 | Probus, or, Rome in the third century |  |
LETTER VIII.
FROM PISO TO FAUSTA.
Marcus and Lucilia are inconsolable. Their grief,
I fear, will be lasting as it is violent. They have no
resource but to plunge into affairs and drive away memory
by some active and engrossing occupation. Yet
they cannot always live abroad; they must at times
return to themselves and join the company of their own
thoughts. And then memory is not to be put off; at
such moments this faculty seems to constitute the mind
more than any other. It becomes in a manner the mind
itself. The past rises up in spite of ourselves, and overshadows
the present. Whether its scenes have been
prosperous or afflictive, but especially if they have been
shameful, do they present themselves with all the vividness
of the objects before us and the passing hour, and
minister to our joy or increase our pains. We in vain
attempt to escape. We are prisoners in the hands of a
giant. To forget is not in our power. The will is impotent.
Fast as we fly, so fast the enemy of our peace
pursues. Memory is a companion who never leaves us
— or never leaves us long. It is the true Nemesis.
Tartarean regions have no worse woes, nor the Hell of
Christians, than memory inflicts upon those who have
done evil. My friends struggle in vain. They have
not done evil indeed, but they have suffered it. The
sorest calamity that afflicts mortals has overtaken them;
their choicest jewel has been torn from them; and they
can no more drown the memory of their loss than they
can take that faculty itself and tear it from their souls.
Comfort cannot come from that quarter. It can come
only from being re-possessed of that which has been lost
hereafter and from enjoying the hope of that felicity now.
See how Marcus writes. After much else he says,
“I miss you, Piso, and the conversations which we
had together. I know not how it is, but your presence
acted as a restraint upon my hot and impatient temper.
Since your departure I have been little less than mad,
and so far from being of service to Lucilia, she has been
compelled to moderate her own grief in the hope to assuage
mine. I have done nothing but rave, and curse
my evil fortune. And can anything else be looked for?
How should a man be otherwise than exasperated when
the very thing he loves best in the wide universe is,
without a moment's warning, snatched away from him?
A man falls into a passion if his seal is stolen, or his
rings, or his jewels; if his dwelling burns down, or his
slaves run away or die by some pestilence. And why
should he not much more when the providence of the
gods, or the same power whatever it may be that gave
we have so grown into it that it is like hewing us in
two? I can believe in nothing but capricious chance.
We live by chance and so we die. Such events are
otherwise inexplicable. For what reason can by the
most ingenious be assigned for giving life for a few years
to a being like Gallus, and who then, before he is more
than just past the threshold of life, before a single power
of his nature has put itself forth, but at the moment
when he is bound to his parents by ties of love which
never afterwards would be stronger — is struck dead?
We can give no account of it. It is irreconcilable with
the hypothesis of an intelligent and good Providence.
It has all the features of chance upon it. A god could
not have done it unless he had been the god of Tartarus.
Dark Pluto might, or the avenging Furies, were they
supreme. But away with such dreams! The slaves,
who were his proper attendants, have been scourged and
crucified. That at first gave me some relief; but already
I repent of it. So it is with me; I rush suddenly
upon what at the moment I think right, and then as suddenly
think and feel that I have done wrong, and so
suffer. I see and experience nothing but suffering,
whichever way I turn. Truly we are riddles. Piso, you
cannot conceive of my loss. It was our only child —
and the only one we shall ever know. I wish that I believed
in the gods that I might curse them.”
And much more in the same frantic way. Time will
blunt his grief; but it will bring him I fear no other nor
better comfort. He hopes for oblivion of his loss; but
that can never be. He may cease to grieve as he grieves
now; but he can never cease to remember. I trust to
better channel.
I did not forget to keep my promise to the wife of Macer.
In truth I had long regarded it as essential to our safety
almost, certainly to our success, that this man, and others
of the same character, should be restrained in some way
in their course of mistaken zeal; and had long intended
to use what influence to that end I might possess. Probus
had promised to accompany me, and do what in him
lay, to rescue religion from this peril at the hands of one
of her best friends. He joined me toward the evening
of the same day on which I had seen the wife of Macer,
and we took our way towards his dwelling.
It was already past the hour of twilight when we
reached the part of the city where Macer dwells, and
entered the ruins among which his cabin stands. These
ruins are those of extensive and magnificent baths destroyed
a long time ago, and to this day remaining as
the flames left them. At the rear of them, far from the
street and concealed from it by arches and columns and
fragments of wall, we were directed by the rays of a
single light streaming from a window, to the place we
sought. We wound our way among these fallen or still
standing masses of stone, and which frequently hid from
us the object of our search, till, as we found ourselves
near the spot, we were arrested by the sound of a single
voice uttering itself with vehemence and yet solemnity.
We paused, but could not distinguish the words used;
but the same conviction possessed us as to its cause. It
was Macer at prayer. We moved nearer, so that without
disturbing the family we might still make ourselves
of the number of hearers. His voice, loud and shrill,
some distance, every word that he uttered. But for the
noise of carriages and passengers it would have penetrated
even to the streets. The words we caught were
such as these —
`If they hear thee not, O Lord, nor reverence thy
messengers, but deny thee and turn upon those whom
thou sendest the lip of scorn and the eye of pride, and
will none of their teachings, and so do despite to the
spirit of thy grace, and crucify the Lord afresh, then do
thou, O Lord, come upon them as once upon the cities
of the plain in the times of thine anger. Let fire from
Heaven consume them. Let the earth yawn and swallow
them up. Tear up the foundations of this modern
Babylon; level to the earth her proud walls; and let
her stand for a reproach, and a hissing, and a scorn,
through all generations: so that men shall say as they
pass by, lo! the fate of them that held to their idols
rather than serve the living God; their proud palaces
are now dwellings of dragons, and over her ruins the
trees of the forest are now spreading their branches.
But yet, O Lord, may this never be; but may a way of
escape be made for them through thy mercy. And to this
end may we thy servants, to whom thou hast given the
sword of the spirit, gird it upon our sides, lift up our
voice and spare not, day and night, morning and evening,
in the public place, and at the corners of the streets;
in all places, and in every presence, proclaiming the good
news of salvation. Let not cowardice seal our lips.
Whether before gentile or Jew, emperor or slave, may
we speak as becomes the Lord's anointed. Warm the
hearts of the cold and dead; put fire into them; fire
and vanities, seduce thine own servants from thee.
They are afraid, they are cold, they are dead, and the
enemy lifts himself up and triumphs. For this we
would mourn and lament. Give us, O Lord, the courage
and the zeal of thine early apostles and teachers so
that no fear of tortures and death may make us traitors
to Christ and thee.'
