 | Probus, or, Rome in the third century |  |
LETTER V.
FROM PISO TO FAUSTA.
I am now returned from my long intended visit to the
villa of Marcus, and have much to say concerning it.
But first of all rejoice with me in a fresh demonstration
of good will on the part of Aurelian towards Zenobia.
And what think you it is? Nothing less than
this, that Vabalathus has been made by Aurelian and
the senate king of Armenia! The kingdom is not large,
but large enough for him at his present age — if he shall
show himself competent, additions doubtless will be
made. Our only regret is, that the queen loses thus his
presence with her at Tibur. He had become to his
mother all that a son should be. Not that in respect to
native force he could ever make good the loss of Julia,
or even of Livia, but that in all the many offices which
an affectionate child would render to a parent in the
changed circumstances of Zenobia, he has proved to be
a solace and a support.
The second day from the dedication, passing through
the Porta Asinaria with Milo at my side, I took the road
that winds along the hither bank of the Tiber, and leads
most pleasantly, if not most directly, to the seat of my
friends — and you are well aware how willingly I sacrifice
a little time on the way, if by doing so I can more
than make up the loss by obtaining brighter glimpses of
earth and sky. Had I not found Christianity, Fausta,
the philosophers and gone forth into the fields
among the eternal hills, upon the banks of the river, or
the margin of the ever-flowing ocean, and in the lessons
there silently read to me, I should I think have arrived
at some very firm and comfortable faith in God and immortality.
And I am especially happy in this, that nature
in no way loses its interest or value, because I now
draw truth from a more certain source. I take the same
pleasure as before in observing and contemplating her
various forms, and the clearer light of Christianity brings
to view a thousand beauties, to which before I was insensible.
Just as in reading a difficult author, although
you may have reached his sense in some good degree,
unaided, yet a judicious commentator points out excellences,
and unfolds truths, which you had either wholly
overlooked or but imperfectly comprehended.
All without the city walls, as within, bore witness to
the graciousness of the emperor in the prolonged holiday
he had granted the people. It was as if the Saturnalia
had arrived. Industry, such as there ever is, was
suspended; all were sitting idle, or thronging some
game, or gathering in noisy groups about some mountebank.
As we advanced farther and came just beyond
the great road leading to Tibur, we passed the school of
the celebrated gladiator Sosia, at the door of which there
had just arrived from the amphitheatre a cart bearing
home the bodies of such as had been slain the preceding
day, presenting a disgusting spectacle of wounds, bruises,
and flowing blood.
`There was brave fighting yesterday,' said Milo;
`these are but a few out of all that fell. The first day's
them from the school of Sosia, set against a hundred
picked captives of all nations. Not less than a half of
each number got it. These fellows look as if they had
done their best. You 've fought your last battle, old
boys — unless you have a bout with Charon, who will
be loath, I warrant you beforehand, to ferry over such a
slashed and swollen company. Now ought you in
charity,' he continued, addressing a half-naked savage
who was helping to drag the bodies from the cart, `to
have these trunks well washed ere you bury them, or
pitch them into the Tiber, else they will never get over
the Styx — not forgetting too the ferriage —' what more
folly he would have uttered I know not, for the wretch
to whom he spoke suddenly seized the lash of the driver
of the cart and laid it over Milo's shoulders, saying, as
he did it,
`Off, fool, or my fist shall do for you what it did for
one of these.'
The bystanders at this set up a hoarse shouting, one
of them exclaiming so that I could hear him —
`There goes the Christian Piso, we or the lions will
have a turn at him yet. These are the fellows that
spoil our trade.'
`Never mind,' replied another, `if report goes true
they won't spoil it long.'
No rank and no power is secure against the affronts
of this lawless tribe; they are a sort of licensed brawlers,
their brutal and inhuman trade rendering them insensible
to all fear from any quarter. Death is to them
but as a scratch on the finger — they care not for it
when nor how it comes. The slightest cause — a passing
their ferocious passions, and bring on quarrel and murder.
Riot and death are daily occurrences in the neighborhood
of these schools of trained assassins. Milo
knew their character well enough, but he deemed himself
to be uttering somewhat that should amuse rather
than enrage, and was mortified rather than terrified, I
believe, at the sudden application of the lash. The unfeigned
surprise he manifested, together with the quick
leap which his horse made, who partook of the blow,
was irresistibly ludicrous. He was nearly thrown off
backwards in the speed of his horse's flight along the
road. It was some time before I overtook him.
`Intermeddling,' I said to Milo as I came up with
him, `is a dangerous vice. How feel your shoulders?'
`I shall remember that one-eyed butcher, and if there
be virtue in hisses or in thumbs, he shall rue the hour
he laid a lash on Gallienus. Poor fellow! Whose
horsemanship is equal to such an onset? I 'll haunt the
theatre till my chance come.'
`Well, well, let us forget this. How went the games
yesterday?'
`Never, as I hear,' he said, `and as I remember, were
they more liberal, or more magnificent. Larger, or
more beautiful, or finer beasts, neither Asia nor Africa
ever sent over. They fought as if they had been trained
to it, like these scholars of Sosia, and in most cases
they bore away the palm from them. How many of
Sosia's men exactly fell, it is not known, but not fewer
than threescore men were either torn in pieces, or rescued
too much lacerated to fight more.'
`What captives were sacrificed?'
`I did not learn of what nation they were, nor how
many. All I know is what I witnessed toward the end
of the sport. Never before did I behold such a form,
nor such feats of strength! He was another Hercules.
It was rumored he was from the forests of Germany. If
you will believe it, which I scarce can though I saw it,
he fought successively with six of Sosia's best men, and
one after another laid them all sprawling. A seventh
was then set upon him, he having no time to breathe or
even drink. Many however cried out against this. But
Romans, you know, like not to have their fun spoiled,
so the seventh was not taken off. As every one foresaw,
this was too much by just one for the hero; but he
fought desperately, and it is believed Sosia's man got
pushes he will never recover from. He was soon however
on his knees, and then on his back, the sword of
his antagonist at his throat, he lying like a gasping fish
at his mercy — who waited the pleasure of the spectators
a moment, before he struck. Then was there a
great shouting all over the theatre in his behalf, besides
making the sign to spare him. But just at the moment,
as for him ill fortune would have it, some poltroon cried
out with a voice that went all over the theatre, `The dog
is a Christian!' Whereupon like lightning every thumb
went up, and down plunged the sword into his neck.
So, master, thou seest what I tell thee every day, there
is small virtue in being a Christian. It is every way
dangerous. If a thief runs through the streets the cry
is, a Christian! a Christian! If a man is murdered,
they who did it accuse some neighboring Christian, and
he dies for it. If a Christian fall into the Tiber, men
look on as on a drowning dog. If he slip or fall in a
sick or poor, none but his own tribe will help him.
Even the Jew despises him, and spits upon his gown as
he passes. What but the love of contempt and death
can make one a Christian 'tis hard to see. Had that
captive been other than a Christian he would not have
fallen as he did.'
`Very likely. But the Christians you know frequent
not the amphitheatre. Had they been there in their just
proportion to the rest, the voice would at least have been
a divided one.'
`Nay, as for that,' he rejoined, `there were some stout
voices raised in his behalf to the last, and some thumbs
down, but too few to be regarded. But even in the
streets, where all sorts are found, there is none to take
the Christian's part — unless it be that old gashed soldier
of the fifth legion, who stalks through the streets as
though all Rome were his. By the gods, I believe he
would beard Aurelian himself! He will stand at a corner,
in some public place, and preach to the crowds, and
give never an inch for all their curses and noise. They
fear him too much I believe to attack him with aught
but words. And I wonder not at it. A few days since
a large dog was in wicked wantonness, as I must allow,
set upon a poor Christian boy. Macer, so he is called
about the city, at the moment came up. Never tiger
seized his prey as he seized that dog, and first dashing
out his brains upon the pavement, pursued then the pursuers
of the boy and beat them to jelly with the carcase
of the beast, and then walked away unmolested, leading
the child to his home.'
`Men reverence courage, Milo, everywhere and in all.'
`That do they. It was so with me once when Gallienus
—'
`Gallop, Milo, to that mile-stone, and report to me
how far we have come.'
I still as ever extract much, Fausta, from my faithful
if foolish slave.
In due time and without hindrance or accident I
reached the outer gate of my friend's villa.
The gate was opened by Cœlia, whose husband is
promoted to the place of porter. Her face shone as she
saw me, and she hastened to assure me that all were
well at the house, holding up at the same moment a
curly-headed boy for me to admire, whom with a blush
and a faltering tongue she called Lucius. I told her I
was pleased with the name, for it was a good one, and
he should not suffer for bearing it, if I could help it.
