Neæra. A Tale of Ancient Rome

‘Husband!’ she ejaculated at last. ‘What is the matter?’

‘’Tis what I sent to tell you,’ he said, laughing. ‘Look!’ He seized her hand, and held up the vessel before her eyes in the same way he had done to the others. ‘Here is the result of twenty-five years’ toil and patience. Here, at last, is success, after disappointments and bitterness beyond my tongue to tell. Do you remember the old times, wife? Ay, can you ever forget them? They were too well ground into you – starvation and rags are not easily forgotten. I was the cause; and though you often blamed me and reproached me in your heart, you never murmured.’

Tibia shook her head gently.

‘Well, well, I deserved it, at least. I was a man possessed with an idea and no money – an unlucky combination for mortals who are obliged to eat to live. I learnt my trade as a youth, and one day in my master’s shop I chanced upon a piece of refuse glass of peculiar quality. I showed it to my master, but he scarcely looked at it. He was a man of no ideas beyond his daily work. There was that about this piece of glass, however, which set me thinking, and filled me with an idea of such strength as to be called infatuation. It has been like a stone of Sisyphus to me till this day, and now I have conquered it. For twenty-five years I have worked to discover the secret of that stray piece of glass, more or less madly – eagerly – according to circumstances, but always constantly. My father, when he died, left me a little hoard of money. Then I left my master and built a workshop of my own. It was then, too, I married my sweetheart; and like a young, eager, hot-blooded, thoughtless lad, would have laughed to scorn the notion of a space of twenty-five years being necessary to the working out of my problem, had it been told to me at that time. “Come,” I said to myself, “my money will keep us a couple of years, and by that time, I shall have found out my secret, and fortune will lie before me.” In two years I was as far off the end as ever – do you remember, Tibia? In three years I was further still, for we had struggled on, in vain hope that each day would solve the mystery, and my patrimony had come to an end in the process. Every experiment was as futile as the one before it, and I had become numb even to bitter disgust and despair. Ah, and how I worked! Night and day – it was like a fever dream. And you, Tibia, would come to help – it was your presence that helped more than your hands, wife. Then came the day when the last coin had been spent in fuel for the furnace, and the experiment had failed as miserably as all the others before it. It was dusk as I tested my work and found it wanting, and I sat down stupid and sick. I began to dream horribly, or else a fever had reached my brain. I sat there like a helpless log, as if bound hand and foot, whilst the walls seemed to dance around me in a giddy whirl, and the roof to rear up and swoop down upon me with a frightful sensation that will live in my memory till I die. Then in that dread hour it was you who crept in beside me. Yet you did nothing but lay your hand silently on mine, and that saved me. You remember it, Tibia? – I cried like a girl. I was overwrought in mind and body. I was like the steel blade which is strained in a curve beyond its strength, and then snaps, to spring and quiver no more. That night we begged our supper, and next morning I rose another being. I was a dreaming youth no longer, and I set to work to make pots like my dull master, and allow my phantasy to find its opportunities for indulgence, when time and means allowed. I did not do this from change of inclination, for my ambition burned as strongly as ever; but to live was a necessity. The gods gave me patience, and I toiled for livelihood, and for means to give me leisure to resume my search. The gods have blessed me in both: we are beyond fear of want, and I have, at last, discovered the secret which led me on, like a will-o’-the-wisp, for all these years. Here it is to bless us – me, for my toil, and you, wife, for your patience and long-suffering! I was cruel in those early years. Many a time since then have I acknowledged it. But I was possessed – eaten up too much with my own mad hopes and visions to be able to see a wife pinched and starved. Heaven knows, wife, what your thoughts were in those days! You never spoke, and I dare not ask. Now I may be able to repay – who knows? At least the secret is found, whatever it may lead to. If it was ever known to the world before I know not; but I have heard the scholars say, that the most ancient people, the Egyptians, in their days of power, were skilled in works beyond the comprehension of these days. Yet their knowledge is all buried, forgotten, lost, like their temples and cities. What they knew and discovered will have to be sought for again. Thus this matter of mine may once have been known well enough, when the world was ages younger, in the days of the giants. Let that be or not; it is of no consequence to me or any one. It is enough for me to think, that no one lives and breathes who saw, or ever heard, of such a glass cup as this which now I hold. What would you say, now, if it were impossible to break this vessel? What would the wealthy patrician think, if his costly glass treasure, goblet, or heirloom should be of such composition that his careless slaves should be powerless to harm it? – that the delicate fabric, exquisitely cut and designed, brilliantly pictured and tinted, instead of being dashed to fragments on his floor by the clumsy fingers of a slave, should be so durable as to survive the mishap, and be lifted again, with nothing worse than a dent, which a skilful artist could restore? And of the priceless gem of the artist, so of the humble vessels of the kitchen. That stray fragment of glass which set my brain on fire, and gave me five-and-twenty years of toil and unceasing thought, by some strange trick of chance, had been fused with certain properties in certain proportions. Chance had accomplished what it has taken me all these years to find out, and there, at last, its composition is developed. Watch now and you shall see how this piece of glass is matched by none in existence!’

