estates to buy him. Go, my son, and do not altogether forget that you are a Roman.”

Thus speaking, Titus Claudius sat down again to his desk. Quintus stood for a moment as if in absence of mind; then he slowly went towards the door.

“Farewell, father,” he said, as he left the room. His voice was sad, almost gloomy, as though they were parting for a long, sad interval. Titus Claudius, struck by the strangeness of his tone, raised his head in astonishment and gazed, like a man waking from a painful dream, at the door through which Quintus had departed; a vague presentiment fell on his spirit.

“I was too hard,” he said to himself. “His error springs from a noble source – from pity. I ought to have said a kind word to him before he went away,” and he hastily rose from his seat.

“Quintus, Quintus!” he called out into the hall. “Skopas, Athanasius, did you see my son?”

The slaves flew into the vestibule, but Quintus had long since disappeared in the bustle of the street. The Flamen returned to his sitting-room, oppressed with melancholy foreboding.

“I will tell him the very next time I see him. – He has the best and truest heart that ever beat, and the noblest souls are easiest wounded. – However, away with such thoughts now, and to work once more.”

Titus Claudius sat down again and bent over his table and, as he sat there, he might have been taken for a poet in the act of composition, for his fine face glowed with eager inspiration. But the words he wrote were not those which enchant the populace, but the eloquent flow of a mighty impeachment; what he was forging were not lines and verses, but terrific weapons against what he believed to be the most threatening foe of the Roman Empire; against Christianity.299

CHAPTER XVII

When Caius Aurelius had finished the fourth canto of the Thebais, Octavia put an end to the reading; breakfast was waiting in the little dining-room. The young man was invited to join them, and they passed a pleasant hour over the meal. They were all accustomed to their father’s absence, for business had lately so completely absorbed him, that he would hardly give himself time to drink a glass of Falernian, as he sat at work, or to snatch a morsel of food. Octavia lamented it, but, on the other hand, she was proud of it as well; she rejoiced too in the confident anticipation of a long period of rest and enjoyment to succeed this last great effort. Lucilia found dinner without him very dull, as she took an opportunity of whispering very pointedly to her sister. This was, in fact, rather strange, for Aurelius, whose tongue seemed to have been loosed by the reading of the heroic poem, displayed the greatest aptitude for all the accomplishments of social life. The triclinium positively sparkled with good humor, even Lucilia belied herself, for more than once she broke out into a merry laugh, the very reverse of dull. Herodianus, who had come to escort his master home, and who had the honor of being invited to share the meal, was astonished at the brilliancy of the young man, who was usually so silent and glanced suspiciously at the crystal cup, as if that might be accountable for so strange a phenomenon. And Baucis swore by the great Isis, that never in her life had she known a Roman knight with such delightful qualities as Aurelius, who had a kind word even for her, a stupid old woman, and who read poetry so divinely.

The Batavian took his leave about mid-day; he sent his respectful greetings through Octavia to the master of the house, fearing to disturb so busy a personage at this hour of the day.

“And what next?” cried Lucilia, as the door closed upon Aurelius. "Shall we lie down to sleep, sweet Claudia, or order the litter to go to the Campus Martius?"300

“Just which you please. The day is fine, and we might walk for an hour under the colonnade of Agrippa."301

“Will you come with us, dear mother?” asked Lucilia.

“How can I,” said Octavia smiling. “I must be on the spot, when your father leaves his work. If you are not content to go alone, Baucis may…”

“Oh no, no!” interrupted Claudia. “The worthy Baucis may remain at home. When we get into the laurel groves302 we shall walk, and Baucis is so slow that she would be a hindrance.”

The litter was soon ready. Four Numidians, with waving feathers in their heads, marched in front, and they proceeded northwards, by the same way which Quintus had taken two days since, in the moonless night.

“I am glad that we left Baucis at home,” said Claudia in Greek. “We can talk undisturbed for once. You are so dreadfully sleepy, when we go to bed…”

“And with good reason,” replied Lucilia, also in Greek. “I am tired out and over-excited. The amusements of the last few days are telling on my nerves. First, there was the evening at Cornelia’s; then a recitation for two hours from the charming Claudia on the merits of Caius Aurelius…”

“I beg your pardon, but you are reversing the position. It was mistress Lucilia, who went on talking about Caius Afranius.”

“Indeed! and why? Simply and solely as a counterpoise, an antidote to Aurelius. Besides, with your kind permission, his name is not Caius, but Cneius Afranius. Of course, you have nothing but Caius running in your head.”

“That is just like you now,” said Claudia with a sigh. “Lately there has been no speaking a rational word to you.”

“I am over-tired,” Lucilia repeated. "Two cantos of Statius yesterday morning, two more again this morning; to-morrow, two cantos of Statius, that involves a fourth! It is a mercy, that the Thebais consists only of twelve altogether, so it must come to an end at last! Certainly, when we have done Statius, he might read us Virgil303 and afterwards the Battle of the Frogs and Mice."304

“Go, Lucilia – you are quite odious – and I wanted to confess something to you.”

“A confession? my darling Claudia, a confession?” cried Lucilia, seizing her sister’s hand. “Will you own at last that you love him? That you are a perfect fool about him? Oh! silly child! did you not perceive, that I only wanted to punish you for trying to deceive me?”

Claudia colored deeply, and involuntarily drew the embroidered curtain, as if she feared that the litter-bearers might read her secret in her face.

“Not so loud!” she whispered, and then she softly kissed her cheek.

“You confess?” asked Lucilia. But the only answer was a closer caress and a fervent kiss on her lips.

“That is enough,” said Lucilia. “Your kiss says everything. No girl gives such a kiss as that, who is not desperately in love. It was meant for Caius Aurelius.”

“Hush!” Claudia entreated, laying her hand on the audacious girl’s mouth. “Promise me…”

“Not to mount the rostra305 and proclaim in the Forum: Claudia is in love with Aurelius!..? You little fool! Just the reverse; I will keep it a dead secret, and do all I can to clear the road for you. For things will not run so smoothly as you think. A mere provincial knight, and Claudia, the daughter of the first senatorial house in Rome! You cannot take it ill in your father if he maintains the rights of his position, and intends his daughter to marry a consul."306