THE FIGHT.
The morning broke light and frosty; and the sun, glittering on the
gilded ornaments of the temples and other public buildings, seemed to
array them in holiday splendor. And the people, too, soon came forth
into the streets in their gayest attire, decked out with unusual
richness. The various streams converge towards the Flavian amphitheatre,
now better known by the name of the Coliseum. Each one directs his steps
to the arch indicated by the number of his ticket, and thus the huge
monster keeps sucking in by degrees that stream of life, which soon
animates and enlivens its oval tiers over tiers of steps, till its
interior is tapestried all round with human faces, and its walls seem to
rock and wave to and fro, by the swaying of the living mass. And, after
this shall have been gorged with blood, and inflamed with fury, it will
melt once more, and rush out in a thick continuous flow through the many
avenues by which it entered, now bearing their fitting name of
_Vomitoria_; for never did a more polluted stream of the dregs and pests
of humanity issue from an unbecoming reservoir, through ill-assorted
channels, than the Roman mob, drunk with the blood of martyrs, gushing
forth from the pores of the splendid amphitheatre.
The emperor came to the games surrounded by his court, with all the
pomp and circumstance which befitted an imperial festival, keen as any
of his subjects to witness the cruel games, and to feed his eyes with a
feast of carnage. His throne was on the eastern side of the
amphitheatre, where a large space, called the _pulvinar_, was reserved,
and richly decorated for the imperial court.
[Illustration: The Coliseum.]
Various sports succeeded one another; and many a gladiator killed, or
wounded, had sprinkled the bright sand with blood, when the people,
eager for fiercer combats, began to call, or roar for the Christians and
the wild beasts. It is time, therefore, for us to think of our captives.
Before the citizens were astir, they had been removed from the prison to
a strong chamber called the _spoliatorium_, the press-room, where their
fetters and chains were removed. An attempt was made to dress them
gaudily as heathen priests and priestesses; but they resisted, urging
that as they had come spontaneously to the fight, it was unfair to make
them appear in a disguise which they abhorred. During the early part of
the day they remained thus together encouraging one another, and singing
the Divine praises, in spite of the shouts which drowned their voices
from time to time.
While they were thus engaged, Corvinus entered, and, with a look of
insolent triumph, thus accosted Pancratius:
“Thanks to the gods, the day is come which I have long desired. It has
been a tiresome and tough struggle between us who should fall uppermost.
I have won it.”
“How sayest thou, Corvinus? when and how have I contended with thee?”
“Always: every where. Thou hast haunted me in my dreams; thou hast
danced before me like a meteor, and I have tried in vain to grasp thee.
Thou hast been my tormentor, my evil genius. I have hated thee; devoted
thee to the infernal gods; cursed thee and loathed thee; and now my day
of vengeance is come.”
“Methinks,” replied Pancratius, smiling, “this does not look like a
combat. It has been all on one side; for _I_ have done none of these
things towards thee.”
“No? thinkest thou that I believe thee, when thou hast lain ever as a
viper on my path, to bite my heel and overthrow me?”
“Where, I again ask?”
“Every where, I repeat. At school; in the Lady Agnes’s house; in the
Forum; in the cemetery; in my father’s own court; at Chromatius’s villa.
Yes, every where.”
“And nowhere else but where thou hast named? when thy chariot was dashed
furiously along the Appian way, didst thou not hear the tramp of horses’
hoofs trying to overtake thee?”
“Wretch!” exclaimed the prefect’s son in a fury; “and was it thy
accursed steed which, purposely urged forward, frightened mine, and
nearly caused my death?”
“No, Corvinus, hear me calmly. It is the last time we shall speak
together. I was travelling quietly with a companion towards Rome, after
having paid the last rites to our master Cassianus” (Corvinus winced,
for he knew not this before), “when I heard the clatter of a runaway
chariot; and then, indeed, I put spurs to my horse; and it is well for
thee that I did.”
“How so?”
“Because I reached thee just in time: when thy strength was nearly
exhausted, and thy blood almost frozen by repeated plunges in the cold
canal; and when thy arm, already benumbed, had let go its last stay, and
thou wast falling backwards for the last time into the water. I saw
thee: I knew thee, as I took hold of thee, insensible. I had in my grasp
the murderer of one most dear to me. Divine justice seemed to have
overtaken him; there was only my will between him and his doom. It was
my day of vengeance, and I fully gratified it.”
“Ha! and how, pray?”
“By drawing thee out, and laying thee on the bank, and chafing thee till
thy heart resumed its functions; and then consigning thee to thy
servants, rescued from death.”
