under Probus. He early showed great talent for managing men, a quick eye
for detecting crime, impartiality in giving judgment, and firmness in
seeing it carried out. Probus must have watched anxiously to see how far
the young man's sense of justice and his desire for mercy would act on
each other, but what he saw satisfied him. Ambrose knew at once what was
the important point in every matter, and never allowed his mind to be
confused by things that had nothing to do with the real question. This
was his safeguard as a judge, and this was the principle he held to all
through his life, which caused him to be such a different man from
Hildebrand or Thomas à Becket, or many great bishops who came after him.
To Ambrose, murder was murder, theft was theft, whether it was done by
a Christian or a pagan, and the punishment was equally heavy for both.
Perhaps the emperor Valentinian may have noted the qualities of the
young lawyer, or perhaps he may have consulted with Probus, but in any
case, in the year 372 Ambrose was sent off to govern the whole of North
Italy, under the title of 'consul.' At the utmost he was only
twenty-nine, and he may have been younger, for the date of his birth is
uncertain. But his head was in no way turned by his position, and the
emperor, a well-meaning but tactless man, beheld with satisfaction that
the restless people of Milan, the capital of the north, were growing
daily quieter under the rule of Ambrose. What his own severity had been
powerless to accomplish Ambrose carried through without any difficulty.
The parties, religious as well as political, into which the city was
split up, all came to him with their grievances, and, wonderful to say,
never murmured at his verdicts. Before he had been consul much more than
a year, Milan was in a quieter state than it had been for half a
century.
But the death of the bishop early in 374 threatened to plunge everything
into the old confusion. Valentinian was consulted, but refused to have
anything to do in the matter of the election of a new prelate; it was
not his business, he said. So the bishops streamed in to Milan from the
cities of the north and met in the gallery of one of the large round
churches that were built in those days. In great excitement the people
pressed in below; so much depended on who was chosen--to which party he
belonged. For hours and hours they waited, and every now and then a
murmur ran through the crowd that the announcement was about to be made;
but it died away as fast as it came, and the weary waiting began again.
At last the strain grew too great, and it was quite plain that the
smallest spark of disagreement would kindle a great fire.
A man wiser than the rest saw this, and hastened to summon Ambrose to
the spot.
'Do not delay an instant,' he cried, 'or it will be too late. Only you
can keep the peace, so come at once.'
[Illustration: 'Do not delay an instant,' he cried, 'or it will be too
late.']
Ambrose needed no urging. What his friend said was true, and, besides,
he was as a magistrate bound if possible to prevent a riot, or, if one
had already begun, to quell it.
The loud, angry voices ceased as he entered the church, and amidst a
dead silence he begged the crowd to be patient yet a little while
longer, and to remember that the choice of a bishop was one that
affected them all, and could not be made in a hurry. As he spoke he
noted that the excitement began to grow less, and by the time he had
ended the flushed faces were calm again. Then the voice of a child rang
through the church.
'Ambrose, bishop!'
'Ambrose, bishop,' echoed the people, but Ambrose stood for a moment
rooted to the spot. It was the last thing he had expected or wished, but
the continued cries brought him to himself, and hastily leaving the
church he went to the hall where he gave his judgments, the crowd
pressing on him right up to the door.
Never before or since has any man been so suddenly lifted into a
position for which he had made no previous preparation. He, a bishop!
Why, though a Christian, in common with many of his friends and also
with his brother, he had never even been baptized, still less had he
studied any of the things a bishop ought to know. Oh! it was impossible.
It was only a moment's craze, and would be forgotten as soon as he was
out of sight; so he stole away at night and hid himself, intending to
escape to another city. But on his way he was recognised by a man who
had once pleaded a cause before him. A crowd speedily collected, and he
was carried by the people back to his house within the walls, and a
guard placed before it, while a letter was despatched to the emperor
informing him that the lot had fallen upon Ambrose.
