CHAPTER II.
On the following day, in Rome, about the seventh hour, or noon, a smallparty descended the slope of the Janiculan Hill toward the Tiber.
Though not included in the more famous cluster of the seven hills acrossthe river, which formed the heart of Rome, the Janiculum, with its longstraight ridge running nearly north and south, was the greatest inaltitude, and commanded the noblest and most extensive view of the cityitself, as well as the loveliness of the surrounding plain, as far as thecircling Apennines beyond.
With the straight line of the hill as a base, a sharp curve of the riverforms the other two sides of a triangle, enclosing a level tract ofground. This was the Transtibertine district, which formed the fourteenth,and largest, region of the city, as arranged by Augustus. In interest andimportance it was perhaps the least, being populated by the lowestclasses, particularly fishermen, tanners, and the like. It was also theoriginal Ghetto, or quarter of the Jews, which now occupies the bank ofthe river immediately opposite.
The obvious advantages of dwelling above the crammed and stifling valleysnaturally brought the hills, in time, from the princely and fashionablePalatine, almost wholly in the hands of the powerful and wealthy classes.The Janiculum, as a suburban mount, was greatly lacking in the noblebuildings and ancient traditions which clothed the urban seven. Neitherwas it fashionable, for it lay too far from the public places of the city,most frequented by society. Nevertheless, there were some who preferredits fresher and purer air, its nobler prospect and its greater seclusion,to the advantages and attractions of a more central residence.
One of these was a wealthy man who had long retired from a busy, publiclife, to devote himself to the quiet pursuits of study, in a house he hadbuilt, and gardens he had laid out, on a commanding eminence of the hill.
The name of Quintus Fabricius had once been celebrated in the city as thatof a senator distinguished for uprightness, firmness, and liberality, buthis public fame had almost passed away with a new generation. He was now,at the time we speak of, far better known throughout Rome in connectionwith a domestic matter, which will unfold itself in the following pages.
He was of an old family; and if wealth, taste, and an easy consciencecould make a man happy, surely he might be said to be truly so. We willfollow him, for it is he, and his five slaves, who form the small partypreviously mentioned.
They walked in three divisions. Two powerful slaves led the van, whoseespecial care was to clear a way for their master through the crowded,tortuous lanes. When their cry of 'Place, place,' was unheeded, theyenforced a passage, after the usual custom, by a rough and ready use oftheir brawny arms and shoulders. The remaining three slaves walked in therear, each bearing some trifling burden of personal attire or conveniencebelonging to their master. In the centre walked Fabricius himself.
He was tall and spare, but with a slight stoop. His features were regularand handsome. His hair, though closely cropped, was yet thick andluxuriant, but white as snow. He could not have been less than seventy-five years of age; but the vigorous, free motions of his limbs, and thehealthy hue of his aged, wrinkled face, denoted a still soundconstitution, preserved by a temperate mode of life. His dark eyes, thoughsomewhat sunken, were yet bright and quick. As he now passed along,engaged with no train of thought in particular, their expression was oneof settled melancholy abstraction. His mouth was closely knit and firm,but, occasionally, as some poor neighbour saluted him, his lips curvedinto a kindly smile. His vigorous old age, and the natural nobility of hisappearance, were calculated to inspire respect; but there were alsodistinctions in his dress which marked his rank. His toga was made ofwool, in its natural colour of greenish white, a fashion of garment whichwas preserved by men of distinguished rank long after the toga itself hadfallen into disuse. On the right breast of his short-sleeved tunic, whereit peeped from beneath the graceful folds of the toga, might be seen aglimpse of the 'Angustus Clavus,'(1) or narrow purple stripe, which waswoven into the garment, and ran down perpendicularly from each shoulder.The high buskins on his feet were each fastened in front by four blackthongs, ornamented by a small crescent, the exclusive, sartorial badge ofsenatorial rank. Such little particulars were trifling enough in extent,and unnoticeable to a stranger, but to a Roman eye they denoted at oncethe rank and importance of the wearer. They were, however, unnecessary inthe poor and crowded suburb through which he and his slaves passedleisurely towards the river. He was well known to the humble inhabitants,in consequence of the proximity of his mansion, which stood on the heightoverlooking them; and, also, by acts of liberality and good-nature, whichever met with full appreciation. Hence, as he wound his way through thecrowded and not altogether sweet-flavoured district, his vanguard ofslaves before mentioned had only occasion now and again to use theirvoices to open a free passage. The people gave way readily, with gesturesof respect.
