In the morning I found my kinsman and his son extremely uneasy, in consequence of the absence of Xerophrastes, who had not returned during the night; but Sabinus came in while they were talking to me, and narrated, without hesitation, all he had seen and heard both in the garden of Trajan, and at the procession of the Galli. Young Sextus could scarcely be restrained by respect for his father, from expressing, rather too openly, his satisfaction in the course which the affairs of the disappointed lady appeared to be taking; while the orator muttered words which I thought boded not much of good to the ambitious pedagogue. The Centurion alone regarded all these things as matters of mere amusement, or so at least he seemed to regard them; for, as I have already hinted, I was not without my suspicion, that he was at bottom by no means well pleased with the contemplation of the future splendour of the Stoic.

However, after many jests had been exchanged between Sextus and the Centurion concerning this incongruous amour, Licinius said, he was in so far much relieved by what he had heard, as it satisfied him that both the widow and Xerophrastes were now otherwise [pg 295]occupied, than in prosecuting their designs against the niece of his friend Capito.

“I myself,” he continued, “was all yesterday, as well as the day before, exerting every means in my power for her extrication from this unfortunate confinement. Cotilius, without question, has indeed been a traitor; but I believe the Prince himself is, by this time, well inclined to absolve, not only the young lady, but by far the greater part of those who were taken with her, from any participation in his traitorous designs. The charge, however, of which it rests with them alone to exculpate themselves, is one of a nature so serious, that it is impossible to contemplate without much anxiety the pain to which so many families—above all, the noble and excellent Sempronii—may still be exposed. But this day Cotilius will, in all likelihood, pay the last penalty of his crimes—and then we shall see what intercession may avail. Would to heaven there were any one who could obtain access to the deluded lady, and prevail with her to do that which would be more effectual than I can hope any intercession to prove. This infatuation—this dream—this madness—is, indeed, a just source of fear; and yet, why should we suppose it to be already so deeply confirmed in a breast young, ingenuous, so full, according to report, of every thing modest and submissive? Surely this affectionate girl cannot be insensible to the affliction of those who love her.—But you still shake your head, Valerius; well, it is in our hands to do what we can; as for the issue, who can hope to divert Trajan from doing that which he believes to be just? Our best hope is in his justice——”

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“And in his clemency,” interrupted the Centurion; “you will scarcely persuade me that Cæsar can meditate any thing serious concerning a young beauty, who has been guilty of nothing but a little superstition and enthusiasm. Nobody will confound her case with that of any obstinate old fanatic. In the meantime, what avails it to distress ourselves more than is necessary? Licinius is able to do something; and as for Valerius, the best thing he can do is to get on horseback, and go with Sextus and myself to inspect the cohorts that have arrived from Calabria.”

Young Sextus, on all occasions fond of military spectacles, embraced this proposal; and fain would they both have prevailed on me to accede to it likewise. I knew, however, that it would be impossible, if I accompanied them, to keep my appointment with the old Christian; and that I was resolved on no account to forego. I therefore retired to my chamber, there to await the approach of the hour; and spent the time till it drew near, in perusing once more the volume which had been restored to me by Athanasia. This volume, and the letter which I have before mentioned, I placed together in my bosom, before I went forth into the city.

I entered the Forum, and found it, as formerly thronged with multitudes of busy litigants and idle spectators. A greater concourse, indeed, than was usual, crowded not it only, but the avenues to it, and the neighbouring streets, by reason of a solemn embassy from the Parthian, which was to have audience that day in the Senate. But I, for my part, having discovered the statue of Numa Pompilius, resolved to abide [pg 297]by it, lest, being mingled in the tumult of the expecting multitudes, I should, by any mischance, escape the notice of the old man, who, I doubted not, meant to seek me there in person. The time, however, went on—senator after senator entered the temple—and, at last, the shouts of the people announced that Trajan had arrived. And immediately after he had gone in, the pomp of the embassy appeared, and every eye was fixed upon the long line of slaves, laden with cloth of gold and rich merchandise, and upon the beautiful troop of snow-white horses, which pawed the ground, in magnificent caparisons, before the gate of the Senate-house. But while all were intent upon the spectacle, I observed a little fair-haired girl standing over against me, who, after looking at me for some moments, said with great modesty, “Sir, if you be Caius Valerius, I pray you, follow me.”

