Quo Vadis - ebook

Introductory

In the trilogy “With Fire and Sword,” “The Deluge,” and “Pan Michael,” Sienkiewicz has given pictures of a great and decisive epoch in modern history. The results of the struggle begun under Bogdan Hmelnitski have been felt for more than two centuries, and they are growing daily in importance. The Russia which rose out of that struggle has become a power not only of European but of world-wide significance, and, to all human seeming, she is yet in an early stage of her career. In “Quo Vadis” the author gives us pictures of opening scenes in the conflict of moral ideas with the Roman Empire, — a conflict from which Christianity issued as the leading force in history. The Slavs are not so well known to Western Europe or to us as they are sure to be in the near future; hence the trilogy, with all its popularity and merit, is not appreciated yet as it will be. The conflict described in “Quo Vadis” is of supreme interest to a vast number of persons reading English; and this book will rouse, I think, more attention at first than anything written by Sienkiewicz hitherto.

JEREMIAH CURTIN, Ilom, Northern Guatemala, June, 1896.Chapter I

Petronius woke only about midday, and as usual greatly wearied. The evening before he had been at one of Nero’s feasts, which was prolonged till late at night. For some time his health had been failing. He said himself that he woke up benumbed, as it were, and without power of collecting his thoughts. But the morning bath and the careful kneading of the body by trained slaves hastened gradually the course of his slothful blood, roused him, restored his strength, so that he issued from the elaeothesium, that is the last division of the bath, as if he had risen from the dead, with eyes gleaming from wit and gladness, rejuvenated, filled witli life, exquisite, so unapproachable that Otho himself could not compare with him, and was really that which he had been called, — _arbiter elegantiarum_. He visited the public baths rarely, only when some rhetor happened there who roused admiration and who was spoken of in the city, or when in the ephebias there were combats of exceptional interest. Moreover, he had in his own “insula” private baths which Celer, the famous contemporary of Severus, had extended for him, reconstructed and arranged with such uncommon taste that Nero himself acknowledged their excellence over those of the Emperor, though the imperial baths were more extensive and finished with incomparably greater luxury. After that feast, at which he was bored by the jesting of Vatinius with Nero, Lucan, and Seneca, he took part in a diatribe as to whether woman has a soul. Rising late, he used, as was his custom, the baths. Two enormous balneatores laid him on a cypress table covered with snow-white Egyptian byssus, and with hands dipped in perfumed olive oil began to rub his shapely body; and he waited with dosed eyes till the heat of the laconicum and the heat of their hands passed through him and expelled weariness. But after a certain time he spoke, and opened his eyes; he inquired about the weather, and about the gems which the jeweller Idomeneus had promised to send him for examination that day. It appeared that the weather was beautiful, with a light breeze from the Alban hills, and that the gems had not been brought. Petronius closed his eyes again, and had given command to bear him to the tepidarium, when from behind the curtain the nomenclator looked in, announcing that young Marcus Vinicius, recently returned from Asia Minor, had come to visit him. Petronius ordered to admit the guest to the tepidarium, to which he was borne himself. Vinicius was the son of his oldest sister, who years before had married Marcus Vinicius, a man of consular dignity from the time of Tiberius. The young man was serving then under Corbulo against the Parthians, and at the close of the war had returned to the city. Petronius had for him a certain weakness bordering on attachment, for Marcus was a beautiful and athletic young man, who knew at the same time how to preserve a certain aesthetic measure in his profligacy which Petronius prized above everything.

