Domitia

CHAPTER VII.
“THE BLUES HAVE IT!”

On her return to Rome and the palace, Domitia did not see the Emperor, but he sent her notice to be prepared to appear with him in public at the opening of the Circensian Games that he gave to the people in honor of his accession to the principate. This was to take place on the morrow. The games began at an early hour and lasted all day, with an interruption for the cena or supper at two o’clock.

The Circus was close under the Palatine Hill and occupied the valley between it and the Aventine. The site has now been taken possession of for gas-works.

It was a long structure, with one end like a horseshoe, the other was straight, or rather diagonal, a contrivance to enable horses and chariots when starting abreast to have equal lengths to run, which would not have been the case had the end been drawn straight across the circus.

This end was dignified with two towers, with a central gate between them and four arched doors on each side closed with ornamental wooden gates.

The seats of the spectators rose in tiers on all sides, except that of the straight side, where above the great entrance was the seat of the director of the sports. On one side of the Circus near the winning post was the imperial box.

Down the middle of the course ran a wall with statues planted on it, but at each end was a peculiar structure; that near the winning post sustaining seven white balls like eggs, that at the other extremity supporting as many bronze dolphins.

Each race consisted of seven circuits of the course, and a servant of the management at each end attended to the number of rounds made, and as each concluded, an egg was removed at one end, and a dolphin turned round at the other.

There was a separate entrance, with waiting-room for the prince and his party. Domitia with her train arrived first, and remained in the waiting-room till his arrival.

She was dressed in blue, with gold woven into the garment, and her hair was tied up with blue. She looked very lovely, slender and delicate in color, with large earnest indigo eyes, the darkest blue points about her. The sadness of her expression could not be dissipated by forced smiles.

In the waiting-chamber she could hear the mutter of voices in the circus; all Rome would be there. As she had descended from the Palatine she had seen scarce a soul in the forum or the streets, save watchmen and beggars.

Now pealed the trumpets, and next moment the prince, attended by his lictors, and with his niece Julia at his side, entered. He scowled at Domitia, and beckoned her to approach, then, without another word he went out of the door into the Imperial box. Hitherto it had been customary for the Empress to sit with the Vestal Virgins. But Nero had broken this rule and Domitian, the more to emphasize his reconciliation with Domitia, so as to please the people, followed the example of Nero.

Domitia entered and moved to the seat on his right; Julia, that on his left. Behind them poured a glittering retinue of lictors and soldiers, officers of the guard, and officials of the city and chamberlains. At once the whole concourse stood, and thundering cheers with clapping of hands rose from the circus. The Emperor made a hasty, ungracious sign of acknowledgment and took his seat.

The applause, however, did not die away, it broke out afresh, in spurts of enthusiasm, and the name of the Empress was audible – whereupon the cheers were prolonged with immense vehemence.

Domitian heard it. His brow darkened and his face flushed blood-red. He made a signal with his hand, at once three priests attended by men bearing pick and shovel entered the course, and directed their way to the end of the dividing wall or spine; there they threw up the soil, till a buried altar was reached, on which at once burning coals were placed, and all the concourse rose whilst incense and a libation and prayers were offered to the God Consus.

That ended, the fire was extinguished by the earth being thrown over it. Again the altar was buried, and the soil stamped above it.

This ceremony was hardly complete before the great central gates were thrown open, to a peal of trumpets, and heralds entered to proclaim the opening of the sports given by the Emperor, the Cæsar Domitian, the Augustus, son of the God Vespasian, high priest, holder of the tribunician power, consul, perpetual Censor, and father of his country; sports given for the pleasure of his well-beloved, the citizens of Rome, senators, knights, and people generally, and of such strangers as might at the time be in Rome, the centre of the world.

Again rose a roar of approbation, men stood up, stamped, jumped on their seats, and clapped their hands.

Then through the Triumphal Gate came the Circensian procession. This was properly a ceremonial of the 13th September; but in honor of the proclamation of the accession of Domitian to the throne, and to his giving the shows at his own charge, it was now again produced.

First came boys on horseback and on foot, gayly clothed, and immediately behind them the jockeys and runners who were to take part in the games. The racers were divided into four classes, each wearing the color of one season of the year. Green stood for spring, red for summer, blue for autumn, and white for winter. The riders and drivers were dressed according to the class to which they belonged. The chariots were drawn by four horses abreast, and each furnished with an outrider in the same colors, armed with a whip. At once cries rose from all sides, for every jockey and every horse was known by name, some cheered the drivers, some shouted the names of the horses, some proposed bets and others booked such as they had made.

