Chapter XXIV

“Yet dread me from my living tomb,
Ye bigot slaves of haughty Rome.”
SCOTT.

Adonijah and Lucia Claudia remained in the environs of Jerusalem with the Church and its apostolic bishop, Simeon, for many years. They were the parents of a lovely family, who were growing up in the nurture and fear of the Lord, when the Roman brethren, being desirous of sending gifts to the Hebrew Christians, wished Adonijah to come to Rome to receive their bounty for those impoverished children of Abraham who had received the faith of Jesus. The fulfilment of the prophecies respecting the dispersion of the Jews had probably occasioned that conversion among the Israelites spoken of by Hegesippus, the earliest historian of the Church. There is reason to believe that these persons retained their ancient customs as far as a people could retain them who were under the Gentile yoke of bondage, though they received Christ as their High Priest, Redeemer, and Divine Ruler. Attachment to the customs of their forefathers, and the example of Christ, “a minister of the circumcision,” made the Hebrew Christians still cling to their ancestral ritual. This adherence would in time have created a bar between them and their Gentile brethren, if it had been suffered to continue; but the revolts of the unbelieving Jews in the reigns of Trajan and Adrian caused this separation to cease. No Israelite after those wars was suffered to remain in Palestine, so that when Jerusalem was rebuilt under the heathen name of Ælia, the Christian Church established there was no longer composed of converted Jews. After a time the dispersed and scattered tribes of Israel might purchase from the Roman soldiers once a year the mournful privilege of weeping over the solitary foundation-stone of the temple, but poverty and slavery left few to avail themselves of the opportunity in that age. The custom has never ceased; it has been transmitted from generation to generation, and the nineteenth century still witnesses the affecting commemorative visit of the Jew to the desecrated shrine where his forefathers once worshipped Jehovah. He still looks forward to the promises, and fondly hopes to see the temple crown once more the holy mount; and he will not be deceived, for the builders will have then received the chief Corner-stone they rejected, and will bear his seal on their foreheads, his name on their hearts.

Nearly two thousand years of woe and degradation then lay in dark and direful perspective between the children of the dispersion and the dawn of those better things—those political privileges which the Christian legislature of our own land has accorded to them. Selfish hearts would churlishly deny to the Jew his newly granted civic rights, but they might as well shut out the light of heaven, or forbid the wind to blow, as withhold the blessings God has promised to his long-suffering people, whose restoration and final conversion is clearly decreed, and foretold by Isaiah and all the Jewish prophets.

The converted Hebrews, always working with their hands, possessed none of the commercial privileges of their unconverted brethren. These poor saints when thrust out of the synagogues were subjected to much persecution in every place, and the collection made for their relief in the metropolis of the world would provide them the means of paying the heavy tribute imposed upon them by the Roman governors. The Church of Jerusalem was too poor to aid them; the descendants of some of the apostles were tillers of the soil, who literally earned their bread in the sweat of their brows.

Many years had elapsed since Adonijah and his wife had quitted imperial Rome. The magnificent Coliseum, planned by a Christian architect martyred by Vespasian, and built by captive Jews destined to die at its dedication, shone brilliantly in the mid-day sun in its youthful magnificence; not, as now, hoary with centuries of age, save where the mantling ivy covers its ruined grandeur with a veil of beauty. A solitary subterranean epitaph records that Gaudentius, whose genius raised this mightiest monument of heathen power and heathen cruelty, died Christ’s soldier and servant, but leaves his history untold, the question how a Christian became the architect of such a structure undecided. Perhaps he was condemned like the Jewish masons to build his own arena of death and martyrdom—the first, not the last, Christian who suffered on that spot, in the mystic Babylon, for the witness of Jesus.[25] Adonijah regarded with mournful interest on the beautiful arch of Titus, and the emblems of the conqueror’s devastating victory and the desolation of Judea and Jerusalem. Nearly nineteen centuries have passed since the erection of a monument, beneath which no Jew’s foot has ever been known to tread, but which stands fair, glistening, and fresh in our own age as it did then, when his eyes first looked upon it. He saw in the Temple of Peace the seven-branched candlestick, the golden vine, and the splendid vessels formerly used in the temple service, and sighed over the degradation of the fallen Jewish Church. He looked upwards, nevertheless, and through the dim and shadowy future beheld the mystic dawning of that day when the dispersed of Israel would look upon Him with sorrow and contrition whom they pierced, and should be restored again to their own glorious land. He turned to Lucia Claudia as he quitted the temple, and said, “Why should I mourn, my wife, for these things, since the types and shadows of the Mosaic dispensation have been accomplished and fulfilled in Christ, and like Symeon, having seen his salvation, I am ready to depart in peace?”

The meeting between Julius the Presbyter and his sister was extremely moving. He had indeed become a vigilant and faithful minister of Christ to whom the Greek name of Theodatus had been given by the brethren as a mark of their general estimation of his piety. From him Lucia heard with painful interest of the arraignment of the Vestal College, and the danger that impended over Cornelia Cossi, the Maxima, or chief vestal priestess. No one knew why Domitian in his quality of Pontifex Maximus (head priest of Jupiter) chose to institute a prosecution which darkened the fame and endangered the lives of these unfortunate priestesses. This year he had opened his public career of crime by condemning the Consul Glabrio to combat with a lion in the arena; that valiant magistrate had however redeemed his life by slaying his brute assailant, and was banished; but Cornelia Maxima and her sister vestals found in Domitian a more incensed and formidable foe than Glabrio. Lucia obtained permission to visit the Chief Priestess in the prison to which the injustice of a heathen tyrant had condemned a pure and lofty-minded Roman lady. Time had not deprived Cornelia Maxima of her majesty of form and stature; what she had lost in youthful charms she had gained in dignity, and when she rose from her recumbent posture on the hard pavement of the Tullianum, and cast an indignant glance upon her uninvited visitor, Lucia Claudia beheld in the condemned prisoner the very Cornelia of Nero’s reign who had urged her sovereign to arraign and punish the lapsed vestal, the wife of his guilty favourite. She remembered this, but not with anger, as she approached the unhappy Cornelia, and throwing her arms about her neck assured her that Lucia Claudia still loved her, and believed her innocent. Cornelia attempted to disengage herself from the embrace, but she yielded at last to the sweet influence of those womanly tears and caresses, and wept long and passionately on Lucia’s friendly bosom. She had never shed a tear during the course of the prosecution, and when once she became calm she wept no more; no, not when she descended into her living grave in the sight of the awe-struck Roman people.

