 | Probus, or, Rome in the third century |  |
LETTER IV.
FROM PISO TO FAUSTA.
I promised you, Fausta, before the news should reach
you in any other way, to relate the occurrences and describe
the ceremonies of the day appointed for the dedication
of the new Temple of the Sun. The day has
now passed, not without incidents of even painful interest
to ourselves and therefore to you, and I sit down to
fulfill my engagements.
Vast preparations had been making for the dedication
for many days or even months preceding, and the day
arose upon a city full of expectation of the shows, ceremonies
and games that were to reward their long and
patient waiting. For the season of the year the day
was hot, unnaturally so; and the sky filled with those
massive clouds, piled like mountains of snow one upon
another, which, while they both please the eye by their
forms and veil the fierce splendors of the sun as they
now and then sail across his face, at the same time portend
wind and storm. All Rome was early astir. It was
ushered in by the criers traversing the streets and proclaiming
the rites and spectacles of the day, what they
were and where to be witnessed, followed by troops of
boys imitating in their grotesque way the pompous
declarations of the men of authority, not unfrequently
drawing down upon their heads the curses and the batons
of the insulted dignitaries. A troop of this sort
I were sitting at our morning meal. As the crier ended
his proclamation and the shouts of the applauding urchins
died away, Milo, who is our attendant in preference
to any other and all others, observed,
`That the fellow of a crier deserved to have his
head beat about with his own rod, for coming round
with his news not till after the greatest show of the day
was over.'
`What mean you?' I asked. `Explain.'
`What should I mean,' he replied, `but the morning
sacrifice at the temple.'
`And what so wonderful,' said Julia, `in a morning
sacrifice? The temples are open every morning, are
they not?'
`Yes, truly are they,' rejoined Milo; `but not for
so great a purpose. Curio wished me to have been
there, and says nothing could have been more propitious.
They died as the gods love to have them.'
`Was there no bellowing nor struggling, then?' said
Julia.
`Neither, Curio assures me; but they met the knife
of the priest as they would the sword of an enemy on
the field of battle.'
`How say you?' said Julia, quickly, turning pale;
`do I hear aright, Milo, or are you mocking? God forbid
that you should speak of a human sacrifice.'
`It is even so, mistress. And why should it not be
so? If the favor of the gods, upon whom we all depend,
as the priests tell us, is to be purchased so well in
no other way, what is the life of one man or of many in
such a cause? The great Gallienus, when his life had
and religion, used to make amends by a few captives
slain to Jupiter; to which, doubtless, may be ascribed
his prosperous reign. But, as I was saying,
there was, as Curio informed me, at the market, not
long afterwards, a sacrifice, on the private altar of the
temple, of ten captives. Their blood flowed just as the
great god of the temple showed himself in the horizon.
It would have done you good, Curio said, to see with
what a hearty and dexterous zeal Fronto struck the
knife into their hearts — for to no inferior minister would
he delegate the sacred office.'
`Lucius,' cried Julia, `I thought that such offerings
were now no more. Is it so, that superstition yet delights
itself in the blood of murdered men?'
`It is just so,' I was obliged to reply. `With a people
naturally more gentle and humane than we of Rome
this custom would long ago have fallen into disuse.
They would have easily found a way, as all people do,
to conform their religious doctrine and offerings to their
feelings and instincts. But the Romans, by nature and
long training, lovers of blood, their country built upon
the ruins of others and cemented with blood — the taste
for it is not easily eradicated. There are temples where
human sacrifices have never ceased. Laws have restrained
their frequency — have forbidden them under
heaviest penalties unless permitted by the state — but
these laws ever have been, and are now evaded; and it
is the settled purpose of Fronto and others of his stamp to
restore to them their lost honors, and make them again,
as they used to be, the chief rite in the worship of the
painfully, have yet been so effectually removed.'
Julia had for some time blamed as over-ardent the
zeal of the Christians. She had thought that the evil of
the existing superstitions was over-estimated and that it
were wiser to pursue a course of more moderation; that
a system that nourished such virtues as she found in
Portia, in Tacitus, and others like them, could not be so
corrupting in its power as the Christians were in the
habit of representing it; that if we could succeed in substituting
Christianity quietly, without alienating the
affections or shocking too violently the prejudices of the
believers in the prevailing superstitions, our gain would
be double. To this mode of arguing I knew she was
impelled by her love and almost reverence of Portia; and
how could I blame it, springing from such a cause? I
had, almost criminally, allowed her to blind herself in a
way she never would have done had her strong mind
acted, as on other subjects, untramelled and free. I was
not sorry that Milo had brought before her mind a fact
which, however revolting in its horror to such a nature
as hers, could not but heal while it wounded.
