Thus day after day the indefatigable preacher sounded the note of encouragement, or warning, or instruction. He not only held the Christian flock together, but largely increased its numbers. His eloquence frequently excited rapturous applause, which was invariably repressed with sternness. On one occasion the congregation yielded to a panic; a false rumour was circulated that a body of troops was entering the city, to take vengeance on the inhabitants. The Prefect entered the church to allay the fears of the affrighted people who had fled thither, but Chrysostom was overwhelmed with shame, and sharply upbraided them that a Christian congregation should owe the restoration of calmness to a Pagan, whom they ought to have impressed, like Paul before Agrippa, by a display of Christian firmness and fortitude.313
About the middle of Lent, two commissioners, Hellebicus and Cæsarius, arrived at Antioch, invested with full powers to inquire into the late outrage. Their authority was backed by a considerable military force. They were men not only of intelligence and humanity, but Christians in faith; and they had many friends in Antioch. They entered the city, surrounded by a large multitude, who turned weeping faces and held out supplicating hands towards them. The commissioners were moved, and in deep silence entered the lodging provided for them; but it was necessary for them to perform their duty, which was in the first place to announce that Antioch was degraded from the rank of capital of Syria, and its metropolitan honours were transferred to the neighbouring city of Laodicea. Secondly, all the public baths, circuses, theatres, and other places of recreation, were to be closed for an indefinite time. Thirdly, the commissioners were to revise the trials already held by the local governor, and to inflict rigorous sentences upon all the guilty, especially any persons of distinction. These judicial proceedings were to begin on the following day.
The scene at the entrance of the court was a melancholy spectacle; the wives and daughters of the accused hung around it in mean garments sprinkled with ashes, and in attitudes of supplication or despair.
There were no lawyers to plead for the prisoners; they had run away or concealed themselves, to evade the perilous duty. Libanius alone, towards evening, crept timidly into the court. Cæsarius, to whom he was known, observed him, beckoned him to approach, and placed him by his side. In a low voice he bade him take courage; he and his colleague would endeavour as much as possible to spare life. Libanius earnestly thanked him, and promised if he kept his word to immortalise him by an oration in his honour.314
An appeal, however, more effectual, was made to the mercy of the commissioners, by persons widely different from Libanius. As they were riding in state to the hall of justice on the second day, they saw amongst the people a group of strange half-wild-looking beings, in rough coarse garments, with long unkempt hair. These were hermits, who had descended from their solitudes in the neighbouring mountains—some who for years had not been seen in the streets of the city, but now appeared to plead on behalf of the offending people. An old man, diminutive in stature, whose clothing was in tatters, started forward from the group as the commissioners passed by, seized the bridle of one, and commanded them in a tone of authority to dismount. “Who is this mad fellow?” inquired the commissioners. They were informed that he was the revered hermit Macedonius, surnamed Crithophagus, or the barley-eater, because barley was his only sustenance. Hellebicus and Cæsarius immediately alighted, and, falling on their knees before him, craved his pardon for having received him so rudely. “My friends,” replied the solitary, “go to the Emperor and say, ‘You are an emperor, but also a man, and you rule over beings who are of like nature with yourself. Man was created after a Divine image and likeness; do not, then, mercilessly command the image of God to be destroyed, for you will provoke the Maker if you punish his image. For, consider that you are doing this from displeasure at the injury inflicted on a statue of bronze; and how far does a living rational creature exceed the value of such an inanimate object! Let him consider that it is easy to manufacture many statues in the place of those destroyed, but it is wholly impossible for him to make a single hair again of those men who have been put to death.’”315 The other hermits declared that they were all prepared to shed their blood and lay down their lives for the culprits; that they would not withdraw from the city until they were sent as ambassadors to the Emperor, or until the city itself had been acquitted. The joy of Chrysostom at the courage displayed by these hermits was extreme; their noble conduct compensated for the sad pusillanimity lately exhibited by the congregation in the church. He triumphantly contrasts them with the so-called philosophers of Antioch, who appear to have displayed anything but philosophic calmness in the hour of danger. “Where now are those long-bearded, cloak-wearing, staff-bearing fellows—cynic refuse, more degraded than dogs licking up the crumbs under the table, doing everything for their belly? Why, they have all hurried out of the city and hidden themselves in caves and dens, whilst those who inhabited the caves have entered the city, and boldly walk about the forum as if no calamity had happened. Their conduct illustrates what I have never ceased to maintain, that even the furnace cannot injure one who lives in virtue. Such is the power of philosophy introduced to man by Christ.”316 The result of this singular intercession was, that the commissioners consented to suspend the execution of their sentence on those pronounced guilty, until an appeal had been made to the Emperor. Meanwhile the prisoners were to remain in confinement, and their property to be held by the State.
The hermits were anxious to repair to the court of Theodosius, but the commissioners wisely refused, making the length of the journey an objection, but perhaps really because they feared such excitable zealots might frustrate the object of their embassy by imprudent behaviour. It was finally decided that Hellebicus should remain to preserve order in Antioch, while his colleague went to Constantinople, carrying with him an intercessory letter signed by the hermits, and declaring that they were ready to give their own lives in ransom for the city.
Cæsarius departed amidst the blessings and acclamations of the people.317
What had the energetic preacher, who had sustained the spirits of the people so long, been doing, since the arrival of the Emperor’s legates? It had been, indeed, a relief to find that the city was not to be surrendered to the sword; but to a proud and luxurious people the loss of metropolitan rank, and the closing of the public baths, theatres, and public places of amusement, were severe blows. Loud and general was the lamentation over their fallen grandeur and their lost enjoyments. Chrysostom expostulated with them on their discontent. The real dignity of a city did not consist in pre-eminence of rank or vastness of population, but in the virtue of its citizens. What constituted the noblest distinction of Antioch?—the fact that the disciples there were the first to be called Christians—that they had sent relief to the distressed brethren in Judæa in the time of the famine (Acts xi. 28, 29)—that they had sent Paul and Barnabas to that Council at Jerusalem which had emancipated the Gentile Christians from Judaic bondage. These were honourable distinctions, which no other city, not even Rome itself, could rival. They enabled Antioch to look the whole Christian world in the face, for they proved how great had been her Christian courage and her Christian love. These were her true metropolitan honours; and, if these were in aught diminished, not by the size or beauty of her buildings, not by her airy colonnades or her spacious porticos and promenades,318 not by the sacred Grove of Daphne, not by the number and loftiness of her cypresses, not by her fountains or her multitudinous population, or her genial climate,—not by these could she recover her tarnished reputation, but by equity, almsgiving, vigils, prayers, temperance. External size and beauty did not constitute real greatness. David was little of stature, yet he prostrated by a single blow a very tower of flesh. Away with these womanish complaints! “I have heard many in the forum saying, ‘Woe to thee, Antioch! what has become of thee? how art thou dishonoured!’ and when I heard I laughed at the childish understanding of those who say such things. It behoves you not to speak thus now; but, when you see dancing, and drunkenness, and singing, and blaspheming, and swearing, then utter the cry, ‘Woe to thee, O city! what has become of thee?’ but when you see only a few equitable, temperate, and moderate men in the forum, then call the city happy.”319
He remonstrates indignantly with them for their querulous complaints of the prohibition to use the public baths. Bathing, indeed, was a luxury so indispensable to the bodily health and comfort of the people, that they now resorted to the river in large numbers, with very little regard to decency. He reminds those who murmured over this deprivation of their favourite indulgence, that a short time ago, when they were daily expecting an incursion of soldiers, and were flying to the desert and mountains, they would have been too thankful to escape with so cheap a penalty. He urges the duty of reconciliation with enemies as specially incumbent on them when such great efforts were being made to obtain mercy for themselves. They should have one enemy alone, the devil, with whom they should wage an implacable warfare.320
Thus the prophet, ever vigilant for the true welfare and honour of his people, ceased not to lift up his voice.
Cæsarius travelled day and night, and in the course of a week accomplished the eight hundred miles which separated Antioch from Constantinople. But his arrival and his errand had been anticipated. Flavian had reached the court a week before, and the pardon of Antioch was already secured. The aged bishop returned to Antioch just in time to celebrate Easter, and to augment the natural joyfulness of the festival by the tidings which he brought. He had, however, been preceded a few days by an express courier, who delivered the imperial rescript to Hellebicus. When the contents were publicly proclaimed, the pent-up feelings of the people burst forth into demonstrations of almost frantic joy. Hellebicus was received with ovation wherever he went. Libanius walked by his side, reciting passages from his orations, in honour of Theodosius and praise of the two commissioners.321 On Holy Saturday, Flavian himself entered the city, partly attended, partly borne along, by vast crowds of grateful people. On that night the forum was decorated with garlands and illuminated by lanterns. On the next morning, Easter Day, a vast concourse thronged the church, and once more the well-known voice, which had exhorted and encouraged and warned, during the days of their gloom, now poured forth in the sunshine of their joy a pæan of thanksgiving and praise.
“Blessed be God, who hath vouchsafed us to celebrate this holy feast with great joy and gladness, who has restored the Head to the body, the Shepherd to the sheep, the Master to his disciples, the Pontiff to the priests. Blessed be God, who hath done exceeding abundantly above all that we ask or think, for it seemed to us sufficient to be for a time released from the impending calamities; but the merciful God, ever exceeding in His gifts our petitions, has restored to us our father sooner than all our expectation. And not only has our beloved prelate escaped all the perils incident to so long a journey in the winter season, but has found his sister, whom he left on the point of death, still living to welcome his return.”322
He then proceeds to describe the interview of Flavian with Theodosius, as it had been related to him by an eye-witness. The bishop, when introduced into the royal presence, stood at a distance, silently weeping, bending low, and covering his face, as if he himself had been the author of all the late offences. By this attitude he hoped to expel emotions of anger, and introduce the emotion of pity into the Emperor’s breast, before he undertook the actual defence of the city.
Theodosius was moved; he advanced to the bishop, and used no harsh or indignant language, but only mildly reproached with ingratitude a city which he had always treated with lenity, and had long desired and intended to visit. Even had the people been able to accuse him of any injury done to them, they might at least have respected the dead, who could do them no harm (alluding to the destruction of his wife’s and father’s images).
The aged prelate no longer remained silent. With a fresh flood of tears, he poured forth his pathetic appeal to the Christian clemency and forbearance of the Emperor. “He would not attempt to extenuate the offence, the sense of their ingratitude caused them the deepest distress, and they frankly confessed that it deserved the severest chastisement which could be inflicted. Yet the noblest kind of revenge which he could take was freely to forgive the insult; thereby he would defeat the malice of those demons who had tried to work the ruin of the people by seducing them from their allegiance. In like manner, the devil had tried to compass the death of the human race, but his malevolence had been frustrated by God, who offered even heaven to those who had been excluded from paradise. A free pardon would secure for him a station in the hearts of all his subjects, far more enduring than those statues which had been broken down. He reminded him, how once his great predecessor, Constantine, when urged to revenge some insult done to one of his statues, passed his hand over his face, and observed, with a quiet smile, that he did not feel the blow;—a saying which had endeared him to his people more than his military exploits. But why need he refer to Constantine? Theodosius himself, on a previous Easter, had commanded a general release of prisoners, and had nobly exclaimed, ‘Would that it were possible also for me to recall the dead to life!’323 Now he might in some sort realise that wish, by restoring to life a whole city, which lay, as it were, dead under remorse and fear. Such an act of clemency would both strengthen his own throne and the cause of Christianity. Greeks, Jews, and barbarians were waiting to hear his decision. If it was on the side of mercy, all would applaud it, saying, ‘Heavens! how mighty is the power of Christianity, which has restrained the wrath of a monarch who has not his peer in the world.’ How noble a tale for posterity to hear, that what the governor and magistrates of a great city dared not ask, had been granted to the prayer of an old man, because he was the priest of God, and from reverence to the Divine laws. He would solemnly remind him of the words, ‘If ye forgive not men their trespasses, neither will your Father which is in heaven forgive you your trespasses.’ He begged him to remember that there was a day coming in which all men would render an account of their actions, and to imitate the example of God, who, though daily sustaining insults from man, did not cease to bestow blessings upon him. He concluded by declaring that he would never return to Antioch unless he could take back the imperial pardon, but would enrol himself in another city.”324
If Flavian’s intercession was thrown into the form of an oration at all, it is clear that Chrysostom’s version of it, which has been here greatly condensed from the original, must be his own, rather than the speech actually delivered. If it had been only half as long, it could not have been accurately related to him from memory, or faithfully rehearsed by him afterwards. The excitement of addressing so large an audience, on so great an occasion, would naturally stimulate him to amplify and embellish.
There is, however, no reason to doubt that Chrysostom has furnished us with an accurate description of Flavian’s conduct in the interview, and given us the main substance of his arguments. The whole narrative of the occurrence illustrates the difference between the Eastern and Western character. Compare the demeanour of Ambrose and of Flavian. The first speaks in a tone of majestic authority, which brooks no disputing; the other, though far from deficient in courage, approaches the Emperor with that deferential and submissive manner which the Oriental is accustomed to adopt in the presence of a potentate. His tone is that of an appeal, though based upon the highest grounds; not of a command. There is something of the courtier in Flavian; in Ambrose there is more of the pope.
