THE NEGRO.
The wind blew keen over the plains through which the Danube wanders,
ere, in approaching Orsova, it rushes between the giant mountains,
through which it seems to have rent its onward course. Barbed with
sleet, that cold wind dashed in the faces of the young Roman and his
followers as he led them onward towards the city of Margus, according
to the directions which he had received from Attila by the way. He
passed by Singidunum, and he rode through Tricornium. When last he had
seen them, they were full of busy life, garrisoned with numerous
troops, splendid with all the profuse luxury of old and corrupted
civilization. There was now a broken wall, a pile of ashes, solitude,
silence, and the whispering grass--already, like the world's
forgetfulness, grown up upon the grave of things once bright. From the
gate of Singidunum started away a wolf as the young Roman passed; but
under the wall of Tricornium, a solitary hovel, raised from the massy
ruins of a gate, and thatched with the branches and the leaves of
trees, showed that either accident or old attachment had brought back
some human being to dwell in that place of desolation. Theodore
approached, but he found it was no other than an old half-crazy woman,
who, when she saw him, shrieked forth, "The Huns! the Huns!" and fled,
stumbling and tottering amid the piles of ruins.
What a strange contrast was it when, the next day, he approached the
gates of Margus! Gradually the desolation ceased; the country resumed
its appearance of fertility; cultivated fields and rich gardens
appeared; the villa, the palace, and the church crowned the summits of
the gentle hills; and everything betokened uninterrupted peace, and a
place of splendour, luxury, and repose. As he entered the gates were
seen the Roman soldiers, fully armed and equipped; but his Hunnish
garb, and the barbarian features of those who accompanied him, seemed
rather as passports to secure his entrance than impediments in his
way. No opposition was offered, and the soldiers gazed upon him with a
smile.
In the market-place, which was crowded with people as gay, as lively,
as splendid as any city of the empire could display, a number of Huns
were loitering about among the rest; and a Greek flower-girl,
mistaking him for one of the barbarians, ran up, and while she fixed a
garland of myrtle, mingled with some of the latest flowers of autumn,
to his saddle-bow, addressed him in a few broken, mispronounced
sentences in the Hunnish dialect, desiring him to buy her flowers with
some of the spoils of the enemy he had slain in battle.
Theodore could have wept; but he answered the girl in Greek, telling
her to place her wreaths on the tombs of those who had died in defence
of their country; and he was riding on, when suddenly his eye was
caught by a train crossing the market-place, and his ear almost
deafened by the acclamations of the people. While slaves and
attendants, in extraordinary numbers, both followed and succeeded, in
the middle of the group which attracted so much attention was seen a
chariot of ivory and gold, drawn by four white horses; and in it sat,
bowing his head to the people, and scattering benedictions as he
passed with his hands extended wide in graceful dignity, Eugenius,
bishop of Margus.
Loud and repeated were the vivats of the multitude; and Theodore heard
nothing on every side but warm and joyful praises of his kinsman. "Our
good bishop," cried one. "Bless him for ever," exclaimed another. "He
alone saved us in peace and prosperity, when all was death and
desolation round," said a third. "Ay," rejoined his neighbour, "and
Theodosius himself, who would have given him up to death, is now
thankful enough to him for having saved the town of Margus." "And well
he may be," said a fifth, who overheard what was proceeding; "well he
may be thankful to him for saving the finest, if not the largest city
of his empire." "I have heard," said another, "that Theodosius has
vowed to put him to death, but that he is forced to dissemble for fear
of Attila." "He had better dissemble," answered one of those who had
spoken before; "put to death! we would sooner give ourselves
altogether up to the Huns." "The Huns are very good people," continued
another, seeing Theodore and his followers endeavouring to make their
way past them. "I love the Huns; they are honest, and keep their word,
and are only terrible to their enemies."
