CHAPTER VII
On the following morning the frightful news spread like wild-firethrough the city that several citizens, some of them men of highposition, had been seized at dead of night by the city-prefect andcarried off to the state-prisons; while others--and among them theSenators Cornelius Cinna and Marcus Cocceius Nerva--had only escapedsharing their fate by flight.
After Cinna's rash demonstration, in opposition to the law against theChristians, such proceedings were not considered very astonishing.Nerva, too, had long seemed ripe for destruction, from the point ofview of the state-craft of the time. But that a host of individualswho, till now, had been regarded as blamelessly innocent, nay, thatsuch a man as Furius should be apprehended, produced a painfulimpression on the public mind. Every one, who did not feel himselfprotected by his modest station and personal insignificance, beganto quake, and even the humble population of the Subura seemed to bedragged into sympathy with the anxiety of the higher classes. The criesof the wandering dealers and street pedlars were subdued, and thoughthe cook-shops and barbers' rooms were crowded, the talk was in lowmysterious tones. On every hand suspicious and anxious looks prevailed.
What most agitated and puzzled the citizens of Rome, was the fact, thatthe confessed enemies of Caesar had been able to escape; this revealeda regular and well-organized plot; nay, from the high rank and wideinfluence of the fugitives, it was almost an open declaration of war.It was self-evident, that Nerva and Cinna would not have retired sopromptly into exile, but that they were about to strain every nervein order to return victorious. Much was said about the connectionsthey both could count upon in the provinces, and particularly in theGallia Lugdunensis. These allies, judiciously treated, might, in thepresent state of public feeling as to Domitian's tyranny, combine forsome crushing catastrophe. If no more than two or three legions shouldraise the standard of revolt, under the guidance of a commander benton death or success, the Emperor's rule would be in serious danger, tosay the least. Men recalled the days of Nero--how rapidly the flame ofrevolution had spread in every direction, when the mass of combustibleshad been piled sky-high, through many years of misgovernment. Thepraetorian guard could only be trusted conditionally. Their loyaltywas simply a matter of price. As long as they were splendidly paidthey would be for Caesar, and this sort of fidelity could easily becorrupted in a single night.
On the other hand the noiselessness, with which the arrests had beenmanaged, and the calm unforced regularity, which prevailed in everydepartment of public life, seemed to guarantee the unwavering stabilityof the government. The palace was to-day guarded by a single cohort, asusual. The morning audience had been duly crowded. The Senate met atthe usual hour, and Domitian joined them, carried to the sitting in hislitter, and escorted by only a small portion of the praetorian guard.Races were announced for the following day in the Circus Maximus, andat the same time the _Acta Diurna_,[64] the official sheet of Rome,formally proclaimed Caesar's intention of edifying and delighting hisbeloved Romans, by the celebration of magnificent centennial games,never yet equalled for splendor and variety. In short, within theprecincts of the Palatium such security and indifference prevailed ascould not fail, if thoroughly carried out, to exert great influence onpublic feeling. Added to this, a vague report got about that the birdshad flown in consequence of a warning, to which the government had beenaccessory, since Caesar had been willing to avoid the painful necessityof arraigning such men as Cinna, Nerva, and Trajan before the Senate.Thus it was not to Caesar's dilatoriness or clumsiness that they owedtheir escape, but to his magnanimity.
Though no such magnanimity had ever before been seen at the palace,this view was warmly encouraged.
Clodianus swore to Caesar by all the gods, that the treason which mustevidently have been at work, should be tracked to earth and avenged.The guilty party must be some one in the Emperor's immediate service.Was Domitian absolutely certain that the tablet, with the list ofdoomed names, had never been out of his own hands? To this Caesarreplied, that he had kept the tablet about his person day and night;but Clodianus reminded him of the hour when he had swooned, throwingout a dark hint which served to cast his suspicion on the physician.Domitian, however, was more inclined to look for the traitor among theemployes of the city-prefect, than in the palace itself. At any rate,the zeal shown by Clodianus in these circumstances made an admirableimpression in his favor. The Emperor began to think he might have beenmistaken, and to consider whether the last addition to the list on thetablet should not after all be erased.
