The Martyr of the Catacombs by AnonYMous
CHAPTER XV.
LUCULLUS.
"The memory of the just is blessed."
At the scene of torture and of death there was one spectator whose face,full of agony, was never turned away from Marcellus, whose eyes sawevery act and expression, whose ears drank in every word. Long after allhad departed he remained in the same place, the only human being in allthe vast extent of deserted seats. At length he rose to go.
The old elasticity of his step had departed. He moved with a slow andfeeble gait; his abstracted gaze and expression of pain made him looklike a man suddenly struck with disease. He motioned to some of thekeepers, who opened for him the gates that led to the arena.
"Bring me a cinerary urn," said he, and he walked forward to the dyingembers. A few fragments of crumbled bone, pulverized by the violence ofthe flames, were all that remained of Marcellus.
Silently Lucullus took the urn which the keeper brought him, andcollecting what human fragments he could find, he carried away the dust.
As he was leaving he was accosted by an old man. He stopped mechanically.
"What do you wish of me?" said he courteously. "I am Honorius, an elderamong the Christians. A dear friend of mine was put to death this day inthis place. I have come to see if I could obtain his ashes."
"It is well that you have addressed yourself to me, venerable man," saidLucullus. "Had you proclaimed your name to others you would have beenseized, for there is a price on your head. But I cannot grant yourrequest. Marcellus is dead, and his ashes are here in this urn. Theywill be deposited in the tomb of my family with the highest ceremonies,for he was my dearest friend, and his loss makes the earth a blank to meand life a burden."
"You, then," said Honorius, "can be no other than Lucullus, of whom Ihave so often heard him speak in words of affection?"
"I am he. Never were there two friends more faithful than we. If it hadbeen possible I would have saved him. He would never have been arrestedhad he not thrown himself into the hands of the law. O hard fate! At atime when I had made arrangements that he should never be arrested, hecame before the emperor himself, and I was compelled with my own handsto lead him whom I loved to prison and to death."
"What is your loss is to him immeasurable gain. He has entered into thepossession of immortal happiness."
"His death was a triumph," said Lucullus. "The death of Christians Ihave noticed before, but never before have I been so struck by theirhope and confidence. Marcellus died as though death were an unspeakableblessing."
"It was so to him, but not more so than to many others who lie buried inthe gloomy place where we are forced to dwell. To their numbers I wishto add the remains of Marcellus. Would you be willing to part with them?"
"I had hoped, venerable Honorius, that since my dear friend had left meI might have at least the mournful pleasure of giving to his remains thelast pious honors, and of weeping at his tomb."
"But, noble Lucullus, would not your friend have preferred a burial withthe sacred ceremonies of his new faith, and a resting place among thosemartyrs with whose names his is now associated forever?"
Lucullus was silent, and thought for some time. At length he spoke:
"Of his wishes there can be no doubt. I will respect them, and denymyself the honor of performing the funereal rites. Take them, Honorius.But I will, nevertheless, assist at your services. Will you permit thesoldier, whom you only know as your enemy, to enter your retreat and towitness your acts?"
"You shall be welcome, noble Lucullus, even as Marcellus was welcomebefore you, and perhaps you will receive among us the same blessing thatwas granted to him."
"Do not hope for anything like that," said Lucullus. "I am far differentfrom Marcellus in taste and feeling. I might learn to feel kindly towardyou, or even to admire you, but never to join you."
"Come with us, then, whatever you are, and assist at the funeralservices of your friend. A messenger will come for you to-morrow."
Lucullus signified his assent, and after handing over the precious urnto the care of Honorius, he went sadly to his own home.
On the following day he went with the messenger to the Catacombs. Therehe saw the Christian community, and beheld the place of their abode. Butfrom the previous accounts of his friend he had gained a clear idea oftheir life, their sufferings, and their afflictions.
Again the mournful wail arose in the dim vaults and echoed along thearched passage ways, that wail that spoke of a new brother committed tothe grave; but the grief that spoke of mortal sorrow was succeeded by aloftier strain that expressed the faith of the aspiring soul, and a hopefull of immortality.
Honorius took the precious scroll, the word of life, whose promises wereso powerful to sustain amid the heaviest burden of grief, and in solemntones read that chapter in the first epistle to the Corinthians which inevery age and in every clime has been so dear to the heart that lookedbeyond the realms of time to seek for refuge in the prospect of theresurrection.
