The second day from the dedication, passing through the Porta Asinaria with Milo at my side, I took the road that winds along the hither bank of the Tiber, and leads most pleasantly, if not most directly, to the seat of my friends—and you are well aware how willingly I sacrifice a little time on the way, if by doing so I can more than make up the loss by obtaining brighter glimpses of earth and sky. Had I not found Christianity, Fausta, this would have been my religion. I should have forsaken the philosophers, and gone forth into the fields, among the eternal hills, upon the banks of the river, or the margin of the ever-flowing ocean, and in the lessons there silently read to me, I should, I think, have arrived at some very firm and comfortable faith in God and immortality. And I am especially happy in this, that nature in no way loses its interest or value, because I now draw truth from a more certain source. I take the same pleasure as before, in observing and contemplating her various forms, and the clearer light of Christianity brings to view a thousand beauties, to which before I was insensible. Just as in reading a difficult author, although you may have reached his sense in some good degree, unaided, yet a judicious commentator points out excellences, and unfolds truths, which you had either wholly overlooked, or but imperfectly comprehended.
All without the city walls, as within, bore witness to the graciousness of the Emperor in the prolonged holiday he had granted the people. It was as if the Saturnalia had arrived. Industry, such as there ever is, was suspended; all were sitting idle, or thronging some game, or gathering in noisy groups about some mountebank. As we advanced farther, and came just beyond the great road leading to Tibur, we passed the school of the celebrated gladiator Sosia, at the door of which there had just arrived from the amphitheatre, a cart bearing home the bodies of such as had been slain the preceding day, presenting a disgusting spectacle of wounds, bruises, and flowing blood.
'There was brave fighting yesterday,' said Milo; these are but a few out of all that fell. The first day's sport was an hundred of the trained gladiators, most of them from the school of Sosia, set against a hundred picked captives of all nations. Not less than a half of each number got it. These fellows look as if they had done their best. You've fought your last battle, old boys—unless you have a bout with Charon, who will be loath, I warrant you beforehand, to ferry over such a slashed and swollen company. Now ought you in charity,' he continued, addressing a half-naked savage, who was helping to drag the bodies from the cart, 'to have these trunks well washed ere you bury them, or pitch them into the Tiber, else they will never get over the Styx—not forgetting too the ferriage—' what more folly he would have uttered, I know not, for the wretch to whom he spoke suddenly seized the lash of the driver of the cart, and laid it over Milo's shoulders, saying, as he did it,
'Off, fool, or my fist shall do for you what it did for one of these.'
The bystanders, at this, set up a hoarse shouting, one of them exclaiming, so that I could hear him—
'There goes the Christian Piso, we or the lions will have a turn at him yet. These are the fellows that spoil our trade.'
'If report goes true, they won't spoil it long,' replied another.
No rank and no power is secure against the affronts of this lawless tribe; they are a sort of licensed brawlers, their brutal and inhuman trade rendering them insensible to all fear from any quarter. Death is to them but as a scratch on the finger—they care not for it, when nor how it comes. The slightest cause—a passing word—a look—a motion—is enough to inflame their ferocious passions, and bring on quarrel and murder. Riot and death are daily occurrences in the neighborhood of these schools of trained assassins. Milo knew their character well enough, but he deemed himself to be uttering somewhat that should amuse rather than enrage, and was mortified rather than terrified, I believe, at the sudden application of the lash. The unfeigned surprise he manifested, together with the quick leap which his horse made, who partook of the blow, was irresistibly ludicrous. He was nearly thrown off backwards in the speed of the animal's flight along the road. It was some time before I overtook him.
'Intermeddling,' I said to Milo, as I came up with him, 'is a dangerous vice. How feel your shoulders?'
'I shall remember that one-eyed butcher, and if there be virtue in hisses or in thumbs, he shall rue the hour he laid a lash on Gallienus, poor fellow! Whose horsemanship is equal to such an onset? I'll haunt the theatre till my chance come.'