Quo Vadis: A Narrative of the Time of Nero

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. Chapter LVIII “LORD,” said Chilo, “the sea is like olive oil, the waves seem to sleep. Let us go to Achæa. There the glory of Apollo is awaiting thee, crowns and triumph are awaiting thee, the people will deify thee, the gods will receive thee as a guest, their own equal; but here, O lord--” And he stopped, for his lower lip began to quiver so violently that his words passed into meaningless sounds. “We will go when the games are over,” replied Nero. “I know that even now some call the Christians innoxia corpora. If I were to go, all would repeat this. What dost thou fear?” Then he frowned, but looked with inquiring glance at Chilo, as if expecting an answer, for he only feigned cool blood. At the last exhibition he himself feared the words of Crispus; and when he had returned to the Palatine, he could not sleep from rage and shame, but also from fear. Then Vestinius, who heard their conversation in silence, looked around, and said in a mysterious voice,-- “Listen, lord, to this old man. There is something strange in those Christians. Their deity gives them an easy death, but he may be vengeful.” “It was not I who arranged the games, but Tigellinus,” replied Nero, quickly. “True! it was I,” added Tigellinus, who heard Cæsar’s answer, “and I jeer at all Christian gods. Vestinius is a bladder full of prejudices, and this valiant Greek is ready to die of terror at sight of a hen with feathers up in defence of her chickens.” “True!” said Nero; “but henceforth give command to cut the tongues out of Christians and stop their mouths.” “Fire will stop them, O divinity.” “Woe is me!” groaned Chilo. But Cæsar, to whom the insolent confidence of Tigellinus gave courage, began to laugh, and said, pointing to the old Greek,-- “See how the descendant of Achilles looks!” Indeed Chilo looked terribly. The remnant of hair on his head had grown white; on his face was fixed an expression of some immense dread, alarm, and oppression. He seemed at times, too, as if stunned and only half conscious. Often he gave no answer to questions; then again he fell into anger, and became so insolent that the Augustians preferred not to attack him. Such a moment had come to him then. “Do what ye like with me, but I will not go to the games!” cried he, in desperation. Nero looked at him for a while, and, turning to Tigellinus, said,-- “Have a care that this Stoic is near me in the gardens. I want to see what impression our torches will make on him.” Chilo was afraid of the threat which quivered in Cæsar’s voice. “O lord,” said he, “I shall see nothing, for I cannot see in the night-time.” “The night will be as bright as day,” replied Cæsar, with a threatening laugh. Turning then to the Augustians, Nero talked about races which he intended to have when the games were over. Petronius approached Chilo, and asked, pushing him on the shoulder,-- “Have I not said that thou wouldst not hold out?” “I wish to drink,” said Chilo, stretching his trembling hand toward a goblet of wine; but he was unable to raise it to his lips. Seeing this, Vestinius took the vessel; but later he drew near, and inquired with curious and frightened face,-- “Are the Furies pursuing thee?” The old man looked at him a certain time with open lips, as if not understanding what he said. But Vestinius repeated, “Are the Furies pursuing thee?” “No,” answered Chilo; “but night is before me.” “How, night? May the gods have mercy on thee. How night?” “Night, ghastly and impenetrable, in which something is moving, something coming toward me; but I know not what it is, and I am terrified.” “I have always been sure that there are witches. Dost thou not dream of something?” “No, for I do not sleep. I did not think that they would be punished thus.” “Art thou sorry for them?” “Why do ye shed so much blood? Hast heard what that one said from the cross? Woe to us!” “I heard,” answered Vestinius, in a low voice. “But they are incendiaries.” “Not true!” “And enemies of the human race.” “Not true!” “And poisoners of water.” “Not true!” “And murderers of children.” “Not true!” “How?” inquired Vestinius, with astonishment. “Thou hast said so thyself, and given them into the hands of Tigellinus.” “Therefore night has surrounded me, and death is coming toward me. At times it seems to me that I am dead already, and ye also.” “No! it is they who are dying; we are alive. But tell me, what do they see when they are dying?” “Christ.” “That is their god. Is he a mighty god?” But Chilo answered with a question,-- “What kind of torches are to burn in the gardens? Hast thou heard what Cæsar said?” “I heard, and I know. Those torches are called Sarmentitii and Semaxii. They are made by arraying men in painful tunics, steeped in pitch, and binding them to pillars, to which fire is set afterward. May their god not send misfortune on the city. Semaxii! that is a dreadful punishment!” “I would rather see it, for there will not be blood,” answered Chilo. “Command a slave to hold the goblet to my mouth. I wish to drink, but I spill the wine; my hand trembles from age.” Others also were speaking of the Christians. Old Domitius Afer reviled them. “There is such a multitude of them,” said he, “that they might raise a civil war; and, remember, there were fears lest they might arm. But they die like sheep.” “Let them try to die otherwise!” said Tigellinus. To this Petronius answered, “Ye deceive yourselves. They are arming.” “With what?” “With patience.” “That is a new kind of weapon.” “True. But can ye say that they die like common criminals? No! They die as if the criminals were those who condemned them to death,--that is, we and the whole Roman people.” “What raving!” said Tigellinus. “Hic Abdera!” answered Petronius. [A proverbial expression meaning “The dullest of the dull”--Note by the Author.] But others, struck by the justice of his remark, began to look at one another with astonishment, and repeat,-- “True! there is something peculiar and strange in their death.” “I tell you that they see their divinity!” cried Vestinius, from one side. Thereupon a number of Augustians turned to Chilo,-- “Hai, old man, thou knowest them well; tell us what they see.” The Greek spat out wine on his tunic, and answered,-- “The resurrection.” And he began to tremble so that the guests sitting nearer burst into loud laughter. Chapter LIX FOR some time Vinicius had spent his nights away from home. It occurred to Petronius that perhaps he had formed a new plan, and was working to liberate Lygia from the Esquiline dungeon; he did not wish, however, to inquire about anything, lest he might bring misfortune to the work. This sceptical exquisite had become in a certain sense superstitious. He had failed to snatch Lygia from the Mamertine prison, hence had ceased to believe in his own star. Besides, he did not count this time on a favorable outcome for the efforts of Vinicius. The Esquiline prison, formed in a hurry from the cellars of houses thrown down to stop the fire, was not, it is true, so terrible as the old Tullianum near the Capitol, but it was a hundred times better guarded. Petronius understood perfectly that Lygia had been taken there only to escape death and not escape the amphitheatre. He could understand at once that for this very reason they were guarding her as a man guards the eye in his head. “Evidently,” said he to himself, “Cæsar and Tigellinus have reserved her