hand, and bowed himself before Trajan, and the great men of authority that
were near to his chair, and said, with a firm clear voice, in the Roman
tongue, “My name, O Trajan, is Tisias—the son of Androboulos. I am a
native of Antioch, in Syria, and have in all things, except only in what
pertains to this cause, observed throughout all the years of my life the
statutes of the empire, as they, by whose accusation I have been led
hither, shall themselves be constrained to bear witness for me this day.
My father was a Greek of Macedonian extraction, being descended from one
of those that came into Syria beneath the banners of the great King
Seleucus; but he took to wife a maiden of the Hebrew nation, and in
process of time became a proselyte to the faith of her fathers.
Nevertheless, he lived in trust and honour beneath the governors appointed
by those that were before you in the empire, and brought up me and all his
children to reverence, in all things that are lawful, the authority of
Cæsar. But as to the faith of the true God, whose worshippers ye blindly
and foolishly call atheists and blasphemers, from that he neither swerved
himself, nor would permit any of those that were in his household to
depart. Now, when he had been a dweller for some time in Jerusalem, the
great city of the Jews, he began to examine into those things which were
reported publicly concerning Jesus of Nazareth, who is also called the
Christ, of which things not a few that had been eye-witnesses were then
living in that city. And when he had been satisfied from their testimony,
that those miracles, of which you have all heard, were in truth performed
in the sight of the people by Jesus, and had listened unto the words of
their teachers, and saw how they proved that the old prophets of the
Hebrews had foretold those wonderful works, he perceived that Jesus of
Nazareth was indeed the Christ of God, and the great Deliverer that had
been promised to that people, even from the beginning of their nation. And
he believed on him with all his household; and I also, from a stripling,
have, although unworthy, been a Christian; for by that name were they
first called in Antioch, the city of my birth.
“But being brought into trouble by reason of his religion, which the
rulers of the Jews abhorred, my father departed, after a time, from
Jerusalem, and dwelt with my mother in one of the villages of Palestine,
until his death. Not long after which time, the Jews rebelled against
Cæsar, and the great war began, which terminated in the overthrow of
Jerusalem, and the utter ruin of their nation. Now, when Vespasian first
came with his army into those regions, I, being without employment in the
place where we had our habitation, and having, moreover, taken up a great,
and perhaps a sinful, wrath against the Jews, on account of the sufferings
which my father had undergone among them, and of the evils which, at their
hands, our whole household had sustained, joined myself to one of the
bands of Syrian auxiliaries; and although my mother entreated me, could
not be persuaded to refrain from following the camp of Cæsar with them. Of
which thing it has often since then repented me, and in which, it may be,
I still hold myself not to have done altogether as was right; for if the
Jews had offended Cæsar, it was, indeed, a reasonable thing that Cæsar
should visit them with his vengeance; but, peradventure, it behoved not
any of them that were descended from the fathers of that people, to take
part in the warfare. Nevertheless, being then young, and, as I have said,
irritated by the sense of domestic injuries, I scrupled not to fulfil in
all things the duty of a soldier, and followed the eagles of Vespasian and
his son, even to the day when the lines were drawn around the Holy City;
and it was manifest, that the war could have no end, but in the eternal
overthrow of the power of the Jews. Neither did the length of the siege
weary me, or produce within me any sort of unwillingness; but, on the
contrary, so long as the city was beleaguered, I remained with the band in
which I had numbered myself, and did in all labours such service as my
strength would permit. Even among the soldiers that have guarded my
prison, since I was led into Rome for the sake of that accusation which
has been brought against me in the matter of my belief,—even among them, I
have seen the faces of some that were my comrades in that fierce war, and
that long beleaguerment, who also, if they be commanded, will not refuse
to bear testimony before you, that all these things are true, even as I
have said, and that I was a faithful soldier, both of Vespasian and of
Titus, unto the last. Neither, indeed, did I lay down arms immediately
when Jerusalem had been sacked, and the Temple burnt, according to the
prediction of Christ, but went with Cæsar along the sea-coast, and was
present with him all through the journeyings he made in Egypt, even to the
day when he made his great festival at Alexandria, and crowned the Ox Apis
with his own hands, in the presence of all that people. On which day it
was, that, for the first time, I also was accused of being a Christian,
and at the command of Titus himself, was interrogated by one of the rulers
of the army.
