Ancient Rome in the English novel: a study in English historical fiction

by Randolph Faries

A. NOVELS OF ROMAN LIFE WHICH SHOW EVIDENCE OF THE SCHOLARSHIP OF GREAT PREACHERS

Let us consider first that phase of the development of the novel of Roman life, which is seen in novels showing unmistakable evidence of the scholarship of great preachers. A significant proportion of the limited list of the best novels of Roman life previously given consists of novels written by preachers. Now in defining the novel of Roman life, those books were excluded, which make use of Roman life merely as an artificial background for religious instruction. But it would certainly be a needless restriction to deny to the novel of Roman life, or indeed to any form of the historical novel, the liberty to present, directly or indirectly, any valuable sort of teaching. It is impossible truly to portray the life of ancient Rome, without teaching many things of lasting value. Moreover, there is a grave error in supposing that those important novels of Roman life which are written by preachers have as their sole purpose the preaching of Christianity; nor do they endeavor to portray the life of the Christians alone, and to deny a fair representation to the Pagan life which all but overwhelmed Christianity. A fairer statement of the case would be to say that preachers of scholarly attainments have been eminently fitted to write of Roman life through their study of that period of the world’s history, which is marked by the formation of the Roman Empire and the beginning of Christianity. Consequently they have produced novels in which the life of the early Christians appears naturally as an essential part of the life of ancient Rome. To include the life of the Christians in the novel of Roman life is not absolutely necessary, though all of our preacher-authors have done so; but it is more natural to do so in a novel, the story of which is laid after the time of Christ, and nearly all authors of such novels have appeared to recognize this. Finally the scholarly preacher has proven to be the best qualified of all men not only to present something of the dramatic struggle between Christianity and the pagan world; but also to portray the life of Rome in such a way as to bring home to his readers universal truths far above the level of mere didacticism. Unless such truths are sensed and illustrated by an author, no portrayal of the past can attain to an entire completeness of realistic effect.

The first significant novel of Roman life by such an author, was the work of the Rev. William Ware, a Unitarian preacher of Boston, and thorough classical scholar. In 1837, three years after The Last Days of Pompeii appeared, he published Zenobia, or The Fall of Palmyra. Ware was no doubt led to write a novel of Roman times by the work of Bulwer and other novelists of the British Isles, who had done so; though in his work there is none of the Byronism which had appeared in the work of Croly, the only other preacher whose novel has been discussed so far in this study. Just what influenced Ware in his choice of title and subject is not quite so clear. As far back as 1814 there had been published in London a work by a certain Miss O’Keefe, entitled Zenobia, Queen of Palmyra, a Narrative founded on History. This combines slow-moving dialogue with narration of the style of a school history book, and can hardly be classed as a genuine novel. While it is fairly accurate in its history, it does not appear to be of sufficient merit to have influenced Ware in his far superior work, even if he knew of it. A much more likely supposition is that Ware was first attracted in the course of his reading by the life-story of the famous queen who dared to lead her army against the hosts of the Roman empire; he then found further encouragement to write the novel from the popularity of historical fiction and from his familiarity with the sources from which the facts of Zenobia’s story are readily derived. In any case, Zenobia, among novels so far considered, (when published) had been equaled only by Croly’s Salathiel in the accurate and abundant use of historical facts derived from original historical sources. Pollio, the biographer of Zenobia, Vopiscus, the biographer of Aurelian, and other historians, are accurately quoted to establish important points; and when there is evidence on both sides of a question, Ware weighs it very carefully. On the other hand, he does not make the mistake of crowding his pages with notes. These are condensed within the space of a few pages at the end of each of the two volumes.

Zenobia is written in the letters of L. Manlius Piso, an imaginary personage who is supposed to have been in Palmyra at the time of its fall, and who writes to a friend at Rome. Since the first letter describes to his friend how he left Rome, the scene may be said to open at Rome, and it returns to Rome when Zenobia has been made a captive by Aurelian. Moreover, the character of Piso is distinctly Roman, and the cruel, stern emperor, Aurelian, appears as a true Roman. The military operations of the Romans before the walls of Palmyra, and the Emperor’s triumph at Rome with Zenobia as his captive, are well described. There is thus much of Roman life in Zenobia. Its so-called “epistolary” or “Richardsonian” style, is heavily descriptive, but the general effect is one of soundness, and the novel is impressive, not dull. In fact, Zenobia possesses a brightness of coloring and an atmosphere of reality which seem superior to anything in Ware’s later books. While the minor characters do not stand out strongly, they are nevertheless real and human enough. Any deficiencies shown by the other characters are atoned for in Ware’s presentation of Zenobia, whom the author successfully portrays as a real woman and a proud queen. Ware is also true to history in recording that Zenobia had heard much of Christianity, but did not finally decide to become a Christian. Though a preacher, he preferred to state the probable truth, rather than to change the facts for the sake of preaching. In this he points the way for other preacher-authors who followed him in writing the novel of Roman life. Zenobia was widely read on its first publication and attained equal success when it was posthumously published in 1869.

