{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_33607/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_33607","id":"gutenberg_33607","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/33607","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Historical Novels","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Novels","Christian fiction","Patara (Extinct city) -- Fiction","Persecution -- History -- Early church, ca. 30-600 -- Fiction"],"text":"Produced by Al Haines\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: Cover art]\n\n\n\n\n\n[Frontispiece: \"Bearing her awful cross in the footprints of the\nNazarene.\"]\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE MOTHER OF ST. NICHOLAS.\n\n(SANTA CLAUS)\n\nA Story of Duty and Peril.\n\n\nBY\n\nGRANT BALFOUR,\n\nAuthor of \"The Fairy School of Castle Frank.\"\n\n\n\n\n\nTORONTO:\n\nTHE POOLE PRINTING COMPANY, LIMITED,\n\nPUBLISHERS.\n\n\n\n\nEntered, according to Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the year one\nthousand eight hundred and ninety-nine by A. BALFOUR GRANT, in the\noffice of the Minister of Agriculture.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\nChapter\n\n    I.  Watching for the Prey\n   II.  A Ministering Angel\n  III.  Still on the Watch\n   IV.  The Amphitheatre\n    V.  The Influence Working\n   VI.  The Indignation of Tharsos\n  VII.  The Perplexity of Carnion\n VIII.  Waiting for the Victim\n   IX.  In the Arena\n    X.  The Lion\n   XI.  The Man with the Dagger\n  XII.  Discipline\n XIII.  Night\n  XIV.  Day\n   XV.  Saint Nicholas\n\n\n\n\nTHE MOTHER OF ST. NICHOLAS\n\n(SANTA CLAUS).\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nWATCHING FOR THE PREY.\n\nGo back into the third century after Christ, travel east into the\nfamous Mediterranean Sea, survey the beautiful south-west coast of Asia\nMinor, and let your eyes rest on the city of Patara.  Look at it well.\nFull of life then, dead and desolate now, the city has wonderful\nassociations in sacred and legendary lore--it saw the great reformer of\nthe Gentiles, and gave birth to the white-haired man of Christmas joy.\n\nPersecution had beforetime visited Patara, in common with other parts\nof the Roman Empire; and there were ominous signs, like the first\nmutterings of an earthquake, that a similar calamity might come again.\nThe prejudice and malice of the common people were dangerously stirred\nup to fight the quiet, persistent inroads of aggressive Christianity.\n\nThe authorities, perplexed and exasperated, were disposed to wink at\nassault upon individual Christians, to try them on any plausible\npretext, and to shew them little quarter.  If they could arrest the\nringleaders, especially people of rank or wealth, whether men or women,\nin anything wrong or strongly suspicious, that they might apply\nexemplary punishment, then the irritated majority might be satisfied,\nand peace in the city restored.\n\nIn a recess at the corner of a busy street, leading towards the market\nplace, two men stood, waiting and watching for some particular person\nto pass by.  They were Demonicus and Timon, whose office or duty was\nsomething like that of a modern detective.\n\nDemonicus, clad in a brown _chiton_ or tunic reaching down to the\nknees, was a powerfully built, dark man, with great bison-like\nshoulders and thick neck, bristling eyebrows, and fierce, covetous\neyes.  To him nothing was too perilous or too mean where there was\nstrife or the chance of gold.  He was a wrestler and mighty swordsman,\nhe had often fought in the stadium or circus, and his fame had\ntravelled as far as Rome, to which he went at last, and greatly\ndistinguished himself for a time.\n\nTimon, similarly clad, was only a man of ordinary strength; but he was\nlithe, self-willed and shrewd, with a streak of courtesy and sympathy.\n\nCamels, bullocks, horses, mules and wagons were passing by--a\npicturesque train of noisy, dusty movement on an unpaved street--while\nnow and again a carriage or a litter appeared, whose occupants were\nconsidered either arrogant, or effeminate.\n\n\"Her carriage must have passed,\" said Demonicus savagely.\n\n\"It cannot be,\" replied Timon civilly; \"the lady, though unfettered by\ncustom, rarely takes her carriage; she usually passes on foot shortly\nafter the morning meal, and I came here to watch in ample time.\"\n\n\"We must arrest her to-day on some pretext or other,\" muttered\nDemonicus.  \"I shall dog her steps everywhere, and if I cannot get a\ngood excuse I shall invent one.  The bribe,\" added he with an impatient\ngesture, \"is too tempting for more delay.\"\n\nTimon, though also grasping, was not heart and soul with Demonicus.\nWhen on the watch alone he had had time to reflect, and his better\nnature would now and again assert itself, as there stole over his\nvision a beautiful figure with a noble work in hand.  He wanted the\nprize but was not in hot haste to win it, and while it seemed judicious\nit also felt agreeable to suggest delay.  After a brief silence he\nremarked--\n\n\"There is to be a special gathering of the Christians in the Church of\nthe Triple Arch to-night.  The bishop is away at Myra.  But Orestes,\nthe shepherd, is to be present, and I promise thee something will be\nsaid that will give us a plausible backing; his words are plain, ay\neven bold as the cliffs of Mount Taurus, where he dwells.  Should we\nnot wait till then, Demonicus?\"\n\n\"I shall not,\" answered he, stamping his heavy, sandalled foot\nviciously; \"it would be our last chance, and the woman might not be\nthere.\"\n\n\"The lady is sure to be,\" rejoined Timon, \"she is the spirit of the\nwhole movement.\"\n\nDemonicus paced about reflecting, and having cooled down, he\nmumbled,--\"I shall see, but I shall miss no chance before.\"\n\nTimon now stepped out and looked along the street, then turning\nimmediately round to his companion with a hesitating, half-regretful\nlook, he whispered--\n\n\"She is coming!\"\n\nThe face of Demonicus glowed with an evil flame, as he went forward\nquickly to assure himself.  The lady with her attendant, a liberated\nfemale slave, was seen approaching on foot, and both men retreated into\nthe recess and waited.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nA MINISTERING ANGEL.\n\nPathema, the eldest daughter of a prosperous merchant, walked with her\nservant Miriam through the crowded street, heedless or unconscious of\ndanger; then passing two pairs of eyes directed towards her veiled\nface, she turned at right angles into the Stenos, a short quiet street\nleading towards the river Xanthus.\n\nWithout haste, yet her progress was steady and good, with a natural\ngrace set free by the loose Ionic dress--a cream-coloured _chiton_,\ngirdled at the waist and falling from the shoulders to the feet in many\nfolds, and above it a short mantle in gold-brown, bordered with white.\nFull of work of a high order, her dark eyes and finely carved mouth\nspoke beneficent purpose, while her fair countenance showed an Oriental\nseriousness and thought.\n\nPathema might have spared herself a life of labour and risk and\nself-sacrifice.  She might have enjoyed a life of fashion and pleasure\nand ease.  Besides this, her beauty and accomplishments could have\neasily secured for her a home and affluence, had she so desired.  But\nshe had cast in her lot with One who had lived a higher life, which in\nworking-out had made him a man of \"no reputation.\"  Pathema was a\nChristian, and as such had made herself a set of determined and\nmalicious enemies.  Her Christianity could not be mistaken.  There was\nno mere form about it, no casual acts of duty, no hysterical nights, no\ninsipidity, and no compromise,--the gods must go.  It was a clear,\nsteady, every-day light, peeping up in childhood, and burning brighter\nand brighter thro' the years.  Though a lover of knowledge and fond of\nreasoning, she wasted no time in a vain jangle about faith and works,\nbut illustrated both in her daily life.  Encouraged by her parents, and\nacting as their medium, and that of other benefactors, she attended to\nthe wants of a wide circle of sick and poor, both heathen and\nChristian.  Like her Lord himself, she went about doing good.  No one\ncheered and comforted the members of the Christian community more, no\none was a greater inspiration, and no one was more unassuming.\n\nOn the left bank of the Xanthus stood a large residence belonging to a\nman of wealth, a business friend of Pathema's father.  In front there\nwas no altar to Apollo Agyieus, and no statue of any god, the owner\nhaving distinct leanings toward Christianity.  All that met the eye was\na Victor's Laurel tree, behind the house, which was much greater in\ndepth than width, was a garden, containing such trees as pomegranate,\norange, and fig.\n\nTo that house Pathema went.  Ascending the steps and knocking at the\ndoor, she was met by a porter (with his dog), who led her and Miriam\npast his lodge and along the narrow passage to the first peristyle--a\npartly open courtyard.  Here they awaited the appearance of the\nmistress.  On all four sides were colonnades, under which were a\nbanqueting room, a picture gallery, a library, servants' office,\nsitting rooms, and several bed-chambers.  The visitors had not long to\nwait.\n\n\"Peace be with you!\" said the mistress, with a gracious smile.\n\n\"Joy to thee!\" was the reply.\n\nEntering a chamber on the right, Pathema was gently conducted to the\nbedside of Crito, an invalid boy, his parents' pride and tender care.\nCrito had received a good education, and, when well, was active, witty\nand intelligent.  But he had been hurt internally while wrestling in\nthe gymnasium with an older lad, and for a time his life hung in the\nbalance.  