“A greeting to Petronius,” said the young man, entering the tepidarium with a springy step. “May all the gods grant thee success, but especially Asklepios and Kypns, for under their double protection nothing evil can meet one.” “I greet thee in Rome, and may thy rest be sweet after war,” replied Petronius, extending his hand from between the folds of soft karbas stuff in which he was wrapped.“ What’s to be heard in Armenia; or since thou wert in Asia, didst thou not stumble into Bithynia?” Petronius on a time had been proconsul in Bithynia, and, what is more, he had governed with activity and justice. This was a marvellous contradiction in the character of the man noted for effeminacy and love of luxury; hence he was fond of mentioning those times, since they were a proof of what he was, and what he might have been had it pleased him. “I happened to visit Heraklea,” answered Vinicius. “Corbulo sent me there with an order to assemble reinforcements.” “Ah, Heraklea! I knew at Heraklea a certain maiden from Colchis, for whom I would have given all the divorced women of this city, not excluding Poppaea. But these are old stories. Tell me now, rather, what is to be heard from the Parthian boundary. It is true that they weary me every Vologeses of them, and Tiridates and Tigranes, — those barbarians who, as young Arulenus insists, walk on all fours at home, and pretend to be human only when in our presence. But now people in Rome speak much of them, if only for the reason that it is dangerous to speak of aught else.” “The war is going badly, and but for Corbulo it might be turned to defeat.” “Corbulo! by Bacchus! a real god of war, a genuine Mars, a great leader, at the same time quick-tempered, honest, and dull. I love him, even for this, — that Nero is afraid of him.” “Corbulo is not a dull man.” “Perhaps thou art right, but for that matter it is all one. Dulness, as Pyrrho says, is in no -way worse than wisdom, and differs from it in nothing.” Vinicius began to talk about the war; but when Petronius closed his eyes again, the young man, seeing his uncle’s tired and somewhat emaciated face, changed the conversation, and inquired with a certain interest about his health. Petronius opened his eyes again. Health! — No. He did not feel well, he said. He had not gone so far yet, it is true, as young Sissena, who had lost sensation to such a degree that when he was brought to the bath in the morning he inquired, ‘Am I sitting?’ But he was not well. Vinicius had just committed him to the care of Asklepios and Kypris. But he, Petronius, did not believe in Asklepios. It was not known even whose son Asklepios was, the son of Arsinoe or Koronis; and if the mother was doubtful, what was to be said of the father? Who could be sure in that time who his own father was? Thereupon Petronius began to laugh; then he continued, — “Two years ago I sent to Epidaurus three dozen live cocks and a goblet of gold; but dost thou know why? I said to myself, ‘ Whether this helps or not, it will do me no harm.’ Though people make offerings to the gods, yet I believe that all think as I do, — all, with the exception, perhaps, of muledrivers on the road at the Porta Capena. Besides Asklepios, I had to do with sons of Asklepios. When I was troubled a little last year in my bladder, they prescribed for me. I saw that they were tricksters, but I said to myself: ‘What harm I The world stands on deceit, and life is an illusion. The soul is an illusion too. But one must have reason enough to distinguish pleasant from painful illusions.’ I shall give command to burn in my hypocaustum cedar-wood sprinkled with ambergris, for during life I prefer perfumes to stenches. As to Kypris, to whom thou hast confided me, I have known her guardianship to the extent that I have twinges in my right foot. But as to the rest she is a good goddess I suppose that thou wilt bear sooner or later white doves to her altar.” “True,” answered Vinicius. “ The arrows of the Parthians have not reached my body, but a dart of Amor has struck me — unexpectedly, a few stadia from a gate of this city.” “By the white knees of the Graces! thou wilt tell me of this at a leisure hour.” “I have come purposely to get thy advice,” answered Marcus. But at that moment the epilatores came, and occupied themselves with Petronius. Marcus, throwing aside his tunic, entered a bath of tepid water, for Petronius invited him to a plunge bath. “Ah, I have not even asked whether thy feeling is reciprocated,” said Petronius, looking at the youthful body of Marcus, as it were, cut out of marble. “Had Lysippos seen thee, thou wouldst be ornamenting now the gate leading to the Palatine, as a statue of Hercules in youthful years.” The young man smiled with satisfaction, and began to sink in the bath, splashing warm water abundantly on the mosaic which represented Hera at the moment when she was imploring Sleep to lull Zeus to rest. Petronius looked at him with the satisfied eye of an artist. But when he had finished and yielded himself in turn to the _epilatores_, a lector came in with a bronze tube at his breast and rolls of paper in the tube. “Dost wish to listen?” asked Petronius. “If it is thy creation, gladly!” answered Marcus; “if not, I prefer conversation. Poets are seizing people at present on every street corner.” “Of course they are. Thou wilt not pass any basilica, bath, library, or book-shop without seeing a poet gesticulating like a monkey. Agrippa, on coming here from the East, mistook them for madmen. And it is just such a time now. Caesar writes verses; hence all follow in his steps. Only it is not permitted to write better verses than Caesar, and for that reason I fear a little for Lucan. But I write prose, with which, however, I do not honor myself or others. What the lector has to read are _codicilli_ of that poor Fabricius Veiento.” “Why ‘poor’?” “Because it has been communicated to him that he must dwell in Odyssa and not return to his domestic hearth till he receives a new command. That Odyssey will be easier for him than for Ulysses, since his wife is no Penelope. I need not tell thee, for that matter, that he acted stupidly. But here no one takes things otherwise than superficially. His is rather a wretched and dull little book, which people have begun to read passionately only when the author is banished.

