 III. CHAPTER XVIII. For three days, or rather three nights, nothing disturbed the peace of the lovers, after the usual prison work which consisted of separating the dead from the living and those who were very ill from those who were moderately so, had been completed, and after the tired jailers had gone to sleep in the corridors, Vinicius would enter the dungeon in which Ligia was, and remain there until the dawn. She put her head on his breast, and in low voices they conversed of love and death. By degrees their thoughts and conversation, even their desires and hopes, turned more and more from life, and they lost a realising sense of it. Both were like people who, having left the land behind them in a ship, see the shore no more, and go out gradually into the infinite. Both were transformed by degrees into sad spirits enamoured of each other and of Christ, and ready to fly away. Only at times did pain like a storm enter the breast of Vinicius. At times like lightning there flashed through him a hope born of love and faith in the mercy of the crucified God, but more and more he abstracted his mind from the world and turned his thoughts to death. In the morning, when he emerged from the prison, he regarded the world, the city, his friends, and all the affairs of life as though in a dream. Everything seemed to him strange, distant, empty and vain. Even torture ceased to terrify him, since it might be passed through with thoughts and eyes fixed on other things. Both he and Ligia felt as if already they were entering eternity. They talked about how they would love each other and live together beyond the grave. If their thoughts turned sometimes toward worldly things, it was as the thoughts of people who, setting out for a long journey, discussed the preparations for the road. Moreover, they were surrounded by a silence such as might surround two columns standing forgotten in the solitude of a desert. They desired only that Christ should not separate them, and as every moment strengthened the faith of both, they loved him as a link which was to unite them in infinite bliss and repose. Though still on earth the dust of earth fell from them, their souls became pure as tears. With death staring them in the face, environed by misery and suffering, yea, in that very prison heaven had begun. For she had taken him by the hand and had led him, as one already saved and sainted, towards the source of eternal life. Petronius was astonished to see on the face of Venisius an expression of calmness and marvelous serenity which he had never noticed before. At times he imagined that Venisius must have evolved some plan of rescue and was peaked that he had not confided in him. Finally he could stand it no longer and said, Thou hast a look of another man, keep no secrets from me, for I desire and am able to help thee. What is thy plan? I have a plan, answered Venisius, but thou canst not help me. After her death I will confess I am a Christian, and then I shall follow her. As though then no hope, oh yes, Christ will give her back to me, and afterwards we shall never be parted. Petronius paced up and down the room with an air of disapproval and impatience. Thou dost not need Christ for this, he said at last, for our own Thanatos can render the same service. Venisius smiled sadly and said, No, my friend, thou dost not understand. I do not want to, and I cannot. This is not a time for argument, but dost thou remember thine own words after we failed to rescue her from the Tullianum? I lost all hope, but after we returned home, thou didst say, Still I believe that Christ will restore her to me. Let him restore her now. Should I cast a costly goblet into the sea, no one of our gods could restore it to me. If thy God is also powerless, why should I honour him above the ancient ones? But he will restore her to me, said Venisius. Petronius made a gesture of impatience. Dost thou know, he asked, that tomorrow Caesar's garden will be illuminated with Christians? Tomorrow, repeated Venisius, and in a face of a near and dread reality his heart was shaken with agony and apprehension. He thought that this night might be the last which he could pass with Ligia. So, taking leave of Petronius, he hastened to get his credentials from the overseer of the pits. But a disappointment was in store for him, for the overseer refused to give it to him. Pardon me, master, he said, I have done what I could for thee, but I cannot risk my life. Tonight they will take the Christians to the gardens of Caesar. The prison will be filled with soldiers and officials. Should they recognise thee, I and my family would perish. Venisius saw that it would be vain to insist. He hoped, however, that the soldiers who had seen him before would admit him without the credentials. So, when night approached, he disguised himself in the tunic that he had formerly worn, and with covered head winded his way toward the prison, only to find that on this day the credentials were scrutinised with particular care. What was more, the Centurion Scevenus, a strict disciplinarian, devoted entirely to Caesar, recognised Venisius. But evidently in his heart, beneath his steel armour, there yet beat some compassion for misfortune. Instead of striking his spear against his shield as an alarm, he pulled Venisius aside and said, Master, go home. I recognise thee, but not wishing thy death I shall keep silent. I cannot admit thee. Go thou hints, and may the gods console thee. Thou canst not admit me, said Venisius, but suffer me to remain here and watch those who are led forth. I have no orders against that, said Scevenus. Venisius stood before the gate and waited till the prisoners should appear. At last, about midnight, the gates were thrown open and there appeared long lines of prisoners, men, women and children, surrounded by armed detachments of Praetorians. The night was very bright, for the moon was full, and it was easy to identify not only the forms, but the faces of the unfortunate. They marched in pairs, in a long gloomy procession, amidst silence broken only by the den of weapons. So many were led forth that it seemed as if all the dungeons must be emptied. Towards the end of the procession Venisius caught a glimpse of Glocus, the physician, but he did not see either Ligia or Ursus among the condemned. CHAPTER XIX Evening had not yet come when crowds of people began to gather in the gardens of Caesar. They were decked in holiday attire and crowned with wreaths, and joyously broke out into songs. Some were intoxicated. All had come to see the new and magnificent spectacle. Cries of Samaxii, Samaxii, echoed in the Via Tecta, on the bridge of Emilius, and from the other side of the Tiber, on the triumphal way, around the Circus of Nero, and far off on the Vatican hill. People had been burned at the stake before in Rome, but never had there been such a number of victims. Caesar and Tijellinus, in order to have done with the Christians and to suppress the plague which was spreading from the prisons all over the city, had ordered all the dungeons to be emptied so that there remained in them only a handful of people, destined for the close of the spectacle. Consequently, when the crowds had passed the gates of the gardens, they were greatly astonished. All the main and lesser walks which led through dense groves and along lawns, thickets, ponds, and dales, strewn with flowers, were studded with stakes smeared with pitch, to which the Christians were fastened. In higher places where the view was not obstructed by trees, whole rows of stakes were to be seen, and bodies decked with flowers and ivy leaves. These rows extended over the hills and dales so far that, whereas the nearest looked like the masts of vessels, the farthest off seemed like colored darts or staffs thrust in the earth. The number of them surpassed all expectations. It seemed as if an entire nation had been fastened to the stakes, to make a Roman and Imperial holiday. Groups of spectators stopped before individuals stakes win the form, the sex or the age of the victims attracted them. They looked at the faces, the wreaths, the garlands of ivy, and then went on and on to other stakes, asking themselves in amazement how there could be so many guilty, or how could children scarcely able to walk unaided have set fire to Rome. The astonishment changed gradually into fear. Meantime darkness fell and the first stars appeared in the sky. By the side of every victim appeared a slave with a lighted torch in his hand. When from various parts of the gardens came the sounds of trumpets as a signal for the commencement of the performance, each slave put his torch under the stake. The pitch-covered straw concealed under flowers at once caught fire. The flames increased rapidly, withered the garlands and leaping upward licked the feet of the victims. A hush fell upon the spectators. The gardens echoed with one vast groan and with cries of pain. Many of the victims, however, lifted their faces towards the starry heavens and sang hymns in praise of Christ. The people listened, but the stoniest hearts among them were touched with pity when from the smaller stakes arose the heart-rending cries of children, Mama, Mama! A tremor shook even the spectators who were intoxicated when they saw the little heads and innocent faces distorted with pain or choking in the smoke which was stifling them. But the flames leaped up still higher and swept away new wreaths of roses and ivy. The flames leaped up and in their light could be seen groups of trees and meadows and flowery dales. The water in pools and lakes reflected the light. The trembling leaves of the trees reddened in the glow. Everywhere it was as light as day. The odor of burning bodies filled the gardens, but immediately slaves sprinkled aloes into incense burners placed among the stakes. From the crowds arose cries whether of compassion or delight who could tell. The cries rose with the flames which embraced the stakes, climbed to the breasts of victims, shriveled with its burning breath the hair on their heads, licked their faces until they were black and charred, and then shot up higher as if to display the victory and triumph of the power at whose command they had burst forth. At the beginning of the spectacle Caesar had appeared in a splendid chariot drawn by four white steeds and dressed as a charioteer in the color of the greens, the party to which he and the court belonged. After him followed other chariots with courteurs in brilliant costumes, senators, priests, bacontes, with wreaths on their heads and pitchers of wine in their hands, partly drunk and uttering wild cries. By the side of these were musicians disguised as fawns or satyrs who played on loots, harps, flutes and horns. In other chariots were Roman matrons and maidens also drunk and half-naked. About the chariots ran men who shook staffs decorated with ribbons, others beat drums, others scattered flowers. The brilliant pageant moved onward, shouting, along the widest road of the garden amidst the smoke and the living torches. Caesar, keeping near him Tijolinas and Kylo, whose terror he enjoyed, drove the steeds himself and proceeding slowly looked at the burning bodies and listened to the cries of the populace. Standing on the high golden chariot, surrounded by a sea of people who bowed to his feet in the glare of the fire, crowned with a wreath of a circus-victor, he rose above the courteurs and the crowd. He appeared gigantic. His immense arms stretched out to hold the reins seemed to bless the people, a smile played over his face and in his blinking eyes. As a son or a god, he shone above the throng, terrible but splendid and mighty. At times he stopped to look closer at some maiden whose bosom had begun to blacken in the fire or at the face of a child distorted with agony, and then he went on leading a wild and frenzied retinue. At times he bowed to the people, and then again, bending backward, he drew in the golden reins and conversed with Tijolinas. Finally, when he had reached