THE TYRANT.
In a room in the imperial palace, lighted from above, and far removed
from any of the chambers usually inhabited by the emperors, upon a
luxurious couch of down, covered with crimson, and strewed with the
flowers of the hyacinth, whose sweet perfume mingled with that of a
thousand other flowers, gave the whole chamber an atmosphere of
delicious but overpowering perfume, lay Valentinian, the weak,
luxurious, vicious monarch of the West, clothed in a light and
floating robe of silk, and with his odour-dropping hair bound
effeminate with a fillet twined with flowers.
He seemed to listen eagerly for some sounds; and in a moment or two
the trampling of feet, some sobbing cries, and a voice in the tone of
expostulation, were heard. The next instant the door of the room--for
it was one closed by a door furnished with locks and bolts--was thrown
open, and a litter was borne in and set down in the midst of the
chamber.
The slaves of Valentinian, for--though not habited in the usual garb
of the imperial household--they were but the ministers of his
pleasure, instantly withdrew, and, starting from the litter, a lovely
girl, terror in her aspect, and her eyes dewed with tears, stood
gazing wildly round the room, as if seeking some means of escape. She
was yet in her early youth, and modesty and innocence were written in
every line of her fair countenance. But neither modesty, nor
innocence, nor youth had any effect upon the corrupt and selfish man
before her, who, as soon as the slaves were gone, advanced, and taking
her hand, endeavoured to sooth her, pouring into her ear all the vile
but honeyed words of a consummate corrupter.
Snatching her hand from his, and shrinking back from him into one
corner of the room, Eudochia gazed upon him in silent terror, as she
would have gazed upon some poisonous serpent suddenly crossing her
path. But Valentinian still pursued, exclaiming, "But listen to me,
fair Eudochia. It is the emperor seeks your love. It is Valentinian
who commands your obedience. The wealth and splendour of a world shall
be poured out at your feet, the love of your sovereign shall encircle
you with all earth's choicest gifts;" and he went on with words on
which we will not dwell to wrong her innocent ear with evil
persuasions.
For a time Eudochia gazed in silence, as if terror and horror had
deprived her of the use of her intellect; but as Valentinian
concluded, and was again approaching her, she suddenly seemed to
recollect herself, and, with a quick start forward, cast herself at
his feet.
"Hear me, oh emperor!" she cried, "hear me, if there be one spark of
noble feeling left in your bosom. If you be a monarch, if you be an
emperor, if you be a man, hear me, and set me free! I cannot love you,
I ought not to love you, but as a subject loves an emperor. You are
already wedded; my heart is already given to another! Wrong not your
empress, wrong not me, by seeking love that never can be yours. Let me
go! oh, let me go! and show yourself really worthy of your high
station. You cannot--surely you will not be the first to violate the
laws which you are bound to maintain. How would you punish another
were he to treat me even as your slaves have done? Oh let me beseech,
let me entreat, let me adjure you, by all you hold sacred, to set me
free! Hear me, hear me! Oh, monarch, hear me!"
And with uplifted hands and streaming eyes she went on, urging him to
justice and compassion; but even her terror and distress had charms
for the base tyrant. He attempted to throw his arms around her; he
kissed her fair brow as she kneeled imploring at his feet. But at that
act Eudochia felt all the spirit of her race rise up within her, as
she saw her prayers unheeded and her appeals to justice only provoking
deeper insult. She sprang upon her feet, she freed herself from his
arms, she snatched from his girdle, even in the struggle to cast him
off, a small Eastern dagger which the weak tyrant wore. "Stand back!"
she cried--"stand back! or, by the memory of my father, who died to
save his country, I will drive this blade into thy heart, thou
Tarquin!"
"Girl, you dare not!" cried Valentinian, drawing back; "you dare not
raise your hand against your emperor!"
"All girl as I am, I dare raise my hand against any tyrant on the
earth," replied Eudochia, "let him clothe himself with whatsoever name
he will. Come not near me, or you die! Tyrant, I am resolved! My
honour is as dear to me as life to you! Let me go free, or Valentinian
shall this day cease to live and reign!"
"Well, well! thou shalt go!" said the emperor, in a softened tone;
"but I must call the slaves, to make them open the door from without.
Promise me that thou wilt not strike me as I approach the door."
"I will not," replied Eudochia, "so as you set me free."
"You shall be free," answered Valentinian, moving towards the
door--"you shall be free."
But when between Eudochia and the entrance of the room, within a
single step of either, he suddenly turned, sprang upon her, wrenched
the dagger from her grasp, and casting it on the other side of the
couch, exclaimed, "Now, girl! now! what punishment shalt thou undergo
for daring to hold a dagger to the breast of thine emperor?"
Eudochia gazed round in hopeless despair. But then came a sound of
hasty steps and angry voices; and, with sudden hope rushing through
her bosom, she uttered scream after scream, to attract the notice of
any one who might be passing near. Valentinian seemed not to have
heard or not to heed the sounds, for he pursued his evil course; but
while he endeavoured to silence the unhappy object of his passions,
the door of the chamber was shaken violently.
