1 The judge angrily reproved the executioner for his hesitation, and bid him a»
once do his duty."— Page 514.

FABIOLA

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS

BY , ,
HIS EMINENCE CARDINAL WISEMAN

BMC, SUB ALTARI SITA SEMPITERWO,
LAPSIBUS NOSTRIS VKNIAM PRECATUR,
TCRBA, O.UAM SERVAT PROCKRUM CREATRIX
PURPUREORUM. Prudentius

JUBILEE EDITION
ILLUSTRATED

IRew lor??
P. J. KENEDY
PUBLISHER TO THE HOLY APOSTOLIC SEE

CONTENTS.

PAET I.
PEACE.
CHAPTER PAGK
I. The Christian House  1
II. The Martyr's Boy  7
III. The Dedication  15
IV. The Heathen Household  23
V. The Visit  36
VI. The Banquet  43
VII. Poor and Rich  54
VIII. The First Day's Conclusion  68
IX. Meetings  75
X. Other Meetings  93
XI. A Talk with the Reader  109
XII. The Wolf and the Fox  119
XIII. Charity  126
XIV. Extremes Meet  131
XV. Charity Returns  144
XVI. The Month of October  148
XVII. The Christian Community  167
XVIII. Temptation  184
XIX. The Fall  192

PART II.
CONFLICT.
I. Diogenes  208
II. The Cemeteries  223
III. What Diogenes could not Tell about the Catacombs.. . 237
IV. What Diogenes did Tell about the Catacombs  248

IV CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
V. Above Ground  260
VI. Deliberations  266
VII., Dark Death  277
VIII. Darker Still  284
IX. The False Brother  291
X. The Ordination in December'  295
XI. The Virgins  306
XII. The Nomentan Villa  316
XIII. The Edict  324
XIV. The Discovery  335
XV. Explanations  341
XVI. The Wolf in the Fold  348
XVII. The First Flower  365
XVIII. Retribution  378
XIX. Twofold Revenge  393
XX. The Public Works  405
XXI. The Prison  413
XXII. The Viaticum  421
XXIII. The Fight  438
XXIV. The Christian Soldier  450
XXV. The Rescue  :  458
XXVI. The Revival  472
XXVII. The Second Crown  481
XXVIII. The Critical Day : its First Part  490
XXIX. The Same Day • its Second Part  502
XXX. The Same Day : its Third Part  520
XXXI. The Priest and Physician  542
XXXII. The Sacrifice Accepted  549
XXXIII. Miriam's History  562
XXXIV. Bright Death  574

PART III.
VICTORY.
I. The Stranger from the East  588
II. The Stranger in Rome  596
III. And Last  603

PREFACE.
When the plan of the Popular Catholic Library was
formed, the author of the following little work was
consulted upon it. He not only approved of the de
sign, but venture to suggest, among others, a series
of tales illustrative of the condition of the Church in
different periods of her past existence. One, for
instance, might be called "The Church of the Cata
combs ;" a second, " The Church of the Basilicas ;"
each comprising three hundred years : a third would be
on " The Church of the Cloister ;" and then, perhaps,
a fourth might be added, called " The Church of the
Schools." In proposing this sketch, he added, — perhaps the read
er will find indiscreetly,— that he felt half inclined to
undertake the first, by way of illustrating the proposed
plan. He was taken at his word, and urged strongly
to begin the work. Aftfcr some reflection, he consented ;
but with an understanding, that it was not to be an
occupation, but only the recreation of leisure hours.
With this condition, the work was commenced early in
vii

viii PREFACE.
this year; and it has been carried on entirely on that
principle. It has, therefore, been written at all sorts of times
and in all sorts of places ; early and late, when no duty
urged, in scraps and fragments of time, when the body
was too fatigued or the mind too worn for heavier occu
pation; in the road-side inn, in the halt of travel, in
strange houses, in every variety of situation and cir
cumstances — sometimes trying ones. It has thus# been
composed bit by bit, in portions varying from ten lines
to half-a-dozen pages at most, and generally with few
books or resources at hand. But once begun, it has
proved what it was taken for,— a recreation, and often
a solace and a sedative ; from the memories it has re
vived, the associations it has renewed, the scattered and
broken remnants of old studies and early readings
which it has combined, and by the familiarity which
it has cherished with better times and better things
than surround us in our age.
Why need the reader be told all this? For two
reasons :
First, this method of composition may possibly be
reflected on the work; and he may find it patchy and
ill-sorted, or not well connected in its parts. If so,
this account will explain the cause.
Secondly, he will thus be led not to expect a treatise
or a learned work even upon ecclesiastical antiquities.

PREFACE. i*
Nothing Would have been easier than to east an air of
learning over this little book, and fill half of each page
with notes and references. But this was never the
writer's idea. Plis desire was rather to make his reader
familiar with the usages, habits, conditions, ideas, feel
ing, and spirit of the early ages of Christianity. This
required a certain acquaintance with places and objects
connected with the period, and some familiarity, more
habitual than learned, with the records of the time.
For instance, such writings as the Acts of primitive
Martyrs should have been frequently read, so as to
leave impressions on the author's mind, rather than
have been examined scientifically and critically for
mere antiquarian purposes. And so, such places or
monuments as have to be explained should seem to
stand before the eye of the describer, from frequently
and almost casually seeing them, rather than have to
be drawn from books.
Another source of instruction has been freely used.
Any one acquainted with the Roman Breviary must
have observed, that in the offices of certain saints a
peculiar style prevails, which presents the holy persons
commemorated in a distinct and characteristic form.
This is not the result so much of any continuous narra
tive, as of expressions put into their mouths, or brief
descriptions of events in their lives, repeated often
again and again, in antiphons, responsofia to lessons,

X PREFACE.
and even Versicles ; till they put before us an individual
ity, a portrait clear and definite of singular excellence.
To this class belong the offices of SS. Agnes, Agatha,
Csecilia, and Lucia ; and that of St. Clement. Each of
these saints stands out before our minds with distinct
features ; almost as if we had seen and known them.
If, for instance, we take the first that we have named,
we clearly draw out the following circumstances. She
is evidently pursued by some heathen admirer, whose
suit for her hand she repeatedly rejects. Sometimes
she tells him that he is forestalled by another, to whom
she is betrothed; sometimes she describes this object
of her choice under various images, representing him
even as the object of homage to sun and moon. On
another occasion she describes the rich gifts, or the
beautiful garlands with which he has adorned her, and
the chaste caresses by which he has endeared himself
to her. Then at last, as if more importunately pressed,
she rejects the love of perishable man, " the food of
death," and triumphantly proclaims herself the spouse
of Christ, Threats are used; but she declares herself
under the protection of an angel who will shield her.
This history is as plainly written by the fragments
of her office, as a word is by scattered letters brought,
and joined together. But throughout, onie discerns
another peculiarity, and a truly beautiful one in her
character. It is clearly represented to us, that the

PREFACE. XI
saint had ever before her the unseen Object of her love,
saw Him, heard Him, felt Him, and entertained, and
had returned, a real affection, such as hearts on earth
have for one another. She seems to walk in perpet
ual vision, almost in ecstatic fruition, of her Spouse's
presence. He has actually put a ring upon her finger,
has transferred the blood from His own cheek to hers,
has crowned her with budding roses. Her eye is really
upon Him, with unerring gaze, and returned looks of
gracious love.
What writer that introduced the person would
venture to alter the character ? Who would presume to
attempt one at variance with it ? Or who would hope
to draw a portrait more life-like and more exquisite
than the Church has done? For, putting aside all
inquiry as to the genuineness of the acts by which these
passages are suggested ; and still more waiving the in
quiry whether the hard critical spirit of a former age
too lightly rejected such ecclesiastical documents, as
Gueranger thinks ; it is clear that the Church, in her
office, intends to place before. us a certain type of high
virtue embodied in the character of that saint. The
writer of the following pages considered himself there
fore bound to adhere to this view.
Whether these objects have been attained, it is for
the reader to judge. At any rate, even looking at
the amount of information to be expected from a work

Xll PREFACE.
in this form, and one intended for general reading, a
comparison between the subjects introduced, either
formally, or casually, and those given in any elemen
tary work, such as Fleury's Manners of the Christians,
which embraces several centuries more, will show that
as much positive knowledge on the practices and belief
of that early period is here imparted, as it is usual to
communicate in a more didactic form.
At the same time, the reader must remember that this
book is not historical. It takes in but a period of a
few months, extended in some concluding chapters. It
consists rather of a series of pictures than of a narra
tive of events. Occurrences, therefore, of different
epochs and different countries have been condensed into
a small space. Chronology has been sacrificed to this
purpose. The date of Dioclesian's edict has been an
ticipated by two months; the martyrdom of St. Agnes
by a year; the period of St. Sebastian, though uncer
tain, has been brought down later. All that relates to
Christian topography has been kept as accurate as pos
sible. A martyrdom has been transferred from Imola
to Fondi.
It was necessary to introduce some view of the morals
and opinions of the pagan world, as a contrast to those
of Christians. But their worst aspect has been care
fully suppressed, as nothing could be admitted here
whi<?h the most sensitive Catholic eye would shrink

PREFACE. xui
from contemplating. It is indeed earnestly desired
that this little work, written solely for recreation, be
read also as a relaxation from graver pursuits ; but that,
at the same time, the reader may rise from its perusal
with a feeling that his time has not been lost, nor his
mind occupied with frivolous ideas. Rather let it be
hoped, that some admiration and love may be inspired
by it of those primitive times, which an over-excited in
terest in later and more brilliant epochs of the Church
it too apt to diminish or obscure.
Sept. S, 1854.

FABIOLA;
OR,
THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS
PART FIRST— PEACE.
CHAPTER I.
THE CHRISTIAN HOUSE.
It is on an afternoon in September of the year 302,
that we invite our reader to accompany us through the
streets of Rome. The sun has declined, and is about
two hours from his setting; the day is cloudless, and its
heat has cooled, so that multitudes are issuing from
their houses, and making their way towards Caesar's
gardens on one side, or Sallust's on the other, to enjoy
their evening walk, and learn the news of the day.
But the part of the city to which we wish to conduct
our friendly reader is that known by the name of the
Campus Martius. It comprised the flat alluvial plain
between the seven hills. of older Rome and the Tiber.
Before the close of the republican period, this field,
once left bare for the athletic and warlike exercises of

2 FABIOLA ; OR,
the people, had begun to be encroached upon by public
buildings. Pompey had erected in it his theatre;
soon after, Agrippa raised the Pantheon and its
adjoining baths. But gradually it became occupied
by private dwellings; while the hills, in the early em
pire the aristocratic portion of the city, were seized
upon for greater edifices. Thus the Palatine, after
Xero's fire, became almost too small for the imperial
residence and its adjoining Circus Maximus. The
Esquiline was usurped by Titus's baths, built on the
ruins of the Golden House, the Aventine by Cara-
calla's; and -at the period of which we write, the Em
peror Dioclesian Avas covering the space sufficient for
many lordly dwellings, by the erection of his Thermse*
on the Quirinal, not far from Sallust's garden just
alluded to.
The particular spot in the Campus Martius to which
we will direct out steps, is one whose situation is so
definite, that we can accurately describe it to any one
acquainted with the topography of ancient or modern
Rome. In republican times there Avas a large square
space in the Campus Martius, surrounded by boarding,
and divided into pens, in which the Comitia, or meet
ings of the tribes of the people, were held, for giving
their votes. This was called the Septa, or Ovile, from
its resemblance to a sheepfold. Augustus carried out
* Hot-baths.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 3
a plan, described by Cicero in a letter to Atticus,* of
transforming this homely contrivance into a magnifi
cent and solid structure. The Septa Julia, as it was
thenceforth called, was a splendid portico of 1000 by
500 feet, supported by columns, and adorned with
paintings. Its ruins are clearly traceable; and it
occupied the space now covered by the Doria and
Verospi palaces (running thus along the present
Corso), the Roman College, the Church of St. Ignatius,
and the Oratory of the Caravita.
The house to which we invite our reader is exactly
opposite, and on the east side of this edifice, including
in its area the present church of St. Marcellus, whence
it extended back towards the foot of the Quirinal hill.
It is thus found to cover, as noble Roman houses did,
a considerable extent of ground. From the outside it
presents but a blank and dead appearance. The walls
are plain, without architectural ornament, not high,
and scarcely broken by windows. In the middle of
one side of this quadrangle is a door, in antis, that is,
merely relieved by a tympanum or triangular cornice,
resting on two half columns. Using our privilege as
"artists of fiction," of invisible ubiquity, we will enter
in with our friend, or " shadow," as he would have
been anciently called. Passing through the porch, on
the pavement of which we read with pleasure, in
* Lib. iv. ep. 16.

4 FABIOLA; OR,
mosaic, the greeting Salve, or Welcome., we find our
selves in the atrium, or first court of the house, sur
rounded by a portico or colonnade.*
In the centre of the marble pavement a softly warb
ling jet of pure water, brought by the Claudian aque
duct from the Tusculan hills, springs into the air, now
higher, no lower, and falls into an elevated basin of red
marble, over the sides of which it flows in downy waves ;
and before reaching its lower and wider recipient,
scatters a gentle shower on the rare and brilliant flowers
placed in elegant vases around. Under the portico
we see furniture disposed, of a rich and sometimes rare
character; couches inlaid with ivory, and even silver;
tables of oriental woods, bearing candelabra, lamps, and
other household implements of bronze or silver; deli
cately chased busts, vases, tripods, and objects of mere
art. On the walls are paintings evidently of a former
period, still, however, retaining all their brightness of
colour and freshness of execution. These are sepa
rated by niches with statues, representing indeed, like
the pictures, mythological or historical subjects; but
v«e cannot help observing, that nothing meets the eye
which could offend the most delicate mind. Here and
there an empty niche, or a covered painting proves that
this is not the result of accident.
* The Pompeian Court in the Crystal palace will have familiar
ised many readers with the form of an ancient house.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 5
As outside the columns, the coving roof leaves a large
square opening in its centre, called the impluviumj there
is drawn across it a curtain, or veil of dark canvas,
which keeps out the sun and rain. An artificial twilight
therefore alone enables us to see all that we have
described, but it gives greater effect to what is beyond.
Through an arch, opposite to the one whereby we have
entered, we catch a glimpse of an inner and still richer
court, paved with variegated marbles, and adorned with
bright gilding. The veil of the opening above, which,
however, here is closed with thick glass or talc (lapis
specularis), has been partly withdrawn, and admits
a bright but softened ray from the evening sun on to
the place, where we see, for the first time, that we
are in no enchanted hall, but in an inhabited house.
Beside a table, just outside the columns of Phryg
ian marble, sits a matron not beyond the middle of
life, whose features, noble yet mild, show traces of
having passed through sorrow at some earlier period.
But a powerful influence has subdued the recollection
of it, or blended it with a sweeter thought ; and the two
always come together, and have long dwelt united in
her heart. The simplicity of her appearance strangely
contrasts with the richness of all around her ; her hair,
streaked with silver,. is left uncovered, and unconcealed
by any artifice ; her robes are of the plainest colour and
texture, without embroidery, except the purple ribbon

6 FABIOLA; OR,
sewed on and called the segmentum, which denotes the
state of widowhood, and not a jewel or precious orna
ment, of which tbe Roman la-dies were so lavish, is to
be seen upon her person. The only thing approaching
to this is a slight gold cord or chain round her neck,
from which apparently hangs some object, carefully
concealed within the upper hem of her dress.
At the time that we discover her she is busily engaged
over a piece of work, which evidently has no personal
use. Upon a long rich strip of gold cloth she is em
broidering with still richer gold thread ; and occasion
ally she has recourse to one or another of several elegant
caskets upon the table, from which she takes out a pearl
or a gem set in gold, and introduces it into the design.
It looks as if the precious ornaments of earlier days
were being devoted to some higher purpose.
But as time goes on, some little uneasiness may be
observed to come over her calm thoughts, hitherto
absorbed, to all appearance, in her work. She now
occasionally raises her eyes from it towards the en
trance ; sometimes she listens for footsteps, and seems
disappointed. She looks up towards the sun, then per
haps turns her glance towards a clepsydra or water-
clock, on a bracket near her; but just as a feeling of
more serious anxiety begins to make an impression on
her countenance, a cheerful rap strikes the house-door,
and she bends forward with a radiant look to meet
the welcome visitor.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS.

CHAPTER II.

THE MAETYE S BOY.

It is a youth full of grace, and sprightliness, and
candour, that comes forward with light and buoyant
steps across the atrium, towards the inner-hall; and
we shall hardly find time to sketch him before he
reaches it. He is about fourteen years old, but tall
for that age, with elegance of form and manliness of
bearing. His bare neck and limbs are well developed
by healthy exercise; his features display an open and
warm heart, while his lofty forehead, round which his
brown hair naturally curls, beams with a bright intel
ligence. He wears the usual youth's garment, the short
prwtexta, reaching below the knee, and a golden bulla,
or hollow spheroid of gold suspended round his neck.
A bundle of paper* and vellum rolls fastened together,
and carried by an old servant behind him, shows us
that he is just returning home from school.*
While we have been thus noting him, he has received
* This custom suggests to St. Augustine the beautiful idea
that the Jews were the pcedagogi of Christianity, — carrying for
it the book which they themselves could not understand,

8 FABIOLA; OR,
his mother's embrace, and has set himself low by her
feet. She gazes upon him for some time in silence, as
if to discover in his countenance the cause of his un
usual delay, for he is an hour late in his return. But
he meets her glance with so frank a look, and with such
a smile of innocence, that every cloud of doubt is in a
moment dispelled, and she addresses him as follows:
" What has detained you to-day, my dearest boy ?
No accident, I trust, has happened to you on the way ? "
" Oh, none, I assure you, sweetest* mother ; on the
contrary, all has been delightful, — so much so, that I
can scarcely venture to tell you."
A look of smiling expostulation drew from the open-
hearted boy a delicious laugh, as he continued,
" Well, I suppose I must. You know I am never
happy, and cannot sleep, if I have failed to tell you all
the bad and the good of the day about myself." (The
mother smiled again, wondering what the bad was.)
" I was reading the other day that the Scythians each
evening cast into an urn a white or a black stone, ac
cording as the day had been happy or unhappy; if I
had to do so, it would serve to mark, in white or black,
the days on which I have, or have not, an opportunity
of relating to you all that I have done. But to-day,
for the first time, I have a doubt, a fear of conscience,
whether I ought to tell you all."
* The peculiar epithet of the Catacombs.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. $
Did the mother's heart flutter more than usual, as
from a first anxiety, or was there a softer solicitude
dimming her eye, that the youth should seize her hand
and put it tenderly to his lips, while he thus replied ?
" Fear nothing, mother most beloved, your son has
done nothing that may give you pain. Only say, do
you wish to hear all that has befallen me to-day, or
only the cause of my late return home ? "
" Tell me all, dear Pancratius," she answered ; " no
thing that concerns you can be indifferent to me."
" Well, then," he began " this last day of my fre
quenting school appears to me to have been singularly
blessed, and yet full of strange occurrences. First, I
was crowned as the successful competitor in a decla
mation which our good master Cassianus set us for
our work during the morning hours; and this led, as
you will hear, to some singular discoveries. The sub
ject was, ' That the real philosopher should be ever
ready to die for truth.' I never heard anything so
cold or insipid (I hope it is not wrong to say so,) as
the compositions read by my companions. It was not
their fault, poor fellows! what truth can they possess,
and what inducements can they have, to die for any
of their vain opinions ? But to a Christian, what charm
ing suggestions such a theme naturally makes! And
so I felt it. My heart glowed, and all my thoughts
seemed to burn, as I wrote my essay, full of the lessons

IO FABIOLA; OR,
you have taught me, and of the domestic examples thai;
are before me. The son of a martyr could not feel
otherwise. But when my turn came to read my decla
mation, I found that my feelings had nearly fatally
betrayed me. In the warmth of my recitation, the
word ' Christian ' escaped my lips instead of ' philoso
pher,' and ' faith ' instead of ' truth.' At the first
mistake, I saw Cassianus start; at the second, I saw A
tear glisten in his eye, as bending affectionately towards
me, he said, in a whisper, ' Beware, my child ; there
are sharp ears listening.' "
" What, then," interrupted the mother, " is Cassia
nus a Christian ? I chose his school for you because
it was in the highest repute for learning and for moral
ity; and now indeed I thank God that I did so. But
in these days of danger and apprehension we are obliged
to live as strangers in our own land, scarcely knowing
the faces of our brethren. Certainly, had Cassianus
proclaimed his faith, his school would soon have been
deserted. But go on, my dear boy. Were his appre
hensions well grounded ? "
" I fear so ; for while the great body of my school
fellows, not noticing these slips, vehemently applauded
my hearty declamation, I saw the dark eyes of Corvi-
nus bent scowlingly upon me, as he bit his lip in mani
fest anger."

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. II
" And who is he, my child, that was so displeased,
and wherefore ? "
" He is the oldest and strongest, but, unfortunately,
the dullest boy in the school. But this, you know, is
not his fault. Only, I know not why, he seems ever
to have had an ill-will and grudge against me, the
cause of which I cannot understand."
" Did he say aught to you, or do ? "
" Yes, and was the cause of my delay. For when
we went forth from school into the field by the river,
he addressed me insultingly in the presence of our com
panions, and said, ' Come, Pancratius, this, I under
stand, is the last time we meet here (he laid a particular
emphasis on the word) ; but I have a long score to de
mand payment of from you. You have loved to shov/
your superiority in school over me and others older and
better than yourself; I saw your supercilious looks at
me as you spouted your high-flown declamation to-day ;
ay, and I caught expressions in it which you may live
to rue, and that very soon; for my father, you well
know, is Prefect of the city (the mother slightly
started) ; and something is preparing which may nearly
concern you. Before you leave us I must have my
revenge. If you are worthy of your name, and it be
not an empty word,* let us fairly contend in more
* The Pancratium was the exercise which combined all other
personal contests, — wrestling, boxing, &c.

12 FABIOLA ; OR,
manly strife than that of the style and tables.* Wrestle
with me, or try the cestusf against me. I burn to
humble you as you deserve, before these witnesses of
your insolent triumphs.' "
The anxious mother bent eagerly forward as she
listened, and scarcely breathed. " And what," she ex
claimed, " did you answer, my dear son ? "
" I told him gently that he was quite mistaken ; for
never had I consciously done anything that could give
pain to him or any of my schoolf ellows ; nor did I
ever dream of claiming superiority over them. ' And
as to what you propose,' I added, ' you know, Corvinus,
that I have always refused to indulge in personal com
bats, which, beginning in a cool trial of skill, end in
an angry strife, hatred, and wish for revenge. How
much less could I think of entering on them now: when
you avow that you are anxious to begin them with those
^vil feelings which are usually their bad end?' Our
schoolmates had now formed a circle round us; and
I clearly saw that they were all against me, for they
had hoped to. enjoy some of the delights of their cruel
games ; I therefore cheerfully added, ' And now, my
comrades, good-bye, and may all happiness attend you.
* The implements of writing in schools, the tablet being
covered with wax, on which the letters were traced by the sharp
point, and effaced by the flat top of the style.
f The hand-bandages worn in pugilistic combats.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 1 3
I part from you as I have lived with you, in peace.'
' Not so,' replied Corvinus, now purple in the face with
fury; 'but'" —
The boy's countenance became crimsoned, his voice
quivered, his body trembled, and, half choked, he
sobbed out, " I cannot go on ; I dare not tell the rest ! "
" I entreat you, for God's sake, and for the love you
bear your father's memory," said the mother, placing
her hand upon her son's head, " conceal nothing from
me. I shall never again have rest if you tell me not
all. What further said or did Corvinus ? "
The boy recovered himself by a moment's pause and
a silent prayer, and then proceeded:
Not so ! ' exclaimed Corvinus, ' not so do you de
part, cowardly worshipper of an ass's head!* You
have concealed your abode from us, but I will find you
out ; till then bear this token of my determined purpose
to be revenged ! ' So saying he dealt me a furious
blow upon the face, which made me reel and stagger,
while a shout of savage delight broke forth from the
boys around us."
He burst into tears, which relieved him, and then
went on.
" Oh, how I felt my blood boil at that moment ! how
my heart seemed bursting within me; and a voice
appeared to whisper in my ear scornfully the name of
* One of the many calumnies popular among the heathens.

14 FABIOLA; OR,
' coward ! ' It surely was an evil spirit. I felt that
I was strong enough — my rising anger made me so —
to seize my unjust assailant by the throat, and cast
him gasping on the ground. I heard already the shout
of applause that would have hailed my victory and
turned the tables against him. It was the hardest
struggle of my life ; never were flesh and blood so strong
within me. O God ! may they never be again so tre
mendously powerful ! "
" And what did you do, then, my darling boy ? "
gasped forth the trembling matron.
He replied, " My good angel conquered the demon
at my side. I thought of my blessed Lord in the house
of Caiphas, surrounded by scoffing enemies, and struck
ignominiously on the cheek, yet meek and forgiving.
Could I wish to be otherwise ?* I stretched forth my
hand to Corvinus, and said, ' May God forgive you, as
I freely and fully do; and may He bless you abun
dantly.' Cassianus came up at that moment, having
seen all from a distance, and the youthful crowd
quickly dispersed. I entreated him, by our common
faith, now acknowledged between us, not to pursue
Corvinus for what he had done; and I obtained his
promise. And now, sweet mother," murmured the
boy, in soft, gentle accents, into his parent's bosom,
"do you not think I may call this a happy day ? "
* This scene is taken from a real occurrence.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 15

CHAPTER III

THE DEDICATION.

WniLE the foregoing conversation was held, the day
had fast declined. An aged female servant now en
tered unnoticed, and lighted the lamps placed on
marble and bronze candelabra, and quietly retired. A
bright light beamed upon the unconscious group of
mother and son, as they remained silent, after the holy
matron Lucina had answered Pancratius's last ques
tion only by kissing his glowing brow. It was not
merely a maternal emotion that was agitating her
bosom ; it was not even the happy feeling of a mother
who, having trained her child to certain high and dif
ficult principles, sees them put to their hardest test,
and nobly stand it. Neither was it the joy of having
for her son one, in her estimation, so heroically virtu
ous at such an age; for surely, with a much greater
justice than the mother of the Gracchi showed her boys
to the astonished matrons of republican Rome as her
only jewels, could that Christian mother have boasted
to the Church of the son she had brought up.

l6 FABIOLA; OR,
But to her this was an hour of still deeper, or shall
we say, sublimer feeling. It was a period looked for
ward to anxiously for years; a moment prayed for
with all the fervour of a mother's supplication. Many
a pious parent has devoted her infant son from ' the
cradle to the holiest and noblest state that earth pos
sesses; has prayed and longed to see him grow up to
be, first a spotless Levite, and then a holy priest at the
altar; and has watched eagerly each growing inclina
tion, and tried gently to bend the tender thought to
wards the sanctuary of the Lord of Hosts. And if
this was an only child, as Samuel was to Anna, that
dedication of all that is dear to her keenest affection,
may justly be considered as an act of maternal heroism.
What then must be said of ancient matrons,— Felicitas,
Symphorosa, or the unnamed mother of the Maccabees,
— who gave up or offered their children, not one, but
many, yea all, to be victims whole-burnt, rather than
priests, to God?
It was some such thought as this which filled the
heart of Lucina in that hour; while, with closed eyes,
she raised it high to heaven and prayed for strength.
She felt as though called to make a generous sacrifice
of what was dearest to her on earth; and though she
had long foreseen it and desired it, it was not without
a maternal throe that its merits could be gained. And
what was passing in that boy's mind as he too remained

The chuRCM of thE CAfACoMBg. if
silent and abstracted? Not any thought of a high
destiny awaiting him. No vision of a venerable Ba
silica, eagerly visited 1600 years later by the sacred
antiquary and the devout pilgrim, and giving his name,
which it shall bear, to the neighbouring gate of Rome.*
No anticipation of a church in his honour to rise in
faithful ages on the banks of the distant Thames,
which, even after desecration, should be loved and
eagerly sought as their last resting-place, by hearts
faithful still to his dear Rome.f No forethought of
a silver canopy or ciborium, weighing 287 lbs., to be
placed over the porphyry urn that should contain his
ashes, by Pope Honorius \.\ No idea that his name
would be enrolled in every martyrology, his picture,
crowned with rays, hung over many altars, as the boy-
martyr of the early Church. He was only the simple-
hearted Christian youth, who looked upon it as a matter
of course that he must always obey God's law and His
Gospel ; and only felt happy that he had that day per
formed his duty, when it came under circumstances
of more than usual trial. There was no pride, no self-
admiration in the reflection; otherwise there would
have been no heroism in his act.
* Church and gate of Pancrazio.
f Old St. Pancras's, the favourite burial-place of Catholics, till
they had cemeteries of their own.
% Anastasius, Biblioth. in vita Honorii,

18 FAElOLA; OR,
When he raised again his eyes, after his calm reverie!
of peaceful thoughts, in the new light which brightly
filled the hall, they met his mother's countenance gaz
ing anew upon him, radiant with a majesty and ten
derness such as he never recollected to have seen before.
It was a look almost of inspiration: her face was as
that of a vision ; her eyes what he would have imagined
an angel's to be. Silently, and almost unknowingly
he had changed his position, and was kneeling before
her; and well he might; for was she not to him as a
guardian spirit, who had shielded him ever from evil ;
or might he not well see in her the living saint whose
virtues had been his model from childhood ? Lucina
broke the silence, in a tone full of grave emotion.
" The time is at length come, my dear child," she
said, " which has long been the subject of my earnest
prayer, which I have yearned for in the exuberance of
maternal love. Eagerly have I watched in thee the
opening germ of each Christian virtue, and thanked
God as it appeared. I have noted thy docility, thy
gentleness, thy diligence, thy piety, and thy love of God
and man. I have seen with joy thy lively faith, and
thy indifference to worldly things, and thy tenderness to
the poor. But I have been waiting with anxiety for the
hour which should decisively show me, whether thou
wouldst be content with the poor legacy of thv mother's
weakly virtue, or art the true inheritor of thy martyred

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 10
father's nobler gifts. That hour, thank God, has come
to-day ! "
" What have I done, then, that should thus have
changed or raised thy opinion of me ? " asked Pan-
cratius. " Listen to me, my son. This day, which was to be
the last of thy school education, methinks that our mer
ciful Lord has been pleased to give thee a lesson worth
it all ; and to prove that thou hast put off the things of
a child, and must be treated henceforth as a man; for
thou canst think and speak, yea, and act as one."
" How dost thou mean, dear mother ? "
" What thou hast told me of thy declamation this
morning," she replied, " proves to me how full thy
heart must have been of noble and generous thoughts;
thou art too sincere and honest to have written, and
fervently expressed, that it was a glorious duty to die
for the faith, if thou hadst not believed it, and felt
it." " And truly I do believe and feel it," interrupted
the boy. " What greater happiness can a Christian
desire on earth ? "
" Yes, my child, thou sayest most truly," continued
Lucina. " But I should not have been satisfied with
words. What followed afterwards has proved to me
that thou canst bear intrepidly and patiently, not merely
pain, but what I know it must have been harder for

25 FABi6LA; 68,
thy young patrician blood to stand, the stinging igno
miny of a disgraceful blow, and the scornful words and
glances of an unpitying multitude. Nay more; thou
hast proved thyself strong enough to forgive and to
pray for thine enemy. This day thou hast trodden the
higher paths of the mountain, with the cross upon thy
shoulders ; one step more, and thou wilt plant it on its
summit. Thou hast proved thyself the genuine son
of the martyr Quintinus. Dost thou wish to be like
him?" " Mother, mother ! dearest, sweetest mother ! " broke
out the panting youth ; " could I be his genuine son,
and not wish to resemble him? Though I never en
joyed the happiness of knowing him, has not his image
been ever before my mind ? Has he not been the very
pride of my thoughts ? When each year the solemn
commemoration has been made of him, as of one of the
white-robed army that surrounds the Lamb, in whose
blood he washed his garments, how have my heart and
my flesh exulted in his glory; and how have I prayed
to him, in the warmth of filial piety, that he would -
obtain for me, not fame, not distinction, not wealth,
not earthly joy, but what he valued more than all these :
nay, that the only thing which he has left on earth
may be applied, as I know he now considers it would
most usefully and most nobly be."
" What is that, my son ? "

' With trembling hands she drew from her neck the golden chain."  Page 21.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 21
" It is his blood," replied the youth, " which yet
remains flowing in my veins, and in these only. I
know he must wish that it too, like what he held in
his own, may be poured out in love of his Redeemer,
and in testimony of his faith."
" Enough, enough, my child ! " exclaimed the
mother, thrilling with a holy emotion ; " take from thy
neck the badge of childhood, I have a better token to
give thee."
He obeyed, and put away the golden bulla.
" Thou hast inherited from thy father," spoke the
mother, with still deeper solemnity of tone, " a noble
name, a high station, ample riches, every worldly ad
vantage. But there is one treasure which I have re
served for thee from his inheritance, till thou shouldst
prove thyself worthy of it. I have concealed it from
thee till now; though I valued it more than gold and
jewels. It is now time that I make it over to thee."
With trembling hands she drew from her neck the
golden chain which hung round it; and for the first
time her son saw that it supported a small bag or purse
richly embroidered with pearls. She opened it, and
drew from it a sponge, dry indeed, but deeply stained.
" This, too, is thy father's blood, Pancratius," she
said, with faltering voice and streaming eyes. " I
gathered it myself from his death-wound, as, disguised,
I stood by his side, and saw him die for Christ."

22 FABIOLA ; OR,
She gazed upon it fondly, and kissed it fervently;
and her gushing tears fell on it, and moistened it once
more. And thus liquefied again, its colour glowed
bright and warm, as if it had only just left the martyr's
heart. The holy matron put it to her son's quivering lips,
and they were empurpled with its sanctifying touch.
He venerated the sacred relic with the deepest emotions
of a Christian and a son ; and felt as if his father's
spirit had descended into him, and stirred to its depths
the full vessel of his heart, that its waters might be
ready freely to flow. The whole family thus seemed
to him once more united. Lucina replaced her treasure
in its shrine, and hung it round the neck of her son,
saying : " When next it is moistened, may it be f rom a
nobler stream than that which gushes from a weak
woman's eyes ! " But heaven thought not so ; and the
future combatant was anointed, and the future mart3^r
was consecrated, by the blood of his father mingled with
his mother's tears.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 23

CHAPTER IV.
THE HEATHEN HOUSEHOLD.
While the scenes described in the three last chapters
were taking place, a very different one presented itself
in another house, situated in the valley between the
Quirinal and Esquiline hills. It was that of Fabius, a
man of the equestrian order, whose family, by farming
the revenues of Asiatic provinces, had amassed im
mense wealth. His house was larger and more
splendid than the one we have already visited. It
contained a third large peristyle, or court, surrounded
by immense apartments; and besides possessing many
treasures of European art, it abounded with the rarest
productions of the East. Carpets from Persia were
laid on the ground, silks from China, many-coloured
stuffs from Babylon, and gold embroidery from India
and Phrygia covered the furniture; while curious
works in ivory and in metals, scattered about, were
attributed to the inhabitants of islands beyond the In
dian ocean of monstrous form and fabulous descent.
Fabius himself, the owner of all this treasure and of
large estates, was a true specimen of an easy-going

24 FABIOLA ; OR,
Roman, who was determined thoroughly to enjoy this
life. In fact, he never dreamt of any other. Believ
ing in nothing, yet worshipping, as a matter of course,
on all proper occasions, whatever deity happened to
have its turn, he passed for a man as good as his neigh
bours ; and no one had a right to exact more. The
greater part of his day was passed at one or other of
the great baths, which, besides the purposes implied in
their name, comprised in their many adjuncts the
equivalents of clubs, reading-rooms, gambling-houses,
tennis-courts, and gymnasiums. There he took his
bath, gossiped, read, and whiled away his hours ; or
sauntered for a time into the Forum to hear some orator
speaking, or some advocate pleading, or into one of the
many public gardens whither the fashionable world of
Rome repaired. He returned home to an elegant sup
per, not later than our dinner; where he had daily
guests, either previously invited, or picked up during
the day among the many parasites on the look-out for
good fare.
At home he was a kind and indulgent master. His
house was well kept for him by an abundance of slaves ;
and, as trouble was what most he dreaded, so long as
everything was comfortable, handsome, and well-served
about him, he let things go on quietly, under the di
rection of his freedmen.
It is not, however, so much to him that we wish to

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 2§
introduce our reader, as to another inmate of his house,
the sharer of its splendid luxury, and the sole heiress
of his wealth. This is his daughter, who, according to
Roman usage, bears the father's name, softened, how
ever, into the diminutive Fabiola.* As we have done
before, we will conduct the reader at once into her
apartment. A marble staircase leads to it from the
second court, over the sides of which extends a suite
of rooms, opening upon a terrace refreshed and adorned
by a graceful fountain, and covered with a profusion
of the rarest exotic plants. In these chambers is con
centrated whatever is most exquisite and curious, in
native and foreign art. A refined taste directing ample
means, and peculiar opportunities, has evidently pre
sided over the collection and arrangement of all around.
At this moment the hour of the evening repast is
approaching, and we discover the mistress of this
dainty abode engaged in preparing herself to appear
with becoming splendour.
She is reclining on a couch of Athenian workman
ship, inlaid with silver, in a room of Cyzicene form;
that is, having glass windows to the ground, and so
opening on to the flowery terrace. Against the wall
opposite to her hangs a mirror of polished silver, suf
ficient to reflect a whole standing figure ; on a porphyry-
table beside it is a collection of the innumerable rare
* Pronounced with the accent on the i.

26 FABIOLA ; OR,
cosmetics and perfumes, of which the Roman ladies
had become so fond, and on which they lavished im
mense sums.* On another, of Indian sandal-wood,
was a rich display of jewels and trinkets in their
precious caskets, from which to select for the day's use.
It is by no means our intention, nor our gift, to
describe persons or features ; we wish more to deal with
minds. We will, therefore, content ourselves with
saying, that Fabiola, now at the age of twenty, was
not considered inferior in appearance to other ladies
of her rank, age, and fortune, and had many aspirants
for her hand. But she was a contrast to her father in
temper and in character. Proud, haughty, imperious,
and irritable, she ruled like an empress all that sur
rounded her, with one or two exceptions, and exacted
humble homage from all that approached her. An
only child, whose mother had died in giving her birth,
she had been nursed and brought up in indulgence by
her careless, good-natured father; she had been pro
vided with the best masters, had been adorned with
every accomplishment, and allowed to gratify every
extravagant wish. She had never known what it was
to deny herself a desire.
Having been left so much to herself, she had read
much, and especially in profounder books. She had
* The milk of 500 asses per day was required to furnish Pop-
psea, Nero's wife, with one cosmetic.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 2/
thus become a complete philosopher of the refined, that
is, the infidel and the sensual, epicureanism, which had
been long fashionable in Rome. She knew nothing of
Christianity, except that she understood it to be some
thing very low, material, and vulgar. She despised it,
in fact, too much to think of inquiring into it. And as
to paganism, with its gods, its vices, its fables, and its
idolatry, she merely scorned it, though outwardly she
followed it. In fact, she believed in nothing beyond
the present life, and thought of nothing except its
refined enjoyment. But her very pride threw a shield
over her virtue; she loathed the wickedness of heathen
society, as she despised the frivolous youths who paid
her jealous attention, though she found amusement in
their follies. She was considered cold and selfish, but
she was morally irreproachable.
If at the beginning we seem to indulge in long de
scriptions, we trust that our reader will believe that
they are requisite, to put him in possession of the state
of material and social Rome at the period of our nar
rative ; and will make this the more intelligible. And
should he be tempted to think that we describe things
as over splendid and refined for an age of decline in
arts and good taste, we beg to remind him, that the year
we are supposed to visit Rome is not as remote from
the better periods of Roman art, for example, that of
the Antonines, as our age is from that of Cellini, Raf-

28 FABIOLA; OR,
faele, or Donatello; yet in how many Italian palaces
are still preserved works by them, fully prized, though
no longer imitated? So, no doubt, it was, with the
houses belonging to the old and wealthy families of
Rome. We find, then, Fabiola reclining on her couch, hold
ing in her left hand a silver mirror with a handle, and
in the other a strange instrument for so fair a hand.
It is a sharp-pointed stiletto, with a delicately carved
ivory handle, and a gold ring, to hold it by. This was
the favourite weapon with which Roman ladies pun
ished their slaves, or vented their passion on them,
upon suffering the least annoyance, or when irritated
by pettish anger. Three female slaves are now en
gaged about their mistress. They belong to different
races, and have been purchased at high prices, not
merely on account of their appearance, but for some
rare accomplishment they are stipposed to possess.
One is a black; not of the degraded negro stock, but
from one of those races, such as the Abyssinians and
Numidians, in whom the features are as regular as in
the Asiatic people. She is supposed to have great skill
in herbs, and their cosmetic and healing properties,
perhaps also in more dangerous uses — in compounding
philtres, charms, and possibly poisons. She is merely
known by her national designation as Afra. A Greek
comes next, selected for her taste in dress, and for

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 29
the elegance and purity of her accent ; she is therefore
called Graia. The name which the third bears, Syra,
tells us that she comes from Asia; and she is distin
guished for her exquisite embroidering, and for her
assiduous diligence. She is quiet, silent, but com
pletely engaged with the duties which now devolve
upon her. The other two are garrulous, light, and
make great pretence about every little thing they do.
Every moment they address the most extravagant
flattery to their young mistress, or try to promote the
suit of one or other of the profligate candidates for
her hand, who has best or last bribed them.
" How delighted I should be, most noble mistress,"
said the black slave, " if I could only be in the triclin
ium* this evening as you enter in, to observe the bril
liant effect of this new stibiumf on your guests ! It
has cost me many trials before I could obtain it so
perfect: I am sure nothing like it has been ever seen
in Rome."
" As for me," interrupted the wily Greek, " I should
not presume to aspire to so high an honour. I should
be satisfied to look from outside the door, and see the
magnificent effect of this wonderful silk tunic, which
came with the last remittance of gold from Asia.
Nothing can equal its beauty; nor, I may add, is its
* The dining-hall. \ Black antimony applied on the eyelashes.

30 FABIOLA ; OR,
arrangement, the result of my study, unworthy of the
materials." "And you, Syra," interposed the mistress, with a
contemptuous smile, "what would you desire? and
what have you to praise of your own doing ? "
" Nothing to desire, noble lady, but that you may be
ever happy; nothing to praise of my own doing, for I
am not conscious of having done more than my duty,"
was the modest and sincere reply.
It did not please the haughty lady, who said, " Me-
thinks, slave, that you are not over given to praise.
One seldom hears a soft word from your mouth."
" And what worth would it be from me," answered
Syra; "from a poor servant to a noble dame, ac
customed to hear it all day long from eloquent and
polished lips ? Do you believe it when you hear it
from them? Do you not despise it when you receive
it from us? "
A look of spite was darted at her from her two
companions. Fabiola too was angry at what she
thought a reproof. A lofty sentiment in a slave !
" Have you yet to learn then," she answered haugh
tily, " that you are mine, and have been bought by me
at a high price, that you might serve me as I please ?
I have as good a right to the service of your tongue as
of your arms; and if it please me to be praised, and
flattered, and sung to, by you, do it you shall, whether

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 3 1
you like it or not. A new idea, indeed, that a slave
has to have any will but that of her mistress, when her
very life belongs to her ! "
" True," replied the handmaid, calmly but with
dignity, " my life belongs to you, and so does all else
that ends with life, — time, health, vigour, body, and
breath. All this you have bought with your gold, and
it has become your property. But I still hold as my
own what no emperor's wealth can purchase, no chains
of slavery fetter, no limit of life contain."
" And pray what is that ? "
" A soul."
" A soul ! " re-echoed the astonished Fabiola, who
had never before heard a slave claim ownership of such
a property. " And pray, let me ask you, what you
mean by the word ? "
" I cannot speak philosophical sentences," answered
the servant, " but I mean that inward living conscious
ness within me, which makes me feel to have an ex
istence with, and among, better things than surround
me, which shrinks sensitively from destruction, and
instinctively from what is allied to it as disease is to
death. And therefore it abhors all flattery, and it de
tests a lie. While I possess that unseen gift, and die
it cannot, either is impossible to me."
The other two could understand but little of all this ;
bo they stood in stupid amazement at the presumption

32 FABIOLA; OR,
of their companion. Fabiola too was startled; but her
pride soon rose again, and she spoke with visible im
patience. " Where did you learn all this folly ? Who has
taught you to prate in this manner? For my part, I
have studied for many years, and have come to the
conclusion, that all ideas of spiritual existences are
the dreams of poets or sophists ; and as such I despise
them. Do you, an ignorant, uneducated slave, pretend
to know better than your mistress ? Or do you really
fancy, that when, after death, your corpse will be
thrown on the heap of slaves who have drunk them
selves, or have been scourged, to death, to be burnt in
one ignominious pile, and when the mingled ashes have
been buried in a common pit, you will survive as a
conscious being and have still a life of joy and free
dom to be lived ? "
" 'Non omnis moriar,' * as one of your poets says,"
replied modestly, but with a fervent look that aston
ished her mistress, the foreign slave ; " yes, I hope, nay,
I intend to survive all this. And more yet; I believe,
and know, that out of that charnel-pit which you have
so vividly described, there is a hand that will pick
out each charred fragment of my frame. And there
is a power that will call to reckoning the four winds
of heaven, and make each give back every grain of my
* Not all of me will die.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 33
dust that it has scattered ; and I shall be built up once
more in this my body, not as yours, or any one's, bond
woman, but free, and joyful, and glorious, loving for
ever, and beloved. This certain hope is laid up in my
bosom." *
" What wild visions of an eastern fancy are these,
unfitting you for every duty ? You must be cured of
them. In what school of philosophy did you learn all
this nonsense ? I never read of it in any Greek or
Latin author."
" In one belonging to my own land ; a school in which
there is no distinction known, or admitted, between
Greek or barbarian, freeman or slave."
" What ! " exclaimed, with strong excitement, the
haughty lady, " without waiting even for that future
ideal existence after death; already, even now, you
presume to claim equality with me ? Nay, who knows,
perhaps superiority over me. Come, tell me at once,
and without daring to equivocate or disguise, if you
do so or not ? " And she sat up in an attitude of eager
expectation. At every word of the calm reply her agi
tation increased; and violent passions seemed to con
tend within her, as Syra said :
" Most noble mistress, far superior are you to me in
place, and power, and learning, and genius, and in all
that enriches and embellishes life; and in every grace
* Job xix. 37.

34 FABIOLA; OR,
of form and lineament, and in every charm of act and
speech, high are you raised above all rivalry, and far
removed from envious thought from one so lowly and
so insignificant as I. But if I must answer simple
truth to your authoritative question " — she paused,
as faltering; but an imperious gesture from her mis
tress bade her continue — " then I put it to your own
judgment, whether a poor slave, who holds an unquench
able consciousness of possessing within her a spiritual
and living intelligence, whose measure of existence is
immortality, whose only true place of dwelling is above
the skies, whose only rightful prototype is the Deity,
can hold herself inferior in moral dignity, or lower in
sphere of thought, than one who, however gifted, owns,
that she claims no higher destiny, recognises in her
self no sublimer end, than what awaits the pretty ir
rational songsters that beat, without hope of liberty,
against the gilded bars of that cage." *
Fabiola's eyes flashed with fury ; she felt herself, for
the first time in her life, rebuked, humbled by a slave.
She grasped the style in her right hand, and made an
almost blind thrust at the unflinching handmaid. Syra
instinctively put forward her arm to save her person,
and received the point, which, aimed upwards from
the couch, inflicted a deeper gash than she had ever be-
* See the noble answer of Evalpistus, an imperial slave, to the
judge in the Acts of St. Justin, ap. Ruinart, torn. I.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 35
fore suffered. The tears started into her eyes through
the smart of the wound, from which the blood gushed in
a stream. Fabiola was in a moment ashamed of her
cruel, though unintentional act, and felt still more
humbled before her servants.
" Go, go," she said to Syra, who was stanching the
blood with her handkerchief, " go to Euphrosyne, and
have the wound dressed. I did not mean to hurt you
so grievously. But stay a moment, I must make you
some compensation." Then, after turning over her
trinkets on the table, she continued, "Take this ring;
and you need not return here again this evening."
Fabiola's conscience was quite satisfied ; she had
made what she considered ample atonement for the in
jury she had inflicted, in the shape of a costly present
to a menial dependant. And on the following Sunday,
in the title * of St. Pastor, not far from her house,
among the alms collected for the poor was found a
valuable emerald ring, which the good priest Polycarp
thought must have been the offering of some very rich
Roman lady; but which He who watched, with beam
ing eye, the alms-coffers of Jerusalem, and noted the
widow's mite, alone saw dropped into the chest, by the
bandaged arm of a foreign female slave.
* Church.

36 FABIOLA; OR,

CHAPTER V.

THE VISIT.

Dueing the latter part of the dialogue just recorded,
and the catastrophe which closed it, there took place
an apparition in Fabiola's room, which, if seen by her,
would probably have cut short the one, and prevented
the other. The interior chambers in a Roman house
were more frequently divided by curtains across their
entrances, than by doors; and thus it was easy, espe
cially during such an excited scene as had just taken
place, to enter unobserved. This was the case now;
and when Syra turned to leave the room, she was al
most startled at seeing standing, in bright relief before
the deep crimson door-curtain, a figure, which she im
mediately recognised, but which we must briefly de
scribe. It was that of a lady, or rather a child not more than
twelve or thirteen years old, dressed in pure and spot
less white, without a single ornament about her person.
In her countenance might be seen united the simplicity
of childhood with the intelligence of a maturer age.
There not merely dwelt in her eyes that dove-like inno-

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 3;
cence which the sacred poet describes,* but often there
beamed from them rather an intensity of pure affection,
as though they were looking beyond all surrounding
objects, and rested upon one, unseen by all else, but
to her really present, and exquisitely dear. Her fore
head was the very seat of candour, open and bright
with undisguising truthfulness; a kindly smile played
about the lips, and the fresh, youthful features varied
their sensitive expression with guileless earnestness,
passing rapidly from one feeling to the other as her
warm and tender heart received it. Those who knew
her believed that she never thought of herself, but was
divided entirely between kindness to those about her
and affection for her unseen love.
When Syra saw this beautiful vision, like that of
an angel before her, she paused for a moment. But
the child took her hand, and reverently kissed it, say
ing : " I have seen all ; meet me in the small chamber
near the entrance, when I go out."
She then advanced ; and as Fabiola saw her, a crim
son blush mantled in her cheek; for she feared the
child had been witness of her undignified burst of pas
sion. With a cold wave of her hand she dismissed her
slaves, and then greeted her kinswoman, for such she
was, with cordial affection. We have said that Fabi
ola's temper made a few exceptions in its violent exer-
* " Thy eyes are as those of doves "—Cant. i. 14.

38 FABIOLA; OR,
cise. One of these was her old nurse and freedwoman
Euphrosyne, who directed all her private household ; and
whose only creed was, that Fabiola was the most
perfect of beings, the wisest, most accomplished, most
admirable lady in Rome. Another was her young
visitor, whom she loved, and ever treated with gentlest
affection, and whose society she always coveted.
" This is really kind of you, dear Agnes," said the
softened Fabiola, " to come at my sudden request, to
join our table to-day. But the fact is, my father has
called in one or two new people to dine, and I was
anxious to have some one with whom I could have the
excuse of a duty to converse. Yet I own I have some
curiosity about one of our new guests. It is Fulvius,
of whose grace, wealth, and accomplishments I hear so
much; though nobody seems to know who or what he
is, or whence he has sprung up."
" My dear Fabiola," replied Agnes, " you know I
am always happy to visit you, and my kind parents
willingly allow me ; therefore, make no apologies about
that." " And so you have come to me as usual," said the
other playfully, " in your own snow-white dress, with
out jewel or ornament, as if you were every day a
bride. You always seem to me to be celebrating one
eternal espousal. But, good heavens ! what is this ?
Are you hurt? Or are you aware that there is, right

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 39
on the bosom of your tunic, a large red spot — it looks
like blood. If so, let me change your dress at once."
" Not for the world, Fabiola ; it is the jewel, the
only ornament I mean to wear this evening. It is
blood, and that of a slave ; but nobler, in my eyes, and
more generous, than flows in your veins or mine."
The whole truth flashed upon Fabiola's mind.
Agnes had seen all; and humbled almost to sickening,
she said somewhat pettishly, " Do you then wish to
exhibit proof to all the world of my hastiness of tem
per, in over-chastising a forward slave ? "
" No, dear cousin, far from it. I only wish to pre
serve for myself a lesson of fortitude, and of elevation
of mind, learnt from a slave, such as few patrician
philosophers can teach us."
" What a strange idea ! Indeed, Agnes, I have often
thought that you make too much of that class of people.
After all, what are they?"
" Human beings as much as ourselves, endowed with
the same reason, the same feelings, the same organisa
tion. Thus far you will admit, at any rate, to go no
higher. Then they form part of the same family; and
if God, from whom comes our life, is thereby our
Father, He is theirs as much, and consequently they
are our brethren."
" A slave my brother or sister, Agnes ? The gods
forbid it ! They are our property and our goods ; and

40 FABIOLA; OR,
I have no notion of their being allowed to move, to act,
to think, or to feel, except as it suits their masters, or
is for their advantage."
" Come, come," said Agnes, with her sweetest tones,
" do not let us get into a warm discussion. You are
too candid and honourable not to feel, and to be ready
to acknowledge, that to-day you have been outdone by
a slave in all that you most admire, — in mind, in rea
soning, in truthfulness, and in heroic fortitude. Do
not answer me ; I see it in that tear. But, dearest
cousin, I will save you from a repetition of your pain.
Will you grant me my request ? "
" Any in my power."
" Then it is, that you will allow me to purchase
Syra — I think that is her name. You will not like
to see her about you."
" You are mistaken, Agnes. I will master pride for
once, and OAvn, that I shall now esteem her, perhaps
almost admire her. It is a new feeling in me towards
one in her station."
" But I think, Fabiola, I could make her happier
than she is."
" No doubt, dear Agnes ; you have the power of
making everbody happy about you. I never saw
such a household as yours. You seem to carry out in
practice that strange philosophy which Syra alluded
to, in which there is no distinction of freeman and

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 41
slave. Everybody in your house is always smiling,
and cheerfully anxious to discharge his duty. And
there seems to be no one who thinks of commanding.
Come, tell me your secret." (Agnes smiled.) "I
suspect, you little magician, that in that mysterious
chamber, which you will never open for me, you keep
your charms and potions by which you make everybody
and everything love you. If you were a Christian, and
were exposed in the amphitheatre, I am sure the very
leopards would crouch and nestle at your feet. But
why do you look so serious, child? You know I am
only joking."
Agnes seemed absorbed; and bent forward that
keen and tender look which we have mentioned, as
though she saw before her, nay as if she heard speak
ing to her, some one delicately beloved. It passed
away, and she gaily said, " Well, well, Fabiola,
stranger things have come to pass ; and at any rate, if
aught so dreadful had to happen, Syra would just be
the sort of person one would like to see near one; so
you really must let me have her."
" For heaven's sake, Agnes, do not take my words
so seriously. I assure you they were spoken in jest.
1 have too high an opinion of your good sense to be
lieve such a calamity possible. But as to Syra's de-
votedness, you are right. When last summer you were
away, and I was so dangerously ill of contagious fever,

42 FABIOLA; OR,
it required the lash to make the other slaves approach
me; while that poor thing would hardly leave me, but
watched by me, and nursed me day and night, and I
really believe greatly promoted my recovery."
" And did you not love her for this ? "
" Love her ! Love a slave, child ! Of course, I
took care to reward her generously; though I cannot
make out what she does with what I give her. The
others tell me she has nothing put by, and she cer
tainly spends nothing on herself. Nay, I have even
heard that she foolishly shares her daily allowance
of food with a blind beggar-girl. What a strange
fancy, to be sure ! "
" Dearest Fabiola," exclaimed Agnes, " she must
be mine! You promised me my request. Name your
price, and let me take her home this evening."
" Well, be it so, you most irresistible of petitioners.
But we will not bargain together. Send some one to
morrow, to see my father's steward, and all will be
right. And now this great piece of business being
settled between us, let us go down to our guests."
" But you have forgotten to put on your jewels."
" Never mind them ; I will do without them for
once. I feel no taste for them to-day."

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 43

CHAPTER VI.
THE BANQUET.
They found, on descending, all the guests assembled
in a hall below. It was not a state banquet which they
were going to share, but the usual meal of a rich house,
where preparation for a tableful of friends was always
made. We will therefore content ourselves with say
ing, that everything was elegant and exquisite in ar
rangement and material; and we will confine ourselves
entirely to such incidents as may throw a light upon
our story.
When the two ladies entered the exedra or hall,
Fabius, after saluting his daughter, exclaimed:
" Why, my child, you have come down, though late,
still scarcely fittingly, arranged! You have forgotten
your usual trinkets."
Fabiola was confused. She knew not what answer
to make : she was ashamed of her weakness about her
angry display ; and still more of what she now thought
a silly way of punishing herself for it. Agnes stepped
in to the rescue ; and blushingly said : " It is my fault,
cousin Fabius, both that she is late, and that she is so

44 " FABIOLA; OR,
plainly dressed. I detained her with my gossip; and
no doubt she wishes to keep me in countenance by the
simplicity of her attire." ' >
" You, dear Agnes," replied the father, " are privi
leged to do as you please. But, seriously speaking, I
must say, that even with you, this may have answered
while you were a mere child ; now that you are mar
riageable,* you must begin to make a little more dis
play, and try to win the affections of some handsome
and eligible youth. A beautiful necklace, for instance,
such as you have plenty of at home, would not make
you less attractive. But you are not attending to me.
Come, come, I dare say you have some one already in
view." During most of his address, which was meant to be
thoroughly good-natured, as it was perfectly worldly,
Agnes appeared in one of her abstracted moods, her be
witched looks, as Fabiola called them, transfixed, in a
smiling ecstasy, as if attending to some one else, but
never losing the thread of the discourse, nor saying
anything out of place. She therefore at once answered
Fabius : ", Oh, yes, most certainly, one who has al
ready pledged me to him by his betrothal-ring, and has
adorned me with immense jewels." f
* Twelve was the age for marriage, according to the Roman law.
¦f Annulo fidei suaa subarrhavit me, et immensis monilibus or-
navit me."— Office of St. Agnes.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 45
"Really!" asked Fabius, "with what?"
" Why," answered Agnes, with a look of glowing
earnestness, and in tones of artless simplicity, " he
has girded my hand and neck with precious gems, and
has set in my ears rings of peerless pearls." *
" Goodness ! who can it be ? Come, Agnes, some
day you must tell me your secret. Your first love, no
doubt, may it last long and make you happy ! "
"Forever!" was her reply, as she turned to join
Fabiola, and enter with her into the dining-room. It
was well she had not overheard this dialogue, or she
would have been hurt to the quick, as thinking that
Agnes had concealed the most important thought of her
age, as she would have considered it, from her most lov
ing friend. But while Agnes was defending her, she
had turned away from her father, and had been attend
ing to the other guests. One was a heavy, thick-necked
Roman sophist, or dealer in universal knowledge,
named Calpurnius; another, Proculus, a mere lover
of good fare, often at the house. Two more remain,
deserving further notice. The first of them, evidently
a favourite both with Fabiola and Agnes, was a tribune,
a high officer of the imperial or praetorian guard.
Though not above thirty years of age, he had already
distinguished himself by his valour, and enjoyed the
* " Dexteram meam et collum meum cinxit lapidibus pretiosis
tradidit auribus meis insestimabiles margaritas."

46 FABIOLA; OR,
highest favour with the emperors Dioclesian in the
East, and Maximian Herculius in Rome. He was free
from all affectation in manner or dress, though hand
some in person ; and though most engaging in conversa
tion, he manifestly scorned the foolish topics which' gen
erally occupied society. In short, he was a perfect speci
men of a noble-hearted youth, full of honour and gen
erous thoughts ; strong and brave, without a particle of
pride or display in him.
Quite a contrast to him was the last guest, already
alluded to by Fabiola, the new star of society, Fulvius.
Young, and almost effeminate in look, dressed with
most elaborate elegance, with brilliant rings on every
finger, and jewels in his dress, affected in his speech,
which had a slightly foreign accent, overstrained in
his courtesy of manners, but apparently good-natured
and obliging, he had in a short time quietly pushed his
way into the highest society of Rome. This was, in
deed, owing partly to his having been seen at the im
perial court, and partly to the fascination of his man
ner. He had arrived in Rome accompanied by a single
elderly attendant, evidently deeply attached to him;
whether slave, freedman, or friend, nobody well knew.
They spoke together always in a strange tongue, and
the swarthy features, keen fiery eye, and unamiable
expression of the domestic, inspired a certain degree
of fear in his dependants; for Fulvius had ^aken an

' Fabiola grasped the style in her right hand and made an almost blind thrust
at the unflinching hand-maid."— Page 34.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 47
apartment in what was called an insula, or house let
out in parts, had furnished it luxuriously, and had
peopled it with a sufficient bachelor's establishment of
slaves. Profusion rather than abundance distinguished
all his domestic arrangements; and, in the corrupted
and degraded circle of pagan Rome, the obscurity of
his history, and the suddenness of his apparition, were
soon forgotten in the evidence of his riches, and the
charm of his loose conversation. A shrewd obseryer
of character, however, would soon notice a wandering
restlessness of eye, and an eagerness of listening at
tention for all sights and sounds around him, which
betrayed an insatiable curiosity; and, in moments of
forgetfulness, a dark scowl, under his knit brows, from
his flashing eyes, and a curling of the upper lip, which
inspired a feeling of mistrust, and gave an idea that
his exterior softness only clothed a character of feline
malignity. The guests were soon at table; and as ladies sat,
while men reclined on couches during the repast, Fa
biola and Agnes were together on one side, the two
younger guests last described were opposite, and the
master, with his two elder friends in the middle — if
these terms can be used to describe their position about
three parts of a round table, one side being left unen
cumbered by the Sigma,* or semi-circular couch for the
* So called from its resemblance to the letter C, the old form
of 2.

48 FABIOLA ; OR,
convenience of serving. And we may observe, in pass
ing, that a table-cloth, a luxury unknown in the times
of Horace, was now in ordinary use.
When the first claims of hunger, or the palate, had
been satisfied, conversation grew more general.
" What news to-day at the baths ? " asked Calpur
nius ; " I have no leisure myself to look after such
trifles." " Very interesting news indeed," answered Proculus.
" It seems quite certain that orders have been received
from the divine Dioclesian, to finish his Thermae in
three years."
" Impossible ! " exclaimed Fabius. " I looked in
at the works the other day, on my way to Sallust's gar
dens, and found them very little advanced in the last
year. There is an immense deal of heavy work to be
done, such as carving marbles and shaping columns."
" True," interposed Fulvius ; " but I know that
orders have been sent to all parts, to forward hither,
all prisoners, and all persons condemned to the mines
in Spain, Sardinia, and even Chersonesus, who can
possibly be spared, to come and labour at the Ther
mal. A few thousand Christians, thus set to the work
will soon finish it."
"And why Christians better than other criminals?"
asked, with some curiosity, Fabiola.
" Why, really," said Fulvius, with his most win-

THE CHURCH OF "THE CATACOMBS. 49
ning smile, " I can hardly give a reason for it ; but the
fact is so. Among fifty workmen so condemned, I
would engage to pick out a single Christian."
" Indeed ! " exclaimed several at once ; " pray
how?" " Ordinary convicts," answered he, " naturally do
not love their work, and they require the lash at every
etep to compel them to perform it ; and when the over
seer's eye is off them, no work is done. And, more
over, they are, of course, rude, sottish, quarrelsome,
and querulous. But the Christians, when condemned
to these public works, seem, on the contrary, to be glad,
and are always cheerful and obedient. I have seen
young patricians so occupied in Asia, whose hands had
never before handled a pickaxe, and whose weak shoul
ders had never borne a weight, yet working hard, and
as happy, to all appearance, as when at home. Of
course, for all that, the overseers apply the lash and the
stick very freely to them; and most justly; because
it is the will of the divine emperors that their lot should
be made as hard as possible; but still they never com
plain." " I cannot say that I admire this sort of justice," re
plied Fabiola ; " but what a strange race they must
be ! I am most curious to know what can be the motive
or cause of this stupidity, or unnatural insensibility,
in these Christians ? "
4

g6 FABIOLA J 6R,
Proculus replied, with a facetious look : " Calpur
nius here no doubt can tell us ; for he is a philosopher,
and I hear could declaim for an hour on any topic,
from the Alps to an ant-hill."
Calpurnius, thus challenged, and thinking himself
highly complimented, solemnly gave mouth : " The
Christians," said he, " are a foreign sect, the founder
of which flourished many ages ago in Chaldea. His
doctrines were brought to Rome at the time of Ves
pasian by two brothers named Peter and Paul. Some
maintain that these were the same twin brothers as the
Jews called Moses and Aaron, the second of whom sold
his birthright to his brother for a kid, the skin of
which he wanted to make chirothecce * of. But this
identity I do not admit, as it is recorded in the mysti
cal books of the Jews that the second of these brothers,
seeing the other's victims give better omens of birds
than his own, slew him, as our Romulus did Remus,
but with the jaw-bone of an ass; for which he was
hung by King Mordochaeus of Macedon upon a gibbet.
fifty cubits high, at the suit of their sister Judith.
However, Peter and Paul coming, as I said, to Rome,
the former was discovered to be a fugitive slave of
Pontius Pilate, and was crucified by his master's or
ders on the Janiculum. Their followers, of whom
they had many, made the cross their symbol, and adore
* Gloves.

THE CHURCH Of THE CATACOMBS. $1
it; and they think it the greatest honour to suffer
stripes, and even ignominious death, as the best means
of being like their teachers, and, as they fancy, of go
ing to them in a place somewhere among the clouds." *
This lucid explanation of the origin of Christianity
was listened to with admiration by all except two.
The young officer gave a piteous look towards Agnes,
which seemed to say, " Shall . I answer the goose, or
shall I laugh outright ? " But she put her finger on
her lips, and smiled imploringly for silence.
" Well, then, the upshot of it is," observed Proculus,
" that the Thermse will be finished soon, and we shall
have glorious sport. Is it not said, Fulvius, that the
divine Dioclesian will himself come to the dedica
tion ? "
" It is quite certain ; and so will there be splendid
festivals and glorious games. But we shall not have
to wait so long; already, for other purposes, have or
ders been sent to Numidia for an unlimited supply
of lions and leopards to be ready before winter." Then
turning round sharply to his neighbour, he said, bend
ing a keen eye upon his countenance : " A brave soldier
like you, Sebastian, must be delighted with the noble
spectacles of the amphitheatre, especially when di
rected against the enemies of the august emperors, and
of the republic." * Lucien : De Morte Peregrini.

§2 FABIOLA; OR,
The officer raised himself upon his couch, looked on
his interrogator with an unmpved, majestic counte
nance, and answered calmly:
" Fulvius, I should not deserve the title which you
give me, could I contemplate with pleasure in cold
blood, the struggle, if it deserve the name, between a
brute beast, and a helpless child or woman, for such
are the spectacles which you call noble. No, I will
draw my sword willingly against any enemy of the
princes or the state; but I would as readily draw it
against the lion or the leopard that should rush, even by
imperial order, against the innocent and defenceless."
Fulvius was starting up; but Sebastian placed his
strong hand upon his arm, and continued : " Hear
me out. I am not the first Roman, nor the noblest,
who has thought thus before me. Remember the words
of Cicero : ' Magnificent are these games, no doubt ;
but what delight can it be to a refined mind to see
either a feeble man torn by a most powerful beast, or
a noble animal pierced though by a javelin?'* I
am not ashamed of agreeing with the greatest of
Roman orators."
" Then shall we never see you in the amphitheatre,
* Magniflcae nemo negat ; sed quaa potest esse homini polito
delectatio, quum aut homo imbecillus a valentissima bestia la-
niatur, aut praeclara bestia venabulo transverberatur ? " Ep. ad
Fam. lib. vii. ep. I.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. S3
Sebastian ? " asked Fulvius, with a bland but taunting
tone. " If you do," the soldier replied, " depend upon it,
I will be on the side of the defenceless, not on that
of the brutes that would destroy them."
" Sebastian is right," exclaimed Fabiola, clapping
her hands, " and I close the discussion by my applause.
I have never heard Sebastian speak except on the side
of generous and high-minded sentiments."
Fulvius bit his lip in silence, and all rose to depart.

54 FABIOLA; OR,

CHAPTER VII.

POOE AND EICH.

Dueing the latter part of the conversation just re
corded Fabius had been quite abstracted, speculating
upon his conversation with Agnes. How quietly she
had kept her secret to herself! But who could this
favoured person be, who had already won her heart?
He thought over many, but could find no answer. The
gift of rich jewels particularly perplexed him. He
knew no young Roman nobleman likely to possess
them; and sauntering, as he did, every day into the
great shops, he was sure to have heard if any such
costly order had been given. Suddenly the bright idea
flashed through his mind, that Fulvius, who daily ex
hibited new and splendid gems, brought from abroad,
could be the only person able to make her such pres
ents. He moreover noticed such occasional looks darted
towards his cousin by the handsome foreigner, as left
him no doubt that he was deeply enamoured of her;
and if Agnes did not seem conscious of the admira
tion, this of course was part of her plan. Once con-

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He who watcned with beaming eye the alms-coffers of Jerusalem alone saw
dropped into the chest a valuable emerald ring." — Page 35.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 55
vinced of this important conclusion, he determined
to favour the wishes of the two, and astonish his daugh
ter one day by the sagacity he had displayed.
But we must leave our nobler guests for more hum
ble scenes, and follow Syra from the time that she left
her young mistress's apartment. When she presented
herself to Euphrosyne, the good-natured nurse was
shocked at the cruel wound, and uttered an exclamation
of pity. But immediately recognising in it the work
of Fabiola, she was divided between two contending
feelings. " Poor thing ! " she said, as she went on
first washing, then closing and dressing, the gash ;
" it is a dreadful cut ! What did you do to deserve it ?
How it must have hurt you, my poor girl ! But how
wicked you must have been to bring it upon- yourself !
It is a savage wound, yet inflicted by the gentlest of
creatures! (You must be faint from loss of blood;
take this cordial to support you) : and no doubt she
found herself obliged to strike."
" No doubt," said Syra, smiling, " it was all my
fault; I had no business to argue with my mistress."
"Argue with her! — argue! — O ye gods! who ever
heard before of a slave arguing with a noble mis
tress, and such a learned one! Why, Calpurnius him
self would be afraid of disputing with her. No won
der, indeed, she was so — so agitated, as not to know
that she was hurting you. But this must be concealed ;

56 FABIOLA ; OR,
it must not be known that you have been so wrong.
Have you no scarf or nice veil that we could throw
round the arm, as if for ornament? All the others, I
know, have plenty, given or bought; but you never
seem to care for these pretty things. Let us look."
She went into the maid-slaves' dormitory, which
was within her room, opened Syra's capsa or box, and
after turning over in vain its scanty contents, she drew
forth from the bottom a square kerchief of richest stuff,
magnificently embroidered, and even adorned with
pearls. Syra blushed deeply, and entreated not to
be obliged to wear this most disproportioned piece of
dress, especially as it was a token of better days, long
and painfully preserved. But Euphrosyne, anxious to
hide her mistress's fault, was inexorable; and the
rich scarf was gracefully fastened round the wounded
arm. This operation performed, Syra proceeded to the lit
tle parlour opposite the porter's room, where the higher
slaves could see their friends. She held in her hand
a basket covered with a napkin. The moment she
entered the door a light step came bounding across the
room to meet her. It was that of a girl of about six
teen or seventeen, dressed in the poorest attire, but
clean and neat, who threw her arms round Syra's neck
with such a bright countenance and such hearty glee
that a bystander would hardly have supposed, that her

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 5;
sightless eyes had never communed with the outer
world. " Sit down, dear Csecilia," said Syra, with a most
affectionate tone, and leading her to a seat ; " to-day I
have brought you a famous feast : you shall fare sump
tuously." " How so ? I think I do every day."
" No, but to-day my mistress has kindly sent me
out a dainty dish from her table, and I have brought
it here for you."
" How kind of her ; yet how much kinder of you,
my sister ! But why have you not partaken of it your
self ? It was meant for you, and not for me."
" Why, to tell the truth, it is a greater treat to me,
to see you enjoy anything, than to enjoy it myself."
" No, dear Syra, no ; it must not be. God has wished
me to be poor, and I must try to do His will. I could
no more think of eating the food, than I could of wear
ing the dress of the rich, so long as I can obtain that
of the poor. I love to share with you your pulmentum,*
which I know is given me in charity by one poor like
myself. I procure for you the merit of alms-deeds;
you give me the consolation of feeling that I am, be
fore God, still only a poor blind thing. I think He
will love me better thus, than if feeding on luxurious
* Porridge.

58 FABIOLA; OR,
fare. I would rather be with Lazarus at the gate, than
with Dives at the table."
" How much better and wiser you are than I, my
good child ! It shall be as you wish. I will give the
dish to my companions, and, in the meantime, here I
set before you your usual humble fare."
" Thanks, thanks, dear sister ; I will await your
return." Syra went to the maids' apartment, and put before
her jealous but greedy companions, the silver dish.
As their mistress occasionally showed them this little
kindness, it did not much surprise them. But the poor
servant was weak enough to feel ashamed of appearing
before her comrades, with the rich scarf round her
arm. She took it off before she entered ; then, not
wishing to displease Euphrosyne, replaced it, as well
as she could with one hand, on coming out. She was
in the court below, returning to her blind friend,
when she saw one of the noble guests of her mistress's
table alone, and, with a mortified look, crossing towards
the door, and she stepped behind a column, to avoid
any possible, and not uncommon, rudeness. It was
Fulvius ; and no sooner did she, unseen, catch a glimpse
of him, than she stood for a moment as one nailed to
the spot. Her heart beat against her bosom, then quiv
ered as if about to cease its action; her knees struck
against one another, a shiver ran through her frame

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. $$
while perspiration started on her brow. Her eyes,
wide open, were fascinated, like the bird's before the
snake. She raised her hand to her breast, made upon
it the sign of life, and the spell was broken. She fled
in an instant, still unnoticed; and had hardly stepped
noiselessly behind a curtain that closed the stairs,
when Fulvius, with downcast eyes, reached the spot
on which she had stood. He started back a step, as
if scared by something lying before him. He trembled
violently; but recovering himself by a sudden effort,
he looked around him, and saw that he was alone.
There was no eye upon him — except One which he
did not heed, but which read his evil heart in that hour.
He gazed again upon the object, and stooped to pick
it up, but drew back his hand, and that more than once.
At last he heard footsteps approaching, he recognised
the martial tread of Sebastian and hastily he snatched
up from the ground the rich scarf which had dropped
from Syra's arm. He shook as he folded it up, and
when, to his horror, he found upon it spots of fresh
blood, which had oozed through the bandages, he reeled
like a drunken man, to the door, and rushed to his
lodgings. Pale, sick and staggering, he went into his chamber,
repulsing roughly the officious advances of his slaves;
and only beckoned to his faithful domestic to follow
him, and then signed to him to bar the door. A lamp

60 fAbIolA; OR,
was burning brightly by the table, on which FulviUS
threw the embroidered scarf in silence, and pointed
to the stains of blood. That dark man said nothing;
but his swarthy countenance was blanched, while his
master's was ashy and livid.
" It is the same, no doubt," at length spoke the at
tendant, in their foreign tongue ; " but she is cer
tainly dead."
" Art thou quite sure, Eurotas ? " asked the master
with the keenest of his hawk's looks.
" As sure as man can be of what he has not seen
himself. Where didst thou find this ? And whence
this blood?"
" I will tell thee all to-morrow ; I am too sick to
night. As to those stains, which were liquid when I
found it, I know not whence they came, unless they"
are warnings of vengeance — nay a vengeance them
selves, deep as the Furies could meditate, fierce as
they can launch. That blood has not been shed now."
" Tut, tut ! this is no time for dreams or fancies.
Did any one see thee pick the — the thing up ? "
" No one, I am sure."
"Then we are safe; better in our hands than in
others'. A good night's rest will give us better coun
sel." " True, Eurotas ; but do thou sleep this night in my
chamber."

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 6l
Both threw themselves on their couches: Fulvius
on a rich bed, Eurotas on a lowly pallet; from which,
raised upon his elbow, with dark but earnest eye, he
long watched by the lamp's light, the troubled slumbers
of the youth, — at once his devoted guardian and his
evil genius. Fulvius tossed about, and moaned in his
sleep, for his dreams were gloomy and heavy. First
he sees before him a beautiful city in a distant land,
with a river of crystal brightness flowing through it.
Upon it is a galley weighing anchor, with a figure on
deck, waving towards him, in farewell, an embroid
ered scarf. The scene changes; the ship is in the
midst of the sea, battling with a furious storm, while
on the summit of the mast the same scarf streams out,
like a pennant, unruffled and uncrumpled by the breeze.
The vessel is now dashed upon a rock, and all with a
dreadful shriek are buried in the deep. But the top
mast stands above the billows, with its calm and bril
liant flag ; till, amidst the sea-birds that shriek around,
a form with a torch in her hand, and black flapping
wings, flies by, snatches it from the staff, and with a
look of stern anger displays it, as in her flight she
pauses before him. He reads upon it, written in fiery
letters, Nemesis.*
But it is time to return to our other acquaintances
in the house of Fabius. * Vengeance.

<02 FABIOLA; OR,
After Syra had heard the door close on Fulvius,
she paused to compose herself, offered up a secret
prayer, and returned to her blind friend. She had
finished her frugal meal, and was waiting patiently the
slave's return. Syra then commenced her daily duties
of kindness and hospitality ; she brought water, washed
her hands and feet, in obedience to Christian practice,
and combed and dressed her hair, as if the poor crea
ture had been her own child. Indeed, though not much
older, her look was so tender, as she hung over her
poor friend, her tones were so soft, her whole action
so motherly, that one would have thought it was a pa
rent ministering to her daughter, rather than a slave
serving a beggar. And this beggar too looked so happy,
spoke so cheerily, and said such beautiful things, that
Syra lingered over her work, to listen to her, and gaze
on her.
It was at this moment that Agnes came for her ap
pointed interview, and Fabiola insisted on accompany
ing her to the door. But when Agnes softly raised the
curtain, and caught a sight of the scene before her,
she beckoned to Fabiola to look in, enjoining silence
by her gesture. The blind girl Was opposite, and her
voluntary servant on one side, unconscious of witnesses.
The heart of Fabiola was touched; she had never im
agined that there was such a thing as disinterested love
on earth between strangers; as to charity, it was a

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 63
word unknown to Greece or Rome. She retreated
quietly, with a tear in her eye, and said to Agnes, as she
took leave,
" I must retire ; that girl, as you know, proved to
me this afternoon, that a slave may have a head; she
has now shown me that she may have a heart. I was
amazed, when, a few hours ago, you asked me if I did
not love a slave. I think, now, I could almost love
Syra. I half regret that I have agreed to part with
her." As she went back into the court, Agnes entered the
room, and laughing, said:
" So, Csecilia, I have found out your secret at last.
This is the friend whose food you have always said was
so much better than mine, that you would never eat at
my house. Well, if the dinner is not better, at any
rate I agree that you have fallen in with a better
hostess." " Oh, don't say so, sweet Lady Agnes," answered the
blind girl : " it is the dinner indeed that is better.
You have plenty of opportunities for exercising char
ity; but a poor slave can only do so, by finding some
one still poorer, and helpless, like me. That thought
makes her food by far the sweetest."
" Well, you are right," said Agnes, " and I am not
sorry to have you present, to hear the good news I
bring to Syra. It will make you happy too. Fabiola

64 FABIOLA; OR,
has allowed me to become your mistress, Syra, and to
take you with me. To-morrow you shall be free, and
a dear sister to me."
Csecilia clapped her hands with joy and throwing her
arms round Syra's neck, exclaimed : " Oh, how good !
How happy you will now be, dear Syra !"
But Syra was deeply troubled, and replied with
faltering voice, " O good and gentle lady, you have
been kind indeed, to think so much about one like me.
But pardon me, if I entreat you to remain as I am; I
assure you, dear Csecilia, I am quite happy here."
" But why wish to stay ? " asked Agnes.
" Because," rejoined Syra, " it is most perfect to
abide with God, in the state wherein Ave have been
called.* I own this is not the one in which I was
born; I have been brought to it by others." A burst
of tears interrupted her for a moment, and then she
went on. " But so much the more clear is it to me,
that God has willed me to serve Him in this condition.
How can I wish to leave it ? "
" Well then," said Agnes, still more eagerly, " we
can easily manage it. I will not free you, and you
shall be my bondwoman. That will be just the same."
" No, no," said Syra, smiling, " that will never do.
Our great Apostle's instructions to us are : ' Servants,
be subject to your masters with all fear, not only to the
* 1 Cor. vii. 24.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 6$
good and gentle, but also to the froward.' * I am far
from saying that my mistress is one of these ; but you,
noble Lady Agnes, are too good and gentle for me.
Where would be my cross if I lived with you? You
do not know how proud and headstrong I am by
nature ; and I should fear for myself, if I had not some
pain and humiliation."
Agnes was almost overcome ; but she was more eager
than ever to possess such a treasure of virtue, and said,
" I see, Syra, that no motive addressed to your own
interest can move you, I must therefore use a more
selfish plea. I want to have you with me, that I may
improve by your advice and example. Come, you will
not refuse such a request."
" Selfish," replied the slave, " you can never be.
And therefore I will appeal to yourself from your re
quest. You know Fabiola, and you love her. What
a noble soul, and what a splendid intellect she pos
sesses ! What great qualities and high accomplish
ments, if they only reflected the light of truth ! And
how jealously does she guard in herself that pearl of
virtues, which only we know how to prize! What a
truly great Christian she would make ! "
" Go on, for God's sake, dear Syra," broke out
Agnes, all eagerness. " And do you hope for it ? "
" It is my prayer day and night ; it is my chief
* 1 Pet. ii. 14.
5

66 FABIOLA; OR,
thought and aim; it is the occupation of my life. I
will try to win her by patience, by assiduity, even by
such unusual discussions as we have held to-day. And
when all is exhausted, I have one resource more."
" What is that ? " both asked.
" To give my life for her conversion. I know that
a poor slave like me has few chances of martyrdom.
Still, a stronger persecution is said to be approaching,
and perhaps it will not disdain such humble victims.
But be that as God pleases, my life for her soul is
placed in His hands. And oh, dearest, best of ladies,"
she exclaimed, falling on her knees and bedewing
Agnes's hand with tears, " do not come in thus between
me and my prize."
"You have conquered, sister Syra (oh! never again
call me lady)," said Agnes. "Remain at your post;
such single-hearted, generous virtue must triumph.
It is too sublime for so homely a sphere as my house
hold." " And I, for my part," subjoined Cecilia, with a
look of arch gravity, " say, that she has said one very
wicked thing, and told a great story this evening."
" What is that, my pet ? " asked Syra, laughing.
" Why, you said that I was wiser and better than
you, because I declined eating some trumpery delicacy,
which would have gratified my palate for a few
minutes, at the expense of an act of greediness; while

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 67
you have given up liberty, happiness, the free exercise
of your religion, and have offered to give up life itself,
for the salvation of one who is your tyrant and tor
mentor. Oh, fie ! how could you tell me such a thing ! "
The servant now announced that Agnes's litter was
waiting at the door; and any one who could have seen
the affectionate farewell of the three, — the noble lady,
the slave, and the beggar, would have justly exclaimed,
as people had often done before, " See how these Chris
tians love one another ! "

68 FABIOLA ; OR,

CHAPTER VIII.
THE FIEST DAY'S CONCLUSION'.
If we linger a little time about the door, and see
Agnes fairly off, and listen to the merry conversation
between her and Cajcilia, in which Agnes asks her to
allow herself to be accompanied home by one of her
attendants, as it has grown dark, and the girl is amused
at the lady's forgetfulness that day and night are the
same to her, and that on this very account she is the
appointed guide to thread the mazes of the catacombs,
familiar to her as the streets of Rome, which she walks
in safety at all hours; if thus we pass a little time
before re-entering, to inquire how the mistress within
fares after the day's adventures, we shall find the house
turned topsy-turvy. Slaves, with lamps and torches,
are running about in eve^ direction, looking for some
thing or other that is lost, in every possible and im
possible place. Euphrosyne insists it must be found;
till at last the search is given up in despair. The
reader will probably have anticipated the solution of
the mystery. Syra had presented herself to have her
wound re-dressed, according to orders, and the scarf

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 69
which had bound it was no longer there. She could
give no account of it, further than that she had taken
ic off, and put it on, certainly not so well as Euphro
syne had done it, and she gave the reason, for she
scorned to tell a lie. Indeed she had never missed
it till now. The kind-hearted old nurse was much
grieved at the loss, which she considered must be heavy
to a poor slave-girl, as she probably reserved that object
for the purchase of her liberty. And Syra too was
sorry, but for reasons which she could not have made
the good housekeeper comprehend.
Euphrosyne had all the servants interrogated, and
many even searched, to Syra's great pain and confu
sion; and then ordered a grand general battue through
every part of the house where Syra had been. Who
for a moment could have dreamt of suspecting a noble
guest at the master's table of purloining any object,
valuable or not. The old lady therefore came to the
conclusion, that the scarf had been spirited away by
some magical process, and greatly suspected that the
black slave Afra, who she knew could not bear Syra,
had been using some spell to annoy the poor girl. For
she believed the Moor to be a very Canidia,* being often
obliged to let her go out alone at night, under pretence
of gathering herbs at full moon for her cosmetics, as
if plucked at any other time, they would not possess
* A famous sorceress in Augustus's age.

