"And he is your friend, captain; doubt it not," replied Brocard; "only you

have not yet formed a true idea of the audacious recklessness and

impulsiveness of these Italians. All this would be but a pleasantry,

without evil results, if the necessity of maintaining discipline at the

outset of a new campaign did not give the affair importance; and what makes

it worse is, that they say the colonel since his return an hour ago has

been making preparations to repel an attack from Campoverde. He is furious

against you, and wishes to have a private interview with you."

Shame and anger almost choked me. I was beside myself with rage, and, if at

that moment a man had but given me a look of ridicule, I would have run him

through the body.

"I come to receive your orders, colonel," said I, as I entered San-Polo's

quarters. "I confess that I deserve no consideration. You told me what I

had to expect. Punish me. I ask of you but one favor--that you would permit

me to go alone to those mutineers and bring them back."

"What I hear is then true, sir," replied San-Polo, whose appearance of

concentrated anger boded me no good. But, having given me this thrust, he

added, softening a little:

"Listen to me, Bourdelaine, notwithstanding your fault in allowing Polidoro

to gain such a hold upon the company, you are nevertheless an officer whom

I esteem both for head and heart, and I heard a very flattering account of

you before you joined the regiment. I am sincerely sorry for you, and that

rogue of a Polidoro has so bewitched the men that after all you are not so

inexcusable."

"Thanks, my colonel."

"But," continued San-Polo, "we must lay aside such considerations in camp.

You had the want of tact to prefer a grade, when the emperor offered you

with his own hand the Cross of the Legion. That was in his eyes a fault

which, be assured, he will not soon forget, and I am sure that you would

have received both if you had chosen the cross."

I bowed my head, but did not reply.

"Your conduct after that, if you wished to rise, should have been

irreproachable, so that your mistake, which seemed to the emperor a piece

of youthful stupidity, might have changed its guise and shone forth as the

generous impulse of a soul born to command.

"I speak not now, captain, as your superior officer, but as your friend.

Speak privately to Lieutenant Brocard. Present yourself to these mutineers,

and let a bloody example recall them to duty. I have full power from the

commanding general to manage my Italians as I think proper. You will

decimate your company."

I started, horror-stricken.

"You have your orders, sir. Now, no delay or pity. Remember that prompt and

vigorous action is necessary not only to reestablish your reputation, but

to replace upon those men the yoke of discipline, so rashly broken. Under

our present _régime_ little is said and less written about army

affairs, and the news of the insubordination of a handful of Italians in an

obscure corner of the peninsula will scarcely reach the emperor's ears. I

will see that it is kept out of the bulletins. It is too small a matter for

headquarters to be troubled about, and in ten days all will be the same as

if nothing of the kind ever happened. Well! you have heard me; what more do

you desire?" asked San-Polo, astonished at my immobility and silence.

{799}

"Pardon, _mon colonel!_" I replied, with many misgivings. "How can we

decimate men of whom we have such immediate need before the enemy?" And I

showed him Polidoro's letter.

He read it through rapidly, and shrugged his shoulders; but, when he came

to the part where the lieutenant, while protesting his own devotion and

that of his men for their colonel, boasted nevertheless of his foresight in

furnishing each man with ten rounds of ammunition, San-Polo cried out, a

passing smile lighting up his face for a moment:

"Poor fellow! it is a pity, for he has the stuff soldiers are made of in

him. Unshrinking under fire, fascinating and raising the spirits of all

around him by his good humor, always ready, full of resources, yet

ridiculing glory and fortune. God grant that this trick do not cost him too

dear. What is the effective force of the company?"

"Ninety-nine men in all, with the officers and drummer."

"Very well; then it is reduced to ninety-six, since you and Brocard are not

in the affair, and the drummer, who is but a boy, does not count. This

letter will not modify my instructions. You will draw by lot four men and a

corporal for the firing party, and one man to dig the grave; ninety will

remain--nine to be shot; it is enough. As to Polidoro, if his stars should

favor him, you will put him under arrest for two weeks. I will attend to

him hereafter if necessary."

I turned with a heavy heart to leave the tent.

"Ah! one word more," said the colonel: "In case any chance should put you

on the track of the guerilla who has been seen between Casserras and Batea,

drag out the execution to the greatest possible length, without, however,

letting it seem that you do so. I love those good-for-nothings after all,

and would to God that a brush with the enemy may deliver them from their

scrape, for they would fight as they always do, and we would have a good

excuse for indulgence. Be easy, even if you find yourself surrounded by the

Spaniards, and open fire on them boldly, for I have taken my measures, and

help will be at hand. _Au revoir_, captain, and fortune favor you!"

Brocard and I immediately set out for Batea. It was yet early morning, and

the road was almost deserted. We could not perceive in the direction of

Casserras a single trace that might remind us of the recent passage of a

body of armed men. It seemed scarcely probable that the guerillas would

dare return toward Batea, which was at furthest a league to the north-west.

On the road I confided to my comrade the cruel mission with which we were

charged, and as I had never seen a military execution, and had never

expected to see so horrible a one as this, the slaying of every tenth man

in my own company, the conversation ran on the best mode of conducting the

business in which we were engaged so as to gain time, as the colonel had

recommended.

"Oh!" said Brocard, "I was 'decimated' my self once. It was in Portugal,

under Junot, for a trick our battalion played the commandant--a lion under

fire, but an ill-natured dog. We gave him a free bath in the Tagus. I was

then only a corporal. They commenced by surrounding and disarming the

mutineers; then, if any officers were found in the number, their names were

proclaimed aloud, or they were degraded. Then the ranks were broken, and we

were aligned in single file, each man taking his place according to chance.

A sergeant, drawn by lot and blindfolded, then approached the line, and,

starting from the first man he chanced to touch, without including him,

counted off ten, twenty, thirty, until he reached the end of the line, when

he continued in the other direction, commencing again with the man he first

touched, and if that poor fellow happened to be the tenth, or twentieth, or

thirtieth, psit! his doom was clear."

"Great heavens!" thought I, "how terribly cool he takes it!"

{800}

"While the counting went on," continued my imperturbable

_sous-officier_, "a roll of the drum accompanied each tenth man as he

stepped out; he was led to the edge of the trench dug for his grave; a

sufficient amount of lead lodged in his head or breast, and his affair was

ended. You see that much time is not lost, and the business even becomes

amusing sometimes; for every man's pride is up, and he chats, jokes,

laughs, appoints a _rendezvous_ under ground a year, a month, or

perhaps only a day off; and all the while the regimental band regales you

with the merriest symphonies, the most alluring marches!"

"You would not make a mockery of death!" cried I, interrupting him.

"Mockery!" he returned. "Diable! we won't have much chance to do so here.

We haven't yet even disarmed our friends, captain. San-Polo evidently

honors us both with his particular esteem, to send us two alone to decimate

more than eighty jokers, each of whom carries ten rounds of ammunition to

answer our polite proposition with."

"Nevertheless, the enterprise amuses you a little, does it not?"

"Humph! whether a man leaves his skin here or elsewhere, what matters it?

although it is disagreeable to be sent out of the world by your old

comrades, your friends at the bivouac, fellows whose elbows you are

accustomed to feel in the ranks. But, after all, those fellows haven't

treated us right; that is a consolation."

"But the other proceeding the colonel mentioned," said I--"the drawing

--you have not explained that."

"Ah! I can only teach you what I know myself; though I was something more

than a mere amateur scholar. I have heard that they sometimes mix up the

names in a helmet or shako, and shoot the man that owns every tenth name

that comes out. But, _ma foi!_ that way is shorter than the other,

but, if it suits you better, you may use it. H st!" [sic]

He stopped short in the middle of the road and brought the musket he had

brought with him from Mora to his shoulder, as a bullet whistled by our

ears, and a thread of white smoke rose from a ravine some little distance

off; a moment after, a tall, wild-looking man, enveloped in a long cloak,

and wearing a countryman's shoes and a red woollen cap, sprang toward the

mountain side, where in the twinkling of an eye he disappeared.

"Don't fire!" I cried, as Brocard was about to pull trigger; "you will give

those wretches the alarm. Wait until they attack us at Batea. That fellow

will simplify our business, and the colonel will be delighted. Forward--

gallop! Remember the mission we have to fulfil."

Ten minutes later we were in Batea. The company had stacked their arms

about a hundred paces from the mountain, and had spread themselves through

the village. The drummer alone, a boy of fifteen, stood guard over the

arms, under the protection of some old _grognards_, who,

cooler-blooded than their comrades, walked leisurely about, smoking their

pipes.

I rode straight to the drummer, and, without dismounting, said:

"Beat the recall, Zanetto, I am in haste."

The smokers at this order approached us, and stared at us with an abashed

air. The most insolent of them gave the military salute, through force of

habit, apparently. But they seemed thoughtful, twisted their mustaches

without speaking, and continued to smoke.

Zanetto, uneasy as the others, rose, hooked on his drum, and replied by a

prolonged roll, which did not cease until the whole company stood behind

their stacks.

"What is all this noise about? Are you a fool, drummer?" cried Polidoro,

coming up last of all, at a run, from the further end of the village, and

carrying a bottle in one hand and a glass in the other.

{801}

The sight of two horsemen redoubled his speed, and when he reached us, he

could scarcely gasp, in his astonishment and want of breath:

"You, Bourdelaine! You here! Glad to see you, _caro mio_. Welcome! We

scarcely expected so agreeable a surprise. What can we do for you, captain?

Will you try a glass of rum?"

I spurred my horse toward Polidoro, and, with a sudden blow breaking the

glass and bottle he held, said briefly and sternly:

"Your sword, lieutenant!"

Polidoro turned pale, and, recoiling a couple of paces, said in a husky

voice:

"My sword! Was it to demand my sword that you came from Mora, you and your

countryman Brocard?"

"We come to decimate you. The colonel has ordered it."

And I dismounted, placing myself in their power, to prove to the mutineers

the fixedness of my resolve to carry out my orders or die in the attempt.

The idea seemed, however, to excite their mirth.

"Decimate us!" cried one.

"Beautiful!" laughed another.

And cries of "Prodigious!" "What a farce!" "Whom will he do it with?" "He

hasn't even a corporal's guard!" rang on every side. The men left the

stack's of arms and began to gather round us with menacing looks and

gestures. Brocard threw himself among the most furious, but his words

availed nothing to restrain them. The situation was becoming critical.

Suddenly a thought struck me. I signed to Zanetto to beat his drum, so that

its continued roll might drown their voices, and the more desperate be thus

prevented from urging on those who hesitated.

Anything which brings the habits of discipline to the minds of old soldiers

acts with wonderful power. Before the roll of the drum ceased, every man

had regained his place; the tumult was ended and quiet reigned.

"We are come to decimate you," I continued, coldly and sternly as before,

"and we are alone. Do you ask why? Because the colonel wishes the execution

to be secret; he would not have the company dishonored before their

comrades--dishonored for having turned their backs when all was ready to

march upon the enemy."

"But we did not do so!" cried one of the men.

"Silence! The captain is right," replied several.

"Then Polidoro deceived us; he told us the captain would protect us," said

a young soldier.

Their tone had already changed. It was no longer hostile.

"I!" cried Polidoro. "Did I ever say aught to make you doubt the captain's

honor?"

"No! no!" cried voice after voice. "It is our fault. Let us suffer the

penalty! Decimate us, captain!" cried several, "and let us have it over as

soon as may be. We are ready."

"Lieutenant," I continued, advancing to Polidoro, "I demand your sword."

He moved his hand to the buckle of his belt as if to take it off, but the

struggle was too great for his proud heart; his youthful blood was in arms,

and, carried away by passion, he shouted hoarsely:

"Then come and take it!"

And drawing it from its sheath, he threw himself on guard.

"Bravo, lieutenant! Let him come and take it!" cried a voice at his side.

