Chapter Five.
The Young Captive.
Jovinian was treated with much consideration by his uncle Gaius. He enjoyed the privilege of a room to himself, in which he could read without interruption, and to which his meals were generally carried. When, however, he went to the door, he found the Numidian, or another slave who acted as his assistant, stretched on a mat at the entrance, or seated on a stool close at hand. He had thus evidence that he was treated as a captive, and suspected of being desirous of making his escape. He was abundantly supplied with books,—Horace, Virgil, and Ovid for lighter reading, and translations of the works of Plato and his disciples for his more serious studies. But beautiful as was the language, he turned from them with disgust, so full of sophistries did they appear. There was one book which he took up with greater satisfaction than all the others. He had obtained it when out walking one day with Eros, and the Numidian’s watchful eye was for a short period averted from him. While gazing at a spectacle exhibited in one of the temples, Jovinian had recognised his friend the presbyter Amulius, who was coming quickly towards him. Before Eros had looked round, Amulius had slipped into his hand a roll of parchment; he immediately concealed it in his bosom. He was on the point of whispering, “Oh, take me with you!” and stretching out his hand to his relative, when Eros turned round. The Numidian seemed to have suspected his design, for he immediately grasped him by the arm, and took care for the remainder of the walk not to withdraw his eye from him.
On reaching home, Jovinian eagerly examined the roll. He discovered, to his delight, that it was the Gospel written by the apostle John. The roll contained another small piece of vellum, on which were written some lines from Amulius, urging him to practise the gift of patience, and to remain firm to the principles delivered to him by his beloved mother. Henceforth the book was his constant study, and from its page he drew consolation and instruction. One morning Eros, entering his chamber, inquired whether he was disposed to go out and enjoy the air. He thankfully agreed to the proposal, and having concealed his precious volume beneath his dress, he accompanied the Numidian. It was a day on which one of the numerous festivals held in honour of the gods was being celebrated in the city. The streets were thronged by persons of all ranks and ages, the shrines as usual lighted up and decorated with flowers, the lower order of priests were going about collecting contributions for their temples, and holding up the small images of their gods. They were passing the temple of Bellona, the Isis of the Egyptians, when Eros, grasping Jovinian’s arm, pulled him in.
“Here is a scene worth witnessing,” he observed; “see how devoted are the worshippers of the great goddess.”
Unlike most of the other temples, it was enclosed by walls to exclude the light of day. Following the windings of a narrow passage, the Numidian and the reluctant youth found themselves in a gallery within the temple, which appeared shrouded in gloom, except at the further end, where, above the altar, was seen, surrounded by pale lights, the statue of the goddess standing on a crescent moon, holding a globe in her hand; while before her were several closely-shorn, bare-footed priests, habited in linen garments, now bending low before her, now lifting up their hands in the attitude of prayer, while the whole area was filled with a multitude of persons in rapid motion, from whom issued cries and groans, above which could be distinguished the sound of the whips echoing through the edifice.
For some minutes, Jovinian’s eye, unaccustomed to the darkness, could not see what was taking place; but at length he perceived that all the persons below him were armed with whips, with which they were unmercifully flagellating, not each other, but their own bodies stripped naked to the waist. Some, from their dark skins, were apparently Egyptians, but many among them were evidently Romans. Now some of the priests, throwing off their robes, and seizing whips, which lay beside the altar, joined the mad throng, shouting and encouraging them to perseverance in the extraordinary performance. While this scene was enacting, several other persons appeared, issuing from doors on either side of the altar. Among them, Jovinian, to his surprise, distinguished his uncle Gaius, with Coecus and other pontiffs, who stood by, while a flamen, with his back to the people, lifted up his hands above his head, as if offering sacrifice to the goddess.
“What can induce those people thus to torment themselves?” asked Jovinian. “It appears to me as if they had all gone mad together!”
“Know you not that we stand in the temple of the Queen of Heaven, the most ancient goddess known to mortals?” exclaimed the Numidian. “These, her votaries, are thus inflicting pain on their bodies to purify themselves from sin, and be able to approach her shrine and merit her approval and affection.”
“Can it be possible that people are so ignorant as to suppose that any being of a divine nature can take pleasure in mortal suffering?” asked Jovinian. “How different must she be to the true God, so full of mercy and loving-kindness, who delights in showering blessings on His worshippers! Let us go hence; I can no longer stay to witness such egregious folly and wickedness.”
Still the Numidian seemed inclined to linger; but Jovinian, breaking from him, made his way towards the passage by which they had entered, and Eros was compelled to follow for fear of losing sight of his charge. Jovinian breathed more freely when he got into the open air. He was too much lost in thought to make any further remark to his companion. As they proceeded on their walk they passed numerous shrines, before each of which Eros stopped, and lifting up his hands, invoked the idol, seeming to care very little which of the gods or goddesses it represented.
“Can those marble figures render you any service, think you?” asked Jovinian, as they walked on.
“I know not; but my betters say so, and it is as well to be on the safe side,” answered the Numidian, with a shrug of his shoulders.
“But suppose they represent demons instead of divine beings, if you invoke them they are more likely to do you harm than good; and knowing, as I do, that there is but one true, all-powerful God, I am sure that He does not allow any inferior creatures to interfere between Him and man,” replied Jovinian. “We, who are His children through faith in His Son, can go direct to Him in prayer, requiring no other intercessor but our Lord and Master, nor any symbol to aid us in worshipping Him.”
“Yours seems a very simple faith; and if I thought that the one great and all-powerful God of whom you speak would hear my prayers and grant them, I would cease to worship all the gods and goddesses, whose very names I have a difficulty in remembering, and would trust only to Him,” answered Eros.
“You would act most wisely and happily for yourself,” said Jovinian. “Come with me into yonder building; I see several persons entering who, by their dress and demeanour, I know to be Christians.”
Eros made no objection. The edifice was enclosed by a wall, which shut out those within from public gaze. Passing through a door, they entered a spacious hall capable of containing several hundred persons. No statues nor pictures were to be seen; at the further end was a raised desk, at which stood a lector or reader, while a higher desk at the same part of the building, formed like a rostrum, served for the preacher who was to address the congregation. In the centre stood a long table, with seats round it, while the remainder of the area was filled with benches in rows, so arranged that their occupants could look towards the lector and preacher. The building was filling fast; in a few minutes all the seats were occupied. Shortly afterwards an aged man, habited in a toga, entering, took his seat on a chair close to the rostrum; then, standing up, after a minute of silent prayer, he gave out a hymn, in which the whole of the congregation joined. Portions of the Gospel and Epistles were read; a prayer was then offered up, in which all the congregation joined. After another hymn, the presbyter ascended the rostrum, and delivered an address. It explained simply the principles of the Christian faith, and the plan of salvation offered by God to sinful man. Eros listened attentively, and drank in every word. He sighed when it terminated. Another hymn having been sung, the congregation began to separate.
“Would that I could hear more of it!” the slave observed to Jovinian; “after this I can never again pray to the stocks and stones which I have hitherto called my gods.”
“You can come as often as you like; and there are several other places in Rome where assemblies of the faithful are wont to be held, thanks to the liberality of the emperor, who allows the Christians to meet everywhere as they desire,” said Jovinian. “But I would urge you to speak forthwith to the presbyter who delivered the discourse, or to the venerable overseer who presided; or, if you would prefer it, I would take you to the house of my relative Amulius. He is always ready to give instruction; and there are some, I fear, holding false doctrines, who would mislead you as to the principles of our holy faith.”
“What, do you Christians differ from each other in your belief?” asked the Numidian, in a tone of surprise.
“Alas! I am told that there are many who call themselves Christians, holding opinions contrary to those taught by the Holy Scriptures,” said Jovinian; “but they differ greatly one from the other. Such was the case even in the time of the apostles, and we cannot expect it to be otherwise at present, when men in their pride of reason refuse to submit themselves to the plain teaching of Christ.”
“You appear to have thought much on these subjects, for one so young,” observed the Numidian.
“I have been well instructed by those who know the truth, and have ever sought guidance from God’s Holy Spirit,” answered Jovinian.
Eros was silent; he was pondering deeply on what he had heard.
Jovinian, on his return to the college, retired to his room. Gaius was still absent; he was too much engaged when he returned, fortunately for Jovinian, to question him as to where he had been during his walk. The pontiff was acute enough to discover that he was not likely to win his nephew over to a belief in idolatry; but he hoped, by giving him the writings of the Greek philosophers, and of their numerous disciples and imitators of the present time, so to draw his mind away from the truth that he might be willing to enter into his schemes, and to become in reality a sceptic in all religious matters, as he was himself, with one exception: if, indeed, he had any belief, it was in the great goddess of Babylon—Astarte or Ashtaroth, the Queen of Heaven—whose worship, having spread through Asia into Egypt, had, with that of her son Horos, long been established in Italy under different names. In Egypt she was known as Isis, in Rome as Bellona. He, as was the case with the other pontiffs, had long been initiated into her mysteries, and he trusted that in time his nephew would be qualified to become one of her votaries. Her worship had, indeed, ever been the most popular, and provided that could be maintained, he felt sure that it would successfully oppose the two principles of the Christian faith, which he understood to consist in the belief of one God and one mediator between God and man. He was not aware of the power of simple faith when he thus entertained hopes of winning over his nephew, or that Jovinian went daily to the fountain-head to seek for that strength he so much needed in order to resist the temptations presented to him. Jovinian soon discovered the tendency of the works his uncle gave him, and as he read he sought for grace to refute their sophistries; nor did he seek in vain. He found, however, that it was wise not to enter into discussions with Gaius, who fully believed that ere long his nephew’s faith would be completely overcome. The pontiff now began to open his views to Jovinian, and to excite his ambition with the prospect, should he follow his advice, of becoming great and powerful, and ruling his fellow-creatures through their superstition, he frequently invited him out, taking the precaution to have a slave following close at hand to stop him should he attempt to escape, though he believed that there was now little probability of his doing so. At length, so complete was the confidence he placed in him, that he allowed him to be present at the councils of the pontiffs, where, seated, his book in hand, at the further end of the hall, his presence was not observed. Jovinian, very naturally, did not object to this, nor could he fail to be interested in the discussions he frequently overheard.
Chapter Six.
A Debate.
At length, one evening, the whole of the pontiffs of the sacred college were assembled, and it was evident from their manner that a matter of more than usual importance was to be brought forward. The gods being invoked, and the usual forms hurried over, Coecus, who acted as president, rose.
