Читать книгу Quintus Claudius, Vol. II - Eckstein Ernst - Страница 3

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The same day, which saw our friends in the country house at Ostia, and the bond of love sealed between Aurelius and Claudia, had been one of infinite agitation and annoyance to the Emperor Domitian.

The very first thing in the morning came vexatious tidings from the town and provinces. At the earliest dawn inscriptions had been discovered on several of the fountains, columns and triumphal arches, of which the sting was more or less covertly directed against the Palatium and the person of Caesar. "Enough!" was attached to the base of a portrait bust.1 "The fruit is ripe!" was legible on the Arch of Drusus. In the fourth, eighth and ninth regions the revolutionary question was to be seen in many places: "Where is Brutus?" and at the entrance of the baths of Titus, in blood-red letters, stared the appeal: "Nero is raging; Galba, why dost thou tarry?"

Domitian, who had heard all this from his spies, long before the court officials even suspected what had happened, received these courtiers in the very worst of tempers. His levée was not yet ended, when a mounted messenger brought the news that a centurion had raised the standard of revolt on the Germanic frontier,2 but that he had been defeated and slain after a short struggle.

At noonday the soldiers of the town-guard seized an astrologer, Ascletario by name,3 who had publicly announced that ruin threatened Caesar. Before the moon should have twelve times rounded—so ran his prophecy—Caesar's blood would be shed by violence. The immortals were wroth at his reprobate passion for a woman who, by all the laws of gods and men, he had no right to love.

At first Domitian laughed. His connection with Julia seemed to him so dull and pointless a weapon for his foe to turn against him, that the stupidity of it astonished him. However, he commanded that the astrologer should be brought before him.

"Who paid you?" he enquired with a scowl, when the prisoner was dragged into the room.

"No one, my lord!"

"You lie."

"My lord, as I hope for the mercy of the gods, I do not lie."

"Then you really assert, that you actually read in the stars the forecast you have uttered?"

"Yes, my lord; I have only declared, what my skill has revealed to me."

The superstitious sovereign turned pale.

"Well then, wise prophet, you can of course foretell your own end?"

"Yes, my lord. Before this day is ended, I shall be torn to pieces by dogs."

Domitian looked scornfully round on the circle of men.

"I fancy," he said, "that I can upset the prophetic science of this worthy man. Carry him off at once to execution, and take care that his body is burnt before sundown."

The astrologer bowed his head in sullen resignation. He was led away to the field on the Esquiline, and immediately beheaded before an immense concourse; within an hour Domitian was informed that all was over. At this news his temper and spirit improved a little. He congratulated himself on the prompt decision, which had so signally proved the falsehood of the prophecy.

At dinner he carried on an eager conversation with Latinus, the actor4 who, among other farcical parts, filled the role of news- monger.

"You are later than usual to-day," said Caesar graciously. "What detained you?"

"A most laughable occurrence," replied the comedian. "By a mere chance I passed by the Esquiline. There, in the public field, an astrologer had just been executed. The dead body was still lying there, when a stranger came by with three huge dogs.5 Before the slaves could prevent it, the three hounds had rushed upon the carcass and had torn it literally to bits. The dogs were killed at once with loud outcries; the owner had vanished completely. Immediately after, Clodianus came up to me and asked me if I had not seen the fellow, with a long red beard. One thing led to another, till your adjutant quitted me to make farther enquiries. I hastened hither and, as it was, arrived later than I ought."

The narrator had not observed that every trace of color had faded out of the Emperor's cheeks. As he ceased speaking, Domitian sprang up and, without saying a word, rushed out of the triclinium and into his own apartments. An intolerable dread almost deprived him of breath;6 he ran like a hunted deer from one room to another, now shaking his fists in impotent fury, and again stopping to look suspiciously round him on every side. In this wretched frame of mind he was found by Julia, who had been seriously ill ever since the return of Domitia. In spite of the Empress's commands, she had not yet quitted the palace. She came in, fevered and pale, to implore protection against her haughty rival, who had threatened to turn her into the street. The palace servants had tried to stop her at the entrance to Domitian's apartments, but she had thrust them aside with the strength of desperation. At the sound of footsteps Domitian started and turned round. She stood before him—young, lovely, wretched—the victim of his remorseless passion. But the sight of her, far from stirring his pity, roused him to foaming rage. Was it not she, the abandoned creature, who had brought down on him the wrath of the gods? Was it not for her sake, that his blood was to be shed, if the astrologer had prophesied truly? And he had prophesied only too truly! His own end had borne witness to the truth of his mission.

