Índice Geral das Seções Índice da Seção Atual Índice da Obra Atual Anterior: VI - Uma Visita Matinal Seguinte: Vlll - Um Traidor
CAPÍTULO VII
O
JULGAMENTO E SUAS CONSEQÜÊNCIAS
“Rejoice, inasmuch as ye are partakers of CHRIST’S sufferings, that
when His glory shall be revealed ye may be glad also with exceeding joy.” – 1
S. Pet. IV, 13.
LYSIAS enters
the Roman Forum, round which are situated the various courts of justice. Towards
one of these, already well filled with people, he bends his steps, for it is
there that the morning’s business is to be transacted, and the fate of the newly
taken prisoner decided.
(p. 63)
Early as is the hour the prefect is seated in his judgment
chair,
and before him are standing two culprits awaiting their examination, which is
just about to begin.
One of these is a man in the prime of life; the other a young girl, the innocent
victim of Lysias’ avarice, and now the cause of his
discontent, and the object of the spectators’ pity. Her hair, which is of raven
blackness, falls in virginal tresses (1) over her delicately
moulded shoulders, and her large dark eyes, full of passionate eagerness, are
turned wonderingly on the surrounding crowd, who in return survey her with
glances of commiseration.
Her companion is of mild aspect, and apparently about thirty-five years old,
with light brown hair, and grave sublime eyes of the same colour. To him the
prefect first turns, and addresses him as follows:
“Prisoner, what is your name?”
To this question the other replies, raising his eyes to the stern face of his
interrogator, “My name is Crescentianus, and I am a
Roman by birth and parentage.”
“Are you a Christian?”
“I am.”
“You must sacrifice to the gods.”
“I refuse,” is the mild rejoinder.
Hereupon the prefect grows angry, and
(p. 64)
exclaims, “I tell you,
impious man, you must either obey the emperor’s edict or suffer death. Which
will you do therefore? obey, and enjoy life and honour,
or remain obstinate, and perish? It is an important question, especially to you
who are in the full vigour of health and reason. I advise you therefore to
consider well before you decide, for the law admits of no alteration or
alternative. You must yield obedience to the gods, or perish miserably. I cannot
mitigate the severity of the punishment,
l can only advise you to escape it. Prisoner, I have warned you of your
dangerous position, I now ask you which you will have, life or death?”
There is a momentary hush of silence throughout the court, and every individual
in the crowd leans eagerly forward to catch the prisoner’s answer.
What says he?
He joins his hands firmly together, and his lips move in silent prayer, while
the judge regards him with an impatient frown, and the young girl at his side
watches him nervously.
Presently he turns again to the prefect, and gives his answer with calm
resolution. It is a brief reply contained in one short monosyllable, but it is
nevertheless an important word, which must seal his destiny in this world.
“Death.”
(p. 65)
No sooner had the sound escaped his lips, than a general hum and buzz arises
among the crowd, each member of it expressing his astonishment or wonder at the
cool intrepidity of Crescentianus.
When the whispering has subsided, and silence is again restored, the prefect
addresses the young girl, whom perhaps my readers may have already recognized as
the friend and confidant of Beatrice, and thus begins the examination from which
Lysias hopes to gather some clue to the whereabouts of the lady.
“What is your name?”
“Donata,” answers the poor girl, with her eyes steadily fixed
on the ground, half with a sense of shame at her situation, and half in terror
at the formidable appearance of her judge, who perceiving her agitation, changes
his tone of voice, and continues more kindly, “How old are you, my child?”
“Nearly eighteen, noble sir,” replies Donata reassured
by his altered manner, but still keeping her glance riveted to the ground.
“You are a Christian, I believe?” he asks with assumed negligence.
Donata raises her right hand to her forehead, and makes upon
it the sign of the cross, (1) then
(p. 66)
lifting her eyes suddenly
to the prefect’s face, she answers with a steady voice, “I am a Christian, and I
glory in the name!”
A thrill of mingled horror and compassion agitates the spectators, but the
prefect continues unmoved, and in the same bland tone as before, “Are you of
noble family?”
“No, sir,” is the timid reply, for the speaker is somewhat abashed at the
sensation her previous answer has created, “my parents were poor people who both
died when I was scarcely more than an infant; a charitable lady of the Julian
House then adopted me and brought me up as her own daughter.”
“Her name, my child?” asked the judge insinuatingly.
“Memmia,” replies the unsuspecting girl.
“Is she living?”
“Yes, noble sir.”
“Is she a Christian?”
“She is, and from her I also learnt Christianity.”
“Where does she reside?”
“In a house on the
“Is she married?”
