________________________________________________
_ Evening exhibitions, rare up to that period and given only
exceptionally, became common in Nero's time, both in the Circus
and amphitheatre. The Augustians liked them, frequently because
they were followed by feasts and drinking-bouts which lasted till
daylight. Though the people were sated already with
blood-spilling, still, when the news went forth that the end of the
games was approaching, and that the last of the Christians were to
die at an evening spectacle, a countless audience assembled in the
amphitheatre. The Augustians came to a man, for they understood
that it would not be a common spectacle; they knew that Caesar
had determined to make for himself a tragedy out of the suffering
of Vinicius. Tigellinus had kept secret the kind of punishment
intended for the betrothed of the young tribune; but that merely
roused general curiosity. Those who had seen Lygia at the house of
Plautius told wonders of her beauty. Others were occupied above
all with the question, would they see her really on the arena that
day; for many of those who had heard the answer given Petronius
and Nerva by Caesar explained it in two ways: some supposed
simply that Nero would give or perhaps had given the maiden to
Vinicius; they remembered that she was a hostage, hence free to
worship whatever divinities she liked, and that the law of nations
did not permit her punishment.
Uncertainty, waiting, and curiosity had mastered all spectators.
Caesar arrived earlier than usual; and immediately at his coming
people whispered that something uncommon would happen, for
besides Tigellinus and Vatinius, Caesar had with him Cassius, a
centurion of enormous size and gigantic strength, whom he
summoned only when he wished to have a defender at his side, --
for example, when he desired night expeditions to the Subura,
where he arranged the amusement called "sagatio," which
consisted in tossing on a soldier's mantle maidens met on the way.
It was noted also that certain precautions had been taken in the
amphitheatre itself. The pretorian guards were increased;
command over them was held, not by a centurion, but by the
tribune Subrius Flavius, known hitherto for blind attachment to
Nero. It was understood, then, that Caesar wished in every case to
guard himself against an outburst of despair from Vinicius, and
curiosity rose all the more.
Every eye was turned with strained gaze to the place where the
unfortunate lover was sitting. He was exceedingly pale, and his
forehead was covered with drops of sweat; he was in as much
doubt as were other spectators, but alarmed to the lowest depth of
his soul. Petronius knew not what would happen; he was silent,
except that, while turning from Nerva, he asked Vinicius whether
he was ready for everything, and next, whether he would remain at
the spectacle. To both questions Vinicius answered "Yes," but a
shudder passed through his whole body; he divined that Petronius
did not ask without reason. For some time he had lived with only
half his life, --he had sunk in death, and reconciled himself to
Lygia's death, since for both it was to be liberation and marriage;
but he learned now that it was one thing to think of the last
moment when it was distant as of a quiet dropping asleep, and
another to look at the torment of a person dearer to one than life.
All sufferings endured formerly rose in him anew. Despair, which
had been set at rest, began again to cry in his soul; the former
desire to save Lygia at any price seized him anew. Beginning with
the morning, he had tried to go to the cunicula to be sure that she
was there; but the pretorians watched every entrance, and orders
were so strict that the soldiers, even those whom he knew, would
not be softened by prayers or gold. It seemed to the tribune that
uncertainty would kill him before he should see the spectacle.
Somewhere at the bottom of his heart the hope was still throbbing,
that perhaps Lygia was not in the amphitheatre, that his fears were
groundless. At times he seized on this hope with all his strength.
He said in his soul that Christ might take her to Himself out of the
prison, but could not permit her torture in the Circus. Formerly he
was resigned to the divine will in everything; now, when repulsed
from the doors of the cunicula, he returned to his place in the
amphitheatre, and when he learned, from the curious glances
turned on him, that the most dreadful suppositions might be true,
he began to implore in his soul with passionateness almost
approaching a threat. "Thou canttae" raepcatcd he, clenching his
fists convulsively, "Thou canst!" Hitherto he had not supposed that
that moment when present would be so terrible. Now, without
clear consciousness of what was happening in his mind, he had the
feeling that if he should see Lygia tortured, his love for God would
be turned to hatred, and his faith to despair. But he was amazed at
the feeling, for he feared to offend Christ, whom he was imploring
for mercy and miracles. He implored no longer for her life; he
wished merely that she should die before they brought her to the
arena, and from the abyss of his pain he repeated in spirt-: "Do not
refuse even this, and I will love Thee still more than hitherto." And
then his thoughts raged as a sea torn by a whirlwind. A desire for
blood and vengeance was roused in him. He was seized by a mad
wish to rush at Nero and stifle him there in presence of all the
spectators; but he felt that desire to be a new offence against
Christ, and a breach of His command. To his head flew at times
flashes of hope that everything before which his soul was
trembling would be turned aside by an almighty and merciful
hand; but they were quenched at once, as if in measureless sorrow
that He who could destroy that Circus with one word and save
Lygia had abandoned her, though she trusted in Him and loved
Him with all the strength of her pure heart. And he thought,
moreover, that she was lying there in that dark place, weak,
defenceless, deserted, abandoned to the whim or disfavor of brutal
guards, drawing her last breath, perhaps, while he had to wait,
helpless, in that dreadful amphitheatre, without knowing what
torture was prepared for her, or what he would witness in a
moment. Finally, as a man falling over a precipice grasps at
everything which grows on the edge of it, so did he grasp with both
hands at the thought that faith of itself could save her. That one
method remained! Peter had said that faith could move the earth to
its foundations.