Theodore could not but smile, although his heart was full of
bitterness; but he thought, at the same time, "If all these people
judge thus of the bishop's conduct, how many arguments may he not find
in his own bosom to justify the acts he has committed." Thus thinking,
he pushed on his horse, and made his way through the crowd towards the
dwelling of the bishop, whither the chariot of the prelate seemed to
have proceeded before him; for a crowd of men and boys, who had
accompanied it with loud acclamations, were now gathered together
round the gates, the janitor of which had much ado to keep them from
pushing their way into the building. Theodore demanded to see his
uncle, and told his name, on which he and all his followers were
instantly admitted.
He found the bishop seated near the centre of the hall, with a crowd
of attendants near him, while before him stood several Huns in their
barbarian garb, one of whom had his hand upon a chain, which was
attached to the neck and hands of the miserable, deformed, and
mutilated negro, Zercon. He was nearly stripped of his fantastic
clothing, and with bare feet, bloody with long journeying, he stood
with a haggard but a tearless eye, venting, even at that hour of
misery, one of those wild jests which had procured him favour with his
former lord.
"Faith, sir," he said, speaking apparently to the bishop, "you had
better order me death if you intend to punish me properly; I have
tried all other punishments but that, and therefore you have no choice
left; as for the horrid prison that you talk of, I once inhabited for
fifty years a prison more horrible than any you can devise."
"For fifty years!" exclaimed the bishop, "for fifty years! Say, where
was that?"
"Here!" said the negro, striking his hand upon his breast; "here!
Match me that, if you can. Let the greatest tyrant that ever cumbered
earth show me a prison that will equal this; and herein has dwelt, for
fifty years, a being not less sensible of pain, not less alive to
kindness, not less capable of gratitude than any; but more patient,
more enduring, more courageous than you all. Here, in this loathsome
and abhorred prison, has he dwelt, scorned, buffeted, contemned,
accused, condemned, and punished without guilt, the sport of fools,
and scapegoat of the bad. Everything has been tried upon me that human
wickedness could frame or man's endurance bear. Try death, at last! I
cannot lose by the exchange."
The eye of the bishop had remained fixed upon the deformed negro,
while he poured forth, in an eloquent tone, the words which we have
repeated, and only wandered for a moment to the group of strangers who
entered the atrium, observing nothing more than that they wore the
common garb of the Huns. He was evidently moved by the man's speech,
and was about to reply, when Theodore advanced, addressing him by his
name. The bishop started up, and, after gazing at him for a moment,
folded him in his arms.
"Theodore!" he exclaimed, "now can I welcome you to Margus; a Tadmor
in the wilderness; a prosperous city in a land of desolation. But how
came you hither?"
"I will tell you shortly, sir," replied Theodore; "but, in the first
place, let me ask you, why stands this poor man before you thus?"
"He was sent hither," replied the bishop, "by Attila, that great and
mighty king, whose words are as true as his arm is powerful. He
promised me long ago to protect and defend you; and this slave, it
seems, betrayed your purposed journey into the mountains to the ear of
Bleda, your enemy. Therefore is it that Attila sends him hither, to
receive what punishment I will. I doom no man to death; but I was
about to sentence him to solitude and chains, in the tower by the
water side."
"God has spared you a great crime," replied Theodore. "This man
betrayed me not. Far from it. He aided to save my life, when, ere
another evening sun had set, my fate would have been sealed. Twice has
he contributed to deliver me from danger. Oh! set him free, my uncle.
Take off that chain! it is not fitting for him. His mind is noble and
generous, though his body is as thou seest. But what have we to do
with that? God, wise and mysterious, has made him as he is; let us not
trample on God's handiwork."
The negro sprang forward, dragging his chain after him; and casting
himself at the feet of the young Roman, he dewed his hand with tears.
"It is not," he cried, "it is not that you come to save me, but it is
that you speak as if I were your fellow-man."
"Far be it from me, my son," said the bishop, "to treat any one
possessed of our common nature otherwise than a Christian should do.