`Milo,' said Julia, as I ended, `say now that you have
been jesting; that this is a piece of wit with which you
would begin in a suitable way an extraordinary day;
this is one of your Gallienus fictions.'
`Before the gods, if never before,' replied Milo, `I
have told you the naked truth. But not the whole —
for Curio left me not till he had shown how each had
died. Of the ten, but three, he averred, resisted, or died
unwillingly. The three were Germans from beyond
prison till their bones were ready to start through the
skin. Yet were they not ready to die. It seemed as if
there were something they longed — more even than
for life or freedom — to say; but they might as well
have been dumb and tongueless, for none understood
their barbarous jargon. When they found that their
words were in vain, they wrung their hands in their wo,
and cried out aloud in their agony. Then, however, at
the stern voice of Fronto warning them of the hour,
they ceased — embraced each other, and received the fatal
blow; the others signified their pleasure at dying
so rather than to be thrown to wild beasts or left to die
by slow degrees within their dungeon's walls. Two
rejoiced that it was their fate to pour out their blood
upon the altar of a god, and knelt devoutly before the
uplifted knife of Fronto. Never, said Curio, was there
a more fortunate offering. Aurelian heard the report of
it with lively joy, and said that `now all would go well.'
Curio is a good friend of mine; will it please you to
hear these things from his own lips?'
`No,' said Julia; `I would hear no more. I have
heard more than enough. How needful, Lucius, if
these things are so, that our Christian zeal abate not!
I see that this stern and bloody superstition requires that
they who would deal with it must carry their lives in
their hand, ready to part with nothing so easily, if by so
doing they can hew away one of the branches or tear
up one of the roots of this ancient and pernicious error.
I blame not Probus longer — no, nor the wild rage of
Macer.'
`Two, lady, of the captives were of Palmyra; the
queen's name and yours were last upon their lips.'
`Great God! how retribution like a dark pursuing
shadow hangs upon the steps of guilt. Even here it
seeks us. Alas, my mother! Heaven grant that these
things fall not upon your ears!'
Julia was greatly moved, and sat a long time silent,
her face buried in her hands, and weeping. I motioned
to Milo to withdraw and say no more. Upon Julia, although
so innocent of all wrong — guiltless as an infant
of the blame, whatever it may be, which the world fixes
upon Zenobia — yet upon her as heavily as upon her
great mother fall the sorrows which sooner or later overtake
those who for any purpose, in whatever degree
selfish, have involved their fellow-creatures in useless
suffering. Being part of the royal house, Julia feels
that she must bear her portion of its burdens. Time
alone can cure this grief.
But you are waiting with a woman's impatient curiosity
to hear of the dedication.
At the appointed hour we were at the palace of Aurelian
on the Palatine, where a procession, pompous as
art and rank and numbers could make it, was formed, to
move thence by a winding and distant route to the temple
near the foot of the Quirinal. Julia repaired with
Portia to a place of observation near the temple — I to
the palace to join the company of the emperor. Of the
gorgeous magnificence of the procession I shall tell you
nothing. It was in extent and variety of pomp and costliness
of decoration, a copy of that of the late triumph,
and went even beyond the captivating splendor of the
— lent such charms as it could to our passage
through the streets to the temple, from a thousand performers.
As we drew near to the lofty fabric, I thought that
no scene of such various beauty and magnificence had
ever met my eye. The temple itself is a work of unrivaled
art. In size it surpasses any other building of
the same kind in Rome, and for the excellence of workmanship
and purity of design, although it may fall below
the standard of Hadrian's age, yet for a certain air of
grandeur and luxuriance of invention in its details, and
lavish profusion of embellishment in gold and silver, no
temple nor other edifice of any preceding age ever perhaps
resembled it. Its order is the Corinthian, of the
Roman form, and the entire building is surrounded by
its slender columns, each composed of a single piece of
marble. Upon the front is wrought Apollo surrounded
by the Hours. The western extremity is approached by
a flight of steps of the same breadth as the temple itself.
At the eastern there extends beyond the walls to a distance
equal to the length of the building a marble platform,
upon which stands the altar of sacrifice, and which
is ascended by various flights of steps, some little more
than a gently rising plain, up which the beasts are led
that are destined to the altar.
When this vast extent of wall and column of the most
dazzling brightness came into view, everywhere covered,
together with the surrounding temples, palaces and theatres,
with a dense mass of human beings, of all climes
and regions, dressed out in their richest attire — music
from innumerable instruments filling the heavens with
every few moments and from different points, as Aurelian
advanced, shaking the air with its thrilling din —
the neighing of horses, the frequent blasts of the trumpet
— the whole made more solemnly imposing by the
vast masses of cloud which swept over the sky, now
suddenly unveiling and again eclipsing the sun, the great
god of this idolatry, and from which few could withdraw
their gaze; — when at once this all broke upon my eye
and ear, I was like a child who before had never seen
aught but his own village and his own rural temple, in
the effect wrought upon me, and the passiveness with
which I abandoned myself to the sway of the senses.
