LAVINIA. Blessing, Caesar, and forgiveness!

CAESAR (turning in some surprise at the salutation) There is no
forgiveness for Christianity.

LAVINIA. I did not mean that, Caesar. I mean that WE forgive YOU.

METELLUS. An inconceivable liberty! Do you not know, woman, that
the Emperor can do no wrong and therefore cannot be forgiven?

LAVINIA. I expect the Emperor knows better. Anyhow, we forgive
him.

THE CHRISTIANS. Amen!

CAESAR. Metellus: you see now the disadvantage of too much
severity. These people have no hope; therefore they have nothing
to restrain them from saying what they like to me. They are
almost as impertinent as the gladiators. Which is the Greek
sorcerer?

ANDROCLES (humbly touching his forelock) Me, your Worship.

CAESAR. My Worship! Good! A new title. Well, what miracles can
you perform?

ANDROCLES. I can cure warts by rubbing them with my tailor's
chalk; and I can live with my wife without beating her.

CAESAR. Is that all?

ANDROCLES. You don't know her, Caesar, or you wouldn't say that.

CAESAR. Ah, well, my friend, we shall no doubt contrive a happy
release for you. Which is Ferrovius?

FERROVIUS. I am he.

CAESAR. They tell me you can fight.

FERROVIUS. It is easy to fight. I can die, Caesar.

CAESAR. That is still easier, is it not?

FERROVIUS. Not to me, Caesar. Death comes hard to my flesh; and
fighting comes very easily to my spirit (beating his breast and
lamenting) O sinner that I am! (He throws himself down on the
steps, deeply discouraged).

CAESAR. Metellus: I should like to have this man in the Pretorian
Guard.

METELLUS. I should not, Caesar. He looks a spoilsport. There are
men in whose presence it is impossible to have any fun: men who
are a sort of walking conscience. He would make us all
uncomfortable.

CAESAR. For that reason, perhaps, it might be well to have him.
An Emperor can hardly have too many consciences. (To Ferrovius)
Listen, Ferrovius. (Ferrovius shakes his head and will not look
up). You and your friends shall not be outnumbered to-day in the
arena. You shall have arms; and there will be no more than one
gladiator to each Christian. If you come out of the arena alive,
I will consider favorably any request of yours, and give you a
place in the Pretorian Guard. Even if the request be that no
questions be asked about your faith I shall perhaps not refuse
it.

FERROVIUS. I will not fight. I will die. Better stand with the
archangels than with the Pretorian Guard.

CAESAR. I cannot believe that the archangels--whoever they may
be--would not prefer to be recruited from the Pretorian Guard.
However, as you please. Come: let us see the show.

As the Court ascends the steps, Secutor and the Retiarius return
from the arena through the passage; Secutor covered with dust and
very angry: Retiarius grinning.

SECUTOR. Ha, the Emperor. Now we shall see. Caesar: I ask you
whether it is fair for the Retiarius, instead of making a fair
throw of his net at me, to swish it along the ground and throw
the dust in my eyes, and then catch me when I'm blinded. If the
vestals had not turned up their thumbs I should have been a dead
man.

CAESAR (halting on the stair) There is nothing in the rules
against it.

SECUTOR (indignantly) Caesar: is it a dirty trick or is it not?

CAESAR. It is a dusty one, my friend. (Obsequious laughter). Be
on your guard next time.

SECUTOR. Let HIM be on his guard. Next time I'll throw my sword
at his heels and strangle him with his own net before he can hop
off. (To Retiarius) You see if I don't. (He goes out past the
gladiators, sulky and furious).

CAESAR (to the chuckling Retiarius). These tricks are not wise,
my friend. The audience likes to see a dead man in all his beauty
and splendor. If you smudge his face and spoil his armor they
will show their displeasure by not letting you kill him. And when
your turn comes, they will remember it against you and turn their
thumbs down.

THE RETIARIUS. Perhaps that is why I did it, Caesar. He bet me
ten sesterces that he would vanquish me. If I had had to kill
him I should not have had the money.

CAESAR (indulgent, laughing) You rogues: there is no end to your
tricks. I'll dismiss you all and have elephants to fight. They
fight fairly. (He goes up to his box, and knocks at it. It is
opened from within by the Captain, who stands as on parade to let
him pass). The Call Boy comes from the passage, followed by
three attendants carrying respectively a bundle of swords, some
helmets, and some breastplates and pieces of armor which they
throw down in a heap.

THE CALL BOY. By your leave, Caesar. Number eleven! Gladiators
and Christians!

Ferrovius springs up, ready for martyrdom. The other Christians
take the summons as best they can, some joyful and brave, some
patient and dignified, some tearful and helpless, some embracing
one another with emotion. The Call Boy goes back into the
passage.

