AT last the hour was accomplished for both Apostles. But, as if to
complete his service, it was given to the fisherman of the Lord to win
two souls even in confinement. The soldiers, Processus and Martinianus,
who guarded him in the Mamertine prison, received baptism. Then came the
hour of torture. Nero was not in Rome at that time. Sentence was passed
by Helius and Polythetes, two freedmen to whom Cæsar had confided the
government of Rome during his absence.
On the aged Apostle had been inflicted the stripes prescribed by law;
and next day he was led forth beyond the walls of the city, toward
the Vatican Hill, where he was to suffer the punishment of the cross
assigned to him. Soldiers were astonished by the crowd which had
gathered before the prison, for in their minds the death of a common
man, and besides a foreigner, should not rouse such interest; they did
not understand that that retinue was composed not of sightseers,
but confessors, anxious to escort the great Apostle to the place of
execution. In the afternoon the gates of the prison were thrown open at
last, and Peter appeared in the midst of a detachment of pretorians. The
sun had inclined somewhat toward Ostia already; the day was clear and
calm. Because of his advanced age, Peter was not required to carry the
cross; it was supposed that he could not carry it; they had not put
the fork on his neck, either, so as not to retard his pace. He walked
without hindrance, and the faithful could see him perfectly.
At moments when his white head showed itself among the iron helmets
of the soldiers, weeping was heard in the crowd; but it was restrained
immediately, for the face of the old man had in it so much calmness, and
was so bright with joy, that all understood him to be not a victim going
to destruction, but a victor celebrating his triumph.
And thus it was really. The fisherman, usually humble and stooping,
walked now erect, taller than the soldiers, full of dignity. Never had
men seen such majesty in his bearing. It might have seemed that he was
a monarch attended by people and military. From every side voices were
raised,--
“There is Peter going to the Lord!”
All forgot, as it were, that torture and death were waiting for him. He
walked with solemn attention, but with calmness, feeling that since the
death on Golgotha nothing equally important had happened, and that as
the first death had redeemed the whole world, this was to redeem the
city.
Along the road people halted from wonder at sight of that old man; but
believers, laying hands on their shoulders, said with calm voices,--
“See how a just man goes to death,--one who knew Christ and proclaimed
love to the world.”
These became thoughtful, and walked away, saying to themselves, “He
cannot, indeed, be unjust!”
Along the road noise was hushed, and the cries of the street. The
retinue moved on before houses newly reared, before white columns of
temples, over whose summits hung the deep sky, calm and blue. They went
in quiet; only at times the weapons of the soldiers clattered, or the
murmur of prayer rose. Peter heard the last, and his face grew bright
with increasing joy, for his glance could hardly take in those thousands
of confessors. He felt that he had done his work, and he knew now that
that truth which he had been declaring all his life would overwhelm
everything, like a sea, and that nothing would have power to restrain
it. And thus thinking, he raised his eyes, and said: “O Lord, Thou didst
command me to conquer this world-ruling city; hence I have conquered it.
Thou hast commanded me to found here Thy capital; hence I have founded
it. This is Thy city now, O Lord, and I go to Thee, for I have toiled
greatly.”
As he passed before temples, he said to them, “Ye will be temples of
Christ.” Looking at throngs of people moving before his eyes, he said to
them, “Your children will be servants of Christ”; and he advanced with
the feeling that he had conquered, conscious of his service, conscious
of his strength, solaced,--great. The soldiers conducted him over the
Pons Triumphalis, as if giving involuntary testimony to his triumph, and
they led him farther toward the Naumachia and the Circus. The faithful
from beyond the Tiber joined the procession; and such a throng of people
was formed that the centurion commanding the pretonians understood at
last that he was leading a high-priest surrounded by believers, and
grew alarmed because of the small number of soldiers. But no cry of
indignation or rage was given out in the throng. Men’s faces were
penetrated with the greatness of the moment, solemn and full of
expectation. Some believers, remembering that when the Lord died the
earth opened from fright and the dead rose from their graves, thought
that now some evident signs would appear, after which the death of the
Apostle would not be forgotten for ages. Others said to themselves,
“Perhaps the Lord will select the hour of Peter’s death to come from
heaven as He promised, and judge the world.” With this idea they
recommended themselves to the mercy of the Redeemer.
But round about there was calm. The hills seemed to be warming
themselves, and resting in the sun. The procession stopped at last
between the Circus and the Vatican Hill. Soldiers began now to dig a
hole; others placed on the ground the cross, hammers, and nails, waiting
till all preparations were finished. The crowd, continuing quiet and
attentive, knelt round about.
