Aurelian; or, Rome in the Third Century
and divine purity will insensibly be substituted in their room. I labor
for man--not for the state.'
'And never, accordingly, most noble Piso, did man, in so unequivocal
words, denounce himself traitor.'
'Patriot! friend! benefactor! rather;' cried a voice at my side, which I
instantly recognized as that of Probus. Several beside himself had drawn
near, listening with interest to what was going on.
'That only shows, my good friend,' said Varus, in his same smiling way,
and which seems the very contradiction of all that is harsh and cruel,
'how differently we estimate things. Your palate esteems that to be
wholesome and nutritious food, which mine rejects as ashes to the taste,
and poison to the blood. I behold Rome torn and bleeding, prostrate and
dying, by reason of innovations upon faith and manners, which to you
appear the very means of growth, strength, and life. How shall we
resolve the doubt--how reconcile the contradiction? Who shall prescribe
for the patient? I am happy in the belief, that the Roman people have
long since decided for themselves, and confirm their decision every day
as it passes, by new acts and declarations.'
'If you mean,' said Probus, 'to say that numbers and the general voice
are still against the Christians, I grant it so. But I am happy too in
my belief, that the scale is trembling on the beam. There are more and
better than you wot of, who hail with eager minds and glad hearts, the
truths which it is our glory, as servants of Christ, to propound. Within
many a palace upon the seven hills, do prayers go up in his name; and
what is more, thousands upon thousands of the humbler ranks, of those
who but yesterday were without honor in their own eyes, or
others'--without faith--at war with themselves and the world--fit tools
for and foe of the state to work with--are to-day reverers of
themselves, worshippers of God, lovers of mankind, patriots who love
their country better than ever before, because they now behold in every
citizen not only a citizen, but a brother and an immortal. The doctrine
of Christianity, as a lover of man, so commends itself, Varus, to the
hearts of the people, that in a few more years of prosperity, and the
face of the Roman world will glow with a new beauty; love and humanity
will shine forth in all its features.
'That is very pretty,' said Varus, his lip slightly curling, as he
spoke, but retaining his courteous bearing, 'yet methinks, seeing this
doctrine is so bewitching, and is withal a heaven-inspired wisdom, the
God working behind it and urging it on, it moves onward with a pace
something of the slowest. Within a few of three hundred years has it
appealed to the human race, and appealed in vain. The feeblest and the
worst of mankind have had power almost to annihilate it, and more than
once has it seemed scarce to retain its life. Would it have been so, had
it been in reality what you claim for it, of divine birth? Would the
gods suffer their schemes for man's good to be so thwarted, and driven
aside by man? What was this boasted faith doing during the long and
peaceful reigns of Hadrian, and the first Antonine? The sword of
persecution was then sheathed, or if it fell at all, it was but on a
few. So too under Vespasian, Titus, Nerva, Commodus, Severus,
Heliogabalus, the Philips, Gallienus, and Claudius?'
'That is well said,' a Roman voice added, of one standing by the side of
Varus, 'and is a general wonder.'
'I marvel it should be a wonder,' rejoined Probus. 'Can you pour into a
full measure? Must it not be first emptied? Who, Varus, let him try as
he may, could plant the doctrine of Christ in thy heart? Could I do it,
think you?--or Piso?'
'I trow not.'
'And why, I pray you?'
'It is not hard to guess.'
'Is it not because you are already full of contrary notions, to which
you cling tenaciously, and from which, perhaps, no human force could
drag you? But yours is a type of every other Roman mind to which
Christianity has been offered. If you receive it not at once, should
others? Suppose the soul to be full of sincere convictions as to the
popular faith, can the gospel easily enter there? Suppose it skeptical,
as to all spiritual truth; can it enter there? Suppose it polluted by
vice can it easily enter there? Suppose it like the soul of
Fronto,----'
'Hush! hush!' said several voices. Probus heeded them not.
'Suppose it like the soul of Pronto, could it enter there? See you not
then, by knowing your own hearts, what time it must demand for a new,
and specially a strict doctrine, to make its way into the minds of men?
'Tis not easier to bore a rock with one's finger, than to penetrate a
heart hardened by sin or swelled with prejudice and pride. And if we
say, Varus, this was a work for the God to do--that he who originated
the faith should propagate it--I answer, that would not be like the
other dealings of the divine power. He furnishes you with earth and
seed, but he ploughs not for you, nor plants, nor reaps. He gives you
reason, but he pours not knowledge into your mind. So he offers truth;
but that is all. He compels no assent; he forces no belief. All is
voluntary and free. How then can the march of truth be otherwise than
slow? Truth, being the greatest thing below, resembles in its port the
motion of the stars, which are the greatest things above. But like
theirs, if slow, it is ever sure and onward.'
'The stars set in night.'
'But they rise again. Truth is eclipsed often, and it sets for a night;
but never is turned aside from its eternal path.'
'Never, Publius,' said the Prefect, adjusting his gown, and with the act
filling the air with perfume 'never did I think to find myself within a
Christian church. Your shop possesses many virtues. It is a place to be
instructed in.' Then turning to Probus, he soothingly and in persuasive
tones, added, 'Be advised now, good friend, and leave off thy office of
teacher. Rome can well spare thee. Take the judgment of others; we need
not thy doctrine. Let that alone which is well established and secure.
