Part 8

Like the goodly feeders, she sent out her boughs to the sea, and her branches unto the river. Why hast thou broken down her edges, so that all who pass by the way do pluck her? The boar out of the wood doth waste it, and the wild beast of the field doth devour it. Return, we beseech thee, O God of hosts. Look down from heaven, and behold and visit this vine, and the vineyard which thy right hand planted, and the branch which thou madest strung for thyself. It is burned with fire, it is cut down. They perish at the rebuke of thy countenance. You are sad, Honorius, said Marcellus. Our sufferings, it is true, increase upon us, but we can be more than conquerors through him who loved us. What says he? To him that overcometh will I give to Edith the tree of life, which is in the midst of the paradise of God. Be thou faithful unto death, and I will give thee a crown of life. He that overcometh shall not be hurt of the second death. To him that overcometh will I give to Edith the hidden manna, and will give him a white stone, and in the stone a new name written, which no man knoweth, saving he that received it. He that overcometh, and keepeth my words unto the end, to him will I give power over the nations, and I will give him the morning star. He that overcometh, the same shall be clothed in white raiment, and I will not blot his name out of the book of life, but I will confess his name before my Father and before his angels. He that overcometh will I make a pillar in the temple of my God, and he shall go no more out, and I will write upon him the name of my God and the name of the city of my God, which is new Jerusalem, which cometh down out of heaven from my God, and I will write upon him my new name. To him that overcometh will I grant to sit with me on my throne, even as I also overcame and am sat down with my Father in his throne. As Marcellus spoke these words, his form grew erect, his eye brightened, and his face flushed with enthusiasm. His emotions were transmitted to his companions, and as one by one these glorious promises fell upon their ears, they forgot for a while their sorrows in the thought of the approaching blessedness. The new Jerusalem, the golden streets, the palms of glory, the song of the Lamb, and the face of Him who sitteth upon the throne—all these were present to their minds. Marcellus said Honorius, you have driven away my gloom by your words. Let us rise superior to earthly troubles. Come, brethren, lay aside your cares. The youngest born into the kingdom puts our faith to shame. Let us look to the joy set before us, for we know that if this earthly tabernacle were dissolved, we have a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens. Death comes nearer, he continued. Our enemies encircle us, and the circle grows narrower. Let us die like Christians. Why these gloomy forebodings, said Marcellus? Is death nearer to us than it was before? Are we not saints in the catacombs? Have you not heard then? Heard what? Of the death of Chrysippus. Chrysippus dead? No, how and when? The soldiers of the emperor were led down into the catacombs by someone who knew the way. They advanced upon the room where service was going on. This was in the catacombs beyond the Tiber. The brethren gave a hasty alarm and fled, but the venerable Chrysippus, either through extreme age or else through desire for martyrdom, refused to flee. He threw himself upon his knees and raised his voice in prayer. Two faithful attendants remained with him. The soldiers rushed in, and even while Chrysippus was upon his knees, they dashed out his brains. He fell dead at the first blow, and his two attendants were slain by his side. They have gone to join the noble army of martyrs. They have been faithful unto death and will receive the crown of life, said Marcellus. But now they were interrupted by a tumult without. Instantly everyone started upright. The soldiers, they exclaimed. But no, it was not the soldiers. It was a Christian, a messenger from the world above. Pale and trembling, he flung himself upon the floor, and wringing his hands, cried out as he panted for breath, Alas! Alas! Upon the lady Cecilia, the sight of this man produced a terrible effect. She staggered back against the wall, trembling from head to foot. Her hands clenched each other, her eyes stared wildly, her lips moved as though she wished to speak, but no sound came. Speak! Speak! Tell us all, cried Honorius. Palio, gasped the messenger. What of him? said Marcellus sternly. He is arrested. He is in prison. At that intelligence, a shriek burst forth, which sounded fearfully amid the surrounding horrors. It came from the lady Cecilia, the next moment she fell heavily to the floor. The bystanders hurried to attend her. They carried her away to her own quarters. There they applied the customary restoratives, and she revived, but the blow had struck heavily, and though sense and feeling returned, yet she seemed like one in a dream. Meanwhile, the messenger had recovered strength and told all that he knew. Palio was with you, was he? asked Marcellus. No, he was alone. On what errand? Finding out the news. I was on one side of the street, a little behind. He was coming home. We walked on until we came to a crowd of men. To my surprise, Palio was stopped and questioned. I did not hear what passed, but I saw their threatening gestures, and at length saw them seize him. I could do nothing. I kept at a safe distance and watched. In about half an hour, a troop of Praetorians came along, and Palio was handed over to them, and they carried him away. Praetorians? said Marcellus. Do you know the captain? Yes, it was Lusallus. It is well, said Marcellus, and he fell into a deep fit of musing. Chapter Eleven The Offer Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends. It was evening in the Praetorian camp. Lusallus was in his room, seated by a lamp which threw a bright light around. He was roused by a knock at the door. At once rising, he opened it. A man entered and advanced silently to the middle of the room. He then