Callista. John Henry Newman
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of the happy month through which the year was now travelling. The garden, so to call it, was a space of several acres in extent; it was one large bed of roses, and preparation was making for extracting their essence, for which various parts of that country are to this day celebrated. Here was another set of labourers, and a man of middle age was surveying them at his leisure. His business-like, severe, and off-hand manner bespoke the villicus or bailiff himself.
“Always here,” said he, “as if you were a slave, not a Roman, my good fellow; yet slaves have their Saturnalia; always serving, not worshipping the all-bounteous and all-blessed. Why are you not taking holiday in the town?”
“Why should I, sir?” asked Agellius; “don’t you recollect old Hiempsal’s saying about ‘one foot in the slipper, and one in the shoe.’ Nothing would be done well if I were a town-goer. You engaged me, I suppose, to be here, not there.”
“Ah!” answered he, “but at this season the empire, the genius of Rome, the customs of the country, demand it, and above all the great goddess Astarte and her genial, jocund month. ‘Parturit almus ager;’ you know the verse; do not be out of tune with Nature, nor clash and jar with the great system of the universe.”
A cloud of confusion, or of distress, passed over Agellius’s face. He seemed as if he wished to speak; at length he merely said, “It’s a fault on the right side in a servant, I suppose.”
“I know the way of your people,” Vitricus replied, “Corybantians, Phrygians, Jews, what do you call yourselves? There are so many fantastic religions now-a-days. Hang yourself outright at your house-door, if you are tired of living—and you are a sensible fellow. How can any man, whose head sits right upon his shoulders, say that life is worth having, and not worth enjoying?”
“I am a quiet being,” answered Agellius, “I like the country, which you think so tame, and care little for the flaunting town. Tastes differ.”
“Town! you need not go to Sicca,” answered the bailiff, “all Sicca is out of town. It has poured into the fields, and groves, and river side. Lift up your eyes, man alive, open your ears, and let pleasure flow in. Be passive under the sweet breath of the goddess, and she will fill you with ecstasy.”
It was as Vitricus had said; the solemn feast-days of Astarte were in course of celebration; of Astarte, the well-known divinity of Carthage and its dependent cities, whom Heliogabalus had lately introduced to Rome, who in her different aspects was at once Urania, Juno, and Aphrodite, according as she embodied the idea of the philosopher, the statesman, or the vulgar; lofty and intellectual as Urania, majestic and commanding as Juno, seductive as the goddess of sensuality and excess.
“There goes the son of as good and frank a soldier as ever brandished pilum,” said Vitricus to himself, “till in his last years some infernal god took umbrage at him, and saddled him and his with one of those absurd superstitions which are as plentiful here as serpents. He indeed was too old himself to get much harm from it; but it shows its sour nature in these young shoots. A good servant, but the plague’s in his bones, and he will rot.”
His subordinate’s reflections were of a different character: “The very air breathes sin to-day,” he cried; “oh that I did not find the taint of the city in these works of God! Alas! sweet Nature, the child of the Almighty, is made to do the fiend’s work, and does it better than the town. O ye beautiful trees and fair flowers, O bright sun and balmy air, what a bondage ye are in, and how do ye groan till you are redeemed from it! Ye are bond-slaves, but not willingly, as man is; but how will you ever be turned to nobler purpose? How is this vast, this solid establishment of error, the incubus of many thousand years, ever to have an end? You yourselves, dear ones, will come to nought first. Anyhow, the public way is no place for me this evening. They’ll soon be back from their accursed revelry.”
A sound of horns and voices had been heard from time to time through the woods, as if proceeding from parties dispersed through them; and in the growing twilight might be seen lights, glancing and wandering through the foliage. The cottage in which Agellius dwelt was on the other side of the hollow bridle-way which crossed the hill. To make for home he had first to walk some little distance along it; and scarcely had he descended into it for that purpose, when he found himself in the front of a band of revellers, who were returning from some scene of impious festivity. They were arrayed in holiday guise, as far as they studied dress at all; the symbols of idolatry were on their foreheads and arms; some of them were intoxicated, and most of them were women.
“Why have you not been worshipping, young fellow?” said one.
“Comely built,” said another, “but struck by the furies. I know the cut of him.”
“By Astarte,” said a third, “he’s one of those sly Gnostics! I have seen the chap before, with his hangdog look. He is one of Pluto’s whelps, first cousin to Cerberus, and his name’s Channibal.”
On which they all began to shout out, “I say, Channibal, Channibal, here’s a lad that knows you. Old fellow, come along with us;” and the speaker made a dash at him.
On this Agellius, who was slowly making his way past them on the broken and steep path, leapt up in two or three steps to the ridge, and went away in security; when one woman cried out, “O the toad, I know him now; he is a wizard; he eats little children; didn’t you see him make that sign? it’s a charm. My sister did it; the fool left me to be one of them. She was ever doing so” (mimicking the sign of the cross). “He’s a Christian, blight him! he’ll turn us into beasts.”
“Cerberus, bite him!” said another, “he sucks blood;” and taking up a stone, she made it whiz past his ear as he disappeared from view. A general scream of contempt and hatred followed. “Where’s the ass’s head? put out the lights, put out the lights! gibbet him! that’s why he has not been with honest people down in the vale.” And then they struck up a blasphemous song, the sentiments of which we are not going even to conceive, much less to attempt in words.
CHAPTER II.
CHRISTIANITY IN SICCA.
The revellers went on their way; Agellius went on his, and made for his lowly and lonely cottage. He was the elder of the two sons of a Roman legionary of the Secunda Italica, who had settled with them in Sicca, where he lost their mother, and died, having in his old age become a Christian. The fortitude of some confessors at Carthage in the persecution of Severus had been the initial cause of his conversion. He had been posted as one of their guards, and had attended them to the scene of their martyrdom, in addition to the civil force, to whom in the proconsulate the administration of the law was committed. Therefore, happily for him, it could not fall to his duty to be their executioner, a function which, however revolting to his feelings, he might not have had courage to decline. He remained a pagan, though he could not shake off the impression which the martyrs had made upon him; and, after completing his time of service, he retired to the protection of some great friends in Sicca, his brother’s home already. Here he took a second wife of the old Numidian stock, and supported himself by the produce of a small piece of land which had been given to him for life by the imperial government. If trial were necessary in order to keep alive the good seed which had been sown in his heart, he found a never-failing supply of that article in the companion of his declining years. In the hey-day of her youth she might have been fitted to throw a sort of sunshine, or rather torchlight, on a military carouse; but now, when poor Strabo, a man well to do in the world, looking for peace, had fallen under her arts, he found he had surrendered his freedom to a malignant, profligate woman, whose passions made her better company for evil spirits than for an invalided soldier. Indeed, as time went on, the popular belief, which she rather encouraged, went to the extent that she actually did hold an intercourse with the unseen world; and certainly she matured in a hatred towards God and man, which would naturally follow, and not unnaturally betoken, such intercourse. The more, then, she inflicted on him her proficiency in these amiable characteristics, the more he looked out for some consolation elsewhere; and the more she involved