Several days had elapsed since Pathema saw him, and he was\nnow fast asleep.  She did not speak, but looked on him awhile with\nearnest anxious eyes.  At length a gleam of hope lit up her face, and\nshe was about to leave softly when Crito, as if conscious of some\ndeparting force, suddenly opened his eyes.\n\n\"Hail!  Pathema; steal not thyself away,\" said he smiling.\n\n\"I steal but a gem of hope--surely a lighter load,\" was the laughing\nanswer.\n\n\"And yet thou hast left it in my breast, thou absent-minded robber.\"\n\nBending down, Pathema kissed his bosom, saying, \"And I am glad to leave\nit there.\"\n\n\"And go forth hopeless?\" queried he.\n\n\"Yes,\" said she, shaking her head in feigned solemnity, and Crito\nlaughed.\n\nLeaving figures of speech, Pathema expressed her joy that there\nappeared to be good ground for hope.  Then they entered into an\nanimated conversation about the Iliad and the Odyssey, books that the\nHellenic people used as we do Robinson Crusoe, Shakespeare, and the\nBible.  Before parting they conversed about the Memoirs of the\nApostles, called in our day the Gospels.\n\n\"I love the Nazarene's moral courage,\" said Crito.\n\n\"Yes,\" replied Pathema, \"to be invited, for instance, to dine with a\nnumber of the learned, and without personal provocation to feel\ncompelled to denounce them as hypocrites, must have been a severe trial\nof his courage.\"\n\n\"It seems easier to face wounds and the loss of blood than the loss of\nreputation,\" rejoined Crito.\n\n\"It is, but, of course, the full test is to face both.  The applause of\nhis comrades, of the whole army and of his nation, fires the spirit of\nthe brave soldier that climbs the frowning walls of a besieged city;\nbut the Nazarene had not the applause of a single soul when He faced\nthe certainty of cruel death upon the cross; worse, there was derision,\nand He himself even cried out that God had forsaken Him.\"\n\n\"The cross means a great deal,\" said Crito reflectively.\n\n\"It was endured in love for us,\" was the reply.\n\n\"The love was great,\" remarked the boy.\n\nPathema now rose up to go, and Crito was very sorry; but he knew that\nthere were many other poor and tried ones waiting to welcome her, and\nhe urged himself to resignation.\n\n\"Come back on the morrow,\" said he, \"and stay with me longer; I weary\nmuch for thee.\"\n\nHaving kissed her hand respectfully, the boy looked after her wistfully\nas she departed like a heavenly angel.\n\nGoing next into the humble abode of an old man, whose only attendant\nwas a little granddaughter, Pathema with her maid proceeded at once to\nput the place in thorough order, aiding the slender one with the\nheaviest work, such as it was.  The child had always done well, but\nstronger arms could of course do better, and everything was soon in\nspecial dress.  Then Pathema had a comforting talk with the grandfather\nand with his faithful little servant-maid, ending by telling her a\ncharming tale of a Forest Nymph.  Before leaving she placed a silver\ncoin in the old man's trembling hand; and as she departed, he could\nonly say, \"God bless thee,\" while the child clung to her sympathetic\nhand for some distance along the street.\n\nThus Pathema, accompanied by her servant, went from house to house a\nmessenger of mercy.  The harvest-field of suffering and privation was\nthen, as ever, white; but the reapers were few, and of modern reaping\ninstruments--hospitals and \"homes\"--there were none.  How much\nChristianity has done, yet how much to do!\n\nPartaking of a plain mid-day meal of _maza_, barley bread, and figs,\nwith a venerable heathen widow whose heart was opening to Christianity,\nshe also supplied this poor one's need, and resumed her journey\nrefreshed.\n\nThe afternoon was well advanced when they passed underneath the Triple\nArch of the city wall on their way outward to a sheltered spot not far\nbeyond.  In a clump of olive trees and beside a limpid spring, they\ncame upon a hut occupied by motherless children, alone and unprotected,\nthe hireling having left the day before.  Sadder still, the only one\nold enough to give material help, and who did help as long as she was\nable, Biona, a girl of twelve, was dying of consumption.  The sight to\nPathema was very distressing, but she attended promptly to the wants of\nthe sick one, laving her face and hands, and giving her a little\nnourishment, while Miriam looked after the younger children and the\nhouse.\n\nBiona was somewhat revived, and Pathema sat down beside her to whisper\njust a consoling word or two at intervals.  The girl expressed heir\ngratitude briefly, showing it more in her large, hollow but brilliant\neyes, which rested for a time in peace on her visitor's tender face.\nThe peace was of short duration, for Biona was very feeble.  She moved\nher head and hands uneasily in the hot air of the little room, and at\nlast exclaimed in a low plaintive voice--\"Oh! for breath and rest,\nrest.\"\n\n\"Let me carry thee out, my dear, as thy father does, and lay thee among\nthe olive trees,\" said Pathema, feeling keenly, while she held the\ninvalid's thin, white hand bearing the marks of toil.\n\n\"Thou art not able,\" replied Biona huskily, and with grateful tears,\nadding to herself in a dreamy whisper--\"My father, poor father!\"\n\nBut Pathema was wiry and enduring, easily fit for the fragile burden,\nand having by a word persuaded the sufferer she wrapped her in a long\nwhite _chiton_, and carried her with great tenderness out into the\ncooler welcome air, beside the refreshing spring.\n\n\"How delightful is rest!\" said the dying girl, as she gazed up through\nthe olive branches into the clear blue sky.\n\n\"There is abundance of rest in store, my beloved, even the rest that\nremaineth for the people of God.\"\n\nBiona lay quietly, enjoying a measure of peace.  Her pet white dove,\nflying from an overhanging branch, came down beside her; it hopped upon\nthe pillow, and with gentle wing softly brushed her pallid cheek.  She\nturned her head toward it, and gazing fondly upon the affectionate\ncreature, forgot her weariness for a time--a little time.  Then she\nbegan to move her head restlessly, whispering often and with yearning\nlook the word father.\n\nThe watchful attendant changed the weary one's position, and gave her\nrest again.  This was done as often as it was needed, and the need had\nno end.  Pathema prayed earnestly for the sufferer's recovery or\nrelease.  Her voice was the heart's melody, soft and soothing, if to\nsoothe were possible.\n\nThe father, a big sympathetic man, had by this time reached the\nbordering olive trees, on his way home from a brief search for aid.\nHis clothing was very simple and plain: a dark _exomis_ (a short\nsleeveless frock), and shoes of leather, studded with nails.  As was\ncommon, he was bareheaded.  He had a melancholy foreboding that\ncalamity was near at hand.  His oxen stood idle in their stall from\nearly morning.  Noticing with surprised relief that his child was\nalready out in the grove, with some merciful one reclining by her side,\nhe stole up a little nearer and halted unobserved.\n\n\"Oh! for rest, rest,\" his daughter faintly cried; and the strong man\nshook with emotion.  \"Oh! that I might be at rest!\" she cried again, as\nif a last feeble effort, \"but how hard it is, how hard! to leave my\nlittle brothers and my poor lonely father.\"\n\nCreeping closer, Pathema raised Biona's weary head and placed it\ntenderly in her own bosom.  Feeling that the spark of life was low (for\nthe little hands were getting cold), and that words were unavailing,\nshe closed her eyes and became absorbed in silent prayer.\n\nA little interval and then, with pleading face, the simple words of the\nchild--\n\n\"Father in heaven, take into thy kind care my father and brothers;\"\n\nAnd then, with a peaceful smile--\n\n\"Oh mother, I come!\"\n\nThe father came forward delicately and softly behind and looked down,\nhis eyes full of tears.  The child raised her languid eyes and smiled,\na strange, yearning heavenly smile; then she drew a deep breath and\nfell asleep--her rest, the long last rest, had come.\n\nLet the veil lie drawn tenderly over the poor father's sorrow.  It is\nsufficient to say that everything was done for his beloved one and his\nhome that could be done before Pathema and her faithful servant left.\nThe mourner's gratitude, deep and full, was their comfort and reward.\n\n\"My mistress,\" said Miriam, in an entreating respectful voice as they\nturned towards the city in weary sad silence, \"thou art much in need of\nrest; wilt thou not proceed home, for the gathering of our people will\nbe well-nigh broken up ere we pass by?\"  Miriam was wise and good, she\nloved her mistress fervently, and was trusted and treated as a\ncompanion, not as a liberated slave.\n\n\"We pass the door, my Miriam, and it would be a rest to turn aside and\nlisten to the life-giving Word,\" answered Pathema, looking tenderly\ninto the devoted woman's tired face; \"yet for thy sake, thy needful\nrelease, I shall go on with thee.\"\n\n\"No, my mistress, no,--thy desire is good and right.\"\n\nThe Church of the Triple Arch was not far away, and the two plodded\npatiently and trustfully back into the city, thinking not of any danger\nthat might come.  Their day's work was done--hard and heart-trying, yet\nbeautiful, and as an exercise of mercy, beneficial to subject as well\nas object, for \"there is that scattereth and yet increaseth.\"  Good\nwere it for the world if all mankind did their possible and necessary\nshare.  The moon shone high and clear in the star-lit temple of the\nsky.  The night was calm, and nothing broke the stillness save the\ndiscordant, mocking cry of a laughing hyena far behind, with an\noccasional, distant shout rising from the city in front.  