CHAPTER 6.
AN APPRENTICESHIP TO THE TEMPLE.
The action of our characters during the night included in the last twochapters has now come to a pause. Vetranio is awaiting his guests forthe banquet; Numerian is in the chapel, preparing for the discoursethat he is to deliver to his friends; Ulpius is meditating in hismaster's house; Antonina is stretched upon her couch, caressing theprecious fragment that she had saved from the ruins of her lute. Allthe immediate agents of our story are, for the present, in repose.
It is our purpose to take advantage of this interval of inaction, anddirect the reader's attention to a different country from that selectedas the scene of our romance, and to such historical events of pastyears as connect themselves remarkably with the early life ofNumerian's perfidious convert. This man will be found a person ofgreat importance in the future conduct of our story. It is necessaryto the comprehension of his character, and the penetration of such ofhis purposes as have been already hinted at, and may subsequentlyappear, that the long course of his existence should be traced upwardsto its source.
It was in the reign of Julian, when the gods of the Pagan achievedtheir last victory over the Gospel of the Christian, that a decentlyattired man, leading by the hand a handsome boy of fifteen years ofage, entered the gates of Alexandria, and proceeded hastily towards thehigh priest's dwelling in the Temple of Serapis.
After a stay of some hours at his destination, the man left the cityalone as hastily as he entered it, and was never after seen atAlexandria. The boy remained in the abode of the high priest until thenext day, when he was solemnly devoted to the service of the temple.
The boy was the young Emilius, afterwards called Ulpius. He was nephewto the high priest, to whom he had been confided by his father, amerchant of Rome.
Ambition was the ruling passion of the father of Emilius. It hadprompted him to aspire to every distinction granted to the successfulby the state, but it had not gifted him with the powers requisite toturn his aspirations in any instance into acquisitions. He passedthrough existence a disappointed man, planning but never performing,seeing his more fortunate brother rising to the highest distinction inthe priesthood, and finding himself irretrievably condemned to exist inthe affluent obscurity ensured to him by his mercantile pursuits.
When his brother Macrinus, on Julian's accession to the imperialthrone, arrived at the pinnacle of power and celebrity as high priestof the Temple of Serapis, the unsuccessful merchant lost all hope ofrivalling his relative in the pursuit of distinction. His insatiableambition, discarded from himself, now settled on one of his infantsons. He determined that his child should be successful where he hadfailed. Now that his brother had secured the highest elevation in thetemple, no calling could offer more direct advantages to a member ofhis household that the priesthood. His family had been from theirearliest origin rigid Pagans. One of them had already attained to themost distinguished honours of his gorgeous worship. He determined thatanother should rival his kinsman, and that that other should be hiseldest son.
Firm in this resolution, he at once devoted his child to the greatdesign which he now held continually in view. He knew well thatPaganism, revived though it was, was not the universal worship that ithad been; that it was now secretly resisted, and might soon be openlyopposed, by the persecuted Christians throughout the Empire; and thatif the young generation were to guard it successfully from all futureencroachments, and to rise securely to its highest honours, more mustbe exacted from them than the easy attachment to the ancient religionrequire from the votaries of former days. Then, the performance of themost important offices in the priesthood was compatible with thepossession of military or political rank. Now, it was to the temple,and to the temple only, that the future servant of the gods should bedevoted. Resolving thus, the father took care that all the son'soccupations and rewards should, from his earliest years, be in some wayconnected with the career for which he was intended. His childishpleasures were to be conducted to sacrifices and auguries; his childishplaythings and prizes were images of the deities. No opposition wasoffered on the boy's part to this plan of education. Far differentfrom his younger brother, whose turbulent disposition defied allauthority, he was naturally docile; and his imagination, vivid beyondhis years, was easily led captive by any remarkable object presented toit. With such encouragement, his father became thoroughly engrossed bythe occupation of forming him for his future existence. His mother'sinfluence over him was jealously watched; the secret expression of herlove, of her sorrow, at the prospect of parting with him, wasruthlessly suppressed whenever it was discovered; and his youngerbrother was neglected, almost forgotten, in order that the parentalwatchfulness might be entirely and invariably devoted to the eldest son.
When Emilius had numbered fifteen years, his father saw with delightthat the time had come when he could witness the commencement of therealisation of all his projects. The boy was removed from home, takento Alexandria, and gladly left, by his proud and triumphant father,under the especial guardianship of Macrinus, the high priest.
The chief of the temple full sympathised in his brother's designs forthe young Emilius. As soon as the boy had entered on his newoccupations, he was told that he must forget all that he had leftbehind him at Rome; that he must look upon the high priest as hisfather, and upon the temple, henceforth, as his home; and that the soleobject of his present labours and future ambition must be to rise inthe service of the gods. Nor did Macrinus stop here. So thoroughlyanxious was he to stand to his pupil in the place of a parent, and tosecure his allegiance by withdrawing him in every way from the world inwhich he had hitherto lived, that he even changed his name, giving tohim one of his own appellations, and describing it as a privilege tostimulate him to future exertions. From the boy Emilius, he was nowpermanently transformed to the student Ulpius.
With such a natural disposition as we have already described, and undersuch guardianship as that of the high priest, there was little dangerthat Ulpius would disappoint the unusual expectations which had beenformed of him. His attention to his new duties never relaxed; hisobedience to his new masters never wavered. Whatever Macrinus demandedof him he was sure to perform. Whatever longings he might feel toreturn to home, he never discovered them; he never sought to gratifythe tastes naturally peculiar to his age. The high priest and hiscolleagues were astonished at the extraordinary readiness with whichthe boy himself forwarded their intentions for him. Had they known howelaborately he had been prepared for his future employments at hisfather's house, they would have been less astonished at their pupil'sunusual docility. Trained as he had been, he must have shown a morethan human perversity had he displayed any opposition to his uncle'swishes. He had been permitted no childhood either of thought oraction. His natural precocity had been seized as the engine to forcehis faculties into a perilous and unwholesome maturity; and when hisnew duties demanded his attention, he entered on them with the samesincerity of enthusiasm which his boyish coevals would have exhibitedtowards a new sport. His gradual initiation into the mysteries of hisreligion created a strange, voluptuous sensation of fear and interestin his mind. He heard the oracles, and he trembled; he attended thesacrifices and the auguries, and he wondered. All the poetry of thebold and beautiful superstition to which he was devoted flowedoverwhelmingly into his young heart, absorbing the service of his freshimagination, and transporting him incessantly from the vital realitiesof the outer world to the shadowy regions of aspiration and thought.
