University of Virginia Library

9. LETTER IX.

Several days have elapsed since I last wrote, yet
Calpurnius is not arrived. I am filled with apprehensions.
I fear lest he may have thought too lightly of the
difficulties of an escape, and of the strictness with
which he is watched; for while he seems to have held it
an easy matter to elude the vigilance of his keepers,
common opinion at Ecbatana appears to have judged
very differently. Yet, after all, I cannot but rely with
much confidence upon the discretion and the cunning of
Isaac. I must now relate what has happened in the
mean time.

It was the morning after Isaac's letter had been received
and read, that Milo presented himself, with a
countenance and manner indicative of some inward disturbance.

`And what,' I asked, `may be the matter?'

`Enough is the matter, both for yourself and me,' he
replied. `Here now has been a wretch of an Arab, a
fellow of no appearance, a mere camel driver, desiring
to see you. I told him flatly that you were not to be seen
by scum such as he. I advised him to be gone, before
he might have to complain of a broken head. And what
do you suppose was the burden of his errand? Why,
truly, to ask of the most noble Piso concerning his wife
and child! I begged him to consider whether, supposing
you did know aught concerning them, you would deign to
communicate with a sun-baked beggar of the desert, like
him? Whereupon, he raised a lance longer than a mast,
and would have run me through, but for the expertness
with which I seized and wrested it from him, and then

broke it over his head. 'T was the same scowling knave
whose camels choked the street the first day we entered
the city, and who sent his curse after us. Hassan is his
name. His eye left a mark on me that 's not out yet.
A hyena's is nothing to it.'

Thus did he run on. I could have speared him as
willingly as Hassan. It was plain that the husband of
the woman found in the desert by Isaac, hearing a rumor
of intelligence received by me, had been to obtain such
information as possibly I might possess of his wife and
child. Upon asking my slave where the camel-driver
now was, he replied that, `Truly he did not know; he
had been driven from the court-yard with blows, and it
was a mercy that his life was left to him. He had been
taught how again to curse Romans.'

It was in vain that I assured him once and again that
he was no longer in the service of an emperor, and that
it was unnecessary to treat me with quite so much deference;
his only regret was that the robber had got off so
easily. As the only reparation in my power for such
stupidity and inhumanity, I ordered Milo instantly to set
forth in search of Hassan, in the quarter of the city
which the Arabs chiefly frequent, and, finding him, to
bring him to the house of Gracchus, for I had news for
him. This was little relished by Milo, and I could see,
by the change of his countenance, that his cowardly soul
was ill-inclined to an encounter with the insulted Arab,
in the remote parts of the city, and unaccompanied by
any of the slaves of the palace. Nevertheless, he started
upon his mission — but, as I afterward learned, bribed
Hannibal to act as life-guard.

Thinking that I might possibly fall in with him myself,
and desirous, moreover, of an occupation that should
cause me to forget Calpurnius and my anxieties for a

season, I went forth also, taking the paths that first offered
themselves. A sort of instinct drew me, as it almost
always does, to one of the principal streets of the city,
denominated, from the size and beauty of the trees which
adorn it, the Street of Palms. This is an avenue which
traverses the city in its whole length; and at equal distances
from its centre, and also running its whole length,
there shoots up a double row of palms, which, far above
the roofs of the highest buildings, spread out their broad
and massy tufts of leaves, and perfectly protect the
throngs below from the rays of the blazing sun. Thus a
deep shadow is cast upon the floor of the street, while, at
the same time, it is unencumbered by the low branches,
which on every other kind of tree stretch out in all directions,
and obstruct the view, taking away a greater
beauty and advantage than they give. This palm is not
the date-bearing species, but of another sort, attaining a
loftier growth, and adorned with a larger leaf. A pity,
truly, it is, that Rome cannot crown itself with this
princely diadem; but even though the bitter blasts from
the Appennines did not prevent, a want of taste for what
is beautiful would. The Roman is a coarse form of humanity,
Curtius, compared with either the Greek or the
Palmyrene. Romans will best conquer the world, or defend
it; but its adorning should be left to others. Their
hands are rude, and they but spoil what they touch.
Since the days of Cicero, and the death of the Republic,
what has Rome done to advance any cause, save that of
slavery and licentiousness? A moral Hercules is needed
to sweep it clean of corruptions, which it is amazing
have not ere this drawn down the thunder of the gods.
Julia would say that Christ is that Hercules. May it
be so!

Along the street which I had thus entered, I slowly

sauntered, observing the people who thronged it, and
the shops with their varieties which lined it. I could
easily gather, from the conversation which now and then
fell upon my ear — sometimes as I mingled with those
who were observing a fine piece of sculpture, or a new
picture, exposed for sale, or examining the articles which
some hawker, with much vociferation, thrust upon the
attention of those who were passing along, or waiting at
a fountain, while slaves in attendance served round in
vessels of glass, water, cooled with snow, and flavored
with the juice of fruits peculiar to the East — that the
arrival of the ambassadors had caused a great excitement
among the people, and had turned all thoughts into
one channel. Frequently were they gathered together in
groups, around some of the larger trees, or at the corners
of the streets, or at the entrance of some conspicuous
shop, to listen to the news which one had to tell, or to
arguments upon the all-engrossing theme with which
another sought to bring over those who would listen to
one or another side of the great question. But I must
confess, that but in a very few instances, the question
was no question at all, and had but one side. Those
whom I heard, and who were listened to by any numbers,
and with any patience, were zealous patriots, inveighing
bitterly against the ambition and tyranny of Rome,
and prognosticating national degradation, and ruin, and
slavery, if once the policy of concession to her demands
was adopted.

`Palmyra,' they said, `with Zenobia and Longinus at
her head, the deserts around her, and Persia to back her,
might fearlessly stand against Rome and the world.
Empire began in the East: it had only wandered for a
while to the West — losing its way. The East was its
native seat, and there it would return. Why should not

Palmyra be what Assyria and Persia once were? What
kingdom of the world, and what age, could ever boast
a general like Zabdas, a minister like Longinus, a queen
like the great Zenobia?' At such flights, the air would
resound with the plaudits of the listening crowd, who
would then disperse and pursue their affairs, or presently
gather around some new declaimer.

I was greatly moved on several of these occasions, to
make a few statements in reply to some of the orators,
and which might possibly have let a little light upon
minds willing to know the truth; but I doubted whether
even the proverbially good-natured and courteous Palmyrenes
might not take umbrage at it. As I turned from
one of these little knots of politicians, I encountered
Otho, a nobleman of Palmyra, and one of the queen's
council. `I was just asking myself,' said I, saluting him,
`whether the temper of your people, even and forbearing
as it is, would allow a Roman in their own city to
harangue them, who should not so much advocate a side,
as aim to impart truth.'

`Genuine Palmyrenes,' he answered, `would listen
with patience and civility. But in a crowded street, one
can never answer for his audience. You see here not
only Palmyrenes, but strangers from all parts of the East
— people from our conquered provinces and dependencies,
who feel politically with the Palmyrene, but yet have
not the manners of the Palmyrene. There is an Armenian,
there a Saracen, there an Arab, there a Cappadocian,
there a Jew, and there an Egyptian — all politically,
perhaps, with us, but otherwise, a part of us not more
than the Ethiopian or Scythian. The Senate of Palmyra
would hear all you might say — or the queen's council —
but not the street, I fear. Nay, one of these idle boys,
but whose patriotism is ever boiling over, might, in his
zeal and his ignorance, do that which should bring disgrace

upon our good city. I should rather pray you to
forbear. But if you will extend your walk to the Portico
which I have just left, you will there find a more select
crowd than jostles us where we stand, and perhaps, ears
ready to hear you. All that you may say to divert the
heart of the nation from this mad enterprise, I shall be
most grateful for. But any words which you may speak,
or which a present god might utter, would avail no more
against the reigning frenzy, than would a palm leaf
against a whirlwind of the desert.'

As he uttered these words, with a voice somewhat
elevated, several had gathered about us, listening with
eagerness to what the noble and respected Otho had to
say. They heard him attentively, shook their heads,
and turned away — some saying: `He is a good man,
but timid.' Others scrupled not to impute to him a
`Roman bearing.' When he had ended, seeing that a
number had pressed around, he hastily wished me a
happy day, and moved down the street. I bent my way
toward the Portico, ruminating the while upon the fates
of empire.

I soon reached that magnificent structure, with its endless
lines of columns. More than the usual crowd of
talkers, idlers, strangers, buyers and sellers, thronged its
ample pavements. One portion of it seems to be appropriated,
at least abandoned, to those who have aught that
is rare and beautiful to dispose of. Around one column
stands a Jew with antiquities raked from the ruins of
Babylon or Thebes — displaying their coins, their mutilated
statuary, or half legible inscriptions. At another,
you see a Greek with some masterpiece of Zeuxis —
nobody less — which he swears is genuine, and to his
oaths added a parchment containing its history, with
names of men in Athens, Antioch and Alexandria, who

attest it all. At the foot of another, sits a dealer in manuscripts,
remarkable either as being the complete works
of distinguished authors, or for the perfection of the art of
the copyist, or for their great antiquity. Here were Manetho
and Sanchoniathon to be had, perfect and complete!
Not far from these stood others, who offered statuary, ancient
and modern — vases of every beautiful form, from
those of Egypt and Etruria, to the freshly-wrought ones
of our own Demetrius — and jewelry, of the most rare
and costly kind. There is scarce an article of taste, or
valuable of any sort whatever, but may be found here,
brought from all parts of the world. In Persian, Indian,
and Chinese rarities — and which in Rome are rarities
indeed — I have dealt largely, and shall return with much
to show you.

When, with some toil, I had won a passage through
this busy mart, I mingled with a different crowd. I passed
from buyers and sellers among those who were, like
myself, brought there merely for the purpose of seeing
others, of passing the time, and observing the beautiful
effects of this interminable Portico, with its moving and
changing crowds, robed in a thousand varieties of the
richest costume. It was indeed a spectacle of beauty,
such as I never had seen before, or elsewhere. I chose
out point after point, and stood a silent and rapt observer
of the scene. Of the view from one of these points, I
have purchased a painting, done with exquisite skill,
which I shall send to you, and which will set before you
almost the living reality.

To this part of the Portico those resort who wish to
hear the opinions of the day upon subjects of politics
or literature, or philosophy, or to disseminate their own.
He who cherishes a darling theory upon any branch of
knowledge, and would promulgate it, let him come here,

and he will find hearers at least. As I walked along, I
was attracted by a voice declaiming with much earnestness
to a crowd of hearers, and who seemed, as I drew
near to listen with attention, some being seated upon low
blocks of marble, arranged among the columns of the Portico
for this purpose, others leaning against the columns
themselves, and others standing on the outside of the circle.
The philosopher — for such I perceived him at
once to be — was evidently a Greek. He was arrayed in a
fashionable garb, with a robe much like our toga, thrown
over his shoulders, and which he made great use of in his
gesticulations. A heavy chain of gold wound around his
neck, and then crossing several times his breast, hung
down in artificially-arranged festoons. A general air of
effeminacy produced in the hearer at once a state of mind
not very favorably disposed to receive his opinions. The
first words I caught were these: `In this manner,' said
he, `did that wonderful genius interpret the universe.
'T is not credible that any but children and slaves should
judge differently. Was there once nothing? Then were
there nothing now. But there is something now. We
see it. The world is. Then it has always been. It is
an eternal Being. It is infinite. Ha! can you escape
me now? Say, can there be two infinites? Then where
are your gods? The fabled creator or creators — be they
many or one — of the universe? Vanished, I fancy, at
the touch of my intellectual wand, into thin air. Congratulate
yourselves upon your freedom. The Egyptians
had gods, and you know what they were. The Greeks
had gods, and you know what they were. Those nations
grovelled and writhed under their partly childish, partly
terrific, and partly disgusting superstitions. Happy that
the reality of divine natures can, so easily as I have now
done it, be disproved! The superincumbent gloom is dispersed.
Light has broken through. And so, too, touching
the immortality of the soul. Immortality of the soul!
Did any one of you ever see a soul? I should like to have
that question answered:' — he swung defyingly his robe
and paused — `did any one ever see a soul? Yes, and
that it was immortal, too! You see a body, and therefore
you believe in it. You see that it is mortal, and therefore
you believe in its mortality. You do not see the soul
— therefore you believe in one? Is that your reasoning?
How plain the argument is! When the god or gods —
suppose their being — shall send down and impart to me
the astounding fact that I am not one, as I seem, but two
— am not mortal, as I seem, but immortal — do not melt
into dust at death, but rise in spirit — then will I believe
such things, not otherwise. Have we knowledge of any
other existences — elemental existences — than corporeal
atoms? None. These constitute the human being.
Death is their separation, and that separation means the
end of the being they once did constitute. But it may
all be summed up in a word. When you can see and
touch your own soul, as you do see and touch your body,
believe in it. Deny and reject this principle, and the world
will continue to suffer from its belief in gorgons, demons,
spectres, gods, and monstres — in Tartarean regions and
torments of damned spirits. Adopt it, and life flows undisturbed
by visionary fears, and death comes as a long
and welcome sleep, upon which no terrors and no dreams
intrude.'

Such was the doctrine, and such nearly the language
of the follower of Epicurus. You will easily judge how
far he misrepresented the opinions of that philosopher.
As I turned away from this mischievous dealer in Cimmerian
darkness, I inquired of one who stood near me,
who this great man might be?

`What,' said he, in reply, `do you not know Critias,
the Epicurean? You must be a stranger in Palmyra. Do
you not see, by the quality of his audience, that he leads
away with him all the fine spirits of the city? Observe
how the greater number of these who hang upon his lips
resemble, in their dress and air, the philosopher.'

`I see it is so. It seems as if all the profligates and
young rakes of Palmyra — of the nobler sort — were assembled
here to receive some new lessons in the art of
self-destruction.'

`Many a philosopher of old would, I believe,' he rejoined,
`have prayed that his system might perish with himself,
could he have looked forward into futurity, and known
how it would be interpreted and set forth by his followers.
The temperate and virtuous Epicurus little thought that
his name and doctrine would in after times be the rallying
point for the licentious and dissolute. His philosophy was
crude enough, and mischievous, I grant, in its principles
and tendencies. But it was promulgated, I am sure, with
honest intentions, and he himself was not aware of its
extreme liability to misapprehension and perversion. How
would his ears tingle at what we have now heard!'

`And would, after all, deserve it,' I replied. `For he,
it seems to me, is too ignorant of human nature, to venture
upon the office of teacher of mankind, who believes that
the reality of a superintending providence can be denied,
with safety to the world. A glance at history, and the
slightest penetration into human character, would have
shown him, that atheism, in any of its forms, is incompatible
with the existence of a social state.'