"Hussy!" yelled the Emperor. "Have you come to mock me? Are you plotting to murder me, that you come sneaking round me? It is your doing, and no one else is to blame if Caesar perishes in his blood...! Go, serpent! This very day quit Rome, or I will have you flogged through the gates."

The hapless girl drew herself up proudly.

"This," she cried, "to crown my misery. Are you not satisfied with having betrayed my youth, and poisoned my innocence? Is this the compensation for a life of horror?"

"Silence! It is a lie! It was your own vanity, that ruined you—your ambition, hoping to share a throne. Out of my sight, I say—you have no one to blame but yourself."

"Miserable coward! Are you frightened by the forecast of a soothsayer? Well, your fate will overtake you; but not for my sake—no; for the sake of Rome!"

"Go..." shrieked Domitian, "or I shall kill you!"

"Well then, kill me. Add the crowning stroke to all your crimes! What do I care? I do not ask to stay in this world of misery and infamy, or in this proud Empire of Rome whose Emperor is an executioner."

At this instant the slaves, who were waiting in the anteroom, heard a dull sound as of a blow or push, a piercing scream, and a heavy fall, and the next moment Domitian called out in a hoarse, choked voice: "Phaeton!" When the slave entered the room, Julia was senseless on the floor.7 She was lying doubled up in a convulsed attitude, and her face was livid rather than pale.

"Carry her away," said Caesar; "she is ill."

The senseless girl was carried away, and that same day she died of an internal injury.

Domitian spent a terrible night. In the course of the third vigil he sent an express to Norbanus, the general of the Praetorian Guard. For hours he sat up in torment on his couch, making his slaves sing to the lute. Now and again he asked for a weapon, or for drink, or sent all the attendants out of the room excepting Phaeton, his favorite slave, who was to bar the door, and guard it sword in hand.

At last the day broke. It was Domitian's birthday, the 24th of October.8 During the first hour after sunrise the usual ceremonious reception took place of magistrates, senators, and knights.9 Outside the palace there was a scene of confusion, such as was rarely seen even in Rome. All the suburbs seemed to have emptied themselves, and the people to have converged on the Forum. Instead of one cohort of the Praetorian Guard, two had been posted on guard, and the sentinels at the palace gates were also doubled. The officials, whose business it was to check the admission of visitors, straightly enquired of each individual as he crossed the threshold of the audience chamber, whether he had any weapon about him. It was many years since this had last been done, and the effect was paralyzing.

Domitian received the senators, not merely with reserve, but with evident repugnance, nor did he bestow on one of those who attended the customary honor of a kiss. A dull atmosphere of suspicion brooded like a vapor, and seemed to fill the splendidly-decorated room.10 As the last visitors retired from the presence, it was rather like an escape or a flight. Atra cura, as sung by Horatius Flaccus,11 seemed to have flung her dark robe over the palace.

At last three men were left in attendance on the Emperor: Clodianus, Parthenius, the high-chamberlain, and Norbanus, the general of the Guard. This last was perhaps the only person, whom Domitian had received with politeness—indeed, so far as he was concerned, with marked attention. The tyrant, who, to every one else was cold and contemptuous, turned from time to time to the noble soldier with an engaging smile to assure him, half stammering, of his unaltered favor. The ruler of the world had altogether lost his command of himself.

"And you have found no trace, formed no guess?" he asked with a frightened glance in the general's face. "Your efforts too, Clodianus, have been unsuccessful?"

"Alas, my lord and god! I have offered great rewards, I have bribed dozens of idlers—all in vain; and to crown our ill-luck, when the slaves burnt the pile intended for the astrologer's body, they flung in, not merely the remains of Ascletario, but the dead hounds as well. Thus we lost the last clue to the discovery."