a large fountain at the crossing of two roads, he alighted from the chariot and beckoning to his followers mixed with the crowd. He was greeted with shouts and applause, the cantes, the nymphs, the senators and Augustalis, the priests, the fawns, the satyrs and soldiers, surrounded him in an excited circle, but he, with Tijolinas on one side and Kylo on the other, walked around the fountain, about which were burning torches. Stopping before each one, he made remarks about the victims or ridiculed the old Greek whose face betrayed horror and a fright. At last he stopped before a tall mast decked with myrtle and ivy. The red tongues of fire had reached to the knees of the victim, but it was impossible to see his face, for fresh-burning twigs veiled it with smoke. In a little while, however, a breeze turned aside the smoke and unveiled the head of an old man with a white beard falling over his breast. At sight of him Kylo wriggled like a wounded snake and gave a cry resembling a raven's car rather than a human voice, Glockus, Glockus! It was indeed the face of Glockus that gazed at him from the burning stake. The physician was still alive, his face indicated pain and was inclined forward as if he wished to look closely for the last time upon his persecutor, upon the man who had betrayed him, who had robbed him of wife and children, who had hired an assassin to kill him, and who, after all this, had been forgiven in the name of Christ, had delivered him into the hands of the executioners. Never had any man outraged another in a more bloody and frightful manner, and now the victim was dying at the burning stake and the persecutor was standing at his feet. The eyes of Glockus looked directly into those of the Greek. At times smoke hid him, but when the breeze blew this away Kylo saw again those eyes gazing at him. He tried to flee, but could not. His legs seemed to have turned into lead. He thought that some unseen hand held him before that stake. He was petrified. He felt that something had given way within him, that he had had enough of tortures and blood, that his end was approaching and that everything was vanishing. Caesar, the court, the crowds. A black and frightful solitude encircled him, in which nothing was visible saved the fiery eyes of the martyr, which summoned him to judgment. Glockus, bending his head still lower, stared fixedly at him. All present divined that something was passing between those two men. Laughter died on their lips, for in Kylo's face there was something terrible. Such fear and pain distorted it, as if the tongues of fire were burning his own flesh. Suddenly he reeled, and stretching imploring arms upward, he cried in a terrible and heart-rending voice, Glockus, in the name of Christ, forgive me. A deep silence fell all about. A shiver ran through the spectators, and all eyes were raised involuntarily. The head of the martyr moved slightly, and then, from the top of the mast, there came a voice like a groan. I forgive thee. Kylo fell down upon his face and howled like a wild beast. Taking up sand with his hands, he strewed it upon his head. Meantime, the flames shot up and licked the breast and face of Glockus. The myrtle crown upon his head began to burn, and also the ribbon on top of the pole, the hole of which blazed with flames. Kylo rose after a time, with a face so changed that to the Augustalis he seemed like another man. His eyes shone with an extraordinary light, joy spread over his wrinkled forehead. The Greek, who a minute ago seemed so helpless, looked now like a priest inspired by divinity, and panting to reveal new truths. What is the matter? Has he gone crazy? asked a number of voices. But he turned towards the multitude, and raising his right hand, cried, or rather shouted, in a voice so loud that not only the Augustalis, but the multitudes heard it. Oh, Roman people, I swear to ye that the innocent are perishing. Behold the incendiary! And he pointed his finger at Nero. A hush of silence followed. The courteurs were petrified. Kylo continued to stand with arm outstretched and with finger pointing at Nero. All at once a tumult broke out. The people, like a wave urged by a whirlwind, rushed towards the old man to get a better view of him. Here and there were heard cries, seize him! In other places, woe to us! Among the crowds arose hisses and shouts, Bronsbeard, Matricide, incendiary! The uproars grew louder at every moment. The Bacontes, shouting wildly, sought the shelter of the chariots. Then some of the stakes, having burnt through, fell down, and scattering sparks about them increased the confusion. A blind, mad wave of people caught Kylo and swept him into the interior of the garden. The stakes began to burn through in every direction and to fall across the roads, filling the alleyways with smoke, sparks, and the smell of burnt wood and human flesh. The nearer lights went out, it grew dark. The terrified crowds pressed towards the gates. News of what had occurred spread rapidly, and was changed and augmented as it passed from mouth to mouth. Some said that Caesar had swooned, others that he had confessed that he had ordered Rome to be set on fire, still others that he had been taken seriously ill, and that he had been born out in a chariot in a dying condition. Here and there were heard voices of sympathy for the Christians. If they had not burned Rome, why then all this blood, torture, and injustice, would not the gods avenge the innocent and what sacrifices would placate them? The words innocent people were repeated oftener and oftener. Women expressed aloud their pity for the children, so many of whom had been thrown to wild beasts, or had been crucified or burned in those cursed gardens. Finally compassion changed into maledictions against Caesar and Tijellinus. There were some also who asked themselves or others, what kind of a god is this who gives such strength to meet torture and death, and they went towards their homes in meditation? Kylo, however, roamed about the gardens, not knowing where to go or what to do. Again he felt himself a sick and helpless old man. Now he stumbled over half-burned corpses, now he trod on embers which sent after him a shower of sparks. Now he sat down and gazed about him with a vacant stare. Already the gardens were becoming dark. The trees no longer stood out in a red glare. Only the pale moon lighted the alleys, the dark pillars fallen across them, and the partly consumed victims changed into formless lumps. But the old Greek thought that still in the moonlight he could see the face of Glacus, with eyes fixed upon him. Shunning the light he hid himself amid the shadows. Finally, however, he emerged again, and as if led by some hidden force, directed his steps towards the fountain beside which Glacus had expired. A hand touched his shoulder. The old man turned and, seeing an unknown person before him, cried out with terror, What Thou? Pole of Tarsus, the apostle, I am accursed, what does Thou desire? I wish to save thee. Kylo leaned against a tree, his legs trembled beneath him, and his arms hung down by his sides. There is no salvation for me, he said despairingly. As though not heard that Christ forgave the thief upon the cross, asked Paul, Does thou know what I have done? I beheld thy distress and heard thee bear witness to the truth. O master, the servant of Christ forgave thee in the hour of agony and death. Why then should not Christ forgive thee? Kylo bowed his head on his hands as if bewildered. Forgiveness, forgiveness, for me! Our God is a God of mercy, said the apostle. For me! repeated Kylo, and he began to groan like a man who is too feeble to restrain his pain and suffering. Take my arm and come with me. And, taking him upon his arm, Paul went towards the crossing of the roads, guided by the murmur of the fountain, which seemed to mourn in the stillness of the night over the bodies of the martyrs. Our God is a God of mercy, said the apostle again. Wilt thou to stand on the shore and cast pebbles into the sea? Couldst thou fill up its depths? I tell thee that the mercy of Christ is like the sea, and that the sins and transgressions of men disappear in it like the pebbles. I tell thee that it is like the sky which covers lands and mountains and seas, for it is everywhere and is without limit and without end. Thou hast suffered at the stake of Glockus. Christ beheld thy anguish. Regardless of what might happen on the morrow, thou didst say, Behold the incendiary. Christ will remember thy words. Thy depravity and falsehood are gone. In thy heart there remains only contrition. Follow me and harken to my words. I am he who hated Christ and persecuted the elect. I did not desire him and did not believe in him, until he appeared before me and called me. Since that time he is my love, and now he has visited thee with compunction and fear and agony in order to call thee to himself. Thou didst hate him, but he loved thee. Thou didst deliver his followers to torture, but he will forgive thee and save thee. Great sobs shook the breast of the wretched man and rent his soul to its depths, but Paul embraced him, comforted him, and led him away as a soldier leads a captive. After a time the apostle spoke again, Come with me, I will lead thee to him. For why else would I come to thee? He commanded me to gather souls in the name of love, and I obey his command. Thou believest thyself to be damned, but I say to thee, believe in him, and salvation awaits thee. Thou considerest that thou art hated, but I tell thee once more that he loves thee. Look at me! When I possessed him not, I possessed nothing save the malice which dwelt in my heart, but now his love takes the place of father and mother, of riches and power. In him alone is refuge. He will consider thy penitence, will have mercy on thy misery, will free thee from fear and raise thee to himself. So speaking he led him to the fountain whose silvery spray gleamed in the light of the moon. Silence reigned all about and the gardens were deserted, for slaves had already removed the charred stakes and the bodies of the martyrs. Kylo fell upon his knees with a groan, and hiding his face in his hands remained motionless. But Paul raised his face towards the stars and prayed, O Lord, behold this wretched man, his sorrow, his tears and his agony, O Lord of mercy, who did shed thy blood for our sins, forgive him through thy passion, thy death, and thy resurrection. Then he was silent, but for a long time he looked upward at the stars and prayed. Meantime at his feet arose a cry like a groan, O Christ, forgive me! Then Paul approached the fountain and, dipping water in his hand, he returned to the kneeling wretch. Kylo, I baptize thee in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen. Kylo raised his head, and crossing his arms remained motionless. The moon shone full upon his white hairs, and upon the equally white face, still as if dead or chiseled out of stone. The moments passed. From the great aviaries in the gardens of Domitian came the crowing of cocks, but Kylo remained in his kneeling posture like a monument. Finally he arose and said to the apostle, What shall I do before death? Paul roused from his meditation on the boundless power that moved even such minds as that of the Greek answered, Have faith and testify to the truth. They went out together. At the gates of the garden the apostle blessed the old man once more, and then they parted. Kylo insisted upon this, because he foresaw that after what had happened both Caesar and Tijalinas would give orders that he should be pursued. His presentiment was fulfilled. When he returned home he found the house surrounded by Praetorians, who seized him, and, under the direction of Skevinus, took him to the palace. Caesar had retired, but Tijalinas was waiting. As soon as he saw the wretched Greek he greeted him with a calm though ominous face. Thou art guilty of treason, said he, and punishment will not be spared thee, but shouldst thou confess to-morrow in the ante-chamber that thou