(_One of the Women, taking a long breath_:)
"Ah! how good the cool air of night is, among the sepulchers! I am so weary of the softness of beds, the turmoil of days, the heavy heat of the sun!"
(_Her maid-servant takes from a canvas bag, a torch which she ignites. The faithful light other torches by it, and plant them upon the tombs._)
"I am here at last! Oh how wearisome to be the wife of an idolator!"
ANOTHER. "These visits to the prisons, interviews with our brethren, are all matters of suspicion to our husbands! And we must even hide ourselves in order to make the sign of the cross; they would take it for a magical conjuration!"
ANOTHER. "With my husband it was a quarrel every day. I would not submit myself to his brutal exactions; therefore he has had me prosecuted as a Christian."
ANOTHER. "Do you remember Lucius, that young man who was so beautiful, who was dragged like Hector, with his heels attached to a chariot, from the Esquiline Gate to the mountains of Tibur?--and how his blood spattered the bushes on either side of the road? I gathered up the drops of his blood. Behold it!"
(_She drags a black sponge from her bosom, covers it with kisses, and flings herself down upon the slabs, crying aloud_:--)
[Illustration: She drags a black sponge from her bosom, covers it with kisses ...]
A MAN. "It is just three years to-day since Domitilla died. They stoned her at the further end of the Grove of Proserpine. I gathered her bones, which shone like glowworms in the grass. The earth how covers them."
(_And all the others scattered over the plain_:--)
"O my sister! O my brother! O my daughter! O my mother!"
(_Some kneel, covering their faces with their hands; others lie down upon the ground with their arms extended; and the sobs they smother shake their breasts with such violence as though their hearts were breaking with grief. Sometimes they look up to heaven, exclaiming_:--)
"Have mercy upon her soul, O my God! She languishes in the sojourn of Shades; vouchsafe to admit her to thy Resurrection, that she may enjoy Thy Light!"
(_Or, with eyes fixed upon the gravestones, they murmur to the dead_:--)
"Be at peace, beloved! and suffer not! I have brought thee wine and meats!"
A WIDOW. "Here is pultis, made by my own hands, as he used to like it, with plenty of eggs and a double measure of flour! We are going to eat it together as in other days, are we not?"