DISCIPLESHIP.
Hyacintha slept soundly after her bath, and a supper of fruit and
delicately-baked bread, crisp and fresh, after the fashion of our
modern biscuits. A draught of the pure water from the spring on the
hill above the house of the vestals was refreshing, and it was the
daily duty of the vestals to draw it for the service of the house and
the temple.
Hyacintha was awoke by Lucia’s voice.
“It is nearing the dawn,” she said; “the cock has crowed twice, and I
see the first signs of Aurora’s coming feet in the eastern sky. Now
arise, little maiden, and I will dress you for your presentation to the
priest.”
Hyacintha sprang up at once, and after another ablution of clear cold
water, the attendant vestal put upon her little feet a pair of sandals,
and the fine robe which she was to wear under the stole. The stole
itself and the fillet which was to bind her hair the vestal placed in
a basket, and then telling Hyacintha to follow her, she led the way to
the chamber of Terentia Rufilla.
This chamber was nearly adjoining the temple, and to reach it, it was
necessary to descend again and cross the large atrium, now almost
dark, except for the faint light of a lamp which hung in the large
porta or gateway.
The sunshine could not reach this stately hall, which consisted of
eight Corinthian columns of veined marble, with pure white bases.
The state apartments were on this lower storey of the vestals’ house,
and as the floor was thirty feet below the Nova Via, with the walls
resting against the Palatine, it must have been very damp and chill;
the pure air of heaven could never reach it; and in spite of double
walls, double floors, and hot-water currents--of which distinct traces
are left--it could not have been a healthy abode.
The living rooms from which Hyacintha and Lucia had descended were,
perhaps, more salubrious, but the Imperial Palace, rising at that
time one hundred and fifty feet above the building, must have always
over-shadowed the whole house, and prevented the light from entering,
as well as the air.
A heavy curtain was drawn aside by one of the servants of the temple,
and the next moment Hyacintha found herself in the presence of the
Vestal Maxima, her father’s kinswoman.
She had been keeping watch that night in the temple, and wore
a different and more elaborate dress--as the sign of her high
vocation--than that in which Hyacintha had seen her on the preceding
evening.
The Vestal Maxima wore a long stole of snow-white linen, drooping
gracefully to her feet. A loose hood, falling a little from the back
of the head, displayed a close-fitting cap, bound with gold fillets,
and lay in easy folds over her shoulders. A large pallium, of a deep
violet colour, was gathered over her left arm, and wound closely round
her waist. Terentia Rufilla was in the autumn of her life, and when the
little novice made her profound reverence, as Lucia had instructed her
to do, a smile, which was half pitying and half admiring, spread over
her noble countenance.
“Welcome, little maiden,” she said. “Thy name is of Greek origin, and
scarcely one to be registered as a vestal. Was that name chosen by the
noble Severus?”
“I know not, lady,” said Hyacintha. “Methinks my mother chose it
because she loved the flower and its sweet scent, but I cannot tell.”
“It will, perhaps, be better to register thy name as Severa, and yet
Hyacintha suits thee so well, I think it must stand.
“Hyacintha Severa, the daughter of the noble Severus,” she said, waving
her hand to the maidens; “lead the way.”
The maidens turned towards an entrance to the chamber opposite to that
by which Lucia had entered, and as two of their number held the curtain
aside, the others passed through, chanting a low monotonous song as
they went.
The sun had risen now, and the sky above the temple court was bright,
and of the indescribably lovely blue of early day.
The light fell upon the vestals’ white garments till they glistened
like snow, and upon the short clustering curls of little Hyacintha’s
head till they shone like gold.
The procession crossed the court and ascended a flight of wide and
very shallow steps, shadowed by the portico, on which were seen, in
bas-relief, many figures, illustrating the past history of the vestals,
from the earliest date to the time of which I write.
A nation’s history was almost told by these figures, to which Hyacintha
did not even raise her eyes, so engrossed was she with the first sight
of the temple of her dreams.
At last they were within the sacred building, where in the gloom and
shadows the sacred light of the fire upon the altar shone like a star
of glory.
Hyacintha had eyes for nothing but that light--that clear lambent
light--shed by the sacred and never-to-be-extinguished fire, which
had been brought down from high heaven and preserved here by those
consecrated and set apart for the office.
The child’s heart thrilled with a sense of awe, and a gentle sigh
escaped her. She clasped her hands, and looking up to the opening in
the temple roof to the clear azure sky, her eyes filled with tears,
which one by one fell upon her bare hands and arms in crystal drops.
