Domitia

“Yes.”

“What, by the conscience that establishes between truth and falsehood?”

“Nay – by trust. We must trust some one and some thing. We trust God, we trust His Revelation, we trust in the goodness there is in mankind.”

“There is evil rather than good.”

“There is good – but that is oft astray because of the darkness, and does not know its course.”

Domitia did not remain long in the Insula. She bade farewell to the wife of the actor and promised to revisit her. The presence of Glyceria refreshed, soothed, sweetened the mind of the girl that was heated, ruffled and soured by contact with so much there was in pagan life that jarred against her noble instincts, by the uncongeniality of her mother, and by the disgust she felt at association with Domitian.

When she arrived at the palace, she heard that her mother had been inquiring after her, and she at once went to her apartments.

Duilia asked where she had been, but did not listen for an answer, or pay attention to what was said, when the reply came.

“What is this I hear?” said Duilia, in a tone of irritation. “Lucilla tells me you have been chatting with Domitian, and in the street too – ”

“I had no wish to speak with him. He came after me.”

“Oh! he went after you, did he? And pray what had he to say?”

“He is going to Germany to conclude a campaign already fought out and come back and triumph for another man’s victories.”

“You did not say so to him?”

“Not in so many words.”

“My dear, it is true. He is going, and whether he be successful or not, will return wearing the title Germanicus. I shall have a little supper.”

“For whom?”

“For whom, do you ask? For him to be sure, to wish him good success on the expedition.”

“You will allow me not to be present.”

“As you will, perverse girl. My dear,” in a confidential tone, “if kittens can’t catch rats, cats can.”

CHAPTER XXI.

THE VIRGIN’S WREATH

“My dear,” said Longa Duilia to her daughter, “with wit such as you have, that might be drawn through a needle’s eye, it is positively necessary to have you married as quickly as possible. I can no longer bear the responsibility of one so full of waywardness and humors as yourself.”

“That, mother, is as Lamia chooses. You know that I can marry only him.”

“And I do not ask you to take another. I will get it settled forthwith. I’ll see his father by adoption and have the settlements looked to. You are a good match. I presume you are aware of that, and this explains certain poutings and bad temper. Well – reserve them for Lamia, and don’t vex me. I wash my hands of you, when that you are married. A camel carries his own hump, but a man his wife’s humors.”

Domitia was sufficiently acquainted with her mother’s elasticity of spirit and fertility of invention to be satisfied that she had a motive for pressing on her marriage, and what that motive was seemed obvious. But it was one that distressed her greatly.

“My dearest mother,” she said timidly, “I hope – I mean, since you are so good as not to urge me further to break my engagement with Lamia, that you have not set your mind – I mean your heart – ”

“My excellent child,” answered Longa Duilia cutting her daughter short, “make no scruple of blurting out what is on your tongue. You allude to Domitian. Well! If you had common sense, you would know that to get on in life, one must fit one’s heart with the legs of a grasshopper, so as to be able to skip from an inconvenient, into any suitable position. When a dish of ortolans is set on table, none but a fool will dismiss it untasted to be devoured by the servants in the kitchen!”

“But, mother, he is quite young.”

“By the favor of the Gods, Domitia, youths always fall in love with women somewhat older than themselves. The Gods ordered it for their good. If they, I mean the young men – would only follow their – I mean the Gods’ – direction, there would be fewer unhappy marriages. For my part, I can’t see anything attractive in half-baked girls.”

But the thoughts of her own future, and approaching happiness took up the whole of Domitia’s brain, and left no space for consideration of her mother’s schemes, and their chances of success.

The young prince was away. It was, as had been feared, too late for him to reap laurels in Germany, the revolt had been quelled by Cerealis, but as there was a ferment working in Gaul, it was deemed advisable that Domitian should go thither and overcome the dissatisfied instead of crossing the Alps. He had accordingly changed his route, and had appeared in Lyons.

The marriage between Domitia and Lamia could not take place so speedily as Duilia desired. She was wishful to have it over before the return to Rome of Domitian, so that she might be left a freer hand, and her daughter put out of the way who, she thought, exercised a peculiar fascination over the young prince; but she was unable to decide in her own mind whether what drew his eyes towards Domitia was dislike or love; possibly it was a commingling of resentment at her treatment of him, and admiration for her loveliness.

