THE CROSS.
The atrium of the Vestals was full of life, and even merriment, one
bright morning of late summer, in this same year of 333. The want of
sunshine which was so much felt in the winter, was a gain now that the
fierce glare of August lay upon the streets of the city, and beat upon
the images of the gods and façades of the temples like a furnace.
The Vestals were chatting gaily with each other about the grand chariot
race for which they had seats allotted to them. But two were standing
a little apart before a statue which had been placed recently by the
side of Flavia Mamilia, who was the most famous of the order, and whose
statues are multiplied and the descriptions of her graces and gifts
repeated again and again.
“They have placed her in good company,” a tall, commanding-looking
Vestal said, with a little ring of irony in her voice; “how long will
she remain there, and what will be the story of her virtues inscribed
below, I marvel! A long one, doubtless--they will never get it all into
the space allowed.”
The younger Vestal, a maiden of some twenty summers, who had lately
entered upon her fully-consecrated duties, replied:--
“The face is not nearly beautiful enough for our lady Maxima. Ah me!
how soon this stone resemblance will be all that is left us; she is
passing away from us, I know.”
“There are some that say the sooner the better; nay, Hermione, do not
start back as if I were saying some dreadful thing. I repeat, the
sooner the better, for your gracious Hyacintha Severa is acting a part,
and the treachery will be discovered unless death prevents it.”
“Treachery! nay,” said Hermione with youthful fervour; “nay, our lady
is as far removed from treachery as are the heavens from the earth.”
“Poor child!” was the provoking rejoinder, “such faith as yours must be
sweet if it were not misplaced. I can give you a warning, that certain
books have been discovered in the possession of Hyacintha Severa which
would, in stricter times, have brought the masons hither to prepare one
of those little chambers, whence no one who entered ever came forth
alive. It would have been inevitable, but now a loose and careless
government has altered things somewhat.”
“I cannot hear you speak thus, Cœlia, I cannot. You hate our noble and
beautiful lady because she is so far, far above you, because--”
“Tush! now, silly little Hermione, I warn you again, be careful, or who
knows if a little chamber may not be ready for you, and then there will
be a Vestal less, and the stones which will prevent your exit will tell
no tales.”
Hermione was preparing to hurl forth an angry invective, when a hand
was laid on her shoulder:--
“Hermione! nay, do not heed idle threats, but help me to ascend the
staircase; I am expected at the council of the priests at noon. I
have a statement to make to them which may please you to hear, Cœlia
Concordia. You will soon know what that statement is, and may it ease
your heart of the burden of rancour and unkindness which you cherish
towards me. It must needs be a burden, and I would fain, for your
own sake, that you laid it down. My poor statue shall not offend you
longer; orders shall be given to place it near the porta, the lowest
instead of the highest place.”
She spoke slowly and with difficulty, for her breath was short, and a
little dry gasping cough interrupted her again and again.
“You speak in riddles, most gracious lady,” Cœlia replied; “I admire
the excellence of your statue, and give the sculptor the highest meed
of praise for the manner in which it is wrought. Flavia Mamilia is
happy to have your near neighbourhood. I must hasten, as the elder of
the company who resort to the Circus Maximus, to collect my maidens. A
chariot race is a grand thing to witness, but there are many who find
it tame sport in comparison to that of former times, when Christians
were thrown, as they deserved, to the lions.”
A strong emphasis was laid on the word _Christians_, and a glance of
hatred from the Vestal’s dark eyes, directed at Hyacintha, told its own
story, as she made the usual obeisance to the Vestal Maxima, and went
to the farther end of the atrium.
Hyacintha stood for a few moments leaning heavily on Hermione’s arm,
and gazing at the marble resemblance of herself.
A faint smile passed over her face, and she said in a low voice:--
“They will soon forget me, little Hermione, but you will ever love me.”
“Oh, dear lady, we all love you, all but that proud and haughty Cœlia.”
“She will succeed me, as Vestal Maxima,” Hyacintha said; “win her by
submission, and do not irritate her by rebellion. Now let us go.”
She turned for a moment and gazed at the noble hall with its forest
of Corinthian columns, and watched the white-robed Vestals following
Cœlia to the porta on their way to the Circus. Memories of her first
appearance at that door, clinging to Clœlia’s hand, swept over her--the
child of nearly twelve years old, now the woman of mature age!
“Thirty years ago,” she whispered, “thirty years ago! Ah, little
Hermione, I shall soon enter the city where _time_ is not--no counting
of years there. Come, let us begin to mount the staircase, slowly, for
I have but little breath in me.”
In a state room in the upper part of the Vestals’ house the High
Priest sat in solemn conclave with his subordinates, and those who
might be called the Council of the order of Vesta.
It was the custom of the Vestal Maxima to demand an audience, when she
had any especial business to transact, or any dereliction in duty on
the part of the Vestals to report.
Hyacintha had given notice of her coming, and when she reached the
upper corridor which ran round the atrium, with pillars corresponding
to those below, she found a guard of honour waiting to escort her into
the presence of the High Priest.
