On the upper tier (but apart from the male spectators) sat the women,
their gay dresses resembling some gaudy flowerbed; it is needless to add
that they were the most talkative part of the assembly; and many were
the looks directed up to them, especially from the benches appropriated
to the young and the unmarried men. On the lower seats round the arena
sat the more high-born and wealthy visitors--the magistrates and those
of senatorial or equestrian dignity: the passages which, by corridors at
the right and left, gave access to these seats, at either end of the
oval arena, were also the entrances for the combatants. Strong palings
at these passages prevented any unwelcome eccentricity in the movements
of the beasts, and confined them to their appointed prey. Around the
parapet which was raised above the arena, and from which the seats
gradually rose, were gladiatorial inscriptions, and paintings wrought in
fresco, typical of the entertainments for which the place was designed.
Throughout the whole building wound invisible pipes, from which, as the
day advanced, cooling and fragrant showers were to be sprinkled over the
spectators. The officers of the amphitheatre were still employed in the
task of fixing the vast awning (or _velaria_) which covered the whole,
and which luxurious invention the Campanians arrogated to themselves: it
was woven of the whitest Apulian wool, and variegated with broad stripes
of crimson. Owing either to some inexperience on the part of the workmen
or to some defect in the machinery, the awning, however, was not
arranged that day so happily as usual; indeed, from the immense space of
the circumference, the task was always one of great difficulty and
art--so much so that it could seldom be adventured in rough or windy
weather. But the present day was so remarkably still that there seemed
to the spectators no excuse for the awkwardness of the artificers; and
when a large gap in the back of the awning was still visible, from the
obstinate refusal of one part of the velaria to ally itself with the
rest, the murmurs of discontent were loud and general.
The sedile Pansa, at whose expense the exhibition was given, looked
particularly annoyed at the defect, and vowed bitter vengeance on the
head of the chief officer of the show, who, fretting, puffing,
perspiring, busied himself in idle orders and unavailing threats.
The hubbub ceased suddenly--the operators desisted--the crowd were
stilled--the gap was forgotten--for now, with a loud and warlike
flourish of trumpets, the gladiators, marshaled in ceremonious
procession, entered the arena. They swept round the oval space very
slowly and deliberately, in order to give the spectators full leisure to
admire their stern serenity of feature--their brawny limbs and various
arms, as well as to form such wagers as the excitement of the moment
might suggest.
"Oh!" cried the widow Fulvia to the wife of Pansa, as they leaned down
from their lofty bench, "do you see that gigantic gladiator? how drolly
he is dressed!"
"Yes," said the aedile's wife with complacent importance, for she knew
all the names and qualities of each combatant: "he is a retiarius or
netter; he is armed only, you see, with a three-pronged spear like a
trident, and a net; he wears no armor, only the fillet and the tunic. He
is a mighty man, and is to fight with Sporus, yon thick-set gladiator,
with the round shield and drawn sword but without body armor; he has not
his helmet on now, in order that you may see his face--how fearless it
is! By-and-by he will fight with his visor down."
"But surely a net and a spear are poor arms against a shield and sword?"
"That shows how innocent you are, my dear Fulvia: the retiarius has
generally the best of it."
"But who is yon handsome gladiator, nearly naked--is it not quite
improper? By Venus! but his limbs are beautifully shaped!"
"It is Lydon, a young untried man! he has the rashness to fight yon
other gladiator similarly dressed, or rather undressed--Tetraides. They
fight first in the Greek fashion, with the cestus; afterward they put on
armor, and try sword and shield."
"He is a proper man, this Lydon; and the women, I am sure, are on his
side."
"So are not the experienced bettors: Clodius offers three to one against
him."
"Oh, Jove! how beautiful!" exclaimed the widow, as two gladiators, armed
_cap-à-pie,_ rode round the arena on light and prancing steeds.
Resembling much the combatants in the tilts of the middle age, they
bore lances and round shields beautifully inlaid; their armor was woven
intricately with bands of iron, but it covered only the thighs and the
right arms; short cloaks extending to the seat gave a picturesque and
graceful air to their costume; their legs were naked with the exception
of sandals, which were fastened a little above the ankle. "Oh,
beautiful! Who are these?" asked the widow.
"The one is named Berbix: he has conquered twelve times. The other
assumes the arrogant Nobilior. They are both Gauls."
While thus conversing, the first formalities of the show were over. To
these succeeded a feigned combat with wooden swords between the various
gladiators matched against each other. Among these the skill of two
Roman gladiators, hired for the occasion, was the most admired; and next
to them the most graceful combatant was Lydon. This sham contest did not
last above an hour, nor did it attract any very lively interest except
among those connoisseurs of the arena to whom art was preferable to more
coarse excitement; the body of the spectators were rejoiced when it was
over, and when the sympathy rose to terror. The combatants were now
arranged in pairs, as agreed beforehand; their weapons examined; and the
grave sports of the day commenced amid the deepest silence--broken only
by an exciting and preliminary blast of warlike music.