We are all worms in the eyes of God, the greatest, the proudest, the
most beautiful, as well as the lowly and the distorted. Take the chain
from him, and let him go free. Now, tell me truly, man, I adjure thee,
by whatever thou holdest sacred, tell me, was it thou who bore to
Bleda the tidings of this youth's journey, and if so--"
"There is no if!" interrupted the negro, with solemn vehemence: "I
opened not my lips. Was I not the first to warn him that Bleda hated
him? Did I not convey to the ears of Attila himself timely notice of
his brother's purpose, when Bleda whetted the sword against him
between Viminacium and Cupp[ae]? Did I not hear Bleda vow, that, till
age palsied his arm, or death closed his eyes, he would pursue that
youth with vengeance, and seek the destruction of that bold Arab who
dared to struggle with and overthrow him? Did I know all this, and do
all this, and yet betray to the tiger thirsting for blood the track of
the deer that he sought to overtake? Did I know all this, and do all
this, and yet tell to Bleda that he who had shown me pity and
sympathy, came, as it were, to offer his throat to the knife within
eight hours of that fierce man's dwelling-place? Oh no! I opened not
my lips. There were whole tribes of Bleda's people round when the boy
Ernac told me that the Roman was about to depart from the land. They
bore the tidings to the king; and he gained from Ellac, the eldest
son, the course of his whole journey, and the number of people whom
they supposed would follow him. The number proved ten times more than
they expected, and Bleda had too few with him to attack them all. He
took vengeance on the Arab, however: and the Roman youth, after
Bleda's departure, fell into a trap baited with his freedman's blood.
I betrayed him not, but I aided to save him, and he knows it."
"I do," answered Theodore; "had it not been for thee, and for one whom
I will not name, I had ended my life long ere now. But say, how am I
to return to the dwelling of Attila when the tribes of Bleda lie
across my way?"
"Did not those who told thee to come hither tell thee more?" demanded
the negro.
"They told me nothing," answered Theodore, "but that it was the will
of Attila I should pass by Margus as I returned. Of Bleda they said
nothing."
"Bleda, oh Roman," replied the negro, "the powerful, the revengeful,
the unforgiving, is like a dry stramonium bush in the desert, whose
bitterness is parched up and gone, whose very thorns are withered and
powerless. His name, his mighty name, is like the whisper of the wind
among the rocks, speaking of tempests that we feel no more, of blasts
from which we are sheltered! Bleda is dead, oh Roman; his arm is in
the dust."
"Dead!" said Theodore, a presentiment of the dark truth coming over
him, even before it was spoken; "dead! How did he die?"
"Those who told thee to come hither," said the negro, "were right to
tell thee no more. Over the name of Bleda, and over his fate, there
hangs a cloud: the Huns speak of it not, and are wisely silent; but of
this I am sure, that there are not twenty men throughout all the land
who do not feel that they are more at ease since there has been one
great and unquiet spirit less in the world."
"But his children!" exclaimed Theodore, now fully convinced by the
dark hints of the negro that the death of Bleda had been of an unusual
and a bloody kind. "His family? his children? what has become of
them?"
"They are safe," replied the negro, "they are safe and well; and one
fair maiden, good, and gentle, and kindly as thou art, would fain have
saved even me, lowly as I am, from a fate that she knew I deserved
not. But her intercession was of no avail; and to say the truth, for I
am wellnigh wearied out with this sad life, I grieved more that she
should plead in vain than that I should be the object for which she
vainly pleaded."
"My nephew shall try to make life more supportable to thee," replied
the bishop. "Thou shalt go back with him, and he shall clear thee
before the king. For well thou knowest, that when Attila has resolved
the destruction of any one, no land can prove a shelter, no distance a
barrier, no time an impediment, till he be avenged or appeased."
"I know it well," replied the negro; "and I know also, and willingly
will say it, that fierce and stern as that great king is sometimes
called, no one is more easily appeased for personal offences, no one
more attentive to justice where truth can be made plain. Even with his
brother Bleda, did he not forbear to the very last, though he well
knew that his designs were pointed against Attila, not against the son
of Paulinus?"