As they\nemerged from the olive-grove, the pet white dove, pursued by a\nswift-winged night-hawk, swept like an arrow across their track, as if\nan omen of coming trouble.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nSTILL ON THE WATCH.\n\nDemonicus and Timon stood at the open door of the Christian church, not\nfar from the Triple Arch of the city wall, listening to the voice of\nthe shepherd Orestes, and eagerly watching for something whereby they\nmight seize him and certain others.  But Demonicus, _sycophantes_,\nconstable, and gladiator all in one, was irritated, for the prize had\nnot yet arrived; and as the time sped on, his tiger-nature exhibited\nitself in low growls at his calmer companion.\n\n\"Another day,\" snarled he, \"and the case will have turned into other\nhands.\"\n\n\"I do not despair,\" replied Timon, \"and yet, to be frank, I almost\nrepent--it seems a shame to lay hands on such a woman.\"\n\n\"Art thou, my brave Timon, also becoming a meek and beautiful\nChristian?\" said Demonicus with a sneer.\n\nAnnoyed at the tone, Timon answered firmly--\"The lady's life is a\nblessing to Patara.\"\n\n\"Soft one, weak one, coward!\" hissed Demonicus.\n\n\"The lady is a goddess!\" cried Timon, galled into defiance, \"and the\ncoward is he that would lay foul hands upon her.\"\n\n\"Draw! defend thyself!\" roared Demonicus, and the two men faced each\nother with drawn swords and glaring eyes.\n\nAt this juncture, Pathema and Miriam appeared upon the scene, and\nwithout hesitation the former gently and earnestly entreated them not\nto slay one another.  As if by mutual consent, the enraged men lowered\ntheir sword-points and turned them into the sheaths.  Demonicus was\nagreeably surprised and he cooled down quickly--before him after all\nwas the trophy wanted.  Timon did not want it--the lady's voice and\ncourage strengthened his heart's bent in the right course, and he\nquietly walked away.  Demonicus stepped aside; even his rough heart\ncould be moved to a certain degree of respect, while Pathema, pale and\nsad, walked noiselessly into the church and sat down with Miriam in the\nnearest empty seat.\n\nThe shepherd had finished with his earnest simple story of redemption,\nillustrating it by reference to what he knew so well--the spotless,\npassive lamb.  He was now telling the attentive listeners that the lamb\nwould one clay become a lion, that all human governments would be\nbroken in pieces, and that Jesus Christ would rule the earth in\nrighteousness and peace.  \"It may be,\" added he with emphasis, \"that\nthat hope-inspiring day is at hand!\"\n\nRevolutionary doctrine like this the debased Demonicus rejoiced to\nhear.  Like the Jewish pretence before Pilate, it was enough, and the\nlove of lucre spurred him on.  He waited not a moment more, but hurried\nboldly into the church.  Accusing Pathema of taking part in sedition,\nhe seized her by the arm and ordered her to rise up and follow him.\n\nStartled at this interruption, the people looked round, while Orestes\nstopped and made his way swiftly to Pathema's aid, thinking in all\nsimplicity that a robber or a madman had entered the church.  The\ngladiator was strong, but the shepherd was stronger, and ere the former\ncould draw his sword he was pinned to the floor as with an oaken hand.\nThe spectacle was like the grappling of prostrate giants.\n\n\"Thou art guilty of sedition and violence!\" yelled Demonicus.\n\nOthers of his official order passing by and hearing the noise, came\nquickly to his aid, the accusation was repeated, and the shepherd\nmeekly submitted--he never meant to defy the law.\n\nMiriam pleaded for her beloved mistress in tears, but she was rudely\nthrust aside as too insignificant for arrest.\n\nThen were Pathema and Orestes and others led out of the church and into\nthe street.  They formed a silent, little company, surrounded and\nfollowed by an excited jeering crowd.  And as the crowd increased in\nstrength--\"Death to the detested Christians!\" was the noisy frequent\ncry.\n\nWith bowed head and weary heart, and with her sense of modesty\npainfully shocked, Pathema passed on with her fellow-Christians to the\nhumiliating place of safe-keeping for the night.\n\nTheir trial came off next day, but it was a mockery.  Fanatical hate\nand bribery did their foul work--there was no justice whatever, and\nsentence of death was passed!\n\nAn appeal was made to Rome.\n\nTo that great city Pathema and her fellow prisoners were finally\ntransported, and there they were imprisoned.\n\nAmong the poor and sick and dying of Patara and its neighbourhood, was\nno one more missed and mourned than the compassionate maiden who\nlanguished and wept in a far away Roman prison--wept, not so much for\nher own wrongs, as for the griefs and pains of others.\n\n\n        \"O Lord, I cry to Thee--\n  Unending night, a mournful robe,\n  Enwraps my form, and veils my sight\n  From flower, and stream, and all I love--\n  My bondage break, O God!\n\n       \"If I no more behold\n  My Crito, Lord, on him look down\n  With watchful eye, and send Thy light,\n  Restore his strength, and make him Thine;\n  Regard my love for him.\n\n       \"Biona's tender care\n  Provide for, Lord, and guard from ill;\n  The father's wound, in pity heal.\n  Remember all the desolate\n  For whom I weep and pray.\n\n       \"My parents, Lord, uphold;\n  Their grief assuage; Thy Spirit send\n  And teach of Him who suffered more\n  Than mortal man, to ransom me\n  From death--the Christ, my strength.\n\n  \"Yet, Lord, how hard to die\n  So soon.  Oh! to behold the sun,\n  To breathe the air, to clasp the flowers,\n  Embrace my 'loved, now loved tenfold;\n  But, Lord, Thy will be done!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nTHE AMPHITHEATRE.\n\nThe Colosseum or amphitheatre in Rome was a gigantic, costly building,\noval in shape, 100 feet in height, 1900 feet in circumference, and\ncapable of seating 100,000 spectators--a huge egg laid by Imperial\npower and demoniac love of pleasure.  Its external wall rose up in\nthree rows of columns, Doric, Ionic and Corinthian, forming 80 arcades\nor arches in each row, and was capped by a solid wall with Corinthian\npilasters and small square windows.  There was no roof, shelter from\nsun or rain being given by a movable awning called the _velarium_.  The\nhigher arcades were adorned with statues and chariots, and admitted\nlight and air.  Four of the basement arches at the extremities were the\nentrances for the great, while the remaining seventy-six were for the\ncommon people.  Rising from the top of a low wall or balcony that stood\non the ground many feet inward, was the _gradus_ or slope of seats,\nwhich extended half-way up the high surrounding shell.  The highest\nseats were a colonnade or portico reserved for women.  On the slope\nunder the portico, were the three _maeniana_ or galleries, separated by\nwalls and by landing places for the many staircases.  The uppermost\ngallery, with benches of wood, was for the _pullati_ or common people;\nthe next below, for the _popularia_; and the farthest down, of stone or\nmarble and cushioned, for members of the equestrian order.  Below this\nwas the inner wall or balcony (referred to above), called the _podium_,\nthe place of honour, on which sat the Emperor and his family, senators,\nchief magistrates, vestal virgins, and distinguished visitors.  The\nEmperor occupied a pavilion, named the _suggestus_, while the others\nsat on cushioned chairs or reclined on couches.  The _podium_ was about\n15 feet from the ground, its edge bordered with metal trellis work, and\nits front faced with marble, to prevent the ascent of wild beasts when\nfrightened or enraged.  The arena was the immense space within, being\nabout 281 feet by 176, and it was covered with sand, to keep the\ncombatants from slipping and to absorb their blood.  Here some of the\nmartyrs of Jesus poured out their life, to gratify horrible curiosity,\nand to satiate the hunger of lions.\n\nOn a certain day in the latter half of the third century after Christ,\nand while the pagan Roman empire still held powerful sway, many\nthousands of people had assembled in the amphitheatre to witness a\nseries of blood-curdling sights and combats.  Among these sad\nspectacles was the suffering of a noted Christian from the rugged\nprovince of Lycia.\n\nDemonicus, the great gladiator of Patara city, had fallen, his left\ncheek was embedded in the sand, his brawny upper arm lay out limp\nbeside his broken sword, and his life-blood was streaming away.  He\nwould indulge in the love of strife and watch the footsteps of the\ninnocent for glittering gold no more.  His conqueror, Telassar, a big\nbearded warrior from Rhaetia, stood erect and proud, with his right\nfoot on the gladiator's neck, and drinking in the applause that flowed\nfrom the encircling host of sensation-loving, heartless spectators.\n\nAfter a fierce and prolonged battle, several other gladiators had\nploughed the sand in strange quick succession.  Here, face downward,\nwas a Samnite with his oblong shield; yonder lay a bare headed\n_retiarius_ with his net and three-pointed lance.  Twenty feet from\nDemonicus, a horseman clad in cuirass and helmet was stretched upon his\nback wounded and dying, with his round shield and lance lying near.\nHis handsome black charger had instantly wheeled round, and it now\nstood over him with lowered neck in beautiful faithfulness, a tribute\nto its master's care and kindness.  The other combatants were being\nhooked and drawn away like logs into the _spoliarium_, the grim\nreceptacle for slaughtered men; the expiring horseman's turn would soon\ncome.  