Not one there was more ravished by the outward circumstance
and show. I thought of Rome's thousand
years, of her power, her greatness and universal empire,
and for a moment my step was not less proud than that
of Aurelian. But after that moment — when the senses
had had their fill, when the eye had seen the glory, and
the ear had fed upon the harmony and the praise, then I
thought and felt very differently; sorrow and compassion
for these gay multitudes were at my heart; prophetic
forebodings of disaster, danger, and ruin to those
to whose sacred cause I had linked myself, made my
tongue to falter in its speech and my limbs to tremble.
I thought that the superstition that was upheld by the
wealth and the power, whose manifestations were before
me, had its roots in the very centre of the earth — far
too deep down for a few like myself ever to reach them.
I was like one whose last hope of life and escape is suddenly
struck away.
I was roused from these meditations by our arrival at
columns, on a throne of gold and ivory, sat the emperor
of the world, surrounded by the senate, the colleges
of augurs and haruspices, and by the priests of the various
temples of the capital, all in their peculiar costume.
Then Fronto, the priest of the temple, when the crier
had proclaimed that the hour of worship and sacrifice
had come, and had commanded silence to be observed —
standing at the altar, glittering in his white and golden
robes like a messenger of light — bared his head, and
lifting his face up toward the sun, offered in clear and
sounding tones the prayer of dedication. As he came
toward the close of his prayer, he, as is so usual, with
loud and almost frantic cries and importunate repetition,
called upon the god to hear him, and then with appropriate
names and praises invoked the Father of gods
and men to be present and hear. Just as he had thus
solemnly invoked Jupiter by name, and was about to
call upon the other gods in the same manner, the clouds,
which had been deepening and darkening, suddenly obscured
the sun; a distant peal of thunder rolled along
the heavens, and at the same moment from the dark recesses
of the temple a voice of preternatural power came
forth, proclaiming so that the whole multitude heard the
words — `God is but one; the king eternal, immortal,
invisible.' It is impossible to describe the horror that
seized those multitudes. Many cried out with fear, and
each seemed to shrink behind the other. Paleness sat
upon every face. The priest paused as if struck by a
power from above. Even the brazen Fronto was appalled.
Aurelian leaped from his seat, and by his countenance,
white and awe-struck, showed that to him it
gazing at the dark entrance into the temple from which
the sound had come. Fronto hastily approached him,
and whispering but one word as it were into his ear,
the emperor started; the spell that bound him was dissolved;
and recovering himself — making indeed as
though a very different feeling had possessed him —
cried out in fierce tones to his guards,
`Search the temple; some miscreant hid away among
the columns profanes thus the worship and the place.
Seize him and drag him forth to instant death.'
The guards of the emperor and the servants of the
temple rushed in at that bidding, and searched in every
part the interior of the building. They soon emerged,
saying that the search was fruitless. The temple in all
its aisles and apartments was empty.
The ceremonies, quiet being again restored, then went
on. Twelve bulls, of purest white and of perfect forms,
their horns bound about with fillets, were now led by
the servants of the temple up the marble steps to the
front of the altar, where stood the cultrarii and haruspices,
ready to slay them and examine their entrails.
The omens as gathered by the eyes of all from the fierce
strugglings and bellowings of the animals as they were
led toward the place of sacrifice — some even escaping
from the hands of those who had the management of
them — and from the violent and convulsive throes of
others as the blow fell upon their heads, or the knife
severed their throats, were of the darkest character, and
brought a deep gloom upon the brow of the emperor.
The report of the haruspices upon examination of the
entrails was little calculated to remove that gloom. It
was the sight of a heart so lean and withered that it
scarce seemed possible it should ever have formed a part
of a living animal. But more harrowing than all was
the voice of Fronto, who prying with the haruspices
into the smoking carcass of one of the slaughtered bulls,
suddenly cried out with horror that `no heart was to be
found.'
The emperor, hardly to be restrained by those near
him from some expression of anger, ordered a more diligent
search to be made.
`It is not in nature that such a thing should be,' he
said. `Men are, in truth, sometimes without hearts;
but brutes, as I think, never.'
The report was however confidently confirmed. Fronto
himself approached, and said that his eye had from
the first been upon the beast, and the exact truth had
been stated.
The carcasses, such parts as were for the flames,
were then laid upon the vast altar, and the flames of the
sacrifice ascended.
The heavens were again obscured by thick clouds,
which accumulating into dark masses began now nearer
and nearer to shoot forth lightning and roll their thunders.