The Vestal Maxima noticed this unwonted expression of feeling, and her
thoughts went back to the day--now thirty years ago--when she, too, had
entered the temple for the first time to be presented to the priest.
The prime of youth was over for her; the “sacred fire” had grown dim.
The heavenly light and warmth had, she knew, waned. At her noble
heart there was an aching void, and there was a hungry yearning for
something--for _some one_--which was not satisfied. As she looked at
the little earnest enthusiast by her side, she wondered if all the long
years of temple service which stretched before her would be as barren
of real satisfaction and true peace as hers had been.
Terentia Rufilla saw at a glance that Hyacintha, the daughter of
Severus, was not of the ordinary type of the maidens over whom she held
rule. Many of them came with no serious thought of responsibility; many
with positive distaste, and simply because the vocation was chosen for
them by their parents, and they had no choice in the matter.
It was confessedly a grand office, this of the vestal virgins, in the
eyes of the world. To be a vestal was to bear about the imprimatur of
patrician birth and noble ancestry. No plebeian might ever wear that
snow-white stole, or aspire to the high office of a Vestal Maxima.
This pride of rank and personal aggrandisement were often the
distinguishing characteristics of the vestal virgins. As they passed
through the public streets, the way was cleared for them by attendant
lictors. If by chance they met a slave on his way to the arena or the
fire, and he prayed for mercy, the vestal could procure his pardon. Her
word was enough, and the life of the criminal was spared!
All these things conspired to feed the self-importance and vanity of
many women; and then there was their palatial atrium, and their own
chambers, which were furnished with all things befitting the high rank
of Roman ladies.
Terentia Rufilla had seen many of the proud ones brought low, and the
vain and frivolous ones made shipwreck. The cases of the latter were
rare, but there had been such, even during her time of office, and her
heart might well be heavy as she thought over them.
The beauty and rare simplicity of her little kinswoman had touched her
from the first moment of their meeting, and now as she led her up to
the old priest, who was awaiting them in a side vestibule, she felt a
yearning tenderness and love for Hyacintha which made her silvery voice
almost mournful as she said--
“I bring you the daughter of the noble Severus, to be consecrated for
the service of the goddess and of Rome, in this temple.”
The priest, an old man, who had received the candidates for many, many
years, went through the usual form of questions as to Hyacintha’s
willingness to take the solemn oath he tendered to her.
The child understood but little of the meaning of much that was said
to her, but she knew that the penalty was death if she should break her
vow.
As she knelt before the old priest her childlike transparent soul
received no impression but that she was never to have any other home
than the temple; and she wished for no other. She was to learn to spin
and weave the sacred curtains and veils for the altar, and she desired
nothing better.
She was to submit herself entirely to the rule of the Vestal Maxima and
those of the sacred virgins whom she should appoint to watch over her
and instruct her. She was to be under training for eight or ten years,
as the Vestal Maxima should see good, and then her full consecration
would take place, and she would take her turn in watching in the temple
at night and feeding the sacred fire--which only the fully consecrated
were ever allowed to do.
“And now, beloved,” the priest said, “Hyacintha, the daughter of the
noble Severus, I give thee entrance as a disciple, to be educated for a
vestal priestess, to minister in sacred things, and to do for the Roman
people what the law has appointed.”
Then Hyacintha took the vow in the prescribed form, and, rising, the
Vestal Maxima invested her with the stole, and bound a purple fillet
round her head; then bending with an irresistible impulse, she kissed
the pure sweet brow of her little kinswoman, and with a reverence to
the priest, she committed her to the care of Lucia, and, followed by
the band of vestals, chanting low as they went, she slowly left the
temple.
* * * * *
Hyacintha’s new life was hardly what she had pictured it would be; what
seemed so solemn and grave a responsibility to her, was an everyday
routine to many of her companions.
The appointed tasks were done, and the appointed work fulfilled, and
then Hyacintha was free to wander about in the gardens, which sloped up
the Cælian Hill, and where the pure cold water of the spring was drawn
of which Hyacintha had drunk a refreshing draught on the first evening
of her arrival.
Lucia had committed the little Hyacintha to the especial care of a
Roman maiden, who had nearly passed her time of probation, and would
soon be allowed to take charge of the sacred fire in the stillness of
the night.
When this vestal, who was named Chloe, went abroad with her lictors in
attendance, Hyacintha often accompanied her; and when the autumn and
winter was passed, and the glory of the Roman spring broke over the
Campagna, strewn broadcast with the flowers of every hue, Hyacintha’s
spirits seemed to rise to meet it, and the child’s heart within her
beat with a gladness which it had not known since she left her northern
home a year before.
