“DELENDA EST HIEROSOLYMA!”
“Then you will not marry me, princess?”
Such were the words addressed by Florus to Berenice, as he walked
beside her in the sunlit gardens of the Prætorium.
The ugly gash he had received that morning from the well-aimed missile
had not enhanced his personal beauty. Berenice, as she watched him
from beneath the fringe of her dark, silky eyelashes, shivered, and
thought how like a satyr he looked! She mentally contrasted the
bloated coarseness of his visage with Crispus’ clear bronzed healthful
complexion.
“Marry _you_!” she said, emphasizing the last word. “My lord Florus,
you have a wife already!”
“So had my predecessor Felix, but that did not prevent your sister
Drusilla from marrying him.”
“Poor deluded Drusilla! she would never have so acted but for the
spells and sorceries of Simon Magus.”
“Would that I knew where this Simon were to be found,” sighed the
governor, “for then would I, too, employ him in the like office!”
“You have the great Theomantes,” laughed Berenice. “Cannot he weave
spells for you? or has he already done so, and failed? But, my lord
Florus, have pity on your wife. Why do you desire wicked Berenice in
place of the good Cleopatra?”
“Fairest of women,” began the governor gallantly.
“Nay,” said the princess, somewhat darkly, “Crispus hath openly
deprived me of that title.”
“A fool, who hath no eyes for real beauty.”
“Is it Berenice the Fair or Berenice the Golden that you are seeking to
woo?”
“Mine,” answered Florus with a fine air of virtue, “mine is not a
mercenary character.”
“Except where the spoil of Zealots is concerned,” laughed Berenice. “I
fear greatly that this morning’s revelation will deprive you of office.”
The procurator, too, was very much of this opinion, but it was not
pleasant to hear it from her. Masking his anger beneath a hollow smile,
he said:
“To gain you, princess, I would--yes! I would willingly turn proselyte,
and that is more than Felix did for Drusilla.”
“’Tis a tempting offer,” said Berenice, with a sweet mocking laugh that
charmed while it maddened the procurator. “How the Jews would joy in
their new convert! Picture me leading Florus by the hand to the temple,
there to present him to Matthias as a pious neophyte!” Then, becoming
grave again, she went on, “My father Agrippa was king of Judæa, and it
has ever been my aim to control the destinies of this same land, an aim
foredoomed to failure were I to marry you.”
“Why so?”
“O dullard! You have ruled because your wife was the friend of the
Empress Poppæa.” (“_Was?_” thought Florus, wondering why she should
use the past tense; he was soon to learn!) “Had you divorced Cleopatra
to marry me you would have set the empress against you, and then where
would have been your procuratorship?”
This view of the case had often occurred to Florus himself. Still, what
was the loss of his office compared with the handling of Berenice’s
gold?
“And,” continued Berenice, “even supposing that the empress,
overlooking the slight to her friend Cleopatra, should be willing to
maintain you in office, she can no longer do so, seeing that she is
dead.”
“Poppæa dead?” gasped Florus incredulously.
“So saith my freedman Sadas.”
“Whence did he learn it?”
“A ship from Rome has just arrived in harbor with the tidings.
Everybody on board is talking about it. Our greatest proselyte is dead,
killed by a blow from Nero’s foot, and she with child! Kicked to death
by him whom you would have had us worship last night as a god,” she
added, her lip wreathing in scorn.
Florus was thunderstruck at the tidings, foreseeing a quick end to
his rule now that there was no Poppæa to stand between him and the
punishment justly due for his misdeeds. He knew full well that as
soon as the Jews received the news they would send to Rome an embassy
praying for his removal. They would certainly mention that little deal
with the Zealots, not to speak of various other little peccadillos.
“And in ceasing to be procurator,” said he, wrathfully, “I, of course,
cease to be of interest to you?”
“Unless you should become Cæsar, in which case send for me, and I will
come to you--yea, fly! As empress of the world I could do the holy
nation better service than as queen of Judæa.”
Empress of the world! She spoke lightly, little dreaming how narrowly
she was to miss gaining the imperial throne.
“You think only of your people, and of your superstition,” muttered
Florus.
“Only of my people, and of my--superstition. You have hit off my
character.”
“You have been playing with me for your own ends,” said he, his great
coarse cheek reddening with anger. “And now you cast me off as one
casts off a sandal that has outlived its use.”
“O Florus, have done!” she said with a wearied air. “We have both
been acting. Let us drop the mask. ’Tis not Berenice herself that is
the charm, but her gold with which you hope to cancel past debts and
to continue your infamous orgies. And I, divining your motives, have
likewise played the hypocrite, feigning a love I never felt, if by so
doing I might benefit Judæa. Strangely have you mistaken my nature in
thinking that, apart from your procuratorship, you could ever have held
any interest for me. My lord Florus, I bid you farewell.”
