CHAPTER XIII.
Eight days had gone by since the events related in the last chapter. Achill cloud hung over the house of Claudia, the sources of life seemedice-bound. All intercourse with the outer world was restricted to whatwas absolutely necessary; the inhabitants crept and glided about likespeechless ghosts. Titus Claudius fulfilled the duties of his officewith stern regularity, but without unction, dully and mechanically.His son's name never passed his lips, and yet every one felt thatone hideous thought was ever present to his mind. It was the samewith the two girls. All brightness, all youthfulness had desertedthem, particularly Claudia, who had borne her own hard fate with suchsteadfast hopefulness. Octavia alone clung unshaken to her conviction,that her husband, whose irresistible strength of will had provedvictorious in so many contests, would, even in this bitter strait, finda solution and an issue.
It was still early, but two hours after sunrise, and Octavia wassitting in silent abstraction with her two daughters, in the snuglittle room where--so short a time since--Caius Aurelius had read tothem the Thebais of Statius. Cornelia, too, was with them; she wassitting pale and listless near the door, and listening for a step inthe hall. She was waiting till the high-priest should come in fromattending Caesar's _levee_ and presenting a petition to him. Sincethe day when Quintus had been taken back to the Tullianum, Corneliahad never ceased to implore to be admitted to the dungeon, where shethought she could bend her lover's obduracy; for she was convinced thatnothing but a proud spirit of defiance had prompted his retractation atthe last moment.
"You do not know how to coax and entreat him," she had said to thehigh-priest. "Your very requests sound like commands, and leave a stingin his wounded pride. But I am a woman, his betrothed; I love him,and I will implore him! His heart will soften, as soon as he hears myvoice."
She had thus persuaded Titus Claudius, who, though he felt thatCornelia did not fully understand his son's character, thought heought not to neglect this last possibility. But unluckily he metwith unexpected hindrances. The governor of the prison, supported byhigher authority, positively refused her admission, and the priest'sdeclaration that he would take all the responsibility on his ownshoulders, produced no effect whatever.
Titus Claudius applied to the city-prefect, but a long discussiononly led to the same result. Some one, it was evident, must have aninterest in the complete isolation of the illustrious prisoner, andthat some one must be of exalted rank. A visit to Clodianus was equallyunsuccessful. Indeed, the adjutant displayed a rough and uncompromisingseverity, which was startling in a man who was not wont to dealthus with persons of position and influence, and the Flamen quittedhim in high wrath. The meeting seemed to have resulted in a lastingcoolness, not to say hostility, between the two officials. But thisstep, too, on the adjutant's part was the result of calculation. IfCaesar should hear of the matter--and he was certain to hear of it, forthere were witnesses present--he could no longer doubt the devotionof his faithful Clodianus. He, at least, was a true and trustworthyservant, who would rather make an enemy of the powerful high-priest,than abridge by one iota the laws and interests of the State, which inthe present instance were so surprisingly identical with the privateinterests of Caesar himself.
On leaving Clodianus, Titus Claudius betook himself to the chamberlainParthenius. Still the same refusal, though wrapped here in theutmost politeness and reverence--but it could not be, it was simplyimpossible. If in anything else Parthenius could oblige his illustriousfriend, he would devote himself to the cause with all the indefatigablezeal he had before now displayed in the service of a man so highlyvenerated, world-renowned and distinguished.
After two or three more attempts to interest influential personagesin the matter, the high-priest resolved on laying his request beforeCaesar himself, though it went hard with him to appear as a petitionerin his own behalf. And now, for the past half-hour he had been waitingat the palace.
The family, and particularly Cornelia, awaited his return with eageranxiety, and at every step on the pavement the excited girl startedand shivered. Her hands clutched the arms of her seat; her breath camequickly, and her face was as white as marble. If this last chancefailed! Alas, and Cornelia had only too much reason to regard failureas certain! Domitian, that incarnation of hatred and revenge--it wastoo much to hope for! Domitian, whom she had scorned and humiliated, asa queen might treat a slave--was it likely that he would allow her tosave the man she loved? And yet, if anyone could wring this permissionfrom the tyrant by the mere weight of personal influence, it was theFlamen.
The minutes went by--a quarter of an hour--half an hour. Hardly a wordwas spoken. Claudia held a book and tried to read, but could not getbeyond the first three lines. Lucilia sat gazing at the floor and gaveherself up to sad fancies; that delightful day at Ostia now and thenrose before her memory--what a difference the little time that sinceelapsed had wrought in three happy young creatures! Cornelia's loverin a dungeon, Claudia's under sentence as a traitor, self-banishedand far away, never to return perhaps--while she, Lucilia--she, to besure, had no lover, no friend, no one to care for her--but she feltfor all that concerned Cornelia and Claudia, and she herself had beenhappy too in that peaceful country home, oh so happy! That good oldFabulla, how kind she had been, how anxious to please her guests, howfull of sympathy were her clear honest eyes. And those eyes were nowperhaps not less tearful than Claudia's--who so often wept at nightwhen she thought Lucilia was asleep--for her only son Cneius Afraniuswas one of the fugitives too. How sad for her to miss the accustomedgreeting and kiss, never to hear that honest manly voice. Yes, sadindeed--everything was sad--poor unfortunate mother!
