In the peaceful light of late afternoon shone the chapel and convent
which Valerius had built in order to release his daughter from the
service of the Church. It was situated at the foot of the Apennines, to
the northeast of Perusia and Asisum, and to the south of Petra and
Eugubium, upon a rocky precipice above the little town of Taginae.
The cloister, built of the dark red stone of the neighbourhood,
enclosed in its quadrangle a quiet garden, green with shrubberies.
A cool arched passage ran round all its four sides, decorated in the
grave Byzantine style, with statues of the apostles, mosaics, and
frescoes on a golden background.
This ornamentation consisted in symbolic pictures from the sacred
writings, especially from the Revelations of St. John, the favourite
Gospel of that time.
Solemn stillness reigned over the place. Life seemed excluded from
within these high and strong walls.
Cypresses and arbor-vitae predominated in the groups of trees in the
garden, where the song of a bird was never heard. The strict conventual
order suffered no bird, lest the sweet song of the nightingale might
disturb the pious souls in their devotions.
It was Cassiodorus who, already inclined to a severe monastic rule when
minister of Theodoric, and full of Biblical learning, had sketched for
his friend Valerius the plan for the outer and inner government of this
convent--similar to the rules of the monastery which he himself had
founded at Squillacium--and had watched over its execution. His pious
but severe mind, so alienated from the flesh and the world, was
expressed in the smallest details.
The twenty widows and maidens who lived here as nuns passed their days
in prayer and psalm-singing, chastisement and penitence, and also in
works of Christian charity; for they visited the sick and the poor of
the neighbourhood, comforting and nursing body and soul.
It made a solemn, poetical, but very sad impression upon the beholder
when one of these pious nuns came walking through the dark avenue of
cypresses, clad in a flowing dark-grey garment, which trailed on the
ground, and a white close-fitting kalantika upon her head, a costume
which Christendom had received from the Egyptian priests of Isis.
Before every cross of the many which were cut in the box-trees the nuns
stood still and folded their hands in adoration. They always walked
alone, and dumb as shadows they glided past each other when they
chanced to meet; for communication was reduced to the absolutely
necessary.
In the middle of the garden a spring flowed from beneath a
dark-coloured rock, surrounded by cypresses; marble seats were fixed in
the rock.
It was a retired, lovely spot; wild roses formed a sort of arbour, and
almost entirely concealed a rough bas-relief sculptured in the rock,
representing the martyrdom of St. Stephen.
Near this spring sat, eagerly reading in a roll of papyrus, a beautiful
maiden, clad in a snow-white garment, held up on the left shoulder by a
golden clasp. A spray of ivy was twined in the dark brown hair, which
flowed back from the brow in soft waves. It was Valeria.
When the columns of her home at Neapolis had been overthrown, she had
found an asylum within these strong walls. She had become paler and
graver in this lonely dwelling, but her eyes still beamed with all
their former beauty.
She read with avidity; the contents of the papyrus seemed to entrance
her; her finely-cut lips moved involuntarily, and at last she began to
read aloud in a low voice:
"His child to Hector of the brazen helm
Was given in marriage; she it was who now
Met him, and by her side the nurse, who bore
Clasped to her breast, his all-unconscious child,
Hector's loved infant, fair as morning star;
Silent he smiled as on his boy he gazed,
But at his side, Andromache in tears,
Hung on his arm, and thus the chief addressed:
'Dear lord, thy dauntless spirit will work thy doom;
Nor hast thou pity on this thy helpless child,
Or me, forlorn to lie thy widow soon:
For thee will all the Greeks with force combined
Assail and slay: for me, 'twere better far,
Of thee bereft, to lie beneath the sod;
Nor comfort shall be mine, if thou be lost,
But endless grief: to me nor sire is left,
Nor honoured mother;
But, Hector, thou to me art all in one,
Sire, mother, brethren! thou, my wedded love!'"
She read no further; her large eyes grew moist; her voice died away;
her head sank upon her bosom.
"Valeria!" said a mild voice, and Cassiodorus bent forward over her
shoulder; "tears upon the book of comfort! But what do I see--the
'Iliad?' Child, I gave you the Evangelists!"
"Pardon me, Cassiodorus; my heart clings to other gods than yours. You
cannot imagine how, the more the shadow of earnest self-denial presses
upon me since I entered these walls, the more tenaciously my resisting
heart holds fast to the last ties that bind me to the world. And my
mind vacillates between disgust and love."
At this moment a loud and cheerful sound broke the silence; a strange
tone in these quiet precincts, which usually echoed only the low choral
of the nuns.
Trumpets sounded the merry signal of the Gothic horsemen. The tones
penetrated Valerians heart with a life-giving feeling. The gatekeeper
came running from the dwelling-house.
"Master," he cried, "bold horsemen are outside the gate. They make a
noise and demand meat and drink. They will not be refused, and their
leader--there he is!"
