Aurelian or Rome in the Third Century Part 19

'I hardly know myself,' replied Livia. 'All I know with certainty is, that I have lost my only companion--or the only one I cared for--and that Aurelian merely says she has been sent to the prisons at the Fabrician bridge. I cannot tell you of our parting. Aurelia was sure something terrible was designed against her, from the sharpness and violence of her uncle's language, and she left me as if she were never to see me again. But I would believe no such thing, and so I told her, and tried to give to her some of the courage and cheerfulness which I pretended to have myself: but it was to no purpose. She departed weeping as if her heart were broken. I love her greatly, notwithstanding her usual air of melancholy and her preference of solitude, and I have found in her, as you know, my best friend and companion. Yet I confess there is that in her which I never understood, and do not now understand. I hope she will comply with the wishes of Aurelian, and that I shall soon see her again. The difficulty is all owing to this new religion. I wish, Julia, there were no such thing. It seems to me to do nothing but sow discord and violence.'

'That, dear Livia,' said Julia, 'is not a very wise wish; especially seeing you know, as you will yourself confess, so little about it.'

'But,' quickly added Livia, 'was it not better as it was at Palmyra? who heard then of these bitter hostilities? who were there troubled about their wors.h.i.+p? One hardly knew there was such a thing as a Christian.

When Paul was at the palace, it was still all the same only, if anything, a little more agreeable. But here, no one at the gardens speaks of Christians but with an a.s.sa.s.sin air that frightens one. There must surely be more evil in them than I ever dreamed of.'

'The evil, Livia,' answered her sister, 'comes not from the Christians nor Christianity, but from those who oppose them. There were always Christians in Palmyra, and, as you say, even in the palace, yet there was always peace and good-will too. If Christianity were in itself an element of discord and division, why were no such effects seen there?

The truth is, Livia, the division and discord are created, not by the new religion, but by those who resist it, and will not suffer people to act and think as they please about it. Under Zen.o.bia, all had liberty to believe as they would. And there was under her the reign of universal peace and good-will. Here, on the other hand, it has been the practice of the state to interfere, and say what the citizens shall believe and whom they shall wors.h.i.+p, and what and whom they shall not. How should it be otherwise than that troubles should spring up, under legislation so absurd and so wicked? Would it not be a certain way to introduce confusion, if the state--or Aurelian--should prescribe our food and drink? or our dress? And if confusion did arise, and bitter opposition, you could not justly say it was owing to the existence of certain kinds of food, or of clothes which people fancied, but to their being interfered with. Let them alone, and they will please themselves and be at peace.'

'Yes,' said Livia, 'that may be. But the common people are in no way fit judges in such things, and it seems to me if either party must give way, it were better the people did. The government has the power and they will use it.'

'In so indifferent a matter as food or dress,' rejoined the sister, 'if a government were so foolish as to make prohibitory and whimsical laws, it were better to yield than contend. But in an affair so different from that as one's religion, one could not act in the same way. I may dress in one kind of stuff as well as another; it is quite a possible thing: but is it not plainly impossible, if I think one kind of stuff is of an exquisite fineness and color, for me to believe and say at the same time, that its texture is coa.r.s.e and its hue dull? The mind cannot believe according to any other laws than those of its own const.i.tution.

Is it not then the height of wickedness to set out to make people believe and act one way in religion? The history of the world has shown that, in spite of men's wickedness, there is nothing on earth they value as they do their religion. They will die rather than change or renounce it. Men are the same now. To require that any portion of the people shall renounce their religion is to require them to part with that which they value most--more than life itself--and is it not in effect p.r.o.nouncing against them a sentence of destruction? Some indeed will relinquish it rather than die; and some will play the hypocrite for a season, intending to return to a profession of it in more peaceful times: but most, and the best, will die before they will disown their faith.'

'Then if that is so,' said Livia, 'and I confess what you say cannot be denied, I would that Aurelian could be prevailed upon to recede from a position which he appears to be taking. His whole nature now seems to have been set on fire by this priest Fronto. Superst.i.tion has wholly seized and possessed him. His belief is that Rome can never be secure and great till the enemies of the G.o.ds, as well as of the state, shall perish; and pushed on by Fronto, so far as can be gathered from their discourse, is now bent on their injury or destruction. I wish he could be changed back again to what he was before this notion seized him.

Piso, have you seen him? Have you of late conversed with him?'

'Only, Livia, briefly; and on this topic only at intervals of other talk; for he avoids it, at least with me. But from what we all know of Aurelian, it is not one's opinion nor another's that can alter his will when once bent one way.'

'How little did I once deem,' said Livia, 'when I used to wish so for greatness and empire, that they could be so darkened over. I thought that to be great was necessarily to be happy. But I was but a child then.'

'How long since was that?' asked Julia, smiling.

'Ah! you would say I am little better than that now.'

'You are young yet, Livia, for much wisdom to have come; and you must not wonder if it come slowly, for you are unfortunately placed to gain it. An idol on its pedestal can rarely have but two thoughts--that it is an idol, and that it is to be wors.h.i.+pped. The entrance of all other wisdom is quite shut out.'

'How pleasant a thing it is, Piso, to have an elder sister as wise as Julia! But come, will you to Tibur? I must have Faustula, now I have lost Aurelia.'

'O no, Livia,' said Julia; 'take her not away from Zen.o.bia. She can ill spare her.'

'But there is Vabalathus.'

