The Wild Beast
by
Before the temple of Jupiter Latiaris in Rome, two men of the middle classes met each other. They both remained standing in order to contemplate the new temple, which was different from all others, and looked as if it had felt the effects of an earthquake. The basement had the shape of a roof; the columns stood reversed with their capitals below, and the roof was constructed like a basement with cellar-windows.
“So we meet here again, Hebrew,” said one of the two, who resembled a Roman merchant. “Was it not in Joppa that we last met?”
“Yes,” answered the Hebrew. “One meets the Roman everywhere; he is at home everywhere; one also meets the Hebrew everywhere, but he is at home nowhere. But tell me, whose temple is this?”
“This is the Temple of the Wild Beast, the Emperor Caligula, the madman, the murderer, the incestuous. He has erected it to himself; his image stands within; and the madman comes every day to worship himself.”
So saying, the Roman made a sign on his forehead, moving the forefinger of his right hand first from above, below, and then from left to right.
The Hebrew looked at him in astonishment.
“Are you not a Roman?”
“Yes, I am a Roman Christian.”
“Where do you live?” “Here under Rome, in the catacombs.”
He pointed to a hole in the ground, which resembled those that led down to the cloacae.
“Do you live here under the ground?”
“Yes, that is where we Christians live; there we lie like seed in the earth, and germinate.”
“Those are grave-vaults down there.”
“Yes, we are buried with Christ, and await the resurrection.”
“Have you a temple down there?”
“We have our religious service there, and to-day we celebrate the birth of Christ.”
“Someone is coming down the street,” said the Hebrew. The Roman opened the trap-door in the ground in order to descend. From below the sounds of a choral hymn were heard. “The City hath no need of the moon, neither of the sun, for the glory of God doth lighten it, and the Lamb is the light thereof.”
“Who is the Lamb?” asked the Hebrew.
“Jesus Christ, the Redeemer of the World.”
“Do you think the world is redeemed, while this mad Caligula….”
“The world will be redeemed, if we continue to hope.”
“You have, then, taken the promise away from Israel?”
“No, we have inherited the promise, for Christ was of the stock of Israel.”
“Someone is coming.”
“Then farewell. We shall always meet, for the earth is ours.”
In the temple, which people called “the world turned upside down,” a man slunk along the walls in a state of panic, as though he were afraid to display his back. He had the face of a youth without any hair round it. His upper lip was drawn upwards on the left side, and showed a long canine tooth, while at the same time his right eye shot a sharp glance like a poisonous arrow.
He glided along the wall to the apse, where an image was erected. It was a likeness of the timid man himself, representing him exactly even to his clothes.
“Is the priest there?” the mad Emperor whispered, for it was he.
No answer followed.
“Priest, dear priest, I am so frightened. Are you not coming?”
A sacrificial priest came forward, fell on his knee before the Emperor, and worshipped him.
“Jupiter, Optimus, Maximus, Latiaris, frighten away thy foes.”
“Have I foes, then? Yes, and that is what frightens me. Do you believe that I am God?”
“Thou art.”
“Let us then have thunder, to frighten my foes.”
The priest beat upon a kettledrum, and the echoes rolled through the temple.
The Emperor laughed, so that all his teeth were visible.
“Priest!” he cried as he seated himself on his throne, “now you shall sacrifice to me.”
The priest kindled a fire on the little altar before the madman.
The Emperor said, “The scent is good. Now I am the mightiest in heaven and on earth. I rule over living and dead; I cast into Tartarus and lift into Elysium. How mighty I am! I tame the waves of the sea, and command the storm to cease: I hold sway over the planets in their courses; I myself have created chaos, and the human race lie at my feet, from the primeval forests of Britain to the sources of the Nile, which I alone have discovered. I have made my favourite horse consul, and the people have acknowledged his consulship. Priest! Worship me! Or do you forget who I am? No, I am I, and I shall always worship myself in my own image. Caius Caesar Caligula, I honour thee, Lord of the world, how I honour myself! Jupiter Latiaris Caligula!”