CHAPTER XIV.
"UNSTABLE AS WATER."
It was with feelings highly elated at his successful achievement, whichpresaged still further advancement, that Isidorus sought his lodgings.On the way he met many late revellers returning from the festival,"flown with insolence and wine," and making night hideous with theirriot. Among them, his garments dishevelled, and a withering garlandfalling from his brow, was an old acquaintance, Calphurnius, the son ofthe Perfect, who with maudlin affection embraced him and exclaimed:--
"Friend of my soul, where hast thou hidden thyself? Our wine partieslack half their zest, since thou hast turned anchorite. Come, pledge ourancient friendship in a goblet of Falernian. The wine shop of Turbo, theex-gladiator, is near at hand."
"You have not turned Christian, have you?" hiccoughed the drunkenreveller; "no offence, but I heard you had, you know."
Isidorus gave a start. Were his visits to the Catacomb known to thisfashionable fop? Were they a matter of sport to him and his booncompanions? Was he to be laughed out of his nascent convictions by theseempty-headed idlers? No, he determined. He despised the whole crew. Buthe was not the stuff out of which martyrs are made, and he lacked thecourage to confess to this gilded butterfly, his as yet falteringfeeling towards Christianity.
"Who says I am?" he asked, anxious to test his knowledge on the subject.
"Who says so? I don't know. Why everybody," was the rather vague reply.
"You don't know what you are talking about, man," said the Greek, with aforced laugh. "Go home and sleep off your carouse."
"All right. I told them so. The Christians, indeed, the vermin! Come tothe Baths of Caracalla at noon to-morrow and I'll tell you all aboutit."
Isidorus went to his lodgings and retired to his couch, but not toslumber. He was like a boat drifting rudderless upon the sea, the sportof every wind that blew. He had no strength of will, no fixedness ofpurpose, no depth of conviction. His susceptible disposition was easilymoved to generous impulses and even to noble aspirations, yet he had nomoral firmness. He is portrayed to the life by the words of the greatTeacher, "He that received the seed into stony places, the same is hethat heareth the Word, and anon, with joy receiveth it; yet hath he notroot in himself, but dureth for a while; for when tribulation orpersecution ariseth because of the Word, bye-and-bye he is offended."
"Did his boon companions," he questioned, "suspect that any seriousconvictions had penetrated beneath his light and careless exterior?" Allhis good resolutions had begun like wax in a furnace to melt and giveway at the sneer and jeer of the shallow fool from whom he had justparted--a creature whom in his inmost heart he despised. Strangecontradiction of human nature! Like the epicurean poet, he saw andapproved the better way and yet he followed the worse.[32] He seemed togain in the few casual words he had heard, a glimpse of thepossibilities of persecution which menaced him if faithful to hisconvictions, and he had act moral fibre enough to encounter them. Andyet his conscience stung and tortured him as he tossed upon his restlesscouch. Toward morning he fell asleep and it was broad day when he awoke.His reflections were as different from those with which he fell asleepas the brilliant daylight was from the gloomy shadows of night. The airwas full of the busy hum of life. Water sellers and fruit pedlers andthe like were crying "_Aqua Gelata_" "Fresh Figs," and "White wine andred." Cohorts of soldiers were clattering in squadrons, through thestreets, the sunlight glittering on their spearpoints and on the bossesof their shields and armour. Jet black Nubian slaves, clad in snowywhite, were bearing in gold-adorned _lectic[ae]_ or palanquins, proudpatrician dames, robed in saffron and purple, to visit the shops of thejewellers and silk mercers. Senators and civic officials were flockingto the Forum with their murmuring crowd of clients. Gilded youths werehastening to the schools of the rhetoricians or of the gladiators, bothalike deemed necessary instructors of these pinks of fashion. Thestreets and squares were a perfect kaleidoscope of colour andmovement--an eddying throng, on business or on pleasure bent.
The stir and animation of the scene dispelled all serious thoughts fromthe mind of the frivolous Greek. He plunged like a strong swimmer intothe stream of eager busy life surging through the streets. He was one ofthe gayest of the gay, ready with his laugh and joke as he met hisyouthful comrades.
"Ho, Rufus, whither away in such mad haste," he cried as he saw a youngofficer of the 12th Legion dashing past in his chariot, driving withadmirable skill two milk-white steeds through the crowded streets.
"Oh! are you there? Where have you hidden yourself for the last month?"exclaimed Rufus, as he sharply reined up his steeds. "To the Baths ofCaracalla; will you go?"
"Yes, very gladly," said Isidorus, stepping upon the low platform of theopen bronze chariot. "I have been beyond the Po, on a special service--abarbarous region. No baths, circus, or games like those of Rome."
"There is but one Rome," said the fiery young Hotspur, "but I ambeginning to hate it. I am fairly rusting with idleness and long foractive service--whether amid Libyian sands or Pannonian forests, I carenot."
"It seems to me," replied the effeminate Greek, "that I could consolemyself with your horses and chariot--the coursers of Achilles were notmore swift--and with the delights which Rome and its fair dames areeager to lavish on that favourite of fortune, Ligurius Rufus."
"_Vanitas vanitatis_," yawned the youth. "Life is a tremendous bore. Iwas made for action, for conquest, for state craft; but under thisdespotism of the C[ae]sars, we are all slaves together. You and I fare alittle better than that Nubian porter yonder, that is all."
"Yet you seem to bear your bondage very comfortably," laughed thelight-hearted Greek, "and had I your fortune, so would I."
"Mehercule! the fetters gall though they be golden," ejaculated thesoldier, lashing his steeds into swifter flight, as if to give vent tohis nervous excitement. "I plunge into folly to forget that I am aslave. Lost a hundred thousand sesterces at dice last night. The empireis hurrying to chaos. There are no paths of honour and ambition open toa man. One must crouch like a hound or crawl like a serpent to winadvancement in the state. I tell you the degenerate Romans of to-day arean effete and worn out race. The rude Dacians beyond the Tiber possessmore of the hardy virtues of the founders of the Republic than thecraven creatures who crawl about the feet of the modern Colossi, whobestride the world and are worshipped almost as gods. And unless Romemends her ways they will be the masters of the Empire yet."
"One would think you were Cato the Censor," laughed the Greek. "For mypart, I think the best philosophy is that of my wise countryman,Epicurus--'to take the times as they come, and make the most of them.'But here we are at the Therm[ae]."
Giving his horses to one of the innumerable grooms belonging to theestablishment, Rufus and his friend disappeared under the lofty archedentrance of the stately Baths of Caracalla.
FOOTNOTES:
[32] Video, proboque meliora, Deterioraque sequor.--_Hor._
Valeria, the Martyr of the Catacombs: A Tale of Early Christian Life in Rome Page 16