CHAPTER XI.
It was during the night following on the evening, which the guests ofParthenius spent in dissipation, that the fearful catastrophe tookplace of which the reader is already informed. Quintus Claudius andthe whole congregation of Nazarenes were discovered and seized in thecatacomb between the Via Appia and the Via Labicana.
We left our hero at the moment, when the procession of prisoners wassetting out Rome-wards. It was a long and melancholy march through thesolitude and gloom. No one spoke a word; only a suppressed sob or agroan of anguish now and then broke the oppressive silence. With whatemotion did Quintus cross the bridge over the Almo, which he had walkedover once before, that night when he had rescued Eurymachus. He did hisbest to banish all memories, all fears--nay, all hopes--and to fix hismind unswervingly on one thought alone: that his life and fate were inthe hands of God.
But it was hard, very hard, to school his struggling soul to composure.Again and again an image rose before him, which threatened to underminehis self-control--an agonized face--the features of his beloved, oh!so-devotedly loved father. And then again the voices, the shouts ofa vast multitude rang in his ears--he was in the arena--face to facewith ravening beasts--defenseless, alone, forsaken, delivered over to afearful death.
It was impossible!... He, a son of the ancient and noble house ofClaudia! No, never! That father could never give up his only son tobe torn limb from limb. Perhaps this would end in salvation for all,perhaps his arrest meant liberty for all his companions. If he, QuintusClaudius, could swear fidelity to the creed of the Nazarene, was it notat once and forever purged of all suspicion of hostility to the State?Could any one think of him--the richest and most envied youth of theimperial city--as a foe to social order? Certainly his father could seeand understand how greatly the government had erred; the faith thathad been so blindly condemned, would be granted a hearing, and the lawwhich had but just been passed for its suppression, would be trampledunder foot.
And in spite of his will, these pictures chased each other through hisexcited brain, terrors and hopes in rapid alternation, till, at last,their destination was reached: the Mamertine prison[88] at the foot ofthe Capitoline Hill. Then he had no thoughts but for the horrors of thepresent.
Here, in the very heart of the splendid capital, in sight of gorgeoustemples and pillared halls--which, lighted at this hour by torches,looked even more imposing than by day--in view of the imperial palacehe had so often entered as Caesar's guest and friend--here he must beswallowed up, as it were, as a malefactor in the horrible gulf of theTullianum![89] The thought was unendurable; he was on the point ofmaking a desperate resistance to the centurion's word of command. Buthis eye fell on the calm and happy face of the blind man--and in thatinstant the picture, which the old disciple had set before his hearerswith such startling reality, rose before the young man's soul.
"It must be endured to the end," said he to himself. "To be sure, ateighty a man's heart does not throb with such keen pain as at twenty."
The Christians wept and embraced each other; they were led away toseparate rooms in the prison. Quintus' turn came last, and to him thegovernor had assigned a separate cell. He crossed its threshold withcalm deliberation; the gaoler set down some food and drink--not abetter sort of food, such as was usually granted to prisoners of rank,but the ordinary criminal's fare. Then he shut the heavy, iron-plateddoor, and pushed the three outside bolts.
Quintus sank on the stone bench[90] that served as a bed-place, utterlyannihilated; the last drop of his self-command seemed to evaporate, asthe echoing steps of the gaoler died into silence. He covered his facewith his hands, and a wild groan broke from him; then for nearly anhour he sat stunned and motionless.
Exhaustion and cold recalled him to his senses; a raw, damp atmospherepervaded the underground vault. He shuddered and drew his cloak, whichhad fallen off, over his shoulders; then he looked round him.
The cell was rather longer than it was wide, rectangular, and just highenough to allow of his standing upright. By day a niggardly ray oflight might be admitted through a round hole in the roof; at present asmoky little oil-lamp was burning on one side of the room, opposite thebed-place. Besides this couch the cell contained a rough wooden benchand a short iron rivet, furnished with rings and chains, to which thetemporary resident in the cell could be secured, and he perceived asecond rivet of the same kind on the opposite side near the bed.
