Jovinian: A Story of the Early Days of Papal Rome

The scheme proposed by Coecus met with general approbation. Jovinian had retained his seat, his eyes fixed on his manuscript, but attentively listening to all that was uttered. The words he heard, “If we cannot overcome, we can corrupt,” especially struck his ear; he was too well acquainted with the errors which had crept in among the assemblies of the Christians not to be sensible that even those who held the faith might be led astray: how much more easily might the ignorant idolaters be led to worship any objects presented to them! As he sat motionless in his place of concealment, yet more of the scheme was revealed; the characters of the very persons who were to be made its instruments were discussed. A feeling of horror and dismay crept over him. Could he by any means be enabled to counteract it? He resolved to take counsel of his aged friend, Gentianus. So strictly had he hitherto been watched that he knew full well the difficulties to be encountered in making his escape; should his uncle Gaius discover that he had been present he would guard him still more closely. He dared not move lest he might be seen; at present he was concealed from the assembled pontiffs by a pillar, but the slightest movement might betray him. At length the conclave broke up, and drawing their togas around them, the pontiffs retired. Jovinian, trembling at the thought of the dark scheme he had discovered, made his way back to his room. Helpless as he was, he felt unable to do anything to counteract the plans of the conspirators, yet it was at all events his duty to make them known to the leading Christians of Rome; but whom among them could he trust besides Amulius, and Gentianus and his family? The first, though a presbyter, and a faithful and earnest man, might not have the courage to denounce a person of power and influence like the pontiff Coecus, supported as he was not only by the members of his college, but by all the wealthy philosophers and idolaters in Rome. Amulius might even doubt the accuracy of his statements; Gentianus was far more likely to believe them, could he manage to communicate with him. Should, however, Gaius suspect that he had been present at the conference, he would be kept a far closer prisoner than before. Was Eros to be trusted? He could not have failed to discover that Jovinian had been absent from his room, – he might have informed Gaius of the fact. Though Eros had professed to be deeply interested in what he had heard at the assembly of the Christians, it was doubtful whether he had been really converted; even if he were so, the dread of the consequences to himself should his captive regain his liberty, might prevent him from conniving at his escape. Jovinian, therefore, felt it would be prudent not to trust him; and, eager as he was to get away, he endeavoured to appear reconciled to his lot. From principle as well as from disposition, anything like duplicity was especially hateful to him, but he was driven to practise it, as affording him the only prospect of escaping from the thraldom in which he was held. Gaius appeared to be completely deceived; he spoke more openly to his nephew than he had hitherto done, though at the same time he was too wary not to keep the same strict watch over him as at first. He now frequently took him out when he went abroad to visit the temples to give directions to the flamens and to advise them how to comport themselves in the perilous circumstances in which they were placed. One and all were alarmed at the information which constantly reached them of the emperor’s opposition to the ancient faith, and the support and patronage he afforded the Christians. Already numerous conversions had taken place among the patricians, as well as among persons of inferior rank; whole families who had hitherto appeared to be staunch idolaters now professed themselves Christians. They not only met together openly for worship in several parts of the city, but had already begun to erect several churches; while money contributed by the faithful for the support of widows and orphans and others in distress flowed into the coffers of their bishop. Wherever Gaius went the flamens met him with sad countenances; though after he had held conversation with them in private, they generally appeared to become more cheerful.

He was one day paying a domiciliary visit to the temple of Apollo, having entered by the door sacred to the flamens in the rear of the edifice. Gaius had a long conversation with the chief flamen while Jovinian was allowed to amuse himself with looking over some ancient manuscripts kept in a chest in the room in which they were sitting. The flamen listened attentively to the remarks of his superior.

“By the Immortals, we need not despair, Coecus guiding us!” he exclaimed; “whatever he proposes, he may depend on our carrying out to the letter.”

“Then listen, Flaccus,” said Gaius; “we can no longer hide from the people the progress made by the new faith, or that it is patronised by the emperor; but we may persuade them that the gods are grieved at the abandonment of their ancient worship; or should a pestilence occur, or an earthquake, or a storm of unusual violence, we may easily make them believe that the infliction has been sent as a punishment for their infidelity. Would that such would occur! it would help us greatly in our object. In the meantime, we can employ such means as are at our disposal. It would be well if we could make all the statues of the gods in Rome weep together, or roll their eyes, or groan in concert.”

