“Ah!” said Nero, “I always thought, my sweetest Popp?a, that you were somewhat too hard on the poor man. You would have had me condemn him, but I really could see no harm in him. I will allow that he did not appear to be quite in his right senses. He talked some quite unintelligible nonsense about his Master, as he called him. At one time he said that he was a man, and at another that he was a god. He maintained that he had died. That seemed a great point with him, though why any one should make so much of his Master having been crucified, it is hard to see. And then again he insisted that he was alive. Altogether he made the strangest jumble that I have ever heard from human lips. And he spoke Greek, I remember, but poorly, and with a very strong accent. Still, he had the air of a learned man, and he talked as if he really believed what he said. And certainly, whether he was in his senses or not, I could find no harm in him. No, my Popp?a, you were always a little unreasonable about this Paulus. If his followers are no worse than he, there can be nothing very wrong about them.”
“Sire,” replied Popp?a, “the kindness of your heart makes you unwilling to believe the truth. I cannot tell you a tenth part of the horrible things [137] that are said, and I believe truly said, about these followers of Christus�Christiani they call them.”
“Surely, my dearest,” said Nero with a smile, “they are nothing worse than a new kind of Jew, and for the Jews, you have, I know, a liking.”
“Sire,” said Popp?a with no little heat, “they are as different from Jews as darkness is different from light. They are atheists, though they worship, I believe, some strange demons; they have no love for their country; they will not serve in the legions; in fact, as I said, they are the enemies of mankind. And as to the dreadful things which they do at their feasts, they are beyond belief. That they sacrifice children, and banquet on their flesh, is among the least of the horrors which they commit.”
“Tigellinus,” said Nero, “do you know anything about these Christians whom the Empress seems to dislike so much?”
“They are a strange people,” replied the Minister, “who cling to their gloomy superstition with a most invincible obstinacy. That they never sacrifice to the gods, or even eat of the sacrifices of others, that they will not enter the Circus or the theatre, and lead altogether a joyless life�this I know. That they never serve in the legions can hardly be true. I heard that when you last gave a donation to the Pr?torians, and the men came to receive it, wearing garlands on their heads, one man alone came carrying his garland in his hand. “The law of Christus, his [138] Master,” he said, “forbade him to crown himself.” And to this he adhered most inflexibly, though he not only lost his gold pieces, but was almost beaten to death by the Centurions for disobeying orders.”
“And what about these crimes that are laid to their charge?” asked the Emperor. “Are they really guilty of them, think you?”
“That I cannot say,” Tigellinus answered; “but that the people believe them to be guilty I know for certain.”
“And are they guilty, think you,” Nero went on, “of this wickedness concerning the city?”
“That the people will believe them to be guilty, I do not doubt,” said Tigellinus.
Nero caught eagerly at the idea. An obscure sect, for whom no one would feel any sympathy or compassion, who, on the contrary, were hated by all who had heard of them,�just the victims that he wanted.
“Doubtless,” cried Nero, “we have found, thanks to the prudence and wisdom of the Empress, and to my own good fortune, the real criminals. I charge you, Tigellinus, with the care of seeing that these miscreants are properly punished.”
“It shall be done, Sire, without delay; and that so completely that no one will have reason to complain of slackness of justice.”
It was one of the arts by which this unscrupulous politician retained the Emperor’s favour that he knew how to yield. His own scheme he was content for [139] the present to postpone. It would be difficult and even dangerous to execute it. It might be more safely carried on piecemeal. Meanwhile, there was an urgent need which had to be met, and Popp?a’s scheme seemed to provide for it in the best possible manner. Better scapegoats than these obscure sectaries, of whom few professed to know anything, and those few nothing that was not bad, could not well be found. He bowed his acquiescence and left the Imperial presence to devise a plan for carrying out his orders.
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THE EDICT
[140] THE young soldier Pudens had been fully employed since we last heard of him. The work of clearing away the debris of the fire had proved to be so vast that the ordinary supply of labour had been insufficient to meet the demand, and the help of the soldiers had been called in. A force, half naval and half military, which was raised from the fleets of Ravenna and Misenum, and which indeed was accustomed to do the work of pioneers, (Footnote: The classiarii.) was told off for the purpose, and Pudens, partly through the interest of his friend Subrius, was appointed to be second in command. Among the civilians employed in the same work was an elderly man with whom he happened to be brought into frequent contact, and whose manners and conversation interested him very much. From some chance remark, Pudens learnt that his new acquaintance was a freedman, who had been emancipated by Pomponia shortly after her husband’s death, and indeed in obedience to a request made in his will. The man could not say too much in praise of his patroness, of her blameless life, her boundless [141] charity. “They call her sad and gloomy, sir,” he said, on one occasion; “and indeed she does not care for the gayeties and pleasures of Rome; but a happier woman does not live within the borders of the Empire, if to be always content, to have nothing to repent of in life, and to fear nothing in death, be happiness.” He was apparently going to say more, but checked himself. More than once Pudens observed a similar pause, and as he was not a little interested in the lady herself, and still more in her young companion Claudia, his curiosity was greatly excited. It should be said that, acting on a hint from Subrius, he had not attempted to improve his acquaintance with the two ladies. Visitors would attract attention, and it was necessary, he had been given to understand, that they should live for the present in complete retirement.
Before long an accident enabled him to penetrate the secret of the freedman’s reserve. Returning to his quarters one evening in the late summer, he found his friend�for such the freedman had by this time become�in the hands of some soldiers. The spot happened to be on the boundary of two townships, and a statue of the god Terminus�a pedestal with a roughly carved head�had been placed there. The men, who were half tipsy, were insisting that the freedman�whom we may hereafter call by his name Linus�should pay his homage to the statue; Linus was resolutely refusing to comply.
[142] “Hold!” cried Pudens, as he appeared on the scene, knowing of course nothing of what had happened, and only seeing a civilian in the hands of some unruly soldiers. “Hold! what do you mean by assaulting a peaceable citizen?”
“He is an atheist, a Christian; he refuses to worship the gods,” cried one of the men.
“Who made you a champion of the gods?” retorted Pudens. “You are behaving more like robbers than like god-fearing men.”
“Lay hold of him, too, comrades,” shouted one of the men.
Pudens recognized the voice of the last speaker. He was a Deputy-Centurion, who had been for a time one of his own subordinates.
“What, Stertinius!” he cried, “don’t you know any better than to mix yourself up in a brawl, if indeed it is not a robbery?”
Stertinius, who, like his comrades, was not quite sober, and in his excitement had not recognized the newcomer, was taken aback at being thus addressed by his name. The next moment his memory returned to him.
“Hold, friends!” he shouted to his companions; “it is the second in command of the pioneers.”
The men immediately released their victim, and falling into line, stood at attention, and saluted.
Stertinius took it upon himself to be their spokesman: “We are very sorry to have annoyed one of [143] your honour’s friends, and hope that you and he will overlook the offence.”
“Begone!” cried Pudens, who had a feeling that it would be better for the freedman’s sake not to take the affair too seriously. “Begone! and in future let your devotion to Bacchus, at least, be a little less fervent.”