The main street of the district which they traversed brought them, in afew minutes, nigh to the river, just where it curved round the point ofland. In a right line before them stretched the Aemilian Bridge, leadingdirect to the Palatine Mount and the city; to the left hand forked anotherroad over the island of the Tiber. At this junction the leading slaveshalted and turned to learn their master's pleasure as to his intendedroute. The old man hesitated as if undecided, and, as he did so, a slimpersonage presented himself before the stationary group. Two or threerings on his fingers proclaimed his gentility as a Roman knight, and everyfold of his toga was disposed with the most scrupulous exactness. He mightbe about forty years of age, with straight black hair, a long nose, curvedvery much downwards, and small black eyes, rather too prominent and closeset to be called handsome. As he halted, his lips parted in a smile, whichdisplayed a row of brilliant white teeth. The slaves of Fabricius, onperceiving him, made him marked obeisance.
'Titus Afer!' murmured one of them in his master's ear.
Fabricius looked up from his momentary deliberation or abstraction.
'Ha, nephew, is it you?' said he.
'Even so, dear uncle. You seem to be on the horns of a dilemma,' returnedthe new-comer; 'have you started out to dine, uncle, not having settledwhere to turn in for your dinner?'
'Why, no; I am going to dine with my old friend Florus on the Quirinal--butyou, nephew?'
'Oh, I!--it is of no consequence--I was coming just to spend an hour withyou. It is three days since I have seen you. With your permission I willturn and go along with you, for a space, on your way, whichever it is!'
'By the Circus Flaminius; it is less crowded, though a little longer indistance,' said Fabricius.
He gave a slight motion of his hand, indicating the left turn, and theytook their way over the Cestian Bridge unto the island of the Tiber,sacred to Aesculapius. Thence by the bridge of Fabricius they were quicklyon the opposite bank, and passing round by the outer side of theCapitoline.
So far they walked in silence. The elder seemed absorbed in abstraction,and the younger to be waiting, as if in deference to his relative'scogitations. At length the old man turned his head toward the slaves whofollowed and waved his hand. They fell back farther in rear.
'Were you coming to tell me aught of your mission, Titus?' he began.
'I went as you desired,' returned his nephew, nodding.
'It was good of you, as ever, nephew; but to no purpose, I suppose--asever,' said the old man, adding the last words with a weary, half-suppressed sigh.
'None at all!' rejoined Afer, with another and deeper sigh. 'The woman wassix-and-twenty years old if she was a day; and, as for her appearance, shewas as likely to have grown from your Aurelia, as a barn-door fowl from aneaglet. These tales and rumours are detailed by knavish people simply towork upon your weakness, uncle, and to squeeze your purse--why listen tothem?'
'Ah, nephew--how can I shut my ears?'
'You are an unfailing, bottomless gold-mine to these people.'
'Oh!' cried the old man fervidly, throwing up his open palm to the blueheavens, and
looking up with a burning glance of his sunken, sorrow-ladeneyes, 'if the good gods would only give me back my lost darling, the joyof my old age,--my gold, and all that I have, to the last farthing, mightbe flung, if need be, broadcast over the streets of Rome.'
The black brows of the nephew knitted at the vehement words.
'And, truly, if what you have spent already, uncle, on this vain questwere sown broadcast, there would scarce be a gutter vagabond in the citythat would not be the richer. You have done all you can do, and I havehelped to the best of my ability.'
'You have, nephew, right nobly. Think not that I have forgotten it.'
'Then why cast good after bad? Will you not be assured after all thesesilent years of the hopelessness of all efforts?'
'If I lived to a hundred years, nephew, I could never sever hope fromme--it is part of me.'
'And I have none left, though I grieve to say it, and, moreover, my reasonis less governed by feeling than yours--poor Aurelia!'
'The gods overlook us,' said Fabricius, with a quiver in his voice, whilethe lips of the other curled in scorn.
'The impudent scoundrel, whom you sent to pilot me to his supposeddiscovery, demanded two thousand sesterces ere he would budge. It ishorrible, but I was forced to pay the extortioner. I would not mention it,uncle, but for my misfortune of being not too well provided withproperty.'