“The thought is a bright one,” answered Flaccus; “by means of arrangements in the interior of our statue we can reach the head, and through the two small holes in the corners of the eyes press forth from a sponge a rivulet of water, if we so wish. I will then, from before the altar, announce the cause of the great Apollo’s grief, and urge his votaries to renewed devotion, and to withstand the pernicious teachings of the Christians.”

“The temple is already well filled, and the sooner we play the – I mean, the sooner the miracle is performed the better, for delays are dangerous,” said Gaius.

“We might perform it at once,” answered Flaccus; “but we require a boy of small size who can climb up into the head of the statue; and my own son, whom I can trust, is sick at home. The youth yonder, however, though somewhat big, might manage to climb up without much difficulty.” As he spoke he looked towards Jovinian. “You can confide in him that he will not betray us?”

“I am not certain on that point,” answered Gaius; and calling to his nephew he desired him to swear that he would not reveal what he was about to communicate.

“If lawful, I am ready to do whatever you desire,” answered Jovinian.

“Can it be otherwise, foolish boy, when I wish it?” exclaimed Gaius. “Know you not that I have the power to force you to do whatever I may require?”

“I will, at all events, promise not to repeat whatever you may think fit to say to me,” said Jovinian.

“I wish you, then, simply to play off a trick upon the ignorant people collected in the temple,” said Gaius. “See here: all you have to do is to climb into the head of the statue through the trap which the flamen Licinius Flaccus will show you, and to press a sponge into the hollows of the eyes till you have emptied the amphora which you will take up with you. Be not startled if you hear some deep groans close to your ears; they will be uttered by the flamens, and will serve to give more effect to the flowing of the tears.”

“Pardon me, but I cannot take part in such a device,” answered Jovinian. “I have given my promise not to repeat what you have told me; but obey you in this matter I cannot.”

Gaius, whose aim was to gain the affections of his nephew, restrained his rising anger, and turning to the flamen, observed, “You must find some other boy of smaller size, for my nephew is, I suspect, too big properly to perform the task.”

“I am unwilling to lose this opportunity of working on the minds of the people,” answered Flaccus; “I will, therefore, send for my son, or some other boy who can be trusted.”

He immediately went out. While he was absent, Gaius lectured his nephew; but Jovinian was firm, and even ventured to expostulate on the subject with Gaius, who, however, only laughed at him for his folly, as he called it. In a short time the flamen returned, bringing a short and slight lad, who was directed what to do. Two of the flamens remained behind, while the rest entered the temple. The boy was led to a trap-door at the back of the altar, while two flamens mounted to a gallery level with the head of the statue. Presently groans were heard, so deep and mournful that it seemed scarcely possible they could be uttered by a human being, while cries and shouts arose from the temple, and the words which reached Jovinian’s ears were, “The great god is weeping! Apollo mourns! Woe, woe to Rome!”

He was thankful when at length Gaius, taking his hand, led him from the temple. On their way through the streets they heard people talking of the wonderful miracle which had just been witnessed in the temple of Apollo.

“The god sheds tears at the thoughts of being driven ignominiously from the city where he has so long dwelt!” exclaimed some. “Did you hear how he groaned? Fearful! What will next happen? It is a wonder the great Jove and all the gods did not descend from their pedestals and drive these Nazarene infidels into the Tiber.”

“It would be a worthy deed, and well-pleasing to the Immortals, if you, who carry weapons, were to attack the wretches, and treat them as they deserve,” whispered Gaius to the crowd of idolaters among whom he was making his way. Just then a line of twelve lictors appeared carrying the fasces, making way for one of the consuls, who walked along with dignified pace on some official business.

“Silly people!” he remarked, as he heard the exclamations of the crowd; “you will, ere long, see the statues of the Nazarene saints weeping if you obstinately refuse to follow the faith our august emperor has adopted.”