With a tremulous hand he lightly touched the rattling irons; itmade him shiver. He started to his feet, and began to pace the cellin feverish excitement. He involuntarily remembered that Gaetulianmountain lion which, at Ostia, had rushed so fiercely at the bars ofits cage.... He, a proud and noble Roman, was caged now, no better offthan a wild beast.--No better! His scornful laughter echoed uncannilythrough the vaults. He compared the lion's airy and open cage withthe hideous dungeon that held a man but just now free and happy--andhe envied the brute. That clumsy, dull, black door confronted him asthough it could never open again; he went close up to it, struck itwith his fists, and tried to shake it. It neither moved nor rattled.It was as immovable in the masonry as the lid of some huge primevalsarcophagus. He suddenly felt helplessly inconsolable, and pressing hisforehead against the cold iron plate, he cried like a child.
What was that written in Greek characters--carefully, elaboratelyscratched by hands that had all-too-much time? He read through histears a message of promise.
"Jesus, my Saviour and Redeemer.--To Thee I live and die."
Then some other follower of the Christian faith, some fellow-suffererin the cause, had here awaited his fate. Laboriously, and to comforthis stricken heart, he had left a record in the dungeon, where helingered and pined, to greet and console a successor. And it wasno cowardly lament, no cry of despair, but a brave confession, aword of heavenly confidence and beatific submission to the Master.Quintus felt, what so many thousands have felt since: the overpoweringattractiveness of example; the bliss, the charm of martyrdom. Thiscreed, which made the most agonizing death so easy, and filled themost wretched with peace, calmness, joy--must indeed be the creed ofredemption, high above all that the wisdom of men had yet devised--andit would surely pour balm even into his aching wounds, and bear him upon the wings of enthusiasm to triumph over the terrors of death.
Strangely comforted, he carefully examined the walls all round, and hefound numbers of inscriptions, some hardly legible in the rough stone,but all telling the same tale of suffering and of supreme faith, ofdeath for the truth's sake and the beatitude of a godly frame of mind.
In one place, in Latin, he read as follows: "I, Sericus, forty-threeyears old, and I, Psyche, the daughter of Sericus, seventeen years old,write this; imprisoned here by the city-prefect under Nero. We areChristians; we die for the faith. We forgive our enemies and hope forGod's mercy." Close by, in Greek, was written:
"Blessed are they that are persecuted for righteousness' sake, fortheirs is the Kingdom of Heaven." And below this, another hand hadadded in continuation: "Yea verily, that is my hope and comfort, whichshall strengthen me in the hour of death."
The longer Quintus lingered over these tokens of past spiritualvictories, the more he felt as a wanderer might who, in the horrors ofthe wilderness, traced the footprints of men and so learnt that othershad crossed the desert before him. He fancied himself surrounded andovershadowed by the death-defying army of martyrs, and he swore tohimself that he would quail no more than Sericus and his maiden Psyche;than Archilaos, a lad of twenty, spoken of in another inscription, orthan Chabrias, who left a lovely and adored bride in Rhodes, to beburnt alive or crucified in Nero's gardens.
And here the thought of Cornelia, which he had, so far, resolutelyheld at bay, took possession of his soul. He shuddered and turnedcold at the recollection; but his resolution was not to be shaken.Even the reflection that not one of the witnesses that had sojournedhere, not even Chabrias, had had this horror added to his sufferings;that he was a victim to his own, dearly-loved
father--even this worststroke of all could not make him flinch. Something within him hadfrozen--petrified--something which had hitherto been alive to all theimpulses of hope, fear and despair. If he could bear something morethan all had suffered, who had gone before him, then it must be thatGod, who had laid it on him, deemed him to be of more heroic mould. Thetorment was greater? then the greater must the glory be! Fate had sethim in the high places of life, visible from afar, one of the leadersof the people.--Then he must endure greater bitterness, suffer greatertorments, so that his death should be heard of among the nations like aherald's call from a mountain-top.
The solemn conviction that a special call from Heaven had ruled hisfate, became clearer and firmer in his mind as the hours went by. Witha curious mixture of pride and humility he regarded himself as aninstrument in the hand of Providence, and in proportion as this beliefgrew and struck root another idea died out, which, during the last fewhours, had recurred as mysteriously seductive, that of killing himselfif all other hope failed. This, from an educated Roman's point of view,was in no respect sinful or wrong.
It was considered permissible, nay highly praiseworthy, to cut thethread of existence, when every hope of an endurable future was lost.Nor had Quintus been long enough familiar with the principles and viewsof Christianity, to reject this desperate remedy at the first thoughtof it. But now, as he began to believe that he saw in his fate thedesigns of a higher power, he felt steeled against its seductions.