'Yes, but he is now little there. He is moreover preparing for his voyage. Faustula is her all.'

'Ah, then it cannot be! Yes, it were very wrong. But, this being so, I see not then but I must go to her, or come live with you. Only think of one's trying to escape from the crown of Rome? I can hardly believe I am Livia; once never to be satisfied with power and greatness--now tired of them! No, not that exactly--'

'You are tired, only, Livia, of some little attendant troubles; you like not that overhanging cloud you just spoke of; but for the empire itself, you love that none the less. To believe that, it is enough to see you.'

'I suppose you are right. Julia is always right, Piso.'

So our talk ran on; sometimes into graver and then into lighter themes--often stopping and lingering long over you, and Calpurnius, and Gracchus. You wished to know more of Livia and her thoughts, and I have given her to you in just the mood in which she happened to be.

The wife of Macer has just been here, seeking from Julia both a.s.sistance and comfort. She implores us to do what we may to calm and sober her husband.

'As the prospect of danger increases,' she said to Julia, 'he grows but the more impetuous and ungovernable. He is abroad all the day and every day, preaching all over Rome, and brings home nothing for the support of the family; and if it were not for the Emperor's bounty, we should starve.'

'And does that support you?'

'O no, lady! it hardly gives us food enough to subsist upon. Then we have besides to pay for our lodging and our clothes. But I should mind not at all our labor nor our poverty, did I not hear from so many that my husband is so wild and violent in his preaching, and when he disputes with the gentiles, as he will call them. I am sure it is a good cause to suffer in, if one must suffer; but if our dear Macer would only work half the time, there would be no occasion to suffer, which we should now were it not for Demetrius the jeweler--who lives hard by, and who I am sure has been very kind to us--and our good aelia.'

'You do not then,' I asked, 'blame your religion nor weary of it?'

'O, sir, surely not. It is our greatest comfort. We all look out with expectation of our greatest pleasure, when Macer returns home, after his day's labors,--and labors they surely are, and will destroy him, unless he is persuaded to leave them off. For when he is at home the children all come round him, and he teaches them in his way what religion is.

Sometimes it is a long story he gives them of his life, when he was a little boy and knew nothing about Christ, and what wicked things he did, and sometimes about his serving as a soldier under the Emperor. But he never ends without showing them what Christ's religion tells them to think of such ways of life. And then, sir, before we go to bed he reads to us from the gospels--which he bought when he was in the army, and was richer than he is now--and prays for us all, for the city, and the Emperor, and the gentiles. So that we want almost nothing, as I may say, to make us quite contented and happy.'

'Have you ever been disturbed in your dwelling on Macer's account?'

'O yes, sir, and we are always fearing it. This is our great trouble.

Once the house was attacked by the people of the street, and almost torn down--and we escaped, I and the children, through a back way into the shop of the good Demetrius. There we were safe; and while we were gone our little cabin was entered, and everything in it broken in pieces.

Macer was not at home, or I think he would have been killed.

'Did you apply to the prefect?'

'No, sir, I do not believe there would be much use in that: they say he hates the Christians so.'

'But he is bound to preserve order in the city.'

'Yes, sir; but for a great man like him it's easy to see only one way, and to move so slowly that it does no good. That is what our people say of him. When the Christians are in trouble he never comes, if he comes at all, till it is too late to do them any service. The best way for us is, I think, to live quietly, and not needlessly provoke the gentiles, nor believe that we can make Christians of them all in a day. That is my husband's dream. He thinks that he must deliver his message to people, whether they will or not, and it almost seems as if the more hostile they were, the more he made it his duty to preach to them, which certainly was not the way in which Christ did, as he reads his history to us. It was just the other way. It almost makes me believe that some demon has entered into him, he is so different from what he was, and abroad from what he is at home. Do you think that likely, sir? I have been at times inclined to apply to Felix to see if he could not exorcise him.'

'No, I do not think so certainly; but many may. I believe he errs in his notion of the way in which to do good; but under some circ.u.mstances it is so hard to tell which the best way is, that we must judge charitably of one another. Some would say that Macer is right; others that the course of Probus is wisest; and others, that of Felix. We must do as we think right, and leave the issue to G.o.d.'

'But you will come and see us? We dwell near the ruins, and behind the shop of Demetrius. Every body knows Demetrius.'

I a.s.sured her I would go.

I almost wish, Fausta, that Julia was with you. All cla.s.ses seem alike exposed to danger. But I suppose it would be in vain to propose such a step to her, especially after what she said to Isaac. You now, after your storm, live at length in calm: not exactly in suns.h.i.+ne; for you would say the sun never can seem to s.h.i.+ne that falls upon the ruins of Palmyra. But calm and peace you certainly have, and they are much. I wish Julia could enjoy them with you. For here, every hour, so it now seems to me, the prospect darkens, and it will be enough for one of us to remain to encounter the evil, whatever it may be, and defend the faith we have espoused. This is an office more appropriate to man than to woman; though emergencies may arise, as they have, when woman herself must forget her tenderness and put on soldiers' panoply; and when it has come, never has she been found wanting. Her promptness to believe that which is good and pure, has been equalled by her fort.i.tude and patience in suffering for it.

You will soon see Vabalathus. He will visit you before he enters upon his great office. By him I shall write to you soon again. Farewell.

AURELIAN;

ROME IN THE THIRD CENTURY

LETTER VIII.