'It shall cost thee no more than it ever has,' returned Fabricius; 'thoushalt have it back and another two thousand, as well, for thy kindness.'
'Nay--I should seem to make a trade of robbing you like the rest of them.'
'Say no more, nephew, I insist upon it.'
The other shrugged his shoulders and was silent, and so they reached thefoot of the Quirinal Hill, upon which the house was situated whereFabricius was to dine. Here Afer halted.
'You are for the bath then?' said Fabricius.
'Even so; and then to dine with Apicius.'
'Ah! we old-fashioned men dine at an old-fashioned hour. This Apiciusgives feasts such as we could never dream of.'
'The finest in Rome.'
'Well, every one to their own tastes. Florus and myself will, no doubt,enjoy our modest entertainment as much as Apicius his profusion, though itcost nothing in proportion. It is a foolish, empty way of spending one'smoney, Titus.'
'From necessity I am not likely to copy it, uncle. Nevertheless, if hechoose to throw a portion of his away on me, I will not refuse it.'
'Yet there is a subtle danger in it, for----'
'Nay, nay, uncle,' said his nephew, laughing; 'if you begin to moraliseyour dinner will grow cold. So I will go and tell you later how mine wasserved.'
'Come then to see me soon, nephew--a good appetite. Farewell!'
Fabricius and his slaves turned to ascend the hill, and Afer watched themgoing. 'Nothing will cure him of this delusive hope, it is clear,' hemuttered. 'Assuming, therefore, that all this profitless expense isunavoidable, it is only just and prudent that it should flow mainly intothe purse of his heir, and not into the swindling hands of scamps andaliens, in order to feed wine-shops and brothels. Hermes himself will giveme witness that I spoke truth when I said that yon vagabond demanded twothousand sesterces ere he would budge. So he did, but he only got twohundred in the end. What a brilliant idea--what a stroke of genius it was,on my part, to obtain the monopoly of this infatuation! Formerly, everyone of sufficient impudence could work upon his credulity, and extorttheir own terms from the foolish old man; but since my appointment assuperintendent of inquiries, I regulate all to suit my own ideas. Itpleases him and it benefits me. Who could do better? Not the deitiesthemselves.'
'But if your terms were more liberal your custom would increase, as wellas your profits, noble Afer,' said a deep voice in his ear.
The knight wheeled round with the swiftness of light, and the severity ofthe sudden surprise was seen in the rush of blood which suffused hisotherwise pale face. His brows knitted so as almost to hide the furiousglance of his eyes.
Before him stood a man whose superior bulk, lighter complexion, broaderand less marked physiognomy, betrayed other than the Latin blood. He wasdressed in the rough woollen tunic of the common citizen, girded with abelt of untanned leather, whilst his feet were shod with a kind of sandal,having strong leather soles. The short sleeves of his tunic displayed hishairy, muscular arms. His chin was bristly and needed the razor, and hishair unkempt and disordered. He might be anything in the lowest strata ofthe city community, but there was that in his loafing, cunning appearance,which seemed not to belong to an honest, industrious mechanic. Hisattitude, as he stood regarding his superior, whom he had so familiarlyaccosted, was cool and careless, and his smile as full of impertinence asassurance.
If a glance could have laid him dead upon the pavement, he would havefallen, straightway, before the rage, hate, and contempt which flashedupon him from the glowing eyes of Afer. But, unabashed, he altered not ajot of his bearing.
'Is it thou?' uttered Afer, in a voice thick with passion; 'how darestthou lurk at my elbow and play the eavesdropper?'
'It needed no extra sharp ear to catch what you said, patron. But for thenoise of the streets you might have been heard somewhere between this andthe Palatine. It is dangerous to think in such a loud, public voice, and Irecommend you to shake off the habit, for your own good, patron.'
The familiar style of this speech in no way allayed the storm in the mindof the knight, and he shook like an aspen leaf, with a passion impossiblewholly to hide.
'You are not in the humour to see me, patron--you are angry with me,' addedthe man coolly; 'it is as plain as anything can be.'
'Take heed, or your presumption, which is growing beyond all bounds, willrun you into a certain amount of danger--impudent vagabond, is it for suchas you to accost me thus? More respect, I bid thee, or beware!'
