THE MARTYR OF THE CATACOMBS
A TALE OF ANCIENT ROME
If after the manner of men I have fought with beasts at Ephesus,
what advantageth it me, if the dead rise not?--ST. PAUL
ILLUSTRATED
NEW YORK: HUNT & EATON
CINCINNATI: CRANSTON & CURTS
CONTENTS.
I. THE COLISEUM
II. THE PRETORIAN CAMP
III. THE APPIAN WAY
IV. THE CATACOMBS
V. THE CHRISTIAN'S SECRET
VI. THE CLOUD OF WITNESSES
VII. THE CONFESSION OF FAITH
VIII. LIFE IN THE CATACOMBS
IX. THE PERSECUTION
X. THE ARREST
XI. THE OFFER
XII. POLLIO'S TRIAL
XIII. THE DEATH OF POLLIO
XIV. THE TEMPTATION
XV. LUCULLUS
Illustrations.
THE BOY MARTYR
PLAN OF THE CATACOMBS
A PASSAGE IN THE CATACOMBS
THE COLISEUM
CHAPTER I.
THE COLISEUM.
"Butchered to make a Roman holiday."
It was a great festival day in Rome. From all quarters vast numbers of
people came pouring forth to one common destination. Over the Capitoline
Hill, through the Forum, past the Temple of Peace and the Arch of Titus
and the imperial palace; on they went till they reached the Coliseum,
where they entered its hundred doors and disappeared within.
There a wonderful scene presented itself. Below, the vast arena spread
out, surrounded by the countless rows of seats which rose to the top of
the outer wall, over a hundred feet. The whole extent was covered with
human beings of every class and every age. So vast an assemblage
gathered in such a way, presenting to view long lines of stern faces,
ascending far on high in successive rows, formed a spectacle which has
never elsewhere been equaled, and which was calculated beyond all others
to awe the soul of the beholder. More than one hundred thousand people
were gathered here, animated by one common feeling, and incited by one
single passion. It was the thirst for blood which drew them hither, and
nowhere can we find a sadder commentary on the boasted civilization of
ancient Rome than this her own greatest spectacle.
Here were warriors who had fought in foreign wars and were familiar with
deeds of valor, yet they felt no indignation at the scenes of cowardly
oppression displayed before them; nobles of ancient families were here,
but they could find in these brutal shows no stain upon their country's
honor. Philosophers, poets, priests, rulers, the highest as well as the
lowest in the land, crowded these seats; but the applauding shout of the
patrician was as loud and as eager as that of the plebeian. What hope
was there for Rome when the hearts of her people were, universally given
up to cruelty and brutal oppression?
Upon a raised seat in a conspicuous part of the amphitheater was the
Emperor Decius, near whom the chief people among the Romans were
gathered. Among these there was a group of officers belonging to the
Pretorian guards, who criticised the different points in the scene
before them with the air of connoisseurs. Their loud laughter, their
gayety, and their splendid attire made them the object of much attention
from their neighbors.
Several preliminary spectacles had been introduced, and now the fights
began. Several hand-to-hand combats were presented, most of which
resulted fatally, and excited different degrees of interest according to
the courage or skill of the combatants. Their effect was to whet the
appetite of the spectators to a keener relish, and fill them with eager
desire for the more exciting events which were to follow.
One man in particular had drawn down the admiration and applause of the
multitude. He was an African from Mauritania; of gigantic strength and
stature. But his skill seemed equal to his strength. He wielded his
short sword with marvelous dexterity, and thus far had slain every
opponent.
He was now matched with a gladiator from Batavia, a man fully equal in
stature and strength to himself. The contrast which the two presented
was striking. The African was tawny, with glossy curling hair and
glittering eyes; the Batavian was light in complexion, with blonde hair
and keen gray eyes. It was hard to tell which had the advantage, so
nearly were they matched in every respect; but as the former had already
fought for some time, it was thought that the odds were rather against
him. The contest, however, began with great spirit and eagerness on both
sides. The Batavian struck tremendous blows, which were parried by the
adroitness of the other. The African was quick and furious, but he could
do nothing against the cool and wary defense of his vigilant adversary.