art drunk and mad, and that the instigators of the conflagration were the Christians, thy punishment will be reduced to flogging and expulsion. I cannot do that, said Kylo. Tijalinas approached him with a slow step and said in a low but terrible voice, How is that dog worth thou not drunk, and dost thou not understand what is awaiting thee? Look there! And he pointed to a corner of the chamber where, beside the long wooden bench stood four Thracian slaves with cords and pincers in their hands. But Kylo replied, I cannot! Rage seized Tijalinas, but he restrained himself. As thou seen, he asked how Christians die, dost thou wish to die in the same way? The old man raised his pale face, his lips moved silently for a time, then he said, I also believe in Christ. Tijalinas looked at him in surprise. Dog, aren't thou mad? Suddenly the rage which had accumulated in his breast burst forth. Springing at Kylo, he caught his beard with both hands, threw him upon the floor, and trampled on him, repeating with foam upon his lips, Thou shalt retract, thou shalt! I cannot! said the prostrate Kylo. Take him to the rack. At this order the Thracians seized the old man and laid him on the bench, then fastening him to it with cords, they began to squeeze his lean legs with pincers. But he kissed their hands with humility as they bound him to the bench, and then he closed his eyes and seemed dead. He was alive, however, for when Tijalinas bent over him and asked him once more, wilt thou retract? His pale lips moved slightly, and he whispered, I cannot! Tijalinas ordered the torture to be stopped. Helpless, his face distorted by anger, he strode up and down the room. At last a new thought came to his head. He turned to the Thracians and said, tear out his tongue. End of Part 3, Chapter 19 Part 3, Chapter 20 of Quo Vadis, A Tale of the Time of Nero. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Quo Vadis by Henrik Sinkiewicz, translated by Benyonant Milevsky. Part 3, Chapter 20 The drama entitled Oriolis was usually performed in theatres or amphitheaters, so arranged that they could open and present, as it were, two separate stages. But after the spectacle in Caesar's gardens this device was discarded, for in this case it was essential that the greatest number of spectators could enjoy the death of a crucified slave who is devoured by a bear. In the theatre the role of the bear was played by an actor sewed up in a bear skin, but this time a real bear was to appear upon the scene. This was a new device of Tijalinas. At first Caesar announced that he would not come, but at the urgent request of his favourite he changed his mind. Tijalinas convinced him that after what had happened in the gardens he ought to show himself to the people, and at the same time assured him that the crucified slave would not abuse him as had Christmas. The people were becoming sated and tired of bloodshed. Consequently a new distribution of lottery tickets and gifts was announced, as well as a banquet, for the performance was to be given at night in a brilliantly illuminated amphitheater. By dusk the whole building was packed, the Augustalis, with Tijalinas at their head, came in a body, not so much for the sake of the performers as to show their devotion to Caesar and their opinion of Kylo about whom all Rome was talking. It was rumoured that Caesar, after his return from the gardens, had fallen into a frenzy and could not sleep, that fears and strange apparitions tormented him, in consequence of which he announced the next morning that he would soon depart for Achia. But others denied this and expressed an opinion that Caesar would now be all the more relentless against the Christians. Cowards also were not lacking, who predicted that the accusation which Kylo had flung into Caesar's face might have the worst possible consequences. Finally there were others who, through humanity, petitioned Tijalinas to stop further persecution. Behold what is happening, said Barcus Soranus. Thou wished to satisfy the anger of the people and to convince them that the guilty were being punished, but the result is just the opposite. That is true, added Antisius Varus. All now whisper to one another that the Christians are innocent. If that be cleverness, then Kylo was right in saying that thy brains would not fill an acorn's cup. Tijalinas turned to them and said, Barcus Soranus, people also whisper that thy daughter Servilia screamed her Christian slaves from the justice of Caesar. The same thing they say also of thy wife Antisius. That is false, exclaimed Barcus in alarm. Thy divorced women, said Antisius Varus, with equal alarm, wished to ruin my wife because they are envious of her virtue. But others talked of Kylo. What is the matter with him? said Epirus Marcellus. He himself delivered the Christians into the hands of Tijalinas. From a beggar he became wealthy. It was possible for him to live out his days in peace, to have a grand funeral and a fine tomb. But now what has happened? All at once he chooses to lose everything and ruin himself. Without doubt he must be mad. He is not mad, but he has become a Christian, said Tijalinas. Impossible, said Vitelius. Have I not said, remarked Vesteneus, that he may butcher Christians but he cannot war against their deity? It is no joking matter. See what is taking place. I did not set Rome on fire, but should Caesar permit me I should immediately sacrifice a hecatome to the Christian God. And all should do the same thing, because I repeat, it is no joking matter. Remember what I have said. And I said something else, said Patronius. Tijalinas laughed at me when I asserted that the Christians were arming, but now I say more they are conquering. How is that? What do you mean? asked a number of voices. By Pollux, if such a man as Kylo could not resist him, who can? If you think that after every spectacle the numbers of Christians do not increase, then you had better become potters or barbers, for you will then find out what people think and what is going on in the city. He speaks the truth by the holy garment of Diana, cried Vesteneus. But Barcus turned to Patronius and said, What is thy conclusion? I conclude where thou didst begin. There has been enough of bloodshed. Tijalinas looked at him scornfully and said, Nay, a little more. If thy head does not suffice thee, thou hast another on thy cane, retorted Patronius. The arrival of Caesar interrupted the conversation. Caesar took his place with Pythagoras next to him. The performance of Oriolis began immediately, but nobody paid much attention to it, for the minds of the audience were fixed on Kylo. The people, tired of torture and blood, began to hiss and to shout out uncomplementary remarks and to call for the bear scene, which was the only thing they cared to see. Had it not been for the promised gifts and the hope of seeing Kylo, the show would not have held the crowd. At length the looked-for moment came. The circus servants first brought in a wooden cross, low enough to allow the bear, standing on his hind legs, to reach the breast of the victim, then two men dragged in Kylo, for, as the bones in his legs were broken, he could not walk. He was nailed to the cross so quickly that the curious Augustalis had not a good look at him, and only after the cross had been fixed in the place prepared for it did all eyes gain a view of the victim. But few could recognize Kylo in this naked old man, after the tortures which Tijelinas had inflicted, not a drop of blood remained in his face, and only on his beard was to be seen a red spot caused by the blood after his tongue had been torn out. It was almost impossible to see his bones through the transparent skin. He seemed to have grown much older, also. His eyes formerly had cast glances filled with malice and ill-will, his face had before reflected alarm and uncertainty, but now, though it had an expression of pain, it was calm and serene as the faces of the sleeping or the dead. Perhaps he was comforted by the memory of the crucified thief whom Christ forgave, or perhaps he said in his soul to the merciful God, O Lord, I bit like a venomous worm, but all my life I was unfortunate. I was hungry, but people trampled upon me, beat me, and jeered at me. I was poor and very unhappy, and now they put me to torture, and I am hanging on a cross. But thou, O merciful one, will not reject me in the hour of my death. Evidently peace came to his penitent heart. No one laughed, for in this crucified man there was something pathetic. He seemed so old, so defenseless, so feeble, and his humility invited compassion, so that each one asked himself why men should be crucified and nailed to crosses who would soon die in any case. The crowd was silent. Among the Praetorians, Vestinius, looking to right and left, whispered in a frightened voice, See how they die! Others were looking for the bear and wishing a speedy end to the spectacle. The bear appeared at last in the arena, and swaying his drooping head from side to side, he looked about as if seeking for something. When he saw the cross with the naked body upon it, he approached and stood on his hind legs. After a moment he dropped down and, sitting beneath the cross, began to growl as if in his heart there were pity for this poor remnant of a man. The servants of the circus urged on the bear with cries, but the people were silent. Meanwhile Kylo raised his head slowly, and looked at the audience for some time. At last his eyes rested somewhere among the highest tears of the amphitheater. His breast began to heave, and then appeared something which caused wonder and astonishment. His face lighted with a smile. Array of light seemed to encircle his forehead. His eyes were raised, and two great tears rolled down his cheeks. Suddenly he expired, and at the same moment a man's voice rang out from under the awning, Peace to the martyrs! In the amphitheater deep silence reigned. CHAPTER XXI After the performance in Caesar's gardens the prisons were almost empty. New victims indeed, suspected of the Oriental superstition, were still seized and imprisoned, but fewer and fewer people were captured, so that it was difficult to fill out the program of the spectacles which were approaching. The people had become sated with blood, they evenced great weariness and increasing alarm on account of the unparalleled conduct of the victims, fears like those of the superstitious Vestinius spread among thousands of people. More and more the people talked of the vengefulness of the Christian God. The prison fever which had spread all over the city increased the general dread. Funerals were frequent. It was reported that fresh victims were needed to placate the unknown God. In the temples sacrifices were offered to Jove and Libertina. At last, in spite of all the efforts of Tijalinas and his followers, the belief spread rapidly that the city had been set on fire at the command of Caesar, and that the Christians were suffering innocently. But for this very reason Nero and Tijalinas continued the persecution. To placate the people fresh orders were issued to distribute corn, wine, and oil. New rules were proclaimed to facilitate the rebuilding of houses, and these rules granted special privileges to the owners. New ordinances were given out also as to the width of the streets and the materials to be used for building, so as to avoid fires in the future. Caesar himself participated in the sessions of the Senate, and counseled with the Fathers as to the welfare of the people and the city. But no favor was granted to the doomed. The ruler of the world desired to impress upon the people the idea that such cruel punishment could be inflicted only upon the guilty. In the Senate no voice was raised in behalf of the Christians, for no one cared to risk Caesar's wrath. Besides, those who looked into the future asserted that the very foundations of the Roman Empire were threatened by the new creed. The dead and the dying were given to their families, as the Roman law took no vengeance