“Friends and brother pontiffs,” he began, “disastrous news has reached me. You well know that the emperor has long been favourable to the Christians. He has now openly declared himself a convert to their faith. His motive it is easy to perceive: he considers that the Christians throughout the empire already outnumber the followers of the ancient faith; and perchance he hopes to obtain pardon from the God of the Christians for the murder of his son, the hapless Crispus, of his wife, the traduced Fausta, of his nephew, and brother-in-law, Licinius, and the many others his jealousy has doomed to death. Be that as it may, his acts show enmity to the ancient faith; he has already in the East destroyed numerous temples of the gods, and prohibited the celebration of many of those august mysteries which have existed from time immemorial. Holding, as he does, the office of Pontifex Maximus, putting us and our holy college on one side, he has taken upon himself the right to raise the ministers of the Christians to high ranks and dignities, and has issued edicts accordingly, so that from henceforth those men whom we have hitherto looked down upon will, claiming the authority of the emperor, vaunt it over us; and, what is of more consequence, will obtain the revenues which have hitherto flowed into our coffers; while we, neglected and degraded, must sink into insignificance. Are we, I ask, my friends, tamely to submit to such treatment? Are no means to be found to arrest the progress of this pestiferous religion, which so many of wealth and rank are eagerly embracing, and which, now it has become fashionable at court, will still further increase? Can no one suggest a scheme by which we may retain our office, and still, as of yore, govern the minds of the multitude? Unless some plan can be devised, I warn you all that our course is run, and penury and neglect must be our lot.”
Silence followed the address of Coecus—a groan alone now and then escaping from the bosoms of the pontiffs; for they had not watched the rapid increase of the Christian faith among all ranks without being conscious that the system which they supported was tottering to its base. At length, one by one, they broke silence; but their proposals were treated as vain and useless by the sagacious Coecus.
“We have but one resource, my friends,” he answered; “far from giving way to despair, I feel confident that it will succeed, if carried out with due wisdom and secrecy. But we must be united, and by forming strict rules for our guidance, we shall still retain our power and influence, and govern the minds, not only of the people of Rome, but of those of the nations subject to her. We ourselves must become Christians! Some few may doubt our conversion, but the great mass will gladly welcome us, and continue to pay us the honour we have hitherto received. I say not this till after profound reflection. Our sacred college will still exist, and by the exertion of our influence, we shall obtain the appointment of the bishops and presbyters of the Christians, chosen either from our own body or from among such men as we shall find ready to support us. We shall have but to change the names of the gods. Already have many of the Christians begun to worship those whom they esteem holy or who were put to death in the times of Nero, Diocletian, and other emperors. Their folly will greatly facilitate our object, and it will matter little to us under what names the immortal gods are worshipped. We may, by proper caution, induce them to adore our own great goddess, the Queen of Heaven,—she who has been, shall be, and whose mysterious existence none among mortals can comprehend. Be it known to you, my friends, that He whom these Nazarenes worship, the Prophet of Nazareth, was, they say, born of a woman; and surely, as they adore Him, so may they easily be induced to adore His mother; and it appears to me that they can be led away from the worship they pay to Him, to offer it to one whom we would present to them in the place of that human mother. Thus shall we by degrees wean them from the faith they now hold,—if we cannot openly oppose the progress of this new religion, we can corrupt it,—and if the gods and goddesses of ancient Rome are overthrown, we can place other objects of worship in their stead, or re-name them, rather, from the persons whom the Christians are wont to regard with respect. Those who have been taught to worship a dead Caesar will as willingly fall down before the statue of a woman whom they consider a saint; thus it will give us but little trouble to change the religious observances and ceremonies to which the people have been accustomed to suit the new religion. Let us not, then, give way to despair: Rome will continue, as of yore, faithful to the worship of the ancient gods, and we, their priests, shall retain our power and influence.”
The scheme proposed by Coecus met with general approbation. Jovinian had retained his seat, his eyes fixed on his manuscript, but attentively listening to all that was uttered. The words he heard, “If we cannot overcome, we can corrupt,” especially struck his ear; he was too well acquainted with the errors which had crept in among the assemblies of the Christians not to be sensible that even those who held the faith might be led astray: how much more easily might the ignorant idolaters be led to worship any objects presented to them! As he sat motionless in his place of concealment, yet more of the scheme was revealed; the characters of the very persons who were to be made its instruments were discussed. A feeling of horror and dismay crept over him. Could he by any means be enabled to counteract it? He resolved to take counsel of his aged friend, Gentianus. So strictly had he hitherto been watched that he knew full well the difficulties to be encountered in making his escape; should his uncle Gaius discover that he had been present he would guard him still more closely. He dared not move lest he might be seen; at present he was concealed from the assembled pontiffs by a pillar, but the slightest movement might betray him. At length the conclave broke up, and drawing their togas around them, the pontiffs retired. Jovinian, trembling at the thought of the dark scheme he had discovered, made his way back to his room. Helpless as he was, he felt unable to do anything to counteract the plans of the conspirators, yet it was at all events his duty to make them known to the leading Christians of Rome; but whom among them could he trust besides Amulius, and Gentianus and his family? The first, though a presbyter, and a faithful and earnest man, might not have the courage to denounce a person of power and influence like the pontiff Coecus, supported as he was not only by the members of his college, but by all the wealthy philosophers and idolaters in Rome. Amulius might even doubt the accuracy of his statements; Gentianus was far more likely to believe them, could he manage to communicate with him. Should, however, Gaius suspect that he had been present at the conference, he would be kept a far closer prisoner than before. Was Eros to be trusted? He could not have failed to discover that Jovinian had been absent from his room,—he might have informed Gaius of the fact. Though Eros had professed to be deeply interested in what he had heard at the assembly of the Christians, it was doubtful whether he had been really converted; even if he were so, the dread of the consequences to himself should his captive regain his liberty, might prevent him from conniving at his escape. Jovinian, therefore, felt it would be prudent not to trust him; and, eager as he was to get away, he endeavoured to appear reconciled to his lot. From principle as well as from disposition, anything like duplicity was especially hateful to him, but he was driven to practise it, as affording him the only prospect of escaping from the thraldom in which he was held. Gaius appeared to be completely deceived; he spoke more openly to his nephew than he had hitherto done, though at the same time he was too wary not to keep the same strict watch over him as at first. He now frequently took him out when he went abroad to visit the temples to give directions to the flamens and to advise them how to comport themselves in the perilous circumstances in which they were placed. One and all were alarmed at the information which constantly reached them of the emperor’s opposition to the ancient faith, and the support and patronage he afforded the Christians. Already numerous conversions had taken place among the patricians, as well as among persons of inferior rank; whole families who had hitherto appeared to be staunch idolaters now professed themselves Christians. They not only met together openly for worship in several parts of the city, but had already begun to erect several churches; while money contributed by the faithful for the support of widows and orphans and others in distress flowed into the coffers of their bishop. Wherever Gaius went the flamens met him with sad countenances; though after he had held conversation with them in private, they generally appeared to become more cheerful.