Clodianus detected this revulsion of feeling with the eye of aclairvoyant, and it gave him extreme satisfaction, for it opened outthe prospect for certain schemes, though he was not clear himself yetas to the details. When the pressure of business should allow himleisure, he would go to the villa on the road to Praeneste, intendingto settle and confirm these details in concert with Stephanus.
In the course of the afternoon it was reported that Caius Aurelius,too, was one of the fugitives. Baucis brought this news to thehigh-priest's house, when she returned from market in the Field of Mars.
Not long before Claudia had received a note from Aurelius. It was datedthe day before, and had been written before their last meeting. Itcontained the explanation, that Aurelius had thrown in his lot withthose who were scheming and hoping for liberty. Their schemes had beenbetrayed. He was flying now like a criminal, but he hoped, ere long, toreturn and find Rome free and happy.
Claudia had escaped with this letter to her own room, she knew onlytoo well all it implied. She fancied she could already hear herfather's verdict, for his tenderness to his child must now inevitablygive way to the inexorable severity of a state-official and Caesar'sfaithful adherent.
The rest of the family had meanwhile rushed into agitated discussionof this utterly unexpected departure. They were sitting in one of thelarger rooms opening out of the court-yard, not far from the very spotwhere Aurelius, the night before, had torn himself from his Claudia.Quintus and Cornelia were present, as well as the parents and Lucilia.They had waited till long past midnight for Cinna's return, and hadthen parted in the utmost anxiety, for Aurelius' hasty visit, and themysterious warning he had written, left them to surmise the worst. Thusthey met at an early hour at the high-priest's house, whither each hadcome hoping for news and good counsel. Titus Claudius had, in fact,been informed of all that was known by Parthenius, and actually beforehe was up. He received Cornelia, who was in the highest excitement,with a mixture of severity and sympathy.
"I do not know all the motives," he said solemnly, "that may have ledto these measures on Caesar's part. But so much as this seems to mecertain: that this step was prompted by necessity for the preservationof the State. As an officer of State myself, and as the father of yourbetrothed husband, I can only advise you--and I mean it well--to havenothing farther to do with a proscribed man. I promise you I will do mybest to induce Caesar to give up all farther pursuit of the fugitives,and to consider banishment from the Empire, or perhaps only from Italy,as sufficient punishment."
So spoke Titus Claudius, and then no more was said about Cinna. In thediscussion as to Aurelius, Cornelia could take part more calmly thanthe others. Her pride had been roused by the Flamen's speech, and whenthis was the case, she was mistress of herself in all respects.
When Claudia, having recovered such composure as she could, returnedto the sitting-room, a single timid glance at her father's carewornface showed her, that his mind was already made up on the matter.His features revealed all the keen struggle and pain it cost him toinflict suffering on his daughter under the irresistible stress ofcircumstances; but, at the same time, she saw with perfect certaintythat nothing--absolutely nothing--could change his idea of thenecessity. His eye, which he kept calmly and immovably fixed on her,was so eloquent, that her cheek tingled, and she could hardly controlherself so as not to throw herself sobbing into Lucilia's arms.
"Forget that you ever loved such a man as Aurelius!" was what th
at sadgaze said to her. "I might have condescended to set aside the gloryof my many centuries of ancestors and the dignity of my house, butnever my honor as a guardian of the State. I might have sacrificed mypride--but not my duty. I could have borne to give my daughter to ayouth of no renown, a mere provincial of obscure origin, hard as thatwould have been--but to a traitor! No, not if he wore the purple. CaiusAurelius is dead--dead to you, to me, to his country!"
The only person, who in this depressing atmosphere did not lose hergood spirits was Lucilia.
