CHAPTER XVI.AN ECSTASY.“I have come, dear Domitia, with a petition,”said the widow of Flavius Clemens.“And it is one you will wound me if you refuse.”“But who would wound so gentle a breast?”answered Domitia, kissing her visitor.“He must be heartless who draws a bow against a dove.”“Hearken first to what I ask. I am bold—but my very feebleness inspires me with audacity.”“What is it, then?”“That you come with me to my villa for a little change of scene, air and society. It will do you good.”“And I cannot refuse. It is like your sweet spirit to desire nothing save what is kindly intended and does good to others.”“As you have assented so graciously, I will push my advance a little further and say—Return with me to-day. Let us travel together. If you will—I have a double litter—and we can chatter as two magpies together.”“Magpies bring sorrow.”“Nay, two—mirth—we have cast our sorrows behind us. You said I was a dove, so be it—a pair of doves, perhaps wounded, lamed—but we coo into each other’s ear, and lay our aching hearts together and so obtain solace.”“I will refuse you nothing,”said Domitia, again kissing her visitor.Accordingly, a couple of hours later the two ladies started, Domitia taking with her some attendants, but travelling, as was proposed, in the large litter of Domitilla.This latter lady was, as already mentioned, the widow of Clemens, one of the two sons of Flavius Sabinus, præfect of the city, who had held the Capitol against the Prætorians of Vitellius and had been murdered but a few hours before Rome was entered by the troops that favored his brother Vespasian. On that occasion his sons had escaped, and the elder was married to Julia, daughter of Titus, but had been put to death by Domitian. The younger brother, Clemens, a quiet, inoffensive man, who took no part in public affairs, had been executed as well, shortly before Domitian himself perished.And now Flavia Domitilla lived quietly on her estate not far from the Ardeatine Gate of Rome.“How!”said Flavia, suddenly, as she espied the little cornelian suspended on the bosom of Domitia,“you have the Fish!”“Yes, Glyceria gave it me—long ago.”“Do you know what it means?”“Glyceria told me—but it is a dream, a beautiful fancy, nothing more. There is no evidence.”“Domitia, you have not sought for it.”“My cousin, Rome is full of religions. Some say the truth is in Sabazius, some in Isis, some in the stars, some in Mithras—a new importation—and some will go back to the old Gods of our Latin ancestors. But one and another all are naught.”“How know you that?”“By the spirit that is within me. It can discern between what is true and false. Not that which promises best is the most real.”“You are right, Domitia—that is truest and most real which meets and satisfies the seeking, aching heart.”“And where is that?”“Where you have not sought for it.”“If I were sure I would seek. But I am weary of disillusionings and disappointments.”“Well—will you hear?”“I am not sure. I have met with too many disappointments to desire another.”Nothing further was said on this topic till the villa was reached. Domitia showed that she did not desire to have it pursued.As Flavia alighted from her litter, a young manapproached, handed her something and asked for an answer.The widow of Clemens opened a tied diptych and read some words written therein.She seemed disconcerted and doubtful. She looked questioningly at Domitia, and then asked leave of the latter to say a word in private to Euphrosyne. Leave was granted and a whispered communication passed between them.Again Flavia looked inquiringly at Domitia, and it was with considerable hesitation that she signed to the young man to approach, and said:—“Be it so. The Collect shall be here.”That evening before she and her guest parted for the night, Flavia took Domitia by the hand and said:—“You are right—the faculty of determination is seated in every breast. Inquire and choose.”A few days passed, and then the hostess became uneasy. Evidently she had something that she desired to say, but was afraid of broaching the subject.At length, abruptly, she began on it.“Domitia, I show you the utmost confidence. I must tell you something. You know how that the Christians have been persecuted under—I mean of late, and how we have suffered. My dear husband shed his blood for the cause, and he was but one among many. Now there is a respite granted, but how long it will last we know not. The laws against us stand unrepealed and any one who wishes us ill can set them in motion for our destruction.”“You do not think, Cousin——”“Nay, hear me out, Domitia. You saw a young man approach me as we arrived here. He is what weterm a deacon, and he came to announce that, if I saw fit, the Church would assemble in my house next first day of the week, that is the day after the Jewish Sabbath. It is customary with us to assemble together for prayer on that day, early, before dawn, sometimes in one house, then in another, so as to escape observation. And now, on the morrow—this assembly, which we term the Collect, will take place. Do thou tarry in thy chamber, and thou shalt be summoned when all have dispersed.”“Nay, I would see and hear what takes place.”“That may not be, Domitia, that is only for the initiated.”“But why secrecy if there be naught of which to be ashamed?”“Our Master said, Give not that which is holy unto dogs, neither cast ye your pearls before swine. Tell me, Domitia, how would you endure were your father made a mock of, his sayings and acts parodied on the stage, and turned into a matter of low buffoonery?”Domitia’s brow flamed and her eyes flashed.“I see your answer in your face. So with our Great Master. His mysteries are holy, and we would preserve them from outrage. Now you understand why you cannot be present.”“But I would not mock.”“It is our rule, to avoid the chance of profanity.”“As you will.”“There is one thing more,”said Flavia.“You will not be angry if I have sent to have poor Glyceria brought here. Owing to her infirmity she has not been able to be present at a gathering of the Churchfor a long time, and nothing could give her greater consolation and happiness.”“I am willing for anything that can cheer her,”answered Domitia; then in a tone of vexation,“So—a freedwoman, and Euphrosyne, a slave, will be admitted where I am shut out—I, who was Empress——”“Do not be offended. Is it not so in every sodality, that the members of the Club alone attend the gatherings of the Club.”“You are a Club then?”“We are the worshippers of God.”16Domitia was silent, then Flavia started up.“I hear them—they have come with Glyceria. I must see that she be cared for. The long journey to that frail and broken frame will have exhausted her slender powers.”“And I will go, too”—with a tinge of jealousy in her manner. Domitia little liked that another should interest herself about the poor woman, and should stand to her in a more intimate relation than herself.On going forth, all feeling of envy disappeared at once before a sense of alarm.An accident had occurred on the way. Owing to some fault in the paving of the road, one of the bearers had stumbled and, in falling, the litter had been thrown down and the woman within injured.Domitia saw by the ashen face and the green hue about the mouth and temples that Glyceria was in great pain. But her eyes were bright and sought her at once and a world of love flowed out of them, she put forth her thin hand to lay hold of the great lady.Domitia at once flashed into anger.“This comes of bringing her here. Had she been left at Gabii it would never have happened. Where is the fellow who threw her down?—Flavia! have him whipped with the scorpion.”Glyceria caught her hand.“It was an accident. He was not in fault. I am happy. It is the will of God—that is everything to me.”“You suffer.”The paralyzed woman could not speak more. She was being lifted out of the litter, and fainted as she was moved. She was conveyed, in a condition of unconsciousness, to the room she was to occupy, a room opening out of the same corridor as that given up to Domitia.The family physician was summoned; he gave little hopes of the poor woman recovering from the shock, her natural strength and recuperative power had long ago been exhausted.All that evening Domitia remained silent, apparently in ill humor, or great distress, and Flavia Domitilla was unable to get many words from her.She retired early to rest, but could not sleep. Before going to her bed, she had visited the sick woman, and she convinced herself with her own eyes that the flame of the lamp of life was flickering to extinction.Domitia loved the actor’s widow with all the passion of her stormy heart; and the thought of losing her was to her unendurable.The night was still, balmy, and the heavens star-besprent. She looked from the corridor at the lights above, and then dropped the curtains over her door. She threw herself on her cushions, but her thoughts turned and tossed in her head.She pressed her knuckles to her eyeballs to close her eyes, but could not force on sleep.It was to her as though every person whom she loved was taken from her; till she had no one left to whom her heart could cling.“I vow a pig to Æsculapius!”she said,“if he will recover her!”and then impatiently turned to the wall.“What can Æsculapius do? Whom has he succored at any time? He is but a name.”To whom could she cry? What god of Olympus would stoop to care for—even to look at an actor’s widow, a poor Greekfreedwoman.The gods! They revelled and drank Ambrosia; made love and deceived the simple, and lied and showed themselves to be arrant knaves. They were greedy of sacrifices, they accepted all that was given—but they gave nothing in return. Their ears were open to flattery, not to prayer. They were gods for the merry and rich, not for the miserable and poor.She thought she heard hasty steps in the passage, then voices.“And He! the God of Glyceria—why had not He saved her from this fall? Was He as powerless, as regardless, of His votaries as those of Olympus?”Yes—something was the matter—there was a stir in the house—at that hour—at dead of night—Domitia’s heart bounded. Was Glyceria passing away?She threw a mantle about her, and barefooted as she was, ran forth into the gallery.She saw at the further end a light at the door of the sick room, and sounds issued thence.Instantly she flew thither, plucked aside the curtain, and stood in the doorway, arrested by the sight.Euphrosyne was seated on the bed, and had raisedher sister in her arms; the sick woman rested against her in a sitting posture; Flavia Domitilla was there as well. Directly she saw Domitia she signed to her to approach.But Glyceria!—she was at once transfigured. Her face seemed to shine with a supernatural light—it had acquired a loveliness and transparency as of an angel—her eyes were upraised and fixed as in a trance, and her arms were outspread. She seemed not to weigh on Euphrosyne, but to be raised and sustained by supernatural power.The joy, the rapture in that sublimated countenance were beyond description. She saw, she knew, she felt none of those things that usually meet the senses. And yet Domitia, Flavia, were convinced that those illumined happy eyes looked on some One—were gazing into a light to themselves unseen.From her lips poured rapturous prayer.