The Mother of St. Nicholas Part 2

Then were Pathema and Orestes and others led out of the church and into the street. They formed a silent, little company, surrounded and followed by an excited jeering crowd. And as the crowd increased in strength--"Death to the detested Christians!" was the noisy frequent cry.

With bowed head and weary heart, and with her sense of modesty painfully shocked, Pathema pa.s.sed on with her fellow-Christians to the humiliating place of safe-keeping for the night.

Their trial came off next day, but it was a mockery. Fanatical hate and bribery did their foul work--there was no justice whatever, and sentence of death was pa.s.sed!

An appeal was made to Rome.

To that great city Pathema and her fellow prisoners were finally transported, and there they were imprisoned.

Among the poor and sick and dying of Patara and its neighbourhood, was no one more missed and mourned than the compa.s.sionate maiden who languished and wept in a far away Roman prison--wept, not so much for her own wrongs, as for the griefs and pains of others.

"O Lord, I cry to Thee-- Unending night, a mournful robe, Enwraps my form, and veils my sight From flower, and stream, and all I love-- My bondage break, O G.o.d!

"If I no more behold My Crito, Lord, on him look down With watchful eye, and send Thy light, Restore his strength, and make him Thine; Regard my love for him.

"Biona's tender care Provide for, Lord, and guard from ill; The father's wound, in pity heal.

Remember all the desolate For whom I weep and pray.

"My parents, Lord, uphold; Their grief a.s.suage; Thy Spirit send And teach of Him who suffered more Than mortal man, to ransom me From death--the Christ, my strength.

"Yet, Lord, how hard to die So soon. Oh! to behold the sun, To breathe the air, to clasp the flowers, Embrace my 'loved, now loved tenfold; But, Lord, Thy will be done!"

CHAPTER IV.

THE AMPHITHEATRE.

The Colosseum or amphitheatre in Rome was a gigantic, costly building, oval in shape, 100 feet in height, 1900 feet in circ.u.mference, and capable of seating 100,000 spectators--a huge egg laid by Imperial power and demoniac love of pleasure. Its external wall rose up in three rows of columns, Doric, Ionic and Corinthian, forming 80 arcades or arches in each row, and was capped by a solid wall with Corinthian pilasters and small square windows. There was no roof, shelter from sun or rain being given by a movable awning called the _velarium_. The higher arcades were adorned with statues and chariots, and admitted light and air. Four of the bas.e.m.e.nt arches at the extremities were the entrances for the great, while the remaining seventy-six were for the common people. Rising from the top of a low wall or balcony that stood on the ground many feet inward, was the _gradus_ or slope of seats, which extended half-way up the high surrounding sh.e.l.l. The highest seats were a colonnade or portico reserved for women. On the slope under the portico, were the three _maeniana_ or galleries, separated by walls and by landing places for the many staircases. The uppermost gallery, with benches of wood, was for the _pullati_ or common people; the next below, for the _popularia_; and the farthest down, of stone or marble and cus.h.i.+oned, for members of the equestrian order. Below this was the inner wall or balcony (referred to above), called the _podium_, the place of honour, on which sat the Emperor and his family, senators, chief magistrates, vestal virgins, and distinguished visitors. The Emperor occupied a pavilion, named the _suggestus_, while the others sat on cus.h.i.+oned chairs or reclined on couches. The _podium_ was about 15 feet from the ground, its edge bordered with metal trellis work, and its front faced with marble, to prevent the ascent of wild beasts when frightened or enraged. The arena was the immense s.p.a.ce within, being about 281 feet by 176, and it was covered with sand, to keep the combatants from slipping and to absorb their blood. Here some of the martyrs of Jesus poured out their life, to gratify horrible curiosity, and to satiate the hunger of lions.

On a certain day in the latter half of the third century after Christ, and while the pagan Roman empire still held powerful sway, many thousands of people had a.s.sembled in the amphitheatre to witness a series of blood-curdling sights and combats. Among these sad spectacles was the suffering of a noted Christian from the rugged province of Lycia.

Demonicus, the great gladiator of Patara city, had fallen, his left cheek was embedded in the sand, his brawny upper arm lay out limp beside his broken sword, and his life-blood was streaming away. He would indulge in the love of strife and watch the footsteps of the innocent for glittering gold no more. His conqueror, Tela.s.sar, a big bearded warrior from Rhaetia, stood erect and proud, with his right foot on the gladiator's neck, and drinking in the applause that flowed from the encircling host of sensation-loving, heartless spectators.

After a fierce and prolonged battle, several other gladiators had ploughed the sand in strange quick succession. Here, face downward, was a Samnite with his oblong s.h.i.+eld; yonder lay a bare headed _retiarius_ with his net and three-pointed lance. Twenty feet from Demonicus, a horseman clad in cuira.s.s and helmet was stretched upon his back wounded and dying, with his round s.h.i.+eld and lance lying near.

