CHAPTER VIII.DARKER STILL.

Monogram of Christ, found in the Catacombs.

One glance had told her all. Her father was dead.

WHEN Sebastian came into the court, he found a little crowd of domestics gathered round the courier, listening to the details of their master’s death.

The letter of which Torquatus was the bearer to him, had produced its desired effect. He called at his villa, and spent a few days with his daughter, on his way to Asia. He was more than usually affectionate; and when they parted, both father and daughter seemed to have a melancholy foreboding that they would meet no more. He soon, however, recovered his spirits at Baiæ, where a party of good livers anxiously awaited him; and where he considered himself obliged to stay, while his galley was being fitted up and stored with the best wines and provisions which Campania afforded, for his voyage. He indulged, however, his luxurious tastes to excess; and on coming out of a bath, after a hearty supper, he was seized with a chill, and in four-and-twenty hours was a corpse. He had left his undivided wealth to his only child. In fine, the body was being embalmed when the courier started, and was to be brought by his galley to Ostia.

On hearing this sad tale, Sebastian was almost sorry that he had spoken as he had done of death, and left the house with mournful thoughts.

Fabiola’s first plunge into the dark abyss of grief was deep and dismal, down into unconsciousness. Then the buoyancy of youth and mind bore her up again to the surface; and her view of life, to the horizon, was as of a boundless ocean of black seething waves, on which floated no living thing save herself. Her woe seemed utter and unmeasured; and she closed her eyes with a shudder, and suffered herself to sink again into obliviousness, till once more roused to wakefulness of mind. Again and again she was thus tossed up and down, between transient death and life, while her attendants applied remedies to what they deemed a succession of alarming fits and convulsions. At length she sat up, pale, staring, and tearless, gently pushing aside the hand that tried to administer restoratives to her. In this state she remained long; a stupor, fixed and deadly, seemed to have entranced her; the pupils were almost insensible to the light, and fears were whispered of her brain becoming oppressed. The physician, who had been called, uttered distinctly and forcibly into her ears the question: “Fabiola, do you know that your father is dead?” She started, fell back, and a bursting flood of tears relieved her heart and head. She spoke of her father, and called for him amidst her sobs, and said wild and incoherent, but affectionate things about, and to, him. Sometimes she seemed to think him still alive, then she remembered he was dead; and so she wept and moaned, till sleep took the turn of tears, in nursing her shattered mind and frame.

Euphrosyne and Syra alone watched by her. The former had, from time to time, put in the commonplaces of heathen consolation, had reminded her too, how kind a master, how honest a man, how loving a father he had been. But the Christian sat in silence, except to speak gentle and soothing words to her mistress, and served her with an active delicacy, which even then was not unnoticed. What could she do more, unless it was to pray? What hope for else, than thata new grace was folded up, like a flower, in this tribulation; that a bright angel was riding in the dark cloud that overshadowed her humbled lady?

As grief receded it left some room for thought. This came to Fabiola in a gloomy and searching form. “What was become of her father? Whither was he gone? Had he melted into unexistence, or had he been crushed into annihilation? Hadhislife been searched through by that unseen eye which sees the invisible? Had he stood the proof of that scrutiny which Sebastian and Syra had described? Impossible! Then what had become of him?” She shuddered as she thought, and put away the reflection from her mind.

Oh, for a ray from some unknown light, that would dart into the grave, and show her what it was! Poetry had pretended to enlighten it, and even glorify it; but had only, in truth, remained at the door, as a genius with drooping head, and torch reversed. Science had stepped in, and come out scared, with tarnished wings and lamp extinguished in the fetid air; for it had only discovered a charnel-house. And philosophy had barely ventured to wander round and round, and peep in with dread, and recoil, and then prate or babble; and, shrugging its shoulders, own that the problem was yet unsolved, the mystery still veiled. Oh, for something, or some one, better than all these, to remove the dismal perplexity!

