Chapter 2

‘This is most interesting—and touching, too,’ observed Marcellus. ‘But you haven’t quite answered my question, Demetrius. Do you believe in the gods—now?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Do you mean that you don’t believe they render any service to men? Or do you doubt that the gods exist, at all?’

‘I think it better for the mind, sir, to disbelieve in their existence. The last time I prayed—it was on the day that our home was broken up. As my father was led away in chains, I knelt by my mother and we prayed to Zeus—the Father of gods and men—to protect his life. But Zeus either did not hear us; or, hearing us, had no power to aid us; or, having power to aid us, refused to do so. It is better, I think, to believe that he did not hear us than to believe that he was unable or unwilling to give aid. … That afternoon my mother went away—upon her own invitation—because she could bear no more sorrow…. I have not prayed to the gods since that day, sir. I have cursed and reviled them, on occasions; but with very little hope that they might resent my blasphemies. Cursing the gods is foolish and futile, I think.’

Marcellus chuckled grimly. This fine quality of contempt for the gods surpassed any profanity he had ever heard. Demetrius had spoken without heat. He had so little interest in the gods that he even felt it was silly to curse them.

‘You don’t believe there is any sort of supernatural intelligence in charge of the universe?’ queried Marcellus, gazing up into the sky.

‘I have no clear thought about that, sir,’ replied Demetrius, deliberately. ‘It is difficult to account for the world without believing in a Creator, but I do not want to think that the acts of men are inspired by superhuman beings. It is better, I feel, to believe that men have devised their brutish deeds without divine assistance.’

‘I am inclined to agree with you, Demetrius. It would be a great comfort, though, if—especially in an hour of bewilderment—one could nourish a reasonable hope that a benevolent Power existed— somewhere—and might be invoked.’

‘Yes, sir,’ conceded Demetrius, looking upward. ‘The stars pursue an orderly plan. I believe they are honest and sensible. I believe in the Tiber, and in the mountains, and in the sheep and cattle and horses. If there are gods in charge of them, such gods are honest and sound of mind. But if there are gods on Mount Olympus, directing human affairs, they are vicious and insane.’ Apparently feeling that he had been talking too much, Demetrius stiffened, drew himself erect, and gave the usual evidences that he was preparing to get back on his leash. But Marcellus wasn’t quite ready to let him do so.

‘Perhaps you think,’ he persisted, ‘that all humanity is crazy.’

‘I would not know, sir,’ replied Demetrius, very formally, pretending not to have observed his master’s sardonic grin.

‘Well’—hectored Marcellus—’let’s narrow it down to the Roman Empire. Do you think the Roman Empire is an insane thing?’

‘Your slave, sir,’ answered Demetrius, stiffly, ‘believes whatever his master thinks about that.’

It was clear to Marcellus that the philosophical discussion was ended. By experience he had learned that once Demetrius resolved to crawl back into his slave status, no amount of coaxing would hale him forth. They both stood silently now, looking at the dark water swirling about the stern.

The Greek is right, thought Marcellus. That’s what ails the Roman Empire: it is mad! That’s what ails the whole world of men. MAD! If there is any Supreme Power in charge, He is MAD! The stars are honest and sensible. But humanity is INSANE!… Click! Clack! Click! Clack!