University of Virginia Library

NEWS FROM PANNONIA.

A.D. 180.
DRUSILLUS. PROBUS.
Dru.
Hail, Probus!

Pro.
Hail, Drusillus!—thou in Rome!
Pale too, by Hercules! Art sick, or wounded?

Dru.
Neither, my Probus. From Pannonia, I;
A twelve days' journey. Now the Senate cons
My message, and I hurry to the bath.
Farewell, my friend; I'll visit you to-morrow.

Pro.
Nay, at this hour the public bath is throng'd,
And lo, my house at hand, and yours away
Beside the Vipsan Columns. Come, Drusillus,
Welcome awaits you, bath and robe and supper,
Not laid for guests, but large enough for two;
And then, for March wind scours the dusty streets,
Home in my litter. Bravely said, old friend!
I will not ask your camp news, well content
To hear with Rome: we'll talk philosophy,
As many a night before—dispute, agree,
And taste again the likeness in unlikeness
Friendship is mix'd of.

Dru.
Thou may'st ask my news.
All Rome, indeed, will shortly ring with it.

Pro.
Another victory and triumph? Nay,
Not a defeat? Why look you at me thus?

Dru.
Cæsar—

Pro.
Is dead?

Dru.
He is.

Pro.
Aurelius dead!
O friend, a weighty message in two words!
So heavy hath not fall'n into mine ear
Since when, a youth, I heard men whispering
“Good Antoninus is no more!”—How long
Is that ago?—He was thy father's friend
I think, Drusillus, as Aurelius thine.

Dru.
He was.—Exactly nineteen years this month
My father was that captain of the guard
Who came to Antoninus, lying sick,
For the night's watchword, and the Emperor,
Fixing his mild majestic eyes on him,
Said, “Equanimity.” At dawn of day
My father saw th' imperial face again
Pale, silent, and with eyes for ever closed.
And now his great adopted Son hath join'd
The shadowy multitude. No Quadic spear
Dethroned him; it was fever's poison'd arrow
Flying invisible through the camp. He shared
The legionaries' food and long fatigues,
And every chance of war.

Pro.
Thou too, Drusillus,
Or I mistake thee. Therefore do not scorn
This amber liquor from my own hill-slope;
Thou hast sat beneath the vines there. As thou wilt.
Himself was not more temperate. Was his age
Twelve lustra?

Dru.
Save a year.

Pro.
Too short a life!

Dru.
Aurelius thought not so. He ask'd my age
One day, and when I told him, “At two-score”—
He said—“a wise man knows what life is like,
And, though he lived a thousand years, would see
Old things in new masks merely. Why not die?
I soon shall notch a third score on the stick,
Nor wish the game spun wearisomely out.
The Roman death,” he said, “a free man's choice
Is rational, bold; great men have chosen it;
But I for my part rather will await
Th' appointed hour of natural release,
Patient of life, not fearing death at all;
A sentry at his post.”

Pro.
Go on, Drusillus!

Dru.
“Why,” said the Emperor, “should death be dreadful?
Since it is nothing but a natural change,
One other needful movement in a world
Where all things always move, and nothing stays,
Yet nothing is destroy'd. Why shrink from change
That Power which governs all things, changes all,
And makes from out their substance, other things,
From these things other yet, continually;
And by the flow of this perpetual change
Keeps universal nature always young.”

Pro.
Thy memory's good.

Dru.
I noted down his words.
“The world, could'st thou but see it, would be seen
Shifting incessantly, but nothing lost,
And the great Whole continuing: the Gods
Also continuing, as I well believe.”

Pro.
Would that we might have clearer news of them!
In Rome, as well thou knowest, many men
Scoff at the Gods and count them fables merely.
What would they say to this? “Assuredly
Cæsar must keep the temples up!”—or else,
“Old-fashioned! Out of date!”

Dru.
But here indeed
No Pontiff spoke: for one thing stay'd with him
Since Verus was his name, and Hadrian
Who loved the boy call'd him Verissimus;
From youth to age, truth was his very nature,
Nor custom nor tradition master'd him,
All was digested in his mind, which took
Its proper nutriment; nor he the fool
To think, like many, truths wear out with time—
Being more substantial than the sea and land.