To conclude Chrysostom’s account: the Emperor was deeply affected, though, like Joseph, he refrained himself in the presence of spectators. He declared his intention of granting a free pardon, in language eminently Christian. “If the Lord of the earth, who became a servant for our sakes, and was crucified by those whom He came to benefit, prayed for the pardon of his crucifiers, what wonder was it that a man should forgive his fellow-servants?” He begged Flavian to return with all expedition, that he might release the people from the agony of their suspense. The bishop entreated that the young prince Arcadius might accompany him as a pledge of imperial favour to the city. But Theodosius said that he designed to confer on Antioch a greater honour. He requested the bishop to offer up prayers for the termination of the present war, that he might ratify his pardon by a visit to the city in person. The express courier was then despatched, while Flavian followed at a pace more suitable to his dignity and advanced age.
Chrysostom concludes his discourse by a moral exhortation suggested by those festive demonstrations of joy already described. “Let the lanterns and the chaplets be to them emblems of spiritual things. Let them not cease to be crowned with virtue or to light up a lamp in their soul by the diligent practice of good works; let them rejoice with holy joy, and thank God not only for rescuing them from destruction, but for sending them so wholesome a chastisement, the salutary effects of which would, he trusted, extend to many generations.”325
Thus terminated the celebrated sedition of Antioch. It is a singular and instructive picture of the times: the impulsive character of the people in the great Eastern cities of the Empire, alternating between frantic rage and abject despondency; the expectation of violent imperial vengeance, nothing less than the extermination of the city; the remarkable veneration paid to monks,—these are points which stand out in vivid colours. But still more remarkably does this event supply an example of the softening, humanising influence of Christianity, in a fierce and heartless age. The issue reflects the greatest honour on those who brought it to pass; and they were all Christians: the intrepid old bishop, sacrificing comfort and risking life to intercede, the generous Emperor who yielded to the persuasion of his Christian arguments; the humane commissioners; and last, but not least, the pastor and preacher, who with unwearied patience, invincible courage, unfailing eloquence, sustained the fainting spirits of his flock, and endeavoured to convert their calamity into an occasion of lasting good.
One great and happy result of the recent trouble was a large accession of Pagans to the ranks of the Church. When the city lay under ban, the baths, theatres, and circus were closed, and the panic-stricken people had no heart to pursue their ordinary business. But one place had been constantly open. All knew that in the church prayer was being offered up day by day; and to the first portion of the service, up to the end of the sermon, there was free admission for all without respect of creed. Curiosity alone, if not any deeper feeling, would lead many Pagans to turn into the church, to hear what consolations, what encouragements, the Christian preacher had to offer in this season of general distress and painful suspense. And what had they heard? They had heard an unsparing exposure and denunciation of the follies and vices which prevailed in that great and dissolute city, a trumpet-call to repentance and reformation; they had heard the fleeting nature of earthly honour and earthly riches, their impotence to satisfy the heart or to save the life in the time of danger and distress vividly contrasted with the Christian’s aim of laying up incorruptible treasure in an imperishable world; they had heard of the Christian’s faith that righteousness was the only permanent good, as sin was the only real evil, that to a good man death was only the transition to a more blessed life, and that affliction was useful in purifying and elevating the soul. They had heard the proofs of a Creator, and of His providential care for the things which he had made as evinced by the majesty, beauty, and organisation of the universe, by the conscience and moral faculties of man, as well as by the more direct testimony of the written word.326 There is no evidence as to the number of converts reclaimed from Paganism. Chrysostom only informs us327 that he was occupied for some time after the return of Flavian with confirming in the faith those who “in consequence of the calamity had come to better mind and deserted from the side of Gentile error.”
The sermons themselves are lost.
ILLNESS OF CHRYSOSTOM—HOMILIES ON FESTIVALS OF SAINTS AND MARTYRS—CHARACTER OF THESE FESTIVALS—PILGRIMAGES—RELIQUES—CHARACTER OF PEASANT CLERGY IN NEIGHBOURHOOD OF ANTIOCH. A.D. 387.
Very probably the physical labour and mental strain which Chrysostom had undergone during the events recorded in the previous chapter may have brought on the illness to which he alludes in the homily preached on the Sunday before Ascension Day.328 He was prevented by this attack from taking part in the services which were held some time after Easter under the conduct of Bishop Flavian at the chapels built over the remains of martyrs and saints.329 A variety of homilies delivered by Chrysostom at such “martyries” on other occasions are extant, and it may be as well to introduce here such indications as can be collected from them of the general feeling of the Church, as well as of himself, with regard to saints, and such kindred subjects as pilgrimages and reliques.
Churches had in most instances been erected to commemorate the death of a martyr, or to mark the spot where he died. Tertullian’s saying that “the blood of martyrs was the seed of the Church” thus became verified in a literal, material sense. Socrates (iv. 23) even speaks of the churches of St. Paul and St. Peter at Rome as their “martyries,” as Eusebius330 also calls the church which Constantine built on Golgotha the “martyry” of our Saviour. By the age of Chrysostom the festivals of martyrs and saints had grown so numerous that frequently more than one occurred in the same week.331 Good Friday and Ascension Day, and the Sunday after Whitsun Day (not observed as Trinity Sunday till much later), were especially dedicated to the commemoration of saints.332 The congregation kept a vigil the night before, or very early before dawn on the Saints’ day itself. The vigil consisted of psalms, hymns, and prayers, and was followed early in the day by a full service, when, in addition to the ordinary lessons of the day, the acts or passions of the saint or martyr were read. St. Augustine permitted his people to sit during the reading of them because they were often of great length. Pope Gelasius forbade them to be read because they were so seldom authentic.333 The martyries were generally outside the city walls, not always built over the grave of the saint, but close to it; in which case the congregation assembled at the grave first, and walked in procession from it to the church, singing hymns as they went. There can be no doubt that Chrysostom believed in the intercessory power of departed saints, and encouraged the invocation of their intercession. They were nearer to the Divine ear, and by virtue of their glorious deaths had justly obtained more confidence in making their requests to God than had the inhabitants of earth. He implores Christians not to resort for medical assistance to Jews, who were the enemies of Christ, but to seek aid from His friends the saints and martyrs, who had much confidence in addressing God.334 At the close of his homily on the festival of two soldiers who had been beheaded by Julian for obstinate adherence to Christianity, he says: “Let us constantly visit them, touch their shrine, and with faith embrace their reliques, that we may derive some blessing therefrom; for like soldiers who converse freely with their sovereign when they display their wounds, so these, bearing their heads in their hands, are easily able to effect what they desire at the court of the King of Heaven.”335 So, again, in the homily on Bernice and Prosdoke: “Let us fall down before their reliques ... let us embrace their shrines: not only on their festival, but at other times, let us resort to them and invoke them to become our protectors; for they can use much boldness of speech when dead, more, indeed, than when they were alive, for now they bear in their bodies the marks of Jesus Christ ... let us therefore procure for ourselves, through them, favour from God.”336 Thus the saint is to be appealed to as a kind of friend at court, who will present petitions, and use his influence to obtain a favourable answer from the Monarch; but the further step of invoking saints as the direct dispensers of spiritual and other benefits had not yet been taken. The feeling of the Church of Smyrna towards their beloved martyr and bishop Polycarp, as expressed in A.D. 160 to the Church of Philomelium, still represented the general state of feeling in the Church.337 The Jews and other malignants had suggested, when the remains of Polycarp had been earnestly asked for, that the Christians intended to worship him; and “this they said, being ignorant that we should never be able to desert Christ, or worship any other Being. For Him, being the Son of God, we adore, but the martyrs, as the disciples and imitators of the Lord, we love with a deserved affection; desiring to become partners and