in at the doors like an advancing torrent. Varus and Fronto, followed by
their myrmidons, vanished through secret doors in the walls behind them,
and among the first to greet me and strike the chains from my limbs were
Isaac and Demetrius.
'And where is the lady Julia?' cried Isaac.
'There!'
He flew to the platform, and, turning back the wheels, Julia was once
more in my arms.
'And now,' I cried, 'what means it all? Am I awake or do I dream?'
'You are awake,' replied Demetrius. 'The tyrant is dead! and the senate
and people all cry out for Tacitus.'
I now looked about me. The mob of priests was fled, and around me I
beheld a thousand well-known faces of those who already had been
released from their dungeons. Christians, and the friends of Christians,
now filled the temple.
'We were led hither,' continued Demetrius, 'by your fast friend and the
friend I believe of all, Isaac. None but he, and those to whom he gave
the tidings, knew where the place of your confinement was; nor was the
day of your trial publicly proclaimed, although we found the temple
open. But for him we should have been, I fear, too late. But no sooner
was the news of Aurelian's assassination spread through the city, than
Isaac roused your friends and led the way.'
As Demetrius ceased, the name of "Tacitus Emperor," resounded again
throughout the temple, and the crowds then making for the streets, about
which they careered mad with joy, we were at liberty to depart; and
accompanied by Isaac and Demetrius, were soon beneath our own roof upon
the Coelian.
With what joy then, in our accustomed place of prayer, did we pour forth
our thanksgivings to the Overruling Providence, who had not only rescued
ourselves from the very jaws of death, but had wrought out this great
deliverance of his whole people! Never before, Fausta, was Christianity
in such peril; never was there a man, who, like Aurelian, united to a
native cruelty that could behold the shedding of blood with the same
indifference as the flowing of water, a zeal for the gods and a love of
country that amounted quite to a superstitious madness. Had not death
interposed--judging as man--no power could have stayed that arm that was
sweeping us from the face of the earth.
The prisons have all been thrown open, and their multitudes again
returned to their homes. The streets and squares of the capital resound
with the joyful acclamations of the people. Our churches are once more
unbarred, and with the voice of music and of prayer, our people testify
before Heaven their gratitude for this infinite mercy.
The suddenness of this transition, from utter hopelessness and blank
despair to this fulness of peace, and these transports of joy, is almost
too much for the frame to bear. Tears and smiles are upon every face. We
know not whether to weep or laugh; and many, as if their reason were
gone, both laugh and cry, utter prayers and jests in the same breath.
* * * * *
Soon as we found ourselves quietly in possession again of our own home,
surrounded by our own household, Portia sitting with us and sharing our
felicity, the same feeling impelled us at once to seek Livia and
Zenobia. The Empress was, as we had already learned, at Tibur, whither
she had but this morning fled, upon finding all interference of no
avail, hoping--but how vainly--that possibly her mother, than whose name
in Rome none was greater, save Aurelian's--might prevail, where the
words had fallen but upon deaf ears and stony hearts. Our chariot bore
us quickly beyond the walls, and toward the palace of the Queen. As we
reached the entrance, Zenobia at the same moment, accompanied by Livia,
Nicomachus, and her usual train, was mounting her horse for Rome. Our
meeting I need not describe. That day and evening were consecrated to
love and friendship; and many days did we pass there in the midst of
satisfactions of double worth, I suppose, from the brief interval which
separated them from the agonies which but so lately we had endured.
All that we have as yet learned of Aurelian is this, that he has met the
fate that has waited upon so many of the masters of the world. His own
soldiers have revenged themselves upon him. Going forth, as it is
reported, to quell a sudden disturbance in the camp, he was set upon by
a band of desperate men--made so by threats of punishment which he ever
keeps--and fell pierced by a hundred swords. When more exact accounts
arrive, you shall hear again.