It was a long time that he went on in this strain, inveighing
with heat and violence against all who withdrew
their hand from the work, or abated their zeal.
When he had ceased, and we stood waiting to judge
whether the service were wholly ended, the voices of the
whole family apparently, were joined together in a hymn
of praise — Macer's now more gentle and subdued, as if
to hear himself the tones of the children and of his wife
who accompanied him. The burden of the hymn was
also a prayer for a spirit of fidelity and a temper of patience,
in the cause of truth and Christ. It was worship
in the highest sense, and none within the dwelling could
have joined more heartily than we did who stood without.
When it was ended, and with it evidently the evening
service, we approached, and knocked for admittance.
Macer appeared holding a light above his head, and perceiving
who his guests were gave us cordial welcome,
at the same time showing us into his small apartment
and placing stools for our accommodation. The room
in which we were was small and vaulted, and built of
stone in the most solid manner. I saw at once that it
was one of the smaller rooms of the ancient bath, which
had escaped entire destruction and now served as a comfortable
to connect it with a number of similar apartments. A
table in the centre and a few stools, a shelf on which
were arranged the few articles which they possessed
both for cooking and eating their food, constituted the
furniture of the room. In the room next beyond I could
see pallets of straw laid upon the floor, and which served
for beds. Macer, his wife, and six children, composed
the family then present; the two elder sons being yet
absent at their work in the shop of Demetrius. The
mother held at her breast an infant of a year or more;
one of three years sprang again upon his father's lap, as
he resumed his seat after our entrance, whence he had
apparently been just dislodged, the rest sitting in obscure
parts of the room were at first scarcely visible. The wife
of Macer expressed heartily her pleasure at seeing us,
and said even more by her flushed and animated countenance
than by her words. The severe countenance
of Macer himself relaxed and gave signs of satisfaction.
`I owe you, Piso,' he said, `many thanks for mercies
shown to my wife and my little ones here, and I am
glad to see you among us. We are far apart enough as
the world measures such things, but in Christ we are
one. At such times as these, when the Prince of Darkness
rules, we ought if ever to draw toward each other
that so we may make better our common defence. I
greet you as a brother — I trust to love you as one.'
I told him that nothing should be wanting on my
part toward a free and friendly intercourse; that from
all I had heard of him I had conceived a high regard for
him, and owed him more thanks for what he had done
in behalf of our religion, than he could me for any services
I had rendered him.
`Me?' said he, and his head fell upon his bosom.
`What have I done for Christ to deserve the thanks of
any? I have preached and I have prayed; I have opposed
heresies and errors; I have wrestled with the
enemies and corrupters of our faith within our own body
and without; but the fruit seems nothing. The gentile
is still omnipotent — heresy and error still abound.'
`Yes, Macer,' I replied, `that is certainly so, and may
be so for many years to come, but still we are gaining.
He who can remember twenty years can count a great
increase. After the testimony borne by the martyrs of
the Decian persecution to their faith, and all the proof
they gave of sincere attachment to the doctrine of Christ,
crowds have entered the church, an hundred for every
one whose blood then flowed.'
`And now,' said Macer, his eye kindling with its wild
fires, `the church is dead! The truest prayer that the
Christian can now offer is that it would please God to
try us again as it were by fire! We slumber, Piso!
The Christians are not now the Nazarites they were in
the first age of the church. Divisions have crept in;
tares have been sown with the wheat, and have come
up, and are choking the true plants of God. I know
not but the signs of terror, which are scaring the heavens
ought rather to be hailed as tokens of love. Better
a thousand perish on the rack or by the axe than that
the church itself faint away and die.'
`It will not do,' said Probus, `always to depend upon
such remedies of our sloth and heresies, Macer. Surely
it were better to prosper in some other and happier way.
All I think we can say of persecution, and of the oppositions
of our enemies, is this, that if it be in the providence
to bless him that their issue is good rather than evil;
that they serve as tests by which the genuine is tried
and proved; that they give the best testimony and highest
to the world, that man can give of his sincerity; that
they serve to bind together into one compact and invincible
phalanx the disciples of our common master, however
in many things they may divide and separate. But
were it not better, if we could attain an equal good without
the suffering?'
`I believe that to be impossible,' said Macer. `Since
Jesus began his ministry persecution has been the rod
that has been laid upon the church without sparing, and
the fruit has been abundant. Without it, like these
foolish children, we might run riot in all iniquity.'
`I do not say that the rod has not been needed,' answered
Probus, `nor that good has not ensued; but only
that it would be better, wiser, and happier, to reach the
same good without the rod; just as it is better when
your children without chastisement fulfill your wishes
and perform their tasks. We hope and trust that our
children will grow up to such virtue that they will no
longer need the discipline of suffering to make them better.
Ought we not to look and pray for a period to arrive
in the history of the church, when men shall no
longer need to be lashed and driven, but shall of themselves
discern what is best and cleave to it?'
`That might indeed be better,' replied the other; `but
the time is not come for it yet. The church I say is
corrupt, and it cries out for another purging. Christians
are already lording it over one another. The bishop of
Rome sets himself up, as a lord, over subjects. A Roman
robes of state, and his seat of gold, and his golden rod,
and his altar set out with vessels of gold and silver,
and his long train of menials and subordinates, poor
simple Macer, who learned of Christ, as he hopes, is at
a loss to discern the follower of the lowly Jesus, but
takes Felix the Christian servant for some Fronto of a
Heathen temple! Were the power mine, as the will is,
never would I stay for Aurelian, but my own arm should
sweep from the places they pollute the worst enemies of
the Saviour. Did Jesus die that Felix might flaunt his
peacock's feathers in the face of Rome?'
`We cannot hope, Macer,' answered Probus, `to grow
up to perfection at once. I see and bewail the errors at
which you point as well as you. But if to remove them
we bring down the heavy arm of Rome upon our heads
— the remedy may prove worse than the disease.'
`No. That could not be! Let those who with open
eyes abuse the gifts of God, perish! If this faith cannot
be maintained undefiled by Heathen additions, let it perish!'
`But God dealeth not so with us,' continued Probus;
`he beareth long and patiently. We are not destroyed
because in the first years of our life we do not rise to all
virtue, but are spared to fourscore. Ought we not to
manifest a like patience and forbearance? By waiting
patiently we shall see our faults, and one by one correct
them. There is still some reason and discernment left
among us. We are not all fools and blind. And the
faults which we correct ourselves, by our own action,
and the conviction of our own minds acting freely and
voluntarily, will be more truly corrected, than if we are
of the Roman sword. I think, Macer, and so thinks
Piso, that far from seeking to inflame the common
mind, and so drawing upon us the evils which are now
with reason apprehended, we should rather aim to ward
them off.'