He was one day paying a domiciliary visit to the temple of Apollo, having entered by the door sacred to the flamens in the rear of the edifice. Gaius had a long conversation with the chief flamen while Jovinian was allowed to amuse himself with looking over some ancient manuscripts kept in a chest in the room in which they were sitting. The flamen listened attentively to the remarks of his superior.
“By the Immortals, we need not despair, Coecus guiding us!” he exclaimed; “whatever he proposes, he may depend on our carrying out to the letter.”
“Then listen, Flaccus,” said Gaius; “we can no longer hide from the people the progress made by the new faith, or that it is patronised by the emperor; but we may persuade them that the gods are grieved at the abandonment of their ancient worship; or should a pestilence occur, or an earthquake, or a storm of unusual violence, we may easily make them believe that the infliction has been sent as a punishment for their infidelity. Would that such would occur! it would help us greatly in our object. In the meantime, we can employ such means as are at our disposal. It would be well if we could make all the statues of the gods in Rome weep together, or roll their eyes, or groan in concert.”
“The thought is a bright one,” answered Flaccus; “by means of arrangements in the interior of our statue we can reach the head, and through the two small holes in the corners of the eyes press forth from a sponge a rivulet of water, if we so wish. I will then, from before the altar, announce the cause of the great Apollo’s grief, and urge his votaries to renewed devotion, and to withstand the pernicious teachings of the Christians.”
“The temple is already well filled, and the sooner we play the—I mean, the sooner the miracle is performed the better, for delays are dangerous,” said Gaius.
“We might perform it at once,” answered Flaccus; “but we require a boy of small size who can climb up into the head of the statue; and my own son, whom I can trust, is sick at home. The youth yonder, however, though somewhat big, might manage to climb up without much difficulty.” As he spoke he looked towards Jovinian. “You can confide in him that he will not betray us?”
“I am not certain on that point,” answered Gaius; and calling to his nephew he desired him to swear that he would not reveal what he was about to communicate.
“If lawful, I am ready to do whatever you desire,” answered Jovinian.
“Can it be otherwise, foolish boy, when I wish it?” exclaimed Gaius. “Know you not that I have the power to force you to do whatever I may require?”
“I will, at all events, promise not to repeat whatever you may think fit to say to me,” said Jovinian.
“I wish you, then, simply to play off a trick upon the ignorant people collected in the temple,” said Gaius. “See here: all you have to do is to climb into the head of the statue through the trap which the flamen Licinius Flaccus will show you, and to press a sponge into the hollows of the eyes till you have emptied the amphora which you will take up with you. Be not startled if you hear some deep groans close to your ears; they will be uttered by the flamens, and will serve to give more effect to the flowing of the tears.”
“Pardon me, but I cannot take part in such a device,” answered Jovinian. “I have given my promise not to repeat what you have told me; but obey you in this matter I cannot.”
Gaius, whose aim was to gain the affections of his nephew, restrained his rising anger, and turning to the flamen, observed, “You must find some other boy of smaller size, for my nephew is, I suspect, too big properly to perform the task.”
“I am unwilling to lose this opportunity of working on the minds of the people,” answered Flaccus; “I will, therefore, send for my son, or some other boy who can be trusted.”
He immediately went out. While he was absent, Gaius lectured his nephew; but Jovinian was firm, and even ventured to expostulate on the subject with Gaius, who, however, only laughed at him for his folly, as he called it. In a short time the flamen returned, bringing a short and slight lad, who was directed what to do. Two of the flamens remained behind, while the rest entered the temple. The boy was led to a trap-door at the back of the altar, while two flamens mounted to a gallery level with the head of the statue. Presently groans were heard, so deep and mournful that it seemed scarcely possible they could be uttered by a human being, while cries and shouts arose from the temple, and the words which reached Jovinian’s ears were, “The great god is weeping! Apollo mourns! Woe, woe to Rome!”
He was thankful when at length Gaius, taking his hand, led him from the temple. On their way through the streets they heard people talking of the wonderful miracle which had just been witnessed in the temple of Apollo.
“The god sheds tears at the thoughts of being driven ignominiously from the city where he has so long dwelt!” exclaimed some. “Did you hear how he groaned? Fearful! What will next happen? It is a wonder the great Jove and all the gods did not descend from their pedestals and drive these Nazarene infidels into the Tiber.”
“It would be a worthy deed, and well-pleasing to the Immortals, if you, who carry weapons, were to attack the wretches, and treat them as they deserve,” whispered Gaius to the crowd of idolaters among whom he was making his way. Just then a line of twelve lictors appeared carrying the fasces, making way for one of the consuls, who walked along with dignified pace on some official business.
