CHAPTER XIV.

EXTREMES MEET.

A group of poor coming opportunely towards the door, enabled Corvinus to tack himself to them,--an admirable counterfeit, in all but the modesty of their deportment. He kept sufficiently close to them to hear that each of them, as he entered in, pronounced the words, “_Deo gratias_,” “Thanks be to God.” This was not merely a Christian, but a Catholic pass-word; for St. Augustine tells us that heretics ridiculed Catholics for using it, on the ground that it was not a salutation but rather a reply; but that Catholics employed it, because consecrated by pious usage. It is yet heard in Italy on similar occasions.

Corvinus pronounced the mystic words, and was allowed to pass. Following the others closely, and copying their manners and gestures, he found himself in the inner court of the house, which was already filled with the poor and infirm. The men were ranged on one side, the women on the other. Under the portico at the end were tables piled with costly plate, and near them was another covered with brilliant jewelry. Two silver and goldsmiths were weighing and valuing most conscientiously this property; and beside them was the money which they would give, to be distributed amongst the poor, in just proportion.

Corvinus eyed all this with a gluttonous heart. He would have given anything to get it all, and almost thought of making a dash at something, and running out. But he saw at once the folly or madness of such a course, and resolved to wait for a share, and in the meantime take note for Fulvius of all he saw. He soon, however, became aware of the awkwardness of his present position. While the poor were all mixed up together and moving about, he remained unnoticed. But he soon saw several young men of peculiarly gentle manners, but active, and evidently in authority, dressed in the garment known to him by the name of Dalmatic, from its Dalmatian origin; that is, having over the tunic, instead of the toga, a close-fitting shorter tunicle, with ample, but not over long or wide sleeves; the dress adopted and worn by the deacons, not only at their more solemn ministrations in church, but also when engaged in the discharge of their secondary duties about the sick and poor.

These officers went on marshalling the attendants, each evidently knowing those of his own district, and conducting them to a peculiar spot within the porticoes. But as no one recognized or claimed Corvinus for one of his poor, he was at length left alone in the middle of the court. Even his dull mind could feel the anomalous situation into which he had thrust himself. Here he was, the son of the prefect of the city, whose duty it was to punish such violators of domestic rights, an intruder into the innermost parts of a nobleman’s house, having entered by a cheat, dressed like a beggar, and associating himself with such people, of course for some sinister, or at least unlawful, purpose. He looked towards the door, meditating an escape; but he saw it guarded by an old man named Diogenes and his two stout sons, who could hardly restrain their hot blood at this insolence, though they only showed it by scowling looks, and repressive biting of their lips. He saw that he was a subject of consultation among the young deacons, who cast occasional glances towards him; he imagined that even the blind were staring at him, and the decrepit ready to wield their crutches like battle-axes against him. He had only one consolation; it was evident he was not known, and he hoped to frame some excuse for getting out of the scrape.

At length the Deacon Reparatus came up to him, and thus courteously accosted him:

“Friend, you probably do not belong to one of the regions invited here to-day. Where do you live?”

“In the region of the Alta Semita.”[55]

This answer gave the civil, not the ecclesiastical, division of Rome; still Reparatus went on: “The Alta Semita is in my region, yet I do not remember to have seen you.”

While he spoke these words, he was astonished to see the stranger turn deadly pale, and totter as if about to fall, while his eyes were fixed upon the door of communication with the dwelling-house. Reparatus looked in the same direction, and saw Pancratius, just entered, and gathering some hasty information from Secundus. Corvinus’s last hope was gone. He stood the next moment confronted with the youth (who asked Reparatus to retire), much in the same position as they had last met in, only that, instead of a circle round him of applauders and backers, he was here hemmed in on all sides by a multitude who evidently looked with preference upon his rival. Nor could Corvinus help observing the graceful development and manly bearing, which a few weeks had given his late school-mate. He expected a volley of keen reproach, and, perhaps, such chastisement as he would himself have inflicted in similar circumstances. What was his amazement when Pancratius thus addressed him in the mildest tone:

“Corvinus, are you really reduced to distress and lamed by some accident? Or how have you left your father’s house?”

“Not quite come to that yet, I hope,” replied the bully, encouraged to insolence by the gentle address, “though, no doubt, you would be heartily glad to see it.”

“By no means, I assure you; I hold you no grudge. If, therefore, you require relief, tell me; and though it is not right that you should be here, I can take you into a private chamber where you can receive it unknown.”

“Then I will tell you the truth: I came in here merely for a freak; and I should be glad if you could get me quietly out.”