`Never!' cried Macer with utmost indignation. `Shall
the soldier of the cross shrink —'
`No, Macer, he need not shrink — let him stand armed
in panoply complete — prompt to serve — willing to die;
but let him not wantonly provoke an enemy who may
not only destroy him, that were a little thing, but in the
fury of the onset, thousands with him, and perhaps with
them the very faith for which they die! The Christian
is not guiltless who — though it be in the cause of
Christ — rushes upon unnecessary death. You, Macer,
are not only a Christian and soldier of Jesus Christ, but
a man who having received life from the Creator, have
no right wantonly to throw it away. You are a husband,
and you are bound to live for your wife; — these
are your children, and you are bound to live for them.'
`He,' said Macer, solemnly, `who hateth not father
and mother and wife and children and brethren and sister,
yea and his own life also, cannot be my disciple.'
`Yes,' replied Probus, `that is true; we are to be
ready and willing to suffer for Christ and truth; but not
to seek it. He who seeks martyrdom is no martyr.
Selfish passions have then mingled their impure current
with that of love to God, and the sacrifice is not without
spot and blemish. Jesus did not so; nor his first
followers. When the Lord was persecuted in one city,
he staid not there to inflame it more and more; he fled
for their rights; they suffered not wrong willingly.
When the ark of truth is intrusted to few hands, they
must bear it forward boldly, but with care, else are they
at a blow cut off, and the ark with its precious burden
borne away and lost — or miracles alone can rescue it.
But when the time comes that no prudence nor care will
avail, then they may not refuse the issue, but must show
that life is nothing in comparison of truth and God.'
`Probus,' said Macer, `I like not your timid counsels.
'Tis not by such that Christ's cause shall ever advance,
or that period ever come when he, the long-looked and
waited for, shall descend, and the millenial reign begin.
Life is nothing to me and less than nothing. I hold it
as dirt and dross. And if by throwing it away I can
add such a commentary to my preaching as shall strike
a single Pagan heart I shall not have died in vain; and
if the blood that shall flow from these veins may serve
but as a purge to carry off the foul humors that now
fester and rage in the body of the church, thrice happy
shall I be to see it flow. And for these — let them be
as the women and children of other times, and hold not
back when their master calls. Arria! do thou set before
thee St. Blandina, and if the Lord let thee be as
her, thou wilt have cause to bless his name.'
`Never, Macer, would I shrink from any trial to
which the Lord in his wisdom might call me — that you
know. But has not Probus uttered a truth when he
says that we are not innocent, and never glorious, when
we seek death? that he who seeks martyrdom is no
martyr? Listen, Macer, to the wisdom of Probus and
the noble Piso. Did you not promise that you would
patiently hear them?'
`Woman — I have heard them — their words are
naught, stark naught, or worse. Where would have
been the blessed gospel at this hour had it been committed
to such counsels? Even under Nero would it have
died for want of those who were willing to die for it. I
am a soldier of the cross, whose very vocation it is to
fight and die. And if I may but die, blessed Jesus, for
thee! then may I hope that thou wilt deal mercifully
with thy servant at thy judgment-seat. I hear thy voice
ever sounding in my ear, reproving me for my cowardice.
Have patience with me, and I will give thee all.
And if labor, and torture, and death, would but cancel
sin! — But alas! even they may not suffice.'
`Then, dear father,' said one of his daughters who
had drawn near and seated herself at his knee, while
the others had gathered round, `then will we add ourselves
to the sacrifice.'
`Would you?' said Macer — in an absent, musing
way — as if some other thought were occupying him.
Thinking that his love of his children, evidently a
very strong affection in him, might be made to act as a
restraint, I said, `that I feared he greatly exposed his
little family to unnecessary danger. Already had his
dwelling been once assailed, and the people were now
ripe for any violence. This group of little ones can ill
encounter a rude and furious mob.'
`They can die, can they not?' said Macer. `Is that
difficult, or impossible? If the Lord need them they
are his. I can ask no happier lot for them than that by
death they may glorify God. And what is it to die so,
more than in another way? Let them die in their beds,
and whom do they benefit? They die then to themselves,
sword of Varus, or by the stones of the populace, and
then they become themselves stones in the foundation
of that temple of God, of which Jesus is the chief cornerstone,
and they are glorious forever. What say you,
Cicer, will you die for Christ?'
The little fellow hid his head in his father's bosom at
this sudden appeal, but soon drew it out and said,
`I would rather die for you, father.'
`Ah!' said Macer, `how am I punished in my children!
Cicer, would you not die for Christ?'
`I would die for him if you wish it.'
`Macer,' said Probus, `do you not see how God has
bound you and this family into one? and he surely requires
you not to separate yourself, their natural protector,
from them forever; still less, to involve them in
all the sufferings which taking the course you do may
come upon them at any hour.'
`Probus! their death would give me more pleasure
than their life, dying for Christ. I love them now and
here, fondly as ever parent loved his children, — but
what is now, and here? Nothing. The suffering of
an hour or of a moment joins us together again, where
suffering shall be no more and death no more. To-morrow!
yes, to-morrow! would I that the wrath of
these idol-worshippers might be turned against us.
Rome must be roused; she sleeps the sleep of death;
and the church sleeps it too; both need that they who
are for the Lord should stand forth, and not waiting to
be attacked, themselves assail the enemy, who need but
to be assailed with the zeal and courage of men, who
were once to be found in the church, to be driven at all
points.'
`But, father,' said the daughter who had spoken before,
`other Christians think not so. They believe for
the most part, as I hear, with Probus and Piso, that on
no account should we provoke the gentiles, or give them
cause of complaint against us; they think that to do so
would greatly harm us; that our duty is to go on the
even tenor of our way, worshipping God after our own
doctrine, and in our own manner, and claiming and exercising
all our rights as citizens, but abstaining from
every act that might rouse their anger, or needlessly irritate
them — irritated necessarily almost beyond bearing
by the wide and increasing prosperity of our faith and
the daily falling away of the temple worshippers. Would
it be right, dearest father, to do that which others approve
not, and the effect of which might be not only to
draw down evil upon your and our heads, but upon
thousands of others? We cannot separate ourselves
from our brethren; if one suffers all will suffer —'
`ælia, my daughter, there is a judge within the
breast, whom I am bound to obey rather than any other
counsel, of either man or woman. I cannot believe, because
another believes, a certain truth. Neither can I
act in a certain way because others hold it their duty to
act so. I must obey the inward voice, and no other. If
I abandon this, I am lost — I am on the desert without
sun, moon or stars to guide me. All the powers of
the earth could not bribe nor drag me from that which I
hold to be the true order of conduct for me; shown by
the finger of God to be such.'