I followed her in silence up the hanging stairs, and, in a word, had soon reached the level of the Capitol, from whence, looking back, I could perceive the whole array of the forensic multitudes far below me. The child paused for a moment at the summit, and then, still saying nothing, conducted me across two magnificent squares, and round about the Temple of Jupiter, until, at length, she stopped at one of the side doors of an edifice, which, from the manner in which it was guarded, I already suspected to be the Mammertine.

The girl knocked, and he who kept the gate, saluting her cheerfully, allowed us to pass without question into the interior of the prison. My companion tripped before me along many passages, till we reached at length a chamber which was arranged in such a manner that I [pg 298]could with difficulty believe it to belong to a place of punishment.

Here I was soon joined by the old priest, (whose name, if I have not before mentioned it, was Aurelius Felix,) together with a mild-looking man of middle age, whom he desired me to salute as the keeper of the prison, saying, “Here, Valerius, is that Silo, of whom yesterday evening you spake with so great admiration. But I hope the benevolence of a Christian will ere long cease to be an object of so much wonder in your eyes.”

“My father,” said the jailer, “methinks you yourself say too much about such little things. But, in the meantime, let us ask Valerius if he has heard any thing of what has been determined by Cæsar.”

I answered by telling what I had just heard from Licinius; upon which the countenance of the old man was not a little lightened; but Silo fixed his eyes upon the ground, and seemed to regard the matter very seriously. He said, however, after a pause, “So far, at least, it is well. Let us hope that the calumnies which have been detected, may turn more and more of discredit upon those that have gone abroad concerning that which is dearer to you, my father, and to all your true companions, than any thing of what men call their own. But, alas! these, after all, are but poor tidings for our dear young lady.”

“Fear not,” answered Aurelius: “have I not told you already oftentimes, that strength of heart goes not with bone and sinew, and that my gentle child is prepared for all things? She also well knows that the servant is not greater than the master.”

[pg 299]

The old man motioned to us to remain where we were, and withdrew. I sate for some minutes by the side of Silo, who was, indeed, manifestly much troubled, until at length the same modest little damsel opened the door, and addressing the jailer as her father, asked leave to conduct me to Aurelius.

The child led me, therefore, into the adjoining chamber, and tapped gently at a door on the other side of it. The voice of the old priest bade us come in, and Athanasia arose with him to receive me. She was dressed in a white tunic, her hair braided in dark folds upon her forehead; her countenance was calm, and, but for the paleness of her lips, I should have said that her gravity scarcely partook of sadness. When, however, we had exchanged our salutations, it was evident that some effort had been necessary for this appearance of serenity; for when she spoke to me her voice trembled in every tone, and, as she stooped to caress my young guide, who had sate down by her feet, I saw the tear that had been gathering drop heavily, and lose itself among the bright clusters of the little damsel’s hair. I took her unresisting hand, and imitated as best I could the language of consolation. But it seemed as if my poor whispers only served to increase the misery. She covered her face with her hands, and sobs and tears were mingled together, and the blood glowed red in her neck, in the agony of her lamentation.

The old priest was moved at first scarcely less than myself by this sorrowful sight. Yet the calmness of age deserted him not long, and after a moment there remained nothing on his countenance but the gravity and tenderness of compassion. He arose from his seat, [pg 300]and walked quietly towards the end of the apartment, from which when he returned, after a brief space, there was an ancient volume open in his hand. And standing near us, he began to read aloud, in the Greek tongue, words which were then new, and which have ever since been in a peculiar manner dear to me.

God is our refuge and strength; a very present help in trouble. Therefore will not we fear though the earth be removed; though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea; though the waters thereof roar and be troubled; though the mountains shake with the swelling thereof.

Athanasia took her hands from her face, and gradually composing herself, looked through her tears upon the old man as he proceeded.

There is a river, the streams whereof shall make glad the city of God; the holy place of the tabernacles of the Most High.

God is in the midst of her; she shall not be moved; God shall help her, and that right early.

The heathen raged; the kingdoms were moved. He uttered his voice; the earth melted.

The Lord of Hosts is with us. The God of Jacob is our refuge.

