Chapter LXI

DARKNESS had not come when the first waves of people began to flow into
Cæsar's gardens. The crowds, in holiday costume, crowned with flowers,
joyous, singing, and some of them drunk, were going to look at the new,
magnificent spectacle. Shouts of "Semaxii! Sarmentitii!" were heard on
the Via Tecta, on the bridge of Æmilius, and from the other side of the
Tiber, on the Triumphal Way, around the Circus of Nero, and off towards
the Vatican Hill. In Rome people had been seen burnt on pillars before,
but never had any one seen such a number of victims.

Cæsar and Tigellinus, wishing to finish at once with the Christians and
also to avoid infection, which from the prisons was spreading more and
more through the city, had given command to empty all dungeons, so that
there remained in them barely a few tens of people intended for the
close of the spectacles. So, when the crowds had passed the gates, they
were dumb with amazement. All the main and side alleys, which lay
through dense groves and along lawns, thickets, ponds, fields, and
squares filled with flowers, were packed with pillars smeared with
pitch, to which Christians were fastened. In higher places, where the
view was not hindered by trees, one could see whole rows of pillars and
bodies decked with flowers, myrtle, and ivy, extending into the distance
on high and low places, so far that, though the nearest were like masts
of ships, the farthest seemed colored darts, or staffs thrust into the
earth. The number of them surpassed the expectation of the multitude.
One might suppose that a whole nation had been lashed to pillars for
Rome's amusement and for Cæsar's. The throng of spectators stopped
before single masts when their curiosity was roused by the form or the
sex of the victim; they looked at the faces, the crowns, the garlands of
ivy; then they went farther and farther, asking themselves with
amazement, "Could there have been so many criminals, or how could
children barely able to walk have set fire to Rome?" and astonishment
passed by degrees into fear.

Meanwhile darkness came, and the first stars twinkled in the sky. Near
each condemned person a slave took his place, torch in hand; when the
sound of trumpets was heard in various parts of the gardens, in sign
that the spectacle was to begin, each slave put his torch to the foot of
a pillar. The straw, hidden under the flowers and steeped in pitch,
burned at once with a bright flame which, increasing every instant,
withered the ivy, and rising embraced the feet of the victims. The
people were silent; the gardens resounded with one immense groan and
with cries of pain. Some victims, however, raising their faces toward
the starry sky, began to sing, praising Christ. The people listened.
But the hardest hearts were filled with terror when, on smaller pillars,
children cried with shrill voices, "Mamma! Mamma!" A shiver ran
through even spectators who were drunk when they saw little heads and
innocent faces distorted with pain, or children fainting in the smoke
which began to stifle them. But the flames rose, and seized new crowns
of roses and ivy every instant. The main and side alleys were
illuminated; the groups of trees, the lawns, and the flowery squares
were illuminated; the water in pools and ponds was gleaming, the
trembling leaves on the trees had grown rose-colored, and all was as
visible as in daylight. When the odor of burnt bodies filled the
gardens, slaves sprinkled between the pillars myrrh and aloes prepared
purposely. In the crowds were heard here and there shouts,--whether of
sympathy or delight and joy, it was unknown; and they increased every
moment with the fire, which embraced the pillars, climbed to the breasts
of the victims, shrivelled with burning breath the hair on their heads,
threw veils over their blackened faces, and then shot up higher, as if
showing the victory and triumph of that power which had given command to
rouse it.

At the very beginning of the spectacle Cæsar had appeared among the
people in a magnificent quadriga of the Circus, drawn by four white
steeds. He was dressed as a charioteer in the color of the Greens,--the
court party and his. After him followed other chariots filled with
courtiers in brilliant array, senators, priests, bacchantes, naked and
crowned, holding pitchers of wine, and partly drunk, uttering wild
shouts. At the side of these were musicians dressed as fauns and
satyrs, who played on citharas, formingas, flutes, and horns. In other
chariots advanced matrons and maidens of Rome, drunk also and half
naked. Around the quadriga ran men who shook thyrses ornamented with
ribbons; others beat drums; others scattered flowers.

All that brilliant throng moved forward, shouting, "Evoe!" on the widest
road of the garden, amidst smoke and processions of people. Cæsar,
keeping near him Tigellinus and also Chilo, in whose terror he sought to
find amusement, drove the steeds himself, and, advancing at a walk,
looked at the burning bodies, and heard the shouts of the multitude.
Standing on the lofty gilded chariot, surrounded by a sea of people who
bent to his feet, in the glitter of the fire, in the golden crown of a
circus-victor, he was a head above the courtiers and the crowd. He
seemed a giant. His immense arms, stretched forward to hold the reins,
seemed to bless the multitude. There was a smile on his face and in his
blinking eyes; he shone above the throng as a sun or a deity, terrible
but commanding and mighty.

