Aurelian | Page 2

so far yield, that I may be able,
with a free and full assent, to call myself a follower of Christ. A Greek
by birth, a Palmyrene by choice and adoption, a Roman by
necessity--and these are all honorable names--I would yet rather be a
Christian than either. Strange that, with so strong desires after a greater
good, I should remain fixed where I have ever been! Stranger still,
seeing I have moved so long in the same sphere with the excellent Piso,
the divine Julia--that emanation of God--and the god-like Probus! But
there is no riddle so hard for man to read as himself. I sometimes feel
most inclined toward the dark fatalism of the stoics, since it places all
things beyond the region of conjecture or doubt.
Yet if I may not be a Christian myself--I do not, however, cease both to
hope and pray--I am happy in this, that I am permitted by the Divine
Providence to behold, in these the last days of life, the quiet supremacy
of a faith which has already added so much to the common happiness,
and promises so much more. Having stood in the midst, and looked
upon the horrors of two persecutions of the Christians--the first by
Aurelian and the last by Diocletian--which last seemed at one moment
as if it would accomplish its work, and blot out the very name of
Christian--I have no language in which to express the satisfaction with
which I sit down beneath the peaceful shadows of a Christian throne,
and behold the general security and exulting freedom enjoyed by the
many millions throughout the vast empire of the great Constantine.
Now, everywhere around, the Christians are seen, undeterred by any
apprehension of violence, with busy hands reërecting the demolished
temples of their pure and spiritual faith; yet not unmindful, in the mean

time, of the labor yet to be done, to draw away the remaining
multitudes of idolaters from the superstitions which, while they
infatuate, degrade and brutalize them. With the zeal of the early
apostles of this religion, they are applying themselves, with untiring
diligence, to soften and subdue the stony heart of hoary Paganism,
receiving but too often, as their only return, curses and threats--now
happily vain--and retiring from the assault, leading in glad triumph
captive multitudes. Often, as I sit at my window, overlooking, from the
southern slope of the Quirinal, the magnificent Temple of the Sun, the
proudest monument of Aurelian's reign, do I pause to observe the
labors of the artificers who, just as it were beneath the shadow of its
columns, are placing the last stones upon the dome of a Christian
church. Into that church the worshippers shall enter unmolested;
mingling peacefully, as they go and return, with the crowds that throng
the more gorgeous temple of the idolaters. Side by side, undisturbed
and free, do the Pagans and Christians, Greeks, Jews, and Egyptians,
now observe the rites, and offer the worship, of their varying faiths.
This happiness we owe to the wise and merciful laws of the great
Constantine. So was it, long since, in Palmyra, under the benevolent
rule of Zenobia. May the time never come, when Christians shall do
otherwise than now; when, remembering the wrongs they have received,
they shall retaliate torture and death upon the blind adherents of the
ancient superstition!
These letters of Piso to Fausta the daughter of Gracchus, now follow.

LETTER I.
FROM PISO TO FAUSTA.
I am not surprised, Fausta, that you complain of my silence. It were
strange indeed if you did not. But as for most of our misdeeds we have
excuses ready at hand, so have I for this. First of all, I was not ignorant,
that, however I might fail you, from your other greater friend you
would experience no such neglect; but on the contrary would be
supplied with sufficient fulness and regularity, with all that could be

worth knowing, concerning either our public or private affairs. For her
sake, too, I was not unwilling, that at first the burden of this
correspondence, if I may so term it, should rest where it has, since it
has afforded, I am persuaded, a pleasure, and provided an occupation
that could have been found nowhere else. Just as a flood of tears brings
relief to a bosom laboring under a heavy sorrow, so has this pouring out
of herself to you in frequent letters, served to withdraw the mind of the
Queen from recollections, which, dwelt upon as they were at first,
would soon have ended that life in which all ours seem bound up.
Then again, if you accept the validity of this excuse, I have another,
which, as a woman, you will at once allow the force of. You will not
deem it a