The lamp had burned lower and lower and at last went out; Quintus satstaring into the darkness for some little time. Then he felt his wayround the wall to the bed, lay down on the mildewed worsted blanket andcovered himself with his lacerna. After once more dedicating himself toGod and his conscience, even unto death, he repeated the short prayerthat the congregation had used on the occasion of his reception underthe covenant. He had heard the words but once, but they were graven onhis soul--those simple child-like words: "Our Father"--and then he fellasleep, as soundly and quietly as if he were lying on the soft cushionsof his own cubiculum.
When he awoke, some hours later, a dull foggy twilight pervaded theroom. The rattle of the bolts had roused him. It was his gaoler, whocame in and set a freshly-filled amphora[91] down by his side; then hetilted the bowl of porridge, which Quintus had not touched, to see ifthe mess were yet too stiff to be eaten. After a moment's hesitation heput it down and was leaving the room, when Quintus spoke to him.
"What time is it?" he asked, sitting up.
"Two hours past sunrise."
"I am very hungry; give me something to eat."
The gaoler pointed to the clay bowl without speaking.
"You do not indulge in luxuries here!" said Quintus bitterly. "That istoo vile food for the meanest of my slaves, nay for my dogs."
The man shrugged his shoulders.
"You must get used to it. We are under the strictest orders to treatevery one alike by the rules of the place, with no distinction ofbirth."
"Indeed--and what is the rule of the place?"
"Porridge and water, with rye-bread for supper. I cannot help it, ifyou fine gentlemen do not relish it. We often have folks here, whoare only too thankful for such food, poor wretches who have not had amorsel for days if the gifts of corn have been stopped."
"Do you know who I am?" Quintus interrupted his voluble informant.
"No, I rarely get out into the world. It is a year last Feast ofSaturn, since I was in the Field of Mars. But I can see by your mannerthat you are of some noble family."
"I am Quintus Claudius, the son of the Flamen."
"Stuff and nonsense!" said the gaoler. "Why, you were caught in aquarry with the Nazarenes."
"Quite true."
"Then you cannot be Quintus, the son of the Flamen Dialis."
"You doubt it? Did not the centurion, who took us, tell you?"
"Not me--he spoke to the governor."
"To be sure. Well, you will know it too before the day is out. Nowlisten to what I ask. The news of my arrest can hardly yet have got tomy father's ears. And if the report reaches him, if a stranger tellshim the worst, point-blank, it will kill him. No one but myself knowshow to mitigate the blow to him. Will you carry him a note, only twoshort lines--on these wax-tablets?"
"Impossible!" said the man, drawing back.
"Look here--I will give you this stylus--it is of pure gold...."
"If you offered, me ten times its value, I dare not. It is as much asmy life is worth."
"Then take me to your superior officer."
"I cannot without leave."
"Try to get leave." The gaoler looked doubtful; the young man's calm,urgent manner, and his evident high breeding, impressed him greatly.
"I will see what can be done," he said, hesitatingly. "Take patiencetill this evening."
"Till this evening!" cried Quintus, in despair. "Miserable man, do younot understand that you are killing him. Every instant is precious, andyou say: till this evening."
He had hardly ceased speaking, when they heard steps outside thedungeon door. The gaoler rushed out, and Quintus heard the murmur ofvoices coming nearer and nearer. Suddenly his heart stood still.
"Many thanks," he heard just outside. "Leave me alone now, worthyHaemon; you know me well enough to feel sure that you run no risk, inadmitting me without a witness."
Quintus gazed anxiously at the door. It was his father's voice. In aninstant the door opened, and Titus Claudius stood before him.
For a long time neither could utter a word; they stood looking ateach other as pale and silent as the dead. Their lips quivered, butthis was the only outward sign of their cruel suffering. But theyunderstood each other; each was struggling for such composure as mightenable him to speak. It was the father, who first succeeded; but itwas in a hollow, forced voice that he said, as he clenched his handsconvulsively: "It is here--here--that we meet!"
The words conveyed such deep and unspeakable anguish, that Quintusshuddered from head to foot.
"Father ..." he began, and then he broke into sobs. He turned his faceto the wall in despair, and pressed his cheek against the cold stone asthough entreating its pity.
