THE CROWN OF LIGHT.
It was the dawn of the third day when Hermione was awoke from a light
slumber by Hyacintha’s voice.
“The watch is nearly over,” she said; “the day is near. I have been in
the temple all night; how came I hither?”
“Nay, dearest lady,” Hermione said; “you have been sleeping on your
couch, and I have watched----”
“I thought I had been in the temple, and I saw there my brother and
Ebba, and myself a little child again. There was a sudden great light,
and it shone on them--and Claudius, good Claudius!”
Hermione thought she was wandering a little, and beckoned to one of the
attendants to bring her a reviving draught.
The Vestal Maxima smiled, saying, “I saw them, and I followed them up
a golden stair to the place where the stars were shining. Casca was
reading from a book the words of Socrates: ‘The soul is most certainly
immortal, and cannot perish; it will exist in the unseen world, taking
nothing with it but the discipline it has gained here.’ I know the
words well, and I cannot be mistaken. They were spoken by my brother’s
voice--Casca’s voice. Whether it were a vision I know not, or a reality
I cannot tell, but there is in me a certainty that Casca is near.”
It not unfrequently happens that the spiritual perceptions of those
who are nearing the unseen world are quickened. However that may be,
Hermione was startled a few hours later by a hasty summons to the
atrium, where she was told some strangers were inquiring for the Vestal
Maxima.
A pale ethereal looking man, in a long scholar’s robe, was holding
a lovely child of five or six years old by the hand, around whom an
admiring group of white-robed Vestals clustered.
Behind stood a plainly-dressed, elderly woman, and a man in the full
accoutrements of a Roman officer by her side.
Hermione recognised the officer. She had seen him often, for whenever
the Vestals were in public, that tall stalwart figure was always
hovering near; and once or twice in the early part of this year
Hyacintha had referred to him as a friend of her childhood’s days in
Verulam.
Claudius had, indeed, watched her from a distance, never offending her
by approaching her, loving her with that purest of all loves, the love
which can sacrifice everything for the one beloved.
Claudius had noted the gradual decay of Hyacintha’s strength, and
reading her aright, he had, as we know, hastened to Alexandria, to
bring, if possible, the brother whom she had so dearly loved to her
side.
Casca now approached Hermione.
“I am Casca Severus,” he said, “the brother of the Vestal Maxima,
Hyacintha Severa. Can I see her?”
“She lies at the point of death,” Hermione answered, with a short quick
sob. “She is leaving us--and, ah! whither is she going?”
Casca did not reply, but little Cynthia, looking up at the Vestal with
her clear wondering eyes, said:--
“She is going to God. Anna says that dead people are only gone to God.”
Hermione stooped, and raising the child in her arms, motioned to Casca
to follow her. Anna’s wistful face seemed to ask that she might also
come, but Claudius turned away, and going to the porta, stood leaning
against the stone columns which supported it, where the lictors in
charge of the Vestals for that morning, coming and going, also stood
with quiet unmoved faces, as if carved in marble like the statues
behind them.
Presently a man, with an attendant, who bore a basket of sharp tools,
came up. They passed Claudius, and he saw them go towards a statue.
Then the workman’s sharp-pointed tools were examined, and a scroll of
parchment laid out on the ground.
With easy grace the sculptor threw himself down at the feet of the
statue, and began to carve the inscription. Claudius watched him like
one in a dream. There was no need to tell him who that noble and
majestic statue represented. He turned and went a few steps further
into the interior of the atrium, and saw the sharp point of the tool in
the skilful hands of the sculptor, carving the words.
They were words of praise, which have, after centuries of obscurity,
been lately brought to light. Every stroke of the chisel, every turn
of the well-skilled wrist, was watched by the brave soldier, who stood
leaning against one of the beautiful pillars.
“Ob meritum castitatis pudicitiæ atque in sacris religionibusque
doctrinæ mirabilis, Hyacinthæ Severæ Virgini Vestali Maximæ.”
That name, which had been for so many years enshrined in the brave
soldier’s heart, was just traced on the stone, when a group of Vestals
came fluttering towards the place.
“The Vestal Maxima is departing,” an old Vestal said, touching
Claudius’s shoulder. “Hermione bids me conduct you to her chamber,
where her brother and her servant have watched for the last hour.”
But Claudius stood rooted to the spot. He had feared his presence might
disturb the last hours of one he loved too well, to make his own wishes
of any moment. He bowed and shook his head, but remained standing,
watching the work of the chisel, while every letter seemed engraved in
his heart.