But his duties did not entirely occupy the attention of Ulpius. Theboy had his peculiar pleasures as well as his peculiar occupations.When his employments were over for the day, it was a strange,unearthly, vital enjoyment to him to wander softly in the shade of thetemple porticoes, looking down from his great mysterious eminence uponthe populous and sun-brightened city at his feet; watching thebrilliant expanse of the waters of the Nile glittering joyfully in thedazzling and pervading light; raising his eyes from the fields andwood
s, the palaces and garden, that stretched out before him below, tothe lovely and cloudless sky that watched round him afar and above, andthat awoke all that his new duties had left of the joyfulness, theaffectionate sensibility, which his rare intervals of uninterruptedintercourse with his mother had implanted in his heart. Then, when thedaylight began to wane, and the moon and stars already grew beautifulin their places in the firmament, he would pass into the subterraneanvaults of the edifice, trembling as his little taper scarcely dispelledthe dull, solemn gloom, and listening with breathless attention for thevoices of those guardian spirits whose fabled habitation was made inthe apartments of the sacred place. Or, when the multitude haddeparted for their amusements and their homes, he would steal into thelofty halls and wander round the pedestals of the mighty statues,breathing fearfully the still atmosphere of the temple, and watchingthe passage of the cold, melancholy moonbeams through the openings inthe roof, and over the colossal limbs and features of the images of thepagan gods. Sometimes, when the services of Serapis and the caresattendant on his communications with the Emperor were concluded,Macrinus would lead his pupil into the garden of the priests, andpraise him for his docility till his heart throbbed with gratitude andpride. Sometimes he would convey him cautiously outside the precinctsof the sacred place, and show him, in the suburbs of the city, silent,pale, melancholy men, gliding suspiciously through the gay, crowdedstreets. Those fugitive figures, he would declare, were the enemies ofthe temple and all that it contained; conspirators against the Emperorand the gods; wretches who were to be driven forth as outcasts fromhumanity; whose appellation was 'Christian'; and whose impious worship,if tolerated, would deprive him of the uncle whom he loved, of thetemple that he reverenced, and of the priestly dignity and renown whichit should be his life's ambition to acquire.
Thus tutored in his duties by his guardian, and in his recreations byhimself, as time wore on, the boy gradually lost every remainingcharacteristic of his age. Even the remembrance of his mother and hismother's love grew faint on his memory. Serious, solitary, thoughtful,he lived but to succeed in the temple; he laboured but to emulate thehigh priest. All his feelings and faculties were now enslaved by anambition, at once unnatural at his present age, and ominous ofaffliction for his future life. The design that Macrinus hadcontemplated as the work of years was perfected in a few months. Thehope that his father had scarce dared to entertain for his manhood wasalready accomplished in his youth.
In these preparations for future success passed three years of the lifeof Ulpius. At the expiration of that period the death of Juliandarkened the brilliant prospects of the Pagan world. Scarcely had thepriests of Serapis recovered the first shock of astonishment and griefconsequent upon the fatal news of the vacancy in the imperial throne,when the edict of toleration issued by Jovian, the new Emperor, reachedthe city of Alexandria, and was elevated on the walls of the temple.
The first sight of this proclamation (permitting freedom of worship tothe Christians) aroused in the highly wrought disposition of Ulpius themost violent emotions of anger and contempt. The enthusiasm of hischaracter and age, guided invariably in the one direction of hisworship, took the character of the wildest fanaticism when hediscovered the Emperor's careless infringement of the supremacy of thetemple. He volunteered in the first moments of his fury to tear downthe edict from the walls, to lead an attack on the meetings of thetriumphant Christians, or to travel to the imperial abode and exhortJovian to withdraw his act of perilous leniency ere it was too late.With difficulty did his more cautious confederates restrain him fromthe execution of his impetuous designs. For two days he withdrewhimself from his companions, and brooded in solitude over the injuryoffered to his beloved superstition, and the prospective augmentationof the influence of the Christian sect.
But the despair of the young enthusiast was destined to be furtheraugmented by a private calamity, at once mysterious in its cause andoverwhelming in its effect. Two days after the publication of theedict the high priest Macrinus, in the prime of vigour and manhood,suddenly died.
To narrate the confusion and horror within and without the temple onthe discovery of this fatal even; to describe the execrations andtumults of the priests and the populace, who at once suspected thefavoured and ambitious Christians of causing, by poison, the death oftheir spiritual ruler, might be interesting as a history of the mannersof the times, but is immaterial to the object of this chapter. Weprefer rather to trace the effect on the mind of Ulpius of his personaland private bereavement; of this loss--irretrievable to him--of themaster whom he loved and the guardian whom it was his privilege torevere.
An illness of some months, during the latter part of which hisattendants trembled for his life and reason, sufficiently attested thesincerity of the grief of Ulpius for the loss of his protector. Duringhis paroxysms of delirium the priests who watched round his bed drewfrom his ravings many wise conclusions as to the effects that hisseizure and its causes were likely to produce on his future character;but, in spite of all their penetration, they were still far fromappreciating to a tithe of its extent the revolution that hisbereavement had wrought in his disposition. The boy himself, until themoment of the high priest's death, had never been aware of the depth ofhis devotion to his second father. Warped as they had been by hisnatural parent, the affectionate qualities that were the mainspring ofhis nature had never been entirely destroyed; and they seized on everykind word and gentle action of Macrinus as food which had been grudgedthem since their birth. Morally and intellectually, Macrinus had beento him the beacon that pointed the direction of his course, the judgethat regulated his conduct, the Muse that he looked to for inspiration.And now, when this link which had connected every ramification of hismost cherished and governing ideas was suddenly snapped asunder, adesolation sunk down upon his mind which at once paralysed itselasticity and withered its freshness. He glanced back, and sawnothing but a home from whose pleasures and affections his father'sambition had exiled him for ever. He looked forward, and as he thoughtof his unfitness, both from character and education, to mix in theworld as others mixed in it, he saw no guiding star of social happinessfor the conduct of his existence to come. There was now no resourceleft for him but entirely to deliver himself up to those pursuits whichhad made his home as a strange place to him, which were hallowed bytheir connection with the lost object of his attachment, and whichwould confer the sole happiness and distinction that he could hope forin the wide world on his future life.
