Quo Vadis - Henryk Sienkiewicz (best ereader under 100 .txt) 📗
- Author: Henryk Sienkiewicz
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the middle of the arena, and trembling stretched their hands to the
audience with a prayer for mercy. To the victors were given rewards,—
crowns, olive wreaths. And a moment of rest came, which, at command of
the all-powerful Cæsar, was turned into a feast. Perfumes were burned
in vases. Sprinklers scattered saffron and violet rain on the people.
Cooling drinks were served, roasted meats, sweet cakes, wine, olives,
and fruits. The people devoured, talked, and shouted in honor of Cæsar,
to incline him to greater bounteousness. When hunger and thirst had
been satisfied, hundreds of slaves bore around baskets full of gifts,
from which boys, dressed as Cupids, took various objects and threw them
with both hands among the seats. When lottery tickets were distributed,
a battle began. People crowded, threw, trampled one another; cried for
rescue, sprang over rows of seats, stifled one another in the terrible
crush, since whoever got a lucky number might win possibly a house with
a garden, a slave, a splendid dress, or a wild beast which he could sell
to the amphitheatre afterward. For this reason there were such
disorders that frequently the pretorians had to interfere; and after
every distribution they carried out people with broken arms or legs, and
some were even trampled to death in the throng.
But the more wealthy took no part in the fight for tesseræ. The
Augustians amused themselves now with the spectacle of Chilo, and with
making sport of his vain efforts to show that he could look at fighting
and blood-spilling as well as any man. But in vain did the unfortunate
Greek wrinkle his brow, gnaw his lips, and squeeze his fists till the
nails entered his palms. His Greek nature and his personal cowardice
were unable to endure such sights. His face grew pale, his forehead was
dotted with drops of sweat, his lips were blue, his eyes turned in, his
teeth began to chatter, and a trembling seized his body. At the end of
the battle he recovered somewhat; but when they attacked him with
tongues, sudden anger seized him, and he defended himself desperately.
“Ha, Greek! the sight of torn skin on a man is beyond thy strength!”
said Vatinius, taking him by the beard.
Chilo bared his last two yellow teeth at him and answered,—
“My father was not a cobbler, so I cannot mend it.”
“Macte! habet (Good! he has caught it!)” called a number of voices; but
others jeered on.
“He is not to blame that instead of a heart he has a piece of cheese in
his breast,” said Senecio.
“Thou art not to blame that instead of a head thou hast a bladder,”
retorted Chilo.
“Maybe thou wilt become a gladiator! thou wouldst look well with a net
on the arena.”
“If I should catch thee in it, I should catch a stinking hoopoe.”
“And how will it be with the Christians?” asked Festus, from Liguria.
“Wouldst thou not like to be a dog and bite them?”
“I should not like to be thy brother.”
“Thou Mæotian copper-nose!”
“Thou Ligurian mule!”
“Thy skin is itching, evidently, but I don’t advise thee to ask me to
scratch it.”
“Scratch thyself. If thou scratch thy own pimple, thou wilt destroy
what is best in thee.”
And in this manner they attacked him. He defended himself venomously,
amid universal laughter. Cæsar, clapping his hands, repeated, “Macte!”
and urged them on. After a while Petronius approached, and, touching
the Greek’s shoulder with his carved ivory cane, said coldly,—
“This is well, philosopher; but in one thing thou hast blundered: the
gods created thee a pickpocket, and thou hast become a demon. That is
why thou canst not endure.”
The old man looked at him with his red eyes, but this time somehow he
did not find a ready insult. He was silent for a moment; then answered,
as if with a certain effort,—
“I shall endure.”
Meanwhile the trumpets announced the end of the interval. People began
to leave the passages where they had assembled to straighten their legs
and converse. A general movement set in with the usual dispute about
seats occupied previously. Senators and patricians hastened to their
places. The uproar ceased after a time, and the amphitheatre returned
to order. On the arena a crowd of people appeared whose work was to dig
out here and there lumps of sand formed with stiffened blood.
The turn of the Christians was at hand. But since that was a new
spectacle for people, and no one knew how the Christians would bear
themselves, all waited with a certain curiosity. The disposition of the
audience was attentive but unfriendly; they were waiting for uncommon
scenes. Those people who were to appear had burned Rome and its ancient
treasures. They had drunk the blood of infants, and poisoned water;
they had cursed the whole human race, and committed the vilest crimes.
The harshest punishment did not suffice the roused hatred; and if any
fear possessed people’s hearts, it was this: that the torture of the
Christians would not equal the guilt of those ominous criminals.
Meanwhile the sun had risen high; its rays, passing through the purple
velarium, had filled the amphitheatre with blood-colored light. The
sand assumed a fiery hue, and in those gleams, in the faces of people,
as well as in the empty arena, which after a time was to be filled with
the torture of people and the rage of savage beasts, there was something
terrible. Death and terror seemed hovering in the air. The throng,
usually gladsome, became moody under the influence of hate and silence.
Faces had a sullen expression.
