CHAPTER VIII.
THE LATIN VILLA.
I come, O Agamemnon’s daughter fair, To this thy sylvan lair. ELECTRA.
Through a soft lap in the wooded chain of Mount Algidus, a bright pellucidstream, after wheeling and fretting among the crags and ledges of theupper valleys, winds its way gently, toward the far-famed Tiber.
Shut in, on every side, except the south, by the lower spurs of themountain ridge, in which it is so snugly nestled, covered with rich grovesof chesnut-trees, and sheltered on the northward by the dark pines of theloftier steeps, it were difficult to conceive a fairer site for a villa,than that sweet vale.
Accordingly, on a little knoll in the jaws of the gorge, whence issuedthat clear streamlet, facing the pleasant south, yet sheltered from itsexcessive heats by a line of superb plane trees, festooned with luxuriantvines, there stood a long low building of the antique form, built ofdark-colored stone.
A villa, in the days of Cicero, was a very different thing from theluxurious pleasure-houses which came into vogue in the days of the laterEmperors, of which Pliny has given us descriptions so minute and glowing;yet even his Tusculan retreat was a building of vast pretension, whencompared with this, which was in fact neither more nor less than an oldRoman Farmhouse, of that innocent and unsophisticated day, when theConsulars of the Republic were tillers of the soil, and when heroesreturned, from the almost immortal triumph, to the management of the spadeand the ploughshare.
This villa had, it is true, been adorned somewhat, and fitted to thetemporary abode of individuals more refined and elegant, than the roughsteward and rustic slaves, who were its usual tenants. Yet it stillretained its original form, and was adapted to its original uses.
The house itself, which was but two stories high, was in form a hollowsquare, to the courts enclosed in which access was gained by a pair oflofty wooden gates in the rear. It had, in the first instance, presentedon all sides merely a blank wall exteriorly, all the windows looking intothe court, the centre of which was occupied by a large tank of water, thewhole interior serving the purpose of a farm yard. The whole ground floorof the building, had formerly been occupied by stables, root-houses,wine-presses, dairies, cheese-rooms and the like, and by the slaves’kitchen, which was the first apartment toward the right of the entrance.The upper story contained the granaries and the dormitories of theworkmen; and three sides still remained unaltered.
The front, however, of the villa had been pierced with a handsome doorway,and several windows; a colonnade of rustic stonework had been carriedalong the façade, and a beautiful garden had been laid out before it, withgrassy terraces, clipped hedges, box trees, transmuted by the gardener’sart into similitudes of Peacocks, Centaurs, Tritons, Swans, and many otherforms of fowls or fishes, unknown alike and unnamed by Gods or mortals.
The sun was within about half an hour of his setting, and his slant beams,falling through a gap in the western hills, streamed down into the littlevalley, casting long stripes of alternate light and shadow over thesmoothly shaven lawn, sparkling upon the ripples of the streamlet, andgilding the embrowned or yellow foliage of the sere hill-sides, withbrighter and more vivid colors.
At this pleasant hour, notwithstanding the lateness of the season, andlooking upon this pleasant scene, a group of females were collected, underthe rustic colonnade of Italian marble, engaged in some of those lighttoils, which in feminine hands are so graceful.
The foremost of these, seated apart somewhat from the others, were thestately and still beautiful Hortensia, and her lovely daughter, both ofthem employed in twirling the soft threads from the merrily revolvingspindle, into large osier baskets; and the elder lady, glancing at timestoward the knot of slave girls, as if to see that they performed theirlight tasks; and at times, if their mirth waxed too loud, checking it by agesture of her elevated finger.
A little while before, Julia had been singing in her sweet low voice, oneof those favorite old ballads, which were so much prized by the Romans,and to which Livy is probably so much indebted for the redundant imageryof his "pictured page," commemorative of the deeds and virtues of the OldHouses.
But, as her lay came to its end, her eye had fallen on the broad blood-reddisc of the descending day-god, and had followed him upon his downwardpath, until he was lost to view, among the tangled coppices that fringedthe brow of the western hill.
