CHAPTER XXIII.
THE STRANGER'S STORY.
"I have found out that my name is known to these ladies, though they arenot aware that it belongs to me. You, sir, have very probably not foundtime among your many cares to give any thought to the trifles which, if Imay say so much of myself, have made me famous. I am Claudius Claudianus."
"What! the poet!" cried the Count, "the Virgil of these later days?"
The poet blushed with pleasure to hear the compliment, which, extravagantas it may seem to us, did not strike him as being anything out of the way.For had not his statue been set up in Trajan's Forum at Rome, an honourwhich none of his predecessors had been thought worthy to receive?
"Ah! sir," he replied, "you are too good. But it would have been well forme if I had contented myself with following Virgil; unfortunately I mustalso imitate Juvenal. Praise of the fallen may be forgiven, but there isno pardon for satire against those that succeed. Enmity lasts longer thanfriendship, and I have made enemies whom nothing can appease."
Claudian's Tale.]
"But what of Stilicho?" said the Count. "Surely he has not ceased to beyour friend. Doubtless you owe much to him, but he owes more, I venture tosay, to you. He may have given you wealth, but you have given himimmortality."(48)
"Ah! sir," said Claudian, "have you not then heard?"
"Heard!" cried the Count; "we hear nothing here. We always were cut offfrom the rest of the world; but for the last nine months we might as wellhave been living in the moon, for all that has reached us of what is goingon elsewhere."
"You did not know, then, that Stilicho was dead?"
"Dead! But how?"
"Killed by the order of the Emperor."
"What! killed? by the Emperor's orders? It is impossible. The man whosaved the Empire, the very best soldier we have had since Caesar! And yousay that the Emperor ordered him to be killed?"
The Count rose from his seat, and walked about in incontrollable emotion.
"So they have killed him! Fools and madmen that they are! There never wassuch a man. I knew him well. He was always ready, always cheerful, as gayin a battle as at a wedding; as brave as a lion, and yet never doinganything by force that he could contrive by stratagem. But tell me--theyhad, or pretended to have, some cause. What was it?"
"They said he was a traitor, that he wanted the Empire for himself, or forhis son, that he intrigued with the barbarians."
"Well, he was fond of power; and who can wonder that he was dissatisfiedwhen he saw in what hands it was lodged? But tell me--what do you think?"
"I don't say," resumed Claudian, "that he was blameless, but he had animpossible task--he had to save the Empire without soldiers. He did itagain and again; he played off one barbarian power against another withconsummate skill; and filled his legion one day with the enemies whom hehad routed the day before. But this could not be done without intrigues,without devices which, taken by themselves, looked like treason. But it isidle to speak of the past. He lies in a dishonoured grave, and the Empireof Augustus is tottering to its fall."
"Tell me of his end," said the Count. "You saw it?"
"Yes," said the poet; "I saw it, and, I am ashamed to say, survived it.Well, I will tell you my tale. You know he might have had the Empire; thesoldiers offered it to him; Alaric and his Goths would have been delightedto help him. But he refused. He was loyal to the last. He would not evenfly. There are many places where he would have been safe----"
"Yes," interrupted the Count; "he would have been safe here, if I knowanything of Britain."
"Well, he would go to none of them. He went to the one place where safetywas impossible. He went to Ravenna; and at Ravenna every one, from theEmperor down to the meanest slave, was an enemy. He wanted to make themtrust him by trusting them--as if one disarmed a tiger by going into hislair! He had two or three of his chief officers with him, besides myself,and as many slaves. We had not a weapon of any kind among us. Stilichomade a point of our being unarmed. Well, we had not an encouraginggreeting when we entered the city. Every one, as you may suppose,recognized him. Indeed, there was no man, I suppose, in the whole Empire,who was better known. No one who had ever seen Stilicho could forget thattowering form, that white head.(49) There were sullen looks as we walkedthrough the streets, and hisses, and even some stone throwing. However, wegot safe to our lodgings, and passed the night without disturbance. Thenext day, as we were standing in the market-place, an old Vandalsoldier--one of the general's countrymen, you know--put a flower in his handas he walked by, without saying a word, or even looking at him; for itwould have been as much as his life was worth to be seen communicatingwith us. 'An old comrade,' said Stilicho, who never forgot a face. 'Heserved with me in Greece.' The flower was a little red thing; the'shepherd's hourglass' they call it, because it shuts when there is raincoming. It was a warning. There was danger close at hand. The generalsaid, 'We must take sanctuary.' Then he called me to him. 'Leave me,Claudian,' he said; 'you cannot take sanctuary with us, for you are not abaptized man. I do not count much on the Church's protection; but still itmay give me time to make my defence to the Emperor. So you must look outfor your own safety. But surely they can't be base enough to harm you, forwhat you have done?' 'I don't know about that, my Lord,' I answered; 'youremember the fable of the trumpeter.