A ROMAN HOLIDAY.
Early next morning the army of slaves who had charge of the Coliseum,
under the direction of Fulvus, the freedman, were hard at work. Some at
the very summit of the building, with much shouting and pulling of
ropes, were stretching the great _velarium_ or awning, as a protection
from the rays of the sun. Others were sweeping the sand of the arena to
a smooth and even surface. Many cart loads of fresh sand were heaped
around the base of the podium, for the ghastly purpose of being spread
upon the blood-stained surface after each act of the sanguinary drama of
the day. Others were decorating with garlands of flowers, and with gold
and purple bannerets, the seats of the Emperors Diocletian and Galerius,
and those of the senators and other persons of distinction. The great
structure seemed even more striking in its vastness, as a few score
figures crawled like flies over its empty seats, than when filled with
its tumultuous throng of spectators. It was an immense oval six hundred
and fifteen feet in its longer diameter, and five hundred and ten feet
in the shorter. The circling seats rose tier on tier to the giddy height
of one hundred and fifty feet.
[Illustration: INTERIOR OF THE COLISEUM, ROME.]
As the present writer climbed those cliff-like walls, now crumbling into
ruin, he tried to re-people those long-deserted seats with the eager and
excited throngs which had often filled them to overflowing, when twice
eighty thousand cruel eyes were wont to gloat upon the dying martyr's
pang, "butchered to make a Roman holiday."[49] Then he wandered through
the vast vaulted corridors and stairways, eighty in number, and bearing
still the old Roman numerals by which access was gained to the different
galleries. These were so capacious that the whole multitude could in a
few minutes disperse, and were thence called _vomitoria_. He then
explored the dens and caves for the wild beasts, and the rocky chambers
in which the gladiators and martyr victims awaited the signal that
called them to their doom. The row of seats just above the podium was
reserved for the equestrian order; those higher still, for the
_populus_, or common people; and the highest of all, for persons of the
lowest rank. Early in the day, multitudes of spectators began to arrive,
mostly arrayed in gala dress, and many wearing the colours of their
favourite gladiatorial champion. With a loud flourish of trumpets the
great gates of the imperial entrance opened, and the chariots of the
Emperors and their respective _suites_ entered and took their places in
the grand tribune reserved for these august occupants. It was noted with
dissatisfaction by the multitude that neither of the Empresses Prisca or
Valeria, were present. But the withered old crone Fausta, mother of
Galerius, seemed to gloat like a foul harpy on the anticipated spectacle
of blood, and near by was her sinister shadow, the black-browed priest
of Cybele.
Our old acquaintance, Burdo, the butcher, was rubicund with joy at the
approaching conflict, for which, he said, he long had hungered. "But
why," he asked, "are not their majesties, the Empresses, in the state
tribune. 'Tis a contempt of a festival sacred to the gods."
"Our dainty Empress," jeered Samos, the "Flat-nose," "has small stomach
to see her friends the Christians given to the lions, and I suspect the
old one is tarred with the same stick."
"If I thought that I'd denounce her myself," growled Bruto, the
gladiator; "Empress or slave, the crime of being a Christian levels all
ranks."
"And lose your head for your pains," chimed in Piso, the barber. "Don't
you know that she winds the Emperor round her finger like a silken
thread."
"Does she favour the accursed Nazarenes?" croaked Ephraim the Jew. "May
the same fate overtake her."
"I thought they were friends of yours," said our old friend Max, who was
one of the soldiers on guard. "They say this Christus whom they worship
was a Jew."
We dare not repeat the wicked imprecation which burst from the lips of
the exasperated Israelite. But it is notorious that the Jews were far
more malignant persecutors of the Christians than even the Pagans
themselves--as is apparent from the Acts of the Apostles and other
records of the early Church.
The time for beginning the games having come, the priest of Neptune
poured a libation to the god, and heaped incense on his altar, placed
near the Imperial tribune. In this act of worship--for these old gods
were worshipped with the blood of men slain as a holiday pageant--he was
followed by the Emperors and their chief officers.
Then with another peal of trumpets a procession of gladiators in
burnished armour entered the arena and marched around its vast circuit.
