What a wonderful phenomenon it was that truth should triumph over
fiction, and the simple doctrines of the Cross should conquer delusive
mythology!
The religion of the poets, the dreamy groves, the flower-strewn shore,
the chosen deities of the sunlit island worlds, who in the enthusiasm
of this artistic nature rose from the foam of the sea, were pervaded
by the fragrance of flowers, immortalized as stars. Warm ideal figures
united with mankind by sweet love dalliance. How all this fabric
vanished from the arms of its worshippers at one word from the mighty
Being who, throned on a measureless height, is yet near to every human
creature, whom no one can see, but everyone can feel, and who is the
God of the stars as well as of the lilies of the field.
How the altars of the Olympian gods gradually grew cold, how the rose
garlands vanished from the golden plinths, how the people disappeared
from the perfumed halls to hear beneath the open sky, illumined by
glowing sunlight, the words of an invisible truth.
This sky, this sunlit sky was the mystery of mysteries! The night-sky,
with its thousand stars, was the mythological heaven; that of the day
belonged to the faith of the truth indivisible. Neither the depth nor
the height of the latter can be measured. We only feel the beneficent
warmth, and from the infinite blue distance an eternal hope tells the
heart that beyond this sky is another and a better world, of which
this earth is only the shadow; and the darker, the more gloomy are the
shadows here, the more radiant is the truth there.
This was the idea which won the victory. Earth ceased to be a prison;
death was no affliction, and the Caesar was no longer omnipotent.
In the time of Augustus Caesar a poet said:
"If Rome persecutes thee, whither wilt thou flee? Wherever thou mayst
go, thou art everywhere in the power of Rome." The new faith offered
every persecuted human being a place of refuge, and Rome vainly
conquered all the known world. Another unknown world full of secret
joys that increased in proportion was reserved for those who suffered
here below, and the darker, the gloomier the shadows here, the more
radiant would be the truth there.
This faith which wiped the tears from the cheeks of those who wept
could not fail to conquer. Soon persecutors and persecuted united in
it, for it alone afforded comfort to him who suffered innocently, and
forgiveness to him who acted unjustly. The persecutions of the Caesars
only increased the adherents of the new religion instead of lessening
them. In the public streets in the midst of Rome appeared those chosen
by the Holy Spirit to proclaim the doctrines of the omnipotent God,
which they would deny neither on funeral pyres nor under the teeth of
the wild beasts in the circus games; and the living torches which,
covered with pitch, were kindled to light the imperial gardens,
declared, even in the midst of the flames, that what was anguish and
suffering here was salvation and joy there.
In vain were they murdered. The blood of the slain merely sealed the
doctrines which they attested; and whoever creates martyrs only gains
implacable foes.
But the Imperator Carinus invented a new species of martyrdom.
The proselytes shrank neither from death nor from torture. What was
anguish to others seemed bliss to them; and fragile girls, inspired
by the Holy Ghost, sang hymns of praise in the midst of the flames.
Carinus no longer had these sainted virgins dragged to blazing pyres,
but gave them to his soldiers; and virtuous women who did not recoil
from the most terrible death trembled in the presence of the shame
which scorched the purity of their souls more fiercely than the flames
of the burning oil. And while they entered the arena of the circus
with brave faces, they thought with horror of the hidden dens of sin.
It was a diabolical idea to punish those who, for the transparent
purity of their souls, were ready to renounce all the pleasures and
joys of earth, by the lowest form of these joys. And Carinus knew that
his victims could not even escape this disgrace by death, since the
religion of the Christians forbade suicide.
Therefore during his reign believers met at the hour of midnight in
secret places, subterranean caverns, and abandoned tombs, and
dispersed again at dawn.
The Roman augurs had been informed of these secret meetings; and, that
the people might help in searching out the places, they spread the
report that the Christians, after all the lights were extinguished,
committed horrible deeds which could be done only in the deepest
darkness. This was saying a great deal, since in Rome every possible
atrocity was perpetrated in the brightest daylight.
* * * * *
Gliding along the shore in his boat, Manlius constantly drew nearer to
the singing which so strangely thrilled his heart, and soon reached an
arm of the Tiber, at whose mouth about twenty empty boats were rocking
on the water.
He looked around, and saw by the dim, uncertain moonlight, a large
round, massive building, shaded by huge Italian pines, from whose
interior the music seemed to issue.
He walked around it. The moon was shining through the windows and
colonnades, but no human being was visible. Manlius thought with a
shudder of the tales of witches which he had heard in his childhood,
of the Sabbath of wicked souls that met in invisible forms in places
shunned by all men. His superstitious terror increased as he
associated the vision of his dream with this tradition. He always saw
before him the face of lovely, gentle Sophronia when he tried to think
of these accursed sorcerers; and against the gloomy, horrible
background her smiling countenance appeared.
At last he summoned up his courage, and releasing his hand from his
cloak, he strode resolutely into the vestibule of the building. As he
entered, his thoughts, at the first glance, took a different
direction; for in the centre of this vestibule a square stone had been
raised from the floor, and through the opening thus formed, a
subterranean hall could be seen, from which rose the singing.
So this was the _Agapeia_ of the Christians.
Concealed by the darkness and the shadow of a pillar Manlius saw
before him two long rows of figures. The heads of the men were covered
with hoods, the women were closely veiled. All were singing a gentle,
mournful melody. The tones expressed self-sacrificing sorrow, a
sublime, quiet suffering, blended with a strange suggestion of grief
which sent a cold shiver through the nerves of the listening Roman.
