Читать книгу Fabiola; Or, The Church of the Catacombs онлайн

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The officer raised himself upon his couch, looked on his interrogator with an unmoved, majestic countenance, and answered calmly:

“Fulvius, I should not deserve the title which you give me, could I contemplate with pleasure, in cold blood, the struggle, if it deserve the name, between a brute beast and a helpless child or woman, for such are the spectacles which you call noble. No, I will draw my sword willingly against any enemy of the princes or the state; but I would as readily draw it against the lion or the leopard that should rush, even by imperial order, against the innocent and defenceless.” Fulvius was starting up; but Sebastian placed his strong hand upon his arm, and continued: “Hear me out. I am not the first Roman, nor the noblest, who has thought thus before me. Remember the words of Cicero: ‘Magnificent are these games, no doubt; but what delight can it be to a refined mind to see either a feeble man torn by a most powerful beast, or a noble animal pierced through by a javelin?’[29] I am not ashamed of agreeing with the greatest of Roman orators.”