Pausing before the tribune of the Emperors they chanted with a loud
voice: "_Cæsares Augusti, morituri salutarus vos_--Great Cæsars, we who
are about to die salute you."
First there was a sort of sham battle--_prælusio_, as it was called, in
which the gladiators fought with wooden swords. But the multitude were
speedily impatient of that, and demanded the combat _a l'outrance_--to
the death.
"We came not here to witness such child's play as that," said Burdo, the
butcher. "I want to see the blood flow as it does in my own shambles;" a
brutal sentiment which met with much favour from his neighbours.
Soon their desires were gratified. First there was a combat of
_Andabatæ_, that is, men who wore helmets without any aperture for the
eyes, so that they were obliged to fight blindfold, and thus excited the
mirth of the spectators. Although they inflicted some ugly wounds upon
each other, none of these were mortal, and the mob called loudly for the
_Hoplomachi_, who were next on the play-bill. These were men who fought
in a complete suit of armour. They were as completely encased as crabs
in their shells, but as they could see each other through the bars of
their visors, they were able skilfully to direct their weapons at the
joints of their antagonist's armour. Soon the arena was red with blood,
and more than one victim lay dead and trampled on the sands.
"Good! this is something like the thing," cried Burdo. "But these
fellows are so cased in their shells it is hard to get at them. Let us
have the _Retiarii_."
"Yes, the _Retiarii_ and _Mirmillones_," shouted the mob; and they soon
marched upon the scene.
This conflict promised abundance of excitement The _Retiarii_ wore no
armour, and their only weapons were a net (_rete_, hence their name) and
a trident or three-pronged spear. The _Retiarius_ endeavoured to throw
the net over his antagonist, and then to despatch him with the spear. If
he missed his aim in throwing his net, he betook himself to flight, and
endeavoured to prepare his net for a second cast, while his adversary
followed him round the arena in order to kill him before he could make a
second attempt. It was a cruel sport, and kindled to fury the fierce
passions of the eager spectators.
Then came a conflict between skilled gladiators--the most accomplished
swordsmen of the gladiatorial school. The vast multitude watched with
fevered interest the wary fencing, the skilful guard and rapid thrust
and stroke of those trained butchers of their fellow-men. When a
swordsman was wounded, the spectators rent the air with cries of
"_Habet! Habet!_" and the one who was vanquished lowered his arms in
token of submission. His fate, however, depended upon the will of the
people, who sometimes, when a vanquished swordsman had exhibited
especial dexterity and skill, gave the signal to spare him by
stretching out their hands with the thumbs turned down. But if, as was
more frequently the case, their bloodthirsty passions were roused to
insatiable fury, they demanded his death by turning their thumbs
upwards, and shouting, "_Recipe ferrum_!" Without a tremor the victim
then bared his breast to the sword, and the victor thrust it home to the
hilt, while the cruel mob shouted their huzzas over the bloody tragedy.
Such is the scene brought vividly before our minds by the matchless
antique statue of the Dying Gladiator, found in the Gardens of Sallust,
now in the museum of the Capitol. As one gazes with a strange
fascination on that wondrous marble, instinct, it seems, with mortal
agony, callous must be the heart that is unmoved by its touching pathos.
The exquisite lines of Byron nobly express the emotions which it awakens
in every breast:--
I see before me the Gladiator lie:
He leans upon his hand--his manly brow
Consents to death, but conquers agony,
And his drooped head sinks gradually low--
And through his side the last drops ebbing slow
From the red gash fall heavy, one by one,
Like the first of a thunder shower; and now
The arena swims around him--he is gone,
Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hailed the wretch who won.
He heard it, but he heeded not--his eyes
Were with his heart, and that was far away.
He recked not of the life he lost nor prize,
But where his rude hut by the Danube lay,
_There_ were his young barbarians all at play,
_There_ was their Dacian mother--he, their sire,
Butchered to make a Roman holiday.
An unwonted interest was given to this cruel scene in the Roman
amphitheatre, by a novel and unheard of incident which occurred. The
brilliant young Roman officer, Ligurius Rufus, we have said, was
announced to take part in these games. It was no uncommon thing for
military fops, eager to win the applause of the multitude, or to goad
their jaded weariness of life into a momentary excitement by a spice of
real danger, to enter the lists of the arena; and Ligurius was at once
the most brilliant swordsman in the Twelfth Legion, and the most
_ennuyée_ and world-weary man in Rome.
