Chapter XI
The Great Proconsul
I
The plot was foiled. Drusus was unquestionably safe. So long asFlaccus had the affidavits of Phaon's confession and the depositionsof the captured gladiators stored away in his strong-box, neitherLucius Ahenobarbus nor the ever versatile Pratinas would be likely torisk a new conspiracy--especially as their intended victim hadcarefully drawn up a will leaving the bulk of his property to TitusMamercus and AEmilia. Drusus had no near relatives, except Fabia andLivia; unless the Ahenobarbi were to be counted such; and it pleasedhim to think that if aught befell him the worthy children of his ageddefender would acquire opulence.
But after the excitement was over, after Phaon had been brought upfrom the inn at Gabii to Praeneste, and there had the truth wormed outof him by the merciless cross-examination of Curio and Flaccus; afterthe freedman had been suffered to depart with a warning and threat tohis prompters, after the captured gladiators had been crucified alongthe roadway leading toward Rome, and the wreck left in the atrium ofthe villa caused by the attack had been cleared away,--after all this,then the reaction came. Drusus, indeed, found that though the sunshone bright, its brightness was not for him. He had friends inplenty; but not such friends as he needed--as his heart craved. Truthto tell, he was one of those more delicate natures to whom the averagepity and the ordinary demonstrations of sympathy come with anoffending jar, and open, not heal, long-festering wounds. Curio waskind, but could only hold out the vaguest hopes that, for the presentat least, anything would compel the consul-elect to consent to hisniece's marriage with a mortal enemy. Flaccus took the same position.The hard-headed man of money thought that Drusus was a visionary, tobe so distraught over the loss of a wife--as if the possession of afortune of thirty odd millions did not make up for every possiblecalamity. Antonius was still less happy in his efforts at consolation.This dashing young politician, who had been equally at home basking inthe eyes of the young Egyptian princess, Cleopatra, eight yearsbefore, when he was in the East with Aulus Gabinius, or when fightingthe Gauls as he had until recently under his uncle, the greatproconsul,--had now been elected Tribune of the Plebs for the comingyear; and was looking forward to a prosperous and glorious career instatecraft. He had had many a love intrigue, and made such matters asort of recreation to the real business of life. Why Drusus--whocertainly had very fair worldly prospects before him--should notconsole himself for one unsuccessful passage of arms with Cupid, bystraightway engaging in another, he could not see. He plainlyintimated to his friend that there were a great many women, almost ifnot quite as good looking as Cornelia, who would survey him withfriendly eyes if he made but a few advances. And Drusus, wounded andstung, was thrown back on himself; and within himself he found verylittle comfort.
Although he believed himself safe at last from the wiles ofAhenobarbus and his Greek coadjutors, there was still a great dreadwhich would steal over Drusus lest at any moment a stroke might fall.Those were days when children murdered parents, wives husbands, forwhim or passion, and very little came to punish their guilt. Thescramble for money was universal. Drusus looked forth into the world,and saw little in it that was good. He had tried to cherish an ideal,and found fidelity to it more than difficult. His philosophy did notassure him that a real deity existed. Death ended all. Was it notbetter to be done with the sham of life; to drink the Lethe water, andsink into eternal, dreamless slumber? He longed unspeakably to seeCornelia face to face; to kiss her; to press her in his arms; and thedesire grew and grew.
She was no longer in the capital. Her uncle had sent her away--guardedby trusty freedmen--to the villa of the Lentuli at Baiae. Thefashionable circles of the great city had made of her name a threedays' scandal, of which the echo all too often came to Drusus'soutraged ears. His only comfort was that Ahenobarbus had become thebutt and laughing-stock of every one who knew of his repulse by hislast inamorata. Then at last Drusus left Praeneste for Rome.Ahenobarbus and Pratinas were as well checked as it was possible theycould be, and there was no real ground to dread assassination while inthe city, if moderate precautions were taken. Then too the time wascoming when the young man felt that he could accomplish somethingdefinite for the party for which he had already sacrificed so much.