“I see Thee! Thou—the joy of my heart, my hope and my portion forever! Thee whom I have loved and longed for! I hold Thee—I clasp Thy feet! O give her to me—the dear mistress! Take me, take me to Thyself—but ere I go—by Thy wounded hands—by Thy thorn-crowned head—by Thy pierced side—bring her to the light! To the light! To the light!”And suddenly—with an instantaneous eclipse the illumination died off from her face, the tension was over, the arms, the entire body sank heavily against the bosom of Euphrosyne, the eyes closed; she heaved a long sigh, but a smile lingered about her lips.Awed, not daring to draw nearer, unwilling to go back, Domitia stood looking. Neither did Flavia Domitilla stir.After a little while, however, the latter signed toDomitia to depart, and made as though she also would go.“She sleeps,”she said.Then Glyceria’s bright eyes opened, and she said:—“Not till after the Collect—at that I must be—bear me down—then only——”CHAPTER XVII.HAIL, GLADSOME LIGHT!Before the day began to break, from various quarters came men and women, in twos and threes to the house of Flavia Domitilla.The visitor to Rome may see the very spot where stood her house and garden. For this good woman converted the latter into a place of sepulture for the Christians, and the catacomb that bears her name is one of the most interesting of those about Rome. Not only so, but the ruins of her villa remain, on the farm of Tor Marancia, or the Ardeatine Way. Here lived the widow of the martyr Clemens, with her sister-in-law, Plautilla, and her niece, of the same name as herself, all three holy women, serving God and ministering to the necessities of the poor.The Collect, or assembly of the Faithful, was to take place in the atrium or hall of the villa. Domitilla had only Christian slaves with her in her country residence, and could trust them.In the large mansions of the Roman nobility there were grand reception halls, called basilicas, with rows of pillars down the sides dividing them into a nave andaisles, with an apse, orbemaas it was termed, at the end, in which the master of the house sat to receive his visitors. Here he and his clients, his parasites and friends walked, talked, declaimed, listened to readings, when the weather was wet or cold. At a later period, when the nobility became Christian, many of them gave up their basilicas to be converted into churches, and such is the origin of several churches of Rome. They never were, as some have erroneously supposed, halls of justice—they were, as described, the halls attached to the great Roman palaces.But at the time I am speaking of, no such surrenders had been made. The great families had not been converted, only here and there, at rare intervals, some of their members had embraced the Gospel. But smaller people had become Christian, and these did temporarily give up the more public portion of the house, the atrium and tablinum for Christian worship. It was dangerous to thus assemble, and it would have been infinitely more dangerous had the assemblies taken place always at the same house. Accordingly it was contrived to vary the place of meeting and to give secret notice to the faithful where the gathering would be on the ensuing Lord’s day.The danger of these Collects was further reduced by their being held sometimes in the churches underground in the catacombs, or in thecellænear the tombs; and these gatherings passed uncommented on, as it was customary for the pagans to meet for a solemn banquet in the decorated chambers attached to their places of interment on the anniversaries of the death of their friends.The various guilds also had their meeting for thetransaction of business, a sacred meal, and a sacrifice to the gods, and the early Christians were able so to copy the customs of the guilds or sodalities, as to carry on their worship undetected by the authorities, who supposed their assemblies were mere guild gatherings.The hour was so early that lights were necessary, and lamps were suspended in the tablinum, which was raised a couple of steps above the floor of the hall.Round the arc of the chamber, which was semi-circular, seats had been arranged, and in the centre against the wall one of more dignity than the rest, covered with white linen. In the midst of the tablinum at the top of the two steps was a table, and on one side a desk on legs.Great care was taken at the door to admit none but such as could give the sign that they were Christians. Theostiariusor porter in the early Church held a very important office, on his discretion much of the safety of the Church depended. He had to use the utmost caution lest a spy should slip in.The hall rapidly filled.Before the steps into the apse lay Glyceria on a sort of bier, her hands folded, and her earnest eyes upraised! She had been gently, carefully conveyed thither, to be for the last time united in worship with the Church on earth, before she passed into the Church beyond.On each side of the tablinum were curtains, that could be easily and rapidly drawn along a rod and so close the apse.In the atrium itself there were few lights. They were not needed, day would soon break.In the tablinum, against the wall, sat the presbyters with Clement, the bishop, in the centre. He was anold man, with a gentle face, full of love. He had been a freedman of the Flavians, and it was out of respect to them that he had taken the name of Clement, which was one of those in use in their family.At his side, on the right hand, was one far more aged than he—one we have seen before, Luke the Physician and Evangelist.Now one with a pair of clappers gave a signal and all rose who had been seated.A deacon standing at the top of the step said:—“Let us pray for the Emperor.”Whereupon all the congregation responded as with a single voice:“Lord, have mercy.”Then Clement, the Bishop, prayed:—“We beseech Thee, O Father, to look down upon the Emperor and to strengthen him against his foes, and to illumine his mind that he may rule in Justice, and be Thou his defence and strong tower.”Thereupon the deacon called again:—“Let us pray for the magistrates.”To which the people responded in the same manner, and the Bishop prayed in few terse words for the magistrates. In precisely similar manner was prayer made for the bishops and clergy, for all the faithful, for those in chains, working in mines, for the sick and the sorrowful, for the widows and orphans; it was as though a flood of all-embracing charity flowed forth.Then the intercessions ended, Luke came to the desk, and a deacon brought the roll of the Law and unfolded it before him, and another held aloft a torch.He read as follows:—“This commandment which I command thee this day, it is not hidden from thee neither is it far off.... But the word is very nighthee in thy heart and in thy mouth, that thou mayest do it. See, I have set before thee life and good, and death and evil.... I call heaven and earth to record this day that I have set before you life and death, blessing and cursing; therefore choose life ... that thou mayest love the Lord thy God, and that thou mayest obey His voice, and that thou mayest cleave unto Him.”Then the Evangelist closed the roll and returned it to the deacon, and he spake some words of exhortation thereon.Next came another deacon and unfolded the roll of the Prophets; and Luke read:—“The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me; because the Lord hath anointed me to preach good tidings unto the meek; He hath sent me to bind up the broken-hearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to them that are bound. To proclaim the acceptable year of the Lord, and the day of vengeance of our God; to comfort all that mourn.... To give to them that mourn beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness; that they might be called Trees of Righteousness, the Planting of the Lord, that He might be glorified.”Then again Luke spoke a few simple words and declared how that the prophecy of old was fulfilled in Christ who was the healer of all sick souls, and the strengthener of all who were feeble, the restorer of the halt, the comforter of all that mourn, and the planter in the field of the Church of such as would grow up plants of righteousness to bear their fruit in due season.And when he ceased, the congregation sang a psalm:“Praise the Lord, O my soul: and all that is within me praise His holy name.”In the first age of the Church the liturgical service grew out of that of the synagogue. As in the latter there were the two lessons from Law and Prophet, so was there in the Church, but after the Psalm there were added to these, two more lessons, one from an Epistle by an Apostle and one from a Gospel.At the time of our narrative the service was in process of formation and was not yet formed; and the sequence of Epistle and Gospel had not as yet been established. However, now Luke stood forward and said:—“Beloved, we have a letter written by the Blessed John—the Disciple that Jesus loved, and therefrom I will read a few words.”Then he unfolded a short roll and read as follows:—“Behold what manner of love the Father hath bestowed upon us, that we should be called the sons of God! therefore the world knoweth us not, because it knew Him not. Beloved, now are we the sons of God; and it doth not yet appear what we shall be; but we know that, when He shall appear, we shall be like Him, for we shall see Him as He is. And every man that hath this hope in him purifieth himself, even as he is pure.”He ceased, for a strange sound reached the ears of all—a sound that swelled and rose and then fell away and became all but inaudible.Once again he began to read—and again this sound was heard.“This is the message that ye heard from the beginning, that we should love one another.”Again he ceased, and looked round, and listened. For once more this strange wailing sound arose.But as it declined, he resumed his reading.“Marvel not, my brethren, if the world hate you. We know that we have passed from death unto life, because we love the brethren.”He was constrained to cease.Then at a signal, two deacons went in the direction of the sound. And the whole congregation was hushed. But Glyceria, on her bed, lifted her hands and her eyes shone with expectation.Presently the deacons returned:—“A woman—a weeping woman in a dark room.”Then Luke descended from thebema, and attended by them went in the direction of the voice, and came, where crouching, concealed, Domitia lay on the ground, sobbing as if her heart would break—they could not stay her—they did not try—they waited.And presently she raised her face, streaming with tears, and said—“The light! the glorious light!”And the sun rose over the roof, and shone down into the atrium, on the face of Glyceria.Then Flavia Domitilla stooped over her, laid her hand on her eyes and said:—“In the Joy of thy Lord, Face to Face!”THE LIGHT! THE GLORIOUS LIGHT!“THE LIGHT! THE GLORIOUS LIGHT!”Page 348.
