Quintus Claudius: A Romance of Imperial Rome. Volume 1

by Ernst Eckstein

  CHAPTER XIX.

  On the second day after the incidents just related dark clouds hadrisen over the Tyrrhenian sea and spread in long, heavy banks acrossthe sky, which a short while since had been so deeply blue. A stiffsouth-westerly breeze blew up the stream of the Tiber, and tossed thelittle boats and flat-bottomed barges, which lay at anchor at thefoot of the Aventine,[339] till they jostled and bumped each other.Sudden squalls of rain swept down at short intervals, and obliged thepeople to throw on their leather cowls or their long-haired woollencloaks.[340] All the life of the streets took refuge in the arcades andpillared halls; the atria, with their slippery marble pavements, weredeserted, and the water from the guttered roofs dripped dolefully intothe overflowing impluvia.[341] A strange atmosphere of discomfort andoppression lay over the whole city. Some great races, which were tohave been run in the Circus Maximus, were postponed at the last moment.The flow and ebb through the palace gates was less persistent thanusual. The Senate even, notwithstanding the importance of the mattersawaiting their debate, came in fewer numbers than usual to the sitting.In short, the air was full of that dull uneasiness, which infalliblyaccompanies the first symptoms of the decay of the year.

  The storm increased as evening fell. Quintus, who had dined with noother company than two of his clients, stood, as it grew dusk, at thedoor of the dining-room, looking out at the dreary prospect. The cloudschased each other wildly, and the wind groaned and howled through thecolonnade like the wailing of suffering humanity.

  "Good!" said Quintus, turning back into the room. "And very good! Thewilder the night, the better for our undertaking."

  He signed to the shrewd slave, Blepyrus, who at this moment passedalong the passage with a brazier full of burning charcoal.[342]

  "Where are you going?" he asked doubtfully; and when the slaveanswered: "To your study, my lord," he said:

  "Very good, I am coming--but take care that we are alone."

  Blepyrus went on through the arcade, and when he had reached hismaster's private room, he carefully set the brazier on the floor. Twolads, who were standing idle, he promptly dismissed as Quintus cameinto the room.

  "Listen, Blepyrus," he began. "Just fancy for a moment, that to-dayis the feast of Saturn.[343] Tell me your honest opinion, franklyand without reserve, just as if you were sitting at table after theold-fashioned custom, while I, your master, waited upon you?"

  The slave looked up at him in bewilderment.

  "You do not seem to understand me," Quintus continued. "I want tohear from you, how far you are satisfied with your master. If I havebeen unjust, if I have hurt your feelings, or wronged you withoutcause--speak! I entreat you--nay, I command you."

  "My lord," Blepyrus stammered out, "if I am to speak the truth, youhave said many a hard word to your other slaves, but to me you havenever been anything but a kind and just--indeed a considerate master. Icould only say the same, even if the feast of Saturn really licensed meto complain."

  "I am glad to hear you say so, my good friend. I mean well by youall, and if I ever.... Ah! I remember now what you have in your mind.You are thinking of the evening, when I struck Allobrogus in theface[344] for breaking that precious vase.--You are right; the poorfellow's teeth were more precious than the broken jar. It was my firstangry impulse. Believe me, Blepyrus, I have never hurt or injured anyone of you out of ill-will; and you, especially, have always been afriend rather than a slave. You shared my earliest sports--do youremember by the Pons Milvius[345] how I sprang to your assistance,when your arm was suddenly cramped in swimming? And then again, onthe wrestling-ground in the Field of Mars, where we enacted the fightof Varus against the Germans? You snatched me up and rescued me frommy foes, like a young god of war, when the game suddenly becameearnest...."

  "I remember, my lord," said the slave with a gratified smile.

  "Well," continued Quintus, "then tell me one thing. Are you still readyto stand in the breach for your master? Understand me, Blepyrus--thistime it is not a question of fisticuffs or even thrashed ribs. It isfor life and death, old fellow. To be sure, your reward now should notbe, as it was then, a saucerfull of Pontian cherries, but the best ofall you can ask...."

  "My lord," said the slave, trembling with agitation, "I will dowhatever you desire."

