Domitia

“I congratulate you – I congratulate you with all my heart!” exclaimed Longa Duilia, throwing her arms round her daughter. “I have reached the summit of my ambition. I vow a kid to Febronia for her opportune – ahem! – but who would have thought the Roman fever would have been so speedy in bringing us luck. Run, Eboracus, summon the housekeeper; order the ancestral masks to be exposed, all the boxes opened, dust the noses with the feather brush; let the lares be garlanded. Tell Paulina to bring out the best incense, not the cheapest this time, and I vow I will throw a double pinch on the altar of the household gods. Who would have thought it! I – I, mother to an empress. I would dance on the house-top, but that my wig is not properly pinned, and might come off. I must, I positively must embrace you again, Domitia; and you too, Cornelia, I am so happy! – As the Gods love me! Wig pinned or not, I must dance.”

“Let us go down,” said Domitia in a hard tone.

“Come down, by all means,” acquiesced her mother. “I must see that the Gods be properly thanked. I stepped this morning out of bed left leg foremost.9 I knew some happiness would come to me to-day. As the Gods love me! I’ll give a little supper. Domitia! whom shall I invite? None of your second-class men now. There! – I thought as much; my wig has come off. Never mind! no men can see me, and women don’t count.”

On reaching the private apartment of the lady, Domitia said: —

“Mother – a word.”

She was white, save that a flame was kindled on each cheek-bone and her eyes scintillated like burning coals.

“Well, my dear, I am all ears – even to my toes.”

“Mother, he murdered him. I know it – I feared there was mischief meant, when Domitian attended him to Cutiliæ and took Elymas with him. It was not fever that – ”

“My dear, don’t bother your head about these matters. They all do it. We women, I thank the Gods, are outside of politics. But – well – well, you must not say such things, not even think them. It is all for the best in the best of worlds. I never had the smallest wish to see behind the scenes. Always eat your meat cooked and spiced, and don’t ask to see it as it comes from the shambles. If you are quite positive, then I won’t throw away the kid on Febronia. It is of no use wasting money on a goddess who really has not helped.”

“Mother,” said Domitia, her whole frame quivering with excitement; “I am sure of it. Did not the Augustus give his daughter Julia to Flavius Sabinus? I know that Domitian was alarmed at that. I saw it in his looks, I heard it in his voice; his movements of hand and foot proclaimed it. He feared a rival. He feared what the will of Titus might be – whom he might name as his successor. Mark me, my mother; the first to fall will be Flavius Sabinus.”

“Hist! the word is of bad omen.”

“It was of bad omen to Sabinus and to Titus alike when Julia was given to her cousin.”

“Well, my dear,” said Longa Duilia, “I do not see that we need concern ourselves about politics. You see, – every night, stars drop out of the heavens; the firmament is overcrowded, and those stars that are firmest planted elbow out the weakest. It is their way in heaven, and what other can you expect on earth? Of course, it were much to be desired – and all that sort of thing; but we did not make the world, neither do we rule it. All eggs in a nest do not hatch out, some addle.”

“Mother, I will not go back to him.”

“Folly! you cannot do other.”

“I will not. My condition was bad enough before, it will be worse now.”

“Domitia, set your mind at rest. I have no doubt that there have been little unpleasantnesses. Man and wife do not always agree. Your poor father would not be ruled by me. If he had – ah me! – Things would have been very different in Rome. But he suffered for his obstinacy. You must be content to take things as you find them. Most certainly it would be better in every way if peacocks had eyes on both sides of their tails, but as they have not, only very silly peacocks turn about and expose the eyeless side. Make the best of matrimony. It is not many marriages are like young walnuts, that you can peel off the bitter and eat only the sweet. In most, the skin adheres so tightly that you have to take the sweet with the gall, and be content that there is any sweet at all.”

“I shall go away. I will not return to the palace.”

“Go whither? the world belongs to Domitian. There is not a corner where you can hide. There are officials, and when not officials – spies. I have no doubt that the fish in that tank put up their heads and wish they were butterflies to soar above the roof and get away and sport among the flowers, instead of going interminably about the impluvium. But, my dear, they can’t do it, so they acquiesce in tank existence. Yours is the finest and best lot in the world, – and you would surrender it! From being a lioness you would decline to be a house cat!”

