The slave laughed softly, then meekly and covertly gazed at Lucanus with his letters on his knees. All the teachers, students, and slaves were aware of the beauty and stately demeanor of the young Greek, and secretly marveled at it. His fair face, which not even the fierce sun could darken, possessed smooth hard planes, as if carved from white stone. His blue eyes, so perfectly cerulean, were like jewels, and as cold. His yellow hair flowed back from his snowy brow in shining waves, and curled behind his ears. His throat was a column, his shoulders perfection under his pale tunic. He excelled in the races, at discus throwing, at wrestling, at boxing, at jumping, at throwing the spear, at swimming and diving and assorted sports required of the students. “A sound mind cannot exist except in a sound body, and a sound body cannot exist without a sound mind,” said the master of the school.
Lucanus took up the letter from Diodorus, which had arrived that morning from Rome. He liked the tribune’s letters; they might be fiery and salty and filled with angry oaths, but they possessed vitality and a healthy anger and some eloquence. He poured out his wrath to his stepson, understanding that here was a receptive ear.
Greetings to my son, Lucanus, the letter began formally. Then it continued:
All is well at home. Your mother basks among her children like Niobe, and it is beauteous to see. Unlike Niobe, she is infinitely wise, and a constant consolation to my heart, which is frequently inflamed after visits to the City. Each year finds her lovelier, as if Venus herself had touched her with the gift of immortal youth and beauty. What have I done to deserve such a wife, and such adorable children? I feel that I must strive to be worthy of such happiness. Therefore my frequent visits to Rome and my enraged arguments with the red-sandaled senators who complacently watch our world quickly descending into hell. Because of my connections, and through the offices of Carvilius Ulpian, who grows fatter daily in the body and thinner in the face, I am sometimes allowed to address the Senate. They listen without boredom, I assure you!
They prefer serenity to thought, long, windy dissertations on their particular interests to serious reflection on the state of our country. Most of them are armchair generals, liking to sit on their terraces of an evening, with a goblet of wine in their hands, and discussing with their friends some general’s campaigns, and learnedly and disapprovingly remarking on them. They prepare diagrams of campaigns. What do they know of tenting in the wilderness, of long hot marches, of struggles with the barbarians? They are lawmakers, they say. Let them confine themselves to their law and leave soldiers alone! But let there be a rumbling among the populace, and the senators are the first ones who speak of Praetorians and the legions, and in pusillanimous voices. The prefects and the city police are not enough for these knaves. They would have the military protect them! Rome sometimes resembles an armed camp.
In the meantime, while they are not addressing their fellow senators on the subject of more public baths and more circuses and more free housing for the motley mobs of Rome, and more free food for the mobs who dislike work, they furtively oversee businesses such as the making of uniforms and arms for the military, clothing and blanket factories, or help to subsidize relatives who are in those businesses or throw government contracts in their direction. I have not yet seen a senator whose hand is not sticky with bribes, or who does not extort bribes. The Senate has become a closed organization of scoundrels who loot the Treasury in the name of the general welfare, and who have a rabble-following of hungry bellies and avaricious thieves they call their clients, and about whom they express the most touching solicitude. The fate of Rome, the fate of the desperate taxpayers, is nothing to such as these. Let the public debt mount! Let the middle class be crushed to death under taxes, extortions, and exploitation! Why did the gods create the middle class if not to serve as oxen drawing the chariots of senators followed by multitudes of ravenous beggars? An honest man, a man who works and honors Rome and the Constitution of the Republic, is not only a fool. He is suspect. Send the tax collector to him for fresh robberies! He is probably not paying his ‘just’ share of the taxes.