Spare these institutions, venerable through a thousand years. Leave
changes to the gods.'
Probus was about to reply, when we were strangely interrupted. While we
had been conversing, there stood before me, in the midst of the floor of
the apartment, a man, whose figure, face, and demeanor were such that I
hardly could withdraw my eye from him. He was tall and gaunt, beyond all
I ever saw, and erect as a Praetorian in the ranks. His face was strongly
Roman, thin and bony, with sunken cheeks, a brown and wrinkled skin--not
through age, but exposure--and eyes more wild and fiery than ever glared
in the head of Hun or hyena. He seemed a living fire-brand of death and
ruin. As we talked, he stood there motionless, sometimes casting glances
at our group, but more frequently fixing them upon a roll which he held
in his hands.
As Varus uttered the last words, this man suddenly left his post, and
reaching us with two or three strides, shook his long finger at Varus,
saying, at the same time,
'Hold, blasphemer!'
The Prefect started as if struck, and gazing a moment with unfeigned
amazement at the figure, then immediately burst into a laugh, crying
out,
'Ha! ha! Who in the name of Hecate have we here? Ha! ha!--he seems just
escaped from the Vivaria.'
'Thy laugh,' said the figure, 'is the music of a sick and dying soul. It
is a rebel's insult against the majesty of Heaven; ay, laugh on! That is
what the devils do; it is the merriment of hell. What time they burn
not, they laugh. But enough. Hold now thy scoffing, Prefect Varus, for,
high as thou art, I fear thee not: no! not wert thou twice Aurelian,
instead of Varus. I have somewhat for thee. Wilt hear it?'
'With delight, Bubo. Say on.'
'It was thy word just now, 'Rome needs not this doctrine,' was it not?'
'If I said it not, it is a good saying, and I will father it.'
''Rome needs not this doctrine; she is well enough; let her alone!'
These were thy words. Need not, Varus, the streets of Rome a cleansing
river to purify them? Dost thou think them well enough, till all the
fountains have been let loose to purge them? Is Tarquin's sewer a place
to dwell in? Could all the waters of Rome sweeten it? The people of Rome
are fouler than her highways. The sewers are sweeter than the very
worshippers of our temples. Thou knowest somewhat of this. Wast ever
present at the rites of Bacchus?--or those of the Cyprian goddess? Nay,
blush not yet. Didst ever hear of the gladiator Pollex?--of the woman
Caecina?--of the boy Laelius, and the fair girl Fannia--proffered and sold
by the parents, Pollex and Caecina, to the loose pleasures of Gallienus?
Now I give thee leave to blush! Is it nought that the one half of Rome
is sunk in a sensuality, a beastly drunkenness and lust, fouler than
that of old, which, in Judea, called down the fiery vengeance of the
insulted heavens? Thou knowest well, both from early experience and
because of thy office, what the purlieus of the theatres are, and places
worse than those, and which to name were an offence. But to you they
need not be named. Is all this, Varus, well enough? Is this that
venerable order thou wouldst not have disturbed? Is that to be charged
as impiety and atheism, which aims to change and reform it? Are they
conspirators, and rebels, and traitors, whose sole office and labor is
to mend these degenerate morals, to heal these corrupting sores, to pour
a better life into the rotting carcass of this guilty city? Is it for
our pastime, or our profit, that we go about this always dangerous work?
Is it a pleasure to hear the gibes, jests, and jeers of the streets and
the places of public resort? Will you not believe that it is for some
great end that we do and bear as thou seest--even the redemption, and
purifying, and saving of Rome? I love Rome, even as a mother, and for
her am ready to die. I have bled for her freely in battle, in Gaul, upon
the Danube, in Asia, and in Egypt. I am willing to bleed for her at
home, even unto death, if that blood might, through the blessing of God,
be a stream to cleanse her putrifying members. But O, holy Jesus! why
waste I words upon one whose heart is harder than the nether millstone!
Thou preachedst not to Pilate, nor didst thou work thy wonders for
Herod. Varus, beware!'
And with these words, uttered with a wild and threatening air, he
abruptly turned away, and was lost in the crowds of the street.
While he raved, the Prefect maintained the same unruffled demeanor as
before. His customary smile played around his mouth, a smile like no
other I ever saw. To a casual observer, it would seem like every other
smile, but to one who watches him, it is evident that it denotes no
hilarity of heart, for the eyes accompany it not with a corresponding
expression, but on the contrary, look forth from their beautiful
cavities with glances that speak of anything rather than of peace and
good-will. So soon as the strange being who had been declaiming had
disappeared, the Prefect, turning to me, as he drew up his gown around
him, said,
'I give you joy, Piso, of your coadjutor. A few more of the same
fashion, and Rome is safe.' And saluting us with urbanity, he sallied
from the shop.
I had been too much amazed, myself, during this scene, to do anything
else than stand still, and listen, and observe. As for Probus, I saw him
to be greatly moved, and give signs of even deep distress. He evidently
knew who the person was--as I saw him make more than one ineffectual
effort to arrest him in his harangue--and as evidently held him in
respect, seeing he abstained from all interruption of a speech that he
felt to be provoking wantonly the passions of the Prefect, and of many
who stood around, from whom, so soon as the man of authority had