CHAPTER II.
THE FISH.
Domitian had been accorded by his brother a portion of the palace ofTiberius on the Palatine Hill, that was crowded with imperial residences;and Domitia had been brought there from Albanum.
She was one day on the terrace. The hilltop was too much encumbered withbuildings to afford much space for gardens, but there were platforms onwhich grew cypresses, and about the balustrades roses twined and pouredover in curtains of flower. Citrons and oleanders also stood in tubs, andagainst the walls glistened the burnished leaves of the pomegranate; thescarlet flowers bloomed in spring and the warm fruit ripened till it burstin the hot autumn.
Domitia, seated beside the balustrade, looked over mighty Rome, theteeming forum, roofs with gilded tiles of bronze, lay below her, flashingin the sun, and beyond on the Capitol, white as snow, but glinting withgold, was the newly completed temple of Jupiter, rebuilt in greatersplendor than before since the disastrous fire.
The hum of the city came up to her as the murmur of a sea, not a troubledone, but a sea of a thousand wavelets trifling with the pebbles of abeach, and dancing in and out among the teeth of a reef; a hum not unlikethat of the bees--but somewhat louder, and pitched on a lower note.
Domitia paid no attention to the scene, nor to the sounds, she was engagedwith her jewel-box, that she had brought forth into the sun, in order thatshe might count over her treasures.
At a respectful distance sat Euphrosyne spinning.
Domitia had some Syrian filagree gold work in her hand--it formed adecoration for the head, to be fastened by two pins; the heads were thoseof owls with opals for eyes.
She laid it aside and looked at her rings and brooches. There was one ofthe latter, a cameo given her by her mother, of coral of two hues, aMedusa's head, a beautiful work of art. Then she took up a necklace ofBritish pearls from the Severn, she twisted it about her arm and lovelywere the pure pearls against her delicate flesh,--like the dainty tints onthe rose and white coral of the brooch she had laid aside.
She replaced the chain, and took up a cornelian fish.
"Euphrosyne," said Domitia, "come hither! observe this fish. Thy sistergave it me the day I was married, but alack! it brought me no luck. Thinkyou it is an omen of ill? But Glyceria would not have given me one such."
"Nay, lady, the fish brings the greatest happiness."
"What is its meaning? It is a strange symbol. It must have some purport."
The slave hesitated about answering.
Then, hearing steps on the pavement, and looking round, Domitiacalled--"Thou! Elymas! who pretendest to know all things, answer me this, Ihave an amulet--a fish--what doth it portend?"
"What?--the murex? That gives the imperial purple."
"Bah! It is no murex, not a sea snail but a fish. What is thesignification?"
"Lady, to one so high, ever-increasing happiness."
"Away! you are all wrong. Happiness is not where you deem it. False thouart, false to thy creed. _Thou_ speak of a divine ray in every man andwoman! an emanation from the Father of Light, quivering, battling,straining to escape out of its earthly envelope and soar to itssource!--thou speak of this, and in all thy doings and devisings seekestwhat is sordid and dark!"
The gloomy man folded his cloak about him, and looking at her from underhis penthouse brows answered:--
"Thou launchest forth against me without reason. Knowest thou what is acomet? It is a star that circles about the sun and from it drinks in allthe illumination it can absorb, like as the thirsty soil in summer sucksin the falling rain, or the fields the outflow of the Alban Lake; then itflies away into space, and as it flies it sheds its effulgence, becomingever more dim till it reaches infinite darkness and is there black in themidst of absolute nigritude. Then it turns and comes back to replenish itsurn."
"Nay," said Domitia, "that can never be. When all light is gone, then alldesire for return goes likewise. I know that in myself--I--I am such acomet. When I was a child I longed, I hungered for the light, and in mydays of adolescence it was the same, only stronger--it was as a famine. Iwas the poor comet sweeping up towards my sun; but where my sun was,that--in the vast abyss of infinity--I knew not. I sought and found not, Isought and shed my glory, till there was but a faint glimmer left in me;and now--now all light is extinguished, and with it desire to know, tolove, to be happy, to return."
"Madam, you, as the comet, are reaching your apogee, your extreme limit;you must shed all your light before you can return to the source oflight."
"What! is that your philosophy? The Father of Light sends forth his ray toexpire in utter darkness, predestined this ray of light to extinction. Ifso--then He is not good. And yet," she sighed, "it is so. I am such. Inblackness of night. Look you, Elymas, when I was a child, I laughed anddanced; I cannot dance, I can but force a laugh now. I once loved theflowers and the butterflies; I love them no more. My light is gone. Thefaculty of enjoyment is gone with it. Do I want to return? To what? To thesource of light that launched me into this misery? No, not into that coldand cruel fate. Let me go on my inky way, I have no more light to lose--Ilook only to go out as a fallen star and leave nothing behind me."