"Who spoke then?" I asked, feigning ignorance of the man.

"I!" cried an old soldier; one of the _grognards_ of the company.

"Very well, Matteo; I will attend to you presently."

There was no time for consideration; I at once fell on guard myself.

Polidoro awaited my attack with his blade low, after the manner of the

Italians, but at my first lunge, breaking down his parade before we had

even crossed swords, whether it was that remorse for his act prevented his

exerting his usual skill or through unlucky mischance on his part, I

disarmed him, catching his guard on the point of my sword and forcing his

weapon from his hand.

{802}

"_Maleditto!_" he exclaimed angrily, blushing with shame and wrath,

and turning to Zanetto, who could not forbear laughing at his mishap, with

a blow of his heavy boot, he crushed the drum to pieces, and, tearing off

his epaulettes, mingled with the ranks.

"Lieutenant, I have not degraded you," I said softly. "It is even possible

that, if chance favors you, I may restore your sword."

This indulgence shown to Polidoro, whose guilt was aggravated by an attack

on his superior officer, made a greater impression than severity could. The

fascination he exercised over the men, their belief in him, his prestige

were considerably lessened. I felt that I was master of the troop.

"As for you," I said to Matteo, "as a punishment for your insolence, you

must dig the trench."

"I, my captain?"

"You."

"Shoot me first, captain, I implore you," sobbed Matteo, pale with shame

and despair.

He was one of the oldest and best soldiers in the company; his mustache

almost white, and his face seamed with scars. He thought himself degraded

before his comrades, and did not see that my aim was to save him.

"Not so," I replied. "Go find a pickaxe and spade in the village and

quickly!"

"You are very hard on me, captain."

"Obey: no more words!"

All this while the _sous-lieutenant_ Brocard, who guessed my purpose,

was writing the names of the company upon slips of paper, which he threw

into a shako.

"But that is not the way it is done." cried Polidoro, in a bantering tone.

"Permit me to instruct you."

"Silence in the ranks!" I cried.

"But we will never get through at this rate, captain."

"I am not responsible to you, sir. It is the order of the colonel. Now,

come hither," said I to the drummer, "and draw four names for the firing

party."

"Am I not included, captain," returned Zanetto, drawing himself up proudly

to his full height.

"Boy, you do not count," said Brocard.

"It seems to me that I counted before the enemy," replied the boy.

"Be still, child!" cried Polidoro. "The drummer's duty is to follow the

company."

"That is true," said an old _grognard_. "Come, Zanetto, stick your

hand into the bag, but don't draw my name."

But it was the old man's name that he drew.

"The grenadier Sampierri!"

"I never had any luck," growled Sampierri, stamping angrily upon the

ground.

He took up his musket.

"The grenadiers Nicolo, Mordini, Ruspone!" continued Brocard.

Matteo, while this was going on, had returned from the village, and was

silently digging a trench to our left, about two hundred paces from the

mountain, where the earth was soft and offered but little resistance.

"Ha! Matteo! there are ninety of us," cried Corporal Campana; "nine men to

mount guard underground today. Make it wide enough, my old friend."

"A corporal is wanted to command the firing party," said Brocard, "and I

have mixed up all the names again in the shako."

"Well, let it be Campana," I replied.

"Me, _mon capitaine?_ What have I done more than my comrades? Why

choose me?"

"What have you done? Have you not three chevrons? Are you not the oldest

corporal? You should have set the example of subordination. Go!"

"So be it, then," said the corporal gloomily. "Come attention, firing

party!"

He marched to the trench at the head of his four grenadiers.

{803}

"Attention!" cried I. "Draw the names; the tenth--"

"Enough!" said Zanetto; "let him beware. The business is becoming less

amusing, captain."

He drew nine slips successively, which Brocard did not read, so that the

suspense continued to the end. The tenth he held up.

"The Sergeant Gasparini!"

"Good! This is the day of the grognards," said Gasparini, making the

military salute. "May I embrace Zanetto, _mon capitaine?_"

"Do as you will," I said; "I would rather be a hundred feet underground

than here."

"Thanks, captain. We all see how this business grieves you. Thanks!"

He bent over the drummer, and the tears, spite of his proud endeavors to

restrain them, dropped on his gray mustache.

"Here; take this for thy trouble, my boy," he said, giving the drummer his

silver watch.

He dashed the tears from his eyes shamefacedly, and with a steady step

marched to the edge of the trench.

"Ready!" cried Corporal Campana.

"Aim! Fire!" cried Gasparini.

A flash and report followed, and the old sergeant fell dead on his face in

the trench, where Matteo pushed him with his foot to the place where he was

to rest.

Zanetto continued, drawing from eleven to nineteen. Brocard, still without

reading them, tore them up one after another. Twenty reached, he took the

slip, lifted it above his head, and sobbed, rather than spoke, in his

endeavors to conceal his emotion:

"The Sergeant-Major Gambetta!"

It was the best instructed under-officer perhaps in the regiment; calm,

well knowing his duties, laborious--so useful, in fact, in the humble post

he held that his superiors through pure selfishness had never proposed him

for promotion. He was forty years of age at least, had received the cross

as far back as 1805, and with the money of his pension relieved many a

little want of his comrades.

"Ah! poor Gasparini!" he cried with a sort of mournful merriment; "if today

is the day of the old growlers, it is also the day of sergeants. What is

the matter, _mon capitaine?_" said he as he passed me. "You seem to be

in trouble."

He was not far wrong. I was in despair. My eyes were fixed upon the

mountain as if they would pierce through it, and at every changing shadow,

every breath of wind which sighed among the trees, my heart bounded

painfully with the hope that the long wished for guerilla was about making

his appearance on the heights.

"Adieu, Zanetto! take my cross, I have no watch. Show yourself some day

worthy to wear it. May it be long ere we meet again, captain. God guard

you!"

He crossed himself devoutly, and walked to the trench, his hands in his

pockets, bent one knee to the earth, and gave the word "Fire!"

We heard a report; Gambetta, his head shattered by the bullets, rolled like

a lump of lead into the trench.

"Will those beggarly Spaniards never appear?" said I to Brocard aside. "I

have had more than enough of this."

"Hush!" replied Brocard. "You do not know them yet as well as I, who have

been in the peninsula since 1807. I have just discovered the whole band in

the declivity yonder before us. They are climbing along above, so as to

attack us in front and on both flanks at once. I have counted three hundred

muskets and carbines. We will have hot enough work in a few minutes."

"God grant it! Continue, but more slowly, so that we need not kill any

more."

Slowly, however, as he proceeded to tear up the names drawn, slowly as the

drawing went on, number thirty at length came forth. He lifted it up to

read the name, but remained for an instant silent.

"Who? who?" resounded on all sides.

{804}

"To the devil with it! Let whom it concerns read it," cried Brocard,

flinging it upon the ground.

"I will wager it is I," said Polidoro, springing forward to pick it up.

"Yes, it is indeed. The Lieutenant Polidoro!"

"Did you not make a mistake, Zanetto?" asked I. "I think it is only

twenty-nine."

"Yes, yes, captain, it is only twenty-nine," cried a soldier. "Don't, for

heaven's sake, decimate an officer."

"_Corpo di Bacco_, do you take me for a fool?" shouted Polidoro. "I

counted them, and it is thirty. Come, come! Every one in his turn. No

joking! Your hand, Bourdelaine. You forgive me?"

He had scarcely spoken when a signal shot was heard on the mountain, and

following upon it two fierce blazes of fire crashed on our right and left

and concealed our assailants in their thick smoke.

It was indeed the guerilla band the colonel had spoken of, which, augmented

by some of Campoverde's men, whom the English had disembarked at the mouth

of the Ebro, had filed toward the mountain, going from Cacia, below

Tortosa, as far as Casserras, intending from that point to surprise us at

Mora. Learning that a company was at Batea, they halted on their way in the

hope of capturing us.

At the crash of the discharge, Polidoro sprang forward like a lion. The

smell of battle seemed to intoxicate him. His eyes flashed fire, and his

face glowed with ardor. His was a true warrior-soul.

"Captain," said he, "it is through my fault that the company is brought

into this danger; let it be mine to extricate it. Give me twenty men. I

know the country round, and this morning I discovered a little by-path

opening on a level space, from which we can turn the enemy's right. You

attack him in front; let Brocard see to his left, and in less than a

quarter of an hour all that rabble will be cut to pieces or dispersed. If I

remain alive, I will return and place myself at your disposal."

"If you return alive," I replied, "the colonel will decide upon your case.

San-Polo foresaw this attack and ordered me not to push the execution

further. Here is your sword, Polidoro, but be not rash; the colonel will

not deprive himself, for any whim, of an officer with such a future as

yours before him."

"I have no future, Bourdelaine," he returned gloomily. "I do not deceive

myself with false hopes. Preferment is closed against me. I will die at

least with honor, and bear with me the regret of my chief."

Corporal Campana had returned with his four grenadiers during this

colloquy, and Matteo walked slowly in the rear.

"Five men for the advance, and fifteen more for the lieutenant," I cried to

Brocard.

"All right, captain! You hold the centre and I the right, deployed as

skirmishers is that it?" asked Brocard.

"Right!"

"And I?" said Matteo, confounded as Polidoro, advancing at a run to the

mountain, gained some distance up its declivity without being perceived by

the enemy. "Am I good for nothing, captain, but to bury my comrades?"

"Thou old graybeard! March at the head of the column," I replied, "since

instead of awaiting us in their stronghold those fools have been silly

enough to come down to surround us. Thou seest I did not do ill to reserve

you for a better chance."

"Much obliged!" he returned. "Then we are going to cool their hot blood,

captain?"

The guerilla chief, not having perceived our movement, and there only being

fifty men at most before him, pressed confidently forward, never doubting

that he could easily compel us to lay down our arms. We waited until part

of his men had reached the foot of the mountain, and then we fell upon them

in a solid column, while Brocard, his men deployed as skirmishers, attacked

and drove back their left, and Polidoro, having gained his position, forced

their right to retreat, shooting down all who had not rejoined the main

body.

{805}

Suddenly I heard the drums beat the charge behind me. It was a company, led

by San-Polo himself, which had taken the Batea road, and so cut off the

advance-guard of the guerillas thrown forward toward Mora.

The Spaniard is brave, obstinate, and sober; inured to privations and

fatigues. He will fight long and well behind a rock or a wall, but in the

open field he generally lacks steadiness, and is easily discouraged if he

meets an unforeseen resistance in an attack. He will disband to meet his

fellows at some other point and plan some new surprise--the only species of

warfare which he conducts well. This, indeed, is the result of that

provincial spirit of independence, of that character of individuality,

which so deeply penetrates the masses and forms the distinguishing

characteristic of the nation.

The panic soon became general, and the village was filled with wounded and

dead.

Those who fled from the fire of one party of our men were received upon the

bayonets of another, finding no outlet through which to make their escape;

about a hundred of the guerillas, however, succeeding in forcing their way

toward Casserras, scattering as they went, and giving us a few parting

shots. All the rest were taken. San-Polo forced his way to us, pitilessly

shooting down all who refused to yield. He soon joined us, and cast his

eyes toward the open trench.

"Aha!" he cried, darting a look of intelligence to me; "you are cautious,

captain. You would not have the enemy know the number of your killed. How

many?" asked he in a low tone.

"Two, _mon colonel_; the lot unfortunately fell upon Sergeants

Gasparini and Gambetta."

San-Polo could not restrain a gesture of vexation.

"And Polidoro?"

"_Ma foi_, my colonel; he escaped well; we were going to shoot him

when the skirmish commenced. He is now upon the mountain, where I can vouch

he gave us some famous help."

"He is here," said Brocard, "and in a sad condition. Here are his men

bringing him upon their muskets."

