CHAPTER XXI.THE PRISON.

A Monogram of Christ, found in the Catacombs.

Corvinus sprung upon him with the eye and action of a wild beast, seized him, and called out, with exultation, “Fetter him instantly. This time at least, Pancratius, thou shalt not escape.”

IF a modern Christian wishes really to know what his forefathers underwent for the faith, during three centuries of persecution, we would not have him content himself with visiting the catacombs, as we have tried to make him do, and thus learning what sort of life they were compelled to lead; but we would advise him to peruse those imperishable records, theActs of the Martyrs, which will show him how they were made to die. We know of no writings so moving, so tender, so consoling, and so ministering of strength to faith and to hope, after God’s inspired words, as these venerable monuments. And if our reader, so advised, have not leisure sufficient to read much upon this subject, we would limit him willingly to one specimen, the genuine Acts of SS. Perpetua and Felicitas. It is true that they will be best read by the scholar in their plain African latinity; but we trust that some one will soon give us a worthy English version of these, and some other similar, early Christian documents. The ones which we have singled out are the same as were known to St. Augustine, and cannot be read by any one without emotion. If the reader would compare the morbid sensibility, and the overstrained excitement, endeavored to be produced by a modern French writer, in the imaginary journalof a culprit condemned to death, down to the immediate approach of execution, with the unaffected pathos, and charming truthfulness, which pervades the corresponding narrative of Vivia Perpetua, a delicate lady of twenty-one years of age, he would not hesitate in concluding, how much more natural, graceful, and interesting are the simple recitals of Christianity, than the boldest fictions of romance. And when our minds are sad, or the petty persecutions of our times incline our feeble hearts to murmur, we cannot do better than turn to that really golden, because truthful legend, or to the history of the noble martyrs of Vienne, or Lyons, or to the many similar, still extant records, to nerve our courage, by the contemplation of what children and women, catechumens and slaves, suffered, unmurmuring, for Christ.

But we are wandering from our narrative. Pancratius, with some twenty more, fettered, and chained together, were led through the streets to prison. As they were thus dragged along, staggering and stumbling helplessly, they were unmercifully struck by the guards who conducted them; and any persons near enough to reach them, dealt them blows and kicks without remorse. Those further off pelted them with stones or offal, and assailed them with insulting ribaldry.[163]They reached the Mamertine prison at last, and were thrust down into it, and found there already other victims, of both sexes, awaiting their time of sacrifice. The youth had just time, while he was being handcuffed, to request one of the captors to inform his mother and Sebastian of what had happened, and he slipped his purse into his hand.

A prison in ancient Rome was not the place to which a poor man might court committal, hoping there to enjoy better fare and lodging than he did at home. Two or three of these dungeons, for they are nothing better, still remain; and a brief description of the one which we have mentioned will give ourreaders some idea of what confessorship cost, independent of martyrdom.

The Mamertine Prison.

The Mamertine prison is composed of two square subterranean chambers, one below the other, with only one round aperture in the centre of each vault, through which alone light, air, food, furniture, and men could pass. When the upper story was full, we may imagine how much of the two first could reach the lower. No other means of ventilation, drainage, or access could exist. The walls, of large stone blocks, had, or rather have, rings fastened into them for securing the prisoners; but many used to be laid on the floor, with their feet fastened in the stocks; and the ingenious cruelty of the persecutors often increased the discomfort of the damp stone floor, by strewing with broken potsherds this only bed allowed to the mangled limbs, and welted backs, of the tortured Christians. Hence we have in Africa a company of martyrs, headed by SS. Saturninus and Dativus, who all perished through their sufferings in prison. And the acts of theLyonese martyrs inform us that many new-comers expired in the jail, killed by severities, before their bodies had endured any torments; while, on the contrary, some who returned to it so cruelly tortured that their recovery appeared hopeless, without any medical or other assistance, there regained their health.[164]At the same time the Christians bought access to these abodes of pain, but not of sorrow, and furnished whatever could, under such circumstances, relieve the sufferings and increase the comforts, temporal and spiritual, of these most cherished and venerated of their brethren.

Roman justice required at least the outward forms of trial, and hence the Christian captives were led from their dungeons before the tribunal; where they were subjected to an interrogatory, of which most precious examples have been preserved in the proconsular Acts of Martyrs, just as they were entered by the secretary or registrar of the court.

When the Bishop of Lyons, Pothinus, now in his ninetieth year, was asked, “Who is the God of the Christians?” he replied, with simple dignity, “If thou shalt be worthy, thou shalt know.”[165]Sometimes the judge would enter into a discussion with his prisoner, and necessarily get the worst of it; though the latter would seldom go further with him than simply reiterating his plain profession of the Christian faith. Often, as in the case of one Ptolomæus, beautifully recited by St. Justin, and in that of St. Perpetua, he was content to ask the simple question, Art thou a Christian? and upon an affirmative reply, proceeded to pronounce capital sentence.