Pro.
I trust his moderate and measured phrase
Beyond all flourishes.

Dru.
He hated those.
“The Gods,” he said, “we name them as we will:
They stand above my knowledge: but I feel
A Power Divine within me and without
Whereby all things are govern'd, changed, preserved.”
And on another day these words were his:
“All from the Gods is full of Providence,
Nor Fortune separate from Nature; all
Being interwoven in one mighty web.
Why therefore should I fear to quit the earth,
If this be so? And if it be not so,
Why should I care to live in such a world,
Empty of Gods and void of Providence?”

Pro.
Wise words!—and here no trivial theorist,
But Roman Cæsar, mightiest of men.
What will his son be like?

Dru.
As the Gods please.
High man or low man, wise man is the man.
Marcus himself would many a time declare,
“Great Alexander, Julius, and Pompeius,
Count I but small, if match'd with Socrates,
Or Heraclitus, or Diogenes,
Or that Greek Slave.”

Pro.
Ay, noble Epictetus.
Aurelius would have made that slave his friend.
But let us talk of Commodus awhile.
Where is he?

Dru.
In the camp. Aurelius turn'd
By nature to Philosophy. He said
“The senate gave me empire, not desired,
Much better loving shady silent paths
Of peaceful meditation, than to roll
On dusty highway in triumphal car.
But all things moved together to that end,
Adoption, training, much experience gain'd
In public functions, most of all the wish
Of him my more than father; and with these—
The driving-wheel of all—sense of man's place
And work, as social and for general use.”

Pro.
A noble nature!

Dru.
Well brought-up withal.
He loved to praise his tutors—“Thanks to them
For what I am.” But he was ever humble.
“I know,” he said, “being prince, and train'd thereto,
I've miss'd much man-lore simple men have gain'd
Simply, as husbandmen grow weatherwise
And fishers wary.”

Pro.
There is truth in that.
Alp sees not close but wide. Nor can the great
Well know the teasing troubles of poor men.
Was he a bookish man?

Dru.
His books were few.
I've heard him say, “Much reading is but vain.
In contemplation and experience
The wise man will discover what he needs,
Unmesh'd in subtleties and speculations
Thin-spun by curious busy-idle wits.
The sense of things is plain to healthy minds,
The nature of them deep beyond all ken;
Of qualities we learn; of essence nothing;
Nor do I deem, in myriad years to come,
Though many little truths they pick or delve
And put in storehouse, men are like to know
One atom more of Life, Death, or the Gods
Than we do now; nor shall they profit much
In happiness, perchance, by all they learn.
To view the daily earth and nightly heavens,
Feeling their beauty and magnificence;
To know there's good and evil, choose the good;
Let reason govern thee, not appetite;
Learn to be true, just, diligent, and brave;
Count all men brothers, work for general use;
Obey God, help men, and be not perturb'd,
Taking thy lot with equanimity;
These are the main things, and must always be;
What more we add, not much, though we should set
The sun and moon in scales, see the grass grow,
And fly with better than Icarian wings
From Rome to Thule.”

Pro.
Had he any guess
Of how the world was made?

Dru.
“Too deep for thought,”
He said, “much more for language.” Yet he mused
And question'd thus, “The nature of the Whole
Moved, and began the order'd Universe;
And everything must be continuous
From that prime impulse. Shall we deem this force,
Ev'n in the highest things whereto it tendeth,
Void of a rational principle?—or all
From one divine inscrutable First Cause,
Whence too our rational being must derive
Its powers? The order that subsists in thee
Is under rule of reason. Can this rule
Be absent in the Universe? Not so.
One Living Mind rules all.”

Pro.
Remember'd well!
I see this as I never saw before.
His words are precious gems. Doth Commodus
Set forth at once to Rome? What think'st thou of him?
The slaves are out of hearing.

Dru.
Grant me this,
Dear friend, no word of politics to-night!

Pro.
So be it. Tell me more then of our Prince
Who now is with the Gods.

