Aurelian; or, Rome in the third century

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Letter I. From Piso To Fausta

I AM not surprised, Fausta, that you complain of my silence. It were strange indeed if you did not. Bui as for most of our misdeeds we have excuses ready at hand, so have I for this. First of all, I was not igno¬ rant, that, however I might fail you, from your other greater friend you would experience no such neglect ; but on the contrary would be supplied with sufficient fulness and regularity, with all that could be worth knowing, concerning either our public or private affairs. For her sake, too, I was not unwilling, that at first the burden of this correspondence, if I may so term it, should rest where it has, since it has afforded, I am per¬ suaded, a pleasure, and provided an occupation that could have been found nowhere else. Just as a fiood ot tears brings relief to a bosom laboring under a heavy sorrow, so has this pouring out of herself to you in fre¬ quent letters, served to withdraw the mind of the Queen from recollections, which, dwelt upon as they were at first, would soon have ended that life in which all ours seem bound up.

Then again, if you accept the validity of this excuse, I have another, which, as a woman, you will at once allow the force of. You will not deem it a better one than the other, but doubtless as good. It is this : that for a long time I have been engaged in taking possession

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of my new dwelling upon the Ccelian, not far from that of Portia. Of this you may have heard, in the letters which have reached you ; but that will not prevent me from describing to you, with more exactness than any other can have done it, the home of your old and fast friend, Lucius Manlius Piso ; for I think it adds greatly to the pleasure with which we think of an absent friend, to be able to see, as in a picture, the form and material and position of the house he inhabits, and even the very aspect and furniture of the room in whichiie is accus¬ tomed to pass the most of his time. This to me is a satisfaction greater than you can well conceive, when, in my ruminating hours, which are many, I return to Pal¬ myra, and place myself in the circle with Gracchus, Calpurnius, and yourself. Your palace having now been restored to its former condition, I know where to find you at the morning, noon, and evening hour ; the only change you have made in the former arrangements be¬ ing this : that whereas when I was your guest, your pri¬ vate apartments occupied the eastern wing of the palace, they are now in the western, once mine, which I used then to maintain were the most agreeable and noble of all. The prospects which its windows afford of the temple, and the distant palace of the queen, and of the evening glories of the setting sun, are more than enough to establish its claims to an undoubted superi¬ ority ; and if to these be added the circumstance, that for so long a time the Eoman Piso was their occu¬ pant, the case is made out beyond all peradventure.

But I am describing your palace rather than my own, You must remember my paternal seat on the southern declivity of the hill, overlooking the course of the Ti-

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ber as it winds away to the sea. Mine is not far from, t, but on the northern side of the hill, and thereby possessing a situation more favorable to comfort, during the heats of summer — I loving the city, as you well know, better if anything during the summer than the winter months. Standing upon almost the highest point of the hill, it commands a wide and beautiful prospect, especially toward the north and east, the eye shooting over the whole expanse of city and suburbs, and then resting upon the purple outline of the distant mountains. Directly before me are the magnificent structures which crown the Esquiline, conspicuous among which, and in¬ deed eminent over all, are the Baths of Titus. Then, as you will conjecture, the eye takes in the Palatine and Capitol hills, catching, just beyond the last, the swelling dome of the Pantheon, which seems rather to rise out of, and crown, the Flavian Amphitheatre, than its own massy walls. Then, far in the horizon, we just discern the distant summits of the Appenines, broken by Soracte and the nearer hills.

The principal apartments are on the northern side of the palace, opening upon a portico of Corinthian col¬ umns, running its entire length and which would not disgrace Palmyra itself. At the eastern extremity, are the rooms common to the family ; in the centre, a spa¬ cious hall, in the adorning of which, by every form of art, I have exhausted my knowledge and taste in such things ; and at the western extremity, my library, where at this moment I sit, and where I have gathered around me all in letters and art that I most esteem. This room I have decorated for myself and Julia — not for others 2

Whatever has most endeared itself to our imaginations our minds, or our hearts, has here its home. The books that have most instructed or amused ; the statuary that most raises and delights us ; the pictures on which we most love to dwell; the antiquities that possess most cu¬ riosity or value, are here arranged, and in an order that would satisfy, I believe, even your fastidious taste.

