Читать книгу Quintus Claudius, Vol. I - Eckstein Ernst - Страница 5

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THE second serious meal of the day, the coena82 or supper had begun; the party had betaken themselves to the cavaedium,83 where it was now beginning to grow dusk. This airy colonnade—the handsomest portion perhaps, of an old Roman house—was here very pleasingly decorated with flowers and plants of ornamental foliage. The arcades, which surrounded the open space in the middle, were green with ivy, while an emerald grass-plot, with cypresses and laurels, magnolias in full bloom, pomegranates and roses, filled up half the quadrangle. Twelve statues of bronze gilt served to hold lamps, and a fountain tossed its sparkling jet as high as the tallest trees.

For some time the party sat chatting in the dusk; then two slaves came in with torches and lighted the lamps of the twelve statues; two others lighted up the arcades so that the painted walls and their purplish backgrounds were visible far across the court-yard. A flute-player from Cumae now played to them in a tender mode; she stood in the entrance, dressed in the Greek fashion, with her abundant hair gathered into a knot and her slender fingers gliding up and down the stops of the instrument. Her features were sweet and pleasing, her manner soft and harmonious; only from time to time a strange expression of weariness and absence of mind passed over her face. When she had done playing, she was conducted by Baucis to the back gate. She took the piece of silver which she received in payment with an air of indifference, and then bent her way down the hill towards Cumae, which already lay in darkness.

"Allow me to ask," said Herodianus to Quintus, "what is the name of this tunefully-gifted damsel?"

"She is called Euterpe, after the muse who presides over her art."

"Her name is Arachne," added Lucilia, "but Euterpe sounds more poetical."

"Euterpe!" breathed the worthy Herodianus. "Heavenly consonance! Is she a Greek?"

"She is from Etruria, and was formerly the slave of Marcus Cocceius Nerva, who freed her. She married in Cumae not long since."

"As strictly historical as the annals of Tacitus," laughed Claudia.

"I heard it all from Baucis."

"Wretched old magpie!" exclaimed Quintus, intentionally raising his voice. "If she could not gossip, she would lose the breath of life."

"By all the gods, my lord!" exclaimed Baucis, laying her hands on her heart, "you are calumniating me greatly—do you grudge me a little harmless chat? All-merciful Isis! am I to close my lips with wax? No, by Typhon84 the cruel! Besides, I must instruct the daughters of the house; it is for that that I eat the bitter crust of dependence in my old age. Oh! Baucis knows her duties; have I not taught Claudia to sing and play the cithara? Have I not taught Lucilia more than a dozen Egyptian formulas and charms? and now I add to this a little sprinkling of knowledge of the world and of men—and you call it gossip! You young men of the present day are polite, I must say!"

"Then you sing to the cithara?"85 said Aurelius, turning to Claudia. "Oh, let me, I beg of you, hear one of your songs!"

"With pleasure," said the girl coloring slightly. "With your permission, dear mother...?"

"You know my weakness," replied Octavia. "I am always only too glad to hear you sing. If our noble guest's request is not merely politeness..."

"It is a most heartfelt wish," cried Aurelius. "Your daughter's voice is music when she only speaks—in singing it must be enchanting."

"I think so too, indeed," added Herodianus. "Oh, we Northmen are connoisseurs in music. The Camenae visit other spots than Helicon and the seven hills of Rome; they have taken Trajectum too under their protection. Had I but been born in Hellas, where Zeus so lavishly decked the cornucopia of the arts with such pure and ideal perfection..."

"Herodianus, you are talking nonsense!" interrupted the young Batavian. "I am afraid that the old Falernian we drank at dinner, was too strong for your brain."

"I beg your pardon! that would be very unlike me. Since Apollo first laid me in my cradle, temperance has been my most conspicuous virtue..."

A slave girl had meanwhile brought in the ninestringed cithara and the ivory plectrum; Claudia took them from her with some eagerness, put the ribbon of the lute round her neck and sat upright on her easy-chair. She turned the pegs here and there to put the instrument in tune, struck a few chords and runs as a prelude, and began a Greek song the delightful Springgreeting of Ibycus the Sicilian:86

"Spring returns, and the gnarled quince87 Fed by purling and playful brooks Decks its boughs with its rosy flowers Where, beneath in the twilight gloom, Nymph-like circles of maidens dance; While the sprays of the budding grape Hide 'mid shadowy vine leaves.

Ruthless Eros doth disregard

Spring's sweet tokens and hints of peace.

Down he rushes like winter blasts

Thracian storms with their searing flash—

Aphrodite's resistless son

Falls on me in his fury and fire—

Racks my heart with his torments."

Claudia ceased; the accompaniment on the cithara died away in soft full chords. Caius Aurelius sat spellbound. Never had he dreamed of the daughters of the fever-tossed metropolis as so simple, so natural, so genuine and genial. The strain almost resembled, in coy tenderness, those northern love-songs which he had been wont to hear from the lips of Gothic and Ampsivaric maidens. In those, to be sure, a vein of rebellion and melancholy ran through the melody and pierced through the charm, while in this all was perfect harmony, exquisite contentment—an intoxicating concord of joy, youth and love. In this he heard the echo of the smiling waves below, of the glistening leaves, and of heartstirring spring airs.

"A second Sappho!" exclaimed Herodianus, as his master sat speechless. "I can but compare the sweetness of that voice with the luscious Falernian we drank at dinner. That was a nectar worthy of the gods! Besides, indeed—the Hispanian wine—out there, what do you call the place—you know, my lord—what is the name of it—that was delicious too—and seen against the light What was I saying...? I had an aunt, she sang too to the cithara—yes she did, why not?—She was free to do that, of course, quite free to do it and a very good woman too was old Pris—Pris—Priscilla. Only she could not endure, that any one should talk when she blew the cithara..."

Octavia was frowning; Aurelius had turned crimson and nodded to his Gothic slave, who was standing aside under the arcade. Magus quietly came up to Herodianus and whispered a few words in his ear.

"That shows a profound, a remarkably profound power of observation!" cried the freedman excitedly. "In fact, what does music prove after all? I play the water-organ,88 and—hold me up, Magus. This floor is remarkably slippery for a respectable cavaedium. It might be paved with eels or polished mirrors!"

"You are a very good fellow," muttered the Goth as he led him slowly away, "but you carry it a little too far..."

"What? Ah! you have no sense of the sublime? You are not a philosopher, but only a-a-a-a man. But, by Pluto! you need not break my arm. I—take care of that, that... Will you let go, you misbegotten villain!"

But the Goth was not to be got rid of; he held the drunken man like an iron vice and so guided him in a tolerably straight course. When they disappeared in the corridor leading to the atrium, Aurelius was anxious to apologize for him, but Octavia laughed it off.

"We are at Baiae,"89 she said, "and Baiae is famous for its worship of Bacchus."

"It is impossible to be vexed with him," added Lucilia; "he is so exceedingly funny, and has such a confiding twinkle in his eyes."

"I am only annoyed," said Aurelius, "that he should have disturbed us at so delicious a moment. Indeed madam, your voice is enchantment; and what a heavenly melody! who is the musician who composed it?"

"You make me blush," said Claudia: "I myself put the words to music, and I am delighted that you should like it. Quintus thought it detestable."

"Nay, nay—" murmured Quintus.

"Yes indeed!" said the saucy Lucilia. "It was too soft and womanly for your taste."

"You are misrepresenting me; I only said, that the air did not suit the words.. It is a man who is here complaining of the torments of love, while what Claudia sings does not sound like a Thracian winter storm, but like the lamentations of a love-lorn maiden."

"Nonsense!" laughed Lucilia. "Love is love, just as air is air! whether you breathe it or I, it is all the same."

"But with this difference, that rather more of it is needed to fill my lungs than yours. However, for aught I care the song is perfect."

"You are most kind, to be sure! And you may thank the gods that you have nothing to do but to listen to it. , I have no doubt, that at the drinking- bouts of some of your boon companions the songs have a more Titanic ring and roar."

"You little hypocrite! Do you want to play the part now of a female Cato? Why, how often have you confessed to me, that * you would give your eyes to be one of such a party if only it were permissible!"

"Mother," said Lucilia, "do not allow him to make a laughing stock of me in this heartless way. 'If only I were a man,' you mean, not 'if it were permissible.'"/p>

"Very good!" replied Quintus.

Caius Aurelius now expressed a wish to hear Claudia sing a Latin song, and she selected one of which the words were by the much-admired poet Statius,90 who at that time was, with Martial,91 the reigning favorite in the taste of the highest circles. With this the stranger seemed equally delighted.

When Claudia had ended, he himself seized the instrument and plectrum, and with eager enthusiasm in a full, strong voice sang a battle-song. The powerful tones rang through the evening silence like the rush of a mountain torrent. His hearers saw in fancy the swaying struggle—the captain of the legion is in the thick of the fray—"Comrades," cries one of the combatants, "our chief is in danger! Help! help for our chief!—One last furious onslaught, and the battle is won!"