After some minutes she answered the sympathizing inquiries of her long-lost friend with placid dignity. “Lucia Claudia, I was formerly tried on this false charge and acquitted;[26] why the accusation has been repeated I do not know, but Cæsar has condemned me untried and unheard.”

“No one believes the charge, dear Maxima,” replied Lucia Claudia, “and it is said that the emperor would pardon you, if you would justify his cruelty by calumniating yourself.”

“The two Ocelli and poor Veronilla, dreading their living grave, confessed themselves guilty of a crime they loathed, and never committed: they were permitted to choose a milder death. But I am a Roman virgin of loftier lineage and nobler spirit; I can die, but will not justify my persecutor. Celer cleared himself and me by an heroic death; but Valerius Licinianus has purchased life and shame at my expense. His eloquence might have saved us both: he falsely avowed himself a guilty wretch. ‘Licinianus has justified me,’ was Cæsar’s own remark; and he is pardoned, while I am doomed and slandered.”

“He is again imprisoned for concealing your freedwoman at one of his farms.”

“Ah! by Vesta, a light breaks in upon me. She was fair and young. He loved her then, doubtless; those stolen visits to the temple were really made; yes, and to her. Frail girl! and base calumnious man! O Celer, Celer! and thou didst vainly endure the torturing scourge for both;” and the miserable priestess threw herself upon the ground, and fell into an agony that had no tears, found no relief in sighs and groans. The noble-minded Roman knight’s fate, indeed, had merited and won the admiration of the spectators, and in after years the degraded Licinianus—the poor Sicilian schoolmaster whose Prætorian rank excited such scornful pity—might have envied Celer’s ignominious punishment and heroic death.

Cornelia gradually overcame her bitter agony; she looked up once more, and a smile passed over her wan countenance.

“We two, Lucia Claudia, were esteemed the pride of the vestal order; and I am condemned for incest,[27] and thou art the widow of a bondwoman’s son, and the wife of a Hebrew freedman.”

Lucia Claudia blushed; she felt the sarcasm, but answered it with meek forbearance. “I quitted the college a believer in the God of Israel. How could a Jewish convert minister in the temple of a heathen deity? After this I became a Christian, and sought to bring in him who had made me a worshipper of the true God. He betrayed the brethren, in the blind darkness of his bigoted self-righteousness, and I gave my hand to Nymphidius to save my fellow-Christians. It was feminine weakness: I should have trusted the Church to Him whose faith I had embraced, for not a hair could be torn from a Christian’s head without divine permission. Of that unholy marriage I will not speak, which linked together the believing wife and unbelieving husband in an unequal and abhorred yoke. Listen, Cornelia, while I tell thee how it was severed, and recognise His hand who saved one and destroyed the other;” and Lucia Claudia related her own history, and that of Adonijah. She then unfolded the Christian mission to the condemned Maxima, and implored her “to repent and be baptized.”

The Maxima shook her haughty head, and turned contemptuously away. “No, Lucia; I am no believer in strange gods. My austere and holy life leaves no room for repentance; it is my pride and glory to have been a chaste votary of Vesta. Nor would I change my fate with one who has forsaken the custody of the sacred flame, on the existence of which that of Rome depends, to contract second nuptials, and bear children to a Jew.”

“Ah, Maxima, I think I could share even thy living grave, could I but know that thou didst carry with thee the faith, the hope, the love of a Christian.”

“Lucia Claudia, thou shalt see me suffer. Yes, I pray thee, follow my bier, watch me descending into my living grave, and bear witness to my constancy, I loved thee once, and I love thee still. Thou wilt be near me, thou wilt not deny me my last request?” and Lucia promised, wept, and departed.

Domitian, who was exceedingly anxious that his victim should submit to his sentence, had offered Cornelia a full pardon if she would asperse her own character, but in vain. He had pronounced judgment upon her at his Alban villa, while the poor prisoner remained at Rome, deprived of the means of defending herself, or engaging the talents of some eminent pleader in her defence. The measure was unpopular, and the emperor’s manner of exercising the office of supreme pontiff unprecedented even in that age of crime. Nobody believed the charges against the unfortunate Maxima, and when the covered litter that contained the condemned vestal priestess was seen proceeding along the silent streets, the ominous procession excited general commiseration. No reproachful word reached the ears of the victim, no malediction was heaped upon her devoted head, no injurious epithet added insult to injury, for the sympathies of a mighty people were with the calumniated Maxima. Two centuries had elapsed since such a dismal tragedy had been acted at Rome, and the advance of learning and knowledge had rendered the Romans less superstitious, though not more virtuous, and the immolation excited disgust and indignation against its actors. Wrapped in her pallium and closely veiled, Lucia Claudia clung trembling to the arm of her husband, and with faltering steps followed the procession from the prison through the thronged Forum to the Collina Gate, where the sepulchral cavern had been re-opened to enclose the living form of Cornelia Cossi. The bed, the lamp, the loaf, the bread-mill, the pitcher of water, and cruize of oil, had been already provided; the emperor in his character of supreme pontiff, wearing his sacerdotal robes, with his priestly attendants, stood by the dark yawning chasm to receive the victim; the litter was then unclosed, the unfortunate priestess was unbound, and faced Domitian, who extended his hands to utter the customary prayers in order to avert the consequences of the vestal’s imputed guilt from the heads of the Roman people.

