Yes, it would have been interesting and typical of the
hour. Her hair in the ten tresses which were symbolic of a
fiancee's innocence, must have amused that brute of a brother of
hers, and the iron ring on the fourth finger of her left hand must
have given Faustine food for thought; the vestals, in their
immaculate robes, must have gazed at her in curious, sisterly
ways, and because of her fresh beauty surely there were undertones
of applause. Should her father disappear she would make a gracious
imperatrix indeed.
But, meanwhile, there was Faustine, and at sight of her legends of
old imperial days returned. She was not Messalina yet, but in the
stables there were jockeys whose sudden wealth surprised no one;
in the arenas there were gladiators that fought, not for liberty,
nor for death, but for the caresses of her eyes; in the side-
scenes there were mimes who spoke of her; there were senators who
boasted in their cups, and in the theatre Rome laughed colossally
at the catchword of her amours.
Marcus Aurelius then was occupied with affairs of state. In
similar circumstances so was Claud--Messalina's husband--so, too,
was Antonin. But Claud was an imbecile, Antonin a man of the
world, while Marcus Aurelius was a philosopher. When fate links a
woman to any one of these varieties of the husband, she is blessed
indeed. Faustine was particularly favored.
The stately prince was not alone a philosopher--a calling, by the
way, which was common enough then, and has become commoner since--
he was a philosopher who believed in philosophy, a rarity then as
now.
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