"Quintus," the priest went on--and his voice was as gentle and mild asa child's, "is it true, that you spent the night in the catacomb withthe Nazarenes?"
The young man looked round.
"Yes, Father," he said.
"Did you not know the law?"
"I knew it, Father."
"And what were you doing among the rebels?"
"Who calls them rebels?" retorted Quintus, recovering hisself-possession.
"All who respect the government, for the law has branded them so.Answer me, Quintus; What were you seeking in the society of thesereprobates?"
"What I never found in the society of their persecutors, what all mylife-long I have vainly longed and hoped for: peace and salvation formy soul."
"Then it is true--it is true...?"
"What, Father?"
"That you are not merely their protector, but, in fact, one of them."
"As you say."
Titus Claudius turned paler and more ghastly than before.
"Wretched boy!" he said; "then you are a lost man! The crime of being aNazarene is punished with death."
"I know it."
"You know it? And you tread the law under foot?"
"In my soul I carry a higher law."
"There is no higher law than that of duty. You are a Roman. You are myson. Madman! As a Roman, you are breaking the laws of the country--asa son, you are breaking your father's heart! What demon possesses you?What disease is this that has turned your brain? Does it charm yourhopes more to bleed to death under the fangs of Libyan beasts, than tobe clasped in the arms of your Cornelia? Does the air of the Tullianumplease you better, than the perfumed atmosphere of your own rooms? Youhave everything, every single thing your heart can desire, and youmust plunge into dark gulfs of crime, soil your soul with the foul mireof superstition--nay, call yourself the
brother of vile slaves, ofpanders and corpse-carriers!"
"I follow the light of truth," replied Quintus. "You are wrong, father,in regarding the Nazarenes as mere vile rabble. It is not rank thatmakes the man, but character. Before the God of the Nazarenes there isno respect of persons, and it is just that which makes the doctrine ofChrist so noble."
"Noble! Quintus--by all the gods, return to your right mind! Aman of senatorial rank, a son of the house of Claudia, thinks thedoctrine noble, which grants him equal rights with street-portersand executioners.[92] Such madness puts me beside myself. And whathas all this to do with the salvation of your soul? Have you gonethrough the senseless farces, of which I have heard so much? Kissedthe gallows,[93] and offered sacrifice before the miserable image of acrucified man? Have you lent ear to the fables, which superstition haswoven round that execution on Golgotha? Alas! your silence is only tooeloquent. These tricksters have entangled you with their wiles, tillyou have lost the power to free yourself from the net. Oh! I can quiteunderstand, that it was well worth their while to entrap a Claudius.Your name outweighs a thousand lesser ones, and held aloft on theirbanner at the right moment, it might bring victory to the traitors! Anddo you not perceive all this? Does your keen eye fail to see throughtheir treacherous game?"
"Father, we can never understand each other. By all that is sacred...."
"I will not hear you!" interrupted the priest. "What can you say? Whoit is that has entrapped you, and how far the ramifications of the plotextend, we shall learn in the course of enquiry. I came not as yourjudge, nor commissioned by the Senate. I came to save you. Confessyou were led astray, abjure this superstition, which can never reallyhave taken possession of your soul, offer a sacrifice of atonement toJupiter Capitolinus--and all will be well. A year of exile--to Hellasperhaps, where I have crowds of friends--would be the worst that couldbefall you, and even this short banishment Caesar would no doubt remitat my entreaty. All is ready, and to-morrow morning early the ceremonycan take place. Till then you will be a prisoner, but in my house,[94]and treated with the honor due to your name. Norbanus himself willescort you thither; he is waiting at the door of the prison. Hishighest officers will keep guard over you. Forwards then; let us leavethis scene of disgrace--and may your bitter experience have taught youwisdom."
But Quintus did not stir. His eyes were spellbound to the wallwhich, in the gloomy watches of the night, had revealed such strangehistories. Each inscription, each name seemed to raise the image ofsome pale and suffering face. He felt at the bottom of his soul thatnow, here, the moment had come for giving expression in deeds to thereflection and resolve of those dark hours. Side by side, too, with theecstatic enthusiasm of the convert, there surged up in his soul theunbending pride and iron will of his race. Should he be more cowardly,baser, weaker than the lowborn and wretched? His heart beat high at thethought, and the blood mounted to his brow.
"I cannot, Father," he said, turning away.
