BAUDILLAS, THE DEACON
The chain of priests and priestesses could not restrain the mob, that
thrust forward to the great basin, to see the result.
Exclamations of every description rose from the throng.
“He fell in!”
“Nay, he cast himself in. The god will withdraw the holy waters. It was
impious. The fountain is polluted.”
“Was it not defiled when a dead tom‐cat was found in it? Yet the fountain
ceased not to flow.”
“The maiden floats!”
“Why should the god pick out the handsomest girl? His blood is ice‐cold.
She is not a morsel for him,” scoffed a red‐faced senator.
“He rises! He is swimming.”
“He has grappled the damsel.”
“He is striking out! Bene! Bene!”
“Encourage not the sacrilegious one! Thou makest thyself partaker in his
impiety!”
“What will the magistrates do?”
“Do! Coil up like wood‐lice, and uncurl only when all is forgotten.”
“He is a Christian.”
“His father was a philosopher. He swears by the gods.”
“He is an atheist.”
“See! See! He is sustaining her head.”
“She is not dead; she gasps.”
“Body of Bacchus! how the water boils. The god is wroth.”
“Bah! It boils no more now than it did yesterday.”
In the ice‐green water could be seen the young man with nervous arms
striking out. He held up the girl with one arm. The swell of the rising
volumes of water greatly facilitated his efforts. Indeed the upsurging
flood had such force, that to die by drowning in it was a death by inches,
for as often as a body went beneath the surface, it was again propelled
upwards.
In a minute he was at the breastwork, had one hand on it, then called:
“Help, some one, to lift her out!”
Thereupon the man clothed in brown wool put down his arms, clasped the
half‐conscious girl and raised her from the water. Callipodius assisted,
and between them she was lifted out of the basin. The priests and
priestesses remonstrated with loud cries. But some of the spectators
cheered. A considerable portion of the men ranged themselves beside the
two who had the girl in their arms, and prevented the ministers of
Nemausus from recovering Perpetua from the hands of her rescuers.
The men of the upper town—Greek colonists, or their descendants—looked
superciliously and incredulously on the cult of the Gallic deity of the
fountain. It was tolerated, but laughed at, as something that belonged to
a class of citizens that was below them in standing.
In another moment Æmilius Lentulus had thrown himself upon the balustrade,
and stood facing the crowd, dripping from every limb, but with a laughing
countenance.
Seeing that the mob was swayed by differing currents of feeling and
opinion, knowing the people with whom he had to do, he stooped, whispered
something into the ear of Callipodius; then, folding his arms, he looked
smilingly around at the tossing crowd, and no sooner did he see his
opportunity than, unclasping his arms, he assumed the attitude of an
orator, and cried:
“Men and brethren of the good city of Nemausus! I marvel at ye, that ye
dare to set at naught the laws of imperial and eternal Rome. Are ye not
aware that the god Claudius issued an edict with special application to
Gaul, that forever forbade human sacrifices? Has that edict been
withdrawn? I have myself seen and read it graven in brass on the steps of
the Capitoline Hill at Rome. So long as that law stands unrepealed ye are
transgressors.”
“The edict has fallen into desuetude, and desuetude abrogates a law!”
called one man.
“Is it so? How many have suffered under Nero, under Caius, because they
transgressed laws long forgotten? Let some one inform against the
priesthood of Nemausus and carry the case to Rome.”
A stillness fell on the assembly. The priests looked at one another.
“But see!” continued Æmilius, “I call you to witness this day. The god
himself rejects such illegal offerings. Did you not perceive how he
spurned the virgin from him when ye did impiously cast her into his holy
urn? Does he not sustain life with his waters, and not destroy it? Had he
desired the sacrifice then would he have gulped it down, and you would
have seen the maiden no more. Not so! He rejected her; with his watery
arms he repelled her. Every crystal wave he cast up was a rejection. I saw
it, and I leaped in to deliver the god from the mortal flesh that he
refused. I appeal to you all again. To whom did the silver image cast the
apple? Was it to the maiden destined to die? Nay, verily, it was to her
who was to live. The golden pippin was a fruit of life, whereby he
designated such as he willed to live. Therefore, I say that the god loveth
life and not death. Friends and citizens of Nemausus, ye have transgressed
the law, and ye have violated the will of the divine Archegos who founded
our city and by whose largess of water we live.”
Then one in the crowd shouted: “There is a virgin cast yearly from the
bridge over the Rhodanus at Avenio.”
“Aye! and much doth that advantage the bridge and the city. Did not the
floods last November carry away an arch and inundate an entire quarter of
the town? Was the divine river forgetful that he had received his
obligation, or was he ungrateful for the favor? Naught that is godlike can
be either.”
“He demanded another life.”
