CHAPTER XX.

THE PUBLIC WORKS.

If, before the edict, the Thermæ of Dioclesian were being erected by the labor and sweat of Christian prisoners, it will not appear surprising, that their number and their sufferings should have greatly increased, with the growing intensity of a most savage persecution. That emperor himself was expected for the inauguration of his favorite 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 labor in the harder departments 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 accustomed to such menial toil. The only recompense which they received for their labor, 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 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 task-masters, 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 objects, 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 faithfully their divine Master, was useful for another purpose. Like the stew in which the luxurious Lucullus kept his lampreys ready fattened for a banquet; like the cages in which rare birds, the pens in which 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 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 spectacles, 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 persecution 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 expected. The people demanded more sport; and an approaching imperial birthday justified their gratification. The wild beasts, which Sebastian and Pancratius had heard, yet roared for their lawful prey. “_Christianos ad leones_” might seem to have been interpreted by them, as meaning “that the Christians of right belonged to them.”

One afternoon, towards the end of December, Corvinus proceeded to the Baths of Dioclesian, accompanied by Catulus, who had an eye for proper combatants 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 honor of fighting in the amphitheatre, on occasion of the coming festival.”

“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 delivered round capstans, ready to be raised on the morrow. A number of men were actively employed in making final preparations. Catulus nudged Corvinus, and pointed, with his thumb, 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 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 labor. 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 laborers, 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 assigned portion of toil, to help their weaker brethren, and perform their work for them.[160] But their time was not yet come; for both of them, before they received their crowns, were ordained deacons in the next pontificate.

Several other captives lay on the ground, about the old man’s feet, as he, seated on a block of marble, was talking to them, with a sweet gravity, which riveted their attention, and seemed to make them forget their sufferings. 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?[161] Or was he recounting another more glorious vision, how this smaller oratory was to be superseded and absorbed by a glorious temple in honor of the Queen of Angels, which should comprise the entire of that superb hall, with its vestibule, under the directing skill of the mightiest artistic genius that the world should ever see?[162] What more consoling 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 honored?

From a distance Corvinus saw the group; and pausing, 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, as 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 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 exultation, “Fetter him instantly. This time at least, Pancratius, thou shalt not escape.”