Chapter VI
Pompeius Magnus
If we had been painting an ideal heroine, gifted with all the virtueswhich Christian traditions of female perfection throw around suchcharacters, Cornelia would have resigned herself quietly to theinevitable, and exhibited a seraphic serenity amid tribulation. Butshe was only a grieved, embittered, disappointed, sorely wronged,Pagan maiden, who had received few enough lessons in forbearance andmeekness. And now that her natural sweetness of character had receivedso severe a shock, she vented too often the rage she felt against heruncle upon her helpless servants. Her maid Cassandra--who was the onethat had told Lentulus of her mistress's nocturnal meeting withDrusus--soon felt the weight of Cornelia's wrath. The young lady, assoon as Lentulus was out of the way, caused the tell-tale to receive acruel whipping, which kept the poor slave-girl groaning in her cellfor ten days, and did not relieve Cornelia's own distress in theslightest degree. As a matter of fact, Cornelia was perpetually goadedinto fresh outbursts of desperation by the tyrannical attitude of heruncle. Lentulus boasted in her presence that he would accomplishDrusus's undoing. "I'll imitate Sulla," he would announce, in meanpleasure at giving his niece pain; "I'll see how many heads I can haveset up as he did at the Lacus Servilius. You can go _there_, if youwish to kiss your lover."
But Cornelia's life at Rome was rendered unhappy by many other thingsbesides these occasional brutal stabs from her uncle. Her mother, ashas been hinted, was a woman of the world, and had an intense desireto draw her daughter into her own circle of society. Claudia cared forCornelia in a manner, and believed it was a real kindness to tear thepoor girl away from her solitary broodings and plunge her into thewhirl of the world of Roman fashion. Claudia had become an intimate ofClodia, the widow of Quintus Metellus, a woman of remarkable gifts anda notoriously profligate character. "The Medea of the Palatine Hill,"Cicero had bitingly styled her. Nearly all the youth of parts andsocial distinction enjoyed the wild pleasures of Clodia's garden bythe Tiber. Catullus the poet, Caelius the brilliant young politician,and many another had figured as lovers of this soulless and enchantingwoman. And into Clodia's gilded circle Claudia tried desperately todrag her daughter. The Lentuli had a handsome palace on the Carinae,one of the most fashionable quarters of the capital; and here therewere many gay gatherings and dinner parties. Cornelia was well bornenough, by reputation wealthy enough, and in feature handsome enough,to have a goodly proportion of the young men of this coterie herdevoted admirers and slaves. Claudia observed her daughter's socialtriumphs with glee, and did all she could to give Cornelia plenty ofthis kind of company. Cornelia would not have been a mortal woman ifshe had not taken a certain amount of pleasure in noticing andexercising her power. The first occasion when she appeared at a formalbanquet in the splendid Apollo dinner hall of the Luculli, where theoutlay on the feast was fixed by a regular scale at two hundredthousand sesterces, she gathered no little satisfaction by theconsciousness that all the young men were admiring her, and all thewomen were fuming with jealousy. But this life was unspeakablywearisome, after the first novelty had worn away. Cornelia lived in anage when many of the common proprieties and decencies of our presentsociety would have been counted prudish, but she could not close hereyes to the looseness and license that pervaded her mother's world.Woman had become almost entirely independent of man in social andeconomic matters, though the law still kept its fictions of tutelage.Honourable marriages were growing fewer and fewer. Divorces weremultiplying. The morality of the time can be judged from the fact thatthe "immaculate" Marcus Cato separated from his wife that a friendmight marry her; and when the friend died, married her himself again.Scandals and love intrigues were common in the highest circles; nobleladies, and not ballet-dancers[86] merely, thought it of littleaccount to have their names besmirched. Everything in society wassplendid, polished, decorous, cultivated without; but within, hollowand rotten.
[86] _Mimae_.