Clœlia had paid her several visits; and once or twice, under the charge
of an older vestal, she had seen her brother.
Casca was still living in Clœlia’s house, awaiting more definite orders
from his father, which had not yet arrived. For though the posting
service of the Romans was wonderfully arranged and carried out, whole
months must elapse before the perils and losses of his children could
reach the ear of Severus. It would, indeed, be a downfall to his pride
to know that both his son and daughter had reached Rome robbed of all
the possessions which had been provided for them, as meet for the
children of a man holding high office in the Roman city of Verulam.
Casca was well content. He attended the schools, and listened with
the most profound interest to the orations delivered daily from the
Rostra, where the eloquence of distinguished scholars was in itself an
education.
The military training, on account of his wound, would not have been
possible for Casca under any circumstances, and he rejoiced with all
his heart to be spared the discipline.
The boy’s gentleness and goodness won more and more upon Clœlia’s
heart, and while Casca wrote upon parchment wise sayings, which he
gathered from the teaching of the philosophers and poets, Clœlia would,
when the boy paused for a few minutes to rest his hand, tell him
stories of old Roman valour and adventure, which was a delight to her
to recount and to Casca to hear.
Never had a winter passed so rapidly for Casca; and when, with
lengthening days, the outdoor life of the city began again, neither
Clœlia nor Casca was altogether pleased to think that their long
evenings in the little atrium of the Villa Caius were over.
“Who can foresee what another winter may bring,” Clœlia said. “The
noble Severus will surely send orders for your future, and if he
decrees it, you must leave my humble roof. I know not when I shall see
Caius again; he is never at rest on shore, and must ever be fighting
pirate or storm. The gods have preserved him hitherto--it may be that
they will not forsake him while I, his mother, live. And for the rest,
sons are made for something better than to sit with folded hands by
their mother’s side. That, at least, is not the place of a true Roman.”
It was a sunny morning, early in March, when Casca set forth for the
school with a bundle of papers and vellum rolls, fastened together and
hung across his shoulder.
He yet wore the short toga prætexta which reached below the knee, and
the golden bulla, which was a hollow ball of gold, hung round his neck.
Casca had easily obtained admission to the school, which was presided
over by a master who had no fear that the son of Severus would fail to
recompense him for his trouble. And, indeed, there was something very
winning in the gentle boy. His nervous temperament and dislike of all
scenes of bloodshed and warfare had irritated his warlike father, but
they were qualities which endeared him to the scholar and the poet, and
Casca had become a great favourite in the schools, and was remarkable
for his ability and quickness in learning.
It was now many months since the martyrdom of Alban, and Casca began to
think of that dreadful scene which his father compelled him to witness
as a hideous dream. The persecutions of the Christians still raged,
but in Rome there was so much space and so wide an area that the boy
had not necessarily been brought in contact with the scenes which were
continually enacted in the Coliseum.
To-day there was a chariot race in the Circus Maximus, and when the
morning school was over one of Casca’s companions invited him to stroll
with him in that direction, in the hope of getting near the race. The
Circus Maximus was of such enormous extent that this was no easy matter.
The arena had in the centre a group of columns and obelisks on a raised
platform, and round this the chariots raced. The judges sat here, and
those to whom the chariots and horses belonged, moved round and round,
shouting and waving their hands, and encouraging those who were in the
arena to urge on their fiery horses to the utmost speed.
The spring sunshine illuminated the temple and buildings on either side
of the arena. The tiers of seats were filled with a vast multitude
all in holiday attire, while the Emperor and his suite occupied a
vantage-ground above the rows of seats on the right hand of the arena.
These seats were reached by long flights of steps which divided the
long line into twelve compartments, and the two boys found some vacant
places near the end and commanding a view of the whole arena, though
perhaps a distant one.
It is difficult to picture anything more beautiful than the aspect of
the Circus Maximus on a day like this. The range of mountains which
seemed to shut it in at the further end, were seen in distinct outline
against the clear blue sky--the clear and beautiful sapphire blue of
Italy, which is never seen in our northern climates.
The dark line of the foliage of spiral cypresses and round-topped pines
set off the snowy whiteness of the marble pillars to which they made a
background, and Casca was more fascinated by the grandeur of the place
itself than interested in watching the race.
Something in the boy’s heart seemed to respond to the beauty around
him; and while his friend Fulvius was excited to frenzy at the
hairbreadth success which one of the chariots won, Casca was lost in
his own meditations, from which he was awoke by the over-turning of
one of the unsuccessful carriages, and the cry of pain, which sounded
through the first shout of victory.