“Corvinus,” said the youth, with some sternness, “this is a serious offence. What would your father say, if I desired these young men, who would instantly obey, to take you as you are, barefoot, clothed as a slave, counterfeiting a cripple, into the Forum before his tribunal, and publicly charge you with what every Roman would resent, forcing your way into the heart of a patrician’s house?”

“For the gods’ sakes, good Pancratius, do not inflict such frightful punishment.”

“You know, Corvinus, that your own father would be obliged to act towards you the part of Junius Brutus, or forfeit his office.”

“I entreat you by all that you love, by all that you hold sacred, not to dishonor me and mine so cruelly. My father and his house, not I, would be crushed and ruined for ever. I will go on my knees and beg your pardon for my former injuries, if you will only be merciful.”

“Hold, hold, Corvinus, I have told you that was long forgotten. But hear me now. Every one but the blind around you is a witness to this outrage. There will be a hundred evidences to prove it. If ever, then, you speak of this assembly, still more if you attempt to molest any one for it, we shall have it in our power to bring you to trial at your own father’s judgment-seat. Do you understand me, Corvinus?”

“I do, indeed,” replied the captive in a whining tone. “Never, as long as I live, will I breathe to mortal soul that I came into this dreadful place. I swear it by the--”

“Hush, hush! we want no such oaths here. Take my arm, and walk with me.” Then turning to the others, he continued: “I know this person; his coming here is quite a mistake.”

The spectators, who had taken the wretch’s supplicating gestures and tone for accompaniments to a tale of woe, and strong application for relief, joined in crying out, “Pancratius, you will not send him away fasting and unsuccored?”

“Leave that to me,” was the reply. The self-appointed porters gave way before Pancratius, who led Corvinus, still pretending to limp, into the street, and dismissed him, saying: “Corvinus, we are now quits; only, take care of your promise.”

Fulvius, as we have seen, went to try his fortune by the front door. He found it, according to Roman custom, unlocked; and, indeed, no one could have suspected the possibility of a stranger entering at such an hour. Instead of a porter, he found, guarding the door, only a simple-looking girl about twelve or thirteen years of age, clad in a peasant’s garment. No one else was near; and he thought it an excellent opportunity to verify the strong suspicion which had crossed his mind. Accordingly, he thus addressed the little portress:

“What is your name, child, and who are you?”

“I am,” she replied, “Emerentiana, the Lady Agnes’s foster-sister.”

“Are you a Christian?” he asked her sharply.

The poor little peasant opened her eyes in the amazement of ignorance, and replied: “No, sir.” It was impossible to resist the evidence of her simplicity; and Fulvius was satisfied that he was mistaken. The fact was, that she was the daughter of a peasant who had been Agnes’s nurse. The mother had just died, and her kind sister had sent for the orphan daughter, intending to have her instructed and baptized. She had only arrived a day or two before, and was yet totally ignorant of Christianity.

Fulvius stood embarrassed what to do next. Solitude made him feel as awkwardly situated, as a crowd was making Corvinus. He thought of retreating, but this would have destroyed all his hopes; he was going to advance, when he reflected that he might commit himself unpleasantly. At this critical juncture, whom should he see coming lightly across the court, but the youthful mistress of the house, all joy, all spring, all brightness and sunshine. As soon as she saw him, she stood, as if to receive his errand, and he approached with his blandest smile and most courtly gesture, and thus addressed her:

“I have anticipated the usual hour at which visitors come, and, I fear, must appear an intruder, Lady Agnes; but I was impatient to inscribe myself as an humble client of your noble house.”

“Our house,” she replied, smiling, “boasts of no clients, nor do we seek them; for we have no pretensions to influence or power.”

“Pardon me; with such a ruler, it possesses the highest of influences and the mightiest of powers, those which reign, without effort, over the heart as a most willing subject.”

Incapable of imagining that such words could allude to herself, she replied, with artless simplicity:

“Oh, how true are your words! the Lord of this house is indeed the sovereign over the affections of all within it.”

“But I,” interposed Fulvius, “allude to that softer and benigner dominion, which graceful charms alone can exercise on those who from near behold them.”

Agnes looked as one entranced; her eyes beheld a very different image before them from that of her wretched flatterer; and with an impassioned glance towards heaven, she exclaimed:

“Yes, He whose beauty sun and moon in their lofty firmament gaze on and admire, to Him is pledged my service and my love.”[56]

Fulvius was confounded and perplexed. The inspired look, the rapturous attitude, the music of the thrilling tones in which she uttered these words, their mysterious import, the strangeness of the whole scene, fastened him to the spot, and sealed his lips; till, feeling that he was losing the most favorable opportunity he could ever expect of opening his mind (affection it could not be called) to her, he boldly said, “It is of you I am speaking; and I entreat you to believe my expression of sincerest admiration of you, and of unbounded attachment to you.” As he uttered these words, he dropt on his knee, and attempted to take her hand; but the maiden bounded back with a shudder, and turned away her burning countenance.

Fulvius started in an instant to his feet; for he saw Sebastian, who was come to summon Agnes to the poor, impatient of her absence, striding forward towards him, with an air of indignation.

“Sebastian,” said Agnes to him, as he approached, “be not angry; this gentleman has probably entered here by some unintentional mistake, and no doubt will quietly retire.” Saying this, she withdrew.

Sebastian, with his calm but energetic manner, now addressed the intruder, who quailed beneath his look, “Fulvius, what do you here? what business has brought you?”

“I suppose,” answered he, regaining courage, “that having met the lady of the house at the same place with you, her noble cousin’s table, I have a right to wait upon her, in common with other voluntary clients.”

“But not at so unreasonable an hour as this, I presume?”

“The hour that is not unreasonable for a young officer,” retorted Fulvius insolently, “is not, I trust, so for a civilian.”

Sebastian had to use all his power of self-control to check his indignation, as he replied:

“Fulvius, be not rash in what you say; but remember that two persons may be on a very different footing in a house. Yet not even the longest familiarity, still less a one dinner’s acquaintance, can authorize or justify the audacity of your bearing towards the young mistress of this house, a few moments ago.”

“Oh, you are jealous, I suppose, brave captain!” replied Fulvius, with his most refined sarcastic tone. “Report says that you are the acceptable, if not accepted, candidate for Fabiola’s hand. She is now in the country; and, no doubt, you wish to make sure for yourself of the fortune of one or the other of Rome’s richest heiresses. There is nothing like having two strings to one’s bow.”

This coarse and bitter sarcasm wounded the noble officer’s best feelings to the quick; and had he not long before disciplined himself to Christian meekness, his blood would have proved too powerful for his reason.

“It is not good for either of us, Fulvius, that you remain longer here. The courteous dismissal of the noble lady whom you have insulted has not sufficed; I must be the ruder executor of her command.” Saying this, he took the unbidden guest’s arm in his powerful grasp, and conducted him to the door. When he had put him outside, still holding him fast, he added: “Go now, Fulvius, in peace; and remember that you have this day made yourself amenable to the laws of the state by this unworthy conduct. I will spare you, if you know how to keep your own counsel; but it is well that you should know, that I am acquainted with your occupation in Rome; and that I hold this morning’s insolence over your head, as a security that you will follow it discreetly. Now, again I say, go in peace.”

But he had no sooner let go his grasp, than he felt himself seized from behind by an unseen, but evidently an athletic, assailant. It was Eurotas, from whom Fulvius durst conceal nothing, and to whom he had confided the intended interview with Corvinus, that had followed and watched him. From the black slave he had before learnt the mean and coarse character of this client of her magical arts; and he feared some trap. When he saw the seeming struggle at the door, he ran stealthily behind Sebastian, who, he fancied, must be his pupil’s new ally, and pounced upon him with a bear’s rude assault. But he had no common rival to deal with. He attempted in vain, though now helped by Fulvius, to throw the soldier heavily down; till, despairing of success in this way, he detached from his girdle a small but deadly weapon, a steel mace of finished Syrian make, and was raising it over the back of Sebastian’s head, when he felt it wrenched in a trice from his hand, and himself twirled two or three times round, in an iron gripe, and flung flat in the middle of the street.

“I am afraid you have hurt the poor fellow, Quadratus,” said Sebastian to his centurion, who was coming up at that moment to join his fellow-Christians, and was of most Herculean make and strength.

“He well deserves it, tribune, for his cowardly assault,” replied the other, as they re-entered the house.

The two foreigners, crest-fallen, slunk away from the scene of their defeat; and as they turned the corner, caught a glimpse of Corvinus, no longer limping, but running as fast as his legs would carry him, from his discomfiture at the back-door. However often they may have met afterwards, neither ever alluded to their feats of that morning. Each knew that the other had incurred only failure and shame; and they came both to the conclusion, that there was one fold at least in Rome, which either fox or wolf would assail in vain.