When he reached us, Polidoro raised his head, not without great pain, and

lifting his still bantering glance to the face of San-Polo, who stood grave

and motionless, he cried with an attempt at his old gayety:

"Hit, colonel, hit! I am sorry, my colonel, that you can no longer break or

even put me under arrest."

"I will have chance enough to do both yet," replied San-Polo, with an

affected roughness which betrayed his anxiety to encourage the wounded

soldier.

"O colonel! my account is closed this time," returned Polidoro. "Six

bullets through the body, and two of them at least through my lungs. 'Tis

enough for one, _mon colonel_."

Then some long-banished remembrances seemed to return, and a sad smile

played over his features.

"_Sancta Maria, mater Dei_." he continued, in a tone still tinged with

a sort of sorrowful gayety, "_ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc et in hora

mortis nostrae. Amen_."

San-Polo threw himself from his horse, and pressed a flask of brandy to the

lips of the wounded lieutenant, holding him up in his arms for a moment to

help him to swallow a few drops.

"How kind you are to me!" murmured the dying man, in a scarcely audible

voice; "you seem to think that, in spite of my follies, I was not so bad an

officer after all. Keep, I pray you, my colonel, my sword in remembrance of

me; only unfasten the sword-knot and give it to Bourdelaine. Ah! I wish you

would give Zanetto fifteen francs for--the drum--I broke."

A cough interrupted him, and a bloody froth appeared upon his lips. His

features were pinched with pain; he gasped; his eyes grew glassy, and,

after a few slight convulsions, all that remained of Polidoro fell back in

the colonel's arms.

{806}

San-Polo took the lieutenant's sword, pulled the knot off, and hastily

handed it to me; then springing into the saddle he rode off at full gallop,

without speaking a word or even turning his head.

"Quick, Brocard! Mount and accompany the colonel," I said. "You know how

dangerous those guerillas are even in a rout. I shall not need you until we

return to Mora."

III.

"And now that I have ended," said the general after a pause, "let us talk,

if you please, about the rain and the weather. It is strange," he

continued, pressing his hand to his brow, "how all these memories return,

at the time when, thank God, our days of joy and trouble are nearly past."

"Yours?" the government clerk hastened to reply. "You are good for twenty

years yet."

There are some honest people who always speak thus to old men.

"Good! very good!" growled the general, bending over the table to pour out

another wine-glass of cognac. "In twenty years I will be no more thought of

than if I had never lived. To the devil with wars and those who make them."

While his daughter and son-in-law were lifting their voices in protest

against such an idea, I discreetly took up the lamp, and approached the

frame to examine it more closely.

"These, very probably," I said, half to myself, "are the watch of the

grenadier Gasparini, the cross of the sergeant-major Gambetta, and

sword-knot of Lieutenant Polidoro."

"Yes, yes," replied the general, without looking toward them; "I bought the

watch and the cross from the drummer Zanetto. Poor child! The first bullet

sent him to his account in the assault on Fort Olivo, the 29th of May,

before Tarragona. For goodness' sake, let it alone."

I saw that my curiosity made him impatient, so I returned the lamp and took

up my hat to retire.

"You are leaving us very soon, my friend," said the general.

"You know, general, that I must be home by half-past nine."

"Right. Duty before all. I hope you don't intend to put all I have said

upon paper."

"You have authorized me to do so, general."

"So be it, then; but upon one condition."

"Name it."

"That you will add nothing of your own to it, as most of you men of letters

do; and that you will not pervert my words."

"I will try not to do so."

------

{807}

From The Month.

Scenes From a Missionary Journey in South America.

I. Lisbon, St. Vincent, Pernambuco, Bahia.

Toward evening of the 12th of March we doubled Cape Finisterre, the

north-western extremity of Spain, and saw in the misty offing a very large

four masted iron screw steamer, homeward bound, and said to be from

Australia. We had but once seen the Spanish coast looming through the fog

several leagues off; but at sunrise on the 14th we forgot all the miseries

of the previous four days, as the sea was quite smooth, the weather

admirable, and a scene of unequalled beauty unrolled itself before our

eager gaze. We were entering the Tagus: on our left, at the river's mouth,

stood the castle of St. Julian, apparently not a very ancient or remarkable

structure. We had passed in the night, also on the left, the far-famed

wood-crowned hills and picturesque glens of Cintra, so beautifully sung by

Lord Byron in Childe Harold. Further on jutted into the stream the

yellow-walled old Moorish fortalice of Belem, so often depicted, and so

worthy of it. Its many lights and shadows, as the sunlight plays on its

richly sculptured front, give it a strangely quaint and old-world

appearance. Its garrison, a mere company or so, appeared to enjoy a

sinecure; for I beheld a single sentinel lazily pacing up and down a narrow

landing-place. Others were fishing with a rod and line, and a few more

washing in the stream their seemingly unique shirts, for they wore no other

clothing that I could see, save a pair of white canvas trowsers. This scene

I saw repeated a few weeks later in the Brazilian island of Sancta

Catharina, where a squad of black soldiers were washing their shirts and

trowsers in the waters of a small mountain stream. From the castle of Belem

the view eastward up the river is one of the most beautiful that can be

imagined, and seems at first fully to justify the pride of the Portuguese

lines:

"Quem nâo tem visto Lisboa,

Nâo tem visto cousa boa."

That is, he has not seen a beautiful sight who has not seen Lisbon. The

river, considerably narrowed at its extreme mouth, widens here very much,

and displays on its broad surface a forest of masts. On the left hand the

city rises from the water's edge up an amphitheatre of seven hills, house

upon house, church upon church, filling up an irregular semicircle of

considerable extent, and having for a frame the surrounding green heights,

whose tender spring verdure, here and there enlivened by the blooming

Judas-tree, [Footnote 299] agreeably contrasts with the dazzling whiteness

of most of the edifices. To the westward of the city sits the imposing mass

of the modern and yet unfinished royal palace of Ajuda; and beneath it,

near the waterside, an old convent and church, whose gray weather-beaten

walls seem to bid defiance to the mushroom structure above. This palace of

Ajuda will probably never be finished. The finances of that puny kingdom

are not, I imagine, in the most prosperous condition; and it would appear

that modern royalty is as little at ease in residences fashioned upon the

grandeur and magnificence of ancient days, as a beggar would be if he

suddenly became the owner and tenant of a nobleman's seat.

[Footnote 299: A tree with pendulous bunches of pink flowers. It is

probably so called from its blooming about Passion-tide. Some say that

it was on a tree of this species that Judas hanged himself.]

{808}

On the southern side of the Tagus are to be seen scattered here and there

pleasantly enough among the green hills various white-walled

_quintas_, or country farm-houses and villas. There is also, facing

Lisbon, a small town of three or four thousand inhabitants. A little lower

down toward the sea, on the same side, is the new Lazaretto, or building

for quarantine--a certainly not very inviting abode, all white and yellow,

without a particle of verdure or a square inch of shade about it. The

harbor or bay, four or five miles wide, contains ships of almost every

nation; but chiefly British, for Portugal is now little better than a

colony or dependency of England. The Magdalena had no sooner cast anchor

than two of the respected clergy of the English college--the college _dos

Inglesinhos_, (of the dear English,) as the people call them--came on

board to welcome me. I accompanied them ashore, and visited the college,

situated on one of the highest spots of the city. On my way through the

custom-house I saw a piece of impertinence committed by one of the

underlings in the absence of his principal, which too well indicated the

little respect which is now paid to the holy see in that once so Catholic

kingdom. A secretary of the Brazilian nunciature, on his way to Rio, had

landed with a small bag containing despatches sent by Cardinal Antonelli to

the nuncio at Lisbon. Ambassadors' papers are privileged everywhere;

nevertheless, in spite of the secretary's remonstrances and mine, the said

underling broke open one of the sealed packets, and would doubtless have

proceeded further had not Padre Pedro, of the English college, at that

moment arrived, and threatened the insolent _douanier_ with the loss

of his place. I don't know if the nuncio took any notice of the affair; but

where could such a proceeding have taken place save in Lisbon, or perhaps

in Florence?

Facing the harbor, in the Praça do Commercio, is a handsome bronze statue

of one of the former kings of Portugal, whose proud and commanding attitude

half recalled the times when Portugal was mistress of the seas, and her

adventurous navigators pioneered the way through unknown oceans to

discoveries of stupendous magnitude.

The English fathers, the Revs. ----, showed me more than ordinary

politeness: one of them accompanied me to present sundry letters of

introduction I had brought with me to some notable personages of the

capital. I was very cordially received everywhere, and could have wished

that all the Portuguese resembled these worthy representatives of former

national greatness. The Marqueza de F----, among others, appeared to me the

model of a hidalgo's wife, full of grace and dignity, yet of amenity and

practical good sense. I was particularly struck with her fervid piety,

worthy of better times. At the house of the Marquess de L----, brother to

the Portuguese minister in London, I met the newly consecrated Bishop of

Oporto, who, to an ardent zeal and piety, joined the precious experience of

thirty years' apostolate in China as a Lazarist missionary. He has since

made his voice heard to some purpose in the upper house of the Lisbon

parliament, strenuously resisting and combating the antichristian measures

of the Louié ministry.

Some of the churches, of course, I visited, as far at least as the

shortness of time allowed. They bore for the most part traces of the

magnificence and gorgeous piety of other days; but were generally ill kept,

and but too empty of worshippers. The chapter mass was being chanted when I

entered the Primatial church; there were very few people assisting; near

the door stood some poor women with dead babes laid on benches; they did

not seem to be noticed by any one.

If the exterior aspect of Lisbon is truly magnificent, a nearer view of

that capital takes away all illusion. I afterward found this to be the case

also with many of the Brazilian cities.

{809}

Nature has done wonders for most of these towns, but man seems to have made

it his especial purpose to sully and disfigure everything. If we except

some really very fine buildings and noble historic monuments, all in Lisbon

is squalid, neglected, and ruinous. Most of the streets, rebuilt so lately

as eighty years ago, after the great earthquake, are narrow, tortuous,

ill-paved, and more than ordinarily dirty and fetid. The same may be said

of the houses, even of palaces of great noblemen, in which, in spite of

imposing architectural splendor, and traces of former sumptuousness, the

olfactory sense is frequently annoyed by indescribable odors of stables or

worse things. Sanitary commissions would assuredly be driven mad if at work

in that city for any time. The noisy bustle of a great capital always

gives, more or less, an appearance of energetic life to its indwellers; but

after London, Paris, or even Madrid, Lisbon appears dead. It is the torpid

metropolis of a degenerate people.

On the 21st at sunrise we cast anchor in the fine bay of St. Vincent, one

of the Cape de Verde Islands, and a coaling station for steamers. It is a

volcanic rock of frightful sterility, but possesses a wide, deep, and

secure harbor of considerable resort for ships navigating on the African

coast. Everything is brought thither from the neighboring island of Sant'

Antonio--water, oranges, bananas, yams, sugar-canes, and other

productions--for the place yields absolutely nothing, save a little

brackish water in a couple of wells. Its sole inhabitants are a few score

of starving-looking negroes, a few lean pigs, fowls, and goats. I saw,

soaring high among the mountains, a kind of vulture with a large yellow

beak, but wondered where that bird and its possible fellows would find

anything to eat, unless it came across from the neighboring islands. For

there is no sign whatever of vegetation or of wild animal life on this

spot, where it is said never to rain. The soil is reddish, and perpetually

calcined by the intolerable fierceness of an almost equatorial sun. He

ought not to complain of heat in Europe who has once visited St. Vincent.

One of my voyaging companions, the secretary of nunciature at Rio, the Rev.

