Perpetua. A Tale of Nimes in A.D. 213

Blanda was kind and considerate, and had less of the fawning dog in her manner than was customary among slaves. It was never possible, even for masters, to trust the word of their servants; consequently Perpetua, who knew what slaves were, placed little reliance on the asseverations of ignorance that fell from the lips of Blanda. There was, in the conversation of Blanda, that which the woman intended to reassure, but which actually heightened the uneasiness of the girl – this was the way in which the woman harped continually on the good looks, amiability and wealth of her master, who, as she insisted, belonged to the Voltinian tribe, and was therefore one of the best connected and highest placed in the colony.

The knowledge that she had been removed to Ad Fines to insure her safety did not satisfy Perpetua; and she was by no means assured that she had thus been carried off with the approbation and knowledge of her mother, or of the bishop and principal Christians of her acquaintance in Nemausus. Of Æmilius Varo she really knew nothing save that he was a man of pleasure and a lawyer.

Adjoining the house was a conservatory. Citron trees and oleanders in large green-painted boxes were employed in summer to decorate the terrace and gardens. They were allowed to be out in mild winters, but directly the mistral began to howl, the men-servants of the house had hurriedly conveyed them within doors into the conservatory, as the gale would strip them of their fruit, bruise the leaves and injure the flowers.

In her trouble of mind, unable to go abroad in the bitter weather, impatient of quiet, Perpetua entered the citron-house and walked among the trees in their green tubs, now praying for help, then wiping the drops from her eyes and brow.

As she thus paced, she heard a stir in the house, the opening of doors, the rush of wind driving through it, the banging of valves and rattle of shutters. Then she heard voices, and among them one that was imperious. A moment later, Blanda ran to Perpetua, and after making a low obeisance said: “The master is come. He desires permission to speak with you, lady, when he hath had his bath and hath assumed a change of raiment. For by the mother goddesses, no one can be many moments without and not be drenched to the bone. And this exhibits the master’s regard for thee, lady; his extreme devotion to your person and regard for your comfort, that he has exposed himself to cold and rain and wind so as to come hither to inquire if you are well, and if there be aught you desire that he can perform to content you.”

What was Perpetua to do? She plucked some citron blossoms in her nervous agitation, unknowing what she did, then answered timidly: “I am in the house of the noble Æmilius. Let him speak with me here when it suits his convenience. Yet stay, Blanda! Inquire at once, whether he brings me tidings of my dear mother.”

The slave hasted away, and returned directly to inform Perpetua that her master was grieved to relate that he was unable to give her the desired information, but that he only awaited instructions from Perpetua to take measures to satisfy her.

Then the girl was left alone, and in greater agitation than before. She walked among the evergreens, putting the citron flowers to her nose, plucking off the leaves, pressing her hand to her brow, and wiping her distilling eyes.

The conservatory was unglazed. It was furnished with shutters in which were small openings like those in fiddles. Consequently a twilight reigned in the place; what light entered was colorless, and without brilliancy. Through the openings could be seen the whirling vapors; through them also the rain spluttered in, and the wind sighed a plaintive strain, now and then rising to a scream.

Perpetua still held the little bunch of citron in her hand; she was as unaware that she held it as that she had plucked it. Her mind was otherwise engaged, and her nervous fingers must needs clasp something.

As she thus walked, fearing the appearance of Æmilius, and yet desirous of having a term put to her suspense, she heard steps, and in another moment the young lawyer stood before her. He bowed with hands extended, and with courtly consideration would not draw near. Aware that she was shy or frightened, he said: “I have to ask your pardon, young lady, for this intrusion on your privacy, above all for your abduction to this house of mine. It was done without my having been consulted, but was done with good intent, by a friend, to place you out of danger. I had no part in the matter; nevertheless I rejoice that my house has had the honor of serving you as a refuge from such as seek your destruction.”

“I thank you,” answered the girl constrainedly. “I owe you a word of acknowledgment of my lively gratitude for having rescued me from the fountain, and another for affording me shelter here. But if I may be allowed to ask a favor, it is that my mother be restored to me, or me to my mother.”

