CHAPTER XXVI.
INTERMEZZO.
The dramatic composer has this great advantage over the novelist, thatwhen he has to allow for a certain amount of time,--it may be for years--toelapse between the parts of his play, he lowers the curtain, the first orsecond act is concluded, ices, oranges are taken round in the stalls; theorchestra strikes up an overture, the gentlemen retire to the promenadegallery for a cigar, and the ladies discuss their acquaintances, and thetoilette of those in the boxes, after having explored the theatre withtheir glasses.
At Munich and Bayreuth, at the performance of Wagner's operas, the spaceallowed between the acts is sufficient for a walk and for a meal. Thus thelapse of time between the parts of a drama is given a real expression, andthe minds of those who have followed the first part of the story areprepared to accept a change in the conditions of the performers, such ascould be brought about solely by the passage of time.
But a novelist has no such assistance, he is not able to produce such anillusion; even when his story appears in a serial, he is without thisadvantage, for the movement of his tale, when it is rapid, is artificiallydelayed by the limitations laid down by the editors of the magazines, andthe space allotted to him, and when he does require a pause to allow forthe gliding away of a certain number of years, that pause consists ofprecisely the same number of days as intervened in the serial publication,between chapters in which the action should have been continuous.
The writer must, therefore, throw himself on the indulgence of the reader,and plead to be allowed like a Greek chorus to stand forward and narratewhat has taken place, during a period of time concerning which he proposesto pass over without detailed account, before he resumes the thread of hisnarrative.
When Vespasian was hailed Emperor by the troops he was aged sixty-one, andnone supposed that his reign would be long. He associated his eldest sonTitus with him in government, but would not allow the younger, Domitian,any power.
When the Emperor reached the capital, he learned the misuse Domitian hadmade of that which he had arrogated to himself, or which had been grantedto him by the Senate, in his father's absence. The old Emperor was vastlydispleased at the misconduct of his younger son, and would perhaps havedealt severely with him, had he not been dissuaded from so doing by Titus,who pointed out, that as he himself had no son, in all probabilityDomitian would at some time succeed to the purple.
The young man, kept in the background, not even allowed the command in anymilitary expedition, carefully watched and restrained from giving vent tohis natural disposition, chafed at his enforced inactivity, and at themarked manner in which he was set behind his elder brother, a man who, bythe capture of Jerusalem, had gained a name, and had attached the soldieryto him. Domitian was known to the military only by his abortive attempt topluck the laurels in Germany from the brow of his kinsman Cerealis, forthe adornment of his own head.
Domitian was granted none of the titles that indicated association in theEmpire. He was not suffered to take part in public affairs. His insolencein neglecting the duties of praetor of the city, as beneath his dignity,was punished in this manner. When Titus celebrated his triumph after theJewish war, with unusual magnificence, he and his father rode in chariotsof state, but Domitian was made to follow on horseback. When Vespasian andhis eldest son showed themselves in public, they were carried on thrones,whereas Domitian was made to attend in the rear in a litter.
The envious, ambitious young prince, under this treatment was driven towear a mask, and he affected a love of literature, and indifference to theaffairs of state. Titus, who knew less of him than his father, wasdeceived, but Vespasian was too well aware of the radically evil heart ofhis younger son to trust him in any way.
Domitia was unable to escape from compulsary association with thisimperial cub. Vespasian was unwilling to undo the past, and have thescandal raked up again, and public attention called to it. The minds ofthe volatile Romans had forgotten the circumstances and were occupied withnew matters of gossip. Domitian married Domitia Longina, and the oldEmperor after some consideration concluded that she should remain hiswife.
But the relations between her and the prince were strained. She hated himfor what he had done, and she made no attempt to affect a liking she didnot feel.
Lamia remained unmarried; he had cared for no other woman, and he feltthat there was not to be found one who could ever be to him what he hadhoped Domitia would have proved.
Once Titus asked him his reason for not marrying.
"Why do you inquire?" said Lamia, with a bitter smile, "do you also wishto carry off my wife?"
