She put her arm round her gay companion, and carried her off half-resisting to their quiet sleeping-room.
Neither Quintus nor Aurelius cared to follow the example of the ladies – not the Roman, for he had slept on late into the day – nor the stranger, for the excitement of this eventful morning had fevered his blood. Besides, there was the temptation of an atmosphere as of Paradise, uniting the glory and plenitude of summer with the fresh transparency of autumn. During dinner Aurelius had turned again and again to look through the wide door-way at the beautiful scene without, and now he crossed the threshold and filled his spirit with the loveliness before him. Here was not – as in the formal gardens of Rome72– a parterre where everything was planned by line and square; here were no trained trees and hedges, circular beds or clipped shrubs. All was free and wholesome Nature, lavish and thriving vitality. The paths alone, leading from the villa in three directions into the wood, betrayed the care of man. The whole vegetation of the happy land of Campania seemed to have been brought together on the slope below. Huge plane-trees, on which vines hung their garlands, lifted their heads above the holm-oaks and gnarled quinces. The broad-leaved fig glistened by the side of the grey-green olive; here stood a clump of stalwart pines, there wide-spreading walnuts and slender poplars. Below them was a wild confusion of brush-wood and creepers; ivy, periwinkle and acanthus entangled the giants of the wood with an inextricable network. Maiden-hair hung in luxuriant tufts above the myrtles and bays, and sombre evergreens contrasted with the brilliant centifolia. In short the whole plant-world of southern Italy here held an intoxicating orgy. Quintus seemed to divine the thoughts of the young Northman, and put his hand confidingly through his guest’s arm, and so they walked on, taking the middle path of the three before them, and gently mounting the hill.
“I can see,” said Quintus, “that you are a lover of Nature; I quite understand that a garden at Baiae must seem enchanting to you, who came hither from the region of Boreas himself, where the birch and the beech can scarcely thrive. But you can only form a complete idea of it from the top of the hill; we have built a sort of temple there and the view is unequalled…”
“You are greatly to be envied,” said Aurelius. “And how is it that Titus Claudius, your illustrious father, does not enjoy himself on this lovely estate, instead of living in Rome as I hear he does?”
“As priest to the temple of Jupiter Capitolinus73 he is tied to the capital. The rules forbid his ever quitting it for more than a night at a time. Dignity, you see, brings its own burdens, and not even the greatest can have everything their own way. Many a time has my father longed to be away from the turbulent metropolis – but no god has broken his chains. Unfulfilled desires are the lot of all men.”
He spoke with such emphasis, that the stranger glanced at him.
“What desire of yours can be unfulfilled?”
A meaning smile parted the Roman’s lips.
“If you are thinking of things which gold and silver will purchase, certainly I lack little. Everything may be had in Rome for money; everything – excepting one thing; the stilling of our craving for happiness.”
“What do you understand by that?”
“Can you ask me? I, here and as you see me, am a favorite of fortune, rich and independent by my grandfather’s will, which left me possessed of several millions at an early age – as free and healthy as a bird – strong and well-grown and expert in all that is expected of a young fellow in my position. I had hardly to do more than put out my hand, to acquire the most influential position and the highest offices and honors – to become Praetor or Consul.74 I am well received at court, and look boldly in the face of Caesar, before whom so many tremble. I am betrothed to a maiden as fair as Aphrodite herself, and a hundred others, no less fair, would give years of their lives to call me their lover for a week – and yet – have you ever felt what it is to loathe your existence?”
“No!” said Aurelius.
“Then you are divine, among mortals. You see, weeks and months go by in the turmoil of enjoyment; the bewildered brain is incapable of following it all – then life is endurable. My cup wreathed with roses, a fiery-eyed dancer from Gades75 by my side, floating on the giddy whirl of luxury, as mad and thoughtless as a thyrsus-bearer76 at the feast of Dionysus – under such conditions I can bear it for a while. But here, where my unoccupied mind is thrown back upon itself…”
“But what you say,” interrupted Aurelius, “proves not that you are satiated with the joys of life, so much as – you will forgive my plainness – that you are satiated with excess. You are betrothed, you say, and yet you can feel a flame for a fiery-eyed Gaditanian. In my country a man keeps away from all other girls, when he has chosen his bride.”
“Oh yes! I know that morality has taken refuge in the provinces,” said Quintus ironically. “But the youth of Rome go to work somewhat differently, and no one thinks the worse of us for it. Of course we avoid public comment, which otherwise is anxiously courted – but we live nevertheless just as the humor takes us.”
Aurelius shook his head doubtfully.
“Well, well,” said Quintus. “You good folks in the north have a stricter code – Tacitus describes the savage Germanic tribes as almost equally severe. But Rome is Roman. – No prayers can alter that; and after all you get used to it! I believe Cornelia herself would hardly scold if she heard… Besides, it is in the air. Old Cato has long, long been forgotten, and the new Babylon by the Tiber wants pleasure – will have pleasure, for in pleasure alone can she find her vocation and the justification of her existence.”
“And does your bride live in the capital?” asked Aurelius after a pause.
“At Tibur,” replied Quintus. “Her uncle, Cornelius Cinna, avoids the neighborhood of the court on principle. The fact that Domitia resides here is quite enough to make him hate Baiae – although, as you know, Domitia has long ceased to belong to Caesar’s court.”
Aurelius was silent. Often had his worldly-wise father warned him never to speak of affairs of state or even of the throne, excepting in the narrowest circle of his most trusted friends; under the reign of terror of Domitian, the most trivial remark might prove fateful to the speaker. The numerous spies, known as delators, who had found their way everywhere, scenting their prey, had undermined all mutual confidence and trust to such an extent that friends feared each other; the patron trembled before his client, and the master before his slave. Although the manner and address of his host invited confidence, caution was always on the safe side, all the more so as the young Roman was evidently an ally of the court party. So the Northman checked the utterance of that fierce patriotism, which the hated name of Domitian had so painfully stirred in his soul. “Unhappy Rome!” thought he: "What can and must become of you, if men like this Quintus have no feeling for your disgrace and needs?”
The next turn in the path brought them within sight of the little temple; marble steps, half covered with creepers, led through a Corinthian portico into the airy hall within. The panorama from this spot was indeed magnificent; far below lay the blue waters of the bay, with the stupendous bridge of Nero;77 farther away lay Baiae with its thousand palaces and the forest of masts by Puteoli; beyond these, Parthenope, beautiful Surrentum,78 and the shining islands bathed by the boundless sea; the vaporous cloud from Vesuvius hung like a cone of snow in the still blue atmosphere. To the north the horizon was bounded by the bay of Caieta79 the Lucrine lake and the wooded slopes of Cumae. The foreground was no less enchanting; all round the pavilion lay a verdurous and luxuriant wilderness, and hardly a hundred paces from the spot rose the colossal palace of the Empress, shaded