CAESAR (turning at the door of the box) The hour has come,
Ferrovius. I shall go into my box and see you killed, since you
scorn the Pretorian Guard. (He goes into the box. The Captain
shuts the door, remaining inside with the Emperor. Metellus and
the rest of the suite disperse to their seats. The Christians,
led by Ferrovius, move towards the passage).

LAVINIA (to Ferrovius) Farewell.

THE EDITOR. Steady there. You Christians have got to fight. Here!
arm yourselves.

FERROVIUS (picking up a sword) I'll die sword in hand to show
people that I could fight if it were my Master's will, and that I
could kill the man who kills me if I chose.

THE EDITOR. Put on that armor.

FERROVIUS. No armor.

THE EDITOR (bullying him) Do what you're told. Put on that armor.

FERROVIUS (gripping the sword and looking dangerous) I said, No
armor.

THE EDITOR. And what am I to say when I am accused of sending a
naked man in to fight my men in armor?

FERROVIUS. Say your prayers, brother; and have no fear of the
princes of this world.

THE EDITOR. Tsha! You obstinate fool! (He bites his lips
irresolutely, not knowing exactly what to do).

ANDROCLES (to Ferrovius) Farewell, brother, till we meet in the
sweet by-and-by.

THE EDITOR (to Androcles) You are going too. Take a sword there;
and put on any armor you can find to fit you.

ANDROCLES. No, really: I can't fight: I never could. I can't
bring myself to dislike anyone enough. I'm to be thrown to the
lions with the lady.

THE EDITOR. Then get out of the way and hold your noise.
(Androcles steps aside with cheerful docility). Now then! Are you
all ready there? A trumpet is heard from the arena.

FERROVIUS (starting convulsively) Heaven give me strength!

THE EDITOR. Aha! That frightens you, does it?

FERROVIUS. Man: there is no terror like the terror of that sound
to me. When I hear a trumpet or a drum or the clash of steel or
the hum of the catapult as the great stone flies, fire runs
through my veins: I feel my blood surge up hot behind my eyes: I
must charge: I must strike: I must conquer: Caesar himself will
not be safe in his imperial seat if once that spirit gets loose
in me. Oh, brothers, pray! exhort me! remind me that if I raise
my sword my honor falls and my Master is crucified afresh.

ANDROCLES. Just keep thinking how cruelly you might hurt the poor
gladiators.

FERROVIUS. It does not hurt a man to kill him.

LAVINIA. Nothing but faith can save you.

FERROVIUS. Faith! Which faith? There are two faiths. There is our
faith. And there is the warrior's faith, the faith in fighting,
the faith that sees God in the sword. How if that faith should
overwhelm me?

LAVINIA. You will find your real faith in the hour of trial.

FERROVIUS. That is what I fear. I know that I am a fighter. How
can I feel sure that I am a Christian?

ANDROCLES. Throw away the sword, brother.

FERROVIUS. I cannot. It cleaves to my hand. I could as easily
throw a woman I loved from my arms. (Starting) Who spoke that
blasphemy? Not I.

LAVINIA. I can't help you, friend. I can't tell you not to save
your own life. Something wilful in me wants to see you fight your
way into heaven.

FERROVIUS. Ha!

ANDROCLES. But if you are going to give up our faith, brother,
why not do it without hurting anybody? Don't fight them. Burn the
incense.

FERROVIUS. Burn the incense! Never.

LAVINIA. That is only pride, Ferrovius.

FERROVIUS. ONLY pride! What is nobler than pride? (Conscience
stricken) Oh, I'm steeped in sin. I'm proud of my pride.

LAVINIA. They say we Christians are the proudest devils on earth
--that only the weak are meek. Oh, I am worse than you. I ought
to send you to death; and I am tempting you.

ANDROCLES. Brother, brother: let THEM rage and kill: let US be
brave and suffer. You must go as a lamb to the slaughter.

FERROVIUS. Aye, aye: that is right. Not as a lamb is slain by the
butcher; but as a butcher might let himself be slain by a
(looking at the Editor) by a silly ram whose head he could fetch
off in one twist.

Before the Editor can retort, the Call Boy rushes up through the
passage; and the Captain comes from the Emperor's box and
descends the steps.

THE CALL BOY. In with you: into the arena. The stage is waiting.

THE CAPTAIN. The Emperor is waiting. (To the Editor) What are you
dreaming of, man? Send your men in at once.

THE EDITOR. Yes, Sir: it's these Christians hanging back.

FERROVIUS (in a voice of thunder) Liar!

THE EDITOR (not heeding him) March. (The gladiators told off to
fight with the Christians march down the passage) Follow up
there, you.