On the death of the old Emperor, Titus succeeded without any difficultiesbeing raised. His father had already associated him in the Empire and hadgradually transferred the conduct of affairs to his hands.
Hitherto the brothers had lived on very good terms with each other, at allevents in appearance, and Domitian had been sufficiently prudent to veilhis jealousy of Titus, who had shown himself kindly disposed towards hisyounger brother.
On the accession of Titus, Domitian hoped to be associated with him ingovernment in the same manner as Titus had been with his father. In thishe was disappointed, his disappointment got the better of his prudence,and he declared that his brother had falsified the will of Vespasian, whohad divided the power equally between them.
On the first day of his reign, Titus designated Domitian as his successor,but he allowed him no independent power; and the young prince at onceinvolved himself in intrigues and sought to rouse the troops to revolt,and to proclaim him in place of Titus.
The condition of Domitia would have been more intolerable than it was, butthat Vespasian, up to his death, retained his younger son about hisperson, in Rome, and it was but rarely that the prince was able to escapeto his villa, at Albanum, where Domitia remained in seclusion. And hisvisits there were not only few and far between, but also brief.
He was in bad humor when there, at liberty to vent his irritation at themanner in which he was treated by his father, and the behavior towards himof Domitia was not calculated to dispel his vapors.
A considerable change had come over her face. The expression had altered;it had been full of sweetness, and the muscles had been flexible. Now itwas hard-set and stern.
Domitian cursed her for the fascination she still exercised over him. Itwas perhaps her unyielding temper, her openly expressed scorn, and herbiting sarcasms which stung him to maintain his grip on her, knowing thatthis was to her torture. Yet her beauty exercised over him a hold fromwhich he could not escape. His feelings towards her were a mixture ofpassionate admiration and savage resentment. From every one else he metwith adulation, or at least respect, from her neither. His will was a lawto a legion of sycophants, to her it was something she seemed to find apleasure in defying.
Domitia nursed her resentment, and this soured her nature and reflecteditself in her features.
In the long Chiaramonte Gallery of the Vatican Museum is an exquisite anduninjured bust of Domitia Longina as a girl; the face is one that holdsthe passer-by, it is so sweet, so beautiful, so full of a glorious soul.
In the Florence Gallery is one of the same woman after Domitian hadsnatched her away from Lamia, and hidden her in his Alban villa. Lovelythe face is still, but the beautiful soul has lost its light, the softnesshas gone out of the face, and the shadow of a darkened life broods overit.
At Albanum the solitary Domitia had the satisfaction of being attended byher servant Euphrosyne, and the faithful Eboracus was also allowed to bethere as her minister.
She occasionally visited her mother in Rome, but the chasm between themwidened. Duilia could not understand her daughter's refusal to accept theinevitable and failure to lay hold of her opportunities, and, as shetermed it, "eat her rat." The older Duilia grew, the less inclined she wasto acknowledge her age, and the more frivolous and scheming she became.She was never weary of weaving little webs of mystery and of
contrivingplans; and the initiating of all these was a supper. She was well off,liked ostentation, yet was withal of a frugal mind, and never orderedcostly dishes, or broached her best wine without calculation that theywould lead to valuable results.
It was possible that Vespasian might have interfered in favor of Domitia,had he been made to understand how strongly she disliked the union, butDomitia herself was never able to obtain an interview with the agedEmperor, and Duilia took pains to assure him that the marriage had beencontracted entirely with her approval, that the union with Lamia had beenentered on without feeling on either side, in obedience to an expressedwish of Corbulo before his death, and that her daughter was quite contentto be released.
The period was not one in which the personal feelings of a girl werecounted as deserving of much thought, certainly not of being considered byan Emperor, and Vespasian took no steps to relieve Domitia. Titus wasbetter aware of the facts, and had some notion of the wrench it had beento the young married people, but he was not desirous of having the matterreopened. It would not conduce to the credit of the Flavian house, andthat was in his eyes a matter of paramount consideration--as the process ofdeification of the Flavians had already begun.
BOOK II.