Part 2

...death in so terrible a form. But after a few moments, faith resumed its power and raised them above all fear. As the beasts became aware of the presence of their prey and began to draw near, these young maidens joined hands, and raising their eyes to heaven, sang out a solemn chant, which rose clear and wondrously sweet upward to heaven. Unto Him that loved us, to Him that washed us from our sins in His own blood, to Him that made us kings and priests to our God and Father, to Him be glory and dominion forever and ever. Alleluia! Amen. One by one the voices were hushed in blood and agony and death. One by one the shrieks of anguish were mingled with the shouts of praise, and these fair young spirits, so heroic under suffering and faithful unto death, had carried their song to join it with the psalm of the redeemed on high. Chapter 2. The Praetorian Camp. Cornelius the centurion, a just man and one that feared God. Marcellus was born in Gattus and had been brought up in the stern discipline of the Roman army. He had been quartered in Africa, in Syria and in Britain, where he had distinguished himself not only by bravery in the field but also by skill in the camp. For these reasons he had received honors and promotions, and upon his arrival at Rome, to which place he had come as the bearer of dispatches, he had so pleased the emperor that he had been appointed to an honorable station among the Praetorians. Lucullus had never been out of Italy, scarcely indeed out of the city. He belonged to one of the oldest and noblest Roman families and enjoyed corresponding wealth and influence. He was charmed by the bold and frank nature of Marcellus, and the two young men had become firm friends. The intimate knowledge of the capital, which Lucullus possessed, enabled him also to be of service to his friend, and the scene which had been described in the preceding chapter was one of the first visits which Marcellus had made to the renowned Colosseum. The Praetorian Camp was situated close to the city wall, to which it was joined by another wall which enclosed it. The soldiers lived in rooms like cells made in the wall itself. They were a numerous and finely appointed body of men, and their situation at the capital gave them a power and an influence so great that for ages they controlled the government of the capital. A command among the Praetorians was a sure road to fortune, and Marcellus could look forward with well-grounded prospects of future honors. On the morning of the following day, Lucullus entered his room. After the usual salutation, he spoke of the fight which they had witnessed. Such scenes are not to my taste, said Marcellus. They are cowardly. I like to see two well-trained men engage in fair combat, but such butchery as you have in the Colosseum is detestable. Why should Macer be murdered? He was a brave man, and I honor his courage. And why should old men and young children be handed over to wild beasts? It is the law. They are Christians. That's always the answer. What have the Christians done? I have seen them in all parts of the world, but have never known them to be engaged in disturbances. Lucullus answered, They are the worst of mankind. So it is said. But what proof is there? Proof? It is too well known. Their crime is that they plot in secret against the laws and the religion of the state. So intense is their hatred which they bear toward our institutions that they will rather die than offer sacrifice. They own no king or monarch but this crucified Jew whom they believe is alive now. But they show their malevolence to us by asserting that we shall all hereafter be tortured in Hades forever. This may be true. I know not. I know nothing at all about them. The city is swarming with them. The empire is overrun. And mark this, the decline of our empire, which all see and lament, the spread of weakness and insubordination, the contradiction of our boundaries, all this increases as the Christians increase. To what else are these evils owing if not to them? Marcellus replied, How have they produced this? By their detestable teachings and practices. They teach that fighting is wrong and soldiers are the basest of men, that our glorious religion under which we have prospered is a curse, and that the immortal gods are accursed demons. In their teachings they aim to overthrow all morality. In their private practices they perform the darkest and foulest crimes. They always keep by themselves in impenetrable secrecy. But sometimes we overhear their evil discourses and lewd songs. All this is indeed serious, and if true, they deserve severe punishment. But according to your own statements they keep by themselves, and but little is known of them. Tell me, did those who suffered yesterday seem like this? Did that old man look as though he had passed his life in vicious scenes? Did those fair young girls sing lewd songs as they waited for the lions? And to him that loved us, to him that washed us from our sins, and Marcellus sang in a soft voice the words which he had heard. I confess, my friend, that I mourned for them. And I, said Marcellus, could have wept had I not been a Roman soldier. Consider for a moment. You tell me things about these Christians which you confess only to have learned from those who themselves are ignorant. You assert that they are infamous and base, the off-scouring of the earth. I see them confronted with a death that trithes the highest qualities of the soul. They meet it nobly. They die grandly. In all her history Rome could produce no greater scene of devotion than that of yesterday. You say they detest soldiers, yet they are brave. You tell me they are traitors, yet they do not resist the laws. You declare that they are impure, yet if purity is on earth they belong to those maidens who died yesterday. You are enthusiastic for those outcasts. Not so, Marcellus. I wish to know the truth. All my life I have heard these reports, but yesterday for the first time I suspected that they might be false. I now question you earnestly, and I find that your knowledge is based upon nothing. I now remember that throughout all the world these Christians are peaceable and honest. They are engaged in no riots or disturbances, and none of these crimes which they are charged can be proved against them. Why, then, should they die? The