CHAPTER VIII.
LIFE IN THE CATACOMBS.
"O dark, dark, dark, amid the blaze of noon. Irrevocably dark, total eclipse, Without all hope of day!"
Upon his return to the Catacombs he was welcomed with tears of joy. Mosteagerly they listened to the account of his interview with hissuperiors; and while they sympathized with his troubles, they rejoicedthat he had been found worthy to suffer for Christ.
Amid these new scenes he learned more of the truth every day, and sawwhat its followers endured. Life in the Catacombs opened around him withall its wondrous variety.
The vast numbers who dwelt below were supplied with provisions byconstant communication with the city above. This was done at night. Themost resolute and daring of the men volunteered for this dangerous task.Sometimes also women, and even boys, went forth upon this errand, andthe lad Pollio was the most acute and successful of all these. Amid thevast population of Rome it was not difficult to pass unnoticed, andconsequently the supply was well kept up. Yet sometimes the journey metwith a fatal termination, and the bold adventurers never returned.
Of water there was a plentiful supply in the passage ways of thelowermost tier. Wells and fountains here supplied sufficient for alltheir wants.
At night, too, were made the most mournful expeditions of all. Thesewere in search of the dead which had been torn by the wild beasts orburned at the stake. These loved remains were obtained at the greatestrisk, and brought down amid a thousand dangers. Then the friends of thelost would perform the funeral service and hold the burial feast. Afterthis they would deposit their remains in the narrow cell, and close theplace up with a marble tablet graven with the name of the occupant.
The ancient Christian, inspired by the glorious doctrine of theresurrection, looked forward with ardent hope to the time whencorruption should put on incorruption, and the mortal, immortality. Hewas unwilling that the body which so sublime a destiny awaited should bereduced to ashes, and thought that even the sacred funeral flames were adishonor to that temple of God which had been so highly favored ofheaven. So the cherished bodies of the dead were brought here out of thesight of man, where no irreverent hand might disturb the solemnstillness of their last repose, to lie until the last trump should givethat summons for which the primitive Church waited so eagerly, in dailyexpectation. In the city above the Christian religion had beenincreasing for successive generations, and during all this time the deadhad been coming here in ever-increasing numbers, so that now theCatacombs formed a vast city of the dead, whose silent populationslumbered in endless ranges, rank above rank, waiting till
"The wakeful trump of doom should thunder through the deep."
In many places the arches had been knocked away and the roof heightenedso as to form rooms. None of them were of very great size, but theyformed areas where the fugitives might meet in larger companies andbreathe more freely. Here they passed much of the time, and here, too,they had their religious services.
The nature of the times in which they lived will explain theirsituation. The simple virtues of the old republic had passed away, andfreedom had taken her everlasting flight. Corruption had moved over theempire and subdued every thing beneath its numbing influence. Plots,rebellions, and treasons cursed the state by turns, but the fallenpeople stood by in silence. They saw their bravest suffer, their noblestdie, all unmoved. The generous heart, the soul of fire, awaked no more.Only the basest passions aroused their degenerate feelings.
Into such a state as this the truth came boldly, and through suchenemies as these it had to fight its way over such obstacles to make itsslow but sure progress. They who enlisted under her banner had no lifeof ease before them. Her trumpet gave forth no uncertain sound. Theconflict was stern, and involved name, and fame, and fortune, andfriends, and life, all that was most dear to man. Ages rolled on. If thefollowers of truth increased in number, so also did vice intensify herpower and her malignity; the people sank into deeper corruption, thestate drifted on to more certain ruin.
Then arose those terrible persecutions which aimed to obliterate fromthe earth the last vestige of Christianity. A terrible ordeal awaitedthe Christian if he resisted the imperial decree; to those who followedher, the order of Truth was inexorable; and when a decision was made, itwas a final one. To make that decision for Christianity was often toaccept instant death, or else to be driven from the city, banished fromthe joys of home and from the light of day.