“Alas, lady,” said Æmilius, “I have no knowledge where she is. I myself have been in concealment – for the rabble has been incensed against me for what I was privileged to do, at the Nemausean basin, unworthy that I was. I have not since ventured into the town; not that I believe the rabble would dare attempt violence against me, but I do not think it wise to allow them the chance. I sent my good, blundering friend Callipodius to inquire what had become of you, as I was anxious lest you should again be in peril of your life; and he – Callipodius – seeing what a ferment there was in the town, and how determined the priesthood was to get you once more into its power, he consulted his mother wit, and had you conveyed to my country house. Believe me, lady, he was actuated by a sincere wish to do you service. If he had but taken the Lady Quincta away as well, and lodged her here along with you, I would not have a word of reproach for him, nor entertain a feeling of guilt in your eyes.”

“My mother was in the first litter.”

“That litter did not pass out of the gates of Nemausus. Callipodius was concerned for your safety, as he knew that it was you who were menaced and not your mother.”

“But it is painful for me to be away from my mother.”

“Lady! you are safer separated from her. If she be, as I presume, still in the town, then those who pursue you will prowl about where she is, little supposing that you are elsewhere, and the secret of your hiding-place cannot be wrung from her if she does not herself know it.”

“I concern myself little about my life,” said Perpetua. “But, to be alone here, away from her, from every relation, in a strange house – ”

“I know what you would say, or rather what you feel and do not like to say. I have a proposal to make to you which will relieve your difficulty if it commends itself to you. It will secure your union with your mother, and prevent anything being spoken as to your having been concealed here that may offend your honorable feelings.”

Perpetua said nothing. She plucked at the petals of the citron flower and strewed them on the marble pavement.

“You have been brought to this house, and happily none know that you are here, save my client, Callipodius, and myself. But what I desire to say is this. Give me a right to make this your refuge, and me a right to protect you. If I be not distasteful to you, permit this. I place myself unreservedly in your hands. I love you, but my respect for you equals my love. I am rich and enjoy a good position. I have nothing I can wish for but to be authorized by you to be your defender against every enemy. Be my wife, and not all the fools and flamines of the province can touch a hair of your head.”

The tears welled into Perpetua’s eyes. She looked at the young man, who stood before her with such dignity and gentleness of demeanor. He seemed to her to be as noble, as good as a heathen well could be. He felt for her delicate position; he had risked his life and fortunes to save her. He had roused the powerful religious faction of his native city against him, and he was now extending his protection over her against the priesthood and the mob of Nemausus.

“I know,” pursued Æmilius, “that I am not worthy of one such as yourself. I offer myself because I see no other certain means of making you secure, save by your suffering me to be your legitimate defender. If your mother will consent, and I am so happy as to have yours, then we will hurry on the rites which shall make us one, and not a tongue can stir against you and not a hand be lifted to pluck you from my side.”

Perpetua dropped the flower, now petalless. She could not speak. He respected her emotions, and continued to address her.

“I am confident that I can appease the excitement among the people and the priests, and those attached to the worship of the divine ancestor. They will not dare to push matters to extremities. The sacrifice has been illegal all along, but winked at by the magistrates because a custom handed down with the sanction of antiquity. But a resolute protest made – if need be an appeal to Cæsar – and the priesthood are paralyzed. Consider also that as my wife they could no longer demand you. Their hold on you would be done for, as none but an unmarried maid may be sacrificed. The very utmost they can require in their anger and disappointment will be that you should publicly sprinkle a few grains of incense on the altar of Nemausus.”

“I cannot do that. I am a Christian.”

“Believe what you will. Laugh at the gods as do I and many another. A few crumbs of frankincense, a little puff of smoke that is soon sped.”

“It may not be.”

“Remain a Christian, adhere to its philosophy or revelation, as Castor calls it. Attend its orgies, and be the protectress of your fellow-believers.”

“None the less, I cannot do it.”

“But why not?”

“I cannot be false to Christ.”

“What falsehood is there in this?”

“It is a denial of Him.”

“Bah! He died two hundred years ago.”

“He lives, He is ever present, He sees and knows all.”

“Well, then He will not look harshly on a girl who acts thus to save her life.”

“I should be false to myself as well as to Him.”

“I cannot understand this – ”

“No, because you do not know and love Him.”