“She is a widow, and lives with her sister, the lady Juliana.”
“Are you acquainted with the lady Beatrice?”
“Yes, noble sir.”
(p. 67)
“Was she not with you in the cave when you were arrested?”
“Yes.”
“Were not the bodies of Simplicius and
Faustinus
taken there for burial after having been recovered from the
Here the recollection of the martyred brothers arouses
Donata’s
indignation, and raising her head angrily she answers, “No, they were not.”
“Where then?”
“I must not tell.”
“It is of no consequence,” returns the prefect with a sneer, “they are at least
dead.”
Donata’s blood rises hotly to her cheeks, and her eyes flash
fire at this unfeeling remark, but she remembers her LORD and is
silent.
“You left the lady Beatrice in the cave?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Do you think she is there now?”
“No.”
“Are you aware then of her having any intention to hide elsewhere?”
“Yes.”
“And where do you suppose she is at present?”
Donata is silent.
“Answer me, girl, where is the lady Beatrice?”
(p. 68)
A profound stillness hushes the spectators, and Lysias
bends anxiously forward to catch the answer on which all his hopes depend.
The poor girl bursts into tears. “What am l to do?” she
cries out piteously between her sobs, “would you have me betray my friend?”
“Obedience to the laws,” replied the prefect, “is of
more consequence than private friendship. You must tell us therefore where the
lady Beatrice is concealed, and you shall be rewarded accordingly.”
Alas, poor Donata! here is a temptation which would
lead her into the very sin of Lysias; but young and
weak as she is her nature is too noble and honest to be ensnared by the hope of
gain. Her timidity and irresolution at once forsake her, she dashes her tears
angrily away, and exclaims in an almost passionate voice, “Your laws are cruel
and worthless if they can sanction such perfidy as that of which you would make
me guilty! What, shall I sell my friend to you for gold? Do your gods allow such
baseness, do they commend it, and do you call it holy?”
She ceases, her wild dark eyes gleaming with noble indignation, and her slender
figure drawn proudly up to its full height, while her judge, enraged to hear his
rewards disdained and the laws censured by such a mere child,
(p. 69)
replies in a stern voice,
“Prithee, obstinate girl, give over your foolish talk
and listen to me, for I have an important question to ask you, and have already
wasted too much time over it. You heard what I said to the prisoner
Crescentianus, that the law enjoined either obedience to the emperors, or
death. The same law applies to you. Renounce your Christianity, and you are
free; persist in it, and you die. Notwithstanding your last bold speech I
confess I feel some pity for your youth and beauty, and I therefore advise you
to sacrifice to the gods, or you will find to your cost that the laws you have
but just now abused are less worthless than you imagine.”
“Proceed with your sentence,” answers the undaunted girl, “my determination is
unaltered.”
“And what is that?” asks the prefect.
“To die in my faith,” replies Donata, “I will gladly
give myself for my LORD, even as He once gave Himself for me.
Blessed CHRIST,” she continues, stretching forth her hands in
prayer, “I thank Thee that Thou hast found me worthy to drink with Thee the cup
of martyrdom on earth, that I may sit in glory with
Thee in heaven.”
The angry judge, dreading the effects of Donata’s
example on the surrounding crowd,
(p. 70)
proceeds hastily to give
sentence according to the established form.
“Crescentianus and the woman Donata,
having confessed themselves Christians, and refused
obedience to the sacred emperors and the gods of
The prisoners are then removed, and the spectators silently withdraw, many of
them deeply affected by the artless piety of Donata,
and almost inclined to pity her simplicity, and to blame the undue severity of
the laws whose justice required the death even of such an innocent and harmless
creature.
Among the last to leave the court we recognise the old white-haired man and the
youth with whom we saw him disputing so warmly in the opening scene of our
narrative. They are walking together, and from their earnest tone of voice and
manner are evidently employed in discussing some topic of unusual interest. Let
us accompany them on their way, and listen to their conversation.
“Alban,” says the old man, “what think you of this poor girl? For my part I
confess I sincerely pity her, and would do everything in my power to save her
life, were such a thing possible. I have seen only two
Christian trials, – that of Simplicius and Faustinus, and this last, – and l assure you my sympathies
are
(p. 71)
already so far awakened in
behalf of these poor oppressed men and women, that I am inclined to accuse our
laws of injustice towards them.”
“You have but echoed my own sentiments,” replies the other gravely, – “I
perfectly agree with all you have said; and what seems to me the most
inexplicable, is, that notwithstanding all the means taken to destroy the
Christians, their numbers are always on the increase, nor does the prospect even
of death, in its most horrible shape, seem in the least to dismay or discourage
them; but rather seems to augment their courage, and inflame their resolution.
