Acte: a novel ... New edition

Chapter I

' Indica tigris agit rabida cum tigride pacem Perpetuam ; sævis inter se convenit ursis. Ast homini ferrum letale incude nefanda Produxisse parum est.' Juv. xv. 163. A youth, with a girl at his side, stood by the wall of the Mamertine prison, looking across the Roman Forum. It was a bright May morning, and the market-place was dotted with men transacting their daily business, or seeking their daily amusement. An inarticulate hum arose from the throng, but above it there occasionally sounded some single voice uplifted in anger or unmelodious mirth — discords suggesting that eager man, as well as tranquil mankind, is an element in the business of this world. The Forum was the busiest spot upon the globe, yet an atmo sphere of repose and deliberation rested upon it. ACTE 2 In the days of Nero people had not learned how to be in a hurry.

Here and there, perhaps, some parasite quickened his steps to overtake his patron strolling up to the Senate house ; or perhaps some anxious suitor mounted the steps of the Basilica Julia two at a time. Eighteen hundred years ago greed and care were, as they are to-day, springs in the heel, as well as scars on the heart. But, with a few exceptions, hardly noticeable in so large a crowd, the Roman citizens and their dependents seemed to find a morning quite long enough for a morning's work. The young man by the prison wall wore the arms and dress of a centurion of the Prætorian band. From his appearance, one might guess his age to be twenty. He was tall, square-shouldered, and long-limbed : his figure indicated the possession of great physical strength, and the promise of greater. His clean-shaven face, with its strong nose, heavy chin, and lips which met closely without any effort of compression, suggested a will as strong as the body which it controlled.

The young soldier yvas not a handsome man ; he yvas of a type very common in his time, more striking than handsome. The spirit of the age, even more than the painful discipline of the Roman army, was destructive of individuality ; and men and women in Rome who remained something better than dumb beasts were oppressed by their own sense of duty. The uncertainty of life, the fading away of old faiths, the doubtful voices of philosophy, and the desperate and jubilant wickedness of the foremost men and women of the Empire, bred, in thoughtful minds, an almost sullen fatalism which left its stamp upon the features. JUDITH 3 The young centurion, as he glanced down the Forum, was troubled by none of these things. His deep-set gray eyes wandered carelessly along the line of temples, and at last rested, with an expression of great self-satisfaction, upon his companion.

But the age, as well as the child, is parent of the man. Our faces, like our minds, are moulded by the times in which we live ; and the features of the young centurion bore an unmistakable stamp of the early Empire. Presently the centurion yawned, stretched his arms, and said : ' Shall we wait, Judith ?' The girl's name revealed nothing that her features did not betray. No Roman maiden, between Romulus and Rienzi, ever possessed, or perhaps desired, the spiritual beauty of the Jewess. Her face was small and oval ; the skin was of a rich ivory hue, scarcely tinged upon the cheeks with a dusky bloom ; the brow was round, and rather high ; the thin nose was delicately curved from the forehead to the sensitive nostrils ; the chin was small and pointed ; the lips were full and mobile, and the large dark-fringed eyes had a liquid lustre which all the arts of the daughters of Rome but poorly imitated.

The dress of the girl declared her race as plainly as her features. A white tunic, with loose sleeves, reached from her shoulders to her feet. Over it she wore an open blue robe, embroidered with gold round the neck and bosom, trailing the ground behind, and girdled at the waist by a broad kerchief of deeper shade. From beneath her turban her dark hair fell to her waist in braids, fastened by ribands and trinkets, and her gauze-like veil, little shorter than her robe, was broad enough to be drawn round the figure. i — ACTE 4 Jewelled rings sparkled in her ears, a string of pearls encircled her neck, and golden bracelets clasped her wrists. Before Judith could answer the young soldier's question, the sound of cheering was heard along the steep road down from the Capitol. ' Ah !' exclaimed the centurion, ' here he comes.' A moment or two later a litter, borne by six slaves in scarlet livery, swept at a sharp trot round the curve of the Sacred Way, and proceeded down the Forum.