The success of Zenobia led its author to publish a sequel in the following year, 1838. This was called Aurelian, Emperor of Rome, when it was republished shortly afterward, and goes by that title, though its original title was Probus. The scene of this novel is laid entirely in Rome, and the supposed narrator speaks as though he had survived Aurelian, had seen something of the persecution of Diocletian, and finally enjoyed safety under Constantine. Like Zenobia, Aurelian is written in the form of letters; these letters are supposed to have been collected by a freedman of one of the characters. While it contains the story of a conversion to Christianity, Aurelian is not to be classed as propaganda of any sort. Whatever preaching there is in it consists merely of a realistic portrayal of the sufferings of the Christians under persecution. The scenes in which Christians are submitted to various forms of torture are by no means overdrawn, and the martyrdom of some of them in the arena is described in a convincing manner. Over-emphasis on the place of Christianity in Roman life is to some extent avoided by making the Emperor a more important figure than any one of the Christians. Aurelian is a book of one important character, the Emperor being the dominant figure. Ware’s second novel may truly be called a novel of Roman life, since it portrays faithfully some aspects of life at Rome in the time of Aurelian. But even in these terrible times there were other things in the life of Rome than the persecution of the Christians; and a more complete effect would have been obtained by including some of these in the picture. The fault is not overemphasis of one element so much as the omission of others. The author was careful in his study of life at Rome, but limited that study too much to a single phase of Roman life. One of his contemporaries, Miss Mitford, in her Literary Recollections, said of Aurelian, that it showed “not a trace of modern habits or modes of thinking;” but this is a purely negative compliment. The novel does portray something of ancient Roman habits and modes of thinking; its psychology is good in the case of the Christians and their persecutors. While not making quite the same use of the larger facts of history as appears in Zenobia, Ware showed his scholarship in Aurelian especially well in his minutely detailed description of the Roman system of espionage, and of the traits of character which were exhibited in the Roman masters of the world. Though its tone is too sinister for present-day taste, Aurelian made a great impression in its day, and takes an important place in the development of the novel of Roman life.

Ware’s third novel, published in 1841, was called Julian; Scenes in Judea. This is also written in the form of letters; and the story is told in the words of a wealthy young Jew, who leaves Rome, where he has been staying, and returns to his native land. Julian can hardly be called a novel of Roman life, since, as the alternative title implies, most of the action takes place in Judea; and it excels rather in its portrayal of the Jewish national life, than in its description of the Romans. A fine conception, however, of the grandeur and extent of the Roman Empire is afforded by the description of the travels of the young Jew. Realistic touches are added in pictures of the stately buildings of Asiatic cities and of wild animals, which are being shipped for the games in the arena. Furthermore the delineation of the Roman governor Pilate and of Roman soldiers in Judea is made with masterful strokes. But the significant thing in Julian in relation to the development of the novel of Roman life, is that it is the first novel approaching that type, which has for its central theme the life-story of Jesus Christ. Though it is beyond the power of any novelist to tell this story with one-half the power of the inspired narrative of the New Testament, even when feebly retold, it is of such tremendous meaning, that any portrayal of Roman life made in connection with it is sure to pale into insignificance. Julian proved conclusively that a novel which is intended primarily to portray Roman life, cannot make the life of Christ its central theme. The Rev. Mr. Ware’s three novels were not only very popular in America and in England, but were translated into German and other foreign languages. They were very favorably received by contemporary critics. In reviewing Julian, shortly after it appeared, Dr. R. W. Griswold says, “The romances of Mr. Ware betray a familiarity with the civilization of the ancients, and are written in a graceful, pure, and brilliant style.” No novel in America surpasses the novels of Ware in their importance in the development of the novel of Roman life before the publication of Gen. Lew Wallace’s Ben Hur (1880).

The Rev. Ware’s Julian has just been mentioned as an illustration of the fact that no novel, whether written by a preacher or not, can successfully portray Roman life, while making the life of Christ its central theme. Aurelian was also spoken of, to illustrate the more general truth that in a portrayal of Roman life in a novel, the life of the Christians should not be given undue prominence. Mrs. Webb’s Naomi (1841),[20] is a story which begins immediately after the time of Christ, but much of the life of Christ is brought in by the words of the aged Mary of Bethany and others of His disciples who are still living. Moreover, the life of the Christians, as contrasted with that of the Romans, is given undue prominence. Naomi has, in fact, been mentioned in the first section of this study, and was excluded from consideration as a novel of Roman life, since it is rather a story of religious experience. It is now mentioned again to remind one that it is the first important one of a very great number of religious books that were written from this time on. In other words, the year 1841 marks, as nearly as possible, the exact point at which the story of religious instruction branches off and becomes an entirely different thing from the novel of Roman life. The Rev. Ware’s Julian and Aurelian are not in any sense stories of religious instruction, but they suggested to other preachers and people interested in religious work the possibility of writing such stories. Thus the story of religious instruction was a by-product of the early novel of Roman life; but it continued to exist as a distinct form, and to have an influence in turn on the development of the novel of Roman life. It is important to bear this influence in mind, even though the story of religious instruction showed not so much what the novel of Roman life should do, as what it should avoid.

In 1853[21] appeared Charles Kingsley’s Hypatia. This is a great novel, which in its presentation of universal truths far surpasses the stereotyped instruction of any religious tract. It is a powerful picture of the conflict between Christianity and Greek philosophy in the fifth century. Its author fairly presents the beauty of Greek philosophy, before showing that the true spirit of Christianity must triumph in the end. But Kingsley also showed the essential falsity of the teachings of the Greek schools of philosophy, which his heroine, Hypatia, represented; and he pointed out in an equally convincing way, that the Christian Church, while almost entirely shutting out spiritual Christianity, had become an organization, whose chief end was temporal power. By considering this last fact outside of its proper relation, Kingsley’s enemies were enabled to wilfully misunderstand him, although those who still read Hypatia for its own sake are always able to understand him perfectly. In fact, the reasons which led Kingsley to write Hypatia, have frequently been misstated. It will be well to consider what the facts were, especially since they have an important bearing on the development of the novel of Roman life.[22]

