At mid-day the prisons were opened, and the prisoners were received as heroes and martyrs. They were taken to the houses of the nobility, made to sit at table, and senators and their wives washed their feet. “We are all sinners,” people said, “and have nothing to boast of. These prisoners have endured their punishment while we went about free.” Never had there been such a display of philanthropy and mercy since the early days of Christianity. The sick in the hospitals wanted to come outside, and their beds were carried into the streets and market-places. Everyone, in fact, wanted to be in the open air, and families brought their furniture into the streets. Birds were liberated from their cages, and horses from their stables. At first the latter ran about in the town, but as they scented the fresh air and reached the town gates they galloped off to the Campagna, to seek green pasture. Many, however, remained in the town, and lay about here and there, while children clambered on their backs. The children were the only ones who felt no fear. They jumped about and played as usual, rejoicing in their freedom and the unusual aspect of things. No one wanted to restrain them, and as they did not understand what was the matter, they remained free from anxiety and went on playing. New Year’s Eve had arrived, and the universal alarm rose to a great height. Masters and servants were seen embracing each other and weeping, the former lamenting their severity--the latter, their dishonesty. Old enemies, who met each other on the street, grasped hands and led each other about like children, singing hymns of praise. It was something like the Golden Age as imagined by the Fathers of the early Church. The air was as mild as that of a spring day, and the sky was clear till noon. Then it became overclouded. No one ate or drank, but all bathed and put on their festal attire. During the afternoon processions of priests and monks marched through the town, and sang litanies, in which the people joined. Their Kyrie Eleison, “Christ, have mercy upon us,” rang all over the town. All Rome was preparing for its own judgment and execution. There were, however, a number of unbelieving and profligate persons who expected nothing new; they had assembled themselves in the catacombs and ruins, where they celebrated Bacchanalian feasts and orgies. In the ruins of Nero’s Golden House a banquet on a large scale had been arranged. In the centre on the ground there burned a fire, surrounded by tables and seats. There was abundance of victuals and wine, for which they only needed to go to the store-room and cellar. There were music, dancing, and singing, and between whiles they amused themselves by watching the bats and owls, which flitted about, scorch and singe themselves in the fire. Their hilarity was loud, but not unforced. Here, too, philosophising and prophecy were in evidence.