At length, at a given signal, the combat was suspended, and the
gladiators were led away, not through anything like mercy or admiration,
but simply through a shrewd understanding of the best mode of satisfying
the Roman public. It was well understood that they would return again.
Now a large number of men were led into the arena. These were still
armed with the short sword. In a moment they had begun the attack. It
was not a conflict between two sides, but a general fight, in which
every man attacked his neighbor. Such scenes were the most bloody, and
therefore the most exciting. A conflict of this kind would always
destroy the greatest number in the shortest time. The arena presented a
scene of dire confusion. Five hundred armed men in the prime of life and
strength all struggled confusedly together. Sometimes they would all be
interlocked in one dense mass; at other times they would violently
separate into widely scattered individuals, with a heap of dead upon the
scene of the combat. But these would assail one another again with
undiminished fury; separate combats would spring up all around, the
victors in these would rush to take part in others, until at last the
survivors had once more congregated in one struggling crowd.
At length their struggles became weaker. Out of five hundred but one
hundred remained, and these were wearied and wounded. Suddenly a signal
was given, and two men leaped into the arena and rushed from opposite
sides upon this crowd. They were the African and the Batavian. Fresh
from their repose, they fell upon the exhausted wretches before them,
who had neither the spirit to combine nor the strength to resist. It
became a butchery. These two giants slaughtered right and left without
mercy, until they alone stood upright upon the arena, and the applause
of the innumerable throng came down in thunder to their ears.
These two again attacked each other, and attracted the attention of the
spectators while the bodies of the wounded and slain were being removed.
The combat was as fierce as before, and precisely similar. The African
was agile, the Batavian cautious. But finally the former made a
desperate thrust; the Batavian parried it, and returned a stroke like
lightning. The African sprang back and dropped his sword. But he was too
late, for the stroke of his foe had pierced his left arm. As he fell a
roar of joy arose from one hundred thousand human beings. But this was
not to be the end, for even while the conqueror stood over his victim
the attendants sprang forward and drew him away. Yet the Romans knew,
and the wounded man knew that it was not mercy. He was merely to be
reserved for a later but a certain fate.
"The Batavian is a skillful fighter, Marcellus," said one young officer
to a companion among the group which has been alluded to.
"He is, indeed, Lucullus," replied the other. "I do not think that I
ever saw a better gladiator. Indeed, both of them were much better than
common."
"They have a better man than either inside there."
"Ah! who is he?"
"The gladiator Macer. I think he is about the best I have ever seen."
"I have heard of him. Do you think he will be out today?"
"I understood so."
The short conversation was interrupted by a loud roar which came from
the vivarium, a place where the wild beasts were confined. It was a
fierce and a terrific roar, such as the most savage beasts give when
they are at the extremity of hunger and rage.
Soon iron gratings were flung open by men from above, and a tiger
stalked forth into the arenas. He was from Africa, whence he had been
brought but a few days previously. He had been kept three days without
food, and his furious rage, which hunger and confinement had heightened
to a terrible degree, was awful to behold. Lashing his tail, he walked
round the arena gazing with bloodshot eyes upward at the spectators. But
their attention was soon diverted to another object. From the opposite
side a man was thrust out into the arena. He had no armor, but was naked
like all gladiators, with the simple exception of a cloth around his
loins. Bearing in his hand the customary short sword, he advanced with a
firm pace toward the center of the scene.
All eyes at once were fixed upon this man. "Macer, Macer," was called
around by the innumerable spectators.