Pancratius and his companion stood before the judge; for it wanted only three days to themunus, or games, at which they were to “fight with wild beasts.”

“What art thou?” he asked of one.

“I am a Christian, by the help of God,” was the rejoinder.

“And who art thou?” said the prefect to Rusticus.

“I am, indeed, a slave of Cæsar’s,” answered the prisoner; “but becoming a Christian, I have been freed by Christ Himself; and by His grace and mercy I have been made partaker of the same hope as those whom you see.”

Then turning to a holy priest, Lucianus, venerable for his years and his virtues, the judge thus addressed him: “Come, be obedient to the gods themselves, and to the imperial edicts.”

“No one,” answered the old man, “can be reprehended or condemned who obeys the precepts of Jesus Christ our Saviour.”

“What sort of learning and studies dost thou pursue?”

“I have endeavored to master every science, and have tried every variety of learning. But finally I adhered to the doctrines of Christianity, although they do not please those who follow the wanderings of false opinions.”

“Wretch! dost thou find delight inthatlearning?”

“The greatest; because I follow the Christians in right doctrine.”

“And what is that doctrine?”

“The right doctrine, which we Christians piously hold, is to believe in one God, the Maker and Creator of all things visible and invisible; and to confess the Lord Jesus Christ the Son of God, anciently foretold by the prophets, who will come to judge mankind, and is the preacher and master of salvation, to those who will learn well under Him. I indeed, as a mere man, am too weak and insignificant to be able to utter any thing great ofHis infinite Deity: this office belongs to the prophets.”[166]

“Thou art, methinks, a master of error to others, and deservest to be more severely punished than the rest. Let this Lucianus be kept in the nerve (stocks) with his feetstretched to the fifth hole.[167]—And you two women, what are your names and condition?”

“I am a Christian, who have no spouse but Christ. My name is Secunda,” replied the one.

“And I am a widow, named Rufina, professing the same saving faith,” continued the other.

At length, after having put similar questions, and receiving similar answers from all the others, except from one wretched man, who, to the grief of the rest, wavered and agreed to offer sacrifice, the prefect turned to Pancratius, and thus addressed him: “And now, insolent youth, who hadst the audacity to tear down the edict of the divine emperors, even for thee there shall be mercy, if yet thou wilt sacrifice to the gods. Show thus at once thy piety and thy wisdom, for thou art yet but a stripling.”

Pancratius signed himself with the sign of the saving cross, and calmly replied, “I am the servant of Christ. Him I acknowledge by my mouth, hold firm in my heart,incessantly adore. This youth which you behold in me has the wisdom of grey hairs if it worship but one God. But your gods, with those who adore them, are destined to eternal destruction.”[168]

“Strike him on the mouth for his blasphemy, and beat him with rods,” exclaimed the angry judge.

“I thank thee,” replied meekly the noble youth, “that thus I suffer some of the same punishment as was inflicted on my Lord.”[169]

The prefect then pronounced sentence in the usual form. “Lucianus, Pancratius, Rusticus, and others, and the women Secunda and Rufina, who have all owned themselves Christians, and refuse to obey the sacred emperor, or worship thegods of Rome, we order to be exposed to wild beasts, in the Flavian amphitheatre.”

The Blessed Virgin, from a portrait found in the Cemetery of St. Agnes.

The mob howled with delight and hatred, and accompanied the confessors back to their prison with this rough music; but they were gradually overawed by the dignity of their gait, and the shining calmness of their countenances. Some men asserted that they must have perfumed themselves, for they could perceive a fragrant atmosphere surrounding their persons.[170]

ATRUE contrast to the fury and discord without, was the scene within the prison. Peace, serenity, cheerfulness, and joy reigned there; and the rough stone walls and vaults re-echoed to the chant of psalmody, in which Pancratius was precentor, and in which depth called out to depth; for the prisoners in the lower dungeon responded to those above, and kept up the alternation of verses, in those psalms which the circumstances naturally suggested.