on the dead. Venisius consoled himself to some extent with the thought that should Ligia die he would bury her in his family vault, and himself rest alongside of her. He lost all hope of saving her from death, half separated from life and absorbed in Christ, he did not now dream of any union save an eternal one. His faith had become so strong that eternity seemed to him something incomparably more real and true than the fleeting existence which he had lived up to that time. His heart overflowed with happiness. While yet alive he had become transformed into an almost immaterial being, which, longing after a complete deliverance for itself, desired it also for another. He imagined that, when freed from earthly bondage, he and Ligia would go hand in hand to heaven, where Christ would bless them and allow them to live forever in a light like that of the dawn. He only implored Christ to save Ligia from the torments of the circus and let her fall asleep in the prison, feeling that he himself would die simultaneously. In view of the enormous amount of blood which had been shed, he could not hope that she alone would be saved. He had heard from Peter and Paul that they too must die as martyrs. The sight of Kylo on the cross had convinced him that the death of a martyr could be sweet. Hence he desired it for both himself and Ligia as a change from a sad and wretched condition to something better. At times he experienced a foretaste of the afterlife. The sadness which hung over the souls of both was gradually losing its former burning bitterness and changing into a peaceful and heavenly submission to the will of God. Venisius, who formerly had striven against the current and had struggled and tortured himself, now let himself drift, believing that the stream would bear him into eternal rest. He divined also that Ligia, as well as himself, was preparing for death, that despite the walls of the prison which separated them, they were going onward together, and this thought brought him much happiness. In fact they were going onward together, just as if they had exchanged thoughts every day. Ligia had no desire or hope save the hope of an afterlife. She looked upon death not only as a deliverance from the terrible walls of the prison, from the hands of Caesar and Tijellinus, but as the wedding day with Venisius. Besides this certainty all else lost importance. After death there would begin for her even earthly happiness, so that she awaited it as a bride waits for the wedding day. The great current of faith which swept thousands of believers away from life and bore them beyond the grave seized Ursus also. He also for a long time could not resign himself to the thought of Ligia's death. But when every day through the prison walls came into the prison news of what was going on in the amphitheater and in the gardens, when death seemed the inevitable lot of all Christians and also their good, higher than any earthly idea of happiness, Ursus did not dare to ask Christ to deprive Ligia of such bliss or delay it for long years to come. In his simple barbarian soul he thought also that the daughter of the Ligian chief would possess more of those heavenly delights than the common crowd to which he himself belonged, and that she would sit nearer to the Lamb than others. Though he had heard that before God all are equal, still a conviction lingered at the bottom of his soul that the daughter of a chief, the chief of all the Ligians, was much better than a slave. He hoped also that Christ would allow him to continue to serve her. His dearest wish was to die on the cross like the Lamb, but this he considered bliss so great that he did not dare to pray for it. Although he knew that in Rome even the lowest criminals were crucified, he thought that he would certainly have to perish torn by the teeth and claws of wild beasts. This was a source of sorrow to him. From his childhood he had roamed through forests in pursuit of wild animals. While still a youth, thanks to his superhuman strength, he had become famous as a hunter among the Ligians. Hunting was his chief delight so much so that later, when in Rome, he visited the menagerie and the amphitheaters just to look at beasts known and unknown to him. The sight of these incited within him a great desire for struggle and killing. So now he feared that when he should meet the beasts in the arena he would be possessed by thoughts unbecoming a Christian whose duty was to die piously and patiently. But he committed himself to Christ and found other thoughts to console him. Hearing that the Lamb had declared war against the powers of hell and evil spirits, which according to the Christian creed included the pagan gods, he thought that in this conflict he might be of considerable service to the Lamb, and serve him all the better, because he believed that his soul must be stronger than that of others. He prayed through entire days, rendered service to the prisoners, helped the jailers, and consoled his princess, who regretted at times that in her short life she had not been able to perform as many good deeds as the famous Tabitha of whom the Apostle Peter had told her. Even the prison guards, who feared the great strength of the giant, since neither chains nor bars could restrain it, took a liking to him for his gentleness. Amazed at his serenity, they asked him the cause. He spoke with such certitude of the life that awaited him after death that they listened with astonishment, seeing for the first time that happiness might come into a dungeon whether the sun's rays could not penetrate. And when he exhorted them to believe in the Lamb, it struck more than one of them that his own service was the service of a slave, and his life the life of a wretched being, and more than one fell to thinking over his lot the end of which was death. But death brought new fear and promised nothing, whereas the giant and the maiden who resembled a flower cast upon the floor of the prison, these two looked upon death with delight as the gate of happiness. On a certain evening Skevinus, a senator, called upon Patronius and conversed with him at length about the grievous times in which they lived and also about Caesar. He spoke so openly that Patronius, though friendly, thought it best to be on his guard. Skevinus complained that the world was becoming mad, and that all must end in some calamity more terrible even than the burning of Rome. He said that even the Augustalis were discontented, that Fenius Rufus, second prefect of the Praetorians, endured only with the greatest effort the vile rule of Tijellinus, and that Seneca's entire family had been driven to the utmost despair by the conduct of Caesar towards his old master and towards Lucan. Finally he began to speak of the dissatisfaction of the people and even of the Praetorians, a considerable part of whom had been won over by Fenius Rufus. Why does thou talk in this manner? asked Patronius. Out of solicitude for Caesar, replied Skevinus, I have a distant relative among the Praetorians whose name is also Skevinus. From him I learn what is going on in the camp. Discontent is growing there also. Caligula was mad and see what happened. Cassius Chariot appeared. It was a terrible deed, and no one of us applauded it, but still Chariot freed the world from a monster. Or in other words, remarked Patronius, this is thy meaning. I do not praise Chariot, but he was an excellent man, and would that the gods gave us more like him. Skevinus changed the subject and began of a sudden to praise Piso, glorifying his family, his generosity, his attachment to his wife, and finally his intellect, his calmness, and his peculiar gift of winning people. Caesar is childless, said he, and all see his successor in Piso. Doubtless everyone would help Piso to ascend the throne. Phineas Rufus loves him. The family of Aeneas is entirely devoted to him. Blotius Lateranus and Tullius Sinisio would go through fire for him. Equally devoted to him are Natalius, and Suprius Flavius, and Sulpisius Asper, and Atranius Quenetianus, and even Vestinius. The last will not be of much avail to Piso, said Patronius. Vestinius is afraid of his own shadow. Vestinius believes in dreams and apparitions, said Skevinus, but he is a valiant man, who, rumor says, will be nominated for counsel. If in his heart he is opposed to persecuting the Christians, thou shouldst not blame him for it, for it concerns thee also that this madness should cease. Not for me but Venisius, said Patronius. On his account I should like to save a certain girl, but I cannot, because I have lost favour with Caesar. How is that? Dost thou not see that Caesar wishes to be friendly with thee again? And I will tell thee why. He intends returning to Achia, where he will sing Greek songs of his own composition. He is crazy about the trip, but trembles at the thought of the critical disposition of the Greeks. He imagines that a great triumph awaits him or a great failure. He needs good advice, and he knows that no one can counsel him as well as thou. That is the reason why thou art returning to favour. Lucan might take my place. Bronzebeard hates Lucan and destines him for death. He is awaiting a pretext, for he always seeks pretexts. Lucan understands that it is necessary to make haste. By Castor, said Patronius, this may be, but I have still another way to regain favour. What is it? To repeat to Bronzebeard what thou hast said to me just now. I have said nothing, said Skevenus aghast. Patronius laid his hand upon the other's shoulder. Thou hast called Caesar a madman, thou hast predicted the succession of Piso, and thou hast said Lucan understands that it is necessary to make haste what wouldst thou hasten, my dear friend? Skevenus grew pale, and for a moment the two looked at each other. Thou wilt not repeat? By the hips of Cyprus I will not. Thou knowest me well? No, I will not repeat. I have not heard anything, and I do not wish to hear anything. Does thou understand? Life is too short to take any trouble. I pray thee only to visit Tijellinus today, and talk with him as long as thou hast with me about anything that may please thee. What for? So that should Tijellinus some day say to me, Skevenus was with thee, I might retort, that same day he was also with thee. Skevenus, hearing this, broke the ivory cane which he held in his hand, and said, I will see Tijellinus today, and afterwards I will go to Nerva's banquet. Wilt not thou be there? But anyway we shall see each other the day after tomorrow in the amphitheater, where the remainder of the Christians will appear. Farewell. The day after tomorrow, repeated Petronius, when alone, there is no time to lose. Bronzebeard will need me in Achia, hence he may perhaps show some regard for my wishes. And he determined to try the last means. At Nerva's banquet Caesar himself asked that Petronius should occupy the seat opposite to him, because he wished to ask his advice about Achia, and about what cities he might appear in with the greatest chances of success. He feared most the Athenians. Other Augustalis listened to the conversation with attention, so as to retain in their memory the opinions of Petronius, and repeat them afterwards as their own. It seems to me as if I had not lived until this time, said Nero, and that I shall be born only in Greece. Thou wilt be born to new fame and immortality, said Petronius. I trust that it will be so, and that Apollo will not be jealous. Should I meet with success I will offer to him a hecateome such as no God has ever had before. Scevenus quoted the lines of Horus. The vessel is waiting at Naples, said Caesar. I should like to set out even tomorrow. Petronius arose, and looking straight at Nero said, Permit me, O divine one, first to celebrate a wedding feast, to which I shall invite thee before others. Wedding feast? What wedding feast? asked Nero. The wedding feast of Venetius with the daughter of the King of the Lydians, who is thy hostage. Though she is now in prison, as a hostage she is not subject to imprisonment. Thou