Her hands dropped listlessly into her lap, releasing the snow-whitethread, which they had drawn out so daintily; and keeping her eyes stillfixed steadily on the point where he had disappeared, she gave vent to herfeelings in a long-drawn ’heigho!’ in every language, and in all times,expression of sentimental sadness.
"Wherefore so sad a sigh, my Julia?" asked Hortensia, gazingaffectionately at the saddened brow of the fair girl—"methinks! there isnothing very melancholy here; nothing that should call forth repining."
"See, see Hortensia, how he sinks like a dying warrior, amid thosesanguine clouds," cried the girl, pointing to the great orb of the sun,just as its last limb was disappearing.
"And into a couch of bays and myrtles, like that warrior, when his duty isdone, his fame won!" exclaimed Hortensia, throwing her arm abroadenthusiastically; and truly the hill-side, behind which he was lost toview, was feathered thick with the shrubs of which she spoke—"methinks!there is nought for which to sigh in such a setting, either of the sun, orthe hero!"
"But see, how dark and gloomy he has left all behind him!—the river whichwas golden but now, while he smiled upon it, now that he is gone, isleaden."
"But he shall rise again to-morrow, brighter and yet more glorious; andyet more gloriously shall the stream blaze back his rising than hissetting lustre."
"Alas! alas! Hortensia!"
"Wherefore, alas, my Julia?"
"For so will not the warrior rise, who sinks forever, although it may beinto a bed of glory! And if the setting of the sun leave all herelustreless and dark and gloomy, although _that_ must arise againto-morrow, what must the setting do of one who shall arise no more forever; whose light of life was to one heart, what the sunbeam was to thestreamlet, but which, unlike that sunbeam, shall never shine on the heartany more, Hortensia."
"My poor child," cried the noble matron, affected almost to tears, "youare thinking of Paullus."
"When am I not thinking of him, mother?" said the girl. "Remember, we haveleft the city, seeking these quiet shades, in order to eschew thatturmoil, that peril, in the heat of which _he_ is now striving for hiscountry! Remember, that he will plunge into all that strife, the moredesperately, because he fancies that he was too remiss before! Rememberthis, Hortensia; and say, if thou canst, that I have no cause for sadforebodings!"
"That can I not, my Julia," she replied—"For who is there on earth, whoknoweth what the next sun shall bring forth? The sunshine of to-day, oftbreeds the storm of to-morrow—and, again, from the tempest of the eve, howoft is born the brightest and most happy morning. Wisest is he, andhappiest, my child, who wraps himself in his own virtue, careless of whatthe day shall bring to pass, and confident, that all the shafts of fortunemust rebound, harmless and blunted, from his sure armor of philosophy."
"Must not the heart have bled, Hortensia, before it can so involve itselfin virtue?—must not such philosophy be the tardy offspring of greatsorrow?"
"For the most part I fear it is so, Julia," answered the matron, "but somesouls there are so innocent and quiet, so undisturbed by the outwardworld, that they have that, almost by nature, which others only win bysuffering and tears."
"Cold and unfeeling souls, I fancy," replied the girl. "For it appears tome that this philosophy which smiles on all spite of fortune, must be akinto selfish and morose indifference. I see not much to love, Hortensia, orto admire in the stoic!"
"Nor much more, I imagine," said Hortensia, not sorry to draw her mindfrom the subject which occupied it so painfully, "in the Epicurean!"
"Much less!" answered Julia, quickly, "his creed is mere madness a
ndimpiety. To believe that the Gods care nothing for the good or evil—yeGods!" she interrupted herself suddenly, almost with a shriek. "What isthis? a slave riding, as if for life, on a foaming horse, from thecityward. Oh! my prophetic soul, Hortensia!"
And she turned pale as death, although she remained quite firm andself-possessed.
"It may be nothing, Julia; or it may be good tidings," answered Hortensia,although she was in truth scarce less alarmed, than her daughter, by theunexpected arrival.
