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diff --git a/30664-0.txt b/30664-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f4d386b --- /dev/null +++ b/30664-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9769 @@ +Project Gutenberg’s Callista by John Henry Cardinal Newman + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Callista + +Author: John Henry Cardinal Newman + +Release Date: December 13, 2009 [Ebook #30664] +Last Updated: June 25, 2019 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CALLISTA *** + + + + + + + + + + + CALLISTA + + A TALE OF THE THIRD CENTURY + + + BY + + JOHN HENRY CARDINAL NEWMAN + + + “Love thy God, and love Him only, + And thy breast will ne’er be lonely. + In that One Great Spirit meet + All things mighty, grave, and sweet. + Vainly strives the soul to mingle + With a being of our kind; + Vainly hearts with hearts are twined: + For the deepest still is single. + An impalpable resistance + Holds like natures still at distance. + Mortal: love that Holy One, + Or dwell for aye alone.” + DE VERE + + +_NEW IMPRESSION_ + + +LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO. +39 PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON +NEW YORK AND BOMBAY +1904 + +_All rights reserved_ + + + + + + _To_ + + _HENRY WILLIAM WILBERFORCE._ + +_To you alone, who have known me so long, and who love me so well, could I +venture to offer a trifle like this. But you will recognise the author in +his work, and take pleasure in the recognition._ + + _J. H. N._ + + + + + + ADVERTISEMENT. + + + + +It is hardly necessary to say that the following Tale is a simple fiction +from beginning to end. It has little in it of actual history, and not much +claim to antiquarian research; yet it has required more reading than may +appear at first sight. + +It is an attempt to imagine and express, from a Catholic point of view, +the feelings and mutual relations of Christians and heathens at the period +to which it belongs, and it has been undertaken as the nearest approach +which the Author could make to a more important work suggested to him from +a high ecclesiastical quarter. + +_September 13, 1855._ + + + + + POSTSCRIPTS TO LATER EDITIONS. + + +_February 8, 1856._—Since the volume has been in print, the Author finds +that his name has got abroad. This gives him reason to add, that he wrote +great part of Chapters I., IV., and V., and sketched the character and +fortunes of Juba, in the early spring of 1848. He did no more till the end +of last July, when he suddenly resumed the thread of his tale, and has +been successful so far as this, that he has brought it to an end. + +Without being able to lay his finger upon instances in point, he has some +misgiving lest, from a confusion between ancient histories and modern +travels, there should be inaccuracies, antiquarian or geographical, in +certain of his minor statements, which carry with them authority when they +cease to be anonymous. + + + +_February 2, 1881.—October, 1888._—In a tale such as this, which professes +in the very first sentence of its Advertisement to be simple fiction from +beginning to end, details may be allowably filled up by the writer’s +imagination and coloured by his personal opinions and beliefs, the only +rule binding on him being this—that he has no right to contravene +acknowledged historical facts. Thus it is that Walter Scott exercises a +poet’s licence in drawing his Queen Elizabeth and his Claverhouse, and the +author of “Romola” has no misgivings in even imputing hypothetical motives +and intentions to Savonarola. Who, again, would quarrel with Mr. Lockhart, +writing in Scotland, for excluding Pope, or Bishops, or sacrificial rites +from his interesting Tale of Valerius? + +Such was the understanding, as to what I might do and what I might not, +with which I wrote this story; and to make it clearer, I added in the +later editions of this Advertisement, that it was written “from a Catholic +point of view;” while in the earlier, bearing in mind the interests of +historical truth, and the anachronism which I had ventured on at page 82 +in the date of Arnobius and Lactantius, I said that I had not “admitted +any actual interference with known facts without notice,” questions of +religious controversy, when I said it, not even coming into my thoughts. I +did not consider my Tale to be in any sense controversial, but to be +specially addressed to Catholic readers, and for their edification. + +This being so, it was with no little surprise I found myself lately +accused of want of truth, because I have followed great authorities in +attributing to Christians of the middle of the third century what is +certainly to be found in the fourth,—devotions, representations, and +doctrines, declaratory of the high dignity of the Blessed Virgin. If I had +left out all mention of these, I should have been simply untrue to my idea +and apprehension of Primitive Christianity. To what positive and certain +facts do I run counter in so doing, even granting that I am indulging my +imagination? But I have allowed myself no such indulgence; I gave good +reasons long ago, in my “Letter to Dr. Pusey” (pp. 53–76), for what I +believe on this matter and for what I have in “Callista” described. + + + + + + CONTENTS. + + + CHAP. PAGE + I. SICCA VENERIA 1 + II. CHRISTIANITY IN SICCA 14 + III. AGELLIUS IN HIS COTTAGE 25 + IV. JUBA 30 + V. JUCUNDUS AT SUPPER 39 + VI. GOTHS AND CHRISTIANS 51 + VII. PERSECUTION IN THE OFFING 64 + VIII. THE NEW GENERATION 80 + IX. JUCUNDUS BAITS HIS TRAP 92 + X. THE DIVINE CALLISTA 111 + XI. CALLISTA’S PREACHING, AND WHAT CAME OF IT 122 + XII. A DEATH 135 + XIII. AND RESURRECTION 145 + XIV. A SMALL CLOUD 159 + XV. A VISITATION 168 + XVI. WORSE AND WORSE 178 + XVII. CHRISTIANOS AD LEONES 189 + XVIII. AGELLIUS FLITS 199 + XIX. A PASSAGE OF ARMS 212 + XX. HE SHALL NOT LOSE HIS REWARD 226 + XXI. STARTLING RUMOURS 235 + XXII. JUCUNDUS PROPOUNDS HIS VIEW OF THE SITUATION 239 + XXIII. GURTA 256 + XXIV. A MOTHER’S BLESSING 266 + XXV. CALLISTA IN DURANCE 274 + XXVI. WHAT CAN IT ALL MEAN? 281 + XXVII. AM I A CHRISTIAN? 291 + XXVIII. A SICK CALL 305 + XXIX. CONVERSION 317 + XXX. TORRES VEDRAS 329 + XXXI. THE BAPTISM 343 + XXXII. THE IMPERIAL RESCRIPT 352 + XXXIII. A GOOD CONFESSION 357 + XXXIV. THE MARTYRDOM 366 + XXXV. THE CORPO SANTO 371 + XXXVI. LUX PERPETUA SANCTIS TUIS, DOMINE 377 + + + + + + + CALLISTA; + + + A TALE OF THE THIRD CENTURY. + + + + + + CHAPTER I. + + + SICCA VENERIA. + + +In no province of the vast Roman empire, as it existed in the middle of +the third century, did Nature wear a richer or a more joyous garb than she +displayed in Proconsular Africa, a territory of which Carthage was the +metropolis, and Sicca might be considered the centre. The latter city, +which was the seat of a Roman colony, lay upon a precipitous or steep +bank, which led up along a chain of hills to a mountainous track in the +direction of the north and east. In striking contrast with this wild and +barren region was the view presented by the west and south, where for many +miles stretched a smiling champaign, exuberantly wooded, and varied with a +thousand hues, till it was terminated at length by the successive tiers of +the Atlas, and the dim and fantastic forms of the Numidian mountains. The +immediate neighbourhood of the city was occupied by gardens, vineyards, +corn-fields, and meadows, crossed or encircled here by noble avenues of +trees or the remains of primeval forests, there by the clustering groves +which wealth and luxury had created. This spacious plain, though level +when compared with the northern heights by which the city was backed, and +the peaks and crags which skirted the southern and western horizon, was +discovered, as light and shadow travelled with the sun, to be diversified +with hill and dale, upland and hollow; while orange gardens, orchards, +olive and palm plantations held their appropriate sites on the slopes or +the bottoms. Through the mass of green, which extended still more thickly +from the west round to the north, might be seen at intervals two solid +causeways tracking their persevering course to the Mediterranean coast, +the one to the ancient rival of Rome, the other to Hippo Regius in +Numidia. Tourists might have complained of the absence of water from the +scene; but the native peasant would have explained to them that the eye +alone had reason to be discontented, and that the thick foliage and the +uneven surface did but conceal what mother earth with no niggard bounty +supplied. The Bagradas, issuing from the spurs of the Atlas, made up in +depth what it wanted in breadth of bed, and ploughed the rich and yielding +mould with its rapid stream, till, after passing Sicca in its way, it fell +into the sea near Carthage. It was but the largest of a multitude of +others, most of them tributaries to it, deepening as much as they +increased it. While channels had been cut from the larger rills for the +irrigation of the open land, brooks, which sprang up in the gravel which +lay against the hills, had been artificially banked with cut stones or +paved with pebbles; and where neither springs nor rivulets were to be +found, wells had been dug, sometimes to the vast depth of as much as 200 +fathoms, with such effect that the spurting column of water had in some +instances drowned the zealous workmen who had been the first to reach it. +And, while such were the resources of less favoured localities or seasons, +profuse rains descended over the whole region for one half of the year, +and the thick summer dews compensated by night for the daily tribute +extorted by an African sun. + +At various distances over the undulating surface, and through the woods, +were seen the villas and the hamlets of that happy land. It was an age +when the pride of architecture had been indulged to the full; edifices, +public and private, mansions and temples, ran off far away from each +market-town or borough, as from a centre, some of stone or marble, but +most of them of that composite of fine earth, rammed tight by means of +frames, for which the Saracens were afterwards famous, and of which +specimens remain to this day, as hard in surface, as sharp at the angles, +as when they first were finished. Every here and there, on hill or crag, +crowned with basilicas and temples, radiant in the sun, might be seen the +cities of the province or of its neighbourhood, Thibursicumber, Thugga, +Laribus, Siguessa, Sufetula, and many others; while in the far distance, +on an elevated table-land under the Atlas, might be discerned the Colonia +Scillitana, famous about fifty years before the date of which we write for +the martyrdom of Speratus and his companions, who were beheaded at the +order of the proconsul for refusing to swear by the genius of Rome and the +emperor. + +If the spectator now takes his stand, not in Sicca itself, but about a +quarter of a mile to the south-east, on the hill or knoll on which was +placed the cottage of Agellius, the city itself will enter into the +picture. Its name, Sicca Veneria, if it be derived (as some suppose) from +the Succoth benoth, or “tents of the daughters,” mentioned by the inspired +writer as an object of pagan worship in Samaria, shows that it owed its +foundation to the Phœnician colonists of the country. At any rate, the +Punic deities retained their hold upon the place; the temples of the +Tyrian Hercules and of Saturn, the scene of annual human sacrifices, were +conspicuous in its outline, though these and all other religious buildings +in it looked small beside the mysterious antique shrine devoted to the +sensual rites of the Syrian Astarte. Public baths and a theatre, a +capitol, imitative of Rome, a gymnasium, the long outline of a portico, an +equestrian statue in brass of the Emperor Severus, were grouped together +above the streets of a city, which, narrow and winding, ran up and down +across the hill. In its centre an extraordinary spring threw up +incessantly several tons of water every minute, and was inclosed by the +superstitious gratitude of the inhabitants with the peristylium of a +sacred place. At the extreme back, towards the north, which could not be +seen from the point of view where we last stationed ourselves, there was a +sheer descent of rock, bestowing on the city, when it was seen at a +distance on the Mediterranean side, the same bold and striking appearance +which attaches to Castro Giovanni, the ancient Enna, in the heart of +Sicily. + +And now, withdrawing our eyes from the panorama, whether in its distant or +nearer objects, if we would at length contemplate the spot itself from +which we have been last surveying it, we shall find almost as much to +repay attention, and to elicit admiration. We stand in the midst of a farm +of some wealthy proprietor, consisting of a number of fields and gardens, +separated from each other by hedges of cactus or the aloe. At the foot of +the hill, which sloped down on the side furthest from Sicca to one of the +tributaries of the rich and turbid river of which we have spoken, a large +yard or garden, intersected with a hundred artificial rills, was devoted +to the cultivation of the beautiful and odoriferous _khennah_. A thick +grove of palms seemed to triumph in the refreshment of the water’s side, +and lifted up their thankful boughs towards heaven. The barley harvest in +the fields which lay higher up the hill was over, or at least was +finishing; and all that remained of the crop was the incessant and +importunate chirping of the _cicadæ_, and the rude booths of reeds and +bulrushes, now left to wither, in which the peasant boys found shelter +from the sun, while in an earlier month they frightened from the grain the +myriads of linnets, goldfinches, and other small birds who, as in other +countries, contested with the human proprietor the possession of it. On +the south-western slope lies a neat and carefully dressed vineyard, the +vine-stakes of which, dwarfish as they are, already cast long shadows on +the eastern side. Slaves are scattered over it, testifying to the +scorching power of the sun by their broad _petasus_, and to its oppressive +heat by the scanty _subligarium_, which reached from the belt or girdle to +the knees. They are engaged in cutting off useless twigs to which the last +showers of spring have given birth, and are twisting those which promise +fruit into positions where they will be safe both from the breeze and from +the sun. Everything gives token of that gracious and happy season which +the great Latin poets have hymned in their beautiful but heathen strains; +when, after the heavy rains, and raw mists, and piercing winds, and fitful +sun-gleams of a long six months, the mighty mother manifests herself anew, +and pours out the resources of her innermost being for the life and +enjoyment of every portion of the vast whole;—or, to apply the lines of a +modern bard— + + “When the bare earth, till now + Desert and bare, unsightly, unadorned, + Brings forth the tender grass, whose verdure clads + Her universal face with pleasant green; + Then herbs of every leaf, that sudden flower, + Opening their various colours, and make gay + Her bosom, swelling sweet; and, these scarce blown, + Forth flourishes the clustering vine, forth creeps + The swelling gourd, up stands the corny reed + Embattled in her fields, and the humble shrub, + And bush with frizzled hair implicit; last + Rise, as in dance, the stately trees, and spread + Their branches hung with copious fruit, or gem + Their blossoms; with high woods the hills are crowned + With tufts the valleys, and each fountain side + With borders long the rivers; that earth now + Seems like to heaven, a seat where gods might dwell, + Or wander with delight, and love to haunt + Her sacred shades.” + +A snatch from some old Greek chant, with something of plaintiveness in the +tone, issues from the thicket just across the mule-path, cut deep in the +earth, which reaches from the city gate to the streamlet; and a youth, who +had the appearance of the assistant bailiff or _procurator_ of the farm, +leaped from it, and went over to the labourers, who were busy with the +vines. His eyes and hair and the cast of his features spoke of Europe; his +manner had something of shyness and reserve, rather than of rusticity; and +he wore a simple red tunic with half sleeves, descending to the knee, and +tightened round him by a belt. His legs and feet were protected by boots +which came half up his calf. He addressed one of the slaves, and his voice +was gentle and cheerful. + +“Ah, Sansar!” he cried, “I don’t like your way of managing these branches +so well as my own; but it is a difficult thing to move an old fellow like +you. You never fasten together the shoots which you don’t cut off, they +are flying about quite wild, and the first ox that passes through the +field next month for the ploughing will break them off.” + +He spoke in Latin; the man understood it, and answered him in the same +language, though with deviations from purity of accent and syntax, not +without parallel in the _talkee-talkee_ of the West Indian negro. + +“Ay, ay, master,” he said, “ay, ay; but it’s all a mistake to use the +plough at all. The fork does the work much better, and no fear for the +grape. I hide the tendril under the leaf against the sun, which is the +only enemy we have to consider.” + +“Ah! but the fork does not raise so much dust as the plough and the heavy +cattle which draw it,” returned Agellius; “and the said dust does more for +the protection of the tendril than the shade of the leaf.” + +“But those huge beasts,” retorted the slave, “turn up great ridges, and +destroy the yard.” + +“It’s no good arguing with an old vinedresser, who had formed his theory +before I was born,” said Agellius good-humouredly; and he passed on into a +garden beyond. + +Here were other indications of the happy month through which the year was +now travelling. The garden, so to call it, was a space of several acres in +extent; it was one large bed of roses, and preparation was making for +extracting their essence, for which various parts of that country are to +this day celebrated. Here was another set of labourers, and a man of +middle age was surveying them at his leisure. His business-like, severe, +and off-hand manner bespoke the _villicus_ or bailiff himself. + +“Always here,” said he, “as if you were a slave, not a Roman, my good +fellow; yet slaves have their Saturnalia; always serving, not worshipping +the all-bounteous and all-blessed. Why are you not taking holiday in the +town?” + +“Why should I, sir?” asked Agellius; “don’t you recollect old Hiempsal’s +saying about ‘one foot in the slipper, and one in the shoe.’ Nothing would +be done well if I were a town-goer. You engaged me, I suppose, to be here, +not there.” + +“Ah!” answered he, “but at this season the empire, the genius of Rome, the +customs of the country, demand it, and above all the great goddess Astarte +and her genial, jocund month. ‘Parturit almus ager;’ you know the verse; +do not be out of tune with Nature, nor clash and jar with the great system +of the universe.” + +A cloud of confusion, or of distress, passed over Agellius’s face. He +seemed as if he wished to speak; at length he merely said, “It’s a fault +on the right side in a servant, I suppose.” + +“I know the way of your people,” Vitricus replied, “Corybantians, +Phrygians, Jews, what do you call yourselves? There are so many fantastic +religions now-a-days. Hang yourself outright at your house-door, if you +are tired of living—and you are a sensible fellow. How can any man, whose +head sits right upon his shoulders, say that life is worth having, and not +worth enjoying?” + +“I am a quiet being,” answered Agellius, “I like the country, which you +think so tame, and care little for the flaunting town. Tastes differ.” + +“Town! you need not go to Sicca,” answered the bailiff, “all Sicca is out +of town. It has poured into the fields, and groves, and river side. Lift +up your eyes, man alive, open your ears, and let pleasure flow in. Be +passive under the sweet breath of the goddess, and she will fill you with +ecstasy.” + +It was as Vitricus had said; the solemn feast-days of Astarte were in +course of celebration; of Astarte, the well-known divinity of Carthage and +its dependent cities, whom Heliogabalus had lately introduced to Rome, who +in her different aspects was at once Urania, Juno, and Aphrodite, +according as she embodied the idea of the philosopher, the statesman, or +the vulgar; lofty and intellectual as Urania, majestic and commanding as +Juno, seductive as the goddess of sensuality and excess. + +“There goes the son of as good and frank a soldier as ever brandished +pilum,” said Vitricus to himself, “till in his last years some infernal +god took umbrage at him, and saddled him and his with one of those absurd +superstitions which are as plentiful here as serpents. He indeed was too +old himself to get much harm from it; but it shows its sour nature in +these young shoots. A good servant, but the plague’s in his bones, and he +will rot.” + +His subordinate’s reflections were of a different character: “The very air +breathes sin to-day,” he cried; “oh that I did not find the taint of the +city in these works of God! Alas! sweet Nature, the child of the Almighty, +is made to do the fiend’s work, and does it better than the town. O ye +beautiful trees and fair flowers, O bright sun and balmy air, what a +bondage ye are in, and how do ye groan till you are redeemed from it! Ye +are bond-slaves, but not willingly, as man is; but how will you ever be +turned to nobler purpose? How is this vast, this solid establishment of +error, the incubus of many thousand years, ever to have an end? You +yourselves, dear ones, will come to nought first. Anyhow, the public way +is no place for me this evening. They’ll soon be back from their accursed +revelry.” + +A sound of horns and voices had been heard from time to time through the +woods, as if proceeding from parties dispersed through them; and in the +growing twilight might be seen lights, glancing and wandering through the +foliage. The cottage in which Agellius dwelt was on the other side of the +hollow bridle-way which crossed the hill. To make for home he had first to +walk some little distance along it; and scarcely had he descended into it +for that purpose, when he found himself in the front of a band of +revellers, who were returning from some scene of impious festivity. They +were arrayed in holiday guise, as far as they studied dress at all; the +symbols of idolatry were on their foreheads and arms; some of them were +intoxicated, and most of them were women. + +“Why have you not been worshipping, young fellow?” said one. + +“Comely built,” said another, “but struck by the furies. I know the cut of +him.” + +“By Astarte,” said a third, “he’s one of those sly Gnostics! I have seen +the chap before, with his hangdog look. He is one of Pluto’s whelps, first +cousin to Cerberus, and his name’s Channibal.” + +On which they all began to shout out, “I say, Channibal, Channibal, here’s +a lad that knows you. Old fellow, come along with us;” and the speaker +made a dash at him. + +On this Agellius, who was slowly making his way past them on the broken +and steep path, leapt up in two or three steps to the ridge, and went away +in security; when one woman cried out, “O the toad, I know him now; he is +a wizard; he eats little children; didn’t you see him make that sign? it’s +a charm. My sister did it; the fool left me to be one of them. She was +ever doing so” (mimicking the sign of the cross). “He’s a Christian, +blight him! he’ll turn us into beasts.” + +“Cerberus, bite him!” said another, “he sucks blood;” and taking up a +stone, she made it whiz past his ear as he disappeared from view. A +general scream of contempt and hatred followed. “Where’s the ass’s head? +put out the lights, put out the lights! gibbet him! that’s why he has not +been with honest people down in the vale.” And then they struck up a +blasphemous song, the sentiments of which we are not going even to +conceive, much less to attempt in words. + + + + + + CHAPTER II. + + + CHRISTIANITY IN SICCA. + + +The revellers went on their way; Agellius went on his, and made for his +lowly and lonely cottage. He was the elder of the two sons of a Roman +legionary of the Secunda Italica, who had settled with them in Sicca, +where he lost their mother, and died, having in his old age become a +Christian. The fortitude of some confessors at Carthage in the persecution +of Severus had been the initial cause of his conversion. He had been +posted as one of their guards, and had attended them to the scene of their +martyrdom, in addition to the civil force, to whom in the proconsulate the +administration of the law was committed. Therefore, happily for him, it +could not fall to his duty to be their executioner, a function which, +however revolting to his feelings, he might not have had courage to +decline. He remained a pagan, though he could not shake off the impression +which the martyrs had made upon him; and, after completing his time of +service, he retired to the protection of some great friends in Sicca, his +brother’s home already. Here he took a second wife of the old Numidian +stock, and supported himself by the produce of a small piece of land which +had been given to him for life by the imperial government. If trial were +necessary in order to keep alive the good seed which had been sown in his +heart, he found a never-failing supply of that article in the companion of +his declining years. In the hey-day of her youth she might have been +fitted to throw a sort of sunshine, or rather torchlight, on a military +carouse; but now, when poor Strabo, a man well to do in the world, looking +for peace, had fallen under her arts, he found he had surrendered his +freedom to a malignant, profligate woman, whose passions made her better +company for evil spirits than for an invalided soldier. Indeed, as time +went on, the popular belief, which she rather encouraged, went to the +extent that she actually did hold an intercourse with the unseen world; +and certainly she matured in a hatred towards God and man, which would +naturally follow, and not unnaturally betoken, such intercourse. The more, +then, she inflicted on him her proficiency in these amiable +characteristics, the more he looked out for some consolation elsewhere; +and the more she involved herself in the guilt or the repute of unlawful +arts, the more was he drawn to that religion, where alone to commune with +the invisible is to hold intercourse with heaven, not with hell. Whether +so great a trial supplied a more human inducement for looking towards +Christianity, it is impossible to say. Most men, certainly Roman soldiers, +may be considered to act on mixed motives; but so it was in fact, that, on +his becoming in his last years a Christian, he found, perhaps discovered, +to his great satisfaction, that the Church did not oblige him to continue +or renew a tie which bound him to so much misery, and that he might end +his days in a tranquillity which his past life required, and his wife’s +presence would have precluded. He made a good end; he had been allowed to +take the blessed sacrament from the altar to his own home on the last time +he had been able to attend a _synaxis_ of the faithful, and thus had +communicated at least six months within his decease; and the priest who +anointed him at the beginning of his last illness also took his +confession. He died, begging forgiveness of all whom he had injured, and +giving large alms to the poor. This was about the year 236, in the midst +of that long peace of the Church, which was broken at length by the Decian +persecution. + +This peace of well-nigh fifty years had necessarily a peculiar, and not a +happy effect upon the Christians of the proconsulate. They multiplied in +the greater and the maritime cities, and made their way into positions of +importance, whether in trade or the governmental departments; they +extended their family connections, and were on good terms with the +heathen. Whatever jealousy might be still cherished against the Christian +name, nevertheless, individual Christians were treated with civility, and +recognised as citizens; though among the populace there would be +occasions, at the time of the more solemn pagan feasts, when accidental +outbursts might be expected of the antipathy latent in the community, as +we have been recording in the foregoing chapter. Men of sense, however, +began to understand them better, and to be more just to the reasonableness +of their faith. This would lead them to scorn Christianity less, but it +would lead them to fear it more. It was no longer a matter merely for the +populace to insult, but for government deliberately to put down. The +prevailing and still growing unbelief among the lower classes of the +population did but make a religion more formidable, which, as heathen +statesmen felt, was able to wield the weapons of enthusiasm and zeal with +a force and success unknown even to the most fortunate impostors among the +Oriental or Egyptian hierophants. The philosophical schools were impressed +with similar apprehensions, and had now for fifty years been employed in +creating and systematising a new intellectual basis for the received +paganism. + +But, while the signs of the times led to the anticipation that a struggle +was impending between the heads of the state religion and of the new +worship which was taking its place, the great body of Christians, laymen +and ecclesiastics, were on better and better terms, individually, with the +members of society, or what is now called the public; and without losing +their faith or those embers of charity which favourable circumstances +would promptly rekindle, were, it must be confessed, in a state of +considerable relaxation; they often were on the brink of deplorable sins, +and sometimes fell over the brink. And many would join the Church on +inferior motives as soon as no great temporal disadvantage attached to the +act; or the families of Christian parents might grow up with so little of +moral or religious education as to make it difficult to say why they +called themselves members of a divine religion. Mixed marriages would +increase both the scandal and the confusion. + +“A long repose,” says St. Cyprian, speaking of this very period, “had +corrupted the discipline which had come down to us. Every one was applying +himself to the increase of wealth; and, forgetting both the conduct of the +faithful under the Apostles, and what ought to be their conduct in every +age, with insatiable eagerness for gain devoted himself to the multiplying +of possessions. The priests were wanting in religious devotedness, the +ministers in entireness of faith; there was no mercy in works, no +discipline in manners. Men wore their beards disfigured, and woman dyed +their faces. Their eyes were changed from what God made them, and a lying +colour was passed upon the hair. The hearts of the simple were misled by +treacherous artifices, and brethren became entangled in seductive snares. +Ties of marriage were formed with unbelievers; members of Christ abandoned +to the heathen. Not only rash swearing was heard, but even false; persons +in high place were swollen with contemptuousness; poisoned reproaches fell +from their mouths, and men were sundered by unabating quarrels. Numerous +bishops, who ought to be an encouragement and example to others, despising +their sacred calling, engaged themselves in secular vocations, +relinquished their sees, deserted their people, strayed among foreign +provinces, hunted the markets for mercantile profits, and tried to amass +large sums of money, while they had brethren starving within the Church; +took possession of estates by fraudulent proceedings, and multiplied their +gains by accumulated usuries.”(1) + +The relaxation which would extend the profession of Christianity in the +larger cities would contract or extinguish it in remote or country places. +There would be little zeal to keep up Churches, which could not be served +without an effort or without secular loss. Carthage, Utica, Hippo, +Milevis, or Curubis, was a more attractive residence than the towns with +uncouth African names, which amaze the ecclesiastical student in the Acts +of the Councils. Vocations became scarce; sees remained vacant; +congregations died out. This was pretty much the case with the Church and +see of Sicca. At the time of which we write, history preserves no record +of any bishop as exercising his pastoral functions in that city. In matter +of fact there was none. The last bishop, an amiable old man, had in the +course of years acquired a considerable extent of arable land, and +employed himself principally, for lack of more spiritual occupation, in +reaping, stacking, selling, and sending off his wheat for the Roman +market. His deacon had been celebrated in early youth for his boldness in +the chase, and took part in the capture of lions and panthers (an act of +charity towards the peasants round Sicca) for the Roman amphitheatre. No +priests were to be found, and the bishop became _parochus_ till his death. +Afterwards infants and catechumens lost baptism; parents lost faith, or at +least love; wanderers lost repentance and conversion. For a while there +was a flourishing meeting-house of Tertullianists, who had scared more +humble minds by pronouncing the eternal perdition of every Catholic; there +had also been various descriptions of Gnostics, who had carried off the +clever youths and restless speculators; and then there had been the lapse +of time, gradually consuming the generation which had survived the +flourishing old days of the African Church. And the result was, that in +the year 250 it was difficult to say of whom the Church of Sicca +consisted. There was no bishop, no priest, no deacon. There was the old +_mansionarius_ or sacristan; there were two or three pious women, married +or single, who owed their religion to good mothers; there were some slaves +who kept to their faith, no one knew how or why; there were a vast many +persons who ought to be Catholics, but were heretics, or nothing at all, +or all but pagans, and sure to become pagans on the asking; there were +Agellius and his brother Juba, and how far these two had a claim to the +Christian name we now proceed to explain. + +They were about the ages of seven and eight when their father died, and +they fell under the guardianship of their uncle, whose residence at Sicca +had been one of the reasons which determined Strabo to settle there. This +man, being possessed of some capital, drove a thriving trade in idols, +large and small, amulets, and the like instruments of the established +superstition. His father had come to Carthage in the service of one of the +assessors of the proconsul of the day; and his son, finding competition +ran too high to give him prospect of remuneration in the metropolis, had +opened his statue-shop in Sicca. Those modern arts which enable an English +town in this day to be so fertile in the production of ware of this +description for the markets of the pagan East, were then unknown; and +Jucundus depended on certain artists whom he imported, especially on two +Greeks, brother and sister, who came from some isle on the Asian coast, +for the supply of his trade. He was a good-natured man, self-indulgent, +positive, and warmly attached to the reigning paganism, both as being the +law of the land and the vital principle of the state; and, while he was +really kind to his orphan nephews, he simply abominated, as in duty bound, +the idiotic cant and impudent fee-fa-fum, to which, in his infallible +judgment, poor old Strabo had betrayed his children. He would have +restored them, you may be quite sure, to their country and to their +country’s gods, had they acquiesced in the restoration: but in different +ways these little chaps, and he shook his head as he said it, were +difficult to deal with. Agellius had a very positive opinion of his own on +the matter; and as for Juba, though he had no opinion at all, yet he had +an equally positive aversion to have thrust on him by another any opinion +at all, even in favour of paganism. He had remained in his catechumen +state since he grew up, because he found himself in it; and though nothing +would make him go forward in his profession of Christianity, no earthly +power would be able to make him go back. So there he was, like a mule, +struck fast in the door of the Church, and feeling a gratification in his +independence of mind. However, whatever his profession might be, still, as +time went on, he plainly took after his step-mother, renewed his +intercourse with her after his father’s death, and at length went so far +as to avow that he believed in nothing but the devil, if even he believed +in him. It was scarcely safe, however, to affirm that the senses of this +hopeful lad were his own. + +Agellius, on the other hand, when a boy of six years old, had insisted on +receiving baptism; had perplexed his father by a manifestation of zeal to +which the old man was a stranger; and had made the good bishop lose the +corn-fleet which was starting for Italy from his importunity to learn the +Catechism. Baptized he was, confirmed, communicated; but a boy’s nature is +variable, and by the time Agellius had reached adolescence, the gracious +impulses of his childhood had in some measure faded away, though he still +retained his faith in its first keenness and vigour. But he had no one to +keep him up to his duty; no exhortations, no example, no sympathy. His +father’s friends had taken him up so far as this, that by an extraordinary +favour they had got him a lease for some years of the property which +Strabo, a veteran soldier, had held of the imperial government. The care +of this small property fell upon him, and another and more serious charge +was added to it. The long prosperity of the province had increased the +opulence and enlarged the upper class of Sicca. Officials, contractors, +and servants of the government had made fortunes, and raised villas in the +neighbourhood of the city. Natives of the place, returning from Rome, or +from provincial service elsewhere, had invested their gains in long leases +of state lands, or of the farms belonging to the imperial _res privata_ or +privy purse, and had become virtual proprietors of the rich fields or +beautiful gardens in which they had played as children. One of such +persons, who had had a place in the _officium_ of the quæstor, or rather +procurator, as he began to be called, was the employer of Agellius. His +property adjoined the cottage of the latter; and, having first employed +the youth from recollection of his father, he confided to him the place of +under-bailiff from the talents he showed for farm-business. + +Such was his position at the early age of twenty-two; but honourable as it +was in itself, and from the mode in which it was obtained, no one would +consider it adapted, under the circumstances, to counteract the religious +languor and coldness which had grown upon him. And in truth he did not +know where he stood further than that he was firm in faith, as we have +said, and had shrunk from a boy upwards, from the vice and immorality +which was the very atmosphere of Sicca. He might any day be betrayed into +some fatal inconsistency, which would either lead him into sin, or oblige +him abruptly to retrace his steps, and find a truer and safer position. He +was not generally known to be a Christian, at least for certain, though he +was seen to keep clear of the established religion. It was not that he +hid, so much as that the world did not care to know, what he believed. In +that day there were many rites and worships which kept to themselves—many +forms of moroseness or misanthropy, as they were considered, which +withdrew their votaries from the public ceremonial. The Catholic faith +seemed to the multitude to be one of these; it was only in critical times, +when some idolatrous act was insisted on by the magistrate, that the +specific nature of Christianity was tested and detected. Then at length it +was seen to differ from all other religious varieties by that irrational +and disgusting obstinacy, as it was felt to be, which had rather suffer +torments and lose life than submit to some graceful, or touching, or at +least trifling observance which the tradition of ages had sanctioned. + + + + + + CHAPTER III. + + + AGELLIUS IN HIS COTTAGE. + + +The cottage for which Agellius was making, when last we had sight of him, +was a small brick house consisting of one room, with a loft over it, and a +kitchen on the side, not very unlike that holy habitation which once +contained the Eternal Word in human form with His Virgin Mother, and +Joseph, their guardian. It was situated on the declivity of the hill, and, +unlike the gardens of Italy, the space before it was ornamented with a +plot of turf. A noble palm on one side, in spite of its distance from the +water, and a group of orange-trees on the other, formed a foreground to +the rich landscape which was described in our opening chapter. The borders +and beds were gay with the lily, the bacchar, amber-coloured and purple, +the golden abrotomus, the red chelidonium, and the variegated iris. +Against the wall of the house were trained pomegranates, with their +crimson blossoms, the star-like pothos or jessamine, and the symbolical +passionflower, which well became a Christian dwelling. + +And it was an intimation of what would be found within; for on one side of +the room was rudely painted a red cross, with doves about it, as is found +in early Christian shrines to this day. So long had been the peace of the +Church, that the tradition of persecution seemed to have been lost; and +Christians allowed themselves in the profession of their faith at home, +cautious as they might be in public places; as freely as now in England, +where we do not scruple to raise crucifixes within our churches and +houses, though we shrink from doing so within sight of the hundred cabs +and omnibuses which rattle past them. Under the cross were two or three +pictures, or rather sketches. In the centre stood the Blessed Virgin with +hands spread out in prayer, attended by the holy Apostles Peter and Paul +on her right and left. Under this representation was rudely scratched upon +the wall the word, “Advocata,” a title which the earliest antiquity +bestows upon her. On a small shelf was placed a case with two or three +rolls or sheets of parchment in it. The appearance of them spoke of use +indeed, but of reverential treatment. These were the Psalms, the Gospel +according to St. Luke, and St. Paul’s Epistle to the Romans, in the old +Latin version. The Gospel was handsomely covered, and ornamented with +gold. + +The apartment was otherwise furnished with such implements and materials +as might be expected in the cottage of a countryman: one or two stools and +benches for sitting, a table, and in one corner a heap of dried leaves and +rushes, with a large crimson coverlet, for rest at night. Elsewhere were +two millstones fixed in a frame, with a handle attached to the rim of one +of them, for grinding corn. Then again, garden tools; boxes of seeds; a +vessel containing syrup for assuaging the sting of the scorpion; the +_asir-rese_ or _anagallis_, a potent medicine of the class of poisons, +which was taken in wine for the same mischance. It hung from the beams, +with a large bunch of _atsirtiphua_, a sort of camomile, smaller in the +flower and more fragrant than our own, which was used as a febrifuge. +Thence, too, hung a plentiful gathering of dried grapes, of the kind +called _duracinæ_; and near the door a bough of the green _bargut_ or +_psyllium_, to drive away the smaller insects. + +Poor Agellius felt the contrast between the ungodly turmoil from which he +had escaped, and the deep stillness into which he now had entered; but +neither satisfied him quite. There was no repose out of doors, and no +relief within. He was lonely at home, lonely in the crowd. He needed the +sympathy of his kind; hearts which might beat with his heart; friends with +whom he might share his joys and griefs; advisers whom he might consult; +minds like his own, who would understand him—minds unlike his own, who +would succour and respond to him. A very great trial certainly this, in +which the soul is flung back upon itself; and that especially in the case +of the young, for whom memory and experience do so little, and wayward and +excited feelings do so much. Great gain had it been for Agellius, even in +its natural effect, putting aside higher benefits, to have been able to +recur to sacramental confession; but to confession he had never been, +though once or twice he had attended the public _homologesis_ of the +Church. Shall we wonder that the poor youth began to be despondent and +impatient under his trial? Shall we not feel for him, though we may be +sorry for him, should it turn out that he was looking restlessly into +every corner of the small world of acquaintance in which his lot lay, for +those with whom he could converse easily, and interchange speculation, +argument, aspiration, and affection? + +“No one cares for me,” he said, as he sat down on his rustic bench. “I am +nothing to any one; I am a hermit, like Elias or John, without the call to +be one. Yet even Elias felt the burden of being one against many; even +John asked at length in expostulation, ‘Art Thou He that shall come?’ Am I +for ever to have the knowledge, without the consolation, of the truth? am +I for ever to belong to a great divine society, yet never see the face of +any of its members?” + +He paused in his thoughts, as if drinking in the full taste and measure of +his unhappiness. And then his reflections took a turn, and he said, +suddenly, “Why do I not leave Sicca? What binds me to my father’s farm? I +am young, and my interest in it will soon expire. What keeps me from +Carthage, Hippo, Cirtha, where Christians are so many?” But here he +stopped as suddenly as he had begun; and a strange feeling, half pang, +half thrill, went through his heart. And he felt unwilling to pursue his +thought, or to answer the question which he had asked; and he settled into +a dull, stagnant condition of mind, in which he seemed hardly to think at +all. + +Be of good cheer, solitary one, though thou art not a hero yet! There is +One that cares for thee, and loves thee, more than thou canst feel, love, +or care for thyself. Cast all thy care upon Him. He sees thee, and is +watching thee; He is hanging over thee, and smiles in compassion at thy +troubles. His angel, who is thine, is whispering good thoughts to thee. He +knows thy weakness; He foresees thy errors; but He holds thee by thy right +hand, and thou shalt not, canst not escape Him. By thy faith, which thou +hast so simply, resolutely retained in the midst of idolatry; by thy +purity, which, like some fair flower, thou hast cherished in the midst of +pollution, He will remember thee in thy evil hour, and thine enemy shall +not prevail against thee! + +What means that smile upon Agellius’s face? It is the response of the +child to the loving parent. He knows not why, but the cloud is past. He +signs himself with the holy cross, and sweet reviving thoughts enliven +him. He names the sacred Name, and it is like ointment poured out upon his +soul. He rises; he kneels down under the dread symbol of his salvation; +and he begins his evening prayer. + + + + + + CHAPTER IV. + + + JUBA. + + +There was more of heart, less of effort, less of mechanical habit, in +Agellius’s prayers that night, than there had been for a long while +before. He got up, struck a light, and communicated it to his small +earthen lamp. Its pale rays feebly searched the room and discovered at the +other end of it Juba, who had silently opened the door, and sat down near +it, while his brother was employed upon his devotions. The countenance of +the latter fell, for he was not to go to sleep with the resignation and +peace which had just before been poured into his breast. Yet why should he +complain? we receive consolation in this world for the very purpose of +preparing us against trouble to come. Juba was a tall, swarthy, +wild-looking youth. He was holding his head on one side as he sat, and his +face towards the roof; he nodded obliquely, arched his eyebrows, pursed up +his lips, and crossed his arms, while he gave utterance to a strange, +half-whispered laugh. + +“He, he, he!” he cried; “so you are on your knees, Agellius.” + +“Why shouldn’t I be at this hour,” answered Agellius, “and before I go to +bed?” + +“O, every one to his taste, of course,” said Juba; “but to an unprejudiced +mind there is something unworthy in the act.” + +“Why, Juba?” said his brother somewhat sharply; “don’t you profess any +religion at all?” + +“Perhaps I do, and perhaps I don’t,” answered Juba; “but never shall it be +a bowing and scraping, crawling and cringing religion. You may take your +oath of that.” + +“What ails you to come here at this time of night?” asked Agellius; “who +asked for your company?” + +“I will come just when I please,” said the other, “and go when I please. I +won’t give an account of my actions to any one, God or man, devil or +priest, much less to you. What right have you to ask me?” + +“Then,” said Agellius, “you’ll never get peace or comfort as long as you +live, that I can tell you, let alone the life to come.” + +Juba kept silent for awhile, and bit his nails with a smile on his face, +and his eyes looking askance upon the ground. “I want no more than I have; +I am well content,” he said. + +“Contented with yourself,” retorted Agellius. + +“Of course,” Juba replied; “whom ought one to wish rather to content?” + +“I suppose, your Creator.” + +“Creator,” answered Juba, tossing back his head with an air of +superiority; “Creator;—that, I consider, is an assumption.” + +“O, my dear brother,” cried Agellius, “don’t go on in that dreadful way!” + +“ ‘Go on!’ who began? Is one man to lay down the law, and not the other +too? Is it so generally received, this belief of a Creator? Who have +brought in the belief? The Christians. ’Tis the Christians that began it. +The world went on very well without it before their rise. And now, who +began the dispute but you?” + +“Well, if I did,” answered Agellius; “but I didn’t. You began in coming +here; what in the world are you come for? by what right do you disturb me +at this hour?” + +There was no appearance of anger in Juba; he seemed as free from feeling +of every kind, from what is called _heart_, as if he had been a stone. In +answer to his brother’s question, he quietly said, “I have been down +there,” pointing in the direction of the woods. + +An expression of sharp anguish passed over his brother’s face, and for a +moment he was silent. At length he said, “You don’t mean to say you have +been down to poor mother?” + +“I do,” said Juba. + +There was again a silence for a little while; then Agellius renewed the +conversation. “You have fallen off sadly, Juba, in the course of the last +several years.” + +Juba tossed his head, and crossed his legs. + +“At one time I thought you would have been baptized,” his brother +continued. + +“That was my weakness,” answered Juba; “it was a weak moment: it was just +after the old bishop’s death. He had been kind to me as a child; and he +said some womanish words to me, and it was excusable in me.” + +“Oh that you had yielded to your wish!” cried Agellius. + +Juba looked superior. “The fit passed,” he said. “I have come to a juster +view of things. It is not every one who has the strength of mind. I +consider that a logical head comes to a very different conclusion;” and he +began wagging his own, to the right and left, as if it were coming to a +great many. + +“Well,” said Agellius, gaping, and desiring at least to come to a +conclusion of the altercation, “what brings you here so late?” + +“I was on my way to Jucundus,” he answered, “and have been delayed by the +Succoth-benoth in the grove across the river.” + +Here they were thrown back upon their controversy. Agellius turned quite +white. “My poor fellow,” he said, “what were you there for?” + +“To see the world,” answered Juba; “it’s unmanly not to see it. Why +shouldn’t I see it? It was good fun. I despise them all, fools and idiots. +There they were, scampering about, or lying like hogs, all in liquor. Apes +and swine! However, I will do as others do, if I please. I will be as +drunk as they, when I see good. I am my own master, and it would be no +kind of harm.” + +“No harm! why, is it no harm to become an ape or a hog?” + +“You don’t take just views of human nature,” answered Juba, with a +self-satisfied air. “Our first duty is to seek our own happiness. If a man +thinks it happier to be a hog, why, let him be a hog,” and he laughed. +“This is where you are narrow-minded. I shall seek my own happiness, and +try this way, if I please.” + +“Happiness!” cried Agellius; “where have you been picking up all this +stuff? Can you call such detestable filth happiness?” + +“What do you know about such matters?” asked Juba. “Did you ever see them? +Did you ever try them? You would be twice the man you are if you had. You +will not be a man till you do. You are carried off your legs in your own +way. I’d rather get drunk every day than fall down on all fours as you do, +crawling on your stomach like a worm, and whining like a hound that has +been beaten.” + +“Now, as I live, you shan’t stop here one instant longer!” cried out +Agellius, starting up. “Be off with you! get away! what do you come here +to blaspheme for? who wants you? who asked for you? Go! go, I say! take +yourself off! Why don’t you go? Keep your ribaldry for others.” + +“I am as good as you any day,” said Juba. + +“I don’t set myself up,” answered Agellius, “but it’s impossible to +confound Christian and unbeliever as you do.” + +“Christian and unbeliever!” said Juba, slowly. “I suppose, when they are +a-courting each other, they _are_ confounded.” He looked hard at Agellius, +as if he thought he had hit a blot. Then he continued, “If I _were_ a +Christian, I’d be so in earnest: else I’d be an honest heathen.” + +Agellius coloured somewhat, and sat down, as if under embarrassment. + +“I despise you,” said Juba; “you have not the pluck to be a Christian. Be +consistent, and fizz upon a stake; but you’re not made of that stuff. +You’re even afraid of uncle. Nay, you can be caught by those painted +wares, about which, when it suits your purpose, you can be so grave. I +despise you,” he continued, “I despise you, and the whole kit of you. +What’s the difference between you and another? Your people say, ‘Earth’s a +vanity, life’s a dream, riches a deceit, pleasure a snare. Fratres +charissimi, the time is short;’ but who love earth and life and riches and +pleasure better than they? You are all of you as fond of the world, as set +upon gain, as chary of reputation, as ambitious of power, as the jolly old +heathen, who, you say, is going the way of the pit.” + +“It is one thing to have a conscience,” answered Agellius; “another thing +to act upon it. The conscience of these poor people is darkened. You had a +conscience once.” + +“Conscience, conscience,” said Juba. “Yes, certainly, once I had a +conscience. Yes, and once I had a bad chill, and went about chattering and +shivering; and once I had a game leg, and then I went limping; and so, you +see, I once on a time had a conscience. O yes, I have had many consciences +before now—white, black, yellow, and green; they were all bad; but they +are all gone, and now I have none.” + +Agellius said nothing; his one wish, as may be supposed, was to get rid of +so unwelcome a visitor. + +“The truth is,” continued Juba, with the air of a teacher—“the truth is, +that religion was a fashion with me, which is now gone by. It was the +complexion of a particular stage of my life. I was neither the better nor +the worse for it. It was an accident, like the bloom on my face, which +soon,” he said, spreading his fingers over his dirty-coloured cheeks, and +stroking them, “which soon will disappear. I acted according to the +feeling, while it lasted; but I can no more recall it than my first teeth, +or the down on my chin. It’s among the things that were.” + +Agellius still keeping silence from weariness and disgust, he looked at +him in a significant way, and said, slowly, “I see how it is; I have +penetration enough to perceive that you don’t believe a bit more about +religion than I do.” + +“You must not say that under my roof,” cried Agellius, feeling he must not +let his brother’s charge pass without a protest. “Many are my sins, but +unbelief is not one of them.” + +Juba tossed his head. “I think I can see through a stone slab as well as +any one,” he said. “It is as I have said; but you’re too proud to confess +it. It’s part of your hypocrisy.” + +“Well,” said Agellius coldly, “let’s have done. It’s getting late, Juba; +you’ll be missed at home. Jucundus will be inquiring for you, and some of +those revelling friends of yours may do you a mischief by the way. Why, my +good fellow,” he continued, in surprise, “you have no leggings. The +scorpions will catch hold of you to a certainty in the dark. Come, let me +tie some straw wisps about you.” + +“No fear of scorpions for me,” answered Juba; “I have some real good +amulets for the occasion, which even _boola-kog_ and _uffah_ will +respect.” + +Saying this, he passed out of the room as unceremoniously as he had +entered it, and took the direction of the city, talking to himself, and +singing snatches of wild airs as he went along, throwing back and shaking +his head, and now and then uttering a sharp internal laugh. Disdaining to +follow the ordinary path, he dived down into the thick and wet grass, and +scrambled through the ravine, which the public road crossed before it +ascended the hill. Meanwhile he accompanied his quickened pace with a +louder strain, and it ran as follows:— + + “The little black Moor is the mate for me, + When the night is dark, and the earth is free, + Under the limbs of the broad yew-tree. + + “’Twas Father Cham that planted that yew, + And he fed it fat with the bloody dew + Of a score of brats, as his lineage grew. + + “Footing and flaunting it, all in the night, + Each lock flings fire, each heel strikes light; + No lamps need they, whose breath is bright.” + +Here he was interrupted by a sudden growl, which sounded almost under his +feet, and some wild animal was seen to slink away. Juba showed no +surprise; he had taken out a small metal idol, and whispering some words +to it, had presented it to the animal. He clambered up the bank, gained +the city gate, and made his way for his uncle’s dwelling, which was near +the temple of Astarte. + + + + + + CHAPTER V. + + + JUCUNDUS AT SUPPER. + + +The house of Jucundus was closed for the night when Juba reached it, or +you would see, were you his companion, that it was one of the most showy +shops in Sicca. It was the image-store of the place, and set out for sale, +not articles of statuary alone, but of metal, of mosaic work, and of +jewellery, as far as they were dedicated to the service of paganism. It +was bright with the many colours adopted in the embellishment of images, +and the many lights which silver and gold, brass and ivory, alabaster, +gypsum, talc, and glass reflected. Shelves and cabinets were laden with +wares; both the precious material, and the elaborated trinket. All tastes +were suited, the popular and the refined, the fashion of the day and the +love of the antique, the classical and the barbarian devotion. There you +might see the rude symbols of invisible powers, which, originating in +deficiency of art, had been perpetuated by reverence for the past: the +mysterious cube of marble sacred among the Arabs, the pillar which was the +emblem of Mercury or Bacchus, the broad-based cone of Heliogabalus, the +pyramid of Paphos, and the tile or brick of Juno. + +There, too, were the unmeaning blocks of stone with human heads, which +were to be dressed out in rich robes, and to simulate the human form. +There were other articles besides, as portable as these were unmanageable: +little Junos, Mercuries, Dianas, and Fortunas, for the bosom or the +girdle. Household gods were there, and the objects of personal devotion: +Minerva or Vesta, with handsome niches or shrines in which they might +reside. There, too, were the brass crowns, or _nimbi_ which were intended +to protect the heads of the gods from bats and birds. There you might buy, +were you a heathen, rings with heads on them of Jupiter, Mars, the Sun, +Serapis, and above all Astarte. You would find there the rings and signets +of the Basilidians; amulets too of wood or ivory: figures of demons, +preternaturally ugly; little skeletons, and other superstitious devices. +It would be hard, indeed, if you could not be pleased, whatever your +religious denomination—unless indeed you were determined to reject all the +appliances and objects of idolatry indiscriminately—and in that case you +would rejoice that it was night when you arrived there, and, in +particular, that darkness swallowed up other appliances and objects of +pagan worship, which to darkness were due by a particular title, and by +darkness were best shrouded, till the coming of that day when all things, +good and evil, shall be made light. + +The shop, as we have said, was closed, concealed from view by large +lumbering shutters, and made secure by heavy bars of wood. So we must +enter by the passage or vestibule on the right side, and that will conduct +us into a modest _atrium_, with an _impluvium_ on one side, and on the +other the _triclinium_ or supper-room, backing the shop. Jucundus had been +pleasantly engaged in a small supper-party; and, mindful that a +_symposium_ should lie within the number of the Graces and of the Muses, +he had confined his guests to two, the young Greek Aristo, who was one of +his principal artists, and Cornelius the son of a freedman of a Roman of +distinction, who had lately got a place in one of the _scrinia_ of the +proconsular _officium_, and had migrated into the province from the +imperial city where he had spent his best days. + +The dinner had not been altogether suitable to modern ideas of good +living. The grapes from Tacape, and the dates from the lake Tritonis, the +white and black figs, the nectarines and peaches, and the watermelons, +address themselves to the imagination of an Englishman, as well as of an +African of the third century. So also might the liquor derived from the +sap or honey of the Getulian palm, and the sweet wine, called _melilotus_, +made from the poetical fruit found upon the coast of the Syrtis. He would +have been struck, too, with the sweetness of the mutton; but he would have +asked what the sheep’s tails were before he tasted them, and found how +like marrow the firm substance ate of which they consisted. He would have +felt he ought to admire the roes of mullets, pressed and dried, from +Mauritania; but he would have thought twice before he tried the lion +cutlets though they had the flavour of veal, and the additional _goût_ of +being imperial property, and poached from a preserve. But when he saw the +indigenous dish, the very haggis and cock-a-leekie of Africa, in the shape +of—(alas! alas! it _must_ be said, with whatever apology for its +introduction)—in shape, then, of a delicate puppy, served up with +tomatoes, with its head between its fore-paws, we consider he would have +risen from the unholy table, and thought he had fallen upon the +hospitality of some sorceress of the neighbouring forest. However, to that +festive board our Briton was not invited, for he had some previous +engagement that evening, either of painting himself with woad, or of +hiding himself to the chin in the fens; so that nothing occurred to +disturb the harmony of the party, and the good humour and easy +conversation which was the effect of such excellent cheer. + +Cornelius had been present at the Secular Games in the foregoing year, and +was full of them, of Rome, and of himself in connection with it, as became +so genuine a cockney of the imperial period. He was full of the high +patriotic thoughts which so solemn a celebration had kindled within him. +“O great Rome!” he said, “thou art first, and there is no second. In that +wonderful pageant which these eyes saw last year was embodied her majesty, +was promised her eternity. We die, she lives. I say, _let_ a man die. It’s +well for him to take hemlock, or open a vein, after having seen the +Secular Games. What was there to live for? I felt it; life was gone; its +best gifts flat and insipid after that great day. Excellent—Tauromenian, I +suppose? We know it in Rome. Fill up my cup. I drink to the genius of the +emperor.” + +He was full of his subject, and soon resumed it. “Fancy the Campus Martius +lighted up from one end to the other. It was the finest thing in the +world. A large plain, covered, not with streets, not with woods, but +broken and crossed with superb buildings in the midst of groves, avenues +of trees, and green grass, down to the water’s edge. There’s nothing that +isn’t there. Do you want the grandest temples in the world, the most +spacious porticoes, the longest racecourses? there they are. Do you want +_gymnasia_? there they are. Do you want arches, statues, obelisks? you +find them there. There you have at one end the stupendous mausoleum of +Augustus, cased with white marble, and just across the river the huge +towering mound of Hadrian. At the other end you have the noble Pantheon of +Agrippa, with its splendid Syracusan columns, and its dome glittering with +silver tiles. Hard by are the baths of Alexander, with their beautiful +groves. Ah! my good friend! I shall have no time to drink if I go on. +Beyond are the numerous chapels and fanes which fringe the base of the +Capitoline hill; the tall column of Antoninus comes next, with its +adjacent basilica, where is kept the authentic list of the provinces of +the empire, and of the governors, each a king in power and dominion, who +are sent out to them. Well, I am now only beginning. Fancy, I say, this +magnificent region all lighted up; every temple to and fro, every bath, +every grove, gleaming with innumerable lamps and torches. No, not even the +gods of Olympus have anything that comes near it. Rome is the greatest of +all divinities. In the dead of night all was alive; then it was, when +nature sleeps exhausted, Rome began the solemn sacrifices to commemorate +her thousand years. On the banks of the Tiber, which had seen Æneas land, +and Romulus ascend to the gods, the clear red flame shot up as the victims +burned. The music of ten thousand horns and flutes burst forth, and the +sacred dances began upon the greensward. I am too old to dance; but, I +protest, even I stood up and threw off. We danced through three nights, +dancing the old millenary out, dancing the new millenary in. We were all +Romans, no strangers, no slaves. It was a solemn family feast, the feast +of all the Romans.” + +“Then we came in for the feast,” said Aristo; “for Caracalla gave Roman +citizenship to all freemen all over the world. We are all of us Romans, +recollect, Cornelius.” + +“Ah! that was another matter—a condescension,” answered Cornelius. “Yes, +in a certain sense, I grant it; but it was a political act.” + +“I warrant you,” retorted Aristo, “most political. We were to be fleeced, +do you see? so your imperial government made us Romans, that we might have +the taxes of Romans, and that in addition to our own. You’ve taxed us +double; and as for the privilege of citizenship, much it is, by Hercules, +when every snob has it who can wear a _pileus_ or cherish his hair.” + +“Ah! but you should have seen the procession from the Capitol,” continued +Cornelius, “on, I think, the second day; from the Capitol to the Circus, +all down the Via Sacra. Hosts of strangers there, and provincials from the +four corners of the earth, but not in the procession. There you saw, all +in one _coup-d’œil_, the real good blood of Rome, the young blood of the +new generation, and promise of the future; the sons of patrician and +consular families, of imperators, orators, conquerors, statesmen. They +rode at the head of the procession, fine young fellows, six abreast; and +still more of them on foot. Then came the running horses and the chariots, +the boxers, the wrestlers, and other combatants, all ready for the +competition. The whole school of gladiators then turned out, boys and all, +with their masters, dressed in red tunics, and splendidly armed. They +formed three bands, and they went forward gaily, dancing and singing the +Pyrrhic. By-the-bye, a thousand pair of gladiators fought during the +games—a round thousand, and such clean-made, well-built fellows, and they +came against each other so gallantly! You should have seen it; _I_ can’t go +through it. There was a lot of satyrs, jumping and frisking, in burlesque +of the martial dances which preceded them. There was a crowd of trumpeters +and horn-blowers; ministers of the sacrifices with their victims, bulls +and rams, dressed up with gay wreaths; drivers, butchers, haruspices, +heralds; images of gods with their cars of ivory or silver, drawn by tame +lions and elephants. I can’t recollect the order. O! but the grandest +thing of all was the Carmen, sung by twenty-seven noble youths, and as +many noble maidens, taken for the purpose from the bosoms of their +families to propitiate the gods of Rome. The flamens, augurs, colleges of +priests, it was endless. Last of all came the emperor himself.” + +“That’s the late man,” observed Jucundus, “Philip; no bad riddance his +death, if all’s true that’s said of him.” + +“All emperors are good in their time and way,” answered Cornelius; “Philip +was good then, and Decius is good now;—whom the gods preserve!” + +“True,” said Aristo, “I understand; an emperor cannot do wrong, except in +dying, and then everything goes wrong with him. His death is his first bad +deed; he ought to be ashamed of it; it somehow turns all his great virtues +into vices.” + +“Ah! no one was so good an emperor as our man, Gordianus,” said Jucundus, +“a princely old man, living and dead; patron of trade and of the arts; +such villas! he had enormous revenues. Poor old gentleman! and his son +too. I never shall forget the day when the news came that he was gone. Let +me see, it was shortly after that old fool Strabo’s death—I mean my +brother; a good thirteen years ago. All Africa was in tears; there was no +one like Gordianus.” + +“That’s old world philosophy,” said Aristo; “Jucundus, you must go to +school. Don’t you see that all that is, is right; and all that was, is +wrong? ‘Te nos facimus, Fortuna, deam,’ says your poet; well, I drink ‘to +the fortunes of Rome,’—while it lasts.” + +“You’re a young man,” answered Cornelius, “a very young man, and a Greek. +Greeks never understand Rome. It’s most difficult to understand us. It’s a +science. Look at this medal, young gentleman; it was one of those struck +at the games. Is it not grand? ‘Novum sæculum,’ and on the reverse, +‘Æternitati.’ Always changing, always imperishable. Emperors rise and +fall; Rome remains. The eternal city! Isn’t this good philosophy?” + +“Truly, a most beautiful medal,” said Aristo, examining it, and handing it +on to his host. “You might make an amulet of it, Jucundus. But as to +eternity, why, that is a very great word; and, if I mistake not, other +states have been eternal before Rome. Ten centuries is a very respectable +eternity; be content, Rome is eternal already, and may die without +prejudice to the medal.” + +“Blaspheme not,” replied Cornelius: “Rome is healthier, more full of life, +and promises more, than at any former time, you may rely upon it. ‘Novum +sæculum!’ she has the age of the eagle, and will but cast her feathers to +begin a fresh thousand.” + +“But Egypt,” interposed Aristo, “if old Herodotus speaks true, scarcely +had a beginning. Up and up, the higher you go, the more dynasties of +Egyptian kings do you find. And we hear strange reports of the nations in +the far east, beyond the Ganges.” + +“But I tell you, man,” rejoined Cornelius, “Rome is a city of kings. That +one city, in this one year, has as many kings at once as those of all the +kings of all the dynasties of Egypt put together. Sesostris, and the rest +of them, what are they to imperators, prefects, proconsuls, _vicarii_, and +_rationales_? Look back at Lucullus, Cæsar, Pompey, Sylla, Titus, Trajan. +What’s old Cheops’ pyramid to the Flavian amphitheatre? What is the +many-gated Thebes to Nero’s golden house, while it was? What the grandest +palace of Sesostris or Ptolemy but a second-rate villa of any one of ten +thousand Roman citizens? Our houses stand on acres of ground, they ascend +as high as the Tower of Babylon; they swarm with columns like a forest; +they pullulate into statues and pictures. The walls, pavements, and +ceilings are dazzling from the lustre of the rarest marble, red and +yellow, green and mottled. Fountains of perfumed water shoot aloft from +the floor, and fish swim in rocky channels round about the room, waiting +to be caught and killed for the banquet. We dine; and we feast on the head +of the ostrich, the brains of the peacock, the liver of the bream, the +milk of the murena, and the tongue of the flamingo. A flight of doves, +nightingales, beccaficoes are concentrated into one dish. On great +occasions we eat a phœnix. Our saucepans are of silver, our dishes of +gold, our vases of onyx, and our cups of precious stones. Hangings and +carpets of Tyrian purple are around us and beneath us, and we lie on ivory +couches. The choicest wines of Greece and Italy crown our goblets, and +exotic flowers crown our heads. In come troops of dancers from Lydia, or +pantomimes from Alexandria, to entertain both eye and mind; or our noble +dames and maidens take a place at our tables; they wash in asses’ milk, +they dress by mirrors as large as fish-ponds, and they glitter from head +to foot with combs, brooches, necklaces, collars, ear-rings, armlets, +bracelets, finger-rings, girdles, stomachers, and anklets, all of diamond +and emerald. Our slaves may be counted by thousands, and they come from +all parts of the world. Everything rare and precious is brought to Rome: +the gum of Arabia, the nard of Assyria, the papyrus of Egypt, the +citron-wood of Mauretania, the bronze of Ægina, the pearls of Britain, the +cloth of gold of Phrygia, the fine webs of Cos, the embroidery of Babylon, +the silks of Persia, the lion-skins of Getulia, the wool of Miletus, the +plaids of Gaul. Thus we live, an imperial people, who do nothing but enjoy +themselves and keep festival the whole year; and at length we die—and then +we burn: we burn—in stacks of cinnamon and cassia, and in shrouds of +_asbestos_, making emphatically a good end of it. Such are we Romans, a +great people. Why, we are honoured wherever we go. There’s my master, +there’s myself; as we came here from Italy, I protest we were nearly +worshipped as demi-gods.” + +“And perhaps some fine morning,” said Aristo, “Rome herself will burn in +cinnamon and cassia, and in all her burnished Corinthian brass and scarlet +bravery, the old mother following her children to the funeral pyre. One +has heard something of Babylon, and its drained moat, and the soldiers of +the Persian.” + +A pause occurred in the conversation as one of Jucundus’s slaves entered +with fresh wine, larger goblets, and a vase of snow from the Atlas. + + + + + + CHAPTER VI. + + + GOTHS AND CHRISTIANS. + + +Cornelius was full of his subject, and did not attend to the Greek. “The +wild-beasts hunts,” he continued, “ah, those hunts during the games, +Aristo! they were a spectacle for the gods. Twenty-two elephants, ten +panthers, ten hyænas (by-the-bye, a new beast, not strange, however, to +you here, I suppose), ten camelopards, a hippopotamus, a rhinoceros—I +can’t go through the list. Fancy the circus planted throughout for the +occasion, and turned into a park, and then another set of wild animals, +Getes and Sarmatians, Celts and Goths, sent in against them, to hunt down, +capture and kill them, or to be killed themselves.” + +“Ah, the Goths!” answered Aristo; “those fellows give you trouble, though, +now and then. Perhaps they will give you more. There is a report in the +prætorium to-day that they have crossed the Danube.” + +“Yes, they _will_ give us trouble,” said Cornelius, drily; “they _have_ +given us trouble, and they will give us more. The Samnites gave us +trouble, and our friends of Carthage here, and Jugurtha, and Mithridates; +trouble, yes, that is the long and the short of it; they will give us +trouble. Is trouble a new thing to Rome?” he asked, stretching out his +arm, as if he were making a speech after dinner, and giving a toast. + +“The Goths give trouble, and take a bribe,” retorted Aristo; “this is what +trouble means in their case: it’s a troublesome fellow who hammers at our +door till we pay his reckoning. It is troublesome to raise the means to +buy them off. And the example of these troublesome savages is catching; it +was lately rumoured that the Carpians had been asking the same terms for +keeping quiet.” + +“It would ill become the majesty of Rome to soil her fingers with the +blood of such vermin,” said Cornelius; “she ignores them.” + +“And therefore she most majestically bleeds us instead,” answered Aristo, +“that she may have treasure to give them. We are not so troublesome as +they; the more’s the pity. No offence to you, however, or to the emperor, +or to great Rome, Cornelius. We are over our cups; it’s only a game of +politics, you know, like chess or the _cottabus_. Maro bids you ‘parcere +subjectis, et debellare superbos;’ but you have changed your manners. You +coax the Goths and bully the poor African.” + +“Africa can show fight, too,” interposed Jucundus, who had been calmly +listening and enjoying his own wine; “witness Thysdrus. That was giving +every rapacious Quæstor a lesson that he may go too far, and find a dagger +when he demands a purse.” + +He was alluding to the revolt of Africa, which led to the downfall of the +tyrant Maximin and the exaltation of the Gordians, when the native +landlords armed their peasantry, killed the imperial officer, and raised +the standard of rebellion in the neighbouring town from impatience of +exactions under which they suffered. + +“No offence, I say, Cornelius, no offence to eternal Rome,” said Aristo, +“but you have explained to us why you weigh so heavy on us. I’ve always +heard it was a fortune at Rome for a man to have found out a new tax. +Vespasian did his best; but now you tax our smoke, and our very shadow; +and Pescennius threatened to tax the air we breathe. We’ll play at +riddles, and you shall solve the following:—Say who is she that eats her +own limbs, and grows eternal upon them? Ah, the Goths will take the +measure of her eternity!” + +“The Goths!” said Jucundus, who was warming into conversational life, “the +Goths! no fear of the Goths; but,” and he nodded significantly, “look at +home; we have more to fear indoors than abroad.” + +“He means the prætorians,” said Cornelius to Aristo, condescendingly; “I +grant you that there have been several untoward affairs; we have had our +problem, but it’s a thing of the past, it never can come again. I venture +to say that the power of the prætorians is at an end. That murder of the +two emperors the other day was the worst job they ever did; it has turned +the public opinion of the whole world against them. I have no fear of the +prætorians.” + +“I don’t mean prætorians more than Goths,” said Jucundus; “no, give me the +old weapons, the old maxims of Rome, and I defy the scythe of Saturn. Do +the soldiers march under the old ensign? do they swear by the old gods? do +they interchange the good old signals and watchwords? do they worship the +fortune of Rome; then I say we are safe. But do we take to new ways? do we +trifle with religion? do we make light of Jupiter, Mars, Romulus, the +augurs, and the ancilia? then I say, not all our shows and games, our +elephants, hyænas, and hippopotamuses, will do us any good. It was not the +best thing, no, not the best thing that the soldiers did, when they +invested that Philip with the purple. But he is dead and gone.” And he sat +up and leant on his elbow. + +“Ah! but it will be all set right now,” said Cornelius, “_you’ll_ see.” + +“He’d be a reformer, that Philip,” continued Jucundus, “and put down an +enormity. Well, they call it an enormity; let it be an enormity. He’d put +it down; but why? there’s the point; why? It’s no secret at all,” and his +voice grew angry, “that that hoary-headed Atheist Fabian was at the bottom +of it; Fabian, the Christian. I hate reforms.” + +“Well, we had long wished to do it,” answered Cornelius, “but could not +manage it. Alexander attempted it near twenty years ago. It’s what +philosophers have always aimed at.” + +“The gods consume philosophers and the Christians together!” said Jucundus +devoutly. “There’s little to choose between them, except that the +Christians are the filthier animal of the two. But both are ruining the +most glorious political structure that the world ever saw. I am not +over-fond of Alexander either.” + +“Thank you in the name of philosophy,” said the Greek. + +“And thank you in the name of the Christians,” chimed in Juba. + +“That’s good!” cried Jucundus; “the first word that hopeful youth has +spoken since he came in, and he takes on him to call himself a Christian.” + +“I’ve a right to do so, if I choose,” said Juba; “I’ve a right to be a +Christian.” + +“Right! O yes, right! ha, ha!” answered Jucundus, “right! Jove help the +lad! by all manner of means. Of course, you have a right to go _in malam +rem_ in whatever way you please.” + +“I am my own master,” said Juba; “my father was a Christian. I suppose it +depends on myself to follow him or not, according to my fancy, and as long +as I think fit.” + +“Fancy! think fit!” answered Jucundus, “you pompous little mule! Yes, go +and be a Christian, my dear child, as your doting father went. Go, like +him, to the priest of their mysteries; be spit on, stripped, dipped; feed +on little boys’ marrow and brains; worship the ass; and learn all the foul +magic of the sect. And then be delated and taken up, and torn to shreds on +the rack, or thrown to the lions and so go to Tartarus, if Tartarus there +be, in the way you think fit. You’ll harm none but yourself, my boy. I +don’t fear such as you, but the deeper heads.” + +Juba stood up with a look of offended dignity, and, as on former +occasions, tossed the head which had been by implication disparaged. “I +despise you,” he said. + +“Well, but you are hard on the Christians,” said Aristo. “I have heard +them maintain that their superstition, if adopted, would be the salvation +of Rome. They maintain that the old religion is gone or going out; that +something new is wanted to keep the empire together; and that their +worship is just fitted to the times.” + +“All I say to the vipers,” said Jucundus, “is, ‘Let well alone. We did +well enough without you; we did well enough till you sprang up.’ A plague +on their insolence; as if Jew or Egyptian could do aught for us when Numa +and the Sibyl fail. That is what I say, Let Rome be true to herself and +nothing can harm her; let her shift her foundation, and I would not buy +her for this water-melon,” he said, taking a suck at it. “Rome alone can +harm Rome. Recollect old Horace, ‘Suis et ipsa Roma viribus ruit.’ He was +a prophet. If she falls, it is by her own hand.” + +“I agree,” said Cornelius; “certainly, to set up any new worship is +treason; not a doubt of it. The gods keep us from such ingratitude! We +have grown great by means of them, and they are part and parcel of the law +of Rome. But there is no great chance of our forgetting this; Decius +won’t; that’s a fact. You will see. Time will show; perhaps to-morrow, +perhaps next day,” he added, mysteriously. + +“Why in the world should you have this frantic dread of these poor +scarecrows of Christians,” said Aristo, “all because they hold an opinion? +Why are you not afraid of the bats and the moles? It’s an opinion: there +have been other opinions before them, and there will be other opinions +after. Let them alone and they’ll die away; make a hubbub about them and +they’ll spread.” + +“Spread?” cried Jucundus, who was under the twofold excitement of personal +feeling and of wine, “spread, they’ll spread? yes, they’ll spread. Yes, +grow, like scorpions, twenty at a birth. The country already swarms with +them; they are as many as frogs or grasshoppers; they start up everywhere +under one’s nose, when one least expects them. The air breeds them like +plague-flies; the wind drifts them like locusts. No one’s safe; any one +may be a Christian; it’s an epidemic. Great Jove! _I_ may be a Christian +before I know where I am. Heaven and earth! is it not monstrous?” he +continued, with increasing fierceness. “Yes, Jucundus, my poor man, you +may wake and find yourself a Christian, without knowing it, against your +will. Ah! my friends, pity me! I may find myself a beast, and obliged to +suck blood and live among the tombs as if I liked it, without power to +tell you how I loathe it, all through their sorcery. By the genius of Rome +something must be done. I say, no one is safe. You call on your friend; he +is sitting in the dark, unwashed, uncombed, undressed. What is the matter? +Ah! his son has turned Christian. Your wedding-day is fixed, you are +expecting your bride; she does not come; why? she will not have you; she +has become a Christian. Where’s young Nomentanus? Who has seen Nomentanus? +in the forum, or the campus, in the circus, in the bath? Has he caught the +plague or got a sunstroke? Nothing of the kind; the Christians have caught +hold of him. Young and old, rich and poor, my lady in her litter and her +slave, modest maid and Lydia at the Thermæ, nothing comes amiss to them. +All confidence is gone; there’s no one we can reckon on. I go to my +tailor’s: ‘Nergal,’ I say to him, ‘Nergal, I want a new tunic,’ The +wretched hypocrite bows, and runs to and fro, and unpacks his stuffs and +cloths, like another man. A word in your ear. The man’s a Christian, +dressed up like a tailor. They have no dress of their own. If I were +emperor, I’d make the sneaking curs wear a badge, I would; a dog’s collar, +a fox’s tail, or a pair of ass’s ears. Then we should know friends from +foes when we meet them.” + +“We should think that dangerous,” said Cornelius; “however, you are taking +it too much to heart; you are making too much of them, my good friend. +They have not even got the present, and you are giving them the future, +which is just what they want.” + +“If Jucundus will listen to me,” said Aristo, “I could satisfy him that +the Christians are actually falling off. They once were numerous in this +very place; now there are hardly any. They have been declining for these +fifty years; the danger from them is past. Do you want to know how to +revive them? Put out an imperial edict, forbid them, denounce them. Do you +want them to drop away like autumn leaves? Take no notice of them.” + +“I can’t deny that in Italy they _have_ grown,” said Cornelius; “they +_have_ grown in numbers and in wealth, and they intermarry with us. Thus +the upper class becomes to a certain extent infected. We may find it +necessary to repress them; but, as you would repress vermin, without +fearing them.” + +“The worshippers of the gods are the many, and the Christians are the +few,” persisted Aristo; “if the two parties intermarry, the weaker will +get the worst of it. You will find the statues of the gods gradually +creeping back into the Christian chapel; and a man must be an honest +fellow who buys our images, eh, Jucundus?” + +“Well, Aristo,” said the paterfamilias, whose violence never lasted long, +“if your sister’s bright eyes win back my poor Agellius you will have +something more to say for yourself than, at present, I grant.” + +“I see,” said Cornelius, gravely, “I begin to understand it. I could not +make out why our good host had such great fear for the stability of Rome. +But it is one of those things which the experience of life has taught me. +I have often seen it in the imperial city itself. Whenever you find a man +show special earnestness against these fanatics, depend on it there is +something that touches him personally in the matter. There was a very +great man, the present Flamen Dialis, for whom I have unbounded respect; +for a long time I was at a loss to conceive why a person of his weight, +sound, sensible, well-judging, should have such a fear of the Christians. +One day he made an oration against them in the senate-house; he wanted to +send them to the rack. But the secret came out; the good man was on the +rack himself about his daughter, who persisted in calling herself a +Christian, and refused to paint her face or go to the amphitheatre. To be +sure, a most trying affair this for the old gentleman. The venerable Pater +Patratus, too, what suppers he gave! a fine specimen of the Lucullus type; +yet he was always advocating the lictor and the _commentariensis_ in the +instance of the Christian. No wonder; his wife and son were disgracing him +in the eyes of the whole world by frequenting the meetings of these +Christians. However, I agree with Decius, they must be put down. They are +not formidable, but they are an eyesore.” + +Here the rushing of the water-clock which measured time in the +neighbouring square, ceased, signifying thereby that the night was getting +on. Juba had already crept into the dark closet which served him for a +sleeping-place; had taken off his sandals, and loosened his belt; had +wrapt the serpent he had about him round his neck, and was breathing +heavily. Jucundus made the parting libation, and Cornelius took his leave. +Aristo rose too; and Jucundus, accompanying them to the entrance, paid the +not uncommon penalty of his potations, for the wine mounted to his head, +and he returned into the room, and sat him down again with an impression +that Aristo was still at table. + +“My dear boy,” he said, “Agellius is but a wet Christian; that’s all, not +obstinate, like his brother there. ’Twas his father; the less we say about +him the better; he’s gone. The Furies make his bed for him! an odious set! +Their priests, little ugly men. I saw one when I was a boy at Carthage. So +unlike your noble Roman Saliares, or your fine portly priest of Isis, clad +in white, breathing odours like spring flowers; men who enjoyed this life, +not like that sour hypocrite. He was as black as an Ethiopian, and as +withered as a Saracen, and he never looked you in the face. And, after +all, the fellow must die for his religion, rather than put a few grains of +golden incense on the altar of great Jove. Jove’s the god for me; a +glorious, handsome, curly god—but they are all good, all the gods are +good. There’s Bacchus, he’s a good, comfortable god, though a sly, +treacherous fellow—a treacherous fellow. There’s Ceres, too; Pomona; the +Muses; Astarte, too, as they call her here; all good;—and Apollo, though +he’s somewhat too hot in this season, and too free with his bow. He gave +me a bad fever once. Ah! life’s precious, most precious; so I felt it +then, when I was all but gone to Pluto. Life never returns, it’s like +water spilt; you can’t gather it up. It is dispersed into the elements, to +the four winds. Ah! there’s something more there than I can tell; more +than all your philosophers can determine.” + +He seemed to think awhile, and began again: “Enjoyment’s the great rule; +ask yourself, ‘Have I made the most of things?’ that’s what I say to the +rising generation. Many and many’s the time when I have not turned them to +the best account. Oh, if I had now to begin life again, how many things +should I correct! I might have done better this evening. Those abominable +pears! I might have known they would not be worth the eating. Mutton, that +was all well; doves, good again; crane, kid; well, I don’t see that I +could have done much better.” + +After a few minutes he got up half asleep, and put out all the lights but +one small lamp, with which he made his way into his own bed-closet. “All +is vanity,” he continued, with a slow, grave utterance, “all is vanity but +eating and drinking. It does not pay to serve the gods except for this. +What’s fame? what’s glory? what’s power? smoke. I’ve often thought the hog +is the only really wise animal. We should be happier if we were all hogs. +Hogs keep the end of life steadily in view; that’s why those toads of +Christians will not eat them, lest they should get like them. Quiet, +respectable, sensible enjoyment; not riot, or revel, or excess, or +quarrelling. Life is short.” And with this undeniable sentiment he fell +asleep. + + + + + + CHAPTER VII. + + + 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. + + + + + + CHAPTER VIII. + + + THE NEW GENERATION. + + +Jucundus, then, set out to see how the land lay with his nephew, and to do +what he could to prosper the tillage. His way led him by the temple of +Mercury, which at that time subserved the purpose of a boy’s school, and +was connected with some academical buildings, the property of the city, +which lay beyond it. It cannot be said that our friend was any warm patron +of literature or education, though he had not neglected the schooling of +his nephews. Letters seemed to him in fact to unsettle the mind; and he +had never known much good come of them. Rhetoricians and philosophers did +not know where they stood, or what were their bearings. They did not know +what they held, and what they did not. He knew his own position perfectly +well, and, though the words “belief” or “knowledge” did not come into his +religious vocabulary, he could at once, without hesitation, state what he +professed and maintained. He stood upon the established order of things, +on the traditions of Rome, and the laws of the empire; but as to Greek +sophists and declaimers, he thought very much as old Cato did about them. +The Greeks were a very clever people, unrivalled in the fine arts; let +them keep to their strong point; they were inimitable with the chisel, the +brush, the trowel, and the fingers; but he was not prepared to think much +of their _calamus_ or _stylus_, poetry excepted. What did they ever do but +subvert received principles without substituting any others? And then they +were so likely to take some odd turn themselves; you never could be sure +of them. Socrates, their patriarch, what was he after all but a culprit, a +convict, who had been obliged to drink hemlock, dying under the hands of +justice? Was this a reputable end, a respectable commencement of the +philosophic family? It was very well for Plato or Xenophon to throw a veil +of romance over the transaction, but this was the plain matter of fact. +Then Anaxagoras had been driven out of Athens for his revolutionary +notions; and Diogenes had been accused, like the Christians, of atheism. +The case had been the same in more recent times. There had been that +madman, Apollonius, roaming about the world; Apuleius, too, their +neighbour, fifty years before, a man of respectable station, a gentleman, +but a follower of the Greek philosophy, a dabbler in magic, and a +pretender to miracles. And so, in fact, of letters generally; as in their +own country Minucius, a contemporary of Apuleius, became a Christian. +Such, too, had been his friend Octavius; such Cæcilius, who even became +one of the priests of the sect, and seduced others from the religion he +had left. One of them had been the public talk for several years, and he +too originally a rhetorician, Thascius Cyprianus of Carthage. It was the +one thing which gave him some misgiving about that little Callista, that +she was a Greek. + +As he passed the temple, the metal plate was sounding as a signal for the +termination of the school, and on looking towards the portico with an +ill-natured curiosity, he saw a young acquaintance of his, a youth of +about twenty, coming out of it, leading a boy of about half that age, with +his satchel thrown over his shoulder. + +“Well, Arnobius,”(2) he cried, “how does rhetoric proceed? are we to take +the law line, or turn professor? Who’s the boy? some younger brother?” + +“I’ve taken pity on the little fool,” answered Arnobius; “these +schoolmasters are a savage lot. I suffered enough from them myself, and +‘miseris succurrere disco.’ So I took him from under the roof of friend +Rupilius, and he’s under my tutelage. How did he treat thee, boy?” + +“He treated me like a slave or a Christian,” answered he. + +“He deserved it, I’ll warrant,” said Jucundus; “a pert, forward imp. ’Twas +Gete against Briton. Much good comes of schooling! He’s a wicked one +already. Ah, the new generation! I don’t know where the world’s going.” + +“Tell the gentleman,” said Arnobius, “what he did first to you, my boy.” + +“As the good gentleman says,” answered the boy, “first I did something to +him, and then he did something to me.” + +“I told you so,” said Jucundus; “a sensible boy, after all; but the +schoolmaster had the best of it, I’ll wager.” + +“First,” answered he, “I grinned in his face, and he took off his wooden +shoe, and knocked out one of my teeth.” + +“Good,” said Jucundus, “the justice of Pythagoras. Zaleuchus could not +have done better. The mouth sins, and the mouth suffers.” + +“Next,” continued he, “I talked in school-time to my chum; and Rupilius +put a gag in my jaws, and kept them open for an hour.” + +“The very Rhadamanthus of schoolmasters!” cried Jucundus: “and thereupon +you struck up a chant, divine though inarticulate, like the statue of +Memnon.” + +“Then,” said the boy, “I could not say my Virgil, and he tore the shirt +from off my back, and gave it me with the leather.” + +“Ay,” answered Jucundus, “ ‘arma virumque’ branded on your hide.” + +“Afterwards I ate his dinner for him,” continued the boy, “and then he +screwed my head, and kept me without food for two days.” + +“Your throat, you mean,” said Jucundus; “a cautious man! lest you should +steal a draught or two of good strong air.” + +“And lastly,” said he, “I did not bring my pence, and then he tied my +hands to a gibbet, and hung me up _in terrorem_.” + +“There I came in,” said Arnobius; “he seemed a pretty boy, so I cut him +down, paid his æra, and took him home.” + +“And now he is your pupil?” asked Jucundus. + +“Not yet,” answered Arnobius; “he is still a day-scholar of the old +wolf’s; one is like another; he could not change for the better: but I am +his bully, and shall tutorize him some day. He’s a sharp lad, isn’t he, +Firmian?” turning to the boy; “a great hand at composition for his years; +better than I am, who never shall write Latin decently. Yet what can I do? +I must profess and teach, for Rome is the only place for the law, and +these city professorships are not to be despised.” + +“Whom are you attending here?” asked Jucundus, drily. + +“You are the only man in Sicca who needs to ask the question. What! not +know the great Polemo of Rhodes, the friend of Plotinus, the pupil of +Theagenes, the disciple of Thrasyllus, the hearer of Nicomachus, who was +of the school of Secundus, the doctor of the new Pythagoreans? Not feel +the presence in Sicca of Polemo, the most celebrated, the most intolerable +of men? That, however, is not his title, but the ‘godlike,’ or the +‘oracular,’ or the ‘portentous,’ or something else as impressive. Every +one goes to him. He is the rage. I should not have a chance of success if +I could not say that I had attended his lectures; though I’d be bound our +little Firmian here would deliver as good. He’s the very cariophyllus of +human nature. He comes to the schools in a litter of cedar, ornamented +with silver and covered with a lion’s skin, slaves carrying him, and a +crowd of friends attending, with the state of a proconsul. He is dressed +in the most exact style; his pallium is of the finest wool, white, picked +out with purple; his tresses flow with unguent, his fingers glitter with +rings, and he smells like Idalium. As soon as he puts foot on earth, a +great hubbub of congratulation and homage breaks forth. He takes no +notice; his favourite pupils form a circle round him, and conduct him into +one of the _exedræ_, till the dial shows the time for lecture. Here he +sits in silence, looking at nothing, or at the wall opposite him, talking +to himself, a hum of admiration filling the room. Presently one of his +pupils, as if he were præco to the duumvir, cries out, ‘Hush, gentlemen, +hush! the godlike’—no, it is not that. I’ve not got it. What _is_ his +title? ‘the Bottomless,’ that’s it—‘the Bottomless speaks.’ A dead silence +ensues; a clear voice and a measured elocution are the sure token that it +is the outpouring of the oracle. ‘Pray,’ says the little man, ‘pray, which +existed first, the egg or the chick? Did the chick lay the egg, or the egg +hatch the chick?’ Then there ensues a whispering, a disputing, and after a +while a dead silence. At the end of a quarter of an hour or so, our præco +speaks again, and this time to the oracle. ‘Bottomless man,’ he says, ‘I +have to represent to you that no one of the present company finds himself +equal to answer the question, which your condescension has proposed to our +consideration!’ On this there is a fresh silence, and at length a fresh +_effatum_ from the hierophant: ‘Which comes first, the egg or the chick? +The egg comes first in relation to the causativity of the chick, and the +chick comes first in relation to the causativity of the egg,’ on which +there is a burst of applause; the ring of adorers is broken through, and +the shrinking professor is carried in the arms or on the shoulders of the +literary crowd to his chair in the lecture-room.” + +Much as there was in Arnobius’s description which gratified Jucundus’s +prejudices, he had suspicions of his young acquaintance, and was not in +the humour to be pleased unreservedly with those who satirized anything +whatever that was established, or was appointed by government, even +affectation and pretence. He said something about the wisdom of ages, the +reverence due to authority, the institutions of Rome, and the magistrates +of Sicca. “Do not go after novelties,” he said to Arnobius; “make a daily +libation to Jove, the preserver, and to the genius of the emperor, and +then let other things take their course.” + +“But you don’t mean I must believe all this man says, because the +decurions have put him here?” cried Arnobius. “Here is this Polemo saying +that Proteus is matter, and that minerals and vegetables are his flock; +that Proserpine is the vital influence, and Ceres the efficacy of the +heavenly bodies; that there are mundane spirits, and supramundane; and +then his doctrine about triads, monads, and progressions of the celestial +gods?” + +“Hm!” said Jucundus; “they did not say so when I went to school; but keep +to my rule, my boy, and swear by the genius of Rome and the emperor.” + +“I don’t believe in god or goddess, emperor or Rome, or in any philosophy, +or in any religion at all,” said Arnobius. + +“What!” cried Jucundus, “you’re not going to desert the gods of your +ancestors?” + +“Ancestors?” said Arnobius; “I’ve no ancestors. I’m not African certainly, +not Punic, not Libophœnician, not Canaanite, not Numidian, not Gætulian. +I’m half Greek, but what the other half is I don’t know. My good old +gaffer, you’re one of the old world. I believe nothing. Who can? There is +such a racket and whirl of religions on all sides of me that I am sick of +the subject.” + +“Ah, the rising generation!” groaned Jucundus; “you young men! I cannot +prophesy what you will become, when we old fellows are removed from the +scene. Perhaps you’re a Christian?” + +Arnobius laughed. “At least I can give you comfort on that head, old +grandfather. A pretty Christian _I_ should make, indeed! seeing visions, +to be sure, and rejoicing in the rack and dungeon! I wish to enjoy life; I +see wealth, power, rank, and pleasure to be worth living for, and I see +nothing else.” + +“Well said, my lad,” cried Jucundus, “well said; stick to that. I declare +you frightened me. Give up all visions, speculations, conjectures, +fancies, novelties, discoveries; nothing comes of them but confusion.” + +“No, no,” answered the youth; “I’m not so wild as you seem to think, +Jucundus. It is true I don’t believe one single word about the gods; but +in their worship was I born, and in their worship I will die.” + +“Admirable!” cried Jucundus in a transport; “well, I’m surprised; you have +taken me by surprise. You’re a fine fellow; you are a boy after my heart. +I’ve a good mind to adopt you.” + +“You see I can’t believe one syllable of all the priests’ trash,” said +Arnobius; “who does? not they. I don’t believe in Jupiter or Juno, or in +Astarte or in Isis; but where shall I go for anything better? or why need +I seek anything good or bad in that line? Nothing’s known anywhere, and +life would go while I attempted what is impossible. No, better stay where +I am; I may go further, and gain a loss for my pains. So you see I am for +myself, and for the genius of Rome.” + +“That’s the true principle,” answered the delighted Jucundus. “Why, +really, for so young a man, surprising! Where _did_ you get so much good +sense, my dear fellow? _I’ve_ seen very little of you. Well, this I’ll +say, you are a youth of most mature mind. To be sure! Well! Such youths +are rare now-a-days. I congratulate you with all my heart on your strong +sense and your admirable wisdom. Who’d have thought it? I’ve always, to +tell the truth, had a little suspicion of you; but you’ve come out nobly. +Capital! I don’t wish you to believe in the gods if you can’t; but it’s +your duty, dear boy, your duty to Rome to maintain them, and to rally +round them when attacked.” Then with a changed voice, he added, “Ah, that +a young friend of mine had your view of the matter!” and then, fearing he +had said too much, he stopped abruptly. + +“You mean Agellius,” said Arnobius. “You’ve heard, by-the-bye,” he +continued in a lower tone, “what’s the talk in the Capitol, that at Rome +they are proceeding on a new plan against the Christians with great +success. They don’t put to death, at least at once; they keep in prison, +and threaten the torture. It’s surprising how many come over.” + +“The Furies seize them!” exclaimed Jucundus: “they deserve everything bad, +always excepting my poor boy. So they are cheating the hangman by giving +up their atheism, the vile reptiles, giving in to a threat. However,” he +added gravely, “I wish threats would answer with Agellius; but I greatly +fear that menace would only make him stubborn. That stubbornness of a +Christian! O Arnobius!” he said, shaking his head and looking solemn, +“it’s a visitation from the gods, a sort of _nympholepsia_.” + +“It’s going out,” said Arnobius, “mark my words; the frenzy is dying. It’s +only wonderful it should have lasted for three centuries. The report runs +that in some places, when the edict was published, the Christians did not +wait for a summons, but swept up to the temples to sacrifice, like a shoal +of tunnies. The magistrates were obliged to take so many a day; and, as +the days went on, none so eager to bring over the rest as those who have +already become honest men. Nay, not a few of their mystic or esoteric +class have conformed.” + +“If so, unless Agellius looks sharp,” said Jucundus, “his sect will give +him up before he gives up his sect. Christianity will be converted before +him.” + +“Oh, don’t fear for him!” said Arnobius; “I knew him at school. Boys +differ; some are bold and open. They like to be men, and to dare the deeds +of men; they talk freely, and take their swing in broad day. Others are +shy, reserved, bashful, and are afraid to do what they love quite as much +as the others. Agellius never could rub off this shame, and it has taken +this turn. He’s sure to outgrow it in a year or two. I should not wonder +if, when once he had got over it, he went into the opposite fault. You’ll +find him a drinker and a swaggerer and a spendthrift before many years are +over.” + +“Well, that’s good news,” said Jucundus; “I mean, I am glad you think he +will shake off these fancies. I don’t believe they sit very close to him +myself.” + +He walked on for a while in silence; then he said, “That seems a sharp +child, Arnobius. Could he do me a service if I wanted it? Does he know +Agellius?” + +“Know him?” answered the other; “yes, and his farm too. He has rambled +round Sicca, many is the mile. And he knows the short cuts, and the blind +ways, and safe circuits.” + +“What’s the boy’s name?” asked Jucundus. + +“Firmian,” answered Arnobius. “Firmian Lactantius.” + +“I say, Firmian,” said Jucundus to him, “where are you to be found of a +day, my boy?” + +“At class morning and afternoon,” answered Firmian, “sleeping in the +porticoes in midday, nowhere in the evening, and roosting with Arnobius at +night.” + +“And you can keep a secret, should it so happen?” asked Jucundus, “and do +an errand, if I gave you one?” + +“I’ll give him the stick worse than Rupilius, if he does not,” said +Arnobius. + +“A bargain,” cried Jucundus; and, waving his hand to them, he stept +through the city gate, and they returned to their afternoon amusements. + + + + + + CHAPTER IX. + + + JUCUNDUS BAITS HIS TRAP. + + +Agellius is busily employed upon his farm. While the enemies of his faith +are laying their toils for him and his brethren in the imperial city, in +the proconsular _officium_, and in the municipal curia,—while Jucundus is +scheming against him personally in another way and with other +intentions,—the unconscious object of these machinations is busy about his +master’s crops, housing the corn in caves or pits, distilling the roses, +irrigating the _khennah_, and training and sheltering the vines. And he +does so, not only from a sense of duty, but the more assiduously, because +he finds in constant employment a protection against himself, against idle +thoughts, wayward wishes, discontent, and despondency. It is doubtless +very strange to the reader how any one who professed himself a Christian +in good earnest should be open to the imputation of resting his hopes and +his heart in the tents of paganism; but we do not see why Agellius has not +quite as much right to be inconsistent in one way as Christians of the +present time in another, and perhaps he has more to say for himself than +they. They have not had the trial of solitude, nor the consequent +temptation to which he has been exposed, of seeking relief from his own +thoughts in the company of unbelievers. When a boy he had received his +education at that school in the Temple of Mercury of which we heard in the +foregoing chapter; and though happily he had preserved himself from the +contagion of idolatry and sin, he had on that very account formed no +friendships with his schoolfellows. Whether there were any Christians +there besides himself he did not know; but while the worst of his +schoolfellows were what heathen boys may be supposed to be, the lightest +censure which could be passed on any was that they were greedy, or +quarrelsome, or otherwise unamiable. He had learned there enough to open +his mind, and to give him materials for thinking, and instruments for +reflecting on his own religion, and for drawing out into shape his own +reflections. He had received just that discipline which makes solitude +most pleasant to the old, and most insupportable to the young. He had got +a thousand questions which needed answers, a thousand feelings which +needed sympathy. He wanted to know whether his guesses, his perplexities, +his trials of mind, were peculiar to himself, or how far they were shared +by others, and what they were worth. He had capabilities for intellectual +enjoyment unexercised, and a thirst after knowledge unsatisfied. And the +channels of supernatural assistance were removed from him at a time when +nature was most impetuous and most clamorous. + +It was under circumstances such as these that two young Greeks, brother +and sister, the brother older, the sister younger, than Agellius, came to +Sicca at the invitation of Jucundus, who wanted them for his trade. His +nephew in time got acquainted with them, and found in them what he had +sought in vain elsewhere. It is not that they were oracles of wisdom or +repositories of philosophical learning; their age and their calling +forbade it, nor did he require it. For an oracle, of course, he would have +looked in another direction; but he desiderated something more on a level +with himself, and that they abundantly supplied. He found, from his +conversations with them, that a great number of the questions which had +been a difficulty to him had already been agitated in the schools of +Greece. He found what solutions were possible, what the hinge was on which +questions turned, what the issue to which they led, and what the principle +which lay at the bottom of them. He began better to understand the +position of Christianity in the world of thought, and the view which was +taken of it by the advocates of other religions or philosophies. He gained +some insight into its logic, and advanced, without knowing it, in the +investigation of its evidences. + +Nor was this all; he acquired by means of his new friends a great deal +also of secular knowledge as well as philosophical. He learned much of the +history of foreign countries, especially of Greece, of its heroes and +sages, its poets and its statesmen, of Alexander, of the Syro-Macedonic +empire, of the Jews, and of the series of conquests through which Rome +advanced to universal dominion. + +To impart knowledge is as interesting as to acquire it; and Agellius was +called upon to give as well as to take. The brother and sister, without +showing any great religious earnestness, were curious to know about +Christianity, and listened with the more patience that they had no special +attachment to any other worship. In the debates which ensued, though there +was no agreement, there was the pleasure of mental exercise and +excitement; he found enough to tell them without touching upon the more +sacred mysteries; and while he never felt his personal faith at all +endangered by their free conversation, his charity, or at least his +good-will and his gratitude, led him to hope, or even to think, that they +were in the way of conversion themselves. In this thought he was aided by +his own innocence and simplicity; and though, on looking back afterwards +to this eventful season, he recognized many trivial occurrences which +ought to have put him on his guard, yet he had no suspicion at the time +that those who conversed so winningly, and sustained so gracefully and +happily the commerce of thought and sentiment, might in their actual +state, nay, in their governing principles, be in utter contrariety to +himself when the veil was removed from off their hearts. + +Nor was it in serious matters alone, but still more on lighter occasions +of intercourse, that Aristo and Callista were attractive to the solitary +Agellius. She had a sweet thrilling voice, and accompanied herself on the +lyre. She could act the _improvisatrice_, and her expressive features were +a running commentary on the varied meaning, the sunshine and the shade, of +her ode or her epic. She could relate how the profane Pentheus and the +self-glorious Hippolytus gave a lesson to the world of the feebleness of +human virtue when it placed itself in opposition to divine power. She +could teach how the chaste Diana manifests herself to the simple shepherd +Endymion, not to the great or learned; and how Tithonus, the spouse of the +Morn, adumbrates the fate of those who revel in their youth, as if it were +to last for ever; and who, when old, do nothing but talk of the days when +they were young, wearying others with tales of “their amours or their +exploits, like grasshoppers that show their vigour only by their +chirping.”(3) The very allegories which sickened and irritated Arnobius +when spouted out by Polemo, touched the very chords of poor Agellius’s +heart when breathed forth from the lips of the beautiful Greek. + +She could act also; and suddenly, when conversation flagged or suggested +it, she could throw herself into the part of Medea or Antigone, with a +force and truth which far surpassed the effect produced by the male and +masked representations of those characters at the theatre. Brother and +sister were Œdipus and Antigone, Electra and Orestes, Cassandra and the +Chorus. Once or twice they attempted a scene in Menander; but there was +something which made Agellius shrink from the comedy, beautiful as it was, +and clever as was the representation. Callista could act Thais as truly as +Iphigenia, but Agellius could not listen as composedly. There are certain +most delicate instincts and perceptions in us which act as first +principles, and which, once effaced, can never, except from some +supernatural source, be restored to the mind. When men are in a state of +nature, these are sinned against, and vanish very soon, at so early a date +in the history of the individual that perhaps he does not recollect that +he ever possessed them; and since, like other first principles, they are +but very partially capable of proof, a general scepticism prevails both as +to their existence and their truth. The Greeks, partly from the vivacity +of their intellect, partly from their passion for the beautiful, lost +these celestial adumbrations sooner than other nations. When a collision +arose on such matters between Agellius and his friends, Callista kept +silence; but Aristo was not slow to express his wonder that the young +Christian should think customs or practices wrong which, in his view of +the matter, were as unblamable and natural as eating, drinking, or +sleeping. His own face became almost satirical as Agellius’s became grave; +however, he was too companionable and good-natured to force another to be +happy in his own way; he imputed to the extravagance of his friend’s +religion what in any but a Christian he would have called moroseness and +misanthropy; and he bade his sister give over representations which, +instead of enlivening the passing hour, did but inflict pain. + +This friendly intercourse had now gone on for some months, as the leisure +of both parties admitted. Once or twice brother and sister had come to the +suburban farm; but for the most part, in spite of his intense dislike of +the city, he had for their sake threaded its crowded and narrow +thoroughfares, crossed its open places, and presented himself at their +apartments. And was it very strange that a youth so utterly ignorant of +the world, and unsuspicious of evil, should not have heard the warning +voice which called him to separate himself from heathenism, even in its +most specious form? Was it very strange, under these circumstances, that a +sanguine hope, the hope of the youthful, should have led Agellius to +overlook obstacles, and beguile himself into the notion that Callista +might be converted, and make a good Christian wife? Well, we have nothing +more to say for him; if we have not already succeeded in extenuating his +offence, we must leave him to the mercy, or rather to the justice, of his +severely virtuous censors. + +But all this while Jucundus had been conversing with him; and, unless we +are quick about it, we shall lose several particulars which are necessary +for those who wish to pursue without a break the thread of his history. +His uncle had brought the conversation round to the delicate point which +had occasioned his visit, and had just broken the ice. With greater tact, +and more ample poetical resources than we should have given him credit +for, he had been led from the scene before him to those prospects of a +moral and social character which ought soon to employ the thoughts of his +dear Agellius. He had spoken of vines and of their culture, _apropos_ of +the dwarf vines around him, which stood about the height of a +currant-bush. Thence he had proceeded to the subject of the more common +vine of Africa, which crept and crawled along the ground, the extremity of +each plant resting in succession on the stock of that which immediately +preceded it. And now, being well into his subject, he called to mind the +high vine of Italy, which mounts by the support of the slim tree to which +it clings. Then he quoted Horace on the subject of the marriage of the elm +and the vine. This lodged him _in medias res_; and Agellius’s heart beat +when he found his uncle proposing to him, as a thought of his own, the +very step which he had fancied was almost a secret of his own breast, +though Juba had seemed to have some suspicion of it. + +“My dear Agellius,” said Jucundus, “it would be a most suitable +proceeding. I have never taken to marrying myself; it has not lain in my +way, or been to my taste. Your father did not set me an encouraging +example; but here you are living by yourself, in this odd fashion, unlike +any one else. Perhaps you may come in time and live in Sicca. We shall +find some way of employing you, and it will be pleasant to have you near +me as I get old. However, I mean it to be some time yet before Charon +makes a prize of me; not that I believe all that rubbish more than you, +Agellius, I assure you.” + +“It strikes me,” Agellius began, “that perhaps you may think it +inconsistent in me taking such a step, but—” + +“Ay, ay, that’s the rub,” thought Jucundus; then aloud, “Inconsistent, my +boy! who talks of inconsistency? what superfine jackanapes dares to call +it inconsistent? You seem made for each other, Agellius—she town, you +country; she so clever and attractive, and up to the world, you so fresh +and Arcadian. You’ll be quite the talk of the place.” + +“That’s just what I don’t want to be,” said Agellius. “I mean to say,” he +continued, “that if I thought it inconsistent with my religion to think of +Callista—” + +“Of course, of course,” interrupted his uncle, who took his cue from Juba, +and was afraid of the workings of Agellius’s human respect; “but who knows +you have been a Christian? no one knows anything about it. I’ll be bound +they all think you an honest fellow like themselves, a worshipper of the +gods, without crotchets or hobbies of any kind. I never told them to the +contrary. My opinion is, that if you were to make your libation to Jove, +and throw incense upon the imperial altar to-morrow, no one would think it +extraordinary. They would say for certain that they had seen you do it +again and again. Don’t fancy for an instant, my dear Agellius, that you +have anything whatever to get over.” + +Agellius was getting awkward and mortified, as may be easily conceived, +and Jucundus saw it, but could not make out why. “My dear uncle,” said the +youth, “you are reproaching me.” + +“Not a bit of it,” said Jucundus, confidently, “not a shadow of reproach; +why should I reproach you? We can’t be wise all at once; _I_ had my +follies once, as you may have had yours. It’s natural you should grow more +attached to things as they are,—things as they are, you know,—as time goes +on. Marriage, and the preparation for marriage, sobers a man. You’ve been +a little headstrong, I can’t deny, and had your fling in your own way; but +‘nuces pueris,’ as you will soon be saying yourself on a certain occasion. +Your next business is to consider what kind of a marriage you propose. I +suppose the Roman, but there is great room for choice even there.” + +It is a proverb how different things are in theory and when reduced to +practice. Agellius had thought of the end more than of the means, and had +had a vision of Callista as a Christian, when the question of rites and +forms would have been answered by the decision of the Church without his +trouble. He _was_ somewhat sobered by the question, though in a different +way from what his uncle wished and intended. + +Jucundus proceeded—“First, there is _matrimonium confarreationis_. You +have nothing to do with that: strictly speaking, it is obsolete; it went +out with the exclusiveness of the old patricians. I say ‘strictly +speaking’; for the ceremonies remain, waiving the formal religious rite. +Well, my dear Agellius, I don’t recommend this ceremonial to you. You’d +have to kill a porker, to take out the entrails, to put away the gall, and +to present it to Juno Pronuba. And there’s fire, too, and water, and +frankincense, and a great deal of the same kind, which I think +undesirable, and you would too; for there, I am sure, we are agreed. We +put this aside then, the religious marriage. Next comes the marriage _ex +coemptione_, a sort of mercantile transaction. In this case the parties +buy each other, and become each other’s property. Well, every man to his +taste; but for me, I don’t like to be bought and sold. I like to be my own +master, and am suspicious of anything irrevocable. Why should you commit +yourself (do you see?) for ever, _for ever_, to a girl you know so little +of? Don’t look surprised: it’s common sense. It’s very well to buy _her_; +but to be bought, that’s quite another matter. And I don’t know that you +can. Being a Roman citizen yourself, you can only make a marriage with a +citizen; now the question is whether Callista is a citizen at all. I know +perfectly well the sweeping measure some years back of Caracalla, which +made all freemen citizens of Rome, whatever might be their country; but +that measure has never been carried out in fact. You’d have very great +difficulty with the law and the customs of the country; and then, after +all, if the world were willing to gratify you, where’s your proof she is a +freewoman? My dear boy, I must speak out for your good, though you’re +offended with me. I wish you to have her, I do; but you can’t do +impossibilities—you can’t alter facts. The laws of the empire allow you to +have her in a certain definite way, and no other; and you cannot help the +law being what it is. I say all this, even on the supposition of her being +a freewoman; but it is just possible she may be in law a slave. Don’t +start in that way; the pretty thing is neither better nor worse for what +she cannot help. I say it for your good. Well, now I’m coming to my point. +There is a third kind of marriage, and that is what I should recommend for +you. It’s the _matrimonium ex usu_, or _consuetudine_; the great advantage +here is, that you have no ceremonies whatever, nothing which can in any +way startle your sensitive mind. In that case, a couple are at length man +and wife _præscriptione_. You are afraid of making a stir in Sicca; in +this case you would make none. You would simply take her home here; if, as +time went on, you got on well together, it would be a marriage; if +not,”—and he shrugged his shoulders—“no harm’s done; you are both free.” + +Agellius had been sitting on a gate of one of the vineyards; he started on +his feet, threw up his arms, and made an exclamation. + +“Listen, listen, my dear boy!” cried Jucundus, hastening to explain what +he considered the cause of his sudden annoyance; “listen, just one moment, +Agellius, if you can. Dear, dear, how I wish I knew where to find you! +What _is_ the matter? I’m not treating her ill, I’m not indeed. I have not +had any notion at all even of hinting that you should leave her, unless +you both wished the bargain rescinded. No, but it is a great rise for her; +you are a Roman, with property, with position in the place; she’s a +stranger, and without a dower: nobody knows whence she came, or anything +about her. She ought to have no difficulty about it, and I am confident +will have none.” + +“O my good, dear uncle! O Jucundus, Jucundus!” cried Agellius, “is it +possible? do my ears hear right? What is it you ask me to do?” and he +burst into tears. “Is it conceivable,” he said, with energy, “that you are +in earnest in recommending me—I say in recommending me—a marriage which +really would be no marriage at all?” + +“Here is some very great mistake,” said Jucundus, angrily; “it arises, +Agellius, from your ignorance of the world. You must be thinking I +recommend you mere _contubernium_, as the lawyers call it. Well, I confess +I did think of that for a moment, it occurred to me; I should have liked +to have mentioned it, but knowing how preposterously touchy and skittish +you are on supposed points of honour, or sentiment, or romance, or of +something or other indescribable, I said not one word about that. I have +only wished to consult for your comfort, present and future. You don’t do +me justice, Agellius. I have been attempting to smooth your way. You +_must_ act according to the received usages of society! you cannot make a +world for yourself. Here have I proposed three or four ways for your +proceeding: you will have none of them. What _will_ you have? I thought +you didn’t like ceremonies; I thought you did not like the established +ways. Go, then, do it in the old fashion; kill your sheep, knead your +meal, light your torches, sing your song, summon your flamen, if he’ll +come. Any how, take your choice; do it either with religion or without.” + +“O Jucundus!” said the poor fellow, “am I then come to this?” and he could +say no more. + +His distress was not greater than his uncle’s disappointment, perplexity, +and annoyance. The latter had been making everything easy for Agellius, +and he was striking, do what he would, on hidden, inexplicable +impediments, whichever way he moved. He got more and more angry the more +he thought about it. An unreasonable, irrational coxcomb! He had heard a +great deal of the portentous stubbornness of a Christian, and now he +understood what it was. It was in his blood, he saw; an offensive, sour +humour, tainting him from head to foot. A very different recompense had he +deserved. There had he come all the way from his home from purely +disinterested feelings. He had no motive whatever, but a simple desire of +his nephew’s welfare; what other motive could he have? “Let Agellius go to +the crows,” he thought, “if he will; what is it to me if he is seized for +a Christian, hung up like a dog, or thrown like a dead rat into the +_cloaca_ of the prison? What care I if he is made a hyæna’s breakfast in +the amphitheatre, all Sicca looking on, or if he is nailed on a cross for +the birds to peck at before my door? Ungrateful puppy! it is no earthly +concern of mine what becomes of him. I shall be neither better nor worse. +No one will say a word against Jucundus; he will not lose a single +customer, or be shunned by a single jolly companion, for the exposure of +his nephew. But a man can’t be saved against his will. Here am I, full of +expedients and resources for his good; there is he, throwing cold water on +everything, and making difficulties as if he loved them. It’s his +abominable pride, that’s the pith of the matter. He could not have behaved +worse though I had played the bully with him, and had reproached him with +his Christianity. But I have studiously avoided every subject which could +put his back up. He’s a very Typhon or Enceladus for pride. Here he’d give +his ears to have done with Christianity; he wants to have this Callista; +he wants to buy her at the price of his religion; but he’d rather be +burned than say, I’ve changed! Let him reap as he has sown; why should I +coax him further to be merciful to himself? Well Agellius,” he said aloud, +“I’m going back.” + +Agellius, on the other hand, had his own thoughts; and the most urgent of +them at the moment was sorrow that he had hurt his uncle. He was sincerely +attached to him, in consequence of his faithful guardianship, his many +acts of kindness, the reminiscences of childhood, nay, the love he bore to +the good points of his character. To him he owed his education and his +respectable position. He could not bear his anger, and he had a fear of +his authority; but what was to be done? Jucundus, in utter insensibility +to certain instincts and rules which in Christianity are first principles, +had, without intending it, been greatly dishonouring Agellius, and his +passion, and the object of it. Uncle and nephew had been treading on each +other’s toes, and each was wincing under the mischance. It was Agellius’s +place, as the younger, to make advances, if he could, to an adjustment of +the misunderstanding; and he wished to find some middle way. And, also, it +is evident he had another inducement besides his tenderness to Jucundus to +urge him to do so. In truth, Callista exerted a tremendous sway over him. +The conversation which had just passed ought to have opened his eyes, and +made him understand that the very first step in any negotiations between +them was her _bonâ fide_ conversion. It was evident he could not, he +literally had not the power of marrying her as a heathen. Roman might +marry a Roman; but a degradation of each party in the transaction was the +only way by which a Roman could make any sort of marriage with a Greek. If +she were converted, they would be both of them under the rules of the +Catholic Church. But what prospect was there of so happy an event? What +had ever fallen from her lips which looked that way? Could not a clever +girl throw herself into the part of Alcestis, or chant the majestic verses +of Cleanthes, or extemporize a hymn upon the spring, or hold an argument +on the _pulchrum_ and _utile_, without having any leaning towards +Christianity? A calm, sweet voice, a noble air, an expressive countenance, +refined and decorous manners, were these specific indications of heavenly +grace? Ah, poor Agellius! a fascination is upon you; and so you are +thinking of some middle term, which is to reconcile your uncle and you; +and therefore you begin as follows:— + +“I see by your silence, Jucundus, that you are displeased with me, you who +are always so kind. Well, it comes from my ignorance of things; it does +indeed. I ask your forgiveness for anything which seemed ungrateful in my +behaviour, though there is not ingratitude in my heart. I am too much of a +boy to see things beforehand, and to see them in all their bearings. You +took me by surprise by talking on the subject which led to our +misunderstanding. I will not conceal for an instant that I like Callista +very much; and that the more I see her, I like her the more. It strikes me +that, if you break the matter to Aristo, he and I might have some talk +together, and understand each other.” + +Jucundus was hot-tempered, but easily pacified; and he really did wish to +be on confidential terms with his nephew at the present crisis; so he +caught at his apology. “Now you speak like a reasonable fellow, Agellius,” +he answered. “Certainly, I will speak to Aristo, as you wish; and on this +question of _consuetudo_ or prescription. Well, don’t begin looking queer +again. I mean I will speak to him on the whole question and its details. +He and I will talk together for our respective principals. We shall soon +come to terms, I warrant you; and then _you_ shall talk with him. Come, +show me round your fields,” he continued, “and let me see how you will be +able to present things to your bride. A very pretty property it is. I it +was who was the means of your father thinking of it. You have heard me say +so before now, and all the circumstances. + +“He was at Carthage at this time, undecided what to do with himself. It so +happened that Julia Clara’s estates were just then in the market. An +enormous windfall her estates were. Old Didius was emperor just before my +time; he gave all his estates to his daughter as soon as he assumed the +purple. Poor lady! she did not enjoy them long; Severus confiscated the +whole, not, however, for the benefit of the state, but of the _res +privata_. They are so large in Africa alone, that, as you know, you are +under a special procurator. Well, they did not come into the market at +once; the existing farmers were retained. Marcus Juventius farmed a very +considerable portion of them; they were contiguous, and dovetailed into +his own lands, and accordingly, when he got into trouble, and had to sell +his leases, there were certain odds and ends about Sicca which it was +proposed to lease piecemeal. Your employer, Varius, would have given any +money for them, but I was beforehand with him. Nothing like being on the +spot; he was on business of the proconsul at Adrumetum. I sent off Hispa +instantly to Strabo; not an hour’s delay after I heard of it. The sale was +at Carthage; he went to his old commander, who used his influence, and the +thing was done. + +“I venture to say there’s not such a snug little farm in all Africa; and I +am sanguine we shall get a renewal, though Varius will do his utmost to +outbid us. Ah, my dear Agellius, if there is but a suspicion you are not a +thorough-going Roman! Well, well,—here! ease me through this gate, +Agellius; I don’t know what’s come to the gate since I was here. +Indeed!