•JO FABIOLA; OR,
the same virtues ; to procure deadly poisons Euphrosyne
suspected, but in reality to join in the hideous orgies
of Fetichisin * with others of her race, or to hold inter
views with such as consulted her imaginary art. It
was not till all was given up, and Syra found herself
alone, that on more coolly recollecting the incidents of
the day, she remembered the pause in Fulvius's walk
across the court, at the very spot where she had stood,
and his hurried steps, after this, to the door. The con
viction then flashed on her mind, that she must have
there dropped her kerchief, and that he must have
picked it up. That he should have passed it with in
difference she believed impossible. She was confident,
therefore, that it was now in his possession. After
attempting to speculate on the possible consequences of
this misadventure, and coming to no satisfactory con
clusion, she determined to commit the matter entirely
to God, and sought that repose which a good conscience
was sure to render balmy and sweet.
Fabiola, on parting with Agnes, retired to her apart
ment; and after the usual services had been rendered
to her by her other two servants and Euphrosyne, she
dismissed them with a gentler manner than ever she
had shown before. As soon as they had retired, she
went to recline upon the couch where first we found
her; when, to her disgust, she discovered lying on it
* The worship of interior Africa.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. Jl
the style with which she had wounded Syra. She
opened a chest, and threw it in with horror; nor did
she ever again use any such weapon.
She took up the volume which she had last laid down
and which had greatly amused her; but it was quite
insipid and seemed most frivolous to her. She laid
it down again and gave free course to her thoughts on
all that had happened. It struck her first what a
wonderful child her cousin Agnes was, — how unselfish,
how pure, how simple, how sensible, too, and even
wise! She determined to be her protector, her elder
sister in all things. She had observed, too, as well as
her father, the frequent looks which Fulvius had fixed
upon her; not, indeed, those libertine looks which she
herself had often borne with scorn, but designing,
cunning glances, such as she thought betrayed some
scheme or art, of which Agnes might become the victim.
She resolved to frustrate it, whatever it might be, and
arrived at exactly the opposite conclusion to her father's
about him. She made up her mind to prevent Fulvius
having any access to Agnes, at least at her house; and
even blamed herself for having brought one so young
into the strange company which often met at her
father's table, especially as she now found that her
motives for doing so had been decidedly selfish. It
was nearly at the same moment that Fulvius, tossing
on his couch, had come to the determination never

72 FABIOLA; OR,
again, if possible, to go inside Fabius's door, and to
resist or elude every invitation from him.
Fabiola had measured his character; had caught,
with her penetrating eye, the affectation of his manner,
and the cunning of his looks; and could not help con
trasting him with the frank and generous Sebastian.
" What a noble fellow that Sebastian is ! " she said to
herself. " How different from all the other youths
that come here. Never a foolish word escapes his lips,
never an unkind look darts from his bright and cheer
ful eye. How abstemious, as becomes a soldier, at the
table; how modest, as befits a hero, about his own
strength and bold actions in war, which others speak
so much about. Oh ! if he only felt towards me as
others pretend to do — " She did not finish the sentence,
but a deep melancholy seemed to steal over her whole
soul. Then Syra's conversation, and all that had resulted
from it passed again through her mind ; it was painful
to her, yet she could not help dwelling on it ; and she
felt as if that day were a crisis in her life. Her pride
had been humbled by a slave, and her mind softened,
she knew not how. Had her eyes been opened in that
hour and had she been able to look up above this world,
she would have seen a soft cloud like incense, but
tinged with a rich carnation, rising from the bed-side
of a kneeling slave (prayer and willing sacrifice of

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 73
life breathed upwards together) which, when it struck
the crystal footstool of a mercy-seat in heaven, fell
down again as a dew of gentlest grace upon her arid
heart. She could not indeed see this ; yet it was no less true ;
and wearied, at length she sought repose. But she too
had a distressing dream. She saw a bright spot as in
a delicious garden, richly illuminated by a light like
noonday, but inexpressibly soft ; while all around was
dark. Beautiful flowers formed the sward, plants
covered with richest bloom grew festooned from tree
to tree, on each of which glowed golden fruit. In the
midst of this space she saw the poor blind girl, with
her look of happiness on her cheerful countenance,
seated on the ground; while on one side, Agnes, with
her sweetest simple looks, and on the other, Syra, with
her quiet patient smile, hung over her and caressed her.
Fabiola felt an irresistible desire to be with them; it
seemed to her that they were enjoying some felicity
which she had never known or witnessed ; and she
thought they even beckoned her to join them. She ran
forward to do so, when to her horror she found a
wide, and black, and deep ravine, at the bottom of
which roared a torrent between herself and them. By
degrees its. waters rose, till they reached the upper
margin of the abyss, and there flowed, though so deep,
yet sparkling and brilliant, and most refreshing. Oh,

74 FABIOLA ; OR,
for courage to plunge into this stream, through which
alone the dyke could be crossed, and land in safety on
the other side! And still they beckoned, urging her
on to try it. But as she was standing on the brink,
clasping her hands in despair, Calpurnius seemed to
emerge from the dark air around, with a thick heavy
curtain stretched out, on which were worked all sorts
of monstrous and hideous chimeras, most curiously
running into, and interwoven with, each other; and
this dark veil grew and grew, till it shut out the
beautiful vision from her sight. She felt disconsolate,
till she seemed to see a bright genius (as she called
him), in whose features she fancied she traced a spirit
ualised resemblance to Sebastian, and whom she had
noticed standing sorrowful at a distance, now approach
her, and, smiling on her, fan her fevered face with his
gold and purple wing; when she lost her vision in a
calm and refreshing sleep.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS, 7$

CHAPTER IX.

MEETINGS.

Of all the Roman hills, the most distinctly traceable
on every side is undoubtedly the Palatine. Augustus
having chosen it for his residence, successive emperors
followed his example; but gradually transformed his
modest residence into a palace, which covered the entire
hill. Nero, not satisfied with its dimensions, destroyed
the neighbourhood by fire, and then extended the im
perial residence to the neighbouring Esquiline; taking
in the, whole space now occupied between the two hills
by the Coliseum. Vespasian threw down that golden
house, of which the magnificent vaults remain, covered
with beautiful paintings; and built the amphitheatre
just mentioned, and other edifices, with its materials.
The entrance to the palace was made, soon after this
period, from the Via Sacra, or Sacred Way, close to
the arch of Titus. After passing through a vestibule,
the visitor found himself in a magnificent court, the
plan of which can be distinctly traced. Turning from
this, on the left side, he entered into an immense

76 FABIOLA; OR,
square space, arranged and consecrated to Adonis by
Domitian and planted with trees, shrubs, and flowers.
Still keeping to the left, you would enter into sets
of chambers, constructed by Alexander Severus in
honour of his mother Mammaaa, whose name they bore.
They looked out opposite to the Coelian hill, just at the
angle of it, which abuts upon the later triumphal arch
of Constantine, and the fountain called the Meta
Sudans* Here was the apartment occupied by Sebas
tian as a tribune, or superior officer, of the imperial
guard. It consisted of a few rooms, most modestly
furnished, as became a soldier and a Christian. His
household was limited to a couple of freedmen, and a
venerable matron, who had been his nurse, and loved
him as a child. They were Christians, as were all the
men in his cohort; partly by conversion, but chiefly by
care in recruiting new soldiers.
It was a few evenings after the scenes described in
the last chapter, that Sebastian, a couple of hours after
dark, ascended the steps of the vestibule just described,
in company with another youth, of whom we have al
ready spoken. Pancratius admired and loved Sebas
tian with the sort of affection that an ardent young
* " The sweating goal." It was an obelisk of brick (which yet
remains) , cased with marble, from the top of which issued water
and flowed down like a sheet of glass, all around it, into a basin
on the ground.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 77
officer may be supposed to bear towards an older and
gallant soldier, who receives him into his friendship.
But it was not as to a soldier of Caesar, but as to a
champion of Christ, that the civilian boy looked up to
the young tribune, whose generosity, noble-mindedness,
and valour, were en-shrouded in such a gentle, simple
bearing, and were accompanied by such prudence and
considerateness, as gave confidence and encouragement
to all that dealt with him. And Sebastian loved Pan-
cratius no less, on account of his single-hearted ardour,
and the innocence and candour of his mind. But he
well saw the dangers to which his youthful warmth and
impetuosity might lead him; and he encouraged him
to keep close to himself, that he might guide, and per
haps sometimes restrain, him.
As they were entering the palace, that part of which
Sebastian's cohort guarded, he said to his companion:
" Every time that I enter here, it strikes me how kind
an act of Divine Providence it was, to plant almost at
the very gate of Caasar's palace, the arch which com
memorates at once the downfall of the first great system
that was antagonistic to Christianity, and the comple
tion of the greatest prophecy of the Gospel, — the de
struction of Jerusalem by the Roman power.* I can
not but believe that another arch will one day arise to
* The triumphal arch of Titus, on which are represented the
spoils of the Temple.

78 FABIOLA; OR,
commemorate no less a victory, over the second enemy
of our religion, the heathen Roman empire itself."
" What ! do you contemplate the overthrow of this
vast empire, as the means of establishing Christianity ? "
" God forbid ! I would shed the last drop of my
blood, as I shed my first, to maintain it And depend
upon it, when the empire is converted, it will not be
by such gradual growth as we now witness, but by some
means, so unhuman, so divine, as we shall never, in
our most sanguine longings, forecast; but all will ex
claim : ' This is the change of the right hand of the
Most High ! ' "
" No doubt ; but your idea of a Christian triumphal
arch supposes an earthly instrument: where do you
imagine this to lie ? "
" Why, Pancratius, my thoughts, I own, turn to
wards the family of one of the Augusti, as showing a
slight germ of better thoughts: I mean, Constantius
Chlorus." " But, Sebastian, how many of even our learned and
good men will say, nay, do say, if you speak thus to
them, that similar hopes were entertained in the reigns
of Alexander, Gordian, or Aurelian ; yet ended in dis
appointment. Why, they ask, should we not expect
the same results now ? "
"I know it too well, my dear Pancratius; and bit
terly have I often deplored those dark views which

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 79
damp our energies; that lurking thought that venge
ance is perpetual, and mercy temporary, that martyr's
blood, and virgin's prayer have no power even to
shorten times of visitation, and hasten hours of grace."
By this time they had reached Sebastian's apartment,
the principal room of which was lighted, and evidently
prepared for some assembly. But opposite the door
was a window open to the ground, and leading to a
terrace that ran along that side of the building. The
night looked so bright through it, that they both in
stinctively walked across the room, and stood upon the
terrace. A lovely and splendid view presented itself
to them. The moon was high in the heavens, swim
ming in them, as an Italian moon does ; a round, full
globe, not a flat surface, bathed all round in its own
refulgent atmosphere. It dimmed, indeed, the stars
near itself; but they seemed to have retired in thicker
and more brilliant clusters, into the distant corners
of the azure sky. It was just such an evening as, years
after, Monica and Augustin enjoyed from a window at
Ostia, as they discoursed of heavenly things.
It is true that, below and around, all was beautiful
and grand. The Coliseum, or Flavian amphitheatre,
rose at one side, in all its completeness ; and the gentle
murmur of the fountain, while its waters glistened in
a silvery column like the refluent sea-wave gliding
down a slanting rock, came soothingly on the ear. On

So FABIOLA; OR,
the other side, the lofty building called the Septize-
nium of Severus, in front, towering above the Ccelian,
the sumptuous baths of Caracalla, reflected from their
marble walls and stately pillars the radiance of the
autumn moon. But all these massive monuments of
earthly glory rose unheeded before the two Christian
youths, as they stood silent, the elder with his right
arm round his youthful companion's neck, and resting
on his shoulder. After a long pause he took up the
thread of his last discourse, and said, in a softer tone,
" I was going to show you, when we stepped out here,
the very spot just below otir feet, where I have often
fancied the triumphal arch, to which I have alluded,
would stand.* But who can think of such paltry
things below, with the splendid vault above us, lighted
up so brilliantly, as if on purpose to draw upwards our
eyes and hearts ? "
" True, Sebastian ; and I have sometimes thought,
that, if the under-side of that firmament up to which
the eye of man, however wretched and sinful, may look,
be so beautiful and bright, what must that upper-side
be, down upon which the eye of boundless Glory deigns
to glance ! I imagine it to be like a richly-embroidered
veil, through the texture of which a few points of golden
thread may be allowed to pass ; and these only reach
* The arch of Constantino stands exactly under the spot where
this scene is described,

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 8 1
us. How transcendently royal must be that upper sur
face, on whioh tread the lightsome feet of angels, and
of the just made perfect ! "
" A graceful thought, Pancratius, and no less true.
It makes the veil, between us labouring here and the
triumphal church above, thin and easily to be passed."
" And pardon me, Sebastian," said the youth, with
the same look up to his friend, as a few evenings before
had met his mother's inspired gaze, " pardon me if,
while you wisely speculate upon a future arch to record
the triumph of Christianity, I see already before me,
built and open, the arch through which we, feeble as
we are, may lead the Church speedily to the triumph
of glory, and ourselves to that of bliss."
" Where, my dear boy, where do you mean ? "
Pancratius pointed steadily with his hand towards
the left, and said : " There, my noble Sebastian ; any
of those open arches of the Flavian amphitheatre,
which lead to its arena; over which, not denser than
the outstretched canvas which shades our spectators,
is that veil of which you spoke just now. But hark ! "
" That was a lion's roar from beneath the Coelian ! "
exclaimed Sebastian, surprised. " Wild beasts must
have arrived at the vivarium* of the amphitheatre ; for
I know there were none there yesterday."
" Yes, hark ! " continued Pancratius, not noticing
* The place where live beasts were kept for the shows.
6

82 FABiOLA! OR,
the interruption. " These are the truinpet-notes that
summon us ; that is the music that must accompany us
to our triumph ! "
Both paused for a time, when Pancratius again broke
the silence, saying, " This puts me in mind of a matter
on which I want to take your advice, my faithful coun
sellor ; will your company be soon arriving ? "
" Not immediately ; and they will drop in one by
one; till they assemble, come into my chamber, where
none will interrupt us."
They walked along the terrace, and entered the last
room of the suite. It was at the corner of the hill,
exactly opposite the fountain; and was lighted only by
the rays of the moon, streaming through the open
window on that side. The soldiers- stood near this,
and Pancratius sat upon his small military couch.
" What is this great affair, Pancratius," said the
officer smiling, " upon which you wish to have my sage
opinion ? "
" Quite a trifle, I dare say," replied the youth, bash
fully, " for a bold and generous man like you ; but an
important one to an unskilful and weak boy like me."
" A good and virtuous one, I doubt not ; do let me
hear it ; and I promise you every assistance."
" Well, then, Sebastian — now don't think me fool
ish," proceeded Pancratius, hesitating and blushing
at every word. " You are aware I have a quantity of

THE" CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 8|
useless plate at home — :mere lumber, you know, in our1
plain way of living y and my dear mother, for anything
I can say, won't wear the lots of old-fashioned trinkets,
which are lying locked up, and of no use to anybody.
I have no one to whom all this should descend. I am,
and shall be, the last of my race. You have often told
me, who in that case are a Christian's natural heirs, —
the widow and the fatherless, the helpless and the
indigent. Why should these wait my death, to have
what by reversion is theirs ? And if a persecution is
coming, why run the risk of confiscation seizing them,
or of plundering lictors stealing them, whenever our
lives are wanted, to the utter loss of our rightful
heirs ? "
" Pancratius," said Sebastian, " I have listened
without offering a remark to your noble suggestion.
I wished you to have all the merit of uttering it your
self. Now, just tell me, what makes you doubt or
hesitate about what I know you wish to dd ? "
" Why, to tell the truth, I feared it might be highly
presumptuous and impertinent in one of my age to
offer to do what people would be sure to imagine was
something grand or generous ; while I assure you, dear
Sebastian, it is no such thing. For I shall not miss
these things a bit ; they are of no value to me whatever.
But they will be to the poor, especially in the hard
times coming."

84 FABIOLA; OR,
" Of course Lucina consents ? "
" Oh, no fear about that ! I would not touch a grain
of gold-dust without her even wishing it. But why
I require your assistance is principally this. I should
never be able to stand its being known that I presumed
to do anything considered out of the way, especially
in a boy. You understand me ? So I want you, and
beg of you, to get the distribution made at some other
house; and as from a — say from one who needs much
the prayers of the faithful, especially the poor, and
desires to remain unknown."
" I will serve you with delight, my good and truly
noble boy ! Hush ! did you not hear the Lady Fabiola's
name just mentioned ? There again, and with an
epithet' expressive of no good will."
Pancratius approached the window; two voices were
conversing together so close under them that the cor
nice between prevented their seeing the speakers, evi
dently a woman and a man. After a few minutes
they walked out into the moonlight, almost as bright
as day.
" I know that Moorish woman," said Sebastian ; " it
is Fabiola's black slave, Afra."
" And the man," added Pancratius, " is my late
schoolfellow, Corvinus."
They considered it their duty to catch, if possible,
the thread of what seemed a plot ; but, as the' speakers

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 85
walked up and down, they could only make out a
sentence here and there. We will not, however, con
fine ourselves to these parts, but give the entire dia
logue. Only, a word first about the interlocutors.
Of the slave we know enough for the present. Cor
vinus was son, as we have said, to Tertullus, originally
prefect of the Praatorium. This office, unknown in
the republic, and of imperial creation, had, from the
reign of Tiberius, gradually absorbed almost all civil
as well as military power; and he who held it often
discharged the duties of chief criminal judge in Rome.
It required no little strength of nerve to occupy this
post to the satisfaction of despotic and unsparing
masters. To sit all day in a tribunal, surrounded
with hideous implements of torture, unmoved by the
moans or the shrieks of old men, youths, or women,
on whom they were tried ; to direct a cool interrogatory
to one stretched upon the rack, and quivering in agony
on one side, while the last sentence of beating to death
with bullet-laden scourges was being executed on the
other; to sleep calmly after such scenes, and rise with
appetite for their repetition, was not an occupation to
which every member of the bar could be supposed to
aspire. Tertullus had been brought from Sicily to
fill the office, not because he was a cruel, but because
he was a cold-hearted man, not susceptible of pity or
partiality. His tribunal, however, was Corvinus's

86 FABIOLA; OR,
early school ; he could sit, while quite a boy, for hours
at his father's feet, thoroughly enjoying the cruel
spectacles before him, and angry when any one got
off. He grew up sottish, coarse, and brutal; and not
yet arrived at man's estate, his bloated and freckled
countenance and blear eyes, one of which was half
closed, announced him to be already a dissolute and
dissipated character. Without taste for anything re
fined, or ability for any learning, he united in him
self a certain amount of animal courage and strength,
and a considerable measure of low cunning. He had
never experienced in himself a generous feeling, and
he had never curbed an evil passion. No one had ever
offended him, whom he did not hate, and pursue with
vengeance. Two, above all, he had sworn never to
forgive — the schoolmaster who had often chastised him
for his sulky idleness, and the schoolfellow who had
blessed him for his brutal contumely. Justice and
mercy, good and evil done to him, were equally odious
to him.
Tertullus had no fortune to give him, and he seemed
to have little genius to make one. To become pos
sessed of one, however, was all-important to his mind;
for wealth, as the means of gratifying his desires, was
synonymous with him to supreme felicity. A rich
heiress, or rather her dower, seemed the simplest object
at which to aim. Too awkward, shy, and stupid to

Karlr ' xatrl Panoratms ' the**, arc. tjje tril ""."»,* notes that Summon US.' " 
Page 81..

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 87
make himself a way in society, he sought other means,
more kindred to his mind, for the attainment of his
ambitious or avaricious desires. What these means
were, his conversation with the black slave will best
explain. " I have come to meet you at the Meta Sudans again,
for the fourth time, at this inconvenient hour. What
news have you for me ? "
" None, except that after to-morrow my mistress
starts for her villa at Cajeta,* and of course I go with
her. I shall want more money to carry on my opera
tions in your favour."
, " More still ? You have had all I have received
from my father for months."
" Why, do you know what Fabiola is ? "
" Yes, to be sure, the richest match in Rome."
" The haughty and cold-hearted Fabiola is not so
easily to be won."
" But yet you promised me that your charms and
potions would secure me her acceptance, or at any
rate her fortune. What expense can these things
cause ? "
" Very great indeed. The most precious ingredients
are requisite, and must be paid for. And do you think
I will go out at such an hour as this amidst the tombs
of the Appian way, to gather my simples, without be~
* Qaeta,

88 FABIOLA; OR,
ing properly rewarded? But how do you mean to
second my efforts ? I have told you this would hasten
their success."
" And how can I ? You know I am not cut out by
nature, or fitted by accomplishments, to make much
impression on any one's affections. I would rather
trust to the power of your black art."
" Then let me give you one piece of advice ; if you
have no grace or gift by which you can gain Fabiola's
heart  "
" Fortune, you mean."
" They cannot be separated ; depend upon it, there
is one thing which you may bring with you that is
irresistible." " What is that ? "
" Gold."
" And where am I to get it ? it is that I seek."
The black slave smiled maliciously, and said:
" Why cannot you get it as Fulvius does ? "
" How does he get it ? "
" By blood ! "
" How do you know it ? "
" I have made acquaintance with an old attendant
that he has, who, if not as dark as I am in skin, fully
makes up for it in his heart. His language and mine
are sufficiently allied for us to be able to converse. He
has asked me many questions about poisons, and pre-

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 89
tended he would purchase my liberty, and take me
back home as his wife, but I have something better
than that in prospect, I trust. However, I got all that
I wanted out from him."
" And what was that ? "
" Why, that Fulvius had discovered a great conspir
acy against Dioclesian ; and from the wink of the old
man's awful eye, I understood he had hatched it first;
and he has been sent with strong recommendations to
Rome to be employed in the same line." ,
" But I have no ability either to make or to discover
conspiracies, though I may have to punish them."
" One way, however, is easy."
" What is that ? "
" In my country there are large birds, which you
may attempt in vain to run down with the fleetest
horses ; but which, if you look about for them quietly,
are the first to betray themselves, for they only hide
their heads."
" What do you wish to represent by this ? "
" The Christians. Is there not going to be a perse
cution of them soon ? "
" Yes, and a most fierce one ; such as has never been
before." " Then follow my advice. Do not tire yourself
with hunting them down, and catching, after all, but
mean prey; keep your eyes open and look about for

go fabiola; or,
one or two good fat ones, half trying to c6iiceal them
selves; pounce upon them, get a good share of their
confiscation, and come with one good handful to get
two in return."
"Thank you, thank you; I understand you. You
are not fond of these Christians, then ? "
" Fond of them ? I hate the entire race. The
spirits which I worship are the deadly enemies of their
very name." And she grinned horrible a ghastly smile
as she proceeded : " I suspect one of my fellow-serv
ants is one. Oh, how I detest her ! "
" What makes you think it ? "
" In the first place, she would not tell a lie for any
thing, and gets us all into dreadful scrapes by her
absurd truthfulness."
" Good ! what next ? " ft
" Then she cares not for money or gifts ; and so
prevents our having them offered."
"Better!"" And moreover she is — " the last word died in the
ear of Corvinus, who replied:
" Well, indeed, I have to-day been out of the gate
to meet a caravan of your countryfolk coming in; but
you beat them all ! "
" Indeed ! " exclaimed Afra with delight, " who were
they?"

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 91
" Simply Africans," * replied Corvinus, with a laugh,
" lions, panthers, leopards."
" Wretch ! do you insult me thus ? "
" Come, come, be pacified. They are brought ex
pressly to rid you of your hateful Christians. Let us
part friends. Here is your money. But let it be the
last ; and let me know when the philtres begin to work.
I will not forget your hint about Christian money. It
is quite to my taste."
As he departed by the Sacred Way, she pretended to
go along the Carina?, the street between the Palatine
and the Coelian mounts; then turned back, and looking
after him, exclaimed : " Fool ! to think that I am going
to try experiments for you on a person of Fabiola's
character ! "
She followed him at a distance ; but as Sebastian, to
his amazement, thought, turned into the vestibule of
the palace. He determined at once to put Fabiola on
her guard against this new plot; but this could not be
done till her return from the country.
* The generic name for the wild beasts of that continent as op
posed to bears and others from the north.

92 FABIOLA; OR,

CHAPTER X.

OTHEE MEETINGS.

When the two youths returned to the room by which
they had entered the apartment, they found the ex
pected company assembled. A frugal repast was laid
upon the table, principally as a blind to any intruder
who might happen unexpectedly to enter. The as
sembly was large and varied, containing clergy and
laity, men and women. The purpose of the meeting
was to concert proper measures, in consequence of
something which had lately occurred in the palace.
This we must briefly explain.
Sebastian, enjoying the unbounded confidence of the
emperor, employed all his influence in propagating the
Christian faith within the palace. Numerous conver
sions had gradually been made; but shortly before this
period there had been a wholesale one effected, the
particulars of which are recorded in the genuine Acts
of this glorious soldier. In virtue of former laws,
many Christians were seized and brought to trial, which
often ended in death. Two brothers, Marcus and
Marcellianus, had been so accused, and were expecting

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 93
execution; when their friends, admitted to see them,
implored them with tears to save their lives by apostasy.
They seemed to waver; they promised to deliberate.
Sebastian heard of this, and rushed to save them. He
was too well known to be refused admittance, and he
entered into their gloomy prison like an angel of light.
It consisted of a strong room in the house of the magis
trate to whose care they had been intrusted. The
place of confinement was generally left to that officer;
and here Tranquillinus, the father of the two youths,
had obtained a respite for them of thirty days to try
to shake their constancy; and, to second his efforts,
Nicostratus, the magistrate, had placed them in cus
tody in his own house. Sebastian's was a bold and
perilous office. Besides the two Christian captives,
there were gathered in the place sixteen heathen pris
oners ; there were the parents of the unfortunate youths
weeping over them, and caressing them, to allure them
from their threatened fate; there was the gaoler,
Claudius, and there was the magistrate, Nicostratus,
with his wife Zoe, drawn thither by the compassionate
wish of seeing the youths snatched from their fate.
Could Sebastian hope, that of this crowd not one would
be found, whom a sense of official duty, or a hope of
pardon, or hatred of Christianity, might impel to be
tray him, if he avowed himself a Christian? And

94 FABIOLA; OR,
did he not know that such a betrayal involved his
death? He knew it well ; but what cared he ? If three mar
tyrs would thus be offered to God instead of two, so
much the better.; all that he dreaded was, that there
should be none. The room was a banqueting-hall but
seldom opened in the day, and consequently requiring
very little light; what it had, entered only, as in the
Pantheon, by an opening in the roof; and Sebastian,
anxious to be seen by all, stood in the ray which now
darted through it, strong and brilliant where it beat,
but leaving the rest of the apartment almost dark. It
broke against the gold and jewels of his rich tribune's
armour, and, as he moved, scattered itself in sparks
of brilliant hues into the darkest recesses of that gloom ;
while it beamed with serene steadiness upon his un
covered head, and displayed his noble features, softened
by an emotion of tender grief, as he looked upon the
two vacillating confessors. It was some moments be
fore he could give vent in words to the violence of his
grief, till at length it broke forth in impassioned tones.
" Holy and venerable brothers," he exclaimed, " who
have borne witness to Christ; who are imprisoned for
Him, whose limbs are marked by chains worn for His
sake, who have tasted torments with Him, — I ought to
fall at your feet and do you homage, and ask your
prayers ; instead of standing before you as your exhorter,

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 95
still less as your reprover. Can this be true which I have
heard, that while angels were putting the last flower
to your crowns, you have bid them pause, and even
thought of telling them to unweave them, and scatter
their blossoms to the winds ? Can I believe that you
who have already your feet on the threshold of para
dise, are thinking of drawing them back, to tread once
more the valley of exile and of tears ? "
The two youths hung down their heads and wept in
humble confession of their weakness. Sebastian pro
ceeded :
" You cannot meet the eye of a poor soldier like me,
the least of Christ's servants : how then will you
stand the angry glance of the Lord whom you are about
to deny before men (but cannot in your hearts deny),
on that terrible day, when He, in return, will deny
you before His angels ? When, instead of standing
manfully before Him, like good and faithful servants,
as to-morrow ye might have done, you shall have to
come into His presence after having crawled through a
few more years of infamy,' disowned by the Church,
despised by its enemies, and, what is worse, gnawed
by an undying worm, and victims of a sleepless
remorse?" " Cease; oh-, in pity cease, young man, whoever thou
art," exclaimed Tranquillinus, the father of the youths.
" Speak not thus severely to my sons : it was, I assure

96 FABIOLA; OR,
you, to their mother's tears and to my entreaties that
they had begun to yield, and not to the tortures which
they have endured with such fortitude. Why should
they leave their wretched parents to misery and sorrow ?
does your religion command this, and do you call it
holy?" " Wait in patience, my good old man," said Sebas
tian, with the kindest look and accent, " and let me
speak first with thy sons. They know what I mean,
which thou canst not yet; but with God's grace thou
too shalt soon. Your father, indeed, is right in saying,
that for his sake and your mother's you have been de
liberating whether you should not prefer them to Him
who told you, ' He that loveth father or mother more
than Me, is not worthy of Me.' You cannot hope to
purchase for these your aged parents eternal life by
your own loss of it. Will you make them Christians
by abandoning Christianity? will you make them sol
diers of the Cross by deserting its standard ? will you
teach them that its doctrines are more precious than
life, by preferring life to them ? Do you want to gain
for them, not the mortal life of the perishable body,
but the eternal life of the soul ? then hasten yourselves
to its acquisition; throw down at the feet of your
Saviour the crowns you will receive, and entreat for
your parents' salvation."

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 97
" Enough, enough, Sebastian, we are resolved," cried
out together both the brothers.
"Claudius," said one, "put on me again the chains
you have taken off."
" Nicostratus," added the other, " give orders for
the sentence to be carried out."
Yet neither Claudius nor Nicostratus moved.
" Farewell, dear father ; adieu, dearest mother,"
they in turns said, embracing their parents.
" No," replied the father, " we part no more. Nicos
tratus, go tell Chromatius that I am from this moment
a Christian with my sons; I will die with them for
a religion which can make heroes thus of boys." " And
I," continued the mother, " will not be separated from
my husband and children."
The scene which followed baffles description.. All
were inoved; all wept; the prisoners joined in the
tumult of these new affections ; and Sebastian saw him
self surrounded by a group of men and women smitten
by grace, softened by its influences, and subdued by
its power ; yet all was lost if one remained behind. He
saw the danger, not to himself, but to the Church, if
a sudden discovery were made, and to those souls flut
tering upon the confines of life. Some hung upon his
arm; some clasped his knees; some kissed his feet, as
though he had been a spirit of peace, such as visited
Peter iii his dungeon at Jerusalem.
7

98 FABIOLA; OR,
Two alone had expressed no thought. Nicostratus
was indeed moved, but by no means conquered. His
feelings were agitated, but his convictions unshaken.
His wife, Zoe, knelt before Sebastian with a beseeching-
look and outstretched arms, but she spoke not a word.
" Come, Sebastian," said the keeper of the records^
for such was Nicostratus's office ; " it is time for thee
to depart. I cannot but admire the sincerity of belief,
and the generosity of heart, which can make thee act
as thou hast done, and which impel these young men to
death ; but my duty is imperative, and must overweigh
my private feelings."
" And dost not thou believe with the rest ? "
" No, Sebastian, I yield not so easily ; I must have
stronger evidences than even thy virtue."
" Oh speak to him then, thou ! " said Sebastian to
Zoe ; " speak, faithful wife ; speak to thy husband's
heart; for I am mistaken indeed, if those looks of
thine tell me not that thou at least believest."
Zoe covered her face with her hands, and burst into
a passion of tears.
" Thou hast touched her to the quick, Sebastian,"
said her husband ; " knowest thou not that she is
dumb ? "
" I knew it not, noble Nicostratus ; for when last
I saw her in Asia she could speak."
" For six years," replied the other, with a faltering

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 99
voice, " her once eloquent tongue has been paralysed,
and she has not uttered a single word."
Sebastian was silent for a moment; then suddenly
he threw out his arms, and stretched them forth, as
the Christians always did in prayer, and raised his
eyes to heaven ; then burst forth in these words :
" O God ! Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the be
ginning of this work is Thine ; let its accomplishment
be Thine alone. Put forth Thy power, for it is
needed; intrust it for once to the weakest and poorest
of instruments. Let me, though most unworthy, so
wield the sword of Thy victorious Cross, as that the
spirits of darkness may fly before it, and Thy salva
tion may embrace us all! Zoe, look up once more to
me." All were hushed in silence, when Sebastian, after
a moment's silent prayer, with his right hand made over
her mouth the sign of the cross, saying, " Zoe, speak ;
dost thou believe ? "
" I believe in the Lord Jesus Christ," she replied, in
a clear and firm voice, and fell upon Sebastian's feet.
It was almost a shriek that Nicostratus uttered, as
he threw himself on his knees, and bathed Sebastian's
right hand with tears.
The victory was complete. Every one was gained;
and immediate steps were taken to prevent discovery.
The person responsible for the prisoners could take

IOO FABIOLA; OR,
them where he wished; and Nicostratus transferred
them all, with Tranquillinus and his wife, to the full
liberty of his house. Sebastian lost no time in putting
them under the care of the holy priest Polycarp, of
the title of St. Pastor. It was a case so peculiar and
requiring such concealment, and the times were so
threatening, and all new irritations had so much to be
avoided, that the instruction was hurried, and con
tinued night and day; so that baptism was quickly
administered. The new Christian flock was encouraged and consoled
by a fresh wonder. Tranquillinus, who was suffering
severely from the gout, was restored to instant and
complete health by baptism. Chromatius was the pre
fect of the city, to whom Nicostratus was liable for his
prisoners; and this officer could not long conceal from
him what had happened. It was indeed a matter of
life or death to them all; but, strengthened now by
faith, they were prepared for either. Chromatius
was a man of upright character, and not fond of perse
cution; and listened with interest to the account of
what had occurred. But when he heard of Tranquil-
linus's cure, he was greatly struck. He was himself
a victim to the same disease, and suffered agonies of
pain. " If," he said, " what you relate be true, and if
I can have personal experience of this healing power,
I certainly will not resist its evidence."

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. IOI
Sebastian was sent for. To have administered bap
tism without faith preceding, as an experiment of its
healing virtue, would have been a superstition. Sebas
tian took another course, which will be later described,
and Chromatius completely recovered. He received
baptism soon after, with his son Tibertius.
It was clearly impossible for him to continue in his
office, and he had accordingly resigned it to the em
peror. Tertullus, the father of the hopeful Corvinus,
and prefect of the Prsetorium, had been named his
successor; so the reader will perceive that the events,
just related from the Acts of St. Sebastian, had oc
curred a little before our narrative begins ; for in an
early chapter, we spoke of Corvinus's father as already
prefect of the city.
Let us now come down again to the evening in
which Sebastian and Pancratius met most of the per
sons above enumerated in the officer's chambers.
Many of them resided in, or about the palace; and
besides them were present Castulus, who held a high
situation at court,* and his wife Irene. Several
previous meetings had been held to decide upon
some plan for securing the completer instruction of
the converts, and for withdrawing from observation
so many persons, whose change of life and retirement
from office would excite wonder and inquiry. Sebas-
* It is not mentioned what it precisely was.

102 FABIOLA; OR,
tian had obtained permission from the emperor for
Chromatius to retire to a country-house in Campania;
and it had been arranged that a considerable number
of the neophytes should join him there, and, forming
one household, should go on with religious instruction,
and unite in common offices of piety. The season was
come when everybody retired to the country, and the
emperor himself was going to the coast of Naples,
and thence would take a journey in southern Italy.
It was therefore a favourable moment for carrying Out
the preconcerted plan. Indeed the Pope, we are told,
on the Sunday following this conversion, celebrated
the divine mysteries in the house of Nicostratus and
proposed this withdrawal from the city.
At this meeting all details were arranged ; different
parties were to start, in the course of the following
days, by various roads — some direct by the Appian,
some along the Latin, others round by Tibur and a
mountain road, through Arpinum; but all were to
meet at the villa, not far from Capua. Through the
whole discussion of these somewhat tedious arrange
ments, Torquatus, one of the former prisoners, con
verted by Sebastian's visit, showed himself forward,
impatient, and impetuous. He found fault with every
plan, seemed discontented with the directions given
him, spoke almost contemptuously of this flight from
danger, as he called it, and boasted that, for his part,

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 103
he was ready to go into the Forum on the morrow,
and overthrow any altar, or confront any judge, as a
Christian. Everything was said and done to soothe,
and even to cool him; and it was felt to be most im
portant, that he should be taken with the rest into the
country. He insisted, however, upon going his own
way. Only one more point remained to be decided : it was,
who should head the little colony, and direct its opera
tions. Here was renewed a contest of love between the
holy priest Polycarp and Sebastian; each wishing to
remain in Rome, and have the first chance of martyr
dom. But now the difference was cut short by a let
ter brought in, from the Pope, addressed to his " Be
loved son Polycarp, priest of the title of St. Pastor,"
in which he commanded him to accompany the con
verts, and leave Sebastian to the arduous duty of en
couraging confessors, and protecting Christians in
Rome. To hear was to obey; and the meeting broke
up with a prayer of thanksgiving.
Sebastian, after bidding affectionate farewell to his
friends, insisted upon accompanying Pancratius home.
As they were leaving the room, the latter remarked,
" Sebastian, I do not like that Torquatus. I fear he
will give us trouble."
" To tell the truth," answered the soldier, " I would
rather he were different; but we must remember that

104 FABIOLA; OR,
he is a neophyte, and will improve in time, and by
grace." As they passed into the entrance-court of the pal
ace, they heard a Babel of uncouth sounds, with coarse
laughter and occasional yells, proceeding from the ad
joining yard, in which were the quarters of the Mauri-
tanian archers. A fire seemed to be blazing in the
midst of it, for the smoke and sparks rose above the
surrounding porticoes.
Sebastian accosted the sentinel in the court where
they were, and asked, " Friend, what is going on there
among our neighbours ? "
" The black slave," he replied, " who is their priest
ess, and who is betrothed to their captain, if she can
purchase her freedom, has come in for some midnight
rites, and this horrid turmoil takes place every time
she comes."
" Indeed ! " said Pancratius, " and can you tell me
what is the religion these Africans follow? "
" I do not know, sir," replied the legionary, "unless
they be what are called Christians."
" What makes you think so ? "
" Why, I have heard that the Christians meet by
night, and sing detestable songs, and commit all sorts
of crimes; and cook and eat the flesh of a child mur
dered for the purpose * — just what might seem to be
going on here."
* These were the popular ideas of Christian worship.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 105
" Good night, comrade," said Sebastian ; and then
exclaimed, as they were issuing from the vestibule,
" Is it not strange, Pancratius, that, in spite of all
our efforts, we who are conscious that we worship only
the One living God in spirit and truth, who know
what care we take to keep ourselves undefiled by sin,
and who would die rather than speak an unclean word,
should yet, after 300 years, be confounded by the
people with the followers of the most degraded super
stitions, and have our worship ranked with the very
idolatry which above all things we abhor ? ' How long,
O Lord! how long?'"
" So long," said Pancratius, pausing on the steps
outside the vestibule, and looking at the now-declining
moon, " so long as we shall continue to walk in this
pale light, and until the Sun of Justice shall rise upon
our country in His beauty, and enrich it with His
splendour. Sebastian, tell me, whence do you best like
to see the sun rise ? "
" The most lovely sunrise I have ever seen," replied
the soldier, as if humouring his companion's fanciful
question, " was from the top of the Latial mountain,*
by the temple of , Jupiter. The sun rose behind the
mountain, and projected its huge shadow like a pyra
mid over the plain, and far upon the sea; then, as it
rose higher, this lessened and withdrew; and every
* Now Monte Cavo, above Albano.

106 FABIOLA; OR,
moment some new object caught the light, first the
galleys and skiffs upon the water, then the shore with
its dancing waves; and by degrees one white edifice
after the other sparkled in the fresh beams, till at
last majestic Rome itself, with its towering pinnacles,
basked in the effulgence of day. It was a glorious
sight, indeed; such as could not have been witnessed
or imagined by those below."
" Just what I should have expected, Sebastian," ob
served Pancratius ; " and so will it be, when that more
brilliant sun rises fully upon this benighted country.
How beautiful will it then be to behold the shades
retiring, and each moment one and another of the
charms, as yet concealed, of our holy faith and wor
ship starting into light, till the imperial city itself
shines forth a holy type of the city of God. Will
they who live in those times see these beauties, and
worthily value them ? Or, will they look only at the
narrow space around them, and hold their hands before
their eyes, to shade them from the sudden glare ? I
know not, dear Sebastian, but I hope that you and I
will look down upon that grand spectacle, from which
alone it can be duly appreciated, from a mountain
higher than Jupiter's be he Alban or be he Olympian,
— dwelling on that holy mount, whereon stands the
Lamb, from whose feet flow the streams of life." *
* " Vidi supra montem Agnnm stantem de sub cujus pede
fons vivus emanat." — Office of St. Clement.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 107
They continued their walk in silence through the
brilliantly-lighted streets ; * and when they had
reached Lucina's house, and had affectionately bid one
another good night, Pancratius seemed to hesitate a
moment, and then said —
" Sebastian, you said something this evening, which
I should much like to have explained."
" What was it ? "
" When you were contending with Polycarp, about
going into Campania, or remaining in Rome, you prom
ised that if you stayed you would be most cautious,
and not expose yourself to unnecessary risks; then
you added, that there was one purpose in your mind
which would effectually restrain you; but that when
that was accomplished, you would find it difficult to
check your longing ardour to give your life for
Christ." " And why, Pancratius, do you desire so much to
know this foolish thought of mine ? "
" Because I own I am really curious to learn what
can be the object, high enough to check in you the as
piration, after what I know you consider to be the very
highest of a Christian's aim."
* Ammianus Marcellinus tells us that, at the decline of the
empire, the streets at night were lighted so as to rival day. " Et
haec confidenter agebat (G-allus) ubi pernoctantium luminum
claritudo dierum solet imitari fulgorem."— Lib. xiv. c. 1.

108 FABIOLA; OR,
" I am sorry, my dear boy, that it is not in my power
to tell you now. But you shall know it sometime."
" Do you promise me ? "
" Yes, most solemnly. God bless you ! "

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. IO9

CHAPTER XL

A TALK WITH THE EEADEE.

We will take advantage of the holiday which Rome
is enjoying, sending out its inhabitants to the neigh
bouring hills, or to the whole line of sea-coast from
Genoa to Paastum, for amusement on land and water;
and, in a merely didactic way, endeavour to communi
cate to our reader some information which may throw
light on what we have already written, and prepare
him for what will follow.
From the very compressed form in which the early
history of the Church is generally studied, and from
the unchronological arrangement of the saints' biog
raphies, as we usually read them, we may easily be
led t6 an erroneous idea of the state of our first Chris
tian ancestors. This may happen in two different
ways. We may come to imagine, that during the first three
centuries the Church was suffering, unrespited, under
active persecution; that the faithful worshipped in
fear and trembling, and almost lived, in the catacombs ;
that bare existence, with scarcely an opportunity for

110 FABIOLA; OR,
outward development or inward organisation, none for
splendour, was all that religion could enjoy; that, in
fine, it was a period of conflict and of tribulation,
without an interval of peace or consolation. On the
other hand, we may suppose, that those three cen
turies were divided into epochs by ten distinct perse
cutions, some of longer and some of shorter duration,
but definitely separated from one another by breathing
times of complete rest.
Either of these views is erroneous; and we desire
to state more accurately the real condition of the Chris
tian Church under the various circumstances of that
most pregnant portion of her history.
When once persecution had broken loose upon the
Church, it may be said never entirely to have relaxed
its hold, till her final pacification under Constantine.
An edict of persecution once issued by an emperor was
seldom recalled; and though the rigour of its enforce
ment might gradually relax or cease, through the ac
cession of a milder ruler, still it never became com
pletely a dead letter, but was a dangerous weapon in
the hands of a cruel or bigoted governor of a city or
province. Hence, in the intervals between the greater
general persecutions ordered by a new decree, we find
many martyrs, who owed their crowns either to popular
fury or to the hatred of Christianity in local rulers.
Hence also we read of a bitter persecution being car-

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. Ill
ried on in one part of the empire, while other portions
enjoyed complete peace.
Perhaps a few examples of the various phases of
persecution will illustrate the real relations of the
primitive Church with the State better than mere de
scription ; and the more learned reader can pass over
this digression, or he must have the patience to hear
repeated, what he is so familiar with, that it will
seem commonplace.
Trajan was by no means one of the cruel emperors;
on the contrary, he was habitually just and merciful.
Yet, though he published no new edicts against the
Christians, many noble martyrs — amongst them St.
Ignatius, Bishop of Antioch, at Rome, and St. Simeon
at Jerusalem— glorified their Lord in his reign. In
deed, when Pliny the younger consulted him on the
manner in which he should deal with Christians, who
might be brought before him as governor of Bithynia,
the emperor gave him a rule which exhibits the lowest
standard of justice: that they were not to be sought
out ; but if accused, they were to be punished. Adrian,
who issued no decree of persecution, gave a similar re
ply to a similar question from Serenius Granianus,
proconsul of Asia. And under him, too, and even by
his own orders, cruel martyrdom was suffered by the
intrepid Symphorosa and her seven sons at Tibur, or
Tivoli. A beautiful inscription found in the cata-

112 FABIOLA ; OR,
combs mentions Marius, a young officer, who shed his
blood for Christ under this emperor.* Indeed, St.
Justin Martyr, the great apologist of Christianity, in
forms us that he owed his conversion to the constancy
of the martyrs under this emperor.
In like manner, before the Emperor Septimus Sev
erus had published his persecuting edicts, many Chris
tians had suffered torments and death. Such were the
celebrated martyrs of Scillita in Africa, and SS. Per-
petua and Felicitas, with their companions; the Acts
of whose martyrdom, containing the diary of the first
noble lady, twenty years of age, brought down by her
self to the eve of her death, form one of the most touch
ing and exquisitively beautiful documents preserved to
us from the ancient Church.
From these historical facts it will be evident, that
while there was from time to time a more active, se
vere, and general persecution of the Christian name
all through the empire, there were partial and local
cessations, and sometimes even a general suspension, of
its rigour. An occurrence of this sort has secured for
us most interesting information, connected with our
subject. When the persecution of Severus had relaxed
in other parts, it happened that Scapula, proconsul of
Africa, prolonged it in his province with unrelenting
cruelty. He had condemned, among others, Mavilus
* Roma Subterr. 1. iii. c. 23.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 113
of Adrumetum to be devoured by beasts, when he was
seized with a severe illness. Tertullian, the oldest
Christian Latin writer, addressed a letter to him, in
which he bids him take warning from this visitation,
and repent of his crimes; reminding him of many
judgments which had befallen cruel judges of the
Christians in various parts of the world. Yet such was
the charity of those pious Christians, that they were
offering up earnest prayers for their enemy's re
covery !
He then goes on to tell him, that he may very well
fulfil his duties without practising cruelty, by acting
as other magistrates had done. For instance, Cincius
Severus suggested to the accused the answers they
should make, to be acquitted. Vespronius Candidus
dismissed a Christian, on the ground that his condem
nation would encourage tumults. Asper, seeing one
ready to yield upon the application of slight torments,
would not press him further; and expressed regret
that such a case should have been brought before him.
Pudens, on reading an act of accusation, declared the
title informal, because calumnious, and tore it up.
We thus see how much might depend upon the tem
per, and perhaps the tendencies, of governors and
judges, in the enforcing even of imperial edicts of
persecution. And St. Ambrose tells us that some gov
ernors boasted that they had brought back from their

H4 FABioLA; OR,
provinces their swords unstained with blood (mem
entos enses).
We can also easily understand how, at any particu
lar time, a savage persecution might rage in Gaul, or
Africa, or Asia, while the main part of the Church
was enjoying peace. But Rome was undoubtedly the
place most subject to frequent outbreaks of the hostile
spirit; so that it might be considered as the privilege
of its pontiffs, during the first three centuries, to bear
the witness of blood to the faith which they taught.
To be elected Pope was equivalent to being promoted
to martyrdom.
At the period of our narrative, the Church was in
one of those longer intervals of comparative peace,
which gave opportunity for great development. From
the death of Valerian, in 268, there had been no new
formal persecution, though the interval is glorified by
many noble martyrdoms. During such periods, the
Christians were able to carry out their religious sys
tem with completeness, and even with splendour. The
city was divided into districts or parishes, each hav
ing its title, or church, served by priests, deacons,
and inferior ministers. The poor were supported, the
sick visited, catechumens instructed; the Sacraments
were administered, daily worship was practised, and
the penitential canons were enforced by the clergy of
each title; and collections were made for these pur-

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS'. 11$
poses, and others connected with religious charity, and
its consequence, hospitality. It is recorded, that in
250, during the pontificate of Cornelius, there were
in. Rome forty-six priests, a hundred and fifty-four
inferior ministers, who were supported by the alms
of the faithful, together with fifteen hundred poor.*
This number of the priests pretty nearly corresponds
to that of the titles, which St. Optatus tells us there
were in Rome.
Although the tombs of the martyrs in the catacombs
continued to be objects of devotion during these more
peaceful intervals, and these asylums of the persecuted
were kept in order and repair, they did not then serve
for the ordinary places of worship. The churches to
which we have already alluded were often public, large,
and even splendid; and heathens used to be present
at the sermons delivered in them, and such portions of
the liturgy as were open to catechumens. But gen
erally they were in private houses, probably made out
of the large halls, or triclinia, which the nobler man
sions contained. Thus we know that many of the titles
in Rome were originally of that character. Tertullian
mentions Christian cemeteries under a name, and with
circumstances, which show that they were above ground,
for he compares them to threshing-floors, which were
necessarily exposed to the air.
* Euseb. E. H. 1. vi. o. 43.

Il6 FABIOLA; OR,
A custom of ancient Roman life will remove an
objection which may arise, as to how considerable mul
titudes could assemble in these places, without attract
ing attention, and consequently persecution. It was
usual for what may be called a levee to be held every
morning by the rich, attended by dependents, or
clients, and messengers from their friends, either slaves
or freedmen, some of whom were admitted into the
inner court, to the master's presence, while others only
presented themselves, and were dismissed. Hundreds
might thus go in and out of a great house, in addition
to the crowd of domestic slaves, tradespeople, and others
who had access to it, through the principal or the back
entrance of the house, and little or no notice would be
taken of the circumstance.
There is another important phenomenon in the social
life of the early Christians, which one would hardly
know how to believe, were not evidence of it brought
before us in the most authentic Acts of the martyrs,
and in ecclesiastical history. It is the concealment
which they contrived to practise. No doubt can be
entertained, that persons were moving in the highest
society, were occupying conspicuous public situations,
were near the persons of the emperors, who were Chris
tians; and yet were not suspected to be such by their
most intimate heathen friends. Nay, cases occurred,
where the nearest relations were kept in total ignorance

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 11/
on this subject. No lie, no dissembling, no action espe
cially inconsistent with Christian morality or Chris
tian truth, was ever permitted to ensure such secrecy.
But every precaution compatible with complete truth
was taken to conceal Christianity from the public
eye.* However necessary this prudential course might be,
to prevent any wanton persecution, its consequences
fell often heavily upon those who held it. The heathen
world, the world of power, of influence, and of state,
the world which made laws as best suited it, and exe
cuted them, the world that loved earthly prosperity
and hated faith, felt itself surrounded, filled, com-
penetrated by a mysterious system, which spread, no
one could see how, and exercised an influence derived
no one knew whence. Families were startled at find
ing a son or daughter to have embraced this new law,
with which -they were not aware that they had been
* No domestic concealment surely could be more difficult than
that of a wife's religion from her husband. Yet Tertullian sup
poses this to hare been not uncommon. For, speaking of a mar
ried woman communicating herself at home, according to prac
tice in those ages of persecution, he says, " Let not your husband
know what you taste Becretly before every other food ; and if he
iihall know of the bread, may he not know it to be what it is
called." Ad Uxor. lib. ii. c. 5. Whereas, in another place, he
writes of a Catholic husband and wife giving communion to one
another. De Monogamia, c. 11.

118 fabiola; or,
in contact, and which, in their heated fancies and
popular views, they considered stupid, grovelling, and
anti-social. Hence the hatred of Christianity was po
litical as well as religious ; the system was considered
as un-Roman, as having an interest opposed to the
extension and prosperity of the empire, and as obey
ing an unseen and spiritual power. The Christians
were pronounced irreligiosi in Ccesares, " disloyal to
the emperors," and that was enough. Hence their se
curity and peace depended much upon the state of
popular feeling; when any demagogue or fanatic
could succeed in rousing this, neither their denial of
the charges brought against them, nor their peaceful
demeanour, nor the claims of civilised life, could suf
fice to screen them from such measure of persecution
as could be safely urged against them.
After these digressive remarks, we will resume, and
unite again, the broken thread of our narrative.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. I ig

CHAPTER XII.
THE WOLF AND THE FOX.
The hints of the African slave had not been thrown
away upon the sordid mind of Corvinus. Her own
hatred of Christianity arose from the circumstance,
that a former mistress of hers had become a Christian,
and had manumitted all her other slaves ; but, feeling
it wrong to turn so dangerous a character as Afra, or
rather Jubala (her proper name), upon the world, had
transferred her to another proprietor.
Corvinus had often seen Fulvius at the baths and
other places of public resort, had admired and envied
him, for his appearance, his dress, his conversation.
But with his untoward shyness, or moroseness, he
could never have found courage to address him, had
he not now discovered, that though a more refined, he
was not a less profound villain than himself. Ful-
vius's wit and cleverness might supply the want of
these qualities in his own sottish composition, while
his own brute force, and unfeeling recklessness, might
be valuable auxiliaries to those higher gifts. He had
the young stranger in his power, by the discovery which

120 FABIOLA; OR,
he had made of his real character. He determined,
therefore, to make an effort, and enter into alliance
with one who otherwise might prove a dangerous rival.
It was about ten days after the meeting last de
scribed, that Corvinus went to stroll in Pompey's gar
dens. These covered the space round his theatre, in
the neighbourhood of the present Piazza Farnese. A
conflagration in the reign of Carinus had lately de
stroyed the scene, as it was called, of the edifice, and
Dioclesian had repaired it with great magnificence.
The gardens were distinguished from others by rows
of plane-trees, which formed a delicious shade. Sta
tues of wild beasts, fountains, and artificial brooks,
profusely adorned them. While sauntering about, he
caught a sight of Fulvius, and at once made up to
him. " What do you want with me ? " asked the foreigner,
with a look of surprise and scorn at the slovenly dress
of Corvinus.
" To have a talk with you, which may turn out to
your advantage — and mine."
" What can you propose to me, with the first of these
recommendations ? No doubt at all as to the second."
" Fulvius, I am a plain-spoken man, and have no
pretensions to your cleverness and elegance; but we
are both of one trade, and both consequently of one
mind."

THE CHURCH OP THE CATACOMBS. 121
Fulvius started, and deeply coloured ; then said, with
a contemptuous air, " What do you mean, sirrah ? "
" If you double your fist," rejoined Corvinus, " to
show me the fine rings on your delicate fingers, it is
very well. But if you mean to threaten by it, you
may as well put your hand again into the folds of
your toga. It is more graceful."
" Cut this matter short, sir. Again I ask, what do
you mean ? "
" This, Fulvius," and he whispered into his ear,
" that you are a spy and an informer."
Fulvius was staggered ; then rallying, said, " What
right have you to make such an odious charge against
me?" " You discovered " (with a strong emphasis) " a
conspiracy in the East, and Dioclesian  "
Fulvius stopped him, and asked, " What is your
name, and who are you ? "
" I am Corvinus, the son of Tertullus, prefect of the
city." This seemed to account for all; and Fulvius said,
in subdued tones, " No more here ; I see friends com
ing. Meet me disguised at daybreak to-morrow in the
Patrician Street,* under the portico of the Baths of
Novatus. We will talk more at leisure."
Corvinus returned home, not ill-satisfied with his
* The Vicus Patricius.

122 FABIOLA; OR,
first attempt at diplomacy; he procured a garment
shabbier than his own from one of his father's slaves,
and was at the appointed spot by the first dawn of
day. He had to wait a long time, and had almost
lost patience, when he saw his new friend approach.
Fulvius was well wrapped up in a large over-coat,
and wore its hood over his face. He thus saluted
Corvinus —
" Good morning, comrade ; I fear I have kept you
waiting in the cold morning air, especially as you are
thinly clad."
" I own," replied Corvinus, " that I should have
been tired, had I not been immensely amused and yet
puzzled, by what I have been observing."
"What is that?"
" Why, from an early hour, long, I suspect, before
my coming, there have been arriving here from every
side, and entering into that house, by the back door
in the narrow street, the rarest collection of miser
able objects that you ever saw; the blind, the lame,
the maimed, the decrepit, the deformed of every pos-
sible shape; while by the front door several persons
have entered, evidently of a different class."
" Whose house is it, do you know ? It looks a large
old house, but rather out of condition."
" It belongs to a very rich, and, it is said, very
miserly, old patrician. But look! there come some

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 123
At that moment a very feeble man, bent down by
age, was approaching, supported by a young and cheer
ful girl, who chatted most kindly to him as she sup
ported him.
" We are just there," she said to him; " a few more
steps, and you shall sit down and rest."
"Thank you, my child," replied the poor old man;
" how kind of you to come for me so early ! "
" I knew," she said, " you would want help ; and as
I am the most useless person about, I thought I would
go and fetcti you."
" I have always heard that blind people are selfish,
and it seems but natural ; but you, Cfccilia are cer
tainly an exception."
" Not at all ; this is only my way of showing self
ishness." " How do you mean ? "
" Why, first, I get the advantage of your eyes, and
then I get the satisfaction of supporting you. ' I was an
eye to the blind,' that is you ; and ' a foot to the lame,'
that is myself." *
They reached the door as she spoke these words.
" That girl is blind," said Fulvius to Corvinu3.
" Do you not see how straight she walks, without
looking right or left ? "
" So she is," answered the other. " Surely this is
* Job. xxix. 15.

124 FABIOLA; OR,
not the place so often spoken of, where beggars meet,
and the blind see, and the lame walk, and all feast
together? But yet I observed these people were so
different from the mendicants on the Arician bridge.*
They appeared respectable and even cheerful ; and not
one asked me for alms as he passed."
" It is very strange ; and I should like to make out
the mystery. A good job might, perhaps, be got out of
it. The old patrician, you say, is very rich ? "
" Immensely ! "
" Humph ! How could one manage to get in ? "
" I have it ! I will take off my shoes, screw up one
leg like a cripple, and join the next group of queer ones
that come, and go boldly in, doing as they do."
" That will hardly succeed ; depend upon it every
one of these people is known at the house."
" I am sure not, for several of them asked me if this
was the house of the Lady Agnes."
" Of whom ? " asked Fulvius, with a start.
" Why do you look so ? " said Corvinus. " It is the
house of her parents: but she is better known than
they, as being a young heiress, nearly as rich as her
cousin, Fabiola."
Fulvius paused for a moment; a strong suspicion,
too subtle and important to be communicated to his
* The place most noted in the neighbourhood of Rome for
whining and importunate beggars.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 125
rude companion, flashed through his mind, fie said,
therefore, to Corvinus —
" If you are sure that these people are not familiar
at the house, try your plan. I have met the lady be
fore, and will venture by the front door. Thus we
shall have a double chance."
" Do you know what I have been thinking, Ful
vius ? "
" Something very bright, no doubt."
" That when you and I join in any enterprise, we
shall always have two chances."
" What are they ? "
" The fox's and the wolf's, when they conspire to rob
a fold." Fulvius cast on him a look of disdain, Avhich Cor
vinus returned by a hideous leer; and they separated
for their respective posts.

126 FABIOLA; OR,

CHAPTER XIII.
CHAEITY.
As we do not choose to enter the house of Agnes,
either with the wolf or with the fox, we will take a
more spiritual mode of doing so, and find ourselves at
once inside.
The parents of Agnes represented noble lines of an
cestry, and her family was not one of recent conver
sion, but had for several generations professed the
faith. As in heathen families was cherished the mem
ory of ancestors who had won a triumph, or held high
offices in the state, so in this, and other Christian
houses, was preserved with pious reverence and affec
tionate pride, the remembrance of those relations who
had, in the last hundred and fifty years or more, borne
the palm of martyrdom, or occupied the sublimer dig
nities of the Church. But though ennobled thus, and
with a constant stream of blood poured forth for Christ,
accompanying the waving branches of the family-tree,
the stem had never been hewn down, but had survived
repeated storms. This may appear surprising; but

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. I27
when we reflect how many a soldier goes through a
whole campaign of frequent actions, and does not re
ceive a wound; or how many a family endures un
tainted through a plague, we cannot be surprised if
Providence watched over the well-being of the Church,
by preserving in it, through old family successions, long
unbroken chains of tradition, and so enabling the faith
ful to say : " Unless the Lord of Hosts had left us
seed, we had been as Sodom, and we should have been
like to Gomorrha." *
All the honours and the hopes of this family centred
now in one, whose name is already known to our read
ers, Agnes, the only child of that ancient house.
Given to her parents as they had reached the very
verge of hope that their line could be continued, she
had been from infancy blessed with such a sweetness of
disposition, such a docility and intelligence of mind,
and such simplicity and innocence of character, that
she had grown up the common object of love, and al
most of reverence, to the entire house, from her parents
down to the lowest servant. Yet nothing seemed to
spoil or warp the compact virtuousness of her nature;
but her good qualities expanded, with a well-balanced
adjustment, which at the early age in which we find
her, had ripened into combined grace and wisdom.
She shared all her parents' virtuous thoughts, and cared
* Isa. i. 9.

128 FABIOLA; OR,
as little for the world as they. She lived with them
in a small portion of the mansion, which was fitted up
with elegance, though not with luxury; and their es
tablishment was adequate to all their wants. Here
they received the few friends with whom they pre
served familiar relations; though, as they did not en
tertain, nor go out, these were few. Fabiola was an
occasional visitor, though Agnes preferred going to
see her at her house; and she often expressed to her
young friend her longing for the day, when, meeting
with a suitable match, she would re-embellish and open
all the splendid dwelling. For, notwithstanding the
Voconian law " on the inheritance of women," * now
quite obsolete, Agnes had received, from collateral
sources, large personal additions to the family prop
erty. In general of course, the heathen world, who visited,
attributed appearances to avarice, and calculated what
immense accumulations of wealth the miserly parents
must be putting by; and concluded that all beyond
the solid screen which shut up the second court, was
left to fall into decay and ruin.
It was not so, however. The inner part of the house,
consisting of a large court, and the garden, with a de-
* " Ne quis hseredem virginem neque mulierem faceret," that
no one should leave a virgin or a woman his heiress. — Cicero in
Verrem, i.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 1 29
tached dining-hall, or triclinium, turned into a church,
and the upper portion of the house, accessible from
those parts, were devoted to the administration of that
copious charity which the Church carried on as a
business of its life. It was under the care and direc
tion of the deacon Reparatus, and his exorcist Secun-
dus, officially appointed by the supreme Pontiff to
take care of the sick, poor, and strangers, in one of the
seven regions into which Pope Cajus, about five years
before, had divided the city for this purpose ; commit
ting each region to one of the seven deacons of the
Roman Church.
Rooms were set apart for lodging strangers who
came from a distance, recommended by other churches ;
and a frugal table was provided for them. Upstairs
were apartments for an hospital for the bed-ridden,
the decrepit, and the sick, under the care of the deacon
esses, and such of the faithful as loved to assist in this
work of charity. It was here that the blind girl had
her cell, though she refused to take her food, as we
have seen, in the house. The tablinum, or muniment-
room, which generally stood detached in the middle
of the passage between the inner courts, served as the
office and archives for transacting the business of this
charitable establishment, and preserving all local docu
ments, such as the acts of martyrs, procured or com
piled by one of the seven notaries, kept for that pur-
9

130 fabiola: or,
pose, by institution of St. Clement I., who was at
tached to that region.
A door of communication allowed the household to
assist in these works of charity; and Agnes had been
accustomed from childhood to run in and out, many
times a day, and to pass hours there ; always beaming,
like an angel of light, consolation and joy on the suf
fering and distressed. This house, then, might be
called the almonry of the region, or district, of char
ity and hospitality in which it was situated, and it
was accessible for these purposes through the posti-
cum or back-door, situated in a narrow lane little fre
quented. No wonder that with such an establishment,
the fortune of the inmates should find an easy applica
tion. We heard Pancratius request Sebastian to arrange
for the distribution of his plate and jewels among the
poor, without its being known to whom they belonged.
He had not lost sight of the commission, and had fixed
on the house of Agnes as the fittest for this purpose.
On the morning which we have described, the distri
bution had to take place; other regions had sent their
poor, and their deacons had accompanied them; and
Sebastian, Pancratius, and other persons of higher rank
had come in through the front door to assist in the divis
ion. Some of these had been seen to enter by Corvinus.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 131

CHAPTER XIV.

EXTBEMES MEET.

A geotjp of poor coming opportunely towards the
door, enabled Corvinus to tack himself to them, — an
admirable counterfeit, in all but the modesty of their
deportment. He kept sufficiently close to them to hear
that each of them, as he entered in, pronounced the
words, "Deo gratias," "Thanks be to God." This
was not merely a Christian, but a Catholic pass-word;
for St. Augustine tells us that heretics ridiculed Catho
lics for using it, on the ground that it was not a salu
tation but rather a reply; but that Catholics used it
because consecrated by pious usage. It is yet em
ployed in Italy in the same manner.
Corvinus pronounced the mystic words, and was al
lowed to pass. Following the others closely, and copy
ing their manners and gestures, he found himself in
the inner court of the house, which was already filled
with the poor and infirm. The men were ranged on
one side, the women on the other. Under the portico at
the end were tables piled with costly plate, and near
them was another covered with brilliant jewellery.

132 FABIOLA; OR,
Two silver and gold smiths were weighing and valuing
most, conscientiously this property; and beside them
was the money which they would give, to be distributed
amongst the poor, in just proportion.
Corvinus eyed all this with a gluttonous heart. He
would have given anything to get it all, and almost
thought of making a dash at something, and running
out. But he saw at once the folly or madness of such
a course, and resolved to wait for a share, and in the
meantime take note for Fulvius of all he saw. He
soon, however, became aware of the awkwardness of his
present position. While the poor were all mixed up
together and moving about, he remained unnoticed.
But he soon saw several young men of peculiarly gentle
manners, but active, and evidently of authority, dressed
in the garment known to him by the name of Dalmatic,
fiom its Dalmatian origin; that is, having over the
tunic, instead of the toga, a close-fitting shorter tunicle,
with ample, but not over long or wide, sleeves ; the dress
adopted and worn by the deacons, not only at their
more solemn ministrations in church, but also when en
gaged in the discharge of their secondary duties about
the sick and poor.
These officers went on marshalling the attendants,
each evidently knowing those of his own district, and
conducting them to a peculiar spot within the porticoes.
But as no one recognised or claimed Corvinus for one

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 133
of his poor he was at length left alone in the middle of
the court. Even his dull mind could feel the anoma
lous situation into which he had thrust himself. Here
he was, the son of the prefect of the city, whose duty
it was to punish such violators of domestic rights, an
intruder into the innermost parts of a nobleman's house,
having entered by a cheat, dressed like a beggar, and
associating himself with such people, of course for
some sinister, or at least unlawful, purpose. He
looked towards the door, meditating an escape; but he
saw it guarded by an old man named Diogenes and his
two stout sons, who could hardly restrain their hot
blood at this insolence, though they only showed it by
scowling looks, and repressive biting of their lips. He
saw that he was a subject of consultation among the
young deacons, who cast occasional glances towards
him; he imagined that even the blind were staring at
him, and the decrepit ready to wield their crutches like
battle-axes against him. He had only one consolation ;
it was evident he was not known, and he hoped to
frame some excuse for getting out of the scrape.
At length the Deacon Reparatus came up to him, and
thus courteously accosted him — •
" Friend, you probably do not belong to one of the
regions invited here to-day. Where do you live ? "
" In the region of the Alta Semita." *
* The upper part of the Quirinal, leading -to the Nementan
gate. Porta Pia.

134 FABIOLA; OR,
This answer gave the civil, not the ecclesiastical, di
vision of Rome; still Reparatus went on: " The Alta
Semita is in my region, yet I do not remember to have
seen you."
While he spoke these words, he was astonished to
see the stranger turn deadly pale, and totter as if about
to fall, while his eyes were fixed upon the door of
communication with the dwelling-house. Reparatus
looked in the same direction, and saw Pancratius, just
entered, and gathering some hasty information from
Secundus. Corvinus's last hope was gone. He stood
the next moment confronted with the youth (who asked
Reparatus to retire), much in the same position as they
had last met in, only that, instead of a circle round him
of applauders and backers, he was here hemmed in on
all sides by a multitude who evidently looked with
admiration upon his rival. Nor could Corvinus help
observing the graceful development and manly bearing,
which a few weeks had given his late school-mate. He
expected a volley of keen reproach, and, perhaps, such
chastisement as he would himself have inflicted in simi
lar circumstances. What was his amazement when
Pancratius thus addressed him in the mildest tone —
" Corvinus, are you really reduced to distress and
lamed by some accident ? Or how have you left your
father's house ? "
" Not quite come to that yet, I hope," replied the

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 1 35
bully, encouraged to insolence by the gentle address,
" though, no doubt, you would be heartily glad to see
it. " By no means, I assure you ; I hold you no grudge.
If, therefore, you require relief, tell me ; and though it
is not right that you should be here, I can take you
into a private chamber where you can receive it un
known." " Then I will tell you the truth : I came in here
merely for a freak; and I should be glad if you could
get me quietly out."
" Corvinus," said the youth, with some sternness,
" this is a serious offence. What would your father
say, if I desired these young men, who would instantly
obey, to take you as you are, barefoot, clothed as a
slave, counterfeiting a cripple, into the Forum before
his tribunal, and publicly charge you with what every
Roman would resent, forcing your way into the heart
of a patrician's house ? "
" For the gods' sakes, good Pancratius, do not inflict
such frightful punishment."
" You know, Corvinus, that your own father would
be obliged to act towards you the part of Junius
Brutus, or forfeit his office."
" I entreat you by all that you love, by all that you
hold sacred, not to dishonour me and mine so cruelly.
My father and his house, not I, would be crushed and

I36 FABIOLA; OR,
ruined for ever. I will go on my knees and beg your
pardon for my former injuries, if you will only be
merciful." " Hold, hold, Corvinus, I have told you that was
long forgotten. But hear me now. Every one but the
blind around you is a witness to this outrage. There will
be a hundred evidences to prove it. If ever, then, you
speak of this assembly, still more if you attempt to
molest any one for it, we shall have it in our power
to bring you to trial at your own father's judgment-seat.
Do you understand me, Corvinus ? "
" I do, indeed," replied the captive in a whining
tone. " Never, as long as I live, will I breathe to
mortal soul that I came into this dreadful place. I
swear it by the — "
" Hush, hush ! we want no such oaths here. Take
my arm, and walk with me." Then turning to the
others, he continued : " I know this person ; his coming
here is quite a mistake."
The spectators, who had taken the wretch's supplicat
ing gestures and tone for accompaniments to a tale
of woe, and strong application for relief, joined in
crying out, " Pancratius, you will not send him away
fasting and unsuccoured ? "
" Leave that to me," was the reply. The self-ap
pointed porters gave way before Pancratius, who led
Corvinus, still pretending to limp, into the street, and

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 1 37
dismissed him, saying : " Corvinus, we are now quits ;
only, take care of your promise."
Fulvius, as we have seen, went to try his fortune
by the front door. He found it, according to Roman
custom, unlocked; and, indeed, no one could have sus
pected the possibility of a stranger entering at such
an hour. Instead of a porter, he found, guarding the
door, only a simple-looking girl about twelve or thirteen
years of age, clad in a peasant's garment. No one
else was near; and he thought it an excellent opportu
nity to verify the strong suspicion which had crossed his
mind. Accordingly, he thus addressed the little
portress. " What is your name, child, and who are you ? "
" I am," she replied, " Emerentiana, the Lady
Agnes's foster-sister."
" Are you a Christian ? " he asked her sharply.
The poor little peasant opened her eyes in the amaze
ment of ignorance, and replied: "No, sir." It was
impossible to resist the evidence of her simplicity ; and
Fulvius was satisfied that he was mistaken. The fact
was, that she was the daughter of a peasant who had
been Agnes's nurse. The mother had just died, and
her kind sister1 had sent for the orphan daughter, in
tending to have her instructed and baptised. She had
only arrived a day or two before, and was yet totally
ignorant on the subject.

138 FABIOLA ; OR,
Fulvius stood embarrassed what to do next. Soli
tude made him feel as awkwardly situated as a crowd
was making Corvinus. He thought of retreating, but
this would have destroyed all his hopes; he was going
to advance, when he , reflected that he might commit
himself unpleasantly. At this critical juncture, whom
should he see coming lightly across the court but the
youthful mistress of the house, all joy, all spring, all
brightness and sunshine. As soon as she saw him, she
stood, as if to receive his errand, and he approached
with his blandest smile and most courtly gesture, and
thus addressed her —
" I have anticipated the usual hour at which visitors
come, and, I fear, must appear an intruder, Lady
Agnes; but I was impatient to inscribe myself as an
humble client of your noble house."
" Our house," she replied, smiling, " boasts of no
clients, nor do we seek them ; for we have no pretensions
to influence or power."
" Pardon me ; with such a ruler, it possesses the
highest of influences, and the mightiest of powers, those
which rule, without effort, over the heart as a most
willing subject."
Incapable of imagining that such words could allude
to herself, she replied, with artless simplicity:
" Oh, how true are your words ! the Lord of this

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 1 39
house is indeed the sovereign over the affections of all
within it."
" But I," interposed Fulvius, " allude to that softer
and benigner dominion, which graceful charms alone
can exercise on those who from near behold them."
Agnes looked as one entranced; her eyes beheld a
very different image before her from that of her
wretched flatterer; and with an impassioned glance to
wards heaven, she exclaimed —
" Yes, He whose beauty sun and moon in their lofty
firmament gaze on and admire, to Him is pledged my
service and my love." *
Fulvius was confounded and perplexed. The in
spired look, the rapturous attitude, the music of the
thrilling tones in which she uttered these words, their
mysterious import, the strangeness of the whole scene,
riveted him to the spot, and sealed his lips ; till feeling
that he was losing the most favourable opportunity he
could ever expect of opening his mind (affection it
could not be called) to her, he boldly said, " It is of you
I am speaking ; and I entreat you to believe my expres
sion of sincerest admiration of you, and of unbounded
attachment to you." As he uttered these words, he
dropt on his knee, and attempted to take her hand ; but

* " Cujus pulchritudinem sol et luna mirantur, ipsi soli servo
fidem." — Office of St. Agnes.

I40 FABIOLA ; OR,
the maiden bounded back with a shudder, and covered
her face with her trembling hands.
Fulvius started in an instant to his feet; for he saw
Sebastian, who was come to summon Agnes to the poor,
impatient of her absence, striding forwards towards
him, with an air of indignation.
" Sebastian," said Agnes to him, as he approached,
" be not angry ; this gentleman has probably entered
here by some unintentional mistake, and will no doubt
quietly retire." Saying this, she withdrew.
Sebastian, with his calm but energetic manner, now
addressed the intruder, who quailed beneath his look,
" Fulvius, what do you here ? what business has brought
you?" " I suppose," answered he, regaining courage, " that
having met the lady of the house at the same place
with you, her noble cousin's table, I have a right to
wait upon her, in common with other voluntary clients."
" But not at so unreasonble an hour as this, I pre
sume ? "
" The hour that is not unreasonable for a young
officer," retorted Fulvius insolently, " is not, I trust,
so for a civilian."
Sebastian had to use all his power of self-control to
check his indignation, as he replied,
" Fulvius, be not rash in what you say ; but remem
ber that two persons may be on a. very different footing

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 141
in a house. Yet not even the longest familiarity, still
less a one dinner's acquaintance, can authorise or
justify the audacity of your bearing towards the young
mistress of this house, a few moments ago."
" Oh, you are jealous, I suppose, brave captain ! "
replied Fulvius, with his most refined sarcastic tone.
" Report says that you are the acceptable, if not ac
cepted, candidate for Fabiola's hand. She is now in
the country and, no doubt, you wish to make sure for
yourself of the fortune of one or the other of Rome's
richest heiresses. There is nothing like having two
strings to one's bow."
This coarse and bitter sarcasm wounded the noble
officer's best feelings to the quick ; and had he not long
before disciplined himself to Christian meekness, his
blood would have proved too powerful for his reason.
" It is not good for either of us, Fulvius, that you
remain longer here. The courteous dismissal of the
noble lady whom you have insulted has not sufficed; I
must be the ruder executor of her command." Saying
this, he took the unbidden guest's arm in his powerful
grasp, and conducted him to the door. When he had
put him outside, still holding him fast, he added, " Go
now, Fulvius, in peace; and remember that you have
this day made yourself amenable to the laws of the
state by this unworthy conduct. I will spare you,
if you know how to keep your own counsel; but it is

142 fabiola; or,
well that you should know that I am acquainted with
your occupation in Rome; and that I hold this morn
ing's insolence over your head, as a security that you
will follow it discreetly. Now, again I say, go in
peace." But he had no sooner let go his grasp, than he felt
himself seized from behind by an unseen, but evidently
an athletic, assailant. It was Eurotas, from whom
Fulvius durst conceal nothing, and to whom he had
confided the intended interview with Corvinus, that
had followed and watched him. From the black slave
he had before learnt the mean and coarse character
of this client of her magical arts; and he feared some
trap. When he saw the seeming struggle at the door,
he ran stealthily behind Sebastian, who, he fancied,
must be his pupil's new ally, and pounced upon him
with a bear's rude assault. But he had no common
rival to deal with. He attempted in vain, though now
helped by Fulvius, to throw the soldier heavily down;
till, despairing of success in this way, he detached
from his girdle a small but deadly weapon, a steel mace
of finished Syrian make, and was raising it over the
back of Sebastian's head, when he felt it wrenched in a
trice from his hand, and himself twirled two or three
times round, in an iron gripe, and flung flat in the
middle of the street.
" I am afraid you have hurt the poor fellow, Qua-

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 143
dratus," said Sebastian to his centurion, who was coming
up at that moment to join his fellow-Christians, and
was of most Herculean make and strength.
" He well deserves it, tribune, for his cowardly as
sault," replied the other, as they re-entered the house.
The two foreigners, crestfallen, slunk away from
the scene of their defeat ; and as they turned the corner,
caught a glimpse of Corvinus, no longer limping, but
running as fast as his legs would carry him, from his
discomfiture at the back-door. However often they
may have met afterwards, neither ever alluded to their
feats of that morning. Each knew that the other had
incurred only failure and shame; and they came both
to the conclusion, that there was one fold at least in
Rome, which either fox or wolf would assail in vain.