"Good tidings travel not so quickly. Beside, what can there be of good, sounexpected? But we shall know—we shall know quickly," and she arose, as ifto descend the steps into the garden, but she sank back again into herseat, crying, "I am faint, I am sick, _here_, Hortensia," and she laid herhand on her heart as she spoke. "Nay! do not tarry with me, I pray thee,see what he brings. Anything but the torture of suspense!"
"I go, I go, my child," cried the matron, descending the marble steps tothe lawn, on which the slave had just drawn up his panting horse. "He hasa letter in his hand, be of good courage."
And a moment afterward she cried out joyously, "It is in his hand, Julia,Paullus Arvina’s hand. Fear nothing."
And with a quick light step, she returned, and gave the little slip ofvellum into the small white hand, which trembled so much, that it scarcelycould receive it.
"A snow-white dove to thee, kind Venus!" cried the girl, raising her eyesin gratitude to heaven, before she broke the seal.
But as she did so, and read the first lines, her face was again overcast,and her eyes were dilated with wild terror.
"It is so—it is so—Hortensia! I knew—oh! my soul! I knew it!" and she letfall the letter, and fell back in her seat almost fainting.
"What?—what?" exclaimed Hortensia. "It is Arvina’s hand—he must be inlife!—what is it, my own Julia?"
"Wounded almost to death!" faltered the girl, in accents half choked withanguish. "Read! read aloud, kind mother."
Alarmed by her daughter’s suffering and terror, Hortensia caught theparchment from her half lifeless fingers, and scanning its contentshastily with her eyes, read as follows;
"Paullus Arvina, to Julia and Hortensia, greeting! Your well knownconstancy and courage give me the confidence to write frankly to you,concealing nothing. Your affection makes me sure, that you will hasten togrant my request. Last night, in a tumult aroused by the desperatefollowers of Catiline, stricken down and severely wounded, I narrowlymissed death. Great thanks are due to the Gods, that the assassin’s weaponfailed to penetrate to my vitals. Be not too much alarmed, however;Alexion, Cicero’s friend and physician, has visited me; and declares,that, unless fever supervene, there is no danger from the wound. Still, Iam chained to my couch, wearily, and in pain, with none but slaves aboutme. At such times, the heart asks for more tender ministering—wherefore Ipray you, Julia, let not one day elapse; but come to me! Hortensia, by theGods! bring her to the city! Catiline hath fled, the peril hath passedover—but lo! I am growing faint—I can write no more, now—there is aswimming of my brain, and a cloud over my eyes. Farewell. Come to mequickly, that it prove not too late—come to me quickly, if you indeed loveARVINA."
"We will go, Julia. We will go to him instantly," said Hortensia—"but beof good cheer, poor child. Alexion declares, that there is no danger; andno one is so wise as he! Be of good cheer, we will set forth this night,this hour! Ere daybreak, we will be in Rome. Hark, Lydia," she continued,turning to one of the slave girls, "call me the steward, old Davus. Letthe boy Gota, take the horse of the messenger; and bring thou the manhither." Then she added, addressing Julia, "I will question him farther,while they prepare the carpentum! Ho, Davus,"—for the old slave, who wasclose at hand, entered forthwith—"Have the mules harnessed, instantly, tothe carpentum, and let the six Thracians, who accompanied us from Rome,saddle their horses, and take arms. Ill fortune has befallen young Arvina;we must return to town this night—as speedily as may be."
"Within an hour, Hortensia, all shall be in readiness, on my head be it,else."
"It is well—and, hark you! send hither wine and bread—we will not waituntil they make supper ready; beside, this youth is worn out with his longride, and needs refreshment."
As the steward left the room, she gazed attentively at the young slave,who had brought the despatch, and, not recognising his features, a halffeeling of suspicion crossed her mind; so that she stooped and whisperedto Julia, who looked up hastily and answered,
"No—no—but what matters it? It is _his_ handwriting, and his signet."