Then came huntsmen with hounds, armed with lances, and behind them dancing soldiers, who clashed shields and swords in rhythm, accompanying their dance with choric song.

Next entered a set of men dressed in sheep’s and goats’ skins, and with fluttering ribbons, and lastly images of the gods on biers. The “pomp,” though a quaint and pretty sight, was looked on with some impatience, as wanting in novelty, and as but a prelude to the more exciting races.

The procession having made the circuit of the arena, retired, and with great rapidity the first four racing chariots were got into their caveæ, the vaults on the right side of the entrance with four doors opening on to the circus.

And now a chalked line was rapidly stretched across the course in front of the gates. A trumpet sounded, the gates were thrown open and the four chariots issued forth and were drawn up abreast behind the line, and lots cast to determine their positions.

Then Domitian stretching forth his hand, threw a white napkin into the arena, the white cord fell, and instantly the chariots started.

The spectators swayed and quivered, shouted and roared, women waved their veils, men clashed potsherds; some yelled out bets, and one or two from behind stumbled forward and fell among the occupants of the benches in front.

At the further end, where the circus described a horseshoe, a gallery of wood projected over the heads of those on the lower stages, to accommodate still more spectators; and these hammering on the boards with feet and fists greatly increased the din.

The roar of voices rolled like a wave along the right side of the circus, then broke into a billow at the curved end, and then surged down to the further extremity, again to swell and run and revolve, as an egg was dismounted, and a dolphin turned.

At each end of the spine, detached from it, were three obelisks, or conical masses of stone, sculptured like clipped yew trees. These were the Metæ.

Attending every charioteer was, as already said, an outrider in his colors, to lash the horses, and to assist in case of accident. Moreover, boys stood about with pitchers of water, to dash over the axles of the wheels when they became heated, or to wash away blood stains, should there be an accident.

Domitia sat watching the race, at first with inattention. Yet the general excitement was irresistible, it caught and carried her out of herself, and the color mounted into her ivory cheek.

The Emperor paid no attention to her, he studiously avoided speaking to her, and addressed his conversation to Julia alone – who was constrained to be present notwithstanding that the execution of her husband had taken place but a few days previously. But her heavy face gave no indication of acute sorrow. It was due to her position and relationship to the prince to be there, and when he commanded her attendance, it did not occur to her to show opposition.

The keenest rivalry existed between the parties of the circus, at a time when political partisanship was dangerous except to the sycophants of the regnant prince, all faction feeling was concentrated on the colors of the race-course. Caligula had championed the green, so had Nero, who had even strewn the course with green sand when he himself, in a green suit, had driven on it. And now Domitian accepted the green as the color that it comported with the dignity of his parvenu dynasty to favor. It was also generally preferred to the other, at any rate in the betting, because it was known that the Imperial favorites were allowed to win the majority of the races.

Yet the jockeys and horses and chariots belonged to different and rival companies, and were hired by the givers of games. It was not in the interest of the other colors to be beaten too frequently. They therefore arranged among themselves how many and which races were, as a matter of course, to be won by the green, and the rest of the races were open to be fairly contested. But the public generally were not let into the secret; though indeed the secret was usually sold to a few book-makers.

Hah! down went the red. In turning the metæ at the further end, the wheel had caught in that of the white, throwing the latter out, but not upsetting the chariot, whereas the car of the red jockey overturned, one horse went down, sprang up again, and would have dragged the driver along, had he not dextrously whipped a curved knife out of his girdle and cut the reins. This was necessary, as the reins of all four horses were thrown over the shoulder and wrapped round the body. Consequently a fall was certain to be fatal unless the driver had time and presence of mind at once to shear through the leathers.

“He is out! the red is out!” roared the mob. Then, “The white! the white is lagging – he cannot catch up! – the red did for him? Out of the way! Out ye two! ye cumber the course.”

The white struggled on, driver and outrider lashed the steeds, they strained every muscle, but there was no recovering from the loss of time caused by the lock of wheels, and on reaching the doors on the right, which were at once swung open, both chariots retreated into the caveæ, amidst the groans of such as had bets on their favor.

“It lies now between green and blue!” was the general shout. “On with the Panfaracus!” “Nay! hit the off horse, he sulks, Euprepes!” “Well done, Nereus! Pull well, Auster! Brave horses! brave greens! greens for ever! The Gods befriend the greens!”

Then some one looking in the direction of the imperial box noticed Domitia in her blue habit, with her blue eyes wide distended, and the blue ribbons in her hair. Suddenly in a clear voice he cried, —

“The blue! the blue! It is the color of the Augusta! The blue! Sabaste! I swear by her divinity! I invoke her aid! The blue will win.”

Like an electric shock there went a throb through the vast concourse – there were nearly three hundred thousand persons present. At once there rose a roar, it was loud, thrilling, imperious: —

“The blue! It shall win! The color of the Augusta! of the divine Augusta, the friend of the Roman people! The blue! the blue! we will have the blue!”

The drivers lashed furiously, the outriders swung themselves in their saddles to beat the horses. But the gallant steeds needed no scourging, they were as keen in their rivalry as were their drivers and their supporters.

“The last egg! the last dolphin! Again! the green is ahead!” a groan broken by only a few cheers. Wonderful! In the sudden contagion even those who had betted on the green, cheered the rival color.

“Who was that cried out for the blue?” asked Domitian, turning sharply about. “Find him, cast him to the dogs to be torn.”¹¹

His kinsman Ursus whispered in his ear, —

“It is the actor Paris. Yet do nothing now. It would be inauspicious.”

The command was grudgingly withdrawn.

A gasp – stillness, the extreme meta had been turned; then a restless, quivering sound, men, women, too agitated to shout, held their breath, but muttered and moved their feet – the blue! the blue gains; nay! the green is forging ahead – Ha! Ha! at the last moment in swung the blue, across the white line, one stride ahead of the green.

Then there rolled up a thunder of applause.

“The blue! the dear blue! the blue of the Augusta has it! Ye Gods be praised! I vow a pig to Eppona! The blue has it. All hail to the Augusta! to heaven’s blue!”

Domitian turned with a look of hate at his wife, and whispered: —

Nevertheless she shall come in second.

CHAPTER VIII.
THE LOWER STOOL

“Come now!” said the Emperor, rising from his seat; “it is time that we should eat. My lady Longina, may it please you to sup with us?”

There was a malevolent glance in his pale watery eye. But Domitia did not see it, she looked at him as little as might be.

She rose at once. So also did Julia, the daughter of Titus, and the Emperor and his train left the circus; but as they withdrew there rose ringing cheers, the people standing on their benches and applauding – not the Cæsar, the Augustus, the Imperator – but her, Domitia, the blue. The people’s own true blue. He heard it, and ground his teeth – his face waxed red as blood. Domitia heard it, and her heart filled and her eyes brimmed with tears.

Then Domitian turned and looked at her savagely, as a dog might look at another against which it was meditating an onslaught, and said: —

“Remove that blue – I hate it, and come to the banquet.” Then with an ugly leer – “I have sent for the actor to amuse you.”

“What actor?”

“Paris, madam, the inimitable, the admired Paris, that he may recite from Greek plays to our pleasure. These Greek tragedians are at a discount. Our people do not care for the dismals. But they are wrong, do not estimate true art. You do that really! You like tragedy! and tragedy you shall have, I warrant you.”

The blood mounted to the brow of Domitia at the sneers and covert insinuations. Paris! what was Paris to her? what but the struggling husband of Glyceria? Was it impossible for her to do a kind act, to give expansion to her heart, without misinterpretation, without the certainty of incurring outrage?

She withdrew to her apartments and changed her dress, from the blue to white with purple stripe and fringes. Then she entered the triclinium where the meal was spread.

Domitian was already there, together with Julia, Messalinus, Ursus, and some other friends. The Emperor, standing apart from the latter, said with a sneer to Domitia, —

“So you have shed your blue – a cloud has passed over the azure! That is well. And now, madam, I granted you the first place at the games, in the circus, to humor the people; but in my palace it shall be as I will, not as they. Julia shall take the precedence, and she shall occupy the first position at table, and everywhere. She is the daughter of the God Titus, granddaughter of the God Vespasian-”

“And great grand-daughter of the Commissioner of Nuisances.”