Masthlion’s face was flushed with tumultuous speech. His trembling hand pulled his wife aside to give himself more room. Then he lifted the glass bowl as high as possible above his head, and threw it down on the floor, with all the force he could command. There followed no crash and flying of countless splinters, but only a dull thud, and the hardly tried glass rolled over lazily two or three times with a flattened side; otherwise it had suffered no damage. The potter drew himself up and looked round with pride and triumph in his eyes.

Neæra clapped her hands and kissed him. Her face reflected his supreme joy and satisfaction. Tibia stood silently, with her hand still grasped in her husband’s, as it might be in the manner of those bygone days of trial he had told them of. She said nothing; but her eyes passed from the object on the floor to her husband’s face, and there remained. She was a silent woman, and spoke no word of congratulation; but the pride and devotion in her face were eloquent enough. Masthlion, looking down into it, read it there. Both females regarded the wonderful piece of glass with no small amount of curiosity; but it was little else than mere curiosity. As an extraordinary discovery it interested them but little; as the means of bearing rapture to the breast of the discoverer it was precious beyond compare. Their eyes indeed visited it, but straightway left it to dwell on the recovered radiance which beamed on the face of its maker.

The attention of Cestus, on the other hand, was absorbed in exactly the reverse way. With great interest he stooped to pick up and examine the flattened glass vessel. He turned and twisted it about with the most minute scrutiny. Then, with his thick, powerful fingers, he tried to straighten out the dint. But in this he was unsuccessful, so he began to shake his head and hum disbelievingly through his pursed lips.

‘’Tis not clay,’ laughed Masthlion; ‘it needs a mallet and a tool or two. Come, I will show you!’

They followed him to his workshop, where he took a piece of wood rounded at one end like a pestle. With this and a mallet he pounded the injured side of the glass back into its original shape – the glass yielding to the heavy blows like a piece of plastic metal.

‘There!’ he cried, throwing down his tools and holding forth the restored glass in triumph, ‘it is neither pretty nor useful, I admit; but the principle is there, which is everything. One must first find the precious pebble before it can be carved and polished. So enough for the present. Haste, wife, and get us our supper – I must be at work again to make a more sightly cup, as quickly as I can.’

The women vanished. Their voices could be heard in animated chatter as they passed hither and thither in the gladdest preparation of a meal they had known for some time.

‘Well, kinsman, you say nothing. What do you think of my bantling in glass?’ said Masthlion to the Suburan, who stood leaning against a bench with folded arms and knitted brows.

‘’Tis something undoubtedly new, potter,’ replied Cestus. ‘And do you say you can make clear glass and fancy cups and vases, such as one sees in Rome, in the same way – unbreakable?’

‘Certainly – why not?’ answered Masthlion. ‘No shape, colour, or fashion whatever can make any difference to its principle of indestructibility.’

‘Why then, potter, I may safely give you joy of your new fashion. It has been a long time coming, but it has come at last. And provided you can keep your secret, and deal sensibly with it, I should say you ought to coin money. Give me your hand, kinsman – you’ll be as rich as Caesar! And recollect when your secret has two in it, it is no secret at all.’

‘Trust me for that!’ laughed Masthlion, as Cestus gripped his hand.