The priest commenced the last office, prayer to
the god to whom the new temple had been thus solemnly
consecrated. He again bowed his head, and
again lifted up his voice. But no sooner had he invoked
the god of the temple and besought his ear, than
again from its dark interior the same awful sounds issued
forth, this time saying `Thy gods, O Rome, are
false and lying gods. God is but one.'
Aurelian, pale as it seemed to me with superstitious
fear, strove to shake it off, giving it artfully and with
violence the appearance of offended dignity. His voice
was a shriek rather than a human utterance, as he cried
out,
`This is but a Christian device; search the temple till
the accursed Nazarene be found, and hew him piecemeal
—' more he would have said, but at the instant a
bolt of lightning shot from the heavens, and lighting
upon a large sycamore which shaded a part of the temple
court, clove it in twain. The swollen cloud at the
same moment burst, and a deluge of rain poured upon
the city, the temple, the gazing multitudes, and the just
kindled altars. The sacred fires went out in hissing
and darkness; a tempest of wind whirled the limbs of
the slaughtered victims into the air, and abroad over the
neighboring streets. All was confusion, uproar, terror
and dismay. The crowds sought safety in the houses
of the nearest inhabitants, and the porches and of the
palaces. Aurelian and the senators, and those nearest
him, fled to the interior of the temple. The heavens
blazed with the quick flashing of the lightning, and
the temple itself seemed to rock beneath the voice
of the thunder. I never knew in Rome so terrific a
tempest. The stoutest trembled, for life hung by a
thread. Great numbers, it has now been found, in
every part of the capitol, fell a prey to the fiery bolts.
The capitol itself was struck, and the brass statue of
Vespasian in the forum thrown down and partly melted.
The Tiber in a few hours overran its banks, and laid
much of the city on its borders under water.
But ere long the storm was over. The retreating
clouds, but still sullenly muttering in the distance as
which again shone forth in his splendor. The scattered
limbs of the victims were collected and again laid upon
the altar. Dry wood being brought, the flames quickly
shot upward and consumed to the last joint and bone
the sacred offerings. Fronto once more stood before the
altar, and now uninterrupted performed the last office of
the ceremony. Then around the tables spread within
the temple to the honor of the gods, feasting upon the
luxuries contributed by every quarter of the earth, and
filling high with wine, the adverse omens of the day
were by most forgotten. But not by Aurelian. No
smile was seen to light up his dark countenance. The
jests of Varus and the wisdom of Porphyrius alike failed
to reach him. Wrapped up in his own thoughts, he
brooded gloomily over what had happened, and strove
to read the interpretation of portents so unusual and
alarming.
I went not in to the feast, but returned home reflecting
as I went upon the events I had witnessed. I knew
not what to think. That in times past, long after the
departure from the earth of Jesus and his immediate followers,
the Deity had interposed in seasons of peculiar
perplexity to the church, and in a way to be observed
had manifested his power, I did not doubt. But for a
long time such revelations had wholly ceased. And I
could not see any such features in the present juncture,
as would, to speak as a man, justify and vindicate a departure
from the ordinary methods of the Divine Providence.
But then on the other hand I could not otherwise
account for the voice, nor discover any way in
which, had one been so disposed, he could so successfully
and securely have accomplished his work. Revolving
Cœlian — when, as I entered my dwelling, I found to my
great satisfaction, Probus seated with Julia, who at an
early period foreseeing the tempest had with Portia withdrawn
to the security of her own roof.
`I am glad you are come at length,' said Julia as I
entered, `our friend has scarce spoken. I should think,
did I not know the contrary, that he had suddenly abandoned
the service of truth and become a disciple of
Novatus. He hath done little but groan and sigh.'
`Surely,' I replied, `the occasion warrants both sighs
and groans. But when came you from the temple?'
`On the appearance of the storm, just as Fronto approached
the altar the first time. The signs were not
to be mistaken by any who were not so much engrossed
by the scene as to be insensible to all else, that a tempest
was in the sky, and would soon break upon the crowds
in a deluge of rain and hail — as has happened. So
that warning Portia of the danger, we early retreated —
she with reluctance — but for myself. I was glad to be
driven away from a scene that brought so vividly before
me the events of the early morning.'
`I am glad it was so,' I replied; `you would have been
more severely tried, had you remained.' And I then
gave an account of the occurrences of the day.
`I know not what to make of it,' she said as I ended.
`Probus, teach us what to think. I am bewildered and
amazed.'
`Lady,' said Probus, `the Christian service is a hard
one.'
`I have not found it so, thus far, but on the other hand
a light and easy one.'
`But the way is not ever so smooth, and the path
once entered upon, there is no retreat.'
`No roughness nor peril, Probus, be they what they
may, can ever shake me. It is for eternity I have embraced
this faith, not for time — for my soul, not for my
body.'