Milo thought it unlucky enough that it should be named
after a Christian, and I am certain has taken occasion to
remonstrate with its mother on the subject; but, as you
may suppose, did not succeed in infusing his own terrors.
I was first met by Lucilia, who received me with her
usual heartiness. Marcus was out on some remote part
of the estate overseeing his slaves. In a few moments,
by the assiduous Lucilia and her slaves, I was brushed
and washed and set down to a table — though it was so
few hours since I had left Rome — covered with bread,
honey, butter and olives, a cold capon with salads, and
wine such as the cellars of Marcus alone can furnish.
As the only way in which to keep the good opinion of
Lucilia is to eat, I ate of all that was on the table, she assuring
me that everything was from their own grounds
— the butter made by her own hands — and that I might
Indeed no butter is like hers — so yellow and so
hard — nor bread so light and so white. Even her
honey is more delicious than what I find elsewhere, the
bees knowing by instinct who they are working for;
and the poultry is fatter and tenderer, the hens being
careful never to over-fatigue themselves, and the peacocks
and the geese not to exhaust themselves in screaming
and cackling. All nature, alive and dead, takes upon
itself a trimmer and more perfect seeming within her
influences.
I had sat thus gossipping with Lucilia, enjoying the
balmy breezes of a warm autumn day as they drew
through the great hall of the house, when, preceded by
the bounding Gallus, the master of the house entered
in field dress of broad sun-hat, open neck, close coat depending
to the knees, and boots that brought home with
them the spoils of many a well-ploughed field.
`Well, sir Christian,' he cried, `I joy to see thee, although
thus recreant. But how is it that thou lookest
as ever before? Are not these vanities of silk, and gold,
and fine clothes renounced by those of the new religion?
Your appearance says nay, and, by Jupiter! wine has
been drunk already! Nay, nay, Lucilia, it was hardly a
pagan act to tempt our strict friend with that Falernian.'
`Faleruian is it?'
`Yes, of the vintage of the fourth of Gallienus. Delicious,
was it not? But by and by thou shalt taste
something better than that — as much better as that is
than anything of the same name thou didst ever raise to
thy lips at the table of Aurelian. Piso! never was a
face more welcome! Not a soul has looked in upon us
for days and days. Not, Lucilia, since the Kalends,
down the river. But why comes not Julia too? She
could not leave the games and theatres, hah?'
`Marcus,' said Lucilia, `you forget it was the princess
who first seduced Lucius. But for that eastern voyage
for the Persian Calpurnius, Piso would have been still,
I dare say, what his parents made him. Let us not yet
however stir this topic; but first of all, Lucius, give us
the city news. How went the dedication? we have
heard strange tales.'
`How went it by report?' I asked.
`O, it would be long telling,' said Lucilia. `Only for
one thing, we heard that there was a massacre of the
Christians, in which some said hundreds, and some,
thousands fell. For a moment, I assure you, we trembled
for you. The confirmation afforded by your actual
presence, of your welfare, is not unwelcome. You must
lay a part of the heartiness of our reception, especially
the old Falernian to the account of our relieved fears.
But let us hear.'
I then went over the last days in Rome, adding what
I had been able to gather from Milo, when it was such
that I could trust to it. When I had satisfied their curiosity,
and had moreover described to Lucilia the dresses
of Livia on so great an occasion, and the fashions
which were raging, Marcus proposed that I should accompany
him over his farm, and observe his additions
and improvements, and the condition of his slaves. I
accepted the proposal with pleasure, and we soon set
forth on our ramble, accompanied by Gallus, now riding
his stick and now gambolling about the lawns and fields
with his dog.
I like this retreat of Curtius better almost than any
an air of calm senatorial dignity about it which modern
edifices want. It looks as if it had seen more than one
generation of patrician inhabitants. There is little unity
or order — as those words are commonly understood —
observable in the structure of the house, but it presents
to the eye an irregular assemblage of forms, the work of
different ages, and built according to the taste and skill
of distant times. Some portions are new, some old and
covered with lichens, mosses, and creeping plants. Here
is a portico of the time of Trajan, and there a tower that
seems as if it were of the times of the republic. Yet is
there a certain harmony and congruity running through
the whole, for the material used is everywhere the same
— a certain fawn-colored stone drawn from quarries still
existing in the neighborhood — and each successive
owner and architect has evidently paid some regard to
preceding erections in the design and proportions of the
part he has added. In this unity of character as well as
in the separate beauty or greatness of distinct parts is it
made evident that persons of accomplishment and rank
have alone possessed it. Of its earlier history all that
Curtius has with certainty ascertained is, that it was
once the seat of the great Hortensius — before he had in
the growth of his fame and his riches displayed his luxurious
tastes in the wonders of Tusculum, Bauli, or
Laurentum. It was the first indication given by him of
that love of elegant and lavish wastefulness, that gave
him at last as wide a celebrity as his genius. The part
which he built is well known, and although of moderate
dimensions, yet displays the rudiments of that taste that
afterward was satisfied only with more than imperial
very room which he occupied as his study and library,
and where he prepared himself for the morning courts;
and in the same apartment — hoping as he says to catch
something from the genius of the place — does he apply
himself to the same professional labors. His name and
repute are now second to none in Rome. Yet, young
as he is, he begins to weary of the bar and woo the
more quiet pursuits of letters and philosophy. Nay, at
the present moment agriculture claims all his leisure,
and steals time that can ill be spared from his clients.
Varro and Cato have more of his devotion than statutes
and precedents.
In the disposition of the grounds, Marcus has shown
that he inherits something of the tastefulness of his
remote predecessor; and in the harvest that covers his
extensive acres, gives equal evidence that he has studied
not without profit the labors of those who have written
upon husbandry and its connected arts. Varro especially
is at his tongue's end.
We soon came to the quarter of the slaves — a village
almost of the humble tenements occupied by this
miserable class. None but the women, children, sick
and aged, were now at home — the young and able-bodied
being abroad at work. No new disturbances
have broken out, he tells me; the former severity, followed
by a well-timed lenity, having subdued or conciliated
all. Curtius, although fond of power and of all its
ensigns, yet conceals not his hatred of this institution,
which has so long obtained in the Roman state, as in
all states. He can devise no way of escape from it;
but he sees in it the most active and general cause of
where it prevails. He cannot suppress his contempt of
the delusion or hypocrisy of our ancestors in terming
themselves republicans.
`What a monstrous solecism was it,' he broke out
with energy, `in the times preceding the empire, to call
that a free country which was built upon the degradation
and slavery of half of its population. Rome never
was a republic. It was simply a faction of land and
slave holders, who blinded and befooled the ignorant
populace by parading before them some of the forms of
liberty, but kept the power in their own hands. They
were a community of petty kings, which was better in
their mind than only one king as in the time of the Tarquins.
It was a republic of kingdoms and of kings, if
you will. Now and then indeed the people bustled
about and shook their chains as in the times of the institution
of the tribune's office and those of the Gracchi.
But they gained nothing. The patricians were
still the kings who ruled them. And among no people
can there be liberty where slavery exists — liberty I
mean properly so called. He who holds slaves cannot
in the nature of things be a republican; but in the nature
of things he is on the other hand a despot. I am
one. And a nation of such individuals is an association
of despots for despotic purposes, and nothing else nor better.
Liberty in their mouths is a profanation of the sacred
name. It signifies nothing but their liberty to
reign. I confess it is to those who happen to be the
kings a very agreeable state of things. I enjoy my
power and state mightily. But I am not blind to the
fact — my own experience teaches it — that it is a state
everywhere of the highest form of the human character.
It nurses and brings out the animal, represses and embrutes
the god that is within us. It makes of man a
being of violence, force, passion, and the narrowest selfishness;
while reason and humanity, which should
distinguish him, are degraded or annihilated. Such
men are not the stuff that republics are made of. A republic
may endure for a time in spite of them, owing to
fortunate circumstances of another kind; but wherever
they obtain a preponderance in the state, liberty will expire,
or exist only in the insulting forms in which she
waved her bloody sceptre during most of our early history.
Slavery and despotism are natural allies.'
`I rejoice,' I said, `to find a change in you, at least in
the theory which you adopt.'