144 FABIOLA; OR,
CHAPTER XV.
CHAEITY EETUENS.
When calm had been restored, after this twofold dis
turbance, the work of the day went quietly on. Be
sides the distribution of greater alms, such as was
made by St. Laurence, from the Church, it was by no
means so uncommon in early ages, for fortunes to. be
given away at once, by those who wished to retire from
the world.* Indeed we should naturally expect to find,
that the noble charity of the Apostolic Church at Jeru
salem would not be a barren example to that of Rome.
But this extraordinary charity would be most naturally
suggested at periods when the Church was threatened
with persecution, and when Christians, who from posi
tion and circumstances might look forward to martyr
dom, would, to use a homely phrase, clear their hearts
and houses for action, by removing from both what
ever could attach themselves to earth and become the
spoil of the impious soldier, instead of having been
made the inheritance of the poor.f
* We have it recorded of Nepotian, that on his conversion he
distributed all his property to the poor. St. Paulinus of Nola did
the same.
t Dabis impio militi quod non vis dare sacerdoti, et hoc tollit
fiscus, quod non accipit Christus."— St. Aug.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 145
Nor would the great principles be forgotten, of mak
ing the light of good works to shine before men, while
the hand which filled the lamp, poured in its oil in the
secret, which only He who seeth in secret can penetrate.
The plate and jewels of a noble family publicly valued,
sold, and, in their price, distributed to the poor, must
have been a bright example of charity, which consoled
the Church, animated the generous, shamed the avari
cious, touched the heart of the catechumen, and drew
blessings and prayers from the lips of the poor. And
yet the individual right hand that gave them remained
closely shrouded from the scrutiny or consciousness of
the left; and the humility and modesty of the noble
giver remained concealed in His bosom, into which
these earthly treasures were laid up, to be returned
with boundless and eternal usury.
And such was the case in the instance before us.
When all was prepared, Dionysius the priest, who at
the same time was the physician to whom the care of
the sick was committed, and who had succeeded Poly
carp in the title of St. Pastor, made his appearance,
and seated in a chair at one end of the court, thus
addressed the assembly:
" Dear brethren, our merciful God has touched the
heart of some charitable brother, to have compassion
on his poorer brethren, and strip himself of much
worldly possession, for Christ's sake. Who he is I
10

I46 FAiilOLAj OR,
lcnow not; nor would I seek to know. He is some One
who loves not to have his treasures where rust con
sumes, and tliieves break in and steal, but prefers, like
the blessed Laurence, that they should be borne up,
by the hands of Christ's poor, into the heavenly
treasury. " Accept then, as a gift from God, who has inspired
this charity, the distribution which is about to be made,
and which may be a useful help, in the days of tribu
lation, which are preparing for us. And as the only
return which is desired from you, join all in that
familiar prayer, which we daily recite for those who
give, or do, us good."
During this brief address, poor Pancratius knew not
which way to look. He had shrunk into a corner be
hind the assistants, and Sebastian had compassionately
stood before him, making himself as large as possible.
And his emotion did all but betray him, when the
whole of that assembly knelt down, and with out
stretched hands, uplifted eyes, and fervent tone, cried
out, as if with one voice,
" Retribuere dignare, Domine, omnibus nobis bona
facientibus, propter Nomen tuum, vitam ceternam.
Amen." *
* " Be pleased to render, O Lord, eternal life to all who for
Thy Name's sake do unto us good things. "

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 14/
The alms were then distributed, and they proved un
expectedly large. Abundant food was also served out
to all, and a cheerful banquet closed the edifying scene.
It was still early: indeed many partook not of food,
as a still more delicious, and spiritual, feast was about
to be prepared for them in the neighbouring titular
church. When all was over, Csecilia insisted upon seeing her
poor old cripple safe home, and upon carrying for him
his heavy canvas purse; and chatted so cheerfully to
him, that he was surprised when he found he had
reached the door of his poor but clean lodging. His
blind guide then thrust his purse into his hand, and
giving him a hurried good day, tripped away most
lightly and was soon lost to his sight. The bag seemed
uncommonly full; so he counted carefully its contents,
and found, to his amazement, that he had a double por
tion. He tried again, and still it was so. At the
first opportunity, he made inquiries from Reparatus,
but he could get no explanation. If he had seen
Csecilia, when she had turned the corner, laugh out
right, as if she had been playing some one a good trick,
and running as lightly as if she had nothing heavy
about her, he might have discovered a solution of the
problem of his wealth.

148 fabiola; or,

CHAPTER XVI.

THE MONTH OF OCTOBEE.

The month of October in Italy is certainly a glorious
season. The sun has contracted his heat, but not his
splendour; he is less scorching, but not less bright.
As he rises in the morning, he dashes sparks of radi
ance over awaking nature, as an Indian prince, upon
entering his presence-chamber, flings handfuls of gems
and gold into the crowd; and the mountains seem to
stretch forth their rocky heads, and the woods to wave
their lofty arms, in eagerness to catch his royal largess.
And after careering through a cloudless sky, when he
reaches his goal, and finds his bed spread with molten
gold on the western sea, and canopied above with
purple clouds, edged with burnished yet airy fringes,
more brilliant than Ophir supplied to the couch of
Solomon, he expands himself into a huge disk of most
benignant radiance, as if to bid farewell to his past
course ; but soon sends back, after disappearing, radiant
messengers from the world he is visiting and cheering,
to remind us he will soon come back, and gladden us
again. If less powerful, his ray is certainly richer

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. I49
and more active. It has taken months to draw out of
the sapless, shrivelled vine-stem, first green leaves, then
crisp slender tendrils, and last little clusters of hard
sour berries ; and the growth has been provokingly slow.
But now the leaves are large and mantling, and worthy
in vine-countries to have a name of their own ; * and
the separated little knots have swelled up into luxurious
bunches of grapes. And of these some are already
assuming their bright amber tint, while those which
are to glow in rich imperial purple, are passing rapidly
to it, through a changing opal hue, scarcely less
beautiful. It is pleasant then to sit in a shady spot, on a hill
side, and look ever and anon, from one's book, over the
varied and varying landscape. For, as the breeze
sweeps over the olives on the hillside, and turns over
their leaves, it brings out from them light and shade,
for their two sides vary in sober tint; and as the sun
shines, or the cloud darkens, on the vineyards, in the
rounded hollows between the brilliant web of unstirring
vine-leaves displays a yellower or browner shade of its
delicious green. Then, mingle with these the innumer
able other colours that tinge the picture, from the dark
cypress, the duller ilex, the rich chestnut, the reddening
orchid, the adust stubble, the melancholy pine — to
Italy what the palm-tree is to the East — towering
* Pampinus, pampino.

150 FABIOLA; OR,
above the box, and the arbutus, and laurels of villas,
and these scattered all over the mountain, hill, and
plain, with fountains leaping up, and cascades gliding
down, porticoes of glittering marble, statues of bronze
and stone, painted fronts of rustic dwellings, with
flowers innumerable, and patches of greensward; and
you have a faint idea of the attractions which, for this
month, as in our days, used to draw out the Roman
patrician and knight, from what Horace calls the
clatter and smoke of Rome, to feast his eyes upon the
calmer beauties of the country.
And so, as the happy month approached, villas were
seen open to let in air ; and innumerable slaves were
busy, dusting and scouring, trimming the hedges into
fantastic shapes, clearing the canals for the artificial
brooklets, and plucking up the weeds from the gravel-
walks. The villlcus or country steward superintends
all ; and with sharp word, or sharper lash, makes many
suffer, that perhaps one only may enjoy.
At last the dusty roads become encumbered with
every species of vehicle, from the huge wain carrying
furniture, and slowly drawn by oxen, to the light char
iot or gig, dashing on behind spirited barbs ; and as the
best roads were narrow, and the drivers of other days
were not more smooth-tongued than those of ours, we
may imagine what confusion and noise and squabbling
filled the public ways. Nor was there a favoured one

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A staircase in the Catacombs.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. IS I
among these. Sabine, Tusculan, and Alban hills were
all studded over with splendid villas, or humbler cot
tages, such as a Maecenas or a Horace might respect
ively occupy; even the flat Campagna of Rome is
covered with the ruins of immense country residences:
while from the mouth of the Tiber, along the coast by
Laurentum, Lanuvium, and Antium, and so on to
Cajeta, Baja3, and other fashionable watering-places
round Vesuvius, a street of noble residences may be
said to have run. Nor were these limits sufficient to
satisfy the periodical fever for rustication in Rome.
The borders of Benacus (now the Lago Maggiore, north
of Milan), Como, and the beautiful banks of the
Brenta, received their visitors not from neighbouring
cities only, still less from wanderers of Germanic
origin, but rather from the inhabitants of the imperial
capital. It was to one of these " tender eyes of Italy," as
Pliny calls its villas,* because forming its truest
beauty, that Fabiola had hastened, before the rush on
the road, the day after her black slave's interview with
Corvinus. It was situated on the slope of the hill
which descends to the bay of Gaeta; and was remark
able, like her house, for the good taste which arranged
the most costly, though not luxurious, elements of com
fort. From the terrace in front of the elegant villa,
* Ocelli Italia},

I J2 FABIOLA; OR,
could be seen the calm azure bay, embowered in the
richest of shores, like a mirror in an embossed and
enamelled frame, relieved by the white sun-lit sails
of yachts, galleys, pleasure-boats, and fishing-skiffs;
from some of which rose the roaring laugh of excur
sionists, from others the song or harp-notes of family
parties, or the loud, sharp, and not over-refined ditties
of the various ploughmen of the deep. A gallery of
lattice, covered with creepers, led to the baths on the
shore ; and half way down was an opening on a favour
ite spot of green, kept ever fresh by the gush, from an
out-cropping rock, of a crystal spring, confined for a
moment in a natural basin, in which it bubbled and
fretted, till, rushing over its ledge, it went down mur
muring and chattering, in the most good-natured way
imaginable, along the side of the trellis, into the sea.
Two enormous plane-trees cast their shade over this
classic ground, as did Plato's and Cicero's over their
choice scenes of philosophical disquisition. The mo3t
beautiful flowers and plants from distant climates had
been taught to make this spot their home, sheltered, as
it was, equally from sultriness and from frost.
Fabius, for reasons which will be explained later,
seldom paid more than a flying visit for a couple of
days to this villa; and even then it was generally on
his way to some gayer resort of Roman fashion, where
he had, or pretended to have, business. His daughter

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 1$3
Was, therefore, mostly alone, and enjoyed a delicious
solitude. Besides a well-furnished library always kept
at the villa, chiefly containing works on agriculture, or
of a local interest, a stock of books, some old favourites,
other lighter productions of the season (of which she
generally procured an early copy at a high price), was
brought every year from Rome, together with a quan
tity of smaller familiar works of art, such as, distributed
through new apartments, make them become a home.
Most of her morning hours were spent in the cherished
retreat just described, with a book-casket at her side,
from which she selected first one volume, and then an
other. But any visitor calling upon her this year,
would have been surprised to find her almost always
with a companion — and that a slave!
We may imagine how amazed she was when, the
day following the dinner at her house, Agnes informed
her, that Syra had declined leaving her service, though
tempted by a bribe of liberty. Still more astonished
was she at learning, that the reason was attachment to
herself. She could feel no pleasurable consciousness
of having earned this affection by any acts of kindness,
nor even by any decent gratitude for her servant's care
of her in illness. She was therefore at first inclined
to think Syra a fool for her pains. But it would not
do in her mind. It was true she had often read or
heard of instances of fidelity and devotedness in slaves,

1 54 FABIOLA; OR,
even towards oppressive masters ; * but these Were al
ways accounted as exceptions to the general rule; and
v/hat were a few dozen cases, in as many centuries, of
love, compared with the daily ten thousand ones of
hatred around her ? Yet here was a clear and pal
pable one at hand, and it struck her forcibly. She
waited a time, and watched her maid eagerly, to see if
she could discover in her conduct any airs, any symp
tom of thinking she had- done a grand thing, and that
her mistress must feel it. Not in the least. Syra
pursued all her duties with the same simple diligence,
and never betrayed any signs of believing herself less
a slave than before. Fabiola's heart softened more and
more; and she now began to think that not quite so
difficult, which, in her conversation with Agnes, she
had pronounced impossible — to love a slave. And she
had also discovered a second evidence, that there was
such a thing in the world, as disinterested love, affec
tion that asked for no return.
Her conversations with her slave, after the memor
able one which we have recounted, had satisfied her
that she had received a superior education. She was
too delicate to question her on her early history;
especially as masters often had young slaves highly
educated, to enhance their value. But she soon dis-
* Such as are given by Macrobius in his Saturnalia, lib. i.,
and by Valerius Maximus.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 155
covered that she read Greek and Latin authors with
ease and elegance, and wrote well in both languages.
By degrees she raised her position, to the great annoy
ance of her companions: she ordered Euphrosyne to
give her a separate room, the greatest of comforts to the
poor maid; and she employed her near herself as a
secretary and reader. Still she could perceive no
change in her conduct, no pride, no pretensions; for
the moment any work presented itself of the menial
character formerly allotted to her, she never seemed to
think of turning it over to any one else, but at once
naturally and cheerfully set herself about it.
The reading generally pursued by Fabiola was, as
has been previously observed, of rather an abstruse and
refined character, consisting of philosophical literature.
She was surprised, however, to find how her slave, by
a simple remark, would often confute an apparently
solid maxim, bring down a grand flight of virtuous
declamation, or suggest a higher view of moral truth,
or a more practical course of action, than authors
whom she had long admired proposed in their writings.
Nor was this done by any apparent shrewdness of judg
ment or pungency of wit ; nor did it seem to come from
much reading, or deep thought, or superiority of educa
tion. For though she saw traces of this in Syra's
Words, ideas, and behaviour, yet the books and doctrines
which she was reading now, were evidently new to her.

156 FABTOLA; OR,
But there seemed to be in her maid's mind some latent
but infallible standard of truth, some master-key,
which opened equally every closed deposit of moral
knowledge, some well-attuned chord, which vibrated in
unfailing unison with what was just and right, but
jangled in dissonance with whatever was wrong, vicious,
or even inaccurate. What this secret was, she wanted
to discover; it was more like an intuition, than any
thing she had before witnessed. She was not yet in a
condition to learn, that the meanest and least in the
Kingdom of Heaven (and what lower than a slave ?) was
greater in spiritual wisdom, intellectual light, and
heavenly privileges, than even the Baptist Precursor.*
It was on a delicious morning in October, that, re
clining by the spring, the mistress and slave were oc
cupied in reading; when the former, wearied with the
heaviness of the volume, looked for something lighter
and newer; and, drawing out a manuscript from her
casket said:
" Syra, put that stupid book down. Here is some
thing, I am told, very amusing, and only just come out.
It will be new to both of us."
The handmaid did as she was told, looked at the
title of the proffered volume, and blushed. She
glanced over the few first lines, and her fears were con
firmed. She saw that it was one of those trashy works,
* Matt. xii. 11.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 1 57
which were freely allowed to circulate, as St. Justin
complained, though grossly immoral, and making light
of all virtue; while every Christian writing was sup
pressed, or as much as possible discountenanced. She
put down the book with a calm resolution, and said :
" Do not, my good mistress, ask me to read to you
from that book. It is fit neither for me to recite, nor
for you to hear."
Fabiola was astonished. She had never heard, or
even thought, of such a thing as restraint put upon her
studies. What in our days would be looked upon as
unfit for common perusal, formed part of current and
fashionable literature. From Horace to Ausonius, all
classical writers demonstrate this. And what rule of
virtue could have made that reading seem indelicate,
which only described by the pen a system of morals,
which the pencil and the chisel made hourly familiar
to every eye ? Fabiola had no higher standard of right
and wrong than the system, under which she had been
educated, had given her.
" What possible harm can it do either of us ? " she
asked, smiling. " I have no doubt there are plenty of
foul crimes and wicked actions described in the book;
but it will not induce us to commit them. And, in the
meantime, it is amusing to read them of others."
" Would you yourself, for any consideration, do
them?"

158 FABIOLA; OR,
" Not for the world."
" Yet, as you hear them read, their image must
occupy your mind; as they amuse you, your thoughts
must dwell upon them with pleasure."
" Certainly. What then ? "
" That image is foulness, that thought is wickedness."
" How is that possible ? Does not wickedness re
quire an action, to have any existence ? "
" True, my mistress ; and what is the action of the
mind, or as I call it the soul, but thought ? A passion
which wishes death, is the action of this invisible power,
like it, unseen ; the blow which inflicts it is but the
mechanical action of the body, discernible like its
origin. But which power commands, and which obeys ?
In which resides the responsibility of the final effect ? "
" I understand you," said Fabiola, after a pause of
some little mortification. " But one difficulty remains.
There is responsibility, you maintain, for the inward,
as well as the outward, act. To whom ? If the second
follow, there is joint responsibility for both, to society,
to the laws, to principles of justice, to self ; for painful
results will ensue. But if only the inward action exist,
to whom can there be responsibility? Who sees it?
Who can presume to judge it? Who to control it?"
" God," answered Syra, with simple earnestness.
Fabiola was disappointed. She expected some new
theory, some striking principle, to come out. Instead,

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 1 59
they had sunk down into what she feared was mere
superstition, though not so much as she once had
deemed it. " What, Syra, do you then really believe
in Jupiter, and Juno, or perhaps Minerva, who is
about the most respectable of the Olympian family?
Do you think they have anything to do with our
affairs ? "
" Far indeed from it ; I loathe their very names, and
I detest the wickedness which their histories or fables
symbolise on earth. No, I spoke not of gods and god
desses, but of one only God."
" And what do you call Him, Syra, in your system ? "
" He has no name but God ; and that only men have
given Him, that they may speak of Him. It describes
not His nature, His origin, His qualities."
" And what are these ? " asked the mistress, with
awakened curiosity.
" Simple as light is His nature, one and the same
every where, indivisible, undefilable, penetrating yet
diffusive, ubiquitous and unlimited. He existed be
fore there was any beginning; He will exist after all
ending has ceased. Power, wisdom, goodness, love,
justice too, and unerring judgment belong to Him by
His nature, and are as unlimited and unrestrained as
it. He alone can create, He alone preserve, and He
alone destroy."
Fabiola had often read of the inspired looks which

160 FABIOLA OR,
animated a sibyl, or the priestess of an oracle; but she
had never witnessed them till now. The slave's counte
nance glowed, her eyes shone with a calm brilliancy, her
frame was immovable, the words flowed from her lips,
as if these were but the opening of a musical reed,
made vocal by another's breath. Her expression and
manner forcibly reminded Fabiola of that abstracted
and mysterious look, which she had so often noticed in
Agnes ; and though in the child it was more tender and
graceful, in the maid it seemed more earnest and orac
ular. " How enthusiastic and excitable an Eastern
temperament is, to be sure ! " thought Fabiola, as she
gazed upon her slave. " No wonder the East should
be thought the land of poetry and inspiration." When
she saw Syra relaxed from the evident tension of her
mind, she said, in as light a tone as she could assume:
" But Syra, can you think, that a Being such as you
have described, far beyond all the conception of an
cient fable can occupy Himself with constantly watch
ing the actions, still more the paltry thoughts, of mil
lions of creatures ? "
" It is no occupation, lady, it is not even choice.
I called Him light. Is it occupation or labour to the
sun to send his rays through the crystal of his fountain,
to the very pebbles in its bed ? See how, of themselves
they disclose, not only the beautiful, but the foul that
harbours there; not only the sparkles that the falling

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. l6l
drops strike from its rough sides; not only the pearly
bubbles that merely rise, glisten for a moment, then
break against the surface ; not only the golden fish that
bask in their light, but black and loathsome creeping
things, which seek to hide and bury themselves in dark
nooks below, and cannot; for the light pursues them.
Is there toil or occupation in all this, to the sun that
thus visits them? Far more would it appear so, were
he to restrain his beams at the surface of the trans
parent element, and hold them back from throwing it
into light. And what he does here he does in the next
stream, and in that which is a thousand miles off,
with equal ease; nor can any imaginable increase of
their number, or bulk, lead us to fancy, or believe, that
rays would be wanting, or light would fail, to scruti
nise them all."
" Your theories are beautiful always, Syra, and, if
true, most wonderful ;" observed Fabiola, after a pause,
during which her eyes were fixedly contemplating the
fountain, as though she were testing the truth of Syra's
words. " And they sound like truth," she added ; " for could
falsehood be more beautiful than truth ? But what an
awful idea, that one has never been alone, has never
had a wish to oneself, has never held a single thought
in secret, has never hidden the most foolish fancy of a
proud or childish brain, from the observation of One
11

1 62 FABIOLA; OR,
that knows no imperfection. Terrible thought, that
one is living, if you say true, under the steady gaze of
an Eye, of which the sun is but a shadow, for he enters
not the soul! It is enough to make one any evening
commit self-destruction, to get rid of the torturing
watchfulness! Yet it sounds so true."
Fabiola looked almost wild as she spoke these words.
The pride of her pagan heart rose strong within her,
and she rebelled against the supposition that she could
never again feel alone with her own thoughts, or that
any power should exist which could control her inmost
desires, imaginings, or caprices. Still the thought
came back : " Yet it seems so true ! " Her generous
intellect struggled against the writhing passion, like
an eagle with a serpent ; more with eye, than with beak
and talons, subduing the quailing foe. After a
struggle, visible in her countenance and gestures, a
calm came over her. She seemed for the first time to
feel the presence of One greater than herself, some
one whom she feared, yet Avhom she would wish to love.
She bowed down her mind, she bent her intelligence to
His feet; and her heart too owned, for the first time,
that it had a Master, and a Lord.
Syra watched, with calm intensity of feeling, the
workings of her mistress's mind, in silence. She knew
how much depended on the issue, what a mighty step
in her unconscious pupil's religious progress was in-

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 163
volved in the recognition of the truth before her, and
she fervently prayed for this grace.
At length Fabiola raised her head, which seemed
to have been bowed down in accompaniment to her
mind, and with graceful kindness said —
" Syra, I am sure I have not yet reached the depths
of your knowledge ; you must have much more to teach
me." (A tear and a blush came to the poor handmaid's
relief.) "But to-day you have opened a new world,
and a new life, to my thoughts. A sphere of virtue
beyond the opinions and the judgments of men, a
consciousness of a controlling, an approving, and a
rewarding Power too.: am I right?" (Syra expressed
approbation,) " standing by us when no other eye can
see, or restrain, or encourage us ; a feeling that, were
we shut up for ever in solitude, we should be ever the
same, because that influence on us nrust be so superior
to that of any amount of human principles, in guiding
us, and could not leave us ; such, if I understand your
theory, is the position of moral elevation, in which it
Avould place each individual. To fall below it, even
with an outwardly virtuous life, is mere deceit, and
positive wickedness. Is this so ? "
" O my dear mistress," exclaimed Syra, " how much
better you can express all this than I do ! "
" You have never flattered me yet, Syra," replied
Fabiola, smilingly; " do not begin now. But you have

164 FABIOLA; OR,
thrown a new light upon other subjects, till to-day
obscure to me. Tell me, now, was it not this that you
meant, when once you told me, that in your theory there
was no distinction between mistress and slave ; that is,
that as this distinction is only outward, social and
bodily, it is not to be put in comparison with that
equality which exists before your Supreme Being, and
that possible moral superiority which He might see
of the one over the other, inversely of their visible
rank?" " It was in a great measure so, my noble lady ;
though there are other considerations involved in the
idea, which would hardly interest you at present."
" And yet, when you spoke that proposition, it seemed
to me so monstrous, so absurd, that pride and anger
overcame me. Do you remember that, Syra ? "
" Oh, no, no ! " replied the gentle servant ; do not
allude to it, I pray ! "
" Have you forgiven me that day, Syra ? " said the
mistress, with an emotion quite new to her.
The poor maid was overpowered. She rose and
threw herself on her knees before her mistress, and
tried to seize her hand ; but she prevented her, and, for
the first time in her life, Fabiola threw herself upon
a slave's neck, and wept.
Her passion of tears was long and tender. Her
heart was getting above her intellect ; and this can only

THE CHURCH OP THE CATACOMBS. 165
W by its increasing softness. At length she grew
calm ; and as she withdrew her embrace she said :
"One more thing, Syra: dare one address, by wor
ship, this Being whom you have described to me? Is
He not too great, too lofty, too distant, for this ? "
" Oh, no ! far from it, noble lady," answered the
servant. " He is not distant from any of us ; for as
much as in the light of the sun, so in the very splendour
of His power, His goodness, and His wisdom, we live
and move and have our being. Hence, one may ad
dress Him, not as far off, but as around us and within
us, while we are in Him; and He hears us not with
ears, but our words drop at once into His very bosom,
and the desires of our hearts pass directly into the
divine abyss of His."
" But," pursued Fabiola, somewhat timidly, " is
there no great act of acknowledgment, such as sacrifice
is supposed to be, whereby He may be formally recog
nised and adored ? "
Syra hesitated, for the conversation seemed to be
trenching upon mysterious and sacred ground, never
opened by the Church to profane foot. She, however,
answered in a simple and general affirmative.
" And could not I," still more humbly asked her
mistress, " be so far instructed in your school, as to
be able to perform this nobler act of homage ? "

l66 FABIOLA; OR,
" I fear not, noble Fabiola ; one must needs have a
Victim worthy of the Deity."
" Ah, yes ! to be sure," answered Fabiola. " A bull
may be good enough for Jupiter, or a goat for Bacchus;
but where can be found a sacrifice worthy of Him,
whom you have brought me to know ? "
" It must indeed be one every way worthy of Him,
spotless in purity, matchless in greatness, unbounded
in acceptableness."
" And what can that be, Syra ? "
" Only Himself."
Fabiola covered her face with her hands, and then
looking up earnestly into Syra's face, said to her —
" I am sure that, after having so clearly described
to me the deep sense of responsibility, under whicli
you must habitually speak as well as act, you have a
real meaning in this awful saying, though I understand
you not."
" As surely as every word of mine is heard, as every
thought of mine is seen, it is a truth which I have
spoken." " I have not strength to carry the subject further at
present ; I have need of rest."

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. l6;

CHAPTER XVII.
THE CHRISTIAN COMMUNITY.
Aftek this conversation Fabiola retired ; and during
the rest of the day her mind was alternately agitated
and calm. When she looked steadily on the grand view
of moral life which her mind had grasped, she found
an unusual tranquillity in its contemplation ; she felt
as if she had made discovery of a great phenomenon,
the knowledge of which guided her into a new and lofty
region, whence she could smile on the errors and follies
of mankind. But when she considered the responsi
bility which this light imposed, the watchfulness which
it demanded, the unseen and unrequited struggles which
it required, the desolateness, almost, of a virtue with
out admiration or even sympathy, she again shrunk
from the life that was before her, as about to be passed
without any- stay or help, from the only sources of it
which she knew. Unconscious of the real cause, she
saw that she possessed not instruments or means, to
carry out the beautiful theory. This seemed to stand
like a brilliant lamp in the midst of a huge, bare, un
furnished hall, lighting up only a wilderness. What
was the use of so much wasted splendour ?

168 FABIOLA; OR,
The next morning had been fixed for one of those
visits which used to be annually paid in the country,
— that to the now ex-prefect of the city, Chromatius.
Our reader will remember, that after his conversion
and resignation of office, this magistrate had retired
to his villa in Campania, taking with him a number
of the converts made by Sebastian, with the holy priest
Polycarp, to complete their instruction. Of these cir
cumstances, of course, Fabiola had never been informed ;
but she heard all sorts of curious reports about Chro-
matius's villa. It was said that he had a number of
visitors never before seen at his house; that he gave
no entertainments ; that he had freed all his country
slaves, but that many of them had preferred remain
ing with him; that if numerous, the whole establish
ment seemed ver happy, though no boisterous sports
cr frolicsome meetings seemed to be indulged in. All
this stimulated Fabiola's curiosity, in addition to her
wish to discharge a pleasing duty of courtesy to a most
kind friend of hers from childhood; and she longed
to see, with her own eyes, what appeared to her to be
a very Platonic, or, as we should say, Utopian experi-
mehnt. In a light country carriage, with good horses, Fa
biola started early, and dashed gaily along the level
road across the " happy Campania." An autumnal
shower had laid the dust, and studded with glistening

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 169
gems the garlands of vine which bordered the way,
festooned, instead of hedges, from tree to tree. It
was not long before she reached the gentle acclivity,
for hill it could scarce be called, covered with box,
arbutus, and laurels, relieved by tall tapering cypresses,
amidst which shone the white walls of the large villa
on the summit. A change, she perceived, had taken
place, which at first she could not exactly define; but
when she had passed through the gate, the number of
empty pedestals and niches reminded her that the villa
had entirely lost one of its most characteristic orna"
ments, — the number of beautiful statues which stood
gracefully against the clipped evergreen hedges, and
gave it the name, now become quite an empty one, of
Ad Statuas.*
Chromatius, whom she had last seen limping with
gout, now a hale old man, courteously received her,
and inquired kindly after her father, asking if the re
port were true that he was going shortly to Asia. At
this Fabiola seemed grieved and mortified; for he had
not mentioned his intention to her. Chromatius hoped
it might be a false alarm, and asked her to take a stroll
about the grounds. She found them kept with the same
care as ever, full of beautiful plants; but still much
missed the old statues. At last they reached a grotto
with a fountain, in which formerly nymphs and sea-
* " The Villa of Statues," or " at the Statues."

i;0 FABIOLA; OR,
deities disported, but which now presented a black un
broken surface. She could contain herself no longer,
and, turning to Chromatius, she said:
" Why, what on earth have you been doing, Chro
matius, to send away all your statues, and destroy the
peculiar feature of your handsome villa? What in
duced you to do this ? "
" My dear young lady," answered the good-humoured • •
old gentleman, " do not be so angry. Of what use were
those figures to any one ? "
" If you thought so," replied she, " others might not.
But tell me, what have you done with them all ? "
" Why, to tell you the truth, I have had them brought
under the hammer."
" What ! and never let me know anything about it !
You know there were several pieces I would most
gladly have purchased."
Chromatius laughed outright, and said, with that fa
miliar tone, which acquaintance with Fabiola from a
child authorised him always to assume with her:
" Dear me ! how your young imagination runs away,
far too fast for my poor old tongue to keep pace with ;
I meant not the auctioneer's hammer, but the sledge
hammer. The gods and goddesses have been all
smashed, pulverised! If you happen to want a stray
leg, or a hand minus a few fingers, perhaps I may

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 17I
pick up such a thing for you. But I cannot promise
you a face with a nose, or a skull without a fracture."
Fabiola was utterly amazed, as she exclaimed, " What
an utter barbarian you have become, my wise old judge.
What shadow of reason can you give to justify so out
rageous a proceeding ? "
" Why, you see, as I have grown older, I have grown
wiser! and I have come to the conclusion that Mr.
Jupiter and Mrs. Juno are no more gods than you or I ;
so I summarily got rid of them."
" Yes, that may be very well ; and I, though neither
old nor wise, have been long of the same opinion. But
why not retain them as mere works of art ? "
" Because they had been set tip here, not in that
capacity, but as divinities. They were here as im
postors, under false pretences; and as you would turn
out of your house, for an intruder any bust or image
found among those of your ancestors, but belonging
to quite another family, so did I these pretenders to
a higher connection with me, when I found it false.
Neither could I run a risk, of their being bought for
the continuance of the same imposture."
" And pray, my most righteous old friend, is it not
an imposture to continue calling your villa Ad Statuas,
after not a single statue is left standing in it ? "
" Certainly," replied Chromatius, amused at her
sharpness, " and you will see that I have planted palm-

172 FABIOLA; OR,
trees all about; and, as soon as they show their heads
above the evergreens, the villa will take the title of
Ad Palmas * instead."
" That will be a pretty name," said Fabiola, who
little thought of the higher sense of appropriateness
which it would contain. She, of course, was not aware,
that the villa was now a training-school, in which
many were being prepared, as wrestlers or gladiators
used to be, in separate institutions, for the great com
bat of faith, martyrdom to death. They who had
entered in, and they who would go out, might equally
say they were on their way to pluck the conqueror's
palm, to be borne by them before God's judgment-
seat/ in token of their victory over the world. Many
were the palm-branches shortly to be gathered in that
early Christian retreat.
But we must here give the history of the demolition
of Chromatius's statues, which forms a peculiar epi
sode in the " Acts of St. Sebastian."
When Nicostratus informed him, as prefect of Rome,
of the release of his prisoners, and of the recovery of
Tranquillinus from gout by baptism, Chromatius,
after making every inquiry into the truth of the fact,
sent for Sebastian, and proposed to become a Chris
tian, as a means of obtaining a cure of the same com
plaint. This of course could not be ; and another course
* " At " or "to the palms."

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 1 73
was proposed, which would give him new and personal
evidence of Christianity, without risking an insincere
baptism. Chromatius was celebrated for the immense
number of idolatrous images which he possessed; and
was assured by Sebastian, that, if he would have them
all broken in pieces, he would at once recover. This
was a hard condition; but he consented. His son
Tiburtius, however, was furious, and protested that
if the promised result did not follow, he would have
Sebastian and Polycarp thrown into a blazing furnace :
not perhaps so difficult a matter for the prefect's son.
In one day, two hundred pagan statues were broken
in pieces, including, of course, those in the villa, as
well as those in the house at Rome. The images in
deed were broken; but Chromatius was not cured.
Sebastian was sent for, and sharply rebuked. But ho
was calm and inflexible. " I am sure," he said, " that
all have not been destroyed. Something has been with
held from destruction." He proved right. Some small
objects had been treated as works of art rather than
religious things, and, like Achan's coveted spoil,* con
cealed. They were brought forth and broken up_; and
Chromatius instantly recovered. Not only was he con
verted, but his son Tiburtius became also one of the
most fervent of Christians; and, dying in glorious
martyrdom, gave his name to a catacomb. He had
begged to stay in Rome, to encourage and assist his
* Jos. vii.

174 FABIOLA; OR,
fellow-believers, in the coming persecution, which hi9
connection with the palace, his great courage and ac
tivity, would enable him to do. He had become, natur
ally, the great friend and frequent companion of Se
bastian and Pancratius.
After this little digression, we resume the conversa
tion between Chromatius and Fabiola, who continued
her last sentence, by adding,
" But do you know, Chromatius — let us sit down in
this lovely spot, where I remember there was a heauti-
ful Bacchus — that all sorts of strange reports are go
ing round the country, about your doings here ? "
" Dear me ! What are they ? Do tell me."
" Why, that you have a quantity of people living
with you, whom nobody knows; that you see no com
pany, go out nowhere, and lead quite a philosophical
sort of life, forming a most Platonic republic."
" Highly flattered ! " interrupted Chromatius, with
a smile and bow.
" But that is not all," continued Fabiola. " They
say you keep most unfashionable hours, have no amuse
ments, and live most abstemiously; in fact, almost
starve yourselves."
" But I hope they do us the justice to add, that we
pay our way ? " observed Chromatius. " They don't
say, do they, that we have a long score run up at the
baker's or grocer's ? "

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 175
" Oh, no ! " replied Fabiola, laughing.
" How kind of them ! " rejoined the good-humoured
old judge. " They — the whole public I mean — seem
to take a wonderful interest in our concerns. But is
it not strange, my dear young lady, that so long as my
villa was on the free-and-easy system, with as much
loose talk, deep drinking, occasional sallies of youth
ful mirth, and troublesome freaks in the neighbour
hood, as others, — I beg your pardon for alluding to
such things ; but, in fact, so long as I and my friends
were neither temperate nor irreproachable, nobody gave
himself the least trouble about us ? But let a few
people retire to live in quiet, be frugal, industrious,
entirely removed from public affairs, and never even
talk about politics or society, and at once there springs
up a vulgar curiosity to know all about them, and a
mean pruritus in third-rate statesmen to meddle with
them; and there must needs fly about flocks of false
reports and foul suspicions about their - motives and
manner of living. Is not this a phenomenon ? "
" It is indeed ; but how do you account for it ? "
" I can only do so by that faculty of little minds,
which makes them always jealous of any aims higher
than their own ; so that, almost unconsciously, they
depreciate whatever they feel to be better than they
dare aspire to."

176 FABIOLA; OR,
" But what is really your object and your mode of
life here, my good friend ? "
" We spend our time in the cultivation of our higher
faculties. We rise frightfully early — I hardly dare
tell you how early; we then devote some hours to re
ligious worship; after which we occupy ourselves in a
variety of ways; some read, some write, some labour
in the garden; and I assure you no hired workmen
ever toiled harder and better than these spontaneous
agriculturists. We meet at different times, and sing
beautiful songs together, all breathing virtue and
purity, and read most improving books, and receive
oral instruction from eloquent teachers. Our meals
are indeed very temperate; we live entirely on vege
tables; but I have already found out that laughing is
quite compatible with lentils, and that good cheer does
not necessarily mean good fare."
" Why you are turned complete Pythagoreans. I
thought that was quite out of date. But it must be a
most economical system," remarked Fabiola, with a
knowing look.
" Ha ! you cunning thing ! " answered the judge ;
" so you really think that this may be a saving plan
after all ? But it won't be, for we have taken a most
desperate resolution."
" And what on earth is that ? " asked the young
lady.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. \J7
" Nothing less than this. We are determined that
there shall not be such a thing as a poor person within
our reach; this winter we will endeavour to clothe
all the naked, and feed the hungry, and attend to all
the sick about. All our economy will go for this."
" It is indeed a very generous, though very new,
idea in our times; and no doubt you will be well
laughed at for your pains, and abused on all sides.
They will even say worse of you than they do now, if
it were possible; but it is not."
"How so?"
" Do not be offended if I tell you ; but already
they have gone so far as to hint, that possibly you are
Christians. But I assure you, this I have everywhere
indignantly contradicted."
Chromatius smiled, and said, " Why an indignant
contradiction, my dear child ? "
" Because, to be sure, I know you and Tiburtius,
and Nicostratus, and that dear dumb Zoe, too well to
admit, for a moment, that you have adopted the com
pound of stupidity and knavery called by that name."
" Let me ask you one question. Have you taken
the trouble of reading any Christian writings, by
which you might know what is really held and done by
that despised body ? "
" Oh, not I indeed, I would not waste my time over
them ; I could not have patience to learn anything
1%

17§ FABIOLA; OR,
about them. I scorn them too much, as enemies of all
intellectual progress, as doubtful citizens, as credulous
to the last degree, and as sanctioning every abomi
nable crime, ever to give myself a chance of a nearer
acquaintance with them."
" Well, dear Fabiola, I thought just the same about
them once, but I have much altered my opinion of late."
" This is indeed strange ; since, as prefect of the
city, you must have had to punish many of these
wretched people, for their constant transgression of
the laws."
A cloud came over the cheerful countenance of the
old man, and a tear stood in his eye. He thought of
St. Paul, who had once persecuted the church of God.
Fabiola saw the change, and was distressed. In the
most affectionate manner she said to him, " I have said
something very thoughtless I fear, or stirred up recol
lections of what must be painful to your kind heart.
Forgive me, dear Chromatius, and let us talk of some
thing else. One purpose of my visit to you was, to
ask you if you knew of any one going immediately to
Rome. I have heard, from several quarters, of my
father's projected journey, and I am anxious to write
to him,* lest he repeat what he did before, — go without
taking leave of me, to spare me pain."
* There was no post in those clays, and persons wishing to send
letters had to despatch an express, or find some opportunity.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. tft
u Yes," replied Chromatius, " there is a young man
Starting early to-morrow morning. Come into the li
brary, and write your letter; the bearer is probably
there." They returned to the house, and entered an apart
ment on the ground-floor,, full of book-chests. At a
table in the middle of the room a young man was seated,
transcribing a large volume; which, on seeing a
stranger enter, he closed and put aside.
" Torquatus," said Chromatius, addressing him,
" this lady desires to send a letter to her father in
Rome." " It will always give me great pleasure," replied the
young man, " to serve the noble Fabiola, or her illus
trious father."
" What, do you know them ? " asked the judge, rather
surprised. " I had the honour, when very young, as my father
had had before me, to be employed by the noble Fabius
in Asia. Ill-health compelled me to leave his ser
vice." Several sheets of fine vellum, cut to a size, evidently
for transcription of some book, lay on the table. One
of these the good old man placed before the lady, with
ink and a reed, and she wrote a few affectionate lines
to her father. She doubled the paper, tied a thread
round it, attached some wax to this, and impressed her

180 FABIOLA; OR,
seal, which she drew from an embroidered bag, upon
the wax. Anxious, some time, to reward the messen
ger, when she could better know how, she took another
piece of the vellum, and made on it a memorandum
of his name and residence, and carefully put this into
her bosom. After partaking of some slight refresh
ment, she mounted her car, and bid Chromatius an af
fectionate farewell. There was something touchingly
paternal in his look, as though he felt he should never
see her again. So she thought ; but it was a very differ
ent feeling which softened his heart. Should she al
ways remain thus? Must he leave her to perish in
obstinate ignorance ? Were that generous heart, and
that noble intellect, to grovel on in the slime of bitter
paganism, when every feeling and every thought in
them seemed formed of strong yet finest fibres, across
which truth might weave the richest web ? It could not
be ; and yet a thousand motives restrained him from an
avowal, which he felt would, at present, only repulse
her fatally from any nearer approach to the faith.
" Farewell, my child," he exclaimed, " may you be
blessed a hundredfold, in ways which as yet you know
not." He turned away his face, as he dropped her
Hand, and hastily withdrew.
Fabiola too was moved by the mystery, as well as
the tenderness, of his words; but was startled before
reaching the gate, to find her chariot stopped by Tor-

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. l8l
quatus. She was, at that moment, painfully struck by
the contrast between the easy and rather familiar,
though respectful, manner of the youth, and the mild
gravity, mixed with cheerfulness, of the old ex-pre
fect. " Pardon this interruption, madam," he said, " but
are you anxious to have this letter quickly delivered ? "
" Certainly, I am most anxious that it should reach
my father as speedily as possible."
" Then I fear I shall hardly be able to serve you. I
can only afford to travel on foot, or by chance and
cheap conveyance, and I shall be some days upon the
road." Fabiola, hesitating, said : " Would it be taking too
great a liberty, if I should offer to defray the expenses
of a more rapid journey ? "
" By no means," answered Torquatus, rather eager
ly, " if I can thereby better serve your noble house."
Fabiola handed him a purse abundantly supplied,
not only for his journey, but for an ample recompense.
He received it with smiling readiness, and disappeared
by a side alley. There was something in his manner
which made a disagreeable impression; she could not
think he was fit company for her dear old friend. If
Chromatius had witnessed the transaction, he would
have seen a likeness to Judas, in that eager clutching
of the purse. Fabiola, however, was not sorry to have

182 FABIOLA; OR,
discharged, by a sum of money, once for all, any obli
gation she might have contracted by making him her
messenger. She therefore drew out her memorandum
to destroy it as useless, when she perceived that the
other side of the vellum was written on ; as the tran
scriber of the book, which she saw put by, had just
commenced its continuation on that sheet. Only a
few sentences, however, had been written, and she
proceeded to read them. Then for the first time she
perused the following words from a book unknown to
her: " I say to you, love your enemies ; do good to them
that hate you, and pray for them that persecute and
calumniate you : that you may be the children of your
Father who is in heaven, who maketh the sun to rise
on the good and the bad, and raineth upon the juSt
and the unjust." *
We may imagine the perplexity of an Indian
peasant who has picked up in a torrent's bed a white
pellucid pebble, rough and dull outside, but where
chipped, emitting sparks of light; unable to decide
whether he have become possessed of a splendid dia
mond, or of a worthless stone, a thing to be placed
on a royal crown, or trodden under a beggar's feet.
Shall he put an end to his embarrassment by at once
flinging it away, or shall he take it to a lapidary, ask
* Matt, v, 44,

The Sacrament of Holy Eucharist in the Early Ages.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 1 83
its value, and perhaps be laughed at to his face ? Such
were the alternating feelings of Fabiola on her way
home. " Whose can these sentences be ? No Greek
or Roman philosopher's. They are either very false
or very true, either sublime morality or base degrada
tion. Does any one practise this doctrine, or is it a
splendid paradox? I will trouble myself no more
on the subject. Or rather I will ask Syra about it; it
sounds very like one of her beautiful, but impracti
cable, theories. No; it is better not. She overpowers
me by her sublime views, so impossible for me, though
they seem easy to her. My mind wants rest. The
shortest way is to get rid of the cause of my perplex
ity, and forget such harassing words. So here it goes
to the winds, or to perplex some one else, who may find
it on the road-side. Ho ! Phormio, stop the chariot,
and pick up that piece of parchment which I have
dropped." The outrider obeyed, though he had thought the
sheet deliberately flung out. It was replaced in Fa
biola's bosom; it was like a seal upon her heart; for
that heart was calm and silent until she reached home.

1 84 fabiola; or,

CHAPTER XVIII.

TEMPTATION.

Veey early next morning a mule and guide came to
the door of Chromatius's villa. On it was packed a
moderate pair of saddle-bags, the whole known prop
erty of Torquatus. Many friends were up to see him
off, and receive from him the kiss of peace ere he de
parted. May it not prove like that of Gethsemani!
Some whispered a kind, soft word in his ear, exhort
ing him to be faithful to the graces he had received;
and he earnestly, and probably sincerely, promised
that he would. Others, knowing his poverty, put a lit
tle present into his hand, and entreated him to avoid
his old haunts and acquaintances. Polycarp, how
ever, the director of the community, called him aside,
and with fervent words, and flowing tears, conjured
him to correct the irregularities, slight perhaps but
threatening, which had appeared in his conduct, re
press the levity which had manifested itself in his
bearing, and cultivate more all Christian virtues.
Torquatus, also with tears, promised obedience, knelt
down, kissed the good priest's hand, and obtained his

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 1 85
blessing; then received from him letters of recom
mendation for his journey, and a small sum for its
moderate expenses.
At last all was ready; the last farewell was spoken,
the last good wish expressed; and Torquatus, mounted
on his mule, with his guide at its bridle, proceeded
slowly along the straight avenue which led to the gate.
Long after every one else; had re-entered the house,
Chromatius was standing at the door, looking wist
fully, with a moist eye, after him. It was just such
a look as the Prodigal's father kept fixed on his de
parting son.
As the villa was not on the high road, this modest
quadrupedal conveyance had been hired to take him
across the country to Fundi (now Fondi), as the near
est point where he could reach it. There he was to
find what means he could for prosecuting his journey.
Fabiola's purse, however, had set him very much at
ease on that score.
The road by which he travelled was varied in its
beauties. Sometimes it wound along the banks of the
Liris, gay with villas and cottages. Then it plunged
into a miniature ravine, in the skirts of the Apen
nines, walled in by rocks, matted with myrtle, aloes,
and the wild vine, amidst which white goats shone
like spots of snow; while beside the path gurgled,
and wriggled. on, a tiny brook, which seemed to have

186 FABIOLA; OR,
worked itself into the bright conceit that it was a
mountain torrent; so great was the bustle and noise
with which it pushed on, and pretended to foam, and
appeared to congratulate itself loudly on having
achieved a waterfall by leaping down two stones at a
time, and plunging into an abyss concealed by a wide
acanthus-leaf. Then the road emerged, to enjoy a
wide prospect of the vast garden of Campania, with
the blue bay of Cajeta, in the background, speckled
by the white sails of its craft, that looked at that dis
tance like flocks of bright-plumed waterfowl, basking
and fluttering on a lake.
What were the traveller's thoughts amidst these shift
ing scenes of a new act in his life's drama? did they
amuse him? did they delight him? did they elevate
him, or did they depress ? His eye scarcely noted
them. It had run on far beyond them, to the shady
porticoes and noisy streets of the capital. The dusty
garden and the artificial fountain, the marble bath
and the painted vault, were more beautiful in his
eyes than fresh autumn vineyards, pure streams, purple
ocean, and azure sky. He did not, of course, for a mo
ment turn his thoughts towards its foul deeds and im
pious practices, its luxury, its debauchery, its profane-
ness, its dishonesties, its calumnies, its treacheries, its
uncleannesses. Oh, no! what would he, a Christian,
have again to do with these? Sometimes, as his mind

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 187
became abstracted, it saw, in a darlrnook of a hall in
the Thermae, a table, round which moody but eager
gamesters were casting their knuckle-bone dice; and he
felt a quivering creep over him of an excitement long
suppressed; but a pair of mild eyes, like Polycarp's,
loomed on him from behind the table, and aroused him.
Then he caught himself, in fancy, seated at a maple
board, with a ruby gem of Falernian wine, set in the
rim of a golden goblet, and discourse, ungirded by in
ebriety, going round with the cup ; when the reprov
ing countenance of Chromatius would seem placed
opposite, repelling with a scowl the approach of either.
He was, in fact, returning only to the innocent en
joyments of the imperial city, to its walks, its music,
its paintings, its magnificence, its beauty. He forgot
that all these were but the accessories to a living and
panting mass of human beings, whose passions they
enkindled, whose evil desires they inflamed, whose am
bition they fanned, whose resolutions they melted, and
whose minds they enervated. Poor youth ! he thought
he could walk through that fire, and not be scorched !
Poor moth! he imagined he could fly through that
flame, and have his wings unscathed !
It was in one of his abstracted moods that he jour
neyed through a narrow overhung defile, when sud
denly he found himself at its opening, with an inlet
of the sea before him, and in it one. solitary and mo-

188 FABIOLA; OR,
tionless skiff. The sight at once brought to his memory
a story of his childhood, true or false, it mattered not;
but he almost fancied its scene was before him.
Once upon a time there was a bold young fisherman
living on the coast of southern Italy. One night,
stormy and dark, he found that his father and brothers
would not venture out in their tight and strong smack;
so he determined, in spite of every remonstrance, to go
alone in the little cockle-shell attached to it. It blew
a gale, but he rode it out in his tiny buoyant bark, till
the sun rose, warm and bright, upon a placid, gla3sy
sea. Overcome by fatigue and heat, he fell asleep;
but, after some time, was awakened by a loud shout
ing at a distance. He looked round, and saw the fam
ily-boat, the crew of which were crying aloud, and
waving their hands to invite him back; but they made
no effort to reach him. What could they want? what
could they mean ? He seized his oars, and began to
pull lustily towards them; but he was soon amazed
to find that the fishing-boat, towards which he had
turned the prow of his skiff, appeared upon his quar
ter; and soon, though he righted his craft, it was on
the opposite side. Evidently he had been making a
circle; but the end came within its beginning, in a
spiral curve, and now he was commencing another and
a narrower one. A horrible suspicion flashed upon
his mind : he threw off his tunic, and pulled like a mad-

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 1 89
man at his oars. But though he broke the circle a bit
here and a bit there, still round he went, and every
time nearer to the centre, in which he could see a down
ward funnel of hissing and foaming water. Then, in
despair, he threw down his oars, and standing, he flung
up his arms frantically; and a sea-bird screaming
near, heard him cry out as loud as itself, " Charyb-
dis ! " * And now the circle his boat went spinning
round was only a few times longer than itself; and he
cast himself flat down, and shut his ears and eyes with
his hands, and held his breath, till he felt the waters
gurgling above him, and he was whirled down into the
abyss; " I wonder," Torquatus said to himself, " did any
one ever perish in this way ? or is it a mere allegory ?
— if so, of what ? Can a person be drawn on gradually
in this manner to spiritual destruction ? are my pres
ent thoughts, by any chance, an outer circle, which has
caught me, and  "
" Fundi ! " exclaimed the muleteer, pointing to a
town before them ; and presently the mule was sliding
along the broad flags of its pavement.
Torquatus looked over his letters, and drew one out
for the town. He was taken to a little inn of the poor
est class, by his guide, who was paid handsomely, and
retired swearing and grumbling at the niggardliness
* A whirlpool between Italy and Sicily,

190 FABIOLA ; OR,
of the traveller. He then inquired the way to the
house of Cassianus, the schoolmaster, found it, and
delivered his letter. He received as kind a welcome
as if he had arrived at home; joined his host in a
frugal meal, during which he learned the master's his
tory. A native of Fundi, he had started the school in Rome,
with which we became acquainted at an early period
of our history, and had proved eminently successful.
But finding a persecution imminent, and his Chris
tianity discovered, he had disposed of his school, and
retired to his small native town, where he was prom
ised, after the vacation, the children of the principal
inhabitants. In a fellow-Christian he saw nothing but
a brother; and as such he talked freely with him, of
his past adventures and his future prospects. A strange
idea clashed through the mind of Torquatus, that some
day that information might be turned into money.
It was still early when Torquatus took his leave, and,
pretending to have some business in the town, he would
not allow his host to accompany him. He bought him
self some more respectable apparel, went to the best
inn, and ordered a couple of horses, with a postillion
to accompany him; for, to fulfil Fabiola's commis
sion, it was necessary to ride forward quick, change
his horses at each relay, and travel through the night.
He did so, till he reached Boyille, on the skirts of the

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. I9I
Alban hills. Here he rested, changed his travelling
suit, and rode on gaily between the lines of tombs,
which brought him to the gate of that city, within
whose walls there was more of good and more of evil
contained, than in any province of the empire.

I92 FABtOLA; OR,

CHAPTER XIX.

THE FALL.

Toequatus, now elegantly attired, proceeded at once
to the house of Fabius, delivered his letter, answered
all inquiries, and accepted, without much pressing, an
invitation to supper that evening. He then went to
seek a respectable lodging, suited to the present state
of his purse; and easily found one.
Fabius, we have said, did not accompany his daugh
ter into the country, and rarely visited her there. The
fact was, that he had no love for green fields or run
ning brooks, his tastes were for the gossip and free
society of Rome. During the year, his daughter's pres
ence was a restraint on his freedom ; but when she was
gone, with her establishment, into Campania, his house
presented scenes and entertained persons, that he would
not have presumed to bring in contact with her. Men
of profligate life surrounded his table; and deep drink
ing till late hours, with gambling and loose conversa
tion, generally followed his sumptuous entertainments.
Having invited Torquatus to sup with him, he went
forth in search of guests to meet him. He soon picked

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 193
up a batch of sycophants, who were loitering about his
known haunts in readiness for invitations. But as he
was sauntering home from the baths of Titus, he saw
two men in a small grove round a temple earnestly
conversing together. After a moment's look, he ad
vanced towards them; but waited, at a small distance,
for a pause in the dialogue, which was something to
this effect:
" There is no doubt, then, about the news ? "
" None at all. It is quite certain that the people
have risen at Nicomedia and burnt down the church,
as they call it, of the Christians, close to, and in sight
of, the palace. My father heard it from the emperor's
secretary himself this morning."
" What ever possessed the fools to go and build a
temple, in one of the most conspicuous places of the
metropolis ? They must have known that, sooner or
later, the religious spirit of the nation would rise
against them and destroy the eye-sore, as every exhibi
tion of a foreign religion must be to an empire."
" To be sure, as my father says, these Christians, if
they had any wit in them, would hide their heads, and
slink into corners, when they are so condescendingly
tolerated for a time by the most humane princes. But
as they do not choose to do so, but will build temples
in public instead of skulking in by-lanes, as they used
to do, I for one am not sorry. One may gain some
13

194 FABTOLA ; OR,
notoriety, and profit too, by hunting these odious people
down, and destroying them if possible."
" Well, be it so ; but to come to the purpose. It is
understood between us, that when we can discover who
are Christians among the rich, and not too powerful
at first, there shall be a fair division. We will aid one
another. You propose bold and rough means: I will
keep my counsel as to mine. But each shall reap all
the profit from those whom he discovers ; and his right
proportion from those who are shared between us. Is
it not so ? "
" Exactly."
Fabius now stepped forward, with a hearty " How
are you, Fulvius ? I have not seen you for an age ;
come and sup with me to-day, I have friends engaged;
and your friend too, — Corvinus, I believe " (the gen
tleman alluded to made an uncouth bow), "will ac
company you, I hope."
" Thank you," replied Fulvius ; " but I fear I have
an engagement already."
" Nonsense, man," said the good-natured knight ;
" there is nobody left in the city with whom you could
sup, except myself. But has my house the plague,
that you have never ventured into it, since you dined
there with Sebastian, and quarrelled with him? Or
did you get struck by some magical charm, which has
driven you away? "

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 195
Fulvius turned pale, and drew away Fabius to one
side, while he said : " To tell the truth, something very
like it."
" I hope," answered Fabius, somewhat startled,
" that the black witch has been playing no tricks with
you; I wish heartily she were out of my house. But,
come," he continued in good humor, " I really thought
you were struck by a better charm that evening. I
have my eyes open ; I saw how your heart was fixed on
my little cousin Agnes."
Fulvius stared at him, with some amazement ; and,
after a pause, replied : " And if it was so, I saw that
your daughter made up her mind, that no good should
ever come out of it."
" Say you so ? Then that explains your constant
refusal to come to me again. But Fabiola is a philoso
pher, and understands nothing of such matters. I
wish, indeed, she would give up her books, and think
of settling herself in life, instead of preventing others.
But I can give you better news than that ; Agnes is as
much attached to you as you can be to her."
" Is it possible ? How can you happen to know it ? "
" Why, then, to tell you what I should have told you
long since, if you had not fought so shy of me, she con
fided it to me that very day."
"To you?"
" Yes, to me ; those jewels of yours quite won her

I96 FABIOLA; OR,
heart. She told me as much. I knew she could only
mean you. Indeed, I am sure she meant you."
Fulvius understood these words of the rich gems
which he displayed; while the knight spoke of the
jewels which he imagined Agnes had received. She
had proved, Fulvius was thinking, an easy prize, in
spite of her demureness ; and here lay fortune and rank
open before him, if he could only manage his game;
when Fabius thus broke in upon his dream, " Come
now, you have only to press your suit boldly ; and I tell
you, you will win it, whatever Fabiola may think. But
you have nothing to fear from her now. She and all her
servants are absent ; her part of the house is closed, and
we enter by the back-door to the more enjoyable part
of the establishment."
" I will wait on you without fail," replied Fulvius.
" And Corvinus with you," added Fabius, as he turned
away. We will not describe the banquet further than to
say, that wines of rare excellence flowed so plentifully,
that almost all the guests got, more or less, heated and
excited. Fulvius alone kept himself cool.
The news from the East came into discussion. The
destruction of the church at Nicomedia had been fol
lowed by incendiary fires in the imperial palace. Lit
tle doubt could exist that the Emperor Galerius was
their author; but he charged them on the Christians;

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. I97
and thus goaded on the reluctant mind of Dioclesian to
become their fiercest persecutor. Every one began to
see that, before many months were over, the imperial
edict to commence the work of destruction would reach
Rome, and find in Maximian a ready executor.
The guests were generally inclined to gore the
stricken deer; for generosity, in favour of those whom
popular clamour hunts down, requires an amount of
courage too heroic to be common. Even the most lib
eral found reasons for Christians being excepted from
all kinds of consideration. One could not bear their
mysteriousness, another was vexed at their supposed
progress; this man thought them opposed to the real
glory of the empire, that considered them a foreign
element, that ought to be eliminated from it. One
thought their doctrine detestable, another their practice
infamous. During all this debate, if it could be so
called, where both sides came to the same conclusion,
Fulvius, after having glanced from one to the other of
the guests, had fixed his evil eye upon Torquatus.
The youth was silent; but his countenance, by turn
was pale and flushed. Wine had given him a rash
courage, which some strong principle restrained. Now
he clenched his hand, and pressed it to his breast;
now he bit his lip. At one time he was crumbling the
bread between his fingers; at another, he drank off,
unconsciously, a cup of wine.

I98 FABIOLA; OR,
" These Christians hate us, and would destroy us all
if they could," said one. Torquatus leaned forward,
opened his lips, but remained silent.
" Destroy us, indeed ! Did they not burn Rome, un
der Nero; and have they not just set fire to the palace
in Asia, over the emperor's head ? " asked a second.
Torquatus rose upon his couch, stretched forth his
hand, as if about to reply, but drew it back.
" But what is infinitely worse is their maintaining
such anti-social doctrines, conniving at such frightful
excesses, and degrading themselves to the disgusting
worship of an ass's head," proceeded a third. Tor
quatus now fairly writhed; and rising, had lifted his
arm, when Fulvius, with a cool calculation of time and
words, added, in bitter sarcasm : " Ay, and massacre a
child, and devour his flesh and blood, at every
assembly." *
The arm descended on the table, with a blow that
made every goblet and beaker dance and ring, as, in
a choked voice, Torquatus exclaimed : " It is a lie !
a cursed lie ! "
" How can you know that ? " asked Fulvius with his
blandest tone and look.
" Because," answered the other, with great excite
ment, " I am myself a Christian ; and ready to die for
my faith ! "
* The heathen notion of the Blessed Eucharist

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 199
If the beautiful alabaster statue, with a bronze head,
in the niche beside the table, had fallen forward, and
been smashed on the marble pavement, it could not
have caused a more fearful sensation than this sudden
announcement. All were startled for a moment.
Next, a long blank pause ensued : after this, each began
to show his feelings in his features. Fabius looked
exceedingly foolish, as if conscious that he had brought
his guests into bad company. Calpurnius puffed
himself out, evidently thinking himself ill-used, by
having a guest brought in, who might absurdly be
supposed to know more about Christians than him
self. A young man opened his mouth as he stared
at Torquatus; and a testy old gentleman Avas evi
dently hesitating whether he should not knock down
somebody or other, no matter whom. Corvinus looked
at the poor Christian with the sort of grin of delight,
half idotic, half savage, with which a countryman
might gaze upon the vermin that he finds in his trap
in a morning. Here was a man ready to hand, to put
on the rack, or the gridiron, whenever he pleased.
But the look of Fulvius was worth them all. If ever
any microscopic observer has had the opportunity of
witnessing the expression of the spider's features, when
after a long fast, it sees a fly, plump with others' blood,
approach its net, and keenly watches every stroke of its
wing, and studies how it can best throw only the first

200 ' FABIOLA ; OR,
thread round it, sure that then all that gorges it shall
be its own; that we fancy would be the best image of
his looks, as certainly it is of his feelings. To get
hold of a Christian, ready to turn traitor, had long
been his desire and study. Here, he was sure, was
one, if he could only manage him. How did he know
this ? Because he knew sufficient of Christians to be
convinced, that no genuine one would have allowed
himself either to drink to excess, or to boast of his
readiness to court martyrdom.
The company broke up ; everybody slunk away from
the discovered Christian, as from one pest-stricken.
He felt alone and depressed, when Fulvius, who had
whispered a word to Fabius, and to Corvinus, went up
to him, and taking him by the hand said, courteously:
" I fear, I spoke inconsiderately, in drawing out from
you a declaration which may prove dangerous."
" I fear nothing," replied Torquatus, again excited.
" I will stand to my colours to the last."
" Hush, hush ! " broke in Fulvius, " the slaves may
betray you. Come with me to another chamber, where
we can talk quietly together."
So saying, he led him into an elegant room, where
Fabius had ordered goblets and flagons of the richest
Falernian wine to be brought, for such as, according to
Roman fashion, liked to enjoy a commissatio, or drink-

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 201
ing bout. But only Corvinus, engaged by Fulvius,
followed. On a beautifully inlaid table were dice. Fulvius,
after plying Torquatus with more liquor, negligently
took them up, and threw them playfully down, talking
in the meantime on indifferent subjects. " Dear me! "
he kept exclaiming, " what throws ! It is well I am
not playing with any one, or I should have been ruined.
You try, Torquatus."
Gambling, as we learnt before, had been the ruin of
Torquatus: for a transaction arising out of it he was
in prison, when Sebastian converted him. As he took
the dice into his hand, with no intention, as he thought,
of playing, Fulvius watched him, as a lynx might its
prey. Torquatus's eye flashed keenly, his lips quiv
ered, his hand trembled. Fulvius at once recognised
in all this, coupled with the poising of his hand, the
knowing cast of the wrist, and the sharp eye, to the
value of the throw, the violence of a first temptation
to resume a renounced vice.
" I fear you are not a better hand than I am at this
stupid occupation," said he indifferently ; " but, I dare
say, Corvinus here will give you a chance, if you will
stake something very low."
" It must be very low indeed, — merely for recrea
tion ; for I have renounced gambling. Once, indeed —
but no matter."

202 FABIOLA; OR,
" Come on," said Corvinus, whom Fulvius had
pressed to his work by a look.
They began to throw for the most trifling stakes,
and Torquatus generally won. Fulvius made him
drink still, from time to time, and he became very
talkative. " Corvinus, Corvinus," he said at length, as if recol
lecting himself, " was not that the name that Cassianus
mentioned ? "
" Who ? " asked the other, surprised.
" Yes, it was," continued Torquatus to himself, —
" the bully, the big brute. Were you the person," he
asked, looking up to Corvinus, " who struck that nice
Christian boy Pancratius ? "
Corvinus was on the point of bursting into a rage,
but Fulvius checked him by a gesture, and said, with
timely interference —
" That Cassianus whom you mentioned is an emi
nent schoolmaster ; pray, where does he live ? "
This he knew his companion wished to ascertain;
and thus he quieted him. Torquatus answered —
" He lives, let me see, — no, no ; I won't turn traitor.
No ; I am ready to be burnt, or tortured, or die for my
faith ; but I won't betray any one, — that I won't."
" Let me take your place, Corvinus," said Fulvius,
who saw Torquatus's interest in the game deepening.
He put forth sufficient skill to make his antagonist

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 203
more careful, and more intent. He threw down a
somewhat larger stake. Torquatus, after a moment's
pause of deliberation, matched it. He won it. Ful
vius seemed vexed. Torquatus threw back both sums.
Fulvius seemed to hesitate, but put down an equiva
lent, and lost again. The play was now silent: each
won and lost; but Fulvius had steadily the advantage;
and he was the more collected of the two.
Once Torquatus looked up, and started. He
thought he saw the good Polycarp behind his adver
sary's chair. He rubbed his eyes, and saw it was only
Corvinus staring at him. All his skill was now put
forth. Conscience had retreated; faith was wavering;
grace had already departed. For the demon of covet-
ousness, of rapine, of dishonesty, of recklessness, had
come back, and brought with him seven spirits worse
than himself, to that cleansed, but ill-guarded soul;
and as they entered in all that was holy, all that was
good, departed.
At length, worked up, by repeated losses and
draughts of wine, into a phrenzy, after he had drawn
frequently upon the heavy purse which Fabiola had
given him, he threw the purse itself upon the table.
Fulvius coolly opened it, emptied it, counted the money,
and placed opposite an equal heap of gold. Each pre
pared himself for a final throw. The fatal bones fell ;
each glanced silently upon their spots. Fulvius drew

204 FABIOLA ; OR*
the money towards himself. Torquatus fell upon the
table, his head buried and hidden within his arms.
Fulvius motioned Corvinus out of the room.
Torquatus beat the ground with his foot; then
moaned, next gnashed his teeth and growled; then put
his fingers in his hair, and began to pull and tear it.
A voice whispered in his ear, " Are you a Christian ? "
Which of the seven spirits was it ? surely the worst.
" It is hopeless," continued the voice ; " you have
disgraced your religion, and you have betrayed it too."
" No, no," groaned the despairing wretch.
" Yes ; in your drunkenness you have told us all :
quite enough to make it impossible for you ever to re
turn to those you have betrayed."
" Begone, begone," exclaimed piteously the tortured
sinner. " They will forgive me still. God  "
"Silence; utter not His name: you are degraded,
perjured, hopelessly lost. You are a beggar ; to-morrow
you must beg your bread. You are an outcast, a
ruined prodigal and gamester. Who will look at you ?
will your Christian friends? And nevertheless you
are a Christian; you will be torn to pieces by some
cruel dearth for it; yet you will not be worshipped by
them as one of their martyrs. You are a hypocrite,
Torquatus, and nothing more."
" Who is it that is tormenting me ? " he exclaimed,
and looked up. Fulvius was standing with folded arms

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 20$
at his side. " And if all this be true what is it to
you ? What have you to say more to me ? " he con
tinued. " Much more than you think. You have betrayed
yourself into my power completely. I am master of
your money" — (and he showed him Fabiola's purse)
— " of your character, of your peace, of your life. I
have only to let your fellow-Christians know what you
have done, what you have said, what you have been
to-night, and you dare not face them. I have only to
let that ' bully — that big brute,' t.s you called him, but
who is son of the prefect of the city, loose upon you,
(and no one else can now restrain him after such
provocation), and to-morrow you will be standing be
fore his father's tribunal to die for that religion which
you have betrayed and disgraced. Are you ready now,
any longer to reel and stagger as a drunken gambler,
to represent your Christianity before the judgment-
seat in the Forum ? "
The fallen man had not courage to follow the prod
igal in repentance, as he had done in sin. Hope was
dead in him; for he had relapsed into his capital sin,
and scarcely felt remorse. He remained silent, till
Fulvius aroused him by asking, " Well, have you made
your choice ; either to go at once to the Christians with
to-night on your head, or to-morrow to the court?
Which do you choose ? "

206 FABIOLA; OR,
Torquatus raised his eyes to him, with a stolid look,
and faintly answered, " Neither."
" Come, then, what will you do ? " asked Fulvius,
mastering him with one of his falcon glances.
" What you like," said Torquatus, " only neither of
those things."
Fulvius sat down beside him, and said, in a soft and
soothing voice, " Now, Torquatus, listen to me ; do as
I tell you, and all is mended. You shall have house,
and food, and apparel, ay, and money to play with, if
you will only do my bidding."
" And what is that ? "
" Rise to-morrow as usual ; put on your Christian
face, go freely among your friends; aot as if nothing
had happened; but answer all my questions, tell me
everything." Torquatus groaned, " A traitor at last ! "
" Call it what you will ; that or death ! Ay, death
by inches. I hear Corvinus pacing impatiently up and
down the court. Quick ! which is it to be ? "
" Not death ! Oh no, anything but that ! "
Fulvius went out, and found his friend fuming with
rage and wine; he had hard work to pacify him.
Corvinus had almost forgotten Cassianus in fresher
resentments ; but all his former hatred had been re-
enkindled, and he burnt for revenge. Fulvius prom
ised to find out where he lived, and used this means

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 207
to secure the suspension of any violent and immediate
measure. Having sent Corvinus sulky and fretting home, he
returned to Torquatus, whom he wished to accompany,
that he might ascertain his lodgings. As soon as he
had left the room, his victim had arisen from his chair,
and endeavoured, by walking up and down, to steady
his senses and regain self-possession. But it was in
vain; his head was swimming from his inebriety, and
his subsequent excitement. The apartment seemed
to turn round and round, and float up and down ; he
was sick too, and his heart was beating almost audibly.
Shame, remorse, self-contempt, hatred of his destroyers
and of himself, the desolateness of the outcast, and
the black despair of the reprobate, rolled like dark
billows through his soul, each coming in turn upper
most. Unable to sustain himself longer on his feet,
he threw himself on his face upon a silken couch, and
buried his burning brow in his icy hands, and groaned.
And still all whirled round and round him, and a con
stant moaning sounded in his ears.
Fulvius found him in this state, and touched his
shoulder to rouse him. Torquatus shuddered, and
started ; then exclaimed : " Can this be Charybdis ? "

PART SECOND.
Conflict.
CHAPTER I.
The scenes through which we have hitherto led our
reader have been laid in one of those slippery truces,
rather than peace, which often intervened between per
secution and persecution. Already rumours of war
have crossed our path and its note of preparation has
been distinctly heard. The roar of the lions near the
Amphitheatre, which startled but dismayed not Sebas-
* " Diogenes, the excavator, deposited in peace, eight days be
fore the first of October,"— From St- Sabastian's. Boldetti, i.
15, p. 60. 208

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 209
tian, the reports from the East, the hints of Fulvius,
and the threats of Corvinus, have brought us the same
news, that before long the horrors of persecution will
re-appear, and Christian blood will have to flow in a
fuller and nobler stream than had hitherto watered the
Paradise of the New Law. The Church, ever calmly
provident, cannot neglect the many signs of a threat
ened combat, nor the preparations necessary for meet
ing it. From the moment she earnestly begins to arm
herself, we date the second period of our narrative. It
is the commencement of conflict.
It was towards the end of October that a young man,
not unknown to us, closely muffled up in his cloak, for
it was dark and rather chill, might be seen threading
his way through the narrow alleys of the district called
the Suburra; a region, the extent and exact position
of which is still under dispute, but which lay in the
immediate vicinity of the Forum. As vice is un
fortunately too often linked with poverty, the two found
a common asylum here. Pancratius did not seem
much at home in this part of the city, and made several
wrong turns, till at length he found the street he was
in search of. Still, without numbers on the doors, the
house he wanted was an unsolved problem; but yet
not quite insoluble. He looked for the neatest dwell
ing in the street ; and being particularly struck with the
cleanliness and good order of one beyond the rest, he
14

2i§ fabiola; or,
boldly knocked at its door. It was opened by an old
man, whose name has already appeared in our pages,
Diogenes. He was tall and broad-shouldered, as if ac
customed to bear burdens, which, however, had given
him a stoop in his gait. His hair was a perfect silver,
and hung down at the side3 of a large massive head;
his features were strongly marked in deep melancholy
lines, and though the expression of his countenance was
calm, it was solemnly sad. He looked like one who
had lived much among the dead, and was happiest in
their company. His two sons, Majus and Severus, fine
athletic youths, were with him. The first was busy
carving, or scratching rather, a rude epitaph on an old
slab of marble, the reverse of which still bore traces of
a heathen sepulchral inscription, rudely effaced by its
new possessor. Pancratius looked over the work in hand
and smiled; there was hardly a word rightly spelt, or
a part of speech correct ; indeed, here it is,
DE BIANOPA
POLLECLA QVE ORDEV BENDET DE BIANOBA*
The other son was making a rough design, in which
could be distinguished Jonas devoured by the whale,
and Lazarus raised from the dead, both most conven
tionally drawn with charcoal on a board; a sketch evi
dently for a more permanent painting elsewhere.
* " From New Street. Pollecla, who sells barley in New Street
Found in the cemetery of Callistus."

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 211
Further, it was clear, that when the knock came to the
door, old Diogenes was busy fitting a new handle to an
old pick-axe. These varied occupations in one family
might have surprised a modern, but they did not at
all the youthful visitor; he well knew that the family
belonged to the honourable and religious craft of the
Fossokes, or excavators of the Christian cemeteries.
Indeed, Diogenes was the head, and director of that
confraternity. In conformity with the assertion of an
anonymous writer, contemporary with St. Jerome, some
modern antiquarians have considered the fossor as
forming a lesser ecclesiastical order in the primitive
Church, like the lector or reader. But although this
opinion is untenable, it is extremeh probable that the
duties of this office were in the hands of persons ap
pointed and recognised by ecclesiastical authority.
The uniform system pursued in excavating, arranging,
and filling up the numerous cemeteries round Rome a
system too, so complete from the beginning, as not
to have positive signs of improvement or change as
time went on, gives us reason to conclude, that these
wonderful and venerable works were carried on under
one direction, and probably by some body associated
for that purpose. It was not a cemetery or necropolis
company, which made a speculation of burying the
dead, but rather a pious and recognised confraternity,
which was associated for the purpose.

212 FABIOLA; OR,
A series of interesting inscriptions, found in the
cemetery of St Agnes, proves that this occupation was
continued in particular families; grandfather, father,
and sons, having carried it on in the same place.* We
can thus easily understand the great skill, and uni
formity of practice observable in the catacombs. But
the fossores had evidently a higher office, or even
jurisdiction, in that underground world. Though the
Church provided space for the burial of all her children,
it was natural that some should make compensation for
their place of sepulture, if chosen in a favourite spot,
such as the vicinity of a martyr's tomb. These sextons
had the management of such transactions, which are
often recorded in the ancient cemeteries. The fol
lowing inscription is preserved in the Capitol :
EMPTV LOCVM AB ARTEMISIVM VISOMVM HOC EST
ET PRAETIVM DATVM FOSSORI HILARO IDEST
FOL NOOD PRAESENTIA SEVERI FOSS ET LAVRENTI.,
That is—
" This is the grave for two bodies, bought by Artemisius ; and
the price was given to the Fossor Hilarus, — that is purses . . . ,f
In the presence of Severus the Fossor and Laurentius."
Possibly the last-named was the witness on the pur
chaser's side, and Severus on the seller's. However
* Given by F. Marchi in his Architecture of Subterranean
Christian Rome, 1844 ; a work on which we will freely draw.
f The number, unfortunately, is not intelligible, being in
cipher.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 213
this may be, we trust we have laid before our readers
all that is known about the profession, as such, of
Diogenes and his sons.
We left Pancratius amused at Majus's rude at
tempts in glyptic art ; his next step was to address him.
" Do you always execute these inscriptions yourself ?"
" Oh, no," answered the artist, looking up and smil
ing, " I do them for poor people, who cannot afford
to pay a better hand. This was a good woman who
kept a small shop in the Vianova, and you may suppose
did not become rich, especially as she was very honest.
And yet a curious thought struck me as I was carving
her epitaph."
" Let me hear it, Majus."
" It was, that perhaps some thousand years hence
or more, Christians might read with reverence my
scratches on the wall, and hear of poor old Pollecla and
her barley-stall with interest, while the inscription of
not a single emperor, who persecuted the Church, would
be read or even known."
" Well, I can hardly imagine that the superb mauso
leums of sovereigns will fall to utter decay, and yet the
memory of a market-wife descend to distant ages.
But what is your reason for thinking thus ? "
" Simply because I would sooner commit to the
keeping of posterity the memory of the pious poor than
that of the wicked king. And my rude record may

214 FABIOLA; OR,
possibly be read when triumphal arches have been de
molished. It's dreadfully written though, is it not ? "
" Never mind that : ijts simplicity is worth much fine
writing. What is that slab leaning against the wall ? "
" Ah, that is a beautiful inscription brought us to
put up; you will see the writer and engraver were dif
ferent people. It is to go to the cemetery at the Lady
Agnes's villa, on the Nomentan way. I believe it is
in memory of a most sweet child, whose death is deeply
felt by his virtuous parents." Pancratius took a light
to it, and read as follows:

AIONYCIOCNHTIIOC AKAK0CeN8AA«£!
TeUGTATCwNA n WJUNWcee |

"The innocent boy Dionysius lieth here among the saints.
Remember us in your holy prayers, the writer and the engraver."
" Dear, happy child ! " continued Pancratius, when

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 215
he had perused the inscription : " add me the reader,
to the writer and carver of your epitaph, in your holy
prayers." " Amen," answered the pious family.
But Pancratius, attracted by a certain husky sound
in Diogenes's voice, turned round, and saw the old man
vigorously trying to cut off the end of a little wedge
which he had driven into the top of the handle of his
pick-axe, to keep it fast in the iron, but every moment
baffled by some defect in his vision, which he removed
by drawing the back of his brawny hand across his
eyes. " What is the matter, my good old friend ? "
said the youth kindly. " Why does this epitaph of
young Dionysius particularly affect you ? "
" It does not of itself ; but it reminds me of so much
that is past, and suggests so much that may be about
to come, that I feel almost faint to think of either."
" What are your painful thoughts, Diogenes ? "
" Why, do you see, it is all simple enough to take
into one's arms a good child like Dionysius, wrapped
in his cerecloth, fragrant with spices, and lay him in
his grave. His parents may weep, but his passage from
sorrow to joy was easy and sweet. It is a very different
thing, and requires a heart as hardened as mine by
practice " (another stroke of the hand across the eye's)
" to gather up hastily the torn flesh and broken limbs
of such another youth, to wrap them hurriedly in their

2l6 FABIOLA; OR,
winding-sheet, then fold them into another sheet full
of lime, instead of balsams, and shove them precipitately
into their tomb.* How differently one would wish to
treat a martyr's body ! "
" True, Diogenes ; but a brave officer prefers the plain
soldier's grave, on the field of battle to the carved sarco
phagus on the Via Appia. But are such scenes as you
describe common, in times of persecution ? "
" By no means uncommon, my good young master.
I am sure a pious youth like you must have visited, on
his anniversary, the tomb of Restitutus in the cemetery
of Hermes."
" Indeed I have, and often have I been almost jealous
of his early martyrdom. Did you bury him ? "
" Yes, and his parents had a beautiful tomb made,
the arcosolium of his crypt, f My father and I made
it of six slabs of marble, hastily collected, and I en
graved the inscription now beside it. I think I carved
better than Majus there," added the old man, now
quite cheerful.
* In the cemetery of St. Agnes, pieces of lime have been found
in tombs forming exact molds of different parts of the body,
with the impression of a finer linen inside, and a coarser out
side. As to spices and balsams, Tertullian observes that " the
Arabs and Sabaeans well know that the Christians annually con
sume more for their dead than the heathen world did for its
gods "
f These terms will be explained later.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS.

