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A Friend of Caesar by William Stearns Davis

W >> William Stearns Davis >> A Friend of Caesar




"And who is this young man with you?"

"My friend," said Curio, turning to his companion, "is Quintus Livius
Drusus, of whom I have had occasion to write no little."

The proconsul sprang forward and seized Drusus by both hands, and
looked him fairly in the eye.

"_Papae!_ I see Sextus Drusus once more, the best tribune in his
legion, and my dear friend. Your face should be cause for your
welcome, if nothing else. Ah! how much we shall have to say! But you
are travel-stained and weary. Words will keep while you bathe, and our
dinner is prepared; for I myself have not dined, waiting, as I
thought, for your despatches."

"Your excellency shows me too much courtesy," said Drusus, bowing in
what was, to tell truth, some little embarrassment; "it is not fit
that a young man like myself should dine at the same table with an
imperator before whom nations have trembled."

And then it was that Drusus caught his first glimpse of that noble and
sententious 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 who
were leading them to comfortably, though not sumptuously, furnished
apartments.

* * * * *

Quintus Drusus in years to come sat at the boards of many great men,
enjoyed their conversation, entered into their hopes and fears, but he
never forgot the first dinner with the proconsul of the Gauls. Caesar
kept a double table. His hospitality was always ready for the people
of note of the district where he happened to be staying, and for his
own regular army officers. But he dined personally with such high-rank
Romans and very noble Provincials as chanced to be with him from day
to day. To this last select company Drusus found himself that evening
admitted; and in fact he and Curio were the proconsul's only personal
guests. The dinner itself was more remarkable for the refinement of
the whole service, the exquisite chasteness of the decorations of the
dining room, the excellent cooking of the dishes, and the choiceness
of the wines than for any lavish display either of a great bill of
fare, or of an ostentatious amount of splendour. The company of
officers and gentlemen of the Ravenna district dined together in a
spacious hall, where Drusus imagined they had a rather more bounteous
repast than did the immediate guests of their entertainer. At one end
of this large hall was a broad alcove, raised a single step, and here
was laid the dinner for the proconsul. Caesar passed through the large
company of his humbler guests, followed by Curio and Drusus,--now
speaking a familiar word to a favourite centurion; now congratulating
a country visitor on his election to his local Senate; now introducing
the new-comers to this or that friend. And so presently Drusus found
himself resting on his elbow on the same couch with Caesar, while Curio
occupied the other end. For a time the latter held by far the larger
part of the conversation in his hands. There were a myriad tales to
tell of politics at the capital, a myriad warnings to give. Caesar
listened to them all; and only rarely interrupted, and then with words
so terse and penetrating that Drusus marvelled. The proconsul seemed
to know the innermost life history and life motives of everything and
everybody. He described a character with an epithet; he fathomed a
political problem with an expletive. Only now and then did his words
or motions betray any deep personal concern or anxiety, and once only
did Drusus see him flush with passion.

"That affair of the magistrate of Coma, to whom you gave the
franchise," said Curio, "was extremely unfortunate. You of course
heard long ago how Marcellus, the consul, had him beaten with rods and
sent home, to show[124]--as he said--to you, Caesar, the print of his
stripes."

[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 reined
fury.

"Yes, most unfortunate for Marcellus." It was all that Caesar said, but
Drusus 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 not
unwilling to stir the vials of his superior's wrath, "has just sworn
with an oath in public, that as soon as your army is disbanded he will
press an impeachment against you; and I've heard it reported that you
will be compelled to plead, like Milo when he was tried for the
Clodius affair, before judges overawed by armed men."

"I anticipate no such proceeding," said Caesar, dryly, in an accent of
infinite contempt. Then turning to Drusus, he entirely changed his
intonation.

"So long," he said, with a shrug of his rather slight shoulders, "we
have talked of comitias and senates! Praise to the gods, all life is
not passed in the Forum or Curia! And now, my dear Quintus, let us put
aside those tedious matters whereof we all three have talked and
thought quite enough, and tell me of yourself; for, believe me, our
friendship would be one-sided indeed, if all your trouble and exertion
went 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 of
his 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 and
the familia of the Drusi, and then of his recent political work at
Rome.

"These have been the chief events of my life, Caesar," he concluded,
"and since you have condescended to hear, I have ventured to tell; but
why need I ask if such a commonplace tale of a young man who has yet
his life to live, should interest you?"

Caesar smiled, and laying down the beaker from which he was sipping
very slowly, replied:--

"_Mehercle!_ And do you wish to have all your exploits crowded into a
few short years of youth, that mature age will have nothing to
surpass? Listen,--I believe that when the historians, by whom our dear
Cicero is so anxious to be remembered favourably, write their books,
they will say something of my name,--good or bad, the Genius
knows,--but fame at least will not be denied me. Twelve years ago when
I was in Spain I was reading in some book of the exploits of Alexander
the Great. Suddenly it seemed as though I could not control myself. I
began to weep; and this was the explanation I gave to my friends, 'I
have just cause to weep, when I consider that Alexander at my age had
conquered so many nations, and I have all this time done nothing that
is memorable.'"

