Читать книгу Quintus Claudius (Historical Novel) - Eckstein Ernst - Страница 14

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“Really, Baucis, you are very clumsy again today!” cried Lucilia, half-vexed and half-saucily. “Do you want to pull that fine, luxuriant hair, that the greatest poet might rave about, all out by the roots. I have shown you a hundred times how the arrow is to be put through, and you always towzle my hair as old Orbilius[207] does the schoolboys!”

“Ingratitude for thanks, all the world over!” muttered the old slave, casting a last glance at Lucilia’s curls, her successful handiwork. “I suppose you would like to stick a pin into me.[208] Really, the young people of the present day are like babies or dolls. And if the gold pin slips and the plaits come down, then it is the old woman who is to blame and there is no end of the fuss. Ah! you naughty girl,[209] how do you expect to get on when you are married, you impatient little thing! Many a time will you have to sigh, when your husband is out of temper! Many a time will you say to yourself: ‘Ah! if only I had learned a little patience when I was younger!’ ”

“You are greatly mistaken,” said Lucilia in a declamatory tone. “The days are over, when the husband was master over everything in the house. What woman now-a-days will submit to a wedding with offerings of corn?[210] We have grown wiser, and know what such offerings are meant to symbolize—we are to surrender our liberty to the very last grain! So I should think! If ever I marry. … But what are you about? Will you ever have done fidgetting with that tiresome necklace? Do look, Claudia, how she is tormenting me!”

Claudia was sitting in holiday attire in front of a handsome citrus-wood[211] table, holding in her hands the ivory roller of an elegantly-written book. When Lucilia spoke to her she absently raised her soft, fawn-like eyes, laid the roll aside and stood up.

“You look like Melpomene,” cried Lucilia enthusiastically, while Baucis draped her stola.[212] “If I were Aurelius, I should have my head turned by the sight of you. How well the folds of your dress fall, and how admirably the border lies on the ground, oh! and your hair! Do you know I am quite in love myself with that hair; it goes so beautifully with the soft brown of your eyes. That dark fair hair, with a kind of dim lustre, is too lovely; my stupid, every-day brown looks no better by the side of it than a cabbage next a rose. Of course, too, Baucis takes three times as much pains with you as with me. Tell me yourself, is not this arrow all askew again?”

So speaking she took a polished metal mirror[213] from the table, and studied her coiffure first from the right and then from the left, while one of the young slave-girls, who stood round Baucis, came to her assistance with a second mirror.

“It is quite horrid!” she said crossly. “In short every single thing is wanting in me to-day, that could please the fancy of any human being. Never was my fatal snub-nose so short and broad, never was my mouth so wide and vulgar. And listen, Claudia, in spite of all its beauty, I can do without going to Baiae for the future. I gained twenty pounds in weight there, and brought home three dozen freckles. It is a lucky thing, that I have a philosophic soul! If I were in love now with some son of the gods, by Socrates’ cup of hemlock I should be desperate with rage!”

“You are only fishing for praise,” said Claudia, stroking her sister’s cheek. “But you know I am but ill-skilled in the art of paying compliments.”

“Silly girl!” said Lucilia. “As if praise could mend an evil. Do you suppose I want to do as the young law students do, who hire flatterers to praise them?[214] Nay, no bribery is possible, when we stand before the Centumvirate[215] who judge of beauty.—And, my good Baucis, what are you staring at now, like a country cousin at a circus. Make haste and get dressed, you old sinner, or Cinna’s cook will have burnt the pasty.”

“I shall be ready in an instant,” replied Baucis. “At my time of life dressing need not take long. Who looks at the hawthorn, I wonder, when roses are in bloom?” and she hurried away.

Lucilia and Claudia went out into the colonnade where, arm in arm, they slowly paced the gleaming marble pavement. As they turned the farther corner of the quadrangle, they saw their mother coming towards them at a leisurely pace.

“Quintus is ready and waiting,” she said pleasantly.

“And you, dear mother?” asked Lucilia. “Do you really mean to stay at home?”

