CHAPTER XXIII

THE LAST SCENE OF ALL—­BURIAL AND TOMBS

Whatever conceptions may have been entertained as to existence beyond the grave, there was no doubt in the Roman mind as to the claim of the dead to a proper burial and a worthy monument.  It had once on a time been a matter of universal belief that the spirit which had departed from an unburied corpse could find no admittance to the company in the realms of Hades.  It could not join “the majority” below.  Originally no doubt the notion was simply that, as the body had not been consigned to the earth, the spirit also remained homeless above ground.  Gradually this fancy shifted to the notion that, through neglect of burial, the dead man was dishonoured—­he had no friends—­and that his spirit was thereby disgraced and unworthy of reception by the powers beneath.  It must therefore remain shivering on the near side of the river across which the grim Charon ferried the more fortunate souls.  Even when the body had been decently buried, the spirit, though received into the gloomy realm, called for continued respect on the part of its friends on earth.  Unless it received its periodical honours and was commemorated by a fitting sepulchre, it would meet with slights from other ghosts and would feel its position keenly.  Naturally it would then do its best, by some form of haunting, to punish the living for their disregard and forgetfulness.  From such considerations there arose in very ancient days in Italy, as in Greece, a great anxiety to perform scrupulously “the dues” of the defunct.  Even if the body could not be found, it was obligatory to perform the obsequies and to build a cenotaph.  If a stranger came across a dead body he must not pass it by without throwing at least three handfuls of dust or earth upon it and bidding it “Farewell.”

Though the burial customs still employed sprang from old fancies like these, we are not to suppose that such notions were in full life in the Roman world of our period.  Poets might play with them, and some ignorant folk might still vaguely entertain them.  The mere belief in ghosts was doubtless general, and even the learned argued the question of their existence.  Here are parts of another letter culled from Pliny already several times quoted.  He writes to his friend Sura:  “I should very much like to know whether you think that apparitions actually exist, with a real shape of their own and a kind of supernatural power, or that it is only our fear which gives an embodiment to vain fancies.  My own inclination is to believe in them, and chiefly because of an experience which, I am told, befell Curtius Rufus.”  He then speaks of a phantom form which prophesied that person’s fortune.  “Another occurrence, quite as wonderful and still more terrifying, I will relate as I was told it.  There was at Athens a house which was roomy and commodious, but which bore an ill-name and was plague-stricken.  In the silence