Chapter IV: The Feast of Blood (1)

About the year ninety-two of the Christian era, Domitian visited the theatre of the Dacian war. Not daring to show himself to the rebel army, he plundered the towns and cities which were left unprotected. Fire and fury surrounded his march; and desolation left its smoking trail behind him. Carrying with him the wealth of the pillaged villages, he returned to Rome. The tact and bravery of Julian, who directed the war against the Dacians, in a few months brought that warlike race to terms. Officially informed of their surrender, Domitian, who had never appeared on the battle-field, decreed himself a triumph such as in by-gone ages were awarded only to the conquerors of great nations. He pompously ordered the temple of Janus to be closed for the third time, we believe, in his reign. Its gates were left open in time of war. Its closing was a sign that universal peace prevailed over the vast area of the Roman empire.

The temple of Janus was closed. But the peace its silent sanctuary represented was like the calm of the sea before being lashed into fury by the flapping wings of the tempest. The surface of the social system, undisturbed by the rebellion of warring tribes or by the clash of arms, was outwardly quiet and even. But the quiet and the evenness were those of the stagnant ocean described by the poet as being overhead covered with smiling ripples and silver sunshine, but underneath filled with filth and corruption and the nameless things bred thereof. Taking the point of view chosen by a great saint, we may well exclaim: "What a spectacle presented itself to the eye of the all-seeing Creator as he gazed downward over that vast empire! What corruption of truth and justice, of morality and religion filled society and corroded its vitals in all its parts! Rotten and rotting systems of philosophy and the monstrous principles and practices born thereof swarmed and spread on every side. It was only natural that the whole corrupted mass would swell and boil with fury as the little yeast of Christian truth destined to impregnate and cure it was being infused."

The temple of Janus was closed. But the man who directed the destinies of the empire was ill at ease. The legions in Gaul and Asia were clamoring for increased pay. He had already, in order to secure their fidelity, raised it from three to four aurei, (about $5.25.) The gigantic and shapeless temples and other structures he erected, together with the enormous outlay on public games and festivals, were a continual drain on the treasury. To procure money he had appointed officials of his own choosing to superintend, increase, and collect the taxes in the provinces and in the city of Rome; creatures like Arthus, who ground the people with iron heel until they bruised out the last cent from their pockets. Arthus was one of the principal of these tax-imposers and tax-gatherers in the city: ambitious of rising higher and higher in the imperial favor, and of out-distancing his fellow-financiers in the neighboring districts, he spent all his time and attention which were not engaged in building up and pulling down parts of the labyrinthine temple, of which we have in the last chapter spoken, in devising plans for raising money. {816} After bath and dinner he was to be seen each day for hours with his hand upon his head concocting schemes as to the best and most expeditious way of putting his hand in the pockets of the poor, plundered plebeians. The client who came to propitiate the great man by a money-offer was received with courteous words and slippery smiles. But if it were a wretched wife pleading for a husband and family, whose last obolus was given already, she was received with insult and turned, if not kicked, from the door, carrying with her the fear of the unrelenting tyrant hanging like midnight upon her soul!

The Jews in these as in our own times had more than an ordinary repute for, and possessed more than an ordinary share of, the money-bags. Arthus had suggested a tax to be levied on them for the right of residence in Rome. This proved a mine of supply during many years for the emperor. Another suggestion of Arthus had been an edict of persecution against the Christians, which would at once enable the cunning official to seize on and confiscate all their property. The exhausted condition of the treasury, together with what we are about relating, combined in bringing forth the edict.

At an early hour of the day, in the morning of which we have seen Aurelian at the Christian meeting, he sought the imperial palace. He had not changed his dress of the day before, and he betrayed by his hurried step and restless eye the deep excitement of his feelings.

When admitted into the emperor's presence, he described what he had witnessed in the catacombs. The number and the rank in society of those present at the Christian assemblage were painted in colors heightened by his imagination and fears. The words of consecration which he had heard were instanced as undeniable proof of the truth of the rumors circulated about the murder of infants and participation of human blood and flesh by the Christians, The marriage of Flavia and Vitus, as Aurelian believed, was depicted, as well as the part which Theodore, Priscilla, and Clement took in solemnizing it. The emperor seemed wholly overwhelmed. By nature and habit of a very nervous temperament, he was overcome with vague terrors on discovering himself surrounded in his very palace and family by traitors. Vitus and Priscilla! the two most trusted inmates of his household, the most punctual in the discharge of their duties, and the most faithful, as he thought, to his own person! They to be infected with this Christian poison, and principal sharers in these bloody orgies! After them it was easy to belive that many more of his servants and friends were followers and supporters of Christ. Perhaps at that very moment the plots planned in those sacred meetings were at work against his life and crown! Might it not be a clever manoeuvre to have thus entrapped and drugged Flavia in order that, through her popularity and that of her uncle, the Roman people would willingly see the sceptre wrested from his hand and placed in that of the Christian whom she would espouse? Such were the reflections of Domitian in listening to Aurelian's narrative. His full, red face grew fuller and redder; his eyebrows lowered and drew the small eyes deeper under; and his voice, always husky and rough, sounded more huskily and roughly as it fell in short syllables on the ear:

"By the gods--who guard the Roman capitol and state--Aurelian--we must burn out this nest of insects--crawling in the earth--and seeking to sting us in our very palace--" He paused for breath, which came and went in asthmatic style, between groups of three or four words. Striking a gong, he ordered one of the courtiers to send for Arthus. But that obsequious functionary was already in attendance at the palace and soon appeared. With a peculiar, twitching motion of the hands, and feet, and head, and with dress swaying in unison with the nervous motion of his body, Arthus approached and knelt before Domitian.

{817}

"Arthus!" said the latter, "before the vesper hour--let the edict already drafted against the Christians--be posted in the plain of Mars and let copies of it be sent to the Asiatic, Gallic, and African cities!" Then addressing Aurelian, "We shall ourselves--send a guard for the ladies--Theodora and Flavia--as well as for Clement and the others--you mentioned, and have them with Vitus and Priscilla--examined and punished in our own presence."

On the evening of the 25th of December, the tablets on which the edict was graven were placed in the Campius Martins. Then there arose through the city sounds of commotion and woe, such as might arise if it were besieged by a hostile army, or if the Gauls were once again calling for the surrender of its keys. There was a hurrying to and fro of citizens in fear or in fury, of soldiers and civic officials, of informers, accusers, and accused, many of whom were before night dragged from their peaceful hearths and families to the public tribunals. Many Christians were also put to death. Through the darkness, as it fell like a pall on that scene of excitement and suffering, the yelling of the mob was heard for many miles as they surged through the streets and assailed the houses of the suspected. The thirst for plunder and for blood, the awful rumors afloat, and believed, of the Christian assemblies, and the thousand petty motives of jealousy, envy, and hatred by which wicked men are often influenced against their honest, virtuous neighbors, gave energy to the infuriate passions of the populace. Throughout the night and the following days they did not rest from their unhallowed work. Women and children as well as men were seized and carried before the prefect or into the chamber of tortures, where the brute-crowd shouted and cheered as they saw the martyrs writhing on the rack or on the gridiron! However, in these crowds were many of the faithful, who watched the death-scene, treasured each word that passed between the judge and the condemned, and carried away either a sponge soaked in, or a vial filled with, their blood, or some other relics. These trustworthy witnesses wrote down the history of the martyrdom on parchment-rolls, which they gave to the secretaries appointed to revise and take care of them. Thus the first Christian Acts of Martyrs were compiled and preserved.

As soon as the edict was posted, troops on horseback and in vehicles were seen hastening through the streets and gates, and directing their courses along the Appian, Flaminian, and other roads leading to the north, south, east, and west. They carried copies of the edict for the magistrates of the cities on their routes, to be set up in the forums and market-places. Some travelled without stopping, save only for rest or refreshment at the military _stationes_, or halting-places along the roads at intervals of twenty or thirty miles. The _pagi_, or outlying smaller villages built about central forts or places of defence, were seldom visited by these couriers; because the _pagani_, or inhabitants of these country villages, were the last to embrace Christianity, and comparatively few of them had been at this early period converted. Quickly and steadily did these messengers of persecution speed on, until the seaports or the mountains were reached. Counting the places at which they rested for the night, from ancient itineraries of the great highways north and south and west, we may compute that in ten days the edict was promulgated at Marseilles, in fifteen at Corinth, in nineteen in Algiers, and in twenty-four in Ephesus and the remote cities of Asia Minor. Quickly and steadily these messengers of woe sped from Rome to the four quarters of the empire; and, as they passed, confusion, agony, and bloodshed were left behind them. Like a stone dropped into calm waters, the bloody edict fell upon the empire in an interval of peace. {818} The circle of consternation and persecution, like the commotion caused by the stone falling into the tranquil waters, became wider and wider as the imperial couriers travelled on, until it surged to the far boundaries of the empire. But, although the servants of the temporal sovereign were thus fleet and active, the messengers of the Lord of hosts were not slow or idle. Ignotus, the Jewish beggar of the Appian Way, was the first to bring word to Pope Clement and the missionaries assembled in the catacombs. The pope had already made his arrangements; the city had been divided into fourteen districts corresponding with its partition under the first emperors; and priests, deacons, laymen, and even women were appointed to watch over the several parts, to find admission, if possible, to the imprisoned confessors and administer the sacraments and other consolations of religion, to note down carefully what took place at their trials and at their execution, and to obtain their bodies, and, if not, whatever relics they could, in order to their decent preservation in the subterranean vaults. Others, principally those who were lame or otherwise maimed, or could easily assume the role of mendicants, were appointed to act as messengers between the city and the catacombs. The more zealous who sighed for martyrdom were restrained and ordered to prepare the niches for the bodies of the martyred. The anxieties of the holy pope and missionaries were not for the preservation of their own lives, but for the perseverance of the faithful and the conversion of the unbelievers. Prayers for this double purpose were appointed to be constantly offered in the collects of the mass and at other times. Oh! how those unselfish, heroic men yearned for the time when the cross of Jesus would be emblazoned on the capitol as a sign that the countless nations and tribes subject to the Roman sway bowed their stubborn necks to the mild yoke it symbolized. Health, wealth, life were nothing in their esteem compared with this glorious result. Clement, in his care of Rome, did not forget the other churches. To the priest Andronicus, who was setting out for his post at Ephesus, he entrusted a letter to the people of Corinth with regard to practices and schisms, which, despite the efforts and letters of St. Paul, still cropped up amongst them. Ignotus, the beggarman of the Appian and Latin Crossway, had meantime turned his face toward Ostia, and long before the moon had crossed the meridian he had warned many Christian communities to prepare for the combat. The messengers of Domitian rested for the night; but Ignotus never stopped day or night until he reached the mines outside Ostia, where many Christians were employed. Before the official announcement of the persecution reached the sea, the docks and vessels were watched by anxious believers, clad in many guises of concealment. Many availed themselves of the earliest craft to cross to Illyricum, Macedonia, Greece, and Asia Minor. In the same way the Christian dwellers beyond the Alps and Pyrenees had due warning before the edict arrived. One herald, like Ignotus, was in every place through which he passed, a centre from which other messengers, like radii, branched out. Thus zeal and charity gave wings to the humble followers of Christ, with which the wealth and power of imperial Rome were not able to arm its servants. Thus, too, Christendom was prepared, as well as it could be, before the vultures pounced upon its entrails. That preparation consisted to a great extent in secreting the rolls of the sacred Scriptures and the consecrated vessels, so that the persecutors might not seize on or desecrate them.