(50) Anyhow, I shall follow you as faras I can.' Well, he went into the great church--what used to be theBasilica before Constantine's time--and took sanctuary by the altar. I didnot go further than the nave. In the course of an hour or so comes thebishop, with the archdeacon and two or three priests, and following themone of the great officers of the Court, with a body-guard. The church wasnow crowded from end to end; the people had climbed up into the pulpit,and every accessible spot from which they could get a view of what wasgoing on. I think that there was a reaction in the general's favour. Noone, whose heart was not flint, could see the man who had saved theEmpire, and that not once or twice, a suppliant for his life. Well, Icould not see for myself what went on, but I heard the story afterwards.The bishop brought a safe-conduct from the Emperor; or rather thechamberlain brought it, and the bishop gave it to Stilicho, with his ownguarantee. I can't believe that a man of peace and truth, as he callshimself, could have been a party to so base a fraud--he must have beendeceived himself. Well, the safe-conduct promised that the general shouldbe heard in his own defence; and he wanted nothing more. I doubt whether atrial would have served him; but they never intended to give him even somuch. As soon as he was out of the church I could see what was meant, forI followed him. The chamberlain's body-guard drew their swords. Well, Iwas wrong to say that he had no friends in Ravenna. He had a friend evenin that crew of hirelings--another of his old soldiers, I daresay. I toldyou that Stilicho had neither armour nor weapon. Well, in a moment, no onecould see how, there was a long sword lying at his feet. He took it up;and, verily, if he had used it, he would at least have sold his lifedearly. The general was a great swordsman, as good a swordsman as he was ageneral. But no; he would not condescend to it; after a soldier's firstimpulse to take the weapon, he made no use of it. He pointed it to theground, and stood facing his enemies. Ah! it was a noble sight--that grandold man looking steadfastly at that crew of murderers. For a few momentsthey seemed cowed. No one lifted his hand--then some double-dyed villaincrept behind and stabbed him. He staggered forward, and immediately therewere a dozen swords hacking at him. At least his was no lingering death.They cut off that grand white head and carried it to the Emperor; his bodythey threw into the pit where they bury the slaves. And that was the endof the saviour of the Empire."
"And about yourself?" said the Count.
"Well," went on the poet, "I have since thought that if I had been a man Ishould have died with him. But when I knew that he was dead, I was cowardenough to fly. You would not care to hear how I spent the next few days. Ihad a few gold pieces in my pocket, and I found a wretched lodging in oneof the worst parts of the city, and I
lay there in hiding. One day I washaving my morning meal at a wine shop, when a shabbily dressed old man,who sat next, turned to me in a meaning way, and, pouring a few drops outof his wine cup, said, 'To Apollo and the Muses.' That is a crimenow-a-days, in some places at least, Ravenna among them; and he wanted, Isuppose, to put me at my ease. 'Will you not do the same,' he went on, 'ofall men in the world there is no one who has better cause.' Pardon me,illustrious Count, if I repeat his flatteries. 'Whom do you take me for?'said I, for one gets to be a sad coward after a few days' hiding, and Iwas unwilling to declare myself. He replied by repeating some of my versesin so meaning a way that I could not misunderstand him. 'Thesewine-bibbers here,' he went on, 'don't know one verse from another, butthey might catch up a name. Come along with me; I will give you a flask ofsomething better than this sour stuff.' Well, we went to his house, whichwas close to the harbour. He was the owner, I found, of two or three smalltrading vessels. The house was a veritable temple of the Muses, ornamentedwith busts of the poets--my own I was flattered to see among them--andcontaining an excellent library of books. Manlius--that was my friend'sname--had heard me recite at Rome; and he recognized me partly from memory,partly from my resemblance to the bust. To make a long story short, heentertained me most hospitably for several days, while we discussed thequestion what was to become of me. Home I could not go, not, at least,till there should be a change in the Emperor's surroundings. The further Igot from Italy the more chance there would be of safety. We thought ofNorth-western Gaul or Britain, or of getting across the Rhine. The end ofit was that the good fellow took me across Italy, disguised as hisservant, to Genoa, where he had correspondents. From Genoa I went toMarseilles, and from Marseilles overland to Narbonne, using now thecharacter of a bookseller's agent, one which I thought myself betterqualified to sustain than any other. At Narbonne I found employment as abookseller's assistant, till I could get a letter from my wife in Africawith some money. That came in due course, and then I set off on my travelsagain, still working northwards. Then, sir, I thought of you. I had oftenheard the great man speak of you. You served under him against theBastarnae,(51) I think, and it occurred to me that for Stilicho's sake youmight give me shelter. Not that it matters much to me. To Stilicho I oweso much that I can scarcely imagine life without him. He gave me honour,wealth, even," added the poet, with a sad little smile, "even my wife, forit was not my courting, but the Lady Serena's(52) letter that won her forme. But to go on, I found an honest trader, and bargained with him tobring me here. I had been sickening for some time, and I remember littleor nothing from the time of my embarking. There, sir, you have my historycarried up to the latest point."
"We will put off the future to another day," said the Count; "meanwhileyou may count on me for anything that I can do."
"Your kindness does much to reconcile me to life," said the poet, "and nowI will retire, for I feel a little tired."
"Ah," said Carna half to herself, when he had left the room, "now Iunderstand about Proserpine."
"About Proserpine? What do you mean?" asked AElia.
"Why, when he came to himself for the first time I was sitting in thewindow with a piece of embroidery work in my hand, and I heard him whispersomething about Proserpine." Carna suppressed the flattering epithet."Don't you remember that passage where he describes the tapestry whichProserpine was working for her mother, and how we admired it, and thoughtwe would work something of the kind for ourselves, only we could not getany design?"
"Yes, I remember," replied the other, "and you have had a Pluto, too, tocarry you off. Luckily he was not so successful as the god."
The Count of the Saxon Shore; or The Villa in Vectis. Page 25