In addition to this motive for labour in his vocation, there existed inthe mind of Ulpius a deep and settled feeling that animated him withunceasing ardour for the prosecution of his cherished occupations.This governing principle was detestation of the Christian sect. Thesuspicion that others had entertained regarding the death of the highpriest was to his mind a certainty. He rejected every idea whichopposed his determined persuasion that the jealousy of the Christianshad prompted them to the murder, by poison, of the most powerful andzealous of the Pagan priests. To labour incessantly until he attainedthe influence and position formerly enjoyed by his relative, and to usethat influence and position, when once acquired, as the means ofavenging Macrinus, by sweeping every vestige of the Christian faithfrom the face of the earth, were now the settled purposes of his heart.Inspired by his determination with the deliberate wisdom which is inmost men the result only of the experience of years, he employed thefirst days of his convalescence in cautiously maturing his futureplans, and impartially calculating his chances of success. Thisself-examination completed, he devoted himself at once and for ever tohis life's great design. Nothing wearied, nothing discouraged, nothingimpeded him. Outward events passed by him unnoticed; the city'safflictions and the city's triumphs spoke no longer to his heart. Yearsucceeded to year, but Time had no tongue for him. Paganism graduallysank, and Christianity imperceptibly rose, but change spread no picturebefore his eyes. The whole outward world was a void to him, until themoment arrived that beheld him successful in his desi
gns. Hispreparations for the future absorbed every faculty of his nature, andleft him, as to the present, a mere automaton, reflecting no principle,and animated by no event--a machine that moved, but did not perceive--abody that acted, without a mind that thought.
Returning for a moment to the outward world, we find that on the deathof Jovian, in 364, Valentinian, the new Emperor, continued the systemof toleration adopted by his predecessor. On his death, in 375,Gratian, the successor to the imperial throne, so far improved on theexample of the two former potentates as to range himself boldly on theside of the partisans of the new faith. Not content with merelyencouraging, both by precept and by example, the growth ofChristianity, the Emperor further testified to his zeal for the risingreligion by inflicting incessant persecutions upon the rapidlydecreasing advocates of the ancient worship; serving, by these acts ofhis reign, as pioneer to his successor, Theodosius the Great, in thereligious revolution which that illustrious opponent of Paganism wasdestined to effect.
The death of Gratian, in 383, saw Ulpius enrolled among the chiefpriests of the temple, and pointed out as the next inheritor of theimportant office once held by the powerful and active Macrinus.Beholding himself thus secure of the distinction for which he hadlaboured, the aspiring priest found leisure, at length, to look forthupon the affairs of the passing day. From every side desolationdarkened the prospect that he beheld. Already, throughout manyprovinces of the Empire, the temples of the gods had been overthrown bythe destructive zeal of the triumphant Christians. Already hosts ofthe terrified people, fearing that the fate of their idols mightultimately be their own, finding themselves deserted by their disbandedpriests, and surrounded by the implacable enemies of the ancient faith,had renounced their worship for the sake of saving their lives andsecuring their property. On the wide field of Pagan ruin there nowrose but one structure entirely unimpaired. The Temple of Serapisstill reared its head--unshaken, unbending, unpolluted. Here thesacrifice still prospered and the people still bowed in worship. Beforethis monument of the religious glories of ages, even the rising powerof Christian supremacy quailed in dismay. Though the ranks of its oncemultitudinous congregations were now perceptibly thinned, though thenew churches swarmed with converts, though the edicts from Romedenounced it as a blot on the face of the earth, its gloomy andsolitary grandeur was still preserved. No unhallowed foot trod itssecret recesses; no destroying hand was raised as yet against itsancient and glorious walls.
Indignation, but not despondency, filled the heart of Ulpius as hesurveyed the situation of the Pagan world. A determination nourishedas his had been by the reflections of years, and matured by incessantindustry of deliberation, is above all those shocks which affect ahasty decision or destroy a wavering intention. Impervious to failure,disasters urge it into action, but never depress it to repose. Itsexistence is the air that preserves the vitality of the mind--thespring that moves the action of the thoughts. Never for a moment didUlpius waver in his devotion to his great design, or despair of itsultimate execution and success. Though every succeeding day broughtthe news of fresh misfortunes for the Pagans and fresh triumphs for theChristians, still, with a few of his more zealous comrades, hepersisted in expecting the advent of another Julian, and a day ofrestoration for the dismantled shrines of the deities that he served.While the Temple of Serapis stood uninjured, to give encouragement tohis labours and refuge to his persecuted brethren, there existed forhim such an earnest of success as would spur him to any exertion, andnerve him against any peril.
And now, to the astonishment of priests and congregations, the silent,thoughtful, solitary Ulpius suddenly started from his long repose, andstood forth the fiery advocate of the rights of his invaded worship.In a few days the fame of his addresses to the Pagans who stillattended the rites of Serapis spread throughout the whole city. Theboldest among the Christians, as they passed the temple walls,involuntarily trembled when they heard the vehemence of the applausewhich arose from the audience of the inspired priest. Addressed to allvarieties of age and character, these harangues woke an echo in everybreast they reached. To the young they were clothed in all the poetryof the worship for which they pleaded. They dwelt on the altars ofVenus that the Christians would lay waste; on the woodlands that theChristians would disenchant of their Dryads; on the hallowed Arts thatthe Christians would arise and destroy. To the aged they called upremembrances of the glories of the past achieved through the favour ofthe gods; of ancestors who had died in their service; of old forgottenloves, and joys, and successes that had grown and prospered under thegentle guardianship of the deities of old--while the unvarying burdenof their conclusion to all was the reiterated assertion that theillustrious Macrinus had died a victim to the toleration of theChristian sect.
But the efforts of Ulpius were not confined to the delivery oforations. Every moment of his leisure time was dedicated to secretpilgrimages into Alexandria. Careless of peril, regardless of threats,the undaunted enthusiast penetrated into the most privatemeeting-places of the Christians; reclaiming on every side apostates tothe Pagan creed, and defying the hostility of half the city from thestronghold of the temple walls. Day after day fresh recruits arrivedto swell the ranks of the worshippers of Serapis. The few members ofthe scattered congregations of the provinces who still remainedfaithful to the ancient worship were gathered together in Alexandria bythe private messengers of the unwearied Ulpius. Already tumults beganto take place between the Pagans and the Christians; and even now thepriest of Serapis prepared to address a protest to the new Emperor inbehalf of the ancient religion of the land. At this moment it seemedprobable that the heroic attempts of one man to prop the structure ofsuperstition, whose foundations were undermined throughout, and whosewalls were attacked by brigands, might actually be crowned with success.