"Totila!" cried Valeria, and flew to meet her lover, who appeared in
his glittering armour and white mantle. "Oh, you bring me air and
life!"
"And new hope and old love!" said Totila, and held her in a fast
embrace.
"Whence come you? How long you have been away!"
"I come straightway from Paris and Aurelianum, from the courts of the
Frank kings. Oh, Cassiodorus, how well off are those on the other side
of the mountains! What an easy life have they! There heaven and earth
and tradition do not fight against their German spirit. The Rhenus and
Danubius are near, and uncounted Germanic races dwell there in old and
unbroken strength; we, on the contrary, are like an advanced outpost, a
forlorn hope, a single block of rock, worn away by the envious
elements. But all the greater fame," he continued, drawing himself up,
"if we can create and uphold a kingdom for the Germans in the centre of
the country of the Romans! And what a magic lies in your fatherland,
Valeria! And we have made it ours. How my heart rejoiced when olives
and laurels and the deep deep blue of heaven again greeted my eyes! I
felt that if my people can victoriously sustain themselves in this
wondrous land, mankind will see its noblest ideal realised."
Valeria pressed his hand.
"And what have you accomplished?" asked Cassiodorus.
"Much! Everything! At the court of the Merovingian, Childebert, I
met with ambassadors from Byzantium, who had already half persuaded
him to invade Italy as their allies. The gods--forgive me, pious
father--Heaven was with me and my words. I succeeded in altering
Childebert's sentiments. In the worst case, his weapons will remain
neutral. But I hope he will send an army to our assistance."
"Where did you leave Julius?"
"I accompanied him to his lovely home, Avenio. There I left him among
blooming almond-trees and oleanders; there he wanders, no more with
'Plato.' but almost always with 'Augustinus' in his hand; and dreams
and dreams of eternal peace between the nations, of perfect goodness,
and of the kingdom of God! It is indeed lovely in those green vales;
but I do not envy him his leisure. My ideal is folk and fatherland. And
my only desire is to fight for this people of the Goths. Everywhere in
my backward journey I drove the people to arms. I already met three
strong troops on the way to Ravenna. I myself lead a fourth to our
brave King. At last we shall advance against these Greeks, and then
revenge for Neapolis!" and with flashing eyes he raised his spear. He
was very beautiful to look upon.
Valeria threw herself into his arms.
"Oh see, Cassiodorus!" she cried; "this is _my_ world! _my_ joy! my
heaven! Manly courage and the glitter of arms and love of one's people,
and the soul moved with love and hate--does not this satisfy the human
soul?"
"Yes; while happy and young! It is pain which leads the mind to
heaven."
"My pious father," said Totila, laying his right hand upon the shoulder
of Cassiodorus, and drawing Valeria close to him with his left, "it ill
becomes me to argue with you, who are older, wiser, and better. But I
feel just the contrary. If I could ever doubt the goodness of God, it
is when I see pain and undeserved suffering. When I saw my noble
Miriam's eyes extinguished in death, my doubting heart asked: 'Does
there then exist no God?' In happiness and the sunshine of life is the
grace of the Supreme Being revealed to me. He certainly wills the
happiness of mankind--pain is His sacred secret; I trust that also this
riddle will be made clear to us. But meanwhile let us joyfully do our
best upon earth, and allow no shadow to darken our minds too long. In
this belief, Valeria, let us part. For I must go to King Witichis with
my troop."
"You leave me? Already? Ah, when and where shall I see you again?"
"You shall see me again; take my word in pledge. I know the day will
come when I shall have the right to take you from these gloomy walls
and lead you to life and sunshine. Meanwhile, do not allow yourself to
give way to sad thoughts. The day of victory and happiness will come;
and I rejoice that I draw my sword at once for my people and my love."
While he was speaking the gatekeeper had brought a letter for
Cassiodorus.
"I too must leave you, Valeria," said the latter. "Rusticiana, the
widow of Boethius, calls me to her death-bed. She wishes to ease her
mind of old guilt. I go to Tifernum."
"My way leads thither also; we will go together, Cassiodorus. Farewell,
my Valeria!"
After a brief leave-taking, the maiden watched her lover set forth.
She climbed a small tower on the garden wall, and looked after him.
She saw him swing himself into the saddle; she saw his horsemen gallop
after him.
Their helmets glittered in the evening light; the blue flag fluttered
merrily in the wind; it was a picture of life, strength, and youth.
She looked after the troop for some time with intense longing.
But as it disappeared more and more into the distance, the joyous
courage with which her lover's visit had imbued her, gradually forsook
her. Sad forebodings arose in her heart, and she unconsciously
expressed her feelings in the words of her beloved Homer:
"'Achilles, too, thou see'st; how stalwart, tall, and fair!
Yet must he yield to death and stubborn fate,
Whene'er at morn, or noon, or eve, the spear
Or arrow from the bow may reach his life.'"
Sighing painfully, she left the quickly darkening garden, and entered
the damp walls of the convent.