antiquated? If there were some new fashion of it, I might recommend
you to try it; but every fashion has been tried and has become stale.
Your young friend Epictetus shows a preference for one god; but to the
true philosophers his theories are like the rest, quite musty and past
discussing. However, if you are resolved to deal in such wares, it is
good to have a choice; and the choice is large. Perhaps you prefer a
legion of gods and demons? Or, aiming at the golden mean, what say you
to choosing a moderate few, an oligarchy of gods? Then there are in
the market for you some gods that speak, and others that are mutes;
some that are still active and vigorous, such as Isis, Serapis, and
Sabazius; others that are past work and cashiered, such as old Ares,
Enuo, and Hephæstus; or if you are curious about rank and precedence,
you can have gods of different ranks, first class, second class, third
class; some with bodies, some, if you prefer it, bodiless. Last of all
in the market come the atheists, who will sell you a vacuum, if you
will give them many years of your life for it. But is not the best
course after all to keep your time and pains and money and avoid the
market altogether: neither believing nor disbelieving, but never giving
a thought to the matter?”
“And does Artemidorus hold these opinions?” said I, after a pause. “I
think so,” he replied, “At least he never mentions the gods to me; and
you best know whether he has often spoken of them to you; but from what
you say yourself, I infer that he has not. However, even Artemidorus is
not so consistent as I am. For he is ever fretting himself about the
sun, and the moon, and the planets, and their motions, and about the
tides and their courses, and sometimes he busies himself with noting
the diverse superstitions of men; whereas to my mind the best kind of
life is to vex oneself with none of these trifles, but to be content
with myself and with all things around me, believing that they cannot
be better, and so to eat and drink like Sardanapalus and to—
Sleep soundly stretched at ease—
as Homer sings of Ulysses sailing sweetly homeward. Therefore my advice
to you is to take the goods which the gods (if there be gods) at this
instant clearly destine for you. Make friends with Philemon. Become a
rich man and obtain your freedom. Marry Prepousa and be happy with her,
and, if need be, with others. And as for this Jewish purification, if,
to obtain Philemon’s good will and a fortune to boot, it be necessary
to endure a washing, why not wash? You can be as dirty as you like when
you are rich and free. However time presses, and I must go. But in
fine, I would have you take as your Mentor my sepulchre, for you cannot
have a better precept than that inscription.” “What inscription?”
said I. “You must have seen it,” answered he; “it was the talk of all
Colossæ three months ago, and they cannot have quite forgotten it so
soon. However, you have not been much out of doors of late. You must
know then, that some months ago, when my poor wife departed this life,
she ordered these words to be engraved upon her tombstone:—
Though my soul dwelleth in earth
My soul dwelleth in heaven.
Now I could not gainsay the poor woman’s last wish, and therefore I
permitted the inscription. Yet I felt, as a philosopher, that it was
due to my philosophy that my epitaph should be of a very different
character, consistent with my life. So considering with myself that my
executors might possibly not carry out my instructions if I gave orders
for an inscription over my body, in opposition to that of my lamented
wife, I therefore caused these words to be cut in my lifetime, beneath
my wife’s inscription, over the place where my body will in due time be
laid:
Enjoy the present,
For when the spirit has left the body,
Descending to Lethe,
It will never again look on the world above.
“And you have not seen it? You will find it on the Laodicean road, on
the right-hand side, about three furlongs from the gate. But I must be
going. Farewell, my young friend, and take my advice. As for the wise
people who profess to know everything and to teach everybody, no two of
them agreeing together, pay no attention to them. Snap your fingers at
all their philosophies and controversies. Take in a substantial cargo
of good things. Trim your sails for a pleasant voyage through life,
making up your mind to be often merry, seldom serious, and never sad.”
So saying, he departed, and I returned to the house of Philemon.
§ 11. OF THE DEATH OF EUCHARIS AND HOW I WAS AGAIN ACCUSED OF THEFT.
The words of Metrodorus himself had not much weight with me. But the
image of that ant-hill came again and again into my mind, making me
ask, “Is it so indeed that men are but as insects in the eyes of the
immortal gods?” And as day after day went on, and still no letter nor
message from Molon, my nights being sleepless and my days given up to
expectation and suspense, I resolved (even as a weak mariner yielding
to wind and tide) that I would suffer myself to drift with the event:
if the gods led me to good then I would believe in them, but if to ill,
then I would not. So for the space of ten days my mind swayed this
way and that, tossed with a very tempest of increasing troubles, and
still no tidings from Athens, although nearly a month had passed since
Molon’s former letter. At last I began to suspect that Pistus might
have intercepted some letters from Eucharis; and if this suspicion had
rankled long in my mind, it would have gone nigh to make me mad.
But toward the end of the month one of the slaves who was well affected
to me brought me a letter bearing the familiar seal of Molon, which,
when I had in all haste opened, it contained no letter from Eucharis,
no, not so much as a little piece of paper, nor any words written in
her hand, nor even a flower or aught else by way of token; and I shook
it again, but still nothing fell out. So I sat down holding the letter
in my hand, unread, foreboding the worst; and how long I sat I know
not, but in those minutes (if they were minutes) there seemed to have
passed over me years, yea ages of misery; and I had reckoned over my
life even to the grave, and beyond the grave, into a darkness that was
without end.
“Eucharis is dead”—so the letter began. The rest was very long and
full of lamentations, telling how the Christians had caused her death,
or else perchance her sorrow for my sake; how the followers of one
Paulus had persuaded her to be baptized; how her father, though he had
foreseen and noted the mischief, could not stay the progress of the
disease, and how, for the rest of his life he must live alone in the
world. But my eyes travelled idly over this to return again and again
to the first words: “Eucharis is dead.” So suddenly had she passed
away that at the last she could not so much as write me one word of
farewell, nor do more than bid her father send me this message, that
Onesimus must always keep the token she had given him and not forget
her last words.
During my torpor, while I sat in a kind of trance of misery, the letter
had fallen to the ground. Stooping to pick it up I unwittingly took
in its stead the letter of Epictetus, and began to read it. “A bad
performer cannot sing alone, but only in a chorus: in the same way some
people cannot walk the path of life alone.” Most true! And I was one
of those “bad performers,” one of those who “cannot walk the path of
life alone.” But what then? Were there not “bad performers” as well as
perfect actors, and was there no place for them in the world? I was not
meant nor made to walk alone. But why had the gods made me of a nature
to walk in dependence on some guide, and then, after mocking me with
the semblance of the gift of so precious a guide as my beloved one,
snatched her away that they might see me stumble and fall? Even so they
had given me Chrestus, and snatched him away. So it had been with all
their gifts to me. They had given me a love of learning; but now they
forbade me to learn; they had given me a thirst for truth, but had
driven the truth far away; they had given me the breeding and habits of
a free man, but had condemned me to be a slave. Each gift had been a
curse in disguise.
Now came back into my mind the image of the ant-hill of Metrodorus,
and then there rose up from the depths of darkness the lessons I had
learned in the ergastulum, which I had thought I had forgotten, but now
they seemed as fresh as yesterday, and more real than any other memory
of my life. And now once more I inclined to believe that some bad demon
or demons possessed and governed the world, exulting in our miseries
and mocking at our foolish prayers and silly gratitude. Either they, or
chance, ruled over the Universe. In either case, no good God; no one to
love, no one to trust, no one to whom in some invisible world I could
intrust my darling Eucharis and my brother Chrestus, feeling confident
that all was well with them. Eucharis and Chrestus! Say rather Dust and
Ashes. Then Satan filled my heart and I lifted up my voice in blasphemy
and cursed the Master of the Feast who had given command that I should
depart, yet would open no door for my departure, and I looked about me
for means to destroy myself. But the hand of the Lord delivered me.
For when I had made a noose with the thongs of my sandals, and having
fixed the end to a beam was now in the act of placing it round my
neck, behold, Philemon entered the chamber with a stern countenance,
and two or three slaves behind him. He at once accused me of taking
many precious volumes from the library with intent to steal them. I
denied it, but he affirmed that it must needs be so, for they had been
found yonder, pointing to a hole beneath the floor in my apartment,
and, said he, “your attempt to slay yourself convicts you; for having
perceived that the books have been recovered, you desire to prevent the
punishment of your theft.”
Perceiving that I was speechless—as indeed I was, marvelling at the
iniquity of Pistus, or whoever else was my enemy—Philemon bade all the
slaves depart the chamber, and then taking me by the hand, with tears
in his eyes, he besought me to confess the truth, saying that he had
noted, now these many days, how Satan had taken advantage of me because
I had hardened my heart against the word of the Lord; and he implored
me to repent and to wash away my sins. Now if I had shewn him the
letter of Molon describing the death of Eucharis, I might perhaps have
persuaded him that I was not guilty of theft, and that other causes
drove me to attempt my life. But I could not do it; for in my madness
I regarded him as her murderer. Therefore I in no way endeavored to
persuade him, but merely answered with much vehemence that in truth I
was not guilty, and that either Pistus or some enemy had devised this
plot against me. Upon this, Philemon clapped his hands and called in
the slaves, saying, in their presence, that it was useless to argue
with me or to beseech me, and that I was fascinated by some woman who
had ensnared my soul, adding withal some words not indeed gross nor
unseemly, but very bitter to me at that season, knowing poor Eucharis
to be but lately dead. So in that instant I leaped upon him and seizing
the stilus which he held in his hand I attacked him with it, and
assuredly, had not the slaves run together and stayed me, I should
have slain him outright; but as it was, the Lord had mercy on me, and
I did but wound him very slightly. But I foamed at the mouth as one
mad; yea, and indeed I thank the Lord that I was verily mad at that
time, and that I spoke not, but Satan spoke within me. For I seemed
to see Christus as an evil demon pursuing me without ceasing, setting
Philemon against me and inspiring Pistus with malice, and now last of
all slaying my beloved Eucharis; wherefore I uttered such terrible
execrations against the Lord Jesus, as even now fill me with horror so
much as to think of; and write them down I durst not. But Philemon,
stopping his ears, rushed in haste from the room, wringing his hands as
if all hope were now lost, and leaving me struggling in the hands of
Pistus and the rest of the household who were binding me.
That evening I heard what had been resolved concerning me. Philemon’s
brother, a decurion of Smyrna, who had not yet been converted to
the faith was very earnest that I should be crucified according to
the custom; but Philemon was constant against it, partly out of his
affection for me, even then not wholly destroyed; but partly because
the brethren have been from the first always unwilling that any should
be punished with that death whereby the Lord Jesus was slain. So it
was determined that I should be sent into the country to an ergastulum
about one hundred and twenty furlongs north of Laodicea.
But here must I needs pause. For now begins my pen to describe the
deepest of the depths of my most sinful life; whereof, whensoever my
mind unwillingly goes back to that black darkness, I can say no more
than this: “All things are possible with thee; thy blood, O Lord Jesus,
can cleanse from every sin.”
THE END OF THE FOURTH BOOK.
THE FIFTH BOOK.
§ 1. HOW I ESCAPED FROM THE HOUSE OF PHILEMON.
Remembering the ergastulum of Nicander I determined not to endure
that manner of life a second time. My bonds had not been very firmly
fastened, and the same good friend who had brought me word what was
resolved concerning me, had loosened them still more. So when it was
past midnight, as near as I could judge, creeping out from my chamber I
found the porter sleeping, and without difficulty obtained possession
of the key. I was opening the door to depart, when I suddenly bethought
myself that I was going forth into the world without an obol in my
purse, so that I must needs beg my food; in doing which I should surely
be discovered and at once apprehended. So I went into a small chamber
next to the library, wherein Philemon was wont to keep money, and I
took out a purse. I extenuate nothing, I excuse nothing. Yet the truth
may fairly be set down; and it is true that I purposed not to take so
much, but as I opened it, I heard, or thought I heard, a noise from
Philemon’s study, and straightway fled as I was, having the purse in my
hand; and so in great haste and trepidation, being now thief as well as
fugitive, I opened the housedoor and ran for my life. For an hour or
more I wandered about the street avoiding the watch, and as soon as the
gates were opened, I went forth on the Ephesian road.