It was usual for the Vestal Maxima to be attended by two of the elder
Vestals on these occasions, but many had gone to the Circus, and only
Hermione was with her.
To the surprise of the guards, and of Hermione herself, the Vestal
Maxima said:--
“I enter alone.” Then the curtain was raised, and Hyacintha Severa
passed in.
Great respect was always paid to the Vestal Maxima, and the assembled
priests and those at the table with them rose, while Hyacintha was
conducted to a chair, into which she sank apparently exhausted. When
she had recovered herself, she asked permission to address the High
Priest from the chair, as her health had failed, and she could hardly
make herself intelligible if she had to encounter the fatigue of
standing while she spoke.
First she drew from the folds of her pallium a parchment on which was
inscribed, by her own hand, all the financial details of the house, and
its present condition. When that had been handed in and laid on the
table, Hyacintha said:--
“I crave permission to resign the office of Vestal Maxima, and I pray
you, most noble father, to consider the election of my successor. I
have but a short space to live, and I would fain spend that time in the
retirement of my own chamber. The thirty years which are supposed to
limit the service of the Vestals are over. I entered the atrium, sent
hither by my late noble father Severus, in the year three hundred and
three. My consecration followed in due course, and then on the death of
Terentia Rufilla, of whose noble house I am a member, I was honoured
by your choice as Vestal Maxima. I have striven to perform my duty of
late in great suffering of body and of mind. I pray, therefore, to be
released therefrom, and that you appoint a worthy successor to all the
duties which have devolved on me.”
There was a murmur of dissent amongst those who sat around, and then
one of the Council, fixing a pair of keen black eyes upon Hyacintha,
said:--
“There may be hidden motives why you, Hyacintha Severa, resign your
office. Nay, there _are_ hidden motives.”
Then the High Priest raised his hand, and said in a tone of command:--
“We must defer this matter for a season, and we will ask you to appear
before us again at a future time. If matters there be that require
investigation, that investigation must be made.”
Hyacintha rose and seemed about to speak, when a deadly paleness
overspread her face, and she slipped from the chair in a deep swoon
upon the floor.
The attendants outside were summoned, and Hyacintha was carried to
her own chamber, Hermione following, where several women who were
her especial servants received her, and she was laid upon her couch,
apparently lifeless. But the usual nostrums and restoratives had the
desired effect, and the Vestal Maxima revived and looked round on them
all with her sweetest smile.
They piled the cushions up behind her on the couch, and Hermione fanned
her with cool palm leaves, and, stooping every now and then, kissed her
on the forehead. If Hyacintha had been radiantly beautiful in youth and
early womanhood, she was beautiful now with a beauty which is not of
this world. Traces of the mental struggle through which she had passed
were seen on her face, it is true; the delicate flush of youth and
health had vanished, but over that noble countenance there was shed the
calm light of the evening--the earnest of a coming rest, the sign of
the victory won.
Hermione was left alone with her before long, and then Hyacintha spoke.
“Dear one,” she said, “I shall watch no more in the temple at night. I
shall feed the fire no more. I am, as Cœlia implies, a Christian. Would
you like to know how it has come to pass, my sweet one? I am stronger
now, and I will tell you all before I die.”
“Oh! sweet lady, dearest mistress!” Hermione said, “you must not die,
you cannot die, to go down to the darksome Hades, to lose the sunlight!”
“Ah, no! ah, no! my child. I go to _life_; death hath no more power to
quench that life which Jesus the Lord has given to me.”
And as if that life of which she spoke had already begun, Hyacintha
raised herself on her cushions and said, with all her old fire and
earnestness:--
“In that silver coffer, child, are the precious Books--the Word of
Life. The holy father Eusebius has from time to time furnished me with
those Books. For many years I _could_ not let the whole beautiful
fabric of my earthly life slip from me. The struggle between the old
faith and the new--rather between the false and the true--has been a
fierce one to me. I have travailed in soul in the temple in the lonely
watches of the night. I have vowed again and again to the goddess that
I would never forsake her. I have gazed up at her image in the dim
light, and besought her, if she knew me, if she accepted my service, to
give me a sign. But there she has stood, with her veil flowing behind
her, in her long robes, motionless and calm. What were my tears to her?
What were my agonies of soul? She had never felt them. She had ears,
but she heard not; she had eyes, but she saw not. And yet, oh Hermione,
I verily believe no torture of martyrdom could be compared to what I
have suffered for the last six years.
“While Terentia Rufilla lived, I had not this yearning of soul
after better things. I was not the head then, only a member of this
community, and if she, noble and gracious as she was, was content, who
was I, to doubt?
“Once, on the Cælian Hill, on the very morning of my full consecration,
I learned that it was sweet to be loved. My woman’s heart told me that
this was the woman’s highest heritage--to be the beloved of a brave,
good man. In a vision, as with a lightning flash, I seemed to see a
fair landscape stretched out before me, where there was the song of
rejoicing and the happiness which comes of a mutual love. Then a cloud
swept over it, blotting it from my sight, and I was on a mountain
top, so high above others--a Vestal Virgin, devoted to the service of
the goddess; high above others--yes, high--but how cold! how lonely!
