Love thy God, and love Him only,
Or dwell for aye alone.
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.
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.
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
Without being able to lay his finger upon instances in point, he has some misgiving lest, from a confusion etween 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
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.
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-
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
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
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
When the bare earth, till now
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
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
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
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;
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
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.
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.
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
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
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 them
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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.
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
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
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
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,
’Twas Father Cham that planted that yew,
Footing and flaunting it, all in the night,
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.
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 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
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
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
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
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 see 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,
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,
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
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.
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
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
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
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
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,
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,
he said, taking a suck at it.
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,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,
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
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
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
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
And with this undeniable sentiment he fell asleep.
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
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
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;
Sporting and snorting, deep in the night,
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
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
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,
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,
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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,
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,
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
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
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
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
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.
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
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.
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,
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
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
their amours or their
exploits, like grasshoppers that show their vigour only
by their chirping.
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
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
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
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
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:
—and he shrugged his shoulders—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
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
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
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
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
guar
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
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
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.
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
com
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
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
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
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
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
I count the weeds that fringe the shore,
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
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
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?
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
The pale-cliffed Albion?
Here she stopped, looked down, and busied herself with her work.
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
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
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,
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
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
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!
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
disap
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-
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—
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
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.
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
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;
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
com
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
pos
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,
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
dawnTransivimus 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,
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
sacra
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
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.
answered the priest;
Puer meus, noli timere,
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.
answered he; Sursum corda!
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
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.
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
con
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.
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
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.
said the priest.
Virtus in infirmitate perficitur,
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 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
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
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.
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
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
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
They moved right on like soldiers in their ranks,
stopping at nothing, and straggling for nothing:
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 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
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
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
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
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
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,—alterca
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
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
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
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
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
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.
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
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
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
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
Chris
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
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
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
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,
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
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
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,
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
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
inhabi
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 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
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
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
perse
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.
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.
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,
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
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
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
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
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,
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
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
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
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
Dear father,
she said, the enemy is upon
you.
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,
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
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
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
Getu
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,
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;
She stamped and she twirled in the shade of the yew,
She danced and she coaxed, but he was no fool;
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
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.
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
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
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
be
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.
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
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
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
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,
And he had become quite
red.
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.
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
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
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
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,
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
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
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
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
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.
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
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
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
even
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;
She foamed and she cursed—’twas the same thing to him;
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,I don’t
fear the immortal devil!
And he continued his
song—
She beckoned the moon, and the moon came down;
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,
howYou cannot escape from yourself!
Then a terror seized him; he fell down and fainted
away.
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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,
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
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
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
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
CalWell, 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.
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
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?
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
——
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
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
he screamed out. 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!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
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.
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,
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
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
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
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
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
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
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.
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
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!
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
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
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
be
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
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
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
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?
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.
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
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.
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
philo
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
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.
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
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
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
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
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
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
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,
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
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
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
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
remark
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
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
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
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
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
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,
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
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
peniO 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?
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
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
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
earn
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
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
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
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
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
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.
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,
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
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
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
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.
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
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,
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,
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
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
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.
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
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
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.
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
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
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
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
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
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
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,
Descend, and solve by that descent,
For rivers twain are gushing still,
The last are first, the first are last,
No Christian home, no pastor’s eye,
Forth from the heathen ranks she stepped
Grace formed her out of sinful dust;
And in the freshness of that love
And running, in a little hour,
Her spirit there, her body here,
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
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
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.
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