`God be thanked that it is so. But the evils and sorrows
that time has in store, and which afflict the body,
are not slight. And sometimes they burst forth from
the overburdened clouds in terrific violence, and poor
human strength sinks and trembles, as to-day before the
conflict of the elements.'
`They would find me strong in spirit and purpose, I
am sure, Probus, however my woman's frame of flesh
might yield. No fear can change my mind, nor tear me
from the hopes which through Christ I cherish more, a
thousand fold, than this life of an hour.'
`Why, why is it so ordained in the Providence of
God,' said Probus, `that truth must needs be watered
with tears and blood, ere it will grow and bear fruit?
When as now the sky is dark and threatening, and the
mind is thronged with fearful anticipations of the sorrows
that await those who hold this faith, how can I with a
human heart within me labor to convert the unbelieving?
The words falter upon my tongue. I turn from
the young inquirer, and with some poor reason put him
off to another season. When I preach, it is with a coldness
that must repel, and it is that which I almost desire
to be the effect. My prayers never reach heaven nor
the consciences of those who hear. Probus, they say, is
growing worldly. His heart burns no longer within
him. His zeal is cold. We must look to Macer. I
that I am growing worldly or cold, but that my human
affections lead me away from duty, and make me a traitor
to truth and my master.'
`O no, Probus,' said Julia; `these are charges foolish
and false. There is not a Christian in Rome but
would say so. We all rest upon you.'
`Then upon what a broken reed! I am glad it was
not I who made you a Christian.'
`Do you grieve to have been a benefactor? a redeemer?
a savior?'
`Almost, when I see the evils which are to overwhelm
the believer. I look round upon my little flock of hearers,
and I seem to see them led as lambs to the slaughter
— poor, defenceless creatures, set upon by worse than
lions and wolves. And you, lady of Piso, how can I
sincerely rejoice that you have added your great name
to our humble roll, when I think of what may await
you. Is that form to be dragged with violence amid
the hootings of the populace to the tribunal of the beast
Varus? Are those limbs for the rack or the fire?'
`I trust in God they are not, Probus. But if they
are needed, they are little to give for that which has
made me so rich and given wings to the soul. I can
spare the body, now that the soul can live without it.'
`There spoke the universal Christian! What but
truth could so change our poor human nature into somewhat
quite divine and godlike! Think not I shrink myself
at the prospect of obstruction and assault. I am a
man loose upon the world, weaned by suffering and
misfortune from earth, and ready at any hour to depart
from it. You know my early story. But I in vain
but I cannot behold. But from what I have said, I fear
lest you should think me over-apprehensive. I wish
it were so. But all seems at this moment to be
against us.'
`More then,' said Julia, `must have come to your
ears than to ours. When last we sat with the emperor
at his table, he seemed well inclined. And when urged
by Fronto, rebuked him even with violence.'
`Yes, it was so.'
`Is it then from the scenes of to-day at the temple
that you draw fresh omens of misfortune? I have
asked you what we should think of them.'
`I almost tremble to say. I stood, Piso, not far from
you, upon the lower flight of steps, where I think you
observed me.'
`I did. And at the sound of that voice from the temple,
methought your face was paler than Aurelian's.
Why was that?'
`Because, Piso, I knew the voice.'
`Knew it! What mean you?'
`Repeat it not — let it sink into your ear and there
abide. It was Macer's.'
`Macer's? Surely you jest.'
`Alas! I wish it were a jest. But his tones were no
more to be mistaken than were the thunder's.'
`This, should it be known, would, it is plain to see,
greatly exasperate Aurelian. It would be more than
enough for Fronto to work his worst ends with. His
suspicions at once fell upon the Christians.'
`That,' said Probus, `was, I am confident, an artifice.
The countenance struck with superstitious horror, is
and the signature is upon it, one and unequivocal. But
with quick instinct the wily priest saw his advantage,
seized it, and, whether believing or not himself, succeeded
in poisoning the mind of Aurelian and that of the multitude.
So great was the commotion among the populace,
that, but for the tempest, I believe scarce would
the legions of the emperor have saved us from slaughter
upon the spot. Honest, misguided Macer — little dost
thou know how deep a wound thou hast struck into the
very dearest life of the truth for which thou wouldst yet
at any moment thyself freely suffer and die!'
`What,' said Julia, `could have moved him to such
madness?'
`With him,' replied Probus, `it was a deed of piety
and genuine zeal for God; he saw it in the light of an
act god-like and god-directed. Could you read his
heart you would find it calm and serene in the consciousness
of a great duty greatly performed. It is
very possible he may have felt himself to be but an instrument
in the hand of a higher power, to whom he
gives all the glory and the praise. There are many
like him, lady, both among Christians and Pagans.
The sybils impose not so much upon others as upon
themselves. They who give forth the responses of the
oracle, oft-times believe that they are in very truth full
of the god, and speak not their own thoughts, but the inspirations
of him whose priests they are. To themselves
more than to others are they impostors. The conceit
of the peculiar favor of God or of the gods in return
for extraordinary devotion, is a weakness that besets our
nature wherever it is found. An apostle perhaps never
Macer, and others among us like him. But this inward
solitary persuasion we know is nothing, however
it may carry away captive the undiscriminating multitude.'
`Hence, Probus, then I suppose the need of some outward
act of an extraordinary nature to show the inspiration
real.'
`Yes,' he replied. `No assertion of divine impulses
or revelations can avail to persuade us of their reality,
except supported and confirmed by miracle. That, and
that only, proves the present God. Christ would have
died without followers had he exhibited to the world
only his character and his truth, even though he had
claimed, and claimed truly, a descent from and communion
with the Deity. Men would have said, `This
is an old and common story. We see every day and
everywhere those who affect divine aid. No act is so
easy as to deceive one's self. If you propose a spiritual
moral system and claim for it a divine authority, show
your authority by a divine work, a work impossible to
man, and we will then admit your claims. But your
own inward convictions alone, sincere as they may be
and possibly founded in truth, pass with us for nothing.
Raise one that was dead to life, and we will believe you
when you reveal to us the spiritual world and the life
to come.'
`I think,' said Julia, `such would be the process in
my own mind. There seems the same natural and
necessary connection here between spiritual truths and
outward acts, as between the forms of letters or the sound
of words, and ideas. We receive the most subtle of
material help — which address themselves to the eye or
ear. So we receive the truths of Jesus through the
eye witnessing his works or the ear hearing the voice
from Heaven. — But we wander from Macer, in whom,
from what you have told us and Piso has known, we
both feel deeply interested. Can he not be drawn away
from these fancies which possess him? 'T is a pity we
should lose so strong an advocate, to some minds so resistless,
nor only that, but suffer injury from his extravagance.'
`It is our purpose,' I replied, `to visit him to try what
effect earnest remonstrance and appeal may have. Soon
as I shall return from my promised and now necessary
visit to Marcus and Lucilia, I shall not fail, Probus, to
request you to accompany me to his dwelling.'
`Does he dwell far from us?' asked Julia.
`His house, if house it may be called,' replied Probus,
`is in a narrow street, which runs just behind the shop
of Demetrius, midway between the Capitol and the
Quirinal. It is easily found by first passing the shop
and then descending quick to the left — the street Janus,
our friend Isaac's street, turning off at the same
point to the right. At Macer's, should your feet ever
be drawn that way, you would see how and in what
crowded space the poor live in Rome.'
`Has he then a family, as your words seem to
imply?'
`He has; and one more lovely dwells not within the
walls of Rome. In his wife and elder children, as I
have informed Piso, we shall find warm and eloquent
advocates on our side. They tremble for their husband
impetuosity, his fearlessness and his zeal. Many an assault
has he already brought upon himself, and is
destined I fear to draw down many more and heavier.'
`Heaven shield them all from harm,' said Julia. `Are
they known to Demetrius? His is a benevolent heart,
and he would rejoice to do them a service. No one is
better known too or respected than the Roman Demetrius:
his name merely would be a protection.'
`It was from Macer,' replied Probus, `that Demetrius
first heard the truth which now holds him captive.
Their near neighborhood brought them often together.
Demetrius was impressed by the ardor and evident sincerity
so visible in the conversation and manners of
Macer; and Macer was drawn toward Demetrius by
the cast of melancholy — that sober, thoughtful air —
that separates him so from his mercurial brother, and
indeed from all. He wished he were a Christian.
And by happy accidents being thrown together — or
rather drawn by some secret bond of attraction — he in
no long time had the happiness to see him one. From
the hand of Felix he received the waters of baptism.'
`What you have said, Probus, gives me great pleasure.
I am not only now sure that Macer and his little
tribe have a friend at hand, but the knowledge that such
a mind as that of Demetrius has been wrought upon
by Macer, has served to raise him in my esteem and
respect. He can be no common man, and surely no
madman.'
`The world ever loves to charge those as mad,' said
Probus, `who in devotion to a great cause exceed its
cold standard of moderation. Singular, that excess in
is held but as a weakness of our nature!'
We were here interrupted by Milo, who came to conduct
us to the supper room; and there our friendly talk
was prolonged far into the evening.
When I next write I shall have somewhat to say of
Marcus Lucilia and the little Gallus. How noble and
generous in the queen, her magnificent gift! When
summer comes round again I shall not fail together with
Julia to see you there. How many recollections will
come thronging upon me when I shall again find myself
in the court of the Elephant sitting where I once sat so
often and listened to the voice of Longinus. May you
see there many happy years. Farewell.