“Love Him!” echoed Æmilius, “He is dead. You never saw Him at any time. It is impossible for any one to love one invisible, unseen, a mere historical character. See, we have all over Gallia Narbonensis thousands of Augustals; they form a sect, if you will. All their worship is of Augustus Cæsar, who died before your Christ. Do you suppose that one among those thousands loves him whom they worship, and after whom they are named, and who is their bond of connection? No – it is impossible. It cannot be.”

“But with us, to know is to love. Christ is the power of God, and we love Him because He first loved us.”

“Riddles, riddles!” said Æmilius, shaking his head.

“It is a riddle that may be solved to you some day. I would give my life that it were.”

“You would?”

“Aye, and with joy. You risked your life for me. I would give mine to win for you – ”

“What?”

“Faith. Having that you would know how to love.”

CHAPTER XIX

MARCIANUS

When the deacon Baudillas and his faithful Pedo emerged from the river, and stood on the bank, they were aware how icy was the blast that blew, for it pierced their sodden garments and froze the marrow in their bones.

“Master,” said Pedo, “this is the beginning of a storm that will last for a week; you must get under shelter, and I will give you certain garments I have provided and have concealed hard by in a kiln. The gates of the town are shut. I have no need to inform you that we are without the city walls.”

Pedo guided the deacon to the place where he had hidden a bundle of garments, and which was not a bowshot distant from the mouth of the sewer. The kiln was small; it had happily been in recent use, for it was still warm, and the radiation was grateful to Baudillas, whose teeth were chattering in his head.

“I have put here bread and meat, and a small skin of wine,” said the slave. “I advise you, master, to make a meal; you will relish your food better here than in the black-hole. Whilst we eat we consume time likewise; but the dawn is returning, and with it the gates will be opened and we shall slip in among the market people. But, tell me, whither will you go?”

“I would desire, were it advisable, to revisit my own house,” said the deacon doubtfully.

“And I would advise you to keep clear of it,” said the slave. “Should the jailer discover that you have escaped, then at once search will be made for you, and, to a certainty it will begin at your habitation.” Then, with a dry laugh, he added, “And if it be found that I have assisted in your evasion, then there will be one more likely to give sport to the people at the forthcoming show. Grant me the wild beasts and not the cross.”

“I will not bring thee into danger, faithful friend.”

“I cannot run away on my lame legs,” said Pedo. “Ah! as to those shows. They are to wind up with a water-fight – such is the announcement. There will be gladiators from Arelate sent over to contend in boats against a fleet of our Nemausean ruffians. On the previous day there will be sport with wild beasts. I am told that there have been wolves trapped during the winter in the Cebennæ, and sent down here, where they are retained fasting. I have heard their howls at night and they have disturbed my sleep – their howls and the aches in my thigh. I knew the weather would change by the pains in my joint. There is a man named Amphilochius, a manumitted slave, who broke into and robbed the villa of the master who had freed him. He is a Greek of Iconium, and the public are promised that he shall be cast to the beasts; but whether to the panthers, or the wolves, or bear, or given to be gored by a bull, that I know not. Then there is a taverner from somewhere on the way to Ugernum, who for years has murdered such of his guests as he esteemed well furnished with money, and has thrown their carcasses into the river. He will fight the beasts. There is a bear from Larsacus; but they tell me he is dull, has not yet shaken off his winter sleep, and the people fear they will get small entertainment out of him.”

“You speak of these scenes with relish.”

“Ah! master, before I was regenerate I dearly loved the spectacles. But the contest with bulls! That discovers the agility of a man. Falerius Volupius Servilianus placed rosettes between their horns and gave a prize to any who would pluck them away. That was open to be contested for by all the youths of Nemausus. There was little danger to life or limb, and it taught them to be quick of eye and nimble in movement. But it was because none were gored that the spectators wearied of these innocent sports and clamored for the butchery of criminals and the contests of gladiators. There was a fine Numidian lion brought by a shipmaster to Agatha; a big price was asked, and the citizens of Narbo outbid us, so we lost that fine fellow.”

“Ah, Pedo! please God that none of the brethren be exposed to the beasts.”

“I think there will not be many. The Quatuor-viri are slow to condemn, and Petronius Atacinus most unwilling of all. There are real criminals in the prison sufficient to satisfy an ordinary appetite for blood. But, see! we are discussing the amphitheater and not considering whither thou wilt betake thyself.”