‘And yet something more, potter. This little affair must needs take you to Rome. You may as well wrap up your piece of glass, with the secret of its making on a parchment inside, and go bury them in your garden, as stop in this place to make wealth.’

‘There is nothing to prevent me going on making glass here as heretofore,’ replied Masthlion, with a shadow stealing over his face.

‘Nothing!’ returned Cestus energetically, ‘even if you lived for the next hundred years. But what an ending to your twenty-five years’ work! Cradled and buried in these hills for the benefit of housewives and kitchen wenches round about Surrentum! No; you must have a wider market for your wares and your name. Rome is the market of the world, and to Rome all the world looks for the latest fashion. There is where name and fame is to be had, and everything which follows name and fame. There you will find the powerful patron to father your handicraft – and a powerful patron is everything, kinsman, even in the matter of glass cups.’

‘What I have toiled for so long, and at last brought to light, will be to the direct use and service of the world. So much so that the world will find it out and accept it. It will matter little whether it goes to Rome or to Surrentum to obtain it.’

‘Ha! ha!’ laughed Cestus sarcastically; ‘much you know about the world and its people to say that! Do you think they will come and kneel down when you lift your finger? You have enough to bring you fortune if you go the right way to get it. The wrong way is to stay here and dabble, or, perhaps, let some one else worm your secret to better purpose. This is what you are bound to do. Go to Rome. Make a cup or vase, of the finest workmanship you can turn out. Then choose you out a great man, and show him your curiosity. The more people about him at the time, the better chance of being talked about. If the noble will buy your vase, so much the better. At any rate be assured that it shall have a place on his table. To effect all this is to bring success, if there is anything in your discovery at all. But, however, there is luck about all things. The best schemes, at times, fall flat – no one knows why, whilst the worthless send people crazy together. You must do your best and take your chance of the humour of the time. This is the way to push business – the only way – ’tis done every day – pooh, man! If I knew what you know, and had your handicraft at my finger ends, should I stop here? Not I! I should be off into the world and tap a gold mine. Then, if it suited my fancy, in a few years come back to the old nest and build myself a palace.’

‘Even with my plain, simple country ideas, Cestus, I think I have something of good sense beyond your own,’ said Masthlion quietly, at the end of his companion’s speech.

‘Really, in what way, kinsman?’

‘In that I have not yet allowed my mind to measure the extent of my palace, or the worth of the gold mine that is to build it,’ said the potter grimly.

‘Ah!’ said Cestus, ‘but observe, I spoke only assuming you to be successful. If you haven’t enough faith in your own discovery to give you hope, then, of course, there is an end.’

‘I have faith, and great faith! Else would I have toiled so long and wearily? Its worth is plain to the dullest sense; but when success comes, then it will be time to allow the mind to run riot. Nevertheless, Cestus, it may astonish you to know, that ere you spoke, I had already resolved on a plan of making my discovery known, which very much resembles the plan you advise – and without need of leaving my home.’

The Suburan shook his head.

‘Simple being as I am, I have already the idea that a good patron is necessary.’

‘Of course.’

‘Then, since that is settled, I have resolved that my patron shall be the most powerful of all – the ruler of the world, in fact. To-morrow, if I can be ready, I will go and show the fruit of my labour for the approval of Caesar himself.’

‘What – Caesar!’ cried Cestus, starting violently.

‘Caesar – Tiberius Claudius Nero Caesar,’ replied Masthlion, with a quiet smile at the blank amazement on the features of his companion.

‘Biberius Caldius Mero Caesar – phew!’ muttered Cestus, mechanically giving the Emperor his well-known nickname, which his Imperial wine-bibbing propensities had earned for him.

So murmuring, the Suburan sank back again into his reclining posture against the bench, glaring at the potter.

‘Why, it would seem that I have taken a bolder flight than even the city wit and cleverness of my Roman kinsman could devise.’