'Vox populi, vox Dei' ('The voice of the people is the voice of God').
Valentinian gave a sigh of surprise and relief as he read the wax
tablets before him. Losing no time, he sent a paper, signed by himself,
the imperial seal affixed, nominating Ambrose bishop of Milan, while to
Ambrose he wrote privately, saying that no better choice could have been
made, and that he would support him in everything. But by the time the
messenger reached Milan, Ambrose had escaped again, and was hiding in
the house of a friend outside the walls. However, this effort to avoid
the greatness thrust upon him was as vain as the rest, and he saw that
he must accept what fate had brought him. Within a week he had been
baptized, ordained priest, and consecrated bishop, knowing as little as
any man might of the studies hitherto considered necessary for his
position. But it is quite possible that his ignorance of these may have
been a help instead of a hindrance in the carrying out of his duties.
* * * * *
Now very often, if a man's position is changed, his character seems to
change too, and the very qualities which caused him to be chosen for the
new appointment sink into the background, while others, far less
suitable, take their place. No doubt, during the first days after his
election Ambrose must have been watched carefully by many eyes--for no
one, however popular, is wholly without enemies--and any alteration in
his conduct or way of life would have been noted down. Still, even the
most envious could find no difference. Ambrose the bishop was in all
respects the same as Ambrose the consul, except that he gave away more
money than he had done before, and held himself to a still greater
degree at the disposal of the people.
In these days we are so used to reading of the struggle which raged for
so many centuries between the Church and the State--the Emperor and the
Pope--that it seems quite natural to us that after the death of the
emperor Valentinian (which happened a few months later) the bishop
should become the adviser and minister of his young son Gratian. To
Ambrose, however, the situation was beset with difficulties, and both
disagreeable and dangerous. He had not the least desire to meddle in the
affairs of the empire--the care of the church in Milan was quite enough
for any one man; but when the young emperor Gratian came to him for
advice and guidance it was his duty to give it. Soon matters grew worse
and worse. The Goths crossed the Danube, and defeated the army of the
Eastern Empire near Adrianople; Byzantium, or Constantinople, the city
of Constantine, lay at their mercy; and Italy might be entered through
Hungary and the Tyrol, or by sea from the south.
The tidings reached Milan through the first of the numerous fugitives
who had managed to escape across the Alps. Every day more frightened,
starving people arrived, and the city was taxed to the utmost to find
them food and shelter. Yet even the lot of these poor creatures was
happy in comparison with those who had been taken prisoners by the
Goths, and were doomed to spend their lives in slavery unless they were
ransomed. Ambrose set the rich citizens an example by giving all the
money he had, but after every farthing possible had been raised the
unredeemed captives were still many. There only remained the golden
vessels of the church, which were the pride of Milan, and these the
bishop brought out and melted down, so that as far as in him lay all
prisoners might be freed.
In after-years his enemies sought to use the fact as a handle against
him. He had no right to give what was not his own, they said; but
Ambrose paid little heed to their words; he had done what he knew was
just, and the rest did not matter.
* * * * *
With the appointment of the general Theodosius as emperor of the East
things began to mend. The Goths began to understand that they had a
strong man to deal with, and Ambrose was once more left to act both as
bishop and magistrate in his own diocese, and to give constant advice to
the well-meaning but weak young Gratian. The legal training that Ambrose
had received was now of the highest value, and his experience of men and
the world acquired in Rome preserved him from making many mistakes and
giving ear to lying stories. The cleverest rogues in Milan knew that the
most cunning tale would never deceive the bishop, and would only earn
for themselves a heavy fine or imprisonment. 'Some,' he writes, 'say
they have debts; make sure that they speak truly. Others declare they
have been robbed by brigands; let them prove their words, and show that
the injuries were really received by them.' Under Ambrose's rule
impostors of all kinds grew scarce.