But Time rolled on; and with him came inexorable change, trampling overthe little barriers set up against it by human opposition, and erectingits strange and transitory fabrics triumphantly in their stead. Invain did the devoted priest exert all his powers to augment and combinehis scattered band; in vain did the mighty temple display its ancientmajesty, its gorgeous sacrifices, its mysterious auguries. The spiritof Christianity was forth for triumph on the earth--the last destiniesof Paganism were fast accomplishing. Yet a few seasons more ofunavailing resistance passed by, and then the Archbishop of Alexandriaissued his decree that the Temple of Serapis should be destroyed.
At the rumour of their Primate's determination, the Christian fanaticsrose by swarms from every corner of Egypt, and hurried into Alexandriato be present at the work of demolition. From the arid solitudes of thedesert, from their convents on rocks and their caverns in the earth,hosts of rejoicing monks flew to the city gates, and ranged themselveswith the soldiery and the citizens, impatient for the assault. At thedawn of morning this assembly of destroyers was convened, and as thesun rose over Alexandria they arrived before the temple walls.
The gates of the glorious structure were barred; the walls were crowdedwith their Pagan defenders. A still, dead, mysterious silence reignedover the whole edifice; and, of all the men who thronged it, one onlymoved from his appointed place--one only wandered incessantly frompoint to point, wherever the building was open to assault. Those amongthe besiegers who were nearest the temple saw in this presiding geniusof the preparations for defence the object at once of their mostmalignant hatred and their most ungovernable dread--Ulpius the priest.
As soon as the Archbishop gave the signal for the assault, a band ofmonks--their harsh, discordant voices screaming fragments of psalms,their tattered garments waving in the air, their cadaverous facesgleaming with ferocious joy--led the way, placed the first laddersagainst the walls, and began the attack. From all sides the temple wasassailed by the infuriated besiegers, and on all sides it wassuccessfully defended by the resolute besieged. Shock after shock fellupon the massive gates without forcing them to recede; missile aftermissile was hurled at the building, but no breach was made in its solidsurface
. Multitudes scaled the walls, gained the outer porticoes, andslaughtered their Pagan defenders, but were incessantly repulsed intheir turn ere they could make their advantage good. Over and overagain did the assailants seem on the point of storming the templesuccessfully, but the figure of Ulpius, invariably appearing at thecritical moment among his disheartened followers, acted like a fatalityin destroying the effect of the most daring exertions and the mostimportant triumphs. Wherever there was danger, wherever there wascarnage, wherever there was despair, thither strode the undauntedpriest, inspiring the bold, succouring the wounded, reanimating thefeeble. Blinded by no stratagem, wearied by no fatigue, there wassomething almost demoniac in his activity for destruction, in hisdetermination under defeat. The besiegers marked his course round thetemple by the calamities that befell them at his every step. If thebodies of slaughtered Christians were flung down upon them from thewalls, they felt that Ulpius was there. If the bravest of the soldieryhesitated at mounting the ladders, it was known that Ulpius wasdirecting the defeat of their comrades above. If a sally from thetemple drove back the advanced guard upon the reserves in the rear, itwas pleaded as their excuse that Ulpius was fighting at the head of hisPagan bands. Crowd on crowd of Christian warriors still pressedforward to the attack; but though the ranks of the unbelievers wereperceptibly thinned, though the gates that defended them at last beganto quiver before the reiterated blows by which they were assailed,every court of the sacred edifice yet remained in the possession of thebesieged, and was at the disposal of the unconquered captain whoorganised the defence.
Depressed by the failure of his efforts, and horrified at the carnagealready perpetrated among his adherents, the Archbishop suddenlycommanded a cessation of hostilities, and proposed to the defenders ofthe temple a short and favourable truce. After some delay, andapparently at the expense of some discord among their ranks, the Paganssent to the Primate an assurance of their acceptance of his terms,which were that both parties should abstain from any further strugglefor the ascendancy until an edict from Theodosius determining theultimate fate of the temple should be applied for and obtained.
The truce once agreed on, the wide space before the respited edificewas gradually cleared of its occupants. Slowly and sadly theArchbishop and his followers departed from the ancient walls whosesummits they had assaulted in vain; and when the sun went down, of thegreat multitude congregated in the morning a few corpses were all thatremained. Within the sacred building, Death and Repose ruled with thenight, where morning had brightly glittered on Life and Action. Thewounded, the wearied, and the cold, all now lay hushed alike, fanned bythe night breezes that wandered through the lofty porticoes, or soothedby the obscurity that reigned over the silent halls. Among the ranksof the Pagan devotees but one man still toiled and thought. Round andround the temple, restless as a wild beast that is threatened in hislair, watchful as a lonely spirit in a city of strange tombs, wanderedthe solitary and brooding Ulpius. For him there was no rest ofbody--no tranquility of mind. On the events of the next few dayshovered the fearful chance that was soon, either for misery orhappiness, to influence irretrievably the years of his future life.Round and round the mighty walls he watched with mechanical and uselessanxiety. Every stone in the building was eloquent to his lonelyheart--beautiful to his wild imagination. On those barren structuresstretched for him the loved and fertile home; there was the shrine forwhose glory his intellect had been enslaved, for whose honour his youthhad been sacrificed! Round and round the secret recesses and sacredcourts he paced with hurried footstep, cleansing with gentle andindustrious hand the stains of blood and the defilements of warfarefrom the statues at his side. Sad, solitary, thoughtful, as in thefirst days of his apprenticeship to the gods, he now roved in the samemoonlit recesses where Macrinus had taught him in his youth. As themenacing tumults of the day had aroused his fierceness, so thestillness of the quiet night awakened his gentleness. He had combatedfor the temple in the morning as a son for a parent, and he now watchedover it at night as a miser over his treasure, as a lover over hismistress, as a mother over her child!
The days passed on; and at length the memorable morning arrived whichwas to determine the fate of the last temple that Christian fanaticismhad spared to the admiration of the world. At an early hour of themorning the diminished numbers of the Pagan zealots met theirreinforced and determined opponents--both sides being alike unarmed--inthe great square of Alexandria. The imperial prescript was thenpublicly read. It began by assuring the Pagans that their priest's pleafor protection for the temple had received the same consideration whichhad been bestowed on the petition against the gods presented by theChristian Archbishop, and ended by proclaiming the commands of theEmperor that Serapis and all other idols in Alexandria shouldimmediately be destroyed.
The shout of triumph which followed the conclusion of the imperialedict still rose from the Christian ranks when the advanced guard ofthe soldiers appointed to ensure the execution of the Emperor's designsappeared in the square. For a few minutes the forsaken Pagans stoodrooted to the spot where they had assembled, gazing at the warlikepreparations around them in a stupor of bewilderment and despair. Thenas they recollected how diminished were their numbers, how arduous hadbeen their first defence against a few, and how impossible would be asecond defence against many--from the boldest to the feeblest, a panicseized on them; and, regardless of Ulpius, regardless of honour,regardless of the gods, they turned with one accord and fled from theplace.
With the flight of the Pagans the work of demolition began. Even womenand children hurried to join in the welcome task of indiscriminatedestruction. No defenders on this occasion barred the gates of thetemple to the Christian hosts. The sublime solitude of the tenantlessbuilding was outraged and invaded in an instant. Statues were broken,gold was carried off, doors were splintered into fragments; but herefor a while the progress of demolition was delayed. Those to whom thelabour of ruining the outward structure had been confided were lesssuccessful than their neighbours who had pillaged its contents. Theponderous stones of the pillars, the massive surfaces of the walls,resisted the most vigorous of their puny efforts, and forced them toremain contented with mutilating that which they could notdestroy--with tearing off roofs, defacing marbles, and demolishingcapitals. The rest of the buildings remained uninjured, and grandereven now in the wildness of ruin than ever it had been in thestateliness of perfection and strength.
But the most important achievement still remained, the death-wound ofPaganism was yet to be struck--the idol Serapis, which had ruled thehearts of millions, and was renowned in the remotest corners of theEmpire, was to be destroyed! A breathless silence pervaded theChristian ranks as they filled the hall of the god. A superstitiousdread, to which they had hitherto thought themselves superior, overcametheir hearts, as a single soldier, bolder than his fellows, mounted bya ladder to the head of the colossal statue, and struck at its cheekwith an axe. The blow had scarcely been dealt when a deep groan washeard from the opposite wall of the apartment, succeeded by a noise ofretreating footsteps, and then all was silent again. For a few minutesthis incident stayed the feet of those who were about to join theircompanion in the mutilation of the idol; but after an interval theirhesitation vanished, they dealt blow after blow at the statue, and nomore groans followed--no more sounds were heard, save the wild echoesof the stroke of hammer, crowbar, and club, resounding through thelofty hall. In an incredibly short space of time the image of Serapislay in great fragments on the marble floor. The multitude seized onthe limbs of the idol and ran forth to drag them in triumph through thestreets. Yet a few minutes more, and the ruins were untenanted, thetemple was silent--Paganism was destroyed!
Throughout the ravaging course of the Christians over the temple, theyhad been followed with dogged perseverance, and at the same time withthe most perfect impunity, by the only Pagan of all his brethren whohad not sought safety by flight. This man, being acquainted with everyprivate passage and staircase in the sacre
d building, was enabled to besecretly present at each fresh act of demolition, in whatever part ofthe edifice it might be perpetrated. From hall to hall, and from roomto room, he tracked with noiseless step and glaring eye the movementsof the Christian mob--now hiding himself behind a pillar, now passinginto concealed cavities in the walls, now looking down fromimperceptible fissures in the roof; but, whatever his situation,invariably watching from it, with the same industry of attention andthe same silence of emotion, the minutest acts of spoliation committedby the most humble follower of the Christian ranks. It was only whenhe entered with the victorious ravagers into the vast apartmentoccupied by the idol Serapis that the man's countenance began to giveevidence of the agony under which his heart was writhing within him.He mounted a private staircase cut in the hollow of the massive wall ofthe room, and gaining a passage that ran round the extremities of theceiling, looked through a sort of lattice concealed in the ornaments ofthe cornice. As he gazed down and saw the soldier mounting, axe inhand, to the idol's head, great drops of perspiration trickled from hisforehead. His hot, thick breath hissed through his closed teeth, andhis hands strained at the strong metal supports of the lattice untilthey bent beneath his grasp. When the stroke descended on the image,he closed his eyes. When the fragment detached by the blow fell on thefloor, a groan burst from his quivering lips. For one moment more heglared down with a gaze of horror upon the multitude at his feet, andthen with frantic speed he descended the steep stairs by which he hadmounted to the roof, and fled from the temple.
The same night this man was again seen by some shepherds whom curiosityled to visit the desecrated building, weeping bitterly in its ruinedand deserted porticoes. As they approached to address him, he raisedhis head, and with a supplicating action signed to them to leave theplace. For the few moments during which he confronted them, themoonlight shone full upon his countenance, and the shepherds, who hadin former days attended the ceremonies of the temple, saw withastonishment that the solitary mourner whose meditations they haddisturbed was no other than Ulpius the priest.
At the dawn of day these shepherds had again occasion to pass the wallsof the pillaged temple. Throughout the hours of the night theremembrance of the scene of unsolaced, unpartaken grief that they hadbeheld--of the awful loneliness of misery in which they had seen theheart-broken and forsaken man, whose lightest words they had oncedelighted to revere--inspired them with a feeling of pity for thedeserted Pagan, widely at variance with the spirit of persecution whichthe spurious Christianity of their day would fain have instilled in thebosoms of its humblest votaries. Bent on consolation, anxious toafford help, these men, like the Samaritan of old, went up at their ownperil to succour a brother in affliction. They searched every portionof the empty building, but the object of their sympathy was nowhere tobe seen. They called, but heard no answering sound, save the dirging ofthe winds of early morning through the ruined halls, which but a shorttime since had resounded with the eloquence of the once illustriouspriest. Except a few night-birds, already sheltered by the desertededifice, not a living being moved in what was once the temple of theEastern world. Ulpius was gone.