The unfortunate Maxima turned her magnificent countenance from him to the vast assembly as she invoked Vesta and every deity of earth and heaven to attest her innocence; but her voice was distinct, clear, and even melodious. She was interrupted by the emperor, who charged her with the crime for which she was about to suffer, and urged her repeatedly to confess her guilt. To his severe remarks Cornelia calmly replied, “Cæsar believes me guilty of incest, who performed the sacred rites when he conquered and triumphed.” She had repeatedly uttered these mysterious words on her way to the Collina Gate. No one but herself and Domitian comprehended their meaning. Pliny the Younger, who was present, could not discover whether this speech was intended as a satirical allusion to the ill-success of the emperor’s Dacian campaigns, for which he had nevertheless triumphed, or whether the unfortunate vestal wished to conciliate her judge, and attest her own purity by this reply; the enigma was never solved by Cornelia. Then the imperial pontiff made his impious prayers, and after consigning the condemned vestal to her executioners departed with his priestly attendants. At this moment Lucia Claudia raised her veil, and turned her tearful eyes upon the unhappy Maxima, who returned her sympathising recognition with a glance of intelligent gratitude, and even smiled. No trace of the strong agony that had convulsed her noble figure on the pavement of the Tullianum remained on her dignified and placid countenance. She looked towards the temple of which she had been the presiding priestess, she gazed upon the Roman people, and cast a farewell look upon the bright blue heavens that canopied old Rome, and then resolutely advanced towards the chasm. As she placed her firm unshrinking foot upon the steps, the executioner put forth his hand to disengage her robe, but the vestal haughtily repulsed him, as if his touch were profanation to her purity. She was observed to gather her flowing drapery closely round her magnificent person as she descended into her living grave,[28] and this simple and intuitive trait of feminine modesty redeemed for ever the aspersed character of Cornelia Cossi Maxima, in the eyes of the vast assembly who witnessed it, from defamation; and that dark sepulchral vault was closed never to be re-opened to enclose another victim. The conviction that Cornelia had been unjustly immolated made a lasting impression upon the Roman people, and the mound that marked the awful spot was never again disturbed by the votaries of a cruel superstition. The extension of Christianity banished cruel heathen rites.

Adonijah drew the folds of her ample veil over the convulsed features of his fainting wife, and, wrapping her in her pallium, bore her inanimate form to the house of a Christian brother; but some time elapsed before she showed signs of life. When she recovered from her swoon, she wept long and prayed much; yet, in her deep commiseration for the unfortunate Maxima, the feeling that she had died a heathen, uncheered by the hope of a better life, was still surpassingly bitter—the bitterest drop indeed in a bitter cup. These thoughts and reflections were naturally succeeded by others of a less painful character. Her conversion to Christianity had not only been the means of bringing her out of idolatry and darkness into the bright refulgence of the Gospel day, but it had saved her from the suicidal despair of the vestals Ocelli and Veroilla, and the living interment of the calumniated Maxima Cornelia Cossi.

The Latin Church considered even the temporary residence of Lucia Claudia in Rome and Italy unsafe at such a period, and the converted vestal priestess quitted the metropolis of the world for ever. She returned with Adonijah to the Church at Jerusalem, and passed many tranquil years in the bosom of her Christian family, till the revolt of the Jews in the reign of Trajan, which was also a war with the Hebrew converts to Christianity, when, Adonijah being slain by his own countrymen, the widowed Lucia Claudia became a deaconess of the Church. She exercised this office at the time when Simeon the apostle was martyred, who, at one hundred and twenty years, excited by his patient fortitude the admiration of Atticus, the governor of Syria during the third persecution of the Christians in the reign of Trajan. She quitted Jerusalem before it was besieged by Adrian, and retired with the Hebrew Christian Church to Pella beyond Jordan, but never to return; for she fell asleep at an advanced age, in the full assurance of Christian hope.

The Hebrew Christian Church lost its distinctive character when it could no longer maintain its succession of Jewish bishops, nor retain its see; for the rescripts of Adrian, which forbade the Jews to dwell in Palestine, virtually put an end to the hierarchy:[29] for the second Church of Christ founded at Ælia—the name of the heathen city built by Adrian—was not composed of converted Jews, but of Gentiles who had forsaken idolatry to follow the Lord Jesus. In our own days another Hebrew Christian Church has been founded at Jerusalem, to which “kings have become nursing fathers, and queens nursing mothers,” in fulfilment of an ancient prophecy, “that Jerusalem shall evermore become the joy of the whole earth.”

“Thou living wonder of Jehovah’s word!
Thou, that without a priest or sacrifice,
Ephod or temple, lone ’mid human-kind,
Cleavest to thy statutes with unswerving mind,
As though enthroned upon His mercy-seat,
The spreading of the cherubim between,
Jehovah still were seen!
Hebrew, come forth! dread not the light of day,
Dread not the insulter’s cry;
The arch[30] that rose o’er thy captivity
No more shall turn thee from thy destined way.”
——“It comes—the appointed hour;
Hebrew, beneath the arch of Titus pause!
And in the closing scene of Rome’s last power,
Thy prophet’s roll unfold.