  "Can you hold your tongue, Blepyrus? Be silent, not merely with yourtongue, but with your eyes--your very breath? You have done me goodservice before now, I well remember, which required secrecy--but onlyin trifling matters. This time it is not a tender note to the fairCamilla, not even an assignation with Lesbia or Lycoris. Swear by thespirit of your father, by all you hold sacred and dear, to be silent tothe very death."

  "I swear it."

  "Then be ready; at the second vigil we must set out on anexpedition--out into the storm and darkness. You can tell yourcomrades, that I am going by stealth to Lycoris. The rest you shallhear later."

  Three hours after this the little gate creaked open, which led fromthe cavaedium to the street, and Quintus and the slave, both wrappedin thick cloaks, slowly mounted the Caelian Hill,[346] and then tooka side road into the valley. Here, on the southern slope, the stormattacked them with redoubled fury; the blast howled up the ClivusMartis and the Appian Way. The streets were almost deserted; onlya solitary travelling-chariot now and then rolled thundering andclattering over the stones.

  "We must mend our pace," whispered Quintus, as the slave paused amoment, fairly brought to a standstill at the corner of the ViaLatina[347] by a sudden squall of rain. "We have still far to go,Blepyrus; and we shall have it worse still out there in the open."

  The road gradually trended off to the right; that dark mass, that nowlay to the left, was the tomb of the Scipios,[348] and there, in frontof them, hardly visible in the darkness of night, rose the arch ofDrusus,[349] through which the road led them. They were now outsidethe limits of the city itself--the fourteen regions, as they werecalled, of Augustus Caesar. But Rome, the illimitable metropolis, flungout her arms far beyond these prescribed boundaries. That undulatingplain, which we now know as the Campagna, was then dotted over withvillas and pleasure-gardens. The main artery of this straggling suburbwas the magnificent Via Appia--the noble work of a Claudius--leadingto the south. The greater number of these villas were at this timeabandoned, and the tombs that stood by the road-side[350] on eitherhand were hardly more silent, than the dwelling places of the living,before whom these stone witnesses were set to remind them, that life isfleeting and must be enjoyed to the full while it lasts.

  Quintus and his companion went onwards, still to the southwards. Thecountry-houses became more and more scattered; they might now havewalked about two Roman miles beyond the arch of Drusus. A heavily-ladenwagon, with an escort of riders, had just driven past them, and thegleam of the lanterns was dwindling in the distance. Quintus stopped infront of a high-vaulted family tomb, of which the facade was decoratedwith a semicircular niche containing a marble seat.

  "If I am not mistaken in this Cimmerian blackness," he muttered, "thisis the spot...."

  And at the same moment they heard, approaching from the opposite tomb,the sound of cautious steps.

  A broad beam of light fell on the young man's face.

  "God be praised!" cried a woman's voice; and in an instant Euterpe,darkening her lantern again, stood by the side of the two men. Theyoung woman was trembling with wet and cold; her clothes clung to herlimbs, and her hair hung in dark locks over her forehead and cheeks.

  "Are you alone?" asked Quintus.

  "With Thrax Barbatus. Here he comes."

  "In such weather!"

  "God bless you!" said the old man, coming up to Quintus. "Who is thiswith you?"

  "Blepyrus, my trusted friend. He will not betray us."

  "My lord, what return can I ever make...."

  "Go on, push on!" was the young man's answer. "Only look how the blackclouds are driving over the hills; it gets worse every minute. Have wefar to go?"

  "About three t
housand paces," said Barbatus.

  "Then lead the way, my good Euterpe. Come, old friend, lean on me.Blepyrus, support him on the left."

  "You are too careful of me, my lord," said the old man, flinging hiswet cloak over his shoulder. "A merciful Providence still grants mestrength, that my white hairs belie, and I am used to rougher roadsthan you suppose. It is you, the son of a noble house, accustomed totread only on polished marble or soft carpets...."

  "Nonsense--why, even this storm is nothing to speak of."

