The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 01, No. 7, May, 1858 eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 300 pages of information about The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 01, No. 7, May, 1858.

The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 01, No. 7, May, 1858 eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 300 pages of information about The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 01, No. 7, May, 1858.

[Footnote A:  This is the name given to the accounts of the saints and martyrs composed in early times for the use of the Church.]

Not many years afterwards, Constantia, the daughter of the Emperor Constantine, suffering from a long and painful disease, for which she found no relief, heard of the marvellous vision, and was told of many wonderful cures that had been wrought at the tomb and by the intercession of the youthful Saint.  She determined, although a pagan, to seek the aid of which such great things were told; and going to the grave of Agnes at night, she prayed for relief.  Falling suddenly into a sweet sleep, the Saint appeared to her, and promised her that she should be made well, if she would believe in the Lord Jesus Christ.  She awoke, as the story relates, full of faith, and found herself well.  Moved with gratitude, she besought her father to build a church on the spot in honor of Saint Agnes, and in compliance with her wish, and in accordance with his own disposition to erect suitable temples for the services of his new faith, Constantine built the church, which a few centuries later was rebuilt in its present form and adorned with the mosaics that still exist.

Nearly about the same time a circular building was erected hard by the church, designed as a mausoleum for Constantia and other members of the imperial family.  The Mausoleum of Hadrian was occupied by the bodies of heathen emperors and empresses, and filled with heathen associations.  New tombs were needed for the bodies of those who professed to have revolted from heathenism.  The marble pillars of the Mausoleum of Constantia were taken from more ancient and nobler buildings, its walls were lined with mosaics, and her body was laid in a splendid sarcophagus of porphyry.  In the thirteenth century, after Constantia had been received into the liberal community of Roman saints, her mausoleum was consecrated as a church and dedicated to her honor.  A narrow, unworn path leads to it from the Church of St. Agnes; it has been long left uncared-for and unfrequented, and, stripped of its movable ornaments, it is now in a half-ruinous condition.  But its decay is more impressive than the gaudy brightness of more admired and renovated buildings.  The weeds that grow in the crevices of its pavement and hang over the capitals of its ancient pillars, the green mould on its walls, the cracks in its mosaics, are better and fuller of suggestion to the imagination than the shiny surface and the elaborate finish of modern restorations.  Restoration in these days always implies irreverence and bad taste.  But the architecture of this old building and the purpose for which it was originally designed present a marked example of the rapidity of the change in the character of the Christians with the change of their condition at Rome, during the reign of Constantine.  The worldliness that follows close on prosperity undermined the spirit of faith; the pomp and luxury of the court and the palace were carried into the forms of worship, into the construction of churches, into the manner of burial.  Social distinctions overcame the brotherhood in Christ.  Riches paved an easy way into the next world, and power set up guards around it.  Imperial remains were not to mingle with common dust, and the mausoleum of the princess rose above the rock-hewn and narrow grave of the martyr and saint.

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The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 01, No. 7, May, 1858 from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.