The hearts of the Romans were hardened and their eyes blinded. Neitherchildhood's innocence, nor womanly purity, nor noble manhood, nor thereverend hairs of age, nor faith immovable, nor love triumphant overdeath, could touch them or move them to pity. They did not see the blackcloud of desolation that hovered over the doomed empire, nor know thatfrom its fury those whom they persecuted alone could save them.
Yet in that reign of terror the Catacombs opened before the Christianlike a city of refuge. Here lay the bones of their fathers who fromgeneration to generation had fought for the truth, and their worn bodieswaited here for the resurrection morn. Here they brought theirrelatives, as one by one they had left them and gone on high. Here theson had borne the body of his aged mother, and the parent had seen hischild committed to the tomb. Here they had carried the mangled remainsof those who had been torn to pieces by the wild beasts of the arena;the blackened corpses of those who had been given to the flames; or thewasted bodies of those most wretched who had sighed out their lives amidthe lingering agonies of death by crucifixion. Every Christian had somefriend or relative lying here in death. The very ground was sanctified,the very air hallowed. It was not strange that they should seek forsafety in such a place.
Moreover, in these subterranean abodes, they found their only place ofrefuge from persecution. They could not seek foreign countries nor flybeyond the sea, because for them there were no countries of refuge, andno lands beyond the sea held out a hope. The imperial power of Romegrasped the civilized world in its mighty embrace; her tremendous policesystem extended through all lands, and none might escape her wrath. Soresistless was this power, that from the highest noble down to themeanest slave, all were subject to it. The dethroned emperor could notescape her vengeance, nor was such an escape even hoped for. When Nerofell, he could only go and kill himself in a neighboring villa. Yethere, amid these infinite labyrinths, even the power of Rome wasunavailing, and her baffled emissaries faltered at the very entrance.
Here, then, the persecuted Christians tarried, and their great numberspeopled these paths and grottoes, by day assembling to exchange words ofcheer and comfort, or to bewail the death of some new martyr; by nightsending forth the boldest among them, like a forlorn hope, to learntidings of the upper world, or to bring down the blood-stained bodies ofsome new victims. Through the different persecutions, they lived here sosecure that although millions perished throughout the empire, the powerof Christianity at Rome was but slightly shaken.
Their safety was secured and life preserved, but on what terms? For whatis life without light, or what is the safety of the body in gloom thatdepresses the soul? The physical nature of man shrinks from such a fate,and his delicate organization is speedily aware of the lack of thatsubtle renovating principle which is connected with light only. One byone the functions of the body lose their tone and energy. This weakeningof the body affects the mind, predisposing it to gloom, apprehension,doubt, and despair. It is greater honor for a man to be true andsteadfast under such circumstances than to have died a heroic death inthe arena or to have perished unflinchingly at the stake. Here, wherethere closed around these captives the thickest shades of darkness, theyencountered their sorest trial. Fortitude under the persecution itselfwas admirable; but against the persecution, blended with such horrors asthese, it became sublime.
The cold blast that forever drifted through these labyrinths chilledthem, but brought no pure air from above; the floors, the walls, theroofs, were covered over with the foul deposits of damp vapors thatforever hung around; the atmosphere was thi
ck with impure exhalationsand poisonous miasma; the dense smoke from the ever-burning torchesmight have mitigated the noxious gases, but it oppressed the dwellershere with its blinding and suffocating influence. Yet amid all theseaccumulated horrors the soul of the martyr stood up unconquered. TheRoman spirit that endured all this rises up to grander proportions thanwere ever attained in the proudest days of the old republic. Thefortitude of Regulus, the devotion of Curtius, the constancy of Brutus,were here surpassed, not by the strong man, but by the tender virgin andthe weak child. Thus, scorning to yield to the fiercest power ofpersecution, these men went forth, the good, the pure in heart, thebrave, the noble. For then death had no terrors, nor that appalling lifein death which they were compelled to endure here in the dismal regionsof the dead. They knew what was before them, and they accepted it all.Willingly they descended here, carrying with them all that was mostprecious to the soul of man, and they endured all this for the greatlove wherewith they were loved.
