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Title: Aurelian
       or, Rome in the Third Century

Author: William Ware

Release Date: June 28, 2007 [EBook #21953]

Language: English

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AURELIAN;

OR,

ROME IN THE THIRD CENTURY


IN LETTERS OF LUCIUS M. PISO, FROM ROME, TO FAUSTA,
THE DAUGHTER OF GRACCHUS, AT PALMYRA.

BY

WILLIAM WARE,

AUTHOR OF "ZENOBIA," "JULIAN," ETC.


_FIFTH EDITION._

_TWO VOLUMES COMPLETE IN ONE._

VOL. I.


NEW YORK:
PUBLISHED BY JAMES MILLER,
(SUCCESSOR TO C. S. FRANCIS & CO.)
647 BROADWAY.
1874.




  Entered, according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1838,
  By CHARLES S. FRANCIS,
  in the Clerk's office of the Southern District of New York.

       *       *       *       *       *

  Entered, according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1866,
  By MARY WARE,
  in the Clerk's office of the Southern District of New York.




NOTICE.


This book--a sequel to Zenobia--published nearly ten years ago under the
name of 'Probus,' was soon republished, in several places abroad, under
that of 'Aurelian.' So far from complaining of the innovation, I could
not but regard it as a piece of good fortune, as I had myself long
thought the present a more appropriate title than the one originally
chosen. Add to this, that the publisher of the work, on lately proposing
a new edition, urgently advised the adoption of the foreign name, and I
have thought myself sufficiently warranted in an alteration which
circumstances seemed almost to require, or, at least, to excuse.

                                                            W. W.


       *       *       *       *       *


AURELIAN.


The record which follows, is by the hand of me, NICOMACHUS, once the
happy servant of the great Queen of Palmyra, than whom the world never
saw a queen more illustrious, or a woman adorned with brighter virtues.
But my design is not to write her eulogy, or to recite the wonderful
story of her life. That task requires a stronger and a more impartial
hand than mine. The life of Zenobia by Nicomachus, would be the portrait
of a mother and a divinity, drawn by the pen of a child and a
worshipper.

My object is a humbler, but perhaps also a more useful one. It is to
collect and arrange, in their proper order, such of the letters of the
most noble LUCIUS MANLIUS PISO, as shall throw most light upon his
character and times, supplying all defects of incident, and filling up
all chasms that may occur, out of the knowledge which more exactly than
any one else, I have been able to gather concerning all that relates to
the distinguished family of the Pisos, after its connection with the
more distinguished one still, of the Queen of Palmyra.

It is in this manner that I propose to amuse the few remaining days of a
green old age, not without hope both to amuse and benefit others also.
This is a labor, as those will discover who read, not unsuitable to one
who stands trembling on the verge of life, and whom a single rude blast
may in a moment consign to the embraces of the universal mother. I will
not deny that my chief satisfaction springs from the fact, that in
collecting these letters, and binding them together by a connecting
narrative, I am engaged in the honorable task of tracing out some of the
steps by which the new religion has risen to its present height of
power. For whether true or false, neither friend nor foe, neither
philosopher nor fool, can refuse to admit the regenerating and genial
influences of its so wide reception upon the Roman character and
manners. If not the gift of the gods, it is every way worthy a divine
origin; and I cannot but feel myself to be worthily occupied in
recording the deeds, the virtues, and the sufferings, of those who put
their faith in it, and, in times of danger and oppression, stood forth
to defend it. Age is slow of belief. The thoughts then cling with a
violent pertinacity to the fictions of its youth, once held to be the
most sacred realities. But for this I should, I believe, myself long ago
have been a Christian. I daily pray to the Supreme Power that my
stubborn nature may yet so far yield, that I may be able, with a free
and full assent, to call myself a follower of Christ. A Greek by birth,
a Palmyrene by choice and adoption, a Roman by necessity--and these are
all honorable names--I would yet rather be a Christian than either.
Strange that, with so strong desires after a greater good, I should
remain fixed where I have ever been! Stranger still, seeing I have moved
so long in the same sphere with the excellent Piso, the divine
Julia--that emanation of God--and the god-like Probus! But there is no
riddle so hard for man to read as himself. I sometimes feel most
inclined toward the dark fatalism of the stoics, since it places all
things beyond the region of conjecture or doubt.

Yet if I may not be a Christian myself--I do not, however, cease both to
hope and pray--I am happy in this, that I am permitted by the Divine
Providence to behold, in these the last days of life, the quiet
supremacy of a faith which has already added so much to the common
happiness, and promises so much more. Having stood in the midst, and
looked upon the horrors of two persecutions of the Christians--the first
by Aurelian and the last by Diocletian--which last seemed at one moment
as if it would accomplish its work, and blot out the very name of
Christian--I have no language in which to express the satisfaction with
which I sit down beneath the peaceful shadows of a Christian throne, and
behold the general security and exulting freedom enjoyed by the many
millions throughout the vast empire of the great Constantine. Now,
everywhere around, the Christians are seen, undeterred by any
apprehension of violence, with busy hands reërecting the demolished
temples of their pure and spiritual faith; yet not unmindful, in the
mean time, of the labor yet to be done, to draw away the remaining
multitudes of idolaters from the superstitions which, while they
infatuate, degrade and brutalize them. With the zeal of the early
apostles of this religion, they are applying themselves, with untiring
diligence, to soften and subdue the stony heart of hoary Paganism,
receiving but too often, as their only return, curses and threats--now
happily vain--and retiring from the assault, leading in glad triumph
captive multitudes. Often, as I sit at my window, overlooking, from the
southern slope of the Quirinal, the magnificent Temple of the Sun, the
proudest monument of Aurelian's reign, do I pause to observe the labors
of the artificers who, just as it were beneath the shadow of its
columns, are placing the last stones upon the dome of a Christian
church. Into that church the worshippers shall enter unmolested;
mingling peacefully, as they go and return, with the crowds that throng
the more gorgeous temple of the idolaters. Side by side, undisturbed and
free, do the Pagans and Christians, Greeks, Jews, and Egyptians, now
observe the rites, and offer the worship, of their varying faiths. This
happiness we owe to the wise and merciful laws of the great Constantine.
So was it, long since, in Palmyra, under the benevolent rule of Zenobia.
May the time never come, when Christians shall do otherwise than now;
when, remembering the wrongs they have received, they shall retaliate
torture and death upon the blind adherents of the ancient superstition!

These letters of Piso to Fausta the daughter of Gracchus, now follow.




LETTER I.

FROM PISO TO FAUSTA.


I am not surprised, Fausta, that you complain of my silence. It were
strange indeed if you did not. But as for most of our misdeeds we have
excuses ready at hand, so have I for this. First of all, I was not
ignorant, that, however I might fail you, from your other greater friend
you would experience no such neglect; but on the contrary would be
supplied with sufficient fulness and regularity, with all that could be
worth knowing, concerning either our public or private affairs. For her
sake, too, I was not unwilling, that at first the burden of this
correspondence, if I may so term it, should rest where it has, since it
has afforded, I am persuaded, a pleasure, and provided an occupation
that could have been found nowhere else. Just as a flood of tears brings
relief to a bosom laboring under a heavy sorrow, so has this pouring out
of herself to you in frequent letters, served to withdraw the mind of
the Queen from recollections, which, dwelt upon as they were at first,
would soon have ended that life in which all ours seem bound up.

Then again, if you accept the validity of this excuse, I have another,
which, as a woman, you will at once allow the force of. You will not
deem it a better one than the other, but doubtless as good. It is this:
that for a long time I have been engaged in taking possession of my new
dwelling upon the Coelian, not far from that of Portia. Of this you
may have heard, in the letters which have reached you; but that will not
prevent me from describing to you, with more exactness than any other
can have done it, the home of your old and fast friend, Lucius Manlius
Piso; for I think it adds greatly to the pleasure with which we think of
an absent friend, to be able to see, as in a picture, the form and
material and position of the house he inhabits, and even the very aspect
and furniture of the room in which he is accustomed to pass the most of
his time. This to me is a satisfaction greater than you can well
conceive, when, in my ruminating hours, which are many, I return to
Palmyra, and place myself in the circle with Gracchus, Calpurnius, and
yourself. Your palace having now been restored to its former condition,
I know where to find you at the morning, noon, and evening hour; the
only change you have made in the former arrangements being this: that
whereas when I was your guest, your private apartments occupied the
eastern wing of the palace, they are now in the western, once mine,
which I used then to maintain were the most agreeable and noble of all.
The prospects which its windows afford of the temple, and the distant
palace of the queen, and of the evening glories of the setting sun, are
more than enough to establish its claims to an undoubted superiority;
and if to these be added the circumstance, that for so long a time the
Roman Piso was their occupant, the case is made out beyond all
peradventure.

But I am describing your palace rather than my own. You must remember my
paternal seat on the southern declivity of the hill, overlooking the
course of the Tiber as it winds away to the sea. Mine is not far from
it, but on the northern side of the hill, and thereby possessing a
situation more favorable to comfort, during the heats of summer--I
loving the city, as you well know, better if anything during the summer
than the winter months. Standing upon almost the highest point of the
hill, it commands a wide and beautiful prospect, especially toward the
north and east, the eye shooting over the whole expanse of city and
suburbs, and then resting upon the purple outline of the distant
mountains. Directly before me are the magnificent structures which crown
the Esquiline, conspicuous among which, and indeed eminent over all, are
the Baths of Titus. Then, as you will conjecture, the eye takes in the
Palatine and Capitol hills, catching, just beyond the last, the swelling
dome of the Pantheon, which seems rather to rise out of, and crown, the
Flavian Amphitheatre, than its own massy walls. Then, far in the
horizon, we just discern the distant summits of the Appenines, broken by
Soracte and the nearer hills.

The principal apartments are on the northern side of the palace, opening
upon a portico of Corinthian columns, running its entire length and
which would not disgrace Palmyra itself. At the eastern extremity, are
the rooms common to the family; in the centre, a spacious hall, in the
adorning of which, by every form of art, I have exhausted my knowledge
and taste in such things; and at the western extremity, my library,
where at this moment I sit, and where I have gathered around me all in
letters and art that I most esteem. This room I have decorated for
myself and Julia--not for others. Whatever has most endeared itself to
our imaginations, our minds, or our hearts, has here its home. The books
that have most instructed or amused; the statuary that most raises and
delights us; the pictures on which we most love to dwell; the
antiquities that possess most curiosity or value, are here arranged, and
in an order that would satisfy, I believe, even your fastidious taste.

I will not weary you with any more minute account of my new dwelling,
leaving that duty to the readier pen of Julia. Yet I cannot relieve you
till I have spoken of two of the statues which occupy the most
conspicuous niche in the library. You will expect me to name Socrates
and Plato, or Numa and Seneca--these are all there, but it is not of
either of them that I would speak. They are the venerable founders of
the Jewish and Christian religions, MOSES and CHRIST. These statues, of
the purest marble, stand side by side, at one extremity of the
apartment; and immediately before them, and within the wondrous sphere
of their influences stands the table at which I write, and where I
pursue my inquiries in philosophy and religion. You smile at my
enthusiasm, Fausta, and wonder when I shall return to the calm sobriety
of my ancient faith. In this wonder there are a thousand errors--but of
these hereafter. I was to tell you of these sculptures. Of the statue of
Moses, I possess no historical account, and know not what its claim may
be to truth. I can only say, it is a figure truly grand, and almost
terrific. It is of a size larger than life, and expresses no sentiment
so perfectly as authority--the authority of a rigorous and austere
ruler--both in the attitude of the body and the features of the
countenance. The head is slightly raised and drawn back, as if
listening, awe-struck, to a communication from the God who commissioned
him, while his left hand supports a volume, and his right grasps a
stylus, with which, when the voice has ceased, to record the
communicated truth. Place in his hands the thunderbolt, and at his feet
the eagle, and the same form would serve for Jupiter the Thunderer,
except only that to the countenance of the Jewish prophet there has been
imparted a rapt and inspired look, wholly beyond any that even Phidias
could have fixed upon the face of Jove. He who wrought this head must
have believed in the sublimities of the religion whose chief minister he
has made so to speak them forth, in the countenance and in the form; and
yet who has ever heard of a Jew sculptor?

The statue of Christ is of a very different character; as different as
the Christian faith is from that of the Jewish, notwithstanding they are
still by many confounded. I cannot pretend to describe to you the holy
beauty that as it were constitutes this perfect work of art. If you ask
what authority tradition has invested it with, I can only say that I do
not know. All I can affirm with certainty, is this, that it once stood
in the palace of Alexander Severus, in company with the images of other
deified men and gods, whom he chiefly reverenced. When that excellent
prince had fallen under the blows of assassins, his successor and
murderer, Maximin, having little knowledge or taste for what was found
in the palace of Alexander, those treasures were sold, and the statue of
Christ came into the hands of a distinguished and wealthy Christian of
that day, who, perishing in the persecution of Decius, his descendants
became impoverished, and were compelled to part with even this sacred
relic of their former greatness. From them I purchased it; and often are
they to be seen, whenever for such an object they can steal away from
necessary cares, standing before it and renewing, as it would seem,
their vows of obedience, in the presence of the founder of their faith.
The room is free to their approach, whenever they are thus impelled.

The expression of this statue, I have said, is wholly different from
that of the Hebrew. His is one of authority and of sternness; this of
gentleness and love. Christ is represented, like the Moses, in a sitting
posture, with a countenance, not like his raised to Heaven, but bent
with looks somewhat sad and yet full of benevolence, as if upon persons
standing before him. Fraternity, I think, is the idea you associate with
it most readily. I should never suppose him to be a judge or censor, or
arbitrary master, but rather an elder brother; elder in the sense of
wiser, holier, purer; whose look is not one of reproach that others are
not as himself, but of pity and desire; and whose hand would rather be
stretched forth to lift up the fallen than to smite the offender. To
complete this expression, and inspire the beholder with perfect
confidence, the left hand rests upon a little child, who stands with
familiar reverence at his knee, and looking up into his face seems to
say, 'No evil can come to me here.'

Opposite this, and at the other extremity of the apartment, hangs a
picture of Christ, representing him in very exact accordance with the
traditional accounts of his features and form, a description of which
exists, and is held by most authentic, in a letter of Publius Lentulus,
a Roman of the same period. Between this and the statue there is a
close resemblance, or as close as we usually see between two heads of
Cæsar, or of Cicero. Marble, however, is the only material that suits
the character and office of Jesus of Nazareth. Color, and its minute
effects, seem in some sort to degrade the subject. I retain the picture
because of its supposed truth.

Portia, as you will believe, is full of wonder and sorrow at these
things. Soon after my library had received its last additions, my mother
came to see what she had already heard of so much. As she entered the
apartment, I was sitting in my accustomed seat, with Julia at my side,
and both of us gazing in admiration at the figures I have just
described. We were both too much engrossed to notice the entrance of
Portia, our first warning of her presence being her hand laid upon my
head. We rose and placed her between us.

'My son,' said she, looking intently as she spoke upon the statues
before us, 'what strange looking figures are these? That upon my left
might serve for Jupiter, but for the roll and the stylus. And why place
you beings of character so opposite, as these appear to have been, side
by side? This other upon my right--ah, how beautiful it is! What
mildness in those eyes, and what a divine repose over the form, which no
event, not the downfall of a kingdom nor its loss, would seem capable to
disturb. Is it the peace loving Numa?'

'Not so,' said Julia; 'there stands Numa, leaning on the sacred shield,
from the centre of which beams the countenance of the divine Egeria.'

'Yes, I see it,' replied Portia; and rising from her seat, she stood
gazing round the apartment, examining its various appointments. When her
eye had sought out the several objects, and dwelt upon them a moment,
she said, in tones somewhat reproachful, as much so as it is in her
nature to assume:

'Where, Lucius, are the gods of Rome? Do those who have, through so many
ages, watched over our country, and guarded our house, deserve no honor
at your hands? Does not gratitude require at least that their images
should be here, so that, whether you yourself worship them or not, their
presence may inspire others with reverence? But alas for the times!
Piety seems dead; or, with the faith that inspires it, it lives, but in
a few, who will soon disappear, and religion with them. Whose forms are
these, Lucius? concerning one I can now easily surmise--but the other,
this stern and terrific man, who is he?'

'That,' I replied, 'is Moses, the founder of Judaism.'

'Immortal gods!' exclaimed Portia, 'the statue of a Jew in the halls of
the Pisos! Well may it be that Rome approaches her decline, when her
elder sons turn against her.'

'Nay, my mother, I am not a Jew.'

'I would thou wert, rather than be what I suppose thou art, a Christian.
The Jew, Lucius, can boast of antiquity, at least, in behalf of his
religion. But the faith which you would profess and extend, is but of
yesterday. Would the gods ever leave mankind without religion? Is it
only to-day that they reveal the truth? Have they left us for these many
ages to grope along in error? Never, Lucius, can I believe it. It is
enough for me that the religion of Rome is old as Rome, to endear it to
my heart, and commend it to my understanding. It is not for the first
time, to-day, that the gods have spoken.'

'But, my dear mother,' I rejoined, 'if age makes truth, there are older
religions than this of Rome. Judaism itself is older, by many centuries.
But it is not because a religion is new or old, that I would receive or
reject it.' The only question is, does it satisfy my heart and mind, and
is it true? The faith which you engrafted upon my infant mind, fails to
meet the wants of my nature, and upon looking for its foundations, I
find them not.'

'Is thy nature different from mine, Lucius? Surely, thou art my own
child! It has satisfied me and my nature. I ask for nothing else, or
better.'

'There are some natures, mother, by the gods so furnished and filled
with all good desires and affections, that their religion is born with
them and is in them. It matters little under what outward form and
administration of truth they dwell; no system could injure them--none
would greatly benefit. They are of the family of God, by birth, and are
never disinherited.'

'Yes, Portia,' said Julia, 'natural and divine instincts make you what
others can become only through the powerful operation of some principle
out of, and superior to, anything they find within. For me, I know not
what I should have been, without the help which Christianity has
afforded. I might have been virtuous, but I could not have been happy.
You surely rejoice, when the weak find that in any religion or
philosophy which gives them strength. Look, Portia, at that serene and
benignant countenance, and can you believe that any truth ever came
from its lips, but such as must be most comforting and exalting to those
who receive it?'

'It would seem so indeed, my child,' replied Portia, musingly, 'and I
would not deprive any of the comforts or strength which any principle
may impart. But I cannot cease to think it dangerous to the state, when
the faith of the founders of Rome is abandoned by those who fill its
highest places. You who abound in leisure and learning, may satisfy
yourselves with a new philosophy; but what shall these nice refinements
profit the common herd? How shall they see them to be true, or
comprehend them? The Romans have ever been a religious people; and
although under the empire the purity of ancient manners is lost, let it
not be said that the Pisos were among those who struck the last and
hardest blows at the still stout root of the tree that bore them.'

'Nothing can be more plain or intelligible,' I replied, 'than the
principles of the Christian religion; and wherever it has been preached
with simplicity and power, even the common people have readily and
gratefully adopted it. I certainly cannot but desire that it may
prevail. If any thing is to do it, I believe this is the power that is
to restore, and in a still nobler form, the ancient manners of which you
speak. It is from Christianity that in my heart I believe the youthful
blood is to come, that being poured into the veins of this dying state,
shall reproduce the very vigor and freshness of its early age. Rome, my
mother, is now but a lifeless trunk--a dead and loathsome corpse--a new
and warmer current must be infused, or it will soon crumble into dust.'

'I grieve, Lucius, to see you lost to the good cause of your country,
and to the altars of her gods; for who can love his country, and deny
the gods who made and preserve it? But then who am I to condemn? When I
see the gods to hurl thunderbolts upon those who flout them, it will be
time enough for us mortals to assume the robes of judgment. I will hope
that farther thought will reclaim you from your truant wanderings.'

Do not imagine, Fausta, that conversations like this have the least
effect to chill the warm affections of Portia towards us both. Nature
has placed within her bosom a central heat, that not only preserves her
own warmth, but diffuses itself upon all who approach her, and changes
their affections into a likeness of her own. We speak of our differing
faiths, but love none the less. When she had paused a moment after
uttering the last words, she again turned her eye upon the statue of
Christ, and, captivated by its wondrous power, she dwelt upon it in a
manner that showed her sensibilities to be greatly moved. At length she
suddenly started, saying:

'If truth and beauty were the same thing, one need but to look upon this
and be a believer. But as in the human form and face, beauty is often
but a lie, covering over a worse deformity than any that ever disfigures
the body, so it may be here. I cannot but admire and love the beauty; it
will be wise, I suppose, not to look farther, lest the dream be
dissolved.'

'Be not afraid of that, dearest mother; I can warrant you against
disappointment. If in that marble you have the form of the outward
beauty, here, in this roll, you will find the inward moral beauty of
which it is the shrine.'

'Nay, nay, Lucius, I look no farther or deeper. I have seen too much
already.'

With these words, she arose, and we accompanied her to the portico,
where we walked, and sat, and talked of you, and Calpurnius, and
Gracchus.

Thus you perceive I have told you first of what chiefly interests
myself: now let me turn to what at this moment more than everything else
fills all heads in Rome--and that is Livia. She is the object of
universal attention, the centre of all honor. It is indescribable, the
sensation her beauty, and now added to that, her magnificence, have made
and still make in Rome. Her imperial bearing would satisfy even you; and
the splendor of her state exceeds all that has been known before. This
you may be surprised to hear, knowing what the principles of Aurelian
have been in such things; how strict he has been himself in a more than
republican simplicity, and how severe upon the extravagances and
luxuries of others, in the laws he has enacted. You must remember his
prohibition of the use of cloth of gold and of silk, among other
things--foolish laws to be suddenly promulged among so vain and corrupt
a population as this of Rome. They have been the ridicule and scorn of
rich and poor alike; of the rich, because they are so easily violated in
private, or evaded by the substitution of one article for another; of
the poor, because, being slaves in spirit, they take a slave's pride in
the trappings and state of their masters; they love not only to feel but
to see their superiority. But since the eastern expedition, the
reduction of Palmyra, and the introduction from abroad of the vast flood
of foreign luxuries which has inundated Rome and Italy itself the
principles and the habits of the Emperor have undergone a mighty
revolution. Now, the richness and costliness of his dress, the splendor
of his equipage, the gorgeousness of his furniture, cannot be made to
come up to the height of his extravagant desires. The silk which he once
denied to the former Empress for a dress, now, variously embroidered,
and of every dye, either hangs in ample folds upon the walls, or
canopies the royal bed, or lends its beauty to the cushioned seats which
everywhere, in every form of luxurious ease, invite to repose. Gold,
too, once prohibited, but now wrought into every kind of cloth, or solid
in shape of dish, or vase, or cup, or spread in sheets over the very
walls and ceilings of the palace, has rendered the traditions of Nero's
house of gold no longer fabulous. The customs of the eastern monarchs
have also elevated or perverted the ambition of Aurelian, and one after
another are taking place of former usages. He is every day more
difficult of access, and surrounds himself, his palaces, and apartments,
by guards and officers of state. In all this, as you will readily
believe, Livia is his willing companion, or rather, I should perhaps
say, his prompting and ruling genius. As without the world at her feet,
it would be impossible for her insane pride to be fully satisfied, so in
all that is now done, the Emperor still lags behind her will. But
beautifully, it can be denied by none, does she become her greatness,
and gives more lustre than she receives, to all around her. Gold is
doubly gold in her presence; and even the diamond sparkles with a new
brilliancy on her brow or sandal.

Livia is, of all women I have ever seen or known; made for a Roman
empress. I used to think so when in Palmyra, and I saw her, so often as
I did, assuming the port and air of imaginary sovereignty. And now that
I behold her filling the very place for which by nature she is most
perfectly fitted, I cannot but confess that she surpasses all I had
imagined, in the genius she displays for her great sphere, both as wife
of Aurelian, and sovereign of Rome. Her intellect shows itself stronger
than I had believed it to be, and secures for her the homage of a class
who could not be subdued by her magnificence, extraordinary as it is.
They are captivated by the brilliancy of her wit, set off by her
unequalled beauty, and, for a woman, by her rare attainments, and hover
around her as some superior being. Then for the mass of our rich and
noble, her ostentatious state and imperial presence are all that they
can appreciate, all they ask for, and more than enough to enslave them,
not only to her reasonable will, but to all her most tyrannical and
whimsical caprices. She understands already perfectly the people she is
among; and through her quick sagacity, has already risen to a power
greater than woman ever before held in Rome.

We see her often--often as ever--and when we see her, enjoy her as well.
For with all her ambition of petty rule and imposing state, she
possesses and retains a goodness of heart, that endears her to all, in
spite of her follies. Julia is still her beloved Julia, and I her good
friend Lucius; but it is to Zenobia that she attaches herself most
closely; and from her she draws most largely of the kind of inspiration
which she covets. It is to her, too, I believe, that we may trace much
of the admirable wisdom--for such it must be allowed to be--with which
Livia adorns the throne of the world.

Her residence, when Aurelian is absent from the city, is near us in the
palace upon the Palatine; but when he is here, it is more remote, in the
enchanted gardens of Sallust. This spot, first ennobled by the presence
of the great historian, to whose hand and eye of taste the chief
beauties of the scene are to be traced, then afterward selected by
Vespasian as an imperial villa, is now lately become the chosen retreat
of Aurelian. It has indeed lost a part of its charms since it has been
embraced, by the extension of the new walls, within the limits of the
city; but enough remain to justify abundantly the preference of a line
of emperors. It is there that we see Livia most as we have been used to
do, and where are forcibly brought to our minds the hours passed by us
so instructively in the gardens of Zenobia. Often Aurelian is of our
company, and throws the light of his strong intellect upon whatever
subject it is we discuss. He cannot, however, on such occasions,
thoroughly tame to the tone of gentle society, his imperious and almost
rude nature. The peasant of Pannonia will sometimes break through, and
usurp the place of emperor; but it is only for a moment; for it is
pleasing to note how the presence of Livia quickly restores him to
himself; when, with more grace than one would look for, he acknowledges
his fault, ascribing it sportively to the fogs of the German marshes. It
amuses us to observe the power which the polished manners and courtly
ways of Livia exercise over Aurelian, whose ambition seems now as
violently bent upon subduing the world by the displays of taste, grace,
and magnificence, as it once was to do it--and is still indeed--by force
of arms. Having astonished mankind in one way, he would astonish them
again in quite another; and to this later task his whole nature is
consecrated with as entire a devotion as ever it was to the other. Livia
is in all these things his model and guide; and never did soldier learn
to catch, from the least motion or sign of the general, his will, than
does he, to the same end, study the countenance and the voice of the
Empress. Yet is there, as you will believe knowing the character of
Aurelian as well as you do, nothing mean nor servile in this. He is ever
himself, and beneath this transparent surface, artificially assumed, you
behold, feature for feature, the lineaments of the fierce soldier
glaring forth in all their native wildness and ferocity. Yet we are
happy that there exists any charm potent enough to calm, but for hours
or days, a nature so stern and cruel as to cause perpetual fears for the
violences in which at any moment it may break out. The late slaughter in
the very streets of Rome, when the Coelian ran with the blood of
fifteen thousand Romans, butchered within sight of their own homes, with
the succeeding executions, naturally fill us with apprehensions for the
future. We call him generous, and magnanimous, and so he is, compared
with former tyrants who have polluted the throne--Tiberius, Commodus, or
Maximin; but what title has he to that praise, when tried by the
standard which our own reason supplies of those great virtues? I confess
it was not always so. His severity was formerly ever on the side of
justice; it was indignation at crime or baseness which sometimes brought
upon him the charge of cruelty--never the wanton infliction of suffering
and death. But it certainly is not so now. A slight cause now rouses
his sleeping passions to a sudden fury, often fatal to the first object
that comes in his way. But enough of this.

Do not forget to tell me again of the Old Hermit of the mountains, and
that you have visited him--if indeed he be yet among the living.

Even with your lively imagination, Fausta, you can hardly form an idea
of the sensation which my open assertion of Christian principles and
assumption of the Christian name has made in Rome. I intended when I sat
down to speak only of this, but see how I have been led away! My letters
will be for the most part confined, I fear, to the subjects which
engross both myself and Julia most--such as relate to the condition and
prospects of the new religion, and to the part which we take in the
revolution which is going on. Not that I shall be speechless upon other
and inferior topics, but that upon this of Christianity I shall be
garrulous and overflowing. I believe that in doing this, I shall consult
your preferences as well as my own. I know you to be desirous of
principles better than any which as yet you have been able to discover,
and that you will gladly learn whatever I may have it in my power to
teach you from this quarter. But all the teaching I shall attempt will
be to narrate events as they occur, and state facts as they arise, and
leave them to make what impression they may.

When I just spoke of the sensation which my adoption of the Christian
system had caused in Rome, I did not mean to convey any idea like this,
that it has been rare for the intelligent and cultivated to attach
themselves to this despised religion. On the contrary, it would be true
were I to say, that they who accept Christianity, are distinguished for
their intelligence; that estimated as a class, they rank far above the
lowest. It is not the dregs of a people who become reformers of
philosophy or religion; who grow dissatisfied with ancient opinions upon
exalted subjects, and search about for better, and adopt them. The
processes involved in this change, in their very nature, require
intelligence, and imply a character of more than common elevation. It is
neither the lowest nor the highest who commence, and at first carry on,
a work like this; but those who fill the intermediate spaces. The lowest
are dead as brute matter to such interests; the highest--the rich, the
fashionable, the noble, from opposite causes just as dead; or if they
are alive at all, it is with the rage of denunciation and opposition.
They are supporters of the decent usages sanctioned by antiquity, and
consecrated by the veneration of a long line of the great and noble.
Whether they themselves believe in the system which they uphold or not,
they are equally tenacious of it. They would preserve and perpetuate it,
because it has satisfied, at any rate bound and overawed, the multitude
for ages: and the experiment of alteration or substitution is too
dangerous to be tried. Most indeed reason not, nor philosophize at all,
in the matter. The instinct that makes them Romans in their worship of
the power and greatness of Rome, and attachment to her civil forms,
makes them Romans in their religion, and will summon them, if need be,
to die for the one and the other.

Religion and philosophy have accordingly nothing to hope from this
quarter. It is those whom we may term the substantial middle classes,
who, being least hindered by prejudices and pride of order, on the one
hand, and incapacitated by ignorance on the other, have ever been the
earliest and best friends of progress in any science. Here you find the
retired scholar, the thoughtful and independent farmer, the skilful
mechanic, the enlightened merchant, the curious traveller, the
inquisitive philosopher--all fitted, beyond those of either extreme, for
exercising a sound judgment upon such questions, and all more interested
in them. It is out of these that Christianity has made its converts.
They are accordingly worthy of universal respect. I have examined with
diligence, and can say that there live not in Rome a purer and more
noble company than the Christians. When I say however that it is out of
these whom I have just specified, that Christianity has made its
converts, I do not mean to say out of them exclusively. Some have joined
them in the present age, as well as in every age past, from the most
elevated in rank and power. If in Nero's palace, and among his chief
ministers, there were Christians, if Domitilla, Domitian's niece, was a
Christian, if the emperor Philip was a Christian, so now a few of the
same rank may be counted, who openly, and more who secretly, profess
this religion. But they are very few. So that you will not wonder that
when the head of the ancient and honorable house of the Pisos, the
friend of Aurelian, and allied to the royal family of Palmyra, declared
himself to be of this persuasion, no little commotion was observable in
Rome--not so much among the Christians as among the patricians, among
the nobility, in the court and palace of Aurelian. The love of many has
grown cold, and the outward tokens of respect are withheld. Brows
darkened by the malignant passions of the bigot are bent upon me as I
pass along the streets, and inquiries, full of scornful irony, are made
after the welfare of my new friends. The Emperor changes not his
carriage toward me, nor, I believe, his feelings. I think he is too
tolerant of opinion, too much a man of the world, to desire to curb and
restrain the liberty of his friends in the quarter of philosophy and
religion. I know indeed on the other hand, that he is religious in his
way, to the extreme of superstition, but I have observed no tokens as
yet of any purpose or wish to interfere with the belief or worship of
others. He seems like one who, if he may indulge his own feelings in his
own way, is not unwilling to concede to others the same freedom.

       *       *       *       *       *

As I was writing these last sentences, I became conscious of a voice
muttering in low tones, as if discoursing with itself, and upon no very
agreeable theme. I heeded it not at first, but wrote on. At length it
ran thus, and I was compelled to give ear:

Patience, patience--greatest of virtues, yet hardest of practice! To
wait indeed for a kingdom were something, though it were upon a bed of
thorns; to suffer for the honor of truth, were more; more in itself, and
more in its rewards. But patience, when a fly stings, or a fool speaks,
or worse, when time is wasted and lost, is--the virtue in this case
mayhap is greater after all--but it is harder, I say, of practice--that
is what I say--yet, for that very reason, greater! By Hercules! I
believe it is so. So that while I wait here, my virtue of patience is
greater than that of these accursed Jews. Patience then, I say,
patience!'

'What in the name of all antiquity,' I exclaimed, turning round as the
voice ceased, 'is this flood of philosophy for? Wherein have I
offended?'

'Offended!' cried the other; 'Nay, noble master, not offended. According
to my conclusion, I owe thee thanks; for while I have stood waiting to
catch thy eye and ear, my virtue has shot up like a wild vine. The soul
has grown. I ought therefore rather to crave forgiveness of thee, for
breaking up a study which was so profound, and doubtless so agreeable
too.'

'Agreeable you will certainly grant it, when I tell you I was writing to
your ancient friend and pupil, the daughter of Gracchus.'

'Ah, the blessings of all the gods upon her. My dreams are still of her.
I loved her, Piso, as I never loved beside, either form, shadow, or
substance. I used to think that I loved her as a parent loves his
child--a brother his sister; but it was more than that. Aristotle is not
so dear to me as she. Bear witness these tears! I would now, bent as I
am, travel the Syrian deserts to see her; especially if I might hear
from her mouth a chapter of the great philosopher. Never did Greek,
always music, seem so like somewhat more divinely harmonious than
anything of earth, as when it came through her lips. Yet, by Hercules!
she played me many a mad prank! 'Twould have been better for her and for
letters, had I chastised her more, and loved her less. Condescend, noble
Piso, to name me to her, and entreat her not to fall away from her
Greek. That will be a consolation under all losses, and all sorrows.'

'I will not fail to do so. And now in what is my opinion wanted?'

'It is simply in the matter of these volumes, where thou wilt have them
bestowed. The cases here, by their superior adorning, seem designed for
the great master of all, and his disciples; and it is here I would fain
order them. Would it so please thee?'

'No, Solon, not here. That is designed for a very different Master and
his disciples.'

Solon looked at me as if unwilling to credit his ears, hoping that
something would be added more honorable to the affronted philosopher and
myself. But nothing coming, he said:

'I penetrate--I apprehend. This, the very centre and post of honor, thou
reservest for the atheistical Jews. The gods help us! I doubt I should
straight resign my office. Well, well; let us hope that the increase of
years will bring an increase of wisdom. We cannot look for fruit on a
sapling. Youth seeks novelty. But the gods be thanked! Youth lasts not
long, but is a fault daily corrected; else the world were at a bad pass.
Rome is not fallen, nor the fame of the Stagyrite hurt for this. But
'tis grievous to behold!'

So murmuring, as he retreated to the farther part of the library, with
his bundle of rolls under his arm, he again busied himself in the labors
of his office.

I see, Fausta, the delight that sparkles in your eye and breaks over
your countenance, as you learn that Solon, the incomparable Solon, is
one of my household. No one whom I could think of, appeared so well
suited to my wants as librarian, as Solon, and I can by no means convey
to you an idea of the satisfaction with which he hailed my offer; and
abandoning the rod and the brass tablets, betook himself to a labor
which would yield him so much more leisure for the perusal of his
favorite authors, and the pursuit of his favorite studies. He is already
deep in the question, 'whether the walls of Troy were accommodated with
thirty-three or thirty-nine gates,' and also in this, 'what was the
method of construction adopted in the case of the wooden horse, and what
was its capacity?' Of his progress in these matters, I will duly inform
you.

But I weary your patience. Farewell.

       *       *       *       *       *

Piso, alluding in this letter to the slaughter on the Coelian Hill,
which happened not long before it was written, I will add here that
whatever color it may have pleased Aurelian to give to that affair--as
if it were occasioned by a dishonest debasement of the coin by the
directors of the mint--there is now no doubt, on the part of any who are
familiar with the history of that period, that the difficulty originated
in a much deeper and more formidable cause, well known to Aurelian
himself, but not spoken of by him, in alluding to the event. It is
certain, then, that the civil war which then befel, for such it was, was
in truth the breaking out of a conspiracy on the part of the nobles to
displace Aurelian--'a German peasant,' as they scornfully designated
him--and set one of their own order upon the throne. They had already
bought over the chief manager of the public mint--a slave and favorite
of Aurelian--and had engaged him in creating, to serve the purposes
which they had in view, an immense issue of spurious coin. This they had
used too liberally, in effecting some of the preliminary objects of
their movement. It was suspected, tried, proved to be false, and traced
to its authors. Before they were fully prepared, the conspirators were
obliged to take to their arms, as the only way in which to save
themselves from the executioner. The contest was one of the bloodiest
ever known within the walls of the city. It was Aurelian, with a few
legions of his army, and the people--always of his part--against the
wealth and the power of the nobility, and their paid adherents. In one
day, and in one battle, as it may be termed, fifteen thousand soldiers
and citizens were slain in the streets of the capital. Truly does Piso
say, the streets of the Coelian ran blood. I happily was within the
walls of the queen's palace at Tibur; but well do I remember the horror
of the time--especially the days succeeding the battle, when the
vengeance of the enraged conqueror fell upon the noblest families of
Rome, and the axe of the executioner was blunted and broken with the
savage work which it did.

No one has written of Aurelian and his reign, who has not applauded him
for the defence which he made of his throne and crown, when traitorously
assailed within the very walls of the capital; but all unite also in
condemning that fierce spirit of revenge, which, after the contest was
over and his power secure, by confiscation, banishment, torture and
death, involved in ruin so many whom a different treatment would have
converted into friends. But Aurelian was by nature a tyrant; it was
accident whenever he was otherwise. If affairs moved on smoothly, he was
the just or magnanimous prince; if disturbed and perplexed, and his will
crossed, he was the imperious and vindictive tyrant.