`I certainly am changed,' he replied; `and such as
the change may be, is it owing, sir Christian, to thy
calm and yet fiery epistles from Palmyra. Small
thanks do I owe thee for making me uncomfortable in
a position from which I cannot escape. Once proud of
my slaves and my power, I am already ashamed of
both; but while my principles have altered, my habits
and character, which slavery has created and nursed,
remain beyond any power of man, so far as I can see,
to change them. What they are you well know. So
that here in my middle age I suffer a retribution that
should have been reserved till I had been dismissed
from the dread tribunal of Rhadamanthus.'
`I see not, Curtius, why you should not escape from
the position you are in, if you sincerely desire it, which
I suppose you do not.'
`That, to be honest — which at least I am — is I believe
the case.'
`I do not doubt it, as it is with all who are situated
like yourself. Most, however, defend the principle as
well as cling to the form of slavery.'
`Nay, that I cannot do. That I never did, since my
beard was grown. I fancy myself to have from the
gods a good heart. He is essentially of a corrupt heart
who will stand for slavery in its principle. He is without
anything generous in his nature. Cold selfishness
marks and makes him. But supposing I as sincerely
desired to escape — as I sincerely do not — what, O
most wise mentor, should be the manner?'
`First and at once, to treat them no longer as slaves,
but as men.'
`That I am just beginning to do. What else?'
`If you are sincere as I say, and moreover if you possess
the exalted and generous traits which we patricians
ever claim for ourselves, show it them by giving their
freedom one by one to those who are now slaves, even
though it result in the loss of one half of your fortune.
That will be a patrician act. What was begun in crime
by others, cannot be perpetuated without equal crime in
us. The enfranchised will soon mingle with the people,
and, as we see every day, become one with it.
This process is going on at this moment in all my estates.
Before my will is executed, I shall hope to have
disposed in this manner of every slave in my possession.'
`One can hardly look to emulate such virtues as this
new-found Christian philosophy seems to have engendered
within thy noble bosom, Piso; but the subject
prospect as to do right; but, like some distant stretches
of land and hill, water and wood, the beauty is all gone
as it draws near. It is then absolutely a source of pain
and disgust. I will write a treatise upon the great
theme.'
`If you write, Curtius, I shall despair of any action.
all your philanthropy will evaporate in a cloud of
words.'
`But that will be the way, I think, to restore my
equanimity. I believe I shall feel quite easy after a
little declamation. Here, Lucius, regale thyself upon
these grapes. These are from the isles of the Grecian
Archipelago, and for sweetness are not equalled by any
of our own. Gallus, Gallus, go not so near to the edge
of the pond; it is deep, as I have warned you. I have
lampreys there, Piso, bigger than any that Hortensius
ever wept for. Gallus, you dog! away, I say.'
But Gallus heeded not the command of his father.
He already was beginning to have a little will of his
own. He continued playing upon the margin of the
water, throwing in sticks for his dog to bring to him
again. Perceiving his danger to be great, I went to
him and forcibly drew him away, he and his dog setting
up a frightful music of screams and yelpings. Marcus
was both entertained and amazed at the feat.
`Piso,' he jocosely cried out, `there is a good deal of
the old republican in you. You even treat free men as
slaves. That boy — a man in will — never had before
such restraint laid upon his liberty.'
`Liberty with restraint,' I answered, `operating upon
all, and equally upon all, is the true account of a state
passion and the sport of chance. He is not truly free
until he is bound.'
With such talk we amused ourselves as we wandered
over the estate, through its more wild and more cultivated
parts. Dinner was presently announced by a
slave sounding at a distance a sort of sea-shell, and we
hastened to the house.
Lucilia awaited us in a small six-sided cabinet, fitted
up purposely for a dining-room for six or eight persons.
It was wholly cased with a rich marble of a pale yellow
hue, beautifully panelled, having three windows opening
upon a long portico with a southern aspect, set out
with exotics in fancifully arranged groups. The marble
panels of the room were so contrived that at a
touch they slipped aside and disclosed in rich array,
here the choicest wines, there sauces and spices of a
thousand sorts, and there again the rarest confections
brought from China and the East. Apicius himself
could have fancied nothing more perfect — for the least
dissatisfaction with the flavor of a dish, or the kind of
wine, could be removed by merely reaching out the
hand and drawing from an inexhaustible treasure-house
both wines and condiments, such as scarce Rome itself
could equal. This was an apartment contrived and built
by Hortensius himself.
The dinner was worthy the room and its builder, the
marbles, the prospect, the guest, the host, and the hostess.
The aforementioned Apicius would have never
once thought of the panelled cupboards. No dish would
have admitted of addition or alteration.
When the feasting was over, and with it the lighter
usually accompanies it, Marcus rose, and withdrawing
one of the sliding panels, with much gravity and state
drew forth a glass pitcher of exquisite form filled with
wine, saying as he did so,
`All, Piso, that you have as yet tasted is but as water
of the Tiber to this. This is more than nectar. The
gods have never been so happy as to have seen the like.
I am their envy. It is Falernian, that once saw the
wine vaults of Heliogabalus! Not a drop of Chian has
ever touched it. It is pure, unadulterate. Taste and
be translated.'
I acknowledged, as I well might, its unequalled flavor.
`This nectarean draught,' he continued, `I even consider
to possess purifying and exalting qualities. He
who drinks it is for the time of a higher nature. It is
better for the temper than a chapter of Seneca or Epictetus.
It brings upon the soul a certain divine calm,
favorable beyond any other state to the growth of the
virtues. Could it become of universal use, mankind
were soon a race of gods. Even Christianity were then
made unnecessary — admitting it to be that unrivalled
moral engine which you Christians affirm it to be. It
is favorable also to dispassionate discussion, Piso, a little
of which I would now invite. Know you not, I have
scarce seen you since your assumption of your new
name and faith? What bad demon possessed you, in
evil hour, to throw Rome and your friends into such a
ferment?'
`Had you become, Lucius,' said Lucilia, `a declaiming
advocate of Epicurus, or a street-lecturer upon Plato,
or turned priest of Apollo's new temple, it would
Christian!' —
`Yes, Lucius, it is too bad,' added Marcus. `If you
were in want of moral strength, you would have done
better to have begged some of my Falernian. You
should not have been denied.'
`Or,' said Lucilia, `some of my Smyrna cordial.'
`At least,' continued Marcus, `you might have come
to me for some of my wisdom which I keep ready at a
moment's warning in quantities to suit all applicants.'
`Or to me,' said Lucilia, `for some of my every day
good-sense which you know I possess in such abundance,
though I have not sat at the feet of philosophers.'
`But seriously, Lucius,' began Marcus in altered
mood, `this is a most extraordinary movement of yours.
I should like to be able to interpret it. If you must
needs have what you call religion, of which I for my
part can see no earthly occasion, here were plenty of
forms in which to receive it, more ancient and more respectable
than this of the Christians.'
`I am almost unwilling to converse on this topic with
you, Marcus,' I rejoined, `for there is nothing in your
nature, or rather in your educated nature, to which
to appeal with the least hope of any profitable result either
to me or you. The gods have, as you say, given
you a good heart — I may add too, a most noble head;
but yourself and education together have made you so
thoroughly a man of the world, that the interests of any
other part of your nature, save those of the intellect and
the senses, are to you precisely as if they did not exist.'
`Right, Lucius; therein do I claim honor and distinction.
The intangible, the invisible, the vague, the shadowy
only with the substantial realities of life. Great Jupiter!
what would become of mankind were we all women
and priests? How could the courts go on — senates sit
and deliberate — armies conquer? I think the world
would stand still. However, I object not to a popular
faith, such as that which now obtains throughout the
Roman world. If mankind, as history seems to prove,
must and will have something of the kind, this perhaps
is as good as anything else; and seeing it has once become
established and fixed in the way it has, I think it
ought no more to be disturbed than men's faith in their
political institutions. Our concern should be merely to
regulate it, that it grow not too large and so overlay and
crush the state. Fanatics and bigots must be hewn
away. There must be an occasional infusion of doubt
and indifference into the mass to keep it from fermenting.
You cannot be offended, Lucius, at the way in which I
speak of your new-adopted faith. I think no better of
any other. Epicureans, Stoics, Platonists, Jews, Christians,
they are all alike to me. I hold them all at arms
length. I have listened to them all; and more idle indigested
fancies never did I hear — no, not from the
newest-fledged advocate playing the rhetorician at his
first appearance.'
`I do not wonder, Curtius, that you have turned away
dissatisfied with the philosophers. I do not wonder that
you reject the popular superstitions. But I do wonder
that you will prejudge any question, or infer the intrinsic
incredibility of whatever may take the form of religion,
from the intrinsic incredibility of what the world
has heretofore possessed. It surely is not a philosophical
method.'
