CHAPTER X.

OTHER MEETINGS.

When the two youths returned to the room by which they had entered the apartment, they found the expected company assembled. A frugal repast was laid upon the table, principally as a blind to any intruder who might happen unexpectedly to enter. The assembly 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 conversions 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 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 magistrate 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 custody 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 prisoners; there were the parents of the unfortunate youths weeping over them, and caressing them, to allure them from their threatened doom; there was the gaoler, Claudius, and there was the magistrate, Nicostratus, with his wife, Zoë, 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 betray him, if he avowed himself a Christian? And did he not know that such a betrayal involved his death?

He knew it well; but what cared he? If three victims 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 armor, 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 uncovered 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 before 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, 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 Paradise, 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 proceeded:

“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 thee, 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 thy religion command this, and dost thou call it holy?”

“Wait in patience, my good old man,” said Sebastian, 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 deliberating 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 soldiers 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.”

“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 turn said, embracing their parents.

“No,” replied the father, “we part no more. Nicostratus, 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 moved; all wept; the prisoners joined in the tumult of these new affections; and Sebastian saw himself 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 fluttering upon the confines of life. Some hung upon his arms; some clasped his knees; some kissed his feet, as though he had been a spirit of peace, such as visited Peter in his dungeon at Jerusalem.

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, Zoë, 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 Zoë; “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.”

Zoë 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 voice, “her once eloquent tongue has been paralyzed, 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 beginning 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 salvation may embrace us all! Zoë, 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: “Zoë, 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 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 continued 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 prefect 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 persecution; and listened with interest to the account of what had occurred. But when he heard of Tranquillinus’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.”

Sebastian was sent for. To have administered baptism without faith preceding, as an experiment of its healing virtue, would have been a superstition. Sebastian 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 emperor. Tertullus, the father of the hopeful Corvinus, and prefect of the Prætorium, had been named his successor; so the reader will perceive that the events just related from the Acts of St. Sebastian, had occurred 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 persons above enumerated in the officer’s chamber. Many of them resided in, or about, the palace; and besides them were present Castulus, who held a high situation at court,[42] 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. Sebastian 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 every body retired to the country, and the emperor himself was going to the coast of Naples, and thence would take a journey to southern Italy. It was therefore a favorable 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 arrangements, Torquatus, one of the former prisoners, converted 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, he was ready to go into the Forum on the morrow, and overthrow any altar, or confront any judge, as a Christian. Every thing was said and done to soothe, and even to cool him; and it was felt to be most important 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 operations. 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 martyrdom. But now the difference was cut short by a letter brought in, from the Pope, addressed to his “Beloved son Polycarp, priest of the title of St. Pastor,” in which he commanded him to accompany the converts, and leave Sebastian to the arduous duty of encouraging 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 he is a neophyte, and will improve in time, and by grace.”

As they passed into the entrance-court of the palace, they heard a Babel of uncouth sounds, with coarse laughter and occasional yells, proceeding from the adjoining yard, in which were the quarters of the Mauritanian 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 neighbors?”

“The black slave,” he replied, “who is their priestess, 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 murdered for the purpose[43]--just what might seem to be going on here.”

“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 superstitions, 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 splendor. 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 humoring his companion’s fanciful question, “was from the top of the Latial mountain,[44] by the temple of Jupiter. The sun rose behind the mountain, and projected its huge shadow like a pyramid over the plain, and far upon the sea; then, as it rose higher, this lessened and withdrew; and every 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,” observed Pancratius; “and so it will 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 worship 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 where 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.”[45]

They continued their walk in silence through the brilliantly-lighted streets;[46] 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 promised 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 ardor 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 aspiration, after what I know you consider to be the very highest of a Christian’s aim.”

“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!”