“Now with shame and confusion of face must I acknowledge, that on that day
I, from desire of life, forgot myself utterly, and being deserted of all
steadfastness, went up to the altar in presence of my judge, and offered
gifts there, whereon I was declared free of all blame; and even received
honour and commendation thereafter from them, on account of my services in
the war. But, from that day, my spirit sunk within me, and I knew not what
to do; I grew weary of all things, and determined to leave the band in
which I was serving, that I might seek out, if it were possible, the
habitation of my mother, and make atonement in secret for the wickedness
of which I, unhappy and fearful man, had been guilty at Alexandria. Being
absolved, therefore, from my oath of service, on account of the length of
time I had remained with the army, I departed from Egypt, and, after a
time, found out my mother where she was dwelling in the mountainous
country of Palestine, to the north of Jerusalem. In going thither,
however, I was constrained to pass by the place where I had so long lain
in your camp, O Romans! and to look with my own eyes on the sorrowful
desolation of that ancient city, where so many holy prophets of the
Hebrews had ministered, and so many great kings reigned in the days of the
old time, when their nation flourished, and was chosen and favoured of the
Almighty. And it was then, indeed, that I first began to repent me of
having been present in the host of Titus, and of having had a part in that
terrible destruction; to which, when I added the recollection of my own
miserable timorousness at Alexandria, great was my perplexity, and I fled
across the mountains with much speed, seeking in vain to fly from the
stings and unceasing torment of my own meditations, which nevertheless
continued ever more and more to sink into my spirit; insomuch, that when I
came into the place where my mother was dwelling, scarcely could she
recognize me, wasted and worn as I was with that perpetual misery of shame
and repentance. Without reproaches, however, and indeed with great
kindness, did she receive me into her habitation, even although, as I have
said, she had been much offended with me because of my going up to the
beleaguerment of the city of her fathers. But when I, being humbled, made
confession to her and her household, and to all the faithful that were in
that place, of the grievous sin whereof I had been guilty in Egypt, both
she and all the rest of them busied themselves continually to comfort me,
and to assure me that there was yet hope, if my repentance were sincere,
and my resolution immovable never again to yield myself to any similar
temptation. One of them also, that had been set apart to minister in holy
things among the scattered believers that dwelt up and down in that
region, came not many days after to the same place, and having publicly
heard my confession, admitted me once more to be a partaker with them in
the mysteries of the sanctuary. From which day, O Trajan! I have never
again been so far deserted of myself, as to fall back into that miserable
error, or by any cowardly word of mine, to deny the faith that is in me,
which is the faith of the True God that made heaven and earth, and of his
Son Jesus Christ, whom he sent into the world to teach loving-kindness,
and long-suffering, and patience, among all kindreds, and tongues, and
nations of mankind; and to make expiation, by the accursed death of the
cross, for the evil and the wickedness that is in the world. From which
faith, should I now depart, out of terror for that which, by your command,
may befal me in this place, of a surety no comfort could ever again come
to me in my mind, for I should be bowed down, and utterly miserable, out
of grief and shame; which as you yourself, O Cæsar, will admit and
acknowledge, is far worse than death itself, or any evil which the body of
man can sustain. Neither could I have any hope of being reconciled unto
the True God, whom I should have so, once and again, denied; insomuch,
that neither in life nor in death should I be able to have any
happiness;—for in life, what happiness is there to him that is ashamed of
himself?—and, in departing from life, what comfort can be given to him,
that, knowing the truth, hath openly abjured the truth for the sake of a
few, at the utmost, and these most miserable and unhappy years? I am an
old man, and my near kindred and my friends are already dead, so that poor
after all, and not worthy to be mentioned, is the sacrifice on which I
have this day resolved. And as for you, O Romans, should I now make
shipwreck of my faith, and tell a lie to save my life before you, with
what contempt would yourselves be constrained forthwith to look upon me?
Whosoever is wise among you, according to the philosophy of the earth,
would utterly despise me; and whosoever is brave and steadfast of spirit,
would think foul scorn that a soldier of Titus should be so much afraid to
die. Therefore, O Trajan, am I resolved to endure all things rather than
sacrifice to your gods; and if such be your will, I will not refuse to die
for this cause, to which witness has already been borne in Rome by the
blood of holy Apostles, and other noble martyrs of Christ.”