Tacitus, who has long been the idol of the Senate, and of the best part
of the people of Rome, famed, as you know, for his wisdom and his mild
virtues, distinguished too for his immense wealth and the elegance of
his tastes, was at once, on the news of Aurelian's death, proclaimed
Emperor; not so much, however, by any formal act of the Senate, as by
the unanimous will of all--senators and people. For, in order that the
chance of peace may be the greater, the Senate, before any formal and
public decree shall be passed, will wait the pleasure of the army. But,
in the meantime, he is as truly Emperor as was Aurelian--and was,
indeed, at the first moment the news of the assassination arrived. His
opinions concerning the Christians also, being well known, the
proclamation of his name as Augustus, was at the same time one of safety
and deliverance to our whole community. No name in Rome could have
struck such terror into the hearts of Varus and Fronto, as that of
Tacitus--"Tacitus Emperor!"
After our happy sojourn at Tibur, and we had once more regained our home
upon the Coelian, we were not long, as you may believe, in seeking the
street Janus, and the dwelling of Isaac. He was happily within, and
greeted us with heartiest welcome.
'Welcome, most noble Piso,' he cried, 'to the street Janus!'
'And,' I added, 'to the house of a poverty-pinched Jew! This resembles
it indeed!'
'Ah! are you there, Piso? Well, well, if I have seemed poor, thou
knowest why it has been, and for what. Welcome too, Princess! enter, I
pray you, and when you shall be seated I shall at once show you what you
have come to see, I doubt not--my assortment of diamonds. Ah! the news
of your arrival has spread, and they are before me--here, Piso, is the
woman of the desert, and the young Ishmael, and here, lady, are two
dark-eyed nymphs of Ecbatana. Children, this is the beautiful Princess
of Palmyra, whose name you have heard more than once.'
It was a pretty little circle, Fausta, as the eye need behold; and
gathered together here by how strange circumstances! The very sun of
peace and joy seemed breaking from the countenance of Isaac. He caressed
first one and then another, nor did he know how to leave off kissing and
praising them.
When we had thus sat, and made ourselves known all around to each other,
Julia said to Isaac, 'that she should hope often to see him and them in
the same way; but however often it might be, and at whatever other
times, she begged, that annually, on the Ides of January, she with Piso
might be admitted to his house and board, to keep with them all a feast
of grateful recollection. Whatever it is that makes the present hour so
happy to us all, we owe, Isaac, to you.'
'Lady! to the providence of the God of Abraham!'
'In you, Isaac, I behold his providence.'
'Lady, it shall be as you say--on the Ides of January, will we, as the
years go round, call up to our minds these dark and bloody times, and
give thanks for the great redemption. Were Probus but with you, and to
be with you, Piso, your cup were full. And he had been here, but for the
voice of one, who just as the third lion had been uncaged, fixed again
the wavering mind of Aurelian, who then, madman-like, set on him that
forest-full of beasts. At that moment, I found it, Piso, discreetest to
depart.'
'And was your hand in that too, Isaac? Were those lions of your
training? and that knave's lies of your telling?'
'Verily thou mayest say so.'
'But was that the part of a Jew?'
'No,' said Julia, 'it was only the part of Isaac.'
'Probus,' said Isaac, 'was the friend of Piso and Julia, and therefore
he was mine. If now you ask how I love you so, I can only say, I do not
know. We are riddles to ourselves. When I first saw thee, Piso, I
fancied thee, and the fancy hath held till now. Now, where love is,
there is power--high as heaven, deep as hell. Where there is the will,
the arm is strong and the wits clear. Mountains of difficulty and seas
of danger sink into mole-hills and shallow pools. Besides, Piso, there
is no virtue in Rome but gold will buy it, and, as thou knowest, in that
I am not wanting. Any slave like Curio, or he of the Flavian, may be had
for a basket-full of oboli. With these two clues, thou canst thread the
labyrinth.'
Though our affairs, Fausta, now put on so smiling a face, we do not
relinquish the thought of visiting you; and with the earliest relenting
of the winter, so that a Mediterranean voyage will be both safe and
pleasant, shall we turn our steps toward Palmyra.
