Judea’s daughters mourn her blighted soil,
Her dark-eyed sons in foreign regions toil,
But Holy is the land where Jesus trod
Sacred its soil, though desolate and sad.
A bright, clear, cold Sabbath morning dawned. The smooth snow sparkled
as if sprinkled with diamonds, and the bracing atmosphere seemed
to infuse new life into creation. The strict habits of our Puritan
fathers, in regard to public worship, were not forgotten in the
family of Mrs. Wilson, and, when, all meeting at their social evening
conversation, many remarks were made upon the exercises of the day,
no carping criticisms, no sarcastic observations were indulged in,
or would have been permitted. Ministers, in those days, were both
loved and reverenced; loved for themselves, and reverenced for their
holy vocation, and, generally grew old among a people to whom they
were attached by the strongest ties, whose interests were theirs, and
whose children were considered their own. There is no more beautiful
description of a country clergyman, and none that more generally
applies to the times of which I am writing, than Goldsmith’s. The
pastors, in those days, literally “allured to brighter worlds, and led
the way.”
After a day spent in listening to the words of one of those
emphatically good men, the evening fire was surrounded by our little
company, who were comparing notes upon the services of the day. The
subject was Christ choosing his disciples, and, one of the remarks of
one of the speakers was, that because the first followers of Christ
were probably illiterate men, it should not be inferred that learning
was not necessary for ministers of the present day. Almighty power
could inspire them with wisdom, without human means, and, that was then
the case, but the miraculous interposition of Providence was not now
granted, therefore, education was a most useful auxiliary to piety. An
interesting conversation upon the subject then ensued. At length Mary
reminded Herbert of his promise to read them some poetry, and he read
as follows:
“The setting sun shone bright and clear on Galilee’s dark sea,
Lovely was its reflection of the clear and cloudless sky.
The fisher’s boats were scattered o’er the broad and deep expanse
And the mingled sounds of busy life re-echoed from its banks,
Here Naz’reth’s populous city stretched its crowded noisy street,
And there Capernaum’s lofty towers the passing traveler greet;
Here the wild fig tree bends beneath its luscious watery load,
And there the light green olive spreads around the mountain side.
Oh! chosen land; how lovely then thy hills and valleys seemed,
That ’midst such beauty dwelt such sin, ah! who would then have
deemed,
Upon those waves, one humble bark was making for the land,
Weary and faint, its inmates joyed as they approached the strand.
A life of toil and scanty fare, these humble fishers led,
And, wearily and patiently they earned their daily bread;
The careless glance would scarce remark aught in their aspect rude
Save the dull look of untaught men, in discontented mood,
But observations practiced eye, would trace the lines of thought,
Of the sedate intelligence of minds with wisdom fraught;
Would mark the quick and varying glance of passion, strong and deep,
Though, now, within the calm, cold breast, the stormy feelings sleep;
Would note the traces of that zeal, which oft in after days
Glowed in those hearts, and warmed the world by its reflected blaze,
Which led those men, so humble now, with firm and dauntless mien,
Tortures to brave, and even death, with hearts firm and serene;
But why their looks of earnest awe, now bent towards the shore?
Why are those features roused to life, so still and calm before?
Mark you, on yonder point that form? is it of earth or heaven?
Though lowly are his robes, such grace is not to mortals given,
Thy coast, O favored Galilee! Such foot ne’er pressed before;
Such voice, O lovely lake! ne’er waked the echoes of thy shore.
Mark but that pure and holy brow, where heaven’s own perfect peace
Sits calm enthroned, and bids the world’s tumultuous passions cease.
That eye, whose quick and piercing glance, whose full and brilliant
light
Searches each heart, and reads each thought of those who meet its
sight,
Then listen to that sacred voice, that simple ‘Follow me.’
Aye, blessed Jesus, aye; through life, to death, we follow thee;
Such is the quick, the glad response, their earnest gesture shows,
See, in their looks the free assent, e’er from their lips it flows,
Peter! thy dark and flashing eye, thy lips compressed and stern,
Says ‘though all men forsake thee, Lord, yet is my purpose firm’;
And it was firm, though the dark tempter sought, by many a wile,
To lure him from his plighted faith, and lead his heart to guile;
Yes; it was firm, for with his blood he made the compact sure,
And, on the Rock of Peter’s faith, the church will rest secure.
The waters of that hallowed lake still wash that honored shore
Still o’er its waves the setting sun does his bright radiance pour,
But on its dark blue surface glides no solitary bark,
And o’er that once fair land, a cloud hangs heavily and dark.
Heaven has received again to bless that pure and blessed One,
His chosen martyred followers, too, victory o’er Death have won,
But memory hangs, with cherished love, round scenes his presence
blest,
And dwells with fond affection on the soil his footsteps pressed.”
“I like very much to hear Herbert read poetry,” said Charles. “Mother,
may he read those lines called ‘Early Recollections?’ They refer to
scenes in our own town, Susan, and I know you will like them.” “Why
should Susan like them more than the rest of us, Charles?” said Mary.