“The charioteer was killed!” he heard a voice near him say, “and the
horses will never be worth a silver coin again. So much the worse for
Cassianus, who owns them.”
The fallen horses and the dead charioteer were hastily removed, and
then another race was proclaimed by the herald. And again there was
breathless anxiety as to the result.
Casca turned presently at the sound of a voice, which seemed familiar.
“Do not push him roughly; he will make way!”
“A cursed dog of a Jew!” was the answer, “standing, forsooth, in the
way of a noble.”
“Turn him out!” and then two lictors, who were stationed at the
entrance of every one of the galleries, seized the old man roughly by
the shoulder, and pushed him before them to the outside of the Circus.
Casca forgot the race and the shouts which proclaimed another victory,
forgot Fulvius, and that he had agreed to remain with him and return to
supper with him, and followed the old man, who was leaning on the arm
of a woman whose voice had been familiar.
“Do not push him roughly,” the voice now said. It was the voice of
Ebba, the slave of his mother Cæcilia.
Casca followed the pair at a little distance, till he was beyond the
shouts of the crowd which was thronging the entrances to the Circus.
Then he laid his hand on Ebba’s arm. She started, and turned round--
“Is it possible!” she exclaimed; “but do not speak to me, dear master.”
“Speak! yes, I must speak, and learn whence you came, and who has
brought you hither.”
“Nay, not here, not here; it is dangerous for you and me here.”
“Come on, my daughter,” moaned old Ezra, “come on, nor delay, for this
is no place for us. Young man, what is your business?”
“I will come, father,” said Anna, “I will come. I would you had heeded
me, and never come near the race.”
“Ah, but I furnished the harness--the gold--for the chariot of
Cassianus, and now”----
“Hush, I pray you, father,” Anna whispered. “We are watched.” Then
turning to Casca, she said--
“To-morrow, at dawn, near the fountain of Egeria, that is near to the
temple of Vesta, to-morrow.”
And then Anna hurried on, and Casca was accosted by a man.
“Do you know the woman and the old man?”
Casca shook his head. “The old man is a stranger to me, but _not_ the
woman,” was the rejoinder.
“I would have you beware, Casca, the son of Severus: that woman is
one of the Christians, though she lives with an old Jew, a dealer in
precious stones and pearls, a charlatan and sorcerer. Beware!”
“I know not,” said Casca, with some dignity, “why you should issue
these commands against me.”
“I have the best reason. I have to-day, by the special messenger from
Verulam, received commands from your father, the noble Severus, that
you are to be committed to my care till you come to man’s estate. I
went to seek you at the house of Clœlia Pudentia, and she bade me seek
you at the schools, and thence again I was sent to the Circus Maximus.
Return with me and watch the race out.”
“Nay!” Casca said, “I have had quite enough of the race.”
“You will prefer the Coliseum to-morrow,” the man said, with a
malignant smile. “There is fine sport coming on there, to which I bid
you. But you must see my credentials for thus accosting you. If you
will not return to the Circus, accompany me to my house at the foot
of the Quirinal Hill, and I will lay before you your father’s letter.
Surely you have heard my name--Antonius Scæva--I hold a high office in
the Emperor’s household. I am as well known as the Palatine,” he said,
with a cynical smile.
Casca accompanied his new companion rather reluctantly, and listened to
his somewhat bombastic talk with disgust.
He would greatly have preferred remaining with Clœlia, in the quiet
retirement of her humble home. He dreaded the return to the life that
he had led at Verulam, and yet the commands of his father, he knew too
well, could not be set aside, and he had no alternative but to obey.
Antonius’s house was one of the most magnificent in the valley below
the Quirinal and Esquiline Hills.
Besides the spacious atrium, or large outer court, there was a third
large peristyle, from which immense apartments opened, furnished in the
most magnificent style. There were carpets from Eastern looms, and
many coloured curtains of purple and gold embroidery, from Babylon.
Curious carving in ivory and metal were on every side; and Antonius
said, as he led Casca to one of the most magnificent chambers--
“Well, there is no great hardship in taking up your abode with me. The
emperor himself is pleased to frequent this house, and we are ready
with a banquet for him at any moment. A penalty, you may say, to pay
for imperial favour. Now we will take that couch and throw aside these
parchments, and have a light repast.”
Antonius clapped his hands, and as if by magic a retinue of slaves
appeared, bearing all kinds of refreshments, in silver and gold cups
and flagons, with dishes of all the viands then most in favour with
the luxurious Romans, the degenerate representatives of the noble and
hardy race which had laid the foundation of the great empire, even now
hastening to its fall!