While these thoughts dwell like gloomy night on the heart of Fabiola, her slave is enjoying the vision of light, clothed in mortal form, translucid and radiant, rising from the grave as from an alembic, in which have remained the grosser qualities of matter, without impairing the essence of its nature. Spiritualized and free, lovely and glorious, it springs from the very hot-bed of corruption. And another and another, from land and sea; from reeking cemetery, and from beneath consecrated altar; from the tangled thicket where solitary murder has been committed on the just, and from fields of ancient battle done by Israel for God; like crystal fountains springing into the air, like brilliant signal-lights, darted from earth to heaven, till a host of millions, side by side, repeoples creation with joyous and undying life. And how knows she this? Because One, greater and better than poet, sage, or sophist, had made the trial; had descended first into the dark couch of death, had blessed it, as He had done the cradle, and made infancy sacred; rendering also death a holy thing, and its place a sanctuary. He went into it in the darkest of evening, and He came forth from it in the brightest of morning; He was laid there wrapped in spices, and he rose again robed in His own fragrant incorruption. And from that day the grave had ceased to be an object of dread to the Christian soul, for it continued what he had made it,—the furrow into which the seed of immortality must needs be cast.

The time was not come for speaking of these things to Fabiola. She mourned still, as they must mourn who have no hope. Day succeeded day in gloomy meditation on the mystery of death, till other cares mercifully roused her. The corpse arrived, and such a funeral followed as Rome then seldom witnessed. Processions by torch-light, in which the waxen effigies of ancestors were borne, and a huge funeral pile, built up of aromatic wood, and scented by the richest spices of Arabia, ended in her gathering up a few handfuls of charred bones, which were deposited in an alabaster urn, and placed in a niche of the family sepulchre, with the name inscribed of their former owner.

Calpurnius spoke the funeral oration; in which, according to the fashionable ideas of the day, he contrasted the virtues of the hospitable and industrious citizen with the false morality of those men called Christians, who fasted and prayed all day, and were stealthily insinuating their dangerous principles into every noble family, and spreading disloyalty and immorality in every class. Fabius, he could have no doubt, if there was any future existence, whereon philosophers differed, was now basking on a green bank in Elysium, and quaffing nectar. “And oh!” concluded the old whining hypocrite, who would have been sorry to exchange one goblet of Falernian for an amphora[115]of that beverage, “oh! that the gods would hasten the day when I, his humble client, may join him in his shady repose and sober banquets!” This noble sentiment gained immense applause.

To this care succeeded another. Fabiola had to apply her vigorous mind to examine, and close her father’s complicated affairs. How often was she pained at the discovery of what to her seemed injustice, fraud, over-reaching and oppression, in the transactions of one whom the world had applauded as the most honest and liberal of public contractors!

The Peacock, as an Emblem of the Resurrection, found in the Catacombs.

In a few weeks more, in the dark attire of a mourner, Fabiola went forth to visit her friends. The first of these was her cousin Agnes.

WE must take our reader back a few steps in the history of Torquatus. On the morning after his fall, he found, on awaking, Fulvius at his bed-side. It was the falconer, who, having got hold of a good hawk, was come to tame him, and train him to strike down the dove for him, in return for a well-fed slavery. With all the coolness of a practised hand, he brought back to his memory every circumstance of the preceding night’s debauch, his utter ruin, and only means of escape. With unfeeling precision he strengthened every thread of the last evening’s web, and added many more meshes to it.

The position of Torquatus was this: if he made one step towards Christianity, which Fulvius assured him would be fruitless, he would be at once delivered to the judge, and cruelly punished with death. If he remained faithful to his compact of treason, he should want for nothing.

“You are hot and feverish,” at last concluded Fulvius; “an early walk, and fresh air, will do you good.”

The poor wretch consented; and they had hardly reached the Forum, when Corvinus, as if by accident, met them. After mutual salutations, he said: “I am glad to have fallen inwith you; I should like to take you, and show you my father’s workshop.”