`But, father,' continued the daughter, pursuing her
object, `are we not too lately entered among the Christians
to take upon us a course which they condemn? It
this faith. Are we to-day to assume the part of leaders?
Would not modesty teach us a different lesson?'
`Modesty has nothing to do with truth,' said Macer.
`He who is wholly a Christian to-day, is all that he can
be to-morrow, or next year. I am as old in faith and
zeal as Piso, Probus, or Felix. No one can believe
more, or more heartily, by believing longer. Nay, it is
they who are newly saved who are most sensible to the
blessing. Custom in religion as in other things dulls
the soul. Were I a Christian much longer before God
called me to serve him by suffering or death, I fear I
should be then spiritually dead, and so worse than before
I believed. Let it be to-morrow, O Lord, that I
shall glorify thee!'
It was plain that little impression was to be made
upon the mind of Macer. But we ceased not to urge
him farther, his wife and elder children uniting with us
in importunate entreaty and expostulation. But all in
vain. In his stern and honest enthusiasm he believed
all prudence cowardice; all calculation, worldliness; all
moderation and temperance treason to the church and
Christ. Yet none of the natural current of the affections
seemed to be dried up or poisoned. No one could
be more bound to his wife and children; and toward us,
though in our talk we spared him not, he ever maintained
the same frank and open manner — yielding never
an inch of ground, and uttering himself with an earnestness
and fury such as I never saw in another; but soon
as he had ceased speaking subsiding into a gentleness
that seemed almost that of a woman, and playfully
sporting with the little boy that he held on his knee.
Soon as our conversation was ended, Macer, turning
to his wife, exclaimed,
`But what hinders that we should set before our visiters
such hospitality as our poor house affords? Arria,
have we not such as may well enough entertain Christians?'
ælia, at a word from her mother, and accompanied
by her sister, immediately busied themselves in the simple
rites of hospitality, and soon spread out the table
which stood in the centre of the room with bread, lettuces,
figs, and a flask of wine. While they were thus
engaged I could not but observe the difference in appearance
of the two elder sisters, who with equal alacrity
were setting out the simple provisions for our repast.
One was clad like the others of the family in the garment
common to the poor. The other — she who had
spoken — was arrayed, not richly but almost so, or I
should rather say fancifully, and with studied regard to
effect. While I was wondering at this, and seeking in
my own mind for its explanation, I was interrupted in
my thoughts by Macer.
`Thanks to Aurelian, Piso, we are able, though poor
as you see and dwelling in these almost subterranean
vaults, to live above the fear of absolute want. But especially
are we indebted for many of our comforts, and
for such luxury as this flask of Massican, to my partly
gentile daughter ælia, who you behold moving among
us, as if by her attire she were not of us — but Cicer's
heart is not truer — and who will, despite her faith and
her father's bidding, dance and sing for the merriment
of these idolaters. Never before, I believe, had Christian
preacher a dancing-girl for a daughter.'
A deep blush passed over the features of the daughter
as she answered,
`But, father, you know that in my judgment — and
whose in this matter is so to be trusted? — I am in no
way injured by my art, and it adds somewhat to the
common stock. I see not why I need be any the less a
Christian because I dance; especially as with me it is
but one of the forms of labor. Were it forbidden by our
faith, or could it be shown to be to me an evil, I would
cease. But most sure I am it is neither. Let me now
appeal to Probus for my justification, and to Piso.'
`Doubtless,' said Probus, `those Christians are right
who abstain from the theatres, the amphitheatres, the
circuses, and from the places of public amusement
where sights and sounds meet ear and eye such as the
pure should never hear nor see, and such as none can
hear or see and maintain their purity. The soul is damaged
in spite of herself. But for these arts of music and
dancing, practiced for the harmless entertainment of
those who feast their friends, — where alone I warrant
ælia is found — who can doubt that she is right?
Were not the reception of the religion of Christ compatible
with the indulgence in innocent amusement or the
practice of harmless arts such as these, few I fear would
receive it. Christianity condemns many things which
by Pagans are held to be allowable; but not everything.'
`Willingly would I abandon my art,' said ælia, `did
I perceive it to injure the soul; or could I in other ways
buy bread for our household. So dearly do I prize this
new-found faith, that for its sake, were it to be retained
in no other way, would I relinquish it, and sink into the
deeper poverty that would then be ours, or drudge at
some humbler toil.'
`Do it, do it, ælia,' said Macer; `and the Lord will
love thee all the more. 'T is the only spot on thy white
and glistering robes. The Lord loves not more than I
to see thee wheeling and waving to and fro, to supply
mirth to those who mayhap would crucify thee the next
hour, as others crucified thy master.'
Tears fell from the eyes of the fair girl as she answered,
`Father, it shall be as you wish. Not willingly, but
by constraint, have I labored as I have. God will not
forsake us, and will, I will not doubt, open some new
path of labor for me — if indeed the disorders of the
times do not first scatter or destroy us.'
I here said to Macer and his daughter, that there need
be no hesitation about abandoning the employment in
question, from any doubt concerning a future occupation;
if ælia would but accompany her mother, when
next she went to visit Julia, I could assure her of obtaining
there all she could desire.
At this the little boy, whom Macer held, clapped his
hands and cried out with joy — `Ah! then will ælia
be always with us and go away no more;' and flying to
his sister was caught by her in her arms.
The joy diffused throughout the little circle at this
news was great. All were glad that ælia was to dance
and sing no more, for all wished her at home, and her
profession had kept her absent almost every day. The
table was now spread, and we sat down to the frugal
repast, Macer first offering a prayer to God.
`It is singular,' said he, when we were seated, `that in
my Heathen estate, I ever asked the blessing of the gods
before I ate. Nay, and notwithstanding the abominations
I verily believe there are many Christians who pray less
than the Heathen, and less after they become Christian
than before.'