fellow-disciples with them.” The language of St. Augustine and St. Chrysostom thoroughly corresponds to that in the passage just cited. “Our religion,” says Augustine, “consists not in the worship of dead men; because if they lived piously they are not considered likely to desire that kind of honour; but would wish Him to be worshipped by us through whose illumination they rejoice to have us partners with them in their merit. They are therefore to be honoured for the sake of imitation, not to be worshipped as a religious act.”338 And in another place: “Christian people celebrate the memory of martyrs with religious solemnity, to stimulate imitation, to become partners in their merits, and to be assisted by their prayers; but in doing this we never offer sacrifice to a martyr, but only to Him who is the God of martyrs.”339 A multitude of passages might be cited from Chrysostom’s homilies on Saints’ Festivals, in which he passionately exhorts to the imitation and emulation of their noble lives and glorious deaths, and dwells on the great advantages to the Church arising from these solemn commemorations. The very memory of the martyrs wrought upon the minds of men in confirming them against the assaults of wicked spirits, and delivering them from impure and unseemly thoughts; ... the death of the martyrs was the exhortation of the faithful, the confidence of Churches, the confirmation of Christianity, ... the reproach of devils, the condemnation of Satan, a consolation in affliction, a motive to patience, encouragement to fortitude, the root, fountain, mother of all which is good.340
But if no inculcations to direct worship of saints are to be found in Chrysostom, it is evident that no small virtue was ascribed by popular faith (and, in his opinion, justly) to their remains.341 Miracles of healing were wrought, or supposed to be wrought, at their tombs; demons were expelled by the application of their ashes to the persons possessed. It is obvious that, where such a belief has taken possession of the popular mind, prayer will very soon be addressed to the saint for the direct bestowal of those advantages which are supposed to be derivable from his reliques. Pilgrimages were fashionable in all parts of Christendom. Prefects and generals, when they visited Rome, hastened to pay their devotion at the tombs of the tentmaker and fisherman; journeys were made into Arabia to visit the supposed site of Job’s dunghill.342
Two different causes seem to have led on the mind of the Church to an increasing veneration of martyrs. First, the Church owed to them a real debt; the heroic steadfastness of their deaths contributed much to promote and establish Christianity. Chrysostom observes how the sight of the aged Ignatius going to die at Rome for his faith—going not only with calmness, but even with alacrity—mightily confirmed the souls of the disciples in the several cities through which he passed.343 “As irrigation made gardens fruitful, so the blood of martyrs gave drink to the Churches.”344 Honour, affection, veneration, easily pass into actual adoration.
Secondly, there is a natural desire to bridge over the chasm which divides the human nature from the Divine, and earth from heaven, by enlisting the agency of some intermediate being. In its earliest conflicts with heresy, theology was chiefly engaged in zealously defending the pure divinity of Christ—his co-equal, co-eternal power and majesty with the Father. The more He was withdrawn into a less accessible region of exalted deity, the more this need of the half-deified human interpositor was felt, and worked itself out at last into a distinct article of faith.
Some of those abuses of saints’ days, which we are apt to associate more especially with medieval times, were far from uncommon in the days of Chrysostom. The day which had begun in fasting, and was preceded by a vigil, too often terminated in a very carnal kind of revelry. “Ye have turned night into day by your holy vigils: do not turn day into night by drunkenness, surfeiting, and lascivious songs; let not any one see you misbehaving in an inn on your return home.”345 A custom prevailed of holding a “love-feast,” at or near the tomb of the saint, which was furnished by the oblations of the wealthier devotees. Chrysostom on one occasion urges his congregation to attend such a sacred banquet when they dispersed after service, instead of hurrying off to the diabolical entertainments at Daphne. The sight of the martyrs, standing as it were near their table, would prevent their pleasure from running to excess.346 But there is abundant evidence in other contemporary writers that these meetings too often did degenerate into scenes of mere conviviality and intemperance. St. Augustine speaks of those who “made themselves drunk at the commemoration of martyrs.”347 St. Ambrose prohibited all such feasts in the churches of Milan; and St. Augustine cited his example to obtain a similar prohibition from Aurelius, the Primate of Carthage.348 St. Basil reprobates a growing custom of trading near the martyries on festival days, under pretence of making a better provision for the feasts, to which we may fairly, perhaps, attribute the universal custom in Christendom of holding fairs on saints’ days.349 As they were in medieval times, so in Roman Catholic countries at the present day, the booths of the fair are in close contiguity with the walls of the church, and they who attend mass in the morning, as well as those who do not attend it at all, may disgrace themselves by drunkenness and all kinds of folly in the evening. Such abuses are an inevitable consequence of keeping up the observance of days after the real enthusiasm for the person or cause which they commemorate has begun to grow, or has altogether grown, cold. Little may ever have been really known about the saint whose memory is celebrated, and that little ceases to speak with any meaning to the minds of later generations. The service, which was once a living reality, becomes a cold and empty form, or the place of religious enthusiasm is supplied by some form of sensual excitement. Crowds of peasants will not fail to be attracted to a church which blazes with thousands of candles arranged in fantastic patterns, and which rings with noisy sensational music: they probably place a superstitious faith in the tutelary power of their patron: but how different is all this from the hearty, genuine, reasonable devotion of more enlightened worshippers to the Lord Himself, and the less strong but more real respect and honour paid by such to His day! It is surely one among many proofs of the deep and lasting hold of Christ’s character upon the mind of men, of the applicability of its influence to all times and places, and of its Divine superiority to that of all His followers, however exalted, that abuses which have accompanied the commemorations of saints have never extended in the same degree to His day.350
As already remarked, Chrysostom was prevented this year by illness from attending the festivals of saints and martyrs, which fell very thickly between Easter and Whitsun Day. He commences his homily preached on the Sunday before Ascension Day with an allusion to his recent sickness, and tells his congregation that, though absent in body from their sacred festivities, he had been present and rejoiced with them in spirit; and now, though he had not fully recovered his health, he could not refrain from meeting his beloved and much-longed-for flock again. He was the more anxious also to occupy his accustomed place on that day, because large numbers of the rustic population from the neighbouring country had flocked into the city and attended the services of the church. They spoke a different dialect, but they were one with the Christian inhabitants of the town in the soundness of their faith; and their habits of simple piety, pure morality, and honourable industry, put to shame the dissolute manners and indolence which prevailed in the city. Their peasant clergy were a noble race of men; they might be seen, one while yoking their oxen to the plough, and marking out furrows in the soil, another while mounting the pulpit and ploughing the hearts of their flock; now cutting away thorns from the ground with a sickle, now cleansing men’s minds from sin by their discourse: for they were not ashamed of hard work, like the people of the city, but of idleness, knowing that it was idleness which taught men vice, and had been from the beginning to those who loved it the schoolmaster of all iniquity. Though little skilled, by training, in reasoning or rhetoric, they proved more than a match for those counterfeit philosophers who paraded themselves about the streets with their professional cloak, staff, and beard, but who could not give any satisfactory information on the subjects upon which they expended such a heap of words,—as the immortality of the soul, the creation of the world, Divine Providence, a future world and judgment. The rustic pastor, being simply and firmly persuaded of the truth of these things, could instruct men with clearness and decision about them; he could give solid matter, the others only polished language, like a man who should have a sword with a silver ornamented hilt, but a weak blade. Their wives were not luxurious creatures, covering themselves with unguents, paints, and dyes, but simple, sober, quiet matrons; which increased the influence of the pastor over the people committed to his charge, and caused the precept of St. Paul, “having food and raiment, let us be therewith content,” to be strictly observed351 among them.