Then he raised his head and in fervent tones offered up a prayer to theHoly One of heaven, through Christ the divine mediator, by whom deathand the grave had been conquered and immortal life secured.
The pale sad face of Lucullus was conspicuous among the mourners. If hewas not a Christian he could still admire such glorious doctrines andlisten with pleasure to such exalted hopes. It was he who placed theloved ashes within their final resting-place; he, whose eyes took thelast look at the dear remains; and he whose hands lifted to its placethe slab whereon the name and the epitaph of Marcellus was engraven.
Lucullus went to his home, but he was a changed man. The gayety of hisnature seemed to have been driven out by the severe afflictions that hehad endured. He had rightly said that he would not become a Christian.The death of his friend had filled him with sadness, but there was nosorrow for sin, no repentance, no desire for a knowledge of God. He hadlost the power of taking pleasure in the world, but had gained no othersource of happiness.
Yet the memory of his friend produced one effect on him. He felt asympathy for the poor and oppressed people with whom Marcellus hadassociated. He admired their constancy and pitied their unmeritedsufferings. He saw that all the virtue and goodness left in Rome were inthe possession of these poor outcasts.
These feelings led him to give them his assistance. He transferred tothem the friendship and the promise of aid which he had once given toMarcellus. His soldiers arrested no more, or if they did arrest any theywere sure to escape in some way. His high position, vast wealth, andboundless influence, were all at the service of the Christians. Hispalace was well known to them as their surest place of refuge orassistance, and his name was honored as that of their most powerfulhuman friend.
But all things have an end; and so the constant sufferings of theChristians and the friendship of Lucullus at length were brought to atermination. In about a year after the death of Marcellus the sternemperor Decius was overthrown, and a new ruler entered into the imperialpower. The persecution was stayed. Peace returned to the Church, and theChristians came forth from the Catacombs again to dwell within the gladlight of day, again to sound in the ears of men the praises of Him whohad redeemed them, and again to carry on their never-ending contest withthe hosts of evil.
Years passed on, but no change came to Lucullus. When Honorius came fromthe Catacombs he was taken by Lucullus to his own palace, and maintainedthere for the rest of his life. He sought to repay his debt of gratitudeto his noble benefactor by making him acquainted with the truth, but hedied without seeing his desires gratified.
The blessing came at last, but not till years had passed away. Far onbeyond the prime of manhood, even upon the borders of old age, Lucullusfound the Saviour. For years the world had lost all charms. Wealth andhonor and power were nothing to him; his life was tinged with sadnessthat nothing could cure. But the Spirit of God at length entered intohis heart, and through his divine power he at last was enabled torejoice in the love of that Saviour, of whose power over the human hearthe had witnessed so
Fifteen centuries have rolled over the city of the Caesars since thepersecution of Decius drove the humble followers of Jesus into thegloomy Catacombs. Let us take our stand upon the Appian Way and lookaround.
Before us goes the long array of tombs up to the ancient city. Here themighty men of Rome once found a resting-place, carrying with them evento their graves all the pomp of wealth, of glory, and of power. Beneathour feet are the rude graves of those whom in life they cast out asunworthy to breathe the same air of heaven.
Now what a change! Around us lie these stately tombs all in ruins, theirsanctity desecrated, their doors broken down, their dust scattered tothe winds. The names of those who were buried here are unknown; theempire which they reared has fallen forever; the legions which they ledto conquer have slept the sleep that knows no waking.
But on the memory of the persecuted ones who rest below a world looksback adoring their sepulcher has become a place of pilgrimage; and thework in which they took such a noble part has been handed down to us tobe perpetuated for evermore.
Humbled, despised, outcast, afflicted, fame may not have written theirnames upon the scroll of history, yet this much we know,
"These are they which came out of great tribulation And have washed their robes And made them white in the blood of the Lamb. Therefore are they before the throne of God And serve him day and night in his temple; And He that sitteth on the throne shall dwell among them. They shall hunger no more; neither thirst any more; Neither shall the sun light on them, nor any heat; For the Lamb which is in the midst of the throne shall feed them, And shall lead them unto living fountains of waters, And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes."
THE END.