CHAPTER XXXIV.

BRIGHT DEATH.

It was a few days after the occurrences related in our last chapter but

one, that Fabiola was told, that an old man in great anguish, real or

pretended, desired to speak with her. On going down to him and asking

him his name and business, he replied:

“My name, noble lady, is Ephraim; and I have a large debt secured on the

property of the late Lady Agnes, which I understand has now passed into

your hands; and I am come, therefore, to claim it from you, for

otherwise I am a ruined man!”

“How is that possible?” asked Fabiola in amazement. “I cannot believe

that my cousin ever contracted debts.”

“No, not _she_,” rejoined the usurer, a little abashed; “but a gentleman

called Fulvius, to whom the property was to come by confiscation; so I

advanced him large sums upon it.”

Her first impulse was to turn the man out of the house; but the thought

of the sister came to her mind, and she civilly said to him:

“Whatever debts Fulvius has contracted I will discharge; but with only

legal interest, and without regard to usurious contracts.”

“But think of the risks I ran, madam. I have been most moderate in my

rates, I assure you.”

“Well,” she answered, “call on my steward, and he shall settle all. You

are running no risks now at least.”

She gave instructions, accordingly, to the freed-man who managed her

affairs, to pay this sum on those conditions, which reduced it to one

half the demand. But she soon engaged him in a more laborious task, that

of going through the whole of her late father’s accounts, and

ascertaining every case of injury or oppression, that restitution might

be made. And further, having ascertained that Corvinus had really

obtained the imperial rescript, through his father, by which her own

lawful property was saved from confiscation, though she refused ever to

see him, she bestowed upon him such a remuneration as would ensure him

comfort through life.

These temporal matters being soon disposed of, she divided her attention

between the care of the patient and preparation for her Christian

initiation. To promote Miriam’s recovery, she removed her, with a small

portion of her household, to a spot dear to both, the Nomentan villa.

The spring had set in, and Miriam could have her couch brought to the

window, or, in the warmest part of the day, could even be carried down

into the garden before the house, where, with Fabiola on one side and

Emerentiana on the other, and poor Molossus, who had lost all his

spirit, at her feet, they would talk of friends lost, and especially of

her with whom every object around was associated in their memories. And

no sooner was the name of Agnes mentioned, than her old faithful guard

would prick up his ears and wag his tail, and look around him. They

would also frequently discourse on Christian subjects, when Miriam would

follow up, humbly and unpretendingly, but with the warm glow which had

first charmed Fabiola, the instructions given by the holy Dionysius.

Thus, for instance, when he had been treating of the virtue and meaning

of the sign of the cross to be used in baptism, “whether on the forehead

of believers, or over the water, by which they were to be regenerated,

or the oil with which, as well as the chrism, they were anointed, or the

sacrifice by which they are fed;”[224] Miriam explained to the

catechumens its more domestic and practical use, and exhorted them to

practise faithfully what all good Christians did, that is, to make this

holy sign upon themselves already, “in the course and at the beginning

of every work, on coming in and going out, when putting on their

clothes, or sandals, when they washed, sat down to table, lighted their

lamp, lay down in bed, or sat on a chair, in whatever conversation they

should be engaged.”[225]

But it was observed with pain, by all but Fabiola, that the patient,

though the wound had healed, did not gain strength. It is often the

mother or sister that is last to see the slow waste of illness, in child

or sister. Love is so hopeful, and so blind! There was a hectic flush on

her cheek, she was emaciated and weak, and a slight cough was heard from

time to time. She lay long awake, and she desired to have her bed so

placed that from early dawn she could look out upon one spot more fair

to them all than the richest parterre.

There had long been in the villa an entrance to the cemetery on this

road; but from this time it had already received the name of Agnes; for

near its entrance had this holy martyr been buried. Her body rested in a

_cubiculum_ or chamber, under an arched tomb. Just above the entrance

into this chamber, and in the middle of the grounds, was an opening,

surrounded above by a low parapet, concealed by shrubs,

[Illustration: Fabiola went down herself, with a few servants, and what

was her distress at finding poor Emerentiana lying weltering in her

blood, and perfectly dead.]

which gave light and air to the room below. Towards this point Miriam

loved to look, as the nearest approach she could make, in her infirm

health, to the sepulchre of one whom she so much venerated and loved.

Early one morning, beautiful and calm, for it wanted but a few weeks to

Easter, she was looking in that direction, when she observed

half-a-dozen young men, who on their way to angle in the neighboring

Anio, were taking a short cut across the villa, and so committing a

trespass. They passed by this opening; and one of them, having looked

down, called the others.

“This is one of those underground lurking-places of the Christians.”

“One of their rabbit-holes into the burrow.”

“Let us go in,” said one.

“Yes, and how shall we get up again?” asked a second.

This dialogue she could not hear, but she saw what followed it. One who

had looked down more carefully, shading his eyes from the light, called

the others to do the same, but with gestures which enjoined silence. In

a moment they pulled down large stones from the rock-work of a fountain,

close at hand, and threw down a volley of them at something below. They

laughed very heartily as they went away; and Miriam supposed that they

had seen some serpent or other noxious animal below, and had amused

themselves with pelting it.

When others were stirring she mentioned the occurrence, that the stones

might be removed. Fabiola went down herself with a few servants, for she

was jealous of the custody of Agnes’s tomb. What was her distress at

finding poor Emerentiana gone down to pray at her foster-sister’s tomb,

lying weltering in her blood, and perfectly dead. It was discovered

that, the evening before, passing by some Pagan orgies near the river,

and being invited to join in them, she had not only refused, but had

reproached the partakers in them with their wickedness, and with their

cruelties to Christians. They assailed her with stones, and grievously

wounded her; but she escaped from their fury into the villa. Feeling

herself faint and wounded, she crept unnoticed to the tomb of Agnes,

there to pray. She had been unable to move away when some of her former

assailants discovered her. Those brutal Pagans had anticipated the

ministry of the Church, and had conferred upon her the baptism of blood.

She was buried near Agnes, and the modest peasant child received the

honor of annual commemoration among the Saints.

Fabiola and her companions went through the usual course of preparation,

though abridged on account of the persecution. By living at the very

entrance into a cemetery, and one furnished with such large churches,

they were enabled to pass through the three stages of catechumenship.

First they were _hearers_,[226] admitted to be present, while the

lessons were read; then _kneelers_,[227] who assisted at a portion of

the liturgical prayers; and lastly _elect_, or _petitioners_[228] for

baptism.

Once in this last class, they had to attend frequently in church, but

more particularly on the three Wednesdays following the first, the

fourth, and the last Sundays in Lent, on which days the Roman Missal yet

retains a second collect and lesson, derived from this custom. Any one

perusing the present rite of baptism in the Catholic Church, especially

that of adults, will see condensed into one office what used to be

anciently distributed through a variety of functions. On one day the

renunciation of Satan was made, previous to its repetition just before

baptism; on another the touching of the ears and nostrils, or the

_Ephpheta_, as it was called. Then were

[Illustration: Baptism, in the Early Ages of the Church.]

repeated exorcisms, and genuflections, and signings of crosses on the

forehead and body,[229] breathings upon the candidate, and other

mysterious rites. More solemn still was the unction, which was not

confined to the head, but extended to the whole body.

The Creed was also faithfully learnt, and committed to memory. But the

doctrine of the Blessed Eucharist was not imparted till after baptism.

In these multiplied preparatory exercises the penitential time of Lent

passed quickly and solemnly, till at last Easter-eve arrived.

It does not fall to our lot to describe the ceremonial of the Church in

the administration of the Sacraments. The liturgical system received its

great developments after peace had been gained; and much that belongs to

outward forms and splendor was incompatible with the bitter persecution

which the Church was undergoing.

It is enough for us to have shown, how not only doctrines and great

sacred rites, but how even ceremonies and accessories were the same in

the three first centuries as now. If our example is thought worth

following, some one will perhaps illustrate a brighter period than we

have chosen.

The baptism of Fabiola and her household had nothing to cheer it but

purely spiritual joy. The titles in the city were all closed, and among

them that of St. Pastor with its papal baptistery.

Early, therefore, on the morning of the auspicious day, the party crept

round the walls to the opposite side of the city, and following the Via

Portuensis, or road that led to the port at the mouth of the Tiber,

turned into a vineyard near Cæsar’s gardens, and descended into the

cemetery of Pontianus, celebrated as the resting-place of the Persian

martyrs, SS. Abdon and Sennen.

The morning was spent in prayer and preparation, when towards evening

the solemn office, which was to be protracted through the night,

commenced.

When the time for the administration of baptism arrived, it was indeed

but a dreary celebration that it introduced. Deep in the bowels of the

earth the waters of a subterranean stream had been gathered into a

square well or cistern, from four to five feet deep. They were clear,

indeed, but cold and bleak, if we may use the expression, in their

subterranean bath, formed out of the _tufa_, or volcanic rock. A long

flight of steps led down to this rude baptistery, a small ledge at the

side sufficed for the minister and the candidate, who was thrice

immersed in the purifying waters.

The whole remains to this day, just as it was then, except that over the

water is now to be seen a painting of St. John baptizing our Lord, added

probably a century or two later.

Immediately after Baptism followed Confirmation, and then the neophyte,

or new-born child of the Church, after due instruction, was admitted for

the first time to the table of his Lord, and nourished with the Bread of

angels.

It was not till late on Easter-day that Fabiola returned to her villa;

and a long and silent embrace was her first greeting of Miriam. Both

were so happy, so blissful, so fully repaid for all that they had been

to one another for months, that no words could give expression to their

feelings. Fabiola’s grand idea and absorbing pride, that day was, that

now she had risen to the level of her former slave: not in virtue, not

in beauty of character, not in greatness of mind, not in heavenly

wisdom, not in merit before God; oh! no; in all this she felt herself

infinitely her inferior. But as a child of God, as heiress to an eternal

kingdom, as a living member of the body of Christ, as admitted to a

share in all His mercies, to all the price of His redemption, as a new

creature in Him, she felt that she was equal to Miriam, and with happy

glee she told her so.

Never had she been so proud of splendid garment as she was of the white

robe, which she had received as she came out of the font, and which she

had to wear for eight days.

But a merciful Father knows how to blend our joys and sorrows, and sends

us the latter when He has best prepared us for them. In that warm

embrace which we have mentioned, she for the first time noticed the

shortened breath, and heaving chest of her dear sister. She would not

dwell upon it in her thoughts, but sent to beg Dionysius to come on the

morrow. That evening they all kept their Easter banquet together; and

Fabiola felt happy to preside at Miriam’s side over a table, at which

reclined or sat her own converted slaves, and those of Agnes’s

household, all of whom she had retained. She never remembered having

enjoyed so delightful a supper.

Early next morning, Miriam called Fabiola to her side, and with a fond,

caressing manner, which she had never before displayed, said to her:

“My dear sister, what will you do, when I have left you?”

Poor Fabiola was overpowered with grief. “Are you then going to leave

me? I had hoped we should live for ever as sisters together. But if you

wish to leave Rome, may I not accompany you, at least to nurse you, to

serve you?”

Miriam smiled, but a tear was in her eye, as taking her sister’s hand,

she pointed up towards heaven. Fabiola understood her, and said: “O, no,

no, dearest sister. Pray to God, who will refuse you nothing, that I may

not lose you. It is selfish, I know; but what can I do without you? And

now too, that I have learnt how much they who reign with Christ can do

for us by intercession, I will pray to Agnes[230] and Sebastian, to

interpose for me, and avert so great a calamity.

“Do get well: I am sure there is nothing serious in the matter; the warm

weather, and the genial climate of Campania, will soon restore you. We

will sit again together by the spring, and talk over better things than

philosophy.”

Miriam shook her head, not mournfully, but cheerfully, as she replied:

“Do not flatter yourself, dearest; God has spared me till I should see

this happy day. But His hand is on me now for death, as it has been

hitherto for life; and I hail it with joy. I know too well the number of

my days.”

“Oh! let it not be so soon!” sobbed out Fabiola.

“Not while you have on your white garment, dear sister,” answered

Miriam. “I know you would wish to mourn for me; but I would not rob you

of one hour of your mystic whiteness.”

Dionysius came, and saw a great change in his patient, whom he had not

visited for some time. It was as he had feared it might be. The

insidious point of the dagger had curled round the bone, and injured the

pleura; and phthisis

[Illustration: Administering the Sacrament of Extreme Unction, in the

Early Ages of the Church.]

had rapidly set in. He confirmed Miriam’s most serious anticipations.

Fabiola went to pray for resignation at the sepulchre of Agnes; she

prayed long and fervently, and with many tears, then returned.

“Sister,” she said with firmness, “God’s will be done, I am ready to

resign even you to Him. Now, tell me, I entreat you, what would you have

me do, after you are taken from me?”

Miriam looked up to heaven, and answered, “Lay my body at the feet of

Agnes, and remain to watch over us, to pray to her, and for me; until a

stranger shall arrive from the East, the bearer of good tidings.”

On the Sunday following, “Sunday of the white garments,” Dionysius

celebrated, by special permission, the sacred mysteries in Miriam’s

room, and administered to her the most holy Communion, as her viaticum.

This private celebration, as we know from St. Augustine and others was

not a rare privilege.[231] Afterwards, he anointed her with oil,

accompanied by prayer, the last Sacrament which the Church bestows.

Fabiola and the household who had attended these solemn rites, with

tears and prayers, now descended into the crypt, and after the divine

offices returned to Miriam in their darker raiment.

“The hour is come,” said she, taking Fabiola’s hand. “Forgive me, if I

have been wanting in duty to you, and in good example.”

This was more than Fabiola could stand, and she burst into tears. Miriam

soothed her, and said, “Put to my lips the sign of salvation when I can

speak no more; and, good Dionysius, remember me at God’s altar when I am

departed.”

He prayed at her side, and she replied, till at length her voice failed

her. But her lips moved, and she pressed them on the cross presented to

her. She looked serene and joyful, till at length raising her hand to

her forehead, then bringing it to her breast, it fell dead there, in

making the saving sign. A smile passed over her face, and she expired,

as thousands of Christ’s children have expired since.

Fabiola mourned much over her; but this time she mourned as they do who

have hope.

[Illustration: Portrait of Our Saviour, from the Catacomb of St.

Callistus.]

[Illustration: Constantine, the first Christian Emperor, after a medal

of the time.]

Part Third.--Victory.

CHAPTER I.

THE STRANGER FROM THE EAST.

We appear to ourselves to be walking in solitude. One by one, those

whose words and actions, and even thoughts, have hitherto accompanied

and sustained us, have dropped off, and the prospect around looks very

dreary. But is all this unnatural? We have been describing not an

ordinary period of peace and every-day life, but one of warfare, strife,

and battle. Is it unnatural that the bravest, the most heroic, should

have fallen thick around us? We have been reviving the memory of the

cruellest persecution which the Church ever suffered, when it was

proposed to erect a column bearing the inscription that the Christian

name had been extinguished. Is it strange that the holiest and purest

should have been the earliest to be crowned?

And yet the Church of Christ has still to sustain many years of sharper

persecution than we have described. A succession of tyrants and

oppressors kept up the fearful war upon her, without intermission, in

one part of the world or another for twenty years, even after

Constantine had checked it wherever his power reached. Dioclesian,

Galerius, Maximinus, and Lucinius in the East, Maximian and Maxentius in

the West, allowed no rest to the Christians under their several

dominions. Like one of those rolling storms which go over half the

world, visiting various countries with their ravaging energy, while

their gloomy foreboding or sullen wake simultaneously overshadow them

all, so did this persecution wreak its fury first on one country, then

on another, destroying every thing Christian, passing from Italy to

Africa, from Upper Asia to Palestine, Egypt, and then back to Armenia,

while it left no place in actual peace, but hung like a blighting

storm-cloud over the entire empire.

[Illustration: DIOCLESIAN.

After a medal in the Cabinet of France.]

[Illustration: LUCINIUS.

From a Gold Medal in the French Collection.]

[Illustration: MAXENTIUS.

From a Silver Medal in the French Collection.]

[Illustration: GALERIUS-MAXIMINUS.

From a Silver Medal in the French Collection.]

And yet the Church increased, prospered, and defied this world of sin.

Pontiff stepped after Pontiff at once upon the footstool of the papal

throne and upon the scaffold; councils were held in the dark halls of

the catacombs; bishops came to Rome, at risk of their lives, to consult

the successor of St. Peter; letters were exchanged between Churches far

distant and the supreme Ruler of Christendom, and between different

Churches, full of sympathy, encouragement and affection; bishop

succeeded bishop in his see, and ordained priests and other ministers to

take the place of the fallen, and be a mark set upon the bulwarks of the

city for the enemy’s aim; and the work of Christ’s imperishable kingdom

went on without interruption, and without fear of extinction.

Indeed it was in the midst of all these alarms and conflicts, that the

foundations were being laid of a mighty system, destined to produce

stupendous effects in after ages. The persecution drove many from the

cities, into the deserts of Egypt, where the monastic state grew up, so

as to make “the wilderness rejoice and flourish like the lily bud forth

and blossom, and rejoice with joy and praise.”[232] And so, when

Dioclesian had been degraded from the purple, and had died a peevish

destitute old man, and Galerius had been eaten up alive by ulcers and

worms, and had acknowledged, by public edict, the failure of his

attempts, and Maximian Herculeus had strangled himself, and Maxentius

had perished in the Tiber, and Maximinus had expired amidst tortures

inflicted by Divine justice equal to any he had inflicted on Christians,

his very eyes having started from their sockets, and Licinius had been

put to death by Constantine; the spouse of Christ, whom they had all

conspired to destroy, stood young and blooming as ever, about to enter

into her great career of universal diffusion and rule.

It was in the year 313 that Constantine, having defeated Maxentius, gave

full liberty to the Church. Even if ancient writers had not described

it, we may imagine the joy and gratitude of the poor Christians on this

great change. It was like the coming forth, and tearful though happy

greeting, of the inhabitants of a city decimated by plague, when

proclamation has gone forth that the infection has ceased. For here,

after ten years of separation and concealment, when families could

scarcely meet in the cemeteries nearest to them, many did not know who

among friends or kinsfolk had fallen victims, or who might yet survive.

Timid at first, and then more courageous, they ventured forth; soon the

places of old assembly, which children born in the last ten years had

not seen, were cleansed, or repaired, refitted and reconciled,[233] and

opened to public, and now fearless, worship.

[Illustration: The _Labarum_ or Christian Standard. From a coin of

Constantine.]

Constantine also ordered all property, public or private, belonging to

Christians and confiscated, to be restored; but with the wise provision

that the actual holders should be indemnified by the imperial

treasury.[234] The Church was soon in motion to bring out all the

resources of her beautiful forms and institutions; and either the

existing basilicas were converted to her uses, or new ones were built on

the most cherished spots of Rome.

Let not the reader fear that we are going to lead him forward into a

long history. This will belong to some one better qualified, for the

task of unfolding the grandeur and charms of free and unfettered

Christianity. We have only to show the land of promise from above,

spread like an inviting paradise before our feet; we are not the Josue

that must lead others in. The little that we have to add in this brief

third part of our humble book, is barely what is necessary for its

completion.

We will then suppose ourselves arrived at the year 318, fifteen years

after our last scene of death. Time and permanent laws have given

security to the Christian religion, and the Church is likewise more

fully establishing her organization.

[Illustration: A Marriage in the Early Ages of the Church.]

Many who on the return of peace had hung down their heads, having by

some act of weak condescension escaped death, had by this time expiated

their fall by penance; and now and then an aged stranger would be

saluted reverently by the passers-by, when they saw that his right eye

had been burned out, or his hand mutilated; or when his halting gait

showed that the tendons of the knee had been severed, in the late

persecution, for Christ’s sake.[235]

If at this period our friendly reader will follow us out of the Nomentan

gate, to the valley with which he is already acquainted, he will find

sad havoc among the beautiful trees and flower-beds of Fabiola’s villa.

Scaffold-poles are standing up in place of the first; bricks, marbles,

and columns lie upon the latter. Constantia, the daughter of

Constantine, had prayed at St. Agnes’s tomb, when not yet a Christian,

to beg the cure of a virulent ulcer, had been refreshed by a vision, and

completely cured. Being now baptized, she was repaying her debt of

gratitude, by building over her tomb her beautiful basilica. Still the

faithful had access to the crypt in which she was buried; and great was

the concourse of pilgrims, that came from all parts of the world.

One afternoon, when Fabiola returned from the city to her villa, after

spending the day in attending to the sick, in an hospital established in

her own house, the _fossor_, who had charge of the cemetery, met her

with an air of great interest, and no small excitement, and said:

“Madam, I sincerely believe that the stranger from the East, whom you

have so long expected, is arrived.”

Fabiola, who had ever treasured up the dying words of Miriam, eagerly

asked, “Where is he?”

“He is gone again,” was the reply.

The lady’s countenance fell. “But how,” she asked again, “do you know it

was he?” The excavator replied:

“In the course of the morning I noticed, among the crowd, a man not yet

fifty, but worn by mortification and sorrow, to premature old age. His

hair was nearly grey, as was his long beard. His dress was eastern, and

he wore the cloak which the monks from that country usually do. When he

came before the tomb of Agnes, he flung himself upon the pavement with

such a passion of tears, such groans, such sobs, as moved all around to

compassion. Many approached him, and whispered, ‘Brother, thou art in

great distress; weep not so, the saint is merciful.’ Others said to him,

‘We will all pray for thee, fear not.’[236] But he seemed to be beyond

comfort. I thought to myself, surely in the presence of so gentle and

kind a saint, none ought to be thus disconsolate or heart-broken, except

only one man.”

“Go on, go on,” broke in Fabiola; “what did he next?”

“After a long time,” continued the fossor, “he arose, and drawing from

his bosom a most beautiful and sparkling ring, he laid it on her tomb. I

thought I had seen it before, many years ago.”

“And then?”

“Turning round he saw me, and recognized my dress. He approached me, and

I could feel him trembling, as, without looking in my face, he timidly

asked me: ‘Brother, knowest thou if there lie buried any where here

about a maiden from Syria, called Miriam?’ I pointed silently to the

tomb. After a pause of great pain to himself, so agitated now that his

voice faltered, he asked me again: ‘Knowest thou, brother, of what she

died?’ ‘Of consumption,’ I replied. ‘Thank God!’ he ejaculated, with the

sigh of relieved anguish, and fell prostrate on the ground. Here too he

moaned and cried for more than an hour, then, approaching the tomb,

affectionately kissed its cover, and retired.”

“It is he, Torquatus, it is he!” warmly exclaimed Fabiola; “why did you

not detain him?”

“I durst not, lady; after I had once seen his face, I had not courage to

meet his eye. But I am sure he will return again; for he went towards

the city.”

[Illustration: Noe and the Ark, as a symbol of the Church, from a

picture in the Catacombs.]

“He must be found,” concluded Fabiola. “Dear Miriam, thou hadst, then,

this consoling foresight in death!”

CHAPTER II.

THE STRANGER IN ROME.

Early next morning, the pilgrim was passing through the Forum, when he

saw a group of persons gathered round one whom they were evidently

teasing. He would have paid but little attention to such a scene in a

public thoroughfare, had not his ear caught a name familiar to it. He

therefore drew nigh. In the centre was a man, younger than himself; but

if _he_ looked older than he was, from being wan and attenuated, the

other did so much more from being the very contrary. He was bald and

bloated, with a face swelled, and red, and covered with blotches and

boils. A drunken cunning swam in his eye, and his gait and tone were

those of a man habitually intoxicated. His clothes were dirty, and his

whole person neglected.

“Ay, ay, Corvinus,” one youth was saying to him, “won’t you get your

deserts, now? Have you not heard that Constantine is coming this year to

Rome, and don’t you think the Christians will have their turn about

now?”

“Not they,” answered the man we have described, “they have not the pluck

for it. I remember we feared it, when Constantine published his first

edict, after the death of Maxentius, about liberty for the Christians,

but next year he put us out of fear, by declaring all religions to be

equally permitted.”[237]

“That is all very well, as a general rule,” interposed another,

determined further to plague him; “but is it not supposed that he is

going to look up those who took an active part in the late persecution,

and have the _lex talionis_,[238] executed on them; stripe for stripe,

burning for burning, and wild beast for wild beast?”

“Who says so?” asked Corvinus turning pale.

“Why, it would surely be very natural,” said one.

“And very just,” added another.

“Oh, never mind,” said Corvinus, “they will always let one off for

turning Christian. And, I am sure, I would turn any thing, rather than

stand--”

“Where Pancratius stood,” interposed a third, more malicious.

“Hold your tongue,” broke out the drunkard, with a tone of positive

rage. “Mention his name again, if you dare!” And he raised his fist, and

looked furiously at the speaker.

“Ay, because he told you how you were to die,” shouted the youngster,

running away. “Heigh! Heigh! a panther here for Corvinus!”

All ran away before the human beast, now lashed into fury, more than

they would have done from the wild one of the desert. He cursed them,

and threw stones after them.

The pilgrim, from a short distance, watched the close of the scene, then

went on. Corvinus moved slowly along the same road, that which led

towards the Lateran basilica, now the Cathedral of Rome. Suddenly a

sharp growl was heard, and with it a piercing shriek. As they were

passing by the Coliseum, near the dens of the wild beasts, which were

prepared for combats among themselves, on occasion of the emperor’s

visit, Corvinus, impelled by the morbid curiosity natural to persons who

consider themselves victims of some fatality, connected with a

particular object, approached the cage in which a splendid panther was

kept. He went close to the bars, and provoked the animal, by gestures

and words; saying: “Very likely, indeed, that you are to be the death of

me! You are very safe in your den.” In that instant, the enraged animal

made a spring at him, and through the wide bars of the den, caught his

neck and throat in its fangs, and inflicted a frightful lacerated wound.

The wretched man was picked up, and carried to his lodgings, not far

off. The stranger followed him, and found them mean, dirty, and

uncomfortable in the extreme; with only an old and decrepit slave,

apparently as sottish as his master, to attend him. The stranger sent

him out to procure a surgeon, who was long in coming; and, in the

meantime, did his best to stanch the blood.

While he was so occupied, Corvinus fixed his eyes upon him with a look

of one delirious, or demented.

“Do you know me?” asked the pilgrim, soothingly.

“Know you? No--yes. Let me see--Ha! the fox! my fox! Do you remember our

hunting together those hateful Christians. Where have you been all this

time? How many of them have you caught?” And he laughed outrageously.

“Peace, peace, Corvinus,” replied the other. “You must be very quiet, or

there is no hope for you. Besides, I do not wish you to allude to those

times; for I am myself now a Christian.”

“You a Christian?” broke out Corvinus savagely. “You who have shed more

of their best blood than any man? Have you been forgiven for all this?

Or have you slept quietly upon it? Have no furies lashed you at night?

no phantoms haunted you? no viper sucked your heart? If so, tell me how

you have got rid of them all, that I may do the same. If not, they will

come, they will come! Vengeance and fury! why should they not have

tormented you as much as me?”