CHAPTER XVI.AN ECSTASY.“I have come, dear Domitia, with a petition,”said the widow of Flavius Clemens.“And it is one you will wound me if you refuse.”“But who would wound so gentle a breast?”answered Domitia, kissing her visitor.“He must be heartless who draws a bow against a dove.”“Hearken first to what I ask. I am bold—but my very feebleness inspires me with audacity.”“What is it, then?”“That you come with me to my villa for a little change of scene, air and society. It will do you good.”“And I cannot refuse. It is like your sweet spirit to desire nothing save what is kindly intended and does good to others.”“As you have assented so graciously, I will push my advance a little further and say—Return with me to-day. Let us travel together. If you will—I have a double litter—and we can chatter as two magpies together.”“Magpies bring sorrow.”“Nay, two—mirth—we have cast our sorrows behind us. You said I was a dove, so be it—a pair of doves, perhaps wounded, lamed—but we coo into each other’s ear, and lay our aching hearts together and so obtain solace.”“I will refuse you nothing,”said Domitia, again kissing her visitor.Accordingly, a couple of hours later the two ladies started, Domitia taking with her some attendants, but travelling, as was proposed, in the large litter of Domitilla.This latter lady was, as already mentioned, the widow of Clemens, one of the two sons of Flavius Sabinus, præfect of the city, who had held the Capitol against the Prætorians of Vitellius and had been murdered but a few hours before Rome was entered by the troops that favored his brother Vespasian. On that occasion his sons had escaped, and the elder was married to Julia, daughter of Titus, but had been put to death by Domitian. The younger brother, Clemens, a quiet, inoffensive man, who took no part in public affairs, had been executed as well, shortly before Domitian himself perished.And now Flavia Domitilla lived quietly on her estate not far from the Ardeatine Gate of Rome.“How!”said Flavia, suddenly, as she espied the little cornelian suspended on the bosom of Domitia,“you have the Fish!”“Yes, Glyceria gave it me—long ago.”“Do you know what it means?”“Glyceria told me—but it is a dream, a beautiful fancy, nothing more. There is no evidence.”“Domitia, you have not sought for it.”“My cousin, Rome is full of religions. Some say the truth is in Sabazius, some in Isis, some in the stars, some in Mithras—a new importation—and some will go back to the old Gods of our Latin ancestors. But one and another all are naught.”“How know you that?”“By the spirit that is within me. It can discern between what is true and false. Not that which promises best is the most real.”“You are right, Domitia—that is truest and most real which meets and satisfies the seeking, aching heart.”“And where is that?”“Where you have not sought for it.”“If I were sure I would seek. But I am weary of disillusionings and disappointments.”“Well—will you hear?”“I am not sure. I have met with too many disappointments to desire another.”Nothing further was said on this topic till the villa was reached. Domitia showed that she did not desire to have it pursued.As Flavia alighted from her litter, a young manapproached, handed her something and asked for an answer.The widow of Clemens opened a tied diptych and read some words written therein.She seemed disconcerted and doubtful. She looked questioningly at Domitia, and then asked leave of the latter to say a word in private to Euphrosyne. Leave was granted and a whispered communication passed between them.Again Flavia looked inquiringly at Domitia, and it was with considerable hesitation that she signed to the young man to approach, and said:—“Be it so. The Collect shall be here.”That evening before she and her guest parted for the night, Flavia took Domitia by the hand and said:—“You are right—the faculty of determination is seated in every breast. Inquire and choose.”A few days passed, and then the hostess became uneasy. Evidently she had something that she desired to say, but was afraid of broaching the subject.At length, abruptly, she began on it.“Domitia, I show you the utmost confidence. I must tell you something. You know how that the Christians have been persecuted under—I mean of late, and how we have suffered. My dear husband shed his blood for the cause, and he was but one among many. Now there is a respite granted, but how long it will last we know not. The laws against us stand unrepealed and any one who wishes us ill can set them in motion for our destruction.”“You do not think, Cousin——”“Nay, hear me out, Domitia. You saw a young man approach me as we arrived here. He is what weterm a deacon, and he came to announce that, if I saw fit, the Church would assemble in my house next first day of the week, that is the day after the Jewish Sabbath. It is customary with us to assemble together for prayer on that day, early, before dawn, sometimes in one house, then in another, so as to escape observation. And now, on the morrow—this assembly, which we term the Collect, will take place. Do thou tarry in thy chamber, and thou shalt be summoned when all have dispersed.”“Nay, I would see and hear what takes place.”“That may not be, Domitia, that is only for the initiated.”“But why secrecy if there be naught of which to be ashamed?”“Our Master said, Give not that which is holy unto dogs, neither cast ye your pearls before swine. Tell me, Domitia, how would you endure were your father made a mock of, his sayings and acts parodied on the stage, and turned into a matter of low buffoonery?”Domitia’s brow flamed and her eyes flashed.“I see your answer in your face. So with our Great Master. His mysteries are holy, and we would preserve them from outrage. Now you understand why you cannot be present.”“But I would not mock.”“It is our rule, to avoid the chance of profanity.”“As you will.”“There is one thing more,”said Flavia.“You will not be angry if I have sent to have poor Glyceria brought here. Owing to her infirmity she has not been able to be present at a gathering of the Churchfor a long time, and nothing could give her greater consolation and happiness.”“I am willing for anything that can cheer her,”answered Domitia; then in a tone of vexation,“So—a freedwoman, and Euphrosyne, a slave, will be admitted where I am shut out—I, who was Empress——”“Do not be offended. Is it not so in every sodality, that the members of the Club alone attend the gatherings of the Club.”“You are a Club then?”“We are the worshippers of God.”16Domitia was silent, then Flavia started up.“I hear them—they have come with Glyceria. I must see that she be cared for. The long journey to that frail and broken frame will have exhausted her slender powers.”“And I will go, too”—with a tinge of jealousy in her manner. Domitia little liked that another should interest herself about the poor woman, and should stand to her in a more intimate relation than herself.On going forth, all feeling of envy disappeared at once before a sense of alarm.An accident had occurred on the way. Owing to some fault in the paving of the road, one of the bearers had stumbled and, in falling, the litter had been thrown down and the woman within injured.Domitia saw by the ashen face and the green hue about the mouth and temples that Glyceria was in great pain. But her eyes were bright and sought her at once and a world of love flowed out of them, she put forth her thin hand to lay hold of the great lady.Domitia at once flashed into anger.“This comes of bringing her here. Had she been left at Gabii it would never have happened. Where is the fellow who threw her down?—Flavia! have him whipped with the scorpion.”Glyceria caught her hand.“It was an accident. He was not in fault. I am happy. It is the will of God—that is everything to me.”“You suffer.”The paralyzed woman could not speak more. She was being lifted out of the litter, and fainted as she was moved. She was conveyed, in a condition of unconsciousness, to the room she was to occupy, a room opening out of the same corridor as that given up to Domitia.The family physician was summoned; he gave little hopes of the poor woman recovering from the shock, her natural strength and recuperative power had long ago been exhausted.All that evening Domitia remained silent, apparently in ill humor, or great distress, and Flavia Domitilla was unable to get many words from her.She retired early to rest, but could not sleep. Before going to her bed, she had visited the sick woman, and she convinced herself with her own eyes that the flame of the lamp of life was flickering to extinction.Domitia loved the actor’s widow with all the passion of her stormy heart; and the thought of losing her was to her unendurable.The night was still, balmy, and the heavens star-besprent. She looked from the corridor at the lights above, and then dropped the curtains over her door. She threw herself on her cushions, but her thoughts turned and tossed in her head.She pressed her knuckles to her eyeballs to close her eyes, but could not force on sleep.It was to her as though every person whom she loved was taken from her; till she had no one left to whom her heart could cling.“I vow a pig to Æsculapius!”she said,“if he will recover her!”and then impatiently turned to the wall.“What can Æsculapius do? Whom has he succored at any time? He is but a name.”To whom could she cry? What god of Olympus would stoop to care for—even to look at an actor’s widow, a poor Greekfreedwoman.The gods! They revelled and drank Ambrosia; made love and deceived the simple, and lied and showed themselves to be arrant knaves. They were greedy of sacrifices, they accepted all that was given—but they gave nothing in return. Their ears were open to flattery, not to prayer. They were gods for the merry and rich, not for the miserable and poor.She thought she heard hasty steps in the passage, then voices.“And He! the God of Glyceria—why had not He saved her from this fall? Was He as powerless, as regardless, of His votaries as those of Olympus?”Yes—something was the matter—there was a stir in the house—at that hour—at dead of night—Domitia’s heart bounded. Was Glyceria passing away?She threw a mantle about her, and barefooted as she was, ran forth into the gallery.She saw at the further end a light at the door of the sick room, and sounds issued thence.Instantly she flew thither, plucked aside the curtain, and stood in the doorway, arrested by the sight.Euphrosyne was seated on the bed, and had raisedher sister in her arms; the sick woman rested against her in a sitting posture; Flavia Domitilla was there as well. Directly she saw Domitia she signed to her to approach.But Glyceria!—she was at once transfigured. Her face seemed to shine with a supernatural light—it had acquired a loveliness and transparency as of an angel—her eyes were upraised and fixed as in a trance, and her arms were outspread. She seemed not to weigh on Euphrosyne, but to be raised and sustained by supernatural power.The joy, the rapture in that sublimated countenance were beyond description. She saw, she knew, she felt none of those things that usually meet the senses. And yet Domitia, Flavia, were convinced that those illumined happy eyes looked on some One—were gazing into a light to themselves unseen.From her lips poured rapturous prayer.