Glory, the glory of the world, its triumphs and its pride
What are its fleeting honors worth?
Meeting again at evening, and each being engaged in some useful
avocation, Herbert continued their course of reading the tale of the
early Christians.
With a hasty step Lucius Flavius pursued his way through the streets
of the city, thronged with persons of every rank and degree, on whose
countenances might be traced emotions of every different kind. In
some, the wondering stare of idle curiosity mingled with the vacant
look of indifference as to what events were transpiring; in others,
the animated glance of triumphant success, with the look and gesture
of determined vengeance. Here stood a group whose debauched features
and downcast expression proclaimed that they were companions of the
infamous pleasures of Nero, and that in his downfall they lamented the
loss of a protecting patron, and there, a crowd, who having been deeply
injured by the tyrant, were venting their impotent rage by mutilating
his statues, and tearing down the garlands which had decorated them.
The name of Nero, repeated, was coupled with the deepest execrations,
but Flavius stopped not to inquire his fate. Forcing his way through
the dense multitude, which surrounded the palace of Servius Galba, he
required of a guard to be admitted to his presence, and while awaiting
the return of his messenger contemplated, with interest, the scene
before him. The brilliant illumination of the building cast a broad
light upon the adjacent objects, and a radiant reflection was thrown
back from the glittering armor of the long lines of soldiers. The roar
of the rapidly increasing crowd sounded from afar like the tempestuous
waves of the ocean, while the strict discipline of the army prevented
any demonstrations of disorder immediately around the palace. Amidst
the distant uproar, the name of Galba was reiterated with joyful
acclamations, mingled with deep and terrible denunciations of death
for the tyrant. Such, thought the young Roman, is the mutability of
greatness; but his reflections were interrupted by a favorable answer
to his request for admittance, and he followed an attendant to the
presence of the Emperor. Surrounded by some of the most powerful and
influential citizens of Rome, with the flush of successful ambition
upon his brow, and a proud joy flashing from his eyes, stood Servius
Galba, arrayed in the imperial purple, and a crown of laurel upon his
head. Advancing a few steps to meet and receive the congratulatory
homage of the young noble, he said, with an exulting smile, “The Fates
have been propitious, my lord Flavius, the reign of despotism and
disgrace is at an end; the Senate have confirmed the election of the
Army, and we will commence our reign by an act of clemency towards
that obnoxious sect, who are turning the world upside down by their
heresys. It might perhaps be policy,” said he, addressing those who
were near, “to extend mercy to some of these offenders, we find, after
long experience in these matters, that opposition but increases their
obstinacy.” “The young Roman, Quintius Curtius, is already liberated,
noble Galba,” said Flavius, “and I now appear to offer my service to
return you most hearty thanks for your intercession, and to perform a
condition, upon the fulfilment of which the miserable tyrant insisted
ere he granted the life of my friend.” “Aye,” said Galba, “he released
him, then; he treated my intercession with insolent contumely, and
by his arrogant menaces hastened the consummation of the events to
which I alluded in our last interview. Perhaps it is best so; but, my
friend, caution this young fanatic; he has talents and noble abilities,
if rightly applied, and if he will not, by his imprudent enthusiasm,
thwart my measures, for your sake, I will see to his advancement.” This
was said in a lower tone, then aloud. “But this condition which has
been imposed by the imperious homicide; what is its purport?” “Merely,
noble Emperor, that I should intercede with you that his life might
be spared, which petition I now humbly lay before you, representing
that his power is now impotent, that mercy is the attribute of
heaven, and that, imitating this attribute, when power is given us
so to do, we may the more boldly claim it in our hour of need.” “You
say well, noble Flavius, but this matter is beyond my control. The
Senate have decreed the punishment, which, severe and harsh as it may
seem, is so richly his due. He is sentenced to be dragged through the
streets he has degraded by his infamous excesses, and disgraced by
his outrageous cruelties, scourged, and then thrown from the Tarpeian
Rock. I have, however,” said he, addressing Flavius in a confidential
tone, “caused my freedman to follow and warn him of this decree, and
he may yet escape its horrors by a voluntary death.” “A most dreadful
alternative,” said Flavius, “but, may he not yet elude it? He is not
destitute of partisans.” “It is not possible,” said the Emperor, “the
avenues are guarded, he has been traced to his villa, and escape is
impracticable. This has been an eventful night, my countrymen, may the
dawn see Rome fully emancipated from her disgraceful thraldom. For
the present, Lucius Flavius, farewell, preparations must be made for
the ceremonies of the day; you shall be instructed as to our future
proceedings.”