“Workshop?” asked Torquatus with surprise.

“Yes, where he keeps his tools; it has just been beautifully fitted up. Here it is, and that grim old foreman, Catulus, is opening the doors.”

They entered into a spacious court with a shed round it, filled with engines of torture of every form. Torquatus shrunk back.

“Come in, masters, don’t be afraid,” said the old executioner. “There is no fire put on yet, and nobody will hurt you, unless you happen to be a wicked Christian. It’s for them we have been polishing up of late.”

“Now, Catulus,” said Corvinus, “tell this gentleman, who is a stranger, the use of these pretty toys you have here.”

Catulus, with good heart, showed them round his museum of horrors, explaining every thing with such hearty good-will, and no end of jokes not quite fit for record, that in his enthusiasm he nearly gave Torquatus practical illustrations of what he described, having once almost caught his ear in a pair of sharp pincers, and another time brought down a mallet within an inch of his teeth.

The rack, a large gridiron, an iron chair with a furnace in it for heating it, large boilers for hot oil or scalding-water baths; ladles for melting lead, and pouring it neatly into the mouth; pincers, hooks and iron combs of varied shapes, for laying bare the ribs; scorpions, or scourges armed with iron or leaden knobs; iron collars, manacles and fetters of the most tormenting make; in fine, swords, knives, and axes in tasteful varieties,[116]were all commented upon with true relish, and an anticipation of much enjoyment,

Plumbatæ.Whips made ofbrass chains to which areattached leaden balls.Volsellæ, Tweezers or Tongs.Uncus, or hook.Pectines ferrei.Iron Comb.Uncus, or hook.Instruments of Torture used against the Christians. From Roller’s “Catacombes de Rome.”

Plumbatæ.Whips made ofbrass chains to which areattached leaden balls.

Volsellæ, Tweezers or Tongs.

Uncus, or hook.

Pectines ferrei.Iron Comb.

Uncus, or hook.

Instruments of Torture used against the Christians. From Roller’s “Catacombes de Rome.”

in seeing them used on those hard-headed and thick-skinned Christians.

Torquatus was thoroughly broken down. He was taken to the baths of Antoninus, where he caught the attention of old Cucumio, the head of the wardrobe department, or capsarius, and his wife Victoria, who had seen him at church. After a good refection, he was led to a gambling-hall in the Thermæ, and lost, of course. Fulvius lent him money, but for every farthing, exacted a bond. By these means, he was, in a few days, completely subdued.

Their meetings were early and late; during the day he was left free, lest he should lose his value, through being suspected by Christians. Corvinus had determined to make a tremendous dash at them, so soon as the Edict should have come out. He therefore exacted from Torquatus, as his share of the compact, that the spy should study the principal cemetery where the pontiff intended to officiate. This Torquatus soon ascertained; and his visit to the cemetery of Callistus was in fulfilment of his engagement. When that struggle between grace and sin took place in his soul, which Severus noticed, it was the image of Catulus and his hundred plagues, with that of Fulvius and his hundred bonds, that turned the scale in favor of perdition. Corvinus, after receiving his report, and making from it a rough chart of the cemetery, determined to assail it, early, the very day after the publication of the Decree.

Fulvius took another course. He determined to become acquainted, by sight, with the principal clergy, and leading Christians, of Rome. Once possessed of this knowledge, he was sure no disguise would conceal them from his piercing eyes; and he would easily pick them up, one by one. He therefore insisted upon Torquatus’s taking him as his companion, to the first great function that should collectmany priests and deacons round the Pope. He overruled

Christ and His Apostles, from a picture in the Catacombs.

every remonstrance, dispelled every fear; and assured Torquatus, that once in, by his password, he should behave perfectly like any Christian. Torquatus soon informed him, that there would be an excellent opportunity at the coming ordination, in that very month of December.