Antonius led the usual life of the Roman nobles of that time. He
lounged, drank, and played for high stakes at the gaming-tables at the
baths. He sauntered into the Forum, and listened to some favourite
orator, or later in the day he attended the Court, and either drove
in his gaily-decorated chariot, or sauntered in the gardens where the
beauty and fashion of Rome resorted. Then he would bid guests to his
supper, who were never unwilling to respond to his invitation, for his
board was always spread with sumptuous fare, and the emperor himself
was frequently announced by heralds as deigning to confer the favour
of his presence upon Antonius.
When Antonius had dismissed the slaves and attendants, he said--
“Here is your father’s letter. He begs me to make a Roman of you, and
mentions that by reason of robbers by land, and pirates by sea, you
had arrived in a sorry plight. You can be equipped by my people in
native attire, and it is time that you left off that prætexta, if your
father’s version of your age be true--near fifteen. He says, and truly,
that you are small and slender, and a contrast to him in all things. He
does not think you will make a soldier.”
Antonius laughed. “And I agree with him; we must turn you into a Roman,
befitting in manners and appearance your high rank. You have a sister a
vestal, I hear.”
“Yes, a young sister received as a disciple,” Casca said.
“A vestal’s brother must needs be careful to do her honour, and you
must submit yourself to the hands of my dresser, and acquire some
accomplishment, play on some instrument, as well as play high at other
games. The Emperor may look kindly on you, and I will get you a place
in his household.”
Then Antonius yawned, and lazily stretching himself on his luxurious
couch, leaned over a few parchments and made a cabalistic sign on one
or two, and then settled himself to his siesta.
Meantime Casca was reading his father’s letter, which Antonius had
tossed to him, and there was also a short one addressed to himself. He
knew already the contents of that written to Antonius, but Severus’s
counsel to his young son may bear to be transcribed here as a specimen
of paternal counsel in those days of Roman decline.
“Severus, pro-consul at Verulam, to my son Casca, greeting.
“My son,--News has reached me of your disasters by sea and land on your
journey towards Rome. This will reach you by the hand of the noble
Antonius, who will by his goodness receive you into his household,
to prepare you to take office in that of the Emperor himself. You
refused the study of arms, to my great disquiet, therefore you must
now study diligently to shape your manners after those of the young
nobles at Rome. You must learn to sing, game, and become an adept on
some instrument of music. You must study dress and deportment, and lie
as occasion requires, when the flattery of your superiors demand it.
My office in this distant province, amidst these barbarous tribes, has
obliged me to live the life of the soldier only. You refused that life,
therefore you must cultivate that of the courtier.
“Have no more intercourse with the woman at whose house you lodged. I
have directed that gold should be given her. Her son Caius did his part
well, but, alas for Burrhus and his maniple! they are prisoners and
slaves, and we doubt if a ransom would avail if offered. We must leave
them to the gods.
“I have received news also from my noble kinswoman Terentia Rufilla,
that my daughter finds favour in her eyes, and that her beauty and
wisdom are far beyond her years.
“Her mother and yours sends greeting. Beware of the vile reptiles
calling themselves Christians; it is told me that they swarm in Rome
like ants. Here in Verulam we have done good work amongst them, and
thanks are due to Valens and Claudius, who crushed out a goodly number
in the forest beyond Radburn. The chief Amphibalus was done to death
by stoning, and when the cell was opened on the morning after his
execution, to our great astonishment the woman Agatha and the miserable
slave Ebba were found dead.
“Claudius lighted a pyre at once and the bodies were burned to ashes,
before we knew we were saved the trouble of roasting them alive. We had
been counselled to try burning, as execution by the sword, and even
stoning, bore small fruit. Again, I say, beware of the Christians as of
lepers and the plague.
“Vale!”
Neither of these letters was in the hand of Severus, who could wield
the sword and battle-axe, but hardly a pen. They were written on the
parchment roll in a clear hand by the man who fulfilled an office which
we should call that of secretary to the Governor’s court.
As Casca read this letter, his face betrayed surprise and emotion,
which Antonius, lying back with half-closed eyes, was not slow to
discern.
“I crave leave,” Casca said, “to return whence I came till the morrow.
I have books and parchments which I must have carried hither, and I
must see good Clœlia, the mother of Caius, and take leave of her.”
“Well, be it so,” was Antonius’s reply, in a lazy tone. “Meet me in the
Coliseum to-morrow, when there will be some sport with thy father’s
enemies, the Christians. By Jove!” Antonius said, “I care not whether
they live or die, though we should miss some sport if there were no
more to be thrown to the beasts. Vale! Vale!” he exclaimed, waving his
hand, and leaving Casca free to depart.