217

" That is not saying much for yourself, father,"
rejoined his son no less smiling; " but here is the copy
of the inscription which you wrote," he added, drawing
out a parchment from a number of sheets.
" I remember it perfectly," said Pancratius, glanc
ing over, and reading it as follows, correcting the er
rors in orthography, but not those in grammar, as he
read : —

AELIO FABIO RESTVTO

FIDO PIISSIMO PARI N

TES FECERVNT QVIVI

XIT ANNI. S XVIII MENS

VII INIRENE.
— ¦ . - -i - — =  ;

" To JElius Fabius Restitutus, their most pious son, his parents
erected (this tomb). Who lived eighteen years and seven
months, In peace."
He continued : " What a glorious youth, to have con
fessed Christ at such an age ! "
" No doubt," replied the old man ; " but I dare say
you have always thought that his body reposes alone in
his sepulchre. Any one would think so from the in
scription." " Certainly I have always thought so. It is other
wise ? "
" Yes, noble Pancratius, he has a comrade younger
than himself lying in the same bed. As we were clos-

21 8 FABIOLA; OR,
ing the tomb of Restitutus, the body of a boy not more
than twelve or thirteen years old was brought to us.
Oh, I shall never forget the sight ! He had been hung
over a fire, and his head, trunk, and limbs nearly to
the knees, were burnt to the very bone; and so dis
figured was he, that no feature could be recognised.
Poor little fellow, what he must have suffered! But
why should I pity him? Well, we were pressed for
time; and we thought the youth of eighteen would not
grudge room for his fellow-soldier of twelve, but would
own him for a younger brother; so. we laid him at
iElius Fabius's feet. But we had no second phial of
blood to put, outside, that a second martyr might be
known to lie there; for the fire had dried his blood up
in his veins." *
" What a noble boy ! If the first was older, the
second was younger than I. What say you, Diogenes,
don't you think it likely you may have to perform the
same office for me one of these days ? "
* On the 23d of April, 1823, this tomb was discovered un-
violated. On being opened, the bones, white, bright, and pol
ished as ivory, were found, corresponding to the framework of
a youth of eighteen. At his head was the phial of blood. "With
the head to his feet was the skeleton of a boy, or twelve or
thirteen, black and charred, chiefly at the head and upper parts,
down to the middle of the thigh-bones, from which to the feet
the bones gradually whitened. The two bodies, richly clothed,
repose side by side under the altar of the Jesuits' college at
Loreto,

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 219
" Oh, no, I hope not," said the old digger, with a
return of his husky voice. " Do not, I entreat you,
allude to such a possibility. Surely my own time
must come sooner. How the old trees are spared, in
deed, and the young plants cut down ! "
" Come, come, my good friend, I won't afflict you.
But I have almost forgotten to deliver the message I
came to bring. It is, that to-morrow at dawn, you
must come to my mother's house, to arrange about pre
paring the cemeteries, for our coming troubles. Our
holy Pope will be there, with the priests of the titles,
the regionary deacons, the notaries, whose number has
been filled up, and you, the head fossor, that all may
act in concert."
" I will not fail, Pancratius," replied Diogenes.
" And now," added the youth, " I have a favour to
ask you."
" A favour from me ? " asked the old man, surprised.
" Yes ; you will have to begin your work immedi
ately, I suppose. Now, often as I have visited, for de
votion, our sacred cemeteries, I have never studied or
examined them; and this I should like to do with you,
who know them so well."
" Nothing would give me greater pleasure," an
swered Diogenes, somewhat flattered by the compli
ment, but still more pleased by this love for what he
so much loved. " After I have received my instruc-

220 FABIOLA; OR,
tions, I shall go at once to the cemetery of Callistus.
Meet me out of the Porta Capena, half an hour before
mid-day, and we will go on together."
" But I shall not be alone," continued Pancratius.
" Two youths, recently baptised, desire much to become
acquainted with our cemeteries, which they do not yet
much know ; and have asked me to initiate them there."
" Any friends of yours will be always welcome.
What are their names, that we may make no mistake ? "
" One is Tiburtius, the son of Chromatius, the late
prefect; the other is a young man named Torquatus."
Severus started a little, and said : " Are you quite
sure about him, Pancratius ? "
Diogenes rebuked him, saying, " That he comes to
us in Pancratius's company is security enough."
" I own," interposed the youth, " that I do not know
as much about him as about Tiburtius, who is really
a gallant, noble fellow. Torquatus is, however, very
anxious to obtain all information about our affairs, and
seems in earnest. What makes you fear, Severus ? "
" Only a trifle, indeed. But as I was going early
to the cemetery this morning, I turned into the Baths
of Antoninus." *
" What ! " interrupted Pancratius, laughing, " do
you frequent such fashionable resorts ? "
" Not exactly," replied the honest artist ; " but you
* Better known as Caracella's.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 221
are not perhaps aware that Cucumio the capsarius *
and his wife are Christians ? "
" Is it possible ? where shall we find them next ? "
" Well, so it is ; and moreover they are making a
tomb for themselves in the cemetery of Callistus ; and I
had to show them Majus's inscription for it."
" Here it is," said the latter, exhibiting it, as follows :
CVCVMIO ET VICTORIA
SE VIVOS FECERVNT
CAPSARARIVS DE ANTONINjANAS *
" Capital ! " exclaimed Pancratius, amused at the
blunders in the epitaph ; " but we are forgetting Tor
quatus." " As I entered the building, then," said Severus, " I
was not a little surprised to find in one corner, at that
early hour, this Torquatus in close conversation with
the present prefect's son, Corvinus, the pretended crip
ple, who thrust himself into Agnes's house, you re
member, when some charitable unknown person (God
bless him!) gave large alms to the poor there. Not
* The person who had charge of the bathers' clothes, from
capsa, a chest.
f " Cucumio and Victoria made (the tomb) for themselves
while living. Capsarius of the Antonine" (baths). Found in
the cemetery of Callistus, first published by F. Marchi, who at
tributes it erroneously, to the cemetery of Prsetextatus.

222 FABIOLA; OR,
good company I thought, and at such an hour, for a
Christian." " True, Severus," returned Pancratius, blushing
deeply ; " but he is young as yet in the faith, and prob
ably his old friends do not know of his change. We
will hope for the best."
The two young men offered to accompany Pancra
tius, who rose' to leave, and see him safe through the
poor and profligate neighbourhood. He accepted their
courtesy with pleasure, and bade the old excavator a
hearty good night.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS.

223

CHAPTER II.

M. ANTONI
VS. RESTVTV
8 . FECIT. YPO
CEVSIBI . £T
SVIS . FIDENTI
BVS , IN. DOMINO'

It seems to us as though we had neglected one, whose
character and thoughts opened this little history, the
pious Lucina. Her virtues were indeed of that quiet,
unobtrusive nature, which affords little scope for ap
pearing on a public scene, or taking part in general
affairs. Her house, besides being, or rather contain
ing a title or parochial church, was now honoured by
being the residence of the supreme Pontiff. The ap
proach of a violent persecution, in which the rulers of
* " Marcus Antonius Restitutus made this subterranean for
himself and his family, that trust in the Lord." Lately found
in the cemetery of SS. Nereus and Achilleus. It is singular that
in the inscription of the martyr Restitutus, given in the last
chapter as in this, a syllable should be omitted in the name, one
easily slurred in pronouncing it.

224 FABIOLA; OR,
Christ's spiritual kingdom were sure to be first sought
out, as the enemies of Caesar, rendered it necessary to
transfer the residence of the Ruler of the Church from
his ordinary dwelling, to a securer asylum. For this
purpose Lucina's house was chosen; and it continued
to be so occupied, to her great delight, in that and the
following pontificate, when the wild beasts were ordered
to be transferred to it, that Pope Marcellus might feed
them at home. This loathsome punishment soon
caused his death.
Lucina admitted, at forty,* into the order of deacon
esses, found plenty of occupation in the duties of her
office. The charge and supervision of the women in
church, the care of the sick and poor of her own sex,
the making, and keeping in order of sacred vestments
and linen for the altar, and the instruction of children
and female converts preparing for baptism, as well as
the attending them at that sacred rite, belonged to the
deaconesses, and gave sufficient occupation in addition
to domestic offices. In the exercise of both these classes'
of duties, Lucina quietly passed her life. Its main
object seemed to be attained. Her son had offered
himself to God ; and lived ready to shed his blood f o*
the faith. To watch over him, and pray for him, were
her delight, rather than an additional employment.
* Sixty was the full age, but admission was given sometimes
at forty.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 225
Early in the morning of the appointed day, the meet
ing mentioned in our last chapter took place. It will
be sufficient to say, that in it full instructions were
given for increasing the collection of alms, to be em
ployed in enlarging the cemeteries and burying the
dead, in succouring those driven to concealment by
persecution, in nourishing prisoners, and obtaining
access to them, and finally in ransoming or rescuing the
bodies of martyrs. A notary was named for each
region, to collect their acts and record interesting
events. The cardinals, or titular priests, received in
structions about the administration of sacraments, par
ticularly of the Holy Eucharist, during the persecu
tion; and to each was intrusted one cemetery or more,
in whose subterranean church he was to perform the
sacred mysteries. The holy Pontiff chose for himself
that of Callistus which made Diogenes, its chief sexton,
not a little, but innocently, proud.
The good old excavator seemed rather more cheery
than otherwise, under the exciting forebodings of a
coming persecution. No commanding officer of en
gineers could have given his orders more briskly, or
more decidedly, for the defence of a fortified city
committed to his skill to guard, than he issued his to
the subordinate superintendents of the various ceme
teries round Rome, who met him by appointment at
his own house, to learn the instructions of the superior
15

226 FABIOLA ; OR,
assembly. The shadow of the sun-dial at the Porta
Capena was pointing to mid-day, as he issued from it
with his sons, and found already waiting the three
young men. They walked in parties of two along the
Appian road; and at nearly two miles from the gate,*
they entered by various ways (slipping round different
tombs that lined the road) into the same villa on the
right-hand. Here they found all the requisites for a
descent into the subterranean cemeteries, such as
candles, lanterns, and the instruments for procuring
light. Severus proposed that, as the guides and the
strangers were in equal number, they should be divided
into pairs ; and in the division he allotted Torquatus to
himself. What his reason was we may easily con
jecture. It would probably weary our readers to follow the
whole conversation of the party. Diogenes not only
answered all questions put to him, but, from time to
time, gave intelligent little lectures on such objects as
he considered peculiarly attractive. But we believe we
shall better interest and inform our friends, if we
digest the whole matter of these into a more connected
narrative. And besides, they will wish to know some
thing of the subsequent history of those wonderful
* Not the present gate of St. Sebastian, but one within the se
pulchre of the Scipios, where the road to St. John at the Latin
gate branches off.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 227
excavations, into which we have conducted our youth
ful pilgrims.
The history of the early Christian cemeteries, the
Catacombs as they are commonly called, may be di
vided into three portions: from their beginning to the
period of our narrative, or a few years later ; from this
term to the eighth century ; then down to our own time,
when we have reason to hope that a new epoch is being
commenced. We have generally avoided using the name of cata
combs, because it might mislead our readers into an
idea that this was either the original or a generic name
of those early Christian crypts. It is not so, however ;
Rome might be said to be surrounded by a circumval-
lation of cemeteries, sixty or thereabouts in number,
each of which was generally known by the name of
some saint or saints, whose bodies reposed there. Thus
we have the cemeteries of SS. Nereus and Achilleus, of
St. Agnes, of St. Pancratius, of Prsetextatus, Priscilla,
Hermes, etc. Sometimes these cemeteries were known
by the names of the places where they existed.* The
cemetery of St. Sebastian, which was called sometimes
Ccemeterium ad Sanctum Cceciliam,\ and by other
names, had among them that of Ad Catacumbas.% The
* As Ad Nymphas, Ad Ursum pilaetum, inter duas lauros, Ad
Sextum Philippi, &c.
f The cemetery at St. Caecilia's tomb.
i Formed apparently of a Greek preposition and a Latin verb.

228 FABIOLA; OR,
meaning of this word is completely unknown; though
it may be attributed to the circumstance of the relics
of SS. Peter and Paul having been for a time buried
there, in a crypt still existing near the cemetery. This
term became the name of that particular cemetery,
then was generalised, till we familiarly call the whole
system of these underground excavations — the Cata
combs. Their origin was, in the last century, a subject of
controversy. Following two or three vague and equiv
ocal passages, some learned writer pronounced the
catacombs to have been originally heathen excavations,
made to extract sand, for the building of the city.
These sand-pits were called arenaria, and so occasion
ally are the Christian cemeteries. But a more scientific
and minute examination, particularly made by the
accurate F. Marchi, has completely confuted this theory.
The entrance to the catacombs was often, as can yet be
seen, from these sand-pits, which are themselves under
ground, and no doubt were a convenient cover for the
cemetery; but several circumstances prove that they
were never used for Christian burial, nor converted into
Christian cemeteries.
The man who wishes to get the sand out of the
ground will keep his excavation as near the surface as
possible, will have it of easiest possible access, for
drawing out materials; and will make it as ample as

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 229
is consistent with the safety of the roof, and the supply
of what he is seeking. And all this we find in the
arenaria still abounding round Rome. But the cata
combs are constructed on principles exactly contrary
to all these.
The catacomb dives at once, generally by a steep
flight of steps, below the stratum of loose and friable
sand,* into that where it is indurated to the hardness
of a tender, but consistent rock; on the surface of
which every stroke of the pick-axe is yet distinctly
traceable. When you have reached this depth you are
in the first story of the cemetery, for you descend again
by stairs, to the second and third below, all constructed
on the same principle.
A catacomb may, be divided into three parts, its pas
sages or streets, its chambers or squares, and its
churches. The passages are long, narrow galleries,
cut with tolerable regularity, so that the roof and floor
are at right angles with the sides, often so narrow as
scarcely to allow two persons to go abreast. They
sometimes run quite straight to a great length; but
they are crossed by others, and these again by others,
so as to form a complete labyrinth, or net-work, of
subterranean corridors. To be lost among them would
easily be fatal.
* That is, the red volcanic sand called puzzolana, so much
prized for making Roman cement.

230 FABIOLA; OR,
But these passages are not constructed, as the name
would imply, merely to lead to something else. They
are themselves the catacomb or cemetery. Their walls,
as well as the sides of the staircases, are honeycombed
with graves, that is, with rows of excavations, large and
small, of sufficient length to admit a human body, from
a child to a full-grown man, laid with its side to the
gallery. Sometimes there are as many as fourteen,
sometimes as few as three or four, of these rows, one
above the other. They are evidently so made to
measure, that it is probable the body was lying by the
side of the grave, while this was being dug.
When the corpse, wrapped up, as we heard from
Diogenes, was laid in its narrow cell, the front was
hermetically closed either by a marble slab, or more
frequently by several broad tiles, put edgeways in a
groove or mortice, cut for them in the rock, and
cemented all round. The inscription was cut upon the
marble, or scratched in the wet mortar. Thousands of
the former sort have been collected, and may be seen
in museums and churches ; many of the latter have been
copied and published ; but by far the greater number of
tombs are anonymous, and have no record upon them.
And now the reader may reasonably ask, through what
period does the interment in the catacombs range, and
how are its limits determined. We will try to content
him, as briefly as possible.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 23 1
There is no evidence of the Christians having ever
buried any where, anteriorly to the construction of cata
combs. Two principles as old as Christianity regu
late this mode of burial. The first is, the manner of
Christ's entombment. He was laid in a grave in a
cavern, wrapped up in linen, embalmed with spices ; and
a stone, sealed up, closed His sepulchre. As St. Paul
so often proposes Him for the model of our resurrec
tion, and speaks of our being buried with Him in bap
tism, it was natural for His disciples to wish to be
buried after His example, so to be ready to rise with
Him. This lying in wait for resurrection was the second
thought that guided the formation of these cemeteries.
Every expression connected with them alluded to the
rising again. The word to bury is unknown in Chris
tian inscriptions. " Deposited in peace," " the deposi
tion of — '" are the expressions used: that is, the dead
are but left there for a time, till called for again, as
a pledge, or precious thing, intrusted to faithful, but
temporary, keeping. The very name of cemetery sug
gests that it is only a place where many lie, as in
a dormitory, slumbering for awhile, till dawn come,
and the trumpet's sound awake them. Hence the
grave is only called " the place," or more technically,
" the small home," * of the dead in Christ.
* Locus, loeulus.

232 FABIOLA; OR,
These two ideas, which are combined in the planning
of the catacombs, were not later insertions into the
Christian system, but must have been more vivid in
its earlier times. They inspired abhorrence of the
pagan custom of burning the dead : nor have we a hint
that this mode was, at any time, adopted by Christians.
But ample proof is to be found in the catacombs
themselves, of their early origin. The style of paint
ings, yet remaining, belongs to a period of still flourish
ing art. Their symbols, and the symbolical taste itself,
are characteristic of a very ancient period. For this
peculiar taste declined, as time went on. Although
inscriptions with dates are rare, yet out of ten thousand
collected, and about to be published, by the learned and
sagacious Cavalier De Rossi, about three hundred are
found bearing consular dates, through every period,
from the early emperors to the middle of the fourth
century (a. r>. 350). Another curious and interesting
custom furnishes us with dates on tombs. At the clos
ing of the grave, the relations or friends, to mark it,
would press into its wet plaster, and leave there a coin,
a cameo, or engraved gem, sometimes even a shell or
pebble; probably that they might find the sepulchre
again, especially where no inscription was left. Many
of these objects continue to be found, many have been
long collected. But it is not uncommon, where the
coin, or, to speak scientifically, the medal, has fallen

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 233
from its place, to find a mould of it left, distinct and
clear in the cement, which equally gives its date. This
is sometimes of Domitian, or other early emperors.
It may be asked, wherefore this anxiety to rediscover
with certainty the tomb? Besides motives of natural
piety, there is one constantly recorded on sepulchral in
scriptions. In England, if want of space prevented
the full date of a person's death being given, we should
prefer chronicling the year, to the day of the month,
when it occurred. It is more historical. No one cares
about remembering the day on which a person died,
without the year; but the year, without the day, is an
important recollection. Yet while so few ancient
Christian inscriptions supply the year of people's
deaths, thousands give us the very day of it, on which
they died, whether in the hopefulness of believers, or
in the assurance of martyrs. This is easily explained.
Of both classes annual commemoration had to be made,
on the very day of their departure; and accurate
knowledge of this was necessary. Therefore it alone
was recorded.
In a cemetery close to the one in which we have left
our three youths, with Diogenes and his sons,* were
lately found inscriptions mingled together, belonging
to both orders of the dead. One in Greek, after men
tioning the " Deposition of Augenda on the 13th day
* That of SS. Nereus and Achilleus.

234 FABIOLA ; OR,
before the Calends, or 1st of June," adds this simple
address, ZHCAIC ENI& KAI ¦
EP*TA TTTEPHMoN
" Live in the Lord and pray for us."
Another fragment is as follows:
 N. IVN-
 IVIBAS-
IN PACE ET PETE
PRO NOBIS
"... Nones of June . . . Live in peace, and pray for us."
This is a third :
VICTORIA . REFRIGERER [ETj
ISSPIRITVS . TVS IN BONO
" Victoria, be refreshed, and may thy spirit be in enjoyment "
(good).
This last reminds us of a most peculiar inscription
found scratched in the mortar beside a grave in the
cemetery of Prsetextatus, not many yards from that of
Callistus. It is remarkable, first, for being in Latin
written with Greek letters; then, for containing a
testimony of the Divinity of our Lord ; lastly, for ex
pressing a prayer for the refreshment of the departed.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS.

23S

We fill up the portions of words wanting, from the fall
ing out of part of the plaster.

SEME MERENTI

S0R0R.I BON;

VIII KAL NOB!

OYC

cm|

XPIC

PIT pjie

¦fOYC
ONH

TOY ft^

mo

ITEPEiy

T*C

w?i-

" To the well-deserving sister Bon . . . The eighth day before
the calends of Nov. Christ God almighty refresh thy spirit
in Christ."
In spite of this digression on prayers inscribed over
tombs, the reader will not, we trust, have forgotten,
that we were establishing the fact, that the Christian
cemeteries of Rome owe their origin to the earliest ages.
We have now to state down to what period they were
used. After peace was restored to the Church, the
devotion of Christians prompted them to desire burial
near the martyrs, and holy people of an earlier age.
But, generally speaking, they were satisfied to lie under
the pavement. Hence the sepulchral stones which are
often found in the rubbish of the catacombs, and some
times in their places, bearing consular dates of the
fourth century, are thicker, larger, better carved, and
in a less simple style, than those of an earlier period,
placed upon the walls. But before the end of that

236 FABIOLA; OR,
century, these monuments become rarer; and inter
ment in the catacombs ceased in the following, at
latest. Pope Damasus, who died in 384, reverently
shrunk, as he tells us, in his own epitaph, from in
truding into the company of the saints.
Restitutus, therefore, whose sepulchral tablet we gave
for a title to our chapter, may well be considered as
speaking in the name of the early Christians, and claim
ing as their own exclusive work and property, the
thousand miles of subterranean city, with their six
millions of slumbering inhabitants, who trust in the
Lord, and await his resurrection.*
* So F. Marchi calculates them, after diligent examination.
We may mention here that, in the construction of these ceme
teries, the sand extracted from one gallery was removed into
another already excavated. Hence many are now found com
pletely filled up-.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 237

CHAPTER III.
WHAT DIOGENES COULD NOT TELL ABOUT THE CATA
COMBS.
Diogenes lived during the first period in the his
tory of the cemeteries, though near its close. Could
he have looked into their future fate, he would have
seen, near at hand, an epoch that would have gladdened
his heart, to be followed by one that would have deeply
afflicted him. Although, therefore, the matter of this
chapter have no direct bearing upon our narrative, it
will serve essentially to connect it with the present
topography of its scene.
When peace and liberty were restored to the Church,
these cemeteries became places of devotion, and of great
resort. Each of them was associated with the name of
one, or the names of several of the more eminent martyrs
buried in it; and, on their anniversaries, crowds of
citizens and of pilgrims thronged to their tombs, where
the Divine mysteries were offered up, and the homily
delivered in their praise. Hence began to be compiled
the first martyrologies, or calendars of martyrs' days,
which told the faithful whither to go. " At Rome,

238 FABIOLA; OR,
on the Salarian, or the Appian, or the Ardeatine way,"
such are the indications almost daily found in the Ro
man martyrology, now swelled out, by the additions
of later ages.*
An ordinary reader of the book hardly knows the
importance of these indications; for they have served
to verify several otherwise dubious cemeteries. An
other class of valuable writers also comes to our aid;
but before mentioning them, we will glance at the
changes which this devotion produced in the ceme
teries. First, commodious entrances, with easy stair
cases were made; then walls were built to support the
crumbling galleries; and from time to time, funnel-
* One or two entries from the old Kalendarium Romanum will
illustrate this.
"iii. Non. Mart. Lucii in Callisti.
vi. Id. Dec. Eutichiani in Callisti.
xiii. Kal. Feb. Fabiani in Callisti, et Sebastiani ad Catacumbas.
viii. Id. Aug. Systi in Callisti. "
We have extracted these entries of depositions in the cemetery
of Callistus, because, while actually writing this chapter we
have received news of the discovery of the tombs and lapidary
inscriptions of every one of these Popes, together with those of
St. Antherus, in one chapel of the newly-ascertained cemetery
of Callistus with an inscription in verse by St. Damasus.
" Prid. Kal. Jan. Sylvestri in Priscillae.
iv. Id. (Aug.) Laurentii in Tiburtina.
iii. Kal. Dec. Saturnini in Thrasonia."
Published by Ruinart— Acta, torn. iii.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 239
shaped apertures in the vaults were opened, to admit
light and air. Finally, basilicas or churches were
erected over their entrances, generally leading imme
diately to the principal tomb, then called the confession
of the church. The pilgrims, thus, on arriving at the
holy city, visited each of these churches, a custom yet
practised; descended below, and without having to
grope his way about, went direct, by well-constructed
passages, to the principal martyr's shrine, and so on to
others, perhaps equally objects of reverence and devo
tion. During this period no tomb was allowed to be opened,
no body to be extracted. Through apertures made into
the grave, handkerchiefs or scarfs, called brandea, were
introduced, to touch the martyr's relics ; and these
were carried to distant countries, to be held in equal
reverence. No wonder that St. Ambrose, St. Gau-
dentius, and other bishops, should have found it so
difficult to obtain bodies, or large relics of martyrs for
their churches. Another sort of relics consisted of what
was called familiarly the oil of a martyr, that is, the
oil, often mixed with balsam, which burned in a lamp
beside his tomb. Often a round stone pillar, three
feet or so in height, and scooped out at the top, stands
beside a monument; probably to hold the lamp, or
serve for the distribution of its contents. St. Gregory
the Great wrote to Queen Theodelinda, that he sent her

24O FABIOLA ; OR,
a collection of the oils of the popes who were martyrs.
The list which accompanied them was copied by Ma-
billon in the treasury of Monza, and republished by
Ruinart.* It exists there yet, together with the very
phials containing them, sealed up in metal tubes.
This jealousy of disturbing the saints, is displayed
most beautifully in an incident, related by St. Gregory
of Tours. Among the martyrs most honoured in the
ancient Roman Church were St. Chrysanthus and
Daria. Their tombs became so celebrated for cures
that their fellow-Christians built (that is excavated)
over them a chamber, with a vault of beautiful work
manship, where crowds of worshippers assembled.
This was discovered by the heathens, and the emperor
closed them in, walled up the entrance, and from above,
probably through the luminare, or ventilating shaft,
showered down earth and stones, and buried the con
gregation alive, as the two holy martyrs had been be
fore them. The place was unknown at the peace of the
Church, till discovered by Divine manifestation. But
instead of being permitted to enter again into this
hallowed spot, pilgrims were merely allowed to look
at it, through a window opened in the wall, so as to see,
not only the tombs of the martyrs, but also the bodies
of those who had been buried alive at their shrines.
And as the cruel massacre had taken place while prepa-
* Acta Martyr., torn, iii,

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 24I
rations were being made for oblation of the holy Eu
charist, there were still to be seen lying about, the
silver cruets in which the wine was brought for that
spotless sacrifice.*
It is clear that pilgrims resorting to Rome would
want a hand-book to the cemeteries, that they might
know what they had to visit. It is likewise but natural
that, on their return home, they may have sought to
edify their less fortunate neighbours, by giving an ac
count of what they had seen. Accordingly there exist,
no less fortunately for us than for their untravelled
neighbours, several records of this character. The first
place, among these, is held by catalogues compiled in
the fourth century; one, of the places of sepulture of
Roman Pontiffs, the other of martyrs, f After these
come three distinct guides to the catacombs ; the more
interesting because they take different rounds, yet agree
marvellously in their account.
To show the value of these documents, and describe
the changes which took place in the catacombs during
the second period of their history, we will give a brief
account of one discovery, in the cemetery where we
have left our little party. Among the rubbish near
* S. Greg. Turon, de Gloria Mart. lib. i. c. 28, ap. Marchi, p. 81.
One would apply St. Damasus's epigram on these martyrs to this
occurrence, Carm. xxviii.
f Published by Bucherius in 1634.
16

242 FABiOLA; OR,
the entrance of a catacomb, the name of which was
yet doubtful, and which had been taken for that of
Prsetextatus, was found a fragment of a slab of marble
which had been broken across obliquely, from left to
right, with the following letters:

:EU1 MAKTYRIS

The young Cavalier de Rossi at once declared that
this was part of the sepulchral inscription of the holy
Pope Cornelius; that probably his tomb would be
found below, in a distinguished form ; and that as all
the itineraries above mentioned concurred in placing
it in the cemetery of Callistus, this, and not the one
at St. Sebastian's, a few hundred yards off, must claim
the honour of that name. He went further, and fore
told that as these works pronounced St. Cyprian to be
buried near Cornelius, there would be found some
thing at the tomb which would account for that idea;
for it was known that his body rested in Africa. It
was not long before every prediction was verified.
The great staircase discoveredf was found to lead
at once to a wider space, carefully secured by brick
work of the time of peace, and provided with light and
* (Of) . . . nelius martyr.
f The crypt, we believe, was discovered before the stairs.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 243
air from above. On the left was a tomb, cut like others
in the rock, without any exterior arch over it. It was,
however, large and ample; and except one, very high
above it, there were no other graves below, or over, or
at the sides. The remaining portion of the slab was
found within it; the first piece was brought from the
Kircherian Museum, where it had been deposited, and
exactly fitted to it; and both covered the tomb, thus:

Below, reaching from the lower edge of this stone to
the ground was a marble slab covered with an inscrip
tion, of which only the left-hand end remains, the rest
being broken off and lost. Above the tomb was another
slab let into the sand-stone, of which the right-hand
end exists, and a few more fragments have been re
covered in the rubbish; not enough to make out the
lines, but sufficient to show it was an inscription in
verse, by Pope Damasus. How is this authorship trace
able? Very easily. Not only do we know that this
holy pope, already mentioned, took pleasure in putting
verses, which he loved to write, on the tombs of mar
tyrs,! but the number of inscriptions of his yet extant
* Of Cornelius Martyr Bishop.
+ These form the great bulk of his extant works in verse.

244 FABIOLA; OR,
exhibit a particular and very elegant form of letters,
known among antiquarians by the name of " Da-
masian." The fragments of this marble bear portions
of verses, in this character.
To proceed: on the wall, right of the tomb, and on
the same plane, were painted two full-length figures in
sacerdotal garments, with glories round their heads,
evidently of Byzantine work of the seventh century.
Down the wall, by the left side of each, letter below
letter, were their names; some letters were effaced,
which we supply in italics as follow:
SI* CORatEL'"PP SCI* PRMN'-'
We here see how a foreigner, reading these two in
scriptions, with the portraits, and knowing that the
* " (The picture) of St. Cornelius Pope, of St. Cyprian." On
the other side, on a narrow wall projecting at a right angle, are
two more similar portraits ; but only one name can be deciphered,
that of St. Sixtus, or, as he is there and elsewhere called, Sustus.
On the paintings of the principal saints may still be read,
scratched in the mortar, in characters of the seventh century,
the names of the visitors to the tomb. Those of two priests
are thus —

VULEO PRB 1 ANNI8 PRB.
It may be interesting to add the entry in the Roman calendar :
"xviii. Kal. Oct. Cypriani Africae: Romae celebratur in Cal
listi." "Sept. 14. (The deposition) of Cyprian in Africa: at
Rome it is kept in (the cemetery) of Callistus,

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 245
Church commemorates the two martyrs on the same
day, might easily be led to suppose, that they were here
deposited together. Finally, at the right hand of the
tomb, stands a truncated column, about three feet high,
concave at the top, as before described; and as a con
firmation of the use to which we said it might be put,
St. Gregory has, in his list of oils sent to the Lombard
Queen, " Oleum S. Cornelii," the oil of St. Cornelius.
We see, then, how, during the second period, new
ornaments, as well as greater conveniences, were added
to the primitively simple forms of the cemeteries. But
we must not, on that account, imagine that we are in
any danger of mistaking these later embellishments
for the productions of the early ages. The difference
is so immense, that we might as easily blunder by tak
ing a Rubens for a Beato Angelico, as by considering
a Byzantine figure to be a production of the two first
centuries. We come now to the third period of these holy ceme
teries, the sad one of their desolation. When the Lom
bards, and later the Saracens, began to devastate the
neighbourhood of Rome, and the catacombs were ex
posed to desecration, the popes extracted the bodies
of the most illustrious martyrs, and placed them in the
basilicas of the city. This went on till the eighth or
ninth century; when we still read of repairs made in
the cemeteries by the sovereign pontiffs. The cata-

246 FABIOLA; OR,
combs ceased to be so much places of devotion ; and the
churches, which stood over their entrances, were de
stroyed, or fell to decay. Only those remained which
were fortified, and could be defended. Such are the
extramural basilicas of St. Paul on the Ostian way, of
St. Sebastian on the Appian, St. Laurence on the Ti-
burtine, or in the Ager Veranus, St. Agnes on the
Nomentan road, St. Pancratius on the Aurelian, and,
greatest of all, St. Peter's on the Vatican. The first
and last had separate burghs or cities round them ; and
the traveller can still trace remains of strong walls
round some of the others.
Strange it is, however, that the young antiquarian,
whom we have frequently named with honour, should
have re-discovered two of the basilicas over the entrance
to the cemetery of Callistus, almost entire ; the one be
ing a stable and bake-house, the other a wine-store.
One is, most probably, that built by Pope Damasus,
so often mentioned. The earth washed down, through
air-holes, the spoliation practised during ages, by per
sons entering from vineyards through unguarded en
trances, the mere wasting action of time and weather,
have left us but a wreck of the ancient catacombs. Still
there is much to be thankful for. Enough remains
to verify the records left us in better times, and these
serve to guide us to the reconstruction of our ruins.
The present Pontiff has done mere in a few years for

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THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 247
these sacred places, than has been effected in centuries.
The mixed commission which he has appointed have
done wonders. With very limited means, they are
going systematically to work, finishing as they advance.
Nothing is taken from the spot where it is found, but
everything is restored, as far as possible, to its original
state. Accurate tracings are made of all the paintings,
and plans of every part explored. To secure these good
results, the Pope has, from his own resources, bought
vineyards and fields, especially at Tor Marancia, where
the cemetery of SS. Nereus and Achilleus is situated;
and we believe also over that of Callistus. The French
emperor too has sent to Rome, artists, who have pro
duced a most magnificent work, perhaps somewhat
overdone, upon the catacombs : a truly imperial under
taking. It is time, however, for us to rejoin our party below,
and finish our inspection of these marvellous cities of
departed saints, under the guidance of our friends the
excavators.

248 FABIOLA ; OR,

CHAPTER IV.
WHAT DIOGENES DID TELL ABOUT THE CATACOMBS.
All that we have told our readers Of the first period
of the history of subterranean Rome, as ecclesiastical
antiquarians love to call the catacombs, has no doubt
been better related by Diogenes to his youthful hear
ers, as, taper in hand, they have been slowly walking
through a long straight gallery, crossed, indeed, by
many others, but adhered to faithfully ; with sundry
pauses, and, of course, lectures, embodying what we
have put together in our prosaic second chapter.
At length Diogenes turned to the right, and Torqua
tus looked around him anxiously.
" I wonder," he said, " how many turns We have
passed by, before leaving this main gallery ? '"'
" A great many," answered Severus, drily.
" How many do yoti think, ten or twenty ? "
" Full that, I fancy, for I never have counted
them." Torquatus had, however; but wished to make sure.
He continued, still pausing —
" How do you distinguish the right turn, then ? Oh,

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 249
what is this ? " and he pretended to examine a small
niche in the corner. But Severus kept too sharp a
look-out and saw that he was making a mark in the
sand. " Come, come along," he said, " or we shall lose
sight of the rest, and not see which way they turn.
That little niche is to hold a lamp; you will find one
at each angle. As to ourselves, we know every alley
and turn here below, as you do those of the city
above." Torquatus was somewhat reassured by this account
of the lamps — those little earthen ones, evidently made
on purpose for the catacombs, of which so many are
there found. But not content, he kept as good count
as he could of the turns, as they went; and now with
one excuse, and now with another, he constantly
stopped, and scrutinised particular spots and corners.
But Severus had a lynx's eye upon him, and allowed
nothing to escape his attention.
At last they entered a doorway, and found themselves
in a square chamber, richly adorned with paintings.
" What do you call this ? " asked Tiburtius.
"It is one of the many crypts, or cubicula* which
abound in our cemeteries," answered Diogenes ; " some
times they are merely family sepultures, but gener
ally they contain the tomb of some martyr, on whose
* Chambers.

250 fabiola; or,
anniversary we meet here. See that tomb opposite Us,
which, though flush with the wall, is arched over. That
becomes, on such an occasion, the altar on which the
Divine mysteries are celebrated. You are of course
aware of the custom of so performing them."
" Perhaps my two friends," interposed Pancratius,
" so recently baptised, may not have heard it ; but I
know it well. It is surely one of the glorious privileges
of martyrdom, to have the Lord's sacred Body and pre
cious Blood offered upon one's ashes, and to repose
thus under the very feet of God.* But let us see well
the paintings all over this crypt."
" It is on account of them that I brought you into
this chamber, in preference to so many others in the
cemetery. It is one of the most ancient, and contains
* " Sic venerarier ossa libet,
Ossibus altar et impositum ;
Ilia Dei sita sub pedibus,
Prospicit hsec, populosque suos
Carmine propitiata fovet."
Prudentius, irepi oref. iii. 43.
" With her relics gathered here,
The altar o'er them placed revere,
She beneath Ood's feet reposes,
Nor to us her soft eye closes,
Nor her gracious ear.''
The idea that the martyr lies " beneath the feet of God" is an
allusion to the Real Presence in the Blessed Eucharist.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 25 1
a most complete series of pictures, from the remotest
times down to some of my son's doing."
" Well, then, Diogenes, explain them systematically
to my friends,'? said Pancratius. " I think I know
most of them, but not all ; and I shall be glad to hear
you describe them."
" I am no scholar," replied the old man, modestly,
" but when one has lived sixty years, man and boy,
among things, one gets to know them better than others,
because one loves them more. All here have been fully
initiated, I suppose ? " he added, with a pause.
" All," answered Tiburtius, " though not so fully
instructed as converts ordinarily are. Torquatus and
myself have received the sacred gift."
" Enough," resumed the excavator. " The ceiling
is the oldest part of the painting, as is natural; for
that was done when the crypt was excavated, while the
walls were decorated, as tombs were hollowed out. You
see the ceiling has a sort of trellis-work painted over
it, with grapes, to represent perhaps our true Vine, of
which we are the branches. There you see Orpheus
sitting down, and playing sweet music, not only to his
own flock, but to the wild beasts of the desert, which
stand charmed around him."
" Why, that is a heathen picture altogether," inter
rupted Torquatus, with pettishness, and some sarcasm;
" what has it to do with Christianity ? "

2g2 FABIOLA; OR,
" It is an allegory, Torquatus," replied Pancratius,
gently, " and a favourite one. The use of Gentile
images, when in themselves harmless, has been per
mitted. You see masks, for instance, and other pagan
ornaments in this ceiling, and they belong generally
to a very ancient period. And so our Lord was repre
sented under the symbol of Orpheus, to conceal His
sacred represetation from Gentile blasphemy and sacri
lege. Look, now, in that arch ; you have a more recent
representation of the same subject."
" I see," said Torquatus, " a shepherd with a sheep
over his shoulders — the Good Shepherd; that I can
understand; I remember the parable."
" But why is this subject such a favourite one ? "
asked Tiburtius ; " I have observed it in other ceme
teries." " If you will look over the arcosolium," * answered
Severus, " you will see a fuller representation of the
scene. But I think we had better first continue what
we have begun, and finish this ceiling. You see that
figure on the right ? "
" Yes," replied Tiburtius ; " it is that of a man ap
parently in a chest, with a dove flying towards him.
Is that meant to represent the Deluge ? "
* The arched tombs were so called. A homely illustration
would be an arched fireplace, walled up to the height of three
feet. The paintings would be inside, above the wall.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 253
" It is," said Severus, " as the emblem of regenera
tion by water and the Holy Spirit; and of the salva
tion of the world. Such is our beginning ; and here is
our end : Jonas thrown out of the boat, and swallowed
by the whale ; and then sitting in enjoyment under his
gourd. The resurrection with our Lord, and eternal
rest as its fruit."
" How natural is this representation in such a
place ! " observed Pancratius, pointing to the other
side ; " and here we have another type of the same con
soling doctrine."
" Where ? " asked Torquatus languidly ; " I see
nothing but a figure bandaged all round, and standing
up, like a huge infant in a small temple; and another
person opposite to it."
" Exactly," said Severus ; " that is the way we al
ways represent the resurrection of Lazarus. Here,
look, is a touching expression of the hopes of our fathers
in persecution : The three Babylonian children in the
fiery furnace."
" Well, now, I think," said Torquatus, " we may
come to the arcosolium, and finish this room. What
are these pictures round it ? "
" If you look at the left side, you see the multipli
cation of the loaves and fishes. The fish * is you know
the symbol of Christ."
* The word is usually given in Greek, and Christ is familiarly
called the «#%, ichthys.

254 FABIOLA; OR,
" Why so ? " asked Torquatus, rather impatiently.
Severus turned to Pancratius, as the better scholar, to
answer. " There are two opinions about its origin," said the
youth, readily ; " one finds the meaning in the word
itself; its letters forming the beginning of words, so
as to mean ' Jesus Christ, Son of God, Saviour.' *
Another puts it in the symbol itself; that as fish are
born and live in the water, so is the Christian born of
water, and buried with Christ in it, by baptism.f
Hence, as we came along, we saw the figure of a fish
carved on tombs, or its name engraven on them. Now
go on, Severus."
" Then the union of the bread and the fish in one
multiplication shows us how, in the Eucharist, Christ
becomes the food of all.i Opposite, is Moses striking
the rock, from which all drank, and which is Christ,
our drink as well as our food." §
* This is the interpretation of St. Optatus (adv. Parm. lib. iii. )
and St. Augustine (de C. D. lib. xviii. c. 23).
t This is Tertullian's explanation (de Baptismo, lib. ii. c. 2).
X In the same cemetery is another interesting painting. On a
table lie a loaf and a fish ; a priest is stretching his hands
over them ; and opposite is a female in adoration. The priest is
the same as, in a picture close by, is represented administering
baptism. In another chamber, just cleared out, are very ancient
decorations, such as masks, etc., and fishes bearing baskets of
bread and flasks of wine on their backs as they swim.
g The type of the figure is that of St. Peter, as he is represented

THE Church of ¥11e CaTACOMbs. 25S
" Now, at last," said Torquatus, " we are come to
the Good Shepherd."
" Yes," continued Severus, " you see Him in the
centre of the arcosoXium, in His simple tunic and leg
gings, with a sheep upon His shoulders, the recovered
wanderer from the flock. Two more are standing at
His sides; the truant ram on His right, the gentle ewe
upon His left; the penitent in the post of honour.
On each side, too, you see a person evidently sent by
Him to preach. Both are leaning forward, and ad
dressing sheep not of the fold. One on either side is
apparently giving no heed to their words, but brows
ing quietly on, while one is turning up its eyes and
head, looking and listening with eager attention. Rain
is falling copiously on them; that is the grace of God.
It is not difficult to interpret this picture."
" But what makes this emblem such a particular
favourite ? " again pressed Tiburtius.
" We consider this, and similar paintings, to belong
chiefly to the time, when the Novatian heresy so much
plagued the Church," answered Severus.
" And pray what heresy is that ? " asked Torquatus,
carelessly; for he thought he was losing time.
" It was, and indeed is, the heresy," answered Pan
to us in the cemeteries. On a glass, bearing a picture of this
scene, the person striking the rock has written over his head,
PETRVS.

256 FABIOLA; OR,
cratius, " that teaches, that there are sins which the
Church has not power to forgive; which are too great
for God to pardon."
Pancratius was not aware of the effect of his words,
but Severus, who never took off his eye from Torqua
tus, saw the blood come and go violently in his counte
nance. " Is that a heresy ? " asked the traitor, confused.
" Surely a dreadful one," replied Pancratius, " to
limit the merey and forgiveness of Him, who came to
call not the just, but sinners to repentance. The Catho
lic Church has always held, that a sinner, however
dark the dye, however huge the mass of his crimes,
on truly repenting, may receive forgiveness, through
the penitential remedy left in her hands. And, there
fore, she has always so much loved this type of the Good
Shepherd, ready to run into the wilderness, to bring
back a lost sheep."
" But suppose," said Torquatus, evidently moved,
" that one who had become a Christian, and received
the sacred Gift, were to fall away, and plunge into vice,
and — and " — (his voice faltered) — " almost betray his
brethren, would not the Church reject such a one from
hope ? "
"No, no," answered the youth; "these are the
very crimes, which the Novatians insult the Catholics
for admitting to pardon. The Church is a mother,

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 257
with her arms ever open to re-embrace her erring chil
dren." There was a tear trembling in Torquatus's eye; his
lips quivered with the confession of his guilt, which as
cended to them for a moment; but as if a black poi
sonous drop rose up his throat with it and choked him,
he changed in a moment to a hard, obstinate look, bit
his lip, and said, with an effort at coolness, " It is cer
tainly a consoling doctrine for those that need it."
Severus alone observed that a moment of grace had
been forfeited, and that some despairing thought had
quenched a flash of hope in that man's heart. Di
ogenes and Majus, who had been absent, looking at a
new place for opening a gallery near, now returned.
Torquatus addressed the old master-digger:
" We have now seen the galleries and the chambers ;
I am anxious to visit the church in Avhich we shall have
to assemble."
The unconscious excavator was going to lead the
way, when the inexorable artist interposed.
" I think, father, it is too late for to-day ; you know
we have got our work to do. These young friends will
excuse us, especially as they will see the church in
good time, and in better order also, as the holy Pontiff
intends to officiate in it."
They assented; and when they arrived at the point
where they had turned off from the first straight gal-
17

258 FABIOLA; OR,
lery to visit the ornamented chamber, Diogenes stopped
the party, turned a few steps along an opposite pas
sage, and said:
" If you pursue this corridor, and turn to the right,
you come to the church. I have merely brought you
here to show you an arcosolium, with a beautiful paint
ing. You here see the Virgin Mother holding her
Divine Infant in her arms, while the wise Easterns,
here represented as four, though generally we only
reckon three, are adoring Him." *
All admired the painting; but poor Severus was
much chagrined, at seeing how his good father had
unwittingly supplied the information desired by Tor
quatus, and had furnished him with a sure clue to
the desired turn, by calling his attention to the tomb
close round it, distinguishable by so remarkable a pic
ture. When their company was departed, he told all that
he had observed to his brother, remarking, " That man
will give us trouble yet : I strongly suspect him."
In a short time they had removed every mark which
Torquatus had made at the turnings. But this was no
* There are several repetitions of this painting. One has been
lately found, if we remember right, in the cemetery of Nereus
and Achilleus. It is long anterior to the Council of Chalcedon,
whence this mode of representing our Lord is usually dated. It
is given in our title-page.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 259
security against his reckonings; and they determined
to prepare for changing the road, by blocking up the
present one, and turning off at another point. For
this purpose, they had the sand of new excavations
brought to the ends of a gallery which crossed the main-
avenue, where this was low, and left it heaped up
there, till the faithful could be instructed of the in
tended change.

260 FABIOLA; or,

CHAPTER V,
ABOVE GROUND,
To recover our reader from his long subterranean
excursion, we must take him with us on another visit,
to the " happy Campania," or, " Campany the blest," *
as an old writer might have called it. There we left
Fabiola perplexed by some sentences which she had
found. They came to her like a letter from another
world; she hardly knew of what character. She
wished to learn more about them, but she hardly durst
inquire. Many visitors called the next day, and for
several days after, and she often thought of putting
before some or other of them the mysterious sentences,
but she could not bring herself to do it.
A lady, whose life was like her own, philosophi
cally correct, and coldly virtuous, came ; and they
talked together over the fashionable opinions of the
day. She took out her vellum page to puzzle her ; but
she shrank from submitting it to her : it felt profane to
do so. A learned man, well read in all branches of
science and literature, paid her a long visit, and spoke
* Campania felix, like Arabia felix.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 261
very charmingly . on the sublimer views of the older
schools. She was tempted to consult him about her
discovery; hut jt . seemed to contain something higher
than he could comprehend. It was strange that, after
.all, when wisdom or consolation was to be sought, the
noble and haughty Roman lady should turn instinc
tively to her Christian slave. And so it was now. The
first moment they were alone, after several days of
company and visits, Fabiola produced her parchment,
and placed it before Syra. There passed over her
countenance an emotion net observable to her mis
tress; but she was perfectly calm, as she looked up
from reading.
" That writing," said her mistress, " I got at Chro
matius's villa, on the back of a note, probably by mis
take. , I cannot drive it out of my mind, which is
quite perplexed by it."
" Why should it be so, my noble lady ? Its sense
seems plain enough."
" Yes ; and that very plainness gives me trouble.
My natural feelings revolt against this sentiment: I
fancy I ought. to despise a man, who does not resent an
injury, and return hatred for hatred. To forgive at
most would be much ; but to do good in return for evil,
seems to me an unnatural exaction from human na
ture. Now,, while I feel all this, I am conscious that
I have been brought to esteem you, for conduct exactly

262 FABIOLA; OR,
the reverse of what I am naturally impelled to ex
pect." " Oh, do not talk of me, my dear mistress ; but
look at the simple principle; you honour it in others,
too. Do you despise, or do you respect, Aristides, for
obliging a boorish enemy, by writing, when asked, his
own name, on the shell that voted his banishment?
Do you, as a Roman lady, contemn, or honour, the
name of Coriolanus, for his generous forbearance to
your city ? "
" I venerate both, most truly, Syra ; but then you
know those were heroes, and not every-day men."
" And why should we not all be heroes ? " asked
Syra, laughing.
" Bless me, child ! what a world we should live in,
if we were. It is very pleasant reading about the feats
of such wonderful people; but one would be very
sorry to see them performed by common men, every
day." " Why so ? " pressed the servant.
" Why so ?' who would like to find a baby she was
nursing, playing with, or strangling, serpents in the
cradle? I should be very sorry to have a gentleman,
whom I invited to dinner, telling me coolly he had that
morning killed a minotaur, or strangled a hydra; or to
have a friend offering to send the Tiber through my
stables, to cleanse them. Preserve us from a genera-

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 263
tion of heroes, say I." And Fabiola laughed heartily
at the conceit. In the same good humour Syra con
tinued :
" But suppose we had the misfortune to live in a
country where such monsters existed, centaurs and
minotaurs, hydras and dragons. Would it not be bet
ter that common men should be heroes enough to con
quer them, than that we should have to send off to the
other side of the world, for a Theseus or a Hercules,
to destroy them ? In fact, in that case, a man would
be no more a hero if he fought them, than a lion-slayer
is in my country."
" Quite true, Syra ; but I do not see the application
of your idea."
" It is this : anger, hatred, revenge, ambition, avarice,
are to my mind as complete monsters, as serpents or
dragons; and they attack common men as much as
great ones. Why should I not try to be as able to con
quer them, as Aristides, or Coriolanus, or Cincinnatus ?
Why leave it to heroes only, to do what we can do as
well ? "
" And do you really hold this as a common moral
principle ? If so, I fear you will soar too high."
" No, dear lady. You were startled when I ven
tured to maintain that inward and unseen virtue was
as necessary as the outward and visible : I fear I must
surprise you still more."

264 FABIOLA; OR,
" Go on, and do not fear to tell me all."
" Well, then, the principle of that system which I
profess is this: that we must treat, and practise, as
every-day and common virtue, nay, as simple duty,
whatever any other code, the purest and sublimest that
may be, considers heroic, and proof of transcendent
virtue." " That is indeed a sublime standard to form, of
moral elevation; but mark the difference between the
two eases. The hero is supported by the praises of the
world: his act is recorded and transmitted to posterity,
when he checks his passions, and performs a sublime
action. But who sees, cares for, or shall requite, the
poor obscure wretch, who in humble secrecy imitates
his conduct ? "
Syra, with solemn, reverential look and gesture, raised
her eyes and her right hand to heaven, and slowly said,
" His Father, who is in heaven, who maketh His sun
to rise on the good and the bad, and raineth on the just
and the unjust."
Fabiola paused for a time, overawed: then said af
fectionately and respectfully : " Again, Syra, you have
conquered my philosophy. Your wisdom is consistent
as it is sublime. A virtue heroic, even when unseen,
you propose as the ordinary daily virtue of every one.
Men must indeed become more than what gods have
been thought to be, to attempt it; but the very idea is

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 265
worth a whole philosophy. Can you lead me higher
than this ? "
" Oh, far!— far higher still."
" And where at length would you leave me ? "
" Where your heart should tell you, that it had found
peace."

266 FABIOLA; OR,

CHAPTER VI.

DELIBERATIONS.

The persecution had now been some time raging in
the East under Dioclesian and Galerius; and the de
cree, for enkindling it throughout the West, had
reached Maximian. But it had been resolved to make
this a work, not of repression, but of extermination, of
the Christian name. It had been determined to spare
no one; but cutting off the chiefs of the religion first,
to descend down to the wholesale butchery of the
poorest classes. It was necessary for this purpose to
concert measures, that the various engines of destruc
tion might work in cruel harmony: that every possible
instrument should be employed to secure completeness
to the effort; and also that the majesty of imperial
command should add its grandeur and its terror, to the
crushing blow.
For this purpose, the emperor, though impatient to
begin his work of blood, had yielded to the opinion of
his counsellors, that the edict should be kept concealed,
till it could be published simultaneously in every prov
ince, and government, of the West. The thundercloud,

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 267
fraught with vengeance, would thus hang for a time,
in painful mystery, over its intended victims, and then
burst suddenly upon them, discharging upon their heads
its mingled elements, and its " fire, hail, snow, ice, and
boisterous blast."
It was in the month of November, that Maximian
Herculeus convoked the meeting in which his plans had
finally to be adjusted. To it were summoned the
leading officers of his court, and of the state. The
principal one, the prefect of the city, had brought with
him his son, Corvinus, whom he had proposed to be
captain of a body of armed pursuivants, picked out
for their savageness and hatred of Christians; who
should hunt them out, or down, with unrelenting assi
duity. The chief prefects or governors of Sicily, Italy,
Spain, and Gaul, were present, to receive their orders.
In addition to these, several learned men, philosophers,
and orators, among whom was our old acquaintance
Calpurnius, had been invited; and many priests, who
had come from different parts, to petition for heavier
persecution, were commanded to attend.
The usual residence of the emperors, as we have seen,
was the Palatine. There was, however, another much
esteemed by them, which Maximian Herculeus in par
ticular preferred. During the reign of Nero, the
wealthy senator Plautius Lateranus, was charged with
conspiracy, and of course punished with death. His

268 FABIOLA ; OR,
immense property was seized by the emperor, and part
of this was his house, described by Juvenal, and other
writers, as of unusual size and magnificence. It was
beautifully situated on the Ccelian hill, and on the
southern verge of the city; so that from it was a view
unequalled even in the vicinity of Rome. Stretching
across the wavy campagna, here bestrided by colossal
aqueducts, crossed by lines of roads, with their fringes
of marble tombs, and bespangled all over by glittering
villas, set like gems in the dark green enamel of laurel
and cypress, the eye reached, at evening, the purple
slope of hills on which, as on a couch, lay stretched
luxuriously Alba and Tusculum, with " their daugh
ters," according to oriental phrase, basking brightly
in the setting sun. The craggy range of Sabine moun
tains on the left, and the golden expanse of the sea
on the right, of the beholder, closed in this perfect
landscape. It would be attributing to Maximian a quality which
he did not possess, were we to give him credit for loving
a residence so admirably situated, through any taste for
the beautiful. The spendour of the buildings, which
he had still further adorned, or possibly the facility of
running out of the city for the chase of boar and wolf,
was the motive of this preference. A native of Sir-
mium, in Sclavonia, a reputed barbarian therefore, of
the lowest extraction, a mere soldier of fortune, without

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 269
any education, endowed with little more than a brute
strength, which made his surname of Herculeus most
appropriate, he had been raised to the purple by his
brother-barbarian Diodes, known as the Emperor Dio
clesian. Like him, covetous to meanness, and spend
thrift to recklessness, addicted to the same coarse vices
and foul crimes, which a Christian pen refuses to
record, without restraint of any passion, without sense
of justice, or feeling of humanity, this monster had
never ceased to oppress, persecute, and slay whoever
stood in his way. To him the coming persecution
looked like an approaching feast does to a glutton,
who requires the excitement of a surfeit, to relieve the
monotony of daily excess. Gigantic in frame, with the
well-known features of his race, with the hair on his
head and face more yellow than red, shaggy and wild,
like tufts of straw, with eyes restlessly rolling in a
compound expression of suspicion, profligacy, and fe
rocity, this almost last of Rome's tyrants struck terror
into the heart of any beholder, except a Christian. Is
it wonderful that he hated the race and its name ?
In the large basilica, or hall, then, of the iEdes
Laterana?,"* Maximian met his motley council, in which
secrecy was ensured by penalty of death. In the semi
circular apse at the upper end of the hall, sat the em
peror, on an ivory throne richly adorned, and before
* The Lateran house or palace.

276 FABIOLA; Or,
him were arranged his obsequious and almost trembling
advisers. A chosen body of guards kept the entrance;
and the officer in command, Sebastian, was leaning
negligently against it on the inside, but carefully noted
every word that was spoken.
Little did the emperor think, that the hall in which
he sat, and which he afterwards gave, with the contigu
ous palace, to Constantine, as part of the dowry of his
daughter, Fausta, would be transferred by him to the
head of the religion he was planning to extirpate, and
become, retaining its name of the Lateran Basilica, the
cathedral of Rome, " of all the churches of the city and
of the world the mother and chief." * Little did he
imagine, that on the spot whereon rested his throne,
would be raised a Chair, whence commands should
issue, to reach worlds unknown to Roman sway, from
an immortal race of sovereigns, spiritual and temporal.
Precedence was granted, by religious courtesy, to the
priests, each of whom had his tale to tell. Here a river
had overflowed its banks, and done much mischief to
the neighbouring plains; there an earthquake had
thrown down part of a town; on the northern frontiers
the barbarians threatened invasion; at the south, the
plague was ravaging the pious population. In every
instance, the oracles had declared, that it was all owing
to the Christians, whose toleration irritated the gods,
* Inscription on the front, and medals of the Lateran Basilica.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 271
and whose evil charms brought calamity on the empire.
Nay, some had afflicted their votaries by openly pro
claiming, that they would utter no more, till the odious
Nazarenes had been exterminated; and the great
Delphic oracle had not hesitated to declare, " that the
Just did not allow the gods to speak."
Next came the philosophers and orators, each of
whom made his own long-winded oration ; during which
Maximian gave unequivocal signs of weariness. But
as the Emperors in the East had held a similar meet
ing, he considered it his duty to sit out the annoyance.
The usual calumnies were repeated, for the ten-
thousandth time, to an applauding assembly; the
stories of murdering and eating infants, of committing
foul crimes, of worshipping martyrs' bodies, of ador
ing an ass's head, and inconsistently enough of being
unbelievers, and serving no God. These tales were all
most firmly believed: though probably their reciters
knew perfectly well, they were but good sound heathen
lies, very useful in keeping up a horror of Christianity.
But, at length, up rose the man, who was considered
to have most deeply studied the doctrines of the enemy,
and best to know their dangerous tactics. He was sup
posed to have read their own books, and to be drawing
up a confutation of their errors, which would fairly
crush them. Indeed, so great was his weight with his
own side, that when he asserted that Christians held

272 FABIOLA; OR,
any monstrous principle, had their supreme pontiff in
person contradicted it, every one would have laughed
at the very idea, of taking his word for his own belief,
against the assertion of Calpurnius.
He struck up a different strain, and his learning
quite astonished his fellow-sophists. He had read the
original books, he said, not only of the Christians them
selves, but of their forefathers, the Jews ; who, having
come into Egypt in the reign of Ptolemy Philadelphus,
to escape from a famine in their own country, through
the arts of their leader, Josephus, bought up all the corn
there, and sent it home. Upon which Ptolemy im
prisoned them, telling them, that as they had eaten up
all the corn, they should live on the straw, by making
bricks with it for building a great city. Then Demet
rius Phalerius, hearing from them of a great many
curious histories of their ancestors, shut up Moses and
Aaron, their most learned men, in a tower, having
shaved half their beards, till they should write in Greek
all their records. These rare books Calpurnius had
seen, and he would only mention a few facts from
them. This race made war upon every king and people,
that came in their way; and destroyed them all. It
was their principle, if they took a city, to put every
one to the sword ; and this was all because they were un
der the government of their ambitious priests ; so that
when a certain king, Saul, called also Paul, spared a

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 273
poor captive monarch whose name was Agag, the priests
ordered him to be brought out and hewed to pieces.
" Now," continued he, " these Christians are still
under the domination of the same priesthood, and are
quite as ready to-day, under their direction, to over
throw the great Roman empire, burn us all in the
Forum, and even sacrilegiously assail the sacred and
venerable heads of our divine emperors."
A thrill of horror ran through the assembly, at this
recital. It was soon hushed, as the emperor opened
his mouth to speak.
" For my part," he said, " I have another and a
stronger reason for my abhorrence of these Christians.
They have dared to establish in the heart of the empire,
and in this very city, a supreme religious authority, un
known here before, independent of the government of
the State, and equally powerful over their minds as
this. Formerly, all acknowledged the emperor as su
preme in religious, as in civil, rule. Hence he bears
still the title of Pontifex Maximus. But these men
have raised up divided power, and consequently bear
but a divided loyalty. I hate therefore, as a usurpa
tion in my dominions, this sacerdotal sway over my
subjects. For I declare, that I would rather hear of
a new rival starting up to my throne, than of the elec
tion of one of these priests in Rome." *
* These are the very words of Decius, on the election of St. Cor-
18

274 FABIOLA; OR,
This speech, delivered in a harsh grating Voice, and
with a vulgar foreign accent, was received with im*
mense applause; and plans were formed for thd
simultaneous publication of the Edict through the
West, and for its complete and exterminating execution.
Then turning sharp upon Tertullus, the emperor
said : " Prefect, you said you had some one to propose,
•for superintending these arrangements, and for merci
less dealings with these traitors."
" He is here, sire, my son Corvinus." And Tertul
lus handed the youthful candidate to the grim tyrant's
footstool, where he knelt. Maximian eyed him keenly,
burst into a hideous laugh, and said : " Upon my word,
I think he'll do. Why, prefect, I had no idea you had
such an ugly son. I should think he is just the thing;
every quality of a thorough-paced, unconscientious
scapegrace is stamped upon his features."
Then turning to Corvinus, who was scarlet with rage,
terror, and shame, he said to him : " Mind you, sirrah,
I must have clean work of it; no hacking and hewing,
no blundering. I pay up well, if I am well served;
but I pay off well, too, if badly served. So now go;
nelius to the See of St. Peter : " Cum multo patientius audiret
levari adversum se ffimuluin principem, quam constitui Romaa
Dei sacerdotem." S. Cypr. Ep. Iii. ad Antonianum, p. 69, ed Maur.
Could there be a stronger proof, that under the heathen empire,
the papal power was sensible and external, even to the extent of
exciting imperial jealousy ?

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 275
and remember, that if your back can answer for a small
fault, your head will for a greater. The lictors*
fasces contain an axe as well as rods."
The emperor rose to depart, when his eye caught
Fulvius, who had been summoned as a paid court-spy,
but who kept as much in the back-ground as possible.
" Ho, there, my eastern worthy," he called out to him ;
" draw nearer."
Fulvius obeyed with apparent cheerfulness, but with
real reluctance; much the same as if he had been in
vited to go very near a tiger, the strength of whose chain
he was not quite sure about. He had seen, from the
beginning, that his coming to Rome had not been ac
ceptable to Maximian, though he knew not fully the
cause. It was not merely that the tyrant had plenty
of favourites of his own to enrich, and spies to pay,
without Dioclesian's sending him more from Asia,
though this had its weight; but it was more. He
believed in his heart that Fulvius had been sent prin
cipally to act the spy upon himself, and to report to
Nicomedia the sayings and doings of his court.
While, therefore, he was obliged to tolerate him, and
employ him, he mistrusted, and disliked him, which in
him was equivalent to hating him. It was some com
pensation, therefore, to Corvinus, when he heard his
more polished confederate publicly addressed, as rudely
as himself, in the following terms ;

276 FABIOLA; OR,
" None of your smooth, put-on looks for me, fellow.
I want deeds, not smirks. You came here as a famous
plot-hunter, a sort of stoat, to pull conspirators out of
their nests, or suck their eggs for me. 1 have seen
nothing of this so far; and yet you have had lots of
money to set you up in business. These Christians
will afford you plenty of game; so make yourself
ready, and let us see what you can do. You know my
ways; you had better look sharp about you, therefore,
or you may have to look at something very sharp be
fore you. The property of the convicted will be di
vided between the accusers and the treasury: unless I
see particular reasons for taking the whole to myself.
Now you may go."
Most thought that these particular reasons would
turn out to be very general.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 277

CHAPTER VII.

DAKK DEATH.

A eew days after Fabiola's return from the country,
Sebastian considered it his duty to wait upon her, to
communicate so much of the dialogue between Corvinus
and her black slave, as he could without causing un
necessary mischief. We have already observed, that
of the many noble youths whom Fabiola had met in her
father's house, none had excited her admiration and re
spect except Sebastian. So frank, so generous, so
brave, yet so unboasting, so gentle, so kind in acts and
speech, so unselfish and so careful of others, blending
so completely in one character nobleness and simplicity,
high wisdom and practical sense, he seemed to her the
most finished type of manly virtue, one which would
not easily suffer by time, nor tire by familiarity.
When, therefore, it was announced to her that the
officer Sebastian wished to speak to her alone, in one
of the halls below, her heart beat at the unusual tidings,
and conjured up a thousand strange fancies, about the
-possible topics of his interview. This agitation was

2/8 FABIOLA; OR,
not diminished, when, after apologising for his seem
ing intrustion, he remarked with a smile, that well
knowing how already she was sufficiently annoyed by
the many candidates for her hand, he felt regret at the
idea, that he was going to add another, yet undeclared,
to her list. If this ambiguous preface surprised, and
perhaps elated her, she was soon depressed again, upon
being told, it was the vulgar and stupid Corvinus.
For her father, even, little as he knew how to discrimi
nate characters out of business, had seen enough of him
a; his late banquet, to characterise him to his daughter
by those epithets.
Sebastian, fearing rather the physical, than the
moral, activity of Afra's drugs, thought it right to in
form her of the compaet between the two dabblers in
the black art, the principal efficacy of which, however,
seemed to consist in drawing money from the purse of
a reluctant dupe. He of course said nothing of. what
related to the Christians in that dialogue. He put her
on her guard, and she promised to prevent the nightly
excursions of her necromancer slave. What Afra had
engaged to do, she did not for a moment believe it was
ever her intention to attempt; neither did she fear arts
which she utterly depised. Indeed Afra's last soliloquy
seemed satisfactorily to prove, that she was deceiving
her victim. But she certainly felt indignant at having
been bargained about by two such vile characters, and

Cemetery of Callista.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 279
having been represented as a grasping avaricious
woman, whose price was gold.
" I feel," she said at last to Sebastian, " how very
kind it is of you, to come thus to put me on my guard ;
and I admire the delicacy with which you have un
folded so disagreeable a matter, and the gentleness with
which you have treated every one concerned."
" I have only done in this instance," replied the
soldier, " what I should have done for any human be
ing, — save him, if possible, from pain or danger."
" Your friends, I hope you mean," said Fabiola,
smiling; "otherwise I fear your whole life would go,
in works of unrequited benevolence."
" And so let it go ; it could not be better spent."
" Surely, you are not in earnest, Sebastian. If you
saw one who had ever hated you, and sought your de
struction, threatened with a calamity, which would
make him harmless, would you stretch out your hand
to save, or succour, him ? "
" Certainly I would. While God sends His sun
shine and His rain equally upon His enemies, as upon
His friends, shall weak man frame another rule of
justice ? "
At these words Fabiola wondered; they were so like
those of her mysterious parchment, identical with the
moral theories of her slave.
" Yo\i have been in the East? I believe, Sebastian/'

280 FABIOLA; OR,
she asked him rather abruptly ; " was it there that you
learnt these principles ? For I have one near me, who
is yet, by her own choice, a servant, a woman of rare
moral perceptions, who has propounded to me the same
ideas ; and she is an Asiatic."
" It is not in any distant country that I learnt them,
for here I sucked them in with my mother's milk;
though originally, they doubtless came from the East."
" They are certainly beautiful in the abstract," re
marked Fabiola ; " but death would overtake us before
we could half carry them out, were we to make them
our principles of conduct."
" And how better could death find us, though not
surprise us, than in thus doing our duty, even if not to
its completion ? "
" For my part," resumed the lady, " I am of the
old Epicurean poet's mind. This world is a banquet,
from which I shall be ready to depart when I have had
my fill — ut conviva satur * — and not till then. I
wish to read life's book through, and close it calmly,
only when I have finished its last page."
Sebastian shook his head, smiling, and said, " The
last page of this world's book comes but in the middle
of the volume, wherever ' death ' may happen to be
written. But on the next page begins the illuminated
book of a new life — without a last page."
* " As a sated guest,"

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 2§1
u I understand you," replied Fabiola, good-humour-
edly; "you are a brave soldier, and you speak as such.
You must be always prepared for death from a thou
sand casualties: we seldom see it approach suddenly;
it comes more mercifully, and stealthily, upon the weak.
You no doubt are musing on a more glorious fate, on
receiving in front full sheaves of arrows from the
enemy, and falling covered with honour. You look to
the soldier's funeral pile, with trophies erected over it.
To you, after death, opens its bright page the book of
glory." " No, no, gentle lady," exclaimed Sebastian, em
phatically. " I mean not so. I care not for glory,
which can only be enjoyed by an anticipating fancy, I
speak of vulgar death, as it may come to me in common
with the poorest slave ; consuming me by slow burning
fever, wasting me by long lingering consumption, rack
ing me by slowly eating ulcers ; nay, if you please, by
the still crueller inflictions of men's wrath. In any
form let it come ; it comes from a hand that I love."
" And do you really mean, that death, so contem
plated, would be welcomed by you ? "
" As joyful as is the epicure, when the doors of the
banqueting-hall are thrown wide open, and he sees be
yond them the brilliant lamps, the glittering table,
and its delicious viands, with its attendant ministers
well girt, and crowned with roses; as blithe as is the

282 FABIOLA; OR,
bride when the bridegroom is announced, coming with
rich gifts, to conduct her to her new home, will my
exulting heart be, when death, under whatever form,
throws back the gates, iron on this side, but golden on
the other, which lead to a new and perennial life. And
I care not how grim the messenger may be, that pro
claims the approach of Him who is celestially beauti
ful." " And who is He ? " asked Fabiola, eagerly. " Can
He not be seen, save through the fleshless ribs of death ? "
" No," replied Sebastian ; " for it is He who must
reward us, not only for our lives, but for our deaths
also. Happy they whose inmost hearts, which He has
ever read, have been kept pure and innocent, as well
as their deeds have been virtuous ! For them is this
bright vision of Him, whose true rewards only then
begin." How very like Syra's doctrines ! she thought. But
before she could speak again, to ask whence they came,
a slave entered, stood on the threshold, and respectfully
said, " A courier, madam, is just arrived from Bahe." *
" Pardon me, Sebastian ! " she exclaimed. " Let
him enter immediately."
The messenger came in, covered with dust and jaded,
having left his tired horse at the gate, and offered her
a sealed packet.
* A fashionable watering-place near Naples.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 283
Her hand trembled as she took it ; and while she was
unloosening its bands, she hesitatingly asked,
" From my father ? "
" About him, at least," was the ominous reply.
She opened the sheet, glanced over it, shrieked, and
fell. Sebastian caught her before she reached the
ground, laid her on a couch, and delicately left her in
the hands of her handmaids, who had rushed in at the
cry. One glance had told her all. Her father was dead.

284 FABIOLA; OR,

CHAPTER VIII.

DARKER STILL.

When Sebastian came into the court, he found a
little crowd of domestics gathered round the courier,
listening to the details of their master's death.
The letter of which Torquatus was the bearer to him,
had produced its desired effect. He called at his villa,
and spent a few days with his daughter, on his way
to Asia. He was more than usually affectionate; and
when they parted, both father and daughter seemed to
have a melancholy foreboding that they would meet no
more. He soon, however, recovered his spirits at Baise,
where a party of good livers anxiously awaited him;
and where he considered himself obliged to stay, while
his galley was being fitted up, and stored with the best
wines and provisions which Campania afforded, for his
voyage. He indulged, however, his luxurious tastes to
excess ; and on coming out of a bath, after a hearty sup
per, was seized with a chill, and in four-and-twenty
hours was a corpse. He had left his undivided wealth
to his only child. In fine, the body was being em-

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 285
balmed when the courier started, and was to be brought
by his galley to Ostia.
On hearing this sad tale, Sebastian was almost sorry
that he had spoken as he had done of death, and left
the house with mournful thoughts.
Fabiola's first plunge into the dark abyss of grief
was deep and dismal, down into unconsciousness.
Then the buoyancy of youth and mind bore her up
again to the surface; and her view of life, to the hori
zon, was as of a boundless ocean of black seething
waves, on which floated no living thing save herself.
Her woe seemed utter and unmeasured ; and she closed
her eyes with a shudder, and suffered herself to sink
again into obliviousness, till once more roused to wake
fulness of mind. Again and again she was thus
tossed up and down, between transient death and life,
while her attendants applied remedies to what they
deemed a succession of alarming fits and convulsions.
At length she sat up, pale, staring, and tearless, gently
pushing aside the hand that tried to administer re
storatives to her. In this state she remained long; a
stupor, fixed and deadly, seemed to have entranced her ;
the pupils were almost insensible to the light, and fears
were whispered of her brain becoming oppressed. The
physician, who had been called, uttered distinctly and
forcibly into her ears the question : " Fabiola, do you
know that your father is dead ? " She started, fell

286 FABIOLA ; OR,
back, and a bursting flood of tears relieved her heart
and head. She spoke of her father, and called for him
amidst her sobs, and said wild and incoherent, but af
fectionate things about, and to, him. Sometimes she
seemed to think him still alive, then she remembered he
was dead; and so she wept and moaned, till sleep took
the turn of tears, in nursing her shattered mind and
frame. Euphrosyne and Syra alone watched by her. The
former had, from time to time, put in the commonplaces
of heathen consolation, had reminded her too, how kind
a master, how honest a man, how loving a father he had
been. But the Christian sat in silence, except to speak
gentle and soothing words to her mistress, and served
her with an active delicacy, which even then was not
unnoticed. What could she do more, unless it was to
pray? What hope for else, than that a new grace was
folded up, like a flower, in this tribulation; that a
bright angel was riding on the dark cloud that over
shadowed her humbled lady ?
As grief receded, it left some room for thought ; this
came to Fabiola in a gloomy, oppressive shape. What
was become of her father ? Whither was he gone ?
Had he melted into unexistence, or had he been crushed
into annihilation ? Llad his life been searched through
by that unseen eye which sees the invisible? Had he
stood the proof of that scrutiny which Sebastian and

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 287
Syra had described ? Impossible ! Then what had be
come of him ? She shuddered as she thought, and put
away the reflection from her mind.
Oh, for a ray from some unknown light, that would
dart into the grave, and show her what it Avas ! Poetry
had pretended to enlighten it, and even glorify it ; but
had only, in truth, remained at the door, as a genius
with drooping head, and torch reversed. Science had
looked in, and come out scared, with tarnished wings,
and lamp extinguished in the foetid air; for it had
only discovered a charnel-house. And philosophy had
barely ventured to wander round and round, and peep
in with dread, and recoil, and then talk or babble, and
shrugging its shoulders, own, that the problem was yet
unsolved, the mystery still veiled. Oh, for some
thing, or some one, better than all these, to remove
the dark perplexity!
While these thoughts dwell in gloomy silence on
the heart of Fabiola, her slave is enjoying the vision
of light, clothed in mortal form, translucid and radi
ant, rising from the grave as from an alembic, in which
have remained the grosser qualities of matter, without
impairing the essence of its nature. Spiritualised and
free, lovely and glorious, it springs from the very hot
bed of corruption. And another and another, from
land and sea ; from reeking cemetery and from be
neath consecrated altar ; from the tangled thicket where

283 FABIOLA; OR,
solitary murder has been committed on the just, and
from fields of ancient battle done by Israel for God;
like crystal fountains springing into the air, like bril
liant signal-lights, darted from earth to heaven, till a
host of millions, side by side, repeoples creation with
joyous and undying life. And how knows she this?
Because One, greater and better than poet, sage, or
sophist, had made the trial, had descended first into
the dark couch of death, had blessed it as He had done
the cradle, and made infancy sacred; rendering also
death a holy thing, and its place a sanctuary. He
went into it in the dark of evening, and He came forth
in the splendour of morning; He was laid there
wrapped in spices, and He came forth robed in His
own fragrant incorruption. And from that day the
grave had ceased to be an object of dread to the Chris
tian soul, for it continued what He had made it, — the
furrow into which the seed of immortality must needs
be cast.
The time was not come for speaking of these things
to Fabiola. She mourned still, as they must mourn
who have no hope. Day succeeded day in gloomy medi
tation on the mystery of death, till other cares merci
fully roused her. The corpse arrived, and such a
funeral followed as Rome then seldom witnessed.
Processions by torch-light, in which the waxen effigies
of ancestors were borne, a huge funeral pile built up

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 289
of aromatic wood, and scented by the richest spices of
Arabia,' ended in her gathering up a few handfuls of
charred bones, which were deposited in an alabaster
urn, and placed in a niche of the family sepulchre,
with the name inscribed of their former owner.
Calpurnius spoke the funeral oration; in which, ac
cording to the fashionable ideas of the day, he con
trasted the virtues of the hospitable and industrious
citizen with the false morality of those men called
Christians, who fasted and prayed all day, and were
stealthily insinuating their dangerous principles into
every noble family, and spreading disloyalty and im
morality in every class. Fabius, he could have no
doubt, if there was any future existence, whereon phi
losophers differed, was now basking on a green bank
in Elysium, and quaffing nectar. " And oh ! " con
cluded the old whining hypocrite, who would have been
sorry to exchange one goblet of Falernian for an am
phora * of that beverage, " oh ! that the gods would
hasten the day when I, his humble client, may join
him in his shady repose and sober banquets ! " This
noble sentiment gained immense applause.
To this care succeeded another. Fabiola had to ap
ply her vigorous mind to examine, and close her father's
complicated affairs. How often was she pained at the
* A large earthenware vessel, in which wine was kept in the
cellar. 19

290 FABIOLA; OR,
discovery of what to her seemed injustice, fraud, over
reaching and oppression, in the transactions of one
whom the world had applauded as the most honest and
liberal of public contractors !
In a few weeks more, in the dark attire of a mourner,
Fabiola went forth to visit her friends. The first of
these was her cousin Agnes.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 291

CHAPTER IX.

THE FALSE BROTHER.

We must take our reader back a few steps in the
history of Torquatus. On the morning after his fall,
he found, on awaking, Fulvius at his bed-side. It was
the falconer, who, having got hold of a good hawk,
came to tame him, and train him to strike down the
dove for him, in return for a well-fed slavery.
With all the coolness of a practised hand, he brought
back to his memory every circumstance of the pre
ceding night's debauch, his utter ruin, and only means
of escape. With unfeeling precision he strengthened
every thread of the last evening's web, and added many
more meshes to it.
The position of Torquatus was this : if he made one
step towards Christianity, which Fulvius assured him
would be fruitless, he would be at once delivered to the
judge, and cruelly punished with death. If he re
mained faithful to his compact of treason, he should
want for nothing.
"You are hot and feverish," at last concluded Ful
vius; an early walk, and fresh air, will do you good."

292 FABIOLA; OR,
The poor wretch consented; and they had hardly
reached the Forum, when Corvinus, as if by accident,
met them. After mutual salutations, he said : "lam
glad to have fallen in with you; I should like to take
you, and show you my father's workshop."
" Workshop ? " asked Torquatus with surprise.
"Yes, where he keeps his tools; it has just been
beautifully fitted up. Here it is, and that grim old
foreman, Catulus, is opening the doors."
They entered into a spacious court with a shed round
it, filled with engines of torture of every form. Tor
quatus shrunk back.
" Come in, masters, don't be afraid," said the old
executioner. " There is no fire put on yet, and nobody
will hurt you, unless you happen to be a wicked Chris
tian. It's for them we have been polishing up of
late." " Now, Catulus," said Corvinus, " tell this gentle
man, who is a stranger, the use of these pretty toys
you have here."
Catulus, with good heart, showed them round his
museum of horrors, explaining everything with such
hearty good-will, and no end of jokes not quite fit for
record, that in his enthusiasm he nearly gave Tor
quatus practical illustrations of what he described,
having once almost caught his ear in a pair of- sharp
pincers, and another time brought down a mallet within
an inch of his teeth.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 293
The rack, a large gridiron, an iron chair with a fur
nace in it for heating it, large boilers for hot oil or
scalding water baths; ladles for melting lead, and
pouring it neatly into the mouth; pincers, hooks and
iron combs of varied shapes, for laying bare the ribs;
scorpions, or scourges armed with iron or leaden knobs ;
iron collars, manacles and fetters of the most torment
ing make; in fine, swords, knives, and axes in tasteful
varieties, were all commented upon with true relish,
and an anticipation of much enjoyment, in seeing them
used on those hard-headed and thick-skinned Chris
tians.* Torquatus was thoroughly broken down. He was
taken to the baths of Antoninus, where he caught the
attention of old Cucumio, the head of the wardrobe
department, or capsarius, and his wife Victoria, who
had seen him at church. After a good refection, he
was led to a gambling- hall in the Thernue, and lost, of
course. Fulvius lent him money, but for every far
thing, exacted a bond. By these means, he was, in a
few days, completely subdued.
Their meetings were early and late; during the day
he was left free, lest he should lose his value, through
being suspected by Christians. Corvinus had deter
mined to make a tremendous dash at them, so soon as
* These instruments of cruelty are mentioned in the Acts of the
' ' Martyrs, and in ecclesiastical historians.

294 FABIOLA; OR,
the Edict should have come out. He therefore exacted
from Torquatus, as his share of the compact, that the spy
should study the principal cemetery where the pontiff
intended to officiate. This Torquatus soon ascertained :
and his visit to the cemetery of Callistus was in fulfil
ment of his engagement. When that struggle between
grace and sin took place in his soul, which Severus
noticed, it was the image of Catulus and his hundred
plagues, with that of Fulvius and his hundred bonds,
that turned the scale in favour of perdition. Corvinus,
after receiving his report, and making from it a rough
chart of the cemetery, determined to assail it, early,
the very day after the publication of the Decree.
Fulvius took another course. He determined to be
come acquainted, by sight, with the principal clergy,
and leading Christians, of Rome. Once possessed of
this knowledge, he was sure no disguise would conceal
them from his piercing eyes ; and he would easily pick
them up, one by one. He therefore insisted upon Tor
quatus's taking him as his companion, to the first great
function that should collect many priests and deacons
round the Pope. He overruled every remonstrance,
dispelled every fear; and assured Torquatus, that once
in, by his password, he should behave perfectly like
any Christian. Torquatus soon informed him, that
there would be an excellent opportunity at the coming
ordination, in that very month of December.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 295

CHAPTER X.
THE ORDINATION IN DECEMBER.
Whoever has read the history oi the early Popes,
will have become familiar with the fact, recorded al
most invariably of each, that he held certain ordina
tions in the month of December, wherein he created so
many priests, and deacons, and so many bishops for
different places. The first two orders were conferred
to supply clergy for the city; the third was evidently
to furnish pastors for other dioceses. In later times,
the ember-days in December, regulated by the festival
of St. Lucy, were those on which the Supreme Pontiff
held his consistories, in which he named his cardinal
priests and deacons, and preconised, as it is called, the
bishops of all parts of the world. And, though this
function is not now coincident with the periods of
ordination, still it is continued essentially for the
same purpose.
Marcellinus, under whose pontificate our narrative
is placed, is stated to have held two ordinations in this
month, that is, of course, in different years. It was
to one of these that we have alluded, as about to take
place.

