and waylaid by the most frightful of his crimes, and because upon that
fluctuating mirror-rising (like the mocking mirrors of _mirage_ in
Arabian deserts) from the fens of death--most of all are reflected the
sweet countenances which the man has laid in ruins; therefore I know,
bishop, that you also, entering your final dream, saw Domrémy. That
fountain, of which the witnesses spoke so much, showed itself to your
eyes in pure morning dews; but neither dews, nor the holy dawn, could
cleanse away the bright spots of innocent blood upon its surface. By
the fountain, bishop, you saw a woman seated, that hid her face. But,
as _you_ draw near, the woman raises her wasted features. Would Domrémy
know them again for the features of her child? Ah, but _you_ know them,
bishop, well! Oh, mercy! what a groan was _that_ which the servants,
waiting outside the bishop's dream at his bedside, heard from his
labouring heart, as at this moment he turned away from the fountain and
the woman, seeking rest in the forests afar off. Yet not _so_ to escape
the woman, whom once again he must behold before he dies. In the forests
to which he prays for pity, will he find a respite? What a tumult, what
a gathering of feet is there! In glades where only wild deer should run,
armies and nations are assembling. There is the Bishop of Beauvais,
clinging to the shelter of thickets. What building is that which hands
so rapid are raising? Is it a martyr's scaffold? Will they burn the
child of Domrémy a second time? No: it is a tribunal that rises to the
clouds. Shall my Lord of Beauvais sit again upon the judgment-seat, and
again number the hours for the innocent? Ah no! he is the prisoner at
the bar. Already all is waiting: the mighty audience is gathered, the
Court is hurrying to their seats, the witnesses are arrayed, the judge
is taking his place. My lord, have you no counsel? "Counsel I have none:
in heaven above, or on earth beneath, counsellor there is none now that
would take a brief from _me:_ all are silent." Is it, indeed, come to
this? Alas! the time is short, the tumult is wondrous, the crowd
stretches away into infinity, but yet I will search in it for somebody
to take your brief; I know of somebody that will be your counsel. Who
is this that cometh from Domrémy? Who is she in bloody coronation robes
from Rheims? Who is she that cometh with blackened flesh from walking
the furnaces of Rouen? This is she, the shepherd girl, counsellor that
had none for herself, whom I choose, bishop, for yours. She it is, I
engage, that shall take my lord's brief. She it is, bishop, that would
plead for you: yes, bishop, SHE--when heaven and earth are silent.
PANCRATIUS
_By_ CARDINAL WISEMAN
Note.--The selection following has been adapted from _Fabiola_, or _The
Church of the Catacombs_, a tale by Cardinal Wiseman. Pancratius, one of
the early Christian martyrs, was a boy of fourteen at the time the story
opens and was but little older at his death. At school his nobility
incurred the enmity of Corvinus, whose hatred lead to the early
denunciation of Pancratius.
When the Roman emperor decided to exterminate the Christians and sought
to publish the bloody edict, Pancratius in a perilous attempt succeeded
in tearing down and burning the royal proclamation. Corvinus had a
narrow escape from the emperor's wrath, and his hatred of Pancratius
increased. Unable to secure another victim, Corvinus seized his old
schoolmaster and gave him up to torture and death at the hands of his
pupils. On his return from this bloody expedition, Corvinus, drunken
and reckless, was thrown from his chariot into a canal and would have
drowned had not Pancratius rescued him. At that time Pancratius
recovered the knife with which he had cut down the edict and which was
kept by Corvinus as evidence against the young Christian. Ignorant of
his rescuer's name, Corvinus still sought for Pancratius, and this
selection shows how he succeeded.
At length they came near one of the chambers which flanked the eastern
side of the longer arm of the hall. [Footnote: Corvinus and his,
companion are searching among the Christian captives at work on the
baths of Diocletian for suitable men to fight the lions in the
amphitheater.] In one of them they saw a number of convicts (if we must
use the term) resting after their labor. The center of the group was an
old man, most venerable in appearance, with a long white beard
streaming on his breast, mild in aspect, gentle in word, cheerful in
his feeble action. It was the confessor Saturninus, now in his
eightieth year, yet loaded with two heavy chains. At each side were the
more youthful laborers, Cyriacus and Sisinnius, of whom it is recorded,
that in addition to their own task-work, one on each side, they bore up
his bonds. Indeed, we are told that their particular delight was, over
and above their own assigned portion of toil, to help their weaker
brethren, and perform their work for them.
