Evening. The end of three converging roads to Rome. Three triumphal
arches span them where they debouch on a square at the gate of the
city. Looking north through the arches one can see the campagna
threaded by the three long dusty tracks. On the east and west sides of
the square are long stone benches. An old beggar sits on the east side
of the square, his bowl at his feet. Through the eastern arch a squad
of Roman soldiers tramps along escorting a batch of Christian prisoners
of both sexes and all ages, among them one Lavinia, a goodlooking
resolute young woman, apparently of higher social standing than her
fellow-prisoners. A centurion, carrying his vinewood cudgel, trudges
alongside the squad, on its right, in command of it. All are tired and
dusty; but the soldiers are dogged and indifferent, the Christians
light-hearted and determined to treat their hardships as a joke and
encourage one another.
_A bugle is heard far behind on the road, where the rest of the cohort
is following._
CENTURION.
(_stopping_) Halt! Orders from the Captain. (_They halt and wait_). Now
then, you Christians, none of your larks. The captain’s coming. Mind
you behave yourselves. No singing. Look respectful. Look serious, if
you’re capable of it. See that big building over there? That’s the
Coliseum. That’s where you’ll be thrown to the lions or set to fight
the gladiators presently. Think of that; and it’ll help you to behave
properly before the captain. (_The Captain arrives_). Attention!
Salute! (_The soldiers salute_).
A CHRISTIAN.
(_cheerfully_) God bless you, Captain.
THE CENTURION.
(_scandalised_) Silence!
_The Captain, a patrician, handsome, about thirty-five, very cold and
distinguished, very superior and authoritative, steps up on a stone
seat at the west side of the square, behind the centurion, so as to
dominate the others more effectually._
THE CAPTAIN.
Centurion.
THE CENTURION.
(_standing at attention and saluting_) Sir?
THE CAPTAIN.
(_speaking stiffly and officially_) You will remind your men,
Centurion, that we are now entering Rome. You will instruct them that
once inside the gates of Rome they are in the presence of the Emperor.
You will make them understand that the lax discipline of the march
cannot be permitted here. You will instruct them to shave every day,
not every week. You will impress on them particularly that there must
be an end to the profanity and blasphemy of singing Christian hymns on
the march. I have to reprimand you, Centurion, for not only allowing
this, but actually doing it yourself.
THE CENTURION.
The men march better, Captain.
THE CAPTAIN.
No doubt. For that reason an exception is made in the case of the march
called Onward Christian Soldiers. This may be sung, except when
marching through the forum or within hearing of the Emperor’s palace;
but the words must be altered to “Throw them to the Lions.”
_The Christians burst into shrieks of uncontrollable laughter, to the
great scandal of the Centurion._
CENTURION.
Silence! Silen-n-n-n-nce! Where’s your behavior? Is that the way to
listen to an officer? (_To the Captain_) That’s what we have to put up
with from these Christians every day, sir. They’re always laughing and
joking something scandalous. They’ve no religion: that’s how it is.
LAVINIA.
But I think the Captain meant us to laugh, Centurion. It was so funny.
CENTURION.
You’ll find out how funny it is when you’re thrown to the lions
to-morrow. (_To the Captain, who looks displeased_) Beg pardon, Sir.
(_To the Christians_) Silennnnce!
THE CAPTAIN.
You are to instruct your men that all intimacy with Christian prisoners
must now cease. The men have fallen into habits of dependence upon the
prisoners, especially the female prisoners, for cooking, repairs to
uniforms, writing letters, and advice in their private affairs. In a
Roman soldier such dependence is inadmissible. Let me see no more of it
whilst we are in the city. Further, your orders are that in addressing
Christian prisoners, the manners and tone of your men must express
abhorrence and contempt. Any shortcoming in this respect will be
regarded as a breach of discipline. (_He turns to the prisoners_)
Prisoners.
CENTURION.
(_fiercely_) Prisonerrrrrs! Tention! Silence!