It was often customary to begin the sports by the most cruel of all; and
some bestiarius, or gladiator appointed to the beasts, was slain first
as an initiatory sacrifice. But in the present instance the experienced
Pansa thought better that the sanguinary drama should advance, not
decrease, in interest; and accordingly the execution of Olinthus and
Glaucus was reserved for the last. It was arranged that the two horsemen
should first occupy the arena; that the foot gladiators, paired off,
should then be loosed indiscriminately on the stage; that Glaucus and
the lion should next perform their part in the bloody spectacle; and the
tiger and the Nazarene be the grand finale. And in the spectacles of
Pompeii, the reader of Roman history must limit his imagination, nor
expect to find those vast and wholesale exhibitions of magnificent
slaughter with which a Nero or a Caligula regaled the inhabitants of the
Imperial City. The Roman shows, which absorbed the more celebrated
gladiators and the chief proportion of foreign beasts, were indeed the
very reason why in the lesser towns of the empire the sports of the
amphitheatre were comparatively humane and rare; and in this as in
other respects, Pompeii was the miniature, the microcosm of Rome. Still,
it was an awful and imposing spectacle, with which modern times have,
happily, nothing to compare; a vast theatre, rising row upon row, and
swarming with human beings, from fifteen to eighteen thousand in number,
intent upon no fictitious representation--no tragedy of the stage--but
the actual victory or defeat, the exultant life or the bloody death, of
each and all who entered the arena!
The two horsemen were now at either extremity of the lists (if so they
might be called), and at a given signal from Pansa the combatants
started simultaneously as in full collision, each advancing his round
buckler, each poising on high his sturdy javelin; but just when within
three paces of his opponent, the steed of Berbix suddenly halted,
wheeled round, and, as Nobilior was borne rapidly by, his antagonist
spurred upon him. The buckler of Nobilior, quickly and skillfully
extended, received a blow which otherwise would have been fatal.
"Well done, Nobilior!" cried the prætor, giving the first vent to the
popular excitement.
"Bravely struck, my Berbix!" answered Clodius from his seat.
And the wild murmur, swelled by many a shout, echoed from side to side.
The visors of both the horsemen were completely closed (like those of
the knights in after times), but the head was nevertheless the great
point of assault; and Nobilior, now wheeling his charger with no less
adroitness than his opponent, directed his spear full on the helmet of
his foe. Berbix raised his buckler to shield himself, and his quick-eyed
antagonist, suddenly lowering his weapon, pierced him through the
breast. Berbix reeled and fell.
"Nobilior! Nobilior!" shouted the populace.
"I have lost ten sestertia," said Clodius, between his teeth.
"_Habet_!" (He has it) said Pansa deliberately.
The populace, not yet hardened into cruelty, made the signal of mercy:
but as the attendants of the arena approached, they found the kindness
came too late; the heart of the Gaul had been pierced, and his eyes were
set in death. It was his life's blood that flowed so darkly over the
sand and sawdust of the arena.
"It is a pity it was so soon over--there was little enough for one's
trouble," said the widow Fulvia.
"Yes--I have no compassion for Berbix. Any one might have seen that
Nobilior did but feint. Mark, they fix the fatal hook to the body--they
drag him away to the spoliarium--they scatter new sand over the stage!
Pansa regrets nothing more than that he is not rich enough to strew the
arena with borax and cinnabar, as Nero used to do."
"Well, if it has been a brief battle, it is quickly succeeded. See my
handsome Lydon on the arena--ay, and the net-bearer too, and the
swordsmen! Oh, charming!"
There were now on the arena six combatants: Niger and his net, matched
against Sporus with his shield and his short broad-sword; Lydon and
Tetraides, naked save by a cincture round the waist, each armed only
with a heavy Greek cestus; and two gladiators from Rome, clad in
complete steel, and evenly matched with immense bucklers and
pointed swords.
The initiatory contest between Lydon and Tetraides being less deadly
than that between the other combatants, no sooner had they advanced to
the middle of the arena than as by common consent the rest held back, to
see how that contest should be decided, and wait till fiercer weapons
might replace the cestus ere they themselves commenced hostilities. They
stood leaning on their arms and apart from each other, gazing on the
show, which, if not bloody enough thoroughly to please the populace,
they were still inclined to admire because its origin was of their
ancestral Greece.
No persons could at first glance have seemed less evenly matched than
the two antagonists. Tetraides, though no taller than Lydon, weighed
considerably more; the natural size of his muscles was increased, to the
eyes of the vulgar, by masses of solid flesh; for, as it was a notion
that the contest of the cestus fared easiest with him who was plumpest,
Tetraides had encouraged to the utmost his hereditary predisposition to
the portly. His shoulders were vast, and his lower limbs thick-set,
double-jointed, and slightly curved outward, in that formation which
takes so much from beauty to give so largely to strength. But Lydon,
except that he was slender even almost to meagreness, was beautifully
and delicately proportioned; and the skillful might have perceived that
with much less compass of muscle than his foe, that which he had was
more seasoned--iron and compact. In proportion, too, as he wanted
flesh, he was likely to possess activity; and a haughty smile on his
resolute face, which strongly contrasted with the solid heaviness of his
enemy's, gave assurance to those who beheld it and united their hope to
their pity; so that despite the disparity of their seeming strength, the
cry of the multitude was nearly as loud for Lydon as for Tetraides.