The eve of “fighting with,” that is being torn to pieces by, wild beasts, was always a day of greater liberty. The friends of the intended victims were admitted to see them; and the Christians boldly took full advantage of the permission to flock to the prison, and commend themselves to the prayers of the blessed confessors of Christ. At evening they were led forth to enjoy what was called the free supper, that is, an abundant, and even luxurious, public feast. The table was surrounded by pagans, curious to watch the conduct and looks of the morrow’s combatants. But they could discern neither the bravado and boisterousness, nor the dejection and bitterness of ordinary culprits. To the guests it was truly anagape, or love-feast; for they supped with calm joyfulness amidst cheerful conversation. Pancratius,however, once or twice reproved the unfeeling curiosity, and rude remarks of the crowd, saying, “To-morrow is not sufficient for you, because you love to look upon the objects of your future hatred. To-day you are our friends; to-morrow our foes. But mark well our countenances, that you may know them again in the day of judgment.” Many retired at this rebuke, and not a few were led by it to conversion.[171]

But while the persecutors thus prepared a feast for the bodies of their victims, the Church, their mother, had been preparing a much more dainty banquet for the souls of her children. They had been constantly attended on by the deacons, particularly Reparatus, who would gladly have joined their company. But his duty forbade this at present. After, therefore, having provided as well as possible for their temporal wants, he had arranged with the pious priest Dionysius, who still dwelt in the house of Agnes, to send, towards evening, sufficient portions of the Bread of Life, to feed, early in the morning of their battle, the champions of Christ. Although the deacons bore the consecrated elements from the principal church to others, where they were only distributed by the titulars, the office of conveying them to the martyrs in prison, and even to the dying, was committed to inferior ministers. On this day, that the hostile passions of heathen Rome were unusually excited by the coming slaughter of so many Christian victims, it was a work of more than common danger to discharge this duty. For the revelations of Torquatus had made it known that Fulvius had carefully noted all the ministers of the sanctuary, and given a description of them to his numerous active spies. Hence they could scarcely venture out by day, unless thoroughly disguised.

The sacred Bread was prepared, and the priest turned round from the altar on which it was placed, to see who would be its safest bearer. Before any other could step forward, the young acolyte Tarcisius knelt at his feet. With his hands extended before him, ready to receive the sacred deposit, with a countenance beautiful in its lovely innocence as an angel’s, he seemed to entreat for preference, and even to claim it.

“Thou art too young, my child,” said the kind priest, filled with admiration of the picture before him.

“My youth, holy father, will be my best protection. Oh! do not refuse me this great honor.” The tears stood in the boy’s eyes, and his cheeks glowed with a modest emotion as he spoke these words. He stretched forth his hands eagerly, and his entreaty was so full of fervor and courage that the plea was irresistible. The priest took the Divine Mysteries wrapped up carefully in a linen cloth, then in an outer covering, and put them on his palms, saying:

“Remember, Tarcisius, what a treasure is intrusted to thy feeble care. Avoid public places as thou goest along; and remember that holy things must not be delivered to dogs, nor pearls be cast before swine. Thou wilt keep safely God’s sacred gifts?”

“I will die rather than betray them,” answered the holy youth, as he folded the heavenly trust in the bosom of his tunic, and with cheerful reverence started on his journey. There was a gravity beyond the usual expression of his years stamped upon his countenance, as he tripped lightly along the streets, avoiding equally the more public, and the too low, thoroughfares.

As he was approaching the door of a large mansion, its mistress, a rich lady without children, saw him coming, and was struck with his beauty and sweetness, as, with arms folded on his breast, he was hastening on. “Stay, one moment, dear child,” she said, putting herself in his way: “tell me thy name, and where do thy parents live?”

“I am Tarcisius, an orphan boy,” he replied, looking up,smilingly; “and I have no home, save one which it might be displeasing to thee to hear.”

“Then come into my house and rest; I wish to speak to thee. Oh, that I had a child like thee!”

“Not now, noble lady, not now. I have intrusted to me a most solemn and sacred duty, and I must not tarry a moment in its performance.”

“Then promise to come to me to-morrow; this is my house.”

“If I am alive, I will,” answered the boy with a kindled look, which made him appear to her as a messenger from a higher sphere. She watched him a long time, and after some deliberation determined to follow him. Soon, however, she heard a tumult with horrid cries, which made her pause, on her way, until they had ceased, when she went on again.

In the meantime, Tarcisius, with his thoughts fixed on better things than her inheritance, hastened on, and shortly came into an open space, where boys, just escaped from school, were beginning to play.

“We just want one to make up the game; where shall we get him?” said their leader.

“Capital!” exclaimed another, “here comes Tarcisius, whom I have not seen for an age. He used to be an excellent hand at all sports. Come, Tarcisius,” he added, stopping him by seizing his arm, “whither so fast? take a part in our game, that’s a good fellow.”

“I can’t, Petilius, now; I really can’t. I am going on business of great importance.”

“But you shall,” exclaimed the first speaker, a strong and bullying youth, laying hold of him. “I will have no sulking, when I want any thing done. So come, join us at once.”

“I entreat you,” said the poor boy feelingly, “do let me go.”

