Virgilia

Virgilia

The Project Gutenberg EBook of Virgilia, by Felicia Buttz Clark
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Title: Virgilia or, Out of the Lion's Mouth
Author: Felicia Buttz Clark
Release Date: April, 2005 [EBook #7938] [Yes, we are more than one
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VIRGILIA
or OUT OF THE LION'S MOUTH
By FELICIA BUTTZ CLARK
1917

CONTENTS

CHAPTER I.
A confession of faith

CHAPTER II.
The "Little Fish"

CHAPTER III.
The hymn of the water-carrier

CHAPTER IV.
The inner shrine of Jupiter

CHAPTER V.

The Old One speaks

CHAPTER VI.
The Feast of Grapes

CHAPTER VII.
Enter, Lycias, the gladiator

CHAPTER VIII.
The symbol of the lizard

I.
A CONFESSION OF FAITH.
The Circus in Rome was thronged with an enormous crowd of persons
on a day in June, about two thousand years ago. One hundred thousand
men and women sat on its tiers of white marble seats, under the open
sky and witnessed a gladiatorial contest in the arena, beneath.
At the western end of the oval amphitheatre was the Emperor's box,
flanked with tall Corinthian pillars, on which were hung the
coat-of-arms of the Roman people. Here sat one of the most cruel
emperors Rome has ever suffered under. His cloak was royal purple,
and was thrown carelessly back, on this warm June afternoon, to
disclose a white tunic, embroidered in scarlet.
Beside him were several ladies, elaborately gowned in the manner of
the day, with hair dressed high, studded with jewels brought from
Oriental lands, while their necks and arms were loaded with strings of
pearls and emeralds, armlets of tawny gold in Etruscan designs, in
which were set cameos of extraordinary delicacy and diamonds, only
partially polished, as large as the half of a hen's egg.
To every class of Romans, the gladiatorial show was open. Senators
and Patricians, artists and mechanics, poets and artisans, women of
every rank, from the highest lady of the land to the humblest
washerwoman who beat her clothes on the rounded stones of the River
Tiber, were here to gloat over the hideous contest in the arena.

In the third row, about half way in the long side of the oval
amphitheatre sat two women and a man. The women were unusually
beautiful. They were mother and daughter. The man was plainly the
father, a stalwart Roman, a lawyer, who had his office in the courts of
the Forum, where business houses flanked the splendid temples of
white marble, where the people worshipped their gods, Jupiter and
Saturn, Diana and Cybele.
"See," said Claudia, pointing a finger on which blazed on enormous
emerald, "the Vestals are giving the signal. Their thumbs are reversed.
The Emperor, also, is signalling for a cessation of the fight. How proud
Lycias, the gladiator, is to-day, for he won the victory. Well, we must
go. Come, Virgilia."
The young girl arose, obediently, but her father noticed that her eyes
were full of tears and that she shivered slightly in spite of the warm,
scented June air.
As the three mingled with the thousands who were in a very leisurely
manner wending their way down the steps to the ground, Aurelius
Lucanus drew her frail hand through his arm and said, gently: "What
hast thou, dearest? Art thou not well?"
"I am quite well, father dear," and as she spoke, she drew over her face
a light, filmy veil, effectually shielding her from the too curious gaze of
the laughing throng of merry-makers.
"Why, then, dost thou cry, my daughter?"
Virgilia glanced at her mother and noticing that she was out of hearing,
whispered in his ear: "I hate it, father. Do not bring me again."
He looked at her