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CHAPTER XII
It was the middle of the second vigil – between ten and eleven o’clock at night by our reckoning of time – and the house of Cornelius Cinna was sunk in silent repose. The lamp in the peristyle was extinguished, and the last guests – Claudia, Lucilia and Quintus – had left about half an hour since…
There was a sound of steps in the colonnade – soft, cautious, and mysterious. Two women wrapped in large cloaks went to the back door,253 followed by a sturdy slave.
“Oh! my sweet mistress,” whispered Chloe, as she opened the little gate, “you may believe it or not, but my knees shake beneath me. If your uncle were to discover us…! It would be the death of me!”
“Silence!” replied Cornelia. “My uncle is sound asleep. And even if he were to find out…”
“Oh yes! I know very well, you are not afraid of his anger. And in fact what could he do to you? But I – ye merciful gods! – Are you quite certain that the priest expects us?”
“Perfectly certain. Aspasia brought me a quite distinct message.”
“Well then – I wash my hands in innocence. It is fearfully dark out here – I shall be truly thankful, if nothing dreadful happens to us.”
“Silly thing! The Temple of Isis is quite near at hand, and Parmenio is with us.”
Chloe closed the door behind her and sighed deeply; still she made one more attempt to stop her mistress. “Must it be to-day?” she said plaintively.
“Yes, this very hour. When the day is done in which the dream was seen, the seer’s power is gone. You heard Baucis say so.”
“Baucis!” said Chloe contemptuously.
“She only repeated the priest’s words. Make haste; minutes are precious. Go in front, my good Parmenio.”
They went down the street and turned to the right along a narrow alley, which zigzagged between high walls and led them to the back of the temple of Isis. They presently reached the vestibule of Barbillus, where a slave was waiting behind the door with a gilt lantern; he bowed low and led them, without speaking a word, to an upper room.
Barbillus – a man of marked eastern type, handsome and tall, with waving locks, like an oriental Zeus – received his guests with an admirable combination of affability and dignified reserve. He desired Chloe and the astonished slave to wait in an outer room, while he opened a side door and led the way into another. Cornelia followed him with a beating heart, through a perfect labyrinth of dimly-lighted rooms and corridors, till at length they came into a hall mysteriously fitted up as a sanctuary, and well calculated to impress the senses with a magical spell. Dark curtains, embroidered with dead silver, hung over the walls on every side, and in a niche, on a silver pedestal, sat a statue of the goddess closely wrapped in veils, while, to the right and left of the figure, magnificent censers stood on brazen tripods. A lamp hanging from the star-spangled ceiling cast a ghostly blue light on the scene.
“Pray here, my daughter,” said Barbillus in a deep voice; “beseech the all-merciful mother of the universe to enlighten our spirits; mine, that I may see and speak, thine, that thou mayest hear and learn. I will leave thee to meditate alone, fair Cornelia.” And he quitted the room, slowly closing the tapestried door.
Hardly had he left her, when Cornelia sank on her knees in fervent devotion. The mystical surroundings, the dim blue light, the perfume of incense,254 which loaded the air with stupifying sweetness, and the veiled and silent presence of the divinity – all combined to impress her profoundly. Her heart was full to bursting.
Suddenly the air was filled with a sound as of the music of the spheres. A delicious harmony seemed to proceed from the walls, the floor beneath her, and the statue itself, and to cradle her soul in lulling witchery; while, at the same instant, pale tongues of flame broke out over the two censers and danced fitfully, but, as it seemed, lovingly up to the shrouded goddess.
“Isis! O Isis!” sobbed the girl, raising her snowy arms to the divinity. “First-born of the ages!255 Highest among the Immortals! Sovereign lady of departed souls! One and perfect revelation of all the gods and goddesses! Almighty Queen, whose nod the heavens and earth obey! Eternal Power, who art blest under a thousand forms and by a thousand names, by the sages of every land! Hear, O hear me! I have all thou canst bestow of earthly joys; I am young, fair and rich, and have the love of the noblest and best heart that beats among the youth of Rome! And yet, one thing is lacking to me, O Goddess! One thing, which I crave of thy mercy with floods of tears: Peace, inward, all-sufficient peace of heart. Isis! mother of heaven, hear me! Over my head there lowers a forecast of evil; my spirit wanders groping in darkness. Thou hast sent me a dream, a warning; but alas! thine ignorant child strives in vain to read it. – Teach me thyself to know thy will; reveal thyself to me! Give me peace and the calm beatitude, the grace of heaven! Save, oh! save me! All that I dare call mine must ere long fade. – The storms of time must sweep it away! Give me salvation, the true love which is eternal! Isis, all-loving Isis, have pity on me!”
