Listening thro’ the winter eve
To deeds of long past years, when the fierce Goths
Invaded Italy; over her lovely plains
Poured war and devastation; or the sad tale
Of Christian martyrs, faithful to the death.
The love of nature, with its sublime and beautiful prospects, should
be sedulously cultivated in the youthful mind from the first dawn of
reason. The love of reading will be the necessary consequence, and
this, well directed, is one of the greatest blessings of life. For
one whose cultivated imagination is delighted with descriptions of
natural scenery and who is interested in the history of past ages will
not often seek the haunts of dissipation for amusement. From studying
and loving the rich and varied landscape of nature he is led to the
contemplation of “Nature’s God,” and in the formation of the humblest
insect and the rich coloring of the lowliest flower, as well as in the
mightiest work of creation, will acknowledge the great Creator. Happy
they whose ductile minds are thus early directed and whose maturer
judgment confirms them in the sure road to peace.
The return of Herbert was hailed with joy by the assembled household
and the succeeding evening he fulfilled his promise of continuing the
Tale of the Early Christians.
* * * * *
Seated at a table in a gloomy apartment, lighted by a solitary lamp,
whose ray disclosed the damp and rugged walls, with the certain
prospect of a cruel death before him, and denied even the solace of
a last farewell to his dearest friends, would it have been wonderful
if the countenance of the lonely prisoner, which was raised at the
entrance of Flavius, should have expressed a deep and settled gloom,
or even the stern despair of one who had bidden adieu to hope. There
are those who possess a controlling power over their emotions, who,
even in moments of strong agitation or excitement, from motives of
pride, or the desire of applause, or some other powerful incentive,
will prevent those emotions from being discovered by assuming a calm
and stoical exterior, but, it was not the haughty pride of the stoic,
or the cool apathy of the philosopher, who has schooled his feelings
into indifference, which met the eye of Flavius, as he encountered the
serene glance of his friend. The noble brow of Curtius was placid as a
sleeping infant’s, his brilliant eye reflected the heavenly peace which
reigned within, and the smile of welcome with which he greeted the
entrance of his friend was such as we might fancy adorned the lips of
an inhabitant of the regions of undisturbed happiness. “This is indeed
kind, my friend, my brother,” said he, and as he rose and extended
his hand. Flavius perceived that his limbs were shackled. “Barbarous
tyrant,” said the indignant youth, “is not his malice yet complete?
Must these chains be added to the measure of his cruelty?” “Waste not
a thought, my Flavius, they are proofs of Nero’s consideration for his
poor prisoner, credentials by which he may claim a heavenly residence,
as being made to follow in the footsteps of his Master. Tomorrow, I am
told, is the day of my triumph.” “Curtius,” said his agitated friend,
“all hope is not lost, Galba has promised his powerful intercession;
it cannot fail.” “It will fail, Flavius; as well might you lure the
tiger from his prey as induce the Emperor to release a Christian from
torture and from death.” “And you contemplate this prospect with
calmness; nay, you are even joyful in it?” “Mistake me not, my friend,
life has its charms, the prospect of death, its mighty terrors; think
you I can contemplate with indifference the dreary grave shutting out
the bright loveliness of nature, separating me from those who are
dearer to me than existence, and closing my ear to the sweet accents
of affection? Not so; but the chilling shudder of these reflections is
checked by the image of Him who suffered the pangs of death that we
might live forever. Far through the gloomy perspective of the grave,
I see the cheering, the delightful, prospect of immortal life, of a
reunion with those beloved ones, an eternal reunion, and a rapturous
vision of joys which eye hath not seen, and before which the momentary
pangs of death dwindle into nothing. Believe me, my Flavius, were it
possible for Nero to know the all-absorbing joy which fills my heart
at these anticipations, he would revoke his decree, as the severest
way of punishment. But,” said he, and the animated flush faded from
his countenance and the hand which clasped that of Flavius, pressed
it in agitation, “death has indeed its bitterness when I think of the
defenceless ones I shall leave behind.” “Curtius,” said his friend,
“nothing that human means can effect to save you shall be neglected.