I will not weary you with any more minute account of my new dwelling, leaving that duty to the readier pen of Julia. Yet I cannot relieve you till I have spoken of two of the statues which occupy the most conspicuous niche in the library. You will expect me to name Socrates and Plato, or Numa and Seneca — these are all there, but it is not of either of them that I would speak. They are the venerable founders of the Jewish and Christian religions, Moses and Christ. These statues, of the purest marble, stand side by side, at one extremity of the apartment ; and immediately before them, and within the wondrous sphere of their influences stands the table at which I write, and where I pursue my inquiries in philosophy and religion. You smile at my enthusiasm, Fausta, and wonder when I shall return to the calm sobriety of my ancient faith. In this wonder there are a thousand errors — but of these hereafter. I was to tell you of these sculptures. Of the statue of Moses, I possess no historical account, and know not what its claim may be to truth. I can only say, it is a figure truly grand, and almost terrific. It is of a size larger than life, and expresses no sentiment so perfectly as authority — the authority of a rigorous and austere ruler — both in the attitude of the body and the features of the countenance. The head is slightly raised

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and drawn back, as if listening, awe-struck, to a com¬ munication from the God who commissioned him, while his left hand supports a volume, and his right grasps a stylus, with which, when the voice has ceased, to record the communicated truth. Place in his hands the thun¬ derbolt, and at his feet the eagle, and the same form w'ould serve for Jupiter the Thunderer, except only that to the countenance of the Jewish prophet there has been imparted a rapt and inspired look, wholly beyond any that even Phidias could have fixed upon the face of Jove. He who wrought this head must have believed in the sublimities of the religion whose chief minister he has made so to speak them forth, in the countenance and in the form ; and yet who has ever heard of a Jew sculptor ?

The statue of Christ is of a very different character ; as different as the Christian faith is from that of the Jewish, notwithstanding they are still by many con¬ founded. I cannot pretend to describe to you the holy beauty, that as it were constitutes this perfect work of art. If you ask what authority tradition has invested il with, I can only say that I do not know. All I can af¬ firm with certainty, is this, that it once stood in the pal¬ ace of Alexander Severus, in company with the imag-es of other deified men and gods, whom he chiefly rever¬ enced. When that excellent prince had fallen under the blows of assassins, his successor and murderer, Maximin, having little knowledge or taste for what was found in the palace of Alexander, thoie treasures were sold, and the statue of Christ came into the hands of a distinguished and wealthy Christian of that dav, who, perishing in the ptjrsecution of Decius, his descendants

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became impoverished, and were compelled to part with even this sacred relic of their former greatness. From them I purchased it ; and often are they to be seen, whenever for such an object they can steal away from necessary cares, standing before it and renewing, as it would seem, their vows of obedience, in the presence of the founder of their faith. The room is free to their approach, whenever they are thus impelled.

The expression of this statue, I have said, is wholly different from that of the Hebrew. His is one of au¬ thority and of sternness ; this of gentleness and love. Christ is represented, like the Moses, in a sitting poscure, with a countenance, not like his raised to Heaven, but bent with looks somewhat sad and yet full of benev¬ olence, as if upon persons standing before him. Fra¬ ternity, I think, is the idea you associate with it most readily. I should never suppose him to be a judge or censor, or arbitrary master, but rather an elder brother; elder in the sense of wiser, holier, purer ; whose look is not one of reproach that others are not as himself, but of pity and desire ; and whose hand would rather be stretched forth to lift up the fallen than to smite the offender. To complete this expression, and inspire the beholder with perfect confidence, the left hand rests up¬ on a little child, who stands with familiar reverence at his knee, and looking up into his face seems to say, ‘ No evil can come to me here.’

Opposite this, and at the other extremity of the apart¬ ment, hangs a picture of Christ, representing him in very exact accordance with the traditional accounts of his fea¬ tures and form, a description of which exists, and is held by most authentic, in a letter of Publius Lentulus, a Ro

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man of the same period. Between this and the statuo there is a close resemblance, or as close as we usually see between two heads of Csesar, or of Cicero. Marble, ho wever, is the only material that suits the character and office of Jesus of Nazareth. Color, and its minute effects, seem in some sort to degrade the subject. I re¬ tain the picture because of its supposed truth.

Portia, as you will believe, is full of wonder and sor¬ row at these things. Soon after my library had received its last additions, my mother came to see what she han already heard of so much. As she entered the apart¬ ment, I was sitting in my accustomed seat, with Julia at my side, and both of us gazing in admiration at the figures I have just described. We were both too much engrossed to notice the entrance of Portia, our first warn¬ ing of her presence being her hand laid upon my head. We rose and placed her between us.