Then for the first time taking thought whither I should go, I
determined to break all ties of friendship and acquaintance and to
betake myself to some large city such as Corinth or Alexandria where I
might be easily unknown. Meantime I must needs hide somewhere in the
upland country; for in the port of Ephesus constant watch was kept for
runaway slaves, and the crier was soon likely to make my escape known
in the streets of Laodicea and Hierapolis. So, leaving the Ephesian
road, I made my way as best I could straight towards the mountain
called Cadmus, which rises up in these parts very high and precipitous
and containing many spacious caverns fit for fugitives to hide in. As I
went, I found myself amid several tombs cut in the sides of the hill a
little away from the road, and the sun now shining from the east lit up
the inscription on the face of one of the tombs nearest to me so that
I could read each word of it plainly, and it was the very inscription
which Metrodorus had mentioned. “Enjoy the present, for when the spirit
has left the body, descending to Lethe, it will never again look on the
world above.” Then began I to mock bitterly at that philosophy which
would bid me, a slave and an outcast and one of the most wretched upon
earth, to “enjoy the present.” But at that very moment methought I
heard the sound of pursuers, and putting my ear to the ground (which is
all pumice-stone in that region, very porous and hollow, and resonant
almost after the manner of a drum) I plainly heard the hoofs of horses
approaching. So I pressed on over rough and smooth making for the
mountain. As the sun rose higher, I came to one of the spurs of Cadmus.
High up in the sides of that mountain are many holes wherein eagles
build their nests; and many of them were even now soaring in the air
with choughs and crows screaming below them, but all so high that the
eye could scarce discern them. The sounds of these birds together with
the bleating of the flocks pasturing on the mountains, the scent of
the flowers, the freshness of the morning air, and the beauty and the
brightness of all things around, seeming to rejoice in the sunrise,
constrained me in despite of myself to feel some pleasure in them, and
I rested there for a while. But anon fear (and by this time hunger)
forced me to hasten away.
Coming now to a building I desired to ask food; but I found that it was
a temple, as could be perceived from the notice set up at the entrance
to the precincts; which, even after the lapse of so many years, I am
not able to forget, because at that time it seemed to me a type and
pattern of all the religion and worship of the gods. For there were
written up these words: “Let no man enter these sacred precincts who
shall have tasted goat’s flesh nor lentils for these three days, or
fresh cheese for one day. But whoso shall have touched a dead body
let him delay entrance for forty days. Likewise, whoever will enter,
let him bring with him the highest purity, namely, a healthy mind in
a healthy body, free from a guilty conscience.” Then there came into
my mind once again, only with much more force, the thoughts that I had
had at Lebedea, namely, that the gods are helpful only to those who
need no help, being happy and virtuous; or else only to the rich who
can pay for many sacrifices and purifications; but as for the poor man
who cannot give them fat bullocks and lambs, they have never a word
to say for him; and if a poor man be a sinner and an outcast to boot,
then a temple is no place for him. With such thoughts as these, sorely
dejected in mind and beginning to be very weary in body as well as
hungry, and the heat of the sun becoming now more than I could well
endure, I betook myself to some kind of shepherd’s cot which I found
open and empty; and there I lay down and slept.