`Not in other things, I grant,' replied Marcus; `but
concerning this question of popular superstition, or religion,
the only philosophy is to discard the whole subject
as one deserving severe investigation. The follies which
the populace have in all nations and in all time adopted,
let them be retained, and even defended and supported
by the state. They perform a not unimportant office in
regulating the conduct and manners of men — in preserving
a certain order in the world. But beyond this,
it seems to me the subject is unworthy the regard of a
reflecting person. One world and one life is enough to
manage at a time. If there be another, or if there be a
God who governs it and this also, it will be time enough
to know these things when they are made plain to the
senses, as these trees and hills now are and your well-shaped
form. This peering into futurity in the expectation
to arrive at certainty, seems to me much as if one
should hope to make out the forms of cities, palaces and
groves by gazing into the empty air or on the clouds.
Besides, of what use?'
`Of what use indeed?' added Lucilia. `I want no
director nor monitor concerning any duty or act which
it falls to me to perform other than I find within me. I
have no need of a divine messenger to stand ever at my
side to tell me what I must do and what I must forbear.
I have within me instincts and impulses which I find
amply sufficient. The care and duty of every day is
very much alike, and a little experience and observation
added to the inward instinct makes me quite superior to
most difficulties and evils as they arise. The gods, or
whatever power gave us our nature, have not left us dependent
either on what is called religion or philosophy.'
`What you say,' I rejoined, `is partly true. The
gods have not left us dependent upon either religion or
philosophy. There is a natural religion of the heart and
the conscience which is born with us, grows up with us,
and never forsakes us. But then after all how defective
and incomplete a principle it is. It has chiefly to
to do only with our daily conduct; it cannot answer
our doubts or satisfy our wants. It differs too with the
constitution of the individual. In some it is a principle
of much greater value and efficacy than in others.
Your instincts are clear and powerful and direct you
aright. But in another they are obscure and weak,
and leave the mind in the greatest perplexity. It is by
no means all that they want. Then are not the prevalent
superstitions most injurious in their influences upon
the common mind? Can you doubt whether more of
good or evil is derived to the soul from the ideas it entertains
of the character and providence of the gods?
Can you be insensible to the horrible enormities and
nameless vices which make a part even of what is called
religion? And is there no need — if men will have religion
in some form — that they should receive it in a
better one? Can you not conceive of such views of
God and his worship, of duty, virtue, and immortality
being presented, that they shall strike the mind as reasonable
in themselves and of beneficial instead of hurtful
power upon being adopted? Can you not imagine
your own mind and the minds of people generally to be
so devoted to a high and sublime conception of the Divinity
and of futurity, as to be absolutely incapable of
an act that should displease him or forfeit the hope of
immortality?'
`Hardly,' said Marcus and Lucilia.
`Well, suppose it were so. Or rather, if you cannot
imagine such a state of things, multitudes can. You are
not a fair specimen of our kind, but only of a comparatively
small class. Generally — so I have found it — the
mind is seeking about for something better than what any
human system has as yet proposed, and is confident of
nothing more than of this, that men may be put in possession
of truths that shall carry them on as far beyond
what their natural instincts now can do, as these instincts
carry them on beyond any point to which the
brutes ever arrive. This certainly was my own conviction
before I met with Christianity. Now Marcus
and Lucilia, what is this Christianity but a revelation
from Heaven whose aim is to give to you and to all such
conceptions of God and futurity, as I have just spoken
of?' — I then, finding that I had obtained a hearing,
went into a full account of the religion of Christ as I
had received it from the books themselves, and which to
you I need not repeat. They listened with considerable
patience — though I was careful not to use many
words — but without any expression of countenance or
manner that indicated any very favorable change in
their opinions or feelings. As I ended, Marcus said,
`I shall always think better of this religion, Lucius,
that you have adopted it, though I cannot say that your
adopting it will raise my judgment of you. I do not at
present see upon what grounds it stands so firm or divine
that a citizen is defensible in abandoning for it an
ostensible reception of and faith in the existing forms of
the state. However, I incline to allow freedom in these
matters to scholars and speculative minds. Let them
discontented, ambitious herd, and should, for the
sake of their genius, be humored in the particular pursuits
where they have placed their happiness. But
when they turn propagators and reformers, and aim at
the subversion of things now firmly established and
prosperous, then — although I myself should never meddle
in such matters — it is scarcely a question whether
the power of the state should interpose and lay upon
them the necessary restraints. Upon the whole, Lucius
Piso, I think that I and Lucilia had better turn preachers,
and exhort you to return to the faith or no-faith which
you have abandoned. Leave such things to take care
of themselves. What have you gained but making
yourself an object of popular aversion or distrust? You
have abandoned the community of the polite, the refined,
the sober, where by nature you belong, and have associated
yourself with a vulgar crew of — forgive my freedom,
I speak the common judgment that you may know
what it is — ignorant fanatics or crafty knaves, who care
for you no further than as by your great name they
may stand a little higher in the world. I protest before
Jupiter that to save others like you from such loss I feel
tempted to hunt over the statute books for some law
now obsolete and forgotten, but not legally dead, that
may be brought to bear upon this mischief and give it
another Decian blight, which, if it do not kill, may yet
check and obstruct its growth.'
I replied, `that from him I could apprehend, he well
knew, no such deed of folly or guilt — however likely it
was that others might do it and glory in their shame —
that his nature would save him from such a deed though
did not despair of his looking upon Christianity with a
favorable judgment in good time. He had been willing
to hear, and there was that secret charm in the truths
and doctrines of Christ's religion, and especially in his
character, that however rudely set forth, the mind could
scarcely resist it — against its will, it would oftentimes
find itself subdued and changed. The seeds I have
now dropt upon your hearts I trust will some day spring
up and bear such fruit as you yourselves will rejoice in.'
`So,' said Marcus, `may the wheat spilled into the
Tiber, or sown among rocks, or eaten by the birds.'
`And that may be, though not to-day nor to-morrow,'
I replied. `The seed of things essential to man's life, as
of wheat, is not easily killed. It may be buried for years
and years, yet turned up at length to the sun and its life
sprouts upward in leaf and stem and fruit. Borne down
by the waters of the Tiber and apparently lost, it may be
cast up upon the shores of Egypt or Britain and fulfill its
destiny. The seed of truth is longer-lived still — by
reason that what it bears is more essential than wheat
or other grain to man's best life.'
`Well, well,' said Marcus, `let us charge our goblets
with the bottom of this Falernian, and forgetting whether
there be such an entity as truth or not, drink to the
health of the princess Julia.'
`That comes nearer our hearts,' said Lucilia, `than
anything that has been spoken for the last hour. When
you return, Lucius, Laco must follow you with a muleload
of some of my homely products' — She was
about to add more, when we were all alike startled and
alarmed by cries, seemingly of deep distress, and rapidly
door of the room was violently flung open and a slave
rushed in, crying out,
`Oh, sir! Gallus — Gallus' —
`What is it? What is it?' — cried Marcus and Lucilia.
`Speak quick — has he fallen?'
`Oh no; the pond — the fish-pond — run — fly' —
Distractedly we hurried to the spot already surrounded
by a crowd of slaves. Who had been with him?
Where had he fallen? were questions hastily asked, but
which no one could answer. It was a miserable scene
of agony, confusion and despair — Marcus ordering his
slaves to dive into the pond, then uttering curses upon
them, and commanding those to whom Gallus was usually
entrusted to the rack. No one could swim, no one
could dive. It was long since I had made use of an art
which I once possessed, but instantly I cast off my upper
garments, and needing no other direction to the true
spot than the barking of the little dog and his jumping
in and out of the water — first learning that the water
was deep and of an even bottom — I threw myself in,
and in a moment guided by the white dress of the little
fellow I grasped him and drew him to the surface.
Life was apparently and probably to my mind extinct,
but expressing a hope that means might yet be resorted
to that should restore him, I bore him in my arms to the
house. But it was all in vain. Gallus was dead.
I shall not inflict a new sadness upon you, Fausta, by
describing the grief of my friends, or any of the incidents
of the days I now passed with them. They were
heavy, melancholy days; for the sorrows of both Lucilia
and Marcus were excessive and inconsolable. I could
while they were thus incapacitated for all action I could
serve them essentially by placing myself at the head of
their affairs, and relieving them of common cares and
duties, that must otherwise have been neglected or have
proved irksome and oppressive.
The ashes of Gallus, committed to a small marble
urn, have been deposited in a tomb in the centre of Lucilia's
flower garden, which will soon be embowered by
flowers and shrubs which her hand will delight to train
around it.