`What you say is very true,' replied the Palmyrene;
`I defend only the intentions and personal character of
Epicurus, not his real fitness for his office. This Critias,
were it not for the odiousness of any interference with

men's opinions, I should like to see driven from our city
back to his native Athens. Listen, now, as he lays down
the method of a happy life. See how these young idlers
drink in the nectarean stream. But enough. I leave them
in their own stye. Farewell! Pray invite the philosopher
to visit you at Rome. We can spare him.'

Saying this, he turned upon his heel, and went his way.
I also passed on. Continuing my walk up the Portico, I
perceived at a little distance, another dark mass of persons,
apparently listening with profound attention to one
who was addressing them. Hoping to hear some one
discoursing upon the condition of the country, and its
prospects, I joined the circle. But I was disappointed.
The orator was a follower of Plato, and a teacher of his
philosophy. His aim seemed to be to darken the minds
of his hearers by unintelligible refinements, at least such
I thought the effect must be. He clothed his thoughts —
if thoughts there really were any — in such a many-colored
cloud of poetic diction, that the mind, while it was
undoubtedly excited, received not a single clear idea, but
was left in a pleasing, half-bewildered, state, with visions
of beautiful divine truth floating before it, which it in vain
attempted to arrest, and convert to reality. All was
obscure, shadowy, impalpable. Yet was he heard with
every testimony of reverence, on the part of his audience.
They evidently thought him original and profound, in proportion
as he was incomprehensible. I could not help
calling to mind the remark of the Palmyrene who had just
parted from me. It is difficult to believe that Plato himself
labored to be obscure, though some affirm it. I would
rather believe that his great mind, always searching after
truth at the greatest heights and lowest depths, often but
partially seized it, being defeated by its very vastness; yet,
ambitious to reveal it to mankind, he hesitated not to

exhibit it in the form, and with the completeness, he best
could. It was necessary, therefore, that what he but half
knew himself, should be imperfectly and darkly stated,
and dimly comprehended by others. For this reason, his
writings are obscure — obscure, not because of truths for
their vastness beyond the reach of our minds, but because
they abound in conceptions but half formed — in inconsequential
reasonings — in logic overlaid and buried beneath
a poetic phraseology. They will always be obscure, in
spite of the labors of the commentators; or, a commentary
can make them plain, only by substituting the sense
of the critic for the no-sense of the original. But Plato did
not aim at darkness. And could his spirit have listened to
the jargon which I had just heard proclaimed as Platonism,
consisting of common-place thoughts, laboriously
tortured and involved, till their true semblance was lost,
and instead of them a wordy mist — glowing indeed,
oftentimes, with rainbow-colors — was presented to the
mind of the hearer, for him to feed upon, he would at the
moment have as heartily depised, as he had formerly
gloried in, the name and office of philosopher.

I waited not to learn the results at which this great
master of wisdom would arrive, but quickly turned away,
and advanced still farther toward the upper termination
of the Portico. The numbers of those who frequented
this vast pile diminished sensibly at this part of it. Nevertheless,
many were still like myself wandering listlessly
around. Quite at the extremity of the building, I observed,
however, a larger collection than I had noticed
before; and, as it appeared to me, deeply absorbed by
what they heard. I cared not to make one of them, having
had enough of philosophy for the day. But as I stood not
far from them, idly watching the labors of the workmen
who were carrying up the column of Aurelian — noting

how one laid the stone which another brought, and how
another bore along and up the dizzy ladders the mortar
which others tempered, and how the larger masses of
marble were raised to their places by machines worked
by elephants, and how all went on in an exact order —
while I stood thus, the voice of the speaker frequently fell
upon my ear, and at last, by its peculiarity, and especially
by the unwonted earnestness of the tone, drew me away
to a position nearer the listening crowd. By the words
which I now distinctly caught, I discovered that it was a
Christian who was speaking. I joined the outer circle of
hearers, but the preacher — for so the Christians term
those who declare their doctrines in public — was concealed
from me by a column. I could hear him distinctly,
and I could see the faces, with their expressions, of those
whom he addressed. The greater part manifested the
deepest interest and sympathy with him who addressed
them, but upon the countenances of some sat scorn and
contempt — ridicule, doubt, and disbelief. As the voice
fell upon my ear, in this my nearer position, I was startled.
`Surely,' I said, `I have heard it before, and yet as surely
I never before heard a Christian preach.' The thought
of Probus flashed across my mind; and suddenly changing
my place — and by passing round the assembly, coming
in front of the preacher — I at once recognised the pale
and melancholy features of the afflicted Christian. I was
surprised and delighted. He had convinced me, at the
few interviews I had had with him, that he was no common
man, and I had determined to obtain from him, if I should
ever meet him again, all necessary knowledge of the
Christian institutions and doctrine. Although I had
learned much, in the mean time, from both Julia and the
Hermit, still there was much left which I felt I could
obtain, probably in a more exact manner, from Probus.
I was rejoiced to see him. He was evidently drawing to
the close of his address. The words which I first caught,
were nearly these:

`Thus have I declared to you, Palmyrenes, Romans,
and whoever are here, how Christianity seeks the happiness
of man, by securing his virtue. Its object is your
greater well-being through the truths it publishes and enforces.
It comes to your understandings, not to darken
and confound them, by words without meaning, but to
shed light upon them, by a revelation of those few sublime
doctrines of which I have now discoursed to you.
Has the Greek, the Roman, or the Persian philosophy,
furnished your minds with truths like these? Has life a
great object, or death an issue of certainty and joy, under
either of those systems of faith? Systems of faith! I
blush to term them so. I am a Roman, the son of a
priest of the temple of Jupiter. Shall I reveal to you the
greater and the lesser mysteries of that worship? I see
by most expressive signs that it cannot be needful.
Why, then, if ye yourselves know and despise the popular
worship, why will you not consider the claims of
Jesus of Nazareth?'

`I despise it not,' cried a voice from the throng, I
honor it.'

`In every nation,' continued the preacher, `and among
all worshippers, are there those whom God will accept.
The sincere offering of the heart will never be refused.
Socrates, toiling and dying in the cause of truth — though
that truth in the light of the Gospel were error — is beloved
of God. But if God has in these latter days announced
new truth, if he has sent a special messenger to
teach it, or if it be asserted by persons of intelligence,
and apparent honesty, that he has, ought not every sincere
lover of truth and of God, or the gods, to inquire

diligently whether it be so or not? Socrates would
have done so. Search, men of Palmyra, into the certainty
of these things. These many years has the word
of Christ been preached in your streets, yet how few
followers can as yet be counted of him who came to bless
you? Sleep no longer. Close not the ear against the
parent voice of the Gospel. Fear not that the religion
of Jesus comes to reign over aught but your hearts. It
asks no dominion over your temporal affairs. It cares
not for thrones, or the sword, or princely revenues, or
seats of honor. It would serve you, not rule over you.
And the ministers of Christ are your servants in spiritual
things, seeking not yours, but you.'

`Paul! Paul of Antioch!' shouted several voices at
once.

`I defend not Paul of Antioch,' cried Probus, no ways
disconcerted. `Judge Christianity, I pray you, not by
me, or by Paul, but by itself. Because a fool lectures
upon the philosophy of Plato, you do not therefore condemn
Plato for a fool. Because a disciple of Zeno lives
luxuriously, you do not, for that, take up a judgment
against the philosopher himself. Paul of Samosata, not
in his doctrine, but in his life, is an alien — a foreigner
— an adversary, and no friend or servant of Jesus.
Listen, citizens of Palmyra, while I read to you what
the founder of Christianity himself says touching this
matter;' and he drew from beneath his robe a small
parchment roll, and turning to the page he sought, read
in a loud voice words of Jesus such as these: `He that
is greatest among YOU shall be your servant. Whosoever
shall exalt himself, shall be abased, and he that shall
humble himself, shall be exalted.' This is the doctrine
of Christ. According to Jesus, `he among his disciples
is greatest, who performs for others the most essential

service.' He then turned to another part of the book,
and read a long, and, as it struck me, beautiful passage,
in which the author of Christianity was represented as
stooping and washing the feet of his disciples, to enforce,
in a more lively way, his doctrine of humility and philanthropy.
When he had finished it, a deep silence had
fallen upon those who listened. It was broken by the
voice of Probus once more saying, in low and sorrowful
tones: `I confess — with grief and shame, I confess —
that pride, and arrogance, and the lust of power, are
already among the ministers of Jesus. They are sundering
themselves from their master, and thrusting a
sword into the life of his Gospel. And if this faith of
Christ should ever — as a prophetic eye sees it so sure to
do — fill the throne of the world, and sit in Cæsar's
place — may the God who gave it, appear for it, that it
perish not through the encumbering weight of earthly
glory. Through tribulation and persecution it has held
on its way without swerving. Prosperity begins already
to weaken and defile —'

What more Probus would have added, I know not;
but at this point, an unusual disturbance arose in the
streets. Trumpets sent forth their long peal, and a troop
of out-riders, as accompanying some great personage, rode
rapidly along, followed by the crowd of idle lookers-on.
And immediately a chariot appeared, with a single individual
seated in it, and who seemed to take great pleasure
in his own state. No sooner had the pageant arrived
over against that part of the Portico where we stood, than
one and another of Probus's hearers exclaimed:

`Ha! Paul! Paul of Antioch! Behold a Christian
servant?' And the whole throng turned away in confusion,
to watch the spectacle.

`An unhappy commentary upon the doctrine,' said a
Palmyrene to me, as he turned sneeringly away.

`What say you to this?' asked another, of Probus
himself, as he descended from his rostrum, and stood
gazing with the rest, but with a burning cheek and downcast
eye.

`I say,' he replied, `what I have said before, that
yonder bishop, however christianized his head may be, is
a misbeliever in his heart. He is a true anti-Christ.'