296 FABIOLA; OR,
Where was this solemn function to be performed,
was Fulvius's first inquiry. And we cannot but think
that the answer will be interesting to the Christian
antiquary. Nor can our acquaintance with the ancient
Roman Church be complete, without our knowing the
favoured spot, where Pontiff after Pontiff preached,
and celebrated the divine mysteries; and held his
councils, or those glorious ordinations, which sent
forth not only bishops but martyrs to govern other
churches, and gave to a St. Laurence his diaconate, or
to St. Novatus or St. Timotheus his priesthood.
There, too, a Polycarp or Irenanis visited the succes
sor of St. Peter; and thence received their commis
sion the apostles who converted our King Lucius to the
faith. The house which the Roman Pontiffs inhabited, and
the church in which they officiated, till Constantine in
stalled them in the Lateran palace and basilica, the
residence and cathedral of the illustrious line of mar
tyr-popes for 300 years, can be no ignoble spot. And
that, in tracing it out, we may not be misguided by
national or persona] prepossession, we will follow a
learned living antiquarian, who, intent upon another
research, accidentally has put together all the data
requisite for our purpose.*
* " Sopra liantichissimo altare di legno, rinchiuso nell' altare
papale," etc. " On the most ancient wooden altar, enclosed in

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 297
We have described the house of Agnes's parents as
situated in the Vicus Patricius, or the Patrician-street.
This had another name, for it was also called the street
of the Cornelii, Vicus Corneliorum, because in it lived
the illustrious family of that name. The centurion
whom St. Peter converted * belonged to this family ;
and possibly to him the apostle owed his introduction
at Rome to the head of his house, Cornelius Pudens.
This senator married Claudia, a noble British lady;
and it is singular how the unchaste poet Martial vies
with the purest writers, when he sings the wedding-
song of these two virtuous spouses.
It was in their house that St. Peter lived; and his
fellow-apostle St. Paul enumerates them among his fa
miliar friends, as well : " Eubulus and Pudens, and
Linus and Claudia, and all the brethren salute thee." f
From that house, then, went forth the bishops, whom
the Prince of the Apostles sent in every direction, to
propagate, and die for, the faith of Christ, After the
death of Pudens, the house became the property of his
children, or grandchildren,^: two sons and two daugh
ters. The latter are better known, because they have
the papal altar of the most holy Lateran basilica." By Monsig.
D. Bartolini. Rome, 1852.
* Acts x.
+ 2 Tim. iv. 21.
1 A second or younger Pudens is spoken of.

298 FABIOLA; OR,
found a place in the general calendar of the Church,
and because they have given their names to two of the
most illustrious churches of Rome, those of St. Prax-
edes and St. Pudentiana. It is the latter, which
Alban Butler calls " the most ancient church in the
world," * that marks at once the Vicus Patricius, and
the house of Pudens.
As in every other city, so in Rome, the eucharistic
sacrifice was offered originally in only one place, by
the bishop. And even after more churches were erected,
and the faithful met in them, communion was brought
to them from the one altar by the deacons, and dis
tributed by the priests. It was Pope Evaristus, the
fourth successor of St. Peter, who multiplied the
churches of Rome with circumstances peculiarly in
teresting. This Pope, then, did two things. First, he enacted
that from henceforward no altars should be erected
except of stone, and that they should be blessed ; and
secondly, " he distributed the titles; " that is, he di
vided Rome into parishes, to the churches of which he
gave the name of title. The connection of these two
acts will be apparent to any one looking at Genesis
xxviii. ; where, after Jacob had enjoyed an angelic
vision, while sleeping with a stone for his pillow, we
are told that, " trembling he said, How terrible is this
* May the 19th.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 299
place ! This is no other than the house of God and the
gate of heaven. And Jacob arising in the morning
took the stone, . . . and set it up for a title, pouring
oil on the top of it." *
The church or oratory, where the sacred mysteries
were celebrated, was truly, to the Christian, the house
of God, and the stone altar, set up in it, was consecrated
by the pouring of oil upon it, as is done to this day
(for the whole law of Evaristus remains in full force) ;
and thus became a title, or monument, f
Two interesting facts are elicited from this narra
tive. One is, that to that time there was only one
church with an altar in Rome; and no doubt has ever
been raised, that this was the church afterwards and
yet known, by the name of St. Pudentiana. Another
is, that the one altar till then existing was not of stone.
It was, in fact, the Avooden altar used by St. Peter, and
kept in that church, till transferred by St. Sylvester
to the Lateran basilica, of which it forms the high
altar, j: We further conclude, that the law was not
* Verses 17, 18.
f It is not necessary to go into the classical uses of the word
titulus. X Only the Pope can say Mass on it, or a cardinal, by authority
of a special bull. This high altar has been lately magnificently
decorated. A plank of the wooden altar has always been pre
served in St. Peter's altar, at St Pudentiana's. It has been lately
compared with the wood of the Lateran altar, and found to be
identical.

300 FABIOLA; OR,
retrospective, and that the wooden altar of the Popes
was preserved at that church, where it had been first
erected, though from time to time it might be carried,
and used elsewhere.
The church in the Vicus Patricius, therefore, which
existed previous to the creation of titles, was not itself
a title. It continued to be the episcopal, or rather the
pontifical church of Rome. The pontificate of St. Pius
I., from 142 to 157, forms an interesting period in its
history, for two reasons.
First, that Pope, without altering the character of
the church itself, added to it an oratory which he made
a title; * and having collated to it his brother Pastor,
it was called the titulus Pastoris, the designation, for
a long time, of the cardinalate attached to the church.
This shows that the church itself was more than a
title. Secondly, in this pontificate came to Rome, for the
second time, and suffered martyrdom, the holy and
learned apologist St. Justin. By comparing his writ
ings with his Acts,f we come to some interesting con
clusions respecting Christian worship in times of per
secution. " In what place do the Christians meet ? " he is
asked by the judge.
*, Its site is now occupied by the Caetani chapel.
t Prefixed to the Maurist edition of his works, or in Ruinart, i.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 301
" Do you think," he replies, " that we all meet in
one place ? It is not so." But when interrogated where
he lived, and where he held meetings with his disciples,
he answered, " I have lived till now near the house of
a certain Martin, at the bath known as the Timotine.
I have come to Rome for the second time, nor do I
know any other place but the one I have mentioned."
The Timotine or Timothean baths were part of the
house of the Pudens family, and are those at which
we have said that Fulvius and Corvinus met early
one morning. Novatus and Timotheus were the
brothers of the holy virgins Praxedes and Pudentiana ;
and hence the baths were called the Novatian and the
Timotine, as they passed from one brother to another.
St. Justin, therefore, lived on this spot, and, as he
Icnew no other in Rome, attended divine worship there.
The very claims of hospitality would suggest it. Now
in his apology, describing the Christian liturgy, of
course such as he saw it, he speaks of the officiating
priest in terms that sufficiently describe the bishop, or
supreme pastor of the place; not only by giving him
a title applied to bishops in antiquity,* but by describ
ing him as the person who has the care of orphans and
widows, and succours the sick, the indigent, prisoners,
* O npoeoruc, propositus, Heb. xiii. 17. 0 tuv Vufiatarv npoFCTuf
BmTup, Victor bishop of the Romans, Euseb. H. E. I. v. 24. The
word used is the same as in St. Justin.

302 fabiola ; or,
strangers who come as guests, who, " in one word,
undertakes to provide for all in want." This could be
no other than the bishop or pope himself.
We must further observe, that St. Pius is recorded
to have erected a fixed baptismal font in this church,
another prerogative of the cathedral, transferred with
the papal altar to the Lateran. It is related that the
holy Pope Stephen (a.d. 257) baptised the tribune
Nemesius and his family, with many others, in the
title of Pastor.* And here it was that the blessed
deacon Laurentius distributed the rich vessels of the
Church to the poor.
In time this name has given way to another. But
the place is the same ; and no doubt can exist, that the
church of St. Pudentiana was, for the first three cen
turies, the humble cathedral of Rome.
It was to this spot, therefore, that Torquatus un
willingly consented to lead Fulvius, that he might wit
ness the December ordination.
We find either in sepulchral inscriptions, in mar-
tyrologies, or in ecclesiastical history, abundant traces
of all the orders, as still conferred in the Catholic
* The learned Bianchini plausibly conjectures that the station
on Easter Sunday is not at the Lateran (the cathedral), nor at
St. Peter's, where the Pope officiates, at one of which it would
naturally be expected to be, but at the Liberian basilica, because
it used to be held for the administration of baptism at St. Pu
dentiana's, which is only a stone's throw from it.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 303
Church. Inscriptions perhaps more commonly record
those of Lector or reader, and of Exorcist. We will
give one interesting example of each. Of a Lector:
CINNAMIVS OPAS LECTOR TITVll FASCIOLE AMICVS PAVPERVM «IVI
VIXIT ANN. XLVI. MENS. VII. D. VIII. DEPOSIT IN PACE X KAL, MART.'*
Of an Exorcist: MACEOONIVS
EXORCISTA DE KATOLICA.f
A difference was, however, that one order was not
necessarily a passage, or step, to another; but persons
remained, often for life, in one of these lesser orders.
There was not, therefore, that frequent administration
of these nor probably was it publicly performed with
the higher orders.
Torquatus, having the necessary pass-word, entered
accompanied by Fulvius, who soon showed himself ex
pert in acting as others did around him. The assembly
was not large. It was held in a hall of the house, con
verted into a church or oratory, which was mainly
occupied by the clergy, and the candidates for orders.
* " Cinnamius Opas Lector, of the title of Fasciola"(now SS.
Nereus and Achilleus), "the friend of the poor, who lived forty-
six years, seven months, and eight days. Interred in peace the
tenth day before the calends of March." From St. Paul's.
f " Macedonius, an exorcist of the Catholic Church." From
the cemetery of SS. Thraso and Saturn inns, on the Salarian way.

304 FABIOLA; OR,
Among the latter were Marcus and Marcellianus, the
twin brothers, fellow-converts of Torquatus, who re
ceived the deaconship, and their father Tranquillinus,
who was ordained priest. Of these Fulvius impressed
well in his mind the features and figure ; and still more
did he take note of the clergy, the most eminent of
Rome, there assembled. But on one, more than the
rest he fixed his piercing eye, studying his every ges
ture, look, voice, and lineament.
This was the Pontiff who performed the august rite.
Marcellinus had already governed the Church six
years, and was of a venerable old age. His counte
nance, benign and mild, scarcely seemed to betoken
the possession of that nerve which martyrdom required,
and which he exhibited in his death for Christ. In
those days every outward characteristic which could
have betrayed the chief shepherd to the wolves was
carefully avoided. The ordinary simple garb of re
spectable men was worn. But there is no doubt that
when officiating at the altar, a distinctive robe, the
forerunner of the ample chasuble, of spotless white,
was cast over the ordinary garment. To this the
bishop added a crown, or infula, the origin of the
later mitre; while in his hand he held the crozier,
emblem of his pastoral office and authority.
On him who now stood facing the assembly, before
the sacred altar of Peter, which was between him and

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 305
the people,* the Eastern spy steadied his keenest
glance. He scanned him minutely, measured, with his
eye, his height, defined the colour of his hair and com
plexion, observed every turn of his head, his walk, his
action, his tones, almost his breathing, till he said to
himself, " If he stirs abroad, disguised as he may
choose, that man is my prize. And I know his
worth." * In the great and old basilicas of Rome the celebrant faces the
faithful. 9,0

3o6

FABIOLA; OR,

CHAPTER XL

PRIE IVN

PAVSA

BET PRAETIOSA

ANNORVM

PVLLA

VIRGO XII

TANTVM

ANCILLA

DEI ET XPI

FL. VINCENTIO ET

&RAVITO .

VC ¦ CONSS.*

If the learned Thomassinus had known this lately-
discovered inscription, when he proved, with such abun
dance of learning, that virginity could be professed in
the early Church, at the age of twelve, he would cer
tainly have quoted it.f For can we doubt that " the
girl who was a virgin of only twelve years old, a hand
maid of God and Christ," was such by consecration to
* " The day before the first of June, ceased to live Prastiosa, a
girl (puella), a virgin of only twelve years of age, the handmaid
of God and of Christ. In the consulship of Flavius Vincentius,
and Fra vitus, a consular man." Found in the cemetery of Cal
listus. f Vetus et Nova Ecclesice Disciplina ; circa Beneficia. Par. I.
lib. iii. (Luc. 1727.)

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. JO;
God? Otherwise, the more tender her age, the less
wonderfvil her state of maidenhood.
But although this, the nubile age, according toRoman
law, was the one at which such dedication to God was
permitted by the Church, she reserved to a maturer
period that more solemn consecration, when the veil
of virginity Avas given by the bishop ; generally on
Easter Sunday. That first act probably consisted of
nothing more than receiving from the hands of pa
rents a plain dark dress. But when any danger threat
ened, the Church permitted the anticipation, by many
years, of that period, and fortified the spouses of Christ
in their holy purpose, by her more solemn blessing.*
A persecution of the most savage character was on
the point of breaking out, which would not spare the
most tender of the flock; and it was no wonder that
they, who in their hearts had betrothed themselves to
the Lamb, as His chaste spouses for ever, should desire
to come to His nuptials before death. They longed
naturally to bear the full grown lily, entwined round
the palm, should this be their portion.
Agnes had from her infancy chosen for herself this
holiest state. The superhuman wisdom which had
ever exhibited itself in her words and actions, blending
so gracefully with the simplicity of an innocent and
guileless childhood, rendered her ripe, beyond her years,
» Thomass. p. 793.

308 FABIOLA; OR,
for any measure of indulgence, which could be granted,
to hearts that panted for their chaste bridal-hour. She
eagerly seized on the claim that coming danger gave
her, to a more than usual relaxation of that law, which
prescribed a delay of more than ten years in the ful
filling of her desire. Another postulant joined her in
this petition.
We may easily imagine that a holy friendship had
been growing between her and Syra, from the first in
terview which we have described between them. This
feeling had been increased by all that Agnes had heard
Fabiola say, in praise of her favourite servant. From
this, and from the slave's more modest reports, she was
satisfied that the work to which she had devoted her
self, of her mistress's conversion, must be entirely left
in her hands. It was evidently prospering, owing to
the prudence and grace with which it was conducted.
In her frequent visits to Fabiola, she contented her
self with admiring and approving what her cousin re
lated of Syra's conversations ; but she carefully avoided
every expression that could raise suspicion of any col
lusion between them.
Syra as a dependant, and Agnes as a relation, had
put on mourning upon Fabius's death; and hence no
change of habit would raise suspicion in his daugh
ter's mind, of their having taken some secret, or some
joint step. Thus far they could safely ask to be ad-

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 309
mitted at once to receive the solemn consecration to
perpetual virginity. Their petition was granted; but
for obvious reasons was kept carefully concealed. It
was only a day or two before the happy one of their
spiritual nuptials, that Syra told it, as a great secret,
to her blind friend.
" And so," said the latter, pretending to be dis
pleased, " you want to keep all the good things to your
self. Do you call that charitable, now ? "
" My dear child," said Syra, soothingly, " don't be
offended. It was necessary to keep it quite a secret."
" And therefore, I suppose, poor I must not even
be present ? "
" Oh, yes, Ca?cilia, to be sure you may ; and see all
that you can," replied Syra, laughing.
" Never mind about the seeing. But tell me, how
will you be dressed ? What have you to get ready ? "
Syra gave her an exact description of the habit and
veil, their colour and form.
" How very interesting ! " she said. " And what
have you to do ? "
The other, amused at her unwonted curiosity, de
scribed minutely the short ceremonial.
" Well now, one question more," resumed the blind
girl. " When and where is all this to be ? You said I
might come, so I must know the time and place."
Syra told her it would be at the title of Pastor, at

3IO FABIOLA; OR,
daybreak, on the third day from that. " But, what has
made you so inquisitive, dearest ? I never saw you so
before. I am afraid you are becoming quite worldly."
" Never you mind," replied Csecilia, " if people
choose to have secrets for me, I do not see why I should
not have some of my own."
Syra laughed at her affected pettishness, for she
knew well the humble simplicity of the poor child's
heart. They embraced affectionately and parted.
Cselia went straight to the kind Lucina, for she was a
favourite in every house. No sooner was she admitted
to that pious matron's presence, than she flew to her,
threw herself upon her bosom, and burst into tears.
Lucina soothed and caressed her, and soon composed
her. In a few minutes she was again bright and joy
ous, and evidently deep in conspiracy, with the cheer
ful lady, about something which delighted her. When
she left she was all buoyant and blithe, and went to
the house of Agnes, in the hospital of which the good
priest Dionysius lived. She found him at home; and
casting herself on her knees before him, talked so fer
vently to him, that he was moved to tears, and spoke
kindly and consolingly to her. The Te Deum had not
yet been written ; but something very like it rang in
the blind girl's heart, as she went to her humble home.
The happy morning at length arrived, and before
daybreak the more solemn mysteries had been cele-

Pectines ferrei. Iron Comb.

Uncus, or hook.

Instruments of torture used against the Christians.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 3 1 1
brated, and the body of the faithful had dispersed.
Only those remained who had to take part in the more
private function, or who were specially asked to wit
ness it. These were Lucina and her son, the aged pa
rents of Agnes, and of course Sebastian. But Syra
looked in vain for her blind friend; she had evidently
retired with the crowd ; and the gentle slave feared she
might have hurt her feelings by her reserve, before their
last interview.
The hall was still shrouded in the dusk of a win
ter's twilight, although the glowing east, without, fore
told a bright December day. On the altar burned per
fumed tapers of large dimensions, and round it were
gold and silver lamps of great value, throwing an at
mosphere of mild radiance upon the sanctuary. In
front of the altar was placed the chair no less vener
able than itself, now enshrined in the Vatican, the
chair of Peter. On this was seated the venerable Pon
tiff, with staff in hand, and crown on head, and round
him stood his ministers, scarcely less worshipful than
himself. From the gloom of the chapel, there came forth first
the sound of sweet voices, like those of angels, chant
ing in soft cadence, a hymn, which anticipated the
sentiments soon after embodied in the
" Jesu corona virginum." *
* " Jesus the virgins crown," the hymn for virgins.

312 FABIOLA; OR,
Then there emerged into the light of the sanctuary the
procession of already consecrated virgins, led by the
priests and deacons who had charge of them. And in
the midst of them appeared two,, whose dazzling white
garments shone the brighter amidst their dark habits.
These were the two new postulants, who, as the rest
defiled and formed a line on either side, were con
ducted, each by two professed, to the foot of the altar,
where they knelt at the Pontiff's feet. Their brides
maids, or sponsors, stood near to assist in the function.
Each as she came was asked solemnly what she de
sired, and expressed her wish to receive the veil, and
practise its duties, under the care of those chosen
guides. For, although consecrated virgins had begun
to live in community before this period, yet many con
tinued to reside at home; and persecution interfered
with enclosure. Still there was a place in church,
boarded off for the consecrated virgins ; and they often
met apart, for particular instruction and devotions. ,
The bishop then addressed the young aspirants, in
glowing and affectionate words. He told them how
high a call it was to lead on earth the lives of angels,
who neither marry nor give in marriage, to tread the
same chaste path to heaven which the Incarnate Word
chose for His own Mother; and arrived there, to be
received into the pure ranks of that picked host, that
follows the Lamb whithersoever He goeth. He expa-

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 313
tiated on the doctrine of St. Paul, writing to the Cor
inthians on the superiority of virginity to every other
state ; and he feelingly described the happiness of hav
ing no love on earth but one, which instead of fading,
opens out into immortality, in heaven. For bliss, he
observed, is but the expanded flower which Divine love
bears on earth.
After this brief discourse, and an examination of the
candidates for this great honour, the holy Pontiff pro
ceeded to bless the different portions of their religious
habits, by prayers probably nearly identical with those
now in use; and these were put on them by their re
spective attendants. The new religious laid their heads
upon the altar, in token of their oblation of self. But
in the West, the hair was not cut, as it was in the East,
but was always left long. A wreath of flowers was
then placed upon the head of each ; and though it was
winter, the well-guarded terrace of Fabiola had been
made to furnish bright and fragrant blossoms.
All seemed ended; and Agnes, kneeling at the foot
of the altar, was motionless in one of her radiant rap
tures, gazing fixedly upwards; while Syra, near her,
was. bowed down, sunk into the depths of her gentle
humility, wondering how she should have been
found worthy of so much favour. So absorbed were
both in their thanksgiving, that they perceived not a

3i4 FABioLA; Or,
slight commotion through the assembly, as if something
unexpected was occurring.
They were aroused by the bishop repeating the ques
tion : " My daughter, what dost thou seek ? " when,
before they could look round, each felt a hand seized,
and heard the answer returned in a voice dear to both :
" Holy father, to receive the veil of consecration to
Jesus Christ, my only love on earth, under the care
of these two holy virgins, already His happy spouses."
They were overwhelmed with joy and tenderness;
for it was the poor blind Csecilia. When she heard of
the happiness that awaited Syra, she had flown, as we
have seen, to the kind Lucina, who soon consoled her,
by suggesting to her the possibility of obtaining a simi
lar grace. She promised to furnish all that was neces
sary; only Csecilia insisted that her dress should be
coarse, as became a poor beggar-girl The priest Diony
sius presented to the Pontiff, and obtained the grant
of, her prayer; and as she wished to have her two
friends for sponsors, it was arranged that he should
lead her up to the altar after their consecration.
Csecilia, however, kept her secret.
The blessings were spoken, and the habit and veil
put on; when they asked her if she had brought no
wreath of flowers. Timidly she drew from under her
garment the crown she had provided, a bare, thorny
branch, twisted into a circle, and presented it, saying,

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 3?$
'' I have no flowers to offer to my Bridegroom, neither
did He wear flowers for me. I am but a poor girl, and
do you think my Lord will be offended, if I ask Him
to crown me, as He was pleased to be crowned Himself %
And then, flowers represent virtues in those that wear
them; but my barren heart has produced nothing bet
ter than these."
She saw not, with her blind eyes, how her two com
panions snatched the wreaths from their heads, to put
on hers; but a sign from the Pontiff checked them;
and amidst moistened eyes, she was led forth, all
joyous, in her thorny crown; emblem of what the
Church has always taught, that the very queenship of
virtue is, innocence crowned by penance.

316 fabiola; Or,

CHAPTER XII.
THE NOMEH'TAX VILLA.
The Nomentan road goes from Rome eastward, and
between it and the Salarian is a deep ravine, beyond
which on the side of the Nomentan way lies a gracefully
undulating ground. Amidst this is situated a pictur
esque round temple, and near it a truly beautiful ba
silica, dedicated to St. Agnes. Here was the villa be
longing to her, situated about a mile and a half from
the city; and thither it had been arranged that the
two, now the three, newly consecrated should repair,
to spend the day in retirement and tranquil joy. Few
more such days, perhaps, would ever be granted them.
We need not describe this rural residence, except to
say that everything in it breathed contentment and
happiness. It was one of those genial days which a
Roman winter supplies. The rugged Apennines were
slightly powdered with snow; the ground was barely
crisp, the atmosphere transparent, the sunshine glow
ing, and the heavens cloudless. A few greyish curls
of melting smoke from the cottages, and the leafless
vines alone told that it was December. Everything

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 317
living seemed to know and love the gentle mistress of
the place. The doves came and perched upon her
shoulder or her hand; the lambs in the paddock frisked,
and ran to her the moment she approached, and took
the green fragrant herbs which she brought them with
evident pleasure; but none owned her kindly sway so
much as old Molossus, the enormous watchdog. Chained
beside the gate, so fierce was he, that none but a few
favourite domestics durst go near him. But no sooner
did Agnes appear, than he crouched down, and wagged
his bushy tail, and whined, till he was let loose ; for now
a child might approach him. He never left his mis
tress's side; he followed her like a lamb; and if she
sat down, he would lie at her feet, looking into her face,
delighted to receive, on his huge head, the caresses of
her slender hand.
It was indeed a peaceful day; sometimes calm and
quiet, soft and tender, as the three spoke together of
the morning's happiness, and of the hapier morning of
which it was a pledge, above the liquid amber of their
present skies; sometimes cheerful and even merry, as
the two took Caicilia to task for the trick she had
played them. And she laughed cheerily, as she always
did, and told them she had a better trick in store for
them yet ; which was, that she would cut them out,
when the next morning came ; for she intended to be the
first at it, and not the last.

318 FABIOLA; OR,
Fabiola had, in the meantime, come to the villa to pay
her first visit to Agnes after her calamity, and to thank
her for her sympathy. She walked forward, but
stopped suddenly on coming near the spot where this
happy group were assembled. For when she beheld the
two who could see the outward brightness of heaven,
hanging over her who seemed to hold all its splendour
within her soul, she saw at once, in the scene, the veri
fication of her dream. Yet unwilling to intrude her
self unexpectedly upon them, and anxious to find
Agnes alone, and not with her own slave and a poor
blind girl, she turned away before she was noticed,
and walked towards a distant part of the grounds.
Still she could not help asking herself, why she could
not be cheerful and happy as they? Why was there
a gulf between them ?
But the day was not destined to finish without its
clouds, it would have been too blissful for earth. Be
sides Fabiola another person had started for Rome,
to pay a less welcome visit to Agnes. This was Ful
vius, who had never forgotten the assurances of Fabius,
that his fascinating address and brilliant ornaments had
turned the weak head of Agnes. He had waited till
the first days of mourning were over, and he respected
the house in which he had once received such a rude
reception, or rather suffered such a summary ejectment.
Having ascertained that, for the first time, she had gone

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 319
without her parents, or any male attendants, to her
suburban villa, he considered it a good opportunity for
pressing his suit. He rode out of the Nomentan gate,
and was soon at Agnes's. He dismounted; said he
v/ished to see her on important business, and, after some
importunity, was admitted by the porter. He was
directed along a walk, at the end of which she would
be found. The sun was declining, and her companions
had strolled to a distance; and she was sitting alone
in a bright sunny spot, with old Molossus crouching
at her feet. The slightest approach to a growl from
him, rare when he was with her, made her look up
from her work of tying together such winter flowers
as the others brought her, while she suppressed, by
raising a finger, this expression of instinctive dislike.
Fulvius came near with a respectful but freer air
than usual, as one already assured of his request.
" I have come, Lady Agnes," he said, " to renew to
you the expression of my sincere regard; and I could
not have chosen a better day, for brighter or fairer
scarcely the summer sun could have bestowed."
" Fair, indeed, and bright it has been to me," replied
Agnes, borne back in mind to the morning's scene;
" and no sun in my life has ever given me fairer, — it
can only give me one more fair."
Fulvius was flattered, as if the compliment was to
his presence, and answered, " The day, no doubt you

320 FABIOLA; OR,
mean, of your espousals with one who may have won
your heart."
" That is indeed done," she replied, as if uncon
sciously, " and this is his own precious day."
" And was that wreathed veil upon your head, placed
there in anticipation of this happy hour ? "
" Yes ; it is the sign my beloved has placed upon my
countenance, that I recognise no lover but himself." *
" And who is this happy being ? I was not without
hopes, nor will I renounce them yet, that I have a place
in your thoughts, perhaps in your affections."
Agnes seemed scarcely to heed his words. There was
no appearance of shyness or timidity in her looks or
manner, no embarrassment even :
" Spotless without, and innocent within,
She feared no danger, for she knew no sin."
Her childlike countenance remained bright, open, and
guileless ; her eyes, mildly beaming, looked straight
upon Fulvius's face with an earnest simplicity, that
made him almost quail before her. She stood up now,
with graceful dignity, as she replied :
" Milk and honey exhaled from his lips, as the blood
from his stricken cheek impressed itself on mine."f
* " Posuit signum in faciem meam, ut nullum praeter eum ama-
torem admittam." Office of St. Agnes.
\ " Mel et lac ex ejus ore suscepi, et sanguis ejusornavit genas
meas." Ibid.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 321
She is crazed, Fulvius was just beginning to think;
when the inspired look of her countenance, and the
clear brightness of her eye, as she gazed forwards to
wards some object seen by herself alone, overawed and
subdued him. She recovered in an instant; and again
he took heart. He resolved at once to pursue his de
mand. " Madam," he said, " you are trifling with one who
sincerely admires and loves you. I know from the
best authority, — yes, the best authority, — that of a
mutual friend departed, that you have been pleased
to think favourably of me, and to express yourself not
opposed to my urging my claims to your hand. I now,
therefore, seriously and earnestly solicit it. I may
seem abrupt and informal, but I am sincere and warm."
" Begone from me, food of corruption ! " she said
with calm majesty ; " for already a lover has secured
my heart, for whom alone I keep my troth, to whom I
intrust myself with undivided devotion ; one whose love
is chaste, whose caress is pure, whose brides never put
off their virginal wreaths." *
Fulvius, who had dropped on his knee as he con
cluded his last sentence, and had thus drawn forth
* " Discede a me pabulum mortis, quia jam ab alio amatore
prseventa sum.'' " Ipsi soli servo fidem, ipsi me tota devotione
committo." "Quem cum amavero casta sum, cum tetigero
munda sum cum accepero virgo sum." Ibid.
31

322 FABIOLA; OR,
that severe rebuke, rose, filled with spite and fury, at
having been so completely deluded. " Is it not enough
to be rejected," he said, " after having been encour
aged, but must insult be heaped on me too ? and must I
be told to my face that another has been before me
to-day ?— Sebastian, I suppose, again  "
" Who are you ? " exclaimed an indignant voice be
hind him, " that dare to utter with disdain, the name
of one whose honour is untarnished, and whose virtue
is as unchallenged as his courage ? "
He turned round, and stood confrjnted with Fabiola,
who, having walked for some time about the garden,
thought she would now probably find her cousin dis
engaged, and by herself. She had come upon him
suddenly, and had caught his last words.
Fulvius was abashed, and remained silent.
Fabiola, with a noble indignation, continued. " And
who, too, are you, who, not content with having once
thrust yourself into my kinswoman's house, to insult
her, presume now to intrude upon the privacy of her
rural retreat ? "
" And who are you," retorted Fulvius, " who take
upon yourself to be imperious mistress in another's
house ? "
" One," replied the lady, " who, by allowing my
cousin to meet you first at her table, and there dis
covering your designs upon an innocent child, feels her-

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 323
self bound in honour and duty to thwart them, and to
shield her from them."
She took Agnes by the hand, and was leading her
away; and Molossus required what he never remem
bered to have received before, but what he took de
lightedly, a gentle little tap, to keep him from more
than growling, when Fulvius, gnashing his teeth, mut
tered audibly:
"Haughty Roman dame! thou shalt bitterly rue this
day and hour. Thou shalt know and feel how Asia
can revenge."

324 FABIOLA; OR,

CHAPTER XIII.

THE EDICT.

The day being at length arrived for its publication
in Rome, Corvinus fully felt the importance of the
commission intrusted to him, of affixing in its proper
place in the Forum, the edict of extermination against'
the Christians, or rather the sentence of extir
pation of their very name. News had been received
from Nicodemia, that a brave Christian soldier, named
George, had torn down a similar imperial decree, and
had manfully suffered death for his boldness. Corvi
nus was determined that nothing of the sort should
happen in Rome ; for he feared too seriously the conse
quences of such an occurrence to himself ; he therefore
took every precaution in his power. The edict had
been written in large characters, upon sheets of parch
ment joined together ; and these were nailed to a board,
firmly supported by a pillar against which it was hung,
not far from the Puteal Libonis, the magistrate's chair
in the Forum. This, however, was not done till the
Forum was deserted, and night had well set in. It
was thus intended that the edict should meet the eyes

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 325
¦ of the citizens early in the morning, and strike their
minds with more tremendous effect.
To prevent the possibility of any nocturnal attempt
to destroy the precious document, Corvinus, with much
the same cunning precaution as was taken by the Jewish
priests to prevent the Resurrection, obtained for a
night-guard to the Forum, a company of the Pannonian
cohort, a body composed of soldiers belonging to the
¦fiercest races of the North, Dacians, Pannonians, Sar-
matians, and Germans, whose uncouth features, savage
aspect, matted sandy hair, and bushy red moustaches,
made them appear absolutely ferocious to Roman eyes.
These men could scarcely speak Latin, but were ruled
by officers of their own countries, and formed, in the
decline of the empire, the most faithful body-guards of
the reigning tyrants, often their fellow-countrymen;
for there was no excess too monstrous for them to com
mit, if duly commanded to execute it.
A number of these savages, ever rough and ready,
were distributed so as to guard every avenue of the
Forum, with strict orders to pierce through, or hew
down, any one who should attempt to pass without the
watchword, or symbolum. This was every night dis
tributed by the general in command, through his trib
unes and centurions, to all' the troops. But to pre
vent all possibility of any Christian making use of it
that night,, if he should : chance to discover it, the cun-

326 FABIOLA; OR,
ning Corvinus had one chosen, which he felt sure no
Christian would use. It was numen impebatoeum:
the " Divinity of the Emperors."
The last thing which he did was to make his rounds,
giving to each sentinel the strictest injunctions; and
most minutely to the one whom he had placed close to
the edict. This man had been chosen for his post on
account of his rude strength and huge bulk, and the
peculiar ferocity of his looks and character. Corvinus
gave him the most rigid instructions, how he was to
spare nobody, but to prevent any one's interference with
the sacred edict. He repeated to him again and again
the watchword; and left him, already half-stupid with
sabaia or beer,* in the merest animal consciousness,
that it was his business, not an unpleasant one, to
spear, or sabre, some one or other before morning. The
night was raw and gusty, with occasional sharp and
slanting showers; and the Dacian wrapped himself in
his cloak, and walked up and down, occasionally taking
a long pull at a flask concealed about him, containing
a liquor said to be distilled from the wild cherries of
the Thuringian forests ; and in the intervals muddily
meditating, not on the wood or river, by which his
* " Est autem sabaia ex hordeo vel frumento in liquorem con-
versis paupertinus in Illyricopotus." "Sahaiais the drink of the
poor in Illyria, made of barley or wheat, transformed into a
liquid." (Ammian. Marcellinus, lib. xxvi. 8, p. 423, ed. Lips.)

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 327
young barbarians were at play, but how soon it would
be time to cut the present emperor's throat, and sack
the city.
While all this was going on, old Diogenes and his
hearty sons were in their poor house in the Suburra,
not far off, making preparations for their frugal meal.
They were interrupted by a gentle tap at the door,'
followed by the lifting of the latch, and the entrance of
two young men, whom Diogenes at once recognised
and welcomed.
" Come in, my noble young masters ; how good of
you thus to honour my poor dwelling! I hardly dare
offer you our plain fare ; but if you will partake of it,
you will indeed give us a Christian love-feast."
" Thank you most kindly, father Diogenes," answered
the elder of the two, Quadratus, Sebastian's sinewy
centurion ; " Pancratius and I have come expressly to
sup with you. But not as yet ; we have some business
in this part of the town, and after it, we shall be glad
to eat something. In the meantime, one of your youths
can go out and cater for us. Come, we must have
something good ; and I want you to cheer yourself with
a moderate cup of generous wine."
Saying this he gave his purse to one of the sons, with
instructions to bring home some better provisions than
he knew the simple family usually enjoyed. They sat
down; and Pancratius, by way of saying something,

328 fabiola; or,
addressed the old man. " Good Diogenes, I have heard
Sebastian say that you remember seeing the glorious
Deacon Laurentius die for Christ. Tell me something
about him."
" With pleasure," answered the old man. " It is
now nearly forty-five years since it happened,* and as
I was older then than you are now, you may suppose
I remember all quite distinctly. He was indeed a
beautiful youth to look at : so mild and sweet, so fair
and graceful ; and his speech was so gentle, so soft,
especially when speaking to the poor. How they all
loved him ! I followed him everywhere ; I stood by, as
the venerable Pontiff Sixtus was going to death, and
Laurentius met him, and so tenderly reproached him,
just as a son might a father, for not allowing him to be
his companion in the sacrifice of himself, as he had
ministered to him in the sacrifice of our Lord's body
and blood."
" Those were splendid times, Diogenes, were they
not ? " interrupted the youth ; " how degenerate we are
now! What a different race! Are we not, Quad-
ratus?" The rough soldier smiled at the generous sincerity
'of his complaint, and bid Diogenes go on. •
" I saw him too as he distributed the rich plate of
the Church to the poor. We have never had anything
*a. d. 258.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 329
so splendid since. There were golden lamps and
candlesticks, censors, chalices, and patens,* besides an
immense quantity of silver melted down, and dis
tributed to the blind, the lame, and the indigent."
" But tell me," asked Pancratius, " how did he
endure his last dreadful torment? It must have been
frightful." " I saw it all," answered the old fossor, " and it
would have been intolerably frightful in another. He
had been first placed on -the rack, and variously tor
mented, and he had not uttered a groan ; when the judge
ordered that horrid bed, or gridiron, to be prepared and
heated. To look at his tender flesh blistering and
breaking over the fire, and deeply scored with red burn
ing gashes that cut to the bone where the iron bars
went across ; to see the steam, thick as from a cauldron,
rise from his body, and hear the fire hiss beneath him,
as he melted away into it; and every now and then to
observe the tremulous quivering that crept over the
surface of his skin, the living motion which the agony
gave to each separate muscle, and the sharp spasmodic
twitches which convulsed, and gradually contracted,
his limbs; all this, I own, was the most harrowing
spectacle I have ever beheld in all my life. But to
look into his countenance was to forget all this. His
head was raised up from the burning body, and
* St. Prudentius, in his hymn on St. Laurence.

33O fabiola; or,
stretched out, as if fixed on the contemplation of some
most celestial vision, like that of his fellow-deacon
Stephen. His face glowed indeed with the heat below,
and the perspiration flowed down it ; but the light from
the fire shining upwards, and passing through his
golden locks, created a glory round his beautiful head
and countenance, which made him look as if already
in heaven. And every feature, serene and sweet as
ever, was so impressed with an eager, longing look, ac
companying the upward glancing of his eye, that you
would willingly have changed places with him."
" That I would," again broke in Pancratius, " and
as soon as God pleases! I dare not think that I could
stand while he did; for he was indeed a noble and
heroic Levite, while I am only a weak imperfect boy.
But do you not think, dear Quadratus, that strength is
given in that hour, proportionate to our trials, what
ever they may be ? You, I know, would stand any
thing; for you are a fine stout soldier, accustomed to
toil and wounds. But as for me, I have only a
willing heart to give. Is that enough, think you ? "
" Quite, quite, my dear boy," exclaimed the centu
rion, full of emotion, and looking tenderly on the youth,
who with glistening eyes, having risen from his seat,
had placed his hands upon the officer's shoulders.
" God will give you strength, as He has already given
you courage. But we must not forget our night's work.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 33 1
Wrap yourself well up in your cloak, and bring your
toga quite over your head ; so ! It is a wet and bitter
night. Now, good Diogenes, put more wood on the
fire, and let us find supper ready on our return. We
shall not be long absent; and just leave the door ajar."
" Go, go, my sons," said the old man, " and God
speed you! whatever you are about, I am sure it is
something praiseworthy."
Quadratus sturdily drew his chlamys, or military
cloak, around him, and the two youths plunged into the
dark lanes of the Suburra, and took the direction of
the Forum. While they were absent, the door was
opened, with the well-known salutation of " thanks to
God;" and Sebastian entered, and inquired anxiously
if Diogenes had seen anything of the two young men ;
for he had got a hint of what they were going to do.
He was told they were expected in a few moments.
A quarter of an hour had scarcely elapsed, when
hasty steps were heard approaching; the door was
pushed open, and was as quickly shut, and then fast
barred, behind Quadratus and Pancratius.
" Here it is," said the latter, producing, with a
hearty laugh, a bundle of crumpled parchment.
" What ? " asked all eagerly.
" Why the grand decree, of course," answered Pan
cratius, with boyish glee; "look here, ' Domini nos-
tbi Diocletianus et Maximianus, invicti, sehioees

332 FABIOLA; OR,
Augtjsti, patees Impeeatoeum et Caesaeum,' * and
So forth. Here it goes ! " And he thrust it into the
blazing fire, while the stalwart sons of Diogenes threw
a faggot over it to keep it down, and drown its crack
ling. There it frizzled, and writhed, and cracked, and
shrunk, first one letter or word coming up, then an
other; first an emperor's praise, and then an anti-
Christian blasphemy ; till all had subsided into a black
ashy mass.
And what else, Or more, would those be in a few
years who had issued that proud document, when their
corpses should have been burnt on a pile of cedar-wood
and spices, and their handful of ashes be scraped to
gether, hardly enough to fill a gilded urn ? And what
also, in very few years more, would that heathenism
be, which it was issued to keep alive, but a dead letter
at most, and as worthless a heap of extinguished em
bers as lay on that hearth ? And the very empire which
these " unconquered " Augusti were bolstering up by
cruelty and injustice, how in a few centuries would it
resemble that annihilated decree? the monuments of
its grandeur lying in ashes, or in ruins, and proclaim
ing that there is no true Lord but one stronger than
Csesars, the Lord of lords; and that neither counsel
nor strength of man shall prevail against Him.
* " Our lords Dioclesian and Maximian, the unconquered, elder
Augusti, fathers of the Emperors and Caesars."

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THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 333
Something like this did Sebastian think, perhaps,
as he gazed abstractedly on the expiring embers of the
pompous and cruel edict whicli they had torn down,
not for a wanton frolic, but because it contained blas
phemies against God and His holiest truths. They
knew that if they should be discovered, tenfold tor
tures would be their lot; but Christians in those days,
when they contemplated and prepared for martyrdom,
made no calculation on that head. Death for Christ,
whether quick and easy, or lingering and painful, was
the end for which they looked; and like brave soldiers
going to battle, they did not speculate where a shaft
or a sword might strike them, whether a death-blow
would at once stun them out of existence, or they
should have to writhe for hours upon the ground, muti
lated or pierced, to die by inches among the heaps of
unheeded slain.
Sebastian soon recovered, and had hardly the heart
to reprove the perpetrators of this deed. In truth, it
had its ridiculous side, and he was inclined to laugh at
the morrow's dismay. This view he gladly took; for
he saw Pancratius watched his looks with some trepi
dation, and his centurion looked a little disconcerted.
So, after a hearty laugh, they sat down cheerfully to
their meal; for it was not midnight, and the hour for
commencing the fast, preparatory to receiving the holy
Eucharist, was not arrived. Quadratus's object, be-

334 FABIOLA; OR,
sides kindness, in this arrangement, was partly, that
if surprised, a reason for their being there might be
apparent, partly to keep up the spirits of his younger
companion and of Diogenes's household, if alarmed at
the bold deed just performed. But there was no ap
pearance of any such feeling. The conversation soon
turned upon recollections of Diogenes's youth, and the
good old fervent times, as Pancratius would persist in
calling them. Sebastian saw his friend home, and then
took a round, to avoid the Forum in seeking his own
abode. If any one had seen Pancratius that night,
when alone in his chamber preparing to retire to rest,
he would have seen him every now and then almost
laughing at some strange but pleasant adventures.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 335

CHAPTER XIV.

THE discoveey.

At the first dawn of morning, Corvinus was up;
and, notwithstanding the gloominess of the day, pro
ceeded straight to the Forum. He found his outposts
quite undisturbed, and hastened to the principal object
of his care. It would be useless to attempt describing
his astonishment, his rage, his fury, when he saw the
blank board, with only a few shreds of parchment
left, round the nails ; and beside it standing, in un
conscious stolidity, his Dacian sentinel.
He would have darted at his throat, like a tiger, if
he had not seen, in the barbarian's twinkling eye, a
sort of hyaena squint, which told him he had better not.
But he broke out at once into a passionate exclamation :
" Sirrah ! how has the edict disappeared ? Tell me
directly ! "
" Softly, softly, Herr Kornweiner," answered the
imperturbable Northern. " There it is as you left it
in my charge."
" Where, you fool ? Come and look at it."
The Dacian went to his side, and for the first time

336 FABIOLA; OR,
confronted the board; and after looking at it for some
moments, exclaimed : " Well, is not that the board you
hung up last night ? "
" Yes, you blockhead, but there was writing on it,
which is gone. That is what you had to guard."
" Why, look you, captain, as to. writing, you see I
know nothing, having never been a scholar; but as it
was raining all night, it may have been washed out.7'
" And as it was blowing, I suppose the parchment
on which it was written was blown off ? "
" No doubt, Herr Kornweiner ; you are quite
right." " Come, sir, this is no joking matter. Tell me, at
once, who came here last night."
" Why, two of them came."
" Two of what ? "
"Two wizards, or goblins, or worse."
" None of that nonsense for me." The Dacian's eye
flashed drunkenly again. " Well, tell me, Arminius,
what sort of people they were, and what they did."
" Why, one of them was but a stripling, a boy, tall
and thin, and went round the pillar, and I suppose
must have taken away what you miss, while I was busy
with the other."
" And what of him ? What was he like ? "
The soldier opened his mouth and eyes, and stared
at Corvinus for some moments, then said, with 'a sort

THE CHURCH 6F THE CATACOMBS. 337
oi stupid solemnity, " What was he like ? Why, if he
was not Thor himself, he wasn't far from it. I never
felt such strength."
" What did he do to show it ? "
" He came up first, and began to chat quite friendly ;
asked me if it was not very cold, and that sort of thing.
At last, I remembered that I had to run through any
one that came near me  "
"Exactly," interrupted Corvinus; "and why did
you not do it ? "
"Only because he, wouldn't let me. I told him to
be off, or I should spear him, and drew back and
stretched out my javelin; when in the quietest man
ner, but I don't know how, he twisted it out of my
hand, broke it over his knee, as if it had been a mounte
bank's wooden sword, and dashed the iron-headed piece
fast into the ground, where you see it, fifty yards off."
" Then why did you not rush on him with your
sword, and despatch him at once ? But where is your
sword? it is not in your scabbard."
The Dacian, with a stupid grin, pointed to the roof
of the neighbouring basilica, and said : " There, don't
you see it shining on the tiles, in the morning light ? ".
Corvinus looked, and there indeed he saw what ap
peared like such an object, but he could hardly believe
his own eyes.
22

338 Fabiola; or,
"HoW did it get there, you stupid booby V* he
asked. The soldier twisted his moustache in an ominous
way, which made Corvinus ask again more civilly, and
then he was answered :
" He, or it, whatever it was, without any apparent
effort, by a sort of conjuring, whisked it out of my
hand, and up where you see it, as easily as I could cast
a quoit a dozen yards."
"And then?"
" And then, he and the boy, who came from round
the pillar, walked off in the dark."
" What a strange story ! " muttered Corvinus to him
self : " yet there are proofs of the fellow's tale. It is
not every one who could have performed that feat.
But pray, sirrah, why did you not give the alarm, and
rouse the other guards to pursuit ? "
" First, Master Kornweiner, because, in my country,
we will fight any living men, but we do not choose to
pursue hobgoblins. And secondly, what was the use?
I saw the board that you gave into my care all safe
and sound."
" Stupid barbarian ! " growled Corvinus, but well
within his teeth ; then added : " This business will go
hard with you ; you know it is a capital offence."
"What is?"

the Church 6F the catacombs. 339
" Why, to let a man come up and speak to you, with
out giving the watchword."
" Gently, captain, who says he did not give it ? I
never said so."
" But did he though ? Then it could be no Chris
tian." " Oh yes, he came up, and said quite plainly, ' No-
men Imperatorum.' " *
" What ? " roared out Corvinus.
" Nomen Imperatorum."
" ' Numen Imperatorum ' was the watchword,"
shrieked the enraged Roman.
" Nomen or Numen, it's all the same, I suppose. A
letter can't make any difference. You call me Ar-
minius, and I call myself Hermann, and they mean
the same. How should I know your nice points of
language ? "
Corvinus was enraged at himself; for he saw how
much better he would have gained his ends, by putting
a sharp, intelligent praetorian on duty instead of a sot
tish savage foreigner. " Well," he said, in the worst of
humours, " you will have to answer to the emperor for
all this ; and you know he is not accustomed to pass
over offences."
" Look you now, Herr Krummbeiner," returned the
soldier, with a look of sly stolidity ; " as to that, we
* The name of the Emperor.

340 FAB16LA; 6R,
are pretty well in the same boat." (Corvinus turned
pale, for he knew this was true.) " And you must
contrive something to save me, if you want to save
yourself. It was you the emperor made responsible,
for the what-d'ye-call-it ? — that board."
" You are right, my friend ; I must make it out that
a strong body attacked you, and killed you at your post.
So shut yourself up in quarters for a few days, and
you shall have plenty of beer, till the thing blows
over." The soldier went off, and concealed himself. A few
days after, the dead body of a Dacian, evidently mur
dered, was washed on the banks of the Tiber. It was
supposed he had fallen in some drunken row; and no
further trouble was taken about it. The fact was in
deed so; but Corvinus could have given the best ac
count of the transaction. Before, however, leaving the
ill-omened spot in the Forum, he had carefully exam
ined the ground, for any trace of the daring act ; when
he picked up, close under the place of the edict, a
knife, which he was sure he had seen at school, in pos
session of one of his companions. He treasured it up,
as an implement of future vengeance, and hastened
to provide another copy of the decree.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 341

CHAPTER XV.
EXPLANATIONS.
When morning had fairly broken, crowds streamed,
from every side, into the Forum, curious to read the
tremendous edict so long menaced. But when they
found only a bare board, there was a universal uproar.
Some admired the spirit of the Christians, so gener
ally reckoned cowardly; others were indignant at the
audacity of such an act; some ridiculed the officials
concerned in the proclamation, others were angry that
the expected sport of the day might be delayed.
At an early hour the places of public fashionable
resort were all occupied with the same theme. In the
great Antonian Thermae a group of regular frequenters
were talking it over. There were Scaurus the lawyer,
and Proculus, and Fulvius, and the philosopher Cal
purnius, who seemed very busy with some musty vol
umes, and several others.
" What a strange affair this is, about the edict ! "
said one.
" Say rather, what a treasonable outrage against the
divine emperors ! " answered Fulvius,

34^ FABIOLA ; OR,
" How was it done ? " asked a third.
" Have you not heard, " said Proculus, " that the
Dacian guard stationed at the Puteal, was found dead,
with twenty-seven poniard-wounds on him, nineteen of
which would have sufficed each by itself to cause
death ? "
" No, that is quite a false report," interrupted
Scaurus ; " it was not done by violence, but entirely
by witchcraft. Two women came up to the soldier,
who drove his lance at one, and it passed clean through
her, and stuck in the ground on the other side, without
making any wound in her. He then hacked at the
other with his sword, but he might as well have
struck at marble. She then threw a pinch of powder
upon him, and he flew into the air, and was found,
asleep and unhurt, this morning, on the roof of the
iEmilian basilica. A friend of mine, who was out
early, saw the ladder up, by which he had been brought
down." " Wonderful ! " many exclaimed. " What extraordi
nary people these Christians must be ! "
" I don't believe a word of it," observed Proculus.
" There is no such power in magic ; and certainly I
don't see why these wretched men should possess it more
than their betters. Come, Calpurnius," he continued,
" put by that old book, and answer these questions. I
learnt more one day after dinner, about these Chris-

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 343
tians from you, than I had heard in all my life before.
What a wonderful memory you must have, to remember
so accurately the genealogy and history of that bar
barous people ! Is what Scaurus just told us possible,
Or not ? "
Calpurnius delivered himself, with great pompous-
ness, as follows :
" There is no reason to suppose such a thing im
possible; for the power of magic has no bounds. To
prepare a powder that would make a man fly in the
air, it would be only necessary to find some herbs in
which air predominates more than the other three ele
ments. Such for instance are pulse, or lentils, accord
ing to Pythagoras. These, being gathered when the
sun is in Libra, the nature of which is to balance even
heavy things in the air, at the moment of conjunction
with Mercury, a winged power as you know, and
properly energised by certain mysterious words, by a
skilful magician, then reduced to powder in a mortar
made out of an aerolite, or stone that had flown up
into the sky, and come down again, would no doubt,
when rightly used, enable, or force, a person to fly
up into the air. It is well known, indeed, that the
Thessalian witches go at pleasure through the clouds,
from place to place, which must be done by means of
some such charm.
" Then, as to the Christians ; you will remember,

344 FABIOLA ; OR,
excellent Proculus, that in the account to which you
have done me the honour to allude, which was at the
deified Fabius's table, if I remember right, I men
tioned that the sect came originally form Chalda,. a
country always famous for its occult art. But we have
a most important evidence bearing on this matter, re
corded in history. It is quite certain, that here in
Rome, a certain Simon, who was sometimes called
Simon Peter, and at other times Simon Magus, actu
ally in public, flew up high into the air ; but his charm
having slipped out of his belt, he fell and broke both
his legs ; for which reason he was obliged to be cruci
fied with his head downwards."
" Then are all Christians necessarily sorcerers ? "
asked Scaurus.
" Necessarily ; it is part of their superstition. They
believe their priests to have most extraordinary power
over nature. Thus, for example, they think they can
bathe the bodies of people in water, and their souls
acquire thereby wonderful gifts, and superiority, though
they may be slaves, over their masters, and the divine
emperors themselves."
" Dreadful ! " all cried out.
" Then, again," resumed Calpurnius, " we all know
what a frightful crime some of them committed last
night, in tearing down a supreme edict of the imperial
deities; and even suppose (which the gods avert) that

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 34S
they carried their treasons still further, and attempted
their sacred lives, they believe that they have only to
go to one of these priests, own the crime, and ask for
pardon; and, if he gives it, they consider themselves
as perfectly guiltless."
" Fearful ! " joined in the chorus.
" Such a doctrine, " said Scaurus, " is incompatible
with the safety of the state. A man who thinks he
can be pardoned by another man of every crime, is
capable of committing any."
" And that, no doubt," observed Fulvius, " is the
canse of this new and terrible edict against them. After
what Calpurnius has told us about these desperate men,
nothing can be too severe against them."
Fulvius had been keenly eyeing Sebastian, who had
entered during the conversation; and now markedly
addressed him.
" And you, no doubt, think so too, Sebastian ; do
you not ? "
" I think," he calmly replied, " that if the Chris
tians be such as Calpurnius describes them, infamous
sorcerers, they deserve to be exterminated from the face
of the earth. But even so, I would gladly give them
one chance of escape."
"And what is that?" sneeringly asked Fulvius.
" That no one should be allowed to join in destroy
ing them, who could not prove himself freer from crime

346 FABIOLA; OR,
than they. I would have no. one raise .his hand against
them, who cannot show that he has never been an adul
terer, an extortioner, a deceiver, a drunkard, a bad hus
band, father, or child, a profligate, or a thief. For of
being any of these, no one charges the poor Chris
tians." *
Fulvius winced under the catalogue of vices, and
still more under the indignant, but serene glance, of
Sebastian. But at the word " thief," he fairly leapt.
Had the soldier seen him pick up the scarf in Fabius's
house ? Be it so or not, the dislike he had taken to
Sebastian, at their first meeting, had ripened into hatred
at their second; and hatred in that heart was only
written in blood. He had only intensity now to add to
that feeling.
Sebastian went out; and his thoughts got vent in
familiar words of prayer. " How long, O Lord ! how
long? What hopes can we entertain of the conversion
of many to the truth, still less of the conversion of
this great empire, so long as we find even honest and
learned men believing at once every calumny spoken
against us ; treasuring up, from age to age, every fable
and fiction about us ; and refusing even to inquire into

* See Lucian's address to the judge, upon Ptolemaeus's condem
nation, in the beginning of St. Justin's Second Apology, or in
Ruinart, Acta sincera, vol. i. p. 120, ed. Aug. 1802,

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 347
our doctrines, because they have made up their minds
that they are false and contemptible ? "
He spoke aloud, believing himself alone, when a
sweet voice answered him at his side : " Good youth,
whoever thou art that speakest thus, and methinks I
know thy voice, remember that the Son of God gave
light to the dark eye of the body, by spreading thereon
clay; which, in man's hands, would have only blinded
the seeing. Let us be as dust beneath His feet, if we
wish to become His means of enlightening the eyes
of men's souls. Let us be trampled on a little longer
in patience; perhaps even from our ashes may come
out the spark to blaze."
" Thank you, thank you, Csecilia," said Sebastian,
" for your just and kind rebuke. Whither tripping
on so gaily on this first day of danger ? "
" Do you not know that I have been named guide of
the cemetery of Callistus? I am going to take pos
session. Pray, that I may be the first flower of this
coming spring."
And she passed on, singing blithely. But Sebastian
begged her to stay one moment.

348 FABIOLA; OR,

CHAPTER XVI.
the wolf in the fold.
Aftee the adventures of the night, our youths had
not much time for rest. Long before daybreak, the
Christians had to be up, and assemble at their several
titles, so as to disperse before day. It was to be their
last meeting there. The oratories were to be closed,
and divine worship had to begin, from that day, in the
subterranean churches of the cemeteries. It could
not, indeed, be expected, that all would be able to
travel with safety, even on the Sunday, some miles be
yond the gate.* A great privilege was, consequently,
granted to the faithful, at such times of trouble, that
of preserving the blessed Eucharist in their houses,
and communicating themselves privately in the morn
ing, " before taking other food," as Tertullian expresses
it.f * There was one cemetery called ad sextum Philippi, which is
supposed to have been situated six miles from Rome ; but many
were three miles from the heart of the city.
\ Ad Vxorem, lib. ii. c. 5.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 349
The faithful felt, not as sheep going to the slaugh
ter, not as criminals preparing for execution, but as
soldiers arming for fight. Their weapons, their food,
their strength, their courage, were all to be found in
their Lord's table. Even the lukewarm and the timid
gathered fresh spirit from the bread of life. In
churches, as yet may be seen in the cemeteries, were
chairs placed for the penetentiaries, before whom the
sinner knelt, and confessed his sins, and received abso
lution. In moments like this, the penitential code was
relaxed, and the terms of public expiation shortened;
and the whole night had been occupied by the zealous
clergy in preparing their flocks for, to many, their last
public communion on earth.
We need not remind our readers, that the office then
performed was essentially, and in many details, the
same as they daily witness at the Catholic altar. Not
only was it considered, as now, to be the Sacrifice of
Our Lord's Body and Blood, not only were the oblation,
the consecration, the communion alike, but many of
the prayers were identical; so that the Catholic hear
ing them recited, and still more the priest reciting
them, in the same language as the Roman Church of
the catacombs spoke, may feel himself in active and
living communion with the martyrs who celebrated,
and the martyrs who assisted, at those sublime mys
teries.

350 FABIOLA; OR,
On the occasion which we are describing, when the
time came for giving the kiss of peace — a genuine- em
brace of brotherly love — sobs could be heard, and bursts
of tears; for it was to many a parting salutation.
Many a youth clung to his father's neck, scarcely know
ing whether that day might not sever them, till they
waved their palm-branches together in heaven. And how
would mothers press their daughters to their bosom,
in the fervour of that new love, which fear of long
separation enkindled! Then came the communion,
more solemn than usual, more devout, more hushed to
stillness. " The Body of our Lord Jesus Christ," said
the priest to each, as he offered him the sacred food.
" Amen," replied the receiver, with thrilling accents
of faith and love. Then extending in his hand an
orarium, or white linen cloth, he received in it a pro
vision of the bread of life, sufficient to last him till
some future feast. This was most carefully and rever
ently folded, and laid in the bosom, wrapped up often
in another and more precious covering, or even placed
in a gold locket.* It was now that, for the first time,
?When the Vatican cemetery was explored, in 1571, there
were found in tombs two small square golden vessels, with a ring
at the top of the lid. These very ancient sacred vessels are con
sidered by Bottario to have been used for carrying the Blessed
Eucharist round the neck (Roma Subterranea. torn. i. fig. 11) ; and
Pellicia confirms this by many arguments (Christiana, Eccl. Poli-
tia, torn. iii. p. 20).

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 35 1
poor Syra regretted the loss of her rich embroidered
scarf, which would long before have been given to the
poor, had she not studiously reserved it for such an
occasion, and such a use. Nor had her mistress been
able to prevail uj)on her to accept any objects of value,
without a stipulation that she might dispose of them
as she liked, that was in charitable gifts.
The various assemblies had broken up before the dis
covery of the violated edict. But they may rather be
said to have adjourned to the cemeteries. The frequent
meetings of Torquatus with his two heathen confeder
ates in the baths of Caracalla had been narrowly
watched by the capsarius and his wife, as we had
already remarked, and Victoria had overheard the plot,
to make an inroad into the cemetery of Callistus on the
day after publication. The Christians, therefore, con
sidered themselves safer the first day, and took advan
tage of the circumstance to inaugurate, by solemn
offices, the churches of the catacombs, which, after
some years' disuse, had been put into good repair and
order by the fossores, had been repainted, and fur
nished with all requisites for divine worship.
But Corvinus, after getting over his first dismay,
and having as speedily as possible another, though not
so grand, a copy of the edict re-affixed, began better to
see the dismal probabilities of serious consequences,
from the wrath of his imperial master. The Dacian

352 FABIOLA; OR,
was right: he would have to answer for the loss. He
felt it necessary to do something that very day, which
might wipe off the disgrace he had incurred, before
again meeting the emperor's look. He determined to
anticipate the attack on the cemetery, intended for the
following day.
He repaired, therefore, while it was still early, to
the baths, where Fulvius, ever jealously watchful over
Torquatus, kept him in expectation of Corvinus's com
ing to hold council with them. The worthy trio con
certed their plans. Corvinus, guided by the reluctant
apostate, at the head of a chosen band of soldiers who
were at his disposal, had to make an incursion into the
cemetery of Callistus, and drive, or drag, thence the
clergy and principal Christians; while Fulvius, re
maining outside with another company, would inter
cept them and cut off all retreat, securing the most im
portant prizes, and especially the Pontiff and superior
clergy, whom his visit to the ordination would enable
him to recognise. This was his plan. " Let fools,"
he said to himself, " act the part of ferrets in the war
ren; I will be the sportsman outside."
In the meantime Victoria overheard sufficient to make
her very busy dusting and cleaning, in the retired room
where they were consulting, without appearing . to
listen. She told all to Cucumio; and he, after much
scratching of his head, hit upon a notable plan for

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 353
conveying the discovered information to the proper
quarter. Sebastian, after his early attendance on divine wor
ship, unable, from his duties at the palace, to do more,
had proceeded, according to almost universal custom,
to the baths, to invigorate his limbs by their healthy
refreshment, and also to remove from himself the
suspicion, which his absence on that morning might
have excited. While he was thus engaged, the old
capsararius, as he had had himself rattlingly called in
his ante-posthumous inscription, wrote on a slip of
parchment all that his wife had heard about the inten
tion of an immediate assault, and of getting possession
of the holy Pontiff's person. This he fastened with a
pin or needle to the inside of Sebastian's tunic, of
which he had charge, as he durst not speak to him in
the presence of others.
The officer, after his bath, went into the hall where
the events of the morning were being discussed, and
where Fulvius was waiting, till Corvinus should tell
him that all was ready. Upon going out, disgusted, he
felt himself, as he walked, pricked by something on
his chest: he examined his garments, and found the
paper. It was written in about as elegant a latinity
as Cucumio's epitaph; but he made it out sufficiently
to consider it necessary for him to turn his steps to
wards the Porta Capena, instead of the Palatine, and
23

354 FABIOLA ; OR,
convey the important information to the Christians
assembled in the cemetery.
Having, however, found a fleeter and surer mes
senger than himself, in the poor blind girl, who would
not attract the same attention, he stopped her, gave
her the note, after adding a few words to it, with the
pen and ink which he carried, and bade her bear it, as
speedily as possible, to its destination. But, in fact,
he had hardly left the baths, when Fulvius received in
formation, that Corvinus and his troop were by that
time hastening across the fields, so as to avoid suspicion,
towards the appointed spot. He mounted his horse
immediately, and went along the high road; while the
Christian soldier, in a by-way, was instructing his
blind messenger.
When we accompanied Diogenes and his party
through the catacombs, we stopped short of the sub
terranean church, because Severus would not let it be
betrayed to Torquatus. In this the Christian congrega
tion was now assembled, under its chief pastor. It
was constructed on the principle common to all such
excavations, for we can hardly call them edifices.
The reader may imagine two of the cubicula or cham
bers, which we have before described, placed one on
each side of a gallery or passage, so that their doors,
or rather wide entrances, are opposite one another.
At the end of one will be found an arcosolmm or altar-

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 355
tomb: and the probable conjecture is, that in this di
vision the men under charge of the ostiarii* and in the
other the women, under the care of the deaconesses,
were assembled. This division of the sexes at divine
worship was a matter of jealous discipline in the early
Church. Often these subterranean churches were not devoid
of architectural decoration. The walls, especially near
the altar, were plastered and painted, and half columns,
with their bases and capitals., not ungracefully cut out
of the sandstone, divided the different parts or orna
mented the entrances. In one instance, indeed in the
chief basilica yet discovered in the cemetery of Cal
listus, there is a chamber without any altar, communi
cating with the church by means of a funnel-shaped
opening, piercing the earthen wall, here some twelve
feet thick, and entering the chamber, which is at a
lower level, at the height of five or six feet, in a slant
ing direction ; so that all that was spoken in the church
could be heard, yet nothing that was done there could
be seen, by those assembled in the chamber. This is
very naturally supposed to have been the place re
served for the class of public penitents called audientes
or hearers, and for the catechumens, not yet initiated
by baptism.
* Door-keepers — an office constituting a lesser order in the
Church.

356

FABIOLA; OR,

The basilica, in which the Christians were assembled,
when Sebastian sent his mes
sage, was like the one discovered
in the cemetery of St. Agnes.
Each of the two divisions was
double, that is, consisted of two
large chambers slightly separated
by half-columns in what we
may call the women's church,
and by flat pilasters in the men's,
one of these surfaces having in it
^ a small niche for an image or
W& lamp. But the most remark
able feature of this basilica is
a further prolongation of the
structure, so as to give it a chan
cel or presbytery. This is about
the size of half each other divis
ion, from which it is separated
by two columns against the wall,
Plan of subterranean Church ag weU as by its leSSer height
in the Cemetery of St. •> o
agnes. ft foe manner of modern
A. Choir, or chancel with epis-
forDtne'cterg?)(6n6). e"' 3S chancels. For while each por-
B. Division for the men, separ- , . . .
ated from the choir by two foon 0f each dlVlSlOn has first
pillars, supporting an arch.
c' aflrord°ng0ln\hrLcetato0The a lofty-arched tomb in its wall,
church. ,
d. Division for the women, with and four or five tiers of graves
a tomb in it. °
B,1iSSa?ta,th2,S25!lby above it, the elevation of the
chancel is not much greater than that of those arcosolia

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 357
or altar-tombs. At the end of the chancel, against the
middle of the wall, is a chair with back and arms cut
out of the solid stone, and from each side proceeds a
stone bench, which thus occupies the end and two sides
of the chancel. As the table of the arched tomb be
hind the chair is higher than the back of the throne,
and as this is immovable, it is clear that the divine
mysteries could not have been celebrated upon it. A
portable altar must, therefore, have been placed before
the throne, in an isolated position in the middle of the
sanctuary: and this, tradition tells us, was the wooden
altar of St. Peter.
We have thus the exact arrangements to be found
in the churches built after the peace, and yet to be
seen in all the ancient basilicas in Borne — the epis
copal chair in the centre of the apse, the presbytery or
seat for the clergy on either hand, and the altar between
the throne and the people. The early Christians thus
anticipated underground, or rather gave the principles
which directed, the forms of ecclesiastical architec
ture. It was in such a basilica then, that we are to im
agine the faithful assembled, when Corvinus and his
satellites arrived at the entrance of the cemetery.
This was the way which Torquatus knew, leading down
by steps from a half ruinous building, choked up with
faggots. They found the coast clear, and immediately

358 FABIOLA; OR,
made their arrangements. Fulvius, with one body of
ten or twelve men, lurked to guard the entrance, and
seize all who attempted to come out or go in. Corvinus,
with Torquatus and a smaller body of eight, prepared
to descend.
" I dont like this underground work," said an old,
grey-bearded legionary. " I am a soldier, and not a
rat-catcher. Bring me my man into the light of day,
and I will fight him hand to hand and foot to foot ; but
I have no love for being stifled or poisoned, like ver
min in a drain."
This speech found favour with the soldiers. One
said, " There may be hundreds of these skulking Chris
tians down there, and Ave are only half a dozen."
" This is not the sort of work we receive our pay
for," added another.
" It's their sorceries I care for," continued a third,
" and not their valour."
It required all the eloquence of Fulvius to screw up
their resolution. He assured them there was nothing
to fear; that the cowardly Christians would run before
them like hares, and that they would find more gold
and silver in the church than a year's pay would give
them. Thus encouraged, they went groping down to
the bottom of the stairs. They could distinguish
lamps at intervals, stretching into the gloomy length
before them.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 359
" Hush ! " said one, " listen to that voice ! "
From far away its accents came, softened by distance,
but they were the notes of a fresh youthful voice, that
quailed not with fear; so clear, that the very words
could be caught, as it intoned the following verses :
" Dominus illuminatio mea, et salus mea ; quem ti
mebo ?
" Dominus protector vitae mete ; a quo trepidabo ? " *
Then came a full chorus of voices, singing, like the
sound of many waters :
" Dum appropriant super me nocentes, ut edant
carnes meas; qui tribulant me, inimici mei, ipsi infir-
mati sunt et ceciderunt."f
A mixture of shame and anger seized on the as
sailants as they heard these words of calm confidence
and defiance. The single voice again sang forth, but
in apparently fainter accents:
" Si consistant adversum me castra, non timebit cor
meum." %
" I thought I knew that voice," muttered Corvinus.
" I ought to know it out of a thousand. It is that of
* " The Lord is my light and my salvation : whom shall I fear ?
The Lord is the protector of my life : of whom shall I be afraid ? "
f " While the wicked draw nigh me, to eat my flesh, my ene
mies that trouble me have themselves been weakened and have
fallen." % " If armies in camp shall stand together against me, my heart
shall not fear."— Ps. xxvi.

360 FABIOLA; OR,
my bane, the cause of all last night's curse and this
day's trouble. It is that of Pancratius, who pulled
down the edict. On, on, my men; any reward for
him, dead or alive ! "
" But stop," said one, " let us light our torches."
" Hark ! " said a second, while they were engaged in
this operation : " what is that strange noise, as if of
scratching and hammering at a distance ? I have
heard it for some time."
" And, look ! " added a third ; " the distant lights
have disappeared, and the music has ceased. We are
certainly discovered."
" 'No danger," said Torquatus, putting on a bold
ness which he did not feel. " That noise only comes
from those old moles, Diogenes and his sons, busy pre
paring graves for the Christians we shall seize."
Torquatus had in vain advised the troop not to
bring torches, but to provide themselves with such lamps
as we see Diogenes represented carrying, in his picture,
or waxen tapers, which he had brought for himself;
but the men swore they would not go down without
plenty of light, and such means for it as could not be
put out by a draught of wind, or a stroke on the arm.
The effects were soon obvious. As they advanced,
silently and cautiously, along the low narrow gallery,
the resinous torches crackled and hissed with a fierce
glare, which heated and annoyed them ; while a volume

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 361
of thick pitchy smoke from each rolled downwards on
to the bearers from the roof, half stifled them, and
made a dense atmosphere of cloud around themselves,
which effectually dimmed their light. Torquatus kept
at the head of the party, counting every turning right
and left, as he had noted them ; though he found every
mark which he had made carefully removed. He was
staggered and baulked, when, after having counted
little more than half the proper number, he found the
road completely blocked up.
The fact was, that keener eyes than he was aware of
had been on the look-out. Severus had never relaxed
his watchfulness, determined not to be surprised. He
was near the entrance to the cemetery below, when the
soldiers reached it above; and he ran forward at once
to the place where the sand had been prepared for
closing the road near which his brother and several
other stout workmen were stationed, in case of danger.
In a moment, with that silence and rapidity to which
they were trained, they set to work lustily shovelling
the sand across the narrow and low corridor from each
side, while well-directed blows of the pick brought
from the low roof behind huge flakes of sandstone,
which closed up the opening. Behind this barrier they
stood, hardly suppressing a laugh as they heard their
enemies through its loose separation. Their work it

362 FABIOLA; OR,
was which had been heard, and which had screened
off the lights, and deadened the song.
Torquatus's perplexity was not diminished by the
volley of oaths and imprecations, and the threats of
violence which were showered upon him, for a fool or
a traitor. " Stay one moment, I entreat you," he said.
" It is possible I have mistaken my reckoning. I
know the right turn by a remarkable tomb a few yards
within it; I will just step into one or two of the last
corridors, and see."
With these words, he ran back to the next gallery on
the left, advanced a few paces, and totally disappeared.
Though his companions had followed him to the
very mouth of the gallery, they could not see how this
happened. It appeared like witchcraft, in which they
were quite ready to believe. His light and himself
seemed to have vanished at once. " We will have no
more of this work," they said ; " either Torquatus is a
traitor, or he has been carried off by magic." Worried,
heated in the close atmosphere almost inflamed by their
lights, begrimed, blinded, and choked by the pitchy
smoke, crest-fallen and disheartened, they turned back;
and since their road led straight to the entrance, they
flung away their blazing torches into the side galleries,
one here and one there, as they passed by, to get rid of
them. When they looked back, it seemed as if a tri
umphal illumination was kindling up the very atmos-

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 363
phere of the gloomy corridor. From the mouths of the
various caverns came forth a fiery light which turned
the dull sandstone into a bright crimson; while the
volumes of smoke above, hung like amber clouds along
the whole gallery. The sealed tombs, receiving the
unusual reflection on their yellow tiles, or marble slabs,
appeared covered with golden or silver plates, set in
the red damask of the walls. It looked like a homage
paid to martyrdom, by the very furies of heathenism,
on the first day of persecution. The torches which
they had kindled to destroy, only served to shed bright
ness on monuments of that virtue which had never
failed to save the Church.
But before these foiled hounds with drooping heads
had reached the entrance, they recoiled before the sight
of a singular apparition. At first they thought they
had caught a glimpse of daylight; but they soon per
ceived it was the glimmering of a lamp. This was
held steadily by an upright, immovable figure, which
thus received its light upon itself. It was clothed in a
dark dress, so as to resemble one of those bronze statues,
which have the head and extremities of white marble,
and startle one, when first seen; so like are they to
living forms.
" Who can it be ? What is it ? " the men whispered
to one another.
" A sorceress," replied one.

364 FABIOLA; OR,
" The genius loci," * observed another.
" A spirit," suggested a third.
Still, as they approached stealthily towards it, it did
not appear conscious of their presence : " there was no
speculation in its eyes;" it remained unmoved and un-
scared. At length, two got sufficiently near to seize
the figure by its arms.
" Who are you ? " asked Corvinus, in a rage.
" A Christian," answered Csecilia, with her usual
cheerful gentleness.
" Bring her along," he commanded ; " some one at
least shall pay for our disappointment."
* The guardian genius of the place.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 365

CHAPTEE XVII.

THE FIRST ELOWEB.

Caecilia, already forewarned, had approached the
cemetery by a different, but neighbouring entrance.
No sooner had she descended than she snuffed the
strong odour of the torches. " This is none of our
incense, I know," she said to herself ; the enemy is
already within." She hastened therefore to the place
of assembly, and delivered Sebastian's note; adding
also what she had observed. It warned them to dis
perse and seek the shelter of the inner and lower gal- .
leries; and begged of the Pontiff not to leave till he
should send for him, as his person was particularly
sought for.
Pancratius urged the blind messenger to save her
self too. " No," she replied, " my office is to watch
the door, and guide the faithful safe."
" But the enemy may seize you."
"No matter," she answered, laughing; "my being
taken may save much worthier lives. Give me a
lamp, Pancratius."

366 fabiola; or,
" Why, you cannot see by it," observed he, smiling.
" True, but others can."
" They may be your enemies."
" Even so," she answered, " I do not wish to be
taken in the dark. If my Bridegroom come to me in
the night of this cemetery, must He not find me with
my lamp trimmed ? "
Off she started, reached her post, and hearing no
noise except that of quiet footsteps, she thought they
were those of friends, and held up her lamp to guide
them. When the party came forth, with their only captive,
Fulvius was perfectly furious. It was worse than a
total failure: it was ridiculous — a poor mouse come
out of the bowels of the earth. He rallied Corvinus
till the wretch winced and foamed; then suddenly he
asked, " And where is Torquatus ? " He heard the
account of his sudden disappearance, told in as many
ways as the Dacian guard's adventure: but it annoyed
him greatly. He had no doubt whatever, in his own
mind, that he had been duped by his supposed victim,
who had escaped into the unsearchable mazes of the
cemetery. If so, this captive would know, and he
determined to question her. He stood before her, there
fore, put on his most searching and awful look, and
said to her sternly, " Look at me, woman, and tell me
the truth."

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 367
" I must tell you the truth without looking at you,
sir," answered the poor girl with her cheerfullest
smile and sof test voice ; " do you not see that I am
blind ? "
" Blind ! " all exclaimed at once, as they crowded to
look at her. But over the features of Fulvius there
passed the slightest possible emotion, just as much
as the wave that runs, pursued by a playful breeze,
over the ripe meadow. A knowledge had flashed into
his mind, a clue had fallen into his hand.
" It will be ridiculous," he said, " for twenty soldiers
to march through the city, guarding a blind girl. Re
turn to your quarters, and I will see you are well
rewarded. You, Corvinus, take my horse, and go be
fore to your father, and tell him all. I, will follow in
a carriage with the captive."
" No treachery, Fulvius," he said, vexed and morti
fied. " Mind you bring her. The day must not pass
without a sacrifice."
" Do not fear," was the reply.
Fulvius, indeed, was pondering whether, having lost
one spy, he should not try to make another. But the
calm gentleness of the poor beggar perplexed him more
than the boisterous zeal of the gamester, and her sight
less orbs defied him more than the restless roll of the
toper's. Still, the first thought that had struck him
he could still pursue. When alone in a carriage with

368 FABIOLA ; OR,
her, he assumed a soothing tone, and addressed her.
He knew she had not overheard the last dialogue.
" My poor girl," he said, " how long have you been
blind?" " All my life," she replied.
" What is your history ? Whence do you come ? "
" I have no history. My parents were poor, and
brought me to Borne when I was four years old, as
they came to pray, in discharge of a vow made for my
life in early sickness, to the blessed martyrs Chrysan-
thus and Daria. They left me in charge of a pious
lame woman, at the door of the title of Fasciola, while
they went to their devotions. It was on that memor
able day, when many Christians were buried at the
tomb, by earth and stones cast down on them. My par
ents had the happiness to be among them."
" And how have you lived since ? "
" God became my only Father then, and His
Catholic Church my mother. The one feeds the birds
of the air, the other nurses the weaklings of the flock.
I have never wanted for anything since."
" But you can walk about the streets freely, and
without fear, as well as if you saw."
" How do you know that ? "
" I have seen you. Do you remember very early
one morning in the autumn, leading a poor lame man
along the Vicus Patricius % "

fHfe cMurcJh OF The CATACOMBS. 369
She blushed and remained silent. Could hg have*
seen her put into the poor old man's purse her1 dWri
share of the alms?
" You have owned yourself a Christian ? " he asked
negligently. " Oh, yes ! how could I deny it ? "
" Then that meeting was a Christian meeting? "
" Certainly ; what else could it be ? "
He wanted no more; his suspicions were verified.
Agnes, about whom Torquatus had been able or willing
to tell him nothing, was certainly a Christian. His
game was made. She must yield, or he would be
avenged. »
After a pause, looking at her steadfastly, he said,
" Do you know whither you are going ? "
" Before the judge of earth, I suppose, who will
send me to my Spouse in heaven."
" And so calmly ? " he asked in surprise ; for he
could see no token from the soul to the countenance,
but a smile.
" So joyfully rather," was her brief reply.
Having got all that he desired, he consigned his pris
oner to Corvinus at the gates of the iEmilian basilica,
and left her to her fate. It had been a cold and driz
zling day, like the preceding evening. The weather,
and the incident of the night, had kept down all en
thusiasm ; and while the prefect had been compelled to

37"d FAB16LA; OR,
sit in-doors, where no great crowd could collect, aS
hours had passed away without any arrest, trial, or
tidings, most of the curious had left, and only a few
more persevering remained past the hour of afternoon
recreation in the public gardens. But just before the
captive arrived, a fresh knot of spectators came in,
and stood near one of the side-doors, from which they
could see all.
As Corvinus had prepared his father for what he
was to expect, Tertullus, moved with some compassion,
and imagining there could be little difficulty in over
coming the obstinacy of a poor, ignorant blind beggar,
requested the spectators to remain perfectly still, that
he might try his persuasion on her, alone, as she would
imagine, with him ; and he threatened heavy penalties
on any one who should presume to break the silence.
It was as he had calculated. Ctecilia knew not that
any one else was there, as the prefect thus kindly ad
dressed her:
" What is thy name, child ? "
" Ctecilia."
" It is a noble name ; hast thou it from thy family ? "
"No; I am not noble; except because my parents,
though poor, died for Christ. As I am blind, those
who took care of me called me Cmca* and then, out
of kindness, softened it into Ca?cilia."
* Blind.