Lucilia was wiping away a tear, that had fallen unbidden down her owncheek when, with a loud cry, she started from her seat.
There in the door-way stood, in the flesh, the very subject of hercompassion. Fabulla, announced by Baucis, had come in, and, with athousand assurances of her dutiful respect, begged to be forgivenher venturing to intrude her presence on the illustrious family ofthe high-priest. But for ten days she had had no news of her son,her letters had remained unanswered; a messenger she had sent to hisresidence had found the house locked up. So, in her despair, she hadcome herself to Rome, and as she did not know another living soul inthe city, she had thought of the noble young men and ladies, who haddone her the honor of visiting her at Ostia.
While she was thus explaining herself in spasmodic haste, Lucilia hadrushed to meet her, had affectionately taken her hand and made herwelcome; and Octavia bowed politely and begged her to be seated, forshe must be tired. Claudia, however, and Cornelia particularly, seemedtoo much absorbed in their own thoughts to take much notice of the newarrival. This Lucilia remarked, and as Titus Claudius might now beexpected at any moment, she thought she would be doing both her familyand her friend a kindness, by taking Fabulla into another room, to giveher the information she wished. She easily found some simple excuseand took Fabulla upstairs, just as she heard the measured tread of themaster of the house in the atrium.
Titus Claudius came into the room with the most perfect calmness; afaint tinge of color alone betrayed, that he had gone through somesevere trial to nerves and temper.
"There is nothing now to prevent your visit to the prison," he saidgently; but then he sat down, and, in a hoarse voice, asked for adraught of water.
"Is it possible?" said Cornelia, rushing up to him. "I may see him? Youhave settled it?"
Titus Claudius signed to her to have patience; a slave brought him thewater, and he drank it in a long, deep gulp.
"It was a hard matter," he said, seeing they all were eagerly awaitinghis words; "Caesar was not at all like himself. He received me coolly,almost repellently."
"You," cried Octavia, starting up, "his most faithful adherent?"
"He fancied I was about to ask some favor for the imprisonedNazarene.--And, in that case, Octavia, he would have had a right to beangry with me, for my petition would have imperilled the State. Lawsare
not made, to be evaded at the first case that occurs. That Caesarshould have so misunderstood me.--It makes my face burn with shame andindignation only to think of it! I explained to him, perhaps in toostrong terms, that he was mistaken. What Titus Claudius could ask wasforbidden by no law, only by the over-carefulness of his officials.I then told him all I had done, in the hope of disarming theirprecautions, and how I had at every turn met with the same refusal;that I had at last come to the determination to come before him, thefount of all justice and clemency, and so gain my end beyond a doubt,though at the cost of troubling his sovereign majesty. He, no doubt,would allow me a privilege, which had never before been refused to anyone. I was ready to pledge my life for it, that the course of justicewould be in no way interfered with. Caesar was gloomy, almost wrathful,and he looked at me with an expression I never saw in him before.However, he granted my request. He sent to Parthenius at once...."
"Your firmness and dignity were too much for him," said Octavia, with asigh of relief.
"And when--when?" asked Cornelia.
"As soon as you like. Two of my slaves will accompany you. Thissnake-ring, with my signet, will be your token."
He drew off a ring, broken in its continuity as the law prescribed, andgave it to the girl, who was trembling with joy.
"Not an instant will I lose," she cried excitedly. "You will see, hispride will melt like the snow on Soracte when spring returns."
She hurried out into the atrium in front of the slaves, and got intoher litter.
The governor of the prison had been duly warned; he came himself tothe gate, and received the visitor with the politeness which seemeddue to her misfortunes, her dignified demeanor, and her beauty, evenmore than to her rank and position. When she showed him the ring, whichTitus Claudius had lent her, the governor bowed, as though to say thatno such guarantee was needed. He begged her, however, to leave theslaves with the litter-bearers, and to follow him unescorted to thecell, where she was to be allowed a strictly private interview withQuintus. In an hour he would return and conduct her back.
The door turned heavily on its hinges, and with a half-suppressed cryof rapture and sorrow, Quintus and Cornelia were in each other's arms.Pain and love, despair and hope, broke in that cry from their tremblinghearts.
After the first storm of feeling had subsided, Cornelia took herlover's hand, and looked up to him like a child beseeching a favor.
"Quintus," she began tenderly, "how cruel you have grown. Do men thenunderstand the meaning of no other word than Pride? Must everything besacrificed to that idol--even all that is sweetest and most sacred?Your father--but why should I speak of others, when no one can sufferso much as I do! Woe, woe, and three times woe on the pride of yourhouse! Accident threw you in the way of these Nazarenes, and so youhave pledged yourself to defend their cause, even unto death, as if itwere your own!"
"It is mine," said Quintus, sadly looking at the ground.