The tiger soon saw him, and uttered a short savage growl of fearful
import. Macer stood still, with his eyes calmly fixed upon the beast,
who, lashing his tail more madly than ever, bounded toward him. Finally
the tiger crouched, and then, with one terrific spring, leaped directly
upon him. But Macer was prepared. Like a flash he darted to the left,
and just as the tiger fell to the earth, he dealt a short sharp blow
straight to his heart. It was a fatal stroke. The huge beast shuddered
from head to foot, and drawing all his limbs together, he uttered a last
howl that sounded almost like the scream of a human being, and fell,
dead upon the sand.
Again the applause of the multitude rose like a thunder peal all around.
"Wonderful!" cried Marcellus. "I never saw skill equal to that of Macer!"
"Without doubt he has been fighting all his life," rejoined his friend.
But soon the carcass of the tiger was drawn away, and again the creak of
a grating as it swung apart attracted attention. This time it was a
lion. He came forth slowly, and looked all around upon the scene as if
in surprise. He was the largest of his species, a giant in size, and had
long been preserved for some superior antagonist. He seemed capable of
encountering two animals like the tiger that had preceded him. Beside
him Macer was like a child.
The lion had fasted long, but he showed no fury like that of the tiger.
He walked across the arena, and then completely around it in a kind of
trot, as though searching for escape. Finding every side closed, he
finally retreated to the center, and putting his face close to the
ground, he uttered a roar so deep, so loud, and so long, that the
ponderous stones of the coliseum itself vibrated at the sound.
Macer stood unmoved. Not a muscle of his face changed. He carried his
head erect with the same watchful expression, and held his sword ready.
At length the lion turned full upon him. The wild beast and the man
stood face to face eyeing one another. But the calm gaze of the man
seemed to fill the animal with wrath. He started back with his hair and
tail erect, and tossing his mane, he crouched for the dreadful spring.
The vast multitude stood spellbound. Here, indeed, was a sight worthy of
their interest.
The dark form of the lion darted forward, but again the form of the
gladiator, with his customary maneuver, leaped aside and struck. This
time, however, his sword struck a rib, and fell from his hand. The lion
was slightly wounded, but the blow served only to rouse his fury to the
highest point.
Yet Macer lost not one jot of his coolness in that awful moment.
Perfectly unarmed, he stood before the beast waiting his attack. Again
and again the lion sprang, but each time he was evaded by the nimble
gladiator, who by his own adroit movements contrived to reach the spot
where his weapon lay and regain possession of it. Armed with his trusty
sword, he waited a final spring. The lion came down as before, but this
time Macer's aim was true. The sword pierced his heart. The enormous
beast fell, writhing in pain. Rising again to his feet, he ran across
the arena, and with a last roar he fell dead by the bars at which he had
entered.
Macer was now led away, and the Batavian reappeared. The Romans required
variety. A small tiger was let loose upon the Batavian and was
vanquished. A lion was then set upon him. He was extremely fierce,
although of only ordinary size. It was evident that the Batavian was not
at all equal to Macer. The lion made a spring and was wounded, but on
making a second attack, he caught his opponent and literally tore him to
pieces. Upon this Macer was sent out again, and killed this lion easily.
And now, while Macer stood there the recipient of unbounded applause, a
man entered from the opposite side. It was the African. His arm had not
been bound up, but hung down by his side covered with blood. He
staggered toward Macer with painful steps. The Romans knew that he had
been sent out to be killed. The wretch knew it himself also, for as he
drew near to his antagonist he dropped his sword, and cried out in a
kind of desperation,
"Quick! kill me, and put me out of pain."
To the amazement of all, Macer stepped back and flung down his sword.
The spectators stared and wondered. Still more amazed were they when
Macer turned toward the emperor and stretched out his hands.
"August Emperor," he cried, "I am a Christian. I will fight wild beasts,
but I will not raise my hand against a fellow-man. I can die, but I will
not kill."
Whereupon a mighty murmur arose.
"What does he say?" cried Marcellus. "A Christian! when did that happen?"
"I heard," said Lucullus, "that he was visited in his cell by some of
these wretched Christians, and joined their contemptible sect. They are
made up of the offscouring of man kind. It is very probable that he is a
Christian."