“I have been turning the matter over, and I think that I will go first to Marcianus, my brother-deacon, and report myself to be alive and free, that he may inform the bishop; and I will take his advice as to my future conduct, and where I shall bestow myself.”

“He has remained unmolested,” said the slave, “and that is to me passing strange, for I have been told that certain of the brethren, when questioned relative to the mutilation of the statue, have accused him by name. Yet, so far, nothing has been done. Yet I think his house is watched; I have noticed one Burrhus hanging about it; and Tarsius, they say, has turned informer. See, master! the darkness is passing away; already there is a wan light in the east.”

“Had the mouth of the kiln been turned to the setting in place of the rising sun, we should not have felt the wind so greatly. Well, Pedo, we will be on the move. Market people from the country will be at the gates. I will consult with Marcianus before I do aught.”

An hour later, Baudillas and his attendant were at the gate of Augustus, and passed in unchallenged. Owing to the furious mistral, accompanied by driving rain, the guards muffled themselves in their cloaks and paid little attention to the peasants bringing in their poultry, fish and vegetables for sale. The deacon and his slave entered unnoticed along with a party of these. In the street leading to the forum was a knot of people about an angry potter whose stall had been blown over by the wind. He had set boards on trestles, and laid out basins, pitchers, lamps, urns on the planks; over all he had stretched sail-cloth. The wind had caught the awning and beaten it down, upsetting and crushing his ware. The potter was swearing that he was ruined, and that his disaster was due to the Christians, who had exasperated the gods by their crimes and impieties.

Some looking on laughed and asked, shouting, whether the gods did not blow as strong blasts out of their lungs every year about the same time, and whether they did so because annually insulted.

“But they don’t break my crocks,” stormed the potter.

“Charge double for what remain unfractured,” joked an onlooker.

“Come, master,” said Pedo, plucking Baudillas by the sleeve. “If that angry fellow recognize you, you are lost. Hold my cloak and turn down the lane, then we are at the posticum, at the back of the house. I know some of the family, and they will admit us.”

Near by was a shop for flowers. Over the shop front was the inscription, “Non vendo nisi amantibus coronas” (“I sell garlands to lovers only”).10 The woman in charge of the bunches and crowns of spring flowers looked questioningly at Baudillas. Her wares were such as invited only when the sun shone. The poor flowers had a draggled and desponding appearance. No lovers came to buy in the bitter mistral.

“Come, master, we shall be recognized,” said Pedo.

In another moment they had passed out of the huffle of the wind and the drift of the rain into the shelter and warmth of a dwelling.

Pedo bade a slave go to Marcianus and tell the deacon that someone below desired a word with him. Almost immediately the man returned with orders to conduct the visitor to the presence of the master.

Baudillas was led along a narrow passage into a chamber in the inner part of the house, away from the apartments for the reception of guests.

The room was warmed. It was small, and had a glazed window; that is to say, the opening was closed by a sheet of stalagmite from one of the caves of Larsacus, cut thin.

In this chamber, seated on an easy couch, with a roll in his hand, which he was studying, was Marcianus. His countenance was hard and haughty.

“You!” he exclaimed, starting with surprise. “What brings you here? I heard that you had been before the magistrate and had confessed. But, bah! of such as you martyrs are not made. You have betrayed us and got off clear yourself.”

“You mistake, brother,” answered Baudillas, modestly. “In one thing are you right – I am not of the stuff out of which martyrs and confessors are fashioned. But I betrayed no one. Not that there is any merit due to me for that. I was in such a dire and paralyzing fright that I could not speak.”

“How then come you here?”

“As we read that the Lord sent His angel to deliver Peter from prison, so has it been with me.”

“You lie!” said Marcianus angrily. “No miracle was wrought for you – for such as you who shiver and quake and lose power of speech! Bah! Come, give me a more rational explanation of your escape.”

“My slave was the angel who delivered me.”

“So you ran away! Could not endure martyrdom, saw the crown shining, and turned tail and used your legs. I can well believe it. Coward! Unworthy of the name of a Christian, undeserving of the cross marked on thy brow, unbecoming of the ministry.”

“I know that surely enough,” said Baudillas; “I am of timorous stuff, and from childhood feared pain. But I have not denied Christ.”