‘There is such a thing as taking too bold a flight for one’s welfare,’ replied the other, recovering his voice; ‘and country ignorance will plainly do many a thing which city wit would call folly. Had it been the last Caesar now – had it been Augustus, perhaps you would have been sensible. But this one! To go to Capreae – to run the risk of being drowned, or spitted, ere you set foot in the tiger’s lair – or, failing that, to be hauled before the tiger himself, and straightway hurled from the cliffs into the sea for a mad-brained potter! Gods preserve us, Masthlion – have you taken leave of your senses?’

‘I may have seemed like it some minutes back, but I have returned into my usual sober spirit now. At all events, I have the wit to see clearly what I intend to do.’

‘You would never see Caesar – you would never be allowed to approach within eyeshot – not even to set foot on shore!’

‘Nonsense, kinsman! Do you think we of Surrentum know not better than to believe an idle tale such as that? Do you think we are not better acquainted with our neighbours in Capreae, at our very doors here, than to be affrighted at such an ogre’s fable as yours? I will both set foot on the island and see Caesar to boot. Is it not often done by the folk along the coast here, whenever business demands?’

‘And who never return. What of the dozens who are tortured and strangled and flung to the sharks by the blood-thirsty old hermit?’

‘Would the people ever continue to go if that were the case?’

‘Do you say none are treated in the way I say?’

‘There may be some so unlucky if they have offended; and Caesar is somewhat harsh and imperious as tyrants often are. But I am a neighbour and a Surrentine, and can make a fair reason for permission to go into Caesar’s presence – I have no fear or uneasiness. Stercus of the vineyard up there, frequently goes to Capreae and enters the Imperial presence.’

‘By Hercules! I would I had known this before,’ quoth Cestus eagerly; ‘would it be possible for me to do the same thing?’

‘I should not like to say,’ answered Masthlion, shaking his head; ‘strangers, from a distance, seem to be out of favour on the island. We natives have more license. Why, I know not; but strangers – especially those who go without authority, or business – will most likely rue their boldness. If you, a Roman, were to make a visit, out of sheer curiosity, you would, most likely, meet with rough handling.’

‘Humph, then there is some advantage in being a Surrentine and not a Roman,’ said Cestus ironically.

‘So it would seem, in this instance,’ replied the potter.

‘Then you may claim it with pleasure. It is hardly worth having when it includes the probability of becoming a meal for the fishes. And even what I have heard the Surrentines themselves say of old Tiberius, gives me no better relish for him than I had before. Therefore I say, don’t go! Take your wares to a safer market. Even suppose you were safe enough in the ordinary way of things, as a native, a little matter might upset the Imperial humour – a slip, a word, heaven knows what! The royal humour might be upset even before you had the first chance at it, and then what next? What glass pot would save you then?’

‘I would never run the risk. I have the means of lying by till the sky is favourable,’ returned Masthlion, with a calm smile.

‘You are resolved then?’

‘Quite.’

‘A wilful man will have his way,’ growled Cestus, pulling at his beard nervously. He was very ill at ease, and he knew enough of the potter’s nature, to be well aware of the uselessness of any arguments to turn his determination when once arrived at. He felt no confidence in what he had heard concerning the peculiar privileges in Capreae toward the natives of the district, and, in fact, was more than half assured, in his own mind, that his kinsman was running as great a risk, as if he were going empty-handed to a lion in its den. What if he never came back – if he was never heard of again? It would be to lose the most important witness in his case. That would be a terrible misfortune. The Suburan’s heart was a load within him for heaviness. Perplexity worried him very soon into a temper, and he stood with brows clenched, and teeth grinding under his bearded lips, whilst Masthlion proceeded calmly with the preparations for his expedition.

It seemed to increase Cestus’s irritation to watch his tranquillity.

‘You seem to be tolerably easy, in your own mind, I must confess,’ he snarled at length.

Masthlion looked round, and noted the ill-humoured expression of his companion’s countenance with some surprise.

‘Easy in my own mind,’ said he; ‘I am, truly enough – I feel more contented and happy than I have done for many a day; and I have good reason too, I think.’

‘Be sure it is not an evil omen,’ said Cestus.

‘Of what?’

‘Ruin – death!’

‘Tush – you are talking nonsense. Set your mind at rest; I know what I am about, and nothing shall stop me from carrying out what I have fixed upon.’