Now one hears on every side, ‘Scandala! scandala!’ and it may be that Veiento invented some things; but I, who know the city, know our _patres_ and our women, assure thee that it is all paler than reality. Meanwhile every man is searching in the book, — for himself with alarm, for his acquaintances with delight. At the bookshop of Avirnus a hundred copyists are writing at dictation, and its success is assured.” “Are thy affairs in it?” “They are; but the author is mistaken, for I am at once worse and less flat than he represents me. Seest thou we have lost long since the feeling of what is worthy or unworthy, — and to me even it seems that in real truth there is no difference between them, though Seneca, Musonius, and Trasca pretend that they see it. To me it is all one 1 By Hercules, I say what I think! I have preserved loftiness, however, because I know what is deformed and what is beautiful; but this our poet, Bronzebeard, for example, or a wagoner, or a ballad singer, or a buffoon, does not understand.” “I am sorry, however, for Fabricius! He is a good companion.” “ Self-love destroyed the man. Every one suspected him, no one knew certainly; but he could not contain himself, and told the secret on all sides in confidence. Hast heard the history of Rufinus?” “No.” “Than come to the frigidarium to cool; there I will tell thee.” They passed into the _frigidarium_, in the middle of which was playing a fountain of bright rose-color, emitting the odor of violets. There they sat in niches which were covered with velvet, and began to cool themselves. Silence reigned for a time. Vinicius looked awhile thoughtfully at a bronze faun which, bending over the arm of a nymph, was seeking her lips eagerly with his lips. “He is right,” said the young man. “That is what is best in life.” “More or less I But besides this thou lovest war, which I do not love, for under tents one’s fingernails break and cease to be rosy. For that matter, every man has his preferences. Bronzebeard loves song, especially his own; and old Scaurus his Corinthian vase, which stands near his bed at night, and which he kisses when he cannot sleep. lie has kissed the edge off already. Tell me, dost thou not write verses?” “No; I have never composed a single hexameter.” “And dost thou not play on the lute and sing?” “ No.” “And dost thou drive a chariot?” “I tried once in Antioch, but unsuccessfully.” “Then I am at rest concerning thee. And to what party in the hippodrome dost thou belong?” “To the Greens.” “Now I am perfectly at rest, especially since thou hast a large property indeed, though thou art not so rich as Pallas or Seneca. For seest thou, with us at present it is well to write verses, to sing to a lute, to declaim, and to compete in the Circus; but better, and especially safer, not to write verses, not to play, not to sing, and not to compete in the Circus. Best of all, is it to know how to admire when Bronzebeard admires. Thou art a comely young man; hence Poppsea may fall in love with thee. This is thy only peril. But no, she is too experienced; she cares for something else. She has had enough of love with her two husbands; with the third she has other views. Dost thou know that that stupid Otho loves her yet to distraction? He walks on the cliffs of Spain, and sighs; he has so lost his former habits, and so ceased to care for his person, that three hours each day suffice him to dress his hair. Who could have expected this of Otho? “I understand him,” answered Vinicius; “but in his place I should have done otherwise.” “What, namely?” “I should have enrolled faithful legions of mountaineers of that country. They are good soldiers, — those Iberians.” “ Vinicius! Vinicius! I almost wish to tell thee that thou wouldst not have been capable of that. And knowest why? Such things are done, but they are not mentioned even conditionally. As to me, in his place, I should have laughed at Poppaea, laughed at Bronzebeard, and formed for myself legions, not of Iberian men, however, but Iberian women. And what is more, I should have written epigrams which I should not have read to any one, — not like that poor Rufinus.” “Thou wert to tell me his history.” “I will tell it in the _unctorium_.”

But in the _unctorium_ the attention of Vinicius was turned to something else; namely, to wonderful slave women who were waiting for the bathers there. Two of them, Africans resembling noble statues of ebony, began to anoint their bodies with delicate perfumes from Arabia; others, Phrygians, skilled in hairdressing, held in their hands, which were bending and flexible as serpents, mirrors of polished steel, and combs; two Grecian maidens from Cos, who were simply like deities, waited as _vestiplicse_, till the moment should come to put _statuesque_ folds in the togas of the lords. “By the cloud-scattering Zeus!” said Marcus Vinicius, “what a choice thou hast!” “I prefer choice to numbers,” answered Petronius. “My whole _familia_ in Rome does not exceed four hundred, and I judge that for personal attendance only upstarts need a greater number of people.” “More beautiful bodies even Bronzebeard does not possess,” said Vinicius, distending his nostrils. “Thou art my relative,” answered Petronius, with a certain friendly indifference, “and I am neither so misanthropic as Barsus nor such a pedant as Aulus Plautius.” But when Vinicius heard this last name, he forgot the maidens from Cos for a moment, and, raising his head vivaciously, inquired, — “Whence did Aulus Plautius come to thy mind? Dost thou know that after I had disjointed my arm outside the city, I passed a number of days in their house? It happened 1 Household servants, that Plautius came up at the moment when the accident happened, and, seeing that I was suffering greatly, he took me to his house; there his slave, the physician Merien, restored me to health. I wished to speak with thee touching this very matter.” “Why? Is it because thou hast fallen in love with Pomponia perchance? In that case I pity thee; she is not young, and she is virtuous 1 I cannot imagine a worse combination. Brr!” “Not with Pomponia — „eheu” answered Vinicius. “With whom, then?” “If I knew myself with whom? But I do not know to a certainty her name even, — Lygia or Callina? They call her Lygia in the house, for she comes of the Lygian nation; but she has her own barbarian name, Callina. It is a wonderful house, — that of those Plautiuses. There are many people in it; but it is quiet there as in the groves of Subiacum. For a number of days I did not know that a divinity dwelt in the house. Once about daybreak I saw her bathing in the garden fountain; and I swear to thee by that foam from which Aphrodite rose, that the rays of the dawn passed right through her body I thought that when the sun rose she would vanish before me in the light, as the twilight of morning does. Since then, I have seen her twice; and since then, too, I know not what rest is, I know not what other desires are, I have no wish to know what the city can give me. I want not women, nor gold, nor Corinthian bronze, nor amber, nor pearls, nor wine, nor feasts; I want only Lygia. I am yearning for her, in sincerity I tell thee, Petronius, as that Dream who is imaged on the Mosaic of thy tepidarium yearned for Paisythea, — whole days and nights do I yearn.” “If she is a slave, then purchase her.” “She is not a slave.” “What is she? A freed woman of Plautius?” “Never having been a slave, she could not be a freed woman.” “Who is she?” “I know not, — a king’s daughter or something of that sort.” “Thou dost rouse my curiosity, Vinicius.” “But if thou wish to listen, I will satisfy thy curiosity straightway. Her story is not a long one. Thou art acquainted, perhaps personally, with Vannius, king of the Suevi, who, expelled from his country, spent a long time grain of Demeter in thy house.” “Thou art greater than Caesar!” exclaimed Vinicius, with enthusiasm.Chapter II

