Quintus Claudius, Volume 1. Eckstein Ernst

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      “My son must wait,” he said decisively; “Quintus knows full well, that these morning hours belong neither to myself nor to my family.”

      And Quintus, the proud, spoilt and wilful Quintus, was forced to have patience. The Flamen went on calmly receiving his numerous friends, clients and petitioners, who retired from his presence cheerful or hanging their heads, according as they had met with a favorable or an unfavorable reception. Not till the last had vanished was his son admitted to see him.

      Quintus had meanwhile conquered his annoyance at the delay he had been compelled to brook, and offered his father his hand with an affectionate gesture; but Titus Claudius took no notice of his son’s advances.

      “You are unusually early,” he observed in icy tones, “or perhaps you are but just returning from some cheerful entertainment – so-called.”

      “That is the case,” replied Quintus coolly. “I have been at the house of Lucius Norbanus, the prefect of the body-guard. The noble Aurelius was also there,” he added with an ironical smile. “Our excellent friend Aurelius.”

      “Do you think to excuse yourself by casting reflections on another? If Aurelius shares your dissipation once or twice a month, I have no objections to raise – I have no wish to deny the right of youth to its pleasures. But you, my son, have made a rule of what ought to be the exception. Since your return from Baiae, you have led a life which is a disgrace alike to yourself and to me.”

      Quintus looked at the floor. His respect and his defiant temper were evidently fighting a hard battle.

      “You paint it too black, father,” he said at last, in a trembling voice. “I enjoy my life – perhaps too wildly; but I do nothing that can disgrace you or myself. Your words are too hard, father.”

      “Well then, I will allow that much; but you, on your part, must allow that the son of the high-priest is to be measured by another standard than the other youths of your own rank.”

      “It might be so, if I lived under the same roof with you. But since I am independent and master of my own fortune…”

      “Aye, and that is your misfortune,” the priest interrupted. “Enough, you know my opinion. However, that which caused me to require your presence here to-day, was not your course of life in general. A particular instance of incredible folly has come to my ears; you are playing a wicked and dangerous game, and I sent for you to warn you.”

      “Indeed, father, you excite my curiosity.”

      “Your curiosity shall at once be satisfied. Is it true that you have been so rash, so audacious, as to address love-songs to Polyhymnia, the Vestal maiden?"153

      Quintus bit his lip.

      “Yes,” he said, “and no. Yes, if you consider the superscription of the verses. No, if you imagine that the poem ever reached her hands.”

      The priest paced the room with wide strides.

      “Quintus,” he said suddenly: “Do you know what punishment is inflicted on the wretch, who tempts a Vestal virgin to break her vows?”

      “I do.”

      “You know it!” said the priest with a groan.

      “But father,” said Quintus eagerly: “You are branding a jest as a crime. In a merry mood, inspired by wine, I composed a poem in the style of Catullus, and to complete the audacity of it, instead of the name of Lycoris, I placed at the beginning that of our highly-revered Polyhymnia. And now report says – Pah! it is ridiculous! I grant you it was impudent, unbecoming, in the very worst taste if you will, but not calumny itself can say worse of it than that.”

      “Well, it certainly sounds less scandalous from that point of view. Quintus, I warn you. Now, if at any time, be on your guard against any deed, any expression, which may be construed as an insult to the religion of the state! Do not trust too much to the influence of my position or of my individuality. The law is mightier than the will of any one man. When what we are now planning takes form and life, severity, inexorable as iron, will decide in all such questions. That reckless jest sprang from a mind, which no longer holds dear the eternal truths of religion. Beware, Quintus, and conceal this indifference; do not come forward as a contemner of the gods. Once more I warn you.”

      “Father…”

      “Go now, my son, and ponder on what I have said.”

      Quintus bowed and kissed the stern man’s hand. Then he left the room with a quick, firm step, and a look of devoted love, of passionate paternal pride followed him as he crossed the room, so tall, lovely and handsome.

      CHAPTER VII

      Lycoris, the fair Gaul, was giving a splendid entertainment. Valerius Martialis, the greatest wit of the city of the Seven Hills, had recited his newest and most poignant epigrams with loud applause, and the company – more than a hundred persons – were reclining at supper on cushioned divans in the lavishly-decorated eating-room. The young Massilian lady presided. With her neck and shoulders half-veiled in transparent gauze154 from Cos, her magnificent golden-yellow hair knotted up at the back of her head and wreathed simply with ivy, she smiled radiantly from the head of the table, the object of silent worship to many, and of eager admiration to all. A number of slaves, in handsome Alexandrian dresses, moved quickly and silently about the handsome hall, while across the supper table the conversation each instant grew more lively.

      Among the guests was Caius Aurelius, the young Batavian. He had yielded to the pressure of curiosity or of fashion – particularly when the name of the famous epigrammatist had weighed down the scale.

      “Really,” he was saying to his neighbor Norbanus – the commandant of the Praetorian guard – “really, Norbanus, till this hour I had esteemed myself rich, but here I feel by comparison a beggar. What splendor, what lavish outlay! Pillars of alabaster, enormous gold plates,155 carpets worth an estate – my senses reel. Everything which elsewhere would appear rare and choice is here in every day use. By Hermes! but the father of Lycoris must have been a favorite of fortune.”

      “Not so loud!” interrupted Lucius Norbanus. “See, Stephanus is looking this way with a meaning glance.”

      “Stephanus!156 The Empress’s steward? What has he to do with Lycoris?”

      “Ha! well, I will tell you that another time,” said the officer filling his mouth with a fine oyster,157 “between ourselves, you know. Meanwhile, I strongly advise you to taste those delicious mollusks. If you are like me, laughing has made you ferociously hungry.”

      “You certainly laughed most heartily,” replied Aurelius accepting some of the praised dish from a slave; "but I, for my part, cannot get up any taste for this kind of verse. Martial is full of wit and humor, but this perpetual mockery, this making a business of holding up all society to ridicule and contempt – no, my dear Norbanus, I cannot like it. More particularly does the way in which he speaks of women displease and vex me. If he is to be believed, there is not in all Rome one faithful wife, or one innocent girl."158

      “Pah!” said Norbanus, with his mouth well filled: “There are some of course, but they are scarce, my СКАЧАТЬ