But, if all shall fail, give me, my friend, my brother, give me your
sanction to become the son of your mother; the husband of your sister,
and, whilst I have life, their happiness shall be my dearest object.”
Curtius was silent for a moment, at length, “Flavius,” said he, “the
husband of Cleone must be a Christian.” “And if a full conviction
and belief that the God whom you worship is the only true God, if a
deep and mortifying sense of the degraded nature of our faith, and
a longing desire to possess that trust and heavenly peace which you
possess, is to be a Christian, then am I one, but it is a hard thing
to give up the religion of our fathers, and I feel that I have not
courage to avow these sentiments, and to stem the torrent of execration
which will be poured upon me.” “But the time will come, my Flavius,
when you will avow the God of the Christians to be your God. Victory,
victory,” said the youth, “the temples of these Pagan deities will yet
be consecrated to the service of the living God, and the incense which
rests in clouds, upon their shrines, will rise in pure and grateful
offering to the Holy One of Israel; yes, my friend, I bequeath to you
the dearest treasures I possess; be to them a faithful guardian, and
the blessing of the Lord rest upon you.” The eloquent countenance of
the young noble expressed the thanks he began to pour forth, when
the door was thrown open, and the sentinel proclaimed that he must
leave the dungeon, as an express to that effect had been received
from the captain of the guard. No delay could be granted, and after a
fervent embrace the friends parted, as Curtius firmly believed, for
the last time. Left alone and relieved from many anxious thoughts,
his mind now turned to the awful scenes of the morrow. No torments,
he well knew, would be too agonizing or too horrid for the implacable
Nero to invent, none too dreadful for his minions to execute, but
his firm and disciplined mind had been too long accustomed to view
death as the portal to never ending happiness, to shrink now from its
near approach, even arrayed in its utmost terrors. Bending over the
table, his thoughts became absorbed in the bright prospect of future
glory, fervent aspirations of gratitude to God for raising an earthly
protector for his mother and sister, mingling with his reflections,
and the Emperor, amidst his splendor, might have envied his proscribed
prisoner his calm and peaceful anticipations.
Our tale must now return to the deathbed of the aged Christian. Sudden
indeed, as well as most painful, was this event to his affectionate
friends; they had left him but an hour before, by his own request,
as he expressed a fear that their unremitting attention to him would
injure them, little thinking his dissolution was so near, and, as
the conviction pressed upon them that the one who had supplied the
place of the kindest parent, who had shared his own, even too small
pittance with them, was no more, that they could no longer hear his
endearing expressions, no longer see his mild eye beaming upon them,
with parental love, can it be wondered that every other consideration
was lost, for the time, in the sad reflection. As they bent over the
couch in unutterable grief, their own sorrow was increased by that of
the aged domestics, who had grown old in the service of the kind and
beloved master, who now lay before them, in all the stillness of death.
In those moments of deep and suffocating grief they almost lost sight
of the consoling and joyful belief that their beloved parent was then
rejoicing in a heaven of pure and unalloyed felicity, but, as they
mingled their tears, the silence of heartfelt sorrow was interrupted
by a sweet and solemn voice, repeating, “Blessed are the dead, who die
in the Lord,” and Sister Helena, as she was called, a pious Christian
recluse, approached and knelt with them, by the remains of the good
old man. Sweet and soothing to their souls were the prayers and
thanksgiving which she poured forth with fervent earnestness, and they
arose from their knees, chastened and resigned. Cold and insensible
must have been the feelings of those who could have listened to those
aspirations unmoved, or gazed upon the inspired countenance of this
extraordinary female, without almost fancying that she was indeed
an angel of consolation, permitted to sojourn awhile upon earth to
soothe the sorrows of the afflicted, and direct their hopes to that
bright and happy home which she had quitted upon her errand of love.