‘ My son,’ said she, looking intently as she spoke up¬ on the statues beffire us, ‘ what strange looking figures are these ? That upon my left might serve for Jupiter, but for the roll and the stylus. And why place you be¬ ings of character so opposite, as these appear to have been, side by side? This other upon my right — ah, how beautiful it is ! What mildness in those eyes, and what a divine repose over the form, which no event, not the downfall of a kingdom nor its loss, would seem capa¬ ble to disturb. Is it the peace-loving Numa?’

‘ Not so,’ said Julia ; ‘ there stands Numa, leaning on the sacred shield, from the centre ot which beams the countenance of the divine Egeria.’

‘Yes, I see it,’ replied Portia ; xnd rising fronr ho^ 2-)fc

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Beat, she stood gazing round the apartment, examining Its various appointments. When her eye had sought out the several objects, and dwelt upon them a moment, she said, in tones somewhat reproachful, as much so as it is in her nature to assume:

‘ Where, Lucius, are the gods of Eome ? Do those who have, through so many ages, watched over our country, and guarded our house, deserve no honor at your hands ? Does not gratitude require at least that their images should be here, so that, whether you your¬ self worship them or not, their presence may inspire others with reverence ? But alas for the times ! Piety seems dead; or, with the faith that inspires it, it lives but in a few, who will soon disappear, and religion with them. Whose forms are these, Lucius ? concerning one I can now easily surmise — but the other, this stern and terrific man, who is he ? ’

‘ That,’ I replied, ‘ is Moses, the founder of Judaism.’

‘ Immortal gods! ’ exclaimed Portia, ‘ the statue of a Jew in the halls of the Pisos ! Well may it be that Kome approaches her decline, when her elder sons turn against her.’

‘ Nay, my mother, I am not a Jew.’

‘ I would thou wert, rather than be what I suppose thou art, a Christian. The Jew, Lucius, can boast of antiquity, at least, in behalf of his religion. But the faith which you would profess and extend, is but of yes¬ terday. Would the gods ever leave manhind without religion ? Is it only to-day that they reveal the truth ? Have they left us for these many ages to grope along in error ? Never, Lucius, can I believe it. It is enough for me that the religion of Rome is old as Rome, to

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pndevir it to my heart, and commend it to my under* Btandiug. It is not for the first time, to-day. that the gods have spoken.’

‘ But, my dear rriother,’ I rejoined, ‘ if age makes truth, there are older religions than this of Rome. Ju¬ daism itself is older, by many centuries. But it is not because a religion is new oj: old, that I would receive or reject it. The only question is, does it satisfy my heart and mind, and is it true ? The faith which you en¬ grafted upon my infant mind, fails to meet the wants of my nature, and upon looking for its foundations, I find them not.’

‘ Is thy nature different from mine, Lucius ? Surely, thou art my own child ! It has satisfied me and my -nature. I ask for nothing else, or better.’

‘ There are some natures, mother, by the gods so fur¬ nished and filled with all good desires and affections, that their religion is born with them and is in them. It matters little under what outward form and adminis¬ tration of truth they dwell ; no system could injure them—none would greatly benefit. They are of the family of God, by birth, and are never disinherited.’

‘Yes, Portia,’ said Julia, ‘natural and divine in¬ stincts make you what others can become only through the powerful operation of some principle out of, and su¬ perior to, nnything they find within. For me, I know not what I should have been, without the help which Christianity has afforded. I might have been virtuous, but I could not have been happy. You surely rejoice, when the weak find that in any religion or philosophy which gives them strength. Look, Portia, at that serene and benignant countenance, and can you believe that

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any truth eve. came from its lips, but such as nni^t be most comforting and exalting to those who receive it ?’

‘ It would seem so indeed, my child,’ replied Portia, musingly, ‘ and I would not deprive any Df the comforts or strength which any principle may impart. But I cannot cease to think it dangerous to the state, when the faith of the founders of Rome is abandoned by those who fill its highest places. You who abound in leisure and learning, may satisfy yourselves with a new phi¬ losophy ; but what shall these nice refinements profit the common herd ? How shall they see them to be true, or comprehend them ? The Romans have ever been a religious people ; and although under the empire the purity of ancient manners is lost, let it not be said that the Pisos were among those who struck the last and hardest blows at the still stout root of the tree that bore them.’

