gloomy regions, wherein alone the servants of the Son of God could at that
troubled era esteem themselves in safety from the hot pursuit of
contemptuous power. We passed along beneath the arches of the rock-hewn
roof, and between the endless winding walls, on either side of which
appeared many humble inscriptions, recording the virtues of the departed
and the regrets of the surviving poor. Of these last, however, as it
appeared, all must long since have been gathered to the ashes of those
they lamented, for there was no semblance of any new monument among all
that we observed, and most of them, to judge from the shape of the letters
upon them, must have been set up at least as long ago as the period of
Asinius. After traversing many of these subterraneous galleries, we came,
at last, to one more low-roofed than the rest, into which Aurelius struck
aside, saying, “Here Tisias lies, but no inscription marks the place where
a martyr finds repose. Here is the spot; with my own hands I lent feeble
help in digging the grave. Athanasia, too, knows it well, for she also did
not fear to assist in rendering the last honours to that soldier of
Christ.”
A flat thin stone, without mark or epitaph, indicated the spot.
“Father,” said Athanasia, “let me rest here. I am weary and worn—but here
I shall fear no evil. Conduct Caius back to the grotto; it is time he
should go.”
Thus leaving her by the funeral-stone, Aurelius and I retraced our steps
to the mouth of the catacomb.
“Already,” said he, “the sky is red eastward—walk cautiously through the
gardens, and regain with all speed the house of your kinsman. Go, my son;
may all blessings attend your steps. Come back at the rising of the moon,
and cast a stone into the fountain, and I shall be within hearing. Go, and
fear not.”
_CHAPTER IX._
I passed without disturbance through the gardens of the Esquiline, and the
streets of the city, in which no one was as yet moving, except a few
rustics driving asses laden with herbs to the market-place. When I reached
the house of my kinsman, however, it was evident that sleep did not
prevail within its gates; lights were visible in the vestibule, and there
I found several of the slaves sitting in conversation. My own could not
conceal the extravagance of his satisfaction on seeing me enter among them
in safety; so that I had no doubt his brother had informed him, in so far
at least, of what had passed after our leaving him in the Mammertine.
Dromo received me also with warm demonstrations of joy, and conducted me
to the chamber of Licinius, in which, with the orator himself, were
Sextus, pale with watching, Sabinus, still habited in military attire,
with a goblet of wine before him on the table, and Lucius Sempronius, who
was reclining at some little distance from the rest. It was he that
eagerly began to question me; and I perceived from the style in which he
spoke, that all present had already been made aware of the manner in which
Athanasia had been withdrawn from the council-chamber. A few words
informed them of what had followed after we quitted the Temple of Apollo.
“I thank the gods,” said Sempronius,—“so far at least it goes well—but if
this strictness, of which the Centurion speaks, shall be adhered to, there
still must be no small difficulty about conveying her beyond the city.”
“In truth,” quoth Sabinus, after a little pause, “I am afraid this is
scarcely a matter in regard to which I should be consulted. I know not but
already I have done several things that could not be quite reconciled with
my duty. I shall, in all probability, be set on the watch myself, and if
so—much as I must regret the necessity—it certainly will be most necessary
for me to discharge what is committed to my trust. Is there no
possibility, think you, of inventing some impenetrable disguise? Depend on
it, it is quite impossible the young lady should remain any where in Rome,
without being ere long discovered. The first thing is to have her safe
beyond the city-walls.”
“I myself,” said I, “shall embark instantly for Britain. Sempronius,
Athanasia must go with me—Surely it may be possible to have her carried
unobserved to the shore.”
“You!” said Licinius—“you embark instantly for Britain?—You know not what
you speak; your law-suit has been determined this very afternoon. Every
thing that Cneius left is your own.”
“O Jove!” cried Sabinus, “did ever mortal receive such news with such a
face! But come, here is health to the heir of the Valerii, and may this
Massic choke me, if I love him not the better for his gravity.”
“Would to heaven!” said Sempronius, “our young friend had loved under
other auspices! No, Valerius must stay and take possession, destined, as I
hope he is, to equal, under the favour of the gods, the noblest name in
his lineage. My dear niece—let us trust she may be concealed somewhere in
safety from the pursuit. Separated from this fanatic crew, she will, ere
long, without question, abandon the dreams they have filled her mind
withal; and on some happier day, our friend may perhaps have no reason
either to fear or to blush, for lifting her over the threshold of the
Valerii.”