"I do not know," said Hortensia, doubtfully—"I think he would have sentone of the older men; one whom we knew; I think he would have sentMedon"—Then she said to the boy, "I have never seen thy face before, Ibelieve, good youth. How long hast thou served Arvina?"
"Since the Ides of October, Hortensia. He purchased me of Marcus Crassus."
"Purchased thee, Ha?" said Hortensia, yet more doubtfully thanbefore—"that is strange. His household was large enough already. How camehe then to purchase thee?"
"I was hired out by Crassus, as is his wont to do, to Crispus thesword-smith, in the Sacred Way—a cruel tyrant and oppressor, whom, when hewas barbarously scourging me for a small error, noble Arvina saw; andthen, finding his intercession fruitless, purchased me, as he said, thatthereafter I should be entreated as a man, not as a beast of burthen."
"It is true! by the Gods!" exclaimed the girl, clasping her handsenthusiastically, and a bright blush coming up into her pale face. "Had Ibeen told the action, without the actor’s name, I should have knowntherein Arvina."
"Thou shouldst be grateful, therefore, to this good Arvina"—saidHortensia, gazing at him with a fixed eye, she knew not wherefore, yetwith a sort of dubious presentiment of coming evil.
"Grateful!" cried the youth, clasping his hands fervently together—"yeGods! grateful! Hortensia, by your head! I worship him—I would die forhim."
"How came he to send thee on this mission? Why sent he not Medon, orEuphranor, or one of his elder freedmen?"
"Medon, he could not send, nor Euphranor. It went ill with them both, inthat affray, wherein my lord was wounded. The older slaves keep watcharound his bed; the strongest and most trusty, are under arms in theAtrium."
"And wert thou with him, in that same affray?"
"I was with him, Hortensia,"
"When fell it out, and for what cause?"
"Hast thou not heard, Hortensia?—has he not told you? by the Gods! Ithought, the world had known it. How before Catiline, may it be ill withhim and his, went forth from the city, he and his friends and followersattacked the Consuls, on the Palatine, with armed violence. It was foughtthrough the streets doubtfully, for near three hours; and the fortunes ofthe Republic were at stake, and well nigh despaired of, if not lost.Cicero was down on the pavement, and Catiline’s sword flashing over him,when, with his slaves and freedmen, my master cut his way through theranks of the conspiracy, and bore off the great magistrate unharmed. But,as he turned, a villain buried his _sica_ in his back, and though he savedthe state, he well nigh lost his life, to win everlasting fame, and thelove of all good citizens!"
"Hast seen him since he was wounded?" exclaimed Julia, who had devouredevery word he uttered, with insatiable longing and avidity.
"Surely," replied the boy. "I received that scroll from his own hands—myorders from his own lips—’spare not an instant,’ he said, ’Jason; tarrynot, though you kill your steed. If you would have me live, let Julia seethis letter before midnight.’ It lacks as yet, four hours of midnight.Doth it not, noble Julia?"
"Five, I think. But how looked, how spoke he? Is he in great pain, Jason?how seemed he, when you left him?"
"He was very pale, Julia—very wan, and his lips ashy white. His voicefaltered very much, moreover, and when he had made an end of speaking, heswooned away. I heard that he was better somewhat, ere I set out to comehither; but the physician speaks of fever to be apprehended, on anyirritation or excitement. Should you
delay long in visiting him, I fearthe consequences might be perilous indeed."
"Do you hear? do you hear that, Hortensia? By the Gods! Let us go at once!we need no preparation!"
"We will go, Julia. Old Davus’ hour hath nearly passed already. We will bein the city before day-break! Fear not, my sweet one, all shall go wellwith our beloved Paullus."
"The Gods grant it!"
"Here is wine, Jason," said Hortensia. "Drink, boy, you must needs beweary after so hard a gallop. You have done well, and shall repose herethis night. To-morrow, when well rested and refreshed, you shall follow usto Rome."
"Pardon me, lady," said the youth. "I am not weary; love for Arvina hathprevailed over all weariness! Furnish me, I beseech you, with a freshhorse; and let me go with you."