The purple silk curtains of the litter were drawn back, and, as it passed, Judith and her companion could see its occupants. Side by side upon the white cushions reclined a young man and woman. The former was a short, heavily-built, fair-haired man, with a handsome but sensual face. His head was bare, and across his shoulders was drawn a toga of that Tyrian purple which none but Cæsar might wear. He had taken a fan of peacock's feathers from his companion, and yvith it he playfully fanned himself and her. The woman was a tiny creature, who looked as if a blow or a rough caress would kill her. Even Judith was not so unlike the broad-browed, broad-breasted Roman women. She was dazzlingly fair, but it yvas with the torrid fairness of the East, not the cold, pure fairness of the North. Her hair, coiled in light plaits upon her head, was of rich golden hue, but her eyes were black and glowing, and the lids lazily drooped over them.

Her tunic was of thin silk, and its whiteness was toned by the yvarm gloyv of her skin. Across one shoulder was carelessly cast a robe of crimson bearing great gilt stars. Over her feet and those of the Emperor lay an embroidered coverlet. Before the litter went lictors with their rods to clear the way. JUDITH 5 As the train swept past, the centurion exclaimed : ' Behold the master of the world !' The young soldier turned towards the Senate-house, on the steps of which stood two men talking. ' No,' he continued in a lower voice, ' I was wrong ; he is there.' ' He is not there, nor there,' replied the girl ; and her voice thrilled like music in the ears of the centurion. ' Where is he, then ?' he asked in indolent surprise. ' He rideth upon the heavens ; the earth is His footstool ; in Salem is His tabernacle, and His dwelling-place in Zion,' murmured the Jewess. ' Ha ! ha !' laughed the soldier. ' You had better tell that to the Procurator Cassius Florus, and he will soon turn out that Master from His dwelling-place.' Judith's eyes filled with tears and the colour deepened in her cheeks.

The centurion, seeing that he had wounded her, hastened to say, as he looked down the Forum : ' Cæsar has halted at the rostra ; shall we follow ?' Judith bowed her head, and the pair moved away. At the lower end of the Forum the Emperor's litter was confronted by a funeral train. The dead man was of consular rank, and the funeral ceremonies were of much magnificence. A great number of people followed the pro cession and crowded round the rostra, so that, for a time, the lictors were unable to make way for Cæsar's conveyance. First came tbe trumpeters and flute-players, and after them a band of wailing women in white attire. Then followed a number of clowns and buffoons, the leader of whom was ludicrously made to resemble tbe dead man. These fellows scoffed at the mourners, and joked with the bystanders at the expense of the deceased dignitary.

After the buffoons ACTE followed men in waxen masks, dressed to represent the ancestors and supposed ancestors of the dead man during the previous five hundred years. After them the corpse was borne by the nearest relatives, all clothed in black. It was draped in a spotless toga, and rested on an ivory stretcher covered with a gold-embroidered quilt. Behind it, ending the procession, marched the family and friends, and also some hundreds of Roman idlers anxious to kill time until the commencement of the games in honour of the departed patrician. This large concourse of mourners and spectators had gathered round the rostra when Cæsar's litter trotted down the Sacred Way. The corpse was placed at the foot of the rostra, yvhich an orator mounted to relate the achievements and to eulogize the virtues of his defunct relative.

From time to time the buffoons interrupted him with some quip, and the sobs of the women were drowned by the tittering of the crowd. Even the lictors showed the respect due to the distinguished dead, by clearing a passage for the Emperor with unwonted gentleness. The litter was just abreast of the rostra when the orator cried : ' He was as like unto Cato ' And one of the buffoons promptly interrupted 'As Ænobarbus to Augustus.' A shout of laughter rose from the crowd, and Nero's face grew livid. The gibe struck home, for Nero had every reason to be ashamed of the name of his disreputable father. He now sprang forward with a shout of rage, and it seemed as if he JUDITH 7 intended to jump from the litter, when the girl at his side laid her hand on his arm, saying : ' Cæsar ! Cæsar !' He snatched her wrist yvith a brutal grip, and flung it away.

