Domitia by S. Baring-Gould
CHAPTER IX.
GLYCERIA.
Domitia returned to her apartments, quivering like an aspen in a lightair; but no sooner was she there, than she summoned Eboracus, and said tohim:--
"Be speedy. Follow Paris, and protect him. There is evil planned againsthim. Fly--lest you be too late."
The slave departed at once.
Domitia paced the room, in an agony of mind, now shivering with cold, thenwith face burning. But it was not the humiliations to which she had beensubjected that so affected her,--it was fear of what she suspected wasmeditated against the actor, and through him against Glyceria.
A cold sweat broke out on her brow, and icy tears formed on her longeyelashes. It seemed to her that for her to show favor to any one, was tobring destruction on that person. And hatred towards the Emperor became inher heart more intense and bitter.
She could think of nothing else but the danger that menaced Paris. Shewent out on the terrace, and the wind blowing over her moist brow chilledher; she drew her mantle more closely around her, and re-entered thepalace. Already night was falling, for the days were becoming short.
Her heart cried out for something to which to cling, for some one to whomto appeal against the overwhelming evil and tyranny that prevailed.
Was there no power in earth above the Caesar? There was none. No power inheaven? She could not tell; all there was dark and doubtful. There was aNemesis--but slow of step, and only overtaking the evil-doer when too lateto prevent the misery he wrought, sometimes so lagging as not to catch himat all, and so blind as often to strike the innocent in place of theguilty. No cry of the sufferer could reach this torpid Nemesis and rouseher to quicker action. She was a deity bungling, deaf and blind.
Again she tramped up and down the room. She could endure to have no onewith her. She sent all her servants away.
But the air within was stifling. She could not breathe, the ceiling camedown on her head, and again she went forth.
Now she could hear voices below in the Sacred Way. She could see lights,coming from several quarters, and drawing together to one point where theyformed a cluster, and from this point rose a wail--the wail of the dead.
She wiped her brow. She was sick at heart, and again went within, andfound Eboracus there, cast down and silent.
"Speak," she said hoarsely.
"It was too late. He had been stabbed in the back, whilst leaving thepalace, and a pupil was assassinated at the same time, because somewhatresembling him."
Domitia stood cold as marble. She covered her mouth for a moment with herright hand, and then in a hard voice said:--
"Inform Euphrosyne. I cannot."
Then she turned away, went to her bed-chamber, and was seen of none againthat night. Several of her female slaves sought admission to undress her,but were somewhat roughly dismissed.
In that long night, Domitia felt as one drowning in a dark sea. Shestretched out her hands to lay hold of something--to stay her up, and foundnothing. She had nothing to look forward to, no shore to which she mightattain by swimming, nothing to care for, nothing to cling to. There was nolight above, only the unsympathetic stars that looked down on the evilthere was, the wrong that was done, and cared not. The pulsation of theirlight was not quickened by sense of injustice, they did not veil theirrays so as to hide from them the horrors committed on earth. There was nolight below, save the reflection of the same passionless eyes of heaven.
She felt as though she were still capable of the sense of pain, but not ofbeing sensible to pleasure.
The faculty of being happy was gone from her forever, and life presentedto her a prospect of nothing better than gray tracts of monotonousexistence, seamed with earthquake chasms of suffering.
Next day she rose white and self-restrained, she summoned to herEuphrosyne, but did not look at her tear-reddened eyes.
"Euphrosyne," said she, "I bid you go, and take with you Eboracus, I placeyou both wholly at the disposal of your sister--and bid her spare no cost,but give to him who has been, a splendid funeral at my expense. Here ismoney. And--" she paused a moment to obtain mastery over herself, as heremotion threatened to get the upper hand--"and, Euphrosyne, tell Glyceriathat I shall go to see her later. Not for a few days, not till the firstagony of her grief is over; but go I will--for go I must--and I pray theGods I may not be a cause of fresh evil. O, Euphrosyne, does she curseme?"
"Glyceria curses none, dear mistress, least of all you. Do not doubt, shewill welcome you when you do her the honor of a visit."
"If she were to curse me, I feel as if I should be glad--glad, too, if thecurse fell heavy on my head--but you know--she knows--I meant to do well, tobe kind--to--but go your way--I can speak no more. Tell Glyceria not to curseme--no--I could not bear that--not a curse from her."
Euphrosyne saw by her mistress's manner, by her contradictory words, howdeeply she was moved, how great was her suffering. She stooped, took upthe hem of her garment, and kissed the purple fringe. Then sobbing,withdrew.
That day tidings came to Domitia to render her pain more acute.
The kindly, sympathetic people in the _insula_ of Castor and Pollux, inpoetic, picturesque fashion had come with baskets of violets and lateroses, and had strewn with the flowers the spot stained with the blood ofParis.
This was reported to the Emperor, and he sent his guards down the streetto disperse the people, and in doing this, they employed their swords,wounding several and killing two or three, of whom one was a child.
Three days later, Domitia ordered her litter and attendants that she mightgo to the Insula in the Suburra.
She had said nothing of her intentions, or probably Domitian would haveheard of them--she was surrounded by spies who reported in his ear whatevershe did--and he would have forbidden the visit.
Only when the Forum had been crossed, did she instruct the bearers as tothe object of her excursion.