His rival had also reeled and tumbled down, the result of\nexhaustion from a severe wound received earlier in the fray.  Aided by\nan official called a _lanista_, the victor's struggles to rise up and,\nwhen risen, to keep on his feet, were pitiable in the extreme.\nDeprived of its rider, his spirited grey horse, itself slightly\nwounded, was bounding round the arena like a frightened antelope.  And\nconsidering that there was a circumference of 900 feet in which to\ngalop and wheel, it gave its pursuers no small degree of trouble.\n\nThis state of affairs, coupled with the usual breathing time before the\nnext act in the tragic drama, allowed the horde of onlookers an\nopportunity for a little conversation and even merriment.  In the\npresence of such horrifying sport with human life, the heathen heart\nrevealed its kinship with the fallen angels of \"Paradise Lost.\"\nNevertheless in that Roman pandemonium there were exceptions--a few\nhearts of a different cast, in which was at work a silent influence,\ndestined in regal hands to reform the world.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nTHE INFLUENCE WORKING.\n\nUp in the colonnade reserved for women were two Greek ladies, natives\nof Asia Minor: Myrtis, a matron of high rank, and her young friend\nCoryna, a maiden of medium height and of perfect mould, with a wealth\nof braided auburn hair.  The matron wore a _stola_, a long tunic girded\nin broad folds under the breast, and a white _palla_, a wide upper\ngarment, loosely over her shoulders.  Her companion had a white robe\nwith a broad purple border, and over it an azure _palla_ covered with\ngolden stars.  Both ladies had refined feelings and elegant manners.\nThey were in the Colosseum for the first time.\n\n\"What dost thou think of all this, my Myrtis?\" enquired Coryna, with a\nmarked expression of pain in her sympathetic countenance.\n\n\"Think,\" answered Myrtis, striving to repress her agitation; \"in the\ndexterity of the combatants I had a gruesome interest, but upon the\nprostrate, dying men I cannot look\"; and the stout but comely woman of\ntender feeling turned her fair head farther away from the ghastly sight\nbelow.\n\n\"It is horrible,\" remarked Coryna, casting a furtive glance into the\narena.\n\n\"I cannot remain,\" said Myrtis, \"but what would Titanus say?\" and she\nglanced down over the intervening galleries to the _podium_, where her\nillustrious Roman husband sat.\n\nBeside him was Coryna's brother, Tharsos, a distinguished young\nofficer, wearing a _toga_, with a white _lacerna_ or mantle of elegant\nform.\n\nBehind Titanus stood his young son, Carnion, a raven-haired boy of\ntwelve, dressed in the _toga praetexta_, a becoming garment of white\nwith a wide edge of purple, and suspended from his neck the _bulla_, a\nround ornament of gold, worn especially by the children of the noble.\nHe held in his hand a cluster of lilies, a little gift meant for\nCoryna, but which he had forgotten to hand over when entering the\namphitheatre.\n\n\"See how Carnion is disturbed!\" observed Coryna; \"the dear boy turns\naway his head and will not look at the expiring horseman right\nunderneath.\"\n\nThe mother saw her child's attitude with pleased eyes, indeed they were\noften on him.\n\n\"Though tender-hearted, yet my Carnion is brave and strong,\" said she\nwith a smile of pride.\n\n\"He is a soldier, every bit of him,\" added Coryna.  \"How different from\nhis elder brother, Dinarchus!\"\n\n\"Yes, my Dinarchus is a great reader, a young philosopher, a hermit,\ndear boy.  He is now deep in the study of the Christian books.  I would\nmy Carnion were at home with him to-day, but he expected to see a\nwild-beast fight.\"\n\n\"Observe thy husband and my brother--see how calmly they look on!\"\n\n\"They are soldiers, Coryna, and accustomed as we know to the spectacle\nof wounds and blood.  To them, the arena must be as nothing to a field\nof battle when the clash of sword and spear is past.\"\n\n\"Oh, it must be racking, revolting!\" exclaimed the other, pained at the\nmental vision of mangled heaps of slain; \"and our beloved ones hate the\nsight.\"\n\n\"They also dislike what they see before them,\" said Myrtis.  \"They love\nskill, but they have no love for wanton play with human life.\"\n\n\"I wish all Rome hated such idle butchery,\" remarked Coryna earnestly,\nbut rather loudly.\n\nOverhearing these remarks, spoken in the Latin tongue, a number of\nladies sneered and smiled.  All, or nearly all, who made that wide\ninvesting terrace a wreath of brightness and beauty, were dead to pity.\nAt the most they could only feel regret for a wounded favorite or a\ndying hero.\n\n\"I would all the empire were of thy mind, Coryna, and then no such sad\nspectacle would stain our own beloved, humaner land.\n\n\"Christianity is the deadly enemy of all this wicked work.  May it\nprosper!\" said the young lady fervently.\n\n\"There are no Christians here, I venture to say, civil or military,\"\nresponded Myrtis.  \"No follower of the humane Jesus would come within\nthese walls, unless wronged and led, or bent on some heroic deed.  But\nwe worshippers of a hundred gods can thank our divinities for no good\ninfluence.  I hate the gods: may they forgive me!\" and the reflective\nlady smiled at her own bold scepticism.\n\n\"They are myths, so my brother says,\" added Coryna, with a look of\ndecision and relief.\n\n\"Tharsos is almost a Christian,\" remarked Myrtis, \"and with him I\nstrongly sympathize.\"\n\n\"He is.  But see, he is telling thy husband something, and look how\nearnestly Carnion watches his words.  Of a surety something strange or\nstartling is going to present itself next.  The uncertainty about the\ntime of the Christian's appearance must be removed, but my brother's\nsignal will tell.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nTHE INDIGNATION OF THARSOS.\n\nTharsos was speaking with deep but suppressed feeling.\n\n\"I have heard of the maiden,\" he continued, \"and have seen her in my\nnative province.  Her good deeds to the poor and the suffering have\nbeen countless.  Her whole life has been work and pity and\nself-sacrifice.  It represents the highest moral beauty.\"\n\n\"Strange,\" remarked Titanus sympathetically, \"that the maiden has held\nup under prison life so long.\"\n\n\"Though meek and modest,\" replied Tharsos, \"she possesses a fortitude\nthat bears incredible strain.  I almost believe, indeed I do believe,\nthat her power must come from Him whom they call Jesus of Nazareth.\"\n\n\"Our laws are evil,\" said Titanus reflectively, \"or such a woman would\nhave known no strain but daily duty.  But thou art becoming Christian,\nTharsos, yet I do not reproach thee--it were good if all men were.\"\n\nAt this stage the riderless steed kicked a pursuing guard on the palm\nof his uplifted hand, raised in self defence, and the spectators\nlaughed heartily.  Carnion's attention was diverted for a little from\nthe serious conversation, and he stepped a few feet away.\n\n\"'Evil,' didst thou say!  Our heathen system is corrupt and cursed, an\nonly too ready tool of ignorant malice.  For no other reason could the\nenemies of the accomplished maiden lead her into this arena\"; and\nTharsos writhed under the thought that justified his grave charge.\n\nTitanus was astonished to see a man so loyal and reflective, and\nhitherto so quiet and self-possessed, now quivering with indignation.\n\n\"Be tranquil, my friend, thou canst not mend matters, and thou hast\ndone thy duty.  Hast thou not told me of thy hastening to the Praefect\nto plead for postponement or release, and that this dignitary had\nalready gone to the Colosseum, with all of the lesser magistrates who\nhad any possible power?\"\n\n\"I would that I had received the tidings earlier,\" was the answer,\nspoken in a low tone of deep sadness, even despair.\n\n\"Content thee, my dear Tharsos, thou hast done thy best; and strive to\nthink that speedy death, even if cruel and revolting, is better than\nprolonged prison-hardship and degradation.\"\n\nTharsos turned and looked up at the serried mass of living faces behind\nhim, his indignation now controlled, yet he saw no one--none but the\nbeautiful face of his affectionate sister whom he warmly loved; and\nthere flashed into his heart--\"What if she were the victim!\"  His\ncolour changed and his lips tightened.  Some strange thought seemed to\nenter him, and he arose from his seat.\n\n\"Thou wilt, of course, wait and see the maiden?\" said Titanus with a\nperplexed inquiring look.\n\nBut Tharsos stood up to his full height, and cast one withering look\ntowards Titanus, as much as if to say--\"What, witness the butchery of\none like my own sister!\"  Turning haughtily on his heel, he strode two\nsteps back to the staircase, muttering something in which there was the\ndistinct word Lion, and in a moment he was down and out of view.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\nTHE PERPLEXITY OF CARNION.\n\nAmidst the laughter and the babel of voices, Carnion's quick ear caught\nthe magic word--Lion!\n\nTurning round into his former place, \"Is there a lion coming at last,\nmy father?\" he asked eagerly, while his dark eyes sparkled with emotion.\n\n\"Yes, my son.\"\n\n\"I am very sorry that Tharsos has gone,\" remarked the boy, looking at\nthe vomitory (opening) of the staircase.\n\n\"He had, he was--rather, he preferred to go; perhaps it is better,\"\nsaid Titanus with a troubled absent look.\n\n\"What kind of lion is coming father?\" enquired Carnion, his chief\ninterest being in that direction.\n\n\"A great lion from Libya, my son, a beast fierce and hungry.\"\n\n\"And with what beasts is it going to fight?  Will they be wild-boars,\nor bears, or tigers, or elephants?  How I should love to see a big\nbattle among them all!  