Whoever is acquainted with the modern prize-ring--whoever has witnessed
the heavy and disabling strokes which the human fist, skillfully
directed, hath the power to bestow--may easily understand how much that
happy facility would be increased by a band carried by thongs of leather
round the arm as high as the elbow, and terribly strengthened about the
knuckles by a plate of iron, and sometimes a plummet of lead. Yet this,
which was meant to increase, perhaps rather diminished, the interest of
the fray; for it necessarily shortened its duration. A very few blows,
successfully and scientifically planted, might suffice to bring the
contest to a close; and the battle did not, therefore, often allow full
scope for the energy, fortitude, and dogged perseverance that we
technically style _pluck_, which not unusually wins the day against
superior science, and which heightens to so painful a delight the
interest in the battle and the sympathy for the brave.
"Guard thyself!" growled Tetraides, moving nearer and nearer to his foe,
who rather shifted round him than receded.
Lydon did not answer, save by a scornful glance of his quick, vigilant
eye. Tetraides struck--it was as the blow of a smith on a vise; Lydon
sank suddenly on one knee--the blow passed over his head. Not so
harmless was Lydon's retaliation; he quickly sprang to his feet, and
aimed his cestus full on the broad chest of his antagonist. Tetraides
reeled--the populace shouted.
"You are unlucky to-day," said Lepidus to Clodius: "you have lost one
bet; you will lose another."
"By the gods! my bronzes go to the auctioneer if that is the case. I
have no less than a hundred sestertia upon Tetraides. Ha, ha! see how he
rallies! That was a home stroke: he has cut open Lydon's shoulder.--A
Tetraides!--a Tetraides!"
"But Lydon is not disheartened. By Pollux! how well he keeps his temper!
See how dextrously he avoids those hammer-like hands!--dodging now here,
now there--circling round and round. Ah, poor Lydon! he has it again."
"Three to one still on Tetraides! What say you, Lepidus?"
"Well--nine sestertia to three--be it so! What! again Lydon. He
stops--he gasps for breath. By the gods, he is down! No--he is again on
his legs. Brave Lydon! Tetraides is encouraged--he laughs loud--he
rushes on him."
"Fool--success blinds him--he should be cautious. Lydon's eye is like a
lynx's!" said Clodius, between his teeth.
"Ha, Clodius! saw you that? Your man totters! Another blow--he falls--he
falls!"
"Earth revives him then. He is once more up; but the blood rolls down
his face."
"By the Thunderer! Lydon wins it. See how he presses on him! That blow
on the temple would have crushed an ox! it _has_ crushed Tetraides. He
falls again--he cannot move--_habet_!--_habet_!"
"_Habet_!" repeated Pansa. "Take them out and give them the armor and
swords." ...
While the contest in the amphitheatre had thus commenced, there was one
in the loftier benches for whom it had assumed indeed a poignant, a
stifling interest. The aged father of Lydon, despite his Christian
horror of the spectacle, in his agonized anxiety for his son had not
been able to resist being the spectator of his fate. Once amid a fierce
crowd of strangers, the lowest rabble of the populace, the old man saw,
felt nothing but the form, the presence of his brave son! Not a sound
had escaped his lips when twice he had seen him fall to the earth; only
he had turned paler, and his limbs trembled. But he had uttered one low
cry when he saw him victorious; unconscious, alas! of the more fearful
battle to which that victory was but a prelude.
"My gallant boy!" said he, and wiped his eyes.
"Is he thy son?" said a brawny fellow to the right of the Nazarene: "he
has fought well; let us see how he does by-and-by. Hark! he is to fight
the first victor. Now, old boy, pray the gods that that victor be
neither of the Romans! nor, next to them, the giant Niger."
The old man sat down again and covered his face. The fray for the moment
was indifferent to him--Lydon was not one of the combatants. Yet, yet,
the thought flashed across him--the fray was indeed of deadly
interest--the first who fell was to make way for Lydon! He started, and
bent down, with straining eyes and clasped hands, to view the
encounter.
The first interest was attracted toward the combat of Niger with Sporus;
for this spectacle of contest, from the fatal result which usually
attended it, and from the great science it required in either
antagonist, was always peculiarly inviting to the spectators.
They stood at a considerable distance from each other. The singular
helmet which Sporus wore (the visor of which was down) concealed his
face; but the features of Niger attracted a fearful and universal
interest from their compressed and vigilant ferocity. Thus they stood
for some moments, each eying each, until Sporus began slowly and with
great caution to advance, holding his sword pointed, like a modern
fencer's, at the breast of his foe. Niger retreated as his antagonist
advanced, gathering up his net with his right hand and never taking his
small, glittering eye from the movements of the swordsman. Suddenly,
when Sporus had approached nearly at arm's length, the retiarius threw
himself forward and cast his net. A quick inflection of body saved the
gladiator from the deadly snare; he uttered a sharp cry of joy and rage
and rushed upon Niger; but Niger had already drawn in his net, thrown it
across his shoulders, and now fled around the lists with a swiftness
which the _secutor_[6] in vain endeavored to equal. The people laughed
and shouted aloud to see the ineffectual efforts of the broad-shouldered
gladiator to overtake the flying giant; when at that moment their
attention was turned from these to the two Roman combatants.