The menacing tone of the knight, and the dangerous, evil expression on hisface, might have been judged sufficient warning in an ordinary case, butthe man's hardihood was in no way daunted.
'Presumption, patron,' he echoed; 'there, with your honour's leave, I mustdiffer with you. I consider myself--in regard to the intimate relationsbetween us--a most modest, respectful, and untroublesome client. Why, it isfull three months since I presented myself to your honourable presence. Ihave seen you at chance times--for I am compelled now and again toencourage wearisome existence by the grateful sight of your person--butthese have only been glimpses at a distance. Nor would I intrude myselfupon you now, only that hard necessity compels me. In fact, patron, mytreasure is drained to the last sesterce, which went this very morning toinspire my failing strength with a draught of vinegar, which they calledwine.'
'I have nothing to give you--you are importunate beyond reason. You have,already, had much more than was stipulated. That you know as well as I. Iwill give you no more, so be off!'
'What, patron, and without as much as the cost of a mouthful of dinner?cast me off to starve?'--this with a burlesque of righteous horror in hislooks and gestures--'I, too, who have had the blessed fortune to do yousuch service! Some reptile has bitten my noble patron and changed hisnature. Poor Cestus, then, may go and hang himself, or throw himself tofatten the pike in the Tiber; but no--you cannot, surely, refuse poorCestus, thus empty and naked before you.'
'Silence!' cried he of the toga, as fiercely as he could, withoutattracting the attention of the passers-by. 'Good-for-nothing spendthrift,you have had enough to have made you wantless for the remainder of yourlife, with an ordinary amount of care in its use!'
'I only follow the fashion of many of my betters, patron. To be free withone's treasure is an excellent way of becoming popular and powerful--nonebetter--in Rome at least.'
'Enough, I have said! If you are wise you will leave your insolence behindyou, among your pot companions, when you seek to come before me.'
'Surely, patron, when you consider the matter calmly, you can hardlyrefuse me a small present,' said Cestus, assuming instantly a mockrespect, which was
only too palpably impudent.
The knight bit his lip, and the heaving of his breast stirred the folds ofhis toga with rapid pulsations.
'You fool!' he said bitterly; 'do you imagine I would beggar myself toenrich you? No--I can afford no more!'
'May I be cursed if I should ever think of bringing you to the same sadstate as mine,' was the satirical answer. 'Far from that, I know, so well,that the fountain of your purse is fed from a stream which flows unfailingout of Latium, even as the grateful spray of Orpheus, on the Esquilineyonder, is fed by the aqueduct from the waters of heaven. You will excusethe style for once, patron: you know I was once in the household of apoet.'
These words drew upon him another viperous look, but being in a positionwhich rendered him careless of such exhibitions of his superior'sfeelings, he continued his simile. 'It is wonderful to me, patron, thatyou are content to see such scanty driblets filtered through a worn oldfountain, when you might, so easily, direct the full glorious floodstraight to your own coffers. My devotion to your welfare is my onlyexcuse for my tongue. But, patron--you are a most patient, enduring man.'
'I am--of your insolence, you dog,' was the rapid and burning answer. 'Aless enduring man would have had your ribs tickled, or your tavern cupflavoured long ere this, most noble Cestus.'
The man palpably changed colour and winced; but if the words of his patronhad not the effect of quelling him, they instantly changed his easyimpertinence and effrontery into a sullen, dogged front.
'Come,' growled he, with a dark, lowering visage, 'if we get tothreatenings, you shall find that two can play at that game. Give me somemoney and let me go--I must have it, and no more trifling!'
'Good! If you _must_ have it you must, and I cannot refuse,' answered theknight, whose humour seemed as suddenly to change, as if in triumph, forhe actually allowed a smile to part his lips. 'I grieve that words of mineshould have ruffled you. As I am not in the habit of carrying about withme such an amount of money as you will doubtless consider proper to ask,perhaps you will do me the favour to walk with me as far as my house, dearCestus?'
Cestus hesitated, and looked doubtingly on the unexpected spectacle of hispatron's politeness. His cunning nature was suspicious.
'What a changeable man!' was the bland remark of the other; 'a minute agohe was demanding his wants, like a robber tearing spoil from a victim. Nowwhen he is asked to walk a short way to receive it, he hangs back.'