emperor has good reason and no doubt for his course. He may be instigated by ignorant or malicious advisers. I think it is entirely his own design, Marcellus countered. The number of those that have been put to death is very large. Oh, yes, some thousands, but plenty more remain, those, however, out of reach. And that reminds me of my errand here. I bring you the imperial commission. Lucullus drew from the folds of his military mantle a scroll of parchment which he handed to Marcellus. The latter eagerly examined its contents. It appointed him to a higher grade and commissioned him to search out and arrest the Christians in their hiding places, mentioning particularly the catacombs. Marcellus read it with a clouded brow and laid it down. You do not seem very glad. I confess the task is unpleasant. I am a soldier and do not like to hunt out old men and weak children for the executioner. Yet, as a soldier, I must obey. Tell me something about these catacombs. The catacombs is a subterranean district that extends to unknown bounds underneath the city. The Christians fly to the catacombs whenever there is danger. They are also in the habit of burying their dead there. Once there, they are beyond the reach of the utmost powers of the state. Who made the catacombs? No one knows exactly. They have existed for ages. I believe that they were excavated for the sake of getting building sand for cement. At present, all our cement comes from there, and you may see workmen bringing it into the city along any of the great roads. They have to go far away for it now, for in the course of ages they have excavated so much beneath us that this city now rests upon a foundation like a honeycomb. Is there any regular entrance? There are innumerable entrances. That's the difficulty. If there were but a few, then we might catch the fugitives, but we cannot tell from which direction to advance upon them. Is any district suspected? Yes. About two miles down the Appian Way, near the tomb of Cecilia Metella, the large round tower you know, bodies have frequently been discovered. It is conjectured that these are the bodies of the Christians which have been obtained from the amphitheater and carried away for burial. On the approach of the guards, the Christians have dropped the bodies and fled. But after all, this gives no assistance, for after you enter the catacombs you are no nearer your aim than before. No human being can penetrate that infinite labyrinth without assistance from those who live there. Who lives there? The fosters, who still excavate sand for the buildings. They are nearly all Christians and are always at work cutting out graves for the dead of the Christians. These men have lived there all their lives and are not only familiar with the passages, but they have kind of an instinct to guide them. Were you ever in the catacombs? Once, long ago, a foster guided me. I remained but a short time. My impression was that it was the most terrible place in all the world. I have heard of the catacombs but never before knew anything about them. It is strange that they are so little known. Could not these fosters be engaged to lead the guards through this labyrinth? No, they will not betray the Christians. Have they been tried? Certainly. Some comply and lead the officers of justice through a network of passages till they get bewildered. Their torches become extinguished and they grow terrified. They then ask to be led back. The foster declares that the Christians must have fled and so takes back the soldiers to the starting point. Are none resolute enough to continue on till they find the Christians? If they insist upon continuing the search, the fosters will lead them on forever. But he merely leads them through the countless passages which intersect some particular district. Are none found who will actually betray the fugitives? Sometimes, but of what use is it? Upon the first alarm every Christian vanishes through some sideways which open everywhere. My prospect of success seems small, very small. But much is hoped from your boldness and shrewdness. If you succeed in this enterprise it will be your fortune. And now farewell. You have learned from me all that I know. You will find no difficulty in learning more from one of the fosters. So saying, Lusallus departed. Marcellus leaned his head on his hands and lost himself in thought. But ever admit his meditations came floating the strains of that glorious melody which told of triumph over death. And to him that loved us, to him that washed us from our sins. 3. The Appian Way Sepulchres and satyrae guard the ashes of the mighty slumbering on the Appian Way. Marcellus entered upon the duty that lay before him without delay. Upon the following day he set out upon his investigations. It was merely a journey of inquiry, so he took no soldiers with him. Starting forth from the Praetorian barracks, he walked out of the city and down the Appian Way. This famous road was lined on both sides with magnificent tombs, all of which were carefully preserved by the families to whom they belonged. Farther back from the road lay houses and villas as thickly clustered as in the city. The open country was a long distance away. At length he reached a huge round tower which stood about two miles from the gate. It was built with enormous blocks of travertine and ornamented beautifully yet simply. Its severe style and solid construction gave it an air of bold defiance against the ravages of time. At this point Marcellus paused and looked back. To a stranger in Rome, every view presented something new and interesting. Most remarkable was the long line of tombs. There were the last resting places of the great, the noble and the brave of elder days, whose epitaphs announced their claims to honor on earth and their dim prospects in the unknown life to come. Art and wealth had reared these sumptuous monuments, and the pious affection of ages had preserved them from decay. Here, where he stood, was the sublime mausoleum of Caecilia Metella. Farther away were the tombs of Calatinus and the Servilei. Still farther, his eye fell upon the resting place of the Scipios, the classic architecture of which was hallowed by the dust of its heroic dwellers. The words of Cicero recurred to his mind. When you go out of the Porta Capena and see the tombs of