The brightness of her dark and expressive eyes was contrasted with
the marble whiteness of her complexion, her beautiful hair, which had
formerly graced the most precious pearls, and adorned costly diamonds,
the gifts of royal love, was now confined by a simple braid, and
the form, once decked in imperial purple, and glittering in courtly
magnificence, was now wrapped in the plainest garb, the simplicity of
which could not hid the loveliness of her form. In a voice of soothing
sympathy, she gave some directions to the sorrowing servants, and then
kindly led the bereaved relations from the chamber of death. “He has
departed in peace,” said she, as they entered a retired chamber, “may
our last end be like this; may we die the death of this righteous man,
and now, dearest friends, the swiftly passing moments warn me to be
quick in what I have to relate. Your minds, I know, are stayed upon
the Rock of Ages, and though I speak of danger and death, ye will know
that the Lord of all the earth will do right. Brother Ambrose, last
night, brought the tidings that tomorrow is appointed for another of
those awful scenes with which Rome is now familiar, and, though we know
that the moment when the soul of the Christian takes its flight from
this world of sorrow and wickedness is a moment which introduces it to
an eternity of happiness, unalloyed and unspeakable, yet we turn with
shuddering grief, from its accompaniments of pain and torture.” “Oh,
tell me not,” said Cleone, with startling agony of voice and manner,
“say not that our Curtius is condemned,” and overcome with grief and
terror, she sank upon the ground, while the mother, with her hands
clasped, and her eyes raised, prayed for strength from above. “He is
indeed condemned,” said Sister Helena, “but listen, dear sisters, and
see if there is not a ray of hope to lighten this gloomy hour. After
learning these tidings, I left our retreat immediately to comfort you,
if possible, and, with hasty steps proceeded along the private path
which leads from our secluded dwelling directly by the remains of the
ancient temple upon the hill. While groping my way through the ivy
and thick bushes, I was startled by the sound of voices, proceeding
from the ruins, and the name of the Emperor repeated with the most
awful threats, and joined to the fear of discovery induced me to stop
and conceal myself. That the speakers were bitter enemies to Nero was
evident from their conversation, and, in a short time I gathered from
it that they had entered into a conspiracy, and bound themselves by
solemn oaths to take his life, and, that the moment of his leaving the
amphitheatre, after the executions, was chosen to effect their purpose,
as being a moment of confusion and dismay. The infamous Caius Piso,
whose inveterate hate for the Emperor is so well known, I discovered,
was at the head of the conspiracy, and their measures are so well
concerted that they must succeed. Now, dear friends, may we not, by
warning Nero of this imminent, this certain danger, save the life of
your beloved Curtius? Listen, Cleone, have you courage to face this
cruel Emperor, and intercede for the life of your brother? And, if he
refuses to grant it to your prayers, yet you may induce him to mercy by
convincing him that the means of saving his own life is in your power.”
“But, do you reflect, Helena, that this inhuman tyrant may, and most
probably would turn a deaf ear to all her intercessions, and force her,
by torture, to confess her knowledge of this conspiracy? No, it is for
me to offer myself a sacrifice for my son. I will endure every torment
he can inflict, and, perhaps, when convinced that he cannot extort the
secret, he will grant me the life of my child.” “Mother,” said Cleone,
throwing her arms around her neck, “mother, do you doubt my resolution,
my courage, my ability to endure any suffering for the sake of those
so dear to me? Oh, let me go; I will throw myself at his feet; he
cannot resist my supplications; he will be grateful to us for saving
him from sure destruction, and reward us by restoring my brother to
his home and friends.” “Hear me,” said Sister Helena, “I myself would
be the intercessor, were I not certain that Nero would recognize in me
one who has incurred his mostly deadly hatred, one whom he would not
hesitate to sacrifice to his revengeful passions, and whose entreaties
for the life of the young Christian would only be a passport for his
speedy death. You, madam,” said she, addressing the distressed and
almost fainting mother, “are known as a Christian. You have already
been exposed to the suspicions of Nero, and have but barely escaped
his cruel persecutions by a life of the strictest seclusion. Your
daughter, reared in retirement, and unknown to the world, would not be
so obnoxious, and she might not be unprotected. The young Flavius, the
unswerving friend of Curtius, who has already braved the indignation of
the tyrant, for his sake, would, without doubt, accompany and support
her, and high in rank, and beloved by all parties, his influence would
go far to ensure her safety. But, we have but moments to deliberate;
midnight is the time appointed for these conspirators to meet and
perfect their plan, and, if we resort to these, I am convinced, only
means, to save the life of this dear friend, Nero must know all in
season to apprehend them together.” “Do not hesitate, mother, dearest,
dearest mother, let me save my brother from this awful death; I shall
be safe; God will protect me; He will aid me to confront this terrible
Nero.” “My Cleone, my darling child, must I expose you to this danger?