THE CHRISTIAN MEN AND WOMEN (as they part) Be steadfast, brother.
Farewell. Hold up the faith, brother. Farewell. Go to glory,
dearest. Farewell. Remember: we are praying for you. Farewell. Be
strong, brother. Farewell. Don't forget that the divine love and
our love surround you. Farewell. Nothing can hurt you: remember
that, brother. Farewell. Eternal glory, dearest. Farewell.

THE EDITOR (out of patience) Shove them in, there.

The remaining gladiators and the Call Boy make a movement towards
them.

FERROVIUS (interposing) Touch them, dogs; and we die here, and
cheat the heathen of their spectacle. (To his fellow Christians)
Brothers: the great moment has come. That passage is your hill to
Calvary. Mount it bravely, but meekly; and remember! not a word
of reproach, not a blow nor a struggle. Go. (They go out through
the passage. He turns to Lavinia) Farewell.

LAVINIA. You forget: I must follow before you are cold.

FERROVIUS. It is true. Do not envy me because I pass before you
to glory. (He goes through the passage).

THE EDITOR (to the Call Boy) Sickening work, this. Why can't they
all be thrown to the lions? It's not a man's job. (He throws
himself moodily into his chair).

The remaining gladiators go back to their former places
indifferently. The Call Boy shrugs his shoulders and squats down
at the entrance to the passage, near the Editor.

Lavinia and the Christian women sit down again, wrung with grief,
some weeping silently, some praying, some calm and steadfast.
Androcles sits down at Lavinia's feet. The Captain stands on the
stairs, watching her curiously.

ANDROCLES. I'm glad I haven't to fight. That would really be an
awful martyrdom. I AM lucky.

LAVINIA (looking at him with a pang of remorse). Androcles: burn
the incense: you'll be forgiven. Let my death atone for both. I
feel as if I were killing you.

ANDROCLES. Don't think of me, sister. Think of yourself. That
will keep your heart up.

The Captain laughs sardonically.

LAVINIA (startled: she had forgotten his presence) Are you there,
handsome Captain? Have you come to see me die?

THE CAPTAIN (coming to her side) I am on duty with the Emperor,
Lavinia.

LAVINIA. Is it part of your duty to laugh at us?

THE CAPTAIN. No: that is part of my private pleasure. Your friend
here is a humorist. I laughed at his telling you to think of
yourself to keep up your heart. I say, think of yourself and burn
the incense.

LAVINIA. He is not a humorist: he was right. You ought to know
that, Captain: you have been face to face with death.

THE CAPTAIN. Not with certain death, Lavinia. Only death in
battle, which spares more men than death in bed. What you are
facing is certain death. You have nothing left now but your faith
in this craze of yours: this Christianity. Are your Christian
fairy stories any truer than our stories about Jupiter and Diana,
in which, I may tell you, I believe no more than the Emperor
does, or any educated man in Rome?

LAVINIA. Captain: all that seems nothing to me now. I'll not say
that death is a terrible thing; but I will say that it is so real
a thing that when it comes close, all the imaginary things--all
the stories, as you call them--fade into mere dreams beside that
inexorable reality. I know now that I am not dying for stories or
dreams. Did you hear of the dreadful thing that happened here
while we were waiting?

THE CAPTAIN. I heard that one of your fellows bolted,, and ran
right into the jaws of the lion. I laughed. I still laugh.

LAVINIA. Then you don't understand what that meant?

THE CAPTAIN. It meant that the lion had a cur for his breakfast.

LAVINIA. It meant more than that, Captain. It meant that a man
cannot die for a story and a dream. None of us believed the
stories and the dreams more devoutly than poor Spintho; but he
could not face the great reality. What he would have called my
faith has been oozing away minute by minute whilst I've been
sitting here, with death coming nearer and nearer, with reality
becoming realler and realler, with stories and dreams fading away
into nothing.

THE CAPTAIN. Are you then going to die for nothing?

LAVINIA. Yes: that is the wonderful thing. It is since all the
stories and dreams have gone that I have now no doubt at all that
I must die for something greater than dreams or stories.

THE CAPTAIN. But for what?

LAVINIA. I don't know. If it were for anything small enough to
know, it would be too small to die for. I think I'm going to die
for God. Nothing else is real enough to die for.

THE CAPTAIN. What is God?

LAVINIA. When we know that, Captain, we shall be gods ourselves.

THE CAPTAIN. Lavinia; come down to earth. Burn the incense and
marry me.

LAVINIA. Handsome Captain: would you marry me if I hauled down
the flag in the day of battle and burnt the incense? Sons take
after their mothers, you know. Do you want your son to be a
coward?

THE CAPTAIN (strongly moved). By great Diana, I think I would
strangle you if you gave in now.

LAVINIA (putting her hand on the head of Androcles) The hand of
God is on us three, Captain.

