The Burning of Rome Part 6

"I shall go to my brother this afternoon, and make everything ready for you. You must come dressed as a wagoner; and mind, you must not have the dress only, but the speech also. Can you manage this? Let me hear you try."

Pudens gave so excellent an imitation of rustic speech that the woman burst out laughing. "That will do," she cried; "nothing could be better."

Shortly after noon Pudens might have been seen [160] starting from his house. He was on horseback, and was apparently bound on a journey, for he carried behind him a travelling valise. It contained, besides his own disguise, two plain cloaks, such as the country women commonly wore when they came into Rome; these were intended for the use of the two ladies. When he had got about six miles from the city, he dismounted, concealed the valise in a little wood by the wayside, and then mounting again, rode on to a little inn, a haunt of his earlier days, where he was consequently well known, and where no questions would be asked, and scarcely any curiosity felt about his proceedings. Here he put up his horse; and then, retracing his steps to the wood, a.s.sumed the wagoner's dress. Pudens had a certain genius for acting, and no one would have recognized the elegant and fas.h.i.+onable young soldier in the middle-aged, slouching countryman, a rustic of the rustics, as any one would have thought him, who plodded along the road in the direction of the farm where he was to find the vehicle.

Everything went well. Statia had been better than her word. She had induced her brother to provide a covered wagon, as being far more convenient for the purpose than a common cart. It was drawn by a couple of horses, about whose welfare the farmer gave many cautions to the supposed wagoner. "My sister tells me," he said, "that you are a careful man, who knows how to treat a good beast as he deserves. [161] Don't you overdrive the poor creatures; be gentle with them up the hills if you have much of a load; see with your own eyes that they get their food when you put them up at the tavern-you know the place, the Ph?nix, just outside the gate; an honest place enough, but hostlers will have their little tricks everywhere."

Pudens, who had commended himself to the farmer by some judicious praise of his animals, promised to take all imaginable care of wagon and horses, and had the satisfaction of getting away, without exciting, as he hoped, the slightest suspicion as to his real character. His promise, however, did not prevent him from putting the animals to a sharp trot, that would probably have struck dismay into their owner's heart, as soon as he was well out of sight of the farm. Time, indeed, was precious. He had to reach the old fort, to tell his story, to persuade the ladies to follow his advice, itself likely, he fancied, to be a task of some difficulty, and to get back to Rome before sunrise the next day.

The sun was just setting when he reached the fort. Tying up the horses to a tree he approached the building, knocked, or to speak more accurately, kicked at the door, and asked for the old steward. The old man came to the door, expecting to be interviewed on some ordinary business, and of course failed to recognize his visitor, whom, indeed, he had seen once only in his natural semblance. Pudens intimated [162] that his business was of a private kind, and on finding himself alone with the steward revealed his name, recalling to the old man's recollection the occasion on which they had met before. Nothing could exceed his astonishment. But when the soldier went on to unfold his errand, describing the imminent danger in which Pomponia and her young companion were placed, and the scheme by which he hoped to rescue them, the old man became cool and practical at once.

"Yes," he said, "there is a hope that you may succeed; but the first difficulty will be to persuade my lady. Her own inclination would be to stay here and face the danger, whatever it was."

"Shall I see her?"

"Not, I should say, before I have told her the story. The affair is enough to confound any one, much more a woman who has lived out of the world for many years, and it must be broken to her."

"Very good; arrange it as you think best. But remember that there is no time to be lost. I should be starting in an hour at the most, if I am to get to Rome before sunrise to-morrow, and I ought not to be later."

The old man hastened away at once to seek an interview with Pomponia. In about half an hour he returned.

"Come with me," he said. "My lady wishes to speak with you."

Pudens followed him to a room where the two [163] ladies were sitting together. Ushered into their presence, he felt, and was ashamed of feeling, somewhat embarra.s.sed by the consciousness of a ludicrous disguise, all the more when he perceived that Claudia, notwithstanding the gravity of the situation, could not resist a little smile.

"You have my thanks," began Pomponia, "for all the trouble that you have taken and the risk that you have run. But I must confess that I would sooner await here whatever G.o.d may please to send."

The steward broke in with the freedom of speech often accorded to, or at least a.s.sumed by, an old servant.

"Madam, if I may be permitted to say so much, there spoke the wife of a Roman Consular rather than the handmaid of Christ."