“Silence, Corvinus; I have suffered as you have. But I have found the

remedy, and will make it known to you, as soon as the physician has seen

you, for he is approaching.”

The doctor saw him, dressed the wound, but gave little hope of recovery,

especially in a patient whose very blood was tainted by intemperance.

The stranger now resumed his seat beside him, and spoke of the mercy of

God, and His readiness to forgive the worst of sinners; whereof he

himself was a living proof. The unhappy man seemed to be in a sort of

stupor; if he listened, not comprehending what was said. At length his

kind instructor, having expounded to him the fundamental mysteries of

Christianity, in hope, rather than certainty, of being attended to, went

on to say:

“And now, Corvinus, you will ask me, how is forgiveness to be applied to

one who believes all this? It is by Baptism, by being born again of

water and the Holy Ghost.”

“What?” exclaimed the sick man loathingly.

“By being washed in the laver of regenerating water.”

He was interrupted by a convulsive growl rather than a moan. “Water!

water! no water for me! Take it away!” And a strong spasm seized the

patient’s throat.

His attendant was alarmed, but sought to calm him. “Think not,” he said,

“that you are to be taken hence in your present fever, and to be plunged

into water” (the sick man shuddered, and moaned); “in clinical

baptism,[239] a few drops suffice, not more than is in this pitcher.”

And he showed him the water in a small vessel. At the sight of it, the

patient writhed and foamed at the mouth, and was shaken by a violent

convulsion. The sounds that proceeded from him, resembled a howl from a

wild beast, more than any utterance of human lips.

The pilgrim saw at once that hydrophobia, with all its horrible

symptoms, had come upon the patient, from the bite of the enraged

animal. It was with difficulty that he and the servant could hold him

down at times. Occasionally he broke out into frightful paroxysms of

blasphemous violence against God and man. And then, when this subsided,

he would go on moaning thus;

“Water they want to give me! water! water! none for me! It is fire!

fire! that I have, and that is my portion. I am already on fire, within,

without! Look how it comes creeping up, all round me, it advances every

moment nearer and nearer!” And he beat off the fancied flame with his

hands on either side of his bed, and he blew at it round his head. Then

turning towards his sorrowful attendants, he would say, “why don’t you

put it out? you see it is already burning me.”

Thus passed the dreary day, and thus came the dismal night, when the

fever increased, and with it the delirium, and the violent accesses of

fury, though the body was sinking. At length he raised himself up in

bed, and looking with half-glazed eyes straight before him, he exclaimed

in a voice choked with bitter rage:

“Away, Pancratius, begone! Thou hast glared on me long enough. Keep back

thy panther! Hold it fast; it is going to fly at my throat. It comes!

Oh!” And with a convulsive grasp, as if pulling the beast from off his

throat, he plucked away the bandage from his wound. A gush of blood

poured over him, and he fell back, a hideous corpse, upon the bed.

[Illustration: The Sacrifice of Abraham, from a picture in the

Catacombs.]

His friend saw how unrepenting persecutors died.

CHAPTER III.

AND LAST.

The next morning, the pilgrim proceeded to discharge the business which

had been interfered with by the circumstances related in the preceding

chapter. He might have been first seen busily employed inquiring after

some one about the Januses in the Forum. At length, the person was

found; and the two walked towards a dirty little office under the

Capitol, on the ascent called the _Clivus Asyli_. Old musty books were

brought out, and searched column after column, till they came to the

date of the “Consuls Dioclesian Augustus, the eighth time, and Maximian

Herculeus Augustus, the seventh time.”[240] Here they found sundry

entries, with reference to certain documents. A roll of mouldy

parchments of that date was produced, docketed as referred to, and the

number corresponding to the entries was drawn out, and examined. The

result of the investigation seemed perfectly satisfactory to both

parties.

“It is the first time in my life,” said the owner of the den, “that I

ever knew a person who had got clear off, come back, after fifteen

years, to inquire after his debts. A Christian, I presume, sir?”

“Certainly, by God’s mercy.”

“I thought as much; good morning, sir. I shall be happy to accommodate

you at any time, at as reasonable rates as my father Ephraim, now with

Abraham. A great fool that for his pains, I must say, begging his

pardon,” he added, when the stranger was out of hearing.

With a decided step and a brighter countenance than he had yet

displayed, he went straight to the villa on the Nomentan way; and after

again paying his devotions in the crypt, but with a lighter heart, he at

once addressed the fossor, as if they had never been parted: “Torquatus,

can I speak with the Lady Fabiola?”

“Certainly,” answered the other; “come this way.”

Neither alluded, as they went along, to old times, nor to the

intermediate history of either. There seemed to be an understanding,

instinctive to both, that all the past was to be obliterated before men,

as they hoped it was before God. Fabiola had remained at home that and

the preceding day, in hopes of the stranger’s return. She was seated in

the garden close to a fountain, when Torquatus, pointing to her,

retired.

She rose, as she saw the long-expected visitor approach, and an

indescribable emotion thrilled through her, when she found herself

standing in his presence.

“Madam,” he said, in a tone of deep humility and earnest simplicity. “I

should never have presumed to present myself before you, had not an

obligation of justice, as well as many of gratitude, obliged me.”

“Orontius,” she replied,--“is this the name by which I must address

you?” (he signified his assent) “you can have no obligations towards me,

except that which our great Apostle charges on us, that we love one

another.”

“I know you feel so. And therefore I would not have pretended, unworthy

as I am, to intrude upon you for any lower motive than one of strict

duty. I know what gratitude I owe you for the kindness and affection

lavished upon one now dearer to me than any sister can be on earth, and

how you discharged towards her the offices of love which I had

neglected.”

“And thereby sent her to me,” interposed Fabiola, “to be my angel of

life. Remember, Orontius, that Joseph was sold by his brethren, only

that he might save his race.”

“You are too good, indeed, towards one so worthless,” resumed the

pilgrim; “but I will not thank you for your kindness to another who has

repaid you so richly. Only this morning I have learnt your mercy to one

who could have no claim upon you.”

“I do not understand you,” observed Fabiola.

“Then I will tell you all plainly,” rejoined Orontius. “I have now been

for many years a member of one of those communities in Palestine, of men

who live separated from the world in desert places, dividing their day,

and even their night, between singing the Divine praises, contemplation,

and the labor of their hands. Severe penance for our past

transgressions, fasting, mourning, and prayer form the great duty of our

penitential state. Have you heard of such men here?”

“The fame of holy Paul and Anthony is as great in the West as in the

East,” replied the lady.

“It is with the greatest disciple of the latter that I have lived,

supported by his great example, and the consolation he has given me. But

one thought troubled me, and prevented my feeling complete assurance of

safety even after years of expiation. Before I left Rome I had

contracted a heavy debt, which must have been accumulating at a

frightful rate of interest, till it had reached an overwhelming amount.

Yet it was an obligation deliberately contracted, and not to be justly

evaded. I was a poor cenobite,[241] barely living on the produce of the

few palm-leaf mats that I could weave, and the scanty herbs that would

grow in the sand. How could I discharge my obligations?

“Only one means remained. I could give myself up to my creditor as a

slave, to labor for him and endure his blows and scornful reproaches in

patience, or to be sold by him for my value, for I am yet strong. In

either case, I should have had my Saviour’s example to cheer and support

me. At any rate, I should have given up all that I had--myself.

“I went this morning to the Forum, found my creditor’s son, examined his

accounts, and found that you had discharged my debt in full. I am,

therefore, your bondsman, Lady Fabiola, instead of the Jew’s.” And he

knelt humbly at her feet.

“Rise, rise,” said Fabiola, turning away her weeping eyes. “You are no

bondsman of mine, but a dear brother in our common Lord.”

Then sitting down with him, she said: “Orontius, I have a great favor to

ask from you. Give me some account of how you were brought to that life,

which you have so generously embraced.”

“I will obey you as briefly as possible. I fled, as you know, one

sorrowful night from Rome, accompanied by a man”--his voice choked him.

“I know, I know whom you mean,--Eurotas,” interrupted Fabiola.

“The same, the curse of our house, the author of all mine, and my dear

sister’s, sufferings. We had to charter a vessel at great expense from

Brundusium, whence we sailed for Cyprus. We attempted commerce and

various speculations, but all failed. There was manifestly a curse on

all that we undertook. Our means melted away, and we were obliged to

seek some other country. We crossed over to Palestine, and settled for a

while at Gaza. Very soon we were reduced to distress; every body shunned

us, we knew not why; but my conscience told me that the mark of Cain was

on my brow.”

Orontius paused and wept for a time, then went on:

“At length, when all was exhausted, and nothing remained but a few

jewels, of considerable price indeed, but with which, I knew not why,

Eurotas would not part, he urged me to take up the odious office of

denouncing Christians; for a furious persecution was breaking out. For

the first time in my life I rebelled against his commands, and refused

to obey. One day he asked me to walk out of the gates; we wandered far,

till we came to a delightful spot in the midst of the desert. It was a

narrow dell, covered with verdure, and shaded by palm-trees; a little

clear stream ran down, issuing from a spring in a rock at the head of

the valley. In this rock we saw grottoes and caverns; but the place

seemed uninhabited. Not a sound could be heard but the bubbling of the

water.