A few small oil lamps were burning at the end of the dimly lighted
hall, by whose faint glimmer Manlius perceived a lifeless human form,
whose feet and hands, stretched in the form of a cross, were pierced
with nails, while a crown of thorns adorned the brow, and a freshly
bleeding wound was visible in the side.
"So these are the terrible people who under the shelter of night hold
their abominable meetings," thought Manlius, panting for breath as his
hand sought the hilt of his sword; while in his excitement he fancied
he saw the head of the figure nailed to the cross sink lower and
lower.
The singing ceased, and after a long, soughing sound, which is the
universal sigh of a devout assembly, an old man, whose snow-white
beard floated far down on the breast of his black robe, came forward.
Taking a cup which stood at the feet of the crucified form, he raised
it to his lips and kissed it three times with devout fervour.
But instead of devotion Manlius saw an expression of loathsome
bloodthirstiness in the face of the grey-haired monster, while the
penitent kneeling of the men and women seemed to him an evil, obscene
movement; and the cup before which all bowed their heads, in his
imagination, was filled with blood, the blood of a man murdered in a
terrible manner.
The old man in a trembling voice said:
"In this cup is His blood, which was shed to bless us; this cup is the
holy remembrance which effaces; this cup is the bond by which we shall
be united! Worship this holy symbol, and be pure through the blood of
the purest!"
Shuddering, Manlius grasped his sword-hilt, and when he saw a tall
female figure clad in white, with her veil partly thrown back,
approach the old man and take the cup from his hand, he tore the blade
from its sheath and, frantic with horror, sprang through the square
opening into the midst of the hall.
"Hold, accursed murderers!" he cried, blinded with rage. "You
apostles of sin! What are you doing here?"
Not a sound was heard in the assembly. It was prepared for such
attacks. The old man answered quietly:
"We are worshipping God!"
"May you be accursed when you utter that word! You have committed
deeds for which even the darkness of night is no protection. You
disturb by your diabolical songs the dead resting beneath the earth;
you kill human beings and force one another to drink their blood, and
when your nerves are roused to execrable excitement by this blood, you
extinguish your torches and commit sins whose bare thought inspires
horror."
"You will repent what you have said, Manlius Sinister!" cried the
clear voice of a woman standing beside the greybeard. It was the one
who had first taken the cup. Manlius started as he heard a familiar
voice utter his own name, and when the lady now threw back her veil,
he beheld in amazement Sophronia's gentle, innocent face, with its
mild, calm eyes, divine smile, and the hallowed power of an almost
supernatural firmness.
"Sophronia!" groaned Manlius, and his drawn sword fell from his hand.
Doubt took possession of his heart. He believed that he was still the
sport of a terrible dream, and with heavy tongue faltered:
"Gods of Olympus, let me wake!"
"You are awake!" said Sophronia. "Look me in the face. I am Sophronia,
the friend of your childhood."
"But this cup of blood----"
"Blood only for those who believe, the remembrance of blood for those
who remember. Touch it with your lips."
With ill-repressed loathing Manlius tried the contents of the cup and
stammered in amazement:
"This is wine." Then, in a low tone, seized by a fear hitherto
unknown, he asked: "And that dying figure?"
"Is the image of the crucified Saviour."
Manlius perceived with astonishment that it was only a painted
picture.
"Do you worship a dead man?"
"A god who became man to die."
"That is impossible."
"How often the gods of Olympus assumed human form in order to enjoy
pleasures whose sweetness can be experienced only by human senses. The
God of Love, our God, assumed human form in order to be able to feel
the sorrows which torture mankind, misery, shame, persecution, and
death. The gods of Olympus became human beings to show mortals the
path to hell; the God of Love, our God, became a mortal to guide us
into the way to heaven! The gods of Olympus are brilliant, royal
forms, who demand sacrificed victims, gold, magnificent temples,
bloody hecatombs, and promise in return long life, treasures,
palaces, and blood-stained victories. The God of Love, our God, is a
poor, dead form, who asks nothing except a pure heart, and promises
nothing at all for this life; whose image is a symbol that, in this
existence, we shall have only sorrow and suffering, but in another
world joy and happiness await us----"
While these words were uttered, all who were present involuntarily
bared their heads. Manlius did the same, without knowing why. The
others knelt down; he, too, fell on his knees.
"I have persecuted you wrongfully," he faltered, extending his arms,
"Take vengeance on me."
"The God of Love commands us to forgive our persecutors. Leave this
place in peace and confidence. Though you should betray us, torture
us, slay us, we will pray for you."
"May I be accursed if I do so. Never can I leave you calmly, for you
have filled my heart with unrest. The terrible words of the avenging
God arrested me in my path. I read in your face the words of the
all-pardoning God. Oh, give me comfort. Must I lose two heavens: one
above, the other in your heart?"
"The heaven of love is closed against no one," said Sophronia,
pointing upward with holy devotion.
Manlius clasped the outstretched hand, and raising it to his lips,
asked with tender emotion:
"And your heart?"
"The God of Love does not forbid earthly love," replied Sophronia,
with a radiant smile.
Manlius, his face glowing with happiness, sank at the young girl's
feet, resting at her side like a tamed lion, while through the hall
rang the hymn of joy which teaches rejoicing with those who rejoice.
The grey-haired patriarch laid his hand upon the new catechumen's
head, and the dying God looked in benediction upon them all.