In fact, Petronius kept his promise. Next day after the visit to Chrysothemis, he slept all day, it is true; but in the evening he gave command to bear him to the Palatine, and he had a confidential conversation with Nero; in consequence of this, on the third day a centurion, at the head of some tens of pretorian soldiers, appeared before the house of Plautius. The period was uncertain and terrible. Messengers of this kind were more frequently heralds of death. So when the centurion struck the hammer at Aulus’s door, and when the guard of the atrium announced that there were soldiers in the anteroom, terror rose through the whole house. The family surrounded the old general at once, for no one doubted that danger hung over him above all. Pomponia, embracing his neck with her arms, pressed up to him with all her strength, and her blue lips moved quickly while uttering some quiet expression.

Lygia, with a face pale as linen, kissed his hand; little Aulus clung to his toga. From the corridor, from chambers in the lower story intended for servant-women and attendants, from the bath, from the arches of lower dwellings, from the whole house, crowds of slaves began to hurry out, and the cries of “Heu hen, me miserum!” were heard. The women broke into great weeping; some scratched their cheeks, or covered their heads with kerchiefs. Only the old general himself, accustomed for years to look death straight in the eye, remained calm, and only his mild eagle face became as if chiselled from stone. After a while, when he had quieted the uproar, and commanded the attendants to disappear, he said, — “Let me go, Pomponia. If my end has come, we shall have time to take farewell.” And he pushed her aside gently; but she said, — “God grant thy fate and mine to be one, O Aulus!” Then, falling on her knees, she began to pray with that force which fear for some dear one alone can give. Aulus passed out to the atrium, where the centurion was waiting for him. It was old Cams Hasta, his former subordinate and companion in British wars. “I greet thee, general,” said he. “I bring a command, and the greeting of Caesar; here are the tablets and the signet to show that I come in his name.” “I am thankful to Caesar for the greeting, and I shall obey the command,” answered Aulus. “ Be welcome, Ilasta, and say what command thou hast brought.” “Aulus Plautius,” began Hasta, “Caesar has learned that in thy house is dwelling the daughter of the king of the Lygians, whom that king during the life of the divine Claudius gave into the hands of the Romans as a pledge that the boundaries of the empire would never be violated by the Lygians. The divine Nero is grateful to thee, O general, because thou hast given her hospitality in thy house for so many years; but, not wishing to burden thee longer, and considering also that the maiden as a hostage should be under the guardianship of Caesar and the senate, he commands thee to give her into my hands.” Aulus was too much a soldier and too much a veteran to permit himself regret in view of an order, or vain words, or complaint. A slight wrinkle of sudden anger and pain, however, appeared on his forehead. Before that frown legions in Britain had trembled on a time, and even at that moment fear was evident on the face of Hasta. But in view of the order, Aulus Plautius felt defenceless. He looked for some time at the tablets and the signet; then raising his eyes to the old centurion, he said calmly, — “Wait, Hasta, in the atrium till the hostage is delivered to thee.” After these words he passed to the other end of the house, to the hall called oecus, where Pomponia Graecina, Lygia, and little Aulus were waiting for him in fear and alarm. “Death threatens no one, nor banishment to distant islands,” said he; “still Caesar’s messenger is a herald of misfortune. It is a question of thee, Lygia.” “Of Lygia?” exclaimed Pomponia, with astonishment. “Yes,” answered Aulus. And turning to the maiden, he began: “Lygia, thou wert reared in our house as our own child; I and Pomponia love thee as our daughter. But know this, that thou art not our daughter. Thou art a hostage, given by thy people to Rome, and guardianship over thee belongs to Caesar. Now Caesar takes thee from our house.” The general spoke calmly, but with a certain strange, unusual voice.

