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Such was the commencement in Italy of the anchorite or monkish system, which had long existed in the East, and which soon spread over the western part of Christendom.
Jovinian returned to the hut; and, desiring Largus to saddle the horses without delay, bade farewell to their host.
“You will come back and join us?” said the anchorite, not at all aware of the impression made on Jovinian’s mind.
“Not until I find that the system you are pursuing is according to God’s way, and that I can thereby promote His honour and glory,” was the answer.
“Alas, alas!” exclaimed the anchorite, as Jovinian and his attendant rode off; “you will never gain heaven if you thus refuse our way of seeking it.”
Jovinian made no reply; arguments were useless with one who appeared little better than a madman.
Chapter Seventeen.
The Meeting
As Jovinian and his attendant proceeded over the rugged paths, they naturally looked out somewhat anxiously to reaching their journey’s end in safety.
For several days they were compelled to put up at the huts of the mountaineers, and twice to seek shelter in caverns which it was evident had been used by other wayfarers. They were now travelling over some of the Cottian Alps. Here the mountains, broken by precipices, amid which they had to wind their way, rose on every side – the rocky bulwarks of those secluded valleys towards which they were directing their course. Here crag rose above crag, enormous masses of rock extending into the glens beneath – abysses of a depth which the eye could not penetrate. Innumerable springs of water gushed forth from the rocks, some uniting and forming torrents, which dashed foaming downwards into the hollows below. At length, surmounting a lofty ridge, they looked down upon a valley which presented scenery of the most beautiful description. So completely encircled was it by a rocky chain of mountains, that it appeared as if no rough winds could ever disturb its tranquillity. Sparkling fountains, issuing from the sides of the hills, made their way towards a bright stream which flowed at the bottom of the valley, irrigating the land in its course. The declivities were clothed with trees of every description, among which were numbers bearing fruit – the mulberry, the chestnut, the cherry, the walnut, and others. Cottages could be seen scattered about in every direction, showing that this favoured spot was thickly inhabited.
Here and there were dwellings of greater pretensions, which peeped forth from amid the groves. One edifice specially struck Jovinian: it had the form of a basilica such as those lately erected in Rome, and he had no doubt that it was used for Christian worship. No heathen temples were anywhere seen, although here and there a mass of ruins might have marked the spot where the shrine of an idol had stood. Jovinian’s heart beat more joyously than it had done for a long time. One of those residences, he was certain, must be the abode of Severus. Many months had passed since he last had heard from him, and a still longer period since he had been able to despatch a letter to his friend. Jovinian, therefore, was not expected; but his arrival would, he hoped, cause pleasure as well as surprise. The travellers, therefore, did not spend many moments in contemplating the enchanting scenery spread out before them, but, urging on their steeds, descended by a narrow pathway, leading from the heights they had gained through a deep gorge, which had to be passed before the valley could be entered. From the first peasant they met they inquired the way to the house of Severus.
“It is hard by the basilica which he has had erected for us,” was the answer; “and if Christians, as I know you to be, you will be welcomed as brethren, for so every one is received who comes in that character to his door.”
Already the shadows of the mountains were extending over the valley. They drew near a villa of elegant form, although not of costly materials; and Jovinian observed Severus walking to and fro on the terrace before the entrance. Throwing himself from his horse, Jovinian advanced towards his friend, who immediately recognised him, although he had grown into manhood since their separation.
Hurrying forward, Severus embraced him warmly. “We did not doubt your faithfulness, but we feared some accident had happened to you, since no letter has reached us for a year or more,” said Severus. “You will rejoice the hearts of my wife and child, who have been most anxious about you.”
Jovinian was soon in the presence of Eugenia and Julia – the latter blushing as she received his affectionate greeting.
