The gladiatorial
fights and other games were completed. "Bring forth the lion and Glaucus
the Athenian," said the editor. Glaucus had been placed in that gloomy
and narrow cell in which the criminals of the arena awaited their last
and fearful struggle. The door swung gratingly back--the gleam of spears
shot along the walls.
"Glaucus the Athenian, thy time has come," said a loud and clear voice.
"The lion awaits thee."
"I am ready," said the Athenian. "Worthy officer, I attend you."
When he came into the air its breath, which, though sunless, was hot and
arid, smote witheringly upon him. They anointed his body, placed the
stylus in his hand, and led him into the arena.
And now when the Greek saw the eyes of thousands and tens of thousands
upon him, he no longer felt that he was mortal. All evidence of
fear--all fear itself--was gone. A red and haughty flush spread over the
paleness of his features--he towered aloft to the fullness of his
glorious stature. In the elastic beauty of his limbs and form, in his
intent but unfrowning brow, in the high disdain, and in the indomitable
soul, which breathed visibly, which spoke audibly, from his attitude,
his lip, his eye, he assumed the very incarnation, vivid and corporeal,
of the valor of his land--of the divinity of its worship--at once a hero
and a god.
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