LETTER II.

FROM PISO TO FAUSTA.


You need not, dear Fausta, concern yourself on our behalf. I cannot
think that your apprehensions will be realized. Rome never was more calm
than now, nor apparently has there ever a better temper possessed its
people. The number of those who are sufficiently enlightened to know
that the mind ought not to be in bondage to man, but be held answerable
to God alone for its thoughts and opinions, is becoming too great for
the violences and cruelties of former ages to be again put in practice
against us. And Aurelian, although stern in his nature, and
superstitious beyond others, will not, I am persuaded, lend himself
either to priests or people to annoy us. If no principle of humanity
prevented him, nor generosity of sentiment, he would be restrained, I
think, by his attachments to so many who bear the hated name.

And this opinion I maintain, notwithstanding a recent act on the part of
the Emperor, which some construe into the expression of unfavorable
sentiments toward us. I allude to the appointment of Fronto, Nigridius
Fronto, to be chief priest of the temple of the Sun, which has these
several years been building, and is now just completed. This man
signalized himself, both under Decius and Valerian, for his bitter
hatred of the Christians, and his untiring zeal in the work of their
destruction. The tales which are told of his ferocious barbarity, would
be incredible, did we not know so well what the hard Roman heart is
capable of. It is reported of him, that he informed against his own
sisters, who had embraced the Christian faith, was with those who hunted
them with blood-hounds from their place of concealment, and stood by, a
witness and an executioner, while they were torn limb from limb, and
devoured. I doubt not the truth of the story. And from that day to this,
has he made it his sole office to see that all the laws that bear hard
upon the sect, and deprive them of privileges and immunities, are not
permitted to become a dead letter. It is this man, drunk with blood,
whom Aurelian has put in chief authority in his new temple, and made
him, in effect, the head of religion in the city. He is however not only
this. He possesses other traits, which with reason might commend him to
the regard of the Emperor. He is an accomplished man, of an ancient
family, and withal no mean scholar. He is a Roman, who for Rome's honor
or greatness, as he would on the one hand sacrifice father, mother,
daughter, so would he also himself. And Rome, he believes, lives but in
her religion; it is the life-blood of the state. It is these traits, I
doubt not, that have recommended him to Aurelian, rather than the
others. He is a person eminently fitted for the post to which he is
exalted; and you well know that it is the circumstance of fitness,
Aurelian alone considers, in appointing his own or the servants of the
state. Probus thinks differently. And although he sees no cause to
apprehend immediate violence, confesses his fears for the future. He
places less reliance than I do upon the generosity or friendship of
Aurelian. It is his conviction that superstition is the reigning power
of his nature, and will sooner or later assert its supremacy. It may be
so. Probus is an acute observer, and occupies a position more favorable
to impartial estimates, and the formation of a dispassionate judgment,
than I.

This reminds me that you asked for news of Probus, my 'Christian
pedagogue,' as you are wont to name him. He is here, adorning, by a life
of severe simplicity and divine benevolence, the doctrine he has
espoused. He is a frequent inmate of our house, and Julia, not less than
myself, ever greets him with affectionate reverence, as both friend and
instructor. He holds the chief place in the hearts of the Roman
Christians; for even those of the sect who differ from him in doctrine
and in life, cannot but acknowledge that never an apostle presented to
the love and imitation of his followers an example of rarer virtue. Yet
he is not, in the outward rank which he holds, at the head of the
Christian body. Their chiefs are, as you know, the bishops, and Felix is
Bishop of Rome, a man every way inferior to Probus. But he has the good
or ill fortune to represent more popular opinions, in matters both of
doctrine and practice than the other, and of course easily rides into
the posts of trust and honor. Ho represents those among the
Christians--for, alas! there are such among them--who, in seeking the
elevation and extension of Christianity, do not hesitate to accommodate
both doctrine and manner to the prejudices and tastes of both Pagan and
Jew. They seek converts, not by raising them to the height of Christian
principle and virtue, but by lowering these to the level of their
grosser conceptions. Thus it is easy to see that in the hands of such
professors, the Christian doctrine is undergoing a rapid process of
deterioration. Probus, and those who are on his part, see this, are
alarmed, and oppose it; but numbers are against them, and consequently
power and authority. Already, strange as it may seem, when you compare
such things with the institution of Christianity, as effected by its
founder, do the bishops, both in Rome and in the provinces, begin to
assume the state and bearing of nobility. Such is the number and wealth
of the Christian community, that the treasuries of the churches are
full; and from this source the pride and ambition of their rulers are
luxuriously fed. If, as you walk through the street which crosses from
the Quirinal to the Arch of Titus, lined with private dwellings of
unusual magnificence, you ask whose is that with a portico, that for
beauty and costliness rather exceeds the rest, you are told, 'That is
the dwelling of Felix, the Bishop of Rome;' and if it chance to be a
Christian who answers the question, it is done with ill-suppressed pride
or shame, according to the party to which he belongs. This Felix is the
very man, through the easiness of his dispositions, and his proneness to
all the arts of self-indulgence, and the imposing graciousness of his
carriage, to keep the favor of the people, and at the same time sink
them, without suspicion on their part, lower and lower toward the
sensual superstitions, from which, through so much suffering and by so
many labors, they have but just escaped, and accomplish an adulterous
and fatal union between Christianity and Paganism; by which indeed
Paganism may be to some extent purified and exalted, but Christianity
defiled and depressed. For Christianity, in its essence, is that which
beckons and urges onward, not to excellence only, but to perfection. Of
course its march is always in advance of the present. By such union with
Paganism then, or Judaism, its essential characteristic will disappear;
Christianity will, in effect, perish. You may suppose, accordingly, that
Probus, and others who with him rate Christianity so differently, look
on with anxiety upon this downward tendency, and with mingled sorrow and
indignation upon those who aid it--oftentimes actuated, as is notorious,
by most corrupt motives.

       *       *       *       *       *

I am just returned from the shop of the learned Publius, where I met
Probus, and others of many ways of thinking. You will gather from what
occurred, better than from anything else I could say, what occupies the
thoughts of our citizens, and how they stand affected.

I called to Milo to accompany me, and to take with him a basket in which
to bring back books, which it was my intention to purchase.

'I trust, noble master,' said he, 'that I am to bear back no more
Christian books.'

'Why so?'

'Because the priests say that they have magical powers over all who read
them, or so much as handle them; that a curse sticks wherever they are
or have been. I have heard of those who have withered away to a mere
wisp; of others who have suddenly caught on fire, and vanished in flame
and smoke; and of others, whose blood has stood still, frozen, or run
out from all parts of the body, changed to the very color of your shoe,
at their bare touch. Who should doubt that it is so, when the very boys
in the streets have it, and it is taught in the temples? I would rather
Solon, noble master, went in my stead. Mayhap his learning would protect
him.'

I, laughing, bade him come on. 'You are not withered away yet, Milo, nor
has your blood run out; yet you have borne many a package of these
horrible books. Surely the gods befriend you.'

'I were else long since with the Scipios.' After a pause of some length,
he added, as he reluctantly, and with features of increased paleness,
followed in my steps:

'I would, my master, that you might be wrought with to leave these ways.
I sleep not for thinking of your danger. Never, when it was my sad
mischance to depart from the deserted palace of the great Gallienus, did
I look to know one to esteem like him. But it is the truth when I
affirm, that I place Piso before Gallienus, and the lady Julia before
the lady Salonina. Shall I tell you a secret?'

'I will hear it, if it is not to be kept.'

'It is for you to do with it as shall please you. I am the bosom friend,
you may know, of Curio, the favorite slave of Fronto--'

'Must I not publish it?'

'Nay, that is not the matter, though it is somewhat to boast of. There
is not Curio's fellow in all Rome. But that may pass. Curio then, as I
was with him at the new temple, while he was busied in some of the last
offices before the dedication, among other things, said: 'Is not thy
master Piso of these Christians?' 'Yes,' said I, 'he is; and were they
all such as he, there could be no truth in what is said of them.' 'Ah!'
he replied, 'there are few among the accursed tribe like him. He has but
just joined them; that's the reason he is better than the rest. Wait
awhile, and see what he will become. They are all alike in the end,
cursers, and despisers, and disbelievers, of the blessed gods. But lions
have teeth, tigers have claws, knives cut, fire burns, water drowns.'
There he stopped. 'That's wise,' I said, 'who could have known it?'
'Think you,' he rejoined, 'Piso knows it? If not, let him ask Fronto.
Let me advise thee,' he added, in a whisper, though in all the temple
there were none beside us, 'let me advise thee, as thy friend, to avoid
dangerous company. Look to thyself; the Christians are not safe.' 'How
say you,' I replied, 'not safe? What and whom are they to fear?
Gallienus vexed them not. Is Aurelian----' 'Say no more,' he replied,
interrupting me, 'and name not what I have dropped, for your life.
Fronto's ears are more than the eyes of Argus, and his wrath more deadly
than the grave.'

'Just as he ended these words, a strong beam of red light shot up from
the altar, and threw a horrid glare over the whole dark interior. I
confess I cried out with affright. Curio started at first, but quickly
recovered, saying that it was but the sudden flaming up of the fire that
had been burning on the altar, but which shortly before he had quenched.
'It is,' said he, 'an omen of the flames that are to be kindled
throughout Rome.' This was Curio's communication. Is it not a secret
worth knowing?'

'It tells nothing, Milo, but of the boiling over of the wrath of the
malignant Fronto, which is always boiling over. Doubtless I should fare
ill, were his power equal to his will to harm us. But Aurelian is above
him.'

'That is true; and Aurelian, it is plain, is little like Fronto.'

'Very little.'

'But still I would that, like Gallienus, thou couldst only believe in
the gods. The Christians, so it is reported, worship and believe in but
a man,--a Jew,--who was crucified as a criminal, with thieves and
murderers.' He turned upon me a countenance full of unaffected horror.

'Well, Milo, at another time I will tell you what the truth about it is.
Here we are now, at the shop of Publius.'

The shop of Publius is remarkable for its extent and magnificence, if
such a word may be applied to a place of traffic. Here resort all the
idlers of learning and of leisure, to turn over the books, hear the
news, discuss the times, and trifle with the learned bibliopole. As I
entered, he saluted me in his customary manner, and bade me 'welcome to
his poor apartments, which for a long time,' he said, 'I had not honored
with my presence.'

I replied that two things had kept me away: the civil broils in which
the city had just been involved, and the care of ordering the
appointments of a new dwelling. I had come now to commence some
considerable purchases for my vacant shelves, if it might so happen that
the books I wanted were to be found in his rooms.

'There is not,' he replied, 'a literature, a science, a philosophy, an
art, or a religion, whose principal authors are not to be found upon
the walls of Publius. My agents are in every corner of the empire, of
the east and west, searching out the curious and the rare, the useful
and the necessary, to swell the catalogue of my intellectual riches. I
believe it is established, that in no time before me, as nowhere now,
has there been heard of a private collection like this for value and for
number.'

'I do not doubt what you say, Publius. This is a grand display. Your
ranges of rooms show like those of the Ulpian. Yet you do not quite
equal, I suppose, Trajan's for number?'

'Truly not. But time may bring it to pass. What shall I show you? It
pleases me to give my time to you. I am not slow to guess what it is you
now, noble Piso, chiefly covet. And I think, if you will follow me to
the proper apartment, I can set before you the very things you are in
search of. Here upon these shelves are the Christian writers. Just let
me offer you this copy of Hegesippus, one of your oldest historians, if
I err not. And here are some beautifully executed copies, I have just
ordered to be made, of the Apologies of Justin and Tertullian. Here,
again, are Marcion and Valentinus; but perhaps they are not in esteem
with you. If I have heard aright, you will prefer these tracts of Paul,
or Artemon. But hold, here is a catalogue. Be pleased to inspect it.'

As I looked over the catalogue, I expressed my satisfaction that a
person of his repute was willing to keep on sale works so generally
condemned, and excluded from the shops of most of his craft.

'I aim, my dear friend--most worthy Piso--to steer a midway course among
contending factions. I am myself a worshipper of the gods of my fathers.
But I am content that others should do as they please in the matter, I
am not, however, so much a worshipper--in your ear--as a bookseller.
That is my calling. The Christians are become a most respectable people.
They are not to be overlooked. They are, in my judgment, the most
intelligent part of our community. Wasting none of their time at the
baths and theatres, they have more time for books. And then their
numbers too! They are not fewer than seventy thousand!--known and
counted. But the number, between ourselves, Piso of those who secretly
favor or receive this doctrine, is equal to the other! My books go to
houses, ay, and to palaces, people dream not of.'

'I think your statements a little broad,' said a smooth, silvery voice,
close at our ears. We started, and beheld the Prefect Varus standing at
our side. Publius was for a moment a little disconcerted; but quickly
recovered, saying in his easy way, 'A fair morning to you! I knew not
that it behooved me to be upon my oath, being in the presence of the
Governor of Rome. I repeat, noble Varus, but what I hear. I give what I
say as the current rumor. That is all--that is all. Things may not be
so, or they may; it is not for me to say. I wish well to all; that is my
creed.'

'In the public enumerations of the citizens,' replied the Prefect,
inclining with civility to Publius, 'the Christians have reached at no
time fifty thousand. As for the conjecture touching the number of those
who secretly embrace this injurious superstition, I hold it utterly
baseless. It may serve a dying cause to repeat such statements, but they
accord not with obvious fact.'

'Suspect me not, Varus,' hastily rejoined the agitated Publius, 'of
setting forth such statements with the purpose to advance the cause of
the Christians. I take no part in this matter. Thou knowest that I am a
Roman of the old stamp. Not a Roman in my street is more diligently
attentive to the services of the temple than I. I simply say again, what
I hear as news of my customers. The story which one rehearses, I retail
to another.'

'I thank the gods it is so,' replied the man of power.

'During these few words, I had stood partly concealed by a slender
marble pillar. I now turned, and the usual greetings passed with the
Prefect.

'Ah! Piso! I knew not with certainty my hearer. Perhaps from
you'--smiling as he spoke--'we may learn the truth. Rome speaks loudly
of your late desertion of the religion and worship of your fathers, and
union with the Galileans. I should say, I hoped the report ill founded,
had I not heard it from quarters too authentic to permit a doubt.'

'You have heard rightly, Varus,' I rejoined. 'After searching through
all antiquity after truth, I congratulate myself upon having at last
discovered it, and where I least expected, in a Jew. And the good which
I have found for myself, I am glad to know is enjoyed by so many more of
my fellow-citizens. I should not hesitate to confirm the statement made
by Publius, from whatever authority he may have derived it, rather than
that which has been made by yourself. I have bestowed attention not only
upon the arguments which support Christianity, but upon the actual
condition of the Christian community, here and throughout the empire.
It is prosperous at this hour, beyond all former example. If Pliny could
complain, even in his day, of the desertion of the temples of the gods,
what may we now suppose to be the relative numbers of the two great
parties? Only, Varus, allow the rescript of Gallienus to continue in
force, which merely releases us from oppressions, and we shall see in
what a fair trial of strength between the two religions will issue.'

'That dull profligate and parricide,' replied Varus, 'not content with
killing himself with his vices, and his father by connivance, must needs
destroy his country by his fatuity. I confess, that till that order be
repealed, the superstition will spread.'

'But it only places us upon equal ground.'

'It is precisely there where we never should be placed. Should the
conspirator be put upon the ground of a citizen? Were the late rebels of
the mint to be relieved from all oppression, that they might safely
intrigue and conspire for the throne?'

'Christianity has nothing to do with the empire,' I answered, 'as such.
It is a question of moral, philosophical, religious truth. Is truth to
be exalted or suppressed by edicts?'

'The religion of the state,' replied Varus, 'is a part of the state; and
he who assails it, strikes at the dearest life of the state,
and--forgive me--is to be dealt with--ought to be dealt with--as a
traitor.'

'I trust,' I replied, 'that that time will never again come, but that
reason and justice will continue to bear sway. And it is both reasonable
and just, that persons who yield to none in love of country, and whose
principles of conduct are such as must make good subjects everywhere,
because they first make good men, should be protected in the enjoyment
of rights and privileges common to all others.'

'If the Christians,' he rejoined, 'are virtuous men, it is better for
the state than if they were Christians and corrupt men. But still that
would make no change in my judgment of their offence. They deny the gods
who preside over this nation, and have brought it up to its present
height of power and fame. Their crime were less, I repeat, to deny the
authority of Aurelian. This religion of the Galileans is a sore, eating
into the vitals of an ancient and vigorous constitution, and must be cut
away. The knife of the surgeon is what the evil cries out for and must
have--else come universal rottenness and death. I mourn that from the
ranks of the very fathers of the state, they have received an accession
like this of the house of Piso.'

'I shall think my time and talent well employed,' I replied, 'in doing
what I may to set the question of Christianity in its true light before
the city. It is this very institution, Varus, which it needs to preserve
it. Christianize Rome, and you impart the very principle of endurance,
of immortality. Under its present corruptions, it cannot but sink. Is it
possible that a community of men can long hold together as vicious as
this of Rome?--whose people are either disbelievers of all divine
existences, or else ground to the earth by the most degrading
superstitions? A nation, either on the one hand governed by
superstition, or, on the other, atheistical, contains within itself the
disease which sooner or later will destroy it. You yourself, it is
notorious, have never been within the walls of a temple, nor are Lares
or Penates to be found within your doors.'

'I deny it not,' rejoined the Prefect. 'Most who rise to any
intelligence, must renounce, if they ever harbored it, all faith in the
absurdities and nonsense of the Roman religion. But what then? These
very absurdities, as we deem them, are holy truth to the multitude, and
do more than all bolts, bars, axes, and gibbets, to keep them in
subjection. The intelligent are good citizens by reflection; the
multitude, through instincts of birth, and the power of superstition. My
idea is, as you perceive, Piso, but one. Religion is the state, and for
reasons of state must be preserved in the very form in which it has so
long upheld the empire.'

'An idea more degrading than yours, to our species,' I replied, 'can
hardly be conceived. I cannot but look upon man as something more than a
part of the state. He is, first of all, a man, and is to be cared for as
such. To legislate for the state, to the ruin of the man, is to pamper
the body, and kill the soul. It is to invert the true process. The
individual is more than the abstraction which we term the state. If
governments cannot exist, nor empires hold their sway, but by the
destruction of the human being, why let them fall. The lesser must yield
to the greater. As a Christian, my concern is for man as man. This is
the essence of the religion of Christ. It is philanthropy. It sees in
every human soul a being of more value than empires, and its purpose is,
by furnishing it with truths and motives, equal to its wants, to exalt
it, purify it, and perfect it. If, in achieving this work, existing
religions or governments are necessarily overturned or annihilated,
Christianity cares not, so long as man is the gainer. And is it not
certain, that no government could really be injured, although it might
apparently, and for a season, by its subjects being raised in all
intelligence and all virtue? My work therefore, Varus, will be to sow
truth in the heart of the people, which shall make that heart fertile
and productive. I do not believe that in doing this Rome will suffer
injury, but on the contrary receive benefit. Its religion, or rather its
degrading superstitions, may fall, but a principle of almighty energy
and divine purity will insensibly be substituted in their room. I labor
for man--not for the state.'

'And never, accordingly, most noble Piso, did man, in so unequivocal
words, denounce himself traitor.'

'Patriot! friend! benefactor! rather;' cried a voice at my side, which I
instantly recognized as that of Probus. Several beside himself had drawn
near, listening with interest to what was going on.

'That only shows, my good friend,' said Varus, in his same smiling way,
and which seems the very contradiction of all that is harsh and cruel,
'how differently we estimate things. Your palate esteems that to be
wholesome and nutritious food, which mine rejects as ashes to the taste,
and poison to the blood. I behold Rome torn and bleeding, prostrate and
dying, by reason of innovations upon faith and manners, which to you
appear the very means of growth, strength, and life. How shall we
resolve the doubt--how reconcile the contradiction? Who shall prescribe
for the patient? I am happy in the belief, that the Roman people have
long since decided for themselves, and confirm their decision every day
as it passes, by new acts and declarations.'

'If you mean,' said Probus, 'to say that numbers and the general voice
are still against the Christians, I grant it so. But I am happy too in
my belief, that the scale is trembling on the beam. There are more and
better than you wot of, who hail with eager minds and glad hearts, the
truths which it is our glory, as servants of Christ, to propound. Within
many a palace upon the seven hills, do prayers go up in his name; and
what is more, thousands upon thousands of the humbler ranks, of those
who but yesterday were without honor in their own eyes, or
others'--without faith--at war with themselves and the world--fit tools
for and foe of the state to work with--are to-day reverers of
themselves, worshippers of God, lovers of mankind, patriots who love
their country better than ever before, because they now behold in every
citizen not only a citizen, but a brother and an immortal. The doctrine
of Christianity, as a lover of man, so commends itself, Varus, to the
hearts of the people, that in a few more years of prosperity, and the
face of the Roman world will glow with a new beauty; love and humanity
will shine forth in all its features.

'That is very pretty,' said Varus, his lip slightly curling, as he
spoke, but retaining his courteous bearing, 'yet methinks, seeing this
doctrine is so bewitching, and is withal a heaven-inspired wisdom, the
God working behind it and urging it on, it moves onward with a pace
something of the slowest. Within a few of three hundred years has it
appealed to the human race, and appealed in vain. The feeblest and the
worst of mankind have had power almost to annihilate it, and more than
once has it seemed scarce to retain its life. Would it have been so, had
it been in reality what you claim for it, of divine birth? Would the
gods suffer their schemes for man's good to be so thwarted, and driven
aside by man? What was this boasted faith doing during the long and
peaceful reigns of Hadrian, and the first Antonine? The sword of
persecution was then sheathed, or if it fell at all, it was but on a
few. So too under Vespasian, Titus, Nerva, Commodus, Severus,
Heliogabalus, the Philips, Gallienus, and Claudius?'

'That is well said,' a Roman voice added, of one standing by the side of
Varus, 'and is a general wonder.'

'I marvel it should be a wonder,' rejoined Probus. 'Can you pour into a
full measure? Must it not be first emptied? Who, Varus, let him try as
he may, could plant the doctrine of Christ in thy heart? Could I do it,
think you?--or Piso?'

'I trow not.'

'And why, I pray you?'

'It is not hard to guess.'

'Is it not because you are already full of contrary notions, to which
you cling tenaciously, and from which, perhaps, no human force could
drag you? But yours is a type of every other Roman mind to which
Christianity has been offered. If you receive it not at once, should
others? Suppose the soul to be full of sincere convictions as to the
popular faith, can the gospel easily enter there? Suppose it skeptical,
as to all spiritual truth; can it enter there? Suppose it polluted by
vice can it easily enter there? Suppose it like the soul of
Fronto,----'

'Hush! hush!' said several voices. Probus heeded them not.

'Suppose it like the soul of Pronto, could it enter there? See you not
then, by knowing your own hearts, what time it must demand for a new,
and specially a strict doctrine, to make its way into the minds of men?
'Tis not easier to bore a rock with one's finger, than to penetrate a
heart hardened by sin or swelled with prejudice and pride. And if we
say, Varus, this was a work for the God to do--that he who originated
the faith should propagate it--I answer, that would not be like the
other dealings of the divine power. He furnishes you with earth and
seed, but he ploughs not for you, nor plants, nor reaps. He gives you
reason, but he pours not knowledge into your mind. So he offers truth;
but that is all. He compels no assent; he forces no belief. All is
voluntary and free. How then can the march of truth be otherwise than
slow? Truth, being the greatest thing below, resembles in its port the
motion of the stars, which are the greatest things above. But like
theirs, if slow, it is ever sure and onward.'

'The stars set in night.'

'But they rise again. Truth is eclipsed often, and it sets for a night;
but never is turned aside from its eternal path.'

'Never, Publius,' said the Prefect, adjusting his gown, and with the act
filling the air with perfume 'never did I think to find myself within a
Christian church. Your shop possesses many virtues. It is a place to be
instructed in.' Then turning to Probus, he soothingly and in persuasive
tones, added, 'Be advised now, good friend, and leave off thy office of
teacher. Rome can well spare thee. Take the judgment of others; we need
not thy doctrine. Let that alone which is well established and secure.
Spare these institutions, venerable through a thousand years. Leave
changes to the gods.'

Probus was about to reply, when we were strangely interrupted. While we
had been conversing, there stood before me, in the midst of the floor of
the apartment, a man, whose figure, face, and demeanor were such that I
hardly could withdraw my eye from him. He was tall and gaunt, beyond all
I ever saw, and erect as a Prætorian in the ranks. His face was strongly
Roman, thin and bony, with sunken cheeks, a brown and wrinkled skin--not
through age, but exposure--and eyes more wild and fiery than ever glared
in the head of Hun or hyena. He seemed a living fire-brand of death and
ruin. As we talked, he stood there motionless, sometimes casting glances
at our group, but more frequently fixing them upon a roll which he held
in his hands.

As Varus uttered the last words, this man suddenly left his post, and
reaching us with two or three strides, shook his long finger at Varus,
saying, at the same time,

'Hold, blasphemer!'

The Prefect started as if struck, and gazing a moment with unfeigned
amazement at the figure, then immediately burst into a laugh, crying
out,

'Ha! ha! Who in the name of Hecate have we here? Ha! ha!--he seems just
escaped from the Vivaria.'

'Thy laugh,' said the figure, 'is the music of a sick and dying soul. It
is a rebel's insult against the majesty of Heaven; ay, laugh on! That is
what the devils do; it is the merriment of hell. What time they burn
not, they laugh. But enough. Hold now thy scoffing, Prefect Varus, for,
high as thou art, I fear thee not: no! not wert thou twice Aurelian,
instead of Varus. I have somewhat for thee. Wilt hear it?'

'With delight, Bubo. Say on.'

'It was thy word just now, 'Rome needs not this doctrine,' was it not?'

'If I said it not, it is a good saying, and I will father it.'

''Rome needs not this doctrine; she is well enough; let her alone!'
These were thy words. Need not, Varus, the streets of Rome a cleansing
river to purify them? Dost thou think them well enough, till all the
fountains have been let loose to purge them? Is Tarquin's sewer a place
to dwell in? Could all the waters of Rome sweeten it? The people of Rome
are fouler than her highways. The sewers are sweeter than the very
worshippers of our temples. Thou knowest somewhat of this. Wast ever
present at the rites of Bacchus?--or those of the Cyprian goddess? Nay,
blush not yet. Didst ever hear of the gladiator Pollex?--of the woman
Cæcina?--of the boy Lælius, and the fair girl Fannia--proffered and sold
by the parents, Pollex and Cæcina, to the loose pleasures of Gallienus?
Now I give thee leave to blush! Is it nought that the one half of Rome
is sunk in a sensuality, a beastly drunkenness and lust, fouler than
that of old, which, in Judea, called down the fiery vengeance of the
insulted heavens? Thou knowest well, both from early experience and
because of thy office, what the purlieus of the theatres are, and places
worse than those, and which to name were an offence. But to you they
need not be named. Is all this, Varus, well enough? Is this that
venerable order thou wouldst not have disturbed? Is that to be charged
as impiety and atheism, which aims to change and reform it? Are they
conspirators, and rebels, and traitors, whose sole office and labor is
to mend these degenerate morals, to heal these corrupting sores, to pour
a better life into the rotting carcass of this guilty city? Is it for
our pastime, or our profit, that we go about this always dangerous work?
Is it a pleasure to hear the gibes, jests, and jeers of the streets and
the places of public resort? Will you not believe that it is for some
great end that we do and bear as thou seest--even the redemption, and
purifying, and saving of Rome? I love Rome, even as a mother, and for
her am ready to die. I have bled for her freely in battle, in Gaul, upon
the Danube, in Asia, and in Egypt. I am willing to bleed for her at
home, even unto death, if that blood might, through the blessing of God,
be a stream to cleanse her putrifying members. But O, holy Jesus! why
waste I words upon one whose heart is harder than the nether millstone!
Thou preachedst not to Pilate, nor didst thou work thy wonders for
Herod. Varus, beware!'

And with these words, uttered with a wild and threatening air, he
abruptly turned away, and was lost in the crowds of the street.

While he raved, the Prefect maintained the same unruffled demeanor as
before. His customary smile played around his mouth, a smile like no
other I ever saw. To a casual observer, it would seem like every other
smile, but to one who watches him, it is evident that it denotes no
hilarity of heart, for the eyes accompany it not with a corresponding
expression, but on the contrary, look forth from their beautiful
cavities with glances that speak of anything rather than of peace and
good-will. So soon as the strange being who had been declaiming had
disappeared, the Prefect, turning to me, as he drew up his gown around
him, said,

'I give you joy, Piso, of your coadjutor. A few more of the same
fashion, and Rome is safe.' And saluting us with urbanity, he sallied
from the shop.

I had been too much amazed, myself, during this scene, to do anything
else than stand still, and listen, and observe. As for Probus, I saw him
to be greatly moved, and give signs of even deep distress. He evidently
knew who the person was--as I saw him make more than one ineffectual
effort to arrest him in his harangue--and as evidently held him in
respect, seeing he abstained from all interruption of a speech that he
felt to be provoking wantonly the passions of the Prefect, and of many
who stood around, from whom, so soon as the man of authority had
withdrawn, angry words broke forth abundantly.

'Well did the noble Prefect say, that that wild animal had come forth
like a half-famished tiger from the Vivaria,' said one.

'It is singular,' observed another, 'that a man who pretends to reform
the state, should think to do it by first putting it into a rage with
him, and all he utters.'

'Especially singular,' added a third, 'that the advocate of a religion
that, as I hear, condemns violence, and consists in the strictness with
which the passions are governed, should suppose that he was doing any
other work than entering a breach in his own citadel, by such ferocity.
But it is quite possible his wits are touched.'

'No, I presume not,' said the first; 'this is a kind of zeal which, if I
have observed aright, the Christians hold in esteem.'

As these separated to distant parts of the shop, I said to Probus, who
seemed heavily oppressed by what had occurred, 'What dæmon dwells in
that body that has just departed?'

'Well do you say dæmon. The better mind of that man seems oft-times
seized upon by some foul spirit, and bound--which then acts and speaks
in its room. But do you not know him?'

'No, truly; he is a stranger to me, as he appears to be to all.'

'Nevertheless, you have been in his company. You forget not the
Mediterranean voyage?'

'By no means. I enjoyed it highly, and recall it ever with delight.'

'Do you not remember, at the time I narrated to you the brief story of
my life, that, as I ended, a rough voice from among the soldiers
exclaimed, 'Where now are the gods of Rome?' This is that man, the
soldier Macer; then bound with fellow soldiers to the service in Africa,
now a Christian preacher.'

'I see it now. That man impressed me then with his thin form and
all-devouring eyes. But the African climate, and the gash across his
left cheek, and which seems to have slightly disturbed the eye upon that
side, have made him a different being, and almost a terrific one. Is he
sound and sane?'

'Perfectly so,' replied Probus, 'unless we may say that souls earnestly
devoted and zealous, are mad. There is not a more righteous soul in
Rome. His conscience is bare, and shrinking like a fresh wound. His
breast is warm and fond as a woman's--his penitence for the wild errors
of his pagan youth, a consuming fire, which, while it redoubles his
ardor in doing what he may in the cause of truth, rages in secret, and,
if the sword or the cross claim him not, will bring him to the grave. He
is utterly incapable of fear. All the racks and dungeons of Rome, with
their tormentors, could not terrify him.'

'You now interest me in him. I must see and know him. It might be of
service to him and to all, Probus, methinks, if he could be brought to
associate with those whose juster notions might influence his, and
modify them to the rule of truth.'

'I fear not. What he sees, he sees clearly and strongly, and by itself.
He understands nothing of one truth bearing upon another, and adding to
it, or taking from it. Truth is truth with him--and as his own mind
perceives it--not another's. His conscience will allow him in no
accommodations to other men's opinions or wishes; with him, right is
right, wrong is wrong. He is impatient under an argument as a war-horse
under the rein after the trumpet sounds. It is unavoidable therefore
but he should possess great power among the Christians of Rome. His are
the bold and decisive qualities that strike the common mind. There is
glory and applause in following and enduring under such a leader. Many
are fain to believe him divinely illuminated and impelled, to unite the
characters of teacher and prophet; and from knowing that he is so
regarded by others, Macer has come almost to believe it himself. He is
tending more and more to construe every impulse of his own mind into a
divine suggestion, and I believe honestly experiences difficulty in
discriminating between them. Still, I do not deny that it would be of
advantage for him more and more to come in contact with sober and
enlightened minds. I shall take pleasure, at some fitting moment, to
accompany you to his humble dwelling; the rather as I would show you
also his wife and children, all of whom are like himself Christians.'

'I shall not forget the promise.'

Whereupon we separated.

I then searched for Publius, and making my purchases, returned home,
Milo following with the books.

As Milo relieved himself of his burden, discharging it upon the floor of
the library, I overheard him to say,

'Lie there, accursed rolls! May the flames consume you, ere you are
again upon my shoulders! For none but Piso would I have done what I
have. Let me to the temple and expiate.'

'What words are these?' cried Solon, emerging suddenly at the sound from
a recess. 'Who dares to heap curses upon books, which are the soul
embalmed and made imperishable? What have we here? Aha! a new treasure
for these vacant shelves, and most trimly ordered.'

'These, venerable Greek,' exclaimed Milo, waving him away, 'are books of
magic! oriental magic! Have a care! A touch may be fatal! Our noble
master affects the Egyptians.'

'Magic!' exclaimed Solon, with supreme contempt; 'art thou so idiotic as
to put credence in such fancies? Away!--hinder me not!' And saying so,
he eagerly grasped a volume, and unrolling it, to the beginning of the
work, dropped it suddenly, as if bitten by a serpent.

'Ha!' cried Milo, 'said I not so? Art thou so idiotic, learned Solon, as
to believe in such fancies? How is it with thee? Is thy blood hot or
cold?--thy teeth loose or fast?--thy arm withered or swollen?'

Solon stood surveying the pile, with a look partly of anger, partly of
sorrow.

'Neither, fool!' he replied. 'These possess not the power nor worth
fabled of magic. They are books of dreams, visions, reveries, which are
to the mind what fogs would be for food, and air for drink, innutritive
and vain. Papias!--Irenæus!--Hegesippus!--Polycarp!--Origen!--whose
names are these, and to whom familiar? Some are Greek, some are Latin,
but not a name famous in the world meets my eye. But we will order them
on their shelves, and trust that time, which accomplishes all things,
will restore reason to Piso. Milo, essay thy strength--my limbs are
feeble--and lift these upon yonder marble; so may age deal gently with
thee.'

'Not for their weight in wisdom, Solon, would I again touch them. I have
borne them hither, and if the priests speak truly, my life is worth not
an obolus. I were mad to tempt my fate farther.'

'Avaunt thee, then, for a fool and a slave, as thou art!'

'Nay now, master Solon, thy own wisdom forsakes thee. Philosophers, they
say, are ever possessors of themselves, though for the rest they be
beggars.'

'Beggar! sayest thou? Avaunt! I say, or Papias shall teach thee'--and he
would have launched the roll at the head of Milo, but that, with quick
instincts, he shot from the apartment, and left the pedagogue to do his
own bidding.

So, Fausta, you see that Solon is still the irritable old man he was,
and Milo the fool he was. Think not me worse than either, for hoping so
to entertain you. I know that in your solitude and grief, even such
pictures may be welcome.

When I related to Julia the scene and the conversation at the shop of
Publius, she listened not without agitation, and expresses her fears
lest such extravagances, repeated and become common, should inflame the
minds both of the people and their rulers against the Christians. Though
I agree with her in lamenting the excess of zeal displayed by many of
the Christians, and their needless assaults upon the characters and
faith of their opposers, I cannot apprehend serious consequences from
them, because the instances of it are so few and rare, and are palpable
exceptions to the general character which I believe the whole city would
unite in ascribing to this people. Their mildness and pacific temper
are perhaps the very traits by which they are most distinguished, with
which they are indeed continually reproached. Yet individual acts are
often the remote causes of vast universal evil--of bloodshed, war, and
revolution. Macer alone is enough to set on fire a city, a continent, a
world.

I rejoice, I cannot tell you how sincerely, in all your progress. I do
not doubt in the ultimate return of the city to its former populousness
and wealth, at least. Aurelian has done well for you at last. His
disbursements for the Temple of the Sun alone are vast, and must be more
than equal to its perfect restoration. Yet his overthrown column you
will scarce be tempted to rebuild. Forget not to assure Gracchus and
Calpurnius of my affection. Farewell.




LETTER III.

FROM PISO TO FAUSTA.


You are right, Fausta, in your unfavorable judgment of the Roman
populace. The Romans are not a people one would select to whom to
propose a religion like this of Christianity. All causes seem to combine
to injure and corrupt them. They are too rich. The wealth of subject
kingdoms and provinces finds its way to Rome; and not only in the form
of tribute to the treasury of the empire, but in that of the private
fortunes amassed by such as have held offices in them for a few years,
and who then return to the capital to dissipate in extravagance and
luxuries, unknown to other parts of the world, the riches wrung by
violence, injustice, and avarice from the wretched inhabitants whom
fortune had delivered into their power. Yes, the wealth of Rome is
accumulated in such masses, not through the channels of industry or
commerce; it arrives in bales and ship-loads, drained from foreign lands
by the hand of extortion. The palaces are not to be numbered, built and
adorned in a manner surpassing those of the monarchs of other nations,
which are the private residences of those, or of the descendants of
those who for a few years have presided over some distant province, but
in that brief time, Verres-like, have used their opportunities so well
as to return home oppressed with a wealth which life proves not long
enough to spend, notwithstanding the aid of dissolute and spendthrift
sons. Here have we a single source of evil equal to the ruin of any
people. The morals of no community could be protected against such odds.
It is a mountain torrent tearing its way through the fields of the
husbandman, whose trees and plants possess no strength of branch or root
to resist the inundation.