The first faint appearance of the dawn of day was seen, the fleecy
clouds were dispersing before the gradual approach of light, and the
thin mist arose around the tops of the mountains, when, at the entrance
of a rugged ravine, skirted by the highroad, stood a man partially
concealed by a clump of trees, apparently watching for the appearance
of some one. He was pale and haggard, and, at every distant noise would
cower into his retreat, and listen with the most intense eagerness. The
sweet sounds of the morning had commenced in the soft twitterings of
the birds over his head, and its breezy breath played upon his parched
lips and feverish brow, but without bestowing serenity to his spirit,
or affording refreshment to his wearied frame. His impatience seemed
to increase as the shades of night gave way before the rosy hues that
betokened the approach of day, and as those tokens rapidly increased,
as the tops of the mountains, and the distant spires of the city caught
the first gleam of the rising sun, as the far off horn of the shepherd
was heard collecting his flock for their rich pasture, it almost
amounted to agony. It was Anicetus, the freedman, the wretched agent
of his wretched master, who, flying from fear of the vengeance due to
his crimes, here awaited the coming of one, who, formerly his fellow
servant, he believed would not betray him, and, from whom he might
learn, with certainty, the state of the public mind. What, to him, was
the smiling face of nature or the bright beams of the sun? Midnight
gloom and lowering tempest would have been more congenial to his guilty
soul. As he stood motionless, his heavy eyes cast upon the ground, and
his knit brow shaded in gloom, a squirrel sprang from the covert upon
a decayed branch directly before him, as the sprightly animal stood,
with his fearless innocent eyes, glancing around, the miserable man
gnashed his teeth, and in the impotence of his rage that any living
thing should be happy, aimed a blow, which the active animal eluded,
the next instant standing upon the topmost bough of a lofty tree,
chattering in his joyous glee. The thought of happiness was hateful
to him, as he remembered the scene he had just left, and the imminent
danger of his own situation. He had seen the master whom, from his
earliest childhood he had instructed in evil, to whose base and wicked
passions he had ever been subservient, but, to whom, if his corrupt
heart ever felt the sensation of affection, he was more attached than
to any living thing, breathe out his guilty soul in all the horrors of
despair; had seen him dreading the approach of death, and evading its
final grasp by every futile expedient. He had assisted in gathering a
funeral pile in that garden, where so much luxury had reigned, and
which had so often been the resort of crime and pollution; he had
prepared the deadly draught at the command of the abject Emperor, and
had seen him reject it in horror. He had joined in chanting a dirge
for the dead; a dirge for the master, in whose veins at that moment
the current of life was warm and glowing and, with trembling hand had
opened those veins, that life might pass away with the red stream;
then, with hurried alarm, arrested its flow by strong bandages, as the
ghastly and shuddering tyrant, shrinking from the abyss over which his
wretched soul was hovering, asserted that his time had not yet come. To
close the frightful scene, he, in the last moment, held the glittering
weapon, while Nero, the tyrant of his country, the bitter and untiring
persecutor of the unoffending Christians, rushed upon its point, and
closed that life, which had been a curse to the world; and now, he
found himself alone, exposed to a just and terrible retribution, which
awaited his own crimes, and his connivance at those of another. But
now, the tramp of a horse became distinctly audible, and a rider,
wearing the livery of Servius Galba, appeared, in rapid motion, for
the city. As he approached the thicket its occupant moved forward,
evidently wishing to be seen. “Ha!” said the horseman, stopping, “you
here, Anicetus, like a wolf in his lair? By Jupiter, old acquaintance,
it would have been well to have lived, so that you need not fear to be
seen.” “No more of that,” said the freedman, in a sullen tone, “did
you perform the service I requested?” “We laid the body upon the pile
you had collected, and, kindling the flame, the thick smoke arose in
the morning air, grim and black as the pit of Erebus.” “That is a good
deed done, comrade; I owe you much; his body is then beyond their
reach, ’twas his last request; I can trust you, old friend, what is my
safest course?” “Leave Rome behind you; track your way through the most
unfrequented paths to some distant land, and, in quitting your country,
leave all your sins and ill-gotten treasures, that you may travel
light. You will not be safe here an hour, the scent is up, and the
hunters will not flag.” “Say you so, then farewell to Rome; thanks to
the gods, there are other skies, the air of this place seems damp and
unwholesome.” “The atmosphere is clearing, friend, it will work itself
pure shortly. Farewell. Fear not that I shall betray you. May the gods
prompt you to lead a better life, and provide you a better master.” He
pursued his way to the city, and the dark and guilty man, plunging into
the ravine, was lost to sight.