"Let them be crucified! idiotic fools!" shrieked Caesar, trembling in every limb.

"They richly deserve it," said Clodianus. "Still, I cannot comprehend the matter. The strange man, who suddenly appeared with the dogs, as suddenly vanished, as if the earth had swallowed him; and from among a knot of old women I heard a voice exclaim: 'It is Ahasuerus!'"

"Ahasuerus!" shouted the Emperor, starting up. "Then have Ahasuerus advertised for."

"Impossible," replied Clodianus. "Ahasuerus is a bogey creature of the Nazarenes, a restless spirit that wanders over lands and seas. I only mentioned the fact, to show you the impression produced by the apparition. There was something supernatural and appalling in his appearance..."

Domitian was more agitated every moment; he paced the room excitedly.

"Are all those infamous inscriptions torn down and wiped out?" he suddenly asked, addressing Parthenius.

"Can you doubt it?... Why, the very morning dew, disgusted at the crime, did its best to wash them away."12

"Why did you not tell me of the inscription at the baths of Titus?"

"My lord, you knew of it... "

"From Latinus, who came to me at break of day."

"My lord, I thought "

"Silence. It was your duty to tell me the whole truth. Only by complete knowledge can an evil be met; a blind man falls into the pit."

"My lord, if you desire it..." said Parthenius, laying his hand on his heart. Clodianus also bowed in sign of utter devotion, and his eye was positively radiant with fidelity and reverence—only on his full underlip there was the faintest possible twitch of self-satisfied irony.

Again Domitian took to pacing the room, which was lined with mirrors. On every side he could see his pale, bloated face, here and there distorted and lengthened by some imperfection in the mirror. He shuddered.

"I am ill, my faithful friends," he said in a low voice. "I need rest and quiet reflection—but the good of the Empire is paramount. Listen and perpend." He sat down and went on deliberately: "The times are perilous; treason lurks in every comer. Rome relies on Caesar; I must act. Terror alone can suppress treason, and I will strike terror into the traitors. The law against the Nazarenes is a good beginning, but it is merely a beginning. It only attacks the Catilines among the slaves and lowest class. We must go farther. We must strike at. Caesar's foes in the houses of the great and noble among the knights, and in the Senate. Numbers are suspected by us, and to be suspected is to deserve death. Our heart, in its tender mercy,13 has too often held our hand, but now the hour is come. In profound silence, but without delay, we must act—must strike the guilty with the swiftness and certainty of lightning. This very day vengeance must be planned. Once more, valiant Norbanus: how about the trustworthiness of your cohorts?"

Norbanus bowed. "They are Caesar's—heart and soul and body."

"The little gold Domitians have pleased the good fellows? Keep them warm, dear Norbanus, and if the two millions are not enough for you, say so without reserve. The soldiers, who protect my Empire, must learn to believe, that liberality sits on the throne of the Caesars."

"Many thanks, my lord, but greater largesse might weaken discipline."

"But the centurions?"

"They are without exception strict and faithful. At a nod from me they would ride through fire and water."

"Capital!" said Domitian with a bitter-sweet smile; for, without intending it, the general had given utterance to a painful sentiment, of which the Emperor had long been conscious: namely, that the Praetorian Guard would first obey their general, and at his orders only were devoted to their sovereign. This did not escape the keen insight of Clodianus, and again a subtle line of malicious satisfaction curled the lips of the man, who usually played the part of stolid honesty with the greatest success. As chance would have it, on this occasion the Emperor, looking up suddenly, caught the last quivering trace of this smile. He took no notice of it; he perhaps became a shade paler—but he turned to whisper to the prefect of the Guard.

"Only let this cloud of disaffection and excitement pass over," he said, clapping him on the shoulder, "and, I promise you, Caesar will not forget you. Now, my fiiends, farewell, and await our commands."

The general received a farewell kiss, and quitted the room.