THE CAPTAIN. What nonsense it all is! And what a monstrous thing
that you should die for such nonsense, and that I should look on
helplessly when my whole soul cries out against it! Die then if
you must; but at least I can cut the Emperor's throat and then my
own when I see your blood.

The Emperor throws open the door of his box angrily, and appears
in wrath on the threshold. The Editor, the Call Boy, and the
gladiators spring to their feet.

THE EMPEROR. The Christians will not fight; and your curs cannot
get their blood up to attack them. It's all that fellow with the
blazing eyes. Send for the whip. (The Call Boy rushes out on the
east side for the whip). If that will not move them, bring the
hot irons. The man is like a mountain. (He returns angrily into
the box and slams the door).

The Call Boy returns with a man in a hideous Etruscan mask,
carrying a whip. They both rush down the passage into the arena.

LAVINIA (rising) Oh, that is unworthy. Can they not kill him
without dishonoring him?

ANDROCLES (scrambling to his feet and running into the middle of
the space between the staircases) It's dreadful. Now I want to
fight. I can't bear the sight of a whip. The only time I ever hit
a man was when he lashed an old horse with a whip. It was
terrible: I danced on his face when he was on the ground. He
mustn't strike Ferrovius: I'll go into the arena and kill him
first. (He makes a wild dash into the passage. As he does so a
great clamor is heard from the arena, ending in wild
applause. The gladiators listen and look inquiringly at one
another).

THE EDITOR. What's up now?

LAVINIA (to the Captain) What has happened, do you think?

THE CAPTAIN. What CAN happen? They are killing them, I suppose.

ANDROCLES (running in through the passage, screaming with horror
and hiding his eyes)!!!

LAVINIA. Androcles, Androcles: what's the matter?

ANDROCLES. Oh, don't ask me, don't ask me. Something too
dreadful. Oh! (He crouches by her and hides his face in her robe,
sobbing).

THE CALL Boy (rushing through from the passage as before) Ropes
and hooks there! Ropes and hooks.

THE EDITOR. Well, need you excite yourself about it? (Another
burst of applause).

Two slaves in Etruscan masks, with ropes and drag hooks, hurry
in.

ONE OF THE SLAVES. How many dead?

THE CALL Boy. Six. (The slave blows a whistle twice; and four
more masked slaves rush through into the arena with the same
apparatus) And the basket. Bring the baskets. (The slave whistles
three times, and runs through the passage with his companion).

THE CAPTAIN. Who are the baskets for?

THE CALL Boy. For the whip. He's in pieces. They're all in
pieces, more or less. (Lavinia hides her face).

(Two more masked slaves come in with a basket and follow the
others into the arena, as the Call Boy turns to the gladiators
and exclaims, exhausted) Boys, he's killed the lot.

THE EMPEROR (again bursting from his box, this time in an ecstasy
of delight) Where is he? Magnificent! He shall have a laurel
crown.

Ferrovius, madly waving his bloodstained sword, rushes through
the passage in despair, followed by his co-religionists, and by
the menagerie keeper, who goes to the gladiators. The gladiators
draw their swords nervously.

FERROVIUs. Lost! lost forever! I have betrayed my Master. Cut off
this right hand: it has offended. Ye have swords, my brethren:
strike.

LAVINIA. No, no. What have you done, Ferrovius?

FERROVIUS. I know not; but there was blood behind my eyes; and
there's blood on my sword. What does that mean?

THE EMPEROR (enthusiastically, on the landing outside his box)
What does it mean? It means that you are the greatest man in
Rome. It means that you shall have a laurel crown of gold. Superb
fighter, I could almost yield you my throne. It is a record for
my reign: I shall live in history. Once, in Domitian's time, a
Gaul slew three men in the arena and gained his freedom. But when
before has one naked man slain six armed men of the bravest and
best? The persecution shall cease: if Christians can fight like
this, I shall have none but Christians to fight for me. (To the
Gladiators) You are ordered to become Christians, you there: do
you hear?

RETIARIUS. It is all one to us, Caesar. Had I been there with my
net, the story would have been different.

THE CAPTAIN (suddenly seizing Lavinia by the wrist and dragging
her up the steps to the Emperor) Caesar this woman is the sister
of Ferrovius. If she is thrown to the lions he will fret. He will
lose weight; get out of condition

THE EMPEROR. The lions? Nonsense! (To Lavinia) Madam: I am proud
to have the honor of making your acquaintance. Your brother is
the glory of Rome.

LAVINIA. But my friends here. Must they die?

THE EMPEROR. Die! Certainly not. There has never been the
slightest idea of harming them. Ladies and gentlemen: you are all
free. Pray go into the front of the house and enjoy the spectacle
to which your brother has so splendidly contributed. Captain:
oblige me by conducting them to the seats reserved for my
personal friends.