Then in addition to all this, there are the largesses of the Emperor,
not only to his armies, but to all the citizens of Rome; which are now
so much a matter of expectation, that rebellions I believe would ensue
were they not bestowed. Aurelian, before his expedition to Asia,
promised to every citizen a couple of crowns--he has redeemed the
promise by the distribution, not of money but of bread, two loaves to
each, with the figure of a crown stamped upon them. Besides this, there
has been an allowance of meat and pork--so much to all the lower orders.
He even contemplated the addition of wine to the list, but was hindered
by the judicious suggestion of his friend and general, Mucapor, that if
he provided wine and pork, he would next be obliged to furnish them
fowls also, or public tumults might break out. This recalled him to his
senses. Still however only in part, for the other grants have not been
withdrawn. In this manner is this whole population supported in
idleness. Labor is confined to the slaves. The poor feed upon the
bounties of the Emperor, and the wealth so abundantly lavished by
senators, nobles, and the retired proconsuls. Their sole employment is,
to wait upon the pleasure of their many masters, serve them as they are
ready enough to do, in the toils and preparations of luxury, and what
time they are not thus occupied, pass the remainder of their hours at
the theatres, at the circuses, at games of a thousand kinds, or in noisy
groups at the corners of the streets and in the market-places.

It is become a state necessity to provide amusements for the populace in
order to be safe against their violence. The theatres, the baths, with
their ample provisions for passing away time in some indolent amusement
or active game, are always open and always crowded. Public or funeral
games are also in progress without intermission in different parts of
the capital. Those instituted in honor of the gods, and which make a
part of the very religion of the people are seldom suspended for even a
day. At one temple or another, in this grove or that, within or without
the walls, are these lovers of pleasure entertained by shows,
processions, music, and sacrifices. And as if these were not enough, or
when they perchance fail for a moment, and the sovereign people are
listless and dull, the Flavian is thrown open by the imperial command,
the Vivaria vomit forth their maddened and howling tenants either to
destroy each other, or dye the dust of the arena with the blood of
gladiators, criminals, or captives. These are the great days of the
Roman people; these their favorite pleasures. The cry through the
streets in the morning of even women and boys, 'Fifty captives to-day
for the lions in the Flavian,' together with the more solemn
announcement of the same by the public heralds, and by painted bills at
the corners of the streets, and on the public baths, is sure to throw
the city into a fever of excitement, and rivet by a new bond the
affections of this blood-thirsty people to their indulgent Emperor.

Hardly has the floor of the amphitheatre been renewed since the
cessation of the triumphal games of Aurelian, before it is again to be
soaked with blood in honor of Apollo, whose magnificent temple is within
a few days to be dedicated.

Never before I believe was there a city whose inhabitants so many and so
powerful causes conspired to corrupt and morally destroy. Were I to give
you a picture of the vices of Rome, it would be too dark and foul a one
for your eye to read, but not darker nor fouler than you will suppose it
must necessarily be to agree with what I have already said. Where there
is so little industry and so much pleasure, the vices will flourish and
shoot up to their most gigantic growth. Not in the days of Nero were
they more luxuriant than now. Aurelian, in the first year of his reign,
laid upon them a severe but useful restraint, and they were checked for
a time. But since he has himself departed from the simplicity and rigor
of that early day, and actually or virtually repealed the laws which
then were promulgated for the reformation of the city in its manners,
the people have also relapsed, and the ancient excesses are renewed.

This certainly is not a people who, in its whole mass, will be eager to
receive the truths of a religion like this of Christianity. It will be
repulsive to them. You are right in believing that among the greater
part it will find no favor. But all are not such as I have described.
There are others different in all respects, who stand waiting the
appearance of some principles of philosophy or religion which shall be
powerful enough to redeem their country from idolatry and moral death as
well as raise themselves from darkness to light. Some of this sort are
to be found among the nobles and senators themselves,--a few among the
very dregs of the people, but most among those who, securing for
themselves competence and independence by their own labor in some of the
useful arts, and growing thoughtful and intelligent with their labor,
understand in some degree, which others do not, what life is for and
what they are for, and hail with joy truths which commend themselves to
both their reason and their affections. It is out of these, the very
best blood of Rome, that our Christians are made. They are, in
intelligence and virtue, the very bone and muscle of the capital, and of
our two millions constitute no mean proportion,--large enough to rule
and control the whole, should they ever choose to put forth their power.
It is among these that the Christian preachers aim to spread their
doctrines, and when they shall all, or in their greater part, be
converted, as, judging of the future by the past and present, will
happen in no long time, Rome will be safe and the empire safe. For it
needs, I am persuaded, for Rome to be as pure as she is great, to be
eternal in her dominion, and then the civilizer and saviour of the whole
world. O, glorious age!--not remote--when truth shall wield the sceptre
in Cæsar's seat, and subject nations of the earth no longer come up to
Rome to behold and copy her vices, but to hear the law and be imbued
with the doctrine of Christ, so bearing back to the remotest province
precious seed, there to be planted, and spring up and bear fruit,
filling the earth with beauty and fragrance.

       *       *       *       *       *

These things, Fausta, in answer to the questions at the close of your
letter, which betray just such an interest in the subject which
engrosses me, as it gives me pleasure to witness.

I have before mentioned the completion of Aurelian's Temple of the Sun
and the proposed dedication. This august ceremony is appointed for
tomorrow, and this evening we are bidden to the gardens of Sallust,
where is to be all the rank and beauty of Rome. O that thou, Fausta,
couldst be there!

       *       *       *       *       *

I have been, I have seen, I have supped, I have returned; and again
seated at my table beneath the protecting arm of my chosen divinity, I
take my pen, and, by a few magic flourishes and marks, cause you, a
thousand leagues away, to see and hear what I have seen and heard.

Accompanied by Portia and Julia, I was within the palace of the Emperor
early enough to enjoy the company of Aurelian and Livia before the rest
of the world was there. We were carried to the more private apartments
of the Empress, where it is her custom to receive those whose friendship
she values most highly. They are in that part of the palace which has
undergone no alterations since it was the residence of the great
historian, but shines in all the lustre of a taste and an art that
adorned a more accomplished age than our own. Especially, it seems to
me, in the graceful disposition of the interiors of their palaces, and
the combined richness and appropriateness of the art lavished upon
them, did the genius of the days of Hadrian and Vespasian surpass the
present. Not that I defend all that that genius adopted and
immortalized. It was not seldom licentious and gross in its conceptions,
however unrivalled in the art and science by which they were made to
glow upon the walls, or actually speak and move in marble or brass. In
the favorite apartment of Livia, into which we were now admitted,
perfect in its forms and proportions, the walls and ceilings are covered
with the story of Leda, wrought with an effect of drawing and color, of
which the present times afford no example. The well-known Greek,
Polymnestes, was the artist. And this room in all its embellishments is
chaste and cold compared with others, whose subjects were furnished to
the painter by the profligate master himself.

The room of Leda, as it is termed, is--but how beautiful it is I cannot
tell. Words paint poorly to the eye. Believe it not less beautiful, nor
less exquisitely adorned with all that woman loves most, hangings,
carpets and couches, than any in the palace of Gracchus or Zenobia. It
was here we found Aurelian and Livia, and his niece Aurelia. The
Emperor, habited in silken robes richly wrought with gold, the
inseparable sword at his side, from which, at the expense of whatever
incongruity, he never parts--advanced to the door to receive us, saying,

'I am happy that the mildness of this autumn day permits this pleasure,
to see the mother of the Pisos beneath my roof. It is rare nowadays that
Rome sees her abroad.'

'Save to the palace of Aurelian,' replied my mother, I now, as is well
known, never move beyond the precincts of my own dwelling. Since the
captivity and death of your former companion in arms, my great husband,
Cneius Piso, the widow's hearth has been my hall of state, these widow's
weeds my only robes. But it must be more than private grief, and more
than the storms of autumn or of winter, that would keep me back when it
is Aurelian who bids to the feast.'

'We owe you many thanks,' replied the Emperor. 'Would that the loyalty
of the parents were inherited by the children;' casting towards me, as
he saluted me at the same time, a look which seemed to say that he was
partly serious, if partly in jest. After mutual inquiries and
salutations, we were soon seated upon couches beneath a blaze of light
which, from the centre of the apartment, darted its brightness, as it
had been the sun itself, to every part of the room.

'It is no light sorrow to a mother's heart,' said Portia, 'to know that
her two sons, and her only sons, are, one the open enemy of his country,
the other--what shall I term you, Lucius?--an innovator upon her ancient
institutions; and while he believes and calls himself--sincerely, I
doubt not--the friend of his country, is in truth, as every good Roman
would say--not an enemy, my son, I cannot use that word, but as it
were--an unconscious injurer. Would that the conqueror of the world had
power to conquer this boy's will!'

'Aurelian, my mother,' I replied, 'did he possess the power, would
hesitate to use it in such a cause. But it is easy to see that it would
demand infinitely more power to change one honest mind than to subdue
even the world by the sword.'

Aurelian for a brief moment looked as if he had received a personal
affront.

'How say you,' said he, 'demands it more power to change one mind than
conquer a world? Methinks it might be done with something less. My
soldiers often maintain with violence a certain opinion; but I find it
not difficult to cause them to let it go, and take mine in its place.
The arguments I use never fail.'

'That may be,' I replied, 'in matters of little moment. Even in these
however, is it not plain, Aurelian, that you cause them not to let go
their opinion, but merely to suppress it, or affect to change it? Your
power may compel them either to silence, or to an assertion of the very
contrary of what they but just before had declared as their belief, but
it cannot alter their minds. That is to be done by reason only, not by
force.'

'By reason first,' answered the emperor; 'but if that fail, then by
force. The ignorant, and the presumptuous, and the mischievous, must be
dealt with as we deal with children. If we argue with them, it is a
favor. It is our right, as it is better, to command and compel.'

'Only establish it that such and such are ignorant, and erroneous, and
presumptuous, and I allow that it would be right to silence them. But
that is the very difficulty in the case. How are we to know that they,
who think differently from ourselves, are ignorant or erroneous? Surely
the fact of the difference is not satisfactory proof.'

'They,' rejoined Aurelian, 'who depart from a certain standard in art
are said to err. The thing in this case is of no consequence to any,
therefore no punishment ensues. So there is a standard of religion in
the State, and they who depart from it may be said to err. But, as
religion is essential to the State, they who err should be brought back,
by whatever application of force, and compelled to conform to the
standard.'

'In what sense,' said Portia, 'can common and ignorant people be
regarded as fit judges of what constitutes, or does not constitute, a
true religion? It is a subject level scarce to philosophers. If, indeed,
the gods should vouchsafe to descend to earth and converse with men, and
in that manner teach some new truth, then any one, possessed of eyes and
ears, might receive it, and retain it without presumption. Nay, he could
not but do so; but not otherwise.'

'Now have you stated,' said I, 'that which constitutes the precise case
of Christianity. They who received Christianity in the first instance,
did it not by balancing against each other such refined arguments as
philosophers use. They were simply judges of matters of fact--of what
their eyes beheld, and their ears heard. God did vouchsafe to descend to
earth, and, by his messenger, converse with men, and teach new truth.
All that men had then to do was this, to see whether the evidence was
sufficient that it was a God speaking; and that being made plain, to
listen and record. And at this day, all that is to be done is to inquire
whether the record be true. If the record be a well-authenticated one of
what the mouth of God spoke, it is then adopted as the code of religious
truth. As for what the word contains--it requires no acute intellect to
judge concerning it--a child may understand it all.'

'Truly,' replied Portia, 'this agrees but ill with what I have heard and
believed concerning Christianity. It has ever been set forth as a thing
full of darkness and mystery, which it requires the most vigorous powers
to penetrate and comprehend.'

'So has it ever been presented to me,' added the Emperor. 'I have
conceived it to be but some new form of Plato's dreams, neither more
clear in itself, nor promising to be of more use to mankind. So, if I
err not, the learned Porphyrius has stated it.'

'A good fact,' here interposed Julia, 'is worth more in this argument
than the learning of the most learned. Is it not sufficient proof,
Aurelian, that Christianity is somewhat sufficiently plain and easy,
that women are able to receive it so readily? Take me as an unanswerable
argument on the side of Piso.'

'The women of Palmyra,' replied the Emperor, 'as I have good reason to
know, are more than the men of other climes. She who reads Plato and the
last essays of Plotinus, of a morning, seated idly beneath the shadow of
some spreading beech, just as a Roman girl would the last child's story
of Spurius about father Tiber and the Milvian Bridge, is not to be
received in this question as but a woman, with a woman's powers of
judgment. When the women of Rome receive their faith as easily as you
do, then may it be held as an argument for its simplicity. But let us
now break off the thread of this discourse, too severe for the occasion,
and mingle with our other friends, who by this must be arrived.'

So, with these words, we left the apartment where we had been sitting,
the Emperor having upon one side Portia, and on the other Livia, and
moved toward the great central rooms of the palace, where guests are
entertained, and the imperial banquets held.

The company was not numerous; it was rather remarkable for its
selectness. Among others not less distinguished, there were the
venerable Tacitus, the consul Capitolinus, Marcellinus the senator, the
prefect Varus, the priest Fronto, the generals Probus and Mucapor, and a
few others of the military favorites of Aurelian.

Of the conversation at supper, I remember little or nothing, only that
it was free and light, each seeming to enjoy himself and the companion
who reclined next to him. Aurelian, with a condescending grace, which no
one knows how better to assume than he, urged the wine upon his friends,
as they appeared occasionally to forget it, offering frequently some new
and unheard of kind, brought from Asia, Greece, or Africa, and which he
would exalt to the skies for its flavor. More than once did he, as he is
wont to do in his sportive mood, deceive us; for, calling upon us to
fill our goblets with what he described as a liquor surpassing all of
Italy, and which might serve for Hebe to pour out for the gods, and
requiring us to drink it off in honor of Bacchus, Pan, or Ceres, we
found, upon lifting our cups to drain them, that they had been charged
with some colored and perfumed medicament more sour or bitter than the
worst compound of the apothecary, or than massican overheated in the
vats. These sallies, coming from the master of the world, were sure to
be well received; his satellites, of whom not a few, even on this
occasion, were near him, being ready to die with excess of
laughter,--the attendant slaves catching the jest, and enjoying it with
noisy vociferation. I laughed with the rest, for it seems wise to
propitiate, by any act not absolutely base, one, whose ambitious and
cruel nature, unless soothed and appeased by such offerings, is so prone
to reveal itself in deeds of darkness.

When the feast was nearly ended, and the attending slaves were employed
in loading it for the last time with fruits, olives, and confections, a
troop of eunuchs, richly habited, entered the apartment to the sound of
flutes and horns, bearing upon a platter of gold an immense bowl or vase
of the same material, filled to the brim with wine, which they placed in
the centre of the table, and then, at the command of the Emperor, with a
ladle of the same precious material and ornamented with gems, served out
the wine to the company. At first, as the glittering pageant advanced,
astonishment kept us mute, and caused us involuntarily to rise from our
couches to watch the ceremony of introducing it, and fixing it in its
appointed place. For never before, in Rome, had there been seen, I am
sure, a golden vessel of such size, or wrought with art so marvellous.
The language of wonder and pleasure was heard, on every side, from every
mouth. Even Livia and Julia, who in Palmyra had been used to the goblets
and wine-cups of the Eastern Demetrius, showed amazement, not less than
the others, at a magnificence and a beauty that surpassed all
experience, and all conception. Just above where the bowl was placed,
hung the principal light, by which the table and the apartment were
illuminated, which, falling in floods upon the wrought or polished metal
and the thickly strewed diamonds, caused it to blaze with a splendor
which the eyes could hardly bear, and, till accustomed to it, prevented
us from minutely examining the sculpture, that, with lavish profusion
and consummate art, glowed and burned upon the pedestal, the swelling
sides, the rim and handles of the vase, and covered the broad and golden
plain upon which it stood. I, happily, was near it, being seated
opposite Aurelian, and on the inner side of the table, which, as the
custom now is, was of the form of a bent bow, so that I could study at
my leisure the histories and fables that were wrought over its whole
surface. Julia and Livia, being also near it on the other side of the
table, were in the same manner wholly absorbed in the same agreeable
task.

Livia, being quite carried out of herself by this sudden and unexpected
splendor--having evidently no knowledge of its approach--like a girl as
she still is, in her natural, unpremeditated movements, rose from her
couch and eagerly bent forward toward the vase, the better to scan its
beauties, saying, as she did so,

'The Emperor must himself stand answerable for all breaches of order
under circumstances like these. Good friends, let all, who will, freely
approach, and, leaving for a moment that of Bacchus, drink at the
fountain of Beauty.' Whereupon all, who were so disposed, gathered round
the centre of the table.

'This,' said Varus, 'both for size, and the perfect art lavished upon
it, surpasses the glories fabled of the buckler of Minerva, whose fame
has reached us.'

'You say right; it does so,' said the Emperor 'That dish of Vitellius
was inferior in workmanship, as it was less in weight and size than
this, which, before you all I here name "THE CUP OF LIVIA." Let us fill
again from it, and drink to the Empress of the world.'

All sprang in eager haste to comply with a command that carried with it
its own enforcement.

'Whatever,' continued the Emperor, when our cups had been drained, 'may
have been the condition of art in other branches of it, in the time of
that Emperor, there was no one then whose power over the metals, or
whose knowledge of forms, was comparable with that of our own Demetrius;
for this, be it known, is the sole work of the Roman--and yet, to speak
more truly, it must be said the Greek--Demetrius, aided by his brother
from the East, who is now with him. Let the music cease; we need that
disturbance no more; and call in the brothers Demetrius. These are men
who honor any age, and any presence.'

The brothers soon entered; and never were princes or ambassadors greeted
with higher honor. All seemed to contend which should say the most
flattering and agreeable thing. 'Slaves,' cried the Emperor, 'a couch
and cups for the Demetrii.'

The brothers received all this courtesy with the native ease and dignity
which ever accompany true genius. There was no offensive boldness, or
presuming vanity, but neither was there any shrinking cowardice nor
timidity. They felt that they were men, not less distinguished by the
gods, than many or most of those, in whose presence they were, and they
were sufficient to themselves. The Roman Demetrius resembles much his
brother of Palmyra, but, in both form and countenance, possesses beauty
of a higher order. His look is contemplative and inward; his
countenance pale and yet dark; his features regular and exactly shaped,
like a Greek statue; his hair short and black; his dress, as was that of
him of Palmyra, of the richest stuffs, showing that wealth had become
their reward as well as fame.

'Let us,' cried the Emperor, 'in full cups, drawn from the Livian fount,
do honor to ourselves, and the arts, by drinking to the health of
Demetrius of Palmyra, and Demetrius of Rome.' Every cup was filled, and
drained. 'We owe you thanks,' then added Aurelian, 'that you have
completed this great work at the time promised; though I fear it has
been to your own cost, for the paleness of your cheeks speaks not of
health.'

'The work,' replied the Roman Demetrius, 'could not have been completed
but for the timely and effectual aid of my Eastern brother, to whose
learned hand, quicker in its execution than my own, you are indebted for
the greater part of the sculptures, upon both the bowl and dish.'

'It is true, noble Emperor,' said the impetuous brother, 'my hand is the
quicker of the two, and in some parts of this work, especially in
whatever pertains to the East, and to the forms of building or of
vegetation, or costume seen chiefly or only there, my knowledge was
perhaps more exact and minute than his; but, let it be received, that
the head that could design these forms and conceive and arrange these
histories, and these graceful ornaments--to my mind more fruitful of
genius than all else--observe you them? have you scanned them
all?--belongs to no other than Demetrius of Rome. In my whole hand,
there resides not the skill that is lodged in one of his fingers;--nor,
in my whole head, the power that lies behind one of his eyes.'

The enthusiasm of the Eastern brother called up a smile upon the faces
of all, and a blush upon the white cheek of the Roman.

'My brother is younger than I,' he said, 'and his blood runs quicker.
All that he says, though it be a picture of the truest heart ever lodged
in man, is yet to be taken with abatement. But for him, this work would
have been far below its present merit. Let me ask you especially to mark
the broad border, where is set forth the late triumph, and ambassadors,
captives, and animals of all parts of the earth, especially of the East,
are seen in their appropriate forms and habits. That is all from the
chisel of my brother. Behold here'--and rising he approached the vase,
and vast as it was, by a touch, so was it constructed, turned it
round--'behold here, where is figured the Great Queen of--'; in the
enthusiasm of art, he had forgotten for a moment to whom he was
speaking; for at that instant his eye fell upon the countenance of
Julia, who stood near him,--while hers at the same moment caught the
regal form of Zenobia, bent beneath the weight of her golden chains--and
which he saw cast down by an uncontrollable grief. He paused, confused
and grieved--saying, as he turned back the vase, 'Ah me! cruel and
indiscreet! Pardon me, noble ladies! and yet I deserve it not.'

'Go on, go on, Demetrius,' said Julia, assuming a cheerful air. 'You
offend me not. The course of Empire must have its way; individuals are
but emmets in the path. I am now used to this, believe me. It is for
you rather, and the rest, to forgive in me a sudden weakness.'

Demetrius, thus commanded, resumed, and then with minuteness, with much
learning and eloquence, discoursed successively upon the histories, or
emblematic devices, of this the chief work of his hands. All were sorry
when he ceased.

'To what you have overlooked,' said Aurelian, as he paused, 'must I call
you back, seeing it is that part of the work which I most esteem, and in
which at this moment I and all, I trust, are most interested--the
sculptures upon the platter; which represent the new temple and
ceremonies of the dedication, which to-morrow we celebrate.'

'Of this,' replied Demetrius, 'I said less, because perhaps the work is
inferior, having been committed, our time being short, to the hands of a
pupil--a pupil, however, I beg to say, who, if the Divine Providence
spare him, will one day, and that not a remote one, cast a shadow upon
his teachers.'

'That will he,' said the brother; 'Flaccus is full of the truest
inspiration.'

'But to the dedication--the dedication,' interrupted the hoarse voice of
Fronto.

Demetrius started, and shrunk backward a step at that sound, but
instantly recovered himself, and read into an intelligible language many
of the otherwise obscure and learned details of the work. As he ended,
the Emperor said,

'We thank you, Demetrius, for your learned lecture, which has given a
new value to your labors. And now, while it is in my mind, let me
bespeak, as soon as leisure and inclination shall serve, a silver
statue, gilded, of Apollo, for the great altar, which to-morrow will
scarce be graced with such a one as will agree with the temple and its
other ornaments.'

Demetrius, as this was uttered, again started, and his countenance
became of a deadly paleness. He hesitated a moment, as if studying how
to order his words so as to express least offensively an offensive
truth. On the instant, I suspected what the truth was; but I was wholly
unprepared for it. I had received no intimation of such a thing.

'Great Emperor,' he began, 'I am sorry to say--and yet not sorry--that I
cannot now, as once, labor for the decoration of the temples and their
worship. I am--'

'Ye gods of Rome!--' cried Fronto.

'Peace,' said the Emperor; 'let him be heard. How say you?'

'I am now a Christian; and I hold it not lawful to bestow my power and
skill in the workmanship of gods, in whom I believe not, and thus become
the instrument of an erroneous faith in others.'

This was uttered firmly, but with modesty. The countenance of the
Emperor was overclouded for a moment. But it partially cleared up again,
as he said, 'I lay not, Demetrius, the least constraint upon you. The
four years that I have held this power in Rome have been years of
freedom to my people in this respect. Whether I have done well in that,
for our city and the empire, many would doubt. I almost doubt myself.'

'That would they, by Hercules,' said the soft voice of Varus just at my
ear, and intended chiefly for me.

'My brother,' said Demetrius, 'will be happy to execute for the Emperor,
the work which he has been pleased to ask of me. He remains steadfast in
the faith in which he was reared; the popular faith of Athens.'

'Apollo,' said Demetrius of Palmyra 'is my especial favorite among all
the gods, and of him have I wrought more statues in silver, gold, or
ivory, or of these variously and curiously combined, than of all the
others. If I should be honored in this labor, I should request to be
permitted to adopt the marble image, now standing in the baths of
Caracalla, and once, it is said, the chief wonder of Otho's palace of
wonders, as a model after which, with some deviations, to mould it. I
think I could make that, that should satisfy Aurelian and Rome.'

'Do it, do it,' said the Emperor,' and let it be seen, that the
worshipper of his country's gods is not behind him, who denies them, in
his power to do them honor.'

'I shall not sleep,' said the artist, 'till I have made a model, in wax
at least, of what at this moment presents itself to my imagination.'
Saying which, with little ceremony--as if the Empire depended upon his
reaching, on the instant, his chalk and wax, and to the infinite
amusement of the company--he rose and darted from the apartment, the
slaves making way, as for a missile that it might be dangerous to
obstruct.

'But in what way,' said Aurelian, turning to the elder Demetrius, 'have
you been wrought upon to abandon the time-honored religion of Rome?
Methinks, the whole world is becoming of this persuasion.'

'If I may speak freely--'

'With utmost freedom,' said Aurelian.

'I may then say, that ever since the power to reflect upon matters so
deep and high had been mine, I had first doubted the truth of the
popular religion, and then soon rejected it, as what brought to me
neither comfort nor hope, and was also burdened with things essentially
incredible and monstrous. For many years, many weary years--for the mind
demands something positive in this quarter, it cannot remain in
suspense, and vacant--I was without belief. Why it was so long, before I
turned to the Christians, I know not; unless, because of the reports
which were so common to their disadvantage, and the danger which has so
often attended a profession of their faith. At length, in a fortunate
hour, there fell into my hands the sacred books of the Christians; and I
needed little besides to show me, that theirs is a true and almighty
faith, and that all that is current in the city to its dishonor is false
and calumnious. I am now happy, not only as an artist and a Roman, but
as a man and an immortal.'

'You speak earnestly,' said Aurelian.

'I feel so,' replied Demetrius; a generous glow lighting up his pale
countenance.

'Would,' rejoined the Emperor, 'that some of the zeal of these
Christians might be infused into the sluggish spirits of our own people.
The ancient faith suffers through neglect, and the prevailing impiety of
those who are its disciples.'

'May it not rather be,' said Fronto, 'that the ancient religion of the
State, having so long been neglected by those who are its appointed
guardians, to the extent that even Judaism, and now Christianity--which
are but disguised forms of Atheism--have been allowed to insinuate, and
intrench themselves in the Empire; the gods, now in anger, turn away
from us, who have been so unfaithful to ourselves; and thus this
plausible impiety is permitted to commit its havocs. I believe the gods
are ever faithful to the faithful.'

'What good citizen, too,' added Varus, 'but must lament to witness the
undermining, and supplanting of those venerable forms, under which this
universal empire has grown to its present height of power? He is
scarcely a Roman who denies the gods of Rome, however observant he may
be of her laws and other institutions. Religion is her greatest law.'

'These are hard questions,' said the Emperor. 'For, know you not, that
some of our noblest, and fairest, and most beloved, have written
themselves followers of this Gallilean God? How can we deal sharply with
a people, at whose head stands the chief of the noble house of the
Pisos, and a princess of the blood of Palmyra?'

Although Aurelian uttered these words in a manner almost sportive to the
careless ear, yet I confess myself to have noticed at the moment, an
expression of the countenance, and a tone in the voice, which gave me
uneasiness. I was about to speak, when the venerable Tacitus addressed
the Emperor, and said,

'I can never think it wise to interfere with violence, in the matter of
men's worship. It is impossible, I believe, to compel mankind to receive
any one institution of religion, because different tribes of men,
different by nature and by education, will and do demand, not the same,
but different forms of belief and worship. Why should they be alike in
this, while they separate so widely in other matters? and can it be a
more hopeful enterprise to oblige them to submit to the same rules in
their religion, than it would be to compel them to feed on the same
food, and use the same forms of language or dress? I know that former
emperors have thought and acted differently. They have deemed it a
possible thing to restore the ancient unity of worship, by punishing
with severity, by destroying the lives even, of such as should dare to
think for themselves. But their conduct is not to be defended, either as
right in itself or best for the state. It has not been just or wise, as
policy. For is it not evident, how oppression of those who believe
themselves to be possessed of truth important to mankind, serves but to
bind them the more closely to their opinions? Are they, for a little
suffering, to show themselves such cowards as to desert their own
convictions, and prove false to the interests of multitudes? Rather, say
they, let us rejoice, in such a cause, to bear reproach. This is the
language of our nature. Nay, such persons come to prize suffering, to
make it a matter of pride and boasting. Their rank among themselves is,
by and by, determined by the readiness with which they offer themselves
as sacrifices for truth and God. Are such persons to be deterred by
threats, or the actual infliction of punishment?'

'The error has been,' here said the evil-boding Fronto, 'that the
infliction of punishment went not to the extent that is indispensable to
the success of such a work. The noble Piso will excuse me; we are but
dealing with abstractions. Oppress those who are in error, only to a
certain point, not extreme, and it is most true they cling the closer to
their error. We see this in the punishment of children. Their obstinacy
and pride are increased, by a suffering which is slight, and which seems
to say to the parent, 'He is too timid, weak, or loving, to inflict
more.' So too with our slaves. Whose slaves ever rose a second time
against the master's authority, whose first offence, however slight, was
met, not by words or lashes, but by racks and the cross?'

'Nay, good Fronto, hold; your zeal for the gods bears you away beyond
the bounds of courtesy.'

'Forgive me then, great sovereign, and you who are here--if you may; but
neither time nor place shall deter me, a minister of the great god of
light, from asserting the principles upon which his worship rests, and,
as I deem, the Empire itself. Under Decius, had true Romans sat on the
tribunals; had no hearts, too soft for such offices, turned traitors to
the head; had no accursed spirit of avarice received the bribes which
procured security, to individuals, families, and communities; had there
been no commutations of punishment, then--'

'Peace, I say, Fronto; thou marrest the spirit of the hour. How came we
thus again to this point? Such questions are for the Council-room or the
Senate. Yet, truth to say, so stirred seems the mind of this whole
people in the matter, that, in battle, one may as well escape from the
din of clashing arms, or the groans of the dying, as, in Rome, avoid
this argument. Nay, by my sword, not a voice can I hear, either
applauding, disputing, or condemning, since I have set on foot this new
war in the East. Once, the city would have rung with acclamations, that
an army was gathering for such an enterprise. Now, it seems quite
forgotten that Valerian once fell, or that, late though it be, he ought
to be avenged. This Jewish and Christian argument fills all heads, and
clamors on every tongue. Come, let us shake off this dæmon in a new cup,
and drink deep to the revenge of Valerian.'

'And of the gods,' ejaculated Fronto, as he lifted the goblet to his
lips.

'There again?' quickly and sharply demanded Aurelian, bending his dark
brows upon the offender.

'Doubtless,' said Portia, 'he means well, though over zealous, and rash
in speech. His heart, I am sure, seconds not the cruel language of his
tongue. So at least I will believe; and, in the meantime, hope, that the
zeal he has displayed for the ancient religion of our country, may not
be without its use upon some present, who, with what I trust will prove
a brief truancy, have wandered from their household gods, and the
temples of their fathers.'

'May the gods grant it,' added Livia; 'and restore the harmony, which
should reign in our families, and in the capital. Life is over brief to
be passed in quarrel. Now let us abandon our cups. Sir Christian Piso!
lead me to the gardens, and let the others follow as they may our good
example.'

The gardens we found, as we passed from the palace, to be most
brilliantly illuminated with lamps of every form and hue. We seemed
suddenly to have passed to another world, so dream-like was the effect
of the multitudinous lights as they fell with white, red, lurid, or
golden glare, upon bush or tree, grotto, statue, or marble fountain.

'Forget here, Lucius Piso,' said the kind-hearted Livia, 'what you have
just heard from the lips of that harsh bigot, the savage Fronto. Who
could have looked for such madness! Not again, if I possess the power
men say I do, shall he sit at the table of Aurelian. Poor Julia too! But
see! she walks with Tacitus. Wisdom and mercy are married in him, and
both will shed comfort on her.'

'I cannot but lament,' I replied, 'that a creature like Fronto should
have won his way so far into the confidence of Aurelian. But I fear him
not; and do not believe that he will have power to urge the Emperor to
the adoption of measures, to which his own wisdom and native feelings
must stand opposed. The rage of such men as Fronto, and the silent pity
and scorn of men immeasurably his superiors, we have now learned to bear
without complaint, though not without some inward suffering. To be shut
out from the hearts of so many, who once ran to meet us on our approach;
nor only that, but to be held by them as impious and atheistical,
monsters whom the earth is sick of, and whom the gods are besought to
destroy--this is a part of our burden which we feel to be heaviest.
Heaven preserve to us the smiles, and the love of Livia.'

'Doubt not that they will ever be yours. But I trust that sentiments,
like those of Tacitus, will bear sway in the councils of Aurelian, and
that the present calm will not be disturbed.'

Thus conversing, we wandered on, beguiled by such talk, and the
attractive splendors of the garden, till we found ourselves separated,
apparently by some distance, from our other friends; none passed us, and
none met us. We had reached a remote and solitary spot, where fewer
lamps had been hung, and the light was faint and unequal. Not sorry to
be thus alone, we seated ourselves on the low pedestal of a group of
statuary--once the favorite resort of the fair and false Terentia--whose
forms could scarcely be defined, and which was enveloped, at a few paces
distant, with shrubs and flowers, forming a thin wall of partition
between us and another walk, corresponding to the one we were in, but
winding away in a different direction. We had sat not long, either
silent or conversing, ere our attention was caught by the sound of
approaching voices, apparently in earnest discourse. A moment, and we
knew them to be those of Fronto, and Aurelian.

'By the gods, his life shall answer it,' said Aurelian with vehemence,
but with suppressed tones; 'who but he was to observe the omens? Was I
to know, that to-day is the Ides, and to-morrow the day after? The rites
must be postponed.'

'It were better not, in my judgment,' said Fronto, 'all the other signs
are favorable. Never, Papirius assured me, did the sacred chickens seize
so eagerly the crumbs. Many times, as he closely watched, did he observe
them--which is rare--drop them from their mouths overfilled. The times
he has exactly recorded. A rite like this put off, when all Rome is in
expectation, would, in the opinion of all the world, be of a more
unfavorable interpretation, than if more than the day were against us.'

'You counsel well. Let it go on.'

'But to ensure a fortunate event, and propitiate the gods, I would
early, and before the august ceremonies, offer the most costly and
acceptable sacrifice.'

'That were well also. In the prisons there are captives of Germany, of
Gaul, of Egypt, and Palmyra. Take what and as many as you will. If we
ever make sure of the favor of the gods, it is when we offer freely that
which we hold at the highest price.'

'I would rather they were Christians,' urged Fronto.

'That cannot be,' said Aurelian. 'I question if there be a Christian
within the prison walls; and, were there hundreds, it is not a criminal
I would bring to the altar, I would as soon offer a diseased or
ill-shaped bull.'

'But it were an easy matter to seize such as we might want. Not, O
Aurelian, till this accursed race is exterminated, will the heavens
smile as formerly upon our country. Why are the altars thus forsaken?
Why are the temples no longer thronged as once? Why do the great, and
the rich, and the learned, silently withhold their aid, or openly scoff
and jeer? Why are our sanctuaries crowded only by the scum and refuse of
the city?'

'I know not. Question me not thus.'

'Is not the reason palpable and gross to the dullest mind? Is it not
because of the daily growth of this blaspheming and atheistical crew,
who, by horrid arts seduce the young, the timid, and above all the
women, who ever draw the world with them, to join them in their
unhallowed orgies, thus stripping the temples of their worshippers, and
dragging the gods themselves from their seats? Think you the gods look
on with pleasure while their altars and temples are profaned or
abandoned, and a religion, that denies them, rears itself upon their
ruins?'

'I know not. Say no more.'

'Is it possible, religion or the state should prosper, while he, who is
not only Vicegerent of the gods, Universal Monarch, but what is more,
their sworn Pontifex Maximus, connives at the existence and
dissemination of the most dangerous opinions--'

'Thou liest.'

'Harboring even beneath the imperial roof, and feasting at the imperial
table, the very heads and chief ministers of this black mischief--'

'Hold, I say. I swear by all the gods, known and unknown, that another
word, and thy head shall answer it. Is my soul that of a lamb, that I
need this stirring up to deeds of blood? Am I so lame and backward, when
the gods are to be defended, that I am to be thus charged? Let the lion
sleep when he will; chafed too much, and he may spring and slay at
random. I love not the Christians, nor any who flout the gods and their
worship--that thou knowest well. But I love Piso, Aurelia, and the
divine Julia--that thou knowest as well. Now no more.'

'For my life,' said Fronto, 'I hold it cheap, if I may but be faithful
to my office and the gods.'

'I believe it, Fronto. The gods will reward thee. Let us on.'

In the earnestness of their talk they had paused, and stood just before
us, being separated but by a thin screen of shrubs. We continued rooted
to our seats while this conversation went on, held there both by the
impossibility of withdrawing without observation, and by a desire to
hear--I confess it--what was thus in a manner forced upon me, and
concerned so nearly, not only myself, but thousands of my
fellow-Christians.

When they were hidden from us by the winding of the path, we rose and
turned toward the palace.

'That savage!' said Livia. 'How strange, that Aurelian, who knows so
well how to subdue the world, should have so little power to shake off
this reptile.'

'There is power enough,' I replied; 'but alas! I fear the will is
wanting. Superstition is as deep a principle in the breast of Aurelian
as ambition and of that, Fronto is the most fitting high-priest.
Aurelian places him at the head of religion in the state for those very
qualities, whose fierce expression has now made us tremble. Let us hope
that the Emperor will remain where he now is, in a position from which
it seems Fronto is unable to dislodge him, and all will go well.'

We soon reached the palace, where, joining Julia and Portia, our chariot
soon bore us to the Coelian Hill. Farewell.




LETTER IV.

FROM PISO TO FAUSTA.


I promised you, Fausta, before the news should reach you in any other
way, to relate the occurrences and describe the ceremonies of the day
appointed for the dedication of the new Temple of the Sun. The day has
now passed, not without incidents of even painful interest to ourselves
and therefore to you, and I sit down to fulfil my engagements.

Vast preparations had been making for the occasion, for many days or
even months preceding, and the day arose upon a city full of expectation
of the shows, ceremonies, and games, that were to reward their long and
patient waiting. For the season of the year the day was hot, unnaturally
so; and the sky filled with those massive clouds, piled like mountains
of snow one upon another, which, while they both please the eye by their
forms, and veil the fierce splendors of the sun, as they now and then
sail across his face, at the same time portend wind and storm. All Rome
was early astir. It was ushered in by the criers traversing the streets,
and proclaiming the rites and spectacles of the day, what they were, and
where to be witnessed, followed by troops of boys, imitating, in their
grotesque way, the pompous declarations of the men of authority, not
unfrequently drawing down upon their heads the curses and the batons of
the insulted dignitaries. A troop of this sort passed the windows of
the room in which Julia and I were sitting at our morning meal. As the
crier ended his proclamation, and the shouts of the applauding urchins
died away, Milo, who is our attendant in preference to any and all
others, observed,

'That the fellow of a crier deserved to have his head beat about with
his own rod, for coming round with his news not till after the greatest
show of the day was over.'