These events took place in the year 389. In 390, Pagan ceremonies weremade treason by the laws throughout the whole Roman Empire.
From that period the scattered few who still adhered to the ancientfaith became divided into three parties; each alike insignificant,whether considered as openly or secretly inimical to the new religionof the State at large.
The first party unsuccessfully endeavoured to elude the lawsprohibitory of sacrifices and divinations by concealing their religiousceremonies under the form of convivial meetings.
The second preserved their ancient respect for the theory of Paganism,but abandoned all hope and intention of ever again accomplishing itspractice. By such timely concessions many were enabled topreserve--and some even to attain--high and lucrative employments asofficers of the State.
The third retired to their homes, the voluntary exiles of everyreligion; resigning the practice of their old worship as a necessity,and shunning the communion of Christians as a matter of choice.
Such were the unimportant divisions into which the last remnants of theonce powerful Pagan community now subsided; but to none of them was theruined and degraded Ulpius ever attached.
For five weary years--dating from the epoch of the prohibition ofPaganism--he wandered through the Empire, visiting in every country theruined shrines of his deserted worship--a friendless, hopeless,solitary man!
Throughout the whole of Europe, and all of Asia and the East that stillbelonged to Rome, he bent his slow and toilsome course. In the fertilevalleys of Gaul, over the burning sands of Africa, through thesun-bright cities of Spain, he travelled--unfriended as a man under acurse, lonely as a second Cain. Never for an instant did theremembrance of his ruined projects desert his memory, or his maddetermination to revive his worship abandon his mind. At every relicof Paganism, however slight, that he encountered on his way, he found anourishment for his fierce anguish, and employment for his vengefulthoughts. Often, in the little villages, children were frightened fromtheir sports in a deserted temple by the apparition of his gaunt, rigidfigure among the tottering pillars, or the sound of his hollow voice ashe muttered to himself among the ruins of the Pagan tombs. Often, incrowded cities, groups of men, congregated to talk over the fall ofPaganism, found him listening at their sides, and comforting them, whenthey carelessly regretted their ancient faith, with a smiling andwhispered assurance that a time of restitution would yet come. By allopinions and in all places he was regarded as a harmless madman, whosestrange delusions and predilections were not to be combated, but to beindulged. Thus he wandered through the Christian world; regardlessalike of lapse of time and change of climate; living within himself;mourning, as a luxury, over the fall of his worship; patient of wrongs,insults, and disappointments; watching for the opportunity that hestill persisted in believing was yet to arrive; holding by his fataldetermination with all the recklessness of ambition and all theperseverance of revenge.
The five years passed away unheeded, uncalculated, unregretted byUlpius. For him, living but in the past, hoping but for the future,space held no obstacles--time was an oblivion. Years pass as days,hours as moments, when the varying emotions which mark their existenceon the memory, and distinguish their succession on the dial of theheart, exist no longer either for happiness or woe. Dead to allfreshness of feeling, the mind of Ulpius, during the whole term of hiswanderings, lay numbed beneath the one idea that possessed it. It wasonly at the expiration of those unheeded years, when the chances oftravel turned his footsteps towards Alexandria, that his facultiesburst from the long bondage which had oppressed them. Then--when hepassed through those gates which he had entered in former years aproud, ambitious boy, when he walked ungreeted through the ruinedtemple where he had once lived illustrious and revered--his dull, coldthoughts arose strong and vital within him. The spectacle of the sceneof his former glories, which might have awakened despair in others,aroused the dormant passions, emancipated the stifled energies in him.The projects of vengeance and the visions of restoration which he hadbrooded over for five long years, now rose before him as realisedalready under the vivid influence of the desecrated scenes around. Ashe stood beneath the shattered porticoes of the sacred place, not astone crumbling at his feet but rebuked him for his past inaction, andstrengthened him for daring, for conspiracy, for revenge, in theservice of the outraged gods. The ruined temples he had visited in hisgloomy pilgrimages now became revived by his fancy, as one by one theyrose on his toiling memory. Broken pillars soared from the ground;desecrated idols reoccupied their vacant pedestals; and he, the exileand the mourner, stood forth once again the ruler, the teacher, and thepriest. The time of restitution was come; though his understandingsupplied him with no distinct projects, his heart urged him to rushblindly on the execution of his reform. The moment hadarrived--Macrinus should yet be avenged; the temple should at last b
erestored.
He descended into the city; he hurried--neither welcomed norrecognised--through the crowded streets; he entered the house of a manwho had once been his friend and colleague in the days that were past,and poured forth to him his wild determinations and disjointed plans,entreating his assistance, and promising him a glorious success. Buthis old companion had become, by a timely conversion to Christianity, aman of property and reputation in Alexandria, and he turned from thefriendless enthusiast with indignation and contempt. Repulsed, but notdisheartened, Ulpius sought others who he had known in his prosperityand renown. They had all renounced their ancient worship--they allreceived him with studied coldness or careless disdain; but he stillpersisted in his useless efforts. He blinded his eyes to theircontemptuous looks; he shut his ears to their derisive words.Persevering in his self-delusion, he appointed them messengers to theirbrethren in other countries, captains of the conspiracy that was tocommence in Alexandria, orators before the people when the memorablerevolution had once begun. It was in vain that they refused allparticipation in his designs; he left them as the expressions ofrefusal rose to their lips, and hurried elsewhere, as industrious inhis efforts, as devoted to his unwelcome mission, as if half thepopulation of the city had vowed themselves joyfully to aid him in hisfrantic attempt.
Thus during the whole day he continued his labour of useless persuasionamong those in the city who had once been his friends. When theevening came, he repaired, weary but not despondent, to the earthlyparadise that he was determined to regain--to the temple where he hadonce taught, and where he still imagined that he was again destined topreside. Here he proceeded, ignorant of the new laws, careless ofdiscovery and danger, to ascertain by divination, as in the days ofold, whether failure or success awaited him ultimately in his greatdesign.
Meanwhile the friends whose assistance Ulpius had determined to extortwere far from remaining inactive on their parts after the departure ofthe aspiring priest. They remembered with terror that the lawsaffected as severely those concealing their knowledge of a Paganintrigue as those actually engaged in directing a Pagan conspiracy; andtheir anxiety for their personal safety overcoming every considerationof the dues of honour or the claims of ancient friendship, theyrepaired in a body to the Prefect of the city, and informed him, withall the eagerness of apprehension, of the presence of Ulpius inAlexandria, and of the culpability of the schemes that he had proposed.