“No such thing,” replied the other. “What is that you seem to be carrying so carefully in your bosom? A letter, I suppose; well, it will not addle by being for half an hour outof its nest. Give it to me, and I will put it by safe while we play.” And he snatched at the sacred deposit in his breast.

“Never, never,” answered the child, looking up towards heaven.

“Iwillsee it,” insisted the other rudely; “I will know what is this wonderful secret.” And he commenced pulling him roughly about. A crowd of men from the neighborhood soon got round; and all asked eagerly what was the matter. They saw a boy, who, with folded arms, seemed endowed with a supernatural strength, as he resisted every effort of one much bigger and stronger, to make him reveal what he was bearing. Cuffs, pulls, blows, kicks seemed to have no effect. He bore them all without a murmur, or an attempt to retaliate; but he unflinchingly kept his purpose.

“What is it? what can it be?” one began to ask the other; when Fulvius chanced to pass by, and joined the circle round the combatants. He at once recognized Tarcisius, having seen him at the Ordination; and being asked, as a better-dressed man, the same question, he replied contemptuously, as he turned on his heel, “What is it? Why, only a Christian ass, bearing the mysteries.”[172]

This was enough. Fulvius, while he scorned such unprofitable prey, knew well the effect of his word. Heathen curiosity, to see the mysteries of the Christians revealed, and to insult them, was aroused, and a general demand was made to Tarcisius, to yield up his charge. “Never with life,” was his only reply. A heavy blow from a smith’s fist nearly stunned him, while the blood flowed from the wound. Another and another followed, till, covered with bruises, but with his arms crossed fast upon his breast, he fell heavily on the ground. The mob closed upon him, and were just seizing him, to tear open his thrice-holy trust, when they felt themselves pushedaside, right and left, by some giant strength. Some went reeling to the further side of the square, others were spun round and round, they knew not how, till they fell where they were, and the rest retired before a tall, athletic officer, who was the author of this overthrow. He had no sooner cleared the ground, than he was on his knees, and with tears in his eyes, raised up the bruised and fainting boy, as tenderly as a mother could have done, and in most gentle tones asked him, “Are you much hurt, Tarcisius?”

“Never mind me, Quadratus,” answered he, opening his eyes with a smile; “but I am carrying the divine mysteries; take care of them.”

The soldier raised the boy in his arms with tenfold reverence, as if bearing, not only the sweet victim of a youthful sacrifice, a martyr’s relics, but the very King and Lord of Martyrs, and the divine Victim of eternal salvation. The child’s head leaned in confidence on the stout soldier’s neck, but his arms and hands never left their watchful custody of the confided gift; and his gallant bearer felt no weight in the hallowed double burden which he carried. No one stopped him, till a lady met him and stared amazedly at him. She drew nearer, and looked closer at what he carried. “Is it possible?” she exclaimed with terror, “is that Tarcisius, whom I met a few moments ago, so fair and lovely? Who can have done this?”

“Madam,” replied Quadratus, “they have murdered him because he was a Christian.”

The lady looked for an instant on the child’s countenance. He opened his eyes upon her, smiled, and expired. From that look came the light of faith: she hastened to be a Christian likewise.

The venerable Dionysius could hardly see for weeping, as he removed the child’s hands, and took from his bosom, unviolated, the Holy of holies; and he thought he looked more like

“Is it possible?” she exclaimed with terror, “is that Tarcisius, whom I met a few moments ago, so fair and lovely?”

an angel now, sleeping the martyr’s slumber, than he did when living scarcely an hour before. Quadratus himself bore him to the cemetery of Callistus, where he was buried amidst the admiration of older believers; and later the holy Pope Damasus composed for him an epitaph, which no one can read, without concluding that the belief in the real presence of Our Lord’s Body in the Blessed Eucharist was the same then as now:

“Tarcisium sanctum Christi sacramenta gerentem,Cum male sana manus peteret vulgare profanis;Ipse animam potius voluit dimittere cæsusProdere quam canibus rabidis cœlestia membra.”[173]

He is mentioned in the Roman martyrology, on the 15th of August, as commemorated in the cemetery of Callistus; whence his relics were, in due time, translated to the church of St. Sylvester in Campo, as an old inscription declares.

News of this occurrence did not reach the prisoners till after their feast; and perhaps the alarm that they were to be deprived of the spiritual food to which they looked forward for strength, was the only one that could have overcast, even slightly, the serenity of their souls. At this moment Sebastian entered, and perceived at once that some unpleasant news had arrived, and as quickly divined what it was; for Quadratus had already informed him of all. He cheered up, therefore, the confessors of Christ; assured them that they should not be deprived of their coveted food; then whispereda few words to Reparatus the deacon, who flew out immediately with a look of bright intelligence.

