proof of their fatal skill. At first, Scythian was matched against
Scythian—Greek against Greek—Ethiopian against Ethiopian—Spaniard against
Spaniard; and I saw the sand dyed beneath their feet with blood streaming
from the wounds of kindred hands. But these combats, although abundantly
bloody and terrible, were regarded only as preludes to the serious
business of the day, which consisted of duels between Europeans on the one
side, and Africans on the other; wherein it was the well-nigh
intransgressible law of the Amphitheatre, that at least one out of every
pair of combatants should die. Instead of shrinking from these more
desperate brutalities, the almost certainty of their termination seemed
only to make the assembly gaze on them with a more intense curiosity and
delight. Methinks I feel as if it were but of yesterday, when,—sickened
with the protracted terrors of a conflict, that seemed as if it were never
to have an end, although both the combatants were already covered all over
with hideous gashes,—I at last bowed down my head, and clasped my hands
upon my eyes. I had scarcely done so, when Rubellia laid her hand upon my
elbow, whispering, “Look, look, now look,” in a voice of low, steady
impatience. I did look, but not to the arena: No; it was upon the
beautiful features of that woman’s face that I looked, and truly it seemed
to me as if they presented a spectacle almost as fearful. I saw those rich
lips parted, those dark eyes extended, those smooth cheeks suffused with a
steadfast blush, that lovely bosom swelled and glowing; and I hated
Rubellia, for I knew not before how utterly beauty can be brutalized by
the throbbings of a cruel heart. But I looked round to escape from the
sight of her;—and the hundreds of females that I saw fixed with equal
earnestness on the same horrors, taught me, even at the moment, to think
with more charity of that pitiless gaze of one.
At that instant all were silent in contemplation of the breathless strife;
insomuch, that a groan, the first that had escaped from either of the
combatants, although low and suppressed, sounded distinctly amidst the
deep hush, and being constrained to turn once more downwards, I beheld
that, at length, one of the two had received the sword of his adversary
quite through his body, and had sunk upon the sand. A beautiful young man
was he that had received this harm, with fair hair, clustered in glossy
ringlets upon his neck and brows; but the sickness of his wound was
already visible on his drooping eye-lids, and his lips were pale, as if
the blood had rushed from them to the untimely outlet. Nevertheless, the
Moorish gladiator who had fought with him had drawn forth again his
weapon, and stood there awaiting in silence the decision, whether at once
to slay the defenceless youth, or to assist in removing him from the
arena, if perchance the blood might be stopped from flowing, and some hope
of recovery even yet extended. There arose, on the instant, a loud voice
of contention; and it seemed to me as if the wounded man regarded the
multitude with a proud, contemptuous glance, being aware, without
question, that he had executed all things so as to deserve their
compassion, but aware, moreover, that even had that been freely vouchsafed
to him, it was too late. But the cruelty of their faces, it may be, and
the loudness of their cries, were a sorrow to him, and filled his dying
breast with loathing. Whether or not the haughtiness of his countenance
had been observed by them with displeasure, I cannot say; but those who
had cried out to give him a chance of recovery, were speedily silent, and
Cæsar looking round, and seeing all the thumbs turned downwards, was
constrained to give the sign, and forthwith the young man, receiving again
without a struggle the sword of the Moor into his gashed bosom, breathed
forth his life, and lay stretched out in his blood upon the place of
guilt. With that a joyous clamour was uplifted by many of those that
looked upon it, and the victorious Moor, being crowned with an ivy
garland, was carried in procession around the arena by certain young men,
who leaped down for that purpose from the midst of the assembly. In the
meantime, those that had the care of such things, dragged away, with a
filthy hook, the corpse of him that had been slain; and then, raking up
the sand over the blood that had fallen from him, prepared the place, with
indifferent countenances, for some other tragedy,—while all around me, the
spectators were seen rising from their places, and saluting each other;
and there was a buzz of talking as universal as the silence had been
during the combat; some speaking of this thrust and that ward, and paying
and receiving money lost and won; some already discoursing of other
matters, as if nothing uncommon had been witnessed; while others, again,
appeared to be entirely occupied with the martial music which ever struck
up majestically at such pauses, beating time upon the benches before them,
or joining their voices with the proud notes of the trumpets and clarions.