Where his hand had crushed the white skin, a purple mark remained. 'Catch him, you dogs !' he shouted to the lictors, and the men reluctantly plunged into the throng after the trembling buffoon. The crowd struggled angrily, the mourning women shrieked, the orator left the rostra, the relatives, in stern displeasure, guarded the body, and for a time a perfect pandemonium prevailed round the dead senator. Meanwhile, the two men, to whom the centurion bad turned when he spoke of the ' master of the world,' stood talking on the steps of the Senate-house. One yvas a burly man of sixty years, whose peremptory manner, brawny limbs, and weather-beaten face betrayed the soldier. There was nothing remarkable in his appearance except his look of frank simplicity and good-humour. The other would have been a notable figure in any society and in any age.

He was taller and thinner than his companion, and the tranquil dignity of his poses and movements was most majestic. On his face there was no trace of arrogance, and when the great men of Rome, passing in and out of the Senate-house, saluted him, always with deference, and sometimes with servility, he responded with gentleness and cordiality. He, too, had passed the prime of life, and his hair, short cut, thick and wavy, was now an iron gray ; but the neatly-trimmed hair upon lip and cheek, for only his chin was shaven, was still of darkest ACTE 8 brown. The eagerness of his aquiline profile was softened by the sweetness of his smile, and the strange wistfulness of his large brown eyes. It was a sad rather than a strong face, and when contrasted with the sturdy countenance of the soldier, it seemed weaker than it really was.

As the litter of Nero passed down the Forum amid the acclamation of the populace, the stalwart man remarked with evident satisfaction : ' Cæsar has won the hearts of the people, Seneca.' 'Their stomachs, you would say, Burrus,' replied Seneca. This bitter answer was not a sneer in the mouth of the speaker ; grief, not scorn, was in his voice. ' Yes,' he continued, looking out over the noisy mob, ' you and I, old friend, may speak without fear. On this very spot we have heard the same cheers for Caligula and for Claudius, and here we have seen their statues overthrown and their memory insulted.' Burrus moved uneasily. The man of muscle had for the wisdom of his fiiend a profound regard, which he endeavoured to disguise by a patronizing manner. He was shrewd enough to feel the superiority of Seneca, and some times chafed under the consciousness.

Seneca had never struck a blow in anger in his life, had never felt the fierce excitement of the battle-field, had no claim to the glory of successful war. But in the difficult and dangerous work which their guardianship of the young Emperor involved, Seneca always took the lead. The soldier knew by painful experience that when Nero was utterly intractable by him, Seneca could control him. How it was that a man whom Burrus could have killed with a cuff should exert such power remained a mystery to him, and his regard for his friend was JUDITH 9 mingled yvith some hidden fear. But perfect trust and genuine affection united the two, and each felt that the other was necessary to him in the perilous position which both shared. In his heart Burrus distrusted the character of the young Emperor as much as did Seneca, but it was not his nature to accept a contradiction. ' Nero,' he protested, 'is not Caligula nor Claudius.' The worthy man had a common habit of convincing himself by his own arguments.

For the moment he yvas inclined to regard Nero as a very exemplary person. ' Besides,' he went on, as Seneca remained silent, ' you forget that we are his guardians.' ' Those who tame a tiger,' answered Seneca slowly, ' always find in the end that the brute is a tiger still.' ' His mother is a tigress, I admit,' grunted Burrus, 'what ever he may be. It was a fine stroke of policy on your part to find that girl to supplant her.' Seneca smiled, and Burrus proceeded : ' Acte is a clever woman.' ' When a woman is pretty,' replied Seneca, ' it is hard to tell whether she is clever or not. At present Cæsar is her slave ; but the day is not far distant when her bloom must fade, and the brightness of her eyes be dimmed ; and what then, Burrus?' ' Carpe diem,' quoted the soldier ; ' our weapons are bright to day, what matter if they be rusted to-morrow?' ' For us no matter,' said Seneca ; ' but for Rome and the world much.