`I am disposed to trust you,' rejoined the other. `I
have heard you, not without emotion. We have had
among us many who have declared the doctrine of Christ,
but I have heeded them not. It is different with me
now. I am desirous to know what this doctrine of Christ
is. I have been impressed by what you recited from the
writings of Jesus. How, Christian, shall I apply myself,
and where, to learn more than I know now?'

`If thou wilt learn of so humble a teacher as I am —
who yet know somewhat of what Christianity really is —
come and hear me at the place of Christian worship in the
street that runs behind the great Persian Inn. There,
this evening, when the sun is down, shall I preach again
the truth in Christ.'

`I shall not fail to be there,' said the other, and moved
away.

`Nor shall I, Probus,' said I, heartily saluting him.

`Noble Piso!' he cried, his countenance suddenly growing
bright as the sun, `I am glad to meet you at length.
And have you, too, heard a Christian preach? A senator
of Rome?'

`I have; and shall gladly hear more. I am not, however,
a Christian, Probus; I profess to be but a seeker
after truth, if perhaps it may be found in your faith, having

failed to discover it among dead or living philosophers.
I shall hear you to-night.'

After many mutual inquiries concerning each other's
welfare, we separated.

Upon returning to the house of Gracchus, and finding
myself again in the company of Fausta and her father, I
said: `I go to-night to hear a Christian — the Christian
Probus — discourse concerning the Christian doctrine.
Will you accompany me, Fausta?'

`Not now, Lucius,' she replied; `my head and heart
are too full of the interests and cares of Zenobia, to allow
me to think of aught else. No other reason, I assure you,
prevents. I have no fears of the opinions of others to
hinder me. When our public affairs are once more in a
settled state, I shall not be slow to learn more of the religion
of which you speak. Julia's attachment to it, of
itself, has almost made a convert of me already, so full of
sympathy in all things is a true affection. But the heart
is a poor logician. It darts to its object, overleaping all
reasons, and may as well rest in error as truth. Whatever
the purity of Julia and the honesty and vigor of Zenobia
accept and worship, I believe I should, without farther investigation,
though they were the fooleries and gods of
Egypt. Did you succeed in your search of the Arab?'

`No: but perhaps Milo has. To tell the truth, I was
soon diverted from that object, first by the excitement I
found prevailing among the people on the affairs of the
kingdom, and afterward by the spectacles of the Portico,
and the preaching of Probus, whom I encountered there.'

In the evening, soon as the sun was set, I wound my
way to the Christians' place of worship.

It was in a part of the city remote and obscure, indicating,
very plainly, that whatever Christianity may be
destined to accomplish in this city, it has done little as

yet. Indeed, I do not as yet perceive what principle of
strength or power it possesses, sufficient to force its way
through the world, and into the hearts of men. It allows
not the use of the sword; it resorts not to the civil arm;
it is devoid of all that should win upon the senses of the
multitude, being, beyond all other forms of faith, remarkable
for its simplicity, for its spiritual and intellectual
character. Moreover, it is stern and uncompromising in
its morality, requiring the strictest purity of life, and making
virtue to consist not in the outward act, but in the
secret motive which prompts the act. It is at open and
unintermitting war with all the vain and vicious inclinations
of the heart. It insists upon an undivided
sovereignty over the whole character and life of the
individual. And in return for such surrender, it bestows
no other reward than an inward consciousness of
right action, and of the approbation of God, with the
hope of immortality. It seems thus to have man's
whole nature, and all the institutions of the world, especially
of other existing religions, to contend with. If it
prevail against such odds, and with such means as it alone
employs, it surely will carry along with it, its own demonstration
of its divinity. But how it shall have power to
achieve such conquests, I now cannot see, nor conjecture.

Arriving at the place designated by Probus, I found a
low building of stone, which seemed to have been diverted
from former uses of a different kind, to serve its present
purpose as a temple of religious worship. Passing through
a door, of height scarce sufficient to admit a person of
ordinary stature, I reached a vestibule, from which, by a
descent of a few steps, I entered a large circular apartment,
low but not inelegant, with a vaulted ceiling, supported
by chaste Ionic columns. The assembly was
already seated, but the worship not begun. The service

consisted of prayers to God, offered in the name of Christ
— of reading a portion of the sacred books of the Christians,
of preaching, of music sung to religious words,
and voluntary offerings of money, or other gifts, for the
poor.

I cannot doubt that you are repelled, my Curtius, by
this account of a worship of such simplicity, as to amount
almost to poverty. But I must tell you that never have I
been so overwhelmed by emotions of the noblest kind, as
when sitting in the midst of these despised Nazarenes, and
joining in their devotions; for to sit neuter in such a
scene, it was not in my nature to do, nor would it have
been in yours, much as you affect to despise this `superstitious
race.' This was indeed worship. It was a true communion
of the creature with the Creator. Never before
had I heard a prayer. How different from the loud and
declamatory harangues of our priests! The full and rich
tones of the voice of Probus, expressive of deepest reverence
of the Being he addressed, and of profoundest humility on
the part of the worshipper, seeming, too, as if uttered in
no part by the usual organs of speech, but as if pronounced
by the very heart itself, fell upon the charmed ear like
notes from another world. There was a new and strange
union, both in the manner of the Christian, and in the
sentiments he expressed, of an awe such as I never before
witnessed in man towards the gods, and a familiarity and
child-like confidence, that made me feel as if the God to
whom he prayed was a father and a friend, in a much
higher sense than we are accustomed to regard the Creator
of the universe. It was a child soliciting mercies from a
kind and considerate parent — conscious of much frailty
and ill desert, but relying, too, with a perfect trust, both
upon the equity and benignity of the God of his faith. I
received an impression, too, from the quiet and breathless