On the eve of the day when I was to leave them and
return to Rome, we sat together in a portico which overlooks
the Tiber. Marcus and Lucilia were sad, but at
length in some sort calm. The first violence of sorrow
had spent itself, and reflection was beginning to
succeed.
`I suppose,' said Marcus, `your rigid faith greatly
condemns all this show of suffering which you have
witnessed, Piso, in us, as if not criminal, at least weak
and childish?'
`Not so, by any means,' I rejoined. `The religion of
the Christians is what one may term a natural religion;
it does violence to not one of the good affections and
propensities. Coming, as we maintain, from the creator
of our bodies and our minds, it does them no injury,
it wars not with any of their natural elements, but most
strictly harmonizes with them. It aims to direct, to
modify, to heal, to moderate — but never to alter or annihilate.
Love of our offspring is not more according
to our nature than grief for the loss of them. Grief
therefore is innocent — even as praiseworthy as love.
would there be in the arrangement that should first bind
us by chains of affection strong as adamant to a child,
or a parent, or a friend, and then treat the sorrow as
criminal that wept with whatever violence as it saw the
links broken and scattered, never again to be joined together?'
`That certainly is a proof that some just ideas are to
be found in your religion,' replied my friend. `By
nothing was I ever more irreconcilably offended in the
stoical philosophy than by its harsh violence towards
nature under suffering. To be treated by your philosophy
with rudeness and contempt because you yield to
emotions which are as natural and therefore in my judgment
as innocent as any, is as if one were struck by a
friend or a parent to whom you fled for protection or
comfort. The doctrines of all the others failed in the
same way. Even the Epicureans hold it a weakness
and even a wrong to grieve, seeing the injury that is
thereby done to happiness. Grief must be suppressed
and banished because it is accompanied by pain. That
too seemed to me a false sentiment, because although
grief is indeed in some sort painful yet is it not wholly
so, but is attended by a kind of pleasure. How plain
it is that I should suffer greatly more were I forcibly
restrained by a foreign power or my own from shedding
these tears and uttering these sighs for Gallus, than I
do now while I am free to indulge my natural feelings.
In truth it is the only pleasure that grief brings with
it — the freedom of indulging it.'
`He,' I said, as Marcus paused, giving way afresh to
his sorrow, `who embraces the Christian doctrine, is
of the emotions to which the loss of those
whom we love gives birth. But then at the same time
he will probably grieve and suffer much less under
such circumstances than you — not because he is however
forcibly restrained, but because of the influence
upon his mind and his heart of truths and opinions
which as a Christian he entertains, and which, without
any will or act of his own, work within him and
strengthen and console him. The Christian believing
so firmly as he does, for example, in a God, not only on
grounds of reason but of express revelation, and that
this God is a parent, exercising a providence over his
creatures, regardless of none, loving as a parent all,
who has created mankind not for his own amusement
or glory, but that life and happiness might be diffused:
they who believe thus must feel very differently under
adversity from those who like yourself believe nothing
of it at all, and from those who, like the disciples of the
Porch and the Academy, believe but an inconsiderable
part of it. Suppose, Marcus and Lucilia, your whole
population of slaves were, instead of strangers and
slaves, your children, toward whom you experienced
the same sentiments of deep affection that you did toward
Gallus; how would you not consult for their happiness;
and how plain it is that whatever laws you
might set over them they would be laws of love, the
end of which, however they might not always recognize
it, would be their happiness — happiness through their
virtue. This may represent with sufficient exactness
the light in which Christians regard the Divinity, and
the laws of life under which they find themselves. Admitting
manifest is it that they will necessarily suffer less under
adversity than you — nd not because any violence is
done to their nature, but because of the benignant influences
of such truths.'
`What you say,' observed Lucilia, `affects the mind
very agreeably; and gives a pleasing idea, both of the
wisdom and mercy of the Christian faith. It seems at
any rate to be suited to such creatures as we are. What
a pity that it is so difficult to discern truth.'
`It is difficult,' I replied; `the ebst things are always
so: but it is not impossible; what is necessary to our
happiness is never so. A mind of common powers, well
disposed, seeking with a real desire to find, will rarely
retire from the search wholly unsuccessful. The great
essentials to our daily well-being and the right conduct
of life the Creator has supplied through our instincts.
Your natural religion, of which you have spoken, you
find sufficient for most of the occurrences which arise
both of doing and bearing. But there are other emergencies
for which it is as evidently insufficient. Now
as the Creator has supplied so perfectly in all breasts the
natural religion which is so essential, it is fair to say
and believe that He would not make additional truths almost
equally essential to our happiness, either of impossible
attainment, or encompassed by difficulties which
could not with a little diligence and perseverance be
overcome.'
`It would seem so, certainly,' said Marcus; `but it is
so long since I have bestowed any thought upon philosophical
inquiries, that to me the labor would be very
great and the difficulties extreme — for at present there
to which as a nucleus other truths may attach themselves.
In truth, I never look even to possess any clear
faith in a God — it seems a subject wholly beyond the
scope and grasp of my mind. I cannot entertain the
idea of self-existence. I can conceive of him neither as
one nor as divided into parts. Is he infinite and everywhere,
himself constituting his universe — then he is
scarcely a God; or is he a being dwelling apart from
his works, and watching their obedience to their imposed
laws? In neither of these conceptions can I rest.'
`It is not strange,' I replied; `nor that refusing to believe
in the fact of a God until you should be able to
comprehend him perfectly, you should to this hour be
without faith. If I had waited before believing until I
understood, I should at this moment be as faithless as
you, or as I was before I received Christianity. Do I
comprehend the Deity? Can I describe the mode of his
being? Can I tell you in what manner he sprang into
existence? And whether he is necessarily everywhere
in his works, and as it were constituting them? Or
whether he has power to contract himself and dwell
apart from them, their omniscient observer and omnipotent
Lord? I know nothing of all this; the religion which
I receive teaches nothing of all this. Christianity does
not demonstrate the being of a God, it simply proclaims it;
hardly so much as that indeed. It supposes it, as what
was already well known and generally believed. I cannot
doubt that it is left thus standing by itself, untaught
and unexplained only because the subject is intrinsically
incomprehensible by us. It is a great fact or truth
which all can receive, but which none can explain or
the recognition of it and declaration of it in some revelation,
it cannot be believed at all. The mind of man is
no more competent to reach and grasp it through reason,
than his hands are to mould a sun. All the reasonings,
imaginations, guesses, of self-styled philosophers,
are here like the prattlings of children. They make
you smile, but they do not instruct.'
`I fear,' said Marcus, `I shall then never believe, for
I can believe nothing of which I cannot form a conception.'
`Surely,' I answered, `our faith is not bounded by
our conceptions or our knowledge in other things. We
build the loftiest palaces and temples upon foundations
of stone, though we can form no conception whatever of
the nature of a stone. So I think we may found a true
and sufficient religion on our belief in the fact of a God,
although we can form no conception whatever of his nature
and the mode of his existence.'
But I should fatigue you, Fausta, were I to give you
more of our conversation. It ran on equally pleasant I
believe to all of us, to a quite late hour; in which time
almost all that is peculiar to the faith of the Christians
came under our review. It was more than midnight
when we rose from our seats to retire to our chambers.
But before we did that, a common feeling directed our
steps to the tomb of Gallus, which was but a few paces
from where we had been sitting. There these childless
parents again gave way to their grief; and was I stone
that I should not weep with them?
When this act and duty of piety had been performed
we sought our pillows. As for me, I could not sleep for
For even to me, who was to that child almost a stranger
and had been so little used to his presence, this
place is no longer the same: all its brightness, life and
spirit of gladness are gone. Everything seems changed.
From every place and scene something seems to have
been subtracted to which they were indebted for whatever
it was that made them attractive. If this is so to
to me, what must it be to Marcus and Lucilia? It is
not difficult to see that a sorrow has settled upon their
hearts which no length of time can heal. I suppose if
all their estates had been swept away from them in a
night, and all their friends, they would not have been so
overwhelmed as by this calamity — in such a wonderful
manner were they each woven into the child, and all
into each other, as one being. They seem no longer to
me like the same persons. Not that they are not often
calm, and in a manner possessed of themselves; but that
even then when they are most themselves, there has a
dullness, a dreamy absence of mind, a fixed sadness,
come over them that wholly changes them. Though
they sit and converse with you, their true thoughts seem
far away. They are kind and courteous as ever to the
common eye, but I can see that all the relish of life and
of intercourse is now to them gone. All is flat and insipid.