The goddess’s veil was lifted a little from her face; half-appalled, half-fascinated, Cornelia gazed up at it. A tender radiance like moonlight fell upon the pale, marble features, and a benevolent smile parted the lips. But before the tremulous worshipper was fully aware of what was happening, the light vanished, the veil was softly dropped – it was all gone like a dream, and the music as suddenly ceased. Cornelia was aware of a violent shock as of an earthquake. Hardly mistress of herself, she closed her eyes and pressed her forehead against the pedestal of the statue. When she looked up again, Barbillus was standing by her side in a white robe256 made of byssus tissue, and he smiled as he held out his hand to her.
“The goddess has heard your prayer,” he said in an agitated voice. “Tell me now what the vision was, and listen to the words of her servant.”
As he spoke he drew the curtain aside from a studded door, and led Cornelia up a narrow stair to an attic room, where he carefully closed the shutters and desired Cornelia to be seated on a couch. No sooner had she obeyed, than the tapers on a small altar were lighted – as the censers before had been – without any visible agency.
Barbillus knelt down, bowing his face over a sacred book which lay unrolled between the tapers, and he remained in this position, while Cornelia related her dream. Then, after putting up a silent prayer, he suddenly went up to the girl, bending down over her in such a way that she could perceive the small tonsure257 on the crown of his head in the middle of his dark curls.
“Daughter!” he said, as he drew himself up again, “your dream betokens no good. A fatality is hovering over you and yours, which can only be averted by the direct intervention of the goddess. To this end it is needful that you should, for the next four weeks, bring an offering daily at the same hour as to-night. Gold, incense and roses are pleasing in the eyes of the divinity.”
“I knew it, oh! I knew it,” groaned Cornelia. “Not for nothing has my heart been held in a cold and deathlike grasp! But, tell me, what is the meaning of the desert place, of the shining city, and of my lover’s appearance?”
“All this I will tell you, when the month is out. Trust me, daughter, and do that which you are enjoined.”
“Oh! I will do it!” cried Cornelia ecstatically, and she pressed the priest’s hand to her lips. “My pearls, my jewels – everything will I sacrifice joyfully, if only I may appease Fate. Ah! my lord, you could never, never guess how sad my soul is! Tell me only one thing, I entreat you, does the danger threaten me through my beloved Quintus?”
The priest closed his eyes.
“I dare not answer you,” he said with an effort. “My part is only to announce inevitable doom; when I am still permitted to hope that the favor of the all-gracious mother may yet prevail, silence is the first duty of my office.”
“Well then, I must submit. Meanwhile – as a proof of my infinite gratitude – accept this trifling offering. Pray for me, Barbillus, intercede for me with the almighty goddess.”
She gave him a costly brooch set with rubies, emeralds and chrysolites,258 and as she stood – her eyes cast down in maidenly shyness – she did not see the flash of greed that sparkled under the Asiatic’s long fine lashes, giving place immediately to the lofty and dignified expression, that usually characterized him.
“Thanks, my daughter,” he said graciously. “I will offer the gifts on the shrine of the goddess. And you too, my child, do not fail to entreat the immortals that all may yet be well.”
He gave her his hand, and led her by a circuitous route back again to the anteroom, where Parmenio stood in a corner, as upright as a soldier on guard, while Chloe had gone to sleep in her comfortable seat. “Come,” said Cornelia, shaking her by the shoulder.
Chloe started up.
“You have been a long time,” she exclaimed. “It cannot be far short of midnight.”
Just as the three were about to step out into the street again, a female form flew past them, and close behind, puffing and panting, ran a man, while farther away, where the streets crossed, they heard loud laughter.
“Give it up, the roe is too fleet!” cried a coarse bass voice, and the pursuer turned on his heel, while two other men slowly came to meet him. All three were wrapped in thick cloaks,259 with the hoods pulled down in spite of the heat. For a second Cornelia hesitated; then she boldly went forth and walked past the strange trio. They were talking together in an undertone, and yet not so softly but that Cornelia could hear a few words.
“By Pluto!” said one. “There goes a beauty! I saw her face, as the boy’s lantern lighted it up.”