Hypatia is, in the words of William T. Brewster, Professor of English at Columbia University, “a very decided sermon in favor of spiritual Christianity.” This explains in part Kingsley’s purpose in his portrayal of life in the Roman empire of the fifth century. Let it be said right here, however, that while Hypatia contains more preaching than any other novel we have to consider, it is entirely free from hollow didacticism. As its alternative title, New Foes with an Old Face, implies, Kingsley was supporting the cause of spiritual Christianity against new elements, which were assailing Christianity in the same way in which it has always been assailed. One of the most powerful of these elements, at the time when Kingsley wrote, was deemed to be the false Hellenism which was then trying to supplant Christianity in England and on the continent. This form of paganism has no uncertain connection with the Byronism, of which we have already spoken, while its tendency to exalt Greek philosophy had been beautifully expressed in Schiller’s poem The Gods of Greece. Kingsley’s desire to combat this tendency may be the principal reason why he chose for his scene Alexandria; since in this city was best represented the crisis of the dramatic struggle between Christianity and Greek civilization in the fifth century. But another important element which Kingsley was fighting,—(and critics have made the mistake of supposing it to be the only one),—is represented in the tendency of the Church of England toward Rome. This movement was chiefly due to John Henry Newman, who went over to the Church of Rome, and whose Callista we shall have occasion to mention later. But it is interesting to us to note that the conspiracy to Romanize the Church of England, which Kingsley combatted, centred at Oxford; and, as has since been pointed out by literary criticism, the Oxford movement was an evidence of the Romantic spirit represented by Scott. For, long before Newman went over to Rome, Scott’s mediæval priest had gained the sympathy of countless English readers.[23] Thus Kingsley, who is a direct follower of Scott in the historical romance, was forced to combat the tendency of Scott’s readers to identify romance and mediæval Catholicism. G. P. R. James, an earlier follower of Scott, though anything but a propagandist, had spoken of Rome in Attila, (1837), as the “seat of the most autocratic government the world has ever seen, republican, imperial and clerical.” These words contain whole volumes of criticism, and show how another writer of the novel of Roman life had identified the city of Rome with the Church of Rome. This suggests another reason why Kingsley chose Alexandria, rather than Rome, for the scene of his portrayal of the struggle between Christianity and Paganism, in Hypatia. Had he merely wished to portray this struggle, he might well have laid his scene in Imperial Rome, as others have done, and have achieved tremendous effect. But his opponents would have insisted on identifying the early Church at Rome with the Church of Rome, and the situation at the time forbade his allowing them the satisfaction of claiming that the triumph of Christianity is to be found only in “the Eternal Church of Rome.” In Hypatia Kingsley in no way exceeds the limits of truth in his delineation of the faults and hypocrisy of the early Church, though his opponents could not stand the truth told of what they conceived to be an eternal and perfect thing, (the Catholic Church). His faithful presentation of life in the Roman empire, and of universal truths to be derived from a study of the past, make Hypatia continue to be read as a great novel which has to be considered as a thing far above sectarian controversy.

Kingsley’s own idea of what he wished to do in Hypatia is admirably expressed in a letter to the Rev. F. D. Maurice, written from Eversley, January 16, 1851. (He writes of financial difficulties, which compel him to support himself with his pen,—how this recalls Scott!) He then says: “My present notion is to write a historical romance of the beginning of the fifth century which has been breeding in my head this two years.... If there is a storm brewing, of course I shall have to help to fight the Philistines.... My idea in the romance is to set forth Christianity as the only really democratic creed, and philosophy, above all spiritualism, as the most exclusively aristocratic creed. Such has been my opinion for a long time, and what I have been reading lately confirms it more and more. Even Synesius, ‘the philosophic’ bishop, is an aristocrat by the side of Cyril. It seems to me that such a book might do good just now, while the scribes and Pharisees, Christian and heathen, are saying, this people which knoweth not the law is accursed.” He wished to turn from English subjects “to some new field, in which there is richer and more picturesque life.... I have long wished to do something antique, and get out my thoughts about the connection of the old world and the new; Schiller’s Gods of Greece expresses, I think, a tone of feeling very common, and which finds its vent in modern Neo-Platonism—Anythingarianism.”[24] Kingsley wished to show “the connection of the old and new” in important phases of life and thought; and incidentally that in any portrayal of life, thought must be considered an essential part of life. He succeeded admirably in this, in writing Hypatia.

In his desire to “show the connection of old and new,” and to portray “a richer and more picturesque life,” Kingsley naturally turned to the times of the Roman Empire. Why he did not select the city of Rome for his scene, has already been suggested. Nevertheless, Hypatia may well be called a novel of Roman life. In the first place the scene practically does move to Rome, when we follow Raphael Aben-Ezra in his travels to the immediate vicinity of the eternal city. In the scenes leading up to the defeat of Count Heraclian at Ostia, Rome’s seaport, the presence of the capital of the world is felt in the background. Moreover, the scene of the rest of the story is not confined to Alexandria, but takes one to visit Saint Augustine and Synesius at Cyrene. The allusions to the powerful position which Constantinople had assumed in Church and government affairs completes the impression of the Roman empire as a loosely organized whole. A further consideration shows one that the important scenes which occur in Alexandria could, without difficulty, be transferred to Rome, and described as a part of Roman life. The brutal and licentious spectacles in the amphitheatre, the ostentatious display of the upper classes, the lawless rioting of the lower classes, who are sometimes curbed by Roman authority with unnecessary bloodshed, and much else, are portrayed with a realistic effect, which could hardly be surpassed in a portrayal of life anywhere else than in Rome itself. In the time which Hypatia describes, it is true, Rome was no longer mistress of the world, but there remains an all-pervading sense of her former greatness. Alexandria, though a city possessing its own distinctive characteristics, had not escaped the universal stamp of Roman influence. A few short years before Kingsley’s story opens, the Goths, under Alaric, had sacked Rome, (410 A. D.), and Alexandria furnishes in some ways a better example of the many-sided life of the declining Roman empire than does Rome itself. There is, in short, an abundance of “Roman life” in Alexandria.