Sebastian, being known to the guards, had passed freely in, and out of, the prison daily; and had been indefatigable in his care of its inmates. But now he was come to take his last farewell of his dearest friend, Pancratius, who had longed for this interview. They drew to one side, when the youth began:

“Well, Sebastian, do you remember when we heard the wild beasts roar, from your window, and looked at the many gaping arches of the amphitheatre, as open for the Christian’s triumph?”

“Yes, my dear boy; I remember that evening well, and it seemed to me as if your heart anticipated then, the scenes that await you to-morrow.”

“It did, in truth. I felt an inward assurance that I should be one of the first to appease the roaring fury of those deputies of human cruelty. But now that the time is come, I can hardly believe myself worthy of so immense an honor. What can I have done, Sebastian, not indeed to deserve it, but to be chosen out as the object of so great a grace?”

“You know, Pancratius, that it is not he who willeth, nor he that runneth, but God who hath mercy, that maketh the election. But tell me rather, how do you now feel about to-morrow’s glorious destiny?”

“To tell the truth, it seems to me so magnificent, so far beyond my right to claim, that sometimes it appears more like a vision than a certainty. Does it not sound almost incredible to you, that I, who this night am in a cold, dark, and dismal prison, shall be, before another sun has set, listening to the harping of angelic lyres, walking in the procession of white-robed Saints, inhaling the perfume of celestial incense, and drinking from the crystal waters of the stream of life? Is it not too like what one may read or hear about another,but hardly dares to think is to be, in a few hours, real of himself?”

“And nothing more than you have described, Pancratius?”

“Oh, yes, far more; far more than one can name without presumption. That I, a boy just come out of school, who have done nothing for Christ as yet, should be able to say, ‘Sometime to-morrow, I shall see Him face to face, and adore Him, and shall receive from Him a palm and a crown, yea, and an affectionate embrace,’—I feel is so like a beautiful hope, that it startles me to think it will soon bethatno longer. And yet, Sebastian,” he continued fervently, seizing both his friend’s hands, “it is true; it is true!”

“And more still, Pancratius.”

“Yes, Sebastian, more still, and more. To close one’s eyes upon the faces of men, and open them in full gaze on the face of God; to shut them upon ten thousand countenances scowling on you with hatred, contempt, and fury, from every step of the amphitheatre, and unclose them instantly upon that one sunlike intelligence, whose splendor would dazzle or scorch, did not its beams surround, and embrace, and welcome us; to dart them at once into the furnace of God’s heart, and plunge into its burning ocean of mercy and love without fear of destruction: surely, Sebastian, it sounds like presumption in me to say, that to-morrow—nay, hush! the watchman from the capitol is proclaiming midnight—that to-day, to-day, I shall enjoy all this!”

“Happy Pancratius!” exclaimed the soldier, “you anticipate already by some hours the raptures to come.”

“And do you know, dear Sebastian,” continued the youth, as if unconscious of the interruption, “it looks to me so good and merciful in God, to grant me such a death. How much more willingly must one at my age face it, when it puts an end to all that is hateful on earth, when it extinguishes but the sight of hideous beasts and sinning men, scarcely lessfrightful than they, and hushes only the fiend-like yells of both! How much more trying would it be to part with the last tender look of a mother like mine, and shut one’s ears to the sweet plaint of her patient voice! True, I shall see her and hear her, for the last time, as we have arranged, to-day before my fight: but I know she will not unnerve me.”

A tear had made its way into the affectionate boy’s eye; but he suppressed it, and said with a gay tone:

“But, Sebastian, you have not fulfilled your promise,—your double promise to me,—to tell me the secrets you concealed from me. This is your last opportunity; so, come, let me know all.”

“Do you remember well what the secrets were?”

“Right well, indeed, for they have much perplexed me. First on that night of the meeting in your apartments, you said there was one motive strong enough to check your ardent desire to die for Christ; and lately you refused to give me your reason for despatching me hastily to Campania, and joined this secret to the other: how, I cannot conceive.”

“Yet they form but one. I had promised to watch over your true welfare, Pancratius: it was a duty of friendship and love that I had assumed. I saw your eagerness after martyrdom; I knew the ardent temperament of your youthful heart; I dreaded lest you should commit yourself by some over-daring action which might tarnish, even as lightly as a breath does finely-tempered steel, the purity of your desire, or tip with a passing blight one single leaf of your palm. I determined, therefore, to restrain my own earnest longings, till I had seen you safe through danger. Was this right?”

“Oh, it was too kind of you, dear Sebastian; it was nobly kind. But how is this connected with my journey?”

