'That I suppose would be right. But why should he punish any? You need not be alarmed or offended; I am no Christian.'
'The gods be praised therefor! I do not pretend to know the whole reason why. But that seems to be the only way of saving the old religion; and I don't know what way you can possibly have of showing that a religion of yesterday is true, if a religion of a thousand years old is to be made out false. If religion is good for anything—and I for one think it is—I think men ought to be compelled to have it and support it, just as they should be to eat wholesome food, rather than poisonous or hurtful. The laws won't permit us to carry certain things to market, nor others in a certain state. If we do, we are fined or imprisoned. Treat a Christian in the same way, say I. Let them just go thoroughly to work, and our temples will soon be filled again.'
'But these Christians,' I observed, 'seem to be a harmless people.'
'But they have no religion, that anybody can call such. They have no gods, nor altars, nor sacrifices; such can never be harmless. To be sure, as to sacrifices, I think there is such a thing as doing too much. I am not for human sacrifices. Nor do I see the need of burning up a dozen fat oxen or heifers, as was done the other day at the Temple of the Sun. We in Norentum burn nothing but the hoofs and some of the entrails, and the rest goes to the priest for his support. As I take it, a sacrifice is just a sign of readiness to do everything and lose everything for the gods. We are not expected to throw either ourselves, or our whole substance upon the altar; making the sign is sufficient. But, as I said, these Christians have no altar and no sacrifice, nor image of god or goddess. They have, at Norentum, an old ruinous building—once a market—where they meet for worship; but those who have been present say, that nothing is to be seen; and nothing heard but prayers—to what god no one knows—and exhortations of the priests. Some say, that elsewhere they have what they call an altar, and adorn their walls with pictures and statues. However all this may be, there seems to be some charm about them, or their worship, for all the world is running after them. I long for the news I shall get from Varenus Hirtius. If these omens have not set the Emperor at work for us, nothing will. Here we are at the gates, and I turn toward the Claudian market. May the day go happily with you.'
So we parted; and I bent my way toward the gardens of Sallust.
As I moved slowly along through the streets, my heart was filled with pity for this people, the Christians; threatened, as it seemed to me, with a renewal of the calamities that had so many times swept over them before. They had ever impressed me as a simple-minded, virtuous community, of notions too subtle for the world ever to receive, but which, upon themselves, appeared to exert a power altogether beneficial. Many of this faith I had known well, and they were persons to excite my highest admiration for the characters which they bore. Need I name more than the princess Julia, and her husband, the excellent Piso? Others like them, what wonder if inferior! had also, both in Palmyra, and at Tibur and Rome—for they were to be found everywhere—drawn largely both on my respect and my affections. I beheld with sorrow the signs which now seemed to portend suffering and disaster. And my sympathies were the more moved seeing that never before had there been upon the throne a man who, if he were once entered into a war of opposition against them, had power to do them greater harm, or could have proved a more stern and cruel enemy. Not even Nero or Domitian were in their time to be so much dreaded. For if Aurelian should once league him with the state against them, it would not with him be matter of mere cruel sport, but of conscience. It would be for the honor of the gods, the protection of religion, the greatness and glory of the empire, that he would assail and punish them; and the same fierce and bloody spirit that made him of all modern conquerors the bloodiest and fiercest, it was plain would rule him in any encounter with this humble and defenceless tribe. I could only hope that I was deceived, as well as others, in my apprehensions, or, if that were not so, pray that the gods would be pleased to take their great subject to themselves.
Full of such reflections and emotions I arrived at the palace, and was ushered into the presence of Livia. There was with her the melancholy Aurelia—for such she always seems—who appeared to have been engaged in earnest talk with the Empress, if one might judge by tears fast falling from her eyes. The only words which I caught as I entered were these from Aurelia, 'but, dear lady, if Mucapor require it not, why should others think of it so much? Were he fixed, then should I indeed have to ask strength of God for the trial—' then, seeing me, and only receiving my salutations, she withdrew.
Livia, after first inquiring concerning Zenobia and Faustula, returning to what had just engaged her, said,
'I wish, good Nicomachus, that I had your powers of speech, of which, as you can remember, I have been witness in former days—those happy days in Syria—when you used, so successfully, to withstand and subdue my giddy or headstrong mind. Here have I been for weary hours—not weary neither, for their aim has, I am sure, been a worthy one—but, here have I been persuading, with all the reason and eloquence I could bring to bear, this self-willed girl to renounce these fantastic notions she has imbibed from the Christians, and their books, were it only for the sake of domestic peace. Aurelian is growing daily more and more exasperated against this obscure tribe, and drops, oftener than I love to hear them, dark hints of what awaits them, not excepting, he says, any of whatever rank or name. Not that I suppose that either he, or the senate, would proceed further than imprisonments, banishment, suppression of free speech, the destruction of books and churches; so much indeed I understand from him. But even thus far, and we might lose Aurelia—a thing not to be thought of for a moment. He has talked with her himself, reasoned with her, threatened her; but in vain. Now he has imposed the same task upon me—it is equally in vain. I know not what to do.'
'Because,' I replied, 'nothing can be done. Where it is possible to see, you have eyes within you that can penetrate the thickest darkness as well as any. But here you fail; but only where none could succeed. A sincere honest mind, princess, is not to be changed either by persuasion or force. Its belief is not subject to the will. Aurelia, if I have heard aright, is a Christian from conviction. Evidence made her a Christian—stronger evidence on the side of her former faith can alone unmake her.'