“Silly people!” he remarked, as he heard the exclamations of the crowd; “you will, ere long, see the statues of the Nazarene saints weeping if you obstinately refuse to follow the faith our august emperor has adopted.”
He smiled as he saluted Gaius, and their eyes met; but the presence of the lictors restrained them, and they separated, going towards their respective homes. Gaius did not speak a word to Jovinian till they reached the college. “Go to your room: I will follow you there,” said the pontiff to his nephew, in a sterner tone than he was wont to use. Jovinian was prepared for a severe lecture. He prayed that he might have grace to act consistently with his profession. In a short time Gaius appeared, and having ordered Eros, who was at his post, to retire, he threw himself on the couch by the table on which Jovinian’s books were placed.
“Of what folly have you been guilty!” he exclaimed; “what induced you to refuse to take part in a harmless deceit, such as has been frequently practised on occasions of necessity, when it has been important to awaken the slumbering faith of the votaries of the gods? Know you not that it is one of our chief maxims that deceit of any sort is lawful when the result is likely to prove beneficial, and that evil may be done provided a good object is to be attained? You have been miserably taught if you do not understand this.”
“According to the precepts of the faith I hold, no deception can be practised and no evil done without offending a pure and a holy God, who looks upon all deceit as sinful, and cannot sanction the slightest approach to sin,” answered Jovinian, boldly. “I could not, without offending Him whom I serve, have assisted in the imposture practised on the ignorant multitude. I promised not to speak of what I heard, or I would tell the people of the trick played upon them, and thus win them to the worship of the one true God.”
“What is this I hear?” exclaimed Gaius; “I had hopes that you had been weaned from your folly, and would have been ready to follow the career I have marked out for you. Should I disown you and turn you out into the world, by what means can you support your miserable existence?”
“The Lord I desire to serve cares for those who love Him,” answered Jovinian, without hesitation. “I have no fear of what man can do to me. I speak with no disrespect to you, my uncle—I am ready to obey you in all things lawful.”
“You are a foolish and obstinate boy,” exclaimed Gaius. “I will, however, give you a further trial. Only do as I desire, and you may retain your Christian faith; but if you thwart my plans, I must use sterner measures than I have hitherto adopted. Perhaps ere long you will discover that I am not so much opposed to the faith of the Nazarenes as you now fancy.”
Gains rose, and leaving Jovinian to reflect on what he had said, returned to the hall, where the other pontiffs were assembled to discuss the subject which now occupied all their thoughts.
Chapter Seven.
The Escape.
Jovinian’s position became excessively trying. He was more strictly watched than before; it was evident that Gaius had lost all confidence in him. Still he did not abandon the hope of escaping; he did not wish to commit Eros, who, should he connive at his escape, would be severely punished; he had, however, hopes that the mind of the Numidian was gradually opening to spiritual truth. Whenever Gaius was abroad, and Eros had no fear of being interrupted, he entered Jovinian’s room, and begged him to read from the wonderful book he possessed. This Jovinian gladly did, and the humble slave gradually began to comprehend the faith which his proud master rejected. Though Jovinian was convinced that Eros had become a true Christian, yet still he would not tempt him to assist in his escape. Eros had early become interested in his young captive; he was now deeply attached to him. He observed with an eye of affection that the confinement to which he was subjected was injuring his health. “He requires fresh air and exercise, and the society of those of like mind,” Eros said to himself. “I must persuade the pontiff to let him go out as before, or, if my petition is refused, I will run all risks, and give him his liberty. He has not asked me to set him free, because he believes I should be the sufferer; but, as he has given me the greatest blessing I can enjoy on earth, I am bound, in gratitude, to enable him to do what his heart desires.”
With these thoughts in his mind, Eros went to his master, and strongly urged that, unless the young Jovinian were allowed to go out and breathe the pure air, he would fall sick, and very likely die. His request was granted much more easily than he had expected.
“Take him forth, then,” answered Gaius; “but beware, slave, lest the youth escape your vigilance; you will be answerable with your life for his safe custody.”
“The life of the slave is in the hands of his master,” answered Eros. “The air is fresh and cool; a walk into the country will restore vigour to his limbs and the colour to his pale cheek.”
“See to it, and let me hear a better account of him,” observed the pontiff, as the slave left his presence.
“Joyful news I bring!” said Eros, as he entered the chamber; “we may set off without delay. Let me advise you not to leave your gospel behind, nor any article that you value.”
Jovinian did not enquire why Eros gave this advice, but gladly accompanied the slave into the open air.
“In what direction shall we go?” he asked.
“We will take the way at the foot of the Palatine, and along the banks of the Tiber,” answered Eros; “then round by the Aventine hill, and return home by the Flavian amphitheatre.”
“That seems a somewhat long circuit to make,” replied Jovinian.
“The fresh air will enable you to enjoy it, and possibly you may be induced to prolong your walk,” replied the Numidian. Every step they took Jovinian felt inclined to proceed farther and farther. Instead, however, of following the road along the bank of the river, Eros turned off to the left, and passing through the nearest gate of the city, struck directly across the country. They had gone on for some distance, when a female was seen approaching them. She stopped as she observed Jovinian. “Surely I know you!” she exclaimed, taking his hands, “though grown so much and become so manly. Have you forgotten Rufina?”
“No, indeed! never can I forget one who was ever so faithful to my beloved mother,” answered Jovinian: “but how happens it that we have thus met?”
