CHAPTER III.

[pg 176]CHAPTER III.I had walked by the side of my young friend, and behind the Stoic, (who, I think, was expressing, in his pompous fashion, much admiration of the singing of Rubellia,) along one or two of the great halls in which the library is contained, before the novelty of the objects surrounding me made any impression even on my eyes; and even after these were in some measure engaged, my mind still continued to dwell on that troubled aspect, and on the notes of the uncompleted song. At length, however, the levity of youth, and natural curiosity revived; and I began to be present, not in body merely, in a place where there was much that might well interest the mind. Far-receding rows of columns conducted my eyes into the interminable recesses of that wide range of chambers, in which the records of the thought and spirit of all past ages are piled up together; and gazing on the loaded shelves which every where ascended into the galleries, I could not but be affected with many new emotions. I perused glorious names on the busts that seemed to preside over the different compartments. The high filletted front of Homer detained for the first time my contemplation; the eyes of the divine old man, even in sculpture, distinctly[pg 177]and visibly blind, while the serenity and sanctity of the towering forehead, revealed how the intense perception at once of the lovely and the great could compensate for visions of earthly beauty shut out. The mild Plato, and the imperious Stagyrite—Pindar—Simonides—Alcæus—and I know not how many more, succeeded as we passed along—each in his own sphere, reigning by himself; yet all connected together by a certain common air of greatness, like so many successive princes, or contemporary heroes of the same mighty empire.From this main range, there diverged many lesser chambers, in which we saw studious persons engaged, each seated by himself, and having his eyes fixed on the parchment before him. Of these, some deigned not to intimate by the smallest movement their perception that any one had approached; but with others Xerophrastes exchanged, as he walked, lofty salutation, and one or two even entered, for a moment, into conversation with him. With one of these, indeed, (an ancient of bitter aspect,) to such a length did the colloquy extend, that we began to think we should never be able to get our Stoic away from him; till, as our fortune would have it, it became necessary for them to have a certain book for the purpose of reference, and then Xerophrastes began to make inquiries concerning Parmeno, who, as I gathered, must needs be one of those intrusted with the care of the library.“I am afraid,”said the other,“if we must wait for him, we shall not be able to get that work either to-day or to-morrow; for his pupil, the son of Fabricius, is dead, and I suppose he will now change his quarters,[pg 178]and be no longer seen so often about these haunts of the muses.”“Alas!”interrupted Sextus,“I met Fabricius in the Forum a few days ago, and he told me his son was ill; but little did I imagine my dear companion was so near his end! Is it indeed so?”“Even so,”rejoined the other.“Rapid have been the shears of Atropos! It is but a few moments since Agaso, the painter passed; and, he told me he had been receiving orders to take a likeness, as well as he could, from the corpse.”“If Agaso be so engaged,”replied Xerophrastes,“I am afraid we need not expect to find him neither in his usual place. Perhaps we had better make inquiry for him at the dwelling of Fabricius.”To this Sextus assented; or rather, being lost in reflection concerning the death of his friend, he suffered himself to be conducted by the Stoic. Passing, therefore, through one or two more apartments, we issued forth, and drew near to the vestibule of Fabricius’ house, who, as they told me, was a noble Roman, having the chief superintendance of the whole library, and an intimate friend of Licinius—one whose domestic calamity could not fail to spread much affliction through a wide circle of patrician kindred.At the vestibule, we found assembled not a few of the young man’s relations; but Xerophrastes immediately said,“Behold Parmeno, he is the most afflicted; and what wonder that it should be so?”“Alas!”said Sextus,“the bier is set forth; the last rites are to be performed this evening.”This Parmeno was a striking figure. Seated close[pg 179]by the bier, his head was involved in his cloak, so that only his eyes and his nose could be seen, but these of themselves expressed a decorous affliction; and the folds of the cloak fell down over the rest of his person in great order and dignity. On the pavement beside him was seen lying, half-unfolded, a book inscribed with the name of Heraclitus, which he appeared to have been reading. When Xerophrastes approached, this mourner stretched forth his hand, and shook his head, but he did not say any thing, nor even look towards the rest of us; and indeed to have done so, would have disturbed the attitude in which he had placed himself. Xerophrastes, on his part, received the proffered hand, and shaking his head in response, said,“Yes, my Ionian friend, I may still bid thee hail and live; but I must say farewell to the plant thou wast rearing. Farewell to the youthful promise of Fabricius!”On hearing these words, the sitting philosopher drew his mantle quite over his face, and leant himself heavily against one of the fluted columns of the vestibule, for he seemed to be much shaken. In the meantime Sextus approached the bier, and contemplated his companion as he lay there wreathed with melancholy garlands; his countenance bearing a natural mixture of sadness and astonishment. Nor could I, who had never before seen the young man, behold the spectacle without similar emotions; for his age, as it seemed, could not have been much different from my own, and the pale features were interesting, their expression not less amiable than solemn.“Alas!”said Sextus,“the last time I saw him, how[pg 180]differently did he appear! We rode out together with some others to Tibur, and spent all the day there; and as we returned by the moonlight, how joyous his conversation! Methinks I yet hear him laughing and speaking. We parted at the foot of the Capitoline, and never did I see him again till now.”“Oh, fate of man!”quoth Xerophrastes;“how uncertain is life, how certain death! Without doubt, young Fabricius had as little thought of dying as any of your company; and yet, see now, he is arrayed for the last time, and this juvenile gown, which he should so soon have laid aside for the manly, is destined to be consumed with him.”“A fine lad he was,”cries one of the standers by,—“a fine lad, and an excellent horseman. The Martian Field did not often behold such a rider in these degenerate days of the Roman youth.”But while the rest were still contemplating the bier, Xerophrastes, turning to his brother philosopher, said,“Tell me now, my learned friend, do you still, after this mournful event, continue to reside with the elder Fabricius? Has that excellent man any more sons to be educated, or will he retain you only for the sake of the library, with which assuredly he will find few so conversant as yourself?”To which Parmeno replied,“Your question, O Xerophrastes, shews that clear judgment concerning the affairs of men, for which you have always been celebrated. No, my friend, the gray-haired Fabricius no longer requires my residence here; for he is about to retire into one of his villas on the Campanian shore, and to bury for ever his affliction in the privacy of[pg 181]his woods. We are about to part, not without mutual tears; and several Patricians have already been applying to him for his influence with me, whom, although unworthy of so much research, they earnestly covet, and wish to engage as the instructor of their young men. I have been sitting here not unseen, beside this my former charge, and each is impatient to solicit me into his service.”“Your reputation I well know is high,”replied Xerophrastes,“and deservedly so; more particularly, for that fine talent you have for giving metaphysical interpretations of mythology, and for explaining the obscure allegories of ancient poets. But for my own part, Parmeno, I find not so much delight in abstract ideas, or in the passive contemplation of the universe; but incline rather to study, as heretofore, that part of philosophy which relates to action, and the morality of duty.”“Yes, worthy Xerophrastes,”returned he, with a most languid serenity;“and so far as I understand, you sort well in this with the stirring disposition of your friend Licinius.”To which Xerophrastes made answer:—“My patron Licinius is fond of action, and I of the rules of action. He says, it is only in war, or in civil functions of a public nature, that a person can prove himself a man. The rest, he says, is visionary, and comes to nothing, or is a slumber of the mind in sensuality, without thought.”“Does he think, then,”quoth Parmeno, his wobegone countenance relaxing into a smile,—“Does Licinius think, then, there is no sensuality in perpetual action,[pg 182]and declamation and noise? To me such things appear almost as trivial as the lazy enjoyments of Epicureans, besides being harsh and disagreeable, and not unfrequently ridiculous. But observe, O Xerophrastes! that I speak these things as it were abstractly, and not by any means in disparagement of Licinius, your excellent patron and friend.”To which the stoic replied in astonishment—“What is this you have said? Do you assert that action is sensual?”Then Parmeno, lifting from the pavement the book which he had been reading, or appearing to read, said,“It is even so, most erudite Xerophrastes. Indeed, I have always delighted in the most primitive and remote doctrines handed down from antiquity; and among others, in the riddles of this obscure Ephesian. Following the scope of his philosophy, I am led to believe, that, so often as the mind impels, or is impelled by other causes, it begins to lose sight of pure knowledge, and becomes in danger of thinking that every thing is vain, light, and evanescent, except what is perceived by the senses. Heraclitus well says, that Love and Hatred govern all things. Now, when the principle of Discord prevails, it subjects all things to the dominion of action, and to the gross perceptions of sense. But when that of Love is prevalent, it emancipates the struggling chaos of things from the yearning of compulsion, and from the darkness of sensual proximity; for, between things that struggle immediately against each other, light has no room to enter in and shine; and therefore it is, that, when Love gains the ascendency, a new arrangement is produced—an arrangement which, if I[pg 183]may so express it, is more serene, transparent, orderly and divine, and wherein things exist in safety from the danger of mutual destruction.”After a preliminary cough:—“My opinion,”replied Xerophrastes,“coincides rather with that of Empedocles. The immortal Sicilian thinks that Discord is the only separating and arranging principle which marks the boundaries between things, and enables them mutually to act and repel, in such a way as to preserve order.”—“Nay, nay,”interrupted Parmeno, his hands being by this quite disentangled from his cloak, and his countenance lighted up,—“Nay, nay, to such doctrine I never shall assent. From Empedocles—even from Xerophrastes, I must differ for ever on this head. The order of which you and the Sicilian speak, is the order of darkness only, and of blind force,—a kind of order in which fierceness and cruelty always reign.”But Xerophrastes continued:—“And I farther concur with Empedocles in thinking, that Love is a principle of which the predominance is more fit to turn order into a chaos, than to produce the effects you have described.”—“Nay, speak not against Love,”quoth Parmeno—“Speak not against Love, nor believe that any respect is due to the dictates of Empedocles, who taught the worst that can be taught by any man—that is to say, the alternation of order and confusion succeeding each other throughout all time. To seek for truth in conceptions like these, is no better than to seek repose in the bosom of Ætna.”—“In reference to that point,”resumed Xerophrastes,“I agree with you in your disapprobation of Empedocles. But when you say, that Love is the source of knowledge, you[pg 184]much astonish me; for I have always thought rather that its tendency is to bring confusion upon the mind.”“Once more,”said Parmeno—“once more, let me beseech you to say nothing against love. You are thinking of the love of particular objects. You speak of Cupid, and not of that heavenly Eros, who, so far from enchaining, or tyrannizing over the mind, rather enables it to escape into the tranquil freedom of far extended contemplation. But what is contemplation without the knowledge of permanent forms, on which the mind may find repose, and so keep itself from being perplexed by the shifting aspects of the many-coloured universe? And therefore it is, O Xerophrastes, that, sometimes laying aside Heraclitus, I study the ancient verses of the poet, Xenophanes, who shews, by the nature of abstract forms, that a certain unity pervades all things. Xenophanes mused of old at Colophon, looking through the blue ether of my native Ionia.—But why should I speak thus at length? Alas! what is the occasion of our being here!—I perceive the approach of the poet, who was to compose an inscription for the urn of my dear Fabricius. Yonder also is the architect, who comes with a design for the tomb. Oh! day of wo, that I should sit in judgment concerning the epitaph and tomb of my ingenuous youth!”“It is, indeed, true,”replied Xerophrastes,“that even I, in the repercussions of our talk, had well-nigh forgotten this unhappy occurrence; but, perhaps, there is something not after all entirely excusable in our giving so much superiority to the affairs of philosophical discussion. Now, however, it is evident, that we must suspend our colloquy—And who, I beseech you, above[pg 185]all things, is he that now draws near to the place of this mournful assembly, holding a horse in his hand. Methinks I have seen his face before.”“That you have indeed, Master,”quoth he that had come up,—“that you have; and no longer ago than yesterday neither, if you will be pleased to give yourself the trouble of recollecting. My name is Aspar—I am well known. If but my excellent friend, the noble Centurion Sabinus, were here, poor old Aspar would have no reason to complain of the want of a good word.”“Good morrow to you, Aspar,”said Sextus;“but what is it that brings you hither just at this moment? And for what purpose have you brought your horse with you? for people of your sort do not in general ride in the courts of the Palatine.”“Alas!”quoth Aspar,“and is it you, who seem to have been one of the contemporaries of that peerless youth—is it you that ask such a question as this? I did not, in truth, imagine that there was any friend of young Fabricius, who did not know his affection for little Sora. There is not such another within twenty miles of the Capitol; but I brought her hither merely out of regard for the family. As for myself, I should never bear to look on her again with pleasure, after knowing the sudden manner of his death. I wish to Heaven the filly were fairly lodged in one of the paddocks of the Lord Fabricius himself.”“Lead the animal round into the stables,”says Parmeno,“and I doubt not care will be taken of her.—Yonder comes one of the buffoons of the theatre;—he, I doubt not, is here to disgrace, if he be permitted, this solemn scene, with ranting quotations from the tragic[pg 186]poets. Alas! alas! I cannot bear all this: There also advance the officiators from the Temple of Libitina; they have their cypress boughs ready in their hands. Oh, my learned friend, I cannot sustain these things; let me be gone into the mansion.”The admirer of Heraclitus, picking up his scroll, and gathering together the folds of his mantle, moved slowly into the house, Xerophrastes following with similar gestures. Sextus and I also were about to take our departure; and he, having procured from one of the slaves of the house a myrtle garland, had already placed it upon the bier of the young Fabricius, as the last testimonial of his concern; when there drew near two young men, clad in long mantles of black, who, solemnly embracing my friend, began to exchange with him many expressions of grief.While they were thus engaged, Rubellia, who had been standing all this while a little apart, sent a boy to inform us that the painter we were in search of had at last made his appearance, and was anxious to proceed with his portrait. I drew Sextus away, therefore, and soon joined the lady and the artist; but as we were moving off thus, one of the bystanding slaves, an old gray-headed man, came up and whispered to Sextus,“Sir, be not deceived; these two nephews of my bereaved master are to me the most disagreeable part of all this preparation. You have heard their lamentation, and seen their sweeping raiment of mourning; but, be sure, a principal subject of their reflection is the probability that one or other of them must be adopted by Fabricius. Alas! alas! so goes all between Lucina and Libitina. There was never a birth nor a[pg 187]marriage that did not create some sorrow, nor a funeral procession that did not give rise to some joy. Your rhetoricians talk, but what avails it all? Slaves and masters are alike subjected to the evils of the world, and of these death is both the last and the least.”[pg 188]CHAPTER IV.Agaso, the painter, was a smart dapper little bandy-legged man of Verona, dressed in a Grecian mantle, and endeavouring to look as much as possible like a Greek. Had Xerophrastes not gone off with his brother of Ionia, I have no doubt this man would have made his presence a sufficient excuse for speaking nothing but Greek to us; but, even as it was, his conversation was interlarded with an abundant intermixture of that noble tongue. Nothing could be spoken of which Agaso did not think fit to illustrate, either by the narration of something he himself had seen or heard during his residence at Athens, or, at least, by some quotation from the Grecian poets. To judge from the square, and somewhat ponderous formation of the man’s features, Nature had not designed him for any of the most mercurial specimens of her workmanship; but he contrived, notwithstanding, by perpetual shrugging and grimacing, and, above all, by keeping his eyes and eyebrows continually in motion, to give himself an air of no inconsiderable life and vivacity.Hopping before us with much alacrity, this artist conducted our steps through eight or ten galleries, until at length a curtain being withdrawn, which had covered[pg 189]the space between two pilasters, we found ourselves in a spacious apartment, which, from the courteousness wherewith he bowed us into it, there could be no difficulty in perceiving to be the customary sphere of his own exertions. It was not altogether deserted even when we entered, but the removal of the curtain attracted more of the loungers of the baths, and ere Sextus was fairly fixed before the table of the painter, the modest youth had the mortification to find himself surrounded with a very crowd of knowing and curious physiognomies. The presence of these, however, appeared not unwelcome to the master. On the contrary, there arose between the little man, as he was preparing his brushes, and those who had come to survey him at his work, such a gabble of compliments, remarks, and disquisitions, that it seemed to me as if he would have been disappointed had he not been favoured with their attendance.“How noble,”cries one,“is that portrait you have just been finishing of Rupilius!—Heavens! with what felicity you have caught the air! Methinks I see him about to enter the Basilica, when he knows that some great cause is awaiting his decision. What solemnity in his aspect! what grandeur in the gown!—How finely the purple of the laticlave is made to harmonize with the colouring of the cheeks and chin! What beautiful handling about the fingers with which he grasps his tablets!—As for the head of the stylus, it is the very eye of the picture.”—“Exquisite indeed,”quoth another;“but who can look at it, or at any thing else, in the same room with this little jewel?—Heavens! what a beauty! who can it be? for I never[pg 190]saw her either at the Circus or the Amphitheatre. What an inimitable modesty!”The painter heard this last piece of eulogy with an air of some embarrassment, and at the same time looked very cunningly towards the person who had uttered it. But the Lady Rubellia tossed her head, and whispered to me,“Pretty she may be, though I cannot say that style of dressing the hair is at all adapted for such features; but for modesty! hem. I asked Agaso two or three days ago who it was, and he told me—guess!—it is a little Spanish girl, whom that august-looking person, with the grand laticlave, and the purple cheeks and chin, and the glittering stylus, thought fit to bring home with him when he was relieved from the hard duties of the Pro-prætorship. I dare say, he takes care she shall not be seen either at Circus or Amphitheatre; and, indeed, I think it is sufficient impudence to shew her likeness in the company of so many portraits of respectability.”“My dear lady,”quoth the painter, who overheard somewhat,“for the sake of all that is sacred, no word of this again! Wait, at least, till the canvass for the Augurship be over. There are always so many to exaggerate and misrepresent.”—“Exaggerate, indeed! I think Rupilius ought to be ashamed of himself; and at his time of life too. I think you said he was just the same age with my uncle?”—“Yes,”says the painter,“he must be of that standing; and I think he went to Spain just about the period of your marriage.”—“Filthy old fellow,”quoth she, very quickly;“and this is the treasure he has brought home with him! I have a great mind to tell his wife.”—“Hush, hush,”[pg 191]said Agaso,“this is the very day Rupilius spoke of bringing her to see his own portrait; and, indeed, I am sure that is the Senator’s cough. I rely on your prudence.”And the portly original of the laticlaved portrait walked into the room, having his gown and every part of his dress arranged as represented in the picture; although in the living countenance it was easy to discover a few lines and spots which had been omitted in the copy. By his side moved a short woman, arrayed in the extremity of costly attire, whose swarthy complexion did not, in spite of cosmeticism, harmonize very well with the bright golden ringlets of her Sicambrian peruque; while behind the pair came a thin damsel, whose lineaments exhibited a sort of faint shadow of the same visage, the rudiments of which had been so abundantly filled up in that of the rubicund magistrate. The ex-pro-prætor, after saluting Agaso, stood still with dignity in the midst of the apartment, while the fond daughter, rushing close up to his picture, could with difficulty affix any limits to her expressions of satisfaction:—“O Jupiter! look at the ring. It is the very ring he wears!—the very images are engraved upon it; one can see the three Graces. I never saw such a picture—when will it be brought home?”—“Hush, hush, now, Primula,”quoth the mother.“It is certainly a likeness; but why will artists, now-a-days, always paint people older than they are? And besides, it wants something of his expression. Don’t you think so yourself, sir?”(turning to the painter)“Rupilius has surely been looking very gloomily when he sat.”[pg 192]On this the painter, leaving Sextus, advanced to her side, and after a pause of some moments, spent in contemplating alternately his own work and the original, said, with a courteous simper,“How much am I indebted to you, most noble lady, for this visit, and these judicious remarks! I only wish you had accompanied the senator, for then, without question, his countenance would have worn the look you desiderate; and I perhaps might have more easily succeeded in catching it, being aided by your suggestions. I hope it may yet be amended.”—“How modest he is!”ejaculated the spouse.“A single sitting will suffice, I am sure. We shall come some day when you are quite alone, and I will sit by you, and talk to Rupilius all the while.”—“Delightful!”replied the artist;“how happy shall I be in such an opportunity of improving both the picture and myself! We must positively prevail on the senator to give us this one sitting more.”—“Never ask his consent,”quoth the matron, smiling upon her lord;“leave the whole matter to me. The picture is for me. And besides, if he were to refuse, I know how I should be certain to overcome him; for he has asked me to sit to you myself, and you know if I were to persist in sitting with my gloomy face, as he has with his, we should soon bring him to his right reason.”—“Yourgloomy face, noble lady!”replied the artist, strutting back a pace or two.“I am afraid, if that is the charm by which alone he is to be softened, we must give up all our hopes.”—“I protest,”says the lady,“I believe you will keep me laughing all the time I sit. And pray now, what dress do you think I should wear? Prima says, I ought certainly to be in green;[pg 193]but I was thinking, that perhaps a yellow byssine would suit me better. But I shall send over half a dozen robes, and then we can choose whichever seems to be the best. One thing only I am quite resolved upon, and that is, that I shall have my golden chain, with the miniature of the Pro-prætor—the Senator, I mean—at the end of it.”—“Nothing could be in finer taste,”he made answer;“and if my lady should think of green, or purple, or any dark colour for the gown, the rings of the chain and the setting of the miniature would have the richest effect.”—“And do, my dear mother,”interrupted Prima;“and do have on the sapphire tiara when you sit to Agaso. Or what would you think of having your own hair simply like this lady here? What a beauty!”—“A smart little girl, indeed,”quoth the mother.“I think I should know that face. Is she Roman, Agaso?”—“No, not a Roman,”answered the artist;“nor do I think my lady can ever have met with her. But perhaps my Lord Rupilius may, for she is a Spaniard.”Agaso turned with a smile to the Senator; but he, scarcely appearing to look at the picture, answered, with great gravity,“I think I have seen the countenance before; and perhaps it was in my province. The face is certainly a pretty one; but nothing so very extraordinary.”—“They may say what they like,”observed the spouse, drawing herself up;“but there is no such thing as a really urbane air to be got out of Rome.”Meantime, in another part of the room, some other picture appeared to be exciting a scarcely inferior measure of curiosity. On approaching the party, I perceived that this was a sketch, in chalk only, of the head[pg 194]and shoulders of an old man; and when I had gained an opportunity of more nearly surveying it, I recognized without difficulty the features of Tisias of Antioch. The greater number of those who were looking on it, seemed also to have been present at his death; for I heard pointed out by them with exactness the parts in which the resemblance had been most successfully taken. The beauty of the old man’s lineaments, and the serenity of his aspect, they all admired; and while they were loud in praising these, Agaso himself also joined them, saying,“Oh, so you have found out my old Christian! How did you get hold of him? for I meant it not to be seen till I had lain on a little of the colour. But is it not a fine study?—is it not a noble head? I think I shall introduce it in the picture I am painting for Pliny. The subject is the sacrifice of Iphigenia. I went to the Amphitheatre,”he continued,“rather late, without expecting any thing particular; but it immediately struck me that he might be turned to some account. I made several little sketches of him, for it was a long time ere it was over; and this is from the one I took just after he had made his oration. His hands and feet were singularly fine, I thought. Here,”said he, turning over the leaves of his tablets—“here you have him in a variety of shapes!—the muscles shewed powerfully when he knelt;—there, again, you have his fingers as they were folded on his breast—not much flesh, but the lines good—veins well expressed.”But about this time the great bell rung in the tower above the Baths, and the greater part of the young loungers soon dispersed themselves; some to fence or wrestle—others to play in the tennis-court—others to[pg 195]ride in the Hippodrome, in preparation for the bath. So Agaso, being left alone with Sextus, Rubellia, and myself, had at length leisure to proceed with his portrait of the youth.Much did the lady and the painter discourse, and many merry things were said by them both; but all they said could not entirely remove the embarrassment fixed on the countenance of Sextus; nor, of a truth, did he present himself with much advantage before the artist. Rubellia, nevertheless, sate over against him with looks of no severe criticism; and I doubt not she would have remained to the end of the sitting, had not one of her household come with a message, which, as it seemed, rendered necessary her departure. It struck me, that the messenger answered very well to Dromo’s description of the fat Calabrian with whom he and Boto had been drinking; but of this I said nothing to Sextus.It was near the hour of supper before we were dismissed, and we found Licinius already about to enter his eating chamber.[pg 196]CHAPTER V.The orator received us with less coldness than I could have expected. I suppose his knowledge that our morning had been spent in Rubellia’s company, had in some measure softened his feelings of jealousy towards his son; and perhaps he had given me credit for advice, to the merit of which I had no claim. But he remained not long at table after supper was concluded, being summoned to discourse in private with a client:—so that Sextus and I were left to spend the evening as it might please ourselves; for as to Xerophrastes, he had not as yet made his appearance, and we took it for granted he had remained at the mansion of Fabricius, for the purpose of consoling with philosophical controversies his bereaved brother of Ionia.We retired, therefore, into the apartment of my young friend; but he could not read a page without coming upon some verse which made him throw down the scroll to ruminate on the charms of his Sempronia. When he took up his lute, his fingers seemed to evoke only the most melancholy sounds. It was only in the exercise of the foil, that he succeeded in banishing from his thoughts the troubles of his situation; but both of us having contended till[pg 197]we were breathless, were soon compelled to sit down, and then the unhappy boy’s exhausted body seemed to communicate a new debility to his mind. We sat for the most part in silence, (for I soon found that I could not say any thing capable of interesting him,) until the shades of evening had quite darkened the chamber, and then we walked together, not less silently, in the adjoining open gallery, until the moon had arisen from above the tall poplars around the Pantheon and Baths of Agrippa, and diffused her radiance over all the beautiful gardens and noble edifices that lay beneath us down to the brink of the river. Lassitude of spirit then, if not expectation of sleep, rendered Sextus desirous of retiring to his couch; so, having exhorted the youth to wrestle with his grief, and to call hope to his aid, I at length left him to himself. But as for me, I had as yet no feeling of weariness, and, besides, I remembered the promise I had made to Dromo in the morning.I was very much surprised, indeed, that the Cretan had not as yet come to me, and made inquiry concerning him of Boto; but hearing that the man was absent from the house, I thought from this there was the more likelihood of his being engaged in some scheme, the result of which I should by and by learn from his own lips. I dismissed my Briton, therefore, and prepared to read by my watch-light, and while I was considering what I should read, I remembered the scroll I had received from Tisias, which forthwith I took from the place in which I had locked it up on the morning of the preceding day. There fell from out of it, as I unfolded it, a letter sealed, but without any superscription. This I of course considered as meant only[pg 198]for the eye of Athanasia; so I kissed the parchment her fingers were destined to touch, and, before I began to read, restored it to its receptacle.More than one of you, my young friends, have already heard me speak, on another occasion, of the impression which that night’s reading made upon my mind, and been told, from my own lips, what book it was that was contained in the scroll of Tisias; the rest of you will judge for yourselves with what astonishment it was that I, who had at the best expected to unfold some obscure treatise of Asiatic lore, some semi-barbarous exposition of mystical riddles, found myself engaged in the perusal of a plain and perspicuous narrative of facts, written evidently by a man of accomplishment and learning, and in Greek of which the most elegant penman of these times could have had no occasion to be ashamed. In a word, it was the Gospel of the holy physician St Luke which had been put into my hands; and at this day I am still grateful that this was the first of the Christian books which I had an opportunity of seeing; for such had been my education, that I am afraid others, not less worthy of the true faith, might have repelled me by the peculiarities of their composition, as well as by the acquaintance with many things, to me then entirely unknown, which they take for granted in the style of their commencement. Here, however, there was enough only of mystery, the more effectually to stimulate my curiosity, while the eagerness with which I engaged myself in its gratification, was abundantly repaid from the beginning, both by the beauty of the simple narrative itself, and the sublimity of the conceptions embodied and evolved in its course.[pg 199]Considering the book which I was reading, as one merely of human origin and invention, I could not help regarding it with such admiration, that it appeared to me above all things wonderful, I had never seen it mentioned by any of the writers of the age, or heard it spoken of by any of those who, in my presence, since I came to Rome, had talked concerning the faith and doctrines of the persecuted Christians. But this was not all. At least, said I to myself, there is something here which deserves to be inquired into and examined. Of things such as these, if told falsely, it must needs have been—nay, it must still be, easy to prove the falsehood. It is impossible that, in the days of Tiberius, any such events should have occurred in Palestine, without being more or less submitted to the inspection of Roman eyes. This is no wild tale, handed down from the dark ages of a barbarous race. Here I have a Roman Centurion described as among the witnesses of this man’s miraculous power, and acknowledging the divinity of his benevolence. Here, at least, must have been one spectator without prejudices, otherwise than against this Prophet of Nazareth. Of a surety, the legends of Rome herself contain many tales which demand a much greater measure of indulgence; since the wonders they narrate appear to have been oftentimes attended with no beneficial consequences, either to individuals or to the state; whereas here the occasion seems always to have been such as might justify the interference of supernatural might. The power of this person seems to have been exerted only for good; and his precepts are full of such godlike loftiness as neither Socrates, nor Plato, nor any of those Greek sages, who[pg 200]bowed in reverence to the hoary wisdom of Egypt and India, would have disdained to admire.The doubts, suspicions, and distrusts, with which such thoughts were mingled,—the under-current of reluctance with which I felt myself all along contending,—were such as you may more easily imagine than I can describe.As the narrative went on, however, you will have no difficulty in supposing that my attention became more and more rivetted, and that, occupied with the strange events and sublime scenes it unfolds—and agitated by turns with the pity, the wonder, the terror, and the admiration that matchless story must ever awaken,—I had forgotten every thing beyond the page of the volume on which my finger was fixed.It was only the rustling of Dromo’s cloak against the edge of my chair, that made me aware my privacy was disturbed. His hands seemed to be busied in tightening his girdle even before he was able to speak, and the first words he uttered, were—“Come, sir—this is no time for study. I have acquaintance with some of the soldiers at the Capene Gate, and they will let us pass through; but they are relieved at the next watch, and then we shall have no chance.”—“And why,”said I, hastily thrusting the scroll into my bosom—“why, Dromo, or for what purpose should we desire to pass through the Capene Gate at the dead hour of night?”—“Come,”said he;“there is no time for explanation. It is simply because it is the dead hour of night that we must pass through the gate; for it would do nobody any good to pass through at any other time. Come—or abandon Sextus to his fate.”[pg 201]Thus adjured, I could not oppose any obstacle to his zeal. The chained porter was lying asleep across the threshold; but Dromo had already found means to have the door opened, so he leaped lightly over the man, and I imitated his agility. The Cretan then locked the gate on the outside, by means of a key which he carried in his bosom; and I followed his rapid steps without farther question.This cunning varlet, (who seemed, indeed, to move as if he had a natural aversion to every open place,) threaded one obscure lane after another, keeping always, where the moonlight had any access, to the dark side of the way; a person better skilled than myself might well have been somewhat puzzled; as for me, I had not the least conception whither I was going. Close, however, did I adhere to him; and we reached the Capene Port, which is on the south side of the city, not many bow-shots from the Anio, before I could have imagined it possible to traverse so great a space.Here Dromo told me to wait for him a single moment, and stepped down into a cellar, in which a light was burning; but he staid not long, and when he returned to me, I observed that his style of walking was more clumsy than usual, which, indeed, was not to be wondered at, considering that he had now to carry, not only himself, but two huge skins of wine, intended, as I at once suspected, for the purpose of facilitating our passage. I told him my suspicion in a whisper; but he made no answer, except by handing to me one of his burdens. So laden, we crept on as well as we could to the portal, beneath the shadow of which two Prætorians were pacing, their armour ringing audibly upon[pg 202]them amidst the silence of the night.—Silently did the well-oiled hinges turn, and very silently stooping did we step beneath the lintel of the Capene Gate, which as silently was again made fast.As we advanced among the funereal monuments which line the Appian Way on either side, Dromo stood still every now and then for a moment, as if to listen; but whatever he might have heard, or expected to hear, I perceived nothing, except here and there the howl of a dog, or the lazy hooting of the night-owl, from the top of some of the old cypresses that rose between us and the moon.At last he seemed to catch the sound he had been expecting, for he started suddenly; and laying his finger on his lip, crept to the parapet.The ground behind was more desolate of aspect than any part of that which we had traversed—stoney and hard, with here and there tufts of withered fern; and immediately below the wall two human figures were visible. The one was sitting on the ground, wrapped in a dark cloak which entirely concealed the countenance: the other was a half-naked boy, holding in a string a little new-shorn lamb, which with one of his hands he continually caressed. But forthwith the sitter arose, and throwing away the cloak, displayed the gray tangled tresses of an old woman, and two strong boney arms, one of which was stretched forth with an impatient gesture towards the stripling, while the other was pointed upwards to the visible moon.“Strike,”said she,“strike deeply—beware lest the blood tinge your feet or your hands;”—and I recognized at once the voice of the same Pona that had[pg 203]attracted my notice in the morning, at the foot of the Palatine.The boy drew forth instantly a knife from his bosom, whose glittering blade was buried in the throat of the yearling, and it was then first that I perceived a small ditch dug between the boy and the woman, into which, the lamb’s throat being held over it, the blood was made to drop from the wound. So surely had the blow been given, that not one bleat escaped from the animal, and so deeply, that the blood flowed in a strong stream, dashing audibly upon the bottom of the trench. And while it was dropping, the old woman muttering a sort of chant to Hecate, as I gathered, showered from her girdle I know not what of bones or sticks, mingled with leaves and roots, which afterwards she seemed to be stirring about in the blood with one of the tall strong stems of the fern that grew there. The wildness of her gestures was such, that I could not doubt she had herself some faith in the efficacy of the foul charms to which she had resorted; nor could I see her stirring that trench of innocent blood, without remembering the still more ruthless charms, whose practice the poets of Italy have ascribed to such hoary enchantresses. The dreariness of the midnight wind, too, as it whistled along the bare and steril soil around us, and the perpetual variations in the light, by reason of the careering of those innumerable clouds, and the remembrance of the funereal purposes for which, as it seemed, all this region was set apart—the whole of this together produced, I know not how, a certain pressure upon my spirits, and I confess to you, I felt, kneeling there by the side of my now trembling Cretan, as if I owed him no[pg 204]great thanks for having brought me that night beyond the Capene Gate.It seemed as if the goddess, to whom the witch’s song had been addressed, did not listen to it with favourable ear; for the clouds gathered themselves more thickly than ever, while the wind howled only more loudly among the tombs, and the half-scared owl sent up a feebler hooting. Notwithstanding, the old woman continued fixed in the same attitude of expectation, and the stripling still held the well-nigh drained throat of his lamb above the trench. By degrees, however, the patience of both seemed to be exhausted; and there arose between them an angry altercation.“Infernal brat of Hades!”quoth the witch,“look ye, if you have not stained your filthy hands, and if the thirsty shadows be not incensed, because you have deprived them of some of the sweet blood which they love!”—“Curse not me, mother,”replied the boy—“Did you think, in truth, that the blood of a stolen lamb would ever propitiate Hecate?”—“Imp!”quoth she,“Hold thy peace, or I will try whether no other blood may make the charm work better!”—“Beware!”quoth the boy, leaping backwards—“beware what you do! I am no longer so weak that I must bear all your blows.”“Stop,”cried I,“for there are eyes that you think not of, to take note of your wickedness;”and in my vehemence I shook one of the great loose stones that were on the top of the wall, which rolled down and bounded into the ditch beside them; and the woman, huddling her cloak over her head, began to run swiftly away from us, along the wall over which we were leaning. The boy only stood still for a moment, and[pg 205]looked upwards towards the place where we were, and then he also fled, but in the opposite direction; and Dromo said to me in a very piteous whisper, but not till both were out of sight,—“Heaven and earth! was ever such madness as to scare the witch from her incantation? Alas! for you and for me, sir—and, most of all, alas for Sextus—for I fear me after this we shall have no luck in counteracting the designs of Rubellia.”“Rubellia! what? can you possibly imagine Rubellia to have any thing to do with this madness?”“Imagine?”quoth he;“do you need to be told, that if things had gone well with that woman and her ditch, we should never have been able to preserve Sextus from her clutches?”“By the rod of Hermes, good Dromo!”said I,“this will never do. I shall believe much on your credit, but not things quite so extravagant as this.”He made no reply save a long, incredulous, and, I think, contemptuous whistle, which seemed to reach the ears of every owl between us and the Appian; with such a hooting and screeching did they echo its note from every cypress. And when Dromo heard that doleful concert, his dread redoubled within him, for he shook from head to foot, while I held his arm in mine; until, at last, he seemed to make one violent effort, and springing on his feet, said—“Come, Master Valerius, let us behave after all like men!”—I smiled when he said so—“The hour has not yet come, if my Calabrian friend is to be trusted, at which the lady was to visit Pona in her dwelling. It is but daring a little more. If she has seen and known us already, then nothing can endanger us farther; and if she hath not, we may[pg 206]escape again.”—“Well spoken,”said I,“most shrewd Dromo, and like yourself; but what is it that you would have us to do?”—“The first thing,”he replied,“is what has already been too long delayed.”The Cretan produced from under his cloak a long fictitious beard, which he immediately proceeded to fix upon his own face with a string. A thin tall cap of black cloth was next brought forth, which he fastened in like manner around his brows; and a little piece of chalk, with which he once or twice rubbed over his black bushy eye-brows, completed a disguise beneath which I should certainly have sought in vain to discover any trace of the natural countenance of Dromo. In short, after a few changes in the folding of his cloak, there stood before me a figure so venerably mysterious, that had I met it unawares at midnight, in the neighbourhood of so many tombs, I am not sure, although of no superstitious temper, that I could have regarded it without awe.“Come now, good Master,”quoth he,“you are taller than I, pluck me a branch from the nearest tree, and I think you shall confess I make a decent Soothsayer.”In this it was easy to gratify him; for there was an old willow just a few yards off, and its boughs were so dry with age, that I soon abstracted a very proper wand for him. After receiving which, he stood for a moment leaning on it in a dignified fashion, as if to rehearse an attitude worthy of his new vocation; and then said—“Well, sir, I think if the Lady Rubellia comes now, we shall be tolerably prepared for her. But I have no disguise for you; therefore, the moment you hear a footstep, be sure you wrap your[pg 207]face in your gown, and stand behind me, for so shall you best consult both your own concealment, and the dignity of this Assyrian. There is no other way by which she can come from the Suburra, therefore we might stay very well where we are; but I think it might be still better to await her coming where there are either tombs or larger trees to cast a shade over our equipage, in case the moon should take it into her head to be more kind to us than she was to Pona.”—“By all means,”said I,“most venerable man—and besides, the wind is rather chilly, therefore I shall be well pleased to have shelter as well as shade.”“You shall have both,”quoth he;“there is a thick grove of pines only a little way on. I believe there is a very grand tomb in the midst of them, in case you should prefer to sit under it.—By the bye,”he continued, after some little pause,“it is odd enough that it should be so; but I believe it is the very place where all that race of the Sempronii, to which a certain young damsel belongs, have been burnt and buried ever since Rome was a city. You cannot see their tomb yet; but that is only from the thickness of the trees, some of which are, I suppose, even older than itself. Now I remember me, it was just there that they set up two winters ago the funeral pile of old Caius—I mean the father of the Lady Athanasia, whom you saw at Capito’s villa. They are a very noble race, and although none of the richest now-a-days, there is not a prouder in Rome. I saw the procession at that old man’s funeral myself, and I think the images of his ancestors that they carried before him, would have reached half way from hence to the Great Road. Grim, dusty figures, I trow they were;[pg 208]but I doubt not there had been many a haughty captain among them when they were alive.”These words were spoken as we were moving onwards towards this same grove of pines, and before he had made an end of speaking, we could clearly hear the wind sighing among their branches, and along the dry underground. And on coming to them I found that he had said truly there was a tomb in the midst of them, for a very noble, high, circular tower was indeed there, which, from the grayness of its walls, and luxuriance of ivy, had the appearance of being at least as ancient as any of the surrounding trees. The only method of access to the inside, seemed to be by means of a winding stair, which rose on the exterior from the ground to the summit—a method not unusual in Roman sepulchres—and it was on one of the steps of this stair that I seated myself, where, between the shaded wall on the one side, and the pine branches on the other, I was effectually concealed. As for Dromo, I know not whether it was that he coveted not exactly such close proximity to the stones of such an edifice; but instead of ascending with me, he took up a position beside one of the largest pines over against me.Although the moon had got rid of her clouds, and the sky, where any of it could be seen, was abundantly brilliant, the natural darkness of that funereal grove was such, that very little difference could be produced in the midst of it by any variation on the face of any nightly luminary. The tower itself received some of the moonbeams on its carved surface; but its contemporary trees participated not in any such illumination,—one solemn shade covering all things beneath the[pg 209]influence of their growth.“I can scarcely see you, Dromo,”said I;“but I think that speck must be your beard, and if so, I beg you would tell me what it is you really have in view by all this preparation? Do you expect me to stay here on a tomb-stone all night, merely because you wish to have an opportunity of terrifying poor Rubellia by some ghost-like howl or other when she passes you?—which, by the way, it seems by no means certain she will do at all. Or what is your purpose?”—“Hush!”was his answer;“ask no questions, but hem thrice if you hear a footstep—for young ears are the keenest.”Accordingly silence was kept so strictly, that, in spite of the chillness of the stone on which I sate, I presently fell into a sort of dozing slumber.By degrees, however,—nor, considering the hour and the fatigue I had undergone, is it wonderful that it should have been so,—my sleep must have become sufficiently profound, for I did not at first, on waking from it, very well remember either where I was, or for what purpose I had come thither. And, indeed, I have little doubt my slumbers might have continued till day-break, but for the interruption I am now to mention.And yet it seemed as if even in my sleep I had been prepared for this by some strange anticipation, for although it was a near sound of singing voices that dispelled my slumbers, and made me start from the stone on which I had placed myself, I could not help feeling as if that sound were not altogether new to me;—whether it were that the half-sensible ear had been already ministering indistinctly to the dreaming spirit, or that some purely fantastic prelude had been vouch[pg 210]safed to the real music. I started up suddenly, that much is certain, and listened with astonishment, yet not altogether with such surprise as might have been expected to attend a transition so hasty from sleep to waking, and from silence to the near neighbourhood of sounds at once so strange and so sweet. With breathless curiosity, nevertheless, with awe, and not entirely I think without terror, did I listen to the notes which seemed to ascend out of the habitation of the noble dead into the nightly air—wild, yet solemn, as if breathed from the bosom of a stately repose and a pensive felicity; insomuch, that almost I persuaded myself I was hearing the forbidden sounds of another world, and the thought came over me,—yet almost I think at that moment without farther disturbing me,—what fearful interpretations the old poets have affixed to such untimely communion, and how the superstition of all antiquity has shrunk from its omen.My first impulse, after a moment had elapsed, was to call on Dromo, and I did so, at first in a low whisper, and then two or three times more loudly—but all equally in vain, for no answer was returned; and though I strained my eyes in gazing on the place where I had last seen him, yet there I could perceive no trace whatever of any human figure. The moonlight indeed shewed with more distinctness than before the tall stem of the old pine-tree against which he had been leaning; but no motion, nor the least appearance of whiteness, could either my eyes or my imagination discover there. I might easily, you will say, have stept across the road, and entirely satisfied myself; but I know not well[pg 211]what it was that nailed me to the place where I stood, and prevented me even from once thinking of doing so. The calm sepulchral music, my friends, still continued to stream from the recess of the mausoleum, and painless awe held me there, as if by a charm incontrollable. I gazed upwards, and beheld the moon riding above the black pine tops, in a now serene and cloudless heaven. The wind also had passed away, as it appeared, with the clouds it had agitated. The bird of night was asleep on her unseen bough; and all was silent as death, except only the dwelling of the departed; and a certain indescribable delight was beginning, as I gazed and listened, to be mixed with the perturbation wherewith at first I had been inspired.And I know not how long I might have stood so, but while I was yet listening to this mysterious music, there was mingled with its expiring cadence the sound of a heavy footstep on the staircase above me, and looking up, I perceived in the moonlight the figure of a man, clad in a white gown, but having a naked sword stretched forth in his hand, immediately over the place whereon I was standing. I obeyed the first natural impulse, and leaped downwards swiftly on seeing him; but this availed me nothing, for he also leaped, and almost before my feet had touched the ground, I felt the grasp of his hand upon my shoulder, and that so strongly, that I perceived plainly there was as little possibility of escape as of resistance. I made therefore no farther effort, but suffered him to do with me as he pleased; and he, on his part, said not a single word, but still retaining his hold, pointed with his sword to the same steps from which I had descended, and com[pg 212]pelled me to mount them before him, up to the very summit of the round tower.“Why is this, sir?”said I;“and whither do you conduct me?”“Peace,”was all his answer; and, in like manner as he had made me climb the exterior, so also he compelled me to begin the descent of a similar flight of steps, which led down from an aperture above, into the interior of the edifice. And although I must confess to you that I obeyed not this silent guidance without considerable fear, yet I strove as well as I could to control myself. I moved with a step in which I think not there could be perceived any trembling.Yet you will admit that even had I been master at that moment of less firmness, I might have been excusable; for looking down, I perceived that a lamp was burning in the midst of the sepulchral tower far below me, and saw sitting around it a company of eight or ten persons, at whose mercy, it was quite visible, I must be placed. Neither, if I might judge from the demeanour of the person that was bringing me into their assembly, did there appear to be any great room for dependance on them; for, as to themselves, not one of them looked up towards me as I was stepping down, and being wrapped in their cloaks, I had no means of discovering what manner of persons they were. The way in which I had been treated, however, by one of their number, was a sufficient evidence, either that they conceived themselves to have been injured by my being there, or that they were capable of taking some undue advantage of my helpless condition. The calmness of their attitudes, and the recollection of the sounds[pg 213]that I had heard, inclined me to the former of these suppositions; and when I perceived that not one of them stirred, even till I had reached the lowmost step of the interior staircase, in this, without question, I already felt myself considerably strengthened.“Behold,”said my guide, as I at length touched the marble floor of the mausoleum itself—“Behold proof, and that living, that my suspicions were not quite so groundless as you were pleased to imagine. Here is a man whom I found listening, even on the very steps of this tower. It is for you to decide what shall be done with the eaves-dropper.”With this the whole company sprung at once to their feet, and I perceived evidently, from the surprise expressed in their looks and attitudes, that until that moment not one of them had been aware of my approach. I was about to speak, and declare my innocence of any treachery, or even of any knowledge concerning the purpose of their meeting; but before I could do so, one of them, and I think the oldest of all that were present, having in an instant recovered the tranquillity which my arrival had disturbed, said to me in a voice of the utmost gentleness,“Young man, what has brought thee hither, or who sent thee? Art thou indeed a spy, and was it thy purpose to betray our assembly?”“Sir,”said I,“I know nothing of your assembly, or of its purpose; I fell asleep by accident on the outside of this tower, and, when I awoke, the music that I heard detained me.”“Examine the stripling,”quoth he that had conducted me—“examine his person.”—“His looks belie[pg 214]him,”replied the senior,“if you have cause for suspicion. But if you will it so, search the young man.”And with that my guide, laying his unsheathed sword upon a table, or altar of black marble, proceeded to search my garments, and finding in my bosom the scroll which I had received from Tisias, he glanced on it for a moment, and then handing it to the senior, said,“Now, sirs, doubt ye if ye will.”—“Before heaven—it is the book of the holy Luke!”said the other;“this is indeed suspicious. How came this scroll into thy hands, young man? Art thou aware that one of the books of the Christians has been found in thy bosom?”—“I know it,”said I;“it is one of the books of their faith, and I have read in it this evening for the first time.”—“Then thou art not thyself a Christian?”—“I received the book from one Christian,”said I, waiving the question;“and I made promise to deliver it into the hands of another?”—“Name the Christian who gave thee this book!”said my stern guide.—“Tisias of Antioch,”I replied;“the same who died yesterday in the Amphitheatre.”—“Yes,”quoth he, again;“and I suppose it was there he gave it to you. Every one knows the name of Tisias. Name, if you please, the person to whom you are to deliver the book.”—“You shall pardon me,”said I,“that I will not. You may call me an eaves-dropper, if you will; but you shall find I am no traitor. It is a Roman—a noble Roman lady to whom I must give this book; and I would not tell you her name although you should slaughter me here in this tomb, which I have entered living and without guilt.”And having said this, I folded my arms, and stood still, abiding their will.[pg 215]But scarcely had I finished these words, ere I felt a small trembling hand laid upon my shoulder, and looking round, I perceived Athanasia herself, who whispered into my ear,—“Valerius, was the book for me? If so, you may say it boldly, and I will vouch for your word.”—“For you, lady,”I answered in the same tone,“and for none other. You well know that I was present in his prison the night before his death; so far at least you can confirm what I have said.”“Sir,”said she, addressing the old man that had before questioned me,“I know this young man: and I believe what he has said, and will be answerable for his fidelity. It was he that went in to our friend the other night in his prison, and the book was intrusted to him by the old man, that it might be given into my hands. His name is Valerius—Caius Valerius—and he is by birth a noble Roman.”“Say you so, lady?”interrupted my original conductor;“then I ask his pardon. I have wronged Caius Valerius; but both you and he must forgive me, for it must be confessed he was found in a very extraordinary situation.”“Even so,”I replied,“I have nothing to complain of. I perceive that I am present in an assembly of Christians; but he shall do me much wrong that thinks I bear any enmity to them,—or, from all that I have yet seen or read, to the faith which they profess. I have read part of that book,”I continued,“for I made promise to Tisias that I should do so before giving it to Athanasia; and I trust I shall still be permitted by her to read more of it before it is finally demanded from me.”—“Oh, read it!”said Athanasia, gently again whis[pg 216]pering to me.“Oh yes, read the book, Valerius, and may God enlighten the reader.”And so saying, she herself took up the scroll from the table on which it was lying, and gave it again into my hands.—“There was also a letter for you,”said I, receiving it,“but that I left at home.”—“No matter,”said Athanasia,“you shall give me the letter and the book both together hereafter.”“In the meantime,”said I,“I suppose it were better I should retire.”“Young sir,”said the senior,“that is as you please; in a little while we shall all be moving towards the city. Stay with us till then, if such be your will; that which you may hear, can at least do you no harm. Already, I doubt not, you have seen enough to despise the ignorant calumnies of our enemies.”When he had said so, the old man walked to the side of the sepulchre, and took out from behind one of the urns that stood there, (ranged in their niches,) a small casquet, which, returning, he placed before him on the marble table. Then, opening the casquet, he brought forth a silver goblet, and a salver containing some little pieces of bread; and, untying from his neck a massive cross of gold, he set that also on the table, between the cup and the salver. In brief, the Christian priest, (for such, as you already see, he was,) had finished his preparation, and was about to commence the administration of the blessed Eucharist. And when all the rest were kneeling before the table, Athanasia, laying her hand upon my arm, beckoned to me to kneel by her side; and so indeed I would have done in my ignorance, had not the priest himself pointed to[pg 217]a station a few yards behind the lady, to which, accordingly, I drew back—apart from those who were to be privileged with the participation of those holy symbols.Scarcely had they composed themselves in their places, and listened to the first words of the appointed service, when I, standing there by myself, thought, unless my ears deceived me, there must be some one on the outer stair-case of the tower; and my eyes instinctively, I suppose, were fixed upon the aperture, which, as I have told you, was in the high roof above the circle of the niched walls. Here, however, when I first looked, there was nothing to be seen, but the round spot of the sky, far up in the midst of the marble roof; but while I was looking steadfastly, that space was suddenly diminished; and a dog bayed, and at the same moment a voice which I well knew, screamed,“I have them—I hold them—let them burst the net if they can.”The cry of Pona disturbed effectually the Christian priest, and the whole of those that were with him. Rising up hastily from their knees, they stood all together around the table, while the old man, having kissed both the cup and the cross, restored them as quickly as he could to the casket from which they had been taken. But while the priest was doing this, he that found me on the stair appearing to revert into his suspicion, and looking sternly upon me where I stood, said,“Is this then the innocence which we spared! Is this the noble Roman for whom Athanasia pledged herself? Speak, brethren, what shall be done to this traitor, by whom, even more than by those dogs of the tombs, it is a shame for us that we have been[pg 218]hunted?”Saying so, the man lifted up his sword again, and it seemed as if he would have smitten me to the ground without farther question. But Athanasia threw herself swiftly between him and me.“For shame, Cotilius,”said she;“such suspiciousness is unworthy of a Roman knight.”—“You say well, noble damsel,”quoth the old priest, interrupting her;“but you might say also that such cruelty is unworthy of a soldier of Christ. Peace, peace, children; there is no evil in the youth, nor, if there were, would it be our part to avenge it.”While he was saying this, three or four blazing torches were thrust down into the place from above, and Athanasia, laying her hand upon my arm, said,“Look up, Caius, I see helmets.—Alas! am I not already here? why, if they will slay me, should they drag me away now from the tomb of my fathers?”I felt the trembling of her hands, and she leaned upon my shoulder. I know not, I will confess to you, whether at that moment I tasted more of pleasure or of pain.But by this time several of the soldiers had already begun to descend into the tower, and before another minute had elapsed, we found ourselves surrounded by the flame of their torches. And he that seemed to lead the party, after counting us one by one, said, turning to his companions,“Well, an old woman has told the truth for once—here are even more I think than she warned us of.—Come along, worthy people, you must not keep the Tribune waiting for you all night, and our watch is well-nigh expired already. Come, mount the stair—it will take a good half hour yet, I believe, to[pg 219]lodge you all safely in the Tullian—And do you,”he added, laying his hand on the hilt of Cotilius’ sword—“do you, brave sir, allow me to save you the trouble of carrying this bauble.”Nor was the stern knight so foolish as to dispute the command; but having yielded up his sword, he forthwith began to ascend, one or two spearmen preceding him with their torches. The priest followed, and so did the rest; the last being Athanasia and myself.On every side around the old tower, when I looked from the summit of it, I perceived foot soldiers drawn up in a double line, while the road along which I had come with Dromo, was occupied by a band of horsemen, one of whom moved forward when he saw us descending, as if to take cognizance of the number and quality of the surprised assembly. His long cloak being muffled about his ears as he sate, and the shadow of his helmet falling deeply, I did not at first suspect who it was; but he had not counted half the party to the superior Officer behind him, ere I recognized him from the sound of his voice; and who, think ye, should it be but my good friend Sabinus?The Centurion, when his eye detected me, checked his horse so sharply that the animal bounded into the air; and,“Valerius!”quoth he,“ha! by the life of Cæsar, what is the meaning of this? Valerius in a Christian synagogue! By all the gods, there must be some mistake.”But before I, in my confusion, could make any answer to these exclamations, his eye chanced to glance on Athanasia, who, trembling, still retained the support of my arm; whereupon,“Ha! ha!”said he, in a quite different tone of voice,“there is a lady in[pg 220]the case.”And then, stooping in his seat, he whispered, half laughing, into my ear,“My most hypocritical smooth-face, you shall see what is the consequence of bringing these transatlantic pranks of yours to Rome. By Hercules, you wild dog, it may cost you some little trouble to get out of this scrape.”Having said so, he turned his horse, and rejoining the troop, appeared to enter into close conversation with him who sate at the head of the line. Of what my friend said, I could catch nothing more than certain vehement oaths, while, all the time, the Tribune (for such he was) continued to shake his head, in a way significant at once of doubt and determination. The end was, that he pointed with his sword; and Sabinus forced his horse backwards, at one plunge, into the place from which he had advanced.Our party were immediately separated one from another. I saw the priest lifted on a mule and hurried away towards the city, with a horseman on each hand of him. The fiery Cotilius, and one or two more, were compelled to follow, with similar attendance, in the same direction; others, again, had their horses’ heads turned more to the westward—but all departed at speed, and were soon lost to my view among the projections of the tombs. The last that remained to be disposed of were Athanasia and myself, and for a moment I had some hope that we might perhaps be intrusted to the same guards; but this hope was in vain, and after I perceived that it was so, scarcely even was time permitted to me for bidding her farewell. To kiss her hand, and to whisper a single word of parting hope into her ear, was all I could do. A tear rolled from her[pg 221]cheek and fell upon my hand; yet she smiled faintly upon me, and“Hope,”said she—“yes, dear Valerius, Hope and Faith both go with me.”And with that the pale maiden was separated from the arm to which she had trusted, and I saw her also mounted and borne away rapidly. A moment after, I found myself, in like manner, seized and lifted upon a horse, and almost before I could look around me, we had escaped from the flare of the torches, and the crowd of the soldiery, and were stretching at a rapid pace, I knew not whither, although I suspected, from the width of the road, that we had regained the Appian.But I have forgotten to mention to you, that just at the moment when they were lifting Athanasia upon the mule that was to bear her from my sight, my eye caught a glimpse of the witch Pona, who was sitting at the root of one of the pine-trees, close to the tower. And behind her stood, leaning against the tree, a figure wrapped in a rich red cloak, which I suspected to be a female also, but could not be certain, because the countenance was concealed in the folds of the garment. To this person, whoever it might be, the witch turned round eagerly, while the soldiers were carrying off Athanasia. I saw no more, for, as I have told you, immediately afterwards I also was carried away.