‘ Nothing can be more plain or intelligible,’ I replied, ‘ than the principles of the Christian religion ; and wherever it has been preached with simplicity and pow¬ er, even the common people have readily and gratefully adopted it. I certainly cannot but desire that it may prevail. If any thing is to do it, I believe this is the power that is to restore, and in a still nobler form, the ancient manners of which you speak. It is from Chris¬ tianity that in my heart I believe the youthful blood is to come, that being poured into the veins of this dy¬ ing state, shall reproduce the very vigor and freshness of its early age. Rome, my mother, is now but a life¬ less trunk — a dead and loathsome corpse a new and warmer'current must be infused, or it will soon crumble into dust.’

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‘ I grieve, Lucius, to see you lost to the good cause ol your country, and to the altars of her gods ; for who can -ove his country, and deny the gods who made and pre¬ serve it ? But then who am I to condemn ? When I see the gods to hurl thunderbolts upon those who floul them, it will be time enough for us mortals to assume the robes of judgment. I will hope that farther thought will reclaim you from your truant wanderings.’

Do not imagine, Fausta, that conversations like this have the least effect to chill the warm affections of Portia towards us both. Nature has placed within her bosom a central heat, that not only preserves her own warmth, but diffuses itself upon all who approach her, and chan¬ ges their affections into a likeness of her own. We speak of our differing faiths, but love none the less. When she had paused a moment after uttering the last words, she again turned her eye upon the statue of Christ, and, captivated by its wondrous power, she dwelt upon it in a manner that showed her sensibilities to be great¬ ly moved. At length she suddenly started, saying:

‘ If truth and beauty were the same thing, one need but to look upon this and be a believer. But as in the hu¬ man form and face, beauty is often but a lie, covering over a worse deformity than any that ever disfigures the body, so it may be here. I cannot but admire and love the beauty ; it will be wise, I suppose, not to look far¬ ther, lest the dream be dissolved.’

‘ Be not afraid of that, dearest mother ; I can warran* you against disappointment. If in that marble you have the form of the outward beauty, here, in this roll you will find the inward moral beauty of which it is the, shrine.’

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‘ Nay, nay, Lucius, I look no farther or deeper. . have seen too much already.’

With these words, she arose, and we accompanied hei to the portico, where we walked, and sat, and talked O; you, and Calpurnius, and Gracchus.

Thus you perceive I have told you first of what chiefly interests myself: now let me turn to what at this mo¬ ment more than everything else fills all heads in Korne — and that is Livia. She is the object of universal attfmtion, the centre of all honor. It is indescribable, the sensation her beauty, and now added to that, her mag¬ nificence, have made and still make in Rome. Her imperial bearing would satisfy even you ; and the splen¬ dor of her state exceeds all that has been known before. This you may be surprised to hear, knowing what the principles of Aurelian have been in such things i how strict he has been himself in a more than republican simplicity, and how severe upon the extravagances and luxuries of others, in the laws he has enacted. You must remember his prohibition of the use of cloth of gold and of silk, among other things — foolish laws to be sud¬ denly promulged among so vain and corrupt a popula¬ tion as this of Rome. They have been the ridicule and scorn of rich and poor alike ; of the rich, because they are so easily violated in private, or evaded by the substi¬ tution of one article for another; of the poor, because, being slaves in spirit, they take a slave’s pride in the trappings and state of their masters • they love net only to feel but to see their superiority But since the east¬ ern expedition, the reduction of Paimyra, and the intro* daction from abroad of the vast flood of foreign luxuries which has inundated Rome and Italy itself the princi

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pies and the habits of the Emperor have undergone a mighty revolution. Now, the richness and costliness ol his dress, the splendor of his equipage, the gorgeousnes? of his furniture, cannot be made to come up to the height of his extravagant desires. The silk which he once denied to the former Empress for a dress, now, variously embroidered, and of every dye, either hangs in ample folds upon the walls, or canopies the royal bed, or lends its beauty to the cushioned seats which everywhere, in every form of luxurious ease, invite to repose. Gold, too, once prohibited, but now wrought into every kind of cloth, or solid in shape of dish, or vase, or cup, or spread in sheets over the very walls and ceilings of the palace, has rendered the traditions of Nero’s house of gold no longer fabulous. The customs of the eastern monarchs have also elevated or perverted the ambition of Aurelian, and one after another are taking place ot former usages. He is every day more difficult of ac¬ cess, and surrounds himself, his palaces, and apartments, by guards and officers of state. In all this, as you will readily believe, Livia is his willing companion, or rather, I should perhaps say, his prompting and ruling genius. As without the world at her feet, it would be impossible for her insane pride to be fully satisfied, so in all that is now done, the Emperor still lags behind her will. But beautifully, it can be denied by none, does «he become her greatness, and gives more lustre than sne receives, to all around her. Gold is doubly gold iri her presence ; and even the diamond sparkles with a new brilliancy on her brow or sandal.

