of work, neither by day nor by night. They are a sinful folk, and the
gods send them heavy troubles. But even when they send joy, this turns
to their misfortune. Some day Zeus will destroy them, these many-tongued
people, when they are born with grey locks on their temples. Yes, our
children are born old men already, toothless, wrinkled and with bald
heads. The father is not gracious to the child, nor the child to the
father, nor the guest to his host, nor servant to fellow-servant, nor
brother to brother. Children dishonour their old parents, revile them
and speak unfriendly words--these young scoundrels who know nothing
of divine vengeance, and never thank their ageing parents for their
fostering care of them as children. Might is right, and one city
destroys another. Honesty and faithfulness in keeping vows are never
rewarded, as little as kindness or justice. Oh no, they who practise
sin and break the law, demand honour. Scoundrels betray noble men, and
commit perjury without scruple. Envy follows men, these unhappy ones
with their harsh voices and dreadful faces, who rejoice over the evil
and the mischief which they do.’”
“Yes, so Hesiod spoke a thousand years ago, and I must confess his words
are well deserved, but what can one do?”
“Yes, they are. Cicero was murdered, and I feel inclined to follow the
example of Cato, who died in order to escape sin. I sink, Flaccus, in
lies and hypocrisy. But I will not sink ... I will mount. I have praised
Augustus and his son Marcellus in my verses, but I believe no more
in them, for they are not the future. Therefore the _Aeneid_ shall be
burnt!”
“You disquiet me, Maro. But what do you believe in?”
“I believe in the Sibyl, who has prophesied that the Iron Age will end,
and the Golden Age return.”
“You have sung of that in the Fourth Eclogue, I remember.... Have you
fever?”
“I believe I have. Do you remember--no! our fathers remember when the
Capitol was burnt, and the Sibylline books destroyed. But now new books
have come from Alexandria, and in them they have read that a new era
will begin; that Rome will be destroyed but built up again, and that a
Golden Age....”
Here the seer was silent. Then he continued: “Pardon me, Flaccus, but I
am poorly, and must ride home before the mists rise from the Campagna.”
“Eheu fugaces, Postume, Postume! Labuntur anni! I will follow you,
friend, on my ass, for you are sick. But ‘the man of righteous heart and
rock-like purpose will not be shaken nor terrified by the blind zeal
of the citizens commanding evil, nor the glance of the threatening
tyrant.... If the walls of the world fall in, they will bury him
unterrified beneath their ruin.’”
* * * * *
Some days later Virgil died in Naples. His will was opened, and actually
found to contain a request that his _Aeneid_ should be burnt. But it was
not carried out. Posterity has passed various judgments on this ignoring
of a dead man’s wish--some think it was a pity; others that it was a
good thing.
When Christianity arrived, Virgil was enrolled among the prophets. The
_Aeneid_ was regarded as a Sibylline book and included in the liturgy.
Pilgrimages were made to the poet’s tomb. And later on he was raised to
the rank of a saint by Dante.
LEONTOPOLIS
A caravan was encamped on a height eastward of the ancient Egyptian town
Heliopolis. There were many people in it, but all were Hebrews. They
had come on camels and asses from Palestine through the desert--the
same desert which the Israelites had passed through thousands of years
before.
In the evening twilight, by the faint light of the half-moon, hundreds
of camp-fires were to be seen, and by them sat the women with their
little children while the men carried water.
Never yet had the desert beheld so many little children, and, as they
were now being put to bed for the night, the camp echoed with their
cries. It was like an enormous nursery. But when the washing was over,
and the little ones were laid to their mothers’ breasts, the cries one
after the other ceased, and there was complete silence. Under a sycamore
tree sat a woman, and suckled her child; close by stood a Hebrew,
feeding his ass with branches of the broom plant; when he had done that,
he went higher up the hill, and looked towards the north. A foreigner--a
Roman, to judge by his dress--passed, and regarded the woman with the
child closely, as though he were counting them.
The Hebrew showed signs of uneasiness, and began a conversation with the
Roman, in order to divert his attention from the woman.
“Say, traveller, is that the City of the Sun there in the west?”
“You see it!” answered the Roman.
“Then it is Bethshemesh.”
“Heliopolis, from which both Greeks and Romans have derived their
wisdom; Plato himself has been here.”
“Can Leontopolis also be seen from here?”
“You see the pinnacles of its temple two miles northward.”
“But that is the land of Goshen, which our father Abraham visited, and
which Jacob had portioned out to him,” said the Hebrew, turning to his
wife, who only answered with an inclination of her head. Then, speaking
to the Roman, he continued, “Israel wandered from Egypt to Canaan. But
after the Babylonish captivity a part of them returned and settled down
here. You know that.”
“Yes, I know that. And now the Israelites here have increased till they
number many thousand souls, and have built a temple for themselves,
which you see standing in the distance. Did you know that?”
“Yes, something about it. So that, then, is Roman territory?”
“Yes. Everything is Roman now--Syria, Canaan, Greece, Egypt--Germany,
Gaul, Britain; the world belongs to Rome, according to the prophecy of
the Cumaean Sibyl.”
“Good! But the world is to be redeemed through Israel, according to
God’s promise to our father Abraham.”
“I have heard that fable also, but for the present Rome has the
fulfilment of the promise. Do you come from Jerusalem?”
“I come through the desert like the others, and I bring wife and child
with me.”
“Child--yes! Why do you Hebrews carry so many children with you?”
The Hebrew was silent, but since he perceived that the Roman knew the
reason, and since the latter looked like a benevolent man, he resolved
to tell the truth.
“Herod the King heard from the Wise Men of the East the prophecy that
a King of the Jews would be born in Bethlehem in the land of Judaea. In
order to escape the supposed danger, Herod had all the children recently
born in that district put to death. Just as Pharaoh once had our
first-born put to death here. But Moses was saved, in order to free our
people from the Egyptian bondage.”
“Well! but who was this King of the Jews to be?”
“The promised Messiah.”
“Do you believe that he is born?”
“I cannot tell.”
“I can,” said the Roman. “He is born; he will rule the world, and bring
all people under his sceptre.”
“And who will that be?”
“The Emperor, Augustus.”
“Is he of Abraham’s seed or of David’s house? No. And has he come with
peace, as Isaiah prophesied, ‘His kingdom shall be great, and of peace
there shall be no end’? The Emperor is certainly not a man of peace.”
“Farewell, Israelite. Now you are a Roman subject. Be content with the
redemption through Rome. We know not of any other.”
The Roman departed.
The Hebrew approached his wife. “Mary!” he said.
“Joseph!” she answered. “Hush! The child sleeps.”
THE LAMB
Herod Antipas, the Tetrarch, had come to Jerusalem, because there
was much unrest among the populace. He had taken up his dwelling with
Pilate, the Governor. Since on the preceding evening he had witnessed a
gladiatorial show in the circus and then taken part in an orgy, he slept
late into the morning--so late that his host, who was waiting for his
guest, had gone upon the roof.
There lay the Holy City, with Mount Moriah and the Temple, Zion and
David’s House. To the north-west and west there stretched the Valley of
Sharon to the Mediterranean Sea, which in the clear air appeared like a
blue streak at a distance of five miles.
In the east there rose the Mount of Olives, with its gardens and
vineyards, olives, figs and terebinths, below ran the brook Kedron
whose banks were decked in their spring apparel of flourishing laurels,
tamarisks, and willows.
The Governor was restless, and often paused to stand by the parapet of
the roof in order to look down into the forecourt of the Temple. Here
numbers of people moved about busily, forming themselves into knots
which dissolved and then formed larger groups.
At last the Tetrarch appeared. He had overslept himself, and his eyes
were blood-shot. He gave the Governor a brief greeting, and settled
himself as though for a conversation. But he found it hard to bring out
a word; his head hung down, and he did not know how to begin, for the
orgies of the preceding night had made him forget what he had come for.
Pilate came to his help: “Speak, Herod; your heart is full, and your
mind uneasy.”
“What do you say, my brother?”
“We were speaking yesterday of the strange man who stirs up the people.”
“Quite right! I had John beheaded. Is it he who is going about?”
“No, it is another one now.”
“Are there two of them?”
“Yes, this is another one.”
“But they have the same history--a prophecy which foretold their
birth, and the fable of a supernatural origin, just like the Perseus of
mythology, and the philosopher Plato in history. Is it a confusion of
persons?”
“No, not at all.”
“What is his name? Josua, Jesse...?”
“His name is Jesus, and he is said to have passed his childhood in the
Egyptian towns Heliopolis and Leontopolis.”
“Then he must be a magician or wizard; can he not come and divert me?”
“It is difficult to find him, for he is now in one place, now in
another. But we will question the High Priest; I have had him called,
and he waits below.”
“Why is there this commotion in the court of the Temple?”
“They are going to erect the Emperor’s statue in the Holy of Holies.”
“Quite right! Our gracious Emperor Tiberius lives like a madman on
Capri, and is pummelled by his nephew Caligula, if the offspring of
incest can be called a nephew. And now he is to become a god. Ha! Ha!”