Monsignore ----, who had come directly from Rome, was sighing and groaning

under the oppression of that fiery clime. The good man had, by some

mischance, left his baggage behind, and had no other clothing to wear but a

long black coat of a coarse and thick texture that would have done him fair

service amidst the snows of Canada--but here in St. Vincent! He must have

had a vivid anticipation of purgatory, I am sure; his distress was very

comical, and he could not relieve it by lighter clothing until we reached

Bahia. Far more at their ease were the dozen or two of little blacks,

perfectly naked, who played on the smooth sandy shore, jumping and tumbling

in and out of the waves, just like our own children in the new-mown hay at

home in the summer-time.

There may be at St. Vincent four or five score of so-called houses of most

wretched appearance, a set of stone-built barracks tenanted by a company or

so of Portuguese soldiers, and a small fort on a hillock, overlooking and

commanding the bay. Three or four sickly-looking palm-trees, brought from

Portugal, endeavor to grow in front of the government house. A small church

has recently been built, and is served by a black priest, who managed to

raise the funds for its erection by begging on board every ship which came

into the harbor. To the right on entering the harbor is a mountain of

somewhat fantastic form. American imagination has found in its outline some

resemblance to Washington's profile, and it has in consequence been called

"Washington's Head." Right in the middle of the entrance of the bay, and

darkly outlined against the frowning cliffs of Sant' Antonio, is a tall

conical rock of remarkable appearance. It is a capital landmark, being seen

seaward at a very great distance.

{810}

When we entered the harbor, we found at anchor, among other vessels, a

large Federal steam-frigate, which had been there four months watching the

arrival of the famous Alabama. Within the spacious bay disported two

whales, mother and cub, which were pursued for several hours, but in vain,

by the native fishermen.

We most gladly bade farewell to the desolate isle of St. Vincent, and

fairly sailed away for the New World, yet distant from us six or seven

hundred leagues. The heat now began to be terrific, especially at night in

the narrow cabins; but it was moderated most days by a gentle breeze, which

made lolling on deck in the evenings truly luxurious. About a day's sail

from St. Vincent I first noticed shoals of flying-fish, though I believe

they are to be found in a much more northerly latitude, and in another

voyage I saw some off the isle of Palma. They rise from the sea, chiefly in

the early morning and when the surface is freshly rippled, in flocks of ten

to sixty or more, and fly close to the surface, often tipping the crest of

the wavelets, and skim along with great velocity for the space of five or

six hundred yards, when they plunge again into the deep, raising a speck of

foam. These small fish, which are said to be of excellent flavor, are about

the size of herrings, and of silvery-gray color. I once or twice saw some

much larger and almost white on the coast of Brazil, between Bahia and Rio

de Janeiro. They are said to be constantly pursued by the bonita, a large

fish of the dolphin species, whose hungry maw they try to escape by rising

out of the water. But although their flight is exceedingly rapid, their

relentless enemy cuts its way through the subjacent waves with equal

swiftness, and is ready for the tiny victims as they drop exhausted into

the sea. There appear to be prodigious numbers of them all over the ocean;

and nearer the coast of Africa the sea is sometimes covered for miles and

miles with their spawn lying on the smooth surface like the duck-weed of

our ponds. In this latitude, and for many days, I also noticed swimming

along in the smooth transparent waters the gay-looking dorado, a large fish

vividly reflecting the sun's rays from its scaly back, all over green and

gold. Sharks I was anxious to see, but none appeared throughout the voyage;

scared away, I should imagine, by the noise and turmoil of the

paddle-wheels.

We had fallen into the region of the trade-winds, which blew steadily from

the north-east, wafting us rapidly over the middle Atlantic; we were eight

days reaching Pernambuco. I was surprised to meet with so few ships on the

way, yet we must have crossed the high road of a great multitude of vessels

outward or homeward bound. This apparent scarcity of ships gave me a vivid

idea of the immensity of the ocean, on whose pathless surface so many sail

wander, lost like imperceptible specks of dust on the plain. In this great

solitude, life on board ship is monotonous enough, and by its wearisomeness

almost justifies the snarling saying of Dr. Johnson: "Sir, I would rather

be in jail than on board of a ship, where you have the confinement of a

prison together with the chance of being drowned." Want of space, even in

the largest vessels, the impossibility of applying one's self to serious

occupation, to study, or to prayer, for want of quiet solitude, and also on

account of the rolling of the ship, which greatly fatigues the head--all

this makes one sigh for the end of the voyage, and find a lively interest

in the most trifling occurrences--the passing of a distant sail, the

flight of a bird, and so forth. It is especially in the evenings--and they

are long ones in the tropics--that time appears heavy, unless one be

inclined to enter into all the frivolous and noisy amusements set on foot

to beguile weariness. The passengers dance, play games, improvise concerts,

and especially eat and drink enormously, and almost all day long. How

wearisome former sea-voyages must have been, which lasted many months,

sometimes even several years! It is related, for example, in Captain Cook's

voyages that some of his crew once lost their wits for joy on seeing the

land they had not beheld for eighteen months.

{811}

A few degrees before we crossed the line, the sky became overcast with

heavy dark clouds, which French sailors call "_le pot du noir_" and

our English tars "the doldrums;" the barometer ceased to indicate any

atmospheric changes. It was on the 26th, in the evening, we passed the

equator, and for more than forty hours we had violent squalls and

occasional tremendous downpourings, which made us all uncomfortable: for

staying on deck was out of the question, and the heat below was very

oppressive. Flocks of a species of large wild goose, which came flying

round the ship, announced the proximity of the land; and on the 28th toward

dusk we passed off the rocky and picturesque island of Fernando de Noroñha.

It was at too great a distance to distinguish anything, but it is said to

contain features of great natural beauty. This island is now used as a

place of transportation for the convicts of Brazil. These were formerly

detained in the southern island of Sancta Catharina; but that spot afforded

the prisoners too many facilities of escape, being so near the mainland,

and within easy reach of the foreign state of the Banda Oriental. I could

collect but meagre notions concerning the number and the lot of the unhappy

convicts, mostly all blacks, who have only exchanged one kind of slavery

and labor for another. In most cases, when the crime committed has not been

of the most heinous nature, the convict after a year or two's confinement

is drafted into the army or navy. I have heard officers of both services

bitterly complain of this system. The island of Noroñha is mountainous, and

difficult of access.

At last, on Sunday, March the 29th, at sunrise, we touched the New World,

and the Magdalena cast anchor in Pernambuco roads, about three miles from

the land, for the harbor, whose entrance is narrow besides, is inaccessible

to ships of large tonnage. The fishermen of this place boldly navigate in

those roads, and sometimes many leagues into the offing, on strange-looking

and perilous rafts made of a few crossed bamboo-sticks, somewhat resembling

the catamarans used at Madras. It is inconceivable how those daring sailors

are not devoured by the sharks off those flimsy machines, which the least

wave upsets. It does not much concern them when this happens, for they all

swim like fishes, and the tiny craft is soon put to rights again. There is,

however, a tradition in the port that once upon a time a man was snatched

off his dancing catamaran by a monstrous shark, which devoured him before

the eyes of his affrighted companions. Pernambuco is a place of great

trade, the third city in the Brazils for population and the importance of

its productions: it is one of the great sugar-markets of the world. It

possesses some good churches and public buildings, and a school of law, the

first in the empire, where Pombalist and Jansenistic traditions have

obtained much less adhesion than at Sao Paolo or Bahia. A thesis was

maintained there with great applause a short time ago, which astonished all

the lawyers of Brazil, namely, that the pope needed not a general council

to decide infallibly any doctrine of faith; his _ipse dixit_ was

sufficient; and all true Catholics ought at once to bow interiorly and

exteriorly to it as to the word of Christ himself. This was probably the

first time this had been so boldly proclaimed in South America since the

banishment of the Society of Jesus.

The town is cut up by a number of lagoons, crossed over by bridges like at

Venice; and its first aspect from the sea reminds one very much of Hamburg.

There is, of course, the difference of a glowing sky and large tropical

vegetation. The land lies low, and the presumption is that it must be

unhealthy; but it is not so, I believe, owing to the regular sea-breezes,

which greatly cool the air and dissipate the vapors. The heat cannot but be

intense at times on a spot only six or seven degrees south of the line.

{812}

It is not always easy to land at Pernambuco, for the entrance of the harbor

does not give more than fifteen or sixteen feet of water in the best tides;

and there lies across it, and for hundreds of miles up and down and

parallel with the coast, a dangerous low coral-reef, against which the

mighty Atlantic waves dash with fury. This reef, which in many places

barely rises above the surface, would prove an excellent defence against

invasion; but it was not apparently thought sufficient in former times, for

there stands on the beach to the north of the town a square bastioned fort,

built by the Dutch under Maurice of Nassau when they occupied the country

at the beginning of the seventeenth century. To the north of this again, on

a bold rocky hill, is situated the ancient city of Olinda, so called from

the exclamations of the first Portuguese discoverers when this enchanting

land broke upon their sight: "O linda terra! lindos outeiros!" "O beautiful

country, charming hills!" It was formerly a bishop's see and the capital of

the country. It contains several churches and convents, as well as old

residences of governors and magnates, of a rather massive and imposing

architecture. The surrounding country is one vast forest of palm,

cocoa-nut, and other trees of the torrid zone. There are many flourishing

sugar and coffee plantations, surrounded by nopal and banana groves, and a

multitude of superb creepers, amidst whose luxuriant growth and glowing

flowers rise the white-walled houses of the owners. As we rode along, we

purchased some pine-apples and mangoes of immense size and exquisite

flavor. When we returned on board, numbers of Pernambuco boatmen surrounded

the ship with loads of oranges and bananas for sale, as well as tame

parrots and monkeys; but none of them, with the fear of the sharks before

their eyes, would imitate the blacks, whom we had seen at St. Vincent

diving into the sea, nine or ten fathom deep, to pick up small pieces of

money which the passengers would throw in, to witness their astonishing

power of swimming.

From Pernambuco to Bahia we had thirty-six hours' passage. We were not

nearer the land than ten or twelve leagues, the Royal Mail Company

forbidding their commanders of ships to hug the coast any closer. On the

30th of March, about noon, we met the fine steamer La Navarre, of the

French Messageries Company, on its way to Bordeaux. It was crammed full of

passengers, among whom I saw several Sisters of St. Vincent de Paul. These

venerable religious women serve various hospitals in the Brazils--at Bahia,

Rio de Janeiro, and other places. They are everywhere, I need not say,

worthy of their holy founder and of their country. They have not escaped,

however, in this New World the calumnies and persecutions which they have

had to endure in some parts of Europe, and notably in Portugal and

Piedmont. Almost the first Brazilian journal I saw contained an infamous

diatribe against them; but they would very likely themselves prefer

contumely to honor, as assimilating them more perfectly to their Divine

Lord, the Man of Sorrows.

At a very early hour on the 31st we doubled the point which juts out on the

right of the harbor of Bahia, and the ship fired a gun to announce our

arrival. No description can convey a true idea of the beauty of this

celebrated bay--Bahia de todos os Sanctos, that is, "All Saints' Bay."

Covered to the water's edge with a glowing and gigantic vegetation, the

hills which rise above the roadstead are dotted with pretty-looking villas,

the residences of the city merchants. It was the commencement of what is

here called winter; yet I saw everywhere a superabundance of flowers,

especially of roses. Trees with strange forms, fruits yet more strange, a

teeming population, two thirds of which at least was composed of negroes,

the odd cries and barbarous howlings of these blacks as they hawked their

wares or carried, to the number of ten or twelve together, huge burdens

swung on the middle of long poles--everything was of a sort to interest a

stranger.

{813}

Carriages there were none, or very few at least; for the city, being built

on the steep slope of an abrupt cliff, has no level surface anywhere in its

streets, most of which resemble very much the queer uphill lanes leading to

Fourvières in the city of Lyons. The intense heat of the atmosphere made me

give up the design I had entertained of visiting the town entirely on foot.

