Virgilia | Page 3

I suspected that Virgilia had been
infected by this poisonous virus, this doctrine of a malefactor. Thy son
taught it to her, thy son, Martius, who is, thanks to Jupiter, far away
from here."
"Not so, dear mother," said a cheerful voice, "Martius has returned to
his father's house, and to thee and Virgilia."
A tall youth, about nineteen years of age, full of manly vigor speaking
in a rich voice, vibrant with feeling, sprang forward, knelt at Claudia's
feet and kissed her hand, then he embraced his father and sister.
Claudia's expression relaxed. Had it not been for his absurd belief in

the Jew, who seemed to have set the world mad, she could have loved
this fine-looking young man, whose auburn curls fell over a white
forehead, whose brown eyes gleamed with a mixture of earnestness and
merriment. He was, indeed, a lovable youth.
"Hast thou come back cured, Martius? Then art thou indeed welcome."
"Cured of what, mother?"
"Of thy mistaken worship of Christus."
"No, mother," came the firm reply. Aurelius saw his son's face pale,
saw him straighten up as though he expected a blow on those broad
shoulders, saw his hand clench as if he were in pain. And Aurelius was
sorrowful. He loved Martius for himself and for his mother, whom he
resembled. The lawyer was also, only too well aware of the danger run
by all those who called themselves followers of Christus. The worst
had not yet come. There were only threats now against the members of
this sect who were growing daily more numerous, and more menacing
to the priests and the pagan religion. No one could tell what might
happen by to-morrow, the storm would break suddenly.
He knew Claudia and her blind bigotry. She would not hesitate to
sacrifice Martius if she thought that her soul's salvation depended on it;
Claudia's soul was her chief thought. But would she sacrifice her own
daughter, if her religion should prove to be the same as that of her
brother?
The sister had slipped her hand into that of Martius. She stood beside
him shoulder to shoulder. Virgilia was unusually tall. She had inherited
the fine, cameo-like profile of her mother, but her hair was fair and
very abundant. It was bound around her head in heavy braids and was
not decorated by any jewel. Her white draperies had fallen from her
arm, disclosing its pure whiteness and delicate outline.
Virgilia looked straight at her mother and spoke, breaking sharply the
silence following the two words of Martius. The sun had now set. It
was almost dark in the garden. The lilies gleamed ghostly white among
their long green leaves. The odor of the jessamine was heavy on the
evening air, overpowering in its sweetness. A servant entered and
lighted torches in iron rings fastened on the fluted pillows. He lit, also,
the wicks in huge bronze lamps placed here and there, and in a
three-tapered silver lamp on a table by Claudia's side.
The soft radiance lit up the strange scene, the Roman matron, seated in

her chair, jewels gleaming in her dark hair and on her bosom, her face
set and stern. It shone upon the young Virgilia and Martius, standing
before her, and upon the heavier figure of the lawyer, Aurelius Lucanus,
just behind them.
Then Virgilia spoke, and her voice was as clear as the sun-down bell
which had just rung out its warning from Caesar's Hill.
"I, too, am a Christian."
With a sharp outcry, Claudia, dragging her white draperies on the
ground, disappeared in her small room, opening by a long window
from the gallery bordering on the garden. She was seen no more that
night. Silently, the lawyer and his son and daughter ate their evening
meal, reclining on the triclinium in the long room tinted in Pompeian
red, a frieze three feet in width ran around the walls. Small, chubby
cherubs, or cupids doing the work of men, weaving draperies, preparing
food, chopping meat, plucking grapes and carrying them away in
miniature wheelbarrows, were faithfully portrayed in rich colors. Some
of these frescoes, tints as vivid as when they were laid on by the artists
of twenty centuries ago, remain to this day on the walls of ancient
Roman dwellings, and enable us to know how people lived in those
far-off times.
A servant, assisted by the porter, Alyrus, brought the food in on huge
trays, roast kid and vegetables, green salad fresh from the market in the
Forum Boarium, dressed with oil from the groves of Lucca and vinegar
made of sour red wine. Then came a delicious pudding, made from
honey brought from Hymetus in Greece to add luxury to the food of the
already too luxurious Romans, and fruit strawberries, dipped in fine