The First Christmas Eve [pp. 450-463]

I~84.] TKE FIRST CirRISTMAS EvE. 451
soul of yours to vague reveries of progress and of the future
which rob it of its daily joys, and that you have condemned
your youth to a hopeless expectation of an indefinite good
Alas! Octavius, the world is going, and always will go, from
baQ to worse! Believe me, we must accept it as it is, take our
share in its pleasures as they go, and not weary our hearts longing for the return of the golden age:
Aetas parentum, pejor avis, tulit
Nos nequjores, mox daturos
Progeniern vitiosiorem.'
Ah! that inimitable Horace! Our fathers were near neighbors
at Venusium, in our beloved Apulia." A moment of silence
followed this already familiar exclamation, and nothing was
heard but the regular tramp of horses' feet, the clanking of heavy
swords against the saddles, and the quick step of the escort.
"At least," resumed the indefatigable Quadratus, "might one
inquire whence you have drawn your extraordinary ideas about
the world and its future? If my question is indiscreet I do not
ask for an answer. Above all things I believe in respecting the
opinions of others, provided that they, on their part, will not
interfere with mine. But, to tell the truth, it seems that since
your sojourn in Jerusalem the doctrines of the Jews have had
more or less influence on your mind, and that the son of the
patrician Octavius has not been whUlly insensible to the super.
stitions of the good people of Judea. Be not angered, friend; I
can foresee your answer, and would not have you take too seriously what is intended merely as a jest.
"`Dulce est desipere in loco,'
as Horace says."
Another silence followed this short quotation. Just then a
slave left the ranks of the escort and ran towards the officers.
Both of them absorbed, one in his reverie, the other in his own
remarks, had passed beyond the road which led to Bethlehem.
~1ade aware of their error, they retraced their steps a shoi~t
distanc~ and turned into the ravine extending along the foot of
Mount Sion.
~Vel1, I shall not insist upon it; and since my remark seems
to have pained you, let us speak no more on the subject. Only
allow me once more to exhort you, my dear Octavius, to shake
off this melancholy which nothing warrants-surely not your age,
nor your brilliant prospects, nor the present state of the world
under the divine and ever-glorious Augustus! Look at the