Chapter LVII

THREE days’ rain, an exceptional phenomenon in Rome during summer, and

hail falling in opposition to the natural order, not only in the day,

but even at night, interrupted the spectacles. People were growing

alarmed. A failure of grapes was predicted, and when on a certain

afternoon a thunderbolt melted the bronze statue of Ceres on the

Capitol, sacrifices were ordered in the temple of Jupiter Salvator. The

priests of Ceres spread a report that the anger of the gods was turned

on the city because of the too hasty punishment of Christians; hence

crowds began to insist that the spectacles be given without reference to

weather. Delight seized all Rome when the announcement was made at last

that the ludus would begin again after three days’ interval.

Meanwhile beautiful weather returned. The amphitheatre was filled at

daybreak with thousands of people. Cæsar came early with the vestals

and the court. The spectacle was to begin with a battle among the

Christians, who to this end were arrayed as gladiators and furnished

with all kinds of weapons which served gladiators by profession in

offensive and defensive struggles. But here came disappointment.

The Christians threw nets, darts, tridents, and swords on the arena,

embraced and encouraged one another to endurance in view of torture and

death. At this deep indignation and resentment seized the hearts of

the multitude. Some reproached the Christians with cowardice and

pusillanimity; others asserted that they refused to fight through hatred

of the people, so as to deprive them of that pleasure which the sight of

bravery produces. Finally, at command of Cæsar, real gladiators were let

out, who despatched in one twinkle the kneeling and defenceless victims.

When these bodies were removed, the spectacle was a series of mythologic

pictures,--Cæsar’s own idea. The audience saw Hercules blazing in living

fire on Mount Oeta. Vinicius had trembled at the thought that the role

of Hercules might be intended for Ursus; but evidently the turn of

Lygia’s faithful servant had not come, for on the pile some other

Christian was burning,--a man quite unknown to Vinicius. In the

next picture Chilo, whom Cæsar would not excuse from attendance, saw

acquaintances. The death of Dædalus was represented, and also that of

Icarus. In the rôle of Dædalus appeared Euricius, that old man who had

given Chilo the sign of the fish; the role of Icarus was taken by his

son, Quartus. Both were raised aloft with cunning machinery, and then

hurled suddenly from an immense height to the arena. Young Quartus

fell so near Cæsar’s podium that he spattered with blood not only the

external ornaments but the purple covering spread over the front of the

podium. Chilo did not see the fall, for he closed his eyes; but he heard

the dull thump of the body, and when after a time he saw blood there

close to him, he came near fainting a second time.

The pictures changed quickly. The shameful torments of maidens violated

before death by gladiators dressed as wild beasts, delighted the hearts

of the rabble. They saw priestesses of Cybele and Ceres, they saw the

Danaides, they saw Dirce and Pasiphaë; finally they saw young girls,

not mature yet, torn asunder by wild horses. Every moment the crowd

applauded new ideas of Nero, who, proud of them, and made happy by

plaudits, did not take the emerald from his eye for one instant while

looking at white bodies torn with iron, and the convulsive quivering of

victims.

Pictures were given also from the history of the city. After the maidens

they saw Mucius Scævola, whose hand fastened over a fire to a tripod

filled the amphitheatre with the odor of burnt flesh; but this man,

like the real Scævola, remained without a groan, his eyes raised and

the murmur of prayer on his blackening lips. When he had expired and his

body was dragged to the spoliarium, the usual midday interlude followed.

Cæsar with the vestals and the Augustians left the amphitheatre, and

withdrew to an immense scarlet tent erected purposely; in this was

prepared for him and the guests a magnificent prandium. The spectators

for the greater part followed his example, and, streaming out, disposed

themselves in picturesque groups around the tent, to rest their limbs

wearied from long sitting, and enjoy the food which, through Cæsar’s

favor, was served by slaves to them. Only the most curious descended to

the arena itself, and, touching with their fingers lumps of sand held

together by blood, conversed, as specialists and amateurs, of that which

had happened and of that which was to follow. Soon even these went away,

lest they might be late for the feast; only those few were left who

stayed not through curiosity, but sympathy for the coming victims. Those

concealed themselves behind seats or in the lower places.

