AND RESURRECTION.
Jucundus was quite as much amused as provoked at the result of the
delicate negotiation in which he had entangled his nephew. It was a
gratification to him to find that its ill success had been owing in no
respect to any fault on the side of Agellius. He had done his part without
shrinking, and the view which he, Jucundus, had taken of his state of
mind, was satisfactorily confirmed. He had nothing to fear from Agellius,
and though he had failed in securing the guarantee which he had hoped for
his attachment to things as they were, yet in the process of failure it
had been proved that his nephew might be trusted without it. And it was a
question, whether a girl so full of whims and caprices as Callista might
after all have done him any permanent good. The absurd notion, indeed, of
her having a leaning for Christianity had been refuted by her conduct on
the occasion; still, who could rely on a clever and accomplished Greek?
There were secret societies and conspiracies in abundance, and she might
have involved so weak and innocent a fellow in some plans against the
government, now or at a future time; or might have alienated him from his
uncle, or in some way or other made a fool of him, if she had consented to
have him for her slave. Why she had rejected so eligible a suitor it was
now useless and idle to inquire; it might be that the haughty or greedy
Greek had required him to bid higher for her favourable notice. If the
negotiation had taken such a turn, then indeed there was still more
gratifying evidence of Agellius having broken from his fantastic and
peevish superstition.
Still, however, he was not without anxiety, now that the severe measures
directed against the Christians were in progress. No overt act, indeed,
beyond the publication of the edict, had been taken in Sicca—probably
would be taken at all. The worst was, that something must be done to make
a show; he could have wished that some of the multitude of townspeople,
half suspected of Christianity, had stood firm, and suffered themselves to
be tortured and executed. One or two would have been enough; but the
magistracy got no credit with the central government for zeal and activity
if no Christians were made an example of. Yet still it was a question
whether the strong acts at Carthage and elsewhere would not suffice,
though the lesser towns did nothing. At least, while the populace was
quiet, there was nothing to press for severity. There were no rich
Christians in Sicca to tempt the cupidity of the informer or of the
magistrate; no political partisans among them, who had made enemies with
this or that class of the community. But, supposing a bad feeling to rise
in the populace, supposing the magistrates to have ill-wishers and
rivals—and what men in power had not?—who might be glad to catch them
tripping, and make a case against them at Rome, why, it must be confessed
that Agellius was nearly the only victim who could be pitched upon. He
wished Callista no harm, but, if a Christian must be found and held up _in
terrorem_, he would rather it was a person like her, without connections
and home, than the member of any decent family of Sicca, whose fair fame
would be compromised by a catastrophe. However, she was _not_ a Christian,
and Agellius _was_, at least by profession; and his fear was lest Juba
should be right in his estimate of his brother’s character. Juba had said
that Agellius could be as obstinate as he was ordinarily indolent and
yielding, and Jucundus dreaded lest, if he were rudely charged with
Christianity, and bidden to renounce it under pain of punishment, he would
rebel against the tyrannical order, and go to prison and to death out of
sheer perverseness or sense of honour.
With these perplexities before him, he could find nothing better than the
following plan of action, which had been in his mind for some time. While
the edict remained inoperative, he would do nothing at all, and let
Agellius go on with his country occupations, which would keep him out of
the way. But if any disposition appeared of a popular commotion, or a
movement on the part of the magistracy, he determined to get possession of
Agellius, and forcibly confine him in his own house in Sicca. He hoped
that in the case of one so young, so uncommitted, he should have influence
with the municipal authorities, or at the prætorium, or in the camp (for
the camp and the prætorium were under different jurisdictions in the
proconsulate), to shelter Agellius from a public inquiry into his
religious tenets, or if this could not be, to smuggle him out of the city.