After leaving the Christian assemblage, Sisinnius with his two companions returned to Aurelian's villa, and retired to take a few hours' rest. When he awoke, he was told that Aurelian had driven to Rome. {819} Returning alone, he mused, as he passed through the fields between the Latin and Appian roads, on the events of the previous evening, and determined to say nothing, until he saw how things went on, to his wife or Flavia about what he had witnessed. He found both in the family parlor. There was nothing in their appearance to betray their vigils of the night before, no sign of weariness or excitement. Flavia wore on her head the white veil, and on her finger the ring, with which Clement had invested her. A spirit of peace, joy, and happiness indescribable beamed, like a light through a lamp, through her face and whole being. Theodora seemed also happy. As the husband opened the door of the room, he saw her on her knees, and heard his own name mentioned in earnest tones by her as she supplicated God for his conversion and salvation. Standing for a moment in the half-open door-way, he gazed with a feeling of veneration on his young wife and her companion, as the rays of the sun slanting through a window fell upon their earnest faces and surrounded their kneeling figures with a balmy radiance. Silently and instinctively he joined them in spirit, asking for full light to know and believe the truth.

Neither Sisinnius nor the inmates of his house had heard anything about the persecution until twilight, when they were visited by a troop of the imperial guard, led by Arthus. With his usual hurried gait and style, that functionary explained how he had been commissioned by the emperor to escort Theodora and Flavia to Domitian's palace. Sisinnius expressed his surprise that it was deemed fitting or necessary to send a guard for noble ladies, when an invitation or a message would have sufficed.

"Excuse me, noble Sisinnius, if I arouse your fears or pain your feelings. You are not aware, perhaps, that an edict against the Christians has been this afternoon promulgated from the capital and on the plain of Mars. The two noble dames have been accused of belonging to the Christian conspiracy, and having been present early this morning at their secret meeting!"

This was said by Arthus in a tone of malicious insolence, which Sisinnius at another time would have subdued with contempt. But the tidings fell like a lightning-stroke upon him, paralyzed his self possession, and filled him with vague fears for his wife and her young friend.

"Please to rest," he said to Arthus, "for a few minutes in the atrium while the ladies get ready to accompany you." Then re-entering the parlor, he cautiously broke to them the news. But it had no effect on them as it had on him. They glanced smilingly at each other, and exclaimed, "Thanks to God," and announced their readiness to depart. Sisinnius urged Flavia to change her dress; but she declined.

"But this dress," he urged, "will witness against you and be your condemnation."

"Then I shall retain it. It is my bridal dress: is it fitting for the bride to leave it aside when going to meet her spouse?"

Addressing himself to Theodora, he found her of the same mind as Flavia.

"Alas! my poor wife!" he exclaimed, embracing her, "you too are resolved to die! Our lives have hitherto flowed along purely and musically as two streams which unite their currents and go laughing through the summer meadows. But we have reached the edge of a precipice, and may be separated for ever by death. I know the tiger-nature of Domitian. But I must gird myself to propitiate him. Oh! tell me that you will renounce this Christian sect! otherwise I have little hope."

"You know not, dear Sisinnius, what, you ask. Death shall not separate those who share in the future resurrection to a glorious immortality. Would you wish your wife to lose her hopes thereof in order to avoid a little temporal punishment? O my husband! I should die happily if I knew that you, too, had acknowledged the one true God and the Saviour of mankind who died to save us from sin and shame. I shall pray with my last breath, with my blood, that God may reveal himself to you. {820} Then we would be again united in the world beyond the grave, never, never to be separated! For there is One above"--she looked and pointed upward, and Sisinnius imagined that there was something more than mortal about her--"there is One above who shall hereafter command the elements and force them to deliver up the portions of these mortal bodies that will have passed into their possession. Fire and water, earth and air, shall obey his order; and the ashes from the urn and the mould in the coffin, and the gaseous vapors in which our burned or corrupting flesh may evaporate will be restored; the bones shall stand up joint over joint in the tombs, and the flesh and nerves and sinews shall reclothe them, and the souls shall enter the arisen tenements of our bodies, and ascend like Jesus, triumphant, after having despised the sting of temporal death and achieved victory over the grave, to enjoy the unending, ineffable bliss prepared for those especially who by their blood confess him before men. Dear Sisinnius, if you be true to your own nature, if you do not stubbornly prevent the light from sinking into your mind and heart, I feel a presentiment that you shall know him, and shall then appreciate the littleness of earthly sufferings and death when endured for his love! Gladly do I proceed to resign the life of my body in order to secure that of my soul, particularly when it is given for him who for me, and for you, too, my husband, permitted himself to be nailed on a cross. With my very blood I shall beseech him to show you how great joy there is in suffering for his name, his person, and his cause. Dearest Lord Jesus!" she fervently prayed, sinking on her knees, "grant your unworthy servant this grace, and strengthen us in the hour of trial and combat to win the martyrs' fadeless palm!"