If Alexandrian scenes in Hypatia could be transferred to Rome, a similar thing might be said of certain characters in the book. The most truly Roman characters are Victoria and her father, who had been a Roman officer in the force of Heraclian; these enter the story when its scene is nearest to Rome. The armed forces of the weak Roman government at Alexandria are also typical of Rome, whether performing as gladiators in the amphitheatre, or employed in quelling a riot in the streets with brutal carelessness of life and feeling. Orestes, the Roman governor of Alexandria, is a typical Roman official, capable of thinking for himself when not intoxicated, and bright enough to admit that he is forced to be a puppet; “a poor, miserable slave of a governor,” who appears to feel that his very treachery is forced on him by circumstance. Old Miriam is a sorceress of a type which suggests the sibyls and later soothsayers at Rome, by whose arts the Romans were so ready to be deceived, and whose prophecies exerted so profound an influence on the imaginations of the Romans. One of her victims is Hypatia, whose character stands out with such strong individuality as the last support of Greek philosophy in Alexandria, that it would be impossible to make her play her part in a novel whose scene was laid principally in Rome. But many of the other characters, major and minor, could be placed in such a novel without disadvantage; indeed some of them have spent a good part of their lives in Rome, when the story opens. Figures such as Arsenius and St. Augustine represent men who had seen the world of Rome, and were seeking refuge from its emptiness. The tyrannical bishop Cyril embodies a character which could have displayed the autocratic power of the Church at Rome or at any other important city of the Empire. Philammon, the real hero of the story, is the kind of character who would fit in readily in any environment and could easily be made a Roman. He is the best illustration of a fact we have mentioned before, viz., that the historical novel should contain characters who are, above all, human beings. Philammon’s essentially human qualities gain the reader’s sympathy at once; and as he is tempted by one doubt after another, one is reminded that the men of the past were merely human beings like ourselves. Among the Gothic invaders of the Roman Empire, old Wulf best represents those qualities which Englishmen have regarded with pride as being typical of the English race. Pelagia is a type which existed at Rome as at Alexandria. The same thing can be said of the little porter, and of all the minor characters. With characters such as these playing their parts in scenes of varying significance, Kingsley has presented a vivid panorama of the life of the time, which could only have been equalled by a portrayal of the life of Rome itself. Without an excess of detail or an undue use of the sensational, he has succeeded in emphasizing the important points in the picture, and in implying those of less importance, so well, that the life of the past is made to stand out in the clear light of present-day experience.

By portraying the life of the past in the light of universal truth. Kingsley was able to show, without stereotyped preaching, the triumph of Christianity over paganism. Greek philosophy had been appropriated by and identified with the so-called “national” religion of Rome, and had found its greatest stronghold in the Hellenistic city of Alexandria. Hypatia herself deserves to have her name made the title of Kingsley’s novel. She is rightly presented as typifying the last adherent of paganism against Christianity. The strength of her character lies in the truth of her words, as compared with the inconsistencies of the monks. And it is to be regarded as an essential point in the story, that the savage monks, who represent sham Christianity, merely destroy the body of Hypatia, and have not even attempted to win over her soul. At the time when Philammon first meets Hypatia, her faith in herself and her message is supreme and unshaken. Kingsley’s own words, describing the first impression she makes upon the young monk, show the germs of real truth and beauty, which that message contains, in spite of any inconsistencies:

So beautiful! So calm and merciful to him! So enthusiastic towards all which was noble! Had not she too spoken of the unseen world, of the hope of immortality, of the conquest of the spirit over the flesh, just as a Christian might have done? Was the gulf between them so infinite? If so, why had her aspirations awakened echoes in his own heart,—echoes, too, just such as the prayers and lessons of the Laura used to awaken? If the fruit was so like, must not the root be like also?—Could that be a counterfeit? That a minister of Satan in the robes of an angel of light? Light at least it was: purity, simplicity, courage, earnestness, tenderness, flashed out from eye, lip, gesture....

The essence of sham Christianity, which pervaded all parts of the later Empire, and was not confined to the great cities of Rome and Alexandria, is shown by contrast in the description of the impression the monks had made upon the young Philammon:

The men were coarse, fierce, noisy, so different from her! Their talk seemed mere gossip,—scandalous too, and hard judging most of it; about that man’s private ambition, and that woman’s proud looks; and who had stayed for the Eucharist the Sunday before, and who had gone out after the sermon; and how the majority who did not stay, could possibly dare to go, and how the minority who did not go could possibly dare to stay.... Endless suspicions, sneers, complaints ... what did they care for the eternal glories and the beatific vision? Their one test for all men and things, from the patriarch to the prefect, seemed to be,—did he or it advance the cause of the Church?—which Philammon soon discovered to mean their own cause, their influence, their self-glorification.

Criticism such as this the Church of Rome in Kingsley’s day took to itself, and resented. But Kingsley’s criticism was directed against sham Christianity, wherever it existed, (not solely against the Church of Rome). Moreover, Hypatia is not so much against sham Christianity as for true Christianity. Let us return to Kingsley’s heroine. Hypatia, the beauty of whose thought has been suggested in a preceding paragraph, does not remain resolute to the end. Her attempt to prove that all that is noble and beautiful has its source somewhere in the old pagan system of philosophy, is as fine an attempt as could be made. But she has undertaken the impossible, and her failure is certain. Her pathetic subjection to the hypnotism and magic of old Miriam seems in a way to portend her tragic death. Her weakness at the end makes it appear that the author did not intend determination to be her most striking virtue. Why is it that, even in her martyrdom, Hypatia does not arouse the reader’s sympathy as some of the other characters do? It would seem that her position on a pedestal above the ordinary run of mankind deprives her of the sympathy she would otherwise deserve. But is this all? Her aloofness from the multitude, her contempt for the rabble seem almost justified; but are they, in a final analysis of the truth? Recall Kingsley’s words, “My idea is to set forth Christianity as the only really democratic creed, and philosophy, above all spiritualism, as the most aristocratic creed.” Let us apply the last part of this statement to Hypatia. She denies entirely the salvation of her aristocratic creed to the common herd, and to such as Pelagia, the harlot. This is what finally repulses Philammon, in what forms the climax of the story. Moreover, Hypatia as a last resort has been forced to a belief in the “spiritualism”, (for such it is), which old Miriam offers, but does not herself accept. This part of the story shows the aristocratic nature of philosophy as a creed, and especially the sham of spiritualism.