“I see Thee! Thou—the joy of my heart, my hope and my portion forever! Thee whom I have loved and longed for! I hold Thee—I clasp Thy feet! O give her to me—the dear mistress! Take me, take me to Thyself—but ere I go—by Thy wounded hands—by Thy thorn-crowned head—by Thy pierced side—bring her to the light! To the light! To the light!”And suddenly—with an instantaneous eclipse the illumination died off from her face, the tension was over, the arms, the entire body sank heavily against the bosom of Euphrosyne, the eyes closed; she heaved a long sigh, but a smile lingered about her lips.Awed, not daring to draw nearer, unwilling to go back, Domitia stood looking. Neither did Flavia Domitilla stir.After a little while, however, the latter signed toDomitia to depart, and made as though she also would go.“She sleeps,”she said.Then Glyceria’s bright eyes opened, and she said:—“Not till after the Collect—at that I must be—bear me down—then only——”CHAPTER XVII.HAIL, GLADSOME LIGHT!Before the day began to break, from various quarters came men and women, in twos and threes to the house of Flavia Domitilla.The visitor to Rome may see the very spot where stood her house and garden. For this good woman converted the latter into a place of sepulture for the Christians, and the catacomb that bears her name is one of the most interesting of those about Rome. Not only so, but the ruins of her villa remain, on the farm of Tor Marancia, or the Ardeatine Way. Here lived the widow of the martyr Clemens, with her sister-in-law, Plautilla, and her niece, of the same name as herself, all three holy women, serving God and ministering to the necessities of the poor.The Collect, or assembly of the Faithful, was to take place in the atrium or hall of the villa. Domitilla had only Christian slaves with her in her country residence, and could trust them.In the large mansions of the Roman nobility there were grand reception halls, called basilicas, with rows of pillars down the sides dividing them into a nave andaisles, with an apse, orbemaas it was termed, at the end, in which the master of the house sat to receive his visitors. Here he and his clients, his parasites and friends walked, talked, declaimed, listened to readings, when the weather was wet or cold. At a later period, when the nobility became Christian, many of them gave up their basilicas to be converted into churches, and such is the origin of several churches of Rome. They never were, as some have erroneously supposed, halls of justice—they were, as described, the halls attached to the great Roman palaces.But at the time I am speaking of, no such surrenders had been made. The great families had not been converted, only here and there, at rare intervals, some of their members had embraced the Gospel. But smaller people had become Christian, and these did temporarily give up the more public portion of the house, the atrium and tablinum for Christian worship. It was dangerous to thus assemble, and it would have been infinitely more dangerous had the assemblies taken place always at the same house. Accordingly it was contrived to vary the place of meeting and to give secret notice to the faithful where the gathering would be on the ensuing Lord’s day.The danger of these Collects was further reduced by their being held sometimes in the churches underground in the catacombs, or in thecellænear the tombs; and these gatherings passed uncommented on, as it was customary for the pagans to meet for a solemn banquet in the decorated chambers attached to their places of interment on the anniversaries of the death of their friends.The various guilds also had their meeting for thetransaction of business, a sacred meal, and a sacrifice to the gods, and the early Christians were able so to copy the customs of the guilds or sodalities, as to carry on their worship undetected by the authorities, who supposed their assemblies were mere guild gatherings.The hour was so early that lights were necessary, and lamps were suspended in the tablinum, which was raised a couple of steps above the floor of the hall.Round the arc of the chamber, which was semi-circular, seats had been arranged, and in the centre against the wall one of more dignity than the rest, covered with white linen. In the midst of the tablinum at the top of the two steps was a table, and on one side a desk on legs.Great care was taken at the door to admit none but such as could give the sign that they were Christians. Theostiariusor porter in the early Church held a very important office, on his discretion much of the safety of the Church depended. He had to use the utmost caution lest a spy should slip in.The hall rapidly filled.Before the steps into the apse lay Glyceria on a sort of bier, her hands folded, and her earnest eyes upraised! She had been gently, carefully conveyed thither, to be for the last time united in worship with the Church on earth, before she passed into the Church beyond.On each side of the tablinum were curtains, that could be easily and rapidly drawn along a rod and so close the apse.In the atrium itself there were few lights. They were not needed, day would soon break.In the tablinum, against the wall, sat the presbyters with Clement, the bishop, in the centre. He was anold man, with a gentle face, full of love. He had been a freedman of the Flavians, and it was out of respect to them that he had taken the name of Clement, which was one of those in use in their family.At his side, on the right hand, was one far more aged than he—one we have seen before, Luke the Physician and Evangelist.Now one with a pair of clappers gave a signal and all rose who had been seated.A deacon standing at the top of the step said:—“Let us pray for the Emperor.”Whereupon all the congregation responded as with a single voice:“Lord, have mercy.”Then Clement, the Bishop, prayed:—“We beseech Thee, O Father, to look down upon the Emperor and to strengthen him against his foes, and to illumine his mind that he may rule in Justice, and be Thou his defence and strong tower.”Thereupon the deacon called again:—“Let us pray for the magistrates.”To which the people responded in the same manner, and the Bishop prayed in few terse words for the magistrates. In precisely similar manner was prayer made for the bishops and clergy, for all the faithful, for those in chains, working in mines, for the sick and the sorrowful, for the widows and orphans; it was as though a flood of all-embracing charity flowed forth.Then the intercessions ended, Luke came to the desk, and a deacon brought the roll of the Law and unfolded it before him, and another held aloft a torch.He read as follows:—“This commandment which I command thee this day, it is not hidden from thee neither is it far off.... But the word is very nighthee in thy heart and in thy mouth, that thou mayest do it. See, I have set before thee life and good, and death and evil.... I call heaven and earth to record this day that I have set before you life and death, blessing and cursing; therefore choose life ... that thou mayest love the Lord thy God, and that thou mayest obey His voice, and that thou mayest cleave unto Him.”Then the Evangelist closed the roll and returned it to the deacon, and he spake some words of exhortation thereon.Next came another deacon and unfolded the roll of the Prophets; and Luke read:—“The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me; because the Lord hath anointed me to preach good tidings unto the meek; He hath sent me to bind up the broken-hearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to them that are bound. To proclaim the acceptable year of the Lord, and the day of vengeance of our God; to comfort all that mourn.... To give to them that mourn beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness; that they might be called Trees of Righteousness, the Planting of the Lord, that He might be glorified.”Then again Luke spoke a few simple words and declared how that the prophecy of old was fulfilled in Christ who was the healer of all sick souls, and the strengthener of all who were feeble, the restorer of the halt, the comforter of all that mourn, and the planter in the field of the Church of such as would grow up plants of righteousness to bear their fruit in due season.And when he ceased, the congregation sang a psalm:“Praise the Lord, O my soul: and all that is within me praise His holy name.”In the first age of the Church the liturgical service grew out of that of the synagogue. As in the latter there were the two lessons from Law and Prophet, so was there in the Church, but after the Psalm there were added to these, two more lessons, one from an Epistle by an Apostle and one from a Gospel.At the time of our narrative the service was in process of formation and was not yet formed; and the sequence of Epistle and Gospel had not as yet been established. However, now Luke stood forward and said:—“Beloved, we have a letter written by the Blessed John—the Disciple that Jesus loved, and therefrom I will read a few words.”Then he unfolded a short roll and read as follows:—“Behold what manner of love the Father hath bestowed upon us, that we should be called the sons of God! therefore the world knoweth us not, because it knew Him not. Beloved, now are we the sons of God; and it doth not yet appear what we shall be; but we know that, when He shall appear, we shall be like Him, for we shall see Him as He is. And every man that hath this hope in him purifieth himself, even as he is pure.”He ceased, for a strange sound reached the ears of all—a sound that swelled and rose and then fell away and became all but inaudible.Once again he began to read—and again this sound was heard.“This is the message that ye heard from the beginning, that we should love one another.”Again he ceased, and looked round, and listened. For once more this strange wailing sound arose.But as it declined, he resumed his reading.“Marvel not, my brethren, if the world hate you. We know that we have passed from death unto life, because we love the brethren.”He was constrained to cease.Then at a signal, two deacons went in the direction of the sound. And the whole congregation was hushed. But Glyceria, on her bed, lifted her hands and her eyes shone with expectation.Presently the deacons returned:—“A woman—a weeping woman in a dark room.”Then Luke descended from thebema, and attended by them went in the direction of the voice, and came, where crouching, concealed, Domitia lay on the ground, sobbing as if her heart would break—they could not stay her—they did not try—they waited.And presently she raised her face, streaming with tears, and said—“The light! the glorious light!”And the sun rose over the roof, and shone down into the atrium, on the face of Glyceria.Then Flavia Domitilla stooped over her, laid her hand on her eyes and said:—“In the Joy of thy Lord, Face to Face!”THE LIGHT! THE GLORIOUS LIGHT!“THE LIGHT! THE GLORIOUS LIGHT!”Page 348.