The events clustering around Dumnorix's unsuccessful attack had madeDrusus a sort of hero in the eyes of the Praenesteans. They had yearsbefore elected his father as their patron, their legal representativeat Rome, and now they pitched upon the son, proud to have this highlyhonourable function continued in the same family. This election gaveDrusus some little prestige at the capital, and some standing in thecourts and politics. When he went to Rome it was not as a mereindividual who had to carve out his own career, but as a man of honourin his own country, a representative of a considerable local interest,and the possessor of both a noble pedigree and an ample fortune.
Curio found him plenty to do; wire-pulling, speech-making, privatebargaining,--all these were rife, for everybody knew that with thefirst of January, when Lentulus became consul, the fortunes of Caesarwere to be made or marred irretrievably. There were rumours, alwaysrumours, now of Caesar, now of Pompeius. The proconsul was going tomarch on Rome at once, and put all his enemies to the sword. Pompeiuswas to be proclaimed dictator and exterminate all who adhered to theanti-senatorial party. And into this _melee_ of factions Drusus threwhimself, and found relief and inspiration in the conflict. His innatecommon-sense, a very considerable talent for oratory which hadreceived a moderate training, his energy, his enthusiasm, hisincorruptibility, his straightforwardness, all made him valuable tothe Caesarians, and he soon found himself deep in the counsels of hisparty, although he was too young to be advanced as a candidate for anypublic office.
Agias continued with him. He had never formally deeded the boy toCornelia, and now it was not safe for the lad to be sent to dwell atBaiae, possibly to fall into the revengeful clutches of Phaon, orPratinas, or Ahenobarbus. Drusus had rewarded Agias by giving him hisfreedom; but the boy had nowhere to go, and did not desire to leaveQuintus's service; so he continued as a general assistant andunderstrapper, to carry important letters and verbal messages, and toaid his patron in every case where quick wits or nimble feet wereuseful. He went once to Baiae, and came back with a letter fromCornelia, in which she said that she was kept actually as a prisonerin her uncle's villa, and that Lentulus still threatened to forceAhenobarbus upon her; but that she had prepared herself for that finalemergency.
The letter came at a moment when Drusus was feeling the exhilarationof a soldier in battle, and the missive was depressing and maddening.What did it profit if the crowd roared its plaudits, when he piledexecration on the oligarchs from the Rostra, if all his eloquencecould not save Cornelia one pang? Close on top of this letter cameanother disquieting piece of information, although it was only what hehad expected. He learned that Lentulus Crus had marked him outpersonally for confiscation of property and death as a dangerousagitator, as soon as the Senate could decree martial law. To have evena conditional sentence of death hanging over one is hard to bear withequanimity. But it was too late for Drusus to turn back. He had chosenhis path; he had determined on the sacrifice; he would follow it tothe end. And from one source great comfort came to him. His aunt,Fabia, had always seen in him her hero. With no children of her own,with very little knowledge of the world, she had centred all her hopesand ambitions on her sister's son; and he was not disappointing her.She dreamed of him as consul, triumphator, and dictator. She told himher hopes. She applauded his sacrifice. She told him of the worthiesof old, of Camillus, of the Scipios, of Marcellus, the "Sword ofRome," of Lucius AEmilius Paulus, and a host of others, good men andtrue, whose names were graven on the fabric of the great Republic, andbade him emulate them, and be her perfect Fabian and Livian. And fromhis aunt Drusus gained infinite courage. If she was not Cornelia, yetit was a boon ineffable to be able to hear a pure, loving woman tellhim face to face that her heart suffered when he suffered, and thatall his hopes and fears
were hers.
Finally an interlude came to Quintus's political activity. Curio wasbecoming uneasy, lest his distant superior should fail to realize thefull venom of the Senate party and the determination of his enemies towork his ruin.
"I must go to Ravenna," said the politician to his young associate."My tribuneship is nearly run out. Antonius and Cassius will take myplace in the office. And you, who have done so much for Caesar, must goalso, for he loves to meet and to know all who are his friends."