WHOEVER has read the history of the early Popes, will have become familiar with the fact, recorded almost invariably of each, that he held certain ordinations in the month of December, wherein he created so many priests, and deacons, and so many bishops for different places. The first two orders were conferred to supply clergy for the city; the third was evidently to furnish pastors for other dioceses. In later times, the ember-days in December, regulated by the festival of St. Lucy, were those on which the Supreme Pontiff held his consistories, in which he named his cardinal priests and deacons, and preconized, as it is called, the bishops of all parts of the world. And, though this function is not now coincident with the periods of ordination, still it is continued essentially for the same purpose.

Marcellinus, under whose pontificate our narrative is placed, is stated to have held two ordinations in this month, that is, of course, in different years. It was to one of these that we have alluded, as about to take place.

Where was this solemn function to be performed was Fulvius’s first inquiry. And we cannot but think that the answer will be interesting to the Christian antiquary. Nor can our acquaintance with the ancient Roman Church be complete, without our knowing the favored spot where Pontiffafter Pontiff preached, and celebrated the divine mysteries, and held his councils, or those glorious ordinations, which sent forth not only bishops but martyrs to govern other churches, and gave to a St. Laurence his diaconate, or to St. Novatus or St. Timotheus his priesthood. There, too, a Polycarp or Irenæus visited the successor of St. Peter; and thence received their commission the apostles who converted our King Lucius to the faith.

The house which the Roman Pontiffs inhabited, and the church in which they officiated till Constantine installed them in the Lateran palace and basilica, the residence and cathedral of the illustrious line of martyr-popes for 300 years, can be no ignoble spot. And that, in tracing it out, we may not be misguided by national or personal prepossession, we will follow a learned living antiquarian, who, intent upon another research, accidentally has put together all the data requisite for our purpose.[117]

We have described the house of Agnes’s parents as situated in theVicus Patricius, or the Patrician-street. This had another name, for it was also called the street of the Cornelii,Vicus Corneliorum, because in it lived the illustrious family of that name. The centurion whom St. Peter converted[118]belonged to this family; and possibly to him the apostle owed his introduction at Rome to the head of his house, Cornelius Pudens. This senator married Claudia, a noble British lady; and it is singular how the unchaste poet Martial vies with the purest writers when he sings the wedding-song of these two virtuous spouses.

It was in their house that St. Peter lived; and his fellow-apostle St. Paul enumerates them among his familiar friends, as well: “Eubulus and Pudens, and Linus and Claudia,

St. Pudentiana, St. Priscilla, and St. Praxedes.

and all the brethren salute thee.”[119]From that house, then, went forth the bishops, whom the Prince of the Apostles sent in every direction, to propagate, and die for, the faith of Christ. After the death of Pudens, the house became the property of his children, or grandchildren,[120]two sons and two daughters. The latter are better known, because they have found a place in the general calendar of the Church, and because they have given their names to two of the most illustrious churches of Rome, those of St. Praxedes and St. Pudentiana. It is the latter, which Alban Butler calls “themost ancient church in the world,”[121]that marks at once the Vicus Patricius, and the house of Pudens.

As in every other city, so in Rome, the eucharistic sacrifice was offered originally in only one place, by the bishop. And even after more churches were erected, and the faithful met in them, communion was brought to them from the one altar by the deacons, and distributed by the priests. It was Pope Evaristus, the fourth successor of St. Peter, who multiplied the churches of Rome with circumstances peculiarly interesting.