Sisinnius was affected to tears as he saw such proof of sincere devotion to himself, and at the same time to the religion of Christ. He thought that it could not be the religion it was described to be, when it could thus win and fill with happiness spirits so pure, so high, so unconscious of wickedness as those of Theodora and Flavia Domitilla.

Arthus was impatient. Impatient also was the Emperor Domitian. He was waiting in a large chamber of his palace, where, on an ivory altar, edged with gold, were placed two statues, one of Jupiter and the other of himself. A smoking censer swung in front of the altar, sustained on silver chains attached by a pulley to the ceiling. Soldiers with drawn swords stood in files along the sides of the room, while nearer to the altar were stalwart men, naked to the waist, and holding instruments of torture in their hands. These were Domitian's favorite gladiators, to utter a word against any of whom was certain death. Round their arms the veins and muscles swelled like twisted cords. The emperor was seated on a rich throne, the steps of which he at intervals descended and nervously paced the room. Terror sat on many faces as they saw his sunken eyes and knit brows. Terror, too, was in his own heart as he conjured up before his imagination the wide-spread and the hidden nature of the Christian conspiracy against his throne. Such he assumed it to be. Hence he had now surrounded himself with the gladiators, to whose fidelity and prowess he entrusted his safety against the dagger or the poisoned cup. Aurelian had been commissioned to lead a body of soldiers to the Appian Way, and to arrest Pope Clement and those with him. But he had returned without finding any trace of them, to the great chagrin of himself and the emperor. Those present heard the latter grinding his teeth like small wheels in machinery, and muttering broken curses with livid lips.

When Sisinnius and his party arrived, they were confronted by Vitus and Priscilla.

{821}

"Flavia Domitilla and Vitus," said the emperor, "stand forth! Is it true, Vitus, that, despite our known will, you have espoused our ward and cousin in the Christian assembly? Can it be that you, so favored, so honored by us, have become a traitor to our throne and person?"

"My sovereign lord!" said Vitus, stepping boldly into the centre of the hall and making obeisance to the emperor, "I am not a traitor. On the contrary, I am bound by every motive of loyalty and religion to serve you in all things lawful. I appeal to your own experience of me in the past, if I have not hitherto acted as became a Roman and an officer of the household. Neither, most exalted emperor, is it true that the Lady Flavia and I have plighted troth. My troth and faith are plighted to one higher and more beautiful than she is; to one who can never know speck, or stain, or wrinkle, who has been washed to a spotless whiteness in the blood of the Lamb!" As he said this he turned toward Flavia, as if deprecating a seeming want of courtesy.

At this moment, Aurelian, excited and travel-stained, entered, accompanied by the troop of the guard he had led to arrest Pope Clement. The only prisoners he brought back were Damian, the missionary from Britain, and Lucius, one of his own slaves. He had met these two wandering among the tombs, but got no trace of others.

Domitian, motioning Aurelian to a place near Vitus and Flavia, asked the latter:

"Is this true, Flavia Domitilla, which Vitus says?"

"It is, my lord!" she answered, in a low, tremulous voice.

"What sayest thou, Senator Aurelian? I trust you have not, through jealousy, led us to offer indignity to gentle ladies of rank! If so, by our crown, the high favor in which you have stood shall not save you from due atonement."

Aurelian was confused and confounded by this address, the cause of which he did not well comprehend. One circumstance, however, worked in his favor: Flavia's white veil. The emperor, remarking it, asked:

"What mean these flowing robes of white? They seem more a festive costume than an evening dress."

She answered not. But Aurelian, having recovered his presence of mind, said:

"Was I not right, O mighty potentate? This is the bridal garment she wore last night when she was married to Vitus, after being drugged with a cup of human blood! See! the influence of that drug is upon her yet."

"Answer me, Flavia Domitilla, truly. Have you been in the secret meeting of the Christians last night?"

"I have," she replied, with firm voice and unflinching eye.

"Have you withdrawn the faith you gave Aurelian by our desire, and bestowed it on another?"

"I have."

"To whom? to Vitus?"