“Aphrodite is gracious,” said the second, “to give us a substitute for the one who has escaped. I am just in the mood for an adventure. Let us follow the fair one.”
Cornelia hastened her step, but before she had reached the main road she was surrounded.
“Well, pretty pigeon,” a harsh voice croaked in her ear. “Out and about so late! And where are you flying, if I am allowed to ask?”
Cornelia was at once aware, that these were not highway plunderers, but idle adventurers, and evidently men of rank and position. This at once restored her presence of mind, and she walked on faster than ever. But in vain. The man who had addressed her, a stout figure of medium height, with an extraordinarily confident and swaggering address, came close up to her and laid his left hand on her shoulder to detain her. Furious indignation boiled in her soul; she shook herself free and stood still.
“Parmenio,” she said resolutely, “as you love your life, do as I bid you – I, the niece of the illustrious Cornelius Cinna. The first man who dares to lay a finger on the hem of this robe – strike him dead.”
“That can be done in no time!” cried Parmenio, taking the bold intruder by the throat. The other two started back as if struck by lightning.
“Mad fool, you shall die on the cross!” shrieked the man he had seized, directing a well-aimed blow with his fist. The slave dropped his arm in terror. There was a ring of such wild and tiger-like ferocity in the harsh tones, that the sturdy nature of the man was for the moment paralyzed. Cornelia and Chloe meanwhile had reached the high-road; Parmenio caught them up in a few strides, and they reached home safely under cover of the darkness.
“You helpless idiots!” exclaimed the worsted victim, feeling at his throat. “What do you mean by staring as if it were a good joke, when a villain throttles me? You, Clodianus, have I loaded you with every honor and heaps of gold, that you should leave me in the lurch in this fashion? Take that for your loutish cowardice!”
And Domitian flew at him with the fury of a panther, and struck him a tremendous blow in the face. Clodianus shrank back.
“Forgive me!” he stammered, groaning with pain and rage. “I was so confounded at the man’s daring…”
“Away! traitor. – Never let me set eyes on you again.”
“Nay, pardon, my lord!” entreated the other, forgetting all else in his dread of losing his place. “Pardon and grace, my lord and god, I beseech thee. Do not withdraw thy favors from the most faithful of thy servants.”
“Yes, my lord and god,” added Parthenius, the chamberlain. “Forgive us, for nothing but reverence and consternation could have betrayed us into such a crime. Do not let it spoil a jovial night. It is the first time for long, that we have wandered through the streets in disguise, and shall a spiteful accident…”
“You are right,” interrupted the Emperor. “I was in the best of humors…”
“Then bid it return. Even his moods must surely obey the sovereign, whose sway extends over the whole world…”
“Curse it all! To think that of all women in the world… Cinna’s niece?.. I did not even know, that the old fool had a niece. Whose house had she come out of?”
“That of Barbillus, the priest of Isis.”
“Ah ha! One of the praying ninnies, that the juggler knows how to beguile so well! Capital! The girl pleases me. I should like – if it were only to spite the old curmudgeon – I hate Cinna like poison. He wants a lesson – he always carries his head as high as a conqueror in a triumph. As if it were not in my power to see those haughty iron features flung in the dust at my feet – Parthenius, we will talk of that, again. But now, away with all gloomy reflections, and long live folly!”
“Thanks, all thanks!” cried Clodianus, kissing the sovereign’s hand.
“Pull the hood over my face, so – now my cloak over my chin – and we will go back into the streets. I should like to see the man, who can discover Caesar in such a guise. We must find an adventure yet, Parthenius —260 some mad and absurd diversion, if it were only that the lips, which pronounce the fate of nations, should kiss some swarthy negress."261
He led the way, and the others followed. Domitian did not see how his companions clenched their fists under their cloaks, nor hear the bitter curses, hardly uttered by their quivering lips.
CHAPTER XIII
At the hour when Cornelia was setting out on her expedition to the temple of Isis, Lucilia and Claudia, escorted by their brother, reached home. The Flamen was still at work in his study; his grave and anxious face could be seen through the half-open door, bowed over his table. Even the sound of steps, which rang through the silence of the atrium, did not interrupt his busy labors.
Quintus hesitated; he would gladly have gone in to embrace his father, but after brief reflection he decided not to interrupt his late studies. He bid his sisters good-night, waved his hand affectionately towards the motionless figure that leaned over the desk, and left the house. His slaves and freedmen were waiting for him outside.