Now the prefect gave a sign. The same old man appeared, dressed as
Charon, who had called the gladiators to death, and, passing with slow
step across the arena amid silence, he struck three times again on the
door.
Throughout the amphitheatre was heard the deep murmur,—
“The Christians! the Christians!”
The iron gratings creaked; through the dark openings were heard the
usual cries of the scourgers, “To the sand!” and in one moment the arena
was peopled with crowds as it were of satyrs covered with skins. All
ran quickly, somewhat feverishly, and, reaching the middle of the
circle, they knelt one by another with raised heads. The spectators,
judging this to be a prayer for pity, and enraged by such cowardice,
began to stamp, whistle, throw empty wine-vessels, bones from which the
flesh had been eaten, and shout, “The beasts! the beasts!” But all at
once something unexpected took place. From out the shaggy assembly
singing voices were raised, and then sounded that hynm heard for the
first time in a Roman amphitheatre, “Christus regnat!” [“Christ
reigns!”]
Astonishment seized the spectators. The condemned sang with eyes raised
to the velarium. The audience saw faces pale, but as it were inspired.
All understood that those people were not asking for mercy, and that
they seemed not to see the Circus, the audience, the Senate, or Cæsar.
“Christus regnat!” rose ever louder, and in the seats, far up to the
highest, among the rows of spectators, more than one asked himself the
question, “What is happening, and who is that Christus who reigns in the
mouths of those people who are about to die?” But meanwhile a new
grating was opened, and into the arena rushed, with mad speed and
barking, whole packs of dogs,—gigantic, yellow Molossians from the
Peloponnesus, pied dogs from the Pyrenees, and wolf-like hounds from
Hibernia, purposely famished; their sides lank, and their eyes
bloodshot. Their howls and whines filled the amphitheatre. When the
Christians had finished their hymn, they remained kneeling, motionless,
as if petrified, merely repeating in one groaning chorus, “Pro Christo!
Pro Christo!” The dogs, catching the odor of people under the skins of
beasts, and surprised by their silence, did not rush on them at once.
Some stood against the walls of the boxes, as if wishing to go among the
spectators; others ran around barking furiously, as though chasing some
unseen beast. The people were angry. A thousand voices began to call;
some howled like wild beasts; some barked like dogs; others urged them
on in every language. The amphitheatre was trembling from uproar. The
excited dogs began to run to the kneeling people, then to draw back,
snapping their teeth, till at last one of the Molossians drove his teeth
into the shoulder of a woman kneeling in front, and dragged her under
him.
Tens of dogs rushed into the crowd now, as if to break through it. The
audience ceased to howl, so as to look with greater attention. Amidst
the howling and whining were heard yet plaintive voices of men and
women: “Pro Christo! Pro Christo!” but on the arena were formed
quivering masses of the bodies of dogs and people. Blood flowed in
streams from the torn bodies. Dogs dragged from each other the bloody
limbs of people. The odor of blood and torn entrails was stronger than
Arabian perfumes, and filled the whole Circus.
At last only here and there were visible single kneeling forms, which
were soon covered by moving squirming masses.
Vinicius, who at the moment when the Christians ran in, stood up and
turned so as to indicate to the quarryman, as he had promised, the
direction in which the Apostle was hidden among the people of Petronius,
sat down again, and with the face of a dead man continued to look with
glassy eyes on the ghastly spectacle. At first fear that the quarryman
might have been mistaken, and that perchance Lygia was among the
victims, benumbed him completely; but when he heard the voices, “Pro
Christo!” when he saw the torture of so many victims who, in dying,
confessed their faith and their God, another feeling possessed him,
piercing him like the most dreadful pain, but irresistible. That
feeling was this,—if Christ Himself died in torment, if thousands are
perishing for Him now, if a sea of blood is poured forth, one drop more
signifies nothing, and it is a sin even to ask for mercy. That thought
came to him from the arena, penetrated him with the groans of the dying,
with the odor of their blood. But still he prayed and repeated with
parched lips, “O Christ! O Christ! and Thy Apostle prayed for her!”
Then he forgot himself, lost consciousness of where he was. It seemed
to him that blood on the arena was rising and rising, that it was coming
up and flowing out of the Circus over all Rome. For the rest he heard
nothing, neither the howling of dogs nor the uproar of the people nor
the voices of the Augustians, who began all at once to cry,—
“Chilo has fainted!”
“Chilo has fainted!” said Petronius, turning toward the Greek.
And he had fainted really; he sat there white as linen, his head fallen
back, his mouth wide open, like that of a corpse.
At that same moment they were urging into the arena new victims, sewed
up in skins.
These knelt immediately, like those who had gone before; but the weary
dogs would not rend them. Barely a few threw themselves on to those
kneeling nearest; but others lay down, and, raising their bloody jaws,
began to scratch their sides and yawn heavily.
Then the audience, disturbed in spirit, but drunk with blood and wild,
began to cry with hoarse voices,—
“The lions! the lions! Let out the lions!”
The lions were to be kept for the next day; but in the amphitheatres the
people imposed their will on every one, even on Cæsar. Caligula alone,
insolent and changeable in
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