I hired a kind of bath-chair, of which there are long stands about, and two

stout negroes conveyed me successively to the various churches and the

public garden of the city. These chairs are very ingeniously contrived to

exclude the sun and admit the air, as well as to preserve absolute privacy

within them. They swing on a long pole fore and aft, which the blacks carry

on their shoulder; but this pole is shaped like an elongated S, to secure

the sitter's equilibrium, which would be unpleasantly disturbed by the

see-saw tread of the bearers. Notwithstanding the little exercise I took,

an abundant perspiration ran from every pore. It was therefore with

exquisite pleasure that I came to a house where for a few _vintems_ (

few pence) I could exchange my stewing state for the coolness of a

shower-bath. I had previously been told to use the necessary precaution--

that is, to rub a small quantity of caixaça, or rum, over my body before

coming in contact with the water.

The trade of Bahia appears considerable, and is entirely carried on in the

lower town, which stretches along the water-side on the north for more than

a league, nearly to the western-most point of the outer bay, crowned by a

celebrated sanctuary dedicated to Nossa Señhora do Bom-Fim--Our Lady of the

Happy Death. On the eastern promontory of the harbor, on the summit of a

bold hill looking upon the Atlantic, is the oldest religious building,

perhaps, in all South America. It is the now ruinous church built by an

Indian princess, the first of her race who embraced the faith of Christ.

The beach below was often hallowed by the footsteps of the venerable Father

Anchieta, the apostle of Brazil, who would bare his breast to the

sea-breeze to cool the ardor which consumed him for the salvation of souls,

and write with a stick on the sand of the shore the beautiful Latin verses

he daily composed in honor of the Blessed Mother of God. The blacks still

cross themselves at the mention of Padre Anchieta's name, and the country

still abounds with traces and monuments of his zeal and wonderful sanctity.

The numerous churches of Bahia are generally very richly decorated, but not

cleanly kept. I saw some large black rats running across the altar of one

of them, most profusely adorned with gilt carving. It was a church

dedicated to St. Benedict the Moor, a negro saint from Africa, a monk of

the Franciscan order, who lived and died in Sicily, and it is exclusively

used by the blacks. A negro priest was loitering about its precincts, and

when I told him of the boldness of the aforesaid rats, "We cannot help it,

Señor Padre-mestre." he answered; "their numbers are so great we cannot

destroy them." The churches have no seats; the men stand round by the side

walls, and the women _squat_ down on the middle wooden floor.

Sometimes, and when the floor is of stone, the ladies are accompanied to

church by a female slave carrying a small square carpet, which she lays

down for her mistress to sit upon. I saw again here in the cathedral what I

had already seen in Lisbon: on a wooden bench near the holy-water vessel

close to the door lay several dead babies, shrouded up with the exception

of the face, and covered with fresh flowers. The mothers were waiting hard

by until a priest should come to recite the funeral prayers. I had at first

mistaken these little corpses for waxen _exvotos_. Thus adorned, death

had nothing sad or repulsive about it, especially when I thought that

these, were the remains of little angels--_anjiñhos_ they call them

in Brazil--who had flown to heaven with the purity of their baptismal

innocence.

{814}

The negroes of Bahia are numerous, and the finest in the Brazils. I admire

their robust frames, and the seeming indifference with which they carried

almost Titanic loads beneath such a burning sun. The landing-place is a

perfect Babel; these blacks are so loquacious, and they, moreover, seem to

think it adds to their importance to shout as loud as their rough, powerful

throats will let them. I have never heard a negro speak to another in a

quiet, subdued way. Why should they, indeed? They never attain the sober

sense of manhood; they are a mere set of noisy, overgrown children. We had

had as a fellow-passenger by the Magdalena, as far as Bahia, a Mr. B----, a

little, old Scotchman, long settled in the province of Minasgeraes, who

took no small pride in exhibiting a snow-white beard almost a yard in

length, and a plentiful crop of hair of the same venerable hue. A sprightly

English youth, who was one of the first to land, spread the report among

the blacks that we had on board the famous "Wandering Jew." Our ship was

soon surrounded by a multitude of boats crammed full of woolly heads, and,

when the luckless Scotchman landed, he was, to his dismay, escorted

everywhere by a long procession of shouting and screaming blackies. We

thought he paid rather dear for his eccentricity.

The market, which was near the landing-place, was abundantly supplied with

eatables of every kind; poultry, kids, lambs, sucking-pigs, all alive, and

bleating, squeaking, clucking their best; a great variety of fish and

fruits; oranges of huge size, called there _seleitas_; water-melons,

with the red, cool pulp; mangoes, bananas, jacas, a sort of large pumpkins

which grow on tall trees, goiavas, and many more species whose mostly

Indian names I cannot recollect. With the exception of oranges, limes, and

pine-apples, which are superexcellent, the fruits of Brazil do not at first

please a European palate. Those of Europe--owing, I suppose, to careful and

scientific cultivation--attain a more delicate flavor, if they do not equal

the fruits of America in size and color. The same may be said of the

flowers, which, with greater size and magnificence of color and form, lack,

for the most part, the exquisite perfume which our humblest flowers exhale.

------

Translated.

Sayings of the Fathers of the Desert.

Some brothers came to Abbot Antony, and said: "We wish to hear a maxim from

you by which we may save ourselves."

The father said: "You hear the Scriptures, that is enough for you."

"But we wish to hear something from you, father."

"You hear," replied Abbot Antony, "Our Lord saying: 'If any man strike you

on the left cheek, turn even the other to him.'"

Said they, "We are not able to do this."

"If you are not able to turn the other cheek, at least bear the one blow

patiently."

"We cannot do that," said they.

"If you are not strong enough for that, then do not wish to strike more

than you are struck."

"Oh!" said they, "we cannot even do that."

Then the father said to his novice: "Get ready some pap for these brothers,

for they are very weak." Then, turning to them, he said: "If you are not

able to do even this much, what can I do for you? All that you need is

prayer."

------

{815}

The Two Lovers of Flavia Domitilla.

By Clonfert.

Chapter IV.

The Feast of Blood.

About the year ninety-two of the Christian era, Domitian visited the

theatre of the Dacian war. Not daring to show himself to the rebel army, he

plundered the towns and cities which were left unprotected. Fire and fury

surrounded his march; and desolation left its smoking trail behind him.

Carrying with him the wealth of the pillaged villages, he returned to Rome.

The tact and bravery of Julian, who directed the war against the Dacians,

in a few months brought that warlike race to terms. Officially informed of

their surrender, Domitian, who had never appeared on the battle-field,

decreed himself a triumph such as in by-gone ages were awarded only to the

conquerors of great nations. He pompously ordered the temple of Janus to be

closed for the third time, we believe, in his reign. Its gates were left

open in time of war. Its closing was a sign that universal peace prevailed

over the vast area of the Roman empire.

The temple of Janus was closed. But the peace its silent sanctuary

represented was like the calm of the sea before being lashed into fury by

the flapping wings of the tempest. The surface of the social system,

undisturbed by the rebellion of warring tribes or by the clash of arms, was

outwardly quiet and even. But the quiet and the evenness were those of the

stagnant ocean described by the poet as being overhead covered with smiling

ripples and silver sunshine, but underneath filled with filth and

corruption and the nameless things bred thereof. Taking the point of view

chosen by a great saint, we may well exclaim: "What a spectacle presented

itself to the eye of the all-seeing Creator as he gazed downward over that

vast empire! What corruption of truth and justice, of morality and religion

filled society and corroded its vitals in all its parts! Rotten and rotting

systems of philosophy and the monstrous principles and practices born

thereof swarmed and spread on every side. It was only natural that the

whole corrupted mass would swell and boil with fury as the little yeast of

Christian truth destined to impregnate and cure it was being infused."

The temple of Janus was closed. But the man who directed the destinies of

the empire was ill at ease. The legions in Gaul and Asia were clamoring for

increased pay. He had already, in order to secure their fidelity, raised it

from three to four aurei, (about $5.25.) The gigantic and shapeless temples

and other structures he erected, together with the enormous outlay on

public games and festivals, were a continual drain on the treasury. To

procure money he had appointed officials of his own choosing to

superintend, increase, and collect the taxes in the provinces and in the

city of Rome; creatures like Arthus, who ground the people with iron heel

until they bruised out the last cent from their pockets. Arthus was one of

the principal of these tax-imposers and tax-gatherers in the city:

ambitious of rising higher and higher in the imperial favor, and of

out-distancing his fellow-financiers in the neighboring districts, he spent

all his time and attention which were not engaged in building up and

pulling down parts of the labyrinthine temple, of which we have in the last

chapter spoken, in devising plans for raising money.

{816}

After bath and dinner he was to be seen each day for hours with his hand

upon his head concocting schemes as to the best and most expeditious way of

putting his hand in the pockets of the poor, plundered plebeians. The

client who came to propitiate the great man by a money-offer was received

with courteous words and slippery smiles. But if it were a wretched wife

pleading for a husband and family, whose last obolus was given already, she

was received with insult and turned, if not kicked, from the door, carrying

with her the fear of the unrelenting tyrant hanging like midnight upon her

soul!

The Jews in these as in our own times had more than an ordinary repute for,

and possessed more than an ordinary share of, the money-bags. Arthus had

suggested a tax to be levied on them for the right of residence in Rome.

This proved a mine of supply during many years for the emperor. Another

suggestion of Arthus had been an edict of persecution against the

Christians, which would at once enable the cunning official to seize on and

confiscate all their property. The exhausted condition of the treasury,

together with what we are about relating, combined in bringing forth the

edict.

At an early hour of the day, in the morning of which we have seen Aurelian

at the Christian meeting, he sought the imperial palace. He had not changed

his dress of the day before, and he betrayed by his hurried step and

restless eye the deep excitement of his feelings.

When admitted into the emperor's presence, he described what he had

witnessed in the catacombs. The number and the rank in society of those

present at the Christian assemblage were painted in colors heightened by

his imagination and fears. The words of consecration which he had heard

were instanced as undeniable proof of the truth of the rumors circulated

about the murder of infants and participation of human blood and flesh by

the Christians, The marriage of Flavia and Vitus, as Aurelian believed, was

depicted, as well as the part which Theodore, Priscilla, and Clement took

in solemnizing it. The emperor seemed wholly overwhelmed. By nature and

habit of a very nervous temperament, he was overcome with vague terrors on

discovering himself surrounded in his very palace and family by traitors.

Vitus and Priscilla! the two most trusted inmates of his household, the

most punctual in the discharge of their duties, and the most faithful, as

he thought, to his own person! They to be infected with this Christian

poison, and principal sharers in these bloody orgies! After them it was

easy to belive that many more of his servants and friends were followers

and supporters of Christ. Perhaps at that very moment the plots planned in

those sacred meetings were at work against his life and crown! Might it not

be a clever manoeuvre to have thus entrapped and drugged Flavia in order

that, through her popularity and that of her uncle, the Roman people would

willingly see the sceptre wrested from his hand and placed in that of the

Christian whom she would espouse? Such were the reflections of Domitian in

listening to Aurelian's narrative. His full, red face grew fuller and

redder; his eyebrows lowered and drew the small eyes deeper under; and his

voice, always husky and rough, sounded more huskily and roughly as it fell

in short syllables on the ear:

"By the gods--who guard the Roman capitol and state--Aurelian--we must burn

out this nest of insects--crawling in the earth--and seeking to sting us

in our very palace--" He paused for breath, which came and went in

asthmatic style, between groups of three or four words. Striking a gong, he

ordered one of the courtiers to send for Arthus. But that obsequious

functionary was already in attendance at the palace and soon appeared. With

a peculiar, twitching motion of the hands, and feet, and head, and with

dress swaying in unison with the nervous motion of his body, Arthus

approached and knelt before Domitian.