'What mean you?' I asked. 'Explain.'

'What should I mean,' he replied, 'but the morning sacrifice at the
temple.'

'And what so wonderful,' said Julia, 'in a morning sacrifice? The
temples are open every morning, are they not?'

'Yes, truly are they,' rejoined Milo; 'but not for so great a purpose,
nor witnessed by so great crowds. Curio wished me to have been there,
and says nothing could have been more propitious. They died as the gods
love to have them.'

'Was there no bellowing nor struggling, then?' said Julia.

'Neither, Curio assures me; but they met the knife of the priest as they
would the sword of an enemy on the field of battle.'

'How say you?' said Julia, quickly, turning pale; 'do I hear aright,
Milo, or are you mocking? God forbid that you should speak of a human
sacrifice.'

'It is even so, mistress. And why should it not be so? If the favor of
the gods, upon whom we all depend, as the priests tell us, is to be
purchased so well in no other way, what is the life of one man, or of
many, in such a cause? The great Gallienus, when his life had been less
ordered than usual after the rules of temperance and religion, used to
make amends by a few captives slain to Jupiter; to which, doubtless, may
be ascribed his prosperous reign. But, as I was saying, there was, so
Curio informed me at the market not long afterwards, a sacrifice, on the
private altar of the temple, of ten captives. Their blood flowed just as
the great god of the temple showed himself in the horizon. It would have
done you good, Curio said, to see with what a hearty and dexterous zeal
Fronto struck the knife into their hearts--for to no inferior minister
would he delegate the sacred office.'

'Lucius,' cried Julia, 'I thought that such offerings were now no more.
Is it so, that superstition yet delights itself in the blood of murdered
men?'

'It is just so,' I was obliged to reply. 'With a people naturally more
gentle and humane than we of Rome this custom would long ago have fallen
into disuse. They would have easily found a way, as all people do, to
conform their religious doctrine and offerings to their feelings and
instincts. But the Romans, by nature and long training, lovers of blood,
their country built upon the ruins of others, and cemented with
blood--the taste for it is not easily eradicated. There are temples
where human sacrifices have never ceased. Laws have restrained their
frequency--have forbidden them, under heaviest penalties, unless
permitted by the state--but these laws ever have been, and are now
evaded; and it is the settled purpose of Fronto, and others of his
stamp, to restore to them their lost honors, and make them again, as
they used to be, the chief rite in the worship of the gods. I am not
sorry, Julia, that your doubts, though so painfully, have yet been so
effectually, removed.'

Julia had for some time blamed, as over-ardent, the zeal of the
Christians. She had thought that the evil of the existing superstitions
was over-estimated, and that it were wiser to pursue a course of more
moderation; that a system that nourished such virtues as she found in
Portia, in Tacitus, and others like them, could not be so corrupting in
its power as the Christians were in the habit of representing it; that
if we could succeed in substituting Christianity quietly, without
alienating the affections, or shocking too violently the prejudices, of
the believers in the prevailing superstitions, our gain would be double.
To this mode of arguing I knew she was impelled, by her love and almost
reverence for Portia; and how could I blame it, springing from such a
cause? I had, almost criminally, allowed her to blind herself in a way
she never would have done, had her strong mind acted, as on other
subjects, untrammelled and free. I was not sorry that Milo had brought
before her mind a fact which, however revolting in its horror to such a
nature as hers, could not but heal while it wounded.

'Milo,' said Julia, as I ended, 'say now that you have been jesting;
that this is a piece of wit with which you would begin in a suitable way
an extraordinary day; this is one of your Gallienus fictions.'

'Before the gods,' replied Milo, 'I have told you the naked truth. But
not the whole; for Curio left me not till he had shown how each had
died. Of the ten, but three, he averred, resisted, or died unwillingly.
The three were Germans from beyond the Danube--brothers, he said, who
had long lain in prison till their bones were ready to start through the
skin. Yet were they not ready to die. It seemed as if there were
something they longed--more even than for life or freedom--to say; but
they might as well have been dumb and tongueless, for none understood
their barbarous jargon. When they found that their words were in vain,
they wrung their hands in their wo, and cried out aloud in their agony.
Then, however, at the stern voice of Fronto, warning them of the hour,
they ceased--embraced each other, and received the fatal blow; the
others signified their pleasure at dying so, rather than to be thrown to
wild beasts, or left to die by slow degrees within their dungeon's
walls. Two rejoiced that it was their fate to pour out their blood upon
the altar of a god, and knelt devoutly before the uplifted knife of
Fronto. Never, said Curio, was there a more fortunate offering. Aurelian
heard the report of it with lively joy, and said that 'now all would go
well.' Curio is a good friend of mine; will it please you to hear these
things from his own lips?'

'No,' said Julia; 'I would hear no more. I have heard more than enough.
How needful, Lucius, if these things are so, that our Christian zeal
abate not! I see that this stern and bloody faith requires that they who
would deal with it must carry their lives in their hand, ready to part
with nothing so easily, if by so doing they can hew away one of the
branches, or tear up one of the roots of this ancient and pernicious
error. I blame not Probus longer--no, nor the wild rage of Macer.'

'Two, lady, of the captives were of Palmyra; the Queen's name and yours
were last upon their lips.'

'Great God! how retribution like a dark pursuing shadow hangs upon the
steps of guilt! Even here it seeks us. Alas, my mother! Heaven grant
that these things fall not upon your ears!'

Julia was greatly moved, and sat a long time silent, her face buried in
her hands, and weeping. I motioned to Milo to withdraw and say no more.
Upon Julia, although so innocent of all wrong--guiltless as an infant of
the blame, whatever it may be, which the world fixes upon Zenobia--yet
upon her, as heavily as upon her great mother, fall the sorrows, which,
sooner or later, overtake those, who, for any purpose, in whatever
degree selfish, have involved their fellow-creatures in useless
suffering. Being part of the royal house, Julia feels that she must bear
her portion of its burdens. Time alone can cure this grief.

But you are waiting, with a woman's impatient curiosity, to hear of the
dedication.

At the appointed hour, we were at the palace of Aurelian on the
Palatine, where a procession pompous as art, and rank, and numbers could
make it, was formed, to move thence by a winding and distant way to the
temple near the foot of the Quirinal. Julia repaired with Portia to a
place of observation near the temple--I to the palace, to join the
company of the Emperor. Of the gorgeous magnificence of the procession I
shall tell you nothing. It was in extent, and variety of pomp and
costliness of decoration, a copy of that of the late triumph; and went
even beyond the captivating splendor of the example. Roman music--which
is not that of Palmyra--lent such charms as it could to our passage
through the streets to the temple, from a thousand performers.

As we drew near to the lofty fabric, I thought that no scene of such
various beauty and magnificence had ever met my eye. The temple itself
is a work of unrivalled art. In size it surpasses any other building of
the same kind in Rome, and for excellence of workmanship and purity of
design, although it may fall below the standard of Hadrian's age, yet,
for a certain air of grandeur, and luxuriance of invention in its
details, and lavish profusion of embellishment in gold and silver, no
temple, nor other edifice, of any preceding age, ever perhaps resembled
it. Its order is the Corinthian, of the Roman form, and the entire
building is surrounded by its graceful columns, each composed of a
single piece of marble. Upon the front, is wrought Apollo surrounded by
the Hours. The western extremity is approached by a flight of steps, of
the same breadth as the temple itself. At the eastern, there extends
beyond the walls, to a distance equal to the length of the building, a
marble platform, upon which stands the altar of sacrifice, which is
ascended by various flights of steps, some little more than a gently
rising plain, up which the beasts are led that are destined to the
altar.

When this vast extent of wall and column, of the most dazzling
brightness, came into view, everywhere covered, together with the
surrounding temples, palaces, and theatres, with a dense mass of human
beings, of all climes and regions, dressed out in their richest
attire--music from innumerable instruments filling the heavens with
harmony--shouts of the proud and excited populace, every few moments,
and from different points, as Aurelian advanced, shaking the air with
their thrilling din--added to, still further, by the neighing of horses,
and the frequent blasts of the trumpet--the whole made more solemnly
imposing by the vast masses of clouds which swept over the sky, now
suddenly unveiling, and again eclipsing, the sun, the great god of this
idolatry, and from which few could withdraw their gaze;--when, at once,
this all broke upon my eye and ear, I was like a child who, before, had
never seen aught but his own village, and his own rural temple, in the
effect wrought upon me, and the passiveness with which I abandoned
myself to the sway of the senses. Not one there, was more ravished than
I was, by the outward circumstance and show. I thought of Rome's
thousand years, of her power, her greatness, and universal empire, and,
for a moment, my step was not less proud than that of Aurelian.

But, after that moment, when the senses had had their fill, when the eye
had seen the glory, and the ear had fed upon the harmony and the praise,
then I thought and felt very differently. Sorrow and compassion for
these gay multitudes were at my heart; prophetic forebodings of
disaster, danger, and ruin to those, to whose sacred cause I had linked
myself, made my tongue to falter in its speech, and my limbs to tremble.
I thought that the superstition, that was upheld by the wealth and the
power, whose manifestations were before me, had its roots in the very
centre of the earth--far too deep down for a few like myself ever to
reach them. I was like one, whose last hope of life and escape is
suddenly struck away.

I was aroused from these meditations, by our arrival at the eastern
front of the temple. Between the two central columns, on a throne of
gold and ivory, sat the Emperor of the world, surrounded by the senate,
the colleges of augurs and haruspices, and by the priests of the various
temples of the capital, all in their peculiar costume. Then, Fronto, the
priest of the temple, standing at the altar, glittering in his white and
golden robes like a messenger of light--when the crier had proclaimed
that the hour of worship and sacrifice had come, and had commanded
silence to be observed--bared his head, and, lifting his face up toward
the sun, offered, in clear and sounding tones, the prayer of dedication.
As he came toward the close of his prayer, he, as is so usual, with loud
and almost frantic cries, and importunate repetition, called upon all
the gods to hear him, and then, with appropriate names and praises,
invoked the Father of gods and men to be present.

Just as he had thus solemnly invoked Jupiter by name, and was about to
call upon the other gods in the same manner, the clouds, which had been
deepening and darkening, suddenly obscured the sun; a distant peal of
thunder rolled along the heavens; and, at the same moment, from out the
dark recesses of the temple, a voice of preternatural power came forth,
proclaiming, so that the whole multitude heard the words,--'God is but
one; the King eternal, immortal, invisible.'

It is impossible to describe the horror that seized those multitudes.
Many cried out with fear, and each seemed to shrink behind the other.
Paleness sat upon every face. The priest paused as if struck by a power
from above. Even the brazen Fronto was appalled. Aurelian leaped from
his seat, and by his countenance, white and awe-struck, showed that to
him it came as a voice from the gods. He spoke not; but stood gazing at
the dark entrance into the temple, from which the sound had come. Fronto
hastily approached him, and whispering but one word as it were into his
ear, the Emperor started; the spell that bound him was dissolved; and,
recovering himself--making indeed as though a very different feeling had
possessed him--cried out in fierce tones to his guards,

'Search the temple; some miscreant, hid away among the columns, profanes
thus the worship and the place. Seize him, and drag him forth to instant
death.'

The guards of the Emperor, and the servants of the temple, rushed in at
that bidding, and searched in every part the interior of the building.
They soon emerged, saying that the search was fruitless. The temple, in
all its aisles and apartments, was empty.

The ceremonies, quiet being again restored, then went on. Twelve bulls,
of purest white and of perfect forms, their horns bound about with
fillets, were now led by the servants of the temple up the marble steps
to the front of the altar, where stood the cultrarii and haruspices,
ready to slay them and examine their entrails. The omens,--as gathered
by the eyes of all from the fierce strugglings and bellowings of the
animals, as they were led toward the place of sacrifice, some even
escaping from the hands of those who had the management of them, and
from the violent and convulsive throes of others as the blow fell upon
their heads, or the knife severed their throats,--were of the darkest
character, and brought a deep gloom upon the brow of the Emperor. The
report of the haruspices, upon examination of the entrails, was little
calculated to remove that gloom. It was for the most part unfavorable.
Especially appalling was the sight of a heart, so lean and withered,
that it scarce seemed possible that it should ever have formed a part of
a living animal. But more harrowing than all, was the voice of Fronto,
who, prying with the haruspices into the smoking carcass of one of the
slaughtered bulls, suddenly cried out with horror, that 'no heart was to
be found.'

The Emperor, hardly to be restrained by those near him from some
expression of anger, ordered a more diligent search to be made.

'It is not in nature that such a thing should be,' he said. 'Men are, in
truth, sometimes without hearts; but brutes, as I think, never.'

The report was however confidently confirmed. Fronto himself approached,
and said that his eye had from the first been upon the beast, and the
exact truth had been stated.

The carcasses, such parts as were for the flames, were then laid upon
the vast altar, and the flames of the sacrifice ascended.

The heavens were again obscured by thick clouds, which, accumulating
into heavy volumes, began now, nearer and nearer, to shoot forth
lightning, and roll their thunders. The priest commenced the last
office, prayer to the god to whom the new temple had been thus solemnly
consecrated. He again bowed his head, and again lifted up his voice. But
no sooner had he invoked the god of the temple and besought his ear,
than again, from its dark interior, the same awful sounds issued forth,
this time saying, 'Thy gods, O Rome, are false and lying gods. God is
but one.'

Aurelian, pale, as it seemed to me; with superstitious fear, again
strove to shake it off, giving it artfully and with violence the
appearance of offended dignity. His voice was a shriek rather than a
human utterance, as he cried out,

'This is but a Christian device; search the temple till the accursed
Nazarene be found, and hew him piecemeal--' More he would have said,
but, at the instant, a bolt of lightning shot from the heavens, and,
lighting upon a large sycamore which shaded a part of the temple court,
clove it in twain. The swollen cloud, at the same moment, burst, and a
deluge of rain poured upon the city, the temple, the gazing multitude,
and the just kindled altars. The sacred fires went out in hissing and
darkness; a tempest of wind whirled the limbs of the slaughtered victims
into the air, and abroad over the neighboring streets. All was
confusion, uproar, terror, and dismay. The crowds sought safety in the
houses of the nearest inhabitants, in the porches, and in the palaces.
Aurelian and the senators and those nearest him, fled to the interior of
the temple. The heavens blazed with the quick flashing of the lightning,
and the temple itself seemed to rock beneath the voice of the thunder. I
never knew in Rome so terrific a tempest. The stoutest trembled, for
life hung by a thread. Great numbers, it has now been found, in every
part of the capital, fell a prey to the fiery bolts. The capital itself
was struck, and the brass statue of Vespasian in the forum thrown down
and partly melted. The Tiber in a few hours overran its banks, and laid
much of the city on its borders under water.

But, ere long, the storm was over. The retreating clouds, but still
sullenly muttering in the distance as they rolled away, were again
lighted up by the sun, who again shone forth in his splendor. The
scattered limbs of the victims were collected and again laid upon the
altar. Dry wood being brought, the flames quickly shot upward and
consumed to the last joint and bone the sacred offerings. Fronto once
more stood before the altar, and now uninterrupted performed the last
office of the ceremony. Then, around the tables spread within the temple
to the honor of the gods, feasting upon the luxuries contributed by
every quarter of the earth, and filling high with wine, the adverse
omens of the day were by most forgotten. But not by Aurelian. No smile
was seen to light up his dark countenance. The jests of Varus and the
wisdom of Porphyrius alike failed to reach him. Wrapped in his own
thoughts, he brooded gloomily over what had happened, and strove to read
the interpretation of portents so unusual and alarming.

I went not in to the feast, but returned home reflecting as I went upon
the events I had witnessed. I knew not what to think. That in times
past, long after the departure from the earth of Jesus and his immediate
followers, the Deity had interposed in seasons of peculiar perplexity to
the church, and, in a way to be observed, had manifested his power, I
did not doubt. But for a long time such revelations had wholly ceased.
And I could not see any such features in the present juncture, as would,
to speak as a man, justify and vindicate a departure from the ordinary
methods of the Divine Providence. But then, on the other hand, I could
not otherwise account for the voice, nor discover any way in which, had
one been so disposed, he could so successfully and securely have
accomplished his work. Revolving these things, and perplexed by doubts,
I reached the Coelian--when, as I entered my dwelling, I found, to my
great satisfaction, Probus seated with Julia, who at an early period,
foreseeing the tempest, had with Portia withdrawn to the security of her
own roof.

'I am glad you are come at length,' said Julia as I entered; 'our friend
has scarce spoken. I should think, did I not know the contrary, that he
had suddenly abandoned the service of truth and become a disciple of
Novatus. He hath done little but groan and sigh.'

'Surely,' I replied, 'the occasion warrants both sighs and groans. But
when came you from the temple?'

'On the appearance of the storm, just as Fronto approached the altar the
first time. The signs were not to be mistaken, by any who were not so
much engrossed by the scene as to be insensible to all else, that a
tempest was in the sky, and would soon break upon the crowds in a deluge
of rain and hail--as has happened. So that warning Portia of the danger,
we early retreated--she with reluctance; but for myself, I was glad to
be driven away from a scene that brought so vividly before me the events
of the early morning.'

'I am glad it was so,' I replied; 'you would have been more severely
tried, had you remained.' And I then gave an account of the occurrences
of the day.

'I know not what to make of it,' she said as I ended 'Probus, teach us
what to think. I am bewildered and amazed.'

'Lady,' said Probus, 'the Christian service is a hard one.'

'I have not found it so, thus far; but, on the other hand, a light and
easy one.'

'But the way is not ever so smooth, and the path, once entered upon,
there is no retreat.'

'No roughness nor peril, Probus, be they what they may, can ever shake
me. It is for eternity I have embraced this faith, not for time--for my
soul, not for my body.'

'God be thanked that it is so. But the evils and sorrows that time has
in store, and which afflict the body, are not slight. And sometimes they
burst forth from the overburdened clouds in terrific violence, and poor
human strength sinks and trembles, as to-day before the conflict of the
elements.'

'They would find me strong in spirit and purpose, I am sure, Probus,
however my woman's frame of flesh might yield. No fear can change my
mind, nor tear me from the hopes which through Christ I cherish more, a
thousand fold, than this life of an hour.'

'Why, why is it so ordained in the Providence of God,' said Probus,
'that truth must needs be watered with tears and blood, ere it will grow
and bear fruit? When, as now, the sky is dark and threatening, and the
mind is thronged with fearful anticipations of the sorrows that await
those who hold this faith, how can I, with a human heart within me,
labor to convert the unbelieving? The words falter upon my tongue. I
turn from the young inquirer, and with some poor reason put him off to
another season. When I preach, it is with a coldness that must repel,
and it is that which I almost desire to be the effect. My prayers never
reach heaven, nor the consciences of those who hear. Probus, they say,
is growing worldly. His heart burns no longer within him. His zeal is
cold. We must look to Macer. I fear, lady, that the reproaches are well
deserved. Not that I am growing worldly or cold, but that my human
affections lead me away from duty, and make me a traitor to truth, and
my master.'

'O no, Probus,' said Julia; 'these are charges foolish and false. There
is not a Christian in Rome but would say so. We all rest upon you.'

'Then upon what a broken reed! I am glad it was not I who made you a
Christian.'

'Do you grieve to have been a benefactor?'

'Almost, when I see the evils which are to overwhelm the believer. I
look round upon my little flock of hearers, and I seem to see them led
as lambs to the slaughter--poor, defenceless creatures, set upon by
worse than lions and wolves. And you, lady of Piso, how can I sincerely
rejoice that you have added your great name to our humble roll, when I
think of what may await you. Is that form to be dragged with violence
amid the hootings of the populace to the tribunal of the beast Varus?
Are those limbs for the rack or the fire?'

'I trust in God they are not, Probus. But if they are needed, they are
little to give for that which has made me so rich, and given wings to
the soul. I can spare the body, now that the soul can live without it.'

'There spoke the universal Christian! What but truth could so change our
poor human nature into somewhat quite divine and godlike! Think not I
shrink myself at the prospect of obstruction and assault. I am a man
loose upon the world, weaned by suffering and misfortune from earth,
and ready at any hour to depart from it. You know my early story. But I
in vain seek to steel myself to the pains of others. From what I have
said, I fear lest you should think me over-apprehensive. I wish it were
so. But all seems at this moment to be against us.'

'More then,' said Julia, 'must have come to your ears than to ours. When
last we sat with the Emperor at his table, he seemed well inclined. And
when urged by Fronto, rebuked him even with violence.'

'Yes, it was so.'

'Is it then from the scenes of to-day at the temple that you draw fresh
omens of misfortune? I have asked you what we should think of them.'

'I almost tremble to say. I stood, Piso, not far from you, upon the
lower flight of steps, where I think you observed me.'

'I did. And at the sound of that voice from the temple, methought your
face was paler than Aurelian's. Why was that?'

'Because, Piso, I knew the voice.'

'Knew it! What mean you?'

'Repeat it not--let it sink into your ear, and there abide. It was
Macer's.'

'Macer's? Surely you jest.'

'Alas! I wish it were a jest. But his tones were no more to be mistaken
than were the thunder's.'

'This, should it be known, would, it is plain to see, greatly exasperate
Aurelian. It would be more than enough for Fronto to work his worst ends
with. His suspicions at once fell upon the Christians.'

'That,' said Probus, 'was, I am confident, an artifice. The countenance,
struck with superstitious horror, is not to be read amiss. Seen, though
but for a moment, and the signature is upon it, one and unequivocal. But
with quick instinct the wily priest saw his advantage, seized it, and,
whether believing or not himself, succeeded in poisoning the mind of
Aurelian and that of the multitude. So great was the commotion among the
populace, that, but for the tempest, I believe scarce would the legions
of the Emperor have saved us from slaughter upon the spot. Honest,
misguided Macer--little dost thou know how deep a wound thou hast struck
into the very dearest life of the truth, for which thou wouldst yet at
any moment thyself freely suffer and die!'

'What,' said Julia, 'could have moved him to such madness?'

'With him,' replied Probus, 'it was a deed of piety and genuine zeal for
God; he saw it in the light of an act god-like, and god-directed. Could
you read his heart, you would find it calm and serene, in the
consciousness of a great duty greatly performed. It is very possible he
may have felt himself to be but an instrument in the hand of a higher
power, to whom he gives all the glory and the praise. There are many
like him, lady, both among Christians and Pagans. The sybils impose not
so much upon others as upon themselves. They who give forth the
responses of the oracle, oft-times believe that they are in very truth
full of the god, and speak not their own thoughts, but the inspirations
of him whose priests they are. To themselves more than to others are
they impostors. The conceit of the peculiar favor of God, or of the gods
in return for extraordinary devotion, is a weakness that besets our
nature wherever it is found. An apostle perhaps never believed in his
inspiration more firmly than at times does Macer, and others among us
like him. But this inward solitary persuasion we know is nothing,
however it may carry away captive the undiscriminating multitude.'

'Hence, Probus, then, I suppose, the need of some outward act of an
extraordinary nature to show the inspiration real.'

'Yes,' he replied. 'No assertion of divine impulses or revelations can
avail to persuade us of their reality, except supported and confirmed by
miracle. That, and that only, proves the present God. Christ would have
died without followers had he exhibited to the world only his character
and his truth, even though he had claimed, and claimed truly, a descent
from and communion with the Deity. Men would have said, 'This is an old
and common story. We see every day and everywhere those who affect
divine aid. No act is so easy as to deceive one's self. If you propose a
spiritual moral system and claim for it a divine authority, show your
authority by a divine work, a work impossible to man, and we will then
admit your claims. But your own inward convictions alone, sincere as
they may be, and possibly founded in truth, pass with us for nothing.
Raise one that was dead to life, and we will believe you when you reveal
to us the spiritual world and the life to come.'

'I think,' said Julia, 'such would be the process in my own mind. There
seems the same natural and necessary connection here between spiritual
truths and outward acts, as between the forms of letters or the sound
of words, and ideas. We receive the most subtle of Plato's reasonings
through words--those miracles of material help--which address themselves
to the eye or ear. So we receive the truths of Jesus through the eye
witnessing his works, or the ear hearing the voice from Heaven.--But we
wander from Macer, in whom, from what you have told us, and Piso has
known, we both feel deeply interested. Can he not be drawn away from
those fancies which possess him? 'Tis a pity we should lose so strong an
advocate, to some minds so resistless, nor only that, but suffer injury
from his extravagance.'

'It is our purpose,' I replied, 'to visit him to try what effect earnest
remonstrance and appeal may have. Soon as I shall return from my
promised and now necessary visit to Marcus and Lucilia, I shall not
fail, Probus, to request you to accompany me to his dwelling.'

'Does he dwell far from us?' asked Julia.

'His house, if house it may be called,' replied Probus, 'is in a narrow
street, which runs just behind the shop of Demetrius, midway between the
Capitol and the Quirinal. It is easily found by first passing the shop
and then descending quick to the left--the street Janus, our friend
Isaac's street, turning off at the same point to the right. At Macer's,
should your feet ever be drawn that way, you would see how and in what
crowded space the poor live in Rome.'

'Has he then a family, as your words seem to imply?'

'He has; and one more lovely dwells not within the walls of Rome. In his
wife and elder children, as I have informed Piso, we shall find warm and
eloquent advocates on our side. They tremble for their husband and
father, whom they reverence and love, knowing his impetuosity, his
fearlessness and his zeal. Many an assault has he already brought upon
himself, and is destined, I fear, to draw down many more and heavier.'

'Heaven shield them all from harm,' said Julia. 'Are they known to
Demetrius? His is a benevolent heart, and he would rejoice to do them a
service. No one is better known too or respected than the Roman
Demetrius: his name merely would be a protection.'

'It was from Macer,' replied Probus, 'that Demetrius first heard the
truth which now holds him captive. Their near neighborhood brought them
often together. Demetrius was impressed by the ardor and evident
sincerity so visible in the conversation and manners of Macer; and Macer
was drawn toward Demetrius by the cast of melancholy--that sober,
thoughtful air--that separates him so from his mercurial brother, and
indeed from all. He wished he were a Christian. And by happy accidents
being thrown together--or rather drawn by some secret bond of
attraction--he in no long time had the happiness to see him one. From
the hand of Felix he received the waters of baptism.'

'What you have said, Probus, gives me great pleasure. I am not only now
sure that Macer and his little tribe have a friend at hand, but the
knowledge that such a mind as that of Demetrius has been wrought upon by
Macer, has served to raise him in my esteem and respect. He can be no
common man, and surely no madman.'

'The world ever loves to charge those as mad,' said Probus, 'who, in
devotion to a great cause, exceed its cold standard of moderation.
Singular, that excess virtue should incur this reproach, while excess
in vice is held but as a weakness of our nature!'

We were here interrupted by Milo, who came to conduct us to the supper
room; and there our friendly talk was prolonged far into the night.

When I next write, I shall have somewhat to say of Marcus, Lucilia, and
the little Gallus. How noble and generous in the Queen, her magnificent
gift! When summer comes round again, I shall not fail, together with
Julia, to see you there. How many recollections will come thronging upon
me when I shall again find myself in the court of the Elephant, sitting
where I once sat so often and listened to the voice of Longinus. May you
see there many happy years. Farewell.

       *       *       *       *       *

Nothing could exceed the sensation caused in Rome by the voice heard at
the dedication, and among the adherents of the popular faith, by the
unlucky omens of the day and of the sacrifice. My office at that time
called me often to the capital, and to the palace of Aurelian, and threw
me frequently into his company and that of Livia. My presence was little
heeded by the Emperor, who, of a bold and manly temper, spoke out with
little reserve, and with no disguise or fear, whatever sentiments
possessed him. From such opportunities, and from communications of
Menestheus, the secretary of Aurelian, little took place at the palace
which came not to my knowledge. The morning succeeding the dedication I
had come to the city bringing a packet from the Queen to the Empress
Livia. While I waited in the common reception room of the palace, I took
from a case standing there, a volume and read. As I read, I presently
was aroused by the sound of Aurelian's voice. It was as if engaged in
earnest conversation. He soon entered the apartment accompanied by the
priest of the new temple.

'There is something,' he said as he drew near, 'in this combination of
unlucky signs that might appal a stouter spirit than mine. This too,
after a munificence toward not one only but all the temples, never I am
sure surpassed. Every god has been propitiated by gifts and appropriate
rites. How can all this be interpreted other than most darkly--other
than as a general hostility--and a discouragement from an enterprise
upon which I would found my glory. This has come most unlooked for. I
confess myself perplexed. I have openly proclaimed my purpose--the word
has gone abroad and travelled by this to the court of Persia itself,
that with all Rome at my back I am once more to tempt the deserts of the
East.'

He here suddenly paused, being reminded by Fronto of my presence.

'Ah, it matters not;' he said; 'this is but Nichomachus, the good
servant of the Queen of Palmyra. I hope,' he said, turning to me, 'that
the Queen is well, and the young Faustula?'

'They are well,' I replied.

'How agree with her these cooler airs of the west? These are not the
breezes of Arabia, that come to-day from the mountains.'

'She heeds them little,' I replied, 'her thoughts are engrossed by
heavier cares.'

'They must be fewer now than ever.'

'They are fewer, but they are heavier and weigh upon her life more than
the whole East once did. The remembrance of a single great disaster
weighs as a heavier burden than the successful management of an empire.'

'True, Nichomachus, that is over true.' Then, without further regarding
me, he went on with his conversation with Fronto.

'I cannot,' he said, 'now go back; and to go forward may be
persumptuous.'

'I cannot but believe, great Emperor,' said Fronto, 'that I have it in
my power to resolve your doubts, and set your mind at ease.'

'Rest not then,' said Aurelian with impatience--'but say on.'

'You sought the gods and read the omens with but one prayer and thought.
And you have construed them as all bearing upon one point and having one
significancy--because you have looked in no other direction. I believe
they bear upon a different point, and that when you look behind and
before, you will be of the same judgment.'

'Whither tends all this?'

'To this--that the omens of the day bear not upon your eastern
expedition, but upon the new religion! You are warned as the great high
priest, by these signs in heaven and on earth--not against this
projected expedition, which is an act of piety,--but against this
accursed superstition, which is working its way into the empire, and
threatening the extermination and overthrow of the very altars on which
you laid your costly offerings. What concern can the divinities feel in
the array of an army, destined to whatever service, compared with that
which must agitate their sacred breasts as they behold their altars cast
down or forsaken, their names profaned, their very being denied, their
worshippers drawn from them to the secret midnight orgies of a tribe of
Atheists, whose aim is anarchy in the state and in religion; owning
neither king on earth nor king in heaven--every man to be his own
priest--every man his own master! Is not this the likeliest reading of
the omens?'

'I confess, Fronto,' the Emperor replied, the cloud upon his brow
clearing away as he spoke, 'that what you say possesses likelihood. I
believe I have interpreted according to my fears. It is as you say--the
East only has been in my thoughts. It cannot in reason be thought to be
this enterprize, which, as you have said, is an act of piety--all Rome
would judge it so--against which the heavens have thus arrayed
themselves. Fronto! Fronto! I am another man! Slave,' cried he aloud to
one of the menials as he passed, 'let Mucapor be instantly summoned. Let
there be no delay. Now can my affairs be set on with something more of
speed. When the gods smile, mountains sink to mole-hills. A divine
energy runs in the current of the blood and lends more than mortal force
to the arm and the will.'

As he spoke, never did so malignant a joy light up the human countenance
as was to be seen in the face of Fronto.

'And what then,' he hastily put in as the Emperor paused, 'what shall be
done with these profane wretches?'

'The Christians! They must be seen to. I will consider. Now, Fronto,
shall I fill to the brim the cup of human glory. Now shall Rome by me
vindicate her lost honor and wipe off the foulest stain that since the
time of Romulus has darkened her annals.'

'You will do yourself and the empire,' rejoined the priest, 'immortal
honor. If danger ever threatened the very existence of the state it is
now from the secret machinations of this god-denying tribe.'

'I spake of the East and of Valerian, Fronto. Syria is now Rome's.
Palmyra, that mushroom of a day, is level with the ground. Her life is
out. She will be hereafter known but by the fame of her past greatness,
of her matchless Queen, and the glory of the victories that crowned the
arms of Aurelian. What now remains but Persia?'

'The Christians,' said the priest, shortly and bitterly.

'You are right, Fronto; the omens are not to be read otherwise. It is
against them they point. It shall be maturely weighed what shall be
done. When Persia is swept from the field, and Ctesiphon lies as low as
Palmyra, then will I restore the honor of the gods, and let who will
dare to worship other than as I shall ordain! Whoever worships them not,
or other than them, shall die.'

'In that spoke the chief minister of religion--the representative of the
gods. The piety of Aurelian is in the mouths of men not less than his
glory. The city resounds with the praise of him who has enriched the
temples, erected new ones, made ample provision for the priesthood, and
fed the poor. This is the best greatness. Posterity will rather honor
and remember him who saved them their faith, than him who gained a
Persian victory. The victory for Religion too is to be had without cost,
without a step taken from the palace gate or from the side of her who
is alike Aurelian's and the empire's boast.'

'Nay, nay, Fronto, you are over-zealous. This eastern purpose admits not
of delay. Hormisdas is new in his power. The people are restless and
divided. The present is the moment of success. It cannot bear delay.
To-morrow, could it be so, would I start for Thrace. The heavens are
propitious. They frown no longer.'

'The likeliest way, methinks,' replied the priest, 'to insure success
and the continued favor of the gods in that which they do not forbid,
were first to fulfil their commands in what they have enjoined.'

'That, Fronto, cannot be denied. It is of weight. But where, of two
commands, both seem alike urgent, and both cannot be done at once,
whether we will or not, we must choose, and in choosing we may err.'

'To an impartial, pious mind, O Emperor, the god of thy worship never
shone more clear in the heavens than shines his will in the terrific
signs of yesterday. Forgive thy servant, but drawn as thou art by the
image of fresh laurels of victory to be bound about thy brow, of the
rich spoils of Persia, of its mighty monarch at thy chariot wheels, and
the long line of a new triumph sweeping through the gates and the great
heart of the capital,--and thou art blind to the will of the gods,
though writ in the dread convulsions of the elements and the unerring
language of the slaughtered victims.'

'Both may be done--both, Fronto. I blame not your zeal. Your freedom
pleases me. Religion is thus, I know, in good hands. But both I say may
be done. The care of the empire in this its other part may be left to
thee and Varus, with full powers to see that the state, in the matter of
its faith, receives no harm. Your knowledge in this, if not your zeal,
is more than mine. While I meet the enemies of Rome abroad, you shall be
my other self, and gain other victories at home.'

'Little, I fear, Aurelian, could be done even by me and Varus leagued,
with full delegated powers, opposed as we should be by Tacitus and the
senate and the best half of Rome. None, but an arm omnipotent as thine,
can crush this mischief. I see thou knowest not how deep it has struck,
nor how wide it has spread. The very foundations of the throne and the
empire are undermined. The poison of Christian atheism has infected the
whole mind of the people, not only throughout Rome, but Italy, Gaul,
Africa, and Asia. And for this we have to thank whom? Whom but
ourselves? Ever since Hadrian--otherwise a patriot king--built his
imageless temples, in imitation of this barren and lifeless worship;
ever since the weak Alexander and his superstitious mother filled the
imperial palace with their statues of Christ, with preachers and
teachers of his religion; ever since the Philips openly and without
shame professed his faith; ever, I say, since these great examples have
been before the world, has the ancient religion declined its head, and
the new stalked proudly by. Let not Aurelian's name be added to this
fatal list. Let him first secure the honor of the gods--then, and not
till then, seek his own.'

'You urge with warmth, Fronto, and with reason too. Your words are not
wasted; they have fallen where they shall be deeply pondered. In the
meantime I will wait for the judgment of the augurs and haruspices; and
as the colleges report, will hold myself bound so to act.'

So they conversed, and then passed on. I was at that time but little
conversant with the religious condition of the empire. I knew but little
of the character of the prevailing faith and the Pagan priesthood; and I
knew less of the new religion as it was termed. But the instincts of my
heart were from the gods, and they were all for humanity. I loved man,
whoever he was, and of whatever name or faith; and I sickened at
cruelties perpetrated against him, both in war, and by the bloody spirit
of superstition. I burned with indignation therefore as I listened to
the cold-blooded arguings of the bigoted priest, and wept to see how
artfully he could warp aside the better nature of Aurelian, and pour his
own venom into veins, that had else run with human blood, at least not
with the poisoned current of tigers, wolves, and serpents, of every name
and nature most vile. My hope was that, away from his prompter, the
first purpose of Aurelian would return and have its way.




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, this would have been my religion. I should have
forsaken 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 sport was an hundred of the trained
gladiators, most of 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.'

'If report goes true, they won't spoil it long,' replied another.

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 word--a look--a motion--is
enough to inflame 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 the animal'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 run 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 crowd, they will help to
trample him to death. If he is sick or poor, none but his own tribe will
help him. A slave has a better chance. 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, 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 Coelia, 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 attendants, 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 search Rome in vain for better. This I readily
admitted. 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.'

'Falernian 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, when young Flaccus, with a boat-load of
roysterers, dropt 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. It was quickly contradicted, but 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 other of the
suburban villas of our citizens. There is 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 and changing times. Some portions are
new, some old and covered with lichens, mosses, and creeping plants.
Here is a portico of the days 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 the
quarries 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 magnificence. Marcus has
satisfied himself as to the 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 the corruption of morals which is spread everywhere 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 of things corrupt and rotten to the
heart--destructive 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 and oppressed. 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 must be weighed. There is nothing so agreeable in 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 yelping. 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 upon his liberty.'

'Liberty with restraint,' I answered, 'operating upon all, and equally
upon all, is the true account of a state of freedom. Gallus unrestrained
is a slave--a slave of 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, 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 conversation, and
more disjointed and various, which usually accompanies it, Marcus arose,
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 have all been quite tolerable, though amazing--but
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, I leave to women and
priests--concerning myself 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 new-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 philosophical
thing 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 others, and if there be a God
who governs them, 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 or 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 for these things,
either on what is called religion or philosophy.'