“I have never had cause to regret coming here instead of remaining at Rome,” said Severus. “Although I hold that we are bound to bravely fight the good fight of faith against the world, the flesh, and the devil – being in the world, yet not of it – I should have proved of far less benefit to my fellow-creatures in Rome than, by God’s grace, I have been able to be here by faithfully preaching the pure Gospel, instructing the children, and advancing at the same time the temporal interests of the community. I have not confined myself to this valley alone, but have visited many others surrounding it. It is with gratitude to our Heavenly Father I am able to say that not a heathen temple remains within them, and that the people have mostly, if not altogether, abandoned all their idolatrous practices and superstitions; but still there is much work to be done, as there ever will be while the prince of this world has power over the children of men; and to that work, I trust, my beloved son, you will, from henceforth, devote yourself.” Such was Jovinian’s earnest desire.
It was with no small pleasure that he again met Eros, who greeted him with warm affection. The once ignorant slave had become the trusted overseer of Severus’ property, and at the same time an active promoter of the truth. There were two other persons of whom Jovinian wished to hear – Marcia and Coelia.
“They are both happily married, and are mothers. Marcia resides at the further end of this valley, and Coelia in the one beyond, where their husbands, greatly aided by them, minister to the spiritual wants of their neighbours,” was the answer.
Jovinian, who visited them, could scarcely recognise in the cheerful smiling matrons the once unhappy vestals.
Before long Jovinian became the husband of Julia; and he found in her an active helpmate in all his efforts for the good of the people among whom they had cast their lot.
Chapter Eighteen.
Jovinian revisits his Native City
Years passed by; Jovinian became a deacon and presbyter of the Church of the valleys, and, in conjunction with other faithful men, was the means of extending the blessings of the Gospel among the inhabitants of even the most remote districts. No sound of the tumults which agitated the larger portion of the western empire penetrated to these remote valleys. The news which came from Rome was unsatisfactory. Revolts and cruel warfare had occurred in various directions. Magnentius had assumed the imperial purple. The tide of war had extended westward, in the very neighbourhood of the valleys of the Cottian Alps. A battle had been fought, when, the usurper being defeated, Constantius became sole master of the Roman empire. In the council held at Milan he obtained the banishment of Athanasius of Alexandria, a bishop highly respected for his orthodoxy; and Arianism was once more in the ascendency. Christianity, by the accounts received, appeared to be spreading at Rome, but so corrupted by idolatry that in many respects it could scarcely be distinguished from the old faith. At length Julian became master of the Roman empire, and, for a short time, the heathen system was declared to be the religion of the state.
Many at Rome, and elsewhere, who had been supposed Christians, now openly resumed their idolatrous practices, proving the real character of their faith.
By the death of Julian – who was shortly after succeeded by Valentinian – Christianity once more obtained the support of a sovereign.
For many years Jovinian and Julia enjoyed uninterrupted happiness, and were blessed with a numerous family.
At length Severus and Eugenia, both advanced in years, were taken from them, their places being well filled by their daughter and her husband. Although contented with his lot, and knowing that he was of use in the position he filled, Jovinian had for long desired to re-visit Rome, and ascertain for himself the state of affairs in regard to the Church in that city. He hoped that he should find some faithful men with whom he could hold brotherly intercourse, and that he might return to the home of his adoption with fresh strength and knowledge. He had now a son who would be able to perform the duties he had taken upon himself; and Julia so ably ruled his household that he could leave his home for a period without detriment. Although she naturally felt some anxiety at the thoughts of his performing so long a journey, she did not attempt to alter his resolution, believing that he would thereby benefit those he was about to visit, and gain for himself spiritual strength.
Instead of travelling by land – the fatigues of which he was less able to endure than he had been on his former journey northward – he decided on proceeding to the nearest port at which he could embark. Even then he had many fatigues to endure, a mountainous region to traverse, and torrents to pass over. Under the providence of God, however, the port was reached in safety. He found a vessel on the point of sailing for Ostia, and, after a rapid passage, he landed at that town.
He had reason to mourn the changes he everywhere witnessed. The former bishop had long been dead, and his successor seemed bent on gaining proselytes by every possible means.