disencumbered himself of the folds of a large mantle in which he was dressed and faced Lusallus. Marcellus, cried the other in amazement, and springing forward he embraced his visitor with every mark of joy. Dear friend, said he, to what happy chance do I owe this meeting? I was just thinking of you, and wondering when we should meet again. Our meetings, I fear, said Marcellus sadly, will not be very frequent now. I make this one at the risk of my life. True, said Lusallus, participating in the sadness of the other. You are pursued, and there is a price on your head. Yet here you are as safe as you ever were in those happy days before this madness seized you. Oh, Marcellus, why can they not return again? I cannot change my nature, nor undo what is done. Moreover, Lusallus, although my lot may appear to you a hard one, I never was so happy. Happy, cried the other in deep surprise. Yes, Lusallus, though afflicted I am not cast down. Though persecuted, I am not in despair. The persecution of the emperor is no slight matter. I know it well. I see my brethren fall before it every day. Every day the circle that surrounds me is lessened. Friends leave me, and never appear again. Companions go up to the city, but when they return they are carried back dead to be deposited in their graves. And yet you say you are happy. Yes, Lusallus, I have a peace that the world knows nothing of. A peace that comes from above, that passes all understanding. I know, Marcellus, that you are too brave to fear death. But I never knew that you had sufficient fortitude to endure calmly all that I know you must now suffer. Your courage is superhuman, or rather it is the courage of madness. It comes from above, Lusallus. My Lord Jesus Christ is more to me than all the riches and honor of the world. Once I was incapable of feeling thus. But now old things have passed away, and all has become new. Sustained by this new power, I can endure the utmost evil that can be dealt upon me. I expect nothing but suffering in this life, and know that I shall die in agony. Yet the thought cannot overcome the strong faith that is within me. It pains me, said Lusallus sadly, to see you so determined. If I saw the slightest sign of wavering in you, I would hope that time might change or modify your feelings. But you seem to me to be fixed unalterably in your new course. God grant that I may remain steadfast unto the end, said Marcellus fervently. But it is not of my feelings that I came to speak. I come, Lusallus, to ask your assistance, to claim your sympathy and help. You promised me once to show me your friendship if I needed it. I come now to claim it. All that is in my power is yours already, Marcellus. Tell me what you want. You have a prisoner. Yes, many. This is a boy. I believe my men captured a boy a short time since. This boy is too insignificant to merit capture. He is beneath the wrath of the emperor. He is yet in your power. I come, Lusallus, to implore his delivery. Alas, Marcellus, what is it that you ask? Have you forgotten the discipline of the Roman army or the military oath? Do you not know that if I did this, I would violate that oath and make myself a traitor? If you asked me to fall upon my sword, I would do it more readily than this. I have not forgotten the military oath nor the discipline of the camp, Lusallus. I thought that this lad, being scarcely more than a child, might not be considered a prisoner. Do the commands of the emperor extend to children? He makes no distinction of age. Have you not seen children as young as this lad suffer death in the Coliseum? Alas, I have, said Marcellus, as his thoughts reverted to those young girls whose death song once struck so painfully and so sweetly upon his heart. This young boy, then, must also suffer? Yes, said Lusallus, unless he abjures Christianity. And that he will never do. Then he will rush upon his fate. The law does this, not I, Marcellus. I am but the instrument. Do not blame me. I do not blame you. I know well how strongly you are bound to obedience. If you hold your office, you must perform its duties. Yet let me make another proposal. Surrender of prisoners is not allowed, but an exchange is lawful. Yes? If I could tell you of a prisoner far more important than this boy, you would exchange, would you not? But you have taken none of us prisoners. No, but we have power over our own people. And there are some among us on whose heads the emperor has placed a large reward. For the capture of these, a hundred lads like this boy would be gladly given. Is it then a custom among Christians to betray one another? Asked Lusallus in surprise. No, but sometimes one Christian will offer his own life to save that of another. Impossible. It is so, in this instance. Who is it that is offered for this boy? I, Marcellus. At this astounding declaration, Lusallus started back. You, he cried. Yes, I myself. You are jesting, is it? It is impossible. I am serious. It is for this that I have already exposed my life in coming to you. I have shown that interest that I have taken in him by this great risk. I will explain. This boy, Palio, is the last of an ancient and noble Roman family. He is the only son of his mother. His father died in battle. He belongs to the Servilei. The Servilei? Is his mother the Lady Cecilia? Yes. She is a refuge in the catacombs. Her whole life and love are wrapped up in this boy. Every day she lets him go into the city, a dangerous adventure. And in his absence she suffers indescribable agony. Yet she is afraid to keep him there always for fear that the damp air, which is so fatal to children, may cut him off. So she exposes him to what she thinks is a smaller danger. This boy you have a prisoner. That mother has heard of it and now lies hovering between life and death. If you destroy him, she too will die. And one of the noblest and purest spirits in Rome will be no more. For these reasons I come to offer myself in exchange. What am I? I am alone in the world. No life is wrapped up in mine. No one depends on me for the present and the future. I