THE SECOND CROWN.
The memorable plot which the black slave betrayed to Corvinus, was one
to which allusion has already been made, in the conversation between
Fulvius and his guardian. He was convinced from the blind martyr’s
unsuspecting admissions, that Agnes was a Christian, and he believed he
had now two strings to his bow; either he could terrify her into
marriage with himself, or he could destroy her, and obtain a good share
of her wealth by confiscation. He was nerved for this second alternative
by the taunts and exhortations of Eurotas; but, despairing of obtaining
another interview, he wrote her a respectful, but pressing letter,
descriptive of his disinterested attachment to her, and entreating her
to accept his suit. There was but the faintest hint at the end, that
duty might compel him to take another course, if humble petition did not
prevail.
To this application he received a calm, well-bred, but unmistakable
refusal; a stern, final, and hopeless rejection. But more, the letter
stated in clear terms, that the writer was already espoused to the
spotless Lamb, and could admit from no perishable being expressions of
personal attachment. This rebuff steeled his heart against pity; but he
determined to act prudently.
In the meantime, Fabiola, seeing the determination of Sebastian not to
fly, conceived the romantic idea of saving him, in spite of himself, by
extorting his pardon from the emperor. She did not know the depth of
wickedness in man’s heart. She thought the tyrant might fume for a
moment, but that he would never condemn a man twice to death. Some pity
and mercy, she thought, must linger in his breast; and her earnest
pleading and tears would extract them, as heat does the hidden balsam
from the hard wood. She accordingly sent a petition for an audience; and
knowing the covetousness of the man, presumed, as she said, to offer him
a slight token of her own and her late father’s loyal attachment. This
was a ring with jewels of rare beauty, and immense value. The present
was accepted; but she was merely told to attend with her memorial at the
Palatine on the 20th, in common with other petitioners, and wait for the
emperor’s descent by the great staircase, on his way to sacrifice.
Unencouraging as was this answer, she resolved to risk any thing, and do
her best.
The appointed day came; and Fabiola, in her mourning habits, worn both
as a suppliant, and for her father’s death, took her stand in a row of
far more wretched creatures than herself, mothers, children, sisters,
who held petitions for mercy, for those clearest to them, now in
dungeons or mines. She felt the little hope she had entertained die
within her at the sight of so much wretchedness, too much for it all to
expect favor. But fainter grew its last spark, at every step that the
tyrant took down the marble stairs, though she saw her brilliant ring
sparkling on his coarse hand. For on each step he snatched a paper from
some sorrowful suppliant, looked at it scornfully, and either tore it
up, or dashed it on the ground. Only here and there, he handed one to
his secretary, a man scarcely less imperious than himself.
It was now nearly Fabiola’s turn: the emperor was only two steps above
her, and her heart beat violently, not from fear of man, but from
anxiety about Sebastian’s fate. She would have prayed, had she known
how, or to whom. Maximian was stretching out his hand to take a paper
offered to him, when he drew back, and turned round, on hearing his name
most unceremoniously and peremptorily called out. Fabiola looked up too;
for she knew the voice.
Opposite to her, high in the white marble wall, she had observed an open
window, corniced in yellow marble, which gave light to a back corridor
leading to where Irene’s apartments were. She now looked up, guided by
the voice, and in the dark panel of the window, a beautiful but awful
picture was seen. It was Sebastian, wan and thin, who, with features
almost etherealized, calm and stern, as if no longer capable of passion,
or strong emotion, stood there before them; his lacerated breast and
arms appearing amidst the loose drapery he had thrown around him. For he
had heard the familiar trumpet-notes, which told him of the emperor’s
approach, and he had risen, and crept thus far, to greet him.[190]
“Maximian!” he cried out, in a hollow but distinct voice.
“Who art thou, sirrah! that makest so free with thine emperor’s name?”
asked the tyrant, turning upon him.
“I am come as from the dead, to warn thee that the day of wrath and
vengeance is fast approaching. Thou hast spilt the blood of God’s Saints
upon the pavement of this city; thou hast cast their holy bodies into
the river, or flung them away upon the dunghills at the gates. Thou hast
pulled down God’s temples, and profaned His altars, and rifled the
inheritance of His poor. For these, and thine own foul crimes and
lewdnesses, thine injustices and oppressions, thy covetousness and thy
pride, God hath judged thee, and His wrath shall soon overtake thee; and
thou shalt die the death of the violent; and God will give His Church an
emperor after His own heart. And thy memory shall be accursed through
the whole world, till the end of time. Repent thee, while thou hast
time, impious man; and ask forgiveness of God, in the name of Him, the
Crucified, whom thou hast persecuted till now.”