[Footnote 6: So called from the office of that tribe of gladiators in
_following_ the foe the moment the net was cast, in order to smite him
ere he could have time to re-arrange it.]
They had placed themselves at the onset face to face, at the distance of
modern fencers from each other; but the extreme caution which both
evinced at first had prevented any warmth of engagement, and allowed the
spectators full leisure to interest themselves in the battle between
Sporus and his foe. But the Romans were now heated into full and fierce
encounter: they pushed--returned--advanced on--retreated from each
other, with all that careful yet scarcely perceptible caution which
characterizes men well experienced and equally matched. But at this
moment Eumolpus, the older gladiator, by that dextrous back-stroke which
was considered in the arena so difficult to avoid, had wounded Nepimus
in the side. The people shouted; Lepidus turned pale.
"Ho!" said Clodius, "the game is nearly over. If Eumolpus rights now the
quiet fight, the other will gradually bleed himself away."
"But, thank the gods! he does _not_ fight the backward fight. See!--he
presses hard upon Nepimus. By Mars! but Nepimus had him there! the
helmet rang again!--Clodius, I shall win!"
"Why do I ever bet but at the dice?" groaned Clodius to himself;--"or
why cannot one cog a gladiator?"
"A Sporus!--a Sporus!" shouted the populace, as Niger, now having
suddenly paused, had again cast his net, and again unsuccessfully. He
had not retreated this time with sufficient agility--the sword of Sporus
had inflicted a severe wound upon his right leg; and, incapacitated to
fly, he was pressed hard by the fierce swordsman. His great height and
length of arm still continued, however, to give him no despicable
advantages; and steadily keeping his trident at the front of his foe, he
repelled him successfully for several minutes.
Sporus now tried by great rapidity of evolution to get round his
antagonist, who necessarily moved with pain and slowness. In so doing he
lost his caution--he advanced too near to the giant--raised his arm to
strike, and received the three points of the fatal spear full in his
breast! He sank on his knee. In a moment more the deadly net was cast
over him,--he struggled against its meshes in vain; again--again--again
he writhed mutely beneath the fresh strokes of the trident--his blood
flowed fast through the net and redly over the sand. He lowered his arms
in acknowledgment of defeat.
The conquering retiarius withdrew his net, and leaning on his spear,
looked to the audience for their judgment. Slowly, too, at the same
moment, the vanquished gladiator rolled his dim and despairing eyes
around the theatre. From row to row, from bench to bench, there glared
upon him but merciless and unpitying eyes.
Hushed was the roar--the murmur! The silence was dread, for in it was no
sympathy; not a hand--no, not even a woman's hand--gave the signal of
charity and life! Sporus had never been popular in the arena; and lately
the interest of the combat had been excited on behalf of the wounded
Niger. The people were warmed into blood--the _mimic_ fight had ceased
to charm; the interest had mounted up to the desire of sacrifice and the
thirst of death!
The gladiator felt that his doom was sealed; he uttered no prayer--no
groan. The people gave the signal of death! In dogged but agonized
submission he bent his neck to receive the fatal stroke. And now, as the
spear of the retiarius was not a weapon to inflict instant and certain
death, there stalked into the arena a grim and fatal form, brandishing a
short, sharp sword, and with features utterly concealed beneath its
visor. With slow and measured step this dismal headsman approached the
gladiator, still kneeling--laid the left hand on his humbled crest--drew
the edge of the blade across his neck--turned round to the assembly,
lest, in the last moment, remorse should come upon them; the dread
signal continued the same; the blade glittered brightly in the
air--fell--and the gladiator rolled upon the sand: his limbs
quivered--were still--he was a corpse.
His body was dragged at once from the arena through the gate of death,
and thrown into the gloomy den termed technically the "spoliarium." And
ere it had well reached that destination the strife between the
remaining combatants was decided. The sword of Eumolpus had inflicted
the death-wound upon the less experienced combatant. A new victim was
added to the receptacle of the slain.
Throughout that mighty assembly there now ran a universal movement; the
people breathed more freely and settled themselves in their seats. A
grateful shower was cast over every row from the concealed conduits. In
cool and luxurious pleasure they talked over the late spectacle of
blood. Eumolpus removed his helmet and wiped his brows; his close-curled
hair and short beard, his noble Roman features and bright dark eye,
attracted the general admiration. He was fresh, unwounded, unfatigued.
The ædile paused, and proclaimed aloud that as Niger's wound disabled
him from again entering the arena, Lydon was to be the successor to the
slaughtered Nepimus and the new combatant of Eumolpus.
"Yet, Lydon," added he, "if thou wouldst decline the combat with one so
brave and tried, thou mayst have full liberty to do so. Eumolpus is not
the antagonist that was originally decreed for thee. Thou knowest best
how far thou canst cope with him. If thou failest, thy doom is honorable
death; if thou conquerest, out of my own purse I will double the
stipulated prize."