Lygia listened to his words, blinking, as it were, not understanding what the question was. Pomponia’s cheeks were pale. In the doors leading from the corridor to the oecus, the terrified faces of slaves began to show themselves a second time. “The will of Caesar must be accomplished”, said Aulus. “Aulus!” exclaimed Pomponia, embracing the maiden with her arms, as if wishing to defend her, “it would be better for her to die.” Lygia, nestling up to her breast, repeated, “Mother, mother I” unable in her sobbing to find other words. On Aulus’s face anger and pain were reflected again. “If I were alone in the world,” said he, gloomily, “I would not surrender her alive, and my relatives might give offerings this day to ‘Jupiter Liberator.’ But I have not the right to ruin also our child, who may live to happier times I will go this day to Caesar, and implore him to change his command. Whether he will listen to me, I know not. Meanwhile farewell, Lygia, and know that I and Pomponia bless always the day in which thou didst take thy seat at our hearth.” Thus speaking, he placed his hand on her head; but though he strove to preserve his calmness, still when Lygia turned to him, her eyes filled with tears, and seizing his hand pressed it to her lips, there breathed in his voice a deep fatherly sorrow. “Farewell, our joy and the light of our eyes,” said he. And he went to the atrium quickly, so as not to let himself be conquered by emotion unworthy of a Roman and a general. Meanwhile Pomponia, when she had conducted Lygia to the cubiculum, began to comfort, console, encourage her, and utter words which sounded strangely in that house, in which near them in an adjoining chamber was the _lararium_, and the hearth on which Aulus Plautius, faithful to ancient usage, made offerings to the domestic divinities. Now the hour of trial had come. On a time Virginius had pierced the bosom of his own daughter to save her from the hands of Appius; still earlier Lucretia had redeemed her shame with her life. The house of Caesar is a den of infamy, of evil, of crime. But we, Lygia, know why we have not the right to raise hands on ourselves! Yes I The law under which we both live is another, a greater, a holier, but it gives permission to defend oneself from evil and shame, even should it happen to pay for that defence with life and torment. Whoso goes forth pure from the dwelling of corruption lias the greater merit thereby. The earth is that dwelling; but fortunately life is one twinkle of the eye, and resurrection is only from the grave, beyond which not Nero, but Mercy bears rule, and there is delight instead of pain, joy instead of tears.

Then she began to speak of herself. Yes, she was calm; but in her breast there was no lack of painful wounds. For example, Aulus was a cataract on her eye; the fountain of light had not flowed to him yet. Neither was it permitted her to rear her son in Truth. When she thought, therefore, that it might be thus to the end of her life, and that for them a moment of separation might come which would be a hundred times more grievous and terrible than that temporary one over which they were both suffering then, she could not so much as understand how she could be happy even in heaven without them. And she had wept many nights through already, had passed many nights in prayer, imploring for mercy and grace. But she offered her suffering to God, and waited and trusted. And now, when a new blow struck her, when the command of the tyrant took from her a dear one, — her whom Aulus had called the light of their eyes, — she trusted yet, believing that there was a power greater than Nero’s and a mercy mightier than his anger. And she pressed still more firmly the maiden’s head to her bosom. Lygia dropped to her knees after a while, and, covering her eyes in the folds of Pomponia’s _peplus_, she remained thus a long time in silence; but when she stood up again, somb calmness was evident on her face. “I grieve for thee, mother, and for father and for brother; but I know that resistance is useless, and would destroy all of us. I promise thee that 1 will never forget thy words in the house of Csesar.” Once more she threw her arms around Pomponia’s neck; then both went out to the oecus, and she took farewell of little Aulus, of the old Greek their teacher, of the dressingmaid who had been her nurse, and of all the slaves. One of these, a tall and broad-shouldered Lygian, called Ursus in the house, who with other servants had in his time gone with Lygia’s mother and her to the camp of the Romans, fell now at her feet, and then bent down to the knees of Pomponia, saying, “ O_ domina_! permit me to go with my lady, to serve her and watch over her in the house of Caesar.” “Thou art not our servant, but Lygia’s,” answered Pomponia; “but if they admit thee through Caesar’s doors, in what way wilt thou be able to watch over her?” „I know not, _domina_; I know only that iron breaks in my hands just as wood does.” When Aulus, who came up at that moment had heard what the question was, not only did he not oppose the wishes of Ursus, but he declared that he had not even the right to detain him. They were sending away Lygia as a hostage whom Caesar had claimed, and they were obliged in the same way to send her retinue, which passed with her to the control of Caesar. Here he whispered to Pomponia that under the form of an escort she could add as many slaves as she thought proper, for the centurion could not refuse to receive them. There was a certain comfort for Lygia in this.

Pomponia also was glad that she could surround her with servants of her own choice. Therefore, besides Ursus, she appointed to her the old tirewoman, two maidens from Cyprus well skilled in hair-dressing, and two German maidens for the bath. Her choice fell exclusively on adherents of the new faith; Ursus, too, had professed it for a number of years. Pomponia could count on the faithfulness of those servants, and at the same time consoled herself with the thought that grains of truth would be soon in Cresar’s house. She wrote a few words also, committing care over Lygia to Nero’s freedwoman, Acte. Pomponia had not seen her, it is true, at meetings of the adherents of the new faith; but she had heard from them that Acte had never refused them a service, and that she read the letters of Paul of Tarsus eagerly. It was known to her also that the young freedwoman lived in melancholy, that she was a person different from all other women of Nero’s house, and that in general she was the good spirit of the palace. Hasta engaged to deliver the letter himself to Acte. Considering it natural that the daughter of a king should have a retinue of her own servants, he did not raise the least difficulty in taking them to the palace, but wondered rather that there should be so few. He begged haste, however, fearing lest he might be suspected of want of zeal in carrying out orders.