—yes! you have improved this very much. That small arbour is +delicious; but you want an image, an Apollo or a Diana. Ah! do now stop +for a moment; why are you going forward at such a pace? I’ll give you an +image: it shall be one that you will really like. Well, you won’t have it? +I beg you ten thousand pardons. Ha, ha! I mean nothing. Ha, ha, ha! Oh, +what an odd world it is! Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! Well, I am keeping you from +your labourers. Ha, ha, ha!” + +And having thus smoothed his own ruffled temper, and set things right, as +he considered, with Agellius, the old pagan took his journey homewards, +assuring Agellius that he would make all things clear for him in a very +short time, and telling him to be sure to make a call upon Aristo before +the ensuing calends. + + + + + + CHAPTER X. + + + THE DIVINE CALLISTA. + + +The day came which Agellius had fixed for paying his promised visit to +Aristo. It is not to be denied that, in the interval, the difficulties of +the business which occasioned his visit had increased upon his +apprehensions. Callista was not yet a Christian, nor was there any reason +for saying that a proposal of marriage would make her one; and a strange +sort of convert she would be, if it did. He would not suffer himself to +dwell upon difficulties which he was determined never should be realized. +No; of course a heathen he could not marry, but a heathen Callista should +not be. He did not see the process, but he was convinced she would become +a Christian. Yet somehow so it was, that, if he was able to stultify his +reason, he did not quite succeed to his satisfaction with his conscience. +Every morning found him less satisfied with himself, and more disposed to +repent of having allowed his uncle to enter on the subject with Aristo. +But it was a thing done and over; he must either awkwardly back out, or he +must go on. His middle term, as he hastily had considered it, was nothing +else than siding with his uncle, and committing himself to go all lengths, +unless some difficulty rose with the other party. Yet could he really wish +that the step had not been taken? Was it not plain that if he was to put +away Callista from his affections, he must never go near her? And was he +to fall back on his drear solitude, and lose that outlet of thought and +relief of mind which he had lately found in the society of his Greek +friends? + +We may easily believe that he was not very peaceful in heart when he set +out on that morning to call upon Aristo; yet he would not allow that he +was doing wrong. He recurred to the pleasant imagination that Callista +would certainly become a Christian, and dwelt pertinaciously upon it. He +could not tell on what it was founded; he knew enough of his religion not +to mean that she was too good to be a heathen; so it is to be supposed he +meant that he discerned what he hoped were traces of some supernatural +influence operating upon her mind. He had a perception, which he could not +justify by argument, that there was in Callista a promise of something +higher than anything she yet was. He felt a strange sympathy with her, +which certainly unless he utterly deceived himself, was not based on +anything merely natural or human,—a sympathy the more remarkable from the +contrariety which existed between them in matters of religious belief. And +hope having blown this large and splendid bubble, sent it sailing away, +and it rose upon the buoyant atmosphere of youth, beautiful to behold. + +And yet, as Agellius ascended the long flight of marble steps which led +the foot-passenger up into that fair city, while the morning sun was +glancing across them, and surveyed the outline of the many sumptuous +buildings which crested and encircled the hill, did he not know full well +that iniquity was written on its very walls, and spoke a solemn warning to +a Christian heart to go out of it, to flee it, not to take up a home in +it, not to make alliance with anything in it? Did he not know from +experience full well that, when he got into it, his glance could no longer +be unrestrained, or his air free; but that it would be necessary for him +to keep a control upon his senses, and painfully guard himself against +what must either be a terror to him and an abhorrence, or a temptation? +Enter in imagination into a town like Sicca, and you will understand the +great Apostle’s anguish at seeing a noble and beautiful city given up to +idolatry. Enter it, and you will understand why it was that the poor +priest, of whom Jucundus spoke so bitterly, hung his head, and walked with +timid eyes and clouded brow through the joyous streets of Carthage. +Hitherto we have only been conducting heathens through it, boys or men, +Jucundus, Arnobius, and Firmian; but now a Christian enters it with a +Christian’s heart and a Christian’s hope. + +Well is it for us, dear reader, that we in this age do not experience—nay, +a blessed thing that we cannot even frame to ourselves in imagination—the +actual details of evil which hung as an atmosphere over the cities of +Pagan Rome. An Apostle calls the tongue “a fire, a world of iniquity, +untameable, a restless evil, a deadly poison;” and surely what he says +applies to hideous thoughts represented to the eye, as well as when they +are made to strike upon the ear. Unfortunate Agellius! what takes you into +the city this morning? Doubtless some urgent, compulsive duty; otherwise +you would not surely be threading its lanes or taking the circuit of its +porticoes, amid sights which now shock and now allure; fearful sights—not +here and there, but on the stateliest structures and in the meanest +hovels, in public offices and private houses, in central spots and at the +corners of the streets, in bazaars and shops and house-doors, in the +rudest workmanship and in the highest art, in letters or in emblems or in +paintings—the insignia and the pomp of Satan and of Belial, of a reign of +corruption and a revel of idolatry which you can neither endure nor +escape. Wherever you go it is all the same; in the police-court on the +right, in the military station on the left, in the crowd around the +temple, in the procession with its victims and its worshippers who walk to +music, in the language of the noisy market-people; wherever you go, you +are accosted, confronted, publicly, shamelessly, now as if a precept of +religion, now as if a homage to nature, by all which, as a Christian, you +shrink from and abjure. + +It is no accident of the season or of the day; it is the continuous +tradition of some thousands of years; it is the very orthodoxy of the +myriads who have lived and died there. There was a region once, in an +early age, lying upon the Eastern Sea, which is said at length to have +vomited out its inhabitants for their frightful iniquity. They, thus cast +forth, took ship, and passed over to the southern coast; and then, +gradually settling and spreading into the interior, they peopled the woody +plains and fertile slopes of Africa, and filled it with their cities. +Sicca is one of these set up in sin; and at the time of which we write +that sin was basking under the sun, and rioting and extending itself to +its amplest dimensions, like some glittering serpent or spotted pard of +the neighbourhood, without interposition from heaven or earth in +correction of so awful a degradation. In such scenes of unspeakable +pollution, our Christian forefathers perforce lived; through such a scene, +though not taking part in it, Agellius, blessed with a country home, is +unnecessarily passing. + +He has reached the house, or rather the floor, to which he has been making +his way. It is at the back of the city, where the rock is steep; and it +looks out upon the plain and the mountain range to the north. Its inmates, +Aristo and Callista, are engaged in their ordinary work of moulding or +carving, painting or gilding the various articles which the temples or the +private shrines of the established religion required. Aristo has received +from Jucundus the overtures which Agellius had commissioned him to make, +and finds, as he anticipated, that they are no great news to his sister. +She perfectly understands what is going on, but does not care to speak +much upon it, till Agellius makes his appearance. As they sit at work, +Aristo speaks:— + +“Agellius will make his appearance here this morning. I say, Callista, +what can he be coming for?” + +“Why, if your news be true, that the Christians are coming into trouble, +of course he means to purchase, as a blessing on him, some of these bits +of gods.” + +“You are sharp enough, my little sister,” answered Aristo, “to know +perfectly well who is the goddess he is desirous of purchasing.” + +Callista laughed carelessly, but made no reply. + +“Come, child,” Aristo continued, “don’t be cruel to him. Wreath a garland +for him by the time he comes. He’s well to do, and modest withal, and +needs encouragement.” + +“He’s well enough,” said Callista. + +“I say he’s a fellow too well off to be despised as a lover,” proceeded +her brother, “and it would be a merit with the gods to rid him of his +superstition.” + +“Not much of a Christian,” she made answer, “if he is set upon me.” + +“For whose sake has he been coming here so often, mine or yours, +Callista?” + +“I am tired of such engagements,” she replied. She went on with her +painting, and several times seemed as if she would have spoken, but did +not. Then, without interrupting her work, she said calmly, “Time was, it +gratified my conceit and my feelings to have hangers on. Indeed, without +them, how should we have had means to come here? But there’s a weariness +in all things.” + +“A weariness! Where is this bad humour to end?” cried Aristo; “it has been +a long fit; shake it off while you can, or it will be too much for you. +What can you mean? a weariness! You are over young to bid youth farewell. +Aching hearts for aching bones. So young and so perverse! We must take +things as the gods give them. You will ask for them in vain when you are +old. One day above, another day beneath; one while young, another while +old. Enjoy life while you have it in your hand.” He had said this as he +worked. Then he stopped, and turned round to her, with his graving-tool in +his hand. “Recollect old Lesbia, how she used to squeak out to me, with +her nodding head and trembling limbs”—here he mimicked the old crone—“ ‘My +boy, take your pleasure while you can. I can’t take pleasure—my day is +over; but I don’t reproach myself. I had a merry time of it while it +lasted. Time stops for no one, but I did my best; I don’t reproach +myself.’ There’s the true philosopher, though a slave; more outspoken than +Æsop, more practical than Epictetus.” + +Callista began singing to herself:— + + “I wander by that river’s brink + Which circles Pluto’s drear domain; + I feel the chill night breeze, and think + Of joys which ne’er shall be again. + + “I count the weeds that fringe the shore, + Each sluggish wave that rolls and rolls; + I hear the ever-splashing oar + Of Charon, ferryman of souls. + +“Heigho!” she continued, “little regret, but much dread. The young have to +fear more than the old have to mourn over. The future outweighs the past. +Life is not so sweet as death is bitter. It is hard to quit the light, the +light of heaven.” + +“Callistidion!” he said, impatiently; “my girl, this is preposterous. How +long is this to go on? We must take you to Carthage; there is more trade +there, if we can get it; and it will be on the bright, far-resounding sea. +And I will turn rhetorician, and you shall feed my classes.” + +“O beautiful, divine light,” she continued, “what a loss! O, to think that +one day I must lose you for ever! At home I used to lie awake at night +longing for the morning, and crying out for the god of day. It was like +choice wine to me, a cup of Chian, the first streaks of the Aurora, and I +could hardly bear his bright coming, when he came to me like Semele, for +rapture. How gloriously did he shoot over the hills! and then anon he +rested awhile on the snowy summit of Olympus, as in some luminous shrine, +gladdening the Phrygian plain. Fair, bright-haired god! thou art my +worship, if Callista worships aught: but somehow I worship nothing now. I +am weary.” + +“Well,” said her brother in a soothing tone, “it is a change. That light, +elastic air, that transparent heaven, that fresh temperate breeze, that +majestic sea! Africa is not Greece; O, the difference! That’s it, +Callista; it is the _nostalgia_; you are home-sick.” + +“It may be so,” she said; “I do not well know what I would have. Yes, the +poisonous dews, the heavy heat, the hideous beasts, the green +fever-gendering swamps. This vast thickly-wooded plain, like some +mysterious labyrinth, oppresses and disquiets me with its very richness. +The luxuriant foliage, the tall, rank plants, the deep, close lanes, I do +not see my way through them, and I pant for breath. I only breathe freely +on this hill. O, how unlike Greece, with the clear, soft, delicate +colouring of its mountains, and the pure azure or the purple of its +waters!” + +“But, my dear Callista,” interrupted her brother, “recollect you are not +in those oppressive, gloomy forests, but in Sicca, and no one asks you to +penetrate them. And if you want mountains, I think those on the horizon +are bare enough.” + +“And the race of man,” she continued, “is worse than all. Where is the +genius of our bright land? where its intelligence, playfulness, grace, and +noble bearing? Here hearts are as black as brows, and smiles as +treacherous as the adders of the wood. The natives are crafty and +remorseless; they never relax; they have no cheerfulness or mirth; their +very love is a furnace, and their sole ecstasy is revenge.” + +“No country like home to any of us,” said Aristo; “yet here you are. Habit +would be a second nature if you were here long enough; your feelings would +become acclimated, and would find a new home. People get to like the +darkness of the extreme north in course of time. The painted Britons, the +Cimmerians, the Hyperboreans, are content never to see the sun at all, +which is your god. Here your own god reigns; why quarrel with him?” + +“The sun of Greece is light,” answered Callista; “the sun of Africa is +fire. I am no fire-worshipper.” + +“I suspect even Styx and Phlegethon are tolerable, at length,” said her +brother, “if Phlegethon and Styx there be, as the poets tell us.” + +“The cold, foggy Styx is the north,” said Callista, “and the south is the +scorching, blasting Phlegethon, and Greece, clear, sweet, and sunny, is +the Elysian fields.” And she continued her improvisations:— + + “Where are the islands of the blest? + They stud the Ægean sea; + And where the deep Elysian rest? + It haunts the vale where Peneus strong + Pours his incessant stream along, + While craggy ridge and mountain bare + Cut keenly through the liquid air, + And, in their own pure tints arrayed, + Scorn earth’s green robes which change and fade, + And stand in beauty undecayed, + Guards of the bold and free.” + +“A lower flight, if you please, just now,” said Aristo, interrupting her. +“I do really wish a serious word with you about Agellius. He’s a fellow I +can’t help liking, in spite of his misanthropy. Let me plead his cause. +Like him or not yourself, still he has a full purse; and you will do a +service to yourself and to the gods of Greece, and to him too, if you will +smile on him. Smile on him at least for a time; we will go to Carthage +when you are tired. His looks have very little in them of a Christian +left; you may blow it away with your breath.” + +“One might do worse than be a Christian,” she answered slowly, “if all is +true that I have heard of them.” + +Aristo started up in irritation. “By all the gods of Olympus,” he said, +“this is intolerable! If a man wants a tormentor, I commend him to a girl +like you. What has ailed thee some time past, you silly child? What have I +done to you that you should have got so cross and contrary and so hard to +please?” + +“I mean,” she said, “if I were a Christian, life would be more bearable.” + +“Bearable!” he echoed; “bearable! ye gods! more bearable to have Styx and +Tartarus, the Furies and their snakes, in this world as well as in the +next? to have evil within and without, to hate one’s self and to be hated +of all men! to live the life of an ass, and to die the death of a dog! +Bearable! But hark! I hear Agellius’s step on the staircase. Callista, +dear Callista, be yourself. Listen to reason.” + +But Callista would not listen to reason, if her brother was its +embodiment; but went on with her singing:— + + “For what is Afric but the home + Of burning Phlegethon? + What the low beach and silent gloom, + And chilling mists of that dull river, + Along whose bank the thin ghosts shiver, + The thin, wan ghosts that once were men, + But Tauris, isle of moor and fen; + Or, dimly traced by seaman’s ken, + The pale-cliffed Albion?” + +Here she stopped, looked down, and busied herself with her work. + + + + + + CHAPTER XI. + + + CALLISTA’S PREACHING, AND WHAT CAME OF IT. + + +It is undeniably a solemn moment, under any circumstances, and requires a +strong heart, when any one deliberately surrenders himself, soul and body, +to the keeping of another while life shall last; and this, or something +like this, reserving the supreme claim of duty to the Creator, is the +matrimonial contract. In individual cases it may be made without thought +or distress, but surveyed objectively, and as carried out into a +sufficient range of instances, it is so tremendous an undertaking that +nature seems to sink under its responsibilities. When the Christian binds +himself by vows to a religious life, he makes a surrender to Him who is +all-perfect, and whom he may unreservedly trust. Moreover, looking at that +surrender on its human side, he has the safeguard of distinct _provisos_ +and regulations, and of the principles of theology, to secure him against +tyranny on the part of his superiors. But what shall be his encouragement +to make himself over, without condition or stipulation, as an absolute +property, to a fallible being, and that not for a season, but for life? +The mind shrinks from such a sacrifice, and demands that, as religion +enjoins it, religion should sanction and bless it. It instinctively +desires that either the bond should be dissoluble, or that the subjects of +it should be sacramentally strengthened to maintain it. “So help me God,” +the formula of every oath, is emphatically necessary here. + +But Agellius is contemplating a superhuman engagement without superhuman +assistance; and that in a state of society in which public opinion, which +in some sense compensates for the absence of religion, supplied human +motives, not for, but against keeping it, and with one who had given no +indication that she understood what marriage meant. No wonder then, that, +in spite of his simplicity, his sanguine temperament, and his delusion, +the more he thought of the step he had taken, the more unsatisfactory he +found it, and the nearer he grew to the time when he must open the subject +with Aristo, the less he felt able to do so. In consequence he was in a +distress of mind, as he ascended the staircase which led to his friend’s +lodging, to which his anxiety, as he mounted the hill on the other side of +the city, was tranquillity itself; and, except that he was coming by +engagement, he would have turned back, and for the time at least have put +the whole subject from his thoughts. Yet even then, as often as Callista +rose in his mind’s eye, his scruples and misgivings vanished before the +beauty of that image, as mists before the sun; and when he actually stood +in her sweet presence, it seemed as if some secret emanation from her +flowed in upon his heart, and he stood breathless and giddy under the +intensity of the fascination. + +However, the reader must not suppose that in the third century of our era +such negotiations as that which now seems to be on the point of coming off +between Callista and Agellius, were embellished with those transcendental +sentiments and that magnificent ceremonial with which chivalry has +invested them in these latter ages. There was little occasion then for +fine speaking or exquisite deportment; and if there had been, we, who are +the narrators of these hitherto unrecorded transactions, should have been +utterly unable to do justice to them. At that time of day the Christian +had too much simplicity, the heathen too little of real delicacy, to +indulge in the sublimities of modern love-making, at least as it is found +in novels; and in the case before us both gentleman and lady will be +thought, we consider, sadly matter-of-fact, or rather semi-barbarous, by +the votaries of what is just now called European civilization. + +On Agellius’s entering the room, Aristo was pacing to and fro in some +discomposure; however, he ran up to his friend, embraced him, and, looking +at him with significance, congratulated him on his good looks. “There is +more fire in your eye,” he said, “dear Agellius, and more eloquence in the +turn of your lip, than I have ever yet seen. A new spirit is in you. So +you are determined to come out of your solitude? That you should have been +able to exist in it so long is the wonderment to me.” + +Agellius had recovered himself, yet he dared not look again on Callista. +“Do not jest, Aristo,” he said; “I am come, as you know, to talk to you +about your sister. I have brought her a present of flowers; they are my +best present, or rather not mine, but the birth of the opening year, as +fair and fragrant as herself.” + +“We will offer them to our Pallas Athene,” said his friend, “to whom we +artists are especially devout.” And he would have led Agellius on, and +made him place them in her niche in the opposite wall. + +“I am more serious than you are,” said Agellius; “and I have brought the +best my garden contains as an offering to your sister. _She_ will not +think I bring them for any other purpose. Where are you going?” he +continued, as he saw his friend take down his broad _petasus_. + +“Why,” answered Aristo, “since I am so poor an interpreter of your +meaning, you can dispense with me altogether. I will leave you to speak +for yourself, and meanwhile will go and see what old Dromo has to tell, +before the sun is too high in the heavens.” + +Saying this, with a half-imploring, half-satirical look at his sister, he +set off to the barber’s at the Forum. + +Agellius took up the flowers, and laid them on the table before her, as +she sat at work. “Do you accept my flowers, Callista?” he asked. + +“Fair and fragrant, like myself, are they?” she made reply. “Give them to +me.” She took them, and bent over them. “The blushing rose,” she said, +gravely, “the stately lily, the royal carnation, the golden moly, the +purple amaranth, the green bryon, the diosanthos, the sertula, the sweet +modest saliunca, fit emblems of Callista. Well, in a few hours they will +have faded; yes, they will get more and more like her.” + +She paused and looked him steadily in the face, and then continued: +“Agellius, I once had a slave who belonged to your religion. She had been +born in a Christian family, and came into my possession on her master’s +death. She was unlike any one I have seen before or since; she cared for +nothing, yet was not morose or peevish or hard-hearted. She died young in +my service. Shortly before her end she had a dream. She saw a company of +bright shades, clothed in white, like the hours which circle round the god +of day. They were crowned with flowers, and they said to each other, +‘_She_ ought to have a token too.’ So they took her hand, and led her to a +most beautiful lady, as stately as Juno and as sweet as Ariadne, so +radiant in countenance that they themselves suddenly looked like +Ethiopians by the side of her. She, too, was crowned with flowers, and +these so dazzling that they might be the stars of heaven or the gems of +Asia for what Chione could tell. And that fair goddess (angel you call +her) said, ‘My dear, here is something for you from my Son. He sends you +by me a red rose for your love, a white lily for your chastity, purple +violets to strew your grave, and green palms to flourish over it.’ Is this +the reason why you give me flowers, Agellius, that I may rank with Chione? +and is this their interpretation?” + +“Callista,” he answered, “it is my heart’s most fervent wish, it is my +mind’s vivid anticipation, that the day may come when you will receive +such a crown, nay, a brighter one.” + +“And you are come, of course, to philosophize to me, and to put me in the +way of dying like Chione,” she made answer. “I implore your pardon. You +are offering me flowers, it seems, not for a bridal wreath, but for a +funeral urn.” + +“Is it wonderful,” said Agellius, “that the two wishes should have gone +together in my heart; and that while I trusted and prayed that you might +have the same Master in heaven as I have myself, I also hoped you would +have the same service, the same aims, the same home upon earth?” + +“And that you should speak one word for your Master and two for yourself!” +she retorted. + +“It has been by feeling how much you could be to me,” he answered, “that I +have been led to think how much my Master may be doing for you already, +and how much in time to come you might do for Him. Callista, do not urge +me with your Greek subtlety, or expect me to analyze my feelings more +precisely than I have the ability to do. May I calmly tell you the state +of my mind, as I do know it, and will you patiently listen?” + +She signified her willingness, and he continued—“This only I know,” he +said, “what I have experienced ever since I first heard you converse, that +there is between you and me a unity of thought so strange that I should +have deemed it could not have been, before I found it actually to exist, +between any two persons whatever; and which, widely as we are separated in +opinion and habit, and differently as we have been brought up, is to me +inexplicable. I find it difficult to explain what I mean; we disagree +certainly on the most important subjects, yet there is an unaccountable +correspondence in the views we take of things, in our impressions, in the +line in which our minds move, and the issues to which they come, in our +judgment of what is great and little, and the manner in which objects +affect our feelings. When I speak to my uncle, when I speak to your +brother, I do not understand them, nor they me. We are moving in different +spheres, and I am solitary, however much they talk. But to my +astonishment, I find between you and me one language. Is it wonderful +that, in proportion to my astonishment, I am led to refer it to one cause, +and think that one Master Hand must have engraven those lines on the soul +of each of us? Is it wonderful that I should fancy that He who has made us +alike has made us for each other, and that the very same persuasives by +which I bring you to cast your eyes on me, may draw you also to cast +yourself in adoration at the feet of my Master?” + +For an instant tears seemed about to start from Callista’s eyes, but she +repressed the emotion, if it were such, and answered with impetuosity, +“Your Master! who is your Master? what know I of your Master? what have +you ever told me of your Master? I suppose it is an esoteric doctrine +which I am not worthy to know; but so it is, here you have been again and +again, and talked freely of many things, yet I am in as much darkness +about your Master as if I had never seen you. I know He died; I know too +that Christians say He lives. In some fortunate island, I suppose; for, +when I have asked, you have got rid of the subject as best you could. You +have talked about your law and your various duties, and what you consider +right, and what is forbidden, and of some of the old writers of your sect, +and of the Jews before them; but if, as you imply, my wants and +aspirations are the same as yours, what have you done towards satisfying +them? what have you done for that Master towards whom you now propose to +lead me? No!” she continued, starting up, “you have watched those wants +and aspirations for yourself, not for Him; you have taken interest in +them, you have cherished them, as if you were the author, you the object +of them. You profess to believe in One True God, and to reject every +other; and now you are implying that the Hand, the Shadow of that God is +on my mind and heart. Who is this God? where? how? in what? O Agellius, +you have stood in the way of Him, ready to speak for yourself, using Him +as a means to an end.” + +“O Callista,” said Agellius, in an agitated voice, when he could speak, +“do my ears hear aright? do you really wish to be taught who the true God +is?” + +“No, mistake me not,” she cried passionately, “I have no such wish. I +could not be of your religion. Ye Gods! how have I been deceived! I +thought every Christian was like Chione. I thought there could not be a +cold Christian. Chione spoke as if a Christian’s first thoughts were +goodwill to others; as if his state were of such blessedness, that his +dearest heart’s wish was to bring others into it. Here is a man who, so +far from feeling himself blest, thinks I can bless him! comes to me—me, +Callista, a herb of the field, a poor weed, exposed to every wind of +heaven, and shrivelling before the fierce sun—to me he comes to repose his +heart upon. But as for any blessedness he has to show me, why, since he +does not feel any himself, no wonder he has none to give away. I thought a +Christian was superior to time and place; but all is hollow. Alas, alas, I +am young in life to feel the force of that saying, with which sages go out +of it, ‘Vanity and hollowness!’ Agellius, when I first heard you were a +Christian, how my heart beat! I thought of her who was gone; and at first +I thought I saw her in you, as if there had been some magical sympathy +between you and her; and I hoped that from you I might have learned more +of that strange strength which my nature needs, and which she told me she +possessed. Your words, your manner, your looks were altogether different +from others who came near me. But so it was; you came, and you went, and +came again; I thought it reserve, I thought it timidity, I thought it the +caution of a persecuted sect; but O, my disappointment, when first I saw +in you indications that you were thinking of me only as others think, and +felt towards me as others may feel; that you were aiming at me, not at +your God; that you had much to tell of yourself, but nothing of Him! Time +was I might have been led to worship you, Agellius; you have hindered it +by worshipping _me_.” + +It is not often, we suppose, that such deep offence is given to a lady by +the sort of admiration of which Agellius had been guilty in the case of +Callista; however, startled as he might be, and startled and stung he was, +there was too much earnestness in her distress, too much of truth in her +representations, too much which came home to his heart and conscience, to +allow of his being affronted or irritated. She had but supplied the true +interpretation of the misgiving which had haunted him that morning, from +the time he set out till the moment of his entering the room. Jucundus +some days back had readily acquiesced in his assurance that he was not +inconsistent; but Callista had not been so indulgent, though really more +merciful. There was a pause in the conversation, or rather in her +outpouring; each had bitter thoughts, and silently devoured them. At +length, she began again:— + +“So the religion of Chione is a dream; now for four years I had hoped it +was a reality. All things again are vanity; I had hoped there was +something somewhere more than I could see; but there is nothing. Here am I +a living, breathing woman, with an over-flowing heart, with keen +affections, with a yearning after some object which may possess me. I +cannot exist without something to rest upon. I cannot fall back upon that +drear, forlorn state, which philosophers call wisdom, and moralists call +virtue. I cannot enrol myself a votary of that cold Moon, whose arrows do +but freeze me. I cannot sympathize in that majestic band of sisters whom +Rome has placed under the tutelage of Vesta. I must have something to +love; love is my life. Why do you come to me, Agellius, with your +every-day gallantry. Can you compete with the noble Grecian forms which +have passed before my eyes? Is your voice more manly, are its tones more +eloquent, than those which have thrilled through my ears since I ceased to +be a child? Can you add perfume to the feast by your wit, or pour sunshine +over grot and rushing stream by your smile? _What_ can you give me? There +was one thing which I thought you _could_ have given me, better than +anything else; but it is a shadow. You have nothing to give. You have +thrown me back upon my dreary, dismal self, and the deep wounds of my +memory.... Poor, poor Agellius! but it was not his fault, it could not be +helped,” she continued, as if in thought; “it could not be helped; for, if +he had nothing to give, how could he give it? After all, he wanted +something to love, just as I did; and he could find nothing better than +me.... And they thought to persuade her to spend herself upon him, as she +had spent herself upon others. Yes, it was Jucundus and Aristo—my brother, +even my own brother. They thought not of _me_.” Here her tears gushed out +violently, and she abandoned herself to a burst of emotion. “They were +thinking of _him_. I had hoped he could lead me to what was higher; but +woe, woe!” she cried, wringing her hands, “they thought I was only fit to +bring him low. Well; after all, _is_ Callista really good for much more +than the work they have set her to do?” + +She was absorbed in her own misery in an intense sense of degradation, in +a keen consciousness of the bondage of nature, in a despair of ever +finding what alone could give meaning to her existence, and an object to +her intellect and affections. And Agellius on the other hand, what +surprise, remorse, and humiliation came upon him! It was a strange +contrast, the complaint of nature unregenerate on the one hand, the +self-reproach of nature regenerate and lapsing on the other. At last he +spoke, and they were his last words. + +“Callista,” he said, “whatever injury I may have unwillingly inflicted +upon you, you at least have returned me good for evil, and have made +yourself my benefactress. Certainly, I now know myself better than I did; +and He who has made use of you as His instrument of mercy towards me, will +not forget to reward you tenfold. One word will I say for myself; nay, not +for myself, but for my Master. Do not for an instant suppose that what you +thought of the Christian religion is not true. It reveals a present God, +who satisfies every affection of the heart, yet keeps it pure. I serve a +Master,” he continued, blushing from modesty and earnestness as he spoke, +“I serve a Master whose love is stronger than created love. God help my +inconsistency! but I never meant to love you as I love Him. You are +destined for His love. I commit you to Him, your true Lord, whom I never +ought to have rivalled, for whom I ought simply to have pleaded. Though I +am not worthy to approach you, I shall trace you at a distance, who knows +where? perhaps even to the prison and to the arena of those who confess +the Saviour of men, and dare to suffer and die for His name. And now, +farewell; to His keeping and that of His holy martyrs I commit you.” + +He did not trust himself to look at her as he turned to the door, and left +the room. + + + + + + CHAPTER XII. + + + A DEATH. + + +The first stages of repentance are but a fever, in which there is +restlessness and thirst, hot and cold fits, vague, dreary dreams, long +darkness which seems destined never to have a morning, effort without +result, and collapse without reaction. These symptoms had already +manifested themselves in Agellius; he spoke calmly to Callista, and +sustained himself by the claims of the moment; but no sooner had he left +the room and was thrown upon himself, than his self-possession left him, +and he fell into an agony, or rather anarchy of tumultuous feelings. Then +rose up before his mind a hundred evil spectres, not less scaring and more +real than the dreams of the delirious. He thought of the singular favour +which had been shown him in his reception into the Christian fold, and +that at so early a date; of the myriads all around who continued in +heathenism as they had been born, and of his utter insensibility to his +own privilege. He felt how much would be required of him, and how little +hitherto had been forthcoming. He thought of the parable of the barren +fig-tree, and the question was whispered in his ear whether it would not +be fulfilled in him. He asked himself in what his heart and his conduct +differed from the condition of a fairly virtuous heathen. And then he +thought of Callista in contrast with himself, as having done more with the +mite which she possessed than he had done with many pounds. He felt that +Tyre and Sidon were rising up against him in her person; or rather how the +saying seemed about to be verified in her, that strangers should sit down +in the kingdom from far countries, while those who were the heirs should +be thrust out. He had been rebuked by one to whom he rather ought to have +brought self-knowledge and compunction, and she was sensitively alive to +his want of charity. She had felt bitterly that she was left in ignorance +and sin by one who had what she had not. She had accused him of being +zealous enough to win her to himself, when he had shown no zeal at all to +win her to her Maker. If she was brought to the truth at length, there +would be no thanks to him for the happy change; yet on the other hand, +though he had predicted it, alas! was it likely that it would be granted? +Had she not had her opportunity, which was lost because he had not +improved it? Yes, she had with a deliberate mind and in set words put +aside and taken leave of that which she once desired and hoped might have +been her own, sorrowfully indeed, but peremptorily, as firmly persisting +in rejecting it, as she might have persisted in maintaining it; and, if +she died in infidelity, horrible thought! would not the burden lie on him, +and was this to be the token of the love which he pretended to entertain +for her? + +What was he living for? what was the work he had set himself to do? Did he +live to plant flowers, or to rear fruit, to maintain himself and to make +money? Was that a time to pride himself on vineyards and oliveyards, when, +like Eliseus, he was one among myriads who were in unbelief? Ah, the +difference between a saint and him? Of what good was he on earth; why +should not he die? why so chary of his life? why preserve his wretched +life at all? Could he not do more by giving it than by keeping it? Might +it not have been given him perchance for the very purpose that he might +sacrifice it for Him who had given it? He had been timid about making a +profession of his faith, which might have led to prison and death; but +perhaps the very object of his life in the divine purpose, the very reason +of his birth, had been that, as soon as he was grown, he should die for +the truth. He might have been cut off by disease; he was not; and why, +except that he might merit in his death, and that what, in the ordinary +course of things, was a mere suffering, might in his case be an act of +service? His death might have been the conversion of thousands, of +Callista; and the fewness of his days here would have been his claim to a +blessed eternity hereafter. + +Nor Callista alone; he had natural friends, with nearer claims upon his +charity. Had he been other than he was, he might have prevailed with his +uncle; at least he might have taught him to respect the Christian Faith +and Name, and restrained him from daring to attempt, for he now saw that +it was an attempt, to seduce him into sin. He might have lodged a good +seed in his heart, which in the hour of sickness might have germinated. +And his brother again had learned to despise him; indeed he had raised in +every one who came near him the suspicion that he was not really a +Christian, that he was an apostate (he could not help uttering a cry of +anguish as he used the word), an apostate from that which was his real +life and supreme worship. + +Why did he not at once go into the Basilica or the Gymnasium, and proclaim +himself a Christian? There were rumours abroad that the new emperor was +beginning a new policy towards his religion; let him inaugurate it in +Agellius. Might he not thus perchance wash out his sin? He would be led +into the amphitheatre, as his betters had been led before him; the crowds +would yell, and the lion would be let loose upon him. He would confront +the edict, tear it down, be seized by the apparitor, and hurried to the +rack or the slow fire. Callista would hear of it, and would learn at +length he was not quite the craven and the recreant which she thought him. + +Then his thoughts took a turn. Callista! what was Callista to him? Why +should he think of her, when she was girding him to martyrdom? Was she to +be the motive which was to animate him, and her praise his reward? Alas, +alas! could he gain heaven by pleasing a heathen? “But to whom then,” he +continued, “am I to look up? who is to give me sympathy? who is to +encourage, to advise me? O my Father, pity me! a feeble child, a poor, +outcast, wandering sheep, away from the fold, torn by the briars and +thorns, and no one to bind his wounds and retrace his steps for him. Why +am I thus alone in the world? why am I without a pastor and guide? Ah, was +not this my fault in remaining in Sicca? I have no tie here; let me go to +Carthage, or to Tagaste, or to Madaura, or to Hippo. I am not fit to walk +the world by myself; I am too simple, and am no match for its artifices.” + +Here another thought took possession of him, which had as yet but crossed +his mind, and it made him colour up with confusion and terror. “They were +laying a plot for me,” he said, “my uncle and Aristo; and it is Callista +who has defeated it.” And as he spoke, he felt how much he owed to her, +and how dangerous too it was to think of his debt. Yet it would not be +wrong to pray for her; she had marred the device of which she was to have +been the agent. “Laqueus contritus est, et nos liberati sumus:” the net +was broken and he was delivered. She had refused his devotion, that he +might give it to his God; and now he would only think of her, and whisper +her name, when he was kneeling before the Blessed Mary, his advocate. O +that that second and better Eve, who brought salvation into the world, as +our first mother brought death, O that she might bear Callista’s name in +remembrance, and get it written in the Book of life! + +It was high noon; and all this time Agellius was walking in his present +excited mood, without covering to his head, under the burning rays of the +sun, not knowing which way he went, and retracing his steps, as he +wandered about at random, with a vague notion he was going homewards. The +few persons whom he met, creeping about under the shadow of the lofty +houses, or under the porticoes of the temples, looked at him with wonder, +and thought him furious or deranged. The shafts of the sun were not so hot +as his own thoughts, or as the blood which shot to and fro so fiercely in +his veins; but they were working fearfully on his physical frame, though +they could not increase the fever of his mind. He had come to the Forum; +the market people were crouching under their booths or the shelter of +their baskets. The riffraff of the city, who lived by their wits, or by +odd jobs, or on the windfalls of the market; lazy fellows who did nothing, +who did not move till hunger urged them, like the brute; half-idiotic +chewers of opium, ragged or rather naked children, the butcher boys and +scavengers of the temples, lay at their length at the mouth of the caverns +formed by the precipitous rock, or under the Arch of Triumph, or amid the +columns of the Gymnasium and the Heracleum, or in the doorways of the +shops. A scattering of beggars were lying, poor creatures, on their backs +in the blazing sun, reckless of the awful maladies, the fits, the +seizures, and the sudden death, which might be the consequence. + +Numbers out of this mixed multitude were asleep; some were looking with +dull listless eyes at the still scene, or at any accidental movements +which might vary it. They saw a figure coming nearer and nearer and wildly +passing by. Just then Agellius was diverted from his painful meditations +by hearing one of these fellows say to another, as he roused from a sort +of doze, “That’s one of them. We know them all, but very poor pickings can +be got out of them; but he has more than most. They’re a low set in +Sicca.” And then the man cried out, “Look sharp, young chap! the Furies +are at your heels, and the Fates are going before you. Look there at the +emperor; he is looking at you, as grim and sour as you could wish him.” He +spoke of the equestrian statue of Severus before the Basilica on the +right; and, attracted by his words, Agellius went up to a board which was +fixed to its base. It was an imperial edict, and it ran as follows:— + +“Cneius Trajanus Decius, Augustus; and Quintus Herennius Etruscus Decius, +Cæsar; Emperors, unconquerable and pious; by united council these:— + +“Whereas we have experienced the benefits and the gifts of the gods, and +do also enjoy the victory which they have given us over our enemies, and +moreover salubrity of seasons, and abundance in the fruits of the earth; + +“Therefore, acknowledging the aforesaid as our benefactors and the +providers of those things which are necessary for the commonwealth, we +make this our decree, that every class of the state, freemen and slaves, +the army and civilians, offer to the gods expiatory sacrifices, falling +down in supplication before them; + +“And if any one shall presume to disobey this our divine command, which we +unite in promulgating, we order that man to be thrown into chains, and to +be subjected to various tortures; + +“And should he thereupon be persuaded to reverse his disobedience, he +shall receive from us no slight honours; + +“But should he hold out in opposition, first he shall have many tortures, +and then shall be executed by the sword, or thrown into the deep sea, or +given as a prey to birds and dogs; + +“And more than all if such a person be a professor of the Christian +religion. + +“Farewell, and live happy.” + +The old man in the fable called on Death, and Death made his appearance. +We are very far indeed from meaning that Agellius uttered random words, or +spoke impatiently, when he just now expressed a wish to have the +opportunity of dying for the Faith. Nevertheless, what now met his eyes +and was transmitted through them, sentence by sentence, into his mind, was +not certainly of a nature to calm the tumult which was busy in breast and +brain; a sickness came over him, and he staggered away. The words of the +edict still met his eyes, and were of a bright red colour. The sun was +right before him, but the letters were in the sun, and the sun in his +brain. He reeled and fell heavily on the pavement. No notice was taken of +the occurrence by the spectators around him. They lazily or curiously +looked on, and waited to see if he would recover. + +How long he lay there he could not tell, when he came to himself; if it +could really be said to be coming to himself to have the power of motion, +and an instinct that he must move, and move in one direction. He managed +to rise and lean against the pedestal of the statue, and its shade by this +time protected him. Then an intense desire came upon him to get home, and +that desire gave him a temporary preternatural strength. It came upon him +as a duty to leave Sicca for his cottage, and he set off. He had a +confused notion that he must do his duty, and go straight forward, and +turn neither to the right, nor the left, and stop nowhere, but move on +steadily for his true home. But next an impression came upon him that he +was running away from persecution, and that this ought not to be, and that +he ought to face the enemy, or at least not to hide from him, but meekly +wait for him. + +As he went along the narrow streets which led down the hill towards the +city gate this thought came so powerfully upon him that at length he sat +down on a stone which projected from an open shop, and thought of +surrendering himself. He felt the benefit of the rest, and this he fancied +to be the calm of conscience consequent upon self-surrender and +resignation. It was a fruiterer’s stall, and the owner, seeing his +exhaustion, offered him some slices of a water-melon for his refreshment. +He ate one of them, and then again a vague feeling came on him that he was +in danger of idolatry, and must protest against idolatry, and that he +ought not to remain in the neighbourhood of temptation. So, throwing down +the small coin which was sufficient for payment, he continued his journey. +The rest and the refreshment of the fruit, and the continued shade which +the narrow street allowed him, allayed the fever, and for the time +recruited him, and he moved on languidly. The sun, however, was still high +in heaven, and when he got beyond the city beat down upon his head from a +cloudless sky. He painfully toiled up the ascent which led to his cottage. +He had nearly gained the gate of his homestead; he saw his old household +slave, born in his father’s house, a Christian like himself, coming to +meet him. A dizziness came over him, he lost his senses, and fell down +helplessly upon the bank. + + + + + + CHAPTER XIII. + + + AND RESURRECTION. + + +Jucundus was quite as much amused as provoked at the result of the +delicate negotiation in which he had entangled his nephew. It was a +gratification to him to find that its ill success had been owing in no +respect to any fault on the side of Agellius. He had done his part without +shrinking, and the view which he, Jucundus, had taken of his state of +mind, was satisfactorily confirmed. He had nothing to fear from Agellius, +and though he had failed in securing the guarantee which he had hoped for +his attachment to things as they were, yet in the process of failure it +had been proved that his nephew might be trusted without it. And it was a +question, whether a girl so full of whims and caprices as Callista might +after all have done him any permanent good. The absurd notion, indeed, of +her having a leaning for Christianity had been refuted by her conduct on +the occasion; still, who could rely on a clever and accomplished Greek? +There were secret societies and conspiracies in abundance, and she might +have involved so weak and innocent a fellow in some plans against the +government, now or at a future time; or might have alienated him from his +uncle, or in some way or other made a fool of him, if she had consented to +have him for her slave. Why she had rejected so eligible a suitor it was +now useless and idle to inquire; it might be that the haughty or greedy +Greek had required him to bid higher for her favourable notice. If the +negotiation had taken such a turn, then indeed there was still more +gratifying evidence of Agellius having broken from his fantastic and +peevish superstition. + +Still, however, he was not without anxiety, now that the severe measures +directed against the Christians were in progress. No overt act, indeed, +beyond the publication of the edict, had been taken in Sicca—probably +would be taken at all. The worst was, that something must be done to make +a show; he could have wished that some of the multitude of townspeople, +half suspected of Christianity, had stood firm, and suffered themselves to +be tortured and executed. One or two would have been enough; but the +magistracy got no credit with the central government for zeal and activity +if no Christians were made an example of. Yet still it was a question +whether the strong acts at Carthage and elsewhere would not suffice, +though the lesser towns did nothing. At least, while the populace was +quiet, there was nothing to press for severity. There were no rich +Christians in Sicca to tempt the cupidity of the informer or of the +magistrate; no political partisans among them, who had made enemies with +this or that class of the community. But, supposing a bad feeling to rise +in the populace, supposing the magistrates to have ill-wishers and +rivals—and what men in power had not?