silence of the apartment, from the low and but just audible
voice of the preacher, of the near neighborhood of
gods and men — of the universal presence of the infinite
spirit of the Deity — which certainly I had never received
before. I could hardly divest myself of the feeling that
the God addressed, was, in truth, in the midst of the temple;
and I found my eye turning to the ceiling, as if there
must be some visible manifestation of his presence. I
wish you could have been there. I am sure that after
witnessing such devotions, contempt or ridicule would be
the last emotions you would ever entertain toward this
people. Neither could you any longer apply to them the
terms fanatic, enthusiast, or superstitious. You would
have seen a calmness, a sobriety, a decency, so remarkable;
you would have heard sentiments, so rational, so instructive,
so exalted, that you would have felt your prejudices
breaking away and disappearing without any volition or
act of your own. Nay, against your will, they would have
fallen. And nothing would have been left but the naked
question — not is this faith beautiful and worthy — but is
this religion true or false?

When the worship had been begun by prayer to God,
in the name of Christ, then one of the officiating priests
opened the book of the Christians — the Gospels — and
read from the Greek in which they are written — changing
it into the Palmyrene dialect, as he read — diverse passages,
some relating to the life of Jesus, and others being
extracts of letters written by apostles of his to individuals
or churches, to which I listened with attention and pleasure.
When this was over, Probus rose, standing upon a
low platform, like the rostrums from which our lawyers
plead, and first reading a sentence from the sayings of
Paul, an apostle of Jesus, of which this was the substance,
`Jesus came into the world, bringing life and immortality

to light,' he delivered, with a most winning and persuasive
beauty, a discourse, or oration, the purpose of which
was to show, that Jesus was sent into the world to bring
to light or make plain the true character and end of the
life on earth, and also the reality and true nature of a
future existence. In doing this, he exposed — but in a
manner so full of the most earnest humanity, that no one
could be offended — the errors of many of the philosophers
concerning a happy life, and compared, with the greatest
force, their requisitions with those of the gospel, as he
termed his religion; showing what unworthy and inadequate
conceptions had prevailed, as to what constitutes a
man truly great, and good, and happy. Then he went
on to show, that it was such a life only as he had described,
that could make a being like man worthy of immortality
— that although Jesus had proved the reality of a
future and immortal existence, yet he had, with even
more importunity, and earnestness, and frequency, laid
down his precepts touching a virtuous life on earth. He
finally went into the Christian argument in proof of a
future existence, and exhorted those who heard him, and
who desired to inhabit the Christian's heaven, to live
the life which Christ had brought to light, and himself
had exemplified, on earth, laboring to impress their minds
with the fact, that it was a superior goodness which made
Jesus what he was, and that it must be by a similar goodness
that his followers could fit themselves for the immortality
he had revealed. All this was with frequent
reference to existing opinions, and practices, and with
large illustrations drawn from ancient and modern religious
history.

What struck me most, after having listened to the discourse
of Probus to the end, was the practical aim and
character of the religion he preached. It was no fanciful

speculation or airy dream. It was not a play-thing of the
imagination he had been holding up to our contemplation,
but a series of truths and doctrines bearing with
eminent directness, and with a perfect adaptation,
upon human life, the effect and issue of which, widely
and cordially received, must be to give birth to a condition
of humanity not now any where to be found on the
earth. I was startled by no confounding and overwhelming
mysteries; neither my faith nor my reason was burdened
or offended; but I was shown, as by a light from
heaven, how truly the path which leads to the possession
and enjoyment of a future existence, coincides with that
which conducts to the best happiness of earth. It was a
religion addressed to the reason and the affections; and
evidence enough was afforded in the representations given
of its more important truths, that it was furnished with
ample power to convince and exalt the reason, to satisfy
and fill the affections. No sooner shall I have returned
to the leisure of my home, to my study and my books,
than I shall seriously undertake an examination of the
Christian argument. It surely becomes those who fill
the place in the social state which I do, to make up an
intelligent judgment upon questions like this, so that I
may stand prepared to defend it, and urge it upon my countrymen,
if I am convinced of its truth, and of its advantage
to my country, or assail and oppose it, if I shall determine
it to be what it is so frequently termed, a pernicious and
hateful superstition.

