Quo Vadis by Henryk Sienkiewicz (detective books to read .TXT) đź“–
- Author: Henryk Sienkiewicz
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were cases when he gave command to beat the people with clubs; but even
he yielded most frequently. Nero, to whom plaudits were dearer than all
else in the world, never resisted. All the more did he not resist now,
when it was a question of mollifying the populace, excited after the
conflagration, and a question of the Christians, on whom he wished to
cast the blame of the catastrophe.
He gave the sign therefore to open the cuniculum, seeing which, the
people were calmed in a moment. They heard the creaking of the doors
behind which were the lions. At sight of the lions the dogs gathered
with low whines, on the opposite side of the arena. The lions walked
into the arena one after another, immense, tawny, with great shaggy
heads. Cæsar himself turned his wearied face toward them, and placed
the emerald to his eye to see better. The Augustians greeted them with
applause; the crowd counted them on their fingers, and followed eagerly
the impression which the sight of them would make on the Christians
kneeling in the centre, who again had begun to repeat the words, without
meaning for many, though annoying to all, “Pro Christo! Pro Christo!”
But the lions, though hungry, did not hasten to their victims. The
ruddy light in the arena dazzled them and they half closed their eyes as
if dazed. Some stretched their yellowish bodies lazily; some, opening
their jaws, yawned,—one might have said that they wanted to show their
terrible teeth to the audience. But later the odor of blood and torn
bodies, many of which were lying on the sand, began to act on them.
Soon their movements became restless, their manes rose, their nostrils
drew in the air with hoarse sound. One fell suddenly on the body of a
woman with a torn face, and, lying with his fore paws on the body,
licked with a rough tongue the stiffened blood: another approached a man
who was holding in his arms a child sewed up in a fawn’s skin.
The child, trembling from crying, and weeping, clung convulsively to the
neck of its father; he, to prolong its life even for a moment, tried to
pull it from his neck, so as to hand it to those kneeling farther on.
But the cry and the movement irritated the lion. All at once he gave
out a short, broken roar, killed the child with one blow of his paw, and
seizing the head of the father in his jaws, crushed it in a twinkle.
At sight of this all the other lions fell upon the crowd of Christians.
Some women could not restrain cries of terror; but the audience drowned
these with plaudits, which soon ceased, however, for the wish to see
gained the mastery. They beheld terrible things then: heads
disappearing entirely in open jaws, breasts torn apart with one blow,
hearts and lungs swept away; the crushing of bones under the teeth of
lions. Some lions, seizing victims by the ribs or loins, ran with mad
springs through the arena, as if seeking hidden places in which to
devour them; others fought, rose on their hind legs, grappled one
another like wrestlers, and filled the amphitheatre with thunder.
People rose from their places. Some left their seats, went down lower
through the passages to see better, and crowded one another mortally.
It seemed that the excited multitude would throw itself at last into the
arena, and rend the Christians in company with the lions. At moments an
unearthly noise was heard; at moments applause; at moments roaring,
rumbling, the clashing of teeth, the howling of Molossian dogs; at times
only groans.
Cæsar, holding the emerald to his eye, looked now with attention. The
face of Petronius assumed an expression of contempt and disgust. Chilo
had been borne out of the Circus.
But from the cuniculum new victims were driven forth continually.
From the highest row in the amphitheatre the Apostle Peter looked at
them. No one saw him, for all heads were turned to the arena; so he
rose and as formerly in the vineyard of Cornelius he had blessed for
death and eternity those who were intended for imprisonment, so now he
blessed with the cross those who were perishing under the teeth of wild
beasts. He blessed their blood, their torture, their dead bodies turned
into shapeless masses, and their souls flying away from the bloody sand.
Some raised their eyes to him, and their faces grew radiant; they smiled
when they saw high above them the sign of the cross. But his heart was
rent, and he said, “O Lord! let Thy will be done. These my sheep perish
to Thy glory in testimony of the truth. Thou didst command me to feed
them; hence I give them to Thee, and do Thou count them, Lord, take
them, heal their wounds, soften their pain, give them happiness greater
than the torments which they suffered here.”
And he blessed them one after another, crowd after crowd, with as much
love as if they had been his children whom he was giving directly into
the hands of Christ. Then Cæsar, whether from madness, or the wish that
the exhibition should surpass everything seen in Rome so far, whispered
a few words to the prefect of the city. He left the podium and went at
once to the cuniculum. Even the populace were astonished when, after a
while, they saw the gratings open again. Beasts of all kinds were let
out this time,—tigers from the Euphrates, Numidian panthers, bears,
wolves, hyenas, and jackals. The whole arena was covered as with a
moving sea of striped, yellow, flax-colored, dark-brown, and spotted
skins. There rose a chaos in which the eye could distinguish nothing
save a terrible turning and twisting of the backs of wild beasts. The
spectacle lost the appearance of reality, and became as it were an orgy
of blood, a dreadful dream, a gigantic kaleidoscope of mad fancy. The
measure was surpassed. Amidst roars, howls, whines, here and there on
the seats of the spectators were heard the terrified and spasmodic
laughter of women, whose strength had given way at last. The people
were terrified. Faces grew dark. Various voices began to cry, “Enough!
enough!”