The bolts and locks resisted; but another and another blow came
crashing upon the woodwork. Valentinian, with a cheek as pale as
death, retreated towards the couch, and sought for the dagger, which
was the only weapon he had worn. The next moment the door gave way,
and the brother of Eudochia, followed by twenty or thirty of the armed
Huns, rushed into the chamber. His sword was drawn and bloody in his
hand; and stretched across the long passage might be seen the corpse
of one of the base instruments of the tyrant's vices, who had dared to
resist the passage of the Roman, hastening to the deliverance of his
sister.
Theodore caught her in his arms, and Eudochia wept upon his bosom. But
such thoughts as had inspired the bosoms of his ancestors were in his
heart at that moment, and he gave her little time to weep.
"Are you safe, my sister?" he cried, with his eyes still glaring on
Valentinian. "Are you pure! By the memory of our father, I adjure you!
are you unpolluted?"
"I am, Theodore! I am!" she answered: "thanks to God and to you, I
am!"
"Vile slave!" cried Valentinian, attempting to assume the air of
empire; "who are you? How dare you--"
But Theodore cut him short. "Base, effeminate, soulless tyrant!" he
answered, "well may you thank God that I arrived in time to save you
from the crime you sought to commit! Well may you thank God! for your
cowardly and pitiful life had surely been ended here had you succeeded
in injuring her; and your soul had been sent to hell burdened with the
sin it had just perpetrated."
Valentinian trembled and turned pale, the coward blood forsaking his
heated cheek at the stern aspect of the young Roman. He attempted,
however, though in a weak and faltering voice, to call for his guards
and his officers; but Theodore replied, with a look of withering
scorn, "You call in vain, tyrannical disgrace of Rome--you call in
vain. The means that you have taken to ensure that your crime should
be effected in silence and secrecy, have left you as powerless as the
lowest slave in your dominions. All the better and the purer part of
your court, sent forth to take part in the procession, have left you
alone in this wing of the palace, with none but the slavish ministers
of your pleasures near thee. They are in the hands of my followers,
except yon rash fool, lying there in his blood who attempted to stop a
brother flying to his sister's rescue. Thou art in my power," he
added, "to take or leave thy pitiful life as I will; and couldst thou
but see how contemptible a thing thou hast made thyself, as thou
standest there, quivering with fear and guilt before thine injured
subject, shame would surely supply the place of virtue, and thou
wouldst blush for the crimes that have degraded thee so low."
"Traitor!" exclaimed Valentinian, with the blood rushing up into his
face--"traitor, thou shalt rue this day!"
"Monarch, I shall not," replied Theodore, "were even your power as
extended as it is weak and circumscribed; were the Romans found base
enough to suffer a tyrant to oppress a citizen for defending a
helpless girl, and that girl his sister, you dare not, no, you dare
not openly raise a hand against my life. Know that in me you see one
whom Attila, at whose very name you tremble, looks upon as his son.
Letters are already in thy court announcing my coming, and bidding
thee do me justice in all things; and thou darest as soon raise thy
hand against me as thou darest offer thy neck to the axe."
"So," cried the base monarch, glad, like all weak minds convicted of
crime, to seek revenge in scorn, where they have no refuge in justice,
and no power of retaliation--"so thou art one of those degenerate
Romans who fight against their country in the ranks of the
barbarians!"
"Monarch, thou liest," answered Theodore, boldly. "I have never fought
against my country. My sword has never been drawn, my spear has never
been pointed against a Roman breast. I have saved the life of Attila;
I have saved the life of his son; but I have taken no part in his
wars, and defy thee to show that I have ever been guilty of one act
against my country. Little, too, would it become thee, oh emperor, to
reproach any one for betraying his native land. Hast thou not given
tribute to the barbarian? hast thou never sacrificed the innocent to
the fury of the Huns? hast thou never encouraged the hordes of Scythia
to invade the Roman territories. But I leave thee, oh monarch. My
sister is safe. Thy crimes are averted; and, as if clad in a panoply
of iron, my innocence defies thy power and scorns thy menaces. Come,
Eudochia, come. The litter and the slaves which brought thee hither as
the object of a base monarch's passion shall carry thee back as pure
as when thou camest."
Throwing his arm round her, but without sheathing the sword he carried
in his right hand, lest any opposition should be made to his retreat,
Theodore placed her in the litter; and, at a word to some of his
followers, the slaves of Valentinian who had borne her thither were
brought in, raised their fair burden from the ground, and obeyed at
once the young Roman in bearing her away homeward. The dark Huns who
had accompanied him surrounded them on every side; and Theodore
himself, after casting one more look of mingled scorn and indignation
upon the tyrant from whom he had just snatched his prey, followed his
sister from the palace without obstruction, and almost without notice,
so carefully had Valentinian removed from the precincts of those
apartments every one who might behold, or report, or interrupt the
commission of the crime he had meditated.