“If I had not sent you away, you would have been seized for your boldly tearing down the edict, or your rebuke of the judge in his court. You would have been certainly condemned, and

Each one, approaching devoutly, and with tears of gratitude, received from his consecrated hand his share,—that is, the whole of the mystical food.

would have suffered for Christ; but your sentence would have proclaimed a different, and a civil, offence; that of rebellion against the emperors. And moreover, my dear boy, you would have been singled out for a triumph. You would have been pointed at by the very heathens with honor, as a gallant and daring youth; you might have been disturbed, even in your conflict, by a transient cloud of pride; at any rate, you would have been spared that ignominy which forms the distinctive merit and the special glory of dying for simply being a Christian.”

“Quite true, Sebastian,” said Pancratius with a blush.

“But when I saw you,” continued the soldier, “taken in the performance of a generous act of charity towards the confessors of Christ; when I saw you dragged through the streets, chained to a galley-slave, as a common culprit; when I saw you pelted and hooted, like other believers; when I heard sentence pronounced on you in common with the rest, because you are a Christian, and for nothing else, I felt that my task was ended; I would not have raised a finger to save you.”

“How like God’s love has yours been to me,—so wise, so generous, and so unsparing!” sobbed out Pancratius, as he threw himself on the soldier’s neck; then continued: “Promise me one thing more: that this day you will keep near me to the end, and will secure my last legacy to my mother.”

“Even if it cost my life, I will not fail. We shall not be parted long, Pancratius.”

The deacon now gave notice that all was ready for offering up the holy oblation in the dungeon itself. The two youths looked round, and Pancratius was indeed amazed. The holy priest Lucianus was laid stretched on the floor, with his limbs painfully distended in thecatastaor stocks, so that he could not rise. Upon his breast Reparatus had spread the three linen cloths requisite for the altar; on them was laidthe unleavened bread, and the mingled chalice, which the deacon steadied with his hand. The head of the aged priest was held up as he read the accustomed prayers, and performed the prescribed ceremonies of the oblation and consecration. And then each one, approaching devoutly, and with tears of gratitude, received from his consecrated hand his share,—that is, the whole of the Mystical Food.[174]

Marvellous and beautiful instance of the power of adaptation in God’s Church! Fixed as are her laws, her ingenious love finds means, through their very relaxation, to demonstrate their principles; nay, the very exception presents only a sublimer application of them. Here was a minister of God, and a dispenser of His mysteries, who for once was privileged to be, more than others, like Him whom he represented,—at once the Priest and the Altar. The Church prescribed that the Holy Sacrifice should be offered only over the relics of martyrs; here was a martyr, by a singular prerogative, permitted to offer it over his own body. Yet living, he “lay beneath the feet of God.” The bosom still heaved, and the heart panted under the Divine Mysteries, it is true; but that was only part of the action of the minister: while self was already dead, and the sacrifice of life was, in all but act, completed in him. There was only Christ’s life within and without the sanctuary of the breast.[175]Was ever viaticum for martyrs more worthily prepared?

THE morning broke light and frosty; and the sun, glittering on the gilded ornaments of the temples and other public buildings, seemed to array them in holiday splendor. And the people, too, soon came forth into the streets in their gayest attire, decked out with unusual richness. The various streams converge towards the Flavian amphitheatre, now better known by the name of the Coliseum. Each one directs his steps to the arch indicated by the number of his ticket, and thus the huge monster keeps sucking in by degrees that stream of life, which soon animates and enlivens its oval tiers over tiers of steps, till its interior is tapestried all round with human faces, and its walls seem to rock and wave to and fro, by the swaying of the living mass. And, after this shall have been gorged with blood, and inflamed with fury, it will melt once more, and rush out in a thick continuous flow through the many avenues by which it entered, now bearing their fitting name ofVomitoria; for never did a more polluted stream of the dregs and pests of humanity issue from an unbecoming reservoir, through ill-assorted channels, than the Roman mob, drunk with the blood of martyrs, gushing forth from the pores of the splendid amphitheatre.

The emperor came to the games surrounded by his court,with all the pomp and circumstance which befitted an imperial festival, keen as any of his subjects to witness the cruel games, and to feed his eyes with a feast of carnage. His throne was on the eastern side of the amphitheatre, where a large space, called thepulvinar, was reserved, and richly decorated for the imperial court.

The Coliseum.

Various sports succeeded one another; and many a gladiator killed, or wounded, had sprinkled the bright sand with blood, when the people, eager for fiercer combats, began to call, or roar for the Christians and the wild beasts. It is time, therefore, for us to think of our captives.

Before the citizens were astir, they had been removed from the prison to a strong chamber called thespoliatorium, the press-room, where their fetters and chains were removed. An attempt was made to dress them gaudily as heathen priests and priestesses; but they resisted, urging that as they had come spontaneously to the fight, it was unfair to make them appear in a disguise which they abhorred. During the early part of the day they remained thus together encouraging one another, and singing the Divine praises, in spite of the shouts which drowned their voices from time to time.