"It shall be as you wish," said Hortensia, "but your frame seems tooslender, to endure much labor."
"The Gods have given me a willing heart, Hortensia—and the strong willmakes strong the feeble body."
"Well spoken, youth. Your devotion shall lose you nothing, believe me.Come, Julia, let us go and array us for the journey. The nights are coldnow, in December, and the passes of the Algidus are bleak and gusty."
The ladies left the room; and, before the hour, which Davus had required,was spent, they were seated together in the rich carpentum, well wrappedin the soft many-colored woollen fabrics, which supplied the place of fursamong the Romans—it being considered a relic of barbarism, to wear theskins of beasts, until the love for this decoration again returned in thelast centuries of the Empire.
Old Davus grasped the reins; two Thracian slaves, well mounted, and armedwith the small circular targets and lances of their native land, galloppedbefore the carriage, accompanied by the slave who had brought the message,while four more similarly equipped brought up the rear; and thus, beforethe moon had arisen, travelling at a rapid pace, they cleared thecultivated country, and were involved in the wild passes of Mount Algidus.
Scarcely, however, had they wound out of sight, when gallopping at mad andreckless speed, down a wild wood-road on the northern side of the villa,there came a horseman bestriding a white courser, of rare symmetry andaction, now almost black with sweat, and envelopped with foam-flakes.
The rider was the same singular-looking dark-complexioned boy, who hadoverheard the exclamation of Aulus Fulvius, concerning young Arvina,uttered at the head of the street Argiletum.
His body was bent over the rude saddle-bow with weariness, and he reeledto and fro, as if he would have fallen from his horse, when he pulled upat the door of the villa.
"I would speak," he said in a faint and faltering voice, "presently, withHortensia—matters of life and death depend on it."
"The Gods avert the omen!" cried the woman, to whom he had addressedhimself, "Hortensia hath gone but now to Rome, with young Julia, on thearrival of a message from Arvina."
"Too late! too late!"—cried the boy, beating his breast with both hands."They are betrayed to death or dishonor!"
"How? what is this? what say you?" cried the chief slave of the farm, aperson of some trust and importance, who had just come up.
"It was a tall slight fair-haired slave who bore the message—he calledhimself Jason—he rode a bay horse, did he not?" asked the new comer.
"He was! He did! A bay horse, with one white foot before, and a white staron his forehead. A rare beast from Numidia, or Cyrenaica," replied thesteward, who was quite at home in the article of horse-flesh.
"He brought tidings that Arvina is sorely wounded?"
"He brought tidings! Therefore it was that they set forth at so shortnotice! He left the horse here, and was mounted on a black horse of thefarm."
"Arvina is not wounded! That bay horse is Cethegus’, the conspirator’s!Arvina hath sent _no_ message! They are betrayed, I tell you, man. AulusFulvius awaits them with a gang of desperadoes in the deep cleft of thehills, where the cross-road comes in by which you reach the Flaminian fromthe Labican way. Arm yourselves speedily and follow, else will they carryJulia to Catiline’s camp in the Appenines, beside Fiesolé! What there willbefall her, Catiline’s character best may inform you! Come—to arms—men! tohorse, and follow!"
But ignorant of the person of the messenger, lacking an authorized head,fearful of taking the responsibility, and incurring the reproach, perhapsthe punishment, of credulity, they loitered and hesitated; and, thoughthey did at length get to horse and set out in pursuit, it was not tillHortensia’s cavalcade had been gone above an hour.
Meanwhile, unconscious of what had occurred behind them, and eager only toarrive at Rome as speedily as possible, the ladies journeyed onward, withfull hearts, in silence, and in sorrow.
There is a deep dark gorge in the mountain chain, through which this roadlay, nearly a mile in length; with a fierce torrent on one hand, and asheer face of craggy rocks towering above it on the other. Beyond thetorrent, the chesnut woods hung black and gloomy along the precipitousslopes, with their ragged tree-tops distinctly marked against the clearobscure of the nocturnal sky.
Midway this gorge, a narrow broken path comes down a cleft in the rockywall on the right hand side, as you go toward Rome, by which through awild and broken country the Flaminian way can be reached, and by it thedistrict of Etruria and the famous Val d’Arno.
They had just reached this point, and were congratulating themselves, onhaving thus accomplished the most difficult part of their journey, whenthe messenger, who rode in front, uttered a long clear whistle.
The twang of a dozen bowstrings followed, from some large blocks of stonewhich embarrassed the pass at the junction of the two roads, and both theThracians who preceded the carnage, went down, one of them killedoutright, the other, with his horse shot dead under him.
"Ho! Traitor!" shouted the latter, extricating himself from the deadcharger, and hurling his javelin with fatal accuracy at the false slave,"thou at least shalt not boast of thy villainy! Treachery! treachery! Turnback, Hortensia! Fly, avus! to me! to me, comrades!"
But with a loud shout, down came young Aulus Fulvius, from the pass,armed, head to foot, as a Roman legionary soldier—down came the giganticsmith Caius Crispus, and fifteen men, at least, with blade and buckler, athis back.
The slaves fought desperately for their mistress’ liberty or life; but theodds were too great, both in numbers and equipment; and not five minutespassed, before they were all cut down, and stretched out, dead or dying,on the rocky floor of the dark defile.
The strife ended, Aulus Fulvius strode quickly to the carpentum, which hadbeen overturned in the affray, and which his lawless followers werealready ransacking.
One of these wretches, his own namesake Aulus, the sword-smith’s foreman,had already caught Julia in his licentious grasp, and was about to presshis foul lips to her cheek, when the young patrician snatched her from hisarms, and pushed him violently backward.
"Ho! fool and villain!" he exclaimed, "Barest thou to think such daintiesare for thee? She is sacred to Catiline and vengeance!"
"This one, at least, then!" shouted the ruffian, making at Hortensia.
"Nor that one either!" cried the smith interposing; but as Aulus, theforeman, still struggled to lay hold of the Patrician lady, he very coollystruck him across the bare brow with the edge of his heavy cutting sword,cleaving him down to the teeth—"Nay! then take that, thou fool."—Thenturning to Fulvius, he added; "He was a brawler always, and would havekept no discipline, now or ever."
"Well done, smith!" replied Aulus Fulvius. "The same fate to all whodisobey orders! We have no time for dalliance now; it will be day erelong, and we must be miles hence ere it dawns! Bind me Hortensia, firmly,to yon chesnut tree, stout smith; but do not harm her. We too havemothers!" he added with a singular revulsion of feeling at such a moment."For you, my beauty, we will have you consoled by a warmer lover than thatmost shallow-pated fool and sophist, Arvina. Come! I say come! no oneshall harm you!" and without farther words, despite all her struggles andremonstrances, he bound a handkerc
hief tightly under her chin to preventher cries, wrapped her in a thick crimson pallium, and springing upon hischarger, with the assistance of the smith, placed her before him on thesaddle-cloth, and set off a furious pace, through the steep by-path,leaving the defile tenanted only by the dying and the dead, with theexception of Hortensia, who rent the deaf air in vain with frantic criesof anguish, until at last she fainted, nature being too weak for theendurance of such prolonged agony.
About an hour afterward, she was released and carried to her Romanmansion, alive and unharmed in body, but almost frantic with despair, bythe party of slaves who had come up, too late to save her Julia, under theguidance of the young unknown.
He, when he perceived that his efforts had been useless, and when helearned how Julia had been carried off by the conspirators, leaving theparty to escort Hortensia, and bear their slaughtered comrades homeward,rode slowly and thoughtfully away, into the recesses of the wild countrywhither Aulus had borne his captive, exclaiming in a low silent voice witha clinched hand, and eyes turned heavenward, "I will die, ere dishonorreach her! Aid me! aid me, thou Nemesis—aid me to save, and avenge!"
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