Perpetua. A Tale of Nimes in A.D. 213

CHAPTER VII
OBLATIONS

The house into which the widow lady and her daughter entered was that used by the Christians of Nemausus as their church. A passage led into the atrium, a quadrangular court in the midst of the house into which most of the rooms opened, and in the center of which was a small basin of water. On the marble breasting of this tank stood, in a heathen household, the altar to the lares et penates, the tutelary gods of the dwelling. This court was open above for the admission of light and air, and to allow the smoke to escape. Originally this had been the central chamber of the Roman house, but eventually it became a court. It was the focus of family life, and the altar in it represented the primitive family hearth in times before civilization had developed the house out of the cabin.

Whoever entered a pagan household was expected, as token of respect, to strew a few grains of incense on the ever-burning hearth, or to dip his fingers in the water basin and flip a few drops over the images. But in a Christian household no such altar and images of gods were to be found. A Christian gave great offense by refusing to comply with the generally received customs, and his disregard on this point of etiquette was held to be as indicative of boorishness and lack of graceful courtesy, as would be the conduct nowadays of a man who walked into a drawing-room wearing his hat.

Immediately opposite the entrance into the atrium, on the further side of the tank, and beyond the altar to the lares et penates, elevated above the floor of the court by two or three white-marble steps, was a semicircular chamber, with elaborate mosaic floor, and the walls richly painted. This was the tablinum. The paintings represented scenes from heathen mythology in such houses as belonged to pagans, but in the dwelling of Baudillas, the deacon, the pictures that had originally decorated it had been plastered over, and upon this coating green vines had been somewhat rudely drawn, with birds of various descriptions playing among the foliage and pecking at the grapes.

Around the wall were seats; and here, in a pagan house, the master received his guests. His seat was at the extremity of the apse, and was of white marble. When such a house was employed for Christian worship, the clergy occupied the seat against the wall and the bishop that of the master in the center. In the chord of the apse above the steps stood the altar, now no longer smoking nor dedicated to the Lar pater, but devoted to Him who is the Father of Spirits. But this altar was in itself different wholly from that which had stood by the water tank. Instead of being a block of marble, with a hearth on top, it consisted of a table on three, sometimes four, bronze legs, the slab sometimes of stone, more generally of wood.¹

The tablinum was shut off from the hall or court, except when used for the reception of guests, by rich curtains running on rings upon a rod. These curtains were drawn back or forward during the celebration of the liturgy, and this has continued to form a portion of the furniture of an Oriental church, whether Greek, Armenian, or Syrian.

In like manner the tablinum, with its conch-shape termination, gave the type to the absidal chancel, so general everywhere except in England.

On the right side of the court was the triclinium or dining-room, and this was employed by the early Christians for their love-feasts.

Owing to the protection extended by law to the colleges or clubs, the Christians sought to screen themselves from persecution by representing themselves as forming one of these clubs, and affecting their usages. Even on their tombstones they so designated themselves, “Cultores Dei,” and they were able to carry on their worship under the appearance of frequenting guild meetings. One of the notable features of such secular or semi-religious societies was the convivial supper for the members, attended by all. The Church adopted this supper, called it Agape, but of course gave to it a special signification. It was made to be a symbol of that unity among Christians which was supposed to exist between all members. The supper was also a convenient means whereby the rich could contribute to the necessities of the poor, and was regarded as a fulfilment of the Lord’s command: “When thou makest a feast, call the poor, the maimed, the lame, the blind.”

Already, in the third century, the believers who belonged to the superior classes had withdrawn from them, and alleged as their excuse the command: “When thou makest a dinner or a supper, call not thy friends, nor thy brethren, neither thy kinsman, nor thy rich neighbors.” Their actual reason was, however, distaste for associating with such as belonged to the lower orders, and from being present at scenes that were not always edifying.

The house of Baudillas had once been of consequence, and his family one of position; but that had been in the early days of the colony before the indigenous Gaulish nobility had been ousted from every place of authority, and the means for enriching themselves had been drawn away by the greed of the conquerors. The quarter of the town in which was his mansion had declined in respectability. Many of the houses of the old Volcian gentry had been sold and converted into lodgings for artisans. In this case the ancestral dwelling remained in the possession of the last representative of the family, but it was out of repair, and the owner was poor.