“We sat down to rest, when Eurotas addressed me in a fearful speech. The

time was come, he told me, when we must both fulfil the dreadful

resolution he had taken, that we must not survive the ruin of our

family. Here we must both die; the wild beasts would consume our bodies,

and no one would know the end of its last representatives.

“So saying, he drew forth two small flasks of unequal sizes, handed me

the larger one, and swallowed the contents of the smaller.

“I refused to take it, and even reproached him for the difference of our

doses; but he replied that he was old, and I young; and that they were

proportioned to our respective strengths. I still refused, having no

wish to die. But a sort of demoniacal fury seemed to come over him; he

seized me with a giant’s grasp, as I sat on the ground, threw me on my

back, and exclaiming, ‘We must both perish together,’ forcibly poured

the contents of the phial, without sparing me a drop, down my throat.

“In an instant, I was unconscious; and remained so, till I awoke in a

cavern, and faintly called for drink. A venerable old man, with a white

beard, put a wooden bowl of water to my lips. ‘Where is Eurotas?’ I

asked. ‘Is that your companion?’ inquired the old monk. ‘Yes,’ I

answered. ‘He is dead,’ was the reply. I know not by what fatality this

had happened; but I bless God with all my heart, for having spared me.

“That old man was Hilarion, a native of Gaza, who, having spent many

years with the holy Anthony in Egypt, had that year[242] returned to

establish the cenobitic and eremitical life in his own country, and had

already collected several disciples. They lived in the caves hard by,

and took their refection under the shade of those palms, and softened

their dry food in the water of that fountain.

“Their kindness to me, their cheerful piety, their holy lives, won on me

as I recovered. I saw the religion which I had persecuted in a sublime

form; and rapidly recalled to mind the instructions of my dear mother,

and the example of my sister; so that yielding to grace, I bewailed my

sins at the feet of God’s minister,[243] and received baptism on

Easter-eve.”

“Then we are doubly brethren, nay twin children of the Church; for I was

born to eternal life, also, on that day. But what do you intend to do

now?”

“Set out this evening on my return. I have accomplished the two objects

of my journey. The first was to cancel my debt; my second was to lay an

offering on the shrine of Agnes. You will remember,” he added, smiling,

“that your good father unintentionally deceived me into the idea, that

she coveted the jewels I displayed. Fool that I was! But I resolved,

after my conversion, that she should possess the best that remained in

Eurotas’s keeping; so I brought it to her.”

“But have you means for your journey?” asked the lady, timidly.

“Abundant,” he replied, “in the charity of the faithful. I have letters

from the Bishop of Gaza, which procure me every where sustenance and

lodging; but I will accept from you a cup of water and a morsel of

bread, in the name of a disciple.”

They rose, and were advancing towards the house, when a woman rushed

madly through the shrubs, and fell at their feet, exclaiming: “Oh, save

me! dear mistress, save me! He is pursuing me, to kill me!”

Fabiola recognized, in the poor creature, her former slave Jubala; but

her hair was grizzly and dishevelled, and her whole aspect bespoke

abject misery. She asked whom she meant.

“My husband,” she replied; “long has he been harsh and cruel, but to-day

he is more brutal than usual. Oh, save me from him!”

“There is no danger here,” replied the lady; “but I fear, Jubala, you

are far from happy. I have not seen you for a long, long time.”

“No, dear lady, why should I come to tell you of all my woes? Oh! why

did I ever leave you and your house, where I ought to have been so

happy? I might then with you, and Graja, and good old departed

Euphrosyne, have learnt to be good myself, and have embraced

Christianity!”

“What, have you really been thinking of this, Jubala?”

“For a long time, lady, in my sorrows and remorse. For I have seen how

happy Christians are, even those who have been as wicked as myself. And

because I hinted this to my husband this morning, he has beaten me, and

threatened to take my life. But, thank God, I have been making myself

acquainted with Christian doctrines, through the teaching of a friend.”

“How long has this bad treatment gone on, Jubala?” asked Orontius, who

had heard of it from his uncle.

“Ever,” she replied, “since soon after marriage, I told him of an offer

made to me previously, by a dark foreigner, named Eurotas. Oh! he was

indeed a wicked man, a man of black passions and remorseless villany.

Connected with him, is my most racking recollection.”

“How was that?” asked Orontius, with eager curiosity.

“Why, when he was leaving Rome, he asked me to prepare for him two

narcotic potions; one for any enemy, he said, should he be taken

prisoner. This was to be certainly fatal; another had to suspend

consciousness for a few hours only, should he require it for himself.

“When he came for them, I was just going to explain to him, that,

contrary to appearances, the small phial contained a fatally

concentrated poison, and the large one a more diluted and weaker dose.

But my husband came in at the moment, and in a fit of jealousy thrust me

from the room. I fear some mistake may have been committed, and that

unintentional death may have ensued.”

Fabiola and Orontius looked at one another in silence, wondering at the

just dispensations of Providence; when they were aroused by a shriek

from the woman. They were horrified at seeing an arrow quivering in her

bosom. As Fabiola supported her, Orontius, looking behind him, caught a

glimpse of a black face grinning hideously through the fence. In the

next moment a Numidian was seen flying away on his horse, with his bow

bent, Parthian-wise over his shoulder, ready for any pursuer. The arrow

had passed, unobserved, between Orontius and the lady.

“Jubala,” asked Fabiola, “dost thou wish to die a Christian?”

“Most earnestly,” she replied.

“Dost thou believe in One God in Three Persons?”

“I firmly believe in all the Christian Church teaches.”

“And in Jesus Christ, who was born and died for our sins?”

“Yes, in all that you believe.” The reply was more faint.

“Make haste, make haste, Orontius,” cried Fabiola, pointing to the

fountain.

He was already at its basin, filling full his two hands, and coming

instantly, poured their contents on the head of the poor African,

pronouncing the words of baptism; and, as she expired, the water of

regeneration mingled with her blood of expiation.

After this distressing, yet consoling, scene, they entered the house,

and instructed Torquatus about the burial to be given to this

doubly-baptized convert.

Orontius was struck with the simple neatness of the house, so strongly

contrasting with the luxurious splendor of Fabiola’s former dwelling.

But suddenly his attention was arrested, in a small inner room, by a

splendid shrine or casket, set with jewels, but with an embroidered

curtain before it, so as to allow only the frame of it to be seen.

Approaching nearer, he read inscribed on it:

“THE BLOOD OF THE BLESSED MIRIAM, SHED BY CRUEL HANDS!”

Orontius turned deadly pale; then changed to a deep crimson; and almost

staggered.

Fabiola saw this, and going up to him kindly and frankly, placed her

hand upon his arm, and mildly said to him:

“Orontius, there is that within, which may well make us both blush

deeply, but not therefore despond.”

So saying she drew aside the curtain, and Orontius saw within a crystal

plate, the embroidered scarf so much connected with his own, and his

sister’s history. Upon it were lying two sharp weapons, the points of

both which were rusted with blood. In one he recognized his own dagger;

the other appeared to him like one of those instruments of female

vengeance, with which he knew heathen ladies punished their attendant

slaves.

“We have both,” said Fabiola, “unintentionally inflicted a wound, and

shed the blood of her, whom now we honor as a sister in heaven. But for

my part, from the day when I did so, and gave her occasion to display

her virtue, I date the dawn of grace upon my soul. What say you,

Orontius?”

“That I, likewise, from the instant that I so misused her, and led to

her exhibition of such Christian heroism, began to feel the hand of God

upon me, that has led me to repentance and forgiveness.”

“It is thus ever,” concluded Fabiola. “The example of our Lord has made

the martyrs; and the example of the martyrs leads us upwards to Him.

Their blood softens our hearts; His alone cleanses our souls. Theirs

pleads for mercy; His bestows it.

“May the Church, in her days of peace and of victories, never forget

what she owes to the age of her martyrs. As for us two, we are indebted

to it for our spiritual lives. May many, who will only read of it, draw

from it the same mercy and grace!”

They knelt down, and prayed long together silently before the shrine.

They then parted, to meet no more.

After a few years, spent by Orontius in penitential fervor, a green

mound by the palms, in the little dell near Gaza, marked the spot where

he slept the sleep of the just.

And after many years of charity and holiness, Fabiola withdrew to rest

in peace, in company with Agnes and Miriam.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Hot-baths.

[2] Lib. iv. ep. 16.

[3] The Pompeian Court in the Crystal Palace, London, will have

familiarized many readers with the forms of an ancient house.

[4] This custom suggests to St. Augustine the beautiful idea, that the

Jews were the _pædagogi_ of Christianity,--carrying for it the books

which they themselves could not understand.

[5] The peculiar epithet of the Catacombs.

[6] The _pancratium_ was the exercise which combined all other personal

contests,--wrestling, boxing, etc.

[7] The implements of writing in schools, the tablets being covered

with wax, on which the letters were traced by the sharp point, and

effaced by the flat top, of the style.

[8] The hand-bandages worn in pugilistic combats.

[9] One of the many calumnies popular among the heathens.

[10] This scene is taken from a real occurrence.

[11] Church and gate of San Pancrazio.