“All go home!” he said shortly.
His people were accustomed to his moods, and no one was surprised. But Blepyrus reminded him, with a shudder, of the attack in the Cyprius street.
“Fear nothing,” replied Quintus; “I am armed. Besides, who could expect to meet me to-night in the streets.”
So his followers went on their way through the Forum Romanum, which was still crowded with people, while Quintus turned northwards across the Circus Flaminius262 and the Field of Mars. He soon found himself in the heart of that city of marble, which Caesar Augustus had created here as if by magic. A sombre blue overarched the labyrinth of pillars and domes, of friezes and statues, of groves and glades, where by day such motley crowds were busy. No light but the pale glimmer of the stars – whose mist-veiled brightness gave warning of the autumn rains – fell on the chaos of ill-defined forms; the moon had not yet risen. Utter solitude, utter silence prevailed. The listener could almost fancy he heard the rush of the river Tiber past the piers of the Aelian Bridge263– or was it only the plash of water in one of the many aqueducts264 which, at that time, were so splendid a feature of the city? – A mysterious dreamy whisper!
Possessed by the sense of this stilly solitude, Quintus Claudius went on till nearly on the shore of the river. Under the avenues of trees it was blackly dark, and the air came up chill and damp from the stream; Quintus shivered slightly. Then he turned off in the direction of the Via Lata– the Broad Way, now the Corso. He did not know what mysterious influence had driven him out into the darkness and silence. He had felt as though he must fly from the vast mass of Rome, from its numberless market-places, its proud temples and basilicas – and now he was seized with homesickness for the familiar, beloved and hated hive of two million human souls. He shook himself. All that was most dissatisfied and contradictory in his nature rose clearly before his conscience. It was exactly in this way, that he had worked through all the systems of philosophy in turn – now flying from what at first he had eagerly run after, and now craving for what he had but just cast from him; one day an enthusiastic disciple of Epicurus, and the next a follower of the Stoics. But in neither of these views of the world could he find rest and refreshment for his truth-seeking soul. Zeno’s contempt for all the joys of life seemed artificial to his ardent and poetic fancy, while the method and practice of Epicurus, ingeniously wreathing the mouth of the pit with roses to cover the depths below, stirred in him an irresistible impulse to sound those depths. That old Sphinx we call Life offered him a fresh riddle at every step, while forever denying all possibility of answering them. Thus, by degrees, he had wandered into that moral Via Lata– that broad way along which almost every educated Roman of that day walked, for better or for worse; that path of sceptical indifference, which made short work of every metaphysical belief, and lived so literally from day to day. Only a few men, like Titus Claudius the Flamen, clung to the old Latin religion and fulfilled its precepts in their highest sense, and so had effected a compromise with the needs of the times; most men looked down with contempt on the myths of popular belief without, however, being able to replace them by anything better. Nay, even the women of the educated class found no satisfaction in the worship they had inherited; they turned in crowds to the mystical rites of the old Egyptian goddess Isis, to whom a number of magnificent temples had been erected so early as at the time of the first Caesars. Quintus himself had drank of that shallow stream, but had found no comfort in it.
The shortest way to the house of Thrax Barbatus would have been across the Alta Semita265 and past the temple on the Quirinal. But Quintus made a détour; after his late experiences he was anxious to avoid the less deserted streets; and not merely because fate had made him the accomplice in a deed, which by the laws of Rome was punished with the utmost severity; he could now no longer doubt that Eurymachus, Thrax Barbatus and Euterpe were attached to the sect of Nazarenes, and just at this very time the most stringent measures were in contemplation to suppress the disciples of the Nazarene. Indeed, if his father’s views met with approbation in the Senate, nothing short of a regular persecution must ensue. In that case his share in the escape and rescue of a Christian slave might very likely be construed as treason against the safety of the state; and though Quintus felt no fears as to what might be the issue for himself, the thought of his father’s grief filled him with anxiety.
He wrapped himself more closely in his ample cloak, and looked cautiously about him as he hastened along the northwestern declivity of the Quirinal hill. A company of the city-guard marched past him with an echoing tread, the smoke of their torches266 blew hot in his face, but no one noticed or recognized him. The streets grew narrower and more tortuous, the houses more squalid, the whole neighborhood was visibly plebeian. At last he reached the old wall,267 built – so tradition said – by Servius Tullius; this quarter, in the time of the emperors, was of the worst repute in all Rome. Quintus stole cautiously along under the wall, for a few drinking-shops were still open and busy. Wretched girls from Syria and Gades here plied their shameful trade by the light of flickering clay lamps, while wrinkled and watery-eyed old hags poured the muddy wine of Veii268 out of red jugs. Drunken men lay snoring under the tables, and coarse songs were roared out from hoarse throats, half-drowned, however, by the uproarious shouts of two fellows who were playing the favorite game of odd and even269 with copper coins.
