Chapter V
Listening thro’ the winter eveTo deeds of long past years, when the fierce GothsInvaded Italy; over her lovely plainsPoured war and devastation; or the sad taleOf Christian martyrs, faithful to the death.
Listening thro’ the winter eveTo deeds of long past years, when the fierce GothsInvaded Italy; over her lovely plainsPoured war and devastation; or the sad taleOf Christian martyrs, faithful to the death.
Listening thro’ the winter eveTo deeds of long past years, when the fierce GothsInvaded Italy; over her lovely plainsPoured war and devastation; or the sad taleOf Christian martyrs, faithful to the death.
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 wasplacid 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 andmortifying 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, whilethe 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 almostfainting 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.”