Livia is, of all women I have ever seen or known, made for a Roman empress. I used to think so whetr in Palmyra, and I saw her, so often as I did, assuming the port and air of imaginary sovereignty. And now that I behold her filling the very place for which by nature she is most perfectly fitted, I cannot but confess that she surpasses all I had imagined, in the genius she displays for her great sphere, both as wife of Aurelian, and sovereign of Rome. Her intellect shows itself stronger than I had believed it to be, and secures for her the homage of a class who could not be subdued by her magnificence, extraordinary as it is. They are capti¬ vated by the brilliancy of her wit, set off by her unequal¬ led beauty, and, for a woman, by her rare attainments, and hover around her as some superior being. Then for the mass of our rich and noble, her ostentatious state and imperial presence are all that they can appreciate, ah they ask for, and more than enough to enslave them, not. only to her reasonable will, but to all her most ty¬ rannical and whimsical caprices. She understands al¬ ready perfectly the people she is among ; and through her quick sagacity, has already risen to a power greater than woman ever before held in Rome.

We see her often — often as ever—and when we see her, enjoy her as well. For with all her ambition of petty rule and imposing state, she possesses and retains a goodness of heart, that endears her to all, in spite of her follies. Julia is still her beloved Julia, and I her good friend Lucius ; but it is to Zenobia that she attach¬ es herself most closely ; and from her she draws most largely of the kind of inspiration which she covets. It is to her, too, I believe, that we may trace much ol the admirable wisdom — for such it must be allowed tc — with which Livia adorns the throne of the world.

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Her residence, when Aurelian is absent from the city, is near us in the palace upon the Palatine ; but when he is here, it is more remote, in the enchanted gardens of Sallust. This spot, first ennobled by the presence of the great historian, to whose hand and eye of taste the chief beauties of the scene are to be traced, then afterward selected by Vespasian as an imperial villa, is now lately become the chosen retreat of Aurelian. It has indeed lost a part of its charms since it has been embraced, by the extension of the new walls, within the limits of the city ; but enough remain to justify abundantly the preference of a line of emperors. It is there that we see Livia most as we have been used to do, and where are forcibly brought to our minds the hours passed by us so instruc¬ tively in the gardens of Zenobia. Often Aurelian is of our company, and throws the light of his strong intellect upon whatever subject it is we discuss. He cannot, however, on such occasions, thoroughly tame to the tone of gentle society, his imperious and almost rude nature. The peasant of Pannonia will sometimes break through, and usurp the place of emperor ; but it is only for a moment ; for it is pleasing to note how the presence of Livia quickly restores him to himself; when, with more grace than one would look for, he acknowledges his fault, ascribing it sportively to the fogs of the German marshes. It amuses us to observe the power which the polished manners and courtly ways of Livia exercise over Aurelian, whose ambition seems now as violently bent upon subduing the world by the displays of taste, grace, and magnificence, as it once was to do it — and is still indeed--by force of arms. Having astonished 3

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mankind in one way, he would astonish them again ir quite another ; and to this later task his whole nature is consecrated with as entire a devotion as ever it was tc the other. Livia is in all these things his model and guide ; and never did soldier learn to catch, from the least motion or sign of the general, his will, than does he, to the same end, study the countenance and the voice of the Empress. Yet is there, as you will believe, knowing the character of Aurelian as well as you do, nothing mean nor servile in this. He is ever himself, and beneath this transparent surface, artificially as¬ sumed, you behold, feature for feature, the lineaments of the fierce soldier glaring forth in all their native wild¬ ness and ferocity. Yet we are happy that there exists any charm potent enough to calm, but for hours or days, a nature so stern and cruel as to cause perpetual fears for the violences in which at any moment it may break out. The late slaughter in the very streets of Rome, when the Coelian ran with the blood of fifteen thousand Romans, butchered within sight of their own homes, with the succeeding executions, naturally fill us with apprehensions for the future. We call him generous, and magnanimous, and so he is, compared with former tyrants who have polluted the throne — Tiberius, Cornmodus, or Maximin ; but what title has he to that praise, when tried by the standard which our own reason sup¬ plies of those great virtues ? I confess it was not always so. His severity was formerly ever on the side of jus¬ tice ; it was indignation at crime or baseness which sometimes brought upon him the charge of cruelty — never the wanton infliction of suffering and death. But it certainly is not so now. A slight cause now rouses