THE CAPTAIN.
I call your attention, prisoners, to the fact that you may be called on
to appear in the Imperial Circus at any time from tomorrow onwards
according to the requirements of the managers. I may inform you that as
there is a shortage of Christians just now, you may expect to be called
on very soon.
LAVINIA.
What will they do to us, Captain?
CENTURION.
Silence!
THE CAPTAIN.
The women will be conducted into the arena with the wild beasts of the
Imperial Menagerie, and will suffer the consequences. The men, if of an
age to bear arms, will be given weapons to defend themselves, if they
choose, against the Imperial Gladiators.
LAVINIA.
Captain: is there no hope that this cruel persecution—
CENTURION.
(_shocked_) Silence! Hold your tongue, there. Persecution, indeed!
THE CAPTAIN.
(_unmoved and somewhat sardonic_) Persecution is not a term applicable
to the acts of the Emperor. The Emperor is the Defender of the Faith.
In throwing you to the lions he will be upholding the interests of
religion in Rome. If you were to throw him to the lions, that would no
doubt be persecution.
_The Christians again laugh heartily._
CENTURION.
(_horrified_) Silence, I tell you! Keep silence there. Did anyone ever
hear the like of this?
LAVINIA.
Captain: there will be nobody to appreciate your jokes when we are
gone.
THE CAPTAIN.
(_unshaken in his official delivery_) I call the attention of the
female prisoner Lavinia to the fact that as the Emperor is a divine
personage, her imputation of cruelty is not only treason, but
sacrilege. I point out to her further that there is no foundation for
the charge, as the Emperor does not desire that any prisoner should
suffer; nor can any Christian be harmed save through his or her own
obstinacy. All that is necessary is to sacrifice to the gods: a simple
and convenient ceremony effected by dropping a pinch of incense on the
altar, after which the prisoner is at once set free. Under such
circumstances you have only your own perverse folly to blame if you
suffer. I suggest to you that if you cannot burn a morsel of incense as
a matter of conviction, you might at least do so as a matter of good
taste, to avoid shocking the religious convictions of your fellow
citizens. I am aware that these considerations do not weigh with
Christians; but it is my duty to call your attention to them in order
that you may have no ground for complaining of your treatment, or of
accusing the Emperor of cruelty when he is showing you the most signal
clemency. Looked at from this point of view, every Christian who has
perished in the arena has really committed suicide.
LAVINIA.
Captain: your jokes are too grim. Do not think it is easy for us to
die. Our faith makes life far stronger and more wonderful in us than
when we walked in darkness and had nothing to live for. Death is harder
for us than for you: the martyr’s agony is as bitter as his triumph is
glorious.
THE CAPTAIN.
(_rather troubled, addressing her personally and gravely_) A martyr,
Lavinia, is a fool. Your death will prove nothing.
LAVINIA.
Then why kill me?
THE CAPTAIN.
I mean that truth, if there be any truth, needs no martyrs.
LAVINIA.
No; but my faith, like your sword, needs testing. Can you test your
sword except by staking your life on it?
THE CAPTAIN.
(_suddenly resuming his official tone_) I call the attention of the
female prisoner to the fact that Christians are not allowed to draw the
Emperor’s officers into arguments and put questions to them for which
the military regulations provide no answer. (_The Christians titter_).
LAVINIA.
Captain: how CAN you?
THE CAPTAIN.
I call the female prisoner’s attention specially to the fact that four
comfortable homes have been offered her by officers of this regiment,
of which she can have her choice the moment she chooses to sacrifice as
all well-bred Roman ladies do. I have no more to say to the prisoners.
CENTURION.
Dismiss! But stay where you are.
THE CAPTAIN.