Deep silence was held while these words were fully uttered. The emperor
seemed under the influence of a paralyzing awe; for soon recognizing
Sebastian, he felt as if standing in the presence of the dead. But
quickly recovering himself and his passion, he exclaimed: “Ho! some of
you, go round instantly and bring him before me” (he did not like to
pronounce his name). “Hyphax here! Where is Hyphax? I saw him just now.”
But the Moor had at once recognized Sebastian, and run off to his
quarters. “Ha! he is gone, I see; then here, you dolt, what’s your
name?” (addressing Corvinus, who was attending his father,) “go to the
Numidian court, and summon Hyphax here directly.”
With a heavy heart Corvinus went on his errand. Hyphax had told his
tale, and put his men in order of defence. Only one entrance at the end
of the court was left open; and when the messenger had reached it, he
durst not advance. Fifty men stood along each side of the space, with
Hyphax and Jubala at the opposite end. Silent and immovable, with their
dark chests and arms bare, each with his arrow fixed, and pointed to the
door, and the string ready drawn, they looked like an avenue of basalt
statues, leading to an Egyptian temple.
“Hyphax,” said Corvinus, in a tremulous voice, “the emperor sends for
you.”
“Tell his majesty, respectfully, from me,” replied the African, “that
my men have sworn, that no man passes that threshold, coming in, or
going out, without receiving, through his breast or his back, a hundred
shafts into his heart; until the emperor shall have sent us a token of
forgiveness for every offence.”
Corvinus hastened back with this message, and the emperor received it
with a laugh. They were men with whom he could not afford to quarrel;
for he relied on them in battle, or insurrection, for picking out the
leaders. “The cunning rascals!” he exclaimed. “There, take that trinket
to Hyphax’s black spouse.” And he gave him Fabiola’s splendid ring. He
hastened back, delivered his gracious embassy, and threw the ring
across. In an instant every bow dropt, and every string relaxed. Jubala,
delighted, sprang forward and caught the ring. A heavy blow from her
husband’s fist felled her to the ground, and was greeted with a shout of
applause. The savage seized the jewel; and the woman rose, to fear that
she had only exchanged one slavery for a worse.
Hyphax screened himself behind the imperial command. “If,” he said, “you
had allowed us to send an arrow through his head or heart, all would
have been straight. As it was, we are not responsible.”
“At any rate, I will myself see my work done properly this time,” said
Maximian. “Two of you fellows with clubs come here.”
Two of his attendant executioners came from behind; Sebastian, scarcely
able to stand, was also there; mild and intrepid. “Now, my men,” said
the barbarian, “I must not have any blood spilt on these stairs; so you
knock the life out of him with your cudgels; make clean work of it.
Madam, what is your petition?”--stretching out his hand, to Fabiola,
whom he recognized, and so addressed more respectfully. She was
horrified and disgusted, and almost fainting at the sight before her;
so she said, “Sire, I fear it is too late!”
“Why too late?” looking at the paper. A flash came from his eye, as he
said to her: “What! You knew that Sebastian was alive? Are you a
Christian?”
“No, sire,” she replied. Why did the denial almost dry up in her throat?
She could not for her life have said she was any thing else. Ah!
Fabiola, thy day is not far off.
“But, as you said just now,” replied the emperor, more serene, returning
her petition, “I fear it is too late; I think that blow must have been
the _ictus gratiosus_.”[191]
“I feel faint, sire,” said she, respectfully; “may I retire?”
“By all means. But, by the bye, I have to thank you for the beautiful
ring which you sent, and which I have given to Hyphax’s wife” (lately
her own slave!). “It will look more brilliant on a black hand than even
on mine. Adieu!” and he kissed his hand with a wicked smile, as if there
were no martyr’s body near to witness against him. He was right; a heavy
blow on the head had proved fatal; and Sebastian was safe where he had
so longed to be. He bore with him a double palm, and received a twofold
crown. Yet still, an ignominious end before the world; beaten to death
without ceremony, while the emperor conversed. How much of martyrdom is
in its disgrace! Woe to us when we know that our sufferings earn us
honor!
The tyrant, seeing his work completed, ordered that Sebastian at least
should not be cast into the Tiber nor on a dunghill. “Put plenty of
weights to his body,” he added, “and throw it into the Cloaca,[192] to
rot there, and be the food of vermin. The Christians at least shall not
have it.” This was done; and the Saint’s Acts inform us, that in the
night he appeared to the holy matron Lucina, and directed her where to
find his sacred remains. She obeyed his summons, and they were buried
with honor, where now stands his basilica.
[Illustration: Christ blessing a Child, from a picture in the Cemetery
of the Latin Way.]