CHAPTER XVII.

CRUCIFIED UNTO THE WORLD.

Arius having been joyfully ordained to be a presbyter, and being uninformed of the martyrdom of Am-nem-hat and of Theckla, with gladness of heart and bright anticipations of coming happiness reached the city of Alexandria, and went first of all, as his duty was, to Peter, the bishop, whose return from Antioch had briefly preceded his own arrival. And, after the usual salutations had passed between them, the bishop, looking tenderly upon him, said: "Son, thou hast been ordained a presbyter, and hast been consecrated to the Master's service, and the Bishop Lucanius highly extolleth thy fitness for the holy office. But thou art young, my son, and the Lord hath laid a heavy cross upon thee. Hast thou received any recent news from our unfortunate city of Alexandria?"

"The last news I received was borne by thee when thou didst come unto Antioch bringing a letter from my betrothed, and that from the community, and the casket containing the perfect and beautiful copies of the sacred writings which Theckla wrote with her own hand for me. Why dost thou ask so seriously?"

"I did only precede thee by three days, my son; but upon my arrival heard the news of a sudden outbreak of persecution in which many of the pious were perfected, and their goods despoiled, the recital whereof will pierce thy heart. Thine old friend Am-nem-hat did bravely testify for Jesus even in the midst of the flame by which he was made perfect."

"I loved him much," said Arius, "and his long life hath ended gloriously!" Then a ghastly pallor came over the young man's cheek and lip, and he could only murmur, "And Theckla, bishop?"

"Son," said the bishop, tenderly, "thy beautiful Theckla was also a perfect witness for our Lord at the same time and place with the ancient Am-nem-hat." Then bowed the youth his head upon his hands, and writhings as of some mortal agony swept over him.

"Son," said old Peter, tearfully, "canst thou not say, 'He doeth all things well, and blessed be his name'?"

"Not yet! not yet!" sobbed out the broken-hearted man; "but give unto me the key of the church Baucalis!"

And the bishop called a young deacon unto him, and bade him take the key and guide the youthful presbyter unto that church. And in silence the sorely-smitten man followed his guide until they had reached the door of the beautiful church; then said Arius unto him: "Thou mayst return. Farewell!"

And Arius opened the door and passed within, and locked the door behind him. And it was twilight; and the full moon shed a soft and mellow light through the vast area of the sacred room; and, not far off, the gentle waves of the sea gleamed in the golden sheen, and lapsed away along the quiet coast.

Back and forth, along the great aisle, with slow and heavy footsteps--back and forth, until the long night waned away, and the muffled tread of the sufferer seemed to become regular, unceasing, continuous, as part of the very course of nature itself--all night long, back and forth, wrestling sorely with his sudden, mighty grief, the young man trod the desolate aisle, and his bosom heaved with anguish, but not a single word escaped his compressed, ashy lips. The first faint light of dawn mottled the eastern sky; then the glad sunlight streamed far out along the peaceful sea, and the freshness of the morning laughed from earth and heaven. Then went he slowly unto a window opening unto the east, and the sun was rising gloriously, and then the man raised up his right hand reverently, and, gazing away into the glowing heavens, with trembling lips and broken heart, he murmured: "Yea! He doeth all things well; and blessed be his name!"

But the first great sorrow of his life had fallen upon him; that which ages a man in a single day; that which breaketh off and casteth far from him all the brightness and freshness of his youth forever, and setteth him henceforth face to face with the hard and bitter realities of life, making all of the beautiful past only a dim and blessed memory of happiness, the light and sweetness whereof his lip shall taste no more on earth.

The youth was a man now; tried in the furnace of affliction; exercised by grief; strengthened and hardened and chastened by the bitter cup of woe.

Quietly he departed from the church; with calm, unfaltering tread he went back unto the bishop; and then unwaveringly he asked for, and unflinchingly heard, the pathetic details of the martyrdom. And the kind-hearted old man said unto him: "Son, thou triest thy heart too bitterly. If thou desirest to be alone, I can give thee a room unto thyself, and thou canst abide quietly with me until thou shalt feel better able to assume thy pastoral charge."

"I thank thee much, bishop, for thou art very kind. But God forbid that private grief should ever keep me from a sacred task! I will even preach to my people in the Baucalis church this morning. For I know"--and then the right hand momently began its rhythmic movement, the mesmeric light gleamed in his somber eyes, the strong, bold head sprang forward upon the lithe, serpentine neck, and, with a light, plaintive hiss in every tone that cut through the hearer's heart, he continued--"for I know that Theckla would even have it so if she could counsel me."

The good old bishop sprang toward and embraced him, crying out: "My son! my son! Thou art of the splendid stuff of which God maketh martyrs! May he console and comfort thee, and feed thee with the bread of everlasting life!"

