‘Yes,’ he said to himself. ‘If I knew that no one would see it or ever know of it, what should I do if I could immediately, at one stroke, deprive him of life and free myself?’
And he answered his own question: ‘I should kill him!’ And he was horrified at that reply.
‘My mother? I am sorry for her but I do not love her: it is all the same to me what becomes of her. All I need is her help.… I am a beast, and a wretched, hunted one at that. I only differ from a beast in that I can by my own will quit this false and evil life. I can do what a beast cannot do – I can kill myself. I hate my father. There is no one I love … neither my mother nor my friends … unless, perhaps, Pamphilius alone?’
And he again thought of him. He recalled their last meeting, their conversation, and Pamphilius’s words that, according to their teaching, Christ had said: ‘Come unto me all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.’ Could that be true?
He went on thinking, and remembering Pamphilius’s gentle, fearless, and happy face, he wished to believe what Pamphilius had said.
‘What indeed am I?’ he said to himself. ‘Who am I? A man seeking happiness. I sought it in my lusts and did not find it. And all who live as I did fail to find it. They are all evil and suffer. But there is a man who is always full of joy because he demands nothing. He says that there are many like him and that all men will be such if they follow their Master’s teaching. What if this be true? True or not it attracts me and I will go there.’
So said Julius to himself, and he left the grove, having decided not to return home but to go to the village where the Christians lived.
III
JULIUS went along briskly and joyously, and the farther he went the more vividly did he imagine to himself the life of the Christians, recalling all that Pamphilius had said, and the happier he felt. The sun was already declining towards evening and he wished to rest, when he came upon a man seated by the roadside having a meal. He was a man of middle age with an intelligent face, and was sitting there eating olives and a flat cake. On seeing Julius he smiled and said:
‘Greeting to you, young man! The way is still long. Sit down and rest.’
Julius thanked him and sat down.
‘Where are you going?’ asked the stranger.
‘To the Christians,’ said Julius, and by degrees he recounted to the unknown his whole life and his decision.
The stranger listened attentively and asked about some details without himself expressing an opinion, but when Julius had ended he packed the remaining food in his wallet, adjusted his dress, and said:
‘Young man, do not pursue your intention. You would be making a mistake. I know life; you do not. I know the Christians; you do not. Listen! I will review your life and your thoughts, and when you have heard them from me, you will take what decision seems to you wisest. You are young, rich, handsome, strong, and the passions boil in your veins. You wish to find a quiet refuge where they will not agitate you and you would not suffer from their consequences. And you think that you can find such a shelter among the Christians.
‘There is no such refuge, dear young man, because what troubles you does not dwell in Cilicia or in Rome but in yourself. In the quiet solitude of a village the same passions will torment you, only a hundred times more strongly. The deception of the Christians, or their delusion – for I do not wish to judge them – consists in not wishing to recognize human nature. Only an old man who has outlived all his passions could fully carry out their teaching. But a man in the vigour of life, or a youth like you who has not yet tested life and tried himself, cannot submit to their law, because it is based not on human nature but on idle speculations. If you go to them you will suffer from what makes you suffer now, only to a much greater extent. Now your passions lead you into wrong paths, but having once mistaken your road you can correct it. Now at any rate you have the satisfaction of desires fulfilled – that is life. But among the Christians, forcibly restraining your passions, you will err yet more and in a similar way, and besides that suffering you will have the incessant suffering of unsatisfied desires. Release the water from a dam and it will irrigate the earth and the meadows and supply drink for the animals, but confine it and it will burst its banks and flow away as mud. So it is with the passions. The teaching of the Christians (besides the belief in another life with which they console themselves and of which I will not speak) – their practical teaching is this: They do not approve of violence, do not recognize wars, or tribunals, or property, or the sciences and arts, or anything that makes life easy and pleasant.
