Meanwhile, the tiger moved around as before. He had seen the boy, but the sight had no effect. He still raised his bloodshot eyes toward the lofty walls and occasionally uttered a savage growl.
The man with the stern sad face looked on with all his soul absorbed in that gaze.
There appeared to be no desire on the part of the tiger to attack the boy, who still continued praying.
The multitude now grew impatient. Murmurs arose and cries and shouts with the intention of maddening the tiger and urging him on.
But now, even in the midst of the tumult, there came forth the sound of a voice deep and terrible:
"How long, O Lord, holy and true, dost thou not avenge our blood on them that dwell upon the earth?"
A deep stillness followed. Every one in surprise looked at his neighbor. But the silence was soon broken by the same voice, which rang out in terrific emphasis:
"Behold, he cometh in the clouds,And every eye shall see him,And they also which pierced him,And all the kindreds of the earth shall wail because of him.Even so. Amen!Thou art righteous, O Lord,Which art, and wast, and shalt be,Because thou hast judged thus.For they have shed the blood of saints and prophets,And thou hast given them blood to drink,For they are worthy.Even so, Lord God Almighty,True and righteous are thy judgments!"
But now murmurs and cries and shouts passed around. Soon the cause of the disturbance became known.
"It is an accursed Christian"--"It is the fanatic Cinna"--"He has been confined four days without, food"--"Bring him out"--"Throw him to the tiger!"
Shouts and execrations arose on high and mingled in one vast roar. The tiger leaped in frenzy around. The keepers within heard the words of the multitude and hurried to obey.
Soon the gratings opened. The victim was thrust in.
Fearfully emaciated and ghastly pale, he tottered forward with tremulous steps. His eyes had an unearthly luster, his cheeks a burning flush, and his neglected hair and long beard were matted in a tangled mass.
The tiger saw him, and came leaping toward him. Then at a little distance away the furious beast crouched. The boy arose from his knees and looked. But Cinna saw no tiger. He fixed his eyes on the multitude, and waving his withered arm on high he shouted in the same tone of menace:
"Woe! woe! woe to the inhabitants of the earth--"
His voice was hushed in blood. There was a leap, a fall, and all was over.
And now the tiger turned toward the boy. His thirst for blood was fully aroused; with bristling hair, flaming eyes, and sweeping tail he stood facing his prey.
The boy saw that the end was coming, and again fell upon his knees. The crowd was hushed to stillness, and awaited in deep excitement the new scene of slaughter. The man who had been gazing so intently now rose upward and stood erect, still watching the scene below. Loud cries arose from behind him which increased still louder, "Down," "down," "sit down," "you obstruct the view!"
But the man either did not hear or else purposely disregarded it. At length the crowd grew so noisy that the officers below turned to see the cause.
Lucullus was one of them. Turning round he saw the whole scene. He started and grew pale as death.
"Marcellus!" he cried. For a moment he staggered back, but soon recovering he hurried away to the scene of the disturbance.
But now a deep murmur broke forth from the multitude. The tiger, who had been walking round and round the boy, lashing himself to greater fury, now crouched for a spring.
The boy arose. A seraphic expression was upon his face. His eyes beamed with a lofty enthusiasm. He saw no longer the arena, the high surrounding walls, the far-extending seats with innumerable faces; he saw no more the relentless eyes of the cruel spectators, or the gigantic form of his savage enemy. [See Frontispiece.]
Already his soaring spirit seemed to enter into the golden gates of the New Jerusalem, and the ineffable glory of the noonday of heaven gleamed upon his sight.
"Mother, I come to thee! Lord Jesus, receive my spirit!"
His words sounded clearly and sweetly upon the ears of the multitude. They ceased, and the tiger sprang. The next moment these was nothing but a struggling mass half hidden in clouds of dust.
The struggle ended. The tiger started back, the sand was red with blood, and upon it lay the mangled form of the true-hearted, the noble Pollio.
Then amid the silence that followed there came forth a shout that sounded like a trumpet peal and startled every one in the assembly:
"O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory? . . . Thanks be to God who giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ."
A thousand men rose with a simultaneous burst of rage and indignation. Ten thousand hands were outstretched toward the bold intruder.
"A Christian"--"A Christian"--"To the flames with him"--"Throw him to the tiger"--"Hurl him into the arena!"