He smiled as he saluted Gaius, and their eyes met; but the presence of the lictors restrained them, and they separated, going towards their respective homes. Gaius did not speak a word to Jovinian till they reached the college. “Go to your room: I will follow you there,” said the pontiff to his nephew, in a sterner tone than he was wont to use. Jovinian was prepared for a severe lecture. He prayed that he might have grace to act consistently with his profession. In a short time Gaius appeared, and having ordered Eros, who was at his post, to retire, he threw himself on the couch by the table on which Jovinian’s books were placed.

“Of what folly have you been guilty!” he exclaimed; “what induced you to refuse to take part in a harmless deceit, such as has been frequently practised on occasions of necessity, when it has been important to awaken the slumbering faith of the votaries of the gods? Know you not that it is one of our chief maxims that deceit of any sort is lawful when the result is likely to prove beneficial, and that evil may be done provided a good object is to be attained? You have been miserably taught if you do not understand this.”

“According to the precepts of the faith I hold, no deception can be practised and no evil done without offending a pure and a holy God, who looks upon all deceit as sinful, and cannot sanction the slightest approach to sin,” answered Jovinian, boldly. “I could not, without offending Him whom I serve, have assisted in the imposture practised on the ignorant multitude. I promised not to speak of what I heard, or I would tell the people of the trick played upon them, and thus win them to the worship of the one true God.”

“What is this I hear?” exclaimed Gaius; “I had hopes that you had been weaned from your folly, and would have been ready to follow the career I have marked out for you. Should I disown you and turn you out into the world, by what means can you support your miserable existence?”

“The Lord I desire to serve cares for those who love Him,” answered Jovinian, without hesitation. “I have no fear of what man can do to me. I speak with no disrespect to you, my uncle – I am ready to obey you in all things lawful.”

“You are a foolish and obstinate boy,” exclaimed Gaius. “I will, however, give you a further trial. Only do as I desire, and you may retain your Christian faith; but if you thwart my plans, I must use sterner measures than I have hitherto adopted. Perhaps ere long you will discover that I am not so much opposed to the faith of the Nazarenes as you now fancy.”

Gains rose, and leaving Jovinian to reflect on what he had said, returned to the hall, where the other pontiffs were assembled to discuss the subject which now occupied all their thoughts.

Chapter Seven.

The Escape

Jovinian’s position became excessively trying. He was more strictly watched than before; it was evident that Gaius had lost all confidence in him. Still he did not abandon the hope of escaping; he did not wish to commit Eros, who, should he connive at his escape, would be severely punished; he had, however, hopes that the mind of the Numidian was gradually opening to spiritual truth. Whenever Gaius was abroad, and Eros had no fear of being interrupted, he entered Jovinian’s room, and begged him to read from the wonderful book he possessed. This Jovinian gladly did, and the humble slave gradually began to comprehend the faith which his proud master rejected. Though Jovinian was convinced that Eros had become a true Christian, yet still he would not tempt him to assist in his escape. Eros had early become interested in his young captive; he was now deeply attached to him. He observed with an eye of affection that the confinement to which he was subjected was injuring his health. “He requires fresh air and exercise, and the society of those of like mind,” Eros said to himself. “I must persuade the pontiff to let him go out as before, or, if my petition is refused, I will run all risks, and give him his liberty. He has not asked me to set him free, because he believes I should be the sufferer; but, as he has given me the greatest blessing I can enjoy on earth, I am bound, in gratitude, to enable him to do what his heart desires.”

With these thoughts in his mind, Eros went to his master, and strongly urged that, unless the young Jovinian were allowed to go out and breathe the pure air, he would fall sick, and very likely die. His request was granted much more easily than he had expected.

“Take him forth, then,” answered Gaius; “but beware, slave, lest the youth escape your vigilance; you will be answerable with your life for his safe custody.”

“The life of the slave is in the hands of his master,” answered Eros. “The air is fresh and cool; a walk into the country will restore vigour to his limbs and the colour to his pale cheek.”

“See to it, and let me hear a better account of him,” observed the pontiff, as the slave left his presence.

