PERSECUTION IN THE OFFING.
Next morning, as Jucundus was dusting and polishing his statues and other
articles of taste and devotion, supplying the gaps in their ranks, and
grouping a number of new ones which had come in from his workmen, Juba
strutted into the shop, and indulged himself from time to time in an
inward laugh or snigger at the various specimens of idolatry which grinned
or frowned or frisked or languished on all sides of him.
“Don’t sneer at that Anubis,” said his uncle; “it is the work of the
divine Callista.”
“That, I suppose, is why she brings into existence so many demons,”
answered Juba; “nothing more can be done in the divine line; like the
queen who fell in love with a baboon.”
“Now I come to think,” retorted Jucundus, “that god of hers is something
like _you_. She must be in love with you, Juba.”
The youth, as was usual with him, tossed his head with an air of lofty
displeasure; at length he said, “And why should she not fall in love with
me, pray?”
“Why, because you are too good or too bad to need her plastic hand. She
could not make anything out of you. ‘Non ex quovis ligno.’ But she’d be
doing a good work if she wiled back your brother.”
“_He_ does not want wiling any more than I,” said Juba, “_I_ dare say!
he’s no Christian.”
“What’s that?” said his uncle, looking round at him in surprise; “Agellius
no Christian?”
“Not a bit of it,” answered Juba; “rest assured. I taxed him with it only
last night; let him alone, _he’ll_ come round. He’s too proud to change,
that’s all. Preach to him, entreat him, worry him, try to turn him, work
at the bit, whip him, and he will turn restive, start aside, or run away;
but let him have his head, pretend not to look, seem indifferent to the
whole matter, and he will quietly sit down in the midst of your images
there. Callista has an easy task; she’ll bribe him to do what he would
else do for nothing.”
“The very best news I have heard since your silly old father died,” cried
Jucundus; “the very best—if true. Juba, I’ll give you an handsome present
the first sow your brother sacrifices to Ceres. Ha, ha, what fine fun to
see the young farmer over his cups at the Nundinæ! Ha, ha, no Christian!
bravo, Juba! ha, ha, I’ll make you a present, I say, an Apollo to teach
you manners, or a Mercury to give you wit.”
“It’s quite true,” said Juba; “he would not be thinking of Callista, if he
were thinking of his saints and angels.”
“Ha, ha! to be sure!” returned Jucundus; “to be sure! yet why shouldn’t he
worship a handsome Greek girl as well as any of those mummies and death’s
heads and bogies of his, which I should blush to put up here alongside
even of Anubis, or a scarabæus?”
“Mother thinks she is not altogether the girl you take her for,” said his
nephew.
“No matter, no matter,” answered Jucundus, “no matter at all; she may be a
Lais or Phryne for me; the surer to make a man of him.”
“Why,” said Juba, “mother thinks her head is turning in the opposite way.
D’you see? Strange, isn’t it?” he added, annoyed himself yet not unwilling
to annoy his uncle.
“Hm!” exclaimed Jucundus, making a wry face and looking round at him, as
if to say, “What on earth is going to turn up now?”
“To tell the truth,” said Juba, gloomily, “I did once think of her myself.
I don’t see why I have not as much right to do so as Agellius, if I
please. So I thought old mother might do something for me; and I asked her
for a charm or love potion, which would bring her from her brother down to
the forest yonder. Gurta took to it kindly, for she has a mortal hatred of
Callista, because of her good looks, though she won’t say so, and because
she’s a Greek! and she liked the notion of humbling the haughty minx. So
she began one of the most tremendous spells,” he shrieked out with a
laugh, “one of the most tremendous spells in her whole budget. All and
everything in the most exact religious way: wine, milk, blood, meal, wax,
old rags, gods, Numidian as well as Punic; such names; one must be
barbarian to boot, as well as witch, to pronounce them: a score of things
there were besides. And then to see the old woman, with her streaming grey
hair, twinkling eyes, and grim look, twirl about as some flute girl at a
banquet; it was enough to dance down, not only the moon, but the whole
milky way. But it did not dance down Callista; at which mother got savage,
and protested that Callista was a Christian.”
Jucundus looked much perplexed. “Medius fidius!” he said, “why, unless we
look sharp, she will be converting him the wrong way;” and he began pacing
up and down the small room.
Juba on his part began singing—
“Gurta the witch would have part in the jest;
Though lame as a gull, by his highness possessed,
She shouldered her crutch, and danced with the rest.
“Sporting and snorting, deep in the night,
Their beards flashing fire, and their hoofs striking light,
And their tails whisking round in the heat of their flight.”