Several other captives lay on the ground about the old man's feet, as
he, seated on a block of marble, was talking to them with a sweet
gravity, which riveted their attention, and seemed to make them forget
their sufferings. What was he saying to them? Was he requiting Cyriacus
for his extraordinary charity by telling him that, in commemoration of
it, a portion of the immense pile which they were toiling to raise
would be dedicated to God under his invocation, become a title, and
close its line of titulars by an illustrious name? Or was he recounting
another more glorious vision, how this smaller oratory was to be
superseded and absorbed by a glorious temple in honour of the Queen of
Angels, which should comprise that entire superb hall, with its
vestibule, under the directing skill of the mightiest artistic genius
that the world should ever see? [Footnote: Michelangelo--The noble and
beautiful church of Sta Maria degh Angeli was made by him out of the
central hall and circular vestibule. The floor was afterwards raised,
and thus the pillars were shortened and the height of the building
diminished by several feet.] What more consoling thought could have
been vouchsafed to those poor oppressed captives than that they were
not so much erecting baths for the luxury of a heathen people, or the
prodigality of a wicked emperor, as in truth building up one of the
stateliest churches in which the true God is worshiped, and the Virgin
Mother, who bore Him incarnate, is affectionately honoured?
From a distance Corvinus saw the group, and pausing, asked the
superintendent the names of those who composed it. He enumerated them
readily; then added, "You may as well take that old man, if you like;
for he is not worth his keep so far as work goes."
"Thank you," replied Corvinus; "a pretty figure he would cut in the
amphitheater. The people are not to be put off with decrepit old
creatures, whom a single stroke of a bear's or tiger's paw kills
outright. They like to see young blood flowing, and plenty of life
struggling against wounds and blows before death comes to decide the
contest. But there is one there whom you have not named. His face is
turned from us; he has not the prisoner's garb, nor any kind of fetter.
Who can it be?"
"I do not know his name," answered Rabirius; "but he is a fine youth,
who spends much of his time among the convicts, relieves them and even
at times helps them in their work. He pays, of course, well for being
allowed all this; so it is not our business to ask questions."
"But it is mine, though," said Corvinus sharply; and he advanced for
this purpose. The voice caught the stranger's ear, and he turned round
to look.
Corvinus sprang upon him with the eye and action of a wild beast,
seized him, and called out with exultation, "Fetter him instantly. This
time, at least, Pancratius, thou shalt not escape."
* * * * *
Pancratius, with some twenty more, fettered and chained together, was
led through the streets to prison. As they were thus dragged along,
staggering and stumbling helplessly, they were unmercifully struck by
the guards who conducted them; and any persons near enough to reach
them dealt them blows and kicks without remorse. Those further off
pelted them with stones or offal, and assailed them with insulting
ribaldry. They reached the Mamertine prison at last, and were thrust
down into it, and found there already other victims, of both sexes,
awaiting their time of sacrifice. The youth had just time, while he was
being handcuffed, to request one of the captors to inform his mother
and Sebastian of what had happened; and he slipt his purse into his
hand.
A prison in ancient Rome was not the place to which a poor man might
court committal, hoping there to enjoy better fare and lodging than he
did at home. Two or three of these dungeons, for they are nothing
better, still remain; and a brief description of the one which we have
mentioned will give our readers some idea of what confessorship cost,
independent of martyrdom.
The Mamertine prison is composed of two square subterranean chambers,
one below the other, with only one round aperture in the center of each
vault, through which alone light, air, food, furniture, and men could
pass. When the upper story was full, we may imagine how much of the two
first could reach the lower. No other means of ventilation, drainage,
or access could exist. The walls, of large stone blocks, had, or rather
have, rings fastened into them, for securing the prisoners, but many
used to be laid on the floor, with their feet fastened in the stocks;
and the ingenious cruelty of the persecutors often increased the
discomfort of the damp stone floor, by strewing with broken potsherds
this only bed allowed to the mangled limbs and welted backs of the
tortured Christians.
* * * * *
Pancratius and his companions stood before the judge, for it wanted
only three days to the _munus,_ or games, at which they were to "fight
with wild beasts."
"What art thou?" he asked of one.
"I am a Christian, by the help of God," was the rejoinder.
At length, after having put similar questions and received similar
answers from all the others, except from one wretched man, who, to the
grief of the rest, wavered and agreed to offer sacrifice, the prefect
turned to Pancratius, and thus addressed him: "And now, insolent youth,
who hadst the audacity to tear down the Edict of the divine emperors,
even for thee there shall be mercy if yet thou wilt sacrifice to the
gods. Show thus at once thy piety and thy wisdom, for thou art yet but
a stripling."