THE MENAGERIE KEEPER. Caesar: I must have one Christian for the
lion. The people have been promised it; and they will tear the
decorations to bits if they are disappointed.

THE EMPEROR. True, true: we must have somebody for the new lion.

FERROVIUS. Throw me to him. Let the apostate perish.

THE EMPEROR. No, no: you would tear him in pieces, my friend; and
we cannot afford to throw away lions as if they were mere slaves.
But we must have somebody. This is really extremely awkward.

THE MENAGERIE KEEPER. Why not that little Greek chap? He's not a
Christian: he's a sorcerer.

THE EMPEROR. The very thing: he will do very well.

THE CALL Boy (issuing from the passage) Number twelve. The
Christian for the new lion.

ANDROCLES (rising, and pulling himself sadly together) Well, it
was to be, after all.

LAVINIA. I'll go in his place, Caesar. Ask the Captain whether
they do not like best to see a woman torn to pieces. He told me
so yesterday.

THE EMPEROR. There is something in that: there is certainly
something in that--if only I could feel sure that your brother
would not fret.

ANDROCLES. No: I should never have another happy hour. No: on the
faith of a Christian and the honor of a tailor, I accept the lot
that has fallen on me. If my wife turns up, give her my love and
say that my wish was that she should be happy with her next, poor
fellow! Caesar: go to your box and see how a tailor can die. Make
way for number twelve there. (He marches out along the passage).

The vast audience in the amphitheatre now sees the Emperor
re-enter his box and take his place as Androcles, desperately
frightened, but still marching with piteous devotion, emerges
from the other end of the passage, and finds himself at the focus
of thousands of eager eyes. The lion's cage, with a heavy
portcullis grating, is on his left. The Emperor gives a signal. A
gong sounds. Androcles shivers at the sound; then falls on his
knees and prays.

The grating rises with a clash. The lion bounds into the arena.
He rushes round frisking in his freedom. He sees Androcles. He
stops; rises stiffly by straightening his legs; stretches out his
nose forward and his tail in a horizontal line behind, like a
pointer, and utters an appalling roar. Androcles crouches and
hides his face in his hands. The lion gathers himself for a
spring, swishing his tail to and fro through the dust in an
ecstasy of anticipation. Androcles throws up his hands in
supplication to heaven. The lion checks at the sight of
Androcles's face. He then steals towards him; smells him; arches
his back; purrs like a motor car; finally rubs himself against
Androcles, knocking him over. Androcles, supporting himself on
his wrist, looks affrightedly at the lion. The lion limps on
three paws, holding up the other as if it was wounded. A flash of
recognition lights up the face of Androcles. He flaps his hand as
if it had a thorn in it, and pretends to pull the thorn out and
to hurt himself. The lion nods repeatedly. Androcles holds out
his hands to the lion, who gives him both paws, which
he shakes with enthusiasm. They embrace rapturously, finally
waltz round the arena amid a sudden burst of deafening applause,
and out through the passage, the Emperor watching them in
breathless astonishment until they disappear, when he rushes from
his box and descends the steps in frantic excitement.

THE EMPEROR. My friends, an incredible! an amazing thing! has
happened. I can no longer doubt the truth of Christianity. (The
Christians press to him joyfully) This Christian sorcerer--(with
a yell, he breaks off as he sees Androcles and the lion emerge
from the passage, waltzing. He bolts wildly up the steps into his
box, and slams the door. All, Christians and gladiators' alike,
fly for their lives, the gladiators bolting into the arena, the
others in all directions. The place is emptied with magical
suddenness).

ANDROCLES (naively) Now I wonder why they all run away from us
like that. (The lion combining a series of yawns, purrs, and
roars, achieves something very like a laugh).

THE EMPEROR (standing on a chair inside his box and looking over
the wall) Sorcerer: I command you to put that lion to death
instantly. It is guilty of high treason. Your conduct is most
disgra-- (the lion charges at him up the stairs) help! (He
disappears. The lion rears against the box; looks over the
partition at him, and roars. The Emperor darts out through the
door and down to Androcles, pursued by the lion.)

ANDROCLES. Don't run away, sir: he can't help springing if you
run. (He seizes the Emperor and gets between him and the lion,
who stops at once). Don't be afraid of him.

THE EMPEROR. I am NOT afraid of him. (The lion crouches,
growling. The Emperor clutches Androcles) Keep between us.

ANDROCLES. Never be afraid of animals, your Worship: that's the
great secret. He'll be as gentle as a lamb when he knows that you
are his friend. Stand quite still; and smile; and let him smell
you all over just to reassure him; for, you see, he's afraid of
you; and he must examine you thoroughly before he gives you his
confidence. (To the lion) Come now, Tommy; and speak nicely to
the Emperor, the great, good Emperor who has power to have all
our heads cut off if we don't behave very, VERY respectfully to
him.