  They turned eastwards, and leaving the high-road, soon reached awooden bridge across the waters of the Almo,[351] a rivulet nowswollen by the storm. From hence the path led them across the ViaLatina and through a dense wood. The pine-tops sighed weirdly underthe lashing wind that rocked and bowed them, while now and again, asone bough crashed against another, there was a sound as of distantaxe-strokes. They first followed a foot-path, which crossed the woodin a south-easterly direction, but presently--about half way throughthe pine forest--their guide pushed aside the boughs of a sturdylaurel, that stood on the right side of the alley, and they plungedinto the brushwood. Here another path was presently discernible, thoughovergrown by a seemingly impenetrable tangle of shrubs, and thispresently brought them out close to a grass-grown mass of rocks. Bywalking round one of the huge boulders, they reached an opening into anold and long-disused stone-quarry. A low passage was visible, slopingdown underground.

  "Here we are," said Euterpe. A gleam from her lantern revealed ahigh-piled mass of debris. "I will go in first."

  She placed her lantern, half open, on a shelf in the tufa rock, atsuch an angle as to light up the passage; then, stooping down, shedisappeared in the doubtful shadow cast by a natural buttress on therocky wall. Thrax, Quintus, and Blepyrus followed, the slave bringingthe lantern in his hand. At the spot, where the flute-player haddisappeared, the passage was cut in steps, which led abruptly downwardsabout thirty feet underground; then a broad and fairly lofty galleryran about fifty paces on a level, opening into a cross gallery.

  Quintus signed to his slave to remain where these cross-roads met,while he followed Thrax Barbatus to the right, where a dim light wasvisible at some considerable distance. Approaching nearer, he perceivedthat the source of this light lay somewhat on one side, where a largehall opened out, strangely decorated and lighted up by a few tapers.At the farther side, opposite the entrance, stood an altar hung withblack, and over it was a wooden image of the crucified Christ. To theleft was a brick-walled hearth, where a bright fire was blazing. Thesmoke rose in a tall column to a square opening in the roof. On thefloor, in a niche on one side, Eurymachus--the slave who had escapedfrom Stephanus--lay on a straw mat, his pale face resting on his hand.Glauce, his betrothed, was occupied in mixing the juice of some fruitwith water, to make a drink for the fevered sufferer, while Diphilus,kneeling in front of a rough-hewn wooden stool, was folding a broadstrip of stuff to make a bandage. He rose as the new-comers entered.

  "The Lord is merciful!" said Thrax to Eurymachus. "Greet our deliverer.All will be well. The night is stormy and dark; we can rest for a shortwhile and dry our cloaks by the fire; then, by God's help, we will setforth with a good courage.--By mid-day you will be in safety."

  The sick man's features brightened; joyful surprise and eager gratitudesparkled in the dark eyes, which as suddenly closed again, as thoughdimmed by weakness. Euterpe had meanwhile taken the soaked and drippingcloaks from the shoulders of the two men, and had hung them over twoseats in front of the fire. Then she fetched a little table and spreadit with bread, fruit, and wine, while Glauce brought platters and cupsfrom a cave in the wall.

  "Do us the favor of accepting a little refreshment," she said, pullingforward a bench.

  Quintus, whose walk through the stormy night, and still more hisanxious excitement, had made very thirsty, emptied his cup at adraught, and then turned sympathetically to Eurymachus.

  "Do you know me again?" he asked smiling.

  The slave drew a deep breath, and said in a weak voice:

  "Yes, my lord, I know you. In such a moment of torture a man's memoryis sharpened. It was you, who on that awful day poured balm into mywounds, you and the fair youth with a grave, kind face...."

  "My word for it, but you put me to shame! It was not I, but mycompanion, who first made his way through the hedge--it was not I, butmy companion, who gave you that human consolation."