The people shouted applause. Lydon stood in the lists; he gazed around;
high above he beheld the pale face, the straining eyes of his father.
He turned away irresolute for a moment. No! the conquest of the cestus
was not sufficient--he had not yet won the prize of victory--his father
was still a slave!
"Noble ædile!" he replied, in a firm and deep tone, "I shrink not from
this combat. For the honor of Pompeii, I demand that one trained by its
long-celebrated lanista shall do battle with this Roman."
The people shouted louder than before.
"Four to one against Lydon!" said Clodius to Lepidus.
"I would not take twenty to one! Why, Eumolpus is a very Achilles, and
this poor fellow is but a tyro!"
Eumolpus gazed hard on the face of Lydon: he smiled; yet the smile was
followed by a slight and scarce audible sigh--a touch of compassionate
emotion, which custom conquered the moment the heart acknowledged it.
And now both, clad in complete armor, the sword drawn, the visor closed,
the two last combatants of the arena (ere man, at least, was matched
with beast) stood opposed to each other.
It was just at this time that a letter was delivered to the prætor by
one of the attendants of the arena; he removed the cincture--glanced
over it for a moment--his countenance betrayed surprise and
embarrassment. He re-read the letter, and then muttering,--"Tush! it is
impossible!--the man must be drunk, even in the morning, to dream of
such follies!"--threw it carelessly aside and gravely settled himself
once more in the attitude of attention to the sports.
The interest of the public was wound up very high. Eumolpus had at first
won their favor; but the gallantry of Lydon, and his well-timed allusion
to the honor of the Pompeiian lanista, had afterward given the latter
the preference in their eyes.
"Holla, old fellow!" said Medon's neighbor to him. "Your son is hardly
matched; but never fear, the editor will not permit him to be slain--no,
nor the people neither: he has behaved too bravely for that. Ha! that
was a home thrust!--well averted by Pollux! At him again, Lydon!--they
stop to breathe! What art thou muttering, old boy?"
"Prayers!" answered Medon, with a more calm and hopeful mien than he had
yet maintained.
"Prayers!--trifles! The time for gods to carry a man away in a cloud is
gone now. Ha! Jupiter, what a blow! Thy side--thy side!--take care of
thy side, Lydon!"
There was a convulsive tremor throughout the assembly. A fierce blow
from Eumolpus, full on the crest, had brought Lydon to his knee.
"_Habet_!--he has it!" cried a shrill female voice; "he has it!"
It was the voice of the girl who had so anxiously anticipated the
sacrifice of some criminal to the beasts.
"Be silent, child!" said the wife of Pansa, haughtily. "_Non habet!_--he
is _not_ wounded!"
"I wish he were, if only to spite old surly Medon," muttered the girl.
Meanwhile Lydon, who had hitherto defended himself with great skill and
valor, began to give way before the vigorous assaults of the practiced
Roman; his arm grew tired, his eye dizzy, he breathed hard and
painfully. The combatants paused again for breath.
"Young man," said Eumolpus, in a low voice, "desist; I will wound thee
slightly--then lower thy arm; thou hast propitiated the editor and the
mob--thou wilt be honorably saved!"
"And my father still enslaved!" groaned Lydon to himself. "No! death or
his freedom."
At that thought, and seeing that, his strength not being equal to the
endurance of the Roman, everything depended on a sudden and desperate
effort, he threw himself fiercely on Eumolpus; the Roman warily
retreated--Lydon thrust again--Eumolpus drew himself aside--the sword
grazed his cuirass--Lydon's breast was exposed--the Roman plunged his
sword through the joints of the armor, not meaning however to inflict a
deep wound; Lydon, weak and exhausted, fell forward, fell right on the
point; it passed through and through, even to the back. Eumolpus drew
forth his blade; Lydon still made an effort to regain his balance--his
sword left his grasp--he struck mechanically at the gladiator with his
naked hand and fell prostrate on the arena. With one accord, ædile and
assembly made the signal of mercy; the officers of the arena approached,
they took off the helmet of the vanquished. He still breathed; his eyes
rolled fiercely on his foe; the savageness he had acquired in his
calling glared from his gaze and lowered upon the brow, darkened already
with the shades of death; then with a convulsive groan, with a
half-start, he lifted his eyes above. They rested not on the face of the
ædile nor on the pitying brows of the relenting judges. He saw them not;
they were as if the vast space was desolate and bare; one pale
agonizing face alone was all he recognized--one cry of a broken heart
was all that, amid the murmurs and the shouts of the populace, reached
his ear. The ferocity vanished from his brow; a soft, tender expression
of sanctifying but despairing filial love played over his
features--played--waned--darkened! His face suddenly became locked and
rigid, resuming its former fierceness. He fell upon the earth.
"Look to him," said the ædile; "he has done his duty!"
The officers dragged him off to the spoliarium.
"A true type of glory, and of its fate!" murmured Arbaces to himself;
and his eye, glancing around the amphitheatre, betrayed so much of
disdain and scorn that whoever encountered it felt his breath suddenly
arrested, and his emotions frozen into one sensation of abasement and
of awe.