thyself didst permit Venetius to marry her, and as thy decrees like those of Zeus are unchangeable, thou wilt order her to be set free, and I will give her to the bridegroom. The cool and calm self-possession with which Petronius spoke impressed Nero, who was always impressed by this method of addressing him. I know, he said, with his eyes cast down, I have thought of her and of the giant who choked Croto. Then both are saved, asked Petronius quietly, but Tijalinas came to the rescue of his master. She is in prison at the command of Caesar, and thou thyself hast said Petronius that his decrees are unchangeable. All present, knowing the history of Venetius and Lydia, understood the situation, and they preserved silence curious to see how the affair would end. She is in prison against the will of Caesar, through thy mistake and through thy ignorance of the law of nations, replied Petronius, laying stress upon his words. Thou art a dull man, Tijalinas, but even thou darest not assert that she set Rome on fire, for Caesar would not believe thee. But Nero had recovered himself, through his half-closed eyes shown indescribable malice. Petronius is right, he said after a while. Tijalinas looked at him with surprise. Petronius is right, repeated Nero. Tomorrow the gates of the prison will be open for her, as to the wedding feast. We will talk it over the day after tomorrow in the amphitheater. I have lost again, thought Petronius. When he had returned home he was so sure that Lydia's fate had been decided that he sent a trustworthy servant to the amphitheater to make arrangements for the delivery of her body, which he wished to give to Venetius. During Nero's reign evening exhibitions in the circus and amphitheater had been common. Before that time exhibitions at night were rare. They were popular among the Augustalis, because they were often followed by feasts and revels which lasted until the morning. Though the people had had enough of bloodshed, still when the news was spread that the end of the games was approaching, and that the last of the Christians were to expire during the night performance, great crowds filled the amphitheater. The Augustalis appeared in a body, for they understood that this would be an unusual performance, and they knew that Caesar had determined to make a tragic show of the agony of Venetius. Tijalinas had not betrayed what kind of torture was intended for the bride of the young tribune, but this only increased the general curiosity. Those who had seen Ligia at the house of Plotius extolled her beauty to the skies. Others were mainly concerned with the question as to whether they would really see her in the arena that night, because many of those who had heard the reply of Caesar to Patronius gave it a double meaning. Some believed that Nero would deliver, or perhaps had already delivered, the maiden to Venetius. They remembered that she was a hostage, and hence could worship any god she pleased, and that the law of nations did not allow her to be punished. Uncertainty, expectation, and curiosity possessed all the spectators. Caesar arrived earlier than usual. Immediately on his coming conjectures were whispered about that something unusual would happen, for beside Tijalinas and Venetius, Caesar had with him Cassius, a centurion of enormous size and strength whom Caesar took with him only when he needed a defender, for instance, on his Nidesca page to the Sabora. Here he enjoyed an amusement called Sagatio, which consisted in tossing on a soldier's cloak every maiden he met on his way. It was noted also that precautions had been taken in the amphitheater itself. The Praetorian guards were increased, and they were commanded not by a centurion, but by the Tribune Subrius Flavius, known for his blind attachment to Nero. It was generally understood that Caesar wished in any case to secure himself against an outburst of despair from Venetius, and this added to the interest. All eyes were turned upon the seat occupied by the unfortunate lover. He was very pale, and his forehead was covered with perspiration. He was uncertain as to Ligia's fate, as were the other spectators, but also he was alarmed to the very depths of his soul. Petronius, ignorant himself of what would happen, said nothing to him, except that when he had returned from Nerva's banquet he had asked Venetius whether he was prepared for everything, and then whether he would be present at the performance. To both questions Venetius answered yes, but a shudder passed through him, because he surmised that Petronius did not ask these questions without reason. For some time he had been only half alive, he had been sunk in death, and had consented to Ligia's death, since for both it was to be a deliverance and a marriage. But now he realized that it is one thing to meditate over the last moment as if it were to be a calm falling into sleep, and another to behold the agonies of a person dearer than life to him. All his former anguish came back again. The despair which he had repressed began again to cry in his soul. He felt again the old desire to save Ligia at any price. In the morning he had tried to get into the prison to be sure that she was there, but the Praetorian guards watched all the entrances, and the orders were so strict that even the soldiers whom Venetius knew personally could not be moved by entreaties or bribes. It seemed to Venetius that uncertainty would kill him before the spectacle came off. In his heart there still lingered a faint hope that Ligia was not in the amphitheater and that his fears were groundless. At times he clung to this hope with all his strength. He thought to himself that Christ might have taken her to himself from the prison. He only knew that he could not bear to witness her agony in the circus. Formerly he had submitted in everything to the Divine Will, but now when repulsed from the doors of the prison he returned to his seat in the amphitheater. From the curious eyes directed towards him he inferred that the most terrible conjectures might prove true, and in his soul he implored help with a passion that resembled a menace. Thou canst! he repeated, clenching his fist convulsively. Thou canst! he had not realized here too far that this moment would be so terrible. Now his mind was clouded and he felt that if he should see Ligia tortured his love for God would change into hatred and his faith into despair. He was terror stricken at the same time, for he feared to offend Christ, whom he was imploring for mercy and miracles. He asked no longer for her life, but only that she might die before being led into the arena. With unspeakable anguish he repeated in his heart, Refuse me, not this one request, and I will love thee more than I have hitherto loved thee. Then his thoughts raged like waves tossed about by a hurricane. A desire for blood and vengeance arose in him. He was seized with a mad desire to swoop down upon Caesar and choke him in the presence of all the spectators. But he felt this desire was an offense against Christ and his command. At times flashes of hope whirled through his brain that an almighty and merciful hand would turn away all that his soul feared. But these hopes vanished before his overwhelming despair, as he thought that he who could destroy this circus with a word and save Ligia had abandoned her, though she trusted in him and loved him with all her pure heart. And he thought moreover that she was lying in the dark dungeon, weak, defenseless, deserted, dependent upon the mercy of the brutal guards, drawing perhaps her last breath, while he had to wait in that horrible amphitheater, not knowing what torture was destined for her or what the next moment might bring forth. Finally, like a man who, falling down a precipice, grasps at everything that grows on the edge of it, so did he grasp frantically at the thought that faith alone could save her. This means alone was left. Peter had said that faith could move the earth to its very foundations, therefore he concentrated his thoughts, hushed his misgivings, and compressed his whole being into the sentence, I believe, and awaited a miracle. As a cord stretched too tightly may break, so he was broken by the strain. A deathly pallor covered his face, his body relaxed. Then he thought that his prayer had been heard and that he was dying. He thought that Ligia must have died, and that Christ was taking them both to himself. The arena, the white robes of the countless spectators, the lights of innumerable lamps and torches, all vanished from his sight. His weakness did not last long. In a moment he awoke, or rather was awakened by a stamping of the expectant multitude. Thou art ill, said Patronius, give orders that thou be taken home. Regardless of what Caesar would say, he rose to support Vinicius and leave with him. His heart was full of compassion. Moreover, he was vexed beyond endurance by the fact that Caesar was gazing through the emerald at Vinicius, and studying his agony with satisfaction, perhaps in order to describe it afterwards in pathetic verses and gain the applause of an audience. But Vinicius shook his head. He might die in the amphitheater, but he could not leave it. Moreover, the spectacle might begin at any moment. Indeed, at that instant the prefect of the city waved a red handkerchief. Upon this signal the hinges of the doors opposite Caesar's box creaked, and out of the dark chasm came Ursus into the brightly illuminated arena. The giant, blinked, evidently dazzled by the brightness of the arena, then he moved towards the center, looking about as if to see what he had to encounter. All the Augustalis and most of the spectators knew that this was the man who had strangled Croto. Hence, at his appearance, murmurs arose from all the benches. There was no lack of gladiators in Rome larger in stature than ordinary men, but Roman eyes had never seen the like of Ursus. Cassius, who stood by Caesar, appeared puny in comparison. Senators, vestals, Caesar, the Augustalis, and the people gazed with the delight of experts at his powerful limbs, like the trunks of trees, at his breast, which seemed like two joined shields, at his herculean arms. The murmurs grew louder at every moment, for the multitudes there could not be any greater pleasure than to see those muscles play in the exertion of struggle. The murmurs changed to shouts and to eager questionings. Where live the tribes who produce such giants? Ursus stood there in the middle of the amphitheater naked, resembling a stone colossus rather than a man, calm, collected, yet at the same time with the melancholy of a barbarian. Looking about the empty arena, he fixed his blue eyes in wonderment, now on the spectators, now on Caesar, now on the grating of the dungeons, whence he expected his executioners. At the moment when he stepped into the arena, his simple heart was strobing with the hope that death on the cross was awaiting him. But when he saw neither a cross nor a pit, he thought that he did not deserve such favor, and that he would have to perish in some other way, most probably from wild beasts. He was unarmed and had resolved to die as became a follower of the lamb, peacefully and patiently. Meanwhile he wished to pray to the Saviour. So kneeling in the arena, he joined his hands and raised his eyes to the stars, which twinkled above the lofty opening on the arena. This attitude displeased the crowds. They had had enough of those Christians who died like sheep, they understood that should the giant refuse to defend himself, the spectacle would be a failure. Here and their hisses arose. Some cried for the scourgers, whose office it was to chastise combatants who refused to fight, but silence soon followed, for no one knew what awaited the giant, nor whether he would not be ready to fight when he looked death in the face. Indeed they had not long to wait. Suddenly a deafening noise of trumpets arose, and at this signal a grating opened opposite the imperial box, and into the arena rushed amid the shouts of the