He was ready to affirm solemnly that his nephew was no Christian, though
he was touched in the head, and, from an affection parallel to
hydrophobia, to which the disciples of Galen ought to turn their
attention, was sent into convulsions on the sight of an altar. His father,
indeed, was a malignant old atheist—there was no harm in being angry with
the dead—but it was very hard the son should suffer for his father’s
offence. If he must be judged of by his parents, let him rather have the
advantage of the thorough loyalty and religiousness of his mother, a most
zealous old lady, in high repute in the neighbourhood of Sicca for her
theurgic knowledge, a staunch friend of the imperial government, which had
before now been indebted to her for important information, and as staunch
a hater of the Christians. Such was the plan of proceedings resolved on by
Jucundus before he received the news of his nephew’s serious malady. It
did not reach him till many days after; and then he did not go to see him,
first, lest he should be supposed to be in communication with him, next,
as having no respect for that romantic sort of generosity which risks the
chances of contagion for the absurd ceremony of paying a compliment.
It was thus that Jucundus addressed himself to the present state of
affairs, and anticipated the chances of the future. As to Aristo, he had
very little personal interest in the matter. His sister might have
thwarted him in affairs which lay nearer his heart than the moral
emancipation of Agellius; and as she generally complied with his
suggestions and wishes, whatever they were, he did not grudge her her
liberty of action in this instance. Nor had the occurrence which had taken
place any great visible effect upon Callista herself. She had lost her
right to be indignant with her brother, and she resigned or rather
abandoned herself to her destiny. Her better feelings had been brought out
for the moment in her conversation with Agellius; but they were not
ordinary ones. True, she was tired, but she was the slave of the world;
and Agellius had only made her more sceptical than before that there was
any service better. So at least she said to herself; she said it was
fantastic to go elsewhere for good, and that, if life was short, then, as
her brother said, it was necessary to make the most of it.
And meanwhile, what of Agellius himself? Why, it will be some little time
before Agellius will be in a condition to moralize upon anything. His
faithful slave half-carried, half-drew him into the cottage, and stretched
him upon his bed. Then, having sufficient skill for the ordinary illnesses
of the country, though this was more than an ordinary fever, he drew blood
from him, gave him a draught of herbs, and left him to the slow but safe
processes of nature to restore him. It could not be affirmed that he was
not in considerable danger of life, yet youth carries hope with it, and
his attendant had little to fear for his recovery. For some days certainly
Agellius had no apprehension of anything, except of restlessness and
distress, of sleepless nights, or dreary, miserable dreams. At length one
morning, as he was lying on his back with his eyes shut, it came into his
mind to ask himself whether Sunday would ever come. He had been accustomed
upon the first day of the week to say some particular prayers and psalms,
and unite himself in spirit with his brethren beyond seas. And then he
tried to remember the last Sunday; and the more he thought, the less he
could remember it, till he began to think that months had gone without a
Sunday. This he was certain of, that he had lost reckoning, for he had
made no notches for the days for a long while past, and unless his slave
Asper knew, there was no one to tell him. Here he got so puzzled, that it
was like one of the bad dreams which had worried him. He felt it affect
his head, and he was obliged to give up the inquiry.
From this time his sleep was better and more refreshing for several days;
he was more collected when he was awake, and was able to ask himself why
he lay there, and what had happened to him. Then gradually his memory
began to return like the dawning of the day; the cause and the
circumstances of his recent visit to the city, point after point came up,
and he felt first wonder, and then certainty. He recollected the Forum,
and then the edict; a solemn, overpowering emotion here seized him, and
for a while he dared not think more. When he recovered, and tried to
pursue the events of the day, he found himself unequal to the task; all
was dark, except that he had some vague remembrance of thirsting, and some
one giving him to drink, and then his saying with the Psalmist,
“Transivimus per ignem et aquam.”
He opened his eyes and looked about him. He was at home. There was some
one at the bed-head whom he could not see hanging over him, and he was too
weak to raise himself and so command a view of him. He waited patiently,
being too feeble to have any great anxiety on the subject. Presently a
voice addressed him: “You are recovering, my son,” it said.
“Who are _you_?” said Agellius abruptly. The person spoken to applied his
mouth to Agellius’s ear, and uttered lowly several sacred names.
Agellius would have started up had he been strong enough; he could but
sink down upon his rushes in agitation.
“Be content to know no more at present,” said the stranger, “praise God,
as I do. You know enough for your present strength. It is your act of
obedience for the day.”
It was a deep, clear, peaceful, authoritative voice. In his present state,
as we have said, it cost Agellius no great effort to mortify curiosity;
and the accents of that voice soothed him, and the mystery employed his
mind, and had something pleasing and attractive in it. Moreover, about the
main point there was no mystery, and could be no mistake, that he was in
the hands of a Christian ecclesiastic.
The stranger occupied himself for a time with a book of prayers which he
carried about him, and then again with the duties of a sick-bed. He
sprinkled vinegar over Agellius’s face and about the room, and supplied
him with the refreshment of cooling fruit. He kept the flies from
tormenting him, and did his best so to arrange his posture that he might
suffer least from his long lying. In the morning and evening he let in the
air, and he excluded the sultry noon. In these various occupations he was
from time to time removed to a distance from the patient, who thus had an
opportunity of observing him. The stranger was of middle height, upright,
and well proportioned; he was dressed in a peasant’s or slave’s dark
tunic. His face was rather round than long; his hair black, yet with the
promise of greyness, with what might be baldness in the crown, or a
priest’s tonsure. His short beard curled round his chin; his complexion
was very clear. But the most striking point about him was his eyes; they
were of a light or greyish blue, transparent, and shining like precious
stones.
From the day that they first interchanged words, the priest said some
short prayers from time to time with Agellius—the Lord’s Prayer, and
portions of the Psalms. Afterwards, when he was well enough to converse,
Agellius was struck with the inexpressible peculiarity of his manner. It
was self-collected, serene, gentle, tender, unobtrusive, unstudied. It
enabled him to say things severe and even stern, without startling,
offending, or repelling the hearer. He spoke very little about himself,
though from time to time points of detail were elicited of his history in
the course of conversation. He said that his name was Cæcilius. Asper,
when he entered the room, would kneel down and offer to kiss the
stranger’s sandal, though the latter generally managed to prevent it.
Cæcilius did not speak much about himself; but Agellius, on the other
hand, found it a relief to tell out his own history, and reflect upon and
describe his own feelings. As he lay on his bed, he half soliloquized,
half addressed himself to the stranger. Sometimes he required an answer;
sometimes he seemed to require none. Once he asked suddenly, after a long
silence, whether a man could be baptized twice; and when the priest
answered distinctly in the negative, Agellius replied that if so, he
thought it would be best never to be baptized till the hour of death. It
was a question, he said, which had perplexed him a good deal, but he never
had had any one to converse with on the subject.
Cæcilius answered, “But how could you promise yourself that you would be
able to obtain the sacrament at the last moment? The water and the
administrator might come just too late; and then where would you be, my
son? And then again, how do you know you would wish it? Is your will
simply in your own power? ‘Carpe diem;’ take God’s gift while you can.”
“The benefit is so immense,” answered Agellius, “that one would wish, if
one could, to enter into the unseen world without losing its fulness. This
cannot be, if a long time elapses between baptism and death.”
“You are, then, of the number of those,” said Cæcilius, “who would cheat
their Maker of His claim on their life, provided they could (as it is
said) in their last moment cheat the devil.”
Agellius continuing silent, Cæcilius added, “You want to enjoy this world,
and to inherit the next; is it so?”
“I am puzzled, my head is weak, father; I do not see my way to speak.”
Presently he said, “Sin after baptism is so awful a matter; there is no
second laver for sin; and then again, to sin against baptism is so great a
sin.”
The priest said, “In baptism God becomes your Father; your own God; your
worship; your love—can you give up this great gift all through your life?
Would you live ‘without God in this world’?”
Tears came into Agellius’s eyes, and his throat became oppressed. At last
he said, distinctly and tenderly, “No.”
After a while the priest said, “I suppose what you fear is the fire of
judgment, and the prison; not lest you should fall away and be lost.”
“I know, my dear father,” answered the sick youth, “that I have no right
to reckon on anything, or promise myself anything; yet somehow I have
never feared hell—though I ought, I know I ought; but I have not. I
deserve the worst, but somehow I have thought that God would lead me on.
He ever has done so.”
“Then you fear the fire of judgment,” said Cæcilius; “you’d put off
baptism for fear of that fire.”
“I did not say I _would_,” answered Agellius; “I wanted _you_ to explain
the thing to me.”
“Which would you rather, Agellius, be without God here, or suffer the fire
there?”