At times he stopped to look with more care at some maiden whose bosom
had begun to shrink in the flames, or at the face of a child distorted
by convulsions; and again he drove on, leading behind him a wild,
excited retinue. At times he bowed to the people, then again he bent
backward, drew in the golden reins, and spoke to Tigellinus. At last,
when he had reached the great fountain in the middle of two crossing
streets, he stepped from the quadriga, and, nodding to his attendants,
mingled with the throng.

He was greeted with shouts and plaudits. The bacchantes, the nymphs,
the senators and Augustians, the priests, the fauns, satyrs, and
soldiers surrounded him at once in an excited circle; but he, with
Tigellinus on one side and Chilo on the other, walked around the
fountain, about which were burning some tens of torches; stopping before
each one, he made remarks on the victims, or jeered at the old Greek, on
whose face boundless despair was depicted.

At last he stood before a lofty mast decked with myrtle and ivy. The red
tongues of fire had risen only to the knees of the victim; but it was
impossible to see his face, for the green burning twigs had covered it
with smoke. After a while, however, the light breeze of night turned
away the smoke and uncovered the head of a man with gray beard falling
on his breast.

At sight of him Chilo was twisted into a lump like a wounded snake, and
from his mouth came a cry more like cawing than a human voice.

"Glaucus! Glaucus!"

In fact, Glaucus the physician looked down from the burning pillar at
him. Glaucus was alive yet. His face expressed pain, and was inclined
forward, as if to look closely for the last time at his executioner, at
the man who had betrayed him, robbed him of wife and children, set a
murderer on him, and who, when all this had been forgiven in the name of
Christ, had delivered him to executioners. Never had one person
inflicted more dreadful or bloody wrongs on another. Now the victim was
burning on the pitched pillar, and the executioner was standing at his
feet. The eyes of Glaucus did nor leave the face of the Greek. At
moments they were hidden by smoke; but when the breeze blew this away,
Chilo saw again those eyes fixed on him. He rose and tried to flee, but
had not strength. All at once his legs seemed of lead; an invisible
hand seemed to hold him at that pillar with superhuman force. He was
petrified. He felt that something was overflowing in him, something
giving way; he felt that he had had a surfeit of blood and torture, that
the end of his life was approaching, that everything was vanishing,
Cæsar, the court, the multitude, and around him was only a kind of
bottomless, dreadful black vacuum with no visible thing in it, save
those eyes of a martyr which were summoning him to judgment. But
Glaucus, bending his head lower down, looked at him fixedly. Those
present divined that something was taking place between those two men.
Laughter died on their lips, however, for in Chilo's face there was
something terrible: such pain and fear had distorted it as if those
tongues of fire were burning his body. On a sudden he staggered, and,
stretching his arms upward, cried in a terrible and piercing voice,--

"Glaucus! in Christ's name! forgive me!"

It grew silent round about, a quiver ran through the spectators, and all
eyes were raised involuntarily.

The head of the martyr moved slightly, and from the top of the mast was
heard a voice like a groan,--

"I forgive!"

Chilo threw himself on his face, and howled like a wild beast; grasping
earth in both hands, he sprinkled it on his head. Meanwhile the flames
shot up, seizing the breast and face of Glaucus; they unbound the myrtle
crown on his head, and seized the ribbons on the top of the pillar, the
whole of which shone with great blazing.

Chilo stood up after a while with face so changed that to the Augustians
he seemed another man. His eyes flashed with a light new to him,
ecstasy issued from his wrinkled forehead; the Greek, incompetent a
short time before, looked now like some priest visited by a divinity and
ready to reveal unknown truths.

"What is the matter? Has he gone mad?" asked a number of voices.

But he turned to the mulitiude, and, raising his right hand, cried, or
rather shouted, in a voice so piercing that not only the Augustians but
the multitude heard him,--

"Roman people! I swear by my death, that innocent persons are perishing
here. That is the incendiary!"

And he pointed his finger at Nero.

