Part 11 (1/2)

”'Oh, when through the long night, With fleet foot glancing white, Shall I go dancing in my revelry, My neck cast back, and bare Unto the dewy air, Like sportive faun in the green meadow's glee?'[76]

[76] Milman, translator.

as old Euripides sings in his 'Bacchae.' Yes, the h.e.l.lenes were right when they put nymphs in the forest and in the deep. Only our blind practical Latin eyes will not see them. We will forget that we are Romans; we will build for ourselves some cosey little Phaeacia up in the Sabine hills beside some lake; and there my Sappho shall also be my Nausicaa to s.h.i.+ne fair as a G.o.ddess upon her distressed and s.h.i.+pwrecked Odysseus.”

”Yes,” said Cornelia, smiling, ”a delightful idyl; but Odysseus would not stay with Nausicaa.”

”I was wrong,” replied Drusus, as they walked arm in arm out from the portico, and down the broad avenue of stately shade trees. ”You shall be the faithful Penelope, who receives back her lord in happiness after many trials. Your clever Agias can act as Telemachus for us.”

”But the suitors whom Odysseus must slay?” asked Cornelia, entering into the fun.

”Oh, for them,” said Drusus, lightly, ”we need not search far. Who other than Ahen.o.barbus?”

II

Rather late in the afternoon, a few days subsequently, the most n.o.ble Lucius Cornelius Lentulus Crus, consul-designate, and one of the most prominent politicians of his time and nation, arrived at Praeneste; having hurried away from Rome to escape for a little while the summer heats which made the capital anything but a pleasant place for residence. Drusus's travelling cortege would have seemed small enough compared with the hedge of outriders, footmen, and body-servants that surrounded the great man. But notwithstanding his prospective dignities, and his present importance, Lentulus Crus was hardly an imposing personality. He was a bald-pated, florid individual, with rough features, a low, flat forehead, and coa.r.s.e lips. He was dressed very fas.h.i.+onably, and was perfumed and beringed to an extent that would have been derided anywhere save in the most select circles of Rome. He was stout, and when he alighted from his carriage, he moved away with a somewhat waddling gait, and lifted up a rasping, high-pitched voice in unsonorous complaint against a slave who let fall a parcel of baggage.

Clearly the master of the house had returned, and all the familia and freedmen bustled about their various tasks with the unusual prompt.i.tude and diligence which is the outcome of a healthy fear of retribution for slackness. Lentulus went into the atrium, and there had an angry conference with the local land-steward, over some accounts which the latter presented. In fact, so ill was the humour of the n.o.ble lord, that Cornelia avoided going out from her room to meet him, and pretended to be so engrossed in her Ennius that she did not hear he had come.

This pretence, however, could not last long. Lentulus called out in a surly tone to know where his niece was, and the latter was fain to present herself. It could not be said that the meeting between Cornelia and her uncle was extremely affectionate. The interchange of kisses was painfully formal, and then Lentulus demanded somewhat abruptly:--

”How have you been spending your time? With that young ne'er-do-weel son of s.e.xtus Drusus?”

”Quintus was here this morning,” said Cornelia, feeling a little reproachful at the manner in which her uncle had spoken of her lover.

”Just back from Rome, I presume?” said Lentulus, icily, ”and he must fly over to the cote of his little dove and see that she hasn't flitted away? He'd better have a care in his doings. He'll have something more serious on hand than lovemaking before long.”

”I don't understand you, uncle,” said Cornelia, turning rather red; ”Quintus has never done anything for which he has cause to fear.”

”Oh, he hasn't, eh?” retorted Lentulus. ”_Mehercle!_ what donkeys you women are! You may go, I want to see your mother.”

”She is in her own room,” said Cornelia, turning her back; ”I wish you would not speak to me in that way again.”

Lentulus wandered through the mazes of courts, colonnades, and the magnificently decorated and finished rooms of the villa, until he came to the chamber of Claudia, his sister-in-law. Claudia was a woman of the same fas.h.i.+onable type as Valeria, good-looking, ostentatious, proud, selfish, devoid of any aim in life save the securing of the most vapid pleasure. At the moment, she was stretched out on a thickly cus.h.i.+oned couch. She had thrown on a loose dress of silken texture. A negress was waving over her head a huge fan of long white feathers. A second negress was busy mixing in an _Authepsa_,--a sort of silver urn, heated by charcoal,--a quant.i.ty of spices, herbs, and water, which the lady was to take as soon as it was sufficiently steeped.

Claudia had been enjoying an unusually gay round of excitement while at Baiae, and she had but just come up to Praeneste, to recover herself after the exertions of a score of fas.h.i.+onable suppers, excursions on the Lucrine Lake, and the attendant exhausting amus.e.m.e.nts. When her brother-in-law entered the room, she raised her carefully tinted eyebrows, and observed with great languor:--

”So you have gotten away from Rome, at last, my Lucius?”

”For a few days,” replied Lentulus, in no very affable tone; ”the heat and din of the city will drive me mad! And I have had no end of troublesome business. The senators are all fools or slaves of Caesar.

That treacherous rascal, Curio, is blocking all our efforts. Even Pompeius is half-hearted in the cause. It wouldn't take much to make him go back to Caesar, and then where would we be?”

”Where would we be?” said Claudia, half conscious of what she said, turning over wearily. ”Don't talk politics, my dear brother. They are distressingly dull. My head aches at the very word.” And she held out her hand and took the golden cup of hot drink which the negress offered her.

”Aye,” replied Lentulus, not in the least subdued, ”where _will_ we be, if Pompeius and Caesar become friends? If there is no war, no proscription, no chance to make a sesterce in a hurry!”

”My dear brother,” said Claudia, still more languidly, and yawning at length, as she handed back the cup, ”have I not said that the mere mention of politics makes my head ache?”

”Then let it,” said the other, brutally; ”I must have some plain words with you.” And he pointed toward the door. The two serving-maids took the hint, and retired.