A nation’s history was almost told by these figures, to which Hyacintha did not even raise her eyes, so engrossed was she with the first sight of the temple of her dreams.
At last they were within the sacred building, where in the gloom and shadows the sacred light of the fire upon the altar shone like a star of glory.
Hyacintha had eyes for nothing but that light—that clear lambent light—shed by the sacred and never-to-be-extinguished fire, which had been brought down from high heaven and preserved here by those consecrated and set apart for the office.
The child’s heart thrilled with a sense of awe, and a gentle sigh escaped her. She clasped her hands, and looking up to the opening in the temple roof to the clear azure sky, her eyes filled with tears, which one by one fell upon her bare hands and arms in crystal drops.
The Vestal Maxima noticed this unwonted expression of feeling, and her thoughts went back to the day—now thirty years ago—when she, too, had entered the temple for the first time to be presented to the priest.
The prime of youth was over for her; the “sacred fire” had grown dim. The heavenly light and warmth had, she knew, waned. At her noble heart there was an aching void, and there was a hungry yearning for something—for some one—which was not satisfied. As she looked at the little earnest enthusiast by her side, she wondered if all the long years of temple service which stretched before her would be as barren of real satisfaction and true peace as hers had been.
Terentia Rufilla saw at a glance that Hyacintha, the daughter of Severus, was not of the ordinary type of the maidens over whom she held rule. Many of them came with no serious thought of responsibility; many with positive distaste, and simply because the vocation was chosen for them by their parents, and they had no choice in the matter.
It was confessedly a grand office, this of the vestal virgins, in the eyes of the world. To be a vestal was to bear about the imprimatur of patrician birth and noble ancestry. No plebeian might ever wear that snow-white stole, or aspire to the high office of a Vestal Maxima.
This pride of rank and personal aggrandisement were often the distinguishing characteristics of the vestal virgins. As they passed through the public streets, the way was cleared for them by attendant lictors. If by chance they met a slave on his way to the arena or the fire, and he prayed for mercy, the vestal could procure his pardon. Her word was enough, and the life of the criminal was spared!
All these things conspired to feed the self-importance and vanity of many women; and then there was their palatial atrium, and their own chambers, which were furnished with all things befitting the high rank of Roman ladies.