"To Caesar I will go," answered Drusus; and of himself he asked, "Whatmanner of man will this prove, whom I am serving? A selfish grasper ofpower? Or will he be what I seek--a man with an ideal?"
II
Night was falling on the dark masses of the huge Praetorium, thegovernment-house and army barracks of the provincial capital ofRavenna. Outside, sentinels were changing guard; Roman civil officialsand provincials were strolling in the cool of the porticos. Laughter,the shout of loungers at play, broke the evening silence. But far inthe interior, where there was a secluded suite of rooms, nothing butthe tinkle of a water-duct emptying into a cistern broke thestillness, save as some soft-footed attendant stole in and out acrossthe rich, thick carpet.
The room was small; the ceiling low; the frescos not elaborate, but ofadmirable simplicity and delicacy. The furniture comprised merely afew divans, chairs, and tripods, but all of the choicest wood orbrass, and the most excellent upholstery. One or two carved woodencupboards for books completed the furnishings.
There were only two persons in the room. One of them,--a handsomeyoung Hellene, evidently a freedman, was sitting on a low chair withan open roll before him. His companion half sat and half lay on adivan near by. This second person was a man of height unusual toItalians of his day; his cheeks were pale and a little sunken; hisdark eyes were warm, penetrating; his mouth and chin mobile and evenaffable, but not a line suggested weakness. The forehead was high,massive, and was exaggerated by a semi-baldness which was onlypartially concealed by combing the dark, grey-streaked hair forward.He was reclining; if he had arisen he would have displayed a frame atonce to be called soldierly, though spare and hardly powerful. Tocomplete the figure it should be added that on one finger he wore alarge ring set with a very beautiful seal of an armed Venus; and overhis loose but carefully arranged tunic was thrown a short, red mantle,caught together on the left shoulder--the paludamentum, a garment onlyworn by Roman military officers of the very highest rank.
The general--for so his dress proclaimed him--was playing with astylus and a waxen tablet, while the young Greek read. Now and then hewould bid the latter pause while he made a few notes. The book wasEuripides's "Troades."
"Read those lines again," interrupted the general. The voice wasmarvellously flexile, powerful, and melodious.
And the freedman repeated:--
"Sow far and wide, plague, famine, and distress; Make women widows, children fatherless; Break down the altars of the gods, and tread On quiet graves, the temples of the dead; Play to life's end this wicked witless game And you will win what knaves and fools call Fame!"[122]
[122] Translated in the collection "Sales Attici."
The freedman waited for his superior to ask him to continue, but therequest did not come. The general seemed lost in a reverie; hisexpressive dark eyes were wandering off in a kind of quiet melancholy,gazing at the glass water-clock at the end of the room, but evidentlynot in the least seeing it.
"I have heard enough Euripides to-day," at length he remarked. "I mustattend to more important matters. You may leave me."
The Greek rolled up the volume, placed it in the cupboard, and leftthe room with noiseless step. The general had arisen, and was standingbeside the open window that looked out into a quiet little court. Itwas dark. The lamps of the room threw the court-yard into a sombrerelief. Overhead, in the dimming, violet arch of the sky, one or twofaint stars were beginning to twinkle.
"Play to life's end this wicked witless game And you will win what knaves and fools call Fame!"
repeated the general, leaning out from the stone work of thewindow-casing in order to catch the cool air of the court. "Yes, fame,the fame of a Xerxes; perhaps the fame of a Hannibal--no, I wrong theCarthaginian, for he at least struck for his country. And what is itall worth, after all? Does Agamemnon feel that his glory makes therealm of Hades more tolerable? Does not Homer set forth Achilles as awarrior with renown imperishable? And yet, 'Mock me not,' he makes theshade of Achilles say; 'Better to be the hireling of a stranger andserve a man of mean estate, whose living is but small, than be themonarch over all those dead and gone.'"