Centurion: you will remain here with your men in charge of the
prisoners until the arrival of three Christian prisoners in the custody
of a cohort of the tenth legion. Among these prisoners you will
particularly identify an armorer named Ferrovius, of dangerous
character and great personal strength, and a Greek tailor reputed to be
a sorcerer, by name Androcles. You will add the three to your charge
here and march them all to the Coliseum, where you will deliver them
into the custody of the master of the gladiators and take his receipt,
countersigned by the keeper of the beasts and the acting manager. You
understand your instructions?
CENTURION.
Yes, Sir.
THE CAPTAIN.
Dismiss. (_He throws off his air of parade, and descends down from the
perch. The Centurion seats on it and prepares for a nap, whilst his men
stand at ease. The Christians sit down on the west side of the square,
glad to rest. Lavinia alone remains standing to speak to the Captain_).
LAVINIA.
Captain: is this man who is to join us the famous Ferrovius, who has
made such wonderful conversions in the northern cities?
THE CAPTAIN.
Yes. We are warned that he has the strength of an elephant and the
temper of a mad bull. Also that he is stark mad. Not a model Christian,
it would seem.
LAVINIA.
You need not fear him if he is a Christian, Captain.
THE CAPTAIN.
(_coldly_) I shall not fear him in any case, Lavinia.
LAVINIA.
(_her eyes dancing_) How brave of you, Captain!
THE CAPTAIN.
You are right: it was silly thing to say. (_In a lower tone, humane and
urgent_) Lavinia: do Christians know how to love?
LAVINIA.
(_composedly_) Yes, Captain: they love even their enemies.
THE CAPTAIN.
Is that easy?
LAVINIA.
Very easy, Captain, when their enemies are as handsome as you.
THE CAPTAIN.
Lavinia: you are laughing at me.
LAVINIA.
At you, Captain! Impossible.
THE CAPTAIN.
Then you are flirting with me, which is worse. Don’t be foolish.
LAVINIA.
But such a very handsome captain.
THE CAPTAIN.
Incorrigible! (_Urgently_) Listen to me. The men in that audience
tomorrow will be the vilest of voluptuaries: men in whom the only
passion excited by a beautiful woman is a lust to see her tortured and
torn shrieking limb from limb. It is a crime to dignify that passion.
It is offering yourself for violation by the whole rabble of the
streets and the riff-raff of the court at the same time. Why will you
not choose rather a kindly love and an honorable alliance?
LAVINIA.
They cannot violate my soul. I alone can do that by sacrificing to
false gods.
THE CAPTAIN.
Sacrifice then to the true God. What does his name matter? We call him
Jupiter. The Greeks call him Zeus. Call him what you will as you drop
the incense on the altar flame: He will understand.
LAVINIA.
No. I couldn’t. That is the strange thing, Captain, that a little pinch
of incense should make all that difference. Religion is such a great
thing that when I meet really religious people we are friends at once,
no matter what name we give to the divine will that made us and moves
us. Oh, do you think that I, a woman, would quarrel with you for
sacrificing to a woman god like Diana, if Diana meant to you what
Christ means to me? No: we should kneel side by side before her altar
like two children. But when men who believe neither in my god nor in
their own—men who do not know the meaning of the word religion—when
these men drag me to the foot of an iron statue that has become the
symbol of the terror and darkness through which they walk, of their
cruelty and greed, of their hatred of God and their oppression of
man—when they ask me to pledge my soul before the people that this
hideous idol is God, and that all this wickedness and falsehood is
divine truth, I cannot do it, not if they could put a thousand cruel
deaths on me. I tell you, it is physically impossible. Listen, Captain:
did you ever try to catch a mouse in your hand? Once there was a dear
little mouse that used to come out and play on my table as I was
reading. I wanted to take him in my hand and caress him; and sometimes
he got among my books so that he could not escape me when I stretched
out my hand. And I did stretch out my hand; but it always came back in
spite of me. I was not afraid of him in my heart; but my hand refused:
it is not in the nature of my hand to touch a mouse. Well, Captain, if
I took a pinch of incense in my hand and stretched it out over the
altar fire, my hand would come back. My body would be true to my faith
even if you could corrupt my mind. And all the time I should believe
more in Diana than my persecutors have ever believed in anything. Can
you understand that?