[12] Old St. Pancras’s Church, London, the favorite burial-place of

Catholics, till they had cemeteries of their own.

[13] Anastastasius, Biblioth, _in vita Honorii_.

[14] Pronounced with the accent on the _i_.

[15] The milk of 500 asses per day was required to furnish Poppæa,

Nero’s wife, with one cosmetic.

[16] The dining-hall.

[17] Black antimony applied on the eyelids.

[18] Not all of me will die.

[19] Job xix. 27.

[20] See the noble answer of Evalpistus, an imperial slave, to the

judge, in the Acts of St. Justin, ap. Ruinart, tom. i.

[21] Church.

[22] “Thy eyes are as those of cloves.”--_Cantic._ i. 14.

[23] Twelve was the age for marriage according to the Roman law.

[24] “Annulo fidei suæ subarrhavit me, et immensis monilibus ornavit

me.”--_Office of St. Agnes._

[25] “Dexteram meam et collum meum cinxit lapidibus pretiosis, tradidit

auribus meis inæstimabiles margaritas.”

[26] So called from its resemblance to the letter C, the old form of Σ.

[27] Gloves.

[28] Lucian: De Morte Peregrini.

[29] “Magnificæ nemo negat; sed quæ potest esse homini polito

delectatio, quum aut homo imbecillus a valentissima bestia laniatur,

aut præclara bestia venabulo transverberatur?”--_Ep. ad Fam._ lib. vii.

ep. 1.

[30] Porridge.

[31] Vengeance.

[32] 1 Cor. vii. 24.

[33] 1 Pet. ii. 14.

[34] A famous sorceress in Augustus’s age.

[35] The worship of interior Africa.

[36] “The sweating goal.” It was an obelisk of brick (which yet

remains), cased with marble, from the top of which issued water, and

flowed down like a sheet of glass, all round it, into a basin on the

ground.

[37] The triumphal arch of Titus, on which are represented the spoils

of the Temple.

[38] The arch of Constantine stands exactly under the spot where this

scene is described.

[39] The place where live beasts were kept for the shows.

[40] Gaeta.

[41] The generic name for the wild beasts of that continent, as opposed

to bears and others from the north.

[42] It is not mentioned what it precisely was.

[43] These were the popular ideas of Christian worship.

[44] Now Monte Cavo, above Albano.

[45] “Vidi supra montem Agnum stantem, de sub cujus pede fons vivus

emanat.”--_Office of St. Clement._

[46] Ammianus Marcellinus tells us that, at the decline of the

empire, the streets at night were lighted so as to rival day. “Et hæc

confidenter agebat (Gallus) ubi pernoctantium luminum claritudo dierum

solet imitari fulgorem.” Lib. xiv. c. 1.

[47] Roma Subterr. 1. iii. c. 22.

[48] Euseb. E. H. 1. vi. c. 43.

[49] No domestic concealment surely could be more difficult than that

of a wife’s religion from her husband. Yet Tertullian supposes this to

have been not uncommon. For, speaking of a married woman communicating

herself at home, according to practice in those ages of persecution, he

says, “Let not your husband know what you taste secretly, before every

other food; and if he shall know of the bread, may he not know it to

be what it is called.” _Ad Uxor._ lib. ii. c. 5. Whereas, in another

place, he writes of a Catholic husband and wife giving communion to one

another. _De Monogamia_, c. 11.

[50] The Vicus Patricius.

[51] Job xxix. 15.

[52] The place most noted in the neighborhood of Rome for whining and

importunate beggars.

[53] Is. i. 9.

[54] “Ne quis hæredem virginem neque mulierem faceret,” that no one

should leave a virgin or a woman his heiress.--_Cicero in Verrem_, i.

[55] The upper part of the Quirinal, leading to the Nomentan gate,

_Porta Pia_.

[56] “Cujus pulchritudinem sol et luna mirantur, ipsi soli servo

fidem.”--_Office of St. Agnes._

[57] We have it recorded of Nepotian, that on his conversion he

distributed all his property to the poor. St. Paulinus of Nola did the

same.

[58] “Dabis impio militi quod non vis dare sacerdoti, et hoc tollit

fiscus, quod con accipit Christus.”--_St. Aug._

[59] “Be pleased to render, O Lord, eternal life to all who for Thy

Name’s sake do unto us good things.”

[60] _Pampinus_, _pampino_.

[61] _Ocelli Italiæ._

[62] Such as are given by Macrobius in his _Saturnalia_, lib. i., and

by Valerius Maximus.

[63] Matt. xii. 11.

[64] “The Villa of Statues,” or “at the Statues.”

[65] “At” or “_to_ the palms.”

[66] Jos. vii.

[67] There was no post in those days, and persons wishing to send

letters had to dispatch an express, or find some opportunity.

[68] Matt. v. 44.

[69] A whirlpool between Italy and Sicily.

[70] The heathen notion of the Blessed Eucharist.

[71] “Diogenes, the excavator, deposited in peace, eight days before

the first of October.”--From St. Sebastian’s. Boldetti, i. 15, p. 60.

[72] “From New Street. Pollecla, who sells barley in New Street.” Found

in the cemetery of Callistus.

[73] Given by F. Marchi in his _Architecture of Subterranean Christian

Rome_, 1844; a work on which we will freely draw.

[74] The number, unfortunately, is not intelligible, being in cipher.

[75] In the cemetery of St. Agnes, pieces of lime have been found in

tombs forming exact moulds of different parts of the body, with the

impression of a finer linen inside, and a coarser outside. As to spices

and balsams, Tertullian observes that “the Arabs and Sabæans well know

that the Christians annually consume more for their dead than the

heathen world did for its gods.”

[76] These terms will be explained later.

[77] On the 22d of April, 1823, this tomb was discovered unviolated.

On being opened the bones, white, bright, and polished as ivory, were

found, corresponding to the framework of a youth of eighteen. At his

head was the phial of blood. With the head to his feet was the skeleton

of a boy, of twelve or thirteen, black and charred chiefly at the head

and upper parts, down to the middle of the thigh-bones, from which to

the feet the bones gradually whitened. The two bodies, richly clothed,

repose side by side under the altar of the Jesuits’ college at Loreto.

[78] Better known as Caracalla’s.

[79] The person who had charge of the bathers’ clothes, from _capsa_, a

chest.

[80] “Cucumio and Victoria made (the tomb) for themselves while

living. _Capsarius_ of the Antonine” (baths). Found in the cemetery

of Callistus, first published by F. Marchi, who attributes it,

erroneously, to the cemetery of Prætextatus.

[81] “Marcus Antonius Restitutus made this subterranean for himself and

his family, that trust in the Lord.” Lately found in the cemetery of

SS. Nereus and Achilleus. It is singular that in the inscription of the

martyr Restitutus, given in the last chapter, as in this, a syllable

should be omitted in the name, one easily slurred in pronouncing it.

[82] Sixty was the full age, but admission was given sometimes at forty.

[83] Now St. Sebastian’s. The older _Porta Capena_ was nearly a mile

within the present.

[84] As _Ad Nymphas, Ad Ursum pileatum, Inter duas lauros, Ad Sextum

Philippi_, &c.

[85] The cemetery at St. Cæcilia’s tomb.

[86] Formed apparently of a Greek preposition and a Latin verb.

[87] That is, the red volcanic sand called _puzzolana_, so much prized

for making Roman cement.

[88] Locus, loculus.

[89] That of SS. Nereus and Achilleus.

[90] So F. Marchi calculates them, after diligent examination. We may

mention here that, in the construction of these cemeteries, the sand

extracted from one gallery was removed into another already excavated.

Hence many are now found completely filled up.

[91] One or two entries from the old _Kalendarium Romanum_ will

illustrate this:

“iii. Non. Mart. Lucii in Callisti.

vi. Id. Dec. Eutichiani in Callisti.

xiii. Kal. Feb. Fabiani in Callisti, et Sebastiani ad Catacumbas.

viii. Id. Aug. Systi in Callisti.”

We have extracted these entries of depositions in the cemetery of

Callistus, because, while actually writing this chapter, we have

received news of the discovery of the tombs and lapidary inscriptions

of every one of these Popes, together with those of St. Antherus, in

one chapel of the newly-ascertained cemetery of Callistus, with an

inscription in verse by St. Damasus:

“Prid. Kal. Jan. Sylvestri in Priscillæ.

iv. Id. (Aug.) Laurentii in Tiburtina.

iii. Kal. Dec. Saturnini in Thrasonis.”

Published by Ruinart,--Acta, tom. iii.

[92] Acta Martyr. tom. iii.

[93] S. Greg. Turon, de Gloria Mart. lib. i. c. 28, ap. Marchi, p.

81. One would apply St. Damasus’s epigram on these martyrs to this

occurrence, Carm. xxviii.

[94] Published by Bucherius in 1634.

[95] (Of) ... nelius martyr.

[96] The crypt, we believe, was discovered before the stairs.

[97] Of Cornelius Martyr Bishop.

[98] These form the great bulk of his extant works in verse.