‘Then if I cannot teach you common prudence, perhaps you will listen to some one else. Your life and your carcase are your own, and you can do what you like with them; but there are matters other than your own, and also people dependent on you, who ought to have some consideration. Have you told your wife and the girl what you mean to do?’

‘No; but it means only the telling,’ replied Masthlion, with the faintest hesitation.

‘I am not so sure of that; and besides it is your duty not to run any risk on their account.’

‘Nothing venture nothing win. As I have told you, you have got silly fancies into your head. The risk I run does not trouble my conscience on the score of those I leave behind me; so have done, Cestus, and trouble me no more.’

Cestus approached him, and taking his arm with one hand he pointed to the door with the other. ‘Do you forget, also, what duty you owe to the girl singing within there? You say you love her like your own child – do you forget that you are one of the chief witnesses in the task of restoring her to her proper station?’

A shadow fell on the potter’s face and his frame shivered. ‘No, I do not forget – how could I?’ he murmured, as his head fell on his breast. ‘You will take her from me.’

‘I will take her to Rome – it will be necessary for you and Tibia to accompany us. Where, then, is the separation? You settle in Rome, and carry on your work nigh at hand. The matter is ripe and will wait no longer. Within these two days I had resolved to tell you. I have written to her grandfather to expect her, and we must go. Come, let us go in to supper and settle it; but without, as yet, telling the reason. You cannot but see that all this suits you in every way – nothing better.’

Masthlion remained silent for a few moments, with his head cast down and his fingers twining themselves nervously. Then he went apart, and stooped low on his bench, with his face in his hands. Here he remained for several minutes motionless, during which time Cestus began to pace impatiently up and down the floor. At length the potter stood up. The old care and heaviness was back on his face once more, from the burden of which he had had such a brief respite.

‘Cestus,’ he said huskily, ‘for my sake and my wife’s, and it may be for hers for all that I can tell, I wish occasion had never been to have brought you back again. We must suffer; but that is nothing if it be for her good. I have of late thought over what you have said. In one way and another it seems fated that she must leave us. I have also thought that our home here would be very dark without her, or even the consolation of knowing that she was within easy reach. I had half resolved, therefore, to follow to the city. She may be lost to us, it is true; but still they could not rob us altogether of the sight of her. That – that, at least, would be a comfort. This will decide me then. As soon as I return from Capreae we will go, and, at least, make a trial of a new home – though it is a hard task to transplant old trees.’

‘As soon as you return from Capreae!’ echoed Cestus, his incipient satisfaction giving way in a breath to disgust. ‘You will still persist in that madness. It must never be! You have no need of Caesar – what benefit to you is a man who lives like a hermit on a rock? The rich nobles in Rome will be a thousand times the service to you – you shall not go!’

‘I will!’ cried Masthlion, stung into anger and despair by the fierce tone of his kinsman; ‘I will do my duty to the labour of my life – its fame shall be mine and shall cling to me though everything fall away.’

‘Life included,’ sneered Cestus.

‘Let it, if it be so fated. It seems less bright than it did.’

CHAPTER XV

When they were called in to supper the two women were awaiting them, bright-eyed and radiant, at a modest, but well-filled table. Their new-found cheerfulness, however, was doomed to a brief existence. Cestus remained silent and gloomy; and Masthlion, equally taciturn, despatched his meal rapidly, as though it were a task to be well rid of. Their dampened spirits were still more depressed, when the potter, immediately on swallowing the last mouthful, announced, in a blunt, matter-of-fact way, his intended visit to Capreae. With a certain amount of dismay they at once expressed their disapprobation of the undertaking. It oppressed them with a sense of dread – it was of too great a magnitude. The very name of Caesar filled them with awe. They used their best efforts to dissuade the potter, assisted by the interjectory remarks and sarcasms of Cestus; but they plainly saw that their efforts were doomed to be vain. Masthlion bade them put away their fears, and, with something of his natural manner, clapped his wife gently on the shoulder as he went back to his workshop. Without being reassured, the women went silently about their work of removing the supper things, their hearts as heavy as before they had been cheerful.

‘Have you put this into his head?’ demanded Tibia suddenly of her brother. Her glance was suspicious and her tone unusually sharp.