Pancratius signed himself with the sign of the saving cross, and calmly
replied, "I am the servant of Christ. Him I acknowledge by my mouth,
hold firm in my heart, _incessantly adore_. This youth which you
behold in me has the--wisdom of grey hairs, if it worship but one God.
But your gods, with those who adore them, are destined to eternal
destruction."
"Strike him on the mouth for his blasphemy, and beat him with rods,"
exclaimed the angry judge.
"I thank thee," replied meekly the noble youth, "that thus I suffer
some of the same punishment as was inflicted on my Lord."
The prefect then pronounced sentence in the usual form. "Lucianus,
Pancratius, Rusticus, and others, and the women Secunda and Rufina, who
have all owned themselves Christians, and refuse to obey the sacred
emperor, or worship the gods of Rome, we order to be exposed to wild
beasts in the Flavian amphitheater."
The mob howled with delight and hatred, and accompanied the confessors
back to their prison with this rough music, but they were gradually
overawed by the dignity of their gait, and the shining calmness of
their countenances. Some men asserted that they must have perfumed
themselves, for they could perceive a fragrant atmosphere surrounding
their persons.
* * * * *
The morning broke light and frosty; and the sun, glittering on the
gilded ornaments of the temples and other public buildings, seemed to
array them in holiday splendor. And the people, too, soon come forth
into the streets in their gayest attire, decked out with unusual
richness. The various streams converge towards the Flavian
amphitheater, now better known by the name of the Coliseum. Each one
directs his steps to the arch indicated by the number of his ticket,
and thus the huge monster keeps sucking in by degrees that stream of
life, which soon animates and enlivens its oval tiers over tiers of
steps, till its interior is tapestried all round with human faces, and
its walls seem to rock and wave to and fro, by the swaying of the
living mass. And, after this shall have been gorged with blood and
inflamed with fury, it will melt once more, and rush out in a thick
continuous flow through the many avenues by which it entered, now
bearing their fitting name of _Vomitoria;_ for never did a more
polluted stream of the dregs and pests of humanity issue from an
unbecoming reservoir, through ill-assorted channels, than the Roman
mob, drunk with the blood of martyrs, gushing forth from the pores of
the amphitheater.
The emperor came to the games surrounded by his court, with all the
pomp and circumstance which befitted an imperial festival, keen as any
of his subjects to witness the cruel games, and to feed his eyes with a
feast of carnage. His throne was on the eastern side of the
amphitheater, where a large space, called the _pulvinar,_ was
reserved, and richly decorated for the imperial court.
Various sports succeeded one another; and many a gladiator, killed or
wounded, had sprinkled the bright sand with blood, when the people,
eager for fiercer combats, began to call, or roar, for the Christians
and the wild beasts. It is time, therefore, for us to think of our
captives.
Before the citizens were astir, they had been removed from the prison
to a strong chamber called the _spoliatorium,_ the press-room,
where their fetters and chains were removed. An attempt was made to
dress them gaudily as heathen priests and priestesses; but they
resisted, urging that as they had come spontaneously to the fight, it
was unfair to make them appear in a disguise which they abhorred.
During the early part of the day they remained thus together
encouraging one another, and singing the Divine praises, in spite of
the shouts which drowned their voices from time to time.
While they were thus engaged, Corvinus entered, and, with a look of
insolent triumph, thus accosted Pancratius:
"Thanks to the gods, the day is come which I have long desired. It has
been a tiresome and tough struggle between us who should fall
uppermost. I have won it."
"How sayest thou, Corvinus; when and how have I contended with thee?"
"Always--everywhere. Thou hast haunted me in my dreams; thou hast
danced before me like a meteor, and I have tried in vain to grasp thee.
Thou hast been my tormentor, my evil genius. I have hated thee; devoted
thee to the infernal gods; cursed thee and loathed thee; and now my day
of vengeance is come."
"Methinks," replied Pancratius, smiling, "this does not look like a
combat. It has been all on one side; for _I_ have done none of these
things towards thee."
"No? thinkest thou that I believe thee, when thou hast lain ever as a
viper on my path, to bite my heel and overthrow me?"
"Where, I again ask?"
"Everywhere, I repeat. At school; in the Forum; in the cemetery; in my
father's own court. Yes, everywhere."
"And nowhere else but where thou hast named? When thy chariot was
dashed furiously along the Appian way, didst thou not hear the tramp of
horses' hoofs trying to overtake thee?"
"Wretch!" exclaimed the prefect's son in a fury; "and was it thy
accursed steed which, purposely urged forward, frightened mine, and
nearly caused my death?"