"But even when your excellency went into Spain," remarked Drusus, "you
had done that which should have given renown. Consider, you had won
the praetorship, the office of Pontifex Maximus--"

"_St_," interrupted the proconsul, "a list of titles is not a pledge
from Fortune that she will grant fame. Besides, I was about to
add--what folly it was for me to weep! Do I imagine now, that
Alexander was happy and contented in the midst of his conquests?
Rather, unless he were, indeed, of more than mortal stuff, for every
morsel of fame, he paid a talent of care and anxiety. Rush not too
quickly after fame; only with age comes the strength to pay the price
thereof."

Drusus was half wondering at, half admiring, the unconscious
comparison 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 have
failed to tell that which lies nearest your heart, and which you
consider the pivot of all your present life."

Drusus flushed. "Doubtless, your excellency will pardon a young man
for speaking with diffidence on a subject, to recollect which is to
cause pain."

Caesar put off the half-careless air of the good-natured wit, which he
had been affecting.

"Quintus Livius Drusus," and as he spoke, his auditor turned as if
magnetized by his eye and voice, and hung on every word, "be not
ashamed 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, Caesar
continued:--

"No, blush not before me, although the fashionable world of Rome will
have its stories. I care not enough for such gossip to take pains to
say it lies. But this would I have declared, when at your age, and let
all the world hear, that I, Caius Caesar, loved honourably, purely, and
worthily; and for the sake of that love would and did defy death
itself."

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 of
Cinna, the great leader of the 'Populares.' Sulla, then dictator,
ordered me to put her away. Cornelia had not been the wife of my
father'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 was
in the fulness of his strength. I had seen nearly all my friends
proscribed, exiled, or murdered. Sulla bade me put away my wife, and
take such a one as he should appoint. He was graciously pleased to
spare my life, in order that I might become his tool. Why did I
refuse?"

Caesar was sitting upon the couch and speaking nervously, in a manner
that betokened great and unusual excitement.

"I knew the dictator meant to favour me if I would only humour him in
this matter. A word from him and all ambition of mine had probably
been at an end, I take no praise to myself for this. I refused him. I
defied his threats. He seized my property, deprived me of my
priesthood,[125] finally let loose his pack of assassins upon me. I
almost became their victim. But my uncle, Aurelius Cotta, and some
good friends of mine among the Vestal Virgins pleaded my cause. I
escaped. Sulla said he was over-persuaded in sparing me; 'In me were
many Mariuses.' But did I regret the loss, the danger, the check for
the time being to my career? Quintus Drusus, I counted them as of
little importance, not to be weighed beside the pure love that
mastered me. And as the faithful husband of my Cornelia I remained,
until cruel death closed her dear eyes forever. One can love once, and
honourably, with his whole being, but not truly and honourably love a
second 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 thing
which too many of us Romans do not know in these declining
days,--something that would almost convince me there were indeed
celestial gods, who care for us and guide our darkened destinies. For
when we reason of the gods, our reason tells us they are not. But when
pure passion possesses our hearts, then we see tangible visions, then
our dreams become no dreams but realities; we mount up on wings, we
fly, we soar to Olympus, to Atlantis, to the Elysian fields; we no
longer wish to know, we feel; we no longer wish to prove, we see; and
what 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 no
account, for we are transformed into immortals in whose veins courses
the divine ichor, and whose food is ambrosial. Therefore while we love
we do indeed dwell in the Islands of the Blessed: and when the vision
fades 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 indeed
some way, on through the mists of the future, which leads we know not
whither; but which leads to things purer and fairer than those which
in 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 had
ceased to flow. Drusus felt himself searched through and through by
glance and speech. Was the proconsul a diviner to find all that was
deepest in his soul and give it an utterance which Drusus had never
expressed even to himself? The young man was thrilled, fascinated. And
Caesar, in quite another tone, recovered himself and spoke.

"Wherefore, O Drusus! be ashamed to tell how the Lady Cornelia loves
you and you love her? What if the grim old consul-elect, like the
jealous elder in the comedy, will stand in your way! _Phui!_ What are
the complaints, threats, and prohibitions of such as he? At present,
the wind blows from his quarter, but it will not be ever so. Either
Lentulus will be in no place to hinder you before long, or we all
shall 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, for
there I have heard your dear lady waits her long-absent Odysseus, and
tell 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-unconscious
that he was speaking aloud.

