Callista : a Tale of the Third Century

by John Henry Newman

  CHAPTER XIV.

  A SMALL CLOUD.

  This sort of intercourse, growing in frequency and fulness, went on forabout a week, till Agellius was able to walk with support, and to leavethe cottage. The priest and his own slave took him between them, andseated him one evening in sight of the glorious prospect, traversed by thelong shadow of the far mountains, behind which the sun was making its way.The air was filled with a thousand odours; the brilliant colouring of thewestern heavens was contrasted with the more sober but varied tints of therich country. The wheat and barley harvest was over; but the beans werelate, and still stood in the fields. The olives and chestnut-trees werefull of fruit; the early fig was supplying the markets with food; and thenumerous vineyards were patiently awaiting the suns of the next monthslowly to perfect their present promise. The beautiful scene had a moraldignity, from its associations with human sustenance and well-being. Theinexpressible calmness of evening was flung, like a robe, over it. Itssweetness was too much for one who had been confined to the monotony of asick-room, and was still an invalid. He sat silent, and in tears. It waslife from the dead; and he felt he had risen to a different life. And thushe came out evening after evening convalescent, gradually and surelyadvancing to perfect restoration of his health.

  One evening he said, after feeding his eyes and thoughts for some timewith the prospect, " 'Mansueti hereditabunt terram.' They alone have realenjoyment of this earth who believe in its Maker. Every breath of airseems to whisper how good He is to me."

  Caecilius answered, "These sights are the shadows of that fairer Paradisewhich is our home, where there is no beast of prey, no venomous reptile,no sin. My child, should _I_ not feel this more than you? Those who areshut up in crowded cities see but the work of man, which is evil. It isthe compensation of my flight from Carthage that I am brought before theface of God."

  "The heathen worship all this, as if God Himself," said Agellius; "howstrange it seems to me that any one can forget the Creator in His works!"

  Caecilius was silent for a moment, and sighed; he then said, "You have everbeen a Christian, Agellius."

  "And you have not, my father?" answered he; "well, you have earned thatgrace which came to me freely."

  "Agellius," said the priest, "it comes freely to all; and is only meritedwhen it has already prevailed. Yet I think you earned it too, else why thedifference between you and your brother?"

  "What do you know of us?" asked Agellius quickly.

  "Not a great deal," answered he, "yet something. Three or four years backan effort was made to rekindle the Christian spirit in these parts, and todo something for the churches of the proconsulate, and to fill up thevacant sees. Nothing has come of it as yet; but steps were taken towardsit: one was to obtain a recovery of the Christians who remained in them. Iwas sent here for that purpose, and in this way heard of you and yourbrother. When my life was threatened by the persecution, and I had toflee, I thought of your cottage. I was obliged to act secretly, as we didnot know friends from foes."

  "You were led here for other purposes towards _me_, my father," saidAgellius; "yet you cannot have a safer refuge. There is nothing todisturb, nothing to cause suspicion here. In this harvest time numbers ofstrangers pour in from the mountains, of various races; there is nothingto distinguish you from one of them, and my brother is away convoying somegrain to Carthage. Persecution drove you hither, but you have not beensuffered to be idle, my father, you have brought home a wanderer." Headded, after a pause, "I am well enough to go to confession to you now.May it be this evening?"

  "It will be well," answered Caecilius; "how long I shall still be here, Icannot tell. I am expecting my trusty messenger with despatches. It is nowthree days since he was here. However, this I say without misgiving, we donot part for long. What do you here longer? you must come to me. I mustprepare you, and send you back to Sicca, to collect and restore thisscattered flock."

  Agellius turned, and leaned against the priest's shoulder, and laughed. "Iam laughing," he said, "not from lightness of mind, but from the depth ofsurprise and of joy that you should so think of me. It was a dream whichonce I had; but impossible! you do not think that I, weak I, shall ever beable to do more than save my own soul?"

  "You will save your own soul by saving the souls of others," saidCaecilius; "my child, I could tell you more things if I thought it good foryou."

  "But, my father, I have so weak, so soft a heart," cried Agellius; "whatam I to do with myself? I am not of the temper of which heroes are made."

  " 'Virtus in infirmitate perficitur,' " said the priest. "What! are you todo _any_ thing of yourself? or are you to be simply the instrument ofAnother? We shall have the same termination, you and myself, but you longafter me."

  "Ah, father, because _you_ will burn out so much more quickly!" saidAgellius.

  "I think," said Caecilius, "I see my messenger; there is some one who hasmade his way by stealth into the garden, or at least not by the beatenway."

  There _was_ a visitor, as Caecilius had said; however, it was not hismessenger, but Juba, who approached, looking with great curiosity atCaecilius, and absorbed in the sight. Caecilius in turn regarded himsteadfastly, and then said to Agellius, "It is your brother."

  "What brings you here, Juba?" said the latter.

  "I have been away on a distant errand," said Juba; "and find you have beenill. Is this your nurse?" he eyed him almost sternly, and added, "'Tis aChristian priest."

  "Has Agellius no acquaintance but Christians?" asked Caecilius.