“Joyful news I bring!” said Eros, as he entered the chamber; “we may set off without delay. Let me advise you not to leave your gospel behind, nor any article that you value.”

Jovinian did not enquire why Eros gave this advice, but gladly accompanied the slave into the open air.

“In what direction shall we go?” he asked.

“We will take the way at the foot of the Palatine, and along the banks of the Tiber,” answered Eros; “then round by the Aventine hill, and return home by the Flavian amphitheatre.”

“That seems a somewhat long circuit to make,” replied Jovinian.

“The fresh air will enable you to enjoy it, and possibly you may be induced to prolong your walk,” replied the Numidian. Every step they took Jovinian felt inclined to proceed farther and farther. Instead, however, of following the road along the bank of the river, Eros turned off to the left, and passing through the nearest gate of the city, struck directly across the country. They had gone on for some distance, when a female was seen approaching them. She stopped as she observed Jovinian. “Surely I know you!” she exclaimed, taking his hands, “though grown so much and become so manly. Have you forgotten Rufina?”

“No, indeed! never can I forget one who was ever so faithful to my beloved mother,” answered Jovinian: “but how happens it that we have thus met?”

“I have long been watching for you,” answered Rufina, in a low voice, drawing Jovinian aside. “There are some friends not far off who greatly desire to embrace you – one especially, by whom your mother Livia was greatly beloved: Eugenia, now the wife of the presbyter Severus – and should you desire to escape from the thraldom in which you are held, they will afford you a secure asylum where the pontiff Gaius can never find you. Fear not,” she added, as she observed Jovinian glance towards Eros; “the Numidian will not stop you. I have communicated with him, and promised to secure his safety. Though he may not accompany you, he can no longer willingly serve a heathen master, and the price of his freedom has been provided.”

“Can you assure me of this?” asked Jovinian. “Much as I desire to obtain my liberty, I would not risk the safety of Eros, now that he is a Christian; and terrible would be his punishment were Gaius to discover that he had willingly allowed me to escape.”

“I will speak to him, and his answer shall convince you that I am not mistaken,” said Rufina; and, advancing towards Eros, she told him what Jovinian had said, adding, “I will now bid you farewell.”

“I desire not to impede you from going whithersoever you wish, though grieved that I may not accompany you,” said Eros. “My prayer is that we shall soon meet again, and that I may serve you as a freedman; and I rejoice to know that no longer as a slave shall I be compelled to act the guard and spy upon you. Farewell, Jovinian: Rufina forbids me to follow your footsteps, or I would thankfully accompany you. But do not be alarmed about my safety; she has provided a refuge where I can remain concealed, for I would avoid the enmity of Gaius, – he is aware that I know too many of the secrets of the college to allow me to retain my liberty, or even my life, could he get me into his power.”

Jovinian, satisfied on hearing that Eros was cared for, followed Rufina, who hastily led him along over the uncultivated country, which even in her palmiest days surrounded the city, till they reached one of the entrances to those subterranean labyrinths which have already been described. Jovinian followed her without hesitation; he had been well acquainted with them in his younger days, when he had dwelt in concealment with his mother and many other Christians. A well-trimmed lamp, which Rufina found within, enabled her to guide him through the intricate turnings of the labyrinth. Although several years had elapsed since he had entered them, he recognised, as they went along, many of the tombs of those who had departed in the faith. She stopped suddenly before one of them; he read the inscription on it. “Livia, the well-beloved! She rests in Christ.” The symbol above it was a dove, with an anchor carved on its breast. He gazed at it earnestly, and knew at once that it indicated his mother’s tomb.

“They brought her here to rest in peace, as she desired. And may I ever possess that sure and certain hope, the anchor of the soul, which enabled her to endure without wavering the storms and trials of life,” he mused.

Rufina stopped to throw a light on the slab, unwilling to interrupt his meditations, and remained without speaking. At length she observed, “We must hurry on, or the oil in the lamp may be exhausted before we reach our destination.”