'What you say,' I rejoined, 'is partly true. The gods have not left us
dependent exclusively, 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 do, only
with our daily conduct; it cannot answer our doubts, or satisfy our most
real 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 an 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 work out and enjoy their own fancies--they
are a restless, 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 leave their proper vocation, and
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--of 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 his principles might not.' I told him, moreover, 'that I 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 or 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 fulfil 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 mule-load 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 approaching. We sprang from our
seats, when the 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--'

'Yes, alas! 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? How did it happen?'
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 and weeks I now
passed with them. They were heavy, and melancholy indeed; for the
sorrows, of both Lucilia and Marcus, were excessive and inconsolable. I
could do nothing for them, nor say anything to them in the hope to
comfort them; yet, 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. What trace of human
wisdom--much less of divine--would there be in the arrangement, that
should first bind us by chains of affection as 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
opinions,' 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
with violence 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 it is 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 never blamed, condemned, or
ridiculed by it for the indulgence 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, however, because he is 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 honor, 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, therefore, their faith to
be well founded, and how manifest is it that they will necessarily
suffer less under adversity than you; and 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 best 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 is scarcely so much as a mere shred or particle of faith,
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 to be a
subject wholly beyond the scope and grasp of my mind. I cannot entertain
the idea of self-existence. I can conceive of God 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 prove. If it is not believed,
either instinctively, or through the recognition of it, and declaration
of it, in some revelation, it cannot be believed at all. It needs the
mind of God to comprehend God. The mind of man is no more competent to
reach and grasp the theme 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 of duty and piety had been performed, we sought our
pillows. As for me, I could not sleep for thinking of my friends and
their now desolate house. 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 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 dulness, 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 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 part of themselves, and of the life of every day and hour, 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, of either the hope,
or despair of it,--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 to point at the
Christians, some at the meditated expedition 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 me. You pass by my
door on your way to the city. 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 such differences,' I said, 'if
they made one man of more natural strength, or more natural
understanding 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,
one heart, and one head! 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 learn, 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 or the 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 that 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 niece--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 or 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
don'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 ought to be compelled to have it and support it, just as
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,' I observed, '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.
I am not for human sacrifices. Nor do I see the need 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
after them. I long for the news I shall get from Varenus 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 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 or 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 of mere cruel sport, but of
conscience. It would be for 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--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 Nicomachus, 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, with all the reason and eloquence I could bring to
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 that either 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, Nicomachus,' 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, Nicomachus, 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.'

'That is right and noble,' I said; 'it is what I should have looked for
from Mucapor.'

'In good sooth, Nicomachus, I believe you still take me but for what I
was in Palmyra. Who am I?'

'From a princess you have become an Empress, Empress of Rome, 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 have conquered me in Aurelia and now in you.
Well, 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, arose 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 had
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 the gods
themselves. I have long thought so; and, 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 and
indignation, 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 this black
atheism is rooted out. But it is as true, I doubt 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 easy, is necessary. But then it ceases to be
virtue. It is a quality, not an acquisition--a gift of the gods, an
accident, 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 ages of early virtue--after all,
perhaps, like all else at 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 own 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 great and impending wo, because, forsooth, the people 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,
will 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, with 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 series of disasters which have befallen the empire
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 the Capital? 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, Nicomachus?'--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
to be renewed against the Christians. So far 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 supersede older and
degenerate ones; not because they are truer, 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 of such beasts, and such
there always are, who 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 sometime 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
one thing more to what I have said in answer to Fronto, who represents
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, 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, Nicomachus. Not even a Jew or 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
to diminish, not increase them. Has Aurelian ever 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
Christians' 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 and 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.




LETTER VI.

FROM PISO TO FAUSTA.


Having confined myself, in my last letter, to the affairs of Marcus and
Lucilia, I now, Fausta, turn to those which concern us and Rome.

I found, on my return to the city, that the general anxiety concerning
the designs of Aurelian had greatly increased. Many rumors were current
of dark sayings of his, which, whether founded in truth or not,
contributed to alarm even the most hopeful, and raise serious
apprehensions for the fate of this much and long-suffering religion.
Julia herself partakes--I cannot say of the alarm--but of the anxiety.
She has less confidence than I have in the humanity of the Emperor. In
the honours heaped upon Zenobia, and the favors shown herself and
Vabalathus, she sees, not so much the outpouring of benevolent feeling,
as a rather ostentatious display of imperial generosity, and, what is
called, Roman magnanimity. For the true character of the man she looks
into the graves of Palmyra, upon her smoking ruins, and upon the blood,
yet hardly dry, that stains the pavements of the Coelian. Julia may be
right, though I am unwilling to believe it. Her judgment is entitled to
the more weight in this severe decision, that it is ever inclined to the
side of a too favorable opinion of character and motive. You know her
nature too well, to believe her capable of exaggerating the faults of
even the humblest. Yet, though such are her apprehensions, she
manifests the same calm and even carriage as on the approach of more
serious troubles in Palmyra. She is full of deepest interest in the
affairs of the Christians, and by many families of the poorer sort is
resorted to continually for aid, for counsel, or sympathy. Not one in
the whole community is a more frequent and devout attendant upon the
services of the church; and, I need not add, that I am her constant
companion. The performance of this duty gives a value to life in Rome
such as it never had before. Every seventh day, as with the Jews, only
upon a different day of the week, do the Christians assemble for the
purposes of religious worship. And, I can assure you, it is with no
trifling accession of strength for patient doing and patient bearing,
that we return to our every-day affairs, after having listened to the
prayers, the reasonings, or exhortations of Probus.

So great is the difference in my feelings and opinions from what they
were before I left Rome for Palmyra, that it is with difficulty I
persuade myself that I am the same person. Between Piso the Pyrronist
and Piso the Christian, the distance seems immeasurable--yet in how
short a time has it been past. I cannot say that I did not enjoy
existence and value it in my former state, but I can say that my
enjoyment of it is infinitely heightened as a Christian, and the rate at
which I value it infinitely raised. Born and nurtured as I was, with
Portia for my mother, a palace for my home, Rome for my country and
capital, offering all the luxuries of the earth, and affording all the
means I could desire for carrying on researches in study of every kind,
surrounded by friends of the noblest and best families in the city,--I
could not but enjoy life in some very important sense. While mere youth
lasted, and my thoughts never wandered beyond the glittering forms of
things, no one could be happier or more contented. All was fair and
beautiful around me--what could I ask for more? I was satisfied and
filled. But, by and by, my dream of life was disturbed--my sleep broken.
Natural questions began to propose themselves for my solution, such, I
suppose, as, sooner or later, spring up in every bosom. I began to
speculate about myself--about the very self that had been so long, so
busy, about everything else beside itself. I wished to know something of
myself--of my origin, my nature, my present condition, my ultimate fate.
It seemed to me I was too rare and curious a piece of work to go to
ruin, final and inevitable--perhaps to-morrow--at all events in a very
few years. Of futurity I had heard--and of Elysium--just as I had heard
of Jupiter, greatest and best, but, with my earliest youth, these things
had faded from my mind, or had already taken upon themselves the
character of fable. My Virgil, in which I early received my lessons of
language, at once divested them of all their air of reality, and left
them naked fiction. The other poets, Livy helping them, continued the
same work and completed it. But, bent with most serious and earnest
desires toward truth on what seemed to me the greatest theme, I could
not remain where I was, and turned with highest expectations to the
philosophers. I not only read, but I studied and pondered them with
diligence, and with as sincere a desire of arriving at truth as ever
scholar sat at the feet of his instructer. The result was anything but
satisfying, I ended a universal sceptic, so far as human systems of
philosophy were concerned, so far as they pretended to solve the enigma
of God and man, of life and death; but with a heart, nevertheless,
yearning after truth; and even full of faith, if that may be called
faith which would instinctively lay hold upon a God and a hope of
immortality; and, though beaten back once and again, by every form which
the syllogism could assume, still keep its hold.

This was my state, Fausta, when I was found by Christianity. Without
faith, and yet with it; doubting, and yet believing; rejecting
philosophy, but leaning upon nature; dissatisfied, but hoping. I cannot
easily find words to tell you the change which Christian faith has
wrought within me. All I can say is this, that I am now a new man; I am
made over again; I am born as it were into another world. Where darkness
once was, there is now light brighter than the sun. Where doubt was,
there is now certainty. I have knowledge and truth, for error and
perplexity. The inner world of my mind is resplendent with a day whose
luminary will never set. And even the outer world of appearances and
forms shines more gloriously, and has an air of reality which before it
never had. It used to seem to me like the gorgeous fabric of a dream,
and as if, at some unexpected moment, it might melt into air and
nothingness, and I, and all men and things, with it; for there appeared
to be no purpose in it; it came from nothing, it achieved nothing, and
certainly seemed to conduct to nothing. Men, like insects, came and
went; were born, and died, and that was all. Nothing was accomplished,
nothing perfected. But now, nature seems to me stable, and eternal as
God himself. The world being the great birth-place and nursery of these
myriads of creatures, made, as I ever conceived, in a divine likeness,
after some godlike model,--for what spirit of other spheres can be more
beautiful than a perfect man, or a perfect woman--each animated with the
principle of immortality--there is a reason for its existence, and its
perpetuity, from whose force the mind cannot escape. It is, and it ever
will be; and mankind upon it, a continually happier, and more virtuous
brotherhood.

Yes, Fausta, to me as a Christian, everything is new everything better;
the inward world, the outward world, the present, and the future. Life
is a worthier gift, and a richer possession. I am to myself an object of
a thousand-fold greater interest; and every other human being, from a
poor animal, that was scarce worthy its wretched existence, starts up
into a god, for whom the whole earth may, one day, become too narrow a
field either to till, or rule. I am, accordingly, ready to labor both
for myself and others. I once held myself too cheap to do much even for
myself; for others, I would do nothing, except to feed the hunger that
directly appealed to me, or relieve the wretchedness that made me
equally wretched. Not so now. I myself am a different being, and others
are different. I am ready to toil for such beings; to suffer for them.
They are too valuable to be neglected, abused, insulted, trodden into
the dust. They must be defended and rescued, whenever their
fellow-men--wholly ignorant of what they are, and what themselves are
about--would oppress them. More than all, do they need truth,
effectually to enlighten and redeem them, and truth they must have at
whatever cost. Let them only once know what they are, and the world is
safe. Christianity tells them this, and Christianity they must have. The
State must not stand between man and truth! or, if it do, it must be
rebuked by those who have the knowledge and the courage, and made to
assume its proper place and office. Knowing what has been done for me by
Christian truth, I can never be content until to others the same good is
at least offered; and I shall devote what power and means I possess to
this task. The prospect now is of opposition and conflict. But it
dismays not me, nor Julia, nor any of this faith who have truly adopted
its principles. For, if the mere love of fame, the excitement of a
contest, the prospect of pay or plunder, will carry innumerable legions
to the battle-field to leave there their bones, how much more shall the
belief of a Christian arm him for even worse encounters? It were pitiful
indeed, if a possession, as valuable as this of truth, could not inspire
a heroism, which the love of fame or of money can.

These things I have said, to put you fully in possession of our present
position, plans, and purposes. The fate of Christianity is to us now as
absorbing an interest, as once was the fate of Palmyra.

       *       *       *       *       *

I had been in the city only long enough to give Julia a full account of
my melancholy visit in the country, and to write a part of it to you,
when I walked forth to observe for myself the signs which the city might
offer, either to confirm, or allay, the apprehensions which were begun
to be felt.

I took my way over the Palatine, desiring to see the excellent Tacitus,
whose house is there. He was absent, being suddenly called to Baiæ. I
turned toward the Forum, wishing to perform a commission for Julia at
the shop of Civilis--still alive, and still compounding his
sweets--which is now about midway between the slope of the hill and the
Forum, having been removed from its former place where you knew it,
under the eaves of the Temple of Peace. The little man of 'smells' was
at his post, more crooked than ever, but none the less exquisitely
arrayed; his wig befitting a young Bacchus, rather than a dried shred of
a man beyond his seventieth year. All the gems of the east glittered on
his thin fingers, and diamonds, that might move the envy of Livia, hung
from his ears. The gales of Arabia, burdened with the fragrance of every
flower of that sunny clime, seemed concentrated into an atmosphere
around him; and, in truth, I suppose a specimen of every pot and phial
of his vast shop, might be found upon his person concealed in gold
boxes, or hanging in the merest fragments of bottles upon chains of
silver or gold, or deposited in folds of his ample robes. He was odor in
substantial form. He saluted me with a grace, of which he only in Rome
is master, and with a deference that could not have been exceeded had I
been Aurelian. I told him that I wished to procure a perfume of Egyptian
origin and name, called Cleopatra's tears, which was reputed to convey
to the organs of smell, an odor more exquisite than that of the rarest
Persian rose, or choicest gums of Arabia. The eyes of Civilis kindled
with the fires of twenty--when love's anxious brow is suddenly cleared
up by that little, but all comprehensive word, yes--as he answered,

'Noble Piso, I honor you. I never doubted your taste. It is seen in your
palace, in your dress, nay, in the very costume of your incomparable
slave, who has done me the honor to call here in your service. But now
have you given of it the last and highest proof. Never has the wit of
man before compounded an essence like that which lies buried in this
porphyry vase.'

'You do not mean that I am to take away a vase of that size? I do not
purchase essences by the pound!'

Civilis seemed as if he would have fainted, so oppressed was he by this
display of ignorance. My character, I found, was annihilated in a
moment. When his presence of mind was recovered, he said,

'This vase? Great Jupiter! The price of your palace upon the Coelian
would scarce purchase it! Were its contents suddenly let loose, and
spilled upon the air, not Rome only, but Italy, would be bathed in the
transporting, life-giving fragrance! Now I shall remove the cover, first
giving you to know, that within this larger vase there is a number of
smallest bottles, some of glass, others of gold, in each of which are
contained a few of the tears, and which are warranted to retain their
potency, and lend their celestial peculiarity to your clothes or your
apartments, without loss or diminution in the least appreciable degree,
during the life of the purchaser. Now, if it please you, bend this way,
and receive the air which I shall presently set free. How think you,
noble Piso? Art not a new man?

'I am new in my knowledge such as it is Civilis. It is certainly
agreeable, most agreeable.'

'Agreeable! So is mount Etna a pretty hill! So is Aurelian a fair
soldier! so is the sun a good sized brazier! I beseech thee, find
another word. Let it not go forth to all Rome, that the most noble Piso
deems the tears of Cleopatra agreeable!'

'I can think no otherwise,' I replied. 'It is really agreeable, and
reminds me, more than anything else, of the oldest Falernian, just
rubbed between the palms of the hand, which you will allow is to
compliment it in no moderate measure. But confess now, Civilis, that you
have an hundred perfumes more delicious than this.'

'Piso, I may say this,--they have been so.'

'Ah, I understand you; you admit then, that it is the force of fashion
that lends this extraordinary odor to the porphyry vase.'

'Truly, noble Piso, it has somewhat to do with it, it must be
acknowledged.'

'It would be curious, Civilis, to know what name this bore, and in what
case it was bestowed, and at what price sold, before the Empress Livia
fancied it. I think it should have been named, 'Livia's smiles.' It
would, at any rate, be a good name for it at thy shop in Alexandria.'

'You are facetious, noble Piso. But that last hint is too good to be
thrown away. Truly, you are a man of the world, whose distinction I
suppose is, that he has eyes in the hind part of his head, as well as
before. But what blame can be mine for such dealing? I am driven; I am a
slave. It is fashion, that works these wonders, not I. And there is no
goddess, Piso, like her. She is the true creator. Upon that which is
worthless, can she bestow, in a moment, inestimable value. What is
despised to-day, she can exalt to-morrow to the very pinnacle of honor.
She is my maker. One day I was poor, the goddess took me by the hand,
and smiled upon me, and the next day I was rich. It was the favorite
mistress of Maximin, who, one day--her chariot, Piso, so chance would
have it, broke down at my door, when she took refuge in my little shop,
then at the corner of the street Castor as you turn towards the
Tiber--purchasing a particular perfume, of which I had large store, and
boasted much to her, gave me such currency among the rich and noble,
that, from that hour, my fortune was secure. No one bought a perfume
afterwards but of Civilis. Civilis was soon the next person to the
Emperor. And, to this hour, has this same goddess befriended me. And
many an old jar, packed away in the midst of rubbish in dark recesses
now valueless, do I look upon as nevertheless so much gold--its now
despised contents one day to disperse themselves upon kings and nobles,
in the senate and the theatres. I need not tell you what this diminutive
bottle might have been had for, before the Kalends. Yet, by Hercules,
should I have sold it even then for less? for should I not have divined
its fortune? The wheel is ever turning, turning. But, most excellent
Piso, men of the world are ever generous--'

'Fear nothing, Civilis, I will not betray you. I believe you have spoken
real truths. Besides, with Livia on your side, and what could all Rome
do to hurt you?'

'Most true, most true. But, may I ask--for one thing has made me
astonished--how is it that you, being now, as report goes, a Christian,
should come to me to purchase essences? When I heard you had so named
yourself, I looked to lose your custom forever after.'

'Why should not a Christian man smell of that which is agreeable, as
well as another?'

'Ah, that I cannot say. I have heard--I know nothing, Piso, beyond
essences and perfumes--but, I have heard, that the Christians forbear
such things, calling them vanities; just as they withdraw too, 'tis
said, from the theatres and the circuses.'

'They do, indeed, withdraw from the theatres and circuses, Civilis,
because the entertainments witnessed there do, as they judge, serve but
to make beasts of men; they minister to vice. But in a sweet smell they
see no harm, any more than in a silk dress, in well-proportioned
buildings, or magnificent porticoes. Why should it be very wrong or very
foolish to catch the odors which the divine Providence plants in the
rose, and in a thousand flowers and gums as they wander forth upon the
air for our delight, and fasten them up in these little bottles? by
which means we can breathe them at all times--in winter as well as in
summer, in one country, or clime, as in another. Thy shop, Civilis, is
but a flower-garden in another form, and under another name.'

'I shall think better of the Christians for this. I hardly believed the
report, indeed, for it were most unnatural and strange to find fault
with odors such as these. I shall lament the more, that they are to be
so dealt with by the Emperor. Hast thou heard what is reported this
morning?'

'No; I am but just from home. How does it go?'

'Why, 'tis nothing other nor less than this, that Aurelian, being
resolved to change the Christians all back again into what they were,
has begun with his niece the princess Aurelia, and, with violence,
insists that she shall sacrifice--which she steadfastly refuses to do.
Some say, that she has not been seen at the palace for several days, and
that she is fast locked up in the great prison on the Tiber.'

'I do not believe a word of it, Civilis. The Emperor has of late used
harsh language of the Christians, I know. But for one word he has
spoken, the city has coined ten. And, moreover, the words of the priest
Fronto are quoted for those of Aurelian. It is well known he is
especially fond of Aurelia; and Mucapor, to whom she is betrothed, is
his favorite among all his generals, not excepting Probus.'

'Well, well, may it be as you say! I, for my part, should be sorry that
any mishap befel those with whom the most noble Piso is connected;
especially seeing they do not quarrel, as I was fain to believe, with my
calling. Yet, never before, as I think, have I seen a Christian in my
shop.'

'They may have been here without your knowing it.'

'Yes, that is true.'

'Besides, the Christians being in the greater proportion of the middle
or humbler classes, seek not their goods at places where emperors
resort. They go elsewhere.'

Civilis bowed to the floor, as he replied, 'You do me too much honor.'

'The two cases of perfume which I buy,' I then said, 'are to travel into
the far East. Please to secure them accordingly.'

'Are they not then for the princess Julia, as I supposed?'

'They are for a friend in Syria. We wish her to know what is going on
here in the capital of all the world.'

'By the gods! you have devised well. It is the talk all over Rome.
Cleopatra's tears have taken all hearts. Orders from the provinces will
soon pour in. They shall follow you well secured, as you say.'

I enjoy a call upon this whole Roman, and yet half Jew, as much as upon
the first citizens of the capital. The cup of Aurelian, is no fuller
than the cup of Civilis. The perfect bliss that emanates from his
countenance, and breathes from his form and gait, is pleasing to
behold--upon whatever founded--seeing it is a state that is reached by
so few. No addition could be made to the felicity of this fortunate man.
He conceives his occupation to be more honorable than the proconsulship
of a province, and his name, he pleases himself with believing, is
familiar to more ears than any man's, save the Emperor's, and has been
known in Rome for a longer period than any other person's living,
excepting only the head of the Senate, the venerable Tacitus. This is
all legible in the lines about his mouth and eyes.

Leaving the heaven of the happy man, I turned to the Forum of Augustus,
to look at a statue of brass, of Aurelian, just placed among the great
men of Rome in front of the Temple of Mars, the Avenger. This statue is
the work of Periander, who, with that universality of power which marks
the Greek, has made his genius as distinguished here for sculpture, as
it was in Palmyra for military defence and architecture. Who, for
perfection in this art of arts, is to be compared with the Greek? or
for any work, of either the head or the hands, that implies the
possession of what we mean by genius? The Greeks have not only
originated all that we know of great and beautiful in letters,
philosophy and the arts, but, what they have originated, they have also
perfected. Whatever they have touched, they have finished; at least, so
far as art, and the manner of working, is concerned. The depths of all
wisdom and philosophy they have not sounded indeed, though they have
gone deeper than any, only because they are in their own essence
unfathomable. Time, as it flows on, bears us to new regions to be
explored, whose riches constantly add new stores to our wisdom, and open
new views to science. But in all art they have reached a point beyond
which none have since advanced, and beyond which it hardly seems
possible to go. A doric column, a doric temple, a corinthian capital, a
corinthian temple--these perfectly satisfy and fill the mind; and, for
seven hundred years, no change or addition has been made or attempted
that has not been felt to be an injury. And I doubt not that seven
thousand years hence, if time could but spare it so long, pilgrims would
still go in search of the beautiful from the remotest parts of the
world, from parts now unknown, to worship before the Parthenon, and, may
I not add, the Temple of the Sun in Palmyra!

Periander has gained new honors by this admirable piece of work. I had
hardly commenced my examination of it, when a grating voice at my elbow,
never, once heard, to be mistaken for any other, croaked out what was
meant as a challenge.

'The greatest captain of this or of any age!'

It was Spurius, a man whom no slight can chill nor, even insult, cause
to abate the least of his intrusive familiarity--a familiarity which he
covets, too, only for the sake of disputation and satire. To me,
however, he is never other than a source of amusement. He is a variety
of the species I love occasionally to study.

I told him I was observing the workmanship, without thinking of the man
represented.

'If you will allow me to say it,' he rejoined, 'a very inferior subject
of contemplation. A statue--as I take it, the thing, that is, for which
it is made, is commemoration. If one wants to see fine work in marble,
there is the cornice for him just overhead: or in brass, let him look at
the doors of the new temple, or the last table or couch of Syphax. The
proper subject for man is man.'

'Well, Spurius, on your own ground then. In this brass I do not see
brass, nor yet Aurelian--'

'What then, in the name of Hecate?'

'Nothing but intellect--the mind, the soul of the greater artist,
Periander. That drapery never fell so upon Aurelian; nor was Aurelian's
form or bearing ever like this. It is all ennobled, and exalted above
pure nature, by the divine power of genius. The true artist, under every
form and every line of nature, sees another form and line of more
perfect grace and beauty, which he chooses instead, and makes it visible
and permanent in stone or brass. You see nothing in me, but merely Piso
as he walks the streets. Periander sees another within, bearing no more
resemblance to me--yet as much--than does this, to Aurelian.'

'That, I simply conceive, to be so much sophistry,' rejoined the poet,
'which no man would be guilty of, except he had been for the very
purpose, as one must think, of degrading his intellect, to the Athenian
schools. Still, as I said and think, the statue is made to commemorate
the man represented, not the artist.'

'It is made for that. But, oftentimes, the very name of the man
commemorated is lost, while that of the artist lives forever. In my
judgment there is as much of Periander in the statue as there is of
Aurelian.'

'I know not what the fame of this great Periander may be ages hence. It
has not till now reached my ear.'

'It is not easy to reach the ear of some who dwell in the via coeli.'
I could not help saying that.

'My rooms, sir, I would inform you,' he rejoined sharply, 'are on the
third floor.'

'Then I do wonder you should not have heard of Periander.'

'Greater than Aurelian! and I must wonder too. A poet may be greater
than a general or an emperor, I grant: he is one of the family of the
gods; but how a worker in brass or marble can be, passes my poor
understanding. It is vain to attempt to raise the mere artist, to the
level of the historian or poet.'

'I think that too. I only said he was greater than Aurelian--'

'Than Aurelian,' replied Spurius, 'who has extended the bounds of the
empire!'

'But narrowed those of human happiness,' I answered. 'Which is of more
consequence, empire or man? But now, man was the great object! I grant
you he is, and for that reason a man who, like an artist of genius, adds
to the innocent sources of human enjoyment, is greater than the soldier
and conqueror, whose business is the annoyance and destruction of life.
Aurelian has slain hundreds of thousands. Periander never injured a
worm. He dwells in a calm and peaceful world of his own, and his works
are designed to infuse the same spirit that fills himself into all who
behold them. You must confess the superior power of art, and of the
artist, in this very figure. Who thinks of conquest, blood, and death,
as he looks upon these flowing outlines, this calm, majestic form--upon
that still face? The artist here is the conqueror of the conqueror, and
makes him subserve his own purposes; purposes, of a higher nature than
the mere soldier ever dreamed of. No one can stand and contemplate this
form, without being made a lover of beauty rather than of blood and
death; and beauty is peace.'

'It must be impossible,' replied the bitter spirit, 'for one who loves
Palmyra better than his native Rome, to see much merit in Aurelian. It
is a common saying, Piso is a Palmyrene. The report is current too that
Piso is about to turn author, and celebrate that great nation in
history.'

'I wish I were worthy to do so,' I answered, 'I might then refute
certain statements in another quarter. Yet events have already refuted
them.'

'If my book,' replied Spurius, 'be copied a thousand times, the
statements shall stand as they are. They are founded upon indisputable
evidence and philosophical inferences.'

'But, Spurius, they are every one contradicted by the late events.'

'No matter for that, if they were ever true they must always be true.
Reasoning is as strong as fact. I found Palmyra a vulgar, upstart,
provincial city; the most distasteful of all spots on earth to a refined
mind; such I left it, and such I have shown it to the world.'

'Yet,' I urged, 'if the Palmyrenes in the defence of their country
showed themselves a brave, daring, and dangerous foe, as they certainly
were magnanimous; if so many facts and events prove this, and all Rome
admits it, it will seem like little else than malice for such pages to
circulate in your book. Besides, as to a thousand other things I can
prove you to have seen amiss.'

'Because I have but one eye, am I incapable of vision? Am I to be
reproached with my misfortunes? One eye is the same as two; who sees two
images except he squint? I can describe that wain, loaded down with wine
casks, drawn by four horses with scarlet trappings, the driver with a
sweeping Juno's favor in his cap, as justly as you can. Who can see
more?'

'I thought not, Spurius, of your misfortune, though I must think two
eyes better for seeing than one, but only of favorable opportunities for
observation. You were in Palmyra from the ides of January to the nones
of February, and lived in a tavern. I have been there more than half a
year, and dwelt among the citizens themselves. I knew them in public and
in private, and saw them under all circumstances most favorable to a
just opinion, and I can affirm that a more discolored picture of a
people was never drawn than yours.'

'All the world,' said the creature, 'knows that Spurius is no flatterer.
I have not only published travels among the Palmyrenes, but I intend to
publish a poem also--yes, a satire--and if it should be entitled
"Woman's pride humbled," or "The downfall of false greatness" or "The
gourd withered in a day," or "Mushrooms not oaks," or "Ants not
elephants," what would there be wonderful in it?--or, if certain Romans
should figure largely in it, eh?'

'Nothing is less wonderful, Spurius, than the obstinacy and
tenaciousness of error?'

'Periander greater than Aurelian!' rejoined he, moving off; 'that is a
good thing for the town.'

As I turned, intending to visit the shop of Demetrius, to see what
progress he was making in his silver Apollo, I was accosted by the
consul, Marcellinus.

'A fair morning to you, Piso,' said he; 'and I see you need the
salutation and the wish, for a black cloud has just drifted from you,
and you must still feel as if under the shadow. Half the length of the
street, as I slowly approached, have I witnessed your earnest discourse
with one whom, I now see, to have been Spurius. But I trust your
Christian principles are not about to make an agrarian of you? Whence
this sudden intimacy with one like Spurius?'

'One need not, I suppose, be set down as a lover of an east wind because
they both sometimes take the same road, and can scarcely separate if
they would? But, to speak the truth, a man is to me a man, and I never
yet have met one of the race from whom I could not gain either
amusement, instruction, or warning. Spurius is better than a lecture
from a philosopher, upon the odiousness of prejudice. To any one
inclined to harbor prejudices would I recommend an hour's interview with
Spurius, sooner far than I would send him to Cleanthes the Stoic, or
Silius the Platonist, or, I had almost said Probus the Christian.'

'May I ask, Piso, if you have in sober earnest joined yourself to the
community of the Christians, or, are you only dallying for awhile with
their doctrines, just as our young men are this year infected by the
opinions of Cleanthes, the next followers of Silius, the third of the
nuisance Crito, and the fourth, adrift from all, and the fifth, good
defenders, if not believers, of the popular superstitions? I presume I
may believe that such is the case with you. I trust so, for the times
are not favorable for the Christians, and I would like to know that you
were not of them.'

'I am however of them, with earnestness. I have been a Christian ever
since I first thoroughly comprehended what it meant.'

'But how can it be possible that, standing as you do at the head as it
were of the nobility and wealth of Rome, you can confound yourself with
this obscure and vulgar tribe? I know that some few of reputation are
with them beside yourself; but how few! Come, come, disabuse yourself of
this error and return to the old, safe, and reputable side.'

'If mere fancy, Marcellinus, had carried me over to the Christians,
fancy or whim might bring me away from them. But if it be, on the other
hand, a question of truth, then it is clear, fashion and respectability,
and even what is safest, or most expedient, are arguments not to be so
much as lisped.'

'No more, no more! I see how it is. You are fairly gone from us.
Nevertheless, though it may be thought needful to check the growth of
this sect, I shall hope that your bark may sail safely along. But this
reported disappearance of Aurelia shows that danger is not far off.'

'Do you then credit the rumor?'

'I can do no otherwise. It is in every part of the town. I shall learn
the truth at the capitol. I go to meet the senate.'

'One moment: Is my judgment of the senate a right one in this, that it
would not second Aurelian in an attack upon the privileges, property, or
lives of the Christians?'

'I think it is. Although, as I know, there are but few Christians in the
body--how many you know surely better than I--yet I am persuaded it
would be averse to acts of intolerance and persecution. Will you not
accompany me to the sitting?'

'Not so early. I am first bound elsewhere.'

'You know, Fausta, that I avoid the senate. Being no longer a senate, a
Roman senate, but a mere gathering of the flatterers of the reigning
Emperor, whoever he may be, neither pleasure nor honor can come of their
company. There is one aspect however, at the present moment, in which
this body is to be contemplated with interest. It is not, in matters of
religion, a superstitious body. Here it stands, between Aurelian with
the populace on his side, and the Christians, or whatever religious body
or sect there should be any design to oppress or exterminate. It
consists of the best and noblest, and richest, of Rome; of those who
have either imbibed their opinions in philosophy and religion from the
ancient philosophers or their living representatives, or are indifferent
and neglectful of the whole subject; which is the more common case. In
either respect they are as a body tolerant of the various forms which
religion or superstition may assume. The only points of interest or
inquiry with them would be, whether any specified faith or ceremonies
tended to the injury of the state? whether they affected to its damage
the existing order of civil affairs? These questions being answered
favorably on the part of the greater number, there would be no
disposition to interfere. Of Christianity, the common judgment in that
body, and among those in the capital who are of the same general rank,
is for the most part favorable. It is commended for its modesty, for the
quiet and unostentatious manner in which its religious affairs are
managed, and for the humble diligence with which it concerns itself with
the common people and the poor, carefully instructing them in the
doctrines of their religion, and relieving liberally their necessities.
I am persuaded, that any decision of the senate concerning the
Christians, would be indulgent and paternal, and that it would, in
opinion and feeling, be opposed to any violence whatever on the part of
Aurelian. But then, alas! it is little that they can do with even the
best purposes. The Emperor is absolute--the only power, in truth, in the
state. The senate exists but in name and form. It has even less
independent power than that of Palmyra had under Zenobia. Yours, indeed,
was dependent through affection and trust, reposing in a higher wisdom
than its own. This, through fear and the spirit of flattery. So many
members too were added, after the murderous thinning of its seats in the
affair of the mint, that, now, scarce a voice would be raised in open
opposition to any course the Emperor might adopt. The new members being
moreover of newer families, nearer the people, are less inclined than
the others to resist any of his measures. Still, it is most evident
that there is an under current of ill-will, opposition, jealousy,
distrust, running through the body, which, if the opportunity should
present itself, and there were courage enough for the work, may show
itself and make itself felt and respected. The senate, in a word, though
slavish and subservient, is not friendly.

But I am detaining you from the company of Demetrius, of which you were
always fond. I soon reached his rich establishment, and being assured
that he of Palmyra was within, I entered. First passing through many
apartments, filled with those who were engaged in some one of the
branches of this beautiful art, I came to that which was sacred to the
labors of the two brothers, who are employed in the invention of the
designs of their several works, in drawing the plans, in preparing the
models, and then in overseeing the younger artists at their tasks,
themselves performing all the higher and more difficult parts of the
labor. Demetrius was working alone at his statue; the room in which he
was, being filled either with antiquities in brass, ivory, silver, or
gold, or with finished specimens of his own and his brother's skill, all
disposed with the utmost taste, and with all the advantages to be
derived from the architecture of the room, from a soft and mellowed
light resembling moonlight which came through alabaster windows, from
the rich cloths, silks, and other stuffs, variously disposed around, and
from the highly ornamented cabinets in which articles of greatest
perfection and value were kept and exhibited. Here stood the enthusiast,
applying himself so intently to his task, that he neither heard the
door of the apartment as it opened, nor the voice of the slave who
announced my name. But, in a moment, as he suddenly retreated to a dark
recess to observe from that point the effect of his touches as he
proceeded, he saw me, and cried out,

'Most glad to greet you here, Piso; your judgment is, at this very
point, what I shall be thankful for. Here, if it please you, move to the
very spot in which I now am in, and tell me especially this, whether the
finger of the right hand should not be turned a line farther toward the
left of the figure. The metal is obstinate, but still it can be bent if
necessary. Now judge, and speak your judgment frankly, for my sake.'

I sank back into the recess as desired, and considered attentively the
whole form, rough now and from the moulds, and receiving the first
finishing touches from the rasp and the chisel. I studied it long and at
my leisure, Demetrius employing himself busily about some other matter.
It is a beautiful and noble figure, worthy any artist's reputation of
any age, and of a place in the magnificent temple for which it is
designed. So I assured Demetrius, giving him at length my opinion upon
every part. I ended with telling him I did not believe that any effect
would be gained by altering the present direction of the finger. It had
come perfect from the moulds.

'Is that your honest judgment, Piso? Christians, they say, ever speak
the exact truth. Fifty times have I gone where you now are to determine
the point. My brother says it is right. But I cannot tell. I have
attempted the work in too much haste; but Aurelian thinks, I believe,
that a silver man may be made as easily as a flesh one may be unmade.
Rome is not Palmyra, Piso. What a life there for an artist! Calm as a
summer sea. Here! by all the gods and goddesses! if one hears of
anything but of blood and death! Heads all on where they should be
to-day, to-morrow are off. To-day, captives cut up on the altars of some
accursed god, and to-morrow thrown to some savage beast, no better and
no worse, for the entertainment of savages worse than either or all. The
very boys in the streets talk of little else than of murderous sports of
gladiators or wild animals. I swear to you, a man can scarce collect or
keep his thoughts here. What's this about the Christians too? I marvel,
Piso, to see you here alive! They say you are to be all cut up root and
branch. Take my advice, and fly with me back to Palmyra! Not another
half year would I pass among these barbarians for all the patronage of
the Emperor, his minions, and the senate at their heels. What say you?'

'No, Demetrius, I cannot go; but I should not blame you for going. Rome
is no place, I agree with you, for the life contemplative, or for the
pure and innocent labors of art. It is the spot for intense action;
but--'

'Suffering you mean--'

'That too, most assuredly, but of action too. It is the great heart of
the world.'

'Black as Erebus and night.'

'Yes, but still a great one, which, if it can be once made to beat true,
will send its blood, then a pure and life-giving current, to the
remotest extremities of the world, which is its body. I hope for the
time to come when this will be true. There is more goodness in Rome,
Demetrius, than you have heard, or known of. There is a people here
worth saving: I, with the other Christians, am set to this work. We must
not abandon it.'

''Twill be small comfort though, should you all perish doing it.'

'Our perishing might be but the means of new and greater multitudes
springing up to finish what we had begun, but left incomplete. There is
great life in death. Blood, spilled upon the ground, is a kind of seed
that comes up men. Truth is not extinguished by putting out life. It
then seems to shine the more brightly, as if the more to cheer and
comfort those who are suffering and dying for it.'

'That may, or may not be,' said the artist, 'here and there; but, in my
judgment, if this man-slayer, this world-butcher once fastens his
clutches upon your tribe, he will leave none to write your story. How
many were left in Palmyra?--Just, Piso, resume your point of
observation, and judge whether this fold of the drapery were better as
it is, or joined to the one under it, an alteration easily made.'

I gave him my opinion, and he went on filing and talking.

'And now, Piso, if I must tell you, I have conceived a liking for you
Christians, and it is for this reason partly I would have you set about
to escape the evil that is at least threatened. Here is my brother,
whose equal the world does not hold, is become a Christian. Then, do you
know, here is a family, just in the rear of our shop, of one Macer, a
Christian and a preacher, that has won upon us strangely. I see much of
them. Some of his boys are in a room below, helping on by their labor
the support of their mother and those who are younger, for I trow, Macer
himself does little for them, whatever he may be doing for the world at
large, or its great heart as you call it. But, what is more still,'
cried he with emphasis, and a jump at the same moment, throwing down his
tools, 'do you know the Christians have some sense of what is good in
our way? they aspire to the elegant, as well as others who are in better
esteem.'

And as he finished, he threw open the doors of a small cabinet, and
displayed a row of dishes, cups, and pitchers, of elegant form and
workmanship.

'These,' he went on, 'are for the church of Felix, the bishop of the
Christians. What they do with them I know not; but, as I was told by the
bishop, they have a table or altar of marble, on which, at certain
times, they are arranged for some religious rite or other. They are not
of gold, as they seem, but of silver gilded. My brother furnished the
designs, and put them into the hands of Flaccus, who wrought them.
Neither I nor my brother could labor at them, as you may believe, but it
shows a good ambition in the Christians to try for the first skill in
Rome or the world,--does it not? They are a promising people.'

Saying which, he closed the doors and flew to his work again.

At the same moment the door of the apartment opened, and the brother
Demetrius entered accompanied by Probus. When our greetings were over,
Probus said, continuing as it seemed a conversation just broken off,

'I did all I could to prevent it, but the voice of numbers was against
me, and of authority too, and, both together, they prevailed. You, I
believe, stood neuter, or indeed, I may suppose, knew nothing about the
difference?'

'As you suppose,' replied the elder Demetrius, 'I knew nothing of it,
but designed the work and have completed it. Here it is.' And going to
the same cabinet, again opened the doors and displayed the contents.
Probus surveyed them with a melancholy air, saying, as he did so,

'I could bear that the vessels, used for the purpose to which these are
destined, should be made of gold, or even of diamond itself, could mines
be found to furnish it, and skill to hollow it out. For, we know, the
wine which these shall hold is that which, in the way of symbol, shadows
forth the blood of Christ which, by being shed on the cross, purchased
for us this Christian truth and hope; and what should be set out with
every form of human honor, if not this?'

'I think so,' replied Demetrius; 'to that which we honor and reverence
in our hearts we must add the outward sign and testimony; especially
moreover if we would affect, in the same way that ours are, the minds of
others. Paganism understands this; and it is the pomp and magnificence
of her ceremony, the richness of the temple service, the grandeur of her
architecture, and the imposing array of her priests in their robes,
ministering at the altars or passing through the streets in gorgeous
procession, with banners, victims, garlands, and music, by which the
populace are gained and kept. That must be founded on just principles,
men say, on which the great, the learned, and the rich, above all the
State itself, are so prompt to lavish so much splendor and wealth.'

'But here is a great danger,' Probus replied. 'This, carried too far,
may convert religion into show and ostentation. Form and ceremony, and
all that is merely outward and material, may take the place of the
moral. Religion may come to be a thing apart by itself, a great act, a
tremendous and awful rite, a magnificent and imposing ceremony, instead
of what it is in itself, simply a principle of right action toward man
and toward God. This is at present just the character and position of
the Roman religion. It is a thing that is to be seen at the temples, but
nowhere else; it is a worship through sacrifices and prayers, and that
is all. The worshipper at the temple may be a tyrant at home, a
profligate in the city, a bad man everywhere, and yet none the less a
true worshipper. May God save the religion of Christ from such
corruption! Yet is the beginning to be discerned. A decline has already
begun. Rank and power are already sought with an insane ambition, even
by ministers of Christ. They are seeking to transfer to Christianity the
same outward splendor, and the same gilded trappings, which, in the
rites and ceremonies of the popular faith, they see so to subdue the
imagination, and lead men captive. Hence, Piso and Demetrius, the golden
chair of Felix, and his robes of audience, on which there is more gold,
as I believe, than would gild all these cups and pitchers; hence, too,
the finery of the table, the picture behind it, and, in some churches,
the statues of Christ, of Paul, and Peter. These golden vessels for the
supper of Christ's love, I can forgive--I can welcome them--but in the
rest that has come, and is coming, I see signs of danger.'

'But, most excellent Probus,' said the younger Demetrius, 'I like not
to hear the arts assailed and represented dangerous. I have just been
telling Piso, that you are a people to be respected, for you were
beginning to honor the arts. Yet here now you are denouncing them. But,
let me ask, what harm could it do any good man among you, to come and
look at this figure of Apollo, or a statue of your Paul or Peter, as you
name them--supposing they were just men and benefactors of their race?'

'There ought to be none,' Probus replied. 'It ought to be a source of
innocent pleasure, if not of wholesome instruction, to gaze upon the
imitated form of a good man--of a reformer, a benefactor, a prophet. But
man is so prone to religion,--it is an honorable instinct--that you can
scarce place before him an object of reverence but he will straightway
worship it. What were your gods but once men, first revered, then
worshipped, and now their stone images deemed to be the very gods
themselves? Thus the original idea--the effect, we may believe, of an
early revelation--of one supreme Deity has been almost lost out of the
world. Let the figure of Christ be everywhere set before the people in
stone or metal, and, what with the natural tendency of the mind to
idolatry, and the force of example in the common religion, I fear it
would not be long before he, whom we now revere as a prophet, would soon
be worshipped as a god; and the disciples whom you have named, in like
manner, would no longer be remembered with gratitude and affection as
those who devoted their lives to the service of their fellow-men, but be
adored as inferior Deities, like your Castor and Pollux. I can conceive
that, in the lapse of ages, men shall be so redeemed from the gross
conceptions that now inthrall them concerning both God and his worship,
and so nourished up to a divine strength by the power of truth, they
shall be in no danger from such sources; but shall reap all the pleasure
and advantage which can be derived from beautiful forms of art and the
representation of great and excellent characters, without ever dreaming
that any other than the infinite and invisible Spirit of the universe is
to be worshipped, or held divine. The religion of Christ will itself, if
aught can do it, bring about such a period.'

'That then will be the time for artists to live, next after now,' said
Demetrius of Palmyra. 'In the meantime, Probus, if Hellenism should
decline and die, and your strict faith take its place, art will decline
and perish. We live chiefly by the gods and their worship.'

'If our religion,' replied Probus, 'should suffer injury from its own
professors, in the way it has, for a century or two more, it will give
occupation enough to artists. Its corruptions will do the same for you
that the reign of absolute and perfect truth would.'

'The gods then grant that the corruptions you speak of may come in
season, before I die. I am tired of Jupiters, Mercurys, and Apollos. I
have a great fancy to make a statue of Christ. Brother! what think you,
should I reach it? Most excellent Probus, should I make you such an one
for your private apartments I do not believe you would worship it, and
doubtless it would afford you pleasure. If you will leave a commission
for such a work, it shall be set about so soon as this god of the
Emperor's is safe on his pedestal. What think you?'

'I should judge you took me, Demetrius, for the priest of a temple, or a
noble of the land. The price of such a piece of sculpture would swallow
up more than all I am worth. Besides, though I might not worship
myself--though I say not but I might--I should give an ill example to
others, who, if they furnished themselves or their churches with similar
forms, might not have power over themselves, but relapse into the
idolatry from which they are but just escaped.'

'All religions, as to their doctrine and precept, are alike to me,'
replied Demetrius, 'only, as a general principle, I should ever prefer
that which has the most gods. Rome shows excellent judgment in adopting
all the gods of the earth, so that if the worship of one god will not
bring prosperity to the nation, there are others in plenty to try their
fortune with again. Never doubt, brother, that it is because you
Christians have no gods, that the populace and others are so hostile to
you. Only set up a few images of Christ, and some of the other founders
of the religion, and your peace will be made. Otherwise I fear this
man-killer will, like some vulture, pounce upon you and tear you
piecemeal. What, brother, have you learned of Aurelia?'

'Nothing with certainty. I could find only a confirmation from every
mouth, but based on no certain knowledge, of the rumor that reached us
early in the morning. But what is so universally reported, generally
turns out true. I should, however, if I believed the fact of her
imprisonment, doubt the cause. I said that I could conceive of no other
cause, and feared that if the fact were so, the religion of Aurelian was
the reason of her being so dealt with. It was like Aurelian, if he had
resolved upon oppressing the Christians to any extent whatever, that he
should begin with those who were nearest to him; first with his own
blood, and then with those of his household.'

With this, and such like conversation, I passed a pleasant hour at the
rooms of Demetrius.

       *       *       *       *       *

My wish was, as I turned from the apartments of Demetrius, to seek the
Emperor or Livia, and learn from them the exact truth concerning the
reports current through the city. But, giving way to that weakness which
defers to the latest possible moment the confirmation of painful news,
and the resolution of doubts which one would rather should remain as
doubts than be determined the wrong way, in melancholy mood, I turned
and retraced my steps. My melancholy was changed to serious apprehension
by all that I observed and heard on my way to the Coelian. As the
crowd in this great avenue, the Suburra, pressed by me, it was easy to
gather that the Christians had become the universal topic of
conversation and dispute. The name of the unhappy Aurelia frequently
caught my ear. Threatening and ferocious language dropt from many, who
seemed glad that at length an Emperor had arisen who would prove
faithful to the institutions of the country. I joined a little group of
gazers before the window of the rooms of Periander, at which something
rare and beautiful is always to be seen, who, I found, were looking
intently at a picture, apparently just from the hands of the artist,
which represented Rome under the form of a beautiful woman--Livia had
served as the model--with a diadem upon her head, and the badges of
kingly authority in her hands, and at her side a priest of the Temple
of Jupiter, "Greatest and Best", in whose face and form might plainly be
traced the cruel features of Fronto. The world was around them. On the
lowest earth, with dark shadows settling over them, lay scattered and
broken, in dishonor and dust, the emblems of all the religions of the
world, their temples fallen and in ruins. Among them, in the front
ground of the picture, was the prostrate cross, shattered as if dashed
from the church, whose dilapidated walls and wide-spread fragments bore
testimony not so much to the wasting power of time as to the rude hand
of popular violence; while, rearing themselves up into a higher
atmosphere, the temples of the gods of Rome stood beautiful and perfect,
bathed in the glowing light of a morning sun. The allegory was plain and
obvious enough. There was little attractive, save the wonderful art with
which it was done. This riveted the eye; and that being gained, the
bitter and triumphant bigotry of the ideas set forth had time to make
its way into the heart of the beholder, and help to change its warm
blood to gall. Who but must be won by the form and countenance of the
beautiful Livia? and, confounding Rome with her, be inspired with a new
devotion to his country, and its religion, and its lovely queen? The
work was inflaming and insidious, as it was beautiful. This was seen in
what it drew from those among whom I stood.

'By Jupiter!' said one, 'that is well done. They are all down, who can
deny it! Those are ruins not to be built up again. Who, I wonder, is the
artist? He must be a Roman to the last drop of his blood, and the last
hair of his beard.'

'His name is Sporus,' replied his companion, 'as I hear, a kinsman of
Fronto, the priest of Apollo.'

'Ah, that's the reason the priest figures here,' cried the first, 'and
the Empress too; for they say nobody is more at the Gardens than Fronto.
Well, he's just the man for his place. If any man can bring up the
temples again, it's he. Religion is no sham at the Temple of the Sun.
The priests are all what they pretend to be. Let others do so, and we
shall have as much reason to thank the Emperor for what he has done for
the gods--and so for us all--as for what he has done for the army, the
empire, and the city.'

'You say well,' rejoined the other. 'He is for once a man, who, if he
will, may make Rome what she was before the empire, a people that
honored the gods. And this picture seems as if it spoke out his very
plans, and I should not wonder if it were so.'

'Never doubt it. See, here lies a Temple of Isis flat enough; next to it
one of the accursed tribe of Jews. And what ruder pile is that?'

'That must be a Temple of the British worship, as I think. But the best
of all, is this Christian church: see how the wretches fly, while the
work goes on! In my notion, this paints what we may soon see.'

'I believe it! The gods grant it so! Old men, in my judgment, will live
to see it all acted out. Do you hear what is said? That Aurelian has put
to death his own niece, the princess Aurelia?'

'That's likely enough,' said another, 'no one can doubt it. 'Tis easy
news to believe in Rome. But the question is what for?'

'For what else but for her impiety, and her aims to convert Mucapor to
her own ways.'

'Well, there is no telling, and it's no great matter; time will show.
Meanwhile, Aurelian forever! He's the man for me!'

'Truly is he,' said one at his side, who had not spoken before, 'for thy
life is spent at the amphitheatres, and he is a good caterer for thee,
sending in ample supplies of lions and men.'

'Whew! who is here? Take care! Your tongue, old man, has short space to
wag in.'

'I am no Christian, knave, but I trust I am a man: and that is more than
any can say of you, that know you. Out upon you for a savage!'

The little crowd burst into loud laughter at this, and with various
abusive epithets moved away. The old man addressed himself to me, who
alone remained as they withdrew,--

'Aurelian, I believe, would do well enough were he let alone. He is
inclined to cruelty, I know: but nobody can deny that, cruel or not, he
has wrought most beneficial changes both in the army and in the city. He
has been in some sort, up to within the last half year, a censor,
greater than Valerian; a reformer, greater and better than even he. Had
he not been crazed by his successes in the East, and were he not now
led, and driven, and maddened, by the whole priesthood of Rome, with the
hell-born Fronto at their head, we might look for a new and a better
Rome. But, as it is, I fear these young savages, who are just gone, will
see all fulfilled they are praying for. A fair day to you.'

And he too turned away. Others were come into the same spot, and for a
long time did I listen to similar language. Many came, looked, said
nothing, and took their way, with paler face, and head depressed, silent
under the imprecations heaped upon the atheists, but manifestly either
of their side in sympathy, or else of the very atheists themselves.

I now sought my home, tired of the streets, and of all I had seen and
heard. Many of my acquaintance, and friends passed me on the way, in
whose altered manner I could behold the same signs which, in ruder form,
I had just seen at the window of Periander. Not, Fausta, that all my
friends of the Roman faith are summer ones, but that, perhaps, most are.
Many among them, though attached firmly as my mother to the existing
institutions, are yet, like her, possessed of the common sentiments of
humanity, and would venture much or all to divert the merest shadow of
harm from my head. Among these, I still pass some of my pleasantest and
most instructive hours--for with them the various questions involved in
the whole subject of religion, are discussed with the most perfect
freedom and mutual confidence. Varus, the prefect, whom I met among
others, greeted me with unchanged courtesy. His sweetest smile was on
his countenance as he swept by me, wishing me a happy day. How much more
tolerable is the rude aversion, or loud reproaches of those I have told
you of, than this honied suavity, that means nothing, and would be still
the same though I were on the way to the block.

As I entered my library, Solon accosted me, to say, that there had been
one lately there most urgent to see me. From his account, I could
suppose it to be none other than the Jew Isaac, who, Milo has informed
me, is now returned to Rome, which he resorts to as his most permanent
home. Solon said that, though assured I was not at home, he would not be
kept back, but pressed on into the house, saying that 'these Roman
nobles often sat quietly in their grand halls, while they were denied to
their poor clients. Piso was an old acquaintance of his when in Palmyra,
and he had somewhat of moment to communicate to him, and must see him.'

'No sooner,' said Solon, 'had he got into the library, the like of
which, I may safely affirm, he had never seen before, for his raiment
betokened a poor and ragged life, than he stood, and gazed as much at
his ease as if it had been his own, and then, by Hercules! unbuttoning
his pack, for he was burdened with one both before and behind, he threw
his old limbs upon a couch, and began to survey the room! I could not
but ask him, If he were the elder Piso, old Cneius Piso, come back from
Persia, in Persian beard and gown?--'Old man,' said he, 'your brain is
turned with many books, and the narrow life you lead here, shut out from
the living world of man. One man is worth all the books ever writ, save
those of Moses. Go out into the streets and read him, and your senses
will come again. Cneius Piso! Take you me for a spirit? I am Isaac the
Jew, citizen of the world, and dealer in more rarities and valuables
than you ever saw or dreamed of. Shall I open my parcels for thee?' No,
said I, I would not take thy poor gewgaws for a gift. One worm-eaten
book is worth them all.--'God restore thy reason!' said he, 'and give
thee wisdom before thou diest; and that, by thy wrinkles and hairless
pate must be soon.' What more of false he would have added I know not,
for at that moment he sprang from where he sat like one suddenly mad,
exclaiming, 'Holy Abraham! what do my eyes behold, or do they lie?
Surely that is Moses! Never was he on Sinai, if his image be not here!
Happy Piso! and happy Isaac to be the instrument of such grace! Who
could have thought it? And yet many a time, in my dreams, have I beheld
him, with a beard like mine, his hat on his head, his staff in his hand,
as if standing at the table of the Passover, the princess with him,
and--dreams will do such things--a brood of little chickens at their
side. And now--save the last--it is all come to pass. And here, too, who
may this be? who, but Aaron, the younger and milder! He was the speaker,
and lo! his hand is stretched out! And this young Joseph is at his knee
the better to interpret his character to the beholder. Moses and Aaron
in the chief room of a Roman senator, and he, a Piso! Now, Isaac, thou
mayest tie on thy pack, and take thy leave with a merry heart, for God,
if never before, now accepteth thy works.' And much more, noble sir, in
the same raving way, which was more dark to my understanding than the
darkest pages of Aristotle.'

I gathered from Solon, that he would return in the evening in the hope
to see me, for he had that to impart which concerned nearly my welfare.

I was watching with Julia, from the portico which fronts the Esquiline
and overlooks the city, the last rays of the declining sun, as they
gilded the roofs and domes of the vast sea of building before us,
lingering last upon, and turning to gold the brazen statues of Antonine
and of Trajan, when Milo approached us, saying that Isaac had returned.
He was in a moment more with us.

'Most noble Piso,' said he, 'I joy to see thee again; and this morning,
I doubt not, I should have seen thee, but for the obstinacy of an
ancient man, whose wits seem to have been left behind as he has gone
onward. I seek thee, Piso, for matters of moment. Great princess,' he
suddenly cried, turning to Julia with as profound a reverence as his
double burden would allow, 'glad am I to greet thee in Rome; not glad
that thou wert forced to flee here, but glad that if, out of Palmyra,
thou art here in the heart of all that can best minister to thy wants.
Not a wish can arise in the heart but Rome can answer it. Nay, thou
canst have few for that which is rare and costly, but even I can answer
them. Hast thou ever seen, princess, those diamonds brought from the
caves of mountains a thousand miles in the heart of India, in which
there lurks a tint, if I may so name it, like this last blush of the
western sky? They are rarer than humanity in a Roman, or apostacy in a
Jew, or truth in a Christian. I shall show thee one.' And he fell to
unlacing his pack, and drawing forth its treasures.

Julia assured him, she should see with pleasure whatever he could show
her of rich or rare.

'There are, lady, jewelers, as they name themselves in Rome, who dwell
in magnificent houses, and whose shops are half the length of a street,
who cannot show you what Isaac can out of an old goatskin pack. And how
should they? Have they, as I have, traveled the earth's surface and
trafficked between crown and crown? What king is there, whose
necessities I have not relieved by purchasing his rarest gems; or whose
vanity I have not pleased by selling him the spoils of another? Old
Sapor, proud as he was, was more than once in the grasp of Isaac. There!
it is in this case--down, you see, in the most secret part of my
pack--but who would look for wealth under this sordid covering? as who,
lady, for a soul within this shriveled and shattered body? yet is there
one there. In such outside, both of body and bag, is my safety. Who
cares to stop the poor man, or hold parley with him? None so free of the
world and its high ways as he; safe alike in the streets of Rome, and on
the deserts of Arabia. His rags are a shield stouter than one of
seven-fold bull's hide. Never but in such guise could I bear such jewels
over the earth's surface. Here, lady, is the gem; never has it yet
pressed the finger of queen or subject. The stone I brought from the
East, and Demetrius, here in Rome, hath added the gold. Give me so much
pleasure--'

And he placed it upon Julia's finger. It flashed a light such as we
never before saw in stone. It was evidently a most rare and costly gem.
It was of great size and of a hue such as I had never before seen.

'This is a queen's ring, Isaac,' said Julia--'and for none else.'

'It well becomes the daughter of a queen'--replied the Jew, 'and the
wife of Piso--specially seeing that--Ah, Piso! Piso! how was I overjoyed
to-day to see in thy room the evidence that my counsels had not been
thrown away. The Christian did not gain thee with all his cunning--'

'Nay, Isaac'--I here interrupted him--'you must not let your benevolent
wishes lead you into error. I am not yet a Jew. Those images that caught
your eye were not wholly such as you took them for.'

'Well, well,' said the philosophic Jew, 'rumor then has for once spoken
the truth. She has long, as I learn, reported thee Christian: but I
believed it not. And to-day, when I looked upon those statues, I pleased
myself with the thought that thou, and the princess, like her august
mother, had joined themselves to Israel. But if it be not so, then have
I an errand for thee, which, but now, I hoped I might not be bound to
deliver. Piso, there is danger brewing for thee, and for all who hold
with thee!'

'So I hear, Isaac, on all sides, and partly believe it. But the rumor is
far beyond the truth, I do not doubt.'

'I think not so,' said Isaac. 'I believe the truth is beyond the rumor.
Aurelian intends more and worse than he has spoken; and already has he
dipt his hand in blood!'

'What say you? how is it you mean?' said Julia.

'Whose name but Aurelia's has been in the city's ears these many days? I
can tell you, what is known as yet not beyond the Emperor's palace and
the priest's, Aurelia is dead!'

'Sport not with us, Isaac!'

'I tell you, Piso, the simple truth. Aurelia has paid with her life for
her faith. I know it from more than one whose knowledge in the matter is
good as sight. It was in the dungeons of the Fabrician bridge, that she
was dealt with by Fronto the priest of Apollo.'

'Aurelian then,' said Julia, 'has thrust his sickle into another field
of slaughter, and will not draw it out till he swims in Christian
blood, as once before in Syrian. God help these poor souls.' 'What,
Isaac, was the manner of her death, if you have heard so much?'

'I have heard only,' replied Isaac, 'that, after long endeavor on the
part of Aurelian and the priest to draw her from her faith while yet at
the palace, she was conveyed to the prisons I have named, and there
given over to Fronto and the executioners, with this only restriction,
that if neither threats, nor persuasions, nor the horrid array of
engines, could bend her, then should she be beheaded without either
scourging or torture. And so it was done. She wept, 'tis said, as it
were without ceasing, from the time she left the gardens; but to the
priest would answer never a word to all his threats, entreaties, or
promises; except once, when that wicked minister said to her, 'that
except she in reality and truth would curse Christ and sacrifice, he
would report that she had done so, and so liberate her and return her to
the palace:'--at which, 'tis said, that on the instant her tears ceased,
her eyes flashed lightning, and with a voice, which took the terrific
tones of Aurelian himself, she said, 'I dare thee to it, base priest!
Aurelian is an honorable man--though cruel as the grave--and my simple
word, which never yet he doubted, would weigh more than oaths from thee,
though piled to heaven! Do thy worst then, quick!' Whereupon the priest,
white with wrath, first sprang toward her as if he had been a beast set
to devour her, drawing at the same moment a knife from his robes; but,
others being there, he stopped, and cried to the executioner to do his
work--raving that he had it not in his power first to torment her.
Aurelia was then instantly beheaded.'

We were silent as he ended, Julia dissolved in tears Isaac went on.

'This is great testimony, Piso, which is borne to thy faith. A poor,
weak girl, alone, with not one to look on and encourage, in such a
place, and in the clutches of such a hard-hearted wretch, to die without
once yielding to her fears or the weakness of her tender nature--it is a
thing hardly to be believed, and full of pity. Piso, thou wilt despise
me when I say that my tribe rejoices at this, and laughs; that the Jew
is seen carrying the news from house to house, and secretly feeding on
it as a sweet morsel! And why should he not? Answer me that, Roman!
Answer me that, Christian! In thee, Piso, and in every Roman like thee,
there is compacted into one the enmity that has both desolated my
country, and--far as mortal arm may do so--dragged down to the earth,
her altars and her worship. Judea was once happy in her ancient faith;
and happier than all in that great hope inspired by our prophets in
endless line, of the advent, in the opening ages, of one who should
redeem our land from the oppressor, and give to her the empire of the
world. Messiah, for whom we waited, and while we waited were content to
bear the insults and aggressions of the whole earth--knowing the day of
vengeance was not far off--was to be to Judea more than Aurelian to
Rome. He was to be our prophet, our priest, and our king, all in one;
not man only, but the favored and beloved of God, his Son; and his
empire was not to be like this of Rome, hemmed in by this sea and that,
hedged about by barbarians on one side and another, bounded by rivers
and hills, but was to stretch over the habitable earth, and Rome itself
to be swallowed up in the great possession as a little island in the
sea. And then this great kingdom was never to end. It could not be
diminished by an enemy taking from it this province and another, as with
Rome, nor could there be out of it any power whatever that could assail
it; for, by the interference of God, through the right arm of our great
Prince, fear, and the very spirit of submission, were to fall on every
heart. All was to be Judea's, and Judea's forever; the kingdom was to be
over the whole earth; and the reign forever and ever. And in those ages
peace was to be on the earth, and universal love. God was to be
worshipped by all according to our law, and idolatry and error to cease
and come to an end. In this hope, I say, we were happy, in spite of all
our vexations. In every heart in our land, whatever sorrows or
sufferings might betide, there was a little corner where the spirit
could retire and comfort itself with this vision of futurity. Among all
the cities of our land, and far away among the rocks and vallies by
Jordan and the salt sea, and the mountains of Lebanon, there were no
others to be found than men, women, and children, happy in this belief,
and by it bound into one band of lovers and friends. And what think you
happened? I need not tell you. There came, as thou knowest, this false
prophet of Gallilee, and beguiled the people with his smooth words, and
perverted the sense of the prophets, and sowed difference and discord
among the people; and the cherished vision, upon which the nation had
lived and grown, fled like a dream. The Gallilean impostor planted
himself upon the soil, and his roots of poison struck down, and his
broad limbs shot, abroad, and half the nation was lost. Its unity was
gone, its peace lost, its heart broken, its hope, though living still,
yet obscured and perplexed. Canst thou wonder then Piso, or thou, thou
weeping princess, that the Jew stands by and laughs when the Christian's
turn comes, and the oppressor is oppressed, the destroyer destroyed? And
when, Piso, the Christian had done his worst, despoiling us of our
faith, our hope, our prince, and our God; not satisfied, he brought the
Roman upon us, and despoiled us of our country itself. Now, and for two
centuries, all is gone. Judea, the beautiful land, sits solitary and
sad. Her sons and daughters wanderers over the earth, and trodden into
the dust. When shall the light arise! and he, whom we yet look for, come
and turn back the flood that has swept over us, and reverse the fortunes
befallen to one and the other? The chariot of God tarries; but it does
not halt. The wheels are turning, and when it is not thought of, it will
come rolling onward with the voice of many thunders, and the great
restoration shall be made, and a just judgment be meted out to all. What
wonder, I say then, Piso, if my people look on and laugh, when this
double enemy is in straits? when the Christian and Roman in one, is
caught in the snare and can not escape? That laugh will ring through the
streets of Rome, and will out-sound the roaring of the lions and the
shouts of the theatre. Nature is strong in man, Piso, and I do not
believe thou wilt think the worse of our people, if bearing what they
have, this nature should break forth. Hate them not altogether, Roman,
when thou shalt see them busy at the engines or the stake, or the
theatres. Remember the cause! Remember the cause! But we are not all
such. I wish, Piso, thou couldst abandon this faith. There will else be
no safety to thee, I fear, ere not many days. What has overtaken the
lady Aurelia, of the very family of the Emperor, will surely overtake
others. Piso, I would fain serve thee, if I may. Though I hate the
Roman, and the Christian, and thee, as a Jew, yet so am I, that I cannot
hate them as a man, or not unto death; and thee do I love. Now it is my
counsel, that thou do in season escape. Now thou canst do it; wait but a
few days, and, perhaps, thou canst no longer. What I say is, fly! and,
it were best, to the farthest east; first, to Palmyra, and then, if need
be, to Persia. This, Piso, is what I am come for.'

'Isaac, this all agrees with the same goodness--'

'I am a poor, miserable wretch, whom God may forgive, because his
compassions never fail, but who has no claim on his mercy, and will be
content to sit hereafter where he shall but just catch, now and then, a
glimpse of the righteous.'

'I must speak my thoughts, not yours, Isaac. This all agrees with what
we have known of you; and, with all our hearts, you have our thanks. But
we are bound to this place by ties stronger than any that bind us to
life, and must not depart.'

'Say not so! Lady, speak! Why should ye remain to add to the number that
must fall? Rank will not stand in the way of Aurelian.'

'That we know well, Isaac,' said Julia. 'We should not look for any
shield such as that to protect us, nor for any other. Life is not the
chief thing, Isaac. What is life, without liberty? Would you live, a
slave? and is not he the meanest slave, who bends his will to another?
who renounces the thoughts he dearly cherishes for another's humor? Who
will beggar the soul, to save, or serve, the body?'

'Alas, princess, I fear there is more courage in thee, woman as thou
art, than in this old frame! I love my faith, too, princess, and I labor
for it in my way; but, may the God of Abraham spare me the last trial!
And wouldst thou give up thy body to the tormentors and the executioner,
to keep the singleness of thy mind, so that merely a few little
thoughts, which no man can see, may run in and out of it, as they list?'

'Even so, Isaac.'

'It is wonderful,' exclaimed the Jew, 'what a strength there is in man!
how, for an opinion, which can be neither bought, nor sold, nor weighed,
nor handled, nor seen--a thing, that, by the side of lands, and gold,
and houses, seems less than the dust of the balance--men and women, yea,
and little children, will suffer and die; when a word, too, which is but
a little breath blown out of the mouth, would save them!'

'But, it is no longer wonderful,' said Julia, 'when we look at our whole
selves, and not only at one part. We are all double, one part, of earth,
another, of heaven; one part, gross body, the other, etherial spirit;
one part, life of the body, the other, life of the soul. Which of these
parts is the better, it is not hard to determine. Should I gain much by
defiling the heavenly, for the sake of the earthly? by injuring the
mind, for the preservation of the body; by keeping longer the life I
live now, but darkening over the prospect of the life that is
hereafter? If I possess a single truth, which I firmly believe to be a
truth, I cannot say that it is a lie, for the sake of some present
benefit or deliverance, without fixing a stain thereby, not on the body,
which by and by perishes, but on the soul, which is immortal; and which
would then forever bear about with it the unsightly spot.'

'It is so; it is as you say, lady; and rarely has the Jew been known to
deny his name and his faith. Since you have spoken, I find thoughts
called up which have long slept. Despise me not, for my proposal, yet I
would there were a way of escape! Flight now, would not be denial, or
apostacy.'

'It would not,' said Julia. 'And we may not judge with harshness those
whose human courage fails them under the apprehension of the sufferings
which often await the persecuted. But, with my convictions, and Piso's,
the guilt and baseness of flight or concealment would be little less
than that of denial or apostacy. We have chosen this religion for its
divine truth, and its immortal prospects; we believe it a good which God
has sent to us; we believe it the most valuable possession we hold; we
believe it essential to the world's improvement and happiness. Believing
it thus, we must stand by it; and, if it come to this--as I trust in
Heaven it will not, notwithstanding the darkness of the portents--that
our regard for it will be questioned except we die for it--then we will
die.'

Isaac rose, and began to fasten on his pack. As he did so, he said,

'Excellent lady, I grieve that thou shouldst be brought from thy far
home, and those warm and sunny skies, to meet the rude shocks of this
wintry land. It was enough to see what thou didst there, and to know
what befell thy ancient friends. The ways of Providence, to our eyes,
are darker than the Egyptian night, brought upon that land by the hand
of Moses. It is darkness solid and impenetrable. The mole sees farther
toward the earth's centre, than does my dim eye into the judgments of
God. And what wonder? when he is God looking down upon earth and man's
ways as I upon an ant-hill, and seeing all at once. To such an eye,
lady, that may be best which to mine is worst.'

'I believe it is often so, Isaac,' replied Julia. 'Just as in nauseous
drugs or rankest poisons there is hidden away medicinal virtue, so is
there balm for the soul, by which its worst diseases are healed and its
highest health promoted, in sufferings, which, as they first fall upon
us, we lament as unmitigated evil. I know of no state of mind so proper
to beings like us, as that indicated by a saying of Christ, which I
shall repeat to you, though you honor not its source, and which seems to
me to comprehend all religion and philosophy, "Not my will, but thine, O
God, be done!" We never take our true position, and so never can be
contented and happy, till we renounce our own will, and believe all the
whole providence of God to be wisest and best, simply because it is his.
Should I dare, were the power this moment given me, to strike out for
myself my path in life, arrange its events, fix my lot? Not the most
trivial incident can be named that I should not tremble to order
otherwise than as it happens.'

'There is wisdom, princess, in the maxim of thy prophet, and its spirit
is found in many of the sayings of truer prophets who went before him,
whose words are familiar to thy royal mother, though, I fear, they are
not to thee; a misfortune, wholly to be traced to that misadventure of
thine, Piso, in being thrown into the company of the Christian Probus on
board the Mediterranean trader. Had I been alone with thee on that
voyage, who can say that thou wouldst not now have been what, but this
morning, I took thee for, as I looked upon those marble figures?'

'But, Isaac, forget not your own principles,' said Julia. 'May you, who
cannot, as you have said, see the end from the beginning, and whose
sight is but a mole's, dare to complain of the providence which threw
Piso into the society of the Christian Probus? I am sure you would not,
on reflection, re-arrange those events, were it now permitted you. And
seeing, Isaac, how much better things are ordered by the Deity than we
could do it, and how we should choose voluntarily to surrender all into
his hands, whose wisdom is so much more perfect, and whose power is so
much more vast, than ours, ought we not, as a necessary consequence of
this, to acquiesce in events without complaint, when they have once
occurred? If Providence had made both Piso and Probus Christians, then
ought you not to complain, but acquiesce; and, more than that, revere
the Providence that has done it, and love those none the less whom it
has directed into the path in which it would have them go. True piety,
is the mother of charity.'

'Princess,' rejoined Isaac, 'you are right. The true love of God cannot
exist, without making us true lovers of man; and Piso I do love, and
think none the worse of him for his Christian name. But, touching
Probus, and others, I experience some difficulty. Yet may I perhaps,
escape thus--I may love them as men, yet hate them as Christians; just
as I would bind up the wounds of a thief or an assassin, whom I found by
the wayside, and yet the next hour bear witness against him, and without
compunction behold him swinging upon the gibbet! It is hard, lady, for
the Jew to love a Christian and a Roman.--But how have I been led away
from what I wished chiefly to say before departing! When I spake just
now of the darkness of Providence, I was thinking, Piso, of my journey
across the desert for thy Persian brother, Calpurnius. That, as I then
said to thee, was dark to me. I could not comprehend how it should come
to pass that I, a Jew, of no less zeal than Simon Ben Gorah himself,
should tempt such dangers in the service of thee, a Roman, and half a
Christian.'

'And is the enigma solved at length?' asked Julia.

'I could have interpreted it by saying that the merit of doing a
benevolent action was its solution.'

'That was little or nothing, princess. But I confess to thee, that the
two gold talents of Jerusalem were much. Still, neither they, nor what
profit I made in the streets of Ecbatana, and even out of that new
Solomon the hospitable Levi, clearly explained the riddle. I have been
in darkness till of late. And how, think you, the darkness has been
dispersed?'

'We cannot tell.'

'I believe not. Piso! princess! I am the happiest man in Rome.'

'Not happier, Isaac, than Civilis the perfumer.'

'Name him not, Piso. Of all the men--he is no man--of all the living
things in Rome I hold him meanest. Him, Piso, I hate. Why, I will not
tell thee, but thou mayest guess. Nay, not now. I would have thee first
know why I am the happiest man in Rome. Remember you the woman and the
child, whom, in the midst of that burning desert, we found sitting, more
dead than alive, at the roots of a cedar--the wife, as we afterwards
found, of Hassan the camel-driver--and how that child, the living
resemblance of my dead Joseph, wound itself round my heart, and how I
implored the mother to trust it to me as mine, and I would make it
richer than the richest of Ecbatana?'

'We remember it all well.'

'Well, rejoice with me! Hassan is dead!'

'Rejoice in her husband's death? Nay, that we cannot do. Milo will
rejoice with thee.'

'Rejoice with me, then, that Hassan, being dead by the providence of
God, Hagar and Ishmael are now mine!'--and the Jew threw down his pack
again in the excess of his joy, and strode wildly about the portico.

'This is something indeed,' said Julia. 'Now, we can rejoice sincerely
with you. But how happened all this? When, and how, have you obtained
the news?'

'Hassan,' replied Isaac, 'as Providence willed it, died in Palmyra. His
disconsolate widow, hearing of his death, in her poverty and affliction
bethought herself of me, and applied, for intelligence of me, to Levi;
from whom a letter came, saying that Hagar had made now on her part the
proposal that had once been made on mine--that Ishmael should be mine,
provided, he was not to be separated from his mother and a sister older
than he by four years. I, indeed, proposed not for the woman, but for
the child only--nor for the sister. But they will all be welcome. They
must, by this, be in Palmyra on their way to Rome. Yes, they will be all
welcome! for now once more shall the pleasant bonds of a home hold me,
and the sounds of children's voices--sweeter to my ear than will ever be
the harps of angels though Gabriel sweep the strings. Already, in the
street Janus, where our tribe most resort, have I purchased me a house;
not, Roman, such a one as I dwelt in in Palmyra, where thou and thy
foolish slave searched me out, but large and well-ordered, abounding
with all that woman's heart could most desire. And now what think you of
all this? whither tends it? to what leads all this long and costly
preparation? what think you is to come of it? I have my own judgment.
This I know, it cannot be all for this, that a little child of a few
years should come and dwell with an old man little removed from the very
borders of the grave! Had it been only for this, so large and long a
train of strange and wild events would not have been laid. This child,
Piso, is more than he seems! take that and treasure it up. It is to this
the finger of God has all along pointed. He is more than he seems! What
he will be I say not, but I can dimly--nay clearly guess. And his
mother! Piso, what will you think when I say that she is a Jewess! and
his father--what will you think when I tell you that he was born upon
the banks of the Gallilean lake?--that misfortunes and the love of a
wandering life drew him from Judea to the farther East, and to a
temporary, yet but apparent apostacy, I am persuaded, from his proper
faith? This to me is all wonderful. Never have I doubted, that by my
hand, by me as a mediator, some great good was to accrue to Jerusalem.
And now the clouds divide, and my eye sees what has been so long
concealed. It shall all come to pass, before thy young frame, princess,
shall be touched by years.'