The general leaned yet farther out, and looked upward. "These were thestars that twinkled over the Troy of Priam; these were the stars thatshone on Carthage when she sent forth her armies and her fleets, andnigh drove the Greeks from Sicily; and these are the stars which willshine when Rome is as Troy and Carthage. And I--I am an atom, acreature of chance, thrown out of the infinite to flash like ashooting star for a moment across a blackened firmament and then inthe infinite to expire. _Cui bono?_ Why should I care how I live mylife, since in a twinkling it will all be as if it had never been? Andif Cato and Domitius and Lentulus Crus have their way with me, whatmatter? What matter if a stab in the dark, or open violence, or thesham forms of justice end this poor comedy? I and all others play. Allcomedy is tragedy, and at its merriest is but dolorous stuff. Whilethe curtain stays down[123] we are sorry actors with the whole worldfor our audience, and the hoots mingle full often with the applause.And when the curtain rises, that which is good, the painstakingeffort, the labour, is quickly forgotten; the blunders, the falsequantities in our lives, are treasured up to be flung against ournames. We play, but we do not know our parts; we are Oedipus, who hascommitted unwitting sin, and yet must reap his reward; we arePrometheus who is to be chained to the rock forever, for offending thegods; we are Orestes whom the Eumenides pursue, chasing him down forhis guilt. And all the time we vainly imagine that we are somevictorious hero, some Perseus, especially favoured by the gods to farescatheless over land and sea, and bear away the Medusa's head, andlive renowned and happy forever." The reverie was becoming deeper anddeeper; the Roman was beginning no longer to whisper merely tohimself, he was half declaiming; then of a sudden, by a quickrevolution of mind, he broke short the thread of his monologue."_Phui!_ Caius, you are ranting as if you were still a youth atRhodes, and Apollonius Molo were just teaching you rhetoric! Why hasno letter come from Curio to-day? I am anxious for him. There may havebeen a riot. I hadn't expected that those excellent 'Optimates' wouldbegin to murder tribunes quite so soon. The carrier is late!" and thegeneral moved away from the window, and took from a cupboard a packageof tablets, which he ran over hastily. "Here are the despatches ofyesterday. None to-day. I fear the worst." The brow of the solitaryspeaker grew darker. "Poor Curio, poor Antonius; if they've dared tomurder them, let them tremble. I could forgive a mortal enemy tomyself, but not one who had slaughtered a friend."
[123] The ancient curtain (_aulaeum_) had its roller at the bottom.
There were steps in the court below, and voices were raised. In aninstant the general's eyes were kindled, his frame on a poise. Hesprang to the window, and shouted down the dark court.
"Curio! Do I hear you speaking?"
"_Salve!_ Caesar. It is I!"
"Venus be praised!" and the proconsul, with almost undignified haste,was running out upon the stairs to meet his friend. "Has the citybroken out? Has Antonius been murdered? Is the truce at an end? Areyou alone?"
And Curio, who did not quite possess his leader's ability to "do allthings at the same time," answered in a breath: "The city so far keepstolerable order. Antonius is safe. The consuls and Senate still keepthe peace; but so poorly that I thought it my duty to come to you andsay things that cannot go in a letter."
"And who is this young man with you?"
"My friend," said Curio, turning to his companion, "is Quintus LiviusDrusus, of whom I have had oc
casion to write no little."
The proconsul sprang forward and seized Drusus by both hands, andlooked him fairly in the eye.
"_Papae!_ I see Sextus Drusus once more, the best tribune in hislegion, and my dear friend. Your face should be cause for yourwelcome, if nothing else. Ah! how much we shall have to say! But youare travel-stained and weary. Words will keep while you bathe, and ourdinner is prepared; for I myself have not dined, waiting, as Ithought, for your despatches."
"Your excellency shows me too much courtesy," said Drusus, bowing inwhat was, to tell truth, some little embarrassment; "it is not fitthat a young man like myself should dine at the same table with animperator before whom nations have trembled."