"Who knows how all this hangs together?" she said consolingly. "Hasnot Sextus Furius been arrested? He surely is the very incarnation ofpeaceful civic virtue. Some low informer has slandered him secretly,and it is the same, I make no doubt, with Aurelius. I can quiteunderstand, that he should have no fancy to exchange his pretty villafor a residence in a state-prison. But his innocence may yet come tolight."
"Nay," said the Flamen, "only those who are conscious flee. The man,who knows that he is falsely accused, stays where he is to justifyhimself."
"I should think so indeed!" exclaimed Lucilia. "As if no innocent manhad ever been condemned! I may say honestly, I should have done thesame in his place. It is particularly unpleasant to watch a game, whereone is oneself the stake played for. Only let us set to work at onceto get at the bottom of the matter. If Aurelius were in truth a rebel,would not the chamberlain have mentioned him to you this morning, whenhe told you the names of those who had escaped and those who had beenarrested?"
"Parthenius was in a desperate hurry. He only mentioned the worst, theringleaders. It may be indeed, that Aurelius has been led away...."
"You see!" cried Lucilia, "and those who have been misled must beforgiven."
"Forgiven!" echoed Cornelia. "Those may accept forgiveness who choose!"
"Oh, you, with your everlasting Roman pride! That was all very wellunder a Republic. For my part, sooner than wander about the world anoutcast and in misery, I would admit what a fool I had been. You mustprogress as the times advance. The Empire is firmly established onceand for all...."
"You are wasting your breath, in trying to make a jest of what isgrave earnest," said the high-priest. "I have been greatly deceivedin this Aurelius. I took him to be frank and trustworthy, a man ofcharacter...."
"Father!" cried Claudia, trembling from head to foot, "I will not bearto hear you speak so of the man, whom I regard as the noblest andtruest on earth."
"What, daughter? Even now, after his flight as a criminal?"
"Even now."
Quintus and Cornelia looked inquiringly, first at the priest, and thenat the girl.
"Why should I conceal it?" cried Claudia. "You may hear me say it--andall the world may know it--I love him, he is mine now and forever!"
"Poor child!" said her father, and Lucilia went up to her and led herout of the room. In the solitude of her own room the strength, that hadkept her blood at boiling point, gave way entirely. She flung herselfinto her sister's arms, and cried long and bitterly.
The high-priest too retired, and shut himself up in his study tilldinner-time. The information brought him by Parthenius, and the flightof Cinna and Aurelius more particularly, had been a great shock to him.And then the sight of the young creature, who stood up so bravely forher love--and yet--he could not hesitate--who must give it up forever.That had been a dagger-thrust in his heart. He struggled for firmness,for cold and stern resolve. He told himself that true kindness, in thiscase, lay in severity and outward hardness; every sign of wavering,every expression of tender impulse, would only make the inevitableharder for his child to bear. The human heart can better endure thesudden extinction of its happiness than its slow decline, fanned bythe breath of a faint hope which is too weak to revive the flame oflife, and yet too strong to allow it to die out.
For many hours this man, who was usually so prompt and decisive, satbent over his table as if in a trance. If Sextus Furius had not beenone of the victims of this nocturnal raid, Titus Claudius would, evennow, have arranged his daughter's betrothal to this suitor beforethe week was out. The very cruelty of such a proceeding seemed tohim wholesome and bracing. But, as it was, Furius too--for someunimaginable reason--was an inmate of the Mamertine prisons. Whatwas to be done? He considered the possibilities of a journey, andremembered that Quintus, the year before, had expressed a purpose someday to pass a few months at Athens. The house of Claudia had manyillustrious friends in the Attic capital, who would have welcomed thebrother and sister with the greatest pleasure, and have treated themas lovingly and as liberally as their own. But the plan was rejectedas soon as it was made. The unfavorable season was at hand; thesouth-westerly gale, which a few days since had swept over the wholecoast of Latium and Campania, had devastated the country south ofAntium. Sea-voyages were at an end for the season; no one would ventureout to sea but under pressing necessity.