While his own slaves had been compelled to bear Eudochia away, the
weak monarch of the West had remained, with impotent fury burning in
his bosom, and eyes glaring angrily upon that which he could not
prevent. His features had worked, his hands had wrung each other, his
colour had varied under the influence of passion like the complexion
of a timid girl. He had more than once sought for the hilt of the
dagger, too, as if he would fain have struck it into the heart of the
bold youth who taunted him so scornfully. But fear had restrained his
violence; and, when Eudochia was gone, he remained for several minutes
motionless as a statue, gazing down upon the floor, without any
perceptible movement except a slight pressure of his hands together,
and the sterner knitting of his angry brow.
What were all the dark and the painful thoughts, the burning bitter
shame, the lowered but still fierce and venomous pride, that now raged
within, it matters not to inquire; suffice it, that so intense and
potent were they, that they seemed to absorb his whole soul and mind;
and there he remained, as we have said, for many minutes, without
speech or movement. At length, however, the imprisoned tempest burst
forth, and stamping violently upon the ground, he poured forth a
torrent of curses and imprecations upon himself, upon Theodore, upon
Eudochia, upon the whole world; and then, casting himself down upon
that flower-strewed couch, he raved and gnashed his teeth, in the
agony of anger, degradation, and disappointment. After a time,
starting up again, he leaned his brow for a moment or two upon his
hand, as if in thought, and then called loudly for his attendants.
"Ho, without there!" he exclaimed; "is nobody near? Is everybody fled?
Are ye all fools, or cowards, or traitors? Does nobody answer to the
voice of the emperor?"
As his voice ran along the passages of the building, with slow and
fearful steps a single eunuch crept out from some corner, in which he
had concealed himself; and stepping with evident terror over the body
of the fallen slave, who had been slain in attempting to prevent the
entrance of Theodore, he approached the door at which the monarch
stood, and cast himself at his feet.
"Pitiful, cowardly wretch!" exclaimed Valentinian, "why didst thou
abandon thy lord, to be insulted by that frantic boy; or, if thou
hadst not power to resist him and his barbarians, why didst thou not
fly, by the opposite passage, to the chief apartments, and call up the
chamberlain and his guards?"
"I had but time to hide myself in the bath, from which there is no
outlet," replied the eunuch. "My comrade was smitten to the ground in
a moment; and I should have shared the same fate, without serving
thee, oh great monarch! if I had not darted away where first I could
find refuge."
"Well, get thee gone quick," replied the emperor. "Call up hither,
instantly, the prefect of the palace, and also the chamberlain. Lose
not a moment."
The eunuch hastened to obey; and after having been absent some time,
which Valentinian passed sitting on the edge of the couch in deep and
angry thought, he returned with several inferior domestics, but
neither of the two high officers he had been sent to seek.
"Where is the prefect, where the chamberlain?" exclaimed Valentinian,
with his eyes flashing and his brows knit into a more bitter frown
than ever. "Do all my servants neglect and abandon me?"
"Both the prefect and the guardian of the secret chamber," replied the
slave, "as well as the count of the domestics, and all the other high
officers of the palace, are gone, by your own imperial order, to grace
the procession around the capitol."
Valentinian again stamped with rage; but, after a few moments'
consideration, he sent away the greater part of the attendants, and
calling to him one in whom he seemed to have more confidence than the
rest, he demanded, "Dost thou remember, Elius, whither we were told
that wild youth, Ammian Flavius, had gone this morning?"
"I know well, oh emperor," replied the domestic--"I know well; for the
men who lured him thither were sent by myself to get him out of the
way. The inhabitants of two of the villages at the foot of Pincianus
hold to-day, we hear, a secret sacrifice to Jupiter; and this wild
youth, whom anything that is strange or extravagant will mislead, was
easily induced to go out to behold it, notwithstanding the penalties
of death pronounced against all present."
"Hark!" said Valentinian; "as soon as the procession is over, send out
to Pincianus men enough to drown all these incorrigible pagans in
their own blood. Let them slay all they find. Jupiter shall have
victims enough; but on no account let them touch this Ammian. Take
especial care to save him. Let him be brought into the city guarded.
He shall be empaled alive! We will put down these sacrifices--but hark
thee again, there is more to be done! Get thee gone, eunuch. Thou art
a coward, and not fit to listen to the deeds of brave men. Elius, a
youth has been here and snatched the girl from my hands--her brother,
it would seem--that Theodore whom we have heard of. He has borne her
back to the Aventine. He has insulted me, the emperor. He has slain
one of the slaves, and he must die, Elius. But on account of this
Attila, it must be no public act. He must die, Elius! but it must be
by some chance accident, or in some casual strife. He must die, Elius,
he must die! Let not the sun rise upon him again: I leave it to thee,
my faithful servant--I leave it to thee to do justice upon the
traitor. There is a fair estate not far from Aricia. Thou knowest it
well--rich in wine, in oil, and corn--it is thine if this Theodore be
dead ere to-morrow morning. See to it!"
"I will find means," replied Elius, calmly.
Valentinian gazed in his face; and finding there a look of assurance
which had never failed him, he felt as satisfied as if the deed were
done, and with a slow step he sought the other part of the palace.