During these years the bishop's life, except for public anxieties, had
been calm and happy, for his brother Satyrus had been with him, and had
given him his help in many ways. At length important business took the
elder brother to Africa, and on his return the ship in which he was
sailing struck on a rock and sank. Luckily, they were not far from land,
and Satyrus was a good swimmer, so with great exertions he managed to
reach a lonely part of the coast. He was kindly cared for by the people,
but there was no means of letting Ambrose hear of his safety, and he had
to wait long before another ship passed that way. Then, when his friends
had abandoned all hope, he suddenly appeared in Milan, to the speechless
joy of the bishop. But not long were they left together. In a little
while Satyrus fell ill, and in spite of the constant care that was given
him, in a few days he died, leaving Ambrose more lonely than before.
After this troubles crowded thick and fast on the bishop. Gratian, whom
he had loved as a son, was treacherously murdered in Gaul by order of
Maximus, who had been given by Gratian himself rule over the prefecture
of Gaul with the title of emperor. The grief of Ambrose was deep; but
besides he was forced to act for Gratian's half-brother Valentinian,
whose mother Justina never failed to send for the bishop to help her out
of her difficulties, and directly he had made things smooth, proceeded
to fall back into them.
Thankful indeed was he when she and her son set out for Thessalonica, to
put themselves under the protection of Theodosius.
In the long line of the emperors of the East there were few more honest
and able than Theodosius. He found his dominions in a state of
confusion, the prey of the barbarian hordes that were always pouring
westwards from the wide plains of Scythia, while internally the strife
in the church was fiercer than ever. Quietly and steadily the emperor
took his measures. Here he pardoned, there he punished, and men felt
that both pardon and punishment were just. He was not yet strong enough
to fight against the rebel Maximus, as he would have liked to do, but he
determined that, cost what it might, he would never forsake the young
Valentinian. Maximus had snatched at some excuse to invade Milan, which
on his entrance he had found abandoned by its chief men, save only
Ambrose, who treated him with contempt and went his own way. The
intruder's efforts to buy support by conciliation failed miserably, and
in a few weeks there came the news that Theodosius was preparing to meet
him on the borders of Hungary, or Pannonia. Then Maximus assembled
what forces he could, and set out across the pass of the Brenner.
Two battles were lost, for the legions of Maximus were but half-hearted;
in the third he was taken prisoner and brought before the emperor.
Theodosius was a merciful man, but his heart was hard towards the
murderer of Gratian. 'Let him die!' he said, and without delay the order
was carried out.
[Illustration: 'Let him die!' he said.]
Now that Maximus was dead the legions were quite ready to return to
their rightful emperor, and as soon as he had settled matters Theodosius
went on to Milan. There he and Ambrose became great friends; the bishop
was much the cleverer of the two, but they were both honest and
straightforward, with great common-sense, and it must have been a relief
to Ambrose, who did not in the least care for being an important person,
to feel that he could at last mind his own business, and leave affairs
of state to the emperor.
It was while all seemed going so smoothly that the supreme crisis in the
lives of both men took place--the event which has linked the names of
Ambrose and Theodosius for evermore.
Thessalonica, the chief town of Macedonia, was a beautiful city, and its
Governor, Count Botheric, a special friend of the Emperor, who
constantly went to pay him a visit when wearied out with the cares of
state, which pressed on him so heavily in Constantinople. The people
were gay and light-hearted, loving shows and pageants of all sorts, but
more especially the games of the circus. In order to celebrate the
defeat of Maximus, Botheric had arranged a series of special displays,
and in the chariot races most of the prizes were carried off by one man,
who became the idol of the moment. Furious, therefore, was the
indignation which ran through the city when, immediately after the
festival was over, the charioteer was accused of some disgraceful crime,
and being found guilty, was thrown into prison by Botheric. In a body
the populace surged up to the house of the Governor and demanded his
release. But Botheric was not the man to be turned from what he knew to
be right by an excited crowd. He absolutely refused to give way, and
told them that the man had deserved the punishment he had given him, and
more too. Then the passion of the mob broke loose. They attacked the
Governor's house and the houses of all who were in authority. The
soldiers who were ordered out were too few to cope with their violence.