And with that she left him.
The face of Florus was as the face of a demon as he watched her walking
scornfully away with never a backward glance of pity or remorse. Love
for her had now altogether vanished from his heart; no other feeling
there but a big black hatred that transformed him to the elemental
savage. His only thought now was to revenge himself upon her. But how?
Death? It were a somewhat difficult matter to compass the end of a
Jewish princess. True, he might hire the daggers of the Sicarii, even
as the procurator Felix had hired them to assassinate the high priest
Jonathan--he fell at the very altar--but suspicion would attach itself
to him, and this was a thing to be avoided, if possible.
Besides, a death like that were too light a punishment; one sharp
pang, and all would be over. His vengeance must take a more subtle, a
more protracted form. How to accomplish it was the question, and thus
thinking, he walked meditatively back to the Prætorium.
On entering, he learned that King Polemo--Berenice’s ex-husband--was
awaiting an interview with him in the Ivory Hall, a saloon so called
from its paneling.
Florus received the news with something like a frown.
“What wants he with me?” he muttered, darkly. “’Tis he who has brought
me to this.” But in a moment his face cleared again. “A friend of
Cæsar! Ha! he may be of help to me in this crisis,” and he accordingly
directed his steps to the Ivory Hall.
“Bring wine,” commanded he; and this being done, Florus was left alone
with his visitor.
The friendship--if, indeed, it deserved the name--existing between the
two men, had begun a year previously at Rome at the time when Florus
was about to proceed to Judæa in the character of procurator. The
king’s sudden attachment was a fact somewhat puzzling to Florus, who,
however highly he might think of himself, was nevertheless secretly
conscious that his character was not such as to appeal to a man of
Polemo’s stamp. However, there the fact was: Polemo was evidently
anxious to ingratiate himself into Florus’ good will, for, finding
that the Roman was ill-provided with money, he supplied him with a sum
sufficient to enable the new procurator to make a splendid entry into
Cæsarea. Since that time Florus had received additional sums from the
king. Never was there a more willing and a more charming lender than
Polemo. Content with receiving written acknowledgments of the amount,
he did not press for repayment. Let not Florus disturb himself; he
could pay at his leisure. Delighted at this easy way of obtaining
money, Florus had, in the course of one short year, recklessly borrowed
again and again, till in his more sober moments he trembled to think
how great was his debt. If suddenly called upon to refund the whole at
once, he would be a ruined man.
Of late Florus had grown very uneasy; the suspicion, nay, the certainty
seized him that the king was trying to establish a sinister hold over
him. There was in Polemo’s grave air and peculiar smile something that
seemed to say, “What I bid you do, you will do!” And Florus, feeling
himself chained hand and foot, durst not resent the other’s quiet
air of mastership, for these were the days, be it observed, when the
Roman law ordained that, whatever his rank (unless he belonged to the
imperial family, who, of course, were above all law) the debtor unable
to meet his liabilities must become the bond-slave of his creditor.
That Polemo had some end in view was certain, but what it could be,
Florus had, so far, not the least inkling.
One fact, however, became increasingly clear. Polemo, who in days gone
by had submitted to the rite of circumcision in order to gain the hand
of Berenice, had now no love either for Judaism or the Jews, and spoke
of the latter in terms of scorn and hatred.
Florus, disposed by nature to be harsh in dealing with the people
under his rule, seemed to receive a tacit if not direct encouragement
from Polemo; at any rate, he never left the king’s presence without
a determination to adopt new methods of repression, even though by
so doing he should run the risk of losing the favor of Berenice. It
seemed almost as if Polemo had set himself to counteract her influence;
and in truth Florus, swayed first by one and then by the other, had
vacillated strangely between right-doing and wrong-doing. His own
natural disposition, however, inclined him to follow the sinister
suggestions of Polemo, to such an extent as to make his procuratorship
more infamous in character than any that had preceded it.
Florus had often wondered what was the attitude of Polemo’s mind
towards Berenice, but on this point he could never quite satisfy
himself. When he had ventured, not without some diffidence, to intimate
his intention of wooing the king’s one-time wife, Polemo smiled,
bidding him succeed--if he could! And after that, whenever the two met,
Polemo never failed to inquire, not without a suggestion of sarcasm,
how the other’s suit was progressing.
He did the like on the present occasion.
“May her own Jewish devil, whom they call Satan, carry her off to
Tartarus,” was Florus’ elegant rejoinder.