Then came a moment of silence. The courtiers were benumbed. Chilo
continued to stand with outstretched, trembling arm, and with finger
pointed at Nero. All at once a tumult arose. The people, like a wave,
urged by a sudden whirlwind, rushed toward the old man to look at him
more closely. Here and there were heard cries, "Hold!" In another
place, "Woe to us!" In the throng a hissing and uproar began.
"Ahenobarbus! Matricide! Incendiary!" Disorder increased every
instant. The bacchantes screamed in heaven-piercing voices, and began
to hide in the chariots. Then some pillars which were burned through,
fell, scattered sparks, and increased the confusion. A blind dense wave
of people swept away Chilo, and bore him to the depth of the garden.

The pillars began to burn through in every direction and fall across the
streets, filling alleys with smoke, sparks, the odor of burnt wood and
burnt flesh. The nearer lights died. The gardens began to grow dark.
The crowds, alarmed, gloomy, and disturbed, pressed toward the gates.
News of what had happened passed from mouth to mouth, distorted and
increased. Some said that Cæsar had fainted; others that he had
confessed, saying that he had given command to burn Rome; others that he
had fallen seriously ill; and still others that he had been borne our,
as if dead, in the chariot. Here and there were heard voices of sympathy
for the Christians: "If they had not burned Rome, why so much blood,
torture, and injustice? Will not the gods avenge the innocent, and what
piacula can mollify them now?" The words innoxia corpora were repeated
oftener and oftener. Women expressed aloud their pity for children
thrown in such numbers to wild beasts, nailed to crosses or burned in
those cursed gardens! And finally pity was turned into abuse of Cæsar
and Tigellinus. There were persons, too, who, stopping suddenly, asked
themselves or others the question, "What kind of divinity is that which
gives such strength to meet torture and death?" And they returned home
in meditation.

But Chilo was wandering about in the gardens, not knowing where to go or
where to turn. Again he felt himself a weak, helpless, sick old man.

Now he stumbled against partly burnt bodies; now he struck a torch,
which sent a shower of sparks after him; now he sat down, and looked
around with vacant stare. The gardens had become almost dark. The pale
moon moving among the trees shone with uncertain light on the alleys,
the dark pillars lying across them, and the partly burnt victims turned
into shapeless lumps. But the old Greek thought that in the moon he saw
the face of Glaucus, whose eyes were looking at him yet persistently,
and he hid before the light. At last he went out of the shadow, in
spite of himself; as if pushed by some hidden power, he turned toward
the fountain where Glaucus had yielded up the spirit.

Then some hand touched his shoulder. He turned, and saw an unknown
person before him.

"Who art thou?" exclaimed he, with terror.

"Paul of Tarsus."

"I am accursed!--What dost thou wish?"

"I wish to save thee," answered the Apostle.

Chilo supported himself against a tree. His legs bent under him, and
his arms hung parallel with his body.

"For me there is no salvation," said he, gloomily.

"Hast thou heard how God forgave the thief on the cross who pitied Him?"
inquired Paul.

"Dost thou know what I have done?"

"I saw thy suffering, and heard thy testimony to the truth."

"O Lord!"

"And if a servant of Christ forgave thee in the hour of torture and
death, why should Christ not forgive thee?"

Chilo seized his head with both hands, as if in bewilderment.

"Forgiveness! for me, forgiveness!"

"Our God is a God of mercy," said Paul.

"For me?" repeated Chilo; and he began to groan like a man who lacks
strength to control his pain and suffering.

"Lean on me," said Paul, "and go with me."

And taking him he went to the crossing of the streets, guided by the
voice of the fountain, which seemed to weep in the night stillness over
the bodies of those who had died in torture.

"Our God is a God of mercy," repeated the Apostle. "Wert thou to stand
at the sea and cast in pebbles, couldst thou fill its depth with them?
I tell thee that the mercy of Christ is as the sea, and that the sins
and faults of men sink in it as pebbles in the abyss; I tell thee that
it is like the sky which covers mountains, lands, and seas, for it is
everywhere and has neither end nor limit. Thou hast suffered at the
pillar of Glaucus. Christ saw thy suffering. Without reference to what
may meet thee to-morrow, thou didst say, 'That is the incendiary,' and
Christ remembers thy words. Thy malice and falsehood are gone; in thy
heart is left only boundless sorrow. Follow me and listen to what I say.
I am he who hated Christ and persecuted His chosen ones. I did not want
Him, I did not believe in Him till He manifested Himself and called me.
Since then He is, for me, mercy. He has visited thee with compunction,
with alarm, and with pain, to call thee to Himself. Thou didst hate
Him, but He loved thee. Thou didst deliver His confessors to torture,
but He wishes to forgive and save thee."

Immense sobbing shook the breast of the wretched man, sobbing by which
the soul in him was rent to its depths; but Paul took possession of him,
mastered him, led him away, as a soldier leads a captive.