On entering the block of lodgings and ascending the stairs Domitia wasreceived with respect but with some restraint. The people did not pressabout her with enthusiasm as before; they knew that it was through herthat evil had overtaken them, and they dreaded her visit as inauspicious.
Yet there was no look of resentment in any face, only timorous glances,and reverential bows, and salutations with the hand to the lips. The poorfolk knew full well that it was through no ill-will on her part that Parisand his pupil, and some of their own party had fallen.
It was already bruited about that Julia daughter of Titus was honored inthe palace, and advanced above Domitia, the Empress. Some said thatDomitian would repudiate his wife, that he might marry his niece, and thathe waited only till the months of mourning for her husband were passed, soas not to produce a scandal. Others said that he would not repudiateDomitia, but treat her as Nero had treated Octavia, trump up false chargesagainst her and then put her to death.
Already Domitia was regarded as unlucky, and on the matter of luckattaching to or deserting certain persons, the Roman populace were vastlysuperstitious.
And now, although these poor creatures loved the beautiful woman ofimperial rank who deigned to come among them, and care for one of theirmost broken and bruised members, yet they feared for themselves, lest herpresence should again draw disaster upon them.
Domitia was conscious rather than observant of this as she passed alongthe gallery to the apartment of Glyceria.
At the door to the poor woman's lodgings she knocked, and in response to acall, opened and entered. She waved her attendants to remain without andsuffer none to enter.
Then she approached the bed of the sick woman, hastily, and threw herselfon her knees beside it.
"Glyceria," she said, "can you forgive me?"
The crippled woman took the hands of Domitia and covered them with kisses,whilst her tears flowed over them.
This was more than the Empress could bear. She disengaged her hands, threwher arms about the widow, and burst into convulsive wee
"Nay, nay!" said Glyceria, "do not give way. It was not thy doing."
"But you fear me," sobbed Domitia, "they do so--they without. Not onetouched, not one kissed me. They think me of evil omen."
"There is nothing unlucky. Everything falls out as God wills; and whatevercomes, if we bow under His hand, He will give sweetness and grace."
"You say this! You who have lost everything!"
"Oh, no! lady," then the cripple touched the cornelian fish. "Thisremains."
"It is a charm that has brought no luck."
"It is no charm. It is a symbol--and to you dark. To me full of light andjoy in believing."
"I cannot understand."
"No--that I know full well. But to one who does, there is comfort in everysorrow, a rainbow in every cloud, roses to every thorn."
"Glyceria," said Domitia, and she reared herself upon her knees, and tookhold of both the poor woman's hands; so that the two, with tear-stainedcheeks, looked each other full in the face. "My Glyceria! wilt thou grantme one favor?"
"I will give thee, lady, anything that thou canst ask. I should beungrateful to deny thee ought."
"It is a great matter, a sharp wrench I ask of thee," said the daughter ofCorbulo.
"I will do all that I can," replied the widow.
"Then come with me to the palace. Here you have none to care for you, noneto earn a livelihood for you,--I want you there."
Glyceria hesitated.
"Do you fear?"
"I fear nothing for myself."
"Nor I," said Domitia. "Oh, Glyceria, I am the most miserable woman onearth. I thought I could not be more unhappy than I was--then come--I willnot speak of it,--thy loss--caused unwillingly by me, because I camehere--and that has broken my heart. I have done the cruellest hurt to theone I loved best. I am most miserable--most miserable." She covered herface, sank on the bed and wept.
The widow of the player endeavored to soothe her with soft words andcaresses.
Then again Domitia spoke. "I have no one, I have nothing to look to, I amas one dead, and the only life in me is hate, that bites and writhes as aserpent."
"And that thou must lay hold of and strangle as did Hercules."
"I cannot, and I will not."
"That will bring thee only greater suffering."
"I cannot suffer more."
"It is against the will of God."
"But how know we His will?"
"It has been revealed."
Again Domitia threw her arms about the sick woman, she pressed her wetcheek to her tear-moistened face, and said:--
"Come with me, and tell me all thou knowest--and about the Fish. Come withme, and give me a little happiness, that I may think of thee, comfortthee, read to thee, talk with thee--I care for no other woman. AndEuphrosyne, thy sister, she is with me, and I will keep thee as the appleof mine eye."
"Oh, lady! this is too great!"
"What? anon thou wouldst deny me naught, and now refusest me this."
"In God's name so be it," said Glyceria. "But when?"
"Now. I will have no delay, see--" she went to the door and spoke with herslaves. "They shall bear thee in my litter, at once. Euphrosyne shalltarry here and collect thy little trifles, and the good Eboracus, he shallbear them to thy new home. O Glyceria! For once I see a sunbeam."
Never could the dwellers in the Insula have dreamt of beholding that whichthis day they saw. The actor's crippled widow lifted by imperial slavesand placed in the litter of the Empress, the Augusta, to whom divinehonors had been accorded. And, further, they saw the cripple borne away,down the lane of the Suburra in which was their block of lodgings, and theEmpress walked by the side, holding the hand of the patient who laywithin.
They did not shout, they uttered no sound indicative of approval, noapplause. They held their breaths, they laid their hands on their mouths,they looked each other in the eyes--and wondered what this marvel mightportend. A waft of a new life had entered into the evil world, whence itcame, they knew not, what it would effect, that also they could notconceive--whom it would touch, how transform, all was hid from their eyes.