AGELLIUS IN HIS COTTAGE.
The cottage for which Agellius was making, when last we had sight of him,
was a small brick house consisting of one room, with a loft over it, and a
kitchen on the side, not very unlike that holy habitation which once
contained the Eternal Word in human form with His Virgin Mother, and
Joseph, their guardian. It was situated on the declivity of the hill, and,
unlike the gardens of Italy, the space before it was ornamented with a
plot of turf. A noble palm on one side, in spite of its distance from the
water, and a group of orange-trees on the other, formed a foreground to
the rich landscape which was described in our opening chapter. The borders
and beds were gay with the lily, the bacchar, amber-coloured and purple,
the golden abrotomus, the red chelidonium, and the variegated iris.
Against the wall of the house were trained pomegranates, with their
crimson blossoms, the star-like pothos or jessamine, and the symbolical
passionflower, which well became a Christian dwelling.
And it was an intimation of what would be found within; for on one side of
the room was rudely painted a red cross, with doves about it, as is found
in early Christian shrines to this day. So long had been the peace of the
Church, that the tradition of persecution seemed to have been lost; and
Christians allowed themselves in the profession of their faith at home,
cautious as they might be in public places; as freely as now in England,
where we do not scruple to raise crucifixes within our churches and
houses, though we shrink from doing so within sight of the hundred cabs
and omnibuses which rattle past them. Under the cross were two or three
pictures, or rather sketches. In the centre stood the Blessed Virgin with
hands spread out in prayer, attended by the holy Apostles Peter and Paul
on her right and left. Under this representation was rudely scratched upon
the wall the word, “Advocata,” a title which the earliest antiquity
bestows upon her. On a small shelf was placed a case with two or three
rolls or sheets of parchment in it. The appearance of them spoke of use
indeed, but of reverential treatment. These were the Psalms, the Gospel
according to St. Luke, and St. Paul’s Epistle to the Romans, in the old
Latin version. The Gospel was handsomely covered, and ornamented with
gold.
The apartment was otherwise furnished with such implements and materials
as might be expected in the cottage of a countryman: one or two stools and
benches for sitting, a table, and in one corner a heap of dried leaves and
rushes, with a large crimson coverlet, for rest at night. Elsewhere were
two millstones fixed in a frame, with a handle attached to the rim of one
of them, for grinding corn. Then again, garden tools; boxes of seeds; a
vessel containing syrup for assuaging the sting of the scorpion; the
_asir-rese_ or _anagallis_, a potent medicine of the class of poisons,
which was taken in wine for the same mischance. It hung from the beams,
with a large bunch of _atsirtiphua_, a sort of camomile, smaller in the
flower and more fragrant than our own, which was used as a febrifuge.
Thence, too, hung a plentiful gathering of dried grapes, of the kind
called _duracinæ_; and near the door a bough of the green _bargut_ or
_psyllium_, to drive away the smaller insects.
Poor Agellius felt the contrast between the ungodly turmoil from which he
had escaped, and the deep stillness into which he now had entered; but
neither satisfied him quite. There was no repose out of doors, and no
relief within. He was lonely at home, lonely in the crowd. He needed the
sympathy of his kind; hearts which might beat with his heart; friends with
whom he might share his joys and griefs; advisers whom he might consult;
minds like his own, who would understand him—minds unlike his own, who
would succour and respond to him. A very great trial certainly this, in
which the soul is flung back upon itself; and that especially in the case
of the young, for whom memory and experience do so little, and wayward and
excited feelings do so much. Great gain had it been for Agellius, even in
its natural effect, putting aside higher benefits, to have been able to
recur to sacramental confession; but to confession he had never been,
though once or twice he had attended the public _homologesis_ of the
Church. Shall we wonder that the poor youth began to be despondent and
impatient under his trial? Shall we not feel for him, though we may be
sorry for him, should it turn out that he was looking restlessly into
every corner of the small world of acquaintance in which his lot lay, for
those with whom he could converse easily, and interchange speculation,
argument, aspiration, and affection?
“No one cares for me,” he said, as he sat down on his rustic bench. “I am
nothing to any one; I am a hermit, like Elias or John, without the call to
be one. Yet even Elias felt the burden of being one against many; even
John asked at length in expostulation, ‘Art Thou He that shall come?’ Am I
for ever to have the knowledge, without the consolation, of the truth? am
I for ever to belong to a great divine society, yet never see the face of
any of its members?”
He paused in his thoughts, as if drinking in the full taste and measure of
his unhappiness. And then his reflections took a turn, and he said,
suddenly, “Why do I not leave Sicca? What binds me to my father’s farm? I
am young, and my interest in it will soon expire. What keeps me from
Carthage, Hippo, Cirtha, where Christians are so many?” But here he
stopped as suddenly as he had begun; and a strange feeling, half pang,
half thrill, went through his heart. And he felt unwilling to pursue his
thought, or to answer the question which he had asked; and he settled into
a dull, stagnant condition of mind, in which he seemed hardly to think at
all.
Be of good cheer, solitary one, though thou art not a hero yet! There is
One that cares for thee, and loves thee, more than thou canst feel, love,
or care for thyself. Cast all thy care upon Him. He sees thee, and is
watching thee; He is hanging over thee, and smiles in compassion at thy
troubles. His angel, who is thine, is whispering good thoughts to thee. He
knows thy weakness; He foresees thy errors; but He holds thee by thy right
hand, and thou shalt not, canst not escape Him. By thy faith, which thou
hast so simply, resolutely retained in the midst of idolatry; by thy
purity, which, like some fair flower, thou hast cherished in the midst of
pollution, He will remember thee in thy evil hour, and thine enemy shall
not prevail against thee!
What means that smile upon Agellius’s face? It is the response of the
child to the loving parent. He knows not why, but the cloud is past. He
signs himself with the holy cross, and sweet reviving thoughts enliven
him. He names the sacred Name, and it is like ointment poured out upon his
soul. He rises; he kneels down under the dread symbol of his salvation;
and he begins his evening prayer.