Vergilius | Page 2

bone, not a few were thrilled by the
message.
The minds of thinking men were sad, fearful, and beset with curiosity.
"If there be no gods," they were wont to ask, "have we any hope and
responsibility?" They studied the philosophers Plato, Aristotle, Zeno,
Epicurus, and were unsatisfied.
The nations were at peace, but not the souls of men. A universal and
mighty war of the spirit was near at hand. The skirmishers were
busy--patrician and plebeian, master and slave, oppressor and
oppressed. Soon all were to see the line of battle, the immortal captains,
the children of darkness, the children of light, the beginning of a great
revolution.
Rome was like a weary child whose toys are gods and men, and who,
being weary of them, has yet a curiosity in their destruction.
CHAPTER 2
Those days it was near twelve o'clock by the great dial of history. One
day, about mid-afternoon, the old capital lay glowing in the sunlight. Its
hills were white with marble and green with gardens, and traced and
spotted and flecked with gold; its thoroughfares were bright with
color--white, purple, yellow, scarlet--like a field of roses and
amarantus.
The fashionable day had begun; knight and lady were now making and

receiving visits.
Five litters and some forty slaves, who bore and followed them, were
waiting in the court of the palace of the Lady Lucia. Beyond the walls
of white marble a noble company was gathered that summer day. There
were the hostess and her daughter; three young noblemen, the purple
stripes on each angusticlave telling of knightly rank; a Jewish prince in
purple and gold; an old philosopher, and a poet who had been reading
love lines. It was the age of pagan chivalry, and one might imperil his
future with poor wit or a faulty epigram. Those older men had long
held the floor, and their hostess, seeking to rally the young knights,
challenged their skill in courtly compliment.
"O men, who have forgotten the love of women these days, look at
her!"
So spoke the Lady Lucia--she that was widow of the Praefect Publius,
who fell with half his cohort in the desert wars.
She had risen from a chair of ebony enriched by cunning Etruscan
art--four mounted knights charging across its heavy back in armor of
wrought gold. She stopped, facing the company, between two columns
of white marble beautifully sculptured. Upon each a vine rose, limberly
and with soft leaves in the stone, from base to capital. Her daughter
stood in the midst of a group of maids who were dressing her hair.
"Arria, will you come to me?" said the Lady Lucia.
The girl came quickly--a dainty creature of sixteen, her dark hair
waving, under jewelled fillets, to a knot behind. From below the knot a
row of curls fell upon the folds of her outer tunic. It was a filmy,
transparent thing--this garment--through which one could see the white
of arm and breast and the purple fillets on her legs.
"She is indeed beautiful in the yellow tunic. I should think that scarlet
rug had caught fire and wrapped her in its flame," said the poet Ovid.
"Nay, her heart is afire, and its light hath the color of roses," said an old

philosopher who sat by. "Can you not see it shining through her
cheeks?"
"Young sirs," said the Lady Lucia, with a happy smile, as she raised her
daughter's hand, "now for your offers."
It was a merry challenge, and shows how lightly they treated a sacred
theme those days.
First rose the grave senator, Aulus Valerius Maro by name.
"Madame," said he, stepping forward and bowing low, "I offer my
heart and my fortune, and the strength of my arms and the fleetness of
my feet and the fair renown of my fathers."
The Lady Lucia turned to her daughter with a look of inquiry.
"Brave words are not enough," said the fair Roman maiden, smiling, as
her eyes fell.
Then came the effeminate Gracus, in head-dress and neckerchief,
frilled robe and lady's sandals. He was of great sires who had borne the
Roman eagles into Gaul.
"Good lady," said he, "I would give my life."
"And had I more provocation," said Arria, raising a jewelled bodkin, "I
would take it."
Now the splendid Antipater, son of Herod the Great, was up and
speaking. "I offer," said he, "my heart and wealth and half my hopes,
and the jewels of my mother, and a palace in the beautiful city of
Jerusalem."
"And a pretty funeral," the girl remarked, thoughtfully. "Jerusalem is
half-way to Hades."
The Roman matron turned, and put her arm around the waist of the girl
and drew her close. A young man rose from his chair and approached

them. He was Vergilius, son of