Dru.
Oft in his tent
Or by a watchfire on the battle-field,
I saw him take a little parchment-scroll
Out of his bosom; and on a certain night
He let me look therein, close-writ in Greek;
Saying, “I put these thoughts upon my tablets
As they came to me, wrote them fairly out,
And turn to them again from time to time;
Since what is written, even by oneself,
Becomes a force, takes place in the world of things,
And may be found again and scann'd again;
Thus wise mood and clear insight come in aid
Of weak dark moments, and hold judgment firm.
The most,” he said, “were written long ago;
I read in them my brighter healthier self;
Now, things grow wearisome, and seldom seem
Worth the style's labour—yet are they no worse,
No better than of old.” With leave, I conn'd
The sentences, and copied many down
In our own tongue from memory. Words are seeds.
Here is my scroll, if thou art not yet tired.
But much he spoke was to the same effect.

Pro.
Nay, read, Drusillus.

Dru.
Thus Aurelius:
“Whate'er it be, this Universe,—myself
Am part thereof, related intimately
To other parts like me, my fellow-men.
Let me be thankful and content, and seek
The common good; for happy he alone
Who, wise in contemplation, just in action,
Resigns himself to universal nature,
Expecting, fearing, and disliking nothing,
And puts his ruling faculty to use.
Ask this—how doth the ruling faculty
Employ itself? All else is but as smoke.”—
“What is this hubbub that goes on around?
Vain pomp and stage-play, weapon-brandishings,
Sheep following sheep (poor men!), herds driv'n along,
Dogs rushing to a bone, fish to a crumb,
Labours of ants, hurry of fright'n'd mice,
The posturing of puppets pull'd by strings!
View it all quietly, good-naturedly,
And not with scorn; but clearly understand
A man is worth so much as that is worth
He busies himself in. Yet, all are brethren:
Turn not away from any man or thing.”—
“Wrong-doers must be, therefore marvel not
To meet one; he's in error; on thy part
Seek to amend him kindly: if thou'rt anger'd
Give thyself blame, not him. Be not perturb'd.
If a man hate thee, that is his affair,
Thine, that he have no cause. Upon thyself
Depends thy happiness; thy will is free;
Obey the voice of God.”—Mark this, my friend:
“If God had plann'd it all — enough: art thou
Wiser than God? But certain men surmise
Chance ruleth all, or Fate: be thou at least
Not rulèd so, and having cared for this,
Be tranquil.” Note that, Probus—“Thou at least
Be not so rulèd.” Often would he say,
“What is the dearest, most essential thing,
Whereof can no man rob us? Our Free-Will!”

Pro.
A grand word! But, how choose therewith?

Dru.
He held,
That, as our lungs inhale the atmosphere,
A subtler spiritual force pervades the world,
Which he who wills may draw into his mind.

Pro.
Strange!—yet my soul breathes freer at his words.
Read on.

Dru.
In this the perfect Stoic speaks:
“Rule thy opinion, and thou rulest all
Comes from without; esteem that as it is,
Nothing—the Ruling Faculty untouch'd.”

Pro.
I am too weak for that!

Dru.
Again he writes:
“Value not life at any costly rate,
Reflect: the Past a dream, the Future nothing,
The Present is the only thing thou hast,
Therefore the only thing which thou can'st lose,
And what is that?—a point.”

Pro.
The sophist here
Methinks, Drusillus—subtlety for wisdom!
The Past is in the Present, and the point
Is moving, therefore measureless.

Dru.
Well said!
No man is always right.

Pro.
And then, “Opinion?”
Suppose at some bad inn I drink sour wine,
How shall opinion make me taste and feel
Falernian? Or should angry Neptune toss
My wretched body, hath opinion power
To comfort me?

Dru.
Some men are tougher made
No doubt, than others; for the perfect Stoic
Too nice a palate is unapt, too weak
A stomach; yet the main point lies not here.
Make by our Ruling Faculty the least
And not the most of adverse accident,
The best and not the worst of all our gifts,
We're followers, though with feeble step it be,
Of Zeno, Epictetus, and Aurelius.
Live but to gratify our lower selves:
And study these, we're on the hateful road
With Nero and his parasites.

Pro
A gloss
On Stoicism!—a good one I allow.
I fear I'm of the sons of Epicurus—
The later sons, degenerate from his doctrine!