"How so?" demanded the bishop; "thy words are dark, my brother; I know
not, and cannot even divine the cause of Bleda's hatred to my nephew.
He injured him not."
"I could make my dark words clear," answered the negro in Greek. "But
I love not to talk of things that do not concern me when there are
many ears around."
The bishop paused for a moment, and giving the attendants of Theodore
and the Huns who had brought the negro thither into the hands of one
of his own officers, he bade him entertain them well, and return to
conduct the unhappy Zercon thence in a few minutes. The attendants of
the bishop easily divined his wishes, and the hall being instantly
cleared, the negro was left alone with Eugenius and Theodore.
"Now," said the bishop, "now explain this mystery, why a man in
command of reason should hate and seek the death of another who had
never injured or offended him, and that, too, at first sight."
"Speak, Zercon," added Theodore, "and let us know the whole, for I
have heard from Ardaric and others a part of the story, yet much
remains unexplained. Was it not some prophecy that--"
"Listen, and you shall hear," said Zercon. "When Attila first heard
that this noble bishop had carried off some treasures--"
"I carried off no treasures!" exclaimed the prelate, "and so I proved
unto the king."
"But he heard that you had," answered the negro, "and that cause--with
many another offence committed by the Romans, together with some
idle time on his part, and no other object of conquest before his
eyes--made him resolve to pour the tide of war upon the Eastern
empire. When Attila, then, first determined upon war, he gathered his
myriads together on the first plain beyond the mountains; and while
messengers came to and fro, in order to avert hostilities which were
already resolved, the king went up to the mountains to ask a holy man,
who dwells there, the issue of his enterprise. So has he done in all
the wars of the last five years, and the words of the hermit have ever
proved true; for he promised Attila victory, and to those who know him
it needs not be a prophet to foresee that. Now, also, he assured him
of success, but upon one condition. He told him that if he would ride
down towards the Danube with but few followers, he would meet a Roman
on the Hunnish bank of the river, whom he should spare, and protect,
and love. If wrong befell that Roman, or any of his family, the old
man told him, either from the hand of Attila himself or any of his
people, and if, for seven years, he, Attila, did not secure and
protect him against all his enemies, not only his course of victory
would cease, but death itself would cut him off in his return to his
own hearth. 'His fate,' said the hermit to the king when he told this
tale, 'his fate is bound up with yours! See that no evil happen to
him, for worse will instantly fall upon yourself. You shall do him no
wrong--you shall show him all favour. Go now and seek him!' Such were
the old man's words."
The Bishop of Margus smiled as the negro proceeded, but Zercon went on
with his tale: "Attila rode on from that spot; but, ere he had reached
the banks of the great river he was met by some people posting inland
to say that a Roman had ventured across the stream but slenderly
attended, notwithstanding the daily feuds that already gave notice of
the coming war, and to ask what they should do with him. At those
tidings, Attila and Bleda both saw the first part of the old man's
prophecy fulfilled, and from that moment they doubted not one word of
the rest. Attila went on without his brother, and found this youth. Ye
yourselves know all the rest."
"Still we see not why Bleda should seek his life," replied the bishop,
"unless, indeed, he sought to take his brother's also; and then he
might have taken it at once."
"He sought not to take his brother's life," replied Zercon: "he dared
not, or he would; but he believed the prophecy, and thought that if
this young Roman, on whom his brother's life and fortunes depended,
were away, a hundred accidents in the course of war might lay the head
of Attila in the dust. Ever through life did he covet whatever Attila
possessed, and therefore was it that he sought at first to take a life
on which that of his brother depended. Afterward revenge was added to
the same ambition; but his plans had gone still farther. His daring
had increased with impunity; and day by day he was nerving his heart
to contend with Attila himself, vainly hoping that many of the great
king's chiefs--perhaps even some of the monarch's children--would join
him. But his life and his plots ended together."
"Wert thou with Bleda?" demanded Theodore, to whose ear the prophecy
of the old man, and its partial accomplishment, appeared strange and
interesting; "wert thou with Bleda and Attila when the hermit told him
to go down to meet me?"