“I have long been watching for you,” answered Rufina, in a low voice, drawing Jovinian aside. “There are some friends not far off who greatly desire to embrace you—one especially, by whom your mother Livia was greatly beloved: Eugenia, now the wife of the presbyter Severus—and should you desire to escape from the thraldom in which you are held, they will afford you a secure asylum where the pontiff Gaius can never find you. Fear not,” she added, as she observed Jovinian glance towards Eros; “the Numidian will not stop you. I have communicated with him, and promised to secure his safety. Though he may not accompany you, he can no longer willingly serve a heathen master, and the price of his freedom has been provided.”
“Can you assure me of this?” asked Jovinian. “Much as I desire to obtain my liberty, I would not risk the safety of Eros, now that he is a Christian; and terrible would be his punishment were Gaius to discover that he had willingly allowed me to escape.”
“I will speak to him, and his answer shall convince you that I am not mistaken,” said Rufina; and, advancing towards Eros, she told him what Jovinian had said, adding, “I will now bid you farewell.”
“I desire not to impede you from going whithersoever you wish, though grieved that I may not accompany you,” said Eros. “My prayer is that we shall soon meet again, and that I may serve you as a freedman; and I rejoice to know that no longer as a slave shall I be compelled to act the guard and spy upon you. Farewell, Jovinian: Rufina forbids me to follow your footsteps, or I would thankfully accompany you. But do not be alarmed about my safety; she has provided a refuge where I can remain concealed, for I would avoid the enmity of Gaius,—he is aware that I know too many of the secrets of the college to allow me to retain my liberty, or even my life, could he get me into his power.”
Jovinian, satisfied on hearing that Eros was cared for, followed Rufina, who hastily led him along over the uncultivated country, which even in her palmiest days surrounded the city, till they reached one of the entrances to those subterranean labyrinths which have already been described. Jovinian followed her without hesitation; he had been well acquainted with them in his younger days, when he had dwelt in concealment with his mother and many other Christians. A well-trimmed lamp, which Rufina found within, enabled her to guide him through the intricate turnings of the labyrinth. Although several years had elapsed since he had entered them, he recognised, as they went along, many of the tombs of those who had departed in the faith. She stopped suddenly before one of them; he read the inscription on it. “Livia, the well-beloved! She rests in Christ.” The symbol above it was a dove, with an anchor carved on its breast. He gazed at it earnestly, and knew at once that it indicated his mother’s tomb.
“They brought her here to rest in peace, as she desired. And may I ever possess that sure and certain hope, the anchor of the soul, which enabled her to endure without wavering the storms and trials of life,” he mused.
Rufina stopped to throw a light on the slab, unwilling to interrupt his meditations, and remained without speaking. At length she observed, “We must hurry on, or the oil in the lamp may be exhausted before we reach our destination.”
They continued their course, proceeding along several galleries,—now descending some flights of steps, now ascending others,—till they reached a slab of stone, which resembled many they had passed, let into the wall, with rude inscriptions on them. Rufina knocked three times on the slab with a small mallet which she carried in her basket. Placing her ear against the slab, she listened, when, in the course of a few minutes, she heard the sound of a bolt being withdrawn, and the stone slowly swung back, allowing an opening sufficiently large for a person to pass through. Rufina taking the hand of her young companion, they entered, when the slab was immediately closed behind them. So rapid had been their movements, that to any one following them they would seem to have vanished. The janitor, a humble fossor, after saluting Rufina as a sister, led them on to the end of a long passage, when another door, of a similar character to the first, being opened for them to pass through, they found themselves, after advancing a short distance further, at the entrance of a small hall, from the roof of which hung a silver lamp, its rays casting a pale light on several persons assembled within. Jovinian hung back, not recognising those he saw before him; but no sooner had Rufina stated who he was than he heard himself greeted by friendly voices.
“Welcome, son of our well-beloved: thou hast been faithful as she was!” said the aged Gentianus, who was seated at a table in the centre of the hall. He drew Jovinian towards him, and placing his hand on the lad’s head, gazed into his face as he spoke. “We indeed rejoice that you have escaped from the power of the pontiff Gaius, and still more that you have resisted the temptations he offered you to depart from the faith. May the Holy Spirit ever strengthen and support you in the fiery trials you may be called on to go through. The mystery of iniquity doth already work, and who shall escape its toils? Those alone who cling fast to Christ. May you be among them, my son!”
Much more to the same effect was said by the patrician Gentianus, when his daughter Eugenia, and her husband Severus, advancing, welcomed Jovinian. His mother’s dearest friend was well disposed to treat him with affection. By her side was a young girl—her daughter Julia. As the maiden took his hand, Jovinian gazed at her with admiration. Her lovely features beamed with intelligence, and the light of Christian virtue. Firm in the faith, had the days of persecution returned she would have been ready to suffer martyrdom rather than renounce the Saviour who had bought her. Since their childhood Jovinian and Julia had not met, for Gentianus and his household had resided far away to the south, on the sunny slopes of the Apennines, where he and Severus had devoted themselves to the spreading of the truth among their heathen neighbours of all ranks. They had lately returned, called by important business, both secular and on matters relating to the Church; but, warned of the undying hostility of Coecus the pontiff, they had judged it prudent to take up their residence in their former abode, whence, undiscovered, they could communicate freely with their friends in the city, and afford an asylum to those Christian converts who might be compelled to escape from the malice of their idolatrous relatives. There was persecution even in those days; for though heathenism, as a system, was crumbling away, and few of the better educated or wealthy believed in the myths of the gods of Olympus, yet many clung to the ancient faith, or rather to its form, simply because it was ancient, and their ancestors were supposed to have believed in it. These persons in most instances treated with supreme contempt, and often with great cruelty, any of their relatives or dependents who openly professed a belief in Christ, refusing to have any transactions with them, and endeavouring to ruin or drive them into exile. Still more terrible were the penalties inflicted by the sacerdotal orders on any of their number who, abandoning idolatry, embraced the truth. If unable to escape from Rome, the dagger or poison too generally overtook them. Their safest place of refuge was in the subterranean galleries in which Jovinian now found himself. Thus it happened that he met numerous visitors at the abode of Gentianus. He had been conversing with his old friends, when he saw emerging into the light a lady of radiant beauty, habited in white, without the slightest ornament on her dress or head, a purple band round her forehead confining her close-cut hair. A second glance convinced him that he had seen her before, seated in a silver chariot on the day of the procession.