CHAPTER XVI.AN ECSTASY.“I have come, dear Domitia, with a petition,”said the widow of Flavius Clemens.“And it is one you will wound me if you refuse.”“But who would wound so gentle a breast?”answered Domitia, kissing her visitor.“He must be heartless who draws a bow against a dove.”“Hearken first to what I ask. I am bold—but my very feebleness inspires me with audacity.”“What is it, then?”“That you come with me to my villa for a little change of scene, air and society. It will do you good.”“And I cannot refuse. It is like your sweet spirit to desire nothing save what is kindly intended and does good to others.”“As you have assented so graciously, I will push my advance a little further and say—Return with me to-day. Let us travel together. If you will—I have a double litter—and we can chatter as two magpies together.”“Magpies bring sorrow.”“Nay, two—mirth—we have cast our sorrows behind us. You said I was a dove, so be it—a pair of doves, perhaps wounded, lamed—but we coo into each other’s ear, and lay our aching hearts together and so obtain solace.”“I will refuse you nothing,”said Domitia, again kissing her visitor.Accordingly, a couple of hours later the two ladies started, Domitia taking with her some attendants, but travelling, as was proposed, in the large litter of Domitilla.This latter lady was, as already mentioned, the widow of Clemens, one of the two sons of Flavius Sabinus, præfect of the city, who had held the Capitol against the Prætorians of Vitellius and had been murdered but a few hours before Rome was entered by the troops that favored his brother Vespasian. On that occasion his sons had escaped, and the elder was married to Julia, daughter of Titus, but had been put to death by Domitian. The younger brother, Clemens, a quiet, inoffensive man, who took no part in public affairs, had been executed as well, shortly before Domitian himself perished.And now Flavia Domitilla lived quietly on her estate not far from the Ardeatine Gate of Rome.“How!”said Flavia, suddenly, as she espied the little cornelian suspended on the bosom of Domitia,“you have the Fish!”“Yes, Glyceria gave it me—long ago.”“Do you know what it means?”“Glyceria told me—but it is a dream, a beautiful fancy, nothing more. There is no evidence.”“Domitia, you have not sought for it.”“My cousin, Rome is full of religions. Some say the truth is in Sabazius, some in Isis, some in the stars, some in Mithras—a new importation—and some will go back to the old Gods of our Latin ancestors. But one and another all are naught.”“How know you that?”“By the spirit that is within me. It can discern between what is true and false. Not that which promises best is the most real.”“You are right, Domitia—that is truest and most real which meets and satisfies the seeking, aching heart.”“And where is that?”“Where you have not sought for it.”“If I were sure I would seek. But I am weary of disillusionings and disappointments.”“Well—will you hear?”“I am not sure. I have met with too many disappointments to desire another.”Nothing further was said on this topic till the villa was reached. Domitia showed that she did not desire to have it pursued.As Flavia alighted from her litter, a young manapproached, handed her something and asked for an answer.The widow of Clemens opened a tied diptych and read some words written therein.She seemed disconcerted and doubtful. She looked questioningly at Domitia, and then asked leave of the latter to say a word in private to Euphrosyne. Leave was granted and a whispered communication passed between them.Again Flavia looked inquiringly at Domitia, and it was with considerable hesitation that she signed to the young man to approach, and said:—“Be it so. The Collect shall be here.”That evening before she and her guest parted for the night, Flavia took Domitia by the hand and said:—“You are right—the faculty of determination is seated in every breast. Inquire and choose.”A few days passed, and then the hostess became uneasy. Evidently she had something that she desired to say, but was afraid of broaching the subject.At length, abruptly, she began on it.“Domitia, I show you the utmost confidence. I must tell you something. You know how that the Christians have been persecuted under—I mean of late, and how we have suffered. My dear husband shed his blood for the cause, and he was but one among many. Now there is a respite granted, but how long it will last we know not. The laws against us stand unrepealed and any one who wishes us ill can set them in motion for our destruction.”“You do not think, Cousin——”“Nay, hear me out, Domitia. You saw a young man approach me as we arrived here. He is what weterm a deacon, and he came to announce that, if I saw fit, the Church would assemble in my house next first day of the week, that is the day after the Jewish Sabbath. It is customary with us to assemble together for prayer on that day, early, before dawn, sometimes in one house, then in another, so as to escape observation. And now, on the morrow—this assembly, which we term the Collect, will take place. Do thou tarry in thy chamber, and thou shalt be summoned when all have dispersed.”“Nay, I would see and hear what takes place.”“That may not be, Domitia, that is only for the initiated.”“But why secrecy if there be naught of which to be ashamed?”“Our Master said, Give not that which is holy unto dogs, neither cast ye your pearls before swine. Tell me, Domitia, how would you endure were your father made a mock of, his sayings and acts parodied on the stage, and turned into a matter of low buffoonery?”Domitia’s brow flamed and her eyes flashed.“I see your answer in your face. So with our Great Master. His mysteries are holy, and we would preserve them from outrage. Now you understand why you cannot be present.”“But I would not mock.”“It is our rule, to avoid the chance of profanity.”“As you will.”“There is one thing more,”said Flavia.“You will not be angry if I have sent to have poor Glyceria brought here. Owing to her infirmity she has not been able to be present at a gathering of the Churchfor a long time, and nothing could give her greater consolation and happiness.”“I am willing for anything that can cheer her,”answered Domitia; then in a tone of vexation,“So—a freedwoman, and Euphrosyne, a slave, will be admitted where I am shut out—I, who was Empress——”“Do not be offended. Is it not so in every sodality, that the members of the Club alone attend the gatherings of the Club.”“You are a Club then?”“We are the worshippers of God.”16Domitia was silent, then Flavia started up.“I hear them—they have come with Glyceria. I must see that she be cared for. The long journey to that frail and broken frame will have exhausted her slender powers.”“And I will go, too”—with a tinge of jealousy in her manner. Domitia little liked that another should interest herself about the poor woman, and should stand to her in a more intimate relation than herself.On going forth, all feeling of envy disappeared at once before a sense of alarm.An accident had occurred on the way. Owing to some fault in the paving of the road, one of the bearers had stumbled and, in falling, the litter had been thrown down and the woman within injured.Domitia saw by the ashen face and the green hue about the mouth and temples that Glyceria was in great pain. But her eyes were bright and sought her at once and a world of love flowed out of them, she put forth her thin hand to lay hold of the great lady.Domitia at once flashed into anger.“This comes of bringing her here. Had she been left at Gabii it would never have happened. Where is the fellow who threw her down?—Flavia! have him whipped with the scorpion.”Glyceria caught her hand.“It was an accident. He was not in fault. I am happy. It is the will of God—that is everything to me.”“You suffer.”The paralyzed woman could not speak more. She was being lifted out of the litter, and fainted as she was moved. She was conveyed, in a condition of unconsciousness, to the room she was to occupy, a room opening out of the same corridor as that given up to Domitia.The family physician was summoned; he gave little hopes of the poor woman recovering from the shock, her natural strength and recuperative power had long ago been exhausted.All that evening Domitia remained silent, apparently in ill humor, or great distress, and Flavia Domitilla was unable to get many words from her.She retired early to rest, but could not sleep. Before going to her bed, she had visited the sick woman, and she convinced herself with her own eyes that the flame of the lamp of life was flickering to extinction.Domitia loved the actor’s widow with all the passion of her stormy heart; and the thought of losing her was to her unendurable.The night was still, balmy, and the heavens star-besprent. She looked from the corridor at the lights above, and then dropped the curtains over her door. She threw herself on her cushions, but her thoughts turned and tossed in her head.She pressed her knuckles to her eyeballs to close her eyes, but could not force on sleep.It was to her as though every person whom she loved was taken from her; till she had no one left to whom her heart could cling.“I vow a pig to Æsculapius!”she said,“if he will recover her!”and then impatiently turned to the wall.“What can Æsculapius do? Whom has he succored at any time? He is but a name.”To whom could she cry? What god of Olympus would stoop to care for—even to look at an actor’s widow, a poor Greekfreedwoman.The gods! They revelled and drank Ambrosia; made love and deceived the simple, and lied and showed themselves to be arrant knaves. They were greedy of sacrifices, they accepted all that was given—but they gave nothing in return. Their ears were open to flattery, not to prayer. They were gods for the merry and rich, not for the miserable and poor.She thought she heard hasty steps in the passage, then voices.“And He! the God of Glyceria—why had not He saved her from this fall? Was He as powerless, as regardless, of His votaries as those of Olympus?”Yes—something was the matter—there was a stir in the house—at that hour—at dead of night—Domitia’s heart bounded. Was Glyceria passing away?She threw a mantle about her, and barefooted as she was, ran forth into the gallery.She saw at the further end a light at the door of the sick room, and sounds issued thence.Instantly she flew thither, plucked aside the curtain, and stood in the doorway, arrested by the sight.Euphrosyne was seated on the bed, and had raisedher sister in her arms; the sick woman rested against her in a sitting posture; Flavia Domitilla was there as well. Directly she saw Domitia she signed to her to approach.But Glyceria!—she was at once transfigured. Her face seemed to shine with a supernatural light—it had acquired a loveliness and transparency as of an angel—her eyes were upraised and fixed as in a trance, and her arms were outspread. She seemed not to weigh on Euphrosyne, but to be raised and sustained by supernatural power.The joy, the rapture in that sublimated countenance were beyond description. She saw, she knew, she felt none of those things that usually meet the senses. And yet Domitia, Flavia, were convinced that those illumined happy eyes looked on some One—were gazing into a light to themselves unseen.From her lips poured rapturous prayer.“I see Thee! Thou—the joy of my heart, my hope and my portion forever! Thee whom I have loved and longed for! I hold Thee—I clasp Thy feet! O give her to me—the dear mistress! Take me, take me to Thyself—but ere I go—by Thy wounded hands—by Thy thorn-crowned head—by Thy pierced side—bring her to the light! To the light! To the light!”And suddenly—with an instantaneous eclipse the illumination died off from her face, the tension was over, the arms, the entire body sank heavily against the bosom of Euphrosyne, the eyes closed; she heaved a long sigh, but a smile lingered about her lips.Awed, not daring to draw nearer, unwilling to go back, Domitia stood looking. Neither did Flavia Domitilla stir.After a little while, however, the latter signed toDomitia to depart, and made as though she also would go.“She sleeps,”she said.Then Glyceria’s bright eyes opened, and she said:—“Not till after the Collect—at that I must be—bear me down—then only——”
“I have come, dear Domitia, with a petition,”said the widow of Flavius Clemens.“And it is one you will wound me if you refuse.”