This Pope, then, did two things. First, he enacted that from thenceforward no altars should be erected except of stone, and that they should be consecrated; and secondly, “he distributed thetitles;” that is, he divided Rome into parishes, to the churches of which he gave the name of “title.” The connection of these two acts will be apparent to any one looking at Genesis xxviii.; where, after Jacob had enjoyed an angelic vision, while sleeping with a stone for his pillow, we are told that, “trembling he said, How terrible is this place!This is no other than the house of God, and the gate of heaven. And Jacob arising in the morningtook the stone,.....and set it up for a title, pouring oil on the top of it.”[122]

The church or oratory, where the sacred mysteries were celebrated, was truly, to the Christian, the house of God; and the stone altar, set up in it, was consecrated by the pouring of oil upon it, as is done to this day (for the whole law of Evaristus remains in full force); and thus became atitle, or monument.[123]

Two interesting facts are elicited from this narrative. One is, that to that time there was only one church with an altar in Rome; and no doubt has ever been raised, that thiswas the church afterwards, and yet, known by the name of St. Pudentiana. Another is, that the one altar till then existing was not of stone. It was, in fact, the wooden altar used by St. Peter, and kept in that church, till transferred by St. Sylvester to the Lateran basilica, of which it forms the high altar.[124]We further conclude, that the law was not retrospective, and that the wooden altar of the Popes was preserved at that church, where it had been first erected, though from time to time it might be carried, and used elsewhere.

The church in the Vicus Patricius, therefore, which existed previous to the creation oftitles, was not itself a title. It continued to be the episcopal, or rather the pontifical church of Rome. The pontificate of St. Pius I., from 142 to 157, forms an interesting period in its history, for two reasons.

First, that Pope, without altering the character of the church itself, added to it an oratory which he made atitle;[125]and having collated to it his brother Pastor, it was called thetitulus Pastoris, the designation, for a long time, of the cardinalate attached to the church. This shows that the church itself was more than a title.

Secondly, in this pontificate came to Rome, for the second time, and suffered martyrdom, the holy and learned apologist St. Justin. By comparing his writings with his Acts,[126]we come to some interesting conclusions respecting Christian worship in times of persecution.

“In what place do the Christians meet?” he is asked by the judge.

“Do you think,” he replies, “that we all meet in one place? It is not so.” But when interrogated where he lived, and where he held meetings with his disciples, he answered, “I have lived till now near the house of a certain Martin, at the bath known as the Timotine. I have come to Rome for the second time, nor do I know any other place but the one I have mentioned.” The Timotine or Timothean baths were part of the house of the Pudens family, and are those at which we have said that Fulvius and Corvinus met early one morning. Novatus and Timotheus were the brothers of the holy virgins Praxedes and Pudentiana; and hence the baths were called the Novatian and the Timotine, as they passed from one brother to another.

St. Justin, therefore, lived on this spot, and,as he knew no other in Rome, attended divine worship there. The very claims of hospitality would suggest it. Now in his apology, describing the Christian liturgy, of course such as he saw it, he speaks of the officiating priest in terms that sufficiently describe the bishop, or supreme pastor of the place; not only by giving him a title applied to bishops in antiquity,[127]but by describing him as the person who has the care of orphans and widows, and succors the sick, the indigent, prisoners, strangers who come as guests, who, “in one word, undertakes to provide for all in want.” This could be no other than the bishop or pope himself.

We must further observe, that St. Pius is recorded to have erected a fixed baptismal font in this church, another prerogative of the cathedral, transferred with the papal altar to the Lateran. It is related that the holy PopeStephen (A.D. 257) baptized the tribune Nemesius and his family, with many others, in thetitleof Pastor.[128]And here it was that the blessed deacon Laurentius distributed the rich vessels of the Church to the poor.

In time this name has given way to another. But the place is the same; and no doubt can exist, that the church of St. Pudentiana was, for the first three centuries, the humble cathedral of Rome.

It was to this spot, therefore, that Torquatus unwillingly consented to lead Fulvius, that he might witness the December ordination.

We find either in sepulchral inscriptions, in martyrologies, or in ecclesiastical history, abundant traces of all the orders, as still conferred in the Catholic Church. Inscriptions perhaps more commonly record those of Lector or reader, and of Exorcist. We will give one interesting example of each. Of a Lector:

CINNAMIVS OPAS LECTOR TITVLI FASCIOLE AMICVS PAVPERVMQVI VIXIT ANN. XLVI. MENS. VII. D. VIII. DEPOSIT IN PACEX KAL. MART.[129]

Of an Exorcist:

MACEDONIVSEXORCISTA DE KATOLICA.[130]

A difference was, however, that one order was not necessarily a passage, or step, to another; but persons remained, often for life, in one of these lesser orders. There was not, therefore, that frequent administration of these, nor probably was it publicly performed with the higher orders.