Tell me, father, what are the beasts to be.\"\nAnd the beautiful boy fairly shook with excitement.\n\nThe father did not speak for a moment.  His brows lowered over large\nbrown eyes, a crimson wave of shame and anger swept over his handsome\nface, followed by a subduing wave of pity, and then he spoke in a tone\nthat surprised the ardent boy.\n\n\"Carnion,\" said he, \"there is little likelihood that the lion will have\nanything to fight with.\"\n\n\"Why not, father?\" asked the boy, feeling quite disappointed.  \"Will it\nonly go round the arena and roar?\"\n\n\"Were that all, my son, I should be exceedingly glad.\"\n\nThe boy was perplexed:--\"What dost thou mean, father?\"\n\n\"I mean, my son, that the lion is to find its prey in the form of a\ndefenceless virtuous woman!\"\n\nThe boy was amazed and his eyes were piercing.  \"My father,\" said he\ntremulously, \"is it the lady Tharsos spoke of?\"\n\n\"Yes, Carnion.\"\n\n\"Oh father, how cruel!\" exclaimed the boy in great distress.  \"Will\nnobody fight for her and save her?\"\n\n\"If any man be found bold enough to face the most formidable brute that\never sprang into the arena--that, and that only may save her,\" answered\nTitanus.  \"But the conditions are hard, so hard that I may say the case\nis well-nigh hopeless, and the man that would undertake it would either\nbe a fool, impelled by inordinate greed, or filled with god-like\nself-sacrifice.  Neither shield, nor spear, nor sword--nothing but a\nbronze dagger is to be allowed her defender, should one come forward,\nand he is to be naked but for a slight girdle around his loins.\"\n\n\"Is there no man compelled to fight, oh father?\"\n\n\"No one, my son.  The defence is voluntary.  Both Demonicus and\nTelassar volunteered; the former is dead, and I fear the latter will\nback out.  Who else would venture, I know not.\"\n\n\"Father,\" said the boy, in a trembling tone, yet with a ring of purpose\nin it, \"wilt thou permit my absence for a little time?\"\n\n\"Certainly, my son: it was in my mouth to bid thee look into the street\nfor a little time; or if thy desire be to speak a word with mother thou\nmayest, but tell my name to the _designator_ (seat-attendant).\n'Titanus' is enough.\"\n\nCarnion disappeared.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\nWAITING FOR THE VICTIM.\n\nOn the departure of Tharsos, Myrtis had turned and said--\n\n\"Thy brother's signal, as thou hast told me, Coryna.  Come! let us go.\"\n\n\"It is, but--not yet, dear Myrtis,\" was the answer in a voice of gentle\nfirmness.\n\n\"And in the face of thy brother's strong desire thou art waiting to\nwitness the foul torture and death of a lady refined and good--our\nfellow-countrywoman too!\"\n\n\"I shall not behold that,\" replied the maiden with earnest, hopeful\nlight in her dark hazel eyes: \"some brave man will appear; but if not,\nthen I shall turn my back or fly when\"--She dared not finish, and\nMyrtis added--\n\n\"When the lion springs.  Oh! my Coryna, let us go.  This is the work of\ndemons.\"\n\n\"I cannot, Myrtis, I cannot.  I shall know the end sooner here.\"\n\n\"There can be but one end, my dear.  The cruel crafty managers, bribed\nto get rid of the maiden without more delay, as Tharsos informed thee,\nplanned this well.  What man with a mere dagger could slay a lion?  A\nnaked man too.  Coryna, the whole work is contemptible, contemptible!\"\nAnd the deep blue eyes of Myrtis flashed forth her scorn, as she looked\ndown into the arena and scanned it swiftly round till her attention\nrested anxiously at the eastern end.\n\n\"The Romans love effect,\" Coryna answered bitterly, as she\nunconsciously twisted her long gold necklace around her thumb,--\"The\nsolitary fight will be a striking contrast to the battle that has been.\"\n\n\"There will be no fight, my dear.  Who would take such a risk for a\nwoman, a Christian too?  But I shall wait with thee, Coryna, and get a\nglimpse of the poor maiden, and let us hope that her God will help her.\"\n\nCoryna did not speak, but her expressive face told her gratitude and\nhope.\n\nThe conversation was stopped by the loud blast of trumpets, indicating\nthat another awful act was to begin; and the great hum of voices\nceased.  The sand was clear of everything, as if a bare, vast, oval\ntable, and all faces were turned toward the eastern extremity of the\narena, morbidly hungering for more scenes of skill and blood.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\nIN THE ARENA.\n\nPathema was taken from prison, where she had been shut up for a long\ntime; and the officer in charge was about to open a small door into the\narena to lead her in, when a dark-haired boy, the son of illustrious\nparents, came forward with tears streaming down his noble face, and\npresented her with a cluster of white lilies.  Accepting the flowers\nspeechlessly but gracefully, the doomed maiden bent down with a full\nheart and kissed him.  The lilies reminded her of Him who was made\nperfect through suffering, and they gave her renewed strength.\n\n\"Thy name, my darling?\"\n\n\"Carnion,\" was the answer, broken and low.\n\nStooping down, Pathema put a gentle trembling arm around the boy and\nkissing him again, she said--\n\n\"My lovely one, God bless thee!\"\n\nThe guard in uniform opened the door and led the innocent victim into\nthe great arena.\n\n\"The maiden comes: see, yonder,\" said Coryna, looking intently towards\nher.\n\nMyrtis spoke not, but strained her eyes to see.\n\nThe Christian maiden approached slowly in charge of the guard till she\nwas placed in front of the pavilion where sat the emperor, clothed in a\npurple robe and on his head a laurel crown.  Leaving her there, the\nguard withdrew without delay that the keeper might unbar a heavy iron\ngate for the wild beast to enter in and devour.\n\nPathema stood alone, a graceful form in flowing garments, within those\nspacious walls.  Clothed in mockery in the white robe of a vestal\nvirgin, yet she was a chaste virgin of Jesus Christ.  Bound with a\nwhite fillet, her rich black hair, of lavish length, lay back in\nglistening waves.  Her soft dark eyes were modestly towards the ground;\nonce only were they raised, and then to a purer region than earth.  Her\nface was pale and worn but eminently beautiful, with the light of\nheaven on her thoughtful brow.  All around, thousands upon thousands of\nhuman eyes, gazing with inhumane curiosity, were an abashing and\ndisturbing sight themselves.  But with the solitary object of their\ngaze, the flow of mental energy was smoothly but strongly and\nconsumingly in the channel of the spiritual emotions.  The hidden\nstruggle with conflicting streams of feeling was all gone through in\nthe bitterness and supplications of the dungeon.  The agony was past,\nand Pathema was resigned.\n\n\"That sad sweet countenance entrances me,\" said Myrtis, deeply moved.\n\"Oh Coryna, I go, and yet I cannot!  Whence that light and peace?\"\n\nCoryna replied not, for she could not.  But from among the _pullati_ or\npoor people, immediately below, an answer of a kind came.  It was in\nthe subdued voice of a shepherd from the mountains of Lycia.  Orestes\nhad nimbly escaped while Pathema was being removed from the prison not\nlong before; but at the risk of recapture he had entered the\namphitheatre, determined, like Peter, to see the end, not out of\ncuriosity but of Christian love, hoping against hope.  He sat at the\nend of a seat near one of the _vomitoria_ or doors of entrance from the\ninternal lobbies in the shell of the building.  Although his garb was\nsoiled and worn, his face was thoughtful, humane and resolute, like the\nrugged rocks of Taurus.  His remarks were not intended for other ears,\nbut were the half-audible, broken sentences of an intense mind.\n\n\"Listen!\" said Coryna, recovering herself, \"he speaks in our own\ntongue; and they heard such expressions as--\n\n\"The peace of God, which passeth all understanding.\nEnduring--enduring!  Life is but a fleeting breath at best.\nCorrupt--corrupt!  Is not this foul spectacle around her the proof?\nShe would not live for a human name--worthless from the low-viewed\nmultitude--nor for pleasure, nor for mere living, at the price of\nloyalty to Christ.  Yet she would live--live that she might humbly aid\nthese people to rise up from the pit of the sensual savage mind--into\nthe light, the glorious light.  But she is rejected and despised.  Like\nher Master, she must be sacrificed--in cruelty and shame.  If it be\npossible, let this cup pass from her, I beseech Thee, O God!\"\n\nPathema knew not that in the vast multitude above there was one--her\nfellow-countryman and co-worker, the humble shepherd of mount\nTaurus--pleading for her life with all the intensity of agonising pity.\nTo her, mercy was a stranger within those living walls, yet with meekly\nbended head in steadfast trust she stood, bearing her awful cross in\nthe footprints of the Nazarene.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\nTHE LION.\n\nThe great iron gate was opened up.  Into the arena proudly leaped a\nglowing-eyed gigantic brute, with tawny coat and heavy mane, the hungry\nking of the forest.\n\nAll eyes were directed towards him, but Pathema moved not.\n\n\"Now may her God help her!\" exclaimed Myrtis, bending her head and\nburying her face in her hands; but unable to bear the strain, she rose\nup and left, leaving her companion absorbed and pained, and her husband\ndown on the _podium_, transfixed yet ashamed.\n\nNo wild-beast fighter having appeared--no one to gratify the craving\nfor excitement--a great hum of disappointment soon ascended and rolled\nround the amphitheatre.\n\nThe lion raised his massive head as if in defiance, and uttered a\nmighty, vibrant roar.\n\nThe hum of voices stopped.