Such were the shouts that answered the cry. Lucullus reached the spot just in time to rescue Marcellus from a crowd of infuriated Romans, who were about to tear him in pieces. The tiger below was not more fierce, more bloodthirsty than they. Lucullus rushed among them, dashing them to the right and left as a keeper among wild beasts.
Overawed by his authority they fell back, and soldiers approached.
Lucullus gave Marcellus in charge to them, and led the company out of the amphitheater.
Outside he took charge of the prisoner himself. The soldiers followed them.
"Alas, Marcellus! was it well to throw away your life?"
"I spoke from the impulse of the moment. That dear boy whom I loved died before my eyes! I could not restrain myself. Yet I do not repent. I, too, am ready to lay down my life for my King and my God."
"I cannot reason with you. You are beyond the reach of argument."
"I did not intend to betray myself, but since it is done I am content. Nay, I am glad, and I rejoice that it is my lot to suffer for my Redeemer."
"Alas, my friend! Have you no regard for life?"
"I love my Saviour better than life."
"See, Marcellus, the road before us is open. You can run quickly. Fly and be saved."
Lucullus spoke this in a hurried whisper.
The soldiers were some twenty paces behind. The chances were all in favor of escape. Marcellus pressed the hand of his friend.
"No, Lucullus. I would not gain life by your dishonor. I love the warm heart that prompted it, but you shall not be led into difficulty by your friendship for me."
Lucullus sighed, and walked on in silence.
CHAPTER XIV.
THE TEMPTATION.
"All this will I give thee if thou wilt fall down and worship me."
That night Lucullus remained in the cell with his friend. He sought by every possible argument to shake his resolution. He appealed to every motive that commonly influences men. He left no means of persuasion unused.
All in vain. The faith of Marcellus was too firmly fixed. It was founded on the Rock of Ages, and neither the storm of violent threats nor the more tender influences of friendship could weaken his determination.
"No," said he, "my course is taken and my choice is made. Come weal, come woe, I must follow it out to the end. I know all that is before me. I have weighed all the consequences of my action, but in spite of all I will continue as I have begun."
"It is but a small thing that I ask," said Lucullus. "I do not wish you to give up this religion forever, but only for the present. A terrible persecution is now raging, and before its fury all must fall, whether young or old, high or low. You have seen that no class or age is respected. Pollio would have been saved if it had been possible. There was a strong sympathy in his favor. He was young, and scarcely accountable for his errors; he was also noble, the last of an ancient family. But the law was inexorable, and he suffered its penalty. Cinna, too, might have been overlooked. He was neither more nor less than a madman. But so vehement is the zeal against Christians that even his evident madness was no security whatever for him."
"I know it well. The Prince of Darkness struggles against the Church of God, but it is founded on a rock, and the gates of hell cannot prevail against it. Have I not seen the good, the pure, the noble, the holy, and the innocent all suffer alike? Do I not know that there is no mercy for the Christian? I knew it well long ago. I have always been prepared for the consequences."
"Hear me, Marcellus. I have said that I asked but a small thing. This religion which you prize so highly need not be given up. Keep it, if it must be so. But make allowance for circumstances. Since the storm is raging bow before it. Take the course of a wise man, not of a fanatic."
"What is it that you would have me to do?"
"It is this. In the course of a few years a change will take place. Either the persecution will wear itself out, or a reaction will take place, or the emperor may die and other rulers with different feelings may succeed. It will then be safe to be a Christian. Then these people who are now afflicted may come back from their hiding-places to occupy their old places, and to rise to dignity and wealth. Remember this. Do not therefore throw away a life which yet may be serviceable to the state and happy to yourself. Cherish it for your own sake. Look about you now. Consider all these things. Leave aside your religion for a time, and return to that of the state. It need only be for a time. Thus you may escape from present danger, and when happier times return you may go back and be a Christian again."
"This is impossible, Lucullus. It is abhorrent to my soul. What, can I thus be doubly a hypocrite? Would you ask me to perjure my immortal soul to the world and to my God? Better to die at once by the severest tortures that can be inflicted."
"You take such extreme views that I despair of saving you. Will you not look at this subject rationally? It is not perjury, but policy; not hypocrisy, but wisdom."
"God forbid that I should do this thing and sin against him!"
"Look further also. You will not only benefit yourself but others. These Christians whom you love will be assisted by you far more than they are now. In their present situation you know well that they are enabled to live by the sympathy and assistance of those who profess the religion of the state but in secret prefer the religion of the Christians. Do you call these men hypocrites and perjurers? Are they not rather your benefactors and friends?"
