A winter in retirement

by Hannah Blaney Washburn

Christian, blessings without measure

Wait thee in that world of love.

“There is more time, yet, dear brother,” said Charles, and Herbert continued:

“In a splendid apartment, adorned with all the luxury of luxurious Rome, and showing, by its magnificence, that it was the abode of a patrician of the first order, was seated at a table a Roman citizen, evidently of high rank. Rich wines were before him, and many and deep were his libations while engaged in earnest conversation with a young noble, who was walking the apartment with an anxious hurried step. “Nay, my Flavius,” said the one who was seated, “you are too zealous in this matter. I marvel much at the change in your appearance; but a short time ago you were the life of our society; but now, by Bacchus, how you are altered; even this sparkling Falernian tempts you not, and your wit and brilliancy, which was the zest of our pleasure, is all vanished. Come, my friend, throw aside this gloom, I pray you, and, as for the young Curtius, we will see what can be done, we will see. He deserves punishment for adhering to his gloomy doctrine, though, for your sake, we will see what can be effected. Still, it is a labor of Hercules to attempt to change the purposes of our mighty Emperor when he has the pleasure of torturing one of these obstinate Christians in view.” “Do not talk of delay, noble Galba,” said the young man, “after witnessing the last scene between the Emperor and Curtius, are you not convinced no time is to be lost? Preparations are even now making for some exhibition on the morrow, and, I fear me, this heroic youth is to be the principal actor in a most cruel tragedy. Servius, you have much influence over this cruel Nero, will you not exert it to save this last descendant of an illustrious house? Will not our cheeks crimson with shame when we look upon those palaces, reared by his ancestors, when we pass the memorable spot, where the first Curtius devoted himself to his country? If we suffer this scion from such a glorious stock to perish thus? And, for what? Powers of heaven! Why has he not the same right to worship his God, as we have to bend before the shrine of Jupiter or Bacchus? He is a Roman citizen, and shielded by that name should be guarded by the laws of Rome, for he has committed no crime.” “No crime! Flavius, by the immortal Gods, you are beside yourself. It is well there is no one present to bear this report to Nero. Your life, my friend, were not worth a straw. No crime, did you say, to condemn our Deities? Speak lower, I pray you, our walls are not thick enough to conceal such a monstrous sentiment.” “Nay, Galba, this is trifling,” and a shade of deep vexation passed over the fine features of Flavius. “Will you use your power over the Emperor to save my friend, or have I overrated your friendship for me?” “You have overrated my influence with Nero. ’Tis true, he fears, but he also hates me, and, for the same cause, because he believes me a favorite with the soldiery, but, in this case, he will heed me little, I fear, for he knows he has the popular voice on his side, when he punishes these Christians, and, because he hates them with a hatred as deadly as can be cherished in the human breast.” “And what have they done to incur his hatred? Can it be on account of the conflagration in the city?” “No. For it is more than suspected that our imperial master himself caused those fires to be kindled. No, Flavius, the destruction of the whole city would not have planted in his selfish breast such a deep and malignant spite. I will tell you the whole story, for it was while you were in Britain the circumstance occurred, though I think you must have heard of the beautiful Valeria.” “I have. She was the favorite of the Emperor.” “Favorite is too cold a world, my Flavius. All the love and kindly feelings that ever found a place in the breast of the tyrant were lavished upon her. Her word was his law. Her slightest wish was gratified, and most nobly did she use her power. Was a petition for mercy offered to the Emperor, Valeria was the first to second it; was an heroic achievement to be rewarded, Valeria’s hand hastened to bestow the prize; her gentle influence hushed to repose the stormy and malignant passions rising in the breast of Nero, and Rome vainly exalted in the belief that their young ruler’s heart was filled with heaven’s own attribute, mercy, for it was reported at one time, when a warrant for the execution of a criminal was presented to him, for his signature, he shed tears, and wished he had never learned to write. Aye, this very tyrant, whom we now see surrounded by fawning parasites, and furiously sacrificing all who dare oppose or obstruct his vile inclinations, was then, or pretended to be, such an enemy to flattery, that he severely reprimanded the Senate for amending the wisdom of his measures saying, ‘Keep your approbation till I deserve it.’” “But, Valeria,” said the young noble, “how did she lose her hold upon his affections?” “Some of her relatives or friends, I believe, had become Christians, and persuaded her to hear the preaching of one of that sect, an extraordinary man, who pretended to be inspired by a Superior Being, and who was known by the appellation of the holy Paul. She was taught by him to believe that she was committing great wickedness by living with the Emperor, and secretly quitted the palace, leaving behind her all the costly gifts of the tyrant, and devoting herself to a life of prayer. From that moment the rage of the Emperor against this fanatical sect has known no bounds, and to avow one’s self a Christian is enough to draw down his fiercest indignation.” “And what has become of this female? How is it that she has not fallen a victim to this indignation?” “Her retreat has not been discovered, although every means has been employed, and, it is said, that Nero has frequently offered pardon and wealth to the victims of his hatred, if they would confess where she might be found, but in vain, for a spirit of determined obstinacy seems to be the pervading sentiment of these Galileans. Now, with this feeling of stern revenge which still rankles in his breast, what chance, think you, is there, that he will extend mercy to this young man?” “But,” said he, seeing the distress which overspread the countenance of Flavius, “my endeavors shall not be wanting. I will own to you, Flavius,” he continued, lowering his voice almost to a whisper, “I hate this inhuman tyrant, the blood of my ancestors boils within me when I reflect upon the degeneracy of Rome, and I have imagined that the statues of our forefathers frown upon us, as the empty pageants which please his low and vulgar mind pass our polluted streets. Are we indeed so base as to submit to the degradation of bending our knee, in servile adulation, before this mockery of royalty? Did he possess one redeeming quality, one noble virtue, we might, under that, shelter our pusillanimity, but, by the shade of Brutus, we have nought to excuse us in our mean endurance of his vile caprices. But a few weeks have passed since our venerable Senators, even in that chamber, rendered sacred by the associations, hallowed in the heart of every true Roman, were obliged to sanction the admittance of his favorite horse to the Consulship. By the memory of those most revered,” said the excited Roman, starting from his seat, “this shall not be borne!”