“But who would wound so gentle a breast?”answered Domitia, kissing her visitor.“He must be heartless who draws a bow against a dove.”
“Hearken first to what I ask. I am bold—but my very feebleness inspires me with audacity.”
“What is it, then?”
“That you come with me to my villa for a little change of scene, air and society. It will do you good.”
“And I cannot refuse. It is like your sweet spirit to desire nothing save what is kindly intended and does good to others.”
“As you have assented so graciously, I will push my advance a little further and say—Return with me to-day. Let us travel together. If you will—I have a double litter—and we can chatter as two magpies together.”
“Magpies bring sorrow.”
“Nay, two—mirth—we have cast our sorrows behind us. You said I was a dove, so be it—a pair of doves, perhaps wounded, lamed—but we coo into each other’s ear, and lay our aching hearts together and so obtain solace.”
“I will refuse you nothing,”said Domitia, again kissing her visitor.
Accordingly, a couple of hours later the two ladies started, Domitia taking with her some attendants, but travelling, as was proposed, in the large litter of Domitilla.
This latter lady was, as already mentioned, the widow of Clemens, one of the two sons of Flavius Sabinus, præfect of the city, who had held the Capitol against the Prætorians of Vitellius and had been murdered but a few hours before Rome was entered by the troops that favored his brother Vespasian. On that occasion his sons had escaped, and the elder was married to Julia, daughter of Titus, but had been put to death by Domitian. The younger brother, Clemens, a quiet, inoffensive man, who took no part in public affairs, had been executed as well, shortly before Domitian himself perished.
And now Flavia Domitilla lived quietly on her estate not far from the Ardeatine Gate of Rome.
“How!”said Flavia, suddenly, as she espied the little cornelian suspended on the bosom of Domitia,“you have the Fish!”
“Yes, Glyceria gave it me—long ago.”
“Do you know what it means?”
“Glyceria told me—but it is a dream, a beautiful fancy, nothing more. There is no evidence.”
“Domitia, you have not sought for it.”
“My cousin, Rome is full of religions. Some say the truth is in Sabazius, some in Isis, some in the stars, some in Mithras—a new importation—and some will go back to the old Gods of our Latin ancestors. But one and another all are naught.”
“How know you that?”
“By the spirit that is within me. It can discern between what is true and false. Not that which promises best is the most real.”
“You are right, Domitia—that is truest and most real which meets and satisfies the seeking, aching heart.”
“And where is that?”
“Where you have not sought for it.”
“If I were sure I would seek. But I am weary of disillusionings and disappointments.”
“Well—will you hear?”
“I am not sure. I have met with too many disappointments to desire another.”
Nothing further was said on this topic till the villa was reached. Domitia showed that she did not desire to have it pursued.
As Flavia alighted from her litter, a young manapproached, handed her something and asked for an answer.
The widow of Clemens opened a tied diptych and read some words written therein.
She seemed disconcerted and doubtful. She looked questioningly at Domitia, and then asked leave of the latter to say a word in private to Euphrosyne. Leave was granted and a whispered communication passed between them.
Again Flavia looked inquiringly at Domitia, and it was with considerable hesitation that she signed to the young man to approach, and said:—“Be it so. The Collect shall be here.”
That evening before she and her guest parted for the night, Flavia took Domitia by the hand and said:—“You are right—the faculty of determination is seated in every breast. Inquire and choose.”
A few days passed, and then the hostess became uneasy. Evidently she had something that she desired to say, but was afraid of broaching the subject.
At length, abruptly, she began on it.
“Domitia, I show you the utmost confidence. I must tell you something. You know how that the Christians have been persecuted under—I mean of late, and how we have suffered. My dear husband shed his blood for the cause, and he was but one among many. Now there is a respite granted, but how long it will last we know not. The laws against us stand unrepealed and any one who wishes us ill can set them in motion for our destruction.”
“You do not think, Cousin——”
“Nay, hear me out, Domitia. You saw a young man approach me as we arrived here. He is what weterm a deacon, and he came to announce that, if I saw fit, the Church would assemble in my house next first day of the week, that is the day after the Jewish Sabbath. It is customary with us to assemble together for prayer on that day, early, before dawn, sometimes in one house, then in another, so as to escape observation. And now, on the morrow—this assembly, which we term the Collect, will take place. Do thou tarry in thy chamber, and thou shalt be summoned when all have dispersed.”
“Nay, I would see and hear what takes place.”
“That may not be, Domitia, that is only for the initiated.”
“But why secrecy if there be naught of which to be ashamed?”
“Our Master said, Give not that which is holy unto dogs, neither cast ye your pearls before swine. Tell me, Domitia, how would you endure were your father made a mock of, his sayings and acts parodied on the stage, and turned into a matter of low buffoonery?”
Domitia’s brow flamed and her eyes flashed.
“I see your answer in your face. So with our Great Master. His mysteries are holy, and we would preserve them from outrage. Now you understand why you cannot be present.”
“But I would not mock.”
“It is our rule, to avoid the chance of profanity.”
“As you will.”
“There is one thing more,”said Flavia.“You will not be angry if I have sent to have poor Glyceria brought here. Owing to her infirmity she has not been able to be present at a gathering of the Churchfor a long time, and nothing could give her greater consolation and happiness.”
“I am willing for anything that can cheer her,”answered Domitia; then in a tone of vexation,“So—a freedwoman, and Euphrosyne, a slave, will be admitted where I am shut out—I, who was Empress——”
“Do not be offended. Is it not so in every sodality, that the members of the Club alone attend the gatherings of the Club.”
“You are a Club then?”
“We are the worshippers of God.”16
Domitia was silent, then Flavia started up.“I hear them—they have come with Glyceria. I must see that she be cared for. The long journey to that frail and broken frame will have exhausted her slender powers.”
“And I will go, too”—with a tinge of jealousy in her manner. Domitia little liked that another should interest herself about the poor woman, and should stand to her in a more intimate relation than herself.
On going forth, all feeling of envy disappeared at once before a sense of alarm.
An accident had occurred on the way. Owing to some fault in the paving of the road, one of the bearers had stumbled and, in falling, the litter had been thrown down and the woman within injured.
Domitia saw by the ashen face and the green hue about the mouth and temples that Glyceria was in great pain. But her eyes were bright and sought her at once and a world of love flowed out of them, she put forth her thin hand to lay hold of the great lady.Domitia at once flashed into anger.“This comes of bringing her here. Had she been left at Gabii it would never have happened. Where is the fellow who threw her down?—Flavia! have him whipped with the scorpion.”
Glyceria caught her hand.“It was an accident. He was not in fault. I am happy. It is the will of God—that is everything to me.”
“You suffer.”
The paralyzed woman could not speak more. She was being lifted out of the litter, and fainted as she was moved. She was conveyed, in a condition of unconsciousness, to the room she was to occupy, a room opening out of the same corridor as that given up to Domitia.
The family physician was summoned; he gave little hopes of the poor woman recovering from the shock, her natural strength and recuperative power had long ago been exhausted.
All that evening Domitia remained silent, apparently in ill humor, or great distress, and Flavia Domitilla was unable to get many words from her.
She retired early to rest, but could not sleep. Before going to her bed, she had visited the sick woman, and she convinced herself with her own eyes that the flame of the lamp of life was flickering to extinction.
Domitia loved the actor’s widow with all the passion of her stormy heart; and the thought of losing her was to her unendurable.
The night was still, balmy, and the heavens star-besprent. She looked from the corridor at the lights above, and then dropped the curtains over her door. She threw herself on her cushions, but her thoughts turned and tossed in her head.
She pressed her knuckles to her eyeballs to close her eyes, but could not force on sleep.
It was to her as though every person whom she loved was taken from her; till she had no one left to whom her heart could cling.
“I vow a pig to Æsculapius!”she said,“if he will recover her!”and then impatiently turned to the wall.“What can Æsculapius do? Whom has he succored at any time? He is but a name.”To whom could she cry? What god of Olympus would stoop to care for—even to look at an actor’s widow, a poor Greekfreedwoman.