[99] “(The picture) of St. Cornelius Pope, of St. Cyprian.” On the

other side, on a narrow wall projecting at a right angle, are two

more similar portraits; but only one name can be deciphered, that of

St. Sixtus, or, as he is there and elsewhere called, Sustus. On the

paintings of the principal saints may still be read, scratched in the

mortar, in characters of the seventh century, the names of visitors to

the tomb. Those of two priests are thus--

✠LEO [=PRB] I ANNIS [=PRB].

It may be interesting to add the entry in the Roman calendar.

“xviii. Kal. Oct. Cypriani Africæ: Romæ celebratur in Callisti.” “Sept.

14. (The deposition) of Cyprian in Africa: at Rome it is kept in (the

cemetery) of Callistus.”

[100] Pope Pius IX.--_Pub._

[101] Chambers.

[102]

“Sic venerarier ossa libet,

Ossibus altar et impositum;

_Illa Dei sita sub pedibus_,

Prospicit hæc, populosque suos

Carmine propitiata fovet.”

_Prudentius, περι στε_ iii. 43.

“With her relics gathered here,

The altar o’er them placed revere,

_She beneath God’s feet reposes_,

Nor to us her soft eye closes,

Nor her gracious ear.”

The idea that the martyr lies “beneath the feet of God” is an allusion

to the Real Presence in the Blessed Eucharist.

[103] The arched tombs were so called. A homely illustration would

be an arched fireplace, walled up to the height of three feet. The

paintings would be inside, above the wall.

[104] The word is usually given in Greek, and Christ is familiarly

called the _ιχθυς, ichthys_.

[105] This is the interpretation of St. Optatus (_adv. Parm._ lib.

iii.) and St. Augustine (_de C. D._ lib. xviii. c. 23).

[106] This is Tertullian’s explanation (_de Baptismo_, lib. ii. c. 2).

[107] In the same cemetery is another interesting painting. On a table

lie a loaf and a fish; a priest is stretching his hands over them; and

opposite is a female figure in adoration. The priest is the same as, in

a picture close by, is represented administering baptism. In another

chamber just cleared out, are very ancient decorations, such as masks,

&c., and fishes bearing baskets of bread and flasks of wine, on their

backs as they swim.

[108] The type of the figure is that of St. Peter, as he is represented

to us in the cemeteries. On a glass, bearing a picture of this scene,

the person striking the rock has written over his head PETRVS.

[109] There are several repetitions of this painting. One has been

lately found, if we remember right, in the cemetery of Nereus and

Achilleus. It is long anterior to the Council of Chalcedon, whence this

mode of representing our Lord is usually dated. It is given in our

title-page.

[110] The Lateran house or palace.

[111] Inscription on the front, and medals, of the Lateran Basilica.

[112] These are the very words of Decius, on the election of St.

Cornelius to the See of St. Peter: “Cum multo patientius audiret levari

adversum se æmulum principem, quam constitui Romæ Dei sacerdotem.”

_S. Cypr. Ep. lii. ad Antonianum_, p. 69, ed. Maur. Could there be a

stronger proof, that under the heathen empire, the papal power was

sensible and external, even to the extent of exciting imperial jealousy?

[113] “As a sated guest.”

[114] A fashionable watering-place near Naples.

[115] A large earthenware vessel, in which wine was kept in the cellar.

[116] These instruments of cruelty are mentioned in the _Acts of the

Martyrs_, and in ecclesiastical historians.

[117] “Sopra l’antichissimo altare di legno, rinchiuso nell’ altare

papale,” &c. “On the most ancient wooden altar, enclosed in the papal

altar of the most holy Lateran basilica.” By Monsig. D. Bartolini.

Rome, 1852.

[118] Acts x.

[119] 2 Tim. iv. 21.

[120] A second or younger Pudens is spoken of.

[121] May the 19th.

[122] Verses 17, 18.

[123] It is not necessary to go into the classical uses of the word

_titulus_.

[124] Only the Pope can say Mass on it, or a cardinal, by authority

of a special bull. This high altar has been lately magnificently

decorated. A plank of the wooden altar has always been preserved in St.

Peter’s altar, at St. Pudentiana’s. It has been lately compared with

the wood of the Lateran altar, and found to be identical.

[125] Its site is now occupied by the Caetani chapel.

[126] Prefixed to the Maurist edition of his works, or in Ruinart, i.

[127] Ο προεστως, _prœpositus_, see Heb. xiii. 17. Ο των Ρωμαιων

προεστως Βικτωρ, “Victor bishop of the Romans.” Euseb. H. E. I. v. 24.

The Greek word used is the same as in St. Justin.

[128] The learned Bianchini plausibly conjectures that the _station_

on Easter Sunday is not at the Lateran (the cathedral), nor at St.

Peter’s, where the Pope officiates, at one of which it would naturally

be expected to be, but at the Liberian basilica, because it used to be

held for the administration of baptism at St. Pudentiana’s, which is

only a stone’s throw from it.

[129] “Cinnamius Opas Lector, of the _title_ of Fasciola” (now SS.

Nereus and Achilleus), “the friend of the poor, who lived forty-six

years, seven months, and eight days. Interred in peace the tenth day

before the calends of March.” From St. Paul’s.

[130] “Macedonius, an exorcist of the Catholic Church.” From the

cemetery of SS. Thraso and Saturninus, on the Salarian way.

[131] In the great and old basilicas of Rome the celebrant faces the

faithful.

[132] “The day before the first of June ceased to live Prætiosa, a girl

(_puella_), a virgin of only twelve years of age, the handmaid of God

and of Christ. In the consulship of Flavius Vincentius, and Fravitus, a

consular man.” Found in the cemetery of Callistus.

[133] _Vetus et Nova Ecclesiæ Disciplina; circa Beneficia._ Par. I.

lib. iii. (Luc. 1727.)

[134] Thomass. p. 792.

[135] “Jesus the virgin’s crown,” the hymn for virgins.

[136] “Posuit signum in faciem meam, ut nullum præter eum amatorem

admittam.” _Office of St. Agnes._

[137] “Mel et lac ex ejus ore suscepi, et sanguis ejus ornavit genas

meas.” _Ibid._

[138] “Discede a me pabulum mortis, quia jam ab alio amatore præventa

sum.” “Ipsi soli servo fidem, ipsi me tota devotione committo.” “Quem

cum amavero casta sum, cum tetigero munda sum, cum accepero virgo sum.”

_Ibid._

[139] “Est autem sabaia ex hordeo vel frumento in liquorem conversis

paupertinus in Illyrico potus.” “Sabaia is the drink of the poor in

Illyria, made of barley or wheat, transformed into a liquid.” _Ammian.

Marcellinus_, lib. xxvi. 8, p. 422, ed. Lips.

[140] A.D. 258.

[141] Prudentius, in his hymn on St. Laurence.

[142] “Our lords Dioclesian and Maximian, the unconquered, elder

Augusti, fathers of the Emperors and Cæsars.”

[143] The name of the Emperor.

[144] See Lucian’s address to the judge, upon Ptolemæus’s condemnation,

in the beginning of St. Justin’s Second _Apology_, or Ruinart, vol. i.

p. 120.

[145] There was one cemetery called _ad sextum Philippi_, which is

supposed to have been situated six miles from Rome; but many were three

miles from the heart of the city.

[146] _Ad Uxorem_, lib. ii. c. 5.

[147] When the Vatican cemetery was explored, in 1571, there were found

in tombs two small square golden boxes, with a ring at the top of the

lid. These very ancient sacred vessels are considered by Bottari to

have been used for carrying the Blessed Eucharist round the neck (_Roma

Subterranea_, tom. i. fig. 11); and Pellicia confirms this by many

arguments (_Christianæ Eccl. Politia_, tom. iii. p. 20).

[148] Door-keepers,--an office constituting a lesser order in the

Church.

[149] “The Lord is my light and my salvation: whom shall I fear? The

Lord is the protector of my life: of whom shall I be afraid?”

[150] “While the wicked draw nigh me, to eat my flesh, my enemies that

trouble me have themselves been weakened and have fallen.”

[151] “If armies in camp shall stand together against me, my heart

shall not fear.”--_Ps._ xxvi.

[152] The guardian genius of the place.

[153] Blind.

[154] The rack was used for a double purpose; as a direct torment, and

to keep the body distended for the application of other tortures. This

of fire was one of the most common.

[155] There are many instances in the lives of martyrs of their deaths

being the fruit of prayer, as in St. Praxedes, St. Cæcilia, St. Agatha,

&c.

[156] “In peace, in the selfsame, I will sleep and I will rest.” _Ps._

iv. 9.

[157] For Thou, O Lord, singularly hast placed me in hope. _Ps._ v. 10.

[158] The penitentiary system of the early Church will be better

described in any volume that embodies the antiquity of the second

period of ecclesiastical history, that of _The Church of the

Basilicas_. It is well known, especially from the writings of St.

Cyprian, that those who proved weak in persecution, and were subjected

to public penance, obtained a shortening of its term,--that is, an

_indulgence_,--through the intercession of confessors, or of persons

imprisoned for the faith.

[159] This is related in the Acts just referred to.

[160] See Piazza, on the church of _Santa Maria degli Angeli_, in his

work on the Stations of Rome.

