“Whom in the sacred porch
Ezekiel saw, when by the vision led
His eye surveyed the dark idolatries
Of alienated Judah.”
MILTON.
The anxious solicitude of affection made Lucius Claudius desirous of
imparting his better knowledge to his sister, though he knew her to be
not only devoted, but bigoted, to the superstition to which, from
motives of prudence, he had dedicated her in infancy. The worship of
Vesta was pure, and far better calculated to interest an enthusiastic
mind like Lucia’s than the absurdities then prevalent at Rome. The
watching the sacred flame, upon the preservation of which the existence
of the state was believed to depend, the chastity of its votaries, and
above all, the deep mysteries which the faith itself contained, either
no longer apparent to the priestesses themselves, or lost in extreme
antiquity, rendered this religion very holy in Lucia Claudia’s eyes. The
family of the Claudii already boasted two illustrious vestals,—the
Claudia whose chastity the goddess herself had deigned to vindicate, and
her whose filial piety had insured her father’s triumph;—and Lucia
Claudia, the third vestal of her line, sustained the same lofty
reputation, and enjoyed the same privileges, as her predecessors had
done. The universal honours paid her, the power she sometimes exerted in
favour of the unhappy, the veneration of the people, endeared a faith
hallowed by the early recollections and prejudices of infancy. The
homage she received touched a soul deeply alive to the love of glory,
while Cossutia, the chief priestess of Vesta, lavished upon this
youngest and fairest of the sisterhood those affections whose natural
current had been chilled in youth. To convince Lucia Claudia that all
her devotion was misplaced, and her worshipped goddess a chimera, seemed
no easy task even to a man of Lucius’s resolute temper. Nevertheless, he
resolved to undertake it. To this end he solicited the sovereign pontiff
to permit his sister to visit him at his villa in Tivoli. According to
the ancient regulation, this permission could neither have been asked
nor granted; but the old strictness was greatly relaxed, and Lucia,
attended by her virgin train of slaves, and accompanied by Cornelia, her
nurse, arrived soon after at her brother’s villa.
If the first impression made by the fair heathen priestess had inspired
Adonijah with a passion he had never felt for his own more enlightened
countrywomen, her gentleness and domestic qualities deepened it into the
most devoted love. It is in her own home that woman is best known,
because within that little circle her tenderest affections expand, and,
like the sunbeams, gladden and bless all within their influence.
Sovereign lady of the household, no haughty gesture nor harsh language
ever enforced her authority, and the meanest slave revered in her a
benefactress. To their complaints she lent an indulgent ear, nor did the
high-born lady think it any degradation in their sickness to perform
those little offices which none but female charity yields, or knows how
to apply. Few of the numerous domestics composing a Roman household at
that period were free; for it was considered degrading for a citizen to
serve in a menial capacity. All were slaves—either captives taken in
war, or the children and descendants of such unfortunate persons. These
filled various offices according to their several abilities, from the
tillers of the ground to the amanuensis, or even the tutor of the heir.
Among them might be found natives of polished Greece, of Africa,
Parthia, Armenia, Gaul, Germany, and Britain, disguised in the same
servile habit, yet distinguished by the characteristics of national
complexion, feature, and language. Some of these vast establishments
were so ill provided with the necessaries of life, that the miserable
creatures composing them were forced to obtain food by plunder. Lawless
troops of banditti were thus gradually organized to destroy the state
whose victims they had been, and thus the very victories of Rome were
promoting her own ruin. Most Roman gentlemen enfranchised one or two
favourite bondmen, who were called freed-men upon assuming the cap of
liberty. Adonijah, although a slave, was but a slave in name. He wore
the costume peculiar to his nation. The phylacteries, or portions of the
law contained in the fillet or frontlet between the eyes, were wide and
richly ornamented with gold, as were those appended to the sleeves,
while the broad blue fringes commanded to be worn on the garments of the
Israelite were deeper than ordinary, denoting the wearer to to be a
Pharisee, and claiming for him the reputation of that outward holiness
his sect arrogantly claimed for themselves, to the exclusion of all who
differed from them in opinion.
The singularly noble person of the Hebrew, the curious fashion of his
garments, and the deference with which her brother treated him, excited
Lucia Claudia’s curiosity. She asked Lucius “who this stranger was whom
he honoured with his friendship.” The account he gave of his first
interview with Adonijah interested her greatly; the patriotism of the
slave appeared to her worthy of a better country; and reverencing his
character, and pitying his misfortunes, she softened her voice when
addressing him, and permitted her mild eyes to express the compassionate
interest she felt for his condition. Indeed she even listened without
condemnation to the account Lucius gave of his singular creed, though
too much devoted to her own superstition to suffer at that moment her
reliance on its truth to be shaken; nor did she suspect that her brother
was a secret proselyte to a religion so mysterious, and to her present
bounded views so inexplicable.
While gazing on the beautiful countenance of Lucia, or listening to the
touching sweetness of her accents, Adonijah forgot that she was a
heathen; even the sacerdotal robes with which superstition had invested
her appeared only a dress admirably calculated to set off the symmetry
of her form. The deep melancholy into which captivity and slavery had
plunged him yielded to the new feelings that now filled his heart, and,
giving way to the sweet influence of virtuous love, he remembered not
that the law he reverenced forbade him to cherish such a sentiment for
the unbelieving daughter of the stranger, whom he preferred to the
maidens of his own people. A slight incident dispelled the illusion, and
warned the Hebrew that the creature he doted upon was indeed a blind and
bigoted idolatress.
Within the bounds of the garden stood a ruined fane, whose orbicular
form showed it had been formerly dedicated to the worship of Vesta; but
though time had exerted its power, and levelled many of its pillars to
their base, nature, with gentler hand, had wreathed them round with ivy,
and bade fair flowers spring up to veil the work of her destroying foe.