people, an enormous German bull bearing on his horns the naked body of a woman. Ligia! Ligia! cried Venisius. Then he seized his hair near the temples, writhed like a man wounded by a spear, and in a horse voice cried out, I believe, I believe, grant a miracle, O Christ! He was not aware that Petronius at that moment covered his head with a toga. He thought that death or agony had covered his eyes. He did not look. He did not see. A feeling of awful emptiness seized him. No thought remained in his head, only his lips repeated as if in delirium. I believe, I believe! Suddenly the amphitheater was hushed. The Augustalis rose in their seats as one man, for something uncommon had happened in the arena. The Ligian, humble and ready to die, seeing his princess on the horns of the wild beast, sprang up as it burned by fire, and bending forward rushed towards the frenzied animal. Cries of astonishment were heard on all sides. The Ligian overtook in a twinkling the raging bull and seized him by the horns. Look! cried Petronius, unveiling the head of Venisius. Venisius raised his face pale as a sheet, and he looked at the arena with a glassy vacant stare. Everyone held his breath, in the amphitheater a fly might have been heard. People could not believe their own eyes. Never before was seen anything like this. The Ligian held the wild beast by the horns. His feet were buried in the sand to his ankles. His back was bent like a bow. His head was hidden between his shoulders. The muscles swelled on his arms, so that the skin seemed to crack from the pressure, but he stopped the bull on the spot. The man and the brute remained so motionless that the spectators seemed to look at a picture representing a deed of Hercules or Theseus, or a group cut in stone, but in that apparent repose was evident the terrible exertion of two struggling forces. The bull, as well as the man, sank his feet deep into the sand, and his dark shaggy body was so curved that it resembled a huge ball, which would first be exhausted, which first would yield. This was the question which at the moment was of greater importance to the spectators than their own fate, than that of Rome and its rule over the world. The Ligian in their eyes was a demigod, worthy of admiration and statues. Caesar himself arose. He and Tijellinus, hearing of the strength of this man, had purposely prepared the spectacle, and laughing to each other had said, Let the slayer of Croto vanquish the bull chosen by us. But now they looked with amazement at the picture before them, hardly believing that it could be real. There were some of the spectators who had raised their arms and remained in this attitude. Sweat poured down the faces of others, as if they themselves were struggling with the animal. In the circus nothing was heard save the hiss of the flames in the lamps and the crackle of the torches. Words died in the throats of the spectators, but their hearts beat against their breasts as if to split them. It seemed to all that the struggle was lasting for ages, but the man and the brute continued motionless in their terrible struggle. They seemed rooted in the earth. Suddenly they reverberated through the arena a muffled roar, and then a shout arose from the spectators, and then again silence fell. The people saw as in a dream that the monstrous head of the bull was twisting around in the iron grasp of the barbarian. The Lydian's face, neck, and arms grew purple, his back curved still more. He was evidently rallying the rest of his superhuman strength, but he could not stand the strain much longer. Gradually the groans of the bull grew horser and doler and more painful as they mingled with the whistling breath of the giant. The head of the brute was twisted more and more, a long foaming tongue protruded from its muzzle. Next instant the crack of breaking bones reached the ears of the nearest spectators, then the beast sunk to the earth with a broken neck. In a twinkling the giant slipped the cords from the horns of the bull, and panting raised the maiden in his arms. His face had paled, his hair was matted with sweat, his arms and shoulders were wet as though with water. For a moment he stood as if he were scarce conscious, then he lifted his eyes and gazed around the amphitheater. The immense audience had gone wild, the walls of the building trembled from the shouts of tens of thousands of spectators. Since the beginning of the games no such enthusiasm had ever been known. Those who occupied the higher tiers left them and crowded down the aisles between the seats in order to get a better view of the athlete. From all sides came cries for mercy, passionate and insistent, which soon turned into one fierce roar. The giant was now the darling of the people, who, above all things, worshipped physical strength, for the time he was the greatest personage in Rome. The Lydian understood that the mob were demanding his pardon and freedom, but his thoughts were not upon himself alone. For a time he looked about him, then he approached the imperial seat, and holding the maiden on his outstretched arms, he raised his eyes in supplication as if to say, Take pity on her, save her, for her sake this has been done. The spectators understood his desire. The sight of the fainting girl, a mere child in comparison with the gigantic Lydian, had its effect upon the crowd and the soldiers and senators. That slender figure, white as if cut from alabaster, her swooning condition, the awful peril from which the giant had rescued her, and finally her beauty moved every heart. Some thought that the Lydian was a father begging mercy for his child. Pity burst forth like a flame, enough of blood and death and tortures, on every side arose entreaties for mercy from voices broken by sobs. Ursus, still carrying the girl in his arms, moved around the arena, and, by eye and gesture, begged mercy for the girl. Then Vinicius started up from his seat, leaped over the barrier which separated the front seats from the arena, and running to Lydia through his toga over her naked body. Then he rent the tunic on his breast and exposed the scars of wounds received in the Armenian war, and stretching his arms out towards the people. The enthusiasm of the crowd now passed all bounds, the mob stamped and howled, voices demanding mercy grew terrible in their insistence. People not only took the part of the athlete, but rose in defense of the maiden and the soldier. With flashing eyes and clinched fists, thousands of spectators turned towards Caesar. He, however, demured and hesitated. He cherished no hatred for Vinicius, nor did he particularly desire the death of Lydia, yet it would have given him pleasure to see the body of the girl torn by the horns of the bull, or the tusks of beasts. His cruelty and his degenerate disposition found a strange delight in such sights, and now the people wished to deprive him of one. This thought angered him. Wrath burned red on his bloated face. His self-love made it hard for him to yield to the will of the people. On the other hand his cowardice prevented him from opposing it. He looked around among the Augustalis to see if he could discover thumbs pointing downwards to give the verdict of death, but Petronius held up his hand and looked almost defiantly into Caesar's face. Vestinius, superstitious yet enthusiastic, who feared ghosts but not the living, also gave the sign for mercy. So did Scevenus, the senator, and Nerva, and Tullius Sinicio, and the famous warrior Astorius Scapula, and Antistius, and Pesovatus, and Crispanus, and Minucius Thermus, and Pontius Helicinus, and most important of all, Thrasia, who was adored by the people. In view of this opposition Caesar dropped the emerald from his eye with an expression of scornful indignation. Tijalinas, who wished to spite Petronius, bent over him and said, yield not, O divine one, we have the Praetorians at our command. Nero turned to the place where Subrius Flavius stood, in command over the Praetorians. He saw something which he little expected, the face of the old tribune, hitherto always devoted to him, was now set and stern, although bathed with tears, and his hand was raised in sign of mercy. Meantime the masses had become enraged, clouds of dust rose from beneath the stamping feet, and filled the amphitheater, mingled with the shouts were heard cries, Ahino Barbis, Matricide, incendiary! Nero became frightened, in the circus the people were masters of the situation. Former Caesars and especially Caligula had ventured sometimes to withstand the popular will, and the consequent disturbances sometimes ended in bloodshed. Nero's position was different, not only as a comedian and a singer did he need the favor of the people, but also as a bulwark against the senate and the patricians. Since the burning of Rome he had striven to win it by all means, and so had turned the anger of the people against the Christians, he understood that further opposition would be perilous. A riot begun in the circus might spread over the city and produce incalculable results. Once more he looked at Subrius Flavius at Scevenus the Centurion, a kinsman of the senator, and the soldiers, and seeing everywhere knitted brows and stern eyes fixed upon him he gave the sign for mercy. Then thunders of applause burst out and echoed from the highest to the lowest seats. The people were now assured of the safety of the condemned ones. From this moment they passed under their protection. Caesar himself would not dare to molest them further. Bithynian Slaves bore Ligia to the house of Patronius. Venisius and Ursus accompanied her. They made haste in order to place her as soon as possible under the care of the Greek physician. They spoke no word, for, after the experiences of the day, speech seemed to have forsaken them. Venisius was scarcely conscious. Again and again he repeated to himself that Ligia was saved, that neither imprisonment nor death in the circus ministered her longer, that their misfortunes were ended once and for ever, and that now he was carrying her home and would never part from her again. From time to time he bent over the open litter to look at the face of his beloved, which in the moonlight appeared still as if in sleep, and he repeated to himself, This is she! Christ saved her! He remembered also that while he and Ursus were carrying her from the Spolarium, an unknown physician had looked at her and assured him that the girl was living and would surely recover. This thought filled him with such delight that he grew weak and was obliged to lean upon the arm of Ursus. Ursus looked up at the star-studded sky and offered up a silent prayer. Quickly they moved along the streets in which newly built houses gleamed white in the moonlight. The streets were deserted, save where here and there they came upon groups of ivy-covered people, who sang and danced before porticoes to the accompaniment of flutes, taking advantage of the marvellous night and the holiday season, unbroken since the beginning of the games. Only when they were near the house did Ursus cease praying, and in a low voice as if he feared to waken Ligia, said, Oh Master, the Saviour preserved her from death. When I saw her on the horns of the bull, I heard a voice in my soul crying, Defend her! And this I knew was the voice of the Lamb. The prison had robbed me of my strength, but in that moment he restored it to me, and he inspired the cruel multitude to speak in her behalf. Praise be to him! And Vinicius answered, Glorified be his name! He could speak no further, for tears choked him. He felt an uncontrollable desire to fall down upon the earth and thank the Saviour for the miracle and mercy he had vouchsafed. They had now reached the house. The servants, warned by a slave who had been sent ahead, swarmed out to meet them. Paul of Tarsus had converted the greater part of these people. They knew of the misfortunes of Vinicius. Great was their joy at sight of the victims rescued from the power of Nero. It increased still more when Theocles, the