The moment of parting came. The eyes of Pomponia and Lygia were filled with fresh tears; Aulus placed his hand on her head again, and after a while the soldiers, followed by the cry of little Aulus, who in defence of his sister threatened the centurion with his small fists, conducted Lygia to Caesar’s house. But the old general gave command to prepare his litter at once; meanwhile, shutting himself up with Pomponia in the pinacotheca adjoining the _oecus_, he said to her, — “Listen to me, Pomponia. I will go to Caesar, though I judge that my visit will be useless; and though Seneca’s word means nothing with Nero now, I will go also to Seneca. To-day Sophonius, Tigellinus, Petronius, or Vatinius has more influence. As to Caesar, perhaps he has never even beard of the Lygian people; and if he has demanded the delivery of Lygia, the hostage, he has done so because some one persuaded him to it, — it is easy to guess wlio could do that.” She raised her eyes to him quickly. “Is it Petronius?” “It is.” A moment of silence followed; then the general continued, — “See what it is to admit over the threshold any of those people without conscience or honor. Cursed be the moment in which Vinicius entered our house, for he brought Petronius. Woe to Lygia, since those men are not seeking a hostage, but a concubine.” And his speech became more hissing than usual, because of helpless rage and of sorrow for his adopted daughter. He struggled with himself some time, and only his clinched fists showed how severe was the struggle within him. “I have revered the gods so far,” said he; “but at this moment I think that not they are over the world, but one mad, malicious monster named Nero.” “Aulus,” said Pomponia, “Nero is only a handful of rotten dust before God.” But Aulus began to walk with long steps over the mosaic of the _pinacotheca_. In his life there had been great deeds, but no great misfortunes; hence he was unused to them. The old soldier had grown more attached to Lygia than he himself was aware of, and now he could not be reconciled to rhe thought that he had lost her. Besides, he felt humiliated. A hand was weighing upon him which he despised, and at the same time he felt that before its power his power was as nothing. But when at last he stifled in himself the anger which disturbed his thoughts, he said, — “I judge that Petronius has not taken her from us for Caesar, since he would not offend Poppaea. Therefore he took her either for himself or Vinicius. To-day I will discover this.” And after a while the litter bore him in the direction of the Palatine. Pomponia, when left alone, went to little Aulus, who did not cease crying for his sister, or threatening Caesar.Chapter III

Aulus had judged rightly that he would uot be admitted to Nero’s presence. They told him that Caesar was occupied in singing with the lute-player, Terpnos, and that in general he did not receive those whom he himself had not summoned. In other words, it meant that Aulus must not attempt to see him in the future. Seneca, though ill with a fever, received the old general with due honor; but when he had heard what the question was, he laughed bitterly, and said, — “I can render thee only one service, noble Plautius, not to show Caesar at any time that my heart feels thy pain, or that I should like to aid thee; for should Caesar have the least suspicion on this head, know that he would not give thee back Lygia, though for no other reason than to spite me.” He did not advise him, either, to go to Tigellinus or Vatinius or Vitelius. It might be possible to do something with them through money; perhaps, also, they would like to do evil to Petronius, whose influence they were trying to undermine, but most likely they would disclose before Nero how dear Lygia was to Plautius, and then Nero would all the more resolve not to yield her up. Here the old sage began to speak with a biting irony, which he turned against himself: “Thou hast been silent, Plautius, thou hast been silent for whole years, and Caesar does not like those who are silent. How couldst thou help being carried away by his beauty, his virtue, his singing, his declamation, his chariot driving, and his verses? Why didst thou not glorify the death of Britannicus, and repeat panegyrics in honor of the mother-slayer, and not offer congratulations after the stifling of Octavia? Thou art lacking in foresight, Aulus, which we who live happily at the court possess in a proper degree.” Thus speaking, he raised a goblet which he carried at his belt, and took water from the fountain at the impluvium, freshened his burning lips, and continued, — “Ah, Nero has a grateful heart. He loves thee because thou hast served Rome and glorified its name at the ends of the earth; he loves me because I was his master in youth. Therefore, seest thou, I know that this water is not poisoned, and I drink it in peace. Wine in my own house would be less reliable. If thou art thirsty, drink boldly of this water. The aqueducts bring it from beyond the Alban hills, and anyone wishing to poison it would have to poison all the fountains in Rome. As thou seest, it is possible yet to be safe in this world and to have a calm old age. I am sick, it is true, but it is rather my soul than my body that is sick.” This was true. Seneca lacked the strength of soul which Cornutus possessed, for example or Thrasea; hence his life was a series of concessions to crime. He felt this himself; he understood that an adherent of the principles of Zeno, of Citium, should go by another road, and he suffered more from that cause than from the fear of death itself. But the general interrupted these reflections full of grief. “Noble Annaeus,” said he, “I know how Caesar rewarded thee for the care with which thou didst surround his years of youth. But the author of the removal of Lygia is Petronius. Indicate to me a method against him, indicate influence. Perhaps with all his corruption he is worthier than those scoundrels with whom Nero surrounds himself at present. But to show him that he has done an evil deed is to lose time simply. Petronius has lost long since that faculty which distinguishes good from evil. Show him that his act is ugly, he will be ashamed of it. When I see him, I will say, „Thy act is worthy of a freedman.” If that will not help thee, nothing can.” “Thanks for that, even,” answered the general. Then he gave command to carry him to Vinicius, whom he found fencing with his domestic trainer. Aulus was borne away by terrible anger at sight of the young man occupied calmly with fencing during the time of the attack on Lygia; and barely had the curtain dropped behind the trainer when this anger burst forth in a torrent of bitter reproaches and injuries. But Vinicius, when he learned that Lygia had been carried away, grew so terribly pale that Aulus could not for a moment even suspect him of sharing in the deed.