Rumours of the wickedness of the city reached me--foul deeds, which
made me blush for the women who took part in them. Emperors and great
ones fell; Christians were not exempt from the love of change; there
were dissensions amongst them; there were envies, and hatreds, and
heartburnings amongst their leaders.
“The Jew hated and cursed the Christian, and yet they both believed
in the true God. Was it not better to be safe in these walls, guarded
from danger, than to go forth into the city, whose cry, under the name
of pleasure, was often a bitter cry, than to confess Christ, and leave
the shadow of the cloisters, the safety of the Temple? If I confessed
Christ, I reasoned, and came forth, how would the finger of scorn have
been pointed at me? how would the unworthiest of motives have been laid
at my door? And then, the cruel death had I been recaptured, the death
which is the slowest of all deaths to die. I might have escaped, for a
word was enough to him of whom I speak, but the motive was mixed, and
of the earth: and I trampled down the longing and went on my way. Dost
thou remember how, when a little child, they brought thee weeping to
Terentia? I held out my arms to thee, and thou didst nestle in them.
Ah! dear one, do not weep. Thy love has been my solace many a time.”
For Hermione had flung herself on her knees by Hyacintha’s couch, and
was weeping wildly and passionately.
She soothed her as a mother soothes a child, and then she said, with a
weary sigh:--
“It has been a long fight, and a bitter struggle, but it is over
now, and the Lord Jesus has shown me Himself, the Crucified One
on the Cross, and that by the Cross alone we may win our Crown. I
have committed to my memory, which has ever been a good one, large
portions of the Gospels in the soft Greek tongue, and the words have
been as honey and the honey-comb. The good father Eusebius baptised
me yestere’en in the name of the Lord, and nothing now remains but
to commit my soul to Him who died for me, and for thee, also, sweet
Hermione, and for the whole world.”
She was silent for a time, and Hermione thought she slept, but
presently she said:--
“My brother Casca, Claudius, good, faithful Ebba, I shall see them
soon! Hermione, in a few short years this temple will be deserted, the
company of Vestals will be broken up, for the Sun has risen far above
the horizon, and He has called the nations into His marvellous light.”
Then she wandered on, no longer of the present, but of the past. The
cruel death of Alban, which was prominent in her childish dreams, the
departure of Ebba, the vow Claudius had sworn. “Good Claudius,” she
repeated, “good Claudius; and he kept that vow. Ah! yes; good, brave
Claudius!”
Hermione and her devoted servants watched over her that night, and her
strength rapidly declined.
There was almost universal sorrow shown when it became known that the
Vestal Maxima was dying.
All the great Roman families sent representatives to the Vestals’ House
to inquire as to her condition.
The young children, the lately-received disciples, were in tears; the
newly-consecrated Vestals went sorrowfully about their work, striving
to perform their duties for the sake of her, who would never again give
them the benefit of her counsel and advice.
The whole community passed in one by one to bid her a farewell.
She smiled on them as they knelt by her side, and murmured words which
were hardly intelligible.
Cœlia Concordia came last.
She dreaded the interview, and would fain have avoided it; but
Hyacintha asked for her again and again.
Proudly and haughtily she stood by the couch of the dying Vestal. Her
dark eyes looked down on the beautiful face before her, without a
shadow of tenderness or sympathy in them.
Hyacintha smiled, and said to Hermione:--
“Tell her to stoop down; I want to say something to her.”
Cœlia obeyed, unwillingly enough, and to her surprise she caught the
words:--
“May the God whom I love in Christ fill you with peace. With my last
breath I pray Him for your conversion.”
But the proud Vestal, wrapt in the impenetrable mantle of her own
self-assertion and self-exaltation, did not respond. She turned away,
whispering to herself:--
“It is true, then, she _is_ a Christian!”
Nevertheless, so greatly was Hyacintha Severa honoured, that the
Council, who met the day after she had appeared before them, handed
over to the sculptor the inscription for the pedestal on which her
statue stood, with its high praise of her virtues and her services.
She had failed in no duty; nothing but good was spoken of her by any
of her companions, with two exceptions, of whom Cœlia Concordia was
one, and the priest who had hinted at hidden motives, that might have
brought about the resignation of the Vestal Maxima, another.
A resolution was carried by a majority in the Council that it was not
needful to enter into these motives. Besides, at the close of thirty
years’ devotion to the service of the temple, by an old statute, the
priestesses were free to depart if so they desired. Very few lived to
avail themselves of the freedom which was thus granted to them. And
those who did survive had become so accustomed to the routine of the
Vestals’ House that they showed no anxiety to leave its shelter in
their declining years.
The privileges, too, of the Vestals were very highly prized, and of
late years their table had been luxuriously appointed, and their life
had been one of ease and refinement, so that the change to a more
ordinary manner of living would have been far from acceptable to many
who had severed the ties of earlier years, and who would have found
themselves adrift in the great city, outside the walls of the Vestals’
House.