Again rich perfumes were wafted around the theatre; the attendants
sprinkled fresh sand over the arena.
"Bring forth the lion and Glaucus the Athenian," said the ædile.
And a deep and breathless hush of overwrought interest and intense (yet
strange to say not unpleasing) terror lay like a mighty and awful dream
over the assembly.
* * * * *
The door swung gratingly back--the gleam of spears shot along the wall.
"Glaucus the Athenian, thy time has come," said a loud and clear voice;
"the lion awaits thee."
"I am ready," said the Athenian. "Brother and co-mate, one last embrace!
Bless me--and farewell!"
The Christian opened his arms; he clasped the young heathen to his
breast; he kissed his forehead and cheek; he sobbed aloud; his tears
flowed fast and hot over the features of his new friend.
"Oh! could I have converted thee, I had not wept. Oh that I might say to
thee, 'We two shall sup this night in Paradise!'"
"It may be so yet," answered the Greek with a tremulous voice, "They
whom death parts now may yet meet beyond the grave; on the earth--oh!
the beautiful, the beloved earth, farewell for ever! Worthy officer, I
attend you."
Glaucus tore himself away; and when he came forth into the air, its
breath, which though sunless was hot and arid, smote witheringly upon
him. His frame, not yet restored from the effects of the deadly
draught, shrank and trembled. The officers supported him.
"Courage!" said one; "thou art young, active, well knit. They give thee
a weapon! despair not, and thou mayst yet conquer."
Glaucus did not reply; but ashamed of his infirmity, he made a desperate
and convulsive effort and regained the firmness of his nerves. They
anointed his body, completely naked save by a cincture round the loins,
placed the stilus (vain weapon!) in his hand, and led him into
the arena.
And now when the Greek saw the eyes of thousands and tens of thousands
upon him, he no longer felt that he was mortal. All evidence of fear,
all fear itself, was gone. A red and haughty flush spread over the
paleness of his features; he towered aloft to the full of his glorious
stature. In the elastic beauty of his limbs and form; in his intent but
unfrowning brow; in the high disdain and in the indomitable soul which
breathed visibly, which spoke audibly, from his attitude, his lip, his
eye,--he seemed the very incarnation, vivid and corporeal, of the valor
of his land; of the divinity of its worship: at once a hero and a god!
The murmur of hatred and horror at his crime which had greeted his
entrance died into the silence of involuntary admiration and
half-compassionate respect; and with a quick and convulsive sigh, that
seemed to move the whole mass of life as if it were one body, the gaze
of the spectators turned from the Athenian to a dark uncouth object in
the centre of the arena. It was the grated den of the lion.
"By Venus, how warm it is!" said Fulvia, "yet there is no sun. Would
that those stupid sailors could have fastened up that gap in
the awning!"
"Oh, it is warm indeed. I turn sick--I faint!" said the wife of Pansa;
even her experienced stoicism giving way at the struggle about to
take place.
The lion had been kept without food for twenty-four hours, and the
animal had, during the whole morning, testified a singular and restless
uneasiness, which the keeper had attributed to the pangs of hunger. Yet
its bearing seemed rather that of fear than of rage; its roar was
painful and distressed; it hung its head--snuffed the air through the
bars--then lay down--started again--and again uttered its wild and
far-resounding cries. And now in its den it lay utterly dumb and mute,
with distended nostrils forced hard against the grating, and disturbing,
with a heaving breath, the sand below on the arena.
The editor's lip quivered, and his cheek grew pale; he looked anxiously
around--hesitated--delayed; the crowd became impatient. Slowly he gave
the sign; the keeper, who was behind the den, cautiously removed the
grating, and the lion leaped forth with a mighty and glad roar of
release. The keeper hastily retreated through the grated passage leading
from the arena, and left the lord of the forest--and his prey.
Glaucus had bent his limbs so as to give himself the firmest posture at
the expected rush of the lion, with his small and shining weapon raised
on high, in the faint hope that _one_ well-directed thrust (for he knew
that he should have time but for _one_) might penetrate through the eye
to the brain of his grim foe.
But to the unutterable astonishment of all, the beast seemed not even
aware of the presence of the criminal.
At the first moment of its release it halted abruptly in the arena,
raised itself half on end, snuffing the upward air with impatient signs,
then suddenly it sprang forward, but not on the Athenian. At half-speed
it circled round and round the space, turning its vast head from side to
side with an anxious and perturbed gaze, as if seeking only some avenue
of escape; once or twice it endeavored to leap up the parapet that
divided it from the audience, and on falling, uttered rather a baffled
howl than its deep-toned and kingly roar. It evinced no sign either of
wrath or hunger; its tail drooped along the sand, instead of lashing its
gaunt sides; and its eye, though it wandered at times to Glaucus, rolled
again listlessly from him. At length, as if tired of attempting to
escape, it crept with a moan into its cage, and once more laid itself
down to rest.
The first surprise of the assembly at the apathy of the lion soon grew
converted into resentment at its cowardice; and the populace already
merged their pity for the fate of Glaucus into angry compassion for
their own disappointment.
