Part 4

By this time, the increasing darkness of the chamber had warned me that we ought to be thinking of our return. I had more than once looked towards Sextus, but he refused to meet my eye. When I was on the point of speaking, Sempronia, starting from her couch, exclaimed, that she was sure there was thunder in the skies; and presently flash after flash gleamed along the horizon. All sat silent, as if awe-struck; but Sempronia was the only one that seemed to be in terror from the tempest. Nevertheless, my eyes rested more on Athanasia, who looked paler than she had done, although her countenance preserved its serenity. “How awful,” said I, “is the voice of Jupiter!” Athanasia folded her arms upon her bosom, and lifting her eyes to heaven, said in a whisper,—“How awful is the voice of God!” She then dropt her hand on the end of her couch, and half unconsciously taking hold of it in mine, I asked her if she was afraid. “No,” said she, “I am not afraid, but the heaviness of the air makes me faint, and I never can listen to thunder without feeling something extraordinary within me.”

Capito said, he could not think of our going into the city that evening, and that we must all make up our minds to remain in the villa. The countenance of Sextus brightened up, and he looked to me as if to ask my assent. I was easily persuaded, and our host despatched a messenger to inform Licinius of the cause of our absence. The old man then led us into another apartment, which was richly furnished with books and paintings. Here he read for some time out of one of the poets, to a party, none of whom, I am afraid, were very attentive in listening to him, till, the hour of rest being come, we were conducted to our several apartments, Sextus and myself, indeed, being lodged in the same chamber.

We were no sooner left alone than I began to rally my friend on the beauty of his mistress, and the earnest court he had been paying her. The youth listened with blushes of delight to her praises, but seemed not to have the least idea that he had been so fortunate as to make any impression on her mind. On the contrary, he scarcely appeared to be aware of having done any thing to attract attention from her, and expressed astonishment when I assured him, that his behaviour had been such as could not possibly admit of more than one explanation in the eyes of a person so quick and vivacious as the lovely Sempronia.

After we had both retired to our beds, and the lights were extinguished, we still continued for some time to talk over the incidents of our visit, and the future prospects of Sextus and his love; until at length sleep overpowered us in easy bonds, and agreeable dreams followed, I doubt not, in the hearts of us both, the thoughts and sights of a delightful day. Mine surely were delightful, for they were all of Athanasia. Yet, even in the visions of the night, I could never gaze on her face without some strange impression of mystery. I saw her placid smile—I heard the sweet low cadence of her voice—but I felt, and I could not feel it without a certain indescribable anxiety, that her deep thoughts were far away.

_CHAPTER VI._

I awoke early, and drew near to the bed of Sextus; but seeing that he was fast asleep, and that a quiet smile was on his lips, I could not think of awakening him. The sun shone bright into the apartment, and I resolved to walk forth and breathe the balmy air of the garden.

The moisture was still heavy on the green paths, and the birds were singing among glittering leaves; the god-like statues stood unscathed in their silent beauty. I walked to and fro, enjoying the enchantment of the scene;—a new feeling of the beauty of all things seemed to have been breathed into my soul; and the pensive grace of Athanasia hovered over my imagination, like some presiding genius of the groves.

I found myself near the favourite grotto, and had stood over against its entrance for some space, contemplating the augmented stream as it fell from the superincumbent rock, and regretting the ravage which the nightly tempest had made among the delicate flowers round its basin. Twice I thought I heard the murmurs of a voice, and twice I persuaded myself that it was only the rippling of the waters; but the third time I was satisfied that some person must be near. I passed between the water and the rock, and beheld the fair creature that had been occupying so many of my thoughts, kneeling far within the grotto, as it seemed, in supplication. To disturb her by advancing farther, would have been impious; to retire, without the risk of disturbing her, almost impossible; but I remained there fixed to the spot, without perhaps considering all these things as I should have done. The virgin modesty of her attitude was holy in my eyes, and the thought never occurred to me, that I might be doing wrong in permitting myself to witness the simple devotions of Athanasia. “Great God, listen to my prayers,” was all I understood of what she said; but she whispered for some moments in a lowly and fervent tone, and I saw that she kissed something with her lips ere she arose from her knees. She then plunged her hands into the well, by whose brink she had knelt, and turned round to the light. “Athanasia, forgive me,” was already on my lips; but on seeing me, she uttered a faint cry and fell prostrate upon the marble. I rushed forward, lifted up her head, and laved water from the fountain, till I saw her lips tremble. At last she opened her eyes, and after gazing on me wildly for a moment, she gathered her strength, and stood quite upright, supporting herself against the wall of the grotto. “Great heavens!” cried I, “in what have I offended, that I should be rendered the cause of affliction to Athanasia? Speak, lady, and say that you forgive me.”

“I thought,” said she, with a proud calmness, “that Valerius was of Roman—of Patrician blood. What brings him to be a spy upon the secret moments of a Patrician maiden?”—Then bursting into a tone of unutterable fervour, “Speak,” said she, “young man, what have you heard? How long have you stood here? Am I betrayed?”

“Witness, heaven and earth!” cried I, kneeling, “and witness every god, that I have heard nothing, except to know that you were praying. I have only seen you kneeling, and been guilty of gazing on your beauty.” “You heard not the words of my prayer?” said she. “No, not its words, Athanasia, nor any thing of its purpose.” “Do you swear this to me, young man?” “Yes, I swear by Jupiter and by Rome—as I am a man and a Roman, I know not, neither do I desire to know, any thing of what you said. Forgive me for the fault of my indiscretion—you have no other to forgive.”

Athanasia paused for a moment, and then resuming more of her usual tone of voice, (although its accents were still somewhat disturbed and faltering,) said to me, “Valerius, since the thing is so, I have nothing to forgive. It is you that must pardon me for my suspicion.” “Distress me not, Athanasia,” said I, “by speaking such words.” “From this hour, then,” said she, “what has passed here is forgotten. We blot it from our memories;”—and with that, as if in token of the paction, she extended to me her hand. I kissed it as I knelt, and swore that all things were safe with me; but added, as I arose, “that I was afraid I should be promising more than I should be able to perform,—did I say I should be able to forget any hour, or any place, where I had seen Athanasia.” “Nay,” said she, “no compliment, or I shall begin to suspect you of insincerity.” I was then about to withdraw from the grotto; but seeing a scroll of parchment lying at the feet of Athanasia, I stooped, and presented it to her, saying, “I was afraid she might forget it.” She took it eagerly, and saying, “Of that there was no danger,” placed it in her bosom, within the folds of her tunic. She was then gathering up her black tresses, and fastening them hastily on the back part of her head, when we heard the sound of footsteps not far off, and beckoning to me to remain where I was, she darted from me, and in a moment vanished among the trees. I waited for a few minutes, and then stepping forth, beheld her walking at a distance, beside her sister, in the direction of the villa. They were soon lost among the paths, and I returned alone into the grotto.

I sat down beside the dark well, wherein she had dipt her hands, and mused in a most disturbed mood on all the particulars of this strange and unexpected interview. Every motion of her features—every modulation of her voice, was present with me; I had gathered them all into my heart, and I felt that I must cherish them there for ever. From the first moment I saw her, my eyes had been constrained to gaze upon her with an interest quite novel to me; but now I knew that she could not smile, without making my heart faint within me, and that the least whisper of her voice was able to bring tears into mine eyes. Now I thought of my own unworthiness, and could not help saying to myself, “Why should a poor ignorant provincial, such as I am, be torturing myself with the thoughts of such a creature as this?” Then, again, some benign glance of hers would return before me, and I could not help having some faint hopes, that her innocent heart might be won to me by faithful unwearied love. But what always threw me back into despair, was the recollection of the mystery that I knew hung over her mind, although what it was I could not know. That she had been saying something in her prayers which could not be overheard without betraying her, she had herself confessed. What could be this secret, so cherished in dread, and in darkness?—A crime?—No crime could sully the clear bosom of her innocence. No consciousness of guilt could be concealed beneath that heavenly visage. But perhaps she had been made the confidante of some erring,—some unhappy friend. Perhaps, in her prayer, she had made mention of another’s name, and implored the pardon of another’s guilt. Last of all, why might it not be so, that the maiden loved, and was beloved again; that she might have some reason to regard any casual betrayal of her affection as a calamity; and that, having uttered the name of her lover in her secret supplications, her terrors might all have been occasioned by her apprehensions of my having overheard it? And yet there was something in the demeanour of Athanasia, that I could not bring myself to reconcile entirely with any one of these suppositions. Had she feared that I had overheard any confession of guilt,—even of the guilt of another,—surely some semblance of shame would have been mingled with her looks of terror. Had she apprehended only the discovery of an innocent love, surely her blushes would have been deeper, and her boldness less. Yet the last solution of the difficulty was that which haunted me the most powerfully.

When I came forth into the open air, I perceived that the sun was already high in heaven, and proceeded in haste towards the villa, not doubting that Sextus and Capito would be astonished by the length of my absence. I found them and the ladies walking under the northern colonnade, having returned, as they told me, from a fruitless search after me through almost the whole of the garden. I looked to Athanasia, as if to signify that she well knew where I might have been found; but, although I saw that she understood my meaning, she said nothing in explanation. Sextus drew me aside shortly after, and told me, that his father had sent to inform him, that our presence was necessary in the city before supper-time, to attend a great entertainment which was to be given that evening by the lady whose cause he had successfully pleaded in the Forum on the preceding day; which lady, I now for the first time learned, was no other than the same Marcia Rubellia, to whom his father was very anxious the youth should be married. The success of this pleading had increased very much the wealth of the lady, and, of course, as Sextus well knew, the anxiety of Licinius for the proposed union; and to remain at the villa any longer, was, he said, entirely impossible, since he already suspected his father had not been quite pleased with him for leaving the Forum the day before, without staying to hear out a cause in which his duty, if not his inclination, ought to have made him feel so greatly interested.

We bade adieu, therefore, to our kind host and the young ladies, not without more reluctance than either of us durst express, and ready promises to return soon again to the villa. We found Dromo and Boto waiting for us at the gate, the former of whom looked unutterable things, while the latter appeared to be as joyful in seeing me again, as if we had been parted for a twelvemonth. The two slaves were mounted on asses, but they led horses for our conveyance; so we mounted with all speed, and were soon beyond the beautiful enclosures of Capito. As soon as we were fairly out of sight of the house, Dromo began to ply Sextus with innumerable questions about the result of the visit, all of them in bad Greek; that, as he said, there might be no chance of what passed being understood by the Druid; for by that venerable designation, he informed us, the primitive Boto had already come to be best known in the vestibule of Licinius. “Ah!” quoth he, “there is no need for many words; I am sure my young master has not been behindhand with himself. If he has, it is no fault of mine, however. I put Opportunity into his hands, and she, you know, as the poets say, has only one lock of hair, and that is in front.”

Sextus being very shy of entering into particulars, I found myself obliged to take upon me the satisfying of the curiosity of this inquisitive varlet, which I did in a manner that much astonished Sextus, who by no means suspected, that in the midst of my own attention to the other cousin, I had been able to take so much notice of what passed between him and Sempronia. However, the gentle youth took a little raillery all in good part, and we laughed loudly in unison at the triumphant capers which the whip of Dromo made his poor ass exhibit, in testimony of his satisfaction with the progress which all things appeared to be making. We reached the city about three hours after noon, and were told by the slaves in attendance, that Xerophrastes had gone out some time before, and that Licinius was already busy in arraying himself for the feast of Rubellia.

_CHAPTER VII._

Her mansion was situated about the middle of the Suburra, in a neighbourhood nowise splendid, and itself distinguished, on the side fronting to the street, by no uncommon marks of elegance or opulence. A plain brick wall covered almost the whole of the building from the eye of the passenger; and what was seen deserved the praise of neatness, rather than of magnificence. Nevertheless, the moment one had passed the gate, and entered the court, one could not help perceiving, that taste and wealth had been alike expended abundantly on the residence; for the broad terrace and gallery behind were lavishly adorned, the one with sculpture and the other with paintings; and the gardens, which these overlooked, appeared to be both extensive and elaborate.

We were conducted through several pillared halls, and then up a wide staircase, of somewhat sombre magnificence, into the chamber where the company were already in part assembled, and busy in offering their congratulations to the mistress of the feast. She was so much engaged with their flatteries that she did not at first perceive our entrance; but as soon as she knew who had come, the chief part of her attention was divided between her victorious advocate and his blushing son.

