2. CHAPTER II.
The time had passed when Etruria gave laws to the rest of
Italy. Lars Porsenna was already in his grave, and his memory,
rather than his genius and spirit, satisfied the Etrusean.
The progeny of the She Wolf[1]
had risen into wondrous strength
and power, and so far from shrinking within their walls at the
approach of the vulture of Volterra, they had succeeded in clipping
her wings, and shortening, if not wholly arresting her flight.
The city of the Seven Hills, looking with triumph from her eminences,
began to claim all within her scope of vision as her own.
Paralyzed at her audacity, her success, and her wonderful
genius for all the arts of war, the neighboring cities began to
tremble at the assertion of her claims. But the braver and less
prudent spirits of young Etruria revolted at this assumption, and
new wars followed, which were too fierce and bloody to continue
long. It needs not that we should describe the varying fortunes
of the parties. Enough for our purposes that, after one well-fought
field, in which the Romans triumphed, they bore away,
as a prisoner, with many others, Cœlius, the youthful Lucumo
of the Pomponian family. This young man, not yet nineteen,
was destined by nature rather for an artist than a soldier. He
possessed, in remarkable degree, that talent for painting and
statuary, which was largely the possession of the Etrurians;
and, though belonging to one of the noblest families in his native
city, he did not think it dishonorable to exercise his talent with
industry and devotion. In the invasion of his country by the
fierce barbarians of Rome, he had thrown aside the pencil for
the sword, in the use of which latter weapon he had shown himself
not a whit less skilful and excellent, because of his preference
for a less dangerous implement. His captivity was irksome,
rather than painful and oppressive. He was treated with
indulgence by his captors, and quartered for a season in the family
of the fierce chief by whose superior prowess he had been
overthrown. Here, if denied his freedom, and the use of the
sword, he was not denied a resumption of those more agreeable
exercises of art to which he had devoted himself before his captivity.
He consoled himself in this condition by his favorite
studies. He framed the vase into grace and beauty, adorned its
sides with groups from poetry and history, and by his labors delighted
the uninitiated eyes of all around him. The fierce warrior
in whose custody he was, looked on with a grim sort of satisfaction
at the development of arts, for which his appreciative
faculties were small; and it somewhat lessened our young
Etruscan in his esteem, that he should take pleasure in such
employments. At all events, the effects, however disparaging,
were so far favorable that they tended to the increase of his
indulgences. His restraints were fewer; the old Roman not
apprehending much danger of escape, or much of enterprise,
from one whose tastes were so feminine; and the more gentle
regards of the family, in which he was a guest perforce, contributed
still more to sweeten and soften the asperities of captivity.
As a Lucumo of the first rank in Etruria, he also claimed peculiar
indulgencies from a people who, conscious of their own inferior
origin, were not by any means insensible to the merits of aristocracy.
Our captive was accordingly treated with a deference
which was as grateful to his condition as it was the proper tribute
to his rank. The wife of the chief whose captive he was,
herself a noble matron of Rome, was as little insensible to the
rank of the Etrurian, as she was to the equal modesty and manliness
of his deportment. Nor was she alone thus made aware
of his claims and virtues. She had a son and daughter, the latter
named Aurelia, a creature of the most imposing beauty, of a
lofty spirit and carriage, and of a high and generous ambition.
The brother, Lucius, was younger than herself, a lad of fifteen;
but he, like his sister, became rapidly and warmly impressed
with the grace of manner and goodness of heart which distinguished
the young Etrurian. They both learned to love him;
the youth, probably, with quite as unreckoning a warmth as his
sister. Nor was the heart of Cœlius long untouched. He soon
perceived the exquisite beauties of the Roman damsel, and, by
the usual unfailing symptoms, revealed the truth as well to the
family of the maiden as to herself. The mother discovered the
secret with delight, was soon aware of the condition of her
daughter's heart, and, the relations of the several parties being
thus understood, it was not long before they came to an explanation,
which ended to their mutual satisfaction. Cœlius was
soon released from his captivity, and, to the astonishment of all
his family, returned home, bearing with him the beautiful creature
by whom his affections had been so suddenly enslaved.