"Oh yes! you will say so. A Claudius is not to be frightened intoyielding! That is grand, magnanimous!--But what threats cannot do, lovemay. Quintus, only reflect, only think; try to comprehend all thatyour refusal involves. You are the son of a family whose happiness iscentred in you, and the very idol of a devoted girl, who must die.--Doyou hear me, Quintus? I shall die, if this hideous law hurts even ahair of your head. But I know, I know: in the eyes of a Roman anda Claudius, the only virtue is to persist in a thing you have onceundertaken. Your poets praise tenacity as the crown of glory.[98] Youwould rather run headlong into error, than turn round and seek theright path. But in this case, Quintus--you must own it yourself--thereis a tenacity, a wilfulness, which is a crime. You cannot possiblyregard the wild stories of these Nazarenes as true?"
"As the only truth, that is known to man."
"What? Is it you, my own Quintus--proud, wise, high-spirited--who saythis? Have you waited for me to tell you, that all belief in the gods,be their names what they may, is as hollow as a gilded nut which achild or a fool takes for gold...?"
"Belief in the gods--yes, Cornelia; but not belief in God. One wordmay have many and various meanings. The gods--is the name the peoplegive to those idols of the imagination, to which they attribute humanpassions and weaknesses. Dionysus is a god--and Silenus![99] But whatwe call God, dear Cornelia, has nothing in common with those emptymockeries. Our God dwells not in a temple made with hands. Our Godis a Spirit, and the very essence of all that lives in us, round usand above us, and that stirs our souls to joy and sorrow. He is in thelight that shines from heaven; the blossom that unfolds in Spring;the passions that bind your heart to mine, and the courage that willsupport me to face death without blenching, for the faith's sake."
"Death!" cried Cornelia in despair. "Quintus--my darling; Death! Butthe light of heaven and the flowers of Spring, and all that is lovelyin us and around us bid us live. If you, my dearest, believe what Ican never, never again believe: that higher powers rule our existence,well and good; indulge and cherish the consoling thought; nurse it asa gardener nurses his flowers; but what can compel you to confess thesecret to all the world? What can drag you so irresistibly to cast inyour lot with that abominable sect, of whom the very best is not worthyto kiss the dust from off your feet?"
"The Master's will. Those who have known salvation, find theirhighest and sublimest duty in laboring together in the great workof redemption. Without knowing it themselves, suffering hearts arestriving and groaning towards that light, which they now think so dimand contemptible. You have lost your faith in a divinity, because theform of your belief was false and hollow. Until you have got past thiscondition of negative and comfortless mistrust, you will never be ableto understand me. I shall not even attempt to make it clear to you,and will say only one thing: In spite of all my love for you and myfamily--a love beyond words--in spite of the youthful blood that dancesin my pulses--I cannot do otherwise! I am, and shall die a Christian."
"Quintus a Christian! Turning from Cornelia, to bleed in an arenawith slaves and workmen out of the Subura! And we had so fondly, soconfidently dreamed of a happy future! An empty, worthless formula isdearer to him, than my spoilt and ruined life!"
"A formula! Ah! if it were only that. There is no humiliation I wouldnot submit to for your sake."
Cornelia sat closer to him and threw her arms round him.
"Quintus!" she cried, bursting into tears. "Do not refuse myentreaties. See with what bitter tears I implore you for mercy. I willbe your slave, I will worship you all my life. Only have pity on mywretchedness! Speak the word, oh Quintus, say I may hope!"
"Cornelia, you break my heart--but I cannot; God help me, but I cannot!"
Cornelia stood up.
"Very well," she said coldly, "where you stay, I stay. We are pledgedto each other, and I will keep my oath."
"What are you going to do?"
"You will see--Oh! the chains of my love are not so easily shaken off."
She went to the door and knocked at it; the governor and the gaolerappeared at the summons.
"You can keep me here," she said; "I too am a Nazarene."
"She is raving!" said Quintus horrified. "She came to persuade me torenounce Christianity."
"Your eloquence has converted me," she retorted scornfully. "Governor,do your duty. I confess myself guilty. The God of the Nazarenes is theonly true God. Your Jupiter is a foolish, ridiculous image."
The governor shook his head in bewilderment.
"Follow me then," he said doubtfully; "I will inform the city-prefect."
"Quintus--farewell!" cried Cornelia, with a triumphant glance at herlover. "Think better of it, Quintus! or else we meet again face to facewith the beasts in the arena!"
Quintus stood petrified. The door was shut, the bolts rattled--theirsteps died away--he was alone.
FOOTNOTES:
[98] YOUR POETS PRAISE TENACITY AS THE CROWN OF GLORY. See for instance the well-known "_Justum ac tenacem_," etc., (Hor. _Od._, III, 3.)
[99] SILENUS. ([Greek: Seilenos]
.) Son of Hermes and a nymph, the constant companion of Bacchus. "He is the very image of an elderly satyr, a perpetually-intoxicated, jovial, good-natured old man with a baldpate and snub-nose, fat and rotund as a wine-skin, from which he is inseparable. His own feet can rarely carry him; he usually rides on a donkey, or is led and supported by satyrs. He delights in music and song as well as wine." Silenus had a temple at Elis.