Rapidly as we have been advancing in our imitation of the manners of the capital, our island, most unquestionably, has never yet displayed any thing that could sustain the smallest comparison with what then met my eyes in the stately saloon of this widow. The group around her was gay and various, and she was worthy of forming its centre; young and handsome, dressed in a style of the utmost splendour, her deportment equally elegant and vivacious. Her complexion was of that clear rich brown which lends to the eye a greater brilliancy than the most exquisite contrast of red and white; and over which the blood, when it does come into the face, diffuses at once the warmest and the deepest of blushes. Her hair appeared to be perfectly black, unless where the light, streaming from behind, gave an edging of glossy brown to the thick masses of her curls. Her robe of crimson silk was fastened by a girdle, which seemed to consist of nothing but rubies and emeralds, strung upon threads of gold. She wore a tiara that rose high above her tresses, and was all over resplendent with flowers woven in jewellery; and around her delicate wrists and ankles were twined broad chains of virgin gold, interspersed with alternate wreaths of sapphire. Her form was the perfection of luxury; and although I have said that her deportment was in general lively and brilliant, yet there was a soft seriousness that every now and then settled in her eyes, which gave her, for a moment, a look of melancholy that seemed to me more likely to be in harmony with the secret nature of her disposition. I watched her in particular when she spoke to Sextus; her full rich-toned voice was then merry, and her large eyes sparkled; but when she was engaged with any other person, she could not help gazing on the beautiful youth in silence; and then it was that her countenance wore its deepest expression of calmness—I had almost said, of sadness.

I had been gazing on her, I know not how long, from another part of the room, when I heard a hearty chuckle from behind me, and thought I could not be unacquainted with the voice. Looking round, I saw, not without delight, the stately figure of my Prætorian Captain, Sabinus, whose cheerful eye soon distinguished me, and who forthwith came up to salute me in the most friendly manner. I introduced him to Licinius and Sextus, the former of whom expressed himself as being much gratified with the attention the centurion had shewn to me during our voyage; so that I felt myself, as it were, no longer a stranger in the place; and the lutes and trumpets at that moment announcing that supper was ready to be served up, I took care to keep close to Sabinus, and to place myself near him on the couch.

The room in which the feast was prepared, communicated by a pair of brazen folding doors, richly sculptured, with that in which the company had assembled; but from it, although the sun had not yet gone down, all light was excluded, excepting what streamed from golden candelabra, and broad lamps of bronze suspended overhead from the high and painted ceiling. The party might consist of about twenty, who reclined along one demi-circular couch, the covers of which were of the softest down, and the frame-work inlaid with ivory;—the part of the room enclosed by its outline being occupied with the table, and an open space to which the attendants had free access. We had no sooner taken our seats than a crowd of slaves entered, carrying large boards upon their heads, which being forthwith arranged on the table, were seen to be loaded with dishes of gold and silver, and all manner of drinking vessels, also with vases of rare flowers, and urns of perfume. But how did the countenance of Sabinus brighten, when the trumpet sounded a second time as if from below, and the floor of the chamber was suddenly, as it were, pierced in twain, and the pealing music ushered up a huge roasted boar, all wreathed with stately garnishings, and standing erect on his golden platform as on a chariot of triumph! “Ah! my dear boy,” cries he, “here comes the true king of beasts, and only legitimate monarch of the woods. What should we not have given for a slice of him when we were pent up, half-starved and fainting, in that abominable ship of ours?—All hail, most potent conqueror! but whether Germanic or Asiatic be thy proper title, I shall soon know, when that expert Ionian has daintily carved and divided thee.” But why should I attempt to describe to you the particulars of the feast? Let it suffice, that whatever idea I had formed of Roman profusion was surpassed, and that the splendour of the entertainment engaged the attention of all except Rubellia herself, who, reclining immediately above Sextus, kept her eyes fixed almost all the time it lasted, upon his luxuriant curls of dark hair, unless when she caused the young damsel, her cup-bearer, to pour out to her wine in a goblet of onyx, which she touched with her lips, and then handed to the indifferent boy. When the supper was half over, the folding-doors were again thrown open, and there entered a group of maidens and beautiful youths, who danced before us to the music of the lute, and scattered crowns of roses at the feet of Rubellia and her guests. She herself placed one of them on the head of Sextus, and another on that of his father, who lay on the other side of her, and then caused a large cup of wine to be carried all around, whereof each of us tasted, and drank to the health of the orator, in whose honour the entertainment was made. The ladies that were present imitated the example of the hostess, and crowned such as were by them; but Sabinus and I, not being near enough to any of them, received that courtesy from some of the dancing maidens. Libations were poured out abundantly on the marble floor, and all the gods were invoked to shower down their blessings on Rubellia, and those that had been so fortunate as to serve her. Sweet strains of music resounded through the tall pillars of the banqueting-room, and the lamps burned heavily in an atmosphere overloaded with perfumes.