Ardaric started up, and gazed fixedly on the countenance of Attila.
"Itis true!" said the monarch; "but this is not all, my friend. A fleet from Constantinople has wafted a new host to our noble enemy Ætius; nor is that all either," he added, raising his voice; "the armies of Marcian have crossed the Danube, and cut to pieces three of our tribes upon the Dacian frontier. Now, friends and counsellors, you know the whole. Tell me what shall be the course of Attila. Shall I go on, and lay Rome in ashes? Shall I pause here, and accept the tribute this priest is prepared to offer? Willing am I to do the first, willing would I be to do it, were I as sure that death would follow within a day as I am that there is a sun behind the clouds that now stretch over the sky."
"Hear what he has to offer, oh mighty king," said Ardaric; "then, if it be enough to satisfy the honour of Attila and save the glory of his warriors, accept the conditions. Let us retire from this pestilential land, and then--"
"What then?" demanded Attila, after waiting for a moment to let the chief conclude his sentence.
"Nay, I know not," replied Ardaric. "Then--let us do whatsoever Attila will."
A brief smile passed like lightning across the countenance of the king. "And then," he said, "and then--to Constantinople! and we shall see who is to live or die; who is to be a monarch, who a slave! The sword of a thousand battles against the broken spear of a weak Roman! Methinks the chances are unequal. Kings of great nations! Friends of Attila! There is no need to ask what are the terms this Roman bishop brings. They are known to me already--revealed to me in no vision, Ardaric, but told to my messenger at my demand. He offers a gift ten times in value all that the East and West have ever given, an annual tribute double that which we received from Theodosius. A future compensation for the dowry of Honoria, and the restitution of all captives and fugitives from the Hunnish nation! Is this sufficient?"
"It is! it is!" replied the chiefs; and a messenger was instantly despatched to summon Saint Leo to the tent of the barbarian monarch.
With the same calm dignity as before, the prelate presented himself before the council of Attila, and in his whole demeanour there was that grand, but simple and unassuming majesty, which commanded the reverence, the respect--almost the love--of men of a different nation, creed, language, manners, habits, thoughts. Attila himself rose at his approach, and, with an air not less in dignity, took him by the hand and placed him by his side.
The pontiff felt that he had touched the heart of the barbarian, and he was more moved at having done so than had the utmost ire of that mighty king--a king who feared no chastisement, acknowledged no laws but his own sense of right, bowed to no superior on earth or in heaven--than had his ire threatened the worst tortures that could be inflicted. Through the reverence with which he had inspired the barbarian monarch he saw, as through a long avenue, a number of sympathies, noble feelings, and generous sentiments, akin to those which dwelt in his own heart; while hope stood half way between, and beckoned to the kindred bands to unite for mighty purposes and grand endeavours. A moment's reflection, however, a moment's glance of the mental eye over the sad but solemn and oracular book of experience, showed him the falsehood of the siren's tale, and made him grieve that the brightest feelings of the human heart, mutually perceived and understood, and which, could they meet and co-operate, would work out the blessing and happiness of thousands, should ever thus be stopped by obstacles insignificant, and totally unseen by those who attempt to pass them, till all their efforts for unanimity and concord are overthrown.
Calmly and clearly, in answer to the questions of the king, he recapitulated the splendid, the degrading offers of Valentinian; and he added, "This, oh king, am I commanded to propose: this am I authorized to promise. The gift is already in thy camp; the tribute shall soon follow; and--as a mediator between thee and them who suffer, standing pure and impartial under the eye of God, who is of no nation and of no country, and respecteth no man for a name--I declare that thou hast now offered unto thee more than thou canst claim aright; more than equity could pronounce against them; more than justice can award unto thy claim. But when unto all this is added the great triumph of clemency, the mighty privilege of showing mercy, the triumphant glory of sparing those thou couldst destroy; so help me Heaven, as I do believe that there is offered unto thee more than even thy conquering sword could win, more than thy highest ambition could desire, more than thy vastest efforts could attain! Is it more glorious to slaughter than to save? Is it more mighty to destroy than to spare? Is it a greater sign of power to cast down than to raise up? He that saves from the slayer is greater than the slayer; he that shields from the destroyer is victorious over the destroyer; and he that raises up does a deed which shall last long after he who casts down is forgotten! Spare then, oh Attila, spare the nations! and if in sparing them thou gainest a triumph over thyself, thou doest that which the noblest of thine enemies has never been able to do, and raisest to thyself the crowning trophy of thy fame, under which shall be written by the hand of history, 'None but Attila gained the victory over Attila!'"