CHAPTER XIX.
A PASSAGE OF ARMS.
How many hours passed while Caecilius was thus employed, he did not know.The sun was declining when he was roused by a noise at the door. Hehastily restored the sacred treasure to its hiding-place in his breast,and rose up from his knees. The door was thrown back, and a female formpresented itself at the opening. She looked in at the priest, and said,"Then Agellius is not here?"
The woman was young, tall, and graceful in person. She was clad in ayellow cotton tunic, reaching to her feet, on which were shoes. The claspsat her shoulders, partly visible under the short cloak or shawl which wasthrown over them, and which might, if necessary, be drawn over her head,seemed to serve the purpose, not only of fastening her dress, but ofproviding her with sharp prongs or minute stilettos for her defence, incase she fell in with ruffians by the way; and though the expression ofher face was most feminine, there was that about it which implied shecould use them for that purpose on an emergency. That face was clear incomplexion, regular in outline, and at the present time pale, whatevermight be its ordinary tint. Its charm was a noble and majestic calm. Thereis the calm of divine peace and joy; there is the calm of heartlessness;there is the calm of reckless desperation; there is the calm of death.None of these was the calm which breathed from the features of thestranger who intruded upon the solitude of Caecilius. It was the calm ofGreek sculpture; it imaged a soul nourished upon the visions of genius,and subdued and attuned by the power of a strong will. There was noappearance of timidity in her manner; very little of modesty. The eveningsun gleamed across her amber robe, and lit it up till it glowed like fire,as if she were invested in the marriage _flammeum_, and was to be claimedthat evening as the bride of her own bright god of day.
She looked at Caecilius, first with surprise, then with anxiety; and herwords were, "You, I fear, are of his people. If so, make the most of thesehours. The foe may be on you to-morrow morning. Fly while you can."
"If I am a Christian," answered Caecilius, "what are you who are so carefulof us? Have you come all the way from Sicca to give the alarm to mereatheists and magic-mongers?"
"Stranger," she said, "if you had seen what I have seen, what I have heardof to-day, you would not wonder at my wish to save from a like fate thevilest being on earth. A hideous mob is rioting in the city, thirsting forthe blood of Christians; an accident may turn it in the direction ofAgellius. He is gone; where is he? Murderous outrages have already beenperpetrated; you remain."
"She who is so tender of Christians," answered the priest, "must herselfhave some sparks of the Christian flame in her own breast."
Callista sat down half unconsciously upon the bench or stool near thedoor; but she at once suddenly started up again, and said, "Away, fly!perhaps they are coming; where is he?"
"Fear not," said Caecilius; "Agellius has been conveyed away to a safehiding-place; for me, I shall be taken care of; there is no need forhurry; sit down again. But you," he continued, "you must not be foundhere."
"They know _me_," she said; "I am well known here. I work for the temples.I have nothing to fear. I am no Christian;" and, as if from aninexplicable overruling influence, she sat down again.
"Not a Christian yet, you mean," answered Caecilius.
"A person must be born a Christian, sir," she replied, "in order to takeup the religion. It is a very beautiful idea, as far as I have heardanything about it; but one must suck it in with one's mother's milk."
"If so, it never could have come into the world," said the priest.
She paused for a while. "It is true," she answered at length; "but a newreligion begins by appealing to what is peculiar in the minds of a few.The doctrine, floating on the winds, finds its own; it takes possession oftheir minds; they answer its call; they are brought together by thatcommon influence; they are strong in each other's sympathy; they createand throw around them an external form, and thus they found a religion.The sons are brought up in their fathers' faith; and what was the idea ofa few becomes at length the profession of a race. Such is Judaism; suchthe religion of Zoroaster, or of the Egyptians."
"You will find," said the priest, "that the greater number of AfricanChristians at this moment, for of them I speak confidently, are convertsin manhood, not the sons of Christians. On the other hand, if there bethose who have left the faith, and gone up to the capitol to sacrifice,these were Christians by hereditary profession. Such is my experience, andI think the case is the same elsewhere."