“Silence,” roared Domitian, “she has the sacred Flavian blood, she is of Divine race, and shall sit by me, recline by me, in the position of honor, and you occupy a stool at my feet. Julia and I will have a lectisternium of the Gods! Am not I divine? – and she divine?”

“Certainly,” answered Domitia, “she is the daughter of a victor who has triumphed, I the wife of a man who will filch laurels from his generals, and himself has never seen a battle.”

Domitian clenched his teeth and hands, and glared at her.

“I wish to the Gods I could find it in my heart to have thee strangled, thou demon cat.”

“I can understand that, having let out the divine blood of the Flavii from the throat of your cousin Sabinus, you would stoop to me.”

“What – what – what is this?” exclaimed Messalinus, thrusting his pointed face in the direction of the prince and Domitia; he scented an altercation.

As for her – she wondered at herself, having the courage to defy the Lord of the World. She could not keep down the disgust, the hatred she felt for the man who had wrecked her life, it must out, and she valued not her life sufficiently to deny herself the gratification of throwing off her mind the taunts that rose in it, and lodged on her tongue.

Domitian signed to table – Julia, with a flutter of clumsy timidity, shrank from the place of honor, and looked hesitatingly at her sister-in-law, who without a word seated herself on the stool indicated by the Emperor. There was no vulgar pride, no ambition in the daughter of Titus.

The guests looked at each other, as Julia was forced by the command of her uncle to recline on the couch properly belonging to his wife, and whispered to each other.

“What, what? Who is where?” asked the ferret-faced Messalinus. “What has been done? Here, Lycus,” to a slave, who always attended him, “Tell me, what has been done. In my ear, quick, I burn to know.”

Something was communicated in an undertone, and Messalinus broke into a cackle, that he quickly smothered —

“That is admirable, great and god-like is our prince! As a Jew physician said to me, he sets down one and setteth up another, at his pleasure. That is divine caprice. The Gods alone can act without having to account for what they do. I like it – vastly.”

And now at once the sycophant herd began to pay their addresses to Julia, and to neglect Domitia. The former was overloaded with flattery, her every word was repeated, passed on from one to another, as though oracular. Domitian, conspicuously and purposely ignored his wife made to sit at his feet; and raising himself on the left elbow upon his pulvinar, or cushion of gold brocade, talked with his niece, who also reclined instead of sitting.

Domitia remained silent with lowered eyes, carnations flowered in her cheeks. She made no attempt to speak; eat she could not. She felt the slight. Her pride was cut to the quick. The humiliation, before such as Messalinus was numbing. She would have endured being ordered to execution, she would have arranged her hair with alacrity, for the bowstring that would have finished her troubles, but this outrage before members of the court, before the imperial slaves, – and the knowledge that it would be the talk on the morrow of Roman society, covered her with confusion, and filled her soul with wrath, for she had pride – not a little.

Ursus, a kinsman of the Emperor, an elderly man, of good character and upright walk, was near her. He alone seemed to feel the indignity put upon the Empress. His eyes, full of pity, rested on her, and he waited an opportunity to speak to her unheard by others. Then he said, turning his head towards Domitia, —

“Lady, recall the fable of the oak and the bulrush. Humor the prince and you can do with him what you will. Believe me, and I speak sincerely, – he loves you still, loves you madly – but you repel him and that offends his pride. All things are his, in earth, – I may almost say in heaven – and he cannot endure that one frail woman’s heart should alone be denied him.”

“There are certain waters,” answered Domitia, “that turn to stone whatever is exposed to them – even a bird’s feather. It is as though I had been subjected to this treatment. My heart is petrified.”

“Not so, dear lady, it beats at the present moment with anger. It can also beat with love.”

“Never towards him who has maltreated me.”

“By the Gods! forbear. I am endangered by listening to such words.”

“What – what – what is Ursus saying?” asked Messalinus, who caught a word or two. “He is beside the Augusta – what did he say – and in a low tone also. No treason hatching at the table of our Divine Lord, I trust.”¹²

“Here come the jesters and the mimes,” said Ursus, “and may the god of Laughter provide such matter for mirth as will satisfy Catullus Messalinus.”

“Then it must be a tragedy,” said another guest, “for to our blind friend here, naught is jocose unless to some other it be painful.”

“We have all our gifts,” said Messalinus, smirking.

