THE REVIVAL.
Night was far advanced, when the black slave, having completed her
marriage settlement quite to her own satisfaction, was returning to her
mistress’s house. It was, indeed, a cold wintry night, so she was well
wrapped up, and in no humor to be disturbed. But it was a lovely night,
and the moon seemed to be stroking, with a silvery hand, the downy robe
of the _meta sudans_.[189] She paused beside it; and, after a silence of
some moments, broke out into a loud laugh, as if some ridiculous
recollection connected itself in her mind with that beautiful object.
She was turning round to proceed on her way, when she felt herself
roughly seized by the arm.
“If you had not laughed,” said her captor, bitterly, “I should not have
recognized you. But that hyena laugh of yours is unmistakable. Listen,
the wild beasts, your African cousins, are answering it from the
amphitheatre. What was it about, pray?”
“About you.”
“How about me?”
“I was thinking of our last interview in this place, and what a fool you
made of yourself.”
“How kind of you, Afra, to be thinking of me, especially as I was not
just then thinking of you, but of your countrymen in those cells.”
“Cease your impertinence, and call people by their proper names. I am
not Afra the slave any longer; at least I shall not be so in a few
hours; but Jubala, the wife of Hyphax, commander of the Mauritanian
archers.”
“A very respectable man, no doubt, if he could speak any language
besides his gibberish; but these few hours of interval may suffice for
the transaction of our business. You made a mistake, methinks, in what
you said just now. It was _you_, was it not, that made a fool of me at
our last meeting? What has become of your fair promises, and of my
fairer gold, which were exchanged on that occasion? Mine, I know, proved
sterling; yours, I fear, turned out but dust.”
“No doubt; for so says a proverb in my language: ‘the dust on a wise
man’s skirts is better than the gold in the fool’s girdle.’ But let us
come to the point; did you really ever believe in the power of my charms
and philters?”
“To be sure I did; do you mean they were all imposture?”
“Not quite all; you see we have got rid of Fabius, and the daughter is
in possession of the fortune. That was a preliminary step of absolute
necessity.”
“What! do you mean that your incantations removed the father?” asked
Corvinus, amazed, and shrinking from her. It was only a sudden bright
thought of Afra’s, so she pushed her advantage, saying:
“To be sure; what else? It is easy thus to get rid of any one that is
too much in the way.”
“Good night, good night,” he replied in great fear.
“Stay a moment,” she answered, somewhat propitiated: “Corvinus, I gave
you two pieces of advice worth all your gold that night. One you have
acted against; the other you have not followed.”
“How?”
“Did I not tell you not to hunt the Christians, but to catch them in
your toils? Fulvius has done the second, and has gained something. You
have done the first, and what have you earned?”
“Nothing but rage, confusion, and stripes.”
“Then I was a good counsellor in the one advice; follow me in the
second.”
“What was it?”
“When you had become rich enough by Christian spoil, to offer yourself,
with your wealth, to Fabiola. She has till now coldly rejected every
offer; but I have observed one thing carefully. Not a single suit has
been accompanied by riches. Every spendthrift has sought her fortune to
repair his own; depend upon it, he that wins the prize must come on the
principle that two and two make four. Do you understand me?”
“Too well, for where are my two to come from?”
“Listen to me, Corvinus, for this is our last interview; and I rather
like you, as a hearty, unscrupulous, relentless, and unfeeling good
hater.” She drew him nearer and whispered: “I know from Eurotas, out of
whom I can wheedle anything, that Fulvius has some splendid Christian
prizes in view, one especially. Come this way into the shadow, and I
will tell you how surely you may intercept his treasure. Leave to him
the cool murder that will be necessary, for it may be troublesome; but
step in between him and the spoil. He would do it to you any day.”
She spoke to him for some minutes in a low and earnest tone; and at the
end, he broke out into the loud exclamation, “Excellent!” What a word in
such a mouth!
She checked him by a pull, and pointing to the building opposite,
exclaimed: “Hush! look there!”
How are the tables turned; or, rather, how has the world gone round in
a brief space! The last time these two wicked beings were on the same
spot, plotting bane to others, the window above was occupied by two
virtuous youths, who, like two spirits of good, were intent on
unravelling their web of mischief, and countermining their dark
approaches. They are gone thence, the one sleeping in his tomb, the
other slumbering on the eve of execution. Death looks to us like a holy
power, seeing how much he prefers taking to his society the good, rather
than the evil. He snatches away the flower, and leaves the weed its
poisonous life, till it drops into mature decay.
But at the moment that they looked up, the window was occupied by two
other persons.
“That is Fulvius,” said Corvinus, “who just came to the window.”
“And the other is his evil demon, Eurotas,” added the slave. They both
watched and listened from their dark nook.
Fulvius came again, at that moment, to the window, with a sword in his
hand, carefully turning and examining the hilt in the bright moonlight.