Agellius smiled; he said faintly, “I take Him for my portion here _and_
there: _He_ will be in the fire with me.”
Agellius lay quiet for some hours, and seemed asleep. Suddenly he began
again, “I was baptized when I was only six years old. I’m glad you do not
think it was wilful in me, and wrong. I cannot tell what took me,” he
presently continued. “It was a fervour; I have had nothing of the kind
since. What does our Lord say? I can’t remember: ‘Novissima pejora
prioribus.’ ”
He continued the train of thought another day, or rather the course of his
argument; for on the thought itself his mind seemed ever to be working.
“My spring is gone,” he said, “and I have no summer. Nay, I have had no
spring; it was a day, not a season. It came, and it went; where am I now?
Can spring ever return? I wish to begin again in right earnest.”
“Thank God, my son, for this great mercy,” said Cæcilius, “that, though
you have relaxed, you have never severed yourself from the peace of the
Church, you have not denied your God.”
Agellius sighed bitterly. “O my father,” he said, “ ‘Erravi, sicut ovis
quæ periit.’ I have been very near denying Him, at least by outward act.
You do not know me; you cannot know what has come on me lately. And I dare
not look back on it, my heart is so weak. My father, how am I to repent of
what is past, when I dare not think of it? To think of it is to renew the
sin.”
“ ‘Puer meus, noli timere,’ ” answered the priest; “ ‘si transieris per
ignem, odor ejus non erit in te.’ In penance, the grace of God carries you
without harm through thoughts and words which _would_ harm you apart from
it.”
“Ah, penance!” said Agellius; “I recollect the catechism. What is it,
father? a new grace, I know; a plank after baptism. May I have it?”
“You are not strong enough yet to think of these things, Agellius,”
answered Cæcilius. “Please God, you shall get well. Then you shall review
all your life, and bring it out in order before Him; and He, through me,
will wipe away all that has been amiss. Praise Him who has spared you for
this.”
It was too much for the patient in his weak state; he could but shed happy
tears.
Another day he had sat up in bed. He looked at his hands, from which the
skin was peeling; he felt his lips, and it was with them the same; and his
hair seemed coming off also. He smiled and said, “Renovabitur, ut aquila,
juventus mea.”
Cæcilius responded, as before, with sacred words which were new to
Agellius: “ ‘Qui sperant in Domino mutabunt fortitudinem; assument pennas,
sicut aquilæ,’ ‘Sursum corda!’ you must soar, Agellius.”
“ ‘Sursum corda!’ ” answered he; “I know those words. They are old
friends; where have I heard them? I can’t recollect; but they are in my
earliest memories. Ah! but, my father, my heart is below, not above. I
want to tell you all. I want to tell you about one who has enthralled my
heart; who has divided it with my True Love. But I daren’t speak of her,
as I have said; I dare not speak, lest I be carried away. O, I blush to
say it; she is a heathen! May God save her soul! Will He come to me, and
not to her? ‘Investigabiles viæ ejus.’ ”
He remained silent for some time; then he said, “Father, I mean to
dedicate myself to God, simply, absolutely, with His grace. I will be His,
and He shall be mine. No one shall come between us. But O this weak
heart!”
“Keep your good resolves till you are stronger,” said the priest. “It is
easy to make them on a sick-bed. You must first reckon the charges.”
Agellius smiled. “I know the passage, father,” he said, and he repeated
the sacred words: “If any man come to Me, and hate not his father and
mother, and wife, and children, and brethren, and sisters, yea, and his
own life also, he cannot be My disciple.”
Another time Agellius said: “The Martyrs; surely the old bishop used to
say something about the Martyrs. He spoke of a second baptism, and called
it a baptism of blood; and said, ‘Might his soul be with the Martyrs!’
Father, would not this wash out every thing, as the first?”
It was now Cæcilius who smiled, and his eyes shone like the sapphires of
the Holy City; and he seemed the ideal of him who, when
“Called upon to face
Some awful moment to which heaven has joined
Great issues, good or bad for humankind,
Is happy as a lover, and attired
With sudden brightness, like a man inspired.”
However, he soon controlled himself, and said, “Quo ego vado, non potes me
modo sequi; sequeris autem postea.”