“Nay! He was indignant that the fools of Avenio should continue to treat
him as though he were a wild beast that had to be glutted, and not as a
god. All you parents that fear for your children! Some of you have already
lost your daughters, and have trembled for them; combine, and with one
voice proclaim that you will no more suffer this. Look to the urn of the
divine Nemausus. See how evenly the ripples run. Dip your fingers in the
water and feel how passionless it is. Has he blown forth a blast of
seething water and steam like the hot springs of Aquæ Sextiæ? Has his
fountain clouded with anger? Was the god powerless to avenge the act when
I plunged in? If he had desired the death of the maiden would he have
suffered me, a mortal, to pluck her from his gelid lips? Make room on
Olympus, O ye gods, and prepare a throne for Common Sense, and let her
have domain over the minds of men.”
“There is no such god,” called one in the crowd.
“Ye know her not, so besotted are ye.”
“He blasphemes, he mocks the holy and immortal ones.”
“It is ye who mock them when ye make of them as great clowns as
yourselves. The true eternal gods laugh to hear me speak the truth. Look
at the sun. Look at the water, with its many twinkling smiles. The gods
approve.”
Whilst the young man thus harangued and amused the populace, Baudillas and
Quincta, assisted by two female slaves of the latter, removed the
drenched, dripping, and half‐drowned girl. They bore her with the utmost
dispatch out of the crowd down a sidewalk of the city gardens to a bench,
on which they laid her, till she had sufficiently recovered to open her
eyes and recognize those who surrounded her.
Then said the widow to one of the servants: “Run, Petronella, and bid the
steward send porters with a litter. We must convey Perpetua as speedily as
possible from hence, lest there be a riot, and the ministers of the devil
stir up the people to insist upon again casting her into the water.”
“By your leave, lady,” said Baudillas, “I would advise that, at first, she
should not be conveyed to your house, but to mine. It is probable, should
that happen which you fear, that the populace may make a rush to your
dwelling, in their attempt to get hold of the lady, your daughter. It were
well that she remained for a while concealed in my house. Send for the
porters to bring the litter later, when falls the night.”
“You are right,” said Quincta. “It shall be so.”
“As in the Acts of the Blessed Apostles it is related that the craftsmen
who lived by making silver shrines for Diana stirred up the people of
Ephesus, so may it be now. There are many who get their living by the old
religion, many whose position and influence depend on its maintenance, and
such will not lightly allow a slight to be cast on their superstitions
like as has been offered this day. But by evenfall we shall know the humor
of the people. Young lady, lean on my arm and let me conduct thee to my
lodging. Thou canst there abide till it is safe for thee to depart.”
Then the brown‐habited man took the maiden’s arm.
Baudillas was a deacon of the Church in Nemausus—a man somewhat advanced
in life. His humility, and, perhaps, also his lack of scholarship,
prevented his aspiring to a higher office; moreover, he was an admirable
minister of the Church as deacon, at a period when the office was mainly
one of keeping the registers of the sick and poor, and of distributing
alms among such as were in need.
The deacon was the treasurer of the Church, and he was a man selected for
his business habits and practical turn of mind. By his office he was more
concerned with the material than the spiritual distresses of men.
Nevertheless, he was of the utmost value to the bishops and presbyters,
for he was their feeler, groping among the poorest, entering into the
worst haunts of misery and vice, quick to detect tokens of desire for
better things, and ready to make use of every opening for giving
rudimentary instruction.
Those who occupied the higher grades in the Church, even at this early
period, were, for the most part, selected from the cultured and noble
classes; not that the Church had respect of persons, but because of the
need there was of possessing men who could penetrate into the best houses,
and who, being related to the governing classes, might influence the upper
strata of society, as well as that which was below. The great houses with
their families of slaves in the city, and of servile laborers on their
estates, possessed vast influence for good or evil. A believing master
could flood a whole population that depended on him with light, and was
certain to treat his slaves with Christian humanity. On the other hand, it
occasionally happened that it was through a poor slave that the truth
reached the heart of a master or mistress.
Baudillas led the girl, now shivering with cold, from the garden, and
speedily reached a narrow street. Here the houses on each side were lofty,
unadorned, and had windows only in the upper stories, arched with brick
and unglazed. In cold weather they were closed with shutters.
The pavement of the street was of cobble‐stones and rough. No one was
visible; no sound issued from the houses, save only from one whence came
the rattle of a loom; and a dog chained at a door barked furiously as the
little party went by.
“This is the house,” said Baudillas, and he struck against a door.
After some waiting a bar was withdrawn within, and the door, that
consisted of two valves, was opened by an old, slightly lame slave.
“Pedo,” said the deacon, “has all been well?”
“All is well, master,” answered the man.
“Enter, ladies,” said Baudillas. “My house is humble and out of repair,
but it was once notable. Enter and rest you awhile. I will bid Pedo search
for a change of garments for Perpetua.”
“Hark,” exclaimed Quincta, “I hear a sound like the roar of the sea.”
“It is the voice of the people. It is a roar like that for blood, that
goes up from the amphitheater.”