Some attribute this uncommon hardihood to the practice of sorcery and the black
art, but I fancy such stories are only invented by superstitious persons, who,
having always a love of mystery and wonder, are glad of some opportunity to
indulge their favourite passion. I am inclined myself to suspect that the
Christians thus give themselves up to destruction, with the view of propitiating
their Deity, and are on that account more to be pitied than blamed. They
evidently nourish some such delusion, or they would not be so willing to part
with life, nor so apparently happy in the certainty of impending death. Do you
remember how curiously Beatrice conducted herself, while her brothers were in
arrest? She was as calm and as cheerful as
(p. 72)
possible, and assured me so
readily of their well doing, that I could scarcely believe you, when you told me
they were in prison. She is an orphan too, poor girl, and they were her only
brothers!”
“Ay,” says the old man, the tears rushing to his eyes as he speaks, “I did not
know when I entered the Forum on the day of their execution, what a scene I was
going to witness. And she, poor maid, how earnestly she strained her eyes and
her ears, to catch every expression of their faces, and every word they uttered,
during the trial! She spoke to them once or twice, but I could not hear the
words she said, though I have no doubt they were intended to reanimate and
encourage them. This poor girl Donata, whom we have
just heard sentenced to death, was with her then, but her demeanour was not
nearly so calm as just now. She would apparently rather herself suffer death,
than see others die. Ah, Alban, I fear there are few of us who would so easily
think of ending life! And if not we who are men, what shall be said of tender
maidens, and children who daily give themselves up for their religion.
Certainly, their’s is very wonderful courage, and I
marvel not, that it has been ascribed to magical arts. I should like much to
know more of Christianity, and whenever I find an opportunity shall certainly
inquire into it.”
(p. 73)
“You will do very right, Sergius,” replies the young
man looking up at his companion – “I shall follow your example, for my curiosity
is strongly awakened with regard to these Christians; meanwhile I bid you
farewell, for I must return quickly home, may our parting not be a long one.” So
speaking Alban takes leave of the old man, and turns hastily into an adjoining
street, while Sergius moves slowly away in another
direction.
Presently a quick light step is heard approaching the spot, and the figure of a
young girl about fifteen years old, comes tripping along the pathway with a
covered basket on her arm. She salutes Sergius with a
bright merry smile, and a few kindly words of greeting, and is about to pass on,
but he calls her to him, and begs her to stay a few minutes.
“What is your errand, this morning, little one?” he cries smiling, “it must be a
very important one that you cannot spare a moment to speak with your old friend!
But come, what have you there in your basket, some great treasure I suppose,
since it is so carefully covered up? Nay,” he adds laughingly, as she attempts
to pull it away from his grasp, “you must really let me look at its contents, or
I shall fancy you are carrying stolen goods! What is this?” he continues taking
off the cover, – “leaves of bread, garments,
(p. 74)
and wine? What do you
do with these, Cyriacides?”
She hesitates for an answer, and begins to blush, until on the repetition of the
question, she replies tremulously, “I am carrying them to give to the poor, who
often need such things, but have not the means to obtain them.”
“But you are not rich yourself, Cyriacides? and how then can you afford to give to others?”
“I can earn money,” she answers smiling, “and have also a few jewels which I
sell sometimes, and so get sufficient to help myself and those whom I love and
care for. Besides, you know, it is my duty to feed and clothe the poor, and to
visit the sick, for so we are commanded to do.”
“By whom?” asks the old man.
“Forgive me, Sir,” stammers she reddening as she speaks, – “I forget, – I did
not think of what I said, but I remember now you are not a Christian, – I mean
you are not one of us, and therefore of course, cannot know what I mean.” And
she snatches her basket from him, and runs quickly away.
“And is she too then a Christian?” says Sergius to
himself, looking after her retreating form, “she whom I imagined so zealously
devoted to the gods? Surely a disposition so
generous, noble, and loveable as her’s is incompatible
(p. 75)
with the profession of
such superstitious vanities as I have heard attributed to the Christians! If
Beatrice and Cyriacides are both Christians, it would
surely do me no harm to be one also!”
NOTES
(63:1) Flowing hair was a sign of the maiden state.
(65:1) Tertullian says it was the custom of the early Christians to sign their foreheads with this holy symbol very frequently in the occasions of their daily life.
Índice Geral das Seções Índice da Seção Atual Índice da Obra Atual Anterior: VI - Uma Visita Matinal Seguinte: Vlll - Um Traidor