Calatinus, of the Scipios and the Servilei and the Metellai, can you consider that the buried inmates are unhappy? There was the Arch of Drusus, spanning the road. On one side was the historic grotto of Aegiria, and farther on the spot where Hannibal once stood and hurled his javelin at the walls of Rome. The long lines of tombs went on, till in the distance they were terminated by the lofty pyramid of Caius Sestius, and the whole presented the grandest scene of sepulchral magnificence that could be found on earth. On every side the habitations of men covered the ground, for the imperial city had long ago burst the bounds that originally confined it, and sent its houses far away on every side into the country, till the traveler could scarcely tell where the country ended and where the city began. From afar the deep hum of the city, the roll of innumerable chariots in the multitudinous tread of many feet, greeted his ears. Before him rose monuments and temples, the white sheen of the imperial palace, the innumerable domes and columns towering upward like a city in the air, and high above all the lofty Capitoline Mount crowned with the shrine of Jove. But more impressive than all the splendor of the home of the living was the solemnity of the city of the dead. What an array of architectural glory was displayed around him! There arose the proud monuments of the grand old families of Rome. Heroism, genius, valor, pride, wealth, everything that man esteems or admires, here animated the eloquent stone and awakened emotion. Here were the visible forms of the highest influences of the old pagan religion, yet their effects upon the soul never corresponded with the splendor of their outward forms or the pomp of their ritual. The epitaphs of the dead showed not faith, but love of life, triumphant, not the assurance of immortal life, but a sad longing after the pleasures of the world. Such were the thoughts of Marcellus as he mused upon the scene and again recalled the words of Cicero, Can you think that the buried inmates are unhappy? These Christians, thought he, whom I am now seeking, seem to have learned more than I can find in all our philosophy. They not only have conquered the fear of death, but have learned to die rejoicing. What secret power have they, which can thus inspire even the youngest and the feeblest among them? What is the hidden meaning of their song? My religion can only hope that I may not be unhappy. Theirs leads them to death with triumphant songs of joy. But how was he to prosecute his search after the Christians? Crowds of people passed by, but he saw none who seemed capable of assisting him. Buildings of all sizes, walls, tombs and temples were all around, but he saw no place that seemed at all connected with the catacombs. He was quite at a loss what to do. He went down into the street and walked slowly along, carefully scrutinizing every person whom he met, and examining closely every building. Yet no result was obtained from this beyond the discovery that the outward appearance gave no sign of any connection with the subterranean abodes. The day passed on and it grew late, but Marcellus remembered that there were many entrances to the catacombs, and still he continued his search, hoping before the close of the day to find some clue. At length his search was rewarded. He had walked backward and forward in every direction, often retracing his steps and returning many times to the place of starting. Twilight was coming on, and the sun was near the edge of the horizon when his quick eye caught sight of a man who was walking in an opposite direction, followed by a boy. The man was dressed in coarse apparel, stained and damp with sand and earth. His complexion was blanched and pallid, like one who had long been imprisoned, and his whole appearance at once arrested the glance of the young soldier. He stepped up to him and, laying his hand upon his shoulder, said, You are a fosser. Come with me. The man looked up. He saw a stern face. The sight of the officer's dress terrified him. In an instant he darted away, and before Marcellus could turn to follow, he had rushed into a side lane and was out of sight. But Marcellus secured the boy. Come with me, he said. The poor lad looked up with such an agony of fear that Marcellus was moved. Have mercy, for my mother's sake! She will die if I am taken. The boy fell at his feet, murmuring this in broken tones, I will not hurt you. Come. And he led him away toward an open space, out of the way of the passersby. Now said he, stopping and confronting the boy, Tell me the truth. Who are you? My name is Polio, said the boy. Where do you live? In Rome. What are you doing here? I was out on an errand. Who was that man? A fosser. What were you doing with him? He was carrying a bundle for me. What was in the bundle? Provisions. To whom were you carrying it? To a destitute person out here. Where does he live? Not far from here. Now boy, tell me the truth. Do you know anything about the catacombs? I have heard of them, said the boy quietly. Were you ever in them? I have been in some of them. Do you know anybody who lives in them? Some people. The fosser stays there's. You were going to the catacombs then, with him. What business would I have there at such a time as this? said the boy innocently. That is what I want to know. Were you going there? How would I dare to go there when it is forbidden by the laws? It's now evening, said Marcellus abruptly. Come with me to the evening sacrifice at yonder temple. The boy hesitated. I am in a hurry, said he. But you are my prisoner. I never neglect the worship of the gods. You must come and assist me at my devotions. I cannot, said the boy firmly. Why not? I am a Christian. I knew it. And you have friends in the catacombs, and you are going there now. They are the destitute people to whom you are carrying provisions, and the errand on which you are is for them. The boy held down his head and was silent. I want you now to take me to the entrance of the catacombs. Oh, generous soldier, have mercy. Do not ask me that. I cannot do it. I will not betray my friends. You need not. It is nothing to show me the entrance, among the many thousands that lead down below. Do you think that the guards do not know every one? The boy thought for a moment, and at length signified his assent.