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"And her life is a lie," said the other. "You enjoyed your walk?" asked the mother of Arria, addressing Vergilius. "The walk was a delight to me and its end a sorrow," he answered. "And you obeyed me?" "To the letter." It is true, he thought, we are a generation of liars, but how may one help it? Then, quickly, a way seemed to suggest itself, and he added: "Madame, forgive me.
Arria left with a cry of joy, and presently Augustus went with the Lady Lucia to meet his guests. The "commands" of the emperor had given the hour of the banquet and prescribed the dress to be worn. Vergilius had waited anxiously for the moment when he should again see the great god of Rome, who could give or take away as he would.
Now what do you think of the colors?" she demanded. "Beautiful! And best of all that in your cheeks. I doubt not he will worship you." "Or he is no kind of a man," said Arria, thoughtfully. "Oh, son of Varro! come, I am waiting. If he takes me in his arms, what shall I do?" "Thrust him aside tell him that you do not like it." "And what shall I do if he does not?" "Bid him go at once.
Nothing could be finer than his description of the heroic devotion of Arria to her husband, and the pathos with which he describes the conduct of Fannia, who concealed the death of her dearly loved son from her sick husband Paetus, telling him the boy was well and resting quietly, and controlling her motherly tears until she could keep them back no longer, and rushed from the room to give them free course.
Story of Arria and Paetus Pliny, Letters, iii, 16. Martial, i, 13. The famous instance of Epponina, under Vespasian, and her attachment to her condemned husband Tacitus, Hist., iv, 67. Tacitus mentions that many ladies accompanied their husbands to exile and death Annals, xvi, 10, 11.
I loved the Antony who had been my lover, more than I was angry with the Antony who forsook me and loved another woman. Had he left Cleopatra and returned to me again with all his former affection, I really believe I should have loved him as well as before. Arria. If the merit of a wife is to be measured by her sufferings, your heart was unquestionably the most perfect model of conjugal virtue.
Sure there is no bound to the trustingness of women. Look at Arria worshipping the drunken clodpate of a husband who beats her; look at Cornelia treasuring as a jewel in her maternal heart the oaf her son; I have known a woman preach Jesuit's bark, and afterwards Dr. Berkeley's tar-water, as though to swallow them were a divine decree, and to refuse them no better than blasphemy.
"The great love may come to you, and then you shall understand," said Arria to Appius. "The great madness!" her brother exclaimed. "I like not these Jewish cattle. The gods forgive me that we have fallen among them. With a Jew for a pilot we should make a landing in Hades." Something in his manner alarmed the girl. "What mean you?" she inquired. "I will tell you to-morrow," said her brother.
"And with no talk of love," the matron added, as Arria took his arm. They walked through the long hall of the palace, over soft rugs and great mosaics, and between walls aglow with tints of sky and garden.
"You are gone mad," said Appius, "and I pray the gods to bring you back. It may be the fair Vergilius forgets you." She turned, quickly, and her voice trembled as she whispered: "Nay, he also has the great love in him. He could not forget." Cyran, the pretty slave-girl, came soon with their evening repast. Arria bade her sit beside them.
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