The military is constantly clamoring for new appropriations for the ‘defense’ of Rome, and against ‘the enemy’. To question these appropriations is to bring the cry of denunciation. Am I a traitor? Am I indifferent to the strength of Rome? Would I have Rome weak in the face of encompassing barbarians? Do I not understand that we must keep our allies strong with gifts from the Treasury, and arms, and the presence of our legions? Not to mention the advice of our military and political experts, whose long and expensive journeys in their advisory capacities are financed by the Treasury? It is odd that Carvilius Ulpian, who is an Egyptologist, and a lover of Egyptian art, managed to convince the Senate that it was absolutely necessary that he be financed to ‘study the present defenses of Egypt’, and that his presence was needed for that ‘study’ in Cairo. He went, of course, accompanied by Praetorians and a whole retinue of handsome ladies and slaves and actors and gladiators, all paid for out of the funds in the Treasury. He came back and addressed the Senate, giving them the reassuring news that Egypt was loyal to the Pax Romana, though the proconsul in Cairo could have sent that news on request at the cost of a single messenger on a regular ship.
Lucanus involuntarily smiled, but the smile had a touch with dreary melancholy in it. The letter in his hands seemed to vibrate with the angry passion of the tribune. Lucanus continued to read.
But ten days ago I was present, as a guest, in the Senate. One senator declaimed sadly, but nobly! that world leadership had been thrust upon the strong shoulders of Rome. ‘It was not our choice,’ said this lying hypocrite, mouthing his words heroically, ‘but the choice of fate, or the gods, or the mysterious forces of history,’ he giving the impression that history in some mystical way exists above and apart from mankind which makes history! ‘Shall we again refuse this yoke?’ demanded the vomitous liar. ‘Shall we again refuse to take upon us what has been decreed because we possess the genius for government, the genius for invention, the genius for productive work? No! By Jupiter, no! Onerous though the burden is, we accept it for the sake of humanity!’
I could not contain myself. I rose from my guest’s seat beside Carvilius Ulpian and stood there with my thumbs in my belt, letting them see my armor and my sword. How these ladylike men love the show of militarism! They immediately took on serious expressions, though they have seen me often enough, Mars knows! ‘Let the tribune speak!’ some of them shouted, as if they could have stopped the son of Priscus!
I lifted my fist and shook it in their mendacious faces. ‘And who,’ I demanded, ‘has declared that Rome has been given the leadership of the world? The civilized Greeks who detest us and laugh at us and our bloody pretensions? The Egyptians, who were an old dynasty when Remus and Romulus were suckled by the she-wolf? The Jews, who had their wise code of laws when Rome had no law but the short sword? The barbarians in Britain, who tear down our fortifications as fast as we raise them? The Gauls, the Goths, the ancient Etruscans, the Germani, the millions of those as yet unblessed by Roman militarism? The millions who do not know our name, or, if knowing, spit at hearing it? Who gave us leadership but ourselves, out of our force, our craft and threats, our urge to despoil and steal, our lust for power? We are like a young, uncouth but corrupt bully swaggering among old men, or among babes growing large for the future on their mothers’ milk.’
Lucanus’ fair brows knitted with sudden anxiousness. His heart beat with a vague fear. He honored Diodorus for those brave and honest words, those words flung into the faces of liars, politicians, and other rascals swollen with ambition. Nevertheless, he was frightened. He tried to console himself with the thought that Tiberius Caesar was also a soldier, and that he respected Diodorus and was, in his own way, an honorable man.
I expected to be shouted down, Diodorus’ letter continued. But those nearest me merely sat in silence and looked at me with knitted brows. One or two, younger than the others, blushed and stared at their hands. Carvili
us Ulpian avoided my eyes and twitched on his seat. It is possible that he has an irritable rectum, so I forgave him. I waited, but no one answered me.
Rome is not my Rome, the Rome of my ancestors. The Founding Fathers are forgotten, or mentioned only when some politician wishes to commit more infamy. The days of fortitude, faith, and character are gone forever, and the days of courage and discipline. Why then do I struggle? Because it is in the nature of a free man to struggle against slavery and lies. If he falls, then he has fallen in a good fight, if hopeless.
But enough of this gloom. You will return to your family in the near future. We shall receive our dear son with rejoicing and affection.
May God bless you, my son.