Lift up thy voice!—the day-spring from on high
Warns that the hour draws nigh:
The far seas and the multitude of isles,
All in their tongues have heard,
Each lisps the living word;
Hebrew, on thee redemption’s angel smiles.
The stone cut out without a hand
Now spreads its shade o’er earth,
And shall to heaven expand.
Tell the dispersed; kings with their fleets shall come
To bear the wanderers home,
Their queens shall fold thy nurselings on their breast,
A light o’er earth shall flow,
From Zion’s hallowed brow,
And there the Lord thy God, enthroned in glory, rest.”[31]

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[25] In the Sotterania a monument, purporting to be that of Gaudentius, the architect of the Coliseum, has been discovered. It appears from the inscription that he was beheaded by Vespasian for being a Christian. The name of this martyr is the only one connected with the martyrology of the period; but as Vespasian put to death many of the descendants of David, some of these may have been Christians.

[26] Neither the charge nor the time of the former trial are known.

[27] Unchastity in the vestal was called incest.

[28] See Appendix, Note XIII.

[29] See Appendix, Note XIV.

[30] The Jews never pass under the arch of Titus; to this day they go out of their direct way to avoid it.

[31] Sotheby.

A P P E N D I X.

NOTE I.

“Nero arrived at Corinth, and was there surprised to see by what a narrow isthmus the two seas were separated. The project of piercing through the land, and forming a navigable canal to connect the two seas, (the Ionian and Ægean,) and render it unnecessary for mariners to sail round the Peloponnesus, struck his fancy, and fired him with ideas of immortal fame. The Greeks opposed the design, and endeavoured to dissuade him from undertaking it. The language of superstition was, that to attempt to join what had been severed for ages would be an impious violation of the laws of nature.

“Nero was not to be deterred from his purpose. He knew besides that the attempt had been made by Demetrius Poliorcetes, an Eastern king, by Julius Cæsar, and Caligula; and to accomplish an arduous work which those three princes had undertaken without effect, appeared to him the height of human glory. He resolved therefore to begin the work without delay. Having harangued the Prætorian soldiers, he provided himself with a golden pickaxe, and advancing on the shore sang in melodious strains a hymn to Neptune, Amphitrite, and all the marine deities who allay or heave the waters of the deep. After this ceremony he struck the first stroke into the ground, and with a basket of sand on his shoulder marched away in triumph, proud of his Herculean labour. The natives of the country saw the frantic enterprise with mixed emotions of astonishment and religious horror. They observed to Nero, that of the three princes who had conceived the same design not one had died a natural death. They told him further, that in some places as soon as the axe pierced the ground a stream of blood gushed from the wound, hollow groans were heard from subterraneous caverns, and various spectres emitting a feeble murmur were seen to glide along the coast. These remonstrances made no impression.” (_Annals of Tacitus_, Book XVI.)

These supernatural appearances were doubtless produced by perfectly natural causes. The Corinthians contrived those impostures to prevent Nero from carrying on his work. He was not deceived by them, for he pursued his design unawed by these ill omens, which he would hardly have done if he had believed them real.

NOTE II.

“Jotapata was the strongest place in Galilee. Josephus the historian, and the governor of the province, undertook its defence. The siege lasted seven and forty days. The inhabitants refusing to capitulate, the signal was given for a general assault. Except the women and children and about twelve hundred prisoners, all who were found in the town died in one general carnage. Josephus was afterwards found in a cave. Vespasian gave him his life.”

NOTE III.

“Vespasian, in compliance with Nero’s letters, sent six thousand prisoners to work at the isthmus of Corinth.”

NOTE IV.

“Being at length determined to execute the bloody purpose he had for some time harboured in secret, Nero wrote to Corbulo in terms of great esteem and kindness, calling him his friend and benefactor, and expressing his ardent wish to have an interview with a general who had rendered such signal services to the empire. Corbulo fell into the snare. A mind like his, impregnated with honour and heroic fortitude, could admit no suspicion of intended treachery. He embarked without any retinue, and landed at Cenchreæ, a Corinthian harbour in the Ægean Sea. Nero was then dressed in his pantomime garb, and ready to mount the stage, when the arrival of his general officer was announced. He felt the indecency of giving an audience in his comedian’s dress to a man whom he respected while he hated him. To free himself from all embarrassment he took the shortest way, and sent a death warrant. Corbulo saw too late that honesty is too often the dupe of an ignoble mind. ‘I have deserved this,’ he said, and fell upon his sword.” (_Annals of Tacitus._)

NOTE V.

The sacerdotal order of the Vestals was a very ancient institution, supposed to have been derived from Greece. It was introduced by Numa, the second Roman king.

It is a remarkable fact that in most ancient heathen countries we find an order of women dedicated to celibacy, whose chastity was considered essential to the well-being of the state; thus we find virgins of the sun in Persia, an order of recluses in Syria, described by Pliny, and the vestal priestesses of Italy, afterwards revived by Numa, who limited their number to four, to which two were added by Servius Tullus. It is difficult to define the principles of this mysterious religion, of which fire was the only visible emblem; but the orbicular form of the temple, and the absence of any image, have led to the idea that the earth was the object of this occult worship, and that the fire was intended to convey the idea of Providence, the divine mind, or soul of the universe, which enlightens and cherishes animated nature by the means of heat. Upon the preservation of the sacred fire the existence of the state was supposed to depend; it was continually watched by the priestesses upon whose care the public welfare was supposed to depend. The secret, whatever it might be, was supposed to be contained in two little tuns, treasured in a private part of the temple, which no person was suffered to approach. The order existed till the time of the emperor Honorius, but its dissolution left its mysteries unrevealed. Our Saxon ancestors worshipped a deity called Hertha, served by virgin priestesses, who appears to have been the German Vesta. The earth was undoubtedly worshipped under the name of Hertha, and we may therefore conclude that the German and Latin superstitions have had the same common origin. The vestals commenced their vocation at six years, and were vowed to thirty years of celibacy, the least infringement of which state exposed them to the doom of a living grave. The great privileges granted to these virgins might console the proud or ambitious for the loss of domestic ties. A lictor always preceded their chariots, which were drawn by white horses; every man, whatever his rank might be, made way for them; even the consuls stopped and lowered their fasces reverently before them. To insult them was to provoke instant death. They were assigned a distinguished place at the theatre or circus, and could determine any cause submitted to their arbitration.