THE CAPTAIN.
(_simply_) Yes: I understand that. But my hand would not come back. The
hand that holds the sword has been trained not to come back from
anything but victory.
LAVINIA.
Not even from death?
THE CAPTAIN.
Least of all from death.
LAVINIA.
Then I must not come back either. A woman has to be braver than a
soldier.
THE CAPTAIN.
Prouder, you mean.
LAVINIA.
(_startled_) Prouder! You call our courage pride!
THE CAPTAIN.
There is no such thing as courage: there is only pride. You Christians
are the proudest devils on earth.
LAVINIA.
(_hurt_) Pray God then my pride may never become a false pride. (_She
turns away as if she did not wish to continue the conversation, but
softens and says to him with a smile_) Thank you for trying to save me
from death.
THE CAPTAIN.
I knew it was no use; but one tries in spite of one’s knowledge.
LAVINIA.
Something stirs, even in the iron breast of a Roman soldier!
THE CAPTAIN.
It will soon be iron again. I have seen many women die, and forgotten
them in a week.
LAVINIA.
Remember me for a fortnight, handsome Captain. I shall be watching you,
perhaps.
THE CAPTAIN.
From the skies? Do not deceive yourself, Lavinia. There is no future
for you beyond the grave.
LAVINIA.
What does that matter? Do you think I am only running away from the
terrors of life into the comfort of heaven? If there were no future, or
if the future were one of torment, I should have to go just the same.
The hand of God is upon me.
THE CAPTAIN.
Yes: when all is said, we are both patricians, Lavinia, and must die
for our beliefs. Farewell. (_He offers her his hand. She takes it and
presses it. He walks away, trim and calm. She looks after him for a
moment, and cries a little as he disappears through the eastern arch. A
trumpet-call is heard from the road through the western arch_).
CENTURION.
(_waking up and rising_) Cohort of the tenth with prisoners. Two file
out with me to receive them. (_He goes out through the western arch,
followed by four soldiers in two files_).
_Lentulus and Metellus come into the square from the west side with a
little retinue of servants. Both are young courtiers, dressed in the
extremity of fashion. Lentulus is slender, fair-haired, epicene.
Metellus is manly, compactly built, olive skinned, not a talker._
LENTULUS.
Christians, by Jove! Let’s chaff them.
METELLUS.
Awful brutes. If you knew as much about them as I do you wouldn’t want
to chaff them. Leave them to the lions.
LENTULUS.
(_indicating Lavinia, who is still looking towards the arches after the
captain_). That woman’s got a figure. (_He walks past her, staring at
her invitingly, but she is preoccupied and is not conscious of him_).
Do you turn the other cheek when they kiss you?
LAVINIA.
(_starting_) What?
LENTULUS.
Do you turn the other cheek when they kiss you, fascinating Christian?
LAVINIA.
Don’t be foolish. (_To Metellus, who has remained on her right, so that
she is between them_) Please don’t let your friend behave like a cad
before the soldiers. How are they to respect and obey patricians if
they see them behaving like street boys? (_Sharply to Lentulus_) Pull
yourself together, man. Hold your head up. Keep the corners of your
mouth firm; and treat me respectfully. What do you take me for?
LENTULUS.
(_irresolutely_) Look here, you know: I—you—I—
LAVINIA.
Stuff! Go about your business. (_She turns decisively away and sits
down with her comrades, leaving him disconcerted_).
METELLUS.
You didn’t get much out of that. I told you they were brutes.
LENTULUS.
Plucky little filly! I suppose she thinks I care. (_With an air of
indifference he strolls with Metellus to the east side of the square,
where they stand watching the return of the Centurion through the
western arch with his men, escorting three prisoners: Ferrovius,
Androcles, and Spintho. Ferrovius is a powerful, choleric man in the
prime of life, with large nostrils, staring eyes, and a thick neck: a
man whose sensibilities are keen and violent to the verge of madness.