Rubellia talked gaily with Sextus, inviting him to ridicule me with her,
for the strangeness of behaviour I had displayed.
The sun, by this, had already mounted high in the heavens, and the glare
became so intolerable, that men could no longer fight on equal terms;
which being perceived, Cæsar gave command to look after the wild beasts,
and, in the meantime, (for I heard his voice distinctly,) to give warning
to the Flamens that they should have their altar set forth.
_CHAPTER XI._
Upon this, Trajan, with those immediately about his person, withdrew; but
Rubellia told me he had only gone to the Palatine by the subterraneous
path, for the purpose of taking some refreshment, and that there was no
doubt he would return in time to witness the rest of the spectacle. This
example, however, was followed in some sort by a great part of the
spectators, for some departed altogether from the Amphitheatre, while many
more were seen moving from place to place, crossing from one vomitory to
another, and paying their respects to different parties of friends, who
had occupied places at a distance from them during the combats. In the
meantime, servants of Trajan’s household were observed giving directions
in the arena to a great number of persons, who afterwards began to
distribute baskets of dried fish, bread, and other eatables, among such as
chose to accept of them; while viands of a more costly description were
introduced among the wealthy, by slaves and freedmen of their own. Neither
were the bearers of water-jars idle, nor the street hawkers of fruit;
least of all, those whose traffic is in snow,—of whom, I believe, hundreds
were scrambling in all quarters over the benches, whistling shrilly, as is
their method, to announce the article in which they dealt.
The Lady Rubellia was not one of those who would ever leave her friends
destitute of the means of refreshment on such an occasion as this; and
accordingly two or three of her household were soon with us, bearing jars
of sweet-meats, baskets of fruit, flasks of wine, with other appurtenances
of a luxurious collation. We had scarcely begun to taste of these things,
when our attention was attracted by some one striding, with great
activity, from one row of benches to another behind us, and looking round,
I discovered the rosy countenance of Sabinus, whose anxiety to join us
was, as I immediately suspected, the cause of this exertion. An ordinary
person would have sought some circuitous method of approach, rather than
attempt the sheer descent from one of the stone parapets which rose
immediately in our rear; but the brawny limbs of the Centurion shrunk not
from that adventurous leap, and, in a word, I soon found him seated beside
us, bowing and smiling to Rubellia with his usual mixture of boldness and
suavity. He delayed not from participation in her delicacies; but lifting
a goblet of Falernian, drank down, without stopping, till he could see the
foundation of its interior gold. His fingers also soon became acquainted
with the receptacles of fruit and confectionary; and I was half-inclined
to some suspicion, that he might perhaps have remained in his original
situation, had he not chanced to observe the slaves of Rubellia, as they
came up the vomitory, with their comely-looking, napkin-covered baskets
upon their heads. As it was, his arrival was acceptable, except perhaps to
Rubellia, who I thought looked as if she were not overmuch pleased with
the interruption his mirthful talk occasioned to the conversation on which
she had been endeavouring to fix the attention of young Licinius.
For that, however, another interruption had been already prepared in
another part of the assembly, from which our Xerophrastes also had taken
cognizance of our position. There was such a crowd, however, immediately
below us, that I know not whether the philosopher would ever have been
able to make his way to the region where we sat, had it not been that we
heard his voice in disputation, and entreated those that opposed his
passage, if possible, to make room for him. The first glimpse we had of
his countenance, shewed us that the squeeze had been giving him serious
inconvenience, for the drops of perspiration stood visible on his bald
front. The persons whom he was addressing, however, seemed to listen with
such unconcern, that it was impossible not to feel somewhat displeased
with them, for treating so disrespectfully one whom his venerable aspect
might have entitled to more courtesy. In vain did he represent to them,
(for we heard his strong voice distinctly every now and then,) that it was
not for the sake of any personal ease or convenience he was desirous of
penetrating into an upper part. In vain did he reiterate “My pupil”—“my
disciple”—“my young scholar, Sextus Licinius”—“the son of Caius
Licinius”—“the son of the great orator Caius Licinius is there.” In vain
did he enlarge upon the constancy of attention which philosophers owe to
those who are placed by the hands of parents under their superintendence.