Cornelia grew weary and sick of the excitement, the fashionablechatter, the mongering of low gossips. She loathed the sight of theeffeminate young fops who tried to win her smiles by presentingthemselves for a polite call each morning, polished and furbelowed,and rubbed sleek and smooth with Catanian pumice. Her mother disgustedher so utterly that she began to entertain the most unfilial feelingtoward the worthy woman. Cornelia would not or could not understandthat in such hot weather it was proper to wear lighter rings than inwinter, and that each ring must be set carefully on a different fingerjoint to prevent touching. Cornelia watched her servants, and reachedthe astonishing conclusion that these humble creatures were reallyextracting more pleasure out of life than herself. Cassandra hadrecovered from her whipping, and was bustling about her tasks as ifnothing had happened. Agias seemed to have a never failing fund ofgood spirits. He was always ready to tell the funniest stories orretail the latest news. Once or twice he brought his mistressunspeakable delight, by smuggling into the house letters from Drusus,which contained words of love and hope, if no really substantialpromises for the future. But this was poor enough comfort. Drususwrote that he could not for the time see that any good end would beserved by coming to Rome, and he would remain for the present inPraeneste. He and she must try to wait in patience, until politics tooksuch a turn as would drive Lentulus into a more tractable attitude.Cornelia found the days monotonous and dreary. Her uncle's freedmankept her under constant espionage to prevent a chance meeting withDrusus, and but for Agias she would have been little better than aprisoner, ever in charge of his keepers.
In a way, however, Cornelia found that there was enough stirring inthe outside world to lend zest and often venom to the averageemptiness of polite conversation. Politics were penetrating deeper anddeeper into fashionable society. Cornelia heard how Paulus, theconsul, had taken a large present from Caesar to preserve neutrality;and how Curio, the tribune, had checked Clodius Marcellus, the otherconsul, when he wished to take steps in the Senate against Caesar. Allthat Cornelia heard of that absent statesman was from hostile lips;consequently she had him painted to her as blood-thirsty, treacherous,of flagrant immorality, with his one object to gather a band ofkindred spirits to his cause, and become despot. And to hear suchreports and yet to keep confident that Drusus was not sacrificing bothhimself and her in a worse than unworthy cause--this tested her to theuttermost.
To add to her troubles, Lucius Ahenobarbus was ever thrusting in hisattentions at every party and at the theatre; and her uncle openlyfavoured his suit.
"I wish you would be more friendly to him," remarked Lentulus on oneoccasion. "I should be glad to have a closer tie between his familyand ours."
"Uncle," said Cornelia, much distressed, "I do not think I understandwhat you mean."
"Well," chuckled Lentulus, moving away, "think it over until you dounderstand."
Cornelia had been reading in the library when this conversation tookplace. There was to be another party that evening at the house ofMarcus Favonius, a prominent anti-Caesarian, and since it was growinglate in the afternoon, it was time to dress. Cornelia went into herown room, and was summoning her maids, when a young lady of about herown age, who affected to be on terms of considerable intimacy, wasannounced--Herennia, a daughter of a certain rich old eques, CaiusPontius, who had kept out of politics and hoarded money, which hisdaughter was doing her best to spend.
Herennia was already dressed for the party. Her brown hair had beenpiled up in an enormous mass on her head, eked out by false tressesand puffings, and the whole plentifully powdered with gold dust. Shewore a prodigious number of gaudily set rings; her neck and ears andgirdle were ablaze with gold and jewels. So far from aiming, as domodern ladies, to reduce the waist to the slenderest possibleproportions, Herennia, who was actually quite thin, had carefullypadded out her form to proper dimensions, and showed this fact by herconstrained motions. She was rouged and painted, and around herfloated an incense of a thousand and one rare perfumes. Heramethystine tunic and palla were of pure silk--then literally worthits weight in gold--and embr
oidered with an elaborate pattern in whichpearls and other gems played a conspicuous part. For all this displayof extravagance, Herennia was of only very mediocre beauty; and it wason this account that she was always glad to make uncomfortable flingsat her "dear friend" Cornelia, whenever possible.
Herennia seated herself on a divan, and proceeded to plunge into allthe flying gossip of the day. Incidentally she managed to hint thatServius Maccus, her devoted admirer, had told her that the nightbefore Lucius Ahenobarbus and some of his friends had attacked andinsulted a lady on her way back from a late dinner.[87]
[87] A common diversion for "young men of spirit."
"The outrageous scapegrace!" cried Cornelia, while her maids hurriedalong a toilet which, if not as elaborate as Herennia's, took somelittle time. "I imagined he might do such things! I always detestedhim!"
"Then you are not so very fond of Lucius Ahenobarbus," said Herennia,raising her carefully painted eyebrows, as if in astonishment. "I amreally a little surprised."
"Surprised?" reëchoed Cornelia. "What have I done or said that makesLucius Ahenobarbus anything more than a very distant, a _very_ distantacquaintance?"