Spintho is a debauchee, the wreck of a good-looking man gone hopelessly
to the bad. Androcles is overwhelmed with grief, and is restraining his
tears with great difficulty_).
THE CENTURION.
(_to Lavinia_) Here are some pals for you. This little bit is Ferrovius
that you talk so much about. (_Ferrovius turns on him threateningly.
The Centurion holds up his left forefinger in admonition_). Now
remember that you’re a Christian, and that you’ve got to return good
for evil. (_Ferrovius controls himself convulsively; moves away from
temptation to the east side near Lentulus; clasps his hands in silent
prayer; and throws himself on his knees_). That’s the way to manage
them, eh! This fine fellow (_indicating Androcles, who comes to his
left, and makes Lavinia a heartbroken salutation_) is a sorcerer. A
Greek tailor, he is. A real sorcerer, too: no mistake about it. The
tenth marches with a leopard at the head of the column. He made a pet
of the leopard; and now he’s crying at being parted from it.
(_Androcles sniffs lamentably_). Ain’t you, old chap? Well, cheer up,
we march with a Billy goat (_Androcles brightens up_) that’s killed two
leopards and ate a turkey-cock. You can have him for a pet if you like.
(_Androcles, quite consoled, goes past the Centurion to Lavinia, and
sits down contentedly on the ground on her left_). This dirty dog
(_collaring Spintho_) is a real Christian. He mobs the temples, he does
(_at each accusation he gives the neck of Spintho’s tunic a twist_); he
goes smashing things mad drunk, he does; he steals the gold vessels, he
does; he assaults the priestesses, he does pah! (_He flings Spintho
into the middle of the group of prisoners_). You’re the sort that makes
duty a pleasure, you are.
SPINTHO.
(_gasping_) That’s it: strangle me. Kick me. Beat me. Revile me. Our
Lord was beaten and reviled. That’s my way to heaven. Every martyr goes
to heaven, no matter what he’s done. That is so, isn’t it, brother?
CENTURION.
Well, if you’re going to heaven, _I_ don’t want to go there. I wouldn’t
be seen with you.
LENTULUS.
Haw! Good! (_Indicating the kneeling Ferrovius_). Is this one of the
turn-the-other-cheek gentlemen, Centurion?
CENTURION.
Yes, sir. Lucky for you too, sir, if you want to take any liberties
with him.
LENTULUS.
(_to Ferrovius_) You turn the other cheek when you’re struck, I’m told.
FERROVIUS.
(_slowly turning his great eyes on him_) Yes, by the grace of God, I
do, now.
LENTULUS.
Not that you’re a coward, of course; but out of pure piety.
FERROVIUS.
I fear God more than man; at least I try to.
LENTULUS.
Let’s see. (_He strikes him on the cheek. Androcles makes a wild
movement to rise and interfere; but Lavinia holds him down, watching
Ferrovius intently. Ferrovius, without flinching, turns the other
cheek. Lentulus, rather out of countenance, titters foolishly, and
strikes him again feebly_). You know, I should feel ashamed if I let
myself be struck like that, and took it lying down. But then I’m not a
Christian: I’m a man. (_Ferrovius rises impressively and towers over
him. Lentulus becomes white with terror; and a shade of green flickers
in his cheek for a moment_).
FERROVIUS.
(_with the calm of a steam hammer_) I have not always been faithful.
The first man who struck me as you have just struck me was a stronger
man than you: he hit me harder than I expected. I was tempted and fell;
and it was then that I first tasted bitter shame. I never had a happy
moment after that until I had knelt and asked his forgiveness by his
bedside in the hospital. (_Putting his hands on Lentulus’s shoulders
with paternal weight_). But now I have learnt to resist with a strength
that is not my own. I am not ashamed now, nor angry.