The young man’s forehead was covered with sweat; the blood, which had rushed to his heart for a moment, returned to his face in a burning wave; his eyes began to shoot sparks, his mouth to hurl disconnected questions. Jealousy and rage tossed him in turn, like a tempest. It seemed to him that Lygia, once she had crossed the threshold of Caesar’s house, was lost to him absolutely. When Aulus pronounced the name of Petronius, suspicion flew like a lightning flash through the young soldier’s mind, that Petronius had made sport of him, and either wanted to win new favor from Nero by the gift of Lygia, or keep her for himself. That anyone. who had seen Lygia would not desire her at once, did not find a place in his head. Impetuousness, inherited in his family, carried him away like a wild horse, and took from him presence of mind. “General,” said he, with a broken voice, “return home and wait for me. Know that if Petronius were my own father, I would avenge on him the wrong done to Lygia. Return home and wait for me. Neither Petronius nor Caesar will have her.” Then he went with clinched fists to the waxed masks standing clothed in the atrium, and burst out, — “By those mortal masks! I would rather kill her and myself.” When he had said this, he sent another “Wait for me” after Aulus, ran forth like a madman from the atrium, and flew to Petronius’s house, thrusting pedestrians aside on the way. Aulus returned home with a certain encouragement. He judged that if Petronius had persuaded Caesar to take Lygia to give her to Vinicius, Vinicius would bring her to their house. Finally, the thought was no little consolation to him, that should Lygia not be rescued she would be avenged and protected by death from disgrace. He believed that Vinicius would do everything that he had promised. He had seen his rage, and he knew the excitability innate in the whole family. He himself, though he loved Lygia as her own father, would rather kill her than give her to Caesar; and if he had not regarded his son, the last descendant of his stock, he would doubtless have done so. Aulus was a soldier; he had hardly heard of the Stoics, but in character he was not far from their ideas, — death was more acceptable to his pride than disgrace. When he returned home, he pacified Pomponia, gave her the consolation that he had; and both began to await news from Vinicius. At moments when the steps of some of the slaves were heard in the atrium, they thought that perhaps Vinicius was bringing their beloved child to them, and they were ready in the depth of their souls to bless both. Time passed, however, and no news came. Only in the evening was the hammer heard on the gate. After a while a slave entered and handed Anins a letter.

The old general, though he liked to show command over himself, took it with a somewhat trembling hand, and began to read as hastily as if it were a question of his whole house. All at once his face darkened, as if a shadow from a passing cloud had fallen on it. “Read,” said he, turning to Pomponia. Pomponia took the letter and read as follows: — „Marcus Vinicius to Aulus Plautius greeting. What has happened, has happened by the will of C.” Petronius turned to Vinicius, — “Give command to count out to him five thousand sestertia, but in spirit, in intention.” “I will give thee a young man,” said Vinicius, “who will take the sum necessary; thou wilt say to Euricius that the youth is thy slave, and thou wilt count out to the old man, in the youth’s presence, this money. Since thou hast brought important tidings, thou wilt receive the same amount for thyself. Come for the youth and the money this evening.” “Thou art a real Caesar!” said Chilo. “Permit me, lord, to dedicate my work to thee; but permit also that this evening I come only for the money, since Euricius told me that all the boats had been unloaded, and that new ones would come from Ostia only after some days. Peace be with you! Thus do Christians take farewell of one another. I will buy myself a slave woman, — that is, I wanted to say a slave man. Fish are caught with a bait, and Christians with fish. _Pax vobiscum! pax! pax! pax!”_Chapter XI