Domitia turned abruptly away, tears of anger and disappointment were in her eyes.

She said in a muffled voice: —

“Lady Cornelia, will you come with me?”

“I am at your service,” answered the Vestal.

The ladies departed together, and at the portal each entered her own litter.

“To the Atrium Vestæ,” said Domitia.

Her retinue started, and a moment after followed that of the Vestal Cornelia.

The streets were full of excited multitudes, currents running up one side, down another, meeting, coming to a standstill, clotting, and choking the thoroughfares, then breaking up and flowing again.

If it had not been for the liveries of the two heralds, the palanquin of Domitia could not have got through, but when it was observed whose litter and servants were endeavoring to make way, the crowd readily divided, and every obstacle gave way immediately. But the Vestal Superior needed not that the Cæsar’s wife should open the road for her. As much respect was accorded to her as to Domitia.

Both trains, the one following immediately after the other, entered and traversed the Forum, passed the Temple of Julius, and at the south extremity reached the Atrium of the Vestal Virgins, a long building without a window, communicating with the outer world by a single door.

At this door Domitia descended from her litter, and awaited the Abbess.

Cornelia also stepped from her litter. She was a tall and stately lady of forty years, who had once been beautiful, but whose charms were faded. She smiled —

“You will pay me a visit, as you go your way? that is a gracious favor.”

“A lengthy visit,” said Domitia.

“Time will never seem long in your sweet society,” answered the Vestal and taking Domitia’s hand led her up the steps to the platform.

No sooner was Domitia there, than she ran to the altar of the Goddess on which burned the perpetual fire, within a domed Temple, and clasped it. Cornelia had followed her, and looked at her with surprise.

“I claim the protection of the Goddess,” said Domitia. “I will not return to the palace! I will be free from him.”

Cornelia became grave.

“If your Goddess has any might, any grace, she will protect me. Do you fear? Have you lost your rights? I claim them.”

“Be it so,” said the Abbess. “None have appealed to the Goddess in vain, none taken sanctuary with her, who have been rejected. She will maintain your cause.”

CHAPTER V.

ATRIUM VESTÆ

When the Romans were a pastoral people at Alba, then it was the duty of the young girls to attend to the common hearth and keep the fire ever burning. To obtain fresh fire was not always possible, and at the best of times not easy.

Fire was esteemed sacred, being so mysterious, and so indispensable, and reverence was made to the domestic hearth (hestia) as the altar of the Fire goddess.

When the Roman settlement was made on the banks of the Tiber, one hut of a circular form was constituted the central hearth, and provision was made that thence every household should obtain its fire. This hut became the Temple of Hestia or Vesta, and certain girls were set apart to watch the fire that it should never become extinguished.

This was the origin of the institution of the Vestal Virgins, an institution which lasted from the founding of Rome in B. C. 753, to the disestablishment of Paganism, and the expulsion of the last Vestal, in A. D. 394, nearly eleven hundred and fifty years.

No girl under six or above ten years of age was admissible as priestess of the sacred fire, and but six damsels were allowed, – their term of service was thirty years, after which the Vestal was free to return home and to marry. The eldest of the Vestals was termed Maxima, and she acted as superior or abbess over the community.

They enjoyed great possessions and privileges and were shown the most extraordinary respect. Seats of honor were accorded to the Vestals in the theatres, the amphitheatre and the circus.

The Vestals had other duties to perform beside that of maintaining the perpetual fire. They preserved the palladia of Rome, those mysterious articles on which the prosperity, nay, the very existence of the city was thought to depend. What these were was never known. The last Vestal carried them away and concealed them. With her death the secret was lost. Moreover, they took charge of the wills of great men, emperors and nobles, and in times of civil war they mediated between the conflicting parties.

Cornelia gently detached the hands of Domitia from the altar of Vesta, and led her within the college of the Vestals, the only door to which opened on the platform on which stood the Temple.

