THE DEACON LEANDER
The deacon Leander was some forty years of age, stoutish, a trifle
asthmatic, with a long visage expressive of much shrewdness, and bushy
eyebrows, which lent themselves at will to a look of genial
condescension, of pious austerity, or of stern command. His dark hair
and reddish beard were carefully trimmed; so were the nails of his
shapely, delicate hands. His voice, now subject to huskiness, had until
a few years ago been remarkably powerful and melodious; no deacon in
Rome was wont to excite more admiration by his chanting of the Gradual;
but that glory had passed away, and at the present time Leander's
spiritual activity was less prominent than his services as a most
capable steward of the patrimony of St. Peter. He travelled much, had
an extensive correspondence, and was probably rather respected than
reverenced by most lay folk with whom he came in contact.
But in the eyes of the lady Petronilla, Leander was an ideal churchman.
No one treated her judgment with so much respect; no one confided to
her curious ear so many confidential matters, ranging from the secret
scandals of aristocratic Rome to high debates of ecclesiastical
polity--or what Petronilla regarded as such. Their closer acquaintance
began with the lady's presentation of certain columns of tawny Numidian
marble, from a ruined temple she had inherited, to the deacon's
basilica, St. Laurentius; and many were the donations which Leander had
since accepted from her on behalf of the Church. In return, he had once
or twice rejoiced her with the gift of a precious relic, such as came
into the hands of few below royal rank; thus had Petronilla obtained
the filings of the chain of St. Peter, which, enclosed in a golden key,
hung upon her bosom. Some day, as the deacon well knew, this pious
virgin would beg him to relieve her of all her earthly possessions, and
enter into some holy retreat; but she awaited the death of her brother,
by whose will she would doubtless benefit more or less substantially.
If in view of the illness of Maximus, Petronilla had regarded the
deacon's visit as providential, the event of yesterday moved her to a
more agitated thankfulness for the conference she was about to enjoy.
After a night made sleepless by dread and wrath, she rose at daybreak
and passed in a fever of impatience the time which elapsed before her
reverend guest issued from his chamber. This being the fourth day of
the week, Petronilla held rigid fast until the hour of nones; and of
course no refreshment was offered to the churchman, who, with that
smiling placidity, that graceful self-possession, which ever
distinguished him in such society, at length entered the inner hall,
and suavely, almost tenderly, greeted his noble hostess. Brimming over
as she was with anxiety and indignation, Petronilla allowed nothing of
this to appear in her reception of the revered friend. To his inquiries
touching the health of the Senator, she replied with significant
gravity that Maximus had suffered during the night, and was this
morning, by the physician's report, much weaker; she added not a word
on the momentous subject presently to be broached. Then Leander, after
viewing with many compliments a piece of rich embroidery which occupied
the lady's leisure, and or its completion would of course be put at his
disposal, took a seat, set the tips of his fingers together, and began
to chat pleasantly of his journey. Many were the pious offerings which
had fallen to him upon his way: that of the Sicilian lady who gave her
little all to be used to maintain the lamps in the basilica of the
Chief Apostle; that of the merchant encountered on shipboard, who gave
ten pounds of gold to purchase the freedom of slaves; that of the
wealthy curial in Lucania, healed of disease by miracle on the feast of
St. Cyprian, who bestowed upon the church in gratitude many acres of
olive-bearing land, and promised an annual shipload of prime hogs to
feed St. Peter's poor. By smooth transition he passed to higher themes:
with absent eyes turned to the laurel-planted court on to which the
hall opened, he spoke as if scarcely aware of a listener, of troubles
at Rome occasioned by imprudences, indiscretions--what should he
say--of the Holy Father. As Petronilla bent forward, all tremulous
curiosity, he lowered his voice, grew frankly confidential. The Pope
had been summoned to Byzantium, to discuss certain points of doctrine
with the Emperor; his departure was delayed, but no doubt in his
weakness he would obey. Verily, the lack of courage--not to use severer
terms--so painfully evident in Pope Vigilius, was a grave menace to the
Church--the Catholic Church, which, rightly claiming to rule
Christendom, should hold no terms with the arrogance of Justinian.