"My dear girl," exclaimed Herennia, throwing up her hands, "either youare the best actress, or the most innocent little wight, in Rome!Don't you know all that they say about you?"
"Who--say--what--about--me?" stammered Cornelia, rising in her chairso suddenly, as to disarrange all the work Cassandra had been doing onher hair.
"Why, everybody," said Herennia, smiling with an exasperatingdeliberation. "And then it has all come out in the daily gazette."[88]
[88] _Acta Diurna_, prepared officially.
"Where is it? Read! Let me see," pleaded Cornelia, agitated andtrembling.
"Why, how troubled you are," giggled Herennia. "Yes, I have myfreedman copy down the whole bulletin every day, as soon as it isposted by the censor's officers; now let me see," and she producedfrom under her robe a number of wooden, wax-covered tablets, strungtogether: "the last praetor's edict; the will of old Publius Blaesus;"and she ran over the headings with maddening slowness: "the speech inthe Senate of Curio--what an impudent rascal; the money paid yesterdayinto the treasury,--how dull to copy all that down!--the meteor whichfell over in Tibur, and was such a prodigy; oh, yes, here it is atlast; you may as well hear what all Rome knows now, it's at the end,among the private affairs. 'Lucius Ahenobarbus, son of LuciusDomitius, the Consular, and Cornelia, daughter of the late tribune,Caius Lentulus, are in love. They will be married soon.'"
These two brief sentences, which the mechanical difficulties underwhich journalistic enterprise laboured at that day made it impossibleto expand into a modern "article," were quite sufficient to tell awhole story to Rome. Cornelia realized instantly that she had beenmade the victim of some vile trick, which she doubted not her would-belover and her uncle had executed in collusion. She took the tabletsfrom Herennia's hand, without a word, read the falsehoods once, twice,thrice. The meaning of the day attached to the terms used intimatedthe existence of a low intrigue, quite as much as any honourable"engagement." If Cornelia did not soon become the lawful wife ofLucius Ahenobarbus, the world would feel justified in piling scandalupon her name. The blow was numbing in its brutality. Instead ofcrying and execrating the liars, as Herennia fully expected her to do,Cornelia merely handed back the tablets, and said with cold dignity,"I think some very unfortunate mistake has been made. LuciusAhenobarbus is no friend of mine. Will you be so kind as to leave mewith my maids?"
Herennia was overborne by the calm, commanding attitude of the rivalshe had meant to annoy. When Cornelia became not the radiant_debutante_, but the haughty patrician lady, there was that about herwhich made her wish a mandate. Herennia, in some confusion, withdrew.When she was gone, Cornelia ordered her maids out of the room,stripped off the golden tiara they had been plaiting into her hair,tore away the rings, bracelets, necklaces, and flung herself upon thepillows of the divan, quivering with sobs. She did not know of asingle friend who could help her. All the knowledge that she hadimbibed taught her that there was no God either to hear prayer, orsuccour the wronged. Her name would become a laughing-stock and ahissing, to be put on a par with Clodia's or that of any otherfrivolous woman, unless she not merely gave up the man she loved, butalso threw herself into the arms of the man she utterly hated. Thecraving for any respite was intense. She was young; but for themoment, at least, life had lost every glamour. If death was an endlesssleep, why not welcome it as a blessed release? The idea of suicidehad a grasp on the ancient world which it is hard at first toestimate. A healthy reaction might have stirred Cornelia out of herdespair, but at that instant the impulse needed to make her commit anirrevocable deed must have been very slight. But while she lay on thepillows, wretched and heart-sick, the voice of Agias was heardwithout, bidding the maids admit him to their mistress.
"Stay outside. I can't see you now," moaned poor Cornelia, feelingthat for once the sight of the good-humoured, vivacious slave-boywould be maddening. But Agias thrust back the curtains and boldlyentered. What he said will be told in its due time and place; but themoment he had gone Cornelia was calling in Cassandra, and ordering themaids to dress her with all possible speed for the dinner-party.
"I must be all smiles, all enchantments," she was saying to herself."I must dissemble. I must win confidences. I must do everything, andanything. I have no right to indulge in grief any longer. Quintus'sdear life is at stake!"