There were several new Christian churches; but as Jovinian entered them he saw people prostrating themselves before figures closely resembling the heathen gods. A few persons seemed somewhat dissatisfied with the state of things; but in the whole place he found nobody to whom he could speak openly as to a brother.
His stay, therefore, was short; and engaging a vehicle, he hastened on to Rome, by the same road he had taken when compelled to return by his uncle Gaius. On approaching the sanctuary of Mars, the driver, who professed to be a Christian, informed him that it had been taken possession of by a body of holy recluses. On getting near the gate, a man was seen rushing with frantic speed, a sword dripping gore in his hand, as if he were flying from the avengers of blood. As the murderer neared the gate, it was thrown open; and springing in, he was received by several men in long coarse garments, and at once the door was closed. When the officers of the law arrived, they were refused admission. “We claim the ancient privileges of the place,” cried the monks. The officers, not venturing to dispute the point, returned to the city.
“What will the recluses do with the murderer?” asked Jovinian of the driver.
“He will become one of them,” was the answer. “Several of their number have been guilty of like crimes, and have thus escaped from justice!”
From what Jovinian had witnessed at Ostia, he was somewhat prepared for the scene which Rome presented as he drove through the streets. Christian basilicas – some of considerable magnificence – rose in every direction; but a large number of heathen temples remained, a few only having been pulled down to afford sites or materials for the before-mentioned edifices. Many temples were, however, closed, while others had been slightly altered to fit them for the Christian worship. At the corners of the streets were shrines, as in days of yore. They one and all contained female statues, which the driver told Jovinian were those of the mother of God. In the arms of several of the statues was an infant, who, his loquacious guide informed him, was “Jesus,” her son. Jovinian recognised the figures as those of the Babylonian Astarte and her son Horos: she, under the name of Isis, had long been worshipped in Rome.
Amulius had gone to be with the Lord whom he served on earth; but he had left a son, Prudentius, who had inherited his property, and had invited Jovinian to take up his abode with him should he ever visit Rome.
Prudentius – who had been a mere boy when he had last seen Jovinian – remembered him with affection, and warmly greeted him on his arrival. He had a numerous family, whom he had brought up in the simple faith of the Gospel; but he expressed his anxiety lest they should be led away by the corruptions which everywhere prevailed.
“By my father’s wish I refrained from entering the ministry, and have practised the law instead,” observed Prudentius. “It was his opinion that I should thus be far more free to advocate the truth, – for, had I become a deacon or presbyter, I should have been under the orders of superiors who were too likely to support the errors long creeping in among us.”
“I had heard that the inhabitants of Rome had become almost universally Christians,” said Jovinian.
“Alas, alas! they are so only nominally,” answered his friend. “Paganism in a modified form prevails as of yore. The more abominable rites, it is true, have been suppressed; but although the people have been taught no longer to trust in the heathen gods, they have retained their superstitions and the larger portion of their former customs. The aim of the bishops and other leaders in the Church has been to amalgamate the two systems, so as to induce the pagans to more readily afford them their support.
“Recently multitudes have been added to the Church; but, as you will have an opportunity of judging, the number of faithful men among us is few indeed. Our present bishop is, it is said, very ill; and, should he die, we have reason to fear no improvement will take place under his successor.
“The Arians are still numerous at Rome, and will make an effort to have a bishop of their own profession elected. Damasus, a presbyter, who has lately appeared among us, is said to have been educated among the recluses of Mount Carmel, in the East, – a college which I have ample reason to believe supports the Babylonian worship so prevalent in all parts. He has been received here by a powerful party, of whom I have ever had the greatest mistrust, as I have observed that they are among the chief promoters of the worship of the Virgin Mary, which is so rapidly gaining ground in the city. These men belong to what is known as the ‘Holy College,’ and are the successors of the heathen pontiffs, by whom, after the latter had become Christians, they were successively elected. They exercise almost as much influence among the Christian population as their predecessors did among the heathen.”
Jovinian recollected the plans he had heard discussed by Coecus, and saw too clearly how successfully they had been carried out.
