CHAPTER XIV.
“Whose is that sword, that voice and eye of flame,
That heart of unextinguishable ire?
Who bears the dungeon keys, and bonds, and fire?
Along his dark and withering path he came—
Death in his looks, and terror in his name.”
Roscoe.
Fresh from the waters of baptism, and united with the Church in the holy rite by which Christians commemorate the dying love of their Lord, a divine peace filled the hearts of Lucia and her nurse. Arrayed in spotless robes of white, emblematical of the new spiritual life upon which they had entered, they stood in the centre of that little flock, into whose society they had just been admitted, receiving the blessings and congratulations of their brethren. A holy light shone in the upraised eyes of Lucia, no longer gleaming with the wild enthusiasm of the heathen priestess, but full of calm, heavenly joy. No earthly thought, no earthly feeling, intruded on these hallowed moments. Even Adonijah was forgotten. Love divine filled and possessed her heart. This rapture seemed to absorb her being for a time, but when burst from that assembly of true worshippers the lofty hymn of thanksgiving, it found words and rose to heaven in a sweet song of praise. At the instant these triumphant hallelujahs echoed through that subterranean temple of the Lord, a band of armed men rushed in, headed by Julius Claudius, Nymphidius Sabinus, and Adonijah, and, advancing into the circle in which the neophytes stood, confronted them with menacing looks and threatening gestures.
For a moment the timid woman prevailed over the saint and heroine, and Lucia Claudia uttered a thrilling cry of agonized amazement as her eye fell on Adonijah. He had betrayed her—he for whom she would have died, for whom she would have given up all but her hope in Christ. A pang, intenser than that which separates soul and body, pierced the maiden’s heart, as she slowly turned her eyes upon her lover with reproachful tenderness. From that glance of love and sorrow he shrank away, unable to sustain the cruel part he had chosen, or to look upon her whom he had betrayed.
Nymphidius laid his hand upon his victim’s arm, but she shrank from his touch with a gesture indicative of so much horror, that he resigned her to her brother, of whose presence she till then was not aware. The sight of him inspired her with some confidence, and, throwing herself upon his neck, she uttered the most pathetic entreaties for the lives of those whom her rash confidence in Adonijah had put in such fearful jeopardy. He coldly replied “that he could only answer for her safety, the fate of those to whom she had united herself being in the hands of Nymphidius.” She fixed her imploring eyes on the face of the Præfect, but no mercy could be traced on his stern, collected features. His only answer was a sign to the soldiers to put the Christians to the sword, who, gathering round their Bishop, silently awaited their doom. Breaking from the arm of Julius, Lucia threw herself at the feet of Nymphidius, and besought him “to have mercy on the little flock” with streaming eyes and passionate entreaties.
“Become my wife,” said the Præfect, in a low but distinct voice, “and I will not slay these Christians.” She started from her knees with aversion and loathing on her countenance. “Remember, Lucia Claudia, that the alternative is death. Even the friendship between me and your brother cannot save you from the penalty you have incurred. Young, beautiful, rich, noble, and beloved as you are, can you prefer death to espousing a man who adores you?”
“I can die,” she replied—“it is not difficult for a Roman to die; but these Christians, whom I have been the means of betraying, must they die too?”
“My daughter,” rejoined the venerable Linus, advancing towards her with dignity, “plead not for us; we are ready not only to be bound, but to die for the Lord Jesus.”
“Father, I have brought these wolves upon you,” cried Lucia, wringing her hands; “it is I who have unwittingly betrayed my brethren;” and again she renewed her supplications to the Præfect on her knees.
“I have named the conditions,” was all the reply he deigned to return to her entreaties.
Lucia hesitated; the Bishop marked the struggle of her soul. “God can defend his own Church; yea, if it be His will, He also can deliver it out of this impending danger. Daughter, ‘be not unequally yoked with an unbeliever.’ We are all baptized into one faith, let us glorify God by dying together.”
“In flames, in tortures!” exclaimed Nymphidius, elevating his voice till the vaulted roof re-echoed with its terrific tones. “I tell ye that the horrors of Nero’s first persecution of this vile sect shall be forgotten in the tremendous vengeance of his second.[[12]] Maiden, do you remember the illumination of the imperial gardens?” continued he, bending down to the suppliant, who still grasped his knees. He felt the shudder that thrilled through her frame at the ghastly recollections he had called up.
“We must abide it as best we may,” murmured she. “My own sufferings I can endure with constancy, but how shall I see those my rashness has brought down on these?”