\n\nPathema's heart trembled in the balance, as a topmast twig before the\nfirst breath of darkening storm.  The mere finite fabric would surely\nhave given way.  But if the tremor lasted in varying degree, hesitation\nhad perched for a moment only.  Prolonged habit, woven in as metal\ncord, called forth the virtue told in the oft-read words--\"What time I\nam afraid, I will trust in thee.\"  Strengthened from above, she calmly\nturned her head and, as if also in defiance, fixed her eyes full upon\nthe distant savage brute.\n\nThe hungry lion saw the human form--ah! this was strange choice game.\nHe trod forward with swaying tail--he crept--he crouched low--he would\nsoon spring--and that fair image of the divine would be struck down,\ntorn asunder, bled and crunched in pieces!\n\nWas there no eye to pity, none to save?\n\n\"Oh that I were a soldier, a gladiator,--no, just a man, a man!\" said\nCoryna from the depth of a throbbing heart, \"then would I rush to the\nrescue and save her or die!\"\n\nThe shepherd could not stand the sight, and as he rose to go away his\nface was ghastly white.  As he turned with vacant eyes to walk up the\n_scalaria_ or steps to the door in the _balteus_ or wall behind, a\nvoice at his elbow said in the Greek language--\n\n\"Here! take this true dagger, friend.\"\n\n\"Why?\" replied the shepherd, looking bewildered.\n\n\"Dost thou not know the terms?\" answered the Greek.\n\n\"I am a stranger.  What terms?\" Orestes asked eagerly.\n\n\"Oh, I thought thou hadst resolved to go to the woman's aid,\" replied\nthe man, disappointed.\n\n\"Give me the dagger,\" said the shepherd, a red flush rushing into his\ncheek.  He had now grasped the situation at a glance, and seizing the\nweapon without ceremony or further word, he sprang up three or four\nsteps and passed through the vomitory of the wall to the stairs leading\ndown to the lower part of the building.\n\nCoryna heard and saw with joy, but with the racking pain of suspense,\nfor the shepherd might be--(she dared not think it) would likely\nbe--too late!\n\nThere was a brief, awful lull.\n\nThe lion would not leap while those calm heavenly eyes shone full upon\nhim, and he would not as long as they retained strength.  But if\nPathema's head would bow down or turn aside, or if her vital force\nwould go, and it could not last long, there would then be the sure and\nfatal spring.\n\nDuring this critical pause, Carnion returned.  He gave a\nhalf-expectant, eager glance down into the arena.  Had there been a\nmere wild-beast battle--had the lion been face to face with an Indian\ntiger, the sight to the boy would naturally have been grand; but now it\nwas perplexing and sore.  He saw his thread-like hope of rescue\nbroken--the monster glared upon a frail beautiful woman, and, as yet,\nthere was no man.  Turning aside, he bent his head on the back of the\nyoung officer's empty chair, and hid his tearful eyes, saying to\nhimself despairingly--\n\n\"Will no brave man come, before it is too late?\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\nTHE MAN WITH THE DAGGER.\n\nAnother door opened up with a sudden bang, and behold! a fair-haired\nyouth, almost naked, and armed with a simple dagger, stepped boldly\ninto the arena.  A great shout went up from the spectators, as, without\nthe least delay, he ran forward and stood between the lion and its\nintended victim.\n\nCoryna gave the would-be deliverer one bewildered, piercing glance,\nthen instantly lowering her head she hid a face of death-like whiteness\nin hands clammy with a cold perspiration.\n\n\"Father, father, dost thou not know him?\" cried Carnion, startled up\nwith the bang and the shout, and quivering with mingled grief and joy.\n\nTitanus, never without a feeble ray of hope, was yet thunderstruck when\nthe combatant's identity dawned upon him; and though filled with\nadmiration, he was visibly troubled.\n\nThe brave youth below stood erect and resolute, while the beast,\ndisconcerted with the shout and the sudden check, rested back flat upon\nits limbs and belly.  Like David of old when facing the giant, the\nyoung man came forward trusting in the God of Israel.\n\n\"Who is that courageous but foolhardy venturer?\" enquired the emperor.\n\n\"Tharsos, of the praetorian guard, O sovereign.\"\n\n\"One of my noblest and wealthiest officers!\" exclaimed the emperor;\n\"yet let him go--he tends towards the detested Christians,\" added he\nhaughtily.\n\nServilius, the pagan confidant of the emperor, but the enemy of\nTharsos, was secretly delighted.  \"We shall soon get rid of him, and\nEmerentia will be mine,\" said he to himself, as he leaned over to take\na satisfied, last look at the self-sacrificing nobleman below.\n\nPathema was struck with amazement, but inexpressibly grieved to think\nthat the fair form of her defender would be speedily felled to the\nearth, and mangled, and devoured!\n\nTharsos did not stand on the defensive: he took the first step to\nbattle; and the people gave a deafening shout of approval.  He moved\ntowards the formidable lion with slow but firm tread.  The mysterious\nlight of the steadfast human eye was unbearable--the suspicious beast\nrose up and skulked away, with trailing tail and with head turned\npartly round to keep watch upon its enemy.  Tharsos held on steadily,\npurposing that if death should happen to him, it would be as far away\nas possible from the eyes of the sore-tried, desolate maiden.\n\nWhen near the side of the arena right opposite the emperor, the lion\nhowled with fear and sprang ten feet up towards the balcony, its\neye-balls gleaming just a short space below Titanus and his eager boy.\n\nRising up quickly, Titanus placed his hand upon the hilt of his sword.\nFain would he have leapt down to the aid of his beloved friend.  Their\neyes met for a moment; and, though pale and grave, Tharsos smiled.\n\nBaffled in its leap, the brute turned sharply round, face to face with\nits determined pursuer, and uttered a terrific roar of rage.  The issue\nwould soon be decided, and the immense concourse of people held their\nbreath, while Pathema turned away her head and offered up a silent\nprayer to Him who has power over the beast of the field.\n\nTharsos now drew slowly back, while keeping his eyes towards the\nenraged lion.  Suddenly withdrawing his gaze, he turned and ran with\nswift and bounding steps straight for the eastern extremity of the\narena, while the surprised spectators yelled their contempt after him.\nThen the man strangely swayed and tottered in front of the very door\nwhere the calm resolute woman had entered but a few minutes before.\n\n\"He plays the coward, he faints, curse him!\" was heard on every hand,\nas they saw him finally throw up his arms and fall.\n\n\"The charge is false, false!\" exclaimed an erect, indignant figure with\na pale face up among the women.  It was the voice of Coryna, but amidst\nthe clamour she was not heard except by those immediately around her.\n\n\"Hear ye the madwoman!\" cried they, as they scoffed and laughed.\n\nThe emperor, disappointed and even ashamed, sat in scornful silence.\nBut Servilius, excited with malignant pleasure, laughed outright.\n\nThen Titanus rose up and drew his glitter-sword.  He stepped to the\nvery edge of the balcony, Carnion at his side, and the eyes of the\npeople catching sight of him, the loud storm of abuse instantly ceased.\n\n\"Too late, too late, and out of order!\" Servilius fiercely cried,\nfearing the rescue of the man he unjustly hated.\n\n\"He who calls my friend Tharsos a coward!\" exclaimed Titanus in clear\nringing voice, \"shall die.  I challenge him to meet me next on the sand\nof that arena!\"\n\nAnd Coryna was unspeakably relieved.\n\nBut no man would wantonly accept the challenge, for Titanus was agile\nand strong, and was one of the most expert swordsmen in the Roman army.\n\nThere was, however, much excitement over this bold interruption and at\nthe announcement of the name of the prostrate man, whose high rank was\nwidely known.\n\nThe indignant Titanus was right--there was no cowardice.  The multitude\nhad entirely misjudged the tactics of the brave Tharsos.  The fallen\nman lay quietly upon his back, with his face slightly toward the lion,\nand with his dagger closely clinched in his strong right hand.\n\nCoryna's feelings were strung to the highest pitch.  Her suspense was\nagony, but she would not have her brave brother elsewhere.\n\nThe ferocious beast, taken by surprise or freed from provocation,\nsuddenly quieted down.  It sat on its haunches for a moment, and looked\nafter the fleeing man.  Then it rose up, and preferring a fallen form\nto an erect, it followed him with light majestic tread.  It came to\nwithin twenty feet of where he lay, and halted, sitting on its haunches\nagain.  Rising up, it walked around him twice, looking at him curiously\nall the time.  Satisfied at last that it had an easy prey, it went\nforward softly, like a cat.  Halting, it bent down to sniff the still,\nwhite, helpless-like figure, and to seize the flank.\n\nThe time for action had come.  Swiftly Tharsos drew his arm, and with\nterrific force thrust the dagger right into the would-be devourer's\nheart!\n\nWith a mighty yell the lion leaped into the air, and fell heavily\nacross the body of its destroyer--a dangerous struggle or two, and it\nwas dead!\n\nThen was the stratagem understood, and when it was coupled with the\nname and rank of the self-sacrificing victor, a thundering shout of\napplause filled the amphitheatre.\n\n\"Well done! brave Tharsos,\" said the Emperor proudly to the\ndistinguished noblemen around him, who were all delighted, Servilius\nexcepted, who vainly strove to conceal his deep displeasure.\n\nLooking deliberately across the arena, the emperor caught Titanus' eye\nand smiled.  