could, and with his colleague had conducted the general administration of the Empire with the greatest honor, while the boy was wearing out his life in debauchery in the palace.  Seneca dared say more to Nero, to venture more with him, than did any other man.  For the young tiger was afraid of his old master long after he had tasted blood.  Yet Seneca’s system was a cowardly system.  It was the best of Roman morality and Greek philosophy, and still it was mean.  His daring was the bravest of the men of the old civilization.  He is the type of their excellences, as is Nero the model of their power and their adornments.  And yet all that Seneca’s daring could venture was to seduce the baby-tyrant into the least injurious of tyrannies.  From the plunder of a province he would divert him by the carnage of the circus.  From the murder of a senator he could lure him by some new lust at home.  From the ruin of the Empire, he could seduce him by diverting him with the ruin of a noble family.  And Seneca did this with the best of motives.  He said he used all the power in his hands, and he thought he did.  He was one of those men of whom all times have their share.  The bravest of his time, he satisfied himself with alluring the beardless Emperor by petty crime from public wrong; he could flatter him to the expedient.  He dared not order him to the right.

But Seneca knew what was right.  Seneca also had a well-trained conscience, which told him of right and of wrong.  Seneca’s brother, Gallio, had saved Paul’s life when a Jewish mob would have dragged him to pieces in Corinth; and the legend is that Seneca and Paul had corresponded with each other before they stood together in Nero’s presence, the one as counsellor, the other as the criminal.[L] When Paul arose from that formal salutation, when the apostle of the new civilization spoke to the tottering monarch of the old, if there had been one man in that assemblage, could he have failed to see that that was a turning-point in the world’s history?  Before him in that little hall, in that little hour, was passing the scene which for centuries would be acted out upon the larger stage.

Faith on the one side, before expediency and cruelty on the other!  Paul before Seneca and Nero!  He was ready to address Nero, with the eloquence and vehemence which for years had been demanding utterance.

He stood at length before the baby Caesar, to whose tribunal he had appealed from the provincial court of a doubting Festus and a trembling Agrippa.

And who shall ask what words the vigorous Christian spoke to the dastard boy!  Who that knows the eloquence which rung out on the ears of astonished Stoics at Athens, which commanded the incense and the hecatombs of wandering peasants in Asia, which stilled the gabbling clamor of a wild mob at Jerusalem,—­who will doubt the tone in which Paul spoke to Nero!  The boy quailed for the moment before the man!  The gilded dotard shrunk back from the home truths of the new, young, vigorous faith:  the ruler of a hundred legions was nothing before the God-commissioned prisoner.