LENTULUS.
(_uneasily_) Er—good evening. (_He tries to move away_).
FERROVIUS.
(_gripping his shoulders_) Oh, do not harden your heart, young man.
Come: try for yourself whether our way is not better than yours. I will
now strike you on one cheek; and you will turn the other and learn how
much better you will feel than if you gave way to the promptings of
anger. (_He holds him with one hand and clenches the other fist_).
LENTULUS.
Centurion: I call on you to protect me.
CENTURION.
You asked for it, sir. It’s no business of ours. You’ve had two whacks
at him. Better pay him a trifle and square it that way.
LENTULUS.
Yes, of course. (_To Ferrovius_) It was only a bit of fun, I assure
you: I meant no harm. Here. (_He proffers a gold coin_).
FERROVIUS.
(_taking it and throwing it to the old beggar, who snatches it up
eagerly, and hobbles off to spend it_) Give all thou hast to the poor.
Come, friend: courage! I may hurt your body for a moment; but your soul
will rejoice in the victory of the spirit over the flesh. (_He prepares
to strike_).
ANDROCLES.
Easy, Ferrovius, easy: you broke the last man’s jaw.
_Lentulus, with a moan of terror, attempts to fly; but Ferrovius holds
him ruthlessly._
FERROVIUS.
Yes; but I saved his soul. What matters a broken jaw?
LENTULUS.
Don’t touch me, do you hear? The law—
FERROVIUS.
The law will throw me to the lions tomorrow: what worse could it do
were I to slay you? Pray for strength; and it shall be given to you.
LENTULUS.
Let me go. Your religion forbids you to strike me.
FERROVIUS.
On the contrary, it commands me to strike you. How can you turn the
other cheek, if you are not first struck on the one cheek?
LENTULUS.
(_almost in tears_) But I’m convinced already that what you said is
quite right. I apologize for striking you.
FERROVIUS.
(_greatly pleased_) My son: have I softened your heart? Has the good
seed fallen in a fruitful place? Are your feet turning towards a better
path?
LENTULUS.
(_abjectly_) Yes, yes. There’s a great deal in what you say.
FERROVIUS.
(_radiant_) Join us. Come to the lions. Come to suffering and death.
LENTULUS.
(_falling on his knees and bursting into tears_) Oh, help me. Mother!
mother!
FERROVIUS.
These tears will water your soul and make it bring forth good fruit, my
son. God has greatly blessed my efforts at conversion. Shall I tell you
a miracle—yes, a miracle—wrought by me in Cappadocia? A young man—just
such a one as you, with golden hair like yours—scoffed at and struck me
as you scoffed at and struck me. I sat up all night with that youth
wrestling for his soul; and in the morning not only was he a Christian,
but his hair was as white as snow. (_Lentulus falls in a dead faint_).
There, there: take him away. The spirit has overwrought him, poor lad.
Carry him gently to his house; and leave the rest to heaven.
CENTURION.
Take him home. (_The servants, intimidated, hastily carry him out.
Metellus is about to follow when Ferrovius lays his hand on his
shoulder_).
FERROVIUS.
You are his friend, young man. You will see that he is taken safely
home.
METELLUS.
(_with awestruck civility_) Certainly, sir. I shall do whatever you
think best. Most happy to have made your acquaintance, I’m sure. You
may depend on me. Good evening, sir.
FERROVIUS.
(_with unction_) The blessing of heaven upon you and him.
_Metellus follows Lentulus. The Centurion returns to his seat to resume
his interrupted nap. The deepest awe has settled on the spectators.
Ferrovius, with a long sigh of happiness, goes to Lavinia, and offers
her his hand._
LAVINIA.
(_taking it_) So that is how you convert people, Ferrovius.
FERROVIUS.
Yes: there has been a blessing on my work in spite of my unworthiness
and my backslidings—all through my wicked, devilish temper. This man—
ANDROCLES.