Finally, the priest came to the conclusion, that Claudia would best andsoonest get over her grief in her parent's house and the old familiarhabits of her daily life; he, therefore, decided on leaving the poorchild in peace, when once he had explicitly impressed on her thatAurelius was lost to her forever, and then tacitly treating the matteras settled once for all.
The whole family eat their meal in conscious silence: Quintus andCornelia remained as guests. Claudia begged to be excused; she wouldjoin them later, in the sitting-room.
When they rose from table, Lucilia, Octavia, and the betrothed couplewent to walk up and down the peristyle, and Titus Claudius went to hisdaughter's room. It was not without an uneasy feeling about his heart,that he desired the slave-girl who sat outside the door to raise thecurtain, and he felt sad enough as he entered the room, which was oneof the prettiest and pleasantest in the house. Claudia had made it acharming retreat for her studies and favorite pursuits. To the rightlay the apartment she shared with Lucilia; but here she alone wasmistress, and everything in the room seemed to have taken the stampof her individuality. The unpretentious and tasteful furniture seemedto proclaim her frank simplicity. On the wall hung her gilt citharawith its red ribbon, the confidant of her hopes and dreams. There layher favorite authors neatly arranged in ivory cases,[65] the Greeks tothe left, the Latins to the right--above all Homer, Sophocles, and theodes of Sappho. There were a few costly vases of sardonyx, statuettesin Parian marble, and in a purple-lined niche a head of Jupiter,copied from the world-famed work of Phidias.[66] There were too asilver-mounted spindle and a small hand-loom, besides all sorts of toysand baubles, such as young people were wont to give and receive duringthe Saturnalia. In short, the pretty bower betrayed itself in everydetail as the retreat of a bright-natured, busy and happy girl.
And now?
But what was the priest's surprise when, instead of the crushed andweeping child he expected to meet, Claudia came towards him with gentlepride, grave, but mistress of herself, calm and almost radiant with ahalf-sad, but half-happy confidence.
In the silence of her chamber Claudia had thought out the course ofevents and the issues they must lead to; she had questioned her ownheart, and taken stock of her duties. The tangle had come straight,light had dawned in the darkness. It was useless to weep and puzzleherself over what could not be altered; it mattered not now to wonderwhether Aurelius had acted wisely in taking part in the rash attemptof the conspirators. Nay, the right or wrong of the attempt itself wasof secondary importance. One thing only Claudia was sure of: she lovedhim, and she was pledged to him. This had sealed her fate. As soon asthis certainty stood forth clear and confessed in the midst of hersorrow, her peace of mind returned as if sent from heaven. She knew nowhow she must act, come what might now or in the future; she saw thegoal towards which her whole existence strove, and she could wait inall submission, till the gods might point out a way in which she couldwalk. But that she would never look aside from that goal, that no poweron earth could tear that love from her heart--that was as clear to heras her belief in love itself. Every blow, which could now fall on thishapless heart, woul
d be the inevitable dealing of Fate, which neithergods nor men could evade. Claudia still hoped for some happy issue,even with her father; for the hopefulness of love is inexhaustible.But, if Fate would have it otherwise, it was quite clear to her thatthe issue must be worked out without her father--nay, if it came to theworst, against her father; and the sense of this possibility gave amelancholy undercurrent to her confident resolve.
Titus Claudius misunderstood the signs of her face and manner; her calmdecisiveness he took for the submission of an obedient daughter; hersilent melancholy for the anguish of resignation. He went up to Claudiawith an impulse of deep tenderness, took her in his arms, kissed her,and loaded her with tender commendation; she, ashamed and feelingalmost guilty, submitted to his embrace. Then she raised her eyes intearful entreaty to his face.