A search after the devoted Pagan was immediately commenced. He wasfound the same night before a ruined altar, brooding over the entrailsof an animal that he had just sacrificed. Further proof of his guiltcould not be required. He was taken prisoner; led forth the nextmorning to be judged, amid the execrations of the very people who hadalmost adored him once; and condemned the following day to suffer thepenalty of death.
At the appointed hour the populace assembled to behold the execution.To their indignation and disappointment, however, when the officers ofthe city appeared before the prison, it was only to inform thespectators that the performance of the fatal ceremony had beenadjourned. After a mysterious delay of some weeks, they were againconvened, not to witness the execution, but to receive theextraordinary announcement that the culprit's life had been spared, andthat his amended sentence now condemned him to labour as a slave forlife in the copper-mines of Spain.
What powerful influence induced the Prefect to risk the odium ofreprieving a prisoner whose guilt was so satisfactorily ascertained asthat of Ulpius never was disclosed. Some declared that the citymagistrate was still at heart a Pagan, and that he consequently shrunkfrom authorising the death of a man who had once been the mostillustrious among the professors of the ancient creed. Others reportedthat Ulpius had secured the leniency of his judges by acquainting themwith the position of one of those secret repositories of enormoustreasure supposed to exist beneath the foundations of the dismantledTemple of Serapis. But the truth of either of these rumours couldnever be satisfactorily proved. Nothing more was accurately discoveredthan that Ulpius was removed from Alexandria to the place of earthlytorment set apart for him by the zealous authorities, at the dead ofnight; and that the sentry at the gate through which he departed heardhim mutter to himself, as he was hurried onward, that his divinationshad prepared him for defeat, but that the great day of Paganrestoration would yet arrive.
In the year 407, twelve years after the events above narrated, Ulpiusentered the city of Rome.
He had not advanced far, before the gaiety and confusion in the streetsappeared completely to bewilder him. He hastened to the nearest publicgarden that he could perceive, and avoiding the frequented paths, flunghimself down, apparently fainting with exhaustion, at the foot of atree.
For some time he lay on the shady resting-place which he had chosen,gasping painfully for breath, his frame ever and anon shaken to itscentre by sudden spasms, and his lips quivering with an agitation whichhe vainly endeavoured to suppress. So changed was his aspect, that theguards who had removed him from Alexandria, wretched as was hisappearance even then, would have found it impossible to recognise himnow as the same man whom they had formerly abandoned to slavery in themines of Spain. The effluvia exhaled from the copper ore in which hehad been buried for twelve years had not only withered the flesh uponhis bones, but had imparted to its surface a livid hue, almostdeath-like in its dulness. His limbs, wasted by age and distorted bysuffering, bent and trembled beneath him; and his form, once somajestic in its noble proportions, was now so crooked and misshapen,that whoever beheld him could only have imagined that he must have beendeformed from his birth. Of the former man no characteristic remainedbut the expression of the stern, mournful eyes; and these, the truthfulinterpreters of the indomitable mind whose emotions they seemed createdto express, preserved, unaltered by suffering and unimpaired by time,the same look, partly of reflection, partly of defiance, and partly ofdespair, which had marked them in those past days when the temple wasdestroyed and the congregations of the Pagans dispersed.
But the repose at this moment demanded by his worn-out body was evenyet denied to it by his untamed, unwearied mind, and, as the voice ofhis old delusion spoke within him again, the devoted priest rose fromhis solitary resting-place, and looked forth upon the great city, whosenew worship he was vowed to overthrow.
'By years of patient watchfulness,' he whispered to himself, 'have Isucceeded in escaping successfully from my dungeon among the mines.Yet a little more cunning, a little more endurance, a little morevigilance, and I shall still live to people, by my own exertions, thedeserted temples of Rome.'
As he spoke he emerged from the grove into the street. The joyoussunlight--a stranger to him for years--shone warmly down upon his face,as if to welcome him to liberty and the world. The sounds of gaylaughter rang in his ears, as if to woo him back to the blestenjoyments and amenities of life; but Nature's influence and man'sexample were now silent alike to his lonely heart. Over its drearywastes still reigned the ruthless ambition which had exiled love fromhis youth, and friendship from his manhood, and which was destined toend its mission of destruction by banishing tranquility from his age.Scowling fiercely at all around and above him, he sought the loneliestand shadiest streets. Solitude had now become a necessity to hisheart. The 'great gulph' of his unshared aspirations had long sincesocially separated him for ever from his fellow-men. He thought,laboured, and suffered for himself alone.
To describe the years of unrewarded labour and unalleviated hardshipendured by Ulpius in the place of his punishment; to dwell on the daythat brought with it--whatever the season in the world above--the sameunwearying inheritance of exertion and fatigue; to chronicle thehistory of night after night of broken slumber one hour, of wearyingthought the next, would be to produce a picture from the mournfulmonotony of which the attention of the reader would recoil withdisgust. It will be here sufficient to observe, that the influence ofthe same infatuation which had nerved him to the defence of theassaulted temple, and encouraged him to attempt his ill-planne
drestoration of Paganism, had preserved him through sufferings underwhich stronger and younger men would have sunk for ever; had promptedhis determination to escape from his slavery, and had now brought himto Rome--old, forsaken, and feeble as he was--to risk new perils andsuffer new afflictions for the cause to which, body and soul, he hadruthlessly devoted himself for ever.
