CHAPTER VI
DEAD LEAVES
The stars shone brilliantly down on the roofs of the great city--roofs thatcovered in how various a multitude of hopes, fears, wishes, crimes, joys,study, debaucheries, toil, and repose. What enormities were veiled by atile some half an inch thick! What contrasts separated by a partition of adeal plank, and a crevice stopped with mortar! Here, a poor worn son oftoil, working with bleared eyes and hollow cheeks to complete the pittancethat a whole day's labour was insufficient to attain; there, a sleekpampered slave, snoring greasily on his pallet, drenched with pilferedwine, and gorged with the fat leavings of his master's meal. On this sidethe street, a whole family penned helplessly together in a stiflinggarret; on that, a spacious palace, with marble floors, and airy halls,and lofty corridors, devoted to the occasional convenience and theshameful pleasures of one man--a patrician in rank, a senator in office;yet, notwithstanding, a profligate, a coward, a traitor, and a debauchee.Could those roofs have been taken off; could those chambers have beenbared to the million eyes of night that seemed to be watching her sointently, what a mass of corruption would Imperial Rome have laid bare!There were plague-spots under her purple, festering and spreading andeating into the very marrow of the mistress of the world. Up six storeys,under the slanting roof, in a miserable garret, a scene was being enacted,bad as it was, far below the nightly average of vice and treachery inRome.
Dismissed from their patron's house when he had no further need of theirattendance, and, so to speak, off duty for the day, Damasippus and Oarseshad betaken themselves to their home in order to prepare for the exploitsof the night. That home was of the cheapest and most wretched among themany cheap and wretched lodgings to be found in the overgrown yet crowdedcity. Four bare walls bulging and blistered with the heat, supported thenaked rafters on which rested the tiles, yet glowing from an afternoonsun. A wooden bedstead, rickety and creaking, with a coarse pallet,through the rents of which the straw peeped and rustled, occupied onecorner, and a broken jar of common earthenware, but of a sightly designcopied from the Greek, half-full of tepid water, stood in another. Theseconstituted the only furniture of the apartment, except a few irregularshelves filled with unguents, cosmetics, and the inevitable pumice-stone,by which the fashionable Roman studied to eradicate every superfluous hairfrom his unmanly cheek and limbs. A broken Chiron, in common plaster, yetshowing marks of undoubted genius where the shoulders and hoofs of theCentaur had escaped mutilation, kept guard over these treasures, andfilled a place that in the pious days of the old Republic, however humblethe dwelling, would have been occupied by the Lares and Penates of thehearth. A mouldy crust of bread, slipped from the lid of an open trunkfull of clothing, lay on the floor, and a wine-jar emptied to the dregsstood by its side. The two inhabitants, however, of this squalid apartmentbetrayed in their persons none of the misery in keeping with theirdwelling-place. They were tolerably well fed, because their meals wereusually furnished at their patron's expense; they contrived to be welldressed, because a decent and even wealthy appearance was creditable totheir patron's generosity, and indispensable to many of the duties hecalled upon them to perform--dirty work indeed, but only to be done,nevertheless, with clean clothes and an assured countenance; so that theexterior both of Damasippus and Oarses would have offered no discredit tothe ante-room of Caesar himself. But they were men of pleasure as the wordis understood in great cities--men who lived solely for the sensualindulgences of the body; and it was their nature to spend their gains,chiefly ill-gotten, in those debasing luxuries which an insatiable demandenabled Rome to supply to her public at the lowest possible cost, to sunthemselves, as it were, in the glare of that gaudy vice which walks abroadin the streets, and then creep back into their loathsome hole, likereptiles as they were.
Damasippus, whose plump well-rounded form and clear colour afforded aremarkable contrast to the lithe shape and sallow tint of Oarses, was thefirst to speak. He had been watching the Egyptian intently, while thelatter went through the painful and elaborate ceremonies of a protractedtoilet, rasping his chin with pumice-stone, smoothing and greasing hisdark locks with a preparation of lard and perfumed oil, and finallydrawing a needle charged with lampblack carefully and painfully throughhis closed eyelids, in order to lengthen the line of the eye, and give itthat soft languishing expression so prized by Orientals of either sex.Damasippus, waxing impatient, then, at the evident satisfaction with whichhis friend pursued the task of adornment, broke out irritably--
"And of course it is to be the old story again! As usual, mine thetrouble, and, by Hercules! no small share of the danger, now that the townis swarming with soldiers, all discontented and ill-paid. While yours, thecredit, and very likely the reward, and nothing to do but to whine out afew coaxing syllables, and make yourself as like an old woman as you can.No difficult task either," he added, with a half-sarcastic, half-good-humoured laugh.