But it was easier to let the beasts in than drive them back again.
Cæsar, however, found a means of clearing the arena, and a new amusement
for the people. In all the passages between the seats appeared
detachments of Numidians, black and stately, in feathers and earrings,
with bows in their hands. The people divined what was coming, and
greeted the archers with a shout of delight. The Numidians approached
the railing, and, putting their arrows to the strings, began to shoot
from their bows into the crowd of beasts. That was a new spectacle
truly. Their bodies, shapely as if cut from dark marble, bent backward,
stretched the flexible bows, and sent bolt after bolt. The whizzing of
the strings and the whistling of the feathered missiles were mingled
with the howling of beasts and cries of wonder from the audience.
Wolves, bears, panthers, and people yet alive fell side by side. Here
and there a lion, feeling a shaft in his ribs, turned with sudden
movement, his jaws wrinkled from rage, to seize and break the arrow.
Others groaned from pain. The small beasts, falling into a panic, ran
around the arena at random, or thrust their heads into the grating;
meanwhile the arrows whizzed and whizzed on, till all that was living
had lain down in the final quiver of death.
Hundreds of slaves rushed into the arena armed with spades, shovels,
brooms, wheelbarrows, baskets for carrying out entrails, and bags of
sand. They came, crowd after crowd, and over the whole circle there
seethed up a feverish activity. The space was soon cleared of bodies,
blood, and mire, dug over, made smooth, and sprinkled with a thick layer
of fresh sand. That done, Cupids ran in, scattering leaves of roses,
lilies, and the greatest variety of flowers. The censers were ignited
again, and the velarium was removed, for the sun had sunk now
considerably. But people looked at one another with amazement, and
inquired what kind of new spectacle was waiting for them on that day.
Indeed, such a spectacle was waiting as no one had looked for. Cæsar,
who had left the podium some time before, appeared all at once on the
flowery arena, wearing a purple mantle, and a crown of gold. Twelve
choristers holding citharæ followed him. He had a silver lute, and
advanced with solemn tread to the middle, bowed a number of times to the
spectators, raised his eyes, and stood as if waiting for inspiration.
Then he struck the strings and began to sing,—
“O radiant son of Leto, Ruler of Tenedos, Chilos, Chrysos, Art thou he
who, having in his care The sacred city of Ilion, Could yield it to
Argive anger, And suffer sacred altars, Which blazed unceasingly to his
honor, To be stained with Trojan blood? Aged men raised trembling hands
to thee, O thou of the far-shooting silver bow, Mothers from the depth
of their breasts Raised tearful cries to thee, Imploring pity on their
offspring. Those complaints might have moved a stone, But to the
suffering of people Thou, O Smintheus, wert less feeling than a stone!”
The song passed gradually into an elegy, plaintive and full of pain. In
the Circus there was silence. After a while Cæsar, himself affected,
sang on,—
“With the sound of thy heavenly lyre Thou couldst drown the wailing, The
lament of hearts. At the sad sound of this song The eye to-day is filled
with tears, As a flower is filled with dew, But who can raise from dust
and ashes That day of fire, disaster, ruin? O Smintheus, where wert thou
then?”
Here his voice quivered and his eyes grew moist. Tears appeared on the
lids of the vestals; the people listened in silence before they burst
into a long unbroken storm of applause.
Meanwhile from outside through the vomitoria came the sound of creaking
vehicles on which were placed the bloody remnants of Christians, men,
women, and children, to be taken to the pits called “puticuli.”
But the Apostle Peter seized his trembling white head with his hands,
and cried in spirit,—
“O Lord, O Lord! to whom hast Thou given rule over the earth, and why
wilt Thou found in this place Thy capital?”
THE sun had lowered toward its setting, and seemed to dissolve in the
red of the evening. The spectacle was finished. Crowds were leaving the
amphitheatre and pouring out to the city through the passages called
vomitoria. Only Augustians delayed; they were waiting for the stream of
people to pass. They had all left their seats and assembled at the
podium, in which Cæsar appeared again to hear praises. Though the
spectators had not spared plaudits at the end of the song, Nero was not
satisfied; he had looked for enthusiasm touching on frenzy. In vain did
hymns of praise sound in his ears; in vain did vestals kiss his “divine”
hand, and while doing so Rubria bent till her reddish hair touched his
breast. Nero was not satisfied, and could not hide the fact. He was
astonished and also disturbed because Petronius was silent. Some
flattering and pointed word from his mouth would have been a great
consolation at that moment. Unable at last to restrain himself, Cæsar
beckoned to the arbiter.
“Speak,” said he, when Petronius entered the podium.
“I am silent,” answered Petronius, coldly, “for I cannot find words.
Thou hast surpassed thyself.”
“So it seemed to me too; but still
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