The friend is coldly saluted; the meal left untasted,
or partaken of in silence and soon abandoned;
the affairs of the household left to others, to any who
will take charge of them. They tell me that this will
always be so; that however they may seem to others
they must ever experience a sense of loss; not any less
than they would if a limb had been shorn away. A
is taken from them.
How strange is all this, even in the light of Christian
faith! How inexplicable, we are ready to say, by any
reason of ours, the providence of God in taking away
the human being in the first blossoming; before the
fruit has even shown itself, much less ripened! Yet is
not immortality, the hope, the assurance of immortality,
a sufficient solution? To me it is. This will not
indeed cure our sorrows — they spring from somewhat
wholly independent of futurity — but it vindicates the
ways of the Omnipotent, and justifies them to our reason
and our affections. Will Marcus and Lucilia ever
rejoice in the consolations which flow from this hope?
Alas! I fear not. They seem in a manner to be incapable
of belief.
In the morning I shall start for Rome. As soon as
there you shall hear from me again. Farewell.
While Piso was absent from Rome on this visit to his
friend, it was my fortune to be several times in the city
upon necessary affairs of the illustrious queen, when I
was both at the palace of Aurelian and that of Piso. It
was at one of these later visits that it became apparent
to me that the emperor seriously meditated the imposing
of restrictions of some kind upon the Christians; yet no
such purpose was generally apprehended by that sect itself,
nor by the people at large. The dark and disastrous
occurrences on the day of the dedication were variously
interpreted by the people; some believing them
of the emperor, some at Aurelian himself. The
popular mind was however greatly inflamed against the
Christians, and every art was resorted to by the priests
of the temples, and those who were as bigoted and savage
as themselves among the people, to fan to a devouring
flame the little fire that began to be kindled. The
voice from the temple, however some might with Fronto
himself doubt whether it were not from Heaven, was for
the most part ascribed to the Christians, although they
could give no explanation of the manner in which it
had been produced. But as in the case of Aurelian
himself, this was forgotten in the horror occasioned by
the more dreadful language of the omens, which in
such black and threatening array no one remembered
ever to have been witnessed before. None thought or
talked of anything else. It was the universal theme.
This may be seen in a conversation which I had with
a rustic, whom I overtook as I rode toward Rome, seated
on his mule burdened on either side and behind with
the multifarious produce of his farm. The fellow as I
drew near to him seeming of a less churlish disposition
than most of those whom one meets upon the road, who
will scarcely return a friendly salute, I feared not to
accost him. After giving him the customary good
wishes, I remarked upon the excellence of the vegetables
which he had in his panniers.
`Yes,' he said, `these lettuces are good, but not what
they would have been but for the winds we have had
from the mountains. It has sadly nipped them. I hear
the queen pines away just as my plants do. I live at
Norentum. I know you, sir, though you cannot know
My children often call me from my work to look up, for
there goes the secretary of the good queen on his great
horse. There's no such horse as that on the road.
Ha, ha, my baskets reach but to your knee! Well,
there are differences in animals and in men too. So
the gods will it. One rides upon a horse with golden
bits, another upon a mule with none at all. Still I say,
let the gods be praised.'
`The gods themselves could hardly help that,' I said,
`if they made one man stronger or of more wit than another.
In that case one would get more than another.
And surely you would not have men all run in one
mould — all five feet high, all weighing so much, all
with one face, and one form, and one brain! The
world were then dull enough.'
`You say true,' he replied; `that is very good. If
we were all alike there would be no such thing as being
rich or poor — no such thing as getting or losing. I
fear it would be dull enough, as you say. But I did
not mean to complain, sir. I believe I am contented
with my lot. So long as I can have my little farm
with my garden and barns — my cattle and my poultry,
a kind neighbor or so, and my priest and temple, I care
for nothing more.'
`You have a temple then at Norentum.'
`Yes, to Jupiter Pluvius. And a better priest has
not Rome itself. It is his brother, some officer of the
emperor's, I take these vegetables to. I hope to hear
more this morning of what I heard something when I
was last at market. And I think I shall, for, as I hear,
the city is a good deal stirred since the dedication the
other day.'
`I believe it is,' I answered. `But of what do you
look to hear, if I may ask. Is there news from the
East?'
`O no, I think not of the East nor South. It was of
something to be done about these Christians. Our temple
you must know is half forsaken and more of late. I
believe half the people of Norentum, if the truth were
known, have turned Christians or Jews. Unless we
wake up a little, our worship cannot be supported and
our religion will be gone. And glad am I to hear
through our priest that even the emperor is alarmed,
and believes something must be done. You know than
he there is not a more devout man in Rome. So it is
said. And one thing that makes me think so is this.
The brother of our priest — where I am going with
these vegetables; here is poultry too, look! you never
saw fatter I warrant you — told him that he knew it for
certain that the emperor meant to make short work with
even his own neice — you know who I mean — Aurelia,
who has long been suspected to be a Christian. And
that 's right. If he punishes any he ought not to spare
his own.'
`That I suppose would be right. But why should
he punish any? You need not be alarmed nor offended;
I am no Christian.'
`The gods be praised therefor! I do not pretend to
know the whole reason why. But that seems to be the
only way of saving the old religion; and I do n't know
what way you can possibly have of showing that a religion
of yesterday is true, if a religion of a thousand
years old is to be made out false. If religion is good for
anything — and I for one think it is — I think men
they should be to eat wholesome food rather than poisonous
or hurtful. The laws won't permit us to carry
certain things to market nor others in a certain state.
If we do we are fined or imprisoned. Treat a Christian
in the same way, say I. Let them just go thoroughly
to work, and our temples will soon be filled again.'
`But these Christians seem to be a harmless people.'
`But they have no religion that anybody can call
such. They have no gods nor altars nor sacrifices;
such can never be harmless. To be sure, as to sacrifices,
I think there is such a thing as doing too much
there. I am not for human sacrifices. Nor do I see
the need either of burning up a dozen fat oxen or heifers,
as was done the other day at the Temple of the
Sun. We in Norentum burn nothing but the hoofs
and some of the entrails, and the rest goes to the priest
for his support. As I take it, a sacrifice is just a sign
of readiness to do everything and lose everything for
the gods. We are not expected to throw either ourselves
or our whole substance upon the altar; making
the sign is sufficient. But as I said, these Christians
have no altar and no sacrifice, nor image of god or goddess.
They have at Norentum an old ruinous building
— once a market — where they meet for worship;
but those who have been present say that nothing is to
be seen; and nothing heard but prayers — to what god
no one knows — and exhortations of the priests. Some
say that elsewhere they have what they call an altar
and adorn their walls with pictures and statues. However
all this may be, there seems to be some charm
about them or their worship, for all the world is running
Hirtius. If these omens have not set the emperor
at work for us, nothing will. Here we are at the gates,
and I turn toward the Claudian market. May the day
go happily with you.'
So we parted, and I bent my way toward the gardens
of Sallust.
As I moved slowly along through the streets, my
heart was filled with pity for this people — the Christians
— threatened as it seemed to me with a renewal
of the calamities that had so many times swept over
them before. They had ever impressed me as a simple
minded, virtuous community, of notions too subtle
and spiritual for the world ever to receive, but which
upon themselves appeared to exert a power altogether
beneficial. Many of this faith I had known well, and
they were persons to excite my highest admiration for
the characters which they bore. Need I name more
than the princess Julia and her husband, the excellent
Piso? Others like them — what wonder if inferior —
had also, both in Palmyra, and at Tibur and Rome,
for they were to be found everywhere, drawn largely
both on my respect and my affections. I beheld with
sorrow the signs which now seemed to portend suffering
and disaster. And my sympathies were the more moved
seeing that never before had there been upon the throne
a man who, if he were once entered into a war of opposition
against them, had power to do them greater harm,
or could have proved a more stern and cruel enemy. Not
even Nero nor Domitian were in their time to be so much
dreaded. For if Aurelian should once league him with
the state against them, it would not with him be matter
the honor of the gods, the protection of religion, the
greatness and glory of the empire, that he would assail
and punish them; and the same fierce and bloody spirit
that made him of all modern conquerors the bloodiest
and fiercest, it was plain would rule him in any encounter
with this humble and defenceless tribe. I could only
hope that I was deceived as well as others in my apprehensions,
or, if that were not so, pray that the gods
would be pleased to take their great subject to themselves.
Full of such reflections and emotions I arrived at
the palace and was ushered into the presence of Livia.
