As he spoke, he rose and, followed by Parthenius and Clodianus, he went into his private study. The chamberlain closed the door behind him; Phaeton was on guard in the anteroom. While the founder of the reign of terror thus yielded to an ill-concealed attack of panic, and already, in fancy, heard the roar of revolt, knocking with its blood-reddened sword at his palace gate, the reign of terror itself was lording it abroad, apparently more splendid and firmly based than ever. The doubled garrison had increased the popular feeling of the Emperor’s might, and the calm, impressive solemnity, with which the terrible edict against the Nazarenes had been discussed and promulgated, seemed amply to prove how strong the throne felt itself, and how completely it was master of the situation. The numerous sacrifices which the prime mover of that piece of legislature, Titus Claudius Mucianus, had, in his function as Flamen, offered up to Jupiter, were both favorable and auspicious. The lower classes, who streamed in merry troops to the Circus Maximus, rejoiced over the gifts of corn and the gratification of their passion for a spectacle. The shouting and chanting processions of the priests of Bona Dea and of Isis added to the solemnity of the festival. Not a word of disaffection, not a discordant murmur was to be heard in this universal jubilation, which rolled in a mighty flood through the streets, markets, and public places. Sorrow and discontent are silent on such occasions. In the temple of Saturn a troop of blooming youths, wearing to-day for the first time the _toga virilis_,[14] sang a high-flown festal ode, composed by Marcus Valerius Martialis. The inspired verse sounded out through the Forum, borne on the wings of a hundred youthful voices: "Hail! oh birthday of Caesar, day more bright and auspicious Ev'n than the day when, on Ida, Rhea gave birth to Zeus[15] Hail! and return more often than erst to Pylian Nestor,[16] Ever as bright as to-day, or a thousand times more fair. Many years yet may Caesar keep the feast of Minerva[17] Held on the Alban Hill; and confer the victor’s wreath Twined of oak-leaves, the prize to crown the worthiest singer. Soon may he hallow the secular games with offerings and gifts! Great is the boon we ask; but from the gods in heaven Such a boon is due to Caesar, the god upon earth.[18]" The melodious strain soared up from the temple of Saturn to the towering Palatium beyond. But he, to whom the homage was offered, heard it not. Shut up with Clodianus and Parthenius, he was writing down on a wooden tablet the names of those, whom he devoted to death.[19] Parthenius read them out in a low voice, and the Emperor assented; then the chamberlain wrote down another list of names, and again they were discussed in an undertone. Domitian’s face meanwhile grew more and more like that of a jaguar, lurking in ambush to pounce on his prey.