By this time Jucundus had recovered from the qualm which Juba’s
intelligence had caused him, and he cried out, “Cease your rubbish; old
Gurta’s jealous; I know her spite; Christian is the most blackguard word
in her vocabulary, its Barbar for toad or adder. I see it all; no,
Callista, the divine Callista, must take in hand this piece of wax, sing a
charm, and mould him into a Vertumnus. She’ll show herself the more potent
witch of the two. The new emperor too will help the incantation.”
“What! something is coming?” asked Juba, with a grin.
“Coming, boy? yes, I warrant you,” answered his uncle. “_We’ll_ make them
squeak. If gentle means don’t do, then we’ll just throw in another
ingredient or two: an axe, or a wild cat, or a firebrand.”
“Take care what you are about, if you deal with Agellius,” said Juba.
“He’s a sawney, but you must not drive him to bay. Don’t threaten; keep to
the other line; he’s weak-hearted.”
“Only as a background to bring out the painting; the Muse singing, all in
light, relieved by sardix or sepia. It _must_ come; but perhaps Agellius
will come first.”
It was indeed as Jucundus had hinted; a new policy, a new era was coming
upon Christianity, together with the new emperor. Christians had hitherto
been for the most part the objects of popular fury rather than of imperial
jealousy. Nero, indeed, from his very love of cruelty, had taken pleasure
in torturing them: but statesmen and philosophers, though at times
perplexed and inconsistent, yet on the whole had despised them; and the
superstition of priests and people, with their “Christianos ad leones,”
had been the most formidable enemy of the faith. Accordingly, atrocious as
the persecution had been at times, it had been conducted on no plan, and
had been local and fitful. But even this trial had been suspended, with
but few interruptions, during the last thirty, nay, fifty years. So
favourable a state of things had been more or less brought about by a
succession of emperors, who had shown an actual leaning to Christianity.
While the vigorous rule of the five good emperors, as they are called, had
had many passages in its history of an adverse character, those who
followed after, being untaught in the traditions, and strangers to the
spirit of old Rome, foreigners, or adventurers, or sensualists, were
protectors of the new religion. The favourite mistress of Commodus is even
said to have been a Christian; so is the nurse of Caracalla. The wretched
Heliogabalus, by his taste for Oriental superstitions, both weakened the
influence of the established hierarchy, and encouraged the toleration of a
faith which came from Palestine. The virtuous Alexander, who followed him,
was a philosopher more than a statesman; and, in pursuance of the
syncretism which he had adopted, placed the images of Abraham and our Lord
among the objects of devotion which his private chapel contained. What is
told us of the Emperor Philip is still more to the point: the gravest
authorities report that he was actually a Christian; and, since it cannot
be doubted that Christians were persuaded of the fact, the leaning of his
government must have been emphatically in their favour to account for such
a belief. In consequence, Christians showed themselves without fear; they
emerged from the catacombs, and built churches in public view; and, though
in certain localities, as in the instance of Africa, they had suffered
from the contact of the world, they spread far and wide, and faith became
the instrument at least of political power, even where it was wanting in
charity, or momentarily disowned by cowardice. In a word, though Celsus a
hundred years before had pronounced “a man weak who should hope to unite
the three portions of the earth in a common religion,” that common
Catholic faith had been found, and a principle of empire was created which
had never before existed. The phenomenon could not be mistaken; and the
Roman statesman saw he had to deal with a rival. Nor must we suppose,
because on the surface of the history we read so much of the vicissitudes
of imperial power, and of the profligacy of its possessors, that the
fabric of government was not sustained by traditions of the strongest
temper, and by officials of the highest sagacity. It was the age of
lawyers and politicians; and they saw more and more clearly that if
Christianity was not to revolutionize the empire, they must follow out the
line of action which Trajan and Antoninus had pointed out.
Decius then had scarcely assumed the purple, when he commenced that new
policy against the Church which was reserved to Diocletian, fifty years
later, to carry out to its own final refutation. He entered on his power
at the end of the year 249; and on the January 20th following, the day on
which the Church still celebrates the event, St. Fabian, Bishop of Rome,
obtained the crown of martyrdom. He had been pope for the unusually long
space of fourteen years, having been elected in consequence of one of
those remarkable interpositions of Divine Providence of which we now and
then read in the first centuries of the Church. He had come up to Rome
from the country, in order to be present at the election of a successor to
Pope Anteros. A dove was seen to settle on his head, and the assembly rose
up and forced him, to his surprise, upon the episcopal throne. After
bringing back the relics of St. Pontian, his martyred predecessor, from
Sardinia, and having become the apostle of great part of Gaul, he seemed
destined to end his history in the same happy quiet and obscurity in which
he had lived; but it did not become a pope of that primitive time to die
upon his bed, and he was reserved at length to inaugurate in his own
person, as chief pastor of the Church, a fresh company of martyrs.
Suddenly an edict appeared for the extermination of the name and religion
of Christ. It was addressed to the proconsuls and other governors of
provinces; and alleged or implied that the emperors, Decius and his son,
being determined to give peace to their subjects, found the Christians
alone an impediment to the fulfilment of their purpose; and that, by
reason of the enmity which those sectaries entertained towards the gods of
Rome,—an enmity which was bringing down upon the world multiplied
misfortunes. Desirous, then, above all things, of appeasing the divine
anger, they made an irrevocable ordinance that every Christian, without
exception of rank, sex, or age, should be obliged to sacrifice. Those who
refused were to be thrown into prison, and in the first instance submitted
to moderate punishments. If they conformed to the established religion,
they were to be rewarded; if not, they were to be drowned, burned alive,
exposed to the beasts, hung upon the trees, or otherwise put to death.
This edict was read in the camp of the prætorians, posted up in the
Capitol, and sent over the empire by government couriers. The authorities
in each province were themselves threatened with heavy penalties, if they
did not succeed in frightening or tormenting the Christians into the
profession of paganism.
St. Fabian, as we have said, was the first-fruits of the persecution, and
eighteen months passed before his successor could be appointed. In the
course of the next two months St. Pionius was burned alive at Smyrna, and
St. Nestor crucified in Pamphylia. At Carthage some perplexity and delay
were occasioned by the absence of the proconsul. St. Cyprian, its bishop,
took advantage of the delay, and retired into a place of concealment. The
populace had joined with the imperial government in seeking his life, and
had cried out furiously in the circus, demanding him “ad leonem,” for the
lion. A panic seized the Christian body, and for a while there were far
more persons found to compromise their faith than to confess it. It seemed
as if Aristo’s anticipation was justified, that Christianity was losing
its hold upon the mind of its subjects, and that nothing more was needed
for those who had feared it, than to let it die a natural death. And at
Sicca the Roman officials, as far as ever they dared, seemed to act on
this view. Here Christians did no harm, they made no show, and there was
little or nothing in the place to provoke the anger of the mob or to
necessitate the interference of the magistrate. The proconsul’s absence
from Carthage was both an encouragement and an excuse for delay; and hence
it was that, though we are towards the middle of the year 250, and the
edict was published at Rome at its commencement, the good people of Sicca
had, as we have said, little knowledge of what was taking place in the
political world, and whispered about vague presages of an intended
measure, which had been in some places in operation for many months.
Communication with the seat of government was not so very frequent or
rapid in those days, and public curiosity had not been stimulated by the
facilities of gratifying it. And thus we must account for a phenomenon,
which we uphold to be a fact in the instance of Sicca, in the early summer
of A.D. 250, even though it prove unaccountable, and history has nothing
to say about it, and in spite of the _Acta Diurna_.
The case, indeed, is different now. In these times, newspapers, railroads,
and magnetic telegraphs make us independent of government messengers. The
proceedings at Rome would have been generally and accurately known in a
few seconds; and then, by way of urging forward the magistracy, a question
of course would have been asked in the parliament of Carthage by the
member for Sicca, or Laribus, or Thugga, or by some one of the pagani, or
country party, whether the popular report was true, that an edict had been
promulgated at Rome against the Christians, and what steps had been taken
by the local authorities throughout the proconsulate to carry out its
provisions. And then the “Colonia Siccensis” would have presented some
good or bad reason for the delay: that it arose from the absence of the
proconsul from the seat of government, or from the unaccountable loss of
the despatch on its way from the coast; or, perhaps, on the other hand,
the under-secretary would have maintained, amid the cheers of his
supporters, that the edict had been promulgated and carried out at Sicca
to the full, that crowds of Christians had at once sacrificed, and that,
in short, there was no one to punish; assertions which at that moment were
too likely to be verified by the event.
In truth, there were many reasons to make the magistrates, both Roman and
native, unwilling to proceed in the matter, till they were obliged. No
doubt they one and all detested Christianity, and would have put it down,
if they could; but the question was, when they came to the point, _what_
they should put down. If, indeed, they could have got hold of the
ringleaders, the bishops of the Church, they would have tortured and
smashed them _con amore_, as you would kill a wasp; and with the greater
warmth and satisfaction, just because it was so difficult to get at them.
Those bishops were a set of fellows as mischievous as they were cowardly;
they would not come out and be killed, but they skulked in the desert, and
hid in masquerade. But why should gentlemen in office, opulent and happy,
set about worrying a handful of idiots, old, or poor, or boys, or women,
or obscure, or amiable and well-meaning men, who were but a remnant of a
former generation, and as little connected with the fanatics of Carthage,
Alexandria, or Rome, as the English freemasons may seem to be with their
namesakes on the continent? True, Christianity was a secret society, and
an illegal religion; but would it cease to be so when those harmless or
respectable inhabitants of the place had been mounted on the rack or the
gibbet?
And then, too, it was a most dangerous thing to open the door to popular
excitement;—who would be able to shut it? Once rouse the populace, and it
was all over with the place. It could not be denied that the bigoted and
ignorant majority, not only of the common people, but of the better
classes, was steeped in a bitter prejudice, and an intense, though latent,
hatred of Christianity. Besides the antipathy which arose from the
extremely different views of life and duty taken by pagans and Christians,
which would give a natural impulse to persecution in the hearts of the
former, there were the many persons who wished to curry favour at Rome
with the government, and had an eye to preferment or reward. There was the
pagan interest, extended and powerful, of that numerous class which was
attached to the established religions by habit, position, interest, or the
prospect of advantage. There were all the great institutions or
establishments of the place; the law courts, the schools of grammar and
rhetoric, the philosophic _exedræ_ and lecture-rooms, the theatre, the
amphitheatre, the market—all were, for one reason or another, opposed to
Christianity; and who could tell where they would stop in their onward
course, if they were set in motion? “Quieta non movenda” was the motto of
the local government, native and imperial, and that the more, because it
was an age of revolutions, and they might be most unpleasantly compromised
or embarrassed by the direction which the movement took. Besides, Decius
was not immortal; in the last twelve years eight emperors had been cut
off, six of them in a few months; and who could tell but the successor of
the present might revert to the policy of Philip, and feel no thanks to
those who had suddenly left it for a policy of blood.
In this cautious course they would be powerfully supported by the
influence of personal considerations. The Roman _officia_, the city
magistrates, the heads of the established religions, the lawyers, and the
philosophers, all would have punished the Christians, if they could; but
they could not agree whom to punish. They would have agreed with great
satisfaction, as we have said, to inflict condign and capital punishment
upon the heads of the sect; and they would have had no objection, if
driven to do something, to get hold of some strangers or slaves, who might
be a sort of scapegoats for the rest; but it was impossible, when they
once began to persecute, to make distinctions, and not a few of them had
relations who were Christians, or at least were on that border-land which
the mob might mistake for the domain of Christianity—Marcionites,
Tertullianists, Montanists, or Gnostics. When once the cry of “the gods of
Rome” was fairly up, it would apply to tolerated religions as well as to
illicit, and an unhappy votary of Isis or Mithras might suffer, merely
because there were few Christians forthcoming. A duumvir of the place had
a daughter whom he had turned out of his house for receiving baptism, and
who had taken refuge at Vacca. Several of the decurions, the _tabularius_
of the district, the _scriba_, one of the exactors, who lived in Sicca,
various of the retired gentry, whom we spoke of in a former chapter, and
various _attachés_ of the prætorium, were in not dissimilar circumstances.
Nay, the priest of Esculapius had a wife, whom he was very fond of, who,
though she promised to keep quiet, if things continued as they were,
nevertheless had the madness to vow that, if there were any severe
proceedings instituted against her people, she would at once come forward,
confess herself a Christian, and throw water, instead of incense, upon the
sacrificial flame. Not to speak of the venerable man’s tenderness for her,
such an exposure would seriously compromise his respectability, and, as he
was infirm and apoplectic, it was a question whether Esculapius himself
could save him from the shock which would be the consequence.
The same sort of feeling operated with our good friend Jucundus. He was
attached to his nephew; but, be it said without disrespect to him, he was
more attached to his own reputation; and, while he would have been
seriously annoyed at seeing Agellius exposed to one of the panthers of the
neighbouring forest, or hung up by the feet, with the blood streaming from
his nose and mouth, as one of the dogs or kids of the market, he would
have disliked the _éclat_ of the thing still more. He felt both anger and
alarm at the prospect; he was conscious he did not understand his nephew,
or (to use a common phrase) know where to find him; he was aware that a
great deal of tact was necessary to manage him; and he had an instinctive
feeling that Juba was right in saying that it would not do to threaten him
with the utmost severity of the law. He considered Callista’s hold on him
was the most promising quarter of the horizon; so he came to a resolution
to do as little as he could personally, but to hold Agellius’s head, as
far as he could, steadily in the direction of that lady, and to see what
came of it. As to Juba’s assurance that Agellius was not a Christian at
heart, it was too good news to be true; but still it might be only an
anticipation of what would be, when the sun of Greece shone out upon him,
and dispersed the remaining mists of Oriental superstition.
In this state of mind the old gentleman determined one afternoon to leave
his shop to the care of a slave, and to walk down to his nephew, to judge
for himself of his state of mind; to bait his hook with Callista, and to
see if Agellius bit. There was no time to be lost, for the publication of
the edict might be made any day; and then disasters might ensue which no
skill could remedy.