And now let us consider the first part of the quotation just made. How does Kingsley set forth the value of true Christianity “as the only really democratic creed”? He starts by portraying the simplicity of life in the Laura and of Philammon’s early training. When Philammon reaches Alexandria, he does not scruple to risk his life for an unfortunate negress, and he lives with the little porter on the most democratic terms. Moreover, the generous care of the sick shown in the daily visitations of Cyril, Peter the Reader, and the parabolani, entirely overbalances the inconsistency, or even vindictive cruelty, which they tolerate in the name of the Church. But the most striking evidence of Christianity as a democratic creed, is seen in the character of Raphael Aben-Ezra, the converted Jew. If one is assiduous in seeking parallels, it is possible to see in the early life of Raphael traces of the Byronic hero. But just as Kingsley shows the falsity of “Egyptian magic”, which had been made important in earlier novels, so he shows the falsity of any touches of Byronism which the character of Raphael may display. He brings this character out of the mazes of self-conceit and skepticism into something higher and nobler. Raphael, though born to luxury and aristocratic ease, has drained the cup of pleasure to the dregs, and is willing to exchange aristocratic ease for democratic poverty. He has also exhausted the resources of philosophy, and has been thus prepared to appreciate more fully the higher truth of Christianity. If one is to draw an inference from biography, Kingsley has portrayed something of the early doubts of his own mind, in the mental struggles of Raphael. Raphael Aben-Ezra is perhaps as well-done as any character in the novel. His calm reflections on life in general make possible for us a more detached view and a clearer interpretation of the life of the time. The “philosophic” coolness, (to use a word which he himself despised), with which he exchanges the role of prince for that of beggar, gives evidence that he is genuine and sincere. The depths of his character do not really come to light, however, until in Italy he gets the first faint ray of genuine hope, a hope which grows stronger from that time on. He is enabled to consider this hope as legitimate and consistent with the words of God, whether Christian or Hebrew, by the kindly advice of Synesius. But Raphael’s real conversion takes place as he listens to the inspiring words of St. Augustine, who is preaching not only to but for the rough Roman legionaries. What wonder that he was able to win them, heart and soul, when, as Raphael says: “He has been speaking to these wild beasts as to sages and saints; he has been telling them that God is as much with them as with prophets and psalmists.... I wonder if Hypatia with all her beauty, could have touched their hearts as he has done.” There is in this passage the whole essence of Christianity as a democratic creed. The conversion of Raphael prepares the way for his intellectual triumph over Hypatia, whom he all but convinces of the truth of his new creed. And the conclusion of the story, portraying the humble Christian self-sacrifice of Philammon, his sister and the other important characters, completes the truthful presentation of Christianity as a democratic creed.

Kingsley’s Hypatia possesses a depth of insight and a richness of instruction which are equalled in few novels, historical or otherwise. But what Kingsley achieved in Hypatia may be summed up, for one who is studying the novel of Roman life, as follows: First, he gave a complete picture of life in the Roman Empire in an accurate historical setting. Secondly, in portraying the climax of the struggle between Christianity and the Roman world, he showed the intimate connection and universal relations, of life in the time of the Roman Empire, with life in the ages which precede and follow it. In the first of these achievements, no novelist has really surpassed Kingsley; in the second, no one has come near equalling him. In regard to the first achievement, Kingsley’s faithfulness to history and to the life of the fifth century, it can be said that his “history” has been criticised, for its alleged inaccuracy, by pedants of the malignant school of criticism, for whom history exists only as a means for tripping up their betters. The hollow sham of such criticism is apparent, if we merely allow to Kingsley the freedom accorded to any historical novelist. He has in every respect lived up to the promise of his masterful preface, in which he says: “I have in my sketch of Hypatia and her fate, closely followed authentic history, especially Socrates’ account of the closing scenes, as given in Book III, Sec. 15, of his Ecclesiastical History.” He also follows authentic history in all other parts of the story where this is essential, adopting the wise method, already discussed, of mingling historical characters and events with imaginary characters and events. When he is not making use of history, he is nevertheless true to the spirit of history. His faithfulness to the life of the times is all that he promises in these words of the Preface: “I have labored honestly and industriously to discover the truth, even in its minutest details, and to sketch the age, its manners and its literature as I found them,—altogether artificial, slipshod, effete, resembling far more the times of Louis Quinze than those of Sophocles and Plato.” In regard to Kingsley’s second achievement in Hypatia, it may be said that in portraying “the last struggle between the young Church and the Old World,” (Preface), he showed the significance of a short period of history, when fitted into the larger scheme of universal history. In the conclusion of Hypatia, he says, “I have shown you New Foes under an Old Face—your own likeness in toga and bonnet.... There is nothing new under the sun. The thing which has been, it is that which shall be.” Other writers of the novel of Roman life have shown with consummate art the thing which has been,—Christian and Pagan; none have equalled Kingsley in showing that it is also the thing which shall be. And even those who refuse to draw a moral from any piece of fiction, may read with infinite profit and pleasure the great novel which Kingsley’s scholarly insight into the life of the Roman Empire enabled him to write.