SURVEY OF EVENTS BETWEEN A.D. 387 AND A.D. 397—AMBROSE AND THEODOSIUS—REVOLT OF ARBOGASTES—DEATH OF THEODOSIUS—THE MINISTERS OF ARCADIUS—RUFINUS AND EUTROPIUS.
Some account has now been given of the most remarkable among the homilies delivered by Chrysostom during the first year of his priesthood; not only because to follow the course of the Christian seasons through the cycle of one year seemed the most convenient method of giving specimens of his ordinary style of preaching, but also because these first efforts were seldom if ever surpassed in power and beauty by his later productions. A more extensive survey of his theology, under its several heads, is reserved for the concluding chapter; and the remainder of the ten years during which he resided at Antioch being uneventful as regards his life, it will be profitable to fill up the gap by taking a glance at the world outside his present sphere. Some knowledge of contemporary events and men is indeed necessary to a just appreciation of his position and conduct, when he is summoned to occupy a more public and exalted station.
It is a melancholy scene which meets the eye. The mighty fabric of the Empire crumbles, perhaps more rapidly in this decade than in any previous period of equal length—like an old man whose constitution is thoroughly broken.
Effeminate luxury in the civilised population is matched by the rude ferocity of the barbarians who hem it in or mingle with it, and the new barbarian patch agrees ill with the old garment, which is not strong enough to bear it. The pages of historians are filled with tales of murder, massacre, treachery, venality, corruption, everywhere and of all kinds. There is no national greatness, but great men move across the stage: Theodosius himself, generous, just though passionate, vigorous when roused to a sense of emergency; the last Emperor who deserved the name of “great;” Ambrose, the intrepid advocate of religious duty to God and man, the champion of the rights of Church and hierarchy; Stilicho, the skilful commander of armies and able guardian of the Empire after the death of Theodosius; Alaric, the very type of Gothic force; Rufinus and Eutropius, the clever, scheming adventurers, destitute of all nobility, who in a degenerate court contrive to raise themselves to the pinnacle of power, and are suddenly toppled headlong from it.
The most commanding public character in the West at this time was, and for some years had been, Ambrose, Archbishop of Milan. Disliked but feared by the Arian court, respected and beloved by the people, he fought in some respects a similar battle to that in which Chrysostom was afterwards engaged in the East, and amidst many differences there are also many parallels in the character and history of the two men: the same fearless courage to speak what they believed to be God’s truth, in the face of royalty itself, animated both; in both cases was it rewarded by virulent persecution; both had to contend with an imperious, passionate woman; both were protected from her fury by the populace keeping guard night and day before the walls of the church. In A.D. 384, Ambrose had been summoned before a royal council, and, in the presence of the young Emperor Valentinian II. and the Queen-mother Justina, had been commanded to surrender the Portian Basilica for the use of the Arians. But Ambrose had replied undauntedly, that not one inch of ground which had been consecrated to truth would he concede to error.352 For more than two years Ambrose maintained his ground against all the stratagems of his adversaries. On one occasion they seized the Portian Basilica, but dared not hold it in the face of the infuriated people. Messengers from court endeavoured to maintain before the archbishop that the Emperor had a right to dispose of the churches as he pleased, but the argument was contemptuously dismissed as a base sophistry. “What!” he cried; “the Emperor has no right to violate the house of a private individual, and think you that he may do violence to the house of God? No! let him take all that is mine—my land, my money, though these belong to the poor; if he seeks my patrimony, let him seize it; if my person, I will present it to him: but the church it is not lawful for me to surrender, or for him to accept.”353 Force was not more successful than argument. Soldiers were sent to dislodge him and his congregation from one of the basilicas, but instead of drawing their swords they fell on their knees, and declared that they came not to attack the archbishop, but to pray with him. The effect of an edict was tried in A.D. 386,354 which permitted free worship to all who professed the creed of Rimini (an Arian creed), and rendered liable to capital punishment any who should impede the action of the edict, as offenders against the imperial majesty. Under shelter of this edict, the Portian Basilica was again demanded, but Ambrose refused to recognise such an edict, which militated against his sense of duty to a higher power. “God forbid that I should yield the heritage of Jesus Christ. Naboth would not part with the vineyard of his fathers to Ahab, and should I surrender the house of God? the heritage of Dionysius, who died in exile for the faith; of Eustorgius the confessor; of Miroclus, and all the faithful bishops which were before me?”355 But though Ambrose disobeyed, the penalties of the edict were not enforced upon him. An order of banishment was served upon him, expressed in vague terms: “Depart from the city, and go where you please.” But Ambrose did not please to go anywhere, and remained where he was, moving up and down the city, and officiating as usual in the churches, using in his sermons the same Scripture parallels to indicate the Queen-mother, “Herodias” and “Jezebel,” which Chrysostom afterwards applied to the Empress Eudoxia. He preaches day after day, guarded by his faithful flock, who during passion-tide suffered him not to quit the cathedral for fear of violence to his person. Amongst that crowd, touched by the spell of the chants and hymns which Ambrose taught the people356 to beguile the tediousness of their watch, and impressed by his pungent and decisive doctrine, are two remarkable persons, a mother and her son. They are Monica and Augustine. Monica is among the most faithful in watching, the most earnest in praying for the welfare of the bishop and the church. Augustine is about thirty-two years old; he has been in many places and passed through many phases of thought. He has subdued the vices and follies which stained his youth; he has shaken off the errors of Manicheism which for a time enthralled him; he has been a teacher of rhetoric at Tagaste, at Carthage, at Rome; and Symmachus has now obtained for him a professorial chair at Milan. But Pagan literature is losing its hold upon him. Plato no longer fascinates him equally with Holy Scripture. He is gravitating steadily towards Christianity, and in another year, April 387, just about the time that Chrysostom is delivering his homilies on the Statues, he will crown his mother’s hopes by making a public confession of his faith, and receiving baptism at the hands of Ambrose.357
