“Ah! C’est L’histoire,” replied the monk.
Cæsar translated what the Trappist had said, to Don Calixto and the Canon, and they were both really perplexed.
They followed the long, narrow galleries. It was a strange effect, seeing the procession of tourists with their burning candles. One didn’t notice the modern clothes and the ladies’ hats, and from a distance the procession lighted by the little flames of the candles, had a mysterious look.
At the tail of the crowd walked two men who spoke English. One was a “gentleman” little versed in archeological questions; the other a tall person with the face of a scholar. Cæsar drew near them to listen. The one was explaining to his companion everything they saw as they went along, the signification of the emblems cut in the tablets, and the funerary customs of the Christians.
“Didn’t they put crosses?” asked the unlearned gentleman.
“No,” said the other. “It is said that for the Romans the crux represented the gallows! Thus the earliest representation of the Crucified is a drawing in the Kirchnerian museum, which shows a Christian kneeling before a man with a donkey’s head, who is nailed to a cross. In Greek letters one reads: ‘Alexamenes adores his God.’ They say this drawing comes from the Palace of the Cæsars, and it is considered to be a caricature of Christ, drawn by a Roman soldier on a wall.”
“Didn’t they put up images of Christ, either?”
“No. You do not consider that they were at the height of the discussion as to whether Christ was ugly or beautiful.”
The tall gentleman got involved in a long dissertation as to what motives they had had, some to insist that Christ’s person was of great beauty, others to affirm that it was of terrible ugliness.
Cæsar would have liked to go on listening to what this gentleman said, but Don Justo joined him. The Trappist was in front of two mummies, explaining something, and he wanted Cæsar to translate what he was saying.