Hence he rallied; he crushed doubt in himself, he compressed his
whole being into the sentence, "I believe," and he looked for a
miracle.
But as an overdrawn cord may break, so exertion broke him. The
pallor of death covered his face, and his body relaxed. He thought
then that his prayer had been heard, for he was dying. It seemed to
him that Lygia must surely die too, and that Christ would take
them to Himself in that way. The arena, the white togas, the
countless spectators, the light of thousands of lamps and torches,
all vanished from his vision.
But his weakness did not last long. After a while he roused
himself, or rather the stamping of the impatient multitude roused
him.
"Thou art ill," said Petronius; "give command to bear thee home."
And without regard to what Caesar would say, he rose to support
Vinicius and go out with him. His heart was filled with pity, and,
moreover, he was irritated beyond endurance because Caesar was
looking through the emerald at Vinicius, studying his pain with
satisfaction, to describe it afterwards, perhaps, in pathetic strophes,
and win the applause of hearers.
Vinicius shook his head. He might die in that amphitheatre, but he
could not go out of it. Moreover the spectacle might begin any
moment.
In fact, at that very instant almost, the prefect of the city waved a
red handkerchief, the hinges opposite Caesar's podium creaked,
and out of the dark gully came Ursus into the brightly lighted
arena.
The giant blinked, dazed evidently by the glitter of the arena; then
he pushed into the centre, gazing around as if to see what he had to
meet. It was known to all the Augustians and to most of the
spectators that he was the man who had stifled Croton; hence at
sight of him a murmur passed along every bench. In Rome there
was no lack of gladiators larger by far than the common measure
of man, but Roman eyes had never seen the like of Ursus. Cassius,
standing in Caesar's podium, seemed puny compared with that
Lygian. Senators, vestals, Caesar, the Augustians, and the people
gazed with the delight of experts at his mighty limbs as large as
tree-trunks, at his breast as large as two shields joined together,
and his arms of a Hercules. The murmur rose every instant. For
those multitudes there could be no higher pleasure than to look at
those muscles in play in the exertion of a struggle. The murmur
rose to shouts, and eager questions were put: "Where do the people
live who can produce such a giant?" He stood there, in the middle
of the amphitheatre, naked, more like a stone colossus than a man,
with a collected expression, and at the same time the sad look of a
barbarian; and while surveying the empty arena, he gazed
wonderingly with his blue childlike eyes, now at the spectators,
now at Caesar, now at the grating of the cunicula, whence, as he
thought, his executioners would come.
At the moment when he stepped into the arena his simple heart
was beating for the last time with the hope that perhaps a cross
was waiting for him; but when he saw neither the cross nor the
hole in which it might be put, he thought that he was unworthy of
such favor, -- that he would find death in another way, and surely
from wild beasts. He was unarmed, and had determined to die as
became a confessor of the "Lamb," peacefully and patiently.
Meanwhile he wished to pray once more to the Saviour; so he
knelt on the arena, joined his hands, and raised his eyes toward the
stars which were glittering in the lofty opening of the
amphitheatre.
That act displeased the crowds. They had had enough of those
Christians who died like sheep. They understood that if the giant
would not defend himself the spectacle would be a failure. Here
and there hisses were heard. Some began to cry for scourgers,
whose office it was to lash combatants unwilling to fight. But soon
all had grown silent, for no one knew what was waiting for the
giant, nor whether he would aet be rcady to struggle when he met
death eye to eye.