"I was!" replied Zercon, showing his white teeth with a wild
laugh--"I was! Attila, when he set out, chose Ardaric and Onegisus to
go with him; and Bleda asked the King of the Gepid[ae] whom he had
better choose, for they made a solemn ceremony of it. Ardaric, who
believes in no such things, replied, 'Why, take your black jester!'
and whether Bleda thought that too a prophecy or not, I cannot tell;
but certainly he took me, and I stood in the mouth of the cave while
they conversed within."
He was interrupted by a woman entering to draw water from the tank in
the midst of the hall; and, ere she was gone, the bishop's officer
returned to conduct Zercon from his presence.
"Use him well," said the bishop, "and kindly. Put him among the most
favoured slaves; give him water to wash his feet, and food, and wine.
Nor must any one make a jest of him. It is forbidden in my dwelling to
mock any of God's works."
The slave and the negro retired, and Theodore was left alone with his
uncle, round whose lip a somewhat doubtful smile had hung during the
whole of Zercon's account of that prediction which had obtained for
his nephew security in some respects, and brought him into danger in
others.
"The words of the good hermit, I rather think," he said, as soon as
the negro departed, "have led even the mighty and clear-sighted Attila
into error."
"Indeed!" exclaimed Theodore, in some surprise; "then you do not
credit his pretensions to be a prophet?"
"He is better than a prophet, my son; he is a wise man," replied the
somewhat worldly prelate; but instantly seeing, by the mounting colour
in his nephew's cheek, that his profane words had shocked the
sensitive mind of the youth, he added, "Far be it from me to say that
the gift of prophecy is not excellent; but it is better to be a good
man, and wise unto God, than to be a prophet and offend. This hermit
is a man of all great qualities and Christian virtues; austere unto
himself, charitable towards others; holy in life, spending his years
in meditation and constant prayer! There is much reason to believe
that to such a one the gift of prophecy might be extended. So much did
I think of his wisdom, and so far did I trust in his advice being holy
and good, that, ere the Huns poured down upon the Roman empire, I sent
messengers to ask his counsel as to mine own conduct in such a moment
of trial. He loves me well; and for many years I have profited by his
wisdom and experience, till I am what I am. To show him and all men
that personal fear was unknown to the bosom of Eugenius, I told him
that on a certain day I would cross the Danube myself, and advance
towards the mountains, if he would come down to meet me; and I doubt
not that his prophecy referred to me and not to thee. Attila came down
sooner than was expected, and encountered thee on the way: thy sudden
coming delayed me for a day; and, ere I crossed the river, the myriads
of the Huns were pouring down from the mountains. I obtained a promise
of security, however, from Attila himself; saw him, found him mild to
treat with, and easily appeased. The wiles of the Byzantine court he
abhorred: but I told him truth. I offered to show him mine own
treasury and the treasury of the city, and that we should purge
ourselves by the most solemn oath of all share in taking that treasure
which his people declared they had lost; but at the same time I
proposed to repay it with fourfold its value as amends. He received
the proposal well; swore to me, solemnly, that he would protect thee
and Flavia, and all her household; and, upon some other conditions
which he made, he promised to give the citizens of Margus peace. Thou
seest how he has fulfilled his word."
"I see it, indeed, my uncle," answered Theodore; "I see that Margus,
like an oasis in the Libyan sands, is fresh, and bright, and
luxuriant, in the midst of ruin and desolation. But, alas! alas! would
it have been so if Margus had not opened her gates to the invader? If
the first city of the Roman empire had made a stand against the
barbarians as they poured upon the frontier?"