There was with her the melancholy Aurelia — for such
she always seems — and who appeared to have been
engaged in earnest talk with the empress, if one might
judge by tears fast falling from her eyes. The only
words which I caught as I entered were these from Aurelia,
`but, dear lady, if Mucapor require it not, why
should others think of it so much? Were he fixed, then
should I indeed have to ask strength of God for the
trial —' then seeing me and only receiving my salutations
she withdrew.
Livia, after first inquiring concerning Zenobia and
Faustula, returning to what had just engaged her, said,
`I wish, good Nichomachus, that I had your powers
of speech of which as you can remember I have been
witness in former days — those happy days in Syria —
when you used so successfully to withstand and subdue
my giddy or headstrong mind. Here have I been for
weary hours — not weary neither for their aim has I am
sure been a worthy one — but here have I been persuading
bear, this self-willed girl to renounce these fantastic notions
she has imbibed from the Christians and their
books, were it only for the sake of domestic peace. Aurelian
is growing daily more and more exasperated
against this obscure tribe, and drops oftener than I love
to hear them dark hints of what awaits them, not excepting
he says any of whatever rank or name. Not that I
suppose he or the senate would proceed further than imprisonments,
banishment, suppression of free speech,
the destruction of books and churches; so much indeed
I understand from him. But even thus far, and we might
lose Aurelia — a thing not to be thought of for a moment.
He has talked with her himself, reasoned with
her, threatened her; but in vain. Now he has imposed
the same task upon me — it is equally in vain. I know
not what to do.'
`Because,' I replied, `nothing can be done. Where
it is possible to see, you have eyes within you that can
penetrate the thickest darkness as well as any. But
here you fail; but only where none could succeed. A
sincere honest mind, princess, is not to be changed either
by persuasion or force. Its belief is not subject to the
will. Aurelia, if I have heard aright, is a Christian
from conviction. Evidence made her a Christian —
stronger evidence on the side of her former faith can
alone unmake her.'
`I cannot reason with her to that extent, Nichomachus,'
replied the empress. `I know not the grounds of the
common faith, any more than those of Christianity. I
only know that I wish Aurelia was not a Christian.
Will you, Nichomachus, reason with her? I remember
your logic of old.'
`Alas, princess, I can engage in no such task!
Where I have no faith myself I should in vain attempt
to plant it in others. How either can I desire that any
mind should remain an hour longer oppressed by the
childish and abominable superstitions which prevail in
Rome? I cannot but congratulate the excellent Aurelia,
so far as the question of truth is concerned, that in the
place of the infinite stupidities of the common religion,
she has received the, at least, pure and reasonable doctrines
of the Christians. You cannot surely, princess,
desire her re-conversion?'
`Only for her own sake, for the sake of her safety,
comfort, happiness.'
`But in her judgment these are best and only secured
where she now is. How thinks Mucapor?'
`As I believe,' answered Livia, `he cares not in the
matter, save for her happiness. He will not wish that
she should have any faith except such as she herself
wishes. I have urged him to use his power to constrain
her, but he loves liberty himself too dearly, he says, to
put force upon another.'
`He is a noble fellow,' I said; `it is what I should
have looked for from Mucapor.'
`In good sooth, Nichomachus, I believe you still take
me but for what I was in Palmyra. Who am I?'
`From a princess you have become an empress, that
I fully understand, and I trust never to be wanting in
the demeanor that best becomes a subject; but you are
still Livia, the daughter of Zenobia, and to her I feel I
can never fear to speak with sincerity.'
`How omnipotent, Nicomachus, are simplicity and
truth! They subdue me when I most would not. They
well, Aurelia then must take the full weight of her uncle's
wrath, which is not light.'
At this moment Aurelian himself entered, accompanied
by Fronto. Livia at the same time rose and withdrew,
not caring, I thought, to meet the eyes of that basilisk,
who with the cunning of a priest she saw to be
usurping a power over Aurelian which belonged of right
to her. I was about also to withdraw, but the emperor
constraining me as he often does, I remained, although
holding the priest in still greater abhorrence I believe
than Livia herself.
`While you have been absent from the city, Fronto,'
said Aurelian, `I have revolved the subjects upon which
we last conversed, and no longer doubt where lie for me
both duty and the truest glory. The judgment of the
colleges, lately rendered, agrees both with yours and
mine. So that the very finger of the god we worship
points the way.'
`I am glad,' replied Fronto, `for myself, for you, for
Rome, and for the world, that truth possesses and is to
sway you. It will be a great day for Rome, greater
than when your triumphal array swept through the
streets with the world at your chariot-wheels, when the
enemy, that has so long waged successful war within the
very gates, shall lie dead as the multitudes of Palmyra.'
`It will, Fronto. But first I have this to say, and by
the gods I believe it true, that it is the corruptions of our
own religion and its ministers that is the offence that
smells to heaven quite as much as the presumptuous
novelties of this of Judea. I perceive you neither assent
to this nor like it. But it is true, I am persuaded, as
while with one hand I aim at the Gallilean atheism,
with the other I shall aim at those who dishonor by
their vices and hypocrisies the religion they profess to
serve.'
Fronto was evidently disturbed. His face grew pale
as the frown gathered and darkened on the brow of Aurelian.
He answered not, and Aurelian went on.
`Hellenism, Fronto, is disgraced and its very life
threatened by the vices of her chief ministers. The gods
forgive me in that while I have purged my legions of
drunkards and adulterers, I have left them in the temples.
Truly did you say, I have had but one thought
in my mind, I have looked but to one quarter of the
heavens. My eyes are now unsealed, and I see both
ways and every way. How can we look for the favor
of the gods while their houses of worship, I speak it,
Fronto, with sorrow, but with the knowledge too of the
truth of what I say, are houses of appointment, while
the very inner sanctuaries and the altars themselves are
little better than the common stews, while the priests
are the great fathers of iniquity, corrupters of innocence,
the seducers of youth, examples themselves beyond the
fear of rivalry of all the vice they teach. At their tables
too, who so swollen with meats and drink as the priests?
Who but they are a by-word throughout the city for all
that is vilest? What word but priest stands with all as
an abbreviation and epitome of whatever pollutes and
defiles the name of man? Porphyrius says `that since
Jesus has been worshipped in Rome no one has found
by experience the public assistance of the gods.' I believe
it; and Rome will never again experience it till
not, that since their ministers have become ministers of
demons, and from teachers of morals have turned instructers
in vice — for this reason too as well as for the
other the justly offended deities of Rome have hid themselves
from their impious worshippers. Here then,
Fronto, is a double labor to be undergone, a double duty
to be done, not less than some or all of the labors of
Hercules. We are set for this work, and not till I have
begun it — if not finished — will I so much as dream of
Persia. What say you?'
Fronto looked like one who had kindled a larger
flame than he intended, or knew well how to manage.
`The faults of which you speak, great emperor, it can
be denied by none are found in Rome, and can never be
other than displeasing to the gods. But then I would
ask when was it ever otherwise? In the earlier ages of
the republic, I grant, there was a virtue in the people
which we see not now. But that grew not out of the
purer administration of religion, but was the product of
the times in part — times in comparison with these of a
primeval simplicity. To live well was easier then.
Where no temptation is, virtue is necessary. But then
it ceases to be virtue. It is a quality, not an acquisition
— a gift of the gods rather than man's meritorious
work.'
`That is very true — well.'
`There may be as much real virtue now, as then.
May it not be so?'
`Perhaps it may. What then?'
`Our complaints of the present should be softened.
But what chiefly I would urge is this, that since those
the same period, partly fabulous — Rome has been but
what it is, adorned by virtues that have claimed the admiration
of the world, and polluted by vices that have
drawn upon her the reprobation of the good, yet which
are but such as the world shows its surface over, from
the farthest India to the bleak wastes of Britain. It is,
Aurelian, a thing neither strange nor new that vices
thrive in Rome. And long since have there been those
like Nerva and the good Severus, and the late censor
Valerian, who have aimed at their correction. These,
and others who before and since have wrought in the
same work, have done well for the empire. Their aim
has been a high one, and the favor of the gods has been
theirs. Aurelian may do more and better in the same
work, seeing his power is greater and his piety more
zealous.'
`These are admitted truths, Fronto, save the last; but
whither do they tend?'
`To this. Because, Aurelian, vice has been in Rome;
because even the priesthood has been corrupt, and the
temples themselves the sties you say they now are —
for this have the gods ever withdrawn their protection?