She seemed to be speaking more for the sake of getting answers than ofobjecting arguments. She paused again, and thought; then she said,"Mankind is made up of classes of very various mental complexion, asdistinct from each other as the colours which meet the eye. Red and blueare incommensurable; and in like manner, a Magian never can become aGreek, nor a Greek a Coelicolist. They do but make themselves fools whenthey attempt it."
"Perhaps the most deeply convinced, the most tranquil-minded in theChristian body," answered Caecilius, "will tell you, on the contrary, thatthere was a time when they hated Christianity, and despised andill-treated its professors."
"_I_ never did any such thing," cried Callista, "since the day I firstheard of it. I am not its enemy, but I cannot believe in it. I am sure Inever could; I never, never should be able."
"What is it you cannot believe?" asked the priest.
"It seems too beautiful," she said, "to be anything else than a dream. Itis a thing to talk about, but when you come near its professors you see itis impossible. A most beautiful imagination, _that_ is what it is. Mostbeautiful its precepts, as far as I have heard of them; so beautiful, thatin idea there is no difficulty. The mind runs along with them, as if itcould accomplish them without an effort. Well, its maxims are toobeautiful to be realized; and then on the other hand, its dogmas are toodismal, too shocking, too odious to be believed. They revolt me."
"Such as what?" asked Caecilius.
"Such as this," answered Callista. "Nothing will ever make me believe thatall my people have gone and will go to an eternal Tartarus."
"Had we not better confine ourselves to something more specific, moretangible?" asked Caecilius, gravely. "I suppose if one individual may havethat terrible lot, another may--both may, many may. Suppose I understandyou to say that you never will believe that _you_ will go to an eternalTartarus."
Callista gave a slight start, and showed some uneasiness or displeasure.
"Is it not likely," continued he, "that you are better able to speak ofyourself, and to form a judgment about yourself, than about others?Perhaps if you could first speak confidently about yourself, you would bein a better position to speak about others also."
"Do you mean," she said, in a calm tone, "that my place, after this life,is an everlasting Tartarus?"
"Are you happy?" he asked in turn.
She paused, looked down, and in a deep clear voice said, "No." There was asilence.
The priest began again: "Perhaps you have been growing in unhappiness foryears; is it so? you assent. You have a heavy burden at your heart, youdon't well know what. And the chance is, that you _will_ grow inunhappiness for the next ten years to come. You will be more and moreunhappy the longer you live. Did you live till you were an old woman, youwould not know how to bear your existence."
Callista cried out as if in bodily pain, "It is true, sir, whoever toldyou. But how can you have the heart to say it, to insult and mock me!"
"God forbid!" exclaimed Caecilius, "but let me go on. Listen, my child. Bebrave, and dare to look at things as they are. Every day adds to yourburden. This is a law of your present being, somewhat more certain thanthe assertion which you just now so confidently made, the impossibility ofyour believing in that law. You cannot refuse to accept what is not anopinion, but a fact. I say this burden which I speak of is not simply adogma of our creed, it is an undeniable fact of nature. You cannot changeit by wishing; if you were to live on earth two hundred years, it wouldnot be reve
rsed, it would be more and more true. At the end of two hundredyears you would be too miserable even for your worst enemy to rejoice init."
Caecilius spoke, as if half in soliloquy or meditation, though he waslooking towards Callista. The contrast between them was singular: he thusabstracted; she too, utterly forgetful of self, but absorbed in him, andshowing it by her eager eyes, her hushed breath, her anxious attitude. Atlast she said impatiently, "Father, you are speaking to yourself; youdespise me."
