CHAPTER VI.
THE MARTYR'S BURIAL.
The fawning Greek Isidorus had stealthily wormed his way into theconfidence of Faustus, a servant of Adauctus, by professing to be, ifnot a Christian, at least a sincere inquirer after the truth, and anardent hater of the edict of persecution. Faustus had therefore promisedto conduct him to a private meeting of the Christians, where he might bemore fully instructed by the good presbyter, Primitius. In the shortsummer twilight they therefore made their way to the villa of theChristian matron Marcella, on the Appian Way, about two miles from thecity gates. A high wall surrounded the grounds. In this was a wicket ordoor, at which Faustus knocked. The white-haired porter partly openedthe door, and recognizing the foremost figure, admitted him, but gave alook of inquiry before passing his companion.
"It is all right," said Faustus. "He is a good friend of mine," and sothey passed on.
The grounds were large and elegant, fountains flashed in the softmoonlight, the night-blooming cereus breathed forth its rare perfume,and masses of cypress and ilex cast deep shadows on the pleached alleys.But there was a conspicuous absence of the garden statuary invariablyfound in pagan grounds. There was no figure of the god Terminus, nor ofthe beautiful Flora, or Pomona, nor of any of the fair goddesses whichto-day people the galleries of Rome. In the spacious _atrium_, orcentral apartment of the house, which was partially lighted by bronzecandalabra, was gathered a company of nearly a hundred persons, seatedon couches around the hall--the men on the right and the women on theleft. A solemn stillness brooded over the entire assembly. Near a tallcadalabrum stood a venerable figure with a snowy beard--the presbyterPrimitius. From a parchment scroll in his hand he read in impressivetones the holy words of hope and consolation, "Let not your hearts betroubled, ye believe in God, believe also in me," and the rest of thatsweet, parting counsel of the world's Redeemer.
STAIRWAY TO CATACOMB.]
Before he was through, a procession with torches was seen approachingthrough the garden. On a bier, borne by four young men, lay the body ofLucius the martyr, wrapped in white and strewn with flowers--at rest inthe solemn majesty of death from the tortures of the rack and scourge.The little assembly within joined the procession without, and softlysinging the holy words which still give such consolation to the strickenheart, "Beati sunt mortui qui in Domino morientur--Blessed are the deadwho die in the Lord," through the shadowy cypress alleys wound thesolemn procession. Soon it reached an archway, like that shown in ourfirst chapter, the entrance to the catacomb of St. Callixtus, which laybeneath the grounds of the Lady Marcella. Then, preceded by torches,with careful tread the bearers of the bier slowly descended a rock-hewnstairway, and traversed a long and gloomy corridor, lined on either sidewith the graves of the dead.[19] This stairway and corridor are shown inthe engravings which accompany this chapter.
An almost supernatural fear fell upon the soul of Isidorus the Greek,who had followed in the train of the procession, as it penetratedfurther and further into the very heart of the earth. He seemed likeUlysses with his ghostly guide visiting the grim regions of thenether-world, and the words of the classic poet came to his mind,"Horror on all sides, the very silence fills the soul with dread."Already for more than two centuries these gloomy galleries had been thereceptacles of the Christian dead, and in many places the slabs thatsealed the tombs were broken, and the graves yawned weirdly as hepassed, revealing the unfleshed skeletons lying on their stony bed. Tohis excited imagination they seemed to menace him with theiroutstretched bony arms. Deep, mysterious shadows crouched around, fullof vague suggestions of affright. His gay, joyous and pleasure-lovingnature recoiled from the evidences of mortality around him. Hisfootsteps faltered, and he almost fell to the rocky pavement. Theprocession swept on, the glimmering lights growing dimmer and dimmer,and then turning an angle they suddenly disappeared. Fear lent wings tohis feet, and he fled along the narrow path with outstretched hands,sometimes touching with a feeling of horrible recoil the bones or ashesof the dead. He hurried along, groping from side to side, and when hereached the passage down which the funeral procession had disappeared,no gleam of it was visible, nor could he tell, so suddenly the lightshad disappeared, whether it had turned to the right or to the left. Thedarkness was intense--a darkness that might be felt, a brooding horrorthat oppressed every sense. He tried to call out, but his tongue seemedto cleave to the roof of his mouth, and his faint cry was swallowed upin the deep and oppressive silence. Had the vengeance of the godsovertaken him in punishment for his meditated crime? Was he, who soloved the light and air, and joyous sunshine, never to behold themagain? Must he be buried in these gloomy vaults for ever? These thoughtssurged through his brain, and almost drove him wild. But what sounds arethose that steal faintly on his ear? They seem like the music of heavenheard in the heart of hell. Stronger, sweeter, clearer, come the holyvoices. And now they shape themselves to words, "Nam et si ambulavero inmedio umbr[ae] mortis, non timebo mala--Yea, though I walk through thevalley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil." Was it to taunt histerrors those strange words were sung? Then the holy chant went on,"Quonian tu mecum es Virga tua, et baculus tuus, ipsa me consolatasunt--For thou art with me, thy rod and thy staff they comfort me." Whatstrange secret had these Christians that sustained their souls evensurrounded by the horrors of the tomb?
