Domitia

“I shall kiss my darling father – put my arms around my Lucius from whom I have been parted so long, and so cruelly, and who has been so – so true to me.”

Then Domitia burst into tears.

Glyceria stroked her hand.

“There – you see how joyous is our hope. Death is nothing – it is only a good-bye for a bit to meet again.”

“O, Glyceria! O, if I could see them – O Glyceria! O, you should not have said this if it be not true. My heart will break. O, if it might be so! if I could! but once only – for a moment – ”

“Nay, that would not suffice; forever, never to be separated; no more tears, no more death.”

“O, Glyceria – not another word – I cannot bear it. My heart is over full. Another time. My head, my head! O, if it might – it could be!”

Next day Glyceria saw by the red eyes of Domitia that she had slept little and had wept much. She did not turn the conversation to the same topic; she wisely waited for the noble lady to begin on it herself, and she judged that she would take some time to consider what had been spoken about and to digest it.

And in fact Domitia made no further allusion to the matter for some days. But after about a week, when alone with the paralyzed woman, she said to her abruptly: “You have never been in Syria?”

“No, dear lady.”

“I have – and I have been on the confines of the desert and looked away, as far as the eye could reach, and have seen nothing but sand and barren rock. Behind me a rose-garden, syringas, myrtle and citron trees, and murmuring streams, before me – no green leaf, only death. It is to me, as I stand now and look back on my life as if it were that barren desert; and the fearful thing is – I dare not turn and look the other way, for it is into impenetrable night. But no, my life is not all desolation, there are just two green spots in it where the date palms stand and there are wells – my childhood, when I sat on my father’s knee and cuddled into his arms; and once again, when I was recovering from the loss of him and was basking in the joy of my love for Lucius Lamia. All the rest – ” she made a gesture of despair – “Death.”

“Dearest lady! I would like to turn you about and show you that where you think only blackness reigns, lies a beautiful garden, a paradise, and One at the gate who beckons and says, Come unto Me, all you that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.”

“Ah! but that may be all fancy and dream work like the promises of the Magi, and the mysteries of Isis.”

Glyceria got no further than this. Domitia was disposed to talk with her on her hope, and on the Christian belief, but always with reserve and some mistrust.

There were old prejudices to be overcome, there was the consciousness that the promises so largely made by the votaries of the many cults from East and South who came to Rome were unfulfilled, and this made her unable to place confidence in the new religion held by slaves and ignorant people, however alluring it might seem.

Among the very few who came to Gabii during her illness and convalescence, was Flavia Domitilla, the widow of Flavius Clemens, who had been put to death by Domitian. Domitilla had been banished, but returned immediately on the death of the tyrant. She had suffered as had Domitia. In her manner and address there was something so gentle and assuring, that the poor ex-empress, in the troubled condition of her brain, was drawn to her, and after her visits felt better. She knew, or rather supposed, that Domitilla was a Christian. Her husband had been one, and had suffered for his faith.

It was with real pleasure that she ran to welcome her one morning, when the steward entered and announced: “The Lady Flavia Domitilla.”

CHAPTER XVI.

AN ECSTASY

“I have come, dear Domitia, with a petition,” said the widow of Flavius Clemens. “And it is one you will wound me if you refuse.”

“But who would wound so gentle a breast?” answered Domitia, kissing her visitor. “He must be heartless who draws a bow against a dove.”

“Hearken first to what I ask. I am bold – but my very feebleness inspires me with audacity.”

“What is it, then?”

“That you come with me to my villa for a little change of scene, air and society. It will do you good.”

“And I cannot refuse. It is like your sweet spirit to desire nothing save what is kindly intended and does good to others.”

“As you have assented so graciously, I will push my advance a little further and say – Return with me to-day. Let us travel together. If you will – I have a double litter – and we can chatter as two magpies together.”

“Magpies bring sorrow.”

“Nay, two – mirth – we have cast our sorrows behind us. You said I was a dove, so be it – a pair of doves, perhaps wounded, lamed – but we coo into each other’s ear, and lay our aching hearts together and so obtain solace.”

“I will refuse you nothing,” said Domitia, again kissing her visitor.

Accordingly, a couple of hours later the two ladies started, Domitia taking with her some attendants, but travelling, as was proposed, in the large litter of Domitilla.

This latter lady was, as already mentioned, the widow of Clemens, one of the two sons of Flavius Sabinus, præfect of the city, who had held the Capitol against the Prætorians of Vitellius and had been murdered but a few hours before Rome was entered by the troops that favored his brother Vespasian. On that occasion his sons had escaped, and the elder was married to Julia, daughter of Titus, but had been put to death by Domitian. The younger brother, Clemens, a quiet, inoffensive man, who took no part in public affairs, had been executed as well, shortly before Domitian himself perished.

And now Flavia Domitilla lived quietly on her estate not far from the Ardeatine Gate of Rome.

“How!” said Flavia, suddenly, as she espied the little cornelian suspended on the bosom of Domitia, “you have the Fish!”

“Yes, Glyceria gave it me – long ago.”

“Do you know what it means?”

“Glyceria told me – but it is a dream, a beautiful fancy, nothing more. There is no evidence.”

“Domitia, you have not sought for it.”

“My cousin, Rome is full of religions. Some say the truth is in Sabazius, some in Isis, some in the stars, some in Mithras – a new importation – and some will go back to the old Gods of our Latin ancestors. But one and another all are naught.”

“How know you that?”

“By the spirit that is within me. It can discern between what is true and false. Not that which promises best is the most real.”

“You are right, Domitia – that is truest and most real which meets and satisfies the seeking, aching heart.”

“And where is that?”

“Where you have not sought for it.”

“If I were sure I would seek. But I am weary of disillusionings and disappointments.”

“Well – will you hear?”

“I am not sure. I have met with too many disappointments to desire another.”

Nothing further was said on this topic till the villa was reached. Domitia showed that she did not desire to have it pursued.

As Flavia alighted from her litter, a young man approached, handed her something and asked for an answer.

The widow of Clemens opened a tied diptych and read some words written therein.

She seemed disconcerted and doubtful. She looked questioningly at Domitia, and then asked leave of the latter to say a word in private to Euphrosyne. Leave was granted and a whispered communication passed between them.