The editor called to the keeper:--"How is this? Take the goad, prick him
forth, and then close the door of the den."
As the keeper, with some fear but more astonishment, was preparing to
obey, a loud cry was heard at one of the entrances of the arena; there
was a confusion, a bustle--voices of remonstrance suddenly breaking
forth, and suddenly silenced at the reply. All eyes turned in
wonder at the interruption, toward the quarter of the disturbance; the
crowd gave way, and suddenly Sallust appeared on the senatorial benches,
his hair disheveled--breathless--heated--half exhausted. He cast his
eyes hastily round the ring. "Remove the Athenian!" he cried; "haste--he
is innocent! Arrest Arbaces the Egyptian--HE is the murderer of
Apæcides!"
[Illustration: _IN THE ARENA,_ Photogravure from a Drawing by Frank
Kirchbach.
"Glaucus had bent his limbs so as to give himself the firmest posture at
the expected rush of the lion, with his small and shining weapon raised
on high, in the faint hope that _one_ well-directed thrust (for he knew
that he should have time but for _one_) might penetrate through the eye
to the brain of his grim foe. But to the unutterable astonishment of
all, the beast seemed not even aware of the presence of the criminal." ]
[Illustration: Untitled]
"Art thou mad, O Sallust!" said the prætor, rising from his seat. "What
means this raving?"
"Remove the Athenian!--Quick! or his blood be on your head. Prætor,
delay, and you answer with your own life to the Emperor! I bring with me
the eye-witness to the death of the priest Apæcides. Room there, stand
back, give way. People of Pompeii, fix every eye upon Arbaces; there he
sits! Room there for the priest Calenus!"
Pale, haggard, fresh from the jaws of famine and of death, his face
fallen, his eyes dull as a vulture's, his broad frame gaunt as a
skeleton, Calenus was supported into the very row in which Arbaces sat.
His releasers had given him sparingly of food; but the chief sustenance
that nerved his feeble limbs was revenge!
"The priest Calenus--Calenus!" cried the mob. "It is he? No--it is a
dead man!"
"It is the priest Calenus," said the prætor, gravely. "What hast thou to
say?"
"Arbaces of Egypt is the murderer of Apæcides, the priest of Isis; these
eyes saw him deal the blow. It is from the dungeon into which he plunged
me--it is from the darkness and horror of a death by famine--that the
gods have raised me to proclaim his crime! Release the Athenian--_he_ is
innocent!"
"It is for this, then, that the lion spared him, A miracle! a miracle!"
cried Pansa.
"A miracle! a miracle!" shouted the people; "remove the
Athenian--_Arbaces to the lion_."
And that shout echoed from hill to vale--from coast to sea--_Arbaces to
the lion_.
"Officers, remove the accused Glaucus--remove, but guard him yet," said
the prætor. "The gods lavish their wonders upon this day."
As the prætor gave the word of release, there was a cry of joy: a female
voice, a child's voice; and it was of joy! It rang through the heart of
the assembly with electric force; it was touching, it was holy, that
child's voice. And the populace echoed it back with sympathizing
congratulation.
"Silence!" said the grave prætor; "who is there?"
"The blind girl--Nydia," answered Sallust; "it is her hand that has
raised Calenus from the grave, and delivered Glaucus from the lion."
"Of this hereafter," said the prætor. "Calenus, priest of Isis, thou
accusest Arbaces of the murder of Apæcides?"
"I do!"
"Thou didst behold the deed?"
"Prætor--with these eyes--"
"Enough at present--the details must be reserved for more suiting time
and place. Arbaces of Egypt, thou hearest the charge against thee--thou
hast not yet spoken--what hast thou to say?"
The gaze of the crowd had been long riveted on Arbaces; but not until
the confusion which he had betrayed at the first charge of Sallust and
the entrance of Calenus had subsided. At the shout, "Arbaces to the
lion!" he had indeed trembled, and the dark bronze of his cheek had
taken a paler hue. But he had soon recovered his haughtiness and
self-control. Proudly he returned the angry glare of the countless eyes
around him; and replying now to the question of the prætor, he said, in
that accent so peculiarly tranquil and commanding which characterized
his tones:--
"Prætor, this charge is so mad that it scarcely deserves reply. My first
accuser is the noble Sallust--the most intimate friend of Glaucus! My
second is a priest: I revere his garb and calling--but, people of
Pompeii! ye know somewhat of the character of Calenus--he is griping and
gold-thirsty to a proverb; the witness of such men is to be bought!
Prætor, I am innocent!"
"Sallust," said the magistrate, "where found you Calenus?"
"In the dungeons of Arbaces."
"Egyptian," said the prætor, frowning, "thou didst, then, dare to
imprison a priest of the gods--and wherefore?"
[Illustration: NYDIA The blind flower-girl of Bulwer's Last Days of
Pompeii. Photogravure from a Painting by C. Von Bodenhausen.]
