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--