The constant efforts which they made to diminish the gloom of theirabodes were visible all around. In the ancient world art was cultivatedmore universally than in the modern. Wherever any large number of menwas collected a large proportion had the taste and the talent for art.When the Christians peopled the Catacombs the artist was here too, andhis art was not unemployed. In these chapels, which to the populationhere were like what public squares are to the inhabitants of a city,every effort was made to lessen the surrounding cheerlessness. So thewalls were in some places covered over with white stucco, and in othersthese again were adorned with pictures, not of deified mortals foridolatrous worship, but of those grand old heroes of the truth who informer generations had "through faith subdued kingdoms, wroughtrighteousness, obtained promises, stopped the mouths of lions, quenchedthe violence of fire, escaped the edge of the sword, out of weaknesswere made strong, waxed valiant in fight, turned to flight the armies ofthe aliens." If in the hour of bitter anguish they sought for scenes orthoughts that might relieve their souls and inspire them with freshstrength for the future, they could have found no other objects to lookupon so strong to encourage, so mighty to console.
Such were the decorations of the chapels. The only furniture which theycontained was a simple wooden table upon which they placed the bread andwine of the sacrament, the symbols of the body and blood of their dyingLord.
Christianity had struggled long, and it was a struggle with corruption.It will not be thought strange, then, if the Church contracted somemarks of a too close contact with her foe, or if she carried some ofthem down to her place of refuge. Yet if they had some variations fromthe apostolic model, these were so trifling that they might beoverlooked altogether, were it not that they opened the way to greaterones. Still, the essential doctrines of Christianity knew no pollution,no change. The guilt of man, the mercy of the Father, the atonement ofthe Son, the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, salvation through faith inthe Redeemer, all these foundations of truth were cherished with afervor and an energy to which no language can do justice.
Theirs was that heavenly hope, the anchor of the soul, so strong and sosecure that the storm of an empire's wrath failed to drive them from theRock of Ages where they were sheltered.
Theirs was that lofty faith which upheld them through the sorest trials,a sincere trust in God that could not doubt. There was no need hereeither of discussions about the theological term "faith," or of formalprayers that regarded it as some immaterial essence. Faith with them waseverything. It was the very breath of life; so true that it upheld themin the hour of cruel sacrifices; so lasting that even when it seemedthat all the followers of Christ had vanished from the earth, they couldstill look up trustfully and wait.
Theirs was that love which Christ when on earth defined as comprisingall the law and the prophets. Sectarian strife, denominationalbitterness, were unknown. They had a great general foe to fight, howcould they quarrel with one another. Here arose love to man which knewno distinction of race or class, but embraced all in its immensecircumference, so that one could lay down his life for his brother; herearose love to God which stopped not at the sacrifice of life itself. Thepersecutions which raged around them gave them all that zeal, faith, andlove which glowed so brightly amid the darkness of the age. It confinedtheir numbers to the true and the sincere. It was the antidote tohypocrisy. It gave to the brave the most daring heroism, and inspiredthe fainthearted with the courage of despair. They lived in a time whento be a Christian was to risk one's life. They did not shrink, butboldly proclaimed their faith and accepted the consequences. They drew abroad line between themselves and the heathen, and stood manfully ontheir own side. To utter a few words, to perform a simple act, couldoften save from death; but the tongue refused to speak the formula, andthe stubborn hand refused to pour the libation. The vital doctrines ofChristianity met from them far more than a mere intellectual response.Christ himself was not to them an idea, a thought, but a real existence.The life of Jesus upon earth was to them a living truth. They acceptedit as a proper example for every man. His gentleness, humility,patience, and meekness they believed were offered for imitation, nor didthey ever separate the ideal Christian from the real. They thought thata man's religion consisted as much in the life as in the sentiment, andhad not learned to separate experimental from practical Christianity. Tothem the death of Christ was a great event to which all others were butsecondary. That he died in very deed, and for the sons of men, nonecould understand better than they. Among their own brethren they couldthink of many a one who had hung upon the cross for his brethren or diedat the stake for his God. They took up the cross and followed Christ,bearing the reproach. That cross and that reproach were not figurative.Witness these gloomy labyrinths, fit home for the dead only, whichnevertheless for years opened to shelter the living. Witness these namesof martyrs, those words of despair. The walls carry down to later agesthe words of grief, of lamentation, and of ever-changing feeling whichwere marked upon them during successive ages by those who were banishedto these Catacombs. They carry down their mournful story to futuretimes, and bring to imagination the forms, the feelings and the deeds ofthose who were imprisoned here. As the forms of life are taken upon theplates of the camera, so has the great voice once forced out bysuffering from the very soul of the martyr become stamped upon the wall.