'We wish you all happiness and joy, Isaac,' replied Julia; 'and soon as
this young family shall have reached your dwelling, we shall trust to
see them all, specially this young object of thy great expectations.'

Isaac again fastened on his pack, and taking leave of us turned to
depart, but ere he did so, he paused--fixed his dark eyes upon
us--hesitated--and then said,

'Lady, if trouble flow in upon you here in Rome, and thou wilt not fly,
as I have counseled, to Palmyra; but thou shouldst by and by change thy
mind and desire safety, or Piso should wish thee safe--perhaps, that by
thy life thou mightest work more mightily for thy faith than thou
couldst do by thy death--for oftentimes it is not by dying that we best
serve God, or a great cause, but by living--then, bethink thee of my
dwelling in the street Janus, where, if thou shouldst once come, I would
challenge all the blood-hounds in Rome, and what is more and worse,
Fronto and Varus leagued, to find thee. Peace be with you.'

And so saying, he quickly parted from us.

All Rome, Fausta, holds not a man of a larger heart than Isaac the Jew.
For us, Christians as we are, there is I believe no evil to himself he
would not hazard, if, in no other way, he could shield us from the
dangers that impend. In his conscience he feels bound to hate us, and,
often, from the language he uses, it might be inferred that he does so.
But in any serious expression of his feelings, his human affections ever
obtain the victory over the obligations of hatred, which his love of
country, as he thinks, imposes upon him, and it would be difficult for
him to manifest a warmer regard toward any of his own tribe, than he
does toward Julia and myself. He is firmly persuaded, that providence is
using him as an instrument, by which to effect the redemption and
deliverance of his country; not that he himself is to prove the messiah
of his nation--as they term their great expected prince--but that
through him, in some manner, by some service rendered or office filled,
that great personage will manifest himself to Israel. No disappointment
damps his zeal, or convinces him of the futility of expectations resting
upon no other foundation than his own inferences, conjectures, or
fanciful interpretation of the dark sayings of the prophets. When in the
East, it was through Palmyra, that his country was to receive her king;
through her victories, that redemption was to be wrought out for Israel.
Being compelled to let go that dear and cherished hope, he now fixes it
upon this little "Joseph," and it will not be strange if this child of
poverty and want should in the end inherit all his vast possessions, by
which, he will please himself with thinking, he can force his way to the
throne of Judea. Portia derives great pleasure from his conversation,
and frequently detains him long for that purpose; and of her Isaac is
never weary uttering the most extravagant praise. I sometimes wonder
that I never knew him before the Mediterranean voyage, seeing he was so
well known to Portia; but then again do not wonder, when I remember by
what swarms of mendicants, strangers, and impostors of every sort,
Portia was ever surrounded, from whom I turned instinctively away;
especially did I ever avoid all intercourse with Christians and Jews. I
held them, of all, lowest and basest.

       *       *       *       *       *

We are just returned from Tibur, where we have enjoyed many pleasant
hours with Zenobia. Livia was there also. The day was in its warmth
absolutely Syrian, and while losing ourselves in the mazes of the
Queen's extensive gardens, we almost fancied ourselves in Palmyra.
Nicomachus being of the company, as he ever is, and Vabalathus, we
needed but you, Calpurnius, and Gracchus, to complete the illusion.

The Queen devotes herself to letters. She is rarely drawn from her
favorite studies, but by the arrival of friends from Rome. Happy for her
is it that, carried back to other ages by the truths of history, or
transported to other worlds by the fictions of poetry, the present and
the recent can be in a manner forgotten; or, at least, that, in these
intervals of repose, the soul can gather strength for the thoughts and
recollections which will intrude, and which still sometimes overmaster
her. Her correspondence with you is another chief solace. She will not
doubt that by and by a greater pleasure awaits her, and that instead of
your letters she shall receive and enjoy yourself. Farewell.




LETTER VII.

FROM PISO TO FAUSTA.


The body of the Christians, as you may well suppose, Fausta, is in a
state of much agitation. Though they cannot discern plainly the form of
the danger that impends, yet they discern it; and the very obscurity in
which it is involved adds to their fears. It is several days since I
last wrote, yet not a word has come from the palace. Aurelian is seen as
usual in all public places; at the capitol, taking charge of the
erection and completion of various public edifices; or, if at the
palace, he rides as hard as ever, and as much, upon his Hippodrome; or,
if at the Pretorian camp, he is exact and severe as ever in maintaining
the discipline of the Legions. He has issued no public order of any kind
that bears upon us. Yet not only the Christians, but the whole city,
stand as if in expectation of measures of no little severity, going at
least to the abridgement of many of our liberties, and to the
deprivation of many of our privileges. This is grounded chiefly,
doubtless, upon the reported imprisonment of Aurelia; for, though some
have little hesitation in declaring their belief, that she has been made
way with, others believe it not at all; and none can assign a reason for
receiving one story rather than another. How Isaac came to be possessed
of his information I do not know, but it bore all the marks of truth. He
would inform me neither how he came by it, nor would he allow it to be
communicated. But it would never be surprising to discover, that of my
most private affairs he has a better knowledge than myself.

Do not, from what I have said, conceive of the Christians as giving any
signs of unmanly fear. They perceive that danger threatens, but they
change not their manner of life, not turn from the daily path of their
pursuits. Believing in a providence, they put their trust in it. Their
faith stands them in stead as a sufficient support and refuge. They
cannot pretend, any more than Isaac, to see through the plans and
purposes of Heaven. They pretend not to know, nor to be able to explain
to another, why, if what they receive is the truth, and they are true
believers in a true religion, they should be exposed to such sufferings
for its sake; and that which is false, and injurious as false, should
triumph. It is enough for them, they say, to be fully persuaded; to
know, and possess, the truth. They can never relinquish it; they will
rather die. But, whether Christianity die with them or not, they cannot
tell--that they leave to God. They do not believe that it
will--prophecy, and the present condition of the world, notwithstanding
a present overhanging cloud, give them confidence in the ultimate
extension and power of their faith. At any rate it shall receive no
injury at their hands. They have professed it during twenty years of
prosperity, and have boasted of it before the world--they shall profess
it with the same boldness, and the same grateful attachment, now that
adversity approaches. They are fixed--calm--unmoved. Except for a deeper
tone of earnestness and feeling when you converse with them, and a cast
of sadness upon the countenance, you would discern no alteration in
their conduct or manner.

I might rather say that, in a very large proportion, there are
observable the signs of uncommon and almost unnatural exhilaration. They
even greet the coming of trouble as that which shall put their faith to
the test, shall give a new testimony of the readiness of Christians to
suffer, and, like the former persecution, give it a new impulse
forwards. They seek occasions of controversy and conversation with the
Pagans at public places, at their labor, and in the streets. The
preachers assume a bolder, louder tone, and declaim with ten times more
vehemence than ever against the enormities and abominations of the
popular religions. Often at the market-places, and at the corners of the
streets, are those to be seen, not authorized preachers perhaps, but
believers and overflowing with zeal, who, at the risk of whatever
popular fury and violence, hold forth the truth in Christ, and denounce
the reigning idolatries and superstitions.

At the head of these is Macer; at their head, both as respects the
natural vigor of his understanding, and the perfect honesty and
integrity of his mind, and his dauntless courage. Every day, and all the
day, is he to be found in the streets of Rome, sometimes in one quarter,
sometimes in another, gathering an audience of the passengers or idlers,
as it may be, and sounding in their ears the truths of the new religion.
That he, and others of the same character, deserve in all they do the
approbation of the Christian body, or receive it, is more than can be
said. They are often, by their violences in the midst of their
harangues, by harsh and uncharitable denunciations, by false and
exaggerated statements, the causes of tumult and disorder, and
contribute greatly to increase the general exasperation against us. With
them it seems to be a maxim, that all means are lawful in a good cause.
Nay, they seem rather to prefer the ruder and rougher forms of attack.
They seem possessed of the idea that the world is to be converted in a
day, and that if men will not at once relinquish the prejudices or the
faith of years, they are fit but for cursings and burnings. In setting
forth the mildest doctrine the world ever knew, delivered to mankind by
the gentlest, the most patient and compassionate being it ever saw they
assume a manner and use a language so entirely at variance with their
theme, that it is no wonder if prejudices are strengthened oftener than
they are set loose, incredulity made more incredulous, and the hardened
yet harder of heart. They who hear notice the discrepancy, and fail not
to make the use of it they may. When will men learn that the mind is a
fortress that can never be taken by storm? You may indeed enter it
rudely and by violence, and the signs of submission shall be made: but
all the elements of opposition are still there. Reason has not been
convinced; errors and misconceptions have not been removed, by a wise
and logical and humane dealing, and supplanted by truths well proved,
and shown to be truths;--and the victory is one in appearance only. And,
what is more, violence, on the part of the reformer and assailant,
begets violence on the other side. The whole inward man, with all his
feelings, prejudices, reason, is instantly put into a posture of
defence; not only of defence, for that were right, but of angry defence,
which is wrong. Passion is up, which might otherwise have slept; and it
is passion, never reason, which truth has to fear. The intellect in its
pure form, the advocate of truth would always prefer to meet, for he can
never feel sure of a single step made till this has been gained. But
intellect, inflamed by passion, he may well dread, as what there is but
small hope even of approaching, much less of convincing.

Often has Probus remonstrated with this order of men, but in vain. They
heed him not, but in return charge him with coldness and indifference,
worldliness, and all other associated faults. Especially has he labored
to preserve Macer from the extremes to which he has run; for he has seen
in him an able advocate of Christian truth, could he but be moderated
and restrained. But Macer, though he has conceived the strongest
affection for Probus, will not allow himself in this matter to be
influenced by him. He holds himself answerable to conscience and God
alone for the course he pursues. As for the consequences that may ensue,
either to himself or his family, his mind cannot entertain them. It is
for Christ he lives, and for Christ he is ready to die.

I had long wished to meet him and witness his manner both of acting and
of preaching, and yesterday I was fortunate enough to encounter him. I
shall give you, as exactly as I can, what took place; it will show you
better than many letters could do what, in one direction, are our
present position and prospects.

I was in the act of crossing the great avenue, which, on the south,
leads to the Forum, when I was arrested by a disorderly crowd, such as
we often see gathered suddenly in the street of a city about a thief who
has been caught, or a person who has been trodden down on the pavement.
It moved quickly in the direction of the tribunal of Varus, and, what
was my surprise, to behold Macer, in the midst, with head aloft, and
inflamed countenance, holding in his grasp, and dragging onwards, one,
who would willingly have escaped. The crowd seemed disposed, as I judged
by the vituperations that were directed against Macer, to interfere, but
were apparently deterred by both the gigantic form of Macer and their
vicinity to the tribunal, whither he was going. Waiting till they were
at some distance in advance of me, I then followed, determined to judge
for myself of this singular man. I was with them in the common hall
before the prefect had taken his seat. When seated at his tribunal, he
inquired the cause of the tumult, and who it was that wished to appeal
to him.

'I am the person,' said Macer; 'and I come to drag to justice this
miscreant--'

'And who may you be?'

'I should think Varus might recognize Macer.'

'It is so long since I met thee last at the Emperor's table, that thy
features have escaped me.'

At which, as was their duty, the attendant rabble laughed.

'Is there any one present,' continued the prefect, 'who knows this man?'

'Varus need apply to no other than myself,' said Macer. 'I am Macer, the
son of that Macer who was neighbor of the gladiator Pollex,--'

'Hold, I say,' interrupted the prefect; 'a man witnesses not here of
himself. Can any one here say that this man is not crazy or drunk?'

'Varus! prefect Varus--' cried Macer, his eyes flashing lightning, and
his voice not less than thunder; but he was again interrupted.

'Peace, slave! or rods shall teach thee where thou art.' And at the same
moment, at a sign from Varus, he was laid hold of with violence by
officials of the place armed with spears and rods, and held.

'What I wish to know then,' said Varus, turning to the crowd, 'is,
whether this is not the street brawler, one of the impious Gallileans, a
man who should long ago have been set in the stocks to find leisure for
better thoughts?'

Several testified, as was desired, that this was he.

'This is all I wish to know,' said the prefect. 'The man is either
without wits, or they are disordered, or else the pestilent faith he
teaches has made the nuisance of him he is, as it does of all who meddle
with it. It is scarcely right that he should be abroad. Yet has he
committed no offence that condemns him either to scourging or the
prison. Hearken therefore, fellow! I now dismiss thee without the
scourging thou well deservest; but, if thou keep on thy wild and lawless
way, racks and dungeons shall teach thee what there is in Roman justice.
Away with him!'

'Romans! Roman citizens!' cried Macer; 'are these your laws and this
your judge?--'

'Away with him, I say!' cried the prefect; and the officers of the
palace hurried him out of the hall.

As he went, a voice from the crowd shouted,

'Roman citizens, Macer, are long since dead. 'Tis a vain appeal.'

'I believe you,' replied Macer; 'tyrant and slave stand now for all who
once bore the proud name of Roman.'

This violence and injustice on the part of Varus must be traced--for
though capricious, and imperious, this is not his character--to the
language of Macer in the shop of Publius, and to his apprehension lest
the same references to his origin, which he would willingly have
forgotten, should be made, and perhaps more offensively still, in the
presence of the people. Probus, on the former occasion, lamented deeply
that Macer should have been tempted to rehearse in the way he did some
of the circumstances of the prefect's history, as its only end could be
to needlessly irritate the man of power, and raise up a bitterer enemy
than we might otherwise have found in him.

Upon leaving the tribunal, I was curious to watch still further the
movements of the Christian. The crowd about him increased rather than
diminished, as he left the building and passed into the street. At but a
little distance from the hall of the prefect, stands the Temple of
Peace, with its broad and lofty flights of steps. When Macer had reached
it he paused, and looked round upon the motley crowd that had gathered
about him.

'Go up! go up!' cried several voices. 'We will hear thee.'

'There is no prefect here,' cried another.

Macer needed no urging, but quickly strode up the steps, till he stood
between the central columns of the temple and his audience had disposed
themselves below him in every direction, when he turned and gazed upon
the assembled people, who had now--by the addition of such as passed
along, and who had no more urgent business than to attend to that of any
others whom they might chance to meet,--grown to a multitude. After
looking upon them for a space, as if studying their characters, and how
he could best adapt his discourse to their occasions, he suddenly and
abruptly broke out--

'You have asked me to come up here; and I am here; glad for once to be
in such a place by invitation. And now I am here, and am about to speak,
you will expect me to say something of the Christians.'

'Yes yes.'

'But I shall not--not yet. Perhaps by and by. In the meantime my theme
shall be the prefect! the prefect Varus!'

'A subject full of matter,' cried one near Macer.

'Better send for him,' said another. 'Twere a pity he lost it.'

'Yes,' continued Macer, 'it is a subject full of matter, and I wish
myself he were here to see himself in the mirror I would hold before
him; he could not but grow pale with affright. You have just had a
sample of Roman justice! How do you like it, Romans? I had gone there to
seek justice; not for a Christian, but against a Christian. A Christian
master had abused his slave with cruelty, I standing by; and when to my
remonstrance--myself feeling the bitter stripes he laid on--he did but
ply his thongs the more, I seized the hardened monster by the neck, and
wrenching from his grasp the lash, I first plied it upon his own back,
and then dragged him to the judgment-seat of Varus,--'

'O fool!'

'You say well--fool that I was, crying for justice! How I was dealt
with, some of you have seen. There, I say, was a sample of Roman justice
for you! So in these times does power sport itself with poverty. It was
not so once in Rome. Were Cincinnatus or Regulus at the tribunal of
Varus, they would fare like the soldier Macer. And who, Romans, is this
Varus? and why is he here in the seat of authority? At the tribunal,
Varus did not know me. But what if I were to tell you there was but a
thin wall between the rooms where we were born, and that when we were
boys we were ever at the same school!--not such schools as you are
thinking of, where the young go for letters and for Greek, but the
school where many of you have been and are now at, I dare say, the
school of Roman vice, which you may find always open all along the
streets, but especially where I and Varus were, in one of the sinks near
the Flavian. Pollex, the gladiator, was father of Varus!--not worse, but
just as bad, as savage, as beastly in his vices, as are all of that
butcher tribe. My father--Macer too--I will not say more of him than
that he was keeper of the Vivaria of the amphitheatre, and passed his
days in caging and uncaging the wild beasts of Asia and Africa; in
feeding them when there were no games on foot, and starving them when
there were. Varus, the prefect, Romans, and I, were at this school till
I joined the legions under Valerian, and he, by a luckier fortune, as it
would be deemed, found favor in the eyes of Gallienus, to whom, with his
fair sister Fannia, he was sold by those demons Pollex and Cæicina. I
say nothing of how it fared with him in that keeping. Fannia has long
since found the grave. Is Varus one who should sit at the head of Rome?
He is a man of blood, of crime, of vice, such as you would not bear to
be told of! I say not this as if he were answerable for his birth and
early vice, but that, being such, this is not his place. He could not
help it, nor I, that we were born and nurtured where we were; that the
sight of blood and the smell of it, either of men or beasts, was never
out of our eyes and nostrils, during all our boyhood and youth; that to
him, and me, the sweetest pleasure of our young life was, when the games
came on, and the beasts were let loose upon one another, and,--O the
hardening of that life!--when, specially, there were prisoners or
captives, on which to glut their raging hunger! Those were the days and
hours marked whitest in our calendar. And, whitest of all, were the days
of the Decian persecution, when the blood of thrice cursed Christians,
as I was taught to name them, flowed like water. Every day then Varus
and I had our sport; working up the beasts, by our torments, to an
unnatural height of madness ere they were let loose, and then rushing to
the gratings, as the doors were thrown open, to see the fury with which
they would spring upon their defenceless victims too, and tear them
piecemeal. The Romans required such servants--and we were they. They
require them now, and you may find any number of such about the
theatres. But if there must be such there, why should they be taken
thence and put upon the judgment-seat? save, for the reason, that they
may have been thoroughly purged, as it were, by fire--which Varus has
not been. What with him was necessary and forced when young, is now
chosen and voluntary. Vice is now his by election. Now, I ask, why has
the life of Varus been such? and why, being such, is he here? Because
you are so! Yes, because you are all like him! It is you, Roman
citizens, who rear the theatres, the circuses, and the thousand temples
of vice, which crowd the streets of Rome,--'

'No, no! it is the emperors.'

'But who make the emperors? You Romans of these times, are a race of
cowards and slaves, and it is therefore that tyrants rule over you. Were
you freemen, with the souls of freemen in you, do you think you would
bear as you do--and love and glory in the yoke--this rule of such
creatures as Varus, and others whom it were not hard to name? I know
what you are--for I have been one of you. I have not been, nor am I now,
hermit, as you may think, being a Christian. A Christian is a man of the
world--a man of action and of suffering--not of rest and sleep. I have
ever been abroad among men, both before I was a Christian and since; and
I know what you are. You are of the same stamp as Varus! nay, start not,
nor threaten with your eyes,--I fear you not. If you are not so, why, I
say, is Varus there? You know that I speak the truth. The people of Rome
are corrupt as their rulers! How should it be much otherwise? You are
fed by the largesses of the Emperor, you have your two loaves a day and
your pork, and you need not and so do not work. You have no employment
but idleness, and idleness is not so much a vice itself as the prolific
mother of all vices. When I was one of you, it was so; and so it is now.
My father's labor was nothing; he was kept by the state. The Emperor was
not more a man of pleasure than he, nor the princes, than I and Varus.
Was that a school of virtue? When I left the service of the amphitheatre
I joined the Legions. In the army I had work, and I had fighting, but my
passions, in the early days of that service, raged like the sea; and
during all the reign of Valerian's son there was no bridle upon
them;--for I served under the general Carinus, and what Carinus was and
is, most of you know. O the double horrors of those years! I was older,
and yet worse and worse. God! I marvel that thou didst not interpose and
strike me dead! But thy mercy spared me, and now the lowest, lowest hell
shall not be mine.' Tears, forced by these recollections, flowed down
his cheeks, and for a time he was speechless.

'Such, Romans, was I once. What am I now? I am a changed man--through
and through. There is not a thought of my mind, nor a fibre of my body,
what they were once. You may possibly think the change has been for the
worse, seeing me thus thrust forth from the tribunal of the prefect with
dishonor, when I was once a soldier and an officer under Aurelian. I
would rather a thousand times be what I am, a soldier of Jesus Christ.
And I would that, by anything I could do, you, any one of you, might be
made to think so too; I would that Varus might, for I bear him no ill
will.

'But what am I now? I am so different a man from what I once was, that I
can hardly believe myself to be the same. The life which I once led, I
would not lead again--no--not one day nor hour of it, though you would
depose Aurelian to day and crown me Cæsar to-morrow. I would no more
return to that life, than I would consent to lose my nature and take a
swine's, and find elysium where as a man I once did, in sinks and sties.
I would not renounce for the wealth of all the world, and its empire
too, that belief in the faith of Christ, the head of the Christians,
which has wrought so within me.

'And what has made me so--would make you so--if you would but hearken to
it. And would it not be a good thing if the flood of vice, which pours
all through the streets of Rome, were stayed? Would it not be a happy
thing, if the misery which dwells beneath these vaulted roofs and these
humbler ones equally, the misery which drunkenness and lust, the lust of
money, and the love of place, and every evil passion generates, were all
wiped away, and we all lived together observant of the rights of one
another, helping one another; not oppressing; loving, not hating;
showing in our conduct as men, the virtues of little children? Would it
not be happier if all this vast population were bound together by some
common ties of kindred; if all held all as brethren; if the poor man
felt himself to be the same as Aurelian himself, because he is a man
like him and weighs just as much as he in the scales of God, and that it
is the vice in the one or the other, and that only that sinks him lower?
Would it not be better, if you all could see in the presiding power of
the universe, one great and good Being, who needs not to be propitiated
by costly sacrifices of oxen or bulls, nor by cruel ones of men,--but is
always kindly disposed towards you, and desires nothing so much as to
see you living virtuously, and is never grieved as he is to see you
ruining your own peace,--not harming him--by your vices? for you will
bear witness with me that your vices are never a cause of happiness.
Would it not be better if you could behold such a God over you, in the
place of those who are called gods, and whom you worship, as I did
once, because I feared to do otherwise, and yet sin on never the less:
who are your patterns not so much in virtue as in all imaginable vice?'

'Away with the wicked!'--'Away with the fellow!' cried several voices;
but others predominated, saying, 'Let him alone!'--'He speaks well! We
will hear him!'--'We will defend him! go on, go on!'

'I have little or nothing more to say,' continued Macer. 'I will only
ask you whether you must not judge that to be a very powerful principle
of some kind that drew me up out of that foul pit into which I was
fallen, and made me what I am now? Which of you now feels that he has
motive strong enough to work out such a deliverance for him? What help
in this way do you receive from your priests, if perchance you ever
apply to them? What book of instructions concerning the will of the gods
have you, to which you can go at any time and all times? Only believe as
I do, Romans, and you will hate sin as I do. You cannot help it. Believe
in the God that I do, and in the revealer of his will, the teacher whom
he sent into the world to save us from our heathen errors and vices, and
you will then be more than the Romans you once were. You are now, and
you know it, infinitely less. Then you will be what the old Romans were
and more. You will be as brave as they, and more just. You will be as
generous and more gentle. You will love your own country as well, but
you will love others too. You will be more ready to offer up your lives
for your country, for it will be better worth dying for; every citizen
will be a brother; every ruler a brother; it will be like dying for
your own little household. If you would see Rome flourish, she must
become more pure. She can stagger along not much longer under this
mountain weight of iniquity that presses her into the dust. She needs a
new Hercules to cleanse her foul chambers. Christ is he; and if you will
invite him, he will come and sweep away these abominations, so that
imperial Rome shall smell fragrantly as a garden of spices.'

Loud exclamations of approval here interrupted Macer. The great
proportion of those who were present were now evidently with him, and
interested in his communications.

'Tell us,' cried one, as soon as the noise subsided, 'how you became
what you are? What is to be done?'

'Yes,' cried many voices, 'tell us.'

'I will tell you gladly,' answered Macer. 'I first heard the word of
truth from the lips of Probus, a preacher of the Christians, whom you
too may hear whenever you will, by seeking him out on the days when the
Christians worship. Probus was in early life a priest of the temple of
Jupiter, and if any man in Rome can place the two religions side by
side, and make the differences plain, it is he. Go to him such of you as
can, and you will never repent it. But if you would all learn the first
step toward Christian truth, and all truth, it is this; lay aside your
prejudices, be willing to see, hear, and judge for yourselves. Take not
rumor for truth. Do not believe without evidence both for and against.
You would not, without evidence and reason, charge Aurelian with the
death of Aurelia, though ten thousand tongues report it. Charge not the
Christians with worse things then, merely because the wicked and
ill-disposed maliciously invent them and spread them. If you would know
the whole truth and doctrine of Christians; if you would ascend to the
fountain-head of all Christian wisdom, take to your homes our sacred
books and read them. Some of you at least can obtain them. Let one
purchase, and then twenty or fifty read. One thing before I cease.
Believe not the wicked aspersions of the prefect. He charges me as a
brawler, a disturber of the peace and order of the city. Romans, believe
me, I am a lover of peace, but I am a lover of freedom too. Because I am
a lover of peace, and would promote it, do I labor to teach the
doctrines of Christ, which are doctrines of peace and love, both at home
and abroad, in the city and throughout the world; and because I am the
friend of freedom, do I open my mouth at all times and in every place,
wherever I can find those who, like you, are ready to hear the words of
salvation. When in Rome I can no longer speak--no longer speak for the
cause of what I deem truth, then will I no longer be a Roman. Then will
I that day renounce my name and my country. Thanks to Aurelian, he has
never chained up the tongue. I have fought and bled under him, and never
was there a braver man, or who honored courage more in others. I do not
believe he will ever do so cowardly a thing as to restrain the freedom
of men's speech. Aurelian is some things, but he is not others. He is
severe and cruel, but not mean. Cut Aurelian in two, and throw the
worser half away, and t'other is as royal a man as ever the world saw.

'One thing more, good friends and citizens: If I am sometimes carried
away by my passions to do that which seems a disturbance of the common
order, say that it is the soldier Macer that does it, not his Christian
zeal--his human passions, not his new-adopted faith. It is not at once
and perfectly that a man passes from one life to another; puts off one
nature and takes another. Much that belonged to Macer of the
amphitheatre, and Macer the soldier, cleaves to him now. But make not
his religion amenable for that. You who would see the law of Christ
written, not only on a book but in the character and life of a living
man, go read the Christian Probus.'

As he said these words he began to descend the steps of the temple; but
many crowded round him, assailing him, some with reproaches, and others
with inquiries put by those who seemed anxious to know the truth. The
voices of his opponents were the most violent and prevailed, and made me
apprehensive that they would proceed to greater length than speech. But
Macer stood firm, nothing daunted by the uproar. One, who signalized
himself by the loudness and fierceness of his cries, exclaimed, 'that he
was nothing else than an atheist like all the rest of the Christians;
they have no gods; they deny the gods of Rome, and they give us nothing
in their stead.'

'We deny the gods of Rome, I know,' replied Macer, 'and who would not,
who had come to years of discretion? who had so much as left his nurse's
lap? A fouler brotherhood than they the lords of Heaven, Rome does not
contain. Am I to be called upon to worship a set of wretches chargeable
with all the crimes and vices to be found on earth? It is this accursed
idolatry, O Romans, that has sunk you so low in sin! They are your lewd,
and drunken, and savage deities, who have taught you all your refinement
in wickedness; and never, till you renounce them, never till you repent
you of your iniquities--never till you turn and worship the true God
will you rise out of the black Tartarean slough in which you are lying.
These two hundred years and more has God called to you by his Son, and
you have turned away your ears; you have hardened your hearts; the
prophets who have come to you in his name have you slain by the sword or
hung upon the accursed tree. Awake out of your slumbers! These are the
last days. God will not forbear forever. The days of vengeance will
come; they are now at hand: I can hear the rushing of that red right arm
hot with wrath--'

'Away with him! away with him!' broke from an hundred voices!--'Down
with the blasphemer!'--'Who is he to speak thus of the gods of
Rome?'--'Seize the impious Gallilean, and away with him to the
prefect'--These, and a thousand exclamations of the same kind, and more
savage, were heard on every side; and, at the same moment, their denial
and counter-exclamations, from as many more.

'He has spoken the truth!'--'He is a brave fellow!' 'He shall not be
touched except we fall first!'--came from a resolute band who
encompassed the preacher, and seemed resolved to make good their words
by defending him against whatever assault might be made. Macer, himself
a host in such an affray, neither spoke nor moved, standing upright and
still as a statue; but any one might see the soldier in his kindling
eye, and that a slight cause would bring him upon the assailants with a
fury that would deal out wounds and death. He had told them that the old
Legionary was not quite dead within him, and sometimes usurped the place
of the Christian; this they seemed to remember, and after showering
upon him vituperation and abuse in every form, one after another they
withdrew and left him with those who had gathered immediately around
him. These too soon took their leave of him, and Macer, unimpeded and
alone, turned towards his home.

When I related to Probus afterwards what I had heard and witnessed, he
said that I was fortunate in hearing what was so much more sober and
calm than that which usually fell from him; that generally he devoted
himself to an exposition of the absurdities of the heathen worship, and
the abominations of the mysteries, and the vices of the priesthood; and
he rarely ended without filling with rage a great proportion of those
who heard him. Many a time had he been assaulted; and hardly had escaped
with his life. You will easily perceive, Fausta, how serious an injury
is inflicted upon us by rash and violent declaimers like Macer. There
are others like him; he is by no means alone, though he is far the most
conspicuous. Together they help to kindle the flame of active hostility,
and infuse fresh bitterness into the Pagan heart. Should the Emperor
carry into effect the purposes now ascribed to him, these men will be
sure victims, and the first.

       *       *       *       *       *

Upon my return after hearing Macer, I found Livia seated with Julia, to
whom she often comes thus, and then together--I often accompanying--we
visit Tibur. She had but just arrived. It was easy to see that the
light-heartedness, which so manifested itself always in the beaming
countenance and the elastic step, was gone; the usual signs of it at
least were not visible. Her whole expression was serious and anxious;
and upon her face were the traces of recent grief. For a long time,
after the first salutations and inquiries were through, neither spoke.
At length Livia said,

'I am come now, Julia, to escape from what has become of late little
other than a prison. The Fabrician dungeons are not more gloomy than the
gardens of Sallust are now. No more gaiety; no feasting by day and
carousal by night; the gardens never illuminated; no dancing nor music.
It is a new life for me: and then the only creatures to be seen, that
hideous Fronto and the smiling Varus; men very well in their place, but
no inmates of palaces.'

'Well' said Julia; 'there is the greater reason why we should see more
of each other and of Zenobia. Aurelian is the same?'

'The same? There is the same form, and the same face, and the same
voice; but the form is motionless, save when at the Hippodrome,--the
face black as Styx, and his voice rougher than the raven's. That
agreeable humor and sportiveness, which seemed native to him, though by
reason of his thousand cares not often seen, is now wholly gone. He is
observant as ever of all the forms of courtesy, and I am to him what I
have ever been; but a dark cloud has settled over him and all the house,
and I would willingly escape if I could. And worse than all, is this of
Aurelia! Alas, poor girl!'

'And what, Livia, is the truth?' said Julia; 'the city is filled with
rumors, but they are so at variance one with another, no one knows which
to believe, or whether none.'

'I hardly know myself,' replied Livia. 'All I know with certainty is,
that I have lost my only companion--or the only one I cared for--and
that Aurelian merely says she has been sent to the prisons at the
Fabrician bridge. I cannot tell you of our parting. Aurelia was sure
something terrible was designed against her, from the sharpness and
violence of her uncle's language, and she left me as if she were never
to see me again. But I would believe no such thing, and so I told her,
and tried to give to her some of the courage and cheerfulness which I
pretended to have myself: but it was to no purpose. She departed weeping
as if her heart were broken. I love her greatly, notwithstanding her
usual air of melancholy and her preference of solitude, and I have found
in her, as you know, my best friend and companion. Yet I confess there
is that in her which I never understood, and do not now understand. I
hope she will comply with the wishes of Aurelian, and that I shall soon
see her again. The difficulty is all owing to this new religion. I wish,
Julia, there were no such thing. It seems to me to do nothing but sow
discord and violence.'

'That, dear Livia,' said Julia, 'is not a very wise wish; especially
seeing you know, as you will yourself confess, so little about it.'

'But,' quickly added Livia, 'was it not better as it was at Palmyra? who
heard then of these bitter hostilities? who were there troubled about
their worship? One hardly knew there was such a thing as a Christian.
When Paul was at the palace, it was still all the same only, if
anything, a little more agreeable. But here, no one at the gardens
speaks of Christians but with an assassin air that frightens one. There
must surely be more evil in them than I ever dreamed of.'

'The evil, Livia,' answered her sister, 'comes not from the Christians
nor Christianity, but from those who oppose them. There were always
Christians in Palmyra, and, as you say, even in the palace, yet there
was always peace and good-will too. If Christianity were in itself an
element of discord and division, why were no such effects seen there?
The truth is, Livia, the division and discord are created, not by the
new religion, but by those who resist it, and will not suffer people to
act and think as they please about it. Under Zenobia, all had liberty to
believe as they would. And there was under her the reign of universal
peace and good-will. Here, on the other hand, it has been the practice
of the state to interfere, and say what the citizens shall believe and
whom they shall worship, and what and whom they shall not. How should it
be otherwise than that troubles should spring up, under legislation so
absurd and so wicked? Would it not be a certain way to introduce
confusion, if the state--or Aurelian--should prescribe our food and
drink? or our dress? And if confusion did arise, and bitter opposition,
you could not justly say it was owing to the existence of certain kinds
of food, or of clothes which people fancied, but to their being
interfered with. Let them alone, and they will please themselves and be
at peace.'

'Yes,' said Livia, 'that may be. But the common people are in no way fit
judges in such things, and it seems to me if either party must give way,
it were better the people did. The government has the power and they
will use it.'

'In so indifferent a matter as food or dress,' rejoined the sister, 'if
a government were so foolish as to make prohibitory and whimsical laws,
it were better to yield than contend. But in an affair so different from
that as one's religion, one could not act in the same way. I may dress
in one kind of stuff as well as another; it is quite a possible thing:
but is it not plainly impossible, if I think one kind of stuff is of an
exquisite fineness and color, for me to believe and say at the same
time, that its texture is coarse and its hue dull? The mind cannot
believe according to any other laws than those of its own constitution.
Is it not then the height of wickedness to set out to make people
believe and act one way in religion? The history of the world has shown
that, in spite of men's wickedness, there is nothing on earth they value
as they do their religion. They will die rather than change or renounce
it. Men are the same now. To require that any portion of the people
shall renounce their religion is to require them to part with that which
they value most--more than life itself--and is it not in effect
pronouncing against them a sentence of destruction? Some indeed will
relinquish it rather than die; and some will play the hypocrite for a
season, intending to return to a profession of it in more peaceful
times: but most, and the best, will die before they will disown their
faith.'

'Then if that is so,' said Livia, 'and I confess what you say cannot be
denied, I would that Aurelian could be prevailed upon to recede from a
position which he appears to be taking. His whole nature now seems to
have been set on fire by this priest Fronto. Superstition has wholly
seized and possessed him. His belief is that Rome can never be secure
and great till the enemies of the gods, as well as of the state, shall
perish; and pushed on by Fronto, so far as can be gathered from their
discourse, is now bent on their injury or destruction. I wish he could
be changed back again to what he was before this notion seized him.
Piso, have you seen him? Have you of late conversed with him?'

'Only, Livia, briefly; and on this topic only at intervals of other
talk; for he avoids it, at least with me. But from what we all know of
Aurelian, it is not one's opinion nor another's that can alter his will
when once bent one way.'

'How little did I once deem,' said Livia, 'when I used to wish so for
greatness and empire, that they could be so darkened over. I thought
that to be great was necessarily to be happy. But I was but a child
then.'

'How long since was that?' asked Julia, smiling.

'Ah! you would say I am little better than that now.'

'You are young yet, Livia, for much wisdom to have come; and you must
not wonder if it come slowly, for you are unfortunately placed to gain
it. An idol on its pedestal can rarely have but two thoughts--that it is
an idol, and that it is to be worshipped. The entrance of all other
wisdom is quite shut out.'

'How pleasant a thing it is, Piso, to have an elder sister as wise as
Julia! But come, will you to Tibur? I must have Faustula, now I have
lost Aurelia.'

'O no, Livia,' said Julia; 'take her not away from Zenobia. She can ill
spare her.'

'But there is Vabalathus.'

'Yes, but he is now little there. He is moreover preparing for his
voyage. Faustula is her all.'

'Ah, then it cannot be! Yes, it were very wrong. But, this being so, I
see not then but I must go to her, or come live with you. Only think of
one's trying to escape from the crown of Rome? I can hardly believe I am
Livia; once never to be satisfied with power and greatness--now tired of
them! No, not that exactly--'

'You are tired, only, Livia, of some little attendant troubles; you like
not that overhanging cloud you just spoke of; but for the empire itself,
you love that none the less. To believe that, it is enough to see you.'

'I suppose you are right. Julia is always right, Piso.'

So our talk ran on; sometimes into graver and then into lighter
themes--often stopping and lingering long over you, and Calpurnius, and
Gracchus. You wished to know more of Livia and her thoughts, and I have
given her to you in just the mood in which she happened to be.

       *       *       *       *       *

The wife of Macer has just been here, seeking from Julia both assistance
and comfort. She implores us to do what we may to calm and sober her
husband.

'As the prospect of danger increases,' she said to Julia, 'he grows but
the more impetuous and ungovernable. He is abroad all the day and every
day, preaching all over Rome, and brings home nothing for the support of
the family; and if it were not for the Emperor's bounty, we should
starve.'

'And does that support you?'

'O no, lady! it hardly gives us food enough to subsist upon. Then we
have besides to pay for our lodging and our clothes. But I should mind
not at all our labor nor our poverty, did I not hear from so many that
my husband is so wild and violent in his preaching, and when he disputes
with the gentiles, as he will call them. I am sure it is a good cause
to suffer in, if one must suffer; but if our dear Macer would only work
half the time, there would be no occasion to suffer, which we should now
were it not for Demetrius the jeweler--who lives hard by, and who I am
sure has been very kind to us--and our good Ælia.'