While they were thus engaged, Corvinus entered, and,with a look of insolent triumph, thus accosted Pancratius:

“Thanks to the gods, the day is come which I have long desired. It has been a tiresome and tough struggle between us who should fall uppermost. I have won it.”

“How sayest thou, Corvinus? when and how have I contended with thee?”

“Always: every where. Thou hast haunted me in my dreams; thou hast danced before me like a meteor, and I have tried in vain to grasp thee. Thou hast been my tormentor, my evil genius. I have hated thee; devoted thee to the infernal gods; cursed thee and loathed thee; and now my day of vengeance is come.”

“Methinks,” replied Pancratius, smiling, “this does not look like a combat. It has been all on one side; forIhave done none of these things towards thee.”

“No? thinkest thou that I believe thee, when thou hast lain ever as a viper on my path, to bite my heel and overthrow me?”

“Where, I again ask?”

“Every where, I repeat. At school; in the Lady Agnes’s house; in the Forum; in the cemetery; in my father’s own court; at Chromatius’s villa. Yes, every where.”

“And nowhere else but where thou hast named? when thy chariot was dashed furiously along the Appian way, didst thou not hear the tramp of horses’ hoofs trying to overtake thee?”

“Wretch!” exclaimed the prefect’s son in a fury; “and was it thy accursed steed which, purposely urged forward, frightened mine, and nearly caused my death?”

“No, Corvinus, hear me calmly. It is the last time we shall speak together. I was travelling quietly with a companion towards Rome, after having paid the last rites to our master Cassianus” (Corvinus winced, for he knew not this before), “when I heard the clatter of a runaway chariot; and then, indeed, I put spurs to my horse; and it is well for thee that I did.”

“How so?”

“Because I reached thee just in time: when thy strength was nearly exhausted, and thy blood almost frozen by repeated plunges in the cold canal; and when thy arm, already benumbed, had let go its last stay, and thou wast falling backwards for the last time into the water. I saw thee: I knew thee, as I took hold of thee, insensible. I had in my grasp the murderer of one most dear to me. Divine justice seemed to have overtaken him; there was only my will between him and his doom. It was my day of vengeance, and I fully gratified it.”

“Ha! and how, pray?”

“By drawing thee out, and laying thee on the bank, and chafing thee till thy heart resumed its functions; and then consigning thee to thy servants, rescued from death.”

“Thou liest!” screamed Corvinus; “my servants told me thattheydrew me out.”

“And did they give thee my knife, together with thy leopard-skin purse, which I found on the ground, after I had dragged thee forth?”

“No; they said the purse was lost in the canal. Itwasa leopard-skin purse, the gift of an African sorceress. What sayest thou of the knife?”

“That it is here, see it, still rusty with the water; thy purse I gave to thy slaves; my own knife I retained for myself; look at it again. Dost thou believe me now? Have I been always a viper on thy path?”

Too ungenerous to acknowledge that he had been conquered in the struggle between them, Corvinus only felt himself withered, degraded, before his late school-fellow, crumbled like a clot of dust in his hands. His very heart seemed to him to blush. He felt sick, and staggered, hung down his head, and sneaked away. He cursed the games, the emperor, the yelling rabble, the roaring beasts, his horses and chariot, his slaves,his father, himself,—every thing and every body except one—he could not, for his life, curse Pancratius.

He had reached the door, when the youth called him back. He turned and looked at him with a glance of respect, almost approaching to love. Pancratius put his hand on his arm, and said, “Corvinus,Ihave freely forgiven thee. There is One above, who cannot forgive without repentance. Seek pardon from Him. If not, I foretell to thee this day, that by whatsoever death I die, thou too shalt one day perish.”

Corvinus slunk away, and appeared no more that day. He lost the sight on which his coarse imagination had gloated for days, which he had longed for during months. When the holiday was over he was found by his father completely intoxicated: it was the only way he knew of drowning remorse.

As he was leaving the prisoners, thelanista, or master of the gladiators, entered the room and summoned them to the combat. They hastily embraced one another, and took leave on earth. They entered the arena, or pit of the amphitheatre, opposite the imperial seat, and had to pass between two files ofvenatores, or huntsmen, who had the care of the wild beasts, each armed with a heavy whip, wherewith he inflicted a blow on every one as he went by him. They were then brought forward, singly or in groups, as the people desired, or the directors of the spectacle chose. Sometimes the intended prey was placed on an elevated platform to be more conspicuous; at another time he was tied up to posts to be more helpless. A favorite sport was to bundle up a female victim in a net, and expose her to be rolled, tossed, or gored by wild cattle.[176]One encounter with a single wild beast often finished the martyr’s course; while occasionally three or four were successively let loose, without their inflicting a mortal wound. The confessorwas then either remanded to prison for further torments, or taken back to thespoliatorium, where the gladiator’s apprentices amused themselves with despatching him.