The blood had mounted in the countenance of Aurelius, ere he reached these last words. The tears also had been dried up on the pale cheek of Athanasia; and although her voice was not heard, I saw that her lips moved fervently along with those of the priest. Even in me, ignorant of their source, the words of the royal prophet produced I know not what of buoyance and emotion, and perhaps my lips, too, had involuntarily essayed to follow them; for when he [pg 301]paused from his reading, the old man turned to me with a face full of benignity, and said, “Yes, Valerius, it is even so; Homer, Pindar, Æschylus—these, indeed, can stir the blood; but it is such poetry as this that alone can sooth in sorrow, and strengthen in the hour of tribulation. Your vain-glorious Greeks called all men barbarians but themselves; and yet these words, and thousands not less precious than these, consoled the afflictions, and ennobled the triumphs of the chosen race of Israel long, long years, ere ever the boasted melody of Ionian or Doric verse had been heard of. From this alone, young man, you may judge what measure of candour inhabits along with the disdain of our proud enemies:—how fairly, without question, or opportunity of defence, the charge of barbarity is heaped upon what they are pleased to call our superstition;—how wisely the learned and the powerful of the earth have combined in this league against the truth which they know not,—of which they fear or despise the knowledge. Surely the truth is mighty, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against her.”

“But, alas! my dear father,” said Athanasia, “I fear me this is not the place, nor the situation, in which Valerius might be most likely to listen to your words. It may be that his own narrow escape, to say nothing of our present danger, has rendered him even more cautious than he was before.”

“And who, my dear child,” he replied hastily,—“and who is he that shall dare to blame caution, or to preach, above all in such things as these, the rashness that is of folly? Valerius will not believe that we, like the miserable creatures whose impious songs he heard [pg 302]last night, are studious only of working upon the fears of the ignorant, and harassing, with dark and lying dreams, the imaginations of the simple. Here are no wild stories of blood-thirsty deities, and self-sacrificing maniacs. Here is that which Socrates vainly sought by all the ingenuity of reason. Here is that of which some faint and mysterious anticipations would appear to have been shadowed forth in the visions of Plato. Here is that which, as that Mighty Martyr who died in this very city hath said, innumerable prophets and kings of the old time desired to see, and yet saw not. Do nothing rashly, young man; but it is possible, as you yourself well know, that this may be the last opportunity I shall ever have of speaking with you; and therefore, before we part, I must needs charge you solemnly, that henceforth, if your knowledge increase not, the sin shall be upon your head. I charge you, Valerius, that when you return to your island, you blot not from your memory the things that you have seen and heard in this great city of light and of darkness. Examine—judge—ask aid, and aid shall not be refused you. I take Athanasia to witness, that I have given you the warning that is needful.”

“Oh, sir!” said Athanasia, “I am sure it shall not be in vain that you have done so. I am sure Valerius will never forget this hour——”

She gazed in my face, and a tear was again visible, yet on all her countenance there was no other semblance of passion. The venerable Aurelius clasping his thin hands together, whispered,—“Would to God that I were here alone! Shall the axe be laid to the root of the fair young tree that hath but begun to blossom, [pg 303]when so many old trunks stand around withered with the lightnings, and sore broken by the winds?—The will of the Lord be done!”

“Amen!” said Athanasia, taking the old man by the hand, and smiling, I think, more cheerfully than I had yet seen her—“My dear father, I fear you yourself, after all, are teaching Valerius to take but a sad farewell of us.”

“Alas! my child,” he replied, “he must have a hard heart that could look unmoved on that sweet face in this hour of sadness. But we are in the hands of a greater than Trajan. If so it please Him, all may yet go well with us even here upon the earth. You may live to see many happy years among your kindred—and I, (the old man smiled most serenely,) and for me, my gray hairs may be laid in bloodless dust. Whatever awaits us, blessed be the name of the Lord!”

So saying, the old man retired from the chamber, and once more I was left alone in the presence of Athanasia. I took from my bosom the book and the letter which I had placed there, and laid them upon her knee. She broke the seal, and read hastily what Tisias had written, and then concealed the scroll within her tunic, saying, “Alas! Valerius, little did the brave old soldier suspect how soon his peril was to be mine—Will you permit me like him to make you my messenger?—will you seek out my cousin, my sister, and tell Sempronia in what condition you have found me?—no, not in what you found—but in what you now see me. Will you go, Valerius, and speak comfort to my poor friend? Her pity, at least, I am sure is mingled with no angry thoughts; and yet she only has reason to complain, for [pg 304]her secret thoughts were not hid from me, and, alas! I concealed mine from her.”