For the bishop saw in his haggard countenance the ineffaceable traces of his mighty struggle with that night-long agony; he saw the grandeur and beauty of the imperious will that wearied down the complainings of an aching heart; and the clear, resolute soul that fixed its eye upon the path of Christian duty, not to be swerved therefrom by any earthly agency, and ready to immolate even its sacred hours of grief for the sake of other souls.

Henceforth the fair forms of youth, and love, and hope, would pass him by upon life's lonely pilgrimage almost unrecognized--strangers to him except for some far-off, heart-broken memories. Henceforth upon his chastened hearing the voices of honor and ambition would fall unheeded as the sounding brass or the tinkling cymbal! Only when the stern, cold face of Duty might meet his gaze, henceforth, his spirit would look up and say: "I know thee. Welcome here!" Only when the shrinking forms of human sorrow, and pain, and wretchedness, should henceforth claim his sympathy, his soul would reach forth ministering hands and say: "Ye are old friends of mine! I welcome you!"

And he did preach in the Baucalis church, that very morning, a sermon which was never forgotten by those who heard it. "The love of Christ constraineth us," he exclaimed; then in words that leaped, and flashed, and glinted, ringing distinct as bell-notes, yet all flowing in a strong, even, jubilant current unto a definite purpose, he set before them the loftiest form and manner in which love hath ever showed its power and beauty, in the best stories of pagan mythology and history, in high and glorious examples from the Old and New Testament, and from church history, all brought out like pictures before the mind, and above them all he glorified and magnified that love divine of Jesus; then how we are bound, constrained thereby; unto what end; and, finally, that the necessary result of this bondage to Christ is absolute freedom as to all other authority upon earth, higher than any natural courage or Stoic philosophy could confer. But there was not even the remotest reference to his private sorrow. All of them had known Theckla, and the covenant between her and Arius, and the building of the church for him, and the transcribing of the scriptures for him by her hand; and all of their hearts had yearned after him in sympathizing sorrow; but not one word of self even inadvertently found utterance in his clear, cold, steel-like exegesis of the truth, or in the copious, affluent stream of exhortation and comfort. He had come to minister unto them, not to be ministered unto by them; he had come to help them bear all things, with clear eyes to see, with open heart to feel and share, with strong, resolute, uncomplaining spirit to bear all of their sorrows and trials; his own to be sealed up in his own soul, buried out of human sight forever. He took all hearts by storm: instinctively they felt that this young man was thoroughly furnished unto every good work; they could rely upon him, they could trust him under all circumstances, in any emergency. An old Christian in the congregation, who had been a Roman officer for many years before his conversion, and had faced every form of death upon the battlefield, whispered to the friend next to him: "What a splendid commander he would have made! He is the bravest man I ever saw, for, if there had been a streak of weakness, or cowardice, or selfishness in his nature, he could not have buried his own grief out of sight, and put his whole heart into his work as he hath done."

It was so through all the services of that first day. Quiet, grave, courteous, he discharged every duty of his position without the slightest reference to his own feelings or trials. For, during that night of awful sorrow, he had fully settled all his earthly life. Henceforth the church at Baucalis was to be his home; the community that might worship there, his family; he was, henceforth, to have no griefs, ambitions, trials of his own; no hopes, no fears; he was to bear the burdens of others; to love, guide, counsel, and strengthen the souls intrusted to his care; to do a minister's work, that is, a spiritual servant's work, so long as life might last, and to wait patiently, uncomplainingly, without disquietude or bitterness of spirit, if possible with gladness, until the end might come. Such was the destiny he had mapped out for himself during that night of bitter anguish in the beautiful church; such was the destiny that upon the next morning, with grand, simple, unselfish faith and courage, he arose to meet.

The thoroughness of this profound self-abnegation was exhibited on the night succeeding that first day's labors, when, in the solitude of his own apartment, he took from out its cedar casket the beautiful manuscript which Theckla's hand had lovingly prepared for him, and made an indorsement thereon, in the Arabic tongue, that it had been transcribed by Theckla, a noble Egyptian lady, who also was a martyr in Alexandria. But he did not write that it was transcribed for him; his name nowhere appears on any part of the manuscript; there is not a word or sign that can by any possibility connect his name or fate with hers. Arius seemed to him to have been slain and buried long ago; only God's presbyter survived the ruin of his life, and stood up in the place of Arius, calm, strong, fearless, unselfish, and devout.

And this great manuscript, which was the offering of Theckla's love unto him, hath survived the lapse of ages, bearing yet upon its priceless pages the indorsement of Arius. It is known throughout Christendom as the "CODEX ALEXANDRINUS"--"A" of the British Museum, although some later writings have been blended therewith, and some of the manuscripts prepared by Theckla have been lost.