Chapter I.

Yes, long ago, about the year of grace 55, that is, about four years after the great apostle of the Gentiles had preached at Athens, a small but evidently a select band of worshippers was pouring forth from a small temple on the banks of the Illissus, situated but a short distance from that renowned city. This temple was dedicated to the sacred nine who preside over art, science, music, poetry, and dancing. There had been a special festival that day, and numerous pleasing exhibitions had been brought before the gratified audience. The mystic dance of the sacred sisterhood had typified most gracefully the harmony and union that reign among the muses; and _peace_ presiding, showed that under her mild rule alone, the harmonies of earth could work their glorious mission to civilize and cheer the drooping heart of man. No sacrifice of blood was here admitted, but music, choral song, and recitation; poems, plays, and oratorical displays; tableaux and dances, symbolized alike the worship rendered, and the honor due to the chaste and favored nine. Therefore was it, that the audience was so select. The populace, which at that time consisted mainly of slaves, were for the most part too coarse and unrefined to appreciate the higher branches of the muses' lore, which were to-day brought forward: the games of the Saturnalia and the mysteries of Cybele were more in accordance with their taste, and, save the few slaves who attended on their masters as a matter of state, or for the sake of fashion, the spectators were of a dignified and refined aspect.

The games or exhibitions were about to close; a solemn dance accompanied by song had proclaimed the benefits to earth, which the sacred nine occasioned by their peaceful rule; and the last strophe ran to the effect:

Here no strifes must warm the veins; For the muses' sister band Comes to lighten earthly chains, Comes to greet you hand in hand: Science lightens up the land Where the muses' sceptre rules, Skilful art instructs the hand, Strife is banished from their schools. Chorus: Choral sisters, intertwine, Sing the praise of muses high; For the muses are divine; Swell the anthem to the sky.

The song had ceased when suddenly, as the audience rose, thinking the performance concluded, a thrilling sweep of a lyre unseen arrested their steps; and a voice sweeter and clearer than any heard before sang out these words:

The muse! a myth! is passed away, With earthly types of things unseen: 'Twas but a cloud--refracting ray, Rolling the hidden world between And man's aspiring panting soul! Man's soul's divine, and yearns to clasp (Freed from the yoke of earth's control) That truth, but which eludes the grasp While veiled in mythic forms unreal! Awake! the day-star is arisen! No more shall error's veil conceal The lustrous, brilliant, light of heaven, Now streaming, glory to impart To vivify each human heart.

The crowd which had suddenly paused, now wondered, and turned to every side to look for the singer: in vain; the owner of that splendid voice was not to be seen, any more than the player on the silver-toned lute.

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A strange influence had passed over the throng, unawares: it was hushed, awed, mesmerized as it were into another state of feeling. Exultation had passed away; bewilderment, questioning followed. What did it mean? myth! truth! glory! was it philosophy? was it poetry? or did an oracle speak? Man's soul divine! that was Platonism; but Plato's school, at its height some four hundred years previous, was now at a discount. Many sects discussed and disputed: but truth? Truth seemed as far off as ever; or rather it seemed a plaything or a something which men used to sharpen their wits on, that they might display their argumentative skill, in the intellectual arena; but for practical conclusions, for a real rule of life, which might be used as an every-day necessity, pooh! this was not to be thought of!

The Grecian world, such of it as was free, that is, not actually enslaved, not actually held as another man's chattel, was speculative and fond of discussion, but it does not appear that these discussions did much in forwarding the progress of truth among the _majority_ of the population; for that majority were slaves--slaves, held for the most part in bondage of mind as well as of body. The dignity of manhood among these was unknown; and the purity, beauty, and loveliness of woman were sacrificed remorselessly to tyranny of the vilest description. We can but shudder as we recall doings even in the palmiest days of Grecian freedom, over which modesty compels the historian to cast a veil; for Grecian freedom even then meant freedom to the _few;_ the workers, the toiling multitude were slaves--slaves who, when their numbers increased so as to alarm their masters, might be sacrificed _en masse_, as was too often the case. They were slaves not only in body, but in intelligence, for it was deemed dangerous to develop mind. Plato himself had been of this opinion, giving as his reason, "Lest they should learn to resist."