No harm can come to him who fears nothing. You and I have lived our lives, Burrus, and a few more years, and a little more power or wealth, are nought to us. ACTE 10 But Rome cannot die and be at rest. What times do we live in, when the fate of the world hangs on the caprice of a madman and the power of a slave girl !' Burrus was annoyed. It was a bright day, Cæsar seemed to be in a particularly good temper, and Burrus was in a cheerful mood. In spite of himself, the gloom of his colleague infected him. He shook himself, as if to throw off the unpleasant influence, and moved with Seneca down the temple steps. A change in the conversation seemed desirable. ' The family of Honoratus, who is just dead,' Burrus remarked, 'exhibit games in the circus to-day. Five hundred "large shields " are to meet five hundred "small shields."

I shall go.' The choice of topic was peculiarly unfortunate, for Seneca, alone among his contemporaries, was steadfast in his condemnation, with both voice and pen, of the de grading cruelty of gladiatorial sports. ' Posterity,' he said, ' will charge many things against me ; but it never can be said that I fostered the vile customs which are brutalizing my countrymen.' Burrus did not understand the scruples of Seneca, and paying no heed to his friend's protest, he plunged into a speculative disquisition on the coming contest, and was proving to his own complete satisfaction that the ' small shields,' of which he was an enthusiastic partisan, must gain the day, when the pair approached the end of the Forum. The tumult round the rostra yvas then at its height, and Seneca, spying the scarlet livery in the crowd, and hearing the furious shouts of Nero, quickened his steps.

Burrus, JUDITH 11 whose feet never faltered on the battle-field, fell behind him. Seneca thrust his way through the throng to the imperial litter. ' What is this, Cæsar?' he asked calmly. Nero shrank from his gaze like a schoolboy from an offended master, and lay back upon his cushions in sullen silence. ' Make way for the prince !' called Seneca to the lictors ; and, as the scarlet-clad slaves moved on, he pointed out to Burrus the bruised wrist of Acte hanging helpless over the litter. ' Your tiger,' he said, ' may be tame, but he can bite.'

Chapter II

' Ille per extentum funem mihi posse videtur, In poeta, meum qui pectus inaniter angit, Irritat, mulcet, falsis terroribus implet, Ut magus, et modo me Tliebis, modo ponit Athenis.' Hor., Epis., II. i. 210. In the palace of the Cæsars, upon the Palatine Hill, was great confusion. The day so brightly begun had plunged Nero into rage and fear. A wretched buffoon had insulted him, and, owing to the interference of Seneca, had escaped scot-free. Then, as they ascended the slopes of the Palatine, an eagle, or what looked to Nero like an eagle, was seen circling round the imperial house, and then flying westward ; and in the train of the Emperor there were whispers that the genius of the family was departing. ACTE 12 Finally, on the very threshold of the palace, one of the scarlet-coated bearers stumbled, and almost threw Nero and Acte out of the litter.

In one sense, this last mishap was fortunate, for it provided Nero with a victim on whom he could safely vent the rage which was choking him ; but as no one felt sure that the scourging to death of a single wretched slave would appease the Emperor's wrath, all the members of the household were in considerable trepidation. All except Acte. In the street the girl held her arm so that every bystander might see the bruise. In the palace she marched to her own chambers, without bestowing a glance or a word upon the Emperor, and flung herself upon a couch. Her waiting women, full of garrulous sympathy, attended her, and would soon have hidden beneath paint and powder the marks left by the Emperor's grip. But she checked them, crying, ' Let be ! let be !' The women then anointed her wrist with some perfumed unguent, removed her robe, propped her shoulders with soft pillows, drew a coverlet to her waist, and fell back.

Acte lay, with eyes closed, one hand beneath her head, and the other, disabled, resting upon the coverlet, when Nero entered the room. She heard his footsteps, and her lips quivered with a doubtful expression. It might have been anger, or triumph, or even mirth. Nero had superintended the scourging of his slave, and was much mollified. He yvas secretly ashamed of his violence to Acte, and not a little frightened to meet her. He determined, however, to make his peace, and fortified his resolution by drinking several goblets of Cæcuban wine, diluted with much less water than was usual. JUDITH 13 Acte lay motionless as he approached her couch and stood for an instant gazing upon her. Presently he took her hand. She drew it away, and, opening her eyes, exclaimed : ' Did the gods make me fair for you to blacken ?' ' I did but touch you, Acte,' said Nero, smiling nervously. 'Dog!' she cried, 'your touch would stain Dian's self!' Nero was in truth like a dog who wags his tail when you pat him, growls when you pinch him, and cringes when you flog him.