John Henry Newman was a churchman, who became a bitter opponent of Kingsley; his scholarship was profound, and his early religious training, received from his French Huguenot mother, was along Calvinistic lines. He knew the Bible, it is said, almost by heart. He was led to go over to the Church of Rome by his own studies, since he came to believe that they furnished arguments in support of the Church of Rome, rather than against it. He came to feel with conviction, that the argument that “antiquity was the true exponent of the doctrines of Christianity,” really supported the Church of Rome. In this he was directly opposed to Kingsley. It is commonly stated that Newman’s novel Callista, (1855), was written in answer to Kingsley’s Hypatia, and this is probably correct. The climax of the public controversy between Kingsley and Newman, however, did not come until 1864, almost ten years later. In his Postscript to Callista, Newman refers to Lockhart’s Valerius in such a way as to imply that it is the only other important novel of Roman life, which presents the struggles of Christianity in a philosophical light. He thus intentionally disregards Kingsley’s recently published Hypatia. Callista is the story of a martyr in the African Church, under the Decian persecution. Its scene is laid in Sicca Veneria, near Carthage, and its portrayal of life in the Roman Empire is accurate and realistic. The heartlessness of the Roman magistrates,—both in their persecution of the Christians and in their characteristic strokes of policy in dealing with the mob,—reveals the spirit of Roman life. Local color is especially good, the description of the plague of locusts being the best that exists anywhere in literature, (not excepting even the Bible). Newman follows Kingsley in making his heroine a girl of Greek descent, whose ideas of the beauty which she saw in paganism led her to be repulsed by the religion of the Crucified God. But unlike Hypatia, Callista becomes entirely converted.

The finest piece of writing in Newman’s novel, however, is the scene between Callista and Agellius, in which she repudiates Christianity. St. Cyprian, who had been mentioned by Kingsley, is brought into Callista; and others high in the Church play a part in the story. Cyprian says the discipline of the Church had become less firm in the interval before the Decian persecution. The author is thus enabled to show that the Church was strengthened by this persecution. To mention familiar elements, magic appears in Callista, in the spells and herbs of a witch, which result in her victim being possessed of a demon; the labyrinth motive also appears in the description of the secret passages, by which Callista escapes and which enable the Christians to remain concealed. In any final analysis Callista cannot be compared with Kingsley’s Hypatia. In spite of some very fine passages, it is lacking in uniform excellence. In its portrayal of life in the Roman empire, and in its handling of Christianity it falls short of the deep significance intended. There is indeed too much theological discussion. While Callista is a novel of Roman life, and can be read as such, it leans somewhat in the direction of the story of religious instruction, a kind of fiction we have mentioned as an offshoot of the novel of Roman life. Here we may recall that Fabiola by Cardinal Wiseman, had appeared the year before Callista; Fabiola represents the story of religious instruction par excellence. Cardinal Wiseman had been for a number of years Professor of Oriental languages at Roman University in Rome, and it is likely that his study of Roman antiquities at Rome would have enabled him to make Fabiola a novel of Roman life; instead he made it a stereotyped story of religious instruction. This oft-rewritten horror continues to afford the young the opportunity to enjoy killing off martyrs to their hearts’ content. We thus find it necessary again to dismiss the story of religious instruction from primary consideration, but to remember its presence in the background. Stories of this kind, by the prominent place they gave to Christianity, set a precedent which seemed to bind authors of the novel of Roman life to a considerable extent.

After the publication of Callista, a number of preachers, who wrote stories of religious instruction, were enabled by their scholarship, to embellish their work to some extent with a portrayal of Roman life. But even so, their work was often intended primarily for younger readers; their books are commonly classed as juvenile. Books of this kind were written by the Rev. John Neale, the Rev. A. D. Crake, the Rev. G. S. Davies and the Rev. A. J. Church. The last-named author was the most scholarly; and his work was excluded in Section I of this study, rather because it was intended for boys than because it represented the story of religious instruction. In considering the work of preachers, we have to pass over some years before we come to the truly great portrayal of life at Rome in the form of fiction, which is seen in Canon Frederic W. Farrar’s Darkness and Dawn, (1892). This is called by its author An Historic Tale, and he distinctly says it is not a novel; but in spite of his modest estimate of his own work, Darkness and Dawn is a great novel in every respect, except that it lacks a highly-developed artificial plot. And such a plot is unnecessary, since the element of suspense and even a certain unity of effect are attained merely by a faithful and realistic narration of events, either historical or characteristic of the time. Canon Farrar saw that the age of Nero supplied the best material for the work he contemplated; and in portraying life at Rome in Nero’s time with realistic effect, he has surpassed every other English novelist who has written of that period, and is not himself surpassed even by Sienkiewicz, the Polish author of Quo Vadis, (1895).

In writing Darkness and Dawn, Canon Farrar made full, though judicious, use of his profound scholarship, which in its thoroughness equals that of Charles Kingsley. He equals Kingsley’s Hypatia in his portrayal of life in the past,—“the thing which has been,”—though he does not attempt in quite the same way to show that it is also “the thing which shall be.” In spite of its figurative title, Darkness and Dawn does not quite bring the reader to the same realization of the onward sweep of history, the march of civilization, the gradual victory of Christianity, that Hypatia does. But in presenting the contrasts in Christian and Pagan life at Rome with faithful exactness, and in terms of the life of today, Farrar teaches his lesson in a different way. While he does not fit his picture of a period of history into the scheme of universal history in the same way that Kingsley does, he portrays the life of the time of Nero with a minuteness of detail which had not been attempted by Kingsley in his portrayal of the life of the Roman Empire in Hypatia. Farrar leaves the reader more to derive his own lesson from the facts,—but the sermon is there and may be considered universal in its application. It is only fair, however, to consider Darkness and Dawn chiefly for its portrayal of Roman life. As has been hinted, there is a distinct difference in the method of Farrar’s portrayal of the past, from that used by Kingsley. Kingsley selects what he considers the important things in the life of the past, and shows their significance. Farrar, on the other hand, gives everything which may be of any consequence, with the most minute exactness of detail. Kingsley’s history had been unfairly criticised; Farrar’s is beyond criticism. Farrar not only sifts and weighs the finest points in matters of historical accuracy, but also gives the most painstaking and detailed description of manners, customs, habits, dress, and all other things which aid the reader in obtaining an intimate knowledge of the time with which his story deals.