One more effort was made to win the contest, this time through diplomacy. The court proposed that the question under dispute should be settled by arbitration, the judges to be selected by Ambrose and Auxentius the Arian bishop. But Ambrose would not accept the arbitrators nominated by Auxentius, four of whom were Pagans and one a catechumen. In the name of himself and the clergy of his province he denied the validity of the tribunal. In an address to the people the same lofty tone of independence was maintained. “He would pay deference to the Emperor, but never yield in things unlawful: the Emperor was ‘in the Church, not above it.’”358 So he remained master of the field. The unfinished basilica, which had been the prize contended for, was consecrated by Ambrose with great pomp, and the joy of the people was completed by the discovery of the martyrs’ skeletons beneath the pavement, pronounced to be those of Gervasius and Protasius, who had suffered in the persecution of Diocletian. When demoniacs shuddered on being placed in proximity to these reliques, and a blind man was cured by the application to his eyes of a handkerchief which had been placed in contact with these same reliques, the crown was put on the triumph of Ambrose; the people were more firmly convinced than ever that his cause was the cause of God.359
He was so indisputably the ablest man of the time in the West, that, when danger impended over the state, the very court which persecuted him turned to him to rescue the country. Threatening messages came from the court of Maximus at Treves. Ambrose was the ambassador selected to go and pacify or intimidate the tyrant. Maximus was a Catholic, and a ruthless persecutor of those whom he deemed heretics, especially Priscillianists; yet Ambrose did not hesitate to denounce his cruelty to brethren who were Christians, however erring, as well as his disloyal attitude towards Valentinian. The embassy was unsuccessful, but the dignity of the ambassador and of the court which he represented was fully maintained. The artifices by which another ambassador, the Syrian Domninus, was blinded to the preparations of Maximus for the invasion of Italy; the passage of the Alps by the usurper; the flight of Justina and her son to Thessalonica; the prompt march of Theodosius to the succour of Italy, and his complete victory over Maximus, near Aquileia,—belong to the secular historian; but the connection between Theodosius and Ambrose will be related here more in detail.
There is no account of the first meeting between the two great characters of the day—the Emperor and the archbishop. That Ambrose immediately exercised influence over the imperial mind may be inferred from the mildness of the measures by which the embers of the late revolution were extinguished. No bloody executions took place; no rigorous search for rebels was made; the mother and daughter of Maximus—who had been himself beheaded—were provided with a maintenance. Ambrose, in one of his letters, thanks the Emperor for granting liberty, at his request, to several exiles and prisoners, and for remitting the sentence of death to others.
Theodosius could be generous to enemies, and was the zealous friend of Catholic Christianity, but he was a strict punisher of any violations of civil order, even when the offenders were Christian. The people of Callinicum in Osrhoene, instigated by the bishop and some fanatical monks, had set fire to a Jewish synagogue, and to a church of the sect of Valentinians. The Emperor directed the Count of the East to punish the offenders, and commanded the bishop to restore the buildings at the expense of the Church. But the extension of such favour to heretics was in the sight of Ambrose intolerable. It might, indeed, have been wrong to disturb civil order, but it was far more wrong to reinstate error: to order Christians to rebuild a place of worship for those who set Christ at naught was, in his eyes, simple profanity. He expressed his opinion to the Emperor in a letter. It is the first great instance of the Church distinctly claiming a pre-eminence of authority superseding that of civil law. “If I am not worthy to be listened to by you, how can I be worthy to transmit, as your priest, your vows and prayers to God?” Basing on this ground his right to speak out his mind, he declares that “if the Bishop of Callinicum obeyed the imperial command, he would be guilty of culpable weakness, and the Emperor would be responsible for it. If he refused to obey, the Emperor could execute his will by force of arms only; the labarum, perhaps the standard of Christ, would be employed to rebuild a temple where Christ would be denied. What a monstrous inconsistency!” The last words which it contained were: “I have endeavoured to make myself heard in the palace; do not place me under the necessity of making myself heard in the church;” but the letter was unanswered, and so Ambrose put his threat into execution. He preached in Milan in the presence of the Emperor; “he compared the Christian priest to the prophets of the Old Testament, whose duty it was to proclaim God’s message to the king himself, as Nathan did to David. As the Israelites were warned not to say, when they entered the land of Canaan, ‘My virtue has deserved these good things,’ but ‘the Lord God has given them,’ so the Emperor should remember that he was what he was by the mercy of God. Therefore, he ought to love the body of Christ, the Church—to wash, kiss, and anoint her feet, that all the dwelling where Christ reposes might be filled with the odour; that is, he ought to honour his least disciples, and pardon their faults; every one of the members of the Christian body was necessary to it, and ought to receive his protection.”