I drew near to the old man, and, receiving his embrace, whispered into his
ear, “Sempronius, you speak generously; but know that this very evening I
also have become a Christian.”
“Heavens!” cried he, “what limits shall be affixed to this contagion! Rash
boy! have you not seen already to what consequences this must lead?”
“What?” says Licinius—“what new calamity is this? Have my ears deceived
me? Speak, dear Caius—for the sake of all the blood in your veins—you have
not embraced this frenzy?”
“My friends,” said I, “why should I speak to one, when all of you are, I
well know, alike interested? In all things else I bow to age and
understanding so much above my own; but here I have thought for myself,
and my faith is fixed.”
Licinius heard me with a countenance of painful and anxious emotion. In
the eye of young Sextus I saw a tear ready to start, and his whole aspect
was that of one sad and bewildered. Sempronius leaned his brow upon his
hand, and turned himself away from me. But as for the Centurion, he
preserved his usual air; and after a moment, all the rest continuing
silent, said, “Valerius, I have been in love ere now, and perhaps am not
out of the scrape at present; but you have thrown a new light upon the
matter. What do you fancy to be the great merits of the present age, that
it should be treated with more favour than all that have gone before it?
And, if you come to speak of the Jews, every body knows they are a most
pitiful, mean, knavish set of creatures. They were always by the ears
among themselves; but I think it is rather too much that they should have
the credit of bringing their betters (by which I mean all the world
besides) into confusion. You are but green yet; all this will blow over
anon, and you will laugh more heartily than any one else when you think of
your weakness. But look up, good friend, I don’t think you are listening
to me.”
“My dear Sabinus,” said I, “I do listen, but I think it is rather to the
gay Prætorian, than to the patient friend I had expected to find in you.”
“Come!” said he again, “you take every thing so seriously. If you are
resolved to be a Christian, I am very sorry for it; but even that shall
not stand between me and a true friend. I hope you will soon see the thing
as I do—I know you will; but, in the meantime, Valerius, you may count
upon me.”—And the kind man squeezed my hand with his customary fervour.
He then turned round to the rest of our friends, and began to propose for
their consideration a dozen different schemes of escape, that had already
suggested themselves to his imagination.
Licinius took advantage of the first pause, to suggest that the Centurion
seemed in a hurry to get rid of me. He then passed into an account of the
speech he had delivered on the preceding afternoon before the Court of the
Centumvirs, and of the unhesitating manner, so gratifying to his feelings,
in which its judgment had been pronounced. For some moments, in his detail
of these proceedings, he seemed almost to have lost sight of the present
situation and views of the person most interested in their termination.
But when, in the progress of his story, he came to enlarge upon the
magnificence of my new possessions—the domains in Africa—the rich farms in
Sicily—the numerous slaves engaged in their cultivation—the Spanish silver
mine—and, last of all, the splendours of the great villa upon the banks of
the Tiber—it was not difficult to perceive that he could scarcely restrain
his indignation at the purpose I had been expressing. “And such,” said he,
“are the realities which our young friend quits for the reasons he has
mentioned! Well, every man must judge for himself. If it must be so, let
it be so.”
I heard him patiently to the end, and then said, “You have well summed up
the whole matter, my dear Licinius. It must indeed be so. I go immediately
to Britain, and I trust she—for whom I would leave all these things, were
they greater than they are—shall, by the aid of your kindness, go with me
in safety. There is one request only which I have, in addition to all
this, to lay before you; and that you may hear it the more patiently, it
does not concern myself.
“In a word, then,” I continued, “should happier days arrive, I hope once
more to be among you here in Rome. The wealth which, thanks to your zeal,
Licinius, is this day mine, can be of little use to me in the British
valley, to which, for the present, I retire. Above all, this beautiful
villa of which you speak,—why, because for a time I am unable to occupy
it, should the mansion of my fathers stand empty, when there are others
among their descendants, who lie not under the same necessity of exile?