"These men have never learned the Christian's faith and hope as I have. They have never felt the new birth of the soul as I have. They have not known the love of God springing up within their hearts to give them new feelings and hopes and desires. For them to sympathize with the Christians and to help them is a good thing; but the Christian who could be base enough to abjure his faith and deny the Saviour that redeemed him, could never have enough generosity in his traitorous soul to assist his forsaken brethren."
"Then, Marcellus, I have but one more offer to make, and I go. It is a last hope. I do not know whether it will be possible or not. I will try it, however, if I can but gain your consent. It is this. You need not abjure your faith; you need not sacrifice to the gods; you need not do anything whatever of which you disapprove. Let the past be forgotten. Return again, not in heart, but in outward appearance, to what you were before. You were then a gay, lighthearted soldier, devoted to your duties. You never took any part in any religious services. You were seldom present in the temples. You passed your time in the camp, and your devotions were in private. You gathered your instruction from the books of the philosophers and not from the priests. Be all this again. Return to your duties. Appear again in public in company with me; again join in pleasant conversation, and devote yourself to your old pursuits. This will be easy and pleasant to do, and it will not require anything that is base or distasteful. The authorities will overlook your absence and your misconduct, and if they are not willing that you should be restored to all your former honors, then you can be placed in your former command in your old legion. All will then be well. A little discretion will be needed, a wise silence, an apparent return to your former round of duties. If you remain in Rome it will be thought that the tidings of your conversion to Christianity was wrong; if you go abroad it will not be known."
"I do not think, Lucullus, that the plan which you propose would be possible for many reasons. Proclamations have been made about me, rewards have been offered for my apprehension, and above all, my last appearance in the Coliseum before the emperor himself was sufficient to take away all hope of pardon. Yet even if it were possible I could not consent. My Saviour cannot be worshiped in this way. His followers must confess him openly. 'Whosoever,' he says, 'is ashamed to confess me before men, of him will I be ashamed before my Father and the holy angels.' To deny him in my life or in outward appearance is precisely the same as denying him by the formal manner which the law lays down. This I cannot do. I love him who first loved me and gave himself for me. My highest joy is to proclaim him before men; to die for him will be my noblest act, and the martyr's crown my most glorious reward."
Lucullus said no more, for he found that all persuasion was useless. The remainder of the time was passed in conversation about other things. Marcellus did not waste these last precious hours which he passed with his friend. Filled with gratitude for his noble and generous affection, he sought to recompense him by making him acquainted with the highest treasure that man can possess--the religion of Christ.
Lucullus listened to him patiently, more through friendship than interest. Yet some, at least, of Marcellus's words were impressed upon his memory.
On the following day the trial took place. It was short and formal. Marcellus was immovable, and received his condemnation with a calm demeanor.
The afternoon of the same day was the time appointed for him to suffer. He was to die, not by the wild beasts, nor by the hand of the gladiator, but by the keener torments of death by fire.
It was in that place where so many Christians had already borne their witness to the truth that Marcellus sealed his faith with his life. The stake was placed in the center of the Coliseum, and the fagots were heaped high around it.
Marcellus entered, led on by the brutal keepers, who added blows and ridicule to the horrors of the approaching punishment. He looked around upon the vast circle of faces, hard, cruel, and pitiless; he looked upon the arena and thought of the thousands of Christians who had preceded him in suffering, and had gone from thence to join the noble army of martyrs who worship forever around the throne. He thought of the children whose death he had witnessed, and recalled once more their triumphant song,
"Unto Him that loved us,To Him that washed us from our sins."
Now the keepers seized him rudely and led him to the stake, where they bound him with strong chains so that escape was impossible.
"'I am now ready to be offered,'" murmured he, "'and the time of my departure is at hand. . . . Henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous judge, shall give me at that day.'"
Now the torch was applied, and the flames rose up and dense volumes of smoke concealed the martyr for a while from view. When it passed away he was seen again standing amid the fire with upturned face and clasped hands.
The flames increased around him. Nearer and nearer they came, devouring the fagots and enveloping him in a circle of fire. Now they threw over him a black vail of smoke, again they dashed forward and licked him with their forked tongues.
But the martyr stood erect, calm amid suffering, serene amid his dreadful agony, by faith clinging to his Saviour. He was there though they saw him not; his everlasting arm was round about his faithful follower, and his Spirit inspired him.
Nearer grew the flames and yet nearer. Life, assailed more violently, trembled in her citadel and the spirit prepared to wing its way to its mansion of rest.
At last the sufferer gave a convulsive start, as though some sharper pang flashed resistlessly through him. But he conquered his pain with a violent effort. Then he raised his arms on high and feebly waved them. Then, with a last effort of expiring nature, he cried out in a loud voice "Victory!"
With the cry life seemed to depart, for he fell forward amid the rushing flames, and the soul of Marcellus had ascended to the bosom of the Father.
CHAPTER XV.
LUCULLUS.
"The memory of the just is blessed."
At the scene of torture and of death there was one spectator whose face, full of agony, was never turned away from Marcellus, whose eyes saw every act and expression, whose ears drank in every word. Long after all had departed he remained in the same place, the only human being in all the vast extent of deserted seats. At length he rose to go.
The old elasticity of his step had departed. He moved with a slow and feeble gait; his abstracted gaze and expression of pain made him look like a man suddenly struck with disease. He motioned to some of the keepers, who opened for him the gates that led to the arena.
"Bring me a cinerary urn," said he, and he walked forward to the dying embers. A few fragments of crumbled bone, pulverized by the violence of the flames, were all that remained of Marcellus.
Silently Lucullus took the urn which the keeper brought him, and collecting what human fragments he could find, he carried away the dust.
As he was leaving he was accosted by an old man. He stopped mechanically.
"What do you wish of me?" said he courteously. "I am Honorius, an elder among the Christians. A dear friend of mine was put to death this day in this place. I have come to see if I could obtain his ashes."
"It is well that you have addressed yourself to me, venerable man," said Lucullus. "Had you proclaimed your name to others you would have been seized, for there is a price on your head. But I cannot grant your request. Marcellus is dead, and his ashes are here in this urn. They will be deposited in the tomb of my family with the highest ceremonies, for he was my dearest friend, and his loss makes the earth a blank to me and life a burden."
"You, then," said Honorius, "can be no other than Lucullus, of whom I have so often heard him speak in words of affection?"
"I am he. Never were there two friends more faithful than we. If it had been possible I would have saved him. He would never have been arrested had he not thrown himself into the hands of the law. O hard fate! At a time when I had made arrangements that he should never be arrested, he came before the emperor himself, and I was compelled with my own hands to lead him whom I loved to prison and to death."
"What is your loss is to him immeasurable gain. He has entered into the possession of immortal happiness."
"His death was a triumph," said Lucullus. "The death of Christians I have noticed before, but never before have I been so struck by their hope and confidence. Marcellus died as though death were an unspeakable blessing."
"It was so to him, but not more so than to many others who lie buried in the gloomy place where we are forced to dwell. To their numbers I wish to add the remains of Marcellus. Would you be willing to part with them?"
"I had hoped, venerable Honorius, that since my dear friend had left me I might have at least the mournful pleasure of giving to his remains the last pious honors, and of weeping at his tomb."
"But, noble Lucullus, would not your friend have preferred a burial with the sacred ceremonies of his new faith, and a resting place among those martyrs with whose names his is now associated forever?"
Lucullus was silent, and thought for some time. At length he spoke:
"Of his wishes there can be no doubt. I will respect them, and deny myself the honor of performing the funereal rites. Take them, Honorius. But I will, nevertheless, assist at your services. Will you permit the soldier, whom you only know as your enemy, to enter your retreat and to witness your acts?"
"You shall be welcome, noble Lucullus, even as Marcellus was welcome before you, and perhaps you will receive among us the same blessing that was granted to him."
"Do not hope for anything like that," said Lucullus. "I am far different from Marcellus in taste and feeling. I might learn to feel kindly toward you, or even to admire you, but never to join you."
"Come with us, then, whatever you are, and assist at the funeral services of your friend. A messenger will come for you to-morrow."
Lucullus signified his assent, and after handing over the precious urn to the care of Honorius, he went sadly to his own home.
On the following day he went with the messenger to the Catacombs. There he saw the Christian community, and beheld the place of their abode. But from the previous accounts of his friend he had gained a clear idea of their life, their sufferings, and their afflictions.
Again the mournful wail arose in the dim vaults and echoed along the arched passage ways, that wail that spoke of a new brother committed to the grave; but the grief that spoke of mortal sorrow was succeeded by a loftier strain that expressed the faith of the aspiring soul, and a hope full of immortality.