And then it was that Drusus caught his first glimpse of that noble andsententious egotism which was a characteristic of the great proconsul.
"To be a friend of Caesar is to be the peer of kings."
Drusus bowed again, and then, with Curio, followed the attendants whowere leading them to comfortably, though not sumptuously, furnishedapartments.
* * * * *
Quintus Drusus in years to come sat at the boards of many great men,enjoyed their conversation, entered into their hopes and fears, but henever forgot the first dinner with the proconsul of the Gauls. Caesarkept a double table. His hospitality was always ready for the peopleof note of the district where he happened to be staying, and for hisown regular army officers. But he dined personally with such high-rankRomans and very noble Provincials as chanced to be with him from dayto day. To this last select company Drusus found himself that eveningadmitted; and in fact he and Curio were the proconsul's only personalguests. The dinner itself was more remarkable for the refinement ofthe whole service, the exquisite chasteness of the decorations of thedining room, the excellent cooking of the dishes, and the choicenessof the wines than for any lavish display either of a great bill offare, or of an ostentatious amount of splendour. The company ofofficers and gentlemen of the Ravenna district dined together in aspacious hall, where Drusus imagined they had a rather more bounteousrepast than did the immediate guests of their entertainer. At one endof this large hall was a broad alcove, raised a single step, and herewas laid the dinner for the proconsul. Caesar passed through the largecompany of his humbler guests, followed by Curio and Drusus,--nowspeaking a familiar word to a favourite centurion; now congratulatinga country visitor on his election to his local Senate; now introducingthe new-comers to this or that friend. And so presently Drusus foundhimself resting on his elbow on the same couch with Caesar, while Curiooccupied the other end. For a time the latter held by far the largerpart of the conversation in his hands. There were a myriad tales totell of politics at the capital, a myriad warnings to give. Caesarlistened to them all; and only rarely interrupted, and then with wordsso terse and penetrating that Drusus marvelled. The proconsul seemedto know the innermost life history and life motives of everything andeverybody. He described a character with an epithet; he fathomed apolitical problem with an expletive. Only now and then did his wordsor motions betray any deep personal concern or anxiety, and once onlydid Drusus see him flush with passion.
"That affair of the magistrate of Coma, to whom you gave thefranchise," said Curio, "was extremely unfortunate. You of courseheard long ago how Marcellus, the consul, had him beaten with rods andsent home, to show[124]--as he said--to you, Caesar, the print of hisstripes."
[124] Caesar had given the magistrates of towns of the north of Italy the Roman franchise: no Roman citizens could be lawfully flogged. By his action Marcellus denied Caesar's right to confer the franchise.
The face of the proconsul reddened, then grew black with hardly reinedfury.
"Yes, most unfortunate for Marcellus." It was all that Caesar said, butDrusus would not have exchanged his life then, for that of Marcellus,for a thousand talents of gold.
"And our dear friend, Cato," went on Curio, who was perhaps notunwilling to stir the vials of his superior's wrath, "has just swornwith an oath in public, that as soon as your army is disbanded he willpress an impeachment against you; and I've heard it reported that youwill be compelled to plead, like Milo when he was tried for theClodius affair, before judges overawed by armed men."
"I anticipate no such proceeding," said Caesar, dryly, in an accent ofinfinite contempt. Then turning to Drusus, he entirely changed hisintonation.
"So long," he said, with a shrug of his rather slight shoulders, "wehave talked of comitias and senates! Praise to the gods, all life isnot passed in the Forum or Curia! And now, my dear Quintus, let us putaside those tedious matters whereof we all three have talked andthought quite enough, and tell me of yourself; for, believe me, ourfriendship would be one-sided indeed, if all your trouble and exertionwent for me, and you received no solicitude in return."
And Drusus, who had at first found his words coming awkwardly enough,presently grew fluent as he conversed with the proconsul. He told ofhis student days at Athens, of his studies of rhetoric and philosophy,of his journey back to Praeneste, and the incidents of the sea voyage,and land travel; of his welcome at Praeneste by the old retainers andthe familia of the Drusi, and then of his recent political work atRome.
