Aurelian; or, Rome in the Third Century
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 AElia.'
'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