"And will he incur death rather than fight?"
"That is the way with these fanatics."
Rage took the place of surprise in the fierce multitude. They were
indignant that a mere gladiator should dare to disappoint them. The
attendants rushed out to interfere. The fight must go on. If Macer would
not fight he should take the consequences.
But he was firm. Unarmed, he advanced toward the African, whom he could
have slain even then with a blow of his fist. The face of the African
was like that of a fiend. Surprise, joy, and triumph gleamed in his
sinister eyes. Seizing his sword in a firm grasp, he struck Macer to the
heart.
"Lord Jesus receive my spirit--" The words were drowned in a torrent of
blood, and this humble but bold witness for Christ passed away from
earth to join the noble army of martyrs.
"Are there many such scenes as this?" asked Marcellus.
"Often. Whenever Christians appear. They will fight any number of
beasts. Young girls will come firmly to meet lions and tigers, but not
one of the madmen will fight with men. The populace are bitterly
disappointed in Macer. He is the very best of all the gladiators, and in
becoming a Christian he has acted like a fool."
"It must be a wonderful religion which could make a common gladiator act
thus," said Marcellus.
"You'll have a chance to learn more about it."
"How so?"
"Haven't you heard? You are appointed to unearth some of these
Christians. They have got down in the Catacombs, and they must be hunted
up."
"I should think they have enough already. Fifty were burned this morning."
"And a hundred were beheaded last week. But that is nothing. The city is
swarming with them. The emperor has determined to restore the old
religion perfectly. Since these Christians have appeared the empire has
been declining. He has made up his mind to annihilate them. They are a
curse, and must be dealt with accordingly. You will soon understand."
"I haven't been in Rome long enough to know," said Marcellus meekly,
"and I do not understand what the Christians really believe. I have
heard almost every crime imputed to them. However, if it be as you say I
will have a chance of learning."
But now another scene attracted their attention.
An old man entered upon the scene. His form was bowed, and his hair
silver white with extreme old age. His appearance was hailed with shouts
of derision, although his majestic face and dignified manner were only
calculated to excite admiration. As the shouts of laughter and yells of
derision came down to his ears he raised his head and uttered a few words.
"Who is he?" asked Marcellus.
"Alexander, a teacher of the abominable Christian sect. He is so
obstinate that he will not recant--"
"Hush, he is speaking."
"Romans!" said the old man, "I am a Christian. My God died for me, and I
gladly lay down my life for him--"
A loud outburst of yells and execrations from the fierce mob drowned his
voice. Before it was over three panthers came bounding toward him. He
folded his arms, and looking up to heaven, his lips moved as if
murmuring prayers. The savage beasts fell upon him as he stood, and in a
few minutes he was torn in pieces.
Other wild animals were now let in. They bounded around the inclosure,
they leaped against the barrier, and in their rage assailed one another.
It was a hideous scene.
Into the midst of this a helpless band of prisoners were rudely thrust.
They were chiefly young girls, who were thus sacrificed to the
bloodthirsty passions of the savage Roman mob. The sight would have
moved to pity any heart in which all soft feelings had not been
blighted. But pity had no place in Rome. Cowering and fearful, the poor
young maidens showed the weakness of human nature when just confronted
with death in so terrible a form, but after a few moments faith resumed
its power, and raised them above all fear. As the beasts became aware of
the presence of their prey and began to draw near, these young maidens
joined hands, and raising their eyes to heaven, sang out a solemn chant
which rose clear and wondrously sweet upward to heaven:
"Unto Him that loved us
To Him that washed us from our sins
In his own blood;
To Him that made us kings and priests,
To God and the Father;
To Him be glory and dominion
Forever and ever.
Halleluiah. Amen!"
One by one the voices were hushed in blood, and agony, and death; one by
one the shrieks of anguish were mingled with the shouts of praise; and
these fair young spirits, so heroic under suffering and faithful unto
death, had carried their song to join it with the psalm of the redeemed
on high.