Pomponia flushed at the rebuke, but answered gently, "How so? I would not willingly forget my duty."

"Madam," went on the old man, "it seems to me that what G.o.d has sent, as far as we can see at present, is this young man. He comes with a well contrived scheme which he has taken much pains to carry out so far. But because it does not suit your dignity to fly from your enemies, or to put on a disguise, you refuse to avail yourself of it. Did the blessed Paul think it below his dignity to be let down in a basket out of a window in the wall of Damascus? Not so; he took the means of deliverance that G.o.d sent him, and did not wait for some- [164] thing else that might be more to his taste. And let me say again, madam, what I have said before. You may think it right for yourself to stop here and face the enemy; but you have no right to involve others, this dear young lady for instance, with you. She is young; she is new in the faith,-she will pardon an old man for speaking his mind,-and she may not have your strength when she is brought to the fiery trial. Nay, madam,"-he hesitated a moment before he uttered words that might imply possible doubt of his mistress' own courage and endurance,-"Nay, madam, who knows but what your own strength may fail, if you persist in trying it in a place to which you are not called."

The last two arguments affected Pomponia powerfully. What if this were a call? It would be a sin if she did not follow it, for herself and her young companion.

"Phlegon is right," she said after a short pause; "we will do as you think best."

It was arranged that the two female attendants who had accompanied the visitors should remain where they were. It was difficult, if not impossible, otherwise to dispose of them. Probably they would escape unmolested, pa.s.sing as part of the small establishment which the owner of the house was accustomed to maintain. Phlegon would find shelter with friends in Rome, and would keep up, if possible, some communication with his mistress.

[165] It is needless to describe the journey to Rome. It was affected without any difficulty; but one incident that occurred in the course of it proved how narrow an escape the fugitives had had. When about half the distance had been traversed, Pudens halted at a wayside inn to rest and bait the horses. At the very moment that he did so, a party of horse soldiers which was travelling the other way drew up before the door of the hostelry. It consisted of two troops, numbering together about sixty men, and was commanded by an officer of some rank, who was accompanied by a civilian. Pudens guessed their errand in a moment. They had come, he was sure, to arrest Pomponia, and it was quite possible that they might insist on searching the wagon. Boldness, he felt, was the only policy. Any attempt to escape would certainly be fatal. He came forward, made a clumsy salutation to the officer in command, and began to converse with some of the troopers. He ordered a flagon of the coa.r.s.e wine of the country, and shared it with the newcomers. The liquor set the men's tongues wagging, and Pudens soon learnt that his suspicions were correct. They were bound, said one of the men, for an old country house to arrest some prisoners.

"Who are they? What have they done?" asked the supposed wagoner.

"By Bacchus!" cried the man; "I know nothing about it. I heard something about their being Chris- [166] tians, whatever that may mean. All that I can tell you is that it is some affair of Poppaea. You see that fat man by our chief's side? He has had a bad time of it, I fancy. He is not used to riding, I take it, and we have been pus.h.i.+ng on at a good rate. Well, he is one of Poppaea's freedmen. That fellow there," he pointed as he spoke to a slave who was evidently in charge of a couple of troopers," is our guide. He knows, it seems, where the parties whom we want are, and was to have a turn on the 'little horse' if he didn't tell." (Footnote: The "Little Horse" (eculeus or equuleus) was an instrument of torture. Little is known of its form, beyond that the sufferer's limbs were unnaturally prolonged by weights attached to them. Seneca talks of some one "being made longer by the eculeus" (eculeo longior factus).) This, Pudens imagined, must be some poor wretch belonging to Pomponia's household in Rome, who had been unlucky enough to overhear the name of the place where his mistress was to find shelter.

The easy bearing of Pudens had exactly the effect which he hoped from it, while the accident of the two parties meeting at the halting-place was all in favour of his escape. Probably, had the soldiers encountered him on the road, they would have challenged him, and overhauled the contents of his wagon. As matters turned out, the idea never occurred either to the officer in command or to any of his men. He acted his part so thoroughly well, that no notion of his being [167] anything more than a countryman on his way to the Roman market with a load of produce, crossed any one's mind. Anxious to avoid the remotest cause of suspicion, he purposely prolonged his halt, though, it need not be said, intensely anxious to be off, till the soldiers had started again. It was with intense relief that he heard the officer in command give the order to mount. When the last of the troopers had disappeared in the darkness, he climbed to the driver's seat, tossed the hostler his fee,-which he was careful not to make the smallest fraction larger than usual,-and set his horses in motion. The two women, who had sat all this time under the covering of the wagon, hand clasped in hand, in a perfect agony of suspense, breathed a fervent thanksgiving when they felt themselves to be once more upon the way.