“Thou liest!” screamed Corvinus; “my servants told me that _they_ drew
me out.”
“And did they give thee my knife, together with thy leopard-skin purse,
which I found on the ground, after I had dragged thee forth?”
“No; they said the purse was lost in the canal. It _was_ a leopard-skin
purse, the gift of an African sorceress. What sayest thou of the knife?”
“That it is here, see it, still rusty with the water; thy purse I gave
to thy slaves; my own knife I retained for myself; look at it again.
Dost thou believe me now? Have I been always a viper on thy path?”
Too ungenerous to acknowledge that he had been conquered in the struggle
between them, Corvinus only felt himself withered, degraded, before his
late school-fellow, crumbled like a clot of dust in his hands. His very
heart seemed to him to blush. He felt sick, and staggered, hung down his
head, and sneaked away. He cursed the games, the emperor, the yelling
rabble, the roaring beasts, his horses and chariot, his slaves, his
father, himself,--every thing and every body except one--he could not,
for his life, curse Pancratius.
He had reached the door, when the youth called him back. He turned and
looked at him with a glance of respect, almost approaching to love.
Pancratius put his hand on his arm, and said, “Corvinus, _I_ have freely
forgiven thee. There is One above, who cannot forgive without
repentance. Seek pardon from Him. If not, I foretell to thee this day,
that by whatsoever death I die, thou too shalt one day perish.”
Corvinus slunk away, and appeared no more that day. He lost the sight on
which his coarse imagination had gloated for days, which he had longed
for during months. When the holiday was over he was found by his father
completely intoxicated: it was the only way he knew of drowning remorse.
As he was leaving the prisoners, the _lanista_, or master of the
gladiators, entered the room and summoned them to the combat. They
hastily embraced one another, and took leave on earth. They entered the
arena, or pit of the amphitheatre, opposite the imperial seat, and had
to pass between two files of _venatores_, or huntsmen, who had the care
of the wild beasts, each armed with a heavy whip, wherewith he inflicted
a blow on every one as he went by him. They were then brought forward,
singly or in groups, as the people desired, or the directors of the
spectacle chose. Sometimes the intended prey was placed on an elevated
platform to be more conspicuous; at another time he was tied up to posts
to be more helpless. A favorite sport was to bundle up a female victim
in a net, and expose her to be rolled, tossed, or gored by wild
cattle.[176] One encounter with a single wild beast often finished the
martyr’s course; while occasionally three or four were successively let
loose, without their inflicting a mortal wound. The confessor was then
either remanded to prison for further torments, or taken back to the
_spoliatorium_, where the gladiator’s apprentices amused themselves with
despatching him.
But we must content ourselves with following the last steps of our
youthful hero, Pancratius. As he was passing through the corridor that
led to the amphitheatre, he saw Sebastian standing on one side, with a
lady closely enwrapped in her mantle, and veiled. He at once recognized
her, stopped before her, knelt, and taking her hand, affectionately
kissed it.
“Bless me, dear mother,” he said, “in this your promised hour.”
“See, my child, the heavens,” she replied, “and look up thither, where
Christ with His saints expecteth thee. Fight the good fight for thy
soul’s sake, and show thyself faithful and steadfast in thy Saviour’s
love.[177] Remember him too whose precious relic thou bearest round thy
neck.”
“Its price shall be doubled in thine eyes, my sweet mother, ere many
hours are over.”
“On, on, and let us have none of this fooling,” exclaimed the _lanista_,
adding a stroke of his cane.
Lucina retreated; while Sebastian pressed the hand of her son, and
whispered in his ear, “Courage, dearest boy; may God bless you! I shall
be close behind the emperor; give me a last look there, and--your
blessing.”
“Ha! ha! ha!” broke out a fiendish tone close behind him. Was it a
demon’s laugh? He looked behind, and caught only a glimpse of a
fluttering cloak rounding a pillar. Who could it be? He guessed not. It
was Fulvius, who in those words had got the last link in a chain of
evidence that he had long been weaving--that Sebastian was certainly a
Christian.