“Ah! stands the case so? I thought ’twould have that ending. ’Twere
unwomanly of her to accept the love of a man already wedded, especially
as she herself----”
Florus wondered what was coming next, but Polemo had checked himself as
if about to say too much.
“I came not, however, to talk of Berenice,” he continued, “but of your
own desperate position.”
“A position for which you are in some measure responsible,” said Florus.
“Nay, this secret league with robber Zealots is a folly all your own. I
have advocated severity, but unfortunately your severities have never
gone far enough for my purpose.”
_His_ purpose? thought Florus. Did he think, then, to govern Judæa
through him? It would seem so.
“Your shafts have galled the animal merely without causing him to turn
and fight.”
“Be plainer with me.”
“My desire has been to see the Jews rise in revolt by reason of the
harshness of your administration. Your timid leniency has foiled my
aim. The Jews have _not_ risen.”
Florus grew secretly angry to think that he had been a tool alternately
to Polemo and Berenice, the more so as he had succeeded in giving
satisfaction to neither.
“’Twere better to carry out my policy. To goad the Jews into rebellion
is now your only hope of salvation. Your harsh dealing in the past will
then have some justification. You can plead that the character of the
people forced you against your will to be severe. Repressive measures
are required by a people always on the verge of breaking out into war.
Their revolt at this juncture will serve as a cloak to cover your
former misdeeds.”
Now, while Polemo was speaking thus, a new feeling came over Florus. He
found his anger giving place to a tingling sensation of pleasure, as
he recalled Berenice’s words that she cared for nothing but her people
and her religion. Here in the suggestion of Polemo was the opportunity
of striking at her through these twin idols of her affection. Among all
his schemes for hurting Berenice he had not thought of this. The very
thing! What a splendid vengeance it would be if he could successfully
goad the Jews into war, and then utilize that war as a means for
destroying both nation and temple!
There have been monsters in history; Florus was one of them. His
malevolence could contemplate with equanimity the extermination of a
whole people provided only that he could hurt Berenice by the action;
and if the groan of every dying victim should send an additional
torture to her heart, why then, the more that died the better!
But, as he fell to reflecting, his ardor cooled somewhat.
The scheme was all very fine, but, in spite of Polemo’s opinion to the
contrary, seemed likely to recoil upon his own head. How could the
governor that had purposely provoked a war hope to escape punishment at
the hands of Cæsar? He put the question to Polemo, who received it with
secret satisfaction, perceiving that Florus was quite willing to do the
work, if only he could emerge from it with safety.
“Fear not. Having performed your task, you disappear for a time. My
kingdom of Pontus shall afford you a safe asylum till the counselors
who surround Nero shall have persuaded him that you have in reality
done a good work.”
“Humph! will they be able to do so?” asked Florus, dubiously.
“They will,” answered Polemo. “Am I not the friend of Cæsar,” he
continued, exhibiting the ring whose stone was engraved with Nero’s
portrait, “entitled to stand at his right hand. I will show him that
you are a keen patriot; that all your outrages so called, even your
alliance with the Zealots, have been but the development of a profound
and subtle policy, all directed towards one aim only--the good of Rome.”
Florus, whose actions were never directed by anything but his own
self-interest, grinned at the notion of being taken for a patriot.
“The Jewish superstition,” continued Polemo, “is spreading, not only
among other nations, but also among the Romans themselves. The captive
is taking captive the conqueror. The Roman Senate sees in this wide
diffusion of Judaism a menace to the safety of the empire. How is it
to be stopped? There is but one way: destroy the temple at Jerusalem,
and you destroy the superstition. And since war is the only means of
accomplishing this end, Roman statesmen would be grateful to Florus
for initiating the war. Why should we show a false mercy to the Jew?
Consider Rome’s past policy towards him, and the return he makes for it.
“Rome does not seek, nor even wish, to impose her own gods upon any
of the subject nations. But how different is the case with the Jew,
who compasses sea and land to make one proselyte, and in the person of
Poppæa has all but captured the imperial throne itself. Not a city of
the empire but has its synagogue, though, forsooth, the Jew will not
permit a single Gentile temple to be erected on the so-called holy soil
of his own land--nay, would fly to arms should the thing be attempted.
“This people are seeking to Judaize the empire, and should this
proselytism continue at its present rate of progress, Rome is doomed.”
“How so?” asked the startled Florus.