physician, after examining Ligia, pronounced that she had suffered no serious injury, and that when the exhaustion produced by the prison fever had passed she would surely recover. During the night she became conscious. Awakening in the gorgeous chamber lighted with Corinthian lamps and fragrant with the scent of flowers, she knew not where she was nor how she had come hither. She recalled the moment when she had been tied to the horns of the chained bull and beholding above her the face of Vinicius, lighted by the pale glow of the lamp, she imagined that she was no more upon earth. Her thoughts were confused. She thought that she had been halted somewhere on the way to heaven on account of exhaustion and weakness. Not feeling any pain she smiled at Vinicius, and attempted to ask him where they were, but could speak only in a low whisper, so that Vinicius could scarcely catch his name. He knelt beside her, and laying his hand softly upon her forehead, said, Christ saved thee, and returned thee to me. Her lips murmured some unintelligible words. Her bosom heaved, and she fell into a deep sleep which the physician was expecting, and from which he said she would awaken to life and health. Vinicius remained on his knees by her, sunk in prayer. His soul was transported with so mighty a love that he forgot himself entirely. Theocles now returned to the chamber, and from behind the lace curtain the golden head of Eunice appeared frequently. At last the cranes outside in the garden announced the dawn of day, but Vinicius still knelt, embracing in imagination the feet of Christ, and not knowing or hearing what was going on about him. His heart, full of thanksgiving, burned like a sacrificial flame, and he was carried away by his ecstasy to the very portals of heaven. END OF PART 3 CHAPTER XXIV After Ligia was liberated Petronius, lest he should offend Caesar, went to the Palatine with other Augustalis. He wished to hear what they were saying, and especially to find out whether Tijalinas was plotting anew to destroy Ligia. Both she and Ursus were now under the protection of the people. No one could molest them without creating a tumult. But Petronius, knowing how the powerful prefect of the Praetorians hated him, thought it likely that Tijalinas, powerless to injure him directly, would try to revenge himself upon his nephew. Nero was in high dudgeon because the show had ended in a way quite different from his wishes. At first he would not look at Petronius, but the latter, preserving a calm temper, approached him with all the freedom of the arbiter of elegance, and said, Do you know, O divine one, what has struck me? Compose a song about the virgin who, at the command of the ruler of the world, was rescued from the horns of a wild bull, and returned to her lover. The Greeks are impressionable, and I am certain that such a song will delight them. Despite his vexation, Nero was pleased with the suggestion and for two reasons. In the first place it was a good subject for a song, and secondly he could glorify himself as the magnanimous ruler of the world. He regarded Petronius kindly and said, Yes, may have thou art right, but would it become me to chant my own praises? Thou needest not mention thyself by name. In Rome everybody will know who is the hero of the song, and from Rome the news will spread all over the world. Art thou sure this would meet with approbation in Achia? By Pollux it will, cried Petronius, and he took his departure, feeling certain that Nero, who loved to weave reality into his literary inventions, would not spoil the theme. Thus the hands of Tijellinus would be tied, but this did not alter his plans of sending Vinicius away from Rome as soon as Ligius' health would allow it. When he saw him the next day he said, Take her to Sicily. As things have turned out you need fear, Caesar, no longer, but Tijellinus is perfectly capable of poisoning you both, if not for his hatred for you, out of hatred to me. Vinicius smiled and replied, She was on the horns of a wild bull, and yet Christ saved her. Sacrifice then a hecatorm to him, said Petronius, impatiently, but do not expect him to save her a second time. Does thou remember how Eolus received Ulysses when he asked him a second time for favoring winds? Gods do not like to repeat themselves. As soon as she is restored to health, said Vinicius, I will take her to Pomponia Grisina, and thou wilt do well since Pomponia is lying ill. I heard it from Antistias, a cousin of Eolus. In the meantime, occurrences will take place here to make people forget you, and in our day those who are forgotten are the happiest. May fortune be thy son in winter, thy shade in summer. He left Vinicius to his happiness while he went himself to inquire of Theocles concerning the life and health of Ligia. She was out of danger. Exhausted as she was after the prison fever, foul air, and discomfort would have ended her life. Now she was surrounded by the tenderest care, and not merely by plenty, but by luxury. By order of Theocles she was born daily into the gardens of the villa. She would spend hours in those gardens. Vinicius would adorn her litter with anemones and irises to remind her of the Hall of the Owly, and clasped in hand they frequently spoke of the past as they sat under the spreading trees. Ligia told Vinicius that Christ had allowed him trials and terrors for the express purpose of changing his soul and raising it to himself, and Vinicius acknowledged that this was true. He felt indeed that there was little in him of the former patrician who had known no law save his own will. There was no bitterness in these memories, however. It seemed to both of them that whole years had rolled over their heads and that the terrible past lay very far behind. A feeling of calmness possessed them which they had never experienced before. A new and blissful life lay before them. In Rome Caesar might rage and fill the world with terror, but they felt that they were under the protection of a far mightier power. They need have no further fear of Caesar's rage or malice as if he had ceased to be master of their lives. Once about sunset they heard the roar of the lions and other wild beasts. Formerly these sounds would have frightened Vinicius as a bad omen, but now the lovers regarded each other with a smile and raised their eyes toward the glow of the sunset. At times Ligia, still very weak and unable to walk unaided, fell asleep in the quiet of the garden. Vinicius watched over her and, regarding her sleeping face, the thought would come to him that this was not the same Ligia whom he had met at the home of Aulus. Indeed, the prison and the sickness it had brought had impaired somewhat her beauty. When he saw her at the house of Aulus, and when he came to take her from Miriam's house, she was as beautiful as a statue, but now her face was almost transparent, her arms were thin, her body emaciated by illness, her lips pale, and even her eyes seemed less blue than formerly. The golden-haired Eunice, who brought flowers for her and costly rugs to cover her feet, seemed like a sippery and deity in comparison. Patronius, seeing that she had lost so many of her charms, shrugged his shoulders and thought that this shadow from Elysian fields was not worth the trouble and pain and torture which was sapping the life of Vinicius. But Vinicius, now in love with her spirit, loved her all the more, and when he watched her as she slept, he felt as if he were watching over the whole world. 26 The news of Ligia's miraculous rescue spread rapidly among those Christians who had escaped destruction. Believers came to look upon her to whom the grace of Christ had been so manifestly shown. First came Nazarius and Miriam, at whose house Peter the Apostle was concealed, and after them came others. All of them, together with Vinicius, Ligia, and the Christian slaves of Patronius, listened with rapt attention to the narrative of Ursus, as he related how a voice had spoken to his soul and commanded him to struggle with the wild bull. All departed much consoled and believing that Christ would not allow his followers to be exterminated in this veil of tears before his coming to the day of judgment, and this hope supported them, for the persecution was not yet over. Whomever public opinion denounced as a Christian, him, the officers of the city seized and dragged to prison. The number of victims indeed were growing fewer because the majority of the faithful had been seized and tortured to death. The Christians who were left had either deserted Rome to wait in distant provinces until the storm was over, or were concealing themselves in hiding places, not daring to assemble for common prayers, except in sand pits in the outskirts of the city. But the persecution was still going on, however, for though the games were over, the newly arrested were preserved for future series of games or were convicted without delay. Though the Roman people did not believe that the Christians had caused the conflagration, still they were denounced as the foes of mankind and the state, and the edict against them remained in full force. For a long time the Apostle Peter did not venture into the house of Patronius, but at last one evening Nazarius announced his arrival. Ligia, who was now able to walk unaided, and Venisius hurried to meet him and embraced his feet. He greeted them with all the greater emotion because so few sheep remained in the fold over which Christ had placed him, and the fate of whom filled his great heart with anguish. Consequently, when Venisius said to him, Oh Lord, through your intercession the Savior gave her back to me. He replied, He gave her back to you because of your faith and that not all the lips which praised him might be silent. Evidently he was thinking then of the thousands of his children who had been torn to pieces by wild beasts of those crosses which had filled the arena and those fiery pillars in the gardens of the beast, for he spoke with great emotion. Venisius and Ligia noticed also that his hair had grown quite white, that his body was bent, and that his face gave as much evidence of sadness and suffering as if he had passed through all the pains and tortures which had been endured by the victims of Nero's rage and malice. But they both understood as Christ had delivered himself to torture and death. Nobody could avoid such suffering. Nevertheless the sight of the Apostle, bent by age and pain, pierced them to the heart. So Venisius, who intended in a few days to take Ligia to Naples to meet Pomponia there and go on to Sicily, entreated him to leave Rome with them. But the Apostle laid his hand on the head of Venisius and replied, I hear in my soul the words of the Lord, which he spoke to me on Lake Tiberius. When thou wert young, thou didst gird thyself and go wither thou woodst. But when thou shalt be old, thou shalt stretch forth thy hand and another shall gird thee, and carry thee wither thou woodst not. It becomes me therefore to follow my flock. And when they were silenced by the words, although they did not understand them, he added, My toil is nearly over. I shall find refuge and rest only in the house of the Lord. And then he turned towards them and said, Remember me, because I have loved you as the father loves his children, and whatever ye do in life, do it for the glory of God. With these words he raised his aged hands and blessed them. They nestled up to him, feeling that this perhaps would be the last blessing they should receive from him. But it was destined that they should see him once again. A few days later Petronius brought dreadful news from the Palatine. It had been discovered that one of Caesar's freedmen was a Christian, and on him were found letters of the apostles Peter and Paul, and also letters of James, John and Judas. Peter's presence in Rome had been known to Tijellinas, but he thought that the apostle had perished with the thousands of other believers. Now it was evident that the two leaders of the new faith were still alive