The old man, having said these words, bowed himself once more reverently
before Trajan, and then folding his arms in his cloak, appeared to await
whatever might be appointed. Steadfastly did I look upon his face at that
moment, to see whether it might exhibit no trace of wavering, or at least,
if pride barred irresolution, whether, nevertheless, there might not
appear some token of natural sorrow, and human unwillingness to die; yet
in vain did I scrutinize and seek for any such symptoms of spiritual
weakness; for although it was visible that, with the exertion of so long
standing and speaking, to say nothing of thought and anxiety, his bodily
strength was much spent, still his eye preserved firmness, and his brow
remained serene; and the parched lips of the old man did not once betray
the least shadow of trembling. Methinks I see him even now, as he then
stood—his deep calm eyes sometimes turned upwards to Trajan, but for the
most part bent to the ground, beneath those gray brows of his, whose dark
shade rested upon his large solemn eyelids. Upon his broad front, as he
stooped, no hair appeared, but long hoary ringlets, clustered down on
either side, mingling with the venerable, although dishevelled beard, that
lay upon his bosom. Heroic meekness was enthroned visibly upon all his
lineaments, and a murmur began to run through the assembly, as if—even in
a Christian—it were not possible to contemplate such things without
admiration.
But as they afterwards related to me—for I myself was not indeed
sufficiently attentive to it—Trajan, who had as yet, during all the
occurrences of the day, preserved unmoved the majestic serenity of his
countenance, when he observed this last movement in the spirit of the
assembly, began all at once to be very indignant, that such things should
occur in such a place, in consequence of the appearance merely, and the
language, of a culprit and a Christian. I confess it, that I was too much
occupied with gazing on Tisias, to have any leisure for remarking the
particulars of the deportment of any other person present—no, not even of
Cæsar; yet such had been the effect produced on me by the history which
the old man delivered of himself, that I indeed was not prepared at the
moment to find the strong arm of power directed ruthlessly, and
immediately against him. At least, said I to myself, the Prince will
institute an inquiry among all those now present in the capital, who are
likely to be able either to contradict essentially, or to confirm, the
narrative in which this man has thought fit to embody his only defence.
Many years indeed have elapsed since the walls of Jerusalem were shattered
by the engines of Rome, and the golden gate of its antique temple refused
to be any protection against the furious soldiery of Titus. Yet surely not
a few of such as were present in that proud host, must be still in life;
yea, not a few of them must be now present in the capital of the world.
The old spearman, with whom I talked in the guard-room, and beside the
ramparts underneath which this Christian was imprisoned, he surely cannot
be the only witness that remains to give testimony. He at least there is,
and we shall forthwith have him at least confronted with Tisias.
Such were my thoughts within me; judge, therefore, what was my
astonishment when I heard the trumpet sound, and perceived that its note,
without any word being spoken, was at once received as a sufficient
warning by the priests and the vestals, and the youths and the damsels,
and all those that had in any way been connected with the service of the
altar, to retire from the place whereon they stood, and leave the old man
there alone, to await the issue of his destiny. Immediately on the signal
being given by the trumpet, did all these begin to move away; but although
in silence they had at first marched into the Amphitheatre, they did not
retire from it in silence. Another hymn, on the contrary, in which also,
as it seemed, different parts were allotted for each different order of
singers, was begun to be sung by them even before they had moved from the
arena; and after the last of their procession had disappeared behind the
wide folding-doors of the Amphitheatre, we still heard their voices
chanting solemnly until they had entered the great Temple of Isis and
Serapis, which, as I have already said, stands over against it, on the
brink of the Esquiline. And while all were yet listening to their singing,
and to the harmony of lutes and other sweet-sounding instruments that
accompanied their voices, the slaves and other attendants removed every
thing from the arena, except only the altar and statue of Jupiter, which
were still left where they had been placed; insomuch, that ere they had
made an end of singing, and we of listening, the old man was left alone
there as at the beginning, when he first came forth.