The countenance of the young Flavius had reflected the indignant emotions of the elder speaker, and the deep flush upon his cheek expressed his sense of the degradation of his country. “Servius Galba,” he said, in the same subdued, but earnest tone, “point but the way to relieve Rome of this disgrace, and I will be the first to follow it.” “Enough,” said Galba, “the path shall be opened; yes, by the guardian deities of our city, the despicable tyrant shall yet lick the dust he has polluted, but, my purpose is in embryo, and I had not thought to say so much, but with you, noble Flavius, the secret is safe, you shall know more in due time; perhaps the moment of our deliverance may be nearer than I thought.” “In the meantime,” said the young noble, “I may rely upon your intercession for my friend?” “You may,” said he, “I will see Nero without delay,” and Flavius left the apartment with an awakened hope for the deliverance of his friend, for he believed Nero would not dare resist the request of Servius Sulpicius Galba, the favorite of the powerful soldiery of Rome, and one of her most popular citizens. Quitting the splendid palace of the patrician, he passed hastily through the streets, until he arrived at the large and gloomy building whose walls enclosed the devoted young Christian, who had become endeared to him by his virtues, and by that strong tie which binds congenial hearts. Armed soldiers were stationed around, but no opposition was offered to the entrance of Lucius Flavius. Descending the stone staircase, and proceeding rapidly through the narrow passages, he arrived before the cell where he encountered a sentinel, who, with respect, opposed his farther progress. An order, he said, had been received from the Emperor, prohibiting all further intercourse with the prisoner. “That order, my friend, cannot refer to me. Come, my good fellow, allow me to enter for a few moments, and here is where withal to pass many a merry hour.” Half believing that the young Roman was exempted from the prohibition, and strongly tempted by the glittering bribe, the soldier, after some hesitation, withdrew the bolts, and permitted him to enter.

“Now, my little brother,” said Herbert, “I must call upon you for a display of self-denial, which you will, perhaps, think too great. Our mother’s business requires my absence for a few days; it is a pleasure to me to read the story with you, and if you will conclude to delay the interest you take in its progress until my return, we can then share it together; shall it be so?” It would be difficult to determine whose countenance was most overclouded, Susan’s or Charles’s. “Oh, certainly we will wait,” said Charles, “but I am so sorry, and, how long shall you be away, Herbert?” “Tomorrow is Saturday,” said Herbert. “I will endeavor to be at home on Wednesday, and you know, Charles, the Sabbath evening intervenes, when I should not read.” “Do not despair, dear Charles,” said his mother. “I think we may pass away the time profitably and pleasantly.” But notwithstanding this prediction, the cloud had not dispersed when they retired for the night.

The morning dawned, but not with its usual splendor. Dark and heavy clouds lowered around the horizon, and many were the signs foretelling a stormy day, but, as Herbert’s first stage was only about eight miles, the gloomy weather did not prevent his journey. Towards afternoon, the storm set in with violence, and every gloomy prognostic, so well known to those who live near the ocean, was verified. As evening drew on, Susan stood at a window, watching the wild motion of the waves, and listening to their uproar. “Are there not frequent shipwrecks upon this coast, dear aunt?” said she. “There has been but one within my recollection,” said Mrs. Wilson; “a vessel, manned principally, I believe, with seaman from Scotland, was driven from its course by a terrible storm, and dashed upon the rocks. The bodies of seven men were found upon the beach in the morning, and only one living being to lament the loss of his companions. Afterwards, five or six more were washed on shore, and they were all interred with respect and due solemnity in the public burying ground, the solitary survivor attending as chief mourner.”

Chapter IV

The sounding tempest roars, the foaming waves

Lash round the rugged coast; amid the howl