After a while the Apostle began again to speak:--

"Come with me; I will lead thee to Him. For why else have I come to
thee?

"Christ commanded me to gather in souls in the name of love; hence I
perform His service. Thou thinkest thyself accursed, but I say: Believe
in Him, and salvation awaits thee. Thou thinkest that thou art hated,
but I repeat that He loves thee. Look at me. Before I had Him I had
nothing save malice, which dwelt in my heart, and now His love suffices
me instead of father and mother, wealth and power. In Him alone is
refuge. He alone will see thy sorrow, believe in thy misery, remove thy
alarm, and raise thee to Himself."

Thus speaking, he led him to the fountain, the silver stream of which
gleamed from afar in the moonlight. Round about was silence; the
gardens were empty, for slaves had removed the charred pillars and the
bodies of the martyrs.

Chilo threw himself on his knees with a groan, and hiding his face in
his hands remained motionless. Paul raised his face to the stars. "O
Lord," prayed he, "look on this wretched man, on his sorrow, his tears,
and his suffering! O God of mercy, who hast shed Thy blood for our
sins, forgive him, through Thy torment, Thy death and resurrection!"

Then he was silent; but for a long time he looked toward the stars, and
prayed.

Meanwhile from under his feet was heard a cry which resembled a groan,--

"O Christ! O Christ! forgive me!"

Paul approached the fountain then, and, taking water in his hand, turned
to the kneeling wretch,--

"Chilo!--I baptize thee in the name of the Father, Son, and Spirit.
Amen!"

Chilo raised his head, opened his arms, and remained in that posture.
The moon shone with full light on his white hair and on his equally
white face, which was as motionless as if dead or cut out of stone. The
moments passed one after another. From the great aviaries in the
gardens of Domitian came the crowing of cocks; but Chilo remained
kneeling, like a statue on a monument. At last he recovered, spoke to
the Apostle, and asked,--

"What am I to do before death?"

Paul was roused also from meditation on the measureless power which even
such spirits as that of this Greek could not resist, and answered,--

"Have faith, and bear witness to the truth."

They went out together. At the gate the Apostle blessed the old man
again, and they parted. Chilo himself insisted on this, for after what
had happened he knew that Cæsar and Tigellinus would give command to
pursue him.

Indeed he was not mistaken. When he returned home, he found the house
surrounded by pretorians, who led him away, and took him under direction
of Scevinus to the Palatine.

Cæsar had gone to rest, but Tigellitius was waiting. When he saw the
unfortunate Greek, he greeted him with a calm but ominous face.

"Thou hast committed the crime of treason," said he, "and punishment
will not pass thee; but if to-morrow thou testify in the amphitheatre
that thou wert drunk and mad, and that the authors of the conflagration
are Christians, thy punishment will be limited to stripes and exile."

"I cannot do that," answered Chilo, calmly.

Tigellinus approached him with slow step, and with a voice also low but
terrible,--

"How is that?" asked he. "Thou canst not, Greek dog? Wert thou not
drunk, and dost thou not understand what is waiting for thee? Look
there!" and he pointed to a corner of the atrium in which, near a long
wooden bench, stood four Thracian slaves in the shade with ropes, and
with pincers in their hands.

But Chilo answered,--

"I cannot!"

Rage seized Tigellinus, but he restrained himself yet.

"Hast thou seen," inquired he, "how Christians die? Dost wish to die in
that way?"

The old man raised his pale face; for a time his lips moved in silence,
and he answered,--

"I too believe in Christ."

Tigellinus looked at him with amazement. "Dog, thou hast gone mad in
fact!"

And suddenly the rage in his breast broke its bounds. Springing at
Chilo, he caught him by the beard with both hands, hurled him to the
floor, trampled him, repeating, with foam on his lips,--

"Thou wilt retract! thou wilt!"

"I cannot!" answered Chilo from the floor.

"To the tortures with him!"

At this command the Thracians seized the old man, and placed him on the
bench; then, fastening him with ropes to it, they began to squeeze his
thin shanks with pincers. But when they were tying him he kissed their
hands with humility; then he closed his eyes, and seemed dead.

He was alive, though; for when Tigellinus bent over him and inquired
once again, "Wilt thou retract?" his white lips moved slightly, and from
them came the barely audible whisper,--

"I cannot."

Tigellinus gave command to stop the torture, and began to walk up and
down in the atrium with a face distorted by anger, but helpless. At last
a new idea came to his head, for he turned to the Thracians and said,--

"Tear out his tongue!"