"No, Corvinus, hear me calmly. It is the last time we shall speak
together. I was travelling quietly with a companion towards Rome, after
having paid the last rites to our master Cassianus" (Corvinus winced,
for he knew not this before), "when I heard the clatter of a runaway
chariot, and then, indeed, I put spurs to my horse; and it is well for
thee that I did."
"How so?"
"Because I reached thee just in time--when thy strength was nearly
exhausted, and thy blood almost frozen by repeated plunges in the cold
canal; and when thy arm, already benumbed, had let go its last stay,
and thou wast falling backwards for the last time into the water. I saw
thee--I knew thee, as I took hold of thee, insensible. I had in my
grasp the murderer of one most dear to me. Divine justice seemed to
have overtaken him; there was only my will between him and his doom. It
was my day of vengeance, and I fully gratified it."
"Ha! and how, pray?"
"By drawing thee out, and laying thee on the bank, and chafing thee
till thy heart resumed its functions; and then consigning thee to thy
servants, rescued from death."
"Thou liest!" screamed Corvinus; "my servants told me that _they_ drew
me out."
"And did they give thee my knife, together with thy leopard-skin purse,
which I found on the ground, after I had dragged thee forth?"
"No; they said the purse was lost in the canal. It _was_ a leopard-skin
purse, the gift of an African sorceress. What sayest thou of the knife?"
"That it is here, see it, still rusty with the water; thy purse I gave
to thy slaves; my own knife I retained for myself; look at it again.
Dost thou believe me now? Have I been always a viper on thy path?"
Too ungenerous to acknowledge that he had been conquered in the
struggle between them, Corvinus only felt himself withered, degraded,
before his late school fellow, crumbled like a clot of dust in his
hands. His very heart seemed to him to blush. He felt sick, and
staggered, hung down his head, and sneaked away. He cursed the games,
the emperor, the yelling rabble, the roaring beasts, his horses and
chariot, his slaves, his father, himself--but he could not, for his
life, curse Pancratius.
He had reached the door, when the youth called him back. He turned and
looked at him with a glance of respect, almost approaching to love.
Pancratius put his hand on his arm, and said, "Corvinus, I have freely
forgiven thee. There is One above, who cannot forgive without
repentance. Seek pardon from Him."
Corvinus slunk away, and appeared no more that day. He lost the sight
on which his coarse imagination had gloated for days, which he had
longed for during months.
As he was leaving the prisoners, the _lanista_, or master of the
gladiators, entered the room and summoned them to the combat. They
hastily embraced one another, and took leave on earth. They entered the
arena, or pit of the amphitheater, opposite the imperial seat, and had
to pass between two files of _venatores_, or huntsmen, who had the
care of the wild beasts, each armed with a heavy whip wherewith he
inflicted a blow on every one, as he went by him. They were then
brought forward, singly or in groups, as the people desired, or the
directors of the spectacle chose. Sometimes the intended prey was
placed on an elevated platform to be more conspicuous; at another time
he was tied up to posts to be more helpless. A favorite sport was to
bundle up a female victim in a net, and expose her to be rolled,
tossed, or gored by wild cattle. One encounter with a single wild beast
often finished the martyr's course; while occasionally three or four
were successively let loose, without their inflicting a mortal wound.
But we must content ourselves with following the last steps of our
youthful hero, Pancratius. As he was passing through the corridor that
led to the amphitheater, he saw Sebastian standing on one side, with a
lady closely enwrapped in her mantle, and veiled. He at once recognized
her, stopped before her, knelt, and taking her hand, affectionately
kissed it. "Bless me, my dear mother," he said, "in this your promised
hour."
"See, my child, the heavens," she replied, "and look up thither, where
Christ with His saints expecteth thee. Fight the good fight, for thy
soul's sake, and show thyself faithful and steadfast in thy Saviour's
love. Remember him too whose relic thou bearest round thy neck."
[Footnote: The father of Pancratius had suffered martyrdom, and the
relic mentioned was stained with the parent's blood.]
"Its price shall be doubled in thine eyes, my sweet mother, ere many
hours are over."
"On, on, an let us have none of this fooling," said the _lanista_,
with a stroke of his cane.
Lucina retreated; while Sebastian pressed the hand of her son, and
whispered in his ear, "Courage, dearest boy; may God bless you! I shall
be close behind the emperor; give me a last look there, and--your
blessing."