The gods! They revelled and drank Ambrosia; made love and deceived the simple, and lied and showed themselves to be arrant knaves. They were greedy of sacrifices, they accepted all that was given—but they gave nothing in return. Their ears were open to flattery, not to prayer. They were gods for the merry and rich, not for the miserable and poor.
She thought she heard hasty steps in the passage, then voices.“And He! the God of Glyceria—why had not He saved her from this fall? Was He as powerless, as regardless, of His votaries as those of Olympus?”Yes—something was the matter—there was a stir in the house—at that hour—at dead of night—Domitia’s heart bounded. Was Glyceria passing away?
She threw a mantle about her, and barefooted as she was, ran forth into the gallery.
She saw at the further end a light at the door of the sick room, and sounds issued thence.
Instantly she flew thither, plucked aside the curtain, and stood in the doorway, arrested by the sight.
Euphrosyne was seated on the bed, and had raisedher sister in her arms; the sick woman rested against her in a sitting posture; Flavia Domitilla was there as well. Directly she saw Domitia she signed to her to approach.
But Glyceria!—she was at once transfigured. Her face seemed to shine with a supernatural light—it had acquired a loveliness and transparency as of an angel—her eyes were upraised and fixed as in a trance, and her arms were outspread. She seemed not to weigh on Euphrosyne, but to be raised and sustained by supernatural power.
The joy, the rapture in that sublimated countenance were beyond description. She saw, she knew, she felt none of those things that usually meet the senses. And yet Domitia, Flavia, were convinced that those illumined happy eyes looked on some One—were gazing into a light to themselves unseen.
From her lips poured rapturous prayer.
“I see Thee! Thou—the joy of my heart, my hope and my portion forever! Thee whom I have loved and longed for! I hold Thee—I clasp Thy feet! O give her to me—the dear mistress! Take me, take me to Thyself—but ere I go—by Thy wounded hands—by Thy thorn-crowned head—by Thy pierced side—bring her to the light! To the light! To the light!”And suddenly—with an instantaneous eclipse the illumination died off from her face, the tension was over, the arms, the entire body sank heavily against the bosom of Euphrosyne, the eyes closed; she heaved a long sigh, but a smile lingered about her lips.
Awed, not daring to draw nearer, unwilling to go back, Domitia stood looking. Neither did Flavia Domitilla stir.
After a little while, however, the latter signed toDomitia to depart, and made as though she also would go.
“She sleeps,”she said.
Then Glyceria’s bright eyes opened, and she said:—
“Not till after the Collect—at that I must be—bear me down—then only——”
CHAPTER XVII.HAIL, GLADSOME LIGHT!Before the day began to break, from various quarters came men and women, in twos and threes to the house of Flavia Domitilla.The visitor to Rome may see the very spot where stood her house and garden. For this good woman converted the latter into a place of sepulture for the Christians, and the catacomb that bears her name is one of the most interesting of those about Rome. Not only so, but the ruins of her villa remain, on the farm of Tor Marancia, or the Ardeatine Way. Here lived the widow of the martyr Clemens, with her sister-in-law, Plautilla, and her niece, of the same name as herself, all three holy women, serving God and ministering to the necessities of the poor.The Collect, or assembly of the Faithful, was to take place in the atrium or hall of the villa. Domitilla had only Christian slaves with her in her country residence, and could trust them.In the large mansions of the Roman nobility there were grand reception halls, called basilicas, with rows of pillars down the sides dividing them into a nave andaisles, with an apse, orbemaas it was termed, at the end, in which the master of the house sat to receive his visitors. Here he and his clients, his parasites and friends walked, talked, declaimed, listened to readings, when the weather was wet or cold. At a later period, when the nobility became Christian, many of them gave up their basilicas to be converted into churches, and such is the origin of several churches of Rome. They never were, as some have erroneously supposed, halls of justice—they were, as described, the halls attached to the great Roman palaces.But at the time I am speaking of, no such surrenders had been made. The great families had not been converted, only here and there, at rare intervals, some of their members had embraced the Gospel. But smaller people had become Christian, and these did temporarily give up the more public portion of the house, the atrium and tablinum for Christian worship. It was dangerous to thus assemble, and it would have been infinitely more dangerous had the assemblies taken place always at the same house. Accordingly it was contrived to vary the place of meeting and to give secret notice to the faithful where the gathering would be on the ensuing Lord’s day.The danger of these Collects was further reduced by their being held sometimes in the churches underground in the catacombs, or in thecellænear the tombs; and these gatherings passed uncommented on, as it was customary for the pagans to meet for a solemn banquet in the decorated chambers attached to their places of interment on the anniversaries of the death of their friends.The various guilds also had their meeting for thetransaction of business, a sacred meal, and a sacrifice to the gods, and the early Christians were able so to copy the customs of the guilds or sodalities, as to carry on their worship undetected by the authorities, who supposed their assemblies were mere guild gatherings.The hour was so early that lights were necessary, and lamps were suspended in the tablinum, which was raised a couple of steps above the floor of the hall.Round the arc of the chamber, which was semi-circular, seats had been arranged, and in the centre against the wall one of more dignity than the rest, covered with white linen. In the midst of the tablinum at the top of the two steps was a table, and on one side a desk on legs.Great care was taken at the door to admit none but such as could give the sign that they were Christians. Theostiariusor porter in the early Church held a very important office, on his discretion much of the safety of the Church depended. He had to use the utmost caution lest a spy should slip in.The hall rapidly filled.Before the steps into the apse lay Glyceria on a sort of bier, her hands folded, and her earnest eyes upraised! She had been gently, carefully conveyed thither, to be for the last time united in worship with the Church on earth, before she passed into the Church beyond.On each side of the tablinum were curtains, that could be easily and rapidly drawn along a rod and so close the apse.In the atrium itself there were few lights. They were not needed, day would soon break.In the tablinum, against the wall, sat the presbyters with Clement, the bishop, in the centre. He was anold man, with a gentle face, full of love. He had been a freedman of the Flavians, and it was out of respect to them that he had taken the name of Clement, which was one of those in use in their family.At his side, on the right hand, was one far more aged than he—one we have seen before, Luke the Physician and Evangelist.Now one with a pair of clappers gave a signal and all rose who had been seated.A deacon standing at the top of the step said:—“Let us pray for the Emperor.”Whereupon all the congregation responded as with a single voice:“Lord, have mercy.”Then Clement, the Bishop, prayed:—“We beseech Thee, O Father, to look down upon the Emperor and to strengthen him against his foes, and to illumine his mind that he may rule in Justice, and be Thou his defence and strong tower.”Thereupon the deacon called again:—“Let us pray for the magistrates.”To which the people responded in the same manner, and the Bishop prayed in few terse words for the magistrates. In precisely similar manner was prayer made for the bishops and clergy, for all the faithful, for those in chains, working in mines, for the sick and the sorrowful, for the widows and orphans; it was as though a flood of all-embracing charity flowed forth.Then the intercessions ended, Luke came to the desk, and a deacon brought the roll of the Law and unfolded it before him, and another held aloft a torch.He read as follows:—“This commandment which I command thee this day, it is not hidden from thee neither is it far off.... But the word is very nighthee in thy heart and in thy mouth, that thou mayest do it. See, I have set before thee life and good, and death and evil.... I call heaven and earth to record this day that I have set before you life and death, blessing and cursing; therefore choose life ... that thou mayest love the Lord thy God, and that thou mayest obey His voice, and that thou mayest cleave unto Him.”Then the Evangelist closed the roll and returned it to the deacon, and he spake some words of exhortation thereon.Next came another deacon and unfolded the roll of the Prophets; and Luke read:—“The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me; because the Lord hath anointed me to preach good tidings unto the meek; He hath sent me to bind up the broken-hearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to them that are bound. To proclaim the acceptable year of the Lord, and the day of vengeance of our God; to comfort all that mourn.... To give to them that mourn beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness; that they might be called Trees of Righteousness, the Planting of the Lord, that He might be glorified.”Then again Luke spoke a few simple words and declared how that the prophecy of old was fulfilled in Christ who was the healer of all sick souls, and the strengthener of all who were feeble, the restorer of the halt, the comforter of all that mourn, and the planter in the field of the Church of such as would grow up plants of righteousness to bear their fruit in due season.And when he ceased, the congregation sang a psalm:“Praise the Lord, O my soul: and all that is within me praise His holy name.”In the first age of the Church the liturgical service grew out of that of the synagogue. As in the latter there were the two lessons from Law and Prophet, so was there in the Church, but after the Psalm there were added to these, two more lessons, one from an Epistle by an Apostle and one from a Gospel.At the time of our narrative the service was in process of formation and was not yet formed; and the sequence of Epistle and Gospel had not as yet been established. However, now Luke stood forward and said:—“Beloved, we have a letter written by the Blessed John—the Disciple that Jesus loved, and therefrom I will read a few words.”Then he unfolded a short roll and read as follows:—“Behold what manner of love the Father hath bestowed upon us, that we should be called the sons of God! therefore the world knoweth us not, because it knew Him not. Beloved, now are we the sons of God; and it doth not yet appear what we shall be; but we know that, when He shall appear, we shall be like Him, for we shall see Him as He is. And every man that hath this hope in him purifieth himself, even as he is pure.”He ceased, for a strange sound reached the ears of all—a sound that swelled and rose and then fell away and became all but inaudible.Once again he began to read—and again this sound was heard.“This is the message that ye heard from the beginning, that we should love one another.”Again he ceased, and looked round, and listened. For once more this strange wailing sound arose.But as it declined, he resumed his reading.“Marvel not, my brethren, if the world hate you. We know that we have passed from death unto life, because we love the brethren.”He was constrained to cease.Then at a signal, two deacons went in the direction of the sound. And the whole congregation was hushed. But Glyceria, on her bed, lifted her hands and her eyes shone with expectation.Presently the deacons returned:—“A woman—a weeping woman in a dark room.”Then Luke descended from thebema, and attended by them went in the direction of the voice, and came, where crouching, concealed, Domitia lay on the ground, sobbing as if her heart would break—they could not stay her—they did not try—they waited.And presently she raised her face, streaming with tears, and said—“The light! the glorious light!”And the sun rose over the roof, and shone down into the atrium, on the face of Glyceria.Then Flavia Domitilla stooped over her, laid her hand on her eyes and said:—“In the Joy of thy Lord, Face to Face!”THE LIGHT! THE GLORIOUS LIGHT!“THE LIGHT! THE GLORIOUS LIGHT!”Page 348.