Philosophy was made for the few, for the free only, because only the _free_ could carry out in practice the truths of the soul's divinity which philosophy pointed to.

The words which the poet Lucan puts into the mouth of Caesar, had long been acted upon even by the "wise and good" of the pagan world, though they dared not so openly express it. "_Humanum paucis vivit genus._" (Lucan. Phar.) "The human race exists but for the few." The workers, (that is, the slaves,) in other words, the majority, were utterly incapable of being benefited by the teachings of the sages of ancient Greece, not only by position, but in consequence of the dulness of intellect which the long maintenance of that position had occasioned. Poetry and philosophy condemned them as beings of an inferior order. Homer says in his Odys. 17, "that Jupiter has deprived slaves of half their mind;" and in Plato we find the following: "It is said that in the mind of slaves there is nothing sound or complete; and that a prudent man ought not to trust that class of persons." The consequence of this teaching was, that they were held to be a mean race, little elevated above the brute, and born for the convenience of their masters, and subject to their caprices; so the worship of the _muses_ was, to them, with rare exceptions, a thing out of the question. These rare exceptions _did_, however, exist, and produced anomalous positions not always fruitful in morality.

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The congregation of worshippers issuing from the temple of the muses was then composed almost entirely of the "_free_," although some few of the slaves attended their masters for purposes of state or style. Among the throng were three young nobles thus attended; and, as they issued from the edifice, they made their way to a grove in the rear, to which only a privileged few had access, and stationing their attendants within call, yet at some little distance, they stretched themselves in the shade, and began to discuss the adventure. Their names were Magas, Critias, and Pierus.

"The voice was heavenly," said Critias, "and the music faultless; but who could be the player, who the singer?"

"Nay, surely the divine Euterpe, aided by the equally divine Erato," said Pierus; "who but a muse could thus conceal herself?"

"But," interposed Magas, "you forget that the muse would not prophesy her own overthrow. The words we heard to-day portended that the worship was to be supplanted by another of a higher kind; it pronounced the muse 'a myth,' a type of something unseen, unreal in herself, but pointing to a reality. Now, what can this be?"

"I know not," said Critias, "unless it is also a revelation to make known the unknown, as that strange man said who preached here some four or five years ago; his words made an impression on me which haunts me still."

"What man? what did he say?" asked Pierus.

"His name was Paul," said Critias. "He was a small man; a Jew of Tarsus, (think of a Jew pretending to philosophy!) He came here and preached at first in the streets; then he was brought to the Areopagus; my father was one of the council, and he took me with him to hear what the new man would say. The place was thronged, but most of the fathers took the matter lightly enough. The impression he made was on the lowly, the slaves. They took his words to _heart_ and _pondered_ them. I have caught some of them at times repeating them to each other, as if they were oracles. His theory seems made for them especially."

"But what good will it do them?" asked Pierus.

"Or him who dares foment sedition among them?" broke in Magas. "He and others of his ilk had better beware. I remember something of the circumstance since you mention it, but my father thought it an attempt to raise an insurrection among the slaves. The preacher did well to take himself off."

"I do not see any harm he could do," said Critias.

"Harm!" answered Magas. "Harm! Epicurean that you are, will you never see harm till you hear the house is on fire? I tell you there is harm; he preaches 'equality' to slaves, and what good can come of that?"

"What harm, rather? The poor varlets know it for a fact that they are not the equals of their masters." "They are not equal; no, they are not equal," said Magas vehemently; "and they must never be permitted to think they are. Their numbers might give trouble to us if they imbibed such an idea, while to them it could be of no real service. They have muscle, but not intellect. Set them free, they would soon be at loggerheads among themselves."