The two girls shrank closer to each other.

As the notes slowly died away, a figure appeared high above them in the moonlight, leaning over the parapet of the upper story.

"By the gods! my lord!" cried Herodianus, "I am coming!—If only I knew where Magus has hidden my sword! Hold your own, stand steady, and we will beat them yet!"

The party burst out laughing.

"Go to bed, Herodianus!" shouted his master. "You are talking in your dreams!"

"Apollo be praised then!" stuttered the other, "but I heard you with my own ears, shouting desperately for help." And with these words he withdrew from the parapet, still muttering and fighting the air with his arms; and Lucilia declared that she should positively die of laughing if this extraordinary sleep- walker went through any farther adventures. The moon was already high in the sky, when the party separated. Quintus led his visitor to the strangers' rooms, wished him goodnight, and went to his own cubiculum92 where his slaves stood yawning as they waited for him. For a time, however, he paced his room in meditation; then pausing in his walk, he looked undecidedly through the open doorway and asked: "What is the hour?"

QUINTUS CLAUDIUS. 43

"It wants half an hour of midnight," replied Blepyrus, his body- servant.

"Very good—I do not want to sleep yet. Open the window; the air here is suffocating. Blepyrus, give me my dagger."

"The Syrian dagger?"

"A useless question—when do I ever use any other?"

"Here, my lord," said Blepyrus, taking the dagger out of a closet in the wall."

"It is only as a precaution. Lately all sorts of wild rabble have haunted Baiae and the neighborhood. I am going to take a walk for an hour or so," and he went to the door. "But mind," he added, "this late expedition is a secret."

The slaves bowed.

"You know us, my lord!" they said with one accord.

Quintus went out again into the arcades. The colonnaded court lay white and dream-like in the moonshine, the shadows of the statues fell blackly sharp on the dewy grass-plot and the chequered outlines of the mosaic pavement. Quintus hastened noiselessly to the postemgate, which led from the peristyle into the park; he pushed back the bolt and was out on the terrace. Complete silence reigned around; only the very tops of the trees bent to the soft night-breeze. Quintus looked down upon Baiae. Here and there a light twinkled in the harbor; otherwise it was like a city of the dead. Then he looked down the black darkness of the shrubbery paths into the wilderness and seemed to waver, but he drew a little letter out of the belt of his tunic and studied it, meditating.

"In fact," said he to himself, "the whole affair wears the aspect of a mad adventure; it would not be the first time that malice had assumed such a disguise! But no! Such a scheme would be too clumsy; what warranty would the traitor have, that I should come alone? Besides, if I have any knowledge of love-intrigue, these lines were undoubtedly written by a woman's hand."

He opened the note,93 which was written on pale yellow Alexandrian paper with the finest ink. The red silk that tied it was sealed with yellow wax, and bore the impression of a finely-cut intaglio. The handwriting betrayed practice, and the whole thing looked as if it had come from the hands of a cultivated and distinguished fine lady. The contents answered to this supposition; the style was marked by aristocratic affectations and rhetorical grace, while it revealed that vein of eager, jealous passion, which stamps the Roman woman to this day.

"There is no doubt about it," muttered Quintus, when he had once more carefully examined every detail. "This is in hot earnest, and she commands me to meet her with the assurance of a goddess. And with all her domineering confidence, what sweet coaxing—what inviting tenderness! It would be treason to the divine influences of Venus to hesitate. Nay, fair unknown!—for you must surely be fair—beautiful as the goddess whose inspiration fires your blood! Nothing but beauty can give a woman courage to write such words as these!"

He replaced the note in his bosom and took the same path that he had trodden a few hours since with Aurelius; listening sharply on each side as he got farther into the thicket, and keeping his hand on his dagger, he slowly mounted the hill. All nature seemed to be sleeping, and the distant cry of a night-bird sounded as if in a dream. Before long he had reached the spot where the path turned off to the pavilion. The little temple stood out in the moonlight as sharply as by day against the darkblue sky, like an erection of gleaming silver and snow; the light seemed to ripple on the marble like living, translucent dew—and, in the middle, the goddess sat—enthroned! a tall form robed in white, her face veiled, motionless as though indeed a statue. Quintus paused for an instant; then he mounted to the top and said bowing low:

"Unknown one, I greet thee!"

"And I thee, Quintus Claudius!" answered a voice that was tremulous with agitation.