THE ettUtLCH OF THE CATACOMBS. %ft
" But now, give up all this folly of the Christians,
who have kept thee only poor and blind. Honour the
decrees of the divine emperors, and offer sacrifice to
the gods; and thou shalt have riches, and fine clothes,
and good fare; and, the best physicians shall try to
restore thee thy sight."
" You must have better motives to propose to me
than these; for the very things for which I most thank
God and His Divine Son, are those which you would
have me put away."
" How dost thou mean ? "
" I thank God that I am poor and meanly clad, and
fare not daintily; because by all these things I am
the more like Jesus Christ, my only Spouse."
" Foolish girl ! " interrupted the judge, losing pa
tience a little ; " hast thou learnt all these silly de
lusions already ? at least thou canst not thank thy God,
that He has made thee sightless ? "
"For that, more than all the rest, I thank Him
daily and hourly with all my heart."
"How so? dost thou think it a blessing never to
have seen the face of a human being, or the sun, or
the earth ? what strange fancies are these ? "
" They are not so, most noble sir. For in the midst
of what you call darkness, I see a spot of what I must
call light, it contrasts so strongly with all around. It
is to me what the sun is to you, which I know to be local

3^2 FABIOLA; OR,
from the varying direction of its Fays. And this
object looks upon me as with a countenance of intensest
beauty, and smiles upon me ever. And I know it to be
that of Him whom I love with undivided affection. I
would not for the world have its splendour dimmed by
a brighter sun, nor its wondrous loveliness confounded
with the diversities of others' features, nor my gaze on
it drawn aside by earthly visions. I love Him too
much, not to wish to see Him always alone."
" Come, come ! let me have no more of this silly
prattle. Obey the emperor at once, or I must try what
a little pain will do. That will soon tame thee."
" Pain ? " she echoed innocently.
"Yes, pain? Hast thou never felt it? hast thou
never been hurt by any one in thy life ? "
" Oh, no ! Christians never hurt one another."
The rack was standing, as usual, before him ; and he
made a sign to Catulus to place her upon it. The exe
cutioner pushed her back on it by her arms; and as she
made no resistance, she was easily laid extended on its
wooden couch. The loops of the ever-ready ropes were
in a moment passed round her ankles, and arms, drawn
over the head. The poor sightless girl saw not who
did all this; she knew not but it might be the same
person who had been conversing with her. If there
had been silence hitherto, men now held their very
breath ; while Caecilia's lips moved in earnest prayer.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 373
" Once more, before proceeding farther, I call on
thee to sacrifice to the gods, and escape cruel torments,"
said the judge, with a sterner voice.
" Neither torments nor death," firmly replied the
victim tied to the altar, " shall separate me from the
love of Christ. I can offer up no sacrifice but to the
one living God ; and its ready oblation is myself."
The prefect made a signal to the executioner, and
he gave one rapid whirl to the two wheels of the rack,
round the windlasses of which the ropes were wound;
and the limbs of the maiden were stretched with a
sudden jerk, which, though not enough to wrench them
from their sockets, as a further turn would have done,
sufficed to inflict an excruciating, or more truly, a
racking pain, through all her frame. Far more griev
ous was this, from the preparation and the cause of it
being unseen, and from that additional suffering which
darkness inflicts. A quivering of her features, and a
sudden paleness, alone gave evidence of her torture.
" Ha ! ha ! " the judge exclaimed, " thou feelest that ?
Come, let it suffice; obey, and thou shalt be freed."
She seemed to take no heed of his words, but gave
vent to her feelings in prayer : " I thank Thee, 0 Lord
Jesus Christ, that Thou hast made me suffer pain the
first time for Thy sake. I have loved Thee in peace;
I have loved Thee in comfort; I have loved Thee in
joy, — and now in pain I love Thee still more. How

374 FABIOLA ; OR,
much sweeter it is to be like Thee, stretched upon Thy
Cross, even than resting upon the hard couch at the
poor man's table ! "
" Thou triflest with me," exclaimed the Judge, thor
oughly vexed, " and makest light of my lenity. We
will try something stronger. Here, Catulus, apply a
lighted torch to her sides." *
A thrill of disgust and horror ran through the as
sembly, whicli could not help sympathising, with the
poor blind creature. A murmur of suppressed indigna
tion broke out from all sides of the hall.
Cajcilia, for the first time, learnt that she was in the
midst of a crowd. A crimson glow of modesty rushed
into her brow, her face, and neck, just before white as
marble. The angry judge checked the rising gush of
feeling, and all listened in silence, as she spoke again,
with warmer earnestness than before :
"O my dear Lord and Spouse! I have been ever
true and faithful to Thee ! Let me suffer pain and
torture for Thee ; but spare me confusion from human
eyes. Let me come to Thee at once; not covering my
face with my hands in shame, when I stand before
Thee." Another muttering of compassion was heard.
* The rack was used for a double purpose ; as a direct torment
and to keep the body distended for the application of other tor
tures, This ot fire was one of the most common,

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 375
" Catulus ! " shouted the baffled judge in fury ; " do
your duty, sirrah! what are you about, fumbling all
day with that torch ? "
The executioner advanced, and stretched forth his
hand to her robe, to withdraw it for his torture; but
he drew back, and, turning to the prefect, exclaimed in
softened accents,
" It is too late. She is dead ! "
" Dead ! " cried out Tertullus ; " dead with one turn
of the wheel ? impossible ! "
Catulus gave the rack a turn backwards, and the
body remained motionless. It was true ; she had
passed from the rack to the throne, from the scowl of
the judge's countenance to her Spouse's welcoming
embrace. Had she breathed out her pure soul, as a
sweet perfume, in the incense of her prayer? or had
her heart been unable to get back its blood, from the
intensity of that first virginal blush ? *
In the stillness of awe and wonder, a clear bold voice
cried out, from the group near the door : " Impious
tyrant, dost thou not see that a poor blind Christian
hath more power over life and death, than thou or thy
cruel masters ? "
" What ! a third time in twenty-four hours wilt thou
* There are many instances in the lives of martyrs of their
deaths being the fruit of prayer, as in St. Praxedes, St. Csecilia,
St. Agatha, etc.

376 FABIOLA; OR,
dare to cross my path? This time thou shalt not
escape." These were Corvinus's words, garnished with a fu
rious imprecation, as he rushed from his father's side
round the enclosure before the tribunal, towards the
group. But as he ran blindly on, he struck against
an officer of herculean build, who, no doubt quite acci
dentally, was advancing from it. He reeled, and the
soldier caught hold of him saying,
" You are not hurt, I hope, Corvinus ? "
" No, no ; let me go, Quadratus, let me go."
" Where are you running to in such a hurry ? can
I help you ? " asked his captor, still holding him
fast. " Let me loose, I say, or he will be gone."
" Who will be gone ? "
" Pancratius," answered Corvinus, " who just now
insulted my father."
" Pancratius ! " said Quadratus, looking round, and
seeing that he had got clear off ; "I do not see him."
And he let him go ; but it was too late. The youth was
safe at Diogenes's in the Suburra.
While this scene was going on, the prefect, mortified,
ordered Catulus to see the body thrown into the Tiber.
But another officer, muffled in his cloak, stepped aside
and beckoned to Catulus, who understood the sign, and
stretched out his hand to receive a proffered purse.

the church op the catacombs. 377
" Out of the Porta Capena, at Lucina's villa, an hour
after sunset," said Sebastian.
" It shall be delivered there safe/' said the execu
tioner. " Of what do you think did that poor girl die ? "
asked a spectator from his companion as they went out.
" Of fright, I fancy," he replied.
" Of Christian modesty," interposed a stranger who
passed them.

378 fabiola; or,

CHAPTEK XVIII.

RETRIBUTION.

The prefect of the city went to give his report on the
untoward events of the day, and do what was possible,
to screen his worthless son. He found the emperor in
the worst of moods. Had Corvinus come in his way
early in the day, nobody could have answered for his
head. And now the result of the inroad into the
cemetery had revived his anger, when Tertullus entered
into the audience-chamber. Sebastian contrived to be
on guard.
" Where is your booby of a son ? " was the first salu
tation which the Prefect received.
" Humbly waiting your divinity's pleasure outside,
and anxious to propitiate your godlike anger for the
tricks which fortune has played upon his zeal."
" Fortune 1 " exclaimed the tyrant ; " fortune in
deed! His own stupidity and cowardice; a pretty be
ginning, forsooth ; but he shall smart for it ; bring him
in." The wretch, whining and trembling, was introduced,
and cast himself at the emperor's feet, from which he

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. %7§
was spurned, and sent rolling, like a lashed hound, into
the midst of the hall. This set the imperial divinity
a-laughing, and helped to mollify its wrath.
" Come, sirrah ! stand up," he said, " and let me
hear an account of yourself. How did the Edict dis
appear ? "
Corvinus told a rambling tale, which occasionally
amused the emperor; for he was rather taken with the
trick. This was a good symptom.
" Well," he said at last, " I will be merciful to you.
Lictors, bind your fasces." They drew their axes
forth, and felt their edges. Corvinus again threw
himself down, and exclaimed —
" Spare my life ; I have important information to
furnish, if I live."
" Who wants your worthless life ? " responded the
gentle Maximian. "Lictors, put aside your axes; the
rods are good enough for him."
In a moment his hands were seized and bound, his
tunic was stripped off his shoulders, and a shower of
blows fell upon them, delivered with well-regulated
skill, till he roared and writhed, to the great enjoyment
of his imperial master.
Smarting and humbled, he had to stand again before
him. " Now, sir," said the latter, " what is the wonderful
information you have to give ? "

380 fabiola; or,
" That I know who perpetrated the outrage of last
night on your Imperial Edict."
" Who was it ? "
" A youth named Pancratius, whose knife I found
under where the Edict had been cut away."
" And why have you not seized him and brought
him to justice ? "
" Twice this day he has been almost within my
grasp, for I have heard his voice; but he has escaped
me." " Then let him not escape a third time, or you may
have to take his place. But how do you know him,
or his knife ? "
" He was my schoolfellow at the school of Cassi
anus, who turned out to be a Christian."
" A Christian presume to teach my subjects, to make
them enemies of their country, disloyal to their sov
ereigns, and contemners of the gods ! I suppose it was
he who taught that young viper Pancratius to pull
down our Imperial Edict. Do you know where he
is?" "Yes, sire; Torquatus, who has abandoned the
Christian superstition, has told me."
" And pray who is this Torquatus ? "
" He is one who has been staying some time with
Chromatius and a party of Christians in the country."

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 38 1
" Why, this is worse and worse. Is the ex-Prefect
then, too, become a Christian ? "
" Yes ; and lives with many others of that sect in
Campania." " What perfidy ! what treachery ! I shall not know
whom to trust next. Prefect, send some one immedi
ately to arrest all these men, and the schoolmaster, and
Torquatus." " He is no longer a Christian," interposed the judge.
" Well, what do I care ? " replied the emperor
peevishly ; " arrest as many as you can, and spare no
one, and make them smart well ; do you under
stand me ? Now, begone all ; it is time for my
supper." Corvinus went home; and, in spite of medicinal
applications, was feverish, sore, and spiteful all night;
and next morning begged his father to let him go on
the expedition in Campania, that so he might retrieve
his honour, gratify his revenge, and escape the dis
grace and sarcasm that was sure to be heaped on him
by Boman society.
When Fulvius had deposited his prisoner at the
tribunal, he hastened home to recount his adventures,
as usual, to Eurotas. The old man listened with im
perturbable sternness to the barren recital, and at last
said coldly —
" Very little profit from ail this, Fulvius,"

382 FABIOLA; OR,
" No immediate profit, indeed ; but a good prospect
in view, at least."
" How so ? "
" Why, the Lady Agnes is in my power. I have
made sure at last that she is a Christian. I can now
necessarily either win her, or destroy her. In either
case her property is mine."
" Take the second alternative," said the old man,
with a keen glow in his eye, but no change of face ; " it
is the shorter and less troublesome way."
" But my honour is engaged ; I cannot allow myself
to be spurned in the manner I told you."
" You have been spurned, however ; and that calls
for vengeance. You have no time to lose, remember, in
foolery. Your funds are nearly exhausted, and noth
ing is coming in. You must strike a blow."
" Surely, Eurotas, you would prefer my trying to
get this wealth by honourable" (Eurotas smiled at the
idea coining into either of their minds) " rather than
by foul means."
" Get it, get it any way, provided it be the surest and
the speediest. You know our compact. Either the
family is restored to wealth and splendour, or it ends
in and with you. It shall never linger on in disgrace,
that is, in poverty."
" I know, I know, without your every day reminding
me of the bitter condition," said Fnlviusj wringing his

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 383
hands, and writhing in all his body. " Give me time
enough, and all will be well."
" I give you time till all i3 hopeless. Things do not
look bright at present. But, Fulvius, it is time that I
tell you who I am."
" Why, were you not my father's faithful dependant,
to whose care he intrusted me ? "
" I was your father's elder brother, Fulvius, and am
the head of the family. I have had but one thought,
but one aim in life, the restoring of our house to that
greatness and splendour from which my father's negli
gence and prodigality had brought it down. Thinking
that your father, my brother, had greater ability than
myself for this work, I resigned my rights and gains to
him upon certain terms ; one of which was your guard
ianship, and the exclusive forming of your mind. You
know how I have trained you, to care nothing about the
means, so that our great ends be carried."
Fulvius, who had been riveted with amazement and
deep attention on the speaker, shrunk into himself with
shame, at this baring of both their hearts. The dark
old man fixed his eyes more intently than ever, and
went on.
" You remember the black and complicated crime by
which we concentrated in your hands the divided rem
nant of family wealth."
Fulvius covered his face with his hands and shud-

384 FABIOLA; OR,
dered, then said entreatingly, " Oh, spare me that,
Eurotas ; for heaven's sake, spare me ! "
" Well, then," resumed the other, unmoved as ever,
" I will be brief. Remember, nephew, that he who does
not recoil from a brilliant future, to be gained by
guilt, must not shrink from a past that prepared it by
crime. For the future will one day be the past. Let
our compact, therefore, be straightforward and honest;
for there is an honesty even in sin. Nature has given
you abundance of selfishness and cunning, and she has
given me boldness and remorselessness in directing and
applying them. Our lot is cast by the same throw,
— we become rich or die together."
Fulvius in his heart cursed the day that he came to
Rome, or bound himself to his stern master, whose
mysterious tie was so much stronger than he had known
before. But he felt himself spellbound to him, and
powerless as the kid in the lion's paws. He retired to
his couch with a heavier heart than ever; for a dark,
impending fate never failed to weigh upon his soul
every returning night.
The reader will perhaps be curious to know what has
become of the third member of our worthy trio, the
apostate Torquatus. When, confused and bewildered,
he ran to look for the tomb which was to guide him, it
so happened, that, just within the gallery which he
entered, was a neglected staircase, cut in the sandstone,

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 38$
down to a lower story of the cemetery. The steps had
been worn round and smooth, and the descent was pre
cipitous. Torquatus, carrying his light before him,
and running heedlessly, fell headlong down the open
ing, and remained stunned and insensible at the bottom
till long after his companions had retired. He then
revived; and for some time was so confused that he
knew not where he was. He arose and groped about,
till, consciousness completely returning, he remem
bered that he was in a catacomb, but could not make
out how he was alone, and in the dark. It then struck
him that he had a supply of tapers about him, and
means of lighting them. He employed these, and was
cheered by finding himself again in light. But he had
wandered from the staircase, of which, indeed, he rec
ollected nothing, and went on and on, entangling him
self more inextricably in the subterranean labyrinth.
He felt sure that, before he had exhausted his
strength or his tapers, he should come to some outlet.
But by degrees he began to feel serious alarm. One
after the other his lights were burnt out, and his vigour
began to fail, for he had been fasting from early
morning; and he found himself coming back to the
same spot, after he had wandered about apparently for
hours. At first he had looked negligently around him,
and had carelessly read the inscriptions on the tombs.
But as he grew fainter, and his hope of relief weaker,
25

386 FABIOLA; OR,
these solemn monuments of death began to speak to his
soul, in a language that it could not refuse to hear, nor
pretend to misunderstand. " Deposited in peace "
was the inmate of one ; " resting in Christ " was
another; and even the thousand nameless ones around
them reposed in silent calm, each with the seal of the
Church's motherly care stamped upon his place of rest.
And within, the embalmed remains awaited the sound
of angelic trumpet-notes, to awaken them to a happy
resurrection. And he, in a few more hours, would be
dead like them ; he was lighting his last taper, and had
sunk down upon a heap of mould ; but would he be laid
in peace, by pious hands, as they ? On the cold ground,
alone, he should die, unpitied, unmounted, unknown.
There he should rot, and drop to pieces; and if, in
after years, his bones, cast out from Christian sepul
ture, should be found, tradition might conjecture that
they were the accursed remains of an apostate lost in
the cemetery. And even they might be cast out, as he
was, from the communion of that hallowed ground.
It was coming on fast; he could feel it; his head
reeled, his heart fluttered. The taper was getting too
short for his fingers, and he placed it on a stone beside
him. It might burn three minutes longer ; but a drop
filtering through the ceiling fell upon it, and extin
guished it. So covetous did he feel of those three min
utes more of light, so jealous was he of that little taper-

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 387
end, as his last link with earth's joys, so anxious was he
to have one more look at things without, lest he should
be forced to look at those within, that he drew forth his
flint and steel, and laboured for a quarter of an hour
to get a light from tinder, damped by the cold perspir
ation on his body. And when he had lighted his rem
nant of candle, instead of profiting by its flame to look
around him, he fixed his eyes upon it with an idiotic
stare, watching it burn down, as though it were the
charm which bound his life, and this must expire with
it. And soon the last spark gleamed smouldering like
a glow-worm on the red earth, and died.
Was he dead too? he thought. Why not? Dark
ness, complete and perpetual, had come upon him. He
was cut off for ever from consort with the living, his
mouth would no more taste food, his ears never again
hear a sound, his eyes behold no light or thing again.
He was associated with the dead, only his grave was
much larger than theirs; but, for all that, it was as
dark and lonely, and closed for ever. What else is death ?
No, it could not be death as yet. Death had to be
followed by something else. But even this was coming.
The worm was beginning to gnaw his conscience, and
it grew apace to a viper's length, and twisted itself
round his heart. He tried to think of pleasant things,
and they came before him; the quiet hours in the
villa with Chromatius and Polycarp, their kind words,

388 FABIOLA; OR,
and last embrace. But from the beautiful vision darted
a withering flash ; he had betrayed them ; he had told
of them; to whom? To Fulvius and Corvinus. The
fatal chord was touched, like the tingling nerve of
a tooth, that darts its agony straight to the centre of
the brain. The drunken debauch, the dishonest play,
the base hypocrisy, the vile treachery, the insincere
apostasy, the remorseful sacrileges of the last days, and
the murderous attempt of that morning, now came
dancing, like demons hand in hand, in the dark be
fore him, shouting, laughing, jibing, weeping, moan
ing, gnashing their teeth; and sparks of fire flying
before his eyes, and his enfeebled brain, seemed to dart
from glaring torches in their hands. He sunk down
and covered his eyes.
" I may be dead, after all," he said to himself; " for
the infernal pit can have nothing worse than this."
His heart was too weak for rage; it sunk within
him in the impotence of despair. His strength was
ebbing fast, when he fancied he heard a distant sound.
He put away the thought; but the wave of a remote
harmony beat again upon his ear. He raised himself
up; it was becoming distinct. So sweet it sounded,
so like a chorus of angelic voices, but in another sphere,
that he said to himself, " Who would have thought that
heaven was so near to hell ! Or are they accompanying
the fearful Judge to try me ? "

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 389
And now a faint glimmer of light appeared at the
same distance as the sounds ; and the words of the strain
were clearly heard —
" In pace, in idipsum, dormiam et requiescam." *
" Those words are not for me. They might do at
a martyr's entombment; they cannot at a reprobate's
burial." The light increased; it was like a dawn glowing
into day; it entered the gallery and passed across it,
bearing in it, as in a mirror, a vision too distinct to be
unreal. First, there came virgins robed and holding
lamps ; then four who carried between them a form
wrapped up in a white linen cloth, with a crown of
thorns upon the head ; after them the youthful acolyte
Tarcisius bearing a censer steaming with perfumed
smoke; and, after others of the clergy, the venerable
Pontiff himself, attended by Reparatus, and another
deacon. Diogenes and his sons, with sorrowful counte
nances, and many others, among whom he could distin
guish Sebastian, closed the procession. As many bore
lamps or tapers, the figures seemed to move in an un
changing atmosphere of mildest light.
And as they passed before him, they chanted the
next verse of the psalm —
* " In peace, in the self -same, I will sleep and I will rest."— Ps,
iv. 9.

39O FABIOLA; OR,
" Quoniam Tu Domine singulariter in spe con-
stituisti me." *
" That," he exclaimed, rousing himself up, " that is
for me."
With this thought he had sprung upon his knees;
and by an instinct of grace, words which he had before
heard came back to him like an echo ; words suited to
the moment; words which he felt that he must speak.
He crept forward, faint and feeble, turned along the
gallery through which the funeral procession was pass
ing, and followed it unobserved, at a distance. It
entered a chamber and lighted it up, so that a picture of
the Good Shepherd looked brightly down on him. But
he would not pass the threshold, where he stood strik
ing his breast and praying for mercy.
The body had been laid upon the ground ; and other
psalms and hymns were sung and prayers recited, all
in that cheerful tone and joyous mood of hopefulness
with which the Church has always treated of death.
At length it was placed in the tomb prepared for it,
under an arch. While this was being done, Torquatus
drew nigh to one of the spectators, and whispered to him
the question —
" Whose funeral is this ? "
" It is the deposition," he answered, " of the blessed
* " For Thou, O Lord, singularly hast placed main hope." — Pa.
v. 10.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 391
Csecilia, a blind virgin, who this morning fell into the
hands of the soldiers in this cemetery, and whose soul
xGod took to Himself."
Then I am her murderer," he exclaimed, ,.with a
Eollow moan; and staggering forward to the holy
bishop's feet, fell prostrate before him. It was some
time before his feelings could find vent in words ; when
these came, they were the ones he had resolved to
utter —
" Father, I have sinned before heaven, and against
Thee, and am not worthy to be called Thy child."
The Pontiff raised him up kindly, and pressed him
to his bosom, saying, " Welcome back, my son, whoever
thou art, to thy Father's house. But thou art weak and
faint, and needest rest."
Some refreshment was immediately procured. But
Torquatus would not rest till he had publicly avowed
the whole of his guilt, including the day's crimes ; for
it was still the evening of the same day. All rejoiced
at the prodigal's return; at the lost sheep's recovery.
Agnes looked up to heaven from her last affectionate
glance on the blind virgin's shroud, and thought that
she could almost see her seated at the feet of her
Spouse, smiling, with her eyes wide open, as she cast
down a handful of flowers on the head of the penitent,
the first-fruits of her intercession in heaven.
Diogenes and his sons took charge of him. An

392 FABIOLA; OR,
humble lodging was procured for him in a Christian
cottage near, that he might not be within the reach of
temptation or of vengeance, and he was enrolled in. the
class of penitents ; where years of expiation, shortened
by the intercession of confessors — that is, future mar
tyrs — would prepare him for full re-admission to the
privileges he had forfeited.*
* The penitentiary system of the early Church will be better
described in any volume that embodies the antiquity of the
second period of ecclesiastical history, that of The Church of the
Basilicas. It is well known, especially from the writings of St.
Cyprian, that those who proved weak in persecution, and were
subjected to public penance, obtained a shortening of its term, —
that is, an indulgence, — through the intercession of confessors or
of persons imprisoned for the faith.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 393

CHAPTER XIX.

TWOFOLD REVENGE.

Sebastian's visit to the cemetery had been not
merely to take thither for sepulture the relics of the
first martyr, but also to consult with Marcellinus about
his safety. His life was too valuable to the Church to
be sacrificed so early ; and Sebastian knew how eagerly
it was sought. Torquatus now confirmed this, by com
municating Fulvius's designs, and the motive of his
attendance at the December ordination. The usual
papal residence was no longer safe; and a bold idea
had been adopted by the courageous soldier, — the "Pro
tector of the Christians," as his Acts tell us he had been
authoritatively called. It was to lodge the Pontiff
where no one could suspect him to be, and where no
search would be dreamt of, in the very palace of the
Cassars.* Efficiently disguised, the holy bishop left the
cemetery, and, escorted by Sebastian and Quadratus,
was safely housed in the apartments of Irene, a Chris
tian lady of rank, who lived in a remote part of the
Palatine, in which her husband held a household office.
* This is related in the Acts just referred to.

394 FABIOLA; OR,
Early next morning Sebastian was with Pancratius.
" My dear boy," he said, " you must leave Rome in
stantly, and go into Campania. I have horses ready for
you and Quadratus ; and there is no time to be lost."
" And why, Sebastian ? " replied the youth, with
sorrowful face and tearful eye. " Have I done some
thing wrong, or are you doubtful of my fortitude ? "
il Neither, I assure you. But you have promised to
be guided by me in all things ; and I never considered
your obedience more necessary than now."
" Tell me why, good Sebastian, I pray."
" It must be a secret as yet."
" What, another secret ? "
" Call it the same, to be revealed at the same time.
But I can tell you what I want you to do, and that I
think will satisfy you. Corvinus has got orders to
seize on Chromatius and all his community, yet young
in the faith, as the wretched example of Torquatus has
shown us ; and, what is worse, to put your old master
Cassianus at Fundi to a cruel death. I want you to
hasten before his messenger (perhaps he may go him
self), and put them on their guard."
Pancratius looked up brightly again; he saw that
Sebastian trusted him. " Your wish is enough reason
for me," said he, smiling ; " but I would go to the
world's end to save my good Cassianus or any other
fellow-Christians."

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 395
He was soon ready, took an affectionate leave of his
mother; and before Rome had fully shaken off sleep,
he and Quadratus, each with well-furnished saddle-bags
on their powerful steeds, were trotting across the cam
pagna of Rome, to reach the less frequented and safer
track on the Latin way.
Corvinus having resolved to keep the hostile expedi
tion in his own hands, as honourable, lucrative, and
pleasant, it was delayed a couple of days, both that he
might feel more comfortable about his shoulders, and
that he might make proper preparations. He had a
chariot hired, and engaged a body of Numidian run
ners, who could keep up with a carriage at full speed.
But he was thus two days behind our Christians, though
he, of course, travelled by the shorter and more beaten
Appian road.
When Pancratius arrived at the Villa of Statues, he
found the little community already excited by the
rumours which had reached it of the Edict's publica
tion. He was welcomed most warmly by all ; and Sebas
tian's letter of advice was received with deep respect.
Prayer and deliberation succeeded its perusal, and
various resolutions were taken. Marcus and Marcel
lianus, with their father Tranquillinus, had already
gone to Rome for the ordination. Nicostratus, Zoe,
and others followed them now. Chromatius, who was
not destined for the crown of martyrdom, though com-

396 FABIOLA; OR,
memorated by the Church, with his son, on the 11th of
August, found shelter for a time in Fabiola's villa,
for which letters had been procured from its mistress,
without her knowing the reason why ; for he wished to
remain in the neighbourhood a little while longer. In
fine, the villa ad Statuas was left in charge of a few
faithful servants, fully to be depended upon.
When the two messengers had given themselves and
their horses a good rest, they travelled, by the same
road as Torquatus had lately trodden, to Fundi, where
they put up at an obscure inn out of the town, on the
Roman road. Pancratius soon found out his old
master, who embraced him most affectionately. He
told him his errand, and entreated him to fly, or at
least to conceal himself.
" No," said the good man, " it must not be. I am
already old, and I am weary of my unprofitable pro
fession. I and my servant are the only two Christians
in the town. The best families have, indeed, sent their
children to my school, because they knew it would be
kept as moral as paganism will permit ; but I have not
a friend among my scholars, by reason of this very
strictness. And they want even the natural refinement
of Roman heathens. They are rude provincials ; and
I believe there are some among the elder ones who would
not scruple to take my life if they could do so with
impunity."

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 397
" What a wretched existence indeed, Cassianus, you
must be leading! Have you made no impression on
them ? "
" Little or none, dear Pancratius. And how can I,
while I am obliged to make them read those dangerous
books, full of fables, which Roman and Greek liter
ature contain ? No, I have done little by my words ;
perhaps my death may do more for them."
Pancratius found all expostulation vain, and would
have almost joined him in his resolution to die; only
he had promised Sebastian not to expose his life dur
ing the journey. He, however, determined to remain
about the town till he saw the end.
Corvinus arrived with his men at the villa of Chro
matius ; and early in the morning, rushed suddenly
through the gates, and to the house. He found it
empty. Pie searched it through and through, but dis
covered neither a person, a book, nor a symbol of
Christianity. He was confounded and annoyed. He
looked about, and having found a servant working in
the garden, asked him where his master was.
" Master no tell slave where he go," was the reply,
in a latinity corresponding to such a rude phraseology.
" You are trifling with me. Which way did he and
his companions go ? "
" Through yonder gate."
"And then?"

398 FABIOLA; OR,
" Look that way," answered the servant. " You
see gate ? very well, you see no more. Me work here,
me see gate, me see no more."
" When did they go ? at least you can answer that."
" After the two come from Rome."
" What two ? Always two, it seems."
" One good youth, very handsome, sing so sweet.
The other very big, very strong, oh, very. See that
young tree pulled up by the roots ? He do that as easy
as me pull my spade out of the ground."
" The very two," exclaimed Corvinus, thoroughly
enraged. " Again that dastardly boy has marred my
plans and destroyed my hopes. He shall suffer well
for it."
As soon as he was a little rested he resumed his
journey, and determined to vent all his fury on his
old master; unless, indeed, he whom he considered his
evil genius, should have been there before him. He was
engaged during his journey in plotting vengeance upon
master and fellow-student, and he was delighted to find
that one at least was at Fundi when he arrived. He
showed the governor his order for the arrest and punish
ment of Cassianus as a most dangerous Christian; but
that officer, a humane man, remarked that the commis
sion superseded ordinary jurisdiction in the matter,
and gave Corvinus full power to act. He offered him
the assistance of an executioner and other requisites,

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 399
but they were declined. Corvinus had brought an abun
dant supply of strength and cruelty in his own body
guard. He took, however, a public officer with him.
He proceeded to the schoolhouse when filled with
scholars, shut the doors, and reproached Cassianus, who
advanced with open hand and countenance to greet him,
as a conspirator against the state, and a perfidious
Christian. A shout arose from the boyish mob, and by
its tone, and by the look which he cast around, Cor
vinus learnt there were many present like himself —
young bears' cubs with full-grown hyaenas' hearts
within them.
" Boys ! " he shouted out, " do you love your master
Cassianus ? He was once mine too, and I owe him
many a grudge."
A yell of execration broke out from the benches.
" Then I have good news for you ; here is permis
sion from the divine Emperor Maximian, for you to do
what you like to him."
A shower of books, writing-tablets, and other school
missiles was directed against the master, who stood
unmoved, with his arms folded, before his persecutor.
Then came a rush from all sides, with menacing atti
tudes of a brutal onslaught.
" Stop, stop," cried out Corvinus, " we must go more
systematically to work than this."
He had reverted in thought to the recollection

400 FABIOLA ; OR,
of his own sweet schoolboy days ; that time which most
look back on from hearts teeming with softer feelings,
than the contemplation of present things can suggest.
He indulged in the reminiscence of that early season
in which others find but the picture of unselfish, joy
ous, happy hours; and he sought in the recollection
what would most have gratified him then, that he might
bestow it as a boon on the hopeful youths around him.
But he could think of nothing that would have been
such a treat to him, as to pay back to his master every
stroke of correction, and write in blood upon him every
word of reproach, that he had received. Delightful
thought, now to be fulfilled!
It is far from our intention to harrow the feelings of
our gentle readers by descriptions of the cruel and fiend
ish torments inflicted by the heathen persecutors on our
Christian forefathers. Few are more horrible, yet
few better authenticated, than the torture practised
on the martyr Cassianus. Placed, bound, in the midst
of his ferocious young tigers, he was left to be the
lingering victim of their feeble cruelty. Some, as the
Christian poet Prudentius tells us, cut their tasks upon
him with the steel points, used in engraving writing on
wax-covered tablets; others exercised the ingenuity of
a precocious brutality, by inflicting every possible tor
ment on his lacerated body. Loss of blood and acute
pain at length exhausted him ; and he fell on the floor,

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 461
without power to rise. A shout of exultation followed,
new insults were inflicted, and the troop of youthful
demons broke loose, to tell the story of their sport at
their respective homes. To give Christians decent
burial never entered into the minds of their perse
cutors ; and Corvinus, who had glutted his eyes with the
spectacle of his vengeance, and had urged on the first
efforts at cruelty of his ready instruments, left the ex
piring man where he lay, to die, unnoticed. His faith
ful servant, however, raised him up, and laid him on his
bed, and sent a token, as he had preconcerted, to Pan
cratius, who was soon at his side, while his companions
looked after preparations for their departure. The
youth was horrified at what he beheld, and at the recital
of his old master's exquisite torture, as he was edified
by the account of his patience. For not a word of
reproach had escaped him, and prayer alone had occu
pied his thoughts and tongue.
Cassianus recognised his dear pupil, smiled upon
him, pressed his hand in his own, but could not speak.
After lingering till morning, he placidly expired. The
last rites of Christian sepulture were modestly paid to
him on the spot, for the house was his ; and Pancratius
hurried from the scene, with a heavy heart and a no
slight rising of his indignation, against the heartless
savage who had devised and witnessed, without remorse,
such a tragedy.
36

452 FABIOLA; or,
He was mistaken, however. No sooner Was his Re
venge fulfilled than Corvinus felt all the disgrace and
shame of what he had done; he feared it should be
known to his father, who had always esteemed Cas
sianus; he feared the anger of the parents, whose
children he had that day effectually demoralised, and
fleshed to little less than parricide. He ordered his
horses to be harnessed, but was told they must have
some more hours' rest. This increased his displeasure ;
remorse tormented him, and he sat down to drink, and
so drown care and pass time. At length he started on
his journey, and after baiting for an hour or two,
pushed on through the night. The road was heavy
from continued rain, and ran along the side of the great
canal which drains the Pontine marshes, and between
two rows of trees.
Corvinus had drunk again at his halt, and was
heated with wine, vexation, and remorse. The dragging
pace of his jaded steeds provoked him, and he kept
lashing them furiously on. While they were thus ex
cited, they heard the tramp of horses coming fast on
behind, and dashed forward at an uncontrollable speed.
The attendants were soon left at a distance, and the
frightened horses passed between the trees on to the
narrow path by the canal, and galloped forward, rock
ing the chariot from side to side at a reckless rate.
The horsemen behind hearing the violent rush of hoofs

THE CHURCH 6F THE CATACOMBS. 403
and wheels, and the shout of the followers, clapped
spurs to their horses, and pushed gallantly forward.
They had passed the runners some way, when they
heard a crash and a plunge. The wheel had struck the
trunk of a tree, the chariot had turned over, and its half-
drunken driver had been tossed head over heels into the
water. In a moment Pancratius was off his horse and
by the side of the canal, together with his companion.
By the faint light of the rising moon, and by the
sound of his voice, the youth recognised Corvinus
struggling in the muddy stream. The side was not
deep, but the high clayey bank was wet and slimy, and
every time he attempted to climb it his foot slipped, and
he fell back into the deep water in the middle. He was,
in fact, already becoming benumbed and exhausted by
his wintry bath.
" It would serve him right to leave him there,"
muttered the rough centurion.
" Hush, Quadratus ! how can you say so ? give me
hold of your hand. So," said the youth, leaning over
the bank, and seizing his enemy by his arm, just as he
was relaxing his hold on a withered shrub, and falling
back fainting into the stream. It would have been his
last plunge. They pulled him out and laid him on the
road, a pitiable figure for his greatest foe. They chafed
his temples and hands; and he had begun to revive,
when his attendants came up. To their care they con-

404 fabIOlA; or,
signed him, together with his purse, which had fallen
from his belt as they drew him from the canal. But
Pancratius took possession of his own pen-knife, which
dropped out with it, and which Corvinus carried about
him as evidence to convict him of having cut down the
Edict. The servants pretended to Corvinus, when he
had regained consciousness, that they had drawn him
out of the water, but that his purse must have been lost
in it, and lay still buried in the deep mud. They bore
him to a neighbouring cottage, while the carriage was
being repaired, and had a good carouse with his money
while he slept.
Two acts of revenge had been thus accomplished in
one day — the pagan and the Christian.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 405

CHAPTER XX.

THE PUBLIC WORKS.

If, before the Edict, the Therma3 of Dioclesian were
being erected by the labour and sweat of Christian
prisoners, it will not appear surprising that their num
ber and their sufferings should have greatly increased
with the growing intensity of a most savage persecu
tion. That emperor himself was expected for the in
auguration of his favourite building, and hands were
doubled on the work to expedite its completion. Chains
of supposed culprits arrived each day from the port of
Luna, from Sardinia, and even from the Crimea or
Chersonesus, where they had been engaged in quarries
or mines, and were put to labour in the harder depart
ments of the building art. To transport materials, to
saw and cut stone and marble, to mix the mortar, and
to build up the walls, were the duties allotted to the
religious culprits, many of whom were men little ac
customed to such menial toil. The only recompense
which they received for their labour was that of the
mules and oxen which shared their occupation. Little
better, if better, than a stable to sleep in, food sufficient
in quantity to keep up their strength, clothing enough to

406 FABIOLA ; OR,
guard them from the inclemency of the season, this was
all they had to expect. Fetters on their ankles, heavy
chains to prevent their escape, increased their sufferings,
and taskmasters, acceptable in proportion as they were
unreasonable, watched every gang with lash or stick in
hand, ever ready to add pain to toil, whether it were to
vent their own wanton cruelty upon unresisting ob
jects, or to please their crueller masters.
But the Christians of Rome took peculiar care of
these blessed confessors, who were particularly venerated
by them. Their deacons visited them, by bribing their
guards; and young men would boldly venture among
them, and distribute more nourishing food, or warmer
clothing to them, or give them the means of conciliating
their keepers, so as to obtain better treatment at their
hands. They would then also recommend themselves
to their prayers, as they kissed the chains and the
bruises, which these holy confessors bore for Christ.
This assemblage of men, convicted of serving faith
fully their divine Master, was useful for another pur
pose. Like the stew in which the luxurious Lucullus
kept his lampreys ready fattened for a banquet; like
the cages in Avhich rare birds, the pens in whicli well-
fed cattle, were preserved for the sacrifice, or the feast
of an imperial anniversary; like the dens near the
amphitheatre, in which ferocious beasts were fed for
exhibition at the public games ; just so were the public

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 407
works the preserves, from which at any time could be
drawn the materials for a sanguinary hecatomb, or a
gratification of the popular appetite for cruel spec
tacles, on any occasion of festivity; public stores of
food for those fierce animals, whenever the Roman
people wished to share in their savage propensities.
Such an occasion was now approaching. The perse
cution had lingered. No person of note had been yet
captured; the failures of the first day had not been
fully repaired; and something more wholesale was ex
pected. The people demanded more sport; and an
approaching imperial birthday justified their gratifi
cation. The wild beasts, which Sebastian and Pan
cratius had heard, yet roared for their lawful prey.
" Christianos ad leones " might seem to have been in
terpreted by them as meaning " that the Christians of
right belonged to them."
One afternoon, towards the end of December, Cor
vinus proceeded to the Baths of Dioclesian, accom
panied by Catulus, who had an eye for proper com
batants in the amphitheatre, such as a good dealer would
have for cattle at a fair. He called for Rabirius, the
superintendent of the convict department, and said to
him — " Rabirius, I am come by order of the emperor
to select a sufficient number of the wicked Christians
under your charge, for the honour of fighting in the
amphitheatre, on occasion of the coming festival."

408 FABIOLA ; OR,
"Really," answered the officer, "I have none to
spare. I am obliged to finish the work in a given time,
and I cannot do so, if I am left- short of hands."
" I cannot help that ; others will be got to replace
those that are taken from you. You must walk Catulus
and myself through your works, and let us choose those
that will suit us."
Rabirius, grumbling at this unreasonable demand,
submitted nevertheless to it, and took them into a vast
area, just vaulted over. It was entered by a circular
vestibule lighted from above, like the Pantheon. This
led into one of the shorter arms of a cruciform hall of
noble dimensions, into which opened a number of lesser,
though still handsome, chambers. At each angle of the
hall where the arms intersected one another, a huge
granite pillar of one block had to be erected. Two were
already in their places, one was girt with ropes de
livered round capstans, ready to be raised on the mor
row. A number of men were actively employed in
making final preparations. Catulus nudged Corvinus,
and pointed with his thtimb to two fine youths, who,
stripped slave-fashion to their waists, were specimens
of manly athletic forms.
" I must have those two, Rabirius," said the willing
purveyor to wild beasts ; " they will do charmingly.
I am sure they are Christians, they work so cheerfully."
" I cannot possibly spare them at present. They are

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. , 400
worth six men, or a pair of horses, at least, to me.
Wait till the heavy work is over, and then they are at
your service."
" What are their names, that I may take a note of
them ? And mind, keep them up in good condition."
" They are called Largus and Smaragdus ; they are
young men of excellent family, but work like plebeians,
and will go with you nothing loth."
" They shall have their wish," said Corvinus, with
great glee. And so they had later.
As they went through the works, however, they
picked out a number of captives, for many of whom
Rabirius made resistance, but generally in vain. At
length they came near one of those chambers which
flanked the eastern side of the longer arm of the hall.
In one of them they saw a number of convicts (if we
must use the term) resting after their labour. The
centre of the group was an old man, most venerable in
appearance, with a long white beard streaming on his
breast, mild in aspect, gentle in word, cheerful in his
feeble action. It was the confessor Saturninus, now
in his eightieth year, yet loaded with two heavy chains.
At each side were the more youthful labourers,
Cyriacus and Sisinnius, of whom it is recorded, that.
in addition to their own task-work, one on each side,
they bore up his bonds. Indeed, we are told that their
particular . delight was, over and above their own as-

410 FASI6LA; OR,
signed portion of toil, to help their weaker1 brethren^
and perform their work for them.* But their time was
not yet come; for both of them, before they received
their crowns, were ordained deacons in the next pon
tificate. Several other captives lay on the ground about the old
man's feet, as he, seated on a block of marble, was talk
ing to them with a sweet gravity, which riveted their
attention, and seemed to make them forget their suffer
ings. What was he saying to them ? Was he requiting
Cyriacus for his extraordinary charity by telling him
that, in commemoration of it, a portion of the immense
pile which they were toiling to raise, would be dedicated
to God under his invocation, become a title, and close
its line of titulars by an illustrious name ?f Or was he
recounting another more glorious vision, how this smaller
oratory was to be superseded and absorbed by a glorious
temple in honour of the Queen of Angels, which should
comprise the entire of that superb hall, with its vesti
bule, under the directing skill of the mightiest artistic
genius that the world should ever see.$ What more con-
* See Piazza, on the church of Santa Maria degli Angeli, in
his work on the Stations of Rome.
f The last cardinal of the extinct title of St. Cyriacus's, formed
out of a part of these baths, was Cardinal Bembo.
X Michaelangelo. The noble and beautiful church of Sta. Maria
degli Angeli was made by him out of the central hall and circu
lar vestibule, described in the text. The floor was afterwards

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 411
soling thought could have been vouchsafed to those
poor oppressed captives than that they were not so
much erecting baths for the luxury of a heathen people,
or the prodigality of a wicked emperor, as in truth
building up one of the stateliest churches in which the
true God is worshipped, and the Virgin Mother, who
bore Him incarnate, is affectionately honoured ?
From a distance Corvinus saw the group, and paus
ing, asked the superintendent the names of those who
composed it. He enumerated them readily; then
added, " You may as well take that old man, if you
like ; for he is not worth his keep so far as work goes."
" Thank you," replied Corvinus, " a pretty figure he
would cut in the amphitheatre. The people are not to
be put off with decrepit old creatures, whom a single
stroke of a bear's or tiger's paw kills outright. They
like to see young blood flowing, and plenty of life
struggling against wounds and blows before death
comes to decide the contest. But there is one there
whom you have not named. His face is turned from
us; he has not the prisoner's garb, nor any kind of
fetter. Who can it be ? "
"I do not know his name," answered Rabirius;
" but he is a fine youth, who spends much of his time
among the convicts, relieves them, and even at times
raised, and thus the pillars were shortened, and the height of the
building diminished by several feet.

412 FABIOLA; OR,
helps them in their work. He pays, of course, well for
being allowed all this; so it is not our business to ask
questions." " But it is mine, though," said Corvinus sharply ;
and he advanced for this purpose. The voice caught
the stranger's ear, and he turned round to look.
Corvinus sprung upon him with the eye and action
of a wild beast, seized him, and called out with exulta
tion, " Fetter him instantly. This time, at least, Pan
cratius, thou shalt not escape."

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 413

CHAPTER XXI.

THE PRISON.

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 con
tent 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, the Acts 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 $re the same as were known to St- Augus-

4I41 FABIOLA ; OR,
tine, and cannot be read by any one without emotion.
If the reader would compare the morbid sensibility,
and the overstrained excitement, endeavoured to be
produced by a modern French writer, in the imaginary
journal of 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 chil
dren and women, catechumens and slaves, suffered, un
murmuring, for Christ.
But we are wandering from our narrative. Pan
cratius, with some twenty more, fettered and chained
together, were led through the streets to prison. As
they were thus dragged along, staggering and stum
bling helplessly, they were unmercifully struck by the
guards who conducted them ; and any persons near
enough to reach them dealt them blows and kicks with-

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 415
out remorse. Those further off pelted them with
stones ox offal, and assailed them with insulting
ribaldry.* 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 iust time, while he was being
handcuffed, to request one of the captors to inform his
mother and Sebastian of what had happened; and he
slipt 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 en
joy 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 our readers some idea
of what confessorship cost, independent of martyr
dom. 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
* See the account of St. Pothinus, Ruinart, i. p. 145, ed. Aug.
1802.

416 FABIOLA; OR,
have, rings fastened into them, for securing the pris
oners, but many used to be laid on the floor, with their
feet fastened in the stocks; and the ingenious cruelty
of the pe. .ecutors often increased the discomfort of the
damp stone floor, by strewing with broken potsherds
this only bed allowed to the mangled limbs and welted
tacks of the tortured Christians. Hence \ have ini
Africa a company of martyrs, headed by SS. Satur
ninus and Dativus, who all perished through their suf
ferings in prison. And the acts of the Lyonese Martyrs
. inform us, that many newcomers expired in the jail,
killed by its severities, before their bodies had endured
any torments; while, on the contrary, some who re
turned to it so cruelly tortured that their recovery
appeared hopeless, without any medical or other assist-
. ance, there regained their health.* 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 procon-
* Ruinart, p. 145.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 417
snlar 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." * 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 reiter
ating his plain profession of the Christian faith. Often,
as in the case of one Ptolomajus, beautifully recited by
St. Justin, and in that of St. Perpetua, he was con
tent 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 the munus, or
'games, at which they were to " fight with wild beasts."
" What art thou ? " he asked of one.
"lama Christian, by the help of God," was the
rejoinder. " And who art thou ? " said the Prefect to Rus-
ticus. " I am, indeed, a slave of Caesar's," answered the
prisoner ; " but becoming a Christian, I have been
freed by Christ Himself; and by His grace and mercy
* " Si dignus fueris, cognosces." Ruinart.

41 8 FABIOLA; OR,
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 repre
hended or condemned who obeys the precepts of Jesus
Christ our Saviour."
" What sort of learning and studies dost thou pur
sue ? "
" I have endeavoured 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 in that learning ? "
" 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

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 419
weak and insignificant to be able to utter anything
great of His infinite Deity : this office belong to the
prophets." *
" 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 feet stretched to the fifth hole.f 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
received 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 Pre
fect 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 sav
ing cross, and calmly replied, " I am the servant of
Christ. Him I acknowledge by my mouth, hold firm
* See the Acts of St. Justin. Ruinart, p. 129.
t This is mentioned as the extreme possible extension.

420 FABIOLA ; OR,
in my heart, incessantly adore. This yOuth which you
behold in me has the wisdom of grey hairs, if it wor
ship but one God. But your gods, with those who adore
them, are destined to eternal destruction." *
" 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."f
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 the gods of Rome, we order
to be exposed to wild beasts in the Flavian amphi
theatre." The mob howled with delight and hatred, and ac
companied 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 fra
grant atmosphere surrounding their persons.^
* Acts of St. Felicitas and her sons. Ruinart, p. 56.
f Acts of St. Perpetua. Ruinart, p. 220.
X Acts of Lyonese Martyrs. Ruinart, pp. 219, 146.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 42I

CHAPTER XXII.

THE VIATICUM.

A true contrast to the fury and discord without was
the scene within the prison. Peace, serenity, cheerful
ness, 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 ad
mitted 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 con
fessors 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 con
duct and looks of the morrow's combatants. But they

422 fabiola; OR, <
could discern neither the bravado and bpisterousness,
nor the dejection and bitterness, of ordinary culprits.
To the guests it was truly an agape, or love-feast, for
they supped with calm joyfulness amidst cheerful con
versation. Pancratius, however, once or twice re
proved 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 re
tired at this rebuke, and not a few were led by it to
conversion.* 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 Diony
sius, 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
* Acts of Lyonese Martyrs, p. 219.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 423
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 min
isters. 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 honour." The tears
stood in the boy's eyes, and his cheeks glowed with a
modest emotion, as he spoke these words. He

424 fabiola; or,
stretched forth his hands eagerly, and his entreaty was
so full of fervour and courage, that the plea was ir
resistible. 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 de
livered 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 largo 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, look
ing up smilingly ; " and I have no home, save one
which it might be displeasing to thee to hear."

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS". '425
" 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 mes
senger from a higher sphere. She watched him a long
time, and after some deliberation determined to fol
low him. Soon, however, she heard a tumult with hor
rid 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 Tarcis
ius, 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."

426 FABIOLA; OR,
"But you shall," exclaimed the first speaker, a
strong and bullying youth, laying hold of him. " I
will have no sulking, when I want anything 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 out of 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 to
wards heaven.
"I will see it," insisted the other rudely; "I will
know what is this wonderful secret." And he com
menced pulling him roughly about. A crowd of men
from the neighbourhood 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 CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 427
the circle round the combatants. He at once recog
nised 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." *
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 Chris
tians 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 pushed aside right and left by
some giant strength. Some went reeling to the fur
ther 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
* Asinus portans mysteria, a Latin proverb.

428 FABIOLA ; OR,
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, open
ing his eyes with a smile ; " but I am carrying the Di
vine 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 confi
dence 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 hal
lowed 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 ter
ror, " is that Tarcisius, whom I met a few moments
ago, so fair and lovely ? Who can have done this ? "
" Madam," replied Quadratus, " they have mur
dered him because he was a Christian."
The lady looked for an instant on the child's coun
tenance. 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 weep-

" ' Is it possible? Is that Tarsisius whom I met a few moments ago, so fair
and lovely ? ' " — Page 428.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 429
ing, as he removed the child's hands, and took from
his bosom, un violated, the Holy of Holies; and he
thought he looked more like 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 B. Eucharist was
the same then as now:
"Tarcisium sanctum Christi sacramenta gerentem,
Cum male sana manus peteret vulgare profanis ;
Ipse animam potius voluit dimittere csesus
Prodere quam canibus rabidis coelestia membra."*
He is mentioned in the Roman martyrology, on the
15th of August, as commemorated in the cemetery of
* " Christ's secret gifts, by good Tarcisius borne,
The mob profanely bade him to display ;
He rather gave his own limbs to be torn,
Than Christ's celestial to mad dogs betray."
Carmen xviii.
See also Baronius's notes to the Martyrology. The words (Christi)
coelestia membra," applied to the Blessed Eucharist, supply one
of those casual, but most striking, arguments that result from
identity of habitual thought in antiquity, more than from the
use of studied or conventional phrases.

430 FABIOLA; OR,
Callistus; whence his relics were, in due time, trans
lated 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 per
ceived 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, there
fore, the confessors of Christ; assured them that they
should not be deprived of their coveted food ; then
whispered a 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,

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 43 1
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 honour. What can I have done, Sebas
tian, 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 will-
eth, 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 Ausion 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 an
other, but hardly dares to think is to be, in a few hours,
real of himself ? "
" And nothing more than you have described, Pan
cratius ? "

432 FABIOLA ; OR,
" 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, ' Some time 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 em
brace,' — I feel is so like a beautiful hope, that it
startles me to think it will soon be that no 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 ampitheatre,
and unclose them instantly upon that one sunlike in
telligence, whose splendour 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 pro
claiming midnight — that to-day, to-day, I shall enjoy
all this!"
" Happy Pancratius ! " exclaimed the soldier ; " you

THE CHURCH OP THE CATACOMBS. 433
anticipate already by some hoUrs the raptures' td
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 less frightful 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 prom
ise — your double promise to me— to tell me the
secrets you concealed from me. This is your last op
portunity ; 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 apart
ments you said there was one motive strong enough to
check your ardent desire to die for Christ ; and lately,

434 FABfOLA; OR,
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 temper
ament 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 long
ings, . 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 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 honour, as a

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 43 g
gallant and daring youth; you might have been dis
turbed, 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,
a 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 pro
nounced 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 Pan
cratius, 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.

43$ FABIOLA; OR,
The two youths looked round, and Pancratius Was in
deed amazed. The holy priest Lucianus was laid
stretched on the floor, with his limbs painfully disj
tended in the catasta or stocks, so that he could not
rise. Upon his breast Reparatus had spread the three
linen cloths requisite for the altar; on them was laid
the 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.*
Marvellous and beautiful instance of the power of
adaptation in God's Church! Fixed as are her law3,
her ingenious love finds means, through their very re
laxation, 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
* Such a celebration of the Divine Mysteries, by a priest of this
name, at Antioch, is recorded in his Acts. (See Ruinart, torn.
iii. p. 182, note.)

¦>BEK&&& i ¦ WPP

sSfej™iaE*»S, , j_L JBMEgft^St^Sa/ 1 I '$ Jm gSM/itl^Smt^v ' ¦¦¦;i ;,l ¦> IN
I v lis* ^^SP^'SPaf^S^I

*' Each one received from his consecrated hand the mystical food." — Page 436.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 437
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, com
pleted in him. There was only Christ's life within
and without the sanctuary of that breast.* Was ever
viaticum for martyrs more worthily prepared ?
* " I live now, not I, but Christ liveth in me.'' Oal. ii. 20.

438 FABIOLA; OR,

CHAPTER XXIII.

THE FIGHT.

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
splendour. And the people, too, soon come forth into
the streets in their gayest attire, decked out with un
usual 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 tap
estried 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 of Vomitoria; for never did a more
polluted stream of the dregs and pests of humanity
issne from an unbecoming reservoir, through ill-assorted

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 439
channels, than the Roman mob, drunk with the blood
of martyrs, gushing forth from the pores of the splen
did amphitheatre.
The emperor came to the games surrounded by his
court, with all the pomp and circumstance which be
fitted 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 the
pulvinar, was reserved, and richly decorated for the
imperial court.
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 com
bats, 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 re
moved from the prison to a strong chamber called the
spoliatorium, 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 spontan
eously 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 encourag
ing one another, and singing the Divine praises, in

44O FABIOLA; OR,
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 — everywhere. 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 one one side ; for
I have 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 ? "
" Everywhere, 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,
everywhere."

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 441
" And nowhere else but where thou hast named ?
when thy chariot was dashed furiously along the Ap-
pian 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."

442 FABIOLA; OR,
"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 that they drew 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. It
was a leopard-skin purse, the gift of an African sor
ceress. 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 clot1 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 — everything and everybody except one
— he could not, for his life, curse Pancratius.

THE CHURCH OF THF CATACOMBS. 443
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, I have 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 imagina
tion had gloated for days, which he had longed for dur
ing 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, the lanista, 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 of venatores, or hunts
men, 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 in
tended 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 favourite sport was to

444 FABIOLA; OR,
bundle up a female victim in a net, and expose her to
be rolled, tossed, or gored by wild cattle.* One encoun
ter with a single wild beast often finished the martyr's
course ; while occasionally three or four were succes
sively let loose, without their inflicting a mortal wound.
The confessor was then either remanded to prison for
further torments, or taken back to the spoliatorium,
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 amphi
theatre, he saw Sebastian standing on one side, with
a lady closely enwrapped in her mantle, and veiled.
He at once recognised 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 expect-
eth thee. Fight the good fight, for thy soul's sake, and
show thyself faithful and steadfast in thy Saviour's
love.f Remember him too whose precious relic thou
bearest round thy neck."
* Seethe Acts of the Martyrs of Lyons, Ruinart, vol. i. p. 152
(where will be found the accounts of the martyrdom of a youth
of fifteen), and those of St. Perpetua and Felicitas, p. 221.
f Acts of St. Felicitas and her seven sons, Ruinart, vol. i. p. 55.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 445
" 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," ex
claimed the lanista, adding a stroke of his cane.
Lucina retreated; while Sebastian pressed the hand
of her son, and whispered in his ear, " Courage, dear
est 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 these 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
last of 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 :
" Yon might have seen a tender youth, who had not

44^ FABIOLA ; OR,
yet entered his twentieth year, standing without fet
ters, 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." *
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 ; f but the savage brute,
* Hist. Eceles. lib. viii. c. 7.
t Euseb. ibid. See also St. Ignatius's letter to the Romans, in
his Acts, op. Ruinart, vol, i. p. 40,

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 44?
as if a lion had been rushing on him, turned round, and
ran away towards the entrance, where, meeting his
keeper, he tossed him high into the air. All were dis
concerted 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 sor
cerer ! " 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 con
fession which I now humbly make; I am a Chris
tian; 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 gal
lant 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

448 FABIQLA; OR,
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 ! "
" The panther ! " shouted out a voice. " The
panther ! " responded twenty. " The panther ! "
thundered forth a hundred thousand, in a chorus like
the roaring of an avalanche.* A cage started up, as
if by magic, from the midst of the sand, and as it rose,
its side fell down, and freed the captive of the desert, f
With one graceful bound the elegant savage gained its
liberty ; and, though enraged by darkness, confinement,
and hunger, it seemed almost playful, as it leaped and
turned about, frisked and gambolled noiselessly on the
sand. At last it caught sight of its prey. AH its
feline cunning and cruelty seemed to return, and to con
spire together in animating the cautious and treacher
ous movements of its velvet-clothed frame. The whole
* The amphitheatre could contain 150,000.
f This was an ordinary device. The underground constructions
for its practice have been found in the Coliseum.

*' Pancratius was still standing in the same place, apparently not heeding the
movements of his enemy." — Pape 449.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 449
amphiheatre was as silent as if it had been a hermit's
cell, while every eye was intent, watching the stealthy
approaches of the sleek brute to its victim. Pancratius
was still standing in the same place, facing the em
peror, apparently so absorbed in higher thoughts, as
not to heed the movements of his enemy. The panther
had stolen round him, as if disdaining to attack him ex
cept in front. Crouching upon its breast, slowly ad-
. vancing one paw before another, it had gained its
measured distance, and there it lay for some moments
of breathless suspense. A deep snarling growl, an
elastic spring through the air, and it was seen gath
ered up like a leech, with its hind feet on the chest, and
its fangs and fore claws on the throat of the martyr.
He stood erect for a moment, brought his right hand
to his mouth, and looking up at Sebastian with a smile,
directed to him, by a graceful wave of his arm, the last
salutation of his lip — and fell. The arteries of the
neck had been severed, and the slumber of martyrdom
at once settled on his eyelids. His blood softened,
brightened, enriched, and blended inseparably with that
of his father, which Lucina had hung about hisneck.
The mother's sacrifice bad been accepted.*
* The Martyr Saturus, torn by a leopard, and about to die, ad
dressed the soldier Pudens, not yet a Christian, in words of ex
hortation ; then asked him for the ring on his finger, dipped it in
his own blood, and gave it back, " leaving him the inheritance
of that pledge, and the memorial of his blood." Ap. Ruinart,
vol. i. p. 223.

450 FABIOLA; OR,

CHAPTER XXIV.
THE CHRISTIAN SOLDIER.
The body of the young martyr was deposited in peace
on the Aurelian way, in the cemetery which soon bore
his name, and gave it, as we have before observed, to
the neighbouring gate. In times of peace, a basilica was
raised over his tomb, and yet stands to perpetuate his
honour. The persecution now increased its fury, and multi
plied its daily victims. Many whose names have ap
peared in our pages, especially the community of
Chromatius's villa, rapidly fell. The first was Zoe,
whose dumbness Sebastian had cured. She was sur
prised by a heathen rabble, praying at St. Peter's
tomb, and was hurried to trial, and hung with her head
over a smoky fire till she died. Her husband, with
three others of the same party, was taken, repeatedly
tortured, and beheaded. Tranquillinus, the father of
Marcus and Marcellianus, jealous of Zoe's crown,
prayed openly at St. Paul's tomb ; he was taken and
summarily stoned to death. His twin sons suffered also
a cruel death. The treachery of Torquatus, by his
describing his former companions, especially the gal-

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 4$ I
lant Tiburtius, who was now beheaded,* greatly facil
itated this wholesale destruction.
Sebastian moved in the midst of this slaughter, not
like a builder who saw his work destroyed by a tem
pest, nor a shepherd who beheld his flock borne off by
marauders. He felt as a general on the battle-field,
who looked only to the victory; counting every one as
glorious who gave his life in its purchase, and as ready
to give his own should it prove to be the required price.
Every friend that fell before him was a bond less to
earth, and a link more to heaven ; a care less below, a
claim more above. He sometimes sat lonely, or paused
silently, on the spots where he had conversed with Pan
cratius, recalling to mind the buoyant cheerfulness, the
graceful thoughts, and the unconscious virtue of the
amiable and comely youth. But he never felt as if
they were more separated than when he sent him on his
expedition to Campania. He had redeemed his pledge
to him; and now it was soon to be his own turn. He
knew it well ; he felt the grace of martyrdom swelling
in his breast, and in tranquil certainty he awaited its
hour. His preparation was simple: whatever he had
of value he distributed to the poor ; and he settled his
property, by sale, beyond the reach of confiscation.
Fulvius had picked up his fair share of Christian
* He is commemorated on the 11th of August, with his father
Chromatius, as has been already observed.

452 FABIOLA; OR,
spoils; but, on the whole, he had been disappointed.
He had not been obliged to ask for assistance from the
emperor, whose presence he avoided; but he had put
nothing by, he was not getting rich. Every evening he
had to bear the reproachful and scornful interrogatory
of Eurotas on the day's success. Now, however, he told
his stern master — for such he had become — that he was
going to strike at higher game, the emperor's favourite
officer, who must have made a large fortune in the
service. He had not long to wait for his opportunity. Ori
the 9th of January, a court was held, attended, of
course, by all aspirants for favours, or fearers of im
perial wrath. Fulvius was there, and, as usual, met
with a cold reception. But after bearing silently the
muttered curses of the royal brute, he boldly advanced,
dropped on one knee, and thus addressed him —
" Sire, your divinity has often reproached me with
having made, by my discoveries, but a poor return for
your gracious countenance and liberal subsidies. But
now I have found out the foulest of plots, and the bas
est of ingratitudes, in immediate contact with your
divine person."
" What dost thou mean, booby ? " asked impatiently
the tyrant. " Speak at once, or I'll have the words
pulled out of thy throat by an iron hook."
Fulvius rose, and directing his hand, in accompani-

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 453
ment to his words, said with a bitter blandness of tone,
" Sebastian is a Christian."
The emperor started from his throne in fury.
" Thou liest, villain ! Thou shalt prove thy words,
or thou shalt die such a piecemeal death, as no Chris
tian dog ever endured."
" I have sufficient proof recorded here," he replied,
producing a parchment, and offering it kneeling.
The emperor was about to make an angry answer,
when, to his utter amazement, Sebastian, with un
ruffled looks and noble mien, stood before him, and in
the calmest accents said, " My liege, I spare you all
trouble of proof. I am a Christian, and I glory in the
name." As Maximian, a rude though clever soldier, with
out education, could hardly when calm express himself
in decent Latin, when he was in a passion his lan
guage was composed of broken sentences, mingled with
every vulgar and coarse epithet. In this state he was
now; and he poured out on Sebastian a torrent of
abuse, in which he reproached him with every crime,
and called him by every opprobrious name, within
his well-stocked repertory of vituperation. The two
crimes, however, on which he rung his loudest changes
were ingratitude and treachery. He had nursed, he
said, a viper in his bosom, a scorpion, an evil demon;
and he only wondered he was still alive.

454 FABIOLA; OR,
The Christian officer stood the volley as intrepidly
as ever he had borne the enemy's assault on the field
of battle.
" Listen to me, my royal master," he replied, " per
haps for the last time. I have said I am a Christian ;
and in this you have had the best pledge of your
security." " How do you mean, ungrateful man ? "
" Thus, noble emperor — that if you want a body
guard around you of men who will spill their last drop
of life's blood for you, go to the prison and take the
Christians from the stocks on the floor, and from the
fetter-rings on the walls; send to the courts and bear
away the mutilated confessors from the rack and the
gridiron ; issue orders to the amphitheatres, and snatch
the mangled half that lives, from the jaws of tigers;
restore them to such shape as yet they are capable of,
put weapons into their hands, and place them around
you; and in this maimed and ill-favoured host there
will be more fidelity, more loyalty, more daring for you,
than in all your Dacian and Pannonian legions. You
have taken half their blood from them, and they will
give you willingly the other half."
" Folly and madness ! " returned the sneering sav
age. " I would sooner surround myself with wolves
than with Christians. Your treachery proves enough
for me."

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 455
" And what would have prevented me at auy time
from acting the traitor, if I had been one ? Have I not
had access to your royal person by night as by day;
and have I proved a traitor? No, emperor, none has
ever been more faithful than I to you. But I have
another, and a higher Lord to serve ; one who will judge
us both ; and His laws I must obey rather than yours."
" And why have you, like a coward, concealed your
religion ? To escape, perhaps, the bitter death you have
deserved ! "
" No, sire ; no more coward than traitor. No one
better than yourself knows that I am neither. So long
as I could do any good to my brethren, I refused not
to live amidst their carnage and my afflictions. But
hope had at last died within me ; and I thank Fulvius
with all my heart, for having, by his accusation, spared
me the embarrassment of choice between seeking death
or enduring life."
" I will decide that point for you. Death is your
award; and a slow lingering one it shall be. But,"
he added, in a lower tone, as if speaking to himself,
" this must not get out. All must be done quietly at
home, or treachery will spread. Here, Quadratus, take
your Christian tribune under arrest. Do you hear,
dolt ? Why do you not move ? "
" Because I too am a Christian ! "
Another burst of fury, another storm of vile Ian-

456 FABIOLA; OR,
guage, which ended in the stout centurion's being
ordered at once to execution. But Sebastian was to be
differently dealt with.
" Order Hyphax to come hither," roared the tyrant.
In a few minutes, a tall, half-naked Numidian made
his' appearance. A bow of immense length, a gaily
painted quiver full of arrows, and a short broadsword,
were at once the ornaments and the weapons of the
captain of the African archers. He stood erect before
the emperor, like a handsome bronze statue, with bright
enamelled eyes.
" Hyphax, I have a job for you to-morrow morning.
It must be well done," said the emperor.
" Perfectly, sire," replied the dusky chief, with a
grin which showed another set of enamels in his face.
" You see the captain Sebastian ? " The negro
bowed assent. " He turns out to be a Christian ! "
If Hyphax had been on his native soil, and had trod
den suddenly on a hooped asp or a scorpion's nest, he
could not have started more. The thought of being so
near a Christian — to him who worshipped every abom
ination, believed every absurdity, practised every lewd
ness, committed any atrocity !
Maximian proceeded, and Hyphax kept time to
every member of his sentences by a nod, and what he
meant to be a smile ;• — it was hardly an earthly one.
" You will take Sebastian to your quarters ; and early

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 457
to-morrow morning — not this evening, mind, for I
know that by this time of day you are all drunk —
but to-morrow morning, when your hands ^re steady,
you will tie him to a tree in the grove of Adonis, and
you will slowly shoot him to death. Slowly, mind;
none of your fine shots straight through the heart or the
brain, but plenty of arrows, till he die exhausted by
pain and loss of blood. Do you understand me ? Then
take him off at once. And mind, silence; or else  "

458 FABIOLA; OR,

CHAPTER XXV.
THE RESCUE.
In spite of every attempt at concealment, the news
was soon spread among all connected with the court,
that Sebastian had been discovered to be a Christian,
and was to be shot to death on the morrow. But on
none did the double intelligence make such an impres
sion as on Fabiola.
Sebastian a Christian! she said to herself; the
noblest, purest, wisest of Rome's nobility a member of
that vile, stupid sect ? Impossible ! Yet the fact seems
certain. Have I, then, been deceived? Was he not that
which he seemed ? Was he a mean impostor, who af
fected virtue, but was secretly a libertine ? Impos
sible, too! Yes, this was indeed impossible! She had
certain proofs of it. He knew that he might have had
her hand and fortune for the asking; and he had acted
most generously and most delicately towards her. He
was what he seemed, that she was sure — not gilded,
but gold.
Then how account for this phenomenon, of a Chris
tian being all that was good, virtuous, amiable \

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 459
One solution never occurred to Fabiola's mind, that
he was all this, because he was a Christian. She only
saw the problem in another form ; how could he be all
that he was, in spite of being a Christian ?
She turned it variously in her mind, in vain. Then
it came to her thought thus. Perhaps,, after all, good
old Chromatius was right, and Christianity may not be
what I have fancied ; and I ought to have inquired more
about it. I am sure Sebastian never did the horrible
things imputed to Christians. Yet everybody charges
them with them.
Might there not be a more refined form of this reli
gion, and a more grovelling one ; just as she knew there
was in her own sect, Epicureanism? one coarse, ma
terial, wallowing in the very mire of sensualism; the
other refined, sceptical, and reflective. Sebastian would
belong to the higher class, and despise and loathe the
superstitions and vices of the commoner Christians.
Such a hypothesis might be tenable; but it was hard
to reconcile to her intellect, how a man like that noble
soldier could, any way, have belonged to that hated
race. And yet he was ready to die for their faith ! As
to Zoe and the others she had heard nothing; for she
had only returned the day before from a journey made
into Campania, to arrange her father's affairs.
What a pity, she thought, that she had not talked
more to Sebastian on such subjects ! But it was now too

460 FABIOLA; OR, '
late; to-morrow morning he would be no more. This
second thought came with the sharp pang of a shaft
shot into her heart. She felt as if she personally were
about to suffer a loss, as if Sebastian's fate were going
to fall on some one closely bound to her by some secret
and mysterious tie.
Her thoughts grew darker and sadder, as she dwelt on
these ideas, amidst the deepening gloom. She was
suddenly disturbed by the entrance of a slave with a
light. It was Af ra, the black servant, who came to
prepare her mistress's evening repast, which she wished
to take alone. While busy with her arrangements, she
said, " Have you heard the news, madam ? "
" What news ? "
" Only that Sebastian is going to be shot with ar
rows to-morrow morning. What a pity; he was such
a handsome youth ! "
" Be silent, Afra ; unless you have some information
to give me on the subject,"
" Oh, of course, my mistress ; and my information is
indeed very astonishing. Do you know that he turns
out to be one of those wretched Christians ? "
" Hold your peace, I pray you ; and do not prate any
more about what you do not understand."
" Certainly not, if you so wish it : I suppose his fate
is quite a matter of indifference to you, madam. It
certainly is to me. He won't be the first officer that

THE CHURCH OP THE CATACOMBS. 461
,my countrymen have shot. Many they have killed,
and some they have saved. But of course that was all
chance." There was a significance in her words and tones which
did not escape the quick ear and mind of Fabiola. She
looked up for the first time, and fixed her eyes search-
ingly on her maid's swarthy face. There was no emo
tion in it; she was placing a flagon of wine upon the
. table, just as if she had not spoken. At length the lady
said to her —
" Af ra, what do you mean ? "
" Oh, nothing, nothing. What can a poor slave
know ? Still more, what can she do ? "
" Come, come, you meant by your words something
that I must know."
The slave came round the table, close to the couch on
which Fabiola rested, looked behind her, and around
her, then whispered, " Do you want Sebastian's life
preserved ? "
Fabiola almost leapt up, as she replied, " Certainly."
The servant put her finger to her lip, to enforce
silence, and said, " It will cost dear."
" Name your price."
" A hundred sestertia* and my liberty."
" I accept your terms ; but what is my security for
them ? " * About £800.

462 FABIOLA; OR,
" They shall be binding only, if twenty-four hours
after the execution he is still alive."
" Agreed ; and what is yours ? "
" Your word, lady."
" Go, Afra, lose not a moment."
" There is no hurry," quietly replied the slave, as
she completed, unflurried, the preparations for sup
per. She then proceeded at once to the palace, and to the
Mauritanian quarters, and went in directly to the com
mander. " What dost thou want, Jubala," he said, " at this
hour? There is no festival to-night."
" I know, Hyphax ; but I have important business
with thee."
" What is it about ? "
" About thee, about myself, and about thy pris
oner." " Look at him there," said the barbarian, pointing
across the court, which his door commanded. " You
would not think that he is going to be shot to-morrow.
See how soundly he sleeps. He could not do so better
if he were going to be married instead."
" As thou and I, Hyphax, intend to be the next day."
" Come, not quite so fast ; there are certain condi
tions to be fulfilled first."
" Well, what are they ? "

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 463
" First, thy manumission. I cannot marry a slave."
" That is secured."
" Secondly, a dowry, a good dowry, mind ; for I never
wanted money more than now."
" That is safe too. How much dost thou expect ? "
" Certainly not less than three hundred pounds." *
" I bring thee six hundred."
" Excellent ! where didst thou get all this cash ?
Whom hast thou robbed ? whom hast thou poisoned,
my admirable priestess ? Why wait till after to-mor
row ? Let it be to-morrow, to-night, if it please thee."
" Be quiet now, Hyphax ; the money is all lawful
gain ; but it has its conditions, too. I said I came to
speak about the prisoner also."
" Well, what has he to do with our approaching
nuptials ? "
" A great deal."
"What now?"
" He must not die."
The captain looked at her with a mixture of fury
and stupidity. He seemed on the point of laying violent
hands on her; but she stood intrepid and unmoved
before him, and seemed to command him by the strong
fascination of her eye, as one of the serpents of their
native land might do a vulture.
" Art mad ? " he at last exclaimed ; " thou mightest
* We give equivalents in English money, as more intelligible,

464 FABIOLA ; OR,
as well at once ask for my head. If thou hadst seen
the emperor's face when he issued his orders, thou
wouldst have known he will have no trifling with him
here." " Pshaw ! pshaw ! man ; of course the prisoner will
appear dead, and will be reported as dead."
" And if he finally recover ? "
" His fellow-Christians will take care to keep him
out of the way."
" Didst thou say twenty-four hours alive ? I wish
thou hadst made it twelve."
" Well, but I know that thou canst calculate close.
Let him die in the twenty-fifth hour, for what I care."
" It is impossible, Jubala, impossible ; he is too im
portant a person."
" Very well, then ; there is an end to our bargain.
The money is given only on this condition. Six hun
dred pounds thrown away ! " And she turned off to
go- " Stay, stay," said Hyphax eagerly, the demon of
covetousness coming uppermost. " Let us see. Why,
my fellows will consume half the money in bribes and
feasting." "Well, I have two hundred more in reserve for
that." " Sayest thou so, my princess, my sorceress, my
charming demon ? Bnt that will be too ranch for my

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 465
scoundrels. We will give them half, and add the other
half — to our marriage settlements, shan't we ? "
" As it pleases thee, provided the thing is done ac
cording to my proposal."
" It is a bargain, then. He shall live twenty-four
hours ; and after that, we will have a glorious wedding."
Sebastian in the meantime was unconscious of these
amiable negotiations for his safety; for, like Peter
between two guards, he was slumbering soundly by the
wall of the court. Fatigued with his day's work, he
had enjoyed the rare advantage of retiring early to
rest; and the marble pavement was a good enough
soldier's bed. But after a few hours' repose, he awoke
refreshed; and now that all was hushed, he silently
rose, and with outstretched arms, gave himself up to
prayer. The martyr's prayer is not a preparation for death;
for his is a death that needs no preparation. The soldier
who suddenly declares himself a Christian, bends down
his head, and mingles his blood with that of the con
fessor, whom he had come to execute ; or the friend of
unknown name, who salutes the martyr going to death,
is seized, and made to bear him willing company,* is
as prepared for martyrdom, as he who has passed
months in prison engaged in prayer. It is not a cry,
therefore, for the forgiveness of past sin; for there is
* Called thence St. Adauctus.
30

4.66 Fabiola; or,
a consciousness of that perfect love, which sendeth Out
fear, an inward assurance of that highest grace, which
is incompatible with sin.
Nor in Sebastian was it a prayer for courage or
strength ; for the opposite feeling, which could suggest
it, was unknown to him. It never entered into his mind
to doubt, that as he had faced death intrepidly for his
earthly sovereign on the battle-field, so he should meet
it joyfully for his heavenly Lord in any place.
His prayer, then, till morning, was a gladsome hymn
of glory and honour to the King of kings, a joining with
the seraph's glowing eyes and ever-shaking wings in
restless homage.
Then when the stars in the bright heavens caught
his eyes, he challenged them as wakeful sentinels like
himself to exchange the watchword of Divine praises;
and as the night-wind rustled in the leafless trees of the
neighbouring court of Adonis, he bade its wayward
music compose itself, and its rude harping upon the
vibrating boughs form softer hymns, — the only ones
that earth could utter in its winter night-hours.
Now burst upon him the thrilling thought that the
morning hour approached, for the cock had crowed;
and he would soon hear those branches murmuring
over him to the sharp whistle of flying arrows, unerring
in their aim. And he offered himself gladly to their
sharp tongues, hissing as the serpent's, to drink his

THF CHURCH OF THF CATACOMBS. 467
blood. He offered himself as an oblation for God's
honour, and for the appeasing of His wrath. He of
fered himself particularly for the afflicted Church,
and prayed that his death might mitigate her sufferings.
And then his thoughts rose higher, from the earthly
to the celestial Church ; soaring like the eagle from
the highest pinnacle of the mountain-peak towards the
sun. Clouds have rolled away, and the blue em
broidered veil of morning is rent in twain, like the
sanctuary's, and he sees quite into its revealed depths ;
far, far inwards, beyond senates of saints and legions
of angels, to what Stephen saw of inmost and intensest
glory. And now his hymn was silent ; harmonies came
to him, too sweet and perfect to brook the jarring of a
terrestrial voice; they came to him, requiring no re
turn ; for they brought heaven into his soul ; and what
could he give back ? It was as a fountain of purest
refreshment, more like gushing light than water, flow
ing from the foot of the Lamb, and poured into his
heart, which could only be passive, and receive the
gift. Yet in its sparkling bounds, as it rippled along
towards him, he could see the countenance now of one,
and then of another of the happy friends who had gone
before him ; as if they were drinking, and bathing, and
disporting, and plunging, and dissolving themselves in
those living waters.
His countenance was glowing as with the very reflec-

468 FABIOLA; Or,
tion of the vision, and the morning dawn just bright
ening (oh, what a dawn that is !), caught his face as he
stood up, with his arms in a cross, opposite the east;
so that when Hyphax opened his door and saw him, he
could have crept across the court and worshipped him
on his face.
Sebastian awoke as from a trance; and the chink
of sesterces sounded in the mental ears of Hyphax ; so he
set scientifically about earning them. He picked out
of his troop of a hundred, five marksmen, who could
split a flying arrow with a fleeter one, called them into
his room, told them their reward, concealing his own
share, and arranged how the execution was to be man
aged. As to the body, Christians had already secretly
offered a large additional sum for its delivery, and two
slaves were to wait outside to receive it. Among his
own followers he could fully depend on secrecy.
Sebastian was conducted into the neighbouring court
of the palace, which separated the quarters of these
African archers from his own dwelling. It was
planted with rows of trees, and consecrated to Adonis.
He walked cheerfully in the midst of his executioners,
followed by the whole band, who were alone allowed to
be spectators, as they would have been of an ordinary
exhibition of good archery. The officer was stripped
and bound to a tree, while the chosen five took their
stand opposite, cool and collected. It was at best a

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 469
desolate sort of death. Not a friend, not a sympathiser
near ; not one fellow-Christian to bear his farewell to the
faithful, or to record for them his last accents, and the
constancy of his end. To stand in the middle of the
crowded amphitheatre, with a hundred thousand wit
nesses of Christian constancy, to see the encouraging
looks of many, and hear the whispered blessings of a
few loving acqaintances, had something cheering, and
almost inspiring in it; it lent at least the feeble aid
of human emotions to the more powerful sustainment
of grace. The very shout of an insulting multitude
put a strain upon natural courage, as the hunter's cry
only nerves the stag at bay. But this dead and silent
scene, at dawn of day, shut up in the court of a house ;
this being, with most unfeeling indifference tied up,
like a truss of hay, or a stuffed figure, to be coolly
aimed at, according to the tyrant's orders; this being
alone in the midst of a horde of swarthy savages, whose
very language was strange, uncouth, and unintelligible ;
but who were no doubt uttering their rude jokes, and
laughing, as men do before a match or a game, which
they are going to enjoy ; all this had more the appear
ance of a piece of cruelty, about to be acted in a gloomy
forest by banditti, than open and glorious confession
of Christ's name: it looked and felt more like assassina
tion than martyrdom.
But Sebastian cared not for all this. Angels looked

470 FABIOLA ; OR,
over he wall upon him ; and the rising sun, which
dazzled his eyes, but made him a clearer mark for his
bowmen, shone not more brightly on him than did the
countenance of the only Witness he cared to have of
suffering endured for His sake !
The first Moor drew his bowstring to his ear, and an
arrow trembled in the flesh of Sebastian. Each chosen
marksman followed in turn; and shouts of applause
accompanied each hit, so cleverly approaching, yet
avoiding, according to the imperial order, every vital
part. And so the game went on; everybody laughing,
and brawling, and jeering, and enjoying it, without a
particle of feeling for the now drooping frame,
painted with blood : * all in sport, except the martyr,
to whom all was sober earnest — each sharp pang,
the enduring smart, the exhaustion, the weariness, the
knotty bonds, the constrained attitude ! Oh ! but
earnest too was the steadfast heart, the untiring spirit,
the unwavering faith, the unruffled patience, the unsated
love of suffering for his Lord. Earnest was the prayer,
earnest the gaze of the eye on heaven, earnest the listen
ing of the ear for the welcoming strain of the heavenly
porters, as they should open the gate.
It was indeed a dreary death; yet this was not the
worst. After all, death came not; the golden gates
remained unbarred ; the martyr in heart, still reserved
* " Membraque picta cruore novo.'' Prud. nepc crt$. iii. 89.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 471
for greater glory even upon earth, found himself, not
suddenly translated from death to life, but sunk into
unconsciousness in the lap of angels. His tormentors
6aw when they had reached their intended measure;
they cut the cords that bound him; and Sebastian fell
exhausted, and to all appearance dead, upon the carpet
of blood which he had spread for himself on the pave
ment. Did he lie, like a noble warrior, as he now ap
pears in marble under his altar, in his own dear church ?
We at least cannot imagine him as more beautiful.
And not only that church do we love, but that ancient
chapel which stands in the midst of the ruined Pala
tine, to mark the spot on which he fell.*
* The reader, when visiting the Crystal Palace, will find in the
Roman Court an excellent model of the Roman Forum. On the
raised mound of the Palatine hill, between the arches of Titus
and Constantine, he will see a chapel of fair dimensions standing;
alone. It is the one to which we allude. It has been lately re
paired by the Barberini family.

