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Home -> Henryk Sienkiewicz -> Quo Vadis -> Chapter LVII

Quo Vadis - Chapter LVII

1. Chapter 1

2. Chapter II

3. Chapter III

4. Chapter IV

5. Chapter V

6. Chapter VI

7. Chapter VII

8. Chapter VIII

9. Chapter IX

10. Chapter X

11. Chapter XI

12. Chapter XII

13. Chapter XIII

14. Chapter XIV

15. Chapter XV

16. Chapter XVI

17. Chapter XVII

18. Chapter XVIII

19. Chapter XIX

20. Chapter XX

21. Chapter XXI

22. Chapter XXII

23. Chapter XXIII

24. Chapter XXIV

25. Chapter XXV

26. Chapter XXVI

27. Chapter XXVII

28. Chapter XXVIII

29. Chapter XXIX

30. Chapter XXX

31. Chapter XXXI

32. Chapter XXXII

33. Chapter XXXIII

34. Chapter XXXIV

35. Chapter XXXV

36. Chapter XXXVI

37. Chapter XXXVII

38. Chapter XXXVIII

39. Chapter XXXIX

40. Chapter XL

41. Chapter XLI

42. Chapter XLII

43. Chapter XLIII

44. Chapter XLIV

45. Chapter XLV

46. Chapter XLVI

47. Chapter XLVII

48. Chapter XLVIII

49. Chapter XLIX

50. Chapter L

51. Chapter LI

52. Chapter LII

53. Chapter LIII

54. Chapter LIV

55. Chapter LV

56. Chapter LVI

57. Chapter LVII

58. Chapter LVIII

59. Chapter LIX

60. Chapter LX

61. Chapter LXI

62. Chapter LXII

63. Chapter LXIII

64. Chapter LXIV

65. Chapter LXV

66. Chapter LXVI

67. Chapter LXVII

68. Chapter LXVIII

69. Chapter LXIX

70. Chapter LXX

71. Chapter LXXI

72. Chapter LXXII

73. Chapter LXXIII

74. Epilogue







Chapter LVII

THREE days' rain, an exceptional phenomenon in Rome during summer, and
hail falling in opposition to the natural order, not only in the day,
but even at night, interrupted the spectacles. People were growing
alarmed. A failure of grapes was predicted, and when on a certain
afternoon a thunderbolt melted the bronze statue of Ceres on the
Capitol, sacrifices were ordered in the temple of Jupiter Salvator. The
priests of Ceres spread a report that the anger of the gods was turned
on the city because of the too hasty punishment of Christians; hence
crowds began to insist that the spectacles be given without reference to
weather. Delight seized all Rome when the announcement was made at last
that the ludus would begin again after three days' interval.

Meanwhile beautiful weather returned. The amphitheatre was filled at
daybreak with thousands of people. Cæsar came early with the vestals
and the court. The spectacle was to begin with a battle among the
Christians, who to this end were arrayed as gladiators and furnished
with all kinds of weapons which served gladiators by profession in
offensive and defensive struggles. But here came disappointment. The
Christians threw nets, darts, tridents, and swords on the arena,
embraced and encouraged one another to endurance in view of torture and
death. At this deep indignation and resentment seized the hearts of the
multitude. Some reproached the Christians with cowardice and
pusillanimity; others asserted that they refused to fight through hatred
of the people, so as to deprive them of that pleasure which the sight of
bravery produces. Finally, at command of Cæsar, real gladiators were
let out, who despatched in one twinkle the kneeling and defenceless
victims.

When these bodies were removed, the spectacle was a series of mythologic
pictures,--Cæsar's own idea. The audience saw Hercules blazing in
living fire on Mount Oeta. Vinicius had trembled at the thought that
the role of Hercules might be intended for Ursus; but evidently the turn
of Lygia's faithful servant had not come, for on the pile some other
Christian was burning,--a man quite unknown to Vinicius. In the next
picture Chilo, whom Cæsar would not excuse from attendance, saw
acquaintances. The death of Dædalus was represented, and also that of
Icarus. In the rôle of Dædalus appeared Euricius, that old man who had
given Chilo the sign of the fish; the role of Icarus was taken by his
son, Quartus. Both were raised aloft with cunning machinery, and then
hurled suddenly from an immense height to the arena. Young Quartus fell
so near Cæsar's podium that he spattered with blood not only the
external ornaments but the purple covering spread over the front of the
podium. Chilo did not see the fall, for he closed his eyes; but he
heard the dull thump of the body, and when after a time he saw blood
there close to him, he came near fainting a second time.