On entering, she found herself in an oblong court surrounded on all four sides by a cloister, the prototype of those to be in later days erected in the several convents and abbeys, and collegiate buildings of Christendom. In the open space in the midst was the circular treasury of the palladia, at one end was the well whence the virgins drew their water. The cloister was composed of marble columns, and sustained an upper gallery, also open to the court but roofed over and the roof supported on columns of red marble.

Between the columns below and above stood statues of the Superiors, who had merited commemoration. There was no garden, the place for walking was the cloister.

Cornelia conducted Domitia into the reception-chamber, and kissing her said: —

“Under the protection of the Goddess you are safe.”

“I trust I in no way endanger your safety.”

“Mine!” Cornelia laughed. “There is none above me save the supreme pontiff, and so long as I do no wrong, no one can molest me. But tell me – what wilt thou do?”

“In the first place send out and bid my servants return home; and if they ask when to come for me, answer, when I send for them.”

“That is easily done,” said the Abbess. She clapped her hands and a slave girl answered and received this commission.

“Now,” said she, “now we come to the real difficulty. Here you are, but here you cannot tarry for long. For six days we may accord sanctuary, but for no more. After that we must deliver over the person who has taken refuge with us if required.”

“I have for some time considered what might be done. I have been so miserable, so degraded, so impatient, that I have racked my brain how to escape, and I see but one course. When we were at Cenchræa, my mother and I, we were in the house of a Greek client of our family, who was very kind to us, and his wife loved me well. If I could escape thither in disguise, then I think he would be able to secrete me, there are none so astute as are the Greeks, and who so love to outwit their masters.”

“But how is this possible?”

“That I know not – only let me get away from Rome, then trust my craft to enable me to evade pursuit. Let it be given out that I am here in fulfilment of a vow, then no suspicion will be roused, and I can take my measures.”

“It is not possible,” said Cornelia in some alarm. “Have you considered what your mother said? the Augustus is all-seeing and all-powerful, and has his hand everywhere.”

“Get me out of Italy, and I shall be safe. I will not return to the Palatine. If my life was hateful to me before, what will it be made now? Then he had some fear of his father and of his brother, now he has none to fear.”

The Vestal said, “Let me have time to think this over – and yet, it doth not seem to me feasible.”

“Get me but a beggar’s suit, and walnut juice, that I may stain my face and hands and arms. I will wash all this gold-dust from my hair – and I warrant you none will know me, with a staff and a wallet, I will go forth, right willingly. I will not return to him.”

“That is impossible. You – with your beauty – your nobility – ”

“My nobility is of no account with me now.”

“You think so, and so it may be whilst untouched, but I am certain the least ruffle would make your pride flash out.”

Domitia remembered her resentment at the physician’s apparent familiarity.

“Well – my beauty will be disguised.”

“That nothing can conceal.”

“Oh! do not speak thus, or I shall mistrust you, as I mistrust every one else – except my slave Euphrosyne, and Eboracus, and Glyceria the actor’s wife. These seem to me the only true persons in the world. I would cast myself on them, but two are slaves and the other is paralyzed. Consider now, Cornelia, do you not understand how that one may reach a condition of mind or soul, call it which you will, when we become desperate. One must make an effort to break away into a new and free and better life, or succumb and become bad, and dead to all that is noble and true and good, hard of heart, callous to right and wrong. I am at that point. I know, if I were to return to him, and to be Empress of the Roman world, that I should have but one thing to live for – the pride of my place and the blazoning of my position; and to all that which lies deep within me, bleeding, crying out, hungering, and with dry lips – dead.”

“My dear lady, you were never made for what you are forced to become.”

“Then, why do the Gods thrust me on to a throne that I hate, tie me to a man that I loathe, surround me with a splendor that I despise. Tell me why? O Vesta! immaculate Goddess! how I would that I had been as one of thy consecrated virgins, to spend my days in this sweet house, and pure, peaceful cloister! Do you see? I must away. I am lost to all good – if I remain. I must away! it is my soul that speaks, that spreads its hands to thee, Cornelia! save me!”

She threw herself on her knees and extended her arms to the Vestal Abbess, caught her dress and kissed it.

Cornelia was deeply moved,

“I beseech you, rise,” she said, lifting the kneeling suppliant, clasping her in her arms, and caressing her as a child.