The priest looked straight at her with an open, untroubled smile, andsaid, "Callista, do not doubt me, my poor child; you are in my heart. Iwas praying for you shortly before you appeared. No; but, in so serious amatter as attempting to save a soul, I like to speak to you in my Lord'ssight. I am speaking to you, indeed I am, my child; but I am also pleadingwith you on His behalf, and before His throne."
His voice trembled as he spoke, but he soon recovered himself. "Sufferme," he said. "I was saying that if you lived five hundred years on earth,you would but have a heavier load on you as time went on. But you will notlive, you will die. Perhaps you will tell me that you will then cease tobe. I don't believe you think so. I may take for granted that you thinkwith me, and with the multitude of men, that you will still live, that youwill still be _you_. You will still be the same being, but deprived ofthose outward stays and reliefs and solaces, which, such as they are, younow enjoy. You will be yourself, shut up in yourself. I have heard thatpeople go mad at length when placed in solitary confinement. If, then, onpassing hence, you are cut off from what you had here, and have only thecompany of yourself, I think your burden will be, so far, greater, notless than it is now.
"Suppose, for instance, you had still your love of conversing, and couldnot converse; your love of the poets of your race, and no means ofrecalling them; your love of music, and no instrument to play upon; yourlove of knowledge, and nothing to learn; your desire of sympathy, and noone to love: would not that be still greater misery?
"Let me proceed a step further: supposing you were among those whom youactually did _not_ love; supposing you did _not_ like them, nor theiroccupations, and could not understand their aims; suppose there be, asChristians say, one Almighty God, and you did not like Him, and had notaste for thinking of Him, and no interest in what He was and what He did;and supposing you found that there was nothing else anywhere but He, whomyou did not love and whom you wished away: would you not be still morewretched?
"And if this went on for ever, would you not be in great inexpressiblepain for ever?
"Assuming then, first, that the soul always needs external objects to restupon; next, that it has no prospect of any such when it leaves thisvisible scene; and thirdly, that the hunger and thirst, the gnawing of theheart, where it occurs, is as keen and piercing as a flame; it will followthere is nothing irrational in the notion of an eternal Tartarus."
"I cannot answer you, sir," said Callista, "but I do not believe the dogmaon that account a whit the more. My mind revolts from the notion. There_must_ be some way out of it."
"If, on the other hand," continued Caecilius, not noticing herinterruption, "if all your thoughts go one way; if you have needs,desires, aims, aspirations, all of which demand an Object, and imply, bytheir very existence, that such an Object does exist also; and if nothinghere does satisfy them, and if there be a message which professes to comefrom that Object, of whom you already have the presentiment, and to teachyou about Him, and to bring the remedy you crave; and if those who trythat remedy say with one voice that the remedy answers; are you not bound,Callista, at least to look that way, to inquire into what you hear aboutit, and to ask for His help, if He be, to enable you to believe in Him?"
"This is what a slave of mine used to say," cried Callista, abruptly; "...and another, Agellius, hinted the same thing.... What is your remedy, whatyour Object, what your love, O Christian teacher? Why are you all somysterious, so reserved in your communications?"
Caecilius was silent for a moment, and seemed at a loss for an answer. Atlength he said, "Every man is in that state which you confess of yourself.We have no love for Him who alone lasts. We love those things which do notlast, but come to an end. Things being thus, He whom we ought to love hasdetermined to win us back to Him. With this object He has come into Hisown world, in the form of one of us men. And in that human form He opensHis arms and woos us to return to Him, our Maker. This is our Worship,this is our Love, Callista."
"You talk as Chione," Callista answered; "only that she felt, and youteach. She could not speak of her Master without blushing for joy.... AndAgellius, when he said one word about his Master, he too began toblush...."
It was plain that the priest could hardly command his feelings, and theysat for a short while in silence. Then Callista began, as if musing onwhat she had heard.
"A loved One," she said, "yet ideal; a passion so potent, so fresh, soinnocent, so absorbing, so expulsive of other loves, so enduring, yet ofOne never beheld;--mysterious! It is our own notion of the First and onlyFair, yet embodied in a substance, yet dissolving again into a sort ofimagination.... It is beyond me."