[161] The last cardinal of the extinct title of St. Cyriacus’s, formed

out of a part of these Baths, was Cardinal Bembo.

[162] Michelangelo. The noble and beautiful church of Sta. Maria degli

Angeli was made by him out of the central hall and circular vestibule,

described in the text. The floor was afterwards raised, and thus the

pillars were shortened, and the height of the building diminished by

several feet.

[163] See the account of St. Pothinus, _Ruinart_, i. p. 145.

[164] _Ruinart_, p. 145.

[165] “Si dignus fueris, cognosces.” _Ib._

[166] Acts of St. Justin. _Ruinart_, p. 129.

[167] This is mentioned as the extreme possible extension.

[168] _Ib._ p. 56, Acts of St. Felicitas and her sons.

[169] p. 220, Acts of St. Perpetua, &c.

[170] pp. 219 and 146, Acts of Lyonese Martyrs.

[171] Acts of Lionese Martyrs, p. 219.

[172] _Asinus portans mysteria_, a Latin proverb.

[173]

“Christ’s secret gifts, by good Tarcisius borne,

The mob profanely bade him to display;

He rather gave his own limbs to be torn,

Than Christ’s celestial to mad dogs betray.”

_Carmen_, xviii.

See also Baronius’s notes to the _Martyrology_. The words “(Christi)

cœlestia _membra_,” applied to the Blessed Eucharist, supply one of

those casual, but most striking, arguments that result from identity

of habitual thought in antiquity, more than from the use of studied or

conventional phrases.

[174] Such a celebration of the Divine Mysteries, by a priest of this

name at Antioch, is recorded in his Acts. (See _Ruinart_, tom. iii. p.

182, note.)

[175] “I live now, not I, but Christ liveth in me.” _Gal._ ii. 20.

[176] See the Acts of the Martyrs of Lyons, _Ruinart_, vol. i. p.

152 (where will be found the account of the martyrdom of a youth of

fifteen), and those of St. Perpetua and Felicitas, p. 221.

[177] See the Acts of St. Felicitas and her seven sons, _Ruinart_, vol.

i. p. 55.

[178] _Hist. Eccles._ lib. viii. c. 7.

[179] Euseb. _ibid._ See also St. Ignatius’s letter to the Romans, in

his Acts, _ap._ _Ruinart_, vol. i. p. 40.

[180] The amphitheatre could contain 150,000.

[181] This was an ordinary device. The underground constructions for

its practice have been found in the Coliseum.

[182] The martyr Saturus, torn by a leopard, and about to die,

addressed the soldier Pudens, not yet a Christian, in words of

exhortation; then asked him for the ring on his finger, dipped it in

his own blood, and gave it back, “leaving him the inheritance of the

pledge, and the memorial of his blood.” _Ap._ _Ruinart_, vol. i. p. 223.

[183] He is commemorated on the 11th of August, with his father

Chromatius, as has been already observed.

[184] About 800_l._

[185] We give equivalents in English money, as more intelligible.

[186] Called thence St. Adauctus.

[187] “Membraque picta cruore novo.” _Prud._ περι στεφ iii. 29.

[188] The reader, when visiting the Crystal Palace, will find in the

Roman Court an excellent model of the Roman Forum. On the raised mound

of the Palatine hill, between the arches of Titus and Constantine, he

will see a chapel of fair dimensions standing alone. It is the one to

which we allude. It has been lately repaired by the Barberini family.

[189] The fountain before described.

[190] See the Acts of St. Sebastian.

[191] The _coup de grace_, the blow by which culprits were “put out

of their pain.” Breaking the legs of the crucified was considered an

_ictus gratiosus_.

[192] The great sewer of Rome.

[193] “If thou hadst known, and in this thy day,” etc. _St. Luke_, xix.

42.

[194] “Ecce quod concupivi jam video, quod speravi jam teneo; ipsi sum

juncta in cœlis quem in terris posita tota devotione dilexi.” _Office

of St. Agnes._

[195] Jan. 21.

[196] In or near the forum stood several arches dedicated to Janus, and

called simply by his name, near which usurers or money-lenders kept

their posts.

[197] 1600_l._

[198] “Mecum enim habeo custodem corporis mei, Angelum Domini.” _The

Breviary._

[199] “Incessu patuit Dea.”

[200] “Duplex corona est præstita martyri.” _Prudentius._

[201] “Ingressa Agnes turpitudinis locum, Angelum Domini præparatum

invenit.” _The Breviary._

[202] The Church of St. Agnes in the Piazza Navona, one of the most

beautiful in Rome.

“Cui posse soli Cunctipotens dedit

Castum vel ipsum reddere fornicem

* * * * *

Nil non pudicum est, quod pia visere

Dignaris, almo vel pede tangere.”

_Prudentius._

[203] “Non intorto crine caput comptum.” Her head not dressed

with braided hair. _St. Ambrose_, lib. i. _de Virgin._ c. 2. See

Prudentius’s description of St. Eulalia, περι στεφ hymn. iii. 31.

[204] “Solvitur acris hyems, grata vice veris et Favoni.” _Horace._

[205] Pudicitia.

[206] St. Ambrose, _ubi supra_.

[207]

“Æterne Rector, divide januas,

Cœli, obserratas terrigenis prius,

Ac te sequentem, Christe, animam voca,

Cum virginalem, tum Patris hostiam.”

_Prudentius_, περι στεφ 14.

[208] This was the usual practice, to behead out of the gate, at the

second, third, or fourth mile-stone; but it is clear from Prudentius

and other writers that St. Agnes suffered at the place of trial, of

which we have other instances.

[209] Prudentius.

[210] St. Ambrose.

[211] Prudentius mentions that a sudden fall of snow shrouded thus the

body of St. Eulalia lying in the Forum. _Ubi sup._

[212] Red paint.

[213] Revenge.

[214] “[The tomb] of Dionysius, physician [and] priest,” lately found

at the entrance to the crypt of St. Cornelius, in the cemetery of

Callistus.

[215] “Qui verbo suo instaurat universa.” _The Breviary._

[216] Eusebius, in his account of Serapion, teaches us that this was

the manner of administering Holy Communion to the sick, without the

cup, or under only one kind.

[217] Persons freed from slavery retained the title of _freedman_ or

_freedwoman_ (_libertus_, _liberta_) of the person to whom they had

belonged, as “of Augustus.” If they had belonged originally to a free

class, they were liberated as _ingenuus_ or _ingenua_ (well-born) and

restored by emancipation to that class.

[218] Phil. ii. 7.

[219] Isaias vii. 14.

[220] “Cum arcam suam, in qua Domini sanctum fuit, manibus indignis

tentasset aperire, igne inde surgente deterrita est, ne auderet

attingere.” “When she attempted to open, with unworthy hands, her

chest, in which was the holy (body) of our Lord, she was deterred from

daring to touch it, by fire rising up from it.” _De Lapsis._

[221] See Martenne, _De antiquis Ecclesiæ Ritibus_.

[222] So in the eastern liturgies. Fortunatus calls the Blessed

Eucharist, “Corporis Agni margaritum ingens.” “The huge pearl of the

Body of the Lamb.” Lib. iii. car. 25.

[223] De morte Satyri.

[224] St. Aug. Tract. cxviii. in Joan.

[225] Tertullian (who lived earlier than two hundred years after

Christ, and is the oldest Latin ecclesiastical writer) _de Corona

Milit._ c. 3.

[226] Audientes.

[227] Genuflectentes.

[228] Electi and competentes.

[229] These will be found, particularly in the baptism of adults,

joined with repetitions of the _Our Father_.

[230]

“Agnæ sepulchrum est Romulea in domo,

Fortis puellæ, martyris inclitæ.

Conspectu in ipso condita turrium

Servat salutem virgo Quiritum:

Necnon et ipsos protegit advenas,

Puro ac fideli pectore supplices.”

_Prudentius._

“The tomb of Agnes graces Rome,

A maiden brave, a martyr great.

Resting in sight of bastioned gate,

From harm the virgin shields her home;

Nor to the stranger help denies,

If sought with pure and faithful sighs.”

[231] St. Ambrose said Mass in the house of a lady beyond the Tiber.

(Paulinus, in his Life, tom. ii. _Oper._ ed. Bened.) St. Augustine

mentions a priest’s saying Mass in a house supposed to be infested with

evil spirits. _De Civ. D._ lib. xxii. c. 6.

[232] Isaias xxxv. 1, 2.

[233] The ceremony employed after desecration.

[234] Euseb. H. E. lib. x. c. 5.

[235] In the East, some governors, wearied with wholesale murders,

adopted this more merciful way of treating Christians towards the end

of the persecution. See _Eusebius_.

[236] This scene is described from reality.

[237] Eusebius, _ubi sup._

[238] The law of retaliation, such as was prescribed also in the Mosaic

law, “an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth,” &c.

[239] Clinical baptism, or that of persons confined to their beds

was administered by pouring or sprinkling the water on the head. See

Bingham, book xi. c. 11.

[240] A. D. 303.

[241] The religious who lived in community, or _common life_, were so

called.

[242] A. D. 303.

[243] Confession of sins in private was made before baptism. See

Bingham, _Origines_, b. xi. ch. viii. § 14.