[Illustration]
"Hear me," answered Arbaces, rising calmly, but with agitation visible
in his face. "This man came to threaten that he would make against me
the charge he has now made, unless I would purchase his silence with
half my fortune; I remonstrated--in vain. Peace there--let not the
priest interrupt me! Noble prætor--and ye, O people! I was a stranger in
the land--I knew myself innocent of crime--but the witness of a
priest against me might yet destroy me. In my perplexity I decoyed him
to the cell whence he has been released, on pretense that it was the
coffer-house of my gold. I resolved to detain him there until the fate
of the true criminal was sealed and his threats could avail no longer;
but I meant no worse. I may have erred--but who among ye will not
acknowledge the equity of self-preservation? Were I guilty, why was the
witness of this priest silent at the trial?--_then_ I had not detained
or concealed him. Why did he not proclaim my guilt when I proclaimed
that of Glaucus? Prætor, this needs an answer. For the rest, I throw
myself on your laws. I demand their protection. Remove hence the accused
and the accuser. I will willingly meet, and cheerfully abide by the
decision of, the legitimate tribunal. This is no place for
further parley."
"He says right." said the prætor. "Ho! guards--remove Arbaces--guard
Calenus! Sallust, we hold you responsible for your accusation. Let the
sports be resumed."
"What!" cried Calenus, turning round to the people, "shall Isis be thus
contemned? Shall the blood of Apæcides yet cry for vengeance? Shall
justice be delayed now, that it may be frustrated hereafter? Shall the
lion be cheated of his lawful prey? A god! a god!--I feel the god rush
to my lips! _To the lion--to the lion with Arbaces_!"
His exhausted frame could support no longer the ferocious malice of the
priest; he sank on the ground in strong convulsions; the foam gathered
to his mouth; he was as a man, indeed, whom a supernatural power had
entered! The people saw, and shuddered.
"It is a god that inspires the holy man! _To the lion with the
Egyptian_!"
With that cry up sprang, on moved, thousands upon thousands. They rushed
from the heights; they poured down in the direction of the Egyptian. In
vain did the ædile command; in vain did the prætor lift his voice and
proclaim the law. The people had been already rendered savage by the
exhibition of blood; they thirsted for more; their superstition was
aided by their ferocity. Aroused, inflamed by the spectacle of their
victims, they forgot the authority of their rulers. It was one of those
dread popular convulsions common to crowds wholly ignorant, half free
and half servile, and which the peculiar constitution of the Roman
provinces so frequently exhibited. The power of the prætor was a reed
beneath the whirlwind; still, at his word the guards had drawn
themselves along the lower benches, on which the upper classes sat
separate from the vulgar. They made but a feeble barrier; the waves of
the human sea halted for a moment, to enable Arbaces to count the exact
moment of his doom! In despair, and in a terror which beat down even
pride, he glanced his eye over the rolling and rushing crowd; when,
right above them, through the wide chasm which had been left in the
velaria, he beheld a strange and awful apparition; he beheld, and his
craft restored his courage!
He stretched his hand on high; over his lofty brow and royal features
there came an expression, of unutterable solemnity and command.
"Behold!" he shouted with a voice of thunder, which stilled the roar of
the crowd: "behold how the gods protect the guiltless! The fires of the
avenging Orcus burst forth against the false witness of my accusers!"
The eyes of the crowd followed the gesture of the Egyptian, and beheld
with dismay a vast vapor shooting from the summit of Vesuvius in the
form of a gigantic pine-tree; the trunk, blackness--the branches
fire!--a fire that shifted and wavered in its hues with every moment,
now fiercely luminous, now of a dull and dying red, that again blazed
terrifically forth with intolerable glare!
There was a dead, heart-sunken silence; through which there suddenly
broke the roar of the lion, which was echoed back from within the
building by the sharper and fiercer yells of its fellow-beast. Dread
seers were they of the Burden of the Atmosphere, and wild prophets of
the wrath to come!
Then there arose on high the universal shrieks of women; the men stared
at each other, but were dumb. At that moment they felt the earth shake
under their feet; the walls of the theatre trembled; and beyond in the
distance they heard the crash of falling roofs; an instant more, and the
mountain cloud seemed to roll toward them, dark and rapid, like a
torrent; at the same time it cast forth from its bosom a shower of ashes
mixed with vast fragments of burning stone! over the crushing vines,
over the desolate streets, over the amphitheatre itself; far and wide,
with many a mighty splash in the agitated sea, fell that awful shower!
No longer thought the crowd of justice or of Arbaces; safety for
themselves was their sole thought. Each turned to fly--each dashing,
pressing, crushing against the other. Trampling recklessly over the
fallen, amid groans and oaths and prayers and sudden shrieks, the
enormous crowd vomited itself forth through the numerous passages.
Whither should they fly? Some, anticipating a second earthquake,
hastened to their homes to load themselves with their more costly goods
and escape while it was yet time; others, dreading the showers of ashes
that now fell fast, torrent upon torrent, over the streets, rushed under
the roofs of the nearest houses, or temples, or sheds--shelter of any
kind--for protection from the terrors of the open air. But darker, and
larger, and mightier, spread the cloud above them. It was a sudden and
more ghastly Night rushing upon the realm of Noon!