Till I am enabled to breathe in freedom the air of Italy, I trust Licinius
will consent to let Sextus represent me in my villa. There, too, I hope
Sempronius will permit his daughter to be. It will give pleasure to
Athanasia, to think that those halls contain the dearest of our friends.
When we come back, if ever we do so, they will not grudge to make room for
us beneath the same roof with themselves. Licinius—Sempronius—what say
you?”
They were both silent for a moment; but Sabinus was at hand to answer for
them:—“By all Olympus! I shall knock down any man henceforth, that in my
presence abuses Christianity as a destruction of men’s hearts. Let it be,
good friends, as our Caius says. I know, Sextus, I have at least your
voice upon my side. Let it be so; and, for heaven’s sake, let it be
immediately. A wedding is the very thing to divert attention from these
troubles in both kindreds.”
Our conversation was interrupted by Dromo, who told me that Silo the
jailer had come to see me, and was below in the hall. There I found the
humane man, with his little daughter in his hand, and walked aside with
him into the inner portico of the house. I told him how the escape, for
which his zeal alone was to be thanked, had been terminated—and to what
resolution I had now come;—and then inquired whether no suspicion had been
attached to himself, in consequence of his absence from the Capitoline.
Having assured me that he had no reason to think so,—“The oath which I had
taken to Trajan,” said he, “prevented me from adopting the simpler course
of setting open for our dear friends the gates of the Mammertine; and I
trust that I did not offend against that oath by acting as I did, after
they had been taken away for the time from my keeping. But both they and
you must be aware of the pain which I suffered during their confinement,
and of the dangers which I have encountered by their escape. I am resolved
no more to be subject to such struggles. I cannot preserve my faith as a
Christian, and my honour as a servant of Trajan. This very day I resign my
charge in the Mammertine; this very night, if it so please you, I am ready
to accompany you and my dear young lady, in your flight to Britain.”
I need not say with what gladness I heard this proposal. Returning to my
friends, I informed them of what I had just heard, and perceiving now at
last that there was no chance of diverting me from my project, they
entered, like true friends, into serious consultation respecting the best
method of carrying my project into execution. The aid of Silo, who had
already given such proofs both of presence of mind, and of prudence, and
courage, was regarded by them as of the highest importance. He was shortly
summoned to take part in our deliberation, and it was resolved, that after
resigning in a formal manner the office he held, and transferring his
property for the present into the custody of Licinius, he should forthwith
repair to Ostium, and there hire and put in readiness, for immediate use,
a small vessel, the lightest he could find, in which the fugitive party
might transport themselves at least as far as Corsica. To this the zealous
Silo without hesitation assented. It was agreed that he should have the
mariners on their benches by the coming on of night, and that he himself
should be waiting for us by a certain ruined tower, which stands
conspicuously by the river side, about a mile and a half above Ostium. We
left it to Silo himself, to stock the bark with any merchandise which he
might deem best adapted to deceive the superintendents of the haven.
Partly from the necessity of making provision of various kinds for this
voyage, but still more in consequence of the law-suit, with the
termination of which you have just been made acquainted, I had no leisure
that day, from which to work out unnecessary pain either for myself or for
others. I had to assist Licinius in looking over an infinity of deeds, and
to superintend the drawing out of others. In the next place, I had to go
to the Forum for the purpose of manumitting some slaves, (such a largess
being naturally expected); and while I was occupied with this, need I tell
you, that my own poor Briton was not forgotten? Licinius having, at the
joint request of Sextus and myself, accorded that morning to the Cretan
also the well-merited gift of his liberty, Boto and Dromo were seen
strutting about the Forum together for some moments, each arrayed in that
worshipful cap which had formed the most prominent object in their
day-dreams of felicity. I shall not trouble you with needless particulars.
Let it suffice, that the greater part of the day was thus spent in
unavoidable business.
Towards evening, I stole privately from my kinsman’s house, being willing
to avoid a formal farewell, and repaired to Sabinus, who received me with
very lively emotion. What he dwelt upon most fervently, however, was the
probability—the certainty he seemed to esteem it—that a persecution of
this nature could not be long persisted in by such a prince as Trajan; and
the pleasure with which, that being all at an end, he should see me come
back to Rome, and take due possession of the inheritance of my fathers.