“Hearken to me, Domitia, I can think but of one person that can assist us; that is my cousin Celer. He is a good man, and whatever I desire, he will strive to execute as a sacred duty. Yet the risk is great.”

“I pray you! – I pray you get him to assist me to escape.”

“He must furnish you with attendants. It will not be secure for you to be accompanied by any of your own servants. They might be traced. Celer has got a villa. Stay, I will go forth at once and see him. He can give counsel. Do nothing till my return.”

The Vestal Great-Mother left, and Domitia was glad to be alone.

The habitation of the Vestals was wonderfully peaceful, in the midst of busy, seething Rome, and in the centre of its greatest movement. As already said, it had no windows, and but one door that opened on the outer world. It drew all its air, all its light, from the patch of sky over the central court. Figures of Vestals glided about like spirits, and the white statues stood ghostlike on their pedestals.

But to be without flowers, without a peristyle commanding a landscape of garden and lake and trees and mountains! That was terrible. It would have been an unendurable life, but that the Vestal college was possessed of country seats, to which some of the elder of the sisterhood were allowed occasionally to go and take with them some one or two of the novices.

Although there were no flowers in the quadrangle, there was abundance of birds. In and out among the variegated marbles, perching on balustrades, fluttering among the statues, were numerous pigeons, as marbled in tint as the sculptured stonework, and looking like animated pieces of the same; and a tame flamingo in gorgeous plumage basked himself, then strutted, and on seeing a Vestal approach hopped towards her. When, moreover, the same maiden drew water from the well, the pigeons came down like a fall of snow about her, clustering round the bucket to obtain a dip and a drink.

Several hours passed. At length the Abbess returned. She at once sought Domitia, who rose on her entry. Cornelia took both her hands within her own and said: —

“We women are fools, that is what Celer said, when I told him your plan. As he at once pointed out, it is impossible for you to lie hid anywhere in Italy – and impossible to escape from it, unknown to the Augustus. Any one endeavoring to assist you to escape would lose his life, most assuredly. ‘I cannot sell smoke to a clown,’ said he bluntly – he is a plain man – ‘I will not put out a finger to assist in such an attempt, which would bring ruin on us all. But,’ he said, ‘this may be done; let the Lady Domitia retire to one of her own villas, in the country, and commit the matter to the Vestals. Your entreaty is powerful, and if attended by two of the sisters – or perhaps better alone, for this is not a matter to be made public – go to the prince, and plead in the lady’s name, that thou feelest unequal to the weight of duties that will now fall on the Augusta, and that thy health is feeble and thou needest repose and country air – then he may yield his consent, at least to a temporary retreat.’ But my kinsman Celer advised nothing beyond this. In very truth, nothing else can be done. Most men’s noses are crooked, – he said – and he is a blunt man – and those who have straight ones do not like to follow them. But in your case, Lady Domitia, there is practically no other way.”

“Then I will to Gabii,” said Domitia with a sigh. “If he will force me back – there is the lake.”

Then, said Cornelia, “Dost thou know that blind-man Messalinus?”

“Full well – he hangs on to the Cæsar Domitian, like a leech.”

“Since thou didst enter the house of us Vestals, he hath been up and down the Via Nova and the Sacred Way, never letting this place out of his eye – blind though he be. Some say he scents as doth a dog, and that is why he works his head about from side to side snuffing the wind. When I went forth he detached two of his slaves to follow – and they went as far as myself and stood watching outside the door of the knight Celer, and when I came forth they were still there, and when I returned to the Atrium of Vesta, I found Messalinus peering with his sightless eyes round the corner. But, I trow, he sees through his servants’ eyes.”

“He is a bird of ill omen,” said Domitia, “a vulture scenting his prey.”

CHAPTER VI.

FOR THE PEOPLE

Domitia was at Gabii. Cornelia, the Vestal Great Mother had sent her thither in her own litter, and attended by her own servants, but with the assistance of the knight Celer, who had gone before to Gabii to make preparations.