First he tried to growl. ' Take care,' he said ; ' take care, girl. Have you not seen the crosses by the Janiculum, the beasts in the arena ? Is your skin proof against the sword ? have you an antidote to the cup of Locusta ? Remember, slave, I am your master.' Acte clasped her hands behind her head, and her bosom rose and fell beneath the gauzy tunic. ' Great Cæsar,' she murmured ; ' rival of. jockeys and singers ! Brave Cæsar, who wounds and threatens women ! Ambitious Cæsar, who would be and will be immortal ! Why !' she cried, springing up from her cushions and facing him, ' Tiberius yvas a statesman, even Caligula was bred upon the battlefield, and Claudius was a prince to be seared ; but you — you are a slave, not I — the slave of your fears, the slave of your vices !' While she spoke, Seneca and Burrus entered the room.

An expression of deep anxiety was on the face of the former ; the soldier only looked the admiration which he felt for the fearless girl. Nero was cowed, and slunk away in sullen confusion. ACTE 14 ' By the gods, Acte !' exclaimed Burrus, ' you should be captain of the guards instead of me.' ' Courage,' said Seneca, ' is a virtue, but not the greatest virtue.' Burrus was apt to grow impatient with Seneca's habit of moralizing. ' I only know I dare not have faced the tiger so,' he replied ; ' nor dare you, Seneca.' Seneca seated himself on the couch, and took the girl's hand with almost fatherly tenderness. ' Acte,' he said, ' it was I who brought you from beneath the vines and the pomegranates of Samos, that your beauty might save Cæsar from the snares of Agrippina. Child, I would not have your blood upon my head.

Burrus loves courage much, but I love wisdom more.' No one knew Seneca better, and no one loved him better, than Acte. There was a bond "of union between them, for they alone exercised any real control over Nero. To Seneca she owed her greatness, and that she valued more than her life. His friendship was her mainstay, his counsel was her refuge, his gentleness was her consolation. She turned from him with a smile, took from the hands of a waiting-woman a piece of needlework, and, in silence, made a dozen stitches. Then she offered him the embroidery, saying : ' Will you finish the pattern ?' ' No,' he said ; ' I cannot' ' It is very easy,' she persisted. ' But I never learned the art,' he returned. 'There are some things,' laughed Acte, 'which even Seneca may learn from a woman.' JUDITH 15 ' Acte is right,' interrupted Burrus. ' Leave her alone, Seneca; she knows best how to finish her pattern.' Seneca had taken the needlework from the girl, and was examining it. ' How pretty !' he said ; ' but ' — with a sharp pull he unravelled the stitches she had made — ' how fragile !' The colour stole to the girl's face, and Seneca quietly continued : ' Rage may be cowed by rage, but never cured.

I go to put in firmer stitches.' He went in search of Nero, whom he found finishing his mid-day meal. The Emperor had drunk himself into a comparatively amiable mood, and Seneca, seizing his opportunity, proceeded to enlarge upon the folly and wickedness of anger. Seneca was a wise man, and an able man, but he had a weakness for" preaching. To him philosophy and moral speculation were of such absorbing interest that he could never imagine anyone being wearied by them, and, con sequently, Nero was compelled to endure many a heavy hour. Seneca, most probably, owed the power over Nero which he possessed to the fact that he had been the tutor of his boyhood. One never ceases to stand in awe of one's schoolmaster. He was, from well - considered policy, a lenient guardian. Long ago he had satisfied himself of the incurable badness of Nero's disposition, and his one object was to make the rule of such a man as little harmful as possible to Rome and the world.

While indulged in the practice of private vices, Seneca considered that Nero would be less prone to the perpetration of public wrongs. ACTE Hence he winked at many of the Emperor's irregularities, and perhaps even contrived some of them. For several years, as far as his public conduct was concerned, Nero, under the guidance of Seneca, was an excellent prince, just, moderate, and politic. It was the growing influence of the Emperor's wicked mother, Agrippina, and the insane shamelessness of their depravity, which first made Seneca doubt the wisdom of his policy. Too late he discovered that he had made his tiger a more treacherous beast than ever, and, more with the habit of the pedagogue than with the instinct of the statesman, he set himself to work to instil into Nero some rudimentary sense of morals.