Presently another messenger came--Hermione.
“She asks for you,” she said--“come!”
Then Claudius drew himself up to his full height, as if he were about
to face some advancing host, and with head erect, and hands clasped
tightly together, he followed Hermione, without uttering a word.
As they passed along the corridor of the upper storey, they met Cœlia
Concordia. Hermione made the customary token of respect to the superior
Vestals from those who were beneath them, and said:--
“We go to see the Vestal Maxima, who is departing.”
“The Vestal Maxima has departed already,” was the cold and haughty
answer. “I have just returned from the Council, where I have been
chosen as her successor in the office she quitted three days ago.”
Hermione’s dark southern eyes flashed through the mists of tears.
“The beloved lady Hyacintha, beloved of all the priestesses, is dying,”
she said, “and leaves no equal behind; her name will live. It is even
now inscribed upon the pedestal of her statue, beneath the words which,
by the common consent of the whole Council, were written on a scroll
for the sculptor, and despatched to him yester-even.”
Cœlia passed on, saying in a low voice, words of which Hermione failed
to catch the meaning, but which were--“_her name shall perish_.”
Hyacintha lay upon the cushions of her couch, with closed eyes; over
her features peace brooded.
The conflict and the struggle were over, and she was only awaiting the
summons.
Suddenly, with one of the flashes of consciousness, which are like
the leaping up of the flame before it dies out she opened her eyes and
said:--
“I see the golden stairs which lead upward to the stars: Claudius, good
Claudius--Claudius!”
The brave soldier drew a step nearer, and in low husky tones, said:--
“I am here, Hyacintha, I am here!”
A bright smile passed over her face as she said:--
“I have found the true Light, Claudius, the Dayspring from on high. I
am going where the Light shall never be put out, and you will come,
good Claudius--promise, vow!”
“I will come, God helping me,” he said--“beloved, I will come.”
Then the brightness faded from her face; she became confused, and
said in distress, that she had slept, and that the sacred fire was
extinguished. Then, with a cry, “The Light! The Light can never be put
out.” She extended her arms as if to greet one who was coming towards
her, and said:--
“I see Him--He is the true Light, Jesus the Lord!”
And so her spirit departed, and Hyacintha Severa entered into the full
shining of the true Light which lighteth every man who cometh into this
sad and weary world.
* * * * *
In the sacred Pomœrium, the space marked out by religious rites along
the line of the old wall--the ashes of Hyacintha Severa were laid.
The High Priest and Council, touched by her loss, refused to
acknowledge publicly that she was a Christian. Loved and honoured in
her life by many without, as well as by many within the walls of the
Vestals’ House, the old High Priest silenced the accusers, and carried
the point that the late Vestal Maxima should be honoured in her death,
as she had been loved in her life.
For the old priest knew that the old faith was vanishing away; knew
that the Christians were multiplying daily; knew that even in that
community the seed had been sown, which might bring forth fruit, and
that Hyacintha would not be the only Christian amongst their numbers.
This was no time for suppression by violence or by force; the
supporters of the old faith made the lives of the Vestals more and more
luxurious, increased their privileges, and the last thirty or forty
years of their existence were to all outward seeming their best years.
But the faith in the goddess Vesta and the sacred fire which her
priestesses were vowed to keep a pure and inextinguishable flame,
was even now rotten at its heart. What had once been received with
childlike earnestness and simplicity of belief, was now but a hollow
profession, and the old faith was dying.
Cœlia Concordia held the supreme office of Vestal Maxima for many
years. She was a woman of keen intellect, and a great friend, we
are told, of the famous champion of Polytheism, Vettius Agorius
Prætextatus. Her statue was set up in the house of that nobleman, and
he received the unwonted honour of having his raised in the Vestals’
atrium.
A powerful, vigorous woman, Cœlia Concordia carried things with a high
hand. The little children, timid and tearful in the first few weeks
of their discipleship, did not come to her with their sorrows. The
maidens confided in her none of their hopes and fears. Cœlia loved the
power the office gave her too well to resign it. Strong in body as in
mind, she saw her old companions pass away, the children fade and die,
the maidens droop and lose their fresh bloom; and she persecuted by
a thousand little acts of tyranny two or three whom she suspected of
having embraced the Christian faith; and Hermione was one who felt the
full bitterness of her satire, and often quailed beneath it.