She answered, “Callista.”

The judge then asked if she was a freewoman or a slave.

She answered, “Free; the daughter of Orsilochus, lapidary, of Proconnesus.”

Some conversation then went on among the magistrates as to her advocate or defensor. Aristo presented himself, but the question arose whether he was togatus. He was known, however, to several magistrates, and was admitted to stand by his sister.

Then the scriba read the charge—viz., that Callista was a Christian, and refused to sacrifice to the gods.

It was a plain question of fact, which required neither witnesses nor speeches. At a sign from the Duumvir in came two priests, bringing in between them the small altar of Jupiter; the charcoal was ready lighted, the incense at the side, and the judge called to the prisoner to sprinkle it upon the flame for the good fortune of Decius and his son. All eyes were turned upon her.

“I am not a Christian,” she said; “I told you so before. I have never been to a Christian place of worship, nor taken any Christian oath, nor joined in any Christian sacrifice. And I should lie did I say that I was in any sense a Christian.”

There was a silence; then the judge said, “Prove your words; there is the altar, the flame, and the incense; sacrifice to the genius of the Emperor.”

She said, “What can I do? I am not a Christian.” The judges looked at each other, as much as to say, “It is the old story; it is that inexplicable, hateful obstinacy, which will neither yield to reason, common sense, expediency, or fear.”

The Duumvir only repeated the single word, “Sacrifice.”

She stopped awhile; then she came forward with a hurried step. “O my fate!” she cried, “why was I born? why am I in this strait? I have no god. What can I do? I am abandoned; why should I not do it?” She stopped; then she went right on to the altar; she took the incense: suddenly she looked up to heaven and started, and threw it away. “I cannot! I dare not!” she cried out. There was a great sensation in court. “Evidently insane,” said some of the more merciful of the Decurions; “poor thing, poor thing!” Her brother ran up to her; talked to her, conjured her, fell down on his knees to her; took her hand violently, and would have forced her to offer. In vain; all he could get from her was, “I am not a Christian; indeed, I am not a Christian. I have nothing to do with them. O the misery!”