"What an age is this, by all the gods!" exclaimed Domitian, throwing up his arms. "To contend against the malice of the people, Caesar is forced to sacrifice the hours, which he owes to the happiness and welfare of the people. Woe is me, that the immortals should allow such things to happen! Up and to work then! That is the word."

As he spoke, he rose and, followed by Parthenius and Clodianus, he went into his private study. The chamberlain closed the door behind him; Phaeton was on guard in the anteroom.

While the founder of the reign of terror thus yielded to an ill-concealed attack of panic, and already, in fancy, heard the roar of revolt, knocking with its blood-reddened sword at his palace gate, the reign of terror itself was lording it abroad, apparentiy more splendid and firmly based than ever. The doubled garrison had increased the popular feeling of the Emperor's might, and the calm, impressive solemnity, with which the terrible edict against the Nazarenes had been discussed and promulgated, seemed amply to prove how strong the throne felt itself, and how completely it was master of the situation. The numerous sacrifices which the prime mover of that piece of legislature, Titus Claudius Mucianus, had, in his function as Flamen, offered up to Jupiter, were both favorable and auspicious. The lower classes, who streamed in merry troops to the Circus Maximus, rejoiced over the gifts of corn and the gratification of their passion for a spectacle. The shouting and chanting processions of the priests of Bona Dea and of Isis added to the solemnity of the festival. Not a word of disaffection, not a discordant murmur was to be heard in this universal jubilation, which rolled in a mighty flood through the streets, markets, and public places. Sorrow and discontent are silent on such occasions. In the temple of Saturn a troop of blooming youths, wearing to-day for the first time the toga virilis,14 sang a high-flown festal ode, composed by Marcus Valerius Martialis. The inspired verse sounded out through the Forum, borne on the wings of a hundred youthful voices:

"Hail! oh birthday of Caesar, day more bright and auspicious

Ev'n than the day when, on Ida, Rhea gave birth to Zeus15 Hail f and return more often than erst to Pylian Nestor,16 Ever as bright as to-day, or a thousand times more fair. Many years yet may Caesar keep the feast of Minerva17 Held on the Alban Hill; and confer the victor's wreath Twined of oak-leaves, the prize to crown the worthiest singer. Soon may he hallow the secular games with offerings and gifts! Great is the boon we ask; but from the gods in heaven, Such a boon is due to Caesar, the god upon earth."18

The melodious strain soared up from the temple of Saturn to the towering Palatium beyond.

But he, to whom the homage was offered, heard it not. Shut up with Clodianus and Parthenius, he was writing down on a wooden tablet the names of those, whom he devoted to death.19 Parthenius read them out in a low voice, and the Emperor assented; then the chamberlain wrote down another list of names, and again they were discussed in an undertone. Domitian's face meanwhile grew more and more like that of a jaguar, lurking in ambush to pounce on his prey.

"And you, Clodianus," he whispered, almost inaudibly. "Do not you know of any reprobate wretch, who deserves to die?" He fixed his eye on the soldier's face.

"No, my lord," said the adjutant. "It seems to me, that you have not overlooked one."

"It is well. You will copy out the list—at once. The tablet I myself will keep. When Rome is saved, I will hang it up in the temple of Jupiter."

Clodianus took his writing implements out of the folds of his tunic.

"Perhaps," the Emperor added with a meaning smile.—" Perhaps another name or two may occur to me." And he hid the strip of lime-wood in his bosom.

"And now," he continued, "make your plans. I will not listen to anything till you can say to me: all is over; the deed is done. You know how cautiously, how warily you must proceed. Remember, your existence too is endangered; when a tree falls, the branches fall with it.—Go, my friends. If you triumph, I will endow you with power above all other mortals, and in splendor and honors you shall be equal with myself. I will name you my brothers."

He sank exhausted on to a chair; Parthenius and Clodianus left the room.

"Yes, yes!" muttered Domitian between his teeth, as the door closed behind the two men; "one is yet wanting on the list of the elect!"

He drew forth the tablet, and, with an indescribable grimace of hatred, wrote at the end of the long list of names: "Clodianus."

"Wait awhile, my friend! This task you shall be allowed to finish—but then—it is not well, when a sapling grows too proudly skywards."