fear not death. It may as well come now as at any other time. It must come sooner or later. And I would rather give my life as a ransom for a friend than lay it down uselessly. For these reasons, Lusullus, I implore you. By the sacred ties of friendship, by your pity, by your promise to me, give me your assistance now and take my life in exchange for his. Lusullus rose to his feet and paced the room in great agitation. Oh, why, Marcellus, he cried at last, do you try me so terribly? My proposal is easy to receive. You forget that your life is precious to me. But think of this young lad. I pity him deeply, but do you think I can receive your life as a forfeit? It is forfeited already and will be surrendered sooner or later. I pray you, let it be yielded up while it may be of service. You shall not die as long as I can prevent it. Your life is not yet forfeited. By the immortal gods, it will be long before you take your place in the arena. No one can save me when once I am taken. You might try your uttermost. What could you do to save one on whom the Emperor's wrath is falling? I might do much to avert it. You do not know what might be done. But even if I could do nothing, still I would not listen to this proposal now. If I went to the Emperor himself, he would grant my prayer. He would take you prisoner at once and put both of you to death. I could send a messenger with my proposal. The messenger would not reach him, or at least it would come too late. There is then no hope, said Marcellus mournfully. None. And you absolutely refuse to grant my request? Alas, Marcellus, how can I be guilty of the death of my friend? You have no mercy on me. Forgive me if I refuse so unreasonable a proposal. The will of the Lord be done, said Marcellus. I must hasten back. Alas, how can I carry with me this message of despair? The two friends embraced in silence, and Marcellus departed, leaving Lucullus overcome with amazement at this proposal. Marcellus returned to the catacombs in safety. The brethren there who knew of his errand received him again with mournful joy. The Lady Cecilia still lay in a kind of stupor, only half conscious of the surrounding events. At times her mind would wander, and in her delirium she would talk of happy scenes in her early life. But the life which she had led in the catacombs, the altering hope and fear, joy and sorrow, the ever-present anxiety and the oppressive air of the place itself had overcome both mind and body. Her delicate nature sank beneath the fury of such an ordeal, and this last heavy blow completed her prostration. She could not rally from its effects. That night they watched around her couch. Every hour she grew feebler, and life was slowly but surely passing away. From that descent into death, not even the restoration of her son could have saved her. But though earthly thoughts had left her, and earthly feelings had grown faint, the one master passion of her later years held undiminished power over her. Her lips murmured still the sacred words which had so long been her support and consolation. The name of her darling boy was breathed from her lips, though his present danger was forgotten. But it was the blessed name of Jesus that was uttered with the deepest fervor. At length the end came. Starting from a long period of stillness, her eyes opened wide, a flush passed over her wan and emanciated face, and she uttered a faint cry, With the cry, life went out, and the pure spirit of the Lady Cecilia had returned unto God who gave it. It was a large room in a building not far from the imperial palace. The pavement was of polished marble, and columns supported a paneled dome. An altar with a statue of a heathen deity was at one end of the apartment. Magistrates in their robes occupied raised seats on the opposite end. In front of them were some soldiers guarding a prisoner. The prisoner was a boy polio. His face was pale, but his bearing was erect and firm. The remarkable intelligence which had always characterized him did not fail him now. His quick eye took in everything. He knew the inevitable doom that impended over him, yet there was no trace of fear or indecision about him. He knew that the only tie that bound him to earth had been severed. Early that morning, the news of his mother's death had reached him. It had been carried to him by a man who thought that the knowledge of this would fortify his resolution. That man was Marcellus. The kindness of Lucullus had granted him an interview. His judgment had been correct. While his mother lived, the thought of her would have weakened his resolution. Now that she was dead, he was eager to depart also. In his simple faith, he believed that death would unite him at once to the dear mother whom he loved so fondly. With these feelings, he awaited the examination. Who are you? Marcus Servilius Polio. What is your age? Thirteen years. At the mention of his name, a murmur of compassion went around the assemblage, for the name was well known in Rome. You are charged with the crime of being a Christian. What have you to say? I am guilty of no crime, said the boy. I am a Christian, and I am glad to be able to confess it before men. It is the same with them all, said one of the judges. They all have the same formula. Do you know the nature of your crime? I am guilty of no crime, said Polio. My faith teaches me to fear God and honor the Emperor. I have obeyed every just law and am not a traitor. To be a Christian is to be a traitor. I am a Christian, but I am no traitor. The law of the state forbids you to be a Christian under pain of death. If you are a Christian, you must die. I am a Christian, repeated Polio firmly. Then you must die. Be it so. Boy, do you know what it is to suffer death? I have seen much of death during the last few months. I have always expected to lay down my life for my Lord when my turn comes. For you are young. We pity your tender age and inexperience. You have been trained so peculiarly that you are scarcely responsible for your present folly. For all this, we are willing to die.