On inquiring of his friend for information about the last days of his uncle, who had long been dead, Prudentius replied, “Yes: hearing he was ill, my father, being a relative, went to visit him, and afford him the last consolation of religion; but Gaius made no sign, and, turning his face to the wall, so died.”
“The pontiff Coecus: what ending did he make?” asked Jovinian.
“He lived to a great age, and, when Julian attempted to overthrow the Christian Church, he openly advocated the restoration of the heathen temples; but, finding that his plans were unsuccessful, he took poison and so died, and went to his place,” answered Prudentius.
“But the harm he has done lived after him,” observed Jovinian; and he then recounted to his friend the knowledge he had gained of the plans of the pontiffs for the destruction of religion.
Many days passed by; and the more Jovinian saw of the state of things in Rome, the more convinced he was that those plans had been fearfully successful.
The Bishop, Liberius, was declining rapidly, and great excitement prevailed among those who would take part in the election of his successor. A fresh candidate had appeared, in the person of Ursinus – a man of considerable influence in Rome, who had lately become a deacon, but who was in no way distinguished for his Christian virtues.
Jovinian and Prudentius had together been visiting some of the churches, and were returning with heavy hearts at what they saw, when they met Juventius, the city prefect.
“The Bishop Liberius can live but a few hours longer,” observed the prefect. “I feel greatly anxious as to what may happen. Armed men are collecting from all quarters, and repairing, some to the residence of Damasus and others to that of Ursinus; and I much fear that the rival factions will resort to force instead of waiting the result of a legal election.”
“Can these men believe themselves to be ministers of our holy Religion, followers of Him who exhorted His disciples to love one another, to refrain from violence, and do all the good they can to their fellow-creatures?” exclaimed Prudentius. “Alas, alas! how do they differ from those who in the early ages gained the love and respect even of the heathen!”
As they were speaking, a man rushed past them, crying as he ran, “The bishop is dead! the bishop is dead!”
“Then I must summon my guards to preserve order,” observed Juventius, hurrying off.
“Can the prefect possibly fear that those who are desirous of becoming the leaders of Christ’s flock should resort to force of arms?” exclaimed Jovinian.
“He has observed what has been taking place in the city for some days past, since the illness of Liberius became known, and he considers the temporal value of the post the candidates are seeking,” answered Prudentius. “If we wish to avoid the risk of getting entangled among the mob, it would be wise to return home.”
The two friends were at this time at a considerable distance from the house of Prudentius. They accordingly bent their steps as he advised. They were approaching the Basilica Sicininus, when they saw advancing towards it a large body of armed men, headed by a person whom Prudentius recognised as Ursinus, one of the candidates for the vacant bishopric. This basilica being the principal church, it was considered that the party which held it would have the best chance of success. Another band directly afterwards came rushing along from an opposite direction, evidently with the intention of endeavouring to intercept the first.
The two friends, with the greatest difficulty, avoided being carried on with the tumultuous throng by stepping into a deep archway which happily presented itself. They observed, however, that the first party gained the threshold of the entrance to the church, and with loud shouts and shrieks took possession. The second band attempting to force a way in, being less numerous, was driven off, leaving several dead on the ground, while others were bleeding from severe wounds.
As they retreated they uttered cries of vengeance, threatening ere long to return and drive out the occupants of the sacred edifice.
Jovinian and Prudentius now again attempted to make their way homeward; but they were once more stopped by having to avoid a band led by Ursinus, who issued out of the church, leaving a strong garrison within it. Before long they met another party of the supporters of Damasus, whom, however, they put to flight. Now reaching the abodes of some of their opponents, they broke into the houses, which, having thrown out the furniture, they set on fire.
This example was quickly imitated by others of the opposite party. The friends had not gone far when they caught sight of Damasus himself, at the head of a larger band than had yet appeared, supported by several presbyters, deacons, and other officials, while among them appeared a party of men wearing cowls and coarse garments, who were evidently monks invited by Damasus to assist him. Whether ecclesiastics or not, the whole multitude carried arms, spears, swords, or daggers. They were encountered by a band of the hitherto victorious followers of Ursinus. A fierce fight took place under the walls of the burning houses; neither party would give way, and many had fallen, when Juventius, the city prefect, appeared with his guards. In vain he shouted and ordered the combatants to desist; no one listened to him, until, rushing forward, he endeavoured to separate them.
Indignant at his interference, the leaders turned their rage towards him, and, attacked by both parties, he was compelled to retreat. A part of the maddened mob pursued him, shouting out that as he was a civil officer he had no business to interfere in the affairs of the Church. Finding not only that all his efforts to restore order were futile, but that the rioters were sufficiently strong to overpower him, he, together with his guards, escaped for safety into the suburbs.
The wildest disorder and confusion prevailed throughout the streets of Rome during that night.
Not without great risk to themselves had Jovinian and Prudentius been able to reach home.
From the roof to which they mounted they could see fires blazing in all directions, while the shrieks and cries of the enraged factions rose up from the streets – some near, and others in the far distance.
Whenever the followers of Ursinus met those of Damasus, they attacked each other with the greatest fury.
During the whole night the tumult raged. In the morning bodies of dead men were seen scattered about in all directions. Ursinus still held the basilica, which his followers began to fortify. The party of Damasus resolved to dislodge them. For this purpose he and his supporters were employed the whole day in gathering together all they could induce to join them. Heathens, provided they came armed, were as welcome as others. The prospect of sacking the houses of the other party afforded them sufficient temptations. Once more did the prefect attempt to restore order; but barely escaped with his life. The voting for the two rival candidates for the bishopric had been going on, – first one party, then the other, being at the head of the poll. The rage of the rival factions increased when either appeared to be successful or were losing ground. The tumult raged with even greater violence than on the previous night. Now Damasus, at the head of an organised band, advanced through the streets towards the basilica. Ursinus himself, with a less numerous party, in vain attempted to reach it, in order to support its garrison. The doors were burst open, and the forces of Damasus rushed in. A fearful combat took place. The edifice in which prayers and hymns of praise were wont to ascend resounded with the frantic shouts of the combatants, with the shrieks of the wounded and the groans of the dying. For hours the fight continued to rage. Now the assailants gained an entrance; now they were again driven out by the desperate efforts of the besieged, who believed that a general massacre would take place should they once be overcome.
At length so many of their number had fallen, that, bursting through the door opposite to that at which the chief attack was going on, they made their escape, pursued by their enemies. The party of Damasus, flushed with victory, drove back the followers of Ursinus wherever they were met; and he himself, believing that his cause was lost, retreated with a few of his ecclesiastical supporters from the city.
When morning broke he was nowhere to be found. His few followers wisely retired to their homes; and the prefect, returning, was at length able to restore order.
Fearful were the scenes which Rome presented, as Jovinian and Prudentius once more ventured forth. Smoking ruins in all directions; corpses scattered in every street; some, where the combat had been fiercest, lay in heaps, many blackened and charred by the burning houses near which they had fallen. Fighting had taken place in several other churches besides the Basilica of Sicininus, and blood stained their pavements; the bodies of many of the dead still lay where they had fallen. Prudentius proposed going on to the Basilica of Sicininus, where the fiercest struggle had taken place. On entering the church they started back with horror. Before them lay, with distorted countenances and in attitudes showing the ferocity with which they had fought, scattered throughout every part of the building, the corpses of the slain. They were chiefly those of the defeated party, although several of their opponents had of course fallen. On counting them, they were found to number one hundred and thirty-seven. The prefect had issued orders for the interment of the dead. It had been a question whether they should receive Christian burial, or be deposited together in one of the catacombs outside the walls. But Damasus insisted that the followers of Ursinus only should be thus buried, – “he having arranged,” he said, “a fitting funeral for those who had fallen as martyrs for the truth.”
Prudentius, when he met the prefect, inquired whether he intended to bring Damasus and his followers to account for the tumult.