When the discourse was ended, of the power and various
beauty of which I cannot pretend properly to acquaint
you, another prayer, longer and more general, was offered,
to parts of which there were responses by the hearers.
Then, as a regular part of the service, voluntary offerings
and gifts were made by those present for the poor. More

than once, as a part of the worship, hymns were sung to
some plain and simple air, in which all the assembly
joined. Sometimes, to the services which I witnessed,
Probus informed me there is added a further ceremony,
called the `Lord's supper,' being a social service, during
which bread and wine are partaken of, in memory of
Jesus Christ. This was the occasion, in former times, of
heavy charges against the Christians, of rioting and intemperance,
and even of more serious crimes. But Probus
assures me that they were even then utterly groundless,
and that now nothing can be more blameless than this
simple spiritual repast.

The worship being ended, and Probus having descended
from his seat, I accosted him, giving him what I am
certain were very sincere thanks for the information I
had obtained from his oration, concerning the primary
articles of the Christian faith.

`It has been,' said he, in reply, `with utmost satisfaction,
that I beheld a person of your rank and intelligence
among my hearers. The change of the popular
belief throughout the Roman empire, which must come,
will be a less tumultuous one, in proportion as we can
obtain even so much as a hearing, from those who sit at
the head of society, in rank and intelligence. Let me
make a sincere convert of a Roman emperor, and in a
few years the temples of Paganism would lie even with
the ground. Believe me, Christianity has penetrated
deeper and farther than you in the seats of power dream
of. While you are satisfied with things as they are, and
are content to live on and enjoy the leisure and honors
the gods crown you with, the classes below you, less absorbed
by the things of the world — because perhaps having
fewer of them, — give their thoughts to religion and the
prospects which it holds out of a happier existence after

the present. Having little here, they are less tied to the
world than others, and more solicitous concerning the
more, and the better, of which Christianity speaks.'

`I am not insensible,' I replied, `to the truth of what
you say. The cruelties, moreover, exercised by the
emperors toward the Christians, the countless examples
of those who have died in torments for the truth of this
religion, have drawn largely and deeply upon the sympathy
of the general heart, and disposed it favorably toward belief.
In Rome, surrounded by ancient associations,
embosomed in a family remarkable for its attachment to
the ancient order of things — friends of power, of letters,
and philosophy, I hardly was conscious of the existence
of such a thing as Christianity. The name was never
heard where I moved. Portia, my noble mother, with a
heart beating warm for every thing human, instinctively
religious beyond any whom I have ever seen or known of
the Christian or any other faith, living but to increase the
happiness of all around her, was yet — shall I say it? —
a bigot to the institutions of her country. The government
and the religion under which all the Pisos had lived,
and flourished, which had protected the rights and nursed
the virtues of her great husband and his family, were good
enough for her, for her children, and for all. Her ear
was closed against the sound of Christianity, as naturally
as an adder's against all sound. She could not, and never
did hear it. From her I received my principles and first
impressions. Not even the history, nor so much as a
word of the sufferings of the Christians, ever fell on my
ear. I grew up in all things a Piso — the true child of
my mother — in all save her divine virtues. And it was
not till a few years since, I broke loose from domestic and
Roman life, and travelled to Greece and Egypt, and now
to the East, that I became practically aware of the existence

of such a people as the Christians — and my own
is, I suppose, but a specimen of the history of my order.
I now perceive, that while we have slept, truth has been
advancing its posts, till the very citadel of the world is
about to be scaled. The leaven of Christianity is cast
into the lump, and will work its necessary end. It now,
I apprehend, will matter but little what part the noble and
the learned shall take, or even the men in power. The
people have taken theirs, and the rest must follow, at least
submit. Do I over-estimate the inroads of the religion
upon the mind and heart of the world?'

`I am persuaded you do not,' replied the Christian.
`Give me, as I said before, one Roman Emperor for a
convert, and I will insure the immediate and final triumph
of Christianity. But in the mean time, another Nero,
another Domitian, another Decius, may arise, and the
bloody acts of other persecutions stain the annals of our
guilty empire.'

`The gods forbid!' said I; `yet who shall say it may
not be! Much as I honor Aurelian for his many virtues, I
feel not sure that in the right hands he might not be
roused to as dark deeds as any before him — darker they
would be — inasmuch as his nature for sternness and
severity has not, I think, been equalled. If the mild and
just Valerian could be so wrought upon by the malignant
Macrianus, what security have we in the case of Aurelian?
He is naturally superstitious.'

`O that in Aurelian,' said the Christian, `were lodged
the woman's heart of Zenobia! — we then could trust
the morrow as well as enjoy to-day. Here no laws seal
the lips of the Christian: he may tell his tale to as many
as choose to hear. I learn, since my arrival, that the
Princess Julia is favorably inclined toward the Christian
cause. Dost thou know what the truth may be?'

`It is certain that she admires greatly the character
and the doctrine of Christ, and I should think, believes
— but she does not as yet openly confess herself a follower
of the Nazarene. She is perhaps as much a
Christian as Zenobia is a Jewess.'

`I may well rejoice in that,' replied the Christian —
`yes, and do.'

The lights of the apartment were now extinguished,
and we parted.

If I am ever again in Rome, my Curtius, it shall be my
care to bring to your acquaintance and Lucilia's, the
Christian Probus. Farewell!