"Intellectual greatness," said Critias, "is rare even among freemen; but some slaves have manifested that there is no deficiency in that respect."

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"Some rare exceptions, perhaps, but that proves nothing. Aristotle says, and truly: 'The woman and the slave are distinguished by nature herself.'"

"Yes," said Pierus, "I remember the passage. He says, 'If we compare man to woman, we find that the first is superior, therefore he commands; the woman is inferior, therefore she obeys. The same thing ought to take place among all men. Thus it is that those among them who are as inferior with respect to others as the body is with respect to the soul, and the animal to man; those whose powers principally consist in the use of the body, (the only service that can be obtained from them,) they are naturally slaves.'"

"There can be no doubt about it," said Magas. "The very bodies of the slaves are different from ours; they are strong, muscular, and fitted for labor; ours are slimmer, more refined, more sensitive."

"I cannot see how you can build any argument on that," said Critias; "your grand philosopher, even while he asserts a different conformation of body to exist between the freeman and the slave, admits that it sometimes happens that to a freeman is given the body of a slave, and to a slave the soul of a freeman. I have often found it so. I know some very despicable citizens; and I have found some noble sentiments in slaves."

"Sentiments," said Magas; "what business have slaves with sentiments?"

Critias laughed, and said, "Slaves have sentiment, and memory, and reflection; by whose permission I do not know; but how are you to get rid of it? That is the question."

"They must be kept in their place and made to work," said Magas.

"But," said Pierus, "we are losing sight of the question as to what the last singer intended to convey. Who do you think it was?"

"Some follower of the Jew Paul; I know no other sect who would dare call the muse a myth."

"I would give something to know what the Jewish fellow did say; do you remember?" asked Pierus.

"I think I can summon some one who does." And Critias called aloud to a slave, who drew near.

"Merion, do you remember the Jew preacher?"

"I do, most honored master."

"Do you remember what he said?"

"I have his words by heart, master," replied the slave.

"By heart!" muttered Magas, "by Jove; but, you _did_ worship the fellow!"

"Well," rejoined Critias, "and what did he say?"

The man addressed was a gray-headed, stolid-looking person; his intelligence on common matters was not deemed great; he was, however, esteemed faithful, trustworthy, and affectionate. A sudden glow lighted up his features, as his master spoke to him, and he became animated with an expression that puzzled his hearers: he stood forth, threw out his right arm, and, in the attitude of an orator impressed with the dignity and importance of the subject, delivered word for word the speech made by the great apostle of the Gentiles in the hall of the Areopagus.

"My masters," said the slave, "when the preacher Paul was brought to the court of the Areopagites, and questioned concerning the new doctrine he was giving out to men, he stood in the midst of Mars' Hill and said:

"'Ye men of Athens, I perceive that, in all things, ye are too superstitious; for as I passed by, and beheld your devotions, I beheld an altar with this inscription, To the unknown God; whom therefore ye ignorantly worship, him declare I unto you. {670} God that made the world and all things therein, seeing he is Lord of heaven and earth, dwelleth not in temples made with hands; neither is worshipped with men's hands, as though he needed anything, seeing he giveth to all life and breath, and all things; and hath made of ONE BLOOD all nations of men for to dwell on all the face of the earth; and hath determined the times appointed, and the bounds of their habitations; that they should seek the Lord, if haply they might feel after him, and find him; though he be not far from every one of us. For in him we live, and move, and have our being; as certain also of your own poets have said, For we are also his offspring.'"

"Stop," said Magas; "where did you find that written?"

"It was not written, noble sir; it was _said_," returned the slave.

"Said! five years ago, and you repeat it now, word for word like a task," said Magas; "did you hear it more than once?"

"Yes, sir; some who can write, took it down, and read it to me more than once."

"You cannot read?"

"I cannot."

Magas frowned and rose to his feet. "A dangerous doctrine for our slaves to have by heart," he muttered; then turning to his companions he said, "Send the varlets home; let us have our talk to ourselves."