`I can readily believe it,' said Probus. `False religions
multiply outward acts; and for the reason, that
they make religion to consist in them. A true faith,
which places religion in the inward disposition, not in
services, will diminish them. More prayers were said,
and more rites performed in the temple of Jupiter, where
my father was priest, than the Christian church, where
I serve, ever witnesses. But what then? With the Pagan
worshipper religion ended when the service closed,
and he turned from the temple to the world. With the
Christian the highest service only then commences when
he leaves the church. Religion with him is virtuous
action, more than it is meditation or prayer. He prays
without ceasing, not by uttering without cessation the
language of prayer, but by living holily. Every act of
every hour which is done conscientiously is a prayer, as
well as the words we speak, and is more pleasing to
God, for the reason that practice is better than mere profession
— doing better than saying.'
`That is true, Probus,' replied Macer. `When I
prayed as an idolater it was because I believed that the
gods required such outward acknowledgment, and that
some evil or other might befall me through their vengeance,
if I did not. But when I had ended that duty I
had ended my religion, and my vices went on none the
less prosperously. Often indeed my prayers were for
special favors, — wealth or success in some affair — and
when, after wearying myself with repeating them a
I left the temple in a rage, cursing the gods I had just
been worshipping, and swearing never more to propitiate
them by prayer or sacrifice. Sometimes I repented
of such violence, but oftener kept my word and tried
some other god. You, Probus, were I may believe of a
more even temper?'
`Yes, perhaps so. My father was one of the most
patient and gentle of men, and religious after the manner
of our remoter ancestors of the days of the republic.
He was my instructer; and from him I learned truths
which were sufficient for my happiness under ordinary
circumstances. I was a devout and constant worshipper
of the gods. My every-day life may then have been as
pure as it has been since I have been a Christian; and
my prayers as many or more. The instincts of my nature,
which carried up the soul toward some great and
infinite being, and which I could not resist, kept me
within the bounds of that prudent and virtuous life which
I believed would be most acceptable to them. But when
a day of heavy and insupportable calamity came upon
me, and I was made to look after the foundations of
what I had been believing, I found there were none.
I was like a ship tossed about by the storms, without
rudder or pilot. I then knew not whether there
were gods or not; or if there were any, who, among the
multiplicity worshipped in Rome, the true ones were.
In my grief, I railed at the heavens and their rulers —
if there were any — for not revealing themselves to us
in our darkness and weakness; and cursed them for
their cruelty. Soon after I became a Christian. The
difference between my state then and now is this. I
give no reason to myself or others for my faith. It was
something and yet nothing. Now I have somewhat to
stand upon. I can prove to myself and to others my
religion as well as other things. I have knowledge as
well as blind belief. It is good to believe in something,
and in some sort, though one can give no account of his
faith; but it is better to believe in that which we know,
as we know other things. I have now, as a Christian,
the same strength of belief in God, providence, and futurity,
that I have in any facts attested by history. Jesus
has announced them or confirmed them, and they
are susceptible of proof. I differed from you, Macer, in
this; that I cursed not the gods in my passion, or caprice;
I was for years and years their humble, and contented,
and patient worshipper. I rebelled not till I suffered
cruel disappointment, and in my faith could find
no consolation nor light. One real sorrow, by which
the foundations of my earthly peace were all broken up,
revealed to me the nothingness of my so called religion.
Into what a new world, Macer, has our new faith introduced
us! I am now happier than ever I was, even
with my wife and children around me.'
`Some of our neighbors,' said Arria, `wonder what it
is that makes us so light of heart notwithstanding our
poverty and the dangers to which we are so often exposed.
I tell them that they who like us believe in the
providence of a God, who is always near us and within
us, and in the long reign with Christ as soon as death
is past, have nothing to fear. That which they esteem
the greatest evil of all is to us an absolute gain. Upon
this they either silently wonder, or laugh and deride.
However, many too believe.'
`Probus,' said Macer, `we are all ready to be offered
up. God's mercy to me is beyond all power of mine to
describe, in that he has touched and converted the hearts
of every one under my roof. Now if to this mercy he
will but add one more, that we may glorify him by our
death as well as in our life, the cup of his servant will
be full and running over.'
Probus did not choose again to engage with his convert
upon that theme, knowing him to be beyond the
reach of influence and control. We could not but marvel
to see to what extent he had infused his own enthusiasm
into his family. His wife indeed and elder daughters
would willingly see him calmer and less violent
when abroad, but like him, being by nature of warm
temperament, they are like him Christians warm and
zealous beyond almost any whom I have seen. They
are as yet also so recently transferred from their Heathen
to their Christian state, that their sight is still dazzled,
and they see not objects in their true shapes and
proportions. In their joy they seem to others, and perhaps
often are, greatly extravagant in the expression of
their feelings and opinions.
When our temperate repast was ended Macer again
prayed, and we then separated. Our visit proved wholly
ineffectual as to the purpose we had in view, but by no
means so when I consider the acquaintance which it
thus gave me with a family in the very humblest condition,
who yet were holding and equally prizing the same
opinions at which, after so much research and labor, I
had myself arrived. I perceived in this power of Christianity
to adapt itself to minds so different in their state
of previous preparation, and in their ability to examine
facility and quickness with which it seized both upon
the understanding and the affections; in the deep convictions
which it produced of its own truth and excellence,
and the scorn and horror with which it filled the mind for
its former superstitions; I saw in this an element of
strength, and of dominion, such as even I had hardly
conceived, and which assures me that this religion is
destined to a universal empire. Not more certainly
do all men need it than they will have it. When in
this manner, with everything against it, in the habits,
lives and prejudices of men — with itself almost against
itself in its strictness and uncompromising morality —
it nevertheless forces its way into minds of every variety
of character, and diffuses wherever it goes the same inward
happiness; its success under such circumstances
is at once an argument for its truth, and an assurance
that it will pause in its progress not till it shall have
subdued the world to itself.
Julia was deeply interested in all that I told her of
the family of Macer, and will make them all her special
charge. ælia will I hope become in some capacity a
member of our household.
I ought to tell you that we have often of late been at
the Gardens, where we have seen both Livia and Aurelian.
Livia is the same, but the emperor is changed. A
gloomy horror seems to sit upon him, which both indisposes
him to converse as formerly, and others to converse
with him. Especially has he shown himself averse to
discussion of any point that concerns the Christians, at
least with me. When I would willingly have drawn
him that way, he has shrunk from it with an expression
dark language of his terrific frown. For me however
he has no terrors, and I have resolved to break through
the barriers he chooses to set up around him, and learn
if I can what his feelings and purposes precisely are.
One conversation may reveal them in such a way,
as may make it sufficiently plain what part he means
to act, and what measure of truth there may be in the
current rumors; in which for my own part I cannot
bring myself to place much reliance. I doubt even
concerning the death of Aurelia, whether, if even it
has taken place, it is not to be traced to some cause
other than her religion.