Urged, therefore, by his miserable delusion, he had now entered a citywhere even his name was unknown, faithful to his frantic project ofopposing himself, as a helpless, solitary man, against the people andgovernment of an Empire. During his term of slavery, regardless of hisadvanced years, he had arranged a series of projects, the gradualexecution of which would have demanded the advantages of a long andvigorous life. He no more desired, as in his former attempt atAlexandria, to precipitate at all hazards the success of his designs.He was now prepared to watch, wait, plot, and contrive for years onyears; he was resigned to be contented with the poorest and slowestadvancement--to be encouraged by the smallest prospect of ultimatetriumph. Acting under this determination, he started his project bydevoting all that remained of his enfeebled energies to cautiouslyinforming himself, by every means in his power, of the private,political, and religious sentiments of all men of influence in Rome.Wherever there was a popular assemblage, he attended it to gather thescandalous gossip of the day; wherever there was a chance ofoverhearing a private conversation, he contrived to listen to itunobserved. About the doors of taverns and the haunts of dischargedservants he lurked noiseless as a shadow, attentive alike to thecareless revelations of intoxication or the scurrility of malignantslaves. Day after day passed on, and still saw him devoted to hisoccupation (which, servile as it was in itself, was to his eyesennobled by its lofty end), until at the expiration of some months hefound himself in possession of a vague and inaccurate fund ofinformation, which he stored up as a priceless treasure in his mind.He next discovered the name and abode of every nobleman in Romesuspected even of the most careless attachment to the ancient form ofworship. He attended Christian churches, mastered the intricacies ofdifferent sects, and estimated the importance of contending schisms;gaining this collection of heterogeneous facts under the combineddisadvantages of poverty, solitude, and age; dependent for support onthe poorest public charities, and for shelter on the meanest publicasylums. Every conclusion that he drew from all he learned partook ofthe sanguine character of the fatal self-deception which had embitteredhis whole life. He believed that the dissensions which he saw ragingin the Church would speedily effect the destruction of Christianityitself; that, when such a period should arrive, the public mind wouldrequire but the guidance of some superior intellect to return to itsold religious predilections; and that to lay the foundation foreffecting in such a manner the desired revolution, it was necessary forhim--impossible though it might seem in his present degradedcondition--to gain access to the disaffected nobles of Rome, anddiscover the secret of acquiring such an influence over them as wouldenable him to infect them with his enthusiasm, and fire them with hisdetermination. Greater difficulties even than these had been overcomeby other men. Solitary individuals had, ere this, originatedrevolutions. The gods would favour him; his own cunning would protecthim. Yet a little more patience, a little more determination, and hemight still, after all his misfortunes, be assured of success.
It was about this period that he first heard, while pursuing hisinvestigations, of an obscure man who had suddenly arisen to undertakea reformation in the Christian Church, whose declared aim was to rescuethe new worship from that very degeneracy on the fatal progress ofwhich rested all his hopes of triumph. It was reported that this manhad been for some time devoted to his reforming labours, but that thedifficulties attendant on the task that he had appointed for himselfhad hitherto prevented him from attaining all the notoriety essentialto the satisfactory prosecution of his plans. On hearing this rumour,Ulpius immediately joined the few who attended the new orator'sdiscourses, and there heard enough to convince him that he listened tothe most determined zealot for Christianity in the city of Rome. Togain this man's confidence, to frustrate every effort that he mightmake in his new vocation, to ruin his credit with his hearers, and tothreaten his personal safety by betraying his inmost secrets to hispowerful enemies in the Church, were determinations instantly adoptedby the Pagan as duties demanded by the exigencies of his creed. Fromthat moment he seized every opportunity of favourably attracting thenew reformer's attention to himself, and, as the reader already knows,he was at length rewarded for his cunning and perseverance by beingreceived into the household of the charitable and unsuspicious Numerianas a pious convert to the Christianity of the early Church.
Once installed under Numerian's roof, the treacherous Pagan saw in theChristian's daughter an instrument admirably adapted, in hisunscrupulous hands, for forwarding his wild project of obtaining theear of a Roman of power and station who was disaffected to theestablished worship. Among the patricians of whose anti-Christianpredilections report had informed him, was Numerian's neighbour,Vetranio the senator. To such a man, renowned for his life of luxury, agirl so beautiful as Antonina would be a bribe rich enough to enablehim to extort any promise required as a reward for betraying her whileunder the protection of her father's house. In addition to thisadvantage to be drawn from her ruin, was the certainty that her losswould so affect Numerian as to render him, for a time at least,incapable of pursuing his labours in the cause of Christianity. Fixedthen in his detestable purpose, the ruthless priest patiently awaitedthe opportunity of commencing his machinations. Nor did he watch invain. The victim innocently fell into the very trap that he hadprepared for her when she first listened to the music of Vetranio'slute, and permitted her treacherous guardian to become the friend whoconcealed her disobedience from her father's ear. After that firstfatal step every day brought the projects of Ulpius nearer to success.The long-sought interview with the senator was at length obtained; theengagement imperatively demanded on the one side was, as we havealready related, carelessly accepted on the other; the day that was tobring success to the schemes of the betrayer, and degradation to thehonour of the betrayed, was appointed; and once more the cold heart ofthe fanatic warmed to the touch of joy. No doubts upon the validity ofhis engagement with Vetranio ever entered his mind. He never imaginedthat powerful senator could with perfect impunity deny him theimpracticable assistance he had demanded as his reward, and thrust himas an ignorant madman from his palace gates. Firmly and sincerely hebelieved that Vetranio was so satisfied with his readiness in panderingto his profligate designs, and so dazzled by the prospect of the glorywhich would attend success in the great enterprise, that he wouldgladly hold to the performance of his promise whenever it should berequired of him. In the meantime the work was begun. Numerian wasalready, through his agency, watched by the spies of a jealous andunscrupulous Church. Feuds, schisms, treacheries, and dissensionsmarched bravely onward through the Christian ranks. All thingscombined to make it certain that the time was near at hand when,through his exertions and the friendly senator's help, the restorationof Paganism might be assured.
With the widest diversity of pursuit and difference of design, therewas still a strange and mysterious analogy between the temporarypositions of Ulpius and Numerian. One was prepared to be a martyr forthe temple; the other to be a martyr for the Church. Both wereenthusiasts in an unwelcome cause; both had suffered more than a life'swonted share of affliction; and both were old, passing irretrievablyfrom their fading present on earth to the eternal future awaiting themin the unknown spheres beyond.
But here--with their position--the comparison between them ends. TheChristian's principle of action, drawn from the Divinity he served, waslove; the Pagan's, born of the superstition that was destroying him,was hate. The one laboured for mankind; the other for himself. Andthus the aspirations of Numerian, founded on the general good,nourished by offices of kindness, and nobly directed to a generous end,might lead him into indiscretion, but could never degrade hi
m intocrime--might trouble the serenity of his life, but could never deprivehim of the consolation of hope. While, on the contrary, the ambitionof Ulpius, originating in revenge and directed to destruction, exactedcruelty from his heart and duplicity from his mind; and, as the rewardfor his service, mocked him alternately throughout his whole life withdelusion and despair.