[pg 176]CHAPTER III.I had walked by the side of my young friend, and behind the Stoic, (who, I think, was expressing, in his pompous fashion, much admiration of the singing of Rubellia,) along one or two of the great halls in which the library is contained, before the novelty of the objects surrounding me made any impression even on my eyes; and even after these were in some measure engaged, my mind still continued to dwell on that troubled aspect, and on the notes of the uncompleted song. At length, however, the levity of youth, and natural curiosity revived; and I began to be present, not in body merely, in a place where there was much that might well interest the mind. Far-receding rows of columns conducted my eyes into the interminable recesses of that wide range of chambers, in which the records of the thought and spirit of all past ages are piled up together; and gazing on the loaded shelves which every where ascended into the galleries, I could not but be affected with many new emotions. I perused glorious names on the busts that seemed to preside over the different compartments. The high filletted front of Homer detained for the first time my contemplation; the eyes of the divine old man, even in sculpture, distinctly[pg 177]and visibly blind, while the serenity and sanctity of the towering forehead, revealed how the intense perception at once of the lovely and the great could compensate for visions of earthly beauty shut out. The mild Plato, and the imperious Stagyrite—Pindar—Simonides—Alcæus—and I know not how many more, succeeded as we passed along—each in his own sphere, reigning by himself; yet all connected together by a certain common air of greatness, like so many successive princes, or contemporary heroes of the same mighty empire.From this main range, there diverged many lesser chambers, in which we saw studious persons engaged, each seated by himself, and having his eyes fixed on the parchment before him. Of these, some deigned not to intimate by the smallest movement their perception that any one had approached; but with others Xerophrastes exchanged, as he walked, lofty salutation, and one or two even entered, for a moment, into conversation with him. With one of these, indeed, (an ancient of bitter aspect,) to such a length did the colloquy extend, that we began to think we should never be able to get our Stoic away from him; till, as our fortune would have it, it became necessary for them to have a certain book for the purpose of reference, and then Xerophrastes began to make inquiries concerning Parmeno, who, as I gathered, must needs be one of those intrusted with the care of the library.“I am afraid,”said the other,“if we must wait for him, we shall not be able to get that work either to-day or to-morrow; for his pupil, the son of Fabricius, is dead, and I suppose he will now change his quarters,[pg 178]and be no longer seen so often about these haunts of the muses.”“Alas!”interrupted Sextus,“I met Fabricius in the Forum a few days ago, and he told me his son was ill; but little did I imagine my dear companion was so near his end! Is it indeed so?”“Even so,”rejoined the other.“Rapid have been the shears of Atropos! It is but a few moments since Agaso, the painter passed; and, he told me he had been receiving orders to take a likeness, as well as he could, from the corpse.”“If Agaso be so engaged,”replied Xerophrastes,“I am afraid we need not expect to find him neither in his usual place. Perhaps we had better make inquiry for him at the dwelling of Fabricius.”To this Sextus assented; or rather, being lost in reflection concerning the death of his friend, he suffered himself to be conducted by the Stoic. Passing, therefore, through one or two more apartments, we issued forth, and drew near to the vestibule of Fabricius’ house, who, as they told me, was a noble Roman, having the chief superintendance of the whole library, and an intimate friend of Licinius—one whose domestic calamity could not fail to spread much affliction through a wide circle of patrician kindred.At the vestibule, we found assembled not a few of the young man’s relations; but Xerophrastes immediately said,“Behold Parmeno, he is the most afflicted; and what wonder that it should be so?”“Alas!”said Sextus,“the bier is set forth; the last rites are to be performed this evening.”This Parmeno was a striking figure. Seated close[pg 179]by the bier, his head was involved in his cloak, so that only his eyes and his nose could be seen, but these of themselves expressed a decorous affliction; and the folds of the cloak fell down over the rest of his person in great order and dignity. On the pavement beside him was seen lying, half-unfolded, a book inscribed with the name of Heraclitus, which he appeared to have been reading. When Xerophrastes approached, this mourner stretched forth his hand, and shook his head, but he did not say any thing, nor even look towards the rest of us; and indeed to have done so, would have disturbed the attitude in which he had placed himself. Xerophrastes, on his part, received the proffered hand, and shaking his head in response, said,“Yes, my Ionian friend, I may still bid thee hail and live; but I must say farewell to the plant thou wast rearing. Farewell to the youthful promise of Fabricius!”On hearing these words, the sitting philosopher drew his mantle quite over his face, and leant himself heavily against one of the fluted columns of the vestibule, for he seemed to be much shaken. In the meantime Sextus approached the bier, and contemplated his companion as he lay there wreathed with melancholy garlands; his countenance bearing a natural mixture of sadness and astonishment. Nor could I, who had never before seen the young man, behold the spectacle without similar emotions; for his age, as it seemed, could not have been much different from my own, and the pale features were interesting, their expression not less amiable than solemn.“Alas!”said Sextus,“the last time I saw him, how[pg 180]differently did he appear! We rode out together with some others to Tibur, and spent all the day there; and as we returned by the moonlight, how joyous his conversation! Methinks I yet hear him laughing and speaking. We parted at the foot of the Capitoline, and never did I see him again till now.”“Oh, fate of man!”quoth Xerophrastes;“how uncertain is life, how certain death! Without doubt, young Fabricius had as little thought of dying as any of your company; and yet, see now, he is arrayed for the last time, and this juvenile gown, which he should so soon have laid aside for the manly, is destined to be consumed with him.”“A fine lad he was,”cries one of the standers by,—“a fine lad, and an excellent horseman. The Martian Field did not often behold such a rider in these degenerate days of the Roman youth.”But while the rest were still contemplating the bier, Xerophrastes, turning to his brother philosopher, said,“Tell me now, my learned friend, do you still, after this mournful event, continue to reside with the elder Fabricius? Has that excellent man any more sons to be educated, or will he retain you only for the sake of the library, with which assuredly he will find few so conversant as yourself?”To which Parmeno replied,“Your question, O Xerophrastes, shews that clear judgment concerning the affairs of men, for which you have always been celebrated. No, my friend, the gray-haired Fabricius no longer requires my residence here; for he is about to retire into one of his villas on the Campanian shore, and to bury for ever his affliction in the privacy of[pg 181]his woods. We are about to part, not without mutual tears; and several Patricians have already been applying to him for his influence with me, whom, although unworthy of so much research, they earnestly covet, and wish to engage as the instructor of their young men. I have been sitting here not unseen, beside this my former charge, and each is impatient to solicit me into his service.”“Your reputation I well know is high,”replied Xerophrastes,“and deservedly so; more particularly, for that fine talent you have for giving metaphysical interpretations of mythology, and for explaining the obscure allegories of ancient poets. But for my own part, Parmeno, I find not so much delight in abstract ideas, or in the passive contemplation of the universe; but incline rather to study, as heretofore, that part of philosophy which relates to action, and the morality of duty.”“Yes, worthy Xerophrastes,”returned he, with a most languid serenity;“and so far as I understand, you sort well in this with the stirring disposition of your friend Licinius.”To which Xerophrastes made answer:—“My patron Licinius is fond of action, and I of the rules of action. He says, it is only in war, or in civil functions of a public nature, that a person can prove himself a man. The rest, he says, is visionary, and comes to nothing, or is a slumber of the mind in sensuality, without thought.”“Does he think, then,”quoth Parmeno, his wobegone countenance relaxing into a smile,—“Does Licinius think, then, there is no sensuality in perpetual action,[pg 182]and declamation and noise? To me such things appear almost as trivial as the lazy enjoyments of Epicureans, besides being harsh and disagreeable, and not unfrequently ridiculous. But observe, O Xerophrastes! that I speak these things as it were abstractly, and not by any means in disparagement of Licinius, your excellent patron and friend.”To which the stoic replied in astonishment—“What is this you have said? Do you assert that action is sensual?”Then Parmeno, lifting from the pavement the book which he had been reading, or appearing to read, said,“It is even so, most erudite Xerophrastes. Indeed, I have always delighted in the most primitive and remote doctrines handed down from antiquity; and among others, in the riddles of this obscure Ephesian. Following the scope of his philosophy, I am led to believe, that, so often as the mind impels, or is impelled by other causes, it begins to lose sight of pure knowledge, and becomes in danger of thinking that every thing is vain, light, and evanescent, except what is perceived by the senses. Heraclitus well says, that Love and Hatred govern all things. Now, when the principle of Discord prevails, it subjects all things to the dominion of action, and to the gross perceptions of sense. But when that of Love is prevalent, it emancipates the struggling chaos of things from the yearning of compulsion, and from the darkness of sensual proximity; for, between things that struggle immediately against each other, light has no room to enter in and shine; and therefore it is, that, when Love gains the ascendency, a new arrangement is produced—an arrangement which, if I[pg 183]may so express it, is more serene, transparent, orderly and divine, and wherein things exist in safety from the danger of mutual destruction.”After a preliminary cough:—“My opinion,”replied Xerophrastes,“coincides rather with that of Empedocles. The immortal Sicilian thinks that Discord is the only separating and arranging principle which marks the boundaries between things, and enables them mutually to act and repel, in such a way as to preserve order.”—“Nay, nay,”interrupted Parmeno, his hands being by this quite disentangled from his cloak, and his countenance lighted up,—“Nay, nay, to such doctrine I never shall assent. From Empedocles—even from Xerophrastes, I must differ for ever on this head. The order of which you and the Sicilian speak, is the order of darkness only, and of blind force,—a kind of order in which fierceness and cruelty always reign.”But Xerophrastes continued:—“And I farther concur with Empedocles in thinking, that Love is a principle of which the predominance is more fit to turn order into a chaos, than to produce the effects you have described.”—“Nay, speak not against Love,”quoth Parmeno—“Speak not against Love, nor believe that any respect is due to the dictates of Empedocles, who taught the worst that can be taught by any man—that is to say, the alternation of order and confusion succeeding each other throughout all time. To seek for truth in conceptions like these, is no better than to seek repose in the bosom of Ætna.”—“In reference to that point,”resumed Xerophrastes,“I agree with you in your disapprobation of Empedocles. But when you say, that Love is the source of knowledge, you[pg 184]much astonish me; for I have always thought rather that its tendency is to bring confusion upon the mind.”“Once more,”said Parmeno—“once more, let me beseech you to say nothing against love. You are thinking of the love of particular objects. You speak of Cupid, and not of that heavenly Eros, who, so far from enchaining, or tyrannizing over the mind, rather enables it to escape into the tranquil freedom of far extended contemplation. But what is contemplation without the knowledge of permanent forms, on which the mind may find repose, and so keep itself from being perplexed by the shifting aspects of the many-coloured universe? And therefore it is, O Xerophrastes, that, sometimes laying aside Heraclitus, I study the ancient verses of the poet, Xenophanes, who shews, by the nature of abstract forms, that a certain unity pervades all things. Xenophanes mused of old at Colophon, looking through the blue ether of my native Ionia.—But why should I speak thus at length? Alas! what is the occasion of our being here!—I perceive the approach of the poet, who was to compose an inscription for the urn of my dear Fabricius. Yonder also is the architect, who comes with a design for the tomb. Oh! day of wo, that I should sit in judgment concerning the epitaph and tomb of my ingenuous youth!”“It is, indeed, true,”replied Xerophrastes,“that even I, in the repercussions of our talk, had well-nigh forgotten this unhappy occurrence; but, perhaps, there is something not after all entirely excusable in our giving so much superiority to the affairs of philosophical discussion. Now, however, it is evident, that we must suspend our colloquy—And who, I beseech you, above[pg 185]all things, is he that now draws near to the place of this mournful assembly, holding a horse in his hand. Methinks I have seen his face before.”“That you have indeed, Master,”quoth he that had come up,—“that you have; and no longer ago than yesterday neither, if you will be pleased to give yourself the trouble of recollecting. My name is Aspar—I am well known. If but my excellent friend, the noble Centurion Sabinus, were here, poor old Aspar would have no reason to complain of the want of a good word.”“Good morrow to you, Aspar,”said Sextus;“but what is it that brings you hither just at this moment? And for what purpose have you brought your horse with you? for people of your sort do not in general ride in the courts of the Palatine.”“Alas!”quoth Aspar,“and is it you, who seem to have been one of the contemporaries of that peerless youth—is it you that ask such a question as this? I did not, in truth, imagine that there was any friend of young Fabricius, who did not know his affection for little Sora. There is not such another within twenty miles of the Capitol; but I brought her hither merely out of regard for the family. As for myself, I should never bear to look on her again with pleasure, after knowing the sudden manner of his death. I wish to Heaven the filly were fairly lodged in one of the paddocks of the Lord Fabricius himself.”“Lead the animal round into the stables,”says Parmeno,“and I doubt not care will be taken of her.—Yonder comes one of the buffoons of the theatre;—he, I doubt not, is here to disgrace, if he be permitted, this solemn scene, with ranting quotations from the tragic[pg 186]poets. Alas! alas! I cannot bear all this: There also advance the officiators from the Temple of Libitina; they have their cypress boughs ready in their hands. Oh, my learned friend, I cannot sustain these things; let me be gone into the mansion.”The admirer of Heraclitus, picking up his scroll, and gathering together the folds of his mantle, moved slowly into the house, Xerophrastes following with similar gestures. Sextus and I also were about to take our departure; and he, having procured from one of the slaves of the house a myrtle garland, had already placed it upon the bier of the young Fabricius, as the last testimonial of his concern; when there drew near two young men, clad in long mantles of black, who, solemnly embracing my friend, began to exchange with him many expressions of grief.While they were thus engaged, Rubellia, who had been standing all this while a little apart, sent a boy to inform us that the painter we were in search of had at last made his appearance, and was anxious to proceed with his portrait. I drew Sextus away, therefore, and soon joined the lady and the artist; but as we were moving off thus, one of the bystanding slaves, an old gray-headed man, came up and whispered to Sextus,“Sir, be not deceived; these two nephews of my bereaved master are to me the most disagreeable part of all this preparation. You have heard their lamentation, and seen their sweeping raiment of mourning; but, be sure, a principal subject of their reflection is the probability that one or other of them must be adopted by Fabricius. Alas! alas! so goes all between Lucina and Libitina. There was never a birth nor a[pg 187]marriage that did not create some sorrow, nor a funeral procession that did not give rise to some joy. Your rhetoricians talk, but what avails it all? Slaves and masters are alike subjected to the evils of the world, and of these death is both the last and the least.”[pg 188]CHAPTER IV.Agaso, the painter, was a smart dapper little bandy-legged man of Verona, dressed in a Grecian mantle, and endeavouring to look as much as possible like a Greek. Had Xerophrastes not gone off with his brother of Ionia, I have no doubt this man would have made his presence a sufficient excuse for speaking nothing but Greek to us; but, even as it was, his conversation was interlarded with an abundant intermixture of that noble tongue. Nothing could be spoken of which Agaso did not think fit to illustrate, either by the narration of something he himself had seen or heard during his residence at Athens, or, at least, by some quotation from the Grecian poets. To judge from the square, and somewhat ponderous formation of the man’s features, Nature had not designed him for any of the most mercurial specimens of her workmanship; but he contrived, notwithstanding, by perpetual shrugging and grimacing, and, above all, by keeping his eyes and eyebrows continually in motion, to give himself an air of no inconsiderable life and vivacity.Hopping before us with much alacrity, this artist conducted our steps through eight or ten galleries, until at length a curtain being withdrawn, which had covered[pg 189]the space between two pilasters, we found ourselves in a spacious apartment, which, from the courteousness wherewith he bowed us into it, there could be no difficulty in perceiving to be the customary sphere of his own exertions. It was not altogether deserted even when we entered, but the removal of the curtain attracted more of the loungers of the baths, and ere Sextus was fairly fixed before the table of the painter, the modest youth had the mortification to find himself surrounded with a very crowd of knowing and curious physiognomies. The presence of these, however, appeared not unwelcome to the master. On the contrary, there arose between the little man, as he was preparing his brushes, and those who had come to survey him at his work, such a gabble of compliments, remarks, and disquisitions, that it seemed to me as if he would have been disappointed had he not been favoured with their attendance.“How noble,”cries one,“is that portrait you have just been finishing of Rupilius!—Heavens! with what felicity you have caught the air! Methinks I see him about to enter the Basilica, when he knows that some great cause is awaiting his decision. What solemnity in his aspect! what grandeur in the gown!—How finely the purple of the laticlave is made to harmonize with the colouring of the cheeks and chin! What beautiful handling about the fingers with which he grasps his tablets!—As for the head of the stylus, it is the very eye of the picture.”—“Exquisite indeed,”quoth another;“but who can look at it, or at any thing else, in the same room with this little jewel?—Heavens! what a beauty! who can it be? for I never[pg 190]saw her either at the Circus or the Amphitheatre. What an inimitable modesty!”The painter heard this last piece of eulogy with an air of some embarrassment, and at the same time looked very cunningly towards the person who had uttered it. But the Lady Rubellia tossed her head, and whispered to me,“Pretty she may be, though I cannot say that style of dressing the hair is at all adapted for such features; but for modesty! hem. I asked Agaso two or three days ago who it was, and he told me—guess!—it is a little Spanish girl, whom that august-looking person, with the grand laticlave, and the purple cheeks and chin, and the glittering stylus, thought fit to bring home with him when he was relieved from the hard duties of the Pro-prætorship. I dare say, he takes care she shall not be seen either at Circus or Amphitheatre; and, indeed, I think it is sufficient impudence to shew her likeness in the company of so many portraits of respectability.”“My dear lady,”quoth the painter, who overheard somewhat,“for the sake of all that is sacred, no word of this again! Wait, at least, till the canvass for the Augurship be over. There are always so many to exaggerate and misrepresent.”—“Exaggerate, indeed! I think Rupilius ought to be ashamed of himself; and at his time of life too. I think you said he was just the same age with my uncle?”—“Yes,”says the painter,“he must be of that standing; and I think he went to Spain just about the period of your marriage.”—“Filthy old fellow,”quoth she, very quickly;“and this is the treasure he has brought home with him! I have a great mind to tell his wife.”—“Hush, hush,”[pg 191]said Agaso,“this is the very day Rupilius spoke of bringing her to see his own portrait; and, indeed, I am sure that is the Senator’s cough. I rely on your prudence.”And the portly original of the laticlaved portrait walked into the room, having his gown and every part of his dress arranged as represented in the picture; although in the living countenance it was easy to discover a few lines and spots which had been omitted in the copy. By his side moved a short woman, arrayed in the extremity of costly attire, whose swarthy complexion did not, in spite of cosmeticism, harmonize very well with the bright golden ringlets of her Sicambrian peruque; while behind the pair came a thin damsel, whose lineaments exhibited a sort of faint shadow of the same visage, the rudiments of which had been so abundantly filled up in that of the rubicund magistrate. The ex-pro-prætor, after saluting Agaso, stood still with dignity in the midst of the apartment, while the fond daughter, rushing close up to his picture, could with difficulty affix any limits to her expressions of satisfaction:—“O Jupiter! look at the ring. It is the very ring he wears!—the very images are engraved upon it; one can see the three Graces. I never saw such a picture—when will it be brought home?”—“Hush, hush, now, Primula,”quoth the mother.“It is certainly a likeness; but why will artists, now-a-days, always paint people older than they are? And besides, it wants something of his expression. Don’t you think so yourself, sir?”(turning to the painter)“Rupilius has surely been looking very gloomily when he sat.”[pg 192]On this the painter, leaving Sextus, advanced to her side, and after a pause of some moments, spent in contemplating alternately his own work and the original, said, with a courteous simper,“How much am I indebted to you, most noble lady, for this visit, and these judicious remarks! I only wish you had accompanied the senator, for then, without question, his countenance would have worn the look you desiderate; and I perhaps might have more easily succeeded in catching it, being aided by your suggestions. I hope it may yet be amended.”—“How modest he is!”ejaculated the spouse.“A single sitting will suffice, I am sure. We shall come some day when you are quite alone, and I will sit by you, and talk to Rupilius all the while.”—“Delightful!”replied the artist;“how happy shall I be in such an opportunity of improving both the picture and myself! We must positively prevail on the senator to give us this one sitting more.”—“Never ask his consent,”quoth the matron, smiling upon her lord;“leave the whole matter to me. The picture is for me. And besides, if he were to refuse, I know how I should be certain to overcome him; for he has asked me to sit to you myself, and you know if I were to persist in sitting with my gloomy face, as he has with his, we should soon bring him to his right reason.”—“Yourgloomy face, noble lady!”replied the artist, strutting back a pace or two.“I am afraid, if that is the charm by which alone he is to be softened, we must give up all our hopes.”—“I protest,”says the lady,“I believe you will keep me laughing all the time I sit. And pray now, what dress do you think I should wear? Prima says, I ought certainly to be in green;[pg 193]but I was thinking, that perhaps a yellow byssine would suit me better. But I shall send over half a dozen robes, and then we can choose whichever seems to be the best. One thing only I am quite resolved upon, and that is, that I shall have my golden chain, with the miniature of the Pro-prætor—the Senator, I mean—at the end of it.”—“Nothing could be in finer taste,”he made answer;“and if my lady should think of green, or purple, or any dark colour for the gown, the rings of the chain and the setting of the miniature would have the richest effect.”—“And do, my dear mother,”interrupted Prima;“and do have on the sapphire tiara when you sit to Agaso. Or what would you think of having your own hair simply like this lady here? What a beauty!”—“A smart little girl, indeed,”quoth the mother.“I think I should know that face. Is she Roman, Agaso?”—“No, not a Roman,”answered the artist;“nor do I think my lady can ever have met with her. But perhaps my Lord Rupilius may, for she is a Spaniard.”Agaso turned with a smile to the Senator; but he, scarcely appearing to look at the picture, answered, with great gravity,“I think I have seen the countenance before; and perhaps it was in my province. The face is certainly a pretty one; but nothing so very extraordinary.”—“They may say what they like,”observed the spouse, drawing herself up;“but there is no such thing as a really urbane air to be got out of Rome.”Meantime, in another part of the room, some other picture appeared to be exciting a scarcely inferior measure of curiosity. On approaching the party, I perceived that this was a sketch, in chalk only, of the head[pg 194]and shoulders of an old man; and when I had gained an opportunity of more nearly surveying it, I recognized without difficulty the features of Tisias of Antioch. The greater number of those who were looking on it, seemed also to have been present at his death; for I heard pointed out by them with exactness the parts in which the resemblance had been most successfully taken. The beauty of the old man’s lineaments, and the serenity of his aspect, they all admired; and while they were loud in praising these, Agaso himself also joined them, saying,“Oh, so you have found out my old Christian! How did you get hold of him? for I meant it not to be seen till I had lain on a little of the colour. But is it not a fine study?—is it not a noble head? I think I shall introduce it in the picture I am painting for Pliny. The subject is the sacrifice of Iphigenia. I went to the Amphitheatre,”he continued,“rather late, without expecting any thing particular; but it immediately struck me that he might be turned to some account. I made several little sketches of him, for it was a long time ere it was over; and this is from the one I took just after he had made his oration. His hands and feet were singularly fine, I thought. Here,”said he, turning over the leaves of his tablets—“here you have him in a variety of shapes!—the muscles shewed powerfully when he knelt;—there, again, you have his fingers as they were folded on his breast—not much flesh, but the lines good—veins well expressed.”But about this time the great bell rung in the tower above the Baths, and the greater part of the young loungers soon dispersed themselves; some to fence or wrestle—others to play in the tennis-court—others to[pg 195]ride in the Hippodrome, in preparation for the bath. So Agaso, being left alone with Sextus, Rubellia, and myself, had at length leisure to proceed with his portrait of the youth.Much did the lady and the painter discourse, and many merry things were said by them both; but all they said could not entirely remove the embarrassment fixed on the countenance of Sextus; nor, of a truth, did he present himself with much advantage before the artist. Rubellia, nevertheless, sate over against him with looks of no severe criticism; and I doubt not she would have remained to the end of the sitting, had not one of her household come with a message, which, as it seemed, rendered necessary her departure. It struck me, that the messenger answered very well to Dromo’s description of the fat Calabrian with whom he and Boto had been drinking; but of this I said nothing to Sextus.It was near the hour of supper before we were dismissed, and we found Licinius already about to enter his eating chamber.[pg 196]CHAPTER V.The orator received us with less coldness than I could have expected. I suppose his knowledge that our morning had been spent in Rubellia’s company, had in some measure softened his feelings of jealousy towards his son; and perhaps he had given me credit for advice, to the merit of which I had no claim. But he remained not long at table after supper was concluded, being summoned to discourse in private with a client:—so that Sextus and I were left to spend the evening as it might please ourselves; for as to Xerophrastes, he had not as yet made his appearance, and we took it for granted he had remained at the mansion of Fabricius, for the purpose of consoling with philosophical controversies his bereaved brother of Ionia.We retired, therefore, into the apartment of my young friend; but he could not read a page without coming upon some verse which made him throw down the scroll to ruminate on the charms of his Sempronia. When he took up his lute, his fingers seemed to evoke only the most melancholy sounds. It was only in the exercise of the foil, that he succeeded in banishing from his thoughts the troubles of his situation; but both of us having contended till[pg 197]we were breathless, were soon compelled to sit down, and then the unhappy boy’s exhausted body seemed to communicate a new debility to his mind. We sat for the most part in silence, (for I soon found that I could not say any thing capable of interesting him,) until the shades of evening had quite darkened the chamber, and then we walked together, not less silently, in the adjoining open gallery, until the moon had arisen from above the tall poplars around the Pantheon and Baths of Agrippa, and diffused her radiance over all the beautiful gardens and noble edifices that lay beneath us down to the brink of the river. Lassitude of spirit then, if not expectation of sleep, rendered Sextus desirous of retiring to his couch; so, having exhorted the youth to wrestle with his grief, and to call hope to his aid, I at length left him to himself. But as for me, I had as yet no feeling of weariness, and, besides, I remembered the promise I had made to Dromo in the morning.I was very much surprised, indeed, that the Cretan had not as yet come to me, and made inquiry concerning him of Boto; but hearing that the man was absent from the house, I thought from this there was the more likelihood of his being engaged in some scheme, the result of which I should by and by learn from his own lips. I dismissed my Briton, therefore, and prepared to read by my watch-light, and while I was considering what I should read, I remembered the scroll I had received from Tisias, which forthwith I took from the place in which I had locked it up on the morning of the preceding day. There fell from out of it, as I unfolded it, a letter sealed, but without any superscription. This I of course considered as meant only[pg 198]for the eye of Athanasia; so I kissed the parchment her fingers were destined to touch, and, before I began to read, restored it to its receptacle.More than one of you, my young friends, have already heard me speak, on another occasion, of the impression which that night’s reading made upon my mind, and been told, from my own lips, what book it was that was contained in the scroll of Tisias; the rest of you will judge for yourselves with what astonishment it was that I, who had at the best expected to unfold some obscure treatise of Asiatic lore, some semi-barbarous exposition of mystical riddles, found myself engaged in the perusal of a plain and perspicuous narrative of facts, written evidently by a man of accomplishment and learning, and in Greek of which the most elegant penman of these times could have had no occasion to be ashamed. In a word, it was the Gospel of the holy physician St Luke which had been put into my hands; and at this day I am still grateful that this was the first of the Christian books which I had an opportunity of seeing; for such had been my education, that I am afraid others, not less worthy of the true faith, might have repelled me by the peculiarities of their composition, as well as by the acquaintance with many things, to me then entirely unknown, which they take for granted in the style of their commencement. Here, however, there was enough only of mystery, the more effectually to stimulate my curiosity, while the eagerness with which I engaged myself in its gratification, was abundantly repaid from the beginning, both by the beauty of the simple narrative itself, and the sublimity of the conceptions embodied and evolved in its course.[pg 199]Considering the book which I was reading, as one merely of human origin and invention, I could not help regarding it with such admiration, that it appeared to me above all things wonderful, I had never seen it mentioned by any of the writers of the age, or heard it spoken of by any of those who, in my presence, since I came to Rome, had talked concerning the faith and doctrines of the persecuted Christians. But this was not all. At least, said I to myself, there is something here which deserves to be inquired into and examined. Of things such as these, if told falsely, it must needs have been—nay, it must still be, easy to prove the falsehood. It is impossible that, in the days of Tiberius, any such events should have occurred in Palestine, without being more or less submitted to the inspection of Roman eyes. This is no wild tale, handed down from the dark ages of a barbarous race. Here I have a Roman Centurion described as among the witnesses of this man’s miraculous power, and acknowledging the divinity of his benevolence. Here, at least, must have been one spectator without prejudices, otherwise than against this Prophet of Nazareth. Of a surety, the legends of Rome herself contain many tales which demand a much greater measure of indulgence; since the wonders they narrate appear to have been oftentimes attended with no beneficial consequences, either to individuals or to the state; whereas here the occasion seems always to have been such as might justify the interference of supernatural might. The power of this person seems to have been exerted only for good; and his precepts are full of such godlike loftiness as neither Socrates, nor Plato, nor any of those Greek sages, who[pg 200]bowed in reverence to the hoary wisdom of Egypt and India, would have disdained to admire.The doubts, suspicions, and distrusts, with which such thoughts were mingled,—the under-current of reluctance with which I felt myself all along contending,—were such as you may more easily imagine than I can describe.As the narrative went on, however, you will have no difficulty in supposing that my attention became more and more rivetted, and that, occupied with the strange events and sublime scenes it unfolds—and agitated by turns with the pity, the wonder, the terror, and the admiration that matchless story must ever awaken,—I had forgotten every thing beyond the page of the volume on which my finger was fixed.It was only the rustling of Dromo’s cloak against the edge of my chair, that made me aware my privacy was disturbed. His hands seemed to be busied in tightening his girdle even before he was able to speak, and the first words he uttered, were—“Come, sir—this is no time for study. I have acquaintance with some of the soldiers at the Capene Gate, and they will let us pass through; but they are relieved at the next watch, and then we shall have no chance.”—“And why,”said I, hastily thrusting the scroll into my bosom—“why, Dromo, or for what purpose should we desire to pass through the Capene Gate at the dead hour of night?”—“Come,”said he;“there is no time for explanation. It is simply because it is the dead hour of night that we must pass through the gate; for it would do nobody any good to pass through at any other time. Come—or abandon Sextus to his fate.”[pg 201]Thus adjured, I could not oppose any obstacle to his zeal. The chained porter was lying asleep across the threshold; but Dromo had already found means to have the door opened, so he leaped lightly over the man, and I imitated his agility. The Cretan then locked the gate on the outside, by means of a key which he carried in his bosom; and I followed his rapid steps without farther question.This cunning varlet, (who seemed, indeed, to move as if he had a natural aversion to every open place,) threaded one obscure lane after another, keeping always, where the moonlight had any access, to the dark side of the way; a person better skilled than myself might well have been somewhat puzzled; as for me, I had not the least conception whither I was going. Close, however, did I adhere to him; and we reached the Capene Port, which is on the south side of the city, not many bow-shots from the Anio, before I could have imagined it possible to traverse so great a space.Here Dromo told me to wait for him a single moment, and stepped down into a cellar, in which a light was burning; but he staid not long, and when he returned to me, I observed that his style of walking was more clumsy than usual, which, indeed, was not to be wondered at, considering that he had now to carry, not only himself, but two huge skins of wine, intended, as I at once suspected, for the purpose of facilitating our passage. I told him my suspicion in a whisper; but he made no answer, except by handing to me one of his burdens. So laden, we crept on as well as we could to the portal, beneath the shadow of which two Prætorians were pacing, their armour ringing audibly upon[pg 202]them amidst the silence of the night.—Silently did the well-oiled hinges turn, and very silently stooping did we step beneath the lintel of the Capene Gate, which as silently was again made fast.As we advanced among the funereal monuments which line the Appian Way on either side, Dromo stood still every now and then for a moment, as if to listen; but whatever he might have heard, or expected to hear, I perceived nothing, except here and there the howl of a dog, or the lazy hooting of the night-owl, from the top of some of the old cypresses that rose between us and the moon.At last he seemed to catch the sound he had been expecting, for he started suddenly; and laying his finger on his lip, crept to the parapet.The ground behind was more desolate of aspect than any part of that which we had traversed—stoney and hard, with here and there tufts of withered fern; and immediately below the wall two human figures were visible. The one was sitting on the ground, wrapped in a dark cloak which entirely concealed the countenance: the other was a half-naked boy, holding in a string a little new-shorn lamb, which with one of his hands he continually caressed. But forthwith the sitter arose, and throwing away the cloak, displayed the gray tangled tresses of an old woman, and two strong boney arms, one of which was stretched forth with an impatient gesture towards the stripling, while the other was pointed upwards to the visible moon.“Strike,”said she,“strike deeply—beware lest the blood tinge your feet or your hands;”—and I recognized at once the voice of the same Pona that had[pg 203]attracted my notice in the morning, at the foot of the Palatine.The boy drew forth instantly a knife from his bosom, whose glittering blade was buried in the throat of the yearling, and it was then first that I perceived a small ditch dug between the boy and the woman, into which, the lamb’s throat being held over it, the blood was made to drop from the wound. So surely had the blow been given, that not one bleat escaped from the animal, and so deeply, that the blood flowed in a strong stream, dashing audibly upon the bottom of the trench. And while it was dropping, the old woman muttering a sort of chant to Hecate, as I gathered, showered from her girdle I know not what of bones or sticks, mingled with leaves and roots, which afterwards she seemed to be stirring about in the blood with one of the tall strong stems of the fern that grew there. The wildness of her gestures was such, that I could not doubt she had herself some faith in the efficacy of the foul charms to which she had resorted; nor could I see her stirring that trench of innocent blood, without remembering the still more ruthless charms, whose practice the poets of Italy have ascribed to such hoary enchantresses. The dreariness of the midnight wind, too, as it whistled along the bare and steril soil around us, and the perpetual variations in the light, by reason of the careering of those innumerable clouds, and the remembrance of the funereal purposes for which, as it seemed, all this region was set apart—the whole of this together produced, I know not how, a certain pressure upon my spirits, and I confess to you, I felt, kneeling there by the side of my now trembling Cretan, as if I owed him no[pg 204]great thanks for having brought me that night beyond the Capene Gate.It seemed as if the goddess, to whom the witch’s song had been addressed, did not listen to it with favourable ear; for the clouds gathered themselves more thickly than ever, while the wind howled only more loudly among the tombs, and the half-scared owl sent up a feebler hooting. Notwithstanding, the old woman continued fixed in the same attitude of expectation, and the stripling still held the well-nigh drained throat of his lamb above the trench. By degrees, however, the patience of both seemed to be exhausted; and there arose between them an angry altercation.“Infernal brat of Hades!”quoth the witch,“look ye, if you have not stained your filthy hands, and if the thirsty shadows be not incensed, because you have deprived them of some of the sweet blood which they love!”—“Curse not me, mother,”replied the boy—“Did you think, in truth, that the blood of a stolen lamb would ever propitiate Hecate?”—“Imp!”quoth she,“Hold thy peace, or I will try whether no other blood may make the charm work better!”—“Beware!”quoth the boy, leaping backwards—“beware what you do! I am no longer so weak that I must bear all your blows.”“Stop,”cried I,“for there are eyes that you think not of, to take note of your wickedness;”and in my vehemence I shook one of the great loose stones that were on the top of the wall, which rolled down and bounded into the ditch beside them; and the woman, huddling her cloak over her head, began to run swiftly away from us, along the wall over which we were leaning. The boy only stood still for a moment, and[pg 205]looked upwards towards the place where we were, and then he also fled, but in the opposite direction; and Dromo said to me in a very piteous whisper, but not till both were out of sight,—“Heaven and earth! was ever such madness as to scare the witch from her incantation? Alas! for you and for me, sir—and, most of all, alas for Sextus—for I fear me after this we shall have no luck in counteracting the designs of Rubellia.”“Rubellia! what? can you possibly imagine Rubellia to have any thing to do with this madness?”“Imagine?”quoth he;“do you need to be told, that if things had gone well with that woman and her ditch, we should never have been able to preserve Sextus from her clutches?”“By the rod of Hermes, good Dromo!”said I,“this will never do. I shall believe much on your credit, but not things quite so extravagant as this.”He made no reply save a long, incredulous, and, I think, contemptuous whistle, which seemed to reach the ears of every owl between us and the Appian; with such a hooting and screeching did they echo its note from every cypress. And when Dromo heard that doleful concert, his dread redoubled within him, for he shook from head to foot, while I held his arm in mine; until, at last, he seemed to make one violent effort, and springing on his feet, said—“Come, Master Valerius, let us behave after all like men!”—I smiled when he said so—“The hour has not yet come, if my Calabrian friend is to be trusted, at which the lady was to visit Pona in her dwelling. It is but daring a little more. If she has seen and known us already, then nothing can endanger us farther; and if she hath not, we may[pg 206]escape again.”—“Well spoken,”said I,“most shrewd Dromo, and like yourself; but what is it that you would have us to do?”—“The first thing,”he replied,“is what has already been too long delayed.”The Cretan produced from under his cloak a long fictitious beard, which he immediately proceeded to fix upon his own face with a string. A thin tall cap of black cloth was next brought forth, which he fastened in like manner around his brows; and a little piece of chalk, with which he once or twice rubbed over his black bushy eye-brows, completed a disguise beneath which I should certainly have sought in vain to discover any trace of the natural countenance of Dromo. In short, after a few changes in the folding of his cloak, there stood before me a figure so venerably mysterious, that had I met it unawares at midnight, in the neighbourhood of so many tombs, I am not sure, although of no superstitious temper, that I could have regarded it without awe.“Come now, good Master,”quoth he,“you are taller than I, pluck me a branch from the nearest tree, and I think you shall confess I make a decent Soothsayer.”In this it was easy to gratify him; for there was an old willow just a few yards off, and its boughs were so dry with age, that I soon abstracted a very proper wand for him. After receiving which, he stood for a moment leaning on it in a dignified fashion, as if to rehearse an attitude worthy of his new vocation; and then said—“Well, sir, I think if the Lady Rubellia comes now, we shall be tolerably prepared for her. But I have no disguise for you; therefore, the moment you hear a footstep, be sure you wrap your[pg 207]face in your gown, and stand behind me, for so shall you best consult both your own concealment, and the dignity of this Assyrian. There is no other way by which she can come from the Suburra, therefore we might stay very well where we are; but I think it might be still better to await her coming where there are either tombs or larger trees to cast a shade over our equipage, in case the moon should take it into her head to be more kind to us than she was to Pona.”—“By all means,”said I,“most venerable man—and besides, the wind is rather chilly, therefore I shall be well pleased to have shelter as well as shade.”“You shall have both,”quoth he;“there is a thick grove of pines only a little way on. I believe there is a very grand tomb in the midst of them, in case you should prefer to sit under it.—By the bye,”he continued, after some little pause,“it is odd enough that it should be so; but I believe it is the very place where all that race of the Sempronii, to which a certain young damsel belongs, have been burnt and buried ever since Rome was a city. You cannot see their tomb yet; but that is only from the thickness of the trees, some of which are, I suppose, even older than itself. Now I remember me, it was just there that they set up two winters ago the funeral pile of old Caius—I mean the father of the Lady Athanasia, whom you saw at Capito’s villa. They are a very noble race, and although none of the richest now-a-days, there is not a prouder in Rome. I saw the procession at that old man’s funeral myself, and I think the images of his ancestors that they carried before him, would have reached half way from hence to the Great Road. Grim, dusty figures, I trow they were;[pg 208]but I doubt not there had been many a haughty captain among them when they were alive.”These words were spoken as we were moving onwards towards this same grove of pines, and before he had made an end of speaking, we could clearly hear the wind sighing among their branches, and along the dry underground. And on coming to them I found that he had said truly there was a tomb in the midst of them, for a very noble, high, circular tower was indeed there, which, from the grayness of its walls, and luxuriance of ivy, had the appearance of being at least as ancient as any of the surrounding trees. The only method of access to the inside, seemed to be by means of a winding stair, which rose on the exterior from the ground to the summit—a method not unusual in Roman sepulchres—and it was on one of the steps of this stair that I seated myself, where, between the shaded wall on the one side, and the pine branches on the other, I was effectually concealed. As for Dromo, I know not whether it was that he coveted not exactly such close proximity to the stones of such an edifice; but instead of ascending with me, he took up a position beside one of the largest pines over against me.Although the moon had got rid of her clouds, and the sky, where any of it could be seen, was abundantly brilliant, the natural darkness of that funereal grove was such, that very little difference could be produced in the midst of it by any variation on the face of any nightly luminary. The tower itself received some of the moonbeams on its carved surface; but its contemporary trees participated not in any such illumination,—one solemn shade covering all things beneath the[pg 209]influence of their growth.“I can scarcely see you, Dromo,”said I;“but I think that speck must be your beard, and if so, I beg you would tell me what it is you really have in view by all this preparation? Do you expect me to stay here on a tomb-stone all night, merely because you wish to have an opportunity of terrifying poor Rubellia by some ghost-like howl or other when she passes you?—which, by the way, it seems by no means certain she will do at all. Or what is your purpose?”—“Hush!”was his answer;“ask no questions, but hem thrice if you hear a footstep—for young ears are the keenest.”Accordingly silence was kept so strictly, that, in spite of the chillness of the stone on which I sate, I presently fell into a sort of dozing slumber.By degrees, however,—nor, considering the hour and the fatigue I had undergone, is it wonderful that it should have been so,—my sleep must have become sufficiently profound, for I did not at first, on waking from it, very well remember either where I was, or for what purpose I had come thither. And, indeed, I have little doubt my slumbers might have continued till day-break, but for the interruption I am now to mention.And yet it seemed as if even in my sleep I had been prepared for this by some strange anticipation, for although it was a near sound of singing voices that dispelled my slumbers, and made me start from the stone on which I had placed myself, I could not help feeling as if that sound were not altogether new to me;—whether it were that the half-sensible ear had been already ministering indistinctly to the dreaming spirit, or that some purely fantastic prelude had been vouch[pg 210]safed to the real music. I started up suddenly, that much is certain, and listened with astonishment, yet not altogether with such surprise as might have been expected to attend a transition so hasty from sleep to waking, and from silence to the near neighbourhood of sounds at once so strange and so sweet. With breathless curiosity, nevertheless, with awe, and not entirely I think without terror, did I listen to the notes which seemed to ascend out of the habitation of the noble dead into the nightly air—wild, yet solemn, as if breathed from the bosom of a stately repose and a pensive felicity; insomuch, that almost I persuaded myself I was hearing the forbidden sounds of another world, and the thought came over me,—yet almost I think at that moment without farther disturbing me,—what fearful interpretations the old poets have affixed to such untimely communion, and how the superstition of all antiquity has shrunk from its omen.My first impulse, after a moment had elapsed, was to call on Dromo, and I did so, at first in a low whisper, and then two or three times more loudly—but all equally in vain, for no answer was returned; and though I strained my eyes in gazing on the place where I had last seen him, yet there I could perceive no trace whatever of any human figure. The moonlight indeed shewed with more distinctness than before the tall stem of the old pine-tree against which he had been leaning; but no motion, nor the least appearance of whiteness, could either my eyes or my imagination discover there. I might easily, you will say, have stept across the road, and entirely satisfied myself; but I know not well[pg 211]what it was that nailed me to the place where I stood, and prevented me even from once thinking of doing so. The calm sepulchral music, my friends, still continued to stream from the recess of the mausoleum, and painless awe held me there, as if by a charm incontrollable. I gazed upwards, and beheld the moon riding above the black pine tops, in a now serene and cloudless heaven. The wind also had passed away, as it appeared, with the clouds it had agitated. The bird of night was asleep on her unseen bough; and all was silent as death, except only the dwelling of the departed; and a certain indescribable delight was beginning, as I gazed and listened, to be mixed with the perturbation wherewith at first I had been inspired.And I know not how long I might have stood so, but while I was yet listening to this mysterious music, there was mingled with its expiring cadence the sound of a heavy footstep on the staircase above me, and looking up, I perceived in the moonlight the figure of a man, clad in a white gown, but having a naked sword stretched forth in his hand, immediately over the place whereon I was standing. I obeyed the first natural impulse, and leaped downwards swiftly on seeing him; but this availed me nothing, for he also leaped, and almost before my feet had touched the ground, I felt the grasp of his hand upon my shoulder, and that so strongly, that I perceived plainly there was as little possibility of escape as of resistance. I made therefore no farther effort, but suffered him to do with me as he pleased; and he, on his part, said not a single word, but still retaining his hold, pointed with his sword to the same steps from which I had descended, and com[pg 212]pelled me to mount them before him, up to the very summit of the round tower.“Why is this, sir?”said I;“and whither do you conduct me?”“Peace,”was all his answer; and, in like manner as he had made me climb the exterior, so also he compelled me to begin the descent of a similar flight of steps, which led down from an aperture above, into the interior of the edifice. And although I must confess to you that I obeyed not this silent guidance without considerable fear, yet I strove as well as I could to control myself. I moved with a step in which I think not there could be perceived any trembling.Yet you will admit that even had I been master at that moment of less firmness, I might have been excusable; for looking down, I perceived that a lamp was burning in the midst of the sepulchral tower far below me, and saw sitting around it a company of eight or ten persons, at whose mercy, it was quite visible, I must be placed. Neither, if I might judge from the demeanour of the person that was bringing me into their assembly, did there appear to be any great room for dependance on them; for, as to themselves, not one of them looked up towards me as I was stepping down, and being wrapped in their cloaks, I had no means of discovering what manner of persons they were. The way in which I had been treated, however, by one of their number, was a sufficient evidence, either that they conceived themselves to have been injured by my being there, or that they were capable of taking some undue advantage of my helpless condition. The calmness of their attitudes, and the recollection of the sounds[pg 213]that I had heard, inclined me to the former of these suppositions; and when I perceived that not one of them stirred, even till I had reached the lowmost step of the interior staircase, in this, without question, I already felt myself considerably strengthened.“Behold,”said my guide, as I at length touched the marble floor of the mausoleum itself—“Behold proof, and that living, that my suspicions were not quite so groundless as you were pleased to imagine. Here is a man whom I found listening, even on the very steps of this tower. It is for you to decide what shall be done with the eaves-dropper.”With this the whole company sprung at once to their feet, and I perceived evidently, from the surprise expressed in their looks and attitudes, that until that moment not one of them had been aware of my approach. I was about to speak, and declare my innocence of any treachery, or even of any knowledge concerning the purpose of their meeting; but before I could do so, one of them, and I think the oldest of all that were present, having in an instant recovered the tranquillity which my arrival had disturbed, said to me in a voice of the utmost gentleness,“Young man, what has brought thee hither, or who sent thee? Art thou indeed a spy, and was it thy purpose to betray our assembly?”“Sir,”said I,“I know nothing of your assembly, or of its purpose; I fell asleep by accident on the outside of this tower, and, when I awoke, the music that I heard detained me.”“Examine the stripling,”quoth he that had conducted me—“examine his person.”—“His looks belie[pg 214]him,”replied the senior,“if you have cause for suspicion. But if you will it so, search the young man.”And with that my guide, laying his unsheathed sword upon a table, or altar of black marble, proceeded to search my garments, and finding in my bosom the scroll which I had received from Tisias, he glanced on it for a moment, and then handing it to the senior, said,“Now, sirs, doubt ye if ye will.”—“Before heaven—it is the book of the holy Luke!”said the other;“this is indeed suspicious. How came this scroll into thy hands, young man? Art thou aware that one of the books of the Christians has been found in thy bosom?”—“I know it,”said I;“it is one of the books of their faith, and I have read in it this evening for the first time.”—“Then thou art not thyself a Christian?”—“I received the book from one Christian,”said I, waiving the question;“and I made promise to deliver it into the hands of another?”—“Name the Christian who gave thee this book!”said my stern guide.—“Tisias of Antioch,”I replied;“the same who died yesterday in the Amphitheatre.”—“Yes,”quoth he, again;“and I suppose it was there he gave it to you. Every one knows the name of Tisias. Name, if you please, the person to whom you are to deliver the book.”—“You shall pardon me,”said I,“that I will not. You may call me an eaves-dropper, if you will; but you shall find I am no traitor. It is a Roman—a noble Roman lady to whom I must give this book; and I would not tell you her name although you should slaughter me here in this tomb, which I have entered living and without guilt.”And having said this, I folded my arms, and stood still, abiding their will.[pg 215]But scarcely had I finished these words, ere I felt a small trembling hand laid upon my shoulder, and looking round, I perceived Athanasia herself, who whispered into my ear,—“Valerius, was the book for me? If so, you may say it boldly, and I will vouch for your word.”—“For you, lady,”I answered in the same tone,“and for none other. You well know that I was present in his prison the night before his death; so far at least you can confirm what I have said.”“Sir,”said she, addressing the old man that had before questioned me,“I know this young man: and I believe what he has said, and will be answerable for his fidelity. It was he that went in to our friend the other night in his prison, and the book was intrusted to him by the old man, that it might be given into my hands. His name is Valerius—Caius Valerius—and he is by birth a noble Roman.”“Say you so, lady?”interrupted my original conductor;“then I ask his pardon. I have wronged Caius Valerius; but both you and he must forgive me, for it must be confessed he was found in a very extraordinary situation.”“Even so,”I replied,“I have nothing to complain of. I perceive that I am present in an assembly of Christians; but he shall do me much wrong that thinks I bear any enmity to them,—or, from all that I have yet seen or read, to the faith which they profess. I have read part of that book,”I continued,“for I made promise to Tisias that I should do so before giving it to Athanasia; and I trust I shall still be permitted by her to read more of it before it is finally demanded from me.”—“Oh, read it!”said Athanasia, gently again whis[pg 216]pering to me.“Oh yes, read the book, Valerius, and may God enlighten the reader.”And so saying, she herself took up the scroll from the table on which it was lying, and gave it again into my hands.—“There was also a letter for you,”said I, receiving it,“but that I left at home.”—“No matter,”said Athanasia,“you shall give me the letter and the book both together hereafter.”“In the meantime,”said I,“I suppose it were better I should retire.”“Young sir,”said the senior,“that is as you please; in a little while we shall all be moving towards the city. Stay with us till then, if such be your will; that which you may hear, can at least do you no harm. Already, I doubt not, you have seen enough to despise the ignorant calumnies of our enemies.”When he had said so, the old man walked to the side of the sepulchre, and took out from behind one of the urns that stood there, (ranged in their niches,) a small casquet, which, returning, he placed before him on the marble table. Then, opening the casquet, he brought forth a silver goblet, and a salver containing some little pieces of bread; and, untying from his neck a massive cross of gold, he set that also on the table, between the cup and the salver. In brief, the Christian priest, (for such, as you already see, he was,) had finished his preparation, and was about to commence the administration of the blessed Eucharist. And when all the rest were kneeling before the table, Athanasia, laying her hand upon my arm, beckoned to me to kneel by her side; and so indeed I would have done in my ignorance, had not the priest himself pointed to[pg 217]a station a few yards behind the lady, to which, accordingly, I drew back—apart from those who were to be privileged with the participation of those holy symbols.Scarcely had they composed themselves in their places, and listened to the first words of the appointed service, when I, standing there by myself, thought, unless my ears deceived me, there must be some one on the outer stair-case of the tower; and my eyes instinctively, I suppose, were fixed upon the aperture, which, as I have told you, was in the high roof above the circle of the niched walls. Here, however, when I first looked, there was nothing to be seen, but the round spot of the sky, far up in the midst of the marble roof; but while I was looking steadfastly, that space was suddenly diminished; and a dog bayed, and at the same moment a voice which I well knew, screamed,“I have them—I hold them—let them burst the net if they can.”The cry of Pona disturbed effectually the Christian priest, and the whole of those that were with him. Rising up hastily from their knees, they stood all together around the table, while the old man, having kissed both the cup and the cross, restored them as quickly as he could to the casket from which they had been taken. But while the priest was doing this, he that found me on the stair appearing to revert into his suspicion, and looking sternly upon me where I stood, said,“Is this then the innocence which we spared! Is this the noble Roman for whom Athanasia pledged herself? Speak, brethren, what shall be done to this traitor, by whom, even more than by those dogs of the tombs, it is a shame for us that we have been[pg 218]hunted?”Saying so, the man lifted up his sword again, and it seemed as if he would have smitten me to the ground without farther question. But Athanasia threw herself swiftly between him and me.“For shame, Cotilius,”said she;“such suspiciousness is unworthy of a Roman knight.”—“You say well, noble damsel,”quoth the old priest, interrupting her;“but you might say also that such cruelty is unworthy of a soldier of Christ. Peace, peace, children; there is no evil in the youth, nor, if there were, would it be our part to avenge it.”While he was saying this, three or four blazing torches were thrust down into the place from above, and Athanasia, laying her hand upon my arm, said,“Look up, Caius, I see helmets.—Alas! am I not already here? why, if they will slay me, should they drag me away now from the tomb of my fathers?”I felt the trembling of her hands, and she leaned upon my shoulder. I know not, I will confess to you, whether at that moment I tasted more of pleasure or of pain.But by this time several of the soldiers had already begun to descend into the tower, and before another minute had elapsed, we found ourselves surrounded by the flame of their torches. And he that seemed to lead the party, after counting us one by one, said, turning to his companions,“Well, an old woman has told the truth for once—here are even more I think than she warned us of.—Come along, worthy people, you must not keep the Tribune waiting for you all night, and our watch is well-nigh expired already. Come, mount the stair—it will take a good half hour yet, I believe, to[pg 219]lodge you all safely in the Tullian—And do you,”he added, laying his hand on the hilt of Cotilius’ sword—“do you, brave sir, allow me to save you the trouble of carrying this bauble.”Nor was the stern knight so foolish as to dispute the command; but having yielded up his sword, he forthwith began to ascend, one or two spearmen preceding him with their torches. The priest followed, and so did the rest; the last being Athanasia and myself.On every side around the old tower, when I looked from the summit of it, I perceived foot soldiers drawn up in a double line, while the road along which I had come with Dromo, was occupied by a band of horsemen, one of whom moved forward when he saw us descending, as if to take cognizance of the number and quality of the surprised assembly. His long cloak being muffled about his ears as he sate, and the shadow of his helmet falling deeply, I did not at first suspect who it was; but he had not counted half the party to the superior Officer behind him, ere I recognized him from the sound of his voice; and who, think ye, should it be but my good friend Sabinus?The Centurion, when his eye detected me, checked his horse so sharply that the animal bounded into the air; and,“Valerius!”quoth he,“ha! by the life of Cæsar, what is the meaning of this? Valerius in a Christian synagogue! By all the gods, there must be some mistake.”But before I, in my confusion, could make any answer to these exclamations, his eye chanced to glance on Athanasia, who, trembling, still retained the support of my arm; whereupon,“Ha! ha!”said he, in a quite different tone of voice,“there is a lady in[pg 220]the case.”And then, stooping in his seat, he whispered, half laughing, into my ear,“My most hypocritical smooth-face, you shall see what is the consequence of bringing these transatlantic pranks of yours to Rome. By Hercules, you wild dog, it may cost you some little trouble to get out of this scrape.”Having said so, he turned his horse, and rejoining the troop, appeared to enter into close conversation with him who sate at the head of the line. Of what my friend said, I could catch nothing more than certain vehement oaths, while, all the time, the Tribune (for such he was) continued to shake his head, in a way significant at once of doubt and determination. The end was, that he pointed with his sword; and Sabinus forced his horse backwards, at one plunge, into the place from which he had advanced.Our party were immediately separated one from another. I saw the priest lifted on a mule and hurried away towards the city, with a horseman on each hand of him. The fiery Cotilius, and one or two more, were compelled to follow, with similar attendance, in the same direction; others, again, had their horses’ heads turned more to the westward—but all departed at speed, and were soon lost to my view among the projections of the tombs. The last that remained to be disposed of were Athanasia and myself, and for a moment I had some hope that we might perhaps be intrusted to the same guards; but this hope was in vain, and after I perceived that it was so, scarcely even was time permitted to me for bidding her farewell. To kiss her hand, and to whisper a single word of parting hope into her ear, was all I could do. A tear rolled from her[pg 221]cheek and fell upon my hand; yet she smiled faintly upon me, and“Hope,”said she—“yes, dear Valerius, Hope and Faith both go with me.”And with that the pale maiden was separated from the arm to which she had trusted, and I saw her also mounted and borne away rapidly. A moment after, I found myself, in like manner, seized and lifted upon a horse, and almost before I could look around me, we had escaped from the flare of the torches, and the crowd of the soldiery, and were stretching at a rapid pace, I knew not whither, although I suspected, from the width of the road, that we had regained the Appian.But I have forgotten to mention to you, that just at the moment when they were lifting Athanasia upon the mule that was to bear her from my sight, my eye caught a glimpse of the witch Pona, who was sitting at the root of one of the pine-trees, close to the tower. And behind her stood, leaning against the tree, a figure wrapped in a rich red cloak, which I suspected to be a female also, but could not be certain, because the countenance was concealed in the folds of the garment. To this person, whoever it might be, the witch turned round eagerly, while the soldiers were carrying off Athanasia. I saw no more, for, as I have told you, immediately afterwards I also was carried away.

[pg 176]CHAPTER III.I had walked by the side of my young friend, and behind the Stoic, (who, I think, was expressing, in his pompous fashion, much admiration of the singing of Rubellia,) along one or two of the great halls in which the library is contained, before the novelty of the objects surrounding me made any impression even on my eyes; and even after these were in some measure engaged, my mind still continued to dwell on that troubled aspect, and on the notes of the uncompleted song. At length, however, the levity of youth, and natural curiosity revived; and I began to be present, not in body merely, in a place where there was much that might well interest the mind. Far-receding rows of columns conducted my eyes into the interminable recesses of that wide range of chambers, in which the records of the thought and spirit of all past ages are piled up together; and gazing on the loaded shelves which every where ascended into the galleries, I could not but be affected with many new emotions. I perused glorious names on the busts that seemed to preside over the different compartments. The high filletted front of Homer detained for the first time my contemplation; the eyes of the divine old man, even in sculpture, distinctly[pg 177]and visibly blind, while the serenity and sanctity of the towering forehead, revealed how the intense perception at once of the lovely and the great could compensate for visions of earthly beauty shut out. The mild Plato, and the imperious Stagyrite—Pindar—Simonides—Alcæus—and I know not how many more, succeeded as we passed along—each in his own sphere, reigning by himself; yet all connected together by a certain common air of greatness, like so many successive princes, or contemporary heroes of the same mighty empire.From this main range, there diverged many lesser chambers, in which we saw studious persons engaged, each seated by himself, and having his eyes fixed on the parchment before him. Of these, some deigned not to intimate by the smallest movement their perception that any one had approached; but with others Xerophrastes exchanged, as he walked, lofty salutation, and one or two even entered, for a moment, into conversation with him. With one of these, indeed, (an ancient of bitter aspect,) to such a length did the colloquy extend, that we began to think we should never be able to get our Stoic away from him; till, as our fortune would have it, it became necessary for them to have a certain book for the purpose of reference, and then Xerophrastes began to make inquiries concerning Parmeno, who, as I gathered, must needs be one of those intrusted with the care of the library.“I am afraid,”said the other,“if we must wait for him, we shall not be able to get that work either to-day or to-morrow; for his pupil, the son of Fabricius, is dead, and I suppose he will now change his quarters,[pg 178]and be no longer seen so often about these haunts of the muses.”“Alas!”interrupted Sextus,“I met Fabricius in the Forum a few days ago, and he told me his son was ill; but little did I imagine my dear companion was so near his end! Is it indeed so?”“Even so,”rejoined the other.“Rapid have been the shears of Atropos! It is but a few moments since Agaso, the painter passed; and, he told me he had been receiving orders to take a likeness, as well as he could, from the corpse.”“If Agaso be so engaged,”replied Xerophrastes,“I am afraid we need not expect to find him neither in his usual place. Perhaps we had better make inquiry for him at the dwelling of Fabricius.”To this Sextus assented; or rather, being lost in reflection concerning the death of his friend, he suffered himself to be conducted by the Stoic. Passing, therefore, through one or two more apartments, we issued forth, and drew near to the vestibule of Fabricius’ house, who, as they told me, was a noble Roman, having the chief superintendance of the whole library, and an intimate friend of Licinius—one whose domestic calamity could not fail to spread much affliction through a wide circle of patrician kindred.At the vestibule, we found assembled not a few of the young man’s relations; but Xerophrastes immediately said,“Behold Parmeno, he is the most afflicted; and what wonder that it should be so?”“Alas!”said Sextus,“the bier is set forth; the last rites are to be performed this evening.”This Parmeno was a striking figure. Seated close[pg 179]by the bier, his head was involved in his cloak, so that only his eyes and his nose could be seen, but these of themselves expressed a decorous affliction; and the folds of the cloak fell down over the rest of his person in great order and dignity. On the pavement beside him was seen lying, half-unfolded, a book inscribed with the name of Heraclitus, which he appeared to have been reading. When Xerophrastes approached, this mourner stretched forth his hand, and shook his head, but he did not say any thing, nor even look towards the rest of us; and indeed to have done so, would have disturbed the attitude in which he had placed himself. Xerophrastes, on his part, received the proffered hand, and shaking his head in response, said,“Yes, my Ionian friend, I may still bid thee hail and live; but I must say farewell to the plant thou wast rearing. Farewell to the youthful promise of Fabricius!”On hearing these words, the sitting philosopher drew his mantle quite over his face, and leant himself heavily against one of the fluted columns of the vestibule, for he seemed to be much shaken. In the meantime Sextus approached the bier, and contemplated his companion as he lay there wreathed with melancholy garlands; his countenance bearing a natural mixture of sadness and astonishment. Nor could I, who had never before seen the young man, behold the spectacle without similar emotions; for his age, as it seemed, could not have been much different from my own, and the pale features were interesting, their expression not less amiable than solemn.“Alas!”said Sextus,“the last time I saw him, how[pg 180]differently did he appear! We rode out together with some others to Tibur, and spent all the day there; and as we returned by the moonlight, how joyous his conversation! Methinks I yet hear him laughing and speaking. We parted at the foot of the Capitoline, and never did I see him again till now.”“Oh, fate of man!”quoth Xerophrastes;“how uncertain is life, how certain death! Without doubt, young Fabricius had as little thought of dying as any of your company; and yet, see now, he is arrayed for the last time, and this juvenile gown, which he should so soon have laid aside for the manly, is destined to be consumed with him.”“A fine lad he was,”cries one of the standers by,—“a fine lad, and an excellent horseman. The Martian Field did not often behold such a rider in these degenerate days of the Roman youth.”But while the rest were still contemplating the bier, Xerophrastes, turning to his brother philosopher, said,“Tell me now, my learned friend, do you still, after this mournful event, continue to reside with the elder Fabricius? Has that excellent man any more sons to be educated, or will he retain you only for the sake of the library, with which assuredly he will find few so conversant as yourself?”To which Parmeno replied,“Your question, O Xerophrastes, shews that clear judgment concerning the affairs of men, for which you have always been celebrated. No, my friend, the gray-haired Fabricius no longer requires my residence here; for he is about to retire into one of his villas on the Campanian shore, and to bury for ever his affliction in the privacy of[pg 181]his woods. We are about to part, not without mutual tears; and several Patricians have already been applying to him for his influence with me, whom, although unworthy of so much research, they earnestly covet, and wish to engage as the instructor of their young men. I have been sitting here not unseen, beside this my former charge, and each is impatient to solicit me into his service.”“Your reputation I well know is high,”replied Xerophrastes,“and deservedly so; more particularly, for that fine talent you have for giving metaphysical interpretations of mythology, and for explaining the obscure allegories of ancient poets. But for my own part, Parmeno, I find not so much delight in abstract ideas, or in the passive contemplation of the universe; but incline rather to study, as heretofore, that part of philosophy which relates to action, and the morality of duty.”“Yes, worthy Xerophrastes,”returned he, with a most languid serenity;“and so far as I understand, you sort well in this with the stirring disposition of your friend Licinius.”To which Xerophrastes made answer:—“My patron Licinius is fond of action, and I of the rules of action. He says, it is only in war, or in civil functions of a public nature, that a person can prove himself a man. The rest, he says, is visionary, and comes to nothing, or is a slumber of the mind in sensuality, without thought.”“Does he think, then,”quoth Parmeno, his wobegone countenance relaxing into a smile,—“Does Licinius think, then, there is no sensuality in perpetual action,[pg 182]and declamation and noise? To me such things appear almost as trivial as the lazy enjoyments of Epicureans, besides being harsh and disagreeable, and not unfrequently ridiculous. But observe, O Xerophrastes! that I speak these things as it were abstractly, and not by any means in disparagement of Licinius, your excellent patron and friend.”To which the stoic replied in astonishment—“What is this you have said? Do you assert that action is sensual?”Then Parmeno, lifting from the pavement the book which he had been reading, or appearing to read, said,“It is even so, most erudite Xerophrastes. Indeed, I have always delighted in the most primitive and remote doctrines handed down from antiquity; and among others, in the riddles of this obscure Ephesian. Following the scope of his philosophy, I am led to believe, that, so often as the mind impels, or is impelled by other causes, it begins to lose sight of pure knowledge, and becomes in danger of thinking that every thing is vain, light, and evanescent, except what is perceived by the senses. Heraclitus well says, that Love and Hatred govern all things. Now, when the principle of Discord prevails, it subjects all things to the dominion of action, and to the gross perceptions of sense. But when that of Love is prevalent, it emancipates the struggling chaos of things from the yearning of compulsion, and from the darkness of sensual proximity; for, between things that struggle immediately against each other, light has no room to enter in and shine; and therefore it is, that, when Love gains the ascendency, a new arrangement is produced—an arrangement which, if I[pg 183]may so express it, is more serene, transparent, orderly and divine, and wherein things exist in safety from the danger of mutual destruction.”After a preliminary cough:—“My opinion,”replied Xerophrastes,“coincides rather with that of Empedocles. The immortal Sicilian thinks that Discord is the only separating and arranging principle which marks the boundaries between things, and enables them mutually to act and repel, in such a way as to preserve order.”—“Nay, nay,”interrupted Parmeno, his hands being by this quite disentangled from his cloak, and his countenance lighted up,—“Nay, nay, to such doctrine I never shall assent. From Empedocles—even from Xerophrastes, I must differ for ever on this head. The order of which you and the Sicilian speak, is the order of darkness only, and of blind force,—a kind of order in which fierceness and cruelty always reign.”But Xerophrastes continued:—“And I farther concur with Empedocles in thinking, that Love is a principle of which the predominance is more fit to turn order into a chaos, than to produce the effects you have described.”—“Nay, speak not against Love,”quoth Parmeno—“Speak not against Love, nor believe that any respect is due to the dictates of Empedocles, who taught the worst that can be taught by any man—that is to say, the alternation of order and confusion succeeding each other throughout all time. To seek for truth in conceptions like these, is no better than to seek repose in the bosom of Ætna.”—“In reference to that point,”resumed Xerophrastes,“I agree with you in your disapprobation of Empedocles. But when you say, that Love is the source of knowledge, you[pg 184]much astonish me; for I have always thought rather that its tendency is to bring confusion upon the mind.”“Once more,”said Parmeno—“once more, let me beseech you to say nothing against love. You are thinking of the love of particular objects. You speak of Cupid, and not of that heavenly Eros, who, so far from enchaining, or tyrannizing over the mind, rather enables it to escape into the tranquil freedom of far extended contemplation. But what is contemplation without the knowledge of permanent forms, on which the mind may find repose, and so keep itself from being perplexed by the shifting aspects of the many-coloured universe? And therefore it is, O Xerophrastes, that, sometimes laying aside Heraclitus, I study the ancient verses of the poet, Xenophanes, who shews, by the nature of abstract forms, that a certain unity pervades all things. Xenophanes mused of old at Colophon, looking through the blue ether of my native Ionia.—But why should I speak thus at length? Alas! what is the occasion of our being here!—I perceive the approach of the poet, who was to compose an inscription for the urn of my dear Fabricius. Yonder also is the architect, who comes with a design for the tomb. Oh! day of wo, that I should sit in judgment concerning the epitaph and tomb of my ingenuous youth!”“It is, indeed, true,”replied Xerophrastes,“that even I, in the repercussions of our talk, had well-nigh forgotten this unhappy occurrence; but, perhaps, there is something not after all entirely excusable in our giving so much superiority to the affairs of philosophical discussion. Now, however, it is evident, that we must suspend our colloquy—And who, I beseech you, above[pg 185]all things, is he that now draws near to the place of this mournful assembly, holding a horse in his hand. Methinks I have seen his face before.”“That you have indeed, Master,”quoth he that had come up,—“that you have; and no longer ago than yesterday neither, if you will be pleased to give yourself the trouble of recollecting. My name is Aspar—I am well known. If but my excellent friend, the noble Centurion Sabinus, were here, poor old Aspar would have no reason to complain of the want of a good word.”“Good morrow to you, Aspar,”said Sextus;“but what is it that brings you hither just at this moment? And for what purpose have you brought your horse with you? for people of your sort do not in general ride in the courts of the Palatine.”“Alas!”quoth Aspar,“and is it you, who seem to have been one of the contemporaries of that peerless youth—is it you that ask such a question as this? I did not, in truth, imagine that there was any friend of young Fabricius, who did not know his affection for little Sora. There is not such another within twenty miles of the Capitol; but I brought her hither merely out of regard for the family. As for myself, I should never bear to look on her again with pleasure, after knowing the sudden manner of his death. I wish to Heaven the filly were fairly lodged in one of the paddocks of the Lord Fabricius himself.”“Lead the animal round into the stables,”says Parmeno,“and I doubt not care will be taken of her.—Yonder comes one of the buffoons of the theatre;—he, I doubt not, is here to disgrace, if he be permitted, this solemn scene, with ranting quotations from the tragic[pg 186]poets. Alas! alas! I cannot bear all this: There also advance the officiators from the Temple of Libitina; they have their cypress boughs ready in their hands. Oh, my learned friend, I cannot sustain these things; let me be gone into the mansion.”The admirer of Heraclitus, picking up his scroll, and gathering together the folds of his mantle, moved slowly into the house, Xerophrastes following with similar gestures. Sextus and I also were about to take our departure; and he, having procured from one of the slaves of the house a myrtle garland, had already placed it upon the bier of the young Fabricius, as the last testimonial of his concern; when there drew near two young men, clad in long mantles of black, who, solemnly embracing my friend, began to exchange with him many expressions of grief.While they were thus engaged, Rubellia, who had been standing all this while a little apart, sent a boy to inform us that the painter we were in search of had at last made his appearance, and was anxious to proceed with his portrait. I drew Sextus away, therefore, and soon joined the lady and the artist; but as we were moving off thus, one of the bystanding slaves, an old gray-headed man, came up and whispered to Sextus,“Sir, be not deceived; these two nephews of my bereaved master are to me the most disagreeable part of all this preparation. You have heard their lamentation, and seen their sweeping raiment of mourning; but, be sure, a principal subject of their reflection is the probability that one or other of them must be adopted by Fabricius. Alas! alas! so goes all between Lucina and Libitina. There was never a birth nor a[pg 187]marriage that did not create some sorrow, nor a funeral procession that did not give rise to some joy. Your rhetoricians talk, but what avails it all? Slaves and masters are alike subjected to the evils of the world, and of these death is both the last and the least.”[pg 188]CHAPTER IV.Agaso, the painter, was a smart dapper little bandy-legged man of Verona, dressed in a Grecian mantle, and endeavouring to look as much as possible like a Greek. Had Xerophrastes not gone off with his brother of Ionia, I have no doubt this man would have made his presence a sufficient excuse for speaking nothing but Greek to us; but, even as it was, his conversation was interlarded with an abundant intermixture of that noble tongue. Nothing could be spoken of which Agaso did not think fit to illustrate, either by the narration of something he himself had seen or heard during his residence at Athens, or, at least, by some quotation from the Grecian poets. To judge from the square, and somewhat ponderous formation of the man’s features, Nature had not designed him for any of the most mercurial specimens of her workmanship; but he contrived, notwithstanding, by perpetual shrugging and grimacing, and, above all, by keeping his eyes and eyebrows continually in motion, to give himself an air of no inconsiderable life and vivacity.Hopping before us with much alacrity, this artist conducted our steps through eight or ten galleries, until at length a curtain being withdrawn, which had covered[pg 189]the space between two pilasters, we found ourselves in a spacious apartment, which, from the courteousness wherewith he bowed us into it, there could be no difficulty in perceiving to be the customary sphere of his own exertions. It was not altogether deserted even when we entered, but the removal of the curtain attracted more of the loungers of the baths, and ere Sextus was fairly fixed before the table of the painter, the modest youth had the mortification to find himself surrounded with a very crowd of knowing and curious physiognomies. The presence of these, however, appeared not unwelcome to the master. On the contrary, there arose between the little man, as he was preparing his brushes, and those who had come to survey him at his work, such a gabble of compliments, remarks, and disquisitions, that it seemed to me as if he would have been disappointed had he not been favoured with their attendance.“How noble,”cries one,“is that portrait you have just been finishing of Rupilius!—Heavens! with what felicity you have caught the air! Methinks I see him about to enter the Basilica, when he knows that some great cause is awaiting his decision. What solemnity in his aspect! what grandeur in the gown!—How finely the purple of the laticlave is made to harmonize with the colouring of the cheeks and chin! What beautiful handling about the fingers with which he grasps his tablets!—As for the head of the stylus, it is the very eye of the picture.”—“Exquisite indeed,”quoth another;“but who can look at it, or at any thing else, in the same room with this little jewel?—Heavens! what a beauty! who can it be? for I never[pg 190]saw her either at the Circus or the Amphitheatre. What an inimitable modesty!”The painter heard this last piece of eulogy with an air of some embarrassment, and at the same time looked very cunningly towards the person who had uttered it. But the Lady Rubellia tossed her head, and whispered to me,“Pretty she may be, though I cannot say that style of dressing the hair is at all adapted for such features; but for modesty! hem. I asked Agaso two or three days ago who it was, and he told me—guess!—it is a little Spanish girl, whom that august-looking person, with the grand laticlave, and the purple cheeks and chin, and the glittering stylus, thought fit to bring home with him when he was relieved from the hard duties of the Pro-prætorship. I dare say, he takes care she shall not be seen either at Circus or Amphitheatre; and, indeed, I think it is sufficient impudence to shew her likeness in the company of so many portraits of respectability.”“My dear lady,”quoth the painter, who overheard somewhat,“for the sake of all that is sacred, no word of this again! Wait, at least, till the canvass for the Augurship be over. There are always so many to exaggerate and misrepresent.”—“Exaggerate, indeed! I think Rupilius ought to be ashamed of himself; and at his time of life too. I think you said he was just the same age with my uncle?”—“Yes,”says the painter,“he must be of that standing; and I think he went to Spain just about the period of your marriage.”—“Filthy old fellow,”quoth she, very quickly;“and this is the treasure he has brought home with him! I have a great mind to tell his wife.”—“Hush, hush,”[pg 191]said Agaso,“this is the very day Rupilius spoke of bringing her to see his own portrait; and, indeed, I am sure that is the Senator’s cough. I rely on your prudence.”And the portly original of the laticlaved portrait walked into the room, having his gown and every part of his dress arranged as represented in the picture; although in the living countenance it was easy to discover a few lines and spots which had been omitted in the copy. By his side moved a short woman, arrayed in the extremity of costly attire, whose swarthy complexion did not, in spite of cosmeticism, harmonize very well with the bright golden ringlets of her Sicambrian peruque; while behind the pair came a thin damsel, whose lineaments exhibited a sort of faint shadow of the same visage, the rudiments of which had been so abundantly filled up in that of the rubicund magistrate. The ex-pro-prætor, after saluting Agaso, stood still with dignity in the midst of the apartment, while the fond daughter, rushing close up to his picture, could with difficulty affix any limits to her expressions of satisfaction:—“O Jupiter! look at the ring. It is the very ring he wears!—the very images are engraved upon it; one can see the three Graces. I never saw such a picture—when will it be brought home?”—“Hush, hush, now, Primula,”quoth the mother.“It is certainly a likeness; but why will artists, now-a-days, always paint people older than they are? And besides, it wants something of his expression. Don’t you think so yourself, sir?”(turning to the painter)“Rupilius has surely been looking very gloomily when he sat.”[pg 192]On this the painter, leaving Sextus, advanced to her side, and after a pause of some moments, spent in contemplating alternately his own work and the original, said, with a courteous simper,“How much am I indebted to you, most noble lady, for this visit, and these judicious remarks! I only wish you had accompanied the senator, for then, without question, his countenance would have worn the look you desiderate; and I perhaps might have more easily succeeded in catching it, being aided by your suggestions. I hope it may yet be amended.”—“How modest he is!”ejaculated the spouse.“A single sitting will suffice, I am sure. We shall come some day when you are quite alone, and I will sit by you, and talk to Rupilius all the while.”—“Delightful!”replied the artist;“how happy shall I be in such an opportunity of improving both the picture and myself! We must positively prevail on the senator to give us this one sitting more.”—“Never ask his consent,”quoth the matron, smiling upon her lord;“leave the whole matter to me. The picture is for me. And besides, if he were to refuse, I know how I should be certain to overcome him; for he has asked me to sit to you myself, and you know if I were to persist in sitting with my gloomy face, as he has with his, we should soon bring him to his right reason.”—“Yourgloomy face, noble lady!”replied the artist, strutting back a pace or two.“I am afraid, if that is the charm by which alone he is to be softened, we must give up all our hopes.”—“I protest,”says the lady,“I believe you will keep me laughing all the time I sit. And pray now, what dress do you think I should wear? Prima says, I ought certainly to be in green;[pg 193]but I was thinking, that perhaps a yellow byssine would suit me better. But I shall send over half a dozen robes, and then we can choose whichever seems to be the best. One thing only I am quite resolved upon, and that is, that I shall have my golden chain, with the miniature of the Pro-prætor—the Senator, I mean—at the end of it.”—“Nothing could be in finer taste,”he made answer;“and if my lady should think of green, or purple, or any dark colour for the gown, the rings of the chain and the setting of the miniature would have the richest effect.”—“And do, my dear mother,”interrupted Prima;“and do have on the sapphire tiara when you sit to Agaso. Or what would you think of having your own hair simply like this lady here? What a beauty!”—“A smart little girl, indeed,”quoth the mother.“I think I should know that face. Is she Roman, Agaso?”—“No, not a Roman,”answered the artist;“nor do I think my lady can ever have met with her. But perhaps my Lord Rupilius may, for she is a Spaniard.”Agaso turned with a smile to the Senator; but he, scarcely appearing to look at the picture, answered, with great gravity,“I think I have seen the countenance before; and perhaps it was in my province. The face is certainly a pretty one; but nothing so very extraordinary.”—“They may say what they like,”observed the spouse, drawing herself up;“but there is no such thing as a really urbane air to be got out of Rome.”Meantime, in another part of the room, some other picture appeared to be exciting a scarcely inferior measure of curiosity. On approaching the party, I perceived that this was a sketch, in chalk only, of the head[pg 194]and shoulders of an old man; and when I had gained an opportunity of more nearly surveying it, I recognized without difficulty the features of Tisias of Antioch. The greater number of those who were looking on it, seemed also to have been present at his death; for I heard pointed out by them with exactness the parts in which the resemblance had been most successfully taken. The beauty of the old man’s lineaments, and the serenity of his aspect, they all admired; and while they were loud in praising these, Agaso himself also joined them, saying,“Oh, so you have found out my old Christian! How did you get hold of him? for I meant it not to be seen till I had lain on a little of the colour. But is it not a fine study?—is it not a noble head? I think I shall introduce it in the picture I am painting for Pliny. The subject is the sacrifice of Iphigenia. I went to the Amphitheatre,”he continued,“rather late, without expecting any thing particular; but it immediately struck me that he might be turned to some account. I made several little sketches of him, for it was a long time ere it was over; and this is from the one I took just after he had made his oration. His hands and feet were singularly fine, I thought. Here,”said he, turning over the leaves of his tablets—“here you have him in a variety of shapes!—the muscles shewed powerfully when he knelt;—there, again, you have his fingers as they were folded on his breast—not much flesh, but the lines good—veins well expressed.”But about this time the great bell rung in the tower above the Baths, and the greater part of the young loungers soon dispersed themselves; some to fence or wrestle—others to play in the tennis-court—others to[pg 195]ride in the Hippodrome, in preparation for the bath. So Agaso, being left alone with Sextus, Rubellia, and myself, had at length leisure to proceed with his portrait of the youth.Much did the lady and the painter discourse, and many merry things were said by them both; but all they said could not entirely remove the embarrassment fixed on the countenance of Sextus; nor, of a truth, did he present himself with much advantage before the artist. Rubellia, nevertheless, sate over against him with looks of no severe criticism; and I doubt not she would have remained to the end of the sitting, had not one of her household come with a message, which, as it seemed, rendered necessary her departure. It struck me, that the messenger answered very well to Dromo’s description of the fat Calabrian with whom he and Boto had been drinking; but of this I said nothing to Sextus.It was near the hour of supper before we were dismissed, and we found Licinius already about to enter his eating chamber.[pg 196]CHAPTER V.The orator received us with less coldness than I could have expected. I suppose his knowledge that our morning had been spent in Rubellia’s company, had in some measure softened his feelings of jealousy towards his son; and perhaps he had given me credit for advice, to the merit of which I had no claim. But he remained not long at table after supper was concluded, being summoned to discourse in private with a client:—so that Sextus and I were left to spend the evening as it might please ourselves; for as to Xerophrastes, he had not as yet made his appearance, and we took it for granted he had remained at the mansion of Fabricius, for the purpose of consoling with philosophical controversies his bereaved brother of Ionia.We retired, therefore, into the apartment of my young friend; but he could not read a page without coming upon some verse which made him throw down the scroll to ruminate on the charms of his Sempronia. When he took up his lute, his fingers seemed to evoke only the most melancholy sounds. It was only in the exercise of the foil, that he succeeded in banishing from his thoughts the troubles of his situation; but both of us having contended till[pg 197]we were breathless, were soon compelled to sit down, and then the unhappy boy’s exhausted body seemed to communicate a new debility to his mind. We sat for the most part in silence, (for I soon found that I could not say any thing capable of interesting him,) until the shades of evening had quite darkened the chamber, and then we walked together, not less silently, in the adjoining open gallery, until the moon had arisen from above the tall poplars around the Pantheon and Baths of Agrippa, and diffused her radiance over all the beautiful gardens and noble edifices that lay beneath us down to the brink of the river. Lassitude of spirit then, if not expectation of sleep, rendered Sextus desirous of retiring to his couch; so, having exhorted the youth to wrestle with his grief, and to call hope to his aid, I at length left him to himself. But as for me, I had as yet no feeling of weariness, and, besides, I remembered the promise I had made to Dromo in the morning.I was very much surprised, indeed, that the Cretan had not as yet come to me, and made inquiry concerning him of Boto; but hearing that the man was absent from the house, I thought from this there was the more likelihood of his being engaged in some scheme, the result of which I should by and by learn from his own lips. I dismissed my Briton, therefore, and prepared to read by my watch-light, and while I was considering what I should read, I remembered the scroll I had received from Tisias, which forthwith I took from the place in which I had locked it up on the morning of the preceding day. There fell from out of it, as I unfolded it, a letter sealed, but without any superscription. This I of course considered as meant only[pg 198]for the eye of Athanasia; so I kissed the parchment her fingers were destined to touch, and, before I began to read, restored it to its receptacle.More than one of you, my young friends, have already heard me speak, on another occasion, of the impression which that night’s reading made upon my mind, and been told, from my own lips, what book it was that was contained in the scroll of Tisias; the rest of you will judge for yourselves with what astonishment it was that I, who had at the best expected to unfold some obscure treatise of Asiatic lore, some semi-barbarous exposition of mystical riddles, found myself engaged in the perusal of a plain and perspicuous narrative of facts, written evidently by a man of accomplishment and learning, and in Greek of which the most elegant penman of these times could have had no occasion to be ashamed. In a word, it was the Gospel of the holy physician St Luke which had been put into my hands; and at this day I am still grateful that this was the first of the Christian books which I had an opportunity of seeing; for such had been my education, that I am afraid others, not less worthy of the true faith, might have repelled me by the peculiarities of their composition, as well as by the acquaintance with many things, to me then entirely unknown, which they take for granted in the style of their commencement. Here, however, there was enough only of mystery, the more effectually to stimulate my curiosity, while the eagerness with which I engaged myself in its gratification, was abundantly repaid from the beginning, both by the beauty of the simple narrative itself, and the sublimity of the conceptions embodied and evolved in its course.[pg 199]Considering the book which I was reading, as one merely of human origin and invention, I could not help regarding it with such admiration, that it appeared to me above all things wonderful, I had never seen it mentioned by any of the writers of the age, or heard it spoken of by any of those who, in my presence, since I came to Rome, had talked concerning the faith and doctrines of the persecuted Christians. But this was not all. At least, said I to myself, there is something here which deserves to be inquired into and examined. Of things such as these, if told falsely, it must needs have been—nay, it must still be, easy to prove the falsehood. It is impossible that, in the days of Tiberius, any such events should have occurred in Palestine, without being more or less submitted to the inspection of Roman eyes. This is no wild tale, handed down from the dark ages of a barbarous race. Here I have a Roman Centurion described as among the witnesses of this man’s miraculous power, and acknowledging the divinity of his benevolence. Here, at least, must have been one spectator without prejudices, otherwise than against this Prophet of Nazareth. Of a surety, the legends of Rome herself contain many tales which demand a much greater measure of indulgence; since the wonders they narrate appear to have been oftentimes attended with no beneficial consequences, either to individuals or to the state; whereas here the occasion seems always to have been such as might justify the interference of supernatural might. The power of this person seems to have been exerted only for good; and his precepts are full of such godlike loftiness as neither Socrates, nor Plato, nor any of those Greek sages, who[pg 200]bowed in reverence to the hoary wisdom of Egypt and India, would have disdained to admire.The doubts, suspicions, and distrusts, with which such thoughts were mingled,—the under-current of reluctance with which I felt myself all along contending,—were such as you may more easily imagine than I can describe.As the narrative went on, however, you will have no difficulty in supposing that my attention became more and more rivetted, and that, occupied with the strange events and sublime scenes it unfolds—and agitated by turns with the pity, the wonder, the terror, and the admiration that matchless story must ever awaken,—I had forgotten every thing beyond the page of the volume on which my finger was fixed.It was only the rustling of Dromo’s cloak against the edge of my chair, that made me aware my privacy was disturbed. His hands seemed to be busied in tightening his girdle even before he was able to speak, and the first words he uttered, were—“Come, sir—this is no time for study. I have acquaintance with some of the soldiers at the Capene Gate, and they will let us pass through; but they are relieved at the next watch, and then we shall have no chance.”—“And why,”said I, hastily thrusting the scroll into my bosom—“why, Dromo, or for what purpose should we desire to pass through the Capene Gate at the dead hour of night?”—“Come,”said he;“there is no time for explanation. It is simply because it is the dead hour of night that we must pass through the gate; for it would do nobody any good to pass through at any other time. Come—or abandon Sextus to his fate.”[pg 201]Thus adjured, I could not oppose any obstacle to his zeal. The chained porter was lying asleep across the threshold; but Dromo had already found means to have the door opened, so he leaped lightly over the man, and I imitated his agility. The Cretan then locked the gate on the outside, by means of a key which he carried in his bosom; and I followed his rapid steps without farther question.This cunning varlet, (who seemed, indeed, to move as if he had a natural aversion to every open place,) threaded one obscure lane after another, keeping always, where the moonlight had any access, to the dark side of the way; a person better skilled than myself might well have been somewhat puzzled; as for me, I had not the least conception whither I was going. Close, however, did I adhere to him; and we reached the Capene Port, which is on the south side of the city, not many bow-shots from the Anio, before I could have imagined it possible to traverse so great a space.Here Dromo told me to wait for him a single moment, and stepped down into a cellar, in which a light was burning; but he staid not long, and when he returned to me, I observed that his style of walking was more clumsy than usual, which, indeed, was not to be wondered at, considering that he had now to carry, not only himself, but two huge skins of wine, intended, as I at once suspected, for the purpose of facilitating our passage. I told him my suspicion in a whisper; but he made no answer, except by handing to me one of his burdens. So laden, we crept on as well as we could to the portal, beneath the shadow of which two Prætorians were pacing, their armour ringing audibly upon[pg 202]them amidst the silence of the night.—Silently did the well-oiled hinges turn, and very silently stooping did we step beneath the lintel of the Capene Gate, which as silently was again made fast.As we advanced among the funereal monuments which line the Appian Way on either side, Dromo stood still every now and then for a moment, as if to listen; but whatever he might have heard, or expected to hear, I perceived nothing, except here and there the howl of a dog, or the lazy hooting of the night-owl, from the top of some of the old cypresses that rose between us and the moon.At last he seemed to catch the sound he had been expecting, for he started suddenly; and laying his finger on his lip, crept to the parapet.The ground behind was more desolate of aspect than any part of that which we had traversed—stoney and hard, with here and there tufts of withered fern; and immediately below the wall two human figures were visible. The one was sitting on the ground, wrapped in a dark cloak which entirely concealed the countenance: the other was a half-naked boy, holding in a string a little new-shorn lamb, which with one of his hands he continually caressed. But forthwith the sitter arose, and throwing away the cloak, displayed the gray tangled tresses of an old woman, and two strong boney arms, one of which was stretched forth with an impatient gesture towards the stripling, while the other was pointed upwards to the visible moon.“Strike,”said she,“strike deeply—beware lest the blood tinge your feet or your hands;”—and I recognized at once the voice of the same Pona that had[pg 203]attracted my notice in the morning, at the foot of the Palatine.The boy drew forth instantly a knife from his bosom, whose glittering blade was buried in the throat of the yearling, and it was then first that I perceived a small ditch dug between the boy and the woman, into which, the lamb’s throat being held over it, the blood was made to drop from the wound. So surely had the blow been given, that not one bleat escaped from the animal, and so deeply, that the blood flowed in a strong stream, dashing audibly upon the bottom of the trench. And while it was dropping, the old woman muttering a sort of chant to Hecate, as I gathered, showered from her girdle I know not what of bones or sticks, mingled with leaves and roots, which afterwards she seemed to be stirring about in the blood with one of the tall strong stems of the fern that grew there. The wildness of her gestures was such, that I could not doubt she had herself some faith in the efficacy of the foul charms to which she had resorted; nor could I see her stirring that trench of innocent blood, without remembering the still more ruthless charms, whose practice the poets of Italy have ascribed to such hoary enchantresses. The dreariness of the midnight wind, too, as it whistled along the bare and steril soil around us, and the perpetual variations in the light, by reason of the careering of those innumerable clouds, and the remembrance of the funereal purposes for which, as it seemed, all this region was set apart—the whole of this together produced, I know not how, a certain pressure upon my spirits, and I confess to you, I felt, kneeling there by the side of my now trembling Cretan, as if I owed him no[pg 204]great thanks for having brought me that night beyond the Capene Gate.It seemed as if the goddess, to whom the witch’s song had been addressed, did not listen to it with favourable ear; for the clouds gathered themselves more thickly than ever, while the wind howled only more loudly among the tombs, and the half-scared owl sent up a feebler hooting. Notwithstanding, the old woman continued fixed in the same attitude of expectation, and the stripling still held the well-nigh drained throat of his lamb above the trench. By degrees, however, the patience of both seemed to be exhausted; and there arose between them an angry altercation.“Infernal brat of Hades!”quoth the witch,“look ye, if you have not stained your filthy hands, and if the thirsty shadows be not incensed, because you have deprived them of some of the sweet blood which they love!”—“Curse not me, mother,”replied the boy—“Did you think, in truth, that the blood of a stolen lamb would ever propitiate Hecate?”—“Imp!”quoth she,“Hold thy peace, or I will try whether no other blood may make the charm work better!”—“Beware!”quoth the boy, leaping backwards—“beware what you do! I am no longer so weak that I must bear all your blows.”“Stop,”cried I,“for there are eyes that you think not of, to take note of your wickedness;”and in my vehemence I shook one of the great loose stones that were on the top of the wall, which rolled down and bounded into the ditch beside them; and the woman, huddling her cloak over her head, began to run swiftly away from us, along the wall over which we were leaning. The boy only stood still for a moment, and[pg 205]looked upwards towards the place where we were, and then he also fled, but in the opposite direction; and Dromo said to me in a very piteous whisper, but not till both were out of sight,—“Heaven and earth! was ever such madness as to scare the witch from her incantation? Alas! for you and for me, sir—and, most of all, alas for Sextus—for I fear me after this we shall have no luck in counteracting the designs of Rubellia.”“Rubellia! what? can you possibly imagine Rubellia to have any thing to do with this madness?”“Imagine?”quoth he;“do you need to be told, that if things had gone well with that woman and her ditch, we should never have been able to preserve Sextus from her clutches?”“By the rod of Hermes, good Dromo!”said I,“this will never do. I shall believe much on your credit, but not things quite so extravagant as this.”He made no reply save a long, incredulous, and, I think, contemptuous whistle, which seemed to reach the ears of every owl between us and the Appian; with such a hooting and screeching did they echo its note from every cypress. And when Dromo heard that doleful concert, his dread redoubled within him, for he shook from head to foot, while I held his arm in mine; until, at last, he seemed to make one violent effort, and springing on his feet, said—“Come, Master Valerius, let us behave after all like men!”—I smiled when he said so—“The hour has not yet come, if my Calabrian friend is to be trusted, at which the lady was to visit Pona in her dwelling. It is but daring a little more. If she has seen and known us already, then nothing can endanger us farther; and if she hath not, we may[pg 206]escape again.”—“Well spoken,”said I,“most shrewd Dromo, and like yourself; but what is it that you would have us to do?”—“The first thing,”he replied,“is what has already been too long delayed.”The Cretan produced from under his cloak a long fictitious beard, which he immediately proceeded to fix upon his own face with a string. A thin tall cap of black cloth was next brought forth, which he fastened in like manner around his brows; and a little piece of chalk, with which he once or twice rubbed over his black bushy eye-brows, completed a disguise beneath which I should certainly have sought in vain to discover any trace of the natural countenance of Dromo. In short, after a few changes in the folding of his cloak, there stood before me a figure so venerably mysterious, that had I met it unawares at midnight, in the neighbourhood of so many tombs, I am not sure, although of no superstitious temper, that I could have regarded it without awe.“Come now, good Master,”quoth he,“you are taller than I, pluck me a branch from the nearest tree, and I think you shall confess I make a decent Soothsayer.”In this it was easy to gratify him; for there was an old willow just a few yards off, and its boughs were so dry with age, that I soon abstracted a very proper wand for him. After receiving which, he stood for a moment leaning on it in a dignified fashion, as if to rehearse an attitude worthy of his new vocation; and then said—“Well, sir, I think if the Lady Rubellia comes now, we shall be tolerably prepared for her. But I have no disguise for you; therefore, the moment you hear a footstep, be sure you wrap your[pg 207]face in your gown, and stand behind me, for so shall you best consult both your own concealment, and the dignity of this Assyrian. There is no other way by which she can come from the Suburra, therefore we might stay very well where we are; but I think it might be still better to await her coming where there are either tombs or larger trees to cast a shade over our equipage, in case the moon should take it into her head to be more kind to us than she was to Pona.”—“By all means,”said I,“most venerable man—and besides, the wind is rather chilly, therefore I shall be well pleased to have shelter as well as shade.”“You shall have both,”quoth he;“there is a thick grove of pines only a little way on. I believe there is a very grand tomb in the midst of them, in case you should prefer to sit under it.—By the bye,”he continued, after some little pause,“it is odd enough that it should be so; but I believe it is the very place where all that race of the Sempronii, to which a certain young damsel belongs, have been burnt and buried ever since Rome was a city. You cannot see their tomb yet; but that is only from the thickness of the trees, some of which are, I suppose, even older than itself. Now I remember me, it was just there that they set up two winters ago the funeral pile of old Caius—I mean the father of the Lady Athanasia, whom you saw at Capito’s villa. They are a very noble race, and although none of the richest now-a-days, there is not a prouder in Rome. I saw the procession at that old man’s funeral myself, and I think the images of his ancestors that they carried before him, would have reached half way from hence to the Great Road. Grim, dusty figures, I trow they were;[pg 208]but I doubt not there had been many a haughty captain among them when they were alive.”These words were spoken as we were moving onwards towards this same grove of pines, and before he had made an end of speaking, we could clearly hear the wind sighing among their branches, and along the dry underground. And on coming to them I found that he had said truly there was a tomb in the midst of them, for a very noble, high, circular tower was indeed there, which, from the grayness of its walls, and luxuriance of ivy, had the appearance of being at least as ancient as any of the surrounding trees. The only method of access to the inside, seemed to be by means of a winding stair, which rose on the exterior from the ground to the summit—a method not unusual in Roman sepulchres—and it was on one of the steps of this stair that I seated myself, where, between the shaded wall on the one side, and the pine branches on the other, I was effectually concealed. As for Dromo, I know not whether it was that he coveted not exactly such close proximity to the stones of such an edifice; but instead of ascending with me, he took up a position beside one of the largest pines over against me.Although the moon had got rid of her clouds, and the sky, where any of it could be seen, was abundantly brilliant, the natural darkness of that funereal grove was such, that very little difference could be produced in the midst of it by any variation on the face of any nightly luminary. The tower itself received some of the moonbeams on its carved surface; but its contemporary trees participated not in any such illumination,—one solemn shade covering all things beneath the[pg 209]influence of their growth.“I can scarcely see you, Dromo,”said I;“but I think that speck must be your beard, and if so, I beg you would tell me what it is you really have in view by all this preparation? Do you expect me to stay here on a tomb-stone all night, merely because you wish to have an opportunity of terrifying poor Rubellia by some ghost-like howl or other when she passes you?—which, by the way, it seems by no means certain she will do at all. Or what is your purpose?”—“Hush!”was his answer;“ask no questions, but hem thrice if you hear a footstep—for young ears are the keenest.”Accordingly silence was kept so strictly, that, in spite of the chillness of the stone on which I sate, I presently fell into a sort of dozing slumber.By degrees, however,—nor, considering the hour and the fatigue I had undergone, is it wonderful that it should have been so,—my sleep must have become sufficiently profound, for I did not at first, on waking from it, very well remember either where I was, or for what purpose I had come thither. And, indeed, I have little doubt my slumbers might have continued till day-break, but for the interruption I am now to mention.And yet it seemed as if even in my sleep I had been prepared for this by some strange anticipation, for although it was a near sound of singing voices that dispelled my slumbers, and made me start from the stone on which I had placed myself, I could not help feeling as if that sound were not altogether new to me;—whether it were that the half-sensible ear had been already ministering indistinctly to the dreaming spirit, or that some purely fantastic prelude had been vouch[pg 210]safed to the real music. I started up suddenly, that much is certain, and listened with astonishment, yet not altogether with such surprise as might have been expected to attend a transition so hasty from sleep to waking, and from silence to the near neighbourhood of sounds at once so strange and so sweet. With breathless curiosity, nevertheless, with awe, and not entirely I think without terror, did I listen to the notes which seemed to ascend out of the habitation of the noble dead into the nightly air—wild, yet solemn, as if breathed from the bosom of a stately repose and a pensive felicity; insomuch, that almost I persuaded myself I was hearing the forbidden sounds of another world, and the thought came over me,—yet almost I think at that moment without farther disturbing me,—what fearful interpretations the old poets have affixed to such untimely communion, and how the superstition of all antiquity has shrunk from its omen.My first impulse, after a moment had elapsed, was to call on Dromo, and I did so, at first in a low whisper, and then two or three times more loudly—but all equally in vain, for no answer was returned; and though I strained my eyes in gazing on the place where I had last seen him, yet there I could perceive no trace whatever of any human figure. The moonlight indeed shewed with more distinctness than before the tall stem of the old pine-tree against which he had been leaning; but no motion, nor the least appearance of whiteness, could either my eyes or my imagination discover there. I might easily, you will say, have stept across the road, and entirely satisfied myself; but I know not well[pg 211]what it was that nailed me to the place where I stood, and prevented me even from once thinking of doing so. The calm sepulchral music, my friends, still continued to stream from the recess of the mausoleum, and painless awe held me there, as if by a charm incontrollable. I gazed upwards, and beheld the moon riding above the black pine tops, in a now serene and cloudless heaven. The wind also had passed away, as it appeared, with the clouds it had agitated. The bird of night was asleep on her unseen bough; and all was silent as death, except only the dwelling of the departed; and a certain indescribable delight was beginning, as I gazed and listened, to be mixed with the perturbation wherewith at first I had been inspired.And I know not how long I might have stood so, but while I was yet listening to this mysterious music, there was mingled with its expiring cadence the sound of a heavy footstep on the staircase above me, and looking up, I perceived in the moonlight the figure of a man, clad in a white gown, but having a naked sword stretched forth in his hand, immediately over the place whereon I was standing. I obeyed the first natural impulse, and leaped downwards swiftly on seeing him; but this availed me nothing, for he also leaped, and almost before my feet had touched the ground, I felt the grasp of his hand upon my shoulder, and that so strongly, that I perceived plainly there was as little possibility of escape as of resistance. I made therefore no farther effort, but suffered him to do with me as he pleased; and he, on his part, said not a single word, but still retaining his hold, pointed with his sword to the same steps from which I had descended, and com[pg 212]pelled me to mount them before him, up to the very summit of the round tower.“Why is this, sir?”said I;“and whither do you conduct me?”“Peace,”was all his answer; and, in like manner as he had made me climb the exterior, so also he compelled me to begin the descent of a similar flight of steps, which led down from an aperture above, into the interior of the edifice. And although I must confess to you that I obeyed not this silent guidance without considerable fear, yet I strove as well as I could to control myself. I moved with a step in which I think not there could be perceived any trembling.Yet you will admit that even had I been master at that moment of less firmness, I might have been excusable; for looking down, I perceived that a lamp was burning in the midst of the sepulchral tower far below me, and saw sitting around it a company of eight or ten persons, at whose mercy, it was quite visible, I must be placed. Neither, if I might judge from the demeanour of the person that was bringing me into their assembly, did there appear to be any great room for dependance on them; for, as to themselves, not one of them looked up towards me as I was stepping down, and being wrapped in their cloaks, I had no means of discovering what manner of persons they were. The way in which I had been treated, however, by one of their number, was a sufficient evidence, either that they conceived themselves to have been injured by my being there, or that they were capable of taking some undue advantage of my helpless condition. The calmness of their attitudes, and the recollection of the sounds[pg 213]that I had heard, inclined me to the former of these suppositions; and when I perceived that not one of them stirred, even till I had reached the lowmost step of the interior staircase, in this, without question, I already felt myself considerably strengthened.“Behold,”said my guide, as I at length touched the marble floor of the mausoleum itself—“Behold proof, and that living, that my suspicions were not quite so groundless as you were pleased to imagine. Here is a man whom I found listening, even on the very steps of this tower. It is for you to decide what shall be done with the eaves-dropper.”With this the whole company sprung at once to their feet, and I perceived evidently, from the surprise expressed in their looks and attitudes, that until that moment not one of them had been aware of my approach. I was about to speak, and declare my innocence of any treachery, or even of any knowledge concerning the purpose of their meeting; but before I could do so, one of them, and I think the oldest of all that were present, having in an instant recovered the tranquillity which my arrival had disturbed, said to me in a voice of the utmost gentleness,“Young man, what has brought thee hither, or who sent thee? Art thou indeed a spy, and was it thy purpose to betray our assembly?”“Sir,”said I,“I know nothing of your assembly, or of its purpose; I fell asleep by accident on the outside of this tower, and, when I awoke, the music that I heard detained me.”“Examine the stripling,”quoth he that had conducted me—“examine his person.”—“His looks belie[pg 214]him,”replied the senior,“if you have cause for suspicion. But if you will it so, search the young man.”And with that my guide, laying his unsheathed sword upon a table, or altar of black marble, proceeded to search my garments, and finding in my bosom the scroll which I had received from Tisias, he glanced on it for a moment, and then handing it to the senior, said,“Now, sirs, doubt ye if ye will.”—“Before heaven—it is the book of the holy Luke!”said the other;“this is indeed suspicious. How came this scroll into thy hands, young man? Art thou aware that one of the books of the Christians has been found in thy bosom?”—“I know it,”said I;“it is one of the books of their faith, and I have read in it this evening for the first time.”—“Then thou art not thyself a Christian?”—“I received the book from one Christian,”said I, waiving the question;“and I made promise to deliver it into the hands of another?”—“Name the Christian who gave thee this book!”said my stern guide.—“Tisias of Antioch,”I replied;“the same who died yesterday in the Amphitheatre.”—“Yes,”quoth he, again;“and I suppose it was there he gave it to you. Every one knows the name of Tisias. Name, if you please, the person to whom you are to deliver the book.”—“You shall pardon me,”said I,“that I will not. You may call me an eaves-dropper, if you will; but you shall find I am no traitor. It is a Roman—a noble Roman lady to whom I must give this book; and I would not tell you her name although you should slaughter me here in this tomb, which I have entered living and without guilt.”And having said this, I folded my arms, and stood still, abiding their will.[pg 215]But scarcely had I finished these words, ere I felt a small trembling hand laid upon my shoulder, and looking round, I perceived Athanasia herself, who whispered into my ear,—“Valerius, was the book for me? If so, you may say it boldly, and I will vouch for your word.”—“For you, lady,”I answered in the same tone,“and for none other. You well know that I was present in his prison the night before his death; so far at least you can confirm what I have said.”“Sir,”said she, addressing the old man that had before questioned me,“I know this young man: and I believe what he has said, and will be answerable for his fidelity. It was he that went in to our friend the other night in his prison, and the book was intrusted to him by the old man, that it might be given into my hands. His name is Valerius—Caius Valerius—and he is by birth a noble Roman.”“Say you so, lady?”interrupted my original conductor;“then I ask his pardon. I have wronged Caius Valerius; but both you and he must forgive me, for it must be confessed he was found in a very extraordinary situation.”“Even so,”I replied,“I have nothing to complain of. I perceive that I am present in an assembly of Christians; but he shall do me much wrong that thinks I bear any enmity to them,—or, from all that I have yet seen or read, to the faith which they profess. I have read part of that book,”I continued,“for I made promise to Tisias that I should do so before giving it to Athanasia; and I trust I shall still be permitted by her to read more of it before it is finally demanded from me.”—“Oh, read it!”said Athanasia, gently again whis[pg 216]pering to me.“Oh yes, read the book, Valerius, and may God enlighten the reader.”And so saying, she herself took up the scroll from the table on which it was lying, and gave it again into my hands.—“There was also a letter for you,”said I, receiving it,“but that I left at home.”—“No matter,”said Athanasia,“you shall give me the letter and the book both together hereafter.”“In the meantime,”said I,“I suppose it were better I should retire.”“Young sir,”said the senior,“that is as you please; in a little while we shall all be moving towards the city. Stay with us till then, if such be your will; that which you may hear, can at least do you no harm. Already, I doubt not, you have seen enough to despise the ignorant calumnies of our enemies.”When he had said so, the old man walked to the side of the sepulchre, and took out from behind one of the urns that stood there, (ranged in their niches,) a small casquet, which, returning, he placed before him on the marble table. Then, opening the casquet, he brought forth a silver goblet, and a salver containing some little pieces of bread; and, untying from his neck a massive cross of gold, he set that also on the table, between the cup and the salver. In brief, the Christian priest, (for such, as you already see, he was,) had finished his preparation, and was about to commence the administration of the blessed Eucharist. And when all the rest were kneeling before the table, Athanasia, laying her hand upon my arm, beckoned to me to kneel by her side; and so indeed I would have done in my ignorance, had not the priest himself pointed to[pg 217]a station a few yards behind the lady, to which, accordingly, I drew back—apart from those who were to be privileged with the participation of those holy symbols.Scarcely had they composed themselves in their places, and listened to the first words of the appointed service, when I, standing there by myself, thought, unless my ears deceived me, there must be some one on the outer stair-case of the tower; and my eyes instinctively, I suppose, were fixed upon the aperture, which, as I have told you, was in the high roof above the circle of the niched walls. Here, however, when I first looked, there was nothing to be seen, but the round spot of the sky, far up in the midst of the marble roof; but while I was looking steadfastly, that space was suddenly diminished; and a dog bayed, and at the same moment a voice which I well knew, screamed,“I have them—I hold them—let them burst the net if they can.”The cry of Pona disturbed effectually the Christian priest, and the whole of those that were with him. Rising up hastily from their knees, they stood all together around the table, while the old man, having kissed both the cup and the cross, restored them as quickly as he could to the casket from which they had been taken. But while the priest was doing this, he that found me on the stair appearing to revert into his suspicion, and looking sternly upon me where I stood, said,“Is this then the innocence which we spared! Is this the noble Roman for whom Athanasia pledged herself? Speak, brethren, what shall be done to this traitor, by whom, even more than by those dogs of the tombs, it is a shame for us that we have been[pg 218]hunted?”Saying so, the man lifted up his sword again, and it seemed as if he would have smitten me to the ground without farther question. But Athanasia threw herself swiftly between him and me.“For shame, Cotilius,”said she;“such suspiciousness is unworthy of a Roman knight.”—“You say well, noble damsel,”quoth the old priest, interrupting her;“but you might say also that such cruelty is unworthy of a soldier of Christ. Peace, peace, children; there is no evil in the youth, nor, if there were, would it be our part to avenge it.”While he was saying this, three or four blazing torches were thrust down into the place from above, and Athanasia, laying her hand upon my arm, said,“Look up, Caius, I see helmets.—Alas! am I not already here? why, if they will slay me, should they drag me away now from the tomb of my fathers?”I felt the trembling of her hands, and she leaned upon my shoulder. I know not, I will confess to you, whether at that moment I tasted more of pleasure or of pain.But by this time several of the soldiers had already begun to descend into the tower, and before another minute had elapsed, we found ourselves surrounded by the flame of their torches. And he that seemed to lead the party, after counting us one by one, said, turning to his companions,“Well, an old woman has told the truth for once—here are even more I think than she warned us of.—Come along, worthy people, you must not keep the Tribune waiting for you all night, and our watch is well-nigh expired already. Come, mount the stair—it will take a good half hour yet, I believe, to[pg 219]lodge you all safely in the Tullian—And do you,”he added, laying his hand on the hilt of Cotilius’ sword—“do you, brave sir, allow me to save you the trouble of carrying this bauble.”Nor was the stern knight so foolish as to dispute the command; but having yielded up his sword, he forthwith began to ascend, one or two spearmen preceding him with their torches. The priest followed, and so did the rest; the last being Athanasia and myself.On every side around the old tower, when I looked from the summit of it, I perceived foot soldiers drawn up in a double line, while the road along which I had come with Dromo, was occupied by a band of horsemen, one of whom moved forward when he saw us descending, as if to take cognizance of the number and quality of the surprised assembly. His long cloak being muffled about his ears as he sate, and the shadow of his helmet falling deeply, I did not at first suspect who it was; but he had not counted half the party to the superior Officer behind him, ere I recognized him from the sound of his voice; and who, think ye, should it be but my good friend Sabinus?The Centurion, when his eye detected me, checked his horse so sharply that the animal bounded into the air; and,“Valerius!”quoth he,“ha! by the life of Cæsar, what is the meaning of this? Valerius in a Christian synagogue! By all the gods, there must be some mistake.”But before I, in my confusion, could make any answer to these exclamations, his eye chanced to glance on Athanasia, who, trembling, still retained the support of my arm; whereupon,“Ha! ha!”said he, in a quite different tone of voice,“there is a lady in[pg 220]the case.”And then, stooping in his seat, he whispered, half laughing, into my ear,“My most hypocritical smooth-face, you shall see what is the consequence of bringing these transatlantic pranks of yours to Rome. By Hercules, you wild dog, it may cost you some little trouble to get out of this scrape.”Having said so, he turned his horse, and rejoining the troop, appeared to enter into close conversation with him who sate at the head of the line. Of what my friend said, I could catch nothing more than certain vehement oaths, while, all the time, the Tribune (for such he was) continued to shake his head, in a way significant at once of doubt and determination. The end was, that he pointed with his sword; and Sabinus forced his horse backwards, at one plunge, into the place from which he had advanced.Our party were immediately separated one from another. I saw the priest lifted on a mule and hurried away towards the city, with a horseman on each hand of him. The fiery Cotilius, and one or two more, were compelled to follow, with similar attendance, in the same direction; others, again, had their horses’ heads turned more to the westward—but all departed at speed, and were soon lost to my view among the projections of the tombs. The last that remained to be disposed of were Athanasia and myself, and for a moment I had some hope that we might perhaps be intrusted to the same guards; but this hope was in vain, and after I perceived that it was so, scarcely even was time permitted to me for bidding her farewell. To kiss her hand, and to whisper a single word of parting hope into her ear, was all I could do. A tear rolled from her[pg 221]cheek and fell upon my hand; yet she smiled faintly upon me, and“Hope,”said she—“yes, dear Valerius, Hope and Faith both go with me.”And with that the pale maiden was separated from the arm to which she had trusted, and I saw her also mounted and borne away rapidly. A moment after, I found myself, in like manner, seized and lifted upon a horse, and almost before I could look around me, we had escaped from the flare of the torches, and the crowd of the soldiery, and were stretching at a rapid pace, I knew not whither, although I suspected, from the width of the road, that we had regained the Appian.But I have forgotten to mention to you, that just at the moment when they were lifting Athanasia upon the mule that was to bear her from my sight, my eye caught a glimpse of the witch Pona, who was sitting at the root of one of the pine-trees, close to the tower. And behind her stood, leaning against the tree, a figure wrapped in a rich red cloak, which I suspected to be a female also, but could not be certain, because the countenance was concealed in the folds of the garment. To this person, whoever it might be, the witch turned round eagerly, while the soldiers were carrying off Athanasia. I saw no more, for, as I have told you, immediately afterwards I also was carried away.

[pg 176]CHAPTER III.I had walked by the side of my young friend, and behind the Stoic, (who, I think, was expressing, in his pompous fashion, much admiration of the singing of Rubellia,) along one or two of the great halls in which the library is contained, before the novelty of the objects surrounding me made any impression even on my eyes; and even after these were in some measure engaged, my mind still continued to dwell on that troubled aspect, and on the notes of the uncompleted song. At length, however, the levity of youth, and natural curiosity revived; and I began to be present, not in body merely, in a place where there was much that might well interest the mind. Far-receding rows of columns conducted my eyes into the interminable recesses of that wide range of chambers, in which the records of the thought and spirit of all past ages are piled up together; and gazing on the loaded shelves which every where ascended into the galleries, I could not but be affected with many new emotions. I perused glorious names on the busts that seemed to preside over the different compartments. The high filletted front of Homer detained for the first time my contemplation; the eyes of the divine old man, even in sculpture, distinctly[pg 177]and visibly blind, while the serenity and sanctity of the towering forehead, revealed how the intense perception at once of the lovely and the great could compensate for visions of earthly beauty shut out. The mild Plato, and the imperious Stagyrite—Pindar—Simonides—Alcæus—and I know not how many more, succeeded as we passed along—each in his own sphere, reigning by himself; yet all connected together by a certain common air of greatness, like so many successive princes, or contemporary heroes of the same mighty empire.From this main range, there diverged many lesser chambers, in which we saw studious persons engaged, each seated by himself, and having his eyes fixed on the parchment before him. Of these, some deigned not to intimate by the smallest movement their perception that any one had approached; but with others Xerophrastes exchanged, as he walked, lofty salutation, and one or two even entered, for a moment, into conversation with him. With one of these, indeed, (an ancient of bitter aspect,) to such a length did the colloquy extend, that we began to think we should never be able to get our Stoic away from him; till, as our fortune would have it, it became necessary for them to have a certain book for the purpose of reference, and then Xerophrastes began to make inquiries concerning Parmeno, who, as I gathered, must needs be one of those intrusted with the care of the library.“I am afraid,”said the other,“if we must wait for him, we shall not be able to get that work either to-day or to-morrow; for his pupil, the son of Fabricius, is dead, and I suppose he will now change his quarters,[pg 178]and be no longer seen so often about these haunts of the muses.”“Alas!”interrupted Sextus,“I met Fabricius in the Forum a few days ago, and he told me his son was ill; but little did I imagine my dear companion was so near his end! Is it indeed so?”“Even so,”rejoined the other.“Rapid have been the shears of Atropos! It is but a few moments since Agaso, the painter passed; and, he told me he had been receiving orders to take a likeness, as well as he could, from the corpse.”“If Agaso be so engaged,”replied Xerophrastes,“I am afraid we need not expect to find him neither in his usual place. Perhaps we had better make inquiry for him at the dwelling of Fabricius.”To this Sextus assented; or rather, being lost in reflection concerning the death of his friend, he suffered himself to be conducted by the Stoic. Passing, therefore, through one or two more apartments, we issued forth, and drew near to the vestibule of Fabricius’ house, who, as they told me, was a noble Roman, having the chief superintendance of the whole library, and an intimate friend of Licinius—one whose domestic calamity could not fail to spread much affliction through a wide circle of patrician kindred.At the vestibule, we found assembled not a few of the young man’s relations; but Xerophrastes immediately said,“Behold Parmeno, he is the most afflicted; and what wonder that it should be so?”“Alas!”said Sextus,“the bier is set forth; the last rites are to be performed this evening.”This Parmeno was a striking figure. Seated close[pg 179]by the bier, his head was involved in his cloak, so that only his eyes and his nose could be seen, but these of themselves expressed a decorous affliction; and the folds of the cloak fell down over the rest of his person in great order and dignity. On the pavement beside him was seen lying, half-unfolded, a book inscribed with the name of Heraclitus, which he appeared to have been reading. When Xerophrastes approached, this mourner stretched forth his hand, and shook his head, but he did not say any thing, nor even look towards the rest of us; and indeed to have done so, would have disturbed the attitude in which he had placed himself. Xerophrastes, on his part, received the proffered hand, and shaking his head in response, said,“Yes, my Ionian friend, I may still bid thee hail and live; but I must say farewell to the plant thou wast rearing. Farewell to the youthful promise of Fabricius!”On hearing these words, the sitting philosopher drew his mantle quite over his face, and leant himself heavily against one of the fluted columns of the vestibule, for he seemed to be much shaken. In the meantime Sextus approached the bier, and contemplated his companion as he lay there wreathed with melancholy garlands; his countenance bearing a natural mixture of sadness and astonishment. Nor could I, who had never before seen the young man, behold the spectacle without similar emotions; for his age, as it seemed, could not have been much different from my own, and the pale features were interesting, their expression not less amiable than solemn.“Alas!”said Sextus,“the last time I saw him, how[pg 180]differently did he appear! We rode out together with some others to Tibur, and spent all the day there; and as we returned by the moonlight, how joyous his conversation! Methinks I yet hear him laughing and speaking. We parted at the foot of the Capitoline, and never did I see him again till now.”“Oh, fate of man!”quoth Xerophrastes;“how uncertain is life, how certain death! Without doubt, young Fabricius had as little thought of dying as any of your company; and yet, see now, he is arrayed for the last time, and this juvenile gown, which he should so soon have laid aside for the manly, is destined to be consumed with him.”“A fine lad he was,”cries one of the standers by,—“a fine lad, and an excellent horseman. The Martian Field did not often behold such a rider in these degenerate days of the Roman youth.”But while the rest were still contemplating the bier, Xerophrastes, turning to his brother philosopher, said,“Tell me now, my learned friend, do you still, after this mournful event, continue to reside with the elder Fabricius? Has that excellent man any more sons to be educated, or will he retain you only for the sake of the library, with which assuredly he will find few so conversant as yourself?”To which Parmeno replied,“Your question, O Xerophrastes, shews that clear judgment concerning the affairs of men, for which you have always been celebrated. No, my friend, the gray-haired Fabricius no longer requires my residence here; for he is about to retire into one of his villas on the Campanian shore, and to bury for ever his affliction in the privacy of[pg 181]his woods. We are about to part, not without mutual tears; and several Patricians have already been applying to him for his influence with me, whom, although unworthy of so much research, they earnestly covet, and wish to engage as the instructor of their young men. I have been sitting here not unseen, beside this my former charge, and each is impatient to solicit me into his service.”“Your reputation I well know is high,”replied Xerophrastes,“and deservedly so; more particularly, for that fine talent you have for giving metaphysical interpretations of mythology, and for explaining the obscure allegories of ancient poets. But for my own part, Parmeno, I find not so much delight in abstract ideas, or in the passive contemplation of the universe; but incline rather to study, as heretofore, that part of philosophy which relates to action, and the morality of duty.”“Yes, worthy Xerophrastes,”returned he, with a most languid serenity;“and so far as I understand, you sort well in this with the stirring disposition of your friend Licinius.”To which Xerophrastes made answer:—“My patron Licinius is fond of action, and I of the rules of action. He says, it is only in war, or in civil functions of a public nature, that a person can prove himself a man. The rest, he says, is visionary, and comes to nothing, or is a slumber of the mind in sensuality, without thought.”“Does he think, then,”quoth Parmeno, his wobegone countenance relaxing into a smile,—“Does Licinius think, then, there is no sensuality in perpetual action,[pg 182]and declamation and noise? To me such things appear almost as trivial as the lazy enjoyments of Epicureans, besides being harsh and disagreeable, and not unfrequently ridiculous. But observe, O Xerophrastes! that I speak these things as it were abstractly, and not by any means in disparagement of Licinius, your excellent patron and friend.”To which the stoic replied in astonishment—“What is this you have said? Do you assert that action is sensual?”Then Parmeno, lifting from the pavement the book which he had been reading, or appearing to read, said,“It is even so, most erudite Xerophrastes. Indeed, I have always delighted in the most primitive and remote doctrines handed down from antiquity; and among others, in the riddles of this obscure Ephesian. Following the scope of his philosophy, I am led to believe, that, so often as the mind impels, or is impelled by other causes, it begins to lose sight of pure knowledge, and becomes in danger of thinking that every thing is vain, light, and evanescent, except what is perceived by the senses. Heraclitus well says, that Love and Hatred govern all things. Now, when the principle of Discord prevails, it subjects all things to the dominion of action, and to the gross perceptions of sense. But when that of Love is prevalent, it emancipates the struggling chaos of things from the yearning of compulsion, and from the darkness of sensual proximity; for, between things that struggle immediately against each other, light has no room to enter in and shine; and therefore it is, that, when Love gains the ascendency, a new arrangement is produced—an arrangement which, if I[pg 183]may so express it, is more serene, transparent, orderly and divine, and wherein things exist in safety from the danger of mutual destruction.”After a preliminary cough:—“My opinion,”replied Xerophrastes,“coincides rather with that of Empedocles. The immortal Sicilian thinks that Discord is the only separating and arranging principle which marks the boundaries between things, and enables them mutually to act and repel, in such a way as to preserve order.”—“Nay, nay,”interrupted Parmeno, his hands being by this quite disentangled from his cloak, and his countenance lighted up,—“Nay, nay, to such doctrine I never shall assent. From Empedocles—even from Xerophrastes, I must differ for ever on this head. The order of which you and the Sicilian speak, is the order of darkness only, and of blind force,—a kind of order in which fierceness and cruelty always reign.”But Xerophrastes continued:—“And I farther concur with Empedocles in thinking, that Love is a principle of which the predominance is more fit to turn order into a chaos, than to produce the effects you have described.”—“Nay, speak not against Love,”quoth Parmeno—“Speak not against Love, nor believe that any respect is due to the dictates of Empedocles, who taught the worst that can be taught by any man—that is to say, the alternation of order and confusion succeeding each other throughout all time. To seek for truth in conceptions like these, is no better than to seek repose in the bosom of Ætna.”—“In reference to that point,”resumed Xerophrastes,“I agree with you in your disapprobation of Empedocles. But when you say, that Love is the source of knowledge, you[pg 184]much astonish me; for I have always thought rather that its tendency is to bring confusion upon the mind.”“Once more,”said Parmeno—“once more, let me beseech you to say nothing against love. You are thinking of the love of particular objects. You speak of Cupid, and not of that heavenly Eros, who, so far from enchaining, or tyrannizing over the mind, rather enables it to escape into the tranquil freedom of far extended contemplation. But what is contemplation without the knowledge of permanent forms, on which the mind may find repose, and so keep itself from being perplexed by the shifting aspects of the many-coloured universe? And therefore it is, O Xerophrastes, that, sometimes laying aside Heraclitus, I study the ancient verses of the poet, Xenophanes, who shews, by the nature of abstract forms, that a certain unity pervades all things. Xenophanes mused of old at Colophon, looking through the blue ether of my native Ionia.—But why should I speak thus at length? Alas! what is the occasion of our being here!—I perceive the approach of the poet, who was to compose an inscription for the urn of my dear Fabricius. Yonder also is the architect, who comes with a design for the tomb. Oh! day of wo, that I should sit in judgment concerning the epitaph and tomb of my ingenuous youth!”“It is, indeed, true,”replied Xerophrastes,“that even I, in the repercussions of our talk, had well-nigh forgotten this unhappy occurrence; but, perhaps, there is something not after all entirely excusable in our giving so much superiority to the affairs of philosophical discussion. Now, however, it is evident, that we must suspend our colloquy—And who, I beseech you, above[pg 185]all things, is he that now draws near to the place of this mournful assembly, holding a horse in his hand. Methinks I have seen his face before.”“That you have indeed, Master,”quoth he that had come up,—“that you have; and no longer ago than yesterday neither, if you will be pleased to give yourself the trouble of recollecting. My name is Aspar—I am well known. If but my excellent friend, the noble Centurion Sabinus, were here, poor old Aspar would have no reason to complain of the want of a good word.”“Good morrow to you, Aspar,”said Sextus;“but what is it that brings you hither just at this moment? And for what purpose have you brought your horse with you? for people of your sort do not in general ride in the courts of the Palatine.”“Alas!”quoth Aspar,“and is it you, who seem to have been one of the contemporaries of that peerless youth—is it you that ask such a question as this? I did not, in truth, imagine that there was any friend of young Fabricius, who did not know his affection for little Sora. There is not such another within twenty miles of the Capitol; but I brought her hither merely out of regard for the family. As for myself, I should never bear to look on her again with pleasure, after knowing the sudden manner of his death. I wish to Heaven the filly were fairly lodged in one of the paddocks of the Lord Fabricius himself.”“Lead the animal round into the stables,”says Parmeno,“and I doubt not care will be taken of her.—Yonder comes one of the buffoons of the theatre;—he, I doubt not, is here to disgrace, if he be permitted, this solemn scene, with ranting quotations from the tragic[pg 186]poets. Alas! alas! I cannot bear all this: There also advance the officiators from the Temple of Libitina; they have their cypress boughs ready in their hands. Oh, my learned friend, I cannot sustain these things; let me be gone into the mansion.”The admirer of Heraclitus, picking up his scroll, and gathering together the folds of his mantle, moved slowly into the house, Xerophrastes following with similar gestures. Sextus and I also were about to take our departure; and he, having procured from one of the slaves of the house a myrtle garland, had already placed it upon the bier of the young Fabricius, as the last testimonial of his concern; when there drew near two young men, clad in long mantles of black, who, solemnly embracing my friend, began to exchange with him many expressions of grief.While they were thus engaged, Rubellia, who had been standing all this while a little apart, sent a boy to inform us that the painter we were in search of had at last made his appearance, and was anxious to proceed with his portrait. I drew Sextus away, therefore, and soon joined the lady and the artist; but as we were moving off thus, one of the bystanding slaves, an old gray-headed man, came up and whispered to Sextus,“Sir, be not deceived; these two nephews of my bereaved master are to me the most disagreeable part of all this preparation. You have heard their lamentation, and seen their sweeping raiment of mourning; but, be sure, a principal subject of their reflection is the probability that one or other of them must be adopted by Fabricius. Alas! alas! so goes all between Lucina and Libitina. There was never a birth nor a[pg 187]marriage that did not create some sorrow, nor a funeral procession that did not give rise to some joy. Your rhetoricians talk, but what avails it all? Slaves and masters are alike subjected to the evils of the world, and of these death is both the last and the least.”

I had walked by the side of my young friend, and behind the Stoic, (who, I think, was expressing, in his pompous fashion, much admiration of the singing of Rubellia,) along one or two of the great halls in which the library is contained, before the novelty of the objects surrounding me made any impression even on my eyes; and even after these were in some measure engaged, my mind still continued to dwell on that troubled aspect, and on the notes of the uncompleted song. At length, however, the levity of youth, and natural curiosity revived; and I began to be present, not in body merely, in a place where there was much that might well interest the mind. Far-receding rows of columns conducted my eyes into the interminable recesses of that wide range of chambers, in which the records of the thought and spirit of all past ages are piled up together; and gazing on the loaded shelves which every where ascended into the galleries, I could not but be affected with many new emotions. I perused glorious names on the busts that seemed to preside over the different compartments. The high filletted front of Homer detained for the first time my contemplation; the eyes of the divine old man, even in sculpture, distinctly[pg 177]and visibly blind, while the serenity and sanctity of the towering forehead, revealed how the intense perception at once of the lovely and the great could compensate for visions of earthly beauty shut out. The mild Plato, and the imperious Stagyrite—Pindar—Simonides—Alcæus—and I know not how many more, succeeded as we passed along—each in his own sphere, reigning by himself; yet all connected together by a certain common air of greatness, like so many successive princes, or contemporary heroes of the same mighty empire.

From this main range, there diverged many lesser chambers, in which we saw studious persons engaged, each seated by himself, and having his eyes fixed on the parchment before him. Of these, some deigned not to intimate by the smallest movement their perception that any one had approached; but with others Xerophrastes exchanged, as he walked, lofty salutation, and one or two even entered, for a moment, into conversation with him. With one of these, indeed, (an ancient of bitter aspect,) to such a length did the colloquy extend, that we began to think we should never be able to get our Stoic away from him; till, as our fortune would have it, it became necessary for them to have a certain book for the purpose of reference, and then Xerophrastes began to make inquiries concerning Parmeno, who, as I gathered, must needs be one of those intrusted with the care of the library.

“I am afraid,”said the other,“if we must wait for him, we shall not be able to get that work either to-day or to-morrow; for his pupil, the son of Fabricius, is dead, and I suppose he will now change his quarters,[pg 178]and be no longer seen so often about these haunts of the muses.”

“Alas!”interrupted Sextus,“I met Fabricius in the Forum a few days ago, and he told me his son was ill; but little did I imagine my dear companion was so near his end! Is it indeed so?”

“Even so,”rejoined the other.“Rapid have been the shears of Atropos! It is but a few moments since Agaso, the painter passed; and, he told me he had been receiving orders to take a likeness, as well as he could, from the corpse.”

“If Agaso be so engaged,”replied Xerophrastes,“I am afraid we need not expect to find him neither in his usual place. Perhaps we had better make inquiry for him at the dwelling of Fabricius.”

To this Sextus assented; or rather, being lost in reflection concerning the death of his friend, he suffered himself to be conducted by the Stoic. Passing, therefore, through one or two more apartments, we issued forth, and drew near to the vestibule of Fabricius’ house, who, as they told me, was a noble Roman, having the chief superintendance of the whole library, and an intimate friend of Licinius—one whose domestic calamity could not fail to spread much affliction through a wide circle of patrician kindred.

At the vestibule, we found assembled not a few of the young man’s relations; but Xerophrastes immediately said,“Behold Parmeno, he is the most afflicted; and what wonder that it should be so?”

“Alas!”said Sextus,“the bier is set forth; the last rites are to be performed this evening.”

This Parmeno was a striking figure. Seated close[pg 179]by the bier, his head was involved in his cloak, so that only his eyes and his nose could be seen, but these of themselves expressed a decorous affliction; and the folds of the cloak fell down over the rest of his person in great order and dignity. On the pavement beside him was seen lying, half-unfolded, a book inscribed with the name of Heraclitus, which he appeared to have been reading. When Xerophrastes approached, this mourner stretched forth his hand, and shook his head, but he did not say any thing, nor even look towards the rest of us; and indeed to have done so, would have disturbed the attitude in which he had placed himself. Xerophrastes, on his part, received the proffered hand, and shaking his head in response, said,“Yes, my Ionian friend, I may still bid thee hail and live; but I must say farewell to the plant thou wast rearing. Farewell to the youthful promise of Fabricius!”

On hearing these words, the sitting philosopher drew his mantle quite over his face, and leant himself heavily against one of the fluted columns of the vestibule, for he seemed to be much shaken. In the meantime Sextus approached the bier, and contemplated his companion as he lay there wreathed with melancholy garlands; his countenance bearing a natural mixture of sadness and astonishment. Nor could I, who had never before seen the young man, behold the spectacle without similar emotions; for his age, as it seemed, could not have been much different from my own, and the pale features were interesting, their expression not less amiable than solemn.

“Alas!”said Sextus,“the last time I saw him, how[pg 180]differently did he appear! We rode out together with some others to Tibur, and spent all the day there; and as we returned by the moonlight, how joyous his conversation! Methinks I yet hear him laughing and speaking. We parted at the foot of the Capitoline, and never did I see him again till now.”

“Oh, fate of man!”quoth Xerophrastes;“how uncertain is life, how certain death! Without doubt, young Fabricius had as little thought of dying as any of your company; and yet, see now, he is arrayed for the last time, and this juvenile gown, which he should so soon have laid aside for the manly, is destined to be consumed with him.”

“A fine lad he was,”cries one of the standers by,—“a fine lad, and an excellent horseman. The Martian Field did not often behold such a rider in these degenerate days of the Roman youth.”

But while the rest were still contemplating the bier, Xerophrastes, turning to his brother philosopher, said,“Tell me now, my learned friend, do you still, after this mournful event, continue to reside with the elder Fabricius? Has that excellent man any more sons to be educated, or will he retain you only for the sake of the library, with which assuredly he will find few so conversant as yourself?”

To which Parmeno replied,“Your question, O Xerophrastes, shews that clear judgment concerning the affairs of men, for which you have always been celebrated. No, my friend, the gray-haired Fabricius no longer requires my residence here; for he is about to retire into one of his villas on the Campanian shore, and to bury for ever his affliction in the privacy of[pg 181]his woods. We are about to part, not without mutual tears; and several Patricians have already been applying to him for his influence with me, whom, although unworthy of so much research, they earnestly covet, and wish to engage as the instructor of their young men. I have been sitting here not unseen, beside this my former charge, and each is impatient to solicit me into his service.”

“Your reputation I well know is high,”replied Xerophrastes,“and deservedly so; more particularly, for that fine talent you have for giving metaphysical interpretations of mythology, and for explaining the obscure allegories of ancient poets. But for my own part, Parmeno, I find not so much delight in abstract ideas, or in the passive contemplation of the universe; but incline rather to study, as heretofore, that part of philosophy which relates to action, and the morality of duty.”

“Yes, worthy Xerophrastes,”returned he, with a most languid serenity;“and so far as I understand, you sort well in this with the stirring disposition of your friend Licinius.”

To which Xerophrastes made answer:—“My patron Licinius is fond of action, and I of the rules of action. He says, it is only in war, or in civil functions of a public nature, that a person can prove himself a man. The rest, he says, is visionary, and comes to nothing, or is a slumber of the mind in sensuality, without thought.”

“Does he think, then,”quoth Parmeno, his wobegone countenance relaxing into a smile,—“Does Licinius think, then, there is no sensuality in perpetual action,[pg 182]and declamation and noise? To me such things appear almost as trivial as the lazy enjoyments of Epicureans, besides being harsh and disagreeable, and not unfrequently ridiculous. But observe, O Xerophrastes! that I speak these things as it were abstractly, and not by any means in disparagement of Licinius, your excellent patron and friend.”

To which the stoic replied in astonishment—“What is this you have said? Do you assert that action is sensual?”

Then Parmeno, lifting from the pavement the book which he had been reading, or appearing to read, said,“It is even so, most erudite Xerophrastes. Indeed, I have always delighted in the most primitive and remote doctrines handed down from antiquity; and among others, in the riddles of this obscure Ephesian. Following the scope of his philosophy, I am led to believe, that, so often as the mind impels, or is impelled by other causes, it begins to lose sight of pure knowledge, and becomes in danger of thinking that every thing is vain, light, and evanescent, except what is perceived by the senses. Heraclitus well says, that Love and Hatred govern all things. Now, when the principle of Discord prevails, it subjects all things to the dominion of action, and to the gross perceptions of sense. But when that of Love is prevalent, it emancipates the struggling chaos of things from the yearning of compulsion, and from the darkness of sensual proximity; for, between things that struggle immediately against each other, light has no room to enter in and shine; and therefore it is, that, when Love gains the ascendency, a new arrangement is produced—an arrangement which, if I[pg 183]may so express it, is more serene, transparent, orderly and divine, and wherein things exist in safety from the danger of mutual destruction.”

After a preliminary cough:—“My opinion,”replied Xerophrastes,“coincides rather with that of Empedocles. The immortal Sicilian thinks that Discord is the only separating and arranging principle which marks the boundaries between things, and enables them mutually to act and repel, in such a way as to preserve order.”—“Nay, nay,”interrupted Parmeno, his hands being by this quite disentangled from his cloak, and his countenance lighted up,—“Nay, nay, to such doctrine I never shall assent. From Empedocles—even from Xerophrastes, I must differ for ever on this head. The order of which you and the Sicilian speak, is the order of darkness only, and of blind force,—a kind of order in which fierceness and cruelty always reign.”But Xerophrastes continued:—“And I farther concur with Empedocles in thinking, that Love is a principle of which the predominance is more fit to turn order into a chaos, than to produce the effects you have described.”—“Nay, speak not against Love,”quoth Parmeno—“Speak not against Love, nor believe that any respect is due to the dictates of Empedocles, who taught the worst that can be taught by any man—that is to say, the alternation of order and confusion succeeding each other throughout all time. To seek for truth in conceptions like these, is no better than to seek repose in the bosom of Ætna.”—“In reference to that point,”resumed Xerophrastes,“I agree with you in your disapprobation of Empedocles. But when you say, that Love is the source of knowledge, you[pg 184]much astonish me; for I have always thought rather that its tendency is to bring confusion upon the mind.”

“Once more,”said Parmeno—“once more, let me beseech you to say nothing against love. You are thinking of the love of particular objects. You speak of Cupid, and not of that heavenly Eros, who, so far from enchaining, or tyrannizing over the mind, rather enables it to escape into the tranquil freedom of far extended contemplation. But what is contemplation without the knowledge of permanent forms, on which the mind may find repose, and so keep itself from being perplexed by the shifting aspects of the many-coloured universe? And therefore it is, O Xerophrastes, that, sometimes laying aside Heraclitus, I study the ancient verses of the poet, Xenophanes, who shews, by the nature of abstract forms, that a certain unity pervades all things. Xenophanes mused of old at Colophon, looking through the blue ether of my native Ionia.—But why should I speak thus at length? Alas! what is the occasion of our being here!—I perceive the approach of the poet, who was to compose an inscription for the urn of my dear Fabricius. Yonder also is the architect, who comes with a design for the tomb. Oh! day of wo, that I should sit in judgment concerning the epitaph and tomb of my ingenuous youth!”

“It is, indeed, true,”replied Xerophrastes,“that even I, in the repercussions of our talk, had well-nigh forgotten this unhappy occurrence; but, perhaps, there is something not after all entirely excusable in our giving so much superiority to the affairs of philosophical discussion. Now, however, it is evident, that we must suspend our colloquy—And who, I beseech you, above[pg 185]all things, is he that now draws near to the place of this mournful assembly, holding a horse in his hand. Methinks I have seen his face before.”

“That you have indeed, Master,”quoth he that had come up,—“that you have; and no longer ago than yesterday neither, if you will be pleased to give yourself the trouble of recollecting. My name is Aspar—I am well known. If but my excellent friend, the noble Centurion Sabinus, were here, poor old Aspar would have no reason to complain of the want of a good word.”

“Good morrow to you, Aspar,”said Sextus;“but what is it that brings you hither just at this moment? And for what purpose have you brought your horse with you? for people of your sort do not in general ride in the courts of the Palatine.”

“Alas!”quoth Aspar,“and is it you, who seem to have been one of the contemporaries of that peerless youth—is it you that ask such a question as this? I did not, in truth, imagine that there was any friend of young Fabricius, who did not know his affection for little Sora. There is not such another within twenty miles of the Capitol; but I brought her hither merely out of regard for the family. As for myself, I should never bear to look on her again with pleasure, after knowing the sudden manner of his death. I wish to Heaven the filly were fairly lodged in one of the paddocks of the Lord Fabricius himself.”

“Lead the animal round into the stables,”says Parmeno,“and I doubt not care will be taken of her.—Yonder comes one of the buffoons of the theatre;—he, I doubt not, is here to disgrace, if he be permitted, this solemn scene, with ranting quotations from the tragic[pg 186]poets. Alas! alas! I cannot bear all this: There also advance the officiators from the Temple of Libitina; they have their cypress boughs ready in their hands. Oh, my learned friend, I cannot sustain these things; let me be gone into the mansion.”

The admirer of Heraclitus, picking up his scroll, and gathering together the folds of his mantle, moved slowly into the house, Xerophrastes following with similar gestures. Sextus and I also were about to take our departure; and he, having procured from one of the slaves of the house a myrtle garland, had already placed it upon the bier of the young Fabricius, as the last testimonial of his concern; when there drew near two young men, clad in long mantles of black, who, solemnly embracing my friend, began to exchange with him many expressions of grief.

While they were thus engaged, Rubellia, who had been standing all this while a little apart, sent a boy to inform us that the painter we were in search of had at last made his appearance, and was anxious to proceed with his portrait. I drew Sextus away, therefore, and soon joined the lady and the artist; but as we were moving off thus, one of the bystanding slaves, an old gray-headed man, came up and whispered to Sextus,“Sir, be not deceived; these two nephews of my bereaved master are to me the most disagreeable part of all this preparation. You have heard their lamentation, and seen their sweeping raiment of mourning; but, be sure, a principal subject of their reflection is the probability that one or other of them must be adopted by Fabricius. Alas! alas! so goes all between Lucina and Libitina. There was never a birth nor a[pg 187]marriage that did not create some sorrow, nor a funeral procession that did not give rise to some joy. Your rhetoricians talk, but what avails it all? Slaves and masters are alike subjected to the evils of the world, and of these death is both the last and the least.”

[pg 188]CHAPTER IV.Agaso, the painter, was a smart dapper little bandy-legged man of Verona, dressed in a Grecian mantle, and endeavouring to look as much as possible like a Greek. Had Xerophrastes not gone off with his brother of Ionia, I have no doubt this man would have made his presence a sufficient excuse for speaking nothing but Greek to us; but, even as it was, his conversation was interlarded with an abundant intermixture of that noble tongue. Nothing could be spoken of which Agaso did not think fit to illustrate, either by the narration of something he himself had seen or heard during his residence at Athens, or, at least, by some quotation from the Grecian poets. To judge from the square, and somewhat ponderous formation of the man’s features, Nature had not designed him for any of the most mercurial specimens of her workmanship; but he contrived, notwithstanding, by perpetual shrugging and grimacing, and, above all, by keeping his eyes and eyebrows continually in motion, to give himself an air of no inconsiderable life and vivacity.Hopping before us with much alacrity, this artist conducted our steps through eight or ten galleries, until at length a curtain being withdrawn, which had covered[pg 189]the space between two pilasters, we found ourselves in a spacious apartment, which, from the courteousness wherewith he bowed us into it, there could be no difficulty in perceiving to be the customary sphere of his own exertions. It was not altogether deserted even when we entered, but the removal of the curtain attracted more of the loungers of the baths, and ere Sextus was fairly fixed before the table of the painter, the modest youth had the mortification to find himself surrounded with a very crowd of knowing and curious physiognomies. The presence of these, however, appeared not unwelcome to the master. On the contrary, there arose between the little man, as he was preparing his brushes, and those who had come to survey him at his work, such a gabble of compliments, remarks, and disquisitions, that it seemed to me as if he would have been disappointed had he not been favoured with their attendance.“How noble,”cries one,“is that portrait you have just been finishing of Rupilius!—Heavens! with what felicity you have caught the air! Methinks I see him about to enter the Basilica, when he knows that some great cause is awaiting his decision. What solemnity in his aspect! what grandeur in the gown!—How finely the purple of the laticlave is made to harmonize with the colouring of the cheeks and chin! What beautiful handling about the fingers with which he grasps his tablets!—As for the head of the stylus, it is the very eye of the picture.”—“Exquisite indeed,”quoth another;“but who can look at it, or at any thing else, in the same room with this little jewel?—Heavens! what a beauty! who can it be? for I never[pg 190]saw her either at the Circus or the Amphitheatre. What an inimitable modesty!”The painter heard this last piece of eulogy with an air of some embarrassment, and at the same time looked very cunningly towards the person who had uttered it. But the Lady Rubellia tossed her head, and whispered to me,“Pretty she may be, though I cannot say that style of dressing the hair is at all adapted for such features; but for modesty! hem. I asked Agaso two or three days ago who it was, and he told me—guess!—it is a little Spanish girl, whom that august-looking person, with the grand laticlave, and the purple cheeks and chin, and the glittering stylus, thought fit to bring home with him when he was relieved from the hard duties of the Pro-prætorship. I dare say, he takes care she shall not be seen either at Circus or Amphitheatre; and, indeed, I think it is sufficient impudence to shew her likeness in the company of so many portraits of respectability.”“My dear lady,”quoth the painter, who overheard somewhat,“for the sake of all that is sacred, no word of this again! Wait, at least, till the canvass for the Augurship be over. There are always so many to exaggerate and misrepresent.”—“Exaggerate, indeed! I think Rupilius ought to be ashamed of himself; and at his time of life too. I think you said he was just the same age with my uncle?”—“Yes,”says the painter,“he must be of that standing; and I think he went to Spain just about the period of your marriage.”—“Filthy old fellow,”quoth she, very quickly;“and this is the treasure he has brought home with him! I have a great mind to tell his wife.”—“Hush, hush,”[pg 191]said Agaso,“this is the very day Rupilius spoke of bringing her to see his own portrait; and, indeed, I am sure that is the Senator’s cough. I rely on your prudence.”And the portly original of the laticlaved portrait walked into the room, having his gown and every part of his dress arranged as represented in the picture; although in the living countenance it was easy to discover a few lines and spots which had been omitted in the copy. By his side moved a short woman, arrayed in the extremity of costly attire, whose swarthy complexion did not, in spite of cosmeticism, harmonize very well with the bright golden ringlets of her Sicambrian peruque; while behind the pair came a thin damsel, whose lineaments exhibited a sort of faint shadow of the same visage, the rudiments of which had been so abundantly filled up in that of the rubicund magistrate. The ex-pro-prætor, after saluting Agaso, stood still with dignity in the midst of the apartment, while the fond daughter, rushing close up to his picture, could with difficulty affix any limits to her expressions of satisfaction:—“O Jupiter! look at the ring. It is the very ring he wears!—the very images are engraved upon it; one can see the three Graces. I never saw such a picture—when will it be brought home?”—“Hush, hush, now, Primula,”quoth the mother.“It is certainly a likeness; but why will artists, now-a-days, always paint people older than they are? And besides, it wants something of his expression. Don’t you think so yourself, sir?”(turning to the painter)“Rupilius has surely been looking very gloomily when he sat.”[pg 192]On this the painter, leaving Sextus, advanced to her side, and after a pause of some moments, spent in contemplating alternately his own work and the original, said, with a courteous simper,“How much am I indebted to you, most noble lady, for this visit, and these judicious remarks! I only wish you had accompanied the senator, for then, without question, his countenance would have worn the look you desiderate; and I perhaps might have more easily succeeded in catching it, being aided by your suggestions. I hope it may yet be amended.”—“How modest he is!”ejaculated the spouse.“A single sitting will suffice, I am sure. We shall come some day when you are quite alone, and I will sit by you, and talk to Rupilius all the while.”—“Delightful!”replied the artist;“how happy shall I be in such an opportunity of improving both the picture and myself! We must positively prevail on the senator to give us this one sitting more.”—“Never ask his consent,”quoth the matron, smiling upon her lord;“leave the whole matter to me. The picture is for me. And besides, if he were to refuse, I know how I should be certain to overcome him; for he has asked me to sit to you myself, and you know if I were to persist in sitting with my gloomy face, as he has with his, we should soon bring him to his right reason.”—“Yourgloomy face, noble lady!”replied the artist, strutting back a pace or two.“I am afraid, if that is the charm by which alone he is to be softened, we must give up all our hopes.”—“I protest,”says the lady,“I believe you will keep me laughing all the time I sit. And pray now, what dress do you think I should wear? Prima says, I ought certainly to be in green;[pg 193]but I was thinking, that perhaps a yellow byssine would suit me better. But I shall send over half a dozen robes, and then we can choose whichever seems to be the best. One thing only I am quite resolved upon, and that is, that I shall have my golden chain, with the miniature of the Pro-prætor—the Senator, I mean—at the end of it.”—“Nothing could be in finer taste,”he made answer;“and if my lady should think of green, or purple, or any dark colour for the gown, the rings of the chain and the setting of the miniature would have the richest effect.”—“And do, my dear mother,”interrupted Prima;“and do have on the sapphire tiara when you sit to Agaso. Or what would you think of having your own hair simply like this lady here? What a beauty!”—“A smart little girl, indeed,”quoth the mother.“I think I should know that face. Is she Roman, Agaso?”—“No, not a Roman,”answered the artist;“nor do I think my lady can ever have met with her. But perhaps my Lord Rupilius may, for she is a Spaniard.”Agaso turned with a smile to the Senator; but he, scarcely appearing to look at the picture, answered, with great gravity,“I think I have seen the countenance before; and perhaps it was in my province. The face is certainly a pretty one; but nothing so very extraordinary.”—“They may say what they like,”observed the spouse, drawing herself up;“but there is no such thing as a really urbane air to be got out of Rome.”Meantime, in another part of the room, some other picture appeared to be exciting a scarcely inferior measure of curiosity. On approaching the party, I perceived that this was a sketch, in chalk only, of the head[pg 194]and shoulders of an old man; and when I had gained an opportunity of more nearly surveying it, I recognized without difficulty the features of Tisias of Antioch. The greater number of those who were looking on it, seemed also to have been present at his death; for I heard pointed out by them with exactness the parts in which the resemblance had been most successfully taken. The beauty of the old man’s lineaments, and the serenity of his aspect, they all admired; and while they were loud in praising these, Agaso himself also joined them, saying,“Oh, so you have found out my old Christian! How did you get hold of him? for I meant it not to be seen till I had lain on a little of the colour. But is it not a fine study?—is it not a noble head? I think I shall introduce it in the picture I am painting for Pliny. The subject is the sacrifice of Iphigenia. I went to the Amphitheatre,”he continued,“rather late, without expecting any thing particular; but it immediately struck me that he might be turned to some account. I made several little sketches of him, for it was a long time ere it was over; and this is from the one I took just after he had made his oration. His hands and feet were singularly fine, I thought. Here,”said he, turning over the leaves of his tablets—“here you have him in a variety of shapes!—the muscles shewed powerfully when he knelt;—there, again, you have his fingers as they were folded on his breast—not much flesh, but the lines good—veins well expressed.”But about this time the great bell rung in the tower above the Baths, and the greater part of the young loungers soon dispersed themselves; some to fence or wrestle—others to play in the tennis-court—others to[pg 195]ride in the Hippodrome, in preparation for the bath. So Agaso, being left alone with Sextus, Rubellia, and myself, had at length leisure to proceed with his portrait of the youth.Much did the lady and the painter discourse, and many merry things were said by them both; but all they said could not entirely remove the embarrassment fixed on the countenance of Sextus; nor, of a truth, did he present himself with much advantage before the artist. Rubellia, nevertheless, sate over against him with looks of no severe criticism; and I doubt not she would have remained to the end of the sitting, had not one of her household come with a message, which, as it seemed, rendered necessary her departure. It struck me, that the messenger answered very well to Dromo’s description of the fat Calabrian with whom he and Boto had been drinking; but of this I said nothing to Sextus.It was near the hour of supper before we were dismissed, and we found Licinius already about to enter his eating chamber.

Agaso, the painter, was a smart dapper little bandy-legged man of Verona, dressed in a Grecian mantle, and endeavouring to look as much as possible like a Greek. Had Xerophrastes not gone off with his brother of Ionia, I have no doubt this man would have made his presence a sufficient excuse for speaking nothing but Greek to us; but, even as it was, his conversation was interlarded with an abundant intermixture of that noble tongue. Nothing could be spoken of which Agaso did not think fit to illustrate, either by the narration of something he himself had seen or heard during his residence at Athens, or, at least, by some quotation from the Grecian poets. To judge from the square, and somewhat ponderous formation of the man’s features, Nature had not designed him for any of the most mercurial specimens of her workmanship; but he contrived, notwithstanding, by perpetual shrugging and grimacing, and, above all, by keeping his eyes and eyebrows continually in motion, to give himself an air of no inconsiderable life and vivacity.

Hopping before us with much alacrity, this artist conducted our steps through eight or ten galleries, until at length a curtain being withdrawn, which had covered[pg 189]the space between two pilasters, we found ourselves in a spacious apartment, which, from the courteousness wherewith he bowed us into it, there could be no difficulty in perceiving to be the customary sphere of his own exertions. It was not altogether deserted even when we entered, but the removal of the curtain attracted more of the loungers of the baths, and ere Sextus was fairly fixed before the table of the painter, the modest youth had the mortification to find himself surrounded with a very crowd of knowing and curious physiognomies. The presence of these, however, appeared not unwelcome to the master. On the contrary, there arose between the little man, as he was preparing his brushes, and those who had come to survey him at his work, such a gabble of compliments, remarks, and disquisitions, that it seemed to me as if he would have been disappointed had he not been favoured with their attendance.

“How noble,”cries one,“is that portrait you have just been finishing of Rupilius!—Heavens! with what felicity you have caught the air! Methinks I see him about to enter the Basilica, when he knows that some great cause is awaiting his decision. What solemnity in his aspect! what grandeur in the gown!—How finely the purple of the laticlave is made to harmonize with the colouring of the cheeks and chin! What beautiful handling about the fingers with which he grasps his tablets!—As for the head of the stylus, it is the very eye of the picture.”—“Exquisite indeed,”quoth another;“but who can look at it, or at any thing else, in the same room with this little jewel?—Heavens! what a beauty! who can it be? for I never[pg 190]saw her either at the Circus or the Amphitheatre. What an inimitable modesty!”

The painter heard this last piece of eulogy with an air of some embarrassment, and at the same time looked very cunningly towards the person who had uttered it. But the Lady Rubellia tossed her head, and whispered to me,“Pretty she may be, though I cannot say that style of dressing the hair is at all adapted for such features; but for modesty! hem. I asked Agaso two or three days ago who it was, and he told me—guess!—it is a little Spanish girl, whom that august-looking person, with the grand laticlave, and the purple cheeks and chin, and the glittering stylus, thought fit to bring home with him when he was relieved from the hard duties of the Pro-prætorship. I dare say, he takes care she shall not be seen either at Circus or Amphitheatre; and, indeed, I think it is sufficient impudence to shew her likeness in the company of so many portraits of respectability.”

“My dear lady,”quoth the painter, who overheard somewhat,“for the sake of all that is sacred, no word of this again! Wait, at least, till the canvass for the Augurship be over. There are always so many to exaggerate and misrepresent.”—“Exaggerate, indeed! I think Rupilius ought to be ashamed of himself; and at his time of life too. I think you said he was just the same age with my uncle?”—“Yes,”says the painter,“he must be of that standing; and I think he went to Spain just about the period of your marriage.”—“Filthy old fellow,”quoth she, very quickly;“and this is the treasure he has brought home with him! I have a great mind to tell his wife.”—“Hush, hush,”[pg 191]said Agaso,“this is the very day Rupilius spoke of bringing her to see his own portrait; and, indeed, I am sure that is the Senator’s cough. I rely on your prudence.”

And the portly original of the laticlaved portrait walked into the room, having his gown and every part of his dress arranged as represented in the picture; although in the living countenance it was easy to discover a few lines and spots which had been omitted in the copy. By his side moved a short woman, arrayed in the extremity of costly attire, whose swarthy complexion did not, in spite of cosmeticism, harmonize very well with the bright golden ringlets of her Sicambrian peruque; while behind the pair came a thin damsel, whose lineaments exhibited a sort of faint shadow of the same visage, the rudiments of which had been so abundantly filled up in that of the rubicund magistrate. The ex-pro-prætor, after saluting Agaso, stood still with dignity in the midst of the apartment, while the fond daughter, rushing close up to his picture, could with difficulty affix any limits to her expressions of satisfaction:—“O Jupiter! look at the ring. It is the very ring he wears!—the very images are engraved upon it; one can see the three Graces. I never saw such a picture—when will it be brought home?”—“Hush, hush, now, Primula,”quoth the mother.“It is certainly a likeness; but why will artists, now-a-days, always paint people older than they are? And besides, it wants something of his expression. Don’t you think so yourself, sir?”(turning to the painter)“Rupilius has surely been looking very gloomily when he sat.”

On this the painter, leaving Sextus, advanced to her side, and after a pause of some moments, spent in contemplating alternately his own work and the original, said, with a courteous simper,“How much am I indebted to you, most noble lady, for this visit, and these judicious remarks! I only wish you had accompanied the senator, for then, without question, his countenance would have worn the look you desiderate; and I perhaps might have more easily succeeded in catching it, being aided by your suggestions. I hope it may yet be amended.”—“How modest he is!”ejaculated the spouse.“A single sitting will suffice, I am sure. We shall come some day when you are quite alone, and I will sit by you, and talk to Rupilius all the while.”—“Delightful!”replied the artist;“how happy shall I be in such an opportunity of improving both the picture and myself! We must positively prevail on the senator to give us this one sitting more.”—“Never ask his consent,”quoth the matron, smiling upon her lord;“leave the whole matter to me. The picture is for me. And besides, if he were to refuse, I know how I should be certain to overcome him; for he has asked me to sit to you myself, and you know if I were to persist in sitting with my gloomy face, as he has with his, we should soon bring him to his right reason.”—“Yourgloomy face, noble lady!”replied the artist, strutting back a pace or two.“I am afraid, if that is the charm by which alone he is to be softened, we must give up all our hopes.”—“I protest,”says the lady,“I believe you will keep me laughing all the time I sit. And pray now, what dress do you think I should wear? Prima says, I ought certainly to be in green;[pg 193]but I was thinking, that perhaps a yellow byssine would suit me better. But I shall send over half a dozen robes, and then we can choose whichever seems to be the best. One thing only I am quite resolved upon, and that is, that I shall have my golden chain, with the miniature of the Pro-prætor—the Senator, I mean—at the end of it.”—“Nothing could be in finer taste,”he made answer;“and if my lady should think of green, or purple, or any dark colour for the gown, the rings of the chain and the setting of the miniature would have the richest effect.”—“And do, my dear mother,”interrupted Prima;“and do have on the sapphire tiara when you sit to Agaso. Or what would you think of having your own hair simply like this lady here? What a beauty!”—“A smart little girl, indeed,”quoth the mother.“I think I should know that face. Is she Roman, Agaso?”—“No, not a Roman,”answered the artist;“nor do I think my lady can ever have met with her. But perhaps my Lord Rupilius may, for she is a Spaniard.”

Agaso turned with a smile to the Senator; but he, scarcely appearing to look at the picture, answered, with great gravity,“I think I have seen the countenance before; and perhaps it was in my province. The face is certainly a pretty one; but nothing so very extraordinary.”—“They may say what they like,”observed the spouse, drawing herself up;“but there is no such thing as a really urbane air to be got out of Rome.”

Meantime, in another part of the room, some other picture appeared to be exciting a scarcely inferior measure of curiosity. On approaching the party, I perceived that this was a sketch, in chalk only, of the head[pg 194]and shoulders of an old man; and when I had gained an opportunity of more nearly surveying it, I recognized without difficulty the features of Tisias of Antioch. The greater number of those who were looking on it, seemed also to have been present at his death; for I heard pointed out by them with exactness the parts in which the resemblance had been most successfully taken. The beauty of the old man’s lineaments, and the serenity of his aspect, they all admired; and while they were loud in praising these, Agaso himself also joined them, saying,“Oh, so you have found out my old Christian! How did you get hold of him? for I meant it not to be seen till I had lain on a little of the colour. But is it not a fine study?—is it not a noble head? I think I shall introduce it in the picture I am painting for Pliny. The subject is the sacrifice of Iphigenia. I went to the Amphitheatre,”he continued,“rather late, without expecting any thing particular; but it immediately struck me that he might be turned to some account. I made several little sketches of him, for it was a long time ere it was over; and this is from the one I took just after he had made his oration. His hands and feet were singularly fine, I thought. Here,”said he, turning over the leaves of his tablets—“here you have him in a variety of shapes!—the muscles shewed powerfully when he knelt;—there, again, you have his fingers as they were folded on his breast—not much flesh, but the lines good—veins well expressed.”

But about this time the great bell rung in the tower above the Baths, and the greater part of the young loungers soon dispersed themselves; some to fence or wrestle—others to play in the tennis-court—others to[pg 195]ride in the Hippodrome, in preparation for the bath. So Agaso, being left alone with Sextus, Rubellia, and myself, had at length leisure to proceed with his portrait of the youth.

Much did the lady and the painter discourse, and many merry things were said by them both; but all they said could not entirely remove the embarrassment fixed on the countenance of Sextus; nor, of a truth, did he present himself with much advantage before the artist. Rubellia, nevertheless, sate over against him with looks of no severe criticism; and I doubt not she would have remained to the end of the sitting, had not one of her household come with a message, which, as it seemed, rendered necessary her departure. It struck me, that the messenger answered very well to Dromo’s description of the fat Calabrian with whom he and Boto had been drinking; but of this I said nothing to Sextus.

It was near the hour of supper before we were dismissed, and we found Licinius already about to enter his eating chamber.

[pg 196]CHAPTER V.The orator received us with less coldness than I could have expected. I suppose his knowledge that our morning had been spent in Rubellia’s company, had in some measure softened his feelings of jealousy towards his son; and perhaps he had given me credit for advice, to the merit of which I had no claim. But he remained not long at table after supper was concluded, being summoned to discourse in private with a client:—so that Sextus and I were left to spend the evening as it might please ourselves; for as to Xerophrastes, he had not as yet made his appearance, and we took it for granted he had remained at the mansion of Fabricius, for the purpose of consoling with philosophical controversies his bereaved brother of Ionia.We retired, therefore, into the apartment of my young friend; but he could not read a page without coming upon some verse which made him throw down the scroll to ruminate on the charms of his Sempronia. When he took up his lute, his fingers seemed to evoke only the most melancholy sounds. It was only in the exercise of the foil, that he succeeded in banishing from his thoughts the troubles of his situation; but both of us having contended till[pg 197]we were breathless, were soon compelled to sit down, and then the unhappy boy’s exhausted body seemed to communicate a new debility to his mind. We sat for the most part in silence, (for I soon found that I could not say any thing capable of interesting him,) until the shades of evening had quite darkened the chamber, and then we walked together, not less silently, in the adjoining open gallery, until the moon had arisen from above the tall poplars around the Pantheon and Baths of Agrippa, and diffused her radiance over all the beautiful gardens and noble edifices that lay beneath us down to the brink of the river. Lassitude of spirit then, if not expectation of sleep, rendered Sextus desirous of retiring to his couch; so, having exhorted the youth to wrestle with his grief, and to call hope to his aid, I at length left him to himself. But as for me, I had as yet no feeling of weariness, and, besides, I remembered the promise I had made to Dromo in the morning.I was very much surprised, indeed, that the Cretan had not as yet come to me, and made inquiry concerning him of Boto; but hearing that the man was absent from the house, I thought from this there was the more likelihood of his being engaged in some scheme, the result of which I should by and by learn from his own lips. I dismissed my Briton, therefore, and prepared to read by my watch-light, and while I was considering what I should read, I remembered the scroll I had received from Tisias, which forthwith I took from the place in which I had locked it up on the morning of the preceding day. There fell from out of it, as I unfolded it, a letter sealed, but without any superscription. This I of course considered as meant only[pg 198]for the eye of Athanasia; so I kissed the parchment her fingers were destined to touch, and, before I began to read, restored it to its receptacle.More than one of you, my young friends, have already heard me speak, on another occasion, of the impression which that night’s reading made upon my mind, and been told, from my own lips, what book it was that was contained in the scroll of Tisias; the rest of you will judge for yourselves with what astonishment it was that I, who had at the best expected to unfold some obscure treatise of Asiatic lore, some semi-barbarous exposition of mystical riddles, found myself engaged in the perusal of a plain and perspicuous narrative of facts, written evidently by a man of accomplishment and learning, and in Greek of which the most elegant penman of these times could have had no occasion to be ashamed. In a word, it was the Gospel of the holy physician St Luke which had been put into my hands; and at this day I am still grateful that this was the first of the Christian books which I had an opportunity of seeing; for such had been my education, that I am afraid others, not less worthy of the true faith, might have repelled me by the peculiarities of their composition, as well as by the acquaintance with many things, to me then entirely unknown, which they take for granted in the style of their commencement. Here, however, there was enough only of mystery, the more effectually to stimulate my curiosity, while the eagerness with which I engaged myself in its gratification, was abundantly repaid from the beginning, both by the beauty of the simple narrative itself, and the sublimity of the conceptions embodied and evolved in its course.[pg 199]Considering the book which I was reading, as one merely of human origin and invention, I could not help regarding it with such admiration, that it appeared to me above all things wonderful, I had never seen it mentioned by any of the writers of the age, or heard it spoken of by any of those who, in my presence, since I came to Rome, had talked concerning the faith and doctrines of the persecuted Christians. But this was not all. At least, said I to myself, there is something here which deserves to be inquired into and examined. Of things such as these, if told falsely, it must needs have been—nay, it must still be, easy to prove the falsehood. It is impossible that, in the days of Tiberius, any such events should have occurred in Palestine, without being more or less submitted to the inspection of Roman eyes. This is no wild tale, handed down from the dark ages of a barbarous race. Here I have a Roman Centurion described as among the witnesses of this man’s miraculous power, and acknowledging the divinity of his benevolence. Here, at least, must have been one spectator without prejudices, otherwise than against this Prophet of Nazareth. Of a surety, the legends of Rome herself contain many tales which demand a much greater measure of indulgence; since the wonders they narrate appear to have been oftentimes attended with no beneficial consequences, either to individuals or to the state; whereas here the occasion seems always to have been such as might justify the interference of supernatural might. The power of this person seems to have been exerted only for good; and his precepts are full of such godlike loftiness as neither Socrates, nor Plato, nor any of those Greek sages, who[pg 200]bowed in reverence to the hoary wisdom of Egypt and India, would have disdained to admire.The doubts, suspicions, and distrusts, with which such thoughts were mingled,—the under-current of reluctance with which I felt myself all along contending,—were such as you may more easily imagine than I can describe.As the narrative went on, however, you will have no difficulty in supposing that my attention became more and more rivetted, and that, occupied with the strange events and sublime scenes it unfolds—and agitated by turns with the pity, the wonder, the terror, and the admiration that matchless story must ever awaken,—I had forgotten every thing beyond the page of the volume on which my finger was fixed.It was only the rustling of Dromo’s cloak against the edge of my chair, that made me aware my privacy was disturbed. His hands seemed to be busied in tightening his girdle even before he was able to speak, and the first words he uttered, were—“Come, sir—this is no time for study. I have acquaintance with some of the soldiers at the Capene Gate, and they will let us pass through; but they are relieved at the next watch, and then we shall have no chance.”—“And why,”said I, hastily thrusting the scroll into my bosom—“why, Dromo, or for what purpose should we desire to pass through the Capene Gate at the dead hour of night?”—“Come,”said he;“there is no time for explanation. It is simply because it is the dead hour of night that we must pass through the gate; for it would do nobody any good to pass through at any other time. Come—or abandon Sextus to his fate.”[pg 201]Thus adjured, I could not oppose any obstacle to his zeal. The chained porter was lying asleep across the threshold; but Dromo had already found means to have the door opened, so he leaped lightly over the man, and I imitated his agility. The Cretan then locked the gate on the outside, by means of a key which he carried in his bosom; and I followed his rapid steps without farther question.This cunning varlet, (who seemed, indeed, to move as if he had a natural aversion to every open place,) threaded one obscure lane after another, keeping always, where the moonlight had any access, to the dark side of the way; a person better skilled than myself might well have been somewhat puzzled; as for me, I had not the least conception whither I was going. Close, however, did I adhere to him; and we reached the Capene Port, which is on the south side of the city, not many bow-shots from the Anio, before I could have imagined it possible to traverse so great a space.Here Dromo told me to wait for him a single moment, and stepped down into a cellar, in which a light was burning; but he staid not long, and when he returned to me, I observed that his style of walking was more clumsy than usual, which, indeed, was not to be wondered at, considering that he had now to carry, not only himself, but two huge skins of wine, intended, as I at once suspected, for the purpose of facilitating our passage. I told him my suspicion in a whisper; but he made no answer, except by handing to me one of his burdens. So laden, we crept on as well as we could to the portal, beneath the shadow of which two Prætorians were pacing, their armour ringing audibly upon[pg 202]them amidst the silence of the night.—Silently did the well-oiled hinges turn, and very silently stooping did we step beneath the lintel of the Capene Gate, which as silently was again made fast.As we advanced among the funereal monuments which line the Appian Way on either side, Dromo stood still every now and then for a moment, as if to listen; but whatever he might have heard, or expected to hear, I perceived nothing, except here and there the howl of a dog, or the lazy hooting of the night-owl, from the top of some of the old cypresses that rose between us and the moon.At last he seemed to catch the sound he had been expecting, for he started suddenly; and laying his finger on his lip, crept to the parapet.The ground behind was more desolate of aspect than any part of that which we had traversed—stoney and hard, with here and there tufts of withered fern; and immediately below the wall two human figures were visible. The one was sitting on the ground, wrapped in a dark cloak which entirely concealed the countenance: the other was a half-naked boy, holding in a string a little new-shorn lamb, which with one of his hands he continually caressed. But forthwith the sitter arose, and throwing away the cloak, displayed the gray tangled tresses of an old woman, and two strong boney arms, one of which was stretched forth with an impatient gesture towards the stripling, while the other was pointed upwards to the visible moon.“Strike,”said she,“strike deeply—beware lest the blood tinge your feet or your hands;”—and I recognized at once the voice of the same Pona that had[pg 203]attracted my notice in the morning, at the foot of the Palatine.The boy drew forth instantly a knife from his bosom, whose glittering blade was buried in the throat of the yearling, and it was then first that I perceived a small ditch dug between the boy and the woman, into which, the lamb’s throat being held over it, the blood was made to drop from the wound. So surely had the blow been given, that not one bleat escaped from the animal, and so deeply, that the blood flowed in a strong stream, dashing audibly upon the bottom of the trench. And while it was dropping, the old woman muttering a sort of chant to Hecate, as I gathered, showered from her girdle I know not what of bones or sticks, mingled with leaves and roots, which afterwards she seemed to be stirring about in the blood with one of the tall strong stems of the fern that grew there. The wildness of her gestures was such, that I could not doubt she had herself some faith in the efficacy of the foul charms to which she had resorted; nor could I see her stirring that trench of innocent blood, without remembering the still more ruthless charms, whose practice the poets of Italy have ascribed to such hoary enchantresses. The dreariness of the midnight wind, too, as it whistled along the bare and steril soil around us, and the perpetual variations in the light, by reason of the careering of those innumerable clouds, and the remembrance of the funereal purposes for which, as it seemed, all this region was set apart—the whole of this together produced, I know not how, a certain pressure upon my spirits, and I confess to you, I felt, kneeling there by the side of my now trembling Cretan, as if I owed him no[pg 204]great thanks for having brought me that night beyond the Capene Gate.It seemed as if the goddess, to whom the witch’s song had been addressed, did not listen to it with favourable ear; for the clouds gathered themselves more thickly than ever, while the wind howled only more loudly among the tombs, and the half-scared owl sent up a feebler hooting. Notwithstanding, the old woman continued fixed in the same attitude of expectation, and the stripling still held the well-nigh drained throat of his lamb above the trench. By degrees, however, the patience of both seemed to be exhausted; and there arose between them an angry altercation.“Infernal brat of Hades!”quoth the witch,“look ye, if you have not stained your filthy hands, and if the thirsty shadows be not incensed, because you have deprived them of some of the sweet blood which they love!”—“Curse not me, mother,”replied the boy—“Did you think, in truth, that the blood of a stolen lamb would ever propitiate Hecate?”—“Imp!”quoth she,“Hold thy peace, or I will try whether no other blood may make the charm work better!”—“Beware!”quoth the boy, leaping backwards—“beware what you do! I am no longer so weak that I must bear all your blows.”“Stop,”cried I,“for there are eyes that you think not of, to take note of your wickedness;”and in my vehemence I shook one of the great loose stones that were on the top of the wall, which rolled down and bounded into the ditch beside them; and the woman, huddling her cloak over her head, began to run swiftly away from us, along the wall over which we were leaning. The boy only stood still for a moment, and[pg 205]looked upwards towards the place where we were, and then he also fled, but in the opposite direction; and Dromo said to me in a very piteous whisper, but not till both were out of sight,—“Heaven and earth! was ever such madness as to scare the witch from her incantation? Alas! for you and for me, sir—and, most of all, alas for Sextus—for I fear me after this we shall have no luck in counteracting the designs of Rubellia.”“Rubellia! what? can you possibly imagine Rubellia to have any thing to do with this madness?”“Imagine?”quoth he;“do you need to be told, that if things had gone well with that woman and her ditch, we should never have been able to preserve Sextus from her clutches?”“By the rod of Hermes, good Dromo!”said I,“this will never do. I shall believe much on your credit, but not things quite so extravagant as this.”He made no reply save a long, incredulous, and, I think, contemptuous whistle, which seemed to reach the ears of every owl between us and the Appian; with such a hooting and screeching did they echo its note from every cypress. And when Dromo heard that doleful concert, his dread redoubled within him, for he shook from head to foot, while I held his arm in mine; until, at last, he seemed to make one violent effort, and springing on his feet, said—“Come, Master Valerius, let us behave after all like men!”—I smiled when he said so—“The hour has not yet come, if my Calabrian friend is to be trusted, at which the lady was to visit Pona in her dwelling. It is but daring a little more. If she has seen and known us already, then nothing can endanger us farther; and if she hath not, we may[pg 206]escape again.”—“Well spoken,”said I,“most shrewd Dromo, and like yourself; but what is it that you would have us to do?”—“The first thing,”he replied,“is what has already been too long delayed.”The Cretan produced from under his cloak a long fictitious beard, which he immediately proceeded to fix upon his own face with a string. A thin tall cap of black cloth was next brought forth, which he fastened in like manner around his brows; and a little piece of chalk, with which he once or twice rubbed over his black bushy eye-brows, completed a disguise beneath which I should certainly have sought in vain to discover any trace of the natural countenance of Dromo. In short, after a few changes in the folding of his cloak, there stood before me a figure so venerably mysterious, that had I met it unawares at midnight, in the neighbourhood of so many tombs, I am not sure, although of no superstitious temper, that I could have regarded it without awe.“Come now, good Master,”quoth he,“you are taller than I, pluck me a branch from the nearest tree, and I think you shall confess I make a decent Soothsayer.”In this it was easy to gratify him; for there was an old willow just a few yards off, and its boughs were so dry with age, that I soon abstracted a very proper wand for him. After receiving which, he stood for a moment leaning on it in a dignified fashion, as if to rehearse an attitude worthy of his new vocation; and then said—“Well, sir, I think if the Lady Rubellia comes now, we shall be tolerably prepared for her. But I have no disguise for you; therefore, the moment you hear a footstep, be sure you wrap your[pg 207]face in your gown, and stand behind me, for so shall you best consult both your own concealment, and the dignity of this Assyrian. There is no other way by which she can come from the Suburra, therefore we might stay very well where we are; but I think it might be still better to await her coming where there are either tombs or larger trees to cast a shade over our equipage, in case the moon should take it into her head to be more kind to us than she was to Pona.”—“By all means,”said I,“most venerable man—and besides, the wind is rather chilly, therefore I shall be well pleased to have shelter as well as shade.”“You shall have both,”quoth he;“there is a thick grove of pines only a little way on. I believe there is a very grand tomb in the midst of them, in case you should prefer to sit under it.—By the bye,”he continued, after some little pause,“it is odd enough that it should be so; but I believe it is the very place where all that race of the Sempronii, to which a certain young damsel belongs, have been burnt and buried ever since Rome was a city. You cannot see their tomb yet; but that is only from the thickness of the trees, some of which are, I suppose, even older than itself. Now I remember me, it was just there that they set up two winters ago the funeral pile of old Caius—I mean the father of the Lady Athanasia, whom you saw at Capito’s villa. They are a very noble race, and although none of the richest now-a-days, there is not a prouder in Rome. I saw the procession at that old man’s funeral myself, and I think the images of his ancestors that they carried before him, would have reached half way from hence to the Great Road. Grim, dusty figures, I trow they were;[pg 208]but I doubt not there had been many a haughty captain among them when they were alive.”These words were spoken as we were moving onwards towards this same grove of pines, and before he had made an end of speaking, we could clearly hear the wind sighing among their branches, and along the dry underground. And on coming to them I found that he had said truly there was a tomb in the midst of them, for a very noble, high, circular tower was indeed there, which, from the grayness of its walls, and luxuriance of ivy, had the appearance of being at least as ancient as any of the surrounding trees. The only method of access to the inside, seemed to be by means of a winding stair, which rose on the exterior from the ground to the summit—a method not unusual in Roman sepulchres—and it was on one of the steps of this stair that I seated myself, where, between the shaded wall on the one side, and the pine branches on the other, I was effectually concealed. As for Dromo, I know not whether it was that he coveted not exactly such close proximity to the stones of such an edifice; but instead of ascending with me, he took up a position beside one of the largest pines over against me.Although the moon had got rid of her clouds, and the sky, where any of it could be seen, was abundantly brilliant, the natural darkness of that funereal grove was such, that very little difference could be produced in the midst of it by any variation on the face of any nightly luminary. The tower itself received some of the moonbeams on its carved surface; but its contemporary trees participated not in any such illumination,—one solemn shade covering all things beneath the[pg 209]influence of their growth.“I can scarcely see you, Dromo,”said I;“but I think that speck must be your beard, and if so, I beg you would tell me what it is you really have in view by all this preparation? Do you expect me to stay here on a tomb-stone all night, merely because you wish to have an opportunity of terrifying poor Rubellia by some ghost-like howl or other when she passes you?—which, by the way, it seems by no means certain she will do at all. Or what is your purpose?”—“Hush!”was his answer;“ask no questions, but hem thrice if you hear a footstep—for young ears are the keenest.”Accordingly silence was kept so strictly, that, in spite of the chillness of the stone on which I sate, I presently fell into a sort of dozing slumber.By degrees, however,—nor, considering the hour and the fatigue I had undergone, is it wonderful that it should have been so,—my sleep must have become sufficiently profound, for I did not at first, on waking from it, very well remember either where I was, or for what purpose I had come thither. And, indeed, I have little doubt my slumbers might have continued till day-break, but for the interruption I am now to mention.And yet it seemed as if even in my sleep I had been prepared for this by some strange anticipation, for although it was a near sound of singing voices that dispelled my slumbers, and made me start from the stone on which I had placed myself, I could not help feeling as if that sound were not altogether new to me;—whether it were that the half-sensible ear had been already ministering indistinctly to the dreaming spirit, or that some purely fantastic prelude had been vouch[pg 210]safed to the real music. I started up suddenly, that much is certain, and listened with astonishment, yet not altogether with such surprise as might have been expected to attend a transition so hasty from sleep to waking, and from silence to the near neighbourhood of sounds at once so strange and so sweet. With breathless curiosity, nevertheless, with awe, and not entirely I think without terror, did I listen to the notes which seemed to ascend out of the habitation of the noble dead into the nightly air—wild, yet solemn, as if breathed from the bosom of a stately repose and a pensive felicity; insomuch, that almost I persuaded myself I was hearing the forbidden sounds of another world, and the thought came over me,—yet almost I think at that moment without farther disturbing me,—what fearful interpretations the old poets have affixed to such untimely communion, and how the superstition of all antiquity has shrunk from its omen.My first impulse, after a moment had elapsed, was to call on Dromo, and I did so, at first in a low whisper, and then two or three times more loudly—but all equally in vain, for no answer was returned; and though I strained my eyes in gazing on the place where I had last seen him, yet there I could perceive no trace whatever of any human figure. The moonlight indeed shewed with more distinctness than before the tall stem of the old pine-tree against which he had been leaning; but no motion, nor the least appearance of whiteness, could either my eyes or my imagination discover there. I might easily, you will say, have stept across the road, and entirely satisfied myself; but I know not well[pg 211]what it was that nailed me to the place where I stood, and prevented me even from once thinking of doing so. The calm sepulchral music, my friends, still continued to stream from the recess of the mausoleum, and painless awe held me there, as if by a charm incontrollable. I gazed upwards, and beheld the moon riding above the black pine tops, in a now serene and cloudless heaven. The wind also had passed away, as it appeared, with the clouds it had agitated. The bird of night was asleep on her unseen bough; and all was silent as death, except only the dwelling of the departed; and a certain indescribable delight was beginning, as I gazed and listened, to be mixed with the perturbation wherewith at first I had been inspired.And I know not how long I might have stood so, but while I was yet listening to this mysterious music, there was mingled with its expiring cadence the sound of a heavy footstep on the staircase above me, and looking up, I perceived in the moonlight the figure of a man, clad in a white gown, but having a naked sword stretched forth in his hand, immediately over the place whereon I was standing. I obeyed the first natural impulse, and leaped downwards swiftly on seeing him; but this availed me nothing, for he also leaped, and almost before my feet had touched the ground, I felt the grasp of his hand upon my shoulder, and that so strongly, that I perceived plainly there was as little possibility of escape as of resistance. I made therefore no farther effort, but suffered him to do with me as he pleased; and he, on his part, said not a single word, but still retaining his hold, pointed with his sword to the same steps from which I had descended, and com[pg 212]pelled me to mount them before him, up to the very summit of the round tower.“Why is this, sir?”said I;“and whither do you conduct me?”“Peace,”was all his answer; and, in like manner as he had made me climb the exterior, so also he compelled me to begin the descent of a similar flight of steps, which led down from an aperture above, into the interior of the edifice. And although I must confess to you that I obeyed not this silent guidance without considerable fear, yet I strove as well as I could to control myself. I moved with a step in which I think not there could be perceived any trembling.Yet you will admit that even had I been master at that moment of less firmness, I might have been excusable; for looking down, I perceived that a lamp was burning in the midst of the sepulchral tower far below me, and saw sitting around it a company of eight or ten persons, at whose mercy, it was quite visible, I must be placed. Neither, if I might judge from the demeanour of the person that was bringing me into their assembly, did there appear to be any great room for dependance on them; for, as to themselves, not one of them looked up towards me as I was stepping down, and being wrapped in their cloaks, I had no means of discovering what manner of persons they were. The way in which I had been treated, however, by one of their number, was a sufficient evidence, either that they conceived themselves to have been injured by my being there, or that they were capable of taking some undue advantage of my helpless condition. The calmness of their attitudes, and the recollection of the sounds[pg 213]that I had heard, inclined me to the former of these suppositions; and when I perceived that not one of them stirred, even till I had reached the lowmost step of the interior staircase, in this, without question, I already felt myself considerably strengthened.“Behold,”said my guide, as I at length touched the marble floor of the mausoleum itself—“Behold proof, and that living, that my suspicions were not quite so groundless as you were pleased to imagine. Here is a man whom I found listening, even on the very steps of this tower. It is for you to decide what shall be done with the eaves-dropper.”With this the whole company sprung at once to their feet, and I perceived evidently, from the surprise expressed in their looks and attitudes, that until that moment not one of them had been aware of my approach. I was about to speak, and declare my innocence of any treachery, or even of any knowledge concerning the purpose of their meeting; but before I could do so, one of them, and I think the oldest of all that were present, having in an instant recovered the tranquillity which my arrival had disturbed, said to me in a voice of the utmost gentleness,“Young man, what has brought thee hither, or who sent thee? Art thou indeed a spy, and was it thy purpose to betray our assembly?”“Sir,”said I,“I know nothing of your assembly, or of its purpose; I fell asleep by accident on the outside of this tower, and, when I awoke, the music that I heard detained me.”“Examine the stripling,”quoth he that had conducted me—“examine his person.”—“His looks belie[pg 214]him,”replied the senior,“if you have cause for suspicion. But if you will it so, search the young man.”And with that my guide, laying his unsheathed sword upon a table, or altar of black marble, proceeded to search my garments, and finding in my bosom the scroll which I had received from Tisias, he glanced on it for a moment, and then handing it to the senior, said,“Now, sirs, doubt ye if ye will.”—“Before heaven—it is the book of the holy Luke!”said the other;“this is indeed suspicious. How came this scroll into thy hands, young man? Art thou aware that one of the books of the Christians has been found in thy bosom?”—“I know it,”said I;“it is one of the books of their faith, and I have read in it this evening for the first time.”—“Then thou art not thyself a Christian?”—“I received the book from one Christian,”said I, waiving the question;“and I made promise to deliver it into the hands of another?”—“Name the Christian who gave thee this book!”said my stern guide.—“Tisias of Antioch,”I replied;“the same who died yesterday in the Amphitheatre.”—“Yes,”quoth he, again;“and I suppose it was there he gave it to you. Every one knows the name of Tisias. Name, if you please, the person to whom you are to deliver the book.”—“You shall pardon me,”said I,“that I will not. You may call me an eaves-dropper, if you will; but you shall find I am no traitor. It is a Roman—a noble Roman lady to whom I must give this book; and I would not tell you her name although you should slaughter me here in this tomb, which I have entered living and without guilt.”And having said this, I folded my arms, and stood still, abiding their will.[pg 215]But scarcely had I finished these words, ere I felt a small trembling hand laid upon my shoulder, and looking round, I perceived Athanasia herself, who whispered into my ear,—“Valerius, was the book for me? If so, you may say it boldly, and I will vouch for your word.”—“For you, lady,”I answered in the same tone,“and for none other. You well know that I was present in his prison the night before his death; so far at least you can confirm what I have said.”“Sir,”said she, addressing the old man that had before questioned me,“I know this young man: and I believe what he has said, and will be answerable for his fidelity. It was he that went in to our friend the other night in his prison, and the book was intrusted to him by the old man, that it might be given into my hands. His name is Valerius—Caius Valerius—and he is by birth a noble Roman.”“Say you so, lady?”interrupted my original conductor;“then I ask his pardon. I have wronged Caius Valerius; but both you and he must forgive me, for it must be confessed he was found in a very extraordinary situation.”“Even so,”I replied,“I have nothing to complain of. I perceive that I am present in an assembly of Christians; but he shall do me much wrong that thinks I bear any enmity to them,—or, from all that I have yet seen or read, to the faith which they profess. I have read part of that book,”I continued,“for I made promise to Tisias that I should do so before giving it to Athanasia; and I trust I shall still be permitted by her to read more of it before it is finally demanded from me.”—“Oh, read it!”said Athanasia, gently again whis[pg 216]pering to me.“Oh yes, read the book, Valerius, and may God enlighten the reader.”And so saying, she herself took up the scroll from the table on which it was lying, and gave it again into my hands.—“There was also a letter for you,”said I, receiving it,“but that I left at home.”—“No matter,”said Athanasia,“you shall give me the letter and the book both together hereafter.”“In the meantime,”said I,“I suppose it were better I should retire.”“Young sir,”said the senior,“that is as you please; in a little while we shall all be moving towards the city. Stay with us till then, if such be your will; that which you may hear, can at least do you no harm. Already, I doubt not, you have seen enough to despise the ignorant calumnies of our enemies.”When he had said so, the old man walked to the side of the sepulchre, and took out from behind one of the urns that stood there, (ranged in their niches,) a small casquet, which, returning, he placed before him on the marble table. Then, opening the casquet, he brought forth a silver goblet, and a salver containing some little pieces of bread; and, untying from his neck a massive cross of gold, he set that also on the table, between the cup and the salver. In brief, the Christian priest, (for such, as you already see, he was,) had finished his preparation, and was about to commence the administration of the blessed Eucharist. And when all the rest were kneeling before the table, Athanasia, laying her hand upon my arm, beckoned to me to kneel by her side; and so indeed I would have done in my ignorance, had not the priest himself pointed to[pg 217]a station a few yards behind the lady, to which, accordingly, I drew back—apart from those who were to be privileged with the participation of those holy symbols.Scarcely had they composed themselves in their places, and listened to the first words of the appointed service, when I, standing there by myself, thought, unless my ears deceived me, there must be some one on the outer stair-case of the tower; and my eyes instinctively, I suppose, were fixed upon the aperture, which, as I have told you, was in the high roof above the circle of the niched walls. Here, however, when I first looked, there was nothing to be seen, but the round spot of the sky, far up in the midst of the marble roof; but while I was looking steadfastly, that space was suddenly diminished; and a dog bayed, and at the same moment a voice which I well knew, screamed,“I have them—I hold them—let them burst the net if they can.”The cry of Pona disturbed effectually the Christian priest, and the whole of those that were with him. Rising up hastily from their knees, they stood all together around the table, while the old man, having kissed both the cup and the cross, restored them as quickly as he could to the casket from which they had been taken. But while the priest was doing this, he that found me on the stair appearing to revert into his suspicion, and looking sternly upon me where I stood, said,“Is this then the innocence which we spared! Is this the noble Roman for whom Athanasia pledged herself? Speak, brethren, what shall be done to this traitor, by whom, even more than by those dogs of the tombs, it is a shame for us that we have been[pg 218]hunted?”Saying so, the man lifted up his sword again, and it seemed as if he would have smitten me to the ground without farther question. But Athanasia threw herself swiftly between him and me.“For shame, Cotilius,”said she;“such suspiciousness is unworthy of a Roman knight.”—“You say well, noble damsel,”quoth the old priest, interrupting her;“but you might say also that such cruelty is unworthy of a soldier of Christ. Peace, peace, children; there is no evil in the youth, nor, if there were, would it be our part to avenge it.”While he was saying this, three or four blazing torches were thrust down into the place from above, and Athanasia, laying her hand upon my arm, said,“Look up, Caius, I see helmets.—Alas! am I not already here? why, if they will slay me, should they drag me away now from the tomb of my fathers?”I felt the trembling of her hands, and she leaned upon my shoulder. I know not, I will confess to you, whether at that moment I tasted more of pleasure or of pain.But by this time several of the soldiers had already begun to descend into the tower, and before another minute had elapsed, we found ourselves surrounded by the flame of their torches. And he that seemed to lead the party, after counting us one by one, said, turning to his companions,“Well, an old woman has told the truth for once—here are even more I think than she warned us of.—Come along, worthy people, you must not keep the Tribune waiting for you all night, and our watch is well-nigh expired already. Come, mount the stair—it will take a good half hour yet, I believe, to[pg 219]lodge you all safely in the Tullian—And do you,”he added, laying his hand on the hilt of Cotilius’ sword—“do you, brave sir, allow me to save you the trouble of carrying this bauble.”Nor was the stern knight so foolish as to dispute the command; but having yielded up his sword, he forthwith began to ascend, one or two spearmen preceding him with their torches. The priest followed, and so did the rest; the last being Athanasia and myself.On every side around the old tower, when I looked from the summit of it, I perceived foot soldiers drawn up in a double line, while the road along which I had come with Dromo, was occupied by a band of horsemen, one of whom moved forward when he saw us descending, as if to take cognizance of the number and quality of the surprised assembly. His long cloak being muffled about his ears as he sate, and the shadow of his helmet falling deeply, I did not at first suspect who it was; but he had not counted half the party to the superior Officer behind him, ere I recognized him from the sound of his voice; and who, think ye, should it be but my good friend Sabinus?The Centurion, when his eye detected me, checked his horse so sharply that the animal bounded into the air; and,“Valerius!”quoth he,“ha! by the life of Cæsar, what is the meaning of this? Valerius in a Christian synagogue! By all the gods, there must be some mistake.”But before I, in my confusion, could make any answer to these exclamations, his eye chanced to glance on Athanasia, who, trembling, still retained the support of my arm; whereupon,“Ha! ha!”said he, in a quite different tone of voice,“there is a lady in[pg 220]the case.”And then, stooping in his seat, he whispered, half laughing, into my ear,“My most hypocritical smooth-face, you shall see what is the consequence of bringing these transatlantic pranks of yours to Rome. By Hercules, you wild dog, it may cost you some little trouble to get out of this scrape.”Having said so, he turned his horse, and rejoining the troop, appeared to enter into close conversation with him who sate at the head of the line. Of what my friend said, I could catch nothing more than certain vehement oaths, while, all the time, the Tribune (for such he was) continued to shake his head, in a way significant at once of doubt and determination. The end was, that he pointed with his sword; and Sabinus forced his horse backwards, at one plunge, into the place from which he had advanced.Our party were immediately separated one from another. I saw the priest lifted on a mule and hurried away towards the city, with a horseman on each hand of him. The fiery Cotilius, and one or two more, were compelled to follow, with similar attendance, in the same direction; others, again, had their horses’ heads turned more to the westward—but all departed at speed, and were soon lost to my view among the projections of the tombs. The last that remained to be disposed of were Athanasia and myself, and for a moment I had some hope that we might perhaps be intrusted to the same guards; but this hope was in vain, and after I perceived that it was so, scarcely even was time permitted to me for bidding her farewell. To kiss her hand, and to whisper a single word of parting hope into her ear, was all I could do. A tear rolled from her[pg 221]cheek and fell upon my hand; yet she smiled faintly upon me, and“Hope,”said she—“yes, dear Valerius, Hope and Faith both go with me.”And with that the pale maiden was separated from the arm to which she had trusted, and I saw her also mounted and borne away rapidly. A moment after, I found myself, in like manner, seized and lifted upon a horse, and almost before I could look around me, we had escaped from the flare of the torches, and the crowd of the soldiery, and were stretching at a rapid pace, I knew not whither, although I suspected, from the width of the road, that we had regained the Appian.But I have forgotten to mention to you, that just at the moment when they were lifting Athanasia upon the mule that was to bear her from my sight, my eye caught a glimpse of the witch Pona, who was sitting at the root of one of the pine-trees, close to the tower. And behind her stood, leaning against the tree, a figure wrapped in a rich red cloak, which I suspected to be a female also, but could not be certain, because the countenance was concealed in the folds of the garment. To this person, whoever it might be, the witch turned round eagerly, while the soldiers were carrying off Athanasia. I saw no more, for, as I have told you, immediately afterwards I also was carried away.

The orator received us with less coldness than I could have expected. I suppose his knowledge that our morning had been spent in Rubellia’s company, had in some measure softened his feelings of jealousy towards his son; and perhaps he had given me credit for advice, to the merit of which I had no claim. But he remained not long at table after supper was concluded, being summoned to discourse in private with a client:—so that Sextus and I were left to spend the evening as it might please ourselves; for as to Xerophrastes, he had not as yet made his appearance, and we took it for granted he had remained at the mansion of Fabricius, for the purpose of consoling with philosophical controversies his bereaved brother of Ionia.

We retired, therefore, into the apartment of my young friend; but he could not read a page without coming upon some verse which made him throw down the scroll to ruminate on the charms of his Sempronia. When he took up his lute, his fingers seemed to evoke only the most melancholy sounds. It was only in the exercise of the foil, that he succeeded in banishing from his thoughts the troubles of his situation; but both of us having contended till[pg 197]we were breathless, were soon compelled to sit down, and then the unhappy boy’s exhausted body seemed to communicate a new debility to his mind. We sat for the most part in silence, (for I soon found that I could not say any thing capable of interesting him,) until the shades of evening had quite darkened the chamber, and then we walked together, not less silently, in the adjoining open gallery, until the moon had arisen from above the tall poplars around the Pantheon and Baths of Agrippa, and diffused her radiance over all the beautiful gardens and noble edifices that lay beneath us down to the brink of the river. Lassitude of spirit then, if not expectation of sleep, rendered Sextus desirous of retiring to his couch; so, having exhorted the youth to wrestle with his grief, and to call hope to his aid, I at length left him to himself. But as for me, I had as yet no feeling of weariness, and, besides, I remembered the promise I had made to Dromo in the morning.

I was very much surprised, indeed, that the Cretan had not as yet come to me, and made inquiry concerning him of Boto; but hearing that the man was absent from the house, I thought from this there was the more likelihood of his being engaged in some scheme, the result of which I should by and by learn from his own lips. I dismissed my Briton, therefore, and prepared to read by my watch-light, and while I was considering what I should read, I remembered the scroll I had received from Tisias, which forthwith I took from the place in which I had locked it up on the morning of the preceding day. There fell from out of it, as I unfolded it, a letter sealed, but without any superscription. This I of course considered as meant only[pg 198]for the eye of Athanasia; so I kissed the parchment her fingers were destined to touch, and, before I began to read, restored it to its receptacle.

More than one of you, my young friends, have already heard me speak, on another occasion, of the impression which that night’s reading made upon my mind, and been told, from my own lips, what book it was that was contained in the scroll of Tisias; the rest of you will judge for yourselves with what astonishment it was that I, who had at the best expected to unfold some obscure treatise of Asiatic lore, some semi-barbarous exposition of mystical riddles, found myself engaged in the perusal of a plain and perspicuous narrative of facts, written evidently by a man of accomplishment and learning, and in Greek of which the most elegant penman of these times could have had no occasion to be ashamed. In a word, it was the Gospel of the holy physician St Luke which had been put into my hands; and at this day I am still grateful that this was the first of the Christian books which I had an opportunity of seeing; for such had been my education, that I am afraid others, not less worthy of the true faith, might have repelled me by the peculiarities of their composition, as well as by the acquaintance with many things, to me then entirely unknown, which they take for granted in the style of their commencement. Here, however, there was enough only of mystery, the more effectually to stimulate my curiosity, while the eagerness with which I engaged myself in its gratification, was abundantly repaid from the beginning, both by the beauty of the simple narrative itself, and the sublimity of the conceptions embodied and evolved in its course.

Considering the book which I was reading, as one merely of human origin and invention, I could not help regarding it with such admiration, that it appeared to me above all things wonderful, I had never seen it mentioned by any of the writers of the age, or heard it spoken of by any of those who, in my presence, since I came to Rome, had talked concerning the faith and doctrines of the persecuted Christians. But this was not all. At least, said I to myself, there is something here which deserves to be inquired into and examined. Of things such as these, if told falsely, it must needs have been—nay, it must still be, easy to prove the falsehood. It is impossible that, in the days of Tiberius, any such events should have occurred in Palestine, without being more or less submitted to the inspection of Roman eyes. This is no wild tale, handed down from the dark ages of a barbarous race. Here I have a Roman Centurion described as among the witnesses of this man’s miraculous power, and acknowledging the divinity of his benevolence. Here, at least, must have been one spectator without prejudices, otherwise than against this Prophet of Nazareth. Of a surety, the legends of Rome herself contain many tales which demand a much greater measure of indulgence; since the wonders they narrate appear to have been oftentimes attended with no beneficial consequences, either to individuals or to the state; whereas here the occasion seems always to have been such as might justify the interference of supernatural might. The power of this person seems to have been exerted only for good; and his precepts are full of such godlike loftiness as neither Socrates, nor Plato, nor any of those Greek sages, who[pg 200]bowed in reverence to the hoary wisdom of Egypt and India, would have disdained to admire.

The doubts, suspicions, and distrusts, with which such thoughts were mingled,—the under-current of reluctance with which I felt myself all along contending,—were such as you may more easily imagine than I can describe.

As the narrative went on, however, you will have no difficulty in supposing that my attention became more and more rivetted, and that, occupied with the strange events and sublime scenes it unfolds—and agitated by turns with the pity, the wonder, the terror, and the admiration that matchless story must ever awaken,—I had forgotten every thing beyond the page of the volume on which my finger was fixed.

It was only the rustling of Dromo’s cloak against the edge of my chair, that made me aware my privacy was disturbed. His hands seemed to be busied in tightening his girdle even before he was able to speak, and the first words he uttered, were—“Come, sir—this is no time for study. I have acquaintance with some of the soldiers at the Capene Gate, and they will let us pass through; but they are relieved at the next watch, and then we shall have no chance.”—“And why,”said I, hastily thrusting the scroll into my bosom—“why, Dromo, or for what purpose should we desire to pass through the Capene Gate at the dead hour of night?”—“Come,”said he;“there is no time for explanation. It is simply because it is the dead hour of night that we must pass through the gate; for it would do nobody any good to pass through at any other time. Come—or abandon Sextus to his fate.”

Thus adjured, I could not oppose any obstacle to his zeal. The chained porter was lying asleep across the threshold; but Dromo had already found means to have the door opened, so he leaped lightly over the man, and I imitated his agility. The Cretan then locked the gate on the outside, by means of a key which he carried in his bosom; and I followed his rapid steps without farther question.

This cunning varlet, (who seemed, indeed, to move as if he had a natural aversion to every open place,) threaded one obscure lane after another, keeping always, where the moonlight had any access, to the dark side of the way; a person better skilled than myself might well have been somewhat puzzled; as for me, I had not the least conception whither I was going. Close, however, did I adhere to him; and we reached the Capene Port, which is on the south side of the city, not many bow-shots from the Anio, before I could have imagined it possible to traverse so great a space.

Here Dromo told me to wait for him a single moment, and stepped down into a cellar, in which a light was burning; but he staid not long, and when he returned to me, I observed that his style of walking was more clumsy than usual, which, indeed, was not to be wondered at, considering that he had now to carry, not only himself, but two huge skins of wine, intended, as I at once suspected, for the purpose of facilitating our passage. I told him my suspicion in a whisper; but he made no answer, except by handing to me one of his burdens. So laden, we crept on as well as we could to the portal, beneath the shadow of which two Prætorians were pacing, their armour ringing audibly upon[pg 202]them amidst the silence of the night.—Silently did the well-oiled hinges turn, and very silently stooping did we step beneath the lintel of the Capene Gate, which as silently was again made fast.

As we advanced among the funereal monuments which line the Appian Way on either side, Dromo stood still every now and then for a moment, as if to listen; but whatever he might have heard, or expected to hear, I perceived nothing, except here and there the howl of a dog, or the lazy hooting of the night-owl, from the top of some of the old cypresses that rose between us and the moon.

At last he seemed to catch the sound he had been expecting, for he started suddenly; and laying his finger on his lip, crept to the parapet.

The ground behind was more desolate of aspect than any part of that which we had traversed—stoney and hard, with here and there tufts of withered fern; and immediately below the wall two human figures were visible. The one was sitting on the ground, wrapped in a dark cloak which entirely concealed the countenance: the other was a half-naked boy, holding in a string a little new-shorn lamb, which with one of his hands he continually caressed. But forthwith the sitter arose, and throwing away the cloak, displayed the gray tangled tresses of an old woman, and two strong boney arms, one of which was stretched forth with an impatient gesture towards the stripling, while the other was pointed upwards to the visible moon.“Strike,”said she,“strike deeply—beware lest the blood tinge your feet or your hands;”—and I recognized at once the voice of the same Pona that had[pg 203]attracted my notice in the morning, at the foot of the Palatine.

The boy drew forth instantly a knife from his bosom, whose glittering blade was buried in the throat of the yearling, and it was then first that I perceived a small ditch dug between the boy and the woman, into which, the lamb’s throat being held over it, the blood was made to drop from the wound. So surely had the blow been given, that not one bleat escaped from the animal, and so deeply, that the blood flowed in a strong stream, dashing audibly upon the bottom of the trench. And while it was dropping, the old woman muttering a sort of chant to Hecate, as I gathered, showered from her girdle I know not what of bones or sticks, mingled with leaves and roots, which afterwards she seemed to be stirring about in the blood with one of the tall strong stems of the fern that grew there. The wildness of her gestures was such, that I could not doubt she had herself some faith in the efficacy of the foul charms to which she had resorted; nor could I see her stirring that trench of innocent blood, without remembering the still more ruthless charms, whose practice the poets of Italy have ascribed to such hoary enchantresses. The dreariness of the midnight wind, too, as it whistled along the bare and steril soil around us, and the perpetual variations in the light, by reason of the careering of those innumerable clouds, and the remembrance of the funereal purposes for which, as it seemed, all this region was set apart—the whole of this together produced, I know not how, a certain pressure upon my spirits, and I confess to you, I felt, kneeling there by the side of my now trembling Cretan, as if I owed him no[pg 204]great thanks for having brought me that night beyond the Capene Gate.

It seemed as if the goddess, to whom the witch’s song had been addressed, did not listen to it with favourable ear; for the clouds gathered themselves more thickly than ever, while the wind howled only more loudly among the tombs, and the half-scared owl sent up a feebler hooting. Notwithstanding, the old woman continued fixed in the same attitude of expectation, and the stripling still held the well-nigh drained throat of his lamb above the trench. By degrees, however, the patience of both seemed to be exhausted; and there arose between them an angry altercation.“Infernal brat of Hades!”quoth the witch,“look ye, if you have not stained your filthy hands, and if the thirsty shadows be not incensed, because you have deprived them of some of the sweet blood which they love!”—“Curse not me, mother,”replied the boy—“Did you think, in truth, that the blood of a stolen lamb would ever propitiate Hecate?”—“Imp!”quoth she,“Hold thy peace, or I will try whether no other blood may make the charm work better!”—“Beware!”quoth the boy, leaping backwards—“beware what you do! I am no longer so weak that I must bear all your blows.”

“Stop,”cried I,“for there are eyes that you think not of, to take note of your wickedness;”and in my vehemence I shook one of the great loose stones that were on the top of the wall, which rolled down and bounded into the ditch beside them; and the woman, huddling her cloak over her head, began to run swiftly away from us, along the wall over which we were leaning. The boy only stood still for a moment, and[pg 205]looked upwards towards the place where we were, and then he also fled, but in the opposite direction; and Dromo said to me in a very piteous whisper, but not till both were out of sight,—“Heaven and earth! was ever such madness as to scare the witch from her incantation? Alas! for you and for me, sir—and, most of all, alas for Sextus—for I fear me after this we shall have no luck in counteracting the designs of Rubellia.”

“Rubellia! what? can you possibly imagine Rubellia to have any thing to do with this madness?”

“Imagine?”quoth he;“do you need to be told, that if things had gone well with that woman and her ditch, we should never have been able to preserve Sextus from her clutches?”

“By the rod of Hermes, good Dromo!”said I,“this will never do. I shall believe much on your credit, but not things quite so extravagant as this.”

He made no reply save a long, incredulous, and, I think, contemptuous whistle, which seemed to reach the ears of every owl between us and the Appian; with such a hooting and screeching did they echo its note from every cypress. And when Dromo heard that doleful concert, his dread redoubled within him, for he shook from head to foot, while I held his arm in mine; until, at last, he seemed to make one violent effort, and springing on his feet, said—“Come, Master Valerius, let us behave after all like men!”—I smiled when he said so—“The hour has not yet come, if my Calabrian friend is to be trusted, at which the lady was to visit Pona in her dwelling. It is but daring a little more. If she has seen and known us already, then nothing can endanger us farther; and if she hath not, we may[pg 206]escape again.”—“Well spoken,”said I,“most shrewd Dromo, and like yourself; but what is it that you would have us to do?”—“The first thing,”he replied,“is what has already been too long delayed.”

The Cretan produced from under his cloak a long fictitious beard, which he immediately proceeded to fix upon his own face with a string. A thin tall cap of black cloth was next brought forth, which he fastened in like manner around his brows; and a little piece of chalk, with which he once or twice rubbed over his black bushy eye-brows, completed a disguise beneath which I should certainly have sought in vain to discover any trace of the natural countenance of Dromo. In short, after a few changes in the folding of his cloak, there stood before me a figure so venerably mysterious, that had I met it unawares at midnight, in the neighbourhood of so many tombs, I am not sure, although of no superstitious temper, that I could have regarded it without awe.

“Come now, good Master,”quoth he,“you are taller than I, pluck me a branch from the nearest tree, and I think you shall confess I make a decent Soothsayer.”In this it was easy to gratify him; for there was an old willow just a few yards off, and its boughs were so dry with age, that I soon abstracted a very proper wand for him. After receiving which, he stood for a moment leaning on it in a dignified fashion, as if to rehearse an attitude worthy of his new vocation; and then said—“Well, sir, I think if the Lady Rubellia comes now, we shall be tolerably prepared for her. But I have no disguise for you; therefore, the moment you hear a footstep, be sure you wrap your[pg 207]face in your gown, and stand behind me, for so shall you best consult both your own concealment, and the dignity of this Assyrian. There is no other way by which she can come from the Suburra, therefore we might stay very well where we are; but I think it might be still better to await her coming where there are either tombs or larger trees to cast a shade over our equipage, in case the moon should take it into her head to be more kind to us than she was to Pona.”—“By all means,”said I,“most venerable man—and besides, the wind is rather chilly, therefore I shall be well pleased to have shelter as well as shade.”

“You shall have both,”quoth he;“there is a thick grove of pines only a little way on. I believe there is a very grand tomb in the midst of them, in case you should prefer to sit under it.—By the bye,”he continued, after some little pause,“it is odd enough that it should be so; but I believe it is the very place where all that race of the Sempronii, to which a certain young damsel belongs, have been burnt and buried ever since Rome was a city. You cannot see their tomb yet; but that is only from the thickness of the trees, some of which are, I suppose, even older than itself. Now I remember me, it was just there that they set up two winters ago the funeral pile of old Caius—I mean the father of the Lady Athanasia, whom you saw at Capito’s villa. They are a very noble race, and although none of the richest now-a-days, there is not a prouder in Rome. I saw the procession at that old man’s funeral myself, and I think the images of his ancestors that they carried before him, would have reached half way from hence to the Great Road. Grim, dusty figures, I trow they were;[pg 208]but I doubt not there had been many a haughty captain among them when they were alive.”

These words were spoken as we were moving onwards towards this same grove of pines, and before he had made an end of speaking, we could clearly hear the wind sighing among their branches, and along the dry underground. And on coming to them I found that he had said truly there was a tomb in the midst of them, for a very noble, high, circular tower was indeed there, which, from the grayness of its walls, and luxuriance of ivy, had the appearance of being at least as ancient as any of the surrounding trees. The only method of access to the inside, seemed to be by means of a winding stair, which rose on the exterior from the ground to the summit—a method not unusual in Roman sepulchres—and it was on one of the steps of this stair that I seated myself, where, between the shaded wall on the one side, and the pine branches on the other, I was effectually concealed. As for Dromo, I know not whether it was that he coveted not exactly such close proximity to the stones of such an edifice; but instead of ascending with me, he took up a position beside one of the largest pines over against me.

Although the moon had got rid of her clouds, and the sky, where any of it could be seen, was abundantly brilliant, the natural darkness of that funereal grove was such, that very little difference could be produced in the midst of it by any variation on the face of any nightly luminary. The tower itself received some of the moonbeams on its carved surface; but its contemporary trees participated not in any such illumination,—one solemn shade covering all things beneath the[pg 209]influence of their growth.“I can scarcely see you, Dromo,”said I;“but I think that speck must be your beard, and if so, I beg you would tell me what it is you really have in view by all this preparation? Do you expect me to stay here on a tomb-stone all night, merely because you wish to have an opportunity of terrifying poor Rubellia by some ghost-like howl or other when she passes you?—which, by the way, it seems by no means certain she will do at all. Or what is your purpose?”—“Hush!”was his answer;“ask no questions, but hem thrice if you hear a footstep—for young ears are the keenest.”Accordingly silence was kept so strictly, that, in spite of the chillness of the stone on which I sate, I presently fell into a sort of dozing slumber.

By degrees, however,—nor, considering the hour and the fatigue I had undergone, is it wonderful that it should have been so,—my sleep must have become sufficiently profound, for I did not at first, on waking from it, very well remember either where I was, or for what purpose I had come thither. And, indeed, I have little doubt my slumbers might have continued till day-break, but for the interruption I am now to mention.

And yet it seemed as if even in my sleep I had been prepared for this by some strange anticipation, for although it was a near sound of singing voices that dispelled my slumbers, and made me start from the stone on which I had placed myself, I could not help feeling as if that sound were not altogether new to me;—whether it were that the half-sensible ear had been already ministering indistinctly to the dreaming spirit, or that some purely fantastic prelude had been vouch[pg 210]safed to the real music. I started up suddenly, that much is certain, and listened with astonishment, yet not altogether with such surprise as might have been expected to attend a transition so hasty from sleep to waking, and from silence to the near neighbourhood of sounds at once so strange and so sweet. With breathless curiosity, nevertheless, with awe, and not entirely I think without terror, did I listen to the notes which seemed to ascend out of the habitation of the noble dead into the nightly air—wild, yet solemn, as if breathed from the bosom of a stately repose and a pensive felicity; insomuch, that almost I persuaded myself I was hearing the forbidden sounds of another world, and the thought came over me,—yet almost I think at that moment without farther disturbing me,—what fearful interpretations the old poets have affixed to such untimely communion, and how the superstition of all antiquity has shrunk from its omen.

My first impulse, after a moment had elapsed, was to call on Dromo, and I did so, at first in a low whisper, and then two or three times more loudly—but all equally in vain, for no answer was returned; and though I strained my eyes in gazing on the place where I had last seen him, yet there I could perceive no trace whatever of any human figure. The moonlight indeed shewed with more distinctness than before the tall stem of the old pine-tree against which he had been leaning; but no motion, nor the least appearance of whiteness, could either my eyes or my imagination discover there. I might easily, you will say, have stept across the road, and entirely satisfied myself; but I know not well[pg 211]what it was that nailed me to the place where I stood, and prevented me even from once thinking of doing so. The calm sepulchral music, my friends, still continued to stream from the recess of the mausoleum, and painless awe held me there, as if by a charm incontrollable. I gazed upwards, and beheld the moon riding above the black pine tops, in a now serene and cloudless heaven. The wind also had passed away, as it appeared, with the clouds it had agitated. The bird of night was asleep on her unseen bough; and all was silent as death, except only the dwelling of the departed; and a certain indescribable delight was beginning, as I gazed and listened, to be mixed with the perturbation wherewith at first I had been inspired.

And I know not how long I might have stood so, but while I was yet listening to this mysterious music, there was mingled with its expiring cadence the sound of a heavy footstep on the staircase above me, and looking up, I perceived in the moonlight the figure of a man, clad in a white gown, but having a naked sword stretched forth in his hand, immediately over the place whereon I was standing. I obeyed the first natural impulse, and leaped downwards swiftly on seeing him; but this availed me nothing, for he also leaped, and almost before my feet had touched the ground, I felt the grasp of his hand upon my shoulder, and that so strongly, that I perceived plainly there was as little possibility of escape as of resistance. I made therefore no farther effort, but suffered him to do with me as he pleased; and he, on his part, said not a single word, but still retaining his hold, pointed with his sword to the same steps from which I had descended, and com[pg 212]pelled me to mount them before him, up to the very summit of the round tower.

“Why is this, sir?”said I;“and whither do you conduct me?”

“Peace,”was all his answer; and, in like manner as he had made me climb the exterior, so also he compelled me to begin the descent of a similar flight of steps, which led down from an aperture above, into the interior of the edifice. And although I must confess to you that I obeyed not this silent guidance without considerable fear, yet I strove as well as I could to control myself. I moved with a step in which I think not there could be perceived any trembling.

Yet you will admit that even had I been master at that moment of less firmness, I might have been excusable; for looking down, I perceived that a lamp was burning in the midst of the sepulchral tower far below me, and saw sitting around it a company of eight or ten persons, at whose mercy, it was quite visible, I must be placed. Neither, if I might judge from the demeanour of the person that was bringing me into their assembly, did there appear to be any great room for dependance on them; for, as to themselves, not one of them looked up towards me as I was stepping down, and being wrapped in their cloaks, I had no means of discovering what manner of persons they were. The way in which I had been treated, however, by one of their number, was a sufficient evidence, either that they conceived themselves to have been injured by my being there, or that they were capable of taking some undue advantage of my helpless condition. The calmness of their attitudes, and the recollection of the sounds[pg 213]that I had heard, inclined me to the former of these suppositions; and when I perceived that not one of them stirred, even till I had reached the lowmost step of the interior staircase, in this, without question, I already felt myself considerably strengthened.

“Behold,”said my guide, as I at length touched the marble floor of the mausoleum itself—“Behold proof, and that living, that my suspicions were not quite so groundless as you were pleased to imagine. Here is a man whom I found listening, even on the very steps of this tower. It is for you to decide what shall be done with the eaves-dropper.”

With this the whole company sprung at once to their feet, and I perceived evidently, from the surprise expressed in their looks and attitudes, that until that moment not one of them had been aware of my approach. I was about to speak, and declare my innocence of any treachery, or even of any knowledge concerning the purpose of their meeting; but before I could do so, one of them, and I think the oldest of all that were present, having in an instant recovered the tranquillity which my arrival had disturbed, said to me in a voice of the utmost gentleness,“Young man, what has brought thee hither, or who sent thee? Art thou indeed a spy, and was it thy purpose to betray our assembly?”

“Sir,”said I,“I know nothing of your assembly, or of its purpose; I fell asleep by accident on the outside of this tower, and, when I awoke, the music that I heard detained me.”

“Examine the stripling,”quoth he that had conducted me—“examine his person.”—“His looks belie[pg 214]him,”replied the senior,“if you have cause for suspicion. But if you will it so, search the young man.”And with that my guide, laying his unsheathed sword upon a table, or altar of black marble, proceeded to search my garments, and finding in my bosom the scroll which I had received from Tisias, he glanced on it for a moment, and then handing it to the senior, said,“Now, sirs, doubt ye if ye will.”—“Before heaven—it is the book of the holy Luke!”said the other;“this is indeed suspicious. How came this scroll into thy hands, young man? Art thou aware that one of the books of the Christians has been found in thy bosom?”—“I know it,”said I;“it is one of the books of their faith, and I have read in it this evening for the first time.”—“Then thou art not thyself a Christian?”—“I received the book from one Christian,”said I, waiving the question;“and I made promise to deliver it into the hands of another?”—“Name the Christian who gave thee this book!”said my stern guide.—“Tisias of Antioch,”I replied;“the same who died yesterday in the Amphitheatre.”—“Yes,”quoth he, again;“and I suppose it was there he gave it to you. Every one knows the name of Tisias. Name, if you please, the person to whom you are to deliver the book.”—“You shall pardon me,”said I,“that I will not. You may call me an eaves-dropper, if you will; but you shall find I am no traitor. It is a Roman—a noble Roman lady to whom I must give this book; and I would not tell you her name although you should slaughter me here in this tomb, which I have entered living and without guilt.”And having said this, I folded my arms, and stood still, abiding their will.

But scarcely had I finished these words, ere I felt a small trembling hand laid upon my shoulder, and looking round, I perceived Athanasia herself, who whispered into my ear,—“Valerius, was the book for me? If so, you may say it boldly, and I will vouch for your word.”—“For you, lady,”I answered in the same tone,“and for none other. You well know that I was present in his prison the night before his death; so far at least you can confirm what I have said.”

“Sir,”said she, addressing the old man that had before questioned me,“I know this young man: and I believe what he has said, and will be answerable for his fidelity. It was he that went in to our friend the other night in his prison, and the book was intrusted to him by the old man, that it might be given into my hands. His name is Valerius—Caius Valerius—and he is by birth a noble Roman.”

“Say you so, lady?”interrupted my original conductor;“then I ask his pardon. I have wronged Caius Valerius; but both you and he must forgive me, for it must be confessed he was found in a very extraordinary situation.”

“Even so,”I replied,“I have nothing to complain of. I perceive that I am present in an assembly of Christians; but he shall do me much wrong that thinks I bear any enmity to them,—or, from all that I have yet seen or read, to the faith which they profess. I have read part of that book,”I continued,“for I made promise to Tisias that I should do so before giving it to Athanasia; and I trust I shall still be permitted by her to read more of it before it is finally demanded from me.”—“Oh, read it!”said Athanasia, gently again whis[pg 216]pering to me.“Oh yes, read the book, Valerius, and may God enlighten the reader.”And so saying, she herself took up the scroll from the table on which it was lying, and gave it again into my hands.—“There was also a letter for you,”said I, receiving it,“but that I left at home.”—“No matter,”said Athanasia,“you shall give me the letter and the book both together hereafter.”

“In the meantime,”said I,“I suppose it were better I should retire.”

“Young sir,”said the senior,“that is as you please; in a little while we shall all be moving towards the city. Stay with us till then, if such be your will; that which you may hear, can at least do you no harm. Already, I doubt not, you have seen enough to despise the ignorant calumnies of our enemies.”

When he had said so, the old man walked to the side of the sepulchre, and took out from behind one of the urns that stood there, (ranged in their niches,) a small casquet, which, returning, he placed before him on the marble table. Then, opening the casquet, he brought forth a silver goblet, and a salver containing some little pieces of bread; and, untying from his neck a massive cross of gold, he set that also on the table, between the cup and the salver. In brief, the Christian priest, (for such, as you already see, he was,) had finished his preparation, and was about to commence the administration of the blessed Eucharist. And when all the rest were kneeling before the table, Athanasia, laying her hand upon my arm, beckoned to me to kneel by her side; and so indeed I would have done in my ignorance, had not the priest himself pointed to[pg 217]a station a few yards behind the lady, to which, accordingly, I drew back—apart from those who were to be privileged with the participation of those holy symbols.

Scarcely had they composed themselves in their places, and listened to the first words of the appointed service, when I, standing there by myself, thought, unless my ears deceived me, there must be some one on the outer stair-case of the tower; and my eyes instinctively, I suppose, were fixed upon the aperture, which, as I have told you, was in the high roof above the circle of the niched walls. Here, however, when I first looked, there was nothing to be seen, but the round spot of the sky, far up in the midst of the marble roof; but while I was looking steadfastly, that space was suddenly diminished; and a dog bayed, and at the same moment a voice which I well knew, screamed,“I have them—I hold them—let them burst the net if they can.”

The cry of Pona disturbed effectually the Christian priest, and the whole of those that were with him. Rising up hastily from their knees, they stood all together around the table, while the old man, having kissed both the cup and the cross, restored them as quickly as he could to the casket from which they had been taken. But while the priest was doing this, he that found me on the stair appearing to revert into his suspicion, and looking sternly upon me where I stood, said,“Is this then the innocence which we spared! Is this the noble Roman for whom Athanasia pledged herself? Speak, brethren, what shall be done to this traitor, by whom, even more than by those dogs of the tombs, it is a shame for us that we have been[pg 218]hunted?”Saying so, the man lifted up his sword again, and it seemed as if he would have smitten me to the ground without farther question. But Athanasia threw herself swiftly between him and me.“For shame, Cotilius,”said she;“such suspiciousness is unworthy of a Roman knight.”—“You say well, noble damsel,”quoth the old priest, interrupting her;“but you might say also that such cruelty is unworthy of a soldier of Christ. Peace, peace, children; there is no evil in the youth, nor, if there were, would it be our part to avenge it.”

While he was saying this, three or four blazing torches were thrust down into the place from above, and Athanasia, laying her hand upon my arm, said,“Look up, Caius, I see helmets.—Alas! am I not already here? why, if they will slay me, should they drag me away now from the tomb of my fathers?”I felt the trembling of her hands, and she leaned upon my shoulder. I know not, I will confess to you, whether at that moment I tasted more of pleasure or of pain.

But by this time several of the soldiers had already begun to descend into the tower, and before another minute had elapsed, we found ourselves surrounded by the flame of their torches. And he that seemed to lead the party, after counting us one by one, said, turning to his companions,“Well, an old woman has told the truth for once—here are even more I think than she warned us of.—Come along, worthy people, you must not keep the Tribune waiting for you all night, and our watch is well-nigh expired already. Come, mount the stair—it will take a good half hour yet, I believe, to[pg 219]lodge you all safely in the Tullian—And do you,”he added, laying his hand on the hilt of Cotilius’ sword—“do you, brave sir, allow me to save you the trouble of carrying this bauble.”Nor was the stern knight so foolish as to dispute the command; but having yielded up his sword, he forthwith began to ascend, one or two spearmen preceding him with their torches. The priest followed, and so did the rest; the last being Athanasia and myself.

On every side around the old tower, when I looked from the summit of it, I perceived foot soldiers drawn up in a double line, while the road along which I had come with Dromo, was occupied by a band of horsemen, one of whom moved forward when he saw us descending, as if to take cognizance of the number and quality of the surprised assembly. His long cloak being muffled about his ears as he sate, and the shadow of his helmet falling deeply, I did not at first suspect who it was; but he had not counted half the party to the superior Officer behind him, ere I recognized him from the sound of his voice; and who, think ye, should it be but my good friend Sabinus?

The Centurion, when his eye detected me, checked his horse so sharply that the animal bounded into the air; and,“Valerius!”quoth he,“ha! by the life of Cæsar, what is the meaning of this? Valerius in a Christian synagogue! By all the gods, there must be some mistake.”But before I, in my confusion, could make any answer to these exclamations, his eye chanced to glance on Athanasia, who, trembling, still retained the support of my arm; whereupon,“Ha! ha!”said he, in a quite different tone of voice,“there is a lady in[pg 220]the case.”And then, stooping in his seat, he whispered, half laughing, into my ear,“My most hypocritical smooth-face, you shall see what is the consequence of bringing these transatlantic pranks of yours to Rome. By Hercules, you wild dog, it may cost you some little trouble to get out of this scrape.”

Having said so, he turned his horse, and rejoining the troop, appeared to enter into close conversation with him who sate at the head of the line. Of what my friend said, I could catch nothing more than certain vehement oaths, while, all the time, the Tribune (for such he was) continued to shake his head, in a way significant at once of doubt and determination. The end was, that he pointed with his sword; and Sabinus forced his horse backwards, at one plunge, into the place from which he had advanced.

Our party were immediately separated one from another. I saw the priest lifted on a mule and hurried away towards the city, with a horseman on each hand of him. The fiery Cotilius, and one or two more, were compelled to follow, with similar attendance, in the same direction; others, again, had their horses’ heads turned more to the westward—but all departed at speed, and were soon lost to my view among the projections of the tombs. The last that remained to be disposed of were Athanasia and myself, and for a moment I had some hope that we might perhaps be intrusted to the same guards; but this hope was in vain, and after I perceived that it was so, scarcely even was time permitted to me for bidding her farewell. To kiss her hand, and to whisper a single word of parting hope into her ear, was all I could do. A tear rolled from her[pg 221]cheek and fell upon my hand; yet she smiled faintly upon me, and“Hope,”said she—“yes, dear Valerius, Hope and Faith both go with me.”And with that the pale maiden was separated from the arm to which she had trusted, and I saw her also mounted and borne away rapidly. A moment after, I found myself, in like manner, seized and lifted upon a horse, and almost before I could look around me, we had escaped from the flare of the torches, and the crowd of the soldiery, and were stretching at a rapid pace, I knew not whither, although I suspected, from the width of the road, that we had regained the Appian.

But I have forgotten to mention to you, that just at the moment when they were lifting Athanasia upon the mule that was to bear her from my sight, my eye caught a glimpse of the witch Pona, who was sitting at the root of one of the pine-trees, close to the tower. And behind her stood, leaning against the tree, a figure wrapped in a rich red cloak, which I suspected to be a female also, but could not be certain, because the countenance was concealed in the folds of the garment. To this person, whoever it might be, the witch turned round eagerly, while the soldiers were carrying off Athanasia. I saw no more, for, as I have told you, immediately afterwards I also was carried away.

Back to IndexNext