No sooner, however, did Sextus and I begin to shew the interest we took in
his situation, than Sabinus raised himself up on the bench, and called
aloud on those that surrounded the Stoic, with a voice of much sternness
and authority, to let him pass immediately at their peril.
Many eyes were forthwith turned towards us; and whether it were the
dignity and haughtiness of the Centurion’s voice and attitude, or that his
garb alone gave him much weight in the assembly, the resistance was
relaxed, and Xerophrastes enjoyed an opportunity of almost entirely
recovering his usual serenity of aspect before he reached us. The first
thing he did was to accept of a cup which I held out to him, and then with
much courtesy did he thank us all, but most the Centurion, for the part he
had taken in working out his deliverance from the hands, as he expressed
it, of those inhuman and illiterate persons; “while you,” he continued,
“brave warrior, have shewn that in your breast, as in that of
Epaminondas—of Alexander—and of your own Julius—the reverence of the
muses, and of divine philosophy, does not disdain to inhabit with the
ardour of active patriotism, and the spirit-stirring delights of Mars.”
“As for that,” said Rubellia, with a smile, “all the world knows that
Sabinus is quite a philosopher—he was just beginning a very learned
harangue when we were attracted by your voice in the crowd; and you have
the more reason to thank him, because he was cut very unseasonably short,
in consequence of the distress in which we perceived you.”
“Most noble lady!” replied the Stoic, “you know not how much you have
delighted me; from the first moment, indeed, that my eyes rested upon the
countenance of your heroic friend, I suspected that he had subjected
himself to some other discipline besides that of camps. I saw the traces
of thought, lady—and serious contemplation. The mind can never exercise
its faculties, without conveying some symptoms of those internal
operations to the external surface of the visage. The soul can never
energize habitually, without betraying its activity in the delicacy and
acumen, which the more elegant and susceptible parts of the corporeal
frame acquire during those elaborate and mysterious processes of thought.
I saw, therefore, and suspected. But what thanks are not due to you, for
having so agreeably confirmed me in this happy suspicion! Of a surety, the
noise and tumult of the camp is not so well adapted for the theoretic or
contemplative life, as perfect leisure and retirement; yet, who shall
doubt that the soul of great energy can overcome all such disadvantages?
Who shall think that the spirit of Socrates did not eagerly philosophize
during the campaign he served?—Who shall say that the Stagyrite must have
suspended his acute, although imperfect investigations, even although he
had accompanied his royal pupil across the Hellespont, and attended all
the motions of his victorious army, instead of staying at home to teach
the youth of Greece?—Who, finally,” said he, casting his courteous eyes
full on the Prætorian, “shall suspect but that this generous warrior has
been effectually advancing the growth of philosophic science, within his
own mind at least,—if not composing works, in his intervals of leisure,
destined hereafter to benefit and instruct the world, even although he may
have been attending the flight of the Eagle from utmost Britain to the
desert frontiers of the Parthian?”—“Nobody, indeed,” replied the sportive
lady—“nobody, indeed, who has enjoyed any opportunity of being acquainted
with the Centurion, can have any doubt on that head.—Sabinus,” she
continued, turning towards him, “what treatise are you at present engaged
with? Come, now, speak out, and truly;—are you still busy with your peri
tês Phuseôs tou oistrou bakchikou,(1) that you were quoting from the other
night?—or are you deep in ‘_the delight of contemplation_?’—or——”—“Not at
all,” quoth the Centurion, interrupting her; “I am only deep in _love_——”
Saying so, he laid his hand in a very tender fashion upon his breast, and
even, as I thought, began to throw a little sentiment into his eyes; but
he had no opportunity of going on with his speech, for Xerophrastes had no
sooner heard him utter the word _love_, than he immediately began to pour
out a new rhapsody.