I was awakened by the sound of music, ill played, as though by a
beginner; and for a time, betwixt asleep and awake, I lay still
without moving, not knowing what had become of me, or where I was. But
presently the music came to a sudden stand, and a voice cried, “May
the all-powerful Syrian Goddess, Parent of all things, and the holy
Sabazius and the Idæan mother strike thee dead, thou dolt whom a week’s
labor has not sufficed to teach thy notes. A pretty flute-player art
thou. I am a ruined man with thee.” With that, I started up and beheld
an old man, very fat and with a smooth face and having a cast in his
eye; and by his side a youth, whom he was attempting to teach to play
on the flute; but neither could the pupil learn, nor had the teacher
skill to teach. I soon perceived from his attire and language, as well
as from the ass bearing the image of the goddess, and the company of
dancing girls who were with him, that he was one of the begging priests
of Cybele; and it seemed that his flute-player had deserted him so
that he could gain no money from the people by his sacred dances, for
want of the music. After watching them for a short time (unknown to
them, for the corner wherein I had been lying was very dark) I lost
patience to see how ill the old priest taught and the youth learned;
and coming forward I took the flute from the hands of the youth and
shewed him how he was to use it. At first the old man stood speechless
with astonishment at the suddenness of my coming in upon them; but
when he perceived that I had some skill in music, he asked whether
I could make shift to play for him. I told him that I knew not that
kind of music, and would have gone forth from the cot without more
words; but he stayed me and begged me to give some proof of my skill;
saying I must at least eat and drink with him and his company, for
the village people had given them two kids and a cask of wine. So I
was over-persuaded by my hunger, and after we had eaten our fill, he
gave me to drink of unmixed wine, because, said he, there was no water
nigh; and my thirst constrained me to drink. Then he began again to
ply me with importunities to go with him at least as far as Pergamus,
adding that if I wished to escape notice (and here he looked at me as
if he knew that I had some secret) I could take no better course than
this, but if I left him, who knew but questions might be asked, and
I might be noticed more than I desired? And hereon, when he saw me
wavering, and inflamed with wine, he put the flute once more into my
hands, and called out that the dance should begin; and thus saying he
led the ass into the midst of the chamber, bearing the image of the
goddess which was covered with a silver veil. Then I began to play and
the women to dance, and the priest applauded and cried that the music
should go faster. At first I played against my will and my heart was
not in it; but as I looked upon the women dancing in their many-colored
tunics with their eyebrows darkened, and their Phrygian caps on their
heads, and their saffron shawls streaming in the air, all dancing, at
first slowly and then more quickly round the image, by degrees it was
given to Satan to have power over me because I had not resisted him.
So I began to take a pleasure in it, and I said, surely now is the
time to cast aside all virtue and forget the name of goodness and to
begin a new life, wallowing in all sin. And even as Satan thus moved
me, I began to play the music more furiously, as if possessed by some
demon, and the women, after their manner, brandishing their swords
and battle-axes, began to leap more furiously to the sound of cymbal
and tambourine, and they bared their arms and shoulders, scourging
themselves with whips wrought of pieces of bone till the blood flowed
out; and because it flowed not fast enough, they scourged themselves
harder, yea, and in their leaping they bit their own flesh and screamed
like wild beasts; and then the old priest stopped the music and
clapping me on the shoulder bade me pledge him in another cup of wine,
for I must needs go with him to Pergamus and be his flute-player; and
I like a dumb beast could not say No, but drank of his wine and so
consented.
§ 2. OF MY LIFE AT PERGAMUS.
Let it be permitted me to pass over the story of my wanderings until
I came to Pergamus. Not that I would conceal or gloss over any of the
sins I committed at this time. Yet although thou, O Lord, hast forgiven
all things methinks I could not set down those deeds of darkness,
without seeming to pass through a second course of sin. Suffice it that
in all the acts of my companions, in all their thieving and lying,
their blasphemings, revellings and impurities, I was not behind any,
the vilest of the vile. But it pleased the Lord, after three months
of thus wallowing in the mire, to hold out the hand to me though it
were but for a season; and it was after this manner. When we came
to Pergamus, going on a certain day to visit a priest of Asclepius
I chanced to speak of the children that were daily exposed upon the
Temple steps, and I shewed him (but not as from myself) the token of
my brother Chrestus, saying that it had been given to me by one of my
acquaintance to whom it had belonged, who was now dead. When the priest
read the inscription TRUST, he started and changed color, and very
earnestly questioned me whether my acquaintance had ever spoken to me
touching a brother exposed at the same time, and wearing a token with
another inscription, mentioning at the same time the words of it I LOVE
THEE. Then it was my turn to start, and I confessed that I had heard
mention of it, but that this brother also was long since dead. “Truly
then,” said the priest, “I sorrow greatly for their poor mother’s
sake, who came to the Temple not more than six or seven months ago, to
make inquiry concerning two children who had been exposed in the first
year of the emperor Claudius, twins, and wearing two such tokens as
you have described.” So then, comparing the date, as well as the other
circumstances, I knew that the children could be no other than myself
and my brother Chrestus.