"What? You cannot walk in the path, in which your father is ready tolead you? Or do you think it mean to confess the error of your ways?Give place to reason, Quintus! It is to no mortal, but to the godsalone that you have to confess your crime. Humility before the gods isno dishonor...."
"Your gods are not mine," cried Quintus vehemently. "A confessor of thetrue God can never sacrifice to Jupiter Capitolinus."
"Who is the true God, but he whose care and rule we see, wherever weturn our eyes, and feel in our souls? Are you so utterly degenerate,that you have learnt to confound the great universal spirit--whom ourfathers worshipped as Jupiter, the Father of Light--with a mortal--witha Jewish revolutionary, whom the imperial governor silenced by death?"
"Nay Father, you misunderstand. We do not revere the crucified Saviouras God himself, only as our Master, who revealed the true God to us.Between the God of Christ and your idols there is a great gulf fixed.Your own noble nature associates with those idols of a false faith,aspirations and feelings, which have always been foreign to the spiritof that faith. If only you knew how the faith in the light I walk inglows through my whole being, you would expect the skies to fall,sooner than that I should pronounce the base denial you ask of me."
"Mad fool!" cried the priest in great wrath. "You hold a tissue of liesas more precious than life and happiness, as higher than the honor ofyour family? Have done with this reckless mockery! Follow me, I commandyou!"
"Father!" groaned Quintus with growing anguish, "God is my witness,that I would shed every drop of blood in my body for you and for yourhappiness: only this one thing--I cannot--I cannot...."
"You must. By all the gods, but you must! What? My son a traitor--tobe the sport and gazing-stock of a cackling crowd, scorned and mockedat as a fool, and condemned to an ignominious death--? You are raving,boy! Come, away from this fetid cell. I command you!"
Titus Claudius gazed with agonized enquiry at his son's pale face,which looked more and more petrified to marble.
"I cannot, Father!" That was all the bloodless lips could utter.
Then the despairing father fell on his knees and raised his hands inentreaty, like a criminal suing for mercy. Tears streamed down hisdistorted face, which looked ten years older for that hour's anguish.He rent his robe, he tore his hair, he struck his forehead againstthe pavement. In heart-rending accents he implored his son--hisonly, beloved son, the star and joy of his life, not to make him somiserable--more miserable than ever man had been before in all thisgrief-stricken and strife-plagued world. He reminded him of the daysof his infancy, when he had nursed him in his arms, lived, cared, andtoiled only for his boy. And would this child, his Quintus, his all inall, doom him to this hideous fate?
The miserable man presented a pitiable sight.
"Oh Father," cried Quintus, gasping for breath. "What have you done?Woe is me, I am a monster! That sacred head in the dust--composeyourself--you are driving me mad! O God, not yet! Father, I will obeyyou, I am yours henceforth. My soul's salvation?--I give it up. Youshall not suffer for my sake."
Titus Claudius rose. The strong man was trembling like a child. Withone passionate cry the father and son were clasped in each other's arms.
FOOTNOTES:
[88] THE MAMERTINE PRISON. The state-prison in Rome was the Carcer Mamertinus at the foot of the Capitol--still in existence at the present time.
[89] TULLIANUM. A part of the Mamertine Prison, so called after King Servius Tullius, who is said to have built it. The Catilinarians had been executed in the Tullianum.
[90] THE STONE BENCH. Bedsteads built of stone were not unusual even in private dwellings, as appears from numerous specimens in Pompeian houses.
[91] AMPHORA. A jar, usually made of clay, but sometimes of glass, running to a point at the bottom and supplied with a handle on each side. By this point the amphora was fastened into the soft earth, or the holes in the tap-room counters specially intended for them. Here allusion is made to a hole in the stone floor designed to secure the amphora.
[92] STREET-PORTERS AND EXECUTIONERS. The profession of executioners (_carnifices_), to whom the execution of slaves and foreigners was committed (condemned citizens were put to death by the lictors), was held in greater obloquy than any other.
[93] KISSED THE GALLOWS. Titus Claudius means the cross, which to cultivated Romans was held in no higher esteem than the guillotine is regarded by us.
[94] TILL THEN YOU WILL BE A PRISONER, BUT IN MY HOUSE. For accused persons of high rank, an arrangement existed called the _libera custodia_, which consisted of setting a guard over them, but permitting them to remain at large in the house of an aristocratic citizen.