(_hastily_) Don’t slap me on the back, brother. She knows you mean me.
FERROVIUS.
How I wish I were weak like our brother here! for then I should perhaps
be meek and gentle like him. And yet there seems to be a special
providence that makes my trials less than his. I hear tales of the
crowd scoffing and casting stones and reviling the brethren; but when I
come, all this stops: my influence calms the passions of the mob: they
listen to me in silence; and infidels are often converted by a straight
heart-to-heart talk with me. Every day I feel happier, more confident.
Every day lightens the load of the great terror.
LAVINIA.
The great terror? What is that?
_Ferrovius shakes his head and does not answer. He sits down beside her
on her left, and buries his face in his hands in gloomy meditation._
ANDROCLES.
Well, you see, sister, he’s never quite sure of himself. Suppose at the
last moment in the arena, with the gladiators there to fight him, one
of them was to say anything to annoy him, he might forget himself and
lay that gladiator out.
LAVINIA.
That would be splendid.
FERROVIUS.
(_springing up in horror_) What!
ANDROCLES.
Oh, sister!
FERROVIUS.
Splendid to betray my master, like Peter! Splendid to act like any
common blackguard in the day of my proving! Woman: you are no
Christian. (_He moves away from her to the middle of the square, as if
her neighborhood contaminated him_).
LAVINIA.
(_laughing_) You know, Ferrovius, I am not always a Christian. I don’t
think anybody is. There are moments when I forget all about it, and
something comes out quite naturally, as it did then.
SPINTHO.
What does it matter? If you die in the arena, you’ll be a martyr; and
all martyrs go to heaven, no matter what they have done. That’s so,
isn’t it, Ferrovius?
FERROVIUS.
Yes: that is so, if we are faithful to the end.
LAVINIA.
I’m not so sure.
SPINTHO.
Don’t say that. That’s blasphemy. Don’t say that, I tell you. We shall
be saved, no matter WHAT we do.
LAVINIA.
Perhaps you men will all go into heaven bravely and in triumph, with
your heads erect and golden trumpets sounding for you. But I am sure I
shall only be allowed to squeeze myself in through a little crack in
the gate after a great deal of begging. I am not good always: I have
moments only.
SPINTHO.
You’re talking nonsense, woman. I tell you, martyrdom pays all scores.
ANDROCLES.
Well, let us hope so, brother, for your sake. You’ve had a gay time,
haven’t you? with your raids on the temples. I can’t help thinking that
heaven will be very dull for a man of your temperament. (_Spintho
snarls_). Don’t be angry: I say it only to console you in case you
should die in your bed tonight in the natural way. There’s a lot of
plague about.
SPINTHO.
(_rising and running about in abject terror_) I never thought of that.
O Lord, spare me to be martyred. Oh, what a thought to put into the
mind of a brother! Oh, let me be martyred today, now. I shall die in
the night and go to hell. You’re a sorcerer: you’ve put death into my
mind. Oh, curse you, curse you! (_He tries to seize Androcles by the
throat_).
FERROVIUS.
(_holding him in a grip of iron_) What’s this, brother? Anger!
Violence! Raising your hand to a brother Christian!
SPINTHO.
It’s easy for you. You’re strong. Your nerves are all right. But I’m
full of disease. (_Ferrovius takes his hand from him with instinctive
disgust_). I’ve drunk all my nerves away. I shall have the horrors all
night.
ANDROCLES.
(_sympathetic_) Oh, don’t take on so, brother. We’re all sinners.
SPINTHO.
(_snivelling, trying to feel consoled_). Yes: I daresay if the truth
were known, you’re all as bad as I am.
LAVINIA.
(_contemptuously_) Does that comfort you?
FERROVIUS.
(_sternly_) Pray, man, pray.
SPINTHO.
What’s the good of praying? If we’re martyred we shall go to heaven,
shan’t we, whether we pray or not?