“It is more than I dare do!” he answered. “Were I to make the attempt, it would probably cause another outbreak, with equally disastrous results. Supported by the emperor, your Christian bishop has more power than I have, and I must allow him full licence to promote, as he thinks best, what he calls the interests of religion. I leave you to judge, however, whether the late events are calculated to recommend it to the minds of the heathen. The Romans may yet rue the day they consented to be ruled by their bishops.”
Damasus was declared duly elected, by the presbyters and deacons, and the Christian population of Rome.
The following day he paraded through the streets in a handsome chariot, attended by a numerous body-guard richly clothed. In his hand he carried the Lituus, – the long used insignia of the augurs, since known as the bishop’s crozier, – proving that he considered himself to be their lineal successor.
Having taken up his residence in the palace of the Lateran, he gave a magnificent banquet to his chief supporters, which was said to surpass in sumptuousness those, not only of the more wealthy citizens, but of the emperor himself. He had become possessed of the wealth left by his predecessor, and had reason to be sure that more would, ere long, flow into his coffers from the piety of the matrons of Rome. In this he was not mistaken; eternal happiness being freely promised to all who would thus enrich the Church. Many pious people also devoted their wealth to the building of basilicas, to which they claimed the right of appointing the ministers, following the example of those who had erected heathen temples, of selecting the priests to attend them.
Every day Jovinian remained at Rome brought more sorrow to his heart.
There were still many heathen temples; and from the Altar of Victory – which had been restored by Julian – the smoke of sacrifices ascended. In many of the basilicas statues which he recognised as those of Isis, or some other heathen goddess, now generally clothed in rich garments, held most prominent places. Numerous other clothed statues were placed in niches with lamps burning before them. Jovinian had no difficulty in distinguishing those which had before represented the heathen gods and goddesses from the figures of the apostles and martyrs, also carved in wood or stone – the latter exhibiting a melancholy proof of the decadence of art in the capital. Everywhere, indeed, he found that the plan of Coecus had been successful. The worship of the Babylonian goddess, under her new name, prevailed throughout the city. Although Christianity had not been crushed, it had been fearfully corrupted; in reality, idolatry had won the victory in the battle which it had long been waging with the Christian faith; no longer in Rome was the simple Gospel preached. Flowery discourses, at which the people signified their approval by loud applause, were delivered from the pulpits. The Christian ministers now appeared in the same rich garments which had been worn by the heathen priests. Relics were adored, and supposed to work miracles; prayers were offered up for the dead, and to the martyrs, as well as to her whom they called “Mary the virgin mother;” people were taught that penances were meritorious; ascetic practices were inculcated; the existence of purgatorial fires, as believed in by the heathen, was taught as a reality, from which the dead could be emancipated alone by the prayers of the priests; while so notorious had become the efforts of the clergy to obtain wealth from the devout among the female sex, that an edict was published by the emperor forbidding ecclesiastics to receive any gifts, inheritance or legacy, at the hands of devout women, and the ministers were compelled, according to custom, to publish this decree from all the pulpits in the city, – thus becoming the heralds of their own rapacious propensities.
In vain Jovinian made every effort to stem the tide of corruption. He preached, whenever he could obtain an opportunity, in the churches, faithfully pointing out the fearful errors into which the Christians were falling, until every basilica was closed against him. He continued, however, to preach in the houses of a few faithful men, and even at times in the open streets; but at length – branded by the bishop as a heretic and a disturber of the public peace – he received an order forthwith to quit the city. As his liberty, if not his life, would have been in danger had he ventured to disobey the order issued by the powerful pontiff, he bade farewell to Prudentius, and turned his face northward.
From the tranquil valleys among which he had taken up his abode he often wrote to his friend, and received letters in return. In one of them Prudentius, giving way to despair, thus expressed his opinion: “By the unholy union which has been effected, idolatry has strangled Christianity in her baneful embrace5, and has sent forth instead a gaudily-dressed being, which, calling herself the True Faith, insists that all mankind shall fall down and worship as she dictates.”