{817}

"Arthus!" said the latter, "before the vesper hour--let the edict already

drafted against the Christians--be posted in the plain of Mars and let

copies of it be sent to the Asiatic, Gallic, and African cities!" Then

addressing Aurelian, "We shall ourselves--send a guard for the

ladies--Theodora and Flavia--as well as for Clement and the others--you

mentioned, and have them with Vitus and Priscilla--examined and punished

in our own presence."

On the evening of the 25th of December, the tablets on which the edict was

graven were placed in the Campius Martins. Then there arose through the

city sounds of commotion and woe, such as might arise if it were besieged

by a hostile army, or if the Gauls were once again calling for the

surrender of its keys. There was a hurrying to and fro of citizens in fear

or in fury, of soldiers and civic officials, of informers, accusers, and

accused, many of whom were before night dragged from their peaceful hearths

and families to the public tribunals. Many Christians were also put to

death. Through the darkness, as it fell like a pall on that scene of

excitement and suffering, the yelling of the mob was heard for many miles

as they surged through the streets and assailed the houses of the

suspected. The thirst for plunder and for blood, the awful rumors afloat,

and believed, of the Christian assemblies, and the thousand petty motives

of jealousy, envy, and hatred by which wicked men are often influenced

against their honest, virtuous neighbors, gave energy to the infuriate

passions of the populace. Throughout the night and the following days they

did not rest from their unhallowed work. Women and children as well as men

were seized and carried before the prefect or into the chamber of tortures,

where the brute-crowd shouted and cheered as they saw the martyrs writhing

on the rack or on the gridiron! However, in these crowds were many of the

faithful, who watched the death-scene, treasured each word that passed

between the judge and the condemned, and carried away either a sponge

soaked in, or a vial filled with, their blood, or some other relics. These

trustworthy witnesses wrote down the history of the martyrdom on

parchment-rolls, which they gave to the secretaries appointed to revise and

take care of them. Thus the first Christian Acts of Martyrs were compiled

and preserved.

As soon as the edict was posted, troops on horseback and in vehicles were

seen hastening through the streets and gates, and directing their courses

along the Appian, Flaminian, and other roads leading to the north, south,

east, and west. They carried copies of the edict for the magistrates of the

cities on their routes, to be set up in the forums and market-places. Some

travelled without stopping, save only for rest or refreshment at the

military _stationes_, or halting-places along the roads at intervals

of twenty or thirty miles. The _pagi_, or outlying smaller villages

built about central forts or places of defence, were seldom visited by

these couriers; because the _pagani_, or inhabitants of these country

villages, were the last to embrace Christianity, and comparatively few of

them had been at this early period converted. Quickly and steadily did

these messengers of persecution speed on, until the seaports or the

mountains were reached. Counting the places at which they rested for the

night, from ancient itineraries of the great highways north and south and

west, we may compute that in ten days the edict was promulgated at

Marseilles, in fifteen at Corinth, in nineteen in Algiers, and in

twenty-four in Ephesus and the remote cities of Asia Minor. Quickly and

steadily these messengers of woe sped from Rome to the four quarters of the

empire; and, as they passed, confusion, agony, and bloodshed were left

behind them. Like a stone dropped into calm waters, the bloody edict fell

upon the empire in an interval of peace.

{818}

The circle of consternation and persecution, like the commotion caused by

the stone falling into the tranquil waters, became wider and wider as the

imperial couriers travelled on, until it surged to the far boundaries of

the empire. But, although the servants of the temporal sovereign were thus

fleet and active, the messengers of the Lord of hosts were not slow or

idle. Ignotus, the Jewish beggar of the Appian Way, was the first to bring

word to Pope Clement and the missionaries assembled in the catacombs. The

pope had already made his arrangements; the city had been divided into

fourteen districts corresponding with its partition under the first

emperors; and priests, deacons, laymen, and even women were appointed to

watch over the several parts, to find admission, if possible, to the

imprisoned confessors and administer the sacraments and other consolations

of religion, to note down carefully what took place at their trials and at

their execution, and to obtain their bodies, and, if not, whatever relics

they could, in order to their decent preservation in the subterranean

vaults. Others, principally those who were lame or otherwise maimed, or

could easily assume the role of mendicants, were appointed to act as

messengers between the city and the catacombs. The more zealous who sighed

for martyrdom were restrained and ordered to prepare the niches for the

bodies of the martyred. The anxieties of the holy pope and missionaries

were not for the preservation of their own lives, but for the perseverance

of the faithful and the conversion of the unbelievers. Prayers for this

double purpose were appointed to be constantly offered in the collects of

the mass and at other times. Oh! how those unselfish, heroic men yearned

for the time when the cross of Jesus would be emblazoned on the capitol as

a sign that the countless nations and tribes subject to the Roman sway

bowed their stubborn necks to the mild yoke it symbolized. Health, wealth,

life were nothing in their esteem compared with this glorious result.

Clement, in his care of Rome, did not forget the other churches. To the

priest Andronicus, who was setting out for his post at Ephesus, he

entrusted a letter to the people of Corinth with regard to practices and

schisms, which, despite the efforts and letters of St. Paul, still cropped

up amongst them. Ignotus, the beggarman of the Appian and Latin Crossway,

had meantime turned his face toward Ostia, and long before the moon had

crossed the meridian he had warned many Christian communities to prepare

for the combat. The messengers of Domitian rested for the night; but

Ignotus never stopped day or night until he reached the mines outside

Ostia, where many Christians were employed. Before the official

announcement of the persecution reached the sea, the docks and vessels were

watched by anxious believers, clad in many guises of concealment. Many

availed themselves of the earliest craft to cross to Illyricum, Macedonia,

Greece, and Asia Minor. In the same way the Christian dwellers beyond the

Alps and Pyrenees had due warning before the edict arrived. One herald,

like Ignotus, was in every place through which he passed, a centre from

which other messengers, like radii, branched out. Thus zeal and charity

gave wings to the humble followers of Christ, with which the wealth and

power of imperial Rome were not able to arm its servants. Thus, too,

Christendom was prepared, as well as it could be, before the vultures

pounced upon its entrails. That preparation consisted to a great extent in

secreting the rolls of the sacred Scriptures and the consecrated vessels,

so that the persecutors might not seize on or desecrate them.

After leaving the Christian assemblage, Sisinnius with his two companions

returned to Aurelian's villa, and retired to take a few hours' rest. When

he awoke, he was told that Aurelian had driven to Rome.

{819}

Returning alone, he mused, as he passed through the fields between the

Latin and Appian roads, on the events of the previous evening, and

determined to say nothing, until he saw how things went on, to his wife or

Flavia about what he had witnessed. He found both in the family parlor.

There was nothing in their appearance to betray their vigils of the night

before, no sign of weariness or excitement. Flavia wore on her head the

white veil, and on her finger the ring, with which Clement had invested

her. A spirit of peace, joy, and happiness indescribable beamed, like a

light through a lamp, through her face and whole being. Theodora seemed

also happy. As the husband opened the door of the room, he saw her on her

knees, and heard his own name mentioned in earnest tones by her as she

supplicated God for his conversion and salvation. Standing for a moment in

the half-open door-way, he gazed with a feeling of veneration on his young

wife and her companion, as the rays of the sun slanting through a window

fell upon their earnest faces and surrounded their kneeling figures with a

balmy radiance. Silently and instinctively he joined them in spirit, asking

for full light to know and believe the truth.

Neither Sisinnius nor the inmates of his house had heard anything about the

persecution until twilight, when they were visited by a troop of the

imperial guard, led by Arthus. With his usual hurried gait and style, that

functionary explained how he had been commissioned by the emperor to escort

Theodora and Flavia to Domitian's palace. Sisinnius expressed his surprise

that it was deemed fitting or necessary to send a guard for noble ladies,

when an invitation or a message would have sufficed.

"Excuse me, noble Sisinnius, if I arouse your fears or pain your feelings.

You are not aware, perhaps, that an edict against the Christians has been

this afternoon promulgated from the capital and on the plain of Mars. The

two noble dames have been accused of belonging to the Christian conspiracy,

and having been present early this morning at their secret meeting!"

This was said by Arthus in a tone of malicious insolence, which Sisinnius

at another time would have subdued with contempt. But the tidings fell like

a lightning-stroke upon him, paralyzed his self possession, and filled him

with vague fears for his wife and her young friend.

"Please to rest," he said to Arthus, "for a few minutes in the atrium while

the ladies get ready to accompany you." Then re-entering the parlor, he

cautiously broke to them the news. But it had no effect on them as it had

on him. They glanced smilingly at each other, and exclaimed, "Thanks to

God," and announced their readiness to depart. Sisinnius urged Flavia to

change her dress; but she declined.

"But this dress," he urged, "will witness against you and be your

condemnation."

"Then I shall retain it. It is my bridal dress: is it fitting for the bride

to leave it aside when going to meet her spouse?"

Addressing himself to Theodora, he found her of the same mind as Flavia.

"Alas! my poor wife!" he exclaimed, embracing her, "you too are resolved to

die! Our lives have hitherto flowed along purely and musically as two

streams which unite their currents and go laughing through the summer

meadows. But we have reached the edge of a precipice, and may be separated

for ever by death. I know the tiger-nature of Domitian. But I must gird

myself to propitiate him. Oh! tell me that you will renounce this Christian

sect! otherwise I have little hope."

"You know not, dear Sisinnius, what, you ask. Death shall not separate

those who share in the future resurrection to a glorious immortality. Would

you wish your wife to lose her hopes thereof in order to avoid a little

temporal punishment? O my husband! I should die happily if I knew that you,

too, had acknowledged the one true God and the Saviour of mankind who died

to save us from sin and shame. I shall pray with my last breath, with my

blood, that God may reveal himself to you.

{820}

Then we would be again united in the world beyond the grave, never, never

to be separated! For there is One above"--she looked and pointed upward,

and Sisinnius imagined that there was something more than mortal about

her--"there is One above who shall hereafter command the elements and force

them to deliver up the portions of these mortal bodies that will have

passed into their possession. Fire and water, earth and air, shall obey his

order; and the ashes from the urn and the mould in the coffin, and the

gaseous vapors in which our burned or corrupting flesh may evaporate will

be restored; the bones shall stand up joint over joint in the tombs, and

the flesh and nerves and sinews shall reclothe them, and the souls shall

enter the arisen tenements of our bodies, and ascend like Jesus,

triumphant, after having despised the sting of temporal death and achieved

victory over the grave, to enjoy the unending, ineffable bliss prepared for

those especially who by their blood confess him before men. Dear Sisinnius,

if you be true to your own nature, if you do not stubbornly prevent the

light from sinking into your mind and heart, I feel a presentiment that you

shall know him, and shall then appreciate the littleness of earthly

sufferings and death when endured for his love! Gladly do I proceed to

resign the life of my body in order to secure that of my soul, particularly

when it is given for him who for me, and for you, too, my husband,

permitted himself to be nailed on a cross. With my very blood I shall

beseech him to show you how great joy there is in suffering for his name,

his person, and his cause. Dearest Lord Jesus!" she fervently prayed,

sinking on her knees, "grant your unworthy servant this grace, and

strengthen us in the hour of trial and combat to win the martyrs' fadeless

palm!"

Sisinnius was affected to tears as he saw such proof of sincere devotion to

himself, and at the same time to the religion of Christ. He thought that it

could not be the religion it was described to be, when it could thus win

and fill with happiness spirits so pure, so high, so unconscious of

wickedness as those of Theodora and Flavia Domitilla.