Torquatus, having the necessary pass-word, entered, accompanied by Fulvius, who soon showed himself expert in acting as others did around him. The assembly was not large. It was held in a hall of the house, converted into a church or oratory, which was mainly occupied by the clergy, and the candidates for orders. Among the latter were Marcus and Marcellianus, the twin brothers, fellow-converts of Torquatus, who received the deaconship, and their father Tranquillinus, who was ordained priest. Of these Fulvius impressed well in his mind the features and figure; and still more did he take note of the clergy, the most eminent of Rome, there assembled. But on one, more than the rest, he fixed his piercing eye, studying his every gesture, look, voice, and lineament.

This was the Pontiff who performed the august rite. Marcellinus had already governed the Church six years, and was of a venerable old age. His countenance, benign and mild, scarcely seemed to betoken the possession of that nerve which martyrdom required, and which he exhibited in his death for Christ. In those days every outward characteristic which could have betrayed the chief shepherd to the wolves was carefully avoided. The ordinary simple garb of respectable men was worn. But there is no doubt that when officiating at the altar, a distinctive robe, the forerunner of the ample chasuble, of spotless white, was cast over the ordinary garment. To this the bishop added a crown, orinfula, the origin of the later mitre; while in his hand he held the crosier, emblem of his pastoral office and authority.

On him who now stood facing the assembly, before the sacred altar of Peter, which was between him and the

Our Saviour represented as the Good Shepherd, with a Milk-can at his side, as found in the Catacombs.

people,[131]the Eastern spy steadied his keenest glance. He scanned him minutely, measured, with his eye, his height, defined the color of his hair and complexion, observed every turn of his head, his walk, his action, his tones, almost his breathing, till he said to himself: “If he stirs abroad, disguised as he may choose, that man is my prize. And I know his worth.”

PRIE IVN PAVSABET PRAETIOSAANNORVM PVLLAVIRGO XII TANTVMANCILLA DEI ET X̅P̅I̅FL. VINCENTIO ETFRAVITO. V̅C̅ · CONSS.[132]

IF the learned Thomassinus had known this lately-discovered inscription, when he proved with such abundance of learning, that virginity could be professed in the early Church, at the age of twelve, he would certainly have quoted it.[133]For can we doubt that “the girl who was a virgin ofonlytwelve years old, a handmaid of God and Christ,” was such by consecration to God? Otherwise, the more tender her age, the less wonderful her state of maidenhood.

But although this, the nubile age, according to Romanlaw, was the one at which such dedication to God was permitted by the Church, she reserved to a maturer period that more solemn consecration, when the veil of virginity was given by the bishop; generally on Easter Sunday. That first act probably consisted of nothing more than receiving from the hands of parents a plain dark dress. But when any danger threatened, the Church permitted the anticipation, by many years, of that period, and fortified the spouses of Christ in their holy purpose, by her more solemn blessing.[134]

A persecution of the most savage character was on the point of breaking out, which would not spare the most tender of the flock; and it was no wonder that they, who in their hearts had betrothed themselves to the Lamb, as His chaste spouses forever, should desire to come to His nuptials before death. They longed naturally to bear the full-grown lily, entwined round the palm, should this be their portion.

Agnes had from her infancy chosen for herself this holiest state. The superhuman wisdom which had ever exhibited itself in her words and actions, blending so gracefully with the simplicity of an innocent and guileless childhood, rendered her ripe, beyond her years, for any measure of indulgence which could be granted, to hearts that panted for their chaste bridal-hour. She eagerly seized on the claim that coming danger gave her, to a more than usual relaxation of that law which prescribed a delay of more than ten years in the fulfilling of her desire. Another postulant joined her in this petition.