A day has passed. I have seen the emperor, as I
was resolved to do, and now I no longer doubt what his
designs are, nor that they are dark as they have been
represented; yea, and darker, even as night is darker
than day.
Upon reaching the palace I was told that the emperor
was exercising at the hippodrome, toward which I
then bent my steps. It lies at some distance from the
palace, concealed from it by intervening groves. Soon
as I came in sight of it I beheld Aurelian upon his favorite
horse running the course as if contending for a
prize, plying the while the fierce animal he bestrode
with the lash, as if he were some laggard who needed
rousing to his work. Swifter than the wind he flew
by me, how many times I know not, without noting
apparently that any one was present beside the attendant
slaves; nor did he cease till the horse, spent and
exhausted, no longer obeyed the will of even the emperor
manner rode till he has fallen dead. So long used as
this man has been to the terrific game of war, and the
scenes and sights which that reveals, stirring to their
depths all the direst passions of our nature, that now, at
home and at peace, life grows stale and flat, and needs
the artificial stimulants which violent and extreme
modes of action can alone supply. The death of a
horse on the course answers now for a legion slain in
battle; an unruly, or disobedient, or idle slave hewn in
two, affords the relief which the execution of prisoners
has been accustomed to yield. He pants for the day to
arrive when, having completed the designs he has set
on foot in the city, he shall again join the army, now
accumulating in huge masses in Thrace, and once more
find himself in the East, on the way to new conquests
and fresh slaughter.
As he threw himself from his horse, now breathing
hard and scarcely supporting himself, the foam rolling
from him like snow, he saluted me in his usual manner.
`A fair and fortunate day to you, Piso! And what
may be the news in the city? I have rode fast and
far, but have heard nothing. I come back empty as I
went out, save the heat which I have put into my veins.
This horse is he I was seen upon from the walls of Palmyra
by your and other traitor eyes. But for first
passing through the better part of my leg and then the
saddle, the arrow that hit me then had been the death
of him. But death is not for him, nor he for death; he
and his rider are something alike, and will long be
so, if auguries ever speak truth. And if there be not
truth in auguries, Piso, where is it to be found among
if in this manner he could be destroyed, but thou seest
how it issues; I should destroy myself before him. But
what, I say, is the news? How does the lady Julia?
and the queen?'
Replying first to these last inquiries, I then said that
there was little news I believed in the city. The only
thing perhaps that could be treated as news was the
general uneasiness of the Christians.
`Ah! They are uneasy? By the gods, not wholly
without reason. Were it not for them I had now
been, not here chafing my horse and myself on a hippodrome,
but tearing up instead the hard sands of the
Syrian deserts. They weigh upon me like a nightmare!
They are a visible curse of the gods upon the
state — but being seen it can be removed. I reckon not
you among this tribe, Piso, when I speak of them.
What purpose is imputed?'
`Rumor varies. No distinct purpose is named, but
rather a general one of abridging some of their liberties
—suppressing their worship, and silencing their priests.'
`Goes it no further?'
`Not with many; for the people are still willing to
believe that Aurelian will inflict no needless suffering.
They see you great in war; severe in the chastisement
of the enemies of the state; and just in the punishment
inflicted upon domestic rebels; and they conceive that
in regard to this simple people you will not go beyond
the rigor I have just named.'
`Truly they give me credit,' replied Aurelian, `for
what I scarcely deserve. But an emperor can never
hear the truth. Piso! they will find themselves deceived.
Christianity! I knew not till my late return from the
East, the ravages made by this modern superstition, not
only throughout Rome, but the world. In this direction
I have for many years been blind. I have had eyes
only for the enemies of my country, and the glories of
the battle-field. But now, upon resting here a space in
the heart of the empire, I find that heart eaten out and
gone; the religion of ancient Rome, which was its very
life, decaying and almost dead through the rank growth
of this overshadowing poison-tree that has shot up at its
side. It must be cut up by the roots — the branches
hewn away — the leaves stripped and scattered to the
winds — nay, the very least fibre that lurks below the
surface with life in it, must be wrenched out and consumed.
We must do thus by the Christians and their
faith, or they will do so by us.'
`I am hardly willing,' I replied, `to believe what I
have heard; nor will I believe it. It were an act, so
mad and unwise, as well as so cruel, that I will not believe
it though coming from the lips of Aurelian!'
`It is true, Piso, as the light of yonder sun! But if
thou wilt not believe, wait a day or two and proof
enough shalt thou have — proof that shall cure thy infidelity
in a river of Christian blood.'
`Still, Aurelian,' I answered, `I believe not; nor will,
till that river shall run down before my eyes red and
thick as the Orontes!'
`How, Piso, is this? I thought you knew me!'
`In part I am sure I do. I know you neither to be a
madman nor a fool, both which in one would you be to
attempt what you have now threatened.'
`Young Piso, you are bold!'
`I make no boast of courage,' I replied; `but I know
that in familiar speech with Aurelian, I need not fear
him. Surely you would not converse on such a subject
with a slave nor a flatterer. A Piso can be neither. I
can speak, or I can be silent; but if I speak —'
`Say on, say on, in the name of the gods!'
`What I would say to Aurelian then is this, that
slaughter as he may, the Christians cannot be exterminated;
that though he decimated, first Rome and then
the empire, there would still be left a seed that would
spring up and bear its proper harvest. Nay, Aurelian,
though you halved the empire, you could not win your
game. The Christians are more than you deem them.'
`Be it so,' replied the emperor; `nevertheless I will
try. But they are not so many as you rate them at,
neither by a direct nor an indirect enumeration.'
`Let that pass then,' I answered. `Let them be a
half, a quarter, or a tenth part of what I believe them to
be, it will be the same; they cannot be exterminated.
Soon as the work of death is done, that of life will begin
again, and the growth will be the more rank for the
blood spilled around. Outside of the tenth part, Aurelian,
that now openly professes this new religion, there
lies another equal number of those who do not openly
profess it, but do so either secretly, or else view it with
favor and with the desire to accept it. Your violence,
inflicted upon the open believers, reaches not them, for
they are an invisible multitude; but no sooner has it
fallen and done its work of ruin, than this other multitude
slowly reveals itself, and stands forth heirs and professors
of the persecuted faith, and ready, like those
who went before them, to live for it and die for it.'
`What you say may be so,' answered Aurelian; `I
had thought not of it. Nevertheless I will try.'