Pancratius soon stood in the midst of the arena, the last of the
faithful band. He had been reserved, in hopes that the sight of others'
sufferings might shake his constancy; but the effect had been the
reverse. He took his stand where he was placed, and his yet delicate
frame contrasted with the swarthy and brawny limbs of the executioners
who surrounded him. They now left him alone; and we cannot better
describe him than Eusebius, an eye-witness, does a youth a few years
older:
"You might have seen a tender youth, who had not yet entered his
twentieth year, standing without fetters, with his hands stretched
forth in the form of a cross, and praying to God most attentively, with
a fixed and untrembling heart; not retiring from the place where he
first stood, nor swerving the least, while bears and leopards,
breathing fury and death in their very snort, were just rushing on to
tear his limbs in pieces. And yet, I know not how, their jaws seemed
seized and closed by some divine and mysterious power, and they drew
altogether back."
Such was the attitude, and such the privilege of our heroic youth. The
mob were frantic, as they saw one wild beast after another careering
madly round him, roaring and lashing its sides with its tail, while he
seemed placed in a charmed circle, which they could not approach. A
furious bull, let loose upon him, dashed madly forward, with his neck
bent down, then stopped suddenly, as though he had struck his head
against a wall, pawed the ground, and scattered the dust around him,
bellowing fiercely.
"Provoke him, thou coward!" roared out, still louder, the enraged
emperor.
Pancratius awoke as from a trance, and waving his arms, ran towards his
enemy; but the savage brute, as if a lion had been rushing on him,
turned round, and ran away towards the entrance, where, meeting his
keeper, he tossed him high into the air. All were disconcerted except
the brave youth, who had resumed his attitude of prayer; when one of
the crowd shouted out, "He has a charm round his neck; he is a
sorcerer!" The whole multitude reechoed the cry, till the emperor,
having commanded silence, called out to him, "Take that amulet from thy
neck, and cast it from thee."
"Sire," replied the youth, with a musical voice, that rang sweetly
through the hushed amphitheater, "it is no charm that I wear, but a
memorial of my father, who in this very place made gloriously the same
confession which I now humbly make: I am a Christian; and for love of
Jesus Christ, God and man, I gladly give my life. Do not take from me
this only legacy. Try once more; it was a panther which gave him his
crown; perhaps it will bestow the same on me."
For an instant there was dead silence; the multitude seemed softened,
won. The graceful form of the gallant youth, his now inspired
countenance, the thrilling music of his voice, the intrepidity of his
speech, and his generous self-devotion to his cause, had wrought upon
that cowardly herd. Pancratius felt it, and his heart quailed before
their mercy more than before their rage; he had promised himself heaven
that day; was he to be disappointed? Tears started into his eyes, as
stretching forth his arms once more in the form of a cross, he called
aloud:
"Today; oh yes, today, most blessed Lord, is the appointed day of Thy
coming. Tarry not longer; show now Thy mercy to me who in Thee
believe!"
"The panther!" shouted out a voice. "The panther!" responded twenty.
"The panther!" thundered forth a hundred thousand, in a chorus like the
roaring of an avalanche. A cage started up, as if by magic, from the
midst of the sand, and as it rose, its side fell down, and freed the
captive of the desert. With one graceful bound the elegant savage
gained its liberty; and, though enraged by darkness, confinement, and
hunger, it seemed almost playful as it leaped and turned about. At last
it caught sight of its prey. All its feline cunning and cruelty seemed
to return and to conspire together in animating the cautious and
treacherous movements of its velvet-clothed frame. The whole
amphitheater was as silent as if it had been a hermit's cell, while
every eye was intent, watching the stealthy approaches of the sleek
brute to its victim. Pancratius was still standing in the same place,
facing the emperor, apparently so absorbed in higher thoughts as not to
heed the movements of his enemy. The panther had stolen round him, as
if disdaining to attack him except in front. Crouching upon its breast,
slowly advancing one paw before another, it had gained its measured
distance, and there it lay for some moments of breathless suspense. A
deep snarling growl, an elastic spring through the air, and it was seen
gathered up with its hind feet on the chest and its fangs and fore
claws on the throat of the martyr.
He stood erect for a moment, brought his right hand to his mouth, and
looking up at Sebastian with a smile, directed to him, by a graceful
wave of his arm, the last salutation of his lip--and fell. The arteries
of the neck had been severed, and the slumber of martyrdom at once
settled on his eyelids. His blood softened, brightened, enriched, and
blended inseparably with that of his father. The mother's sacrifice had
been accepted.
ALFRED THE GREAT
[Footnote: This selection is taken from _A Child's History of
England_. Much of the history of Alfred is traditional, and it is
not at all probable that Dickens's picture is strictly true.]
_By_ CHARLES DICKENS