Lucanus’ eyes smarted dryly as he rolled up the letter. It was always dangerous to speak the truth. In a corrupt world such as this it was fatal. If God cared for the world of men at all, thought Lucanus, bitterly, He would create many Diodoruses, or He would protect them when they spoke in their loud clear voices.
Let me forget my family, Lucanus abjured himself with sternness. I must not love — though I love! — because if I am involved too deeply the consequences will, as usual, be tragic, and I have had enough of tragedy. If I could pray, however, I should pray that the senators would hastily close and bolt their chamber against Diodorus, for his own dear and vociferous sake, and the sake of my mother and my brothers and sister.
He reminded himself that he had lately come, at a considerable price, into possession of a translated scroll from Cathay, containing wise words written centuries ago by one K’ung Fu’tze, or Confucius, as Joseph ben Gamliel had called him. The Jewish teacher had been reluctant to part with it, but Diodorus, reflected Lucanus, might be soothed by those lofty words, so calm, so resigned, so mannered, so contemplative. He would also nod vigorously at reading, ‘Remember this, my children, that oppressive government is fiercer and more feared than a tiger.’
The harpy-faced little Claudius Vesalius had come to a pause with his wretched student very near to Lucanus, and he raised his voice. “Mathematics is indeed the Apollonian art!” he shrilled. “He who dislikes it, or avoids it, or regards it as a lesser science is a brass-assed monkey!”
He means me, thought Lucanus with some amusement, and pretended to be engrossed with a letter. The little mincing Greek was incensed. He continued to address his student but in reality Lucanus.
“I consider Pythagoras superior to any Aristotle or Hippocrates or Julius Caesar!” he declaimed. “Or any Phidias or any artist, or what not. All science and art are based on definite mathematical principles. Induction! It is all mathematics! Let us say that we wish to prove that the sum of the first N odd numbers is N-2, that is, one plus three plus five plus — plus 2N — one equals N-2. Is it not true that N equals 2? Yes! For one plus three equals four equals 2². It is also true that N equals K. In that case we should have — ”
Lucanus elaborately yawned, and seeing this, Claudius Vesalius seethed. The young Greek rose easily and wandered to the far-off gate at the other end of the garden. The teeth of Claudius Vesalius gritted. Here was one gifted with the Apollonian art, and he preferred to dabble his hands in corpses and bloody his clothing and smell vile stenches in carnal houses or infirmaries! Argh! He hated Lucanus for all that waste. To Hades with him. Let him deliver brats who should never be born and cut for the stone in those who could not resist their lusts at the tables! Worthy calling for a worthy sniveler! Nor did this precious pretender haunt the brothels of Alexandria as normal young men did, nor was he overly respectful to his teachers. His attitudes were preposterous. Did he grace wineshops or taverns or circuses or theaters with his presence? No indeed. He was too valuable for all that. He was always careful to protect those delicate hands of his during the rougher sports for fear of stiffening a finger that could hold a scalpel.
“He is a young Hermes,” said the harassed student admiringly, following Lucanus with his eyes. Claudius Vesalius squealed like a pig and slapped his face in rage.
Lucanus left the gardens and the university. Beyond lay vast green lawns over which palms and cypresses and myrtles and willows cast an emerald shade in that bright golden air. A sweet stillness lay over the earth. The sea in its unfathomable mystery stretched away to infinitude. Lucanus was alone. All was silence except for the unresting voice of the waters flowing to the west.
Suddenly the twilight descended, and the earth and sea changed. Overhead the sky became a dim and hollow arch of a greenish blue. The sea darkened to a swift and quiet purple, its far distance restless with crimson as the sun poised on the waves. The illimitable west burned with an orange and scarlet light against which drifted black clouds in the form of Roman galleons, moving on their unknown journey, their sails bellied in an unfelt and unearthly wind. The immensity of heaven and sea dwarfed the earth, towered over it, rolled about it, speaking of awe, yet doomful and foreboding to Lucanus.