“Antiochus Epiphanes had the statue of Zeus set up in the Holy of
Holies. He, however, _was_ a god. But to set up this beast, Tiberius,
means a tumult.”
“What are we to do? Call the Priest here.”
Pilate went and fetched the High Priest Caiaphas.
Herod closed his eyes, and folded his hands over his breast. He regarded
all matters of business as an interruption to his pleasures, and
generally liked to cut them short. When Pilate returned with Caiaphas,
the Tetrarch awoke from his doze, and did not know where he was, or
what they were talking about. Pilate stepped forward, aroused him to
consciousness, and directed his attention to the matter in hand.
“There is a tumult in the Temple,” was his first observation, for that
disturbed his sleep. “Ah! the Priest is here. What is the meaning of the
uproar below?”
“It is the Galilaean, who has taken to using force, and has driven the
money-changers out of the Temple.”
Herod’s curiosity was aroused: “I should like to see him.”
“He has already gone.”
“Tell us, High Priest, who is this man? Is he the Messiah?”
“That is incredible. The son of a poor carpenter, who is weak in the
head!”
“Is he a prophet?”
“He stirs up the people, he breaks the law, he is a glutton and
wine-bibber, and he blasphemes God. Yes, he says that he himself is God,
the Son of the Highest.”
“Have you witnesses to this?”
“Yes, but they contradict each other.”
“Then procure better witnesses, who will agree. But now, Priest, we
must talk of something else. You know that the Senate have decreed the
apotheosis of the Emperor, and that his image is to be set up in the
Temple. What do you think about it?”
“We live by the favour of the Emperor. But if this abomination is done,
we will all die as the Maccabees did.”
“Then die!”
Caiaphas considered a moment before he answered. “I will summon the
Sanhedrim, and tell them what the Emperor wishes.”
“Yes, do that. And before the Passover you must bring the Galilaean
before me, for I wish to see him.”
“I will.”
“Then go in peace.”
Caiaphas retired.
“They are a hard people, these Israelites,” said Pilate, for want of
something better to say. “I am also of Israel,” answered Herod somewhat
curtly, “for I am an Edomite, of Esau’s race, and my mother was a
Samaritan, belonging to the despised people.”
Pilate saw that he had made a slip, and therefore struck the ground
three times with his official staff. A large trap-door opened, and a
table came up covered with all kinds of delicacies according to Roman
taste.
Herod’s countenance cleared.
* * * * *
In the Court of the Priests stood Caiaphas and Annas, and spoke with
each other.
“Since we cannot avert the abomination,” said Caiaphas, “and the
Emperor’s image is to be erected in the Holy of Holies, and the people
will be destroyed if there is an insurrection, it is better for us to
bring an offering to the Lord, and that one man die for the people.”
“You are right. An extraordinary atoning sacrifice is necessary, and as
the Passover is approaching, let us sacrifice the Galilaean.”
“Good! But the offering should be pure. Is the Galilaean pure?”
“Pure as a lamb.”
“May he then take Israel’s sins upon him, that we may be set free
through his blood. Who brings him into our hands?”
“One of his disciples, who stands outside.”
“Fetch him in.”
John, later known as the “Evangelist,” was brought in, and Caiaphas
began to examine him.
“What do you say concerning your teacher? Has he transgressed the law of
Moses?”
“He has fulfilled the law.”
“But what new commandment has he introduced into our holy law?”
“Love one another.”
“Did he say he was the King of the Jews?”
“The Master said, ‘My kingdom is not of this world.’”
“Has he not made children rebel against their parents?”
“The Master said, ‘He who loveth father or mother more than me is not
worthy of me.’”
“Did he not say that one has a right to neglect one’s duties as a
citizen?”
“The Master said, ‘Seek ye first the kingdom of God and His
righteousness.’”
“Did he tell labourers to leave their work?”
“The Master said, ‘Come unto me, all ye that labour and are
heavy-laden.’”
“Did he say that he would conquer the world?”
“The Master said, ‘In the world ye have tribulation, but be of good
cheer; I have overcome the world.’”
Caiaphas was weary: “According to all that I have heard and perceived,
this man has not answered a single question.”
“The Master answers in spirit and in truth, but you ask according to the
flesh and the letter. We are not the children of one spirit.”
“I don’t understand.”
“He has sent me to preach good tidings to the poor, to heal the broken
in heart, to preach deliverance to the captives, to give sight to the
blind, to set at liberty them that are bruised.”
