“That is common-place.”
“Fry him, my Lord?”
“No, let us have some novelty; monotony is tedious.”
“The little horse, the red hot pincers, the thumb screws, the leaded whips, are all stale,” mused the executioner, biting his thumb-nails and looking dumped. Presently, however, a ray of light illumined his face: “My Lord!” he said, looking up cheerfully, “it is an ancient tradition in the family of my mother, who came from a remote island of the northern seas, called Hibernia, that two cats were once shut up in a chamber at Kilkennœa, and they fought and fought till they had eaten each other all but the tails. My Lord, the prisoner seems to regard the Roman Christians with an antipathy similar to that recorded of the Kilkennœan cats, and this antipathy I presume is reciprocated. Will it please your worship to order the confinement, in an iron cage, of the deacon Laurence with this Britannic mongrel Christian. I confidently anticipate great entertainment to your Lordship, and I am satisfied that if you will condescend to inspect the cage to-morrow morning, nothing of the several parties will be discovered except the os sacrum of each, which your Lordship is well aware, takes that place in man which, in the inferior order of mammals, is occupied by the tail.”
“Capital!” exclaimed the judge, “and whilst Maximus is looking up the cage, and whilst the soldiers go in search of the deacon Laurence, Servius, do you read the pernicious writings which the prisoner has delivered over to us, and which the Christians regard with reverence.”
The secretary began to read; my eyes wandered about the court, lighting on this and then on that instrument of torture. I saw a fire of charcoal with pincers in it quite red hot, and my flesh quivered. I saw a press under which Christians were sometimes flattened like pancakes. I saw barbed hooks for inserting into the muscles, wooden saws discoloured with blood, which had cut men in two. Indeed, I saw more than I dare describe. When I attempted to go into the details of what I beheld to my wife, she said “Now, don’t dear,” and I will refrain from doing so here, relying upon her superior judgment.
Whilst I was examining all these horrible implements, the scribe read on in a monotonous voice the stirring words of one of the most pugnacious of the Anglo-Continental tracts. I now turned my gaze upon the audience, who had taken a cruel interest in the scenes of the court, and who were quite prepared to witness with relish the anticipated fight between Laurence and myself. My eyes lingered first on one and then on another. I soon observed their eyelids drooping, and a blank expression stealing over their faces. Still the scribe Servius read the bold statement of Anglican principles.
In the corner I observed the bear which had hugged one Christian to death that morning, chained to a post. During the greater part of my trial, the brute had extended its arms in an endearing manner towards myself, and had been wagging its stump of a tail in the anticipation of giving me a warm embrace. The bear now coiled itself up on the floor, and went fast asleep. I now looked at the prefect. His eyes were closed. Evidently the publication of the Anglo-Continental Society had made a profound impression upon him. Yes! but of a kind I had not anticipated. He, too, was asleep. I heard him snore. The scribe’s voice began to falter, the sentences became broken. He went to sleep also. I glanced round the court. Every one was enjoying the repose which is brought on upon so many by a dose of laudanum, or a perusal of the leading articles of the Guardian.
I seized the opportunity and stepped lightly out of the court. The guards at the door were vigorously trumpeting through their noses; on them too had the Anglo-Continental tract produced this happy effect. In another moment I was in the street—I was free: I gave a whoop of exultation, and—
WOKE UP IN MY STUDY.