We may easily imagine that a holy friendship had been growing between her and Syra, from the first interview which we have described between them. This feeling had been increased by all that Agnes had heard Fabiola say, in praise of her favorite servant. From this, and from the slave’s more modest reports, she was satisfied that the work to which shehad devoted herself, of her mistress’s conversion, must be entirely left in her hands. It was evidently prospering, owing to the prudence and grace with which it was conducted. In her frequent visits to Fabiola, she contented herself with admiring and approving what her cousin related of Syra’s conversations; but she carefully avoided every expression that could raise suspicion of any collusion between them.

Syra as a dependant, and Agnes as a relation, had put on mourning upon Fabius’s death; and hence no change of habit would raise suspicion in his daughter’s mind, of their having taken some secret, or some joint step. Thus far they could safely ask to be admitted at once to receive the solemn consecration to perpetual virginity. Their petition was granted; but for obvious reasons was kept carefully concealed. It was only a day or two before the happy one of their spiritual nuptials, that Syra told it, as a great secret, to her blind friend.

“And so,” said the latter, pretending to be displeased, “you want to keep all the good things to yourself. Do you call that charitable, now?”

“My dear child,” said Syra, soothingly, “don’t be offended. It was necessary to keep it quite a secret.”

“And therefore, I suppose, poor I must not even be present?”

“Oh, yes, Cæcilia, to be sure you may; and see all that you can,” replied Syra, laughing.

“Never mind about the seeing. But tell me, how will you be dressed? What have you to get ready?”

Syra gave her an exact description of the habit and veil, their color and form.

“How very interesting!” she said. “And what have you to do?”

The other, amused at her unwonted curiosity, described minutely the short ceremonial.

“Well now, one question more,” resumed the blind girl.“When and where is all this to be? You said I might come, so I must know the time and place.”

Syra told her it would be at thetitleof Pastor, at daybreak, on the third day from that. “But what has made you so inquisitive, dearest? I never saw you so before. I am afraid you are becoming quite worldly.”

“Never you mind,” replied Cæcilia, “if people choose to have secrets from me, I do not see why I should not have some of my own.”

Syra laughed at her affected pettishness, for she knew well the humble simplicity of the poor child’s heart. They embraced affectionately and parted. Cæcilia went straight to the kind Lucina, for she was a favorite in every house. No sooner was she admitted to that pious matron’s presence, than she flew to her, threw herself upon her bosom, and burst into tears. Lucina soothed and caressed her, and soon composed her. In a few minutes she was again bright and joyous, and evidently deep in conspiracy, with the cheerful lady, about something which delighted her. When she left she was all buoyant and blithe, and went to the house of Agnes, in the hospital of which the good priest Dyonisius lived. She found him at home; and casting herself on her knees before him, talked so fervently to him that he was moved to tears, and spoke kindly and consolingly to her. TheTe Deumhad not yet been written; but something very like it rang in the blind girl’s heart, as she went to her humble home.

The happy morning at length arrived, and before daybreak the more solemn mysteries had been celebrated, and the body of the faithful had dispersed. Only those remained who had to take part in the more private function, or who were specially asked to witness it. These were Lucina and her son, the aged parents of Agnes, and of course Sebastian. But Syra looked in vain for her blind friend; she had evidently retiredwith the crowd; and the gentle slave feared she might have hurt her feelings by her reserve, before their last interview.

The hall was still shrouded in the dusk of a winter’s twilight, although the glowing east, without, foretold a bright December day. On the altar burned perfumed tapers of large dimensions, and round it were gold and silver lamps of great value, throwing an atmosphere of mild radiance upon the sanctuary. In front of the altar was placed the chair no less venerable than itself, now enshrined in the Vatican, the chair of Peter. On this was seated the venerable Pontiff, with staff in hand, and crown on head, and round him stood his ministers, scarcely less worshipful than himself.