"No! but to One more beautiful, more lovable, more glorious than Vitus, or than any earthly being; to One whose wisdom outdistances the accumulated lore of sages and philosophers; to One whose years are not counted by the sands on the ocean's shores, by the grass blades clothing the earth, or the water-drops in the encircling seas; yet whose youth is greener, fresher, softer, and more lovely than the eye of man has rested on or the fancy of poet has pictured; to One whose sceptre rules the nations of the earth and all things therein, the islands of the deep and all things thereon, whose messengers guide the stars in their courses, whose beauty and majesty are faintly mirrored in the universe, and whose love for me is so great that he left all these aside and became a servant in order that he might suffer and die for me, and thus free me from the clutches of a tyrant! Yes, O emperor! I have plighted my faith, and hope, and love, my body and my soul, my present and my future, to my God and my Redeemer, Jesus Christ! He is my glorious spouse, and I am his accepted bride. {822} Behold the garments in which I have been betrothed to him!" As she spoke her face became animated, her voice grew strong and eloquent, her eye flashed with courage, her whole bearing gave proof of a soul raised by the excitement of unusual happiness to heroic daring. She stood before the cruel tyrant, with hand uplifted to heaven, and the white Ionic veil waving round her face like a shifting glory; and might, in the eyes of the heathen soldiers, have passed for the goddess Juno, as described by Virgil, or for Iris freshly descended from Olympus. But Domitian was not moved by her youth, her eloquence, or her beauty, but bounded from his throne as if stung by a serpent when he heard her thus mention the Saviour's name.

"What! In my presence--to my face--declaring yourself the bride of my worst enemy. By the manes of Vespasian and Titus! If you do not offer sacrifice to Jupiter and to my divinity, and renounce all connection with this Crucified Jew, your head, with all its attractions, shall not long remain upon those rounded shoulders!" He waved his sceptre and directed the soldiers to bring her toward the altar. But she would not raise her hand toward the incense.

"Never! never!" she exclaimed, "by word or act, shall I deny the Lord of lords, the God of gods, and acknowledge by the supreme worship of sacrifice a demon that has usurped his place, or a creature to be a god because he sits on an earthly throne. You may force my hand, but you cannot force my will!"

Domitian was frantic: "Away with her! away with her! Her family have always crossed my path. Let not her head," he turned to the gladiators, "remain an instant on her body, that her tongue may no longer insult me!"

A smile rippled over the face of the virgin confessor.

"See! she smiles, she mocks me! Off with it! off with it! Craven cowards! do you hesitate before a mere woman? Give me that executioner's sword and I shall make short work of it. By heavens she is smiling still and calling on Jesus. Where is he now, God of gods, as you name him? Why does he not come forward at his beloved's bidding to resist the power and stay the arm of Domitian?"

Aurelian interposed nervously:

"Most powerful monarch and irresistible deity! she is smiling in joy under the infatuating belief that, when her head is severed from her body, she shall be out of your power, freed wholly from my claims upon her, and received into the kingdom which Jesus promises to all who die for him. Do not allow him to triumph over you, do not gratify her desire of martyrdom; but entrust her to me, that I may make her my own; and then both you and I shall have triumphed over those who have driven her into this madness."

"Be it so! Ha, ha! I believe you have taken the right view. See the tears glisten in her eyes, and her joy is changed to sadness. But take her hence, never to enter my presence, lest her words excite me to gratify her insane longings. Who are those that drugged her?"

"Behold them!" said Aurelian, pointing to Vitus, Priscilla, Theodora, and Damian. "There were others, too, who took a leading part in the ceremony, but we have not been yet able to arrest them."

"Vitus! come forward and offer sacrifice to the gods!"

"I cannot, O mighty emperor! Because there is but one God to whom the honor of sacrifice may be paid, and that is Jesus Christ, true God and true Man."

"Are you, my ladies," the emperor turned to Priscilla and Theodora, "of a like disposition?"

"Yes," was the low but firm answer.

"Executioners, advance and do your duty by these recusants!"

Sisinnius fell upon his knees before the emperor and pleaded hard for his wife's life, pleaded his own long services and fidelity to the imperial family, pleaded her youth and innocence.

{823}

Domitian at length relaxed.

"I shall spare her life as I have spared that of Flavia Domitilla, until such time as will show whether she will return to a better sense or not; but both must be under the surveillance of a guard, whom I shall appoint. As to those others," he said pointing to Priscilla and Damian, "the traitors of my household, I shall make an example of them." He gave orders in a voice which was not to be disobeyed for the execution of Priscilla and Vitus, Damian and Lucius, (strangers in whom no one seemed interested;) and the command was obeyed.

As Domitian saw the heads severed from the shoulders, he gloated over the scene with the savage cruelty peculiar to him. Theodora and Flavia covered their faces and prayed for the victory of the martyrs, managing to saturate pieces of cloth in the blood.

------

Original.

The Wasted Vigil

Alas! what dire mischance is wrought?
A Friend was here who gently sought
An entrance to my humble cot,
Whilst I--O sorrow!--heeded not.
In meekest guise he came and went,
And I, on trifles vain intent,
The joyful greeting still forbore
While he was knocking at my door.

For me he left a regal throne,
And came in silence, and alone;
No shining guard his steps attend:
O earth! hadst ever such a friend?
And yet I did not rise to meet
Those wearied, patient, wounded feet,
Nor did I shield that kingly head
On which the chill night-dews were shed.

Oh! did I wake, or did I sleep,
That midnight vigil not to keep?
I knew, and yet I heeded not;
Methought I heard, and then forgot
That he had warned of swift surprise,
And only termed the _watchers_ "wise."

Dear Bridegroom of my soul! return!
Bereft of every joy, I mourn:
Return! my house, at last, is swept,
And where thy feet have stood, I wept.
Beloved Guest! I call--I wait;
Hope whispers, "It is not too late."
Be then that hope no more deferred,
Speak to my soul the pardoning word,
Then will I list in rapture sweet,
And dwell for ever at thy feet!