Demetrius greatly misses his brother, But what he has lost, you have
gained.
What at this moment is the great wonder in Rome is this--a letter has
come from the Legions in Thrace in terms most dutiful and respectful
toward the Senate, deploring the death of Aurelian, and desiring that
they will place him in the number of the gods, and appoint his
successor. This is all that was wanted to confirm us in our peace. Now
we may indeed hail Tacitus as Augustus and Emperor. Farewell.
* * * * *
Piso has mentioned with brevity the death of Aurelian, and the manner of
it as first received at Rome. I will here add to it the account which
soon became current in the capital, and which to this time remains
without contradiction.
Already has the name of Menestheus occurred in these memoirs. He was one
of the secretaries of the Emperor, always near him and much in his
confidence. This seemed strange to those who knew both, for Menestheus
did not possess those qualities which Aurelian esteemed. He was selfish,
covetous, and fawning; his spirit and manner those of a slave to such as
were above him--those of a tyrant to such as were below him. His
affection for the Emperor, of which he made great display, was only for
what it would bring to him; and his fidelity to his duties which was
exemplary, grew out of no principle of integrity, but was merely a part
of that self-seeking policy that was the rule of his life. His office
put him in the way to amass riches, and for that reason there was not
one perhaps of all the servants of the Emperor who performed with more
exactness the affairs entrusted to him. He had many times incurred the
displeasure of Aurelian, and his just rebuke for acts of rapacity and
extortion, by which, never the empire, but his own fortune was profited;
but, so deep and raging was his thirst of gold, that it had no other
effect than to restrain for a season a passion which was destined, in
its further indulgence, to destroy both master and servant.
Aurelian had scarcely arrived at the camp without the walls of
Byzantium, and was engaged in the final arrangements of the army
previous to the departure for Syria--oppressed and often irritated by
the variety and weight of the duties which claimed his care--when, about
the hour of noon, as he was sitting in his tent, he was informed, "that
one from Rome with pressing business craved to be heard of the
Emperor."
He was ordered to approach.
'And why,' said Aurelian, as the stranger entered, have you sped in such
haste from Rome to seek me?'
'Great Cæsar, I have come for justice!'
'Is not justice well administered in the courts of Rome, that thou must
pursue me here, even to the gates of Byzantium?'
'None can complain,' replied the Roman, 'that justice hath been withheld
from the humblest since the reign of Aurelian--'
'How then,' interrupted Aurelian, 'how is it that thou comest hither?
Quick! let us know thy matter?'
'To have held back,' the man replied, 'till the return of the army from
its present expedition, and the law could be enforced, were to me more
than ruin.'
'What, knave, has the army to do with thee, or thou with it? Thy matter,
quick, I say.'
'Great Cæsar,' rejoined the other, 'I am the builder of this tent. And
from my workshops came all these various furnishings, of the true and
full value of all of which I have been defrauded--'
'By whom?'
'By one near the Emperor, Menestheus the noble secretary.'
'Menestheus! Make out the case, and, by the great god of Light, he shall
answer it. Be it but a farthing he hath wronged thee of, and he shall
answer it. Menestheus?'
'Yes, great Emperor, Menestheus. It was thus. When the work he spoke for
was done and fairly delivered to his hands, agreeing to the value of an
obolus and the measure of a hair, with the strict commands he gave,
what does he when he sees it, but fall into a rage and swear that 'tis
not so--that the stuff is poor, the fashion mean and beggarly, the art
slight and imperfect, and that the half of what I charged, which was
five hundred aurelians, was all that I should have, with which, if I
were not content and lisped but a syllable of blame, a dungeon for my
home were the least I might expect; and if my knavery reached the ear of
Aurelian, from which, if I hearkened to him, it should be his care to
keep it, my life were of less value than a fly's. Knowing well the power
of the man, I took the sum he proffered, hoping to make such composition
with my creditors, that I might still pursue my trade, for, O Emperor,
this was my first work, and being young and just venturing forth, I was
dependent upon others. But, with the half price I was allowed to charge,
and was paid, I cannot reimburse them. My name is gone and I am ruined.'