He flung it down at last, exclaiming with an oath, “It is only brass,
after all.”
Eurotas came with, to all appearance, a rich officer’s belt, and
examined it carefully. “All false stones! Why, I declare the whole of
the effects are not worth fifty pounds. You have made but a poor job of
this, Fulvius.”
“Always reproaching me, Eurotas. And yet this miserable gain has cost me
the life of one of the emperor’s most favorite officers.”
“And no thanks probably from your master for it.” Eurotas was right.
Next morning, the slaves who received the body of Sebastian were
surprised by a swarthy female figure passing by them, and whispering to
them, “He is still alive.”
Instead, therefore, of carrying him out for burial, they bore him to the
apartment of Irene. The early hour of the morning, and the emperor’s
having gone, the evening before, to his favorite Lateran palace,
facilitated this movement. Instantly Dionysius was sent for, and he
pronounced every wound curable; not one arrow having touched a vital
organ. But loss of blood had taken place to such a fearful extent, that
he considered weeks must elapse before the patient would be fit to move.
For four-and-twenty hours Afra assiduously called, almost every hour, to
ask how Sebastian was. When the probationary term was finished, she
conducted Fabiola to Irene’s apartment, to receive herself assurance
that he breathed, though scarcely more. The deed of her liberation from
servitude was executed, her dowry was paid, and the whole Palatine and
Forum rung with the mad carouse and hideous rites of her nuptials.
Fabiola inquired after Sebastian with such tender solicitude that Irene
doubted not that she was a Christian. The first few times she contented
herself with receiving intelligence at the door, and putting into the
hands of Sebastian’s hostess a large sum towards the expenses of his
recovery; but after two days, when he was improving, she was courteously
invited to enter; and, for the first time in her life, she found herself
consciously in the bosom of a Christian family.
Irene, we are told, was the widow of Castulus, one of the Chromatian
band of converts. Her husband had just suffered death; but she remained
still, unnoticed, in the apartments held by him in the palace. Two
daughters lived with her; and a marked difference in their behavior soon
struck Fabiola, as she became familiar with them. One evidently thought
Sebastian’s presence an intrusion, and seldom or never approached him.
Her behavior to her mother was rude and haughty, her ideas all belonged
to the common
[Illustration: _Triumphal Arch of Severus._
_Temple of Saturn._
_Ascent to the Capitol._
_Temple of Vespasian._
_Temple of Concordia._
_Mamertine Prison._
The Northwest Side of the Forum.]
world,--she was selfish, light, and forward. The other, who was the
younger, was a perfect contrast to her,--so gentle, docile and
affectionate; so considerate about others; so devoted to her mother; so
kind and attentive to the poor patient. Irene herself was a type of the
Christian matron, in the middle class of life. Fabiola did not find her
intelligent, or learned, or witty, or highly polished; but she saw her
always calm, active, sensible, and honest. Then she was clearly
warm-hearted, generous, deeply affectionate, and sweetly patient. The
pagan lady had never seen such a household,--so simple, frugal, and
orderly. Nothing disturbed it, except the character of the elder sister.
In a few days it was ascertained that the daily visitor was not a
Christian; but this caused no change in their treatment of her. Then she
in her turn made a discovery which mortified her--that the elder
daughter was still heathen. All that she saw made a favorable impression
on her, and softened the hard crust of prejudice on her mind. For the
present, however, her thoughts were all absorbed in Sebastian, whose
recovery was slow. She formed plans with Irene for carrying him off to
her Campanian villa, where she would have leisure to confer with him on
religion. An insuperable obstacle, however, rose to this project.
We will not attempt to lead our reader into the feelings of Sebastian.
To have yearned after martyrdom, to have prayed for it, to have suffered
all its pangs, to have died in it as far as human consciousness went, to
have lost sight of this world, and now to awaken in it again, no martyr,
but an ordinary wayfaring man on probation, who might yet lose
salvation,--was surely a greater trial than martyrdom itself. It was to
be like a man who, in the midst of a stormy night, should try to cross
an angry river, or tempestuous arm of the sea, and, after struggling for
hours, and having his skiff twirled round and round and all but upset,
should find himself relanded on the same side as he started from. Or,
it was like St. Paul sent back to earth and to Satan’s buffets, after
having heard the mysterious words which only one Intelligence can utter.
Yet no murmur escaped him, no regret. He adored in silence the Divine
Will, hoping that its purpose was only to give him the merit of a double
martyrdom. For this second crown he so earnestly longed, that he
rejected every proposal for flight and concealment.
“I have now,” he generously said, “earned one privilege of a martyr,
that of speaking boldly to the persecutors. This I will use the first
day that I can leave my bed. Nurse me, therefore, well, that it may be
the sooner.”
[Illustration: Moses receiving the Law, from a picture in the Cemetery
of “Inter duos Lauros.”]