“It is such a pity,” added Claudia. “We are accustomed, alas! to my father’s never accompanying us to see Cornelia, but you—what need you care about the debates in the senate? Besides, Cornelius Cinna is related to your family. Your views as to what contributes to the prosperity of the Roman people differ no doubt. …”

“In Jupiter’s name, child!” cried Octavia horrified. “Claudia, what are you saying? If your father were to hear you. …”

“But, my dear mother,” answered the girl, “I am only speaking the truth. There are many very estimable men. …”

“Be silent—when and where did you pick up such notions? Attend to your music and your poets, give your mind to the flowers you twist into your hair, but never meddle with the mysteries of state-craft.”

The young girl looked down in some confusion.

“Do not pay any heed to it, mother dear!” said Lucilia. “She chatters without thinking. But, once more—do come with us. Cornelius Cinna will very likely not be visible; you know how strangely the old man behaves. Come, mother—and remember, dear little mother, it is Cornelia’s birthday. She will certainly feel hurt, if the mother of her future husband lets the day pass without going to embrace her.”

“It is of no use; your father’s wishes have always been my law. Believe me, my sweet child, the utmost I can do is to allow you to visit at that house. …”

“Come, that would be too bad, mother! I really believe, that if he had not formally released Quintus from his filial bondage, he would have been capable of forbidding the marriage.”

“It is quite possible,” replied Octavia. “That noble soul places the commonwealth above every other consideration. You can hardly imagine, how unswervingly he goes on the road he believes to be the right one.”

“Oh yes! I know his resolute nature,” said Claudia, “and I honor and admire it. Say no more, Lucilia; mother is right. A man must never yield even a hand-breadth, and silent obedience is a wife’s first duty.”

“You are my dear good child,” said Octavia much touched. “And believe me when I say, that the fulfilment of this duty, hard as it seems, is a heartfelt joy when such a man as your father is the husband. He is strict and firm, but not a tyrant; he is always ready to listen to reason, and to take council with the chosen companion of his life. Nay, he is not above learning from the humblest. On one point only he stands like a rock against which the surf beats in vain, and that point is Duty.”

“Here comes Baucis!” cried Lucilia with a laugh of saucy amusement. “Hail, oh fairest of brides, clad in the garb of rejoicing! Baucis in sky-blue! If this does not procure her a Philemon, I must despair of the fate of humanity.”

“You hear, mistress, how shamefully she mocks your waiting-woman,” said Baucis in lamentable tones. “I can never do anything right. If I wear grey, she hints at an ass; if I put on a handsome dress, she laughs at me to my face. However, what I had to say is, that the litters are at the door and the young master has asked three times if his sisters were coming.”

“We are quite ready,” said Claudia.

A dense crowd had gathered outside the vestibule. Quintus, with only three of his slaves, was waiting impatiently in the entrance. The twelve litter-bearers in their red livery stood by the poles, and eight negroes—the van and rear-guard of the procession—were staring vacantly into the air. A number of idlers had collected round these—the inquisitive gapers who always swarmed wherever there was anything to be seen, however trivial. These were the class who, not choosing to work, lived on the corn given away by the state;[216] the uproarious mob who filled the upper rows of seats in the theatres and circus; the populace whose suffrages no Caesar was too proud to court, since it was among these that arbitrary despotism had its most staunch adherents, in the struggle against the last remnants of a free and freedom-loving aristocracy.

“Oh! how handsome she is!” ran from mouth to mouth among the loiterers, as Claudia stepped into the foremost litter; Lucilia took her place by her adopted sister’s side. The second litter was to carry Baucis and a young slave girl.

“Make way!” cried the principal runner, stepping among the crowd, who fell back, and the procession set out. Quintus followed on foot at a short distance.

Their way led them through the Forum and past the venerable temple of Saturn, where the Roman state-treasure was kept. To the right on the Palatine, spread the enormous palaces of the Caesars, and among them the capitol and the splendid but scarcely-finished residence of Domitian. Proceeding but slowly, they reached the Arch of Titus[217] and then, leaving the fountain of the Meta Sudans[218] and the vast Flavian amphitheatre[219] to the right, they turned into the street leading to the Caelimontana Gate.[220] The throng of humanity, which in the neighborhood of the Forum defied all description, here became somewhat thinner; and the litter-bearers mended their pace. In about ten minutes they stopped at a house, which in point of magnificence was hardly inferior to that of the Flamen Titus Claudius Mucianus. In the vestibule, beside the door-keeper, there stood a stout little woman, who hailed the visitors from afar with a broad grin, and was most eager to be of use to the young ladies as they alighted. This little woman was Chloe, Cornelia’s maid; her mistress now appeared on the scene, a tall and finely-made young girl, with hair as black as night, dressed entirely in white and wearing no ornament but a string of large, softly-gleaming pearls. The girls embraced each other warmly.