“What has brought you here?” asked Marcianus curtly.

“I have come to thee for counsel.”

“The counsel I give thou wilt not take. What saith the Scripture: ‘He that putteth his hand to the plough and turneth back is not fit for the kingdom of God.’ Thou wast called to a glorious confession, and looked back and ran away.”

“And thy counsel?”

“Return and surrender, and win the crown and palm. But it is waste of breath to say such words to thee. I know thee. Wast thou subjected to torture?”

“No, brother.”

“No; not the rack, nor the torches, nor the hooks, nor the thumbscrews. Oh, none of these!”

“No, brother. It is true, I was scarce tried at all. Indeed, it was good luck – God forgive me! – it was through His mercy that I was saved from denying the faith. I was not even asked to sacrifice.”

“Well; go thy ways. I cannot advise thee.”

“Stay,” said Baudillas. “I saw in the outer prison some of the faithful, but was in too great fear to recognize any. Who have been taken?”

“The last secured has been the widow Quincta. The pontiff and the flamen Augustalis and the priestess of Nemausus swear that she shall be put on the rack and tortured till she reveals where her daughter is concealed, and that amiable drone, the acting magistrate, has given consent. Dost thou know where the damsel Perpetua is concealed?”

“Indeed, Marcianus, I know not. But tell me: hast thou not been inquired for? I have been told how that some have accused thee.”

“Me! Who said that?”

Marcianus started, and his face worked. “Bah! they dare not touch me. I belong to the Falerii; we have had magistrates in our family, and one clothed with the pro-consulship. They will not venture to lay hands on me.”

“But what if they know, and it is known through the town, that it was thou who didst mutilate the statue of the founder?”

“They do not know it.”

“Nay, thou deceivest thyself. It is known. Some of those who were at the Agape have spoken.”

“It was thou – dog that thou art!”

“Nay, it was not I.”

Marcianus rose and strode up and down the room, biting his nails. Then, contemptuously, he said: “My family will stand between me and mob or magistrate. I fear not. But get thee gone. Thou compromisest me by thy presence, thou runagate and jail-breaker.”

“I came here but to notify my escape and to ask counsel of thee.”

“Get thee gone. Fly out of Nemausus, or thy chattering tongue will be set going and reveal everything that ought to be kept secret.” Then taking a turn he added to himself, “I belong to the Falerii.”

Baudillas left; and, as he went from the door, Pedo whispered in his ear: “Let us escape to Ad Fines. We can do so in this detestable weather. I have an old friend there, named Blanda. In my youth I loved – ah! welladay! that was long ago – and we were the chattels of different masters, so it came to naught. She is still a slave, but she may be able to assist us. I can be sure of that; for the remembrance of our old affection, she will do what lies in her power to secrete us.”

He suddenly checked himself, plucked the deacon back, and drew him against the wall.

An ædile, attended by a body of the city police, armed like soldiers, advanced and silently surrounded the house of Marcianus.

Then the officer struck the door thrice, and called: “By the authority of Petronius Atacinus and Vibius Fuscianus, Quatuor-viri juridicundo, and in the name of the Imperator Cæsar Augustus, Marcus Aurelius Antoninus, I arrest Cneius Falerius Marcianus, on the atrocious charge of sacrilege.”

CHAPTER XX

IN THE BASILICA

The Quatuorvir Petronius Atacinus, who was on duty, occupied his chair in the stately Plotinian Basilica, or court of justice, that had been erected by Hadrian, in honor of the lady to whose ingenious and unscrupulous maneuvers he owed his elevation to the throne of the Cæsars. Of this magnificent structure nothing remains at present save some scraps of the frieze in the museum.

When the weather permitted, Petronius or his colleagues liked to hear a case in the open air, from a tribune in the forum. But this was impossible to-day, in the howling wind and lashing rain. The court itself was comparatively deserted. A very few had assembled to hear the trials. None who had a warmed home that day left it uncalled for. Some market women set their baskets in the doorway and stepped inside, but it was rather because they were wet and out of breath than because they were interested in the proceedings. Beside the magistrate sat the chief pontifex who was also Augustal flamen. Of pontifices there were three in the city, but one of these was a woman, the priestess of Nemausus.