Then entered some acrobats who went through evolutions, casting knives and catching them, forming human pyramids, ladders, wheels, balancing poles on their chins whilst a boy went through contortions at the top.

But there was no novelty in the exhibition. The Emperor wearied of it, and ordered the performers to withdraw.

Next appeared mimes, who performed low buffoonery in gesture and dialogue, interspersed with snatches of song, that were so offensive to decency that Domitia, who had never seen and heard anything of the kind at her mother’s house, sprang to her feet with flaming cheeks, brow and bosom, and made a motion to leave. She knew it – this disgusting performance had been commanded by the prince, for the purpose of humiliating her. She would go. But Domitian, whose malignant glance was on her, saw her purpose and called out, —

“It is my will, Domitia, that you remain in your seat. The cream of the entertainment has yet to come.”

Ursus put his hand to her garment and gently drew her down on her seat.

“Endure it,” he whispered, “it will soon be over.”

“It is the worst outrage of all,” said she with heaving breast, and the blood so surged into her eyes and ears that she could see and hear no more.

Indeed, she was hardly conscious when the buffoons withdrew, her eyes rested on the marble floor, strewn with the remains of the feast.¹³ But suddenly she started from the dream, or the stupefaction into which she had fallen, by hearing the voice of Paris, the tragic actor.

She looked up sharply, and saw him, a tall, handsome man, of Greek profile, and with curly dark hair. He was clad in a long mantle, and wore the buskins. Behind him were minor performers, to take a part in dialogue, or to chant a chorus.

“Lord and Augustus, what is it your pleasure that we represent in your presence?” asked the actor.

“Repeat the speech of Œdipus Coloneus to Theseus towards the close of the drama. That, I mean, which begins, ‘O son of Ægeus, I will teach the things that are in store.’ ”

Paris bowed, and drawing himself up, closing his eyes to represent the blindness of the old king he personated, and with hands extended began:

 
“O son of Ægeus, I will teach the things that are in store.
Myself unguided, straightway go, ye follow, I before.
The spot where I am doomed to die – That spot will I reveal.
But on your lips, I pray you set, to that a holy seal.”
 

“Do you mark, Domitia?” called the Emperor with bantering tone.

“I have looked under the table, sire, to see whether, like your kinsman Calvisius, you keep there a prompter who has read Eurypides.”¹⁴

Some of the guests hardly controlled their laughter. The deficiency in the education of Domitian was well known.

“Go on, fellow,” ordered he surlily. “Skip some lines – it is tedious, draw to the end.”

Paris resumed: —

 
“Now let me to that place repair; an impulse from on high,
A sacred impulse carries me to where I’m doomed to die.
O daughter! I must show the way – aye, I, myself, the guide,
To you who hitherto did lead, or clave unto my side.
Nay! touch me not, but suffer me, myself to find the road
That leadeth to the silent tomb, and to the dark abode.
O Hermes! guardian of the soul that fleeteth from this breast!
O Goddess of the darkest night – Give to thy weary rest!
O light! beloved, glorious light! that once did fill these eyes.
Now I embrace thy sacred beams, then turn where shadow lies.
O dearest friends, when well with you, and with this land, recall
Me, as about my bowed head Death’s purple shadows fall.”
 

Then the chorus, in rhythmic dance sang: —

 
“If it be meet – O Goddess thou, unseen whom all men dread,
If it be meet – O awful King who rulest o’er the dead,
Be pitiful unto this man, a stranger in the land,
And gently, without pain acute, conduct him by the hand
From out the world of light into the Stygian deeps below,
Remember how that ever here, he suffered want and woe!
Ye polished iron gates unclose, and as ye backward roll,
Let not the rav’nous monster leap and lacerate the soul.
And then on son of Tartarus advance with pity sweet,
The fluttering, frightened, parted soul, approaching gently greet!”
 

“Enough,” said Domitian, and waved his hand. “How likest thou that, Domitia?”

“Methinks, sire, the words are ominous. Suffer me I pray thee to retire – for I am not well.”

As she rose, she looked at Paris. Their eyes met, and at once a horror – a premonition of evil fell on her, and turned her blood to ice.

He raised his hand to his lips and said in a low tone as she passed him: —

“Morituri te salutant.”

“I’ faith it is an excellent jest!” said Messalinus – “I relish it vastly.”