"The only difference would have been," replied the bishop, his brow
growing dark, "that Margus would now be in the same situation as the
rest. What troops had we to resist? What means of defence had
Theodosius given us? None! He thought but to appease the evil spirit
of the war by drawing a line in my blood between himself and the wrath
of Attila; and he took no measure to defend his territories, made no
effort to protect his people. How did Viminacium stand, which had ten
centuries within its walls? how did Tricornium resist? how Singidunum,
how Naissus, Sardica, Ratiaria, and all the cities of the Illyrian
border? Singidunum resisted for a day; Viminacium saw the Hunnish
myriads with the dawning light, and was a heap of ashes ere nightfall.
So was it with all the rest! Theodore, I am satisfied. In the midst of
the desolation of the land, where many hundreds of thousands have
fallen, where every trace of cultivation and of sweet domestic peace
has been swept away, I have saved a Christian people in peace and
prosperity, without one drop of blood shed, either of our own or
others."
Theodore thought that this was one of those few accidental cases where
good had sprung from evil; but his heart, as a Roman and a man, told
him that his uncle's reasoning was false. He replied not, however, and
the prelate went on. "I have done all this, Theodore, and I am
satisfied. Is it not enough for the shepherd to save his sheep from
the wolf, though the monster be obliged to seek his prey in some other
flock? Would it not be enough for me to have delivered from peril and
death those whom God has given to me, without any consideration of
others? But when I know, and did know, that nothing I could have done
would have saved myself or benefited them who have since fallen, ought
I not to be satisfied? Whenever in my own heart a weak doubt arises,
one shout of the glad multitude who owe their lives to me is
sufficient to put all at peace within my breast. Yes, I can look back
to every circumstance, and say, this have I done, and I am satisfied!
But I have done more, oh Theodore?" he added, his mind seeming
suddenly to turn into another path, and a different expression coming
over his countenance--"I have done more! The weak, pale, cowardly
Theodosius, who, trembling on his throne, would have spilt my blood,
out of the true tyrant's vice of terror--the heretical wretch, led by
the subtle Eutyches to persecute all those who hold the pure and
orthodox faith--dare no longer wag a finger at Eugenius, or talk of
punishing the citizens of Margus for submitting to an enemy they could
not resist, and from whom he refused to defend them. He dare not dream
of striking a hair from the head of one of the citizens of Margus.
Nor, since Attila is thy protector, would he dare to lay hands
upon thee, even if thou wert to cross the courts of his palace
to-morrow--no, not for his very throne!"
Theodore was unconvinced; but he refrained from reply, and turned the
conversation to another part of the same subject, by relating to the
bishop the kindly offers of protection which Flavia had received from
Valentinian.
"He has kept his word," replied the bishop, "for such was the tenour
of a promise that he made to me. Think not that I went rashly and
hastily into even that act which I knew would save Margus. To
Theodosius I had applied for aid in vain, and I then applied to
Valentinian. He could not aid me, but he justified my conduct, and
promised me personal protection in case of need. I sent him messengers
when all was secure, and he engaged to give both to Flavia and
yourself justice, protection, and support, in the empire of the West."
Theodore felt that his uncle was kind, far more kind than he could
have expected or hoped; he felt, too, that his mind was powerful, and
his heart not without high and noble feelings; but, alas! the threads
of cunning selfishness ran hither and thither through the whole, and,
like the veins of some inferior substance in a precious stone,
rendered nearly valueless the better part. Theodore felt that he could
love Eugenius; but he would not have been Eugenius for the world.
Thus passed the day; but the next morning, as Theodore sat at meat
with his uncle, it was announced that Edicon, one of the favourite
officers of Attila, together with Maximin, ambassador from Theodosius,
approached the city of Margus in their way from Constantinople to the
country of the Huns; and when Theodore beheld the reverence and
respect which the ambassador himself, and those who accompanied him,
evinced towards the prelate who had first received the barbarians into
the empire, he could not help feeling how brilliant a thing in the
eyes of man is successful evil. During a whole day the ambassador and
his train sought repose in Margus--and Theodore determined to
accompany him on his onward journey. His uncle forced upon him a
casket of gold ere he departed, conquering his aversion to receive it
by declaring that it was a debt he had owed Paulinus; and Theodore,
feeling that it might be needful, made no further resistance.