"You, madam, have commanded, and I, Quintus Claudius, have obeyed. Now, will you not reveal the secret I am burning to discover?"

The veiled lady took the young man gently by the hand and drew him tenderly to a seat.

"My secret!" she repeated with a sigh. "Can you not guess it? Quintus, divinest, most adorable Quintus—I love you!"

"Your favors confound me!" said Quintus in the tone of a man to whom such phrases were familiar. His unknown companion threw her arms round him, leaned her head on his shoulder, and burst into tears.

"Oh, happy, intoxicating hour!" she breathed in a rapturous undertone. "You, the noblest of men, my idol, whom I have thought of so long, watched with such eager eyes—you, Quintus, mine mine at last! It is too much happiness!"

Quintus, under the stormy fervor of this declaration, felt an uneasy mistrust which he tried in vain to repress. This despotic "mine—mine" gave him a sensation as of the grip of a siren. He involuntarily rose.

"My good fortune takes my breath away!" he said in flattering accents; doubly flattering to atone for the hasty impulse by which he had stood up. "But now grant my bold desire, and let me see your face. Let me know who it is, that vouchsafes me such unparalleled favors."

"You cannot guess?" she whispered reproachfully. "And yet it is said, that the eyes of love are keen. Quintus, my beloved, Fate denies us all open and unchecked happiness; it is in secret only that your lips may ever meet mine. But you know that true love mocks at obstacles—nay more, the flowers that blossom in the very valley of death are those that smell sweetest."

Quintus drew back a step.

"Once more," he insisted, "tell me who you are?"

The tall figure raised a beautiful arm, that shone like Parian marble in the moonlight, and slowly lifted her veil.

"The Empress!"94 cried Quintus dismayed

"Not 'the Empress' to you, my Quintus—to you Domitia, hapless, devoted Domitia, who could die of love at your feet."

Quintus stood immovable.

"Fear nothing," she said smiling. "No listener is near to desecrate the perfect bliss of this moonlit night."

"Fear?" retorted Quintus. "I am not a girl, to go into fits in a thunder- storm. What I resolve on I carry out to the end, though the end be death! Besides, I know full well, that your favors bloom in secret places—as silent and as harmless as the roses in a private garden."

Domitia turned pale.

"And what do you mean by that?" she asked shuddering.

"You live far away from Caesar, your husband; you are served by spies; your palace is a labyrinth with a hundred impenetrable chambers..."

"Indeed!" said Domitia, controlling her excitement. "But still, I saw you start. What dismayed you so much, if it was not the suspicion of danger?"

"You know," answered the young man hesitating, "that I am one of those who are ranked as Caesar's friends.95 A friend—though merely an official friend—cannot betray the man he is bound to defend."

Domitia laughed loudly.

"Fine speeches, on my word!" she exclaimed scornfully. "Friendship, for the executioner who cuts your head off! Fidelity to a bloodthirsty ruffian! No, Quintus—I know better. You are staunch, but not from fidelity—from prudence!"

Quintus struck his breast proudly with his hand.

"You force me," he said, "to speak the truth, in spite of my desire to spare you. You must know then, that Quintus Claudius thinks better of himself than to stoop to be the successor of an actor!"

"Mad fool! what are you saying..."

"What I was bound to say. You thought I was afraid; I am only proud. No, and if you were Cypris96 in person I should disdain you no less, in spite of every charm. Never will 1 touch the lips, that have been kissed by a buffoon—a slave."97

Domitia did not stir; she seemed paralyzed by the fury of this attack.—At last, however, she rose.

"You are very right, Quintus," she said. "It was too much to expect. Go and sleep, and dream of your wedding. But the gods, you know, are envious. They often grant us joys in our dreams and deny the reality. But now, before you go, kneel to the Empress!" and as she spoke a stiletto flashed ominously in her hand. Quintus, however, had with equal swiftness drawn his dagger.

"Fair and gently!" he said drawing back. "The honor of being stabbed by the fair hand of Domitia is a temptation no doubt..." She colored and dropped the weapon.

"Leave me!" she said, going to lean against the balustrade. "I do not know what I am doing; my brain is reeling. Forgive me—forgive me!" Quintus made no reply, and—casting a glance of furious hatred at him—she hurried down the steps, glided through the gap in the brushwood into the deserted park, and vanished among the shrubs.

Quintus stood looking after her.

"One foe the more!" said he to himself. "Well, what does it matter? Either to be made an end of by the knife of an assassin or to live on, my very soul sickened with it all... Pah!"

And he made his way homewards, singing a Greek drinking-song as he went.