Quintus had by this time joined them; with a tender light in his eyes he went straight up to his betrothed and kissed her gravely on the forehead. “All health, happiness and blessing on you, on your birthday,[221] my sweet Cornelia!” he said affectionately; then taking her hand he led her into the atrium. This was festally decorated with flowers; in the middle stood a hearth[222] after the old fashion, but there were no images of the Lares and Penates. Cornelius Cinna held the opinions and views of the world at large, which had been taught by Lucretius[223] and Pliny the Elder;[224] he thought it folly to enquire curiously as to the form and aspect of the Divinity, or even of any particular god or goddess; since, if there be indeed a Power beyond and behind Nature, that Power must be Force and Wisdom pure and simple. Hence he contemned all the ordinary household gods.

Eight or ten guests were already assembled in the atrium, among them Caius Aurelius and his faithful follower Herodianus.

The young Batavian did not at first seem to observe the new arrivals. He was standing in grave conversation with the master of the house, whose gloomy and almost sinister countenance by no means harmonized with the gay decorations of the hearth and the Corinthian columns.

“I thank you,” said Cinna offering the young man his hand. “Your words have done me good. But now, ask no farther. …”

“As you desire. …”

“One thing more, my dear Caius—Quintus Claudius too must know how strongly I feel on this point. After dinner bring him, as if by chance, into my study. …”

“Trust to me.”

“Very good; and now for a few hours I will try to banish these memories from my soul. As you see me, Caius, you may think it a miracle that I am not choked by the insult! And not a soul that could sympathize with me! Nerva, my old friend, was absent. Even Trajan was so far off as Antium[225]. …”

“And Caius Aurelius was too young and too much a stranger?” said the Batavian laughing.

“Yes, I must confess that it was so. From the first, it is true, I saw you to be an admirable youth, and I thank my friend at Gades, who sent you with letters of introduction to me; but I could not guess how early ripe and truly noble your whole nature was, how fervent your patriotism and how unconquerable your pride.—But in all truth, Aurelius, from this day forth—here comes Quintus and his sisters; we part for the present, but do not forget!”

His face, which had brightened somewhat as he spoke, fell again to the expression of grave, almost sinister determination, which characterized his strongly-marked features. He crossed the atrium to the entrance where the young people, surrounded by their guests, were chatting gaily. Cinna pressed the hand of his niece’s lover—kindly, but yet with a certain reserve—and addressed a few half-jesting words to the girls; but when Claudia attempted to offer such apology as best she might for her mother’s absence, he turned away as if he did not hear.

At this moment the noble figure of an old man appeared in the doorway; with a gleaming white toga over his shoulders and flowing snowy locks, his towering height gave him a majestic presence.

“Cocceius Nerva,” whispered the Batavian to Herodianus, who came up to him to ask.

“By Castor!” said the freedman, “but if I had met this man on arriving here, I should have said that he and no other must be the ruler of the world.”

“Remember, we are in Rome, and you will do well to keep such ideas to yourself.”

Cornelius Cinna led the illustrious senator to a handsome marble seat covered with carpets, and a circle of reverent friends formed round him at once.

“By all the gods,” muttered Herodianus, “may I perish if that marble seat does not look for all the world like a throne; and they stand round him like the guard round Caesar.—And now, as he raises his right hand! If he were but thirty years younger, he would be like that image of Zeus we bought a while since in Gades; he only lacks the thunderbolt.”

“Silence!” repeated Aurelius angrily. “You have had no wine yet to-day—what will you not say when you have played your part at dinner, if you are as thirsty as usual?”

“I will not say another word,” replied the freedman.

Claudia, who till this instant had been talking eagerly with Ulpius Trajanus, a Hispanian friend of Cinna’s, of Cocceius Nerva’s—too eagerly, Aurelius thought—now went off with Cornelia under the colonnade to see the birthday gifts which, in accordance with an old Roman custom, had been sent to Cornelia early in the day. They were tastefully laid out in the arcade on brazen tables; gold brooches and necklaces among exquisite flowers; tissues mixed with silk;[226] handsome books with purple edges, rolled on cylinders of amber and ebony; little slippers worked with pearls; beaten silver vessels from the hand of Mentor,[227] the esteemed silversmith; Arabian and Indian perfumes from the stores of Niceros,[228] the famous druggist; ribbons and trimmings of amethyst-purple;[229] stuffed birds, fruits from Asia Minor, and a hundred other costly trifles from every quarter of the world made up the tribute sent to this spoilt daughter of a senatorial house.

