The year 999 approached its end, and the Christians lived in a state of deadly anxiety. In Rome and its neighbourhood, all the active business of life had ceased. The fields were not sown, but lay covered with weeds; trade was at a stand-still; the shops were closed. Those who had anything gave it away, and had difficulty in finding anyone to take it. The churches stood open day and night for three months, and each day was like Sunday. People wore their best clothes, for there was no object in keeping them, and they wished to be well dressed in order to meet the Redeemer on His arrival. Christmas had been kept with unwonted solemnity, and men lived at peace with one another. The guards of the city had nothing to do, for the fear of what was coming sufficed to maintain order. People slept with open doors, and no one dared to steal or to deceive. There was no need to do so, for everyone received what he asked for; bakers distributed bread gratis, and innkeepers allowed unlimited credit; the payment of debts was not exacted. The churches were crowded day and night; there was a ceaseless round of confessions, absolutions, masses and communions. It was the day before New Year’s Eve. Views were divided as to the nature of the coming catastrophe--whether it would come as a flood or as an earthquake. Most of the people remained outside their houses, some on the plain, others on the hills; all with their eyes directed towards heaven. In the morning, the Plain of Mars was full of men, and a crowd formed a circle round a pile of wood. A madman stood on the pile and spoke, with a quantity of papers and parchments in his hand. He was a rich citizen who for three months had practised fasting and penance, and now, reduced to a skeleton, wished to escape the wrath to come. He had collected a large quantity of dry wood under the pretext of giving warmth to all passing beasts of burthen. Since nobody troubled about what others did, he was allowed to do as he liked. Near the pile of wood stood the remains of an old orator’s pulpit, and in that he took his stand after he had kindled the pile. “In the name of the Eternal God,” he said, “so surely as I burn these bonds, will God the Lord erase my sins from His Book. For all sufferings which I have caused others, I will now suffer myself. Purifying fire, burn my wretched body with all its sins! Mounting flames, let me follow you upwards! Lord Jesus, receive my spirit!” He leaped from the pulpit, and fell in the midst of the flames, where he remained on his knees with folded hands till he was suffocated. In the Forum a man was seen working with a miner’s iron bar at a rubbish-heap which should cover him: “Say to the mountains, Cover us,” he sang. From the Pons Sublicius a young couple sprang into the river, locked in an embrace which death could not loosen.