"What! when a great future is before you?"
"What future? you have none to offer me that I value. Away with your hintsconcerning the purple--it is the sable of mourning to me."
She panted. The tears came into her eyes.
"It is you who have wrecked my life--you--you. It was you who devised thatcrime--when I was snatched away from the only man I loved--the only man withwhom I could have been happy--whom I--" she turned aside and hid her face.Then recovering herself, but with a cheek glistening with tears, she said:"I admit it, I love still, and ever shall love. And he loves me. He hastaken none to wife, for he thinks on me. There, could darkness be deeperthan my now condition? And you did it, you betrayed me into the hands--"she had sufficient self-control not to say to whom, before this man andher slave.
"Lady, it is not I, but Destiny."
"And you, with your tortuous ways, work to ends that you desire, andexcuse it by saying, It is Destiny."
"What, discussing the lore of emanations, little woman?" asked theEmperor, coming suddenly up.
Elymas stood back and assumed a deferential attitude. Titus waved him towithdraw, and was obeyed. Then he took Domitia by the hand.
"A philosopher, are you?"
"No, I ask questions, but get no answers that content me."
"Ah! you asked a favor of me the other day and spiced it with a sneer--yourjibes hit me."
"I meant not to give pain."
"I have come to you touching this very matter. I am not sure, child, thatthe scandal is not greater so long as you and Domitian remain linkedtogether, and pulling opposite ways, than if you were parted. Yourquarrels are now the talk of Rome, and many a cutting jest is put intoyour pretty mouth at our expense; invented by others, attributed to you."
"You will have us divorced!" her breath came quick and short.
"Listen to what I propose. Domitia, I am not well. I have this accursedRoman fever on me."
"Sire, I mark suffering in your face."
"It has been vexing me for some days, and it is my intent to leave Romeand be free from business and take my cure at Cutiliae--our old estate inthe Sabine country. Perhaps the air, the waters of the old home, the nestof our divine family--" his mouth twitched, but there was a sad expressionin his face--"they may do me good. It is something, Domitia, to stand onthe soil that was turned by one's forbears, when they bent as humblefarmers over the plough. They were honest men and happy; and when one isdown at heart, there is naught like home--the old home where are the bonesof one's ancestors, though they may have been yeomen, and one acommissioner, and another an usurer, and so on. They were honest men. Aye!the rate-collector, he was an honest man. Here all is false, and unreal,and--Domitia--I feel that I want to stand on the soil where my worthy,humble, dear old
people worked and worshipped, and laid them down to die."
"You are downcast indeed," said Domitia.
"And because downcast, I have been brooding over your troubles, littlesister-in-law. Come! I did something for your poor Lamia,--I made himconsul, and I will do more. Can you be patient and tarry till my strengthis restored? I shall return from my family farm in rude health, I trust,and by the Gods! the first matter I will then take in hand will be yours.I know what my brother is. By Jupiter Capitolinus! if Rome should everhave him as its prince, it will weep tears of blood. I know his savagehumor and his sullen mind. No, Domitia, you cannot be happy with him. Acruel wrong was done you, and when I return from Cutiliae I will right it.You shall be separated!"
She threw herself at his feet.
He smiled, and withdrawing from her clasp, said:--
"I will do more than that for your very good friend, in whom you stilltake such a lively interest. I shall find means to advance him to someforeign post--he knows Antioch, I will give him the proconsulship of Syriaand Cilicia, and so move him away from Rome. And then--" he took a turn,looked smilingly at Domitia, and said,--"I do not see that you need mope atGabii. You know Antioch; you were there for some years. It is, I believe,not well for a governor to take his wife with him; she has the credit ofbeing a very horse-leech to the province. But I can trust thee, littlewoman! There, no thanks, I seek mine own interest, and to protect ourdivine images and the new gilding from the rasp of that tongue. That isthe true motive of my making this offer. Do not thank me. On my returnfrom Cutiliae you may reckon on me."
Then hastily brushing away her thanks, and evading her arms, extended toclasp him, he walked from the terrace.
"Euphrosyne!" cried Domitia, "did you hear! The comet has reached itsextreme limit, it is turning--it is drawing to the light--to hope. Happinessis near--ah!"
In her excitement she had struck her jewel-case that stood on the marblebalustrade, and sent it, with all its costly contents, flying down theprecipice into the thronged lanes at the back of the forum in a glitteringrain.
"Ye Gods!" gasped Domitia, "the omen! O ye Gods! the bad omen."
"Lady," said Euphrosyne, "all is not lost"
"What remains? Ah! the Fish!"
"Yes, mistress dear, when all else is lost, remember the Fish."