The lion utters a fearful roar. The Emperor dashes madly up the
steps, across the landing, and down again on the other side, with
the lion in hot pursuit. Androcles rushes after the lion;
overtakes him as he is descending; and throws himself on his
back, trying to use his toes as a brake. Before he can stop him
the lion gets hold of the trailing end of the Emperor's robe.

ANDROCLES. Oh bad wicked Tommy, to chase the Emperor like that!
Let go the Emperor's robe at once, sir: where's your manners?
(The lion growls and worries the robe). Don't pull it away from
him, your worship. He's only playing. Now I shall be really angry
with you, Tommy, if you don't let go. (The lion growls again)
I'll tell you what it is, sir: he thinks you and I are not
friends.

THE EMPEROR (trying to undo the clasp of his brooch) Friends! You
infernal scoundrel (the lion growls)don't let him go. Curse this
brooch! I can't get it loose.

ANDROCLES. We mustn't let him lash himself into a rage. You must
show him that you are my particular friend--if you will have the
condescension. (He seizes the Emperor's hands, and shakes them
cordially), Look, Tommy: the nice Emperor is the dearest friend
Andy Wandy has in the whole world: he loves him like a brother.

THE EMPEROR. You little brute, you damned filthy little dog of a
Greek tailor: I'll have you burnt alive for daring to touch the
divine person of the Emperor. (The lion roars).

ANDROCLES. Oh don't talk like that, sir. He understands every
word you say: all animals do: they take it from the tone of your
voice. (The lion growls and lashes his tail). I think he's going
to spring at your worship. If you wouldn't mind saying something
affectionate. (The lion roars).

THE EMPEROR (shaking Androcles' hands frantically) My dearest Mr.
Androcles, my sweetest friend, my long lost brother, come to my
arms. (He embraces Androcles). Oh, what an abominable smell of
garlic!

The lion lets go the robe and rolls over on his back, clasping
his forepaws over one another coquettishly above his nose.

ANDROCLES. There! You see, your worship, a child might play with
him now. See! (He tickles the lion's belly. The lion wriggles
ecstatically). Come and pet him.

THE EMPEROR. I must conquer these unkingly terrors. Mind you
don't go away from him, though. (He pats the lion's chest).

ANDROCLES. Oh, sir, how few men would have the courage to do
that--

THE EMPEROR. Yes: it takes a bit of nerve. Let us invite the
Court in and frighten them. Is he safe, do you think?

ANDROCLES. Quite safe now, sir.

THE EMPEROR (majestically) What ho, there! All who are within
hearing, return without fear. Caesar has tamed the lion. (All the
fugitives steal cautiously in. The menagerie keeper comes from
the passage with other keepers armed with iron bars and
tridents). Take those things away. I have subdued the beast. (He
places his foot on it).

FERROVIUS (timidly approaching the Emperor and looking down with
awe on the lion) It is strange that I, who fear no man, should
fear a lion.

THE CAPTAIN. Every man fears something, Ferrovius.

THE EMPEROR. How about the Pretorian Guard now?

FERROVIUS. In my youth I worshipped Mars, the God of War. I
turned from him to serve the Christian god; but today the
Christian god forsook me; and Mars overcame me and took back his
own. The Christian god is not yet. He will come when Mars and I
are dust; but meanwhile I must serve the gods that are, not the
God that will be. Until then I accept service in the Guard,
Caesar.

THE EMPEROR. Very wisely said. All really sensible men agree that
the prudent course is to be neither bigoted in our attachment to
the old nor rash and unpractical in keeping an open mind for the
new, but to make the best of both dispensations.

THE CAPTAIN. What do you say, Lavinia? Will you too be prudent?

LAVINIA (on the stair) No: I'll strive for the coming of the God
who is not yet.

THE CAPTAIN. May I come and argue with you occasionally?

LAVINIA. Yes, handsome Captain: you may. (He kisses her hands).

THE EMPEROR. And now, my friends, though I do not, as you see,
fear this lion, yet the strain of his presence is considerable;
for none of us can feel quite sure what he will do next.

THE MENAGERIE KEEPER. Caesar: give us this Greek sorcerer to be a
slave in the menagerie. He has a way with the beasts.

ANDROCLES (distressed). Not if they are in cages. They should not
be kept in cages. They must all be let out.

THE EMPEROR. I give this sorcerer to be a slave to the first man
who lays hands on him. (The menagerie keepers and the gladiators
rush for Androcles. The lion starts up and faces them. They surge
back). You see how magnanimous we Romans are, Androcles. We
suffer you to go in peace.