“I swear to thee, most fair and noble lady, that not a hair of their heads shall perish for this cause. Yes, Lucia Claudia, by thyself I swear not only to preserve, but to protect them. Nay more, thou shalt be free to follow this strange superstition, wild and mischievous though it be, so that you promise to become my wife.”
“I promise,” she faintly uttered, and sank in a swoon at his feet, a swoon so death-like, that when the Præfect raised her up, he feared that he held only an inanimate corpse in his arms.
In this state the affianced bride of Nymphidius Sabinus was borne into her brother’s house. In this sad condition Adonijah beheld the unhappy victim of his bigotry—her to whom he had professed the most passionate love. As the females of the household removed her veil to give her air, her bright ringlets, those ringlets lately hidden beneath the head-dress of the vestal, fell round her face, giving to its paleness a more death-like character. Her whole figure, indeed, enveloped in the white robe of the neophyte, resembled more a statue of Parian marble than living flesh. Convulsive starts and deep sighs alone betrayed that she still breathed and suffered. What a sight was this for a lover to behold! Adonijah stood contemplating his work for a moment, then rushed forth in an agony of remorse.
The familiar voices round her recalled the unfortunate lady to life; she opened her eyes, raised herself from the encircling arms of Nymphidius with an air of ineffable dignity, and, taking the arm of Cornelia, retired to her own apartment.
Here, to the surprise of her brother and Cornelia, she shook off the anguish that oppressed her soul. It was more than Roman fortitude she displayed, it was the courage and resolution of a Christian. Throughout that trying night she watched and prayed for strength to endure the living martyrdom before her, and when the morning came she was resigned and tearless. Julius fixed an early day for their return to Rome and her espousals; she did not oppose him, but meekly besought him to permit her to keep her own apartment, with Cornelia for her sole companion, till the hour when Nymphidius would come to claim her promise.
The fatal day arrived, and the nuptials of Lucia Claudia were celebrated with all the magnificence befitting her high rank, as well as with those heathen rites her Christian profession taught her to consider impious. Arrayed in saffron robes, and splendidly adorned with jewels, the bride, unveiled, sat, according to custom, in the centre of her own sitting-room to receive the farewell visits of her relations, and the congratulations of her friends. The slaves of both sexes were freely permitted to take their leave and pay their compliments on this occasion. Adonijah, unable to absent himself, came with them, resolving at first to avoid looking at the betrothed of Nymphidius, till a fatal curiosity attracted his attention to her. Surrounded by the great and gay, Lucia Claudia, among her maidens, looked pale and victim-like, till she saw Adonijah, when a burning blush flushed her cheeks, and tears rushed to her eyes; then, restraining her feelings, though with effort, she became tintless as before. She received the presents lavished upon her without any of that pleasure so naturally manifested by the bride about to be united to the object of her choice. This ceremony gone through, she sat still and motionless as a statue till the steps of the bridegroom and his train were heard approaching, then her heart beat audibly, and she turned one last, last look upon her lover; that look expressed all her love, regret, and despair. This lingering tenderness still clung to the bosom of the injured maid, notwithstanding her wrongs, and filled it with tenfold bitterness. Nymphidius approached to lead her to the temple of Juno Juga, whither all present followed the ill-matched pair.
Adonijah stood by during the ceremony that united Lucia Claudia to the object of her detestation. He saw her given, with abhorrent heathen rites, to another. He beheld her shudder while the priest placed the vervain garland and nuptial veil upon her brow, and the ring on her finger; for he knew and felt that she loved him alone, cruel and treacherous as he was, even while giving her hand to his rival.
Adorned with all the insignia of marriage, the bride sustained her firmness till the hour arrived when Nymphidius and Julius raised her in their arms, according to custom, to bear her to her future home. Then her constancy appeared to forsake her, for her struggles were real, and her cries expressed the genuine character of her despair. Far above the Epithalamium they were heard, and she was borne over the threshold with actual, not counterfeited, violence, so deep was the feeling of abhorrence with which she regarded the man to whom she had just given her hand.[[13]]
The nuptials of Lucia Claudia with Nymphidius was the result of Adonijah’s treachery, but such had not been his intention. To destroy the Christians, and prevent her from receiving baptism, was his motive in betraying her retreat to Julius. That discovery threw her into the arms of his rival. The thought was like fire to his proud heart, and a burning fever seized his brain, and before he recovered she had been many weeks a wife.
| [12] | See Appendix, [Note VI.] |
| [13] | The Roman bride was carried into her bridegroom’s house with counterfeited violence, in remembrance of the manner in which the Sabine virgins had been forcibly wedded by her Roman ancestors. |