"These have been the chief events of my life, Caesar," he concluded,"and since you have condescended to hear, I have ventured to tell; butwhy need I ask if such a commonplace tale of a young man who has yethis life to live, should interest you?"
Caesar smiled, and laying down the beaker from which he was sippingvery slowly, replied:--
"_Mehercle!_ And do you wish to have all your exploits crowded into afew short years of youth, that mature age will have nothing tosurpass? Listen,--I believe that when the historians, by whom our dearCicero is so anxious to be remembered favourably, write their books,they will say something of my name,--good or bad, the Geniusknows,--but fame at least will not be denied me. Twelve years ago whenI was in Spain I was reading in some book of the exploits of Alexanderthe Great. Suddenly it seemed as though I could not control myself. Ibegan to weep; and this was the explanation I gave to my friends, 'Ihave just cause to weep, when I consider that Alexander at my age hadconquered so many nations, and I have all this time done nothing thatis memorable.'"
"But even when your excellency went into Spain," remarked Drusus, "youhad done that which should have given renown. Consider, you had wonthe praetorship, the office of Pontifex Maximus--"
"_St_," interrupted the proconsul, "a list of titles is not a pledgefrom Fortune that she will grant fame. Besides, I was about toadd--what folly it was for me to weep! Do I imagine now, thatAlexander was happy and contented in the midst of his conquests?Rather, unless he were, indeed, of more than mortal stuff, for everymorsel of fame, he paid a talent of care and anxiety. Rush not tooquickly after fame; only with age comes the strength to pay the pricethereof."
Drusus was half wondering at, half admiring, the unconsciouscomparison the proconsul was drawing between himself and Alexander.But Caesar went on:--
"But you, O Drusus, have not dealt honestly with me, in that you havefailed to tell that which lies nearest your heart, and which youconsider the pivot of all your present life."
Drusus flushed. "Doubtless, your excellency will pardon a young manfor speaking with diffidence on a subject, to recollect which is tocause pain."
Caesar put off the half-careless air of the good-natured wit, which hehad been affecting.
"Quintus Livius Drusus," and as he spoke, his auditor turned as ifmagnetized by his eye and voice, and hung on every word, "be notashamed to own to me, of all men, that you claim a good woman's love,and for that love are ready to make sacrifice."
And as if to meet a flitting thought in the other's mind, Caesarcontinued:--
"No, blush not before me, although the fashionable world of Rome willhave its stories. I care not enough for such gossip to take pains tosay it lies. But this would I have declared, when at your age, and letall the world hear, that I, Caius Caesar, loved honourably, purely, and
worthily; and for the sake of that love would and did defy deathitself."
The proconsul's pale face flushed with something very akin to passion;his bright eyes were more lustrous than ever.
"I was eighteen years old when I married Cornelia, the daughter ofCinna, the great leader of the 'Populares.' Sulla, then dictator,ordered me to put her away. Cornelia had not been the wife of myfather's choice. He had wished to force upon me Cossutia, an heiress,but with little save riches to commend her. I gained neither riches,political influence, nor family good-will by the marriage. Sulla wasin the fulness of his strength. I had seen nearly all my friendsproscribed, exiled, or murdered. Sulla bade me put away my wife, andtake such a one as he should appoint. He was graciously pleased tospare my life, in order that I might become his tool. Why did Irefuse?"
Caesar was sitting upon the couch and speaking nervously, in a mannerthat betokened great and unusual excitement.
