"Arthus, who has crept up from low life to high favor with the powers that be."
"Arthus!" exclaimed Sisinnius, "the poor wretch! whose suspiciousness and unbridled impulsiveness of tongue and passion have left him without a sincere friend in the profession, into which he has worked his upward way without any education to fit him for it. He is only a craze of one idea; every one secretly laughs at his assumption of rank, knowing his origin; at his assumption of professional knowledge, knowing his Boeotic ignorance; and at his assumption of power, knowing how he acquired it."
"I can tell you, it is no laughing matter for the poor slaves, most of whom are his own countrymen, whose very blood he is coining into stone for that labyrinthine temple of which Domitian has permitted him to be the architect and builder. A joke perpetrated by Senecio in the life of Crispus with regard to this building is said to have angered him. Senecio compared the temple to the Cretan labyrinth, and said the congregation would require a thread to find their way out."
"There was another cause of Arthus's hatred of Senecio. In early life he proposed for the hand of Senecio's cousin. The first moment she saw him, she afterward declared she would as soon marry one of the brick walls he has since been building; because his heart, filled only with facts, figures, and money, seemed as cold, hard, and bloodless as the bricks and stones themselves. It is reported that she has since become a Christian. Unfortunately this creature Arthus has somehow found access to Domitian's ear, and manages with unsuspicious adroitness to have the first story about those who displease him. Less cruel natures than Domitian's find it hard to rise above prejudices that have once preoccupied their judgments."
"Well, well, it is a sad state of things. The Christians have, I often imagine, been sent in punishment for our having fallen away from the stern virtues of our ancestors, as the locust-clouds are sent in the East. But," continued Aurelian, "the less we say in this style the better, if we do not wish to join Senecio in his voyage over the Stygian lake. Even here the proverb may apply: 'Silvae habent aures.'"
"Yes," said Sisinnius, "here we are at the beginning of the ancient tombs, amid the mighty dead whose names are the morning-stars of our history!"
They walked silently and passed the monument of Horatia. Of cut stone, it was, after more than seven centuries, in good preservation: nay more, in the nineteenth century, after twenty-seven hundred years, it is comparatively untouched by the hands of time and weather. She had been killed by her victorious brother, the last of the three Horatii, because she wept for her betrothed, one of the Curiatii, slain by him in the contest of Rome and Alba for superiority. The sepulchres of the Metelli, of the Scipios, and of other noble families stood near the Cross road not far from the gate.
Pointing to these, Sisinnius spoke as if giving utterance to a train of thought that had occupied his mind:
"Where are they now the great, the noble, the heroic men, by whose martial deeds and unselfish patriotism the foundations of Roman greatness were placed? Is this all that remains of them—a hollow tomb raised as in mockery over a little ashes, if even so much of them after five or six hundred years be left? Alas! Aurelian, does not death make you sad to think on it?"