Domitia

“What, what? Who is where?” asked the ferret-faced Messalinus. “What has been done? Here, Lycus,” to a slave, who always attended him, “Tell me, what has been done. In my ear, quick, I burn to know.”

Something was communicated in an undertone, and Messalinus broke into a cackle, that he quickly smothered —

“That is admirable, great and god-like is our prince! As a Jew physician said to me, he sets down one and setteth up another, at his pleasure. That is divine caprice. The Gods alone can act without having to account for what they do. I like it – vastly.”

And now at once the sycophant herd began to pay their addresses to Julia, and to neglect Domitia. The former was overloaded with flattery, her every word was repeated, passed on from one to another, as though oracular. Domitian, conspicuously and purposely ignored his wife made to sit at his feet; and raising himself on the left elbow upon his pulvinar, or cushion of gold brocade, talked with his niece, who also reclined instead of sitting.

Domitia remained silent with lowered eyes, carnations flowered in her cheeks. She made no attempt to speak; eat she could not. She felt the slight. Her pride was cut to the quick. The humiliation, before such as Messalinus was numbing. She would have endured being ordered to execution, she would have arranged her hair with alacrity, for the bowstring that would have finished her troubles, but this outrage before members of the court, before the imperial slaves, – and the knowledge that it would be the talk on the morrow of Roman society, covered her with confusion, and filled her soul with wrath, for she had pride – not a little.

Ursus, a kinsman of the Emperor, an elderly man, of good character and upright walk, was near her. He alone seemed to feel the indignity put upon the Empress. His eyes, full of pity, rested on her, and he waited an opportunity to speak to her unheard by others. Then he said, turning his head towards Domitia, —

“Lady, recall the fable of the oak and the bulrush. Humor the prince and you can do with him what you will. Believe me, and I speak sincerely, – he loves you still, loves you madly – but you repel him and that offends his pride. All things are his, in earth, – I may almost say in heaven – and he cannot endure that one frail woman’s heart should alone be denied him.”

“There are certain waters,” answered Domitia, “that turn to stone whatever is exposed to them – even a bird’s feather. It is as though I had been subjected to this treatment. My heart is petrified.”

“Not so, dear lady, it beats at the present moment with anger. It can also beat with love.”

“Never towards him who has maltreated me.”

“By the Gods! forbear. I am endangered by listening to such words.”

“What – what – what is Ursus saying?” asked Messalinus, who caught a word or two. “He is beside the Augusta – what did he say – and in a low tone also. No treason hatching at the table of our Divine Lord, I trust.”[12 - The titles of lord and god were given to Domitian by his flatterers, and accepted and used by him, as of right.]

“Here come the jesters and the mimes,” said Ursus, “and may the god of Laughter provide such matter for mirth as will satisfy Catullus Messalinus.”

“Then it must be a tragedy,” said another guest, “for to our blind friend here, naught is jocose unless to some other it be painful.”

“We have all our gifts,” said Messalinus, smirking.

Then entered some acrobats who went through evolutions, casting knives and catching them, forming human pyramids, ladders, wheels, balancing poles on their chins whilst a boy went through contortions at the top.

But there was no novelty in the exhibition. The Emperor wearied of it, and ordered the performers to withdraw.

Next appeared mimes, who performed low buffoonery in gesture and dialogue, interspersed with snatches of song, that were so offensive to decency that Domitia, who had never seen and heard anything of the kind at her mother’s house, sprang to her feet with flaming cheeks, brow and bosom, and made a motion to leave. She knew it – this disgusting performance had been commanded by the prince, for the purpose of humiliating her. She would go. But Domitian, whose malignant glance was on her, saw her purpose and called out, —

“It is my will, Domitia, that you remain in your seat. The cream of the entertainment has yet to come.”

Ursus put his hand to her garment and gently drew her down on her seat.

“Endure it,” he whispered, “it will soon be over.”

“It is the worst outrage of all,” said she with heaving breast, and the blood so surged into her eyes and ears that she could see and hear no more.

Indeed, she was hardly conscious when the buffoons withdrew, her eyes rested on the marble floor, strewn with the remains of the feast.[13 - There are mosaic pavements at Rome representing a floor after a dinner, with crawfish heads, oyster shells, nuts, picked bones, flower leaves, strewn about.] But suddenly she started from the dream, or the stupefaction into which she had fallen, by hearing the voice of Paris, the tragic actor.

She looked up sharply, and saw him, a tall, handsome man, of Greek profile, and with curly dark hair. He was clad in a long mantle, and wore the buskins. Behind him were minor performers, to take a part in dialogue, or to chant a chorus.

“Lord and Augustus, what is it your pleasure that we represent in your presence?” asked the actor.

“Repeat the speech of Œdipus Coloneus to Theseus towards the close of the drama. That, I mean, which begins, ‘O son of Ægeus, I will teach the things that are in store.’ ”

Paris bowed, and drawing himself up, closing his eyes to represent the blindness of the old king he personated, and with hands extended began:

“O son of Ægeus, I will teach the things that are in store.
Myself unguided, straightway go, ye follow, I before.
The spot where I am doomed to die – That spot will I reveal.
But on your lips, I pray you set, to that a holy seal.”

“Do you mark, Domitia?” called the Emperor with bantering tone.

“I have looked under the table, sire, to see whether, like your kinsman Calvisius, you keep there a prompter who has read Eurypides.”[14 - Calvisius Sabinus, a rich and ignorant man, made one of his slaves learn Homer by heart, another Hesiod and others the nine Greek lyric poets. When he gave a dinner, he concealed them under the table to prompt him with quotations.]

Some of the guests hardly controlled their laughter. The deficiency in the education of Domitian was well known.

“Go on, fellow,” ordered he surlily. “Skip some lines – it is tedious, draw to the end.”

Paris resumed: —

“Now let me to that place repair; an impulse from on high,
A sacred impulse carries me to where I’m doomed to die.
O daughter! I must show the way – aye, I, myself, the guide,
To you who hitherto did lead, or clave unto my side.
Nay! touch me not, but suffer me, myself to find the road
That leadeth to the silent tomb, and to the dark abode.
O Hermes! guardian of the soul that fleeteth from this breast!
O Goddess of the darkest night – Give to thy weary rest!
O light! beloved, glorious light! that once did fill these eyes.
Now I embrace thy sacred beams, then turn where shadow lies.
O dearest friends, when well with you, and with this land, recall
Me, as about my bowed head Death’s purple shadows fall.”

Then the chorus, in rhythmic dance sang: —

“If it be meet – O Goddess thou, unseen whom all men dread,
If it be meet – O awful King who rulest o’er the dead,
Be pitiful unto this man, a stranger in the land,
And gently, without pain acute, conduct him by the hand
From out the world of light into the Stygian deeps below,
Remember how that ever here, he suffered want and woe!
Ye polished iron gates unclose, and as ye backward roll,
Let not the rav’nous monster leap and lacerate the soul.
And then on son of Tartarus advance with pity sweet,
The fluttering, frightened, parted soul, approaching gently greet!”

“Enough,” said Domitian, and waved his hand. “How likest thou that, Domitia?”

“Methinks, sire, the words are ominous. Suffer me I pray thee to retire – for I am not well.”