“Because mankind, when Judaized, will turn, not to Rome, but to
Jerusalem, as the capital of the world, and the seat of ideas. The
high priest, and not Cæsar, will wield the scepter of empire; and,
since toleration is unknown to the Jew, Oriental barbarism will triumph
over Western civilization. Three times a year shall we be compelled to
appear at Jerusalem. The laws of the Twelve Tables will give place to
the precepts of the rabbis. Homer will be burnt in the market square;
the philosophy of Plato superseded by the Pentateuch of Moses. Our
circus games, Olympian contests, and theatrical plays will cease.
Sculpture will be forbidden; the fairest masterpieces of Phidias will
perish beneath the hammer of fanatics. The beautiful temples of Greece
will be given over to the flames--there must be but one temple only,
that of the jealous Hebrew God. All that gives to life brightness, and
beauty, and joy, will vanish forever from the world, and we must find
our chief pleasure in circumcision and the synagogue, in fastings and
Sabbaths.”
“By the gods, Polemo, you frighten me!” exclaimed Florus, contemplating
with dismay this picture of a Judaized world.
“I trust I do, for then you will the more readily carry out my designs
against the hateful race of fanatics, who will do all I have said,
if they be not checked. The existence of the Jew and his proselyte
ought not to be tolerated by the Roman; their very creed teaches them
disloyalty.”
“In what way?”
“How is the power of Rome maintained? Only by its army. Abolish the
legions, and how long, think you, would it be before the Northern
barbarians would come pouring over the Rhine and the Danube bent on our
overthrow? What part do the Jew and his proselyte take in our common
defense? None! Let a Roman subject become a disciple of the synagogue,
and though called upon, he obstinately refuses to serve in the army,
on the plea that he may have to march or to fight on the Sabbath day,
a thing forbidden by his religion. Rome has had to yield to them,
and hence the unwritten law exempting Jews and their proselytes from
military impressment. The Gaul and the Greek, the Spaniard and the
Egyptian, must be told off to defend the empire: you and I, dear
Florus, must shed our blood, in order, forsooth, that the Jew may have
leisure to trade upon us, and grow rich.”
“A piece of injustice, the very thought of which makes one savage,”
commented Florus.
“The Jew is _in_ the empire, but not _of_ it; he enjoys its advantages,
but refuses to pay for them. The wealth made by him in huckstering is
not employed to benefit the province where earned, but is sent to the
temple at Jerusalem, there to lie dormant. The drain of gold and silver
to the temple is so serious a matter as to have affected at times the
currency of a province, compelling its governor to forbid the export.[7]
“Why this piling up in the temple of treasure, amounting to millions of
aurei? Why? Because war cannot be carried on without gold. This hoard,
which the Jews would have us regard as merely the religious offerings
of pious souls, is in reality being accumulated for the purpose of
waging war against Rome.”
“I have often thought so myself,” said Florus, who had never thought
anything of the kind.
“You heard Simon the Zealot say that he had put his gold where no Roman
could touch it; what place did he mean if not the sanctuary of the
temple?--a sanctuary to which even Cæsar himself is denied access. I
warrant that the escaped Zealot will find asylum there, for before he
took to the mountains he was known to be the friend of Eleazar, the
captain of the temple, an officer whom you know to be outspoken in his
hatred of Rome. But to return from individuals to the nation. When they
deem the occasion ripe, they will of themselves declare war, a war
certain to begin at the passover time; for, on the pretext of coming
up to the feast, the Jews and their proselytes can be conveniently
summoned from every quarter of the empire. Rome hath never liked these
gatherings, and with reason. Their numbers grow year by year: at the
last passover the pilgrims swelled the population of Jerusalem to the
number of three hundred myriads. Ye gods! Think of it! Three million
fanatics all burning with a hatred of Rome allowed to assemble in
a city, said to be the strongest in the world! What can the Senate
be thinking of? Why should we wait till this nation be grown more
powerful? Even now there are rumors of alliances with nations outside
the borders of the empire--with Parthians beyond the Euphrates, and
with the Arabs of the desert. Every year increases _their_ strength,
and _our_ peril. But let their city and their temple be given to
the flames--which is what must happen in the event of war--and
their religion comes to an end; the day of proselytism is over; the
pilgrimages cease, for who will have faith in a deity powerless to
protect his temple? ‘The gods of Rome,’ ’twill be said, ‘are more
potent than he of Judæa.’ Judaism once destroyed, the empire is safe.
It is in your power, Florus, to do this, and I----”
“_Satis!_” cried the procurator. “You have said enough to convince me
that the destroying of this nation is a patriotic and righteous deed.”
But Polemo had still another argument left, more powerful than any
other. He had purposely kept it to the last.
He drew forth a small roll of parchment notes, which Florus recognized
as his own monetary acknowledgments.
“On the day that the Jews declare war, I shall burn these without
asking for repayment.”