  "Acquaintance! O surely!" answered Juba; "agreeable, innocent, sweetacquaintance of another sort; myself to begin with. My lad," he continued,"you did not rise to their price, but you did your best."

  "Juba," said his brother, "if you have any business here, say it, and havedone. I am not strong enough to hold any altercation with you."

  "Business!" said Juba, "I can find quite business enough here, if Ichoose. This is a priest of the Christians. I am sure of it."

  Caecilius looked at him with such calmness and benevolence, that at lengthJuba turned away his eyes with something of irritation. He said, "If I_am_ a priest, I am here to claim you as one of my children."

  Juba winced, but said scornfully, "You are mistaken there, father; speakto those who own you. I am a free man."

  "My son," Caecilius answered, "you have been under instruction; it is yourduty to go forward, not back."

  "What do you know about me?" said Juba; "he has been telling."

  "Your face, your manner, your voice, tells a tale; I need no informationfrom others. I have heard of you years ago; now I see you."

  "What do you see in me?" said Juba.

  "I see pride in bodily shape, treading down faith and conviction," saidCaecilius.

  Juba neighed rather than laughed, so fierce and scornful was itsexpression. "What you slaves call pride," he said, "I call dignity."

  "You believe in a God, Creator of heaven and earth, as certainly as I do,"said the priest, "but you deliberately set yourself against Him."

  Juba smiled. "I am as free," he said, "in _my_ place, as He in His."

  "You mean," answered Caecilius, "free to do wrong, and free to suffer forit."

  "You may call it wrong, and call it suffering," replied Juba; "but for me,_I_ do not call wrong what He calls wrong; and if He puts me to pain, itis because He is the stronger."

  The priest stopped awhile; there was no emotion on either side. It wasstrange to see them so passionless, so antagonistic, like St. Michael andhis adversary.

  "There is that within you," said Caecilius, "which speaks as I speak. Thatinward voice takes the part of the Creator, and condemns you."

  "_He_ put it there," said Juba; "and _I_ will take care to put it out."

  "Then He will have justice as well as power on His side," said the priest.

  "I will never fawn or crouch," said Juba; "I will be lord and master in myown soul. Every faculty shall be
mine; there shall be no dividedallegiance."

  Caecilius paused again; he said at length, "My son, my soul tells me, orrather my Maker tells me, and your Maker, that some heavy judgment isimpending over you. Do penance while you may."

  "Tell your forebodings to women and children," said Juba; "I am preparedfor anything. I will not be crushed."

  Agellius was not strong enough to bear a part in such a scene. "Father,"he said, "it is his way, but don't believe him. He has better thoughts.Away with you, Juba, you are not wanted here."

  "Agellius," said the priest, "such words are not strange to me. I am notyoung, and have seen much of the world; and my very office and positionelicits blasphemies from others from time to time. I knew a man whocarried out his bad thoughts and words into act. Abjuring his Maker, heabandoned himself to the service of the evil one. He betrayed his brethrento death. He lived on year after year, and became old. He was smitten withillness; then I first saw him. I made him contemplate a picture; it wasthe picture of the Good Shepherd. I dwelt on the vain efforts of the poorsheep to get out of the fold; its irrational aversion to its home, and itsdesperate resolution to force a way through the prickly fence. It waspierced and torn with the sharp aloe; at last it lay imprisoned in itsstern embrace, motionless and bleeding. Then the Shepherd, though He hadto wound His own hands in the work, disengaged it, and brought it back.God has His own times; His power went along with the picture, and the manwas moved. I said, '_This_ is His return for your enmity: He is determinedto have you, cost Him what it will.' I need not go through the many thingsthat followed, but the issue may be told in few words. He came back; helived a life of penance at the Church's door; he received the peace of theChurch in immediate prospect of the persecution, and has within the lastten days died a martyr's death."

  Juba had listened as if he was constrained against his will. When thepriest stopped he started, and began to speak impetuously, and unlike hisordinary tone. He placed his hands violently against his ears. "Stop!" hesaid, "no more. _I_ will not betray them; no: I _need_ not betray them;"he laughed; "the black moor does the work himself. Look," he cried,seizing the priest's arm, and pointing to a part of the forest, whichhappened to be to windward. "You are in their number, priest, who canforetell the destinies of others, and are blind to their own. Read there,the task is not hard, your coming fortunes."

  His finger was directed to a spot where, amid the thick foliage, the gleamof a pool or of a marsh was visible. The various waters round aboutissuing from the gravel, or drained from the nightly damps, had run into ahollow, filled with the decaying vegetation of former years, and werelanguidly filtered out into a brook, more healthy than the vast reservoiritself. Its banks were bordered with a deep, broad layer of mud, atransition substance between the rich vegetable matter which it once hadbeen, and the multitudinous world of insect life which it was becoming. Acloud or mist at this time was hanging over it, high in air. A harsh andshrill sound, a whizzing or a chirping, proceeded from that cloud to theear of the attentive listener. What these indications portended was plain."There," said Juba, "is what will tell more against you than imperialedict, informer, or proconsular apparitor; and no work of mine."

  He turned down the bank and disappeared. Agellius and his guest looked ateach other in dismay. "It is the locusts," they whispered to each other,as they went back into the cottage.