After expatiating most fluently for some minutes on the expected delights
of that day, he paused suddenly, and then added, in a tone of some little
hesitation, “And as for me, I wonder in what state you shall find me. Rich
or poor—married or single—Centurion or Tribune—one thing is certain, that
I shall, in all circumstances, be not a little rejoiced to see you.”
“You had better marry, my good captain,” said I.
“Marry! me to marry? I have not the least thought of such a thing. You did
not put any faith, did you, in the raillery of those waggish fellows of
yesterday?”
“A little—a very little, Sabinus.”
“Poh! poh! now you are jesting.”
“And much, very much, Sabinus, in the conscious looks of a certain
blushing Centurion, yesterday.”
“Come,” quoth he, “there is more cunning in these British eyes than I ever
should have dreamt of. Fill your cup to the brim, boy, and since you are
to leave us so speedily, I shall have no secrets for you. I have seen
service;—true, but what of that? I have kept a light heart in all my
campaigns. But my day, it must be confessed, begins to wear a little, a
very little, towards the evening; and, Castor! if you allow supper-time to
slip over, I don’t know but you must go to bed with a light stomach. Now
or never was the word, my boy; and the widow is mine own.”
“And Xerophrastes?” said I.
“And as for the most sagacious and venerable Xerophrastes, why, to tell
you the truth, I see nothing for him but that he should allow his beard to
curl as it pleases, drop his long cloak over his ambitious pair of shanks,
forswear moonlight, purchase for himself a dark lantern instead, and see
whether he can’t find, within the four walls of Rome, an honest Greek, and
a constant widow, to make one blessed wedding withal. That is my advice to
the Stoic—Stoic no longer—but, if there be hoops upon a tub, the most
cynical of all Cynics.”
When it was at last necessary that I should move—“Dear Caius,” said the
Centurion, “you know the Prefect has set a price on their heads, and I
promise you it is such a temptation as no virtue, that keeps watch beneath
any common prætorian breast-plate, could well be trusted to wrestle with.
But hope, and dare. And here, take once more this helmet, and cloak, and
sword, and with them share the password of the night.”
Sabinus then gave private orders to one of his troop, and walked with me
towards the Esquiline.—But why should I linger over what little remains of
this story? Why pain you with the parting which I witnessed between my
Athanasia and the holy Aurelius, afterwards numbered among the martyrs of
Christ?—Behold us at last issued from the Catacombs, and mounted on the
trusty horses which our friend had caused to be waiting at no great
distance from the thicket that clothed their entrance. Behold us arrived
without interruption at the Ostian Gate of Rome.
The soldiers on guard challenged us cheerily as we came up to them.
“The word, comrades?”
“_Titus!_” quoth the Centurion.
“Pass on—whom bear you with you, comrades!”
“A Christian—a Christian prisoner,” said I.
“By Jove, that’s worth gold to you, brother,” quoth the guard.—“Open the
gate there;—pass on, friends. I hope I shall have luck one day myself.”
FINIS.
PRINTED BY WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS, EDINBURGH.
FOOTNOTES
1 “Concerning the nature of the Bacchic Stimulus.”
2 These were the principal conspirators by whom Domitian was slain.
They were afterwards butchered by the Prætorians, who regretted the
tyrant; and it was supposed to be chiefly in consequence of that
slaughter, and its shameful consequences to himself, (for he was
compelled, among other insults, to return public thanks to the
butchers,) that Nerva called to his aid the personal vigour and high
military genius of Trajan.
3 ——Catonem
Novisti moriens vincere, mollis Otho.
4 So Pope has rendered the beautiful lines:
Hujus Nympha Loci, sacri custodia fontis,
Dormio, dum blandæ sentio murmur aquæ;
Parce meum, quisquis tangis cava marmora, somnum
Rumpere; sive bibas, sive lavere, tace.
5 Asinius autem brevi illo tempore quasi in hortulos in _arenarias_
quasdam juxta portam Exquiliniam perductus, occiditur.—Cic. _Pro
Cluent._
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE
Variations in hyphenation (e.g. “eyebrows”, “eye-brows”; “godlike”,
“god-like”) have not been changed.
Other changes, which have been made to the text:
page 72, question mark added after “him”, quote mark added before
“His”
page 267, “Aybss” changed to “Abyss”
page 307, “Capito” changed to “Capitol”