Day by day Seneca preached, and Nero dreamed ; and sometimes the Emperor imagined that he and his preceptor were gladiators in the arena, that he had brought his antagonist down, and placed the sword to his throat, and that the tumultuous audience clenched their fists, and slabbed the air with their down-turned thumbs. Then a smile of pleasure always stole over his face, and Seneca imagined that his lessons were reaching their mark. Some such vision must have passed through the mind of Nero while Seneca discoursed on anger, for an expression of peaceful contentment reigned upon his features, and, when the philosopher finished, he said : ' Thanks, my good Seneca. I shall remember as long as I live the penalties which anger involves. And now, to prove my penitence, I would make my peace and sing.' He strode off to Acte's chamber, followed by Seneca, and slaves bearing his harp, a green robe, a laurel yvreath, and a gilded chair of curious shape and yvorkmanship.

He crossed to the girl's couch, saying : JUDITH 17 ' I come to be forgiven.' With perverse coquetry she turned and spoke to Burrus. 'You would not see Cæsar kneel ?' said Nero piteously. ' To the gods, yes !' exclaimed Acte. 'To them and to you for my pardon,' he pleaded. She threw back her head with indolent voluptuousness, saying : ' It is yours — when you deserve it' ' Let me earn it now,' he cried eagerly, beckoning to his slaves, who set the chair before the couch of Acte, gave the harp to him, clothed him in the green robe, and placed the wreath upon his brows. It was his firm belief that he could show no greater favour to human beings, and do them no greater pleasure, than to sing to them. A song he regarded as an ample atonement for Acte's bruised wrist. His voice was naturally fine, but drink and debauchery had coarsened it.

His skill upon the harp was remarkable, his taste was delicate, and his performances were made effective by the intense artistic enthusiasm which he displayed. He was a bad Emperor, and a worse man, but he was a good musician. Acte was always pleased to hear Nero sing ; in the first place, because she was fond of music, and, in the second, because Nero in his musical moods was always manageable. Seneca regarded music as a harmless amusement for those who had nothing better to think about, and Nero's infatuation with it he looked upon as a fortunate weakness to be turned to good account. Honest Burrus, on the other hand, was enraged and disgusted at what he considered to be the degradation of the Emperor. When Nero seated himself in his gilt chair, and tuned the strings of his instrument, Burrus slipped away.

ACTE It made him sick, he said, to see Cæsar twiddling with a harp like a wretched Greek comedian. While he searched his memory for a piece, Nero impro vised a rippling prelude. At length he decided to attempt the lament of Andromache as she sees from the walls of Troy the body of Hector trailed behind the car of Achilles. He took up the story at the point where Andromache is alarmed by the shriek of Hecuba. In a strong, full bari tone voice, he began : ' Swift, she sped through the chamber, as one who is maddened with fear ; Wild were the throbs of her bosom, her handmaidens followed her near. Panting she rushed to the ramparts, and stood in the throng of the men ; She stood on the wall and gazed, while before her, again and again, Round the walls ofthe city and over the stricken plain, Swift Achaian steeds dragged the body of Hector slain.

Dark night came on her eyes, and, gasping, she backward fell ; From her head she shook her frontlet, the veil and the fillet as well, The veil which golden Cypria gave her upon that day When Hector, the gleaming crested, from her father bore her away. The women gathered around her and raised her drooping head, And held her up in their arms, where long she lay as one dead ; But, when her spirit returned, she cried, with wailings forlorn, " Oh, Hector ! woe is me ! to one fate, then, we were born : Thou in the house of Priam, and I in the woodland wild Of Eetion, the luckless father, who cherished a luckless child. Ah, would he had never begot me ! since thou, in the depths below, 'Neath the secret places of earth, to the House of Hades must go : JUDITH 19 And me, in bitter mourning, a widow, thou leav'st in thy halls, And thy son is only an infant ; vainly on thee he calls.