472 FABIOLA; OR,

CHAPTER XXVI.

THE REVIVAL.

Night was far advanced, when the black slave,
having completed her marriage settlement, quite to
her own satisfaction, was returning to her mistress's
house. It was, indeed, a cold wintry night, so she was
well wrapped up, and in no humour to be disturbed.
But it was a lovely night, and the moon seemed to be
stroking, with a silvery hand, the downy robe of the
meta sudans* She paused beside it; and, after a
silence of some moments, broke out into a loud laugh,
as if some ridiculous recollection connected itself in
her mind with that beautiful object. She was turn
ing round to proceed on her way, when she felt her
self roughly seized by the arm.
" If you had not laughed," said her captor bitterly,
" I should not have recognised you. But that hyena
laugh of yours is unmistakable. Listen, the wild beasts,
your African cousins, are answering it from the amphi
theatre. What was it about, pray ? "
" About you." * The fountain before described.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 473
" How about me ? "
" I was thinking of our last interview in this place,
and what a fool you made of yourself."
"How kind of you, Afra, to be thinking of me,
especially as I was not just then thinking of you, but
of your countrymen in those cells."
" Cease your impertinence, and call people by their
proper names. I am not Afra the slave any longer, at
least I shall not be so in a few hours ; but Jubala, the
wife of Hyphax, commander of the Mauritanian
archers." " A very respectable man, no doubt, if he could speak
any language besides his gibberish; but these few
hours of interval mav suffice for the transaction of our
business. You made a mistake, methinks, in what you
said just now. It was you, was it not, that made a
fool of me at our last meeting? What has become of
your fair promises, and of my fairer gold, which were
exchanged on that occasion? Mine, I know, proved
sterling: yours, I fear, turned out but dust."
" No doubt ; for so says a proverb in my language :
' The dust on the wise man's skirts is better than the
gold in the fool's girdle.' But let us come to the point ;
did you really ever believe in the power of my charms
and philtres ? "
" To be sure I did ; do you mean they were all im
posture ? "

474 FABIOLA; OR,
" Not quite all ; you see we have got rid of Fabius,
and the daughter is in possession of the fortune. That
was a preliminary step of absolute necessity."
" What ! do you mean that your incantations re
moved the father ? " asked Corvinus, amazed, and
shrinking from her. It was only a sudden bright
thought of Afra's, so she pushed her advantage, say
ing— " To be sure ; what else ? It is easy thus to get rid of
any one that is too much in the way."
" Good night, good night," he replied, in great fear.
" Stay a moment," she answered, somewhat pro
pitiated ; " Corvinus, I gave you two pieces of advice
worth all your gold that night. One you have acted
against; the other you have not followed."
"How?"" Did I not tell you not to hunt the Christians, but
to catch them in your toils ? Fulvius has done the
second, and has gained something. You have done the
first, and what have you earned ? "
" Nothing but rage, confusion, and stripes."
" Then I was a good counsellor in the one advice ;
follow me in the second."
" What was it ? "
" When you had become rich enough by Christian
spoil, to offer yourself, with your wealth, to Fabiola.
She has till now coldly rejected every offer ; but I have

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 475
observed one thing carefully. Not a single suit has
been accompanied by riches. Every spendthrift has
sought her fortune to repair his own; depend upon it,
he that wins the prize must come on the principle that
two and two make four. Do you understand me ? "
" Too well, for where are my two to come from ? "
" Listen to me, Corvinus, for this is our last inter
view; and I rather like you, as a hearty, unscrupu
lous, relentless, and unfeeling good hater." She drew
him nearer and whispered : " I know from Eurotas, out
of whom I can wheedle anything, that Fulvius has some
splendid Christian prizes in view, one especially. Come
this way into the shadow, and I will tell you how surely
you may intercept his treasure. Leave to him the cool
murder that will be necessary, for it may be trouble
some ; but step in beween him and the spoil. He would
do it to you any day."
She spoke to him for some minutes in a low and
earnest tone ; and at the end, he broke out into a loud
exclamation, " Excellent ! " What a word in such a
mouth !
She checked him by a pull, and pointing to the
building opposite, exclaimed — " Hush ! look there ! "
How are the tables turned ; or, rather, how has the
world gone round in a brief space ! The last time these
two wicked beings were on the same spot, plotting bane
to others, the window above was occupied by two virtu-

47$ FABIOLA; OR,
ous youths, who, like two spirits of good, were intent
On unravelling their web of mischief, and countermin
ing their dark approaches. They are gone thence, the
one sleeping in his tomb, the other slumbering on the
eve of execution. Death looks to us like a holy power,
seeing how much he prefers taking to his society the
good rather than the evil. He snatches away the
flower, and leaves the weed its poisonous life, till it
drops into mature decay.
But at the moment that they looked up, the window
was occupied by two other persons.
" That is Fulvius," said Corvinus, " who just came
to the window."
" And the other is his evil demon, Eurotas," added
the slave. They both watched and listened from their
dark nook.
Fulvius came again, at that moment, to the window,
with a sword in his hand, carefully turning and ex
amining the hilt in the bright moonlight. He flung
it down at last, exclaiming with an oath, " It is only
brass after all."
Eurotas came with, to all appearance, a rich officer's
belt, and examined it carefully. " All false stones !
Why, I declare the whole of the effects are not worth
fifty pounds. You have made but a poor job of this,
Fulvius." " Always reproaching me, Eurotas. And yet this

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 477
miserable gain has cost me the life of one of the em
peror's most favourite officers."
" And no thanks probably from your master for it."
Eurotas was right.
Next morning the slaves who received the body of
Sebastian were surprised by the swarthy female figure
passing by them, and whispering to them, " He is still
alive." Instead, therefore, of carrying him out for burial,
they bore him to the apartment of Irene. The early
hour of the morning, and the emperor's having gone,
the evening before, to his favourite Lateran palace,
facilitated this movement. Instantly Dionysius wa3
sent for, and he pronounced every wound curable; not
one arrow having touched a vital organ. But loss of
blood had taken place to such a fearful extent, that he
considered weeks must elapse before the patient would
be fit to move.
For four-and-twenty hours Afra assiduously calledj
almost every hour, to ask how Sebastian was. When
the probationary term was finished, she conducted
Fabiola to Irene's apartment, to receive herself assur
ance that he breathed, though scarcely more. The
deed of her liberation from servitude was executed,
her dowry was paid, and the whole Palatine and Forum
rung with the mad carouse and hideous rites of her
nuptials.

478 FABIOLA; OR,
Fabiola inquired after Sebastian with such tender
solicitude, that Irene doubted not that she was a Chris
tian. The first few times she contented herself with
receiving intelligence at the door, and putting into the
hands of Sebastian's hostess a large sum towards the
expenses of his recovery ; but after two days, when he
was improving, she was courteously invited to enter;
and, for the first time in her life, she found herself
consciously in the bosom of a Christian family.
Irene, we are told, Avas the widow of Castulus, one
of the Chromatian band of converts. Her husband
had just suffered death ; but she remained still, un
noticed, in the apartments held by him in the palace.
Two daughters lived with her ; and a marked difference
in their behaviour soon struck Fabiola, as she became
familiar with them. One evidently thought Sebas
tian's presence an intrusion, and seldom or never ap
proached him. Her behaviour to her mother was rude
and haughty, her ideas all belonged to the common
world, — she was selfish, light, and forward. The
other, who was the younger, was a perfect contrast to
her, — so gentle, docile, and affectionate ; so considerate
about others, so devoted to her mother ; so kind and at
tentive to the poor patient. Irene herself was a type
of the Christian matron, in the middle class of life.
Fabiola did not find her intelligent, or learned, or
witty, or highly polished ; but she saw her always calm,

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 479
active, sensible, and honest. Then she was clearly
warm-hearted, generous, deeply affectionate, and
sweetly patient. The pagan lady had never seen such
a household, — so simple, frugal, and orderly. Noth
ing disturbed it, except the character of the elder sister.
In a few days it was ascertained that the daily visitor
was not a Christian ; but this caused no change in their
treatment of her. Then she in her turn made a dis
covery, which mortified her — that the elder daughter
was still heathen. All that she saw made a favourable
impression on her, and softened the hard crust of
prejudice on her mind. For the present, however, her
thoughts were all absorbed in Sebastian, whose recovery
was slow. She formed plans with Irene for carrying
him off to her Campanian villa, where she would have
leisure to confer with him on religion. An insuper
able obstacle, however, rose to this project.
We will not attempt to lead our reader into the feel
ings of Sebastian. To have yearned after martyrdom,
to have prayed for it, to have suffered all its pangs,
to have died in it as far as human consciousness went,
to have lost sight of this world, and now to awaken
in it again, no martyr, but an ordinary wayfaring
man on probation, who might yet lose salvation, — was
surely a greater trial than martyrdom itself. It was
to be like a man who, in the midst of a stormy night,
should try to cross an angry river, or tempestuous arm

480 FABIOLA ; OR,
of the sea, and, after struggling for hours, and having
his skiff twirled round and round and all but upset,
should find himself relanded on the same side as he
started from. Or, it was like St. Paul sent back to
earth and to Satan's buffets, after having heard the
mysterious words which only one Intelligence can ut
ter. Yet no murmur escaped him, no regret. He
adored in silence the Divine Will, hoping that its pur
pose was only to give him the merit of a double martyr
dom. For this second crown he so earnestly longed,
that he rejected every proposal for flight and conceal
ment. " I have now," he generously said, " earned one
privilege of a martyr, that of speaking boldly to the per
secutors. This I will use the first day that I can leave
my bed. Nurse me, therefore, well, that it may be the
sooner."

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 48 1

CHAPTER XXVII.
the second crown.
The memorable plot which the black slave betrayed
to Corvinus was one to which allusion has already
been made, in the conversation between Fulvius and
his guardian. He was convinced from the blind
martyr's unsuspecting admissions that Agnes was a
Christian, and he believed he had now two strings to
his bow ; either he could terrify her into marriage with
himself, or he could destroy her, and obtain a good
share of her wealth, by confiscation. He was nerved
for the second alternative by the taunts and exhorta
tions of Eurotas; but, despairing of obtaining another
interview, he wrote her a respectful, but pressing letter,
descriptive of his disinterested attachment to her, and
entreating her to accept his suit. There was but the
faintest hint at the end, that duty might compel him
to take another course, if humble petition did not pre
vail. To this application he received a calm, well-bred,
but unmistakable refusal; a stern, final, and hopeless
rejection. But more, the letter stated in clear terms,
that the writer was already espoused to the spotless
31

482 FABIOLA ; OR,
Lamb, and could admit from no perishable being ex
pressions of personal attachment. This rebuff steeled
his heart against pity; but he determined to act pru
dently. In the meantime, Fabiola, seeing the determination
of Sebastian not to fly, conceived a romantic idea of
saving him, in spite of himself, by extorting his pardon
from the emperor. She did not know the depths of
wickedness in man's heart. She thought the tyrant
might fume for a moment, but that he would never
condemn a man twice to death. Some pity and mercy,
she thought, must linger in his breast; and her earnest
pleading and tears would extract them, as heat does
the hidden balsam from the hard wood. She accord
ingly sent a petition for an audience; and knowing
the covetousness of the man, presumed, as she said, to
offer him a slight token of her own and her late
father's loyal attachment. This was a ring with
jewels of rare beauty and immense value. The pres
ent was accepted; but she was merely told to attend
with her memorial at the Palatine on the 20th, in
common with other petitioners, and wait for the em
peror's descent by the great staircase, on his way to
sacrifice. Unencouraging as was this answer, she re
solved to risk anything, and do her best.
The appointed day came; and Fabiola, in her
mourning habits, worn both as a suppliant, and for

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 483
her father's death, took her stand in a row of far
more wretched creatures than herself, mothers, chil
dren, sisters, who held petitions for mercy, for those
dearest to them, now in dungeons or mines. She felt
the little hope she had entertained die within her at
the sight of so much wretchedness, too much for it all
to expect favour. But fainter grew its last spark, at
every step that the tyrant took down the marble stairs,
though she saw her brilliant ring sparkling on his
coarse hand. For on each step he snatched a paper
from some sorrowful suppliant, looked at it scornfully,
and either tore it up, or dashed it on the ground.
Only here and there, he '.anded one to his secretary,
a man scarcely less imperious than himself.
It was now nearly Fabiola's turn: the emperor was
only two steps above her, and her heart beat violently,
not from fear of man, but from anxiety about Sebas
tian's fate. She would have prayed, had she known
how, or to whom. Maximian was stretching out his
hand to take a paper offered to him, when he drew
back, and turned round, on hearing his name most un
ceremoniously and peremptorily called out. Fabiola
looked tip too ; for she knew the voice.
Opposite to her, high in the white marble wall, she
had observed an open window, corniced in yellow
marble, which gave light to a back corridor leading to
where Irene's apartments were. She now looked up,

484 FABIOLA; OR,
guided by the voice, and in the dark panel of the
window, a beautiful, but awful picture was seen. It
was Sebastian, wan and thin, who, with features
almost etherealised, calm and stern, as if no longer
capable of passion, or strong emotion, stood there be
fore them; his lacerated breast and arms appearing
amidst the loose drapery he had thrown around him.
For he had heard the familiar trumpet-notes, which
told him of the emperor's approach, and he had risen,
and crept thus far, to greet him.*
" Maximian ! " he cried out, in a hollow, but dis
tinct voice.
" Who art thou, sirrah ! that makest so free with
thine emperor's name ? " asked the tyrant, turning
upon him.
" I am come as from the dead, to warn thee that the
day of wrath and vengeance is fast approaching.
Thou has spilt the blood of God's Saints upon the
pavement of this city; thou hast cast their holy bodies
into the river, or flung them away upon the dunghills
at the gates. Thou hast pulled down God's temples,
and profaned His altars, and rifled the inheritance of
His poor. For these, and thine own foul crimes and
lewdnesses, thine injustices and oppressions, thy covet-
ousness and thy pride, God hath judged thee, and His
wrath shall soon overtake thee ; and thou shalt die the
* See the Acts of St. Sebastian.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 485
death of the violent; and God will give His Church
an emperor after His own heart. And thy memory
shall be accursed through the whole world till the end
of time. Repent thee, while thou hast time, impiou3
man ; and ask forgiveness of God, in the name of Him,
the Crucified, whom thou hast persecuted till now."
Deep silence was held while these words were fully
uttered. The emperor seemed under the influence of
a paralysing awe; for soon recognising Sebastian, he
felt as if standing in the presence of the dead. But
quickly recovering himself and his passion, he ex
claimed : " Ho ! some of you, go round instantly and
bring him before me " (he did not like to pronounce
his name). "Hyphax here! Where is Hyphax? I
saw him just now."
But the Moor had at once recognised Sebastian, and
run off to his quarters. " Ha ! he is gone, I see ; then
here, you dolt, what's your name?" (addressing Cor
vinus, who was attending his father), "go to the Nu-
midian court, and summon Hyphax here directly."
With a heavy heart Corvinus went on his errand.
Hyphax had told his tale, and put his men in order
of defence. Only one entrance at the end of the court
was left open ; and when the messenger had reached it,
he durst not advance. Fifty men stood along each
side of the space, with Hyphax and Jubala at the op
posite end. Silent and immovable, with their dark

486 FABioLA; OR,
chests and arms bare, each with his arrow fixed, and
pointed to the door, and the string ready drawn, they
looked like an avenue of basalt statues leading to an
Egyptian temple.
" Hyphax," said Corvinus, in a tremulous voice,
" the emperor sends for you."
" Tell his majesty respectfully from me," replied
the African, " that my men have sworn, that no man
passes that threshold, coming in, or going out, without
receiving, through his breast or his back, a hundred
shafts into his heart; until the emperor shall have sent
us a token of forgiveness for every offence."
Corvinus hastened back with this message, and the
emperor received it with a laugh. They were men
with whom he could not afford to quarrel ; for he relied
on them in battle, or insurrection, for picking out the
leaders. " The cunning rascals ! " he exclaimed.
" There, take that trinket to Hyphax's black spouse."
And he gave him Fabiola's splendid ring. He has
tened back, delivered his gracious embassy, and threw
the ring across. In an instant every bow dropt, and
every string relaxed. Jubala, delighted, sprang for
ward and caught the ring. A heavy blow from her
husband's fist felled her to the ground, and was greeted
with a shout of applause. The savage seized the jewel ;
and the woman rose, to fear that she had only ex
changed one slavery for a worse.

THF CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 487
Hyphax screened himself behind the imperial com
mand. " If," he said, " you had allowed us to send
an arrow through his head or heart, all would have
been straight. As it was, we are not responsible."
" At any rate, I will myself see my work done
properly this time," said Maximian. " Two of you
fellows with clubs come here."
Two of his attendant executioners came from be
hind; Sebastian, scarcely able to stand, was also there,
mild and intrepid. " Now, my men," said the bar
barian, " I must not have any blood spilt on these
stairs; so you knock the life out of him with your
cudgels ; make clean work of it. Madam, what is your
petition ? " — stretching out his hand to Fabiola, whom
he recognised, and so addressed more respectfully.
She was horrified and disgusted, and almost fainting
at the sight before her ; so she said, " Sire, I fear it is
too late ! "
" Why too late ? " looking at the paper. A flash
came from his eye, as he said to her : " What ! You
knew that Sebastian was alive? Are you a Chris
tian ? "
" No, sire," she replied. Why did the denial almost
dry up in her throat ? She could not for her life have
said she was anything else. Ah! Fabiola, thy day is
not far off.
" But, as you said just now," replied the emperor,

488 FABIOLA; OR,
more serene, returning her petition, " I fear it is too
late; I think that bow must have been the ictus grati-
osus."* " I feel faint, sire," said she respectfully ; " may I
retire ? "
" By all means. But, by the bye, I have to thank
you for the beautiful ring which you sent, and which
I have given to Hyphax's wife " (lately her own
slave!). " It will look more brilliant on a black hand
than even on mine. Adieu ! " and he kissed his hand
with a wicked smile, as if there were no martyr's body
near to witness against him. He was right: a heavy
blow on the head had proved fatal ; and Sebastian was
safe where he had so longed to be. He bore with him
a double palm, and received a twofold crown. Yet
still, an ignominious end before the world; beaten to
death without ceremony, while the emperor conversed.
How much of martyrdom is in its disgrace! Woe
to us when we know that our sufferings earn us honour !
The tyrant, seeing his work completed, ordered that
Sebastian at least should not be cast into the Tiber nor
on a dunghill. " Put plenty of weights to his body,"
he added, " and throw it into the Cloaca,f to rot there,
* The coup de grace, the blow by which culprits were " put out
of their pain." Breaking the legs of the crucified was considered
an ictus gratiosus.
\ The great sewer of Rome.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 489
and be the food of vermin. The Christians at least
shall not have it." This was done; and the Saint's
Acts inform us, that in the night he appeared to the
holy matron Lucina, and directed her where to find his
sacred remains. She obeyed his summons, and they
were buried with honour where now stands his basilica.

490 FABIOLA; OR,

CHAPTER XXVIII.
THE CRITICAL DAY: ITS FIRST PART.
There are critical days in the life of man and of
mankind. Not merely the clays of Marathon, of Can-
na;, or of Lepanto, in which a different result might
have influenced the social or political fate of mankind.
But it is probable that Columbus could look back upon
not only the clay, but the precipe hour, the decision of
which secured to the world all that he taught and gave
it, and to himself the singular place which he holds
among its worthies. And each of us, little and insig
nificant as he may be, has had his critical day ; his day
of choice, which has decided his fate through life ; his
clay of Providence, which altered his position or his re
lations to others ; his day of grace, when the spiritual
conquered the material. In whatever way it has been,
every soul, like Jerusalem,* has had its day.
And so with Fabiola, has not all been working up
towards a crisis ? Emperor anl slave, father and guest,
the good and the wicked, Christian and heathen, rich
and poor; then life and death, joy and sorrow, learning
* ilIf thou hadst known, and in this thy day, etc. St. Luke
xix. 42. *

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 49I
and simplicity, silence and conversation, have they not
all come as agents, pulling at her mind in opposite
ways, yet all directing her noble and generous, though
haughty and impetuous, soul one way, as the breeze
and the rudder struggle against one another, only to
determine the ship's single path? By what shall the
resolution of these contending forces be determined?
That rests not with man ; wisdom, not philosophy, can
decide. We have been engaged with events commem
orated on the 20th of January ; let the reader look, and
see what comes on the following dav in his calendar,
and he will agree it must be an important day in our
little narrative.
From the audience, Fabiola retired to the apartments
of Irene, where she found nothing but desolation and
sorrow. She sympathised fully with the grief around
her, but she saw and felt that there was a difference
between her affliction and theirs. There was a buoy
ancy about them ; there was almost an exultation break
ing out through their distress ; their clouds were sunlit
and brightened at times. Hers was a dead and sullen,
a dull and heavy gloom, as if she had sustained a hope
less loss. Her search after Christianity, as associated
with anything amiable or intelligent, seemed at an end.
Her desired teacher, or informant, was gone. When
the crowd had moved away from the palace, she took
affectionate leave of the widow and her daughters ; but,

492 FABIOLA; OR,
some way or other, she could not like the heathen on©
as she loved her sister.
She sat alone at home, and tried to read; she took
up volume after volume of favourite works on Death,
on Fortitude, on Friendship, on Virtue; and every
one of them seemed insipid, unsound, and insincere.
She plunged into a deeper and a deeper melancholy,
which lasted till towards evening, when she was dis
turbed by a letter being put into her hand. The Greek
slave, Graja, who brought it in, retired to the other end
of the room, alarmed and perplexed by what she wit
nessed. For her mistress had scarcely glanced over
the note, than she leapt up wildly from her seat, threw
her hair into disorder with her hands, which she
pressed, as in agony, on her temples, stood thus for a
moment, looking up with an unnatural stare in her
eyes, and then sank heavily down again on her chair
with a deep groan. Thus she remained for some min
utes, holding the letter in both her hands, with her
arms relaxed, apparently unconscious.
" Who brought this letter ? " she then asked, quite
collected. " A soldier, madam," answered the maid.
" Ask him to come here."
While her errand was being delivered, she com
posed herself, and gathered up her hair. As soon as
the soldier appeared she held this brief dialogue :

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 493
" Whence do you come ? "
" I am on guard at the Tullian prison."
" Who gave you the letter ? "
" The Lady Agnes herself."
" On what cause is the poor child there ? "
" On the accusation of a man named Fulvius, for be
ing a Christian."
"For nothing else?"
" For nothing, I am sure."
" Then we shall soon set that matter right. I can
give witness to the contrary. Tell her I will come
presently; and take this for your trouble."
The soldier retired,, and Fabiola was left alone.
When there was something to do, her mind was at once
energetic and concentrated, though afterwards the ten
derness of womanhood might display itself the more
painfully. She wrapped herself close up, proceeded
alone to the prison, and was at once conducted to the
separate cell, which Agnes had obtained, in considera
tion of her rank, backed by her parents' handsome
largitions. " What is the meaning of this, Agnes ? " eagerly in
quired Fabiola, after a warm embrace.
" I was arrested a few hours ago, and brought
hither." " And is Fulvius fool enough, as well as scoundrel,
to trump up an accusation against you, which five min-

494 fabiola; or,
utes will confute ? I will go to Tertullus myself, and
contradict his absurd charge at once."
" What charge, dearest ? "
" Why, that you are a Christian."
" And so I am, thank God ! " replied Agnes, making
on herself the sign of the cross.
The announcement did not strike Fabiola like a
thunderbolt, nor rouse her, nor stagger her, nor per
plex her. Sebastian's death had taken all edge or
heaviness from it. She had found that faith existing
in what she had considered the type of every manly
virtue; she was not surprised to find it in her, whom
she had loved as the very model of womanly perfection.
The simple grandeur of that child's excellence, her
guileless innocence, and unexcepting kindness, she had
almost worshipped. It made Fabiola's difficulties
less, it brought her problem nearer to a solution, to
find two such peerless beings to be not mere chance-
grown plants, but springing from the same seeJ. She
bowed her head in a kind of reverence for the child,
and asked her, " How long have you been so ? "
" All my life, dear Fabiola ; I sucked the faith, as
we say, with my mother's milk."
" And why did you conceal it from me ? "
"Because I saw your violent prejudices against us;
how you abhorred us as practisers of the most ridicu
lous superstitions, as perpetrators of the most odious

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 495
abominations. I perceived how you contemned us as
un intellectual, uneducated, unphilosophical, and un
reasonable. You would not hear a word about us;
and the only object of hatred to your generous mind
was the Christian name."
" True, dearest Agnes ; yet I think that had I known
that you or Sebastian was a Christian, I could not have
hated it. I could have loved anything in you."
" You think so now, Fabiola ; but you know not the
force of universal prejudice, the weight of falsehood
daily repeated. How many noble minds, fine intel
lects, and loving hearts have they enslaved, and in
duced to believe us to be all that Ave are not, something
even worse than the worst of others ! "
" Well, Agnes, it is selfish in me to argue thus with
you in your present position. You will of course
compel Fulvius to prove that you are a Christian."
' Oh no ! dear Fabiola ; I have already confessed
it, and intend to do so again publicly in the morn-
ing." "In the morning! — what, to-morroAV ? " asked Fabi
ola, shocked at the idea of anything so immediate.
" Yes, to-morrow. To prevent any clamour or dis
turbance about me (though T suspect few people will
care much), I am to be interrogated early, and sum
mary proceedings will be taken. Is not that good
news, dear ? " asked Agnes eagerly, seizing her cousin's

496 fabiola; or,
hands. And then putting on one of her ecstatic looks,
she exclaimed, "Behold, what I have long coveted, I
already see ; what I 'have hoped for, I hold safe ; to
Him alone I feel already associated in heaven, whom
here on earth I have loved Avith all devotedness.* Oh !
is He not beautiful, Tabiola, lovelier far than the
angels who surround Him! How sAveet His smile!
how mild His eye! how bland the Avhole expression of
His face! And that SAveetest and most gracious lady,
who ever accompanies Him, our Queen and Mistress,
who loves Him alone, hoAv Avinningly doth she beckon
me forAvard to join her train ! I come ! I come ! They
are departed, Fabiola; but they return early for me
to-morroAv; early, mind, and Ave part no more."
Fabiola felt her OAvn heart sAvell and heave, as if a
neAV element Avere entering in. She knew not Avhat it
was, but it seemed something better than a mere hu
man emotion. She had not yet heard the name of
Grace. Agnes, however, saAV the favourable change in
her spirit, and iinvardly thanked God for it. She
begged her cousin to return before dawn to her, for
their final farewell.
At this same time a consultation Avas being held at
the house of the Prefect, betAveen that worthy func-
* " Ecce quod concupiA'i jam video, quod speravi jam teneo;
ipsi sum juncta in coelis quern in terris posita tota devotione
dilexi." Office of St. Agnes.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 497
tionary and his worthier son. The reader had better
listen to it, to learn its purport.
" Certainly," said the magistrate, " if the old sor
ceress was right in one thing, she ought to be in the
other. I will ansAver, from experience, how powerful is
wealth in conquering any resistance."
" And you will allow, too," rejoined Corvinus,
" from the enumeration Ave have made, that among the
competitors for Fabiola's hand, there has not been one
who could not justly be rather called an aspirant after
her fortune."
" Yourself included, ¦ my dear Corvinus."
" Yes, so far ; but not if I succeed in offering her,
with myself, the Lady Agnes's great Avealth."
" And in a manner, too, methinks, that will more
easily gain upon what I hear of her generous and lofty
disposition. Giving her that wealth independent of
conditions, and then offering yourself to her, will put
her under one of two obligations, either to accept you
as her husband, or throAv you back the fortune."
" Admirable, father ! I never saw the second alter
native before. Do you think there is no possibility
of securing it except through her ? "
" None whatever. Fulvius, of course, will apply
for his share ; and the probability is, that the emperor
will declare he intends to take it all for himself. For
he hates Fulvius. But if I propose a more popular and
32

498 FABIOLA; OR,
palpably reasonable plan, of giving the property to the
nearest relation, who worships the gods — this Fabiola
does, don't she ? "
"Certainly, father."
" I think he will embrace it : while I am sure there
is no chance of his making a free gift to me. The pro
posal from a judge would enrage him."
" Then how will you manage it, father ? "
" I will have an imperial rescript prepared during
the night, ready for signature; and I will proceed im
mediately after the execution to the palace, magnify
the unpopularity which is sure to follow it, lay it all
on Fulvius, and show the emperor how his granting
the property to the next in the settlement of it, will
redound greatly to his credit and glory. He is as vain
as he is cruel and rapacious ; and one vice must be
made to fight another."
" Nothing could be better, my dear father ; I shall
retire to rest with an easy mind. To-morrow will be
the critical day of my life. All my future depends
upon whether I am accepted or rejected."
" I only Avish," added Tertullus, rising, " that I could
have seen this peerless lady, and sounded the depths of
her philosophy, before your final bargain was struck."
" Fear not, father : she is well worthy of being your
daughter-in-law. Yes, to-morrow is indeed the turn
ing-point in my fortunes."

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 499
Even Corvinus can have his critical day. Why not
Fabiola ?
While this domestic interview was going on, a con
ference was taking place between Fulvius and his ami
able uncle. The latter, entering late, found his
nephew sitting sullen and alone in the house, and thus
accosted him —
" Well, Fulvius, is she secured ? "
" She is, uncle, as fast as bars and walls can make
her; but her spirit is free and independent as
ever." " Never mind that : sharp steel makes short work of
spirit. Is her fate certain ? and are its consequences
sure ? "
" Why, if nothing else happens, the first is safe ; the
second have still to encounter imperial caprice. But
I OAvn I feel pain and remorse at sacrificing so young
a life, and for an insecure result."
" Come, Fulvius," said the old man sternly, looking
as cold as a grey rock in the morning mist ; " no soft
ness, I hope, in this matter. Do you remember what
day is to-morrow ? "
" Yes, the twelfth before the calends of February." *
" The critical day always for you. It was on this
day that to gain another's wealth you committed  "
" Peace, peace ! " interrupted Fulvius, in agony.
* January 21.

500 fabiola; or,
" Why will you always remind me of everything I
most wish to forget ? "
" Because of this : you Avish to forget yourself, and
that must not be. I must take from you every pre
tence to be guided by conscience, virtue, or even hon
our. It is folly to affect compassion for any one's life,
who stands in the way -i your fortune, after what you
did to her."
Fulvius bit his lip in silent rage, and covered his
crimson face with his hands. Eurotas roused him by
saying : " Well, then, to-morroAV is another, and prob
ably a final critical day for you. Let us calmly weigh
its prospects. You will go to the emperor, and ask
for your rightful share in the confiscated property.
Suppose it is granted ? "
" I will sell it as quick as possible, pay my debts,
and retire to some country where my name has never
been heard."
" Suppose your claims are rejected ? "
" Impossible, impossible ! " exclaimed Fulvius,
racked by the very idea ; " it is my right, hardly
earned. It cannot be denied me."
" Quietly, my young friend ; let us discuss the mat
ter coolly. Remember our proverb : ' From the stir
rup to the saddle there has been many a fall.' Suppose
only that your rights are refused you."
" Then I am a ruined man. I have no other pros-

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 501
pect before me of retrieving my fortunes here. Still
I must fly hence."
" Good ; and what do you owe at Janus's arch ? " *
" A good couple of hundred sestertia,f between
principal and compound interest at fifty per cent.,
to that unconscionable Jew Ephraim."
" On what security ? "
" On my sure expectation of this lady's estates."
" And if you are disappointed, do you think he will
let you fly ? "
" Not if he knows it, most assuredly. But we must
be prepared from this moment for any emergency; and
that with the utmost secrecy."
" Leave that to me, Fulvius ; you see Iioav eventful
the issue of to-morrow may be to yon, or rather of to
day; for morning is approaching. Life or death to
you hang upon it ; it is the great day of your existence.
Courage, then, or rather an inflexible determination,
steel you to work out its destiny ! "
* In or near the forum stood several arches dedicated to Janus,
and called simply by his name, near which usurers or money
lenders kept their posts.
t £1600.

502 FABIOLA; OR,

CHAPTER XXIX.
THE SAME DAY : ITS SECOND PART.
The day is not yet daAvning, and nevertheless wc
speak of having reached its second part. Hoav may
this be? Gentle reader, have we not led you to its
first vespers, divided as they are between Sebastian
of yesterday, and Agnes of to-day ? Have not the two
sung them together, without jealousy, and Avith fra
ternal impartiality, the one from the heaven which he
ascended in the morning, the other from the dungeon
into which she descended in the evening? Glorious
Church of Christ! great in the unclashing combination
of thy unity, stretching from heaven to beneath the
earth, wherever exists a prison-house of the just.
From his lodgings Fulvius went out into the night
air, whicli was crisp and sharp, to coolhis blood,
and still his throbbing brows. He wandered about
almost without any purpose; but found himself im
perceptibly draAving nearer and nearer to the Tullian
prison. As he was literally Avithout affection, Avhat
could be his attraction thither ? It was a strangely
compounded feeling, made up of as bitter ingredients
as ever filled the poisoner's cup. There was gnawing

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 503
remorse; there was baffled pride; there was goading
avarice; there was humbling shame; there was a ter
rible sense of the approaching consummation of his
villainy. It was true, he had been rejected, scorned,
baffled by a mere child, while her fortune was neces
sary for his rescue from beggary and death — so at
least he reasoned; yet he would still rather have her
hand than her head. Her murder appeared revoltingly
atrocious to him, unless absolutely inevitable. So he
would give her another chance.
He Avas now at the prison-gate, of which he possessed
the watchword. He pronounced it, entered; and, at
his desire, was conducted to his victim's cell. She did
not flutter, nor run into a corner, like a bird into Avhose
cage the hawk has found entrance: calm and intrepid
she stood before him.
"Respect me here, Fulvius, at least," she gently
said; "I have but a few hours to live: let them be
spent in peace."
" Madam," he replied, " I have come to lengthen
them, if you please, to years ; and, instead of peace, I
offer happiness."
" Surely, sir, if I understand you, the time is past
for this sad vanity. Thus to address one whom you
have delivered over to death is at best a mockery."
" It is not so, gentle lady ; your fate is in your own
hands ; only your oavu obstinacy will give you over to

504 FABIOLA ; OR,
death. I have come to renew once more my offer, and
with it that of life. It is your last chance."
" Have I not before told you that I am a Christian,
and that I would forfeit a thousand lives rather than
betray my faith ? "
" But iioav I ask you no longer to do this. The
gates of the prison are yet open to me. Fly Avith me ;
and, in spite of the imperial decrees, you shall be a
Christian, and yet live."
" Then have I not clearly told you that I am already
espoused to my Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, and
that to Him alone I keep eternal faith ? "
" Folly and madness ! Persevere in it till to-mor
row, and that may be awarded to you Avhich you fear
more than death, and which AviU drive this illusion for
ever from your mind."
" I fear nothing for Christ. For know, that I have
an angel ever guarding me, who Avill not suffer his
Master's handmaid to suffer scorn.* But noAV cease
this unworthy importunity, and leave me the last privi
lege of the condemned- — solitude."
Fulvius had been gradually losing patience, and
could no longer restrain his passion. Rejected again,
baffled once more by a child, this time Avith the sword
hanging over her neck! A flame irrepressible broke
* "Mecum enim habeo custodem corporis mei, Angelum Do-
mini." The Breviary.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 505
Out from the smouldering heat within him ; and, in an
instant, the venomous ingredients that A\Te have de
scribed as mingled in his heart, Avere distilled into one
black, solitary drop — hatred. With flashing look and
furious gesture he brol 1 forth —
" Wretched woman, I give thee one more opportu
nity of rescuing thyself from destruction. Which wilt
thou have, life with me, or death ? "
" Death even I will choose for her, rather than life
with a monster like thee! " exclaimed a voice just with
in the door.
" She shall have it," he rejoined, clenching his fist,
and darting a mad look at the new speaker ; " and thou,
too, if again thou darest to fling thy baneful shadow
across my path."
Fabiola was alone for the last time with Agnes.
She had been for some minutes unobserved Avatching
the contest, between what would have appeared to her,
had she been a Christian, an angel of light and a spirit
of darkness; and truly Agnes looked like the first, if
human creature ever did. In preparation for her
coming festival of full espousals to the Lamb, when
she should sign her contract of everlasting love, as He
had done, in blood, she had thrown over the dark gar
ments of her mourning a white and spotless bridal
robe. In the midst of that dark prison, lighted by a
solitary lamp, she looked radiant and almost dazzling;

SOS FABIOLA; OR,
while her tempter, wrapped up in his dark cloak,
crouching down to rush out of the low door of the
dungeon, looked like a black and vanquished demon,
plunging into an abyss beneath.
Then Fabiola looked into her countenance, and
thought she had never seen it half so sweet. No trace
of anger, of fear, of flurry, or agitation, Avas there ; no
paleness, no flush, no alternations of hectic excitement
and pallid depression. Her eyes beamed with more
than their usual mild intelligence; her smile was as
placid and cheerful as it ever was, when they dis
coursed together. Then there was a noble air about
her, a greatness of look and manner, which Fabiola
would have compared to that mien and stateliness, and
that ambrosial atmosphere by which, in poetical my
thology, a being of a higher sphere was recognised on
earth.* It was not inspiration, for it was passionless ;
but it Avas such expression and manner, as her highest
conceptions of virtue and intellect, combined in the
soul, might be supposed to stamp upon the outward
form. Hence her feelings passed beyond love into a
higher range; they were more akin to reverence.
Agnes took one of her hands in each of her own,
crossed them upon her own calm bosom, and looking
into her face with a gaze of blandest earnestness, said —
"Fabiola, I have one dying request to make you.
* " Incessu patuit Dea."

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 56;
You have never refused me any: I am sure you will
not this."
" Speak not thus to me; dearest Agnes ; you must not
request; you command me now."
" Then promise me, that you will immediately apply
your mind to master the doctrines of Christianity. I
know you will embrace them ; and then you will no
longer be to me Avhat you are now."
" And what is that ? "
" Dark, dark, dearest Fabiola. When I look upon
you thus, I see in you a noble intellect, a generous
disposition, an affectionate heart, a cultivated mind,
a fine moral feeling, and a virtuous life. What can
be desired more in woman? and yet over all these
splendid gifts there hangs a cloud, to my eyes, of
gloomy shadow, the shade of death. Drive it away,
and all will be lightsome and bright."
" I feel it, dear Agnes — I feel it. Standing before
you, I seem to be as a black spot compared to your
brightness. And how, embracing Christianity, shall
I become light like you ? "
" You must pass, Fabiola, through the torrent that
sunders us" (Fabiola started, recollecting her dream).
"Waters of refreshment shall flow over your body,
and oil of gladness shall embalm your flesh; and the
soul shall be washed clean as driven snow, and the
heart be softened as the babe's. From that bath you

508 FABIOLA; OR,
will come forth a new creature, born again to a n6W
and immortal life."
" And shall I lose all that you have but just now
prized in me ? " asked Fabiola, somewhat downcast.
" As the gardener," answered the martyr, " selects
some hardy and robust, but unprofitable plant, and on
it engrafts but a small shoot cf one that is sweet and
tender, and the floAvers and fruits of this belong to the
first, and yet deprive it of no grace, no grandeur, no
strength that it had before, so will the new life you
shall receive ennoble, elevate, and sanctify (you can
scarcely understand this word) the valuable gifts of
nature and education Avhich you already possess.
What a glorious being Christianity will make you,
Fabiola ! "
" What a new world you are leading me to, dear
Agnes ! Oh, that you were not leaving me outside its
very threshold ! "
" Hark ! " exclaimed Agnes, in an ecstasy of joy.
" They come, they come ! You hear the measured
tramp of the soldiers in the gallerv. They are the
bridesmen coming to summon me. But I see on high
the white-robed bridesmaids borne on the bright clouds
of morning, and beckoning me fonvard. Yes, my
lamp is trimmed, and I go forth to meet the Bride
groom. Farewell, Fabiola, Aveep not for me. Oh,
that I could make you feel, as I do, the happiness of

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 509
dying for Christ! And now I will speak a word to
you which I never have addressed to you before — God
bless you ! " And she made the sign of the Cross on
Fabiola's forehead. An embrace, convulsive on Fabi
ola's part, calm and tender on Agnes's, was their last
earthly greeting. The one hastened home, filled with
a new and generous purpose; the other resigned her
self to the shame-stricken guard.
Over the first part of the martyr's trials we cast a
veil of silence, though ancient Fathers, and the Church
in her offices, dAvell upon it, as doubling her crown.*
Suffice it to say, that her angel protected her from
harm ;f and that the purity of her presence converted
a den of infamy into a holy and lovely sanctuary.!
It was still early in the morning when she stood again
before the tribunal of the Prefect, in the Roman
Forum; unchanged and unscathed, without a blush
upon her smiling countenance, or a pang of sorroAV in
* " Duplex corona est praestita martyri." Prudentius.
f " Ingressa Agnes turpitudinis locum, Angelum Domini prse-
paratum invenit." The Breviary.
X The Church of St. Agnes in the Piazza Navona, one of the
most beautiful in Rome.
" Cui posse soli Cunctipotens dedit
Castum vel ipsum reddere fornicem
Nil non pudicum est, quod pia visere
Pignaris, almo vel pede tangere." Prudentiu,s,

5 tO FABIOLA; OR,
her innocent heart. Only her unshorn hair, the sym
bol of virginity, which had been let loose, flowed doAvn,
in golden waves, upon her snoAV-Avhite dress.*
It was a lovely morning. Many will remember
it to have been a beautiful day on its anniversary, as
they have walked out of the Nomentan Gate, noAv the
Porta Pia, towards the church Avhich bears our virgin-
martyr's name, to see blessed upon her altar the two
lambs, from whose avooI are made the palliums sent
by the Pope to the archbishops of his communion.
Already the almond-trees are hoary, not with frost,
but with blossoms ; the earth is being loosened round
the vines, and spring seems latent in the sAvelling buds,
which are watching for the signal from the southern
breeze to burst and expand.f The atmosphere, rising
into a cloudless sky, has just that temperature that one
loves, of a sun, already vigorous, not heating, but soft
ening, the slightly frosty air. Such Ave have fre
quently experienced St. Agnes's day, together Avith joy
ful thousands, hastening to her shrine.
The judge Avas sitting in the open Forum, and a suf
ficient croAvd formed a circle round the charmed space,
which feAv, save Christians, loved to enter. Among
* " Non intorto crine caput comptum." Her head not dressed
with braided hair, St. Ambrose, lib. i. de Virgin, c. 2. See Pru-
dentius's description of St. Eulalia, trcpt aref. hymn. iii. 31.
f " Solvitur acris hyems, grata vice veris et Favoni," Horace,

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 5 II
the spectators were two whose appearance attracted
general attention; they stood opposite each other, at
the ends of the semicircle formed by the multitude.
One was a youth, enveloped in his toga, with a slouch
ing hat over his eyes, so that his features could not be
distinguished. The other was a lady of aristocratic
mien, tall and erect, such as one does not expect to
meet on such an occasion. Wrapped close about her,
and so ample as to veil her from head to foot, like the
beautiful ancient statue, known among artists by the
name of Modesty,* she had a scarf or mantle of Indian
workmanship, woven in richest pattern of crimson,
purple, and gold, a garment truly imperial, and less
suitable than even female presence to this place of
doom and blood. A slave or servant of superior class
attended her, carefully veiled also, like her mistress.
The lady's mind seemed intent on one only object, as
she stood immovable, leaning with her elbow on a
marble post.
Agnes was introduced by her guards into the open
space, and stood intrepid, facing the tribunal. Her
thoughts seemed to be far aAvay ; and she took no notice
even of those two who, till she appeared, had been
objects of universal observation.
" Why is she unfettered ? " asked the Prefect
angrily. * Pudicitia.

512 FABIOLA; OR,
" She does not need it, she walks so readily/' an
swered Catulus ; " and she is so young."
" But she is obstinate as the oldest. Put manacles
on her hands at once."
The executioner turned over a quantity of such
prison ornaments, — to a Christian eyes really such, —
and at length selected a pair as light and small as he
could find, and placed them round her Avrists. Agnes
playfully, and Avith a smile, shook her hands, and they
fell like St. Paul's viper, clattering at her feet.*
" They are the smallest we have, sir," said the soft
ened executioner ; " one so young ought to wear other
braclets." " Silence, man ! " rejoined the exasperated judge,
who, turning to the prisoner, said, in a blander tone —
" Agnes, I pity thy youth, thy station, and the bad
education thou hast received. I desire, if possible,
to save thee. Think better Avhile thou hast time. Re
nounce the false and pernicious maxims of Christianity,
obey the Imperial Edicts, and sacrifice to the gods."
" It is useless," she replied, " to tempt me longer.
My resolution is unalterable. I despise thy false di
vinities, and can only love and serve the one living
God. Eternal Ruler, open Avide the heavenly gates,
until lately closed to man. Blessed Christ, call to
Thee the soul that cleaveth unto Thee?: victim first
* St. Ambrose, ubi supra.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 513
to Thee by virginal consecration ; noAV to Thy Father
by martyrdom's immolation." *
" I Avaste time, I see," said the impatient Prefect,
Avho saAv symptoms of compassion rising in the multi
tude. " Secretary, Avrite the sentence. We condemn
Agnes, for contempt of the Imperial Edicts, to be pun
ished by the SAvord."
" On Avhat road, and at what' milestone, shall the
judgment be executed ? " f asked the headsman.
" Let it be carried into effect at once," was the reply.
Agnes raised for one moment her hands and eyes to
heaven, then calmly knelt doAvn. With her OAvn hands
she drew forAvard her silken hair over her head, and ex
posed her neck to the bloAv.t A pause ensued, for the
executioner was trembling Avith emotion, and could not
wield his SAvord. § As the child knelt alone, in her white
robe, with her head inclined, her arms modestly crossed
upon her bosom, and her amber locks hanging almost
to the ground, and veiling her features, she might not
* "Sterne Rector, divide januas,
Coeli, obserratas terrigenis prius,
Ac te sequentem, Christe, animam voca,
Cum virginalem, turn Patris hostiam."
I Prudentius, irepi arefy. 14.
f This was the usual practice, to behead out of the gate, at the
second, third, or fourth mile-stone; but it is clear from Prudentius
and other writers that St. Agnes suffered at the place of trial, of
which we have other instances.
X Prudentius. § St. Ambrose.
33

514 FABIOLA; OR,
unaptly have been compared to some rare plant, of
which the slender stalk, Avhite as the lily, bent with
the luxuriancy of its golden blossom.
The judge angrily reproved the executioner for his
hesitation, and bid him at once do his duty. The man
passed the back of his rough left hand across his eyes
as he raised his s\Arord. It Avas seen to flash for an
instant in the air; and the next moment, flower and
stem were lying scarcely displaced on the ground. It
might have been taken for the prostration of prayer,
had not the white robe been in that minute dyed into
a rich crimson— -Avashed in the blood of the Lamb.
The man on the judge's right hand had looked with
unflinching eye upon the stroke, and his lip curled in
a Avicked triumph over the fallen. The lady opposite
had turned away her head, till the murmur, that fol
lows a suppressed breath in a crowd, told her all was
over. She then boldly advanced fonvard, unwound
from round her person her splendid brocaded mantle,
and stretched it, as a pall, OA'er the mangled body. A
burst of applause followed this graceful act of Avomanly
feeling,* as the lady stood, now in the garb of deepest
mourning, before the tribunal.
" Sir," she said, in a tone clear and distinct, but full
of emotion, " grant me one petition. Let not the rude
* Prudentius mentions that a sudden fall of snow shrouded
thus the body of St. Eulalia lying in the forum. Vbi sup.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 515
hands of your servants again touch and profane the
hallowed remains of her whom I have loved more than
anything on earth ; but let me bear them hence to the
sepulchre of her fathers ; for she was noble as she Avas
good." Tertullus Avas manifestly irritated, as he replied,
"Madam, whoever you may be, your request cannot
be granted. Catulus, see that the body be cast, as
usual, into the river, or burnt."
" I entreat you, sir," the lady earnestly insisted,
by every claim which, female virtue has upon you,
by any tear Avhich a mother has shed over you, by every
soothing word which a sister has ever spoken to you,
in illness or sorroAv; by every ministration of their
gentle hands, I implore you to grant my humble prayer.
And if, when you return home this evening, you Avill
be met at the threshold by daughters, who will kiss your
hand, though stained Avith the blood of one whom you
may feel proud if they resemble, be able to say to
them, at least, that this slightest tribute to the maidenly
delicacy which they prize, has not been refused."
Such common sympathy was manifested, that Ter
tullus, anxious to check it, asked her sharply —
" Pray, are you, too, a Christian ? "
She hesitated for one instant, then replied, " No,
sir, I am not ; but I OAvn that if anything could make
me one, it would be what I have seen this day."

516 FABIOLA; OR,
" What do you mean ? "
" Why, that to preserve the religion of the empire
such beings as she whom you have slain " (her tears
interrupted her for a moment) " should have to die,
while monsters who disgrace the shape and name of
man should have to live and flourish. Oh, sir, you
knoAV not what you have blotted out from earth this
day ! She was the purest, sweetest, holiest thing I ever
knew upon it, the very flower of womanhood, though
yet a child. And she might have lived yet, had she not
scorned the proffered hand of a vile adventurer; who
pursued her Avith his loathsome offers into the seclusion
of her villa, into the sanctuary of her home, and even
into the last retreat of her dungeon. For this she died,
that she would not endow with her wealth, and ennoble
by her alliance, that Asiatic spy."
She pointed with calm scorn at Fulvius, who bounded
forward, and exclaimed with fury : " She lies, foully
and calumniously, sir. Agnes openly confessed her
self a Christian."
" Bear with me, sir," replied the lady, with noble
dignity, " while I convict him ; and look on his face
for proof of what I say. Didst thou not, Fulvius,
early this morning, seek that gentle child in her cell,
and deliberately tell her (for unseen, I heard you) that
if she would but accept thy hand, not only wouldst thou

THE CHUR.CH OF THE CATACOMBS. 517
save her life, but, despising the imperial commands,
secure her still remaining a Christian ? "
Fulvius stood, pale as death: stood, as one does for
a moment Avho is shot through the heart, or struck by
lightning. He looked like a man on whom sentence is
going to be pronounced — not of death, but of eternal
pillory, as the judge addressed him, saying —
" Fulvius, thy very look confirms this grievous charge.
I could arraign thee on it, for thy head, at once. But
take my counsel, begone hence for ever. Flee, and hide
thyself, after such villainy, from the indignation of all
just men, and from the vengeance of the gods. Show
not. thy face again here, nor in the Forum, nor in any
public place of Rome. If this lady pleases, even now
I will take her deposition against thee. Pray, madam,"
he asked most respectfully, " may I have the honor
of knoAving your name ? "
" Fabiola," she replied.
The judge was hoav all complacency, for he saAv before
him, he hoped, his future daughter-in-law. " I have
often heard of you, madam," he said, " and of your high
accomplishments, and exalted virtues. You are, more
over, nearly allied to this victim of treachery, and have
a right to claim her body. It is at your disposal."
This speech Avas interrupted at its beginning by a loud
hiss and yell that accompanied Fulvius's departure.
He was pale with shame, terror, and rage.

5 18 fabiola; or,
Fabiola gracefully thanked the Prefect, and beck
oned to Syra, who attended her. The servant again
made a signal to some one else; and presently four
slaves appeared bearing a lady's litter. Fabiola would
allow no one but herself and Syra to raise the relic*
from the ground, place them on the litter, and cover
them with their precious pall. " Bear this treasure to
its own home," she said, and followed as mourner with
her maid. A little girl, all in tears, timidly asked if
she might join them. " Who art thou ? " asked Fabi
ola. " I am poor Emerentiana, her foster-sister,"
replied the child; and Fabiola led her kindly by the
hand. The moment the body was removed, a crowd of
Christians, children, men, and women, threw them
selves forward, with sponges and linen cloths, to gather
up the blood. In vain did the guards fall on them,
Avith whips, cudgels, and even with sharper Aveapons,
so that many mingled their own blood With that of the
martyr. When a sovereign, at his coronation, or on
first entering his capital, throws, according to ancient
custom, handfuls of gold and silver coins among the
crowd, he does not create a more eager competition for
his scattered treasures than there was among those prim
itive Christians for what they valued more than gold
or precious stones, the ruby drops which a martyr had
poured from his heart for his Lord. But all respected

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 519
the prior claim of one; and here it Avas the deacon
Reparatus, who, at risk of life, Avas present, phial in
hand, to gather the blood of Agnes's testimony; that
it might be appended, as a faithful seal, to the record
of martyrdom on her tomb.

526 FABIOLA; OR,

CHAPTER XXX.
THE SAME DAY : ITS THIRD PART.
Tertullus hastened at once to the palace: fortu
nately or unfortunately, for these candidates for martyr
dom. There he met Corvinus, with the prepared
rescript, elegantly engrossed in unical, that is, large
capital letters. He had the privilege of immediate ad
mission into the imperial presence ; and, as a matter of
business, reported the death of Agnes, exaggerated the
public feeling likely to be caused by it, attributed it all
to the folly and mismanagement of Fulvius, whose
worst guilt he did not disclose, for fear of having to
try him, and thus bringing out what he was now doing;
depreciated the value of Agnes's property, and ended
by saying, that it would be a gracious act of clemency,
and one sure to counteract unpopular feelings, to bestow
it upon her relative, who by settlement was her next
beir. He described Fabiola as a young lady of extra
ordinary intellect and wonderful learning, who was
most zealously devoted to the worship of the gods, and
daily offered sacrifice to the genius of the emperors.
" I knoAV her," said Maximian, laughing, as if at the
recollection of something very droll. " Poor thing !

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 521
she sent me a splendid ring, and yesterday asked me for
that wretched Sebastian's life, just as they had finished
cudgelling him to death." And he laughed immoder
ately, then continued : " Yes, yes, by all means ; a
little inheritance will console her, no doubt, for the loss
of that fellow. Let a rescript be made out, and I will
sign it."
Tertullus produced the one prepared, saying he had
fully relied on the emperor's magnanimous clemency;
and the imperial barbarian put a signature to it which
would have disgraced a schoolboy. The Prefect at once
consigned it to his son.
Scarcely had he left the palace, when Fulvius en
tered. He had been home to put on a proper court
attire, and remove from his features, by the bath and the
perfumer's art, the traces of his morning's passion.
He felt a keen presentiment that he should be disap
pointed. Eurotas's cool discussion of the preceding
evening had prepared him ; the cross of all his designs,
and his multiplied disappointments that day, had
strengthened this instinctive conviction. One woman,
indeed, seemed born to meet and baffle him whichever
way he turned; but, "thank the gods," he thought,
" she cannot be in my way here. She has this morning
blasted my character for ever; she cannot claim my
rightful reward : she has made me an outcast ; it is not
in her power to make me a beggar." This seemed his

522 FABIOLA; OR,
only ground of hope. Despair, indeed, urged him for
ward ; and he determined to argue out his claims to the
confiscated property of Agnes with the only competitor
he could fear, the rapacious emperor himself. He
might as well risk his life over it, for if he failed, he
was utterly ruined. After waiting some time, he en
tered the audience-hall, and advanced Avith the bland
est smile that he could muster to the imperial feet.
" What want you here ? " was his first greeting.
" Sire," he replied, " I have come humbly to pray
your royal justice to order my being put into immedi
ate possession of my share of the Lady Agnes's prop
erty. She has been convicted of being a Christian
upon my accusation, and she has just suffered the
merited penalty of all who disobey the Imperial
Edicts." " That is all quite right ; but we have heard how
stupidly you mismanaged the whole business as usual,
and have raised murmurings and discontent in the
people against us. So, now, the sooner you quit our
presence, palace, and city, the better for yourself. Do
you understand? We don't usually give such warn
ings tAvice."
" I will obey instantly every intimation of the
supreme will. But I am almost destitute. Command
what of right is mine to be delivered over to me, and I
part immediately."

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 523
" No more words," replied the tyrant, " but go at
once. As to the property which you demand Avith so
much pertinacity, you cannot have it. We have made
over the whole of it, by an irrevocable rescript, to an
excellent and deserving person, the Lady Fabiola."
Fulvius did not speak another word; but kissed the
emperor's hand and sloAvly retired. He looked a ruined,
broken man. He was only heard to say, as he passed
out of the gate : " Then, after all, she has made me a
beggar too." When he reached home, Eurotas, who
read his answer in his nephew's eye, was amazed at his
calmness. " I see," he drily remarked, " it is all over."
" Yes ; are your preparations made, Eurotas ? "
" Nearly so. I have sold the jeAvels, furniture, and
slaves, at some loss ; but, with the trifle I had in hand,
we have enough to take us safe to Asia. I have retained
Stabio, as the most trusty of our servants; he will
carry our small travelling requisites on his horse. Two
others are preparing for you and me. I have only one
thing more to get for our journey, and then I am ready
to start."
" Pray what is that ? " ,
" The poison. I ordered it last night, but it will
only be ready at noon."
" What is that for ? " asked Fulvius, with some
alarm.

524 FABIOLA; OR,
" Surely you know," rejoined the other, unmoved.
" I am willing to make one more trial anywhere else ;
but our bargain is clear; my father's family must not
end in beggary. It must be extinguished in hon
our." Fulvius bit his lip, and said, " Well, be it as you
like, I am Aveary of life. Leave the house as soon as
possible, for fear of Ephraim, and be Avith your horses
at the third mile on the Latin gate soon after dusk.
I will join you there. For I, too, have an important
matter to transact before I start."
" And what is that ? " asked Eurotas, with a rather
keen curiosity.
" I cannot tell even you. But if I am not with you
by two hours after sunset, give me up, and save your
self without me."
Eurotas fixed upon him his cold dark eye, with one of
those looks which ever read Fulvius through; to see
if he could detect any lurking idea of escape from his
gripe. But his look was cool and unusually open, and
the old man asked no more. While this dialogue was
going on, Fulvius had been divesting himself of his
court garments, and attiring himself in a travelling
suit. So completely did he evidently prepare himself
for his journey, without necessity of returning home,
that he even took his weapons with him; besides his
sword, securing in his girdle, but concealed under his

THF CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 525
cloak, one of those curved daggers, of highest temper
and most fatal form, which were only known in the
East. Eurotas proceeded at once to the Numidian quarters
in the palace, and asked for Jubala; Avho entered with
two small flasks of different sizes, and Avas just going
to give some explanations, when her husband, half-
drunk, half-furious, was seen approaching. Eurotas
had'just time to conceal the flasks in his belt, and slip a
coin into her hand, when Hyphax came up. His wife
had mentioned to him the offers AA'hich Eurotas had
made to her before marriage, and had excited in his
hot African blood a jealousy that amounted to hatred.
The savage rudely thrust his wife out of the apartment,
and would have picked a quarrel with the Syrian; had
not the latter, his purpose being accomplished, acted
with forbearance, assured the archer-chief that he
should never more see him, and retired.
It is time, however, that we return to Fabiola. The
reader is probably prepared to hear us say, that she re
turned home a Christian ; and yet it was not so. For
what as yet did she knoAV of Christianity, to be said to
profess it? In Sebastian and Agnes she had, indeed,
willingly admired the virtue, unselfish, generous, and
more than earthly, which now she was ready to attrib
ute to that faith. She saw that it tfave motives of actions,
principles of life, elevation of mind, courage of con-

526 FABIOLA; OR,
science, and determination of virtuous will, such as no
other system of belief ever bestowed. And even if, as
she noAV shrewdly suspected, and intended in calmer
moments to ascertain, the sublime revelations of Syra,
concerning an unseen sphere of virtue, and its all-see
ing Ruler, came from the same source, to what did it
all amount more than to a grand moral and intellec
tual system, partly practical, partly speculative, as all
codes of philosophic teaching were ? This was a very
different thing from Christianity. She had as yet
heard nothing of its real and essential doctrines, its
fathomless, yet accessible depths of mystery ; the awful,
vast, and heaven-high structure of faith, which the
simplest soul may contain; as a child's eye will take
in the perfect reflection and counterpart of a mountain,
though a giant connot scale it. She had never heard of
a God, One in Trinity; of the coequal Son incarnate
for man. She had never been told of the marvellous
history of Redemption by God's sufferings and death.
She had not heard of Nazareth, or Bethlehem, or Cal
vary. Hoav could she call herself a Christian, or be one,
in ignorance of all this?
How many names had to become familiar and sweet
to her Avhich as yet Avere unknown, or barbarous — Mary,
Joseph, Peter, Paul, and John? Not to mention the
sweetest of all, His, whose name is balm to the wounded
heart, or as honey dropping from the broken honey-

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 527
comb. And how much had she yet to learn about the
provision for salvation on earth, in the Church, in grace,
in sacraments, 1 prayer, in love, in charity to others!
What unexplored regions lay beyond the small tract
which she had explored !
No ; Fabiola returned home, exhausted almost by the
preceding day and night, and the sad scenes of the
morning, and retired to her OAvn apartments, no longer
perhaps even a philosopher, yet not a Christian. She
desired all her servants to keep away from the court
which she occupied, that she might not be disturbed by
the smallest noise; and she forbade any one to have
access to her. There she sat in loneliness and silence
for several hours, too excited to obtain rest from
slumber. She mourned long over Agnes, as a mother
might over a child suddenly carried off. Yet, was there
not a tinge of light upon the cloud that overshadowed
her, more than AA'hen it hung over her father's bier?
Did it not seem to her an insult to reason, an outrage
to humanity, to think that she had perished ; that she
had been permitted to walk forAvard in her bright robe,
and with her smiling countenance, and Avith her joy
ous, simple heart, straight on — into nothing; that she
had been allured by conscience, and justice, and pu
rity, and truth, on, on, till with arms outstretched to
embrace them, she stepped over a precipice, beneath
which yawned annihilation ? No, Agnes, she felt sure,

528 FABIOLA ; OR,
was happy somehow, someAvhere; or justice was a
senseless word.
" Hoav strange," she further thought, " that every
one whom I have known endoAved Avith superior excel
lence, men like Sebastian, Avomen like Agnes, should
turn out to have belonged to the scorned race of Chris
tians! One only remains, and to-morrow I will inter
rogate her."
When she turned from these, and looked round upon
the heathen world, Fulvius, Tertullus, the Emperor,
Calpurnius — nay, she shuddered as she surprised her
self on the point of mentioning her own father's name
— it sickened her to see the contrast of baseness wiih
nobleness, vice with virtue, stupidity with Avisdom, and
the sensual with the spiritual. Her mind Avas thus be
ing shaped into a mould, which some form of practical
excellence must be found to fill, or it must be broken ;
her soul Avas craving as a parched soil, AA'hich heaven
must send its waters to refresh, or it must become an
eternal desert.
Agnes, surely, Avell deserved the glory of gaining, by
her death, her kinswoman's conversion ; but Avas there
not one, more humble, who had established a prior
claim? One who had given up freedom, and offered
life, for this unselfish gain ?
While Fabiola was alone and desolate, she Avas dis
turbed by the entrance of a stranger, introduced under

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. gSt)
the ominous title of " A messenger from the emperor."
The porter had at first denied him admittance; but
upon being assured that he bore an important embassy
from the sovereign, he felt obliged to inquire from the
steward what to do ; when he was informed that no one
with such a claim could be refused entrance.
Fabiola was amazed, and her displeasure was some
what mitigated by the ridiculous appearance of the per
son deputed in such a solemn character. It was Cor
vinus, who with clownish grace approached her, and in
a studied speech, evidently got up very floridly, and
intrusted to a bad memory, laid at her feet an imperial
rescript, and his own sincere affection, the Lady Agnes's
estates,, and his clumsy hand. Fabiola could not at all
comprehend the connection betAveen the two combined
presents, and never imagined that the one was a bribe
for the other. So she desired him to return her humble
thanks to the emperor for his gracious act; adding,
" Say that I am too ill to-day to present myself, and do
him homage."
" But these estates, you are aware, were forfeited
and confiscated," he gasped out, in great confusion,
" and my father has obtained them for you."
" That was unnecessary," said Fabiola, " for they
were settled on me long-ago, and became mine the mo
ment" — she faltered, and\ after a strong effort at self-
34

§3§ FABIOLA; OR,
mastery, she continued — " the moment they ceased id
be another's; they did not fall under confiscation."
Corvinus was dumf oundered : at last he stumbled
into something, meant for an humble petition to be
admitted as an aspirant after her hand, but understood
by Fabiola to be a demand of recompense, for procuring
or bringing so important a document. She assured him
that every claim he might have on her should be fully
and honourably considered at a more favourable mo
ment; but as she was exceedingly wearied and unAvell,
she must beg him to leave her at present. He did so
quite elated, fancying that he had secured his prize.
After he was gone, she hardly looked at the parch
ment, which he had left open on a small table by her
couch, but sat musing on the sorrowful scenes she had
witnessed ; till it wanted about an hour to sunset.
Sometimes her reveries turned to one point, sometimes
to another of the late events; and at last she was
dAA'elling on her being confronted with Fulvius that
morning in the Forum. Her memory vividly replaced
the entire scene before her, and her mind gradually
worked itself into a state of painful excitement, which
she at length checked by saying aloud to herself:
" Thank heaven ! I shall never behold that villain's
face again."
The Avords were scarcely out of her mouth, when she
shaded her eyes with her hand, as she raised herself

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. §3!
up on her couch, and looked tOAvards the door. Was
it her overheated fancy which beguiled her, or did her
wakeful eyes shoAV her a reality ? Her ears decided the
question, by these words which they heard.
" Pray, madam, who is the man whom you honour
by that gracious speech ? "
" You, Fulvius," she said, rising with dignity. " A
further intruder still; not only into the house, the
villa, and the dungeon, but into the most secret apart
ments of a lady's residence; and what is worse, into
the house of sorrow of one whom you have bereaved.
Begone at once, or I will have you ignominiously ex
pelled hence."
" Sit down and compose yourself, lady," rejoined
the intruder ; " this is my last visit to you ; but we
have a reckoning to make together of some Aveight. As
to crying out, or bringing in help, you need not trouble
yourself; your orders to your servants, to keep aloof,
have been too well obeyed. There is no one within
call." It was true. Fulvius found the way prepared un
wittingly for him by Corvinus; for upon presenting
himself at the door, the porter, who had seen him twice
dine at the house, told him of the strict orders given,
and assured him that he could not be admitted unless
he came from the emperor, for such were his instruc
tions. That, Fulvius said, was exactly his case; and

532 FABI61A; OR,
the porter, wondering that so many imperial messengers
should come in one day, let him pass. He begged that
the door might be left unfastened, in case the porter
should not be at his post when he retired ; for he was
in a hurry, and should not like to disturb the house, in
such a state of grief. He added, that he required no
guide, for he knew the Avay to Fabiola's apartment.
Fulvius seated himself opposite to the lady, and con
tinued —
" You ought not to be offended, madam, with my un
expectedly coming upon you, and overhearing your
amiable soliloquies about myself ; it is a lesson I learnt
from yourself in the Tullian prison. But I must begin
my scores from an earlier date. When, for the first
time, I was invited by your worthy father to his table,
I met one, whose looks and words at once gained my
affections, — I need not now mention her name, — and
whose heart, Avith instinctive sympathy, returned them."
" Insolent man ! " Fabiola exclaimed, " to allude to
such a topic here; it is false, that any such affection
ever existed on either side."
" As to the Lady Agnes," resumed Fulvius, " I have
the best authority, that of your lamented parent, who
more than once encouraged me to persevere in my suit ;
by assuring me that his cousin had confided to him her
reciprocating love."
Fabiola was mortified ; for she now remembered that

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 533
this was too true, from the hints which Fabius had
given her, of his stupid misunderstanding.
" I know well that my dear father was under a delu
sion upon this subject; but I, from whom that dear
child concealed nothing  "
" Except her religion," interrupted Fulvius, with
bitter irony.
" Peace ! " Fabiola went on ; " that word sounds like
a blasphemy on your lips — I knew that you were but
an object of loathing and abhorrence to her."
" Yes, after you had made me such. From
that hour of our first meeting, you became my bitter
and unrelenting foe, in conspiracy with that treacher
ous officer, who has received his reward, and whom you
had destined for the place I courted. Repress your in
dignation, lady, for I will be heard out, — you under
mined my character, you poisoned her feelings, and you
turned my love into necessary enmity."
" Your love ! " now broke in the indignant lady ;
" even if all that you have said were not basely false,
what love could you have for her? How could you
appreciate her artless simplicity, her genuine honesty,
her rare understanding, her candid innocence, any
more than the Avolf can value the lamb's gentleness, or
the vulture the dove's mildness ? No, it was her Avealth,
her family connection, her nobility, that you grasped
at, and nothing more ; I read it in the very flash of

5]4 FABIOLA; OR,
your eye, when first it fixed itself, as a basilisk's, upon
her." " It is false ! " he rejoined ; " had I obtained my
request, had I been thus worthily mated, I should have
been found equal to my position, domestic, contented,
and affectionate; as worthy of possessing her as  "
" As any one can be," struck in Fabiola, " who, in
offering his hand, expresses himself equally ready, in
three hours, to espouse or to murder the object of his
affection. And she prefers the latter, and he keeps his
Avord. Begone from my presence; you taint the very
atmosphere in which you move."
" I will leave when I have accomplished my task,
and you will have little reason to rejoice when I do.
You have then purposely, and unprovoked, blighted
and destroyed in me every honourable purpose of life,
Avithered my only hope, cut me off from rank, society,
respectable ease, and domestic happiness.
" That was not enough. After acting in that char
acter, with which you summed up my condemnation,
of a spy, and listened to my conversation, you this morn
ing threw off all sense of female propriety, and stood
forward prominently in the Forum, to complete in pub
lic what you had begun in private, excite against me the
supreme tribunal, and through it the emperor, and
arouse an unjust popular outcry and vengeance; such
as, but for a feeling stronger than fear, which brings me

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 535
hither, would make me now skulk, like a hunted Avolf,
till I could steal out of the nearest gate."
" And, Fulvius, I tell you," interposed Fabiola, " that
the moment you cross its threshold, the average of vir
tue AviU be raised in this Avicked city. Again I bid you
depart from my house, at least; or at any rate I will
withdraw from this offensive intrusion."
" We part not yet, lady," said Fulvius, Avhose counte
nance had been growing every moment more flushed, as
his lips had been becoming more deadly pale. He
rudely grasped her arm, and pushed her back to her
seat; " and beware," he added, " hoAv you attempt again
either to escape or to bring aid ; your first cry Avill be
your last, cost me what it may.
" You have made me, then, an outcast, not only from
society but from Rome, an exile, a houseless wanderer
on a friendless earth; was not that enough to satisfy
your vengeance ? No ; you must needs rob me of my
gold, of my rightfully, though painfully earned wealth ;
peace, reputation, my means of subsistence, all you
have stolen from me, a youthful stranger."
" Wicked and insolent man ! " exclaimed now the in
dignant Roman lady, reckless of consequences, " you
shall answer heavily for your temerity. Dare you, in
my own house, call me a thief ? "
" I dare ; and I tell you this is your day of reckon
ing, and not mine. I have earned, even if by crime it

536 FABIOLA; OR,
is nothing to you, my full share of your cousin's con
fiscated property. ' I have earned it hardly, by pangs
and rendings of the heart and soul, by sleepless nights
of struggles Avith fiends that have conquered; ay, and
with one at home that is sterner than they; by days
and days of restless search for evidence, amidst the
desolation of a proud, but degraded spirit. Have I not
a right to enjoy it?
" Ay, call it what you will, call it my blood-money ;
the more infamous it is, the more base in you to step in
and snatch it from me. It is like a rich man tearing the
carrion from the hound's jaws, after he had swollen his
feet and rent his skin in hunting it down."
" I will not seek for further epithets by which to call
you ; your mind is deluded by some vain dream," said
Fabiola, with an earnestness not untinged with alarm.
She felt she was in the presence of a madman, one in
whom violent passion, carried off by an unchecked,
deeply-moved fancy, was lashing itself up to that in
tensity of wicked excitement which constitutes a moral
frenzy — when the very murderer thinks himself a vir
tuous avenger. " Fulvius," she continued, with studied
calmness, and looking fully into his eyes, " I now
entreat you to go. If you Avant money, you shall have
it; but go, in heaven's name go, before you destroy
your reason by your anger."
" What vain fancy do you mean ? " asked Fulvius.

THE CHURCH OF THF CATACOMBS. S3?
" Why, that I should have ever dreamt about Agnes's
wealth or property on such a day, or should have taken
any advantage of her cruel death."
" And yet it is so ; I have it from the emperor's
mouth that he has made it over to you. Will you pre
tend to make me believe, that this most generous and
liberal prince ever parted with a penny unsolicited, ay,
or unbribed ? "
" Of this I know nothing. But I know that I would
rather have died of want than petitioned for a farthing
of such property ! "
" Then would you make me rather believe, that in this
city there is any one so disinterested as, undesired, to
have petitioned for you ? No, no, Lady Fabiola, all this
is too incredible. But what is that ? And he pounced
with eagerness on the imperial rescript, which had re
mained unlooked at, since Corvinus had left it. The
sensation to him was like that of iEneas when he saAV
Pallas's belt upon the body of Turnus. The fury, which
seemed to have been subdued by his subtlety, as he had
been reasoning to prove Fabiola guilty, flashed up anew
at the sight of this fatal document. He eyed it for a
minute, then broke out, gnashing his teeth Avith rage —
" Now, madam, I convict you of baseness, rapacity,
and unnatural cruelty, far beyond anything you have
dared to charge on me ! Look at this rescript, beautifully
engrossed, with its golden letters and emblazoned mar-

538 FABIOLA; Or,
gins ; and presume to say that it Avas prepared in the" one
hour that elapsed between your cousin's death, and the
emperor's telling me that he had signed it ? Nor do you
pretend to know the generous friend Avho procured you
the gift. Bah! while Agnes was in prison at latest;
Avhile you were whining and mourning over her;
while you Avere reproaching me for cruelty and treach
ery toAvards her — me, a stranger and alien to her ! you,
the gentle lady, the virtuous philosopher, the loving,
fondling kinsAA7oman, you, my stern reprover, Avere
coolly plotting to take advantage of my crime, for se
curing her property, and seeking out the elegant scribe,
Avho should gild your covetousness Avith his pencil, and
paint over your treason to your own flesh and blood Avith
his blushing minium."'1'
" Cease, madman, cease ! " exclaimed Fabiola, en
deavoring in vain to master his glaring eye. But he
went on in still Avilder tone —
. " And then, forsooth, Avhen you have thus basely
robbed me, you offer me money. You have outplotted
me, and you pity me! You have made me a beggar,
and then you offer me alms — alms out of my own wages,
the wages Avhich even hell allows its fated victims while
on earth ! "
Fabiola rose again, but he seized her with a maniac's
gripe, and this time did not let her go. He Avent on —
* Red paint.

THE CHUkCH OF THE CataComSS. §39
" Now listen to the last words that I will speak, or
they may be the last that you will hear. Give back to
me that unjustly obtained property; it is not fair that
I should have the guilt, and you its reAvard. Transfer
ii by your sign manual to me as a free and loving gift,
and I will depart. If not, you haAre signed your own
doom." A stern and menacing glance accompanied
these words.
Fabiola's haughty self rose again erect Avithin her;
her Roman heart, unsubdued, stood firm. Danger only
made her fearless. She gathered her robe with matronly
dignity around her, and replied —
" Fulvius, listen to my words, though they should be
the last that I may speak; as certainly they shall be the
last that you shall hear from me.
"•Surrender this property to you ? I Avould give it
willingly to the first leper that I might meet in the
street, but to you never. Never shall you touch thing
that belonged to that holy maiden, be it a gem or be it a
straw! That touch would be pollution. Take gold of
mine, if it please you ; but anything that ever belonged
to her, from me no treasures can ransom. And one
legacy I prize more than all her inheritance. You have
now offered me two alternatives, as last night you did
her, to yield to your demands, or die. Agnes taught me
which to choose. Once again, I say, depart."
" And leave you to possess what is mine ? leave you

540 FABIOLA; Oft,
to triumph over me, as one whom you have outwitted
— you honoured, and I disgraced — you rich, and I
penniless — you happy, and I wretched? No, never I
I cannot save myself from what you have made me;
but I can prevent your being what you have no right to
be. For this I have come here; this is my day of
Nemesis.* Noav die ! " While he was speaking these
reproaches, he was slowly pushing her backwards with
his left hand tOAvards the couch from which she had
risen ; Avhile his right was tremblingly feeling for some
thing in the folds of his bosom.
As he finished his last Avord, he thrust her violently
down upon the couch, and seized her by the hair. She
made no resistance, she uttered no cry ; partly a faint
ing and sickening sensation came over her; partly a
noble feeling of self-respect checked any unseemly ex
hibition of fear before a scornful enemy. Just as she
closed her eyes, she saw something like lightning above
her ; she could not tell whether it was his glaring eye or
flashing steel.
In another moment she felt oppressed and suffocated,
as if a great Avcight had fallen upon her; and a hot
stream was flowing over her bosom.
A sweet voice full of earnestness sounded in her
ears —
" Cease, Orontius ; I am thy sister, Miriam ! "
* Revenge.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 541
Fulvius, in accents choked by passion, replied —
" It is false; give me up my prey ! "
A few Avords more were faintly spoken in a tongue
unknoAA'n to Fabiola; when she felt her hair released,
heard the dagger dashed to the ground, and Fulvius cry
out bitterly, as he rushed out of the room —
" 0 Christ ! • this is thy Nemesis ! "
Fabiola's strength was returning; but she felt the
weight upon her increase. She struggled, and released
herself. Another body was lying in her place, appar
ently dead, and covered with blood.
It was the faithful Syra, who had thrown herself be
tween her mistress's life and her brother's dagger.

542 FABIOLA; OR,

CHAPTER XXXI.

