“I am a Christian,” she replied, “and cannot deny Christ.” The anguish of her father was so great, that he was unable to restrain loud expressions of grief; and the brutal soldiers drove him off with cruel blows. “I felt the blows,” says Perpetua in a brief memorial which she left of her trials, “as if they had fallen on myself.” Perpetua was then condemned to be torn to pieces by wild beasts. “When the day for the spectacle arrived,” says Perpetua, “my father threw himself on the ground, tore his beard, cursed the day in which he was born, and uttered piercing cries which were sufficient to move the hardest heart.” Both Perpetua and Felicitas were doomed to the same death. The two victims were led into the arena of the vast amphitheatre, where, with the utmost ingenuity of cruelty, they were to be gored to death by bulls. The rising seats which surrounded the amphitheatre were crowded with spectators to enjoy the spectacle. Let us, in imagination, descend into the dark, damp dungeons opening into the arena. Here in this den are growling lions, gaunt and fierce; and here is a den of panthers with glaring eyeballs. They have been kept starved for many days to make them furious. Here in this cell of stone and iron, which the glare of the torch but feebly illumines, is a band of Christians,――fathers, mothers, sons, and daughters. They are to be thrown to-morrow into the arena naked, that they may be torn to pieces by the panthers and the lions, and that the hundred thousand pagan spectators may enjoy the sport of seeing them torn limb from limb, and devoured by the fierce and starved beasts. In one of these cells Perpetua and Felicitas were confined. In another were several wild bulls. It was a glorious summer’s day, and the cloudless sun shone down upon the amphitheatre, over which a silken awning was spread, and which was crowded with many thousands of spectators. Here were congregated all the wealth and beauty and fashion of the city,――vestal virgins, pontiffs, ambassadors, senators, and, in the loftiest tier, a countless throng of slaves. Carthaginian ladies, affecting the utmost delicacy and refinement, vied with men in the eagerness with which they watched the bloody scenes. In the centre of the arena there was suspended a large network bag of strong fine twine, with interstices so large as to afford no covering or veil whatever to the person. Perpetua was first brought into the arena, young and beautiful, a pure and modest Christian lady. She was led forth entirely divested of her clothing, that to the bitterness of martyrdom might be added the pangs of wounded modesty. A hundred thousand voices assailed her with insult and derision. Brutal soldiers placed her in the transparent network. There she hung in mid-air, but two feet from the ground, as if floating in space. Then the burly executioners gave her a swing with their brawny arms, whirling her in a wide circle around the arena, and retired.