Nothing else happened to alarm the travellers during the rest of their journey; but the most critical time was yet to come. While they were still out of sight of the inn where the wagon and horses were to be put up, the two ladies alighted. Each was disguised beyond recognition, Pudens hoped, in the coa.r.s.e cloaks usually worn by the market-women when they travelled by night, and each carried a large basket filled, or apparently filled, with goods that they were about to offer for sale. At the inn, of course, the wagon and the horses were well known, but Pudens, as a stranger, excited some curiosity.

[168] "Well," he said, in answer to some question, "old Caius has a touch of fever,"-he had taken the precaution of ascertaining the name of the man whom the farmer usually employed,-"and I am taking his place. It is not to my liking at all," he went on; "I had sooner be in my bed, by a long way."

At the city gate the porter grumbled a little at being roused so early, but asked no questions. Catching a glimpse of Claudia's beautiful face, he paid the girl a rough compliment which made her s.h.i.+ver with fear and disgust. Pudens would have dearly liked to knock the fellow down, but, anxious above all things to avoid a scene, restrained himself.

"Hold your tongue," he growled to the man in the harshest country accent that he could put on, "and leave her alone. She is not your sort."

"Nor yours, either," retorted the man; "for a rougher b.u.mpkin I never saw."

The "b.u.mpkin," however, he perceived to be unusually tall and stout, and one who would be a formidable fellow to quarrel with. He returned into the gate-house, and the party pa.s.sed on without further molestation. The streets were almost deserted, so early was the hour. Beyond one or two late revellers staggering home, and a few workmen engaged in some occupation that had to be begun betimes, no one met them. When they reached the temple servant's door where Statia was waiting to receive her new inmates, they had escaped, so Pudens had good reason to hope, all hostile observation.

THE PERSECUTION.

[169] THE streets were beginning to fill as Pudens made the best of his way from the temple servant's dwelling to his own house. Fortunately for him, as he naturally wished to escape notice, the attention of the pa.s.sers-by was engrossed by the copies of the edict against the Christians, which the Imperial officers were now busy posting up in all the public places of the city. He was thus able to reach his home without attracting any observation. Once there, he hastened to put away his disguise in the safest hiding-place that he could find. The proceedings of the night he proposed to keep for as long as possible an absolute secret. The most honourable of men, he reflected, are less likely to divulge what they do not know than what they do.

A veritable reign of terror now began in Rome. In the course of a few days the prisons were crowded to overflowing. It was, indeed, a strange and medley mult.i.tude with which they were filled. The first victims were the more prominent members of the Christian congregations that were scattered throughout the city. Many of these were Jews who had separated [170] themselves, or rather had been expelled, from the synagogues. Their names were naturally known to their unbelieving countrymen, who regarded them with a hatred that was peculiarly intense, and who eagerly seized the opportunity of wreaking their vengeance upon them. Accordingly, the officers charged with the execution of the decree were supplied by the rulers of the synagogues with lists of Jews, who, as they said, had abandoned the faith of their fathers to adopt a gloomy and odious superst.i.tion. These, then, were the first that were arrested under the terms of the Imperial decree. Next came a great number of persons who were more or less closely connected with the new faith. The Christian meetings had been conducted with as little ostentation as possible, but they had not pa.s.sed unnoticed, and many were arrested because they had been known to attend them. Some of these had frequented the meetings from no other motive than curiosity, and these, finding themselves involved in what seemed to be a formidable danger, hastened to win the favour of the authorities by informing against others. So far the prisoners were either genuine Christians, or, at least, had been seen to consort with them. But mingled with these were others who had really nothing to do with the matter: persons who were suspected, in some cases, it may be, with reason, in many more, we may be certain, without any ground whatsoever, of having caused or spread the late fire, [171] were seized and accused. In this way private grudges were often gratified. A creditor or a rival could be got rid of, and that with very little difficulty, if he happened to be unpopular, by a whisper dropped into the right place. Altogether it was a strange crowd that was thus swept as it were by a net into the prisons out of the streets of Rome.