Suddenly the noise became three times louder than ever; there was a wild uproar, and piercing shrieks. The gamblers had fallen out over their petty stakes. After a short squabble one had drawn his knife on the other and stabbed him in the side. The wounded man fell, howling, on the ground and the assassin took to his heels. But the dancing girls, heedless of the catastrophe, began at once to rattle their castanets once more, and sway and whirl in their disgraceful pantomime.
Quintus hurried on, filled with loathing. Never had the heartless turmoil of the great capital seemed so hideous as at this moment, in this obscure lair of humanity. Was not this squalid tragedy a reflection of all Rome – of the vast and mighty metropolis, with all its crimes, its contempt for the suffering of others, its mad lust of pleasure? It was but a short while since he had witnessed the very same scene, with more splendid surroundings and distinguished actors. For, had the events in Lycoris’s garden been at all less horrible? Had not a man lain there too, bleeding and dying, while a prostitute – aye! for the brilliant and elegant Gaul was nothing else – had bewitched a heartless crowd by her fascinations? There, no doubt, were all the splendor and luxury of wealth – here the foul brutality of misery; but, at the bottom, they were the self-same thing, at the bottom each was a sign, easy to read, of degeneracy, decrepitude and decay.
And suddenly Quintus felt transported, as it were, from the life which surrounded him, into a new and unfamiliar atmosphere and light; and, strangest thing of all, that light seemed to shine forth from a pale face that he had seen but twice in his life; from the face of the humble and despised slave, who had so loftily smiled down on his persecutors and executioners. Could it be that such a thing existed as some supernatural magic? Or was it only admiration for the fortitude of a heroic nature?
It was about midnight, when Quintus reached the house the flute-player had described to him. It was one of those tall, ill-constructed houses,270 built by speculators to let in floors, and which abounded in the poorer parts of the city to the great risk of the public. Fairly substantial as to the ground floor, story towered over story till the topmost floor consisted of a single room, hardly better than a booth built of boards at a fair. The walls were cracked and sprung in many places, and here and there, where the wretched structure threatened to fall, the inhabitants had tried to prop them with beams, thus adding to their unsafe appearance.
The musician met the young man at the entrance; ninety steps – which, but for Euterpe’s little lamp, he could never have mounted without mishap – led him to her habitation.
“Stop here!” said Euterpe, as Quintus was about to go up to the topmost floor. "Thrax Barbatus does not live quite under the tiles;"271 and as she spoke she knocked at a door. Thrax Barbatus opened it, looking calm, almost cheerful.
Quintus entered a room, of which the neat and comfortable aspect quite delighted him. A three-branched lamp hung from the low ceiling; the walls were neatly colored of a reddish brown; small, but beautifully-executed paintings of flowers and fruit, showed brightly and prettily against this background. The floor was covered by a carpet, somewhat worn, but so handsome as to tell of better days in the past. A table, a chair, a few low seats and a small chest of dark oak composed the furniture – humble, no doubt, in the eyes of a Roman of rank, but still much better than Quintus had expected after climbing to such a height.
“You are welcome to your servant’s house,” said the old man, to whom Quintus gave his hand. “We have looked for you with longing. I was almost afraid you might have repented…”
“You had my word that I should come,” said Quintus.
He sat down on a wooden bench, and Thrax Barbatus went to a door at the other end of the room, which he opened and called out: “Glauce.”
In a few minutes a young girl came into the room. Her face was sweet and pleasing, but bore traces of weeping; her brown hair fell loosely over her shoulders, and her tunic was ungirdled. Worn out with the anxiety and grief of the last few days, she had sunk on her bed and fallen asleep, and now, standing in the door-way, dazzled by the light and confused by the presence of the noble stranger, she was a pretty picture of maidenly bashfulness and timidity.
“Come, my sweet child, and welcome the protector of Eurymachus,” Thrax began in caressing tones; “this noble youth is Quintus Claudius, the friend of the helpless. He will save the persecuted victim, and obtain his freedom from Stephanus, and procure him Caesar’s pardon.”