and that they were in Rome. It was determined that they must be found and captured at any price, because it was believed that only with their deaths could the hated sect be eradicated. Petronius was told by Vestinius that Caesar himself had issued an order to cast Peter and Paul in the Mamertine prison within three days, and that whole detachments of the Praetorians had been sent to search all the houses in the trans-Tiber. As soon as he heard this Venetius resolved to warn the apostle, in the evening he and Ursus donned Gallic mantles whose hoods covered their faces and made their way to the house of Miriam, situated in the outskirts of the city at the foot of the Gianniculum Hill. On the way they saw houses surrounded by soldiers led by unknown persons. This division of the city was alarmed. Here and there groups of curious people had assembled. Centurions went about examining the prisoners and endeavoring to gain information about Simon Peter and Paul of Tarsus. Ursus and Venetius, however, outstripped the soldiers and arrived safely at the house of Miriam, where they found Peter surrounded by a handful of the faithful. Timothy, Paul's assistant, and Linus were at the side of the apostle. On hearing of the approaching danger Nazarius led all by a hidden passage to the garden gate and then on to some deserted quarries a few hundred yards from the Gianniculum gate. Ursus was obliged to carry Linus, whose bones, broken by tortures, had not yet knit together. But when they had entered a quarry they felt safe, and by the light of a torch which Nazarius lit they held a consultation, carried on in low voices, as to the best means of saving the life of the apostle who was so dear to them. Master, said Venetius to Peter, let Nazarius at the break of day guide thee to the Alban Hills. We will find thee there and take thee to Antium, where a vessel waits to transport us both to Naples and Sicily. It will be a blessed day and hour when thou shalt enter my house and bless my home. All the others approved this plan and urged the apostle to accept saying, Take refuge, O shepherd, stay not in Rome, preserve the living truth so that it may not perish with us and with thee. Hear us who implore thee as our father. Do this in the name of Christ, cried others, clinging to the apostle's garments. But Peter answered, My children, who knows when the Lord will mark the end of his life? But he did not say that he would not leave Rome, and he was in doubt as to what course to pursue, because for some time, uncertainty and fear had stolen into his soul. His flock was dispersed, his work had come to not. The church which, before the burning of the city, had flourished like a great tree, had been annihilated by the power of the beast. There was nothing left but tears and the remembrances of agonies and death. The sowing had yielded an abundant crop, but Satan had trampled it down. Legions of angels had not come to rescue the perishing, and Nero sat upon the throne of the world, terrible and more powerful than ever, Lord of the sea and of the land. Many a time had the fishermen blessed the Lord, stretched his hands towards heaven in his loneliness, and asked, O Lord, what shall I do? How can I, a powerless old man, wage war against the invincible power of evil, which thou hast allowed to rule, and to whom thou hast granted victory? And from the depths of his anguish he cried out in his soul, The sheep which thou didst command me to feed are no more, thy church is no more, in thy capital are only sounds of mourning. What are now thy commands? Am I to stay here, or shall I lead forth what remains of thy flock to glorify thy name in concealment somewhere beyond the sea? He hesitated. He believed that the living truth could not perish, that it must prevail, but at times he thought that the hour had not yet come, that it would come only when the Lord should descend upon earth on the day of judgment in glory and power greater a hundredfold than those of Nero. Often it seemed to him that if he left Rome the faithful would follow him, and then he would lead them far away to the shady groves of Galilee, to the quiet waters of the lake of Tiberius, to throw in their lot with shepherds as peaceful as doves, or as the sheep that grazed there in the valleys, and the heart of the fishermen was filled with a yearning for peace and rest, and for the lake and for Galilee, his eyes frequently moistened with tears. But the moment he made up his mind a sudden fear and anxiety seized him, how was he to leave that city whose sacred soil had drunk the blood of martyrs, and where so many dying lips had given witness to the truth? Should he alone shrink from his fate, and what answer could he make to the words of the Lord, these have suffered death for the faith but thou didst flee? He passed nights and days in anxiety and distress, others whom lions had torn to pieces who had expired on crosses, who had been burned in the gardens of Caesar, now slept in peace after their moments of torture, but he could not sleep and suffered greater tortures than any of those invented by persecutors for victims. Often the dawn whitened the roofs of houses while he was still crying from the depths of his suffering heart, O Lord, why didst thou order me to come here, and found thy capital in the den of the beast? During all the thirty-four years since the death of his master, he had known no rest. With staff in hand he had traveled over the wide world to spread the good tidings. His strength had been exhausted by his travels and toils, and at last when in this city, the capital of all the world, he had established the work of his master, the fiery breath of malice had blighted it, and he saw that the struggle must be undertaken anew. And what a struggle! On one side Caesar, the Senate, the people, the legions, encircling the world with chains of iron, lands innumerable, such power as was never seen before, and on the other side he, so weakened with age and toil, that his trembling hand could scarcely carry his staff. Often he told himself that he was no match for the great Caesar, and that Christ alone had the power to uphold him. These thoughts passed through his care worn head as he listened to the prayers of the last handful of his faithful followers who, surrounding him in an ever-narrowing circle, besought him with imploring voices, hide thyself, O Rabbi, and deliver us from the power of the beast! Linus himself at last bowed before him his tortured head. Master, he said, the Savior commanded thee to feed his sheep, but they are here no longer, or they will disappear on the morrow. Go, therefore, where thou mayst still find them. The word of God still lives in Jerusalem, in Antioch, in Ephesus, and in other cities. What wilt thou gain by staying in Rome? If thou shouldst fall, thou wilt only magnify the triumph of the beast. The Lord has not foretold the limit of John's life. Paul is a Roman citizen, and cannot be condemned without a trial. But if the powers of hell prevail against thee, O teacher, those who have lost heart already will ask, who is greater than Nero, thou art the rock upon which the church of the Lord is founded. Let us die, but suffer not anti-Christ to prevail over the vice-regent of God, and return not here, till the Lord has crushed him who shed the blood of innocents. Regard our tears, repeated all who were present. Tears coursed down the cheeks of Peter also. After a time he rose, and stretching his hands over the kneeling people, said, May the name of the Lord be glorified, and may his will be done. CHAPTER XXVII At dawn of the following day two dark figures were stealing along the Appian Way towards the valley of the Campania. One of them was Nazarius, the other the apostle Peter, who was leaving Rome and his distracted brethren. In the East the sky was already assuming a slight tinge of green, which changed gradually into a saffron color. From out the shadows appeared trees with silvery foliage, white marble villas and the arches of aqueducts stretching along the plain toward the city. The green tinge of the sky was becoming shot with gold. Soon the rays began to redden and illuminate the albin hills, which appeared as if wrapped in a violet frame. The dawn was mirrored in drops of dew trembling on the leaves of trees. The haze grew thinner, and unveiled a wider view of the plain, the houses that dotted it, the cemeteries, towns, and groups of trees, among which gleamed the white columns of temples. The road was deserted. The peasants who brought vegetables to the city had evidently not yet harnessed their horses. The blocks of stone with which the road was paved as far as the mountains echoed from the wooden sold shoes of the wayfarers. The sun rose over the hills, and then a wonderful vision burst upon the apostle. It seemed to him that the golden disc, instead of rising higher and higher in the sky, came gliding down from the heights and moved along the road. Then Peter stopped and said, Does thou see the brightness approaching us? I see nothing, replied Nazarius. Peter, shading his eyes with his hands, continued, Some figure is approaching us in the gleam of the sun. But no sound of footsteps reached their ears. Nazarius saw only that the trees in the distance were trembling as if shaken, and that the light was spreading more widely over the valley. With amazement in his eyes he looked at the apostle. Rabbi, what troubles thee, he cried in alarm. Peter dropped his staff, his eyes looked straight ahead, his mouth was open, his face expressed wonder, delight, ecstasy. Suddenly he fell upon his knees with his hands stretched out and cried, Oh, Christ, oh, Christ! and he pressed his face towards the earth as though kissing someones feet. There was a long silence, then the voice of the old man was heard, choked with tears, Qu'vardes domine, withergois thou, O Lord. Nazarius did not catch the answer, but to Peter's ears came a sad, sweet voice which said, As thou art deserting my people, I go to Rome to be crucified for the second time. The apostle lay on the ground, his face in the dust motionless and silent. It seemed to Nazarius that he had fainted, or perhaps even that he was dead, but suddenly he arose and, without a word, turned his back towards the city of the seven hills, the lad seeing this repeated like an echo, Qu'vardes domine, to Rome, replied the apostle, and he returned. Paul, John, Linus, and all the faithful greeted him with consternation in their eyes. Their alarm was all the greater because, at daybreak, just after Peter's departure, the Praetorians had surrounded the house of Miriam and had searched it for the apostle. But to all questions he simply answered in a calm voice, I have seen the Lord! And in the evening he went to the Austean cemetery to teach and baptize those who wished to bathe in the water of life, and afterwards he went there daily, followed by increasing crowds. It seemed that from every tear of the martyrs there were born new believers, and that every groan in the arena reverberated in thousands of breasts. Caesar wallowed in blood, Rome and the whole pagan world went mad, but those who were weary of crimes and bloodshed, those who were downtrodden, those whose lives were a succession of misery and oppression, all the weary and the sorrowful and the heavy laden came to listen to the wonderful tidings of that God who, moved by pity for men, had given himself to be crucified in order to atone for their transgressions. When they found a God they could love, they found that which the world at that time could not give the happiness born of love. Peter understood that Caesar, with all his legions, could not crush the living truth, that it could not be quenched in tears or blood, and that now was the commencement of its victory. He understood now why the Lord had turned him back from the threshold of his journey. The city of pride, of crime, of debauchery and of power was now becoming his city, and the double capital once would issue the rule of the flesh and of the spirit.