Among the prisoners was the gladiator, or rather ex-gladiator, Fannius. He had made the acquaintance of Glaucon, a young man belonging to Pomponia's household, who, when that lady was obliged to leave Rome, had been given some employment by her nephew, Latera.n.u.s. Glaucon was a native of Cyprus, had been employed there by the Proconsul Sergius Paulus, and had witnessed the memorable scene in which the Apostle Paul had confounded the hostile sorcerer, and convinced the Proconsul of the truth of his message. When Paulus, on the expiration of his term of office, returned to Rome, he took Glaucon with him, and not long after recommended him to a situation of trust in the household of Pomponia. Glaucon was a fervent Christian, and he did not fail to use the opportunities of commending his faith to his new acquaintance. Fannius was just in the mood to listen with eagerness to his teaching. For some years past life had been a very serious affair to him, and all the more so because there was so much in his surroundings as an inmate of a "school" of gladiators that was hateful to him. His brutal comrades, whose [172] sole virtue, it may be said, was courage, and who followed with a revolting simplicity the maxim of "Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die," set off by contrast this refined and pure-minded young Greek, who seemed moved by springs of action belonging to quite another world. Such an act of filial devotion as had brought Fannius into his present position, unfavourable to goodness as this may have been in itself, could not fail to elevate his character, while another purifying influence had been his faithful attachment to Epicharis. In the course of a few weeks, though not knowing enough to fit him for baptism, which indeed he could hardly have received while still a gladiator, Fannius was at heart a Christian.

And now occurred a difficulty of the most serious kind. The performance which Nero exhibited after the fire was the last in which Fannius would have to appear. Did he survive this, he would be ent.i.tled to his discharge. But could he consent to appear? Would the principles of his new faith permit him to exhibit his prowess in the arena? That he could not engage in combat with one of his fellow-men was perfectly plain. That would be a manifest breach of an elementary law of morals. The question was, could he take any part in the spectacle? Opinions were divided. Advisers of the severer sort declared against any partic.i.p.ation; others were content with saying that he must do nothing that would endanger [173] human life. This was the course which he followed. He went to the trainer, and declared, without giving his reasons, that he would not fight except against wild beasts. At first the man was furious. Fannius was, as has been said, a remarkably skilful swords-man, and his dexterity and force made him perhaps the most popular performer in the whole school; all this would be thrown away if he were matched with a lion or a tiger.

"What!" cried the man; "you, my best fighter! I am not going to waste you in such a shameful way."

"There is no help for it," replied Fannius. "Set me to fight against a gladiator, and I shall simply drop my arms. Against a beast I will do my best."

And there was no help for it. The trainer had to make the best of it. He even consoled himself with the idea that he should be able to present a novelty to the spectators. Commonly it was a condemned criminal that had to combat with a wild beast, and it was very seldom that these wretched creatures made any real resistance. They were usually without skill in arms or physical strength; and they were terrified into helplessness. A practised gladiator of the very first cla.s.s engaging in one of these desperate combats-and a struggle with a lion or tiger at close quarters was then, as it would be now without the help of fire-arms, well nigh desperate-might have a great success. At the same time, as Fannius' time of engage- [174] ment was up, there was no risk. If he was killed there would be no loss; if he survived there would be the credit of having provided a novel and exciting entertainment.

So it was arranged. After a number of pairs of gladiators had fought without any particularly brilliant result, the herald came forward, and made the following announcement, permission having been first obtained from the presiding authorities. Fannius, it should be said, had nothing to do with the terms in which it was made.

"C. Fannius, having fought many times with men, and having as often secured victory, claims permission to fight with more formidable antagonists. He will, therefore, with the help of certain a.s.sociates who have been allotted to him for this purpose, contend with a lion, a lioness, and a bear."

The "a.s.sociates" were criminals who would in any case have had to undergo the ordeal.