Marie.
Beaver, Pa.

----

{824}

From Chambers's Journal.

Old Paris.

As with men, so with cities. Whenever one of the latter becomes famous, and the eyes of the world are fixed upon it, we desire to know more of it than what is presented on the surface. A thousand little details, trifling, perhaps, in themselves, share in the interest attaching to the whole to which they belong. And as the most interesting biographies of great men are those which not merely make us acquainted with the prominent features of their lives--with the great exploits which they achieved--but also follow them into their solitude or home-life, so the most attractive chronicles of states and cities are those which enter into the seemingly unimportant minutiae, neglected by the general historian and the compiler of the guide-book.

Lutetia (_civitas_) Parisiorum is first mentioned in Caesar's Commentaries. Lutetia has had various derivations assigned to it, but most probably it is the Latinized form of _Loutouhezi_, the Celtic for "a city in the midst of waters," it having been built on an island in the Seine. In the fourth century it received the name of the people whose chief city it was. During the middle ages it was supposed that Francus, a son of Hector, founded Paris, and also Troyes in Champagne, giving to the former the name of his uncle. In all likelihood, it comes from the Celtic _par_ or _bar_, a frontier.

Christianity, according to Gregory of Tours, was first preached to the Parisians by St. Dionysius, or Denis, in the year 250; and the first synod held in Paris took place in 360, which seems to prove that the Christian missionaries had already made numerous converts there. Paganism, however, was not wholly uprooted until the episcopate of St. Marcellus, who died in 436, and who, according to a legend, is said to have hurled into the Seine a frightful dragon which desolated the city, and which, perhaps, was the emblem of heathenism.

Julian the Apostate had a great liking for Paris, and spent five winters there. He praises its inhabitants for their intelligence and good conduct, and the surrounding vineyards for their excellent produce. An edifice, improperly called the Thermes de Julien, still exists in the Rue de la Harpe, which perpetuates his memory, and possibly served as his residence. In his time, the Montagne Ste. Geneviève was a sort of Campus Martius; the gardens of the Luxembourg were occupied by a Roman camp, and Roman villas lined both sides of the Seine.

The Merovingians made Paris their capital, and Clovis constantly resided there. His sons, while dividing his states, judged the possession of Paris of so great importance that they shared it among themselves, and agreed that none of them should enter it without the consent of the others. Under this dynasty, several of the Parisian churches were founded. Childebert built the church of St. Vincent, afterward St. Germain des Prés, the vaulting of each window in which was supported by costly pillars of marble. Paintings, decorated with gold, covered the ceiling and the walls. The roof, composed of plates of gilded bronze, when struck by the rays of the sun, dazzled the eyes of beholders with its brilliancy.

Under Louis VI. and Louis VII. Paris became celebrated for its schools. The best known were the Cathedral School, the school of St. Germain des Prés, and that of Ste. Geneviève. At the first mentioned, Guillaume de Champeaux taught theology, and counted among his pupils the well-known Abélard, at the end of the eleventh and beginning of the twelfth century. {825} In 1118 Abélard opened on the Montague Ste. Geneviève his famous school, which soon eclipsed all the others, and at which no less than ten thousand scholars attended.

Philip Augustus, judging that Paris was not sufficiently protected by its walls, caused a tower to be built outside them, on the site of a _Louveterie_, or wolf-hunting establishment, from which it received the name of the Louvre. It served at once for a royal residence, a fortress, and a state-prison, and was completed, according to the original plan, in 1204. It was under this monarch that the streets of Paris were first paved. One day, while standing at a window of his palace in the city, the mud or filth in the street, shaken by some vehicles which were passing, exhaled an unbearable stench, which invaded the royal nostrils. It was then that Philip conceived the project of paving the streets. The work was done at the expense of the town, the pavement consisting of rough flagstones, about three feet and a half square, and six inches in thickness.

It was in this reign, in 1182, that the legate of the holy see consecrated the cathedral of Notre Dame, begun in 1163 by Maurice de Sully, Bishop of Paris. This immense edifice, however, was not finished till the reign of Charles VII. in the fifteenth century. The original flooring of Philip Augustus was lately found at eight or nine feet below the surface; and the thirteen steps which in his time, it is said, led to the entrance have disappeared. It was under Philip that the municipality of Paris received its first developments, and assumed a regular form. Besides the provost, who, as officer of the king, presided over the courts of justice, there was the syndic, nominated by the community of merchants, whose duty it was to protect the commercial interests of the town. He was afterward called the provost of the merchants, and was assisted by _echevins_, who formed his council. Under Philip, this officer acquired many new rights. The police, the streets, the care of public edifices, the administration of the lands belonging to the town, passed from the provost of Paris to this functionary.

Philip was also the patron of learning. He instituted schools in the Rue du Fouarre. _Fouarre_, or _foare_, from which is derived the existing _fourrage_, (forage,) is an old French word signifying straw. The scholars in those simple ages sat upon bundles of straw during the lectures, and as this custom naturally resulted in the frequent appearance of that material in the neighborhood of the schools, the street received its title from it. During the middle ages, no traffic was permitted in this street, in order to obviate any disturbance to the students.