Gabii had none of the natural beauties of Albanum, but Domitia cared little for that. It was a seat that had belonged to her father and here his ashes reposed. The villa was by no means splendid; but then – nor had been that of Albanum when she was first carried thither. Domitian had bought it immediately after the proclamation of his father, and it had then been a modest, but very charming country residence. Since then, he had lavished vast sums upon it, and had converted it into a palace, without having really improved it thereby. To Albanum he had become greatly attached; to it he retired in his moody fits, when resentful of his treatment by his father, envious of his brother, and suspicious of his first cousin Sabinus. There he had vented his spleen in harassing his masons, bullying his slaves, and in sticking pins through flies.

But if Gabii was less beautiful and less sumptuous, it had the immeasurable advantage of not being occupied by Domitian. There, for a while, Domitia was free from his hateful society, his endearments and his insults, alike odious to her.

And she enjoyed the rest; she found real soothing to her sore heart in wandering about the garden, and by the lake, and visiting familiar nooks.

Only into the temple of Isis she did not penetrate, the recollection of the vision there seen was too painful to be revived.

On the third day after she had been in the Gabian villa, Celer came out from Rome. He was a plain middle-aged man with a bald head, and a short brusque manner, but such a man as Domitia felt she could trust.

He informed her that Cornelia had been before the Augustus and had entreated him to allow his wife to absent herself from the palace, and from his company. She had made the plea that Domitia Longina was out of health, overstrained by the hurry of exciting events, and that she needed complete rest.

“But I demand more than that,” said she.

“Madam, more than that, my cousin, the Great Mother, dared not ask. The prince was in a rough mood, he was highly incensed at your having withdrawn without his leave, and he saw behind Cornelia’s words the real signification. He behaved to her with great ill-humor, and would give no answer one way or the other – and that means that here you are to remain, till it is his pleasure to recall you.”

“And may that never be,” sighed Domitia.

“The Augustus is moreover much engaged at present.”

“What has he been doing? But stay – tell me now – is there news concerning Sabinus?”

“Ah lady! he has been.”

“I knew it would be so. On what charge?”

“The Augustus was incensed against him, because under the god Vespasian he had put his servant in the white livery, when Flavius Sabinus was elected to serve as consul for the ensuing year. Unhappily, the herald in announcing his election gave him the title of Emperor in place of consul, through a mere slip of the tongue. But it was made an occasion of delation. Messalinus snapped at the opportunity, and at once the noble Sabinus was found guilty of High Treason, and sentenced to death.”

“And what has become of Julia, daughter of the god Titus, the wife of Sabinus?”

“She has been brought by the Augustus to the Palatine.”

Next day, the slave Euphrosyne arrived. She had been sent for by Domitia, and was allowed to go to her mistress. She also brought news.

The town was in agitation. It was rumored that the Emperor was about to divorce Domitia, and to marry his niece.

“It would be welcome to me were this to take place,” said Domitia. “Come, now, Euphrosyne, bring me spindle and distaff, I will be as a spinster of old.”

So days passed, occasionally tidings came from Rome, but these were uncertain rumors. Domitia was enjoying absolute peace and freedom from annoyance in the country. And she had in Euphrosyne one with whom she talked with pleasure, for the girl had much to say that showed novelty, springing out of a mind very different in texture from that usual among slaves.

“It is a delight to me to be still. Child! – I can well think it, after a toilsome and discouraging life, it is pleasant to fold the hands, lay the head on the sod, and go to sleep, without a wish to further keep awake.”

“Yes, when there is a prospect of waking again.”

“But even without that, is life so pleasant that one would incline to renew it? Not I for one.”

Domitia looked up at the fresco of the Quest of Pleasure, and said – “Once I wondered at that picture yonder, and that all pleasure attained should resolve itself into a sense of disappointment. It is quite true that we pursue the butterfly, after we have ceased to value it, but that is because we must pursue something, not that we value that which is attained or to be attained.”

“Ah, lady, we must pursue something. That is in our nature – it is a necessity.”

“It is so; and what else is there to follow after except pleasure?”

“There is knowledge.”

“Knowledge! the froth-whipping of philosophers, the smoke clouds raised by the magicians, the dreams and fancies of astronomers – pshaw! I have no stomach for such knowledge. No! I want nothing but to be left alone, to dream away my remainder of life.”