Humble witnesses of the truth; poor, dispised, forsaken; in vain theircalls for mercy went forth to the ears of man; they were stifled in theblood of the slaughtered and the smoke of the sacrifice! Yet where theirown race only answered their cry of despair with fresh tortures theserocky walls proved more merciful; they heard their sighs, they took themto their bosoms, and so their cries of suffering lived here, treasuredup and graven in the rock forever.
The conversion of Marcellus to Christianity had been sudden. Yet suchquick transitions from error to truth were not unfrequent. He had triedthe highest forms of Pagan superstition and heathen philosophy but hadfound them wanting, and as soon as Christianity appeared before him hebeheld all that he desired. It possessed exactly what was needed tosatisfy the cravings of his soul and fill his empty heart with thefullness of peace. And if the transition was quick, it was none the lessthorough. Having opened his eyes and seen the light of the Sun ofRighteousness, he could not close them. Rather than relapse into hisformer blindness, he gladly welcomed his share in the sufferings of thepersecuted.
Conversions like these distinguished the first preaching, of the Gospel.Throughout the heathen world there were countless souls who felt asMarcellus did, and had gone through the same experiences. It needed onlythe preaching of the truth, accompanied by the power of the Holy Spirit,to open their eyes and bring them to see the light. Apart from divineinfluence over human reason, we see here a cause for the rapid spread ofChristianity.
Living and moving and conversing with his new brethren, Marcellus soonbegan to enter into all their hopes and fears and joys. Their faith andtrust communicated themselves to his heart, and all the gloriousexpectations which sustained them beca
me the solace of his own soul. Theblessed word of life became his constant study and delight, and all itsteachings found in him an ardent disciple.
Meetings for prayer and praise were frequent throughout the Catacombs.Cut off from ordinary occupations of worldly business, they were thrownentirely upon other and higher pursuits. Deprived of the opportunity tomake efforts for the support of the body, they were forced to make theirchief business the care of the soul. They gained what they sought. Earthwith its cares, its allurements, and its thousand attractions, lost itshold upon them. Heaven drew nearer; their thoughts and their languagewere of the kingdom. They loved to talk of the joy that awaited thosewho continued faithful unto death; to converse upon those departedbrethren who to them were not lost but gone before; to anticipate themoment when their own time should come. Above all, they looked every dayfor that great final summons which should rouse the quick and dead, andarraign all before the great white throne.
Thus Marcellus saw these dismal passages not left to the silent slumberof the dead, but filled with thousands of the living. Wan and pale andoppressed, they found even amid this darkness a better fate than thatwhich might await them above. Busy life animated the haunts of the dead;the pathways rang to the sound of human voices. The light of truth andvirtue, banished from the upper air, burned anew with a purer radianceamid this subterranean gloom. The tender greetings of affection, offriendship, of kinship, and of love, arose amid the mouldering remainsof the departed. Here the tear of grief mingled with the blood of themartyr, and the hand of affection wrapped his pale limbs in the shroud.Here in these grottoes the heroic soul rose up superior to sorrow. Hopeand faith smiled exultingly, and pointed to the light of immortal life,and the voice of praise breathed forth from the lips of the mourner.