He was pitted against a brawny Hercules, the strongest and hugest of the
whole school of gladiators--a British prisoner of war, who had been long
the pride and boast of the arena. As they stood face to face, the young
officer in burnished armour, inlaid with silver and gold, and the
mighty thews of his opponent encased in leather and bronze, the betting
was heavy in favour of the British giant. Each felt that he had a foeman
worthy of his steel. They walked warily around each other, each watching
with eager eye every movement of his antagonist. Every thrust on either
side was skilfully parried, any advantage of strength on the part of the
British warrior being matched by the superior nimbleness of the Roman
officer. At last a rapid thrust by Ligurius severed a tendon in the
sword-arm of his foe, and it fell nerveless by his side. With a giant
effort the disabled warrior sprang upon the Roman as if to crush him by
sheer weight; but Ligurius nimbly sprang aside, and his antagonist,
slipping in the gory sand, fell headlong to the ground. In an instant
the Roman's foot was on his neck and his sword at his breast. With a
courteous gesture, Ligurius raised his sword and waved it toward the
Emperors' tribune and to the crowded seats of the podium, as if asking
the signal to spare the vanquished gladiator, while the despairing look
of the latter seemed with mute eloquence to ask for life. "_Habet!
Habet!_" rang round the Coliseum, but not a single sign of mercy was
made, not a single thumb was reversed. "_Recipe ferrum_," roared the mob
at the prostrate giant; and then shouted to Ligurius, "_Occide!
Occide!_--Kill! Kill!"
The gallant Roman heeded them as he would heed the howl of wolves. "I am
not a butcher," he said, with a defiant sneer, and he sheathed his sword
and, much to the surprise of his discomfitted foe, lent his hand to
raise him from the ground.
"You are a brave man," he said, "I want you as a standard bearer for the
Twelfth Legion. That is better than making worm's meat of you. Rome may
need such soldiers before long."
The Emperors were not unwilling to grant this novel request of a
favourite officer, and the grateful creature, in token of his fidelity,
humbly kissed the hand of Ligurius, and followed him from the arena. The
cruel mob, however, angered at being deprived of their anticipated
spectacle of blood, howled with rage, and demanded the crowning scene of
the day's sports--the conflict between the wild beasts and the Christian
martyrs.
These hateful scenes had become the impassioned delight of all classes,
from the Emperors to the "vile plebs" of Rome. Even woman's pitiful
nature forgot its tenderness, and maids and matrons gloated on the cruel
spectacle, and the honour was reserved for the Vestal Virgin to give the
signal for the mortal stroke. Such scenes created a ferocious thirst
for blood throughout society. They overthrew the altar of pity, and
impelled to every excess and refinement of barbarity. Even children
imitated the cruel sport in their games, schools of gladiators were
trained for the work of slaughter, women fought in the arena or lay dead
and trampled in the sand.
It is to the eternal praise of Christianity that it suppressed these
odious contests, and forever averted the sword of the gladiator from the
throat of his victim. The Christian city of Constantinople was never
polluted by the atrocious exhibition. A Christian poet eloquently
denounced the bloody spectacle. A Christian monk, roused to indignation
by the hateful scene, leaped over the barrier to separate the gladiators
in the very frenzy of the conflict. The maddened mob, enraged at this
interruption of their sport, stoned him to death. But his heroic
martydom produced a moral revulsion against the practice, and the laws
of Honorius, to use the language of Gibbon, "abolished forever the human
sacrifices of the amphitheatre."
It remains to notice in another chapter the last scene in the stern
drama of this "Roman holiday."
[Illustration]
FOOTNOTES:
[49] On this very arena perished the venerable Ignatius, linked by
tradition with the Saviour Himself as one of the children whom He took
in His arms and blessed. "Suffer me to be the food of wild beasts," he
exclaimed, "by whom I shall attain unto God. For I am the wheat of God,
and I shall be ground by the teeth of wild beasts, that I may become the
pure bread of Christ."