Among these broken columns, now garlanded with blossoms, and breathing
out perfume to the passing gale, Adonijah had found a retreat from the
heat of day and bustle of the household, and here retired from man, bent
his knee before his God, or perused those wondrous records of His power
and love preserved in the Scriptures. Thither at noon, one day, he
withdrew to offer up his prayers, but stepped aside when about to enter
the roofless oratory, on perceiving it to be already occupied by the
priestess of Vesta. She was kneeling with her face towards the meridian
sun, though her eyes were cast upon the ground, seemingly absorbed in
deep meditation. Sometimes, as if unconsciously, some low sweet words
escaped from her lips, but though Adonijah held in his breath, that he
might not lose a word, the sound alone reached his ears. Suddenly she
held up a triangular instrument towards the orb of day, and directed the
solar ray towards a vessel of a curious form, containing combustibles.
As the flame descended into the receiver, the devotion of the vestal
soared into enthusiasm. A brighter glow suffused her fair cheek, and she
bent over the heaven-kindled fire with rapturous adoration that seemed
to absorb her whole being.
The long white stola, purple-bordered mantle, and snowy head-dress,
accorded well with Lucia Claudia’s beauty, which was at once sublime and
touching in its character. Nothing could be more graceful than her
attitude, or more holy than the expression of her face. It was piety
that lighted up every perfect feature—piety which, though mistaken in
its object, still looked beautiful in her, while the red parted lip
seemed rather formed to pour forth the praises of the living God, than
to offer up sinful prayers to the element He had created.
Adonijah beheld these impious rites with unfeigned horror; he no longer
saw in the person of Lucia Claudia the beautiful and beloved object of
his secret affections, but an idolatrous heathen priestess, practising
abhorrent ceremonies, offering up unholy worship in the very front of
day. Reckless alike of consequences or the difference fortune had placed
between them, and only jealous of the honour of the living God, Adonijah
rushed forward, dashed the vessel over, and scattered the fire upon the
ground, exclaiming in a terrible tone, “Idolatress, what are you doing?
How dare you offer to the creature that worship which is due to the
Creator alone?”
The stern voice, the act of violence, dispelled the trance of devotion
into which the priestess of Vesta had fallen. All the proud blood of her
proud line seemed to mantle in her face and flash from her eyes as she
sprang up, and, confronting the intruder, turned upon him a look in
which horror, indignation, and amazement were all blended, crying, as
she rent her garments, “Sacrilegious stranger, your death alone can
atone this impious deed! The gods, the gods, will punish your impiety!”
“Maiden, I invoke their fury, open my bosom to the wrath of Heaven, but
lo! their thunders sleep. Thy goddess does not deign to vindicate her
cause. She cannot, Lucia, for she has no being. The God I worship, Lucia
Claudia, is a spirit immortal and invisible, seen with the eye of faith
alone, whose throne is in the highest heaven. The fire thou worshippest
is but an element formed by Him for the service of man, of whom He is
the great Creator. The bright sun himself we call by a name signifying a
servant.”
“The laws will do me justice, insulting Hebrew!” replied the vestal, not
deigning to attend to his speech.
“Denounce me, if you will; yet hear me, Lucia Claudia, before you give
me up to certain death.”
“Release me, slave! Even to grasp my robes is sacrilege. Pursue your
cold inexplicable faith, but leave me to follow mine in peace.”
“I cannot leave you, Lucia Claudia, in darkness and idolatry to provoke
the anger of the living God, for I love you too well to overlook your
sin; yes, daughter of this strange heathen land, I love you, and would
save your soul from ruin.” He sank at her feet, still grasping her
garments, while he regarded her with eyes full of grief and hopeless
passion.
“Release me, Adonijah!” repeated the vestal, but in a milder tone, and
the Hebrew perceived that she trembled. “Go, Adonijah; I wish not your
death. Strange to the customs of this land, you know not the penalty you
have incurred in daring to lift your eyes to a vestal virgin.”
“I know it, Lucia Claudia, but I fear not to die; death may have terrors
for the unbeliever, may be dreaded by the happy, but to the Hebrew
captive it will only open a higher, nobler existence. Idolatress, my
heart bleeds for you; I see you gentle, fair, and good, a creature
formed for truth, yet misleading men to falsehood, the victim of a
fraud, alike deceiving and deceived. Why were you not a daughter of my
people? then you had worshipped the great Jehovah, nor lent yourself
unto a lie. Then it had been no crime to love you; now it is deadly
sin.”
The priestess made no reply; she renewed her efforts to escape, and
Adonijah did not attempt to detain her. Silently he watched the
fluttering of her white garments as if every sense were locked up in
sight, and when her form was no longer visible, caught up the triangular
instrument she had dropped in her hasty retreat and put it into his
bosom, though he really believed it to be a magical instrument; so
inconsistent often is the conduct of a lover.
Lucia Claudia had not listened to the rash declaration of Adonijah
without emotion. No one had hitherto, besides Nymphidius, dared to cast
even a look of admiration upon her, much less presumed to speak to her
of love. The austerity of her carriage, her virtue, and consecration to
virginity, had deterred the boldest from seeking to inspire her with
affection. In spite of herself, the presumption of Adonijah did not give
birth to the anger she felt it ought. He was unhappy, and he loved her;
and she recalled his words and looks, and found a latent feeling of pity
and intense interest lurking in her bosom for the daring slave. She no
sooner discovered her danger than she resolved to fly from it, and,
summoning her attendants, quitted the villa for Rome that very day,
without even venturing to bid her brother farewell, lest his penetrating
eye should discover the cause of her inquietude.