“Oh. I think they are more suited to her taste.” “I must certainly
hear them,” said Susan, “if it were only to know whether Charles has
judged rightly of my taste.” “I will endeavor to find them tomorrow,”
said Mrs. Wilson, “and I hope they will serve to amuse you.” At the
first convenient opportunity Herbert continued the tale of the early
Christians.
* * * * *
The delicious coolness of the evening breeze, after a day of uncommon
heat was, of itself, a temptation sufficient to draw many into the
open air, and the streets of Rome were thronged with her citizens.
Here might be seen the rich carriage, borne by slaves in livery, on
whose soft and luxurious cushions reclined the haughty noble; there,
the patrician, with his train of attendants, and the wealthy plebean,
conscious of his inferior rank, but emulating the proud bearing of his
rival. Chairs and litters passed in quick succession, and freed men
and slaves jostled each other. From the stately palaces resounded the
notes of revelry and mirth, and from the theatres, the sounds of music
and dancing. In the opening, before one of the courts, were gathered
a crowd of listeners, around one of those gifted poets, who, without
forethought, composed and recited upon any given subject, with ease
and gracefulness, and are rewarded not only by gratuities of money,
but by the rapturous applause of their hearers. Through one of the
streets passed a funeral procession, for, in Rome, all their funeral
ceremonies were performed by torchlight and much pomp and parade was
displayed upon the occasion in honor of the deceased. Thus life, with
its shifting scenes, its hopes and fears and conflicting passions,
were, at this time, in full contrast with the startling reality of
death; though few heeded the solemn warning. A hasty glance, some words
of condolence or commendation of the deceased, and the proud pageant
was forgotten. Amidst all this bustling confusion might be seen some,
apparently persons of distinction, whose air of mystery and whispering
conferences portended some event of importance. Two citizens met near
the Temple of Fortune; “Health and happiness, noble Varro,” said a
rich patrician to a stately noble, “may the deities be propitious;
have you heard the rumor?” “I have been witnessing the betrothal of my
son to the daughter of Publius Dentatus, and have heard no rumor. Of
what nature?” “A most happy betrothal; may their years be auspicious!
The reports are of a most astounding character. It is rumored that the
Senate, in full council, have condemned Nero, and, that Servius Galba,
so lately returned from Spain, will be chosen, by the soldiery, as his
successor.” “And, would Galba be the choice of the Senate, Licinius?”
“Perhaps not, but he is the favorite of the legions from Spain, and
beloved by the soldiers, generally, and they could find no fault with
the choice, unless it be the severity of his manners.” “He is a good
and honorable man,” said the elder, “but he will find the rank and
title of Emperor but a thin gilding to the bitter pill of royalty he
must swallow. But, the world will last our day, Licinius, let the wheel
go round.” And they parted. At the turning of one of the streets, a
knot of citizens were conferring. “How is this, Sempronius?” said one,
“what will be the consequence of this decree of condemnation, of which
we hear so many rumors? Will the Emperor abdicate, or have his enemies
determined upon his death?” “Vengeance will not always sleep, fellow
citizens,” said the one who was addressed; “Who is not an enemy to the
detestable vices of Nero? and what wickedness is there in the whole
catalogue of crime which he has not committed?” “Nay, Sempronius,”
said a man with a stern and forbidding countenance, “he has done good
service to the State, by exterminating those Christians.” “By our
household deities,” said another, “I know not that, for the sect is
like the Hydra of old, as fast as one is exterminated, as you say, a
score appear in his place. I am for stopping these executions at once,
and then we shall see if this heresy will not die of itself.” “But,
said the first speaker, “will not Nero set the Senate at defiance?
He has his favorites, and may yet make a stand.” “Not so,” said
Sempronius, “his nature is cowardly, and at the first intimation of
danger, he would shrink from it with terror. He needs no accuser but
his own guilty conscience; he has waded in the blood of innocence, and
will yet be deluged in its avenging waves.” The company dispersed, each
in his several path.
With a hurried step, the freedman of Nero was seen ascending the steps
of the palace; he was greeted by one of his fellow servants, “Whither
so fast, Anicetus? One would think the avenger was at thy heels.” “He
is,” said the freedman. “There is something wrong in the wind,” said
the questioner, “there is some cause for so much stir and commotion
in the city,” continued he, addressing one of the guards, “and the
military, without the walls are in motion, for the trumpets have
sounded.” “Well,” said the other, “let what will come, my duty lies
here.”
We will now return to the entrance of Lucius Flavius into the apartment
of Nero, in the imperial palace. With a firm and lofty step, but
a respectful demeanor, the young and noble defender of innocence,
advanced, supporting the sister of Curtius, who, though her complexion
was pale, and her form tremulous with emotion, shrank not from the
haughty and insolent regard of the tyrant. “How is this, my Lord
Lucius; what fair votary of Venus have you introduced to our presence
with so little ceremony? Methinks some more formal introduction were
befitting so much beauty.” “Innocence, my Lord, the Emperor, may be
always confident in its own resources, and sorrow has claims superior
to all formal observances. The maiden before you is the sister of
Quintius Curtius, and her errand is to solicit, even yet, the life and
freedom of her brother.” Cleone slid from the arm of her protector,
and bent her knee before Nero. “We are orphans,” said she, “my brother
and myself, children of one of Rome’s noblest citizens. Our father
fought his country’s battles, defended her liberty and gloried in
her prosperity. Our ancestors gave their lives and treasures for her
benefit, and my brother would yield his heart’s blood for the welfare
of his native land; we are alone in the world; noble Emperor, grant me
the life of my brother.” The sweet pleading tones of her voice, the
earnest expressions of her eyes, would, it would seem, have produced
some feeling, even in the hard heart of Nero; such was not the case.