  "Not so," replied Eurymachus solemnly. "Proud and haughty as youlooked, in your heart there was some stirring of the sense of commonhumanity, which is our inheritance from our Heavenly Father. It was buta small matter, that betrayed this impulse, but--I know not why--itsank deeper into my soul, than even the brave words of your companion.In truth, noble Quintus, the touch of your hand, as you tried to driveaway my greedy tormentors, fell like balm upon my heart; it fannedthe dying spark of courage in my soul--aye, and I remembered it when,in Lycoris' garden, they were preparing to nail me to the cross. Yousmile, my lord, and think me a raving enthusiast--but so it is. Whenyou came towards me through the gap in the hedge, you appeared to me asthe type of the illustrious Roman--handsome, haughty, absorbed in thenatural desire for enjoyment, and with no heart to pity the sufferingsof the baser millions. But when you turned to go, you left me with arevived belief, that the gulf, which severs the classes of men, maybe bridged over. Often have I discussed it with Thrax Barbatus.--Hedeclares, that the doctrine of Nazareth is destined to be the beliefof all mankind; I, on the contrary, maintain that it will never bethe creed of any but the wretched and oppressed. For the noble andwealthy--so I argue--will naturally cling to their luxury-lovingidols, to whom they attribute their power, dominion, and riches. Butsince that hour, when Quintus Claudius came up to me filled with pity,a divine revelation lives and shines in my soul. And has not thecurrent of my own fate justified this presentiment? The wealthiestand haughtiest youth of the City of the Seven Hills, the son of theall-powerful Flamen, is the deliverer of the wretched slave! Verily,Quintus, I say unto thee: Thou art, though thou knowest it not, afollower of the crucified Jesus."

  "I?" said Quintus startled and bewildered.

  "Yea, my lord. 'Not every one that saith unto me Lord, Lord, is mydisciple,' saith Jesus of Nazareth, 'but he that doeth the will of myFather in Heaven.'"

  "I do not altogether understand what you mean; the mysteries of yourreligion are as yet unknown to me."

  "The doctrine of Jesus is simple and clear. The Master himself hassummed it up in two laws: 'Thou shalt love the Lord thy God above allthings,' and the second is like unto it: 'Thou shalt love thy neighboras thyself.'"

  Quintus looked down in silence.

  "You speak of God," he said at last. "Which God do you mean,Eurymachus? Jupiter, whom our forefathers worshipped, is to you a mereidol. What name then do you give to the Divinity, who commands yourlove? And what proof have you, that he too is not a false God?"

  "My lord," said Eurymachus, "our God has no name by which he is known.A name is used for distinction, and to mark a difference from others ofthe same, kind; but He is one alone and eternal from the beginning. Hereveals himself to us through the myriad marvels of the universe, whichwould never cease to rouse our awe-struck admiration, but that customhas dulled our sense. He is manifest in the impulses and emotionsof our own nature, in the ardent yearning for immortality--thathome-sickness of the soul which, in the midst of all the joys andblessings of this life, makes us aware of an infinite void, a gulfwhich nothing else can fill. It is He, whom we apprehend in the joy,that thrills us like a tender mother's kiss, when we lift up ourhearts to contemplate Him by faith. We know Him by the strength, theconstancy, the scorn of death, that He can inspire, when every nerve ofour frail body is quivering with pain. Think of our fellow-believers,who were butchered by Nero--the bloody slaughter in the Arena, the menburnt alive, buried alive! What upheld these martyrs through theirunspeakable torments? The grace of God, the Almighty and All-merciful,whom Jesus Christ hath taught us to know."

 
"Amen!" whispered Glauce, with an admiring glance at her lover, whoseface glowed with enthusiasm.

  Barbatus went anxiously up to him, and laid a hand on his brow.

  "Do not agitate yourself," he said with tender sympathy. "You havestill much to go through."

  "Nay, it is well," replied Eurymachus. "I feel strengthened sinceI have set eyes on my preserver.--Aye, noble Quintus, this is theGod, whom the disciples of the Nazarene worship--this is the faith,which your empire brands as a crime. Conspirators, they call us, andtraitors. We conspire, it is true, but not against Caesar, to whomwe freely render the things that are Caesar's, as our Master taughtus; only against sin, against crime and evil-doing. We swear to eachother by the memory of the Crucified,[352] not to betray each other,nor to lie, nor steal, nor bear false witness, nor commit adultery. Wehate no man for his faith's sake, for we know that grace is a gift ofomnipotent God, and that, even in the shadow of the false god Jupiter,a gleam of divine truth may be seen. We are quiet, peaceful folk, whoask nothing more than to be allowed to live undisturbed in our faithand hope."