ANDROCLES. I thank your worship. I thank you all, ladies and
gentlemen. Come, Tommy. Whilst we stand together, no cage for
you: no slavery for me. (He goes out with the lion, everybody
crowding away to give him as wide a berth as possible).

In this play I have represented one of the Roman persecutions of
the early Christians, not as the conflict of a false theology
with a true, but as what all such persecutions essentially are:
an attempt to suppress a propaganda that seemed to threaten the
interests involved in the established law and order, organized
and maintained in the name of religion and justice by politicians
who are pure opportunist Have-and-Holders. People who are shown
by their inner light the possibility of a better world based on
the demand of the spirit for a nobler and more abundant life, not
for themselves at the expense of others, but for everybody, are
naturally dreaded and therefore hated by the Have-and-Holders,
who keep always in reserve two sure weapons against them. The
first is a persecution effected by the provocation, organization,
and arming of that herd instinct which makes men abhor all
departures from custom, and, by the most cruel punishments and
the wildest calumnies, force eccentric people to behave and
profess exactly as other people do. The second is by leading the
herd to war, which immediately and infallibly makes them forget
everything, even their most cherished and hardwon public
liberties and private interests, in the irresistible surge of
their pugnacity and the tense pre-occupation of their terror.

There is no reason to believe that there was anything more in the
Roman persecutions than this. The attitude of the Roman Emperor
and the officers of his staff towards the opinions at issue were
much the same as those of a modern British Home Secretary towards
members of the lower middle classes when some pious policeman
charges them with Bad Taste, technically called blasphemy: Bad
Taste being a violation of Good Taste, which in such matters
practically means Hypocrisy. The Home Secretary and the judges
who try the case are usually far more sceptical and blasphemous
than the poor men whom they persecute; and their professions of
horror at the blunt utterance of their own opinions are revolting
to those behind the scenes who have any genuine religious
sensibility; but the thing is done because the governing classes,
provided only the law against blasphemy is not applied to
themselves, strongly approve of such persecution because it
enables them to represent their own privileges as part of the
religion of the country.

Therefore my martyrs are the martyrs of all time, and my
persecutors the persecutors of all time. My Emperor, who has no
sense of the value of common people's lives, and amuses himself
with killing as carelessly as with sparing, is the sort of
monster you can make of any silly-clever gentleman by idolizing
him. We are still so easily imposed on by such idols that one of
the leading pastors of the Free Churches in London denounced my
play on the ground that my persecuting Emperor is a very fine
fellow, and the persecuted Christians ridiculous. From which I
conclude that a popular pulpit may be as perilous to a man's soul
as an imperial throne.

All my articulate Christians, the reader will notice, have
different enthusiasms, which they accept as the same religion
only because it involves them in a common opposition to the
official religion and consequently in a common doom. Androcles is
a humanitarian naturalist, whose views surprise everybody.
Lavinia, a clever and fearless freethinker, shocks the Pauline
Ferrovius, who is comparatively stupid and conscience ridden.
Spintho, the blackguardly debauchee, is presented as one of the
typical Christians of that period on the authority of St.
Augustine, who seems to have come to the conclusion at one period
of his development that most Christians were what we call wrong
uns. No doubt he was to some extent right: I have had occasion
often to point out that revolutionary movements attract those who
are not good enough for established institutions as well as those
who are too good for them.