Could it be wondered that the Holy Father was disliked--not to say
hated--by the people of Rome? By his ill management the papal granaries
had of late been so ill stored that the poor had suffered famine, the
Greeks having put an end to that gratuitous distribution of food to
which the Roman populace had from of old been accustomed. On this
account, chiefly, had Leander journeyed to Sicily, to look after the
supplies of corn, and seek out those who were to blame for the recent
negligence. His bushy eyebrows gave a hint of their sterner
possibilities as he spoke of the measures he had taken, the reproofs
and threats he had distributed.
'May I live,' breathed Petronilla, with modest emphasis, 'to see a
great, a noble, a puissant Pontiff in the Apostolic Chair!'
Whereat the deacon smiled, well understanding whither the lady looked
for her ideal Pope. She went on to speak of the part Vigilius had
played in the deposition and miserable death of his predecessor
Silverius, and that, as was too well known, at the bidding of haughty,
unscrupulous women, the Empress Theodora and her friend Antonina, wife
of Belisarius. Verily, the time had come for a great reform at the
Lateran; the time had come, and perhaps the divine instrument was not
far to seek. Whereupon Petronilla murmured ardently, and the deacon
again smiled.
There was a pause. Having permitted Leander to muse a little, his
hostess turned the conversation to the troublous topic of her thoughts;
and began by saying how her brother would esteem the privilege of
counsel and solace from one so qualified to impart them. But alas she
must make known a distressful occurrence, whereby the office of a
spiritual adviser by the bedside of Maximus must needs be complicated
and made painful; and therewith Petronilla related the events of
yesterday. As he listened, the deacon knitted his brows, but in thought
rather than in affliction; and when the speaker was silent, he still
mused awhile.
'Gracious madam,' he began at length solemnly, 'you of course hold no
intercourse with this lady?'
'None! I have shrunk ever from the sight of her.'
'Such abhorrence of error witnesses to the purity and the illumination
of your soul: I could have expected nothing less from Petronilla. You
know not whether the misguided woman shows any disposition to return to
the true faith?'
'I fear not,' replied Petronilla, looking rather as if the fear were a
hope. 'Her nature is stubborn: she has the pride of the fallen angels.'
'And her father, I am afraid, has no longer the strength to treat her
sin with due severity?'
'Earthly affection has subdued him,' replied the lady, shaking her
head. 'Who knows,' she added, 'how far his weakness may lead my poor
brother?'
She glanced about the hall, and Leander perfectly understood what was
in her mind.
'Be not over anxious,' he replied soothingly. 'Leave this in my hands.
Should it be necessary, I can dispose of some days before pursuing my
journey. Take comfort, noble and pious lady! The truth will prevail.'
The deacon's first step was to obtain a private interview with the
physician. He then made known his desire to wait upon Maximus, and with
no great delay was admitted. Tactfully, sagaciously, he drew the
sufferer to confide in him, to see in him, not so much a spiritual
admonisher as a counsellor and a support in worldly difficulties.
Leander was already well aware that the Senator had small religious
zeal, but belonged to the class of men, numerous at this time, who,
whilst professing the Christian and the orthodox faith, were in truth
philosophers rather than devotees, and regarded dogmatic questions with
a calm not easily distinguished from indifference. Maximus had scarcely
spoken of his daughter, when the deacon understood it was Aurelia's
temporal, much more than her eternal, interests which disturbed the
peace of the dying man. Under Roman law, bequests to a heretic were
null and void; though this enactment had for the most part been set
aside in Italy under Gothic rule, it might be that the Imperial code
would henceforth prevail. Maximus desired to bestow upon his daughter a
great part of his possessions. Petronilla, having sufficient means of
her own, might well be content with a moderate bequest; Basil, the
relative next of kin, had a worthy claim upon his uncle's generous
treatment, and Decius, who needed but little, must have that little
assured. The father had hoped that his entreaties, together with a
prospect of substantial reward, would prevail against Aurelia's
pride-rooted heresy, but as yet he pleaded and tempted in vain. Could
the deacon help him?