—who might be glad to catch them +tripping, and make a case against them at Rome, why, it must be confessed +that Agellius was nearly the only victim who could be pitched upon. He +wished Callista no harm, but, if a Christian must be found and held up _in +terrorem_, he would rather it was a person like her, without connections +and home, than the member of any decent family of Sicca, whose fair fame +would be compromised by a catastrophe. However, she was _not_ a Christian, +and Agellius _was_, at least by profession; and his fear was lest Juba +should be right in his estimate of his brother’s character. Juba had said +that Agellius could be as obstinate as he was ordinarily indolent and +yielding, and Jucundus dreaded lest, if he were rudely charged with +Christianity, and bidden to renounce it under pain of punishment, he would +rebel against the tyrannical order, and go to prison and to death out of +sheer perverseness or sense of honour. + +With these perplexities before him, he could find nothing better than the +following plan of action, which had been in his mind for some time. While +the edict remained inoperative, he would do nothing at all, and let +Agellius go on with his country occupations, which would keep him out of +the way. But if any disposition appeared of a popular commotion, or a +movement on the part of the magistracy, he determined to get possession of +Agellius, and forcibly confine him in his own house in Sicca. He hoped +that in the case of one so young, so uncommitted, he should have influence +with the municipal authorities, or at the prætorium, or in the camp (for +the camp and the prætorium were under different jurisdictions in the +proconsulate), to shelter Agellius from a public inquiry into his +religious tenets, or if this could not be, to smuggle him out of the city. +He was ready to affirm solemnly that his nephew was no Christian, though +he was touched in the head, and, from an affection parallel to +hydrophobia, to which the disciples of Galen ought to turn their +attention, was sent into convulsions on the sight of an altar. His father, +indeed, was a malignant old atheist—there was no harm in being angry with +the dead—but it was very hard the son should suffer for his father’s +offence. If he must be judged of by his parents, let him rather have the +advantage of the thorough loyalty and religiousness of his mother, a most +zealous old lady, in high repute in the neighbourhood of Sicca for her +theurgic knowledge, a staunch friend of the imperial government, which had +before now been indebted to her for important information, and as staunch +a hater of the Christians. Such was the plan of proceedings resolved on by +Jucundus before he received the news of his nephew’s serious malady. It +did not reach him till many days after; and then he did not go to see him, +first, lest he should be supposed to be in communication with him, next, +as having no respect for that romantic sort of generosity which risks the +chances of contagion for the absurd ceremony of paying a compliment. + +It was thus that Jucundus addressed himself to the present state of +affairs, and anticipated the chances of the future. As to Aristo, he had +very little personal interest in the matter. His sister might have +thwarted him in affairs which lay nearer his heart than the moral +emancipation of Agellius; and as she generally complied with his +suggestions and wishes, whatever they were, he did not grudge her her +liberty of action in this instance. Nor had the occurrence which had taken +place any great visible effect upon Callista herself. She had lost her +right to be indignant with her brother, and she resigned or rather +abandoned herself to her destiny. Her better feelings had been brought out +for the moment in her conversation with Agellius; but they were not +ordinary ones. True, she was tired, but she was the slave of the world; +and Agellius had only made her more sceptical than before that there was +any service better. So at least she said to herself; she said it was +fantastic to go elsewhere for good, and that, if life was short, then, as +her brother said, it was necessary to make the most of it. + + + +And meanwhile, what of Agellius himself? Why, it will be some little time +before Agellius will be in a condition to moralize upon anything. His +faithful slave half-carried, half-drew him into the cottage, and stretched +him upon his bed. Then, having sufficient skill for the ordinary illnesses +of the country, though this was more than an ordinary fever, he drew blood +from him, gave him a draught of herbs, and left him to the slow but safe +processes of nature to restore him. It could not be affirmed that he was +not in considerable danger of life, yet youth carries hope with it, and +his attendant had little to fear for his recovery. For some days certainly +Agellius had no apprehension of anything, except of restlessness and +distress, of sleepless nights, or dreary, miserable dreams. At length one +morning, as he was lying on his back with his eyes shut, it came into his +mind to ask himself whether Sunday would ever come. He had been accustomed +upon the first day of the week to say some particular prayers and psalms, +and unite himself in spirit with his brethren beyond seas. And then he +tried to remember the last Sunday; and the more he thought, the less he +could remember it, till he began to think that months had gone without a +Sunday. This he was certain of, that he had lost reckoning, for he had +made no notches for the days for a long while past, and unless his slave +Asper knew, there was no one to tell him. Here he got so puzzled, that it +was like one of the bad dreams which had worried him. He felt it affect +his head, and he was obliged to give up the inquiry. + +From this time his sleep was better and more refreshing for several days; +he was more collected when he was awake, and was able to ask himself why +he lay there, and what had happened to him. Then gradually his memory +began to return like the dawning of the day; the cause and the +circumstances of his recent visit to the city, point after point came up, +and he felt first wonder, and then certainty. He recollected the Forum, +and then the edict; a solemn, overpowering emotion here seized him, and +for a while he dared not think more. When he recovered, and tried to +pursue the events of the day, he found himself unequal to the task; all +was dark, except that he had some vague remembrance of thirsting, and some +one giving him to drink, and then his saying with the Psalmist, +“Transivimus per ignem et aquam.” + +He opened his eyes and looked about him. He was at home. There was some +one at the bed-head whom he could not see hanging over him, and he was too +weak to raise himself and so command a view of him. He waited patiently, +being too feeble to have any great anxiety on the subject. Presently a +voice addressed him: “You are recovering, my son,” it said. + +“Who are _you_?” said Agellius abruptly. The person spoken to applied his +mouth to Agellius’s ear, and uttered lowly several sacred names. + +Agellius would have started up had he been strong enough; he could but +sink down upon his rushes in agitation. + +“Be content to know no more at present,” said the stranger, “praise God, +as I do. You know enough for your present strength. It is your act of +obedience for the day.” + +It was a deep, clear, peaceful, authoritative voice. In his present state, +as we have said, it cost Agellius no great effort to mortify curiosity; +and the accents of that voice soothed him, and the mystery employed his +mind, and had something pleasing and attractive in it. Moreover, about the +main point there was no mystery, and could be no mistake, that he was in +the hands of a Christian ecclesiastic. + +The stranger occupied himself for a time with a book of prayers which he +carried about him, and then again with the duties of a sick-bed. He +sprinkled vinegar over Agellius’s face and about the room, and supplied +him with the refreshment of cooling fruit. He kept the flies from +tormenting him, and did his best so to arrange his posture that he might +suffer least from his long lying. In the morning and evening he let in the +air, and he excluded the sultry noon. In these various occupations he was +from time to time removed to a distance from the patient, who thus had an +opportunity of observing him. The stranger was of middle height, upright, +and well proportioned; he was dressed in a peasant’s or slave’s dark +tunic. His face was rather round than long; his hair black, yet with the +promise of greyness, with what might be baldness in the crown, or a +priest’s tonsure. His short beard curled round his chin; his complexion +was very clear. But the most striking point about him was his eyes; they +were of a light or greyish blue, transparent, and shining like precious +stones. + +From the day that they first interchanged words, the priest said some +short prayers from time to time with Agellius—the Lord’s Prayer, and +portions of the Psalms. Afterwards, when he was well enough to converse, +Agellius was struck with the inexpressible peculiarity of his manner. It +was self-collected, serene, gentle, tender, unobtrusive, unstudied. It +enabled him to say things severe and even stern, without startling, +offending, or repelling the hearer. He spoke very little about himself, +though from time to time points of detail were elicited of his history in +the course of conversation. He said that his name was Cæcilius. Asper, +when he entered the room, would kneel down and offer to kiss the +stranger’s sandal, though the latter generally managed to prevent it. + +Cæcilius did not speak much about himself; but Agellius, on the other +hand, found it a relief to tell out his own history, and reflect upon and +describe his own feelings. As he lay on his bed, he half soliloquized, +half addressed himself to the stranger. Sometimes he required an answer; +sometimes he seemed to require none. Once he asked suddenly, after a long +silence, whether a man could be baptized twice; and when the priest +answered distinctly in the negative, Agellius replied that if so, he +thought it would be best never to be baptized till the hour of death. It +was a question, he said, which had perplexed him a good deal, but he never +had had any one to converse with on the subject. + +Cæcilius answered, “But how could you promise yourself that you would be +able to obtain the sacrament at the last moment? The water and the +administrator might come just too late; and then where would you be, my +son? And then again, how do you know you would wish it? Is your will +simply in your own power? ‘Carpe diem;’ take God’s gift while you can.” + +“The benefit is so immense,” answered Agellius, “that one would wish, if +one could, to enter into the unseen world without losing its fulness. This +cannot be, if a long time elapses between baptism and death.” + +“You are, then, of the number of those,” said Cæcilius, “who would cheat +their Maker of His claim on their life, provided they could (as it is +said) in their last moment cheat the devil.” + +Agellius continuing silent, Cæcilius added, “You want to enjoy this world, +and to inherit the next; is it so?” + +“I am puzzled, my head is weak, father; I do not see my way to speak.” +Presently he said, “Sin after baptism is so awful a matter; there is no +second laver for sin; and then again, to sin against baptism is so great a +sin.” + +The priest said, “In baptism God becomes your Father; your own God; your +worship; your love—can you give up this great gift all through your life? +Would you live ‘without God in this world’?” + +Tears came into Agellius’s eyes, and his throat became oppressed. At last +he said, distinctly and tenderly, “No.” + +After a while the priest said, “I suppose what you fear is the fire of +judgment, and the prison; not lest you should fall away and be lost.” + +“I know, my dear father,” answered the sick youth, “that I have no right +to reckon on anything, or promise myself anything; yet somehow I have +never feared hell—though I ought, I know I ought; but I have not. I +deserve the worst, but somehow I have thought that God would lead me on. +He ever has done so.” + +“Then you fear the fire of judgment,” said Cæcilius; “you’d put off +baptism for fear of that fire.” + +“I did not say I _would_,” answered Agellius; “I wanted _you_ to explain +the thing to me.” + +“Which would you rather, Agellius, be without God here, or suffer the fire +there?” + +Agellius smiled; he said faintly, “I take Him for my portion here _and_ +there: _He_ will be in the fire with me.” + +Agellius lay quiet for some hours, and seemed asleep. Suddenly he began +again, “I was baptized when I was only six years old. I’m glad you do not +think it was wilful in me, and wrong. I cannot tell what took me,” he +presently continued. “It was a fervour; I have had nothing of the kind +since. What does our Lord say? I can’t remember: ‘Novissima pejora +prioribus.’ ” + +He continued the train of thought another day, or rather the course of his +argument; for on the thought itself his mind seemed ever to be working. +“My spring is gone,” he said, “and I have no summer. Nay, I have had no +spring; it was a day, not a season. It came, and it went; where am I now? +Can spring ever return? I wish to begin again in right earnest.” + +“Thank God, my son, for this great mercy,” said Cæcilius, “that, though +you have relaxed, you have never severed yourself from the peace of the +Church, you have not denied your God.” + +Agellius sighed bitterly. “O my father,” he said, “ ‘Erravi, sicut ovis +quæ periit.’ I have been very near denying Him, at least by outward act. +You do not know me; you cannot know what has come on me lately. And I dare +not look back on it, my heart is so weak. My father, how am I to repent of +what is past, when I dare not think of it? To think of it is to renew the +sin.” + +“ ‘Puer meus, noli timere,’ ” answered the priest; “ ‘si transieris per +ignem, odor ejus non erit in te.’ In penance, the grace of God carries you +without harm through thoughts and words which _would_ harm you apart from +it.” + +“Ah, penance!” said Agellius; “I recollect the catechism. What is it, +father? a new grace, I know; a plank after baptism. May I have it?” + +“You are not strong enough yet to think of these things, Agellius,” +answered Cæcilius. “Please God, you shall get well. Then you shall review +all your life, and bring it out in order before Him; and He, through me, +will wipe away all that has been amiss. Praise Him who has spared you for +this.” + +It was too much for the patient in his weak state; he could but shed happy +tears. + +Another day he had sat up in bed. He looked at his hands, from which the +skin was peeling; he felt his lips, and it was with them the same; and his +hair seemed coming off also. He smiled and said, “Renovabitur, ut aquila, +juventus mea.” + +Cæcilius responded, as before, with sacred words which were new to +Agellius: “ ‘Qui sperant in Domino mutabunt fortitudinem; assument pennas, +sicut aquilæ,’ ‘Sursum corda!’ you must soar, Agellius.” + +“ ‘Sursum corda!’ ” answered he; “I know those words. They are old +friends; where have I heard them? I can’t recollect; but they are in my +earliest memories. Ah! but, my father, my heart is below, not above. I +want to tell you all. I want to tell you about one who has enthralled my +heart; who has divided it with my True Love. But I daren’t speak of her, +as I have said; I dare not speak, lest I be carried away. O, I blush to +say it; she is a heathen! May God save her soul! Will He come to me, and +not to her? ‘Investigabiles viæ ejus.’ ” + +He remained silent for some time; then he said, “Father, I mean to +dedicate myself to God, simply, absolutely, with His grace. I will be His, +and He shall be mine. No one shall come between us. But O this weak +heart!” + +“Keep your good resolves till you are stronger,” said the priest. “It is +easy to make them on a sick-bed. You must first reckon the charges.” + +Agellius smiled. “I know the passage, father,” he said, and he repeated +the sacred words: “If any man come to Me, and hate not his father and +mother, and wife, and children, and brethren, and sisters, yea, and his +own life also, he cannot be My disciple.” + +Another time Agellius said: “The Martyrs; surely the old bishop used to +say something about the Martyrs. He spoke of a second baptism, and called +it a baptism of blood; and said, ‘Might his soul be with the Martyrs!’ +Father, would not this wash out every thing, as the first?” + +It was now Cæcilius who smiled, and his eyes shone like the sapphires of +the Holy City; and he seemed the ideal of him who, when + + “Called upon to face + Some awful moment to which heaven has joined + Great issues, good or bad for humankind, + Is happy as a lover, and attired + With sudden brightness, like a man inspired.” + +However, he soon controlled himself, and said, “Quo ego vado, non potes me +modo sequi; sequeris autem postea.” + + + + + + CHAPTER XIV. + + + A SMALL CLOUD. + + +This sort of intercourse, growing in frequency and fulness, went on for +about a week, till Agellius was able to walk with support, and to leave +the cottage. The priest and his own slave took him between them, and +seated him one evening in sight of the glorious prospect, traversed by the +long shadow of the far mountains, behind which the sun was making its way. +The air was filled with a thousand odours; the brilliant colouring of the +western heavens was contrasted with the more sober but varied tints of the +rich country. The wheat and barley harvest was over; but the beans were +late, and still stood in the fields. The olives and chestnut-trees were +full of fruit; the early fig was supplying the markets with food; and the +numerous vineyards were patiently awaiting the suns of the next month +slowly to perfect their present promise. The beautiful scene had a moral +dignity, from its associations with human sustenance and well-being. The +inexpressible calmness of evening was flung, like a robe, over it. Its +sweetness was too much for one who had been confined to the monotony of a +sick-room, and was still an invalid. He sat silent, and in tears. It was +life from the dead; and he felt he had risen to a different life. And thus +he came out evening after evening convalescent, gradually and surely +advancing to perfect restoration of his health. + +One evening he said, after feeding his eyes and thoughts for some time +with the prospect, “ ‘Mansueti hereditabunt terram.’ They alone have real +enjoyment of this earth who believe in its Maker. Every breath of air +seems to whisper how good He is to me.” + +Cæcilius answered, “These sights are the shadows of that fairer Paradise +which is our home, where there is no beast of prey, no venomous reptile, +no sin. My child, should _I_ not feel this more than you? Those who are +shut up in crowded cities see but the work of man, which is evil. It is +the compensation of my flight from Carthage that I am brought before the +face of God.” + +“The heathen worship all this, as if God Himself,” said Agellius; “how +strange it seems to me that any one can forget the Creator in His works!” + +Cæcilius was silent for a moment, and sighed; he then said, “You have ever +been a Christian, Agellius.” + +“And you have not, my father?” answered he; “well, you have earned that +grace which came to me freely.” + +“Agellius,” said the priest, “it comes freely to all; and is only merited +when it has already prevailed. Yet I think you earned it too, else why the +difference between you and your brother?” + +“What do you know of us?” asked Agellius quickly. + +“Not a great deal,” answered he, “yet something. Three or four years back +an effort was made to rekindle the Christian spirit in these parts, and to +do something for the churches of the proconsulate, and to fill up the +vacant sees. Nothing has come of it as yet; but steps were taken towards +it: one was to obtain a recovery of the Christians who remained in them. I +was sent here for that purpose, and in this way heard of you and your +brother. When my life was threatened by the persecution, and I had to +flee, I thought of your cottage. I was obliged to act secretly, as we did +not know friends from foes.” + +“You were led here for other purposes towards _me_, my father,” said +Agellius; “yet you cannot have a safer refuge. There is nothing to +disturb, nothing to cause suspicion here. In this harvest time numbers of +strangers pour in from the mountains, of various races; there is nothing +to distinguish you from one of them, and my brother is away convoying some +grain to Carthage. Persecution drove you hither, but you have not been +suffered to be idle, my father, you have brought home a wanderer.” He +added, after a pause, “I am well enough to go to confession to you now. +May it be this evening?” + +“It will be well,” answered Cæcilius; “how long I shall still be here, I +cannot tell. I am expecting my trusty messenger with despatches. It is now +three days since he was here. However, this I say without misgiving, we do +not part for long. What do you here longer? you must come to me. I must +prepare you, and send you back to Sicca, to collect and restore this +scattered flock.” + +Agellius turned, and leaned against the priest’s shoulder, and laughed. “I +am laughing,” he said, “not from lightness of mind, but from the depth of +surprise and of joy that you should so think of me. It was a dream which +once I had; but impossible! you do not think that I, weak I, shall ever be +able to do more than save my own soul?” + +“You will save your own soul by saving the souls of others,” said +Cæcilius; “my child, I could tell you more things if I thought it good for +you.” + +“But, my father, I have so weak, so soft a heart,” cried Agellius; “what +am I to do with myself? I am not of the temper of which heroes are made.” + +“ ‘Virtus in infirmitate perficitur,’ ” said the priest. “What! are you to +do _any_ thing of yourself? or are you to be simply the instrument of +Another? We shall have the same termination, you and myself, but you long +after me.” + +“Ah, father, because _you_ will burn out so much more quickly!” said +Agellius. + +“I think,” said Cæcilius, “I see my messenger; there is some one who has +made his way by stealth into the garden, or at least not by the beaten +way.” + +There _was_ a visitor, as Cæcilius had said; however, it was not his +messenger, but Juba, who approached, looking with great curiosity at +Cæcilius, and absorbed in the sight. Cæcilius in turn regarded him +steadfastly, and then said to Agellius, “It is your brother.” + +“What brings you here, Juba?” said the latter. + +“I have been away on a distant errand,” said Juba; “and find you have been +ill. Is this your nurse?” he eyed him almost sternly, and added, “’Tis a +Christian priest.” + +“Has Agellius no acquaintance but Christians?” asked Cæcilius. + +“Acquaintance! O surely!” answered Juba; “agreeable, innocent, sweet +acquaintance of another sort; myself to begin with. My lad,” he continued, +“you did not rise to their price, but you did your best.” + +“Juba,” said his brother, “if you have any business here, say it, and have +done. I am not strong enough to hold any altercation with you.” + +“Business!” said Juba, “I can find quite business enough here, if I +choose. This is a priest of the Christians. I am sure of it.” + +Cæcilius looked at him with such calmness and benevolence, that at length +Juba turned away his eyes with something of irritation. He said, “If I +_am_ a priest, I am here to claim you as one of my children.” + +Juba winced, but said scornfully, “You are mistaken there, father; speak +to those who own you. I am a free man.” + +“My son,” Cæcilius answered, “you have been under instruction; it is your +duty to go forward, not back.” + +“What do you know about me?” said Juba; “he has been telling.” + +“Your face, your manner, your voice, tells a tale; I need no information +from others. I have heard of you years ago; now I see you.” + +“What do you see in me?” said Juba. + +“I see pride in bodily shape, treading down faith and conviction,” said +Cæcilius. + +Juba neighed rather than laughed, so fierce and scornful was its +expression. “What you slaves call pride,” he said, “I call dignity.” + +“You believe in a God, Creator of heaven and earth, as certainly as I do,” +said the priest, “but you deliberately set yourself against Him.” + +Juba smiled. “I am as free,” he said, “in _my_ place, as He in His.” + +“You mean,” answered Cæcilius, “free to do wrong, and free to suffer for +it.” + +“You may call it wrong, and call it suffering,” replied Juba; “but for me, +_I_ do not call wrong what He calls wrong; and if He puts me to pain, it +is because He is the stronger.” + +The priest stopped awhile; there was no emotion on either side. It was +strange to see them so passionless, so antagonistic, like St. Michael and +his adversary. + +“There is that within you,” said Cæcilius, “which speaks as I speak. That +inward voice takes the part of the Creator, and condemns you.” + +“_He_ put it there,” said Juba; “and _I_ will take care to put it out.” + +“Then He will have justice as well as power on His side,” said the priest. + +“I will never fawn or crouch,” said Juba; “I will be lord and master in my +own soul. Every faculty shall be mine; there shall be no divided +allegiance.” + +Cæcilius paused again; he said at length, “My son, my soul tells me, or +rather my Maker tells me, and your Maker, that some heavy judgment is +impending over you. Do penance while you may.” + +“Tell your forebodings to women and children,” said Juba; “I am prepared +for anything. I will not be crushed.” + +Agellius was not strong enough to bear a part in such a scene. “Father,” +he said, “it is his way, but don’t believe him. He has better thoughts. +Away with you, Juba, you are not wanted here.” + +“Agellius,” said the priest, “such words are not strange to me. I am not +young, and have seen much of the world; and my very office and position +elicits blasphemies from others from time to time. I knew a man who +carried out his bad thoughts and words into act. Abjuring his Maker, he +abandoned himself to the service of the evil one. He betrayed his brethren +to death. He lived on year after year, and became old. He was smitten with +illness; then I first saw him. I made him contemplate a picture; it was +the picture of the Good Shepherd. I dwelt on the vain efforts of the poor +sheep to get out of the fold; its irrational aversion to its home, and its +desperate resolution to force a way through the prickly fence. It was +pierced and torn with the sharp aloe; at last it lay imprisoned in its +stern embrace, motionless and bleeding. Then the Shepherd, though He had +to wound His own hands in the work, disengaged it, and brought it back. +God has His own times; His power went along with the picture, and the man +was moved. I said, ‘_This_ is His return for your enmity: He is determined +to have you, cost Him what it will.’ I need not go through the many things +that followed, but the issue may be told in few words. He came back; he +lived a life of penance at the Church’s door; he received the peace of the +Church in immediate prospect of the persecution, and has within the last +ten days died a martyr’s death.” + +Juba had listened as if he was constrained against his will. When the +priest stopped he started, and began to speak impetuously, and unlike his +ordinary tone. He placed his hands violently against his ears. “Stop!” he +said, “no more. _I_ will not betray them; no: I _need_ not betray them;” +he laughed; “the black moor does the work himself. Look,” he cried, +seizing the priest’s arm, and pointing to a part of the forest, which +happened to be to windward. “You are in their number, priest, who can +foretell the destinies of others, and are blind to their own. Read there, +the task is not hard, your coming fortunes.” + +His finger was directed to a spot where, amid the thick foliage, the gleam +of a pool or of a marsh was visible. The various waters round about +issuing from the gravel, or drained from the nightly damps, had run into a +hollow, filled with the decaying vegetation of former years, and were +languidly filtered out into a brook, more healthy than the vast reservoir +itself. Its banks were bordered with a deep, broad layer of mud, a +transition substance between the rich vegetable matter which it once had +been, and the multitudinous world of insect life which it was becoming. A +cloud or mist at this time was hanging over it, high in air. A harsh and +shrill sound, a whizzing or a chirping, proceeded from that cloud to the +ear of the attentive listener. What these indications portended was plain. +“There,” said Juba, “is what will tell more against you than imperial +edict, informer, or proconsular apparitor; and no work of mine.” + +He turned down the bank and disappeared. Agellius and his guest looked at +each other in dismay. “It is the locusts,” they whispered to each other, +as they went back into the cottage. + + + + + + CHAPTER XV. + + + A VISITATION. + + +The plague of locusts, one of the most awful visitations to which the +countries included in the Roman empire were exposed, extended from the +Atlantic to Ethiopia, from Arabia to India, and from the Nile and Red Sea +to Greece and the north of Asia Minor. Instances are recorded in history +of clouds of the devastating insect crossing the Black Sea to Poland, and +the Mediterranean to Lombardy. It is as numerous in its species as it is +wide in its range of territory. Brood follows brood, with a sort of family +likeness, yet with distinct attributes, as we read in the prophets of the +Old Testament, from whom Bochart tells us it is possible to enumerate as +many as ten kinds. It wakens into existence and activity as early as the +month of March; but instances are not wanting, as in our present history, +of its appearance as late as June. Even one flight comprises myriads upon +myriads passing imagination, to which the drops of rain or the sands of +the sea are the only fit comparison; and hence it is almost a proverbial +mode of expression in the East (as may be illustrated by the sacred pages +to which we just now referred), by way of describing a vast invading army, +to liken it to the locusts. So dense are they, when upon the wing, that it +is no exaggeration to say that they hide the sun, from which circumstance +indeed their name in Arabic is derived. And so ubiquitous are they when +they have alighted on the earth, that they simply cover or clothe its +surface. + +This last characteristic is stated in the sacred account of the plagues of +Egypt, where their faculty of devastation is also mentioned. The +corrupting fly and the bruising and prostrating hail had preceded them in +that series of visitations, but _they_ came to do the work of ruin more +thoroughly. For not only the crops and fruits, but the foliage of the +forest itself, nay, the small twigs and the bark of the trees are the +victims of their curious and energetic rapacity. They have been known even +to gnaw the door-posts of the houses. Nor do they execute their task in so +slovenly a way, that, as they have succeeded other plagues so they may +have successors themselves. They take pains to spoil what they leave. Like +the Harpies, they smear every thing that they touch with a miserable +slime, which has the effect of a virus in corroding, or, as some say, in +scorching and burning it. And then, as if all this were little, when they +can do nothing else, they die;—as if out of sheer malevolence to man, for +the poisonous elements of their nature are then let loose, and dispersed +abroad, and create a pestilence; and they manage to destroy many more by +their death than in their life. + +Such are the locusts,—whose existence the ancient heretics brought forward +as their palmary proof that there was an evil creator, and of whom an +Arabian writer shows his national horror, when he says that they have the +head of a horse, the eyes of an elephant, the neck of a bull, the horns of +a stag, the breast of a lion, the belly of a scorpion, the wings of an +eagle, the legs of a camel, the feet of an ostrich, and the tail of a +serpent. + +And now they are rushing upon a considerable tract of that beautiful +region of which we have spoken with such admiration. The swarm to which +Juba pointed grew and grew till it became a compact body, as much as a +furlong square; yet it was but the vanguard of a series of similar hosts, +formed one after another out of the hot mould or sand, rising into the air +like clouds, enlarging into a dusky canopy, and then discharged against +the fruitful plain. At length the huge innumerous mass was put into +motion, and began its career, darkening the face of day. As became an +instrument of divine power, it seemed to have no volition of its own; it +was set off, it drifted, with the wind, and thus made northwards, straight +for Sicca. Thus they advanced, host after host, for a time wafted on the +air, and gradually declining to the earth, while fresh broods were carried +over the first, and neared the earth, after a longer flight, in their +turn. For twelve miles did they extend from front to rear, and their +whizzing and hissing could be heard for six miles on every side of them. +The bright sun, though hidden by them, illumined their bodies, and was +reflected from their quivering wings; and as they heavily fell earthward, +they seemed like the innumerable flakes of a yellow-coloured snow. And +like snow did they descend, a living carpet, or rather pall, upon fields, +crops, gardens, copses, groves, orchards, vineyards, olive woods, +orangeries, palm plantations, and the deep forests, sparing nothing within +their reach, and where there was nothing to devour, lying helpless in +drifts, or crawling forward obstinately, as they best might, with the hope +of prey. They could spare their hundred thousand soldiers twice or thrice +over, and not miss them; their masses filled the bottoms of the ravines +and hollow ways, impeding the traveller as he rode forward on his journey, +and trampled by thousands under his horse-hoofs. In vain was all this +overthrow and waste by the road-side; in vain their loss in river, pool, +and watercourse. The poor peasants hastily dug pits and trenches as their +enemy came on; in vain they filled them from the wells or with lighted +stubble. Heavily and thickly did the locusts fall: they were lavish of +their lives; they choked the flame and the water, which destroyed them the +while, and the vast living hostile armament still moved on. + +They moved right on like soldiers in their ranks, stopping at nothing, and +straggling for nothing: they carried a broad furrow or wheal all across +the country, black and loathsome, while it was as green and smiling on +each side of them and in front, as it had been before they came. Before +them, in the language of prophets, was a paradise; and behind them a +desert. They are daunted by nothing; they surmount walls and hedges, and +enter enclosed gardens or inhabited houses. A rare and experimental +vineyard has been planted in a sheltered grove. The high winds of Africa +will not commonly allow the light trellis or the slim pole; but here the +lofty poplar of Campania has been possible, on which the vine plant mounts +so many yards into the air, that the poor grape-gatherers bargain for a +funeral pile and a tomb as one of the conditions of their engagement. The +locusts have done what the winds and lightning could not do, and the whole +promise of the vintage, leaves and all, is gone, and the slender stems are +left bare. There is another yard, less uncommon, but still tended with +more than common care; each plant is kept within due bounds by a circular +trench round it, and by upright canes on which it is to trail; in an hour +the solicitude and long toil of the vine-dresser are lost, and his pride +humbled. There is a smiling farm; another sort of vine, of remarkable +character, is found against the farm-house. This vine springs from one +root, and has clothed and matted with its many branches the four walls; +the whole of it is covered thick with long clusters, which another month +will ripen:—on every grape and leaf there is a locust. Into the dry caves +and pits, carefully strewed with straw, the harvest-men have (safely, as +they thought just now) been lodging the far-famed African wheat. One grain +or root shoots up into ten, twenty, fifty, eighty, nay, three or four +hundred stalks: sometimes the stalks have two ears apiece, and these again +shoot into a number of lesser ones. These stores are intended for the +Roman populace, but the locusts have been beforehand with them. The small +patches of ground belonging to the poor peasants up and down the country, +for raising the turnips, garlic, barley, watermelons, on which they live, +are the prey of these glutton invaders as much as the choicest vines and +olives. Nor have they any reverence for the villa of the civic decurion or +the Roman official. The neatly arranged kitchen-garden, with its cherries, +plums, peaches, and apricots, is a waste; as the slaves sit round, in the +kitchen in the first court, at their coarse evening meal, the room is +filled with the invading force, and news comes to them that the enemy has +fallen upon the apples and pears in the basement, and is at the same time +plundering and sacking the preserves of quince and pomegranate, and +revelling in the jars of precious oil of Cyprus and Mendes in the +store-rooms. + +They come up to the walls of Sicca, and are flung against them into the +ditch. Not a moment’s hesitation or delay; they recover their footing, +they climb up the wood or stucco, they surmount the parapet, or they have +entered in at the windows, filling the apartments, and the most private +and luxurious chambers, not one or two, like stragglers at forage or +rioters after a victory, but in order of battle, and with the array of an +army. Choice plants or flowers about the _impluvia_ and _xysti_, for +ornament or refreshment, myrtles, oranges, pomegranates, the rose and the +carnation, have disappeared. They dim the bright marbles of the walls and +the gilding of the ceilings. They enter the triclinium in the midst of the +banquet; they crawl over the viands and spoil what they do not devour. +Unrelaxed by success and by enjoyment, onward they go; a secret mysterious +instinct keeps them together, as if they had a king over them. They move +along the floor in so strange an order that they seem to be a tesselated +pavement themselves, and to be the artificial embellishment of the place; +so true are their lines, and so perfect is the pattern they describe. +Onward they go, to the market, to the temple sacrifices, to the baker’s +stores, to the cook-shops, to the confectioner’s, to the druggists; +nothing comes amiss to them; wherever man has aught to eat or drink, there +are they, reckless of death, strong of appetite, certain of conquest. + +They have passed on; the men of Sicca sadly congratulate themselves, and +begin to look about them, and to sum up their losses. Being the +proprietors of the neighbouring districts, or the purchasers of its +produce, they lament over the devastation, not because the fair country is +disfigured, but because income is becoming scanty, and prices are becoming +high. How is a population of many thousands to be fed? where is the grain, +where the melons, the figs, the dates, the gourds, the beans, the grapes, +to sustain and solace the multitudes in their lanes, caverns, and garrets? +This is another weighty consideration for the class well-to-do in the +world. The taxes, too, and contributions, the capitation tax, the +percentage upon corn, the various articles of revenues due to Rome, how +are they to be paid? How are cattle to be provided for the sacrifices and +for the tables of the wealthy? One-half, at least, of the supply of Sicca +is cut off. No longer slaves are seen coming into the city from the +country in troops with their baskets on their shoulders, or beating +forward the horse, or mule, or ox, overladen with its burden, or driving +in the dangerous cow, or the unresisting sheep. The animation of the place +is gone; a gloom hangs over the Forum; and if its frequenters are still +merry there is something of sullenness and recklessness in their mirth. +The gods have given the city up; something or other has angered them. +Locusts, indeed, are no uncommon visitation, but at an earlier season. +Perhaps some temple has been polluted, or some unholy rite practised, or +some secret conspiracy has spread. + +Another and a still worse calamity. The invaders, as we have already +intimated, could be more terrible still in their overthrow than in their +ravages. The inhabitants of the country had attempted, where they could, +to destroy them by fire and water. It would seem as if the malignant +animals had resolved that the sufferers should have the benefit of this +policy to the full; for they had not got more than twenty miles beyond +Sicca when they suddenly sickened and died. Thus after they had done all +the mischief they could by their living, when they had made their foul +maws the grave of every living thing, then they died themselves, and made +the desolated land their own grave. They took from it its hundred forms +and varieties of beautiful life, and left it their own fetid and poisonous +carcases in payment. It was a sudden catastrophe; they seemed making for +the Mediterranean, as if, like other great conquerors, they had other +worlds to subdue beyond it; but whether they were overgorged, or struck by +some atmospheric change, or that their time was come and they paid the +debt of nature, so it was that suddenly they fell, and their glory came to +nought, and all was vanity to them as to others, and “their stench rose +up, and their corruption rose up, because they had done proudly.” + +The hideous swarms lay dead in the moist steaming underwoods, in the green +swamps, in the sheltered valleys, in the ditches and furrows of the +fields, amid the monuments of their own prowess, the ruined crops and the +dishonoured vineyards. A poisonous element, issuing from their remains, +mingled with the atmosphere, and corrupted it. The dismayed peasant found +that a pestilence had begun; a new visitation, not confined to the +territory which the enemy had made its own, but extending far and wide, as +the atmosphere extends, in all directions. Their daily toil, no longer +claimed by the produce of the earth, which has ceased to exist, is now +devoted to the object of ridding themselves of the deadly legacy which +they have received in its stead. In vain; it is their last toil; they are +digging pits, they are raising piles, for their own corpses, as well as +for the bodies of their enemies. Invader and victim lie in the same grave, +burn in the same heap; they sicken while they work, and the pestilence +spreads. A new invasion is menacing Sicca, in the shape of companies of +peasants and slaves, (the panic having broken the bonds of discipline,) +with their employers and overseers, nay the farmers themselves and +proprietors, rushing thither from famine and infection as to a place of +safety. The inhabitants of the city are as frightened as they, and more +energetic. They determine to keep them at a distance; the gates are +closed; a strict _cordon_ is drawn; however, by the continued pressure, +numbers contrive to make an entrance, as water into a vessel, or light +through the closed shutters, and anyhow the air cannot be put into +quarantine; so the pestilence has the better of it, and at last appears in +the alleys, and in the cellars of Sicca. + + + + + + CHAPTER XVI. + + + WORSE AND WORSE. + + +“O wretched minds of men! O blind hearts!” truly cries out a great heathen +poet, but on grounds far other than the true ones. The true ground of such +a lamentation is, that men do not interpret the signs of the times and of +the world as He intends who has placed these signs in the heavens; that +when Mane, Thecel, Phares, is written upon the ethereal wall, they have no +inward faculty to read them withal; and that when they go elsewhere for +one learned in tongues, instead of taking Daniel, who is used to converse +with Angels, they rely on Magi or Chaldeans, who know only the languages +of earth. So it was with the miserable population of Sicca now; half +famished, seized with a pestilence which was sure to rage before it +assuaged, perplexed and oppressed by the recoil upon them of the +population whom they had from time to time sent out into the surrounding +territory, or from whom they had supplied their markets, they never +fancied that the real cause of the visitation which we have been +describing was their own iniquity in their Maker’s sight, that His arm +inflicted it, and that its natural and direct interpretation was, “Do +penance, and be converted.” On the contrary, they looked only at their own +vain idols, and at the vain rites which these idols demanded, and they +thought there was no surer escape from their misery than by upholding a +lie, and putting down all who revolted from it; and thus the visitation +which was sent to do them good turned through their wilful blindness to +their greater condemnation. + +The Forum, which at all times was the resort of idleness and dissipation, +now became more and more the haunt of famine and sickness, of robust +frames without work, of slavish natures virtually and for the time +emancipated and uncontrolled, of youth and passion houseless and +shelterless. In groups and companies, in and out of the porticoes, on the +steps of the temples, and about the booths and stalls of the market, a +multitude grows day by day, from the town and from the country, and of all +the various races which town and country contain. The civil magistracy and +the civil force to which the peace of the city was committed, were not +equal to such an emergency as the present; and the _milites stationarii_, +a sort of garrison who represented the Roman power, though they were ready +to act against either magistrates or mob impartially, had no tenderness +for either, when in collision with each other. Indeed the bonds of society +were broken, and every political element was at war with every other, in a +case of such great common calamity, when every one was angry with every +one else, for want of some clearly defined object against which the common +anger might be discharged with unanimity. + +They had almost given over sacrificing and consulting the flame or the +entrails; for no reversal or respite of their sufferings had followed +their most assiduous acts of deprecation. Moreover the omens were +generally considered by the priests to have been unpropitious or adverse. +A sheep had been discovered to have, instead of a liver, something very +like a gizzard; a sow had chewed and swallowed the flowers with which it +had been embellished for the sacrifice; and a calf, after receiving the +fatal blow, instead of lying down and dying, dashed into the temple, +dripping blood upon the pavement as it went, and at last fell and expired +just before the sacred _adytum_. In despair the people took to +fortune-telling and its attendant arts. Old crones were found in plenty +with their strange rites, the stranger the more welcome. Trenches were dug +in by-places for sacrifices to the infernal gods; amulets, rings, +counters, tablets, pebbles, nails, bones, feathers, Ephesian or Egyptian +legends, were in request, and raised the hopes, or beguiled and occupied +the thoughts, of those who else would have been directly dwelling on their +sufferings, present or in prospect. + +Others were occupied, whether they would or no, with diversions fiercer +and more earnest. There were continual altercations between farmers, small +proprietors of land, government and city officials,—altercations so +manifold and violent, that, even were there no hubbub of voices, and no +incoherence of wrath and fear to complicate them, we should despair of +setting them before the reader. An officer from the camp was expostulating +with one of the municipal authorities that no corn had been sent thither +for the last six or seven days, and the functionary attacked had thrown +the blame on the farmer, and he in turn had protested that he could not +get cattle to bring the waggons into Sicca; those which he had set out +with had died of exhaustion on the journey. A clerk, as we now speak, in +the _Officium_ of the society of publicans or collectors of _annona_ was +threatening a number of small tenants with ejection for not sending in +their rated portion of corn for the Roman people:—the _Officium_ of the +_Notarius_, or assistant prefect, had written up to Sicca from Carthage in +violent terms; and come it must, though the locusts had eaten up every +stack and granary. A number of half-starved peasants had been summoned for +payment of their taxes, and in spite of their ignorance of Latin, they had +been made to understand that death was the stern penalty of neglecting to +bring the coin. They, on the other hand, by their fierce doggedness of +manner, seemed to signify by way of answer that death was not a penalty, +unless life was a boon. + +The _villicus_ of one of the decurions, who had an estate in the +neighbourhood, was laying his miseries before the man of business of his +employer. “What are we to do?” he said. “Half the gang of slaves is dead, +and the other half is so feeble, that I can’t get through the work of the +month. We ought to be sheep-shearing; you have no chance of wool. We ought +to be swarming the bees, pressing the honey, boiling and purifying the +wax. We ought to be plucking the white leaves of the camomile, and +steeping the golden flowers in oil. We ought to be gathering the wild +grapes, sifting off the flowers, and preserving the residue in honey. We +ought to be sowing brassicum, parsley, and coriander against next spring. +We ought to be cheese-making. We ought to be baking white and red bricks +and tiles in the sun; we have no hands for the purpose. The _villicus_ is +not to blame, but the anger of the gods.” The country _employé_ of the +procurator of the imperial _Baphia_ protests that the insect cannot be +found from which the dye is extracted; and argues that the locusts must +have devoured them, or the plant on which they feed, or that they have +been carried off by the pestilence. Here is old Corbulus in agonies for +his febrifuge, and a slave of his is in high words with the +market-carrier, who tells him that Mago, who supplied it, is dead of a +worse fever than his master’s. “The rogue,” cried the slave, “my master +has contracted with him for the year, and has paid him the money in +advance.” A jeering and mocking from the crowd assailed the unfortunate +domestic, who so truly foreboded that his return without the medicine +would be the signal for his summary committal to the _pistrinum_. “Let old +Corbulus follow Mago in his passage to perdition,” said one of the rabble; +“let him take his physic with Pluto, and leave us the bread and wine on +which he’s grown gouty.” “Bread, bread!” was the response elicited by this +denunciation, and it spread into a circle larger than that of which the +slave and the carrier were part. + +“Wine and bread, Ceres and Liber!” cried a young legionary, who, after a +night of revelry, was emerging still half-intoxicated from one of the low +wine-shops in the vaults which formed the basement of the _Thermæ_ or hot +baths; “make way there, you filthy slime of the earth, you half-kneaded, +half-fermented Africans, who never yet have quite been men, but have ever +smelt strong of the baboon, who are three quarters _must_, and two +vinegar, and a fifth water,—as I was saying, you are like bad liquor, and +the sight of you disagrees with the stomach and affects the eyes.” + +The crowd looked sullenly, and without wincing, at his shield, which was +the only portion of his military accoutrements which he had preserved +after his carouse. The white surface, with a silver boss in the centre, +surrounded by first a white and then a red circle, and the purple border, +showed that he belonged to the Tertiani or third Italic Legion, which had +been stationed in Africa since the time of Augustus. “Vile double-tongued +mongrels,” he continued, “what are you fit for but to gather the fruits of +the earth for your owners and lords, ‘Romanos dominos rerum’? And if there +are now no fruits to reap, why your service is gone. Go home and die, and +drown yourselves, for what are you fit for now, except to take your dead +corpses away from the nostrils of a Roman, the cream of humankind? Ye +base-born apes, that’s why you catch the pestilence, because our blood +mantles and foams in our ruddy veins like new milk in the wine cup, which +is too strong for this clime, and my blood is up, and I drink a full +measure of it to great Rome; for what does old Horace say, but ‘Nunc est +bibendum’? and so get out of my way.” + +To a good part of the multitude, both peasantry and town rabble, Latin was +unintelligible; but they all understood vocabulary and syntax and logic, +as soon as he drew his knuckles across one fellow’s face who refused to +move from his path, and as soon as his insult was returned by the latter +with a thrust of the dagger. A rush was made upon him, on which he made a +face at them, shook his fist, and leaping on one side, ran with great +swiftness to an open space in advance. From his quarrelsome humour rather +than from fear, he raised a cry of alarm; on which two or three +fellow-soldiers made their appearance from similar dens of intoxication +and vice, and came up to the rescue. The mob assailed them with stones, +and the cream of human nature was likely to be roughly churned, when, +seeing matters were becoming serious, they suddenly took to their heels, +and got into the Temple of Esculapius on one side of the Forum. The mob +followed, the ministers of the sacred place attempted to shut the gates, a +scuffle ensued, and a riot was in progress. Self-preservation is the first +law of man; trembling for the safety of his noble buildings, and +considering that it was a bread riot, as it really was, the priest of the +god came forward, rebuked the mob for its impiety, and showed the +absurdity of supposing that there were loaves in his enclosure to satisfy +its wants; but he reminded them that there was a baker’s shop at the other +end of the Forum, which was one of the most considerable in Sicca. + +A slight impulse determines the movements of an excited multitude. Off +they went to the quarter in question, where certainly there was the very +large and handsome store of a substantial dealer in grain of all sorts, +and in other produce. The shop, however, seemed on this occasion to be but +poorly furnished; for the baker was a prudent man, and feared a display of +provisions which would be an invitation to a hungry multitude. The +assailants, however, were not to be baffled; some one cried out that the +man had withdrawn his corn from the market for his own ends, and that +great stores were accumulated within. They avail themselves of the hint; +they pour in through the open front, the baker escapes as he may, his +mills and ovens are smashed, the house is ransacked; whatever is found is +seized, thrown about, wasted, eaten, as the case may be; and the mob gains +strength and appetite for fresh exploits. + +However, the rioters have no definite plan of action yet. Some of them +have penetrated into the stable behind the house in search of corn. They +find the mill-ass which ground for the baker, and bring it out. It is a +beast of more than ordinary pretensions, such as you would not often see +in a mill, showing both the wealth of the owner and the flourishing +condition of his trade. The asses of Africa are finer than those in the +north; but this is fine for an African. One fellow mounts upon it, and +sets off with the world before him, like a knight-errant, seeking an +adventure, the rabble at his tail acting as squire. He begins the circuit +of the Forum, and picks up its riff-raff as he goes along—here some rascal +boys, there some drunken women, here again a number of half-brutalized +country slaves and peasants. Partly out of curiosity, partly from +idleness, from ill temper, from hope of spoil, from a vague desire to be +doing something or other, every one who has nothing to lose by the +adventure crowds around and behind him. And on the contrary, as he +advances, and the noise and commotion increase, every one who has a +position of any sort, the confidential _vernæ_ of great families, farmers, +shopkeepers, men of business, officials, vanish from the scene of action +without delay. + +“Africa, Africa!” is now the cry; the signal in that country, as an +ancient writer tells us, that the parties raising it have something new in +hand, and have a mind to do it. + +Suddenly, as they march on, a low and awful growl is heard. It comes from +the booth of a servant of the imperial court. He is employed as a +transporter of wild beasts from the interior to the coast, where they are +shipped for Rome; and he has charge at present of a noble lion, who is +sitting majestically, looking through the bars of his cage at the rabble, +who now begin to look at him. In demeanour and in mental endowments he has +the advantage of them. It was at this moment, while they were closing, +hustling each other, staring at the beast, and hoping to provoke him, that +a shrill voice cried out, “Christianos ad leones, Christianos ad leones!” +the Christians to the lions! A sudden and dead silence ensued, as if the +words had struck the breath out of the promiscuous throng. An interval +passed; and then the same voice was heard again, “Christianos ad leones!” +This time the whole Forum took it up from one end to the other. The fate +of the day, the direction of the movement, was decided; a distinct object +was obtained, and the only wonder was that the multitude had been so long +to seek and so slow to find so obvious a cause of their misfortunes, so +adequate a subject of their vengeance. “Christianos ad leones!” was +shouted out by town and country, priests and people. “Long live the +emperor! long live Decius! he told us this long ago. There’s the edict; it +never has been obeyed. Death to the magistrates! To the Christians! to the +Christians! Up with great Jove, down with the atheists!” + +They were commencing their march when the ass caught their eye. “The +Christians’ god!” they shouted out; “the god of the Christians!” Their +first impulse was to give the poor beast to the lion, their next to +sacrifice it, but they did not know to whom. Then they said they would +make the Christians worship it; and dressing it up in tawdry finery, they +retained it at the head of their procession. + + + + + + CHAPTER XVII. + + + CHRISTIANOS AD LEONES. + + +By the time that they had got round again to the unlucky baker’s, the mob +had been swollen to a size which even the area of the Forum would not +contain, and it filled the adjacent streets. And by the same time it had +come home to its leaders, and, indeed, to every one who used his reason at +all, that it was very far from certain that there were any Christians in +Sicca, and if so, still very far from easy to say where they were. And the +difficulty was of so practical a character as to keep them inactive for +the space of several hours. Meanwhile their passions were excited to the +boiling point by the very presence of the difficulty, as men go mad of +thirst when water is denied them. At length, after a long season of such +violent commotion, such restless pain, such curses, shrieks, and +blasphemies, such bootless gesticulations, such aimless contests with each +other, that they seemed to be already inmates of the prison beneath, they +set off in a blind way to make the circuit of the city as before they had +paraded round the Forum, still in the knight-errant line, looking out for +what might turn up where they were sure of nothing, and relieving the +intense irritation of their passions by locomotion, if nothing more +substantial was offered to them. + +It was an awful day for the respectable inhabitants of the place; worse +than anything that even the most timid of them had anticipated, when they +had showed their jealousy of a popular movement against the proscribed +religion; for the stimulus of famine and pestilence was added to hatred of +Christianity, in that unreasoning multitude. The magistrates shut +themselves up in dismay; the small body of Roman soldiery reserved their +strength for the defence of themselves; and the poor wretches, not a few, +who had fallen from the faith, and offered sacrifice, hung out from their +doors sinful heathen symbols, to avert a storm against which apostasy was +no sufficient safeguard. In this conduct the Gnostics and other sectaries +imitated them, while the Tertullianists took a more manly part, from +principle or pride. + +It would require the brazen voice which Homer speaks of, or the magic pen +of Sir Walter, to catalogue and to picture, as far as it is lawful to do +either, the figures and groups of that most miserable procession. As it +went forward it gained a variety and strength, which the circuit of the +Forum could not furnish. The more respectable religious establishments +shut their gates, and would have nothing to do with it. The priests of +Jupiter, the educational establishments of the Temple of Mercury, the +Temple of the Genius of Rome near the Capitol, the hierophants of Isis, +the Minerva, the Juno, the Esculapius, viewed the popular rising with +terror and disgust; but these were not the popular worships. The vast +homestead of Astarte, which in the number and vowed profligacy of its +inhabitants rivalled the vaults upon the Forum; the old rites, many and +diversified, if separately obscure, which came from Punic times; the new +importations from Syria and Phrygia, and a number of other haunts and +schools of depravity and crime, did their part in swelling or giving +character to the concourse. The hungry and idle rabble, the filthy beggars +who fed on the offal of the sacrifices, the drivers and slaughterers of +the beasts sacrificed; the tumblers and mountebanks who amused the gaping +market-people; dancers, singers, pipers from low taverns and +drinking-houses; infamous creatures, young and old, men and boys, half +naked and not half sober; brutal blacks, the aboriginal race of the Atlas, +with their appetites written on their skulls and features; Canaanites, as +they called themselves, from the coast; the wild beast-keepers from the +amphitheatre; troops of labourers from the fields, to whom the epidemic +was a time of Saturnalia; and the degraded company, alas! how numerous and +how pitiable, who took their nightly stand in long succession at the doors +of their several cells in the deep galleries under the Thermæ; all these, +and many others, had their part and place in the procession. There you +might see the devilish emblems of idolatry borne aloft by wretches from +the great Punic Temple, while frantic forms, ragged and famished, wasted +and shameless, leapt and pranced around them. There too was a choir of +Bacchanals, ready at a moment with songs as noisy as they were +unutterable. And there was the priest of the Punic Saturn, the +child-devourer, a sort of Moloch, to whom the martyrdom of Christians was +a sacred rite; he and all his attendants in fiery-coloured garments, as +became a sanguinary religion. And there, moreover, was a band of fanatics, +devotees of Cybele or of the Syrian goddess, if indeed the two rites were +distinct. They were bedizened with ribbons and rags of various colours, +and smeared over with paint. They had long hair like women, and turbans on +their heads. They pushed their way to the head of the procession, being +quite worthy of the post of honour, and, seizing the baker’s ass, put +their goddess on the back of it. Some of them were playing the fife, +others clashing cymbals, others danced, others yelled, others rolled their +heads, and others flogged themselves. Such was the character of the +frenzied host, which progressed slowly through the streets, while every +now and then, when there was an interval in the hubbub, the words +“Christianos ad leones” were thundered out by some ruffian voice, and a +thousand others fiercely responded. + +Still no Christian was forthcoming; and it was plain that the rage of the +multitude must be discharged in other quarters, if the difficulty +continued in satisfying it. At length some one recollected the site of the +Christian chapel, when it existed; thither went the multitude, and +effected an entrance without delay. It had long been turned to other +purposes, and was now a store of casks and leather bottles. The miserable +sacristan had long given up any practical observance of his faith, and +remained on the spot a keeper of the premises for the trader who owned +them. They found him, and dragged him into the street, and brought him +forward to the ass, and to the idol on its back, and bade him worship the +one and the other. The poor wretch obeyed; he worshipped the ass, he +worshipped the idol, and he worshipped the genius of the emperor; but his +persecutors wanted blood; they would not submit to be cheated of their +draught; so when they had made him do whatever they exacted, they flung +him under the feet of the multitude, who, as they passed on, soon trod all +life and breath out of him, and sent him to the powers below, to whom he +had just before been making his profession. + +Their next adventure was with a Tertullianist, who stationed himself at +his shop-door, displayed the sign of the cross, and walking leisurely +forward, seized the idol on the ass’s back, broke it over his knee, and +flung the portions into the crowd. For a few minutes they stared on him +with astonishment, then some women fell upon him with their nails and +teeth, and tore the poor fanatic till he fell bleeding and lifeless upon +the ground. + +In the higher and better part of the city, which they now approached, +lived the widow of a Duumvir, who in his day had made a bold profession of +Christianity. The well connected lady was a Christian also, and was +sheltered by her great friends from the persecution. She was bringing up a +family in great privacy, and with straitened means, and with as much +religious strictness as was possible under the circumstances of the place. +She kept them from all bad sights and bad company, was careful as to the +character of the slaves she placed about them, and taught them all she +knew of her religion, which was quite sufficient for their salvation. They +had all been baptized, some by herself in default of the proper minister, +and, as far as they could show at their tender ages, which lay between +thirteen and seven, the three girls and the two boys were advancing in the +love of truth and sanctity. Her husband, some years back, when presiding +in the Forum, had punished with just severity an act of ungrateful fraud; +and the perpetrator had always cherished a malignant hatred of him and +his. The moment of gratifying it had now arrived, and he pointed out to +the infuriated rabble the secluded mansion where the Christian household +dwelt. He could not offer to them a more acceptable service, and the +lady’s modest apartment was soon swarming with enemies of her God and His +followers. In spite of her heartrending cries and supplications, her +children were seized, and when the youngest boy clung to her, the mother +was thrown senseless upon the pavement. The whole five were carried off in +triumph; it was the greatest success of the day. There was some hesitation +how to dispose of them; at last the girls were handed over to the +priestesses of Astarte, and the boys to the loathsome votaries of Cybele. + +Revenge upon Christians was the motive principle of the riot; but the +prospect of plunder stimulated numbers, and here Christians could not +minister to their desires. They began the day by the attack upon the +provision-shop, and now they had reached the aristocratic quarter of the +city, and they gazed with envy and cupidity at the noble mansions which +occupied it. They began to shout out, “Bread, bread!” while they uttered +threats against the Christians; they violently beat at the closed gates, +and looked about for means of scaling the high walls which defended them +in front. The cravings of famished men soon take form and organization; +they began to ask relief from house to house. Nothing came amiss; and +loaves, figs, grapes, wine, found their way into the hands and mouths of +those who were the least exhausted and the least enfeebled. A second line +of fierce supplicants succeeded to the first; and it was plain that, +unless some diversion were effected, the respectable quarter of Sicca had +found a worse enemy than the locust. + +The houses of the government _susceptor_, or tax collector, of the +_tabularius_ or registrar, of the _defensor_ or city counsel, and one or +two others, had already been the scene of collisions between the domestic +slaves and the multitude, when a demand was made upon the household of +another of the Curia, who held the office of Flamen Dialis. He was a +wealthy, easy-going man, generally popular, with no appetite for +persecution at all, but still no desire to be persecuted. He had more than +tolerated the Christians, and had at this time a Christian among his +slaves. This was a Greek, a splendid cook and perfumer, and he would not +have lost him for a large sum of money. However, life and limb were nearer +to him even than his dinner, and a Jonah must be cast overboard to save +the ship. In trepidation, yet with greater satisfaction, his +fellow-domestics thrust the poor helpless man out of the house, and +secured the door behind him. He was a man of middle age, of a grave +aspect, and he looked silently and calmly upon the infuriated and yelling +multitude, who were swarming up the hill about him, and swelling the +number of his persecutors. What had been his prospects, had he remained in +his earthly master’s service? his fill of meat and drink while he was +strong and skilful, the stocks or scourge if he ever failed to please him, +and the old age and death of the worn-out hack who once has caracoled in +the procession, or snorted at the coming fight. What are his prospects +now? a moment’s agony, a martyr’s death, and the everlasting beatific +vision of Him for whom he died. The multitude cry out, “To the ass or to +the lion!” worship the ass, or fight the lion. He was dragged to the ass’s +head and commanded to kneel down before the irrational beast. In the +course of a minute he had lifted up his eyes to heaven, had signed himself +with the cross, had confessed his Saviour, and had been torn to pieces by +the multitude. They anticipated the lion of the amphitheatre. + +A lull followed, sure to be succeeded by a fresh storm. Not every +household had a Christian cook to make a victim of. Plunder, riot, and +outrage were becoming the order of the day; successive messengers were +sent up in breathless haste to the capitol and the camp for aid, but the +Romans returned for answer that they had enough to do in defending the +government buildings and offices. They suggested measures, however, for +putting the mob on a false scent, or involving them in some difficult or +tedious enterprise, which would give the authorities time for +deliberation, and for taking the rioters at disadvantage. If the +magistrates could get them out of the city, it would be a great point; +they could then shut the gates upon them, and deal with them as they +would. In that case, too, the insurgents would straggle, and divide, and +then they might be disposed of in detail. They were showing symptoms of +returning fury, when a voice suddenly cried out, “Agellius the Christian! +Agellius the sorcerer! Agellius to the lions! To the farm of Varius—to the +cottage of Agellius—to the south-west gate!” A sudden yell burst forth +from the vast multitude when the voice ceased. The impulse had been given +as at the first; the tide of human beings ebbed and retreated, and, +licking the base of the hill, rushed vehemently on one side, and roared +like a torrent towards the south-west. Juba, thy prophecy is soon to be +fulfilled! The locusts will bring more harm on thy brother’s home than +imperial edict or local magistrate. The decline of day will hardly prevent +the visitation. + + + + + + CHAPTER XVIII. + + + AGELLIUS FLITS. + + +A change had passed over the fair face of Nature, as seen from the cottage +of Agellius, since that evening on which our story opened; and it is so +painful to contemplate waste, decay, and disappointment, that we mean to +say little about it. There was the same cloudless sky as then; and the sun +travelled in its silent and certain course, with even a more intense +desire than then to ripen grain and fruit for the use of man; but its +occupation was gone, for fruit and grain were not, nor man to collect and +to enjoy them. A dark broad shadow passed across the beautiful prospect +and disfigured it. When you looked more closely, it was as if a fire had +burned up the whole surface included under that shadow, and had stripped +the earth of its clothing. Nothing had escaped; not a head of khennah, not +a rose or carnation, not an orange or an orange blossom, not a _boccone_, +not a cluster of unripe grapes, not a berry of the olive, not a blade of +grass. Gardens, meadows, vineyards, orchards, copses, instead of rejoicing +in the rich variety of hue which lately was their characteristic, were now +reduced to one dreary cinder-colour. The smoke of fires was actually +rising from many points, where the spoilt and poisonous vegetation was +burning in heaps, or the countless corpses of the invading foe, or of the +cattle, or of the human beings whom the pestilence had carried off. The +most furious inroad of savage hordes, of Vandals, or of Saracens, who were +destined at successive eras to come and waste that country, could not have +spread such thorough desolation. The slaves of the farm of Varius were +sorrowfully turning to a new employment, that of clearing away the wreck +and disappointment of the bright spring from flower-bed, vineyard, and +field. + +It was on the forenoon of the eventful day whose course we have been +tracing in the preceding Chapters, that a sharp-looking boy presented +himself to Agellius, who was directing his labourers in their work. “I am +come from Jucundus,” he said; “he has instant need of you. You are to go +with me, and by my way; and this is the proof I tell you truth. He sends +you this note, and wishes you in a bad time the best gifts of Bacchus and +Ceres.” + +Agellius took the tablets, and went with them across the road to the place +where Cæcilius was at work, in appearance a slave. The letter ran +thus:—“Jucundus to Agellius. I trust you are well enough to move; you are +not safe for many days in your cottage; there is a rising this morning +against the Christians, and you may be visited. Unless you are ambitious +of Styx and Tartarus, follow the boy without questioning.” Agellius showed +the letter to the priest. + +“We are no longer safe here, my father,” he said; “whither shall we go? +Let us go together. Can you take me to Carthage?” + +“Carthage is quite as dangerous,” answered Cæcilius, “and Sicca is more +central. We can but leap into the sea at Carthage; here there are many +lines to retreat upon. I am known there, I am not known here. Here, too, I +hear all that goes on through the proconsulate and Numidia.” + +“But what can we do?” asked Agellius; “here we cannot remain, and you at +least cannot venture into the city. Somewhither we must go, and where is +that?” + +The priest thought. “We must separate,” he said. The tears came into +Agellius’s eyes. + +“Though I am a stranger,” continued Cæcilius, “I know more of the +neighbourhood of Sicca than you who are a native. There is a famous +Christian retreat on the north of the city, and by this time, I doubt not, +or rather I know, it is full of refugees. The fury of the enemy is +extending on all hands, and our brethren, from as far as Cirtha round to +Curubis, are falling back upon it. The only difficulty is how to get round +to it without going through Sicca.” + +“Let us go together,” said Agellius. + +Cæcilius showed signs of perplexity, and his mind retired into itself. He +seemed for the moment to be simply absent from the scene about him, but +soon his intelligence returned. “No,” he said, “we must separate,—for the +time; it will not be for long. That is, I suppose, your uncle will take +good care of you, and he has influence. We are safest just now when most +independent of each other. It is only for a while. We shall meet again +soon; I tell you so. Did we keep together just now, it would be the worse +for each of us. You go with the boy; I will go off to the place I +mentioned.” + +“O my father,” said the youth, “how will you get there? What shall I +suffer from my fears about you?” + +“Fear not,” answered Cæcilius, “mind, I tell you so. It will be a trying +time, but my hour is not yet come. I am good for years yet; so are you, +for many more than mine. He will protect and rescue me, though I know not +how. Go, leave me to myself, Agellius!” + +“O my father, my only stay upon earth, whom God sent me in my extreme +need, to whom I owe myself, must I then quit you; must a layman desert a +priest; the young the old?... Ah! it is I really, not you, who am without +protection. Angels surround you, father; but I am a poor wanderer. Give me +your blessing that evil may not touch me. I go.” + +“Do not kneel,” said the priest; “they will see you. Stop, I have got to +tell you how and where to find me.” He then proceeded to give him the +necessary instructions. “Walk out,” he said, “along the road to +Thibursicumbur to the third milestone, you will come to a country road; +pursue it; walk a thousand steps; then again for the space of seven +_paternosters_; and then speak to the man upon your right hand. And now +away with you, God speed you, we shall not long be parted,” and he made +the sign of the cross over him. + +“That old chap gives himself airs,” said the boy, when Agellius joined +him; “what may he be? one of your slaves, Agellius?” + +“You’re a pert boy,” answered he, “for asking me the question.” + +“They say the Christians brought the locusts,” said Firmian, “by their +enchantments; and there’s a jolly row beginning in the Forum just now. The +report goes that you are a Christian.” + +“That’s because your people have nothing better to do than talk against +their neighbours.” + +“Because you are so soft, rather,” said the boy. “Another man would have +knocked me down for saying it; but you are lackadaisical folk, who bear +insults tamely. Arnobius says your father was a Christian.” + +“Father and son are not always the same religion now-a-days,” said +Agellius. + +“Ay, ay,” answered Firmian, “but the Christians came from Egypt: and as +cook there is the son of cook, and soldier is son of soldier, so +Christian, take my word for it, is the son of a Christian.” + +“Christians boast, I believe,” answered Agellius, “that they are of no one +race or country, but are members of a large unpatriotic family, whose home +is in the sky.” + +“Christians,” answered the boy, “would never have framed the great Roman +empire; that was the work of heroes. Great Cæsar, Marius, Marcus Brutus, +Camillus, Cicero, Sylla, Lucullus, Scipio, could never have been +Christians. Arnobius says they are a skulking set of fellows.” + +“I suppose you wish to be a hero,” said Agellius. + +“I am to be a pleader,” answered Firmian; “I should like to be a great +orator like Cicero, and every one listening to me.” + +They were walking along the top of a mud wall, which separated Varius’s +farm from his neighbour’s, when suddenly Firmian, who led the way, leapt +down into a copse, which reached as far as the ravine in which the knoll +terminated towards Sicca. The boy still went forward by devious paths, +till they had mounted as high as the city wall. + +“You are bringing me where there is no entrance,” said Agellius. + +The boy laughed. “Jucundus told me to bring you by a blind way,” he said. +“You know best why. This is one of our ways in and out.” + +There was an aperture in the wall, and the bricks and stones about it were +loose, and admitted of removal. It was such a private way of passage as +schoolboys know of. On getting through, Agellius found himself in a +neglected garden or small close. Everything was silent about them, as if +the inhabitants were away; there was a great noise in the distance, as if +something unusual were going on in the heart of the town. The boy told him +to follow him as fast as he could without exciting remark; and, leading +him by lanes and alleys unknown to Agellius, at last brought him close +upon the scene of riot. At this time the expedition in search of +Christians had just commenced; to cross the Forum was to shorten his +journey, and perhaps was safer than to risk meeting the mob in the +streets. Firmian took the step; and while their attention was directed +elsewhere, brought Agellius safely through it. They then proceeded +cautiously as before, till they stood before the back door of the house of +Jucundus. + +“Say a good word for me to your uncle,” said the boy, “I have done my job. +He must remember me handsomely at the Augustalia,” and he ran away. + + + +Meanwhile Cæcilius had been anxiously considering the course which it was +safest for him to pursue. He must move, but he must wait till dusk, when +the ways were clear, and the light uncertain. Till then he must keep close +in-doors. There was a remarkable cavern in the mountains above Sicca, +which had been used as a place of refuge for Christians from the very time +they had first suffered persecution in Roman Africa. No spot in its whole +territory seemed more fit for what is called a base of operations, from +which the soldiers of the Cross might advance, or to which they might +retire, according as the fury of their enemy grew or diminished. While it +was in the midst of a wilderness difficult of access, and feared as the +resort of ghosts and evil influences, it was not far from a city near to +which the high roads met from Hippo and from Carthage. A branch of the +Bagradas, navigable for boats, opened a way from it through the woods, +where flight and concealment were easy on a surprise, as far as Madaura, +Vacca, and other places; at the same time it commanded the vast plain on +the south which extended to the roots of the Atlas. Just now, the +persecution growing, many deacons, other ecclesiastics, and prominent +laymen from all parts of the country had fallen back upon this cavern or +grotto; and in no place could Cæcilius have better means than here of +learning the general state of affairs, and of communicating with countries +beyond the seas. He was indeed on his way thither, when the illness of +Agellius made it a duty for him to stop and restore him, and attend to his +spiritual needs; and he had received an inward intimation, on which he +implicitly relied, to do so. + +The problem at this moment was how to reach the refuge in question. His +direct road lay through Sicca; this being impracticable at present, he had +to descend into the ravine which lay between him and the city, and, +turning to the left, to traverse the broad plain, the Campus Martius of +Sicca, into which it opened. Here the mountain would rise abruptly on his +right with those steep cliffs which we have already described as rounding +the north side of Sicca. He must traverse many miles before he could reach +the point at which the rock lost its precipitous character, and changed +into a declivity allowing the traveller to ascend. It was a bold +undertaking; for all this he had to accomplish in the dark before the +morning broke, a stranger too to the locality, and directing his movements +only by the information of others, which, however accurate and distinct, +could scarcely be followed, even if without risk of error, at least +without misgiving. However, could he master this point before the morning +he was comparatively safe; he then had to strike into the solitary +mountains, and to retrace his steps for a while towards Sicca along the +road, till he came to a place where he knew that Christian scouts or +_videttes_ (as they may be called) were always stationed. + +This being his plan, and there being no way of mending it, our confessor +retired into the cottage, and devoted the intervening hours to intercourse +with that world from which his succour must come. He set himself to +intercede for the Holy Catholic Church throughout the world, now for the +most part under persecution, and for the Roman Empire, not yet holy, which +was the instrument of the evil powers against her. He had to pray for the +proconsulate, for Numidia, Mauretania, and the whole of Africa; for the +Christian communities throughout it, for the cessation of the trial then +present, and for the fortitude and perseverance of all who were tried. He +had to pray for his own personal friends, his penitents, converts, +enemies; for children, catechumens, neophytes; for those who were +approaching the Church, for those who had fallen away, or were falling +away from her; for all heretics, for all troublers of unity, that they +might be reclaimed. He had to confess, bewail and deprecate the many sins +and offences which he knew of, foreboded, or saw in prospect as to come. +Scarcely had he entered on his charge at Carthage four years before, when +he had had to denounce one portentous scandal in which a sacred order of +the ministry was implicated. What internal laxity did not that scandal +imply! And then again what a low standard of religion, what niggardly +faith, and what worn-out, used-up sanctity in the community at large, was +revealed in the fact of those frequent apostasies of individuals which +then were occurring! He prayed fervently that both from the bright pattern +of martyrs, and from the warning afforded by the lapsed, the Christian +body might be edified and invigorated. He saw with great anxiety two +schisms in prospect, when the persecution should come to an end, one from +the perverseness of those who were too rigid, the other from those who +were too indulgent towards the fallen; and in proportion to his gift of +prescience was the earnestness of his intercession that the wounds of the +Church might be healed with the least possible delay. He then turned to +the thought of his own correspondence then in progress with the Holy Roman +Church, which had lately lost its bishop by martyrdom. This indeed was no +unusual event with the see of Peter, in which the successors of Peter +followed Peter’s steps, as Peter had been bidden to follow the King and +Exemplar of Martyrs. But the special trouble was, that months had passed, +full five, since the vacancy occurred, and it had not yet been supplied. +Then he thought of Fabian, who made the vacancy, and who had already +passed through that trial which was to bring to so many Christians life or +condemnation, and he commended himself to his prayers against the hour of +his own combat. He thought of Fabian’s work, and went on to intercede for +the remnant of the seven apostles whom that Pope had sent into Gaul, and +some of whom had already obtained the martyr’s crown. He prayed that the +day might come, when not the cities only of that fair country, but its +rich champaigns and sunny slopes should hear the voice of the missionary. +He prayed in like manner for Britain, that the successful work of another +Pope, St. Eleutherius, might be extended even to its four seas. And then +he prayed for the neighbouring island on the west, still in heathen +darkness, and for the endless expanse of Germany on the east, that there +too the one saving name and glorious Faith might be known and accepted. + +His thoughts then travelled back to Rome and Italy, and to the martyrdoms +which had followed that of St. Fabian. Two Persians had already suffered +in the imperial city; Maximus had lost his life, and Felix had been +imprisoned, at Nola. Asia Minor, Syria, and Egypt had already afforded +victims to the persecution, and cried aloud to all Christians for their +most earnest prayers and for repeated Masses in behalf of those who +remained under the trial. Babylas, Bishop of Antioch, the third see in +Christendom, was already martyred in that city. Here again Cæcilius had a +strong call on him for intercession, for a subtle form of freethinking was +there manifesting itself, the issue of which was as uncertain as it might +be frightful. The Bishop of Alexandria, that second of the large divisions +or patriarchates of the Church, the great Dionysius, the pupil of Origen, +was an exile from his see, like himself. The messenger who brought this +news to Carthage had heard at Alexandria a report from Neocæsarea, that +Gregory, another pupil of Origen’s, the Apostle of Pontus, had also been +obliged to conceal himself from the persecution. As for Origen himself, +the aged, laborious, gifted, zealous teacher of his time, he was just then +engaged in answering the works of an Epicurean called Celsus, and on him +too the persecution was likely to fall; and Cæcilius prayed earnestly that +so great a soul might be kept from such high untrue speculations as were +threatening evil at Antioch, and from every deceit and snare which might +endanger his inheriting that bright crown which ought to be his portion in +heaven. Another remarkable report had come, viz., that some young men of +Egypt had retired to the deserts up the country under the stress of the +persecution,—Paul was the name of one of them,—and that they were there +living in the practice of mortification and prayer so singular, and had +combats with the powers of darkness and visitations from above so special, +as to open quite a new era in the spiritual history of the Church. + +And then his thoughts came back to his poor Agellius, and all those +hundred private matters of anxiety which the foes of the Church, occupied +only with her external aspect, little suspected. For Agellius, he prayed, +and for his; for the strange wayward Juba, for Jucundus, for Callista; ah! +that Callista might be brought on to that glorious consummation, for which +she seemed marked out! But the ways of the Most High are not as our ways, +and those who to us seem nearest are often furthest from Him; and so our +holy priest left the whole matter in the hands of Him to whom he prayed, +satisfied that he had done his part in praying. + +This was the course of thought which occupied him for many hours, after +(as we have said) he had closed the door upon him, and knelt down before +the cross. Not merely before the symbol of redemption did he kneel; for he +opened his tunic at the neck, and drew thence a small golden pyx which was +there suspended. In that carefully fastened case he possessed the Holiest, +his Lord and his God. That Everlasting Presence was his stay and guide +amid his weary wanderings, his joy and consolation amid his overpowering +anxieties. Behold the secret of his sweet serenity, and his clear +unclouded determination. He had placed it upon the small table at which he +knelt, and was soon absorbed in meditation and intercession. + + + + + + CHAPTER XIX. + + + A PASSAGE OF ARMS. + + +How many hours passed while Cæcilius was thus employed, he did not know. +The sun was declining when he was roused by a noise at the door. He +hastily restored the sacred treasure to its hiding-place in his breast, +and rose up from his knees. The door was thrown back, and a female form +presented itself at the opening. She looked in at the priest, and said, +“Then Agellius is not here?” + +The woman was young, tall, and graceful in person. She was clad in a +yellow cotton tunic, reaching to her feet, on which were shoes. The clasps +at her shoulders, partly visible under the short cloak or shawl which was +thrown over them, and which might, if necessary, be drawn over her head, +seemed to serve the purpose, not only of fastening her dress, but of +providing her with sharp prongs or minute stilettos for her defence, in +case she fell in with ruffians by the way; and though the expression of +her face was most feminine, there was that about it which implied she +could use them for that purpose on an emergency. That face was clear in +complexion, regular in outline, and at the present time pale, whatever +might be its ordinary tint. Its charm was a noble and majestic calm. There +is the calm of divine peace and joy; there is the calm of heartlessness; +there is the calm of reckless desperation; there is the calm of death. +None of these was the calm which breathed from the features of the +stranger who intruded upon the solitude of Cæcilius. It was the calm of +Greek sculpture; it imaged a soul nourished upon the visions of genius, +and subdued and attuned by the power of a strong will. There was no +appearance of timidity in her manner; very little of modesty. The evening +sun gleamed across her amber robe, and lit it up till it glowed like fire, +as if she were invested in the marriage _flammeum_, and was to be claimed +that evening as the bride of her own bright god of day. + +She looked at Cæcilius, first with surprise, then with anxiety; and her +words were, “You, I fear, are of his people. If so, make the most of these +hours. The foe may be on you to-morrow morning. Fly while you can.” + +“If I am a Christian,” answered Cæcilius, “what are you who are so careful +of us? Have you come all the way from Sicca to give the alarm to mere +atheists and magic-mongers?” + +“Stranger,” she said, “if you had seen what I have seen, what I have heard +of to-day, you would not wonder at my wish to save from a like fate the +vilest being on earth. A hideous mob is rioting in the city, thirsting for +the blood of Christians; an accident may turn it in the direction of +Agellius. He is gone; where is he? Murderous outrages have already been +perpetrated; you remain.” + +“She who is so tender of Christians,” answered the priest, “must herself +have some sparks of the Christian flame in her own breast.” + +Callista sat down half unconsciously upon the bench or stool near the +door; but she at once suddenly started up again, and said, “Away, fly! +perhaps they are coming; where is he?” + +“Fear not,” said Cæcilius; “Agellius has been conveyed away to a safe +hiding-place; for me, I shall be taken care of; there is no need for +hurry; sit down again. But you,” he continued, “you must not be found +here.” + +“They know _me_,” she said; “I am well known here. I work for the temples. +I have nothing to fear. I am no Christian;” and, as if from an +inexplicable overruling influence, she sat down again. + +“Not a Christian yet, you mean,” answered Cæcilius. + +“A person must be born a Christian, sir,” she replied, “in order to take +up the religion. It is a very beautiful idea, as far as I have heard +anything about it; but one must suck it in with one’s mother’s milk.” + +“If so, it never could have come into the world,” said the priest. + +She paused for a while. “It is true,” she answered at length; “but a new +religion begins by appealing to what is peculiar in the minds of a few. +The doctrine, floating on the winds, finds its own; it takes possession of +their minds; they answer its call; they are brought together by that +common influence; they are strong in each other’s sympathy; they create +and throw around them an external form, and thus they found a religion. +The sons are brought up in their fathers’ faith; and what was the idea of +a few becomes at length the profession of a race. Such is Judaism; such +the religion of Zoroaster, or of the Egyptians.” + +“You will find,” said the priest, “that the greater number of African +Christians at this moment, for of them I speak confidently, are converts +in manhood, not the sons of Christians. On the other hand, if there be +those who have left the faith, and gone up to the capitol to sacrifice, +these were Christians by hereditary profession. Such is my experience, and +I think the case is the same elsewhere.” + +She seemed to be speaking more for the sake of getting answers than of +objecting arguments. She paused again, and thought; then she said, +“Mankind is made up of classes of very various mental complexion, as +distinct from each other as the colours which meet the eye. Red and blue +are incommensurable; and in like manner, a Magian never can become a +Greek, nor a Greek a Cœlicolist. They do but make themselves fools when +they attempt it.” + +“Perhaps the most deeply convinced, the most tranquil-minded in the +Christian body,” answered Cæcilius, “will tell you, on the contrary, that +there was a time when they hated Christianity, and despised and +ill-treated its professors.” + +“_I_ never did any such thing,” cried Callista, “since the day I first +heard of it. I am not its enemy, but I cannot believe in it. I am sure I +never could; I never, never should be able.” + +“What is it you cannot believe?” asked the priest. + +“It seems too beautiful,” she said, “to be anything else than a dream. It +is a thing to talk about, but when you come near its professors you see it +is impossible. A most beautiful imagination, _that_ is what it is. Most +beautiful its precepts, as far as I have heard of them; so beautiful, that +in idea there is no difficulty. The mind runs along with them, as if it +could accomplish them without an effort. Well, its maxims are too +beautiful to be realized; and then on the other hand, its dogmas are too +dismal, too shocking, too odious to be believed. They revolt me.” + +“Such as what?” asked Cæcilius. + +“Such as this,” answered Callista. “Nothing will ever make me believe that +all my people have gone and will go to an eternal Tartarus.” + +“Had we not better confine ourselves to something more specific, more +tangible?” asked Cæcilius, gravely. “I suppose if one individual may have +that terrible lot, another may—both may, many may. Suppose I understand +you to say that you never will believe that _you_ will go to an eternal +Tartarus.” + +Callista gave a slight start, and showed some uneasiness or displeasure. + +“Is it not likely,” continued he, “that you are better able to speak of +yourself, and to form a judgment about yourself, than about others? +Perhaps if you could first speak confidently about yourself, you would be +in a better position to speak about others also.” + +“Do you mean,” she said, in a calm tone, “that my place, after this life, +is an everlasting Tartarus?” + +“Are you happy?” he asked in turn. + +She paused, looked down, and in a deep clear voice said, “No.” There was a +silence. + +The priest began again: “Perhaps you have been growing in unhappiness for +years; is it so? you assent. You have a heavy burden at your heart, you +don’t well know what. And the chance is, that you _will_ grow in +unhappiness for the next ten years to come. You will be more and more +unhappy the longer you live. Did you live till you were an old woman, you +would not know how to bear your existence.” + +Callista cried out as if in bodily pain, “It is true, sir, whoever told +you. But how can you have the heart to say it, to insult and mock me!” + +“God forbid!” exclaimed Cæcilius, “but let me go on. Listen, my child. Be +brave, and dare to look at things as they are. Every day adds to your +burden. This is a law of your present being, somewhat more certain than +the assertion which you just now so confidently made, the impossibility of +your believing in that law. You cannot refuse to accept what is not an +opinion, but a fact. I say this burden which I speak of is not simply a +dogma of our creed, it is an undeniable fact of nature. You cannot change +it by wishing; if you were to live on earth two hundred years, it would +not be reversed, it would be more and more true. At the end of two hundred +years you would be too miserable even for your worst enemy to rejoice in +it.” + +Cæcilius spoke, as if half in soliloquy or meditation, though he was +looking towards Callista. The contrast between them was singular: he thus +abstracted; she too, utterly forgetful of self, but absorbed in him, and +showing it by her eager eyes, her hushed breath, her anxious attitude. At +last she said impatiently, “Father, you are speaking to yourself; you +despise me.” + +The priest looked straight at her with an open, untroubled smile, and +said, “Callista, do not doubt me, my poor child; you are in my heart. I +was praying for you shortly before you appeared. No; but, in so serious a +matter as attempting to save a soul, I like to speak to you in my Lord’s +sight. I am speaking to you, indeed I am, my child; but I am also pleading +with you on His behalf, and before His throne.” + +His voice trembled as he spoke, but he soon recovered himself. “Suffer +me,” he said. “I was saying that if you lived five hundred years on earth, +you would but have a heavier load on you as time went on. But you will not +live, you will die. Perhaps you will tell me that you will then cease to +be. I don’t believe you think so. I may take for granted that you think +with me, and with the multitude of men, that you will still live, that you +will still be _you_. You will still be the same being, but deprived of +those outward stays and reliefs and solaces, which, such as they are, you +now enjoy. You will be yourself, shut up in yourself. I have heard that +people go mad at length when placed in solitary confinement. If, then, on +passing hence, you are cut off from what you had here, and have only the +company of yourself, I think your burden will be, so far, greater, not +less than it is now. + +“Suppose, for instance, you had still your love of conversing, and could +not converse; your love of the poets of your race, and no means of +recalling them; your love of music, and no instrument to play upon; your +love of knowledge, and nothing to learn; your desire of sympathy, and no +one to love: would not that be still greater misery? + +“Let me proceed a step further: supposing you were among those whom you +actually did _not_ love; supposing you did _not_ like them, nor their +occupations, and could not understand their aims; suppose there be, as +Christians say, one Almighty God, and you did not like Him, and had no +taste for thinking of Him, and no interest in what He was and what He did; +and supposing you found that there was nothing else anywhere but He, whom +you did not love and whom you wished away: would you not be still more +wretched? + +“And if this went on for ever, would you not be in great inexpressible +pain for ever? + +“Assuming then, first, that the soul always needs external objects to rest +upon; next, that it has no prospect of any such when it leaves this +visible scene; and thirdly, that the hunger and thirst, the gnawing of the +heart, where it occurs, is as keen and piercing as a flame; it will follow +there is nothing irrational in the notion of an eternal Tartarus.” + +“I cannot answer you, sir,” said Callista, “but I do not believe the dogma +on that account a whit the more. My mind revolts from the notion. There +_must_ be some way out of it.” + +“If, on the other hand,” continued Cæcilius, not noticing her +interruption, “if all your thoughts go one way; if you have needs, +desires, aims, aspirations, all of which demand an Object, and imply, by +their very existence, that such an Object does exist also; and if nothing +here does satisfy them, and if there be a message which professes to come +from that Object, of whom you already have the presentiment, and to teach +you about Him, and to bring the remedy you crave; and if those who try +that remedy say with one voice that the remedy answers; are you not bound, +Callista, at least to look that way, to inquire into what you hear about +it, and to ask for His help, if He be, to enable you to believe in Him?” + +“This is what a slave of mine used to say,” cried Callista, abruptly; “... +and another, Agellius, hinted the same thing.... What is your remedy, what +your Object, what your love, O Christian teacher? Why are you all so +mysterious, so reserved in your communications?” + +Cæcilius was silent for a moment, and seemed at a loss for an answer. At +length he said, “Every man is in that state which you confess of yourself. +We have no love for Him who alone lasts. We love those things which do not +last, but come to an end. Things being thus, He whom we ought to love has +determined to win us back to Him. With this object He has come into His +own world, in the form of one of us men. And in that human form He opens +His arms and woos us to return to Him, our Maker. This is our Worship, +this is our Love, Callista.” + +“You talk as Chione,” Callista answered; “only that she felt, and you +teach. She could not speak of her Master without blushing for joy.... And +Agellius, when he said one word about his Master, he too began to +blush....” + +It was plain that the priest could hardly command his feelings, and they +sat for a short while in silence. Then Callista began, as if musing on +what she had heard. + +“A loved One,” she said, “yet ideal; a passion so potent, so fresh, so +innocent, so absorbing, so expulsive of other loves, so enduring, yet of +One never beheld;—mysterious! It is our own notion of the First and only +Fair, yet embodied in a substance, yet dissolving again into a sort of +imagination.... It is beyond me.” + +“There is but one Lover of souls,” cried Cæcilius, “and He loves each one +of us, as though there were no one else to love. He died for each one of +us, as if there were no one else to die for. He died on the shameful +cross. ‘Amor meus crucifixus est.’ The love which he inspires lasts, for +it is the love of the Unchangeable. It satisfies, for He is inexhaustible. +The nearer we draw to Him, the more triumphantly does He enter into us; +the longer He dwells in us, the more intimately have we possession of Him. +It is an espousal for eternity. This is why it is so easy for us to die +for our faith, at which the world marvels.” + +Presently he said, “Why will not _you_ approach Him? why will not you +leave the creature for the Creator?” + +Callista seldom lost her self-possession; for a moment she lost it now; +tears gushed from her eyes. “Impossible!” she said, “what, I? you do not +know me, father!” She paused, and then resumed in a different tone, “No! +_my_ lot is one way, yours another. I am a child of Greece, and have no +happiness but that, such as it is, which my own bright land, my own +glorious race, give me. I may well be content, I may well be resigned, I +may well be proud, if I possess _that_ happiness. I must live and die +where I have been born. I am a tree which will not bear transplanting. The +Assyrians, the Jews, the Egyptians, have their own mystical teaching. They +follow their happiness in their own way; mine is a different one. The +pride of mind, the revel of the intellect, the voice and eyes of genius, +and the fond beating heart, I cannot do without them. I cannot do without +what you, Christian, call sin. Let me alone; such as nature made me I will +be. I cannot change.” + +This sudden revulsion of her feelings quite overcame Cæcilius; yet, while +the disappointment thrilled through him, he felt a most strange sympathy +for the poor lost girl, and his reply was full of emotion. “Am _I_ a Jew?” +he exclaimed; “am _I_ an Egyptian, or an Assyrian? Have I from my youth +believed and possessed what now is my Life, my Hope, and my Love? Child, +_what_ was once my life? Am not _I_ too a brand plucked out of the fire? +Do _I_ deserve anything but evil? Is it not the Power, the Mighty Power of +the only Strong, the only Merciful, the grace of Emmanuel, which has +changed and won me? If He can change me, an old man, could He not change a +child like you? I, a proud, stern Roman; I, a lover of pleasure, a man of +letters, of political station, with formed habits, and life-long +associations, and complicated relations; was it _I_ who wrought this great +change in me, who gained for myself the power of hating what I once loved, +of unlearning what I once knew, nay, of even forgetting what once I was? +Who has made you and me to differ, but He who can, when He will, make us +to agree? It is His same Omnipotence which will transform _you_, if you +will but come to be transformed.” + +But a reaction had come over the proud and sensitive mind of the Greek +girl. “So after all, priest,” she said, “you are but a man like others; a +frail, guilty person like myself. I can find plenty of persons who do as I +do; I want some one who does not; I want some one to worship. I thought +there was something in you special and extraordinary. There was a +gentleness and tenderness mingled with your strength which was new to me. +I said, Here is at last a god. My own gods are earthly, sensual; I have no +respect for them, no faith in them. But there is nothing better anywhere +else.... Alas!...” She started up, and said with vehemence, “I thought you +sinless; you confess to crime.... Ah! how do I know,” she continued with a +shudder, “that you are better than those base hypocrites, priests of Isis +or Mithras, whose lustrations, initiations, new birth, white robes, and +laurel crowns, are but the instrument and cloak of their intense +depravity?” And she felt for the clasp upon her shoulder. + +Here her speech was interrupted by a hoarse sound, borne upon the wind as +of many voices blended into one and softened by the distance, but which, +under the circumstances, neither of the parties to the above conversation +had any difficulty in assigning to its real cause. “Dear father,” she +said, “the enemy is upon you.” + + + + + + CHAPTER XX. + + + HE SHALL NOT LOSE HIS REWARD. + + +There was no room for doubt or for delay. “What is to become of you, +Callista?” he said; “they will tear you to pieces.” + +“Fear nothing for me, father,” she answered; “I am one of them. They know +me. Alas, _I_ am no Christian! _I_ have not abjured their rites! but you, +lose not a moment.” + +“They are still at some distance,” he said, “though the wind gives us +merciful warning of their coming.” He looked about the room, and took up +the books of Holy Scripture which were on the shelf. “There is nothing +else,” he said, “of special value here. Agellius could not take them. +Here, my child, I am going to show you a great confidence. To few persons +not Christians would I show it. Take this blessed parchment; it contains +the earthly history of our Divine Master. Here you will see whom we +Christians love. Read it; keep it safely; surrender it, when you have the +opportunity, into Christian keeping. My mind tells me I am not wrong in +lending it to you.” He handed to her the Gospel of St. Luke, while he put +the two other volumes into the folds of his own tunic. + +“One word more,” she said; “your name, should I want you.” + +He took up a piece of chalk from the shelf, and wrote upon the wall in +distinct characters, + + “Thascius Cæcilius Cyprianus, Bishop of Carthage.” + +Hardly had she read the inscription when the voices of several men were +heard in the very neighbourhood of the cottage; and hoping to effect a +diversion in favour of Cæcilius, and being at once unsuspicious of danger +to herself, and careless of her life, she ran quickly forward to meet +them. Cæcilius ought to have taken to flight without a moment’s delay, but +a last sacred duty detained him. He knelt down and took the pyx from his +bosom. He had eaten nothing that day; but even if otherwise, it was a +crisis which allowed him to consume the sacred species without fasting. He +hastily opened the golden case, adored the blessed sacrament, and consumed +it, purifying its receptacle, and restoring it to its hiding-place. Then +he rose at once and left the cottage. + +He looked about; Callista was nowhere to be seen. She was gone; so much +was certain, no enemy was in sight; it only remained for him to make off +too. In the confusion he turned in the wrong direction; instead of making +off at the back of the cottage from which the voices had scared him, he +ran across the garden into the hollow way. It was all over with him in an +instant; he fell at once into the hands of the vanguard of the mob. + +Many mouths were opened upon him all at once. “The sorcerer!” cried one; +“tear him to shreds; _we’ll_ teach him to brew his spells against the +city.” “Give us back our grapes and corn,” said a second. “Have a guard,” +said a third; “he can turn you into swine or asses while there is breath +in him,” “Then be the quicker with him,” said a fourth, who was lifting up +a crowbar to discharge upon his head. “Hold!” said a tall swarthy youth, +who had already warded off several blows from him, “hold, will you? don’t +you see, if you kill him he can’t undo the spell. Make him first reverse +it all; make him take the curse off us. Bring him along; take him to +Astarte, Hercules, or old Saturn. We’ll broil him on a gridiron till he +turns all these canes into vines, and makes olive berries of the pebbles, +and turns the dust of the earth into fine flour for our eating. When he +has done all this he shall dance a jig with a wild cow, and sit down to +supper with an hyena.” + +A loud scream of exultation broke forth from the drunken and frantic +multitude. “Along with him!” continued the same speaker in a jeering tone. +“Here, put him on the ass and tie his hands behind his back. He shall go +back in triumph to the city which he loves. Mind, and don’t touch him +before the time. If you kill him, you’ll never get the curse off. Come +here, you priests of Cybele,” he added, “and be his body-guard.” And he +continued to keep a vigilant eye and hand over the old man, in spite of +them. + +The ass, though naturally a good-tempered beast, had been most sadly tried +through the day. He had been fed, indeed, out of mockery, as being the +Christians’ god; but he did not understand the shouts and caprices of the +crowd, and he only waited for an opportunity to show that he by no means +acquiesced in the proceedings of the day. And now the difficulty was to +move at all. The people kept crowding up the hollow road, and blocked the +passage, and though the greater part of the rioters had either been left +behind exhausted in Sicca itself, or had poured over the fields on each +side of Agellius’s cottage, or gone right over the hill down into the +valley beyond, yet still it was some time before the ass could move a +step, and a time of nervous suspense it was both to Cæcilius and the youth +who befriended him. At length what remained of the procession was +persuaded to turn about and make for Sicca, but in a reversed order. It +could not be brought round in so confined a space, so its rear went first +and the ass and its burden came last. As they descended the hill back +again, Cæcilius, who was mounted upon the linen and silk which had adorned +the Dea Syra before the Tertullianist had destroyed the idol, saw before +him the whole line of march. In front were flaunted the dreadful emblems +of idolatry, so far as their bearers were able still to raise them. +Drunken women, ragged boys mounted on men’s shoulders, ruffians and +bullies, savage-looking Getulians, half-human monsters from the Atlas, +monkeys and curs jabbering and howling, mummers, bacchanals, satyrs, and +gesticulators, formed the staple of the procession. Midway between the +hill which he was descending and the city lay the ravine, of which we have +several times spoken, widening out into the plain or Campus Martius, which +reached round to the steep cliffs on the north. The bridle-path, along +which he was moving, crossed it just where it was opening and became +level, so as to present no abrupt descent and ascent at the place where +the path was lowest. On the left every vestige of the ravine soon ceased, +and a free passage extended to the plain. + +The youth who had placed Cæcilius on the ass still kept close to him and +sung at the pitch of his voice, in imitation of the rest— + + “Sporting and snorting in shades of the night, + His ears pricking up, and his hoofs striking light, + And his tail whisking round, in the speed of his flight.” + +“Old man,” he continued to Cæcilius in a low voice, and in Latin, “your +curse has not worked on me yet.” + +“My son,” answered the priest, “you are granted one day more for +repentance.” + +“Lucky for you as well as for me,” was the reply: and he continued his +song:— + + “Gurta, the witch, was out with the rest; + Though as lame as a gull, by his highness possessed, + She shouldered her crutch, and danced with the best. + + “She stamped and she twirled in the shade of the yew, + Till her gossips and chums of the city danced too; + They never are slack when there’s mischief to do. + + “She danced and she coaxed, but he was no fool; + He’d be his own master, he’d not be her tool: + Not the little black moor should send him to school.” + +He then turned to Cæcilius and whispered, “You see, old father, that +others, besides Christians, can forgive and forget. Henceforth call me +generous Juba.” And he tossed his head. + +By this time they had got to the bottom of the hill, and the deep shadows +which filled the hollow showed that the sun was rapidly sinking in the +west. Suddenly, as they were crossing the bottom as it opened into the +plain, Juba seized and broke the thong which bound Cæcilius’s arms, and +bestowing a tremendous cut with it upon the side of the ass, sent him +forward upon the plain at his greatest speed. The youth’s manœuvre was +successful to the full. The asses of Africa can do more on an occasion of +this kind than our own. Cæcilius for the moment lost his seat; but, +instantly recovering it, took care to keep the animal from flagging; and +the cries of the mob, and the howlings of the priests of Cybele cooperated +in the task. At length the gloom, increasing every minute, hid him from +their view; and even in daylight his recapture would have been a difficult +matter for a wearied-out, famished, and intoxicated rabble. Before +Cæcilius well had time to return thanks for this unexpected turn of +events, he was out of pursuit, and was ambling at a pace more suitable to +the habits of the beast of burden that carried him, over an expanse of +plain which would have been a formidable night-march to a fasting man. + + + +We must not conclude the day without relating what was its issue to the +persecutors, as well as to their intended victim. It is almost a proverb +that punishment is slow in overtaking crime; but the present instance was +an exception to the rule. While the exiled Bishop of Carthage escaped, the +crowd, on the other hand, were caught in the trap which had been laid for +them. We have already said it was a _ruse_ on the part of the governing +authorities of the place to get the rioters out of the city, that they +might at once be relieved of them, and then deal with them just as they +might think fit. When the mob was once outside the walls, they might be +refused re-admittance, and put down with a strong hand. The Roman +garrison, who, powerless to quell the tumult in the narrow and winding +streets and multiplied alleys of the city, had been the authors of the +manœuvre, now took on themselves the stern completion of it, and +determined to do so in the sternest way. Not a single head of all those +who poured out in the afternoon should return at night. It was not to be +supposed that the soldiers had any tenderness for the Christians, but they +abominated and despised the rabble of the town. They were indignant at +their rising, thought it a personal insult to themselves, and resolved +they should never do so again. The gates were commonly in the custody of +the city guard, but the Porta Septimiana, by which the mob passed out, was +on this occasion claimed by the Romans. It was most suitably circumstanced +for the use they intended to make of it. Immediately outside of it was a +large court of the same level as the ground inside, bordered on the right +and left by substantial walls, which after a time were drawn to meet each +other, and contracted the space to the usual breadth of a road. The walls +continued to run along this road for some distance, till they joined the +way which led to the Campus Martius, and from this point the ground was +open till it reached the head of the ravine. The soldiers drew up at the +gate, and as the worn-out and disappointed, brutalized and half-idiotic +multitudes returned towards it from the country, those who were behind +pushed on between the border walls those who were in front, and, while +they jammed together their ranks, also made escape impossible. It was now +that the Roman soldiers began their barbarous, not to say cowardly, +assault upon them. With heavy maces, with the pike, with iron gauntlets, +with stones and bricks, with clubs, with scourge, with the sword, with the +helmet, with whatever came to hand, they commenced the massacre of that +large concourse of human beings, who did not offer one blow in return. +They slaughtered them like sheep; they trampled them down; they threw the +bodies of the wounded over the walls. Attempting to run back, numbers of +the poor wretches came into conflict with the ranks behind them, and an +additional scene of confusion and overthrow took place; many of them +straggled over to the open country or woods, and perished, either from the +weather, or from hunger, or even from the wild beasts. Others, weakened by +excess and famine, fell a prey to the pestilence that was raging. After +some days a remnant of them was allowed silently and timidly to steal back +into the city as best they could. It was a long day before the Plebs +Siccensis ventured to have any opinion of its own upon the subject of +Christianity, or any other political, social, or ecclesiastical topic +whatever. + + + + + + CHAPTER XXI. + + + STARTLING RUMOURS. + + +When Jucundus rose next morning, and heard the news, he considered it to +be more satisfactory than he could have supposed possible. He was a +zealous imperialist, and a lover of tranquillity, a despiser of the +natives and a hater of the Christians. The Christians had suffered enough +to vindicate the Roman name, to deter those who were playing at +Christianity, and to show that the people of Sicca had their eyes about +them. And the mob had received a severe lesson too; and the cause of +public order had triumphed, and civic peace was re-established. His +anxiety, too, about Agellius had terminated, or was terminating. He had +privately denounced him to the government, come to an understanding with +the military authorities, and obtained the custody of him. He had met him +at the very door to which the boy Firmian brought him, with an apparitor +of the military staff (or what answered to it), and had clapped him into +prison in an underground cellar in which he kept damaged images, and those +which had gone out of fashion, and were otherwise unsaleable. He was not +at all sorry, by some suffering, and by some fright, to aid the more +potent incantation which Callista was singing in his ears. He did not, +however, at all forget Juba’s hint, and was careful not to overdo the +rack-and-gridiron dodge, if we may so designate it; yet he thought just a +flavour or a thought of the inconveniences which the profession of +Christianity involved might be a salutary reflection in the midst of the +persuasives which the voice and eyes of Callista would kindle in his +heart. There was nothing glorious or heroic in being confined in a lumber +cellar, no one knowing anything about it; and he did not mean to keep him +there for ever. + +As the next day wore on towards evening, rumour brought a piece of news +which he was at first utterly unable to credit, and which for the moment +seemed likely to spoil the appetite which promised so well for his evening +repast. He could hardly believe his ears when he was told that Callista +was in arrest on a charge of Christianity, and at first it made him look +as black as some of those Egyptian gods which he had on one shelf of his +shop. However, he rallied, and was very much amused at the report. The +imprisonment indeed was a fact, account for it as one could; but who +_could_ account for it? “Varium et mutabile:” who could answer for the +whims and fancies of womankind? If she had fallen in love with the owl of +Minerva, or cut off her auburn tresses, or turned rope-dancer, there might +have been some shrugging of shoulders, but no one would have tried to +analyze the motive; but so much his profound sagacity enabled him to see, +that, if there was one thing more than another likely to sicken Agellius +of Christianity, it was to find one who was so precious to him suffering +from the suspicion of it. It was bad enough to have suffered one’s self in +such a cause; still he could conceive, he was large-minded enough to +grant, that Agellius might have some secret satisfaction in the antagonist +feeling of resentment and obstinacy which that suffering might engender: +but it was carrying matters too far, and no comfort in any point of view, +to find Callista, his beloved, the object of a similar punishment. It was +all very well to profess Christianity as a matter of sentiment, mystery, +and singularity; but when it was found to compromise the life or limbs of +another, and that other Callista, why it was plain that Agellius would be +the very first to try and entreat the wayward girl to keep her good looks +for him, and to be loyal to the gods of her country; and he chuckled over +the thought, as others have done in other states of society, of a +love-scene or a marriage being the termination of so much high romance and +fine acting. + +However, the next day Aristo came down to him himself, and gave him an +account at once more authentic and more extended on the matter which +interested him. Callista had been called up before the tribunal, and had +not been discharged, but remanded. The meaning of it was as obscure as +ever; Aristo could give no account of it; it almost led him to believe in +the evil eye; some unholy practices, some spells such as only potent +wizards know, some deplorable delusion or hallucination, had for the time +got the mastery of his sister’s mind. No one seemed quite to know how she +had found her way into the hands of the officers; but there she was, and +the problem was how to get her out of them. + +However, whatever mystery, whatever anxiety, attached to the case, it was +only still more urgent to bring the matter home to Agellius without delay. +If time went on before the parties were brought together, she might grow +more obstinate, and kindle a like spirit in him. Oh that boys and girls +_would_ be giving old people, who wish them well, so much trouble! +However, it was no good thinking of that just then. He considered that, at +the present moment, they would not be able to bear the sight of each other +in suffering and peril; that mutual tenderness would make them plead with +each other in each other’s behalf, and that each would be obliged to set +the example to each of a concession, to which each exhorted each; and on +this fine philosophical view he proceeded to act. + + + + + + CHAPTER XXII. + + + JUCUNDUS PROPOUNDS HIS VIEW OF THE SITUATION. + + +For thirty-six hours Agellius had been confined in his underground +receptacle, light being almost excluded, a bench and a rug being his means +of repose, and a full measure of bread, wine, and olives being his dole. +The shrieks and yells of the rioters could be distinctly heard in his +prison, as the day of his seizure went on, and they passed by the temple +of Astarte; but what happened at his farm, and how it fared with Cæcilius, +he had no means of conjecturing; nor indeed how it was to fare with +himself, for on the face of the transaction, as was in form the fact, he +was in the hands of the law, and only indulged with the house of a +relative for his prison. On the second night he was released by his +uncle’s confidential slave, who brought him up to a small back closet on +the ground floor, which was lighted from the roof, and next morning, being +the second day after the riot, Jucundus came in to have his confidential +conversation with him. + +His uncle began by telling him that he was a government prisoner, but that +he hoped by his influence in high places to get him off and out of Sicca +without any prejudice to his honour. He told him that he had managed it +privately, and if he had treated him with apparent harshness up to the +evening before, it was in order to save appearances with the apparitors +who had attended him. He then went on to inform him that the mob had +visited his cottage, and had caught some man there; he supposed some +accomplice or ally of his nephew’s. They had seized him, and were bringing +him off, but the fellow had been clever enough to effect his escape. He +did not know more than this, but it had happened very fortunately, for the +general belief in the place was, that it was Agellius who had been taken, +and who had managed to give them the slip. Since it could not any longer +be safely denied that he was a Christian, though he (Jucundus) did not +think so himself, he had encouraged or rather had given his confirmation +to the report; and when some persons who had means of knowing had asserted +that the culprit was double the age of his nephew and more, and not at all +of his make or description, but a sort of slave, or rather that he was the +slave of Agellius who had belonged to his father Strabo, Jucundus had +boldly asserted that Agellius, in the emergency, had availed himself of +some of the remarkably powerful charms which Christians were known to +possess, and had made himself seem what he really was not, in order to +escape detection. It had not indeed answered the purpose entirely, for he +had actually been taken; but no blame in the charm, which perhaps, after +all, had enabled him to escape. However, Agellius was gone, he told +people, and a good riddance, and he hoped never to see him again. “But you +see, my dear boy,” he concluded, “this was all talk for the occasion, for +I hope you will live here many years in respectability and credit. I +intend you should close my eyes when my time comes, and inherit whatever I +have to leave you; for as to that fellow Juba, he inspires me with no +confidence in him at all.” + +Agellius thanked his uncle with all his heart for his kind and successful +efforts on his behalf; he did not think there was a word he had said, in +the future he had sketched for him, which he could have wished altered. +But he thought Jucundus over-sanguine; much as he should like to live with +him and tend him in his old age, he did not think he should ever be +permitted to return to Sicca. He was a Christian, and must seek some +remote corner of the world, or at least some city where he was unknown. +Every one in Sicca would point at him as the Christian; he would +experience a thousand rubs and collisions, even if the mob did not rise +against him, without corresponding advantage; on the other hand, he would +have no influence. But were he in the midst of a powerful and +widely-extended community of Christians, he might in his place do work, +and might extend the faith as one of a number, unknown himself, and strong +in his brethren. He therefore proposed as soon as possible to sell his +effects and stock, and retire from the sight of men, at least for a time. + +“You think this persecution, then, will be soon at an end?” asked +Jucundus. + +“I judge by the past,” answered Agellius; “there have been times of trial +and of rest hitherto, and I suppose it will be so again. And one place has +hitherto been exempt from the violence of our enemies, when another has +been the scene of it.” + +“A new time is coming, trust me,” said Jucundus, gravely. “Those popular +commotions are all over. What happened two days ago is a sample of what +will come of them; they have received their _coup-de-grâce_. The State is +taking up the matter, Rome itself, thank the gods! a tougher sort of +customer than these villain ratcatchers and offal-eaters, whom you had to +do with two days since. Great Rome is now at length in earnest, my boy, +which she ought to have been a long time back, before you were born; and +then you know,” and he nodded, “you would have had no choice; you wouldn’t +have had the temptation to make a fool of yourself.” + +“Well, then,” answered Agellius, “if a new time is really coming, there is +less chance than ever of my continuing here.” + +“Now be a sensible fellow, as you are when you choose,” said his uncle; +“look the matter in the face, do. You cannot wrestle with impossibilities, +you cannot make facts to pattern. There are lawful religions, there are +illicit. Christianity is illicit; it is not tolerated; that’s not your +fault; you cannot help it; you would, if you could; you can’t. Now you +have observed your point of honour; you have shown you can stand up like a +man, and suffer for your own fancy. Still Rome does not give way; and you +must make the best of it. You must give in, and you are far too good (I +don’t compliment, I speak my mind), far too amiable, excellent, sweet a +boy for so rascally a superstition.” + +“There is something stronger than Rome,” said the nephew almost sternly. + +Jucundus cut him short. “Agellius!” he said, “you must not say that in +this house. You shall not use that language under my roof. I’ll not put up +with it, I tell you. Take your treason elsewhere.... This accursed +obstinacy!” he said to himself; “but I must take care what I am doing;” +then aloud, “Well, we both of us have been railing; no good comes of +railing; railing is not argument. But now, I say, do be sensible, if you +can. Is not the imperial government in earnest now? better late than +never, but it is now in earnest. And now mark my words, by this day five +years, five years at the utmost,—I say by this day five years there will +not be a single ragamuffin Christian in the whole Roman world.” And he +looked fierce. “Ye gods! Rome, Rome has swept from the earth by her very +breath conspiracies, confederacies, plots against her, without ever +failing; she will do so now with this contemptible, Jew-begotten foe.” + +“In what are we enemies to Rome, Jucundus?” said Agellius; “why will you +always take it for granted?” + +“Take it for granted!” answered he, “is it not on the face of the matter? +I suppose _they_ are enemies to a state, whom the state _calls_ its +enemies. Besides, why a pother of words? Swear by the genius of the +emperor, invoke the Dea Roma, sacrifice to Jove; no, not a bit of it, not +a whisper, not a sign, not a grain of incense. You go out of your way to +insult us; and then you come with a grave face, and say you are loyal. You +kick our shins, and you wish us to kiss you on both cheeks for it. A few +harmless ceremonies; we are not entrapping you; we are not using your +words against yourselves; we tell you the meaning beforehand, the whole +meaning of them. It is not as if we tied you to the belief of the nursery: +we don’t say, ‘If you burn incense, you profess to believe that old +Jupiter is shivering atop of Olympus;’ we don’t say, ‘You swear by the +genius of Cæsar, therefore he has a genius, black, or white, or piebald,’ +No, we give you the meaning of the act; it is a mere expression of loyalty +to the empire. If then you won’t do it, you confess yourself _ipso facto_ +disloyal. It is incomprehensible.” And he had become quite red. + +“My dear uncle,” said Agellius, “I give you my solemn word, that the +people whom you so detest do pray for the welfare of the imperial power +continually, as a matter of duty and as a matter of interest.” + +“Pray! pray! fudge and nonsense!” cried Jucundus, almost mimicking him in +his indignation; “pray! who thanks you for your prayers? what’s the good +of prayers? Prayers, indeed! ha, ha! A little loyalty is worth all the +praying in the world. I’ll tell you what, Agellius; you are, I am sorry to +say it, but you are hand and glove with a set of traitors, who shall and +will be smoked out like a nest of wasps. _You_ don’t know; _you_ are not +in the secret, nor the wretched slave, poor beast, who was pulled to +pieces yesterday (ah! you don’t know of him) at the Flamen’s, nor a +multitude of other idiots. But, d’ye see,” and he chucked up his head +significantly, “there are puppets, and there are wires. Few know what is +going on. They won’t have done (unless we put them down; but we will) till +they have toppled down the state. But Rome will put them down. Come, be +sensible, listen to reason; now I am going to put facts before my poor, +dear, well-meaning boy. Oh that you saw things as I do! What a trouble you +are to me! Here am I”—— + +“My dearest uncle, Jucundus,” cried Agellius, “I assure you, it is the +most intense pain to me”—— + +“Very well, very well,” interrupted the uncle in turn, “I believe it, of +course I believe it; but listen, listen. Every now and then,” he continued +in a more measured and lower tone, “every now and then the secret is +blabbed—blabbed. There was that Tertullianus of Carthage, some fifty years +since. He wrote books; books have done a great deal of harm before now; +but _read_ his books—read and ponder. The fellow has the insolence to tell +the proconsul that he and the whole government, the whole city and +province, the whole Roman world, the emperors, all but the pitiful +_clique_ to which he belongs, are destined, after death, to flames for +ever and ever. There’s loyalty! but the absurdity is greater than the +malevolence. Rightly are the fellows called atheists and men-haters. Our +soldiers, our statesmen, our magistrates, and judges, and senators, and +the whole community, all worshippers of the gods, every one who crowns his +head, every one who loves a joke, and all our great historic names, +heroes, and worthies,—the Scipios, the Decii, Brutus, Cæsar, Cato, Titus, +Trajan, Antoninus,—are inmates, not of the Elysian fields, if Elysian +fields there be, but of Tartarus, and will never find a way out of it.” + +“That man, Tertullianus, is nothing to us, uncle,” answered Agellius; “a +man of great ability, but he quarrelled with us, and left us.” + +“_I_ can’t draw nice distinctions,” said Jucundus. “Your people have +quarrelled among themselves perhaps on an understanding; we can’t split +hairs. It’s the same with your present hierophant at Carthage, Cyprianus. +Nothing can exaggerate, I am told, the foulness of his attack upon the +gods of Rome, upon Romulus, the Augurs, the Ancilia, the consuls, and +whatever a Roman is proud of. As to the imperial city itself, there’s +hardly one of their high priests that has not died under the hands of the +executioner, as a convict. The precious fellows take the title of Pontifex +Maximus; bless their impudence! Well, my boy, this is what I say; be, if +you will, so preternaturally sour and morose as to misconceive and mislike +the innocent, graceful, humanising, time-honoured usages of society; be +so, for what I care, if this is all; but it isn’t all. Such misanthropy is +wisdom, absolute wisdom, compared with the Titanic presumption and +audacity of challenging to single combat the sovereign of the world. Go +and kick down Mount Atlas first.” + +“You have it all your own way, Jucundus,” answered his nephew, “and so you +must move in your own circle, round and round. There is no touching you, +if you first assume your premisses, and then prove them by means of your +conclusion.” + +“My dear Agellius,” said his uncle, giving his head a very solemn shake, +“take the advice of an old man. When you are older than you are, you will +see better who is right and who is wrong. You’ll be sorry you despised me, +a true, a prudent, an experienced friend; you will. Shake yourself, come +do. Why should you link your fortunes, in the morning of life, with +desperate men, only because your father, in his last feeble days, was +entrapped into doing so? I really will not believe that you are going to +throw away hope and life on so bad a bargain. Can’t you speak a word? Here +you’ve let me speak, and won’t say one syllable for yourself. I don’t +think it kind of you.” + +Thus adjured, Agellius began. “Well,” he said, “it’s a long history; you +see, we start, my dear uncle, from different points. How am I possibly to +join issue with you? I can only tell you my conclusion. Hope and life, you +say. Why, my only hope, my only life, my only joy, desire, consolation, +and treasure is that I am a Christian.” + +“Hope and life!” interrupted Jucundus, “immortal gods! life and hope in +being a Christian! do I hear aright? Why, man, a prison brings despair, +not hope; and the sword brings death, not life. By Esculapius! life and +hope! you choke me, Agellius. Life and hope! you are beyond three +Anticyras. Life and hope! if you were old, if you were diseased, if you +were given over, and had but one puff of life left in you, then you might +be what you would, for me; but your hair is black, your cheek is round, +your limbs are strong, your voice is full; and you are going to make all +these a sacrifice to Hecate! has your good genius fed that plump frame, +ripened those goods looks, nerved your arm, bestowed that breadth of +chest, that strength of loins, that straightness of spine, that vigour of +step, only that you may feed the crows? or to be torn on the rack, +scorched in the flame, or hung on the gibbet? is this your gratitude to +nature? What has been your price? for what have you sold yourself? Speak, +man, speak. Are you dumb as well as dement? Are you dumb, I say, are you +dumb?” + +“O Jucundus,” cried Agellius, irritated at his own inability to express +himself or hold an argument, “if you did but know what it was to have the +Truth! The Christian has found the Truth, the eternal Truth, in a world of +error. That is his bargain, that is his hire; can there be a greater? Can +I give up the Truth? But all this is Punic or Barbar to you.” + +It certainly did pose Jucundus for half a minute, as if he was trying to +take in, not so much the sense, as the words of his nephew’s speech. He +looked bewildered, and though he began to answer him at once, it took +several sentences to bring him into his usual flow of language. After one +or two exclamations, “The truth!” he cried, “_this_ is what I understand +you to say,—the truth. The _truth_ is your bargain; I think I’m right, the +truth; Hm; what is truth? What in heaven and earth do you mean by truth? +where did you get that cant? What oriental tomfoolery is bamboozling you? +The truth!” he cried, staring at him with eyes, half of triumph, half of +impatience, “the truth! Jove help the boy!