At a sign from the masters, the servitors left the premises, and Magas resumed: "Do you leave that slave at large, Critias, with such a doctrine as that in his bosom?"

"And why not?" asked Critias; "poor, harmless old Merion, the unwearied attendant on my father's infirmities; his place could not be supplied in our household for his weight in gold."

"You did not weigh that speech then; did not observe its tendencies?"

"Well, yes, it is pretty poetry enough, rhapsodical enough, but, like all rhapsody, harmless."

"Harmless! Did you watch the other slaves as the old man lighted up; as he said: '_All mankind_ were of one blood, all the offspring of God,' _master_ as well as _slave!_ I am sure these varlets understood it so. Such teaching as that must kindle fire in men's hearts, must engender rebellion. That one slave, as you see, has got that and more by heart; do you think it has no effect on him?"

"No bad effect, at least; he is a good and faithful servant."

"No bad effect! why, man, do you not see that if our slaves once believe they are of one blood with their masters, that they are equally the offspring of God, they will arise and assert their dignity? Then who will do the work?"

"You are troubling yourself very unnecessarily, my dear Magas; there is no slave in our household who works so well or so faithfully as Merion."

"He's but biding his time," said Magas; "take care. The man that, being unlettered, got that doctrine by heart, did so because _he cherished_ it, made much of it; he has studied its meaning, depend upon it; and the meaning to him must be freedom."

"You did not hear him out," said Critias; "he believes in a judgment after death, which shall right the wrongs of earth; the followers of this Jew have the oddest ways in the world. You know the Lady Damaris?"

Magas nodded assent.

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"Well," rejoined Critias, "I have heard her assert that 'work' has a sanctifying tendency, whatever that means; and they say she takes pains to instruct her slaves in this singular philosophy; she often works with them, and treats them as if they were poor relations she was bound to see well provided for. Strange! isn't it?"

"Strange enough," said Magas, "but more dangerous than strange. The woman must be looked to."

"Nay, leave her to regulate her own household," said Critias, laughing: "if you want to make war, try your skill with men. There's Dionysius, who deserted the Areopagus soon after that preacher was here; he has freed some of his slaves, taught others to read, and teaches this new philosophy to all."

"The man must be crazed," said Magas; "these strange notions must end by revolutionizing society if they are allowed to get to a head. They must be put a stop to. Whom shall we have to work for us, when the slave thinks himself as good as his master?"

"We will work for ourselves then," said Critias. "And perhaps that would not be so very hard, after all. In the early days of the republic, our forefathers tilled their own fields; they were perhaps as happy as we are now."

"Are you also touched with this mania?" asked Magas, stamping his foot fiercely. "I say the slaves are ours by right of conquest; and, for the glory of my ancestral race, I'll keep my feet upon their necks."

"As the Roman keeps his foot on ours, eh, Magas? Could we rouse the slaves to noble deeds, through the working of noble thoughts, we might free our country yet."

Magas looked gloomier yet.

"Come not upon that strain," said he; "we cannot overrule fate! Ha! what was that?"

'Twas a sweep of the same lute, a silver chord of melody that caught his ear. Breathlessly the trio listened, and soon these words pealed forth:

He comes! He comes in clouds of glory! Haste, oh! haste to meet thy God! Angels, hymn the thrilling story, How on earth his footsteps trod; How those footsteps, faint and weary, Tracked thy path, thy soul to save. Quit, oh! quit sin's path, so dreary, Plunge thee in the saving waves. Ransomed is thy soul for ever, Ransomed by his precious blood, If but now from sin thou sever, Cleansed in the redeeming flood. Haste! oh haste! he comes to save thee, Then no more let sin enslave thee!

"'Tis the same voice!" Why did Magas turn pale as he said so? The trio separated to search the glades, the bushes, the thickets; every nook and corner was probed in vain. The muse, mentor, genius, or spirit, whatever it might be, was not to be found.