“What you speak in foolishness, young man, can neither bring credit to
you nor to your teacher.”
“Woe unto you when men praise you, and he who departeth from evil maketh
himself a prey.”
Caiaphas turned to Annas: “This is not the man who will deliver the
Galilaean up to us.”
“They have sent another one--Listen! Is your name Iscariot?”
“No; my name is John.”
“Then go in peace, but send us Iscariot instead. But wait! Give us in
two words the teaching of your Master regarding the meaning of life.”
“Death is a gain for the righteous,” answered John without stopping to
think.
“Is life not itself...?”
“Through death ye shall enter into life.”
“We have heard enough. Go.”
But Caiaphas repeated to himself, as though he thought he would
understand those words in his own mouth better: “Death is a gain for the
righteous.”
Now there arose a clamour from the market-place and the hall of justice.
Annas and Caiaphas went out upon the battlemented walls to find out the
cause. Levites were standing there, and looking down.
“Has he been taken?”
“He has already been seized as an inciter to insurrection, because he
bade his disciples to sell their garments and buy a sword.”
“Have they found them with weapons?”
“They have found two swords.”
“Then he is already condemned.”
Then they heard a cry rise from the crowd before the Court of
Justice--at first difficult to distinguish, but ever clearer. The people
were crying “Crucify! Crucify!”
“Is that not too severe, regarded as a punishment?” said Caiaphas.
“No,” answered the Levite; “one of his disciples called Simon or Peter
drew his sword and wounded one of the servants called Malchus.”
“Do we need any more witnesses?”
“But the Teacher said, ‘Put up thy sword into its sheath, for they that
take the sword, shall perish with the sword.’”
“That is a difficult saying,” said Annas, and went down. But the people
continued to cry, “Crucify! Crucify!”
THE WILD BEAST
Before the temple of Jupiter Latiaris in Rome, two men of the middle
classes met each other. They both remained standing in order to
contemplate the new temple, which was different from all others, and
looked as if it had felt the effects of an earthquake. The basement
had the shape of a roof; the columns stood reversed with their capitals
below, and the roof was constructed like a basement with cellar-windows.
“So we meet here again, Hebrew,” said one of the two, who resembled a
Roman merchant. “Was it not in Joppa that we last met?”
“Yes,” answered the Hebrew. “One meets the Roman everywhere; he is at
home everywhere; one also meets the Hebrew everywhere, but he is at home
nowhere. But tell me, whose temple is this?”
“This is the Temple of the Wild Beast, the Emperor Caligula, the madman,
the murderer, the incestuous. He has erected it to himself; his image
stands within; and the madman comes every day to worship himself.”
So saying, the Roman made a sign on his forehead, moving the forefinger
of his right hand first from above, below, and then from left to right.
The Hebrew looked at him in astonishment.
“Are you not a Roman?”
“Yes, I am a Roman Christian.”
“Where do you live?”
“Here under Rome, in the catacombs.”
He pointed to a hole in the ground, which resembled those that led down
to the cloacae.
“Do you live here under the ground?”
“Yes, that is where we Christians live; there we lie like seed in the
earth, and germinate.”
“Those are grave-vaults down there.”
“Yes, we are buried with Christ, and await the resurrection.”
“Have you a temple down there?”
“We have our religious service there, and to-day we celebrate the birth
of Christ.”
“Someone is coming down the street,” said the Hebrew. The Roman opened
the trap-door in the ground in order to descend. From below the sounds
of a choral hymn were heard. “The City hath no need of the moon, neither
of the sun, for the glory of God doth lighten it, and the Lamb is the
light thereof.”
“Who is the Lamb?” asked the Hebrew.
“Jesus Christ, the Redeemer of the World.”
“Do you think the world is redeemed, while this mad Caligula....”
“The world will be redeemed, if we continue to hope.”
“You have, then, taken the promise away from Israel?”
“No, we have inherited the promise, for Christ was of the stock of
Israel.”
“Someone is coming.”
“Then farewell. We shall always meet, for the earth is ours.”
In the temple, which people called “the world turned upside down,” a man
slunk along the walls in a state of panic, as though he were afraid to
display his back. He had the face of a youth without any hair round
it. His upper lip was drawn upwards on the left side, and showed a long
canine tooth, while at the same time his right eye shot a sharp glance
like a poisonous arrow.
He glided along the wall to the apse, where an image was erected. It was
a likeness of the timid man himself, representing him exactly even to
his clothes.
“Is the priest there?” the mad Emperor whispered, for it was he.
No answer followed.
“Priest, dear priest, I am so frightened. Are you not coming?”