AIONYCIOY IATPOY
TTPCCBYTePCTi *

The great thoughts which this occurrence would nat
urally have suggested to the noble heart of Fabiola were
suppressed, for a time, by the exigencies of the moment.
Her first care Avas to staunch the floAving blood Avith
whatever Avas nearest at hand. Wliile she Avas engaged
in this work, there Avas a general rush of servants to
wards her apartment. The stupid porter had begun to
be uneasy at Fulvius's long stay (the reader has now
heard his real name), Avhen he saAv him dash out of the
door like a maniac, and thought he perceived stains of
blood upon his garment. He immediately gave the
alarm to the entire household.
Fabiola by a gesture stopped the croAvd at the door
of her room, and desired only Euphrosyne and her Greek
maid to enter. The latter, since the influence of the
black slave had been removed, had attached herself most
* [The tomb] of Dionysius, physician [and] priest," lately
found at the entrance to the crypt of St. Cornelius in the ceme
tery of Callistus.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 543
affectionately to Syra, as we must still call her, and had,
with great docility, listened to her moral instructions.
A slave Avas instantly despatched for the physician who
had always been sent for by Syra in illness, Dionysius,
who, as Ave have already observed, lived in the house of
Agnes. In the meantime, Fabiola had been overjoyed at find
ing the blood cease to flow so rapidly, and still more at
seeing her servant open her eyes upon her, though only
for a moment. She would not have exchanged for any
wealth the SAveet smile Avhich accompanied that look.
In a few minutes the kind physician arrived. He
carefully examined the wound, and pronounced favour
ably on it for the present. The blow, as aimed, would
have gone straight to Fabiola's heart. But her loving
servant, in spite of prohibition, had been hovering near
her mistress during the whole day; never intruding,
but anxious for any opportunity which might offer of
seconding those good impressions of grace which the
morning's scenes could not fail to have produced. While
in a neighbouring room, she heard violent tones Avhich
were too familiar to her ears ; and hastened noiselessly
round, and within the curtain which covered the door of
Fabiola's OAvn apartment, she stood concealed in the dusk
on the very spot Avhere Agnes had, a few months before,
consoled her.
She had not been there long when the last struggle

544 FABIOLA; OR,
commenced. While the man was pushing her mistress
backwards, she followed him close behind; and as he
was lifting his arm passed him, and threw her body over
that of his victim. The blow descended, but misdirected,
through the shock she gave his arm; and it fell upon
her neck, where it inflicted a deep wound, checked, how
ever, by encountering the collar-bone. We need not say
what it cost her to make this sacrifice. Not the dread of
pain nor the fear of death could for a moment have
deterred her; it was the horror of imprinting on her
brother's brow the mark of Cain, the making him doubly
a fratricide, which deeply anguished her. But she had
offered her life for her mistress. To have fought with
the assassin, whose strength and agility she knew, would
have been useless ; to try to alarm the house before one
fatal blow was struck .Avas hopeless ; and nothing re
mained but to accomplish her immolation, by substi
tuting herself for the intended victim. Still she wished
to spare her brother the consummation of his crime, and
in doing so manifested to Fabiola their relationship
and their real names.
In his blind fury he refused her credit; but the
words, in their native tongue, which said, " Remember
my scarf which you picked up here," brought back to his
memory so terrible a domestic tale, that had the earth
opened a cavern in that moment before his feet, he would
have leapt into it to bury his remorse and shame.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 545
Strange, too, it proved, that he should not have ever
allowed Eurotas to get possession of that family relic,
but should, ever since he regained it, have kept it apart
as a sacred thing; and, when all else was being packed
up, should have folded it up and put it in his breast.
And now, in the act of drawing out his eastern dagger,
he had plucked this out too, and both Avere found upon
the floor.
Dionysius, immediately after dressing the wound, and
administering proper restoratives, which brought back
consciousness, desired the patient to be left perfectly
quiet, to see as few persons as possible, so as to prevent
excitement, and to go on with the treatment which he
prescribed until midnight. " I will call," he added,
" very early in the morning, when I must see my patient
alone." He whispered a few words in her ear, which
seemed to do her more good than all his medicines ; for
her countenance brightened into an angelic smile.
Fabiola had her placed on her own bed, and, allotting
to her attendants the outward room, reserved to her
self exclusively the privilege, as she deemed it, of nurs
ing the servant, to whom a few months before she could
hardly feel grateful for having tended her in fever.
She had informed the others how the wound had been
inflicted, concealing the relationship between her assail
ant and her deliverer.
Although herself exhausted and feverish, she would
35

546 FABIOLA; OR,
not leave the bedside of the patient; and Avhen mid
night was past, and no more remedies had to be ad
ministered, she sank to rest upon a low couch close to
the bed. And now Avhat were her thoughts, when, in
the dim light of a sick-room, she opened her mind and
heart to them? They were simple and earnest. She
saw at once the reality and truth of all that her servant
had ever spoken to her. When she last conversed with
her, the principles Avhich she heard with delight had ap
peared to her wholly beyond practice, beautiful theories,
which could not be brought to action. When Miriam
had described a sphere of virtue, wherein no approba
tion or reward of man was to be expected, but only the
approving eye of God, she had admired the idea, which
powerfully seized her generous mind; but she had re
belled against its becoming the constraining rule of
hourly conduct. Yet, if the stroke under which she cast
herself had proved fatal, as it might easily have done,
where would have been her reward ? What, then, could
have been her motive but that very theory, as it seemed,
of responsibility to an unseen poAver ?
And Avhen Miriam had discoursed of heroism in vir
tue as being its ordinary standard, Iioav chimerical the
principle had seemed! Yet here, without preparation,
without forethought, without excitement, without glory
— nay, with marked desire of concealment, this slave
had performed a deed of self-sacrifice heroic in every

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 547
way. From what could that result but from habitual
heroism of virtue, ready at any hour to do what Avould
ennoble for ever a soldier's name ? She was no dreamer,
then, no theorist, but a serious, real practiser of all that
she taught. Could this be a philosophy ? Oh no, it must
be a religion ! the religion of Agnes and of Sebastian,
to whom she considered Miriam every Avay equal. How
she longed to converse Avith her again !
Early in the morning, according to his promise, the
physician returned, and found his patient much im
proved. He desired to be left alone with her; Avhen,
having spread a linen cloth upon the table, and placed
lighted tapers upon it, he dreAv from his bosom an em
broidered scarf, and uncovered a golden box, the sacred
contents of Avhich she well knew. Approaching her, he
said —
" My dear child, as I promised you, I have now
brought you not merely the truest remedy of every ail
ment, bodily and spiritual, but the very Physician Him
self, who by His Avord alone restoreth all things,*
whose touch opens the eyes of the blind and the ears of
the deaf, whose will cleanses lepers, the hem of whose
garment sends forth virtue to cure all. Are you ready
to receive Him? "
" With all my heart," she replied, clasping her hands ;
" I long to possess Him Avhom alone I have loved, in
whom I have believed, to AA-hom my heart belongs."
* " Qui verbo sup instaurat universa." The Breviary.

548 FABIOLA ; OR,
" Does no anger or indignation exist in your sdul
against him who has injured you ? does any pride or
vanity arise in your mind at the thought of what you
have done ? or are you conscious of any other fault re
quiring humble confession and absolution before receiv
ing the sacred gift into your breast ? "
" Full of imperfection and sin I know myself to be,
venerable father ; but I am not conscious of any know
ing offence. I have had no need to forgive him to whom
you allude; I love him too much for that, and would
willingly give my life to save him. And of what have
I to be proud, a poor servant, who have only obeyed my
Lord's commands ? "
" Invite, rhen; my child, this Lord into your house,
that coming He may heal you, and fill you with His
grace." Approaching the table, he took from it a particle of
the Blessed Eucharist, in the form of unleavened bread,
which, being dfy, he moistened in Avater, and placed
within her lips.* She closed them upon it and remained
for some time absorbed in contemplation.
And thus did the holy Dionysius discharge his two
fold office of physician and priest, attributed to him on
his tomb.
* Eusebius, in his account of Serapion, teaches us that this was
the manner of administering Holy Communion to the sick, with
out the cup, or under only one kind.

THF CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. §49

CHAPTER XXXII.
THE SACRIFICE ACCEPTED.
Through the whole of that day the patient seemed
occupied with deep, but most pleasing thoughts. Fabi
ola, who never left her, except for moments to give
necessary directions, , watched her countenance with a
mixture of awe and delight. It appeared as if her serv
ant's mind were removed from surrounding objects, and
conversing in a totally different sphere. Now a smile
passed like a sunbeam across her features, now a tear
trembled in her eye, or flowed dovvn her cheeks ; some
times her pupils were raised and kept fixed on heaven
for a considerable time, while a blissful look of perfect
and calm enjoyment sat unvarying upon her ; and then
she would turn round with an expression of infinite ten
derness towards her mistress, and hold out her hand to
be clasped in hers. And Fabiola could sit thus for hours
in silence, which was as yet prescribed; feeling it an
honour, and thinking it did her good, to be in contact
with such a rare type of virtue.
At length, in the course of the day, after giving her
patient some nourishment, she said to her, smiling —
" I think you are much better, Miriam, already.

550 FaBioLA; OR,
Your physician must have given you some wonderful
medicine." " Indeed he has, my dearest mistress."
Fabiola was evidently pained ; and leaning over her,
said softly — " Oh, do not, I entreat you, call me by such
a title. If it has to be used, it should be by me towards
you. But, in fact, it is no longer true ; for what I long
intended has now been done; and the instrument of
your liberation has been ordered to be made out, not as
a freed woman, but as an ingenua;* for such I know
you are."
Miriam looked her thanks, for fear of further hurt
ing Fabiola's feelings ; and they continued to be happy
together in silence.
Towards evening Dionysius returned, and found so
great an improvement, that, ordering more nourishing
food, he permitted a little quiet conversation.
" I must noAv," said Fabiola, so soon as they were
alone, " fulfil the first duty, Avhich my heart has been
burning to discharge, that of thanking you, — I wish I
knew a stronger word, — not for the life which you have
saved me, but for the magnanimous sacrifice which you
* Persons freed from slavery retained the title of freedman or
freedivoman (Hbertus, liberta) of the person to whom they had be
longed, as " of Augustus.'' If they had belonged originally to a
free class, they were liberated as ingenuus or ingenua (well-born)
and restored by emancipation to that class.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 551
made for it — and, let me add, the unequalled example
of heroic virtue, Avhich alone inspired it."
" After all, Avhat have I done, but simple duty ? You
had a right to my life, for a much less cause than to save
yours," ansAvered Miriam.
" No doubt," responded Fabiola, " it appears so to
you, who have been trained to the doctrine which over-
poAvered me, that the most heroic acts ought to be con
sidered by men as performances of ordinary duties."
" And thereby," rejoined Miriam, " they cease to be
what you have called them."
" No, no," exclaimed Fabiola, with enthusiasm; " do
not try to make me mean and vile to my OAvn heart, by
teaching me to undervalue what I cannot but prize as
an unrivalled act of virtue. I have been reflecting on
it, night and day, since I witnessed it; and my heart
has been yearning to speak to you of it, and even yet I
dare not, or I should oppress your weakness with my
overcharged feelings. It was noble, it was grand, it
was beyond all reach of praise ; though I know you do
not want it. I cannot see any way in which the sublime-
ness of the act could have been enhanced, or human
virtue rise one step higher."
Miriam, Avho was now raised to a reclining position,
took Fabiola's hand between both hers; and turning
round towards her, in a soft and mild, but most earnest
tone, thus addressed her —

$52 FABIOLA; OR,
" Good and gentle lady, for one moment listen to me.
Not to depreciate what you are good enough to value,
since it pains you to hear it, but to teach you how far
we still are from what might have been done, let me
trace for you a parallel scene, but where all shall be re
versed. Let it be a slave — pardon me, dear Fabiola, for
another pang — I see it in your face, but it shall be the
last — yes, a slave brutish, ungrateful, rebellious to the
most benign and generous of masters. And let the stroke,
not of an assassin, but of the minister of justice, impend
over his head. What Avould you call the act, how would
you characterise the virtue, of that master, if out of pure
love, and that he might reclaim that wretched man, he
should rush beneath the axe's blow, ay, and its preced
ing ignominious stripes, and leave written in his will,
that he made that slave heir to his titles and his Avealth,
and desired him to be considered as his brother ? "
" O Miriam, Miriam, you have draAvn a picture too
sublime to be believed of man. You have not eclipsed
your own deed, for I spoke of human virtue. To act as
you have now described, would require, if possible, that
of a God!"
Miriam pressed the folded hand to her bosom, fixed
on Fabiola's wondering eyes a look of heavenly inspira
tion, as she sAveetly and solemnly replied — " And Jesus
Christ, who did all this for mast, was truly God."
Fabiola covered her face with both her hands, and for

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 553
a long time was silent. Miriam prayed earnestly in
her own tranquil heart.
" Miriam, I thank you from my soul," at length
Fabiola said ; " you have fulfilled your promise of guid
ing me. For some time I have only been fearing that
you might not be a Christian ; but it could not be.
" Now tell me, are those awful, but sweet words,
which you just now uttered, which have sunk into
my heart as deeply, as silently, and as irrevocably as a
piece of gold dropt upon the surface of the still ocean
goes down into its depths, — are those words a mere part
of the Christian system, or are they its essential prin
ciple?" " From a simple allegory, dear lady, your powerful
mind has in one bound reached and grasped the master-
key of our whole teaching: the alembic of your refined
understanding has extracted, and condensed into one
thought, the most vital and prominent doctrines of
Christianity. You have distilled them into their very
essence. " That man, God's creature and bondsman, rebelled
against his Lord; that justice irresistible had doomed,
and pursued him ; that this very Lord ' took the form of
a servant, and in habit was found like a man ; ' * that in
this form He suffered stripes, buffets, mockery, and
shameful death, became the ' Crucified One,' as men here
» Phil. ii. 7.

554 Fabiola ; or,
call Him, and thereby rescued man from his fate, and
gave him part in His own riches and kingdom : all this
is comprised in the words that I have spoken.
" And you had reached the right conclusion. Only
God could have performed so godlike an action, or have
offered so sublime an expiation."
Fabiola Avas again wrapped up in silent thought, till
she timidly asked —
" And Avas it to this that you referred in Campania,
when you spoke of God alone being a victim worthy of
God ? "
" Yes ; but I further alluded to the continuation of
that sacrifice, even in our oavu days, by a marvellous
dispensation of an all-powerful love. However, on this
I must not yet speak."
Fabiola resumed — " I every moment see, how all that
you have ever spoken to me coheres and fits together,
like the parts of one plant ; all springing one from an
other. I thought it bore only the lovely flowers of an
elegant theory; you have shown me in your conduct
how these can ripen into sweet and solid fruit. In the
doctrine Avhich you have just explained, I seem to my
self to find the noble stem from Avhich all the others
branch forth — even to that very fruit. For who would
refuse to do for another, what is much less than God has
done for him ? But, Miriam, there is a deep and un
seen root whence springs all this, possibly dark beyond

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 555
contemplation, deep beyond reach, complex beyond
man's poAver to unravel ; yet perhaps simple to a confid
ing mind. If, in my present ignorance, I can venture
to speak, it should be vast enough to occupy all nature,
rich enough to fill creation with all that is good and per
fect in it, strong enough to bear the growth of your
noble tree, till its summit reach above the stars, and its
branches to the ends of earth.
" I mean, your idea of that God, whom you made me
fear, Avhen you spoke to me as a philosopher of Him,
and taught me to knoAV as the ever-present Watchman
and Judge ; but Avhom I am sure you Avill make me love
when, as a Christian, you exhibit Him to me, as the
root and origin of such boundless tenderness and mercy.
" Without some deep mystery in His nature, as yet
unknown to me, I cannot fully apprehend that Avonder-
ful doctrine of man's purchase."
" Fabiola," responded Miriam, " more learned teach
ers than I should undertake the instruction of one so
gifted and so acute. But will you believe me, if I at
tempt to give you some explanation ? "
"Miriam," replied Fabiola, with strong emphasis,
" ONE WHO IS READY TO DIE FOR ANOTHER, WILL CER
TAINLY NOT DECEIVE HIM.
" And now," rejoined the patient, smiling, " you have
ao-ain seized a great principle — that of faith. I will,
therefore be only the simple narrator of Avhat Jesus

556 FABIOLA; OR,
Christ, who truly died for us, has taught us. You will
believe my word only as that of a faithful witness ; you
will accept His, as that of an unerring God."
Fabiola bowed her head, and listened with reverential
mind to her,inAvhom she had long honoured a teacher of
marvellous wisdom, which she drew from some unknown
school; but whom noAv she almost AVOrshipped as an
angel, who could open to her the flood-gates of the eter
nal ocean, whose waters are the unfathomable Wisdom,
overfloAving on earth.
Miriam expounded, in the simple terms of Catholic
teaching, the sublime doctrine of the Trinity; then
after relating the fall of man, unfolded the mystery of
the Incarnation, giving, in the very words of St. John,
the history of the Eternal Word, till He was made flesh,
and dwelt among men. Often was she interrupted by
the expressions of admiration or assent which her pupil
uttered ; never by cavil or doubt. Philosophy had given
place to religion, captiousness to docility, incredulity
to faith.
But now a sadness seemed to have come over Fabiola's
heart; Miriam read it in her looks, and asked her its
cause. " I hardly dare tell you," she replied. " But all that
you have related to me is so beautiful, so divine, that it
seems to me necessarily to end here.
" The Word (what a noble name!), that is, the ex-

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 557
pression of God's love, the externation of His Avisdom,
the evidence of His power, the very breath of His life-
giving life, which is Himself, becometh flesh. Who shall
furnish it to Him ? Shall He take up the cast-off slough
of a tainted humanity, or shall a neAV manhood be
created expressly for Him ? Shall He take His place in
a double genealogy, receiving thus into Himself a two
fold tide of corruption ; and shall there be any one on
earth daring and high enough to call himself His
father?" " No," softly whispered Miriam ; " but there shall be
one holy enough, and humble enough, to be Avorthy to
call herself His mother!
" Almost 800 years before the Son of God came into
the world, a prophet spoke, and recorded his words, and
deposited the record of them in the hands of the Jews,
Christ's inveterate enemies ; and his words Avere these :
' Behold, a Virgin shall conceive and bear a Son, and
His name shall be called Emanuel,' * which in the
Hebrew language signifies ' God with us,' that is, with
men. " This prophecy Avas of course fulfilled in the con
ception and birth of God's Son on earth."
" And who was she ? " asked Fabiola, with great rev
erence. " One whose very name is blessed by every one that
* Isaias vii. 14.

558 FABIOLA; OR,
truly loves her Son. Mary is the name by which you
will know her ; Miriam, its original in her own tongue,
is the one by which I honour her. Well, you may sup
pose, was she prepared for such high destiny by holi
ness and virtue ; not as cleansed, but as ever clean ; not
as purified, but as always pure ; not freed, but exempted
from sin. The tide of which you spoke, found before
her the dam of an eternal decree, which could not brook
that the holiness of God should mingle with what it
could only redeem, by keeping extraneous to itself.
Bright as the blood of Adam, when the breath of God
sent it sparkling through his veins, pure as the flesh of
Eve, Avhile standing yet in the mould of the Almighty
hands, as they dreAV it from the side of the slumbering
man, Avere the blood and the flesh, which the Spirit of
God formed into the glorious humanity, that Mary gave
to Jesus.
" And after this glorious privilege granted to our sex,
are you surprised that many, like your sweet Agnes,
should have chosen this peerless Virgin as the pattern
of their lives ; should find in her, whom God so elected,
the model of every virtue; and should, in preference
to alloAving themselves to be yoked, even by the tender-
est of ties, to the chariot-Avheels of this world, seek to
fly upwards on Avings of undivided love like hers ? "
After a pause and some refection, Miriam proceeded
briefly to detail the history of our Saviour's birth, His

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 559
laborious youth, His active but suffering public life,
and then His ignominious Passion. Often Avas the nar
rative interrupted by the tears and sobs of the willing
listener and ready learner. At last the time for rest
had come, Avhen Fabiola humbly asked —
" Are you too fatigued to answer one question more ? "
" No," was the cheerful reply.
" What hope," said Fabiola, " can there be for one
who cannot say she was ignorant, for she pretended to
know everything; nor that she neglected to learn, for
she affected eagerness after every sort of knoAvledge ;
but can only confess that she scorned the true Avisdom,
and blasphemed its Giver; — for one Avho has scoffed at
the very torments which proved the love, and sneered at
the death Avhich Avas the ransoming, of Him Avhom she
has mocked at, as the ' Crucified ' ? "
A flood of tears stopped her speech.
Miriam waited till their relieving Aoav had subsided
into that gentler dew AA'hich softens the heart; then in
soothing tones addressed her as follows : —
" In the days of our Lord there lived a woman who
bore the same name as His spotless Mother ; but she had
sinned publicly, degradingly, as you, Fabiola, would
abhor to sin. She became acquainted, Ave know not how,
Avith her Redeemer; in the secrecy of her oato heart,
she contemplated earnestly, till she came to love in
tensely, His gracious and condescending familiarity

560 FABIOLA ; OR,
with sinners, and His singular indulgence and forgiv-
ingness to the fallen. She loved and loved still more;
and, forgetting herself, she only thought hoAV she might
manifest her love, so that it might bring honour, how
ever slight, to Him, and shame, however great, on her
self. " She went into the house of a rich man, Avhere the
usual courtesies of hospitality had been withheld from
its Divine guest, into the house of a haughty man Avho
spurned, in the presumption of his heart, the public
sinner; she supplied the attentions which had been
neglected to Him whom he loved ; and she was scorned,
as she expected, for her obtrusive sorrow."
" How did she do this, Miriam ? "
" She knelt at His feet as He sat at table ; she poured
out upon them a flood of tears ; she Aviped them with
her luxurious hair, she kissed them fervently, and she
anointed them Avith rich perfume."
" And Avhat Avas the result ? "
" She was defended by Jesus against the carping
gibes of His host; she was told that she Avas forgiven
on account of her love, and Avas dismissed with kindest
comfort." " And what became of her ? "
" When on Calvary He was crucified, two women
were privileged to stand close to Him ; Mary the sinless,
and Mary the penitent ; to shoAV how unsullied and re-

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. $6l
pentant love may walk hand in hand, beside Him who
said, that He had ' come to call not the just, but sinners
to repentance.' "
No more was said that night. Miriam, fatigued with
her exertion, sank into a placid slumber. Fabiola sat
by her side, filled to her heart's brim Avith this tale of
love. She pondered over it again and again; and she
still saw more and more how every part of this wonder
ful system was consistent. For if Miriam had been
ready to die for her, in imitation of her Saviour'- love,
so had she been as ready to forgive her, when she had
thoughtlessly injured her. Every Christian, she now
felt, ought to be a copy, a representative of His Master ;
but the one that slumbered so tranquilly beside her was
surely true to her model, and might well represent
Him to her.
When, after some time, Miriam awoke, she found her
mistress (for her patent of freedom was not yet com
pleted) lying at her feet, over which she had sobbed her
self to sleep. She understood at once the full meaning
and merit of this self-humiliation ; she did not stir, but
thanked God Avith a full heart that her sacrifice had
been accepted.
Fabiola, on awaking, crept back to her own couch,
as she thought, unobserved. A secret, sharp pang it had
cost her to perform this act of self-abasement ; but she
had thoroughly humbled the pride of her heart. She
felt for the first time that her heart was Christian.
36

$62 FABIOLA j Oft,

CHAPTER XXXIII.

MIRIAM S HISTORY.

The next morning, when Dionysius came, he found
both patient and nurse so radiant and so happy, that
he congratulated them both on having had a good night's
rest. Both laughed at the idea ; but concurred in say
ing that it had been the happiest night of their lives.
Dionysius was surprised, till Miriam, taking the hand
of Fabiola, said —
" Venerable priest of God, I confide to your fatherly
care this catechumen, Avho desires to be fully instructed
in the mysteries of our holy faith, and to be regenerated
by the Avaters of eternal salvation."
" What ! " asked Fabiola, amazed, " are you more
than a physician ? "
" I am, my child," the old man replied ; " unworthily
I hold likewise the higher office of a priest in God's
Church." Fabiola unhesitatingly knelt before him, and kissed
his hand. The priest placed his right hand upon her
head and said to her —
" Be of good courage, daughter ; you are not the
first of your house whom God has brought into His

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 563
holy Church. It is noAv many years since I was called
in here, under the guise of a physician, by a former
servant, nOAv no more ; but in reality it was to baptize,
a few hours before her death, the wife of Fabius."
" My mother ! " exclaimed Fabiola. " She died im
mediately after giving me birth. And did she die a
Christian ? "
" Yes ; and I doubt not that her spirit has been hov
ering about you through life by the side of the angel
who guards you, guiding you unseen to this blessed
hour. And, before the throne of God, she has been un
ceasing in her supplications on your behalf."
Joy tenfold filled the breasts of the tAvo friends ; and
after arrangements had been made with Dionysius for
the necessary instructions and preparations for Fabi
ola's admission to baptism, she went up to the side
of Miriam, and taking her hand, said to her in a low,
soft voice —
" Miriam, may I from henceforth call you sister ? "
A pressure of the hand was the only reply which she
could give.
With their mistress, the old nurse, Euphrosyne, and
the Greek slave, placed themselves, as we now say,
under instruction, to receive baptism on Easter-eve.
Nor must we forget one who was already enrolled in
the list of catechumens, and whom Fabiola had taken
home with her and kept, Emerentiana, the foster-sister

564 FABIOLA; OR,
of Agnes. It was her delight to make herself useful,
by being the ready messenger between the sick-room
and the rest of the house.
During her illness, as her strength improved, Miriam
imparted many particulars of her previous life to Fabi
ola; and as they Avill throw some light on our preced
ing narrative, we will give her history in a continuous
form. Some years before our story commenced, there lived
in Antioch a man Avho, though not of ancient family,
was rich, and moved in the highest circles of that most
luxurious city. To keep his position, he was obliged
to indulge in great expense; and from want of strict
economy, he had gradually become oppressed with debt.
He was married to a lady of great virtue, who became
a Christian, at first secretly, and afterwards continued
so, with her husband's reluctant consent. In the mean
time, their two children, a son and daughter, had re
ceived their domestic education under her care. The
former, Orontius, so called from the favourite stream
which watered the city, Avas fifteen Avhen his father
first discovered his wife's religion. He had learnt
much from his mother of the doctrines of Christianity,
and had been with her an attendant on Christian wor
ship; and hence he possessed a dangerous knowledge,
of which he afterwards made so fatal a use.
But he had not the least inclination to embrace the

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 565
doctrines or adopt the practices of Christianity; nor
would he hear of preparing for baptism. He was wil
ful and artful, with no love for any restraint upon his
passions, or for any strict morality. He looked for
ward to distinction in the world, and to his full share
in all its enjoyments. He had been, and continued to
be, highly educated; and besides the Greek language,
then generally spoken at Antioch, he Avas acquainted
with Latin, which he spoke readily and gracefully, as
Ave have seen, though with a slight foreign accent. In
the family, the vernacular idiom Avas used Avith serv
ants, and often in familiar conversation. Orontius was
not sorry Avhen his father removed him from his
mother's control, and insisted that he should continue
to folloAV the dominant and favoured religion of the
state. As to the daughter, Avho was three years younger,
he did not so much care. He deemed it foolish and
unmanly to take much trouble about religion ; to change
it especially, or abandon that of the empire, was, he
thought, a sign of weakness. But women being more
imaginative, and more under the SAvay of the feelings,
might be indulged in any fancies of this sort. Accord
ingly he permitted his daughter Miriam, whose name
was Syrian, as the mother belonged to a rich family
from Edessa, to continue in the free exercise of her
new faith. She became, in addition to her high mental

566 FABIOLA; OR,
cultivation, a model of virtue, simple and unpretending.
It Avas a period, we may observe, in which the city of
Antioch was renoAvned for the learning of its philos
ophers, some of Avhom were eminent as Christians.
A few years later, Avhen the son had reached man
hood, and had abundantly unfolded his character, the
mother died. Before her end, she had seen symptoms
of her husband's impending ruin ; and, determined that
her daughter should not be dependent on his careless
administration, nor on her son's ominous selfishness and
ambition, she secured effectually, from the covetous-
ness of both, her OAvn large fortune, which Avas settled
on her daughter. She resisted every influence, and
every art, employed to induce her to release this prop
erty, or alloAv it to merge in the family resources, and
be made available toAvards relieving their embarrass
ments. And on her death-bed, among other solemn
parental injunctions, she laid this on her daughter's
filial sense of duty, that she never would alloAv, after
coming of age, any alteration in this arrangement.
Matters greAV Avorse and Avorse; creditors pressed;
property had been injudiciously disposed of; Avhen a
mysterious person, called Eurotas, made his appearance
in the family. No one but its head seemed to knoAV
him ; and he evidently looked upon him as at once a
blessing and a curse; the bearer both of salvation and of
ruin,

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 567
The reader is in possession of Eurotas's OAvn revela
tions. It is sufficient to add that, being the elder
brother, but conscious that his rough, morose, and sin
ister character did not fit him for sustaining the posi
tion of head of the family, and administering quietly
a settled property, and having a haughty ambition to
raise his house into a nobler rank, and increase even its
riches, he took but a moderate sum of money as capital,
vanished for years, embarked in the desperate traffic
of interior Asia, penetrated into China and India, and
came back home Avith a large fortune, and a collection
of rare gems, which helped his nephew's brief career,
but misguided him to ruin in Rome.
Eurotas, instead of a rich family, into which to pour
superfluous wealth, found only a bankrupt house to save
from ruin. But his family pride prevailed ; and, after
many reproaches and bitter quarrels with his brother,
but concealed from all else, he paid off his- debts by the
extinction of his own capital, and thus virtually became
master of all the Avreck of his brother's property, and
of the entire family.
After a few years of Aveary life, the father sickened
and died. On his death-bed he told Orontius that he
had nothing to leave him, that all he had lived on for
some years, the very house over his head, belonged to
his friend Eurotas, whose relationship he did not fur
ther explain, whom he must look up to entirely for

568 FABIOLA ; OR,
support and guidance. The youth thus found himself,
Avhile full of pride, ambition, and voluptuousness, in
the hands of a cold-hearted, remorseless, and no less
ambitious man, who soon prescribed as the basis of mu
tual confidence, absolute submission to his will, while
he should act in the capacity of an inferior, and the
understood principle that nothing was too great or too
little, nothing too good or too wicked to be done, to
restore family position and wealth.
To stay at Antioch Avas impossible after the ruin
which had overtaken the house. With a good capital
in hand, much might be done elsevA'here. But now,
even the sale of all left would scarcely cover the lia
bilities discovered after the father's death. There was
still untouched the sister's fortune; and both agreed
that this must be got from her. Every artifice was
tried, every persuasion employed, but she simply and
firmly resisted, both in obedience to her mother's dying
orders, and because she had in vieAV the establishment
of a house for consecrated virgins, in which she in
tended to pass her days. She Avas noAv just of legal
age to dispose of her oaati property. She offered them
every advantage that she could give them ; proposed
that for a time they should all live together upon her
means. But this did not anSAver their purpose; and
when every other course had failed, Eurotas began to

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 569
hint that one who stood so much in their way should
be got rid of at any cost.
Orontius shuddered at the first proposal of the
thought. Eurotas familiarised him gradually Avith it,
till — shrinking yet from the actual commission of fratri
cide — he thought he had almost done something vir
tuous, as the brothers of Joseph imagined they did, by
adopting a sloAver and less sanguinary method of deal
ing with an obnoxious brother. Stratagem and unseen
violence, of which no law could take cognisance, and
which no one would dare reveal, offered him the best
chance of success.
Among the privileges of Christians in the first ages,
Ave have already mentioned that of reserving the Blessed
Eucharist at home for domestic communion. We have
described the way in which it Avas enfolded in an
orarium, or linen cloth, again often preserved in a
richer cover. This precious gift was kept in a chest
(area) with a lid, as St. Cyprian has informed us.*
Orontius well knew this; and he was moreover aware
that its contents were more prized than silver or gold ;
that, as the Fathers tell us, to drop negligently a crumb
* " Cum arcam suam, in qua Domini sanctum fuit, manibus in-
dignis tentasset aperire, igne inde surgente deterrita est, ne au-
deret attingere." " When she attempted to open, with unworthy
hands, her chest, in which was the holy (body) of our Lord, she
was deterred from daring to touch it, by fire rising up from it."
De Lapsis.

570 FABIOLA; OR,
of the consecrated bread Avas considered a crime; * and
that the name of "pearl," which was. given to the
smallest fragment,! shoAved that it Avas so precious in
a Christian's eye, that be would part with all he pos
sessed to rescue it from sacrilegious profanation.
The. scarf, richly embroidered with pearls, which has
more than once affected our narrative, was the outer
covering in which Miriam's mother had preserved this
treasure; and her daughter valued it both as a dear.
inheritance, and as a consecrated object, for she con
tinued its use.
One day, early in the morning, she knelt before her
ark; and, after fervent preparation by prayer, pro
ceeded to open it. To her dismay she found it already
unlocked, and her treasure gone! Like Mary Magda
len at the sepulchre, she wept bitterly, because they had
taken her Lord, and she kneAV not where they had laid
Him. Like her, too, " as she was weeping she stooped
doAvn and looked " again into her ark, and found a
paper, which in the confusion of the first glance she
had overlooked.
It informed her that what she sought was safe in her
brother's hands, and might be ransomed. She ran at
* See Martenne, De antiquis Ecclesia Ritibus.
f So in the Eastern liturgies. Fortunatus calls the Blessed
Eucharist, "Corporis Agni margaritum ingens." "The huge
pearl of the Body of the Lamb." Lib. iii. car. 25.

THE CHURCH OF THF CATACOMBS. 57!
6nce to him, where he Avas closeted with the dark man,
in whose presence she ahvays trembled; threAV herself
on her knees before him, and entreated him to restore
what she valued more than all her Avealth. He Avas on
the point of yielding to her tears and supplications,
when Eurotas fixed his stern eye upon him, overaAved
him, then himself addressed her, saying —
" Miriam, we take you at your Avord. We wish to
put the earnestness and reality of your faith to a suf
ficient test. Are you truly sincere in Avhat you offer ? "
" I will surrender anything, all I haAre, to rescue
from profanation the Holy of Holies."
" Then sign that paper," said Eurotas, Avith a sneer.
She took the pen in her hand, and after running her
eye over the document, signed it. It was a surrender
of .her entire property to Eurotas. Orontius Avas furi
ous when he saAV himself overreached by the man to
whom he had suggested the snare for his sister. But
it was too late ; he was only the faster in his unsparing
gripe. A more formal renunciation of her rights Avas
exacted from Miriam, Avith the formalities required by
the Roman law.
For a short time she was treated soothingly; then
hints began to be given to her of the necessity of moving,
as Orontius and his friend intended to proceed to Nico-
media, the imperial residence. She asked to be sent to
Jerusalem, where she would obtain admission into some

572 FABIOLA; Oft,
community of holy women. She was accordingly em
barked on board a vessel, the captain of which bore a
suspicious character, and was very sparingly supplied
with means. But she bore round her neck Avhat she
had given proof of valuing more than any wealth.
For, as St. Ambrose relates of his brother Satyrus, yet
a catechumen, Christians carried round their necks the
Holy Eucharist, Avhen embarking for a voyage.* We
need not say that Miriam bore it securely folded in the
only thing of price she cared to take from her father's
house. When the vessel Avas out at sea, instead of coasting
towards Joppe or any port on the coast, the captain
stood straight out, as if making for some distant shore.
What his purpose Avas, it Avas difficult to conjecture ; but
his few passengers became alarmed, and a serious alter
cation ensued. This Avas cut short by a sudden storm;
the vessel was carried fonvard at the mercy of the
Avinds for some days, and then dashed to pieces on a
rocky island near Cyprus. Like Satyrus, Miriam at
tributed her reaching the shore in safety to the precious
burden which she bore. She was almost the only sur
vivor; at least she saAV no other person saved. Those,
therefore, that did live besides, on returning to Antioch,
reported her death, together Avith that of the remaining
passengers and crew. * De morte Satyri.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 573
She was picked up on the shore by men Avho lived on
such spoil. Destitute and friendless, she was sold to
a trader in slaves, taken to Tarsus, on the mainland,
and again sold to a person of high rank, who treated
her with kindness.
After a short time, Fabius instructed one of his
agents in Asia to procure a slave of polished manners
and virtuous character, if possible, at any price, to
attend on his daughter; and Miriam, under the name of
Syra, came to bring salvation to the house of Fabiola.

574 FABIOLA ; OR,

CHAPTER XXXIV.

BRIGHT death.

It was a few days after the occurrences related in
our last chapter but one, that Fabiola was told that an
old man in great anguish, real or pretended, desired
to speak with her. On going doAvn to him and asking
him his name and business, he replied —
" My name, noble lady, is Ephraim ; and I have a
large debt secured on the property of the late Lady
Agnes, which I understand has now passed into your
hands; and I am come, therefore, to claim it from
you, for otherwise I am a ruined man ! "
"How is that possible?" asked Fabiola, in amaze
ment. " I cannot believe that my cousin ever con
tracted debts."
" No, not she," rejoined the usurer, a little abashed ;
" but a gentleman called Fulvius, to Avhom the property
was to come by confiscation ; so I advanced him large
sums upon it."
Her first impulse was to turn the man out of the
house ; but the thought of the sister came to her mind,
and she civilly said to him — ¦

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 575
" Whatever debts Fulvius has contracted I will dis
charge ; but with only legal interest, and without regard
to usurious contracts."
" But think of the risks I ran, madam. I have been
most moderate in my rates, I assure you."
" Well," she answered, " call on my steward, and he
shall settle all. You are running no risks now at
least." She gave instructions, accordingly, to the freed-man
who managed her affairs, to pay this sum on those
conditions, which reduced it to one-half the demand.
But she soon engaged him in a more laborious task, that
of going through the whole of her late father's accounts,
and ascertaining every case of injury or oppression,
that restitution might be made. And further, having
ascertained that Corvinus had really obtained the im
perial rescript, through his father, by Avhich her OAvn
lawful property was saved from confiscation, though
she refused ever to see him, she bestowed upon him such
a remuneration as would ensure him comfort through
life. These temporal matters being soon disposed of, she
divided her attention betAveen the care of the patient
and preparation for her Christian initiation. To pro
mote Miriam's recovery she removed her, with a small
portion of her household, to a spot dear to both, the
Nomentan villa. The spring had set in, and Miriam

576 FABIOLA; OR,
could have her couch brought to the window, or, in the
warmest part of the dav, could even be carried down
into the garden before the house, where, with Fabiola
on one side and Emerentiana on the other, and poor
Molossus, who had lost all his spirit, at her feet, they
would talk of friends lost, and especially of her Avith
whom every object around was associated in their mem
ories. And no sooner was the name of Agnes men
tioned, than her old faithful guard would prick up his
ears and wag his tail, and look around him. They
would also frequently discourse on Christian subjects,
when Miriam would folloAV up, humbly and unpretend
ingly, but with the warm glow which had first charmed
Fabiola, the instructions given by the holy Dionysius.
Thus, for instance, Avhen he had been treating of the
virtue and meaning of the sign of the cross to be used
in baptism, " Avhether on the forehead of believers, or
over the Avater, by Avhich they were to be regenerated,
or the oil with Avhich, as Avell as the chrism, they were
anointed, or the sacrifice by which they are fed ;" *
Miriam explained to the catechumens its more domestic
and practical use, and exhorted them to practise faith
fully what all good Christians did, that is, to make
this holy sign upon themselves already, " in the course
and at the beginning of every work, on coming in and
going out, when putting on their clothes or sandals,
* St. Aug. Tract, cxviii. in Joan,

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 577
when they washed, sat down to table, lighted their lamp,
lay down in bed, or sat on a chair, in whatever conver
sation they should be engaged." *
But it was observed with pain, by all but Fabiola,
that the patient, though the Avound had healed, did not
gain strength. It is often the mother or sister that
is last to see the sIoav waste of illness in child or sister.
Love is so hopeful, and so blind ! There Avas a hectic
flush on her cheek, she Avas emaciated and weak, and
a slight cough was heard from time to time. She lay
long awake, and she desired to have her bed so placed
that from early dawn she could look out upon one spot
more fair to them all than the richest parterre.
There had long been in the villa an entrance to the
cemetery on this road; but from this time it had
already received the name of Agnes, for near its en
trance had this holy martyr been buried. Her body
rested in a cubiculum or chamber, under an arched
tomb. Just above the entrance into this chamber, and
in the middle of the grounds, was an opening, sur
rounded above by a low parapet, concealed by shrubs,
which gave light and air to the room below. Towards
this point Miriam loved to look, as the nearest approach
she could make, in her infirm health, to the sepulchre
of one whom she so much venerated and loved.
* Tertullian (who lived earlier than two hundred years after
Christ, and is the oldest Latin ecclesiastical writer), de Corona
MUit. c. 3.
37

573 FABIOLA; Oft,
Early one morning, beautiful and calm, for it wanted
but a few weeks to Easter, she was looking in that
direction, when she observed half-a-dozen young men,
who, on their way to angle in the neighbouring Anio,
were taking :•, short cut across the villa, and so com
mitting' a trespass. They passed by this opening; and
one of them, having looked doAAm, called the others.
" This is one of those underground lurking-places of
the Christians."
" One of their rabbit-holes into the burrow."
" Let us go in," said one.
"Yes, and how shall we get up again ?" asked a
second. This dialogue she could not hear, but she saw what
followed it. One Avho had looked down more carefully,
shading his eyes from the light, called the others. to do
the same, but with gestures which enjoined silence. In
a moment they pulled down large stones from the rock-
work of a fountain close at hand, and threw down a
volley of them at something below. They laughed very
heartily as they Avent aAvay ; and Miriam supposed that
they had seen some serpent or other noxious animal
below, and had amused themselves with pelting it.
When others were stirring she mentioned the occur
rence, that the stones might be removed. Fabiola
went do\vn herself with a few servants, for she was
jealous of the custody of Agnes's tomb. What was her

" Fabiola went down herself, and what was her distress at finding poor
Emerentiana lvip? weltering in her blood." — Page 578.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 579
distress at finding poor Emerentiana gone doAvn to pray
at her foster-sister's tomb, lying weltering in her blood,
and perfectly dead. It was discovered that, the even
ing before, passing by some Pagan orgies near the
river, and being invited to join in them, she had not
only refused, but had reproached the partakers in them
with their wickedness, and with their cruelties to
Christians. They assailed her with stones, and grie\r-
ously wounded her; but she escaped from their fury
into the villa. Feeling herself faint and wounded, she
crept Unnoticed to the tomb of Agnes, there to pray.
She had been unable to move away when some of her
former assailants discovered her. Those brutal Pagans
had anticipated the ministry of the Church, and had
conferred upon her the baptism of blood. She Avas
buried near Agnes, and the modest peasant child re
ceived the honour of annual commemoration among the
Saints. Fabiola and her companions went through the usual
course of preparation, though abridged on account of
the persecution. By living at the very entrance into
a cemetery, and one furnished with such large churches,
they were enabled to pass through the three stages of
cateehumenship. First they were hearers,* admitted
to be present, while the lessons were read; then
Jcneelers,f who assisted at a portion of the liturgical
* Audientes. t Genuflectentes.

580 FABIOLA; OR,
prayers; and lastly, elect, or petitioners* for bap
tism. Once in this last class, they had to attend frequently
in church, but more particularly on the three Wednes
days folloAving the first, the fourth, and the last Sundays
in Lent, on which days the Roman Missal yet retains
a second collect and lesson, derived from this custom.
Any one perusing the present rite of baptism in the
Catholic Church, especially that of adults, will see con
densed into one office what used to be anciently distrib
uted through a variety of functions. On one day the
renunciation of Satan was made, previous to its repeti
tion just before baptism ; on another the touching of
the ears and nostrils, or the Ephpheta, as it was called.
Then Avere repeated exorcisms, and genuflections, and
signings of crosses on the forehead and body,f breath
ings upon the candidate, and other mysterious rites.
More solemn still Avas the unction, AA'hich was not
confined to the head, but extended to the whole
body. The Creed Avas also faithfully learnt, and committed
to memory. But the doctrine of the Blessed Eucharist
was not imparted till after baptism.
In these multiplied preparatory exercises the peniten-
* Electi and competentes.
t These will be found, particularly in the baptism of adults,.
joined with repetitions of the Our Father.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 581
tial time of Lent passed quickly and solemnly, till at
last Easter-eve arrived.
It does not fall to our lot to describe the ceremonial
of the Church in the administration of the Sacraments.
The liturgical system receiA-ed its great developments
after peace had been gained ; and much that belongs
to outward forms and splendour Avas incompatible Avith
the bitter persecution which the Church was under
going. It is enough for us to have shown, how not only
doctrines and great sacred rites, but how even cere
monies and accessories were the same in the three first
centuries as uoav. If our example is thought worth fol-
loAving, some one Avill perhaps illustrate a brighter
period than we have chosen.
The baptism of Fabiola and her household had noth
ing to cheer it but purely spiritual joy. The titles in
the city were all closed, and among them that of St.
Pastor with its papal bapistery.
Early, therefore, on the morning of the auspicious
day, the party crept round the Avails to the opposite side
of the city, and folloAving the Via Portuensis, or road
that led to the port at the mouth of the Tiber, turned
into a vineyard near Csesar's gardens, and descended
into the cemetery of Pontianus, celebrated as the rest-
in<»-place of the Persian martyrs, SS. Abdon and Sen-
nen.

582 FABIOLA; OR,
The morning was spent in prayer and preparation,
when towards evening the solemn office, which was to
be protracted through the night, commenced.
When the time for the administration of baptism
arrived, it was indeed but a dreary celebration that it
introduced. Deep in the bowels of the earth the waters
of a subterraneous stream had been gathered into a
square well or cistern, from four to five feet deep.
They were clear, indeed, but cold and bleak, if we
may use the expression, in their subterranean bath,
formed out of the tufo, or volcanic rock. A long flight
of steps led down to this rude baptistery, a small ledge
at the side sufficed for the minister and the candidate,
who was thrice immersed in the purifying waters.
The whole remains to this day, just as it was then,
except that over the water is now to be seen a paint
ing of St. John baptising our Lord, added probably a
century or two later.
Immediately after Baptism followed Confirmation,
and then the neophyte, or new-born child of the Church,
after due instruction, was admitted for the first time
to the table of his Lord, and nourished with the Bread
of angels.
It was not till late on Easter-day that Fabiola re
turned to her villa ; and a long and silent embrace was
her first greeting of Miriam. Both were so happy, so
blissful, so fully repaid for all that they had been to

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 583
one another for months, that no words, could give ex
pression to their feelings. Fabiola's grand idea and
absorbing pride that day was, that now she had risen
to the level of her former slave: not in virtue, not in
beauty of character, not in greatness of mind, not in
heavenly wisdom, not in merit before God, oh ! no ; in
all this she felt herself infinitely her inferior. But as
a child of God, as heiress to an eternal kingdom, as
a living member of the body of Christ, as admitted
to a share in all His mercies, to all the price of His
redemption, as a new creature in Him, she felt that
she was equal to Miriam, and with happy glee she told
her so.
Never had she been so proud of splendid garment as
she was of the white robe, which she had received as
she came out of the font, and which she had to wear
for eight days.
But a merciful Father knows how to blend our joys
and sorrows, and sends us the latter when He has best
prepared us for them. In that warm embrace which
we have mentioned, she for the first time noticed the
shortened breath and heaving chest of her dear sister.
She Avould not dwell upon it in her thoughts, but sent
to beg Dionysius to come on the morrow. That even
ing they all kept their Easter banquet together; and
Fabiola felt happy to preside at Miriam's side over a
table at which reclined or sat her own converted slaves,

584 FABIOLA; OR,
and those of Agnes's household, all of whom she had
retained. She never remembered having enjoyed so
delightful a supper.
Early next morning, Miriam called Fabiola to her
side, and with a fond, caressing manner, which she had
never before displayed, said to her —
" My dear sister, what will you do when I have left
you?" Poor Fabiola was overpoAvered with grief. " Are
you then going to leave me ? I had hoped we should
live for ever as sisters together. But if you wish to
leave Rome, may I not accompany you, at least to nurse
you, to serve you ? "
Miriam smiled, but a tear was in her eye, as taking
her sister's hand, she pointed up towards heaven.
Fabiola understood her, and said : " Oh no, no, dearest
sister. Pray to God, who will refuse you nothing, that
I may not lose you. It is selfish, I know; but what
can I do without you? And noAV too, that I have
learnt how much they a\t1io reign Avith Christ can do for
us by intercession, I will pray to Agnes * and Sebastian
to interpose for me, and avert so great a calamity.
" Do get Avell : I am sure there is nothing serious in
* " Agnae sepulchrum est Romulea in domo.
Fortis puellse, martyris inclitse.
Conspectu in ipso condita turrium
Servat salutem virgo Quiritum ;

THE CHURCH QF THE CATACOMBS. 585
the matter ; the Avarm Aveather and the genial climate of
Campania will soon restore you. We Avill sit again to
gether by the spring, and talk over better things than
philosophy." Miriam shook her head, not mournfully, but cheer
fully, as she replied —
" Do not flatter yourself, dearest ; God has spared me
till I should see this happy day. But His hand is on
me now for death, as it has been hitherto for life ; and
I hail it with joy. I knoAV too Avell the number of
my days."
" Oh ! let it not be so soon ! " sobbed out Fabiola.
" Not while you have on your Avhite garment, dear
sister," answered Miriam. " I knoAV you would wish
to mourn for me; but I would not rob you of one hour
of your mystic whiteness."
Dionysius came, and saw a great change in his pa
tient, whom he had not visited for some time. It was
as he had feared it might be. The insidious point
Necnon et ipsos protegit advenas,
Puro ac fideli pectore supplices." Pru.dentius.
" The tomb of Agnes graces Rome,
A maiden brave, a martyr great.
Resting in sight of bastion ed gate,
From harm the virgin shields her home ;
Nor to the stranger help denies,
If sought with pure and faithful sighs."

586 FABIOLA ; OR,
of the dagger had curled round the bone, and injured
the pleura, and phthisis had rapidly set in. He con
firmed Miriam's most serious anticipations.
Fabiola went to pray for resignation at the sepulchre
of Agnes; she prayed long and fervently, and with
many tears, then returned.
" Sister," she said with firmness, " God's will be
done, I am ready to resign even you to Him. Now,
tell me, I entreat you, what would you have me do
after you are taken from me ? "
Miriam looked up to heaven, and answered, " Lay
my body at the feet of Agnes, and remain to watch
over us, to pray to her, and for me, until a stranger
shall arrive from the East, the bearer of good tidings."
On the Sunday following, " Sunday of the Avhite gar
ments," Dionysius celebrated, by special permission,
the sacred mysteries in Miriam's room, and adminis
tered to her the most holy Communion, as her viaticum.
This private celebration, as Ave know from St. Augus
tine and others, was not a rare privilege.* Afterwards,
he anointed her with oil, accompanied by prayer, the
last Sacrament which the Church bestows.
Fabiola and the household who had attended these
* St. Ambrose said Mass in the house of a lady beyond the
Tiber. (Paulinus, in his Life, torn. ii. Oper. ed. Bened.) St.
Augustine mentions a priest's saying Mass in a house supposed
to be infested with evil spirits. De Civ. D. lib. xxii. c. 8.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 587
solemn rites, with tears and prayers, now descended
into the crypt, and after the divine offices returned to
Miriam in their darker raiment.
" The hour is come," said she, taking Fabiola's hand.
" Forgive me, if I have been wanting in duty to you,
and in good example."
This was more than Fabiola could stand, and she
burst into tears. Miriam soothed her, and said, " Put
to my lips the sign of salvation Avhen I can speak no
more; and, good Dionysius, remember me at God's
altar when I am departed."
He prayed at her side, and she replied, till at length
her voice failed her. But her lips moved, and she
pressed them on the cross presented to her. She looked
serene and joyful, till at length raising her hand to her
forehead, then bringing it to her breast, it fell dead
there, in making the saving sign. A smile passed over
her face, and she expired, as thousands of Christ's
children have expired since.
Fabiola mourned much over her; but this time she
mourned as they do who have hope.

PART THIRD.
IDictors.
CHAPTER I.
THE STRANGER FROM THE EAST.
We appear to ourselves to be walking in solitude.
One by one, those whose Avords and actions, and even
thoughts, have hitherto accompanied and sustained us,
have dropped off, and the prospect around looks very
dreary. But is all this unnatural ? We have been de
scribing not an ordinary period of peace and every
day life, but one of Avarfare, strife, and battle. Is it
unnatural that the bravest, the most heroic should have
fallen thick around us ? We have been reviving the
memory of the cruellest persecution which the Church
ever suffered, Avhen it was proposed to erect a column
bearing the inscription that the Christian name had
been extinguished. Is it strange that the holiest and
purest should have been the earliest to be crowned ?
And yet the Church of Christ has still to sustain
many years of sharper persecution than Ave have de
scribed. A succession of tyrants and oppressors kept
up the fearful war upon her, without intermission, in
S88

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 589
one part of the world or another for twenty years, even
after Constantine had checked it wherever his poAver
reached. Dioclesian, Galerius, Maximinus, and Licin-
ius in the East, Maximian and Maxentius in the West,
allowed no rest to the Christians under their several
dominions. Like one of those rolling storms Avhich go
over half the world, visiting various countries Avith
their ravaging energy, while their gloomy foreboding
or sullen wake simultaneously overshadow them all, so
did this persecution wreak its fury first on one country,
then on another, destroying everything Christian, pass
ing from Italy to Africa, from Upper Asia to Pales
tine, Egypt, and then back to Armenia, while it left
no place in actual peace, but hung like a blighting
storm-cloud over the entire empire.
And yet the Church increased, prospered, and defied
this world of sin. Pontiff stepped after Pontiff at once
upon the footstool of the papal throne and upon the
scaffold ; councils were held in the dark halls of the cata
combs; bishops came to Rome, at risk of their lives,
to consult the successor of St. Peter; letters were ex
changed between Churches far distant and the supreme
Ruler of Christendom, and betAveen different Churches,
full of sympathy, encouragement, and affection ; bishop
succeeded bishop in his see, and ordained priests and
other ministers to take the place of the fallen, and be
a mark set upon the bulwarks of the city for the enemy's

590 FABIOLA ; OR,
aim; and the work of Christ's imperishable kingdom
went on Avithout interruption, and Avithout fear of ex
tinction. Indeed it was in the midst of all these alarms and
conflicts that the foundations were being laid of a
mighty system destined to produce stupendous effects
in after ages. The persecution drove many from the
cities into the deserts of Egypt, where the monastic
state grew up, so as to make " the wilderness rejoice ...
and flourish like the lily, bud forth and blossom, and
rejoice Avith joy and praise." * And so, Avhen Diocler
sian had been degraded from the purple, and had died .
a peevish destitute old man, and Galerius had been
eaten up alive by ulcers and worms, and had acknowl
edged, by public edict, the failure of his attempts, and
Maximian Herculeus had strangled himself, and Max-
entius had perished in the Tiber, and Maximinus had
expired amidst tortures inflicted by Divine justice
equal to any he had inflicted on Christians, his very
eyes having started from their sockets, and Licinius
had been put to death by Constantine; the spouse of
Christ, whom they had all conspired to destroy, stood
young and blooming as ever, about to enter into her
great career of universal diffusion and rule.
It was in the year 313 that Constantine, having de
feated MaxfiOiLug, gave full liberty ta the . Church.
• Isaiah xxxt. 1, ft.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 591
Even if ancient Avriters had not described it, we may
imagine the joy and gratitude of the poor Christians
on this great change. It was like the coming forth, and
tearful thoug1 happy greeting, of the inhabitants of a
city decimated by plague, when proclamation has gone
forth that the infection has ceased. For here, after
ten years of separation and concealment, when families
could scarcely meet in the cemeteries nearest to them,
many did not knoAV who among friends or kinsfolk had
fallen victin.s, or who might yet survive. Timid at
first, and then more courageous, they ventured forth;
soon the places of old assembly, Avhich children born in
the last ten years had not seen, were cleansed, or re
paired, refitted and reconciled,* and opened to public,
and noAv fearless, worship.
Constantine also ordered all property, public or pri
vate, belonging to Christians and confiscated, to be
restored ; but Avith the wise provision that the actual
holders should be indemnified by the imperial treas
ury.! The Church was soon in motion to bring out all
the resources of her beautiful forms and institutions;
and either the existing basilicas Avere converted to her
uses or new ones were built on the most cherished spots
of Rome.
Let not- the reader fear that we are going to lead
* The ceremony employed after desecration,
f Etweb. H. E. lib. *. c 5,

592 FABIOLA; OR,
him forAvard into a long history. This will belong to
some one better qualified for the task of unfolding the
grandeur and charms of free and unfettered Christian
ity. We have only to sIioav the land of promise from
above, spread like an inviting paradise before our feet ;
Ave are not the Josue that must lead others in. The
little that Ave have to add in this brief third part of
our humble book is barely Avhat is necessary for its
completion. We will then suppose ourselves arrived at the year
318, fifteen years after our last scene of death. Time
and permanent laAvs have given security to the Chris
tian religion, and the Church is likewise more fully
establishing her organisation. Many who on the re
turn of peace had hung doAvn their heads, having by
some act of weak condescension escaped death, had by
this time expiated their fall by penance ; and noAv and
then an aged stranger would be saluted reArerently by
the passers-by, Avhen they ssav that his right eye had
been burnt out, or his hand mutilated ; or Avhen his
halting gait shoAved that the tendons of the knee had
been severed, in the late persecution, for Christ's sake.*
If at this period our friendly reader -will follow us
out of the Nomentan gate, to the valley with Avhich he
* In the East, some governors, wearied with wholesale murders,
adopted this more merciful way of treating Christians towards,
th« and of the persecution. See Eutrbrms,

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 593
is already acquainted, he will find sad havoc among
the beautiful trees and floAver-beds of Fabiola's villa.
Scaffold-poles are standing up in place of the first;
bricks, marbles, and columns lie upon the latter. Con-
stantia, the daughter of Constantine, had prayed at St.
Agnes's tomb, Avhen not yet a Christian, to beg the cure
of a virulent ulcer, had been refreshed by a vision, and
completely cured. Being noAv baptised, she was re
paying her debt of gratitude, by building over her
tomb her beautiful basilica. Still the faithful had
access to the crypt in which she was buried; and great
was the concourse of pilgrims that came from all
parts of the world.
One afternoon, when Fabiola returned from the city
to her villa, after spending the day in attending to the
sick, in an hospital established in her OAvn house, the
fossor, who had charge of the cemetery, met her with
an air of great interest, and no small excitement, and
said —
" Madam, I sincerely believe that the stranger from
the East, whom you have so long expected, has arrived."
Fabiola, who had ever treasured up the dying word3
of Miriam, eagerly asked, " Where is he ? "
" He is gone again," was the reply.
The lady's countenance fell. " But how," she asked
again, " do you know it was he ? "
The excavator replied, u In the comae of the morn-
88

§94 FaMoLA; OR,
ing I noticed among the crowd a man not yet fifty,
but worn by mortification and sorrovv to premature old.
age. His hair Avas nearly grey, as was his long beard.
His dress Avas eastern, and he wore the cloak which the
monks from that country usually do. When he came
before the tomb of Agnes, he flung himself upon the
pavement with such a passion of tears, such groans, such
sobs, as moved all around to compassion: < Many ap-
proached him, and whispered, 'Brother,' thou art in
great distress; Aveep not so, the saint, is merciful.*
Others said to him, 'We will all pray for thee, fear
not.' * But he seemed to be beyond comfort.. I thought'
to myself, surely in the presence of so. gentle. and kind
a saint, none ought to be thus disconsolate * or i heart
broken, except only one man."
"Go on, go on," broke in Fabiola; " what did he
next ? "
" After a long time/' continued the fossor, " he arose,
and draAving from his bosom a most beautiful- and
sparkling ring, he laid it on. her tomb:. I thought I
had seen it before, many, years ago."
"And then?"
" Turning round he saw me, and recognised my dress.'
He approached me, and I could feel 'him trembling,
as, without looking into my face, he timidly asked me,
'Brother, knowest thou if there lie buried anywhere-
* This scene is "described' from reality;

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 595
hereabout a maiden from Syria, called Miriam ? ' 1
pointed silently to the tomb. After a pause of great
pain to himself, sq agitated uoav that his voice faltered,
he asked me again, ' Knowest thou, brother, of what
she died ? ' 'Of consumption,' I replied. ' Thank
God!' he ejaculated, with a sigh of relieved anguish,
and fell prostrate on the ground. Here too he moaned
and cried for more than an hour, then, approaching
the tomb, affectionately kissed its cover, and retired."
" It is he, Torquatus, it is he ! " warmly exclaimed
Fabiola ; " Avhy did you not detain him ? "
" I durst not, lady ; after I had once seen his face,
I had not courage to meet his eye. But I am sure
he Avill return again ; for he went towards the city."
" He must be found," concluded Fabiola. " Dear
Miriam, thou hadst, then, this consoling foresight in
death!"

59S FAfiiOLA; Or,

CHAPTER II.

THE STRANGER IN ROME.

Early next morning, the pilgrim Avas passing
through the Forum, Avhen he saAV a group of persons
gathered round one Avhom they were evidently teasing.
He Avould have paid but little attention to such a scene
in a public thoroughfare, had not his ear caught a name
familiar to it. He therefore dreAv nigh. In the centre
Avas a man, younger than himself; but if he looked
older than he Avas, from being Avan and attenuated, the
other did so much more from being the very contrary.
He was bald and bloated, with a face SAvelled, and red,
and covered with blotches and boils. A drunken cun
ning SAvam in his eye, and his gait and tone were those
of a man habitually intoxicated. His clothes were
dirty, and his Avhole person neglected.
" Ay, ay, Corvinus," one youth Avas saying to him,
" won't you get your deserts noAV ? Have you not
heard that Constantine is coming this year to Rome,
and don't you think the Christians will have their turn
about now ? "
" Not they," ansAvered the man we have described ;

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 597
'" they have not the pluck for it. I remember Ave
feared it Avl.en Constantine published his first edict,
after the death of Maxentius, about liberty for the
Christians, but next year he put us out of fear by de
claring all religions to be equally permitted." *
" That is all very AA'ell, as a general rule," interposed
another, determined further to plague him; "-but it is
not suppose 1 that he is going to look up those who
took an active part in the late persecution, and have
the lex talionis f executed on theni ; stripe for stripe,
burning for burning, and Avild beast for wild beast ? "
" Who says so ? " asked Corvinus, turning pale.
" Why, it would surely be very natural," said one.
" And very just," added another.
" Oh, never mind," said Corvinus, " they Avill ahvays
let one off for turning Christian. And, I am sure, I
AA'ould turn anything, rather than stand  "
" Where Pancratius stood," interposed a third, more
•malicious. " Hold your tongue," broke out the drunkard, with a
tone of positive rage. " Mention his name again, if
you dare ! " And he raised his fist, and looked furi
ously at the speaker.
" Ay, because he told you hoAV you were to die,"
* Eusebius, ubi sup.
\ The law of retaliation, such as was prescribed also in the
Mosaic law, " an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth,'' etc.

598 FABIOLA; OR,
shouted the youngster, running aAvay. " Heigh ! heigh !
a panther here for Corvinus ! "
All ran away before the human beast, noAV lashed
into fury, more than they Avould have done from the
Avild one of the desert. He cursed them, and threw
stones after them.
The pilgrim, from a short distance, watched the close
of the scene, then went on. Corvinus moved sloAver
along the same road, that Avhich led tOAvards the Lateran
basilica, uoav the Cathedral of Rome. Suddenly a
sharp groAvl Avas heard, and Avith it a piercing shriek.
As they Avere passing by the Coliseum, near the dens of
the wild beasts, Avhich were prepared for combats among
themselves, on occasion of the emperor's visit, Corvinus,
impelled by the morbid curiosity natural to persons
Avho consider themselves victims of some fatality, con
nected with a particular object, approached the cage in
Avhich a splendid panther Avas kept. He went close to
the bars, and provoked the animal, by gestures and
words, saying, " Very likely, indeed, that you are to be
the death of me ! You are very safe in your den."
In that instant the enraged animal made a spring at
him, and through the Avide bars of the den, caught his
neck and throat in its fangs, and inflicted a frightful
lacerated wound.
The Avretched man was picked up, and carried to
his lodgings, not far off, The Stranger followed him,

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 599
and found them mean, dirty, and uncomfortable in the
extreme ; with only an old and decrepit slave, appar
ently as sottish as his master, to attend him. The
stranger sent him out to procure a surgeon, AA'ho was
long in coming; and, in the meantime, did his best to
stanch the blood.
While he was so occupied, Corvinus fixed his eyes
upon him with a look of one delirious, or demented.
" Do you know me ? " asked the pilgrim soothingly.
" Know you ? No — yes. Let me see — Ha ! the fox !
my fox ! Do you remember our hunting together those
hateful Christians? Where haAre you been all this
time ? How many of them have you caught ? " And
he laughed outrageously.
" Peace, peace, Corvinus," replied the other. " You
must be very quiet, or there is no hope for you. Be
sides, I do not wish you to allude to those times ; for I
am myself now a Christian."
" You a Christian ? " broke out Corvinus savagely.
'" You who have shed more of their best .blood than any
man ? Have you been forgiven for all this ? Or have
you slept quietly upon it ? Have no furies lashed you
at night ? no phantoms haunted you ? no viper sucked
your heart? If so, tell me Iioav you have got rid of
them all, that I may do the same. If not, they will
Come, they will come! Vengeance and fury! why
should thes not hav» tormented you as much as me ? "

600 FABIOLA; OR,
" Silence, Corvinus ; I have suffered as you have.
But I have found the remedy, and will make it known
to you, as soon as the physician has seen you, for he is
approaching." The doctor saw him, dressed the Avound, but gave
little hope of recovery, especially in u patient whose
very blood was tainted by intemperance.
The stranger now resumed his seat beside him, and
spoke of the mercy of God, and His readiness to for
give the worst of sinners; whereof he himself was a
living proof. The unhappy man seemed to be in a
sort of stupor ; if he listened, not comprehending what
was said. At length his kind instructor, having ex
pounded to him the fundamental mysteries of Chris
tianity, in hope, rather thaii certainty, of being at
tended to, Avent on to say, " And now, Corvinus, you
AviU ask me, how is forgiveness to be applied to one
Avho believes all this ? It is by Baptism, by being born
again of Avater and the Holy Ghost."
" What? " exclaimed the sick man loathingly.
" By being washed in the laver of regenerating
Avater." He was interrupted by a convulsive growl rather
than a moan. " Water ! water ! no water for me !
Take it aAvay ! " And a strong spasm seized the pa
tient's throat.
His attendant was alarmed, but sought to calm him.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 601
" Think not," he said, " that you are to be taken hence
in your present fever, and to be plunged into water "
(the sick man shuddered, and moaned) ; " in clinical
baptism,* a few drops suffice, not more than is in -this
pitcher." And he shoAved him the water in a small
vessel. At the sight of it, the patient writhed and
foamed at the mouth, and was shaken by a violent con
vulsion. The sounds that proceeded from him re
sembled a howl from a wild beast more than any ut
terance of human lips.
The pilgrim saAV at once that hydrophobia, with
all its horrible symptoms, had come upon the patient,
from the bite of the enraged animal. It was with
difficulty that he and the servant could hold him down
at times. Occasionally he broke out into frightful
paroxysms of blasphemous violence against God and
man. And then, when this subsided, he would go on
moaning thus : " Water they Avant to give me ! Avater !
water ! none for me ! It is fire ! fire ! that I have, and
that is my portion. I am already on fire, within, with
out ! Look how it comes creeping up, all round me, it
advances every moment nearer and nearer ! " And he
beat off the fancied flame Avith his hands on either side
of his bed, and he blew at it round his head. Then
* Clinical baptism, or that of persons confined to their beds,
was administered by pouring or sprinkling the water on the head.
See Bingham, book xi. c. 11.

0O2 FABIOLA; OR, i
turning towards his sorrowful attendants, he would say,
" Why don't you put it out ? you see it is already burn
ing me."
Thus passed the dreary day, and thus came the dis
mal night, Avhen the fever increased, and with it the
delirium, and the violent accesses of fury, though the
body was sinking. At length he raised himself up in
bed, and looking with half-glazed eyes straight before
him, he exclaimed in a voice choked with bitter rage:
" Away, Pancratius, begone ! Thou hast glared on me
long enough. Keep back thy panther! Hold it fast;
it is going to fly at my throat. It comes ! Oh ! "
And with a convulsive grasp, as if pulling the beast
from off his throat, he plucked aAvay the bandage from
his wound. A gush of blood poured over him, and he
fell back a hideous corpse upon the bed.
His friend saw how unrepenting persecutors died*

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 603

CHAPTER III.

AND LAST.

The next morning the pilgrim proceeded to dis
charge the business which had been interfered with by
the circumstances related in the preceding chapter. He
might have been first seen busily employed inquiring
after some one about the Januses in the Forum. At
length the person was found; and the tAVO walked to
wards a dirty little office under the Capitol, on the
ascent called the Clivus Asyli. Old musty books were
brought out, and searched column after column, till
they came to the date of the " Consuls Dioclesian Au
gustus, the eighth time, and Maximian Herculeus Au
gustus, the seventh time." * Here they found sundry
entries, Avith reference to certain documents. A roll
of mouldy parchments of that date was produced,
docketed as referred to, and the number corresponding
to the entries was draAvn out, and examined. The re
sult of the investigation seemed perfectly satisfactory
to both parties.
" It is the first time in my life," said the owner of
» A. D. 803.

604 FABIOLA; OR,
the den, " that I ever knew a person who had got clear
off, come back, after fifteen years, to inquire after his
debts. A Christian, I presume, sir ? "
" Certainly, by God's mercy."
" I thought as much ; good morning, sir. I shall
be happy to accommodate you at any time, at as reason
able rates as my father Ephraim, noAv Avith Abraham.
A great fool that for his pains, I must say, begging his
pardon," he added, Avhen the stranger Avas out of
hearing. With a decided step and a brighter countenance than
he had yet displayed, he went straight to the yilla on
the Nomentan way; and after again paying his devo
tions in the crypt, but with a lighter heart, he at once
addressed the fossor, as if they had never been parted :
" Torquatus, can I speak Avith the Lady Fabiola ? "
"Certainly," ansAA'ered the other; "come this Avay."
Neither alluded, as they Avent along, to old times,
nor to the intermediate history of either. There
seemed to be an understanding, instinctive to both,. that
all the past was to be obliterated before men, as they
hoped it was before God. Fabiola had remained at
home that and the preceding day, in hopes of the
stranger's return. She Avas seated in the garden close
to a fountain, when Torquatus, pointing to her, retired.
She rose, as she saAV the long-expected visitor ap
proach, and an indescribable emotion thrilled through

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 605
her, when she found herself standing in his pres
ence. " Madam," he said, in a tone of deep humility and
earnest simplicity, " I should never have presumed to
present myself before you, had not an obligation of
justice, as Avell as many of gratitude, obliged me."
" Orontius," she replied — " is this the name by
which I must address you ? " (he signified his assent) — ¦
¦" you can have no obligations toAvards me, except that
which our great Apostle charges on us, that Ave love
one another."
" I know you feel so. And therefore I would not
have pretended, unworthy as I am, to intrude upon you
for any lower motive than one of strict duty. I knoAV
AA'hat gratitude I oAve you for the kindness and affection
lavished upon one noAV. dearer to me than any sister
can be on earth, and how you discharged towards her
the offices of love which I had neglected."
" And thereby sent her to me," interposed Fabiola,
" to be my angel of life. Remember, Orontius, that
Joseph Avas sold by his brethren, only that he might
save his race."
" You are too good indeed toAvards one so Avorthless,"
resumed the pilgrim; "but I will not thank you for
your kindness to another Avho has repaid you so richly.
.Only this morning I have learnt .your mercy to one
Avho could have no claim upon you."

606 FABIOLA; OR,
" I do not understand you," observed Fabiola.
" Then I will tell you all plainly," rejoined Orontius.
" I have now been for many years a member of one of
those communities in Palestine, of men Avho live sepa
rated from the world in desert places, dividing their
day, and even their night, betAveen singing the Divine
praises, contemplation, and the labour of their hands.
Severe penance for our past transgressions, fasting,
mourning, and prayer form the great duty of our pen
itential state. Have you heard of such men here ? "
" The fame of holy Paul and Anthony is as great in
the West as in the East," replied the lady.
" It is Avith the greatest disciple of the latter that I
have lived, supported by his great example, and the con
solation he has given me. But one thought troubled
me, and prevented my feeling complete assurance of
safety, even after years of expiation. Before I left
Rome I had contracted a heavy debt, which must have
been accumulating at a frightful rate of interest, till
it had reached an overwhelming amount. Yet it was
an obligation deliberately contracted, and not to be
justly evaded. I Avas a poor cenobite,* barely living
on the produce of the few palm-leaf mats that I could
weave, and the scanty herbs that Avould groAV in the
sand. Hoav could I discharge my obligations ?
* The religious who lived in community, or common life, wer«
so called.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 607
" Only one means remained. I could give myself
up to my creditor as a slave, to labour for him and
endure his blows and scornful reproaches in patience,
or to be sold by him for my value, for I am yet strong.
In either case, I should have had my Saviour's ex
ample to cheer and support me. At any rate, I should
have given up all that I had — myself.
" I went this morning to the Forum, found my cred
itor's son, examined his accounts, and found that you
had discharged my debt in full. I am, therefore, your
bondsman, Lady Fabiola, instead of the Jew's." And
he knelt humbly at her feet.
" Rise, rise," said Fabiola, turning away her Aveep-
ing eyes. " You are no bondsman of mine, but a dear
brother in our common Lord."
Then sitting doAvn with him, she said : " Orontius, I
have a great favour to ask from you. Give me some
account of Iioav you were brought to that life, Avhich you
have so generously embraced."
" I will obey you as briefly as possible. I fled, as
you know, one sorrowful night from Rome, accom
panied by a man " — his voice choked him.
" I know, I know Avhom you mean — Eurotas," inter
rupted Fabiola.
" The same, the curse of our house, the author of
all mine and my dear sister's sufferings. We had to
charter a vessel at great expense from Brundusium,

608 FABIOLA; OR,
whence we sailed for Cyprus. We attempted com
merce and various speculations, but all failed. There
was manifestly a curse on all that Ave undertook. Our
means melted aAvay, and we were obliged to seek some
other country. We crossed over to Palestine, and set
tled for a while at Gaza. Very soon Ave Avere reduced
to distress; everybody shunned us, Ave kneAV not why;
but my conscience told me that the mark of Cain was
on my broAV."
Orontius paused and AArept for a time, then Avent on —
" At length, Avhen all Avas exhausted, and nothing
remained but a feAV jeAArels, of considerable price indeed,
but with which, I knew not why, Eurotas Avould not
part, he urged me to take up the odious office of de
nouncing Christians ; for a furious persecution was
breaking out. For the first time in my life I rebelled
against his commands, and refused to obey. One day
he asked me to Avalk out of the gates ; Ave Avandered far,
till we came to a delightful spot in the midst of the
desert. It Avas a narroAv dell, covered Avith verdure,
and shaded by palm-trees ; a little clear stream ran
down, issuing from a spring in a rock at the head of
the valley. In this rock Ave saAV grottoes and caA'.erns ;
but the place seemed uninhabited. Not a sound could
be heard but the bubbling of the water.,
" We sat doAvnto rest, Avhen Eurotas addressed me in
a tearful speech. The time Avas come, he, told jne,

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 609
when we must both fulfil the dreadful resolution he
had taken, that Ave must not survive the ruin of our
family. Here Ave must both die ; the Avild beasts would
consume our bodies, and no one Avould know the end of
its last representatives.
" So saying, he drew forth tAvo small flasks of un
equal sizes, handed me the larger one, and SAvallowed
the contents of the smaller.
" I refused to take it, and even reproached him for
the difference of our doses ; but he replied that he was
old, and I young; and that they Avere proportioned to
our respective strengths. I still refused, having no
wish to die. But a sort of demoniacal fury seemed to
come over him ; he seized me AA'ith a giant's grasp, as I
sat on the ground, threAV me on my back, and exclaim
ing, ' We must both perish together,' forcibly poured
the contents of the phial, Avithout sparing me a drop,
doAvn my throat.
" In an instant, I Avas unconscious.; and remained
so, till I awoke in a cavern, and faintly called for
drink. A venerable old man, Avith a AA'hite beard, put
a wooden boAvl of water to my lips. ' Where is Eu
rotas ?' I asked. ' Is that your companion ? ' inquired
the old monk. ' Yes,' I ansAA^ered. ' He is dead,' Avas
the reply. I knoAV not by Avhat fatality this had hap
pened; but I bless God with all my heart for having
spared me.
39

010 FABIOLA; OR,
" That old man was Hilarion, a native of Gaza, who,
having spent many years with the holy Anthony in
Egypt, had that year* returned to establish the cenobitie
and eremitical life in his OAvn country, and had already
collected several disciples. They lived in the caves
hard by, and took their refection under the shade of
those palms, and softened their dry food in the water
of that fountain.
" Their kindness to me, their cheerful piety, their
holy lives, won on me as I recovered. I saw the relig
ion Avhich I had persecuted in a sublime form; and
rapidly recalled to mind the instructions of my dear
mother, and the example of my sister ; so that yielding
to grace, I beAvailed my sins at the feet of God's min-
ister,f and received baptism on Easter-eve."
" Then Ave are doubly brethren, nay, twin children
of the Church ; for I was born to eternal life also on
that day. But what do you intend to do noAV ? "
" Set out this evening on my return. I have ac
complished the two objects of my journey. The first
Avas to cancel my debt ; my second was to lay an offer
ing on the shrine of Agnes. You Avill remember," he
added, smiling, " that your good father unintentionally
deceived me into the idea that she coveted the jewels I
» a. d. 303.
f Confession of sins in private was made before baptism. See
Bingham, Origines, b. ii. ch. viii. § 14.

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 6ll
displayed. Fool that I Avas! But I resolved, after
my conversion, that she should possess the best that re
mained in Eurotas's keeping; so I brought it to her."
" But have you means for your journey? " asked the
lady timidly.
" Abundant," he replied, " in the charity of the
faithful. I have letters from the Bishop of Gaza,
which procure me everyAvhere sustenance and lodging;
but I will accept from you a cup of Avater and a morsel
of bread in the name of a disciple."
They rose, and were advancing towards the house,
when a woman rushed madly through the shrubs, and
fell at their feet, exclaiming, " Oh, save me ! dear mis
tress, save me ! He is pursuing me, to kill me ! "
Fabiola recognised in the poor creature her former
slave Jubala ; but her hair was grizzly and dishevelled,
and her whole aspect bespoke abject misery. She
asked whom she meant.
" My husband," she replied ; " long has he been harsh
and cruel, but to-day he is more brutal than usual.
Oh, save me from him ! "
" There is no danger here," replied the lady ; " but
I fear, Jubala, you are far from happy. I have not
seen you for a long, long time."
" No dear lady, why should I come to tell you of all
my woes? Oh! Avhy did I ever leave you and your
house, where I ought to have been so happy ? I might

6l2 FABIOLA; OR,
then Avith you, and Graja, and good old departed Eu
phrosyne, have learnt to be good myself, and have em
braced Christianity ! "
" What, have you really been thinking of this,
Jubala ? "
" For a long time, lady, in my soitoavs and remorse.
For I have seen how happy Christians are, even those
AA-ho have been as wicked as myself. And because I
hinted this to my husband this morning, he has beaten
me, and threatened to take my life. But, thank God,
I have been making myself acquainted Avith Christian
doctrines through the teaching of a friend."
" Hoav long has this bad treatment gone on, Jubala ? "
asked Orontius, Avho had heard of it from his uncle.
" Ever," she replied, " since soon after marriage, I
told him of an offer made to me previously, by a dark
foreigner, named Eurotas. Oh ! he was indeed a
wicked man, a man of black passions and remorseless
villainy. Connected with him is my most racking
recollection." " How Avas that ? " asked Orontius, with eager
curiosity. " Why, Avhen he was leaving Rome, he asked me to
prepare for him tAvo narcotic potions; one for any
enemy, he said, should he be taken prisoner. This
Avas to be certainly fatal; another had to suspend
consciousness for a feAv hours only, should he require it

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 613
for himself. When he came for them, I was just going
to explain to him, that, contrary to appearances, the
small phial contained a fatally concentrated poison, and
the large one a more diluted and weaker dose. But
my husband came in at the moment, and in a fit of jeal
ousy thrust me from the room. I fear some mistake
may have been committed, and that unintentional death
may have ensued."
Fabiola and Orontius looked at one another in silence,
wondering at the just dispensations of Providence;
AA'hen they Avere aroused by a shriek from the woman.
They were horrified at seeing an arrow quivering in
her bosom. As Fabiola supported her, Orontius, look
ing behind him, caught a glimpse of a black face grin
ning hideously through the fence. In the next mo
ment a Numidian Avas seen flying away on his horse,
Avith his bow bent Parthian-Avise over his shoulder,
ready for any pursuer. The arroAV had passed, un
observed, between Orontius and the lady.
" Jubala," asked Fabiola, " dost thou Avish to die a
Christian ? "
" Most earnestly," she replied.
" Dost thou believe in One God in Three Persons ? "
" I firmly believe in all the Christian Church
teaches." " And in Jesus Christ, who was born and died for
Our sins ? "

614 FABIOLA; OR,
" Yes, in all that you believe." The reply Avas more
faint. " Make haste, make haste, Orontius," cried Fabiola,
pointing to the fountain.
He was already at its basin, filling full his two hands,
and coming instantly, poured their contents on the head
of the poor African, pronouncing the Avords of baptism ;
and, as she expired, the water of regeneration mingled
with her blood of expiation.
After this distressing, yet consoling scene, they en
tered the house, and instructed Torquatus about the
burial to be given to this doubly baptized convert.
Orontius was struck with the simple neatness of the
house, so strongly contrasting with the luxurious
splendour of Fabiola's former dAvelling. But suddenly
his attention was arrested, in a small inner room, by a
splendid shrine or casket, set with jeAvels, but with an
embroidered curtain before it, so as to allow only the
frame of it to be seen. Approaching nearer, he read
inscribed on it, "The blood of the blessed Miriam,
SHED BY CRUEL HANDS ! "
Orontius turned deadly pale, then changed to a deep
crimson, and almost staggered.
Fabiola saw this, and going up to him kindly and
frankly, placed her hand upon his arm, and mildly said
to him, " Orontius, there is that within, which may well
make us both blush deeply, but not therefore despon'd."

THE CHURCH OF THE CATACOMBS. 615
So saying, she drew aside the curtain, and Orontius
saw within a crystal plate, the embroidered scarf so
much connected with his own and his sister's history.
[Upon it Avere lying two sharp weapons, the points of
both Avhich were rusted with blood. In one he recog
nised his OAvn dagger ; the other appeared to him like one
of those instruments of female 'vengeance with which he
knew heathen ladies punished their attendant slaves.
" We have both," said Fabiola, " unintentionally in
flicted a wound, and shed the blood of her whom we now
honour as a sister in heaven. But for my part, from the
day when I did so, and gave her occasion to display her
virtue, I date the dawn of grace upon my soul. What
say you, Orontius ? "
" That I, likewise, from the instant that I so misused
her, and led to her exhibition of such Christian heroism,
began to feel the hand of God upon me, that has led me
to repentance and forgiveness."
" It is thus ever," concluded Fabiola. " The example
of our Lord has made the martyrs ; and the example of
the martyrs leads us upwards to Him. Their blood
softens our hearts ; His alone cleanses our souls. Theirs
pleads for mercy ; His bestows it. May the Church, in
her days of peace and of victories, never forget what
she OAves to the age of her martyrs. As for us two, we
are indebted to it for our spiritual lives. May many,

616 fabiola.
who will only read of it, draw froni it the same miercy
and grace ! "
They knelt down, and prayed long together silently
before the shrine.
They then parted, to meet no more.
After a feAV years, spent by Orontius in peniten
tial fervour, a green mound by the palms, in the little
dell near Gaza, marked the spot where he slept the sleep
of the just.
And after many years of charity and holiness, Fabiola
withdrew to rest in peace, in company with Agnes and
Miriam. THE END.

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