In fact, they had not long to wait. Suddenly the shrill sound of
brazen trumpets was heard, and at that signal a grating opposite
Caesar's podium was opened, and into the arena rushed, amid
shouts of beast-keepers, an enormous German aurochs, bearing on
his head the naked body of a woman.
"Lygia! Lygiaae" cried Vinicius.
Then he seized his hair near the temples, squirmed like a man who
feels a sharp dart in his body, and began to repeat in hoarse
accents, --
"I believe! I believe! O Christ, a miracle!"
And he did not even feel that Petronius covered his head that
moment with the toga. It seemed to him that death or pain had
closed his eyes. He did not look, he did not see. The feeling of
some awful emptiness possessed him. In his head there remained
not a thought; his lips merely repeated, as if in madness, --
"I believe! I believe! I believe!"
This time the amphitheatre was silent. The Augustians rose in their
places, as one man, for in the arena something uncommon had
happened. That Lygian, obedient and ready to die, when he saw his
queen on the horns of the wild beast, sprang up, as if touched by
living fire, and bending forward he ran at the raging animal.
From all breasts a sudden cry of amazement was heard, after which
came deep silence.
The Lygian fell on the raging bull in a twinkle, and seized him by
the horns.
"Look!" cried Petronius, snatching the toga from the head of
Vinicius. The latter rose and bent back his head; his face was as
pale as linen, and he looked into the arena with a glassy, vacant
stare.
All breasts ceased to breathe. In the amphitheatre a fly might be
heard on the wing. People could not believe their own eyes. Since
Rome was Rome, no one had seen such a spectacle.
The Lygian held the wild beast by the horns. The man's feet sank
in the sand to his ankles, his back was bent like a drawn bow, his
head was hidden between his shoulders, on his arms the muscles
came out so that the skin almost burst from their pressure; but he
had stopped the bull in his tracks. And the man and the beast
remained so still that the spectators thought themselves looking at
a picture showing a deed of Hercules or Theseus, or a group hewn
from stone. But in that apparent repose there was a tremendous
exertion of two struggling forces. The bull sank his feet as well as
did the man in the sand, and his dark, shaggy body was curved so
that it seemed a gigantic ball. Which of the two would fail first,
which would fall first, -- that was the question for those spectators
enamoured of such struggles; a question which at that moment
meant more for them than their own fate, than all Rome and its
lordship over the world. That Lygian was in their eyes then a
demigod worthy of honor and statues. Caesar himself stood up as
well as others. He and Tigellinus, hearing of the man's strength,
had arranged this spectacle purposely, and said to each other with
a jeer, "Let that slayer of Croton kill the bull which we choose for
him"; so they looked now with amazement at that picture, as if not
believing that it could be real.
In the amphitheatre were men who had raised their arms and
remained in that posture. Sweat covered the faces of others, as if
they themselves were struggling with the beast. In the Circus
nothing was heard save the sound of flame in the lamps, and the
crackle of bits of coal as they dropped from the torches. Their
voices died on the lips of the spectators, but their hearts were
beating in their breasts as if to split them. It seemed to all that the
struggle was lasting for ages. But the man and the beast continued
on in their monstrous exertion; one might have said that they were
planted in the earth.
Meanwhile a dull roar resembling a groan was heard from the
arena, after which a brief shout was wrested from every breast, and
again there was silence. People thought themselves dreaming till
the enormous head of the bull began to turn in the iron hands of
the barbarian. The face, neck, and arms of the Lygian grew purple;
his back bent still more. It was clear that he was rallying the
remnant of his superhuman strength, but that he could not last
long.
Duller and duller, hoarser and hoarser, more and more painful
grew the groan of the bull as it mingled with the whistling breath
from the breast of the giant. The head of the beast turned more and
more, and from his jaws crept forth a long, foaming tongue.
A moment more, and to the ears of spectators sitting nearer came
as it were the crack of breaking bones; then the beast rolled on the
earth with his neck twisted in death.
The giant removed in a twinkle the ropes from the horns of the
bull and, raising the maiden, began to breathe hurriedly. His face
became pale, his hair stuck together from sweat, his shoulders and
arms seemed flooded with water. For a moment he stood as if only
half conscious; then he raised his eyes and looked at the spectators.
The amphitheatre had gone wild.
The walls of the building were trembling from the roar of tens of
thousands of people. Since the beginning of spectacles there was
no memory of such excitement. Those who were sitting on the
highest rows came down, crowding in the passages between
benches to look more nearly at the strong man. Everywhere were
heard cries for mercy, passionate and persistent, which soon turned
into one unbroken thunder. That giant had become dear to those
people enamoured of physical strength; he was the first personage
in Rome.