Between the date of publication of Hypatia, (1853), and that of Darkness and Dawn, (1892), there had come about a marked change in methods of scholarship, especially of classical scholarship; and the effect of this is to be seen in Darkness and Dawn. This change in methods of scholarship is chiefly characterized by an insistence upon the minute analysis of historical facts, and of the manners of the ancients. Its effect upon the English novel of Roman life is due to the influence of the painstaking research made by scholars, usually Germans, in the field of Roman private life and Roman archæology; and to the influence of novels of Roman life which made use of such research, and were written by Germans. This influence will be discussed more thoroughly, when we have concluded our study of the English novel of Roman life as written by Churchmen.

The time of Nero’s reign at Rome is so crowded with historical events of interest that Farrar was enabled to make nearly all important events in his novel, Darkness and Dawn, either absolutely true to history, or so closely connected with history, that they might actually have happened at the time when they are supposed to have happened. The few unimportant and intentional anachronisms he has made are explained candidly in his preface. The events described in the novel, though nearly all of them actually happened in Nero’s reign, represent in kind and variety nearly all events which are narrated in other important novels of Roman life. The scenes portrayed are all thoroughly typical of life in ancient Rome. Neither Christian nor pagan life is overemphasized, although a natural and truthful contrast is made of them. Scenes in Nero’s palace, in the forum, in the crowded streets of Rome, at the amphitheatre, at the law-courts, and occasionally in the fashionable suburbs of the city, or at Nero’s various resorts away from Rome, are portrayed with a fidelity which cannot be questioned. And wherever it is possible to make a scene of realistic effect out of an actual historical event, or to add historical details to a scene which significantly portrays Roman life, the author does so. Yet in spite of the fact that so many scenes in Farrar’s novel are taken from history, it is by no means made heavy or overcrowded, with historical detail. Every detail is made significant and interesting, and put in its proper place, so that the general effort is not one of laborious effort but of consummate art. The minutiae of the picture, while effective in themselves, do not obscure its larger lines. Few authors could have presented such a mass of historical detail and intimate information of the life of Rome in a single volume with such fine realistic effect. Farrar was able to make his scholarship count in producing a noble work of fiction; while others in attempting a similar thing were only able to compile what were practically dry hand-books of Roman antiquities.

In its portrayal of character Darkness and Dawn is equally true to life and history. So much is known of so many important historical characters of Nero’s time, that it becomes not only possible, but even advisable, to make use of only historical characters in a novel which deals with this period. Realizing this, Farrar dispensed almost entirely with imaginary characters. But he selected a large number of historical characters representing all ranks and conditions of life. And since some of these are taken from humble life, and do not play an important part in history, the author found it necessary to describe the course of their lives from his own imagination, aided by his thorough knowledge of the life of the time. It proved, for example, a very happy device to devote a considerable part of the narrative to a description of the wanderings of the runaway slave, Onesimus; for by this means the author was able to bring in many incidents, showing the variety of experiences that even a Roman slave might have. Onesimus is in fear of crucifixion; and is actually sentenced to the recognized punishment for a certain offense, of being thrown into the sea, sewed into a sack with a dog, a cat, and a viper. He also meets the King of the Grove at Aricia, a circumstance which reminds one of perhaps the most “pagan” of pagan customs surviving in the vicinity of Rome, as late as the time of Nero. Only a few of Farrar’s characters are unimportant historically, while the mere names of the others remind the reader of history. Agrippina, Nero, Seneca, Burrus, Pomponia, Acte, Poppæa, Tigellinus, St. John, and St. Paul are all important historical figures. Farrar relates with accurate historical detail all the necessary facts concerning them; but he really brings them out of the realm of mere history, and makes them stand before one as real men and women like ourselves.

Where Farrar particularly excels is in his portrayal of the development of character; and in his delineation of the aspect which a conspicuous character will assume in the presence of death or of a great emergency. The portrayal of the development of Agrippina’s character is particularly fine, even though death takes her from the scene. She is shown as a character who combines strength of determination with a marked weakness in certain other ways. Her determination is shown in the pursuit of her ambition to gain and hold absolute power. Her weakness is seen to increase from the time when she begins to realize that Nero no longer feels her influence. She finally sinks to abject despair when she becomes certain that the nearness of her death is only a question of time. The changes of Nero’s character are also portrayed with masterful strokes. At first he is an ingenuous, sweet-natured boy, guided in the main by the advice of Agrippina and of his tutor, the philosopher Seneca; he only gives, in occasional fits of temper, the vaguest suggestions of what he was to become later. Farrar is careful to show that in passing from the sphere of boyhood to manhood and the duties of imperial office, Nero carried with him a certain puerility,—indeed remained puerile until his death. The author also shows how the germs of the most contemptible qualities of Nero were really fostered by Agrippina, who, while weakly pampering him, little realized how soon he would outgrow her control. Nero’s degeneration into the cruel monster and shallow buffoon well known to history is fearlessly painted by Farrar. His contemptible fear of death, and self-pity when death is certain, though suggested by history, are brought home to the reader with a realistic effect surpassing that of any merely historical narrative. Somewhat in contrast to Nero’s death is that of Seneca, who was compelled to commit suicide by Nero’s decree. Seneca meets death with the resignation of a pagan philosopher, but perhaps not with true heroism. It remains for the Christians, St. Paul and St. John, to enable the author, by a simple narration of their suffering, to portray the unflinching courage and sublime hope of truly great characters in their hours of trial. Neither the stories of these two saints nor that of Nero’s living torches, is overdone, however. Nor is undue use of the sensational made in the revelation of the orgies at Nero’s revels, and the description of scenes in the arena. The author simply shows Christianity in the lives of a few historical characters such as St. Paul, St. John, Pomponia, Acte and Onesimus; he is not unfair, and is thoroughly accurate, in his portrayal of the pagans. He gives impartially both sides of the picture,—the light and shadow which the title of his novel implies. Its portrayal of human life, Christian and pagan, and its revelation of human character, give Darkness and Dawn the right to share with Hypatia a position of preeminence among English novels describing life in the Roman Empire, and owing their value in large part to the scholarship of great preachers.