'No tricks, master--or else!' said Cestus, eyeing him keenly.
'Tricks! Certainly not. You are very coarse. Come!'
Afer then led the way with the man at his heels, so close indeed that heturned and motioned him to keep at a greater distance. Their course laythrough the middle of the Subura, a district which lay in the valley,between the Eastern hills and the Fora. It was one of the most ancientdistricts of the city, as well as the most densely peopled, and noted forits crowded thoroughfares, its low society, its noise and dirt.Occasionally the traffic would come to a dead-lock, amid much shouting andforcible language, caused, perhaps, by the stoppage of some heavy wain,laden with blocks of building material, hauled along with ropes. Or,again, some great man, in his litter, surrounded by his servants, thoughtfit to halt, for some purpose, in the narrow ways. His suite would,thereupon, become the nucleus of a squeezing crush of pedestrians, whocast frowning glances at the litter and its occupant. At another place,his greatness, moving along, would meet with a like obstruction, and therewould be seen the spectacle of rival slaves battling a passage through.Nor were the customs of the tradesmen calculated to increase the publicconvenience, for they intruded their business into the already too limitedspace. Their stalls jutted out, and even then failed altogether to confinetheir occupations. A cobbler hesitated not to ply his awl in public, nor abarber to shave his customer outside his door. The gutters were frequentedby noisy hucksters plying their trade, and selling all kinds of articles,from sulphur matches to boiled peas and beans. Importunate beggars wererife with every sorrow, complaint, and ailment; from the lame, sick, andblind, to the shipwrecked sailor, carrying a fragment of his ill-starredship over his shoulder, as a proof of his sad lot. Down the narroweralleys were noisome, reeking dens crammed with the scum of the city.Thieves, murderers, blackguards, bullies loafed about; fallen women alsoloitered and aired themselves till the evening approached, when all thisdaylight idlesse of human filth betook itself to its frightful occupationsof crime and wickedness, either in its own refuges, or flooded abroad uponthe city. Yet this district, from its central position, was necessarilyfrequented, and even inhabited, in a few cases, by the higher orders ofsociety. To imagine an unsealed Whitefriars, or a tract of the east end ofmodern London, cramped and narrowed, after the style of the old Romancity, and placed between two fashionable quarters, would give the bestidea of the character of the Subura of Rome. It was the peculiar situationof the city which led to this intermixing of classes. In a city of aplain, where no part of the ground offers any advantage over another, thewealthy naturally form a district select from the poor. In Rome, the greatand wealthy sought the elevated and pleasanter faces of the hills, whilethe poorer people remained beneath. Thus the intermediate valleys, howeverpopulated, unavoidably became thoroughfares, and no doubt, to a certainextent, the haunts of all classes.
Through the teeming Subura, then, we will follow our two characters. Theyeach threaded their way after their own manner. The knight, slim, supple,and quick, slipped along like an eel, avoiding all contact and glidingthrough every opening with the accustomed ease of a person city bred. Onthe other hand the Subura was the home of Cestus, to whom every nook andcorner was familiar. This fact, combined with his superior weight andbulk, rendered his movements more careless and independent of passers-by,some of whom came into collision with him, to their own sorrow. He was,moreover, recognised by more than one fellow inhabitant as he passedalong. Two or three fellows, as idle and rough looking as himself, leeredknowingly at him from the open front of a wine-shop where they werelounging. Another one nodded and winked to him from out of a reeking,steaming cook-shop where he was munching a light meal of the simplestcharacter. Among the many street idlers, one greasy vagabond, with anevil, bloated face, went so far as to catch his arm and whisper, with acoarse laugh, 'What, Cestus, boy, hast hooked thy patron? Thou wilt comeback like a prince!' But Cestus shook him off, and having cleared theSubura, he and his patron entered on a less crowded path, and the short,steep ascent of the Esquiline Hill.
At the summit they passed a statue of Orpheus. He was represented playingon the lyre to a group of wild animals, exquisitely modelled in theattitudes of rapt attention to the inspired music. The group was placed inthe centre of a large circular basin for the reception of the spray, whichusually danced and sparkled from the head of the immortal musician. Onthis day, however, for some reason, the fountain was dry.