Honorius took the precious scroll, the word of life, whose promises were so powerful to sustain amid the heaviest burden of grief, and in solemn tones read that chapter in the first epistle to the Corinthians which in every age and in every clime has been so dear to the heart that looked beyond the realms of time to seek for refuge in the prospect of the resurrection.
Then he raised his head and in fervent tones offered up a prayer to the Holy One of heaven, through Christ the divine mediator, by whom death and the grave had been conquered and immortal life secured.
The pale sad face of Lucullus was conspicuous among the mourners. If he was not a Christian he could still admire such glorious doctrines and listen with pleasure to such exalted hopes. It was he who placed the loved ashes within their final resting-place; he, whose eyes took the last look at the dear remains; and he whose hands lifted to its place the slab whereon the name and the epitaph of Marcellus was engraven.
Lucullus went to his home, but he was a changed man. The gayety of his nature seemed to have been driven out by the severe afflictions that he had endured. He had rightly said that he would not become a Christian. The death of his friend had filled him with sadness, but there was no sorrow for sin, no repentance, no desire for a knowledge of God. He had lost the power of taking pleasure in the world, but had gained no other source of happiness.
Yet the memory of his friend produced one effect on him. He felt a sympathy for the poor and oppressed people with whom Marcellus had associated. He admired their constancy and pitied their unmerited sufferings. He saw that all the virtue and goodness left in Rome were in the possession of these poor outcasts.
These feelings led him to give them his assistance. He transferred to them the friendship and the promise of aid which he had once given to Marcellus. His soldiers arrested no more, or if they did arrest any they were sure to escape in some way. His high position, vast wealth, and boundless influence, were all at the service of the Christians. His palace was well known to them as their surest place of refuge or assistance, and his name was honored as that of their most powerful human friend.
But all things have an end; and so the constant sufferings of the Christians and the friendship of Lucullus at length were brought to a termination. In about a year after the death of Marcellus the stern emperor Decius was overthrown, and a new ruler entered into the imperial power. The persecution was stayed. Peace returned to the Church, and the Christians came forth from the Catacombs again to dwell within the glad light of day, again to sound in the ears of men the praises of Him who had redeemed them, and again to carry on their never-ending contest with the hosts of evil.
Years passed on, but no change came to Lucullus. When Honorius came from the Catacombs he was taken by Lucullus to his own palace, and maintained there for the rest of his life. He sought to repay his debt of gratitude to his noble benefactor by making him acquainted with the truth, but he died without seeing his desires gratified.
The blessing came at last, but not till years had passed away. Far on beyond the prime of manhood, even upon the borders of old age, Lucullus found the Saviour. For years the world had lost all charms. Wealth and honor and power were nothing to him; his life was tinged with sadness that nothing could cure. But the Spirit of God at length entered into his heart, and through his divine power he at last was enabled to rejoice in the love of that Saviour, of whose power over the human heart he had witnessed so many striking proofs.
Fifteen centuries have rolled over the city of the Caesars since the persecution of Decius drove the humble followers of Jesus into the gloomy Catacombs. Let us take our stand upon the Appian Way and look around.
Before us goes the long array of tombs up to the ancient city. Here the mighty men of Rome once found a resting-place, carrying with them even to their graves all the pomp of wealth, of glory, and of power. Beneath our feet are the rude graves of those whom in life they cast out as unworthy to breathe the same air of heaven.
Now what a change! Around us lie these stately tombs all in ruins, their sanctity desecrated, their doors broken down, their dust scattered to the winds. The names of those who were buried here are unknown; the empire which they reared has fallen forever; the legions which they led to conquer have slept the sleep that knows no waking.
But on the memory of the persecuted ones who rest below a world looks back adoring their sepulcher has become a place of pilgrimage; and the work in which they took such a noble part has been handed down to us to be perpetuated for evermore.
Humbled, despised, outcast, afflicted, fame may not have written their names upon the scroll of history, yet this much we know,
"These are they which came out of great tribulationAnd have washed their robesAnd made them white in the blood of the Lamb.Therefore are they before the throne of GodAnd serve him day and night in his temple;And He that sitteth on the throne shall dwell among them.They shall hunger no more; neither thirst any more;Neither shall the sun light on them, nor any heat;For the Lamb which is in the midst of the throne shall feed them,And shall lead them unto living fountains of waters,And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes."
THE END.