  "You forget one thing," exclaimed Barbatus, as Eurymachus paused."Christ teaches us, that we are all the children of God. In his sightall differences of high and low, rich and poor, lofty and humble areas nothing; and we, as true disciples of the Redeemer, must strive towork out this principle. We must try to found a state of human society,in which all the distinctions which have hitherto existed are utterlydissolved."

  "Nay, you are in error," replied Eurymachus. "Those differences arenot to be done away with. If you levelled them all to-day, they wouldoriginate again of their own accord to-morrow. Their form and aspectwill be modified, but their existence is inevitable. Jesus of Nazarethnever conceived of such changes. He only sought to revive in those,who have lost it in the varying chances and turmoil of life, someconsciousness of the intrinsic worth of all that is truly human. Assoon as the great ones of the earth learn to see, that even slavesare their brothers, that even the base-born are the children of theAlmighty, all the most violent contrasts of class will be smoothedaway, and things that now weigh upon us as a yoke, will be turnedinto a bond of union. 'My Kingdom is not of this world,' said Jesusof Nazareth. He will indeed regenerate man, but through his heart andspirit, and not with force or violent upheaval."

  "Then you insist on being miserable, come what may?" cried Barbatusvehemently.

  "By no means. I only dispute the idea, that the teaching of Christleads to such issues. Whether rich or poor, master or slave, mattersnot in the balance of our salvation. Many a one, who holds his headhigh and free, bears heavier fetters, than the convict in the mines ofSardinia."

  Quintus Claudius once more emptied the cup, which Glauce had filled.His brain was in a whirl, and his throat parched. The sight of thisslave, lying on a straw mat, and weighing the future destinies of man,and the mystery of existence, with such calm decision, troubled andexcited him to an extraordinary degree. At this moment he was in awilder fever than Eurymachus. He looked down with admiration--almostwith envy--at the pale face, which looked so radiant in the midst ofsuffering, so sublimely happy in spite of wretchedness. And he himself?Did not the saying about the convict in the mines apply to him? Was henot in fact more fettered and bound, than this fugitive slave? Whatwas the liberty that Rome--that the whole world was ready to offer tohim? Had he ever been able really to purchase release from that darkmelancholy, which oppressed him like an ever-present incubus? What aGod must He be, who uplifted the slave to such serene heights!

  "It is time to start," he said at last, waking from a deep reverie."The roads are bad; I fear we can proceed but slowly; besides, we mustnot keep Caius Aurelius waiting too long. He shares our danger, and iswatching in anxious uncertainty."

  "Noble Sir!" exclaimed the slave, deeply moved, "are you reallyprepared again to risk your life? You know, Father, how strongly I setmy face against this project; and even now, at the eleventh hour, Ientreat you: Consider well what you are doing."

  "It has all been considered," said Thrax impatiently. "If you were toperish in this cavern, would not our fate also be sealed? Do you think,that Glauce would survive your death? Look at her; see how the merethought frightens her."

  "But who talks of my dying? You should have waited eight or ten days,till the first fury of our persecutors had cooled."

  "And meanwhile you would have cooled, never to be warm again. Yourwound, at first scarcely worth speaking of, has become so much worse inthe unwholesome air of this vault...."

  "And your fever increases every day," interrupted Euterpe.

  "Waste no more words!" cried Thrax angrily. "Help him, Diphilus. Yousee he can hardly drag himself up."

  Diphilus, zealously seconded by Euterpe, lifted the wounded man fromhis wretched couch, and they carried him carefully out into thegallery, where Blepyrus was wearily leaning against the rough-hewnwall. A litter was standing there with some thick woollen coverlets,and Eurymachus was laid upon it as comfortably as possible. Glauce, whohad followed with a clay lamp, pressed a long kiss on his forehead,and then hurried away, crying bitterly. Quintus had also accompaniedthem, and as soon as he saw that all was ready for the start, ran backto fetch his hardly-dried cloak. But he involuntarily paused at theentrance of the cavern; the sight that met his eyes was as pathetic asit was fair to look upon. The young girl had fallen on her knees beforethe altar, her slender hands uplifted in prayer; she gazed up at thecross in a transport of devotion, smiling ecstatically, though tearsrolled down her pale cheeks. Her lips moved, at first inaudibly, butpresently in a low murmur.