They were allowed the privilege of saving any criminal whom they might meet on the way to execution, provided they would declare the rencontre to have been purely accidental. They possessed a political importance which they frequently exercised on momentous occasions. Thus the life of Julius Cæsar was preserved by the appeal of those priestesses to Sylla, that tyrant sparing his intended victim at their request.

The wills of eminent persons were usually lodged in their hands, and they took charge of considerable sums of money, which the owners considered would be safer in their keeping than in their own. Even in death the vestal possessed a peculiar privilege; she was buried within the walls—intramural interment being the highest mark of distinction that ancient Rome could confer on her citizens.

The dress of the vestals consisted of a white stole bordered with purple, they wore no veil, their head was covered by a sort of coif, from which hung long streamers of ribbon. This head-dress probably resembled the modern cap. As the long hair of the young vestal was cut off upon her admission into the college, and suspended from a tree which had never borne fruit, this ornament, if it were suffered to grow again, was always closely concealed under the coif, which fitted the head very closely, a white fillet encircled the forehead. As great perfection of form and features were essential requisites in the candidate, the vestals, though taken from either order, were always beautiful. They were maintained by the state in affluence, and the funds of their college were continually augmented by legacies bequeathed by the pious, or donatives bestowed upon them by those persons desirous of obtaining their good offices. The state gave these priestesses the privilege of willing their property,—a right at that time allowed to no other Roman lady. At the end of thirty years the vestals might return to the world and marry, but no priestess of this order was ever known to do so, for she would have lost those rights which made her an object of interest and veneration to the Romans and the world they governed.

These proud privileges might be lost, however, by a lapse from virtue, or a false accusation. If any public calamity befell the Romans it was imputed to the secret guilt of these priestesses, and they were buried alive, unless some advocate succeeded in snatching them from such a fearful fate. Cicero delivered by his eloquence one of these ladies from a charge involving her life and honour; but in the reign of Domitian three vestals were convicted of unchastity and put to death. Plutarch, in his Life of Numa, has been very particular in describing the dismal ceremonial of the interment of the unchaste vestal. The condemnation of the Vestal College had been so recent that he doubtless described the scene from those who had witnessed its horrors.

Several festivals were celebrated in ancient Rome in honour of Vesta. That on the calends of March, when the vestals rekindled the sacred fire, and the laurels were renewed that encircled the consular fasces, must have been very interesting. The solar rays were used for this purpose,—a custom found also among the Druids, only that they commenced the year from the 1st of January, while the Virgin College adhered to the defective old calendar of the early regal times.

On the ides of May the vestals, accompanied by the Pontifical College, threw from the bridge Sublicius thirty figures instead of human beings, which had once been offered to Saturn from that place,—a barbarous custom abolished, tradition declared, by Hercules. But the Vestalia held on the ninth of June was the great festival which gave the Roman ladies the most pleasure, because it afforded them an opportunity of displaying their gayest apparel and ornaments in the procession from the temple or Vesta to the Capitol.

The month of December was dedicated to Vesta. The temple of this deity stood on Mount Palatine, it was circular in form and unadorned, the altar on which the sacred fire continually was burning stood in the middle of the fane. Men were permitted free access to this temple during the day, but were denied admittance at night. The sanctuary, however, might not be approached by masculine feet.

The sacred fire was kept burning for centuries, and was only extinguished with the sacerdotal order that had so long maintained its mysterious flame.

NOTE VI.

The Christians were punished as the incendiaries of Rome. Nero was at once their accuser and their judge. It must be remembered that Tacitus, though deeply prejudiced against the Christians, bears an honourable testimony to their innocence. “Nothing,” he says, “could efface from the minds of men the prevailing opinion that Rome was set on fire by Nero’s own orders. The infamy of that horrible transaction still adhered to him. In order, if possible, to remove the imputation, he determined to transfer the guilt to others. For this purpose he punished with exquisite tortures a race of men detested for their evil practices, by vulgar appellation called Christians. The name was derived from Christ, who in the reign of Tiberius suffered under Pontius Pilate, the procurator of Judea. By that event the sect of which he was the founder received a blow which for a time checked the growth of a dangerous superstition, but it revived soon after, and spread with recruited vigour, not only in Judea, the soil that gave it birth, but even in the city of Rome, the common sink into which everything infamous and abominable flows like a torrent from all quarters of the world. Nero proceeded with his usual artifice. He found a set of profligate abandoned wretches who were induced to confess themselves guilty, and on the evidence of such men a number of Christians were convicted, not indeed upon clear evidence of their having set the city on fire, but rather on account of their sullen hatred to the whole human race. They were put to death with exquisite cruelty, and to their sufferings Nero added mockery and derision. Some were covered with the skins of wild beasts and left to be devoured by dogs, others were nailed to the cross, and many covered over with inflammable matter were lighted up when the day declined, to serve as torches during the night.

“For the convenience of seeing this tragic spectacle the emperor lent his own gardens. He added the sports of the circus, and assisted in person, sometimes driving a curricle, and occasionally mixing with the rabble in his coachman’s dress. At length the cruelty of these proceedings filled every breast with compassion. Humanity relented in favour of the Christians. The manners of that people were, no doubt, of a pernicious tendency, and their crimes called for the hand of justice, but it was evident that they fell a sacrifice, not for the public good, but to glut the rage and cruelty of one man only.” (_Tacitus._)

No Christian can read this account without feelings of resentment against the historian who has recorded the sufferings of the followers of Jesus, and their innocence of the crime for which they suffered. Unhappy prejudice alone prevented Tacitus from doing justice to their holiness, fortitude, and brotherly love. He ought not upon common report thus to have “condemned the guiltless.” Murphy has a fine note on these remarkable passages in Tacitus, a part of which I shall insert, as it does much honour to his heart and head.