But we must content ourselves with following the last steps of our youthful hero, Pancratius. As he was passing through the corridor that led to the amphitheatre, he saw Sebastian standing on one side, with a lady closely enwrapped in her mantle, and veiled. He at once recognized her, stopped before her, knelt, and taking her hand, affectionately kissed it.

“Bless me, dear mother,” he said, “in this your promised hour.”

“See, my child, the heavens,” she replied, “and look up thither, where Christ with His saints expecteth thee. Fight the good fight for thy soul’s sake, and show thyself faithful and steadfast in thy Saviour’s love.[177]Remember him too whose precious relic thou bearest round thy neck.”

“Its price shall be doubled in thine eyes, my sweet mother, ere many hours are over.”

“On, on, and let us have none of this fooling,” exclaimed thelanista, adding a stroke of his cane.

Lucina retreated; while Sebastian pressed the hand of her son, and whispered in his ear, “Courage, dearest boy; may God bless you! I shall be close behind the emperor; give me a last look there, and—your blessing.”

“Ha! ha! ha!” broke out a fiendish tone close behind him. Was it a demon’s laugh? He looked behind, and caught only a glimpse of a fluttering cloak rounding a pillar. Who could it be? He guessed not. It was Fulvius, who in those words had got the last link in a chain of evidence that he had long been weaving—that Sebastian was certainly a Christian.

Pancratius soon stood in the midst of the arena, the lastof the faithful band. He had been reserved, in hopes that the sight of others’ sufferings might shake his constancy; but the effect had been the reverse. He took his stand where he was placed, and his yet delicate frame contrasted with the swarthy and brawny limbs of the executioners who surrounded him. They now left him alone; and we cannot better describe him than Eusebius, an eye-witness, does a youth a few years older:

“You might have seen a tender youth, who had not yet entered his twentieth year, standing without fetters, with his hands stretched forth in the form of a cross, and praying to God most attentively, with a fixed and untrembling heart; not retiring from the place where he first stood, nor swerving the least, while bears and leopards, breathing fury and death in their very snort, were just rushing on to tear his limbs in pieces. And yet, I know not how, their jaws seemed seized and closed by some divine and mysterious power, and they drew altogether back.”[178]

Such was the attitude, and such the privilege of our heroic youth. The mob were frantic, as they saw one wild beast after another careering madly round him, roaring, and lashing its sides with its tail, while he seemed placed in a charmed circle which they could not approach. A furious bull, let loose upon him, dashed madly forward, with his neck bent down, then stopped suddenly, as though he had struck his head against a wall, pawed the ground, and scattered the dust around him, bellowing fiercely.

“Provoke him, thou coward!” roared out, still louder, the enraged emperor.

Pancratius awoke as from a trance, and waving his arms ran towards his enemy;[179]but the savage brute, as if a lion hadbeen rushing on him, turned round and ran away towards the entrance, where, meeting his keeper, he tossed him high into the air. All were disconcerted except the brave youth, who had resumed his attitude of prayer; when one of the crowd shouted out: “He has a charm round his neck; he is a sorcerer!” The whole multitude re-echoed the cry, till the emperor, having commanded silence, called out to him, “Take that amulet from thy neck, and cast it from thee, or it shall be done more roughly for thee.”

“Sire,” replied the youth, with a musical voice, that rang sweetly through the hushed amphitheatre, “it is no charm that I wear, but a memorial of my father, who in this very place made gloriously the same confession which I now humbly make; I am a Christian; and for love of Jesus Christ, God and man, I gladly give my life. Do not take from me this only legacy, which I have bequeathed, richer than I received it, to another. Try once more; it was a panther which gave him his crown; perhaps it will bestow the same on me.”

For an instant there was dead silence; the multitude seemed softened, won. The graceful form of the gallant youth, his now inspired countenance, the thrilling music of his voice, the intrepidity of his speech, and his generous self-devotion to his cause, had wrought upon that cowardly herd. Pancratius felt it, and his heart quailed before their mercy more than before their rage; he had promised himself heaven that day; was he to be disappointed? Tears started into his eyes, as stretching forth his arms once more in the form of a cross, he called aloud, in a tone that again vibrated through every heart:

“To-day; oh yes, to-day, most blessed Lord, is the appointed day of Thy coming. Tarry not longer; enough has Thy power been shown in me to them that believe not in Thee; show now Thy mercy to me who in Thee believe!”

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