'The half of five hundred--say you--was that the sum, and all the sum he
paid you?'
'It was. And there are here with me those that will attest it.'
'It needs not; for I myself know that from the treasury five hundred
aurelians were drawn, and said, by him, for this work--which well suits
me--to have been duly paid. Let but this be proved, and his life is the
least that it shall cost him. But it must be well proved. Let us now
have thy witnesses.'
Menestheus at this point, ignorant of the charge then making against
him, entered the tent. Appalled by the apparition of the injured man,
and grasping at a glance the truth, all power of concealment was gone,
conscious guilt was written in the color and in every line and feature
of the face.
'Menestheus!' said Aurelian, 'knowest thou this man?'
'He is Virro, an artisan of Rome;' replied the trembling slave.
'And what think you makes him here?'
The Secretary was silent.
'He has come, Menestheus, well stored with proofs, beside those which I
can furnish, of thy guilt. Shall the witnesses be heard? Here they
stand.'
Menestheus replied not. The very faculty of speech had left the
miserable man.
'How is it,' then said Aurelian in his fiercest tones, 'how is it that
again, for these paltry gains, already rolling in wealth--thou wilt
defile thy own soul, and bring public shame upon me too, and Rome! Away
to thy tent! and put in order thine own affairs and mine. Thou hast
lived too long. Soldiers, let him be strongly guarded.--Let Virro now
receive his just dues. Men call me cruel, and well I fear they may; but
unjust, rapacious, never, as I believe. Whom have I wronged, whom
oppressed? The poor of Rome, at least, cannot complain of Aurelian. Is
it not so, sirrah?'
'Rome,' he replied, 'rejoices in the reign of Aurelian. His love of
justice and of the gods, give him a place in every heart.'
Whether Aurelian would have carried into execution the threat, which in
a moment of passion he had passionately uttered, none can tell. All that
can be said is this, that he rarely threatened but he kept his word.
This the secretary knew, and knew therefore, that another day he might
never see. His cunning and his wit now stood him in good stead. A doomed
man--he was a desperate man, and no act then seemed to him a crime, by
which his doom might be averted. Retiring to his tent to fulfil the
commands of the Emperor, he was there left alone, the tent being guarded
without; and then as his brain labored in the invention of some device,
by which he might yet escape the impending death, and save a life
which--his good name being utterly blasted and gone, could have been but
a prolonged shame--he conceived and hatched a plan, in its ingenuity,
its wickedness, and atrocious baseness, of a piece with his whole
character and life. In the handwriting of the Emperor, which he could
perfectly imitate, he drew up a list of some of the chief officers of
the army--by him condemned to death on the following day. This paper, as
he was at about the eleventh hour led guarded to his place of
imprisonment, he dropt at the tent door of one whose name was on it.
It fell into the intended hands; and soon as the friendly night had come
the bloody scroll was borne from tent to tent, stirring up to vengeance
the designated victims. No suspicion of fraud ever crossed their minds;
but amazed at a thirst of blood so insatiable, and which, without cause
assigned, could deliver over to the axe his best and most trusted
friends, Carus, Probus, Mucapor--they doubted whether in truth his
reason were not gone, and deemed it no crime, but their highest duty, to
save themselves by the sacrifice of one who was no longer to be held a
man.
After the noon of this day the army had made a short but quick march to
Heraclea. Aurelian--the tents being pitched--the watch set--the
soldiers, weary with their march, asleep--himself tired with the day's
duty--sat with folded arms, having just ungirded and thrown from him his
sword. His last attendant was then dismissed, who, passing from the tent
door, encountered the conspirators as they rushed in, and was by them
hewn to the ground. Aurelian, at that sound, sprang to his feet. But
alone, with the swords of twenty of his bravest generals at his
breast--and what could he do? One fell at the first sweep of his arm;
but, ere he could recover himself--the twenty seemed to have sheathed
their weapons in his body. Still he fought, but not a word did he utter
till the dagger of Mucapor, raised aloft, was plunged into his breast,
with the words,
'This Aurelia sends!'