FERROVIUS.
What’s that? Not pray! (_Seizing him again_) Pray this instant, you
dog, you rotten hound, you slimy snake, you beastly goat, or—
SPINTHO.
Yes: beat me: kick me. I forgive you: mind that.
FERROVIUS.
(_spurning him with loathing_) Yah! (_Spintho reels away and falls in
front of Ferrovius_).
ANDROCLES.
(_reaching out and catching the skirt of Ferrovius’s tunic_) Dear
brother: if you wouldn’t mind—just for my sake—
FERROVIUS.
Well?
ANDROCLES.
Don’t call him by the names of the animals. We’ve no right to. I’ve had
such friends in dogs. A pet snake is the best of company. I was nursed
on goat’s milk. Is it fair to them to call the like of him a dog or a
snake or a goat?
FERROVIUS.
I only meant that they have no souls.
ANDROCLES.
(_anxiously protesting_) Oh, believe me, they have. Just the same as
you and me. I really don’t think I could consent to go to heaven if I
thought there were to be no animals there. Think of what they suffer
here.
FERROVIUS.
That’s true. Yes: that is just. They will have their share in heaven.
SPINTHO.
(_who has picked himself up and is sneaking past Ferrovius on his left,
sneers derisively_)!!
FERROVIUS.
(_turning on him fiercely_) What’s that you say?
SPINTHO.
(_cornering_). Nothing.
FERROVIUS.
(_clenching his fist_) Do animals go to heaven or not?
SPINTHO.
I never said they didn’t.
FERROVIUS.
(_implacable_) Do they or do they not?
SPINTHO.
They do: they do. (_Scrambling out of Ferrovius’s reach_). Oh, curse
you for frightening me!
_A bugle call is heard._
CENTURION.
(_waking up_) Tention! Form as before. Now then, prisoners, up with you
and trot along spry. (_The soldiers fall in. The Christians rise_).
A man with an ox goad comes running through the central arch.
THE OX DRIVER.
Here, you soldiers! clear out of the way for the Emperor.
THE CENTURION.
Emperor! Where’s the Emperor? You ain’t the Emperor, are you?
THE OX DRIVER.
It’s the menagerie service. My team of oxen is drawing the new lion to
the Coliseum. You clear the road.
CENTURION.
What! Go in after you in your dust, with half the town at the heels of
you and your lion! Not likely. We go first.
THE OX DRIVER.
The menagerie service is the Emperor’s personal retinue. You clear out,
I tell you.
CENTURION.
You tell me, do you? Well, I’ll tell you something. If the lion is
menagerie service, the lion’s dinner is menagerie service too. This
(_pointing to the Christians_) is the lion’s dinner. So back with you
to your bullocks double quick; and learn your place. March. (_The
soldiers start_). Now then, you Christians, step out there.
LAVINIA.
(_marching_) Come along, the rest of the dinner. I shall be the olives
and anchovies.
ANOTHER CHRISTIAN.
(_laughing_) I shall be the soup.
ANOTHER. I shall be the fish.
ANOTHER. Ferrovius shall be the roast boar.
FERROVIUS.
(_heavily_) I see the joke. Yes, yes: I shall be the roast boar. Ha!
ha! (_He laughs conscientiously and marches out with them_).
ANDROCLES.
I shall be the mince pie. (_Each announcement is received with a louder
laugh by all the rest as the joke catches on_).
CENTURION.
(_scandalised_) Silence! Have some sense of your situation. Is this the
way for martyrs to behave? (_To Spintho, who is quaking and loitering_)
I know what you’ll be at that dinner. You’ll be the emetic. (_He shoves
him rudely along_).
SPINTHO.
It’s too dreadful: I’m not fit to die.
CENTURION.
Fitter than you are to live, you swine.
_They pass from the square westward. The oxen, drawing a waggon with a
great wooden cage and the lion in it, arrive through the central arch._