A sacrificial priest came forward, fell on his knee before the Emperor,
and worshipped him.
“Jupiter, Optimus, Maximus, Latiaris, frighten away thy foes.”
“Have I foes, then? Yes, and that is what frightens me. Do you believe
that I am God?”
“Thou art.”
“Let us then have thunder, to frighten my foes.”
The priest beat upon a kettledrum, and the echoes rolled through the
temple.
The Emperor laughed, so that all his teeth were visible.
“Priest!” he cried as he seated himself on his throne, “now you shall
sacrifice to me.”
The priest kindled a fire on the little altar before the madman.
The Emperor said, “The scent is good. Now I am the mightiest in heaven
and on earth. I rule over living and dead; I cast into Tartarus and lift
into Elysium. How mighty I am! I tame the waves of the sea, and command
the storm to cease: I hold sway over the planets in their courses; I
myself have created chaos, and the human race lie at my feet, from the
primeval forests of Britain to the sources of the Nile, which I alone
have discovered. I have made my favourite horse consul, and the people
have acknowledged his consulship. Priest! Worship me! Or do you forget
who I am? No, I am I, and I shall always worship myself in my own image.
Caius Caesar Caligula, I honour thee, Lord of the world, how I honour
myself! Jupiter Latiaris Caligula!”
He fell before the image on his knee.
“Some one is coming,” said the priest warningly.
“Kill him.”
“It is the tribune, Cassius Chaeraea!”
“Frighten him away.”
“Chaeraea does not let himself be frightened.”
The tribune came in fearlessly and without ceremony.
“Caius Caesar, your wife is dead.”
“All the better,” answered the Emperor.
“They have dashed your only child against a wall.”
“Ah, how pleasant!” laughed the madman.
“And now you are to die.”
“No, I cannot. I am immortal.”
“I wait for you outside. It shall not take place here.”
“Creep away, ant! My foot is too great to reach thy littleness.”
Then a sound of singing rose from the basement of the temple, or from
the earth; they were children’s voices.
The Emperor was again alarmed, and crept under his chair.
Chaeraea, who had waited at the door, lost patience.
“Dog! are you coming? Or shall I strike you dead here?”
“Chaeraea,” whimpered the Emperor, “do not kill me! I will kiss your
foot.”
“Then kiss it now when I trample you to death.”
The gigantic tribune threw the chair to one side, leapt on the madman
and crushed his windpipe beneath his heel; the tongue, protruded from
his jaws, seemed to be spitting abuse even in death.
* * * * *
The Wild Beast had three heads; the name of the second was Claudius. He
played dice with his friend Caius Silius, who was famous for his wealth
and his beauty.
“Follow the game,” hissed Caesar.
“I am following it,” answered his friend.
“No, you are absent-minded. Where were you last night?”
“I was in the Suburra.”
“You should not go to the Suburra; you should stay with me.”
“Follow the game.”
“I am following it; but what are the stakes we are playing for?”
“You are playing for your life.”
“And you, Caesar?”
“I am also playing for your life.”
“And if you lose?” asked Silius.
“Then you will lose your life.”
The Emperor knocked with the dice-box on the table. His secretary
Narcissus came in.
“Give me writing materials, Narcissus. The antidote for snake-bites is
yew-tree resin....”
“And the antidote to hemlock?”
“Against that there is no antidote.”
“Follow the game, or I shall be angry.”
“No, you cannot be angry!” answered Silius.
“Yes, that is true,--I cannot! I only said so!”
Messalina, the Emperor’s wife, had entered.
“Why is Silius sitting here and playing,” she asked, “when he should
accompany me to the theatre?”
“He is compelled,” answered the Emperor.
“Wretch! what rights have you over him?”
“He is my slave; all are slaves of the Lord of the world. Therefore
Rome is the most democratic of all States, for all its citizens are
equal--equal before Men and God.”
“He is your slave, but he is my husband,” said Messalina.
“Your husband! Why, you are married to me.”
“What does that matter?”
“Do you go and marry without asking my permission?”
“Yes, why not?”
“You are certainly droll, Messalina! And I pardon you. Go, my children,
and amuse yourselves. Narcissus will play with me.”
When the Emperor was left alone with Narcissus, his expression changed.
“Follow them, Narcissus!” he hissed. “Take Locusta with you, and give
them the poison. Then I shall marry Agrippina.”
But when Silius and the Empress had gone without, Silius asked
innocently: “Have you yourself prepared the mushrooms which he will eat
this evening?”
“I have not done it myself, but Locusta has, and she understands her
business.”
* * * * *