But just when deep silence once more prevailed, and expectation was most
intense concerning what should be at length commanded by Trajan, it fell
out so, that a little bald ape escaped through the bars of one of the
grated doors, which were along the boundary-wall of the arena, and leaping
forth upon the sand, began to skip up and down, challenging, by all manner
of foolish gestures, the attention of those that sate over against it,
leaning down from the parapet. And immediately certain painted courtezans,
that were sitting not far from thence, with gilded breasts and
bright-coloured garlands, and all other gorgeous trappings of the
degradation of harlotry, began to throw down apples and nuts to the
obscene creature, and to testify much delight in the grimaces with which
it received them, hopping to and fro, and casting them away, and then
catching them up again, with continual gibbering and prating; and no
sooner did the rabble that were above perceive these things, than they
all, as with one consent, began to applaud; so that the vaulted vomitories
and wide arches of entrance, and all the marble walls, re-echoed with
every wild sound of carelessness and merriment. While, in the meantime,
the African feeders and naked gladiators, and all those hangers-on of the
Amphitheatre, whom we had seen in the dark places below, hearing now the
sounds that had arisen among the assembly, began to shew themselves in
crowds from behind the same grated doors through one of which the monkey
had escaped, and to partake in the mirth of the spectators, and to whistle
upon the creature, and to excite it to new caperings, by their outcries
and jeerings. It seemed as if the minds of all present were entirely
occupied with the pranks of this brute; and that almost it was forgotten
amidst the tumult, not only for what purpose all that solemn and stately
pageantry had just been exhibited before them; but even that Tisias was
still standing there upon the same arena.
For myself, who had never before looked upon any creature of this
disgusting tribe, and had gathered only some general notion of its
appearance from the treatises of the physiologists and the narratives of
travellers,—I could not, indeed, refuse to contemplate at first its
motions with some curiosity; but I knew not, after the scene had lasted
for a little space, whether to be more humbled within myself by the
monkey’s filthy mimickings of the form and attitudes of mankind, or by the
display of brutish heartlessness, which burst forth from all that
countless multitude, while gazing on that spectacle of humiliation.
But it was not until my eye fell again on Tisias, who stood all this time
solitary and silent amidst the hub-bub, that my sorrow and indignation
were the greatest. There stood the old man even as before, with his arms
folded in his gown, and his eyes resting on the sand before him, pale,
calm, and unmoved in his meekness, even as if his ears had not once
received any sound of all the shoutings and the joyous laughters of that
unpitying rabble, that had come there to behold him die. Once, indeed—it
was but once—I thought I could perceive that a slight emotion of contempt
wreathed for an instant his thin and bloodless lips; but it seemed as if
that were but the involuntary and momentary passing over him of one proud
thought, which he cast from him immediately, as a thing unworthy of the
resolute mind of his integrity, choosing rather to array himself in the
divine armour of patience, than to oppose, with any weapon of human
passion, the insults heaped upon his head by the cruel callousness of that
degenerate congregation of men. And, whether it were that the sight of all
this did not affect me alone with such reflections, or only that they in
authority were afraid too much of the day might be occupied with what
formed so unseemly an addition to the ordained business of the assembly,
while the uproar of mirth was yet at its height, certain of the lictors
that were about the consular chairs leapt down into the arena, and beat
the monkey back again among the feeders, and other base hirelings, that
stood behind the grated doors of which I have spoken. Whereupon there was
at once an end of the tumult, and the lictors having reascended to their
places, the eyes of all began once more to fix themselves upon the
Christian.
And he also, when he perceived that it was so, and was sensible of the
silence that once more prevailed, it seemed as if he, too, were aware that
at last his appointed hour had come, and that he must needs prepare
himself in good earnest for the abiding of the issue. For, instead of
continuing steadfast in his place, as he had done during all the time he
had as yet been exposed there, it appeared as if now at length, being
swallowed up in the contemplation of the approaching fate, he had quite
forgotten all the rules he had laid down to himself concerning his
behaviour. Not that he now lost remembrance of the courage which hitherto
he had manifested, or even, that any the least symptom of changeableness
was made visible upon his countenance. But it seemed to me, of a truth,
that of such things as he had determined upon within himself before he
came thither, touching the mere external demeanour of his bodily frame,
the memory now, in this final moment of expectation, had somewhat passed
away; for Tisias stood still no longer on the centre of the arena; but
retaining his arms folded as they had been, and his eyes fixed upon the
sand, he began to pace rapidly to and fro, traversing the open space
whereon he alone now was, from side to side, without once looking up, or
exhibiting any token that he was conscious of the presence of any man. By
and by, nevertheless, in the deeper knittings of his brows, and in the
closer pressure of his extenuated lips, and then again in the quivering of
the nerves and muscles upon the arms and legs of the old man, as he moved
before us, it was testified how keenly the spirit was at work within; the
strong soul wrestling, it may be, with some last stirring temptations of
the flesh, and the mind itself not altogether refusing to betray its
sympathy with the natural shudderings of the body. But the moment that the
herald of Trajan commanded attention in the assembly, and that the Prefect
of the city began again to prepare himself for speaking, that moment did
the old man appear to return at once again entirely to himself; and he
fixed his eyes upon the Prefect with even the same steadfastness as when
he made his oration to Cæsar.
“By all the gods,” whispered Sabinus at that moment, “this is a true
soldier of Vespasian and Titus. He will die for this superstition with the
constancy of a Roman.”—“With all the constancy of a philosopher, say
rather,” quoth Xerophrastes, who had overheard his whisper—“yea, with all
the constancy of a philosopher. Of a surety, there must be some lessons of
nobility in this faith of the Jews.”—“Now, speak not, but look at the old
man,” interrupted Rubellia; “the signal is given for the executioner.”
And I looked, and saw that the Prefect was standing up in his place,
immediately below the chair of Trajan, and immediately he began to speak;
and he said, first looking towards the people,—“Let there be silence, and
let no man stir in this place until this matter be ended.” And then
addressing himself, as it seemed, to Tisias,—“With all patience,”
proceeded he, “have the words which this man chose to utter in his
defence, been listened to; but it must be manifest to all men, that they
contain no shadow of apology, but rather afford the strongest confirmation
of all that had before been alleged. Instead of departing from his error,
or offering any extenuation of its magnitude, his words have tended only
to shew what was already well known to all that have had any dealings with
the adherents of this blasphemous sect; that their obstinacy is as great
as their atheism is perverse; and that no clemency can, without blame, be
extended to their wilfulness, and to the scorn wherewith they are resolved
to regard all things sacred. Nevertheless, inquiry has been made, and
confirmation has been given, by those who were present in the wars of the
Divine Titus, as to that which this man hath said concerning his own
service throughout the glorious campaign of Palestine, and the siege of
the city of the Jews. For which service, it hath seemed right unto Cæsar,
Ever-Merciful, that no circumstance of needless shame be added to the
death by which this Christian must now expiate before all them who have
seen his contempt of the sacrifice of Jupiter, and heard his words of
blasphemy against all the gods, the guilt of which, it is manifest to all,
he hath been justly and necessarily accused. Let those, therefore, who had
been commanded to bring forth a tiger, depart now with their beast, and
let this man be beheaded before the Altar of Jupiter; after which, for
this day, the assembly will disperse; for, until the morrow, the spectacle
of the wild animals, which the Prince hath prepared, must be deferred.”
The Prefect made his obeisance again to Cæsar, and sate down in his place,
and immediately one of the doors of the arena was flung open, and there
entered some slaves, bearing a wooden block upon their shoulders, behind
whom followed also certain ill-favoured blacks, out of the company of
African gladiators, one of whom carried bare in his hand a long and heavy
sword, the surface of which glittered brightly as he moved, as if newly
sharpened and burnished for the occasion. Seeing all which fatal
preparations, Tisias immediately flung aside the long cloak in which
hitherto his arms and all his body had been wrapped; and after regarding
those that had come in for a moment with a steadfast eye, he turned
himself to the place where the Prefect was sitting, as if he had yet one
word to say before he should submit himself to the sword; whereupon the
Prefect said,—“If the prisoner has yet any thing to offer, it is not too
late for mercy—Let him speak.”
“I have nothing more to offer, O Romans!” answered the old man, “as
concerning that of which I have spoken. But since already some favour has
been extended to me by reason of my services in the army of Cæsar, perhaps
so neither will this be refused, that my body may be given to such as
shall ask for it, that it may be treated without indignity after my soul
is released.”
“It is granted,” replied the Prefect.—“Is there any thing more?”
The old man was silent.