“I have already seen her,” said I, “and you do her no more than justice. But, indeed, Sempronius himself thinks of you even as gently as his daughter.”

“I doubt it not, Valerius; but, alas! there are many others besides these; and I know not what relic of weakness it is, but methinks I could have borne the worst more easily, had it not been for what I picture to myself of their resentment. Alas! I am cut off for ever from the memory of my kindred.” She threw open the lattice, as if that she might inhale the free air, and her eyes wandered to and fro over all the magnificent prospect that lay stretched out below us,—the temples and high porticos of the Forum—the gleaming battlements and long arcades of the Palatine—the baths, and theatres, and circuses between and the river—Tiber winding away among fields and groves—and the sky of Italy extending over all things its arch of splendour. When the trumpets were blown by the gate of the Senate-house, the sound floated upwards to us as gently as if it had been borne over the waters. The shouts of the multitude were faintly re-echoed from the towers and the rocks. The princely pageant shewed like a pomp of pigmies; spear, and helmet, and eagle glittered together, almost like dews upon the distant herbage. Athanasia rested her eye once more upon the wide range of the champaign, where fields and forests were spread out in interminable succession—away towards the northern region and the visible mountains. She raised her hand, and said, “Valerius, your home lies far away yonder. I must [pg 305]give you something which you shall promise me to carry with you, and preserve in memory—of Rome.”

Before I had time to make any answer, she had taken out of a casket that stood beside us, a scroll of parchment, bound with a silk ribbon, which she immediately put into my hands, and—“To-morrow,” said she, “Valerius, our fate, they tell us, must at length be determined;—if we share the fate of Tisias, the last gift of Tisias shall be yours. If, however, any mercy be extended to us, I cannot part with that memorial of a dying martyr. I must keep to myself the old man’s favourite volume, for it was for me he had designed it. But I have made a copy of the same book for yourself. I have written it since I came hither, Valerius, and you must not despise it because the Mammertine has not furnished the finest of materials. Take this, Valerius, and take with it my thanks—my prayers. I know you will not forget my message to my dear sister.—Sextus and she—may many happy days be theirs—and yours.”

I kissed the sad gift, and placed it in my bosom.

“Valerius,” she said, “dry up your tears. You weep for me because I am a Christian; forget not that the Roman blood flows in my veins, and think not that its current is chilled, because I have forsworn the worship of idol and demon, and am in peril for the service of The Living God.”

“Athanasia!” said I,—“I weep for you, but not for you alone. I ask nothing—I hope nothing—but I could not bear to part with you thus, and not to tell you that when I part from you, I bid farewell to all things. Pardon me—once more pardon me.”

[pg 306]

A single flush of crimson passed over her face, and I saw her lips move, but the syllables died ere they were uttered. She continued for a moment gazing on me, pale, and trembling; and then at last she fell upon my neck and wept—not audibly—but I felt her tears.

Athanasia was still folded to my bosom in that strange agony of sorrow and of confidence, when Silo, the jailer, entered the apartment, abrupt and breathless.

“Oh, sir!” said he, “your sufferings are mine—but it is necessary that you should leave us, and on the instant, for the Prefect is already at the gate, and unquestionably he will examine every part of the prison; and should you be recognized as the person who was taken in the Mausoleum, you see plainly to what suspicions it might give rise. Come then, sir, and let me secure your escape—we shall take care to warn you of whatever occurs, and we shall send for you, if there be opportunity.”

Athanasia recovered herself almost instantly, when she heard what Silo said.

“We shall meet again,” said I.

“Once more,” she replied—“at least once more, Valerius.”

And I tore myself away from her; and the jailer having once again committed me to the guidance of his child, I was in a few moments conducted to the same postern by which I had been introduced. In a word, I found myself in the court of the Capitol, at the instant when the Prefect, with all his attendants, was entering by the main gate of the Mammertine.

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