CHAPTER 4.
THE CHURCH.
In the year 324, on the locality assigned by rumour to the martyrdom ofSt. Peter, and over the ruins of the Circus of Nero, Constantineerected the church called the Basilica of St. Peter.
For twelve centuries, this building, raised by a man infamous for hismurders and his tyrannies, stood uninjured amid the shocks which duringthat long period devastated the rest of the city. After that time itwas removed, tottering to its base from its own reverend andillustrious age, by Pope Julius II, to make way for the foundations ofthe modern church.
It is towards this structure of twelve hundred years' duration, erectedby hands stained with blood, and yet preserved as a star of peace inthe midst of stormy centuries of war, that we would direct the reader'sattention. What art has done for the modern church, time has effectedfor the ancient. If the one is majestic to the eye by its grandeur,the other is hallowed to the memory by its age.
As this church by its rise commemorated the triumphant establishment ofChristianity as the religion of Rome, so in its progress it reflectedevery change wrought in the spirit of the new worship by the ambition,the prodigality, or the frivolity of the priests. At first it stoodawful and imposing, beautiful in all its parts as the religion forwhose glory it was built. Vast porphyry colonnades decorated itsapproaches, and surrounded a fountain whose waters issued from therepresentation of a gigantic pine-tree in bronze. Its double rows ofaisles were each supported by forty-eight columns of precious marble.Its flat ceiling was adorned with beams of gilt metal, rescued from thepollution of heathen temples. Its walls were decorated with largepaintings of religious subjects, and its tribunal was studded withelegant mosaics. Thus it rose, simple and yet sublime, awful and yetalluring; in this its beginning, a type of the dawn of the worshipwhich it was elevated to represent. But when, flushed with success,the priests seized on Christianity as their path to politics and theirintroduction to power, the aspect of the church gradually began tochange. As, slowly and insensibly, ambitious man heaped the garbage ofhis mysteries, his doctrines, and his disputes, about the pristinepurity of the structure given him by God, so, one by one, gaudyadornments and meretricious alterations arose to sully the oncemajestic basilica, until the threatening and reproving apparition ofthe pagan Julian, when both Church and churchmen received in theircorrupt progress a sudden and impressive check.
The short period of the revival of idolatry once passed over, thepriests, unmoved by the warning they had received, returned withrenewed vigour to confuse that which both in their Gospel and theirChurch had been once simple. Day by day they put forth freshtreatises, aroused fierce controversies, subsided into new sects; andday by day they altered more and more the once noble aspect of theancient basilica. They hung their nauseous relics on its mighty walls,they stuck their tiny tapers about its glorious pillars, they wreathedtheir tawdry fringes around its massive altars. Here they polished,there they embroidered. Wherever there was a window, they curtained itwith gaudy cloths; wherever there was a statue, they bedizened it withartificial flowers; wherever there was a solemn recess, they outragedits religious gloom with intruding light; until (arriving at the periodwe write of) they succeeded so completely in changing the aspect of thebuilding, that it looked, within, more like a vast pagan toyshop than aChristian church. Here and there, it is true, a pillar or an altarrose unencumbered as of old, appearing as much at variance with thefrippery that surrounded it as a text of Scripture quoted in a sermonof the time. But as regarded the general aspect of the basilica, thedecent glories of its earlier days seemed irrevocably departed anddestroyed.
After what has been said of the edifice, the reader will have littledifficulty in imagining that the square in which it stood lost whateverelevation of character it might once have possessed, with even greaterrapidity than the church itself. If the cathedral now looked like animmense toyshop, assuredly its attendant colonnades had the appearanceof the booths of an enormous fair.
The day, whose decline we have hinted at in the preceding chapter, wasfast verging towards its close, as the inhabitants of the streets onthe western bank of the Tiber prepared to join the crowds that theybeheld passing by their windows in the direction of the Basilica of St.Peter. The cause of this sudden confluence of the popular current inonce common direction was made sufficiently apparent to all inquirerswho happened to be near a church or a public building, by theappearance in such situations of a large sheet of vellum elaboratelyilluminated, raised on a high pole, and guarded from contact with theinquisitive rabble by two armed soldiers. The announcements set forthin these strange placards were all of the same nature and directed tothe same end. In each of them the Bishop of Rome informed his 'piousand honourable brethren', the inhabitants of the city, that, as thenext days was the anniversary of the Martyrdom of St. Luke, the vigilwould necessarily be held on that evening in the Basilica of St. Peter;and that, in consideration of the importance of the occasion, therewould be exhibited, before the commencement of the ceremony, thoseprecious relics connected with the death of the saint, which had becomethe inestimable inheritance of the Church; and which consisted of abranch of the olive-tree to which St. Luke was hung, a piece of thenoose--including the knot--which had been passed round his neck, and apicture of the Apotheosis of the Virgin painted by his own hand. Aftersome sentences expressive of lamentation for the sufferings of thesaint, which nobody read, and which it is unnecessary to reproducehere, the proclamation went on to state that a sermon would be preachedin the course of the vigil, and that at a later hour the greatchandelier, containing two thousand four hundred lamps, would be lit toilluminate the church. Finally, the worthy bishop called upon allmembers of his flock, in consideration of the solemnity of the day, toabstain from sensual pleasures, in order that they might the morepiously and worthily contemplate the sacred objects submitted to theirview, and digest the spiritual nourishment to be offered to theirunderstandings.
From the specimen we have already given of the character of thepopulace of Rome, it will perhaps be unnecessary to say that the greatattractions presented by this theological bill of fare were the relicsand the chandelier. Pulpit eloquence and vigil solemnities alone musthave long exhibited their more sober allurements, before they couldhave drawn into the streets a fiftieth part of the immense crowd thatnow hurried towards the desecrated basilica. Indeed, so vast was theassemblage soon congregated, that the advanced ranks of sightseers hadalready filled the church to overflowing, before those in the rear hadcome within view of the colonnades.
However dissatisfied the unsuccessful portion of the citizens mightfeel at their exclusion from the church, they found a powerfulcounter-attraction in the amusements going forward in the Place, theoccupants of which seemed thoroughly regardless of the bishop'sadmonitions upon the sobriety of behaviour due to the solemnity of theday. As if in utter defiance of the decency and order recommended bythe clergy, popular exhibitions of all sorts were set up on the broadflagstones of the great space before the church. Street dancing-girlsexercised at every available spot those 'gliding gyrations' soeloquently condemned by the worthy Ammianus Marcellinus of orderly andhistorical memory. Booths crammed with relics of doubtful authenticity,baskets filled with neat manuscript abstracts of furiouslycontroversial pamphlets, pagan images regenerated into portraits ofsaints, pictorial representations of Arians writhing in damnation, andmartyrs basking in haloes of celestial light, tempted, in everydirection, the more pious among the spectators. Cooks perambulatedwith their shops on their backs; rival slave-merchants shoutedpetitions for patronage; wine-sellers taught Bacchanalian philosophyfrom the tops of their casks; poets recited compositions for sale;sophisters held arguments destined to convert the wavering and perplexthe ignorant.
Incessant motion and incessant noise seemed to be the solecompensations sought by the multitude for the disappointment ofexclusion from the church. If a stranger, after reading theproclamation of the day, had proceeded to the basilica, to feast hiseyes on the c
ontemplation of the illustrious aggregate of humanity,entitled by the bishop 'his pious and honourable brethren,' he must, onmixing at this moment with the assemblage, have either doubted thetruth of the episcopal appellation, or have given the citizens creditfor that refinement of intrinsic worth which is of too elevated anature to influence the character of the outward man.
At the time when the sun set, nothing could be more picturesque thanthe distant view of this joyous scene. The deep red rays of thedeparting luminary cast their radiance, partly from behind the church,over the vast multitude in the Place. Brightly and rapidly the richlight roved over the waters that leaped towards it from the fountain inall the loveliness of natural and evanescent form. Bathed in thatbrilliant glow, the smooth porphyry colonnades reflected, chameleonlike, ethereal and varying hues; the white marble statues becamesuffused in a delicate rose-colour, and the sober-tinted trees gleamedin the innermost of their leafy depths as if steeped in the exhalationsof a golden mist. While, contrasting strangely with the wondrousradiance around them, the huge bronze pine-tree in the middle of thePlace, and the wide front of the basilica, rose up in gloomy shadow,indefinite and exaggerated, lowering like evil spirits over the joyousbeauty of the rest of the scene, and casting their great depths ofshade into the midst of the light whose dominion they despised. Beheldfrom a distance, this wild combination of vivid brightness and solemngloom; these buildings, at one place darkened till they lookedgigantic, at another lightened till they appeared ethereal; thesecrowded groups, seeming one great moving mass gleaming at this point inradiant light, obscured at that in thick shadow, made up a whole soincongruous and yet so beautiful, so grotesque and yet so sublime, thatthe scene looked, for the moment, more like some inhabited meteor, halfeclipsed by its propinquity to earth, than a mortal and materialprospect.
The beauties of this atmospheric effect were of far too serious andsublime a nature to interest the multitude in the Place. Out of thewhole assemblage, but two men watched that glorious sunset with even anappearance of the admiration and attention which it deserved. One wasthe landholder whose wrongs were related in the preceding chapter--theother his remarkable friend.
These two men formed a singular contrast to each other, both indemeanour and appearance, as they gazed forth upon the crimson heaven.The landholder was an under-sized, restless-looking man, whosefeatures, naturally sharp, were now distorted by a fixed expression ofmisery and discontent. His quick, penetrating glance wanderedincessantly from place to place, perceiving all things, but resting onnone. In his attention to the scene before him, he appeared to havebeen led more by the influence of example than by his own spontaneousfeelings; for ever and anon he looked impatiently round upon his friendas if expecting him to speak--but no word or movement escaped histhoughtful companion. Occupied exclusively in his own contemplations,he appeared wholly insensible to any ordinary outward appeal.
In age and appearance this individual was in the decline of life; forhe had numbered sixty years, his hair was completely grey, and his facewas covered with deep wrinkles. Yet, in spite of these disadvantages,he was in the highest sense of the word a handsome man. Though wornand thin, his features were still bold and regular; and there was anelevation about the habitual mournfulness of his expression, and anintelligence about his somewhat severe and earnest eyes, that boreeloquent testimony to the superiority of his intellectual powers. Ashe now stood gazing fixedly out into the glowing sky, his tall, meagrefigure half supported upon his staff, his lips firmly compressed, hisbrow slightly frowning, and his attitude firm and motionless, the mostsuperficial observer must have felt immediately that he looked on noordinary being. The history of a life of deep thought--perhaps of longsorrow--seemed written in every lineament of his meditativecountenance; and there was a natural dignity in his manner, whichevidently restrained his restless companion from offering anydetermined interruption to the course of his reflections.
Slowly and gorgeously the sun had continued to wane in the horizonuntil he was now lost to view. As his last rays sunk behind thedistant hills, the stranger started from his reverie and approached thelandholder, pointing with his staff towards the fast-fading brightnessof the western sky.
'Probus,' said he, in a low, melancholy voice, 'as I looked on thatsunset I thought on the condition of the Church.'
'I see little in the Church to think of, or in the sunset to observe,'replied his companion.
'How pure, how vivid,' murmured the other, scarcely heeding thelandholder's remark, 'was the light which that sun cast upon this earthat our feet! How nobly for a time its brightness triumphed over theshadows around; and yet, in spite of the promise of that radiance, howswiftly did it fade ere long in its conflict with the gloom--howthoroughly, even now, has it departed from the earth, and withdrawn thebeauty of its glory from the heavens! Already the shadows arelengthening around us, and shrouding in their darkness every object inthe Place. But a short hour hence, and--should no moon arise--thegloom of night will stretch unresisted over Rome!'
'To what purpose do you tell me this?'
'Are you not reminded, by what we have observed, of the course of theworship which it is our privilege to profess? Does not that firstbeautiful light denote its pure and perfect rise; that short conflictbetween the radiance and the gloom, its successful preservation, by theApostles and the Fathers; that rapid fading of the radiance, itsdesecration in later times; and the gloom which now surrounds us, thedestruction which has encompassed it in this age we live in?--adestruction which nothing can avert but a return to that pure firstfaith that should now be the hope of our religion, as the moon is thehope of night!'
'How should we reform? Do people who have no liberties care about areligion? Who is to teach them?'
'I have--I will. It is the purpose of my life to restore to them theholiness of the ancient Church; to rescue them from the snare oftraitors to the faith, whom men call priests. They shall learn throughme that the Church knew no adornment once, but the presence of thepure; that the priest craved no finer vestment than his holiness; thatthe Gospel, which once taught humility and now raises dispute, was informer days the rule of faith--sufficient for all wants, powerful overall difficulties. Through me they shall know that in times past it wasthe guardian of the heart; through me they shall see that in timespresent it is the plaything of the proud; through me they shall fearthat in times future it may become the exile of the Church! To thistask I have vowed myself; to overthrow this idolatry--which, likeanother paganism, rises among us with its images, its relics, itsjewels, and its gold--I will devote my child, my life, my energies, andmy possessions. From this attempt I will never turn aside--from thisdetermination I will never flinch. While I have a breath of life inme, I will persevere in restoring to this abandoned city the trueworship of the Most High!'
He ceased abruptly. The intensity of his agitation seemed suddenly todeny to him the faculty of speech. Every muscle in the frame of thatstern, melancholy man quivered at the immortal promptings of the soulwithin him. There was something almost feminine in his universalsusceptibility to the influence of one solitary emotion. Even therough, desperate landholder felt awed by the enthusiasm of the beingbefore him, and forgot his wrongs, terrible as they were--and hismisery, poignant as it was--as he gazed upon his companion's face.
For some minutes neither of the men said more. Soon, however, the lastspeaker calmed his agitation with the facility of a man accustomed tostifle the emotions that he cannot crush, and advancing to thelandholder, took him sorrowfully by the hand.
'I see, Probus, that I have amazed you,' said he; 'but the Church isthe only subject on which I have no discretion. In all other matters Ihave conquered the rashness of my early manhood; in this I have towrestle with my hastier nature still. When I look on the mockeriesthat are acting around us; when I behold a priesthood deceivers, apeople deluded, a religion defiled, then, I confess it, my indignationoverpowers my patience, and I burn to destroy, where I ought only tohope to reform.'
/>
'I knew you always violent of imagination; but when I last saw you yourenthusiasm was love. Your wife--'
'Peace! She deceived me!'
'Your child--'
'Lives with me at Rome.'
'I remember her an infant, when, fourteen years since, I was yourneighbour in Gaul. On my departure from the province, you had justreturned from a journey into Italy, unsuccessful in your attempts todiscover there a trace either of your parents, or of that elder brotherwhose absence you were wont so continually to lament. Tell me, haveyou, since that period, discovered the members of your ancienthousehold? Hitherto you have been so occupied in listening to thehistory of my wrongs that you have scarcely spoken of the changes inyour life since we last met.'
'If, Probus, I have been silent to you concerning myself, it is becausefor me retrospection has little that attracts. While yet it was in mypower to return to those parents whom I deserted in my boyhood, Ithought not of repentance; and now that they must be but too surelylost to me, my yearning towards them is of no avail. Of my brother,from whom I parted in a moment of childish jealousy and anger, andwhose pardon and love I would give up even my ambition to acquire, Ihave never yet discovered a trace. Atonement to those whom I injuredin early life is a privilege denied to the prayers of my age. From myparents and my brother I departed unblest, and unforgiven by them Ifeel that I am doomed to die! My life has been careless, useless,godless, passing from rapine and violence to luxury and indolence, andleading me to the marriage which I exulted in when I last saw you, butwhich I now feel was unworthy alike in its motives and its results.But blessed and thrice blessed by that last calamity of my wickedexistence, for it opened my eyes to the truth--it made a Christian ofme while I was yet alive!'
'Is it thus that the Christian can view his afflictions? I would,then, that I were a Christian like you!' murmured the landholder, inlow, earnest tones.
'It was in those first days, Probus,' continued the other, 'when Ifound myself deserted and dishonoured, left alone to be the guardian ofmy helpless child, exiled for ever from a home that I had myselfforsaken, that I repented me in earnest of my misdeeds, that I soughtwisdom from the book of salvation, and the conduct of life from theFathers of the Church. It was at that time that I determined to devotemy child, like Samuel of old, to the service of heaven, and myself tothe reformation of our degraded worship. As I have already told you, Iforsook my abode and changed my name (remember it is as 'Numerian' thatyou must henceforth address me), that of my former self no remainsmight be left, that of my former companions not one might ever discoverand tempt me again. With incessant care have I shielded my daughterfrom the contamination of the world. As a precious jewel in a miser'shands she has been watched and guarded in her father's house. Herdestiny is to soothe the afflicted, to watch the sick, to succour theforlorn, when I, her teacher, have restored to the land the dominion ofits ancient faith and the guidance of its faultless Gospel. We haveneither of us an affection or a hope that can bind us to the things ofearth. Our hearts look both towards heaven; our expectations are onlyfrom on high!'
'Do not set your hopes too firmly on your child. Remember how thenobles of Rome have destroyed the household I once had, and tremble foryour own.'
'I have no fear for my daughter; she is cared for in my absence by onewho is vowed to aid me in my labours for the Church. It is now nearlya year since I first met Ulpius, and from that time forth he hasdevoted himself to my service and watched over my child.'
'Who is this Ulpius, that you should put such faith in him?'
'He is a man of age like mine. I found him, like me, worn down by thecalamities of his early life, and abandoned, as I had once been, to thedelusions of the pagan gods. He was desolate, suffering, forlorn, andI had pity on him in his misery. I proved to him that the worship hestill professed was banished for its iniquities from the land; that thereligion which had succeeded it had become defiled by man, and thatthere remained but one faith for him to choose, if he would besaved--the faith of the early Church. He heard me and was converted.From that moment he has served me patiently and helped me willingly.Under the roof where I assemble the few who as yet are true believers,he is always the first to come and the last to remain. No word ofanger has ever crossed his lips--no look of impatience has everappeared in his eyes. Though sorrowful, he is gentle; though suffering,he is industrious. I have trusted him with all I possess, and I gloryin my credulity! Ulpius is incorruptible!'
'And your daughter?--is Ulpius reverenced by her as he is respected byyou?'
'She knows that her duty is to love whom I love, and to avoid whom Iavoid. Can you imagine that a Christian virgin has any feelingsdisobedient to her father's wishes? Come to my house; judge with yourown eyes of my daughter and my companion. You, whose misfortunes haveleft you no home, shall find one, if you will, with me. Come then andlabour with me in my great undertaking! You will withdraw your mindfrom the contemplation of your woes, and merit by your devotion thefavour of the Most High.'
'No, Numerian, I will still be independent, even of my friends! NorRome nor Italy are abiding-places for me. I go to another land toabide among another people, until the arms of a conqueror shall haverestored freedom to the brave and protection to the honest throughoutthe countries of the Empire.'
'Probus, I implore you stay!'
'Never! My determination is taken, Numerian--farewell!'
For a few minutes Numerian stood motionless, gazing wistfully in thedirection taken by his companion on his departure. At first anexpression of grief and pity softened the austerity which seemed thehabitual characteristic of his countenance when in repose, but soonthese milder and tenderer feelings appeared to vanish from his heart assuddenly as they had arisen; his features reassumed their customarysternness, and he muttered to himself as he mixed with the crowdstruggling onwards in the direction of the basilica: 'Let him departunregretted; he has denied himself to the service of his Maker. Heshould no longer be my friend.'
In this sentence lay the index to the character of the man. Hisexistence was one vast sacrifice, one scene of intrepidself-immolation. Although, in the brief hints at the events of his lifewhich he had communicated to his friend, he had exaggerated the extentof his errors, he had by no means done justice to the fervour of hispenitence--a penitence which outstripped the usual boundaries ofrepentance, and only began in despair to terminate in fanaticism. Hisdesertion of his father's house (into the motives of which it is notour present intention to enter), and his long subsequent existence ofviolence and excess, indisposed his naturally strong passions to submitto the slightest restraint. In obedience to their first impulses, hecontracted, at a mature age, a marriage with a woman thoroughlyunworthy of the ardent admiration that she had inspired. When he foundhimself deceived and dishonoured by her, the shock of such anaffliction thrilled through his whole being--crushed all hisenergies--struck him prostrate, heart and mind, at one blow. Theerrors of his youth, committed in his prosperity with moral impunity,reacted upon him in his adversity with an influence fatal to his futurepeace. His repentance was darkened by despondency; his resolutionswere unbrightened by hope. He flew to religion as the suicide flies tothe knife--in despair.
Leaving all remaining peculiarities in Numerian's character to bediscussed at a future opportunity, we will now follow him in hispassage through the crowd, to the entrance of the basilica--continuingto designate him, here and elsewhere, by the name which he had assumedon his conversion, and by which he had insisted on being addressedduring his interview with the fugitive landholder.
Although at the commencement of his progress towards the church, ourenthusiast found himself placed among the hindermost of the members ofthe advancing throng, he soon contrived so thoroughly to outstrip hisdilatory and discursive neighbours as to gain, with little delay, thesteps of the sacred building. Here, in common with many others, he wascompelled to stop, while those nearest the basilica squeezed their waythrough its stately doors. In such
a situation his remarkable figurecould not fail to be noticed, and he was silently recognised by many ofthe bystanders, some of whom looked on him with wonder, and some withaversion. Nobody, however, approached or spoke to him. Every one feltthe necessity of shunning a man whose bold and daily exposures of theabuses of the Church placed in incessant peril his liberty, and evenhis life.
Among the bystanders who surrounded Numerian, there were neverthelesstwo who did not remain content with carelessly avoiding anycommunication with the intrepid and suspected reformer. These two menbelonged to the lowest order of the clergy, and appeared to be occupiedin cautiously watching the actions and listening to the conversation ofthe individuals immediately around them. The instant they beheldNumerian they moved so as to elude his observation, taking care at thesame time to occupy such a position as enabled them to keep in view theobject of their evident distrust.
'Look, Osius,' said one, 'that man is here again!'
'And doubtless with the same motives which brought him here yesterday,'replied the other. 'You will see that he will again enter the church,listen to the service, retire to his little chapel near the PincianMount, and there, before his ragged mob of adherents, attack thedoctrines which our brethren have preached, as we know he did lastnight, and as we suspect he will continue to do until the authoritiesthink proper to give the signal for his imprisonment.'
'I marvel that he should have been permitted to persist so long a timeas he has in his course of contumacy towards the Church. Have we notevidence enough in his writings alone to convict him of heresy? Thecarelessness of the bishop upon such a matter as this is quiteinexplicable!'
'You should consider, Numerian not being a priest, that thecarelessness about our interests lies more with the senate than thebishop. What time our nobles can spare from their debaucheries hasbeen lately given to discussions on the conduct of the Emperor inretiring to Ravenna, and will now be dedicated to penetrating the basisof this rumour about the Goths. Besides, even were they at liberty,what care the senate about theological disputes? They only know thisNumerian as a citizen of Rome, a man of some influence and possessions,and, consequently, a person of political importance as a member of thepopulation. In addition to which, it would be no easy task for us atthe present moment to impugn the doctrines broached by our assailant;for the fellow has a troublesome facility of supporting what he says bythe Bible. Believe me, in this matter, our only way of rightingourselves will be to convict him of scandal against the highestdignitaries of the Church.'
'The order that we have lately received to track his movements andlisten to his discourses, leads me to believe that our superiors are ofyour opinion.'
'Whether my convictions are correct or not, of this I feelassured--that his days of liberty are numbered. It was but a few hoursago that I saw the bishop's chamberlain's head-assistant, and he toldme that he had heard, through the crevice of a door--'
'Hush! he moves; he is pressing forward to enter the church. You cantell me what you were about to say as we follow him. Quick! let us mixwith the crowd.'
Ever enthusiastic in the performance of their loathsome duties, thesetwo discreet pastors of a Christian flock followed Numerian with themost elaborate caution into the interior of the sacred building.
Although the sun still left a faint streak of red in the western sky,and the moon had as yet scarcely risen, the great chandelier of twothousand four hundred lamps, mentioned by the bishop in his address tothe people, was already alight. In the days of its severe and sacredbeauty, the appearance of the church would have suffered fatally bythis blaze of artificial brilliancy; but now that the ancient characterof the basilica was completely changed, now that from a solemn templeit had been altered to the semblance of a luxurious palace, it gainedimmensely by its gaudy illumination. Not an ornament along the vastextent of its glorious nave but glittered in vivid distinctness in thedazzling light that poured downwards from the roof. The gildedrafters, the smooth inlaid marble pillars, the rich hangings of thewindows, the jewelled candlesticks on the altars, the pictures, thestatues, the bronzes, the mosaics, each and all glowed with a steadyand luxurious transparency absolutely intoxicating to the eye. Not atrace of wear, not a vestige of tarnish now appeared on any object.Each portion of the nave to which the attention was directed appearedtoo finely, spotlessly radiant, ever to have been touched by mortalhands. Entranced and bewildered, the observation roamed over thesurface of the brilliant scene, until, wearied by the unbrokenembellishment of the prospect, it wandered for repose upon the dimlylighted aisles, and dwelt with delight upon the soft shadows thathovered about their distant pillars, and the gliding forms that peopledtheir dusky recesses, or loitered past their lofty walls.
At the moment when Numerian entered the basilica, a part of the servicehad just concluded. The last faint echo from the voices of the choirstill hung upon the incense-laden air, and the vast masses of thespectators were still grouped in their listening and various attitudes,as the devoted reformer looked forth upon the church. Even he, sternas he was, seemed for a moment subdued by the ineffable enchantment ofthe scene; but ere long, as if displeased with his own involuntaryemotions of admiration, his brow contracted, and he sighed heavily, as(still followed by the attentive spies) he sought the comparativeseclusion of the aisles.
During the interval between the divisions of the service, thecongregation occupied themselves in staring at the relics, which wereenclosed in a silver cabinet with crystal doors, and placed on the topof the high altar. Although it was impossible to obtain a satisfactoryview of these ecclesiastical treasures, they nevertheless employed theattention of every one until the appearance of a priest in the pulpitgave signal of the commencement of the sermon, and admonished all thosewho had seats to secure them without delay.
Passing through the ranks of the auditors of the sermon--some of whomwere engaged in counting the lights in the chandelier, to be certainthat the bishop had not defrauded them of one out of the two thousandfour hundred lamps; others in holding whispered conversations, andopening small boxes of sweetmeats--we again conduct the reader to theoutside of the church.
The assemblage here had by this time much diminished; the shadows flungover the ground by the lofty colonnades had deepened and increased; andin many of the more remote recesses of the Place hardly a human beingwas to be observed. At one of these extremities, where the pillarsterminated in the street and the obscurity was most intense, stood asolitary old man keeping himself cautiously concealed in the darkness,and looking out anxiously upon the public way immediately before him.
He had waited but a short time when a handsome chariot, preceded by abody-guard of gaily-attired slaves, stopped within a few paces of hislurking-place, and the voice of the person it contained pronouncedaudibly the following words:--
'No! no! Drive on--we are later than I thought. If I stay to see thisillumination of the basilica, I shall not be in time to receive myguests for to-night's banquet. Besides, this inestimable kitten of thebreed most worshipped by the ancient Egyptians has already taken cold,and I would not for the world expose the susceptible animal any longerthan is necessary to the dampness of the night-air. Drive on, goodCarrio, drive on!'
The old man scarcely waited for the conclusion of this speech before heran up to the chariot, where he was immediately confronted by twoheads--one that of Vetranio the senator, the other that of a glossyblack kitten adorned with a collar of rubies, and half enveloped in itsmaster's ample robes. Before the astonished noble could articulate aword, the man whispered in hoarse, hurried accents, 'I amUlpius--dismiss your servants--I have something important to say!'
'Ha! my worthy Ulpius! You have a most unhappy faculty of delivering amessage with the manner of an assassin! But I must pardon yourunpleasant abruptness in consideration of your diligence. My excellentCarrio, If you value my approbation, remove your companions andyourself out of hearing!'
The freedman yielded instant obedience to his master's mandate. Thefollowing con
versation then took place, the strange man opening itthus:--
'You remember your promise?'
'I do.'
'Upon your honour, as a nobleman and a senator, you are prepared toabide by it whenever it is necessary?'
'I am.'
'Then at the dawn of morning meet me at the private gate of your palacegarden, and I will conduct you to Antonina's bedchamber.'
'The time will suit me. But why at the dawn of morning?'
'Because the Christian dotard will keep a vigil until midnight, whichthe girl will most probably attend. I wished to tell you this at yourpalace, but I heard there that you had gone to Aricia, and would returnby way of the basilica; so I posted myself to intercept you thus.'
'Industrious Ulpius!'
'Remember your promise!'
Vetranio leaned forward to reply, but Ulpius was gone.
As the senator again commanded his equipage to move on, he lookedanxiously around him, as if once more expecting to see his strangeadherent still lurking near the chariot. He only perceived, however, aman whom he did not know, followed by two other, walking rapidly pasthim. They were Numerian and the spies.
'At last, my projects are approaching consummation,' exclaimed Vetranioto himself, as he and his kitten rolled off in the chariot. 'It iswell that I thought of securing possession of Julia's villa to-day, forI shall now, assuredly, want to use it to-morrow. Jupiter! What amass of dangers, contradictions, and mysteries encompass this affair!When I think that I, who pride myself on my philosophy, have quittedRavenna, borrowed a private villa, leagued myself with an uncultivatedplebeian, and all for the sake of a girl who has already deceived myexpectations by gaining me as a music-master without admitting me as alover, I am positively astonished at my own weakness! Still it must beowned that the complexion my adventure has lately assumed renders it ofsome interest in itself. The mere pleasure of penetrating the secretsof this Numerian's household is by no means the least among thenumerous attraction of my design. How has he gained his influence overthe girl? Why does he keep her in such strict seclusion? Who is thisold half-frantic, unceremonious man-monster calling himself Ulpius;refusing all reward for his villainy; raving about a return to the oldreligion of the gods; and exulting in the promise he has extorted fromme, as a good pagan, to support the first restoration of the ancientworship that may be attempted in Rome? Where does he come from? Whydoes he outwardly profess himself a Christian? What sent him intoNumerian's service? By the girdle of Venus! everything connected withthe girl is as incomprehensible as herself! But patience--patience! Afew hours more, and these mysteries will be revealed. In the meantime,let me think of my banquet, and of its presiding deity, the NightingaleSauce!'