But hindrances arose. Lamia was absent on his estates in Sicily, where there had been disturbances among the slaves, and till matters were settled there, he could not return.

Then came the month of May in which no marriages might be performed owing to the hauntings of the Lemures, or ghosts of bad men, and such as had not received burial. These, seen in the forms of walking skeletons or bugbears, rioted in that sweetest month of the whole year. Then they obtained opportunities among the incautious to slip into their bodies, and possess them with madness, or to take up their abodes in dwelling-houses and disturb the living occupants by phantom appearances and mysterious sounds.

On three days in the month of May special means were adopted to propitiate or scare away these spectres. On the 9th, 11th, and 13th, at midnight, the master of a house, or, in the event of his death or absence, his widow or wife, walked barefoot before the door to a flowing fountain, where the hands were thrice washed, and then the propitiator of the ghosts returned home, and threw black beans over the shoulder, saying: “These I give to you, and with these beans I ransom myself and mine.”

It was supposed that the ghost scrambled for the beans, and so enabled the owner of the house to reach the door before them. There stood the servants beating brazen vessels, pots and pans, shouting, “Out with you! Out with you, ye ghosts!”

At the beginning of June was the cleansing of the Temple of Vesta, and till that was completed, on the 15th, marriages were forbidden.

Consequently the wedding could not take place much before midsummer, and to this Longa Duilia had to submit.

Domitia was content and happy. She had not been so happy since her father’s death. Indeed till now she had not been able to shake off the pain she had felt at his loss. For to her, that father was the model of noble manhood, high-minded, full of integrity, strong yet gentle. She had often marvelled at the manner in which he had dealt with her mother, whom she indeed loved but who somewhat rasped her. With his wife he had ever been firm yet forbearing. He allowed her to form her little schemes, but always managed to thwart them when foolish or mischievous, without her perceiving who had put a spoke in the wheel.

Lucius Ælius Lamia she looked upon as formed in her father’s school, upon his model. He was modest, honorable, true; a good man to whom she could give her whole heart with full assurance that he would treasure the gift, and that she could trust him to be as true to her as she would be true to him.

Since her father’s death, Domitia had felt more than previously the incompatibility of her mind with that of her mother. They had no thoughts, no wishes, no feelings in common. Domitia was a dreamer, speculative, ever with eager mind seeking the things beyond what was known, whereas Duilia had not a thought, a care that were not material. The lady Duilia cared not a rush about philosophy or the theory of emanations. It was to her a matter of complete indifference whether the established paganism was true or false. For she had no apprehension of the importance of Truth. And she had no wish that could not be gratified by money or the acquisition of position.

Now also the haunting horror of those waking dreams that she had seen in the Temple of Isis passed from the heart of the young girl, like the vapors that roll away and disclose the blue heavens and the glorious sun. She had been drifting purposeless; now she saw that she was about to enter on a condition of life in which she would have an object, and would find complete happiness in the pursuit of that object, – in the fulfilment of her duties as housewife to a loved husband, in whom she would find strength, sympathy and love.

And now also, for the first time since the death of Corbulo, she sang as she went about the house, or worked at her bridal dress.

Lamia, on his return from Sicily was surprised to note the change in her appearance. She had been as a beautiful flower bowed by rain and pinched with cold, and now, as in renewed sunshine, she bloomed with expanded petals. Light danced in her blue eyes, and a delicate rose suffused her smooth cheeks. She had stepped back into the childhood out of which she had passed on that terrible day at Cenchræa.

And as he looked at her, her eyes sparkling with love and tears of joy, he thought he had never seen one sweeter and to whom he could so wholly devote himself as to his dear Domitia.

Then arrived the eve of the marriage.

The young girl was in the garden, stooping, picking the flowers of which her virginal crown was to be woven, and singing as she plucked.

Then she came with her lap full of herbs and blossoms to her mother, who said: —

“That is right. None may gather the flowers but the bride. By the way, have you heard? Domitian is back from Gaul. I was rejoiced at the news, and have despatched an invitation to him to attend the wedding.”

“Oh, mother! it is a bad omen.”