Philip the Fair founded the parliament of Paris. It held its sessions in the king's palace, (Palais de Justice,) which, in the middle of the fifteenth century, was entirely abandoned to it. In this palace was the vast hall which served for receiving the homage of vassals, giving audience to ambassadors, public festivities, and other occasions of national interest, at one of the extremities of which was an enormous marble table, round which sovereigns alone were permitted to sit; and upon which, at certain times of the year, the society of _clercs de la basoche_ (lawyers' clerks) gave dramatic entertainments of a farcical character.

In the fourteenth century, as now, Paris was celebrated as the seat of fashion in dress, though those dazzling _magasins de nouveautés_ which we now admire there did not then exist. Wearing apparel, as well as other merchandise, was generally sold by criers in the streets. "They do not cease to bray from morning till night," writes Guillaume de Villeneuve. Venders of all classes swelled the discordant concert. To cry goods for sale was the daily special occupation; among others, of the three hundred blind men supported by the king, St. Louis. These unfortunates, it seems, were in the habit of performing their duties without guidance, and the consequence was that they frequently came in collision, and gave each other severe contusions.

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The first stone of the famous Bastille was laid by the provost of Paris, in the reign of Charles V., 1369. That formidable edifice was built for the purpose of protecting the king, who had seen his authority braved by the Parisians while residing in his palace in the city, which on that account he quitted. He frequently dwelt in the Louvre, of which the Bastille was a pendant, and of which M. Vitet gives the following picturesque description as it was in the fourteenth century:

"The king caused to be raised outside the moats a number of buildings,
useful and ornamental, of a middling height, forming what were then
called _basses-cours_, and united to the chateau by gardens of
considerable extent. One cannot imagine all the various objects that were
heaped together in these dependencies and gardens. Besides lodgings for
the officers of the crown, there were a menagerie of lions and panthers,
bird-rooms, aviaries for the king's parrots, fish-ponds, basins,
labyrinths, tunnels, trellises, leafy pavilions--the favorite decoration!
of gardens in the middle ages. These parterres, cut in symmetrical
compartments, and thrown in the midst of buildings varying in form and
elevation; that chaos of towers and turrets--the former rising heavily
from the moats, the latter as if suspended from the walls; that pell-mell
of pointed roofs, here covered with lead, there with varnished tiles,
some crested with heavy vanes, some with tufts of various colors--all
this has no resemblance to a modern palace; but that disorder, these
contrasts, which seem to us only barbarously picturesque, appealed quite
differently to the imagination in those days, and were not without their
grandeur and majesty. These were the bright days of the feudal Louvre,
when it was living, peopled, and well cared for."

The space of ground which, until lately, formed the Marché des Innocents, was, in the middle ages, the principal cemetery of Paris. It was surrounded by a sort of vaulted gallery, which was reserved for the corpses of distinguished persons and for dress-makers' shops. Here, in the year 1424, the English, who were then masters of Paris, gave a grand fete of rejoicing for the battle of Verneuil, and indulged in a frightful "dance of the dead" over the level tombstones. In the middle of the cemetery rose an obelisk, surmounted by a lamp, which alone feebly illumined at night the field of the dead, and animated its solitude. But at sunrise all was changed--daylight brought back with it noise, luxury, and pleasure.

Victor Hugo, in the chapter of his romance, Notre Dame de Paris, entitled _Paris à vol d'oiseau_, (book iii. chapter ii.,) gives a vivid description of the town as it was in the fifteenth century. Paris, according to him, was at that time divided into three distinct parts--the city, the university, and the town. The city, occupying the island, was the oldest and smallest, and was the mother of the other two. "It stood between these," he says, "like a little, old woman between two tall, handsome daughters." The university was on the left bank of the Seine, stretching between points which at present correspond with the Halles aux Vins and La Monnaie. The town, the largest of the three divisions, was on the right side of the river. Each of the divisions formed a town, depending for its completeness upon the others. The city had churches; the town, palaces; the university, colleges.

In 1539, Francis I., having given permission to the Emperor Charles V. to traverse France, entertained the idea of receiving him at the Louvre, which underwent, on that account, a general restoration, according to the style of the renaissance; but as soon as the emperor departed, Francis, perceiving that the new works were merely of a temporary character, resolved to build a new palace on the same site as the former one, and confided its erection to Pierre Lescot. {827} The building, begun in 1541, was continued till the death of Henry II. It is the finest portion of the Louvre; the south-west angle. When Catherine de Médicis came into power, she dismissed Lescot, engaged an Italian architect, and caused that wing to be built which advances toward the river.

In 1564, tired of the Louvre, Catherine bought a piece of ground called the _Salbonière_, covered with pottery-works, the _Tuileries Saint Honoré_, and commenced the palace which received its name from the fabrics which had occupied its site. For six years, the new edifice steadily progressed; but Catherine, having learned from her astrologer, Ruggieri, that it was her fate to die under the ruins of a house near St. Germain, suddenly gave up the works of the Tuileries, because it was in the parish of St. Germain l'Auxerrois, and built the Hôtel de Soissons, on the site of the present corn-market.

The famous Pont-Neuf was begun in 1578, Henry III. laying the first stone.