Meanwhile the arena was levelled, and slaves began to dig holes one near

the other in rows throughout the whole circuit from side to side, so

that the last row was but a few paces distant from Cæsar’s podium. From

outside came the murmur of people, shouts and plaudits, while within

they were preparing in hot haste for new tortures. The cunicula were

opened simultaneously, and in all passages leading to the arena were

urged forward crowds of Christians naked and carrying crosses on their

shoulders. The whole arena was filled with them. Old men, bending under

the weight of wooden beams, ran forward; at the side of these went men

in the prime of life, women with loosened hair behind which they strove

to hide their nakedness, small boys, and little children. The crosses,

for the greater part, as well as the victims, were wreathed with

flowers. The servants of the amphitheatre beat the unfortunates with

clubs, forcing them to lay down their crosses near the holes prepared,

and stand themselves there in rows. Thus were to perish those whom

executioners had had no chance to drive out as food for dogs and wild

beasts the first day of the games. Black slaves seized the victims, laid

them face upward on the wood, and fell to nailing their hands hurriedly

and quickly to the arms of the crosses, so that people returning

after the interlude might find all the crosses standing. The whole

amphitheatre resounded with the noise of hammers which echoed through

all the rows, went out to the space surrounding the amphitheatre, and

into the tent where Cæsar was entertaining his suite and the vestals.

There he drank wine, bantered with Chilo, and whispered strange words

in the ears of the priestesses of Vesta; but on the arena the work was

seething,--nails were going into the hands and feet of the Christians;

shovels moved quickly, filling the holes in which the crosses had been

planted.

Among the new victims whose turn was to come soon was Crispus. The lions

had not had time to rend him; hence he was appointed to the cross. He,

ready at all times for death, was delighted with the thought that his

hour was approaching. He seemed another man, for his emaciated body was

wholly naked,--only a girdle of ivy encircled his hips, on his head was

a garland of roses. But in his eyes gleamed always that same exhaustless

energy; that same fanatical stern face gazed from beneath the crown of

roses. Neither had his heart changed; for, as once in the cuniculum he

had threatened with the wrath of God his brethren sewed up in the skins

of wild beasts, so to-day he thundered in place of consoling them.

“Thank the Redeemer,” said Crispus, “that He permits you to die the same

death that He Himself died. Maybe a part of your sins will be remitted

for this cause; but tremble, since justice must be satisfied, and there

cannot be one reward for the just and the wicked.”

His words were accompanied by the sound of the hammers nailing the hands

and feet of victims. Every moment more crosses were raised on the

arena; but he, turning to the crowd standing each man by his own cross,

continued,--

“I see heaven open, but I see also the yawning abyss. I know not what

account of my life to give the Lord, though I have believed, and hated

evil. I fear, not death, but resurrection; I fear, not torture, but

judgment, for the day of wrath is at hand.”

At that moment was heard from between the nearest rows some voice, calm

and solemn,--

“Not the day of wrath, but of mercy, the day of salvation and happiness;

for I say that Christ will gather you in, will comfort you and seat you

at His right hand. Be confident, for heaven is opening before you.”

At these words all eyes were turned to the benches; even those who were

hanging on the crosses raised their pale, tortured faces, and looked

toward the man who was speaking.

But he went to the barrier surrounding the arena, and blessed them with

the sign of the cross.

Crispus stretched out his arm as if to thunder at him; but when he saw

the man’s face, he dropped his arm, the knees bent under him, and his

lips whispered, “Paul the Apostle!”

To the great astonishment of the servants of the Circus, all of those

who were not nailed to the crosses yet knelt down. Paul turned to

Crispus and said,

“Threaten them not, Crispus, for this day they will be with thee in

paradise. It is thy thought that they may be condemned. But who will

condemn?

“Will God, who gave His Son for them? Will Christ, who died for their

salvation, condemn when they die for His name? And how is it possible

that He who loves can condemn? Who will accuse the chosen of God? Who

will say of this blood, ‘It is cursed’?”

“I have hated evil,” said the old priest.

“Christ’s command to love men was higher than that to hate evil, for His

religion is not hatred, but love.”