CORRIDOR OF CATACOMB.]
Isidorus groped his way amid the gloom toward these heavenly sounds.Soon he caught a faint glimmer of light reflected from an angle of thecorridor, and then a ray through an open doorway pierced the gloom.Hurrying forward he found the whole company from which he had becomeseparated gathered in a sort of chapel hewn out of the solid rock. Thebody of Lucius lay upon the bier before an open tomb, hewn out of thewall. The venerable presbyter, by the fitful torchlight which illuminedthe strange group, and lit up the pious paintings and epitaphs upon thewall, read from a scroll the strange words, "And I saw under the altarthe souls of them that were slain for the Word of God and for thetestimony which they held, and they cried with a loud voice, saying, Howlong, Lord, holy and true, dost thou not judge and avenge our blood onthem that dwell on the earth?" A great fear fell upon the soul of thesusceptible Greek, for the slain man seemed, in the solemn majesty ofdeath, to become an accusing judge.
Then turning his scroll the presbyter read on, "What are these arrayedin white robes and whence came they? These are they which came out ofgreat tribulation, and have washed their robes and made them white inthe blood of the Lamb. Therefore are they before the throne of God, andserve Him day and night in His temple.... They shall hunger no more,neither thirst any more ... and God shall wipe away all tears fromtheir eyes."
These holy words stirred strange emotions in the agitated breast of theyoung Greek. Sweeter were they than ought he had ever read in Pindar'spage, and more sublime than even Homer's hymns. If these things weretrue, he thought, he would gladly change places with the martyr on hisbier, if only he might exchange the torturing ambitions, strifes andsins of time for the holy joys which that marvellous scroll revealed.
Then by loving hands the martyr's body was placed in its narrow tomb. Amarble slab, on which were simply written his name and the words,"DORMIT IN PACE--He sleeps in peace," was cemented against the opening.With a trowel, a palm branch, the symbol of martyrdom, was rudely tracedin the yet unhardened cement, and the little company began to disperse.
"O sir," cried the young Greek, clasping the hand of the venerablePrimitius, "teach me more fully this excellent way."
"Gladly, my son," replied the benignant old man. "Come hither to-morrow.For here," he added with a smile, "my friends insist that I must remainconcealed till this outburst of persecution shall have passed.[20]Hilarus, the fossor, will be thy guide. He will now conduct thee backto thy friend Faustus, who is seeking thee."
By the dim light of a waxen taper which he carried, Hilarus led theGreek to the entrance to the Catacomb, where they found Faustus waitingin some alarm at the delay of his friend. In the bright moonl
ight theywalked back to the city. Isidorus thought well to evade giving anaccount of his adventure in the Catacomb, and, to turn the conversation,asked how the Christians had obtained the body of Lucius from the publicexecutioner.
"Oh, money will do anything in Rome," said Faustus, at which the Greekvisibly winced. "The Lady Marcella, in whose grounds the Catacomb is,devotes much of her wealth to burying the poor of the Church, and hersteward had no difficulty in purchasing from Hanno, the executioner, themangled remains of the martyr. 'Tis like, before long, that he will havemany such to sell."
FOOTNOTES:
[19] For the details above given, see Bingham's _Origines Ecclesiastica_
[20] Liberius, Bishop of Rome, lay concealed in the Catacombs for awhole year, during a time of persecution.
Valeria, the Martyr of the Catacombs: A Tale of Early Christian Life in Rome Page 8