With a malignant sneer, he said: “And so permit him to convert you,
fair damsel, to the faith of the Nazarene? By the beard of Silenus,
that would be sacrilege to bind so alluring an object in the galling
chains of that cynical sect. Not so, my beautiful grace; love for our
country influences us to cleanse it of these fanatical reformers, who
are attempting to subvert its established principles, and overturn
our faith in a religion which has stood the test of ages. He must
suffer for his obstinacy; but, for you, fair maiden, you shall be
under especial care and protection.” With an indignant gesture,
Flavius attempted to raise Cleone, but, resisting the effort, her eyes
flashing, and her voice becoming more firm, “Yet a moment, haughty
Emperor, your life is in my power,”—“What! ho, help here, slaves!”
“Stay, Emperor,” said Flavius, “there is a secret conspiracy against
your life, accidentally discovered. She only can tell you the names of
the conspirators, and its details. Give to her prayers the life of her
brother, and your life may be preserved.” “Refuse me,” said Cleone,
“and, so sure as you are now living, so certain is your destruction.”
A scowl of rage distorted the countenance of Nero. “There are ways, my
haughty young dame, to compel such refractory tempers to confession.”
“Before your cruel purpose could be executed,” said Cleone, “the time
would have elapsed when your life might be saved. Death is fearful to
all, were it only for the uncertainty of the prospect beyond. Is your
conscience so pure that you dare look upon its near approach without
alarm? Will you not shrink from encountering its gloom, to you the
dark mystery of the future?” She was interrupted by the hasty entrance
of the freedman, who, bending low before the Emperor, addressed to
him some communication, which, first suffusing his face with crimson,
soon left it of a deadly paleness. Fear and irresolution marked his
features. He gave some hasty orders, and appeared lost in thought
for a short time. At length, seeming to have formed a determination,
he turned to Flavius. “Young lord,” said he, “time does not admit
of delay; let this maiden give me, in a few words, the outline of
this conspiracy, and then, upon one condition, I will release the
Christian.” “Give us an order to that effect, my lord Emperor, and you
shall know all,” and, while Cleone trembled between hope and fear, Nero
wrote upon a leaf of his tablets, “Release the Christian prisoner,
Quintius Curtius,” and tearing it from the book, affixed his seal,
and gave the order to Flavius. Hurry and dismay marked his motions,
and, turning to Cleone, he commanded her to make the disclosure. In a
clear, distinct manner, she related the circumstances, and mentioned
Caius Piso as the principal conspirator. He muttered between his
teeth, “Let me but escape this first danger, and I will defy Piso and
his retainers.” “Go,” said he, aloud, “leave the presence, yet, stay,
Lucius Flavius, the condition is not yet complied with.” In a low
constrained voice, he said, “I have just received intelligence of an
insurrection in the army without the walls, and that the traitors have
expressed their determination of deposing me, and electing Servius
Galba. I know not how far the discontent extends, perhaps the Senate
have dared to connive at it,” and his frame trembled, and he grew more
deadly pale. “The condition I make with you is, that, if they presume
to aim at my life, you will intercede. Use your influence with Galba,
do you understand, do you engage to this?” “I do,” said Flavius, “as
I hope for mercy myself.” “Enough,” said Nero. Almost dreading the
reality of this sudden and happy change, Cleone left the presence of
this dreaded tyrant of Rome; and he was left alone with his miserable
thoughts; the remembrance of the past, the horrors of his dark deeds
of cruelty, mingling with dismal forebodings of future retribution.
Starting in his hurried walk he listened with breathless attention
to the distant sounds in the city. Again, pacing the apartment in
agitation, he would mutter low and almost inaudible exclamations, “No
guests arrive; that is, of it itself, suspicious; the traitors! They
will all forsake me; yes, I will leave the city, without delay; but,
whither? To my country house; that will do, and let the excitement
subside. It was well to conciliate this Flavius by releasing the
Christian; his influence may do much; that Sybil! Her prophecy weighs
heavy upon me; where have I seen her dark visage before?” Then he
threw himself upon his couch; but, directly springing up, “What is
this?” said he, “I seem sinking into an abyss? Is there a future after
death? Ho! Anicetus.” As the freedman entered, he said, “Are all things
prepared? Have you secured my treasures?” “All is prepared, my lord,
and waiting your command.” “You, at least, Anicetus, have no reason
to complain of me; can I trust you?” “I will be faithful to you till
the last, my master.” “It is well,” said Nero, “hasten our immediate
departure; if I live, you shall not repent your fidelity.”