"Let us speak no more of all this," she said in a low voice. "Timewill show, whether he is guilty or not. You shall never hear a wordof murmur from me. I will command myself; I will be just what I havealways been--a little graver perhaps, but not lackadaisical and pining.Only never speak of him, do not speak harshly of him! I cannot bear it,Father!"
"You are my own good, wise child," whispered Claudius, holding her moreclosely in his arms. "I know you by this for my own flesh and blood.May Jupiter, in his goodness, give you strength to cast this lucklesslove out of your heart. I know, my child, we Claudians have a deepheart, and what has once sunk to the bottom there is apt to strike deeproot in the soil. But nature has also given us a strong will, and adefiant spirit that fears no struggle. If you ever feel too miserable,if the fight is too much for you, then fly for rest to your father'sheart, Claudia, and do not forget, that every grief that troubles yoursI feel two-fold and three-fold in my own." Claudia wept aloud; overcomeby her grief, she clung to that loving father's sheltering arms. Then,collecting all her firmness, she freed herself, looked up with a smile,and said, as she dried her tears:
"Now--I am myself again. Go to the others, pray, Father, and I willfollow immediately."
The Flamen left the room. Claudia threw herself on her knees, and afterkissing the spot on the rug where he had stood, threw up her arms andher slender figure in passionate prayer to the gods.
"Do not crush me, Immortals, if I am sinning!" she whispered withtrembling lips. "For you know, ye all-merciful and all-wise, that Icannot help it."
FOOTNOTES:
[64] ACTA DIURNA. The official collection and publication of important news was first introduced by Julius Caesar. These publications were called _acta diurna urbis_ or _acta diurna populi_. After one number of this official gazette was prepared, it was multiplied by an army of copyists, and sent to the most distant provinces. Besides the official news, the _acta diurna_ published miscellaneous communications about specially important events in public life, family news, art notices, etc. See Huebner in _Fleckeisen's Jahrbuch, Suppl._ III, pages 364-594, as well as the admirable explanation by Goell, "the newspaper of Rome" in his "Pictures of Civilization."
[65] THERE LAY HER FAVORITE AUTHORS NEATLY ARRANGED IN IVORY CASES. Valuable books were kept in closed boxes.
[66] THE HEAD OF JUPITER, COPIED FROM THE WORLD-FAMED WORK OF PHIDIAS. The most renowned and perhaps most magnificent creation of Greek plastic art, was the Pan-hellenic Zeus at Olympia, a work of Phidias. Everything the ancient authors tell us of this colossal statue sounds extremely enthusiastic. Thus an epigram runs:
"Great Zeus did descend to earth his image to reveal, Or, Phidias, to behold the god, Olympus thou did'st scale."
Dio Chrysostomus writes: "No one who has seen Phidias' Zeus, is capable of forming any other image of the god.... A man, whose soul is troubled, oppressed by the many cares and griefs life offers, so that he would no longer be refreshed by sweet slumber, must I think, while confronting this statue, forget everything that is gloomy and terrible. Thus, Phidias, hast thou designed and executed thy work. Such light and grace animate thy art." Phidias had created his statue of the god according to the image of the Homeric verse, where Zeus grants the entreaty of the imploring Thetis:
"He spoke, and awful bends his sable brows, Shakes his ambrosial curls, and gives the nod, The stamp of fate and sanction of the god: High heaven, with trembling the dread signal took And all Olympus to the centre shook." POPE.
Phidias' Zeus was represented seated on a throne; his left hand held the sceptre, his right bore a goddess of victory. Among all the statues of Zeus that have been preserved, the bust of Otricoli seems to approach most nearly to the ideal of Phidias. There is no absolutely accurate copy; but the descriptions given us by the ancient authors, as well as two coins from Elis, carefully described by Overbeck and Friedlaender, afford a succession of by no means unimportant points.
The bust in Claudia's boudoir may be imagined a duplicate of Otricoli's Jupiter--only approximating somewhat more closely to the separate features of the original.