His handsome black charger had instantly wheeled round, and it now stood over him with lowered neck in beautiful faithfulness, a tribute to its master's care and kindness. The other combatants were being hooked and drawn away like logs into the _spoliarium_, the grim receptacle for slaughtered men; the expiring horseman's turn would soon come. His rival had also reeled and tumbled down, the result of exhaustion from a severe wound received earlier in the fray. Aided by an official called a _lanista_, the victor's struggles to rise up and, when risen, to keep on his feet, were pitiable in the extreme.

Deprived of its rider, his spirited grey horse, itself slightly wounded, was bounding round the arena like a frightened antelope. And considering that there was a circ.u.mference of 900 feet in which to galop and wheel, it gave its pursuers no small degree of trouble.

This state of affairs, coupled with the usual breathing time before the next act in the tragic drama, allowed the horde of onlookers an opportunity for a little conversation and even merriment. In the presence of such horrifying sport with human life, the heathen heart revealed its kins.h.i.+p with the fallen angels of "Paradise Lost."

Nevertheless in that Roman pandemonium there were exceptions--a few hearts of a different cast, in which was at work a silent influence, destined in regal hands to reform the world.

CHAPTER V.

THE INFLUENCE WORKING.

Up in the colonnade reserved for women were two Greek ladies, natives of Asia Minor: Myrtis, a matron of high rank, and her young friend Coryna, a maiden of medium height and of perfect mould, with a wealth of braided auburn hair. The matron wore a _stola_, a long tunic girded in broad folds under the breast, and a white _palla_, a wide upper garment, loosely over her shoulders. Her companion had a white robe with a broad purple border, and over it an azure _palla_ covered with golden stars. Both ladies had refined feelings and elegant manners.

They were in the Colosseum for the first time.

"What dost thou think of all this, my Myrtis?" enquired Coryna, with a marked expression of pain in her sympathetic countenance.

"Think," answered Myrtis, striving to repress her agitation; "in the dexterity of the combatants I had a gruesome interest, but upon the prostrate, dying men I cannot look"; and the stout but comely woman of tender feeling turned her fair head farther away from the ghastly sight below.

"It is horrible," remarked Coryna, casting a furtive glance into the arena.

"I cannot remain," said Myrtis, "but what would t.i.ta.n.u.s say?" and she glanced down over the intervening galleries to the _podium_, where her ill.u.s.trious Roman husband sat.

Beside him was Coryna's brother, Tharsos, a distinguished young officer, wearing a _toga_, with a white _lacerna_ or mantle of elegant form.

Behind t.i.ta.n.u.s stood his young son, Carnion, a raven-haired boy of twelve, dressed in the _toga praetexta_, a becoming garment of white with a wide edge of purple, and suspended from his neck the _bulla_, a round ornament of gold, worn especially by the children of the n.o.ble.

He held in his hand a cl.u.s.ter of lilies, a little gift meant for Coryna, but which he had forgotten to hand over when entering the amphitheatre.

"See how Carnion is disturbed!" observed Coryna; "the dear boy turns away his head and will not look at the expiring horseman right underneath."

The mother saw her child's att.i.tude with pleased eyes, indeed they were often on him.

"Though tender-hearted, yet my Carnion is brave and strong," said she with a smile of pride.

"He is a soldier, every bit of him," added Coryna. "How different from his elder brother, Dinarchus!"

"Yes, my Dinarchus is a great reader, a young philosopher, a hermit, dear boy. He is now deep in the study of the Christian books. I would my Carnion were at home with him to-day, but he expected to see a wild-beast fight."

"Observe thy husband and my brother--see how calmly they look on!"

"They are soldiers, Coryna, and accustomed as we know to the spectacle of wounds and blood. To them, the arena must be as nothing to a field of battle when the clash of sword and spear is past."

"Oh, it must be racking, revolting!" exclaimed the other, pained at the mental vision of mangled heaps of slain; "and our beloved ones hate the sight."

"They also dislike what they see before them," said Myrtis. "They love skill, but they have no love for wanton play with human life."

"I wish all Rome hated such idle butchery," remarked Coryna earnestly, but rather loudly.

Overhearing these remarks, spoken in the Latin tongue, a number of ladies sneered and smiled. All, or nearly all, who made that wide investing terrace a wreath of brightness and beauty, were dead to pity.

At the most they could only feel regret for a wounded favorite or a dying hero.

"I would all the empire were of thy mind, Coryna, and then no such sad spectacle would stain our own beloved, humaner land.

"Christianity is the deadly enemy of all this wicked work. May it prosper!" said the young lady fervently.

"There are no Christians here, I venture to say, civil or military,"

responded Myrtis. "No follower of the humane Jesus would come within these walls, unless wronged and led, or bent on some heroic deed. But we wors.h.i.+ppers of a hundred G.o.ds can thank our divinities for no good influence. I hate the G.o.ds: may they forgive me!" and the reflective lady smiled at her own bold scepticism.

"They are myths, so my brother says," added Coryna, with a look of decision and relief.

"Tharsos is almost a Christian," remarked Myrtis, "and with him I strongly sympathize."