Having uttered such words, he descended from the altar steps. Theodosius perceived that the archbishop had taken up his parable against him, and as Ambrose was going out of the church he stopped him, saying, “Is it I whom you have made the subject of your discourse?” “I have said that which I deemed useful for you,” Ambrose replied. “I perceive it is of the synagogue that you would speak,” rejoined Theodosius. “I own that my commands have been a little severe, but I have already softened them, and these monks are troublesome men.” “I am going to offer the sacrifice,” said Ambrose; “enable me to do so without fear for you; deliver me from the load which oppresses my spirit.” “It shall be so,” responded the Emperor; “my orders shall be mitigated; I give you my promise.” But Ambrose was not satisfied with so vague an assurance. “Suppress the whole matter,” he said; “swear it to me, and, on your sworn promise, I proceed to offer the sacrifice.” The Emperor swore; Ambrose celebrated mass; “and never,” said he, in a letter written the day after to his sister, “did I experience such sensible marks of the presence of God in prayer.”360
In the spring of A.D. 389, Theodosius made his triumphal entry into Rome, accompanied by Valentinian and his own son Honorius, a boy of ten. His arrival was preceded by two popular enactments: one a decree, renouncing for himself and family all bequests made by codicils—striking a blow at a vicious custom, which had long prevailed, of bribing imperial favour for particular families, by bequeathing large legacies to the reigning sovereign. By heathen emperors these bequests had been sought with great cupidity; sick or old men were sometimes threatened with an acceleration of death, unless they satisfied the royal expectations in this way. The other, no less popular, decree was, to abolish the custom by which royal couriers, when conveying news of victory, exacted donations from the villages through which they passed. The victory of Theodosius over Maximus was the first which had been gratuitously proclaimed along the route to Rome; and the people greeted the Emperor as he made his progress to the capital with all the warmer welcome in consequence.361
Rome had at this period scarcely recovered from the ferment into which society had been thrown by the three years’ residence of Jerome, A.D. 382-385. His denunciations of clerical luxury; his cutting satires on the vices and follies of the laity; his allurement to monastic life of some of the wealthiest and noblest of the Roman ladies, had stirred up a tumult of feeling for the most part adverse to him. But Theodosius prudently abstained from interfering with the religious debates of Rome. In Constantinople he was the absolute sovereign; in Rome he desired to appear simply as the successful general and the foremost citizen. He assumed no imperial or Asiatic splendour; he exhibited no fastidious abhorrence of statues, temples, and other remnants of Paganism. Symmachus, the most eminent Pagan citizen, was cordially received, and gratified by the promise of consulship. The result of this amiable and moderate conduct was that some of the most powerful Roman families embraced the faith of the Emperor.
A.D. 390. But the generosity which Theodosius had manifested towards the people of Antioch, his moderation after the defeat of Maximus, and during his triumphal residence in Rome, was presently stained by one of those paroxysms of anger to which he was occasionally subject. The intercession of Flavian had averted any such outburst in the case of the sedition of Antioch; the authority of Ambrose, too late to prevent the crime, enforced penance for the cruel vengeance executed on the people of Thessalonica.
Botheric, the governor of Thessalonica, had imprisoned a favourite charioteer for attempting to commit a disgusting crime. The people, passionately attached to the races of the circus, demanded his release on a certain day to take part in the contest. The governor refused, and the people then broke out into rebellion; the tumult was with difficulty quelled by the troops, and not before Botheric had been mortally wounded, several other officers torn to pieces, and their mangled remains dragged through the streets. The irritation of the Emperor, on hearing of this barbarous violence, was extreme; and all the more so, because of Thessalonica he could have expected better things. It did not contain, like Antioch, Rome, or Alexandria, a large mixed population, but one almost exclusively Christian, and for the most part even Catholic. The city was the scene of his early triumphs, and frequently honoured by his visits. It is possible that Ambrose may have pushed his exhortations to clemency too far in the first glow of the Emperor’s resentment. At any rate, the counsel of those rivals or enemies of Ambrose, who represented that the affair belonged purely to civil government, and should be decided independently of all clerical interference, prevailed. Rufinus, the flattering, heartless courtier, persuaded Theodosius that a public offence of such magnitude deserved the most merciless punishment which could be inflicted. Orders were issued to the officials at Thessalonica to assemble the populace, as if for a fête, in the circus, and then to let in the troops upon them. This barbarous mandate was too faithfully executed. The unsuspecting victims crowded into their favourite place of amusement; at a given signal the soldiers rushed in, and in the course of two or three hours the ground was strewn with some 7000 corpses of men, women, and children.362 The horror of the people of Milan was only equalled by their astonishment. Was it possible that he who had displayed such magnanimity and Christian moderation could be guilty of an act which savoured of the most heathen treachery and ferocity? When the Emperor returned from Rome, Ambrose withdrew from Milan into the country, and thence wrote to him a letter expressing his horror at the recent massacre; exhorting him to the deepest repentance and humiliation as the only hope of obtaining mercy from God, and declaring that he could not celebrate mass again in his presence. The mode by which the Emperor was to expiate his guilt is not indicated in this epistle, and he presented himself soon afterwards at the doors of the cathedral church with his usual royal retinue. But he was confronted by Ambrose in his pontifical robes, who with flashing eyes expressed his astonishment at such audacity, and barred the entrance with his person. “I see, Emperor, you are ignorant of the flagrancy of the murder which you have perpetrated. Perhaps your unlimited power blinds you to your guilt, and obscures your reason. Yet consider your frail and mortal nature; think of the dust from which you were formed, and to which you will return, and beneath the splendid veil of your purple recognise the infirmity of the flesh which it covers. You rule over men who are your brethren by nature, and by service to a common King, the Creator of all things. How then will you dare to plant your feet in His sanctuary, and elevate your hands towards Him, all dripping as they are with the blood of men unjustly slain? How will you take into your hands the sacred body of the Lord, or dare to put His precious blood to those lips, which by a word of anger have spilt the blood of so many innocent victims? Withdraw, then, and add not a fresh crime to those with which you are already burdened.” The Emperor returned, conscience-stricken and weeping, to his palace. For eight months no intercourse took place between him and Ambrose. Christmas approached; exclusion from the church at such a season seemed insupportable to the Emperor. Rufinus found him one day dissolved in tears. “The church of God,” he cried, “is open to the slave and the beggar, but to me it is closed, and with it the gates of heaven; for I remember the words of the Lord: ‘Whatsoever ye shall bind on earth shall be bound in heaven.’” Rufinus sought to console him: “I will hasten to Ambrose, and force him to release you from this bond.” “No,” said the Emperor, “you will not persuade Ambrose to violate divine law from any fear of imperial power.” Rufinus, however, sought an interview with the archbishop; but Ambrose spurned him indignantly from him, as being the chief counsellor of the late massacre. Rufinus informed him that the Emperor was approaching. “If he comes,” said the prelate, “I will repel him from the vestibule of the church.” The minister returned to the Emperor discomfited, and advised him to abstain from visiting the church; but Theodosius had subdued all pride, and replied that he would now go and submit to any humiliation which Ambrose might see proper to impose. He advanced to the church. Perceiving the archbishop in the exterior court or atrium, he cried, “I have come; deliver me from my sins.” “What madness,” replied Ambrose, “has prompted you to violate the sanctuary, and to trample on divine law?” “I ask for my deliverance,” said the humbled monarch; “shut not the door which God has opened to all penitents.” “And where is your penitence?” said the archbishop; “show me your remedies for healing your wounds.” “It is for you to show them to me,” Theodosius replied; “for me to accept them.” Once more Ambrose had gained the day. He could prescribe his own terms. First, he required that the recurrence of a similar crime should be guarded against by a decree which should interpose a delay of thirty days between a sentence of confiscation or death and the execution of it. At the expiration of this period the sentence was to be presented to the Emperor for final reconsideration. Theodosius consented, ordered the law to be drawn up, and subscribed it with his own hand. He was then admitted within the walls, but in deeply penitential guise; stripped of imperial ornaments, prostrate on the pavement, beating his breast, tearing his hair, and crying aloud, “My soul cleaveth unto the dust, quicken thou me according to thy word.” So he remained during the first portion of the Liturgy. When the offertory began, he rose, advanced within the choir to present his offering, and was about to resume the place which at Constantinople he usually occupied—a seat in the midst of the clergy, in the more elevated portion of the choir. But Ambrose determined, by taking advantage of the Emperor’s present humiliation, to put a stop to this custom. An archdeacon stepped up to Theodosius, and informed him that no layman might remain in the choir during the celebration. The submissive Emperor withdrew outside the rails. When he had returned to Constantinople, he was invited by Nectarius, the archbishop, to occupy his accustomed chair in the choir. “No!” replied Theodosius, with a sigh; “I have learned at Milan the insignificance of an Emperor in the Church, and the difference between him and a bishop. But no one here tells me the truth. I know not any bishop save Ambrose who deserves the name.”363 He had hit the truth. The difference between the conduct of Ambrose and of Nectarius symbolised the difference between the character of the Western and Eastern Church generally: the one stern, commanding, jealous of any encroachment of the civil power; the other, subservient, submissive, courtier-like; the one aspiring and advancing, the other receding and decadent. Chrysostom would have told him the truth; but Chrysostom, in his uncompromising and fearless honesty of purpose and speech, is such a grand exception among the patriarchs of Constantinople, that he proves the general rule. Even Flavian had only supplicated mercy from the Emperor; Ambrose commanded it.