He understood that the multitude were striving to grant him his life
and restore him his freedom, but clearly his thought was not on
himself alone. He looked around a while; then approached
Caesar's podium, and, holding the body of the maiden on his
outstretched arms, raised his eyes with entreaty, as if to say,
"Have mercy on her! Save the maiden. I did that for her sake!"
The spectators understood perfectly what he wanted. At sight of
the unconscious maiden, who near the enormous Lygian seemed a
child, emotion seized the multitude of knights and senators. Her
slender form, as white as if chiselled from alabaster, her fainting,
the dreadful danger from which the giant had freed her, and finally
her beauty and attachment had moved every heart. Some thought
the man a father begging mercy for his child. Pity burst forth
suddenly, like a flame. They had had blood, death, and torture in
sufficiency. Voices choked with tears began to entreat mercy for
both.
Meanwhile Ursus, holding the girl in his arms, moved around the
arena, and with his eyes and with motions begged her life for her.
Now Vinicius started up from his seat, sprang over the barrier
which separated the front places from the arena, and, running to
Lygia, covered her naked body with his toga.
Then he tore apart the tunic on his breast, laid bare the scars left by
wounds received in the Armenian war, and stretched out his hands
to the audience.
At this the enthusiasm of the multitude passed everything seen in a
circus before. The crowd stamped and howled. Voices calling for
mercy grew simply terrible. People not only took the part of the
athlete, but rose in defense of the soldier, the maiden, their love.
Thousands of spectators turned to Caesar with flashes of anger in
their eyes and with clinched fists.
But Caesar halted and hesitated. Against Vinicius he had no hatred
indeed, and the death of Lygia did not concern him; but he
preferred to see the body of the maiden rent by the horns of the
bull or torn by the claws of beasts. His cruelty, his deformed
imagination, and deformed desires found a kind of delight in such
spectacles. And now tile people wanted to rob him. Hence anger
appeared on his bloated face. Self-love also would not let him
yield to the wish of the multitude, and still he did not dare to
oppose it, through his inborn cowardice.
So he gazed around to see if among the Augustians at least, he
could not find fingers turned down in sign of death. But Petronius
held up his hand, and looked into Nero's face almost challengingly.
Vestinius, superstitious but inclined to enthusiasm, a man who
feared ghosts but not the living, gave a sign for mercy also. So did
Scevinus, the Senator; so did Nerva, so did Tullius Senecio, so did
the famous leader Ostorius Scapula, and Antistius, and Piso, and
Vetus, and Crispinus, and Minucius Thermus, and Pontius
Telesinus, and the most important of all, one honored by the
people, Thrasea.
In view of this, Caesar took the emerald from his eye with an
expression of contempt and offence; when Tigellinus, whose
desire was to spite Petronius, turned to him and said, --
"Yield not, divinity; we have the pretorians."
Then Nero turned to the place where command over the pretorians
was held by the stern Subrius Flavius, hitherto devoted with whole
soul to him, and saw something unusual. The face of the old
tribune was stern, but covered with tears, and he was holding his
hand up in sign of mercy.
Now rage began to possess the multitude. Dust rose from beneath
the stamping feet, and filled the amphitheatre. In the midst of
shouts were heard cries: "Ahenobarbus! matricide! incendiary!"
Nero was alarmed. Romans were absolute lords in the Circus.
Former Caesars, and especially Caligula, had permitted themselves
sometimes to act against the will of the people; this, however,
called forth disturbance always, going sometimes to bloodshed.
But Nero was in a different position. First, as a comedian and a
singer he needed the people's favor; second, he wanted it on his
side against the Senate and the patricians, and especially after the
burning of Rome he strove by all means to win it, and turn their
anger against the Christians. He understood, besides, that to
oppose longer was simply dangerous. A disturbance begun in the
Circus might seize the whole city, and have results incalculable.
He looked once more at Subrius Flavius, at Scevinus the centurion,
a relative of the senator, at the soldiers; and seeing everywhere
frowning brows, excited faces, and eyes fixed on him, he gave the
sign for mercy.
Then a thunder of applause was heard from the highest seats to the
lowest. The people were sure of the lives of the condemned, for
from that moment they went under their protection, and even
Caesar would not have dared to pursue them any longer with his
vengeance. _
Read next: CHAPTER LXVI
Read previous: CHAPTER LXIV
Table of content of Quo Vadis
GO TO TOP OF SCREEN
Post your review
Your review will be placed after the table of content of this book