Has Rome ever been the less prosperous? What is
more, can we conceive that they who made us of their
fiery mould, so prone to violate the bounds of moderation,
would for yielding to such instincts interpose in
wrath as if that had happened which was not foreseen,
and against which they had made sure provision? Are
the heavens to blaze with the fires of the last day, thunders
to roll as if earth were shaken to her centre, the
entrails of dumb beasts to utter forth terrific prophecy of
of Rome are by no means patterns of purity — because
perchance within the temples themselves an immorality
may have been purposed or perpetrated — because even
the priests themselves have not been or are not white
and spotless as their robes?'
`There seems some reason in what you say.'
`But, great emperor, take me not as if I would make
myself the shield of vice, to hide it from the blow that
would extirpate or cure it. I see and bewail the corruptions
of the age; but as they seem not fouler than those
of ages which are past, especially than those of Nero
and of Commodus, I cannot think that it is against these
the gods have armed themselves, but, Aurelian, against
an evil which has been long growing and often assailed
and checked, but which has now got to such giant size
and strength, that except it be absolutely hewn down,
and the least roots torn up and burned, both the altars
of our gods, and their capital called Eternal — and the
empire itself now holding the world in its wide-spread,
peace-giving arms, are vanished, and anarchy, impiety,
atheism, and the rank vices which in such times would
be engendered, shall then reign omnipotent, and fill the
very compass of the earth, Christ being the universal
king. It is against this the heavens have arrayed their
power, and to arouse an ungrateful, thoughtless, impious
people, and their sleeping king, that they have
spoken in thunder.'
`Fronto, I almost believe you right.'
`Had we, Aurelian, but the eyes of moles when the
purposes of the gods are to be deciphered in the character
of events, we should long since have seen that the
since the Gallilean atheism has taken root here, have
pointed but to that — that they have been a chastisement
of our supineness and sloth. When did Rome, almighty
Rome, ever before tremble at the name of barbarian,
or fly before their arms? While now is it not
much that we are able to keep them from the very walls
of Rome? They now swarm the German forests in multitudes
which no man can count; their hoarse murmurs
can be heard even here, ready, soon as the reins of empire
shall fall into the hands of another Gallienus, to
pour themselves upon the plains of Italy, changing our
fertile lands and gorgeous cities into another Dacia.
These things were not so once; and what cause there is
in Rome so deep and high and broad to resolve for us
the reason of this averted face of heaven, save that of
which I speak, I cannot guess.'
`Nor I,' said Aurelian; `I confess it. It must be so.
My work is not three nor two; but one. I have brought
peace to the empire in all its borders. My legions all
rest upon their arms. Not a sword but is in its sheath
— there for the present let it be glued fast. The season,
so propitious for the great work of bringing again the
empire into peace and harmony with the angry gods,
seems to have been provided by themselves. How think
you, Nichomachus?' — turning suddenly to me as if now
for the first time aware that I was standing at his side.
I answered `that I was slow to receive the judgment
of Fronto or of himself in that matter. That I could
not believe that the gods, who should be examples of the
virtues to mankind, would ever ordain such sufferings
for their creatures as must ensue were the former violences
from thinking them a nuisance in the state, I considered
them a benefit.'
`The Greek too,' said Fronto, breaking in, `is then a
Christian.'
`I am not a Christian, priest, nor as I think shall ever
be one; but far sooner would I be one than take my
faith from thee, which however it might guide me well
through the wine vaults of the temple, or to the best
stalls of the market, or to the selectest retreats of the
suburra, would scarce show the way to heaven. I affront
but the corruptions of religion, Aurelian. Sincerity
I honor everywhere. Hypocrisy nowhere.' I
thought Fronto would have torn me with his teeth and
nails. His white face grew whiter, but he stood still.
`Say on,' said the emperor, `though your bluntness
be more even than Roman.'
`I think,' I continued, `the Christians a benefit to the
state, for this reason; not that their religion is what
they pretend, a heaven-descended one, but that by its
greater strictness it serves to rebuke the common faith
and those who hold it, and infuse into it something of
its own spirit. All new systems, as I take it, in their
first beginning are strict and severe. It is thus by this
quality they supercede older and degenerate ones; not
because they are truer perhaps, but because they are
purer. There is a prejudice among men, that the gods,
whoever they may be and whatever they may be, love
virtue in men, and for that accept them. When therefore
a religion fails to recommend and enforce virtue, it
fails to meet the judgment of men concerning the true
character and office of a religion, and so, with the exception
esteem a faith in proportion to its corruptions, they look
with favor upon any new one which promises to be
what they want. It is for this reason that this religion
from Judea has made its way so far and so soon. But
it will by and by degenerate from its high estate just as
others have done, and be succeeded by another that
shall raise still higher expectations. In the meantime,
it serves the state well, both by the virtue which it enjoins
upon its own subjects and the influence it exerts
by indirection upon those of the prevalent faiths, and
upon the general manners and morals.'
`What you say,' observed Aurelian musingly, `has
some show of sense. So much at least may be said for
this religion.'
`Yet a lie,' said Fronto, `can be none the less hateful
to the gods, because it sometimes plays the part of truth.
It is a lie still.'
`Hold,' said Aurelian, `let us hear the Greek. What
else?'
`I little thought,' I replied, `as I rode toward the city
this morning, that I should at this hour be standing in
the presence of the Emperor of Rome, a defender of the
Christians. I am in no manner whatever fitted for the
task. My knowledge is nothing; my opinions therefore
worth but little, grounded as they are upon the
loose reports which reach my ear concerning the character
and doctrines of this sect, or upon what little observation
I have made upon those whom I have known
of that persuasion. Still I honor and esteem them, and
such aid as I can bring them in their straits, shall be
very gladly theirs. I will however add only one thing
the gods as more concerned to destroy the Christians
than to reform the common religion and the public
morals. I cannot think that. Am I to believe that the
gods, the supreme directors of human affairs, and whose
aim must be man's highest well-being, regard with more
abhorrence an error than a vice? — an error too that acts
more beneficently than most truth, and is the very seed
of the purest virtues? I can by no means believe it.
So that if I were interpreter of the late omens, I should
rather see them pointed at the vices which prevail; at
the corruptions of the public morals, which are fouler
than aught I had so much as dreamed of before I was
myself a witness of them, and may well be supposed to
startle the gods from their rest, and draw down their
hottest thunderbolts. But I will not say more, when
there must be so many able to do so much better in behalf
of what I must still believe to be a good cause.
Let me entreat the emperor, before he condemns, to
hear. There are those in Rome, of warm hearts, sound
heads, and honest souls, from whom, if from any on
earth, truth may be heard, and who will set in its just
light a doctrine too excellent to suffer as it must in my
hands.'
`They shall be heard, Nichomachus. Not even a
Jew nor a Christian shall suffer without that grace;
though I see not how it can avail.'
`If it should not avail to plant in your mind so good
an opinion of their way as exists in mine,' I resumed,
`it might yet to soften it and dispose it to a more lenient
conduct; and so many are the miseries of life in the
natural order of events, that the humane heart must desire
heard the name of Probus the Christian?'
The emperor turned toward Fronto with a look of inquiry.
`Yes,' said the priest, `you have heard his name.
But that of Felix, the bishop of the Christians, as he is
called, is more familiar to you.'
`Felix, Felix, that is the name I have heard most, but
Probus too, if I err not.'
`He has been named to you, I am certain,' added
Fronto. `He is the real head of the Nazarenes, — the
bishop but a painted one.'
`Probus is he who turned young Piso's head. Is it
not so?'
`The very same; and beside his, the lady Julia's.'
`No, that was by another, one Paul of Antioch, also
a bishop and a fast friend of the queen. The Christians
themselves have of late set upon him, as they
were so many blood-hounds, being bent upon expelling
him from Antioch. It is not long since, in accordance
with the decree of some assembled bishops there, I issued
a rescript dislodging him from his post, and planting in
his place one Domnus. If our purposes prosper, the
ejected and dishonored priest may find himself at least
safer if humbler. Probus, — I shall remember him.
The name leads my thoughts to Thrace, where our
greater Probus waits for me.'
`From Probus the Christian,' I said, `you will receive,
whenever you shall admit him to your presence, a true
account of the nature of the Christian's faith and of the
actual condition of their community — all which can be
had only from a member of it.'
But little more was said, when I departed, and took
my way again towards Tibur.
It seemed to me, from the manner of the emperor
more than from what he said, that he was settled—
bound up to the bad work of an assault upon the Christians.
To what extent it was in his mind to go, I could
not judge; for his language was ambiguous, and sometimes
contradictory. But that the darkest designs were
harbored by him, over which he was brooding with a
mind naturally superstitious, but now almost in a state
of exasperation from the late events, was most evident.
| Probus, or, Rome in the third century | |