The combat that followed proved to be a success, at least from the point of view of a Roman sight-seer. To us it would have seemed a peculiarly brutal exhibition. The result was that the lioness and the bear were killed, Fannius' companions peris.h.i.+ng in the struggle. Fannius, in fact, dispatched both animals while they were mangling the dead. A fierce conflict with the lion ended in the victory of the gladiator; though sadly mangled by the claws and teeth of his savage antagonist, he escaped with his [175] life, and, of course, received his discharge, together with a handsome present from the Emperor. He was taken down to the farm, and nursed with indefatigable patience and care by Epicharis and her aunt. The girl's heart was softened as she tended her suffering lover, and she consented to become formally betrothed to him, though only on the condition that before their marriage the vengeance for which she lived should have been first exacted.

FANNIUS AND THE LIONS.

It was in the midst of the joy and pride which he felt in securing an affection of which he had begun to despair, that Fannius imparted to Epicharis the secret of the conspiracy, the secret into which he had been himself initiated by Subrius. The matter had been left to his discretion by his superior, and he thought himself justified in what he did, by the belief, perfectly well founded, as we shall see, that he could not have secured a more zealous or more loyal a.s.sociate. On her part the girl was almost frantic with delight. An object which had seemed almost unattainable was now within reach. It was not a weak woman; it was a powerful a.s.sociation of great n.o.bles and great soldiers that had vowed vengeance against the tyrant. At the same time the love, for which hitherto there had scarcely been room in her heart by the side of the engrossing pa.s.sion for vengeance, grew up and flourished apace. Before cold and distant, she now lavished upon her lover an affection which astonished as much as it delighted him.

[176] Then the blow fell. To the trainer the conduct of Fannius in choosing to fight with beasts rather than men had been unintelligible. If he guessed at any motive he would have said that it was a desire for notoriety. But a rival gladiator, who conceived himself to be affronted by the terms of the proclamation, which indeed, though, as had been said, not through any fault of Fannius, had a certain arrogance about them-was more acute. He knew something about Fannius, and was sure that he would not have committed himself to a desperate venture without some motive of solid worth. Fannius, he was sure, had every reason for wanting to live, and there must be some grave reason for his thus risking his life. What could it be but the same motive which prevented these gloomy sectaries, the Christians, from ever enjoying the spectacles of the Circus and the amphitheatre. On the strength of this conjecture he informed against Fannius as belonging to the forbidden sect of the Christians. The young man, who had now entirely recovered his health, came to Rome for the first time after his illness on the very day on which the edict was published, and was promptly arrested and thrown into prison.

Another of the prisoners was Phlegon, Pomponia's steward. He had been arrested at Subrius' country house. Whether the soldiers arrived before he expected them, or whether he deliberately lingered because he knew that they would not be satisfied [177] without making some arrest, it is not easy to say. Two slaves belonging to the household were seized along with him. Both, it so happened, were heathen, and were therefore in no danger; and he had the satisfaction of knowing, on the other hand, that the two women servants, left behind by Pomponia and Claudia, contrived to escape the notice of the soldiers. To his own peril, now that it had come to him in the way of duty, he was wholly indifferent. He had long since counted the cost of his Christian profession, and had resolved to pay it.

The authorities were seriously perplexed by the abundance of prey which they secured. They did not know where to lodge their prisoners. It must be remembered that the Romans did not habitually use imprisonment, after conviction, as a punishment. Commonly the criminal, if he was not executed, was banished. Sometimes he was consigned to the safe keeping of some distinguished person, (Footnote: This was called libera custodia. It has sometimes been practised by ourselves. Thus, after the accession of Elizabeth, some of the bishops who refused to accept the Reformed Liturgy and Articles were confined in the palaces of their successors.) or was kept in his own house; but the long-continued imprisonment with which it is now customary to visit serious offences was unknown. Nero resolved to cut the knot of this difficulty in his own fas.h.i.+on. To the guilt or innocence of the prisoners he was absolutely indifferent. That they had nothing to do with the [178] particular crime with which they were charged he had the best means of knowing; as to their offence in being Christians, he knew and cared nothing. What he did want was to s.h.i.+ft upon them the notoriety which he wanted to divert from himself.

One means of doing this would be by the singularity of the punishment to be inflicted on them. To make a conspicuous example of some, and to permit the rest to escape, was the course which commended itself to him. How he succeeded will now have to be told.

During the two centuries and a half during which the Christian Church had to endure from time to time the hostility of the rulers of Rome, there were many persecutions that reached further, that lasted longer, that were in many ways more fatal; but there was not one that left on the minds of men so deep an impression of horror.

WHAT THE TEMPLE SERVANT SAW.

[179] IT was of course impossible that Pomponia and her young companion should remain in ignorance of what was going on in Rome. That something like a reign of terror prevailed, that mult.i.tudes of men, women, and even children were being daily arrested and imprisoned-no one exactly knew on what charge-they heard from their hostess, who, however, did her best to soften the story which she had to tell. But there came a time when they had to hear a tale which transcended in horror all that they could have imagined possible.

Commonly the temple servant's house was remarkably quiet. The old man was a peace-loving personage, who seldom entertained others, and still more seldom went out. The dwelling was so small that the apartment occupied by the ladies could hardly be said to be out of hearing of that where Statia and her husband sat in the evening. Commonly there was silence, the woman being busy with her needle, the old man sleeping in his chair. Now and then there would be heard a gentle murmur of conversation. Once or twice the ladies could distinguish a third [180] voice, which they supposed to be that of an occasional visitor. One night, however, after they had been in their refuge about a month, they could not help overhearing what seemed to be a very loud and animated discussion. Fragments of talk even reached their ears, and though they did not attempt to piece them together, the words they heard left a general impression of uneasiness and even fear in their minds. The next morning their hostess was in an evident condition of agitation and excitement, divided between eagerness to tell her news, and a kind-hearted desire not to give pain to her guests.

"Oh, my lady!" she burst out, "there were terrible doings last night; such as were never heard of, they say, in Rome before, ever since it was a city."

The two women listened in silent dismay. That the storm which had been gathering would soon burst, they had clearly foreseen; in what terrible form its violence would break forth, with such a creature, permitted by G.o.d to plague the world for its sins, who could tell?

"I did not see them myself," Statia went on, "thanks be to the G.o.ds! But my husband did, and he was fairly sick and faint with the horribleness of the whole business when he came home. You see, he is not one that goes out much to sights. I haven't known him go to the Circus or the amphitheatre as much as once in the last ten years. You see, he would sooner stop at home quiet with me; and the [181] best place, too, for an old man; aye! and for a young one, too, in my judgment. But last night a friend of his that serves the same temple would have him go and see some fine show, as he called it. The Emperor, my husband's friend said, was to throw open his gardens to the people, and there were to be such wonderful sights as had never been seen before. Well, my good man goes; and as I said, he comes home before it was over, quite sick with what he had seen. As soon as he was inside the gardens, he found a crowd of people hurrying to the theatre that there is in the gardens. Naturally he goes with them, and finds himself in a good place in front, where he could see all that was going on. In the arena were a number of animals,-bears, and lions, and tigers, and bisons, and other creatures that he did not know the names of,-at least, that was what he thought at first; but when he looked again he thought that there was something curious about them, they looked so awkward and clumsy. 'What ails the beasts?' he said to his next neighbour. The man laughed. 'They are not beasts at all!' he said; 'they are men!' 'Then what do they dress them up like that for?' asks my husband. 'Wait a moment,' says the other, 'and you will see.' And sure enough he did see. Some doors under the seats were opened, and a whole pack of dogs came leaping out-the biggest and fiercest looking dogs, my husband said, that he had ever seen. 'They've kept them hungry on purpose,' said the [182] other man, 'giving them nothing to eat for two days, I am told.' 'But who are the poor creatures?' asked my husband, 'and what have they done?' 'Who are they?' answered the other, 'why, they are Christians, to be sure, whatever that may mean, for I don't rightly know myself; and 'tis said that it is they who set the city on fire.' "

"Hus.h.!.+" cried Claudia, when Statia had reached this point in her story. "Tell us no more; it is more than my dear mother can bear."

And indeed Pomponia had grown paler and paler as the story went on.

"Nay," said Pomponia. "If our brethren actually endure these things, we may at least bear to hear them. Go on, my friend."

"Well, my lady," Statia resumed, "the poor creatures were not as much injured as one would have expected. Many of the dogs, when they found out that it was not real beasts that they were set to attack, left them alone; some were even quite friendly and gentle with them. 'They seemed to me,' says my husband, 'a great deal better than their masters;' and right he was, as you will say, when you hear what happened next. A herald came forward and cried, 'Fathers, knights, and citizens of Rome, the Emperor invites you to the Circus to witness a chariot-race, and hopes that you will regard with indulgence any deficiency of skill that you may perceive in the charioteers.' 'They say that he is going [183] to drive one of the chariots himself, and Latera.n.u.s, who is to be Consul next year, the other,'-so my husband's neighbour, who seemed to know all about the show, told him. Of course it was very condescending of him to amuse the people in this way, but it does not seem to me quite the right thing for an Emperor.

NERO AS VICTOR IN A CHARIOT RACE.

"Well, by this time it was getting dark, and when my husband got outside the theatre, he found the gardens lighted up. All along the walks, on each of the lamp-posts, they had fastened a man,-yes, it is true as I am alive,-a man, dressed in a tunic steeped in pitch, and with an iron collar under the chin to keep the head up,-fastened them, and set them on fire. That was too much for my husband. He declared that he could stay no longer, and indeed, he was so poorly that his friend had to see him home, though he was sorry, he said, not to see the rest of the show. When they got back he and my husband had a great argument about it,-perhaps you may have heard them, my lady, for they talked very loud. My husband's friend would have it that it was only right. They were Christians, he said, which was only another name for atheists, and richly deserved all they got. But my husband does not hold with such doings, and told his friend so pretty plainly. 'After all, they're men,' he said, 'and you must not treat them as you would not treat a beast.' 'What! 'said the other,-and I will allow that this did shake [184] me a bit,-'don't you know that if these people had their way, there would be no more offerings in the temples, aye, and no more temples, either, for the matter of that, and where would you and I be then?' But my good man stuck to his point for all that. 'I reckon that the G.o.ds can take care of themselves,' he said; 'and that anyhow, they won't thank us for helping them in this kind of way. It is not our Roman fas.h.i.+on to make show of men in this way. No, no! if a man has to be punished, there is the regular way of doing it; the cross for a slave, and the axe for the free man, with the scourge first, if he has done anything specially bad; but as for dressing men up like beasts, or turning them into torches, I don't hold with it. Our fathers did not do it, and what was enough for them should be enough for us.' That was what my good man said. I have never heard him make such a long speech ever since we were married, for he is not a man of many words. What do you think, my lady?"

The good woman had been quite carried away with her subject, for genuine as was her disgust at the Emperor's cruelties, she had a certain pleasure, not uncommon in her cla.s.s, in the telling of horrors, and she had not noticed how her narrative had affected one of her hearers. Pomponia had quietly fainted.

"Ah! poor lady," cried Statia. "It has been too much for her. I am sure that she must feel for the poor things."

WHAT THE SOLDIERS THOUGHT.

[185] THE temple servant was not the only one among the spectators who had crowded the gardens of Nero, that had viewed the sight there presented to his gaze with disgust and horror. The Praetorians were particularly free and outspoken in the expressions of their feelings. Already they had begun to look upon themselves as the prop of the Imperial throne. It was to their camp that Nero had been carried almost before the breath had left the body of his predecessor Claudius; it was to them that the ambitious Agrippina had looked to give effect to the intrigue by which her son was preferred to the rightful heir; (Footnote: The rightful heir was Britannicus, the son of the Emperor Claudius. It is true that he was only a boy, not quite fourteen, as far as can be determined, when his father died; and an essentially military throne can hardly be occupied by a child; but then Nero was only in his seventeenth year.) it was by their voices that Nero had been proclaimed Emperor, the vote of the Senate only following and confirming their previous determination.

On the morning after the exhibition described in my last chapter a wine shop, which stood just outside the Praetorian camp, and was a favourite resort [186] of the men, was crowded with soldiers taking their morning meal.

"Well, Sisenna," cried a veteran, putting down his empty cup, after a hearty draught of his customary morning beverage of hot wine and water, sweetened with honey and flavoured with saxifrage, "what think you of last night's entertainment?"

The soldier appealed to was a young man who had just been drafted into the Praetorian force as a reward for some good service done on the Asiatic frontier. He did not answer at once, but looked round the room with the air of one who doubts whether he may safely express his thoughts.

"Ha! ha!" laughed the veteran, "you are cautious, I see. That's the way among the legions, I am told, and quite right, too; but it's all liberty here. Speak out, man; we are all friends here, and there is no one to call us to account for what we say. Caesar knows too well what our voices are worth to him to hinder our using them."

"Well, Rufus," said Sisenna after a pause, "I will say frankly that it did not please me. It was not Roman, it was barbarian, though I must say that I never heard even of barbarians doing things quite so horrible."

"Who are these Christians?" asked a third speaker. "What have they done?"

"Didn't you read the Emperor's edict?" said a fourth soldier. "They set the city on fire, because [187] they hate their fellow-creatures, and wish to do them as much damage as they can."

"Well," said Sisenna, "that, anyhow, is not my experience of them. They may hate their fellow-creatures in general, but they are certainly very kind to some of them in particular. Let me tell you what I know about them of my own knowledge. I was very bad with fever when I was campaigning on the Euphrates, and had to be invalided to Antioch. There I was treated by an old Jew physician, who was one of them-there are a good many of these Christians, you must understand, in the city, and many of them are Jews. Well, I was a long time getting well; these marsh fevers are obstinate things; come back again and again when one thinks that one is quit of them. So I got to know the old man very well, and we had a great deal of talk together. He used to tell me about his Master, as he called him; Christus was the name he gave him,-that's how these people came to be called Christians. Another of his names was Jesus; the old man told me what that meant, but I couldn't understand it altogether. But, anyhow, this Master seemed to have been a very good man."

"A good man!" interrupted one of his listeners. "Why, I have always heard that he was a turbulent Jew whom Claudius banished with a number of his countrymen from Rome. (Footnote: Suetonius, in his life of Claudius, says "He (Claudius) banished the Jews from Rome, as, under the influence of one Christus, they were in a perpetual state of turbulence." Perhaps the reference is to differences such as we hear of in the Acts (xviii. 12) when the Jews that were hostile to the teaching of the new faith brought their Christianizing fellow-countrymen before the tribunal of the Roman Governor.) [188] "No, no," Sisenna went on, "you are mistaken; at least, if my friend the physician told me true; Christus was never in Rome, and he was crucified, if I remember right, eight years before Claudius came to the throne."

"Crucified, was he?" said one of the previous speakers. "Then he must have been a slave. Fancy a number of people calling themselves by the name of a slave!"

"No," answered Sisenna; "as far as I could understand, he was not a slave; but of course, he was not a citizen. He was a workman of some kind, a carpenter, I think the physician told me; but whatever he was, he was a wonderful man. He seems to have gone about healing sick people, and making blind men see, and lame men walk; aye, and dead men live again."

There was a general outcry at this. "No! no!" said one of the audience, expressing the common feeling; "that is too much to believe; the other things might be; but making the dead alive! you are laughing at us."

"I can only tell you," said Sisenna, "what the old man told me; he said that he had seen these things with his own eyes. One of the dead men was a friend of [189] his own, aye, and had been his patient, too, in his last illness. 'I saw him die!' he said. I remember his very words, for I was as little disposed to believe the story as you are. 'I saw him die, for I had been with him all the time; I had done my very best to save him; and I saw him buried, too; then comes this Christus-he had been away, you must understand, when the man died-and makes them roll away the stone from the door of the tomb, and cries to the dead man, "Come forth!" I saw the dead man come out, just as he had been buried, with the grave clothes about him, and his chin tied up with a napkin, just as I had tied it with my own hands, when I knew beyond all doubt that he was dead.' These were the old physician's very words."

"He must have been mad," said one of the audience.

"Possibly," returned Sisenna; "but he wasn't in the least mad in other matters. He talked as sensibly as a man could, and a better physician I never hope to see."

"But tell me," said a soldier who had been listening attentively to Sisenna's word, "how did this strange man come to such a bad end? If he could do such wonderful things, couldn't he have prevented it somehow? And couldn't he have made himself alive again, if he made other people?"

A murmur of approval followed the speaker's words, as if he had succeeded in expressing the general feeling.

[190] "Well," replied Sisenna, "that is just what I asked, and the old man did try to explain it to me, but I could not rightly understand what he said. Only I made out that he needn't have died if he had not been willing."

"No," cried the soldier; "that can't be true. A man choosing to die in such a way! It is past all belief."

"Well, so I thought," said Sisenna; "but as for what you said about his making himself alive again, that is just what the old man told me he did."

"Did he ever see him alive again?" some one asked.

"No, he did not. I particularly asked him, and he said he was not one of those who did. But he believed it. He knew scores of people, he said, who had seen him."