Pancratius soon stood in the midst of the arena, the last of the
faithful band. He had been reserved, in hopes that the sight of others’
sufferings might shake his constancy; but the effect had been the
reverse. He took his stand where he was placed, and his yet delicate
frame contrasted with the swarthy and brawny limbs of the executioners
who surrounded him. They now left him alone; and we cannot better
describe him than Eusebius, an eye-witness, does a youth a few years
older:
“You might have seen a tender youth, who had not yet entered his
twentieth year, standing without fetters, with his hands stretched forth
in the form of a cross, and praying to God most attentively, with a
fixed and untrembling heart; not retiring from the place where he first
stood, nor swerving the least, while bears and leopards, breathing fury
and death in their very snort, were just rushing on to tear his limbs in
pieces. And yet, I know not how, their jaws seemed seized and closed by
some divine and mysterious power, and they drew altogether back.”[178]
Such was the attitude, and such the privilege of our heroic youth. The
mob were frantic, as they saw one wild beast after another careering
madly round him, roaring, and lashing its sides with its tail, while he
seemed placed in a charmed circle which they could not approach. A
furious bull, let loose upon him, dashed madly forward, with his neck
bent down, then stopped suddenly, as though he had struck his head
against a wall, pawed the ground, and scattered the dust around him,
bellowing fiercely.
“Provoke him, thou coward!” roared out, still louder, the enraged
emperor.
Pancratius awoke as from a trance, and waving his arms ran towards his
enemy;[179] but the savage brute, as if a lion had been rushing on him,
turned round and ran away towards the entrance, where, meeting his
keeper, he tossed him high into the air. All were disconcerted except
the brave youth, who had resumed his attitude of prayer; when one of the
crowd shouted out: “He has a charm round his neck; he is a sorcerer!”
The whole multitude re-echoed the cry, till the emperor, having
commanded silence, called out to him, “Take that amulet from thy neck,
and cast it from thee, or it shall be done more roughly for thee.”
“Sire,” replied the youth, with a musical voice, that rang sweetly
through the hushed amphitheatre, “it is no charm that I wear, but a
memorial of my father, who in this very place made gloriously the same
confession which I now humbly make; I am a Christian; and for love of
Jesus Christ, God and man, I gladly give my life. Do not take from me
this only legacy, which I have bequeathed, richer than I received it, to
another. Try once more; it was a panther which gave him his crown;
perhaps it will bestow the same on me.”
For an instant there was dead silence; the multitude seemed softened,
won. The graceful form of the gallant youth, his now inspired
countenance, the thrilling music of his voice, the intrepidity of his
speech, and his generous self-devotion to his cause, had wrought upon
that cowardly herd. Pancratius felt it, and his heart quailed before
their mercy more than before their rage; he had promised himself heaven
that day; was he to be disappointed? Tears started into his eyes, as
stretching forth his arms once more in the form of a cross, he called
aloud, in a tone that again vibrated through every heart:
“To-day; oh yes, to-day, most blessed Lord, is the appointed day of Thy
coming. Tarry not longer; enough has Thy power been shown in me to them
that believe not in Thee; show now Thy mercy to me who in Thee
believe!”
[Illustration: Pancratius was still standing in the same place, facing
the emperor, apparently so absorbed in higher thoughts, as not to heed
the movements of his enemy.]
“The panther!” shouted out a voice. “The panther!” responded twenty.
“The panther!” thundered forth a hundred thousand, in a chorus like the
roaring of an avalanche.[180] A cage started up, as if by magic, from
the midst of the sand, and as it rose its side fell down, and freed the
captive of the desert.[181] With one graceful bound the elegant savage
gained its liberty; and, though enraged by darkness, confinement, and
hunger, it seemed almost playful, as it leaped and turned about, frisked
and gambolled noiselessly on the sand. At last it caught sight of its
prey. All its feline cunning and cruelty seemed to return, and to
conspire together in animating the cautious and treacherous movements of
its velvet-clothed frame. The whole amphitheatre was as silent as if it
had been a hermit’s dell, while every eye was intent, watching the
stealthy approaches of the sleek brute to its victim. Pancratius was
still standing in the same place, facing the emperor, apparently so
absorbed in higher thoughts as not to heed the movements of his enemy.
The panther had stolen round him, as if disdaining to attack him except
in front. Crouching upon its breast, slowly advancing one paw before
another, it had gained its measured distance, and there it lay for some
moments of breathless suspense. A deep snarling growl, an elastic spring
through the air, and it was seen gathered up like a leech, with its hind
feet on the chest, and its fangs and fore claws on the throat of the
martyr.
He stood erect for a moment, brought his right hand to his mouth, and
looking up at Sebastian with a smile, directed to him, by a graceful
wave of his arm, the last salutation of his lips--and fell. The arteries
of the neck had been severed, and the slumber of martyrdom at once
settled on his eyelids. His blood softened, brightened, enriched, and
blended inseparably with that of his father, which Lucina had hung about
his neck. The mother’s sacrifice had been accepted.[182]
[Illustration: A Lamp bearing a Monogram of Christ, found in the
Catacombs.]