The Apostle, with his head in the sun-rays and golden light, turned for
the last time toward the city. At a distance lower down was seen the
gleaming Tiber; beyond was the Campus Martius; higher up, the Mausoleum
of Augustus; below that, the gigantic baths just begun by Nero; still
lower, Pompey’s theatre; and beyond them were visible in places, and
in places hidden by other buildings, the Septa Julia, a multitude of
porticos, temples, columns, great edifices; and, finally, far in the
distance, hills covered with houses, a gigantic resort of people, the
borders of which vanished in the blue haze,--an abode of crime, but
of power; of madness, but of order,--which had become the head of the
world, its oppressor, but its law and its peace, almighty, invincible,
eternal.
But Peter, surrounded by soldiers, looked at the city as a ruler and
king looks at his inheritance. And he said to it, “Thou art redeemed
and mine!” And no one, not merely among the soldiers digging the hole
in which to plant the cross, but even among believers, could divine that
standing there among them was the true ruler of that moving life; that
Cæsars would pass away, waves of barbarians go by, and ages vanish, but
that old man would be lord there unbrokenly.
The sun had sunk still more toward Ostia, and had become large and
red. The whole western side of the sky had begun to glow with immense
brightness. The soldiers approached Peter to strip him.
But he, while praying, straightened himself all at once, and stretched
his right hand high. The executioners stopped, as if made timid by his
posture; the faithful held the breath in their breasts, thinking that he
wished to say something, and silence unbroken followed.
But he, standing on the height, with his extended right hand made the
sign of the cross, blessing in the hour of death,--
Urbi et orbi! (the city and the world).
In that same wonderful evening another detachment of soldiers conducted
along the Ostian Way Paul of Tarsus toward a place called Aquæ Salviæ.
And behind him also advanced a crowd of the faithful whom he had
converted; but when he recognized near acquaintances, he halted and
conversed with them, for, being a Roman citizen, the guard showed more
respect to him. Beyond the gate called Tergemina he met Plautilla, the
daughter of the prefect Flavius Sabinus, and, seeing her youthful face
covered with tears, he said: “Plautilla, daughter of Eternal Salvation,
depart in peace. Only give me a veil with which to bind my eyes when I
am going to the Lord.” And taking it, he advanced with a face as full
of delight as that of a laborer who when he has toiled the whole day
successfully is returning home. His thoughts, like those of Peter,
were as calm and quiet as that evening sky. His eyes gazed with
thoughtfulness upon the plain which stretched out before him, and to the
Alban Hills, immersed in light. He remembered his journeys, his toils,
his labor, the struggles in which he had conquered, the churches which
he had founded in all lands and beyond all seas; and he thought that he
had earned his rest honestly, that he had finished his work. He felt now
that the seed which he had planted would not be blown away by the wind
of malice. He was leaving this life with the certainty that in the
battle which his truth had declared against the world it would conquer;
and a mighty peace settled down on his soul.
The road to the place of execution was long, and evening was coming. The
mountains became purple, and the bases of them went gradually into the
shade. Flocks were returning home. Here and there groups of slaves were
walking with the tools of labor on their shoulders. Children, playing on
the road before houses, looked with curiosity at the passing soldiers.
But in that evening, in that transparent golden air, there were not only
peace and lovingness, but a certain harmony, which seemed to lift from
earth to heaven. Paul felt this; and his heart was filled with delight
at the thought that to that harmony of the world he had added one note
which had not been in it hitherto, but without which the whole earth was
like sounding brass or a tinkling cymbal.
He remembered how he had taught people love,--how he had told them that
though they were to give their property to the poor, though they knew
all languages, all secrets, and all sciences, they would be nothing
without love, which is kind, enduring, which does not return evil, which
does not desire honor, suffers all things, believes all things, hopes
all things, is patient of all things.
And so his life had passed in teaching people this truth. And now he
said in spirit: What power can equal it, what can conquer it? Could
Cæsar stop it, though he had twice as many legions and twice as many
cities, seas, lands, and nations?
And he went to his reward like a conqueror.
The detachment left the main road at last, and turned toward the east on
a narrow path leading to the Aquæ Salviæ. The red sun was lying now on
the heather. The centurion stopped the soldiers at the fountain, for the
moment had come.
Paul placed Plautilla’s veil on his arm, intending to bind his eyes with
it; for the last time he raised those eyes, full of unspeakable peace,
toward the eternal light of the evening, and prayed. Yes, the moment
had come; but he saw before him a great road in the light, leading to
heaven; and in his soul he repeated the same words which formerly he had
written in the feeling of his own finished service and his near end,--
“I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the
faith. Henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness.”