"I knew the dictator meant to favour me if I would only humour him inthis matter. A word from him and all ambition of mine had probablybeen at an end, I take no praise to myself for this. I refused him. Idefied his threats. He seized my property, deprived me of mypriesthood,[125] finally let loose his pack of assassins upon me. Ialmost became their victim. But my uncle, Aurelius Cotta, and somegood friends of mine among the Vestal Virgins pleaded my cause. Iescaped. Sulla said he was over-persuaded in sparing me; 'In me weremany Mariuses.' But did I regret the loss, the danger, the check forthe time being to my career? Quintus Drusus, I counted them as oflittle importance, not to be weighed beside the pure love thatmastered me. And as the faithful husband of my Cornelia I remained,until cruel death closed her dear eyes forever. One can love once, andhonourably, with his whole being, but not truly and honourably love asecond time, at least not in a manner like unto the first. Therefore,my Quintus, blush not to confess that which I know is yours,--a thingwhich too many of us Romans do not know in these decliningdays,--something that would almost convince me there were indeedcelestial gods, who care for us and guide our darkened destinies. Forwhen we reason of the gods, our reason tells us they are not. But whenpure passion possesses our hearts, then we see tangible visions, thenour dreams become no dreams but realities; we mount up on wings, wefly, we soar to Olympus, to Atlantis, to the Elysian fields; we nolonger wish to know, we feel; we no longer wish to prove, we see; andwhat our reason bids us to reject, a surer monitor bids us to receive:the dangers and perils of this life of shades upon the earth are of noaccount, for we are transformed into immortals in whose veins coursesthe divine ichor, and whose food is ambrosial. Therefore while we lovewe do indeed dwell in the Islands of the Blessed: and when the visionfades away, its sweet memory remains to cheer us in our life below,and teach us that where the cold intellect may not go, there is indeedsome way, on through the mists of the future, which leads we know notwhither; but which leads to things purer and fairer than those whichin our most ambitious moments we crave."
[125] Marius had made young Caesar, Flamen Dialis: priest of Jupiter.
The voice of the conqueror of Gaul and German sank with a half tremor;his eye was moist, his lips continued moving after his words hadceased to flow. Drusus felt himself searched through and through byglance and speech. Was the proconsul a diviner to find all that wasdeepest in his soul and give it an utterance which Drusus had neverexpressed even to himself? The young man was thrilled, fascinated. AndCaesar, in quite another tone, recovered himself and spoke.
"Wherefore, O Drusus! be ashamed to tell how the Lady Cornelia lovesyou and you love her? What if the grim old consul-elect, like thejealous elder in the comedy, will stand in your way! _Phui!_ What arethe complaints, threats, and prohibitions of such as he? At present,the wind blows from his quarter, but it will not be ever so. EitherLentulus will be in no place to hinder you before long, or we allshall be beyond caring for his triumph or failure."
"Your excellency bids me hope!" cried Drusus.
"I bid you love," replied Caesar, smiling. "I bid you go to Baiae, forthere I have heard your dear lady waits her long-absent Odysseus, andtell her that all will be well in time; for Caesar will make it so."
"For Caesar will make it so," repeated the young man, half-unconsciousthat he was speaking aloud.
"For Caesar will make it so," reiterated the proconsul, as though Zeuson Olympus were nodding his head in awful and irrevocable promise.
And the proconsul took both of his guest's hands in his own, and said,with seriousness:--
"Quintus Drusus, why did you abandon your bride to support my cause?"
"Because," replied the other, with perfect frankness, "I should not beworthy to look Cornelia in the face, if I did not sacrifice all to aidthe one Roman who can save the state."
"Young man," replied the proconsul, "many follow me for selfish gain,many follow me to pay off a grudge, but few follow me because theybelieve that because Caesar is ambitious, he is ambitious as a godshould be ambitious--to bestow the greatest benefits possible upon themen entrusted to his charge. I know not what thread for me the Fateshave spun; but this I know, that Caesar will never prove false to thosewho trust him to bring righteousness to Rome, and peace to the world."
* * * * *
That night, as Drusus was retiring, Curio spoke to him:--
And what manner of man do you think is the proconsul?"
"I think," replied Drusus, "that I have discovered the one man in theworld whom I craved to find."
"And who is that?"
"The man with an ideal."
A Friend of Cæsar: A Tale of the Fall of the Roman Republic. Time, 50-47 B.C. Page 12