'You do not then,' I asked, 'blame your religion nor weary of it?'

'O, sir, surely not. It is our greatest comfort. We all look out with
expectation of our greatest pleasure, when Macer returns home, after his
day's labors,--and labors they surely are, and will destroy him, unless
he is persuaded to leave them off. For when he is at home the children
all come round him, and he teaches them in his way what religion is.
Sometimes it is a long story he gives them of his life, when he was a
little boy and knew nothing about Christ, and what wicked things he did,
and sometimes about his serving as a soldier under the Emperor. But he
never ends without showing them what Christ's religion tells them to
think of such ways of life. And then, sir, before we go to bed he reads
to us from the gospels--which he bought when he was in the army, and was
richer than he is now--and prays for us all, for the city, and the
Emperor, and the gentiles. So that we want almost nothing, as I may say,
to make us quite contented and happy.'

'Have you ever been disturbed in your dwelling on Macer's account?'

'O yes, sir, and we are always fearing it. This is our great trouble.
Once the house was attacked by the people of the street, and almost torn
down--and we escaped, I and the children, through a back way into the
shop of the good Demetrius. There we were safe; and while we were gone
our little cabin was entered, and everything in it broken in pieces.
Macer was not at home, or I think he would have been killed.

'Did you apply to the prefect?'

'No, sir, I do not believe there would be much use in that: they say he
hates the Christians so.'

'But he is bound to preserve order in the city.'

'Yes, sir; but for a great man like him it's easy to see only one way,
and to move so slowly that it does no good. That is what our people say
of him. When the Christians are in trouble he never comes, if he comes
at all, till it is too late to do them any service. The best way for us
is, I think, to live quietly, and not needlessly provoke the gentiles,
nor believe that we can make Christians of them all in a day. That is my
husband's dream. He thinks that he must deliver his message to people,
whether they will or not, and it almost seems as if the more hostile
they were, the more he made it his duty to preach to them, which
certainly was not the way in which Christ did, as he reads his history
to us. It was just the other way. It almost makes me believe that some
demon has entered into him, he is so different from what he was, and
abroad from what he is at home. Do you think that likely, sir? I have
been at times inclined to apply to Felix to see if he could not exorcise
him.'

'No, I do not think so certainly; but many may. I believe he errs in his
notion of the way in which to do good; but under some circumstances it
is so hard to tell which the best way is, that we must judge charitably
of one another. Some would say that Macer is right; others that the
course of Probus is wisest; and others, that of Felix. We must do as we
think right, and leave the issue to God.'

'But you will come and see us? We dwell near the ruins, and behind the
shop of Demetrius. Every body knows Demetrius.'

I assured her I would go.

I almost wish, Fausta, that Julia was with you. All classes seem alike
exposed to danger. But I suppose it would be in vain to propose such a
step to her, especially after what she said to Isaac. You now, after
your storm, live at length in calm: not exactly in sunshine; for you
would say the sun never can seem to shine that falls upon the ruins of
Palmyra. But calm and peace you certainly have, and they are much. I
wish Julia could enjoy them with you. For here, every hour, so it now
seems to me, the prospect darkens, and it will be enough for one of us
to remain to encounter the evil, whatever it may be, and defend the
faith we have espoused. This is an office more appropriate to man than
to woman; though emergencies may arise, as they have, when woman herself
must forget her tenderness and put on soldiers' panoply; and when it has
come, never has she been found wanting. Her promptness to believe that
which is good and pure, has been equalled by her fortitude and patience
in suffering for it.

You will soon see Vabalathus. He will visit you before he enters upon
his great office. By him I shall write to you soon again. Farewell.




       *       *       *       *       *


AURELIAN;

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 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 infinitely 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. The effort
to forget is often but an effort to remember. 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 as a child, tears it from us again; and just then when 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 all 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
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 or 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 see him again ere
long, and turn his thoughts into a 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 toward 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 lamp streaming from a window, to the place we sought. We wound our
way among these fallen or still standing masses of stone, 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, echoed among the ruins and conveyed
to us, though at 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 voices 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 from thine own altar. The
world, O Lord, and its honors 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
habitation. A door on the inner side appeared 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, 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 that 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. 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 of
God that they cannot be avoided, we have cause 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 and highest
testimony 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, fulfil 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 Cæsar
walks it not more proudly. What with his 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 but frightened away from them for a time
by the terrors 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 to another. Paul and Peter and Barnabas stood ever 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 or 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, and no one is the gainer;
let them die by the 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 corner-stone, 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 approved 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 suffer all will
suffer--'

'Ælia, my daughter, there is a judge within the breast, whom I am bound
to obey rather than any other counsellor, 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 is but yesterday that we were among the enemies of 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 covered 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 provisions for
our repast. One was clad like the others of the family in the garments
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, whom 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 or 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, practised 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 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. 'Tis 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 cannot 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 of my life, was often within the
temples a worshipper. 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 just, 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
thousand times, the favors were not bestowed, how have 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 instructor; 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, 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, 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 believed then; but it was merely
instinctive. I could give no reason to myself nor to 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 or 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 Auria, '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, we are all ready to be offered up,' the enthusiast rejoined.
'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 slate of
previous preparation, and in their ability to examine and sift a
question which was offered to them; in the 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 its dominion.

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 of
distaste, or with more expressive silence, or the dark language of his
terrific frown. For me however he has no terrors, and I have resolved to
break through all 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, even if 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 of
the world. Many a noble charger has he in this manner rode till he has
fallen dead. So long used has this man 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. Weary of
inaction, 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
mortals? These three mornings have I rode him to see 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. One or the other must fall--Helenism or
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 distant 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 shall 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; '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 or 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, 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 over-past, 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 cut to
pieces 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 know the wonders it works and shall try it now,
not 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 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, it is true; 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 would be for triumphing over both the East and
West, or though I gained the whole world.'

'Aurelian,' I replied, 'this is not the language 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. He has roused the latent piety into action
and life, which 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 deities
of Heaven soon became to me as if they were not. And so it has been for
well nigh 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 bedside--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, and lay low the aspiring fanes of the wicked. Finish what thou
hast 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 Almighty
Ruler! 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 bigotry. 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 been 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 itself out, with the awful words he used. I felt
utterly helpless and undone--like an ant in the pathway of a
giant--incapable of resistance or escape. I suppose all this was visible
in my countenance. I said nothing; and Aurelian, after pausing a moment,
went 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 fatal mischief, 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 borne. 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 word spoken and they were all her own; with no small
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 one 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. 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 innocent 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 as
it is, and so must be the game. I listen to no appeal.'

'Not from me,' I replied; 'but surely you will not deny a hearing to
what these 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--from 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 ere so many centuries were gone,
her walls would lie 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, if I
remember the names aright, 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 hardly 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, summon 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 what, as
citizens of heaven and loyal followers of Jesus 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 to hear the books themselves referred to,
and then to be called 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.




LETTER IX.

FROM PISO TO FAUSTA.


When I turned from the palace of Aurelian and again took my way towards
the Coelian, I did it in the belief that before the day should end,
edicts against the Christians would be published. I found, as I
conversed with many whom I met in the way, that from other sources the
same opinion had become common. In one manner or another it had come
abroad that measures had been resolved upon by the Emperor, and would
soon be put in force. Many indeed do not give the least credit to the
rumors, and believe that they all spring from the violent language of
Fronto, which has been reported as that of Aurelian. You may wonder that
there should be such uncertainty respecting a great design like this.
But you must remember that Aurelian has of late shrouded himself in a
studied obscurity. Not a despot, in the despotic lands of Asia, keeps
more secret counsel than he, or leans less upon the opinion or advice of
others. All that is done throughout the vast compass of the empire,
springs from him alone--all the affairs of foreign and dependent
kingdoms are arranged and determined by him. As for Italy and the
capital, they are mere playthings in his hand. You ask if the senate
does not still exist? I answer, it does; but, as a man exists whom a
palsy has made but half alive; the body is there, but the soul is gone,
and even the body is asleep. The senators, with all becoming gravity,
assemble themselves at the capitol, and what time they sleep not away
the tedious hours in their ivory chairs, they debate such high matters
as, 'whether the tax which this year falls heavy upon Capua, by reason
of a blast upon the grapes, shall be lightened or remitted!' or 'whether
the petition of the Milanese for the construction at the public expense
of a granary shall be answered favorably!' or 'whether V. P. Naso shall
be granted a new trial after defeat at the highest court!' Not that
there is not virtue in the senate, some dignity, some respect and love
for the liberties of Rome--witness myself--but that the Emperor has
engrossed the whole empire to himself, and nothing is left for that body
but to keep alive the few remaining forms of ancient liberty, by
assembling as formerly, and taking care of whatever insignificant
affairs are intrusted to them. In a great movement like this against the
Christians, Aurelian does not so much as recognize their existence. No
advice is asked, no coöperation. And the less is he disposed to
communicate with them in the present instance perhaps, from knowing so
well that the measure would find no favor in their eyes; but would, on
the contrary, be violently opposed. Everything, accordingly, originates
in the sovereign will of Aurelian, and is carried into effect by his arm
wielding the total power of this boundless empire--being now, what it
has been his boast to make it, coëxtensive with its extremest borders as
they were in the time of the Antonines. There is no power to resist him;
nor are there many who dare to utter their real opinions, least of all,
a senator, or a noble. A beggar in the street may do it with better
chance of its being respected, if agreeable to him, and of escaping
rebuke or worse, if it be unpalatable. To the people, he is still, as
ever, courteous and indulgent.

       *       *       *       *       *

There is throughout the city a strange silence and gloom, as if in
expectancy of some great calamity; or of some event of dark and
uncertain character. The Christians go about their affairs as usual, not
ceasing from any labors, nor withdrawing from the scene of danger; but
with firm step and serious air keep on their way as if conscious of the
great part which it is theirs to act, and resolved that it shall not
suffer at their hands. Many with whom I have spoken, put on even a
cheerful air as they have greeted me, and after the usual morning's
salutation, have passed on as if things were in their usual train.
Others with pale face and quivering lip confessed the inward tumult, and
that, if they feared naught for themselves, there were those at home,
helpless and exposed, for whom the heart bled, and for whom it could not
but show signs of fear.

I met the elder Demetrius. His manly and thoughtful countenance--though
it betrayed nothing of weakness--was agitated with suppressed emotion.
He is a man full of courage, but full of sensibility too. His affections
are warm and tender as those of a girl. He asked me 'what I could inform
him of the truth of the rumors which were now afloat of the most
terrific character.' I saw where his heart was as he spoke, and answered
him, as you may believe, with pain and reluctance. I knew, indeed, that
the whole truth would soon break upon him--it was a foolish
weakness--but I could hardly bring myself to tell him what a few hours
would probably reveal. I told him, however, all that I had just learned
from Aurelian himself, and which, as he made no reserve with regard to
me, nor enjoined concealment, I did not doubt was fully resolved upon,
and would be speedily put in force. As I spoke, the countenance of the
Greek grew pale beyond its usual hue of paleness. He bent his head, as
in perplexed and anxious thought; the tears were ready to overflow as he
raised it, after a moment, and said,

'Piso, I am but recently a Christian. I know nothing of this religion
but its beauty and truth. It is what I have ever longed for, and now
that I possess it I value it far more than life. But,'--he paused a
moment--'I have mingled but little with this people; I know scarcely
any; I am ignorant of what they require of those who belong to their
number in such emergences. I am ready to die myself, rather than shrink
from a bold acknowledgment of what in my heart I believe to be the
divinest truth; but--my wife and my children!--must they too meet these
dangers? My wife has become what I am; my children are but infants; a
Greek vessel sails to-morrow for Scio, where dwells, in peaceful
security, the father of my wife, from whom I received her, almost to his
distraction; her death would be his immolation. Should I offend'--

'Surely not,' I replied. 'If, as I believe will happen, the edicts of
the Emperor should be published to-day, put them on board to-night, and
let to-morrow see them floating on the Mediterranean. We are not all to
stand still and hold our throats to the knife of this imperial butcher.'

'God be thanked!' said Demetrius, and grasping my hand with fervor
turned quickly and moved in the direction of his home.

Soon after, seated with Julia and Probus--he had joined me as I parted
from Demetrius--I communicated to her all that I had heard at the
palace. It neither surprised nor alarmed her. But she could not repress
her grief at the prospect spread out before us of so much suffering to
the innocent.

'How hard is this,' said she, 'to be called to bear such testimony as
must now be borne to truth! These Christian multitudes, so many of whom
have but just adopted their new faith and begun to taste of the
pleasures it imparts, all enjoying in such harmony and quietness their
rich blessings--with many their only blessings--how hard for them, all
at once, to see the foundations of their peace broken up, and their very
lives clamored for! rulers and people setting upon them as troops of
wild beasts! It demands almost more faith than I can boast, to sit here
without complaint a witness of such wrong. How strange, Probus, that
life should be made so difficult! That not a single possession worth
having can be secured without so much either of labor or endurance! I
wonder if this is ever to cease on earth?'

'I can hardly suppose that it will,' said Probus. 'Labor and suffering,
in some of their forms, seem both essential. My arm would be weak as a
rush were it never moved; but exercised, and you see it is nervous and
strong; plied like a smith's, and it grows to be hard as iron and
capable of miracles. So it is with any faculty you may select; the
harder it is tasked the more worthy it becomes; and without tasking at
all, it is worth nothing. So seems to me it is with the whole man. In a
smooth and even lot our worth never would be known, and we could respect
neither ourselves nor others. Greatness and worth come only of collision
and conflict. Let our path be strewed with roses, and soft southern
gales ever blow, and earth send up of her own accord our ready prepared
nutriment, and mankind would be but one huge multitude of Sybarites,
dissolved in sloth and effeminacy. If no difficulty opposed, no labor
exacted, body and mind were dead. Hence it is, we may believe, that man
must everywhere labor even for the food which is necessary to mere
existence. Life is made dear to us by an instinct--we shrink from
nothing as we do from the mere thought of non-existence--but still it is
death or toil; that is the alternative. So that labor is thus insured
wherever man is found, and it is this that makes him what he is. Then he
is made, moreover, so as to crave not only food but knowledge as much,
and also virtue; but between him and both these objects there are
interposed, for the same reason doubtless, mountains of difficulty,
which he must clamber up and over before he can bask in the pleasant
fields that lie beyond, and then ascend the distant mountain-tops, from
which but a single step removes him from the abode of God. Doubt it not,
lady, that it is never in vain and for naught that man labors and
suffers; but that the good which redounds is in proportion to what is
undergone, and more than a compensation. If, in these times of darkness
and fear, suffering is more, goodness and faith are more also. There are
Christians, and men, made by such trials, that are never made elsewhere
nor otherwise--nor can be; just as the arm of Hercules could not be but
by the labors of Hercules. What says Macer? Why even this, that God is
to be thanked for this danger, for that the church needs it! The brief
prosperity it has enjoyed since the time of Valerian and Macrianus, has
corrupted it, and it must be purged anew, and tried by fire! I think not
that; but I think this; that if suffering ever so extreme is ordained,
there will be a virtue begotten in the souls of the sufferers, and
abroad through them, that shall prove it not to have been in vain.'

'I can believe what you say,' said Julia, 'at least I can believe in the
virtue ascribed to labor, and the collision with difficulty. Suffering
is passive; may it not be that we may come to place too much merit in
this?'

'It is not to be doubted that we may,' replied Probus. 'The temptation
to do so is great. It is easy to suffer. In comparison with labor and
duty--life-long labor and duty--it is a light service. Yet it carries
with it an imposing air, and is too apt to take to itself all the glory
of the Christian's course. Many who have lived as Christians but
indifferently have, in the hour of persecution, and in the heat of that
hour, rushed upon death and borne it well, and before it extremest
torture, and gained the crown of martyrdom and the name of saint--a
crown not always without spot--a name not always honorable. He who
suffers for Christ must suffer with simplicity--even as he has lived
with simplicity. And when he has lived so, and endured the martyr's
death at last, that is to be accounted but the last of many acts of duty
which are essentially alike--unless it may be that in many a previous
conflict over temptation and the world and sin, there was a harder
victory won, and a harder duty done, than when the flames consumed him,
or the beasts tare him limb from limb.'

'Yet, Probus,' continued Julia, 'among the humble and the ignorant,
where we cannot suppose that vanity could operate, where men have
received Christianity only because it seemed to them just the faith they
needed, and who then when it has been required that they renounce it,
will not do so, but hold steadfastly to what they regard the truth of
God, and for it take with meekness and patience all manner of torture,
and death itself--there is surely here great virtue! Suffering here has
great worth and sets upon the soul the seal of God. Is it not so?'

'Most assuredly it is,' answered Probus. 'O there is no virtue on earth
greater than theirs! When dragged from their quiet homes--unknown,
obscure, despised, solitary, with not one pitying eye to look on upon
their sufferings, with none to record their name, none to know it
even--they do, nevertheless, without faltering, keep true to their
faith, hugging it to them the closer the more it is tried to tear them
asunder--this, this is virtue the greatest on earth! It is a testimony
borne to the truth of whatever cause is thus supported, that is daily
bringing forth its fruits in the conviction and conversion of
multitudes. It is said, that in the Decian persecution, it was the
fortitude and patience under the cruelest sufferings of those humble
Christians whom no one knew, who came none knew whence, and who were
dying out of a pure inward love of the faith they professed, that fell
upon the hearts of admiring thousands with more than the force of
miracle, and was the cause of the great and sudden growth of our numbers
which then took place. Still, suffering and dying for a faith is not
unimpeachable evidence of its truth. There have been those who have died
and suffered for idolatries the most abhorred. It is proof, indeed, not
at all of truth itself, but only of the deep sincerity of him who
professes it.'

'Yes,' replied Julia, 'I see that it is so. But then it is a presumption
in behalf of truth, strong almost as miracles done for it, when so
many--multitudes--in different ages, in the humblest condition of life,
hesitate not to die rather than renounce their faith in a religion like
this of Christianity; which panders to not one of man's passions,
appetites or weaknesses, but is the severest censor of morals the world
has ever seen; which requires a virtue and a purity in its disciples
such as no philosopher ever dared to impose upon his scholars; whose
only promise is immortality--and that an immortality never to be
separated from the idea of retribution as making a part of it. They, who
will suffer and die for such a religion, do by that act work as
effectively for it, as their master by the signs and wonders which he
did. If Christianity were like many of the forms of Paganism; or if it
ministered to the cravings of our sensual nature, as we can conceive a
religion might do; if it made the work of life light, and the reward
certain and glorious; if it relieved its followers of much of the
suffering, and fear, and doubt, that oppress others--it would not be
surprising that men should bear much for its sake; and their doing so,
for what appealed so to their selfishness, would be no evidence, at all
to be trusted, of its truth. But as it is, they who die for it afford a
presumption in behalf of it, that appeals to the reason almost or quite
with the force of demonstration. So, I remember well, my reason was
impressed by what I used to hear from Paul of the sufferings of the
early Christians.'

While Julia had been saying these things, it had seemed to me as if
there was an unusual commotion in the streets; and as she ended I was
about to look for the cause of it, when the hasty steps of several
running through the hall leading from the main entrance of the house
prevented me, and Milo breathless, followed by others of the household,
rushed into the apartment where we sat, he exclaiming with every mark of
fear and horror upon his countenance,

'Ah! sir, it is all just as I was told by Curio it would be; the edicts
are published on the capitol. The people are going about the streets now
in crowds, talking loud and furiously, and before night they say the
Christians will all be delivered to their pleasure.'

Soon as Milo could pause, I asked him 'if he had read or seen the
edicts?'

'No, I have not,' he answered; 'I heard from Curio what they were to
be.'

I told Julia and Probus that such I did not believe was their tenor. It
did not agree with usage, nor with what I had gathered from Aurelian of
his designs. But that their import was probably, at present, no more
than deprivation of a portion of their freedom and of some of their
privileges. It was the purpose of Aurelian first to convert back again
the erring multitudes to Paganism, for which time must be granted.

But my words had no effect to calm the agitation of our slaves, who,
filled with terror at the reports of Milo, and at the confusion in the
streets, had poured into the room, and were showing in a thousand ways
their affection for us, and their concern. Some of this number are
Christians, having been made so by the daily conversations which Julia
has had with them, and the instruction she has given them in the
gospels. Most however are still of that religion in which they were
reared, as they are natives of the East, of the North, or of Africa. But
by all, with slight differences, was the same interest manifested in our
safety. They were ready to do anything for our protection; and chiefly
urgent were they that we should that very night escape from Rome--they
could remain in security and defend the palace. When they had thus in
their simple way given free expression to their affections, I assured
them that no immediate danger impended, but even if it did, I should not
fly from it, but should remain where I was; that the religion for which
I might suffer was worth to those who held it a great deal more than
mere life--we could easily sacrifice life for it, if that should be
required. Some seemed to understand this--others not; but they then
retired, silent and calm, because they saw that we were so.

Soon as they were withdrawn, I proposed to Probus that we should go
forth and learn the exact truth. We accordingly passed to the street,
which, as it is one that forms the principal avenue from this part of
the city to the capitol, we found alive with numbers greater than usual,
with their faces turned toward that quarter. We joined them and moved
with them in the same direction. It was a fearful thing, Fausta, even to
me, who am rarely disturbed by any event, to listen to the language
which fell on my ear on all sides from the lips of beings who wore the
same form as myself, and with me have a right to the name of man. It was
chiefly that of exultation and joy, that at length the power of the
state was about to strike at the root of this growing evil--that one had
taken hold of the work who would not leave it, as others had, half
accomplished, but would finish it, as he had every other to which he had
put his hand.

'Now we shall see,' cried one, 'what he whose hand bears the sword of a
true soldier can do, and whether Aurelian, who has slain more foes of
Rome abroad than emperor before ever did, cannot do as well by enemies
at home.'

'Never doubt it,' said another. 'Before the ides of the month now just
come in, not a Christian will be seen in the streets of Rome. They will
be swept out as clean, as by Varus they now are of other filth. The
Prefect is just the man for the times. Aurelian could not have been
better matched.'

'Lucky this,' said still another as he hurried away, 'is it not? Three
vessels arrived yesterday stowed thick with wild beasts from Africa and
Asia. By the gods! there will be no starving for them now. The only fear
will be that gorged so they will lose their spirit.'

'I don't fear that,' said his older companion. 'I remember well the same
game twenty-five years ago. The fact was then that the taste of human
blood whetted it for more and more, and, though glutted, their rage
seemed but to become more savage still; so that, though hunger was fed
to the full, and more, they fell upon fresh victims with increased
fury--with a sort of madness as it were. Such food, 'tis said, crazes
them.

Others were soon next us from whom I heard,

'Let every soul perish. I care not for that, or rather I do. Let all die
I say; but not in this savage way. Let it be done by a proper
accusation, trial, and judgment. Let profession of atheism be death by a
law, and let the law be executed, and the name will soon die. Inevitable
death under a law for any one who assumes the name, would soon do the
work of extermination--better than this universal slaughter which, I
hear, is to be the way. Thousands are then overlooked in the blind
popular fury; the work by and by ceases through weariness; it is thought
to be completed--when lo! as the first fury of the storm is spent, they
come forth from their hiding-places, and things are but little better
than before.'

'I think with you,' said the younger companion of him who had just
spoken; 'and besides, Romans need not the further instruction in the art
of assassination, which such a service would impart. Already nothing
comes so like nature to a Roman as to kill; kill something--if not a
beast, a slave--if there is no slave at hand, a Christian--if no
Christian, a citizen. One would think we sucked in from our mothers not
milk but blood--the blood too of our Parent Wolf. If the state cannot
stand secure, as our great men say, but by the destruction of this
people, in the name of the gods, let the executioners do the work, not
our sons, brothers, and fathers. So too, I say, touching the accursed
games at the Flavian and elsewhere. What is the effect but to make of us
a nation of man-butchers? as, by the gods, we already are. If the gods
send not something or somebody to mend us, we shall presently fall upon
one another and exterminate ourselves.'

'Who knows but it is this very religion of the Christians that has been
sent for that work?' said a third who had joined the two. 'The
Christians are famed for nothing more than for their gentleness, and
their care of one another--so, at least, I hear.'

'Who knows, indeed?' said the other. 'If it be so, pity it were not
found out soon. Aurelian will make short work with them.'

In the midst of such conversation, which on every side caught our ears
as we walked silently along, we came at length to the neighborhood of
the capitol; but so great was the throng of the people, who in Rome,
have naught else to do but to rush together upon every piece of news,
that we could not even come within sight of the building, much less of
the parchment.

We accordingly waited patiently to learn from some who might emerge from
the crowd what the precise amount of the edicts might be. We stood not
long, before one struggling and pushing about at all adventures, red and
puffing with his efforts, extricated himself from the mass, and
adjusting his dress which was half torn from his back, began swearing
and cursing the Emperor and his ministers for a parcel of women and
fools.

'What is it?' we asked, gathering about him. 'What have you seen? Did
you reach the pillar?'

'Reach it? I did; but my cloak, that cost yesterday ten good aurelians,
did not, and here I stand cloakless--'

'Well, but the edicts.'

'Well, but the edicts! Be not in a hurry, friend--they are worth not so
much as my cloak. Blank parchment were just as good. I wonder old
'sword-in-hand didn't hang up a strip--'twould have saved the expense of
a scrivener. If any of you hear of a cloak found hereabouts, or any
considerable part of one, blue without, lined with yellow, and trimmed
with gold, please to note the name sewed on beneath the left shoulder,
and send it according to the direction and your labor shall not be
lost.'

'But the edicts--the edicts.'

'O the edicts! why they are just this; the Christians are told that they
must neither assemble together in their houses of worship to hear their
priests, nor turn the streets into places of worship in their stead; but
leave off all their old ways just as fast as they can and worship the
gods. There's an edict for you!'

'Who is this?' said one to Probus.

'I do not know; he seems sadly disappointed at the Emperor's clemency as
he deems it.'

But what Probus did not know, another who at the moment came up, did;
exclaiming, as he slapped the disappointed man on the shoulder,

'What, old fellow, you here? always where mischief is brewing. But who
ever saw you without Nero and Sylla? What has happened? and no cloak
either?'

'Nero and Sylla are in their den--for my cloak I fear it is in a worse
place. But come, give me your arm, and let us return. I thought a fine
business was opening, and so ran up to see. But it's all a sham.'

'It's only put off,' said his companion, as they walked away; 'your dogs
will have enough to do before the month is half out--if Fronto knows
anything.'

'That is one, I see,' said he who had spoken to Probus, 'who breeds
hounds for the theatres--I thought I had seen him before. His ordinary
stock is not less than five hundred blood-hounds. He married the sister
of the gladiator Sosia. His name is Hanno.'

Having heard enough, we turned away and sought again the Coelian. You
thus see, Fausta, what Rome is made of, and into what hands we may all
come. Do you wonder at my love of Christianity? at my zeal for its
progress? Unless it prosper, unless it take root and spread through this
people, their fate is sealed, to my mind, with the same certainty as if
I saw their doom written upon the midnight sky in letters of fire. Their
own wickedness will break them in pieces and destroy them. It is a
weight beneath which no society can stand. It must give way in general
anarchy and ruin. But my trust is that, in spite of Aurelian and of all
other power, this faith will go on its way, and so infuse itself into
the mass as never to be dislodged, and work out its perfect ultimate
regeneration.

By this decree of the Emperor then, which was soon published in every
part of the capital, the Christians are prohibited from assembling
together for purposes of worship, their churches are closed, and their
preachers silenced.

One day intervenes between this, and the first day of the week, the day
on which the Christians as you may perhaps know assemble for their
worship. In the meantime it will be determined what course shall be
pursued.

       *       *       *       *       *

Those days have passed, Fausta, and before I seal my letter I will add
to it an account of them.

Immediately upon the publication of the Emperor's decrees, the
Christians throughout the city communicated with each other, and
resolved, their places of worship being all closed and guarded, to
assemble secretly, in some spot to be selected, both for worship and to
determine what was to be done, if anything, to shield themselves from
the greater evils which threatened. The place selected was the old ruins
where the house of Macer stands. 'There still remains,' so Macer urged,
'a vast circular apartment partly below and partly above the surface of
the ground, of massy walls, without windows, remote from the streets,
and so surrounded by fallen walls and columns as to be wholly buried
from the sight. The entrance to it was through his dwelling, and the
rooms beyond. Resorting thither when it should be dark, and seeking his
house singly and by different avenues among the ruins, there would be
little chance of observation and disturbance.' Macer's counsel was
accepted.

On the evening of the first day of the week--a day which since I had
returned from the East to Rome had ever come to me laden with both
pleasure and profit--I took my way under cover of a night without star
or moon, and doubly dark by reason of clouds that hung black and low, to
the appointed place of assembly. The cold winds of autumn were driving
in fitful blasts through the streets, striking a chill into the soul as
well as the body. They seemed ominous of that black and bitter storm
that was even now beginning to break in sorrow and death upon the
followers of Christ. Before I reached the ruins the rain fell in heavy
drops, and the wind was rising and swelling into a tempest. It seemed to
me, in the frame I was then in, better than a calm. It was moreover a
wall of defence against such as might be disposed to track and betray
us.

Entering by the door of Macer's cell, I passed through many dark and
narrow apartments, following the noise of the steps of some who were
going before me, till at length I emerged into the vaulted hall spoken
of by Macer. It was lofty and spacious, and already filled with figures
of men and women, whom the dim light of a few lamps, placed upon the
fragments of the fallen architecture, just enabled me to discern and
distinguish from the masses of marble and broken columns which strewed
the interior, which, when they afforded a secure footing, were covered
with the assembled worshippers. The footsteps of those who were the last
to enter soon died away upon the ear, and deep silence ensued, unbroken
by any sound save that of the sighs and weeping of such as could not
restrain their feelings.

It was interrupted by the voice of one who said,

'That the Christians of Rome were assembled here by agreement to consult
together concerning their affairs, which now, by reason of the sudden
hostility of Aurelian, set on by the Pagan priesthood, had assumed a
dark and threatening aspect. It was needful so to consult; that it might
be well ascertained whether no steps could be taken to ward off the
impending evil, and if not, in what manner and to what extent we might
be able to protect ourselves. But before this be done,' he continued,
'let us all first with one heart seek the blessing of God. To-day,
Christians, for the first time within the memory of the younger portion
of this assembly, have we by the wicked power of the state been shut out
of those temples where we have been wont to offer up our seventh day
worship. Here, in this deep cavern, there is none to alarm or
interrupt. Let us give our first hour to God. So shall the day not be
lost, nor the enemy wholly prevail.'

'That is right,' said another. 'It is what we all wish. Let Probus speak
to us and pray for us.'

'Felix! Felix!' cried other voices in different parts of the room.

'Not so, but Probus! Probus!' shouted a far greater number.

'Who does not know,' cried a shrill voice elevated to its utmost pitch,
'that Probus is a follower of Paul of Samosata?'

'And who does not know,' responded he who had first spoken, 'that Felix
follows after Plato and Plotinus? Pagans both!'

'And what,' said the sharp voice of Macer, 'what if both be true? who
dare say that Felix is not a Christian?--who dare say that Probus is not
a Christian? and if they are Christians, who shall dare to say they may
not speak to Christians? Probus was first asked, and let Probus stand
forth.'

The name of Probus was then uttered as it were by the whole assembly.

As he moved toward a more central and elevated spot, the same mean and
shrill voice that had first charged him, again was heard, advising that
no hymn nor chant be sung; 'the Roman watch is now abroad, and despite
the raging of the storm their ears may catch the sound and the guard be
upon us.'

'Let them come then!' shouted Macer. 'Let them come! Shall any fear of
man or of death frighten us away from the worship of God? What death
more glorious than if this moment those doors gave way and the legions
of Aurelian poured in? Praise God and Christ, Christians, in the highest
note you can raise, and let no cowardice seal your lips nor abate your
breath.'

The voice of Probus, now heard in prayer, brought a deep silence upon
the assembly, and I would fain believe, harmony and peace also into the
spirits of all who were there. It was a service deeply moving and
greatly comforting. Whatever any who were present might have thought of
the principles of Probus, all must have been penetrated and healed by
that devout and benevolent temper that was so manifest in the sentiments
he uttered, and in the very tones of his voice.

No sooner had he ended his prayer than the voice of Macer broke forth,
commencing a chant commonly heard in the churches and with which all
were familiar. His voice, louder than that of the storm and shriller
than the blast of a war-trumpet, rang through the vast apartment, and
inspiring all who were there with the same courage that possessed
himself, their voices were instinctively soon joined with his, and the
hymn swelled upward with a burst of harmony that seemed as if it might
reach Heaven itself. Rome and its legions were then as if they did not
exist. God only was present to the mind, and the thoughts with which
that hymn filled it. Its burden was like this:

'O God almighty, God of Christ our Lord, arise and defend thy people.
The terrors of death are around us the enemies of truth and thy Son
assail us, and we faint and are afraid. Their hosts are encamped against
us; they are ready to devour us. Our hope is in thee: Strengthen and
deliver us. Arise, O God, and visit us with thy salvation.'

These, and words like them, repeated with importunity and dwelt upon,
the whole soul pouring itself out with the notes, while tears ran down
the cheeks of those who sang--the sign not of weakness but of the
strength of those affections which bound their hearts to God, to Christ,
and to one another--it seemed as if such words and so uttered could not
but draw a blessing down. As the hymn drew to a close and the sounds
died away, deep silence again fell upon the assembly. The heart had been
relieved by the service; the soul had been rapt and borne quite away;
and by a common feeling an interval of rest ensued, which by each seemed
to be devoted to meditation and prayer. This, when it had lasted till
the wants of each had been satisfied, was broken by the voice of Probus.

What he said was wonderfully adapted to infuse fresh courage into every
heart, and especially to cheer and support the desponding and the timid.
He held up before them the great examples of those who, in the earlier
ages of the church, had offered themselves as sacrifices upon the same
altar upon which the great head of the Christians had laid down his
life. He made it apparent how it had ever been through suffering of some
kind on the part of some, that great benefits had been conferred upon
mankind; that they who would be benefactors of their race must be
willing cheerfully to bear the evil and suffering that in so great part
constitutes that office; and was it not a small thing to suffer, and
that in the body only, and but for a moment, if by such means great and
permanent blessings to the souls of men might be secured, and remotest
ages of the world made to rejoice and flourish through the effects of
their labors? Every day of their worship they were accustomed to hear
sung or recited the praises of those who had died for Christ and truth;
men of whom the world was not worthy, and who, beautiful with the crown
of martyrdom, were now of that glorious company who, in the presence of
God, were chanting the praises of God and the Lamb. Who was not ready to
die, if it were so ordained, if by such death truth could be transmitted
to other ages? What was it to die to-day rather than to-morrow--for that
was all--or this year rather than the next, if one's death could be made
subservient to the great cause of Christ and his gospel? What was it to
die by the sword of a Roman executioner, or even to be torn by wild
beasts, if by suffering so the soul became allied to reformers and
benefactors of all ages? And besides, what evil after all was it in the
power of their enemies to inflict? They could do no more than torment
and destroy the body. They could not touch nor harm the soul. By the
infliction of death itself they did but hasten the moment when they
should stand clothed in shining garments in the presence of the Father.
'The time has come, Christians,' he then said, 'when, in the providence
of God, you are called upon to be witnesses of the faith which you
profess in Christ. After many years of calm, a storm has arisen, which
begins already to be felt in the violence with which it beats upon our
heads. Almost ever since the reign of Decius have we possessed our
borders in quietness. Especially under Gallienus and Claudius, and
during these nearly four years of Aurelian, have we enjoyed our faith
and our worship with none to alarm or oppress us. The laws of the empire
have been as a wall of defence between us and this fierce and bloody
spirit of Pagan superstition. They who would have willingly assailed and
destroyed us have been forcibly restrained by wise and merciful
enactments. During this season of repose our numbers have increased, we
have been prosperous and happy. Our churches have multiplied, and all
the signs of an outward prosperity have been visible in all parts of
this vast empire. Would to God I could say that while numbers and wealth
have been added to the church, it had grown in grace and in the practice
of the virtues of the gospel in the same proportion! But I cannot. The
simplicity and purity of the first ages are no longer to be seen among
us. We no longer emulate the early apostles and make them our patterns.
We rather turn to the Pagan and Jewish priesthood, and in all that
pertains to the forms of our worship mould ourselves upon them; and in
all that pertains to opinion and doctrine we turn to the philosophers,
and engraft, whatever of their mysteries and subtleties we can, upon the
plain and simple truth of Jesus. We have departed far, very far, from
the gospel standard, both in practice and in faith. We need, Christians,
to be brought back. We have gone astray--we have almost worshipped other
gods,--it is needful that we return in season to our true allegiance. I
dare not say, Christians, that the calamity which now impends is a
judgment of God upon our corruptions; we know not what events are of a
judicial character, they have upon them no signature which marks them as
such; but this we may say, that it will he no calamity, but a benefit
and a blessing rather, if it have the effect to show us our errors, and
cause us to retrace our steps. Aurelian, enemy though we call him, may
prove our benefactor; he may scourge us, but the sufferings he inflicts
may bring healing along with them, being that very medicine which the
sick soul needs. Let us meet then this new and heavy trial as a part of
the providence of God, as a part of that mysterious plan--the lines of
which are in so great part hidden from our eyes--by which he educates
his children, and at the same time, and by the same means, prepares and
transmits to future generations the richest blessings. If we,
Christians, suffer for the cause of truth, if our blood is poured out
like water, let us remember that it serves to fertilize that soil out of
which divine nutriment shall grow for generations yet unborn, whom it
shall nourish up unto a better life. Let your hearts then be strong
within you; faint not, nor fear; God will be with you and his Spirit
comfort you.

'But why do I say these things? Why do I exhort you to courage? For when
was it known that the followers of Christ shrunk from the path of duty,
though it were evidently the path of death? When and in what age have
those been wanting who should bear witness to the truth, and seal it
with their blood? There have been those who in time of persecution have
fallen away--but for one apostate there have been a thousand martyrs. We
have been, I may rather affirm, too prodigal of life--too lavish of our
blood. There has been, in former ages, not only a willingness, a
readiness to die for Christ, but an eagerness. Christians have not
waited to be