letter to you at Domitius' request. For he not only wishes your anxiety to be relieved but that you should know in what a glorious manner the brethren have borne witness to the faith, especially your beloved and faithful Syrus. And were it not for the beautiful Mary, I believe that my young Ahenobarbus might regret that he had been prevented by his adoring father from bearing witness with them.

Both Domitius and Mary send their greetings with mine to you and beg to be remembered in your prayers. Farewell.

XXXV.

WRITTEN AT ROME A. d. 65.

Lucius to his Caius, greeting.

The months that have passed since my last letter have been a very busy time for me. I have not written to you, dear friend, because you receive news from us from my Domitius, one of whose chief pleasures seems to be dictating letters to you by the hand of his Mary and receiving your affectionate replies. To tell the truth, I would give everything to possess the faith that brings so much joy to my son; for, while he is still unable to move about without assistance, his left arm and leg remaining partially paralysed, yet he is always not only cheerful but even gay, jesting and laughing, and ever giving praise to your God for his infinite mercies and loving kindness toward him. After seeing the sublime end of the great souled Syrus, I can understand that ecstasy in the throes of death, for extreme pain and pleasure are almost indistinguishable, and then the end is not far off; but to be afflicted day after day, month after month, and still be joyous and thankful passes my comprehension. Yet my crippled Domitius is the life, the sunshine of our little house. Our slaves would surely worship him, were they not all Christians, and great numbers of poverty-stricken clients crowd about him daily, not so much for the generous sportula that he insists upon, as for the delight of being near him and his beautiful bride.

Mary, too, has a soul like his, and, now that she has wound the tendrils of her loving nature about my old heart, I wonder that these two exquisite natures were not sooner drawn together. I think I wrote you once that were she of a noble family, I could not wish a better spouse for my son; but now I am willing to say that there is something in this daughter of a freedman which far transcends any thing I have ever seen in the women of

our noblest houses. It seems as though she, a wedded woman, a true wife in every respect, still retains undiminished the charm of her virginity. And as I sit here in the little peristylium, watching my two dear children, I see that in their union, marriage has reached an elevation never dreamed of before. Petronius once said, after seeing them together:

"These Christian women puzzle me, Ahenobarbus. They have a charm that is all their own and far superior to that of our most luscious women. I saw it in those virgin Danaids, as they triumphed over death and shame, and now I see it in your son's wife, who, while obeying him, commands his reverence. Yet he seems to lose nothing of his manliness, but to be even exalted."

"Indeed he tells me," I said, "that Mary raises him above his lower self."

"That would be impossible with me, who can know no lower self, having always kept at the lowest level by avoiding all exalted notions. But if the religion of the Christians is going to give this remarkable charm to their virgins and their wives, it will not be long before they will be adoring some deified woman, some virgin-mother perhaps, which, by the way, would match their other absurdities and furnish their bare Olympus with what it very much needs, for at present it is entirely too masculine to suit my taste."

"In that case," I said with a laugh, "the careless Petronius would be in danger of becoming a Christian."

"Perhaps, if I should ever grow so foolish as to worship any god or to dream of eternal life. But in truth, Ahenobarbus, just for the novelty of it, I should like to experience what your son evidently feels, for I will admit that of late the pleasure I take in women grows rather monotonous. But have you ever spoken with him about it?"

"Certainly."

"And he can explain it?"

"He says, 'Mary is an immortal soul, a child of God, one of his elect, and why should I not worship his perfect handiwork?'"

"Well," laughed Petronius, "that is beyond me, and I imagine beyond you too, though a doting father." "It is," I replied rather ruefully.

"So! I see, my dear Ahenobarbus, you are more envious than I. And when their child comes, I suppose we shall have another revelation, and a new kind of reverence. If this superstition conquers as I sometimes think possible after those glorious Danaids-perhaps we may see statues and pictures of a mother holding an infant in her arms and people bowing down in reverence before them."

"Perhaps," I said musingly. "The more I see of Domitius and Mary, the more I think that anything-however incomprehensible-may come out of their irrational belief."

"Yes, and the more absurd, the more likely it is to come. If they succeed, they will certainly turn our world upside down. But, thank Fortune, that will be after my day."

I must tell you, my Caius, that this conversation took place in our new abode. We remained, as you know, with Nero through the autumn and winter, because he wished to have me near him, with others of his friends of the first rank, to aid him in his magnificent plans for rebuilding the city, the execution of which was begun as soon as the murmurs of the populace were quieted by the torments of the Christians. This rebuilding has been pushed on with the tremendous energy that Nero possesses, when he is absorbed in any object. The parts of the city which were burned over have been laid out by a board of architects-at the head of which are the excellent Severus and Celer-not as after the Gallic fire without discrimination and regularity, a tangled mesh of narrow, twisting alleys, but with the streets systematically planned, broad spaces for traffic, the height of the buildings limited, open areas left, and porticoes or arcades to protect the front of the clustered dwellings. These porticoes Nero engaged to build at his own expense, and then to deliver to each proprietor the areas about them cleared. Besides, in order to hasten the building he has offer

ed rewards proportioned to every man's rank and wealth, which will be paid on a certain day, if the dwellings are completed by that time; and already the look of devastation has disappeared, being replaced by the multifarious activities of the builder's art.

The crowning glory of the city will be the new house Nero is building for himself, pushing it ahead as fast as possible. The foundations are already laid, and they are enormous, almost beyond imagination. It will stretch from the old imperial residences on the Palatine, spanning the Sacred Way by an arch, over to the Esquiline, the crest of which will be crowned by a structure surpassing anything yet erected. Men are already calling it the "Golden House," though the atraction will not be so much the common ornaments of gold and precious stones, as the beauty of the architecture and of the gardens about it; for on one side they are planning vast woods and groves, and on the other, open spaces, broad lakes and extensive vistas. There will be triple porticoes a mile in length, and in the porch of the chief entrance will stand a colossal statue of Nero, upon which the great artist Zenodorus has already begun working. It will be a hundred and ten feet in height, and a painting of this as it will appear has been made on canvas of equal size and is now exhibited in the gardens of Maius.

I gave up to Nero for the extensive grounds the site of my old house and gardens. Petronius did the same, and many of the prince's friends have followed our example. Whatever else was needed has been purchased by Nero with his usual prodigality at the most exorbitant rates. When the house is finished there will be nothing that will compare with it in grandeur and magnificence. As Nero said to me the other day, "I will then have a dwelling fit for a man."

But, of course, the wits of the town have not let slip this opportunity of making game of their prince's colossal extravagance, and many sharp epigrams have been posted up about the city. This one is not so bad: