“Must there always be a wall, Chlorus?”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing really.”
“I’m not a sentimental man,” said Constantius, “but I love the wall. Think of it, mile upon mile, from snow to desert, a single great girdle round the civilized world; inside, peace, decency, the law, the altars of the Gods, industry, the arts, order; outside, wild beasts and savages, forest and swamp, bloody mumbo-jumbo, men like wolf-packs; and along the wall the armed might of the Empire, sleepless, holding the line. Doesn’t it make you see what the City means?”
“Yes,” said Helena, “I suppose so.”
“What d’you mean, then; must there always be a wall?”
“Nothing; only sometimes I wonder won’t Rome ever go beyond the wall? into the wild lands? Beyond the Germans, beyond the Ethiopians, beyond the Picts, perhaps beyond the ocean there may be more people and still more, until, perhaps, you might travel through them all and find yourself back in the City again. Instead of the barbarian breaking in, might the City one day break out?”
“You’ve been reading Virgil. That’s what people thought in the days of the Divine Augustus. But it came to nothing; from time to time in the past we’ve pushed a bit further East, taken in another province or two. But it doesn’t work. In fact, we’ve lately had to clear out of the whole left bank of the Danube. The Goths are delighted and it saves us a lot of trouble. There seems to be a natural division in the human race just where the present wall runs; beyond it they’re incurable barbarians. It takes all our time to hold the present line.”
“I didn’t mean that. I meant couldn’t the wall be at the limits of the world and all men, civilized and barbarian, have a share in the City? Am I talking great nonsense?”
“Yes, dear child.”
“Yes, I expect I am.”
From Evelyn Waugh's Helena 1950, a story of Emperor Constantine's mother.
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing really.”
“I’m not a sentimental man,” said Constantius, “but I love the wall. Think of it, mile upon mile, from snow to desert, a single great girdle round the civilized world; inside, peace, decency, the law, the altars of the Gods, industry, the arts, order; outside, wild beasts and savages, forest and swamp, bloody mumbo-jumbo, men like wolf-packs; and along the wall the armed might of the Empire, sleepless, holding the line. Doesn’t it make you see what the City means?”
“Yes,” said Helena, “I suppose so.”
“What d’you mean, then; must there always be a wall?”
“Nothing; only sometimes I wonder won’t Rome ever go beyond the wall? into the wild lands? Beyond the Germans, beyond the Ethiopians, beyond the Picts, perhaps beyond the ocean there may be more people and still more, until, perhaps, you might travel through them all and find yourself back in the City again. Instead of the barbarian breaking in, might the City one day break out?”
“You’ve been reading Virgil. That’s what people thought in the days of the Divine Augustus. But it came to nothing; from time to time in the past we’ve pushed a bit further East, taken in another province or two. But it doesn’t work. In fact, we’ve lately had to clear out of the whole left bank of the Danube. The Goths are delighted and it saves us a lot of trouble. There seems to be a natural division in the human race just where the present wall runs; beyond it they’re incurable barbarians. It takes all our time to hold the present line.”
“I didn’t mean that. I meant couldn’t the wall be at the limits of the world and all men, civilized and barbarian, have a share in the City? Am I talking great nonsense?”
“Yes, dear child.”
“Yes, I expect I am.”
From Evelyn Waugh's Helena 1950, a story of Emperor Constantine's mother.
No comments:
Post a Comment