II
Lentulus did not go to the banquet of Favonius, to see the unwontedgraciousness with which his niece received the advances of LuciusAhenobarbus, Neither was Favonius himself present at his ownentertainment. They, and several others of the high magnates of theirparty, had been called away by an urgent summons, and spent theevening in secluded conference with no less a personage than Pompeius,or as he dearly loved to be called, "the Magnus," in his splendidpalace outside the walls on the Campus Martius. And here the conquerorof Mithridates--a stout, soldierly man of six-and-fifty, whose bestquality was a certain sense of financial honesty, and whose worst anextreme susceptibility to the grossest adulation--told them that hehad received letters from Labienus, Caesar's most trusted lieutenant inGaul, declaring that the proconsul's troops would never fight for him,that Caesar would never be able to stir hand or foot against thedecrees of the Senate, and that he, Labienus, would desert him at thefirst opportunity.
Cheerful news this to the noble lords, who had for years scented inCaesar's existence and prosperity destruction to their own oligarchicrule of almost the known world. But when Cato, the most violentanti-Caesarian of them all, a sharp, wiry man with angular features,and keen black eyes, demanded:--
"And now, Magnus, you will not hesitate to annihilate the enemies ofthe Republic?" a look of pained indecision flitted across Pompeius'sface.
"_Perpol_, gentlemen," he exclaimed, "I would that I were well out ofthis. Sometimes I think that you are leading me into breaking withCaesar for some ends of your own. He was my friend before you had aword of praise for me. He loved Julia; so did I." And the Magnuspaused a moment, overcome by the thought of his dead wife. "Perhapsthe Republic demands his sacrifice, perhaps--" and he cast a glancehalf of menace upon Lentulus Crus and Cato, "you are the guilty, nothe. But I am in grievous doubt."
"Perhaps, Magnus," said Favonius, with half a sneer, "you think yourforces inadequate. The two legions at Luceria are just detached fromCaesar. Perhaps you question their fidelity."
"Man," retorted the general, fiercely, bringing his foot down upon thesoft rug on the floor, "I have but to stamp upon the ground to call uplegions out of Italy; it is not that which I fear!"
The members of the conference looked uneasy; there was still a barechance that Pompeius would go back to his old friendship with Caesar.
"Gentlemen," went on the Magnus, "I have called you here to reach afinal decision--peace or war. Let us consult a higher power thanhuman." And he touched a little silver bell that was upon the tableclose at hand.
Forthwith there was a rustle of curtains, and out of the gloom of thedoorway--for the hour was now very late--advanced a tall, gauntfigure, dressed in a plain, sleeveless robe that fell to the feet. Theskin was dry, hard, wrinkled by a hundred furrows; the bones of theface were thrust out prominently; on the head was a plain whiteturban, and a beard quite as white fell down upon the breast. Onlyfrom under the turban shone the eyes, which were bright and piercingas coals of fire.
The stranger advanced without a word, till he stood before Pompeius,then knelt and made an elaborate Oriental prostration. The nobleRomans, twelve or more of the magnates of the greatest power on theearth, held their breath in uneasy anticipation. Not one of themperhaps really believed in a personal god; but though atheists, theycould not forswear their superstition. Piso, the censor, whonotoriously feared neither divine nor human law in his reckless life,spat thrice to ward off the effects of the evil eye, if the strangerwere a magician.
"Ulamhala," said Pompeius, addressing the newcomer, "arise. Since Ihave been in the East,[89] I have consulted you and your science ofthe stars, in every intended step, and your warnings have neverfailed."
[89] "Chaldean" astrologers played an almost incredibly important part among even the highest-class Romans of the period.
"My lord doth overcommend the wisdom of his slave," replied Ulamhala(for such was his name) in Syriac Greek, with a second deep obeisance.
"Now, therefore," went on Pompeius--and his voice was unsteady withevident excitement and anxiety,--"I have called you hither to declarethe warnings of the stars upon the most important step of my life.What lies now at stake, you know full well. Three days ago I bade youconsult the heavens, that this night you might be able to declaretheir message, not merely to me, but to these my friends, who willshape their actions by mine. Have you a response from the planets?"
"I have, lord," and again Ulamhala salaamed.
"Then declare, be it good or ill;" commanded Pompeius, and he grippedthe arms of his chair to conceal his anxiety.
The scene was in a way weird enough. The visitors exchanged uneasyglances, and Cato, who broke out in some silly remark to Favonius, ina bold attempt to interrupt the oppressive silence, suddenly found hiswords growing thick and broken, and he abruptly became silent. Eachman present tried to tell himself that Pompeius was a victim ofsuperstition, but every individual felt an inward monition thatsomething portentous was about to be uttered.
The conference had lasted long. The lamps were flickering low. Darkshadows were loitering in every corner of the room. The aroma offlowers from the adjacent gardens floated in at the open windows, andmade the hot air drugged and heavy. Ulamhala slowly and noiseless as acat stepped to the window, and, leaning out over the marble railing,looked up into the violet-black heavens. There was no moon, but atrembling flame on one of the candelabras threw a dull, ruddy glowover his white dress and snowy turban. His face was hid in the gloom,but the others knew, though they could hardly see, that he waspointing upward with his right hand.
"Behold," began the astrologer, "three thousand seven hundred andfifty years since the days of the great Sargon of Agade have we of therace of the Chaldeans studied the stars. One generation of watcherssucceeded another, scanning the heavens nightly from our_ziggurats_,[90] and we have learned the laws of the constellations;the laws of Sin the moon, the laws of Samas the sun, the laws of theplanets, the laws of the fixed stars. Their motions and theirinfluence on the affairs of men our fathers discovered, and havehanded their wisdom down to us."
[90] Babylonian temple towers.
"But the word of the stars to _us_?" broke in Pompeius, in extremedisquietude, and trying to shake off the spell that held him inmastery.
"Know, lord, that thy slave has not been disobedient unto thycommandment. Look, yonder burneth a bright red planet, called by usNergal, which ye Westerns call by the name of Mars. Who denieth thatwhen Mars shines in the heavens, war will break forth among men? Knowthat I have carefully compared the settings, risings, and movements ofthe planets at this season with their settings, risings, and movementsat the time when my lord was born; and also at the time of the birthof his great enemy. I have made use of the tables which my wisepredecessors among the Chaldees have prepared; and which I myself, thyslave, copied from those at the Temple of Bel, in Babylon."
"And they say?" breathlessly interrupted Lentulus.
"This is the message from the planets," and Ulamhala's form grewhigher, his voice firmer; he raised his long bony arms above his head,and stood in the dull light like a skeleton arisen in all its whitegrave clothes to convey a warning to the living. "To the LordPompeius, this is the warning, and to his enemy,
"'_He that is highest shall rise yet higher; He that is second shall utterly fall!_'
I have said."
And before the noble Romans could command the free play of theirsenses, the vision at the window had vanished, either out of doors, orbehind some doorway or curtain. The company sat gazing uneasily ateach other for several minutes. The Magnus was breathing heavily, asthough he had passed through a terrible mental ordeal. Cato, the Stoicand ascetic, had his eyes riveted on the carpet, and his face was asstony as an Egyptian Colossus.
Then a coarse forced laugh from Piso broke the spell.
"Capital, Pompeius! You _are_ a favourite of the gods!"
"I?" ventured the Magnus, moving his lips slowly.
"Of course," cried several voices at once, catching the cue from Piso."You are the first in the world, Caesar the second! You are to rise tonew glories, and Caesar is to utterly fall!"
"The stars have said it, gentlemen," said Pompeius, solemnly; "Caesarshall meet his fate. Let there be war."
* * * * *
Lentulus Crus rode away from the conference, his litter side by sidewith that of Lucius Domitius Ahenobarbus, the consular, whom we willknow as Domitius to distinguish from his son and namesake. Domitius, ahandsome, highly polished, vigorous, but none the less unprincipledman, who was just reaching the turn of years, was in high spirits. Nooligarch hated Caesar more violently than he, and the decision ofPompeius was a great personal triumph, the crowning of many years ofpolitical intrigue. What Pompeius had said, he had said; and Caesar,the great foe of the Senate party, was a doomed man.
Lentulus had a question to ask his companion.
"Would you care to consider a marriage alliance between the Lentuliand the Domitii?" was his proposition.
"I should be rejoiced and honoured to have the opportunity," was thereply; and then in another tone Domitius added, "Lentulus, do youbelieve in astrologers?"
"I do not really know," answered the other, uneasily.
"Neither do I," continued Domitius. "But suppose the stars speaktruly; and suppose," and here his voice fell, "it is Caesar who ishighest in power, in ability, in good fortune;--what then forPompeius? for us?"
"Be silent, O prophet of evil!" retorted Lentulus, laughing, but notvery naturally.
A Friend of Cæsar: A Tale of the Fall of the Roman Republic. Time, 50-47 B.C. Page 7
