Quo Vadis, Henryk Sienkiewicz [fox in socks read aloud .txt] 📗

And stretching forth his bony hands, he shook them above the bent heads; he was unterrified and implacable even in the presence of death, to which in a while all those doomed people were to go. After his words, were heard voices: “We bewail our sins!” Then came silence, and only the cry of children was audible, and the beating of hands against breasts.

The blood of Vinicius stiffened in his veins. He, who had placed all his hope in the mercy of Christ, heard now that the day of wrath had come, and that even death in the arena would not obtain mercy. Through his head shot, it is true, the thought, clear and swift as lightning, that Peter would have spoken otherwise to those about to die. Still those terrible words of Crispus filled with fanaticism that dark chamber with its grating, beyond which was the field of torture. The nearness of that torture, and the throng of victims arrayed for death already, filled his soul with fear and terror. All this seemed to him dreadful, and a hundred times more ghastly than the bloodiest battle in which he had ever taken part. The odor and heat began to stifle him; cold sweat came out on his forehead. He was seized by fear that he would faint like those against whose bodies he had stumbled while searching in the depth of the apartment; so when he remembered that they might open the grating any moment, he began to call Lygia and Ursus aloud, in the hope that, if not they, someone knowing them would answer.

In fact, some man, clothed as a bear, pulled his toga, and said⁠—

“Lord, they remained in prison. I was the last one brought out; I saw her sick on the couch.”

“Who art thou?” inquired Vinicius.

“The quarryman in whose hut the Apostle baptized thee, lord. They imprisoned me three days ago, and today I die.”

Vinicius was relieved. When entering, he had wished to find Lygia; now he was ready to thank Christ that she was not there, and to see in that a sign of mercy. Meanwhile the quarryman pulled his toga again, and said⁠—

“Dost remember, lord, that I conducted thee to the vineyard of Cornelius, when the Apostle discoursed in the shed?”

“I remember.”

“I saw him later, the day before they imprisoned me, He blessed me, and said that he would come to the amphitheater to bless the perishing. If I could look at him in the moment of death and see the sign of the cross, it would be easier for me to die. If thou know where he is, lord, inform me.”

Vinicius lowered his voice, and said⁠—

“He is among the people of Petronius, disguised as a slave. I know not where they chose their places, but I will return to the Circus and see. Look thou at me when ye enter the arena. I will rise and turn my face toward them; then thou wilt find him with thy eyes.”

“Thanks to thee, lord, and peace be with thee.”

“May the Redeemer be merciful to thee.”

“Amen.”

Vinicius went out of the cuniculum, and betook himself to the amphitheater, where he had a place near Petronius among the other Augustians.

“Is she there?” inquired Petronius.

“No; she remained in prison.”

“Hear what has occurred to me, but while listening look at Nigidia for example, so that we may seem to talk of her hairdressing. Tigellinus and Chilo are looking at us now. Listen then. Let them put Lygia in a coffin at night and carry her out of the prison as a corpse; thou divinest the rest?”

“Yes,” answered Vinicius.

Their further conversation was interrupted by Tullius Senecio, who, bending toward them, asked⁠—

“Do ye know whether they will give weapons to the Christians?”

“We do not,” answered Petronius.

“I should prefer that arms were given,” said Tullius; “if not, the arena will become like butcher’s shambles too early. But what a splendid amphitheater!”

The sight was, in truth, magnificent. The lower seats, crowded with togas, were as white as snow. In the gilded podium sat Caesar, wearing a diamond collar and a golden crown on his head; next to him sat the beautiful and gloomy Augusta, and on both sides were vestal virgins, great officials, senators with embroidered togas, officers of the army with glittering weapons⁠—in a word, all that was powerful, brilliant, and wealthy in Rome. In the farther rows sat knights; and higher up darkened in rows a sea of common heads, above which from pillar to pillar hung festoons of roses, lilies, ivy, and grapevines.

People conversed aloud, called to one another, sang; at times they broke into laughter at some witty word which was sent from row to row, and they stamped with impatience to hasten the spectacle.

At last the stamping became like thunder, and unbroken. Then the prefect of the city, who rode around the arena with a brilliant retinue, gave a signal with a handkerchief, which was answered throughout the amphitheater by “A-a-a!” from thousands of breasts.

Usually a spectacle was begun by hunts of wild beasts, in which various Northern and Southern barbarians excelled; but this time they had too many beasts, so they began with andabates⁠—that is, men wearing helmets without an opening for the eyes, hence fighting blindfold. A number of these came into the arena together, and slashed at random with their swords; the scourgers with long forks pushed some toward others to make them meet. The more select of the audience looked with contempt and indifference at this spectacle; but the crowd were amused by the awkward motions of the swordsmen. When it happened that they met with their shoulders, they burst out in loud laughter. “To the right!” “To the left!” cried they, misleading the opponents frequently by design. A number of pairs closed, however, and the struggle began to be bloody. The determined combatants cast aside their shields, and giving their left hands to each other, so as not to part again, struggled to the death with their right. Whoever fell