FROM THE DIARY OF MARCUS AURELIUS
Rome. The Ides of March.—It is curious that Julius Cæsar should have considered this date to be unlucky! It was on that—for him auspicious—date that he was for ever prevented from committing the egregious folly of accepting the crown of Rome. A king of Rome is an unthinkable thing! An emperor of the Roman Empire is, of course, a very different matter.
April 1.—Faustina, in accordance with some ridiculous tradition, committed a grossly undignified act. She came into my study, the third hour—my busiest time, and asked me to lend her the memoirs of Remus in the Wolf's Lair. I spent a fruitless half-hour in search of the book. It then occurred to me that the whole matter was a jest—in the very worst taste, since both my secretaries were present—and I regret to say they smiled.
April 6.—Went to the games, in company with Faustina and Commodus. Commodus, as usual, too exuberant in the manner of his applause. I am all in favour of his applauding. The games are not what they used to be. The modern lions consume the Christians without the slightest discrimination. All this modern hurry and hustle is very distressing.
April 10.—Stayed at Tivoli with V.... and A.... from Saturday to Monday. Even in a country house a day may be well spent. Much interesting talk on the Fiscal question. V.... deprecates Tariff Reform in all its shapes. A.... while remaining, as he ever was, a staunch Free Trader, considers that in some cases—and given certain conditions —retaliation is admissible—possibly in the matter of the fringes of litters and the axles of chariot-wheels—-objects which exclusively concern the very rich.
April 20.—An exhilarating day. Walked to the Tiber and back. Read the preface of the new Persian grammar. Faustina interrupted me three times over purely trivial matters of domestic detail.
April 20.—Commodus is impossible. He grows more and more extravagant every day. He persists in spending his pocket money in buying absurd pets—and the gods know that Faustina has enough pets in the house already. But I am thankful to say I have drawn the line at badgers. I put my foot down. I was dignified, but firm. I endure Faustina's peacocks, because I think it is good for my better nature. Besides which they are ornamental and—if properly dressed—not unpleasant to the palate, but badgers—!
April 20.—A painful episode occurred. When I returned from my morning stroll I was aware that an altercation was taking place in the atrium. I entered and found myself face to face with two Persian merchants—of the lowest type—who were exhibiting to Faustina several ropes of pearls. Faustina, of course, had had no hand in the matter. The merchants had forced themselves on her presence on some ridiculous pretext. Faustina, in spite of her faults, values jewels at their true price. She has a soul above such things. She abhors trinkets. She sees their futility.
April 23.—Re-read the Iliad. Find it too long. The character of Helen shows defective psychology. Homer did not understand women.
April 27.—Games again. Very tame. Lions lethargic as usual. How dissatisfied Nero would have been! Nero, although a bad poet, was an excellent organiser. He understood the psychology of the crowd. He was essentially an altruist. Faustina insisted on making a foolish bet. Women's bets are the last word of silliness. They bet because the name of a gladiator reminds them of a pet dog, or for some such reason. They have no inkling of logic: no power of deduction. I found no difficulty in anticipating the victories of the successful candidates, but I refrained from making a wager.
May 1.—Absurd processions in the streets. Faustina painted her face black and walked round the garden in a movable bower of greenery. I could see no kind of point or sense in the episode. Under cross-examination, she confessed that the idea had been suggested to her by her nurse. All this is very trying. It sets Commodus the worst possible example. But I suppose I must endure this. The ways of Fate are inscrutable, and after all, things might have been worse. Faustina might have been a loose woman! A profligate!
May 6.—Read out the first canto of my epic on the origins of species to Faustina and Commodus. Commodus, I regret to say, yawned and finally dozed. Faustina enjoyed it immensely. She said she always thought that I was a real poet, and that now she knew it. She says she thinks it is far better than Homer or Virgil; that there is so much more in it. Faustina is a very good judge of literature. There is no one whose opinion on matters of art and literature I value more. For instance she thinks Sappho's lyrics are not only trivial, but coarse. She also thinks Æschylus much overrated, which, of course, he is. How far we have got beyond all that! Some day I mean to write a play on the subject of love. It has never yet been properly treated—on the stage. Sophocles and Seneca knew nothing of women; and Euripides' women are far too complicated.
May 12.—Meditated on religion, but was again interrupted by Faustina just as I was making a really illuminating note on the subject of Isis. Much distressed by modern free thought. Commodus pays much too much attention to the minor goddesses, but this, at his age, is excusable. He is, thank goodness, entirely untainted by the detestable Jewish or so-called "Christian" superstition, which I fear is spreading.
May 13.—V.... and A.... dined. Also a Greek philosopher whose name escapes me. The Greek was most indiscreet. He discussed the Christian question before everybody. He must have been aware by my expression that the topic is one which I consider unfit for public discussion. He not only discussed, but he actually defended this hysterical, obstinate, unpatriotic, and fundamentally criminal sect. I do not, of course, entirely credit the stories current with regard to their orgies and their human sacrifices. The evidence is not—so far—sufficiently sound; but, whatever their practices and their rites may be, the Christians are a pernicious and dangerous sect. They will prove, unless they are extirpated, the ruin of the Empire. They have no notion of civic duty; no reverence, no respect for custom or tradition. They are unfilial, and they are the enemies of the human race. They are a cancer in the State. Faustina agrees with me, I am glad to say.
May 14.—Commodus is suspected of having made friends with a Christian slave. The rumour is no doubt a calumny. I cannot bring myself to believe that a son of mine, with the education which he has enjoyed, and the example which has ever been before his eyes, of his father's unswerving and unremitting devotion to duty and the State, can have degraded himself by dabbling in this degrading and wicked superstition. Nevertheless it is as well to be on the safe side, and, after prolonged reflection, I have decided to make a great sacrifice. I am going to allow him to take part professionally in the games: under another name of course. I think it may distract him. The games are a Roman institution. They are the expression of the Empire. They breathe the spirit of Romulus, of Brutus, of Regulus, of Fabius Cunctator, of Cincinnatus, of the Gracchi. Faustina said only yesterday that she felt she was the mother of at least one Gracchus! That was well said. I was much touched.
May 20.—Commodus has appeared with great success, but the Lions still show apathy.