shadowy cypress alleys wound the
solemn procession. Soon it reached an archway, like that shown in our
first chapter, the entrance to the catacomb of St. Callixtus, which lay
beneath the grounds of the Lady Marcella. Then, preceded by torches,
with careful tread the bearers of the bier slowly descended a rock-hewn
stairway, and traversed a long and gloomy corridor, lined on either side
with the graves of the dead.[19] This stairway and corridor are shown in
the engravings which accompany this chapter.

An almost supernatural fear fell upon the soul of Isidorus the Greek,
who had followed in the train of the procession, as it penetrated
further and further into the very heart of the earth. He seemed like
Ulysses with his ghostly guide visiting the grim regions of the
nether-world, and the words of the classic poet came to his mind,
"Horror on all sides, the very silence fills the soul with dread."
Already for more than two centuries these gloomy galleries had been the
receptacles of the Christian dead, and in many places the slabs that
sealed the tombs were broken, and the graves yawned weirdly as he
passed, revealing the unfleshed skeletons lying on their stony bed. To
his excited imagination they seemed to menace him with their
outstretched bony arms. Deep, mysterious shadows crouched around, full
of vague suggestions of affright. His gay, joyous and pleasure-loving
nature recoiled from the evidences of mortality around him. His
footsteps faltered, and he almost fell to the rocky pavement. The
procession swept on, the glimmering lights growing dimmer and dimmer,
and then turning an angle they suddenly disappeared. Fear lent wings to
his feet, and he fled along the narrow path with outstretched hands,
sometimes touching with a feeling of horrible recoil the bones or ashes
of the dead. He hurried along, groping from side to side, and when he
reached the passage down which the funeral procession had disappeared,
no gleam of it was visible, nor could he tell, so suddenly the lights
had disappeared, whether it had turned to the right or to the left. The
darkness was intense--a darkness that might be felt, a brooding horror
that oppressed every sense. He tried to call out, but his tongue seemed
to cleave to the roof of his mouth, and his faint cry was swallowed up
in the deep and oppressive silence. Had the vengeance of the gods
overtaken him in punishment for his meditated crime? Was he, who so
loved the light and air, and