Nothing could exceed the sensation caused in Rome
by the voice heard at the dedication, and among the adherents
of the popular faith, by the unlucky omens of
the day and of the sacrifice. My office at that time
called me often to the capital, and to the palace of Aurerelian,
and threw me frequently into his company and
that of Livia. My presence was little heeded by the
emperor, who, of a bold and manly temper, spoke out
with little reserve and with no disguise or fear, whatever
sentiments possessed him. From such opportunities and
from communications of Menestheus the secretary of
Aurelian, little took place at the palace which came not
to my knowledge. The morning succeeding the dedication
I had come to the city bringing a packet from the
queen to the empress Livia. While I waited in the
common reception room of the palace, Itook from a
was roused by the sound of Aurelian's voice. It
was as if engaged in earnest conversation. He soon
entered the apartment accompanied by the priest of the
new temple.
`There is something,' he said as he drew near, `in
this combination of unlucky signs that might appal a
stouter spirit than mine. This too, after a munificence
toward not one only but all the temples, never I am sure
surpassed. Every god has been propitiated by gifts and
appropriate rites. How can all this be interpreted other
than most darkly — other than as a general hostility —
and a discouragement from an enterprise upon which I
would found my glory. This has come most unlooked
for. I confess myself perplexed. I have openly proclaimed
my purpose — the word has gone abroad and
travelled by this to the court of Persia itself, that with
all Rome at my back I am once more to tempt the deserts
of the East.'
He here suddenly paused, being reminded by Fronto
of my presence.
`Ah, it matters not;' he said; `this is but Nichomachus,
the good servant of the queen of Palmyra. I
hope,' he said turning to me, `that the queen is well and
the young Faustula?'
`They are well,' I replied.
`How agree with her these coo'er airs of the west?
These are not the breezes of Arabia, that come to-day
from the mountains.'
`She heeds them little,' I replied, `her thoughts are
engrossed by heavier cares.'
`They must be fewer now than ever.'
`They are fewer, but they are heavier and weigh upon
her life more than the whole East once did. The remembrance
of a single great disaster weights as a heavier
burden than the successful management of an empire.'
`True, Nichomachus, that is over true.' Then without
further regarding me he went on with his conversation
with Fronto.
`I cannot,' he said, `now go back; and to go forward
may be presumptuous.'
`I cannot but believe, great emperor,' said Fronto,
`that I have it in my power to resolve your doubts, and
set your mind at ease.'
`Rest not then,' said Aurelian with impatience — `but
say on.'
`You sought the gods and read the omens with but
one prayer and thought. And you have construed them
as all bearing upon one point and having one significancy
— because you have looked in no other direction. I
believe they bear upon a different point, and that when
you look behind and before, you will be of the same
judgment.'
`Whither tends all this?'
`To this — that the omens of the day bear not upon
your eastern expedition, but upon the new religion!
You are warned as the great high priest, by these signs
in heaven and on earth — not against this projected expedition,
which is an act of piety, if a warlike expedition
ever may be termed so — but against this accursed superstition
which is working its way into the empire and
threatening the extermination and overthrow of the very
altars on which you laid your costly offerings. What
concern can the divinities feel in the array of an army
breasts as they behold their altars cast down or forsaken,
their names profaned, their very being denied, their
worshippers drawn from them to the secret midnight
orgies of a tribe of Atheists, whose aim is anarchy in the
state and in religion; owning neither king on earth nor
king in heaven — every man to be his own priest — every
man his own master! Is not this the likeliest reading
of the omens?'
`I confess, Fronto,' the emperor replied, the cloud
upon his brow clearing away as he spoke, `that what
you say possesses likelihood. I believe I have interpreted
according to my fears. It is as you say — the
East only has been in my thoughts. It cannot in reason
be thought to be this enterprize, which as you have said
is an act of piety, all Rome would judge it so — against
which the heavens have thus arrayed themselves.
Fronto! Fronto! I am another man! Slave,' cried he
aloud to one of the menials as he passed, `let Mucapor
be instantly summoned. Let there be no delay. Now
can my affairs be set on with something more of speed.
When the gods smile mountains sink to mole-hills. A
divine energy runs in the current of the blood and lends
more than mortal force to the arm and the will.'
As he spoke, never did so malignant a joy light up
the human countenance as was to be seen in the face of
Fronto.
`And what then,' he hastily put in as the emperor
paused, `what shall be done with these profane
wretches?'
`The Christians! They must be seen to. I will consider.
Now, Fronto, shall I fill to the brim the cup of
lost honor and wipe off the foulest stain that since the
time of Romulus has darkened her annals.'
`You will do yourself and the empire immortal honor.
If danger ever threatened the very existence of the state
it is now from the secret machinations of this god-denying
tribe.'
`I spake of the East and of Valerian, Fronto. Syria
is now Rome's. Palmyra, that mushroom of a day, is
level with the ground. Her life is out. She will be
hereafter known but by the fame of her past greatness,
of her matchless queen, and the glory of the victories
that crowned the arms of Aurelian. What now remains
but Persia?'
`The Christians,' said the priest, shortly and bitterly.
`You are right, Fronto; the omens are not to be read
otherwise. It is against them they point. It shall be
maturely weighed what shall be done. When Persia
is swept from the field and Ctesiphon lies as low as
Palmyra, then will I restore the honor of the gods, and
let who will dare to worship other than as I shall ordain!
Whoever worships them not, or other than them,
shall die.'
`In that spoke the chief minister of religion — the representative
of the gods. The piety of Aurelian is in
the mouths of men not less than his glory. The city
resounds with the praise of him who has enriched
the temples, erected new ones, made new provision for
the priesthood, and fed the poor. This is the best greatness.
Posterity will rather honor and remember him
who saved them their faith, than him who gained a Persian
victory. The victory for Religion too is to be had
or from the side of her who is alike Aurelian's and the
empire's boast.'
`Nay, nay, Fronto, you are over-zealous. This eastern
purpose admits not of delay. Hormisdas is new in
his power. The people are restless and divided. The
present is the moment of success. It cannot bear delay.
To-morrow, could it be so, would I start for Thrace.
The heavens are propitious. They frown no longer.'
`The likliest way methinks,' replied the priest, `to insure
success and the continued favor of the gods in that
which they do not forbid, were first to fulfill their commands
in what they have enjoined.'
`That, Fronto, cannot be denied. It is of weight.
But where of two commands both seem alike urgent,
and both cannot be done at once, whether we will or
not, we must choose, and in choosing we may err.'
`To an impartial, pious mind, O emperor, the god of
thy worship never shone more clear in the heavens
than shines his will in the terrific signs of yesterday.
Forgive thy servant, but drawn as thou art by the image
of fresh laurels of victory to be bound about thy
brow, of the rich spoils of Persia, of its mighty monarch
at thy chariot wheels, and the long line of a new
triumph sweeping through the gates and the great
heart of the capital, — and thou art blind to the will of
the gods, though writ in the dread convulsions of the
elements and the unerring language of the slaughtered
victims.'
`Both may be done — both, Fronto. I blame not
your zeal. Your freedom pleases me. Religion is thus,
I know, in good hands. But both I say may be done.
left to thee and Varus, with full powers to see that the
state in the matter of its faith receives no harm. Your
knowledge in this, if not your zeal, is more than mine.
While I meet the enemies of Rome abroad, you shall
be my other self and gain other victories at home.'
`Little, I fear, Aurelian, could be done even by me
and Varus leagued, with full delegated powers, opposed
as we should be by Tacitus and the senate and the best
half of Rome. None but an arm omnipotent as thine
can crush this mischief. I see thou knowest not how
deep it has struck nor how wide it has spread. The
very foundations of the throne and the empire are undermined.
The poison of Christian atheism has infected
the whole mind of the people, not only throughout
Rome, but Italy, Gaul, Africa, and Asia. And for
this we have to thank whom? Whom but ourselves?
Ever since Hadrian — otherwise a patriot king — built
his imageless temples, in imitation of this barren and
lifeless worship; ever since the weak Alexander and
his superstitious mother filled the imperial palace with
their statues of Christ, with preachers and teachers of
his religion; ever since the Philips openly and without
shame professed his faith; ever, I say, since these
great examples have been before the world, has the ancient
religion declined its head, and the new stalked
proudly by. Let not Aurelian's name be added to this
fatal list. Let him first secure the honor of the gods —
then, and not till then, seek his own.'
`You urge with warmth, Fronto, and with reason too.
Your words are not wasted; they have fallen where
they shall be deeply pondered. In the meantime I will
and as the colleges report, will hold myself bound so
to act.'
So they conversed, and then passed on. I was at
that time but little conversant with the religious condition
of the empire. I knew but little of the character of
the prevailing faith and the Pagan priesthood; and I
knew less of the new religion as it was termed. But
the instincts of my heart were from the gods, and they
were all for humanity. I loved man, whoever he was
and of whatever name or faith; and I sickened at cruelties
perpetrated against him both in war and by the
bloody spirit of superstition. I burned with indignation
therefore as I listened to the cold-blooded arguings
of the bigoted priest, and wept to see how artfully he
could warp aside the better nature of Aurelian, and
pour his own venom into veins that had else run with
human blood, at least not the poisoned current of tigers,
wolves, and serpents of every name and nature most
vile. My hope was that, away from his prompter, and
the first purpose of Aurelian would return and have its
way.
| Probus, or, Rome in the third century | |