On one subject the deference of Theodosius for the opinion of Ambrose caused him some embarrassment. Ambrose, in common with the other Western prelates, had recognised Paulinus as Bishop of Antioch—the priest of the Eustathian party who had been consecrated by Lucifer of Cagliari; and he now acknowledged Evagrius, his successor. Theodosius was distracted between his friendship for Flavian, the rival of Evagrius, and for Ambrose. Flavian was summoned to court. The Emperor implored him to go to Rome and justify his claims before the Pope; but Flavian refused. At the suggestion of Ambrose, the Western Bishops assembled in council at Capua, and there delegated the decision to Theophilus, Patriarch of Alexandria. Once more Flavian was summoned to court, and advised to submit to the arbitration of Theophilus; but he was still intractable. “Take my bishopric at once, and give it to whom you please; but I will submit neither my honour nor my faith to the judgment of my equals.” Nearly eighteen months were consumed in these negotiations. The West grew impatient. The letters of Ambrose took a severer tone: “Flavian has something to fear; that is why he avoids examination. Will he place himself outside the Church, the communion of Rome, and intercourse with his brethren?” The strife was mercifully broken off by the sudden death of Evagrius, before he had time to designate a successor; and the wound was salved, though not healed. That final good work was destined to be accomplished by Chrysostom.364
A.D. 392. Only a few years more of life remained for Theodosius, and his reign was occupied at the end as at the beginning by quelling rebellion in the West. When he returned to the East, in A.D. 391, after the defeat of Maximus, he had generously left the youthful Valentinian in full possession of all his hereditary dominions, which he had rescued for him from the usurper. Arbogastes, a Gaul, was appointed general of the forces; Ambrose was a kind of general counsellor. But Arbogastes was bold, ambitious, unscrupulous. He possessed much power; he determined to acquire the whole. He obeyed the commands of his young sovereign or not, as suited his pleasure and purposes, and surrounded him with creatures of his own, who, under the semblance of courtiers, acted as spies and gaolers. Valentinian’s residence at Vienne, in Gaul, became his prison rather than his palace. The sequel belongs to secular history, and is well known. An open rupture took place. Arbogastes threw off the mask. Valentinian was found strangled, too late to receive baptism at the hands of Ambrose, whose coming he had awaited with great eagerness as soon as he knew that his life was in danger.365 Once more Italy became the prey of a usurper; once more the veteran Emperor of the East roused himself from his well-earned repose, collected a huge force, consulted John, the hermit of the Thebaid, on the issue of the war, solicited the favour of Heaven by visiting the principal places of devotion in the city, and kneeling on flint before the tombs of martyrs and apostles, then set out on his march, and by the summer of A.D. 394 again looked down from the Alps on the plains of Venetia, near the scene of his former victory over one usurper, and now covered with the tents belonging to the army of another. He prosecuted the campaign in the same religious spirit in which he had undertaken it. The first assault made on the 5th of September against the enemy was repulsed. Theodosius rallied and harangued the troops lifted up his eyes to heaven, and cried: “O Lord, Thou knowest that I have undertaken this war only for the honour of thy Son, and to prevent crime going unpunished; stretch forth, I pray Thee, thy hand over thy servants, that the heathen say not of us, ‘Where is their God?’” The second assault was more successful; the night was spent by the Emperor in prayer, who was rewarded towards dawn by a vision of two horsemen, clothed in white, who bade him be of good cheer, for that they were the apostles St. Philip and St. John, and would not fail to come to his succour on the following day. The issue of that day was decisive; the overthrow of Arbogastes complete; his army routed; himself slain.366
The conqueror was received by Ambrose, at Milan, with transports of joy. The victory was nobly signalised by a display of Christian clemency. Free pardon was proclaimed in the church (whither the offenders had fled for refuge) to all those Milanese who had joined the side of the usurper. Among them were the children of Arbogastes, and of the puppet king whom he had set up, Eugenius. They were made to expiate the crimes of their Pagan fathers by submitting to baptism.367
But there was an increasing shade of gloom which overcast the general sunshine of joy. The health of Theodosius, long undermined by a disease, was now manifestly fast giving way. He was sensible of his danger, and despatched a message to Constantinople, desiring that his younger son, Honorius, should be sent to join him at Milan. The young prince, accompanied by his cousin Serena (the wife of Stilicho) and his little sister Placidia, set off without delay. They reached Milan early in the year A.D. 395. Some shocks of earthquake, and terrific storms, which coincided with their arrival, were regarded as portents of future evil. The malady of Theodosius, a dropsical disorder, was rapidly gaining ground. He revived a little at the sight of his son, and received the Eucharist from the hands of Ambrose, which he had hitherto refused, as having too recently been engaged in the sanguinary scenes of war. He gave audience to a deputation of Western bishops, who came to pay him homage, and besought them to heal the schism of Antioch by acknowledging Flavian. He besought the Pagan members of the senate of Rome to embrace the Christian faith, adding the somewhat potent argument, that Pagan worship must no longer expect any pecuniary aid from the State. He appeared for a few times at the circus, where races were held in honour of his victory and the arrival of the young prince; but one day, while dining, he was taken suddenly worse, and expired early the next morning, Jan. 17th, A.D. 395, in the fiftieth year of his age, and the sixteenth of his reign. Those who watched by his bedside thought they detected the name of Ambrose faintly murmured by his dying lips.368