Their Kyrie Eleison, "Christ,
have mercy upon us," rang all over the town. All Rome was preparing
for its own judgment and execution.
There were, however, a number of unbelieving and profligate persons
who expected nothing new; they had assembled themselves in the
catacombs and ruins, where they celebrated Bacchanalian feasts and
orgies. In the ruins of Nero's Golden House a banquet on a large
scale had been arranged. In the centre on the ground there burned a
fire, surrounded by tables and seats. There was abundance of victuals
and wine, for which they only needed to go to the store-room and
cellar. There were music, dancing, and singing, and between whiles
they amused themselves by watching the bats and owls, which flitted
about, scorch and singe themselves in the fire.
Their hilarity was loud, but not unforced. Here, too, philosophising
and prophecy were in evidence.
"There is not going to be any Last Judgment to-day," said a young
man, who looked as though he were a descendant of the Emperor Nero.
"Anyhow, if it comes, death cannot introduce us to anything worse
than we have had in life."
"It has always seemed to me that we are in hell. Headaches every
morning, debts and disgrace, varied by occasional imprisonments."
"The Emperor sits naked in a grotto at the foot of Soracte.
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