The pictures changed quickly. The shameful torments of maidens violated
before death by gladiators dressed as wild beasts, delighted the hearts
of the rabble. They saw priestesses of Cybele and Ceres, they saw the
Danaides, they saw Dirce and Pasiphaë; finally they saw young girls, not
mature yet, torn asunder by wild horses. Every moment the crowd
applauded new ideas of Nero, who, proud of them, and made happy by
plaudits, did not take the emerald from his eye for one instant while
looking at white bodies torn with iron, and the convulsive quivering of
victims.

Pictures were given also from the history of the city. After the
maidens they saw Mucius Scævola, whose hand fastened over a fire to a
tripod filled the amphitheatre with the odor of burnt flesh; but this
man, like the real Scævola, remained without a groan, his eyes raised
and the murmur of prayer on his blackening lips. When he had expired
and his body was dragged to the spoliarium, the usual midday interlude
followed. Cæsar with the vestals and the Augustians left the
amphitheatre, and withdrew to an immense scarlet tent erected purposely;
in this was prepared for him and the guests a magnificent prandium. The
spectators for the greater part followed his example, and, streaming
out, disposed themselves in picturesque groups around the tent, to rest
their limbs wearied from long sitting, and enjoy the food which, through
Cæsar's favor, was served by slaves to them. Only the most curious
descended to the arena itself, and, touching with their fingers lumps of
sand held together by blood, conversed, as specialists and amateurs, of
that which had happened and of that which was to follow. Soon even
these went away, lest they might be late for the feast; only those few
were left who stayed not through curiosity, but sympathy for the coming
victims. Those concealed themselves behind seats or in the lower
places.

Meanwhile the arena was levelled, and slaves began to dig holes one near
the other in rows throughout the whole circuit from side to side, so
that the last row was but a few paces distant from Cæsar's podium. From
outside came the murmur of people, shouts and plaudits, while within
they were preparing in hot haste for new tortures. The cunicula were
opened simultaneously, and in all passages leading to the arena were
urged forward crowds of Christians naked and carrying crosses on their
shoulders. The whole arena was filled with them. Old men, bending
under the weight of wooden beams, ran forward; at the side of these went
men in the prime of life, women with loosened hair behind which they
strove to hide their nakedness, small boys, and little children. The
crosses, for the greater part, as well as the victims, were wreathed
with flowers. The servants of the amphitheatre beat the unfortunates
with clubs, forcing them to lay down their crosses near the holes
prepared, and stand themselves there in rows. Thus were to perish those
whom executioners had had no chance to drive out as food for dogs and
wild beasts the first day of the games. Black slaves seized the
victims, laid them face upward on the wood, and fell to nailing their
hands hurriedly and quickly to the arms of the crosses, so that people
returning after the interlude might find all the crosses standing. The
whole amphitheatre resounded with the noise of hammers which echoed
through all the rows, went out to the space surrounding the
amphitheatre, and into the tent where Cæsar was entertaining his suite
and the vestals. There he drank wine, bantered with Chilo, and
whispered strange words in the ears of the priestesses of Vesta; but on
the arena the work was seething,--nails were going into the hands and
feet of the Christians; shovels moved quickly, filling the holes in
which the crosses had been planted.

Among the new victims whose turn was to come soon was Crispus. The
lions had not had time to rend him; hence he was appointed to the cross.
He, ready at all times for death, was delighted with the thought that
his hour was approaching. He seemed another man, for his emaciated body
was wholly naked,--only a girdle of ivy encircled his hips, on his head
was a garland of roses. But in his eyes gleamed always that same
exhaustless energy; that same fanatical stern face gazed from beneath
the crown of roses. Neither had his heart changed; for, as once in the
cuniculum he had threatened with the wrath of God his brethren sewed up
in the skins of wild beasts, so to-day he thundered in place of
consoling them.

"Thank the Redeemer," said Crispus, "that He permits you to die the same
death that He Himself died. Maybe a part of your sins will be remitted
for this cause; but tremble, since justice must be satisfied, and there
cannot be one reward for the just and the wicked."

His words were accompanied by the sound of the hammers nailing the hands
and feet of victims. Every moment more crosses were raised on the
arena; but he, turning to the crowd standing each man by his own cross,
continued,--

"I see heaven open, but I see also the yawning abyss. I know not what
account of my life to give the Lord, though I have believed, and hated
evil. I fear, not death, but resurrection; I fear, not torture, but
judgment, for the day of wrath is at hand."

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

"Not the day of wrath, but of mercy, the day of salvation and happiness;
for I say that Christ will gather you in, will comfort you and seat you
at His right hand. Be confident, for heaven is opening before you."

At these words all eyes were turned to the benches; even those who were
hanging on the crosses raised their pale, tortured faces, and looked
toward the man who was speaking.

But he went to the barrier surrounding the arena, and blessed them with
the sign of the cross.