Only inside the entrance did Vinicius comprehend the whole difficulty of the undertaking. The house was large, of several stories, one of the kind of which thousands were built in Rome, in view of profit from rent; hence, as a rule, they were built so hurriedly and badly that scarcely a year passed in which numbers of them did not fall on the heads of those who lived in them. Real hives, too high and too narrow, full of chambers and little dens, in which poor people fixed themselves too numerously. In a city where many streets had no names, those houses had no numbers; the owners committed the collection of rent to slaves, who, not obliged by the city government to give the names of tenants, were ignorant themselves of them frequently. To find some one by inquiry in such a house was often very difficult, especially when there was no gate-keeper. Vinicius and Croton came to a narrow, corridor-like passage walled in on four sides, forming a kind of common atrium for the whole house, with a fountain in the middle whose stream fell into a stone basin fixed in the ground. At all the walls were internal stairways, some of stone, some of wood, leading to galleries from which there were entrances to lodgings. There were lodgings on the ground, also; some provided with wooden doors, others separated from the yard by woollen screens only. These, for the greater r art, were worn, rent, or patched. The hour was early, and there was not a living soul in the yard. It was evident that all wrere asleep in the house except those who had returned from Ostranium. “What shall we do, lord?” asked Croton, halting. “Let us wait here; some one may appear,” replied Vinicius. “We should not be seen in the yard.” At the same time, he thought Chilo’s counsel practical. If there were some tens of slaves present, it would be easy to occupy the gate, which seemed the only exit, search all the lodgings simultaneously, and thus come to Lygia’s; otherwise Christians, who surely were not lacking in that house, might give notice that people were seeking her. In view of this, there was risk in inquiring of strangers. Vinicius stopped to think whether it would not be better to go for his slaves. Just then, from behind a screen hiding a remoter lodging, came a man with a sieve iu his hand, and approached the fountain. At the first glance the young tribune recognized Ursus. “That is the Lygian I” whispered Vinicius. “Am I to break his bones now?” “Wait awhile I” Ursus did not notice the two men, as they „were in the shadow of the entrance, and he began quietly to sink iu water vegetables which filled the sieve. It was evident that, after a whole night spent in the cemetery, he intended to prepare a meal. After a while the washing was finished; he took the wet sieve and disappeared behind the screen. Croton and Vinicius followed him, thinking that they would come directly to Lygia’s lodgings. Their astonishment was great when they saw that the screen divided from the court, not lodgings, but another dark corridor, at the end of which was a little garden containing a few cypresses, some myrtle bushes, and a small house fixed to the windowless stone wall of another stone building. Both understood at once that this was for them a favoring circumstance. In the courtyard all the tenants might assemble; the seclusion of the little house facilitated the enterprise. They would set aside defenders, or rather Ursus, quickly, and would reach the street just as quickly with the captured Lygia; and there they would help themselves. It was likely that no one would attack them; if attacked, they would say that a hostage was fleeing from Caesar. Vinicius would declare himself then to the guards, and summon their assistance. Ursus was almost entering the little house, when the sound of steps attracted his attention; he halted, and, seeing two persons, put his sieve on the balustrade and turned to them. “What do ye want here?” asked he. “Thee,” said Vinicius. Then, turning to Croton, he said in a low, hurried voice, — “Kill!” Croton rushed at him like a tiger, and in one moment, before the Lygian was able to think or to recognize his enemies, Croton had caught him in his arms of steel. Vinicius was too confident in the man’s preternatural strength to wait for the end of the struggle. He passed the two, sprang to the door of the little house, pushed it open and found himself in a room a trifle dark, lighted, however, by a fire burning in the chimney. A gleam of this fire fell on Lygia’s face directly. A second person, sitting at the fire, was that old man who had accompanied the young girl and Ursus on the road from _Ostranium_. Vinicius rushed in so suddenly that before Lygia could recognize him he had seized her by the waist, and, raising her, rushed toward the door again. The old man barred the way, it is true; but pressing the girl with one arm to his breast, Vinicius pushed him aside with the other, which was free. The hood fell from his head, and at sight of that face, which was known to her and which at that moment was terrible, the blood grew cold in Lygia from fright, and the voice died in her throat. She wished to summon aid, but could not. Equally vain was her wish to grasp the door, to resist. Her fingers slipped along the stone, and she would have fainted but for the terrible picture which struck her eyes when Vinicius rushed into the garden. Ursus was holding in his arms some man doubled back completely, with hanging head and mouth filled with blood. When he saw them, he struck the head once more with his fist, and in the twinkle of an eye sprang toward Vinicius like a raging wild beast. “Death!” thought the young patrician. Then he heard as through a dream, the scream of Lygia, “Kill not!” He felt that something, as it were a thunderbolt, opened the arms with which he held Lygia; then the earth turned round with him, and the light of day died in his eyes. But Chilo, hidden behind the angle of the corner house, was waiting for what would happen, since curiosity was struggling with fear in him. He thought that if they succeeded in carrying off Lygia, he would fare well near Vinicius. He feared Urban no longer, for he also felt certain that Croton would kill him. And he calculated that in case a gathering should begin on the streets, which so far were empty, — if Christians, or people of any kind, should offer resistance, — he, Chilo, would speak to them as one representing authority, as an executor of Caesar’s will, and if need came, call the guards to aid the young patrician against the street rabble — thus winning to himself fresh favor. In his soul he judged yet that the method of Vinicius was unwise; considering, however, Croton’s terrible strength, he admitted that it might succeed, and thought, “If it go hard with him, the tribune can carry the girl, and Croton clear the way.” Delay grew wearisome, however; the silence of the entrance which he watched alarmed him. “If they do not hit upon her hiding-place, and make an uproar, they will frighten her.” But this thought was not disagreeable; for Chilo understood that in that event he would be necessary again to Vinicius, and could squeeze afresh a goodly number of sestertia from the tribune. “Whatever they do,” said he to himself, “they will work for me, though no one divines that. O gods, o gods, only permit me —