They continued their course, proceeding along several galleries, – now descending some flights of steps, now ascending others, – till they reached a slab of stone, which resembled many they had passed, let into the wall, with rude inscriptions on them. Rufina knocked three times on the slab with a small mallet which she carried in her basket. Placing her ear against the slab, she listened, when, in the course of a few minutes, she heard the sound of a bolt being withdrawn, and the stone slowly swung back, allowing an opening sufficiently large for a person to pass through. Rufina taking the hand of her young companion, they entered, when the slab was immediately closed behind them. So rapid had been their movements, that to any one following them they would seem to have vanished. The janitor, a humble fossor, after saluting Rufina as a sister, led them on to the end of a long passage, when another door, of a similar character to the first, being opened for them to pass through, they found themselves, after advancing a short distance further, at the entrance of a small hall, from the roof of which hung a silver lamp, its rays casting a pale light on several persons assembled within. Jovinian hung back, not recognising those he saw before him; but no sooner had Rufina stated who he was than he heard himself greeted by friendly voices.

“Welcome, son of our well-beloved: thou hast been faithful as she was!” said the aged Gentianus, who was seated at a table in the centre of the hall. He drew Jovinian towards him, and placing his hand on the lad’s head, gazed into his face as he spoke. “We indeed rejoice that you have escaped from the power of the pontiff Gaius, and still more that you have resisted the temptations he offered you to depart from the faith. May the Holy Spirit ever strengthen and support you in the fiery trials you may be called on to go through. The mystery of iniquity doth already work, and who shall escape its toils? Those alone who cling fast to Christ. May you be among them, my son!”

Much more to the same effect was said by the patrician Gentianus, when his daughter Eugenia, and her husband Severus, advancing, welcomed Jovinian. His mother’s dearest friend was well disposed to treat him with affection. By her side was a young girl – her daughter Julia. As the maiden took his hand, Jovinian gazed at her with admiration. Her lovely features beamed with intelligence, and the light of Christian virtue. Firm in the faith, had the days of persecution returned she would have been ready to suffer martyrdom rather than renounce the Saviour who had bought her. Since their childhood Jovinian and Julia had not met, for Gentianus and his household had resided far away to the south, on the sunny slopes of the Apennines, where he and Severus had devoted themselves to the spreading of the truth among their heathen neighbours of all ranks. They had lately returned, called by important business, both secular and on matters relating to the Church; but, warned of the undying hostility of Coecus the pontiff, they had judged it prudent to take up their residence in their former abode, whence, undiscovered, they could communicate freely with their friends in the city, and afford an asylum to those Christian converts who might be compelled to escape from the malice of their idolatrous relatives. There was persecution even in those days; for though heathenism, as a system, was crumbling away, and few of the better educated or wealthy believed in the myths of the gods of Olympus, yet many clung to the ancient faith, or rather to its form, simply because it was ancient, and their ancestors were supposed to have believed in it. These persons in most instances treated with supreme contempt, and often with great cruelty, any of their relatives or dependents who openly professed a belief in Christ, refusing to have any transactions with them, and endeavouring to ruin or drive them into exile. Still more terrible were the penalties inflicted by the sacerdotal orders on any of their number who, abandoning idolatry, embraced the truth. If unable to escape from Rome, the dagger or poison too generally overtook them. Their safest place of refuge was in the subterranean galleries in which Jovinian now found himself. Thus it happened that he met numerous visitors at the abode of Gentianus. He had been conversing with his old friends, when he saw emerging into the light a lady of radiant beauty, habited in white, without the slightest ornament on her dress or head, a purple band round her forehead confining her close-cut hair. A second glance convinced him that he had seen her before, seated in a silver chariot on the day of the procession.

“Who is she?” he asked of Julia.

“She is the vestal Marcia,” was the answer. “Already the light of truth has entered the dark recesses of the temple; Marcia has received it, and would escape from the thraldom in which she is held, but that she has a young sister, Coelia, also a vestal, who is yet undecided. Coelia has heard the Gospel, and imbibed many of its truths, but the shackles of superstition are still around her; and while she dreads the malignity of Coecus should he discover that her faith in the false goddess has been shaken, she cannot resolve on flight. Marcia has come to seek counsel of Gentianus on the matter.”