"For Caesar will make it so," reiterated the proconsul, as though Zeus
on 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 be
worthy to look Cornelia in the face, if I did not sacrifice all to aid
the 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 they
believe that because Caesar is ambitious, he is ambitious as a god
should be ambitious--to bestow the greatest benefits possible upon the
men entrusted to his charge. I know not what thread for me the Fates
have spun; but this I know, that Caesar will never prove false to those
who 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 the
world whom I craved to find."

"And who is that?"

"The man with an ideal."




Chapter XII

Pratinas Meets Ill-Fortune


I

Probably of the various personages mentioned in the course of our
story none was more thoroughly enjoying life about this time than
Agias. Drusus had left him in the city when he started for Ravenna,
with general instructions to keep an eye on Lucius Ahenobarbus and
Pratinas, and also to gather all he could of the political drift among
the lower classes. Agias was free now. He let his hair grow long in
token of his newly gained liberty; paraded a many-folded toga; and
used part of the donatives which Drusus and Fabia had lavished upon
him, in buying one or two slave-boys of his own, whom, so far from
treating gently on account of his own lately servile position, he
cuffed and abused with grim satisfaction at being able to do what had
so often been done to him.

Agias had been given lodgings by Drusus in a tenement house, owned by
the latter, in the Subura.

The rooms were over a bakery, and at the sides were a doctor's and
surgeon's office and a barber's shop--a rendezvous which gave the
young Greek an admirable chance to pick up the current gossip. Every
street-pedler, every forum-idler, had his political convictions and
pet theories. The partisans who arrogated to themselves the modest
epithet of "The Company of All Good Men," clamoured noisily that
"Liberty and Ancient Freedom" were in danger, if Caesar set foot in
Rome save as an impeached traitor. And the Populares--the supporters
of the proconsul--raged equally fiercely against the greed of the
Senate party that wished to perpetuate itself forever in office. Agias
could only see that neither faction really understood the causes for
and against which they fought; and observed in silence, trusting that
his patron knew more of the issues than he.

But the newly manumitted freedman was thoroughly enjoying himself. The
windy speeches in the Senate, the crowded and excited meetings in the
Forum, the action and reaction of the tides of popular prejudice and
fancy, the eloquence of Antonius, and the threatenings and ravings of
Marcellus the consul--all these were interesting but not disturbing.
Agias was catching glimpses of a little Olympus of his own--an Olympus
in which he was at once Zeus, Poseidon, and Apollo; Sesostris--so he
declared--the lame cup-bearer Hephaestus; and in place of Hera, Athena,
and Aphrodite, were the smiles and laughter of Artemisia. Agias was
head over ears in love with this pretty little cage-bird shut up in
Pratinas's gloomy suite of rooms. Her "uncle" took her out now and
then to the theatre or to the circus; but she had had little enough
companionship save such as Sesostris could give; and to her, Agias was
a wonderful hero, the master of every art, the victor over a hundred
monsters. He had told her of his adventure with Phaon--not calling
names, lest disagreeable consequences ensue--and Artemisia dreamed of
him as the cleverest creature on the earth, able to outwit Hermes in
subtlety. Agias had found out when Pratinas was likely to be away from
home--and that worthy Hellene, be it said, never declined an
invitation to dine with a friend--and Agias timed his visits
accordingly. He taught Artemisia to play the cithera and to sing, and
she made such rapid progress under his tutoring that the unconscious
Pratinas commended her efforts to acquire the accomplishments he
wished. And Agias was never so happy as when those bright eyes were
hanging on his lips or that merry tongue was chattering a thousand
pointless remarks or jests.

Yes, Agias found himself in a condition when he could well ask to have
no change. The possibility that Pratinas would come home, and put an
end to the romance once and for all, was just great enough to give the
affair the zest of a dangerous adventure. Despite Sesostris's warnings
that Artemisia might at any time be sold away by her pseudo-uncle,
Agias could not discover that that danger was imminent enough to need
frustration. He was content to live himself and to let Artemisia live,
basking in the stolen sunshine of the hour, and to let the thought of
the approaching shadows fade out of his mind.

Another person who saw the sunshine rather brighter than before was
Pisander. That excellent philosopher had received his share of the
gratitude Drusus had bestowed on his deliverers. But he was still in
the service of Valeria, for Drusus saw that he had admirable
opportunities for catching the stray bits of political gossip that
inevitably intermixed themselves with the conversation of Valeria and
her circle. Pisander had continued to read Plato to his mistress, and
to groan silently at her frivolity; albeit, he did not groan so
hopelessly as before, because he had good money in his pouch and knew
where to procure more when he needed it.

So Agias enjoyed himself. He was a youth; a Pagan youth; and in his
short life he had seen many a scene of wickedness and shame. Yet there
was nothing unholy in the affection which he found was daily growing
stronger and stronger for Artemisia. She was a pure, innocent flower,
that by the very whiteness of her simple sweet presence drove away
anything that "defiled or made a lie." Agias did not worship her; she
was too winning; too cunning and pretty to attract the least
reverence; but in her company the young Greek was insensibly raised
pinnacles above the murky moral atmosphere in which most men and
youths of his station walked.