"There is but one Lover of souls," cried Caecilius, "and He loves each oneof us, as though there were no one else to love. He died for each one ofus, as if there were no one else to die for. He died on the shamefulcross. 'Amor meus crucifixus est.' The love which he inspires lasts, forit is the love of the Unchangeable. It satisfies, for He is inexhaustible.The nearer we draw to Him, the more triumphantly does He enter into us;the longer He dwells in us, the more intimately have we possession of Him.It is an espousal for eternity. This is why it is so easy for us to diefor our faith, at which the world marvels."
Presently he said, "Why will not _you_ approach Him? why will not youleave the creature for the Creator?"
Callista seldom lost her self-possession; for a moment she lost it now;tears gushed from her eyes. "Impossible!" she said, "what, I? you do notknow me, father!" She paused, and then resumed in a different tone, "No!_my_ lot is one way, yours another. I am a child of Greece, and have nohappiness but that, such as it is, which my own bright land, my ownglorious race, give me. I may well be content, I may well be resigned, Imay well be proud, if I possess _that_ happiness. I must live and diewhere I have been born. I am a tree which will not bear transplanting. TheAssyrians, the Jews, the Egyptians, have their own mystical teaching. Theyfollow their happiness in their own way; mine is a different one. Thepride of mind, the revel of the intellect, the voice and eyes of genius,and the fond beating heart, I cannot do without them. I cannot do withoutwhat you, Christian, call sin. Let me alone; such as nature made me I willbe. I cannot change."
This sudden revulsion of her feelings quite overcame Caecilius; yet, whilethe disappointment thrilled through him, he felt a most strange sympathyfor the poor lost girl, and his reply was full of emotion. "Am _I_ a Jew?"he exclaimed; "am _I_ an Egyptian, or an Assyrian? Have I from my youthbelieved and possessed what now is my Life, my Hope, and my Love? Child,_what_ was once my life? Am not _I_ too a brand plucked out of the fire?Do _I_ deserve anything but evil? Is it not the Power, the Mighty Power ofthe only Strong, the only Merciful, the grace of Emmanuel, which haschanged and won me? If He can change me, an old man, could He not change achild like you? I, a proud, stern Roman; I, a lover of pleasure, a man ofletters, of political station, with formed habits, and life-longassociations, and complicated relations; was it _I_ who wrought this greatchange in me, who gained for myself the power of hating what I once loved,of unlearning what I once knew, nay, of even forgetting what once I was?Who has made you and me to differ, but He who can, when He will, make usto agree? It is His same Omnipotence which will transform _you_, if youwill but come to be transformed."
But a reaction had come over the proud and sensitive mind of the Greekgirl. "So after all, priest," she said, "you are but a man like others; afrail, guilty person like myself. I can find plenty of persons who do as Ido; I want some one who does not; I want some one to worship. I thoughtthere was something
in you special and extraordinary. There was agentleness and tenderness mingled with your strength which was new to me.I said, Here is at last a god. My own gods are earthly, sensual; I have norespect for them, no faith in them. But there is nothing better anywhereelse.... Alas!..." She started up, and said with vehemence, "I thought yousinless; you confess to crime.... Ah! how do I know," she continued with ashudder, "that you are better than those base hypocrites, priests of Isisor Mithras, whose lustrations, initiations, new birth, white robes, andlaurel crowns, are but the instrument and cloak of their intensedepravity?" And she felt for the clasp upon her shoulder.
Here her speech was interrupted by a hoarse sound, borne upon the wind asof many voices blended into one and softened by the distance, but which,under the circumstances, neither of the parties to the above conversationhad any difficulty in assigning to its real cause. "Dear father," shesaid, "the enemy is upon you."
Callista : a Tale of the Third Century Page 24