Dru.
Nay, thou malign'st thyself—in vain to me.
No two men are alike, nor no two Stoics.
But here are maxims fit for every man:
“Act as thy nature leads, observing justice.
Rate everything according to its value.
Bear what the common nature brings to thee.”
“Study not what thy neighbour says, does, thinks,
But live thine own life rightly. Talk no more
Of how a man should live, but so live thou.”—
“The Soul's a sphere, and keeps her proper shape
If not stretch'd forth to outward things too far,
Nor, else, contracted inward, shrunk together.
“Seek imperturbably to live a life
Of wisdom, justice, temperance, fortitude;
Be ever friendly, mild, benevolent;
And follow thy eudæmon—God within thee.”

Pro.
Gold words! The sweetest of the Stoics, he.
Unless it were his Father.

Dru.
Nay, for him
Good life sufficed, without philosophy.

Pro.
Little have I of either! But note this;
Marcus's nature, that was rational,
Mild, kind and sociable; the voice within
Counsell'd him good not evil things. We all
Are not so made. Some men are idly given,
Care but for feasts and flowers and fluteplayers;
Why should they baulk their fancies? Others thirst
For glory, praise, and power; and why not seek them,
Such being their nature? How fit every man
To Marcus?

Dru.
Ay, or any other pattern?
I said, no two alike, each his own life;
And yet must none live solely for himself.
The idle and the grasping miss true life
Through error; help them; for, as Plato wrote,
Willingly is no soul deprived of truth;
Count all amendable.

Pro.
Nay, some I know
In whom a cacodæmon surely whispers!
How deal with these?

Dru.
Shun, guard against, repress;
At utmost need, expel them solemnly,
As curs'd by fate or their perverted wills,
And give them over to the larger Power.
Aurelius could be stern—but ever sadly.
Yet, tho' in his self judgment strict, and all
That touch'd the State, to other men at times
(Perhaps because he did not rate them high)
And women, he was far too mild, too easy;
His only fault. Witness his former colleague.
Witness his— But enough. His life was pure,
His death was tranquil. May our souls tread firm
To follow his!

Pro.
Alas, I would the Gods,
Spoke out with clearer voice to us poor men
On life and death! How should our souls be firm
When oracles are doubtful?—Will new Cæsar
Follow the fierce Bellona's flashing helm?

Dru.

Pro.
Did it long endure?

Dru.
I'll tell thee, Probus. On the fifteenth day
I watch'd him, kneeling by the couch. His mind
Had wander'd, but he now lay motionless,
As in a trance, from noon till the fifth hour.
All unexpectedly, he looked upon me.
Forth came his hand. I kiss'd it. My heart leapt
With a pang of fleeting joy. He merely said—
“Farewell, Drusillus. Bear the news to Rome.”
Then his eyes closed again; and no more words.

Pro.
Young Commodus, I think—

Dru.
I think, my friend,
He had a virtuous and most noble Father.

Pro.
Truly. And I for my part recollect
Caligula's father was Germanicus
Domitian's Titus. But—Hail, Commodus!
Cæsar and Emperor, seventeenth in count
From shrewd Augustus—some amongst them great
And many vile. Fortune hath strangely throned
Pernicious human monsters, gorging blood
Until it choked them.

Dru.
Yea, but Rome endures;
Jove's oak, whereon some carrion vultures perch'd;
Empire that was, and is, and will be great;
Never before so powerful, and so happy
As under Trajan, Hadrian, Antonine,
And our beloved Aurelius.

Pro.
And yet,
All things, Drusillus, have their term. Jove's oak,
Rock-rooted, wide-arm'd, after many years
Grows hollow, one day crumbles. Shall men see
Great Rome a ruin?

Dru.
Choose more lucky words,
Dear Probus!—or indeed wilt thou forebode
This Christian superstition, the crush'd worm,
Lord of our seven hills, with superber shrine
Than Jove's own temple now? or dost thou fear
The Britons may outrival us in arms,
Wealth, power, and policy, and one day build
A greater city than on Tiber's banks
By some cold fenny river of the north?

Pro.
Nay, I love Rome. Live Rome!

Dru.
She'll outlast us,
Be who will Cæsar. May the Gods protect her!
Thanks and farewell, my friend!

Pro.
The slaves await you.
Health and sound sleep, Drusillus! Fare thee well!