In the struggle Botheric was killed, and many of his friends also, and
their bodies subjected to every kind of insult that madness could
suggest.
* * * * *
Theodosius was in Milan when the news reached him, and after a few
moments of stony horror he was seized with such terrific passion that it
almost seemed as if he would die of rage. At last he spoke; to those who
stood around the voice sounded as the voice of a stranger.
'The crime was committed by the whole town,' he said, 'and the whole
town shall suffer.' Then, and without giving himself time to change his
mind, he sat down and wrote the order for a massacre to one of the few
magistrates left alive.
His words were probably reported to Ambrose, and no doubt the bishop
tried his best to calm the wrath of the emperor. But Theodosius was in
no mood to be reasoned with. He declined to see his friend, and left
Milan, shutting himself up in silence till the terrible tale of
vengeance was told.
In obedience to his instructions, games, and especially chariot races,
were announced to take place in the circus. We do not know if the mob
had broken open the prison and released the charioteer in whose honour
so much blood had been shed; but if so we may be sure that he was
present, and was hailed with shouts of welcome. The circus was crowded
from end to end--not a single seat was vacant. The eyes of the
spectators were fixed on the line of chariots drawn up at the
starting-point, and drivers and lookers-on awaited breathlessly the
signal. In their absorption they never noticed that soldiers had drawn
silently up and had surrounded them. A moment later, and a signal was
indeed given, but it was the signal for one of the bloodiest massacres
that ever shocked the ancient world. Probably the authorities who
carried out the emperor's orders went further than he intended, even in
the first passion of his anger. But of one thing we may be quite sure,
and that is that remorse and shame filled his soul when the hideous
story reached him. Not that he would confess it; to the public he would
say he was justified in what he had done, but none the less he would
have given all he had to undo his actions. He came back one night to
Milan, and shut himself up again in his palace.
At the time of the emperor's return Ambrose happened to be staying with
a friend in the country, for his health had suffered from his hard work,
and also from this last blow, and his uncertainty how best to bring
Theodosius to a sense of his crime. When he entered Milan once more, he
waited, in the hope that the emperor might send for him, as he was used
to do; but as no messenger arrived, the bishop understood that
Theodosius refused to see him, and the only course open was to write a
letter.
The occasion was not one for polite phrases, neither was Ambrose the man
to use them. In the plainest words he set his guilt before Theodosius
and besought him to repent. And as his sin had been public, his
repentance must be public too. But this letter remained unanswered.
Theodosius was resolved to brave the matter out, and next day,
accompanied by his usual attendants, he went to the great church.
At the porch Ambrose met him, and refused to let him pass.
'Go back,' he said, 'lest you add another sin to those you have already
committed. You are blinded by power, and even now your heart is hard,
and you do not understand that your hands are steeped in blood. Go
back.'
And Theodosius went back, feeling in his soul the truth of the bishop's
words, but prevented by pride from humbling himself.
Months went on, and the two men still lived as strangers, and now
Christmas was near. Rufinus, prefect of the palace, who was suspected of
having inflamed the wrath of the Emperor in the matter of Thessalonica,
upbraided his master with showing so sad a face while the whole world
was rejoicing. Theodosius then opened his soul to him, and acknowledged
that at length he had repented of his crime and was ready to confess it
before the bishop and the people. Once having spoken, he would not
delay, and there and then went on foot to the church. As before,
Ambrose, who had been warned of his intention, met him in the porch,
thinking that the emperor meant to force his way in, and in that case
the bishop was prepared to put him out with his own hands.
But Theodosius stood with bowed head, and in a low voice confessed his
guilt and entreated forgiveness. 'What signs can you show me that your
repentance is real?' asked Ambrose. 'A crime like yours is not to be
expiated lightly.'