“I have sinned in the hour of death,” answered Crispus, beating his

breast. The manager of the seats approached the Apostle, and inquired,

“Who art thou, speaking to the condemned?”

“A Roman citizen,” answered Paul, calmly. Then, turning to Crispus,

he said: “Be confident, for to-day is a day of grace; die in peace, O

servant of God.”

The black men approached Crispus at that moment to place him on the

cross; but he looked around once again, and cried,--

“My brethren, pray for me!”

His face had lost its usual sternness; his stony features had taken an

expression of peace and sweetness. He stretched his arms himself along

the arms of the cross, to make the work easier, and, looking directly

into heaven, began to pray earnestly. He seemed to feel nothing; for

when the nails entered his hands, not the least quiver shook his body,

nor on his face did there appear any wrinkle of pain. He prayed when

they raised the cross and trampled the earth around it. Only when crowds

began to fill the amphitheatre with shouts and laughter did his brows

frown somewhat, as if in anger that a pagan people were disturbing the

calm and peace of a sweet death.

But all the crosses had been raised, so that in the arena there stood as

it were a forest, with people hanging on the trees. On the arms of the

crosses and on the heads of the martyrs fell the gleam of the sun; but

on the arena was a deep shadow, forming a kind of black involved grating

through which glittered the golden sand. That was a spectacle in which

the whole delight of the audience consisted in looking at a lingering

death. Never before had men seen such a density of crosses. The arena

was packed so closely that the servants squeezed between them only with

effort. On the edges were women especially; but Crispus, as a leader,

was raised almost in front of Cæsar’s podium, on an immense cross,

wreathed below with honeysuckle. None of the victims had died yet,

but some of those fastened earlier had fainted. No one groaned; no one

called for mercy. Some were hanging with head inclined on one arm,

or dropped on the breast, as if seized by sleep; some were as if in

meditation; some, looking toward heaven, were moving their lips quietly.

In this terrible forest of crosses, among those crucified bodies, in

that silence of victims there was something ominous. The people who,

filled by the feast and gladsome, had returned to the Circus with

shouts, became silent, not knowing on which body to rest their eyes, or

what to think of the spectacle. The nakedness of strained female forms

roused no feeling. They did not make the usual bets as to who would die

first,--a thing done generally when there was even the smallest number

of criminals on the arena. It seemed that Cæsar himself was bored, for

he turned lazily and with drowsy expression to arrange his necklace.

At that moment Crispus, who was hanging opposite, and who, like a man

in a faint or dying, had kept his eyes closed, opened them and looked at

Cæsar. His face assumed an expression so pitiless, and his eyes flashed

with such fire, that the Augustians whispered to one another, pointing

at him with their fingers, and at last Cæsar himself turned to that

cross, and placed the emerald to his eye sluggishly.

Perfect silence followed. The eyes of the spectators were fixed on

Crispus, who strove to move his right hand, as if to tear it from the

tree.

After a while his breast rose, his ribs were visible, and he cried:

“Matricide! woe to thee!”

The Augustians, hearing this mortal insult flung at the lord of the

world in presence of thousands, did not dare to breathe. Chilo was half

dead. Cæsar trembled, and dropped the emerald from his fingers. The

people, too, held the breath in their breasts. The voice of Crispus was

heard, as it rose in power, throughout the amphitheatre,--

“Woe to thee, murderer of wife and brother! woe to thee, Antichrist. The

abyss is opening beneath thee, death is stretching its hands to thee,

the grave is waiting for thee. Woe, living corpse, for in terror shalt

thou die and be damned to eternity!”

Unable to tear his hand from the cross, Crispus strained awfully. He was

terrible,--a living skeleton; unbending as predestination, he shook his

white beard over Nero’s podium, scattering, as he nodded, rose leaves

from the garland on his head.

“Woe to thee, murderer! Thy measure is surpassed, and thy hour is at

hand!”

Here he made one more effort. It seemed for a moment that he would free

his hand from the cross and hold it in menace above Cæsar; but all at

once his emaciated arms extended still more, his body settled down, his

head fell on his breast, and he died.

In that forest of crosses the weakest began also the sleep of eternity.