Before the day began to break, from various quarters came men and women, in twos and threes to the house of Flavia Domitilla.
The visitor to Rome may see the very spot where stood her house and garden. For this good woman converted the latter into a place of sepulture for the Christians, and the catacomb that bears her name is one of the most interesting of those about Rome. Not only so, but the ruins of her villa remain, on the farm of Tor Marancia, or the Ardeatine Way. Here lived the widow of the martyr Clemens, with her sister-in-law, Plautilla, and her niece, of the same name as herself, all three holy women, serving God and ministering to the necessities of the poor.
The Collect, or assembly of the Faithful, was to take place in the atrium or hall of the villa. Domitilla had only Christian slaves with her in her country residence, and could trust them.
In the large mansions of the Roman nobility there were grand reception halls, called basilicas, with rows of pillars down the sides dividing them into a nave andaisles, with an apse, orbemaas it was termed, at the end, in which the master of the house sat to receive his visitors. Here he and his clients, his parasites and friends walked, talked, declaimed, listened to readings, when the weather was wet or cold. At a later period, when the nobility became Christian, many of them gave up their basilicas to be converted into churches, and such is the origin of several churches of Rome. They never were, as some have erroneously supposed, halls of justice—they were, as described, the halls attached to the great Roman palaces.
But at the time I am speaking of, no such surrenders had been made. The great families had not been converted, only here and there, at rare intervals, some of their members had embraced the Gospel. But smaller people had become Christian, and these did temporarily give up the more public portion of the house, the atrium and tablinum for Christian worship. It was dangerous to thus assemble, and it would have been infinitely more dangerous had the assemblies taken place always at the same house. Accordingly it was contrived to vary the place of meeting and to give secret notice to the faithful where the gathering would be on the ensuing Lord’s day.
The danger of these Collects was further reduced by their being held sometimes in the churches underground in the catacombs, or in thecellænear the tombs; and these gatherings passed uncommented on, as it was customary for the pagans to meet for a solemn banquet in the decorated chambers attached to their places of interment on the anniversaries of the death of their friends.
The various guilds also had their meeting for thetransaction of business, a sacred meal, and a sacrifice to the gods, and the early Christians were able so to copy the customs of the guilds or sodalities, as to carry on their worship undetected by the authorities, who supposed their assemblies were mere guild gatherings.
The hour was so early that lights were necessary, and lamps were suspended in the tablinum, which was raised a couple of steps above the floor of the hall.
Round the arc of the chamber, which was semi-circular, seats had been arranged, and in the centre against the wall one of more dignity than the rest, covered with white linen. In the midst of the tablinum at the top of the two steps was a table, and on one side a desk on legs.
Great care was taken at the door to admit none but such as could give the sign that they were Christians. Theostiariusor porter in the early Church held a very important office, on his discretion much of the safety of the Church depended. He had to use the utmost caution lest a spy should slip in.
The hall rapidly filled.
Before the steps into the apse lay Glyceria on a sort of bier, her hands folded, and her earnest eyes upraised! She had been gently, carefully conveyed thither, to be for the last time united in worship with the Church on earth, before she passed into the Church beyond.
On each side of the tablinum were curtains, that could be easily and rapidly drawn along a rod and so close the apse.
In the atrium itself there were few lights. They were not needed, day would soon break.
In the tablinum, against the wall, sat the presbyters with Clement, the bishop, in the centre. He was anold man, with a gentle face, full of love. He had been a freedman of the Flavians, and it was out of respect to them that he had taken the name of Clement, which was one of those in use in their family.
At his side, on the right hand, was one far more aged than he—one we have seen before, Luke the Physician and Evangelist.
Now one with a pair of clappers gave a signal and all rose who had been seated.
A deacon standing at the top of the step said:—“Let us pray for the Emperor.”
Whereupon all the congregation responded as with a single voice:“Lord, have mercy.”
Then Clement, the Bishop, prayed:—“We beseech Thee, O Father, to look down upon the Emperor and to strengthen him against his foes, and to illumine his mind that he may rule in Justice, and be Thou his defence and strong tower.”
Thereupon the deacon called again:—“Let us pray for the magistrates.”To which the people responded in the same manner, and the Bishop prayed in few terse words for the magistrates. In precisely similar manner was prayer made for the bishops and clergy, for all the faithful, for those in chains, working in mines, for the sick and the sorrowful, for the widows and orphans; it was as though a flood of all-embracing charity flowed forth.
Then the intercessions ended, Luke came to the desk, and a deacon brought the roll of the Law and unfolded it before him, and another held aloft a torch.
He read as follows:—“This commandment which I command thee this day, it is not hidden from thee neither is it far off.... But the word is very nighthee in thy heart and in thy mouth, that thou mayest do it. See, I have set before thee life and good, and death and evil.... I call heaven and earth to record this day that I have set before you life and death, blessing and cursing; therefore choose life ... that thou mayest love the Lord thy God, and that thou mayest obey His voice, and that thou mayest cleave unto Him.”
Then the Evangelist closed the roll and returned it to the deacon, and he spake some words of exhortation thereon.
Next came another deacon and unfolded the roll of the Prophets; and Luke read:—“The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me; because the Lord hath anointed me to preach good tidings unto the meek; He hath sent me to bind up the broken-hearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to them that are bound. To proclaim the acceptable year of the Lord, and the day of vengeance of our God; to comfort all that mourn.... To give to them that mourn beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness; that they might be called Trees of Righteousness, the Planting of the Lord, that He might be glorified.”
Then again Luke spoke a few simple words and declared how that the prophecy of old was fulfilled in Christ who was the healer of all sick souls, and the strengthener of all who were feeble, the restorer of the halt, the comforter of all that mourn, and the planter in the field of the Church of such as would grow up plants of righteousness to bear their fruit in due season.
And when he ceased, the congregation sang a psalm:“Praise the Lord, O my soul: and all that is within me praise His holy name.”
In the first age of the Church the liturgical service grew out of that of the synagogue. As in the latter there were the two lessons from Law and Prophet, so was there in the Church, but after the Psalm there were added to these, two more lessons, one from an Epistle by an Apostle and one from a Gospel.
At the time of our narrative the service was in process of formation and was not yet formed; and the sequence of Epistle and Gospel had not as yet been established. However, now Luke stood forward and said:—
“Beloved, we have a letter written by the Blessed John—the Disciple that Jesus loved, and therefrom I will read a few words.”
Then he unfolded a short roll and read as follows:—
“Behold what manner of love the Father hath bestowed upon us, that we should be called the sons of God! therefore the world knoweth us not, because it knew Him not. Beloved, now are we the sons of God; and it doth not yet appear what we shall be; but we know that, when He shall appear, we shall be like Him, for we shall see Him as He is. And every man that hath this hope in him purifieth himself, even as he is pure.”
He ceased, for a strange sound reached the ears of all—a sound that swelled and rose and then fell away and became all but inaudible.
Once again he began to read—and again this sound was heard.
“This is the message that ye heard from the beginning, that we should love one another.”
Again he ceased, and looked round, and listened. For once more this strange wailing sound arose.
But as it declined, he resumed his reading.
“Marvel not, my brethren, if the world hate you. We know that we have passed from death unto life, because we love the brethren.”
He was constrained to cease.
Then at a signal, two deacons went in the direction of the sound. And the whole congregation was hushed. But Glyceria, on her bed, lifted her hands and her eyes shone with expectation.
Presently the deacons returned:—“A woman—a weeping woman in a dark room.”
Then Luke descended from thebema, and attended by them went in the direction of the voice, and came, where crouching, concealed, Domitia lay on the ground, sobbing as if her heart would break—they could not stay her—they did not try—they waited.
And presently she raised her face, streaming with tears, and said—“The light! the glorious light!”
And the sun rose over the roof, and shone down into the atrium, on the face of Glyceria.
Then Flavia Domitilla stooped over her, laid her hand on her eyes and said:—“In the Joy of thy Lord, Face to Face!”
THE LIGHT! THE GLORIOUS LIGHT!“THE LIGHT! THE GLORIOUS LIGHT!”Page 348.
“THE LIGHT! THE GLORIOUS LIGHT!”Page 348.