CHAPTER XIV.

THE CROSS.

The atrium of the Vestals was full of life, and even merriment, one bright morning of late summer, in this same year of 333. The want of sunshine which was so much felt in the winter, was a gain now that the fierce glare of August lay upon the streets of the city, and beat upon the images of the gods and façades of the temples like a furnace.

The Vestals were chatting gaily with each other about the grand chariot race for which they had seats allotted to them. But two were standing a little apart before a statue which had been placed recently by the side of Flavia Mamilia, who was the most famous of the order, and whose statues are multiplied and the descriptions of her graces and gifts repeated again and again.

“They have placed her in good company,” a tall, commanding-looking Vestal said, with a little ring of irony in her voice; “how long will she remain there, and what will be the story of her virtues inscribed below, I marvel! A long one, doubtless--they will never get it all into the space allowed.”

The younger Vestal, a maiden of some twenty summers, who had lately entered upon her fully-consecrated duties, replied:--

“The face is not nearly beautiful enough for our lady Maxima. Ah me! how soon this stone resemblance will be all that is left us; she is passing away from us, I know.”

“There are some that say the sooner the better; nay, Hermione, do not start back as if I were saying some dreadful thing. I repeat, the sooner the better, for your gracious Hyacintha Severa is acting a part, and the treachery will be discovered unless death prevents it.”

“Treachery! nay,” said Hermione with youthful fervour; “nay, our lady is as far removed from treachery as are the heavens from the earth.”

“Poor child!” was the provoking rejoinder, “such faith as yours must be sweet if it were not misplaced. I can give you a warning, that certain books have been discovered in the possession of Hyacintha Severa which would, in stricter times, have brought the masons hither to prepare one of those little chambers, whence no one who entered ever came forth alive. It would have been inevitable, but now a loose and careless government has altered things somewhat.”

“I cannot hear you speak thus, Cœlia, I cannot. You hate our noble and beautiful lady because she is so far, far above you, because--”

“Tush! now, silly little Hermione, I warn you again, be careful, or who knows if a little chamber may not be ready for you, and then there will be a Vestal less, and the stones which will prevent your exit will tell no tales.”

Hermione was preparing to hurl forth an angry invective, when a hand was laid on her shoulder:--

“Hermione! nay, do not heed idle threats, but help me to ascend the staircase; I am expected at the council of the priests at noon. I have a statement to make to them which may please you to hear, Cœlia Concordia. You will soon know what that statement is, and may it ease your heart of the burden of rancour and unkindness which you cherish towards me. It must needs be a burden, and I would fain, for your own sake, that you laid it down. My poor statue shall not offend you longer; orders shall be given to place it near the porta, the lowest instead of the highest place.”

She spoke slowly and with difficulty, for her breath was short, and a little dry gasping cough interrupted her again and again.

“You speak in riddles, most gracious lady,” Cœlia replied; “I admire the excellence of your statue, and give the sculptor the highest meed of praise for the manner in which it is wrought. Flavia Mamilia is happy to have your near neighbourhood. I must hasten, as the elder of the company who resort to the Circus Maximus, to collect my maidens. A chariot race is a grand thing to witness, but there are many who find it tame sport in comparison to that of former times, when Christians were thrown, as they deserved, to the lions.”

A strong emphasis was laid on the word _Christians_, and a glance of hatred from the Vestal’s dark eyes, directed at Hyacintha, told its own story, as she made the usual obeisance to the Vestal Maxima, and went to the farther end of the atrium.

Hyacintha stood for a few moments leaning heavily on Hermione’s arm, and gazing at the marble resemblance of herself.

A faint smile passed over her face, and she said in a low voice:--

“They will soon forget me, little Hermione, but you will ever love me.”

“Oh, dear lady, we all love you, all but that proud and haughty Cœlia.”

“She will succeed me, as Vestal Maxima,” Hyacintha said; “win her by submission, and do not irritate her by rebellion. Now let us go.”

She turned for a moment and gazed at the noble hall with its forest of Corinthian columns, and watched the white-robed Vestals following Cœlia to the porta on their way to the Circus. Memories of her first appearance at that door, clinging to Clœlia’s hand, swept over her--the child of nearly twelve years old, now the woman of mature age!

“Thirty years ago,” she whispered, “thirty years ago! Ah, little Hermione, I shall soon enter the city where _time_ is not--no counting of years there. Come, let us begin to mount the staircase, slowly, for I have but little breath in me.”

In a state room in the upper part of the Vestals’ house the High Priest sat in solemn conclave with his subordinates, and those who might be called the Council of the order of Vesta.

It was the custom of the Vestal Maxima to demand an audience, when she had any especial business to transact, or any dereliction in duty on the part of the Vestals to report.

Hyacintha had given notice of her coming, and when she reached the upper corridor which ran round the atrium, with pillars corresponding to those below, she found a guard of honour waiting to escort her into the presence of the High Priest.

It was usual for the Vestal Maxima to be attended by two of the elder Vestals on these occasions, but many had gone to the Circus, and only Hermione was with her.

To the surprise of the guards, and of Hermione herself, the Vestal Maxima said:--

“I enter alone.” Then the curtain was raised, and Hyacintha Severa passed in.

Great respect was always paid to the Vestal Maxima, and the assembled priests and those at the table with them rose, while Hyacintha was conducted to a chair, into which she sank apparently exhausted. When she had recovered herself, she asked permission to address the High Priest from the chair, as her health had failed, and she could hardly make herself intelligible if she had to encounter the fatigue of standing while she spoke.

First she drew from the folds of her pallium a parchment on which was inscribed, by her own hand, all the financial details of the house, and its present condition. When that had been handed in and laid on the table, Hyacintha said:--

“I crave permission to resign the office of Vestal Maxima, and I pray you, most noble father, to consider the election of my successor. I have but a short space to live, and I would fain spend that time in the retirement of my own chamber. The thirty years which are supposed to limit the service of the Vestals are over. I entered the atrium, sent hither by my late noble father Severus, in the year three hundred and three. My consecration followed in due course, and then on the death of Terentia Rufilla, of whose noble house I am a member, I was honoured by your choice as Vestal Maxima. I have striven to perform my duty of late in great suffering of body and of mind. I pray, therefore, to be released therefrom, and that you appoint a worthy successor to all the duties which have devolved on me.”

There was a murmur of dissent amongst those who sat around, and then one of the Council, fixing a pair of keen black eyes upon Hyacintha, said:--

“There may be hidden motives why you, Hyacintha Severa, resign your office. Nay, there _are_ hidden motives.”

Then the High Priest raised his hand, and said in a tone of command:--

“We must defer this matter for a season, and we will ask you to appear before us again at a future time. If matters there be that require investigation, that investigation must be made.”

Hyacintha rose and seemed about to speak, when a deadly paleness overspread her face, and she slipped from the chair in a deep swoon upon the floor.

The attendants outside were summoned, and Hyacintha was carried to her own chamber, Hermione following, where several women who were her especial servants received her, and she was laid upon her couch, apparently lifeless. But the usual nostrums and restoratives had the desired effect, and the Vestal Maxima revived and looked round on them all with her sweetest smile.

They piled the cushions up behind her on the couch, and Hermione fanned her with cool palm leaves, and, stooping every now and then, kissed her on the forehead. If Hyacintha had been radiantly beautiful in youth and early womanhood, she was beautiful now with a beauty which is not of this world. Traces of the mental struggle through which she had passed were seen on her face, it is true; the delicate flush of youth and health had vanished, but over that noble countenance there was shed the calm light of the evening--the earnest of a coming rest, the sign of the victory won.

Hermione was left alone with her before long, and then Hyacintha spoke.

“Dear one,” she said, “I shall watch no more in the temple at night. I shall feed the fire no more. I am, as Cœlia implies, a Christian. Would you like to know how it has come to pass, my sweet one? I am stronger now, and I will tell you all before I die.”

“Oh! sweet lady, dearest mistress!” Hermione said, “you must not die, you cannot die, to go down to the darksome Hades, to lose the sunlight!”

“Ah, no! ah, no! my child. I go to _life_; death hath no more power to quench that life which Jesus the Lord has given to me.”

And as if that life of which she spoke had already begun, Hyacintha raised herself on her cushions and said, with all her old fire and earnestness:--

“In that silver coffer, child, are the precious Books--the Word of Life. The holy father Eusebius has from time to time furnished me with those Books. For many years I _could_ not let the whole beautiful fabric of my earthly life slip from me. The struggle between the old faith and the new--rather between the false and the true--has been a fierce one to me. I have travailed in soul in the temple in the lonely watches of the night. I have vowed again and again to the goddess that I would never forsake her. I have gazed up at her image in the dim light, and besought her, if she knew me, if she accepted my service, to give me a sign. But there she has stood, with her veil flowing behind her, in her long robes, motionless and calm. What were my tears to her? What were my agonies of soul? She had never felt them. She had ears, but she heard not; she had eyes, but she saw not. And yet, oh Hermione, I verily believe no torture of martyrdom could be compared to what I have suffered for the last six years.

“While Terentia Rufilla lived, I had not this yearning of soul after better things. I was not the head then, only a member of this community, and if she, noble and gracious as she was, was content, who was I, to doubt?

“Once, on the Cælian Hill, on the very morning of my full consecration, I learned that it was sweet to be loved. My woman’s heart told me that this was the woman’s highest heritage--to be the beloved of a brave, good man. In a vision, as with a lightning flash, I seemed to see a fair landscape stretched out before me, where there was the song of rejoicing and the happiness which comes of a mutual love. Then a cloud swept over it, blotting it from my sight, and I was on a mountain top, so high above others--a Vestal Virgin, devoted to the service of the goddess; high above others--yes, high--but how cold! how lonely! Rumours of the wickedness of the city reached me--foul deeds, which made me blush for the women who took part in them. Emperors and great ones fell; Christians were not exempt from the love of change; there were dissensions amongst them; there were envies, and hatreds, and heartburnings amongst their leaders.

“The Jew hated and cursed the Christian, and yet they both believed in the true God. Was it not better to be safe in these walls, guarded from danger, than to go forth into the city, whose cry, under the name of pleasure, was often a bitter cry, than to confess Christ, and leave the shadow of the cloisters, the safety of the Temple? If I confessed Christ, I reasoned, and came forth, how would the finger of scorn have been pointed at me? how would the unworthiest of motives have been laid at my door? And then, the cruel death had I been recaptured, the death which is the slowest of all deaths to die. I might have escaped, for a word was enough to him of whom I speak, but the motive was mixed, and of the earth: and I trampled down the longing and went on my way. Dost thou remember how, when a little child, they brought thee weeping to Terentia? I held out my arms to thee, and thou didst nestle in them. Ah! dear one, do not weep. Thy love has been my solace many a time.” For Hermione had flung herself on her knees by Hyacintha’s couch, and was weeping wildly and passionately.

She soothed her as a mother soothes a child, and then she said, with a weary sigh:--

“It has been a long fight, and a bitter struggle, but it is over now, and the Lord Jesus has shown me Himself, the Crucified One on the Cross, and that by the Cross alone we may win our Crown. I have committed to my memory, which has ever been a good one, large portions of the Gospels in the soft Greek tongue, and the words have been as honey and the honey-comb. The good father Eusebius baptised me yestere’en in the name of the Lord, and nothing now remains but to commit my soul to Him who died for me, and for thee, also, sweet Hermione, and for the whole world.”

She was silent for a time, and Hermione thought she slept, but presently she said:--

“My brother Casca, Claudius, good, faithful Ebba, I shall see them soon! Hermione, in a few short years this temple will be deserted, the company of Vestals will be broken up, for the Sun has risen far above the horizon, and He has called the nations into His marvellous light.”

Then she wandered on, no longer of the present, but of the past. The cruel death of Alban, which was prominent in her childish dreams, the departure of Ebba, the vow Claudius had sworn. “Good Claudius,” she repeated, “good Claudius; and he kept that vow. Ah! yes; good, brave Claudius!”

Hermione and her devoted servants watched over her that night, and her strength rapidly declined.

There was almost universal sorrow shown when it became known that the Vestal Maxima was dying.

All the great Roman families sent representatives to the Vestals’ House to inquire as to her condition.

The young children, the lately-received disciples, were in tears; the newly-consecrated Vestals went sorrowfully about their work, striving to perform their duties for the sake of her, who would never again give them the benefit of her counsel and advice.

The whole community passed in one by one to bid her a farewell.

She smiled on them as they knelt by her side, and murmured words which were hardly intelligible.

Cœlia Concordia came last.

She dreaded the interview, and would fain have avoided it; but Hyacintha asked for her again and again.

Proudly and haughtily she stood by the couch of the dying Vestal. Her dark eyes looked down on the beautiful face before her, without a shadow of tenderness or sympathy in them.

Hyacintha smiled, and said to Hermione:--

“Tell her to stoop down; I want to say something to her.”

Cœlia obeyed, unwillingly enough, and to her surprise she caught the words:--

“May the God whom I love in Christ fill you with peace. With my last breath I pray Him for your conversion.”

But the proud Vestal, wrapt in the impenetrable mantle of her own self-assertion and self-exaltation, did not respond. She turned away, whispering to herself:--

“It is true, then, she _is_ a Christian!”

Nevertheless, so greatly was Hyacintha Severa honoured, that the Council, who met the day after she had appeared before them, handed over to the sculptor the inscription for the pedestal on which her statue stood, with its high praise of her virtues and her services.

She had failed in no duty; nothing but good was spoken of her by any of her companions, with two exceptions, of whom Cœlia Concordia was one, and the priest who had hinted at hidden motives, that might have brought about the resignation of the Vestal Maxima, another.

A resolution was carried by a majority in the Council that it was not needful to enter into these motives. Besides, at the close of thirty years’ devotion to the service of the temple, by an old statute, the priestesses were free to depart if so they desired. Very few lived to avail themselves of the freedom which was thus granted to them. And those who did survive had become so accustomed to the routine of the Vestals’ House that they showed no anxiety to leave its shelter in their declining years.

The privileges, too, of the Vestals were very highly prized, and of late years their table had been luxuriously appointed, and their life had been one of ease and refinement, so that the change to a more ordinary manner of living would have been far from acceptable to many who had severed the ties of earlier years, and who would have found themselves adrift in the great city, outside the walls of the Vestals’ House.