XXIV.

THE FIRST PERSECUTION.

FTER the fire, the city was rebuilt on a new plan, with wider streets, and houses of less height. Nero began to erect his Golden House, where wealth and luxury unimagined before were all accumulated.

But in the bustle and business of work, the people did not forget the great calamity, nor did they readily lose the suspicion which they had formed about the author. Nero felt that this general suspicion hung like a fateful cloud impending over him; a thundercloud, which might burst at any moment, and hurl him from his throne. It could not be trifled with, nor could it be forgotten as an idle care.

He sought now at all hazard to divert suspicion from himself, and looked around for those whom he might safely charge with the guilt that the world attributed to him.

His thoughts at length were directed toward the Christians. They had been gradually increasing in number for years, and although they formed but a small proportion of the population, there were yet enough to excite remark.

In this age, and through later times, it was always the fate of the Christians to be misunderstood. Often afterward it happened, in different parts of the world, that when public calamities occurred, the populace laid the blame to these innocent and unoffending people, and cruelly took vengeance for an imaginary offence. And now there occurred the first and most conspicuous example of unmerited suffering, endured by these men.

Certain things in the life and manners of the Christians excited suspicion in the mind of a superstitious populace. Their language and phraseology were misinterpreted. They spoke of Christ as their king; of a kingdom that was not of this world; and this the ignorant multitude took as a sort of treason against the emperor. They met in secret assemblies, where it was reported that they indulged in the worst vices among themselves. The mysterious repast which they celebrated in memory of their dying Lord, was particularly suspected. A report prevailed that at this repast they fed on human flesh, and drank human blood;-a strange perversion of that symbolical rite, which represented by bread and wine the body and blood of the Saviour. When Carbo inveighed against the Christians, he only repeated the popular opinion. They came from Syria, or rather their religion came from that quarter, and as Syria was the well-known source of all the worst vices, and most abject superstitions of the time, it is, perhaps, not wonderful that the Roman was led to suspect Christianity of being like the Syrian religions of which he had heard and seen so much.

Under these circumstances Nero determined to sacrifice these innocent but suspected men to the popular fury. His agents went everywhere whispering charges against them, and filling the public mind with ideas of their guilt. The feeling grew stronger and stronger; the name of Christian became abhorrent; and some of those who were known to belong to that faith were mobbed in the streets by the furious populace.

The little flock saw the storm coming and trembled. They knew that something terrible impended, and took counsel together as to the best way in which to meet it. But no way appeared, and so they made up their minds to meet the worst, whatever it might be. Some of those who had known a larger experience, exhorted the younger members to be firm, and, even if death should come, to give up their lives boldly for Him who gave his life for them.

At last the storm burst. The emperor's proclamation appeared, in which a direct charge was made against them, that they had burned the city; and orders were issued for the arrest of all who worshipped Christ. Many people were shocked at this undeserved accusation. The more intelligent believed that it was a trick of Nero's to keep suspicion from himself, and looked upon it as but one of his many atrocities; but the larger number of the unthinking people accepted the charge as a fact, and clamored for the blood of the Christians, as eagerly as the Jews once clamored for that of Christ.

The Christians waited for the first blow, and did not have to wait long. A descent was made by the officials of the government upon four of their assemblies at the same time; and all without exception were carried off and thrown into prison to await their doom.

A mockery of a trial was then begun. A set of abandoned wretches came forward at the instigation of the emperor, confessed themselves Christians, swore to all the abominable crimes which were usually attributed to these, and affirmed that they and the rest of the Christians had set fire to the city, and afterwards had kept it going.

Upon the strength of this the Christians were condemned to die. An offer was made that those of the women who abjured their faith, might be spared, but none were found who accepted this.

A terrific punishment was then prepared for them. It owed its origin to the ingenuity of the emperor, who said that they who had caused the death of so many by fire, ought themselves to perish in the same way, for then only would the penalty be commensurate with the crime. He determined, while punishing the Christians, to amuse the populace also, and turn the scene of execution into a great public spectacle. The sight of their sufferings would convince the unthinking spectators of their guilt; and the novel circumstances of the scene would have a mixture of grandeur and horror that would make him popular with the common people.

The place selected for their punishment was the Imperial Gardens on the Vatican Hill, on the other side of the river; the same place where Nero had sung while Rome was burning.

The scene was worthy of Nero. Hundreds of stakes were driven into the ground at certain intervals along the avenues and walks. To each of these a Christian was bound firmly with chains. Each unhappy victim was wrapped from head to foot in a thick garment formed of coarse cloth in various layers saturated with pitch. Fagots were heaped around their feet.

The unhappy ones awaited their doom with different feelings. In some there might be seen the triumph of Christian faith; but in many, weak human nature was evident. Of these some were stupefied with horror; others implored mercy from the emperor, from the guards, and from the populace. Yet it deserves to be noted, that among all these, not one offered to abjure the Christian faith.

Here were people of both sexes and of all ages involved in the common suffering. Old men were there whose venerable faces and reverend locks, and long white beards defiled by pitch, gave additional horror to a horrid scene. Young maidens were there, innocent and pure, guilty of no crime, and their pale, fearful faces might have excited pity in any population less hardened than that of Rome. There was none to save them. So all alike, young and old, cast their thoughts to Him who was able to save.

On this evening, the time of the first punishment, Nero was in high spirits. He congratulated himself on his own ingenuity in thus devising a plan of punishment that was at once commensurate with the crime of the convicted, and at the same time would give a new sensation to the Romans, who so loved novelty. He had arranged that the people should be admitted, and then at a given signal the torches should be applied.

Nero had often thrown open his gardens to the people,

but never under such circumstances as these. He had torches provided of a novel description. The illumination which he had provided for the scene was the burning victims of his hellish cruelty.

Dressed as a charioteer, the emperor drove round and round the winding walks, exhibiting his skill to the crowd, and enjoying their applause. He continued this till darkness came, and his fine performances could no longer be appreciated.

Vast numbers came. Curiosity attracted most; others came from a sort of cruel desire to see suffering under the immediate management of one who was skilled in inflicting it. The gardens were thronged by the populace of Rome; men, women, and children. They stood gazing with a kind of awful expectation upon the forms of the victims fixed at their several stakes, and awaiting the signal which should announce their doom.

At last the signal was given.

At once to hundreds of piles of fagots, heaped around hundreds of stakes, the torches were applied, and the flames rushed quickly over the resinous wood, and up the pitchy garments of the victims at the stake. A wild red light illuminated the frightful scene. The gardens glowed luridly with this terrific illumination, and the glare rose up high in the air, till those who had remained in the city looked across the Tiber, and saw with awful feelings the signs of this dread punishment.

The air was filled with shrieks of pain and cries of agony from the unhappy ones at the stake, thus dying amid excruciating torments. The spectators were horror-stricken. Coldblooded though they were, and accustomed to scenes of cruelty in the amphitheatre, they nevertheless saw here something which exceeded the worst horrors of Roman sports. It filled them with dismay. It sickened them. The shrieks of anguish thrilled through the hearts of all. The spectators were not amused, they were shocked and sickened.