Leander seemed to meditate profoundly. The subject of his thought was
what seemed to him a glaring omission in this testament of Maximus. He
breathed an intimate inquiry: Was the sick man at peace with his own
soul? Had he sought strength and solace from the reverend presbyter of
Surrentum, his spiritual father in this district? Maximus replied that
he had neglected no ordinary means of grace. Whilst speaking, he met
the deacon's eye; its significance was not to be mistaken.
'I should have mentioned,' he said, averting his look, 'that the
presbyter Andreas and his poor will not be forgotten. Moreover, many of
my slaves will receive their freedom.'
Leander murmured approvingly. Again he reflected, and again he ventured
an inquiry: Maximus would desire, no doubt, to rest with his glorious
ancestors in the mortuary chapel known as the Temple of Probus, by St.
Peter's? And seeing the emotion this excited in his listener he went on
to speak at large of the Anician house--first among the great families
of Rome to embrace Christianity, and distinguished, generation after
generation, by their support of the church, which indeed numbered among
its Supreme Pontiffs one of their line, the third Felix. Did not the
illustrious father of Maximus lead the Christian senators in their
attack upon that lingering shame, the heathen Lupercalia, since so
happily supplanted by the Feast of the Purification of the Blessed
Mary? He, dying--added Leander, with an ecstatic smile--made over to
the Apostolic See an estate in Sicily which yielded every year two rich
harvests to the widows, the orphans, the sick, and the destitute of
Rome.
'Deacon,' broke from the hot lips of Maximus, who struggled to raise
himself, 'if I do the like, will you swear to me to use your influence,
your power, for the protection of my daughter?'
It was the voice of nature in its struggle with the universal doom;
reason had little part in the hope with which those fading eyes fixed
themselves upon the countenance of the self-possessed churchman.
'Heaven forbid,' was Leander's reply, 'that I should bind myself in
such terms to perform an office of friendship, which under any
circumstances would be my anxious care.'
'Even,' asked Maximus, 'if she persist in her heresy?'
'Even so, my dear lord, remembering from whom she springs. But,' he
added, in a soothing voice, 'let me put your mind at rest. Trust me,
the lady Aurelia will not long cling to her error. In poverty, in
humiliation, she might be obstinate; but as the possessor of
wealth--restored to her due rank--oh, my gracious lord, be assured that
her conversion will soon follow.'
The same thought had occurred to Maximus. He sighed in profound relief,
and regarded the deacon gratefully.
'In that hope I rest. Give me your promise to befriend her, and ask of
me what you will.'
Save for the hours she passed at her father's side, Aurelia kept a
strict retirement, guarded by the three female slaves whom Petronilla
had reluctantly assigned to her. Of them she required no intimate
service, having her own attendants, an elderly woman, the nurse of her
childhood, who through all changes of fortune had never quitted her,
and a younger, half-Goth, half-Italian, who discharged humbler duties.