“Love!” quoth he; “Ha! love:—in good sooth, a noble subject, and one
concerning which not a few laudable treatises have been composed. Yet,
without question, much remains to be done in this matter; and I should be
most proud if the illustrious Sabinus would vouchsafe to me a perusal of
his speculations. Without question,” he continued, “you have commenced
with a proper definition and division of the subject. You have
distinguished betwixt what is properly called _love_, and the other more
or less kindred affections, with which hallucinating writers have too
often committed the error of confounding it. You have described, in the
first place, the difference between it and the _Storgé_ or natural
affection which parents have for their offspring—an affection in which not
a few of the irrational tribes appear (if physiologists may be trusted) to
be even superior to the human race.”—“Hens, for example,” quoth the
Centurion, with a face of infinite gravity.—“Even so—_hens_,” continued
the sage; “an apt illustration.—I perceive, indeed, lady,” whispered he to
Rubellia, “that you have not deceived me concerning the attainments of
this your noble friend.—Hens—a most acute illustration!—See you now, O
Sextus!” he went on, “it is not the characteristic of true philosophy to
despise those illustrations which are drawn from the affairs of ordinary
life, and the common surfaces of things. No: it is rather her part to shew
forth her own intrinsic excellence and splendour, by raising that which is
in itself low and customary, to unexpected dignity, by her methods of
felicitous application. See you, now, with what unexampled skill this
hero—this philosopher, I should rather say—may I presume to add, this
brother philosopher?—has illustrated the nature of love in this treatise
of his, by introducing the domestic habits of your common household fowl.
Such things should not pass unheeded by the young aspirants to learning,
because these, more than any other circumstances, may furnish them with
encouragement to proceed in their course, by shewing how many of the
materials of philosophy lie every where under the eyes of the most common
traveller of the path of life; and how assuredly it is the fault of the
individual himself, if he neglect the means of spiritual advancement,
which are sure to be afforded in whatever situation may chance to have
been assigned to him.”
“I beg your pardon for interrupting you,” said Rubellia; “but Sabinus has
almost finished the grapes while you have been speaking; and I would only
just beg to suggest, that it is the fault of the individual, Xerophrastes,
if he neglects the means of corporeal refreshment, which may yet be
afforded to him by what remains in the basket.”
“Most kind lady,” resumed he, “your benevolence is worthy of your
nobility.—But you know not how much the philosophy I have embraced, tends
to lessen the natural desire of man for such things as you allude
to—nevertheless,” he continued, “I will not refuse to partake yet farther
of your bounty; for I have been sorely dealt with in the multitude, as
yourselves witnessed.”
So saying, he took hold of the basket, and began to feel in the bottom of
it, but found very little to his purpose; for, to say the truth, the rest
of the party had been almost as eager in their attentions to it as the
Centurion. A few slender bunches, notwithstanding, were still there, one
of which the philosopher thrust into his mouth, and the rest he concealed
beneath one of the folds of his huge mantle, until he should have made an
end of his criticism. Meantime, the natural language of the broad, jovial,
unreflective countenance of our worthy Centurion, seemed considerably at
variance from the notion of his attainments and pursuits, which this merry
lady had been instilling into the pedagogue. Rubellia herself, however,
appeared to enjoy the thing far more keenly than either Sextus or I;
insomuch, that I was afraid Xerophrastes would penetrate through the joke
she was playing off upon him, before he had given himself his full swing
in commendation of the Prætorian. But Sabinus, on his side, was, as it
seemed, of opinion, that he had already heard enough of such
disquisitions; for he had scarcely seen out the last cup of Falernian, ere
he began to give hints that he wished very much to descend into the arena,
for the purpose of observing the animals about to be exhibited, while they
were yet in their cages. Xerophrastes, however, even when he had heard him
signify this desire, appeared still to be resolved on considering him as
one of the philosophic order of mankind; for he at once offered to
accompany him, saying, that the visit was of course intended for the
gratification of some scientific curiosity, and that therefore he should
think himself culpable did he neglect the opportunity.
