“As the only truth, that is known to man.”
“What? Is it you, my own Quintus—proud, wise, high-spirited—who say this? Have you waited for me to tell you, that all belief in the gods, be their names what they may, is as hollow as a gilded nut which a child or a fool takes for gold...?”
“Belief in the gods—yes, Cornelia; but not belief in God. One word may have many and various meanings. The gods—is the name the people give to those idols of the imagination, to which they attribute human passions and weaknesses. Dionysus is a god—and Silenus![99] But what we call God, dear Cornelia, has nothing in common with those empty mockeries. Our God dwells not in a temple made with hands. Our God is a Spirit, and the very essence of all that lives in us, round us and above us, and that stirs our souls to joy and sorrow. He is in the light that shines from heaven; the blossom that unfolds in Spring; the passions that bind your heart to mine, and the courage that will support me to face death without blenching, for the faith’s sake.”
“Death!” cried Cornelia in despair. “Quintus—my darling; Death! But the light of heaven and the flowers of Spring, and all that is lovely in us and around us bid us live. If you, my dearest, believe what I can never, never again believe: that higher powers rule our existence, well and good; indulge and cherish the consoling thought; nurse it as a gardener nurses his flowers; but what can compel you to confess the secret to all the world? What can drag you so irresistibly to cast in your lot with that abominable sect, of whom the very best is not worthy to kiss the dust from off your feet?”
“The Master’s will. Those who have known salvation, find their highest and sublimest duty in laboring together in the great work of redemption. Without knowing it themselves, suffering hearts are striving and groaning towards that light, which they now think so dim and contemptible. You have lost your faith in a divinity, because the form of your belief was false and hollow. Until you have got past this condition of negative and comfortless mistrust, you will never be able to understand me. I shall not even attempt to make it clear to you, and will say only one thing: In spite of all my love for you and my family—a love beyond words—in spite of the youthful blood that dances in my pulses—I cannot do otherwise! I am, and shall die a Christian.”
“Quintus a Christian! Turning from Cornelia, to bleed in an arena with slaves and workmen out of the Subura! And we had so fondly, so confidently dreamed of a happy future! An empty, worthless formula is dearer to him, than my spoilt and ruined life!”
“A formula! Ah! if it were only that. There is no humiliation I would not submit to for your sake.”
Cornelia sat closer to him and threw her arms round him.
“Quintus!” she cried, bursting into tears. “Do not refuse my entreaties. See with what bitter tears I implore you for mercy. I will be your slave, I will worship you all my life. Only have pity on my wretchedness! Speak the word, oh Quintus, say I may hope!”
“Cornelia, you break my heart—but I cannot; God help me, but I cannot!”