—the truth! can truth pour me +out a cup of melilotus? can truth crown me with flowers? can it sing to +me? can it bring Glyceris to me? drop gold into my girdle? or cool my +brows when fever visits me? Can truth give me a handsome suburban with +some five hundred slaves, or raise me to the duumvirate? Let it do this, +and I will worship it; it shall be my god; it shall be more to me than +Fortune, Fate, Rome, or any other goddess on the list. But _I_ like to +see, and touch, and feel, and handle, and weigh, and measure what is +promised me. I wish to have a sample and an instalment. I am too old for +chaff. Eat, drink, and be merry, that’s my philosophy, that’s my religion; +and I know no better. To-day is ours, to-morrow is our children’s.” + +After a pause, he added, bitterly, “If truth could get Callista out of +prison, instead of getting her into it, I should have something to say to +truth.” + +“Callista in prison!” cried Agellius with surprise and distress, “what do +you mean, Jucundus?” + +“Yes, it’s a fact; Callista _is_ in prison,” answered he, “and on +suspicion of Christianity.” + +“Callista! Christianity!” said Agellius, bewildered, “do I hear aright? +She a Christian! oh, impossible, uncle! you don’t mean to say that she is +in prison. Tell me, tell me, my dear, dear Jucundus, what this wonderful +news means.” + +“You ought to know more about it than I,” answered he, “if there is any +meaning in it. But if you want my opinion, here it is. I don’t believe she +is more a Christian than I am; but I think she is over head and ears in +love with you, and she has some notion that she is paying you a +compliment, or interesting you in her, or sharing your fate—(_I_ can’t +pretend to unravel the vagaries and tantarums of the female mind)—by +saying that she is what she is _not_. If not, perhaps she has done it out +of spite and contradiction. You can never answer for a woman.” + +“Whom should she spite? whom contradict?” cried Agellius, thrown for the +moment off his balance. “O Callista! Callista in prison for Christianity! +Oh if it’s true that she is a Christian! but what if she is not?” he added +with great terror, “what if she’s not, and yet in prison, as if she were? +How are we to get her out, uncle? Impossible! no, she’s not a +Christian—she is not at all. She ought not to be there! Yet how +wonderful!” + +“Well, I am sure of it, too,” said Jucundus; “I’d stake the best image in +my shop that she’s not a Christian; but what if she is perverse enough to +say she _is_? and such things are not uncommon. Then, I say, what in the +world is to be done? If she says she is, why she is. There you are; and +what can you do?” + +“You don’t mean to say,” exclaimed Agellius, “that that sweet delicate +child is in that horrible hole; impossible!” and he nearly shrieked at the +thought. “What is the meaning of it all? dear, dear uncle, do tell me +something more about it. Why did you not tell me before? What _can_ be +done?” + +Jucundus thought he now had him in his hand. “Why, it’s plain,” he +answered, “what can be _done_. She’s no Christian, we both agree. It’s +certain, too, that she chooses to say she is, or something like it. +There’s just one person who has influence with her, to make her tell the +truth.” + +“Ha!” cried Agellius, starting as if an asp had bitten him. + +Jucundus kept silence, and let the poison of the said asp work awhile in +his nephew’s blood. + +Agellius put his hands before his eyes; and with his elbows on his knees, +began moving to and fro, as if in intense pain. + +“I repeat what I have said,” Jucundus observed at length; “I do really +think that she imagines a certain young gentleman is likely to be in +trouble, and that she is determined to share the trouble with him.” + +“But it isn’t true,” cried Agellius with great vehemence; “it’s not +true.... If she really is not a Christian, O my dear Lord, surely they +won’t put her to death as if she was?” + +“But if she has made up her mind to be in the same boat with you, and +_will_ be a Christian while you are a Christian, what on earth can we do, +Agellius?” asked Jucundus. “You have the whole matter in a nutshell.” + +“She does not love me,” cried Agellius; “no, she has given me no reason to +think so. I am sure she does not. She’s nothing to me. That cannot be the +reason of her conduct. _I_ have no power over her; _I_ could not persuade +her. What, what _does_ all this mean? and I shut up here?” and he began +walking about the little room, as if such locomotion tended to bring him +out of it. + +“Well,” answered Jucundus, “it is easy to ascertain. I suppose you _could_ +be let out to see her.” + +But he was going on too fast; Agellius did not attend to him. “Poor, sweet +Callista,” he exclaimed, “she’s innocent, she’s innocent; I mean she’s not +a Christian. Ah!” he screamed out in great agony, as the whole state of +the case unrolled itself to his apprehension, “she will die though not a +Christian; she will die without faith, without love; she will die in her +sins. She will die, done to death by false report of accepting that, by +which alone she could be carried safely through death unto life. O my +Lord, spare me!” and he sank upon the ground in a collapse of misery. + +Jucundus was touched, and still more alarmed. “Come, come, my boy,” he +said, “you will rouse the whole neighbourhood. Give over; be a man; all +will be right. If she’s not a Christian (and she’s not), she shall not die +a Christian’s death; something will turn up. She’s not in any hole at all, +but in a decent lodging. And you shall see her, and console her, and all +will be right.” + +“Yes, I will see her,” said Agellius, in a sort of musing manner; “she is +either a Christian, or she is not. If she is a Christian ...” and his +voice faltered; “but if she is not, she shall live till she is.” + +“Well said!” answered Jucundus, “_till_ she is. She shall live _till_ she +is. Yes, I can get you to see her. You shall bring her out of prison; a +smile, a whisper from you, and all her fretfulness and ill-humour will +vanish, like a mist before the powerful burning sun. And we shall all be +as happy as the immortal gods.” + +“O my uncle!” said Agellius, gravely. The language of Jucundus had shocked +him, and brought him to a better mind. He turned away from Jucundus, and +leant his face against the wall. Then he turned round again, and said, “If +she _is_ a Christian, I ought to rejoice, and I do rejoice; God be +praised. If she is not a Christian, I ought at once to make her one. If +she has already the penalty of a Christian, she is surely destined for the +privilege. And how should I go,” he said, half speaking to himself, “how +should I go to tell her that she is not yet a Christian, and bid her swear +by Jupiter, because that is her god, in order that she may escape +imprisonment and death? Am I to do the part of a heathen priest or infidel +sophist? O Cæcilius, how am I forgetting your lessons! No; I will go on no +such errand. Go, I will, if I may, Jucundus, but I will go on no +conditions of yours. I go on no promise to try to get her out of prison +anyhow, poor child. I will not go to make her sacrifice to a false god; I +go to persuade her to stay in prison, by deserving to stay. Perhaps I am +not the best person to go; but if I go, I go free. I go willing to die +myself for my Lord; glad to make her die for Him.” + +Agellius said this in so determined a way, so calmly, with such a grasp of +the existing posture of affairs, and of the whole circumstances of the +case, that it was now Jucundus’s turn to feel surprise and annoyance. For +a time he did not take in what Agellius meant, nor could he to the last +follow his train of feeling. When he saw what may be called the upshot of +the matter, he became very angry, and spoke with great violence. By +degrees he calmed; and then the strong feeling came on him again that it +was impossible, if a meeting took place between the two, that it could end +in any way but one. He defied any two young people who loved each other, +to come to any but one conclusion. Agellius’s mood was too excited, too +tragic to last. The sight of Callista in that dreadful prison, perhaps in +chains, waiting, in order to be free, for ability to say the words, “I am +not a Christian;” and that ability waiting for the same words from +himself, would bring the affair to a very speedy issue. As if he could +love a fancy better than he loved Callista! Agellius, too, had already +expressed a misgiving himself on that head; so far they were agreed. And, +to tell the truth, it was a very difficult transaction for a young man; +and giving our poor Agellius all credit for pure intention and firm +resolve, we really should have been very sorry to see him involved in a +trial, which would have demanded of him a most heroic faith and the +detachment of a saint. We, therefore, are not sorry that in matter of fact +he gained the merit of so virtuous a determination, without being called +on to execute it. For it so happened, that a most unexpected event +occurred to him not many hours afterwards, which will oblige us to take up +here rather abruptly the history of one of our other personages. + + + + + + CHAPTER XXIII. + + + GURTA. + + +In the bosom of the woods which stretched for many miles from the +immediate environs of Sicca, and placed on a gravel slope reaching down to +a brook, which ran in a bottom close by, was a small, rude hut, of a kind +peculiar to Africa, and commonly ascribed to the wandering tribes, who +neither cared, nor had leisure for a more stable habitation. Some might +have called it a tent, from the goat’s-hair cloth with which it was +covered; but it looked, as to shape, like nothing else than an inverted +boat, or the roof of a house set upon the ground. Inside it was seen to be +constructed of the branches of trees, twisted together or wattled, the +interstices, or rather the whole surface, being covered with clay. Being +thus stoutly built, lined, and covered, it was proof against the +tremendous rains, to which the climate, for which it was made, was +subject. Along the centre ridge or backbone, which varied in height from +six to ten feet from the ground, it was supported by three posts or +pillars; at one end it rose conically to an open aperture, which served +for chimney, for sky-light, and for ventilator. Hooks were suspended from +the roof for baskets, articles of clothing, weapons, and implements of +various kinds; and a second cone, excavated in the ground with the vertex +downward, served as a storehouse for grain. The door was so low, that an +ordinary person must bend double to pass through it. + +However, it was in the winter months only, when the rains were profuse, +that the owner of this respectable mansion condescended to creep into it. +In summer she had a drawing-room, as it may be called, of nature’s own +creation, in which she lived, and in one quarter of which she had her +lair. Close above the hut was a high plot of level turf, surrounded by old +oaks, and fringed beneath with thick underwood. In the centre of this +green rose a yew-tree of primeval character. Indeed, the whole forest +spoke of the very beginnings of the world, as if it had been the immediate +creation of that Voice which bade the earth clothe itself with green life. +But the place no longer spoke exclusively of its Maker. Upon the trees +hung the emblems and objects of idolatry, and the turf was traced with +magical characters. Littered about were human bones, horns of wild +animals, wax figures, spermaceti taken from vaults, large nails, to which +portions of flesh adhered, as if they had had to do with malefactors, +metal plates engraved with strange characters, bottled blood, hair of +young persons, and old rags. The reader must not suppose any incantation +is about to follow, or that the place we are describing will have a +prominent place in what remains of our tale; but even if it be the scene +of only one conversation, and one event, there is no harm in describing +it, as it appeared on that occasion. + +The old crone, who was seated in this bower of delight, had an expression +of countenance in keeping, not with the place, but with the furniture with +which it was adorned; that furniture told her trade. Whether the root of +superstition might be traced deeper still, and the woman and her traps +were really and directly connected with the powers beneath the earth, it +is impossible to determine; it is certain she had the will, it is certain +that that will was from their inspiration; nay, it is certain that she +thought she really possessed the communications which she desired; it is +certain, too, she so far deceived herself as to fancy that what she +learned by mere natural means came to her from a diabolical source. She +kept up an active correspondence with Sicca. She was consulted by numbers; +she was up with the public news, the social gossip, and the private and +secret transactions of the hour; and had, before now, even interfered in +matters of state, and had been courted by rival political parties. But in +the high cares and occupations of this interesting person, we are not here +concerned; but with a conversation which took place between her and Juba, +about the same hour of the evening as that of Cæcilius’s escape, but on +the day after it, while the sun was gleaming almost horizontally through +the tall trunks of the trees of the forest. + +“Well, my precious boy,” said the old woman, “the choicest gifts of great +Cham be your portion! You had excellent sport yesterday, I’ll warrant. The +rats squeaked, eh? and you beat the life out of them. That scoundrel +sacristan, I suppose, has taken up his quarters below.” + +“You may say it,” answered Juba. “The reptile! he turned right about, and +would have made himself an honest fellow, when it couldn’t be helped.” + +“Good, good!” returned Gurta, as if she had got something very pleasant in +her mouth; “ah! that is good! but he did not escape on that score, I do +trust.” + +“They pulled him to pieces all the more cheerfully,” said Juba. + +“Pulled him to pieces, limb by limb, joint by joint, eh?” answered Gurta. +“Did they skin him?—did they do anything to his eyes, or his tongue? +Anyhow, it was too quickly, Juba. Slowly, leisurely, gradually. Yes, it’s +like a glutton to be quick about it. Taste him, handle him, play with +him,—that’s luxury! but to bolt him,—faugh!” + +“Cæso’s slave made a good end,” said Juba: “he stood up for his views, and +died like a man.” + +“The gods smite him! but he has gone up—up:” and she laughed. “Up to what +they call bliss and glory;—such glory! but he’s out of our domain, you +know. But he did not die easy?” + +“The boys worried him a good deal,” answered Juba: “but it’s not quite in +my line, mother, all this. I think you drink a pint of blood morning and +evening, and thrive on it, old woman. It makes you merry; but it’s too +much for my stomach.” + +“Ha, ha, my boy!” cried Gurta; “you’ll improve in time, though you make +wry faces, now that you’re young. Well, and have you brought me any news +from the capitol? Is any one getting a rise in the world, or a downfall? +How blows the wind? Are there changes in the camp? This Decius, I suspect, +will not last long.” + +“They all seem desperately frightened,” said Juba, “lest they should not +smite your friends hard enough, Gurta. Root and branch is the word. +They’ll have to make a few Christians for the occasion, in order to kill +them: and I almost think they’re about it,” he added, thoughtfully. “They +have to show that they are not surpassed by the rabble. ’Tis a pity +Christians are so few, isn’t it, mother?” + +“Yes, yes,” she said, “but we must crush them, grind them, many or few: +and we shall, we shall! Callista’s to come.” + +“I don’t see they are worse than other people,” said Juba; “not at all, +except that they are commonly sneaks. If Callista turns, why should not I +turn too, mother, to keep her company, and keep your hand in?” + +“No, no, my boy,” returned the witch, “you must serve _my_ master. You are +having your fling just now, but you will buckle to in good time. You must +one day take some work with my merry men. Come here, child,” said the fond +mother, “and let me kiss you.” + +“Keep your kisses for your monkeys and goats and cats,” answered Juba; +“they’re not to my taste, old dame. Master! my master! I won’t have a +master! I’ll be nobody’s servant. I’ll never stand to be hired, nor cringe +to a bully, nor quake before a rod. Please yourself, Gurta; I am a free +man. You’re my mother by courtesy only.” + +Gurta looked at him savagely. “Why, you’re not going to be pious and +virtuous, Juba? A choice saint you’ll make! You shall be drawn for a +picture.” + +“Why shouldn’t I, if I choose?” said Juba. “If I must take service, willy +nilly, I’d any day prefer the other’s to that of your friend. I’ve not +left the master to take the man.” + +“Blaspheme not the great gods,” she answered, “or they’ll do you a +mischief yet.” + +“I say again,” insisted Juba, “if I must lick the earth, it shall not be +where your friend has trod. It shall be in my brother’s fashion, rather +than in yours, Gurta.” + +“Agellius!” she shrieked out with such disgust, that it is wonderful she +uttered the name at all. “Ah! you have not told me about him, boy. Well, +is he safe in the pit, or in the stomach of an hyena?” + +“He’s alive,” said Juba; “but he has not got it in him to be a Christian. +Yes, he’s safe with his uncle.” + +“Ah! Jucundus must ruin him, debauch him, and then we must make away with +him. We must not be in a hurry,” said Gurta, “it must be body and soul.” + +“No one shall touch him, craven as he is,” answered Juba. “I despise him, +but let him alone.” + +“Don’t come across me,” said Gurta, sullenly; “I’ll have my way. Why, you +know I could smite you to the dust, as well as him, if I chose.” + +“But you have not asked me about Callista,” answered Juba. “It is really a +capital joke, but she has got into prison for certain, for being a +Christian. Fancy it! they caught her in the streets, and put her in the +guard-house, and have had her up for examination. You see they want a +Christian for the nonce: it would not do to have none such in prison; so +they will flourish with her till Decius bolts from the scene.” + +“The Furies have her!” cried Gurta: “she _is_ a Christian, my boy: I told +you so, long ago!” + +“Callista a Christian!” answered Juba, “ha! ha! She and Agellius are going +to make a match of it, of some sort or other. They’re thinking of other +things than paradise.” + +“She and the old priest, more likely, more likely,” said Gurta. “He’s in +prison with her—in the pit, as I trust.” + +“Your master has cheated you for once, old woman,” said Juba. + +Gurta looked at him fiercely, and seemed waiting for his explanation. He +began singing,— + + “She wheedled and coaxed, but he was no fool; + He’d be his own master, he’d not be her tool; + Not the little black moor should send him to school. + + “She foamed and she cursed—’twas the same thing to him; + She laid well her trap; but he carried his whim;— + The priest scuffled off, safe in life and in limb.” + +Gurta was almost suffocated with passion. “Cyprianus has not escaped, +boy?” she asked at length. + +“I got him off,” said Juba, undauntedly. + +A shade, as of Erebus, passed over the witch’s face; but she remained +quite silent. + +“Mother, I am my own master,” he continued, “I must break your assumption +of superiority. I’m not a boy, though you call me so. I’ll have my own +way. Yes, I saved Cyprianus. You’re a bloodthirsty old hag! Yes, _I’ve_ +seen your secret doings. Did not I catch you the other day, practising on +that little child? You had nailed him up by hands and feet against the +tree, and were cutting him to pieces at your leisure, as he quivered and +shrieked the while. You were examining or using his liver for some of your +black purposes. It’s not in my line; but you gloated over it; and when he +wailed, you wailed in mimicry. You were panting with pleasure.” + +Gurta was still silent, and had an expression on her face, awful from the +intensity of its malignity. She had uttered a low piercing whistle. + +“Yes!” continued Juba, “you revelled in it. You chattered to the poor babe +when it screamed, as a nurse to an infant. You called it pretty names, and +squeaked out your satisfaction each time you stuck it. You old hag! I’m +not of your breed, though they call us of kin. _I_ don’t fear you,” he +said, observing the expression of her countenance, “I don’t fear the +immortal devil!” And he continued his song— + + “She beckoned the moon, and the moon came down; + The green earth shrivelled beneath her frown; + But a man’s strong will can keep his own.” + +While he was talking and singing, her call had been answered from the hut. +An animal of some wonderful species had crept out of it, and proceeded to +creep and crawl, moeing and twisting as it went, along the trees and +shrubs which rounded the grass plot. When it came up to the old woman, it +crouched at her feet, and then rose up upon its hind legs and begged. She +took hold of the uncouth beast and began to fondle it in her arms, +muttering something in its ear. At length, when Juba stopped for a moment +in his song, she suddenly flung it right at him, with great force, saying, +“Take that!” She then gave utterance to a low inward laugh, and leaned +herself back against the trunk of the tree upon which she was sitting, +with her knees drawn up almost to her chin. + +The blow seemed to act on Juba as a shock on his nervous system, both from +its violence and its strangeness. He stood still for a moment, and then, +without saying a word, he turned away, and walked slowly down the hill, as +if in a maze. Then he sat down.... + +In an instant up he started again with a great cry, and began running at +the top of his speed. He thought he heard a voice speaking in him; and, +however fast he ran, the voice, or whatever it was, kept up with him. He +rushed through the underwood, trampling and crushing it under his feet, +and scaring the birds and small game which lodged there. At last, +exhausted, he stood still for breath, when he heard it say loudly and +deeply, as if speaking with his own organs, “You cannot escape from +yourself!” Then a terror seized him; he fell down and fainted away. + + + + + + CHAPTER XXIV. + + + A MOTHER’S BLESSING. + + +When his senses returned, his first impression was of something in him not +himself. He felt it in his breathing; he tasted it in his mouth. The brook +which ran by Gurta’s encampment had by this time become a streamlet, +though still shallow. He plunged into it; a feeling came upon him as if he +ought to drown himself, had it been deeper. He rolled about in it, in +spite of its flinty and rocky bed. When he came out of it, his tunic +sticking to him, he tore it off his shoulders, and let it hang round his +girdle in shreds, as it might. The shock of the water, however, acted as a +sedative upon him, and the coolness of the night refreshed him. He walked +on for a while in silence. + +Suddenly the power within him began uttering, by means of his organs of +speech, the most fearful blasphemies, words embodying conceptions which, +had they come into his mind, he might indeed have borne with patience +before this, or uttered in bravado, but which now filled him with +inexpressible loathing, and a terror to which he had hitherto been quite a +stranger. He had always in his heart believed in a God, but he now +believed with a reality and intensity utterly new to him. He felt it as if +he saw Him; he felt there was a world of good and evil beings. He did not +love the good, or hate the evil; but he shrank from the one, and he was +terrified at the other; and he felt himself carried away, against his +will, as the prey of some dreadful, mysterious power, which tyrannised +over him. + +The day had closed—the moon had risen. He plunged into the thickest wood, +and the trees seemed to him to make way for him. Still they seemed to moan +and to creak as they moved out of their place. Soon he began to see that +they were looking at him, and exulting over his misery. They, of an +inferior nature, had had no gift which they could abuse and lose; and they +remained in that honour and perfection in which they were created. Birds +of the night flew out of them, reptiles slunk away; yet soon he began to +be surrounded, wherever he went, by a circle of owls, bats, ravens, crows, +snakes, wild cats, and apes, which were always looking at him, but somehow +made way, retreating before him, and yet forming again, and in order, as +he marched along. + +He had passed through the wing of the forest which he had entered, and +penetrated into the more mountainous country. He ascended the heights; he +was a taller, stronger man than he had been; he went forward with a +preternatural vigour, and flourished his arms with the excitement of some +vinous or gaseous intoxication. He heard the roar of the wild beasts +echoed along the woody ravines which were cut into the solid mountain +rock, with a reckless feeling, as if he could cope with them. As he passed +the dens of the lion, leopard, hyena, jackal, wild boar, and wolf, there +he saw them sitting at the entrance, or stopping suddenly as they prowled +along, and eyeing him, but not daring to approach. He strode along from +rock to rock, and over precipices, with the certainty and ease of some +giant in Eastern fable. Suddenly a beast of prey came across him; in a +moment he had torn up by the roots the stump of a wild vine plant, which +was near him; had thrown himself upon his foe before it could act on the +aggressive, had flung it upon its back, forced the weapon into its mouth, +and was stamping on its chest. He knocked the life out of the furious +animal; and crying “Take that,” tore its flesh, and, applying his mouth to +the wound, sucked a draught of its blood. + +He has passed over the mountain, and has descended its side. Bristling +shrubs, swamps, precipitous banks, rushing torrents, are no obstacle to +his course. He has reached the brow of a hill, with a deep placid river at +the foot of it, just as the dawn begins to break. It is a lovely prospect, +which every step he takes is becoming more definite and more various in +the daylight. Masses of oleander, of great beauty, with their red +blossoms, fringed the river, and tracked out its course into the distance. +The bank of the hill below him, and on the right and left, was a maze of +fruit-trees, about which nature, if it were not the hand of man, had had +no thought except that they should be all together there. The wild olive, +the pomegranate, the citron, the date, the mulberry, the peach, the apple, +and the walnut, formed a sort of spontaneous orchard. Across the water, +groves of palm-trees waved their long and graceful branches in the morning +breeze. The stately and solemn ilex, marshalled into long avenues, showed +the way to substantial granges or luxurious villas. The green turf or +grass was spread out beneath, and here and there flocks and herds were +emerging out of the twilight, and growing distinct upon the eye. Elsewhere +the ground rose up into sudden eminences crowned with chestnut woods, or +with plantations of cedar and acacia, or wildernesses of the cork-tree, +the turpentine, the carooba, the white poplar, and the Phenician juniper, +while overhead ascended the clinging tendrils of the hop, and an underwood +of myrtle clothed their stems and roots. A profusion of wild flowers +carpeted the ground far and near. + +Juba stood and gazed till the sun rose opposite to him, envying, repining, +hating, like Satan looking in upon Paradise. The wild mountains, or the +locust-smitten track would have better suited the tumult of his mind. It +would have been a relief to him to have retreated from so fair a scene, +and to have retraced his steps, but he was not his own master, and was +hurried on. Sorely against his determined strong resolve and will, crying +out and protesting and shuddering, the youth was forced along into the +fulness of beauty and blessing with which he was so little in tune. With +rage and terror he recognised that he had no part in his own movements, +but was a mere slave. In spite of himself he must go forward and behold a +peace and sweetness which witnessed against him. He dashed down through +the thick grass, plunged into the water, and without rest or respite began +a second course of aimless toil and travail through the day. + +The savage dogs of the villages howled and fled from him as he passed by; +beasts of burden, on their way to market, which he overtook or met, stood +still, foamed and trembled; the bright birds, the blue jay and golden +oriole, hid themselves under the leaves and grass; the storks, a religious +and domestic bird, stopped their sharp clattering note from the high tree +or farmhouse turret, where they had placed their nests; the very reptiles +skulked away from his shadow, as if it were poisonous. The boors who were +at their labour in the fields suspended it, to look at one whom the Furies +were lashing and whirling on. Hour passed after hour, the sun attained its +zenith, and then declined, but this dreadful compulsory race continued. +Oh, what would he have given for one five minutes of oblivion, of slumber, +of relief from the burning thirst which now consumed him! but the master +within him ruled his muscles and his joints, and the intense pain of +weariness had no concomitant prostration of strength. Suddenly he began to +laugh hideously; and he went forward dancing and singing loud, and playing +antics. He entered a hovel, made faces at the children, till one of them +fell into convulsions, and he ran away with another; and when some country +people pursued him, he flung the child in their faces, saying, “Take +that,” and said he was Pentheus, king of Thebes, of whom he had never +heard, about to solemnise the orgies of Bacchus, and he began to spout a +chorus of Greek, a language he had never learnt or heard spoken. + +Now it is evening again, and he has come up to a village grove, where the +rustics were holding a feast in honour of Pan. The hideous brutal god, +with yawning mouth, horned head, and goat’s feet, was placed in a rude +shed, and a slaughtered lamb, decked with flowers, lay at his feet. The +peasants were frisking before him, boys and women, when they were startled +by the sight of a gaunt, wild, mysterious figure, which began to dance +too. He flung and capered about with such vigour that they ceased their +sport to look on, half with awe and half as a diversion. Suddenly he began +to groan and to shriek, as if contending with himself, and willing and not +willing some new act; and the struggle ended in his falling on his hands +and knees, and crawling like a quadruped towards the idol. When he got +near, his attitude was still more servile; still groaning and shuddering, +he laid himself flat on the ground, and wriggled to the idol as a worm, +and lapped up with his tongue the mingled blood and dust which lay about +the sacrifice. And then again, as if nature had successfully asserted her +own dignity, he jumped up high in the air, and, falling on the god, broke +him to pieces, and scampered away out of pursuit, before the lookers-on +recovered from their surprise. + +Another restless, fearful night amid the open country; ... but it seemed +as if the worst had passed, and, though still under the heavy chastisement +of his pride, there was now more in Juba of human action and of effectual +will. The day broke, and he found himself on the road to Sicca. The +beautiful outline of the city was right before him. He passed his +brother’s cottage and garden; it was a wreck. The trees torn up, the +fences broken down, and the room pillaged of the little that could be +found there. He went on to the city, crying out “Agellius;” the gate was +open, and he entered. He went on to the Forum; he crossed to the house of +Jucundus; few people as yet were stirring in the place. He looked up at +the wall. Suddenly, by the help of projections, and other irregularities +of the brickwork, he mounted up upon the flat roof, and dropped down along +the tiles, through the _impluvium_ into the middle of the house. He went +softly into Agellius’s closet, where he was asleep, he roused him with the +name of Callista, threw his tunic upon him, which was by his side, put his +boots into his hands, and silently beckoned him to follow him. When he +hesitated, he still whispered to him “Callista,” and at length seized him +and led him on. He unbarred the street door, and with a movement of his +arm, more like a blow than a farewell, thrust him into the street. Then he +barred again the door upon him, and lay down himself upon the bed which +Agellius had left. His good Angel, we may suppose, had gained a point in +his favour, for he lay quiet, and fell into a heavy sleep. + + + + + + CHAPTER XXV. + + + CALLISTA IN DURANCE. + + +We will hope that the reader, as well as Agellius, is attracted by the +word Callista, and wishes to know something about her fate; nay, perhaps +finds fault with us as having suffered him so long to content himself with +the chance and second-hand information which Jucundus or Juba has +supplied. If we have been wanting in due consideration for him, we now +trust to make up for it. + +When Callista, then, had so boldly left the cottage to stop the intruders, +she had in one important point reckoned without her host. She spoke Latin +fluently, herself, and could converse with the townspeople, most of whom +could do the same; but it was otherwise with the inhabitants of the +country, numbers of whom, as we have said, were in Sicca on the day of the +outbreak. The two fellows, whom she went out to withstand, knew neither +her nor the Latin tongue. They were of a race which called itself +Canaanite, and really was so; huge, gigantic men, who looked like the sons +of Enac, described in Holy Writ. They knew nothing of roads or fences, and +had scrambled up the hill as they could, the shortest way, and, being free +from the crowd, with far more expedition than had they followed the beaten +track. She and they could not understand each other’s speech; but her +appearance spoke for her, and, in consequence, they seized on her as their +share of the booty, and without more ado, carried her off towards Sicca. +As they came up by a route of their own, so they returned, and entered the +city by a gate more to the south, not the Septimian; a happy circumstance, +as otherwise she would have stood every chance of being destroyed in that +wholesale massacre which the soldiery inflicted on the crowd as it +returned. + +These giants, then, got possession of Callista, and she entered Sicca upon +the shoulder of one of them, who danced in with no greater inconvenience +than if he was carrying on it a basket of flowers, or a box of millinery. +Here the party met with the city police, who were stationed at the gate. + +“Down with your live luggage, you rascals,” they said, in their harsh +Punic; “what have you to do with plunder of this kind? and how came you by +her?” + +“She’s one of those Christian rats, your worship,” answered the fellow, +who, strong as he was, did not relish a contest with some dozen of armed +men. “Long live the Emperor! We’ll teach her to eat asses’ heads another +time, and brew fevers. I found her with a party of Christians. She’s +nothing but a witch, and she knows the consequences.” + +“Let her go, you drunken animal!” said the constable, still keeping his +distance. “I’ll never believe any woman is a Christian, let alone so young +a one. And now I look at her, so far as I can see by this light, I think +she’s priestess of one of the great temples up there.” + +“She can turn herself into anything,” said the other of her capturers, +“young or old. I saw her one night near Madaura, a month ago, in the tombs +in the shape of a black cat.” + +“Away with you both, in the name of the Suffetes of Sicca and all the +magistracy!” cried the official. “Give up your prisoner to the authorities +of the place, and let the law take its course.” + +But the Canaanites did not seem disposed to give her up, and neither party +liking to attack the other, a compromise took place. “Well,” said the +guardian of the night, “the law must be vindicated, and the peace +preserved. My friends, you must submit to the magistrates. But since she +happens to be on your shoulder, my man, let her even remain there, and we +depute you, as a beast of burden, to carry her for us, thereby to save us +the trouble. Here, child,” he continued, “you’re our prisoner; so you +shall plead your own cause in the _popina_ there. Long live Decius, pious +and fortunate! Long live this ancient city, colony and municipium! Cheer +up, my lass, and sing us a stave or two, as we go; for I’ll pledge a +_cyathus_ of unmixed, that, if you choose, you can warble notes as sweet +as the manna gum.” + +Callista was silent, but she was perfectly collected, and ready to avail +herself of any opportunity to better her condition. They went on towards +the Forum, where a police-office, as we now speak, was situated, but did +not reach it without an adventure. The Roman military force at Sicca was +not more than a century of men; the greater number were at this moment at +the great gate, waiting for the mob; a few, in parties of three and four, +were patrolling the city. Several of these were at the entrance of the +Forum when the party came up to it; and it happened that a superior +officer, who was an assistant to what may be called the military president +of the place, a young man, on whom much of the duty of the day had +devolved, was with the soldiers. She had known him as a friend of her +brother’s, and recognised him in the gloom, and at once took advantage of +the meeting. + +“Help,” she said, “gentlemen! help, Calphurnius! these rascals are +carrying me off to some den of their own.” + +The tribune at once knew her voice. “What!” he cried, with great +astonishment, “what, my pretty Greek! You most base, infamous, and +unmannerly scoundrels, down with her this instant! What have you to do +with that young lady? You villains, unless you would have me crack your +African skulls with the hilt of my sword, down with her, I say!” + +There was no resisting a Roman voice, but prompt obedience is a rarity, +and the ruffians began to parley. “My noble master,” said the constable, +“she’s our prisoner. Jove preserve you, and Bacchus and Ceres bless you, +my lord tribune! and long life to the Emperor Decius in these bad times. +But she is a rioter, my lord, one of the ringleaders, and a Christian and +a witch to boot.” + +“Cease your vile gutturals, you animal!” cried the officer, “or I will ram +them down your throat with my pike to digest them. Put down the lady, +beast. Are you thinking twice about it? Go, Lucius,” he said to a private, +“kick him away, and bring the woman here.” + +Callista was surrendered, but the fellow, sullen at the usage he had met +with, and spiteful against Calphurnius, as the cause of it, cried out +maliciously, “Mind what you are at, noble sir, it’s not our affair; you +can fry your own garlic. But an Emperor is an Emperor, and an Edict is an +Edict, and a Christian is a Christian; and I don’t know what high places +will say to it, but it’s your affair. Take notice,” he continued, as he +got to a safer distance, raising his voice still higher, that the soldiers +might hear, “yon girl is a Christian priestess, caught in a Christian +assembly, sacrificing asses and eating children for the overthrow of the +Emperor, and the ruin of his loyal city of Sicca, and I have been +interrupted in the discharge of my duty—I, a constable of the place. See +whether Calphurnius will not bring again upon us the plague, the murrain, +the locusts, and all manner of _larvæ_ and _maniæ_ before the end of the +story.” + +This speech perplexed Calphurnius, as it was intended. It was impossible +he could dispose of Callista as he wished, with such a charge formally +uttered in the presence of his men. He knew how serious the question of +Christianity was at that moment, and how determined the Imperial +Government was on the eradication of its professors; he was a good +soldier, devoted to head-quarters, and had no wish to compromise himself +with his superiors, or to give bystanders an advantage over him, by +setting a prisoner at liberty without inquiry, who had been taken in a +Christian’s house. He muttered an oath, and said to the soldiers, “Well, +my lads, to the Triumviri with her, since it must be so. Cheer up, my star +of the morning, bright beam of Hellas, it is only as a matter of form, and +you will be set at liberty as soon as they look on you.” And with these +words he led the way to the _Officium_. + +But the presiding genius of the _Officium_ was less accommodating than he +had anticipated. It might be that he was jealous of the soldiery, or of +their particular interference, or indignant at the butchery at the great +gate, of which the news had just come, or out of humour with the day’s +work, and especially with the Christians; at any rate, Calphurnius found +he had better have taken a bolder step, and have carried her as a prisoner +to the camp. However, nothing was now left for him but to depart; and +Callista fell again into the hands of the city, though of the superior +functionaries, who procured her a lodging for the night, and settled to +bring her up for examination next morning. + +The morning came, and she was had up. What passed did not transpire; but +the issue was that she was remanded for a further hearing, and was told +she might send to her brother, and acquaint him where she was. He was +allowed one interview with her, and he came away almost out of his senses, +saying she was bewitched, and fancied herself a Christian. What precisely +she had said to him, which gave this impression, he could hardly say; but +it was plain there must be something wrong, or there would not be that +public process and formal examination which was fixed for the third day +afterwards. + + + + + + CHAPTER XXVI. + + + WHAT CAN IT ALL MEAN? + + +Were the origin of Juba’s madness (or whatever the world would call it) of +a character which admitted of light writing about it, much might be said +on the surprise of the clear-headed, narrow-minded, positive, and +easy-going Jucundus, when he found one nephew substituted for another, and +had to give over his wonder at Agellius, in order to commence a series of +acts of amazement and consternation at Juba. He summoned Jupiter and Juno, +Bacchus, Ceres, Pomona, Neptune, Mercury, Minerva, and great Rome, to +witness the marvellous occurrence; and then he had recourse to the +infernal gods, Pluto and Proserpine, down to Cerberus, if he be one of +them; but, after all, there the portent was, in spite of all the deities +which Olympus, or Arcadia, or Latium ever bred; and at length it had a +nervous effect upon the old gentleman’s system, and, for the first evening +after it, he put all his good things from him, and went to bed supperless +and songless. What had been Juba’s motive in the exploit which so +unpleasantly affected his uncle, it is of course quite impossible to say. +Whether his mention of Callista’s name was intended to be for the benefit +of her soul, or the ruin of Agellius’s, must be left in the obscurity in +which the above narrative presents it to us; so far alone is certain, +though it does not seem to throw light on the question, that, on his +leaving his uncle’s house in the course of the forenoon, which he did, +without being pressed to stay, he was discovered prancing and +gesticulating in the neighbourhood of Callista’s prison, so as to excite +the attention of the _apparitor_, or constable, who guarded the entrance, +and who, alarmed at his wildness, sent for some of his fellows, and, with +their assistance, repelled the intruder, who, thereupon, scudding out at +the eastern gate, was soon lost in the passes of the mountain. + +To one thing, however, we may pledge ourselves, that Juba had no intention +of shaking, even for one evening, the nerves of Jucundus; yet shaken they +were till about the same time twenty-four hours afterwards. And when in +that depressed state, he saw nothing but misery on all sides of him. Juba +was lost; Agellius worse. Of course, he had joined himself to his sect, +and he should never see him again; and how should he ever hold up his +head? Well, he only hoped Agellius would not be boiled in a caldron, or +roasted at a slow fire. If this were done, he positively must leave Sicca, +and the most thriving trade which any man had in the whole of the +Proconsulate. And then that little Callista! Ah!—what a real calamity was +there! Anyhow he had lost her, and what should he do for a finisher of his +fine work in marble, or metal? She was a treasure in herself. Altogether +the heavens were very dark; and it was scarcely possible for any one who +knew well his jovial cast of countenance, to keep from laughing, whatever +his real sympathy, at the unusual length and blankness which were suddenly +imposed upon it. + +While he sat thus at his shop window, which, as it were, framed him for +the contemplation of passers-by, on the day of the escape of Agellius, and +the day before Callista’s public examination, Aristo rushed in upon him in +a state of far more passionate and more reasonable grief. He had called, +indeed, the day before, but he found a pleasure in expending his distress +upon others, and he came again to get rid of its insupportable weight by +discharging it in a torrent of tears and exclamations. However, at first +the words of both “moved slow,” as the poet says, and went off in a sort +of dropping fire. + +“Well,” said Jucundus, in a depressed tone; “he’s not come to _you_, of +course?” + +“Who?” + +“Agellius.” + +“Oh! Agellius! No, he’s not with me.” Then, after a pause, Aristo added, +“Why should he be?” + +“Oh, I don’t know. I thought he might be. He’s been gone since early +morning.” + +“Indeed! No, I don’t know where he is. How came he with you?” + +“I told you yesterday; but you have forgotten. I was sheltering him; but +he’s gone for ever.” + +“Indeed!” + +“And his brother’s mad!—horribly mad!” and he slapped his hand against his +thigh. + +“I always thought it,” answered Aristo. + +“Did you? Yes, so it is; but it’s very different from what it ever was. +The furies have got hold of him with a vengeance! He’s frantic! Oh, if you +had seen him! Two boys, both mad! It’s all the father!” + +“I thought you’d like to hear something about dear, sweet Callista,” said +her brother. + +“Yes, I should indeed!” answered Jucundus. “By Esculapius! they’re all mad +together!” + +“Well, it is like madness!” cried Aristo, with great vehemence. + +“The world’s going mad!” answered Jucundus, who was picking up, since he +began to talk, an exercise which was decidedly good for him. “We are _all_ +going mad! _I_ shall get crazed. The townspeople are crazed already. What +an abominable, brutal piece of business was that three days ago! I put up +my shutters. Did it come near you?—all on account of one or two beggarly +Christians, and my poor boy. What harm could two or three, toads and +vipers though they be, do here? They might have been trodden down easily. +It’s another thing at Carthage. Catch the ringleaders, I say; make +examples. The foxes escape, and our poor ganders suffer!” + +Aristo, pierced with his own misery, had no heart or head to enter into +the semi-political ideas of Jucundus, who continued,— + +“Yes, it’s no good. The empire’s coming to pieces, mark my words! I told +you so, if those beasts were let alone. They _have_ been let alone. +Remedies are too late. Decius will do no good. No one’s safe! Farewell, my +friends! I am going. Like poor dear Callista, I shall be in prison, and, +like her, find myself dumb!... Ah! yes, Callista; how did you find her?” + +“O dear, sweet, suffering girl!” cried her brother. + +“Yes, indeed!” answered Jucundus; “yes!” meditatively. “She _is_ a dear, +sweet, suffering girl! I thought he might perhaps have taken her off—that +was my hope. He was so set upon hearing where she was, whether she could +be got out. It struck me he had made the best of his way to _her_. She +could do anything with him. And she loved him, she did!—I’m convinced of +it!—nothing shall convince me otherwise! ‘Bring them together,’ I said, +‘and they will rush into each other’s arms.’ But they’re bewitched!—The +whole world’s bewitched! Mark my words,—I have an idea who is at the +bottom of this.” + +“Oh!” groaned out Aristo; “I care not for top or bottom!—I care not for +the whole world, or for anything at all but Callista! If you could have +seen the dear, patient sufferer!” and the poor fellow burst into a flood +of tears. + +“Bear up! bear up!” said Jucundus, who by this time was considerably +better; “show yourself a man, my dear Aristo. These things must be;—they +are the lot of human nature. You remember what the tragedian says: stay! +no!—it’s the comedian,—it’s Menander”—— + +“To Orcus and Erebus with all the tragedy and comedy that ever was +spouted!” exclaimed Aristo. “Can you do nothing for me? Can’t you give me +a crumb of consolation or sympathy, encouragement or suggestion? I am a +stranger in the country, and so is this dear sister of mine, whom I was so +proud of; and who has been so good, and kind, and gentle, and sweet. She +loved me so much, she never grudged me anything; she let me do just what I +would with her. Come here, go there,—it was just as I would. There we +were, two orphans together, ten years since, when I was double her age. +She wished to stay in Greece; but she came to this detestable Africa all +for me. She would be gay and bright when I would have her so. She had no +will of her own; and she set her heart upon nothing, and was pleased +anywhere. She had not an enemy in the world. I protest she is worth all +the gods and goddesses that ever were hatched! And here, in this +ill-omened Africa, the evil eye has looked at her, and she thinks herself +a Christian, when she is just as much a hippogriff, or a chimæra.” + +“Well, but, Aristo,” said Jucundus, “I was going to tell you who is at the +bottom of it all. Callista’s mad; Agellius is mad; Juba is mad; and Strabo +was mad;—but it was his wife, old Gurta, that drove him mad;—and there, I +think, is the beginning of our troubles.——Come in! come in, Cornelius!” he +cried, seeing his Roman friend outside, and relapsing for the moment into +his lugubrious tone; “Come in, Cornelius, and give us some comfort, if you +can. Well, this is like a friend! I know if you can help me, you will.” + +Cornelius answered that he was going back to Carthage in a day or two, and +came to embrace him, and had hoped to have a parting supper before he +went. + +“That’s kind!” answered Jucundus: “but first tell me all about this +dreadful affair; for you are in the secrets of the Capitol. Have they any +clue what has become of my poor Agellius?” + +Cornelius had not heard of the young man’s troubles, and was full of +consternation at the news. + +“What! Agellius really a Christian?” he said, “and at such a moment? Why, +I thought you talked of some young lady who was to keep him in order?” + +“She’s a Christian too,” replied Jucundus; and a silence ensued. “It’s a +bad world!” he continued. “She’s imprisoned by the Triumviri. What will be +the end of it?” + +Cornelius shook his head, and looked mysterious. + +“You don’t mean it?” said Jucundus. “Not anything so dreadful, I do trust, +Cornelius. Not the stake?” + +Cornelius still looked gloomy and pompous. + +“Nothing in the way of torture?” he went on; “not the rack, or the +pitchfork?” + +“It’s a bad business, on your own showing,” said Cornelius: “it’s a bad +business!” + +“Can you do nothing for us, Cornelius?” cried Aristo. “The great people in +Carthage are your friends. O Cornelius! I’d do anything for you!—I’d be +your slave! She’s no more a Christian than great Jove. She has nothing +about her of the cut;—not a shred of her garment, or a turn of her hair. +She’s a Greek from head to foot—within and without. She’s as bright as the +day! Ah! we have no friends here. Dear Callista! you will be lost because +you are a foreigner!” and the passionate youth began to tear his hair. “O +Cornelius!” he continued, “if you can do anything for us! Oh! she shall +sing and dance to you; she shall come and kneel down to you, and embrace +your knees, and kiss your feet, as I do, Cornelius!” and he knelt down, +and would have taken hold of Cornelius’s beard. + +Cornelius had never been addressed with so poetical a ceremonial, which +nevertheless he received with awkwardness indeed, but with satisfaction. +“I hear from you,” he said with pomposity, “that your sister is in prison +on suspicion of Christianity. The case is a simple one. Let her swear by +the genius of the Emperor, and she is free; let her refuse it, and the law +must take its course,” and he made a slight bow. + +“Well, but she is under a delusion,” persisted Aristo, “which cannot last +long. She says distinctly that she is _not_ a Christian, is not that +decisive? but then she won’t burn incense; she won’t swear by Rome. She +tells me she does not _believe_ in Jupiter, nor I; can anything be more +senseless? It is the act of a mad woman. I say, ‘My girl, the question is, +Are you to be brought to shame? are you to die by the public sword? die in +torments?’ Oh, I shall go mad as well as she!” he screamed out. “She was +so clever, so witty, so sprightly, so imaginative, so versatile! why, +there’s nothing she couldn’t do. She could model, paint, play on the lyre, +sing, act. She could work with the needle, she could embroider. She made +this girdle for me. It’s all that Agellius, it’s Agellius. I beg your +pardon, Jucundus; but it is;” and he threw himself on the ground, and +rolled in the dust. + +“I have been telling our young friend,” said Jucundus to Cornelius, “to +exert self-control, and to recollect Menander, ‘Ne quid nimis.’ Grieving +does no good; but these young fellows, it’s no use at all speaking to +them. Do you think you could do anything for us, Cornelius?” + +“Why,” answered Cornelius, “since I have been here, I have fallen in with +a very sensible man, and a man of remarkably sound political opinions. He +has a great reputation, he is called Polemo, and is one of the professors +at the Mercury. He seems to me to go to the root of these subjects, and +I’m surprised how well we agreed. He’s a Greek, as well as this young +gentleman’s sister. I should recommend him to go to Polemo; if any one +could disabuse her mind, it is he.” + +“True, true,” cried Aristo, starting up, “but, no, _you_ can do it better; +you have power with the government. The Proconsul will listen to you. The +magistrates here are afraid of _him_; _they_ don’t wish to touch the poor +girl, not they. But there’s such a noise everywhere, and so much ill +blood, and so many spies and informers, and so much mistrust—but why +should it come upon _Callista_? Why should _she_ be a sacrifice? But you’d +oblige the Duumvirs as much as me in getting her out of the scrape. But +what good would it do, if they _took_ her dear life? Only get us the +respite of a month; the delusion would vanish in a month. Get two months, +if you can; or as long as you can, you know. Perhaps they would let us +steal out of the country, and no one the wiser; and no harm to any one. It +was a bad job our coming here.” + +“We know nothing at Rome of feelings and intentions, and motives and +distinctions,” said Cornelius; “and we know nothing of understandings, +connivances, and evasions. We go by facts; Rome goes by facts. The +question is, What is the fact? Does she burn incense, or does she not? +Does she worship the ass, or does she not? However, we’ll see what can be +done.” And so he went on, informing the pair of mourners that, as far as +his influence extended, he would do something in behalf both of Agellius +and Callista. + + + + + + CHAPTER XXVII. + + + AM I A CHRISTIAN? + + +The sun had now descended for the last time before the solemn day which +was charged with the fate of Callista, and what was the state of mind of +one who excited such keen interest in the narrow circle within which she +was known? And how does it differ from what it was some weeks before, when +Agellius last saw her? She would have been unable to say herself. “So is +the kingdom of God: as if a man should cast seed into the earth, and +should sleep and rise night and day, and the seed should spring and grow +up, whilst he knoweth not.” She might, indeed, have been able afterwards, +on looking back, to say many things of herself; and she would have +recognised that while she was continually differing from herself, in that +she was changing, yet it was not a change which involved contrariety, but +one which expanded itself in (as it were) concentric circles, and only +fulfilled, as time went on, the promise of its beginning. Every day, as it +came, was, so to say, the child of the preceding, the parent of that which +followed; and the end to which she tended could not get beyond the aim +with which she set out. Yet, had she been asked, at the time of which we +speak, where was her principle and her consistency, what was her logic, or +whether she acted on reason, or on impulse, or on feeling, or in fancy, or +in passion, she would have been reduced to silence. What did she know +about herself, but that, to her surprise, the more she thought over what +she heard of Christianity, the more she was drawn to it, and the more it +approved itself to her whole soul, and the more it seemed to respond to +all her needs and aspirations, and the more intimate was her presentiment +that it was true? The longer it remained on her mind as an object, the +more it seemed (unlike the mythology or the philosophy of her country, or +the political religion of Rome) to have an external reality and substance, +which deprived objections to it of their power, and showed them to be at +best but difficulties and perplexities. + +But then again, if she had been asked, what was Christianity, she would +have been puzzled to give an answer. She would have been able to mention +some particular truths which it taught, but neither to give them their +definite and distinct shape, nor to describe the mode in which they were +realised. She would have said, “I believe what has been told me, as from +heaven, by Chione, Agellius, and Cæcilius:” and it was clear she could say +nothing else. What the three told her in common and in concord was at once +the measure of her creed and the ground of her acceptance of it. It was +that wonderful unity of sentiment and belief in persons so dissimilar from +each other, so distinct in their circumstances, so independent in their +testimony, which recommended to her the doctrine which they were so +unanimous in teaching. She had long given up any belief in the religion of +her country. As to philosophy, it dwelt only in conjecture and opinion; +whereas the very essence of religion was, as she felt, a recognition of +the worshippers on the part of the Object of it. Religion could not be +without hope. To worship a being who did not speak to us, recognise us, +love us, was not religion. It might be a duty, it might be a merit; but +her instinctive notion of religion was the soul’s response to a God who +had taken notice of the soul. It was loving intercourse, or it was a name. +Now the three witnesses who had addressed her about Christianity had each +of them made it to consist in the intimate Divine Presence in the heart. +It was the friendship or mutual love of person with person. Here was the +very teaching which already was so urgently demanded both by her reason +and her heart, which she found nowhere else; which she found existing one +and the same in a female slave, in a country youth, in a learned priest. + +This was the broad impression which they made upon her mind. When she +turned to consider more in detail what it was they taught, or what was +implied in that idea of religion which so much approved itself to her, she +understood them to say that the Creator of heaven and earth, Almighty, +All-good, clothed in all the attributes which philosophy gives Him, the +Infinite, had loved the soul of man so much, and her soul in particular, +that He had come upon earth in the form of a man, and in that form had +gone through sufferings, in order to unite all souls to Him; that He +desired to love, and to be loved; that He had said so; that He had called +on man to love Him, and did actually bring to pass this loving intercourse +of Him and man in those souls who surrendered themselves to Him. She did +not go much further than this; but as much as this was before her mind +morning, noon, and night. It pleaded in her; it importuned her; it would +not be rebuffed. It did not mind her moods, or disgusts, or doubts, or +denials, or dismissals, but came again and again. It rose before her, in +spite of the contempt, reproach, and persecution which the profession of +it involved. It smiled upon her; it made promises to her; it opened +eternal views to her; and it grew upon her convictions in clearness of +perception, in congruity, and in persuasiveness. + +Moreover, the more she thought of Chione, of Agellius, and of Cæcilius the +more surely did she discern that this teaching wrought in them a something +which she had not. They had about them a simplicity, a truthfulness, a +decision, an elevation, a calmness, and a sanctity to which she was a +stranger, which spoke to her heart and absolutely overcame her. The image +of Cæcilius, in particular, came out prominently and eloquently in her +memory,—not in his words so much as in his manner. In spite of what she +had injuriously said to him, she really felt drawn to worship him, as if +he were the shrine and the home of that Presence to which he bore such +solemn witness. + +O the change, when, as if in punishment for her wild words against him, +she found herself actually in the hands of lawless men, who were as far +below her in sentiment as he was above her! O the change, when she was +dizzied by their brutal vociferations and rapid motion, and that breath +and atmosphere of evil which steamed up from the rankness of their +impiety! O the thankfulness which rose up in her heart, though but vaguely +directed to an object, when she found the repose and quiet, though it was +that of a prison! for young as she was, she had become tired of all things +that were seen, and had no strong desire, except for meditation on the +great truths which she did not know. + +One day passes and then another; and now the morning and the hour is come +when she must appear before the magistrates of Sicca. With dread, with +agitation, she looks forward to the moment. She has not yet a peace within +her. Her peace is the stillness of the room in which she is imprisoned. +She knows it will pass away when she leaves it; she knows that again she +must be in the hands of cruel, godless men, with whom she has no sympathy; +but she has no stay whereon to lean in the terrible trial. Her brother +comes to her: he affects to forget her perverseness or delusion. He comes +to her with a smile, and throws his arms around her; and Callista repels, +from some indescribable feeling, his ardent caress, as if she were no +longer his. He has come to accompany her to court, by an indulgence which +he had obtained; to support her there,—to carry her through, and to take +her back in triumph home. My sister,—why that strange, piteous look upon +thy countenance?—why that paleness of thy cheek?—why that whisper of thy +lips?—why those wistful, gentle pleadings of thine eyes? Sweet eyes, and +brow, and cheek, in which I have ever prided myself! Why so backward?—why +so distant and unfriendly? Am I not come to rescue thee from a place where +thou never shouldst have been?—where thou ne’er shalt be again? Callista, +what is this mystery?—speak! + +Such as this was the mute expostulation conveyed in Aristo’s look, and in +the fond grasp of his hand; while treading down forcibly within him his +memory and his fears of her great change, he determined she should be to +him still all that she had ever been. But how altered was that look, and +how relaxed that grasp, when at length her misery found words, and she +said to him in agitation, “My time is short: I want some Christian, a +Christian priest!” + +It was as though she had never shown any tendency before to the proscribed +religion. The words came to him with the intensity of something new and +unimagined hitherto. He clasped his hands in emotion, turned white, and +could but say, “Callista!” If she had made confession of the most heinous +of crimes,—if she had spoken of murder, or some black treachery against +himself,—of some enormity too great for words, it might have been; but his +sister!—his pride and delight, after all and certainly a Christian! Better +far had she said she was leaving him for ever, to abandon herself to the +degrading service of the temples; better had she said she had taken +hemlock, or had an asp in her bosom, than that she should choose to go out +of the world with the tortures, the ignominy, the malediction of the +religion of slaves. + +Time waits for no man, nor does the court of justice, nor the _subsellia_ +of the magistrate. The examination is to be held in the Basilica at the +Forum, and it requires from us a few words of explanation beforehand. The +local magistrates then could only try the lesser offences, and decide +civil suits; cases of suspected Christianity were reserved for the Roman +authorities. Still, preliminary examinations were not unfrequently +conducted by the city Duumvirs, or even in what may be called the police +courts. And this may have especially been the case in the Proconsulates. +Proprætors and Presidents were in the appointment of the Emperor, and +joined in their persons the supreme civil and military authority. Such +provinces, perhaps, were better administered; but there would be more of +arbitrariness in their rule, and it would not be so acceptable to the +ruled. The Proconsuls, on the other hand, were representatives of the +Senate, and had not the military force directly in their hands. The +natural tendency of this arrangement was to create, on the one hand, a +rivalry between the civil and military establishments; and, on the other, +to create a friendly feeling between the Proconsul and the local +magistracy. Thus, not long before the date of this history, we read of +Gordian, the Proconsul, enjoying a remarkable popularity in his African +province; and when the people rose against the exactions of the imperial +Procurator, as referred to in a former page, they chose and supported +Gordian against him. But however this might be in general, so it was at +this time at Sicca, that the Proconsular _Officium_ and the city +magistrates were on a good understanding with each other, whereas there +was some collision between the latter and the military. Not much depends +in the conduct of our story upon this circumstance; but it must be taken +to account for the examination of Callista in the Forum, and for some +other details which may follow before we come to the end of it. + +The populace was collected about the gates and within the ample space of +the Basilica, but they gave expression to no strong feeling on the subject +of a Christian delinquent. The famine, the sickness, and, above all, the +lesson which they had received so lately from the soldiers, had both +diminished their numbers and cowed their spirit. They were sullen, too, +and resentful; and, with the changeableness proverbial in a multitude, had +rather have witnessed the beheading of a magistrate, or the burning of a +tribune, than the torture and death of a dozen of wretched Christians. +Besides, they had had a glut of Christian blood; a reaction of feeling had +taken place, and, in spite of the suspicion of witchcraft, the youth and +the beauty of Callista recommended her to their compassion. + +The magistrates were seated on the _subsellia_, one of the Duumvirs +presiding, in his white robe bordered with purple; his lictors, with +staves, not fasces, standing behind him. In the vestibule of the court, to +confront the prisoner on her first entrance, were the usual instruments of +torture. The charge was one which can only be compared, in the estimation +of both state and people in that day, to that of witchcraft, poisoning, +parricide, or other monstrous iniquity in Christian times. There were the +heavy _boiæ_, a yoke for the neck, of iron, or of wood; the fetters; the +_nervi_, or stocks, in which hands and feet were inserted, at distances +from each other which strained or dislocated the joints. There, too, were +the _virgæ_, or rods with thorns in them; the _flagra_, _lori_, and +_plumbati_, whips and thongs, cutting with iron or bruising with lead; the +heavy clubs; the hook for digging into the flesh; the _ungula_, said to +have been a pair of scissors; the _scorpio_, and _pecten_, iron combs or +rakes for tearing. And there was the wheel, fringed with spikes, on which +the culprit was stretched; and there was the fire ready lighted, with the +water hissing and groaning in the large caldrons which were placed upon +it. Callista had lost for ever that noble intellectual composure of which +we have several times spoken; she shuddered at what she saw, and almost +fainted, and, while waiting for her summons, leaned heavily against the +merciless _cornicularius_ at her side. + + + +At length the judge began—“Let the servant from the _Officium_ stand +forth.” The _officialis_ answered that he had brought a prisoner charged +with Christianity; she had been brought to him by the military on the +night of the riot. + +The _scriba_ then read out the deposition of one of the _stationarii_, to +the effect that he and his fellow-soldiers had received her from the hands +of the civic force on the night in question, and had brought her to the +office of the Triumvirs. + +“Bring forward the prisoner,” said the judge; she was brought forward. + +“Here she is,” answered the _officialis_, according to the prescribed +form. + +“What is your name?” said the judge. + +She answered, “Callista.” + +The judge then asked if she was a freewoman or a slave. + +She answered, “Free; the daughter of Orsilochus, lapidary, of +Proconnesus.” + +Some conversation then went on among the magistrates as to her advocate or +_defensor_. Aristo presented himself, but the question arose whether he +was _togatus_. He was known, however, to several magistrates, and was +admitted to stand by his sister. + +Then the _scriba_ read the charge—viz., that Callista was a Christian, and +refused to sacrifice to the gods. + +It was a plain question of fact, which required neither witnesses nor +speeches. At a sign from the Duumvir in came two priests, bringing in +between them the small altar of Jupiter; the charcoal was ready lighted, +the incense at the side, and the judge called to the prisoner to sprinkle +it upon the flame for the good fortune of Decius and his son. All eyes +were turned upon her. + +“I am not a Christian,” she said; “I told you so before. I have never been +to a Christian place of worship, nor taken any Christian oath, nor joined +in any Christian sacrifice. And I should lie did I say that I was in any +sense a Christian.” + +There was a silence; then the judge said, “Prove your words; there is the +altar, the flame, and the incense; sacrifice to the genius of the +Emperor.” + +She said, “What can I do? I am not a Christian.” The judges looked at each +other, as much as to say, “It is the old story; it is that inexplicable, +hateful obstinacy, which will neither yield to reason, common sense, +expediency, or fear.” + +The Duumvir only repeated the single word, “Sacrifice.” + +She stopped awhile; then she came forward with a hurried step. “O my +fate!” she cried, “why was I born? why am I in this strait? I have no god. +What can I do? I am abandoned; why should I not do it?” She stopped; then +she went right on to the altar; she took the incense: suddenly she looked +up to heaven and started, and threw it away. “I cannot! I dare not!” she +cried out. There was a great sensation in court. “Evidently insane,” said +some of the more merciful of the Decurions; “poor thing, poor thing!” Her +brother ran up to her; talked to her, conjured her, fell down on his knees +to her; took her hand violently, and would have forced her to offer. In +vain; all he could get from her was, “I am not a Christian; indeed, I am +not a Christian. I have nothing to do with them. O the misery!” + +“She is mad!” cried Aristo; “my lord judges, listen to me. She was seized +by brutal ruffians during the riot, and the fright and shock have overcome +her. Give her time, oh! give her time, and she will get right. She’s a +good religious girl; she has done more work for the temples than any girl +in Sicca; half the statues in the city are her finishing. Many of you, my +lords, have her handiwork. She works with me. Do not add to my anguish in +seeing her deranged, by punishing her as a criminal, a Christian: do not +take her from me. Sentence her, and you end the whole matter; give her a +chance, and she will certainly be restored to the gods and to me. Will you +put her to death because she is mad?” + +What was to be done? The court was obsequious to the Proconsul, afraid of +Rome; jealous that the mob should have been more forward than the +magistracy. Had the city moved sooner, as soon as the edict came, there +would have been no rising, no riot. Already they had been called on for a +report about that riot and an explanation; if ever they had need to look +sharp what they were doing, it was now. On the other hand, Callista and +her brother had friends among the judges, as we have said, and their plea +was at once obvious and reasonable. “If she persists, she persists, and +nothing can be said; we don’t wish to be disloyal, or careless of the +emperor’s commands. If she is obstinate, she must die; but she dies quite +as usefully to us, with quite as much effect, a month hence as now. Not +that we ask you to define a time on your own authority; simply do this, +write to Carthage for advice. The government can answer within an hour, if +it chooses. Merely say, ‘Here is a young woman, who has ever been +religious and well conducted, of great accomplishments, and known +especially for her taste and skill in religious art, who since the day of +the riot has suddenly refused to take the test. She can give no reason for +her refusal, and protests she is not a Christian. Her friends say that the +fright has turned her brain, but that if kindly treated and kept quiet, +she will come round, and do all that is required of her. What are we to +do?’ ” + +At last Callista’s friends prevailed. It was decided that the judges +should pass over this examination altogether, as if it had been rendered +informal by Callista’s conduct. Had they recognised it as a proper legal +process, they must have sentenced and executed her. Such a decision was of +this further advantage to her, that nothing was altered as to her place of +confinement. Instead of being handed over to the state prison, she +remained in her former lodging, though in custody, and was allowed to see +her friends. There had been very little chance of her recovery, supposing +she was mad, or of ever coming out, if she had once gone into the +formidable _Carcer_. Meanwhile the magistrates sent to Carthage for +instructions. + + + + + + CHAPTER XXVIII. + + + A SICK CALL. + + +Aristo was not a fellow to have very long distresses; he never would have +died of love or of envy, for honour or for loss of property; but his +present calamity was one of the greatest he could ever have, and weighed +upon him as long as ever any one could. His love for his sister was real, +but it would not do to look too closely into the grounds of it; if we are +obliged to do so, we must confess to a suspicion that it lay rather in +certain outward, nay, accidental attributes of Callista, than in Callista +herself. Did she lose her good looks, or her amiable unresisting +submission to his wishes, whatever they were, she would also lose her hold +upon his affections. This is not to make any severe charge against him, +considering how it is with the common run of brothers and sisters, +husbands and wives; at the same time, most people certainly are haunted by +the memory of the past, and love for “Auld lang syne,” and this Aristo +might indeed have had, and perhaps had not. He loved chiefly for the +present, and by the hour. + +However, at the present time he was in a state of acute suffering, and, +under its paroxysm, he bethought him again of Cornelius’s advice, which he +had rejected, to betake himself to Polemo. He had a distant acquaintance +with him, sufficient for his purpose, and he called on him at the Mercury +after the latter’s lecture. Polemo was no fool, though steeped in +affectation and self-conceit, and Aristo fancied that his sister might be +more moved by a philosophical compatriot than any one else. Polemo’s +astonishment, however, when the matter was proposed to him surpassed +words, and it showed how utterly Aristo was absorbed in his own misery, +that the possibility of such a reception should not have occurred to him. +What, he, the friend of Plotinus, of Rogatian, and the other noble men and +women who were his fellow-disciples at Rome; he, a member of the +intellectual aristocracy of the metropolis of the world; what, he to visit +a felon in prison! and when he found the felon was a Christian, he fully +thought that Aristo had come to insult him, and was on the point of +bidding him leave him to himself. Aristo, however, persisted; and his +evident anguish, and some particulars which came out, softened him. +Callista was a Greek; a literate, or blue stocking. She had never indeed +worn the philosophic pallium (as some Christian martyrs afterwards, if not +before, have done—St. Catherine and St. Euphemia), but there was no reason +why she should not do so. Polemo recollected having heard of her at the +Capitol, and in the triclinium of one of the Decurions, as a lady of +singular genius and attainments; and he lately had made an attempt to form +a female class of hearers, and it would be a feather in his cap to make a +convert of her. So, not many days after, one evening, accompanied by +Aristo, he set out in his litter to the lodging where she was in custody; +not, however, without much misgiving when it came to the point, some +shame, and a consequent visible awkwardness and stiffness in his manner. +All the perfumes he had about him could not hinder the disgust of such a +visit rising up into his nostrils. + +Callista’s room was very well for a prison; it was on the ground-floor of +a house of many stories, close to the _Officium_ of the Triumvirate. +Though not any longer under their strict jurisdiction, she was allowed to +remain where she had first been lodged. She was in one of the rooms +belonging to an apparitor of that _Officium_, and, as he had a wife, or at +least a partner, to take care of her, she might consider herself very well +off. However, the reader must recollect that we are in Africa, in the +month of July, and our young Greek was little used to heats, which made +the whole city nothing less than one vast oven through the greater part of +the twenty-four hours. In lofty spacious apartments the resource adopted +is to exclude the external air, and to live as Greenlanders, with closed +windows and doors; this was both impossible, and would have been +unsuccessful, if attempted in the small apartment of Callista. But fever +of mind is even worse than the heat of the sky; and it is undeniable that +her health, and her strength, and her appearance are affected by both the +physical and the moral enemy. The beauty, which was her brother’s delight, +is waning away; and the shadows, if not the rudiments of a diviner +loveliness, which is of expression, not of feature, which inspires not +human passion, but diffuses chaste thoughts and aspirations, are taking +its place. Aristo sees the change with no kind of satisfaction. The room +has a bench, two or three stools, and a bed of rushes in one corner. A +staple is firmly fixed in the wall; and an iron chain, light, however, and +long, if the two ideas can be reconciled, reaches to her slender arm, and +is joined to it by an iron ring. + +On Polemo’s entering the room, his first exclamation was to complain of +its closeness; but he had to do a work, so he began it without delay. +Callista, on her part, started; she had no wish for his presence. She was +reclining on her couch, and she sat up. She was not equal to a +controversy, nor did she mean to have one, whatever might be the case with +_him_. + +“Callista, my life and joy, dear Callista,” said her brother, “I have +brought the greatest man in Sicca to see you.” + +Callista cast upon him an earnest look, which soon subsided into +indifference. He had a rose of Cyrene in his hand, whose perfume he +diffused about the small room. + +“It is Polemo,” continued Aristo, “the friend of the great Plotinus, who +knows all philosophies and all philosophers. He has come out of kindness +to you.” + +Callista acknowledged his presence; it was certainly, she said, a great +kindness for any one to visit her, and there. + +Polemo replied by a compliment; he said it was Socrates visiting Aspasia. +There had always been women above the standard of their sex, and they had +ever held an intellectual converse with men of mind. He saw one such +before him. + +Callista felt it would be plunging her soul still deeper into shadows, +when she sought realities, if she must take part in such an argument. She +remained silent. + +“Your sister has not the fit upon her?” asked Polemo of Aristo aside, +neither liking her reception of him, nor knowing what to say. “Not at all, +dear thing,” answered Aristo; “she is all attention for you to begin.” + +“Natives of Greece,” at length said he, “natives of Greece should know +each other; they deserve to know each other; there is a secret sympathy +between them. Like that mysterious influence which unites magnet to +magnet; or like the echo which is a repercussion of the original voice. +So, in like manner, Greeks are what none but they can be,” and he smelt at +his rose and bowed. + +She smiled faintly when he mentioned Greece. “Yes,” she said, “I am fonder +of Greece than of Africa.” + +“Each has its advantages,” said Polemo; “there is a pleasure in imparting +knowledge, in lighting flame from flame. It would be selfish did we not +leave Greece to communicate what they have not here. But you,” he added, +“lady, neither can learn in Greece nor teach in Africa, while you are in +this vestibule of Orcus. I understand, however, it is your own choice; can +that be possible?” + +“Well, I wish to get out, if I could, most learned Polemo,” said Callista +sadly. + +“May Polemo of Rhodes speak frankly to Callista of Proconnesus?” asked +Polemo. “I would not speak to every one. If so, let me ask, what keeps you +here?” + +“The magistrates of Sicca and this iron chain,” answered Callista. “I +would I could be elsewhere; I would I were not what I am.” + +“What could you wish to be more than you are?” answered Polemo; “more +gifted, accomplished, beautiful than any daughter of Africa.” + +“Go to the point, Polemo,” said Aristo, nervously, though respectfully; +“she wants home-thrusts.” + +“I see my brother wants you to ask how far it depends on me that I am +here,” said Callista, wishing to hasten his movements; “it is because I +will not burn incense upon the altar of Jupiter.” + +“A most insufficient reason, lady,” said Polemo. + +Callista was silent. + +“What does that action mean?” said Polemo; “it proposes to mean nothing +else than that you are loyal to the Roman power. You are not of those +Greeks, I presume, who dream of a national insurrection at this time? then +you are loyal to Rome. Did I believe a Leonidas could now arise, an +Harmodius, a Miltiades, a Themistocles, a Pericles, an Epaminondas, I +should be as ready to take the sword as another; but it is hopeless. +Greece, then, makes no claim on you just now. Nor will I believe, though +you were to tell me so yourself, that you are leagued with any obscure, +fanatic sect who desire Rome’s downfall. Consider what Rome is;” and now +he had got into the magnificent commonplace, out of his last panegyrical +oration with which he had primed himself before he set out. “I am a +Greek,” he said, “I love Greece, but I love truth better; and I look at +facts. I grasp them, and I confess to them. The wide earth, through untold +centuries, has at length grown into the imperial dominion of One. It has +converged and coalesced in all its various parts into one Rome. This, +which we see, is the last, the perfect state of human society. The course +of things, the force of natural powers, as is well understood by all great +lawyers and philosophers, cannot go further. Unity has come at length, and +unity is eternity. It will be for ever, because it is a whole. The +principle of dissolution is eliminated. We have reached the _apotelesma_ +of the world. Greece, Egypt, Assyria, Libya, Etruria, Lydia, have all had +their share in the result. Each of them, in its own day, has striven in +vain to stop the course of fate, and has been hurried onwards at its +wheels as its victim or its instrument. And shall Judæa do what profound +Egypt and subtle Greece have tried in vain? If even the freedom of +thought, the liberal scepticism, nay, the revolutionary theories of Hellas +have proved unequal to the task of splitting up the Roman power, if the +pomp and luxury of the East have failed, shall the mysticism of Syria +succeed?” + +“Well, dear Callista, are you listening?” cried Aristo, not over-confident +of the fact, though Polemo looked round at him with astonishment. + +“Ten centuries,” he continued, “ten centuries have just been completed +since Rome began her victorious career. For ten centuries she has been +fulfilling her high mission in the dispositions of Destiny, and perfecting +her maxims of policy and rules of government. For ten centuries she has +pursued one track with an ever-growing intensity of zeal, and an +ever-widening extent of territory. What can she not do? just one thing; +and that one thing which she has not presumed to do, you are attempting. +She has maintained her own religion, as was fitting; but she has never +thrown contempt on the religion of others. This you are doing. Observe, +Callista, Rome herself, in spite of her great power, has yielded to that +necessity which is greater. She does not meddle with the religions of the +peoples. She has opened no war against their diversities of rite. The +conquering power found, especially in the East, innumerable traditions, +customs, prejudices, principles, superstitions, matted together in one +hopeless mass; she left them as they were; she recognised them; it would +have been the worse for her if she had done otherwise. All she said to the +peoples, all she dared say to them, was, ‘You bear with me, and I will +bear with you.’ Yet this you will not do; you Christians, who have no +pretence to any territory, who are not even the smallest of the peoples, +who are not even a people at all, you have the fanaticism to denounce all +other rites but your own, nay, the religion of great Rome. Who are you? +upstarts and vagabonds of yesterday. Older religions than yours, more +intellectual, more beautiful religions, which have had a position, and a +history, and a political influence, have come to nought; and shall you +prevail, you, a _congeries_, a hotch-potch of the leavings, and scraps, +and broken meat of the great peoples of the East and West? Blush, blush, +Grecian Callista, you with a glorious nationality of your own to go shares +with some hundred peasants, slaves, thieves, beggars, hucksters, tinkers, +cobblers, and fishermen! A lady of high character, of brilliant +accomplishments, to be the associate of the outcasts of society!” + +Polemo’s speech, though cumbrous, did execution, at least the termination +of it, upon minds constituted like the Grecian. Aristo jumped up, swore an +oath, and looked round triumphantly at Callista, who felt its force also. +After all, what did she know of Christians?—at best she was leaving the +known for the unknown: she was sure to be embracing certain evil for +contingent good. She said to herself, “No, I never can be a Christian.” +Then she said aloud, “My Lord Polemo, I am not a Christian;—I never said I +was.” + +“That is her absurdity!” cried Aristo. “She is neither one thing nor the +other. She won’t say she’s a Christian, and she won’t sacrifice!” + +“It is my misfortune,” she said, “I know. I am losing both what I see, and +what I don’t see. It is most inconsistent: yet what can I do?” + +Polemo had said what he considered enough. He was one of those who sold +his words. He had already been over-generous, and was disposed to give +away no more. + +After a time, Callista said, “Polemo, do you believe in one God?” + +“Certainly,” he answered; “I believe in one eternal, self-existing +something.” + +“Well,” she said, “I feel that God within my heart. I feel myself in His +presence. He says to me, ‘Do this: don’t do that,’ You may tell me that +this dictate is a mere law of my nature, as is to joy or to grieve. I +cannot understand this. No, it is the echo of a person speaking to me. +Nothing shall persuade me that it does not ultimately proceed from a +person external to me. It carries with it its proof of its divine origin. +My nature feels towards it as towards a person. When I obey it, I feel a +satisfaction; when I disobey, a soreness—just like that which I feel in +pleasing or offending some revered friend. So you see, Polemo, I believe +in what is more than a mere ‘something.’ I believe in what is more real to +me than sun, moon, stars, and the fair earth, and the voice of friends. +You will say, Who is He? Has He ever told you anything about Himself? +Alas! no!—the more’s the pity! But I will not give up what I have, because +I have not more. An echo implies a voice; a voice a speaker. That speaker +I love and I fear.” + +Here she was exhausted, and overcome too, poor Callista! with her own +emotions. + +“O that I could find Him!” she exclaimed, passionately. “On the right hand +and on the left I grope, but touch Him not. Why dost Thou fight against +me?—why dost Thou scare and perplex me, O First and Only Fair? I have Thee +not, and I need Thee.” She added, “I am no Christian, you see, or I should +have found Him; or at least I should say I had found Him.” + +“It is hopeless,” said Polemo to Aristo, in much disgust, and with some +hauteur of manner: “she is too far gone. You should not have brought me to +this place.” + +Aristo groaned. + +“Shall I,” she continued, “worship any but Him? Shall I say that He whom I +see not, whom I seek, is our Jupiter, or Cæsar, or the goddess Rome? They +are none of them images of this inward guide of mine. I sacrifice to Him +alone.” + +The two men looked at each other in amazement: one of them in anger. + +“It’s like the demon of Socrates,” said Aristo, timidly. + +“I will acknowledge Cæsar in every fitting way,” she repeated; “but I will +not make him my God.” + +Presently she added, “Polemo, will not that invisible Monitor have +something to say to all of us,—to you,—at some future day?” + +“Spare me! spare me, Callista!” cried Polemo, starting up with a violence +unsuited to his station and profession. “Spare my ears, unhappy +woman!—such words have never hitherto entered them. I did not come to be +insulted. Poor, blind, hapless, perverse spirit—I separate myself from you +for ever! Desert, if you will, the majestic, bright, beneficent traditions +of your forefathers, and live in this frightful superstition! Farewell!” + +He did not seem better pleased with Aristo than with Callista, though +Aristo helped him into his litter, walked by his side, and did what he +could to propitiate him. + + + + + + CHAPTER XXIX. + + + CONVERSION. + + +If there is a state of mind utterly forlorn, it is that in which we left +the poor prisoner after Polemo had departed. She was neither a Christian, +nor was she not. She was in the midway region of inquiry, which as surely +takes time to pass over, except there be some almost miraculous +interference, as it takes time to walk from place to place. You see a +person coming towards you, and you say, impatiently, “Why don’t you come +faster?—why are you not here already?” Why?—because it takes time. To see +that heathenism is false,—to see that Christianity is true,—are two acts, +and involve two processes. They may indeed be united, and the truth may +supplant the error; but they may not. Callista obeyed, as far as truth was +brought home to her. She saw the vanity of idols before she had faith in +Him who came to destroy them. She could safely say, “I discard Jupiter:” +she could not say, “I am a Christian.” Besides, what did she know of +Christians? How did she know that they would admit her, if she wished it? +They were a secret society, with an election, an initiation, and +oaths;—not a mere philosophical school, or a profession of opinion, open +to any individual. If they were the good people that she fancied them to +be,—and if they were not, she would not think of them at all,—they were +not likely to accept of her. + +Still, though we may account for her conduct, its issue was not, on that +account, the less painful. She had neither the promise of this world, nor +of the next, and was losing earth without gaining heaven. Our Lord is +reported to have said, “Be ye good money-changers.” Poor Callista did not +know how to turn herself to account. It had been so all through her short +life. She had ardent affections, and keen sensibilities, and high +aspirations; but she was not fortunate in the application of them. She had +put herself into her brother’s hands, and had let him direct her course. +It could not be expected that he would be very different from the world. +We are cautioned against “rejoicing in our youth.” Aristo rejoiced in his +without restraint; and he made his sister rejoice in hers, if enjoyment it +was. He himself found in the pleasures he pointed out a banquet of +fruits:—she dust and ashes. And so she went on; not changing her life, +from habit, from the captivity of nature, but weary, disappointed, +fastidious, hungry, yet not knowing what she would have; yearning after +something, she did not well know what. And as heretofore she had cast her +lot with the world, yet had received no price for her adhesion, so now she +had bid it farewell; yet had nothing to take in its place. + +As to her brother, after the visit of Polemo, he got more and more +annoyed—angry rather than distressed, and angry with her. One more +opportunity occurred of her release, and it was the last effort he made to +move her. Cornelius, in spite of his pomposity, had acted the part of a +real friend. He wrote from Carthage, that he had happily succeeded in his +application to government, and, difficult and unusual as was the grace, +had obtained her release. He sent the formal documents for carrying it +through the court, and gained the eager benediction of the excitable +Aristo. He rushed with the parchments to the magistrates, who recognised +them as sufficient, and got an order for admission to her room. + +“Joy, my dearest,” he cried; “you are free! We will leave this loathsome +country by the first vessel. I have seen the magistrates already.” + +The colour came into her wan face, she clasped her hands together, and +looked earnestly at Aristo. He proceeded to explain the process of +liberation. She would not be called on to sacrifice, but must sign a +writing to the effect that she had done so, and there would be an end of +the whole matter. On the first statement she saw no difficulty in the +proposal, and started up in animation. Presently her countenance fell; how +could she say that she had done what it was treason to her inward Guide to +do? What was the difference between acknowledging a blasphemy by a +signature or by incense? She smiled sorrowfully at him, shook her head, +and lay down again upon her rushes. She had anticipated the Church’s +judgment on the case of the _Libellatici_. + +Aristo could not at first believe he heard aright, that she refused to be +saved by what seemed to him a matter of legal form; and his anger grew so +high as to eclipse and to shake his affection. “Lost girl,” he cried, “I +abandon you to the Furies!” and he shook his clenched hand at her. He +turned away, and said he would never see her again, and he kept his word. +He never came again. He took refuge, with less restraint than was usual to +him, in such pleasures as the city could supply, and strove to drive his +sister from his mind by dissipation. He mixed in the games of the Campus +Martius under the shadow of the mountain; took part with the revellers in +the Forum, and ended the evening at the Thermæ. Sometimes the image of +dear Callista, as once she looked, would rush into his mind with a force +which would not be denied, and he would weep for a whole night. + +At length he determined to destroy himself, after the example of so many +great men. He gave a sumptuous entertainment, expending his means upon it, +and invited his friends to partake of it. It passed off with great gaiety; +nothing was wanting to make it equal to an occasion so special and +singular. He disclosed to his guests his purpose, and they applauded; the +last libations were made—the revellers departed—the lights were +extinguished. Aristo disappeared that night: Sicca never saw him again. +After some time it was found that he was at Carthage, and he had been +provident enough to take with him some of his best working tools, and some +specimens of his own and poor Callista’s skill. + +Strange to say, Jucundus proved a truer friend to the poor girl than her +brother. In spite of his selfishness and hatred of Christians, he was +considerably affected as her case got more and more serious, and it became +evident that only one answer could be returned to the magistrates from +Carthage. He was quite easy about Agellius, who had, as he considered, +successfully made off with himself, and he was reconciled to the thought +of never seeing him again. Had it not been for this, one might have +fancied that some lurking anxiety about the fate of his nephew might have +kept alive the fidget which Callista’s dismal situation gave him, for the +philosopher tells us, that pity always has something in it of self; but, +under the circumstances, it would be rash judgment to have any such +suspicion of his motives. He was not a cruel man: even the “hoary-headed +Fabian,” or Cyprian, or others whom he so roundly abused, would have +found, when it came to the point, that his bluster was his worst weapon +against them; at any rate he had enough of the “milk of human kindness” to +feel considerable distress about that idiotic Callista. + +Yet what could he do? He might as well stop the passage of the sun, as the +movements of mighty Rome, and a rescript would be coming to a certainty in +due time from Carthage, and would just say one thing, which would +forthwith be passing into the region of fact. He had no one to consult, +and to tell the truth, Callista’s fate was more than acquiesced in by the +public of Sicca. Her death seemed a solution of various perplexities and +troubles into which the edict had brought them; it would be purchasing the +praise of loyalty cheaply. Moreover, there were sets of men actually +hostile to her and her brother; the companies of statuaries, lapidaries, +and goldsmiths, were jealous of foreign artists like them, who showed +contempt for Africa, and who were acquainted, or rather intimate, with +many of the higher classes, and even high personages in the place. Well, +but could not some of those great people help her now? His mind glanced +towards Calphurnius, whom he had heard of as in some way or other +protecting her on the evening of the riot, and to him he determined to +betake himself. + +Calphurnius and the soldiery were still in high dudgeon with the populace +of Sicca, displeased with the magistrates, and full of sympathy for +Callista. Jucundus opened his mind fully to the tribune, and persuaded him +to take him to Septimius, his military superior, and in the presence of +the latter many good words were uttered both by Calphurnius and Jucundus. +Jucundus gave it as his opinion that it was a very great mistake to strike +at any but the leaders of the Christian sect; he quoted the story of King +Tarquin and the poppies, and assured the great man that it was what he had +always said and always prophesied, and that, depend upon it, it was a +great mistake not to catch Cyprianus. + +“The strong arm of the law,” he said, “should not, on the other hand, be +put forth against such butterflies as this Callista, a girl who, he knew +from her brother, had not yet seen eighteen summers. What harm could such +a poor helpless thing possibly do? She could not even defend herself, much +less attack anybody else. No,” he continued, “your proper policy with +these absurd people is a smiling face and an open hand. Recollect the +fable of the sun and the wind; which made the traveller lay aside his +cloak? Do you fall in with some sour-visaged, stiff-backed worshipper of +the Furies? fill his cup for him, crown his head with flowers, bring in +the flute-women. Observe him—he relaxes; a smile spreads on his +countenance; he laughs at a jest; ‘captus est; habet:’ he pours a +libation. Great Jove has conquered! he is loyal to Rome; what can you +desire more? But beat him, kick him, starve him, turn him out of doors; +and you have a natural enemy to do you a mischief whenever he can.” + +Calphurnius took his own line, and a simple one. “If it was some vile +slave or scoundrel African,” he said, “no harm would have been done; but, +by Jupiter Tonans, it’s a Greek girl, who sings like a Muse, dances like a +Grace, and spouts verses like Minerva. ’Twould be sacrilege to touch a +hair of her head; and we forsooth are to let these cowardly dogs of +magistrates entrap Fortunianus at Carthage into this solecism.” + +Septimius said nothing, as became a man in office; but he came to an +understanding with his visitors. It was plain that the Duumvirs of Sicca +had no legal custody of Callista; in a criminal matter she might seem to +fall under the jurisdiction of the military; and Calphurnius gained leave +to claim his right at the proper moment. The rest of his plan the tribune +kept to himself, nor did Septimius wish to know it. He intended to march a +guard into the prison shortly before Callista was brought out for +execution, and then to make it believed that she had died under the +horrors of the Barathrum. The corpse of another woman could without +difficulty be found to be her representative, and she herself would be +carried off to the camp. + + + +Meanwhile, to return to the prisoner herself, what was the consolation, +what the occupation of Callista in this waiting time, ere the Proconsul +had sent his answer? Strange to say, and, we suppose, from a sinful +waywardness in her, she had, up to this moment, neglected to avail herself +of a treasure, which by a rare favour had been put into her possession. A +small parchment, carefully written, elaborately adorned, lay in her bosom, +which might already have been the remedy of many a perplexity, many a woe. +It is difficult to say under what feelings she had been reluctant to open +the Holy Gospel, which Cæcilius had intrusted to her care. Whether she was +so low and despondent that she could not make the effort, or whether she +feared to convince herself further, or whether she professed to be waiting +for some calmer time, as if that were possible, or whether her +unwillingness was that which makes sick people so averse to eating, or to +remedies which they know would be useful to them, cannot well be +determined; but there are many of us who may be able, from parallel +instances of infirmity, to enter into that state of mind, which led her at +least to procrastinate what she might do any minute. However, now left +absolutely to herself, Aristo gone, and the answer of the government to +the magistracy not having yet come, she recurred to the parchment, and to +the Bishop’s words, which ran, “Here you will see who it is we love,” or +language to that effect. It was tightly lodged under her girdle, and so +had escaped in the confusion of that terrible evening. She opened it at +length and read. + +It was the writing of a provincial Greek; elegant, however, and marked +with that simplicity which was to her taste the elementary idea of a +classic author. It was addressed to one Theophilus, and professed to be a +carefully digested and verified account of events which had been already +attempted by others. She read a few paragraphs, and became interested, and +in no long time she was absorbed in the volume. When she had once taken it +up, she did not lay it down. Even at other times she would have prized it, +but now, when she was so desolate and lonely, it was simply a gift from an +unseen world. It opened a view of a new state and community of beings, +which only seemed too beautiful to be possible. But not into a new state +of things alone, but into the presence of One who was simply distinct and +removed from anything that she had, in her most imaginative moments, ever +depicted to her mind as ideal perfection. Here was that to which her +intellect tended, though that intellect could not frame it. It could +approve and acknowledge, when set before it, what it could not originate. +Here was He who spoke to her in her conscience; whose Voice she heard, +whose Person she was seeking for. Here was He who kindled a warmth on the +cheek of both Chione and Agellius. That image sank deep into her; she felt +it to be a reality. She said to herself, “This is no poet’s dream; it is +the delineation of a real individual. There is too much truth and nature, +and life and exactness about it, to be anything else.” Yet she shrank from +it; it made her feel her own difference from it, and a feeling of +humiliation came upon her mind, such as she never had had before. She +began to despise herself more thoroughly day by day; yet she recollected +various passages in the history which reassured her amid her +self-abasement, especially that of His tenderness and love for the poor +girl at the feast, who would anoint His feet; and the full tears stood in +her eyes, and she fancied she was that sinful child, and that He did not +repel her. + +O what a new world of thought she had entered! it occupied her mind from +its very novelty. Everything looked dull and dim by the side of it; her +brother had ever been dinning into her ears that maxim of the heathen, +“Enjoy the present, trust nothing to the future.” She indeed could not +enjoy the present with that relish which he wished, and she had not any +trust in the future either; but this volume spoke a different doctrine. +There she learned the very opposite to what Aristo taught—viz., that the +present must be sacrificed for the future; that what is seen must give way +to what is believed. Nay, more, she drank in the teaching which at first +seemed so paradoxical, that even present happiness and present greatness +lie in relinquishing what at first sight seems to promise them; that the +way to true pleasure is, not through self-indulgence, but through +mortification; that the way to power is weakness, the way to success +failure, the way to wisdom foolishness, the way to glory dishonour. She +saw that there was a higher beauty than that which the order and harmony +of the natural world revealed, and a deeper peace and calm than that which +the exercise, whether of the intellect or of the purest human affection, +can supply. She now began to understand that strange, unearthly composure, +which had struck her in Chione, Agellius, and Cæcilius; she understood +that they were detached from the world, not because they had not the +possession, nor the natural love of its gifts, but because they possessed +a higher blessing already, which they loved above everything else. Thus, +by degrees, Callista came to walk by a new philosophy; and had ideas, and +principles, and a sense of relations and aims, and a susceptibility of +arguments, to which before she was an utter stranger. Life and death, +action and suffering, fortunes and abilities, all had now a new meaning +and application. As the skies speak differently to the philosopher and the +peasant, as a book of poems to the imaginative and to the cold and narrow +intellect, so now she saw her being, her history, her present condition, +her future, in a new light, which no one else could share with her. But +the ruling sovereign thought of the whole was He, who exemplified all this +wonderful philosophy in Himself. + + + + + + CHAPTER XXX. + + + TORRES VEDRAS. + + +There were those, however, whom Callista could understand, and who could +understand her; there were those who, while Aristo, Cornelius, Jucundus, +and Polemo were moving in her behalf, were interesting themselves also in +her, and in a more effectual way. Agellius had joined Cæcilius, and, if in +no other way, by his mouth came to the latter and his companions the news +of her imprisonment. On the morning that Agellius had been so strangely +let out of confinement by his brother, and found himself seated at the +street-door, with his tunic on his arm and his boots on the ground before +him, his first business was to recollect where he was, and to dispose of +those articles of dress according to their respective uses. What should he +do with himself, was of course his second thought. He could not stay there +long without encountering the early risers of Sicca, the gates being +already open. To attempt to find out where Callista was, and then to see +her or rescue her, would have ended at once in his own capture. To go to +his own farm would have been nearly as dangerous, and would have had less +meaning. Cæcilius too had said, that they were not long to be separated, +and had given him directions for finding him. + +Immediately then he made his way to one of the eastern gates, which led to +Thibursicumbur. There was indeed no time to be lost, as he soon had +indications; he met several men who knew him by sight, and one of the +apparitors of the Duumviri, who happily did not. An apostate Christian, +whose zeal for the government was notorious, passed him and looked back +after him. However, he would soon be out of pursuit, if he had the start +of them until the sun got round the mountains he was seeking. He walked on +through a series of rocky and barren hills, till he got some way past the +second milestone. Before he had reached the third he had entered a defile +in the mountains. Perpendicular rocks rose on each side of him, and the +level road, reaching from rock to rock, was not above thirty feet across. +He felt that if he was pursued here, there was no escape. The third +milestone passed, he came to the country road; he pursued it, counting out +his thousand steps, as Cæcilius had instructed him. By this time it had +left the stony bottom, and was rising up the side of the precipice. +Brushwood and dwarf pines covered it, mingled with a few olives and +caroubas. He said out his seven pater nosters as he walked, and then +looked around. He had just passed a goatherd, and they looked hard at each +other. Agellius wished him good morning. + +“You are wishing a kid for Bacchus, sir,” said the man to him as he was +running his eye over the goats. On Agellius answering in the negative, he +said in a clownish way, “He who does not sacrifice to Bacchus does not +sacrifice goats.” + +Agellius, bearing in mind Cæcilius’s directions, saw of course there was +something in the words which did not meet the ear, and answered +carelessly, “He who does not sacrifice, does not sacrifice to Bacchus.” + +“True,” said the man, “but perhaps you prefer a lamb for a sacrifice.” + +Agellius replied, “If it is the right one; but the one I mean was slain +long since.” + +The man, without any change of manner, went on to say that there was an +acquaintance of his not far up the rock, who could perhaps satisfy him on +the point. He said, “Follow those wild olives, though the path seems +broken, and you will come to him at the nineteenth.” + +Agellius set out, and never was path so untrue to its own threats. It +seemed ending in abrupt cliffs every turn, but never fulfilled the +anticipation; that is, while he kept to the olive-trees. After ascending +what was rather a flight of marble steps, washed and polished by the +winter torrents, than a series of crags, he fulfilled the number of trees, +and looked round at the man sitting under it. O the joy and surprise! it +was his old servant Aspar. + +“You are safe, then, Aspar,” he said, “and I find you here. O what a +tender Providence!” + +“I have taken my stand here, master,” returned Aspar, “day after day, +since I got here, in hopes of seeing you. I could not get back to you from +Jucundus’s that dreadful morning, and so I made my way here. Your uncle +sent for you in my presence, but at the time I did not know what it meant. +I was able to escape.” + +“And now for Cæcilius,” said Agellius. + +Behind the olive-tree a torrent’s bed descended; the descent being so +easy, and yet so natural, that art had evidently interfered with nature, +yet concealed its interference. After tracing it some yards, they came to +a chasm on the opposite side; and, passing through it, Agellius soon found +himself, to his surprise, on a bleak open hill, to which the huge mountain +formed merely a sort of _façade_. Its surface was half rock, half moor, +and it was surrounded by precipices. It was such a place as some hermit of +the middle ages might have chosen for his solitude. The two walked briskly +across it, and at length came to a low, broad yawning opening, branching +out into several passages which, if pursued, would have been found to end +in nothing. Aspar, however, made straight for what appeared a dead wall of +rock, in which, on his making a signal, a door, skilfully hidden, was +opened from within, and was shut behind them by the porter. They now stood +in a gallery running into the mountain. It was very long, and a stream of +cold air came along it. Aspar told him that at the extremity of it they +should find Cæcilius. + +Agellius was indeed in the vestibule of a remarkable specimen of those +caves which had been used for religious purposes, first by the aborigines +of the country, then by the Phœnician colonists, and in the centuries +which had just passed, for the concealment of the Christians. The passage +along which they were proceeding might itself be fitly called a cave, but +still it was only one of several natural subterraneans, of different +shapes, and opening into each other. Some of them lay along the face of a +ravine, from which they received light and air; and here in one place +there were indications of a fortified front. They were perfectly dry, +though the water had at some remote period filtered through the roof, and +had formed pendants and pillars of semi-transparent stalactite, of great +beauty. It was another and singular advantage that a particular spot in +one of the caverns, which bordered on the ravine, was the focus of an +immense ear or whispering-gallery, such, that whatever took place in the +public road in which the ravine terminated, could be distinctly heard +there, and thus they were always kept on guard against the attack of an +enemy, if expected. Had either Agellius or Aspar been curious about such a +matter, the latter might have pointed out the place where a Punic altar +once had been discovered, with a sort of _tumulus_ of bones of mice near +at hand, that animal coming into the list of victims in the Phœnician +worship. + +But the two Christians were engaged, as they first halted, and then walked +along the corridor, in other thoughts, than in asking and answering +questions about the history of the place of refuge in which they found +themselves. We have already remarked on the central position of Sicca for +the purpose of missionary work and of retreat in persecution; such a +dwelling in the rocks did but increase its advantageousness, and in +consequence at this moment many Christians had availed themselves of it. +It is an English proverb that three removes are as bad as a fire; and so +great were the perils and the hardships of flight in those times, that it +was a question, in a merely earthly point of view, whether the risk of +being apprehended at home was not a far less evil than the evils which +were certain upon leaving it. There was nothing, then, ungenerous in the +ecclesiastical rule that they alone should flee, in persecution, who were +marked out for death, if they stayed. The laity, private families, and the +priests, on whose ministrations they depended, remained; bishops, deacons, +and what may be called the staff of the episcopate, notaries, messengers, +seminarists, and ascetics, would disappear from the scene of persecution. + +Agellius learned from his slave that the cave had been known to him from +the time he was a boy, and that it was one of the secrets which all who +shared it religiously observed. Holy men, it seemed, had had intimations +of the present trial for several years past; and it was the full +persuasion of the heads of the Church, that, though it might blow over for +a short time, it would recur at intervals for many years, ending in a +visitation so heavy and long, that the times of Antichrist would seem to +have arrived. However, the impression upon their minds was, that then +would come a millennium, or, in some sort, a reign of the saints upon the +earth. That, however, was a date which even Agellius himself, young as he +was, would not be likely to reach; indeed, who could expect to escape, who +might not hope to gain, a Martyr’s death, in the interval, in the series +of assaults, between which Christianity had to run the gauntlet? Aspar +said, moreover, that some martyrs lay in the chapels within, and that +various confessors had ended their days there. At the present time there +were representatives, there collected, of a large portion of the Churches +of the Proconsulate. A post, so to call it, went between them and Carthage +every week, and his friend and father, the bishop of that city, was +especially busy in correspondence. + +Moreover, Agellius learned from him that they had many partisans, +well-wishers, and sympathizers, about the country, whom no one suspected; +the families of parents who had conformed to the established worship, nay, +sometimes the apostates themselves, and that this was the case in Sicca as +well as elsewhere. For himself, old and ignorant as he was, the +persecution had proved to him an education. He had been brought near great +men, and some who, he was confident, would be martyrs in the event. He had +learned a great deal about his religion which he did not know before, and +had drunk in the spirit of Christianity, with a fulness which he trusted +would not turn to his ultimate condemnation. He now too had a +consciousness of the size and populousness of the Church, of her +diffusion, of the promises made to her, of the essential necessity of what +seemed to be misfortune, of the episcopal regimen, and of the power and +solidity of the see of Peter afar off in Rome, all which knowledge had +made him quite another being. We have put all this into finer language +than the good old man used himself, and we have grouped it more exactly, +but this is what his words would come to, when explained. + +Coming down to sublunary matters, Aspar said the cave was well +provisioned; they had bread, oil, figs, dried grapes, and wine. They had +vessels and vestments for the Holy Sacrifice. Their serious want was a +dearth of water at that season, but they relied on Divine Providence to +give them by miracle, if in no other way, a supply. The place was +piercingly cold too in the winter. + +By this time they had gained the end of the long gallery, and passed +through a second apartment, when suddenly the sounds of the ecclesiastical +chant burst on the ear of Agellius. How strange, how transporting to him! +he was almost for the first time coming home to his father’s house, though +he had been a Christian from a child, and never, as he trusted, to leave +it, now that it was found. He did not know how to behave himself, nor +indeed where to go. Aspar conducted him into the seats set apart for the +faithful; he knelt down and burst into tears. + +It was approaching the third hour, the hour at which the Paraclete +originally descended upon the Apostles, and which, when times of +persecution were passed, was appointed in the West for the solemn mass of +the day. In that early age, indeed, the time of the solemnity was +generally midnight, in order to elude observation; but even then such an +hour was considered of but temporary arrangement. Pope Telesphorus is said +to have prescribed the hour, afterwards in use, as early even as the +second century; and in a place of such quiet and security as the cavern in +which we just now find ourselves, there was no reason why it should not be +selected. At the lower end of the chapel was a rail extending across it, +and open in the middle, where its two portions turned up at right angles +on each side towards the altar. The enclosure thus made was the place +proper for the faithful, into which Agellius had been introduced, and +about fifty persons were collected about him. Where the two side-rails +which ran up the chapel ceased, there was a broad step; and upon it two +pulpits, one on each side. Then came a second elevation, carrying the eye +on to the extremity of the upper end. + +In the middle of the wall at that upper end is a recess, occupied by a +tomb. On the front of it is written the name of some glorious champion of +the faith who lies there. It is one of the first bishops of Sicca, and the +inscription attests that he slept in the Lord under the Emperor Antoninus. +Over the sacred relics is a slab, and on the slab the Divine Mysteries are +now to be celebrated. At the back is a painting on the wall, very similar +to that in Agellius’s cottage. The ever-blessed immaculate Mother of God +is exercising her office as the Advocate of sinners, standing by the +sacrifice as she stood at the cross itself, and offering up and applying +its infinite merits and incommunicable virtue in union with priest and +people. So instinctive in the Christian mind is the principle of +decoration, as it may be called, that even in times of suffering, and +places of banishment, we see it brought into exercise. Not only is the +arch which overspans the altar ornamented with an arabesque pattern, but +the roof or vault is coloured with paintings. Our Lord is in the centre, +with two figures of Moses on each side, on the right unloosing his +sandals, on the left striking the rock. Between the centre figure and the +altar may be seen the raising of Lazarus; in the opposite partition the +healing of the paralytic; at the four angles are men and women alternately +in the attitude of prayer. + +At this time the altar-stone was covered with a rich crimson silk, with +figures of St. Peter and St. Paul worked in gold upon it, the gift of a +pious lady of Carthage. Beyond the altar, but not touching it, was a +cross; and on one side of the altar a sort of basin or _piscina_ cut in +the rock, with a linen cloth hanging up against it. There were no candles +upon the altar itself, but wax lights fixed into silver stands were placed +at intervals along the edge of the presbytery or elevation. + +The mass was in behalf of the confessors for the faith then in prison in +Carthage; and the sacred ministers, some half-hour after Agellius’s +entrance, made their appearance. Their vestments already varied somewhat +from the ordinary garments of the day, and bespoke antiquity; and, though +not so simply _sui generis_ as they are now, they were so far special, +that they were never used on any other occasion, but were reserved for the +sacred service. The neck was bare, the amice being as yet unknown; instead +of the stole was what was called the _orarium_, a sort of handkerchief +resting on the shoulders, and falling down on each side. The alb had been +the inner garment, or _camisium_, which in civil use was retained at night +when the other garments were thrown off; and, as at the present day, it +was confined round the waist by a zone or girdle. The maniple was a +napkin, supplying the place of a handkerchief; and the chasuble was an +ample _pænula_, such as was worn by the judges, a cloak enveloping the +whole person round, when spread out, with an opening in the centre, +through which the head might pass. The deacon’s dalmatic was much longer +than it is now, and the subdeacon’s tunicle resembled the alb. All the +vestments were of the purest white. + +The mass began by the bishop giving his blessing; and then the Lector, a +man of venerable age, taking the roll called _Lectionarium_, and +proceeding to a pulpit, read the Prophets to the people, much in the way +observed among ourselves still on holy Saturday and the vigil of +Pentecost. These being finished, the people chanted the first verse of the +_Gloria Patri_, after which the clergy alternated with the people the +_Kyrie_, pretty much as the custom is now. + +Here a fresh roll was brought to the Lector, then or afterwards called +_Apostolus_, from which he read one of the canonical epistles. A psalm +followed, which was sung by the people; and, after this, the Lector +received the _Evangeliarium_, and read a portion of the Gospel, at which +lights were lighted, and the people stood. When he had finished, the +Lector opened the roll wide, and, turning round, presented it to bishop, +clergy, and people to kiss. + +The deacon then cried out, “Ite in pace, catechumeni,” “Depart in peace, +catechumens;” and then the kiss of peace was passed round, and the people +began to sing some psalms or hymns. While they were so engaged, the deacon +received from the acolyte the _sindon_, or corporal, which was of the +length of the altar, and perhaps of greater breadth, and spread it upon +the sacred table. Next was placed on the _sindon_ the _oblata_, that is, +the small loaves, according to the number of communicants, with the paten, +which was large, and a gold chalice, duly prepared. And then the _sindon_, +or corporal, was turned back over them, to cover them as a pall. + +The celebrant then advanced: he stood at the further side of the altar, +where the candles are now, with his face to the people, and then began the +holy sacrifice. First he incensed the _oblata_, that is, the loaves and +chalice, as an acknowledgment of God’s sovereign dominion, and as a token +of uplifted prayer to Him. Then the roll of prayers was brought him, while +the deacon began what is sometimes called the bidding prayer, being a +catalogue of the various subjects for which intercession is to be made, +after the manner of the _Oremus dilectissimi_, now used on Good Friday. +This catalogue included all conditions of men, the conversion of the +world, the exaltation of Holy Church, the maintenance of the Roman empire, +the due ripening and gathering of the fruits of the earth, and other +spiritual and temporal blessings,—subjects very much the same as those +which are now called the Pope’s intentions. The prayers ended with a +special reference to those present, that they might persevere in the Lord +even to the end. And then the priest began the _Sursum corda_, and said +the _Sanctus_. + +The Canon or _Actio_ seems to have run, in all but a few words, as it does +now, and the solemn words of consecration were said secretly. Great stress +was laid on the Lord’s prayer, which in one sense terminated the function. +It was said aloud by the people, and when they said, “Forgive us our +trespasses,” they beat their breasts. + +It is not wonderful that Agellius, assisting for almost the first time at +this wonderful solemnity, should have noted everything as it occurred; and +we must be considered as giving our account of it from his mouth. + +It needs not to enlarge on the joy of the meeting which followed between +Cæcilius and his young penitent. “O my father,” he said, “I come to thee, +never to leave thee, to be thy dutiful servant, and to be trained by thee +after the pattern of Him who made thee what thou art. Wonderful things +have happened; Callista is in prison on the charge of Christianity; I was +in a sort of prison myself, or what was worse for my soul; and Juba, my +brother, in the strangest of ways, has this morning let me out. Shall she +not be saved, my father, in God’s own way, as well as I? At least we can +all pray for her; but surely we can do more—so precious a soul must not be +left to herself and the world. If she has the trials, she may claim the +blessings of a Christian. Is she to go back to heathenism? Is she, alas! +to suffer without baptism? Shall we not hazard death to bestow on her that +grace?” + + + + + + CHAPTER XXXI. + + + THE BAPTISM. + + +We have already had occasion to mention that there were many secret +well-wishers, or at least protectors, of Christians, as in the world at +large, so also in Sicca. There were many persons who had received benefits +from their charity, and had experience of the scandalous falsehood of the +charges now circulated against them. Others would feel a generosity +towards a cruelly persecuted body; others, utterly dead to the subject of +religion, or rather believing all religions to be impostures, would not +allow it to be assumed that only one was worthy of bad treatment. Others +liked what they heard of the religion itself, and thought there was truth +in it, though it had no claim to a monopoly of truth. Others felt it to be +true, but shrank from the consequences of openly embracing it. Others, who +had apostatised through fear of the executioner, intended to come back to +it at the last. It must be added that in the African Church confessors in +prison had, or were considered to have, the remarkable privilege of +gaining the public forgiveness of the Church for those who had lapsed; it +was an object, then, for all those who, being in that miserable case, +wished some day to be restored, to gain their promise of assistance, or +their good-will. To these reasons was added, in Callista’s case, the +interest which naturally attached to a woman, young and defenceless. + +The burning sun of Africa is at the height of its power. The population is +prostrated by heat, by scarcity, by pestilence, and by the decimation +which their riot brought upon them. They care neither for Christianity, +nor for anything else just now. They lie in the porticoes, in the caverns +under the city, in the baths. They are more alive at night. The +_apparitor_, in whose dwelling Callista was lodged, who was himself once a +Christian, lies in the shade of the great doorway, into which his rooms +open, asleep, or stupefied. Two men make their appearance about two hours +before sunset, and demand admittance to Callista. The jailor asks if they +are not the two Greeks, her brother and the rhetorician, who had visited +her before. The junior of the strangers drops a purse heavy with coin into +his lap, and passes on with his companion. When the mind is intent on +great subjects or aims, heat and cold, hunger and thirst, lose their power +of enfeebling it; thus perhaps we must account for the energy now +displayed both by the two ecclesiastics and by Callista herself. + +She too thought it was the unwelcome philosopher come again; she gave a +start and a cry of delight when she saw it was Cæcilius. “My father,” she +said, “I want to be a Christian, if I may; He came to save the lost sheep. +I have learnt such things from this book—let me give it you while I can. I +am not long for this world. Give me Him who spoke so kindly to that woman. +Take from me my load of sin, and then I will gladly go.” She knelt at his +feet, and gave the roll of parchment into his hand. + +“Rise and sit,” he answered. “Let us think calmly over the matter.” + +“I am ready,” she insisted. “Deny me not my wish, when time is so +urgent—if I may have it.” + +“Sit down calmly,” he said again; “I am not refusing you, but I wish to +know about you.” He could hardly keep from tears, of pain, or of joy, or +of both, when he saw the great change which trial had wrought in her. What +touched him most was the utter disappearance of that majesty of mien, +which once was hers, a gift, so beautiful, so unsuitable to fallen man. +There was instead of it a frank humility, a simplicity without +concealment, an unresisting meekness, which seemed as if it would enable +her, if trampled on, to smile and to kiss the feet that insulted her. She +had lost every vestige of what the world worships under the titles of +proper pride and self-respect. Callista was now living, not in the thought +of herself, but of Another. + +“God has been very good to you,” he continued; “but in the volume you have +returned to me He bids us ‘reckon the charges.’ Can you drink of His +chalice? Recollect what is before you.” + +She still continued kneeling, with a touching earnestness of face and +demeanour, and with her hands crossed upon her breast. + +“I _have_ reckoned,” she replied; “heaven and hell: I prefer heaven.” + +“You are on earth,” said Cæcilius; “not in heaven or hell. You must bear +the pangs of earth before you drink the blessedness of heaven.” + +“He has given me the firm purpose,” she said, “to gain heaven, to escape +hell; and He will give me too the power.” + +“Ah, Callista!” he answered, in a voice broken with distress, “you know +not what you will have to bear, if you join yourself to Him.” + +“He has done great things for me already; I am wonderfully changed; I am +not what I was. He will do more still.” + +“Alas, my child!” said Cæcilius, “that feeble frame, ah! how will it bear +the strong iron, or the keen flame, or the ruthless beast? My child, what +do _I_ feel, who am free, thus handing you over to be the sport of the +evil one?” + +“Father, I have chosen Him,” she answered, “not hastily, but on +deliberation. I believe Him most absolutely. Keep me not from Him; give +Him to me, if I may ask it; give me my Love.” + +Presently she added, “I have never forgotten those words of yours since +you used them; ‘Amor meus crucifixus est.’ ” + +She began again, “I will be a Christian; give me my place among them. Give +me my place at the feet of Jesus, Son of Mary, my God. I wish to love Him. +I think I can love Him. Make me His.” + +“He has loved you from eternity,” said Cæcilius, “and, therefore, you are +now beginning to love Him.” + +She covered her eyes with her hands, and remained in profound meditation. +“I am very ignorant—very sinful,” she said at length; “but one thing I +know, that there is but One to love in the whole world, and I wish to love +him. I surrender myself to Him, if He will take me; and He shall teach me +about Himself.” + +“The angry multitude, their fierce voices, the brutal executioner, the +prison, the torture, the slow, painful death.” He was speaking, not to +her, but to himself. She was calm, in spite of her fervour; but he could +not contain himself. His heart melted within him; he felt like Abraham, +lifting up his hand to slay his child. + +“Time passes,” she said; “what may happen? you may be discovered. But, +perhaps,” she added, suddenly changing her tone, “it is a matter of long +initiation. Woe is me!” + +“We must gird ourselves to the work, Victor,” he said to his deacon who +was with him. Cæcilius fell back and sat down, and Victor came forward. He +formally instructed her so far as the circumstances allowed. Not for +baptism only, but for confirmation, and Holy Eucharist; for Cæcilius +determined to give her all three sacraments at once. + +It was a sight for angels to look down upon, and they did; when the poor +child, rich in this world’s gifts, but poor in those of eternity, knelt +down to receive that sacred stream upon her brow, which fell upon her with +almost sensible sweetness, and suddenly produced a serenity different in +kind from anything she had ever before even had the power of conceiving. + +The bishop gave her confirmation, and then the Holy Eucharist. It was her +first and last communion; in a few days she renewed it, or rather +completed it, under the very Face and Form of Him whom she now believed +without seeing. + +“Farewell, my dearest of children,” said Cæcilius, “till the hour when we +both meet before the throne of God. A few sharp pangs which you can count +and measure, and all will be well. You will be carried through joyously, +and like a conqueror. I know it. You could face the prospect before you +were a Christian, and you will be equal to the actual trial, now that you +are.” + +“Never fear me, father,” she said in a clear, low voice. The bishop and +his deacon left the prison. + + + +The sun had all but set, when Cæcilius and Victor passed the city gate; +and it was more than twilight as they crossed the wild hills leading to +the precipitous pass. Evil men were not their only peril in this work of +charity. They were also in danger from wild beasts in these lone wastes, +and, the heathen would have added, from bad spirits. Bad spirits Cæcilius +recognised too; but he would not have granted that they were perilous. The +two went forward, saying prayers lowly, and singing psalms, when a sudden +cry was heard, and a strong tall form rushed past them. It might be some +robber of the wild, or dangerous outcast, or savage fanatic, who knew and +hated their religion; however, while they stopped and looked, he had come, +and he was gone. But he came again, more slowly; and from his remarkable +shape Cæcilius saw that it was the brother of Agellius. He said, “Juba;” +Juba started back, and stood at a distance. Cæcilius held out his hand, +and called him on, again mentioning his name. The poor fellow came nearer: +Cæcilius’s day’s work was not at an end. + +Since we last heard of him, Juba had dwelt in the mountainous tract over +which the two Christians were now passing; roaming to and fro, or beating +himself in idle fury against the adamantine rocks, and fighting with the +stern necessity of the elements. How he was sustained can hardly be +guessed, unless the impulse, which led him on the first accession of his +fearful malady, to fly upon the beasts of the desert, served him here +also. Roots too and fruits were scattered over the wild; and still more so +in the ravines, wherever any quantity of soil had been accumulated. Alas! +had the daylight lasted, in him too, as well as in Callista, Cæcilius +would have found changes, but of a very different nature; yet even in him +he would have seen a change for the better, for that old awful expression +of pride and defiance was gone. What was the use of parading a self-will, +which every moment of his life belied? His actions, his words, his hands, +his lips, his feet, his place of abode, his daily course, were in the +dominion of another, who inexorably ruled him. It was not the gentle +influence which draws and persuades; it was not the power which can be +propitiated by prayer; it was a tyranny which acted without reaction, +energetic as mind, and impenetrable as matter. + +“Juba,” said Cæcilius a third time. The maniac came nearer, and then again +suddenly retreated. He stood at a short distance from Cæcilius, as if +afraid to come on, and cried out, tossing his hands wildly, “Away, black +hypocrite, come not near me! Away! hound of a priest, cross not my path, +lest I tear you to shreds!” Such visitations were no novelties to +Cæcilius; he raised his hand and made the sign of the cross, then he said, +“Come.” Juba advanced, shrieked, and used some terrible words, and rushed +upon Cæcilius, as if he would treat him as he had treated the savage wolf. +“Come?” he cried, “yes, I come!” and Victor ran up, fearing his teeth +would be in Cæcilius’s throat, if he delayed longer. The latter stood his +ground, quailing neither in eye nor in limb; he made the sign of the cross +a second time; and in spite of a manifest antagonism within him, the +stricken youth, with horrid cries, came dancing after him. + +Thus they proceeded, with some signs of insurrection from time to time on +Juba’s part, but with a successful reduction of it as often on the part of +Cæcilius, till they got to the ascent by the olive-trees, where careful +walking was necessary. Then Cæcilius turned round, and beckoned him. He +came. He said, “Kneel down.” He knelt down. Cæcilius put his hand on his +head, saying to him, “Follow me close and without any disturbance.” The +three pursued their journey, and all arrived safe at the cavern. There +Cæcilius gave Juba in charge to Romanus, who had been intrusted with the +_energumens_ at Carthage. + + + + + + CHAPTER XXXII. + + + THE IMPERIAL RESCRIPT. + + +Had the imperial edict been acted on by the magistrates of Sicca, without +a reference to Carthage, it is not easy to suppose that Callista would +have persevered in her refusal to commit the act of idolatry required of +her. But, to speak of second causes, the hesitation of her judges was her +salvation. Once baptised, there was no reason she should desire any +further delay of her conflict. Come it must, and come it did. While +Cæcilius was placing her beyond danger, the rescript of the Proconsul had +been received at the office of the Duumvirs. + +The absence of the Proconsul from Carthage had been the cause of the +delay; and then, some investigation was needed to understand the relation +of Callista’s seizure to the riot on the one hand, and to the strong act +of the military on the other, in quelling it. It was thought that +something or other might come to light to account for the anomalous and +unaccountable position which she had taken up. The imperial government +considered it had now a clear view of her case, and its orders were +distinct and peremptory. Christianity was to cease to be. It was a subtle +foe, sapping the vitals of the state. Rome must perish, or this illegal +association. Such evasions as Callista had used were but instances of its +craft. Its treason lay, not in its being Christianity, but in its not +sacrificing to the gods of Rome. Callista was but throwing dust in their +eyes. There had been no blow struck against the treason in inland Africa. +Women had often been the most dangerous of conspirators. As she was a +stranger, there was more probability of her connection with secret +societies, and also less inconvenience in her execution. Whatever +happened, she was to be got rid of; but first her resolution was to be +broken, for the sake of the example. First, let her be brought before the +tribunal and threatened: then thrust into the Tullianum; then put upon the +rack, and returned to prison; then scorched over a slow fire; last of all, +beheaded, and left for beasts of prey. She would sacrifice ere the last +stage was reached. When she had given way, let her be given up to the +gladiators. The message ended by saying that the Proconsular Procurator, +who came by the same carriages, would preside at the process. + +O wisdom of the world! and strength of the world! what are you when +matched beside the foolishness and the weakness of the Christian? You are +great in resources, manifold in methods, hopeful in prospects; but one +thing you have not,—and that is peace. You are always tumultuous, +restless, apprehensive. You have nothing you can rely upon. You have no +rock under your feet. But the humblest, feeblest Christian has that which +is impossible to you. Callista had once felt the misery of maladies akin +to yours. She had passed through doubt, anxiety, perplexity, despondency, +passion; but now she was in peace. Now she feared the torture or the flame +as little as the breeze which arose at nightfall, or the busy chatter of +the grasshoppers at the noonday. Nay, rather, she did not think of torture +and death at all, but was possessed by a peace which bore her up, as if +bodily, on its mighty wings. For hours she remained on her knees, after +Cæcilius left her: then she lay down on her rushes and slept her last +sleep. + +She slept sound; she dreamed. She thought she was no longer in Africa, but +in her own Greece, more sunny and bright than before; but the inhabitants +were gone. Its majestic mountains, its rich plains, its expanse of waters, +all silent: no one to converse with, no one to sympathize with. And, as +she wandered on and wondered, suddenly its face changed, and its colours +were illuminated tenfold by a heavenly glory, and each hue upon the scene +was of a beauty she had never known, and seemed strangely to affect all +her senses at once, being fragrance and music, as well as light. And there +came out of the grottoes and glens and woods, and out of the seas, myriads +of bright images, whose forms she could not discern; and these came all +around her, and became a sort of scene or landscape, which she could not +have described in words, as if it were a world of spirits, not of matter. +And as she gazed, she thought she saw before her a well-known face, only +glorified. She, who had been a slave, now was arrayed more brilliantly +than an oriental queen; and she looked at Callista with a smile so sweet, +that Callista felt she could but dance to it. + +And as she looked more earnestly, doubting whether she should begin or +not, the face changed, and now was more marvellous still. It had an +innocence in its look, and also a tenderness, which bespoke both Maid and +Mother, and so transported Callista, that she must needs advance towards +her, out of love and reverence. And the lady seemed to make signs of +encouragement: so she began a solemn measure, unlike all dances of earth, +with hands and feet, serenely moving on towards what she heard some of +them call a great action and a glorious consummation, though she did not +know what they meant. At length she was fain to sing as well as dance; and +her words were, “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the +Holy Ghost;” on which another said, “A good beginning of the sacrifice.” +And when she had come close to this gracious figure, there was a fresh +change. The face, the features were the same; but the light of Divinity +now seemed to beam through them, and the hair parted, and hung down long +on each side of the forehead; and there was a crown of another fashion +than the Lady’s round about it, made of what looked like thorns. And the +palms of the hands were spread out as if towards her, and there were marks +of wounds in them. And the vestment had fallen, and there was a deep +opening in the side. And as she stood entranced before Him, and +motionless, she felt a consciousness that her own palms were pierced like +His, and her feet also. And she looked round, and saw the likeness of His +face and of His wounds upon all that company. And now they were suddenly +moving on, and bearing something or some one, heavenwards; and they too +began to sing, and their words seemed to be, “Rejoice with Me, for I have +found My sheep,” ever repeated. They went up through an avenue or long +grotto, with torches of diamonds, and amethysts, and sapphires, which lit +up its spars and made them sparkle. And she tried to look, but could not +discover what they were carrying, till she heard a very piercing cry, +which awoke her. + + + + + + CHAPTER XXXIII. + + + A GOOD CONFESSION. + + +The cry came from the keeper’s wife, whom we have described as kindly +disposed to her. She was a Lybo-Phœnician, and spoke a broken Latin; but +the language of sympathy is universal, in spite of Babel. “Callista,” she +exclaimed; “girl, they have sent for you; you are to die. O frightful! +worse than a runaway slave,—the torture! Give in. What’s the harm? you are +so young: those terrible men with the pincers and hot bars!” + +Callista sat up, and passed from her vision to her prison. She smiled and +said, “I am ready; I am going home.” The woman looked almost frightened, +and with some shade of disgust and disappointment. She, as others, might +have thought it impossible, as it was unaccountable, that when it came to +the point Callista would hold out. “She’s crazed,” she said. “I am ready, +mother,” Callista said, and she got up. “You have been very good to me,” +she continued; “I have been saying many prayers for you, while my prayers +were of no good, for then He was not mine. But now I have espoused Him, +and am going to be married to-day, and He will hear me.” The woman stared +at her stupidly, as much as to make it evident that if afterwards a change +took place in her, as in Callista, that change too, though in so different +a soul, must come of something beyond nature. She had something in her +hand, and said, “It’s useless to give a mad woman like her the packet, +which my man has brought me.” + +Callista took the packet, which was directed to her, and broke the seal. +It was from her brother. The little roll of worn parchment opened; a +dagger fell out. Some lines were written on the parchment; they were dated +Carthage, and ran as follows:— + +“Aristo to his dearest Callista. I write through Cornelius. You have not +had it in your power to kill me, but you have taken away half my life. For +me, I will cherish the other half, for I love life better than death. But +you love annihilation; yet, if so, die not like a slave. Die nobly, +mindful of your country; I send you the means.” + +Callista was beyond reflecting on anything around her, except as in a sort +of dream. As common men think and speak of heaven, so she now thought and +spoke of earth. “I wish _Him_ to kill me, not myself,” she said. “I am His +victim. My brother! I have no brother, except One, who is calling me.” + +She was carried to court, and the examination followed. We have already +given a specimen of such a process; here it will be sufficient to make use +of two documents, different in kind, as far as they go, which have come +down to us. The first is an alto-relief, which once was coloured, not +first-rate in art or execution, and of the date of the Emperor +Constantius, about a century later. It was lately discovered in the course +of excavations made at El Kaf, the modern Sicca, on the ruins of a church +or Roman basilica, for the building in question seems to have served each +purpose successively. In this sculpture the prætorium is represented, and +the tribunal of the president in it. The tribunal is a high throne, with +wings curving round on each side, making the whole construction extend to +almost a semicircle, and it is ascended by steps between the wings. The +curule chair is at the top of the steps; and in the middle and above it +are purple curtains, reaching down to the platform, drawn back on each +side, and when drawn close together running behind the chair, and +constituting what was called the _secretarium_. On one side of the +tribunal is a table covered with carpeting, and looking something like a +modern ottoman, only higher, and not level at top; and it has upon it the +Book of Mandates, the sign of jurisdiction. The sword too is represented +in the sculpture, to show a criminal case is proceeding. The procurator is +seated on the chair; he is in purple, and has a gold chain of triple +thread. We can also distinguish his lawyers, whether assessors or +_consiliarii_; also his lictors and soldiers. There, too, are the notaries +in a line below him; they are writing down the judge’s questions and the +prisoner’s answers: and one of them is turning round to her, as if to make +her speak more loudly. She herself is mounted upon a sort of platform, +called _catasta_, like that on which slaves were put up for sale. Two +soldiers are by her, who appear to have been dragging her forwards. The +executioners are also delineated, naked to the waist, with instruments of +torture in their hands. + + + +The second document is a fragment of the _Acta Proconsularia_ of her +Passion. If, indeed, it could be trusted to the letter, as containing +Callista’s answers word for word, it would have a distinctly sacred +character, in consequence of our Lord’s words, “It shall be given you in +that hour what to speak.” However, we attach no such special value to this +document, since it comes to us through heathen notaries, who may not have +been accurate reporters; not to say that before we did so we ought to look +very carefully into its genuineness. As it is, we believe it to be as true +as any part of our narrative, and not truer. It runs as follows:— + + + +“Cneius Messius Decius Augustus II., and Gratus, Consuls, on the seventh +before the Calends of August, in Sicca Veneria, a colony, in the Secretary +at the Tribunal, Martianus, procurator, sitting; Callista, a maker of +images, was brought up by the Commentariensis on a charge of Christianity, +and when she was placed, + +“MARTIANUS, the procurator, said: This folly has been too long; you have +made images, and now you will not worship them. + +“CALLISTA answered: For I have found my true Love, whom before I knew not. + +“MARTIANUS, the procurator, said: Your true love is, I ween, your last +love; for all were true in their time. + +“CALLISTA said: I worship my true Love, who is the Only True; and He is +the Son of God, and I know none but Him. + +“MARTIANUS, the procurator, said: You will not worship the gods, but you +are willing to love their sons. + +“CALLISTA said: He is the true Son of the True God; and I am His, and He +is mine. + +“MARTIANUS, the procurator, said: Let alone your loves, and swear by the +genius of the emperor. + +“CALLISTA said: I have but one Lord, the King of kings, the Ruler of all. + +“MARTIANUS, the procurator, turned to the lictor and said: This folly is +madness; take her hand, put incense in it, and hold it over the flame. + +“CALLISTA said: You may compel me by your great strength, but my own true +Lord and Love is stronger. + +“MARTIANUS, the procurator, said: You are bewitched; but we must undo the +spell. Take her to the Lignum (the prison for criminals). + +“CALLISTA said: He has been there before me, and He will come to me there. + +“MARTIANUS, the procurator, said: The jailer will see to that. Let her be +brought up to-morrow. + +“On the day following, Martianus, the procurator, sitting at the tribunal, +called up Callista. He said: Honour our lord, and sacrifice to the gods. + +“CALLISTA said: Let me alone; I am content with my One and only Lord. + +“MARTIANUS, the procurator, said: What? did he come to you in prison, as +you hoped? + +“CALLISTA said: He came to me amid much pain; and the pain was pleasant, +for He came in it. + +“MARTIANUS, the procurator, said: You have got worn and yellow, and he +will leave you. + +“CALLISTA said: He loves me the more, for I am beautiful when I am black. + +“MARTIANUS, the procurator, said: Throw her into the Tullianum; perhaps +she will find her god there also. + +“Then the procurator entered into the Secretary, and drew the veil; and +dictated the sentence for the tabella. Then he came out, and the præco +read it:—Callista, a senseless and reprobate woman, is hereby sentenced to +be thrown into the Tullianum; then to be stretched on the equuleus; then +to be placed on a slow fire; lastly, to be beheaded, and left to the dogs +and birds. + +“CALLISTA said: Thanks to my Lord and King.” + + + +Here the Acta end: and though they seem to want their conclusion, yet they +supply nearly every thing which is necessary for our purpose. The one +subject on which a comment is needed, is the state prison, which, though +so little is said of it in the above Report, is in fact the real _medium_, +as we may call it, for appreciating its information; a few words will +suffice for our purpose. + +The state prison, then, was arranged on pretty much one and the same plan +through the Roman empire, nay, we may say, throughout the ancient world. +It was commonly attached to the government buildings, and consisted of two +parts. The first was the vestibule, or outward prison, which was a hall, +approached from the prætorium, and surrounded by cells, opening into it. +The prisoners, who were confined in these cells, had the benefit of the +air and light, which the hall admitted. Such was the place of confinement +allotted to St. Paul at Cæsarea, which is said to be the “prætorium of +Herod.” And hence, perhaps, it is that, in the touching Passion of St. +Perpetua and St. Felicitas, St. Perpetua tells us that, when permitted to +have her child, though she was in the inner portion, which will next be +described, “suddenly the prison seemed to her like the prætorium.” + +From this vestibule there was a passage into the interior prison, called +Robur or Lignum, from the beams of wood, which were the instruments of +confinement, or from the character of its floor. It had no window or +outlet, except this door, which, when closed, absolutely shut out light +and air. Air, indeed, and coolness might be obtained for it by the +_barathrum_, presently to be spoken of, but of what nature we shall then +see. The apartment, called Lignum, was the place into which St. Paul and +St. Silas were cast at Philippi, before it was known that they were +Romans. After scourging them severely, the magistrates, who nevertheless +were but the local authorities, and had no proper jurisdiction in criminal +cases, “put them in prison, bidding the jailer to keep them carefully; +who, on receiving such a command, put them in the inner prison, and +fastened them in the lignum.” And in the Acts of the Scillitane Martyrs we +read of the Proconsul giving sentence, “Let them be thrown into prison, +let them be put into the Lignum, till to-morrow.” + +The utter darkness, the heat, and the stench of this miserable place, in +which the inmates were confined day and night, is often dwelt upon by the +martyrs and their biographers. “After a few days,” says St. Perpetua, “we +were taken to the prison, and I was frightened, for I never had known such +darkness. O bitter day! the heat was excessive by reason of the crowd +there.” In the Acts of St. Pionius, and others of Smyrna, we read that the +jailers “shut them up in the inner part of the prison, so that, bereaved +of all comfort and light, they were forced to sustain extreme torment, +from the darkness and stench of the prison.” And, in like manner, other +martyrs of Africa, about the time of St. Cyprian’s martyrdom, that is, +eight or ten years later than the date of this story, say, “We were not +frightened at the foul darkness of that place; for soon that murky prison +was radiant with the brightness of the Spirit. What days, what nights we +passed there no words can describe. The torments of that prison no +statement can equal.” + +Yet there was a place of confinement even worse than this. In the floor of +this inner prison was a sort of trap-door, or hole, opening into the +_barathrum_, or pit, and called, from the original prison at Rome, the +Tullianum. Sometimes prisoners were confined here, sometimes despatched by +being cast headlong into it through the opening. It was into this pit at +Rome that St. Chrysanthus was cast; and there, and probably in other +cities, it was nothing short of the public cesspool. + +It may be noticed that the Prophet Jeremiah seems to have had personal +acquaintance with Vestibule, Robur, and Barathrum. We read in one place of +his being shut up in the “atrium,” that is, the vestibule, “of the prison, +which was in the house of the king.” At another time he is in the +“ergastulum,” which would seem to be the inner prison. Lastly his enemies +let him down by ropes into the lacus or pit, in which “there was no water, +but mud.” + +As to Callista, then, after the first day’s examination, she was thrown +for nearly twenty-four hours into the stifling Robur, or inner prison. +After the sentence, on the second day, she was let down, as the +commencement of her punishment, that is, of her martyrdom, into the +loathsome Barathrum, lacus, or pit, called Tullianum, there to lie for +another twenty hours before she was brought out to the equuleus or rack. + + + + + + CHAPTER XXXIV. + + + THE MARTYRDOM. + + +Callista had sighed for the bright and clear atmosphere of Greece, and she +was thrown into the Robur and plunged into the Barathrum of Sicca. But in +reality, though she called it Greece, she was panting after a better +country and a more lasting home, and this country and home she had found. +She was now setting out for it. + +It was, indeed, no slight marvel that she was not already there. She had +been lowered into that pit of death before noon on the day of her second +examination, and, excepting some unwholesome bread and water, according to +the custom of the prison, had had no food since she came into the custody +of the _commentariensis_ the day before. The order came from the +magistrates to bring her out earlier in the morning than was intended, or +the prison might have really effected that death which Calphurnius had +purposed to pretend. When the apparitors attempted to raise her, she +neither spoke or moved, nor could well be seen. “Black as Orcus,” said one +of the fellows, “another torch there! I can’t see where she nestles.” +“There she is, like a bundle of clothes,” said another. “Madam gets up +late this morning,” said a third. “She’s used to softer couches,” said a +fourth. “Ha! ha! ’tis a spoiler of beauty, this hole,” said a fifth. “She +is the demon of stubbornness, and must be crushed,” said the jailer; “she +likes it, or she would not choose it.” “The plague take the witch,” said +another; “we shall have better seasons when a few like her are ferreted +out.” + +They got her out like a corpse, and put her on the ground outside the +prison. When she still did not move, two of them took her between them on +their shoulders and arms, and began to move forward, the instrument of +torture preceding her. The fresh air of the morning revived her; she soon +sat up. She seemed to drink in life again, and became conscious. “O +beautiful Light!” she whispered, “O lovely Light, my light and my life! O +my Light and my Life, receive me!” Gradually she became fully alive to all +that was going on. She was going to death, and that rather than deny Him +who had bought her by His own death. He had suffered for her, and she was +to suffer for Him. He had been racked on the Cross, she too was to have +her limbs dislocated after His pattern. She scarcely rested on the men’s +shoulders; and they vowed afterwards that they thought she was going to +fly away, vile witch as she was. + +“The witch, the witch,” the mob screamed out, for she had now come to the +place of her conflict. “_We’ll_ pay you off for blight and pestilence! +Where’s our bread, where’s the maize and barley, where are the grapes?” +And they uttered fierce yells of execration, and seemed disposed to break +through the line of apparitors, and to tear her to pieces. Yet, after all, +it was not a very hearty uproar, but got up for the occasion. The populace +had spent their force, not to say their lives, in the riot in which she +was apprehended. The priests and priestesses of the temples had sent the +poor wretches and paid them. + +The place of execution was on the north-east of the city, outside the +walls, and towards the mountain. It was where slaves were buried, and it +was as hideous as such spots usually were. The neighbourhood was wild, +open to the beasts of prey, who at night used to descend and feast upon +the corpses. As Callista approached to the scene of her suffering, the +expression of her countenance had so altered that a friend would scarce +have known it. There was a tenderness in it and a modesty which never had +been there in that old time. Her cheek had upon it a blush, as when the +rising sun suddenly touches some grey rock or tower yet it was white and +glistening too, so much so that others might have said it was like silver. +Her eyes were larger than they had been, and gazed steadfastly, as if at +what the multitude did not see. Her lips spoke of sweet peace and deep +composure. When at length she came close upon the rabble, who had been +screaming and yelling so fiercely, men, women, and boys suddenly held +their peace. It was first from curiosity, then from amazement, then from +awe. At length a fear smote through them, and a strange pity and +reverence. They almost seemed inclined to worship what stirred them so +much, they knew not how; a new idea had visited those poor ignorant souls. + +A few minutes sufficed to put the rack into working order. She was laid +down upon its board in her poor bedimmed tunic, which once flashed so +bright in the sun,—she who had been ever so delicate in her apparel. Her +wrists and ankles were seized, extended, fastened to the moveable blocks +at the extremities of the plank. She spoke her last word, “For Thee, my +Lord and Love, for Thee!... Accept me, O my Love, upon this bed of pain! +And come to me, O my Love, make haste and come!” The men turned round the +wheels rapidly to and fro; the joints were drawn out of their sockets, and +then snapped in again. She had fainted. They waited for her coming-to; +they still waited; they got impatient. + +“Dash some water on her,” said one. “Spit in her face, and it will do,” +said a second. “Prick her with your spike,” said a third. “Hold your wild +talk,” said a fourth; “she’s gone to the shades.” They gathered round, and +looked at her attentively. They could not bring her back. So it was: she +had gone to her Lord and her Love. + +“Lay her out for the wolves and vultures,” said the _cornicularius_, and +he was going to appoint guards till nightfall, when up came the +_stationarii_ and Calphurnius in high wrath. + +“You dogs!” he cried, “what trick have you been practising against the +soldiers of Rome?” However, expostulation and reproach were bootless; nor +would it answer here to go into the quarrel which ensued over the dead +body. The magistrates, having got scent of Calphurnius’s scheme, had +outwitted the tribune by assigning an earlier hour than was usual for the +execution. Life could not be recalled; nor did the soldiers of course dare +publicly to disobey the Proconsul’s order for the exposure of the corpse. +All that could be done, they did. They took her down with rude reverence +from the rack, and placed her on the sand; and then they set guards to +keep off the rabble, and to avail themselves of any opportunity which +might occur to show consideration towards her. + + + + + + CHAPTER XXXV. + + + THE CORPO SANTO. + + +The sun of Africa has passed over the heavens, but has not dared with one +of his fierce rays to profane the sacred relics which lie out before him. +The mists of evening rise up, and the heavy dews fall, but they neither +bring the poison of decay to that gracious body, nor receive it thence. +The beasts of the wild are roaming and roaring at a distance, or nigh at +hand: not any one of them presumes to touch her. No vultures may promise +themselves a morning meal from such a victim, as they watch through the +night upon the high crags which overlook her. The stars have come out on +high, and, they too look down upon Callista, as if they were funeral +lights in her honour. Next the moon rises up to see what has been going +on, and edges the black hangings of the night with silver. Yet mourning +and dirge are but of formal observance, when a brave champion has died for +her God. The world of ghosts has as little power over such an one as the +world of nature. No evil spirit has aught to say to her, who has gone in +her baptismal white before the Throne. No penal fire shall be her robe, +who has been carried in her bright _flammeum_ to the Bridal Chamber of the +Lamb. A divine odour fills the air, issuing from that senseless, +motionless, broken frame. A circle of light gleams round her brow, and, +even when the daylight comes again, it there is faintly seen. Her features +have reassumed their former majesty, but with an expression of childlike +innocence and heavenly peace. The thongs have drawn blood at the wrists +and ankles, which has run and soaked into the sand; but angels received +the body from the soldiers when they took it off the rack, and it lies, +sweetly and modestly composed, upon the ground. + +Passers-by stand still and gaze; idlers gather round. The report spreads +in Sicca that neither sun by day, nor moon by night, nor moist atmosphere, +nor beast of prey, has power over the wonderful corpse. Nay, that they +cannot come near it without falling under some strange influence, which +makes them calm and grave, expels bad passions, and allays commotion of +mind. Many come again and again, for the mysterious and soothing effect +she exerts upon them. They cannot talk freely about it to each other, and +are seized with a sacred fear when they attempt to do so. Those who have +merely heard their report without seeing her, say that these men have been +in a grove of the Eumenides, or have suddenly encountered the wolf. The +popular sensation continues and extends; some say it is magical, others +that it is from the great gods. Day sinks again into evening, evening +becomes night; the night wears out, and morning is coming again. + +It begins to dawn: a glimmer is faintly spread abroad, and, mixing with +the dark, makes twilight, which gradually brightens, and the outlines of +nature rise dimly out of the night. Gradually the sacred body comes to +sight; and, as the light grows stronger around it, gradually too the forms +of five men emerge, who had not been there the night before. One is in +front; the rest behind with a sort of bier or litter. They stand on the +mountain side of her, and must have come from the country. It has been a +bold enterprise theirs, to expose themselves to the nightly beasts, and +now again to the rabble and the soldiers. The soldiers are at some little +distance, silent and watchful; such of the rabble as have passed the night +there have had some superstitious object in their stay. They have thought +to get portions of the flesh for magical purposes; a finger, or a tooth, +or some hair, or a portion of her tunic, or the blood-stained rope which +was twisted round her wrist and ankle. + +As the light makes her at length quite visible to the youth on the other +side, who stands by himself with clasped hands and tearful eyes, he +shrinks from the sight. He turns round to his companions who are provided +with a large winding-sheet or pall, and with the help of one of them, to +the surprise of the populace, he spreads it all over the body. And having +done this, he stands again trembling, just for a few seconds, absorbed in +his meditations, praying and weeping, and nerving himself for what is to +follow. Ah, poor Agellius! you have not risen yet to the pitch of triumph; +and other thoughts must be let to range through your breast, other +emotions must spend themselves, before you are prepared simply to rejoice, +exult, and glory in the lifeless form which lies before you. You are upon +a brave work, but your heart is torn while you set hand to it, and you +linger before you begin. + +It was in the pride of her earthly beauty and the full vigour and +elevation of her mind, that he last had seen her. It seemed an age since +that morning, as if a chasm ran between the now and the then, when she so +fascinated him with her presence, and so majestically rebuked him for +bowing to that fascination. Yet on his memory every incident of that +interview was fixed, and was indelible. O why should the great Creator +shatter one of His most admirable works! If the order of the sun and stars +is adorable, if the laws by which earth and sea are kept together mark the +Hand of supreme Wisdom and Power, how much nobler perfection of beauty is +manifested in man! And of human nature itself here was the supereminent +crown, a soul full of gifts, full of greatness, full of intellect, placed +in an outward form, equally surpassing in its kind, and still more +surpassingly excellent from its intimate union and subordination to the +soul, so as almost to be its simple expression; yet this choicest, rarest +specimen of Almighty skill, the Almighty had pitilessly shattered, in +order that it might inherit a higher, an eternal perfection. O mystery of +mysteries, that heaven should not be possibly obtained without such +grinding down and breaking up of our original nature! O mysterious, that +principle in us, whatever it is, and however it came there, which is so +antagonistic to God, which has so spoilt what seems so good, that all must +be undone, and must begin anew! “An enemy hath done this;” and, knowing as +much as this, and no more, we must leave the awful mystery to that day +when all things shall be made light. + +Agellius has not been idle while these thoughts pass through his mind. He +has stooped down and scooped up such portions of the sand as are moistened +with her blood, and has committed them to a small bag which he has taken +out of his bosom. Then without delay, looking round to his attendants, and +signing to them, with two of the party he resolutely crossed over to the +other side of the corpse, covering it from attack, while his two +assistants who were left proceeded quickly to lay hold of it. They had +raised it, laid it on the bier, and were setting off by an unusual track +across the waste, while Agellius, Aspar, and the third were grappling with +some ruffians who had rushed upon them. Few, however, were there as yet to +take part against them, but their cries of alarm were bringing others up, +and the Christians were in growing danger of being worsted and carried +off, when suddenly the soldiers interfered. Under pretence of keeping the +peace, they laid about them with their heavy maces; and so it was, the +blows took effect on the heads and shoulders of the rabble, with but +slight injury to Agellius and his companions. The latter took instant +advantage of the diversion, and vanished out of view by the same +misleading track which their comrades had already chosen. If they, or the +party who had preceded them, came within the range of sight of any +goatherds upon the mountains, we must suppose that angels held those +heathen eyes that they should not recognise them. + + + + + + CHAPTER XXXVI. + + + LUX PERPETUA SANCTIS TUIS, DOMINE. + + +The bier and its bearers, and its protectors, have reached the cave in +safety, and pace down the gallery, preceded by its Christian hosts, with +lighted tapers, singing psalms. They place the sacred body before the +altar, and the mass begins. St. Cyprian celebrates, and after the Gospel, +he adds a few words of his own. + +He said that they were engaged in praising, blessing, and exalting the +adorable Grace of God, which had snatched so marvellously a brand out of +the furnace. Benedicamus Patrem et Filium cum Sancto Spiritu. Benedictus, +et laudabilis, et gloriosus, et superexaltatus in sæcula. Every day doing +marvels and exceeding all that seemed possible in power and love, by new +and still newer manifestations. A Greek had come to Africa to embellish +the shrines of heathenism, to minister to the usurpation of the evil one, +and to strengthen the old ties which connected genius with sin; and she +had suddenly found salvation. But yesterday a poor child of earth, and +to-day an inhabitant of the heavens. But yesterday without God and without +hope; and to-day a martyr with a green palm and golden vestment, +worshipping before the Throne. But yesterday the slave of Satan, and +spending herself on the vanities of time; and to-day drinking of the +never-cloying torrents of bliss everlasting. But yesterday one of a +number, a grain of a vast heap, destined indiscriminately for the flame; +to-day one of the elect souls, written from eternity in the book of life, +and predestined to glory. But yesterday, hungry and thirsty, and restless +for some object worthy an immortal spirit; to-day enjoying the ineffable +ecstasy of the Marriage Feast and the espousals of Emmanuel. But yesterday +tossed about on a sea of opinion; and to-day entranced in the vision of +infallible truth and immutable sanctity. And yet what was she but only one +instance out of ten thousand, of the Almighty and All-manifold Grace of +the Redeemer? And who was there of all of them, there assembled, from the +most heroic down to the humblest beginner, from the authoritative preacher +down to the slave or peasant, but was equally, though in his own way, a +miracle of mercy, and a vessel, once of wrath, if now of glory? Only might +he and all who heard him persevere as they had begun, so that if (as was +so probable) their trial was to be like hers, its issue might be like hers +also. + +St. Cyprian ceased; and, while the deacon opened the _sindon_ for the +offertory, the faithful took up alternately the verses of a hymn, which we +here insert in a most unworthy translation:— + + “The number of Thine own complete, + Sum up and make an end; + Sift clean the chaff, and house the wheat,— + And then, O Lord, descend. + + “Descend, and solve by that descent, + This mystery of life; + Where good and ill, together blent, + Wage an undying strife. + + “For rivers twain are gushing still, + And pour a mingled flood; + Good in the very depths of ill— + Ill in the heart of good. + + “The last are first, the first are last, + As angel eyes behold; + These from the sheepcote sternly cast, + Those welcomed to the fold. + + “No Christian home, no pastor’s eye, + No preacher’s vocal zeal, + Moved Thy dear martyr to defy + The prison and the wheel. + + “Forth from the heathen ranks she stepped + The forfeit throne to claim + Of Christian souls who had not kept + Their birthright and their name. + + “Grace formed her out of sinful dust; + She knelt a soul defiled; + She rose in all the faith and trust + And sweetness of a child. + + “And in the freshness of that love + She preached by word and deed, + The mysteries of the world above— + Her new-found glorious creed. + + “And running, in a little hour, + Of life the course complete, + She reached the throne of endless power, + And sits at Jesus’ feet. + + “Her spirit there, her body here, + Make one the earth and sky; + We use her name, we touch her bier, + We know her God is nigh.” + +The last sentiment of the yet unfinished hymn was receiving an answer +while they sang it. Juba had been brought into the chapel in the hands of +his brother and the exorcists. Since he had been under their care, he had +been, on the whole, calm and manageable, with intervals of wild tempest +and mad terror. He spoke, at times, of an awful incubus weighing on his +chest, which he could not throw off, and said he hoped that they would not +think all the blasphemies he uttered were his own. On this occasion, he +struggled most violently, and shook with distress; and, as they brought +him towards the sacred relics, a thick, cold dew stood upon his brow, and +his features shrank and collapsed. He held back, and exerted himself with +all his might to escape, foaming at the mouth, and from time to time +uttering loud shrieks and horrible words, which disturbed, though they +could not interrupt, the hymn. His bearers persevered; they brought him +close to Callista, and made him touch her feet with his hands. Immediately +he screamed fearfully, and was sent up into the air with such force that +he seemed discharged from some engine of war: then he fell back upon the +earth apparently lifeless. + +The long prayer was ended; the _Sursum corda_ was uttered. Juba raised +himself from the ground. When the words of consecration had been said, he +adored with the faithful. After the mass, his attendants came to him; he +was quite changed; he was quiet, harmless, and silent: the evil spirit had +gone out; but he was an idiot. + +This wonderful deliverance was but the beginning of the miracles which +followed the martyrdom of St. Callista. It may be said to have been the +resurrection of the Church at Sicca. In not many months Decius was killed, +and the persecution ceased there. Castus was appointed bishop, and numbers +began to pour into the fold. The lapsed asked for peace, or at least such +blessings as they could have. Heathens sought to be received. When asked +for their reason, they could only say that Callista’s history and death +had affected them with constraining force, and that they could not help +following her steps. Increasing in boldness, as well as numbers, the +Christians cowed both magistrates and mob. The spirit of the populace had +been already broken; and the continual change of masters, and measures +with them, in the imperial government, inflicted a chronic timidity on the +magistracy. A handsome church was soon built, to which Callista’s body was +brought, and which remained till the time of the Diocletian persecution. + +Juba attached himself to this church; and, though he could not be taught +even to sweep the sacred pavement, still he never was troublesome or +mischievous. He continued in this state for about ten years. At the end of +that time, one morning, after mass, which he always attended in the church +porch, he suddenly went to the bishop, and asked for baptism. He said that +Callista had appeared to him, and had restored to him his mind. On +conversing with him, the holy Castus found that his recovery was beyond +all doubt: and not knowing how long his lucid state would last, he had no +hesitation, with such instruction as the time admitted, in administering +the sacred rite, as Juba wished. After receiving it, he proceeded to the +tomb, within which lay St. Callista, and remained on his knees before his +benefactress till nightfall. Not even then was he disposed to rise; and so +he was left there for the night. Next morning he was found still in the +attitude of prayer, but lifeless. He had been taken away in his baptismal +robe. + +As to Agellius, if he be the bishop of that name who suffered at Sicca in +his old age, in the persecution of Diocletian, we are possessed in this +circumstance of a most interesting fact to terminate his history withal. +What makes this more likely is, that this bishop is recorded to have +removed the body of St. Callista from its original position, and placed it +under the high altar, at which he said mass daily. After his own +martyrdom, St. Agellius was placed under the high altar also. + + + THE END. + + + THE ABERDEEN UNIVERSITY PRESS LIMITED + + + + + + + FOOTNOTES + + +_ 1 Vide_ Oxford transl. of St. Cyprian. + + 2 Here is an anachronism, as regards Arnobius and Lactantius of some + twenty or thirty years. + + 3 Bacon. + + + + + + TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE + + +The author’s footnotes have been moved to the end of the volume. + +The following typographical errors were corrected: + + page 10, single quote changed to double quote after “pilum,” + page 34, “off?” changed to “off!” + page 42, “tomatos” changed to “tomatoes” + page 69, comma removed after “spirit” + page 135, “lees” changed to “less” + page 137, “do!” changed to “do?” + page 157, single quote changed to double quote after “stronger,” + page 181, “aud” changed to “and” + page 201, period changed to question mark after “Carthage” + page 207, “throughont” changed to “throughout” + page 228, “Saturu” changed to “Saturn” + page 230, period added after “best” + page 232, period added after “again” + page 239, “ou” changed to “on” + page 240, “be” changed to “he” + page 248, “you” changed to “your” + page 255, “to” changed to “too” + page 256, “n” changed to “in” + page 263, period changed to comma after “said” + page 278, period changed to question mark after “it” + page 300, period added after “gods” + page 303, single quote added after “do?” + page 310, quote removed before “If”, added before “it” + page 313, comma changed to period after “was” + page 333, “corrider” changed to “corridor” + page 347, comma changed to period after “initiation” + page 348, period added after “voice” + page 379, “Jesu’s” changed to “Jesus’” + +Variations in spelling (like “jailer” and “jailor”, “Asper” and “Aspar”, +“Phenician” and “Phœnician”, “Thibursicumber” and “Thibursicumbur”) and +hyphenation (e.g. “farm-house” and “farmhouse”, “goodwill” and +“good-will”) were not changed. + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Callista by John Henry Cardinal Newman + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CALLISTA *** + +***** This file should be named 30664-h.htm or 30664-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/0/6/6/30664/ + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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