“Come, then,” quoth the good-natured Sabinus, “by all means prepare
yourself for the descent; but at least allow me to precede you, that there
may be no risk of untimely obstructions.”—“Most assuredly, noble
Centurion,” replied Xerophrastes, “in this, as in all things, I shall be
proud to be enumerated among your followers. My pupil, also,” he added,
“and his friend, will no doubt accompany us, that they may benefit by our
discourse on whatever may be subjected to observation.”—“Venerated
friend,” said Rubellia, “would you leave the ladies by themselves in the
midst of the Amphitheatre? I hope Sextus Licinius, at least, will consider
our weakness, and remain for our protection.”
She laid her hand on my companion’s arm, with a look which was decisive.
Her ancient crony whispered something about the impropriety of leaving
only one of the party to attend upon two females; but I took advantage of
her low tone to pretend ignorance of that hint, and rose with the
Centurion.
“Go quickly,” said Sextus, “for the interval must be well-nigh at an end;
and if those that have gone out begin to rush in again, you may have
difficulty in regaining your places.”—“Give fear to the winds,” quoth
Sabinus; “am not I with them, that know every lion-feeder in Rome? No
chance of the exhibition recommencing without my having sufficient
warning. It is not for nothing that I have lost and won so many thousand
sesterces in the Amphitheatre. Would to Hercules as much respect were paid
to experience every where else, as in the Arena to your true old Better.
Already, I perceive that half a dozen of those knowing characters down
below, about the entrances to the dens, have detected me. They must fancy
my purse is in a poor state indeed, when I don’t seem to think it worth
while to take even a single peep at the cages. Come, worthy brother in
philosophy, and you, my fellow-voyager, let us be alert, lest we arrive
after Platæa.”
We obeyed with due alacrity, and, leaving the reluctant Sextus to his
fate, touched presently the margin of the arena. We had no sooner arrived
there, than an old skin-dried limping Numidian, with a bit of lion’s hide
fastened round his loins—one who, from his leanness and blackness, had
very much the appearance of having been baked to a cinder, drew to the
Centurion, with many nods and significant grins of recognition. Sabinus,
on his part, seemed noways backward to acknowledge this acquaintance; but,
on the contrary, began to talk volubly with him in a strange sort of
broken dialect, chiefly composed, as I afterwards learned, of Punic
vocables. After this had lasted some minutes, he took Xerophrastes and me
by the hand, and seemed to introduce us to the Numidian, who then desired
us all to come down, and he would conduct us to a place where we should
see something not unworthy of being seen. About to follow these
directions, I felt my gown seized from behind, and looking round, observed
that it was my faithful Briton, who, from the heat and confusion of his
aspect, appeared not to have come thither without a considerable struggle.
Sabinus seeing him, said, “Ah! my old friend Boto, how have you come to
this part of the Amphitheatre? We must not leave you behind us, however:
Of a surety, you have never seen a lion—you shall descend along with your
master; and who knows but we may persuade Xerophrastes that you also are a
brother philosopher?”—“Most noble Centurion,” replied the grateful slave,
“I saw you and my master from the very topmost bench, where I have been
sitting for these three hours with Dromo, and I was determined to draw
near to you, if it were possible. To go from this place up to yonder
quarter would perhaps be impossible; but it is never a very difficult
matter to go down in this world; so, saving your reverence, I trundled
myself over the benches, and when heads were in my way, I trundled myself
over them too.”—“It is well, good Briton,” quoth the Centurion—by this
time we had crossed the arena—“and now prepare to exercise your eyes as
well as you already have exercised your limbs; for know, that very near to
you is the abode of nobler animals than even your lord hath ever
observed.”