She occupied a small dwelling apart from the main structure of the
villa, but connected with it by a portico: this was called the House of
Proba, it having been constructed a hundred years ago for the lady
Faltonia Proba, who wrote verses, and perhaps on that account desired a
special privacy. Though much neglected, the building had beauty of
form, and was full of fine work in mosaic. Here, in a little peristyle,
where shrubs and creepers had come to wild growth, the sore-hearted
lady sat brooding or paced backwards and forwards, her eyes ever on the
ground. When yet a maiden she had several times spent summer at
Surrentum; her memory revived that early day which seemed so long ago;
she lived again with her brothers and sisters, all dead, with her
mother whom griefs had aged so soon. Then came a loveless marriage,
which soon involved her in the public troubles of the time; for her
husband, whose estates lay in Tuscany, was robbed of all by Theodahad,
and having vainly sought redress from the young King Athalaric, decided
to leave Italy for Byzantium, to which end Aurelia sold a property in
Campania, her dower. Before they could set forth upon their journey,
her husband caught the plague and died. In second wedlock she would
have known contentment but for the alienation of her kin and the
scornful hostility of all her class. When widowhood again befell her
she was saved from want by a small treasure of money which remained
hidden in the dwelling at Cumae when the Gothic warrior, her lord,
escaped from Belisarius. As this store diminished, Aurelia had looked
forward with dread, for she hoped nothing from her father. And now that
such fears seemed to be over, her long tortured pride clamoured for
solace. It was not enough to regain her father's love and enjoy an
inheritance; she wished to see her enemies at her feet, and to trample
upon them--her enemies being not only Petronilla and certain other
kinsfolk but all the nobility of Rome, nay, all the orthodox of the
Christian church. Pacing, pacing alone, she brooded vast schemes of
vengeance.
When it was announced to her that the Roman deacon besought an
interview, she at first refused to receive him. Thereupon Leander sent
her a few lines in writing, most ceremoniously worded, in which he
declared that his purposes were those of a disinterested friend, that
no word such as could pain or offend her would pass his lips, and that
he had it in his power to communicate something which would greatly
benefit her. Aurelia reflected disdainfully, but at length consented to
the churchman's approach. Leander's bearing as he entered her presence
was as elaborately courteous as the phrasing of his letter.
'Noble lady,' he began, standing with bowed head, 'let not your eyes
take note of my garb. See in me only a devoted servant of your
illustrious house. His Magnificence, your father, assured of the
sincerity wherewith I place at his command such powers and
opportunities as I owe to heaven's grace, has deigned to confide in me
regarding the disposition of his worldly affairs whereto he is prompted
by languishing health.'
He paused a moment, but Aurelia had no word of reply to this exordium.
Seeing her keep the same haughty posture in her chair, with eyes
scornfully averted as if she scarce listened, Leander proceeded to
disclose his mind in less ornate terms By subtle grades of confidential
speech, beginning with a declaration of the sympathy moved in him by
the parent's love, the daughter's distress, he came with lowering
voice, with insinuating tone, with blandly tolerant countenance, to the
kernel of his discourse; it contained a suggestion which might--he only
said _might_--aid her amid the manifold perplexities of her position.
By this time Aurelia was more attentive; the churchman almost
affectionate in his suavity, grew still more direct; and at length, in
a voice which only reached the ear of the listener, he spoke thus:
'I understand why you stepped aside from the way of truth; I perceive
the obstacles hindering your return. I know the tender impulses which
urge you to soothe your father's last hours, and, no less, the motives,
natural to a woman of your beauty, of your birth, which are at strife
with that tenderness and threaten to overcome it. Could you discover a
means of yielding to your filial affection, and at the same time
safeguarding your noble pride, would you not gladly use it? Such a
means I can point out to you.'
He became silent, watching Aurelia. She, won by the perspicacity which
read her heart, had put aside all arrogance, and wore a look of grave
intentness.
'Let me know it,' she murmured.
'It is this. Return to the true belief, but guard awhile the secret of
your conversion. That it shall not be disclosed until you wish, I can
give you firm assurance--if need be, on solemn oath. You will privately
make known to your father that he has prevailed, thereby you put his
flesh and spirit at rest,--he will die blessing you, and enriching you
to the full extent of his desire. You will then also set your signature
to a paper, which I shall write, making confession of the orthodox
faith, and undertaking to be duly reconciled with the church, by the
imposition of hands, at some convenient season. That is all that will
be asked of you for the present. The lady Petronilla'--he all but
smiled in uttering the name--'shall not even suspect what has happened.'
'Will this villa be mine?' asked the listener after brief reflection.
'This villa shall be yours.'
An exultant gleam shone in Aurelia's eyes.