Must I thrust you, as it were, into the jaws of this inhuman monster?
Oh, think, dear sister, of his aggravated cruelties; remember the
fate of his own mother and wife; when has any consideration stayed
his barbarity? How can we expect, how can we even hope that he will
lose his grasp of a victim, so completely in his power? He will
sacrifice them both, and I—I shall be left childless and alone!” Tears
of commiseration streamed from the eyes of the sympathizing recluse.
“Be it as you please,” said she, “I cannot, dare not urge you to a
measure which may indeed end as you fear; although I think it would
be otherwise. I know the disposition of Nero. Alas!” said she, with
shuddering grief, “who should know it so well! Amidst all his fierce
cruelty, he is a very coward by nature, and nothing so perfectly unmans
him as the fear of death.” “Go then, my Cleone,” said her mother,
“if possible, save your brother from this dreadful doom, and if I am
bereaved of both, I will pray that I, too, may join you in that heaven,
where there is no separation.”
* * * * *
The evening was now advanced, and Herbert closed the volume. “How was
it possible,” said Susan, “that Valeria, for it was she, I suppose, who
bore the name of Sister Helena, could have eluded the search of the
vindicative Emperor? With his exasperated feelings, he would leave no
means untried to discover her, and these being joined with his great
power, I cannot imagine how she could have been saved.” “Though the
early Christians,” said Herbert, “when called to give a reason for
the hope that was in them, were bold in conscious innocence, though
they shrank not from danger or death in the service of their Master,
still, they did not, needlessly, cast away their lives; but, even with
the prudence of worldly wisdom, avoided exposure. Their residence was
often in the most obscure places, in the depths of gloomy forests, or
in caves of the earth, from whence, in the still hours of night, the
sounds of praise and thanksgiving arose to Him to whom ‘the darkness
is as at noonday.’ Many of these subterranean abodes are still shown,
and the inscriptions upon the rugged walls prove them to have been the
homes of the persecuted Christians.” “I should like to go to Rome,”
said Charles, “and go into those caves, and see the ruins of that
great city.” “And those ancient pavements,” said Mary, “which have
been swept by the imperial purple, and visit the tombs, where rest the
remains of those great and good, of whom we read.” “Now Mary is upon
her hobby,” said Susan, “and she will not stop short of the Holy Land
at least. If she were only an old man, with a big wig, she would be a
most inveterate antiquary.” “I will sympathize with you, dear Mary,”
said Elizabeth, “if to read of former ages, and their stirring events,
excites so much interest, how delightful to stand upon the spots
commemorated in history, but, above all, to tread in the footsteps
of the Saviour, and visit the scenes hallowed by his presence.” “To
stand upon the Mount of the Olive trees,” said Herbert, “to wander by
the brook Cedron, and through the ancient burial places of the Jews.
To linger by the shores of the sea of Galilee, and mark the swelling
waters, to fix in our ‘mind’s eye’ the very place where Jesus walked
upon the boisterous waves. Come evening, remind me, Mary, and I will
read some lines which may interest you, as being an admirer of poetry
as well as of these remembrances of bygone days.”