Glauce stood motionless for a moment; a faint flush tinged her cheeks. Then, weeping loudly, she flung herself into her father’s arms and hid her face on his shoulder. Euterpe, meanwhile, had set a wine-jar and a dish of fruit on the table.
“It is but little, but heartily offered,” she said smiling, “and after your late walk you will not refuse such slight refreshment.”
Then, taking a pine-log from the hearth-place, she struck the floor three times at short intervals.
She listened – all was still.
“He is asleep,” she said to Thrax, who had soothed his daughter’s sobs, and now took a seat by the brightly-lighted table.
“He has earned it!” said Glauce.
Euterpe repeated the knocking, and this time with better success. Some one could be heard moving below. In two minutes the stairs creaked, and a weather-tanned figure of middle height cautiously entered the room. Euterpe met him and respectfully introduced him to Quintus. “This, my lord, is my husband,” she said modestly. “He too had a share in the bold attempt in the park, for he has the greatest reverence for Eurymachus.”
“To be sure – I recognize you! It was you, who offered the fugitive your arm to help him up the narrow path to the top of the ridge.”
Diphilus gazed astonished into the young man’s face.
“It is true, my lord,” he said hesitatingly. “But how should you know that?”
“Oh! I was nigh at hand. If I had come forward, I could easily have stopped the way.”
Diphilus sank on to the seat by the side of Thrax with an expression of unconcealed astonishment, fixing his eyes on the young man’s face, as if to stamp the features of this mysterious ally indelibly on his memory.
Thrax Barbatus now solemnly extended his bony hand over the table, like a speaker beginning his discourse. Then he said in a low voice:
“Above all, my friends, remember that in Rome every stone has eyes and ears,272 and the thin walls of a lodging-house are as good as a spider’s web to the spy.”
The flute-player drew closer to her husband’s side.
“It is only too true,” she said with a sigh, “I could almost have sworn…”
“What?” asked Diphilus.
“That our pursuers are on our traces already."273
“How?”
“Nay, it is only my feeling about it. I am always in a state of mortal terror.”
Thrax Barbatus shook his head doubtfully. “Your fears are unfounded,” he said emphatically. “Not a man in Rome knows of our intimate relations with Eurymachus. My poor son, who left his home when he was hardly more than a boy and did not return for twenty years, when his own rather scarcely recognized him – no, Euterpe, the still face of the dead will betray nothing.” He passed his hand over his eyes.
“I know,” replied the flute-player. “And yet…”
“What is it?” asked the old man glancing hurriedly round.
“Alas!” said Euterpe, “I am afraid I was rash. Scold me, but I could not help it; when I heard that Philippus had been buried in the ground set apart for criminals and outcasts,274 my heart was fairly broken, and I vowed that his grave should not be left bare of some pious offering. So this evening, at the end of the first vigil, I stole out to the Esquiline hill, carrying a consecrated palm-branch hidden in my dress to lay on his grave. I found it after a short search, laid the palm upon it, said a short prayer, and came away. Suddenly I heard steps and voices; I hurried on, but they followed me, and as chance would have it I met a litter with torch-bearers. The light fell full on my face, though I turned away. At the same moment I heard one of the men, who followed me, begin to run. Then I was seized with mortal terror; by the temple of Isis in the Via Moneta275 I turned off to the left, and ran so fast into the next street, that I could hardly get out of the way of two women, who were at that instant coming out. The darkness protected me; I escaped and got home by a roundabout way. If the men who followed me were the city-watch, it does not matter. But supposing they were some of Stephanus’ people; they all knew me at Baiae, where I often played before their master. Oh! tell me, most illustrious patron, what shall we do if my fears are realized?”
These words were addressed to Quintus, for she saw that Thrax Barbatus was deeply touched by her loving attention to the dead, and she wished to escape being thanked.
Quintus Claudius, notwithstanding his strong sympathy with Thrax and Eurymachus, could not feel quite at his ease in his new and strange position. The idea that he – the member of a senatorial family, the son of one of the noblest houses in the empire – should make common cause with artizans, freedmen and slaves, was so preposterous in the state of society then existing, that even a lofty and magnanimous nature required time to enable it to subdue the sense of strangeness and even of repulsion. After some hesitation he addressed himself to Thrax, asking him – as though half conscious of a wish to justify himself in his own eyes:
