Part 2 (1/2)
THE CAPTAIN. Centurion: you will remain here with your men in charge of the prisoners until the arrival of three Christian prisoners in the custody of a cohort of the tenth legion. Among these prisoners you will particularly identify an armorer named Ferrovius, of dangerous character and great personal strength, and a Greek tailor reputed to be a sorcerer, by name Androcles.
You will add the three to your charge here and march them all to the Coliseum, where you will deliver them into the custody of the master of the gladiators and take his receipt, countersigned by the keeper of the beasts and the acting manager. You understand your instructions?
CENTURION. Yes, Sir.
THE CAPTAIN. Dismiss. (He throws off his air of parade, and descends down from the perch. The Centurion seats on it and prepares for a nap, whilst his men stand at ease. The Christians sit down on the west side of the square, glad to rest. Lavinia alone remains standing to speak to the Captain).
LAVINIA. Captain: is this man who is to join us the famous Ferrovius, who has made such wonderful conversions in the northern cities?
THE CAPTAIN. Yes. We are warned that he has the strength of an elephant and the temper of a mad bull. Also that he is stark mad.
Not a model Christian, it would seem.
LAVINIA. You need not fear him if he is a Christian, Captain.
THE CAPTAIN (coldly) I shall not fear him in any case, Lavinia.
LAVINIA (her eyes dancing) How brave of you, Captain!
THE CAPTAIN. You are right: it was silly thing to say. (In a lower tone, humane and urgent) Lavinia: do Christians know how to love?
LAVINIA (composedly) Yes, Captain: they love even their enemies.
THE CAPTAIN. Is that easy?
LAVINIA. Very easy, Captain, when their enemies are as handsome as you.
THE CAPTAIN. Lavinia: you are laughing at me.
LAVINIA. At you, Captain! Impossible.
THE CAPTAIN. Then you are flirting with me, which is worse. Don't be foolish.
LAVINIA. But such a very handsome captain.
THE CAPTAIN. Incorrigible! (Urgently) Listen to me. The men in that audience tomorrow will be the vilest of voluptuaries: men in whom the only pa.s.sion excited by a beautiful woman is a l.u.s.t to see her tortured and torn shrieking limb from limb. It is a crime to dignify that pa.s.sion. It is offering yourself for violation by the whole rabble of the streets and the riff-raff of the court at the same time. Why will you not choose rather a kindly love and an honorable alliance?
LAVINIA. They cannot violate my soul. I alone can do that by sacrificing to false G.o.ds.
THE CAPTAIN. Sacrifice then to the true G.o.d. What does his name matter? We call him Jupiter. The Greeks call him Zeus. Call him what you will as you drop the incense on the altar flame: He will understand.
LAVINIA. No. I couldn't. That is the strange thing, Captain, that a little pinch of incense should make all that difference.
Religion is such a great thing that when I meet really religious people we are friends at once, no matter what name we give to the divine will that made us and moves us. Oh, do you think that I, a woman, would quarrel with you for sacrificing to a woman G.o.d like Diana, if Diana meant to you what Christ means to me? No: we should kneel side by side before her altar like two children. But when men who believe neither in my G.o.d nor in their own--men who do not know the meaning of the word religion--when these men drag me to the foot of an iron statue that has become the symbol of the terror and darkness through which they walk, of their cruelty and greed, of their hatred of G.o.d and their oppression of man--when they ask me to pledge my soul before the people that this hideous idol is G.o.d, and that all this wickedness and falsehood is divine truth, I cannot do it, not if they could put a thousand cruel deaths on me. I tell you, it is physically impossible.
Listen, Captain: did you ever try to catch a mouse in your hand?
Once there was a dear little mouse that used to come out and play on my table as I was reading. I wanted to take him in my hand and caress him; and sometimes he got among my books so that he could not escape me when I stretched out my hand. And I did stretch out my hand; but it always came back in spite of me. I was not afraid of him in my heart; but my hand refused: it is not in the nature of my hand to touch a mouse. Well, Captain, if I took a pinch of incense in my hand and stretched it out over the altar fire, my hand would come back. My body would be true to my faith even if you could corrupt my mind. And all the time I should believe more in Diana than my persecutors have ever believed in anything. Can you understand that?
THE CAPTAIN (simply) Yes: I understand that. But my hand would not come back. The hand that holds the sword has been trained not to come back from anything but victory.
LAVINIA. Not even from death?
THE CAPTAIN. Least of all from death.