That valiant officer rose up and saluted his sovereign\nwith becoming dignity and grace.\n\n\"Oh father, what a grand fight,\" exclaimed Carnion, \"and the Christian\nlady is free!\"\n\n\"Yes, my son,\" replied the trustful soldier, resting back upon the\nchair for a moment with unutterable satisfaction, for the honor of his\nfriend was upheld, and the virtuous maiden was saved.\n\nThe vast multitude were greatly gratified in their feeling of the\nsensational.  Yet a few were stirred to better thoughts and high\nresolves, who would never otherwise be influenced.  Thus in the\nprovidence of God does the wrath of man work out His purpose and praise.\n\nThe applause was at its height.  But, strange to say, Tharsos moved\nnot.  The officials that had gone to his aid removed the huge dead lion\nfrom his body.  Still Tharsos moved not.  Something appeared to be\nwrong, and the great noise stopped.  The spectators leaned forward and\nlooked anxious.  Was the dauntless destroyer himself destroyed?  The\nattendants turned him tenderly over--when, alas! there was a frightful\ngash in his naked side, from which the blood was flowing freely into\nthe sand.  His face and lips were white, with an expression of peace,\nas if in death.\n\nTitanus, deeply anxious, arose and hastened away to get the best\nphysician he could find.  As he disappeared he glanced upward to the\ncolonnade, but Coryna, the sister, was gone.\n\nCarnion remained to see more of the stricken man, and of the pale woman\nin the centre, silent, unnoticed, and alone.\n\nPromptly but gently the attendants lifted up Tharsos and carried him\nfrom the arena.  And as he passed from their sight the vast audience\nwas hushed in regret.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\nDISCIPLINE.\n\nPathema also watched their movements and departure, fearing that the\nwounded youth was dead.  Her heart yearned anxiously after him.  Who\nwas he that had so valiantly fought and bled for her?  His name was\nTharsos, and he was a brave, self-sacrificing nobleman--that was all\nshe could tell.  It was enough.  Self-sacrifice vividly recalled\nanother sacrifice, greater, perfect, and for all.  The flood-gate of\nfeeling could not be kept closed.  She held the lilies in her drooping\nhand, she raised them, looked at them tenderly for a moment, then\nburied her face in them, and wept.\n\nA herald now approached Pathema and formally announced that she was\nfree, at the same time pointing to the open door through which they had\nborne the bleeding hero.  But to the sensual undiscerning multitude,\nPathema was no heroine.  She was only a woman; and in those days when\nheathenism prevailed, women were not honoured as they are now.\nBesides, Pathema was to them a fanatic, a detested Christian, and at\nbest but a stubborn, unbending, young woman.  They knew not her supreme\ngentleness and modesty, which shrank from publicity like a sensitive\nplant from touch.  They did not know that it was intense love and\nloyalty to her Head which gave her strength to dare even cruel death.\n\nPathema turned to leave the arena, but the tension and turmoil and\nreaction were now telling fast upon her fragile frame.  As she walked\naway, her weakness was so great that she had the utmost difficulty to\nkeep from falling, and it was only too visible; but she struggled on.\n\nThere was no sign of sympathy from the now talkative crowd, wailing for\nanother scene of blood.  They treated her with indifference--she was\nbut a very secondary actor in the tragedy.  Yet, though they knew her\nnot, she was the greater victor, not that day alone, but in her past\ndaily life of sacrifice.  She was greater than he that slays a lion or\ntakes a city!\n\nAmong the indifferent crowd there was one bright exception.  Carnion,\nthough not then a Christian, yet was fulfilling the beautiful\nwords--\"Rejoice with them that do rejoice, and weep with them that\nweep.\"  As Pathema walked away with bowed head and faltering steps, the\nlad stepped to the edge of the balcony, and waiving his silken\nhandkerchief, called out--\"Thy God bless thee!\"  And the sufferer heard\nthe boy's sweet, strengthening voice, and struggled on.\n\nMisunderstood and unregarded by the heartless multitude, yet Pathema's\ndiscipline and victory were the work of God, and they, even the\ngreatest of them, were but the willing, guilty instruments.  She was\nbeing fashioned through suffering in the truest beauty and for the\nhighest honour--the beauty of holiness, which endures for ever.  She\nwalked meekly and painfully on, she reached the little door, and then\nshe passed from their guilty presence,--a queen, though uncrowned.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\nNIGHT.\n\nThe unconscious officer's wound was hastily but skilfully bound up and\nthe blood stanched, he was raised in a _lectica_ or litter, and carried\nhome with great care to his mansion.  In the quietest chamber of the\nhouse, he was laid upon a costly bed, one of rare wood with feet of\nivory and with purple coverlets curiously broidered with gold.\n\nTitanus, having done his utmost, had gone away with Carnion, much cast\ndown, the more so that he was under command by the emperor to leave\nRome immediately on foreign service.\n\nCoryna was left beside her brother, with the physician and a faithful\nintelligent slave.  The depth of her feelings could not be sounded, yet\nthere was staying power of a kind.  Grief, admiration and anxiety\nsurged around a will of rock.  Within, a whirling storm: without, a\npallid calm.  She watched for the first signs of consciousness as the\neagle watches for its prey.\n\nTharsos lay as if in death, with the soft light of serenity still on\nhis manly face and classic brow.  He moved at last and opened his eyes.\n\n\"Where is the Christian maiden?\" said he in dreamy feebleness, his\nexpression changing into a look of anxiety.\n\nMuch relieved in tension, Coryna answered softly--\n\n\"Some kind one quickly conveyed her away, my brother, but I have sent\nseveral of our slaves over the city to find out her lodging-place and\nto enquire after her health.\"\n\nA radiant joy covered his face, and he remained silent for a little.\nThen he spoke with quiet earnestness:--\n\n\"My sister, thou knowest her worth.  Look after her, I pray thee, for\nher own sake, and for the sake of Him she serves so well.  But\"--and\nhere he halted, trying painfully to take a deep breath.\n\n\"Speak not, my brother,\" said Coryna soothingly.\n\nBecoming calm, he resumed--\"Hasten the search, Coryna; ask the maiden\nto come and see me before I die.  Tell her that I shall regard her\nvisit as a kindness and honour.  I desire much to speak to her, my\nbeloved sister, to place thee in her care, and then I shall die in\npeace.\"  Tharsos spoke these last words very feebly, and then closing\nhis eyes he sank bask into unconsciousness.\n\nCoryna's heart was torn, but she would not renounce hope.\n\n      *      *      *      *      *\n\nIt was difficult to trace where Pathema had gone, humble Christian\nfriends having taken her to a remote, obscure, but comfortable home.\nOne messenger, however, got word of her whereabouts late the same\nnight, but too late to be prudent to call.  When he knocked at the door\nnext day he did not know that the object of his search was well\ninformed through her friends concerning Tharsos' critical state, and\nthat already there was a brief, beautiful, tablet-letter in her own\nhandwriting, lying near his unconscious pillow.\n\nWeakened by her cruel experience, Pathema was resting quietly upon a\ncouch beside a small open window, her heart full of gratitude to God\nfor deliverance and of anxiety about her human deliverer.\n\n\"Is there a maiden named Pathema lodging here?\" Marcellus, the\nmessenger, enquired.\n\n\"There is, sir,\" said a little Roman maid, the daughter of the hostess,\nmuch excited as she looked out into the street and saw six slaves in\nred livery standing beside a grand palanquin.\n\n\"My master, Tharsos, is at the point of death, but he would like to see\nthe Christian maiden ere he die.\"\n\nPathema overheard these words, and rose up at once.  Though weak in\nbody, she was resolute in mind, and she had enjoyed a providential\nnight's rest.  There was no delay in arranging matters, and she stepped\ninto the _lectica_ calmly but as one about to go through a painful\nordeal.\n\nAfter elbowing their way through the streets, Marcellus leading, the\nslaves at length laid their burden down beside a statue of Caractacus\nin the vestibule before the door of the young nobleman's mansion.\n\nLike the usual Roman dwelling, the exterior was not prepossessing; but\nwhen Marcellus opened the door, the prospective view was peculiarly\nmagnificent.  The doors and curtains of successive courts were drawn\naside, revealing active fountains, marble pillars with splendid\nstatuary, and a lawn and shrubbery exposed above to the blue Italian\nsky.\n\nPathema ascended the marble steps, and passing through the richly\ngilded door inlaid with tortoise-shell, she stood for a moment on the\nmosaic floor of the _ostium_ or entrance hall.  Overhead, a parrot of\nbrilliant plumage greeted her with the salutation, \"Joy be with thee.\"\nGoing straight on for a few feet, she passed into the _atrium_, a\npillared court, where Coryna, the image of Tharsos in finer mould, met\nher and kissed her hand in touching silence.\n\nLeading the way, Coryna went on through the _cavaedium_, a larger\nCorinthian-columned court, in whose centre stood a splashing fountain,\nshooting its crystal stream towards the open sky.  Passing the\n_tablinum_ or room of archives, they proceeded into the _peristylium_,\na still larger transverse court or lawn with verdant shrubbery and a\nchaste towering fountain.