Arthus was impatient. Impatient also was the Emperor Domitian. He was

waiting in a large chamber of his palace, where, on an ivory altar, edged

with gold, were placed two statues, one of Jupiter and the other of

himself. A smoking censer swung in front of the altar, sustained on silver

chains attached by a pulley to the ceiling. Soldiers with drawn swords

stood in files along the sides of the room, while nearer to the altar were

stalwart men, naked to the waist, and holding instruments of torture in

their hands. These were Domitian's favorite gladiators, to utter a word

against any of whom was certain death. Round their arms the veins and

muscles swelled like twisted cords. The emperor was seated on a rich

throne, the steps of which he at intervals descended and nervously paced

the room. Terror sat on many faces as they saw his sunken eyes and knit

brows. Terror, too, was in his own heart as he conjured up before his

imagination the wide-spread and the hidden nature of the Christian

conspiracy against his throne. Such he assumed it to be. Hence he had now

surrounded himself with the gladiators, to whose fidelity and prowess he

entrusted his safety against the dagger or the poisoned cup. Aurelian had

been commissioned to lead a body of soldiers to the Appian Way, and to

arrest Pope Clement and those with him. But he had returned without finding

any trace of them, to the great chagrin of himself and the emperor. Those

present heard the latter grinding his teeth like small wheels in machinery,

and muttering broken curses with livid lips.

When Sisinnius and his party arrived, they were confronted by Vitus and

Priscilla.

{821}

"Flavia Domitilla and Vitus," said the emperor, "stand forth! Is it true,

Vitus, that, despite our known will, you have espoused our ward and cousin

in the Christian assembly? Can it be that you, so favored, so honored by

us, have become a traitor to our throne and person?"

"My sovereign lord!" said Vitus, stepping boldly into the centre of the

hall and making obeisance to the emperor, "I am not a traitor. On the

contrary, I am bound by every motive of loyalty and religion to serve you

in all things lawful. I appeal to your own experience of me in the past, if

I have not hitherto acted as became a Roman and an officer of the

household. Neither, most exalted emperor, is it true that the Lady Flavia

and I have plighted troth. My troth and faith are plighted to one higher

and more beautiful than she is; to one who can never know speck, or stain,

or wrinkle, who has been washed to a spotless whiteness in the blood of the

Lamb!" As he said this he turned toward Flavia, as if deprecating a seeming

want of courtesy.

At this moment, Aurelian, excited and travel-stained, entered, accompanied

by the troop of the guard he had led to arrest Pope Clement. The only

prisoners he brought back were Damian, the missionary from Britain, and

Lucius, one of his own slaves. He had met these two wandering among the

tombs, but got no trace of others.

Domitian, motioning Aurelian to a place near Vitus and Flavia, asked the

latter:

"Is this true, Flavia Domitilla, which Vitus says?"

"It is, my lord!" she answered, in a low, tremulous voice.

"What sayest thou, Senator Aurelian? I trust you have not, through

jealousy, led us to offer indignity to gentle ladies of rank! If so, by our

crown, the high favor in which you have stood shall not save you from due

atonement."

Aurelian was confused and confounded by this address, the cause of which he

did not well comprehend. One circumstance, however, worked in his favor:

Flavia's white veil. The emperor, remarking it, asked:

"What mean these flowing robes of white? They seem more a festive costume

than an evening dress."

She answered not. But Aurelian, having recovered his presence of mind,

said:

"Was I not right, O mighty potentate? This is the bridal garment she wore

last night when she was married to Vitus, after being drugged with a cup of

human blood! See! the influence of that drug is upon her yet."

"Answer me, Flavia Domitilla, truly. Have you been in the secret meeting of

the Christians last night?"

"I have," she replied, with firm voice and unflinching eye.

"Have you withdrawn the faith you gave Aurelian by our desire, and bestowed

it on another?"

"I have."

"To whom? to Vitus?"

"No! but to One more beautiful, more lovable, more glorious than Vitus, or

than any earthly being; to One whose wisdom outdistances the accumulated

lore of sages and philosophers; to One whose years are not counted by the

sands on the ocean's shores, by the grass blades clothing the earth, or the

water-drops in the encircling seas; yet whose youth is greener, fresher,

softer, and more lovely than the eye of man has rested on or the fancy of

poet has pictured; to One whose sceptre rules the nations of the earth and

all things therein, the islands of the deep and all things thereon, whose

messengers guide the stars in their courses, whose beauty and majesty are

faintly mirrored in the universe, and whose love for me is so great that he

left all these aside and became a servant in order that he might suffer and

die for me, and thus free me from the clutches of a tyrant! Yes, O emperor!

I have plighted my faith, and hope, and love, my body and my soul, my

present and my future, to my God and my Redeemer, Jesus Christ! He is my

glorious spouse, and I am his accepted bride.

{822}

Behold the garments in which I have been betrothed to him!" As she spoke

her face became animated, her voice grew strong and eloquent, her eye

flashed with courage, her whole bearing gave proof of a soul raised by the

excitement of unusual happiness to heroic daring. She stood before the

cruel tyrant, with hand uplifted to heaven, and the white Ionic veil waving

round her face like a shifting glory; and might, in the eyes of the heathen

soldiers, have passed for the goddess Juno, as described by Virgil, or for

Iris freshly descended from Olympus. But Domitian was not moved by her

youth, her eloquence, or her beauty, but bounded from his throne as if

stung by a serpent when he heard her thus mention the Saviour's name.

"What! In my presence--to my face--declaring yourself the bride of my worst

enemy. By the manes of Vespasian and Titus! If you do not offer sacrifice

to Jupiter and to my divinity, and renounce all connection with this

Crucified Jew, your head, with all its attractions, shall not long remain

upon those rounded shoulders!" He waved his sceptre and directed the

soldiers to bring her toward the altar. But she would not raise her hand

toward the incense.

"Never! never!" she exclaimed, "by word or act, shall I deny the Lord of

lords, the God of gods, and acknowledge by the supreme worship of sacrifice

a demon that has usurped his place, or a creature to be a god because he

sits on an earthly throne. You may force my hand, but you cannot force my

will!"

Domitian was frantic: "Away with her! away with her! Her family have always

crossed my path. Let not her head," he turned to the gladiators, "remain an

instant on her body, that her tongue may no longer insult me!"

A smile rippled over the face of the virgin confessor.

"See! she smiles, she mocks me! Off with it! off with it! Craven cowards!

do you hesitate before a mere woman? Give me that executioner's sword and I

shall make short work of it. By heavens she is smiling still and calling on

Jesus. Where is he now, God of gods, as you name him? Why does he not come

forward at his beloved's bidding to resist the power and stay the arm of

Domitian?"

Aurelian interposed nervously:

"Most powerful monarch and irresistible deity! she is smiling in joy under

the infatuating belief that, when her head is severed from her body, she

shall be out of your power, freed wholly from my claims upon her, and

received into the kingdom which Jesus promises to all who die for him. Do

not allow him to triumph over you, do not gratify her desire of martyrdom;

but entrust her to me, that I may make her my own; and then both you and I

shall have triumphed over those who have driven her into this madness."

"Be it so! Ha, ha! I believe you have taken the right view. See the tears

glisten in her eyes, and her joy is changed to sadness. But take her hence,

never to enter my presence, lest her words excite me to gratify her insane

longings. Who are those that drugged her?"

"Behold them!" said Aurelian, pointing to Vitus, Priscilla, Theodora, and

Damian. "There were others, too, who took a leading part in the ceremony,

but we have not been yet able to arrest them."

"Vitus! come forward and offer sacrifice to the gods!"

"I cannot, O mighty emperor! Because there is but one God to whom the honor

of sacrifice may be paid, and that is Jesus Christ, true God and true Man."

"Are you, my ladies," the emperor turned to Priscilla and Theodora, "of a

like disposition?"

"Yes," was the low but firm answer.

"Executioners, advance and do your duty by these recusants!"

Sisinnius fell upon his knees before the emperor and pleaded hard for his

wife's life, pleaded his own long services and fidelity to the imperial

family, pleaded her youth and innocence.

{823}

Domitian at length relaxed.

"I shall spare her life as I have spared that of Flavia Domitilla, until

such time as will show whether she will return to a better sense or not;

but both must be under the surveillance of a guard, whom I shall appoint.

As to those others," he said pointing to Priscilla and Damian, "the

traitors of my household, I shall make an example of them." He gave orders

in a voice which was not to be disobeyed for the execution of Priscilla and

Vitus, Damian and Lucius, (strangers in whom no one seemed interested;) and

the command was obeyed.

As Domitian saw the heads severed from the shoulders, he gloated over the

scene with the savage cruelty peculiar to him. Theodora and Flavia covered

their faces and prayed for the victory of the martyrs, managing to saturate

pieces of cloth in the blood.

------

Original.

The Wasted Vigil

Alas! what dire mischance is wrought?

A Friend was here who gently sought

An entrance to my humble cot,

Whilst I--O sorrow!--heeded not.

In meekest guise he came and went,

And I, on trifles vain intent,

The joyful greeting still forbore

While he was knocking at my door.

For me he left a regal throne,

And came in silence, and alone;

No shining guard his steps attend:

O earth! hadst ever such a friend?

And yet I did not rise to meet

Those wearied, patient, wounded feet,

Nor did I shield that kingly head

On which the chill night-dews were shed.

Oh! did I wake, or did I sleep,

That midnight vigil not to keep?

I knew, and yet I heeded not;

Methought I heard, and then forgot

That he had warned of swift surprise,

And only termed the _watchers_ "wise."

Dear Bridegroom of my soul! return!

Bereft of every joy, I mourn:

Return! my house, at last, is swept,

And where thy feet have stood, I wept.

Beloved Guest! I call--I wait;

Hope whispers, "It is not too late."

Be then that hope no more deferred,

Speak to my soul the pardoning word,

Then will I list in rapture sweet,

And dwell for ever at thy feet!

Marie.

Beaver, Pa.

----

{824}

From Chambers's Journal.

Old Paris.

As with men, so with cities. Whenever one of the latter becomes famous, and

the eyes of the world are fixed upon it, we desire to know more of it than

what is presented on the surface. A thousand little details, trifling,

perhaps, in themselves, share in the interest attaching to the whole to

which they belong. And as the most interesting biographies of great men are

those which not merely make us acquainted with the prominent features of

their lives--with the great exploits which they achieved--but also follow

them into their solitude or home-life, so the most attractive chronicles of

states and cities are those which enter into the seemingly unimportant

minutiae, neglected by the general historian and the compiler of the

guide-book.

Lutetia (_civitas_) Parisiorum is first mentioned in Caesar's

Commentaries. Lutetia has had various derivations assigned to it, but most

probably it is the Latinized form of _Loutouhezi_, the Celtic for "a

city in the midst of waters," it having been built on an island in the

Seine. In the fourth century it received the name of the people whose chief

city it was. During the middle ages it was supposed that Francus, a son of

Hector, founded Paris, and also Troyes in Champagne, giving to the former

the name of his uncle. In all likelihood, it comes from the Celtic

_par_ or _bar_, a frontier.

Christianity, according to Gregory of Tours, was first preached to the

Parisians by St. Dionysius, or Denis, in the year 250; and the first synod

held in Paris took place in 360, which seems to prove that the Christian

missionaries had already made numerous converts there. Paganism, however,

was not wholly uprooted until the episcopate of St. Marcellus, who died in

436, and who, according to a legend, is said to have hurled into the Seine

a frightful dragon which desolated the city, and which, perhaps, was the

emblem of heathenism.

Julian the Apostate had a great liking for Paris, and spent five winters

there. He praises its inhabitants for their intelligence and good conduct,

and the surrounding vineyards for their excellent produce. An edifice,

improperly called the Thermes de Julien, still exists in the Rue de la

Harpe, which perpetuates his memory, and possibly served as his residence.

In his time, the Montagne Ste. Geneviève was a sort of Campus Martius; the

gardens of the Luxembourg were occupied by a Roman camp, and Roman villas

lined both sides of the Seine.