  "Saviour of the world," she prayed, "Thou who hast died for us on thecross.--If Thou requirest a victim, take me, and let me suffer athousand deaths, but spare, oh spare my Eurymachus!"

  "Where are you, my lord?" called Blepyrus.

  "I am coming," answered Quintus in an agitated voice. "Forgive me,gentle worshipper, for interrupting your prayer. Your God will hear andgrant it none the less."

  And as he spoke he went up to the fire-place, threw the cloak overhis shoulders, and followed the litter which, borne by Blepyrus andDiphilus, had already reached the entrance of the quarry. Euterpe alsowas with the wounded fugitive. Only Thrax Barbatus remained behindin the underground cavern, to help Glauce, who had now recovered hercheerful composure, to deck the altar and throw wood on the fire. Itwas nearly midnight, the hour at which a little knot of believers inthe Nazarene were wont to meet and keep the Feast of Love in memory oftheir Redeemer.

  FOOTNOTES:

  [339] AT THE FOOT OF THE AVENTINE was a slip arranged by the aediles M. Aemilius Lepidus and L. Aemilius Paulus in the year 193 B.C. Ships still lie at anchor there at the present day.

  [340] LONG-HAIRED WOOLLEN CLOAKS. The _paenulae_, the travelling and winter garments made of rough woollen material or leather. The _lacerna_ differed from the _paenula_ in being an open garment like the Greek pallium, and fastened on the right shoulder by means of a buckle (_fibula_), whereas the _paenula_ was what is called a _vestimentum clausam_ with an opening for the head. (Mart. XIV, 132, 133.) See Becker's _Gallus_, vol. II, p. 95, etc.

  [341] IMPLUVIUM. The cistern, in the floor of the atrium, intended to receive rain-water.

  [342] A BRAZIER FULL OF BURNING CHARCOAL. In ancient Rome, heat was usually supplied by means of movable stoves and iron braziers. Chimneys were also known.

  [343] FEAST OF SATURN. The so-called Saturnalia. See note, 292, Vol. I.

  [344] WHEN I STRUCK ALLOBROGUS IN THE FACE. This, according to Roman views, was a mild punishment for such an offence. It sometimes happened in such cases, that slaves were instantly condemned by their angry masters "to the _muraenae_," that is, to be thrown into the fish-ponds for food for the _muraenae_.

  [345] PONS MILVIUS. Now Ponte Molle.

  [346] THE CAELIAN HILL. (_Mons Caelius_) south and south-east of the Coliseum.

  [347] THE VIA
LATINA branched off to the left, on entering the Via Appia, from the north.

  [348] TOMB OF THE SCIPIOS. Portions of this tomb, (discovered in the Vigna Sassi in the year 1780,) still exist at the present day. Here lay buried: among others: L. Cornelius Scipio Barbatus, Consul 298 B.C.; his son. Consul 259 B.C., the poet Ennius etc. The tomb was originally above the ground.

  [349] ARCH OF DRUSUS. This monument, still extant, was erected in 8 B.C. to Claudius DRUSUS Germanicus.

  [350] THE TOMBS THAT STOOD BY THE ROAD-SIDE. Abundant traces of these tombs on the Via Appia still exist.

  [351] ALMO. The little river still bears this name; it rises at Bovillae; mentioned by Ovid. (_Fast._ IV, 337-340.)

  [352] WE SWEAR TO EACH OTHER BY THE MEMORY OF THE CRUCIFIED. See Plin. _Ep._ X, 97, where in a report about the deeds of the Christians, he says: "But they assert that their guilt or error consisted in meeting before dawn on a certain day, singing hymns in honor of Christ as a god, and binding themselves by a vow, not to commit a crime, but to neither steal, commit adultery, break their promise, nor deny the possession of accumulated property; after which they usually dispersed, only meeting again at an innocent meal, shared by all without distinction of persons."