But the most striking aspect of the play at this moment is the
terrible topicality given it by the war. We were at peace when I
pointed out, by the mouth of Ferrovius, the path of an honest man
who finds out, when the trumpet sounds, that he cannot follow
Jesus. Many years earlier, in The Devil's Disciple, I touched the
same theme even more definitely, and showed the minister throwing
off his black coat for ever when he discovered, amid the thunder
of the captains and the shouting, that he was a born fighter.
Great numbers of our clergy have found themselves of late in the
position of Ferrovius and Anthony Anderson. They have discovered
that they hate not only their enemies but everyone who does not
share their hatred, and that they want to fight and to force
other people to fight. They have turned their churches into
recruiting stations and their vestries into munition workshops.
But it has never occurred to them to take off their black coats
and say quite simply, "I find in the hour of trial that the
Sermon on the Mount is tosh, and that I am not a Christian. I
apologize for all the unpatriotic nonsense I have been preaching
all these years. Have the goodness to give me a revolver and a
commission in a regiment which has for its chaplain a priest of
the god Mars: my God." Not a bit of it. They have stuck to their
livings and served Mars in the name of Christ, to the scandal of
all religious mankind. When the Archbishop of York behaved like a
gentleman and the Head Master of Eton preached a Christian
sermon, and were reviled by the rabble, the Martian parsons
encouraged the rabble. For this they made no apologies or
excuses, good or bad. They simple indulged their passions, just
as they had always indulged their class prejudices and commercial
interests, without troubling themselves for a moment as to
whether they were Christians or not. They did not protest even
when a body calling itself the AntiGerman League (not having
noticed, apparently, that it had been anticipated by the British
Empire, the French Republic, and the Kingdoms of Italy, Japan,
and Serbia) actually succeeded in closing a church at Forest Hill
in which God was worshipped in the German language. One would
have supposed that this grotesque outrage on the commonest
decencies of religion would have provoked a remonstrance from
even the worldliest bench of bishops. But no: apparently it
seemed to the bishops as natural that the House of God should be
looted when He allowed German to be spoken in it as that a
baker's shop with a German name over the door should be pillaged.
Their verdict was, in effect, "Serve God right, for creating the
Germans!" The incident would have been impossible in a country
where the Church was as powerful as the Church of England, had it
had at the same time a spark of catholic as distinguished from
tribal religion in it. As it is, the thing occurred; and as far
as I have observed, the only people who gasped were the
Freethinkers. Thus we see that even among men who make a
profession of religion the great majority are as Martian as the
majority of their congregations. The average clergyman is an
official who makes his living by christening babies, marrying
adults, conducting a ritual, and making the best he can (when he
has any conscience about it) of a certain routine of school
superintendence, district visiting, and organization of
almsgiving, which does not necessarily touch Christianity at any
point except the point of the tongue. The exceptional or
religious clergyman may be an ardent Pauline salvationist, in
which case his more cultivated parishioners dislike him, and say
that he ought to have joined the Methodists. Or he may be an
artist expressing religious emotion without intellectual
definition by means of poetry, music, vestments and architecture,
also producing religious ecstacy by physical expedients, such as
fasts and vigils, in which case he is denounced as a Ritualist.
Or he may be either a Unitarian Deist like Voltaire or Tom Paine,
or the more modern sort of Anglican Theosophist to whom the Holy
Ghost is the Elan Vital of Bergson, and the Father and Son are an
expression of the fact that our functions and aspects are
manifold, and that we are all sons and all either potential or
actual parents, in which case he is strongly suspected by the
straiter Salvationists of being little better than an Atheist.
All these varieties, you see, excite remark. They may be very
popular with their congregations; but they are regarded by the
average man as the freaks of the Church. The Church, like the
society of which it is an organ, is balanced and steadied by the
great central Philistine mass above whom theology looms as a
highly spoken of and doubtless most important thing, like Greek
Tragedy, or classical music, or the higher mathematics, but who
are very glad when church is over and they can go home to lunch
or dinner, having in fact, for all practical purposes, no
reasoned convictions at all, and being equally ready to persecute
a poor Freethinker for saying that St. James was not infallible,
and to send one of the Peculiar People to prison for being so
very peculiar as to take St. James seriously.

In short, a Christian martyr was thrown to the lions not because
he was a Christian, but because he was a crank: that is, an
unusual sort of person. And multitudes of people, quite as
civilized and amiable as we, crowded to see the lions eat him
just as they now crowd the lion-house in the Zoo at feeding-time,
not because they really cared two-pence about Diana or Christ, or
could have given you any intelligent or correct account of the
things Diana and Christ stood against one another for, but simply
because they wanted to see a curious and exciting spectacle. You,
dear reader, have probably run to see a fire; and if somebody
came in now and told you that a lion was chasing a man down the
street you would rush to the window. And if anyone were to say
that you were as cruel as the people who let the lion loose on
the man, you would be justly indignant. Now that we may no longer
see a man hanged, we assemble outside the jail to see the black
flag run up. That is our duller method of enjoying ourselves in
the old Roman spirit. And if the Government decided to throw
persons of unpopular or eccentric views to the lions in the
Albert Hall or the Earl's Court stadium tomorrow, can you doubt
that all the seats would be crammed, mostly by people who could
not give you the most superficial account of the views
in question. Much less unlikely things have happened. It is true
that if such a revival does take place soon, the martyrs will not
be members of heretical religious sects: they will be Peculiars,
Anti-Vivisectionists, Flat-Earth men, scoffers at the
laboratories, or infidels who refuse to kneel down when a
procession of doctors goes by. But the lions will hurt them just
as much, and the spectators will enjoy themselves just as much,
as the Roman lions and spectators used to do.

It was currently reported in the Berlin newspapers that when
Androcles was first performed in Berlin, the Crown Prince rose
and left the house, unable to endure the (I hope) very clear and
fair exposition of autocratic Imperialism given by the Roman
captain to his Christian prisoners. No English Imperialist was
intelligent and earnest enough to do the same in London. If the
report is correct, I confirm the logic of the Crown Prince, and
am glad to find myself so well understood. But I can assure him
that the Empire which served for my model when I wrote Androcles
was, as he is now finding to his cost, much nearer my home than
the German one.