The other lingered before a few inches of cracked mirror, which seemed torivet his attention, and put the finishing touches to either eyelid withinfinite care, ere he replied--
"Every tool to its own work; and every man to his special trade. Thewooden-headed mallet to drive home the sharp wedge. The brute force ofDamasippus to support the fine skill of Oarses."
"And the sword of a Roman," retorted the other, who, like many untriedmen, was somewhat boastful of his mettle, "to hew a path for theneedlework of an Egyptian. Well, at least the needle is in appropriatehands. By all the fountains of Caria thou hast the true feminine leer inthine eye, the very swing of thy draperies seems to say, 'Follow me, butnot too near.' The clasp of Salmacis herself could not have effected amore perfect transformation. Oarses, thou lookest an ugly old woman to thelife!"
In truth the Egyptian's disguise was now nearly complete. The dark locks,smoothed and flattened, were laid in modest bands about his head; thematronly stole, or gown, gathered at the breast by a broad girdle, andfastened with a handsome clasp high on the shoulder, descended in longsweeping lines to his feet, where it was ornamented by a broad andelaborate flounce of embroidery. Over the whole was disposed in gracefulfolds a large square shawl of the finest texture, dark-coloured but woventhrough with glistening golden threads, and further set off by a widegolden fringe. It formed a veil and cloak in one, and might easily bearranged to conceal the figure as well as the face of the wearer. Oarseswas not a little proud of the dainty feminine grace with which he wore thehead-gear, and as he tripped to and fro across the narrow floor of hisgarret, it would have taken a sharper eye than that of keen Damasippushimself to detect the disguise of his wily confederate.
"A woman, my friend," he replied, somewhat testily, "but not such an uglyone, after all; as thou wilt find to thy cost when we betake ourselves tothe streets. I look to thee, my Damasippus," he added maliciously, "toprotect thy fair companion from annoyance and insult."
Damasippus was a coward, and he knew it, so he answered stoutly--
"Let them come, let them come! a dozen at a time if they will. What! agood blade and a light helmet is enough for me, though you put me at half-sword with a whole maniple of gladiators! The patron knows what manhoodis, none better. Why should he have selected Damasippus for thisenterprise, but that he judges my arm is iron, and my heart is oak?"
"And thy forehead brass," added the Egyptian, scarcely concealing acontemptuous smile.
"And my forehead brass," repeated the other, obviously gratified by thecompliment. "Nay, friend, the shrinking heart, and the failing arm, andthe womanly bearing, are no disgrace, perhaps, to a man born by the tepidNile; but we who drink from the Tiber here (and very foul it is)--we of theblood of Romulus, the she-wolf's litter, and the war-god's line--are neverso happy as when our feet are reeling in the press of battle, our heartsleaping to the clash of shields, and our ears deafened by the shout ofvictory. Hark! what is that?"
The boaster's face turned very pale, and he hastily unbuckled the sword hehad been girding on while he
spoke; for a wild, ominous cry came sweepingover the roofs of the adjoining houses, rising and falling, as it seemed,with the sway of deadly strife, and boding, in its fierce fluctuations, tosome a cruel triumph, to others a merciless defeat.
Oarses heard it too. His dark face scarce looked like a woman's now, withits gleam of malicious glee and exulting cunning.
"The old Praetorians are up," said he quietly. "I have been expecting thisfor a week. Brave soldier, there will be a fill of fighting for thee thisnight in the streets; and goodly spoils, too, for the ready hand, and loveand wine, and all the rest of it, without the outlay of a farthing."
"But it will not be safe to be seen in arms now," gasped Damasippus,sitting down on the tester-bed, with a white flabby face, and a generalappearance of being totally unstrung. "Besides," he added, with aludicrous attempt at reasserting his dignity, "a brave Roman should notengage in civil war."
Oarses reflected for a moment, undisturbed by a second shout, that madehis frightened companion tremble in every limb; then he smoothed hisbrows, and spoke in soothing and persuasive tones.
"Dost thou not see, my friend, how all is in favour of our undertaking?Had the city been quiet, we might have aroused attention, and a dozenchance passengers half as brave as thyself might have foiled us at thevery moment of success. Now, the streets will be clear of small parties,and it is easy for us to avoid a large body before it approaches. One actof violence amongst the hundreds sure to be committed to-night, will neveragain be heard of. The three or four resolute slaves under thine orders,will be taken to belong to one or other of the fighting factions, and thuseven the patron's spotless character will escape without a blemish.Besides, in such a turmoil as we are like to have by sundown, a womanmight scream her heart out, and nobody would think of noticing her. Onwith that sword again, my hero, and let us go softly down into thestreet."
"But if the old Praetorians succeed," urged the other, evincing a greatdisinclination for the adventure, "what will become of Caesar? and withCaesar's fall down goes the patron too, and then who is to bear us harmlessfrom the effects of our expedition to-night?"
