“In hell,” answered the Emperor.
“Why art thou in hell?”
“Because I was not baptized!”
At hearing this the grief of Gregory was so great that he went into the old church of St. Peter, and wept for Trajan in hell. And the tears of Pope Gregory fell down into hell, and quenched the flames of Trajan’s torment.
I tell the tale as it was told to me by Giacomo Boni, at the foot of Trajan’s column in the city of Rome. The spirit of Trajan has laid hold of Boni, even as it laid hold of the great Gregory, and he, too, arises to demand for Trajan the Just the tribute of our love.
When the others came back, I told Pemberton what had happened in the old circus, while they had been hunting for the forum of Ubs Italica.
“You’ll find us dull company after such!” he laughed. “Visits from Scipio Africanus and Trajan are more exciting than one’s neighbors, and much more easily returned.”
“The trouble is such friendships are so one-sided!” Patsy objected. “What can I do for Marcus Aurelius? The greatest Spaniard of them all. He has done so much for me. His ‘Meditations’ made me think for the first time in my life.”
“Haven’t you learned yet that you can never return a real benefit to the person who conferred it? You can only hand it on, pay the debt to the first needy person you meet. Are we not all debtors to Greeks and Barbarians? All we can ever do for the dead is to keep their names from dying; and, what is so much more important, keep alive the flame that was in them, kindle other souls as they kindled yours. The fire Prometheus stole from heaven never goes out; it is carried from soul to soul as one torch is kindled from another, till the whole earth shall be lighted and no dark places left. The shame of shames is to have received that fire, and let the flame of it go out in you!”
A peasant man and woman, evidently strangers, strayed into the arena, and stood staring at the moss-covered stones. The man, a decent fellow with a pleasant smile and no teeth, greeted the knitting shepherd.