“Who is she?” he asked of Julia.
“She is the vestal Marcia,” was the answer. “Already the light of truth has entered the dark recesses of the temple; Marcia has received it, and would escape from the thraldom in which she is held, but that she has a young sister, Coelia, also a vestal, who is yet undecided. Coelia has heard the Gospel, and imbibed many of its truths, but the shackles of superstition are still around her; and while she dreads the malignity of Coecus should he discover that her faith in the false goddess has been shaken, she cannot resolve on flight. Marcia has come to seek counsel of Gentianus on the matter.”
“Surely he will advise her to urge her sister no longer to delay!” urged Jovinian. “Would that I could tell her all that I know of that fearful man! He will hesitate at no deed, however dark, so that he may attain his ends.”
Taking Jovinian’s hand, Julia, rapid in all her actions, made him known to Marcia. He, being under no vow of secrecy with regard to the aims of the pontiffs, briefly explained them to her.
“And are such the men who have so long directed the rites and ceremonies of the time-honoured religion of Rome!” she exclaimed. “Alas! how have we been duped. They themselves do not even believe in the false gods they pretend to worship.”
“Not only have they long held sway over the religious affairs of idolatrous Rome, but will continue to lead and govern in our future Rome, unless her sons and daughters adhere to the simple truths of our holy faith as taught by the apostles in the blessed Gospel,” said Gentianus, solemnly.
These words sank deeply into Jovinian’s mind. He never forgot them.
The vestal Marcia, having a dark robe thrown over her white dress, conducted by the guide—a Christian slave like Rufina, who had brought her to the abode of Gentianus—returned to the temple of Vesta.
Chapter Eight.
Relics.
Several days passed by. The small company in this remote portion of those vast galleries waited anxiously for news from the upper world. They had themselves no fear of discovery; for treachery alone, which they had no cause to dread, could betray their retreat. Other parts, however, of that underground labyrinth were frequently visited by large numbers of Christians from the city; and that he might converse with them, Severus, accompanied by Jovinian, guided by an aged fossor, traversed the galleries in various directions. What he saw and heard caused him deep grief as he passed by the groups he here and there found assembled. Some had come to visit the tombs of relatives or friends slain during the Diocletian persecutions, or who had died in later days. They were standing with arms outstretched, and open palms. Several were praying aloud. Severus stopped to listen.
“Cease, friend, cease, I entreat you!” he exclaimed. “Is it possible that you, a Christian, can be addressing the spirit of a departed brother? Have you so learnt Christ? Know you not that His ear is ever open to our prayers; that His heart beats in sympathy with all in distress; and that you are dishonouring Him by attempting to employ any other mediator between God the Father and ourselves than our one sole great High-priest, the risen Saviour of the world!”
Some to whom Severus spoke stared without answering; others defended the practice, which had lately, copied from the heathens, been creeping in among professing Christians; a few only listened respectfully to the arguments the presbyter brought against it.
Severus and his companions passed on till they reached some vaults, or rather enlargements of the galleries. Here numerous persons were assembled, employed in eating and drinking before the tombs contained within the walls. They were holding love-feasts in commemoration of their departed friends; but already the simplicity of the custom had been changed, as was shown by the flushed brows of several of the revellers; while some, more abstemious, were kneeling or prostrate on the ground, offering up prayers to the dead martyrs.
Severus, before passing on, warned them of their sin and folly. “O foolish people, whence have you derived these revellings, this custom of praying to the dead? Surely from the idolaters by whom you are surrounded!” he exclaimed. “Instead of being lights shining in the midst of a dark world, you have become as the blind leaders of the blind. Beware, lest the light you have be altogether taken away!”
Guided by the aged fossor, he and his companions made their way to those parts where in the days of the earlier persecutions the bodies of the few martyrs which had been rescued by their friends had been deposited. Great was the astonishment of Severus to find several persons with pickaxes and spades engaged in breaking open the tombs, and placing the mouldering remains in metal and wooden boxes.
“Why are you thus disturbing the bodies of the departed saints?” he exclaimed, as he stopped among them. “Could you not allow them to rest till summoned to rise by the trump of the archangel? Whither are you about to convey them? How do you intend to dispose of them?”
No one at first replied to those questions.
At length one, who appeared to be a deacon or exorcist, advancing, answered, “We have been assured that the bones of martyrs can cure diseases of all sorts, and work many other miracles; and as few can come here to benefit by them, we are about to convey the sacred relics to shrines where all may visit them; and some we would send to foreign lands, where they may assist in spreading the blessed Gospel.”
“Say rather, O foolish men, where they may tend to confirm the heathen in their ignorance. The very idea is taken from the idolaters, who worship blocks and stones, or any objects presented to them by their false priests. Could, even in their lifetime, these departed saints have cured any of the maladies which flesh is heir to? Then much less can their poor rotting bones, which ere long will be dust. With which of those bones, with which of those particles of dust, will their spirits be pleased to dwell, in order to impart such healing power? Oh, folly unspeakable! to think that the saints of God have further concern with the frail tenement they have shaken off! They are with Christ, to whom alone let me urge you to address your prayers. His arm is not shortened; His love is not lessened. As he healed the sick when he walked on earth, so can He cure if He thinks fit those who apply to Him.”