`Moreover,' I continued, `in every time of persecution,
there are those — sincere believers, but timid —
who dare not meet the threatened horrors. These deny
not their faith, but they shrink from sight; they for a
season disappear; their hearts worship as ever, but
their tongues are silent; and search as they may, your
emissaries of blood cannot find them. But soon as the
storm is overpast, then do they come forth again, as insects
from the leaves that sheltered them from the storm,
and fill again the forsaken churches.
`Nevertheless I will try for them.'
`Then will you be, Aurelian, as one that sheds blood,
because he will shed it — seeing that the end at which
you aim cannot in such way be reached. Confiscation,
imprisonment, scourging, fires, torture, and death, will
all be in vain; and with no more prospect that by such
oppression Christianity can be annihilated, than there
would be of rooting out poppies from your fields when
as you struck off the heads or tore up the old roots, the
ripe seeds were scattered abroad over the soil, a thousand
for every parent stalk that fell. You will drench yourself
in the blood of the innocent, only that you may do
it — while no effect shall follow.'
`Let it be so then; even so. Still I will not forbear.
But this I know, Piso, that when a disaffection has
broken out in a legion, and I have caused the half
thereof, or its tenth, to be drawn forth and slaughtered
by the other part, the danger has disappeared. The
physic has been bitter, but it has cured the patient! I
am a good surgeon; and well used to letting blood. I
doubting to see some good effects. When poison is in
the veins, let out the blood, and the new that comes in
is wholesome. Rome is poisoned!'
`Great emperor,' I replied, `you know nothing, allow
me to say, whereof you affirm. You know not the
Christians, and how can you deem them poison to the
state? A purer, holier brotherhood never has the world
seen. I am but of late one among them, and it is
but a few months since I thought of them as you now
do. But I knew nothing of them. Now I know them.
And knowledge has placed them before me in another
light. If Aurelian —'
`I know nothing of them, Piso, I know; and I wish
to know nothing, nothing more than that they are Christians!
— that they deny the good gods! — that they aim
at the overthrow of the religion of the state! — that religion
under whose fostering care Rome has grown up to
her giant size — that they are fire-brands of discord and
quarrel in Rome and throughout the world! Greater
would my name be, could I extirpate this accursed tribe
than it is for triumphing over both the East and West,
or would be, though I gained the whole world.'
`Aurelian,' I replied, `this is not such as I used to
hear from your lips. Another spirit possesses you, and
it is not hard to tell whence it comes.'
`You would say — from Fronto.'
`I would. There is the rank poison, that has turned
the blood in the veins of one, whom justice and wisdom
once ruled, into its own accursed substance.'
`I and Rome, Piso,' said Aurelian, `owe much to
Fronto. I confess that his spirit now possesses me.
I received with my mother's milk, but which, the gods
forgive me! carried away by ambition had well nigh
gone quite out in my soul. My mother — dost thou
know it? — was a priestess of Apollo, and never did god
or goddess so work by unseen influence to gain a mortal's
heart, as did she to fill mine with reverence of the
deities of heaven — specially of the great god of light.
I was early a wayward child. When a soldier in the
legions I now command, my life was what a soldier's is
— a life of action, hardship, peril, and blood. The gods
soon became to me as if they were not. And so it has
been for well night all the years of my life. But the
gods be thanked, Fronto has redeemed me! and since I
have worn this diadem have I toiled, Rome can testify
with what zeal, to restore to her gods their lost honors
— to purge her worship of the foul corruptions that
were bringing it into contempt — and raise it higher
than ever in the honor of the people by the magnificence
of the temples I have built; by the gifts I have lavished
upon them; by the ample riches wherewith I have endowed
the priesthood. And more than once, while this
work has been achieving, has the form of my revered
parent, beautiful in the dazzling robes of her office, stood
by my bed's side — whether in dream, or in vision, or
in actual presence, I cannot tell — and blessed me for my
pious enterprise — “The gods be thanked,” the lips have
said or seemed to say, “that thy youth lasts not always,
but that age has come, and with it second childhood in
thy reverence of the gods, whose worship it was mine
to put into thy infant heart. Go on thy way, my son!
Build up the fallen altars of the gods, and lay low the
begun, and all time shall pronounce thee greatest of the
great.” Should I disobey the warning? The gods forbid!
and save me from such impiety. I am now, Piso,
doubly armed for the work I have taken in hand — first
by the zeal of the pious Fronto, and second, by the manifest
finger of Heaven pointing the way I should go.
And, please the gods! I will enter upon it, and it shall
not be for want of a determined will and of eyes too
used to the shedding of blood to be frightened now
though an ocean-full were spilled before them, if this
race be not utterly swept from the face of the earth, from
the suckling to the silver head, from the beggar to the
prince — and from Rome all around to the four winds,
as far as her almighty arms can reach.'
My heart sunk within me as he spoke, and my knees
trembled under me. I knew the power and spirit of the
man, and I now saw that superstition had claimed him
for her own; that he would go about his work of death
and ruin, armed with his own cruel and bloody mind,
and urged behind by the fiercer spirit still of Pagan superstition.
It seemed to me, in spite of what I had just
said myself, and thought I believed, as if the death-note
of Christianity had now rung in my ear. The voice of
Aurelian as he spoke had lost its usual sharpness, and
fallen into a lower tone full of meaning, and which said
to me that his very inmost soul was pouring out with
the awful words he used. I felt utterly helpless and
undone — like an ant in the pathway of a giant — incapable
of escape, resistance, or remonstrance. I suppose
all this was visible in my countenance. I said
on.
`Think me not, Piso, to be using the words of an idle
braggart in what I have said. Who has known Aurelian,
when once he has threatened death, to hold back
his hand? But I will give thee earnest of my truth!'
`I require it not, Aurelian. I question not thy truth.'
`I will give it notwithstanding, Piso. What will you
think — you will think as you ever have of me — if I
should say that already, and upon one of my own house
infected with this hell-begotten atheism, has the axe already
fallen!'
Hearing the horrible truth from his own lips, it seemed
as if I had never heard it before. I hardly had believed
it.
`Tyrant!' I exclaimed, `it cannot be! What, Aurelia?'
`Yes, Aurelia! Keep thy young blood cool, Piso.
Yes, Aurelia! Ere I struck at others it behoved me
to reprove my own. It was no easy service, as you may
guess, but it must be done. And not only was Aurelia
herself pertinaciously wedded to this superstition, but
she was subduing the manly mind of Mucapor too, who,
had he been successfully wrought upon, were as good
as dead to me and to Rome — and he is one whom
our legions cannot spare. We have Christians more
than enough already in our ranks: a Christian general
was not to be endured. This was additional matter of
accusation against Aurelia, and made it right that she
should die. But she had her free choice of life, honor,
rank, riches, and, added to all, Mucapor, whose equal
Rome does not hold, if she would but take them. One
chance that she should one day be what Livia is. But
that one word her obstinate superstition would not let
her speak.'