'Deacon,' she said sternly, 'your promise is not enough. Swear to me
that no one living, save my father and you, shall know.'
From his bosom Leander drew forth a little golden cross.
'This,' he said reverently, 'contains dust of iron from the bars on
which the blessed Laurentius suffered martyrdom.'
'Swear also,' demanded Aurelia, 'by the Holy Pancratius.' In the name
of both saints Leander took his oath of secrecy. Petronilla was of
course aware that the deacon had been admitted to audience by her
niece. When he descended, she awaited him at the end of the portico,
and her look questioned him.
'Stubborn, stubborn!' murmured Leander, shaking his head, and passed on
as though in troubled thought.
Later in the day, when she had seen her father, Aurelia made known to
her cousin Basil, who had requested an interview, that he might come.
His cousin received him smilingly, almost affectionately.
Marcian having this morning taken his leave, called away by some
unexplained business to Neapolis, Basil had been on the point of taking
Decius into his amorous confidence, when this summons rejoiced him.
'Is the letter written?' were Basil's first words.
'It is here. Can you despatch it at once?'
'I will take it myself,' he answered promptly.
Aurelia shook her head.
'You must not. My father's life is fast failing. No one can say which
hour may be his last. If he asked for you, and you were absent--'
'Felix shall go,' said Basil. 'The wind is favourable. He may have to
ride back to-morrow, but we can trust him to make all speed.'
'He took the letter, which was superscribed, 'To the most noble lady
Veranilda.'
'Dear cousin, you have spoken of me?' he asked with a wistful look.
'I have said, good cousin,' Aurelia answered pleasantly, 'that you
wished to be spoken of.'
'Only that?'
'What more should I say? Your Amiability is too hasty. Remember that
you have scarce seen her.'
'Scarce seen Veranilda!' exclaimed Basil. 'Why, it seems to me as
though I had known her for years! Have we not talked together?'
'Once. The first time does not count; you exchanged hardly a dozen
words. When,' added Aurelia, smiling, 'were you so dashed in a maid's
presence?'
'Nay, never! I am not accused of too much modesty; but when I entered
and looked on Veranilda--oh, it was the strangest moment of my life!
Noble cousin,' he added pleadingly, 'honoured Aurelia, do but tell me
what is her parentage?'
'How does that concern your Excellence? I have told you all that it
imports you to know--at all events for the present. Cousin Basil, you
delay the letter; I should wish her to have it before nightfall, for
she thinks anxiously of me.'
'I go. When may I again speak with you?'
'You shall hear when I am at leisure.'
Basil despatched his servant to Cumae not with one letter only, but
with two. Greatly daring, he had himself written to Veranilda; in brief
terms, but every word tremulous with his passion. And for half an hour
he stood watching the sail which wafted his messenger over the gulf,
ruffled to-day by a south-west wind, driver of clouds. Little thought
had he to give to the dying Maximus, but at the ninth hour he turned
his steps to the oratory, once a temple of Isis, and heard the office,
and breathed a prayer for his kindly relative. Which duty discharged,
he prayed more fervently, to whatever saint or deity has ear for such
petitions, that he might be loved by the Gothic maid.
This evening Maximus seemed to suffer less. He lay with closed eyes, a
look of calm on his worn countenance. Beside him sat Decius, reading in
low tones from that treatise on the Consolation of Philosophy, which
Boethius wrote in prison, a hook wherein Maximus sought comfort, this
last year or two more often than in the Evangel, or the Lives of
Saints. Decius himself would have chosen a philosopher of older time,
but in the words of his own kinsman, Maximus found an appeal more
intimate, a closer sympathy, than in ancient teaching. He loved
especially the passages of verse; and when the reader came to those
lines--
'O felix hominum genus,
Si vestros animos amor
Quo coelum regitur, regat,'
he raised his hand, smiling with peculiar sweetness.
'Pause there, O Decius,' he said, in a weak but clear voice; 'let me
muse awhile.' And he murmured the verses to himself.