Much more Severus said; and he was continuing to address the people, some of whom were moved by his arguments, when a cry was raised that soldiers were in the galleries. Presently the ruddy glare of torches was seen in the far distance.
“Hasten this way,” cried the fossor, who suspected that, whatever the object of the soldiers’ visit, those he had in charge might be placed in danger. Severus and Jovinian followed him, as he rapidly retreated in a direction opposite to that in which the lights were seen. Loud shouts were heard echoing through the galleries. It was evident that the soldiers were in pursuit of some one. The sounds drew nearer. The fossor ran as fast as his aged limbs would allow; his companions supporting him. Numerous long passages were traversed.
“The soldiers have a guide with them, or they would not venture thus far,” said the fossor; “but we may still escape them.”
As he spoke he led the way through a narrow opening. Severus followed; Jovinian was about to do so, but he turned for a moment to ascertain the distance their pursuers still were from them. He then passed through the opening, but the light from the fossor’s lantern was not visible, he feared to cry out, lest his voice might betray him. He groped his way forward with outstretched arms. He felt convinced that of two passages he had taken the wrong one. He turned to retrace his steps. In a few seconds a bright light flashed in his eyes, and he found himself in the hands, of several Roman soldiers, who roughly demanded what had become of his companions.
When Jovinian and Eros made their escape from the college Gaius was absent, and was not expected to return till the next morning. Of this the Numidian was aware, and had taken advantage of the occasion.
On the return of the pontiff, somewhat later in the day than usual, when he inquired for his nephew, he was told by a slave, afraid of speaking the truth, that Jovinian had gone forth to walk with Eros, and had not yet come back. Supposing that they had simply taken advantage of the permission he had granted, he took no further trouble about the matter, but, throwing himself on a couch, called for a cup of Falernian to quench his thirst. He was about to order a second when Coecus entered. A frown was on his brow, and his countenance wore a moody aspect. He sat down opposite to Gaius, who, looking up, observed, “If aught troubles you, follow my example, and quaff a cup or two of this generous wine. Nothing so effectually dissipates the mists which are apt to gather at times round our brains and obscure the vision.”
Coecus turned his eyes away with an expression of contempt from his convivial companion, and muttered something inaudible. “I have ample cause for anger and annoyance,” he said, at length. “What think you? This pestiferous doctrine of the Nazarenes has found its way even into the temple of Vesta. On entering unexpectedly, as it proved, to visit our fair charges, I found the vestal Coelia, who ought to have been attending to the sacred fire, so absorbed in reading a book that the flames were almost extinguished. She started on seeing me, and endeavoured to conceal the roll; but I snatched it from her, and as I glanced my eye over the pages, great was my astonishment and indignation to discover that it was not the production of one of our poets, which I might have pardoned her for reading, but a portion of what the Nazarenes call their Scriptures! I cast it on the altar, and, as it was consuming, I watched the expression of grief which overspread her countenance, as if she were beholding the destruction of some precious object. I demanded whence she had obtained the roll, but she stubbornly refused to inform me. I threatened her with condign punishment; but, folding her arms on her bosom, she claimed her right as a Roman maiden to peruse a work approved of by Augustus. ‘As a vestal, sworn to obey the rules of your order, you have no right to read what may shake your confidence in the great goddess to whom your life is dedicated,’ I answered. Much more I said, using persuasions and threats to learn how she had obtained the roll, and whether others in the temple had imbibed any of these Christian doctrines. Vain, however, were all my efforts. I did not expect to find one so young and gentle so determined. I reminded her that she might be condemned for breaking her vows, and of the fearful punishment which would follow. She smiled, as if she dared my power. While we were speaking the sacred fire went out. She seemed in no way appalled, but handing me two pieces of wood from a felix arbour, suggested that I should at once re-light it. As in duty bound I should have scourged her for her neglect, but her youth and beauty forbade such a proceeding, especially as I had been partly the cause of the catastrophe. I followed her advice, and the flame soon burned up again brightly. Reminding her of the double punishment she had incurred, I sent another vestal to take her place, and delivered her over to the charge of the Vestalis Maxima, with strict injunctions to the venerable dame to keep a strict watch over her movements, and to report to me all she says, and with whom she holds communication. We must afford her liberty, or it will be difficult to convict her. It is a question for consideration whether we should assert the supremacy of our ancient laws, and make an example of the vestal Coelia—there will be no difficulty in proving that she has broken her vows—or whether the time has arrived for assuming the masks we have designed, and at once declaring ourselves convinced of the truth of the Christian doctrine.”
“I dread the task we should impose on ourselves if we turn Christians, and would therefore defer the day as long as possible,” answered Gaius, stretching himself on his couch.
“In that case the vestal Coelia must die,” said Coecus, in a calm tone. “We can have no half measures. If we do not swim with the tide, we must stamp out this creed at once.”
“No easy matter, considering, as I understand, that it has existed well-nigh three hundred years, in spite of all the efforts made to destroy it, since a certain Paul, a man of no mean ability, visited our city on several occasions,” observed Gaius. “Had our fathers known in those days to what this doctrine was tending, they would have nipped it in the bud, and we should have been saved a vast amount of trouble.”
“It is useless regretting the past,” said Coecus; “we must keep our eyes steadily fixed on the future. But, I repeat, that I have no hope of destroying the name of Christian.”