He considered the writing of St. Luke’s Gospel so perfect that he gloried in its study, and he showed Claudius a beautiful copy inscribed by his own hand, with notes on the margin, for which he told him he had won high praise and distinction.
The old heathen worship, he said, was dying, and the temples were more and more deserted day by day. But Casca had not embraced the faith of Christ with the simplicity of a child; it was rather the acceptance of a finer theory than any he had yet discerned.
That witness within himself, of which Claudius had spoken to Hyacintha long before, was wanting; and lost in the mazes of thought, and yielding to the delight of learning, Casca had missed the humble faith in a personal Saviour, which had taught the brave Claudius self-restraint and self-forgetfulness, and made him, the valiant hero of a hundred fights, humble in his own eyes.
Casca showed Claudius the leading features of interest in Alexandria, and the bustle and activity of the representatives of many nations filled the Roman soldier with wonder; for at this time Alexandria, the greatest sea-port in the world, was crowded with buyers and sellers, and rich merchant princes from all quarters.
Through the great Moon Gate there was a perpetual stream of camels, and elephants, and humble asses, all laden with merchandise.
Jews were there, with keen eager eyes; Greeks, with their graceful easy carriage and soft musical tongue; Romans, too, and representatives of the great Northern tribes, of which Claudius had spoken.
Rome, the city on the seven hills, had filled the dreams of his boyhood in Britain; it had been to him as a queen amongst cities in his later years, but Alexandria was like a vision.
The ranges of buildings were so vast, and the unbroken line presented a coup d’œil of magnificence scarcely if ever rivalled. Claudius gazed around him, and but imperfectly heard or understood Casca’s descriptions and explanations. He was dazzled and bewildered, and he could only reply to Casca in monosyllables, which were scarcely less irritating to Casca than silence.
The friends who greeted Casca looked inquiringly at Claudius, and he felt he had no part or lot in Alexandria; her beauty was a dead letter to him, and all her treasures of art and literature sealed books. While Casca lectured in the museum or attended the orations of philosophers, Claudius found his chief delight centred in little Cynthia. She brought back the old, old days when the other Hyacintha was the child, and he, a rough untaught boy, felt always softened and subdued by her presence.
He loved to take the Cynthia of the present on his knees, and while she toyed with his rough beard, and the ornaments on his military coat, he would listen to her babyish prattle, which was made up of various languages, and find in her society far more consolation than in the declamations of the orators and poets in the lecture-rooms of the museum.