"Oh! thick-witted Ajax!" answered the Egyptian, laughing; "bold and strongin action as the lion; but in council innocent as the lamb. Knowest thouthe tribune so little as to think he will be on the losing side? If thereis tumult in Rome, and revolt, and the city boils and seethes like a hugeflesh-pot casting up its choicest morsels to the surface, dost thousuppose that Placidus is not stirring the fire underneath? I tell theethat, come what may of Caesar to-night, to-morrow will behold the tribunemore popular and more powerful than ever; and I for one will beware ofdisobeying his behests."
The last argument was not without its effect. Damasippus, though muchagainst the grain, was persuaded that of two perils he had better choosethe lesser; and it speaks well for the ascendency gained by Placidus overhis followers, that the cleverer and more daring knave should have obeyedhim unhesitatingly from self-interest, the ruffian and the coward fromfear. Damasippus, then, girding on his sword once more, and assuming aswarlike a port as was compatible with his sinking heart, marched down intothe street to accompany his disguised companion on their nefariousundertaking, with many personal fears and misgivings for the result.
How different, save in its disquietude, was the noble nature at the samemoment seeking repose and finding none, within half a bow-shot of thegarret in which these two knaves were plotting. Despite his blamelesslife, despite his distinguished career, Caius L. Licinius sat and brooded,lonely and sorrowful, in his stately home. In that noble palace, longranges of galleries and chambers were filled with objects of art andtaste, beautiful, and costly, and refined. If a yard of the wall hadlooked bare, it would have been adorned forthwith by some trophy ofbarbaric arms taken in warfare. If a corner had seemed empty, it wouldhave been at once filled with an exquisite group of marble, wrought intostill life by some Greek artist's chisel. Not a recess in that pile ofbuilding, but spoke of comfort, complete in every respect, and the onlyempty chamber in the whole was its owner's heart. Nay, more than empty,for it was haunted by the ghost of a beloved memory, and the happinessthat was never to come again.
Cold and dreary is the air of that mysterious tenement where we buried ourtreasures long ago. Cold and dreary, like the atmosphere of the tomb, buta perfume hangs about it still, because love, being divine, is thereforeeternal; and though the turf be laid damp and heavy over the beloved head,our tears fall like the blessed rain from heaven, and water the verybarrenness of the grave, till at length, through weary patience and humbleresignation, the flowers of hope begin to spring, and faith tells us theyshall bloom hereafter, in another and a better world.
Licinius was very lonely, and at a time of life when, perhaps, lonelinessis most oppressive to the mind. Youth has so much to anticipate, is sofull of hope, is so sanguine, so daring, that its own dreams aresufficient for its sustenance; but in middle age, men have already foundout that the mirage is but sand and sunshine after all; they look forward,indeed, still, yet only from habit, and because the excitement that wasonce such intoxicating rapture, is now but a necessary stimulant. If theyhave no ties of family, no affections to take them out of themselves, theybecome pompous triflers, or despondent recluses, according as theirtemperaments lead them to inordinate self-importance or excessivehumility. Not so when the quiver is full, and the hearth is merry with thepatter of little feet, and the ring of childish laughter. There is a charmto dispel all the evil, and call up all the good, even of the worst man'snature, in the soft white brow, pure from the stamp of sin and care, inthe bold bright eyes that look up so trustingly to his own. There is asense of protection and responsibility, that few natures are so depravedas to repudiate, in the household relationship which acknowledges andobeys the father as its head; and there is no man so callous or soreckless, but he would wish to appear nobler and better than he is in theeyes of his child. Licinius had none of these incentives to virtue; butthe lofty nature and the loving heart that could worship a memory, andfeel that it was a reality still, had kept him pure from vice. He hadnever of late attached himself much to anything, till Esca became aninmate of his household; but since he had been in habits of dailyintercourse with the Briton, a feeling of content and well-being, he wouldhave found it difficult to analyse, had gradually crept over him. Perhapshe would have remained unconscious of his slave's influence, had it notbeen for the blank occasioned by his departure. He missed him sadly now,and wondered why, at every moment of the day, he found himself thinking ofthe pleasant familiar face and frank cordial smile.