“This was the first persecution of the Christians. Nero, the declared enemy of human kind, waged war against a religion which has since diffused the light of truth, and humanized the savages of Europe. Nero appears to be the first that attacked them as the professors of a new religion; and when such a man as Tacitus calls it ‘a dangerous superstition,’ it must be allowed that indirectly an apology is made for Nero. But for Tacitus, who had opportunities for a fair inquiry, what excuse is to be made? The vices of the Jews were imputed to the Christians without discrimination, and Tacitus suffers himself to be hurried away by the torrent of popular prejudice.”

NOTE VII.

Pliny, the friend of Tacitus, bears the following honourable testimony to the morals of the Christians of his day, then under sharp persecution. “The real Christians were not to be forced by any means whatever to renounce the articles of their belief.” He proceeds to the sum total of their guilt, which he found to be as follows: “They met on a stated day before it was light, and addressed themselves in a prayer or hymn to Christ, as to a god, binding themselves by a solemn oath (not for any wicked purpose) never to commit any fraud, theft, or adultery, never to falsify their word, nor deny a trust reposed in them; after which it was their custom to separate, and then reassemble to eat their meal together in a manner perfectly harmless and inoffensive.”

Tertullian, in a strain of exultation, declares that the Christians “for their innocence, their probity, justice, truth, and for the living God, were burnt alive. The cruelty, ye persecutors, is all your own, the glory is ours.”

Such were the Christians of the primitive times, of whom the world was not worthy.

NOTE VIII.

The Triumph of Vespasian and Titus, from Josephus’ Wars of the Jews.

“As soon as it was day Vespasian and Titus came out of the Temple of Isis, crowned with laurel, and clothed with those ancient purple habits which were proper to their family, and then went as far as Octavius’ Walks, for there it was that the senate and the principal rulers, and them that had been recorded as of the equestrian order, waited for them. Now a tribunal had been erected before the cloisters, and ivory chairs had been set upon it. Whereupon the soldiery made an acclamation of joy to them immediately, and all gave them attestations of their valour, while they were themselves without their arms, and only in their silken garments and crowned with laurel. Then Vespasian accepted of these shouts of theirs, but while they were still disposed to go on in such acclamations he gave them a signal of silence. And when everybody entirely held their peace, he stood up and, covering the greatest part of his head with his cloak, he put up the accustomed solemn prayer: the like prayers did Titus put up also: after which prayers Vespasian made a short speech to all the people, and then sent away the soldiers to a dinner prepared for them by the emperors. Then did he retire to that gate which was called the Gate of the Pomp, because pompous shows do always go through that gate: there it was that they tasted some food; and when they had put on their triumphal garments, and had offered sacrifices to the gods that were placed at that gate, they sent the triumph forward, and marched through the theatres, that they might be the more easily seen by the multitude. Now it is impossible to describe the multitude of the shows as they deserve, and the magnificence of them all, such, indeed, as a man could not easily think of as performed, either by the labour of workmen, or the variety of riches, or the rarities of nature; for almost all such curiosities as the most happy men ever get by piecemeal were here one heaped on another, and those both admirable and costly in their nature, and all brought together on that day, demonstrated the vastness of the dominions of the Romans; for there was here to be seen a mighty quantity of silver and gold and ivory, contrived into all sorts of things, and did not appear as carried along in pompous show only, but, as a man may say, running along like a river. Some parts were composed of the rarest purple hangings, and so carried along, and others accurately represented to the life what was embroidered by the arts of the Babylonians. There were also precious stones that were transparent, some set in crowns of gold, and some in other arches as the workmen pleased, and of these such a vast number were brought that we could not but learn how vainly we imagined any of them to be rarities. The images of the gods were also carried, being as well wonderful for their largeness as made very artificially and with great skill of the workmen: nor were any of these images of any other than very costly materials; and many species of animals were brought, every one in their own natural ornament. The men, also, who brought every one of these shows were great multitudes, and adorned with purple garments all over, interwoven with gold; those that were chosen for carrying these pompous shows having also about them such magnificent ornaments as were both magnificent and surprising. Besides these one might see that even the great number of the captives were not unadorned, while the variety that was in their garments and their fine texture concealed from the sight the deformity of their bodies. But what afforded the greatest surprise of all was the structure of the pageants that were borne along, for, indeed, he that met them could not but be afraid that the bearers would not be able to support them, such was their magnitude, for many of them were so made that they were on three or even four stories one above another. The magnificence, also, of their structure afforded one both pleasure and surprise, for upon many of them were laid carpets of gold. There was also wrought gold and ivory fastened about them all, and many resemblances of the war, and these in several ways and variety of contrivances, affording a most lively portraiture of itself. For there was to be seen a happy country laid waste, and entire squadrons of enemies slain, while some of them ran away, and some were carried into captivity: with walls of great altitude and magnitude overthrown, and ruined by machines; with the strongest fortifications taken, and the walls of most populous cities upon the tops of hills seized upon, and an army pouring itself within the walls; as also every place full of slaughter, and supplications of the enemies, when they were no longer able to lift up their hands in way of opposition. Fire, also, sent upon temples was here represented, and houses overthrown, and falling upon their owners: rivers, also, after they came out of a large and melancholy desert, ran down, not into a land cultivated, nor as drink for man or for cattle, but through a land still on fire upon every side; for the Jews related that such a thing they had undergone during the war. Now the workmanship of these representations was so magnificent and lively in the construction of the things, that it exhibited what had been done to such as did not see it, as if they had been really there present. On the top of every one of these pageants was placed the commander of the city that was taken, and the manner in which he was taken. Moreover, there followed these pageants a great number of ships; and for the other spoils they were carried in great plenty. But for those that were taken in the temple of Jerusalem they made the greatest figure of all; that is, the golden table of the weight of many talents; the candlestick, also, that was made of gold, though its construction was now changed from that which we made use of; for its middle shaft was fixed upon a basis, and the small branches were produced out of it to a great length, having the likeness of a trident in their position, and had every one a socket made of brass for a lamp at the tops of them. These lamps were seven in number, and represented the dignity of the number seven among the Jews; and the last of all the spoils was carried the law of the Jews. After these spoils passed by a great many men, carrying the images of victory, whose structure was entirely of ivory and gold. After which Vespasian marched in the first place, and Titus followed him; Domitian also rode along with them, and made a glorious appearance, and rode on a horse worthy of admiration.

