Pearl-Maiden | Page 7

flesh and, their labours
and sorrows ended, to depart into bliss eternal. He called to their
memory the supper of the Passover which had taken place within the
lifetime of many of them, when the Author and Finisher of their faith
had declared to the disciples that He would drink no more wine till He
drank it new with them in His kingdom. Such a feast it was that lay
spread before them this night. Let them be thankful for it. Let them not
quail in the hour of trial. The fangs of the savage beasts, the shouts of
the still more savage spectators, the agony of the quivering flesh, the

last terror of their departing, what were these? Soon, very soon, they
would be done; the spears of the soldiers would despatch the injured,
and those among them whom it was ordained should escape, would be
set free by the command of the representative of Cæsar, that they might
prosecute the work till the hour came for them to pass on the torch of
redemption to other hands. Let them rejoice, therefore, and be very
thankful, and walk to the sacrifice as to a wedding feast. "Do you not
rejoice, my brethren?" he asked. With one voice they answered, "We
rejoice!" Yes, even the children answered thus.
Then they prayed again, and again with uplifted hands the old man
blessed them in the holy Triune Name.
Scarcely had this service, as solemn as it was simple, been brought to
an end when the head jailer, whose blasphemous jocosity since his
reproof by Anna was replaced by a mien of sullen venom, came
forward and commanded the whole band to march to the amphitheatre.
Accordingly, two by two, the bishop leading the way with the sainted
woman Anna, they walked to the gates. Here a guard of soldiers was
waiting to receive them, and under their escort they threaded the
narrow, darkling streets till they came to that door of the amphitheatre
which was used by those who were to take part in the games. Now, at a
word from the bishop, they began to chant a solemn hymn, and singing
thus, were thrust along the passages to the place prepared for them.
This was not, as they expected, a prison at the back of the amphitheatre,
but, as has been said, a spot between the enclosing wall and the podium,
raised a little above the level of the arena. Here, on the eastern side of
the building, they were to sit till their turn came to be driven by the
guards through a little wicket-gate into the arena, where the starving
beasts of prey would be loosed upon them.
It was now the hour before sunrise, and the moon having set, the vast
theatre was plunged in gloom, relieved only here and there by stray
torches and cressets of fire burning upon either side of the gorgeous,
but as yet unoccupied, throne of Agrippa. This gloom seemed to
oppress the audience with which the place was crowded; at any rate
none of them shouted or sang, or even spoke loudly. They addressed

each other in muffled tones, with the result that the air seemed to be
full of mysterious whisperings. Had this poor band of condemned
Christians entered the theatre in daylight, they would have been greeted
with ironical cries and tauntings of "Dogs' meat!" and with requests that
they should work a miracle and let the people see them rise again from
the bellies of the lions. But now, as their solemn song broke upon the
silence, it was answered only by one great murmur, which seemed to
shape itself to the words, "the Christians! The doomed Christians!"
By the light of a single torch the band took their places. Then once
more they sang, and in that chastening hour the audience listened with
attention, almost with respect. Their chant finished, the bishop stood up,
and, moved thereto by some inspiration, began to address the mighty
throng, whom he could not see, and who could not see him. Strangely
enough they hearkened to him, perhaps because his speech served to
while away the weary time of waiting.
"Men and brethren," he began, in his thin, piercing notes, "princes,
lords, peoples, Romans, Jews, Syrians, Greeks, citizens of Idumæa, of
Egypt, and of all nations here gathered, hearken to the words of an old
man destined and glad to die. Listen, if it be your pleasure, to the story
of One whom some of you saw crucified under Pontius Pilate, since to
know the truth of that matter can at least do you no hurt."
"Be silent!" cried a voice, that of the renegade jailer, "and cease
preaching your accursed faith!"
"Let him alone," answered other voices. "We will hear this story