The Place Royale was completed in 1612. Here Cardinal Richelieu soon afterward built a palace, which he called the Palais Cardinal, but which, in a spirit of regal munificence, he presented to his king, Louis XIII. Thenceforth it became the Palais Royal. Numerous hotels of the _noblesse_ sprang up in the same quarter, and with them first appeared there the warehouses for _bijouterie_ and other fancy goods, for which the Palais Royal is at present so celebrated. A writer of that time severely blames the merchants of these shops for permitting their wives to flirt with customers--"all to induce them to buy a fashionable collar, a child's purse, a drachm or two of perfume for the perruques or a boy's wooden sword." Speaking of perruques, we must not omit to mention that they reached their full development at the time of Louis Quatorze. Their most celebrated maker was a M. Binet, from whom they sometimes were called _binettes_. They weighed several pounds, sometimes cost a thousand crowns, and rose five or six inches above the brow. The word _binette_ still exists in the language of the Paris _gamin_, designating a person with a droll countenance.

The last insurrection at Paris before the revolution was that called the _Fronde_, (sling.) This revolt received its name in a singular manner. In the moat of the town, near Saint Roch, the little boys of the quarter used to fight with slings. When the constable appeared, they all took to their heels. In the disputes of the parliament, a young counsellor, Bauchaumont, observed the modesty and docility of the members in the presence of the king, and their turbulence in his absence. "They are quiet just now," said he, "but, when he is gone, they will sling (_on frondera_) with a will." The word remained. The Fronde soon gained the whole town, which eagerly took the side of the insurgents, as the first cause of the troubles was a new tax on houses built outside the walls. Afterward, when the rebellion was quelled, the Parisians paid dearly for their share in it. Their privileges were abolished, a royal garrison took the place of their civic guards, and magistrates dependent on the crown, that of the municipal authorities.

Deprived of its independence, it became the sole glory of Paris to be the stage on which the splendors of the court of Louis XIV. were revealed. In 1662, that king gave an idea of what his reign would cost by the famous _fète du carrousel_, which has left its name to the vast _place_ between the Louvre and the Tuileries. It cost 1,200,000 francs. Gold and silver were employed in so great profusion on the trappings of the horses, that the material of which they were made could not be distinguished from the embroidery with which it was covered. The king and the princes shone with the prodigious quantity of diamonds with which their arms and the harness of their horses were covered. {828} About the same time the Tuileries and the Louvre were completed, and a garden was designed for the former by Le Nôtre. The former garden of the Tuileries, like other ancient French gardens, comprised a strange medley; among other objects, it contained a pretty little abode, beside the quay, and mysteriously concealed by a thick grove, which Louis XIII. had given to his valet-de-chambre, Renard, who had furnished it with rare and costly articles, and had made it a secret rendezvous for young seigneurs, and the scene of luxurious _petits soupers_.

It was in 1669 that Soliman Aga, the Turkish ambassador at the French court, introduced the use of coffee into Paris. The first café was opened at the _foire_ St. Germain, which was then one of the most frequented and fashionable places of resort in the town, and the suppression of which, toward the end of the eighteenth century, went far to destroy the industry and commerce of the left bank of the river, to the profit of the right. An Armenian named Pascal afterward established a _café_, which was much in vogue, called the Manouri, upon the Quai de l'Ecole; and, in 1689, a Sicilian, Procopio, opened the Café Procope in the present Rue de l'Ancienne Comédie, which was for long the favorite place of reunion for the _savans_ and _beaux-esprits_ of the period.

But the café reminds us that we are leaving Paris in old times for the Paris of the present, and that we are close upon that blood-written page, the revolution, which divides the chronicles of the former from those of the latter. These notes must not be brought to a conclusion without the acknowledgment that from M. Malte-Brun's laborious compilation, La France Illustrée, they derive whatever archaeological interest they possess.

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Original.

The Churches of Ireland--Ancient and Modern.

Students of Irish topography are sometimes at a loss to account for so many names of places in that island bearing the prefix "Kil." The explanation of this seeming want of inventive nomenclature is that the word Kil is an abbreviation or corruption of the vernacular _Cill_, a church; thus, Kilkenny means the church of St. Canice, or Kenny; Kilmore, the great church, _more_ meaning, in the Irish, great or large; Kildare, church of the oak, from _daire_, oak. In the early ages of Christianity the church or abbey was to the people of Ireland what the feudal castle or walled town was to the inhabitants of the continent of Europe, at once a rallying point in case of danger, and a common centre where learning, trade, and the mechanical arts found teachers and patrons.

The Irish, before and long after their conversion, were essentially an agricultural people, caring little for large towns; and, though insular, seem to have neglected foreign commerce, except such as flowed from their periodical incursions in Britain and Gaul, or which necessarily arose out of their emigration from the north of Ireland to Scotland. Hence we find that, while most of the inland cities and towns bear the name of some favorite saint or church, the seaports generally owe their origin and name to the Danes and Anglo-Normans.

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The first Catholic churches erected in Ireland, of which we have any authentic account, were three in number, built in the present counties of Wicklow and Wexford, by Palladius, A.D. 430. It seems that this missionary landed on the Wexford coast in that year, accompanied by four priests, but, having met with opposition from the Druids and persecution from the local chiefs, he returned the following year to Britain, leaving, however, behind him some converts under the care of two of his assistants. We are told by the annalists that, before his departure, he deposited in the church of Cellfine, some relics of Sts. Peter and Paul and other saints, the sacred books, and his own writing-tablets, all of which were preserved with great veneration for many years afterward.