As he passed, the knight turned round, and, pointing with his finger todraw his follower's attention to the fact, said, with a cold smile, 'MyCestus, when you likened the supply of my funds to the feeding of thatfountain, you made a bad comparison--it is a bad omen, good and faithfulman. Do you accept it?--I do.'
Cestus was in no way behind the age in superstition.
'Humph!' muttered he, bestowing a parting glance at the dry figures andempty basin; 'plague on the aediles for falling short of water just atthis time! No matter--water, or no water! omen, or no omen! I shall stillremain a faithful client to my patron.' And he followed on with a grin.After proceeding another hundred yards Afer stopped before the porch of adwelling, small and modest, but pleasantly situated, overlooking no smallportion of the city.
'Step in, man, and drink a cup of wine while we arrange terms,' said he,with ironical politeness.
But some suspicion was awakened in the breast of the other and he did notstir. 'Bring it to me--I will wait here,' said Cestus, with a shake of hishead.
'But you have not told me what you want.'
'Six thousand will serve me.'
'You
are growing modest, Cestus--come and I will give it you.'
But Cestus still refused to proceed inside the house.
'Why--what do you fear?' demanded Afer.
'You said something over there, where we met, that I liked not, patron,'returned Cestus doggedly; 'there is something about you now that bodes nogood. I will, therefore, put no wall between me and the open street.'
'What I said over there was true enough,' said the knight, drawing nearand fastening upon him a peculiar look; 'there are scores in Rome whowould have said "dead men tell no tales," and, acting on that, would havemade you a breathless carcase long ago, if they had suffered the behaviourwhich you have favoured me with. Fool, do you think I would hurt you anymore than you would harm me. No; you are as necessary to me as I to you--Ihave more work for you to do--come!'
He went inside, and proceeded to one of the doorways which opened off thespacious hall, or atrium, as it was called, which had a tesselated floorand a small fountain in the midst. At the sound of his foot appeared twoor three slaves to wait upon him. Cestus followed more slowly, with akeen, wary glance at the various doors and passages around, as though theymight, at any moment, belch forth vassals to fasten on him. The knightlifted the curtain of an apartment and beckoned him to follow. He did so,and found himself, with no small amount of misgiving, in a small room,lighted by a narrow window of glass. There were a couple of couches, forfurniture, and a small carved table, and, for ornament, three or fourbronze statues of exquisite workmanship. In addition to these the wallswere adorned with frescoes of mythological subjects, done by no unskilfulhand. Afer, standing with the curtain still uplifted in one hand, pointedwith the other to a couch, and, bidding his follower wait, disappeared.Cestus remained motionless, watching the screen of the doorway, with allhis senses strained like a beast of prey, to catch the least sound. Butnothing reached his ear, till, at the end of a quarter of an hour, hispatron returned. He came to the table and threw a bag thereon. It jingledas it fell, and the eyes of Cestus flashed and fastened on the preciousobject.
'There, my worthy Cestus, are six thousand sesterces; take them and usethem economically.'
The broad hand of the man fell upon the bag and thrust it away in thebreast of his tunic.
'What--are you not going to tell it over to see that I cheat you not?' saidAfer mockingly.
'No--I can trust your counting, noble patron,' answered Cestus hurriedly;'and now I will go, for I am craving with hunger.'
'And thirst!' added Afer, clapping his hands loudly.
The echo had hardly died away when a young Greek slave entered, bearing acup and a larger vessel of variegated glass. At a nod from his master hefilled the cup with wine from the flagon and handed it to Cestus. But thatindividual hesitated and declined with some amount of confusion. Nothingbut the direst need could have compelled him to make such a sacrifice.
'I dare not drink with an empty stomach--I dare not indeed; 'tis rare wine,but allow me to go, or I shall drop from sheer want of food, most noblepatron--indeed I shall!'
'Then I will drink it for you, O man of tender stomach--you grow delicate,'said Afer, with a derisive laugh; 'fortune to us both!'
He drained it off, and the slave disappeared with the emptied cup.
'If I want thee soon I can hear of thee at the same place, Cestus?'
'As usual!'
'I will keep you no longer. Go and feed on the best sausages you canfind.'
'Thanks, noble patron--you will find me ever ready and devoted.'
'As I found thee this morning. Expect to hear of me very soon.'
With these words they emerged into the hall, and Cestus, drawing a longbreath as he saw the way clear, went off at a pace which utterly beliedhis fainting state.