“Now the last part of this pompous show was at the temple of Jupiter Capitolinus, whither when they were come, they stood still; for it was the Romans’ ancient custom to stay till somebody brought the news that the general of the enemy was slain. This general was Simon, the son of Gioras, who had then been led in this triumph among the captives; a rope had also been put upon his head, and he had withal been tormented by those who drew him along; and the law of the Romans required that malefactors condemned to die should be slain there. Accordingly, when it was related that there was an end of him, and all the people had set up a great shout of joy, they then began to offer those sacrifices which they had consecrated, in the prayers used in such solemnities, which when they had finished, they went away to the palace. And as for some of the spectators, the emperors entertained them at their own feast, and for all the rest of them there were noble preparations made for their feasting at home; for this was a festival-day to the city of Rome, as celebrated for the victory obtained by their army over their enemies, for the end that was now put to their civil miseries, and for the commencement of their hopes of future prosperity and happiness. After these things Vespasian built the Temple of Peace, which he finished in a very short time, and in which he placed the spoil taken in the Jewish war out of the temple at Jerusalem.”

There certainly is in this account from the pen of the Jewish historian a servile spirit that cannot fail to disgust every reader. His apathetic description of the last act of his country’s woeful tragedy is shocking to humanity. That he rightly considered his people as rejected and forsaken by God, and therefore is not to be blamed for advising them to submit, is certainly true. Jeremiah did the same; but how different are the patriotic feelings of the bard, who sat alone on the drear waste to weep his people’s woes, from the cold-hearted Josephus, the Jew who applied the prophecy respecting the Messiah to Vespasian, to whose idolatrous hand he ascribes the miraculous gift of healing the sick. Valuable as his history really is, we blush at the servile profanity that bestows the attributes of divinity upon the Gentile conqueror of his guilty and miserable people.

NOTE IX.

Tacitus, in the commencement of the fifth Book of his History, gives this interesting description of the national religion of the Jews. “With regard to the Deity,” he says, “the Jews acknowledge one God only, and him they see in the mind’s eye, and him they adore in contemplation, condemning as impious idolaters all who with perishable materials wrought into the human form, attempt to give a representation of the Deity. The God of the Jews is the great governing mind that directs and guides the whole frame of nature, eternal, infinite, and neither capable of change nor subject to decay.

“In consequence of this opinion no such thing as a statue was to be seen in their city, much less in their temple. Flattery had not learned to pay that homage to their own kings, nor were they willing to admit the statues of Cæsar.”

The signal punishment of the Jews was the more remarkable because the people, according to Tacitus’ own words, “though harassed by various acts of oppression, continued to give proofs of a patient spirit,” till the exactions of Gessius Florus excited them into rebellion. The total defeat of Cestius Gallus, the governor of Syria, encouraged them to continue the revolt, and for a time they were uniformly successful, till the appointment of Vespasian and his son Titus to the chief command in Judea. The commotions that shook the Roman empire did not affect the Jewish war; the revolutions that left it sometimes without a head did not cause a cessation of arms. Vespasian (unconsciously fulfilling the Divine decree) warred on till every city in Judea and Galilee was taken; and even when called to assume the imperial purple, he left Titus to complete the destruction of the Jews by laying siege to the guilty Jerusalem. Warned by the prophetic voice of their Lord, the Christians understood that his words were about to be accomplished; they retired to Pella, beyond Jordan, and thus escaped the general destruction. Famine, faction, and bigotry within the city fought against the unhappy Jews. “They had three armies, and as many generals; the three parties quarrelled among themselves. Battles were fought within the city, and a conflagration destroyed many parts, consuming a large quantity of grain. A horrible war indeed was waged within and without the walls, nor were signs and portents wanting to testify that God himself was against the Jews.”

“Portents and prodigies,” says Tacitus, “announced the ruin of the city. Swords were seen glittering in the air, embattled armies appeared, and the temple was illuminated by a stream of light that issued from the heavens. The portal flew open, and a voice more than human announced the immediate departure of the gods.[32] There was heard at the same time a tumultuous and terrific sound as if superior beings were actually rushing forth. The impression made by these wonders fell upon a few only; the multitude relied upon an ancient prophecy contained, as they believed, in books kept by the priests, by which it was foretold that in this very juncture the power of the East would prevail over the nations, and a race of men would go forth from Judea to extend their dominion over the rest of the world. But the Jewish mind was not to be enlightened. With the usual propensity to believe what they wish, the populace assumed to themselves the scene of grandeur that the fates were preparing to bring forward. Calamity itself could not open their eyes. If doomed to quit their country, life they declared was more terrible than death itself.”

It must be remembered that in the prophetical books Christ is sometimes called the East in the original tongue. Our translation says, perhaps for the sake of perspicuity, “The righteous man from the East.” This prophecy, misapplied by Tacitus and Josephus to Vespasian, related to the spiritual kingdom of Christ. At this day the Christian nations hold the pre-eminence, and their conquests over idolatrous nations are gradually preparing the way for the preaching of the gospel.

NOTE X.