Involuntarily he remembered Joseph ben Gamliel speaking on one such a twilight, and in that soft yet sonorous voice of his: “The Heavens declare His glory!”
Lucanus sat down on the grass. He felt again that terrible estrangement between himself and God. Ah, but one must never permit God to enter his heart! For with Him He brought anguish and duty and commands and exhortations and fear and tragedy. Once possessed of a man’s soul, He became King, and there was none else beside Him.
“But with His commands and His laws He also brings love and spiritual delight and bread for the soul, and a light in the darkness,” Joseph ben Gamliel had said to Lucanus one twilight. “Without Him one has only the world and delusion and hunger and dust and pain, and an emptiness that cannot be filled by man. One has death, without the Most Holy One, blessed be His Name. One has only tears, which cannot be comforted. All the gold in the world cannot buy His peace, which is beyond understanding. I have taught you of the Psalms of David, the king. ‘The Lord is gracious and full of compassion, slow to anger and of great mercy. The Lord is righteous in all His ways, and holy in all His works. . . . He will not always chide: neither will He keep His anger forever. . . . For as the heaven is high above the earth, so great is His mercy toward them that fear Him.’
“My Lucanus, I feel Him near you. I feel Him as close as breathing. His Hand is upon you. Fear not, my child. Turn to Him in your sorrow and dread, for I know these devour you.”
“He afflicts us,” Lucanus had replied bitterly. “I want none of Him. What explanation do you have, Rabbi, for what I daily see in the public infirmaries and in the carnal houses? Why should a child suffer, and a man be afflicted with leprosy? How have they offended God that He should punish them? The world is one great groan of agony.”
Joseph had turned large and luminous eyes on his pupil, and they beamed with compassion. “Job was an afflicted man, and wept for himself and his fellow men, and reproached God for what appeared to him the senseless misery of the earth. And God answered him, reprovingly, ‘Hast thou commanded the morning since thy days; and caused the dayspring to know his place . . . Hast thou entered the springs of the sea? . . . hast thou seen the doors of the shadow of death? Canst thou bring forth Mazzaroth in his season? or canst thou guide Arcturus with his sons? Knowest thou the ordinances of heaven? canst thou set the dominion thereof in the earth? . . . Canst thou send lightnings, that they may go, and say unto thee, Here we are? . . . Who provideth for the raven his food? when his young ones cry unto God . . . ?. . . Shall he who contendeth with the Almighty instruct Him? he that reproveth God, let him answer it’.”
Joseph ben Gamliel had stood with him on this very spot, tall and majestic and thin to transparency, clad in dark robes of brown and crimson, his high head bound with a cloth of red cotton. His bearded face, with its pearly skin, delicately aquiline nose, and tender mouth, had shone in the twilight like alabaster. Lucanus loved and honored him more than any other of his teachers, yet he constantly exacerbated the young man’s very heart. Still, he sought out Joseph and did not know why, except that he threw
coldly furious questions at him and commented cynically on the loving answers.
On that twilight Lucanus had flung words like stones into that reverend and gentle face. “If you had ever suffered, my teacher, if you had ever endured the loss of one dearer to you than life, if you had watched that dear one die in affliction and without hope, and her vitality leaving her body like an unseen trickle of water, and she the sweetest of women! then you would not speak so. You would, like Job, pour ashes upon your head and cry out in reproof against your God! Would you, then, speak of His mercy?”
Joseph’s face had changed, or perhaps it was only because the twilight had deepened. Surely it was only the twilight which had cast an aspect of tragedy and weariness on the teacher’s face. Joseph never spoke except with tranquility, like one who had dined well or who lived comfortably, without question or trouble.
Yes, it was only the twilight which had suddenly darkened and contorted his face for a single instant. Then he had smiled at Lucanus and had gone his quiet way, his garments flowing about him. It was easy for those who had no wounds to find the wounds of others insignificant, and to wonder at the complaints made about them!
Dear and Glorious Physician Page 25