* * * * *
“The environs of Rome,” said Herbert, “once so delightful, are now
but a dreary waste, with no human habitation or fertile fields; the
melancholy ruins of former greatness, scattered here and there, but
add to the desolation and the poisonous exhalations from stagnant
marshes have driven almost all life from its desert soil.” “Why
should this air be so infectious?” said Mary; “it surely was not so
in former times, for, had it been, the Roman territories would not
have been so populous.” “The lands around the city in the bright days
of Rome,” said Herbert, “were highly cultivated; they were drained of
their superabundant moisture, trees were planted and rich vineyards
cherished; the whole extent of territory around the great emporium
was like a garden, supplying the wants of the immense population; the
inhabitants lived under their own vines and fig trees, and had every
inducement to industry, and every encouragement to render their soil as
fertile as possible, and peace and prosperity was the consequence. But,
when powerful, barbarous nations, allured by the riches and splendor
of Rome, and probably foreseeing that her inhabitants, enervated by
luxury and long-continued prosperity, would become an easy prey to
their rapacity, poured upon the rich and beautiful plains of Italy,
devastation and ruin marked their course. The fruitful trees were cut
down, the vineyards defaced, the drains and aqueducts destroyed, the
inhabitants slain, or, saving themselves by flight, and their pleasant
dwellings leveled with the ground. Disheartened and discouraged, the
Roman people no longer possessed the energy to combat with their
fate. They forsook their ruined plains and the noxious vapors arising
from the deserted fields, producing disease and pestilence, gave up
all thought of repairing the ravages of war. The mischief has been
gradually increasing and threatens, at some future day, to make
the “Eternal City,” as it has been named, like Babylon of old, the
residence of only noisome reptiles.” “It is sad,” said his mother, “to
reflect upon the fate of these mighty nations, and to know that their
downfall was the consequence of their crimes. May luxury, with its long
train of evils, be far from our own native land!” “Shall I interpret
your looks, Susan?” remarked Herbert, smiling; “you are thinking that,
though luxury may be a great evil, you would rather prefer a little
of it; that you should not exactly like the frugal meals of the old
Romans, ‘a radish and an egg, under an oak.’” “You are partly right,
Herbert,” said she, “notwithstanding their simplicity, patriotism and
bravery, and all that sort of things, there is something revolting in
some of their manners and customs; witness the little ceremony used
in procuring their wives in those early days.” “That was when Rome
was first founded, Susan,” said Charles. “Those were not what Herbert
calls the bright days of Rome.” “True, true, my little critic,” said
Herbert: “simplicity, in the days referred to by Susan, was barbarism,
and patriotism and bravery then were often questionable virtues.”
“Were there any such really brave and good men, at those times, as Gen.
George Washington?” said Charles. “Their greatest and best men,” said
Mrs. Wilson, “had not that light to guide them which he possessed. The
paths, to him like noonday, were to them enveloped in shadowy gloom;
but in no age has there ever lived a man who more truly deserved
to be ‘first in the hearts of his countrymen’ than Washington, the
pride and boast of America. His firm and steady prudence, his sound
discretion and unwavering integrity, his noble courage, and, above
all, his unswerving trust in Providence, render him the model of all
greatness. Other conquerors sought their own aggrandizement; he, only
that of his country; they trampled on all laws, human and divine, to
attain their purposes; his great aim and object was the happiness
of the world as well as that of his beloved country.” “The death of
Washington,” said Herbert, “proved the estimation in which he was held
by the nation. They knew not, until then, how much they had relied
upon his penetrating judgment and firm perseverance, his incorruptible
integrity and unshaken patriotism; that star was removed whose steady
ray had uniformly pointed to the path of true glory and a mist seemed
for a time to envelope the world. The most enthusiastic honors were
paid to his memory; his loss was deplored from one extremity of the
country to the other; even prattling babes were clothed in the symbols
of mourning and, had this great and good man lived in the days of
heathen Rome, he would have been deified and honored as a god. Orators,
in eloquent language, poured forth his praises and poets chose their
noblest strains for his honor: malice and envy found no place for their
innuendos and the smoothing hand of time was not needed to fix his
glorious character.”