It was all like an Idyl of Theocritus; with the tenement of Pratinas
for a shepherd's hut; and Sesostris for a black-backed sheep to whom
the herdsmen and the nymph of his love could play on "oaten reed." At
first, Agias had never dreamed of telling a word of his affection to
Artemisia. In truth, it was very hard to tell, for she, with an
absolute innocence, took all his advances for far more than they were
worth; told him that next to her "uncle and dear Sesostris" he was
quite the best friend she had; that she loved him, and was glad to
hear him say that he loved her.

All this was delightful in the ears of her admirer, but very
disconcerting. Agias thought of the hollow civilities of Valeria's
life, as he had seen it; of the outward decorum of language, of the
delicately veiled compliments, of the interchange of words that summed
up, in a few polished commonplaces, a whole network of low intrigue
and passion. Was this the same world! Could Valeria and Artemisia both
be women! The one--a beauty, whose guilty heart was not ignorant of a
single form of fashionable sin; the other--as it were, a blossom, that
was pure sweetness, in whose opening petals the clear diamond of the
morning dew still remained! Agias did not compare Artemisia with
Cornelia; for Cornelia, in his eyes, was a goddess, and in beauty and
passions was above the hope or regard of mortal men.

But what was one to do in an emergency like the following? Agias had
been singing the "Love Song" from the "Cyclops," and trying to throw
into the lines all the depth of tender affection which voice and look
rendered possible.

"One with eyes the fairest
Cometh from his dwelling,
Some one loves thee, rarest,
Bright beyond my telling.
In thy grace thou shinest
Like some nymph divinest,
In her caverns dewy;--
All delights pursue thee,
Soon pied flowers, sweet-breathing,
Shall thy head be wreathing."[126]

[126] Translated by Shelley.

And at the conclusion of the song Artemisia threw her arms around
Agias's neck and kissed him; and then with astounding impartiality
sprang into Sesostris's lap, and patted the old Ethiop's black cheeks,
and bestowed on him all manner of endearing epithets. What was poor
Agias to do in such a case? He blankly concluded that it had proved
easier to blast the plot of Pratinas and Ahenobarbus, than to win the
love--as he meant "love"--of this provokingly affectionate girl. It
was growing late. Pratinas might at any time return. And Agias
constrained himself to depart.

"By Zeus!" was the exclamation he addressed to himself as he fought
his way through the crowds toward his own quarters; "where will this
all end? How much longer are you going to lie in the toils of that
most innocent of Circes? Will she never open her eyes? If I could only
make her cry, 'I hate you!' there would be some hope; for when one
hates, as I want her to, love is but a step away. Confound that
Sesostris! For me to have to sit there, and see that baboon kissed and
fondled!"

And so reflecting, he reached his rooms. One of the luckless
slave-boys who now addressed him as "Dominus," was waiting to tell him
that a very gaunt, strange-looking man, with an enormous beard, had
called to see him while he was out, and would return--so the visitor
said--in the evening, for his business was important. "Pisander,"
remarked Agias; and he stayed in that evening to meet the philosopher,
although he had arranged to share a dinner with one or two other
freedmen, who were his friends.

The man of learning appeared at a very late hour. In fact, the
water-clock showed that it wanted little of midnight before he came.
His explanation was that Valeria had called him in to read verses to a
company of friends who were supping with her, and he could not get
away sooner. Besides, the dark streets were full of bandits, and he
had therefore taken a circuitous route to avoid attack. Agias had to
let him ramble through all the details, although he knew very well
that Pisander would never have taken so much trouble to come if he had
not had information of the first importance to impart.

"And now, my dear Pisander," ventured the young Greek, at length, "I
will ask Dromo to set something to drink before us; and I hope you
will tell me why you have come."

Pisander glanced timidly over his shoulder, pulled at his beard with
suppressed excitement, then bent down, and in a very low voice burst
out:--

"Pratinas and"--he hesitated--"Valeria!"

"_Ai"_ cried Agias, "I have suspected it for a very long time. You are
sure the fox has snapped up his goose?"

"By Hercules, very sure! They are planning to go to Egypt. Pratinas
has just had a wonderful stroke of luck. He received six hundred
thousand sesterces[127] with which to corrupt a jury for some poor
wretch who expected to enlist Pratinas's cunning to get him out of the
toils of the law. Pratinas calmly put the money in his strong-box, and
let the unhappy wight be cast. He is not at all poor--he has amassed a
large fortune while he has been in Rome. Shade of Plato! how this
knave has prospered! And now he is arranging with Valeria to strip
poor Calatinus of nearly all his valuables, before they fly the
country."

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