In the siege of Jerusalem eleven hundred thousand Jews are said to have perished. The dreadful calamities that befell this nation are to be found at large in Josephus’ “Wars of the Jews.” On examining and comparing them with the twenty-eighth chapter of Deuteronomy, we shall find the prophecies therein contained perfectly accomplished, and agree with Titus, who declared, after viewing the stupendous fortifications of Jerusalem, “that man could have done nothing against such, but that the God of the Jews himself fought against them.” For more than eighteen hundred years the Jewish people have remained a living monument to attest to the Gentile nations the truth of revealed religion, “for these things happened to them for our example, that we might not be high-minded, but fear, and that of our mercy these may receive mercy through the knowledge of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ.”

NOTE XI.

The gladiatorial combats were of Etrurian origin, and were at first only exhibited as funeral games. Afterwards the curule ediles, upon entering their office, gave to their fellow-citizens a spectacle calculated to please a warlike people. After the spectators were seated a great gate was thrown open, from whence a number of young men, remarkable for strength and agility, appeared upon the arena, round which they marched two by two. The combats were of several kinds; at first the combatants fenced with wooden swords, which were changed at the sound of the trumpet to blades of sharp steel. The sight of blood and wounds seemed to give pleasure even to the female part of the audience, and the men betted largely upon the combatants, just as in our days they do upon favourite race-horses. The gladiators usually fought till one fell. If the defeated implored the mercy of the spectators, and they were disposed to grant it, they raised their hands with the thumb bent, whereupon the attendants of the theatre removed the wounded man and conveyed him to a place where his wounds were dressed and his health restored. But if they resolved upon his death, they displayed their right hand with the thumb advanced, which was followed by the _coup de grâce_ which terminated his miserable existence.

These cruel combats did not cease till the reign of the emperor Honorius, A. D. 404. The Roman people, deeply attached to these barbarous spectacles, would not give them up. Christianity had eloquently pleaded the cause of the unhappy victims annually slaughtered at Rome. Theodosius had enacted laws for their protection, but the magistrates were not careful to have them enforced. It was a Christian monk who claims the honour of putting an end to these barbarities throughout the empire. Telemachus interposed his feeble arm, but noble courage, to separate the combatants. He descended alone into the arena to prevent the unholy warfare. The spectators, enraged at this interruption to their sports, assailed the Christian with a shower of stones. He died under their hands, but the gladiatorial combats ceased for ever; for the people lamented their victim, and, respecting the philanthropy of Telemachus, “submitted to the laws of Honorius” which abolished entirely the human sacrifices of the amphitheatre. Nor was the abolition of this abhorrent custom one of the least triumphs ascribed to Christianity.

NOTE XII.

The final restoration of the Jews to their own land after their conversion to Christianity is foretold in many parts of Scripture, particularly in the tenth, eleventh, and twelfth verses of the eleventh chapter of the prophet Isaiah. Indeed throughout his prophecy the return of his people is declared. Some pious persons, I am aware, conclude from these passages that the conversion of the Jews to Christianity and their becoming inheritors of the spiritual Jerusalem is alone to be inferred. The words, however, appear to bear a plain and positive meaning. This last stupendous prophecy still remains to be accomplished, but a general feeling throughout the Christian world in favour of the ancient people of the Lord, excites a hope that the time is not far distant when they shall be gathered together from the lands whither they are scattered, and become “one fold under one Shepherd,” in their own pleasant land.

NOTE XIII.

The tragedy in the Vestal College, of which the Emperor Domitian in his character of Supreme Pontiff was the author, originated in causes unknown to the historians who have recorded it. Suetonius seems to consider the victims guilty; but Pliny the Younger was an eye-witness of the living interment of the Maxima (chief priestess) Cornelia Cossi, and recorded it in his bitter speeches on the illegality of the proceedings against her, the heroism of the Roman knight, Celer, and the cowardice of Valerius Licinianus, who purchased his life by slandering himself and the unfortunate priestess. He relates in another letter the poverty and degradation of this prætor. Pliny describes the conduct of Cornelia as dignified and courageous, notices the manner in which she repulsed the executioner, and her delicacy in arranging her drapery while descending into the cavern, but concludes his account with these words—for his epistle was written at the time when the tragedy occurred, and he did not forget that he was writing in Domitian’s reign,—“Whether she were innocent or guilty I know not, but she was treated as a criminal.” It is from this last immolation that Plutarch has doubtless described the lugubrious ceremony so exactly in his Life of Numa, for it appears to have been performed according to the ancient heathen ritual.

NOTE XIV.

The particulars respecting the church of Jerusalem are gathered from the fragments of Hegesippus, the oldest historian of the church, quoted by Eusebius in his Ecclesiastical History. He states that Hegesippus travelled from place to place to collect the materials of his history, and that he talked with men who had known and conversed with the apostles. He describes the martyrdom of Simeon the brother of Jude, which took place in the reign of Trajan, when the apostle, who was second bishop of Jerusalem, was one hundred and twenty years old. The manner in which the church of Jerusalem was preserved from the miseries of the first siege of Jerusalem is better known than its second retreat, when the city was besieged again by the emperor Adrian. As the Christians composing it were converted Jews, who still adhered to the Mosaic ritual, a separation would have grown up between them and the Gentile churches. The rescript of Adrian, which compelled the Jews to leave Palestine, put an end to this order of things, but not till fifteen Jewish bishops had successively governed this church for 150 years. The second church of Jerusalem was composed of converted Gentiles or their descendants.

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[32] In these words, “Let us depart,” according to the testimony of Josephus.

THE END.

TRANSCRIBER NOTES

Misspelled words and printer errors have been corrected.

Inconsistencies in punctuation have been maintained.

[The end of _Adonijah, A Tale of the Jewish Dispersion._, by Jane Margaret Strickland.]