'Mucapor!' he then exclaimed as he sank to the ground, 'canst thou stab
Aurelian?' Then turning toward the others, who stood looking upon their
work, he said, 'Why, soldiers and friends, is this? Hold, Mucapor, leave
in thy sword, lest life go too quick; I would speak a word--' and he
seized the wrist of Mucapor and held it even then with an iron grasp. He
then added, 'Romans! you have been deceived! You are all my friends, and
have ever been. Never more than now--' His voice fell.
Probus then reaching forward, cried out, unfolding at the same moment
the bloody list,
'See here, tyrant! are these thy friends?'
The eyes of Aurelian, waking up at those words with all the intentness
of life, sought the fatal scroll and sharply scanned it--then closing
again, he at the same moment drew out the sword of Mucapor, saying as he
did so,
''Tis the hand of Menestheus--not mine. You have been deceived.' With
that he fell backwards and expired.
Those miserable men then looking upon one another--the truth flashed
upon them; and they knew that to save the life of that mean and abject
spirit they there stood together murderers of the benefactor of many of
them--the friend of all--of a General and Emperor whom, with all his
faults, Rome would mourn as one who had crowned with a new glory her
Seven Hills. How did they then accuse themselves for their unreasonable
haste--their blind credulity! How did they bewail the cruel blows which
had thus deprived them of one, whom they greatly feared indeed, but whom
also they greatly loved! above all, one whom, as their master in that
art which in every age has claimed the admiration of the world, they
looked up to as a very god! Some reproached themselves; some, others;
some threw themselves upon the body of Aurelian in the wildness of their
remorse and grief; and all swore vengeance upon the miscreant who had
betrayed them.
Thus perished the great Aurelian--for great he truly was, as the world
has ever estimated greatness. When the news of his assassination reached
Rome, the first sensation was that of escape, relief, deliverance; with
the Christians, and all who favored them, though not of their faith, it
was undissembled joy. The streets presented the appearances which
accompany an occasion of general rejoicing. Life seemed all at once more
secure. Another bloody tyrant was dead, by the violence which he had
meted out to so many others, and they were glad. But with another part
of the Roman people it was far otherwise. They lamented him as the
greatest soldier Rome had known since Cæsar; as the restorer of the
empire; as the stern but needful reformer of a corrupt and degenerate
age; as one who to the army had been more than another Vespasian; who,
as a prince, if sometimes severe, was always just, generous, and
magnanimous. These were they, who, caring more for the dead than for the
living, will remember concerning them only that which is good. They
recounted his virtues and his claims to admiration--which were
unquestionable and great--and forgot, as if they had never been, his
deeds of cruelty, and the wide and wanton slaughter of thousands and
hundreds of thousands, which will ever stamp him as one destitute of
humanity, and whose almost only title to the name of man was, that he
was in the shape of one. For how can the possession of a few of those
captivating qualities, which so commonly accompany the possession of
great power, atone for the rivers of blood which flowed wherever he
wound his way?
* * * * *
I have now ended what I proposed to myself. I have arranged and
connected some of the letters of Lucius Manlius Piso, having selected
chiefly those which related to the affairs of the Christians and their
sufferings during the last days of Aurelian's reign. Those days were
happily few. And when they were passed, I deemed that never again, so
fast did the world appear to grow wiser and better could the same
horrors be repeated. But it was not so; and under Diocletian I beheld
that work in a manner perfected, which Aurelian did but begin. I have
outlived the horrors of those times, and at length, under the powerful
protection of the great Constantine, behold this much-persecuted faith
secure. In this I sincerely rejoice, for it is Christianity alone, of
all the religions of the world, to which may be safely intrusted the
destinies of mankind.
END.