\n\nHere there was a Roman lady, elegantly dressed and richly jewelled.\nHer dark-complexioned face was strikingly beautiful, yet marred by a\nlofty look of haughtiness.  She walked around the lawn with the alert\ngraceful movements of a panther.  Evidently she was laboring under\nconsiderable excitement, and when Coryna and Pathema entered, her black\neyes flashed out a deadly scorn.\n\nInwardly disturbed, yet meeting the lady's look with a smile, Coryna\nturned aside between the marble columns into one of the _exedrae_ or\nrooms for conversation.  Guiding Pathema to a comfortable seat, she\nspoke for the first time, saying,\n\n\"Welcome to our home!\"\n\n\"I thank thee for the honour,\" answered Pathema, \"and I am glad to\ncome, yet greatly pained.\"\n\n\"My brother did right,\" was the quiet response.\n\n\"Receive, I pray thee,\" said Pathema in tears, \"my deepest gratitude\nfor thy brother's deed.\"\n\n\"Tharsos will yet receive it personally,\" was the happy answer.\n\n\"I rejoice to hear thy hope,\" replied Pathema with brightening eyes.\n\n\"I have hope, but the physicians have little or none.\"\n\nAfter a little further conversation during which the visitor's whole\nheart was drawn out to the noble character before her, Coryna craved\nliberty for a moment to bid her friend in the _peristylium_ farewell.\nAs she went out, a female slave entered to wait upon Pathema and show\nher every necessary attention.  The slave was not long in her presence\nwhen she bewailed the calamity that had come upon her beloved master.\nThen she mentioned that the young lady in the _peristylium_ was much\ndistressed.\n\n\"Emerentia,\" she continued, \"loves him exceedingly, and he liked her in\nreturn.  Her father and mother leave to-day for a distant city of the\nempire, and she goes with them.\"\n\nPathema was grieved, and she expressed the fervent hope that the\nnobleman would recover, for the distressed lady's sake, as well as his\nown.\n\n\"Emerentia,\" added the slave, \"is generous and accomplished--that is\nwhy the master liked her--but her goodness is not so strong as her\npride and jealousy.  The lady is fierce in her feelings.  She hates the\nChristians, and more so now than ever.\"\n\nAfter a few minutes Coryna returned, restrained and quiet, but with the\ntrace of a tear that had stolen down her fair face.\n\n\"My brother,\" said she with hesitation, \"earnestly desired that thou\nshouldst come and stay with me for a time.  Is this possible?  May I\nhope it is.\"\n\nPathema was taken by surprise.  Her home and beloved parents and the\npoor of Patara had been much in her heart.  Her father had been more\nthan once in Rome, trying to obtain her liberty, and he had provided\nlong ago the temporary abode she had been carried to by Christian\nfriends.  This now swept across her vision.  But it was quickly\nfollowed by another picture--the self-sacrificing act of the nobleman\nin whose mansion she was now a guest.  And he was dying--so the\nphysicians feared.  Duty--gratitude--consolation--everything demanded\nher presence.  Her answer was unhesitating and prompt--\n\n\"I will stay with thee.\"\n\nAnd Coryna bent down and kissed her, with a feeling that was warmly\nreturned.\n\nTharsos was beyond the stage of knowing anyone.  In spite of the best\nmedical skill, fever had quickly set in, and the battle began in\nearnest between life and death.\n\nNow was the opportunity for a woman's soldiership--soldiership of the\nhighest kind--where woman only can excel.  The weapons are experience,\npresence of mind, patience, endurance and compassion.  With all these\nPathema was perfectly armed, her value was speedily recognised, and she\nbecame an unassuming soldier in the strife.  There were days and nights\nof anxious care and watching, the utmost was performed, and nothing\nleft undone.  Yet Tharsos seemed to be marching straight without\nresource to the grim enemy's gloomy gate.  The thought was painful\nbeyond measure, but it seemed to Pathema that the noble-minded man must\ndie!\n\nWhile the fever lay upon him he spoke in bits of sentences about the\nNazarene, mysterious, divine! and the devoted disciple Pathema.  His\nlanguage was now subdued and reverential, tender and touching, as if he\nstood in the presence of unearthly beings; then indignant, emphatic,\neven wild, as if he were again surrounded by the cruel and inquisitive\nmultitude--a wildness wholly unlike that of the quiet reserved man in\nhealth.  Sitting up and pointing to the walls he would cry--\n\n\"Great God! the fiends, mad, malignant, blood-thirsty, the fiends of\nTartarus have entered thy fair world in the bodies of men.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV.\n\nDAY.\n\nTharsos did not die.  Had the lion's claws twisted, or torn a little\ndeeper, or had there been incapable nursing, there would have been no\nhope.  But the animal missed the vitals, and the faithful nurse made\nthe most of what remained--she would have readily yielded life at her\nloving though painful duty.\n\nWhen the consuming fever was completely turned and past, and a little\nstrength gained through death-like sleep and judicious nourishment, it\ndawned upon the sick man's mind that someone strange but fascinating\nwas constantly by his side.  And when he learned that his attendant was\nPathema, there came a peace over his soul that could not be expressed.\n\nAfter a long time Tharsos recovered strength, but he was never again\nthe same.  He was subject to spells of weakness that kept him to his\ncouch for days, and he had to resign his position in the army.  Yet he\nlived for many years afterwards, and did a noble work, impossible to be\ndone in the service of the emperor, a work that could not be hid, as a\ngood soldier of Jesus Christ.\n\nPathema, relieved in due time, went back to her home in Asia Minor.\nShe carried many costly gifts, showered upon her and refused in vain.\nBut, better still, she carried away the undying devotion of Tharsos,\nthe close sisterly affection of Coryna, and the goodwill of all that\nreally knew her worth.\n\nHer parents in Patara were overjoyed at her return, and so were many\nothers in the city and wide surroundings--many, who waited for tender\nattention and waited not in vain.\n\nTharsos sold his mansion in Rome, and followed Pathema to Patara.  He\nbought a beautiful residence in that city, and built another farther up\nthe river Xanthus among the hills.  And Pathema became his wife.\nStaying in these two houses alternately, at different seasons of the\nyear, they passed the rest of their lives.  No two beings loved ouch\nother better, or did a more useful and beneficent work.  Their city\nhome was a centre of Christian light and hospitality, while their rural\nretreat was the scene of many joyous and instructive gatherings of the\ncountry people.  In these abodes the friendless wanderer, of whatever\nrace or tribe, could lay down his weary head and there find solace and\nrest.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV.\n\nSAINT NICHOLAS.\n\n\"The house among the olive trees at the base of yonder hill--whose is\nit, friend?\" enquired a traveller of a pagan whom he met.\n\n\"The hospitable home of Tharsos and Pathema,\" was the reply.\n\n\"Thanks be to God!\" said the traveller, passing on.\n\n\"Who are these two men that sit together in the portico?\" asked he of a\nChristian as he came up in front of the house.\n\n\"Tharsos, the owner of the mansion, and Orestes, a shepherd from the\nvalley beyond.\"\n\n\"They speak as brothers,\" said the traveller, raising his eyebrows and\npassing by.\n\nGoing to a side door, he was about to knock when a woman approached\nfrom behind luxuriant vines, with a twig of olive blossoms in her hand.\nShe walked towards him with quiet grace, her countenance inspiring all\nrespect and trust.\n\nBowing low, the traveller said--\"My name is Timon.  I have travelled\nfar, and am footsore and in want.\"\n\n\"Enter in,\" said Pathema kindly, \"sit at yonder table with the rest,\nand thou shalt have water to wash thy feet.\"\n\nGoing in, the ex-detective was met by a pretty boy with golden hair and\ndeep blue eyes, the first-born son of Tharsos and Pathema.  The child\ntook a gentle hold of his sun-brown hand to lead him to food and rest.\nThe weary stranger clasped the tender fingers, and looking down into\nthe trusting, thoughtful face, he said---\n\n\"Child of a noble mother, thou hast made me glad.\"\n\n\"Come,\" said the little one lovingly, \"come.\"\n\n\"Tell me thy name, darling.\"\n\n\"My name is Nicholas,\" replied the boy.\n\n\"Thou art a little saint,\" rejoined the stranger hopefully, \"and thou\nshalt gladden many.\"\n\n\n  Wonderful boy of long ago!\n  Come now and tell--\n  As aged man, with beard of snow\n  And hair all white, what gave thy name,\n  Adown the years, the glow of fame?\n  Explain thy spell\n\n  O'er countless children waiting thee\n  In varied home,--\n  Afar inland, beside the sea,\n  In lonely cot, and crowded town,--\n  Awatching oft in midnight gown,\n  For thee to come.\n\n  Wert thou a selfish, cunning boy?\n  Ah no, ah no!\n  Tradition findeth no alloy\n  In thy make-up, but giveth thee\n  A generous heart, from baseness free,\n  Alike the snow.\n\n  White out and in, a giver pure,\n  With heart all warm,--\n  This! is thy spell, direct and sure,\n  O'er boy and girl; who think it good\n  To paint thy face in comic mood--\n  It does no harm.\n\n  But clothed in loving, reverent mien\n  Tradition gives--\n  Thou art, in this, by seniors seen,\n  To meet the life of one who was\n  The mother of Saint Nicholas:\n  In thee she lives.","title":"The Mother of St. Nicholas: A Story of Duty and Peril","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":12836}