So much alone, he had acquired grave habits of reflection, even of thatself-examination which is so beneficial an exercise when impartiallyperformed, but which men so rarely practise without a self-deception thatobviates all its good effects. This evening he was in a more thoughtfulmood than common; this evening, more than ever, it seemed to him that hiswas an aimless, fruitless life; that he had let the material pleasures ofexistence slip through his fingers, and taken nothing in exchange. Of whatavailed his toils, his enterprise, his love of country, his self-denial,his endurance of hardship and privation? What was he the better now, thathe had marched, and watched, and bled, and preserved whole colonies forthe empire; and sat glorious, crowned with laurels in the triumphal car?He looked round on his stately walls, and the trophies that adorned them,thinking the while that even such a home as this might be purchased toodear at the expense of a lifetime. Gold and marble, corridors and columns,ivory couches and Tyrian carpets, were these equivalents for youth's toiland manhood's care, and at last a desolate old age? What was this ambitionthat led men so irresistibly up the steepest paths, by the brink of suchfatal precipices? Had he ever experienced its temptations? He scarcelyknew; he could not realise them now. Had Guenebra lived, indeed, and hadshe been his own, he might have prized honour and renown, and a name thatwas on all men's lips, for her dear sake. To see the kind eyes brighten;to call up a smile into the beloved face, that would surely have beenreward enough, a
nd that would never be. Then he fell to thinking of thebright days when they were all in all to each other, when the very skyseemed fairer, while he watched for her white dress under the oak-tree.Was he not perfectly happy then? Would he not at least have been perfectlyhappy could he have called her, as he hoped to do, his own? Honestyanswered, No. At the very best there was a vague longing, a somethingwanting, a sense of insufficiency, of insecurity, and even discontent. Ifit was so then, how had it been since? Passing over the sharp suddenstroke, so numbing his senses at the time that a long interval had toelapse ere he awoke to its full agony--passing over the subsequent days ofyearning, and nights of vain regret, the desolation that laid waste aheart which would bear fruit no more, he reviewed the long years in whichhe had striven to make duty and the love of country fill the void, and wasforced to confess that here, too, all was barren. There was a somethingever wanting, even to complete the dull torpor of that resignation whichphilosophy inculcated, and common sense enjoined. What was it? Liciniuscould not answer his own question, though he felt that it must have somesolution, at which man's destiny intended him to arrive.
All the Roman knew, all he could realise, was that the spring was gonelong ago, with her buds of promise, and her laughing morning skies; thatthe glory of summer had passed away, with its lustrous beauty and itsburnished plains, and its deep dark foliage quivering in the heat; thatthe blast of autumn had strewn the cold earth now with faded flowers andwithered leaves, and all the wreck of all the hopes that blossomed sotenderly, and bloomed so bright and fair. The heaven was cold and grey,and between him and heaven the bare branches waved and nodded, mocking,pointing with spectral fingers to the dull cheerless sky. Could he buthave believed, could he but have vaguely imaged to himself that therewould come another spring; that belief, that vague imagining, had been toLicinius the one inestimable treasure for which he would have bartered allelse in the world.
In vain he sought, and looked about him for something on which to lean;for something out of, and superior to himself, inspiring him with thatsense of being protected, for which humanity feels so keen, yet soindefinite, a desire. What is the bravest and wisest of mankind, but achild in the dark, groping for the parental hand that shall guide itsuncertain steps? Where was he to find the ideal that he could honestlyworship, on the superiority of which he could heartily depend? Themythology of Rome, degraded as it had become, was not yet stripped of allthe graceful attributes it owed to its Hellenic origin. That which wasGreek, might indeed be evil, yet it could scarce fail to be fair; but whatrational man could ground his faith on the theocracy of Olympus, orcontemplate with any feeling save disgust that material Pantheism, inwhich the lowest even of human vices was exalted into a divinity? As wellbecome a worshipper of Isis at once, and prostitute, to the utterdegradation of the body, all the noblest and fairest imagery of the mind.No, the deities that Homer sang were fit subjects for the march of thoseGreek hexameters, sonorous and majestic as the roll of the AEgean sea; fittypes of sensuous perfection, to be wrought by the Greek chisel, from outthe veined blocks of smooth, white Parian stone; but for man, intellectualman, to bow down before the crafty Hermes, or the thick-witted god offorges, or the ambrosial front of father Jove himself, the least ideal ofall, was a simple absurdity, that could scarce impose upon a woman or achild.
Licinius had served in the East, and he bethought him now of a nationagainst whom he had stood in arms, brave fierce soldiers, men instinctwith public virtue and patriotism; whose rites, different from those ofall other races, were observed with scrupulous fidelity and self-denial.This people, he had heard, worshipped a God of whom there was no materialtype, whose being was omnipresent and spiritual, on whom they implicitlydepended when all else failed, and trusting in whom they never feared todie. But they admitted none to partake with them in their advantages, andtheir faith seemed to inculcate hatred of the stranger no less thandissensions and strife amongst themselves.
"Is there nothing, alas! but duty, stern cold duty, to fill this void?"thought Licinius. "Be it so, then; my sword shall be once more at theservice of my country, and I will die in my harness like a Roman and asoldier at the last!"