“I hardly know what should be done,” said Baudillas to himself, rather than to the ladies he was escorting. “The Church has been enjoined to assemble this afternoon for the Agape, and our bishop, Castor, is absent at this critical juncture. He has gone on a pastoral round, taking advantage of the floods to visit, in boat, some of the outlying hamlets and villages where there are believers. It seems to me hardly prudent for us to assemble when there is such agitation of spirits. Ladies, allow my house-keeper – she was my nurse – to conduct you where you can repose after the fatigue and distress you have undergone. She will provide dry garments for Perpetua, and hot water for her feet. The baths are the proper place, but it would be dangerous for her to adventure herself in public.”

Baudillas paced the court in anxiety of mind. He did not know what course to adopt. He was not a man of initiative. He was devoted to his duty and discharged whatever he was commanded to do with punctilious nicety; but he was thrown into helpless incapacity when undirected by a superior mind, or not controlled by a dominant will.

It would be difficult to communicate with the brethren. He had but one male servant, Pedo, who had a stiff hip-joint. He could not send him round to give notice of a postponement, and Baudillas was not the man to take such a step without orders. Probably, said he to himself, the commotion would abate before evening. There would be much feasting in the town that afternoon. The Cultores Nemausi had their club dinner; and the families of Volcian descent made it a point of honor to entertain on that day, dedicated to their Gallic founder and hero-god. It was precisely for this reason that the Agape had been appointed to be celebrated on the first of March. When all the lower town was holding debauch, the harmless reunion of the Christians would pass unregarded.

“What shall I do?” said the deacon. “Castor, our bishop, should not have absented himself at such a time, but then how could he have foreseen what has taken place? I will take care that the ladies be provided with whatever they may need, and then will sally forth and ascertain what temper our fellow-citizens are in. We southerners blaze up like a fire of straw, and as soon does our flame expire. If I meet some of the brethren, I will consult with them what is to be done. As it is we have postponed the Agape till set of sun, when we deemed that all the town would be indoors merry-making.”

An hour later, a slave of the lady Quincta arrived to say that her house was watched, and that the servants did not deem it advisable to leave with the litter, lest some attempt should be made to track them to the house where their mistress was concealed, in which case the rabble might even try to get possession of Perpetua.

Quincta was greatly alarmed at the tidings, and bade that the litter should on no account be sent. When those watching her door had been withdrawn, then a faithful slave was to announce the fact, and she and her daughter would steal home afoot. Thus passed the time, with anxiety contracting the hearts of all. Quincta was a timid woman, Baudillas, as already said, irresolute. In the afternoon, gifts began to arrive for the love-feast. Slaves brought hampers of bread, quails, field-fare stuffed with truffles; brown pots containing honey were also deposited by them in the passage. Others brought branches of dried raisins, apples, eggs, flasks of oil, and bouquets of spring flowers.²

Baudillas was relieved when the stream of oblations began to flow in, as it decided for him the matter of the Agape. It must take place – it could not be deferred, as some of the food sent was perishable.

A slave arrived laden with an amphora– a red earthenware bottle, pointed below, so that to maintain it upright it had to be planted in sand or ashes. On the side was a seal with the sacred symbol, showing that it contained wine set apart for religious usage.³

“Sir!” said the bearer, “happy is the man who tastes of this wine from Ambrussum (near Lunel).⁴ It is of the color of amber, it is old, and runs like oil. The heat of the Provence sun is gathered and stored in it, to break forth and glow in the veins, to mount into and fire the brain, and to make and kindle a furnace in the heart.”

“It shall be used with discretion, Tarsius,” said the deacon.

“By Bacchus! – I ask your pardon, deacon! Old habits are not easily laid aside. What was I saying? Oh – you remarked something about discretion. For my part I consider that my master has exercised none in sending this to your love-feast. Bah! it is casting pearls before swine to pour out this precious essence into the cups of such a beggarly, vagabond set as assemble here. The quality folk are becoming weary of these banquets and hold aloof.”

“That is sadly true,” observed Baudillas, “and the effect of this withdrawal is that it aggravates the difficulties of myself and my brethren.”

“The choice liquor is thrown away on such as you have as congregation. How can they relish the Ambrussian if they have not had their palates educated to know good liquor from bad? On my faith as a Christian! were I master instead of slave, I would send you the wine of the year when Sosius Falco and Julius Clarus were consuls – then the grapes mildewed in the bunch, and the wine is naught but vinegar, no color, no bouquet, no substance. Gentlemen and slaves can’t drink it. But I reckon that my master thinks to condone his absence by sending one of his choicest flasks.”

“You are somewhat free of tongue, Tarsius.”

“I am a frank man though enslaved. Thoughts are free, and my tongue is not enchained. I shall attend the banquet this evening. The master and mistress remain at home that we, believing members of the family, may be present at the Agape. I will trouble you, when pouring out the Ambrussian wine, not to forget that I had to sweat under the flask, to your house.”

“I think, Tarsius, I cannot do better than place the bottle under your charge. You know its value, and the force of the wine. Distribute as you see fit.”

“Aye; I know who will appreciate it, and who are unworthy of a drop. I accept the responsibility. You do wisely, deacon, in trusting me – a knowing one,” and he slapped his breast and pursed up his mouth.

Then another servant appeared with a basket.

“Here, sir!” said he to the deacon. “I bring you honey-cakes. The lady Lampridia sends them. She is infirm and unable to leave her house, but she would fain do something for the poor, the almoners of Christ. She sends you these and also garments that she has made for children. She desires that you will distribute them among such parents as have occasion for them.”

Next came a man of equestrian rank, and drew the deacon aside.

“Where is Castor?” he inquired in an agitated voice. “I cannot appear this evening. The whole town is in effervescence. Inquisition may be made for us Christians. There will be a tumult. When they persecute you in one city – fly to another! That is the divine command, and I shall obey it to the letter. I have sent forward servants and mules – and shall escape with my wife and children to my villa.”

“The bishop is away. He will be back this evening. I have not known what to do, whether or not to postpone the Agape to another day.”

“No harm will come of it if you hold the feast. None will attend save the poor and such as are on the books of the Church, the widows and those to whom a good meal is a boon. The authorities will not trouble themselves about the like of them. I don’t relish the aspect of affairs, and shall be off before the storm breaks.” Then the knight added hastily, “Here is money, distribute it, and bid the recipients pray for me and mine, that no harm befall us.”

Baudillas saw that the man was quaking with apprehension. “Verily,” said he to himself, “It is a true saying, ‘How hardly shall they that have riches enter into the kingdom of Heaven.’ I wonder now, whether I have acted judiciously in entrusting that old Ambrussian to Tarsius? If the bishop had been here, I could have consulted him.”

So a weak, but good man, may even do a thing fraught with greater mischief than can be done with evil intent by an adversary.

CHAPTER VIII
THE VOICE AT MIDNIGHT

As soon as dusk began to veil the sky, Christians in parties of three and four came to the house of Baudillas. They belonged for the most part to the lowest classes. None were admitted till they had given the pass-word.

An ostiarius or porter kept the door, and as each tapped, he said in Greek: “Beloved, let us love one another.” Whereupon the applicant for admission replied in the same tongue, “For love is of God.”

Owing to the Greek element in the province, large at Massilia, Arelate and Narbo, but not less considerable at Nemausus, the Hellenic tongue, though not generally spoken, was more or less comprehended by all in the towns. The Scriptures were read in Greek; there was, as yet, no Italic version, and the prayers were recited, sometimes in Greek, sometimes in Latin. In preaching, the bishops and presbyters employed the vernacular – this was a conglomerate of many tongues and was in incessant decomposition, flux, and recomposition. It was different in every town, and varied from year to year.

In the sub-apostolic church it was customary for a banquet to be held in commemoration of the Paschal Supper, early in the afternoon, lasting all night, previous to the celebration of the new Eucharistic rite, which took place at dawn. The night was spent in hymn singing, in discourses, and in prayer.

But even in the Apostolic age, as we learn from St. Paul’s first Epistle to the Corinthians, great abuses had manifested themselves, and very speedily a change was made. The Agape was dissociated from the Eucharist and was relegated to the evening after the celebration of the Sacrament. It was not abolished altogether, because it was a symbol of unity, and because, when under control, it was unobjectionable. Moreover, as already intimated, it served a convenient purpose to the Christians by making their meetings resemble those of the benefit clubs that were under legal protection.

It may be conjectured that where the bulk of the members were newly converted, and were ignorant, there would speedily manifest itself among them a tendency to revert to their pagan customs, and a revolt against the restraints of Christian sobriety. And this actually took place, causing much embarrassment to the clergy, and giving some handle to the heathen to deride these meetings as scenes of gross disorder.

No sooner did persecution cease, and the reason for holding love-feasts no longer held, than they were everywhere put down and by the end of the fourth century had absolutely ceased.

In the third century Tertullian, in his “Apology” addressed to the heathen, gave a rose-colored description of the institution; but in his “Treatise on Fasting” addressed to the faithful, he was constrained to admit that it was a nursery of abuses. But this, indeed, common sense and a knowledge of human nature would lead us to suspect.

We are prone to imagine that the first ages of the Church saw only saints within the fold, and sinners without. But we have only to read the writings of the early Fathers to see that this was not the case. If we consider our mission stations at the present day, and consult our evangelists among the heathen, we shall discover that the newly converted on entering the Church, bring with them much of their past: their prejudices, their superstitions, their ignorance, and their passions. The most vigilant care has to be exercised in watching against relapse in the individual, and deterioration of the general tone. The converts in the first ages were not made of other flesh and blood than those now introduced into the sheepfold, and the difficulties now encountered by missionaries beset the first pastors of Christ fifteen and sixteen hundred years ago.

In an honest attempt to portray the condition of the Church at the opening of the third century, we must describe things as they were, and not as we should wish them to have been.

The atrium or courtyard was not lighted; there was sufficient illumination from above. The curtains of the tablinum were close drawn, as the reception chamber was not to be put in requisition that night. The triclinium or dining-room that received light through the doorway only would have been dark had not a lamp or two been kindled there.

About thirty persons were present, male and female, but no children. Some were slaves from believing households; there were a few freedmen. Some were poor artisans, weavers, bakers, and men who sold charcoal, a porter, and a besom-maker.

Quincta and Perpetua were the highest in social position of those present. A second deacon, named Marcianus, was there, a handsome man, peremptory in manner, quick in movement; in every point a contrast with his timid, hesitating brother in the ministry.

The bishop had not arrived when the Agape began, and the blessing was spoken by an aged and feeble presbyter. The tables were spread with viands, and the deacons and deaconesses ministered to those who reclined at them. There was not room for all in the dining-chamber, and a table and couches had been spread in the court for such as could not be accommodated within.

The proceedings were marked by the strictest propriety, the eating and drinking were in moderation, conversation was edifying, and general harmony prevailed. During the meal, a knocking was heard at the outer gate, and when the porter asked the name of the applicant for admission, the password was given, and he was admitted.

All rose to receive Castor, the bishop.

“Recline again, my friends,” said he. “I have come from the house of Flavillus, the timber merchant on the stagna; his wife’s mother has endured that which is human. She sleeps, and her spirit is with the Lord. I have been delayed. I was doing the work of my Master. One, a stranger to the faith, questioned me, and I tarried to converse with him, and disclose to his dark mind some ray of light. If the supper be ended, I will offer thanks.”

Then, standing at one of the tables, he made prayer to God, and thanked Him who had caused the corn to spring out of the earth, and had gathered the many grains into one bread; who had watered the vine from heaven, and had flushed the several grapes with generous juice, uniting the many into one bunch.

The thanksgiving ended, lights were introduced in considerable numbers. There is no twilight in southern climes; when night falls, it falls darkly. Now all who had eaten went to the impluvium, dipped their hands, and washed their lips, then wiped them on towels held by the deaconesses.

The tables were quickly removed, and the benches ranged in the triclinium, so as to accommodate all.

No sooner was the whole congregation assembled, than the president, Castor, invited all such as had a psalm, an interpretation, a vision, or an edifying narrative, to relate or recite it.

Then up started a little man, who held a lyre.

“Sir,” said he, “I have composed a poem in honor of Andeolus, the martyr of Gentibus.”

He struck a chord on his instrument, and sang. The composition was devoid of poetry, the meter halting, the Latin full of provincialisms, and the place of poetic imagery was filled with extravagances of expression. When he had concluded, he perhaps inadvertently wound up with the words, “Generous audience, grant me your applause!” – the usual method of conclusion on the stage.

And the request met with favor – hands were clapped.

Then Bishop Castor rose, and with a grave face, said:

“We have listened to Lartius Garrulus with interest and with edification. It is well to glorify the memories of the holy ones who have witnessed a good confession, who have fought the fight, and have shed their blood as a testimony. But a poet in treating of such subjects, should restrain his too exuberant fancy, and not assert as facts matters of mere conjecture, nor should he use expressions that, though perhaps endurable in poetry, cannot be addressed to the martyrs in sober prose. The ignorant are too ready to employ words without considering their meaning with nicety, and to quote poets as licensing them to do that which their pastors would forbid.”

“But,” said the deacon Marcianus, “what if this be uttered by inspiration?”

“The Spirit of God,” answered Castor, “never inspires the mind to import into religion anything that is not true.” Turning round, he said: “I call on Turgellius to interpret a portion of the Epistle of the Blessed Paul, the Apostle to the Romans, translating it into the vulgar tongue, as there be those present who comprehend Greek with difficulty.”

This done, one rose, and said:

“Sir, suffer me to disclose a revelation. I was asleep on my bed, three nights agone, and I had a dream, or vision, from on high. I beheld a snow-white flock pasturing on a mountain; there was abundance of herbage, and the sky was serene. The shepherd stood regarding them, leaning on his staff, and the watch-dog slept at his feet in the grass. Then, suddenly, the heavens became obscured, lightning flashed, thunder rolled: the flock was terrified and scattered. Thereupon came wolves, leaping among the sheep, and rending them; and I beheld now that some which I had taken to be sheep, cast their skins, and disclosed themselves to be ravening beasts. What may be signified by the vision, I know not, but I greatly fear that it portends an evil time to the Church.”

“That is like enough,” said Baudillas, “after what has occurred this day. If the bishop has not heard, I will relate all to him in order.”

“I have been informed of everything,” said Castor.

“It is well that there should be a sifting of the wheat from the chaff,” said Marcianus. “Too long have we had wolves masquerading among us clothed in sheepskins. See!” He threw back his mantle, and extended his hand. “On my way hither, I passed by the fountain of Nemausus, and none were there. Then my soul was wrath within me at the idolatry and worship of devils that goes on in the temple and about the basin. So I took up a stone, and I climbed upon the pedestal, and I beat till I had broken this off.” Then he rolled an alabaster sculptured head on the floor. With a contemptuous kick, he sent it spinning. “This is their god Nemausus. A deacon of Christ’s Church, with a bit of stone, is able to break his neck, and carry off his head!” Then he laughed. But none laughed in response.

A thrill of dismay ran through the assembly.

A woman fell into hysterics and screamed. Some called out that she prophesied, others that she spake with tongues. Baudillas appeased the excitement. “The tongue she speaks,” said he, “is the Ligurian of the Cebennæ, and all she says is that she wishes she were safe with her children in the mountains, and had never come into the town. Now, indeed, it seems that the evil days foreseen by Pantilius Narbo will come on the Church. The people might forget that the god was robbed of his victim, but not that his image has been defaced.”

“Well done, I say!” shouted a man, thrusting himself forward. His face was inflamed and his eyes dazed. “I – I, Tarsius the slave, and Marcianus, the deacon, are the only Christians with any pluck about us. Cowards that ye all are, quaking at the moment of danger – hares, ye are, hares afraid of the whistling of the wind in the grass. I – I – ”

“Remove that man,” said the bishop. “He has been drinking.”

“I – I drinking. I have supped the precious Ambrussian wine, too good for the rag-tag. Dost think I would pour out to him who binds brooms? Or to her – a washerwoman from the mountains? Ambrussian wine for such as appreciate good things – gold as amber, thick as oil, sweet as honey.”

“Remove him,” said the bishop firmly.

Hands were laid on the fellow.

Then turning to Marcianus, Castor said sternly, “You have acted inconsiderately and wrongly, against the decrees of the Fathers.”

“Aye! – of men who were timorous, and forbade others doing that from which they shrank themselves. I have not so learned Christ.”

“Thou thyself mayest be strong,” said Castor, “but thine act will bring the tempest upon the Church, and it will fall upon the weak and young.”

“Such as cannot stand against the storm are good for naught,” said Marcianus. “But the storm is none of my brewing. It had arisen before I intervened. The escape of the lady Perpetua from the fountain – that was the beginning, I have but added the final stroke.”

“Thou hast acted very wrongly,” said the bishop. “May God, the God of all comfort, strengthen us to stand in the evil day. In very truth, the powers of darkness will combine against the Church. The lightnings will indeed flash, the sheep be scattered, and those revealed whom we have esteemed to be true disciples of Christ, but who are far from Him in heart. Many that are first shall be last, and the last first. It is ever so in the Kingdom of Christ – hark!”

Suddenly a strange, a terrible sound was heard – a loud, hoarse note, like a blast blown through a triton’s shell, but far louder; it seemed to pass in the air over the house, and set the tiles quivering. Every wall vibrated to it, and every heart thrilled as well. Men rushed into the atrium and looked up at the night sky. Stars twinkled. Nothing extraordinary was visible. But those who looked expected to see some fire-breathing monster flying athwart the dark, heavenly vault, braying; and others again cried out that this was the trumpet of the archangel, and that the end of all things was come.

Then said Marcianus, “It is the voice of the devil Nemausus! He has thus shouted before.”