The Merovingians made Paris their capital, and Clovis constantly resided

there. His sons, while dividing his states, judged the possession of Paris

of so great importance that they shared it among themselves, and agreed

that none of them should enter it without the consent of the others. Under

this dynasty, several of the Parisian churches were founded. Childebert

built the church of St. Vincent, afterward St. Germain des Prés, the

vaulting of each window in which was supported by costly pillars of marble.

Paintings, decorated with gold, covered the ceiling and the walls. The

roof, composed of plates of gilded bronze, when struck by the rays of the

sun, dazzled the eyes of beholders with its brilliancy.

Under Louis VI. and Louis VII. Paris became celebrated for its schools. The

best known were the Cathedral School, the school of St. Germain des Prés,

and that of Ste. Geneviève. At the first mentioned, Guillaume de Champeaux

taught theology, and counted among his pupils the well-known Abélard, at

the end of the eleventh and beginning of the twelfth century.

{825}

In 1118 Abélard opened on the Montague Ste. Geneviève his famous school,

which soon eclipsed all the others, and at which no less than ten thousand

scholars attended.

Philip Augustus, judging that Paris was not sufficiently protected by its

walls, caused a tower to be built outside them, on the site of a

_Louveterie_, or wolf-hunting establishment, from which it received

the name of the Louvre. It served at once for a royal residence, a

fortress, and a state-prison, and was completed, according to the original

plan, in 1204. It was under this monarch that the streets of Paris were

first paved. One day, while standing at a window of his palace in the city,

the mud or filth in the street, shaken by some vehicles which were passing,

exhaled an unbearable stench, which invaded the royal nostrils. It was then

that Philip conceived the project of paving the streets. The work was done

at the expense of the town, the pavement consisting of rough flagstones,

about three feet and a half square, and six inches in thickness.

It was in this reign, in 1182, that the legate of the holy see consecrated

the cathedral of Notre Dame, begun in 1163 by Maurice de Sully, Bishop of

Paris. This immense edifice, however, was not finished till the reign of

Charles VII. in the fifteenth century. The original flooring of Philip

Augustus was lately found at eight or nine feet below the surface; and the

thirteen steps which in his time, it is said, led to the entrance have

disappeared. It was under Philip that the municipality of Paris received

its first developments, and assumed a regular form. Besides the provost,

who, as officer of the king, presided over the courts of justice, there was

the syndic, nominated by the community of merchants, whose duty it was to

protect the commercial interests of the town. He was afterward called the

provost of the merchants, and was assisted by _echevins_, who formed

his council. Under Philip, this officer acquired many new rights. The

police, the streets, the care of public edifices, the administration of the

lands belonging to the town, passed from the provost of Paris to this

functionary.

Philip was also the patron of learning. He instituted schools in the Rue du

Fouarre. _Fouarre_, or _foare_, from which is derived the

existing _fourrage_, (forage,) is an old French word signifying straw.

The scholars in those simple ages sat upon bundles of straw during the

lectures, and as this custom naturally resulted in the frequent appearance

of that material in the neighborhood of the schools, the street received

its title from it. During the middle ages, no traffic was permitted in this

street, in order to obviate any disturbance to the students.

Philip the Fair founded the parliament of Paris. It held its sessions in

the king's palace, (Palais de Justice,) which, in the middle of the

fifteenth century, was entirely abandoned to it. In this palace was the

vast hall which served for receiving the homage of vassals, giving audience

to ambassadors, public festivities, and other occasions of national

interest, at one of the extremities of which was an enormous marble table,

round which sovereigns alone were permitted to sit; and upon which, at

certain times of the year, the society of _clercs de la basoche_

(lawyers' clerks) gave dramatic entertainments of a farcical character.

In the fourteenth century, as now, Paris was celebrated as the seat of

fashion in dress, though those dazzling _magasins de nouveautés_ which

we now admire there did not then exist. Wearing apparel, as well as other

merchandise, was generally sold by criers in the streets. "They do not

cease to bray from morning till night," writes Guillaume de Villeneuve.

Venders of all classes swelled the discordant concert. To cry goods for

sale was the daily special occupation; among others, of the three hundred

blind men supported by the king, St. Louis. These unfortunates, it seems,

were in the habit of performing their duties without guidance, and the

consequence was that they frequently came in collision, and gave each other

severe contusions.

{826}

The first stone of the famous Bastille was laid by the provost of Paris, in

the reign of Charles V., 1369. That formidable edifice was built for the

purpose of protecting the king, who had seen his authority braved by the

Parisians while residing in his palace in the city, which on that account

he quitted. He frequently dwelt in the Louvre, of which the Bastille was a

pendant, and of which M. Vitet gives the following picturesque description

as it was in the fourteenth century:

"The king caused to be raised outside the moats a number of buildings,

useful and ornamental, of a middling height, forming what were then

called _basses-cours_, and united to the chateau by gardens of

considerable extent. One cannot imagine all the various objects that were

heaped together in these dependencies and gardens. Besides lodgings for

the officers of the crown, there were a menagerie of lions and panthers,

bird-rooms, aviaries for the king's parrots, fish-ponds, basins,

labyrinths, tunnels, trellises, leafy pavilions--the favorite decoration!

of gardens in the middle ages. These parterres, cut in symmetrical

compartments, and thrown in the midst of buildings varying in form and

elevation; that chaos of towers and turrets--the former rising heavily

from the moats, the latter as if suspended from the walls; that pell-mell

of pointed roofs, here covered with lead, there with varnished tiles,

some crested with heavy vanes, some with tufts of various colors--all

this has no resemblance to a modern palace; but that disorder, these

contrasts, which seem to us only barbarously picturesque, appealed quite

differently to the imagination in those days, and were not without their

grandeur and majesty. These were the bright days of the feudal Louvre,

when it was living, peopled, and well cared for."

The space of ground which, until lately, formed the Marché des Innocents,

was, in the middle ages, the principal cemetery of Paris. It was surrounded

by a sort of vaulted gallery, which was reserved for the corpses of

distinguished persons and for dress-makers' shops. Here, in the year 1424,

the English, who were then masters of Paris, gave a grand fete of rejoicing

for the battle of Verneuil, and indulged in a frightful "dance of the dead"

over the level tombstones. In the middle of the cemetery rose an obelisk,

surmounted by a lamp, which alone feebly illumined at night the field of

the dead, and animated its solitude. But at sunrise all was

changed--daylight brought back with it noise, luxury, and pleasure.

Victor Hugo, in the chapter of his romance, Notre Dame de Paris, entitled

_Paris à vol d'oiseau_, (book iii. chapter ii.,) gives a vivid

description of the town as it was in the fifteenth century. Paris,

according to him, was at that time divided into three distinct parts--the

city, the university, and the town. The city, occupying the island, was the

oldest and smallest, and was the mother of the other two. "It stood between

these," he says, "like a little, old woman between two tall, handsome

daughters." The university was on the left bank of the Seine, stretching

between points which at present correspond with the Halles aux Vins and La

Monnaie. The town, the largest of the three divisions, was on the right

side of the river. Each of the divisions formed a town, depending for its

completeness upon the others. The city had churches; the town, palaces; the

university, colleges.

In 1539, Francis I., having given permission to the Emperor Charles V. to

traverse France, entertained the idea of receiving him at the Louvre, which

underwent, on that account, a general restoration, according to the style

of the renaissance; but as soon as the emperor departed, Francis,

perceiving that the new works were merely of a temporary character,

resolved to build a new palace on the same site as the former one, and

confided its erection to Pierre Lescot.

{827}

The building, begun in 1541, was continued till the death of Henry II. It

is the finest portion of the Louvre; the south-west angle. When Catherine

de Médicis came into power, she dismissed Lescot, engaged an Italian

architect, and caused that wing to be built which advances toward the

river.

In 1564, tired of the Louvre, Catherine bought a piece of ground called the

_Salbonière_, covered with pottery-works, the _Tuileries Saint

Honoré_, and commenced the palace which received its name from the

fabrics which had occupied its site. For six years, the new edifice

steadily progressed; but Catherine, having learned from her astrologer,

Ruggieri, that it was her fate to die under the ruins of a house near St.

Germain, suddenly gave up the works of the Tuileries, because it was in the

parish of St. Germain l'Auxerrois, and built the Hôtel de Soissons, on the

site of the present corn-market.

The famous Pont-Neuf was begun in 1578, Henry III. laying the first stone.

The Place Royale was completed in 1612. Here Cardinal Richelieu soon

afterward built a palace, which he called the Palais Cardinal, but which,

in a spirit of regal munificence, he presented to his king, Louis XIII.

Thenceforth it became the Palais Royal. Numerous hotels of the

_noblesse_ sprang up in the same quarter, and with them first appeared

there the warehouses for _bijouterie_ and other fancy goods, for which

the Palais Royal is at present so celebrated. A writer of that time

severely blames the merchants of these shops for permitting their wives to

flirt with customers--"all to induce them to buy a fashionable collar, a

child's purse, a drachm or two of perfume for the perruques or a boy's

wooden sword." Speaking of perruques, we must not omit to mention that they

reached their full development at the time of Louis Quatorze. Their most

celebrated maker was a M. Binet, from whom they sometimes were called

_binettes_. They weighed several pounds, sometimes cost a thousand

crowns, and rose five or six inches above the brow. The word _binette_

still exists in the language of the Paris _gamin_, designating a

person with a droll countenance.

The last insurrection at Paris before the revolution was that called the

_Fronde_, (sling.) This revolt received its name in a singular manner.

In the moat of the town, near Saint Roch, the little boys of the quarter

used to fight with slings. When the constable appeared, they all took to

their heels. In the disputes of the parliament, a young counsellor,

Bauchaumont, observed the modesty and docility of the members in the

presence of the king, and their turbulence in his absence. "They are quiet

just now," said he, "but, when he is gone, they will sling (_on

frondera_) with a will." The word remained. The Fronde soon gained the

whole town, which eagerly took the side of the insurgents, as the first

cause of the troubles was a new tax on houses built outside the walls.

Afterward, when the rebellion was quelled, the Parisians paid dearly for

their share in it. Their privileges were abolished, a royal garrison took

the place of their civic guards, and magistrates dependent on the crown,

that of the municipal authorities.

Deprived of its independence, it became the sole glory of Paris to be the

stage on which the splendors of the court of Louis XIV. were revealed. In

1662, that king gave an idea of what his reign would cost by the famous

_fète du carrousel_, which has left its name to the vast _place_

between the Louvre and the Tuileries. It cost 1,200,000 francs. Gold and

silver were employed in so great profusion on the trappings of the horses,

that the material of which they were made could not be distinguished from

the embroidery with which it was covered. The king and the princes shone

with the prodigious quantity of diamonds with which their arms and the

harness of their horses were covered.

{828}

About the same time the Tuileries and the Louvre were completed, and a

garden was designed for the former by Le Nôtre. The former garden of the

Tuileries, like other ancient French gardens, comprised a strange medley;

among other objects, it contained a pretty little abode, beside the quay,

and mysteriously concealed by a thick grove, which Louis XIII. had given to

his valet-de-chambre, Renard, who had furnished it with rare and costly

articles, and had made it a secret rendezvous for young seigneurs, and the

scene of luxurious _petits soupers_.

It was in 1669 that Soliman Aga, the Turkish ambassador at the French

court, introduced the use of coffee into Paris. The first café was opened

at the _foire_ St. Germain, which was then one of the most frequented

and fashionable places of resort in the town, and the suppression of which,

toward the end of the eighteenth century, went far to destroy the industry

and commerce of the left bank of the river, to the profit of the right. An

Armenian named Pascal afterward established a _café_, which was much

in vogue, called the Manouri, upon the Quai de l'Ecole; and, in 1689, a

Sicilian, Procopio, opened the Café Procope in the present Rue de

l'Ancienne Comédie, which was for long the favorite place of reunion for

the _savans_ and _beaux-esprits_ of the period.