Chair of St. Peter.

From the gloom of the chapel, there came forth first the sound of sweet voices, like those of angels, chanting in softcadence, a hymn, which anticipated the sentiments soon after embodied in the

“Jesu corona virginum.”[135]

Then there emerged into the light of the sanctuary the procession of already consecrated virgins, led by the priests and deacons who had charge of them. And in the midst of them appeared two, whose dazzling white garments shone the brighter amidst their dark habits. These were the two new postulants, who, as the rest defiled and formed a line on either side, were conducted, each by two professed, to the foot of the altar, where they knelt at the Pontiff’s feet. Their bridesmaids, or sponsors, stood near to assist in the function.

Each as she came was asked solemnly what she desired, and expressed her wish to receive the veil, and practise its duties, under the care of those chosen guides. For, although consecrated virgins had begun to live in community before this period, yet many continued to reside at home; and persecution interfered with enclosure. Still there was a place in church, boarded off for the consecrated virgins; and they often met apart, for particular instruction and devotions.

The bishop then addressed the young aspirants, in glowing and affectionate words. He told them how high a call it was to lead on earth the lives of angels, who neither marry nor give in marriage, to tread the same chaste path to heaven which the Incarnate Word chose for His own Mother; and arrived there, to be received into the pure ranks of that picked host, that follows the Lamb whithersoever He goeth. He expatiated on the doctrine of St. Paul, writing to the Corinthians on the superiority of virginity to every other state; and he feelingly described the happiness of having no love on earth but one, which instead of fading, opens out into immortality, in heaven. For bliss, he observed, is but the expanded flower which Divine love bears on earth.

After this brief discourse, and an examination of the candidates for this great honor, the holy Pontiff proceeded to bless the different portions of their religious habits, by prayers probably nearly identical with those now in use; and these were put on them by their respective attendants. The new religious laid their heads upon the altar, in token of their oblation of self. But in the West, the hair was not cut, as it was in the East, but was always left long. A wreath of flowers was then placed upon the head of each; and though it was winter, the well-guarded terrace of Fabiola had been made to furnish bright and fragrant blossoms.

All seemed ended; and Agnes, kneeling at the foot of the altar, was motionless in one of her radiant raptures, gazing fixedly upwards; while Syra, near her, was bowed down, sunk into the depths of her gentle humility, wondering how she should have been found worthy of so much favor. So absorbed were both in their thanksgiving, that they perceived not a slight commotion through the assembly, as if something unexpected was occurring.

They were aroused by the bishop repeating the question: “My daughter, what dost thou seek?” when, before they could look round, each felt a hand seized, and heard the answer returned in a voice dear to both: “Holy father, to receive the veil of consecration to Jesus Christ, my only love on earth, under the care of these two holy virgins, already His happy spouses.”

They were overwhelmed with joy and tenderness; for it was the poor blind Cæcilia. When she heard of the happiness that awaited Syra, she had flown, as we have seen, to the kind Lucina, who soon consoled her, by suggesting to her the possibility of obtaining a similar grace. She promised to furnish all that was necessary; only Cæcilia insisted that her dress should be coarse, as became a poor beggar-girl. The priest Dionysius presented to the Pontiff, and obtained the grant of, her prayer; and as she wished to have her two friends forsponsors, it was arranged that he should lead her up to the altar after their consecration. Cæcilia, however, kept her secret.

The blessings were spoken, and the habit and veil put on; when they asked her if she had brought no wreath or flowers. Timidly she drew from under her garment the crown she had provided, a bare, thorny branch, twisted into a circle, and presented it, saying:

“I have no flowers to offer to my Bridegroom, neither did He wear flowers for me. I am but a poor girl, and do you think my Lord will be offended, if I ask Him to crown me, as He was pleased to be crowned Himself? And then, flowers represent virtues in those that wear them; but my barren heart has produced nothing better than these.”

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