`No, Aurelian; there is that in the Christian superstition
that always forbids the uttering of that word.
Death to the Christian is but another word for life.
Apostacy is the true death. You have destroyed the
body of Aurelia, but her virtuous soul is already with
God, and it is you who have girded upon her brow a
garland that shall never fade away. Of that much may
you make your boast.'
`Piso, I bear with you, and shall; but there is no
other in Rome who might say so much.'
`Nay, nay, Aurelian, there I believe you better than
you make yourself. To him who is already the victim
of the axe or the beasts do you never deny the liberty
of the tongue such as it then is.'
`Upon Piso, and he the husband of Julia, I can inflict
no evil, nor permit it done.'
`I would take shelter, Aurelian, neither behind my
own name, my father's, nor my wife's. I am a Christian
— and such fate as may befall the rest I would share.
Yet not willingly, for life and happiness are dear to me
as to you — and they are dear to all these multitudes
whom you do now, in the exercise of despotic power,
doom to a sudden and abhorred death. Bethink yourself,
Aurelian, before it be too late —'
`I have bethought myself of it all,' he replied — `and
were the suffering ten times more, and the blood to be
poured out a thousand times more, I would draw back
not one step. The die has been cast; it has come up
`Not from me,' I replied; `but surely you will not
deny a hearing to what these innocent people may say
in their own defence. That were neither just nor merciful;
nor were it like Aurelian. There is much which
by their proper organs they might say to place before
you their faith in the light of truth. You have heard
what you have received concerning it, chiefly from the
lips of Fronto; and can he know what he has never
learned? or tell it unperverted by prejudices black as
night?'
`I have already said,' rejoined the emperor, `that I
would hear them, and I will. But it can avail them no
more than words uttered in the breath of the tempest
that is raging up from the north. Hear them! This
day have I already heard them — one of those madmen
of theirs who plague the streets of Rome. Passing early
by the temple of æsculapius — that one which stands
not an arrow's flight from the column of Trajan — I
came upon a dense crowd of all sorts of persons, listening
to a gaunt figure of a man who spoke to them.
Soon as I came against him, and paused on my horse
for the crowd to make way, the wild beast who was declaiming
shouted at me at the top of his voice, calling on
me to `hear the word of God which he would speak to
me.' Knowing him by such jargon to be a Christian, I
did as he desired, and there stood, while he for my especial
instruction laid bare the iniquities and follies of
the Roman worship; sent the priesthood and all who
entered their temples to the infernal regions; and prophesied
against Rome — which he termed Babylon — that
even with the ground, her temples moulder in ruins, her
language become extinct, and her people confounded
with other nations and lost. And all this because I,
whom he now called Ahaz and now Nebuchadnezzar,
oppressed the children of God and held them in captivity:
while in the same breath he bid me come on with
my chains, gibbets, beasts, crosses, and fires, for they
were ready, and would rejoice to bear their testimony in
the cause of Christ.' As I turned to resume my way,
his words were; `go on, thou man of pride and blood;
go on thy way! The gates of hell swing open for thee!
Already the arm of the Lord is bared against thee! the
winged lightning struggles in his hand to smite thee! I
hear thy cry for mercy which no one answers —' and
more till I was beyond the reach of his owl's voice.
There was an appeal, Piso, from this people! What
think you of it?'
`He whom you heard,' I replied, `I know, and know
him to be honest and true; as loyal a subject too as
Rome holds. He is led away by his hot and hasty temper
both to do and say what injures not only him, but
all who are joined with him, and the cause he defends.
He offends the Christians not less than others. Judge
not all by him. He stands alone. If you would hear
one whom all alike confide in, and who may fitly represent
the feelings and principles of the whole body of
Christians, send for Probus. From him may you learn
without exaggeration or concealment, without reproach
of others or undue boasting of themselves, what the
Christians are in their doctrines and their lives — as citizens
of Rome and loyal subjects of Aurelian — and
Christ.'
The emperor promised to consider it. He had no
other reason to deny such favor, but the tedium of listening
to what could profit neither him nor others.
We then turned toward the palace, where I saw
Livia; now as silent and sad as, when in Palmyra, she
was lively and gay. Not that Aurelian abates the least
of his worship, but that the gloom which overshadows
him imparts itself to her, and that knowing what has
befallen Aurelia, she cannot but feel it to be a possible
thing for the blow to fall elsewhere and nearer. Yet is
there the same outward show as ever. The palace is
still thronged, with not Rome only, but by strangers
from all quarters of the empire, anxious to pay their
homage at once to the empress of Rome, to the most
beautiful woman in the world — such is the language —
and to a daughter of the far-famed Zenobia.
The city is now crowded with travelers of all nations,
so much so that the inns can scarce receive them, and
hardly ever before was private hospitality so put to all
its resources. With all, and everywhere, in the streets,
at the public baths, in the porticos, at the private or public
banquet, the Christians are the one absorbing topic.
And at least this good comes with the evil, that thus the
character of this religion, as compared with that of Rome
and other faiths, is made known to thousands who might
otherwise never have heard of it, or have felt interest
enough in it to examine its claims. It leads to a large
demand for and sale of our sacred books. The copyists
can hardly supply them so fast as they are wanted. For
in the case of any dispute or conversation it is common
in as witnesses for or against a statement made. And
pleasant enough is it to see how clear the general voice
is on our side — especially with the strangers — how indignant
they are, for the most part, that violence to the
extreme of another Decian persecution should be so
much as dreamed of. Would that the same could be
said of our citizens and countrymen! A large proportion
of them indeed embrace the same liberal sentiments,
but a greater part, if not for extreme violence, are yet
for oppression and suppression; and I dare not say how
many for all that Aurelian himself designs. Among the
lower orders especially, a ferocious and blood-thirsty
spirit breaks out in a thousand ways that fills the bosom
both with grief and terror.
The clouds are gathering over us, Fausta, heavy and
black with the tempest pent up within. The thunders
are rolling in the distance, and each hour coming nearer
and nearer. Whom the lightnings shall strike — how
vain to conjecture! Would to God that Julia were anywhere
but here! For, to you I may say it, I cannot
trust Aurelian — yes — Aurelian himself I may; but not
Aurelian the tool of Fronto. Farewell.
| Probus, or, Rome in the third century | |