'Tell me what to do, and I will do it,' said Theodosius.
* * * * *
And the proof that Ambrose demanded was neither fasting nor scourging
nor gifts to the church. 'It was that the emperor should write where now
he stood, on the tablets that he always took with him, an order
delaying for thirty days the announcement of any decree passed by a
reigning emperor which carried sentence of death or confiscation of
property to his subjects.' Further, that after the thirty days had
passed the sentence and the circumstances which called it forth must be
considered over again, to make quite sure that no injustice should be
committed. To this Theodosius willingly agreed; not only because it was
the token of repentance imposed on him by Ambrose, but because his own
sense of right and justice made him welcome a law by which the people no
longer should be at the mercy of one man's rage.
The law was written down and read out so that those who stood around
might hear; then Ambrose drew back the bar across the porch, and
Theodosius once more entered the church.
PALISSY THE POTTER
Four hundred years ago a little boy called Bernard Palissy was born in a
village of France, not very far from the great river Garonne. The
country round was beautiful at all times of year--in spring with
orchards in flower, in summer with fields of corn, in autumn with
heavy-laden vines climbing up the sides of the hills, down which rushing
streams danced and gurgled. Further north stretched wide heaths gay with
broom, and vast forests of walnut and chestnut, through which roamed
hordes of pigs, greedy after the fallen chestnuts that made them so fat,
or burrowing about the roots of the trees for the truffles growing just
out of sight. When the peasants who owned the pigs saw them sniffing and
scratching in certain places, they went out at once and dug for
themselves, for, truffles as well as pigs, were thought delicious
eating, and fetched high prices from the rich people in Périgueux or
even Bordeaux.
But the forests of the province of Périgord contained other inhabitants
than the pigs and their masters, and these were the workers in glass,
the people who for generations had made those wonderful coloured windows
which are the glory of French cathedrals. The glass-workers of those
days were set apart from all other traders, and in Italy as well as in
France a noble might devote himself to this calling without bringing
down on himself the insults and scorn of his friends. Still, at a time
when the houses of the poor were generally built of wood, it was
considered very dangerous to have glass furnaces, with the fire often
at a white heat, in the middle of a town, and so a law was passed
forcing them to carry on their trade at a distance. In Venice the
glass-workers were sent to the island of Murano, where the factories
still are; in Périgord they were kept in the forest, where they could
cut down the logs they needed for their kilns, and where certain sorts
of trees and ferns grew which, when reduced to powder, were needed in
the manufacture of the glass.
* * * * *
Whether the father of Palissy was a glass-maker or not--for nothing is
quite certain about the boy's early years--Bernard must of course have
had many companions among the children of the forest workers, and as he
went through the world with his eyes always open, he soon learnt a great
deal of all that had to be done in order to turn out the bits of glass
that blazed like jewels when the sun shone through them. There were
special kinds of earth, or rocks, or plants to be sought for, and when
found the glass-maker must know how to use them, so as to get exactly
the colour or thickness of material that he wanted. And when he had
spent hours and hours mixing his substances and seeing that he had put
in just the right quantity of each, and no more, perhaps the fire would
be a little too hot and the glass would crack, or a little too cold and
the mixture would not become solid glass, and then the poor man had to
begin the whole process again from the beginning. Bernard stood by and
watched, and noted the patience under failure, as well as the way that
glass was made, and when his turn came the lesson bore fruit.
But Bernard learned other things besides how to make glass. He was
taught to read and write, and by-and-by to draw. In his walks through
the woods or over the hills, his eyes were busy wandering through the
fallen leaves or glancing up at the branches of the trees in search of
anything that might be hidden there. The bright-eyed lizards he
especially loved, and sometimes he would persuade them to stay quiet for
a few minutes by singing some country songs, while he took out his roll
of paper and made rough sketches of them.
[Illustration: The bright-eyed lizards he especially loved.]
* * * * *