Canon Farrar’s other great novel was called Gathering Clouds (1895), and has for its scene Constantinople in the days of St. Chrysostom. Besides the fact that the date of its story is rather late, the scene of the novel makes it inadvisable for us to consider it at length; especially since the author’s other novel has just furnished ample evidence of his ability to portray life at Rome; and he could gain nothing by transferring the scene to Constantinople. Alexandria, in which much of the scene of Kingsley’s Hypatia is laid, has been considered as the metropolis of a Roman province. But Constantinople in Chrysostom’s time was not in a province of the Western Empire, but was the capital of the Eastern Empire. And, while there are many interesting parallels to life at Rome to be found in novels dealing with Constantinople, as capital of the Eastern Empire, it has seemed best not to consider such novels in detail, in a discussion of the novel of Roman life. In fact, the only other important English novel, which has for its scene Constantinople when Rome still remained capital of the Western Empire, is Sir Henry Pottinger’s Blue and Green. This is a realistic story of the riot arising between the two factions, partisans of the rival colors of the chariot-racing companies, but unfortunately is now out of print.

There remains one other novel of Roman life written by a preacher, which deserves especial consideration. This is the Rev. Sabine Baring-Gould’s Domitia. If one asks why this novel is especially to be considered, the answer is once more to be found in a realization of the author’s scholarly attainments. Domitia reveals a careful and minute study of Roman history, and especially of Roman private life. It is full of information regarding the life, habits, and dress of Romans in the time of Nero and Domitian. Instead of burdening his pages with footnotes in fine print, the author conceived the idea that such information could be contained in separate paragraphs and inserted bodily into the narrative; and in carrying out this idea he was so successful that the wealth of information conveyed without serious interruption of the narrative, gives Domitia its distinguishing characteristic. When a Roman galley is mentioned in the story, the author inserts a paragraph describing such a galley; when a funeral is to take place, he inserts a similar description of a Roman funeral,—and so with other details of Roman private life and custom. History is inserted into the narrative in the same way, but the author wisely refrains from making too great a use of history. The time with which his novel deals includes part of Nero’s reign and all of Domitian’s; the interval between them is covered briefly. The most dramatic historical episodes narrated are the death of Nero and the death of Domitian, but other scenes taken from history are realistically portrayed. Nero and Domitian are also the most important historical figures, and their characters are well brought out. The heroine of the novel, Domitia, the wife and supposed cousin of the Emperor Domitian, is not very important in formal history; but from a few hints given by history, the author has drawn a character thoroughly human, and such as might have lived at the time. Her mother, representing the frivolous and self-seeking type of Roman matron, is thoroughly characteristic of the time of Domitian. Her father, the soldier who has given his life to his duty to his country, represents by his character the old Roman virtues, which still survived in the hearts of a few men. While Domitia becomes a Christian, her story is not so told as to emphasize Christianity unduly; and in telling it, the author has given us a notable novel of Roman life, sound in its history and its revelation of Roman private life, and presenting a story of human interest.

Baring-Gould also wrote Perpetua (1897), a novel which suggests something of Roman life. Its subject reminds one that he edited The Lives of the Saints with an erudition which shows his knowledge of Roman life. Perpetua is the story of a Christian martyr to the later Roman persecution at Nimes, in the Roman province of Gaul. The Emperor Caracalla, by whom the edict for this persecution was issued, does not appear in the story, and, of course, the life in the provincial town of Nimes only vaguely suggests life in the capital. But some customs are represented, which had spread from Rome throughout the provinces. Since Perpetua was published the year before Domitia, it is probable that their author had some things in mind when writing the former, which he did not use until he wrote the latter novel. Nimes was selected for the scene of Perpetua, because the author had visited the town and become familiar with its history and archæology. He was thus able to reconstruct accurately the life of its people, as they thronged the festival of the local divinity, or crowded into the amphitheatre to witness persecution of the Christians. Roman paganism is seen to be losing its grip, since the pagan citizens do not all take the local god very seriously. The element of “magic” in pagan superstition is seen in the deception practiced by the priestesses of the god; they make his voice sound over the town by shouting into a trumpet-shaped amplifier, which magnifies the sound. Another familiar element in the novel of Roman life is seen in the labyrinth motive, which appears when the hero of the story makes his escape from the prison through a dark, vile, and tortuous drain. Christianity, while it appears to be still weak, if one looks upon some of the wavering converts who are represented, is seen to be growing in strength, when one realizes the unyielding faith of Perpetua, and of a few others. But too much is not made of Christianity, and Baring-Gould’s novel is not to be considered a story of religious instruction. Perpetua is chiefly important to our subject in that it suggests the work which its author was to do in his other novel, Domitia. There is little use made in Perpetua of important historical events or characters. The heroine’s name, “Perpetua,” was suggested by that of a martyr of the persecution at Carthage, whose story is well known, and does not belong to the history of Nimes. Since the publication of Domitia, no very important novel of Roman life has been written in English by any great scholarly preacher. Many other preachers have written books of considerable merit, which portray something of Roman life; but further discussion of these books is withheld, since they are primarily stories of religious instruction, or are intended only for younger readers.