t which rose and grew till at last they were one savage roar,--

"To the lions with Christians!"

Rich litters of courtiers pushed through the howling rabble. From the
depth of burnt streets new crowds rushed forth continually; these,
hearing the cry, repeated it. News passed from mouth to mouth that
the pursuit had continued from the forenoon, that a multitude of
incendiaries were seized; and immediately along the newly cleared and
the old streets, through alleys lying among ruins around the Palatine,
over all the hills and gardens were heard through the length and breadth
of Rome shouts of swelling rage,--

"To the lions with Christians!"

"Herd!" repeated Petronius, with contempt; "a people worthy of Caesar!"
And he began to think that a society resting on superior force, on
cruelty of which even barbarians had no conception, on crimes and mad
profligacy, could not endure. Rome ruled the world, but was also its
ulcer. The odor of a corpse was rising from it. Over its decaying
life the shadow of death was descending. More than once this had been
mentioned even among the Augustians, but never before had Petronius had
a clearer view of this truth that the laurelled chariot on which Rome
stood in the form of a triumphator, and which dragged behind a
chained herd of nations, was going to the precipice. The life of that
world-ruling city seemed to him a kind of mad dance, an orgy, which must
end. He saw then that the Christians alone had a new basis of life; but
he judged that soon there would not remain a trace of the Christians.
And what then?

The mad dance would continue under Nero; and if Nero disappeared,
another would be found of the same kind or worse, for with such a people
and such patricians there was no reason to find a better leader. There
would be a new orgy, and moreover a fouler and a viler one.

But the orgy could not last forever, and there would be need of sleep
when it was over, even because of simple exhaustion.

While thinking of this, Petronius felt immensely wearied. Was it worth
while to live, and live in uncertainty, with no purpose but to look
at such a society? The genius of death was not less beautiful than the
genius of sleep, and he also had wings at his shoulders.

The litter stopped before the arbiter's door, which was opened that
instant by the watchful keeper.

"Has the noble Vinicius returned?" inquired Petronius.

"Yes, lord, a moment ago," replied the slave.

"He has not r