Aurelius took advantage of the opportunity, and went to join the young girls. Claudia affected great surprise at seeing him, but immediately after gave the young man her hand with frank warmth, as though ashamed in truth of any disingenuous coquetry towards such a man as Aurelius. Still, the conversation they began was not particularly lively; they stood in front of the tables and made the usual remarks—this present was charming, that offering was splendid. Cornelia declared, that prettiest of all were the exquisite roses[230] that Quintus had given her—and Claudia sighed, very softly, still she sighed.

At this moment a grinning head appeared in the frame of a door close by. This was Chloe, Cornelia’s maid.

“I beg your pardon,” she said with comical importance. “But if I disturb you, it is from sheer necessity. The steward of the tables[231] cannot arrange the places for the company.”

“Indeed, how is that?” asked Cornelia severely. “Did I not give him full and exact instructions? He seems to have a short memory.”

“Excuse us, dear mistress—but he had not counted on Cocceius Nerva. Come and help us, pray.”

Cornelia frowned, but did as she was requested; her pallid face colored scarlet; such a question seemed to her vulgar and trivial, and she felt that shock to her taste which jars on a superior nature, when the details of daily life intrude on a moment of exalted feeling. Those roses from Paestum,[232] that thought of Quintus! what a delicious flood of happy feeling they symbolized! And Chloe’s appearance, in the very midst of this beauty and happiness, wounded her like the empty farcicality of an Atellanian buffoon.[233]

Aurelius and Claudia were left to gaze at the display of birthday gifts with redoubled attention; you might have fancied they had never before seen such things as flowers or bracelets.

“How delicious!” said Claudia breathing the perfume of a splendid rose-bush.

“Delicious!” echoed Aurelius, putting his face close to the flowers. “And look at this strange bird! How naturally it sits with its wings spread out—exactly as if it were alive.”

“It is a parrot from the banks of the Indus.”

“Or a phoenix[234]. …”

“A phoenix? I thought that story of Tacitus’ was a mere fable.”

“Nay, not altogether. The marvellous bird, which burns its father or itself and then rises from its ashes in renewed youth, is no doubt a myth. But does not Pliny tell us of a real phoenix, which builds its nest at the sources of the Nile and shines like pure gold?”

“What, seriously?” and she gently stroked the neck of the stuffed bird with her finger.

“How soft it feels!” she said.

“Like crape from Cos,"[235] said Aurelius, doing the same. His hand touched hers, and Claudia colored. She hastily stooped over a book lying close by—the “Thebais” of Statius—and read the title, written in gold on the outside of the roll.

“A capital work,” said the Batavian, “I read it some time since in Trajectum.”

“And to me, a Roman, it remains unknown.”

“If you only desire it, I will go to-morrow morning to the bookseller in the Argiletum and bring you the best copy I can find.”

“Oh! you are too kind!” replied Claudia.

Then there was a pause, while Aurelius examined with the greatest interest the quality of some flaxen cloth from Cordova. At last he began hesitatingly:

“If you will not think it too bold, allow me to propose. …”

“Speak on,” said Claudia, again bending over the “Thebais.”

“I should be only too happy, if I might be allowed to read this masterpiece of Statius aloud to you. Without wishing to boast, I have had a good deal of practice in reading and declamation, and—as you know, epic[236] poetry was originally intended for recitation.”

“Of course; it is for that very reason called epic. I may own too, that there is nothing I like better than to hear good reading. Quintus reads very well, but he rarely has time or is in the humor.”

“You will allow me then?”

“I beg you to be so good.”

“And when?”

“That we will settle presently; just now, I see, they are going to table.”

“Where have you hidden yourselves?” cried Lucilia flying into the hall as lightly as a deer. “I have been seeking you everywhere. Come, make haste; I am desperately hungry.”

“She is hungry!” thought Claudia with a glance up to heaven. “I hardly know whether to envy her or to pity her!”