Crispus stretched out his arm as if to thunder at him; but when he saw
the man's face, he dropped his arm, the knees bent under him, and his
lips whispered, "Paul the Apostle!"

To the great astonishment of the servants of the Circus, all of those
who were not nailed to the crosses yet knelt down. Paul turned to
Crispus and said,-

"Threaten them not, Crispus, for this day they will be with thee in
paradise. It is thy thought that they may be condemned. But who will
condemn?

"Will God, who gave His Son for them? Will Christ, who died for their
salvation, condemn when they die for His name? And how is it possible
that He who loves can condemn? Who will accuse the chosen of God? Who
will say of this blood, 'It is cursed'?"

"I have hated evil," said the old priest.

"Christ's command to love men was higher than that to hate evil, for His
religion is not hatred, but love."

"I have sinned in the hour of death," answered Crispus, beating his
breast. The manager of the seats approached the Apostle, and inquired,

"Who art thou, speaking to the condemned?"

"A Roman citizen," answered Paul, calmly. Then, turning to Crispus, he
said: "Be confident, for to-day is a day of grace; die in peace, O
servant of God."

The black men approached Crispus at that moment to place him on the
cross; but he looked around once again, and cried,--

"My brethren, pray for me!"

His face had lost its usual sternness; his stony features had taken an
expression of peace and sweetness. He stretched his arms himself along
the arms of the cross, to make the work easier, and, looking directly
into heaven, began to pray earnestly. He seemed to feel nothing; for
when the nails entered his hands, not the least quiver shook his body,
nor on his face did there appear any wrinkle of pain. He prayed when
they raised the cross and trampled the earth around it. Only when
crowds began to fill the amphitheatre with shouts and laughter did his
brows frown somewhat, as if in anger that a pagan people were disturbing
the calm and peace of a sweet death.

But all the crosses had been raised, so that in the arena there stood as
it were a forest, with people hanging on the trees. On the arms of the
crosses and on the heads of the martyrs fell the gleam of the sun; but
on the arena was a deep shadow, forming a kind of black involved grating
through which glittered the golden sand. That was a spectacle in which
the whole delight of the audience consisted in looking at a lingering
death. Never before had men seen such a density of crosses. The arena
was packed so closely that the servants squeezed between them only with
effort. On the edges were women especially; but Crispus, as a leader,
was raised almost in front of Cæsar's podium, on an immense cross,
wreathed below with honeysuckle. None of the victims had died yet, but
some of those fastened earlier had fainted. No one groaned; no one
called for mercy. Some were hanging with head inclined on one arm, or
dropped on the breast, as if seized by sleep; some were as if in
meditation; some, looking toward heaven, were moving their lips quietly.
In this terrible forest of crosses, among those crucified bodies, in
that silence of victims there was something ominous. The people who,
filled by the feast and gladsome, had returned to the Circus with
shouts, became silent, not knowing on which body to rest their eyes, or
what to think of the spectacle. The nakedness of strained female forms
roused no feeling. They did not make the usual bets as to who would die
first,--a thing done generally when there was even the smallest number
of criminals on the arena. It seemed that Cæsar himself was bored, for
he turned lazily and with drowsy expression to arrange his necklace.

At that moment Crispus, who was hanging opposite, and who, like a man in
a faint or dying, had kept his eyes closed, opened them and looked at
Cæsar. His face assumed an expression so pitiless, and his eyes flashed
with such fire, that the Augustians whispered to one another, pointing
at him with their fingers, and at last Cæsar himself turned to that
cross, and placed the emerald to his eye sluggishly.

Perfect silence followed. The eyes of the spectators were fixed on
Crispus, who strove to move his right hand, as if to tear it from the
tree.

After a while his breast rose, his ribs were visible, and he cried:
"Matricide! woe to thee!"

The Augustians, hearing this mortal insult flung at the lord of the
world in presence of thousands, did not dare to breathe. Chilo was half
dead. Cæsar trembled, and dropped the emerald from his fingers. The
people, too, held the breath in their breasts. The voice of Crispus was
heard, as it rose in power, throughout the amphitheatre,--

"Woe to thee, murderer of wife and brother! woe to thee, Antichrist.
The abyss is opening beneath thee, death is stretching its hands to
thee, the grave is waiting for thee. Woe, living corpse, for in terror
shalt thou die and be damned to eternity!"

Unable to tear his hand from the cross, Crispus strained awfully. He was
terrible,--a living skeleton; unbending as predestination, he shook his
white beard over Nero's podium, scattering, as he nodded, rose leaves
from the garland on his head.

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

Here he made one more effort. It seemed for a moment that he would free
his hand from the cross and hold it in menace above Cæsar; but all at
once his emaciated arms extended still more, his body settled down, his
head fell on his breast, and he died.

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




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