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QUO VADIS
A NARRATIVE OF THE TIME OF NERO
by Henryk Sienkiewicz
Translated from the Polish by Jeremiah Curtin
TO AUGUSTE COMTE,
Of San Francisco, Cal.,
MY DEAR FRIEND AND CLASSMATE,
I BEG TO DEDICATE THIS VOLUME.
JEREMIAH CURTIN
TO AUGUSTE COMTE,
Of San Francisco, CA,
MY DEAR FRIEND AND CLASSMATE,
I WOULD LIKE TO DEDICATE THIS BOOK.
JEREMIAH CURTIN
CONTENTS
CONTENTS
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 the trilogy “With Fire and Sword,” “The Deluge,” and “Pan Michael,” Sienkiewicz depicts a significant and transformative era in modern history. The effects of the conflict that began under Bogdan Hmelnitski have been felt for over two centuries, and their importance continues to grow daily. The Russia that emerged from that struggle has become a power of not just European, but global significance, and, from all appearances, it seems she is still in the early stages of her journey.
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.
In “Quo Vadis,” the author presents scenes depicting the clash of moral ideas with the Roman Empire—a conflict that allowed Christianity to emerge as a dominant force in history.
The Slays 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 Slays aren’t as well known in Western Europe or to us as they definitely will be soon; therefore, the trilogy, despite its popularity and quality, isn’t appreciated yet in the way 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.
The conflict described in “Quo Vadis” is of great interest to many English readers, and I believe this book will attract more attention initially than anything else written by Sienkiewicz up to now.
JEREMIAH CURTIN ILOM, NORTHERN GUATEMALA,
JEREMIAH CURTIN ILOM, NORTHERN GUATEMALA,
June, 1896
June 1896
QUO VADIS
Quo Vadis A Narrative of the Time of Nero
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 careful kneading of the body by trained slaves hastened gradually the course of his slothful blood, roused him, quickened him, restored his strength, so that he issued from the elæothesium, 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 with life, exquisite, so unapproachable that Otho himself could not compare with him, and was really that which he had been called,—arbiter elegantiarum.
PETRONIUS woke up around noon, feeling exhausted as usual. The night before, he had attended one of Nero’s banquets that ran late into the night. His health had been deteriorating for a while. He remarked that he woke up feeling numb and unable to gather his thoughts. However, after taking a morning bath and having his body kneaded by skilled slaves, his sluggish blood gradually started to flow, refreshing and restoring his strength. He emerged from the elæothesium, the final part of the bath, as if he had come back to life, with eyes shining with wit and joy, rejuvenated and full of vitality, so exquisite that even Otho couldn’t compare to him, truly embodying what 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.
He rarely went to the public baths, only when there was a speaker who impressed everyone and was talked about in the city, or when the ephebias featured especially interesting competitions. Besides, he had private baths in his own “insula” that Celer, the famous contemporary of Severus, had expanded, remodeled, and decorated with such unique style that even Nero recognized their superiority over the Emperor's baths, although the imperial baths were larger and designed with far 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 closed eyes till the heat of the laconicum and the heat of their hands passed through him and expelled weariness.
After that feast, where he was bored by Vatinius joking around with Nero, Lucan, and Seneca, he joined a debate about whether women have souls. Sleeping in, he followed his usual routine and went to the baths. Two large attendants laid him on a cypress table covered with soft, white Egyptian fabric, and with their hands dipped in scented olive oil, they started to massage his well-shaped body. He closed his eyes and waited until the heat from the steam room and their warm hands infused him and chased away his fatigue.
But after a certain time he spoke, and opened his eyes; he inquired about the weather, and then about 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.
But after a while, he spoke and opened his eyes. He asked about the weather and then about the gems that the jeweler Idomeneus had promised to send him for inspection that day. It turned out the weather was nice, with a gentle breeze from the Alban hills, but the gems hadn’t arrived. Petronius closed his eyes again and had instructed them to take him to the tepidarium when the nomenclator peeked in from behind the curtain, announcing that young Marcus Vinicius, who had just returned from Asia Minor, had come to see 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 beautiful and athletic, a young man who knew how to preserve a certain aesthetic measure in his profligacy; this, Petronius prized above everything.
Petronius instructed that the guest be taken to the tepidarium, where he was carried himself. Vinicius was the son of his oldest sister, who years earlier had married Marcus Vinicius, a man of consular rank since the time of Tiberius. The young man was then serving under Corbulo against the Parthians, and after the war, he returned to the city. Petronius had a particular fondness for him, nearly bordering on affection, because Marcus was handsome and athletic, a young man who managed to maintain a certain aesthetic balance in his excesses; this was something Petronius valued above all else.
“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 Kypris, for under their double protection nothing evil can meet one.”
“A greeting to Petronius,” said the young man, entering the tepidarium with a lively step. “May all the gods grant you success, but especially Asklepios and Kypris, for under their combined protection nothing bad can confront you.”
“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?”
“I greet you in Rome, and I hope you rest well after the war,” replied Petronius, extending his hand from between the folds of soft fabric he was wrapped in. “What news do you have from Armenia? Or since you were in Asia, did you not happen to go to Bithynia?”
Petronius on a time had been proconsul in Bithynia, and, what is more, he had governed with energy and justice. This was a marvellous contrast in the character of a man noted for effeminacy and love of luxury; hence he was fond of mentioning those times, as they were a proof of what he had been, and of what he might have become had it pleased him.
Petronius had once served as proconsul in Bithynia, and what’s more, he ruled with energy and fairness. This was an amazing contrast for a man known for his softness and love of luxury; therefore, he often liked to talk about that period, as it showed what he had been and what he might have achieved if he had chosen to.
“I happened to visit Heraklea,” answered Vinicius. “Corbulo sent me there with an order to assemble reinforcements.”
“I happened to visit Heraklea,” Vinicius replied. “Corbulo sent me there with an order to gather 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 Poppæa. 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.”
“Ah, Heraklea! I once knew a certain girl from Colchis there, for whom I would have given up all the divorced women in this city, even Poppæa. But those are old stories. Tell me now, what’s happening at the Parthian border. It’s true that they exhaust me every Vologeses of them, along with Tiridates and Tigranes—those barbarians who, as young Arulenus says, crawl on all fours at home and only pretend to be human when we’re around. But now people in Rome talk a lot about them, mainly because it’s dangerous to talk about anything else.”
“The war is going badly, and but for Corbulo might be turned to defeat.”
“The war is going badly, and without Corbulo, it could have turned into a 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! By Bacchus! a true god of war, a real Mars, a great leader, at the same time hot-headed, straightforward, and somewhat dull. I admire him, even for this—that Nero is scared of him.”
“Corbulo is not a dull man.”
“Corbulo isn’t boring.”
“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.”
“Maybe you’re right, but really, it doesn’t matter. Boredom, as Pyrrho says, isn’t any worse than wisdom, and there’s no difference between them.”
Vinicius began to talk of 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.
Vinicius started talking about the war; but when Petronius closed his eyes again, the young man, noticing his uncle’s tired and somewhat gaunt face, changed the subject and asked with some concern about his health.
Petronius opened his eyes again.
Petronius reopened his eyes.
Health!—No. He did not feel well. 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 that Asklepios was, the son of Arsinoe or Koronis; and if the mother was doubtful, what was to be said of the father? Who, in that time, could be sure who his own father was?
Health!—No. He did not feel well. It's true he hadn't gone as far as young Sissena, who had lost feeling to such an extent that when he was brought to the bath in the morning, he asked, “Am I sitting?” But he wasn't well. Vinicius had just entrusted him to the care of Asklepios and Kypris. However, Petronius didn’t have faith in Asklepios. It wasn’t even clear who Asklepios’s father was—was it Arsinoe or Koronis? If the mother was uncertain, what could be said about the father? Who, at that time, could be sure who their own father was?
Hereupon Petronius began to laugh; then he continued,—“Two years ago, it is true, I sent to Epidaurus three dozen live blackbirds 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 mule-drivers hired at the Porta Capena by travellers. Besides Asklepios, I have had dealings with sons of Asklepios. When I was troubled a little last year in the bladder, they performed an incubation for me. I saw that they were tricksters, but I said to myself: ‘What harm! 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 also 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.”
Then Petronius started to laugh and said, “It's true, two years ago I sent three dozen live blackbirds and a gold goblet to Epidaurus. But do you know why? I thought, ‘Whether this helps or not, it won’t hurt me.’ Though people still make offerings to the gods, I believe everyone thinks like I do—everyone except maybe the mule drivers hired at Porta Capena by travelers. Besides Asklepios, I've dealt with his sons. Last year, when I had some bladder issues, they did an incubation for me. I could tell they were con artists, but I thought, ‘What’s the harm? The world is built on deceit, and life is an illusion. The soul is an illusion too. But you need enough sense to tell apart the nice illusions from the painful ones.’ I’ll have cedar wood sprinkled with ambergris burned in my hypocaustum, because in life I prefer pleasant scents over bad smells. As for Kypris, whom you’ve also entrusted to me, I’ve felt her influence through twinges in my right foot. But other than that, she’s a good goddess! I suppose you’ll sooner or later bring 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.”
“True,” Vinicius replied. “The arrows of the Parthians haven’t hit me, but a dart of love has struck me—unexpectedly, just a short distance from a gate of this city.”
“By the white knees of the Graces! thou wilt tell me of this at a leisure hour.”
“By the white knees of the Graces! You will tell me about this during a leisurely moment.”
“I have come purposely to get thy advice,” answered Marcus.
“I came specifically to get your advice,” replied 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.
But at that moment the hair removal specialists arrived and tended to Petronius. Marcus, tossing aside his tunic, stepped into a bath of warm water, since Petronius had invited him for a soak.
“Ah, I have not even asked whether thy feeling is reciprocated,” said Petronius, looking at the youthful body of Marcus, which was as if 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 youth.”
“Ah, I haven’t even asked if you feel the same way,” said Petronius, looking at the youthful figure of Marcus, which seemed to be carved from marble. “If Lysippos had seen you, you would be adorning the entrance to the Palatine right now, as a statue of Hercules in his youth.”
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.
The young man smiled contentedly and started to sink into the bath, splashing warm water everywhere on the mosaic that depicted Hera as she was begging Sleep to put Zeus to rest. Petronius watched him with the approving gaze of an artist.
When Vinicius 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.
When Vinicius finished and submitted himself to the epilators, a reader came in with a bronze tube against his chest and rolls of paper inside the tube.
“Dost wish to listen?” asked Petronius.
“Do you want to listen?” asked Petronius.
“If it is thy creation, gladly!” answered the young tribune; “if not, I prefer conversation. Poets seize people at present on every street corner.”
“If it’s your creation, sure!” replied the young tribune; “if not, I’d rather just talk. Poets are everywhere these days on every street corner.”
“Of course they do. 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. Cæsar writes verses; hence all follow in his steps. Only it is not permitted to write better verses than Cæsar, 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.”
"Of course they do. You won’t pass any church, bathhouse, library, or bookstore without seeing a poet waving their arms around like a monkey. When Agrippa came here from the East, he thought they were insane. And it feels just like that now. Caesar writes poetry, so everyone follows his lead. But you’re not allowed to write better poetry than Caesar, and that makes me a little worried for Lucan. But I write prose, which doesn’t really give me or anyone else much pride. What the reader has to look at are the notes of that poor Fabricius Veiento."
“Why ‘poor’?”
"Why call it '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 book-shop of Avirnus a hundred copyists are writing at dictation, and its success is assured.”
“Because he’s been told that he has to stay in Odyssa and can’t go back home until he gets a new order. That journey will be easier for him than for Ulysses since his wife isn’t a Penelope. I shouldn’t have to mention that he acted foolishly. But here, no one sees things as anything deeper than surface level. His book is pretty miserable and boring, yet people have started reading it passionately only after the author got kicked out. Now everyone is saying, ‘Scandals! scandals!’ and maybe Veiento made up some things; but I, who know the city, know our leaders and our women, can assure you that it’s all less interesting than reality. Meanwhile, every man is looking in the book—worried for himself, thrilled for his friends. At the Avirnus bookshop, a hundred scribes are copying it down, and its success is guaranteed.”
“Are not thy affairs in it?”
"Are your affairs included?"
“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! By Hercules, I say what I think! I have preserved loftiness, however, because I know what is deformed and what is beautiful; but our poet, Bronzebeard, for example, the charioteer, the singer, the actor, does not understand this.”
“They are; but the author is wrong, because I am both worse and less straightforward than he describes me. Do you see that we’ve long since lost the sense of what is worthy or unworthy—and to me, it even seems that in reality there’s no difference between them, though Seneca, Musonius, and Trasca claim they can see it. To me, it’s all the same! By Hercules, I say what I think! I’ve maintained my nobility, though, because I know what is ugly and what is beautiful; but our poet, Bronzebeard, for example, the charioteer, the singer, the actor, doesn’t get this.”
“I am sorry, however, for Fabricius! He is a good companion.”
“I’m sorry, though, for Fabricius! He’s a good friend.”
“Vanity ruined 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?”
“Vanity destroyed the man. Everyone suspected him, but no one knew for sure; yet he couldn't keep it to himself and shared the secret with everyone in confidence. Have you heard the story of Rufinus?”
“No.”
“No.”
“Then come to the frigidarium to cool; there I will tell thee.”
“Then come to the cold room to cool off; there I will tell you.”
They passed to the frigidarium, in the middle of which played 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.
They moved to the frigidarium, where a bright rose-colored fountain was flowing and filling the air with the scent of violets. They settled into velvet-covered niches and started to cool off. For a while, there was silence. Vinicius gazed thoughtfully at a bronze faun who, leaning over a nymph's arm, was eagerly trying to kiss her.
“He is right,” said the young man. “That is what is best in life.”
“He's right,” said the young man. “That's what’s best in life.”
“More or less! But besides this thou lovest war, for which I have no liking, since under tents one’s finger-nails 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. He has kissed the edge off already. Tell me, dost thou not write verses?”
“More or less! But besides this, you love war, which I don’t like at all, since being in tents ruins your fingernails and they stop looking nice. Every man has his own preferences. Bronzebeard loves music, especially his own; and old Scaurus loves his Corinthian vase, which sits by his bed at night and which he kisses when he can’t sleep. He’s already worn the edge down from kissing it so much. Tell me, don’t you write poems?”
“No; I have never composed a single hexameter.”
“No; I have never written a single line of poetry.”
“And dost thou not play on the lute and sing?”
“And do you not play the lute and sing?”
“No.”
“Nope.”
“And dost thou drive a chariot?”
“And do you drive a chariot?”
“I tried once in Antioch, but unsuccessfully.”
“I tried once in Antioch, but it didn’t work out.”
“Then I am at rest concerning thee. And to what party in the hippodrome dost thou belong?”
“Then I feel relieved about you. And which team in the racetrack do you belong to?”
“To the Greens.”
"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 Poppæa 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?”
“Now I’m completely at ease, especially since you have quite a bit of property, even if you’re not as wealthy as Pallas or Seneca. You see, right now, it’s considered good to write poetry, play the lute, perform, and compete in the Circus; but honestly, it’s better—and definitely safer—not to write poetry, not to play, not to sing, and not to compete in the Circus. The best thing is to know how to appreciate when Bronzebeard admires. You’re a handsome young man; so Poppæa might take a liking to you. That’s your only risk. But no, she’s too experienced; she’s looking for something else. She’s had her fill of love with her two husbands; with the third, she has different plans. Did you know that that foolish Otho still loves her passionately? He wanders the cliffs of Spain, sighing; he’s let go of his old habits and doesn’t care about his appearance anymore, taking only three hours a day to do his hair. Who would have expected this from Otho?”
“I understand him,” answered Vinicius; “but in his place I should have done something else.”
“I get him,” Vinicius replied, “but if I were in his position, I would have done something different.”
“What, namely?”
“What do you mean?”
“I should have enrolled faithful legions of mountaineers of that country. They are good soldiers,—those Iberians.”
“I should have recruited loyal groups of mountaineers from that country. They are great 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 Poppæa, 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.”
"Vinicius! Vinicius! I almost wish I could say that you wouldn't be capable of that. And you know why? Such things happen, but they're not even mentioned hypothetically. If I were in his position, I would have laughed at Poppæa, laughed at Bronzebeard, and gathered legions for myself, not of Iberian men, but of Iberian women. And what's more, I would have written epigrams that I wouldn't have shared with anyone—not like that poor Rufinus."
“Thou wert to tell me his history.”
"You were supposed to tell me his story."
“I will tell it in the unctorium.”
“I'll share it in the unctorium.”
But in the unctorium the attention of Vinicius was turned to other objects; namely, to wonderful slave women who were waiting for the bathers. 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, combs and mirrors of polished steel; two Grecian maidens from Kos, who were simply like deities, waited as vestiplicæ, till the moment should come to put statuesque folds in the togas of the lords.
But in the unctorium, Vinicius's attention shifted to other things; specifically, to the beautiful slave women waiting for the bathers. Two of them, Africans, looked like magnificent ebony statues as they began to apply delicate Arabic perfumes to their bodies. Others, Phrygians, experts in hairstyling, held combs and polished steel mirrors in their snake-like, flexible hands. Two Grecian maidens from Kos, who were as stunning as goddesses, waited as vestiplicæ, ready to arrange the togas of the lords into elegant folds.
“By the cloud-scattering Zeus!” said Marcus Vinicius, “what a choice thou hast!”
“By the cloud-scattering Zeus!” said Marcus Vinicius, “what a choice you have!”
“I prefer choice to numbers,” answered Petronius. “My whole ‘familia’ [household servants] in Rome does not exceed four hundred, and I judge that for personal attendance only upstarts need a greater number of people.”
“I prefer having options over just having numbers,” Petronius replied. “My entire household in Rome doesn’t go beyond four hundred, and I believe that only those on the rise need a larger staff for personal service.”
“More beautiful bodies even Bronzebeard does not possess,” said Vinicius, distending his nostrils.
“Even Bronzebeard doesn't have more beautiful bodies,” said Vinicius, flaring 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.”
"You’re my relative," Petronius replied, with a hint of friendly indifference, "and I'm neither as misanthropic as Barsus nor as much of a pedant as Aulus Plautius."
When Vinicius heard this last name, he forgot the maidens from Kos 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 his house? It happened 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 a slave of his, the physician Merion, restored me to health. I wished to speak with thee touching this very matter.”
When Vinicius heard that last name, he momentarily forgot the maidens from Kos and, lifting his head eagerly, asked, “What made you think of Aulus Plautius? Do you know that after I dislocated my arm outside the city, I spent several days at his house? Plautius happened to be there when my accident occurred, and seeing that I was in a lot of pain, he took me to his home. There, one of his slaves, the physician Merion, helped me recover. I wanted to talk to you about this very thing.”
“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! I cannot imagine a worse combination. Brr!”
“Why? Is it because you’ve fallen in love with Pomponia, maybe? If that’s the case, I feel sorry for you; she’s not young, and she’s virtuous! I can't think of a worse combination. Brr!”
“Not with Pomponia—eheu!” answered Vinicius.
"Not with Pomponia—ugh!" answered Vinicius.
“With whom, then?”
"With who, 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 neither 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 night do I yearn.”
“If I only knew who she is! But I can’t even say for sure what her name is—Lygia or Callina? They call her Lygia in the house because she's from the Lygian region, but she has her own barbarian name, Callina. It's an amazing house, that of the Plautius family. There are many people in it, yet it's as quiet as the groves of Subiacum. For several days, I didn’t realize that a divine being lived there. One day, around dawn, I saw her bathing in the garden fountain; I swear to you by the foam from which Aphrodite emerged that the rays of the dawn seemed to shine right through her. I thought that when the sun rose, she would disappear in the light, just like the morning twilight does. Since then, I’ve seen her twice, and since then, I’ve forgotten what rest feels like, what other desires exist, and I don’t care to know what the city can offer me. I want neither women, nor gold, nor Corinthian bronze, nor amber, nor pearls, nor wine, nor parties; I only want Lygia. I am longing for her, I tell you sincerely, Petronius, just as that Dream depicted in the mosaic of your tepidarium longed for Paisythea—whole days and nights I yearn.”
“If she is a slave, then purchase her.”
“If she’s a slave, then buy her.”
“She is not a slave.”
“She isn’t a slave.”
“What is she? A freed woman of Plautius?”
“What is she? A freedwoman of Plautius?”
“Never having been a slave, she could not be a freed woman.”
“Since she had never been a slave, she couldn't be a freed woman.”
“Who is she?”
"Who's she?"
“I know not,—a king’s daughter, or something of that sort.”
“I don’t know—maybe a king’s daughter or something like that.”
“Thou dost rouse my curiosity, Vinicius.”
"You pique 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 here in Rome, and became even famous for his skilful play with dice, and his good driving of chariots. Drusus put him on the throne again. Vannius, who was really a strong man, ruled well at first, and warred with success; afterward, however, he began to skin not only his neighbors, but his own Suevi, too much. Thereupon Vangio and Sido, two sister’s sons of his, and the sons of Vibilius, king of the Hermunduri, determined to force him to Rome again—to try his luck there at dice.”
"But if you want to hear, I’ll satisfy your curiosity right away. Her story isn’t a long one. You might know Vannius personally, the king of the Suevi, who, after being expelled from his country, spent a long time here in Rome and even became famous for his skill at dice and chariot racing. Drusus put him back on the throne. Vannius, who was truly a strong man, ruled well at first and had success in war; however, later on, he started to exploit not only his neighbors but also his own people, the Suevi, too much. As a result, Vangio and Sido, his two sister's sons, along with the sons of Vibilius, king of the Hermunduri, decided to force him back to Rome to try his luck at dice again."
“I remember; that is of recent Claudian times.”
“I remember; that’s from the recent Claudian period.”
“Yes! War broke out. Vannius summoned to his aid the Yazygi; his dear nephews called in the Lygians, who, hearing of the riches of Vannius, and enticed by the hope of booty, came in such numbers that Cæsar himself, Claudius, began to fear for the safety of the boundary. Claudius did not wish to interfere in a war among barbarians, but he wrote to Atelius Hister, who commanded the legions of the Danube, to turn a watchful eye on the course of the war, and not permit them to disturb our peace. Hister required, then, of the Lygians a promise not to cross the boundary; to this they not only agreed, but gave hostages, among whom were the wife and daughter of their leader. It is known to thee that barbarians take their wives and children to war with them. My Lygia is the daughter of that leader.”
“Yes! War broke out. Vannius called on the Yazygi for help; his beloved nephews brought in the Lygians, who, hearing about Vannius's wealth and tempted by the promise of loot, showed up in such numbers that even Caesar Claudius began to worry about the safety of our borders. Claudius didn’t want to get involved in a war among barbarians, but he wrote to Atelius Hister, who was in charge of the Danube legions, to keep a close eye on the situation and ensure they didn’t disrupt our peace. Hister then asked the Lygians for a promise not to cross the boundary; they not only agreed but also provided hostages, including the wife and daughter of their leader. You know that barbarians take their wives and children to war with them. My Lygia is the daughter of that leader.”
“Whence dost thou know all this?”
“Where do you know all this from?”
“Aulus Plautius told it himself. The Lygians did not cross the boundary, indeed; but barbarians come and go like a tempest. So did the Lygians vanish with their wild-ox horns on their heads. They killed Vannius’s Suevi and Yazygi; but their own king fell. They disappeared with their booty then, and the hostages remained in Hister’s hands. The mother died soon after, and Hister, not knowing what to do with the daughter, sent her to Pomponius, the governor of all Germany. He, at the close of the war with the Catti, returned to Rome, where Claudius, as is known to thee, permitted him to have a triumph. The maiden on that occasion walked after the car of the conqueror; but, at the end of the solemnity,—since hostages cannot be considered captives, and since Pomponius did not know what to do with her definitely—he gave her to his sister Pomponia Græcina, the wife of Plautius. In that house where all—beginning with the masters and ending with the poultry in the hen-house—are virtuous, that maiden grew up as virtuous, alas! as Græcina herself, and so beautiful that even Poppæa, if near her, would seem like an autumn fig near an apple of the Hesperides.”
“Aulus Plautius shared this story himself. The Lygians didn’t actually cross the border; however, barbarians come and go like a storm. So the Lygians disappeared with their wild-ox horns on their heads. They killed Vannius’s Suevi and Yazygi, but their own king was killed. They vanished with their loot, leaving the hostages in Hister's custody. The mother died shortly after, and Hister, unsure of what to do with the daughter, sent her to Pomponius, the governor of all Germany. He, after finishing the war with the Catti, returned to Rome, where Claudius, as you know, allowed him to have a triumph. The girl participated in the event, walking behind the conqueror's chariot; but at the end of the ceremony—since hostages aren’t considered captives, and Pomponius still didn’t know what to do with her—he handed her over to his sister Pomponia Græcina, who was married to Plautius. In that household, where everyone—from the owners to the chickens in the coop—is virtuous, the girl grew up just as virtuous, unfortunately, as Græcina herself, and so beautiful that even Poppæa, if she were nearby, would look like a fall fig compared to a Hesperides apple.”
“And what?”
"So what?"
“And I repeat to thee that from the moment when I saw how the sun-rays at that fountain passed through her body, I fell in love to distraction.”
“And I'll say it again: the moment I saw the sunlight streaming through her at that fountain, I fell completely in love.”
“She is as transparent as a lamprey eel, then, or a youthful sardine?”
“She is as transparent as a lamprey eel or a young sardine?”
“Jest not, Petronius; but if the freedom with which I speak of my desire misleads thee, know this,—that bright garments frequently cover deep wounds. I must tell thee, too, that, while returning from Asia, I slept one night in the temple of Mopsus to have a prophetic dream. Well, Mopsus appeared in a dream to me, and declared that, through love, a great change in my life would take place.”
“Don’t joke around, Petronius; but if my frankness about my feelings confuses you, understand this—bright clothes often hide deep wounds. I also need to tell you that while I was coming back from Asia, I spent a night in the temple of Mopsus hoping to have a prophetic dream. Well, Mopsus appeared to me in a dream and said that through love, a significant change in my life was coming.”
“Pliny declares, as I hear, that he does not believe in the gods, but he believes in dreams; and perhaps he is right. My jests do not prevent me from thinking at times that in truth there is only one deity, eternal, creative, all-powerful, Venus Genetrix. She brings souls together; she unites bodies and things. Eros called the world out of chaos. Whether he did well is another question; but, since he did so, we should recognize his might, though we are free not to bless it.”
“Pliny claims, as I've heard, that he doesn't believe in the gods, but he does believe in dreams; and maybe he’s onto something. My jokes don’t stop me from sometimes thinking that there’s really only one god, eternal, creative, all-powerful, Venus Genetrix. She brings souls together; she connects bodies and things. Eros created the world out of chaos. Whether that was a good thing is another matter; but since he did it, we should acknowledge his power, even if we don’t have to praise it.”
“Alas! Petronius, it is easier to find philosophy in the world than wise counsel.”
"Unfortunately, Petronius, it's easier to find philosophy out there than good advice."
“Tell me, what is thy wish specially?”
"Tell me, what is your special wish?"
“I wish to have Lygia. I wish that these arms of mine, which now embrace only air, might embrace Lygia and press her to my bosom. I wish to breathe with her breath. Were she a slave, I would give Aulus for her one hundred maidens with feet whitened with lime as a sign that they were exhibited on sale for the first time. I wish to have her in my house till my head is as white as the top of Soracte in winter.”
“I want Lygia. I wish that these arms of mine, which now wrap only around nothing, could wrap around Lygia and hold her close to me. I want to share her breath. If she were a slave, I would trade Aulus for her and give him a hundred maidens with feet whitened with lime to show they were up for sale for the first time. I want her in my house until my hair turns as white as the peak of Soracte in winter.”
“She is not a slave, but she belongs to the ‘family’ of Plautius; and since she is a deserted maiden, she may be considered an ‘alumna.’ Plautius might yield her to thee if he wished.”
“She is not a slave, but she is part of the ‘family’ of Plautius; and since she is an abandoned young woman, she can be regarded as an ‘alumna.’ Plautius could give her to you if he wanted.”
“Then it seems that thou knowest not Pomponia Græcina. Both have become as much attached to her as if she were their own daughter.”
“Then it seems you don’t know Pomponia Græcina. Both have become as attached to her as if she were their own daughter.”
“Pomponia I know,—a real cypress. If she were not the wife of Aulus, she might be engaged as a mourner. Since the death of Julius she has not thrown aside dark robes; and in general she looks as if, while still alive, she were walking on the asphodel meadow. She is, moreover, a ‘one-man woman’; hence, among our ladies of four and five divorces, she is straightway a phoenix. But! hast thou heard that in Upper Egypt the phoenix has just been hatched out, as ‘tis said?—an event which happens not oftener than once in five centuries.”
“Pomponia, I know her—she's like a true cypress tree. If she weren't Aulus's wife, she could easily be hired as a mourner. Since Julius passed away, she hasn't stopped wearing dark clothes; she seems to be living as if she's already in the asphodel meadows. Plus, she's a ‘one-man woman,’ so among our women who have four or five divorces, she's truly unique. But have you heard that in Upper Egypt, a phoenix has just been born, or so they say?—something that only happens once every five centuries.”
“Petronius! Petronius! Let us talk of the phoenix some other time.”
“Petronius! Petronius! Let's discuss the phoenix another time.”
“What shall I tell thee, my Marcus? I know Aulus Plautius, who, though he blames my mode of life, has for me a certain weakness, and even respects me, perhaps, more than others, for he knows that I have never been an informer like Domitius Afer, Tigellinus, and a whole rabble of Ahenobarbus’s intimates [Nero’s name was originally L. Domitius Ahenobarbus]. Without pretending to be a stoic, I have been offended more than once at acts of Nero, which Seneca and Burrus looked at through their fingers. If it is thy thought that I might do something for thee with Aulus, I am at thy command.”
“What should I say to you, my Marcus? I know Aulus Plautius, who, even though he criticizes my lifestyle, has a certain weakness for me and perhaps respects me more than others because he knows I’ve never been an informer like Domitius Afer, Tigellinus, and a whole crowd of Ahenobarbus’s friends [Nero’s name was originally L. Domitius Ahenobarbus]. Without pretending to be a stoic, I’ve been offended more than once by Nero’s actions, which Seneca and Burrus chose to ignore. If you think I could do something for you with Aulus, I’m at your service.”
“I judge that thou hast the power. Thou hast influence over him; and, besides, thy mind possesses inexhaustible resources. If thou wert to survey the position and speak with Plautius.”
"I believe you have the power. You have influence over him; and, in addition, your mind has endless resources. If you were to assess the situation and talk to Plautius."
“Thou hast too great an idea of my influence and wit; but if that is the only question, I will talk with Plautius as soon as they return to the city.”
“You think too highly of my influence and cleverness; but if that’s the only issue, I’ll talk to Plautius as soon as they get back to the city.”
“They returned two days since.”
“They returned two days ago.”
“In that case let us go to the triclinium, where a meal is now ready, and when we have refreshed ourselves, let us give command to bear us to Plautius.”
"In that case, let's head to the dining room, where a meal is ready, and once we've eaten, let's ask to be taken to Plautius."
“Thou hast ever been kind to me,” answered Vinicius, with vivacity; “but now I shall give command to rear thy statue among my lares,—just such a beauty as this one,—and I will place offerings before it.”
"You've always been kind to me," Vinicius replied eagerly. "But now I’ll order a statue of you to be put among my household gods—just as beautiful as this one—and I’ll place offerings in front of it."
Then he turned toward the statues which ornamented one entire wall of the perfumed chamber, and pointing to the one which represented Petronius as Hermes with a staff in his hand, he added,—“By the light of Helios! if the ‘godlike’ Alexander resembled thee, I do not wonder at Helen.”
Then he faced the statues that decorated an entire wall of the fragrant room, and pointing to the one depicting Petronius as Hermes with a staff in his hand, he said, “By the light of Helios! If the ‘godlike’ Alexander looked like you, I’m not surprised by Helen.”
And in that exclamation there was as much sincerity as flattery; for Petronius, though older and less athletic, was more beautiful than even Vinicius. The women of Rome admired not only his pliant mind and his taste, which gained for him the title Arbiter elegantiæ, but also his body. This admiration was evident even on the faces of those maidens from Kos who were arranging the folds of his toga; and one of whom, whose name was Eunice, loving him in secret, looked him in the eyes with submission and rapture. But he did not even notice this; and, smiling at Vinicius, he quoted in answer an expression of Seneca about woman,—Animal impudens, etc. And then, placing an arm on the shoulders of his nephew, he conducted him to the triclinium.
And in that exclamation, there was as much sincerity as flattery; because Petronius, although older and less athletic, was even more attractive than Vinicius. The women of Rome admired not just his sharp mind and taste, which earned him the title Arbiter elegantiæ, but also his physique. This admiration was clear even on the faces of the maidens from Kos who were adjusting the folds of his toga; one of them, named Eunice, secretly in love with him, looked into his eyes with both submission and delight. But he didn’t even notice her; smiling at Vinicius, he quoted a saying of Seneca about women—Animal impudens, etc. Then, putting an arm around his nephew's shoulders, he led him to the triclinium.
In the unctorium the two Grecian maidens, the Phrygians, and the two Ethiopians began to put away the vessels with perfumes. But at that moment, and beyond the curtain of the frigidarium, appeared the heads of the balneatores, and a low “Psst!” was heard. At that call one of the Grecians, the Phrygians, and the Ethiopians sprang up quickly, and vanished in a twinkle behind the curtain. In the baths began a moment of license which the inspector did not prevent, for he took frequent part in such frolics himself. Petronius suspected that they took place; but, as a prudent man, and one who did not like to punish, he looked at them through his fingers.
In the bathhouse, the two Greek maidens, the Phrygians, and the two Ethiopians started putting away the perfume containers. But at that moment, beyond the curtain of the cool room, the heads of the bath attendants appeared, and a soft “Psst!” was heard. At that signal, one of the Greeks, the Phrygians, and the Ethiopians quickly jumped up and disappeared behind the curtain. In the baths, a moment of playful behavior began that the inspector didn’t stop, as he often participated in such antics himself. Petronius suspected these activities happened, but being a careful man who disliked punishment, he turned a blind eye.
In the unctorium only Eunice remained. She listened for a short time to the voices and laughter which retreated in the direction of the laconicum. At last she took the stool inlaid with amber and ivory, on which Petronius had been sitting a short time before, and put it carefully at his statue. The unctorium was full of sunlight and the hues which came from the many-colored marbles with which the wall was faced. Eunice stood on the stool, and, finding herself at the level of the statue, cast her arms suddenly around its neck; then, throwing back her golden hair, and pressing her rosy body to the white marble, she pressed her lips with ecstasy to the cold lips of Petronius.
In the unctorium, only Eunice was left. She listened for a moment to the fading voices and laughter drifting toward the laconicum. Finally, she took the stool inlaid with amber and ivory that Petronius had been sitting on a little while ago and carefully positioned it at his statue. The unctorium was filled with sunlight and the colors reflecting off the many-colored marble walls. Eunice climbed onto the stool and, now at the statue's level, wrapped her arms around its neck. Then, tossing her golden hair back and pressing her rosy body against the white marble, she kissed Petronius's cold lips with pure ecstasy.
Chapter II
After a refreshment, which was called the morning meal and to which the two friends sat down at an hour when common mortals were already long past their midday prandium, Petronius proposed a light doze. According to him, it was too early for visits yet. “There are, it is true,” said he, “people who begin to visit their acquaintances about sunrise, thinking that custom an old Roman one, but I look on this as barbarous. The afternoon hours are most proper,—not earlier, however, than that one when the sun passes to the side of Jove’s temple on the Capitol and begins to look slantwise on the Forum. In autumn it is still hot, and people are glad to sleep after eating. At the same time it is pleasant to hear the noise of the fountain in the atrium, and, after the obligatory thousand steps, to doze in the red light which filters in through the purple half-drawn velarium.”
After a snack, which they called breakfast, the two friends sat down at a time when regular folks were already long past their lunch. Petronius suggested a quick nap. He thought it was still too early for visits. “Sure, there are people who start visiting their friends at sunrise, believing it's an old Roman tradition, but I think that’s barbaric. The afternoon is the best time—though not before the hour when the sun moves to the side of Jupiter’s temple on the Capitol and starts casting a slanting light on the Forum. In autumn, it’s still warm, and people love to nap after eating. At the same time, it’s nice to hear the fountain bubbling in the atrium, and after taking the required thousand steps, to doze in the red light that filters through the purple half-drawn awning.”
Vinicius recognized the justice of these words; and the two men began to walk, speaking in a careless manner of what was to be heard on the Palatine and in the city, and philosophizing a little upon life. Petronius withdrew then to the cubiculum, but did not sleep long. In half an hour he came out, and, having given command to bring verbena, he inhaled the perfume and rubbed his hands and temples with it.
Vinicius understood the truth in those words, and the two men started walking, casually discussing what was happening on the Palatine and in the city while also pondering a bit about life. Petronius then went to his room, but he didn’t sleep for long. After half an hour, he came out and ordered some verbena to be brought. He inhaled its scent and rubbed it on his hands and temples.
“Thou wilt not believe,” said he, “how it enlivens and freshens one. Now I am ready.”
"You won't believe," he said, "how it energizes and rejuvenates you. Now I'm ready."
The litter was waiting long since; hence they took their places, and Petronius gave command to bear them to the Vicus Patricius, to the house of Aulus. Petronius’s “insula” lay on the southern slope of the Palatine, near the so-called Carinæ; their nearest way, therefore, was below the Forum; but since Petronius wished to step in on the way to see the jeweller Idomeneus, he gave the direction to carry them along the Vicus Apollinis and the Forum in the direction of the Vicus Sceleratus, on the corner of which were many tabernæ of every kind.
The group had been waiting for a while, so they took their seats, and Petronius instructed them to take him to the Vicus Patricius, to Aulus's house. Petronius's “insula” was located on the southern slope of the Palatine, close to the so-called Carinæ; their quickest route was below the Forum. However, since Petronius wanted to stop by and see the jeweler Idomeneus along the way, he directed them to take the Vicus Apollinis and pass through the Forum towards the Vicus Sceleratus, where there were many shops of all kinds at the corner.
Gigantic Africans bore the litter and moved on, preceded by slaves called pedisequii. Petronius, after some time, raised to his nostrils in silence his palm odorous with verbena, and seemed to be meditating on something.
Gigantic Africans carried the litter and continued on, followed by slaves known as pedisequii. After a while, Petronius silently lifted his hand, fragrant with verbena, and appeared to be lost in thought.
“It occurs to me,” said he after a while, “that if thy forest goddess is not a slave she might leave the house of Plautius, and transfer herself to thine. Thou wouldst surround her with love and cover her with wealth, as I do my adored Chrysothemis, of whom, speaking between us, I have quite as nearly enough as she has of me.”
“It just occurred to me,” he said after a moment, “that if your forest goddess isn’t a slave, she could leave Plautius’s house and come to yours. You would surround her with love and shower her with wealth, just like I do for my beloved Chrysothemis, who, to be honest, I’m starting to feel is about as tired of me as I am of her.”
Marcus shook his head.
Marcus shook his head.
“No?” inquired Petronius. “In the worst event, the case would be left with Cæsar, and thou mayst be certain that, thanks even to my influence, our Bronzebeard would be on thy side.”
“No?” Petronius asked. “In the worst case, the situation would be left to Caesar, and you can be sure that, thanks to my influence, our Bronzebeard would be on your side.”
“Thou knowest not Lygia,” replied Vinicius.
"You don't know Lygia," replied Vinicius.
“Then permit me to ask if thou know her otherwise than by sight? Hast spoken with her? hast confessed thy love to her?”
“Then let me ask if you know her other than by sight? Have you talked to her? Have you confessed your love to her?”
“I saw her first at the fountain; since then I have met her twice. Remember that during my stay in the house of Aulus, I dwelt in a separate villa, intended for guests, and, having a disjointed arm, I could not sit at the common table. Only on the eve of the day for which I announced my departure did I meet Lygia at supper, but I could not say a word to her. I had to listen to Aulus and his account of victories gained by him in Britain, and then of the fall of small states in Italy, which Licinius Stolo strove to prevent. In general I do not know whether Aulus will be able to speak of aught else, and do not think that we shall escape this history unless it be thy wish to hear about the effeminacy of these days. They have pheasants in their preserves, but they do not eat them, setting out from the principle that every pheasant eaten brings nearer the end of Roman power. I met her a second time at the garden cistern, with a freshly plucked reed in her hand, the top of which she dipped in the water and sprinkled the irises growing around. Look at my knees. By the shield of Hercules, I tell thee that they did not tremble when clouds of Parthians advanced on our maniples with howls, but they trembled before the cistern. And, confused as a youth who still wears a bulla on his neck, I merely begged pity with my eyes, not being able to utter a word for a long time.”
“I first saw her at the fountain; since then I've met her twice. Remember that during my stay at Aulus's house, I stayed in a separate villa meant for guests, and with my arm injured, I couldn't sit at the main table. Only the night before my announced departure did I see Lygia at dinner, but I couldn’t say a word to her. I had to listen to Aulus talk about his victories in Britain, and then about the downfall of small states in Italy, which Licinius Stolo tried to prevent. Generally, I don’t know if Aulus can talk about anything else, and I doubt we'll escape this topic unless you want to hear about the weakness of these times. They have pheasants in their preserves, but they don’t eat them, adhering to the belief that each pheasant eaten brings Roman power closer to its end. I saw her a second time at the garden cistern, holding a freshly plucked reed, the top of which she dipped in the water to sprinkle the irises around. Look at my knees. By the shield of Hercules, I swear they didn’t tremble when clouds of Parthians advanced on our troops with howls, but they trembled at the cistern. And, flustered like a young boy still wearing a bulla around his neck, I simply begged for pity with my eyes, unable to speak a word for a long time.”
Petronius looked at him, as if with a certain envy. “Happy man,” said he, “though the world and life were the worst possible, one thing in them will remain eternally good,—youth!”
Petronius looked at him, almost with a hint of envy. "Lucky guy," he said, "even if the world and life were the worst they could be, there would still be one thing that remains forever good—youth!"
After a while he inquired: “And hast thou not spoken to her?”
After a while, he asked, “And haven’t you talked to her?”
“When I had recovered somewhat, I told her that I was returning from Asia, that I had disjointed my arm near the city, and had suffered severely, but at the moment of leaving that hospitable house I saw that suffering in it was more to be wished for than delight in another place, that sickness there was better than health somewhere else. Confused too on her part, she listened to my words with bent head while drawing something with the reed on the saffron-colored sand. Afterward she raised her eyes, then looked down at the marks drawn already; once more she looked at me, as if to ask about something, and then fled on a sudden like a hamadryad before a dull faun.”
“When I had somewhat recovered, I told her that I was coming back from Asia, that I had dislocated my arm near the city, and had been in a lot of pain. But at the moment of leaving that welcoming house, I realized that the suffering there was more desirable than joy elsewhere, that being sick there was better than being healthy in another place. She seemed confused too as she listened to me with her head down, drawing something with a stick on the bright yellow sand. Afterwards, she lifted her eyes, glanced at the marks she had made, looked at me again as if she wanted to ask something, and then suddenly ran away like a nymph escaping from a clumsy faun.”
“She must have beautiful eyes.”
"She must have stunning eyes."
“As the sea—and I was drowned in them, as in the sea. Believe me that the archipelago is less blue. After a while a little son of Plautius ran up with a question. But I did not understand what he wanted.”
“As I was surrounded by the sea—drowning in it, just like in the ocean. Trust me, the archipelago is not as blue. After a while, a young boy from Plautius ran over with a question. But I didn’t get what he wanted.”
“O Athene!” exclaimed Petronius, “remove from the eyes of this youth the bandage with which Eros has bound them; if not, he will break his head against the columns of Venus’s temple.
“O Athene!” exclaimed Petronius, “take off the blindfold that Eros has put over this young man's eyes; if you don’t, he’s going to crash into the columns of Venus’s temple.”
“O thou spring bud on the tree of life,” said he, turning to Vinicius, “thou first green shoot of the vine! Instead of taking thee to the Plautiuses, I ought to give command to bear thee to the house of Gelocius, where there is a school for youths unacquainted with life.”
“O you spring bud on the tree of life,” he said, turning to Vinicius, “you first green shoot of the vine! Instead of taking you to the Plautiuses, I should command that you be taken to the house of Gelocius, where there is a school for youths unfamiliar with life.”
“What dost thou wish in particular?”
"What exactly do you want?"
“But what did she write on the sand? Was it not the name of Amor, or a heart pierced with his dart, or something of such sort, that one might know from it that the satyrs had whispered to the ear of that nymph various secrets of life? How couldst thou help looking on those marks?”
“But what did she write in the sand? Was it not the name of Love, or a heart pierced with his arrow, or something like that, so that one might understand that the satyrs had shared various secrets of life with her? How could you resist looking at those marks?”
“It is longer since I have put on the toga than seems to thee,” said Vinicius, “and before little Aulus ran up, I looked carefully at those marks, for I know that frequently maidens in Greece and in Rome draw on the sand a confession which their lips will not utter. But guess what she drew!”
“It’s been longer since I put on the toga than you think,” Vinicius said. “Before little Aulus ran over, I examined those marks closely because I know that often girls in Greece and Rome write down a confession in the sand that they won’t say out loud. But guess what she wrote!”
“If it is other than I supposed, I shall not guess.”
“If it’s different from what I thought, I won’t try to guess.”
“A fish.”
"A fish."
“What dost thou say?”
"What do you say?"
“I say, a fish. What did that mean,—that cold blood is flowing in her veins? So far I do not know; but thou, who hast called me a spring bud on the tree of life, wilt be able to understand the sign certainly.”
“I say, a fish. What does that mean,—that cold blood is running in her veins? I don’t know yet; but you, who have called me a spring bud on the tree of life, must be able to understand the sign for sure.”
“Carissime! ask such a thing of Pliny. He knows fish. If old Apicius were alive, he could tell thee something, for in the course of his life he ate more fish than could find place at one time in the bay of Naples.”
“Dear friend! Ask Pliny about such a thing. He knows all about fish. If old Apicius were alive, he could tell you something because throughout his life he ate more fish than could fit in the bay of Naples at once.”
Further conversation was interrupted, since they were borne into crowded streets where the noise of people hindered them.
Further conversation was interrupted as they were carried into crowded streets where the noise of the crowd made it difficult for them to talk.
From the Vicus Apollinis they turned to the Boarium, and then entered the Forum Romanum, where on clear days, before sunset, crowds of idle people assembled to stroll among the columns, to tell and hear news, to see noted people borne past in litters, and finally to look in at the jewellery-shops, the book-shops, the arches where coin was changed, shops for silk, bronze, and all other articles with which the buildings covering that part of the market placed opposite the Capitol were filled.
From the Vicus Apollinis, they headed to the Boarium and then entered the Forum Romanum, where on sunny days, before sunset, crowds of people gathered to wander among the columns, share and hear the latest news, watch famous individuals being carried by in litters, and finally browse the jewelry stores, bookstores, currency exchange arches, and shops selling silk, bronze, and all other goods filling the market area opposite the Capitol.
One-half of the Forum, immediately under the rock of the Capitol, was buried already in shade; but the columns of the temples, placed higher, seemed golden in the sunshine and the blue. Those lying lower cast lengthened shadows on marble slabs. The place was so filled with columns everywhere that the eye was lost in them as in a forest.
One side of the Forum, right under the Capitol rock, was already covered in shade; but the columns of the temples, situated higher up, looked golden in the sunlight against the blue sky. The lower ones stretched long shadows across the marble slabs. The area was so packed with columns that it felt like getting lost in a forest.
Those buildings and columns seemed huddled together. They towered some above others, they stretched toward the right and the left, they climbed toward the height, and they clung to the wall of the Capitol, or some of them clung to others, like greater and smaller, thicker and thinner, white or gold colored tree-trunks, now blooming under architraves, flowers of the acanthus, now surrounded with Ionic corners, now finished with a simple Doric quadrangle. Above that forest gleamed colored triglyphs; from tympans stood forth the sculptured forms of gods; from the summits winged golden quadrigæ seemed ready to fly away through space into the blue dome, fixed serenely above that crowded place of temples. Through the middle of the market and along the edges of it flowed a river of people; crowds passed under the arches of the basilica of Julius Cæsar; crowds were sitting on the steps of Castor and Pollux, or walking around the temple of Vesta, resembling on that great marble background many-colored swarms of butterflies or beetles. Down immense steps, from the side of the temple on the Capitol dedicated to Jupiter Optimus Maximus, came new waves; at the rostra people listened to chance orators; in one place and another rose the shouts of hawkers selling fruit, wine, or water mixed with fig-juice; of tricksters; of venders of marvellous medicines; of soothsayers; of discoverers of hidden treasures; of interpreters of dreams. Here and there, in the tumult of conversations and cries, were mingled sounds of the Egyptian sistra, of the sambuké, or of Grecian flutes. Here and there the sick, the pious, or the afflicted were bearing offerings to the temples. In the midst of the people, on the stone flags, gathered flocks of doves, eager for the grain given them, and like movable many-colored and dark spots, now rising for a moment with a loud sound of wings, now dropping down again to places left vacant by people. From time to time the crowds opened before litters in which were visible the affected faces of women, or the heads of senators and knights, with features, as it were, rigid and exhausted from living. The many-tongued population repeated aloud their names, with the addition of some term of praise or ridicule. Among the unordered groups pushed from time to time, advancing with measured tread, parties of soldiers, or watchers, preserving order on the streets. Around about, the Greek language was heard as often as Latin.
Those buildings and columns seemed crowded together. They towered over each other, stretched to the right and left, climbed higher, and clung to the Capitol wall, or held onto each other, like bigger and smaller, thicker and thinner, white or gold tree trunks, blooming under the architraves with acanthus flowers, surrounded by Ionic corners, or finished with a simple Doric quadrangle. Above that forest sparkled colored triglyphs; sculpted forms of gods stood out from the tympans; from the tops, winged golden chariots looked like they were ready to fly off into the blue sky that hung serenely above that busy place of temples. A stream of people flowed through the middle of the market and along its edges; crowds passed under the arches of Julius Caesar's basilica; people sat on the steps of Castor and Pollux or walked around the temple of Vesta, resembling colorful swarms of butterflies or beetles against the grand marble backdrop. Down the immense steps of the temple on Capitol dedicated to Jupiter Optimus Maximus came new waves of people; at the rostra, others listened to impromptu speakers; here and there, shouts from vendors selling fruit, wine, or water mixed with fig juice echoed; tricksters pitched their wares; sellers of miraculous medicines, soothsayers, treasure finders, and dream interpreters made their voices heard. Amid the chaos of conversations and cries, the sounds of Egyptian sistra, sambuké, and Greek flutes mixed together. In various spots, the sick, pious, or afflicted brought offerings to the temples. In the middle of the crowd, on the stone pavement, flocks of doves gathered, eager for the grain offered to them, appearing as colorful and dark spots, now rising with a loud flutter of wings, now settling back down into the spaces left empty by the people. Occasionally, the crowd parted for litters that revealed the weary faces of women or the heads of senators and knights, their features looking rigid and worn from life. The multilingual population loudly repeated their names, adding terms of praise or mockery. Among the disordered groups, parties of soldiers or guards occasionally pushed through, moving at a steady pace to maintain order on the streets. The Greek language was heard just as frequently as Latin.
Vinicius, who had not been in the city for a long time, looked with a certain curiosity on that swarm of people and on that Forum Romanum, which both dominated the sea of the world and was flooded by it, so that Petronius, who divined the thoughts of his companion, called it “the nest of the Quirites—without the Quirites.” In truth, the local element was well-nigh lost in that crowd, composed of all races and nations. There appeared Ethiopians, gigantic light-haired people from the distant north, Britons, Gauls, Germans, sloping-eyed dwellers of Lericum; people from the Euphrates and from the Indus, with beards dyed brick color; Syrians from the banks of the Orontes, with black and mild eyes; dwellers in the deserts of Arabia, dried up as a bone; Jews, with their flat breasts; Egyptians, with the eternal, indifferent smile on their faces; Numidians and Africans; Greeks from Hellas, who equally with the Romans commanded the city, but commanded through science, art, wisdom, and deceit; Greeks from the islands, from Asia Minor, from Egypt, from Italy, from Narbonic Gaul. In the throng of slaves, with pierced ears, were not lacking also freemen,—an idle population, which Cæsar amused, supported, even clothed,—and free visitors, whom the ease of life and the prospects of fortune enticed to the gigantic city; there was no lack of venal persons. There were priests of Serapis, with palm branches in their hands; priests of Isis, to whose altar more offerings were brought than to the temple of the Capitoline Jove; priests of Cybele, bearing in their hands golden ears of rice; and priests of nomad divinities; and dancers of the East with bright head-dresses, and dealers in amulets, and snake-tamers, and Chaldean seers; and, finally, people without any occupation whatever, who applied for grain every week at the storehouses on the Tiber, who fought for lottery-tickets to the Circus, who spent their nights in rickety houses of districts beyond the Tiber, and sunny and warm days under covered porticos, and in foul eating-houses of the Subura, on the Milvian bridge, or before the “insulæ” of the great, where from time to time remnants from the tables of slaves were thrown out to them.
Vinicius, who hadn’t been in the city for a long time, looked with a certain curiosity at the bustling crowd and at the Forum Romanum, which both dominated the world's sea and was overwhelmed by it. Petronius, who sensed his companion's thoughts, called it “the nest of the Quirites—without the Quirites.” In reality, the local vibe was nearly lost in that crowd, made up of all races and nations. Ethiopians appeared alongside giant, light-haired people from the distant north, Britons, Gauls, Germans, slanted-eye residents of Lericum; people from the Euphrates and the Indus with beards dyed brick red; Syrians from the banks of the Orontes with soft, dark eyes; desert dwellers from Arabia, dried up like bones; Jews with their flat chests; Egyptians wearing their eternal, indifferent smiles; Numidians and Africans; Greeks from Hellas, who, like the Romans, had a stake in the city, yet they thrived through knowledge, art, wisdom, and cunning; Greeks from the islands, Asia Minor, Egypt, Italy, and Narbonic Gaul. Among the throngs of pierced-ear slaves were also free men—an idle population that Caesar entertained, supported, even dressed—and free visitors, lured to the colossal city by a relaxed lifestyle and the allure of fortune; there were plenty of opportunists. There were priests of Serapis, holding palm branches; priests of Isis, to whose altar more offerings were made than to the temple of Capitoline Jupiter; priests of Cybele, carrying golden ears of rice; priests of nomadic deities; Eastern dancers in bright headgear, amulet sellers, snake charmers, and Chaldean seers; and finally, people with no jobs at all, who applied for grain every week at the storehouses along the Tiber, fought for lottery tickets to the Circus, and spent their nights in rickety houses in the areas beyond the Tiber, enjoying sunny and warm days under covered porticoes and in shady eateries of the Subura, on the Milvian bridge, or in front of the “insulæ” of the wealthy, where scraps from the tables of slaves were occasionally tossed out to them.
Petronius was well known to those crowds. Vinicius’s ears were struck continually by “Hic est!” (Here he is). They loved him for his munificence; and his peculiar popularity increased from the time when they learned that he had spoken before Cæsar in opposition to the sentence of death issued against the whole “familia,” that is, against all the slaves of the prefect Pedanius Secundus, without distinction of sex or age, because one of them had killed that monster in a moment of despair. Petronius repeated in public, it is true, that it was all one to him, and that he had spoken to Cæsar only privately, as the arbiter elegantiarum whose æsthetic taste was offended by a barbarous slaughter befitting Scythians and not Romans. Nevertheless, people who were indignant because of the slaughter loved Petronius from that moment forth. But he did not care for their love. He remembered that that crowd of people had loved also Britannicus, poisoned by Nero; and Agrippina, killed at his command; and Octavia, smothered in hot steam at the Pandataria, after her veins had been opened previously; and Rubelius Plautus, who had been banished; and Thrasea, to whom any morning might bring a death sentence. The love of the mob might be considered rather of ill omen; and the sceptical Petronius was superstitious also. He had a twofold contempt for the multitude,—as an aristocrat and an æsthetic person. Men with the odor of roast beans, which they carried in their bosoms, and who besides were eternally hoarse and sweating from playing mora on the street-corners and peristyles, did not in his eyes deserve the term “human.” Hence he gave no answer whatever to the applause, or the kisses sent from lips here and there to him. He was relating to Marcus the case of Pedanius, reviling meanwhile the fickleness of that rabble which, next morning after the terrible butchery, applauded Nero on his way to the temple of Jupiter Stator. But he gave command to halt before the book-shop of Avirnus, and, descending from the litter, purchased an ornamented manuscript, which he gave to Vinicius.
Petronius was well-known among those crowds. Vinicius kept hearing “Hic est!” (Here he is). They admired him for his generosity, and his unique popularity grew after they found out he had spoken out against the death sentence ordered for the entire “familia,” meaning all the slaves of the prefect Pedanius Secundus, regardless of their gender or age, because one of them had killed that monster in a moment of despair. Petronius publicly claimed it didn’t matter to him and said he had only spoken to Cæsar privately, as the arbiter elegantiarum whose refined taste was offended by a brutal massacre more fitting for Scythians than for Romans. Still, those who were outraged by the slaughter began to love Petronius from that point on. But he didn’t care about their love. He remembered that those same people had also loved Britannicus, poisoned by Nero; Agrippina, killed on his orders; and Octavia, smothered in hot steam on Pandataria after her veins had been cut; and Rubelius Plautus, who had been exiled; and Thrasea, who could receive a death sentence any morning. The mob’s affection could be seen as a bad sign; and the skeptical Petronius was also superstitious. He held a twofold disdain for the masses—as an aristocrat and an aesthetic person. Men who smelled of roasted beans, carrying them in their pockets, and who were always hoarse and sweating from playing games on the street corners and in public spaces, did not seem “human” to him. Therefore, he didn’t respond to the applause or the kisses sent to him from various directions. He was explaining to Marcus the situation with Pedanius while criticizing the fickleness of that mob, which the very next morning after the gruesome slaughter cheered for Nero on his way to the temple of Jupiter Stator. However, he ordered the litter to stop in front of Avirnus’s bookshop, got down, and bought an ornate manuscript that he gave to Vinicius.
“Here is a gift for thee,” said he.
“Here is a gift for you,” he said.
“Thanks!” answered Vinicius. Then, looking at the title, he inquired, “‘Satyricon’? Is this something new? Whose is it?”
“Thanks!” replied Vinicius. Then, glancing at the title, he asked, “‘Satyricon’? Is this something new? Who wrote it?”
“Mine. But I do not wish to go in the road of Rufinus, whose history I was to tell thee, nor of Fabricius Veiento; hence no one knows of this, and do thou mention it to no man.”
“It's mine. But I don't want to follow the path of Rufinus, whose story I was supposed to tell you, or Fabricius Veiento; so no one knows about this, and you should not mention it to anyone.”
“Thou hast said that thou art no writer of verses,” said Vinicius, looking at the middle of the manuscript; “but here I see prose thickly interwoven with them.”
"You've said that you're not a poet," Vinicius said, looking at the middle of the manuscript, "but here I see prose densely mixed with it."
“When thou art reading, turn attention to Trimalchion’s feast. As to verses, they have disgusted me, since Nero is writing an epic. Vitelius, when he wishes to relieve himself, uses ivory fingers to thrust down his throat; others serve themselves with flamingo feathers steeped in olive oil or in a decoction of wild thyme. I read Nero’s poetry, and the result is immediate. Straightway I am able to praise it, if not with a clear conscience, at least with a clear stomach.”
“When you are reading, pay attention to Trimalchio’s feast. As for the verses, they’ve turned my stomach, since Nero is writing an epic. Vitelius, when he wants to throw up, uses ivory fingers to push down his throat; others use flamingo feathers soaked in olive oil or in a brew of wild thyme. I read Nero’s poetry, and the effect is instant. Right away I can praise it, if not with a clear conscience, at least with an empty stomach.”
When he had said this, he stopped the litter again before the shop of Idomeneus the goldsmith, and, having settled the affair of the gems, gave command to bear the litter directly to Aulus’s mansion.
When he said this, he stopped the litter again in front of Idomeneus the goldsmith's shop, and after taking care of the gems, he ordered the litter to head straight to Aulus's house.
“On the road I will tell thee the story of Rufinus,” said he, “as proof of what vanity in an author may be.”
“On the road, I’ll tell you the story of Rufinus,” he said, “as an example of how vanity can affect a writer.”
But before he had begun, they turned in to the Vicus Patricius, and soon found themselves before the dwelling of Aulus. A young and sturdy “janitor” opened the door leading to the ostium, over which a magpie confined in a cage greeted them noisily with the word, “Salve!”
But before he could start, they turned into the Vicus Patricius and soon found themselves in front of Aulus's house. A young and strong "doorman" opened the door leading to the entrance, over which a caged magpie greeted them loudly with the word, "Hello!"
On the way from the second antechamber, called the ostium, to the atrium itself, Vinicius said,—“Hast noticed that thee doorkeepers are without chains?” “This is a wonderful house,” answered Petronius, in an undertone. “Of course it is known to thee that Pomponia Græcina is suspected of entertaining that Eastern superstition which consists in honoring a certain Chrestos. It seems that Crispinilla rendered her this service,—she who cannot forgive Pomponia because one husband has sufficed her for a lifetime. A one-man Woman! To-day, in Rome, it is easier to get a half-plate of fresh mushrooms from Noricum than to find such. They tried her before a domestic court—”
On the way from the second antechamber, called the ostium, to the atrium itself, Vinicius said, “Have you noticed that the doorkeepers are without chains?” “This is a wonderful house,” answered Petronius quietly. “Of course, you know that Pomponia Græcina is suspected of having that Eastern superstition which involves honoring someone called Chrestos. It seems that Crispinilla did her this favor—she who can’t forgive Pomponia because one husband has been enough for her whole life. A one-man woman! Today, in Rome, it’s easier to get a half-plate of fresh mushrooms from Noricum than to find someone like her. They tried her before a domestic court—”
“To thy judgment this is a wonderful house. Later on I will tell thee what I heard and saw in it.”
“To your judgment, this is a wonderful house. Later, I will tell you what I heard and saw in it.”
Meanwhile they had entered the atrium. The slave appointed to it, called atriensis, sent a nomenclator to announce the guests; and Petronius, who, imagining that eternal sadness reigned in this severe house, had never been in it, looked around with astonishment, and as it were with a feeling of disappointment, for the atrium produced rather an impression of cheerfulness. A sheaf of bright light falling from above through a large opening broke into a thousand sparks on a fountain in a quadrangular little basin, called the impluvium, which was in the middle to receive rain falling through the opening during bad weather; this was surrounded by anemones and lilies. In that house a special love for lilies was evident, for there were whole clumps of them, both white and red; and, finally, sapphire irises, whose delicate leaves were as if silvered from the spray of the fountain. Among the moist mosses, in which lily-pots were hidden, and among the bunches of lilies were little bronze statues representing children and water-birds. In one corner a bronze fawn, as if wishing to drink, was inclining its greenish head, grizzled, too, by dampness. The floor of the atrium was of mosaic; the walls, faced partly with red marble and partly with wood, on which were painted fish, birds, and griffins, attracted the eye by the play of colors. From the door to the side chamber they were ornamented with tortoise-shell or even ivory; at the walls between the doors were statues of Aulus’s ancestors. Everywhere calm plenty was evident, remote from excess, but noble and self-trusting.
Meanwhile, they had entered the atrium. The designated servant, called the atriensis, sent a nomenclator to announce the guests; and Petronius, who had never been there, imagining that this stern house was filled with eternal sadness, looked around in amazement and a bit of disappointment, as the atrium felt rather cheerful. A bright beam of light streamed down through a large opening, scattering into a thousand sparkles on a fountain in a small square basin, called the impluvium, which was designed to collect rain during bad weather; this was surrounded by anemones and lilies. A clear love for lilies was evident in the house, as there were whole patches of them, both white and red; and finally, sapphire irises whose delicate leaves glistened as if silvered by the fountain's spray. Among the damp mosses, where lily pots were hidden, and among the clusters of lilies were small bronze statues representing children and water-birds. In one corner, a bronze fawn, seemingly wanting to drink, was bending its greenish head, which was also mottled by dampness. The floor of the atrium was made of mosaic; the walls were partially covered with red marble and partially with wood, adorned with painted fish, birds, and griffins that caught the eye with their colorful designs. The doorway to the side chamber was decorated with tortoise-shell and even ivory; between the doorways were statues of Aulus’s ancestors. Everywhere, a calm abundance was evident, free from excess, yet noble and self-assured.
Petronius, who lived with incomparably greater show and elegance, could find nothing which offended his taste; and had just turned to Vinicius with that remark, when a slave, the velarius, pushed aside the curtain separating the atrium from the tablinum, and in the depth of the building appeared Aulus Plautius approaching hurriedly.
Petronius, who lived with unmatched style and sophistication, couldn’t find anything that displeased him; he had just turned to Vinicius with that comment when a slave, the velarius, pushed aside the curtain separating the atrium from the tablinum, and in the back of the house, Aulus Plautius came rushing in.
He was a man nearing the evening of life, with a head whitened by hoar frost, but fresh, with an energetic face, a trifle too short, but still somewhat eagle-like. This time there was expressed on it a certain astonishment, and even alarm, because of the unexpected arrival of Nero’s friend, companion, and suggester.
He was a man nearing the end of his life, with gray hair, but still looking lively, with an energetic face that was slightly short but had an eagle-like quality. This time, his expression showed a mix of surprise and concern due to the unexpected arrival of Nero’s friend, companion, and advisor.
Petronius was too much a man of the world and too quick not to notice this; hence, after the first greetings, he announced with all the eloquence and ease at his command that he had come to give thanks for the care which his sister’s son had found in that house, and that gratitude alone was the cause of the visit, to which, moreover, he was emboldened by his old acquaintance with Aulus.
Petronius was too worldly and perceptive not to notice this; so, after the initial greetings, he stated with all the charm and confidence he could muster that he had come to express his gratitude for the care his sister’s son had received in that house, and that his visit was solely motivated by this gratitude, further encouraged by his long-standing friendship with Aulus.
Aulus assured him that he was a welcome guest; and as to gratitude, he declared that he had that feeling himself, though surely Petronius did not divine the cause of it.
Aulus assured him that he was a welcome guest, and as for gratitude, he said that he felt it too, although Petronius probably didn't guess what the reason was.
In fact, Petronius did not divine it. In vain did he raise his hazel eyes, endeavoring to remember the least service rendered to Aulus or to any one. He recalled none, unless it might be that which he intended to show Vinicius. Some such thing, it is true, might have happened involuntarily, but only involuntarily.
In fact, Petronius didn’t figure it out. He tried in vain to remember even the smallest favor he had done for Aulus or anyone else. He couldn’t recall any, except maybe the one he planned to show Vinicius. Something like that might have happened by accident, but only by accident.
“I have great love and esteem for Vespasian, whose life thou didst save,” said Aulus, “when he had the misfortune to doze while listening to Nero’s verses.”
“I have a lot of love and respect for Vespasian, whose life you saved,” said Aulus, “when he unfortunately dozed off while listening to Nero’s poetry.”
“He was fortunate,” replied Petronius, “for he did not hear them; but I will not deny that the matter might have ended with misfortune. Bronzebeard wished absolutely to send a centurion to him with the friendly advice to open his veins.”
“He was lucky,” replied Petronius, “because he didn’t hear them; but I can’t deny that things could have turned out badly. Bronzebeard really wanted to send a centurion to him with the friendly suggestion to cut his wrists.”
“But thou, Petronius, laughed him out of it.”
“But you, Petronius, laughed him out of it.”
“That is true, or rather it is not true. I told Nero that if Orpheus put wild beasts to sleep with song, his triumph was equal, since he had put Vespasian to sleep. Ahenobarbus may be blamed on condition that to a small criticism a great flattery be added. Our gracious Augusta, Poppæa, understands this to perfection.”
“That’s true, or maybe it’s not. I told Nero that if Orpheus could calm wild beasts with his music, then his victory was just as valid because he had put Vespasian to sleep too. Ahenobarbus can be criticized as long as a considerable compliment is added to a small critique. Our gracious Augusta, Poppæa, gets this completely.”
“Alas! such are the times,” answered Aulus. “I lack two front teeth, knocked out by a stone from the hand of a Briton, I speak with a hiss; still my happiest days were passed in Britain.”
“Unfortunately, that’s how it is these days,” replied Aulus. “I’m missing two front teeth, knocked out by a stone thrown by a Briton, and I speak with a lisp; yet my happiest days were spent in Britain.”
“Because they were days of victory,” added Vinicius.
“Because they were days of victory,” Vinicius added.
But Petronius, alarmed lest the old general might begin a narrative of his former wars, changed the conversation.
But Petronius, worried that the old general might start telling stories about his past wars, shifted the conversation.
“See,” said he, “in the neighborhood of Præneste country people found a dead wolf whelp with two heads; and during a storm about that time lightning struck off an angle of the temple of Luna,—a thing unparalleled, because of the late autumn. A certain Cotta, too, who had told this, added, while telling it, that the priests of that temple prophesied the fall of the city or, at least, the ruin of a great house,—ruin to be averted only by uncommon sacrifices.”
“Look,” he said, “in the area around Præneste, local farmers discovered a dead wolf pup with two heads; and during a storm around that time, lightning struck a corner of the temple of Luna—something unprecedented for late autumn. A man named Cotta, who reported this, also mentioned while recounting it that the priests of that temple predicted the downfall of the city or, at the very least, the destruction of a prominent family—destruction that could only be prevented through extraordinary sacrifices.”
Aulus, when he had heard the narrative, expressed the opinion that such signs should not be neglected; that the gods might be angered by an over-measure of wickedness. In this there was nothing wonderful; and in such an event expiatory sacrifices were perfectly in order.
Aulus, after hearing the story, said that such signs shouldn’t be ignored; that the gods might get angry due to excessive wrongdoing. There was nothing surprising about this; and in such a case, atoning sacrifices were completely appropriate.
“Thy house, Plautius, is not too large,” answered Petronius, “though a great man lives in it. Mine is indeed too large for such a wretched owner, though equally small. But if it is a question of the ruin of something as great, for example, as the domus transitoria, would it be worth while for us to bring offerings to avert that ruin?”
“Your house, Plautius, isn’t too big,” Petronius replied, “even though a great man lives there. Mine is definitely too big for such a miserable owner, though it’s just as small. But if we’re talking about the destruction of something as significant as the domus transitoria, would it be worth it for us to make offerings to prevent that ruin?”
Plautius did not answer that question,—a carefulness which touched even Petronius somewhat, for, with all his inability to feel the difference between good and evil, he had never been an informer; and it was possible to talk with him in perfect safety. He changed the conversation again, therefore, and began to praise Plautius’s dwelling and the good taste which reigned in the house.
Plautius didn't respond to that question—a caution that even affected Petronius a bit, because despite his inability to tell right from wrong, he had never been a snitch; it was always safe to talk to him. So he shifted the conversation once more and started complimenting Plautius's home and the great taste that filled the place.
“It is an ancient seat,” said Plautius, “in which nothing has been changed since I inherited it.”
"It’s an old chair," Plautius said, "that hasn’t been changed at all since I got it."
After the curtain was pushed aside which divided the atrium from the tablinum, the house was open from end to end, so that through the tablinum and the following peristyle and the hall lying beyond it which was called the oecus, the glance extended to the garden, which seemed from a distance like a bright image set in a dark frame. Joyous, childlike laughter came from it to the atrium.
After the curtain was pulled aside that separated the atrium from the tablinum, the house was open from one end to the other, allowing a view through the tablinum, the next peristyle, and the hall beyond, known as the oecus, right out to the garden, which looked like a vibrant picture in a dark frame. Happy, childlike laughter floated from there into the atrium.
“Oh, general!” said Petronius, “permit us to listen from near by to that glad laughter which is of a kind heard so rarely in these days.”
“Oh, general!” Petronius said, “let us listen up close to that joyful laughter that is so rarely heard these days.”
“Willingly,” answered Plautius, rising; “that is my little Aulus and Lygia, playing ball. But as to laughter, I think, Petronius, that our whole life is spent in it.”
“Sure,” replied Plautius, getting up; “that’s my little Aulus and Lygia, playing ball. But when it comes to laughter, I believe, Petronius, that our entire lives are filled with it.”
“Life deserves laughter, hence people laugh at it,” answered Petronius, “but laughter here has another sound.”
“Life deserves laughter, so people laugh at it,” replied Petronius, “but laughter here has a different ring.”
“Petronius does not laugh for days in succession,” said Vinicius; “but then he laughs entire nights.”
“Petronius doesn’t laugh for days on end,” said Vinicius; “but when he does, he laughs through the whole night.”
Thus conversing, they passed through the length of the house and reached the garden, where Lygia and little Aulus were playing with balls, which slaves, appointed to that game exclusively and called spheristæ, picked up and placed in their hands. Petronius cast a quick passing glance at Lygia; little Aulus, seeing Vinicius, ran to greet him; but the young tribune, going forward, bent his head before the beautiful maiden, who stood with a ball in her hand, her hair blown apart a little. She was somewhat out of breath, and flushed.
As they talked, they walked through the house and made their way to the garden, where Lygia and little Aulus were playing with balls. Slaves, assigned to that game and called spheristæ, picked up the balls and handed them to the children. Petronius quickly glanced at Lygia; little Aulus saw Vinicius and ran over to greet him. Vinicius approached and leaned down slightly before the beautiful girl, who was holding a ball, her hair slightly tousled. She looked a bit out of breath and was flushed.
In the garden triclinium, shaded by ivy, grapes, and woodbine, sat Pomponia Græcina; hence they went to salute her. She was known to Petronius, though he did not visit Plautius, for he had seen her at the house of Antistia, the daughter of Rubelius Plautus, and besides at the house of Seneca and Polion. He could not resist a certain admiration with which he was filled by her face, pensive but mild, by the dignity of her bearing, by her movements, by her words. Pomponia disturbed his understanding of women to such a degree that that man, corrupted to the marrow of his bones, and self-confident as no one in Rome, not only felt for her a kind of esteem, but even lost his previous self-confidence. And now, thanking her for her care of Vinicius, he thrust in, as it were involuntarily, “domina,” which never occurred to him when speaking, for example, to Calvia Crispinilla, Scribonia, Veleria, Solina, and other women of high society. After he had greeted her and returned thanks, he began to complain that he saw her so rarely, that it was not possible to meet her either in the Circus or the Amphitheatre; to which she answered calmly, laying her hand on the hand of her husband:
In the garden triclinium, shaded by ivy, grapes, and honeysuckle, sat Pomponia Græcina; so they approached to greet her. Petronius knew her, even though he didn’t visit Plautius, since he had seen her at Antistia’s house, the daughter of Rubelius Plautus, and at the homes of Seneca and Polion. He couldn't help but feel a certain admiration for her thoughtful yet gentle expression, her dignified presence, her graceful movements, and her words. Pomponia challenged his understanding of women to such an extent that this man, deeply corrupted and more self-assured than anyone in Rome, not only felt a kind of respect for her but even lost his usual self-confidence. Now, while thanking her for looking after Vinicius, he unintentionally called her “domina,” a title he never used when talking to women like Calvia Crispinilla, Scribonia, Veleria, Solina, and other elite women. After greeting her and expressing his gratitude, he began to lament how seldom he saw her, noting that he couldn’t find her at the Circus or the Amphitheater; to which she calmly replied, placing her hand on her husband’s hand:
“We are growing old, and love our domestic quiet more and more, both of us.”
“We're getting older, and we increasingly love our peaceful home life, both of us.”
Petronius wished to oppose; but Aulus Plautius added in his hissing voice,—“And we feel stranger and stranger among people who give Greek names to our Roman divinities.”
Petronius wanted to object; but Aulus Plautius interjected in his hissing voice, “And we feel more and more out of place among people who give Greek names to our Roman gods.”
“The gods have become for some time mere figures of rhetoric,” replied Petronius, carelessly. “But since Greek rhetoricians taught us, it is easier for me even to say Hera than Juno.”
“The gods have just been empty symbols for a while now,” Petronius replied casually. “But since Greek rhetoricians taught us, it’s even easier for me to say Hera than Juno.”
He turned his eyes then to Pomponia, as if to signify that in presence of her no other divinity could come to his mind: and then he began to contradict what she had said touching old age.
He then looked at Pomponia, as if to suggest that in her presence, no other deity could occupy his thoughts: and then he started to argue against what she had said about old age.
“People grow old quickly, it is true; but there are some who live another life entirely, and there are faces moreover which Saturn seems to forget.”
“People do age fast, that’s true; but some live a completely different life, and there are faces that Saturn seems to overlook.”
Petronius said this with a certain sincerity even, for Pomponia Græcina, though descending from the midday of life, had preserved an uncommon freshness of face; and since she had a small head and delicate features, she produced at times, despite her dark robes, despite her solemnity and sadness, the impression of a woman quite young.
Petronius said this with genuine sincerity because Pomponia Græcina, although she was getting older, still had an unusual freshness to her face. With her small head and delicate features, she sometimes gave off the impression of being quite young, even with her dark clothes and serious demeanor.
Meanwhile little Aulus, who had become uncommonly friendly with Vinicius during his former stay in the house, approached the young man and entreated him to play ball. Lygia herself entered the triclinium after the little boy. Under the climbing ivy, with the light quivering on her face, she seemed to Petronius more beautiful than at the first glance, and really like some nymph. As he had not spoken to her thus far, he rose, inclined his head, and, instead of the usual expressions of greeting, quoted the words with which Ulysses greeted Nausikaa,—
Meanwhile, little Aulus, who had become unusually friendly with Vinicius during his previous stay at the house, approached the young man and asked him to play ball. Lygia herself entered the triclinium after the little boy. Under the climbing ivy, with the light dancing on her face, she appeared to Petronius even more beautiful than at first glance, resembling a nymph. Since he hadn’t spoken to her yet, he stood up, tilted his head, and instead of the usual greetings, he quoted the words with which Ulysses greeted Nausikaa,—
“I supplicate thee, O queen, whether thou art some goddess or a mortal! If thou art one of the daughters of men who dwell on earth, thrice blessed are thy father and thy lady mother, and thrice blessed thy brethren.”
“I beg you, O queen, whether you are a goddess or a mortal! If you are one of the daughters of men living on earth, your father and mother are three times blessed, and your siblings are three times blessed too.”
The exquisite politeness of this man of the world pleased even Pomponia. As to Lygia, she listened, confused and flushed, without boldness to raise her eyes. But a wayward smile began to quiver at the corners of her lips, and on her face a struggle was evident between the timidity of a maiden and the wish to answer; but clearly the wish was victorious, for, looking quickly at Petronius, she answered him all at once with the words of that same Nausikaa, quoting them at one breath, and a little like a lesson learned,—
The exquisite politeness of this worldly man impressed even Pomponia. Lygia, on the other hand, listened, feeling confused and flushed, unable to muster the courage to look up. However, a playful smile began to flirt at the corners of her lips, and it was clear from her expression that she was torn between the shyness of a young woman and the desire to respond; but the desire ultimately won out, as she quickly glanced at Petronius and responded all at once with the words of that same Nausikaa, quoting them in one breath, almost like a line she had memorized.
“Stranger, thou seemest no evil man nor foolish.”
"Stranger, you don't seem like a bad person or a fool."
Then she turned and ran out as a frightened bird runs.
Then she turned and ran out like a scared bird.
This time the turn for astonishment came to Petronius, for he had not expected to hear verses of Homer from the lips of a maiden of whose barbarian extraction he had heard previously from Vinicius. Hence he looked with an inquiring glance at Pomponia; but she could not give him an answer, for she was looking at that moment, with a smile, at the pride reflected on the face of her husband.
This time, Petronius was the one taken aback, as he hadn’t expected to hear lines from Homer coming from a girl whose barbarian background he had heard about before from Vinicius. So, he shot an inquisitive look at Pomponia, but she couldn’t respond because she was smiling at the pride visible on her husband’s face.
He was not able to conceal that pride. First, he had become attached to Lygia as to his own daughter; and second, in spite of his old Roman prejudices, which commanded him to thunder against Greek and the spread of the language, he considered it as the summit of social polish. He himself had never been able to learn it well; over this he suffered in secret. He was glad, therefore, that an answer was given in the language and poetry of Homer to this exquisite man both of fashion and letters, who was ready to consider Plautius’s house as barbarian.
He couldn't hide his pride. First, he had grown attached to Lygia like she was his own daughter. Second, despite his old Roman biases telling him to criticize the Greeks and their language, he viewed it as the height of social sophistication. He had never been able to learn it well, and that was something he struggled with quietly. So he was pleased that a response was given in the language and poetry of Homer to this elegant man of style and intellect, who looked down on Plautius's house as if it were uncivilized.
“We have in the house a pedagogue, a Greek,” said he, turning to Petronius, “who teaches our boy, and the maiden overhears the lessons. She is a wagtail yet, but a dear one, to which we have both grown attached.”
“We have a teacher in the house, a Greek,” he said, turning to Petronius, “who teaches our son, and the girl listens in on the lessons. She’s still a little wild, but we both care for her a lot.”
Petronius looked through the branches of woodbine into the garden, and at the three persons who were playing there. Vinicius had thrown aside his toga, and, wearing only his tunic, was striking the ball, which Lygia, standing opposite, with raised arms was trying to catch. The maiden did not make a great impression on Petronius at the first glance; she seemed to him too slender. But from the moment when he saw her more nearly in the triclinium he thought to himself that Aurora might look like her; and as a judge he understood that in her there was something uncommon. He considered everything and estimated everything; hence her face, rosy and clear, her fresh lips, as if set for a kiss, her eyes blue as the azure of the sea, the alabaster whiteness of her forehead, the wealth of her dark hair, with the reflection of amber or Corinthian bronze gleaming in its folds, her slender neck, the divine slope of her shoulders, the whole posture, flexible, slender, young with the youth of May and of freshly opened flowers. The artist was roused in him, and the worshipper of beauty, who felt that beneath a statue of that maiden one might write “Spring.” All at once he remembered Chrysothemis, and pure laughter seized him. Chrysothemis seemed to him, with golden powder on her hair and darkened brows, to be fabulously faded,—something in the nature of a yellowed rose-tree shedding its leaves. But still Rome envied him that Chrysothemis. Then he recalled Poppæa; and that most famous Poppæa also seemed to him soulless, a waxen mask. In that maiden with Tanagrian outlines there was not only spring, but a radiant soul, which shone through her rosy body as a flame through a lamp.
Petronius looked through the vines into the garden at the three people playing there. Vinicius had tossed aside his toga and, wearing only his tunic, was hitting the ball while Lygia, standing opposite him with her arms raised, tried to catch it. At first, the girl didn't make much of an impression on Petronius; she seemed a bit too slender. But when he saw her up close in the triclinium, he thought that she might look like Aurora; as a judge, he realized there was something special about her. He took everything in: her rosy and clear face, her fresh lips seemingly waiting for a kiss, her sea-blue eyes, the alabaster whiteness of her forehead, the richness of her dark hair that reflected amber or Corinthian bronze in its waves, her slender neck, the divine curve of her shoulders, and her entire posture—flexible, delicate, youthful like the spring and the first blooms. The artist inside him stirred, and the admirer of beauty felt that beneath a statue of that girl, one could write "Spring." Suddenly, he remembered Chrysothemis, and pure laughter took hold of him. In his mind, Chrysothemis, with golden powder in her hair and darkened brows, seemed incredibly faded—like a yellowed rose shedding its leaves. Yet, Rome still envied him for that Chrysothemis. Then he thought of Poppæa; even that famous Poppæa struck him as soulless, a waxen mask. In that girl with her Tanagrian features, there was not just spring, but a radiant soul shining through her rosy body like a flame through a lamp.
“Vinicius is right,” thought he, “and my Chrysothemis is old, old!—as Troy!”
"Vinicius is right," he thought, "and my Chrysothemis is ancient, ancient!—like Troy!"
Then he turned to Pomponia Græcina, and, pointing to the garden, said,—“I understand now, domina, why thou and thy husband prefer this house to the Circus and to feasts on the Palatine.”
Then he turned to Pomponia Græcina and, pointing to the garden, said, “I get it now, ma'am, why you and your husband prefer this house over the Circus and the feasts on the Palatine.”
“Yes,” answered she, turning her eyes in the direction of little Aulus and Lygia.
“Yes,” she answered, turning her gaze towards little Aulus and Lygia.
But the old general began to relate the history of the maiden, and what he had heard years before from Atelius Hister about the Lygian people who lived in the gloom of the North.
But the old general started to tell the story of the maiden and what he had learned years ago from Atelius Hister about the Lygian people who lived in the darkness of the North.
The three outside had finished playing ball, and for some time had been walking along the sand of the garden, appearing against the dark background of myrtles and cypresses like three white statues. Lygia held little Aulus by the hand. After they had walked a while they sat on a bench near the fish-pond, which occupied the middle of the garden. After a time Aulus sprang up to frighten the fish in the transparent water, but Vinicius continued the conversation begun during the walk.
The three outside had finished playing ball and had been walking along the sandy path of the garden for a while, looking like three white statues against the dark backdrop of myrtles and cypresses. Lygia was holding little Aulus by the hand. After walking for some time, they sat on a bench near the fish pond that was in the middle of the garden. Eventually, Aulus jumped up to scare the fish in the clear water, but Vinicius kept the conversation going that had started during their walk.
“Yes,” said he, in a low, quivering voice, scarcely audible; “barely had I cast aside the pretexta, when I was sent to the legions in Asia. I had not become acquainted with the city, nor with life, nor with love. I know a small bit of Anacreon by heart, and Horace; but I cannot like Petronius quote verses, when reason is dumb from admiration and unable to find its own words. While a youth I went to school to Musonius, who told me that happiness consists in wishing what the gods wish, and therefore depends on our will. I think, however, that it is something else,—something greater and more precious, which depends not on the will, for love only can give it. The gods themselves seek that happiness; hence I too, O Lygia, who have not known love thus far, follow in their footsteps. I also seek her who would give me happiness—”
“Yes,” he said in a soft, shaky voice, barely audible; “hardly had I let go of the pretenses when I was sent to the legions in Asia. I hadn’t gotten to know the city, life, or love. I know a bit of Anacreon and Horace by heart, but I can’t quote verses like Petronius when reason is silent from admiration and can’t find its own words. As a young man, I studied under Musonius, who told me that happiness comes from wanting what the gods want, and so it depends on our will. However, I think it’s something else—something greater and more precious, which doesn’t depend on will, because only love can provide it. The gods themselves seek that happiness; so I too, O Lygia, who haven’t known love until now, follow in their footsteps. I’m also searching for someone who can bring me happiness—”
He was silent—and for a time there was nothing to be heard save the light plash of the water into which little Aulus was throwing pebbles to frighten the fish; but after a while Vinicius began again in a voice still softer and lower,—“But thou knowest of Vespasian’s son Titus? They say that he had scarcely ceased to be a youth when he so loved Berenice that grief almost drew the life out of him. So could I too love, O Lygia! Riches, glory, power are mere smoke, vanity! The rich man will find a richer than himself; the greater glory of another will eclipse a man who is famous; a strong man will be conquered by a stronger. But can Cæsar himself, can any god even, experience greater delight or be happier than a simple mortal at the moment when at his breast there is breathing another dear breast, or when he kisses beloved lips? Hence love makes us equal to the gods, O Lygia.”
He was quiet—and for a while, the only sound was the gentle splash of the water as little Aulus tossed pebbles to scare the fish. But after some time, Vinicius spoke again, his voice even softer and lower, “But you know about Vespasian’s son Titus? They say he barely stopped being a youth when he fell so in love with Berenice that grief nearly took his life. I could love like that too, O Lygia! Wealth, fame, power are just illusions, vanity! A rich person will encounter someone richer; another’s greater fame will overshadow a well-known figure; a strong person can be defeated by someone even stronger. But can Caesar himself, or any god for that matter, feel more joy or be happier than an ordinary person at the moment when another dear body is pressed against theirs, or when they kiss beloved lips? That’s why love makes us equal to the gods, O Lygia.”
And she listened with alarm, with astonishment, and at the same time as if she were listening to the sound of a Grecian flute or a cithara. It seemed to her at moments that Vinicius was singing a kind of wonderful song, which was instilling itself into her ears, moving the blood in her, and penetrating her heart with a faintness, a fear, and a kind of uncomprehended delight. It seemed to her also that he was telling something which was in her before, but of which she could not give account to herself. She felt that he was rousing in her something which had been sleeping hitherto, and that in that moment a hazy dream was changing into a form more and more definite, more pleasing, more beautiful.
And she listened with alarm and astonishment, almost as if she were hearing the sound of a Greek flute or a cithara. At times, it felt to her like Vinicius was singing a wonderful song that was seeping into her ears, stirring her blood, and reaching her heart with a faintness, a fear, and a kind of indescribable delight. It also seemed like he was expressing something that was already within her but that she couldn’t quite articulate. She sensed that he was awakening something in her that had been dormant, and in that moment, a vague dream was transforming into a shape that was becoming clearer, more enjoyable, and more beautiful.
Meanwhile the sun had passed the Tiber long since, and had sunk low over the Janiculum. On the motionless cypresses ruddy light was falling, and the whole atmosphere was filled with it. Lygia raised on Vinicius her blue eyes as if roused from sleep; and he, bending over her with a prayer quivering in his eyes, seemed on a sudden, in the reflections of evening, more beautiful than all men, than all Greek and Roman gods whose statues she had seen on the façades of temples. And with his fingers he clasped her arm lightly just above the wrist and asked,—“Dost thou not divine what I say to thee, Lygia?”
Meanwhile, the sun had long since crossed the Tiber and was setting low over the Janiculum. Its warm light fell on the still cypress trees, and the entire atmosphere was filled with it. Lygia looked up at Vinicius with her blue eyes, as if waking from a dream; and he, leaning over her with a prayer shimmering in his eyes, suddenly seemed more handsome than any man, more beautiful than all the Greek and Roman gods whose statues she had seen on the temple facades. He gently clasped her arm just above the wrist and asked, “Don’t you sense what I’m saying to you, Lygia?”
“No,” whispered she as answer, in a voice so low that Vinicius barely heard it.
“No,” she whispered in response, her voice so soft that Vinicius could barely hear it.
But he did not believe her, and, drawing her hand toward him more vigorously, he would have drawn it to his heart, which, under the influence of desire roused by the marvellous maiden, was beating like a hammer, and would have addressed burning words to her directly had not old Aulus appeared on a path set in a frame of myrtles, who said, while approaching them,—“The sun is setting; so beware of the evening coolness, and do not trifle with Libitina.”
But he didn’t believe her, and pulling her hand toward him more forcefully, he almost brought it to his heart, which, under the influence of desire ignited by the enchanting young woman, was pounding like a hammer. He would have spoken passionate words to her directly if it weren’t for old Aulus appearing on a path lined with myrtles, who said as he approached them, “The sun is setting; so be careful of the evening chill, and don’t take Libitina lightly.”
“No,” answered Vinicius; “I have not put on my toga yet, and I do not feel the cold.”
“No,” Vinicius replied; “I haven't put on my toga yet, and I don't feel cold.”
“But see, barely half the sun’s shield is looking from behind the hill. That is a sweet climate of Sicily, where people gather on the square before sunset and take farewell of disappearing Phoebus with a choral song.”
“But look, only half of the sun’s glow is peeking over the hill. That’s the lovely atmosphere of Sicily, where people gather in the square at sunset and bid farewell to the fading sun with a song.”
And, forgetting that a moment earlier he had warned them against Libitina, he began to tell about Sicily, where he had estates and large cultivated fields which he loved. He stated also that it had come to his mind more than once to remove to Sicily, and live out his life there in quietness. “He whose head winters have whitened has bad enough of hoar frost. Leaves are not falling from the trees yet, and the sky smiles on the city lovingly; but when the grapevines grow yellow-leaved, when snow falls on the Alban hills, and the gods visit the Campania with piercing wind, who knows but I may remove with my entire household to my quiet country-seat?”
And, forgetting that just a moment earlier he had warned them about Libitina, he started talking about Sicily, where he had properties and large cultivated fields that he loved. He also mentioned that he had thought more than once about moving to Sicily to spend his life there in peace. “Someone whose hair has turned gray from winter has had enough of the cold. The leaves aren't falling from the trees yet, and the sky is still smiling down on the city; but when the grapevines turn yellow, when snow covers the Alban hills, and the gods bring a biting wind to Campania, who’s to say I won’t move with my whole family to my quiet country home?”
“Wouldst thou leave Rome?” inquired Vinicius, with sudden alarm.
“Are you going to leave Rome?” Vinicius asked sharply, feeling alarmed.
“I have wished to do so this long time, for it is quieter in Sicily and safer.”
“I've wanted to do this for a long time because it's quieter and safer in Sicily.”
And again he fell to praising his gardens, his herds, his house hidden in green, and the hills grown over with thyme and savory, among which were swarms of buzzing bees. But Vinicius paid no heed to that bucolic note; and from thinking only of this, that he might lose Lygia, he looked toward Petronius as if expecting salvation from him alone.
And once again, he began to brag about his gardens, his livestock, his house tucked away in greenery, and the hills covered in thyme and savory, where swarms of buzzing bees were everywhere. But Vinicius didn’t pay attention to that pastoral charm; consumed with the thought of possibly losing Lygia, he turned to Petronius as if he were the only one who could save him.
Meanwhile Petronius, sitting near Pomponia, was admiring the view of the setting sun, the garden, and the people standing near the fish-pond. Their white garments on the dark background of the myrtles gleamed like gold from the evening rays. On the sky the evening light had begun to assume purple and violet hues, and to change like an opal. A strip of the sky became lily-colored. The dark silhouettes of the cypresses grew still more pronounced than during bright daylight. In the people, in the trees, in the whole garden there reigned an evening calm.
Meanwhile, Petronius, sitting next to Pomponia, was enjoying the view of the setting sun, the garden, and the people gathered around the fish pond. Their white clothes stood out against the dark backdrop of the myrtles, shining like gold in the evening light. The sky began to take on purple and violet shades, shifting like an opal. A section of the sky turned a soft lily color. The dark shapes of the cypress trees became even more defined than in the bright daylight. A sense of calm settled over the people, the trees, and the entire garden as evening fell.
That calm struck Petronius, and it struck him especially in the people. In the faces of Pomponia, old Aulus, their son, and Lygia there was something such as he did not see in the faces which surrounded him every day, or rather every night. There was a certain light, a certain repose, a certain serenity, flowing directly from the life which all lived there. And with a species of astonishment he thought that a beauty and sweetness might exist which he, who chased after beauty and sweetness continually, had not known. He could not hide the thought in himself, and said, turning to Pomponia,—“I am considering in my soul how different this world of yours is from the world which our Nero rules.”
That calm hit Petronius, and it especially stood out with the people. In the faces of Pomponia, old Aulus, their son, and Lygia, there was something he didn’t see in the faces around him every day, or rather every night. There was a certain light, a certain peace, a certain serenity that came directly from the life they all shared there. And with a kind of amazement, he thought that a beauty and sweetness might exist that he, who constantly sought beauty and sweetness, had never known. He couldn’t keep the thought to himself and said, turning to Pomponia, “I’m realizing in my heart how different this world of yours is from the one that our Nero rules.”
She raised her delicate face toward the evening light, and said with simplicity,—“Not Nero, but God, rules the world.”
She lifted her gentle face toward the evening light and said plainly, “Not Nero, but God, rules the world.”
A moment of silence followed. Near the triclinium were heard in the alley, the steps of the old general, Vinicius, Lygia, and little Aulus; but before they arrived, Petronius had put another question—“But believest thou in the gods, then, Pomponia?”
A moment of silence followed. Near the dining room, the footsteps of the old general, Vinicius, Lygia, and little Aulus could be heard in the alley; but before they arrived, Petronius asked another question—“But do you believe in the gods, then, Pomponia?”
“I believe in God, who is one, just, and all-powerful,” answered the wife of Aulus Plautius.
“I believe in God, who is one, just, and all-powerful,” answered Aulus Plautius's wife.
Chapter III
“SHE believes in God who is one, all-powerful, and just,” said Petronius, when he found himself again in the litter with Vinicius. “If her God is all-powerful, He controls life and death; and if He is just, He sends death justly. Why, then, does Pomponia wear mourning for Julius? In mourning for Julius she blames her God. I must repeat this reasoning to our Bronzebeard, the monkey, since I consider that in dialectics I am the equal of Socrates. As to women, I agree that each has three or four souls, but none of them a reasoning one. Let Pomponia meditate with Seneca or Cornutus over the question of what their great Logos is. Let them summon at once the shades of Xenophanes, Parmenides, Zeno, and Plato, who are as much wearied there in Cimmerian regions as a finch in a cage. I wished to talk with her and with Plautius about something else. By the holy stomach of the Egyptian Isis! If I had told them right out directly why we came, I suppose that their virtue would have made as much noise as a bronze shield under the blow of a club. And I did not dare to tell! Wilt thou believe, Vinicius, I did not dare! Peacocks are beautiful birds, but they have too shrill a cry. I feared an outburst. But I must praise thy choice. A real ‘rosy-fingered Aurora.’ And knowest thou what she reminded me of too?—Spring! not our spring in Italy, where an apple-tree merely puts forth a blossom here and there, and olive groves grow gray, just as they were gray before, but the spring which I saw once in Helvetia,—young, fresh, bright green. By that pale moon, I do not wonder at thee, Marcus; but know that thou art loving Diana, because Aulus and Pomponia are ready to tear thee to pieces, as the dogs once tore Actæon.”
“She believes in one God who is all-powerful and just,” said Petronius, as he found himself back in the litter with Vinicius. “If her God is all-powerful, He controls life and death; and if He is just, He sends death fairly. So why does Pomponia mourn for Julius? By mourning for Julius, she is blaming her God. I have to share this reasoning with our Bronzebeard, the monkey, since I think I’m as skilled in dialectics as Socrates. As for women, I agree that each has three or four souls, but none of them is a reasoning one. Let Pomponia ponder with Seneca or Cornutus about what their great Logos is. Let them call forth the spirits of Xenophanes, Parmenides, Zeno, and Plato, who are as bored in those gloomy regions as a finch in a cage. I wanted to discuss something else with her and Plautius. By the holy stomach of the Egyptian Isis! If I had told them outright why we came, I imagine their virtue would have made as much noise as a bronze shield hit by a club. And I didn’t dare to say it! Can you believe it, Vinicius, I didn’t dare! Peacocks are beautiful birds, but they have too loud a cry. I feared a scene. But I must commend your choice. A true ‘rosy-fingered Aurora.’ And do you know what else she reminded me of?—Spring! Not our spring in Italy, where an apple tree only blooms here and there, and the olive groves stay as gray as they were, but the spring I once saw in Helvetia—young, fresh, bright green. By that pale moon, I don’t blame you, Marcus; but know that you are loving Diana because Aulus and Pomponia are ready to tear you apart, just like the dogs once tore Actæon.”
Vinicius was silent a time without raising his head; then he began to speak with a voice broken by passion,—“I desired her before, but now I desire her still more. When I caught her arm, flame embraced me. I must have her. Were I Zeus, I would surround her with a cloud, as he surrounded Io, or I would fall on her in rain, as he fell on Danaë; I would kiss her lips till it pained! I would hear her scream in my arms. I would kill Aulus and Pomponia, and bear her home in my arms. I will not sleep to-night. I will give command to flog one of my slaves, and listen to his groans—”
Vinicius was quiet for a while without lifting his head; then he started to talk with a voice filled with emotion, “I wanted her before, but now I want her even more. When I grabbed her arm, I felt a rush of fire. I have to have her. If I were Zeus, I would wrap her in a cloud like he did with Io, or I would pour down on her like he did with Danaë; I would kiss her lips until it hurt! I would hear her scream in my arms. I would kill Aulus and Pomponia, and carry her home in my arms. I won’t sleep tonight. I’ll order one of my slaves to be whipped and listen to his cries—”
“Calm thyself,” said Petronius. “Thou hast the longing of a carpenter from the Subura.”
“Calm down,” said Petronius. “You have the craving of a carpenter from the Subura.”
“All one to me what thou sayst. I must have her. I have turned to thee for aid; but if thou wilt not find it, I shall find it myself. Aulus considers Lygia as a daughter; why should I look on her as a slave? And since there is no other way, let her ornament the door of my house, let her anoint it with wolf’s fat, and let her sit at my hearth as wife.”
“All that means nothing to me. I have to have her. I’ve come to you for help, but if you won’t provide it, I’ll get it myself. Aulus sees Lygia as a daughter; why should I see her as a slave? Since there’s no other way, let her decorate the entrance to my house, let her anoint it with wolf’s fat, and let her sit by my fire as my wife.”
“Calm thyself, mad descendant of consuls. We do not lead in barbarians bound behind our cars, to make wives of their daughters. Beware of extremes. Exhaust simple, honorable methods, and give thyself and me time for meditation. Chrysothemis seemed to me too a daughter of Jove, and still I did not marry her, just as Nero did not marry Acte, though they called her a daughter of King Attalus. Calm thyself! Think that if she wishes to leave Aulus for thee, he will have no right to detain her. Know also that thou art not burning alone, for Eros has roused in her the flame too. I saw that, and it is well to believe me. Have patience. There is a way to do everything, but to-day I have thought too much already, and it tires me. But I promise that to-morrow I will think of thy love, and unless Petronius is not Petronius, he will discover some method.”
“Calm down, you crazy descendant of consuls. We don’t bring in prisoners to turn them into wives for our children. Watch out for extremes. Use simple, honorable methods first, and give both yourself and me some time to think. Chrysothemis seemed to me like a daughter of Jove, and yet I didn’t marry her, just like Nero didn’t marry Acte, even though they called her a daughter of King Attalus. Relax! Remember, if she wants to leave Aulus for you, he won’t be able to stop her. Also, know that you’re not the only one feeling this way; Eros has ignited that passion in her too. I noticed that, and it’s good to trust me. Be patient. There’s a way to handle everything, but I’ve thought too much already today, and it’s exhausting. I promise that tomorrow I’ll think about your love, and if Petronius is really Petronius, he’ll find a solution.”
They were both silent again.
They went silent again.
“I thank thee,” said Vinicius at last. “May Fortune be bountiful to thee.”
“Thank you,” said Vinicius at last. “May luck be generous to you.”
“Be patient.”
"Hang in there."
“Whither hast thou given command to bear us?”
“Where have you ordered us to go?”
“To Chrysothemis.”
"To Chrysothemis."
“Thou art happy in possessing her whom thou lovest.”
“You are lucky to have the person you love.”
“I? Dost thou know what amuses me yet in Chrysothemis? This, that she is false to me with my freedman Theokles, and thinks that I do not notice it. Once I loved her, but now she amuses me with her lying and stupidity. Come with me to her. Should she begin to flirt with thee, and write letters on the table with her fingers steeped in wine, know that I shall not be jealous.”
“I? Do you know what amuses me about Chrysothemis? It's that she is cheating on me with my freedman Theokles and thinks I don't notice. I used to love her, but now she just entertains me with her lies and foolishness. Come with me to see her. If she starts flirting with you and writes letters on the table with her wine-soaked fingers, just know I won't be jealous.”
And he gave command to bear them both to Chrysothemis.
And he ordered them both to be taken to Chrysothemis.
But in the entrance Petronius put his hand on Vinicius’s shoulder, and said,—“Wait; it seems to me that I have discovered a plan.”
But at the entrance, Petronius placed his hand on Vinicius's shoulder and said, "Hold on; I think I've come up with a plan."
“May all the gods reward thee!”
“May all the gods reward you!”
“I have it! I judge that this plan is infallible. Knowest what, Marcus?”
“I have it! I think this plan is foolproof. You know what, Marcus?”
“I listen to thee, my wisdom.”
"I listen to you, my wisdom."
“Well, in a few days the divine Lygia will partake of Demeter’s grain in thy house.”
“Well, in a few days, the divine Lygia will eat Demeter’s grain in your house.”
“Thou art greater than Cæsar!” exclaimed Vinicius with enthusiasm.
“You're greater than Caesar!” Vinicius exclaimed with enthusiasm.
Chapter IV
IN fact, Petronius kept his promise. He slept all the day following his visit to Chrysothemis, it is true; but in the evening he gave command to bear him to the Palatine, where 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.
IN fact, Petronius kept his promise. He slept all day after his visit to Chrysothemis, it’s true; but in the evening he ordered to be taken to the Palatine, where he had a private talk with Nero; as a result, on the third day a centurion, leading a group of praetorian soldiers, showed up in front of Plautius's house.
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, clung to him with all her strength, and her blue lips moved quickly while uttering some whispered phrase. 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! heu, me miserum!” were heard. The women broke into great weeping; some scratched their cheeks, or covered their heads with kerchiefs.
The time was uncertain and awful. Messengers like these often brought news of death. So when the centurion knocked at Aulus’s door, and when the guard of the atrium announced that soldiers were in the anteroom, fear spread throughout the house. The family immediately surrounded the old general, as everyone knew that danger was looming over him the most. Pomponia wrapped her arms around his neck and held on tightly, her blue lips moving rapidly as she whispered a phrase. Lygia, with a face as pale as linen, kissed his hand; little Aulus clung to his toga. From the hallway, from the rooms on the lower floor meant for servant-women and attendants, from the bath, from the arches of the lower dwellings, crowds of slaves started rushing out, and cries of “Heu! heu, me miserum!” echoed through the house. The women burst into loud weeping; some scratched their cheeks, while others covered their heads with kerchiefs.
Only the old general himself, accustomed for years to look death straight in the eye, remained calm, and his short eagle face became as rigid as if chiselled from stone. After a while, when he had silenced 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 leave.”
Only the old general himself, used to staring death in the face for years, stayed calm, and his sharp eagle-like face became as stiff as if it were carved from stone. After a while, when he had quieted the chaos and told the attendants to leave, he said, “Let me go, Pomponia. If my time has come, we’ll have time to say goodbye.”
And he pushed her aside gently; but she said,—“God grant thy fate and mine to be one, O Aulus!”
And he gently pushed her aside; but she said, “May our fates be one, O Aulus!”
Then, failing on her knees, she began to pray with that force which fear for some dear one alone can give.
Then, collapsing on her knees, she started to pray with a desperation that only fear for a loved one can inspire.
Aulus passed out to the atrium, where the centurion was waiting for him. It was old Caius Hasta, his former subordinate and companion in British wars.
Aulus stepped out into the atrium, where the centurion was waiting for him. It was old Caius Hasta, his former subordinate and companion in the wars in Britain.
“I greet thee, general,” said he. “I bring a command, and the greeting of Cæsar; here are the tablets and the signet to show that I come in his name.”
“I greet you, general,” he said. “I bring a message and the greeting of Caesar; here are the tablets and the signet to show that I'm here in his name.”
“I am thankful to Cæsar for the greeting, and I shall obey the command,” answered Aulus. “Be welcome, Hasta, and say what command thou hast brought.”
“I appreciate the greeting, Cæsar, and I will follow your command,” answered Aulus. “Welcome, Hasta, and let me know what message you bring.”
“Aulus Plautius,” began Hasta, “Cæsar 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 Cæsar and the senate, he commands thee to give her into my hands.”
“Aulus Plautius,” began Hasta, “Caesar has learned that the daughter of the king of the Lygians is living in your house. That king entrusted her to the Romans during the reign of the divine Claudius as a guarantee that the Lygians would never violate the borders of the empire. The divine Nero appreciates you, O general, for providing her hospitality in your home for so many years. However, not wanting to impose on you any longer and taking into account that as a hostage she should be under the protection of Caesar and the Senate, he commands you to hand her over to me.”
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.”
Aulus was too much of a soldier and too much of a veteran to allow himself to feel regret over an order, or empty words, or complaints. However, a slight wrinkle of sudden anger and pain appeared on his forehead. Before that frown, legions in Britain had trembled at one time, and even now, fear was clear on Hasta's face. But in light of the order, Aulus Plautius felt defenseless. He stared at the tablets and the signet for a while; then, raising his eyes to the old centurion, he said calmly, "Wait, Hasta, in the atrium until the hostage is delivered to you."
After these words he passed to the other end of the house, to the hall called oecus, where Pomponia Græcina, Lygia, and little Aulus were waiting for him in fear and alarm.
After saying this, he went to the other end of the house, to the hall called oecus, where Pomponia Græcina, Lygia, and little Aulus were waiting for him, feeling scared and anxious.
“Death threatens no one, nor banishment to distant islands,” said he; “still Cæsar’s messenger is a herald of misfortune. It is a question of thee, Lygia.”
“Death doesn’t threaten anyone, nor does being exiled to far-off islands,” he said; “still, Caesar’s messenger is a sign of trouble. It’s about you, Lygia.”
“Of Lygia?” exclaimed Pomponia, with astonishment.
"About Lygia?" Pomponia exclaimed, astonished.
“Yes,” answered Aulus.
“Yeah,” 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 Cæsar. Now Cæsar takes thee from our house.”
And turning to the young woman, he began: “Lygia, you were raised in our home as our own child; Pomponia and I love you as our daughter. But know this: you are not our daughter. You are a hostage, given by your people to Rome, and the responsibility for you belongs to Caesar. Now Caesar is taking you from our home.”
The general spoke calmly, but with a certain strange, unusual voice. Lygia listened to his words, blinking, as if not understanding what the question was. Pomponia’s cheeks became pallid. In the doors leading from the corridor to the oecus, terrified faces of slaves began to show themselves a second time.
The general spoke calmly, but with a strangely unique tone. Lygia listened to him, blinking as if she didn't quite grasp the question. Pomponia's cheeks turned pale. In the doorway leading from the corridor to the room, terrified faces of slaves began to appear for the second time.
“The will of Cæsar must be accomplished,” said Aulus.
“The will of Caesar must be fulfilled,” 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.”
“Aulus!” exclaimed Pomponia, wrapping her arms around the girl, as if trying to protect her, “it would be better for her to die.”
Lygia, nestling up to her breast, repeated, “Mother, mother!” unable in her sobbing to find other words.
Lygia, snuggled against her chest, kept saying, “Mom, Mom!” unable to express anything else through her tears.
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 kill thee and our child, who may live to happier times. I will go to Cæsar this day, and implore him to change his command. Whether he will hear me, I know not. Meanwhile, farewell, Lygia, and know that I and Pomponia ever bless the day in which thou didst take thy seat at our hearth.”
On Aulus’s face, anger and pain were visible again. “If I were alone in the world,” he said gloomily, “I wouldn’t hand you over alive, and my family could offer thanks today to ‘Jupiter Liberator.’ But I don’t have the right to kill you and our child, who might live to see happier times. I will go to Caesar today and beg him to change his order. Whether he will listen to me, I don’t know. In the meantime, goodbye, Lygia, and know that I and Pomponia will always be grateful for the day you sat at our table.”
Thus speaking, he placed his hand on her head; but though he strove to preserve his calmness, when Lygia turned to him eyes filled with tears, and seizing his hand pressed it to her lips, his voice was filled with deep fatherly sorrow.
Thus speaking, he put his hand on her head; but even though he tried to stay calm, when Lygia looked at him with tear-filled eyes and grabbed his hand, pressing it to her lips, his voice was filled with profound fatherly sorrow.
“Farewell, our joy, and the light of our eyes,” said he.
“Goodbye, our joy, and the light of our eyes,” he said.
And he went to the atrium quickly, so as not to let himself be conquered by emotion unworthy of a Roman and a general.
And he went to the atrium quickly, so he wouldn’t be overwhelmed by emotions unworthy of a Roman and a general.
Meanwhile Pomponia, when she had conducted Lygia to the cubiculum, began to comfort, console, and encourage her, uttering words meanwhile which sounded strangely in that house, where near them in an adjoining chamber the lararium remained yet, and where the hearth was on which Aulus Plautius, faithful to ancient usage, made offerings to the household 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 Cæsar 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! 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 has 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 that not Nero, but Mercy bears rule, and there instead of pain is delight, there instead of tears is rejoicing.
Meanwhile, Pomponia, after she had taken Lygia to the room, started to comfort, console, and encourage her, saying words that felt strange in that house, where nearby in an adjoining chamber the lararium still stood, and where the hearth was where Aulus Plautius, true to ancient custom, made offerings to the household gods. Now the time of trial had come. Once, Virginius had pierced his own daughter's heart to save her from Appius; even earlier, Lucretia had paid for her honor with her life. The house of Caesar is a place of shame, of evil, of crime. But we, Lygia, understand why we cannot take our own lives! Yes! The law we both live under is different, greater, holier, but it allows defense against evil and shame, even if it means paying for that defense with life and suffering. Those who leave the house of corruption with purity gain greater merit. The earth is that house; but fortunately, life is just a blink of an eye, and resurrection only comes from the grave; beyond that, not Nero, but Mercy rules, and there, instead of pain, is joy, and instead of tears, there is celebration.
Next 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 might be happy even in heaven without them. And she had wept many nights through already, she had passed many nights in prayer, imploring grace and mercy. But she offered her suffering to God, and waited and trusted. And now, when a new blow struck her, when the tyrant’s command took from her a dear one,—the one 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.
Next, she started talking about herself. Yes, she was calm, but inside she was hurting. For instance, Aulus felt like a weight on her heart; he hadn’t yet received the brightness he deserved. She also couldn’t raise her son with honesty. So, when she thought about the possibility of this lasting until the end of her life, and that they might face a separation a hundred times worse than the temporary pain they were both feeling, she couldn’t comprehend how she could even find happiness in heaven without them. She had already cried many nights and spent many nights in prayer, asking for grace and mercy. But she offered her suffering to God and waited, trusting. And now, when a new blow hit her, when the tyrant’s order took away someone dear to her—the one whom Aulus had called the light of their eyes—she still had faith, believing in a power greater than Nero’s and a mercy stronger than his anger.
And she pressed the maiden’s head to her bosom still more firmly. 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, some calmness was evident on her face.
And she held the young woman's head to her chest even more tightly. Lygia eventually dropped to her knees and, covering her eyes in the folds of Pomponia's robe, stayed like that for a long time in silence; but when she stood up again, a sense of calm was visible on her face.
“I grieve for thee, mother, and for father and for my brother; but I know that resistance is useless, and would destroy all of us. I promise thee that in the house of Cæsar I will never forget thy words.”
“I mourn for you, Mom, and for Dad and my brother; but I know that fighting back is pointless, and it would ruin all of us. I promise you that in Caesar's house, I will never forget your words.”
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 dressing-maid 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 Cæsar.”
Once again, she wrapped her arms around Pomponia's neck, and then they both headed out to the living room. She said her goodbyes to little Aulus, their old Greek teacher, the maid who had cared for her, and all the slaves. One of them, a tall, broad-shouldered Lygian named Ursus, who had once accompanied Lygia's mother and her to the Roman camp, fell at her feet and then knelt before Pomponia, saying, “Oh mistress! Please allow me to go with my lady, to serve her and take care of her in Caesar's household.”
“Thou art not our servant, but Lygia’s,” answered Pomponia; “but if they admit thee through Cæsar’s doors, in what way wilt thou be able to watch over her?”
“You're not our servant, but Lygia’s,” replied Pomponia; “but if they let you in through Caesar’s doors, how will you be able to look out for her?”
“I know not, domina; I know only that iron breaks in my hands just as wood does.”
“I don’t know, ma'am; I only know that iron breaks in my hands just like 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 Cæsar had claimed, and they were obliged in the same way to send her retinue, which passed with her to the control of Cæsar. 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.
When Aulus, who showed up at that moment, heard what the question was, he didn’t just go against Ursus's wishes; he admitted that he didn’t even have the authority to stop him. They were sending Lygia away as a hostage that Cæsar had demanded, and they had to send her attendants with her, which would then be under Cæsar's control. He quietly told Pomponia that she could add as many slaves as she wanted under the pretense of an escort, since the centurion couldn’t refuse to accept 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 tire-woman, 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 soon grains of truth would be in Cæsar’s house.
Lygia found a certain comfort in this. Pomponia was also pleased that she could surround her with servants of her own choosing. So, besides Ursus, she assigned her the old tire-woman, two young women from Cyprus skilled in hairdressing, and two German girls for bathing. She chose only those who followed the new faith; Ursus had also adhered to it for several years. Pomponia could rely on the loyalty of those servants and took comfort in the thought that soon there would be seeds of truth in Caesar’s household.
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 confessors 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.
She also wrote a few words, entrusting care for Lygia to Nero’s freedwoman, Acte. It’s true that Pomponia hadn’t seen her at meetings of the confessors of the new faith; however, she’d heard from them that Acte had always helped them and that she eagerly read the letters of Paul of Tarsus. Pomponia also knew that the young freedwoman lived in sadness, that she was different from all the other women in Nero’s household, and that she was generally regarded as 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.
Hasta was set on delivering the letter himself to Acte. Since it seemed normal for a king's daughter to have her own group of servants, he didn’t mind taking them to the palace, though he did find it surprising that there were so few. He urged them to hurry, worried that he might be thought to lack enthusiasm in following through with the 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 Cæsar’s house.
The time to say goodbye arrived. Pomponia and Lygia's eyes were filled with new tears; Aulus placed his hand on her head once more, and after a while, the soldiers, followed by little Aulus's cries as he tried to defend his sister by threatening the centurion with his tiny fists, led Lygia to Caesar’s house.
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 Cæsar, 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 have more influence. As to Cæsar, perhaps he has never even heard 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 who could do that.”
The old general ordered them to get his stretcher ready immediately; meanwhile, he locked himself in with Pomponia in the art gallery next to the main room and said to her, “Listen to me, Pomponia. I’m going to see Caesar, even though I think my visit will be pointless; and even though Seneca's words don’t mean anything to Nero anymore, I’ll also go to Seneca. Right now, Sophonius, Tigellinus, Petronius, or Vatinius hold more power. As for Caesar, he might not have even heard of the Lygian people; and if he has asked for Lygia, the hostage, it's because someone persuaded him to do so—it's easy to guess who that might be.”
She raised her eyes to him quickly.
She quickly looked up at him.
“Is it Petronius?”
"Is it Petronius?"
“It is.”
“Yeah, 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.”
A moment of silence followed; then the general continued, “See what happens when you let people who lack conscience or honor cross your threshold. Cursed be the moment Vinicius came into our house, because he brought Petronius with him. Woe to Lygia, as those men are not looking for a hostage, but a mistress.”
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 clenched fists showed how severe was the struggle within him.
And his speech became more hissing than usual, due to helpless rage and sorrow for his adopted daughter. He battled with himself for a while, and only his clenched fists revealed how intense the struggle inside him was.
“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.”
“I have respected the gods until now,” he said; “but right now, I believe that it’s not they who control the world, but one insane, cruel monster named Nero.”
“Aulus,” said Pomponia. “Nero is only a handful of rotten dust before God.”
“Aulus,” said Pomponia. “Nero is just a handful of rotten dust in front of 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 had been aware of, and now he could not be reconciled to the thought that he had lost her. Besides, he felt humiliated. A hand was weighing on him which he despised, and at the same time he felt that before its power his power was as nothing.
But Aulus started to walk quickly across the mosaic of the pinacotheca. In his life, there had been significant achievements, but no major disasters; so he was not used to them. The old soldier had become more attached to Lygia than he realized, and now he couldn't accept the idea that he had lost her. On top of that, he felt humiliated. A burden weighed on him that he despised, and at the same time, he felt that against its power, his own power was insignificant.
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 Cæsar, since he would not offend Poppæa. Therefore he took her either for himself or Vinicius. Today I will discover this.”
But when he finally suppressed the anger that troubled his thoughts, he said, "I believe that Petronius hasn't taken her from us for Caesar, since he wouldn't want to upset Poppaea. So, he took her either for himself or for Vinicius. Today, I'll find out which."
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 Cæsar.
And after a while, the litter brought him toward the Palatine. Pomponia, left alone, went to little Aulus, who kept crying for his sister and threatening Caesar.
Chapter V
AULUS had judged rightly that he would not be admitted to Nero’s presence. They told him that Cæsar 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, that Aulus must not attempt in future to see him.
Aulus knew he was not going to be allowed to see Nero. They told him that Caesar was busy singing with the lute player, Terpnos, and that he usually didn’t meet with anyone he hadn’t called himself. In other words, Aulus should not try to see him again 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 Cæsar at any time that my heart feels thy pain, or that I should like to aid thee; for should Cæsar 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.”
Seneca, despite being sick with a fever, welcomed the old general with respect. However, when he heard the question, he laughed bitterly and said, “I can only offer you one thing, noble Plautius: to make sure Cæsar never sees that I feel your pain or that I want to help you. Because if Cæsar suspects that even a little, know that he wouldn’t return Lygia to you, if only 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 to him. 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 Cæsar 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 proper measure.”
He didn’t suggest that he go to Tigellinus, Vatinius, or Vitelius. It might be possible to bribe them; maybe they would also want to do harm to Petronius, whose influence they were trying to weaken, but most likely they would reveal to Nero how much Lygia meant to Plautius, which would only make Nero more determined not to give her to him. Here, the old sage started to speak with a sharp irony, directed at himself: “You’ve been silent, Plautius, you’ve been silent for years, and Caesar doesn’t favor those who are silent. How could you not be captivated by his beauty, his virtue, his singing, his speeches, his chariot racing, and his poetry? Why didn’t you celebrate the death of Britannicus, and sing praises for the mother-killer, and not offer congratulations after Octavia was suffocated? You lack foresight, Aulus, which we, who live comfortably at court, possess in good measure.”
Thus speaking, he raised a goblet which he carried at his belt, took water from a 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 any one wishing to poison it would have to poison every fountain in Rome. As thou seest, it is possible yet to be safe in this world and to have a quiet old age. I am sick, it is true, but rather in soul than in body.”
As he spoke, he lifted a goblet he had at his belt, took water from a fountain in the atrium, cooled his burning lips, and continued, “Ah, Nero has a grateful heart. He loves you because you’ve served Rome and made its name famous around the world; he loves me because I was his mentor in his youth. So, you see, I know this water isn’t poisoned, and I drink it without worry. Wine in my own home would be less trustworthy. If you’re thirsty, feel free to drink this water. The aqueducts bring it from beyond the Alban hills, and anyone who wanted to poison it would have to poison every fountain in Rome. As you can see, it’s still possible to be safe in this world and enjoy a peaceful old age. I am ill, it’s true, but more in spirit than in body.”
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.
This was true. Seneca didn't have the inner strength that Cornutus or Thrasea had, which is why his life was marked by a series of compromises with wrongdoing. He felt this himself; he realized that someone who followed the teachings of Zeno from Citium should take a different path, and he suffered more because of that than from the fear of death itself.
But the general interrupted these reflections full of grief.
But the general interrupted these thoughts filled with sorrow.
“Noble Annæus,” said he, “I know how Cæsar 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 the influences to which he yields, and use besides with him all the eloquence with which friendship for me of long standing can inspire thee.”
“Noble Annæus,” he said, “I know how Caesar rewarded you for taking care of him in his youth. But Petronius is the one responsible for Lygia’s removal. Show me a way to deal with him, point out the influences he responds to, and use all the persuasive power that our long-standing friendship can inspire in you.”
“Petronius and I,” answered Seneca, “are men of two opposite camps; I know of no method against him, he yields to no man’s 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.”
“Petronius and I,” Seneca replied, “are from completely opposite sides; I have no way to deal with him, as he doesn’t give in to anyone’s influence. Maybe despite all his corruption, he’s better than the scoundrels Nero surrounds himself with right now. But trying to convince him he’s done something wrong is just a waste of time. Petronius has long since lost the ability to tell good from bad. If you show him that his actions are ugly, he might feel ashamed. When I see him, I’ll say, ‘Your actions are more fitting for a freedman.’ If that doesn’t help you, then nothing will.”
“Thanks for that, even,” answered the general.
“Thanks for that, anyway,” replied the general.
Then he gave command to carry him to the house of Vinicius, whom he found at sword practice with his domestic trainer. Aulus was borne away by terrible anger at sight of the young man occupied calmly with fencing during 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 even an instant 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 Cæsar’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 any one 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.
Then he ordered to be taken to Vinicius's house, where he found him practicing sword fighting with his personal trainer. Aulus was filled with a terrible anger at seeing the young man calmly training while Lygia was being attacked; and as soon as the curtain dropped behind the trainer, this anger erupted in a flood of harsh accusations and insults. But when Vinicius learned that Lygia had been taken, he went pale, so pale that Aulus couldn't imagine he was involved in it. The young man's forehead was covered in sweat; the blood that had rushed to his heart for a moment came back to his face in a heated wave; his eyes sparked, and his mouth fired off disjointed questions. Jealousy and rage tossed him around like a storm. It felt to him like Lygia was completely lost to him as soon as she stepped over the threshold of Caesar’s house. When Aulus mentioned Petronius, a flash of suspicion shot through the young soldier’s mind, thinking that Petronius had mocked him and either wanted to gain favor with Nero by giving Lygia away, or keep her for himself. The idea that anyone who had seen Lygia wouldn't want her immediately didn't register in his mind. Impulsiveness, which ran in his family, swept him away like a wild horse, robbing him of his composure.
“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 Cæsar will have her.”
“General,” he said, his voice trembling, “go home and wait for me. Just know that even if Petronius were my own father, I would take revenge for the wrong done to Lygia. Go 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, then ran forth like a madman from the atrium, and flew to Petronius’s house, thrusting pedestrians aside on the way.
Then he marched over to the polished masks dressed in the atrium with his fists clenched and shouted, “By those lifeless masks! I’d rather kill her and myself.” After saying this, he called out “Wait for me” after Aulus, and then rushed out of the atrium like a madman, pushing past people on his way to Petronius’s house.
Aulus returned home with a certain encouragement. He judged that if Petronius had persuaded Cæsar 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 Cæsar; and had he 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.
Aulus returned home feeling somewhat encouraged. He thought that if Petronius had convinced Caesar to take Lygia to give to Vinicius, then Vinicius would bring her to their home. Ultimately, it was a bit of comfort for him that if Lygia couldn’t be saved, she would be avenged and protected by death from shame. He believed Vinicius would do everything he had promised. He had witnessed Vinicius's rage and knew how impulsive their whole family was. He himself, even though he loved Lygia like a father, would rather kill her than let her end up with Caesar; and if it weren't for his son, the last of his lineage, he likely would have done just that. Aulus was a soldier; he had hardly heard of the Stoics, but in nature, he aligned closely with their beliefs—death was more honorable to him 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.
When he got back home, he comforted Pomponia and offered her the best consolation he could, and they both started waiting for news from Vinicius. Every time they heard footsteps from the slaves in the atrium, they hoped it was Vinicius bringing their beloved child back to them, and deep down they were ready to bless them both. However, time went on, and there was still no news. It was only in the evening that they heard a knock on the gate.
After a while a slave entered and handed Aulus 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.
After a while, a slave came in and gave Aulus a letter. The old general, although he liked to maintain control over himself, took it with a slightly shaky hand and began to read as if it were a matter of his entire household.
All at once his face darkened, as if a shadow from a passing cloud had fallen on it.
All of a sudden, his expression soured, like a shadow from a passing cloud had just crossed over him.
“Read,” said he, turning to Pomponia.
“Read,” he said, turning to Pomponia.
Pomponia took the letter and read as follows:—
Pomponia picked up the letter and read it as follows:—
“Marcus Vinicius to Aulus Plautius greeting. What has happened, has happened by the will of Cæsar, before which incline your heads, as I and Petronius incline ours.”
“Marcus Vinicius to Aulus Plautius, greetings. What has happened, happened by the will of Caesar, before whom you should bow your heads, just as Petronius and I do.”
A long silence followed.
A lengthy silence followed.
Chapter VI
PETRONIUS was at home. The doorkeeper did not dare to stop Vinicius, who burst into the atrium like a storm, and, learning that the master of the house was in the library, he rushed into the library with the same impetus. Finding Petronius writing, he snatched the reed from his hand, broke it, trampled the reed on the floor, then fixed his fingers into his shoulder, and, approaching his face to that of his uncle, asked, with a hoarse voice,—“What hast thou done with her? Where is she?”
PETRONIUS was at home. The doorkeeper didn’t dare stop Vinicius, who stormed into the atrium and, learning that the master of the house was in the library, rushed in there with the same intensity. Finding Petronius writing, he snatched the reed from his hand, broke it, and trampled it on the floor. Then he grabbed his uncle's shoulder and leaned in close, asking in a hoarse voice, “What did you do with her? Where is she?”
Suddenly an amazing thing happened. That slender and effeminate Petronius seized the hand of the youthful athlete, which was grasping his shoulder, then seized the other, and, holding them both in his one hand with the grip of an iron vice, he said,—“I am incapable only in the morning; in the evening I regain my former strength. Try to escape. A weaver must have taught thee gymnastics, and a blacksmith thy manners.”
Suddenly, something incredible happened. That slim and delicate Petronius grabbed the hand of the young athlete, which was on his shoulder, then took the other hand and, holding both in his grip like a vice, said, “I can’t do anything in the morning; by evening, I get my strength back. Go ahead and try to get away. A weaver must have taught you gymnastics, and a blacksmith your manners.”
On his face not even anger was evident, but in his eyes there was a certain pale reflection of energy and daring. After a while he let the hands of Vinicius drop. Vinicius stood before him shamefaced and enraged.
On his face, there was no sign of anger, but in his eyes, there was a faint glimmer of energy and boldness. After a moment, he let Vinicius’s hands go. Vinicius stood in front of him, embarrassed and furious.
“Thou hast a steel hand,” said he; “but if thou hast betrayed me, I swear, by all the infernal gods, that I will thrust a knife into thy body, though thou be in the chambers of Cæsar.”
“You have a steel hand,” he said; “but if you’ve betrayed me, I swear, by all the infernal gods, that I will stab you, even if you’re in Caesar’s chambers.”
“Let us talk calmly,” said Petronius. “Steel is stronger, as thou seest, than iron; hence, though out of one of thy arms two as large as mine might be made, I have no need to fear thee. On the contrary, I grieve over thy rudeness, and if the ingratitude of men could astonish me yet, I should be astonished at thy ingratitude.”
“Let’s talk calmly,” said Petronius. “Steel is stronger, as you can see, than iron; so even if two arms as large as mine were made from one of yours, I have no reason to fear you. On the contrary, I’m saddened by your rudeness, and if I could still be surprised by people’s ingratitude, I would be shocked by yours.”
“Where is Lygia?”
“Where’s Lygia?”
“In a brothel,—that is, in the house of Cæsar.”
“In a brothel—that is, in Caesar's house.”
“Petronius!”
“Petronius!”
“Calm thyself, and be seated. I asked Cæsar for two things, which he promised me,—first, to take Lygia from the house of Aulus, and second to give her to thee. Hast thou not a knife there under the folds of thy toga? Perhaps thou wilt stab me! But I advise thee to wait a couple of days, for thou wouldst be taken to prison, and meanwhile Lygia would be wearied in thy house.”
"Calm down and sit down. I asked Caesar for two things, which he promised me—first, to take Lygia from Aulus's house, and second to give her to you. Don’t you have a knife hidden in your toga? Maybe you want to stab me! But I suggest you wait a couple of days because you would end up in prison, and in the meantime, Lygia would be unhappy in your house."
Silence followed. Vinicius looked for some time with astonished eyes on Petronius; then he said,—“Pardon me; I love her, and love is disturbing my faculties.”
Silence followed. Vinicius stared at Petronius with wide eyes for a moment; then he said, “I'm sorry; I love her, and love is clouding my judgment.”
“Look at me, Marcus. The day before yesterday I spoke to Cæsar as follows: ‘My sister’s son, Vinicius, has so fallen in love with a lean little girl who is being reared with the Auluses that his house is turned into a steambath from sighs. Neither thou, O Cæsar, nor I—we who know, each of us, what true beauty is—would give a thousand sesterces for her; but that lad has ever been as dull as a tripod, and now he has lost all the wit that was in him.’”
“Look at me, Marcus. The day before yesterday, I talked to Caesar and said: ‘My sister’s son, Vinicius, has fallen so hard for a skinny little girl who is being raised with the Auluses that his house is now filled with sighs. Neither you, Caesar, nor I—we both know what true beauty is—would give a thousand sesterces for her; but that guy has always been as dull as a rock, and now he’s lost all the sense he had.’”
“Petronius!”
“Petronius!”
“If thou understand not that I said this to insure Lygia’s safety, I am ready to believe that I told the truth. I persuaded Bronzebeard that a man of his æsthetic nature could not consider such a girl beautiful; and Nero, who so far has not dared to look otherwise than through my eyes, will not find in her beauty, and, not finding it, will not desire her. It was necessary to insure ourselves against the monkey and take him on a rope. Not he, but Poppæa, will value Lygia now; and Poppæa will strive, of course, to send the girl out of the palace at the earliest. I said further to Bronzebeard, in passing: ‘Take Lygia and give her to Vinicius! Thou hast the right to do so, for she is a hostage; and if thou take her, thou wilt inflict pain on Aulus.’ He agreed; he had not the least reason not to agree, all the more since I gave him a chance to annoy decent people. They will make thee official guardian of the hostage, and give into thy hands that Lygian treasure; thou, as a friend of the valiant Lygians, and also a faithful servant of Cæsar, wilt not waste any of the treasure, but wilt strive to increase it. Cæsar, to preserve appearances, will keep her a few days in his house, and then send her to thy insula. Lucky man!”
“If you don’t understand that I said this to ensure Lygia’s safety, I’m ready to believe I was telling the truth. I convinced Bronzebeard that a man with his artistic nature couldn’t see such a girl as beautiful; and Nero, who has so far only seen through my eyes, won’t find beauty in her, and if he doesn’t find it, he won’t desire her. We needed to protect ourselves against the fool and keep him on a leash. Not he, but Poppæa, will value Lygia now; and of course, Poppæa will try to get rid of the girl from the palace as soon as possible. I also mentioned to Bronzebeard, casually: ‘Take Lygia and give her to Vinicius! You have the right to do so since she is a hostage; and if you take her, you will hurt Aulus.’ He agreed; he had no reason not to agree, especially since I offered him a chance to annoy some decent people. They will make you the official guardian of the hostage and put that Lygian treasure in your hands; you, as a friend of the brave Lygians and also a loyal servant of Caesar, won’t waste any of the treasure but will try to increase it. To keep up appearances, Caesar will keep her in his house for a few days and then send her to your insula. Lucky man!”
“Is this true? Does nothing threaten her there in Cæsar’s house?”
“Is that true? Is there nothing threatening her at Caesar's house?”
“If she had to live there permanently, Poppæa would talk about her to Locusta, but for a few days there is no danger. Ten thousand people live in it. Nero will not see her, perhaps, all the more since he left everything to me, to the degree that just now the centurion was here with information that he had conducted the maiden to the palace and committed her to Acte. She is a good soul, that Acte; hence I gave command to deliver Lygia to her. Clearly Pomponia Græcina is of that opinion too, for she wrote to Acte. To-morrow there is a feast at Nero’s. I have requested a place for thee at the side of Lygia.”
“If she had to stay there permanently, Poppæa would mention her to Locusta, but for now, there’s no risk. Ten thousand people live there. Nero probably won’t see her, especially since he has left everything to me; in fact, just now the centurion came by with news that he took the girl to the palace and entrusted her to Acte. Acte is a good person; that’s why I ordered Lygia to be handed over to her. Clearly, Pomponia Græcina thinks the same way, since she wrote to Acte. Tomorrow there’s a feast at Nero’s. I’ve requested a spot for you next to Lygia.”
“Pardon me, Caius, my hastiness. I judged that thou hadst given command to take her for thyself or for Cæsar.”
“Sorry, Caius, for being so rushed. I thought you had ordered her to be taken for yourself or for Caesar.”
“I can forgive thy hastiness; but it is more difficult to forgive rude gestures, vulgar shouts, and a voice reminding one of players at mora. I do not like that style, Marcus, and do thou guard against it. Know that Tigellinus is Cæsar’s pander; but know also that if I wanted the girl for myself now, looking thee straight in the eyes, I would say, ‘Vinicius! I take Lygia from thee and I will keep her till I am tired of her.”
“I can forgive your rush; but it’s harder to overlook rude gestures, loud shouts, and a voice that reminds me of street performers. I don’t like that way of acting, Marcus, so you should be careful about it. Understand that Tigellinus is Caesar’s pimp; but also know that if I wanted the girl for myself right now, looking you straight in the eyes, I would say, ‘Vinicius! I’m taking Lygia from you and I’ll keep her until I’m done with her.’”
Thus speaking, he began to look with his hazel eyes straight into the eyes of Vinicius with a cold and insolent stare. The young man lost himself completely.
Thus speaking, he started to look with his hazel eyes directly into Vinicius's eyes with a cold and arrogant stare. The young man became completely lost.
“The fault is mine,” said he. “Thou art kind and worthy. I thank thee from my whole soul. Permit me only to put one more question: Why didst thou not have Lygia sent directly to my house?”
"The fault is mine," he said. "You are kind and deserving. I thank you with all my heart. Just let me ask one more question: Why didn't you have Lygia sent directly to my house?"
“Because Cæsar wishes to preserve appearances. People in Rome will talk about this,—that we removed Lygia as a hostage. While they are talking, she will remain in Cæsar’s palace. Afterward she will be removed quietly to thy house, and that will be the end. Bronzebeard is a cowardly cur. He knows that his power is unlimited, and still he tries to give specious appearances to every act. Hast thou recovered to the degree of being able to philosophize a little? More than once have I thought, Why does crime, even when as powerful as Cæsar, and assured of being beyond punishment, strive always for the appearances of truth, justice, and virtue? Why does it take the trouble? I consider that to murder a brother, a mother, a wife, is a thing worthy of some petty Asiatic king, not a Roman Cæsar; but if that position were mine, I should not write justifying letters to the Senate. But Nero writes. Nero is looking for appearances, for Nero is a coward. But Tiberius was not a coward; still he justified every step he took. Why is this? What a marvellous, involuntary homage paid to virtue by evil! And knowest thou what strikes me? This, that it is done because transgression is ugly and virtue is beautiful. Therefore a man of genuine æsthetic feeling is also a virtuous man. Hence I am virtuous. To-day I must pour out a little wine to the shades of Protagoras, Prodicus, and Gorgias. It seems that sophists too can be of service. Listen, for I am speaking yet. I took Lygia from Aulus to give her to thee. Well. But Lysippus would have made wonderful groups of her and thee. Ye are both beautiful; therefore my act is beautiful, and being beautiful it cannot be bad. Marcus, here sitting before thee is virtue incarnate in Caius Petronius! If Aristides were living, it would be his duty to come to me and offer a hundred minæ for a short treatise on virtue.”
“Because Caesar wants to maintain appearances. People in Rome will gossip about the fact that we took Lygia as a hostage. While they’re talking, she will stay in Caesar’s palace. Later, she’ll be moved quietly to your house, and that will be the end of it. Bronzebeard is a cowardly dog. He knows his power is absolute, yet he still tries to make every action look good. Have you recovered enough to be able to think a bit philosophically? More than once, I’ve wondered, why does crime, even when it’s as powerful as Caesar and confident it won’t be punished, constantly seek the appearance of truth, justice, and virtue? Why bother? I think that to murder a brother, a mother, or a wife is something only a petty Asian king would do, not a Roman Caesar; but if I were in that position, I wouldn’t be writing letters to the Senate trying to justify my actions. But Nero does write. Nero is concerned with appearances because he is a coward. Tiberius wasn’t a coward; still, he justified every action he took. Why is that? What a strange, involuntary tribute to virtue paid by evil! And do you know what strikes me? It’s that this happens because wrongdoing is ugly and virtue is beautiful. Therefore, a person with genuine aesthetic taste is also a virtuous person. That’s how I see myself as virtuous. Today, I must pour out a little wine for the shades of Protagoras, Prodicus, and Gorgias. It seems that sophists can be helpful too. Listen, I’m still talking. I took Lygia from Aulus to give her to you. That’s right. But Lysippus would have created wonderful sculptures of you two together. You are both beautiful; therefore my action is beautiful, and being beautiful, it can’t be bad. Marcus, here before you is virtue incarnate in Caius Petronius! If Aristides were alive, it would be his duty to come to me and offer a hundred minae for a short essay on virtue.”
But Vinicius, as a man more concerned with reality than with treatises on virtue, replied,—“To-morrow I shall see Lygia, and then have her in my house daily, always, and till death.”
But Vinicius, being a man more focused on reality than on discussions about virtue, replied, “Tomorrow I’ll see Lygia, and then I’ll have her in my house every day, always, until death.”
“Thou wilt have Lygia, and I shall have Aulus on my head. He will summon the vengeance of all the infernal gods against me. And if the beast would take at least a preliminary lesson in good declamation! He will blame me, however, as my former doorkeeper blamed my clients but him I sent to prison in the country.”
"You will have Lygia, and I'll have Aulus on my back. He'll call down the wrath of all the underworld gods on me. And if only the beast would take at least a basic lesson in good speaking! However, he will blame me, just like my former doorkeeper blamed my clients, but that guy I sent to prison in the country."
“Aulus has been at my house. I promised to give him news of Lygia.”
“Aulus has been at my place. I promised to give him updates about Lygia.”
“Write to him that the will of the ‘divine’ Cæsar is the highest law, and that thy first son will bear the name Aulus. It is necessary that the old man should have some consolation. I am ready to pray Bronzebeard to invite him to-morrow to the feast. Let him see thee in the triclinium next to Lygia.”
“Tell him that the will of the ‘divine’ Caesar is the highest law, and that your first son will be named Aulus. It’s important for the old man to have some comfort. I’m prepared to ask Bronzebeard to invite him to the feast tomorrow. Let him see you in the dining room next to Lygia.”
“Do not do that. I am sorry for them, especially for Pomponia.”
“Don’t do that. I feel sorry for them, especially for Pomponia.”
And he sat down to write that letter which took from the old general the remnant of his hope.
And he sat down to write that letter that took away the last bit of hope the old general had.
Chapter VII
ONCE the highest heads in Rome inclined before Acte, the former favorite of Nero. But even at that period she showed no desire to interfere in public questions, and if on any occasion she used her influence over the young ruler, it was only to implore mercy for some one. Quiet and unassuming, she won the gratitude of many, and made no one her enemy. Even Octavia was unable to hate her. To those who envied her she seemed exceedingly harmless. It was known that she continued to love Nero with a sad and pained love, which lived not in hope, but only in memories of the time in which that Nero was not only younger and loving, but better. It was known that she could not tear her thoughts and soul from those memories, but expected nothing; since there was no real fear that Nero would return to her, she was looked upon as a person wholly inoffensive, and hence was left in peace. Poppæa considered her merely as a quiet servant, so harmless that she did not even try to drive her from the palace.
ONCE the most powerful people in Rome bowed down to Acte, Nero’s former favorite. But even then, she didn't show any interest in getting involved in public matters, and whenever she did influence the young ruler, it was only to ask for mercy for someone. Calm and modest, she gained the appreciation of many and made no enemies. Even Octavia couldn’t bring herself to hate her. To those who envied her, she appeared completely harmless. It was clear that she still loved Nero with a sorrowful and painful love, one that existed not in hope, but only in memories of when he was not just younger and loving, but also better. Everyone knew she couldn't tear her mind and heart away from those memories, but she expected nothing in return; since there was no real worry that Nero would come back to her, she was seen as someone completely harmless, which allowed her to live in peace. Poppæa thought of her simply as a quiet servant, so harmless that she didn’t even bother trying to get her out of the palace.
But since Cæsar had loved her once and dropped her without offence in a quiet and to some extent friendly manner, a certain respect was retained for her. Nero, when he had freed her, let her live in the palace, and gave her special apartments with a few servants. And as in their time Pallas and Narcissus, though freedmen of Claudius, not only sat at feasts with Claudius, but also held places of honor as powerful ministers, so she too was invited at times to Cæsar’s table. This was done perhaps because her beautiful form was a real ornament to a feast. Cæsar for that matter had long since ceased to count with any appearances in his choice of company. At his table the most varied medley of people of every position and calling found places. Among them were senators, but mainly those who were content to be jesters as well. There were patricians, old and young, eager for luxury, excess, and enjoyment. There were women with great names, who did not hesitate to put on a yellow wig of an evening and seek adventures on dark streets for amusement’s sake. There were also high officials, and priests who at full goblets were willing to jeer at their own gods. At the side of these was a rabble of every sort: singers, mimes, musicians, dancers of both sexes; poets who, while declaiming, were thinking of the sesterces which might fall to them for praise of Cæsar’s verses; hungry philosophers following the dishes with eager eyes; finally, noted charioteers, tricksters, miracle-wrights, tale-tellers, jesters, and the most varied adventurers brought through fashion or folly to a few days’ notoriety. Among these were not lacking even men who covered with long hair their ears pierced in sign of slavery.
But since Caesar had once loved her and let her go without any offense in a calm and somewhat friendly way, a certain respect was kept for her. Nero, after he freed her, allowed her to live in the palace and gave her special rooms with a few servants. Just like Pallas and Narcissus, who, although freedmen of Claudius, not only sat at feasts with Claudius but also held honorable positions as powerful ministers, she was also invited to Caesar's table from time to time. This was likely because her beautiful appearance added something special to the feast. Caesar had long stopped worrying about appearances in his choice of company. At his table, you could find a diverse mix of people from all walks of life. Among them were senators, but mostly those who were happy to be the jesters as well. There were patricians, young and old, eager for luxury, excess, and enjoyment. There were women with prestigious names who didn’t hesitate to wear a yellow wig at night and seek adventures in dark streets just for fun. There were also high-ranking officials and priests who, with full goblets, were willing to mock their own gods. Alongside them was a crowd of every kind: singers, mimes, musicians, dancers of both genders; poets who, while reciting, were thinking of the coins they might earn for praising Caesar’s verses; hungry philosophers eyeing the dishes eagerly; and finally, famous charioteers, tricksters, miracle workers, storytellers, jesters, and various adventurers drawn in by fashion or folly for a few days of fame. Among them were even men whose long hair covered ears pierced as a sign of slavery.
The most noted sat directly at the tables; the lesser served to amuse in time of eating, and waited for the moment in which the servants would permit them to rush at the remnants of food and drink. Guests of this sort were furnished by Tigellinus, Vatinius, and Vitelius; for these guests they were forced more than once to find clothing befitting the chambers of Cæsar, who, however, liked their society, through feeling most free in it. The luxury of the court gilded everything, and covered all things with glitter. High and low, the descendants of great families, and the needy from the pavements of the city, great artists, and vile scrapings of talent, thronged to the palace to sate their dazzled eyes with a splendor almost surpassing human estimate, and to approach the giver of every favor, wealth, and property,—whose single glance might abase, it is true, but might also exalt beyond measure.
The most notable guests sat right at the tables; the lesser ones entertained during meals and waited for the moment when the servants would let them rush at the leftover food and drink. These types of guests were provided by Tigellinus, Vatinius, and Vitelius; for these guests, they had to repeatedly find outfits suitable for the rooms of Cæsar, who, nonetheless, enjoyed their company as he felt most at ease around them. The luxury of the court made everything look extravagant, covering all things in shine. High and low, descendants of prominent families and the needy from the streets of the city, great artists, and lowly people with little talent, flocked to the palace to feast their amazed eyes on a splendor that almost exceeded human understanding, and to get close to the giver of every favor, wealth, and property—whose single glance could degrade someone, but could also elevate them beyond measure.
That day Lygia too had to take part in such a feast. Fear, uncertainty, and a dazed feeling, not to be wondered at after the sudden change, were struggling in her with a wish to resist. She feared Nero; she feared the people and the palace whose uproar deprived her of presence of mind; she feared the feasts of whose shamelessness she had heard from Aulus, Pomponia Græcina, and their friends. Though young, she was not without knowledge, for knowledge of evil in those times reached even children’s ears early. She knew, therefore, that ruin was threatening her in the palace. Pomponia, moreover, had warned her of this at the moment of parting. But having a youthful spirit, unacquainted with corruption, and confessing a lofty faith, implanted in her by her foster mother, she had promised to defend herself against that ruin; she had promised her mother, herself and also that Divine Teacher in whom she not only believed, but whom she had come to love with her half-childlike heart for the sweetness of his doctrine, the bitterness of his death, and the glory of his resurrection.
That day, Lygia had to take part in such a feast. Fear, uncertainty, and a disoriented feeling, which was understandable after the sudden change, were battling within her against a desire to resist. She feared Nero; she feared the crowd and the palace, whose uproar robbed her of her peace of mind; she feared the feasts, whose shamelessness she had heard about from Aulus, Pomponia Græcina, and their friends. Although she was young, she wasn't naive, as news of evil in those times reached even children's ears early. She knew, therefore, that ruin was threatening her in the palace. Moreover, Pomponia had warned her about this at the moment of parting. But with a youthful spirit, untainted by corruption, and holding onto a lofty faith instilled in her by her foster mother, she had promised to defend herself against that ruin; she had made a promise to her mother, to herself, and also to that Divine Teacher in whom she not only believed but whom she had also come to love with her half-childlike heart for the sweetness of his teachings, the pain of his death, and the glory of his resurrection.
She was confident too that now neither Aulus nor Pomponia would be answerable for her actions; she was thinking therefore whether it would not be better to resist and not go to the feast. On the one hand fear and alarm spoke audibly in her soul; on the other the wish rose in her to show courage in suffering, in exposure to torture and death. The Divine Teacher had commanded to act thus. He had given the example himself. Pomponia had told her that the most earnest among the adherents desire with all their souls such a test, and pray for it. And Lygia, when still in the house of Aulus, had been mastered at moments by a similar desire. She had seen herself as a martyr, with wounds on her feet and hands, white as snow, beautiful with a beauty not of earth, and borne by equally white angels into the azure sky; and her imagination admired such a vision. There was in it much childish brooding, but there was in it also something of delight in herself, which Pomponia had reprimanded. But now, when opposition to Cæsar’s will might draw after it some terrible punishment, and the martyrdom scene of imagination become a reality, there was added to the beautiful visions and to the delight a kind of curiosity mingled with dread, as to how they would punish her, and what kind of torments they would provide. And her soul, half childish yet, was hesitating on two sides. But Acte, hearing of these hesitations, looked at her with astonishment as if the maiden were talking in a fever. To oppose Cæsar’s will, expose oneself from the first moment to his anger? To act thus one would need to be a child that knows not what it says. From Lygia’s own words it appears that she is, properly speaking, not really a hostage, but a maiden forgotten by her own people. No law of nations protects her; and even if it did, Cæsar is powerful enough to trample on it in a moment of anger. It has pleased Cæsar to take her, and he will dispose of her. Thenceforth she is at his will, above which there is not another on earth.
She was confident that neither Aulus nor Pomponia would be responsible for her actions; she was considering whether it might be better to resist and not attend the feast. On one hand, fear and anxiety echoed in her mind; on the other hand, she felt the urge to show bravery in suffering, facing torture and death. The Divine Teacher had commanded it. He had set the example himself. Pomponia had told her that the most devoted among their followers yearned for such a test with all their hearts and prayed for it. And Lygia, while still in Aulus's house, had occasionally been overwhelmed by a similar longing. She had envisioned herself as a martyr, with wounds on her hands and feet, as white as snow, beautiful with a celestial beauty, carried by equally white angels into the azure sky; and she admired that vision in her imagination. There was a lot of childish daydreaming in it, but there was also a certain pleasure in herself, which Pomponia had scolded her for. But now, when opposing Caesar's will could lead to a terrible punishment, and the imagined scene of martyrdom could become real, a mix of beautiful visions and dread filled her with a kind of curiosity about how they would punish her and what kinds of torments they would inflict. Her soul, still somewhat childlike, was caught between two sides. However, Acte, hearing these doubts, looked at her in astonishment as if the girl were speaking in a fever. To oppose Caesar’s will and expose oneself to his wrath right from the start? One would have to be a child who doesn’t know what they’re saying to act that way. From Lygia’s own words, it appears that she isn’t truly a hostage, but a girl forgotten by her own people. No international law protects her; and even if it did, Caesar is powerful enough to ignore it in a moment of rage. Caesar has chosen to take her, and he will decide her fate. From then on, she is at his mercy, above which no one else on earth stands.
“So it is,” continued Acte. “I too have read the letters of Paul of Tarsus, and I know that above the earth is God, and the Son of God, who rose from the dead; but on the earth there is only Cæsar. Think of this, Lygia. I know too that thy doctrine does not permit thee to be what I was, and that to you as to the Stoics,—of whom Epictetus has told me,—when it comes to a choice between shame and death, it is permitted to choose only death. But canst thou say that death awaits thee and not shame too? Hast thou heard of the daughter of Sejanus, a young maiden, who at command of Tiberius had to pass through shame before her death, so as to respect a law which prohibits the punishment of virgins with death? Lygia, Lygia, do not irritate Cæsar. If the decisive moment comes when thou must choose between disgrace and death, thou wilt act as thy faith commands; but seek not destruction thyself, and do not irritate for a trivial cause an earthly and at the same time a cruel divinity.”
“So it is,” Acte continued. “I’ve also read the letters of Paul of Tarsus, and I know that above the earth is God and the Son of God, who rose from the dead; but on the earth, there is only Caesar. Think about this, Lygia. I know that your beliefs don’t allow you to be what I was, and that for you, just like for the Stoics—of whom Epictetus has told me—when faced with a choice between shame and death, you can only choose death. But can you truly say that death awaits you and not shame as well? Have you heard of the daughter of Sejanus, a young woman who, at Tiberius's command, had to endure shame before her death to follow a law that prohibits punishing virgins with death? Lygia, Lygia, don't provoke Caesar. When the time comes for you to choose between disgrace and death, you will act according to your faith; but don't seek destruction for yourself, and don’t provoke a cruel earthly power over something trivial.”
Acte spoke with great compassion, and even with enthusiasm; and being a little short-sighted, she pushed her sweet face up to Lygia’s as if wishing to see surely the effect of her words.
Acte spoke with a lot of compassion and even a bit of enthusiasm; and since she was a little nearsighted, she leaned her sweet face toward Lygia’s as if wanting to clearly see the impact of her words.
But Lygia threw her arms around Acte’s neck with childish trustfulness and said,—“Thou art kind, Acte.”
But Lygia wrapped her arms around Acte’s neck with childlike trust and said, "You’re so kind, Acte."
Acte, pleased by the praise and confidence, pressed her to her heart; and then disengaging herself from the arms of the maiden, answered,—“My happiness has passed and my joy is gone, but I am not wicked.” Then she began to walk with quick steps through the room and to speak to herself, as if in despair.
Acte, happy with the compliments and trust, hugged her tightly; then, pulling away from the girl’s embrace, she said, “My happiness is gone and my joy has faded, but I’m not a bad person.” After that, she started pacing quickly around the room, talking to herself as if she were in despair.
“No! And he was not wicked. He thought himself good at that time, and he wished to be good. I know that best. All his change came later, when he ceased to love. Others made him what he is—yes, others—and Poppæa.”
“No! And he wasn’t evil. He believed he was good back then, and he wanted to be good. I know that better than anyone. All his change happened later, when he stopped loving. Others turned him into what he is—yes, others—and Poppæa.”
Here her eyelids filled with tears. Lygia followed her for some time with her blue eyes, and asked at last,—“Art thou sorry for him, Acte?”
Here, her eyelids filled with tears. Lygia watched her for a while with her blue eyes and finally asked, “Are you sorry for him, Acte?”
“I am sorry for him!” answered the Grecian, with a low voice. And again she began to walk, her hands clinched as if in pain, and her face without hope.
“I feel sorry for him!” replied the Greek woman, her voice barely above a whisper. Once more, she started to walk, her hands clenched as if in agony, and her expression devoid of hope.
“Dost thou love him yet, Acte?” asked Lygia, timidly.
“Do you love him yet, Acte?” asked Lygia, shyly.
“I love him.”
“I love him.”
And after a while she added,—“No one loves him but me.”
And after a while, she added, "No one loves him but me."
Silence followed, during which Acte strove to recover her calmness, disturbed by memories; and when at length her face resumed its usual look of calm sorrow, she said,—
Silence fell as Acte tried to regain her composure, shaken by memories; and when her face finally returned to its familiar expression of quiet sadness, she said,—
“Let us speak of thee, Lygia. Do not even think of opposing Cæsar; that would be madness. And be calm. I know this house well, and I judge that on Cæsar’s part nothing threatens thee. If Nero had given command to take thee away for himself, he would not have brought thee to the Palatine. Here Poppæa rules; and Nero, since she bore him a daughter, is more than ever under her influence. No, Nero gave command, it is true, that thou shouldst be at the feast, but he has not seen thee yet; he has not inquired about thee, hence he does not care about thee. Maybe he took thee from Aulus and Pomponia only through anger at them. Petronius wrote me to have care of thee; and since Pomponia too wrote, as thou knowest, maybe they had an understanding. Maybe he did that at her request. If this be true, if he at the request of Pomponia will occupy himself with thee, nothing threatens thee; and who knows if Nero may not send thee back to Aulus at his persuasion? I know not whether Nero loves him over much, but I know that rarely has he the courage to be of an opinion opposite to his.”
“Let’s talk about you, Lygia. Don’t even think about opposing Cæsar; that would be crazy. Just stay calm. I know this place well, and I can tell you that Cæsar poses no threat to you. If Nero wanted to take you for himself, he wouldn’t have brought you to the Palatine. Poppæa is in charge here, and since she has given Nero a daughter, he is more under her influence than ever. Yes, it’s true that Nero ordered you to be at the feast, but he hasn’t seen you yet; he hasn’t asked about you, which means he doesn’t really care. Maybe he took you from Aulus and Pomponia just out of anger at them. Petronius wrote to me to look after you, and since Pomponia also wrote, as you know, they might have talked about this. Maybe he did it at her request. If that’s true, and if he will pay attention to you on Pomponia’s behalf, then you have nothing to worry about; and who knows, maybe Nero will send you back to Aulus at her suggestion? I’m not sure how much Nero cares for him, but I do know he rarely has the guts to go against his own opinions.”
“Ah, Acte!” answered Lygia; “Petronius was with us before they took me, and my mother was convinced that Nero demanded my surrender at his instigation.”
“Ah, Acte!” Lygia replied; “Petronius was with us before they took me, and my mother was sure that Nero was demanding my surrender because of him.”
“That would be bad,” said Acte. But she stopped for a while, and then said,—“Perhaps Petronius only said, in Nero’s presence at some supper, that he saw a hostage of the Lygians at Aulus’s, and Nero, who is jealous of his own power, demanded thee only because hostages belong to Cæsar. But he does not like Aulus and Pomponia. No! it does not seem to me that if Petronius wished to take thee from Aulus he would use such a method. I do not know whether Petronius is better than others of Cæsar’s court, but he is different. Maybe too thou wilt find some one else who would be willing to intercede for thee. Hast thou not seen at Aulus’s some one who is near Cæsar?”
"That would be bad," Acte said. But she paused for a moment and then added, "Maybe Petronius just mentioned, in Nero's presence at some dinner, that he saw a hostage of the Lygians at Aulus’s. Nero, who is jealous of his own power, might have only demanded you because hostages belong to Caesar. But he doesn’t like Aulus and Pomponia. No! It doesn’t seem to me that if Petronius wanted to take you from Aulus, he would use such a method. I don’t know if Petronius is better than the others in Caesar’s court, but he is different. You might also find someone else willing to speak up for you. Haven’t you seen anyone close to Caesar at Aulus’s?"
“I have seen Vespasian and Titus.”
“I have seen Vespasian and Titus.”
“Cæsar does not like them.”
“Caesar doesn’t like them.”
“And Seneca.”
“And Seneca.”
“If Seneca advised something, that would be enough to make Nero act otherwise.”
“If Seneca suggested something, that would be enough to make Nero do the opposite.”
The bright face of Lygia was covered with a blush. “And Vinicius-”
The bright face of Lygia was flushed. “And Vinicius-”
“I do not know him.”
"I don't know him."
“He is a relative of Petronius, and returned not long since from Armenia.”
“He’s a relative of Petronius and just got back from Armenia not long ago.”
“Dost thou think that Nero likes him?”
"Do you think that Nero likes him?"
“All like Vinicius.”
"Everyone likes Vinicius."
“And would he intercede for thee?”
"And would he speak up for you?"
“He would.”
"He would."
Acte smiled tenderly, and said, “Then thou wilt see him surely at the feast. Thou must be there, first, because thou must,—only such a child as thou could think otherwise. Second, if thou wish to return to the house of Aulus, thou wilt find means of beseeching Petronius and Vinicius to gain for thee by their influence the right to return. If they were here, both would tell thee as I do, that it would be madness and ruin to try resistance. Cæsar might not notice thy absence, it is true; but if he noticed it and thought that thou hadst the daring to oppose his will, here would be no salvation for thee. Go, Lygia! Dost thou hear the noise in the palace? The sun is near setting; guests will begin to arrive soon.”
Acte smiled gently and said, “You'll definitely see him at the feast. You have to be there, first because you must—only a child like you would think otherwise. Second, if you want to go back to Aulus's house, you’ll need to ask Petronius and Vinicius to use their influence to help you get the right to return. If they were here, both would tell you, just like I am, that it would be crazy and disastrous to resist. It’s true Caesar might not notice you’re gone; but if he did and thought you had the nerve to go against his wishes, there would be no way out for you. Go, Lygia! Do you hear the noise in the palace? The sun is about to set; guests will start arriving soon.”
“Thou art right,” answered Lygia, “and I will follow thy advice.”
"You’re right," Lygia replied, "and I will follow your advice."
How much desire to see Vinicius and Petronius there was in this resolve, how much of woman’s curiosity there was to see such a feast once in life, and to see at it Cæsar, the court, the renowned Poppæa and other beauties, and all that unheard-of splendor, of which wonders were narrated in Rome, Lygia could not give account to herself of a certainty. But Acte was right, and Lygia felt this distinctly. There was need to go; therefore, when necessity and simple reason supported the hidden temptation, she ceased to hesitate.
How much excitement there was to see Vinicius and Petronius in this decision, how much of a woman's curiosity there was to experience such a feast just once in her life, and to see Cæsar, the court, the famous Poppæa, and other beauties, along with all that incredible splendor, which was the talk of Rome, Lygia couldn't fully comprehend. But Acte was correct, and Lygia felt that clearly. It was necessary to go; therefore, when necessity and plain logic bolstered the secret urge, she stopped hesitating.
Acte conducted her to her own unctorium to anoint and dress her; and though there was no lack of slave women in Cæsar’s house, and Acte had enough of them for her personal service, still, through sympathy for the maiden whose beauty and innocence had caught her heart, she resolved to dress her herself. It became clear at once that in the young Grecian, in spite of her sadness and her perusal of the letters of Paul of Tarsus, there was yet much of the ancient Hellenic spirit, to which physical beauty spoke with more eloquence than aught else on earth. When she had undressed Lygia, she could not restrain an exclamation of wonder at sight of her form, at once slender and full, created, as it were, from pearl and roses; and stepping back a few paces, she looked with delight on that matchless, spring-like form.
Acte took her to her own dressing room to anoint and prepare her; and although there were plenty of servant women in Caesar’s house, and Acte had enough of them for her personal needs, she still decided to dress her herself out of sympathy for the young woman whose beauty and innocence had captured her heart. It quickly became clear that in the young Greek, despite her sadness and her reading of the letters of Paul of Tarsus, there remained much of the ancient Hellenic spirit, where physical beauty spoke more powerfully than anything else in the world. When she had undressed Lygia, she couldn’t help but exclaim in wonder at the sight of her figure, which was both slender and full, as if created from pearl and roses; stepping back a few paces, she admired that unparalleled, spring-like form with delight.
“Lygia,” exclaimed she at last, “thou art a hundred times more beautiful than Poppæa!”
“Lygia,” she finally exclaimed, “you are a hundred times more beautiful than Poppæa!”
But, reared in the strict house of Pomponia, where modesty was observed, even when women were by themselves, the maiden, wonderful as a wonderful dream, harmonious as a work of Praxiteles or as a song, stood alarmed, blushing from modesty, with knees pressed together, with her hands on her bosom, and downcast eyes. At last, raising her arms with sudden movement, she removed the pins which held her hair, and in one moment, with one shake of her head, she covered herself with it as with a mantle.
But raised in the strict household of Pomponia, where modesty was upheld even when women were alone, the young woman, as incredible as a beautiful dream, as graceful as a work of Praxiteles or a song, stood startled, blushing with embarrassment, her knees pressed together, hands on her chest, and eyes cast down. Finally, with a sudden motion, she lifted her arms and took out the pins holding her hair, and in an instant, with a single shake of her head, she draped it over herself like a mantle.
Acte, approaching her and touching her dark tresses, said,—
Acte walked over to her and gently touched her dark hair, saying,—
“Oh, what hair thou hast! I will not sprinkle golden powder on it; it gleams of itself in one place and another with gold, where it waves. I will add, perhaps, barely a sprinkle here and there; but lightly, lightly, as if a sun ray had freshened it. Wonderful must thy Lygian country be where such maidens are born!
“Oh, what beautiful hair you have! I won’t sprinkle any golden powder on it; it shines on its own in spots with gold, where it flows. I might add just a tiny bit here and there; but very gently, as if a sunbeam had brightened it. Your Lygian country must be amazing, producing such maidens!”
“I do not remember it,” answered Lygia; “but Ursus has told me that with us it is forests, forests, and forests.”
“I don’t remember it,” Lygia replied; “but Ursus has told me that for us, it’s all forests, forests, and more forests.”
“But flowers bloom in those forests,” said Acte, dipping her hand in a vase filled with verbena, and moistening Lygia’s hair with it. When she had finished this work, Acte anointed her body lightly with odoriferous oils from Arabia, and then dressed her in a soft gold-colored tunic without sleeves, over which was to be put a snow-white peplus. But since she had to dress Lygia’s hair first, she put on her meanwhile a kind of roomy dress called synthesis, and, seating her in an armchair, gave her for a time into the hands of slave women, so as to stand at a distance herself and follow the hairdressing. Two other slave women put on Lygia’s feet white sandals, embroidered with purple, fastening them to her alabaster ankles with golden lacings drawn crosswise. When at last the hair-dressing was finished, they put a peplus on her in very beautiful, light folds; then Acte fastened pearls to her neck, and touching her hair at the folds with gold dust, gave command to the women to dress her, following Lygia with delighted eyes meanwhile.
“But flowers bloom in those forests,” said Acte, dipping her hand in a vase filled with verbena and moistening Lygia’s hair with it. When she was done, Acte lightly anointed her body with fragrant oils from Arabia, then dressed her in a soft gold-colored sleeveless tunic, over which a snow-white peplos would be placed. But since she needed to style Lygia’s hair first, she put a roomy dress called synthesis on her and, seating her in an armchair, handed her over to the slave women for a while, so she could step back and watch the hairstyling. Two other slave women placed white sandals, embroidered with purple, on Lygia’s feet, fastening them to her alabaster ankles with golden laces crossed over each other. When the hairstyling was finally finished, they draped the peplos on her in beautiful, light folds; then Acte fastened pearls around her neck and sprinkled gold dust on her hair at the folds, instructing the women to finish dressing her while she admired Lygia with joyful eyes.
But she was ready soon; and when the first litters began to appear before the main gate, both entered the side portico from which were visible the chief entrance, the interior galleries, and the courtyard surrounded by a colonnade of Numidian marble.
But she was ready quickly; and when the first litters started to show up in front of the main gate, both entered the side portico where they could see the main entrance, the inside galleries, and the courtyard surrounded by a colonnade of Numidian marble.
Gradually people passed in greater and greater numbers under the lofty arch of the entrance, over which the splendid quadrigæ of Lysias seemed to bear Apollo and Diana into space. Lygia’s eyes were struck by that magnificence, of which the modest house of Aulus could not have given her the slightest idea. It was sunset; the last rays were falling on the yellow Numidian marble of the columns, which shone like gold in those gleams and changed into rose color also. Among the columns, at the side of white statues of the Danaides and others, representing gods or heroes, crowds of people flowed past,—men and women; resembling statues also, for they were draped in togas, pepluses, and robes, falling with grace and beauty toward the earth in soft folds, on which the rays of the setting sun were expiring. A gigantic Hercules, with head in the light yet, from the breast down sunk in shadow cast by the columns, looked from above on that throng. Acte showed Lygia senators in wide-bordered togas, in colored tunics, in sandals with crescents on them, and knights, and famed artists; she showed her Roman ladies, in Roman, in Grecian, in fantastic Oriental costume, with hair dressed in towers or pyramids, or dressed like that of the statues of goddesses, low on the head, and adorned with flowers. Many men and women did Acte call by name, adding to their names histories, brief and sometimes terrible, which pierced Lygia with fear, amazement, and wonder. For her this was a strange world, whose beauty intoxicated her eyes, but whose contrasts her girlish understanding could not grasp. In those twilights of the sky, in those rows of motionless columns vanishing in the distance, and in those statuesque people, there was a certain lofty repose. It seemed that in the midst of those marbles of simple lines demigods might live free of care, at peace and in happiness. Meanwhile the low voice of Acte disclosed, time after time, a new and dreadful secret of that palace and those people. See, there at a distance is the covered portico on whose columns and floor are still visible red stains from the blood with which Caligula sprinkled the white marble when he fell beneath the knife of Cassius Chærea; there his wife was slain; there his child was dashed against a stone; under that wing is the dungeon in which the younger Drusus gnawed his hands from hunger; there the elder Drusus was poisoned; there Gemellus quivered in terror, and Claudius in convulsions; there Germanicus suffered,—everywhere those walls had heard the groans and death-rattle of the dying; and those people hurrying now to the feast in togas, in colored tunics, in flowers, and in jewels, may be the condemned of to-morrow; on more than one face, perhaps, a smile conceals terror, alarm, the uncertainty of the next day; perhaps feverishness, greed, envy are gnawing at this moment into the hearts of those crowned demigods, who in appearance are free of care. Lygia’s frightened thoughts could not keep pace with Acte’s words; and when that wonderful world attracted her eyes with increasing force, her heart contracted within her from fear, and in her soul she struggled with an immense, inexpressible yearning for the beloved Pomponia Græcina, and the calm house of Aulus, in which love, and not crime, was the ruling power.
Gradually, more and more people flowed under the grand arch of the entrance, where the stunning quadriga of Lysias seemed to carry Apollo and Diana into the sky. Lygia was mesmerized by the splendor, something her modest home with Aulus could never have prepared her for. It was sunset; the last rays of light were touching the yellow Numidian marble of the columns, which glowed like gold in those beams and turned a rosy hue. Among the columns, beside the white statues of the Danaides and others depicting gods or heroes, crowds of men and women passed by, looking like statues themselves, draped in togas, pepluses, and robes that fell gracefully to the ground in soft folds, illuminated by the fading sunlight. A massive Hercules, with his head in the light but his body in the shadow cast by the columns, looked down on the crowd. Acte pointed out senators in wide-bordered togas, colorful tunics, and sandals adorned with crescents, along with knights and renowned artists. She showed Lygia Roman ladies dressed in Roman, Greek, or exotic Eastern fashions, their hair styled in towering or pyramid shapes, or like the goddesses' statues—low on the head and decorated with flowers. Acte named many men and women, sharing brief and sometimes grim histories that filled Lygia with fear, awe, and wonder. For her, this was a strange world, its beauty captivating her eyes, but its contrasts too complex for her young mind to understand. In the twilight sky, among the rows of still columns fading into the distance, and the statue-like people, there was an elevated tranquility. It felt as if within those simple-lined marbles, demigods might live free from worries, at peace and happy. Meanwhile, Acte’s quiet voice revealed, time and again, a new terrifying secret about that palace and its occupants. Look, there in the distance is the covered portico where red stains still mark the columns and floor from the blood Caligula spilled on the white marble when he was killed by Cassius Chærea; there his wife was murdered; there his child was smashed against a stone; under that wing is the dungeon where the younger Drusus gnawed his hands in hunger; there the elder Drusus was poisoned; there Gemellus trembled with fear, and Claudius fell into convulsions; there Germanicus suffered—everywhere those walls had witnessed the groans and death rattles of the dying; and the people now rushing to the feast in togas, colored tunics, flowers, and jewels may be the condemned of tomorrow; on more than one face, a smile might hide terror, anxiety, and the uncertainty of the next day; perhaps greed, envy, and feverishness are gnawing at the hearts of those seemingly carefree crowned demigods. Lygia's frightened thoughts couldn't keep up with Acte’s words; as that magnificent world drew her gaze even more powerfully, her heart tightened with fear, and in her soul, she fought an immense, indescribable longing for her beloved Pomponia Græcina and the peaceful home of Aulus, where love, not crime, was the dominant force.
Meanwhile new waves of guests were flowing in from the Vicus Apollinis. From beyond the gates came the uproar and shouts of clients, escorting their patrons. The courtyard and the colonnades were swarming with the multitude of Cæsar’s slaves, of both sexes, small boys, and pretorian soldiers, who kept guard in the palace. Here and there among dark or swarthy visages was the black face of a Numidian, in a feathered helmet, and with large gold rings in his ears. Some were bearing lutes and citharas, hand lamps of gold, silver, and bronze, and bunches of flowers, reared artificially despite the late autumn season. Louder and louder the sound of conversation was mingled with the splashing of the fountain, the rosy streams of which fell from above on the marble and were broken, as if in sobs.
Meanwhile, new waves of guests flowed in from the Vicus Apollinis. From beyond the gates came the noise and shouts of clients, escorting their patrons. The courtyard and the colonnades were packed with the crowd of Caesar's slaves, both men and women, little boys, and praetorian soldiers keeping watch in the palace. Here and there among dark or swarthy faces was the black face of a Numidian, wearing a feathered helmet and large gold earrings. Some were carrying lutes and citharas, hand lamps made of gold, silver, and bronze, and artificial bouquets of flowers, despite the late autumn season. The sound of conversation grew louder, mixing with the splashing of the fountain, the rosy streams of which fell from above onto the marble, breaking as if in sobs.
Acte had stopped her narration; but Lygia gazed at the throng, as if searching for some one. All at once her face was covered with a blush, and from among the columns came forth Vinicius with Petronius. They went to the great triclinium, beautiful, calm, like white gods, in their togas. It seemed to Lygia, when she saw those two known and friendly faces among strange people, and especially when she saw Vinicius, that a great weight had fallen from her heart. She felt less alone. That measureless yearning for Pomponia and the house of Aulus, which had broken out in her a little while before, ceased at once to be painful. The desire to see Vinicius and to talk with him drowned in her other voices. In vain did she remember all the evil which she had heard of the house of Cæsar, the words of Acte, the warnings of Pomponia; in spite of those words and warnings, she felt all at once that not only must she be at that feast, but that she wished to be there. At the thought that soon she would hear that dear and pleasant voice, which had spoken of love to her and of happiness worthy of the gods, and which was sounding like a song in her ears yet, delight seized her straightway.
Acte had stopped her story; but Lygia looked out at the crowd, as if searching for someone. Suddenly, her face turned red, and Vinicius appeared with Petronius among the columns. They walked to the grand triclinium, beautiful and serene, like white gods in their togas. When Lygia saw those two familiar and friendly faces among strangers, especially Vinicius, it felt like a huge weight had lifted from her heart. She felt less alone. The deep longing for Pomponia and the house of Aulus, which had overwhelmed her a moment ago, immediately stopped being painful. The desire to see Vinicius and talk to him drowned out her other feelings. She tried to remember all the bad things she had heard about the house of Cæsar, Acte's words, and Pomponia's warnings; yet, despite those words and cautions, she suddenly realized that not only did she need to be at that feast, but she also wanted to be there. The thought that soon she would hear that beloved and sweet voice, which had spoken of love to her and a happiness fit for the gods, and that sounded like a melody in her ears even now, filled her with delight.
But the next moment she feared that delight. It seemed to her that she would be false to the pure teaching in which she had been reared, false to Pomponia, and false to herself. It is one thing to go by constraint, and another to delight in such a necessity. She felt guilty, unworthy, and ruined.
But in the next moment, she was afraid of that happiness. It felt to her like she would be betraying the pure beliefs she had been raised with, betraying Pomponia, and betraying herself. There's a difference between doing something out of obligation and actually enjoying that necessity. She felt guilty, unworthy, and destroyed.
Despair swept her away, and she wanted to weep. Had she been alone, she would have knelt down and beaten her breast, saying, “Mea culpa! mea culpa!” Acte, taking her hand at that moment, led her through the interior apartments to the grand triclinium, where the feast was to be. Darkness was in her eyes, and a roaring in her ears from internal emotion; the beating of her heart stopped her breath. As in a dream, she saw thousands of lamps gleaming on the tables and on the walls; as in a dream, she heard the shout with which the guests greeted Cæsar; as through a mist, she saw Cæsar himself. The shout deafened her, the glitter dazzled, the odors intoxicated; and, losing the remnant of her consciousness, she was barely able to recognize Acte, who seated her at the table and took a place at her side.
Despair consumed her, and she felt like crying. If she had been alone, she would have dropped to her knees and pounded her chest, saying, “My fault! My fault!” At that moment, Acte took her hand and guided her through the inner rooms to the grand dining hall, where the feast was about to happen. Her eyes were clouded with darkness, and she could hear a roaring in her ears from her overwhelming emotions; the beating of her heart took away her breath. It was like a dream as she saw thousands of lamps shining on the tables and walls; like a dream, she heard the crowd cheer for Caesar; through a haze, she caught sight of Caesar himself. The cheers overwhelmed her, the lights blinded her, the smells intoxicated her; and as she lost the last bit of her awareness, she could barely recognize Acte, who sat her at the table and took a seat beside her.
But after a while a low and known voice was heard at the other side,—“A greeting, most beautiful of maidens on earth and of stars in heaven. A greeting to thee, divine Callina!”
But after a while, a familiar voice called out from the other side, “Hello, most beautiful maiden on earth and among the stars. Greetings to you, divine Callina!”
Lygia, having recovered somewhat, looked up; at her side was Vinicius. He was without a toga, for convenience and custom had enjoined to cast aside the toga at feasts. His body was covered with only a sleeveless scarlet tunic embroidered in silver palms. His bare arms were ornamented in Eastern fashion with two broad golden bands fastened above the elbow; below they were carefully stripped of hair. They were smooth, but too muscular,—real arms of a soldier, they were made for the sword and the shield. On his head was a garland of roses. With brows joining above the nose, with splendid eyes and a dark complexion, he was the impersonation of youth and strength, as it were. To Lygia he seemed so beautiful that though her first amazement had passed, she was barely able to answer,—“A greeting, Marcus.”
Lygia, having recovered a bit, looked up; at her side was Vinicius. He wasn't wearing a toga, since it was customary to take it off during feasts. His body was only covered by a sleeveless scarlet tunic embroidered with silver palm designs. His bare arms were adorned in an Eastern style with two wide golden bands above the elbow; below, they were carefully shaven. They were smooth but too muscular—true soldier's arms, meant for the sword and shield. On his head, he wore a garland of roses. With his brows meeting above the nose, striking eyes, and dark complexion, he embodied youth and strength. To Lygia, he seemed so handsome that even though her initial surprise had faded, she could barely respond, “A greeting, Marcus.”
“Happy,” said he, “are my eyes, which see thee; happy my ears, which hear thy voice, dearer to me than the sound of lutes or citharas. Were it commanded me to choose who was to rest here by my side at this feast, thou, Lygia, or Venus, I would choose thee, divine one!”
“Happy,” he said, “are my eyes for seeing you; happy my ears for hearing your voice, more precious to me than the sound of lutes or harps. If I were told to choose who would sit beside me at this feast, you, Lygia, or Venus, I would choose you, divine one!”
And he looked at the maiden as if he wished to sate himself with the sight of her, to burn her eyes with his eyes. His glance slipped from her face to her neck and bare arms, fondled her shapely outlines, admired her, embraced her, devoured her; but besides desire, there was gleaming in him happiness, admiration, and ecstasy beyond limit.
And he looked at the girl as if he wanted to fully take her in, to burn her with his gaze. His eyes moved from her face to her neck and bare arms, caressing her curves, admiring her, embracing her, consuming her; but along with desire, he felt a shining happiness, admiration, and limitless ecstasy.
“I knew that I should see thee in Cæsar’s house,” continued he; “but still, when I saw thee, such delight shook my whole soul, as if a happiness entirely unexpected had met me.”
“I knew I should see you in Caesar’s house,” he continued; “but still, when I saw you, such joy shook my entire soul, as if an entirely unexpected happiness had come my way.”
Lygia, having recovered herself and feeling that in that throng and in that house he was the only being who was near to her, began to converse with him, and ask about everything which she did not understand and which filled her with fear. Whence did he know that he would find her in Cæsar’s house? Why is she there? Why did Cæsar take her from Pomponia? She is full of fear where she is, and wishes to return to Pomponia. She would die from alarm and grief were it not for the hope that Petronius and he will intercede for her before Cæsar.
Lygia, regaining her composure and feeling that in that crowd and in that house, he was the only person close to her, started to talk with him and ask about everything she didn’t understand and that scared her. How did he know he would find her in Caesar’s house? Why was she there? Why did Caesar take her from Pomponia? She felt terrified where she was and wanted to go back to Pomponia. She would be overwhelmed with fear and sorrow if it weren't for the hope that Petronius and he would advocate for her in front of Caesar.
Vinicius explained that he learned from Aulus himself that she had been taken. Why she is there, he knows not. Cæsar gives account to no one of his orders and commands. But let her not fear. He, Vinicius, is near her and will stay near her. He would rather lose his eyes than not see her; he would rather lose his life than desert her. She is his soul, and hence he will guard her as his soul. In his house he will build to her, as to a divinity, an altar on which he will offer myrrh and aloes, and in spring saffron and apple-blossoms; and since she has a dread of Cæsar’s house, he promises that she shall not stay in it.
Vinicius explained that he learned from Aulus himself that she had been taken. He doesn’t know why she is there. Caesar doesn’t answer to anyone about his orders and commands. But she shouldn’t be afraid. He, Vinicius, is close to her and will stay by her side. He would rather lose his eyesight than not see her; he would rather lose his life than abandon her. She is his everything, and so he will protect her as he would protect himself. In his home, he will build her an altar, like a shrine, where he will offer myrrh and aloes, and in the spring, saffron and apple blossoms; and since she is afraid of Caesar’s house, he promises that she won’t have to stay there.
And though he spoke evasively and at times invented, truth was to be felt in his voice, because his feelings were real. Genuine pity possessed him, too, and her words went to his soul so thoroughly that when she began to thank him and assure him that Pomponia would love him for his goodness, and that she herself would be grateful to him all her life, he could not master his emotion, and it seemed to him that he would never be able in life to resist her prayer. The heart began to melt in him. Her beauty intoxicated his senses, and he desired her; but at the same time he felt that she was very dear to him, and that in truth he might do homage to her, as to a divinity; he felt also irresistible need of speaking of her beauty and of his own homage. As the noise at the feast increased, he drew nearer to her, whispered kind, sweet words flowing from the depth of his soul, words as resonant as music and intoxicating as wine.
And even though he spoke in a roundabout way and sometimes made things up, you could feel the truth in his voice because his emotions were genuine. He was genuinely filled with pity, and her words touched his heart so deeply that when she started thanking him and assuring him that Pomponia would love him for his kindness, and that she herself would be grateful to him for the rest of her life, he couldn’t hold back his feelings. It seemed like he would never be able to resist her request. His heart began to soften. Her beauty overwhelmed him, and he wanted her; but at the same time, he realized she was very important to him, and he felt he could honor her like a goddess. He also felt an irresistible urge to talk about her beauty and his admiration for her. As the noise at the party grew louder, he moved closer to her, whispering kind, sweet words that flowed from deep within him, words as melodious as music and intoxicating as wine.
And he intoxicated her. Amid those strange people he seemed to her ever nearer, ever dearer, altogether true, and devoted with his whole soul. He pacified her; he promised to rescue her from the house of Cæsar; he promised not to desert her, and said that he would serve her. Besides, he had spoken before at Aulus’s only in general about love and the happiness which it can give; but now he said directly that he loved her, and that she was dear and most precious to him. Lygia heard such words from a man’s lips for the first time; and as she heard them it seemed to her that something was wakening in her as from a sleep, that some species of happiness was embracing her in which immense delight was mingled with immense alarm. Her cheeks began to burn, her heart to beat, her mouth opened as in wonder. She was seized with fear because she was listening to such things, still she did not wish for any cause on earth to lose one word. At moments she dropped her eyes; then again she raised her clear glance to Vinicius, timid and also inquiring, as if she wished to say to him, “Speak on!” The sound of the music, the odor of flowers and of Arabian perfumes, began to daze her. In Rome it was the custom to recline at banquets, but at home Lygia occupied a place between Pomponia and little Aulus. Now Vinicius was reclining near her, youthful, immense, in love, burning; and she, feeling the heat that issued from him, felt both delight and shame. A kind of sweet weakness, a kind of faintness and forgetfulness seized her; it was as if drowsiness tortured her.
And he intoxicated her. Among those strange people, he seemed to her more and more familiar, more endearing, completely genuine, and devoted with all his heart. He comforted her; he promised to rescue her from the house of Caesar; he promised not to abandon her and said that he would serve her. Previously, he had spoken at Aulus’s only in generalities about love and the happiness it can bring; but now he directly told her that he loved her and that she was dear and incredibly precious to him. Lygia heard those words from a man for the first time; and as she listened, it felt like something was waking up inside her from a long sleep, like a kind of happiness was wrapping around her, mixing immense joy with immense anxiety. Her cheeks flushed, her heart raced, and her mouth opened in wonder. She felt a surge of fear for listening to such things, yet she didn’t want to miss a single word. At times she looked down, but then she would lift her clear gaze to Vinicius, shy yet curious, as if she wanted to say to him, “Keep talking!” The sound of the music and the scent of flowers and Arabian perfumes began to overwhelm her. In Rome, it was customary to recline at banquets, but at home, Lygia sat between Pomponia and little Aulus. Now Vinicius was reclining next to her, youthful, huge, in love, burning; and she, feeling the heat radiating from him, experienced both delight and shame. A kind of sweet weakness, a sensation of faintness and forgetfulness overtook her; it felt like she was being tortured by drowsiness.
But her nearness to him began to act on Vinicius also. His nostrils dilated, like those of an Eastern steed. The beating of his heart with unusual throb was evident under his scarlet tunic; his breathing grew short, and the expressions that fell from his lips were broken. For the first time, too, he was so near her. His thoughts grew disturbed; he felt a flame in his veins which he tried in vain to quench with wine. Not wine, but her marvellous face, her bare arms, her maiden breast heaving under the golden tunic, and her form hidden in the white folds of the peplus, intoxicated him more and more. Finally, he seized her arm above the wrist, as he had done once at Aulus’s, and drawing her toward him whispered, with trembling lips,—“I love thee, Callina,—divine one.”
But being so close to him started to affect Vinicius, too. His nostrils flared, like those of an eastern stallion. The pounding of his heart with an unusual rhythm was clear under his red tunic; his breathing became shallow, and the words that came from his mouth were fragmented. For the first time, he was this close to her. His thoughts became jumbled; he felt a fire in his veins that he tried in vain to extinguish with wine. Not wine, but her stunning face, her bare arms, her youthful breast rising under the golden tunic, and her form hidden in the white folds of the peplus, intoxicated him more and more. Finally, he grabbed her arm above the wrist, as he had done once at Aulus's, and pulling her closer, whispered with trembling lips, “I love you, Callina—the divine one.”
“Let me go, Marcus,” said Lygia.
“Let me go, Marcus,” Lygia said.
But he continued, his eyes mist-covered, “Love me, my goddess!”
But he kept going, his eyes clouded with tears, “Love me, my goddess!”
But at that moment was heard the voice of Acte, who was reclining on the other side of Lygia.
But at that moment, the voice of Acte was heard, who was lying on the other side of Lygia.
“Cæsar is looking at you both.”
“Caesar is looking at you both.”
Vinicius was carried away by sudden anger at Cæsar and at Acte. Her words had broken the charm of his intoxication. To the young man even a friendly voice would have seemed repulsive at such a moment, but he judged that Acte wished purposely to interrupt his conversation with Lygia. So, raising his head and looking over the shoulder of Lygia at the young freedwoman, he said with malice:
Vinicius was suddenly filled with anger towards Cæsar and Acte. Her words had shattered the spell of his intoxication. At that moment, even a friendly voice would have felt repulsive to him, but he believed Acte was intentionally trying to interrupt his conversation with Lygia. So, raising his head and glancing over Lygia's shoulder at the young freedwoman, he said with malice:
“The hour has passed, Acte, when thou didst recline near Cæsar’s side at banquets, and they say that blindness is threatening thee; how then canst thou see him?”
“The hour has passed, Acte, when you used to sit next to Caesar at banquets, and they say you’re losing your sight; how then can you see him?”
But she answered as if in sadness: “Still I see him. He, too, has short sight, and is looking at thee through an emerald.”
But she replied, sounding sorrowful: “I can still see him. He also has poor vision and is looking at you through an emerald.”
Everything that Nero did roused attention, even in those nearest him; hence Vinicius was alarmed. He regained self-control, and began imperceptibly to look toward Cæsar. Lygia, who, embarrassed at the beginning of the banquet, had seen Nero as in a mist, and afterward, occupied by the presence and conversation of Vinicius, had not looked at him at all, turned to him eyes at once curious and terrified.
Everything Nero did attracted attention, even from those closest to him; so Vinicius felt uneasy. He managed to regain his composure and subtly started to glance at Caesar. Lygia, who, feeling awkward at the start of the banquet, had seen Nero through a haze, and later, focused on Vinicius and their conversation, hadn’t looked at him at all. Now, she turned to him with a mix of curiosity and fear in her eyes.
Acte spoke truly. Cæsar had bent over the table, half-closed one eye, and holding before the other a round polished emerald, which he used, was looking at them. For a moment his glance met Lygia’s eyes, and the heart of the maiden was straitened with terror. When still a child on Aulus’s Sicilian estate, an old Egyptian slave had told her of dragons which occupied dens in the mountains, and it seemed to her now that all at once the greenish eye of such a monster was gazing at her. She caught at Vinicius’s hand as a frightened child would, and disconnected, quick impressions pressed into her head: Was not that he, the terrible, the all-powerful? She had not seen him hitherto, and she thought that he looked differently. She had imagined some kind of ghastly face, with malignity petrified in its features; now she saw a great head, fixed on a thick neck, terrible, it is true, but almost ridiculous, for from a distance it resembled the head of a child. A tunic of amethyst color, forbidden to ordinary mortals, cast a bluish tinge on his broad and short face. He had dark hair, dressed, in the fashion introduced by Otho, in four curls.
Acte was speaking the truth. Cæsar was leaning over the table, half-closing one eye while holding a polished round emerald before the other, staring at them. For a moment, his gaze met Lygia’s, and her heart raced with fear. When she was just a child on Aulus’s Sicilian estate, an old Egyptian slave had told her stories about dragons that lived in dens in the mountains, and at that moment, it felt like the greenish eye of one of those monsters was staring right at her. In a panic, she grabbed Vinicius’s hand like a scared child would, and a flood of rapid thoughts hit her: Wasn’t that him, the fearsome, all-powerful one? She hadn’t seen him before and thought he looked different. She had expected some horrifying face, with malice etched into its features; now she saw a large head on a thick neck—terrifying, yes, but almost comical, because from a distance it resembled a child’s head. He wore a tunic of amethyst color, a shade forbidden to ordinary people, casting a bluish tint on his wide and short face. His dark hair was styled in four curls, a look introduced by Otho.
He had no beard, because he had sacrificed it recently to Jove,—for which all Rome gave him thanks, though people whispered to each other that he had sacrificed it because his beard, like that of his whole family, was red. In his forehead, projecting strongly above his brows, there remained something Olympian. In his contracted brows the consciousness of supreme power was evident; but under that forehead of a demigod was the face of a monkey, a drunkard, and a comedian,—vain, full of changing desires, swollen with fat, notwithstanding his youth; besides, it was sickly and foul. To Lygia he seemed ominous, but above all repulsive.
He didn't have a beard because he had recently shaved it off for Jove, which earned him gratitude from all of Rome. However, people whispered that he did it because his beard, like the rest of his family's, was red. On his forehead, which jutted prominently above his brows, there was something almost divine. His furrowed brows showed his awareness of immense power, but beneath that demigod-like forehead was the face of a monkey, a drunk, and a comedian—self-absorbed, full of shifting desires, bloated with excess, despite his youth; plus, it was unhealthy and unpleasant. To Lygia, he seemed ominous, but mostly just repulsive.
After a while he laid down the emerald and ceased to look at her. Then she saw his prominent blue eyes, blinking before the excess of light, glassy, without thought, resembling the eyes of the dead.
After a while, he set down the emerald and stopped looking at her. Then she noticed his bright blue eyes, blinking in the intense light, glassy and empty, resembling the eyes of a corpse.
“Is that the hostage with whom Vinicius is in love?” asked he, turning to Petronius.
“Is that the hostage Vinicius is in love with?” he asked, turning to Petronius.
“That is she,” answered Petronius.
"That's her," answered Petronius.
“What are her people called?”
“What do we call her people?”
“The Lygians.”
“The Liagians.”
“Does Vinicius think her beautiful?”
“Does Vinicius think she's beautiful?”
“Array a rotten olive trunk in the peplus of a woman, and Vinicius will declare it beautiful. But on thy countenance, incomparable judge, I read her sentence already. Thou hast no need to pronounce it! The sentence is true: she is too dry, thin, a mere blossom on a slender stalk; and thou, O divine æsthete, esteemest the stalk in a woman. Thrice and four times art thou right! The face alone does not signify. I have learned much in thy company, but even now I have not a perfect cast of the eye. But I am ready to lay a wager with Tullius Senecio concerning his mistress, that, although at a feast, when all are reclining, it is difficult to judge the whole form, thou hast said in thy mind already, ‘Too narrow in the hips.’”
“Place a rotten olive trunk in a woman's shawl, and Vinicius will say it’s beautiful. But on your face, incomparable judge, I can see her fate already. You don’t need to say it! The verdict is clear: she is too dry, too thin, just a flower on a frail stalk; and you, O divine connoisseur, appreciate the stalk in a woman. You are right, time and again! The face alone doesn’t matter. I’ve learned a lot in your company, but even now I can’t fully read the situation. However, I’m ready to make a bet with Tullius Senecio about his girlfriend, that although at a dinner party, when everyone is lounging, it’s hard to see the full form, you’ve already thought in your mind, ‘Too narrow in the hips.’”
“Too narrow in the hips,” answered Nero, blinking.
“Too narrow in the hips,” replied Nero, blinking.
On Petronius’s lips appeared a scarcely perceptible smile; but Tullius Senecio, who till that moment was occupied in conversing with Vestinius, or rather in reviling dreams, while Vestinius believed in them, turned to Petronius, and though he had not the least idea touching that of which they were talking, he said,—“Thou art mistaken! I hold with Cæsar.”
A barely noticeable smile appeared on Petronius’s lips; however, Tullius Senecio, who had been busy chatting with Vestinius, or more accurately, mocking dreams while Vestinius believed in them, turned to Petronius and, even though he had no clue what they were discussing, said, “You’re wrong! I side with Caesar.”
“Very well,” answered Petronius. “I have just maintained that thou hast a glimmer of understanding, but Cæsar insists that thou art an ass pure and simple.”
“Alright,” replied Petronius. “I just said that you show a hint of understanding, but Caesar insists that you’re completely clueless.”
“Habet!” said Cæsar, laughing, and turning down the thumb, as was done in the Circus, in sign that the gladiator had received a blow and was to be finished.
“Habet!” said Caesar, laughing, and turning his thumb down, just like they did in the Circus, to signal that the gladiator had taken a hit and should be finished off.
But Vestinius, thinking that the question was of dreams, exclaimed,—“But I believe in dreams, and Seneca told me on a time that he believes too.”
But Vestinius, thinking that the topic was about dreams, exclaimed, “But I believe in dreams, and Seneca once told me that he believes too.”
“Last night I dreamt that I had become a vestal virgin,” said Calvia Crispinilla, bending over the table.
“Last night I dreamed that I had become a vestal virgin,” said Calvia Crispinilla, leaning over the table.
At this Nero clapped his hands, other followed, and in a moment clapping of hands was heard all around,—for Crispinilla had been divorced a number of times, and was known throughout Rome for her fabulous debauchery.
At this, Nero clapped his hands, and others joined in, so that soon the sound of applause filled the air—Crispinilla had been divorced several times and was famous throughout Rome for her extravagant partying.
But she, not disconcerted in the least, said,—“Well! They are all old and ugly. Rubria alone has a human semblance, and so there would be two of us, though Rubria gets freckles in summer.”
But she, not bothered at all, said, “Well! They're all old and ugly. Only Rubria looks somewhat human, so there would be two of us, even though Rubria gets freckles in the summer.”
“But admit, purest Calvia,” said Petronius, “that thou couldst become a vestal only in dreams.”
“But admit it, purest Calvia,” said Petronius, “that you could only become a vestal in your dreams.”
“But if Cæsar commanded?”
“But what if Cæsar commanded?”
“I should believe that even the most impossible dreams might come true.”
"I should believe that even the most unlikely dreams can come true."
“But they do come true,” said Vestinius. “I understand those who do not believe in the gods, but how is it possible not to believe in dreams?”
“But they really do come true,” Vestinius said. “I get why some people don't believe in the gods, but how can anyone not believe in dreams?”
“But predictions?” inquired Nero. “It was predicted once to me, that Rome would cease to exist, and that I should rule the whole Orient.”
"But predictions?" Nero asked. "Someone once told me that Rome would no longer exist, and that I would rule the entire East."
“Predictions and dreams are connected,” said Vestinius. “Once a certain proconsul, a great disbeliever, sent a slave to the temple of Mopsus with a sealed letter which he would not let any one open; he did this to try if the god could answer the question contained in the letter. The slave slept a night in the temple to have a prophetic dream; he returned then and said: ‘I saw a youth in my dreams; he was as bright as the sun, and spoke only one word, “Black.”’ The proconsul, when he heard this, grew pale, and turning to his guests, disbelievers like himself, said: ‘Do ye know what was in the letter?’” Here Vestinius stopped, and, raising his goblet with wine, began to drink.
“Predictions and dreams are connected,” said Vestinius. “Once, a certain proconsul, who was a huge skeptic, sent a slave to the temple of Mopsus with a sealed letter that he wouldn’t let anyone open; he did this to see if the god could answer the question in the letter. The slave spent the night in the temple to have a prophetic dream; when he returned, he said: ‘I saw a young man in my dreams; he was as bright as the sun and spoke only one word, “Black.”’ The proconsul, when he heard this, went pale and turned to his guests, who were skeptics like him, and said: ‘Do you know what was in the letter?’” Here Vestinius paused, and, raising his goblet of wine, began to drink.
“What was in the letter?” asked Senecio.
“What was in the letter?” Senecio asked.
“In the letter was the question: ‘What is the color of the bull which I am to sacrifice: white or black?’”
“In the letter was the question: ‘What color is the bull I’m supposed to sacrifice: white or black?’”
But the interest roused by the narrative was interrupted by Vitelius, who, drunk when he came to the feast, burst forth on a sudden and without cause in senseless laughter.
But the interest stirred by the story was interrupted by Vitelius, who, drunk when he arrived at the feast, suddenly and without reason broke into senseless laughter.
“What is that keg of tallow laughing at?” asked Nero.
“What is that keg of fat laughing at?” asked Nero.
“Laughter distinguishes men from animals,” said Petronius, “and he has no other proof that he is not a wild boar.”
“Laughter separates humans from animals,” said Petronius, “and that’s the only proof he has that he’s not a wild boar.”
Vitelius stopped half-way in his laughter, and smacking his lips, shining from fat and sauces, looked at those present with as much astonishment as if he had never seen them before; then he raised his two hands, which were like cushions, and said in a hoarse voice,—“The ring of a knight has fallen from my finger, and it was inherited from my father.”
Vitelius paused mid-laugh, wiping his lips, glistening from grease and sauces, and looked at the people around him with all the surprise of someone seeing them for the first time; then he lifted his two hands, which were like pillows, and said in a raspy voice, “A knight's ring has slipped off my finger, and it was passed down from my father.”
“Who was a tailor,” added Nero.
“Who was a tailor,” Nero added.
But Vitelius burst forth again in unexpected laughter, and began to search for his ring in the peplus of Calvia Crispinilla.
But Vitelius suddenly erupted in laughter again and started looking for his ring in Calvia Crispinilla's dress.
Hereupon Vestinius fell to imitating the cries of a frightened woman. Nigidia, a friend of Calvia,—a young widow with the face of a child and the eyes of a wanton,—said aloud,—“He is seeking what he has not lost.”
Here, Vestinius started mimicking the screams of a scared woman. Nigidia, a friend of Calvia—a young widow with a childlike face and seductive eyes—said out loud, "He’s searching for something he hasn’t lost."
“And which will be useless to him if he finds it,” finished the poet Lucan.
“And which will be useless to him if he finds it,” finished the poet Lucan.
The feast grew more animated. Crowds of slaves bore around successive courses; from great vases filled with snow and garlanded with ivy, smaller vessels with various kinds of wine were brought forth unceasingly. All drank freely. On the guests, roses fell from the ceiling at intervals.
The party got livelier. Groups of slaves brought out dish after dish; from large vases filled with ice and decorated with ivy, smaller containers of different types of wine were continuously served. Everyone drank generously. Roses occasionally dropped from the ceiling onto the guests.
Petronius entreated Nero to dignify the feast with his song before the guests drank too deeply. A chorus of voices supported his words, but Nero refused at first. It was not a question of courage alone, he said, though that failed him always. The gods knew what efforts every success cost him. He did not avoid them, however, for it was needful to do something for art; and besides, if Apollo had gifted him with a certain voice, it was not proper to let divine gifts be wasted. He understood, even, that it was his duty to the State not to let them be wasted. But that day he was really hoarse. In the night he had placed leaden weights on his chest, but that had not helped in any way. He was thinking even to go to Antium, to breathe the sea air.
Petronius urged Nero to grace the feast with his song before the guests got too drunk. A chorus of voices joined in, but Nero hesitated at first. It wasn't just a matter of lacking courage, he said, even though that was always a struggle for him. The gods knew how hard he had to work for every success. Still, he couldn’t shy away from it because he had to do something for art; plus, if Apollo had blessed him with a special voice, it wouldn’t be right to let those divine gifts go to waste. He realized that it was even his duty to the State not to let them go unused. But that day, he was truly hoarse. The night before, he had placed heavy weights on his chest, but that hadn't helped at all. He was even considering going to Antium to breathe in the sea air.
Lucan implored him in the name of art and humanity. All knew that the divine poet and singer had composed a new hymn to Venus, compared with which Lucretius’s hymn was as the howl of a yearling wolf. Let that feast be a genuine feast. So kind a ruler should not cause such tortures to his subjects. “Be not cruel, O Cæsar!”
Lucan begged him in the name of art and humanity. Everyone knew that the divine poet and singer had created a new hymn to Venus, which made Lucretius’s hymn sound like the howl of a young wolf. Let that celebration be a true celebration. A ruler as kind as he shouldn’t put his subjects through such suffering. “Don’t be cruel, O Caesar!”
“Be not cruel!” repeated all who were sitting near.
“Don’t be cruel!” repeated everyone who was sitting nearby.
Nero spread his hands in sign that he had to yield. All faces assumed then an expression of gratitude, and all eyes were turned to him; but he gave command first to announce to Poppæa that he would sing; he informed those present that she had not come to the feast, because she did not feel in good health; but since no medicine gave her such relief as his singing, he would be sorry to deprive her of this opportunity.
Nero held out his hands to show that he had to give in. Everyone's face then showed gratitude, and all eyes were on him; but he instructed someone to tell Poppæa that he would be singing. He told everyone there that she hadn’t come to the feast because she wasn't feeling well; but since no medicine helped her as much as his singing, he would regret taking away this chance from her.
In fact, Poppæa came soon. Hitherto she had ruled Nero as if he had been her subject, but she knew that when his vanity as a singer, a charioteer, or a poet was involved, there was danger in provoking it. She came in therefore, beautiful as a divinity, arrayed, like Nero, in robes of amethyst color, and wearing a necklace of immense pearls, stolen on a time from Massinissa; she was golden-haired, sweet, and though divorced from two husbands she had the face and the look of a virgin.
Actually, Poppæa arrived soon after. Until now, she had controlled Nero as if he were her subject, but she knew that provoking his vanity as a singer, charioteer, or poet could be risky. So, she entered, stunning like a goddess, dressed in amethyst-colored robes like Nero, and wearing a massive pearl necklace, which was once stolen from Massinissa; she had golden hair, was charming, and despite being divorced from two husbands, she had the appearance and demeanor of a virgin.
She was greeted with shouts, and the appellation “Divine Augusta.” Lygia had never seen any one so beautiful, and she could not believe her own eyes, for she knew that Poppæa Sabina was one of the vilest women on earth. She knew from Pomponia that she had brought Cæsar to murder his mother and his wife; she knew her from accounts given by Aulus’s guests and the servants; she had heard that statues to her had been thrown down at night in the city; she had heard of inscriptions, the writers of which had been condemned to severest punishment, but which still appeared on the city walls every morning. Yet at sight of the notorious Poppæa, considered by the confessors of Christ as crime and evil incarnate, it seemed to her that angels or spirits of heaven might look like her. She was unable simply to take her eyes from Poppæa; and from her lips was wrested involuntarily the question,—“Ah, Marcus, can it be possible?”
She was greeted with shouts and called “Divine Augusta.” Lygia had never seen anyone so beautiful, and she couldn’t believe her own eyes because she knew that Poppæa Sabina was one of the most wicked women on earth. She had heard from Pomponia that she had urged Caesar to murder his mother and his wife; she knew about her from stories shared by Aulus's guests and the servants; she had heard that statues of her had been knocked down at night in the city; she had heard of inscriptions whose writers had faced harsh punishments, yet they still appeared on the city walls every morning. Yet, at the sight of the infamous Poppæa, seen by the followers of Christ as embodying crime and evil, it seemed to Lygia that angels or heavenly spirits could look like her. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from Poppæa, and the question escaped her lips involuntarily, “Ah, Marcus, could this really be possible?”
But he, roused by wine, and as it were impatient that so many things had scattered her attention, and taken her from him and his words, said,—“Yes, she is beautiful, but thou art a hundred times more beautiful. Thou dost not know thyself, or thou wouldst be in love with thyself, as Narcissus was; she bathes in asses’ milk, but Venus bathed thee in her own milk. Thou dost not know thyself, Ocelle mi! Look not at her. Turn thy eyes to me, Ocelle mi! Touch this goblet of wine with thy lips, and I will put mine on the same place.”
But he, stirred by wine and a bit impatient that so many things had distracted her and pulled her away from him and his words, said, “Yes, she’s beautiful, but you’re a hundred times more beautiful. You don’t know how amazing you are, or you’d be in love with yourself like Narcissus was; she bathes in donkey’s milk, but Venus bathed you in her own. You don’t realize how wonderful you are, my little Ocel. Don’t look at her. Turn your eyes to me, my little Ocel! Drink this goblet of wine with your lips, and I’ll do the same.”
And he pushed up nearer and nearer, and she began to withdraw toward Acte. But at that moment silence was enjoined because Cæsar had risen. The singer Diodorus had given him a lute of the kind called delta; another singer named Terpnos, who had to accompany him in playing, approached with an instrument called the nablium. Nero, resting the delta on the table, raised his eyes; and for a moment silence reigned in the triclinium, broken only by a rustle, as roses fell from the ceiling.
And he moved closer and closer, and she started to pull back toward Acte. But at that moment, everyone was quiet because Caesar had stood up. The singer Diodorus had offered him a lute known as a delta; another singer named Terpnos, who was supposed to play along, came up with an instrument called the nablium. Nero, placing the delta on the table, lifted his gaze, and for a moment there was silence in the triclinium, interrupted only by the soft sound of roses falling from the ceiling.
Then he began to chant, or rather to declaim, singingly and rhythmically, to the accompaniment of the two lutes, his own hymn to Venus. Neither the voice, though somewhat injured, nor the verses were bad, so that reproaches of conscience took possession of Lygia again; for the hymn, though glorifying the impure pagan Venus, seemed to her more than beautiful, and Cæsar himself, with a laurel crown on his head and uplifted eyes, nobler, much less terrible, and less repulsive than at the beginning of the feast.
Then he started to chant, or more accurately, to declaim, singing and rhythmically, accompanied by the two lutes, his own hymn to Venus. Neither his voice, though a bit damaged, nor the lyrics were bad, which reignited Lygia's feelings of guilt; for the hymn, although praising the impure pagan Venus, struck her as more than beautiful, and Cæsar himself, with a laurel crown on his head and looking up, seemed nobler, much less terrifying, and less repulsive than he had at the start of the feast.
The guests answered with a thunder of applause. Cries of, “Oh, heavenly voice!” were heard round about; some of the women raised their hands, and held them thus, as a sign of delight, even after the end of the hymn; others wiped their tearful eyes; the whole hall was seething as in a beehive. Poppæa, bending her golden-haired head, raised Nero’s hand to her lips, and held it long in silence. Pythagoras, a young Greek of marvellous beauty,—the same to whom later the half-insane Nero commanded the flamens to marry him, with the observance of all rites,—knelt now at his feet.
The guests responded with a loud round of applause. Cries of, “Oh, heavenly voice!” echoed around; some women raised their hands in joy and held them up like that even after the hymn ended; others wiped their teary eyes; the whole hall was buzzing like a beehive. Poppæa, tilting her golden hair, brought Nero’s hand to her lips and held it there in silence for a long time. Pythagoras, a stunning young Greek—who later would be ordered by the half-mad Nero to marry him in a full ceremony—was now kneeling at his feet.
But Nero looked carefully at Petronius, whose praises were desired by him always before every other, and who said,—“If it is a question of music, Orpheus must at this moment be as yellow from envy as Lucan, who is here present; and as to the verses, I am sorry that they are not worse; if they were I might find proper words to praise them.”
But Nero watched Petronius closely, always wanting to hear his praises before anyone else's, and he said, “If we’re talking about music, Orpheus must be really jealous right now, just like Lucan, who is here with us; and regarding the verses, I wish they were worse; if they were, I might actually have the right words to praise them.”
Lucan did not take the mention of envy evil of him; on the contrary, he looked at Petronius with gratitude, and, affecting ill-humor, began to murmur,—“Cursed fate, which commanded me to live contemporary with such a poet. One might have a place in the memory of man, and on Parnassus; but now one will quench, as a candle in sunlight.”
Lucan didn’t take the mention of envy badly; instead, he looked at Petronius with appreciation and, pretending to be grumpy, started to murmur, “Cursed fate, which forces me to live at the same time as such a poet. One could have a place in people's memories and on Parnassus; but now it will be extinguished like a candle in sunlight.”
Petronius, who had an amazing memory, began to repeat extracts from the hymn and cite single verses, exalt, and analyze the more beautiful expressions. Lucan, forgetting as it were his envy before the charm of the poetry, joined his ecstasy to Petronius’s words. On Nero’s face were reflected delight and fathomless vanity, not only nearing stupidity, but reaching it perfectly. He indicated to them verses which he considered the most beautiful; and finally he began to comfort Lucan, and tell him not to lose heart, for though whatever a man is born that he is, the honor which people give Jove does not exclude respect for other divinities.
Petronius, who had an incredible memory, started reciting parts of the hymn and quoting individual verses, praising and analyzing the most beautiful phrases. Lucan, momentarily forgetting his jealousy in the face of the poetry's charm, joined in Petronius’s excitement. Nero’s face showed both delight and deep vanity, not just bordering on foolishness, but fully embodying it. He pointed out the verses he thought were the most beautiful; eventually, he began to reassure Lucan, telling him not to be discouraged, because while a person is born as they are, the honor that people give to Jove doesn’t take away respect for other gods.
Then he rose to conduct Poppæa, who, being really in ill health, wished to withdraw. But he commanded the guests who remained to occupy their places anew, and promised to return, In fact, he returned a little later, to stupefy himself with the smoke of incense, and gaze at further spectacles which he himself, Petronius, or Tigellinus had prepared for the feast.
Then he got up to escort Poppæa, who, feeling quite unwell, wanted to leave. But he instructed the remaining guests to take their seats again and promised to come back. In fact, he returned shortly after to daze himself with the smoke of incense and watch more shows that he, Petronius, or Tigellinus had set up for the banquet.
Again verses were read or dialogues listened to in which extravagance took the place of wit. After that Paris, the celebrated mime, represented the adventures of Io, the daughter of Inachus. To the guests, and especially to Lygia, unaccustomed to such scenes, it seemed that they were gazing at miracles and enchantment. Paris, with motions of his hands and body, was able to express things apparently impossible in a dance. His hands dimmed the air, creating a cloud, bright, living, quivering, voluptuous, surrounding the half-fainting form of a maiden shaken by a spasm of delight. That was a picture, not a dance; an expressive picture, disclosing the secrets of love, bewitching and shameless; and when at the end of it Corybantes rushed in and began a bacchic dance with girls of Syria to the sounds of cithara, lutes, drums, and cymbals,—a dance filled with wild shouts and still wilder license,—it seemed to Lygia that living fire was burning her, and that a thunderbolt ought to strike that house, or the ceiling fall on the heads of those feasting there.
Once again, verses were read and dialogues were listened to, where extravagance replaced wit. After that, Paris, the famous mime, portrayed the adventures of Io, the daughter of Inachus. To the guests, especially Lygia, who were not used to such scenes, it felt like they were witnessing miracles and magic. Paris, with his gestures and movements, was able to convey things that seemed impossible through dance. His hands filled the air, creating a bright, living, shimmering, sensual cloud that enveloped the almost fainting figure of a maiden shaken by a wave of delight. It was a picture, not just a dance; an expressive image revealing the secrets of love—captivating and shameless. And when, at the end of it, the Corybantes burst in and began a wild bacchic dance with the girls from Syria, accompanied by sounds of the cithara, lutes, drums, and cymbals—a dance filled with wild shouts and even wilder abandon—it felt to Lygia like living fire was burning her, and that the heavens should strike that house with lightning, or the ceiling should collapse on the heads of those feasting there.
But from the golden net fastened to the ceiling only roses fell, and the now half-drunken Vinicius said to her,—“I saw thee in the house of Aulus, at the fountain. It was daylight, and thou didst think that no one saw thee; but I saw thee. And I see thee thus yet, though that peplus hides thee. Cast aside the peplus, like Crispinilla. See, gods and men seek love. There is nothing in the world but love. Lay thy head on my breast and close thy eyes.”
But from the golden net hanging from the ceiling, only roses fell, and the now half-drunk Vinicius said to her, “I saw you at Aulus's house, by the fountain. It was daylight, and you thought no one saw you; but I did. And I still see you like this, even though that robe covers you. Take off the robe, like Crispinilla. Look, both gods and humans seek love. There’s nothing in the world but love. Lay your head on my chest and close your eyes.”
The pulse beat oppressively in Lygia’s hands and temples. A feeling seized her that she was flying into some abyss, and that Vinicius, who before had seemed so near and so trustworthy, instead of saving was drawing her toward it. And she felt sorry for him. She began again to dread the feast and him and herself. Some voice, like that of Pomponia, was calling yet in her soul, “O Lygia, save thyself!” But something told her also that it was too late; that the one whom such a flame had embraced as that which had embraced her, the one who had seen what was done at that feast and whose heart had beaten as hers had on hearing the words of Vinicius, the one through whom such a shiver had passed as had passed through her when he approached, was lost beyond recovery. She grew weak. It seemed at moments to her that she would faint, and then something terrible would happen. She knew that, under penalty of Cæsar’s anger, it was not permitted any one to rise till Cæsar rose; but even were that not the case, she had not strength now to rise.
The pulse pounded heavily in Lygia’s hands and temples. She felt as if she was plunging into an abyss, and that Vinicius, who once seemed so close and reliable, was not saving her but pulling her towards it. She felt pity for him. She started to dread the feast, him, and herself again. A voice, like Pomponia's, was still calling out in her soul, “O Lygia, save yourself!” But something also told her it was too late; the one who had been embraced by such a flame like she had, the one who had witnessed what transpired at that feast and whose heart had raced like hers when hearing Vinicius's words, the one through whom such a shiver had coursed as it had through her when he came close, was beyond saving. She felt weak. At times, she thought she might faint, and then something terrible would happen. She knew that, under penalty of Caesar’s wrath, no one was allowed to stand until Caesar did; but even if that weren’t the case, she didn’t have the strength to rise now.
Meanwhile it was far to the end of the feast yet. Slaves brought new courses, and filled the goblets unceasingly with wine; before the table, on a platform open at one side, appeared two athletes to give the guests a spectacle of wrestling.
Meanwhile, the feast was not yet close to ending. Servants brought out new dishes and continuously filled the goblets with wine; in front of the table, on a platform open on one side, two athletes appeared to entertain the guests with a wrestling show.
They began the struggle at once, and the powerful bodies, shining from olive oil, formed one mass; bones cracked in their iron arms, and from their set jaws came an ominous gritting of teeth. At moments was heard the quick, dull thump of their feet on the platform strewn with saffron; again they were motionless, silent, and it seemed to the spectators that they had before them a group chiselled out of stone. Roman eyes followed with delight the movement of tremendously exerted backs, thighs, and arms. But the struggle was not too prolonged; for Croton, a master, and the founder of a school of gladiators, did not pass in vain for the strongest man in the empire. His opponent began to breathe more and more quickly: next a rattle was heard in his throat; then his face grew blue; finally he threw blood from his mouth and fell.
They jumped into the fight immediately, their powerful bodies glistening from olive oil, forming a single mass; bones cracked in their iron grip, and from their clenched jaws came an ominous grinding of teeth. At times, the quick, dull thud of their feet hitting the platform covered in saffron could be heard; other times, they stood still and silent, making it seem to the spectators like they were a group carved out of stone. The Roman crowd watched with delight as their incredibly strained backs, thighs, and arms moved. But the fight didn’t last long; Croton, a champion and the founder of a gladiator school, was rightly known as the strongest man in the empire. His opponent began to breathe more rapidly; soon, a rattle was heard in his throat; then his face turned blue; finally, he coughed up blood and collapsed.
A thunder of applause greeted the end of the struggle, and Croton, resting his foot on the breast of his opponent, crossed his gigantic arms on his breast, and cast the eyes of a victor around the hall.
A loud round of applause erupted at the end of the match, and Croton, placing his foot on his opponent's chest, crossed his massive arms over his chest and scanned the hall with the gaze of a champion.
Next appeared men who mimicked beasts and their voices, ball-players and buffoons. Only a few persons looked at them, however, since wine had darkened the eyes of the audience. The feast passed by degrees into a drunken revel and a dissolute orgy. The Syrian damsels, who appeared at first in the bacchic dance, mingled now with the guests. The music changed into a disordered and wild outburst of citharas, lutes, Armenian cymbals, Egyptian sistra, trumpets, and horns. As some of the guests wished to talk, they shouted at the musicians to disappear. The air, filled with the odor of flowers and the perfume of oils with which beautiful boys had sprinkled the feet of the guests during the feast, permeated with saffron and the exhalations of people, became stifling; lamps burned with a dim flame; the wreaths dropped sidewise on the heads of guests; faces grew pale and were covered with sweat. Vitelius rolled under the table. Nigidia, stripping herself to the waist, dropped her drunken childlike head on the breast of Lucan, who, drunk in like degree, fell to blowing the golden powder from her hair, and raising his eyes with immense delight. Vestinius, with the stubbornness of intoxication, repeated for the tenth time the answer of Mopsus to the sealed letter of the proconsul. Tullius, who reviled the gods, said, with a drawling voice broken by hiccoughs,—“If the spheros of Xenophanes is round, then consider, such a god might be pushed along before one with the foot, like a barrel.”
Next, men appeared who mimicked animals and their sounds, along with ball players and clowns. However, only a few people paid attention to them, as the wine had clouded the audience's vision. The feast gradually turned into a drunken celebration and a wild party. The Syrian dancers, who had started with a bacchic dance, now mixed with the guests. The music transformed into a chaotic and frenzied mix of lyres, lutes, Armenian cymbals, Egyptian sistra, trumpets, and horns. As some guests wanted to chat, they shouted for the musicians to leave. The air, filled with the fragrance of flowers and the perfume of oils that beautiful boys had sprinkled on the guests during the feast, permeated with saffron and the smells of people, became suffocating; lamps flickered with a dim light; wreaths slipped sideways on the guests' heads; faces turned pale and were drenched in sweat. Vitelius rolled under the table. Nigidia, taking off her top, rested her drunken, childlike head on Lucan's chest, who, equally intoxicated, began to blow the golden powder from her hair, looking up with immense joy. Vestinius, stubborn from drinking, repeated for the tenth time the answer of Mopsus to the sealed letter of the proconsul. Tullius, who mocked the gods, said in a slurred voice broken by hiccups, “If Xenophanes' sphero is round, then think about it, that kind of god could be pushed along with one’s foot, just like a barrel.”
But Domitius Afer, a hardened criminal and informer, was indignant at the discourse, and through indignation spilled Falernian over his whole tunic. He had always believed in the gods. People say that Rome will perish, and there are some even who contend that it is perishing already. And surely! But if that should come, it is because the youth are without faith, and without faith there can be no virtue. People have abandoned also the strict habits of former days, and it never occurs to them that Epicureans will not stand against barbarians. As for him, he—As for him, he was sorry that he had lived to such times, and that he must seek in pleasures a refuge against griefs which, if not met, would soon kill him.
But Domitius Afer, a hardened criminal and informant, was furious at the conversation and, in his anger, spilled Falernian wine all over his tunic. He had always believed in the gods. People say that Rome will fall, and some even argue that it’s already falling. And honestly! But if that happens, it’s because the youth lack faith, and without faith, there can be no virtue. People have also given up the strict ways of the past, and it never occurs to them that Epicureans won’t hold up against barbarians. As for him, he was just sorry to have lived in such times and that he had to find refuge in pleasures to escape the sorrows that, if left unaddressed, would soon overpower him.
When he had said this, he drew toward him a Syrian dancer, and kissed her neck and shoulders with his toothless mouth. Seeing this, the consul Memmius Regulus laughed, and, raising his bald head with wreath awry, exclaimed,—“Who says that Rome is perishing? What folly! I, a consul, know better. Videant consules! Thirty legions are guarding our pax romana!”
When he said this, he pulled a Syrian dancer close and kissed her neck and shoulders with his toothless mouth. Seeing this, the consul Memmius Regulus laughed and, tilting his bald head with his crown askew, exclaimed, “Who says Rome is falling apart? What nonsense! I, a consul, know better. Let the consuls see! Thirty legions are protecting our peace in Rome!”
Here he put his fists to his temples and shouted, in a voice heard throughout the triclinium,—“Thirty legions! thirty legions! from Britain to the Parthian boundaries!” But he stopped on a sudden, and, putting a finger to his forehead, said,—“As I live, I think there are thirty-two.” He rolled under the table, and began soon to send forth flamingo tongues, roast and chilled mushrooms, locusts in honey, fish, meat, and everything which he had eaten or drunk.
Here he pressed his fists against his temples and shouted, in a voice that echoed throughout the dining hall, “Thirty legions! Thirty legions! from Britain to the Parthian borders!” But he suddenly stopped, and, placing a finger to his forehead, said, “As I live, I think there are thirty-two.” He rolled under the table and soon began to bring up flamingo tongues, roasted and chilled mushrooms, locusts in honey, fish, meat, and everything he had eaten or drunk.
But the number of the legions guarding Roman peace did not pacify Domitius.
But the number of legions protecting Roman peace didn’t calm Domitius.
No, no! Rome must perish; for faith in the gods was lost, and so were strict habits! Rome must perish; and it was a pity, for still life was pleasant there. Cæsar was gracious, wine was good! Oh, what a pity!
No, no! Rome has to fall; the belief in the gods is gone, along with discipline! Rome has to fall; it's such a shame because life was enjoyable there. Caesar was kind, and the wine was great! Oh, what a shame!
And hiding his head on the arm of a Syrian bacchanal, he burst into tears. “What is a future life! Achilles was right,—better be a slave in the world beneath the sun than a king in Cimmerian regions. And still the question whether there are any gods—since it is unbelief—is destroying the youth.”
And hiding his head on the arm of a Syrian party girl, he broke down in tears. “What is life after death! Achilles was right—it's better to be a slave in the world under the sun than a king in the dark realms. And yet the doubt about whether there are any gods—since it's disbelief—is ruining the youth.”
Lucan meanwhile had blown all the gold powder from Nigidia’s hair, and she being drunk had fallen asleep. Next he took wreaths of ivy from the vase before him, put them on the sleeping woman, and when he had finished looked at those present with a delighted and inquiring glance. He arrayed himself in ivy too, repeating, in a voice of deep conviction, “I am not a man at all, but a faun.”
Lucan, meanwhile, had blown all the gold powder from Nigidia's hair, and since she was drunk, she had fallen asleep. Then he took some ivy wreaths from the vase in front of him, placed them on the sleeping woman, and when he was done, he looked at the others present with a delighted and curious expression. He adorned himself with ivy as well, declaring with deep conviction, "I'm not a man at all, but a faun."
Petronius was not drunk; but Nero, who drank little at first, out of regard for his “heavenly” voice, emptied goblet after goblet toward the end, and was drunk. He wanted even to sing more of his verses,—this time in Greek,—but he had forgotten them, and by mistake sang an ode of Anacreon. Pythagoras, Diodorus, and Terpnos accompanied him; but failing to keep time, they stopped. Nero as a judge and an æsthete was enchanted with the beauty of Pythagoras, and fell to kissing his hands in ecstasy. “Such beautiful hands I have seen only once, and whose were they?” Then placing his palm on his moist forehead, he tried to remember. After a while terror was reflected on his face.
Petronius wasn't drunk; but Nero, who initially drank little out of respect for his "heavenly" voice, started downing goblet after goblet toward the end and got drunk. He even wanted to sing more of his verses—this time in Greek—but he had forgotten them and mistakenly sang an ode by Anacreon. Pythagoras, Diodorus, and Terpnos tried to accompany him, but they couldn't keep time and had to stop. Nero, as a judge and an aesthete, was captivated by Pythagoras's beauty and began kissing his hands in ecstasy. "I've only seen such beautiful hands once, but whose were they?" He then placed his palm on his sweaty forehead, trying to remember. After a while, terror showed on his face.
Ah! His mother’s—Agrippina’s!
Ah! His mom—Agrippina’s!
And a gloomy vision seized him forthwith.
And a dark vision took hold of him immediately.
“They say,” said he, “that she wanders by moonlight on the sea around Baiæ and Bauli. She merely walks,—walks as if seeking for something. When she comes near a boat, she looks at it and goes away; but the fisherman on whom she has fixed her eye dies.”
“They say,” he said, “that she roams by moonlight on the sea around Baiæ and Bauli. She just walks—walking as if she’s searching for something. When she gets close to a boat, she looks at it and then moves on; but the fisherman she sets her gaze on dies.”
“Not a bad theme,” said Petronius.
“Not a bad theme,” said Petronius.
But Vestinius, stretching his neck like a stork, whispered mysteriously,—“I do not believe in the gods; but I believe in spirits—Oi!”
But Vestinius, stretching his neck like a stork, whispered mysteriously, “I don’t believe in the gods; but I believe in spirits—Oi!”
Nero paid no attention to their words, and continued,—“I celebrated the Lemuria, and have no wish to see her. This is the fifth year—I had to condemn her, for she sent assassins against me; and, had I not been quicker than she, ye would not be listening to-night to my song.”
Nero ignored what they said and continued, “I celebrated the Lemuria and don’t want to see her. This is the fifth year—I had to condemn her because she sent assassins after me; and if I hadn’t acted faster than she did, you wouldn’t be listening to my song tonight.”
“Thanks be to Cæsar, in the name of the city and the world!” cried Domitius Afer.
“Thanks be to Caesar, in the name of the city and the world!” cried Domitius Afer.
“Wine! and let them strike the tympans!”
“Wine! And let them hit the drums!”
The uproar began anew. Lucan, all in ivy, wishing to outshout him, rose and cried,—“I am not a man, but a faun; and I dwell in the forest. Eho-o-o-oo!” Cæsar drank himself drunk at last; men were drunk, and women were drunk. Vinicius was not less drunk than others; and in addition there was roused in him, besides desire, a wish to quarrel, which happened always when he passed the measure. His dark face became paler, and his tongue stuttered when he spoke, in a voice now loud and commanding,—“Give me thy lips! To-day, to-morrow, it is all one! Enough of this!
The chaos started up again. Lucan, decked out in ivy, trying to outshout everyone, stood up and yelled, “I’m not a man; I’m a faun, and I live in the forest. Eho-o-o-oo!” Caesar finally got completely drunk; everyone was drinking—men and women alike. Vinicius was just as drunk as the rest, and along with his desire, he felt an urge to fight, which always happened when he’d had too much. His dark complexion grew lighter, and his speech became slurred, as he shouted in a loud, commanding voice, “Give me your lips! Today, tomorrow, it doesn’t matter! Enough of this!
“Cæsar took thee from Aulus to give thee to me, dost understand? To-morrow, about dusk, I will send for thee, dost understand? Cæsar promised thee to me before he took thee. Thou must be mine! Give me thy lips! I will not wait for to-morrow,—give thy lips quickly.”
“Caesar took you from Aulus to give you to me, do you understand? Tomorrow, around dusk, I will send for you, do you understand? Caesar promised you to me before he took you. You must be mine! Give me your lips! I won’t wait until tomorrow—give me your lips now.”
And he moved to embrace her; but Acte began to defend her, and she defended herself with the remnant of her strength, for she felt that she was perishing. But in vain did she struggle with both hands to remove his hairless arm; in vain, with a voice in which terror and grief were quivering, did she implore him not to be what he was, and to have pity on her. Sated with wine, his breath blew around her nearer and nearer, and his face was there near her face. He was no longer the former kind Vinicius, almost dear to her soul; he was a drunken, wicked satyr, who filled her with repulsion and terror. But her strength deserted her more and more. In vain did she bend and turn away her face to escape his kisses. He rose to his feet, caught her in both arms, and drawing her head to his breast, began, panting, to press her pale lips with his.
And he moved to hug her, but Acte started to fight him off, using the last of her strength because she felt she was about to collapse. But it was useless; she struggled with both hands to push his hairless arm away. With a voice shaking from fear and sorrow, she begged him not to be who he was and to feel pity for her. Drunk and sated with wine, his breath came closer and closer, and his face was right next to hers. He was no longer the kind Vinicius she had once cared for; he had turned into a drunken, wicked satyr, filling her with disgust and fear. But her strength faded more and more. It was useless to turn her face away to escape his kisses. He got up, trapped her in his arms, and drawing her head to his chest, began to desperately press her pale lips against his.
But at this instant a tremendous power removed his arms from her neck with as much ease as if they had been the arms of a child, and pushed him aside, like a dried limb or a withered leaf. What had happened? Vinicius rubbed his astonished eyes, and saw before him the gigantic figure of the Lygian, called Ursus, whom he had seen at the house of Aulus.
But at that moment, an immense force pulled his arms away from her neck as easily as if they were the arms of a child and pushed him aside, like a dead branch or a dried leaf. What just happened? Vinicius rubbed his stunned eyes and saw before him the towering figure of the Lygian, named Ursus, whom he had seen at Aulus's house.
Ursus stood calmly, but looked at Vinicius so strangely with his blue eyes that the blood stiffened in the veins of the young man; then the giant took his queen on his arm, and walked out of the triclinium with an even, quiet step.
Ursus stood calmly but looked at Vinicius so strangely with his blue eyes that the blood froze in the young man's veins; then the giant picked up his queen in his arms and walked out of the triclinium with a steady, quiet step.
Acte in that moment went after him.
Acte went after him in that moment.
Vinicius sat for the twinkle of an eye as if petrified; then he sprang up and ran toward the entrance crying,—“Lygia! Lygia!”
Vinicius paused for a moment as if frozen; then he jumped up and rushed toward the entrance shouting, “Lygia! Lygia!”
But desire, astonishment, rage, and wine cut the legs from under him. He staggered once and a second time, seized the naked arm of one of the bacchanals, and began to inquire, with blinking eyes, what had happened. She, taking a goblet of wine, gave it to him with a smile in her mist-covered eyes.
But desire, surprise, anger, and wine made him lose his balance. He stumbled once and then again, grabbed the bare arm of one of the revelers, and started to ask, with blinking eyes, what had occurred. She, smiling with misty eyes, handed him a goblet of wine.
“Drink!” said she.
"Drink!" she said.
Vinicius drank, and fell to the floor.
Vinicius drank and collapsed onto the floor.
The greater number of the guests were lying under the table; others were walking with tottering tread through the triclinium, while others were sleeping on couches at the table, snoring, or giving forth the excess of wine. Meanwhile, from the golden network, roses were dropping and dropping on those drunken consuls and senators, on those drunken knights, philosophers, and poets, on those drunken dancing damsels and patrician ladies, on that society all dominant as yet but with the soul gone from it, on that society garlanded and ungirdled but perishing.
Most of the guests were sprawled out under the table; some were unsteadily wandering around the dining room, while others were snoozing on couches at the table, snoring or spilling the leftovers from their wine. Meanwhile, from the golden netting, roses fell and fell on those inebriated consuls and senators, on those drunken knights, philosophers, and poets, on those tipsy dancing ladies and aristocratic women, on that society still in charge but lifeless, on that society adorned and without restraint but fading away.
Dawn had begun out of doors.
Dawn had begun outside.
Chapter VIII
No one stopped Ursus, no one inquired even what he was doing. Those guests who were not under the table had not kept their own places; hence the servants, seeing a giant carrying a guest on his arm, thought him some slave bearing out his intoxicated mistress. Moreover, Acte was with them, and her presence removed all suspicion.
No one stopped Ursus, and no one even asked what he was doing. The guests who weren’t under the table had lost their spots; so when the servants saw a giant carrying a guest in his arms, they assumed he was just a slave taking his drunk mistress away. Plus, Acte was with them, which cleared away any doubt.
In this way they went from the triclinium to the adjoining chamber, and thence to the gallery leading to Acte’s apartments. To such a degree had her strength deserted Lygia, that she hung as if dead on the arm of Ursus. But when the cool, pure breeze of morning beat around her, she opened her eyes. It was growing clearer and clearer in the open air. After they had passed along the colonnade awhile, they turned to a side portico, coming out, not in the courtyard, but the palace gardens, where the tops of the pines and cypresses were growing ruddy from the light of morning. That part of the building was empty, so that echoes of music and sounds of the feast came with decreasing distinctness. It seemed to Lygia that she had been rescued from hell, and borne into God’s bright world outside. There was something, then, besides that disgusting triclinium. There was the sky, the dawn, light, and peace. Sudden weeping seized the maiden, and, taking shelter on the arm of the giant, she repeated, with sobbing,—“Let us go home, Ursus! home, to the house of Aulus.”
They moved from the dining room to the next room, and then to the hallway leading to Acte’s apartments. Lygia had lost so much strength that she hung limply on Ursus's arm, almost like she was dead. But when the cool, fresh morning breeze surrounded her, she opened her eyes. The air was getting clearer and clearer. After they walked along the colonnade for a while, they turned into a side portico, emerging not into the courtyard, but into the palace gardens, where the tops of the pines and cypresses were turning reddish in the morning light. That part of the building was empty, so the echoes of music and sounds from the feast faded away. To Lygia, it felt like she had been rescued from hell and brought into God’s bright world outside. There was something more than that horrible dining room. There was the sky, the dawn, light, and peace. Suddenly, she began to weep, and leaning on the giant's arm, she sobbed, “Let’s go home, Ursus! Home, to Aulus's house.”
“Let us go!” answered Ursus.
"Let's go!" replied Ursus.
They found themselves now in the small atrium of Acte’s apartments. Ursus placed Lygia on a marble bench at a distance from the fountain. Acte strove to pacify her; she urged her to sleep, and declared that for the moment there was no danger,—after the feast the drunken guests would sleep till evening. For a long time Lygia could not calm herself, and, pressing her temples with both hands, she repeated like a child,—“Let us go home, to the house of Aulus!”
They were now in the small atrium of Acte’s apartments. Ursus set Lygia down on a marble bench away from the fountain. Acte tried to comfort her; she encouraged her to sleep and insisted that there was no danger at the moment—after the feast, the drunken guests would be out cold until evening. For a long time, Lygia couldn't settle down, and, pressing her temples with both hands, she kept saying like a child, “Let’s go home, to Aulus’s house!”
Ursus was ready. At the gates stood pretorians, it is true, but he would pass them. The soldiers would not stop out-going people. The space before the arch was crowded with litters. Guests were beginning to go forth in throngs. No one would detain them. They would pass with the crowd and go home directly. For that matter, what does he care? As the queen commands, so must it be. He is there to carry out her orders.
Ursus was ready. True, there were pretorians at the gates, but he would get past them. The soldiers wouldn’t stop people leaving. The area in front of the arch was packed with litters. Guests were starting to leave in groups. No one would hold them back. They would blend in with the crowd and head straight home. Besides, why should he care? The queen has spoken, and that’s how it has to be. He’s there to carry out her commands.
“Yes, Ursus,” said Lygia, “let us go.”
“Yes, Ursus,” Lygia said, “let’s go.”
Acte was forced to find reason for both. They would pass out, true; no one would stop them. But it is not permitted to flee from the house of Cæsar; whoso does that offends Cæsar’s majesty. They may go; but in the evening a centurion at the head of soldiers will take a death sentence to Aulus and Pomponia Græcina; they will bring Lygia to the palace again, and then there will be no rescue for her. Should Aulus and his wife receive her under their roof, death awaits them to a certainty.
Acte had to reason out both situations. They would pass out, that's true; no one would stop them. But you can’t just run away from Caesar’s house; anyone who does that disrespects Caesar’s authority. They can leave, but in the evening, a centurion with soldiers will bring a death sentence to Aulus and Pomponia Græcina; they will bring Lygia back to the palace, and then there will be no way to save her. If Aulus and his wife take her in, death is certain for them.
Lygia’s arms dropped. There was no other outcome. She must choose her own ruin or that of Plautius. In going to the feast, she had hoped that Vinicius and Petronius would win her from Cæsar, and return her to Pomponia; now she knew that it was they who had brought Cæsar to remove her from the house of Aulus. There was no help. Only a miracle could save her from the abyss,—a miracle and the might of God.
Lygia's arms fell to her sides. There was no other way out. She had to decide between her own destruction or Plautius's. When she went to the feast, she had hoped that Vinicius and Petronius would help her escape Cæsar and go back to Pomponia; now she realized it was them who had convinced Cæsar to take her away from Aulus's house. There was no way out. Only a miracle could pull her back from the brink— a miracle and the power of God.
“Acte,” said she, in despair, “didst thou hear Vinicius say that Cæsar had given me to him, and that he will send slaves here this evening to take me to his house?”
“Acte,” she said in despair, “did you hear Vinicius say that Caesar had given me to him, and that he will send slaves here this evening to take me to his house?”
“I did,” answered Acte; and, raising her arms from her side, she was silent. The despair with which Lygia spoke found in her no echo. She herself had been Nero’s favorite. Her heart, though good, could not feel clearly the shame of such a relation. A former slave, she had grown too much inured to the law of slavery; and, besides, she loved Nero yet. If he returned to her, she would stretch her arms to him, as to happiness. Comprehending clearly that Lygia must become the mistress of the youthful and stately Vinicius, or expose Aulus and Pomponia to ruin, she failed to understand how the girl could hesitate.
“I did,” Acte replied, and, lifting her arms from her sides, she went silent. The despair in Lygia’s voice didn’t resonate with her. She had been Nero's favorite. Though her heart was good, she couldn’t fully grasp the shame of that relationship. As a former slave, she had become too accustomed to the reality of slavery; plus, she still loved Nero. If he came back to her, she would reach out to him, thinking of happiness. Understanding that Lygia had to become the partner of the young and impressive Vinicius, or risk ruining Aulus and Pomponia, she couldn’t see why the girl would hesitate.
“In Cæsar’s house,” said she, after a while, “it would not be safer for thee than in that of Vinicius.”
“In Caesar’s house,” she said after a while, “it wouldn’t be any safer for you than in Vinicius’s place.”
And it did not occur to her that, though she told the truth, her words meant, “Be resigned to fate and become the concubine of Vinicius.”
And it didn’t cross her mind that, even though she was telling the truth, her words meant, “Accept your fate and become Vinicius’s mistress.”
As to Lygia, who felt on her lips yet his kisses, burning as coals and full of beastly desire, the blood rushed to her face with shame at the mere thought of them.
As for Lygia, who still felt his kisses on her lips, hot like coals and full of animalistic desire, the blood rushed to her face in shame at just the thought of them.
“Never,” cried she, with an outburst, “will I remain here, or at the house of Vinicius,—never!”
“Never,” she shouted, with emotion, “will I stay here, or at Vinicius’ house—never!”
“But,” inquired Acte, “is Vinicius hateful to thee?”
“But,” Acte asked, “does Vinicius hate you?”
Lygia was unable to answer, for weeping seized her anew. Acte gathered the maiden to her bosom, and strove to calm her excitement. Ursus breathed heavily, and balled his giant fists; for, loving his queen with the devotion of a dog, he could not bear the sight of her tears. In his half-wild Lygian heart was the wish to return to the triclinium, choke Vinicius, and, should the need come, Cæsar himself; but he feared to sacrifice thereby his mistress, and was not certain that such an act, which to him seemed very simple, would befit a confessor of the Crucified Lamb.
Lygia couldn’t respond, as her tears overwhelmed her again. Acte pulled the young woman close to her chest and tried to soothe her distress. Ursus breathed heavily, his huge fists clenched; he loved his queen with dog-like devotion and couldn’t stand to see her crying. Deep inside his wild heart, he wished to return to the dining hall, take down Vinicius, and, if necessary, take on Caesar himself; but he worried that such actions could endanger his mistress, and he wasn’t sure that something he considered straightforward would be appropriate for a follower of the Crucified Lamb.
But Acte, while caressing Lygia, asked again, “Is he so hateful to thee?”
But Acte, while stroking Lygia's hair, asked again, "Is he really that repulsive to you?"
“No,” said Lygia; “it is not permitted me to hate, for I am a Christian.”
“No,” Lygia said; “I can’t hate because I'm a Christian.”
“I know, Lygia. I know also from the letters of Paul of Tarsus, that it is not permitted to defile one’s self, nor to fear death more than sin; but tell me if thy teaching permits one person to cause the death of others?”
“I get it, Lygia. I also know from the letters of Paul of Tarsus that it’s not allowed to defile oneself, nor to fear death more than sin; but tell me, does your teaching allow one person to cause the death of others?”
“No.”
“No.”
“Then how canst thou bring Cæsar’s vengeance on the house of Aulus?” A moment of silence followed. A bottomless abyss yawned before Lygia again.
“Then how can you bring Caesar’s vengeance on the house of Aulus?” A moment of silence followed. A bottomless abyss yawned before Lygia again.
“I ask,” continued the young freedwoman, “for I have compassion on thee—and I have compassion on the good Pomponia and Aulus, and on their child. It is long since I began to live in this house, and I know what Cæsar’s anger is. No! thou art not at liberty to flee from here. One way remains to thee: implore Vinicius to return thee to Pomponia.”
“I ask,” continued the young freedwoman, “because I feel sorry for you—and I care about the good Pomponia and Aulus, and their child. It's been a long time since I started living in this house, and I know what Cæsar’s anger is like. No! You can't just escape from here. There’s only one option left for you: plead with Vinicius to take you back to Pomponia.”
But Lygia dropped on her knees to implore some one else. Ursus knelt down after a while, too, and both began to pray in Cæsar’s house at the morning dawn.
But Lygia dropped to her knees to plead with someone else. Ursus knelt down a little later, and both started to pray in Caesar's house at dawn.
Acte witnessed such a prayer for the first time, and could not take her eyes from Lygia, who, seen by her in profile, with raised hands, and face turned heavenward, seemed to implore rescue. The dawn, casting light on her dark hair and white peplus, was reflected in her eyes. Entirely in the light, she seemed herself like light. In that pale face, in those parted lips, in those raised hands and eyes, a kind of superhuman exaltation was evident. Acte understood then why Lygia could not become the concubine of any man. Before the face of Nero’s former favorite was drawn aside, as it were, a corner of that veil which hides a world altogether different from that to which she was accustomed. She was astonished by prayer in that abode of crime and infamy. A moment earlier it had seemed to her that there was no rescue for Lygia; now she began to think that something uncommon would happen, that some aid would come,—aid so mighty that Cæsar himself would be powerless to resist it; that some winged army would descend from the sky to help that maiden, or that the sun would spread its rays beneath her feet and draw her up to itself. She had heard of many miracles among Christians, and she thought now that everything said of them was true, since Lygia was praying.
Acte witnessed a prayer for the first time and couldn't take her eyes off Lygia, who, seen in profile with her hands raised and face turned to the sky, seemed to be pleading for rescue. The dawn light illuminated her dark hair and white garment, reflecting in her eyes. Completely bathed in light, she appeared almost like light itself. On that pale face, with those parted lips, raised hands, and eyes, there was a hint of superhuman exaltation. Acte realized then why Lygia could never be the concubine of any man. Before her, the veil was pulled back just a little, revealing a world completely different from the one she knew. She was amazed by the sight of prayer in that place of crime and shame. Moments earlier, it had seemed to her that Lygia had no hope; now she began to think that something extraordinary might happen, that help would come—help so powerful that even Cæsar would be unable to stand against it; that a winged army might descend from the sky to aid that maiden, or that the sun would cast its rays beneath her feet and lift her up to itself. She had heard about many miracles among Christians and now believed that everything said about them was true, since Lygia was praying.
Lygia rose at last, with a face serene with hope. Ursus rose too, and, holding to the bench, looked at his mistress, waiting for her words.
Lygia finally stood up, her face calm with hope. Ursus also stood, and while holding onto the bench, he looked at his mistress, waiting for her to speak.
But it grew dark in her eyes, and after a time two great tears rolled down her checks slowly.
But her eyes darkened, and after a while, two large tears slowly rolled down her cheeks.
“May God bless Pomponia and Aulus,” said she. “It is not permitted me to bring ruin on them; therefore I shall never see them again.”
“May God bless Pomponia and Aulus,” she said. “I can’t bring disaster upon them; that’s why I’ll never see them again.”
Then turning to Ursus she said that he alone remained to her in the world; that he must be to her as a protector and a father. They could not seek refuge in the house of Aulus, for they would bring on it the anger of Cæsar. But neither could she remain in the house of Cæsar or that of Vinicius. Let Ursus take her then; let him conduct her out of the city; let him conceal her in some place where neither Vinicius nor his servants could find her. She would follow Ursus anywhere, even beyond the sea, even beyond the mountains, to the barbarians, where the Roman name was not heard, and whither the power of Cæsar did not reach. Let him take her and save her, for he alone had remained to her.
Then she turned to Ursus and said he was the only one left for her in the world; that he had to be her protector and father. They couldn’t seek refuge in Aulus's house because that would provoke Cæsar’s anger. But she couldn’t stay in Cæsar's house or Vinicius's either. So, let Ursus take her; let him lead her out of the city; let him hide her somewhere that neither Vinicius nor his servants could find her. She would follow Ursus anywhere, even across the sea, even over the mountains, to the barbarians, where the Roman name wasn’t known, and where Cæsar’s power didn’t reach. Let him take her and save her, for he was the only one she had left.
The Lygian was ready, and in sign of obedience he bent to her feet and embraced them. But on the face of Acte, who had been expecting a miracle, disappointment was evident. Had the prayer effected only that much? To flee from the house of Cæsar is to commit an offence against majesty which must be avenged; and even if Lygia succeeded in hiding, Cæsar would avenge himself on Aulus and Pomponia. If she wishes to escape, let her escape from the house of Vinicius. Then Cæsar, who does not like to occupy himself with the affairs of others, may not wish even to aid Vinicius in the pursuit; in every case it will not be a crime against majesty.
The Lygian was prepared, and as a sign of respect, he bowed to her feet and kissed them. But on Acte's face, who had been hoping for a miracle, disappointment was clear. Had the prayer only brought about this much? To run away from Caesar's house is to commit an offense against authority that will be punished; and even if Lygia managed to hide, Caesar would take revenge on Aulus and Pomponia. If she wants to escape, she should leave Vinicius's house. Then Caesar, who doesn't like to get involved in other people's business, might not even want to help Vinicius in the chase; in any case, it won't be a crime against authority.
But Lygia’s thoughts were just the following: Aulus would not even know where she was; Pomponia herself would not know. She would escape not from the house of Vinicius, however, but while on the way to it. When drunk, Vinicius had said that he would send his slaves for her in the evening. Beyond doubt he had told the truth, which he would not have done had he been sober. Evidently he himself, or perhaps he and Petronius, had seen Cæsar before the feast, and won from him the promise to give her on the following evening. And if they forgot that day, they would send for her on the morrow. But Ursus will save her. He will come; he will bear her out of the litter as he bore her out of the triclinium, and they will go into the world. No one could resist Ursus, not even that terrible athlete who wrestled at the feast yesterday. But as Vinicius might send a great number of slaves, Ursus would go at once to Bishop Linus for aid and counsel. The bishop will take compassion on her, will not leave her in the hands of Vinicius; he will command Christians to go with Ursus to rescue her. They will seize her and bear her away; then Ursus can take her out of the city and hide her from the power of Rome.
But Lygia’s thoughts were simply this: Aulus wouldn’t even know where she was; Pomponia wouldn’t know either. She would escape not from Vinicius's house, but on her way to it. When Vinicius was drunk, he mentioned sending his slaves for her that evening. There was no doubt he was being honest, which he wouldn’t have been if he were sober. Clearly, he or possibly he and Petronius had spoken to Caesar before the feast and secured a promise to give her to him the following evening. And if they forgot that day, they would send for her the next. But Ursus will save her. He will come; he will lift her out of the litter just like he did from the banquet room, and they will escape into the world. No one could stand against Ursus, not even that fierce athlete who wrestled at the feast yesterday. But since Vinicius might send a lot of slaves, Ursus would immediately go to Bishop Linus for help and advice. The bishop would feel sorry for her and wouldn’t let her remain in Vinicius's grasp; he would order Christians to accompany Ursus to rescue her. They would grab her and take her away; then Ursus could take her out of the city and hide her from Rome's power.
And her face began to flush and smile. Consolation entered her anew, as if the hope of rescue had turned to reality. She threw herself on Acte’s neck suddenly, and, putting her beautiful lips to Acte’s cheek, she whispered:
And her face started to glow and smile. A sense of comfort washed over her again, like the hope for rescue had become real. She suddenly threw herself around Acte’s neck, and, pressing her beautiful lips to Acte’s cheek, she whispered:
“Thou wilt not betray, Acte, wilt thou?”
"You won't betray me, Acte, will you?"
“By the shade of my mother,” answered the freedwoman, “I will not; but pray to thy God that Ursus be able to bear thee away.”
“By my mother’s shade,” the freedwoman replied, “I will not; but pray to your God that Ursus can carry you away.”
The blue, childlike eyes of the giant were gleaming with happiness. He had not been able to frame any plan, though he had been breaking his poor head; but a thing like this he could do,—and whether in the day or in the night it was all one to him! He would go to the bishop, for the bishop can read in the sky what is needed and what is not. Besides, he could assemble Christians himself. Are his acquaintances few among slaves, gladiators, and free people, both in the Subura and beyond the bridges? He can collect a couple of thousand of them. He will rescue his lady, and take her outside the city, and he can go with her. They will go to the end of the world, even to that place from which they had come, where no one has heard of Rome.
The giant's big, childlike blue eyes were shining with happiness. He hadn't been able to come up with a plan, even though he had been thinking hard; but this was something he could do—whether it was day or night didn't matter to him! He would go to the bishop because the bishop knows what is needed and what isn't. Plus, he could gather Christians himself. Does he have few friends among slaves, gladiators, and free people, both in the Subura and across the bridges? He can gather a couple of thousand of them. He'll save his lady, take her outside the city, and he can go with her. They will journey to the ends of the earth, even back to the place they came from, where no one has ever heard of Rome.
Here he began to look forward, as if to see things in the future and very distant.
Here he started to look ahead, as if to see things that were coming in the future and far away.
“To the forest? Ai, what a forest, what a forest!”
“To the forest? Wow, what a forest, what a forest!”
But after a while he shook himself out of his visions. Well, he will go to the bishop at once, and in the evening will wait with something like a hundred men for the litter. And let not slaves, but even pretorians, take her from him! Better for any man not to come under his fist, even though in iron armor,—for is iron so strong? When he strikes iron earnestly, the head underneath will not survive.
But after a bit, he snapped out of his daydreams. Alright, he would go to the bishop right away, and in the evening, he would wait with around a hundred men for the litter. And let it not be just slaves, but even praetorians who take her from him! It's best for any man to avoid his wrath, even if they’re in iron armor—because is iron really that strong? When he hits iron with full force, the head beneath it won’t last.
But Lygia raised her finger with great and also childlike seriousness.
But Lygia lifted her finger with a mix of seriousness and childlike curiosity.
“Ursus, do not kill,” said she.
“Ursus, don’t hurt anyone,” she said.
Ursus put his fist, which was like a maul, to the back of his head, and, rubbing his neck with great seriousness, began to mutter. But he must rescue “his light.” She herself had said that his turn had come. He will try all he can. But if something happens in spite of him? In every case he must save her. But should anything happen, he will repent, and so entreat the Innocent Lamb that the Crucified Lamb will have mercy on him, poor fellow. He has no wish to offend the Lamb; but then his hands are so heavy.
Ursus brought his fist, which was like a hammer, to the back of his head and, rubbing his neck earnestly, started to mumble. But he had to save "his light." She had said that his time had come. He would do everything he could. But what if something goes wrong despite his efforts? No matter what, he had to save her. But if anything does happen, he will regret it and plead with the Innocent Lamb for the Crucified Lamb to have mercy on him, poor guy. He doesn’t want to upset the Lamb, but his hands are just so heavy.
Great tenderness was expressed on his face; but wishing to hide it, he bowed and said,—“Now I will go to the holy bishop.”
Great tenderness showed on his face; but wanting to hide it, he bowed and said, “Now I will go to the holy bishop.”
Acte put her arms around Lygia’s neck, and began to weep. Once more the freedwoman understood that there was a world in which greater happiness existed, even in suffering, than in all the excesses and luxury of Cæsar’s house. Once more a kind of door to the light was opened a little before her, but she felt at once that she was unworthy to pass through it.
Acte wrapped her arms around Lygia's neck and started to cry. Once again, the freedwoman realized there was a world where greater happiness could be found, even in pain, than in all the excess and luxury of Caesar's palace. Once more, a kind of door to the light opened slightly before her, but she immediately felt unworthy to step through it.
Chapter IX
LYGIA was grieved to lose Pomponia Græcina, whom she loved with her whole soul, and she grieved for the household of Aulus; still her despair passed away. She felt a certain delight even in the thought that she was sacrificing plenty and comfort for her Truth, and was entering on an unknown and wandering existence. Perhaps there was in this a little also of childish curiosity as to what that life would be, off somewhere in remote regions, among wild beasts and barbarians. But there was still more a deep and trusting faith, that by acting thus she was doing as the Divine Master had commanded, and that henceforth He Himself would watch over her, as over an obedient and faithful child. In such a case what harm could meet her? If sufferings come, she will endure them in His name. If sudden death comes, He will take her; and some time, when Pomponia dies, they will be together for all eternity. More than once when she was in the house of Aulus, she tortured her childish head because she, a Christian, could do nothing for that Crucified, of whom Ursus spoke with such tenderness. But now the moment had come. Lygia felt almost happy, and began to speak of her happiness to Acte, who could not understand her, however. To leave everything,—to leave house, wealth, the city, gardens, temples, porticos, everything that is beautiful; leave a sunny land and people near to one—and for what purpose? To hide from the love of a young and stately knight. In Acte’s head these things could not find place. At times she felt that Lygia’s action was right, that there must be some immense mysterious happiness in it; but she could not give a clear account to herself of the matter, especially since an adventure was before Lygia which might have an evil ending,—an adventure in which she might lose her life simply. Acte was timid by nature, and she thought with dread of what the coming evening might bring. But she was loath to mention her fears to Lygia; meanwhile, as the day was clear and the sun looked into the atrium, she began to persuade her to take the rest needed after a night without sleep. Lygia did not refuse; and both went to the cubiculum, which was spacious and furnished with luxury because of Acte’s former relations with Cæsar. There they lay down side by side, but in spite of her weariness Acte could not sleep. For a long time she had been sad and unhappy, but now she was seized by a certain uneasiness which she had never felt before. So far life had seemed to her simply grievous and deprived of a morrow; now all at once it seemed to her dishonorable.
LYGIA was heartbroken to lose Pomponia Græcina, whom she loved deeply, and she mourned for Aulus's household; yet her despair faded. She found a certain joy in the thought that she was giving up comfort and abundance for her Truth and stepping into an uncertain and wandering life. There was perhaps a bit of childish curiosity about what that life would be like, far away in remote areas, among wild animals and uncivilized people. But more importantly, there was a profound and trusting faith that by following this path she was obeying the Divine Master’s command, and that He would watch over her as if she were an obedient and faithful child. In that case, what harm could come to her? If suffering came, she would endure it in His name. If sudden death came, He would take her; and someday, when Pomponia passed away, they would be together for all eternity. More than once, while she was in Aulus's house, she troubled herself because, as a Christian, she felt powerless to help that Crucified one, whom Ursus spoke of so tenderly. But now the moment had arrived. Lygia felt almost happy and started to express her happiness to Acte, who couldn’t understand her. To leave everything—her home, wealth, the city, gardens, temples, porticoes, all that was beautiful; to leave a sunny land and the people she loved—and for what? To escape the love of a young and noble knight. Acte couldn’t make sense of it. Sometimes she felt Lygia was doing the right thing, that there must be some immense and mysterious happiness in it; but she couldn’t clearly grasp the situation, especially since Lygia was about to embark on an adventure that might end badly—a venture that could cost her life. Acte was naturally timid, and she dreaded what the coming evening might bring. But she was reluctant to voice her fears to Lygia; meanwhile, since the day was clear and the sun shone into the atrium, she began to persuade her to rest after a sleepless night. Lygia agreed, and both went to the spacious, luxuriously furnished cubiculum because of Acte’s previous connections with Cæsar. They lay down side by side, but despite her exhaustion, Acte couldn’t sleep. She had been sad and unhappy for a long time, but now she was gripped by a new sense of unease she had never felt before. Until now, life had seemed just painful and devoid of a future; suddenly, it felt dishonorable.
Increasing chaos rose in her head. Again the door to light began to open and close. But in the moment when it opened, that light so dazzled her that she could see nothing distinctly. She divined, merely, that in that light there was happiness of some kind, happiness beyond measure, in presence of which every other was nothing, to such a degree that if Cæsar, for example, were to set aside Poppæa, and love her, Acte, again, it would be vanity. Suddenly the thought came to her that that Cæsar whom she loved, whom she held involuntarily as a kind of demigod, was as pitiful as any slave, and that palace, with columns of Numidian marble, no better than a heap of stones. At last, however, those feelings which she had not power to define began to torment her; she wanted to sleep, but being tortured by alarm she could not. Thinking that Lygia, threatened by so many perils and uncertainties, was not sleeping either, she turned to her to speak of her flight in the evening. But Lygia was sleeping calmly. Into the dark cubiculum, past the curtain which was not closely drawn, came a few bright rays, in which golden dust-motes were playing. By the light of these rays Acte saw her delicate face, resting on her bare arm, her closed eyes, and her mouth slightly open. She was breathing regularly, but as people breathe while asleep.
Increasing chaos filled her mind. Again, the door to light started to open and close. But when it opened, the light was so blinding that she couldn't see anything clearly. She sensed, simply, that within that light was some kind of happiness, happiness beyond measure, in the presence of which every other kind of happiness seemed insignificant, to the point that if Caesar, for example, were to abandon Poppaea and love her, Acte, again, it would be meaningless. Suddenly, it struck her that the Caesar she loved, whom she involuntarily held as a sort of demigod, was as pathetic as any slave, and that palace with its Numidian marble columns was no better than a pile of stones. Eventually, however, those feelings she couldn't define began to torment her; she wanted to sleep, but due to her anxiety, she couldn't. Thinking that Lygia, threatened by so many dangers and uncertainties, wasn't sleeping either, she turned to her to discuss their escape in the evening. But Lygia was sleeping peacefully. A few bright rays filtered into the dark cubiculum through the loosely drawn curtain, where golden dust motes danced. By the light of these rays, Acte saw her delicate face resting on her bare arm, her closed eyes, and her slightly open mouth. She was breathing steadily, just like someone asleep.
“She sleeps,—she is able to sleep,” thought Acte. “She is a child yet.” Still, after a while it came to her mind that that child chose to flee rather than remain the beloved of Vinicius; she preferred want to shame, wandering to a lordly house, to robes, jewels, and feasts, to the sound of lutes and citharas.
“She sleeps — she can actually sleep,” Acte thought. “She’s still just a kid.” Still, after a bit, it struck her that this child chose to run away instead of staying the beloved of Vinicius; she preferred hardship to humiliation, wandering off to a grand house, to fancy clothes, jewels, and parties, to the sound of lutes and citharas.
“Why?”
“Why?”
And she gazed at Lygia, as if to find an answer in her sleeping face. She looked at her clear forehead, at the calm arch of her brows, at her dark tresses, at her parted lips, at her virgin bosom moved by calm breathing; then she thought again,—“How different from me!”
And she looked at Lygia, as if searching for an answer in her peaceful face. She took in her smooth forehead, the gentle curve of her brows, her dark hair, her slightly open lips, her pure chest rising and falling with steady breaths; then she thought again, “How different from me!”
Lygia seemed to her a miracle, a sort of divine vision, something beloved of the gods, a hundred times more beautiful than all the flowers in Cæsar’s garden, than all the statues in his palace. But in the Greek woman’s heart there was no envy. On the contrary, at thought of the dangers which threatened the girl, great pity seized her. A certain motherly feeling rose in the woman. Lygia seemed to her not only as beautiful as a beautiful vision, but also very dear, and, putting her lips to her dark hair, she kissed it.
Lygia appeared to her like a miracle, a kind of divine sight, something cherished by the gods, a hundred times more beautiful than all the flowers in Caesar’s garden or all the statues in his palace. But the Greek woman felt no envy. Instead, thinking of the dangers that threatened the girl, she was filled with deep compassion. A nurturing instinct arose within her. Lygia seemed to her not only as beautiful as a lovely vision but also very precious, and, leaning down, she kissed her dark hair.
But Lygia slept on calmly, as if at home, under the care of Pomponia Græcina. And she slept rather long. Midday had passed when she opened her blue eyes and looked around the cubiculum in astonishment. Evidently she wondered that she was not in the house of Aulus.
But Lygia slept peacefully, as if she were at home, under Pomponia Græcina's care. She slept for quite a while. It was past noon when she opened her blue eyes and looked around the room in surprise. Clearly, she was confused about why she wasn't in Aulus's house.
“That is thou, Acte?” said she at last, seeing in the darkness the face of the Greek.
“That is you, Acte?” she finally said, seeing the face of the Greek in the darkness.
“I, Lygia.”
"I'm Lygia."
“Is it evening?”
"Is it night?"
“No, child; but midday has passed.”
“No, kid; but noon has passed.”
“And has Ursus not returned?”
“Has Ursus not come back?”
“Ursus did not say that he would return; he said that he would watch in the evening, with Christians, for the litter.”
“Ursus didn’t say he would come back; he said he would wait in the evening, with Christians, for the litter.”
“True.”
“Facts.”
Then they left the cubiculum and went to the bath, where Acte bathed Lygia; then she took her to breakfast and afterward to the gardens of the palace, in which no dangerous meeting might be feared, since Cæsar and his principal courtiers were sleeping yet. For the first time in her life Lygia saw those magnificent gardens, full of pines, cypresses, oaks, olives, and myrtles, among which appeared white here and there a whole population of statues. The mirror of ponds gleamed quietly; groves of roses were blooming, watered with the spray of fountains; entrances to charming grottos were encircled with a growth of ivy or woodbine; silver-colored swans were sailing on the water; amidst statues and trees wandered tame gazelles from the deserts of Africa, and rich-colored birds from all known countries on earth.
Then they left the room and went to the bath, where Acte bathed Lygia; afterward, she took her to breakfast and then to the palace gardens, where they didn’t have to worry about any dangerous encounters since Caesar and his top courtiers were still sleeping. For the first time in her life, Lygia saw those stunning gardens filled with pines, cypresses, oaks, olives, and myrtles, where a whole population of statues appeared here and there. The surfaces of the ponds sparkled quietly; rose bushes were in bloom, misted by the fountains; entrances to lovely grottos were surrounded by ivy or honeysuckle; silver swans glided across the water; and tame gazelles from the deserts of Africa wandered among the statues and trees, accompanied by brightly colored birds from all around the world.
The gardens were empty; but here and there slaves were working, spade in hand, singing in an undertone; others, to whom was granted a moment of rest, were sitting by ponds or in the shade of groves, in trembling light produced by sun-rays breaking in between leaves; others were watering roses or the pale lily-colored blossoms of the saffron. Acte and Lygia walked rather long, looking at all the wonders of the gardens; and though Lygia’s mind was not at rest, she was too much a child yet to resist pleasure, curiosity, and wonder. It occurred to her, even, that if Cæsar were good, he might be very happy in such a palace, in such gardens.
The gardens were empty, but here and there, workers were toiling with shovels in hand, humming softly. Some others, enjoying a brief break, were sitting by ponds or in the shade of trees, surrounded by the flickering light of sun rays filtering through the leaves. A few were tending to the roses or the pale, lily-colored saffron blossoms. Acte and Lygia walked for a while, taking in all the marvels of the gardens. Although Lygia's thoughts were unsettled, she was still young enough to be captivated by joy, curiosity, and wonder. She even thought that if Caesar were a good person, he might be truly happy in such a palace and such gardens.
But at last, tired somewhat, the two women sat down on a bench hidden almost entirely by dense cypresses and began to talk of that which weighed on their hearts most,—that is, of Lygia’s escape in the evening. Acte was far less at rest than Lygia touching its success. At times it seemed to her even a mad project, which could not succeed. She felt a growing pity for Lygia. It seemed to her that it would be a hundred times safer to try to act on Vinicius. After a while she inquired of Lygia how long she had known him, and whether she did not think that he would let himself be persuaded to return her to Pomponia.
But finally, feeling a bit tired, the two women sat down on a bench mostly hidden by thick cypress trees and started talking about what weighed most heavily on their hearts—Lygia’s escape that evening. Acte was much less confident about its success than Lygia was. Sometimes it seemed to her like a crazy plan that couldn’t possibly work. She felt a growing sympathy for Lygia. It seemed to her that it would be a hundred times safer to try to influence Vinicius instead. After a while, she asked Lygia how long she had known him and whether she thought he would be persuaded to return her to Pomponia.
But Lygia shook her dark head in sadness. “No. In Aulus’s house, Vinicius had been different, he had been very kind, but since yesterday’s feast she feared him, and would rather flee to the Lygians.”
But Lygia shook her dark head sadly. “No. In Aulus’s house, Vinicius had been different; he had been very kind, but since yesterday’s feast, she feared him and would rather escape to the Lygians.”
“But in Aulus’s house,” inquired Acte, “he was dear to thee, was he not?”
“But in Aulus’s house,” Acte asked, “you cared about him, didn’t you?”
“He was,” answered Lygia, inclining her head.
“He was,” Lygia replied, tilting her head.
“And thou wert not a slave, as I was,” said Acte, after a moment’s thought. “Vinicius might marry thee. Thou art a hostage, and a daughter of the Lygian king. Aulus and Pomponia love thee as their own child; I am sure that they are ready to adopt thee. Vinicius might marry thee, Lygia.”
"And you weren't a slave like I was," Acte said after a moment of thought. "Vinicius could marry you. You're a hostage and the daughter of the Lygian king. Aulus and Pomponia love you like their own child; I'm sure they're ready to adopt you. Vinicius could marry you, Lygia."
But Lygia answered calmly, and with still greater sadness, “I would rather flee to the Lygians.”
But Lygia answered calmly, even more sadly, “I would rather run away to the Lygians.”
“Lygia, dost thou wish me to go directly to Vinicius, rouse him, if he is sleeping, and tell him what I have told thee? Yes, my precious one, I will go to him and say, ‘Vinicius, this is a king’s daughter, and a dear child of the famous Aulus; if thou love her, return her to Aulus and Pomponia, and take her as wife from their house.’”
“Lygia, do you want me to go straight to Vinicius, wake him up if he’s sleeping, and tell him what I told you? Yes, my dear, I will go to him and say, ‘Vinicius, this is a king’s daughter and a beloved child of the famous Aulus; if you love her, return her to Aulus and Pomponia, and take her as your wife from their home.’”
But the maiden answered with a voice so low that Acte could barely hear it,—
But the girl responded in a voice so soft that Acte could hardly hear it,—
“I would rather flee to the Lygians.” And two tears were hanging on her drooping lids.
“I would rather run away to the Lygians.” And two tears were resting on her drooping eyelids.
Further conversation was stopped by the rustle of approaching steps, and before Acte had time to see who was coming, Poppæa Sabina appeared in front of the bench with a small retinue of slave women. Two of them held over her head bunches of ostrich feathers fixed to golden wires; with these they fanned her lightly, and at the same time protected her from the autumn sun, which was hot yet. Before her a woman from Egypt, black as ebony, and with bosom swollen as if from milk, bore in her arms an infant wrapped in purple fringed with gold. Acte and Lygia rose, thinking that Poppæa would pass the bench without turning attention to either; but she halted before them and said,—“Acte, the bells sent by thee for the doll were badly fastened; the child tore off one and put it to her mouth; luckily Lilith saw it in season.”
Further conversation was interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps, and before Acte could see who was coming, Poppæa Sabina appeared in front of the bench with a small group of slave women. Two of them held bunches of ostrich feathers above her head, fanning her gently while also shielding her from the still warm autumn sun. In front of her, a woman from Egypt, as dark as ebony and with a bosom full as if nursing, cradled an infant wrapped in purple with gold fringes. Acte and Lygia stood up, thinking Poppæa would pass by without noticing them; but she stopped in front of them and said, “Acte, the bells you sent for the doll were poorly attached; the child pulled one off and put it in her mouth; luckily, Lilith caught it just in time.”
“Pardon, divinity,” answered Acte, crossing her arms on her breast and bending her head.
“Excuse me, Your Highness,” replied Acte, crossing her arms over her chest and bowing her head.
But Poppæa began to gaze at Lygia.
But Poppæa started to look at Lygia.
“What slave is this?” asked she, after a pause.
“What slave is this?” she asked after a pause.
“She is not a slave, divine Augusta, but a foster child of Pomponia Græcina, and a daughter of the Lygian king given by him as hostage to Rome.”
“She is not a slave, divine Augusta, but a foster child of Pomponia Græcina, and a daughter of the Lygian king given by him as a hostage to Rome.”
“And has she come to visit thee?”
“And has she come to see you?”
“No, Augusta. She is dwelling in the palace since the day before yesterday.”
“No, Augusta. She has been living in the palace since the day before yesterday.”
“Was she at the feast last night?”
“Was she at the party last night?”
“She was, Augusta.”
"She was, Augusta."
“At whose command?”
“Who ordered this?”
“At Cæsar’s command.”
“At Caesar's command.”
Poppæa looked still more attentively at Lygia, who stood with bowed head, now raising her bright eyes to her with curiosity, now covering them with their lids. Suddenly a frown appeared between the brows of the Augusta. Jealous of her own beauty and power, she lived in continual alarm lest at some time a fortunate rival might ruin her, as she had ruined Octavia. Hence every beautiful face in the palace roused her suspicion. With the eye of a critic she took in at once every part of Lygia’s form, estimated every detail of her face, and was frightened. “That is simply a nymph,” thought she, “and ‘twas Venus who gave birth to her.” On a sudden this came to her mind which had never come before at sight of any beauty,—that she herself had grown notably older! Wounded vanity quivered in Poppæa, alarm seized her, and various fears shot through her head. “Perhaps Nero has not seen the girl, or, seeing her through the emerald, has not appreciated her. But what would happen should he meet such a marvel in the daytime, in sunlight? Moreover she is not a slave, she is the daughter of a king,—a king of barbarians, it is true, but a king. Immortal gods! she is as beautiful as I am, but younger!” The wrinkle between her brows increased, and her eyes began to shine under their golden lashes with a cold gleam.
Poppæa looked even more closely at Lygia, who stood with her head down, now lifting her bright eyes to her with curiosity, now covering them with her lids. Suddenly, a frown appeared between the Augusta's brows. Jealous of her own beauty and power, she lived in constant fear that a fortunate rival might ruin her, just as she had ruined Octavia. Therefore, every beautiful face in the palace triggered her suspicion. With the eye of a critic, she took in every part of Lygia’s figure, assessed every detail of her face, and felt frightened. “That’s just a nymph,” she thought, “and it was Venus who brought her to life.” Suddenly, a thought crossed her mind that had never occurred to her when seeing any beauty before—that she herself had noticeably aged! Wounded vanity quivered in Poppæa, panic seized her, and various fears raced through her mind. “Maybe Nero hasn’t seen the girl, or if he did see her through the emerald, he didn’t fully appreciate her. But what would happen if he encountered such a wonder in the daytime, in sunlight? Plus, she’s not a slave; she’s the daughter of a king—albeit a king of barbarians, but still a king. Immortal gods! She’s as beautiful as I am, but younger!” The crease between her brows deepened, and her eyes began to shine with a cold gleam beneath their golden lashes.
“Hast thou spoken with Cæsar?”
"Have you talked to Caesar?"
“No, Augusta.”
“No, Augusta.”
“Why dost thou choose to be here rather than in the house of Aulus?”
“Why do you choose to be here instead of at Aulus’s house?”
“I do not choose, lady. Petronius persuaded Cæsar to take me from Pomponia. I am here against my will.”
“I didn’t choose this, ma’am. Petronius convinced Caesar to take me from Pomponia. I’m here against my will.”
“And wouldst thou return to Pomponia?”
"And would you go back to Pomponia?"
This last question Poppæa gave with a softer and milder voice; hence a sudden hope rose in Lygia’s heart.
This last question Poppæa asked in a gentler and softer tone; as a result, a sudden hope sparked in Lygia’s heart.
“Lady,” said she, extending her hand to her, “Cæsar promised to give me as a slave to Vinicius, but do thou intercede and return me to Pomponia.”
“Lady,” she said, reaching out her hand, “Cæsar promised to give me to Vinicius as a slave, but please intercede and have me returned to Pomponia.”
“Then Petronius persuaded Cæsar to take thee from Aulus, and give thee to Vinicius?”
“Then Petronius convinced Cæsar to take you from Aulus and give you to Vinicius?”
“True, lady. Vinicius is to send for me to-day, but thou art good, have compassion on me.” When she had said this, she inclined, and, seizing the border of Poppæa’s robe, waited for her word with beating heart. Poppæa looked at her for a while, with a face lighted by an evil smile, and said,—“Then I promise that thou wilt become the slave of Vinicius this day.” And she went on, beautiful as a vision, but evil. To the ears of Lygia and Acte came only the wail of the infant, which began to cry, it was unknown for what reason.
“It's true, my lady. Vinicius is going to call for me today, but please, have mercy on me.” After saying this, she leaned in, gripping the edge of Poppæa’s robe, waiting for her response with a racing heart. Poppæa stared at her for a moment, her face lit up by a wicked smile, and said, “Then I promise that you will become Vinicius’s slave today.” And she moved on, stunningly beautiful yet malevolent. All Lygia and Acte could hear was the cry of a baby, wailing for reasons unknown.
Lygia’s eyes too were filled with tears; but after a while she took Acte’s hand and said,—“Let us return. Help is to be looked for only whence it can come.” And they returned to the atrium, which they did not leave till evening.
Lygia’s eyes were also filled with tears; but after a while she took Acte’s hand and said, “Let’s go back. Help can only come from where it’s possible.” And they returned to the atrium, which they didn’t leave until evening.
When darkness had come and slaves brought in tapers with great flames, both women were very pale. Their conversation failed every moment. Both were listening to hear if some one were coming. Lygia repeated again and again that, though grieved to leave Acte, she preferred that all should take place that day, as Ursus must be waiting in the dark for her then. But her breathing grew quicker from emotion, and louder. Acte collected feverishly such jewels as she could, and, fastening them in a corner of Lygia’s peplus, implored her not to reject that gift and means of escape. At moments came a deep silence full of deceptions for the ear. It seemed to both that they heard at one time a whisper beyond the curtain, at another the distant weeping of a child, at another the barking of dogs.
When darkness fell and slaves brought in candles with bright flames, both women looked very pale. Their conversation faltered every moment. They were both listening to see if someone was coming. Lygia kept saying that, even though she was sad to leave Acte, she wanted everything to happen that day since Ursus must be waiting for her in the dark. But her breathing became quicker and louder with emotion. Acte frantically gathered whatever jewels she could find and, fastening them in a corner of Lygia’s dress, begged her not to refuse that gift and escape plan. At times, there was a deep silence filled with deceptive sounds. It seemed to both of them that at one moment they heard a whisper behind the curtain, at another the distant crying of a child, and at another the barking of dogs.
Suddenly the curtain of the entrance moved without noise, and a tall, dark man, his face marked with small-pox, appeared like a spirit in the atrium. In one moment Lygia recognized Atacinus, a freedman of Vinicius, who had visited the house of Aulus.
Suddenly, the entrance curtain shifted silently, and a tall, dark man, his face scarred from smallpox, appeared like a ghost in the atrium. In an instant, Lygia recognized Atacinus, a freedman of Vinicius, who had been to Aulus's house.
Acte screamed; but Atacinus bent low and said,—“A greeting, divine Lygia, from Marcus Vinicius, who awaits thee with a feast in his house which is decked in green.”
Acte screamed; but Atacinus leaned down and said, “A greeting, divine Lygia, from Marcus Vinicius, who is waiting for you with a feast at his house, which is decorated in green.”
The lips of the maiden grew pale.
The young woman's lips turned pale.
“I go,” said she.
"I'm going," she said.
Then she threw her arms around Acte’s neck in farewell.
Then she wrapped her arms around Acte’s neck to say goodbye.
Chapter X
THE house of Vinicius was indeed decked in the green of myrtle and ivy, which had been hung on the walls and over the doors. The columns were wreathed with grape vine. In the atrium, which was closed above by a purple woollen cloth as protection from the night cold, it was as clear as in daylight. Eight and twelve flamed lamps were burning; these were like vessels, trees, animals, birds, or statues, holding cups filled with perfumed olive oil, lamps of alabaster, marble, or gilded Corinthian bronze, not so wonderful as that famed candlestick used by Nero and taken from the temple of Apollo, but beautiful and made by famous masters. Some of the lights were shaded by Alexandrian glass, or transparent stuffs from the Indus, of red, blue, yellow, or violet color, so that the whole atrium was filled with many colored rays. Everywhere was given out the odor of nard, to which Vinicius had grown used, and which he had learned to love in the Orient. The depths of the house, in which the forms of male and female slaves were moving, gleamed also with light. In the triclinium a table was laid for four persons. At the feast were to sit, besides Vinicius and Lygia, Petronius and Chrysothemis. Vinicius had followed in everything the words of Petronius, who advised him not to go for Lygia, but to send Atacinus with the permission obtained from Cæsar, to receive her himself in the house, receive her with friendliness and even with marks of honor.
The house of Vinicius was indeed adorned with green myrtle and ivy, which had been hung on the walls and over the doors. The columns were wrapped in grapevines. In the atrium, which was covered above by a purple wool cloth to protect against the night chill, it was as bright as day. Eight and twelve lamps were lit; these resembled vessels, trees, animals, birds, or statues, holding cups filled with perfumed olive oil, made from alabaster, marble, or gilded Corinthian bronze. They weren’t as marvelous as that famous candlestick used by Nero, taken from the temple of Apollo, but they were beautiful and crafted by renowned artists. Some of the lights were covered with Alexandrian glass or transparent fabrics from the Indus, in red, blue, yellow, or violet shades, filling the entire atrium with colorful rays. The scent of nard filled the air, which Vinicius had grown accustomed to and learned to love in the East. The depths of the house, where male and female slaves were moving about, also shone with light. In the triclinium, a table was set for four people. Besides Vinicius and Lygia, Petronius and Chrysothemis were to join the feast. Vinicius had followed all of Petronius's advice, which suggested he not go after Lygia himself but instead send Atacinus with permission from Caesar to bring her to the house, welcoming her with kindness and even with tokens of honor.
“Thou wert drunk yesterday,” said he; “I saw thee. Thou didst act with her like a quarryman from the Alban Hills. Be not over-insistent, and remember that one should drink good wine slowly. Know too that it is sweet to desire, but sweeter to be desired.”
“You were drunk yesterday,” he said; “I saw you. You acted with her like a quarryman from the Alban Hills. Don’t be too pushy, and remember that one should drink good wine slowly. Also know that it's nice to desire, but even better to be desired.”
Chrysothemis had her own and a somewhat different opinion on this point; but Petronius, calling her his vestal and his dove, began to explain the difference which must exist between a trained charioteer of the Circus and the youth who sits on the quadriga for the first time. Then, turning to Vinicius, he continued,—“Win her confidence, make her joyful, be magnanimous. I have no wish to see a gloomy feast. Swear to her, by Hades even, that thou wilt return her to Pomponia, and it will be thy affair that to-morrow she prefers to stay with thee.”
Chrysothemis had her own and somewhat different opinion on this; but Petronius, calling her his priestess and his dove, started to explain the difference between a skilled charioteer of the Circus and the young man who sits on the quadriga for the first time. Then, turning to Vinicius, he continued, “Win her trust, make her happy, be generous. I don’t want to see a gloomy celebration. Swear to her, even by Hades, that you will return her to Pomponia, and it will be your choice if she decides to stay with you tomorrow.”
Then pointing to Chrysothemis, he added,—“For five years I have acted thus more or less with this timid dove, and I cannot complain of her harshness.”
Then pointing to Chrysothemis, he added, “For five years I've dealt with this timid dove, and I can’t say she's been harsh.”
Chrysothemis struck him with her fan of peacock feathers, and said,—“But I did not resist, thou satyr!”
Chrysothemis hit him with her fan made of peacock feathers and said, “But I didn't hold back, you satyr!”
“Out of consideration for my predecessor—”
“Out of respect for my predecessor—”
“But wert thou not at my feet?”
"But weren't you at my feet?"
“Yes; to put rings on thy toes.”
“Yes; to put rings on your toes.”
Chrysothemis looked involuntarily at her feet, on the toes of which diamonds were really glittering; and she and Petronius began to laugh. But Vinicius did not give ear to their bantering. His heart was beating unquietly under the robes of a Syrian priest, in which he had arrayed himself to receive Lygia.
Chrysothemis glanced at her feet, where diamonds were actually sparkling, and she and Petronius started to laugh. But Vinicius didn't pay attention to their teasing. His heart was racing beneath the robes of a Syrian priest that he had put on to greet Lygia.
“They must have left the palace,” said he, as if in a monologue.
"They must have left the palace," he said, almost to himself.
“They must,” answered Petronius. “Meanwhile I may mention the predictions of Apollonius of Tyana, or that history of Rufinus which I have not finished, I do not remember why.”
“They have to,” Petronius replied. “In the meantime, I can bring up the predictions of Apollonius of Tyana, or that history of Rufinus that I haven't finished—though I can't recall why.”
But Vinicius cared no more for Apollonius of Tyana than for the history of Rufinus. His mind was with Lygia; and though he felt that it was more appropriate to receive her at home than to go in the rôle of a myrmidon to the palace, he was sorry at moments that he had not gone, for the single reason that he might have seen her sooner, and sat near her in the dark, in the double litter.
But Vinicius didn’t care any more about Apollonius of Tyana than he did about the history of Rufinus. His thoughts were with Lygia; and even though he felt it was more fitting to welcome her at home than to go as a follower to the palace, there were moments when he regretted not going, simply because he might have seen her sooner and sat beside her in the dark in the double litter.
Meanwhile slaves brought in a tripod ornamented with rams’ heads, bronze dishes with coals, on which they sprinkled bits of myrrh and nard.
Meanwhile, slaves brought in a tripod decorated with ram heads, bronze dishes with coals, onto which they sprinkled bits of myrrh and nard.
“Now they are turning toward the Carinæ,” said Vinicius, again.
“Now they’re turning toward the Carinæ,” said Vinicius, again.
“He cannot wait; he will run to meet the litter, and is likely to miss them!” exclaimed Chrysothemis.
“He can’t wait; he’s going to run to catch up with them, and he’ll probably miss them!” exclaimed Chrysothemis.
Vinicius smiled without thinking, and said,—“On the contrary, I will wait.”
Vinicius smiled without thinking and said, "On the contrary, I will wait."
But he distended his nostrils and panted; seeing which, Petronius shrugged his shoulders, and said,—“There is not in him a philosopher to the value of one sestertium, and I shall never make a man of that son of Mars.”
But he flared his nostrils and panted; seeing this, Petronius shrugged his shoulders and said, “He doesn’t have a philosopher’s worth of even one sestertium in him, and I’ll never turn that son of Mars into a man.”
“They are now in the Carinæ.”
“They're now in the Carina.”
In fact, they were turning toward the Carinæ. The slaves called lampadarii were in front; others called pedisequii, were on both sides of the litter. Atacinus was right behind, overseeing the advance. But they moved slowly, for lamps showed the way badly in a place not lighted at all. The streets near the palace were empty; here and there only some man moved forward with a lantern, but farther on the place was uncommonly crowded. From almost every alley people were pushing out in threes and fours, all without lamps, all in dark mantles. Some walked on with the procession, mingling with the slaves; others in greater numbers came from the opposite direction. Some staggered as if drunk. At moments the advance grew so difficult that the lampadarii cried,—“Give way to the noble tribune, Marcus Vinicius!”
In fact, they were heading toward the Carinæ. The slave torchbearers were in front; others known as footmen were on either side of the litter. Atacinus was right behind, overseeing their progress. But they moved slowly, as the lamps didn’t light the way well in the completely dark area. The streets near the palace were empty; here and there, a man moved forward with a lantern, but farther on, the place was unusually crowded. People were coming out from almost every alley in groups of three or four, all without lamps and dressed in dark cloaks. Some joined the procession, blending in with the slaves; others in larger groups came from the opposite direction. Some swayed as if they were drunk. At times, it became so difficult to move that the torchbearers shouted, “Make way for the noble tribune, Marcus Vinicius!”
Lygia saw those dark crowds through the curtains which were pushed aside, and trembled with emotion. She was carried away at one moment by hope, at another by fear.
Lygia saw the dark crowds through the parted curtains and felt a rush of emotion. One moment she was filled with hope, and the next she was gripped by fear.
“That is he!—that is Ursus and the Christians! Now it will happen quickly,” said she, with trembling lips. “O Christ, aid! O Christ, save!”
“That’s him!—that’s Ursus and the Christians! Things are about to happen quickly,” she said, trembling. “O Christ, help! O Christ, save!”
Atacinus himself, who at first did not notice the uncommon animation of the street, began at last to be alarmed. There was something strange in this. The lampadarii had to cry oftener and oftener, “Give way to the litter of the noble tribune!” From the sides unknown people crowded up to the litter so much that Atacinus commanded the slaves to repulse them with clubs.
Atacinus himself, who at first didn’t notice the unusual hustle and bustle of the street, finally started to feel anxious. Something felt off about this. The bearers had to call out more and more often, “Make way for the noble tribune’s litter!” Strangers were crowding around the litter so much that Atacinus ordered the slaves to push them back with clubs.
Suddenly a cry was heard in front of the procession. In one instant all the lights were extinguished. Around the litter came a rush, an uproar, a struggle.
Suddenly, a shout rang out in front of the procession. In an instant, all the lights went out. A chaotic rush, a commotion, and a struggle surrounded the litter.
Atacinus saw that this was simply an attack; and when he saw it he was frightened. It was known to all that Cæsar with a crowd of attendants made attacks frequently for amusement in the Subura and in other parts of the city. It was known that even at times he brought out of these night adventures black and blue spots; but whoso defended himself went to his death, even if a senator. The house of the guards, whose duty it was to watch over the city, was not very far; but during such attacks the guards feigned to be deaf and blind.
Atacinus realized that this was just an attack, and when he noticed it, he felt scared. Everyone knew that Caesar often led assaults for fun in the Subura and other areas of the city. It was common knowledge that sometimes he came back from these nighttime escapades with bruises; however, anyone who tried to defend themselves was doomed, even if they were a senator. The guards' house, responsible for watching over the city, wasn't far away, but during these attacks, the guards pretended not to see or hear anything.
Meanwhile there was an uproar around the litter; people struck, struggled, threw, and trampled one another. The thought flashed on Atacinus to save Lygia and himself, above all, and leave the rest to their fate. So, drawing her out of the litter, he took her in his arms and strove to escape in the darkness.
Meanwhile, there was chaos around the litter; people were hitting, struggling, throwing, and trampling each other. The thought crossed Atacinus's mind to save Lygia and himself first and leave everyone else to their fate. So, pulling her out of the litter, he took her in his arms and tried to escape into the darkness.
But Lygia called, “Ursus! Ursus!”
But Lygia shouted, “Ursus! Ursus!”
She was dressed in white; hence it was easy to see her. Atacinus, with his other arm, which was free, was throwing his own mantle over her hastily, when terrible claws seized his neck, and on his head a gigantic, crushing mass fell like a stone.
She was wearing white, so it was easy to spot her. Atacinus, using his other free arm, quickly threw his mantle over her when horrible claws grabbed his neck, and a massive weight fell on his head like a rock.
He dropped in one instant, as an ox felled by the back of an axe before the altar of Jove.
He dropped in an instant, like an ox brought down by the blunt edge of an axe before the altar of Jupiter.
The slaves for the greater part were either lying on the ground, or had saved themselves by scattering in the thick darkness, around the turns of the walls. On the spot remained only the litter, broken in the onset. Ursus bore away Lygia to the Subura; his comrades followed him, dispersing gradually along the way.
The slaves were mostly lying on the ground or had managed to escape by scattering into the thick darkness around the corners of the walls. Only the debris from the struggle was left behind. Ursus carried Lygia to the Subura, and his companions followed him, gradually spreading out along the way.
The slaves assembled before the house of Vinicius, and took counsel. They had not courage to enter. After a short deliberation they returned to the place of conflict, where they found a few corpses, and among them Atacinus. He was quivering yet; but, after a moment of more violent convulsion, he stretched and was motionless.
The slaves gathered in front of Vinicius's house and discussed what to do. They didn't have the courage to go inside. After a brief discussion, they went back to the scene of the fight, where they found a few bodies, including Atacinus. He was still twitching, but after a moment of more intense spasms, he lay still and unmoving.
They took him then, and, returning, stopped before the gate a second time. But they must declare to their lord what had happened.
They took him then, and, on their way back, stopped in front of the gate again. But they had to tell their lord what had happened.
“Let Gulo declare it,” whispered some voices; “blood is flowing from his face as from ours; and the master loves him; it is safer for Gulo than for others.”
“Let Gulo say it,” whispered some voices; “blood is flowing from his face just like ours; and the master cares for him; it’s safer for Gulo than for the rest of us.”
Gulo, a German, an old slave, who had nursed Vinicius, and was inherited by him from his mother, the sister of Petronius, said,—
Gulo, a German and an old slave who had cared for Vinicius, inherited from his mother, Petronius's sister, said,—
“I will tell him; but do ye all come. Do not let his anger fall on my head alone.”
"I'll tell him; but you all come. Don't let his anger come down on me alone."
Vinicius was growing thoroughly impatient. Petronius and Chrysothemis were laughing; but he walked with quick step up and down the atrium.
Vinicius was becoming extremely impatient. Petronius and Chrysothemis were laughing; meanwhile, he paced back and forth in the atrium with quick steps.
“They ought to be here! They ought to be here!”
“They should be here! They should be here!”
He wished to go out to meet the litter, but Petronius and Chrysothemis detained him.
He wanted to go out to meet the group, but Petronius and Chrysothemis held him back.
Steps were heard suddenly in the entrance; the slaves rushed into the atrium in a crowd, and, halting quickly at the wall, raised their hands, and began to repeat with groaning,—“Aaaa!—aa!”
Steps were suddenly heard at the entrance; the slaves rushed into the atrium in a crowd, quickly stopped at the wall, raised their hands, and began to repeat with groaning,—“Aaaa!—aa!”
Vinicius sprang toward them.
Vinicius leaped toward them.
“Where is Lygia?” cried he, with a terrible and changed voice.
“Where is Lygia?” he shouted, his voice filled with anguish and sounding different.
“Aaaa!”
“Aaaa!”
Then Gulo pushed forward with his bloody face, and exclaimed, in haste and pitifully,—
Then Gulo pushed forward with his bloodied face and exclaimed, urgently and sadly,—
“See our blood, lord! We fought! See our blood! See our blood!”
“Look at our blood, my lord! We fought! Look at our blood! Look at our blood!”
But he had not finished when Vinicius seized a bronze lamp, and with one blow shattered the skull of the slave; then, seizing his own head with both hands, he drove his fingers into his hair, repeating hoarsely,—“Me miserum! me miserum!”
But he hadn’t finished when Vinicius grabbed a bronze lamp and, with one blow, smashed the skull of the slave; then, clutching his own head with both hands, he dug his fingers into his hair, hoarsely repeating, “Woe is me! Woe is me!”
His face became blue, his eyes turned in his head, foam came out on his lips.
His face turned blue, his eyes rolled back in his head, and foam appeared on his lips.
“Whips!” roared he at last, with an unearthly voice.
“Whips!” he shouted finally, in a voice that was almost otherworldly.
“Lord! Aaaa! Take pity!” groaned the slaves.
“Lord! Aaaa! Have mercy!” moaned the slaves.
Petronius stood up with an expression of disgust on his face. “Come, Chrysothemis!” said he. “If ‘tis thy wish to look on raw flesh, I will give command to open a butcher’s stall on the Carinæ!”
Petronius stood up, clearly disgusted. “Come on, Chrysothemis!” he said. “If you want to see raw meat, I’ll just have a butcher's stall set up on the Carinæ!”
And he walked out of the atrium. But through the whole house, ornamented in the green of ivy and prepared for a feast, were heard, from moment to moment, groans and the whistling of whips, which lasted almost till morning.
And he walked out of the atrium. But throughout the entire house, decorated with ivy and ready for a feast, there were sounds of groans and the crack of whips that continued almost until morning.
Chapter XI
VINICIUS did not lie down that night. Some time after the departure of Petronius, when the groans of his flogged slaves could allay neither his rage nor his pain, he collected a crowd of other servants, and, though the night was far advanced, rushed forth at the head of these to look for Lygia. He visited the district of the Esquiline, then the Subura, Vicus Sceleratus, and all the adjoining alleys. Passing next around the Capitol, he went to the island over the bridge of Fabricius; after that he passed through a part of the Trans-Tiber. But that was a pursuit without object, for he himself had no hope of finding Lygia, and if he sought her it was mainly to fill out with something a terrible night. In fact he returned home about daybreak, when the carts and mules of dealers in vegetables began to appear in the city, and when bakers were opening their shops.
VINICIUS didn't go to bed that night. Some time after Petronius left, when the sounds of his whipped slaves couldn't ease his anger or pain, he gathered a group of other servants and, despite the late hour, rushed out with them in search of Lygia. He searched the Esquiline neighborhood, then the Subura, Vicus Sceleratus, and all the nearby alleys. After that, he walked around the Capitol and crossed the bridge of Fabricius to the island; then he moved through a part of Trans-Tiber. But it was a pointless chase, as he didn’t really expect to find Lygia, and he was mainly looking for something to distract him from a terrible night. In fact, he returned home just as dawn broke, when the carts and mules of vegetable vendors started to come into the city and bakers were opening their shops.
On returning he gave command to put away Gulo’s corpse, which no one had ventured to touch. The slaves from whom Lygia had been taken he sent to rural prisons,—a punishment almost more dreadful than death. Throwing himself at last on a couch in the atrium, he began to think confusedly of how he was to find and seize Lygia.
Upon returning, he ordered Gulo’s body to be removed, something no one had dared to do. He sent the slaves from whom Lygia had been taken to rural prisons—a punishment that was almost more horrifying than death. Finally, he collapsed onto a couch in the atrium and started to think aimlessly about how he would find and capture Lygia.
To resign her, to lose her, not to see her again, seemed to him impossible; and at this thought alone frenzy took hold of him. For the first time in life the imperious nature of the youthful soldier met resistance, met another unbending will, and he could not understand simply how any one could have the daring to thwart his wishes. Vinicius would have chosen to see the world and the city sink in ruins rather than fail of his purpose. The cup of delight had been snatched from before his lips almost; hence it seemed to him that something unheard of had happened, something crying to divine and human laws for vengeance.
To break up with her, to lose her, to never see her again felt impossible to him; just thinking about it drove him into a frenzy. For the first time in his life, the strong will of the young soldier faced opposition, another unyielding will, and he couldn't comprehend how anyone could dare to stand in the way of his desires. Vinicius would have preferred to watch the world and the city crumble than to fail in his goal. The cup of joy had been almost snatched from his lips; it felt to him like something unimaginable had occurred, something that demanded retribution from both divine and human laws.
But, first of all, he was unwilling and unable to be reconciled with fate, for never in life had he so desired anything as Lygia. It seemed to him that he could not exist without her. He could not tell himself what he was to do without her on the morrow, how he was to survive the days following. At moments he was transported by a rage against her, which approached madness. He wanted to have her, to beat her, to drag her by the hair to the cubiculum, and gloat over her; then, again, he was carried away by a terrible yearning for her voice, her form, her eyes, and he felt that he would be ready to lie at her feet. He called to her, gnawed his fingers, clasped his head with his hands. He strove with all his might to think calmly about searching for her,—and was unable. A thousand methods and means flew through his head, but one wilder than another. At last the thought flashed on him that no one else had intercepted her but Aulus, that in every case Aulus must know where she was hiding. And he sprang up to run to the house of Aulus.
But, first of all, he couldn’t accept his fate, because he had never wanted anything in his life as much as he wanted Lygia. It felt impossible for him to live without her. He couldn’t imagine what he would do without her the next day or how he would get through the days to come. Sometimes he was consumed by a rage against her that bordered on madness. He wanted to possess her, to hit her, to drag her by the hair to the room, and revel in her. Then, moments later, he was overwhelmed by a deep longing for her voice, her figure, her eyes, and he felt like he would gladly lie at her feet. He called out to her, bit his fingers, and held his head in his hands. He tried with all his strength to think clearly about finding her—but couldn't. A thousand plans and ideas raced through his mind, each more wild than the last. Eventually, the thought hit him that no one but Aulus could have taken her, and that Aulus must know where she was hiding. So he jumped up to run to Aulus’s house.
If they will not yield her to him, if they have no fear of his threats, he will go to Cæsar, accuse the old general of disobedience, and obtain a sentence of death against him; but before that, he will gain from them a confession of where Lygia is. If they give her, even willingly, he will be revenged. They received him, it is true, in their house and nursed him,—but that is nothing! With this one injustice they have freed him from every debt of gratitude. Here his vengeful and stubborn soul began to take pleasure at the despair of Pomponia Græcina, when the centurion would bring the death sentence to old Aulus. He was almost certain that he would get it. Petronius would assist him. Moreover, Cæsar never denies anything to his intimates, the Augustians, unless personal dislike or desire enjoins a refusal.
If they won’t hand her over to him, and if they’re not afraid of his threats, he’ll go to Caesar, accuse the old general of disobedience, and get a death sentence against him; but before that, he’ll force them to confess where Lygia is. If they give her to him, even willingly, he will take his revenge. It’s true they took him in and cared for him—but that doesn't matter! With this one act of injustice, they’ve freed him from any debt of gratitude. His vengeful and stubborn nature started to find pleasure in the thought of Pomponia Græcina’s despair when the centurion would deliver the death sentence to old Aulus. He was almost sure he would get it. Petronius would support him. Plus, Caesar never refuses anything to his close associates, the Augustians, unless personal dislike or desire forces him to decline.
Suddenly his heart almost died within him, under the influence of this terrible supposition,—“But if Cæsar himself has taken Lygia?”
Suddenly, his heart nearly stopped at the thought of this awful possibility—“But what if Cæsar himself has taken Lygia?”
All knew that Nero from tedium sought recreation in night attacks. Even Petronius took part in these amusements. Their main object was to seize women and toss each on a soldier’s mantle till she fainted. Even Nero himself on occasions called these expeditions “pearl hunts,” for it happened that in the depth of districts occupied by a numerous and needy population they caught a real pearl of youth and beauty sometimes. Then the “sagatio,” as they termed the tossing, was changed into a genuine carrying away, and the pearl was sent either to the Palatine or to one of Cæsar’s numberless villas, or finally Cæsar yielded it to one of his intimates. So might it happen also with Lygia. Cæsar had seen her during the feast; and Vinicius doubted not for an instant that she must have seemed to him the most beautiful woman he had seen yet. How could it be otherwise? It is true that Lygia had been in Nero’s own house on the Palatine, and he might have kept her openly. But, as Petronius said truly, Cæsar had no courage in crime, and, with power to act openly, he chose to act always in secret. This time fear of Poppæa might incline him also to secrecy. It occurred now to the young soldier that Aulus would not have dared, perhaps, to carry off forcibly a girl given him, Vinicius, by Cæsar. Besides, who would dare? Would that gigantic blue-eyed Lygian, who had the courage to enter the triclinium and carry her from the feast on his arm? But where could he hide with her; whither could he take her? No! a slave would not have ventured that far. Hence no one had done the deed except Cæsar.
Everyone knew that Nero bored easily and sought excitement in nighttime raids. Even Petronius joined in these amusements. Their main goal was to capture women and toss each one onto a soldier's cloak until she passed out. Nero himself sometimes referred to these outings as “pearl hunts,” since, amidst the crowded and desperate neighborhoods, they occasionally found a true gem of youth and beauty. When that happened, the “sagatio,” as they called the tossing, turned into a genuine abduction, and the gem would be sent either to the Palatine or one of Caesar’s countless villas, or eventually handed over to one of his friends. Lygia could also face such a fate. Caesar had seen her during the feast, and Vinicius had no doubt that she must have seemed to him the most beautiful woman he had encountered. How could it be otherwise? It’s true that Lygia had been in Nero’s own house on the Palatine, and he could have kept her openly. But, as Petronius rightly said, Caesar lacked the courage for open crime, opting instead for secrecy despite his power. This time, he might also be inclined toward secrecy due to fear of Poppæa. The young soldier realized that Aulus probably wouldn’t have dared to forcibly take a girl given to him by Caesar. Besides, who would even try? That massive blue-eyed Lygian would have the nerve to enter the dining room and carry her off on his arm? But where would he hide her? Where could he take her? No! A slave wouldn’t have gone that far. So, no one had done it except for Caesar.
At this thought it grew dark in his eyes, and drops of sweat covered his forehead. In that case Lygia was lost to him forever. It was possible to wrest her from the hands of any one else, but not from the hands of Cæsar. Now, with greater truth than ever, could he exclaim, “Væ misero mihi!” His imagination represented Lygia in Nero’s arms, and, for the first time in life, he understood that there are thoughts which are simply beyond man’s endurance. He knew then, for the first time, how he loved her. As his whole life flashes through the memory of a drowning man, so Lygia began to pass through his. He saw her, heard every word of hers,—saw her at the fountain, saw her at the house of Aulus, and at the feast; felt her near him, felt the odor of her hair, the warmth of her body, the delight of the kisses which at the feast he had pressed on her innocent lips. She seemed to him a hundred times sweeter, more beautiful, more desired than ever,—a hundred times more the only one, the one chosen from among all mortals and divinities. And when he thought that all this which had become so fixed in his heart, which had become his blood and life, might be possessed by Nero, a pain seized him, which was purely physical, and so piercing that he wanted to beat his head against the wall of the atrium, until he should break it. He felt that he might go mad; and he would have gone mad beyond doubt, had not vengeance remained to him. But as hitherto he had thought that he could not live unless he got Lygia, he thought now that he would not die till he had avenged her. This gave him a certain kind of comfort. “I will be thy Cassius Chærea!” [The slayer of Caligula] said he to himself in thinking of Nero. After a while, seizing earth in his hands from the flower vases surrounding the impluvium, he made a dreadful vow to Erebus, Hecate, and his own household lares, that he would have vengeance.
At this thought, his vision darkened, and beads of sweat covered his forehead. In that moment, Lygia was lost to him forever. He could take her from anyone else, but not from Caesar. Now, more than ever, he could exclaim, “Woe is me!” His imagination showed him Lygia in Nero’s arms, and for the first time in his life, he realized that some thoughts are just too much for a person to bear. He understood then, for the first time, how deeply he loved her. Just like a drowning person’s life flashes before their eyes, Lygia began to fill his mind. He saw her, heard every word she said—saw her by the fountain, at Aulus's house, and at the feast; he felt her close to him, the scent of her hair, the warmth of her body, the joy of the kisses he had pressed to her innocent lips at the feast. She seemed to him a hundred times sweeter, more beautiful, and more desirable than ever—a hundred times more the one, the one chosen among all people and deities. And when he thought that all these feelings, which had become so deeply rooted in his heart, which had become his very blood and life, could be possessed by Nero, a pain seized him that was purely physical and so intense that he wanted to smash his head against the atrium wall until he broke it. He felt he might go mad; he definitely would have lost his mind if not for the thought of vengeance. But as he had previously thought that he couldn’t live without getting Lygia, he now believed he wouldn’t die until he had avenged her. This thought brought him a certain comfort. “I will be your Cassius Chærea!” he told himself, thinking of Nero. After a while, grabbing soil from the flower vases around the impluvium, he made a dreadful vow to Erebus, Hecate, and his own household gods that he would seek vengeance.
And he received a sort of consolation. He had at least something to live for and something with which to fill his nights and days. Then, dropping his idea of visiting Aulus, he gave command to bear him to the Palatine. Along the way he concluded that if they would not admit him to Cæsar, or if they should try to find weapons on his person, it would be a proof that Cæsar had taken Lygia. He had no weapons with him. He had lost presence of mind in general; but as is usual with persons possessed by a single idea, he preserved it in that which concerned his revenge. He did not wish his desire of revenge to fall away prematurely. He wished above all to see Acte, for he expected to learn the truth from her. At moments the hope flashed on him that he might see Lygia also, and at that thought he began to tremble. For if Cæsar had carried her away without knowledge of whom he was taking, he might return her that day. But after a while he cast aside this supposition. Had there been a wish to return her to him, she would have been sent yesterday. Acte was the only person who could explain everything, and there was need to see her before others.
And he found some comfort. He at least had something to live for and a way to fill his nights and days. So, dropping his plan to visit Aulus, he ordered his transport to the Palatine. On the way, he thought that if they wouldn’t let him see Caesar, or if they tried to search him for weapons, it would mean that Caesar had taken Lygia. He wasn't carrying any weapons. He had generally lost his composure, but as is common for people focused on one thought, he held onto it when it came to his revenge. He didn’t want his desire for revenge to fade too soon. Above all, he wanted to see Acte, hoping to learn the truth from her. At times, a hope flickered in him that he might also see Lygia, and the thought made him tremble. If Caesar had taken her without knowing who she was, he might bring her back that day. But eventually, he dismissed this idea. If there was a desire to return her, she would have been sent back yesterday. Acte was the only person who could explain everything, and he needed to see her before anyone else.
Convinced of this, he commanded the slaves to hasten; and along the road he thought without order, now of Lygia, now of revenge. He had heard that Egyptian priests of the goddess Pasht could bring disease on whomever they wished, and he determined to learn the means of doing this. In the Orient they had told him, too, that Jews have certain invocations by which they cover their enemies’ bodies with ulcers. He had a number of Jews among his domestic slaves; hence he promised himself to torture them on his return till they divulged the secret. He found most delight, however, in thinking of the short Roman sword which lets out a stream of blood such as had gushed from Caius Caligula and made ineffaceable stains on the columns of the portico. He was ready to exterminate all Rome; and had vengeful gods promised that all people should die except him and Lygia, he would have accepted the promise.
Convinced of this, he ordered the slaves to hurry; and as he traveled along the road, his thoughts were chaotic, shifting from Lygia to revenge. He had heard that Egyptian priests of the goddess Pasht could inflict disease on anyone they wanted, and he decided he would learn how to do this. In the East, he had also been told that Jews have specific invocations to cover their enemies’ bodies with sores. He had several Jews among his domestic slaves; therefore, he promised himself that he would torture them when he got back until they revealed the secret. However, he took the most pleasure in imagining the short Roman sword that releases a fountain of blood like that which had flowed from Caius Caligula, staining the columns of the portico beyond repair. He was ready to wipe out all of Rome; and if vengeful gods had promised that everyone would die except for him and Lygia, he would have accepted that promise.
In front of the arch he regained presence of mind, and thought when he saw the pretorian guard, “If they make the least difficulty in admitting me, they will prove that Lygia is in the palace by the will of Cæsar.”
In front of the arch, he collected his thoughts and realized when he saw the praetorian guard, “If they give me any trouble getting in, it’ll show that Lygia is in the palace by Caesar's order.”
But the chief centurion smiled at him in a friendly manner, then advanced a number of steps, and said,—“A greeting, noble tribune. If thou desire to give an obeisance to Cæsar, thou hast found an unfortunate moment. I do not think that thou wilt be able to see him.”
But the chief centurion smiled at him warmly, then took a few steps forward and said, “Hello, noble tribune. If you want to pay your respects to Caesar, you’ve picked a bad time. I don’t think you’ll be able to see him.”
“What has happened?” inquired Vinicius.
“What happened?” Vinicius asked.
“The infant Augusta fell ill yesterday on a sudden. Cæsar and the august Poppæa are attending her, with physicians whom they have summoned from the whole city.”
“The baby Augusta got sick suddenly yesterday. Cæsar and the esteemed Poppæa are looking after her, along with doctors they’ve called in from across the city.”
This was an important event. When that daughter was born to him, Cæsar was simply wild from delight, and received her with extra humanum gaudium. Previously the senate had committed the womb of Poppæa to the gods with the utmost solemnity. A votive offering was made at Antium, where the delivery took place; splendid games were celebrated, and besides a temple was erected to the two Fortunes. Nero, unable to be moderate in anything, loved the infant beyond measure; to Poppæa the child was dear also, even for this, that it strengthened her position and made her influence irresistible.
This was a significant event. When his daughter was born, Caesar was completely overjoyed and welcomed her with immense happiness. Earlier, the Senate had devoted Poppæa's womb to the gods with the highest level of seriousness. A votive offering was made in Antium, where the delivery took place; grand games were held, and a temple was built for the two Fortunes. Nero, unable to control himself in any way, adored the baby beyond measure; Poppæa also cherished the child, as it bolstered her status and made her influence unassailable.
The fate of the whole empire might depend on the health and life of the infant Augusta; but Vinicius was so occupied with himself, his own case and his love, that without paying attention to the news of the centurion he answered, “I only wish to see Acte.” And he passed in.
The fate of the entire empire could hinge on the health and life of the infant Augusta; however, Vinicius was so caught up in himself, his own problems, and his love that he replied without paying attention to the centurion’s news, “I just want to see Acte.” Then he went inside.
But Acte was occupied also near the child, and he had to wait a long time to see her. She came only about midday, with a face pale and wearied, which grew paler still at sight of Vinicius.
But Acte was also busy near the child, and he had to wait a long time to see her. She finally arrived around midday, looking pale and exhausted, and her face turned even paler when she saw Vinicius.
“Acte!” cried Vinicius, seizing her hand and drawing her to the middle of the atrium, “where is Lygia?”
“Acte!” shouted Vinicius, grabbing her hand and pulling her to the center of the atrium, “where is Lygia?”
“I wanted to ask thee touching that,” answered she, looking him in the eyes with reproach.
“I wanted to ask you about that,” she replied, looking him in the eyes with disapproval.
But though he had promised himself to inquire of her calmly, he pressed his head with his hands again, and said, with a face distorted by pain and anger,—“She is gone. She was taken from me on the way!”
But even though he promised himself he would ask her calmly, he pressed his head with his hands again and said, with a face twisted in pain and anger, “She is gone. She was taken from me on the way!”
After a while, however, he recovered, and thrusting his face up to Acte’s, said through his set teeth,—“Acte! If life be dear to thee, if thou wish not to cause misfortunes which thou are unable even to imagine, answer me truly. Did Cæsar take her?”
After a while, though, he bounced back and leaned his face towards Acte’s, clenching his teeth as he said, “Acte! If you care about life, if you don’t want to bring about disasters that you can’t even imagine, tell me the truth. Did Caesar take her?”
“Cæsar did not leave the palace yesterday.”
“Caesar did not leave the palace yesterday.”
“By the shade of thy mother, by all the gods, is she not in the palace?”
“By your mother’s shadow, by all the gods, isn’t she in the palace?”
“By the shade of my mother, Marcus, she is not in the palace, and Cæsar did not intercept her. The infant Augusta is ill since yesterday, and Nero has not left her cradle.”
“By the shade of my mother, Marcus, she isn't in the palace, and Cæsar didn't intercept her. The baby Augusta has been sick since yesterday, and Nero hasn't left her side.”
Vinicius drew breath. That which had seemed the most terrible ceased to threaten him.
Vinicius took a breath. What had seemed the most terrifying no longer posed a threat to him.
“Ah, then,” said he, sitting on the bench and clinching his fists, “Aulus intercepted her, and in that case woe to him!”
“Ah, then,” he said, sitting on the bench and clenching his fists, “Aulus caught her, and in that case, woe to him!”
“Aulus Plautius was here this morning. He could not see me, for I was occupied with the child; but he inquired of Epaphroditus, and others of Cæsar’s servants, touching Lygia, and told them that he would come again to see me.”
“Aulus Plautius was here this morning. He couldn’t see me because I was busy with the child, but he asked Epaphroditus and some of Caesar’s servants about Lygia, and mentioned that he would come back to see me.”
“He wished to turn suspicion from himself. If he knew not what happened, he would have come to seek Lygia in my house.”
“He wanted to divert suspicion away from himself. If he didn’t know what happened, he would have come looking for Lygia at my place.”
“He left a few words on a tablet, from which thou wilt see that, knowing Lygia to have been taken from his house by Cæsar, at thy request and that of Petronius, he expected that she would be sent to thee, and this morning early he was at thy house, where they told him what had happened.”
“He left a note on a tablet, from which you will see that, knowing Lygia had been taken from his house by Caesar at your request and Petronius's, he expected that she would be sent to you. This morning, he was at your house, where they told him what had happened.”
When she had said this, she went to the cubiculum and returned soon with the tablet which Aulus had left.
When she said this, she went to the room and quickly returned with the tablet that Aulus had left.
Vinicius read the tablet, and was silent; Acte seemed to read the thoughts on his gloomy face, for she said after a while,—“No, Marcus. That has happened which Lygia herself wished.”
Vinicius read the tablet and fell silent; Acte seemed to understand the thoughts on his troubled face, for she eventually said, “No, Marcus. What Lygia herself wanted has happened.”
“It was known to thee that she wished to flee!” burst out Vinicius.
“It was known to you that she wanted to escape!” Vinicius exclaimed.
“I knew that she would not become thy concubine.” And she looked at him with her misty eyes almost sternly.
“I knew she wouldn’t become your concubine.” And she looked at him with her misty eyes, almost sternly.
“And thou,—what hast thou been all thy life?”
“And you,—what have you been doing your whole life?”
“I was a slave, first of all.”
"I was a slave, above all."
But Vinicius did not cease to be enraged. Cæsar had given him Lygia; hence he had no need to inquire what she had been before. He would find her, even under the earth, and he would do what he liked with her. He would indeed! She should be his concubine. He would give command to flog her as often as he pleased. If she grew distasteful to him, he would give her to the lowest of his slaves, or he would command her to turn a handmill on his lands in Africa. He would seek her out now, and find her only to bend her, to trample on her, and conquer her.
But Vinicius was still furious. Caesar had given him Lygia, so he didn’t need to ask what she had been before. He would find her, even if it meant digging her up from the ground, and he would do whatever he wanted with her. He would! She would be his concubine. He would order her to be beaten as often as he wanted. If he grew tired of her, he would give her to the lowest of his slaves, or he would make her work a handmill on his lands in Africa. He would seek her out now, and he would find her only to dominate her, to trample on her, and conquer her.
And, growing more and more excited, he lost every sense of measure, to the degree that even Acte saw that he was promising more than he could execute; that he was talking because of pain and anger. She might have had even compassion on him, but his extravagance exhausted her patience, and at last she inquired why he had come to her.
And, getting more and more excited, he lost all sense of control, to the point that even Acte noticed he was promising more than he could deliver; that he was speaking out of pain and anger. She might have even felt sorry for him, but his over-the-top behavior drained her patience, and finally, she asked why he had come to see her.
Vinicius did not find an answer immediately. He had come to her because he wished to come, because he judged that she would give him information; but really he had come to Cæsar, and, not being able to see him, he came to her. Lygia, by fleeing, opposed the will of Cæsar; hence he would implore him to give an order to search for her throughout the city and the empire, even if it came to using for that purpose all the legions, and to ransacking in turn every house within Roman dominion. Petronius would support his prayer, and the search would begin from that day.
Vinicius didn’t find an answer right away. He came to her because he wanted to, thinking she would provide him with information; but really, he had come to Cæsar, and since he couldn’t see him, he went to her instead. By running away, Lygia was defying Cæsar’s wishes; so he would beg him to order a search for her throughout the city and the empire, even if it meant mobilizing all the legions and ransacking every house under Roman control. Petronius would back his request, and the search would start that day.
“Have a care,” answered Acte, “lest thou lose her forever the moment she is found, at command of Cæsar.”
“Be careful,” Acte replied, “or you might lose her forever the moment she is found, at the command of Caesar.”
Vinicius wrinkled his brows. “What does that mean?” inquired he.
Vinicius frowned. “What does that mean?” he asked.
“Listen to me, Marcus. Yesterday Lygia and I were in the gardens here, and we met Poppæa, with the infant Augusta, borne by an African woman, Lilith. In the evening the child fell ill, and Lilith insists that she was bewitched; that that foreign woman whom they met in the garden bewitched her. Should the child recover, they will forget this, but in the opposite case Poppæa will be the first to accuse Lygia of witchcraft, and wherever she is found there will be no rescue for her.”
“Listen to me, Marcus. Yesterday, Lygia and I were in the gardens here, and we ran into Poppæa, with the baby Augusta, carried by an African woman named Lilith. In the evening, the child got sick, and Lilith claims she was cursed; that the foreign woman they met in the garden put a spell on her. If the child gets better, they will forget this, but if not, Poppæa will be the first to blame Lygia for witchcraft, and wherever she is found, there will be no escape for her.”
A moment of silence followed; then Vinicius said,—“But perhaps she did bewitch her, and has bewitched me.”
A moment of silence passed; then Vinicius said, “But maybe she did enchant her, and has enchanted me.”
“Lilith repeats that the child began to cry the moment she carried her past us. And really the child did begin to cry. It is certain that she was sick when they took her out of the garden. Marcus, seek for Lygia whenever it may please thee, but till the infant Augusta recovers, speak not of her to Cæsar, or thou wilt bring on her Poppæa’s vengeance. Her eyes have wept enough because of thee already, and may all the gods guard her poor head.”
“Lilith says that the child started crying the moment she carried her past us. And indeed, the child did start to cry. It's clear that she was unwell when they took her out of the garden. Marcus, look for Lygia whenever you want, but until the baby Augusta gets better, don't mention her to Caesar, or you'll incur Poppæa's wrath. Her eyes have already shed enough tears because of you, and may all the gods protect her fragile head.”
“Dost thou love her, Acte?” inquired Vinicius, gloomily.
“Do you love her, Acte?” Vinicius asked, gloomily.
“Yes, I love her.” And tears glittered in the eyes of the freedwoman.
“Yes, I love her.” And tears sparkled in the eyes of the freedwoman.
“Thou lovest her because she has not repaid thee with hatred, as she has me.”
“You love her because she hasn’t returned your feelings with hatred, like she has with me.”
Acte looked at him for a time as if hesitating, or as if wishing to learn if he spoke sincerely; then she said,—“O blind and passionate man—she loved thee.”
Acte stared at him for a moment, as if hesitating or trying to figure out if he was being genuine; then she said, "Oh, blind and passionate man—she loved you."
Vinicius sprang up under the influence of those words, as if possessed. “It is not true.”
Vinicius jumped up under the impact of those words, as if he were possessed. “That's not true.”
She hated him. How could Acte know? Would Lygia make a confession to her after one day’s acquaintance? What love is that which prefers wandering, the disgrace of poverty, the uncertainty of to-morrow, or a shameful death even, to a wreath-bedecked house, in which a lover is waiting with a feast? It is better for him not to hear such things, for he is ready to go mad. He would not have given that girl for all Cæsar’s treasures, and she fled. What kind of love is that which dreads delight and gives pain? Who can understand it? Who can fathom it? Were it not for the hope that he should find her, he would sink a sword in himself. Love surrenders; it does not take away. There were moments at the house of Aulus when he himself believed in near happiness, but now he knows that she hated him, that she hates him, and will die with hatred in her heart.
She hated him. How could Acte know? Would Lygia confess to her after just one day? What kind of love would choose wandering, the shame of poverty, the uncertainty of tomorrow, or even a shameful death over a home decorated with flowers, where a lover is waiting with a feast? It's better for him not to hear such things, as he's on the brink of madness. He wouldn't trade that girl for all of Caesar’s wealth, and yet she ran away. What kind of love fears happiness and brings pain? Who can understand it? Who can grasp it? If it weren't for the hope of finding her, he would drive a sword into himself. Love gives; it doesn’t take away. There were times at Aulus' house when he believed he might find happiness soon, but now he knows she hated him, that she hates him, and will die with hatred in her heart.
But Acte, usually mild and timid, burst forth in her turn with indignation. How had he tried to win Lygia? Instead of bowing before Aulus and Pomponia to get her, he took the child away from her parents by stratagem. He wanted to make, not a wife, but a concubine of her, the foster daughter of an honorable house, and the daughter of a king. He had her brought to this abode of crime and infamy; he defiled her innocent eyes with the sight of a shameful feast; he acted with her as with a wanton. Had he forgotten the house of Aulus and Pomponia Græcina, who had reared Lygia? Had he not sense enough to understand that there are women different from Nigidia or Calvia Crispinilla or Poppæa, and from all those whom he meets in Cæsar’s house? Did he not understand at once on seeing Lygia that she is an honest maiden, who prefers death to infamy? Whence does he know what kind of gods she worships, and whether they are not purer and better than the wanton Venus, or than Isis, worshipped by the profligate women of Rome? No! Lygia had made no confession to her, but she had said that she looked for rescue to him, to Vinicius: she had hoped that he would obtain for her permission from Cæsar to return home, that he would restore her to Pomponia. And while speaking of this, Lygia blushed like a maiden who loves and trusts. Lygia’s heart beat for him; but he, Vinicius, had terrified and offended her; had made her indignant; let him seek her now with the aid of Cæsar’s soldiers, but let him know that should Poppæa’s child die, suspicion will fall on Lygia, whose destruction will then be inevitable.
But Acte, usually gentle and shy, erupted with anger this time. How had he tried to win Lygia? Instead of showing respect to Aulus and Pomponia to get her, he deceived her parents and took her away. He wanted to make her not a wife, but a concubine—the foster daughter of a respected family, and the daughter of a king. He brought her to this place of crime and disgrace; he sullied her innocent eyes with the sight of a disgraceful feast; he treated her like a promiscuous woman. Had he forgotten the home of Aulus and Pomponia Græcina, who raised Lygia? Did he not have the sense to realize that there are women who are different from Nigidia, Calvia Crispinilla, or Poppæa, and all those he encounters in Cæsar’s house? Did he not see immediately that Lygia is a decent maiden who would choose death over shame? How does he know which gods she worships, and whether they are not purer and better than the promiscuous Venus, or than Isis, worshiped by the debauched women of Rome? No! Lygia hadn’t confessed anything to her, but she had mentioned that she looked to him, to Vinicius, for help: she had hoped he would get her permission from Cæsar to return home, that he would bring her back to Pomponia. And while talking about this, Lygia blushed like a girl who loves and trusts. Lygia’s heart raced for him; but he, Vinicius, had scared and insulted her; had made her furious; let him now search for her with the help of Cæsar’s soldiers, but he should know that if Poppæa’s child dies, suspicion will fall on Lygia, whose doom will then be certain.
Emotion began to force its way through the anger and pain of Vinicius. The information that he was loved by Lygia shook him to the depth of his soul. He remembered her in Aulus’s garden, when she was listening to his words with blushes on her face and her eyes full of light. It seemed to him then that she had begun to love him; and all at once, at that thought, a feeling of certain happiness embraced him, a hundred times greater than that which he desired. He thought that he might have won her gradually, and besides as one loving him. She would have wreathed his door, rubbed it with wolf’s fat, and then sat as his wife by his hearth on the sheepskin. He would have heard from her mouth the sacramental: “Where thou art, Caius, there am I, Caia.” And she would have been his forever. Why did he not act thus? True, he had been ready so to act. But now she is gone, and it may be impossible to find her; and should he find her, perhaps he will cause her death, and should he not cause her death, neither she nor Aulus nor Pomponia Græcina will favor him. Here anger raised the hair on his head again; but his anger turned now, not against the house of Aulus, or Lygia, but against Petronius. Petronius was to blame for everything. Had it not been for him Lygia would not have been forced to wander; she would be his betrothed, and no danger would be hanging over her dear head. But now all is past, and it is too late to correct the evil which will not yield to correction.
Emotion began to break through the anger and pain that Vinicius felt. The realization that he was loved by Lygia shook him to his core. He remembered her in Aulus’s garden, listening to his words with a blush on her face and her eyes shining. At that moment, it seemed to him that she had started to love him; and suddenly, with that thought, an overwhelming happiness enveloped him, a hundred times greater than what he had wished for. He imagined that he could have won her heart gradually, and not just as a friend. She would have decorated his door, anointed it with wolf's fat, and then sat by his fire as his wife on the sheepskin. He would have heard her say, “Where you are, Caius, there am I, Caia.” And she would have been his forever. Why didn’t he act on this? True, he was ready to do so. But now she is gone, and it might be impossible to find her; and if he does find her, he might cause her death, and even if he doesn’t cause her death, neither she nor Aulus nor Pomponia Græcina will support him. Anger surged back through him, but this time, his anger was not directed at Aulus’s household or Lygia, but at Petronius. Petronius was to blame for everything. If it hadn’t been for him, Lygia wouldn’t have been forced to flee; she would have been his fiancée, and no danger would threaten her precious life. But now all is lost, and it's too late to fix what cannot be mended.
“Too late!” And it seemed to him that a gulf had opened before his feet. He did not know what to begin, how to proceed, whither to betake himself. Acte repeated as an echo the words, “Too late,” which from another’s mouth sounded like a death sentence. He understood one thing, however, that he must find Lygia, or something evil would happen to him.
“Too late!” And it felt like a chasm had opened up beneath his feet. He didn’t know where to start, how to move forward, or where to go. Acte echoed the words, “Too late,” which, coming from someone else, felt like a death sentence. He realized one thing, though: he had to find Lygia, or something terrible would happen to him.
And wrapping himself mechanically in his toga, he was about to depart without taking farewell even of Acte, when suddenly the curtain separating the entrance from the atrium was pushed aside, and he saw before him the pensive figure of Pomponia Græcina.
And wrapping himself mechanically in his toga, he was about to leave without even saying goodbye to Acte, when suddenly the curtain separating the entrance from the atrium was pushed aside, and he saw before him the thoughtful figure of Pomponia Græcina.
Evidently she too had heard of the disappearance of Lygia, and, judging that she could see Acte more easily than Aulus, had come for news to her.
Apparently, she had also heard about Lygia's disappearance and, figuring that she could get updates from Acte more easily than from Aulus, had come to her for information.
But, seeing Vinicius, she turned her pale, delicate face to him, and said, after a pause,—“May God forgive thee the wrong, Marcus, which thou hast done to us and to Lygia.”
But, seeing Vinicius, she turned her pale, delicate face to him and said, after a pause, “May God forgive you for the wrong, Marcus, that you have done to us and to Lygia.”
He stood with drooping head, with a feeling of misfortune and guilt, not understanding what God was to forgive him or could forgive him. Pomponia had no cause to mention forgiveness; she ought to have spoken of revenge.
He stood with his head down, feeling unfortunate and guilty, not understanding what God could forgive him for or why he needed forgiveness at all. Pomponia had no reason to talk about forgiveness; she should have been talking about revenge.
At last he went out with a head devoid of counsel, full of grievous thoughts, immense care, and amazement.
At last he went out with a mind lacking guidance, filled with heavy thoughts, deep concern, and wonder.
In the court and under the gallery were crowds of anxious people. Among slaves of the palace were knights and senators who had come to inquire about the health of the infant, and at the same time to show themselves in the palace, and exhibit a proof of their anxiety, even in presence of Nero’s slaves. News of the illness of the “divine” had spread quickly it was evident, for new forms appeared in the gateway every moment, and through the opening of the arcade whole crowds were visible. Some of the newly arrived, seeing that Vinicius was coming from the palace, attacked him for news; but he hurried on without answering their questions, till Petronius, who had come for news too, almost struck his breast and stopped him.
In the courtroom and under the balcony, there were crowds of worried people. Among the palace's servants were knights and senators who had come to check on the baby's health and to show themselves in the palace, demonstrating their concern, even in front of Nero’s servants. News of the “divine” infant's illness had spread quickly, as new faces appeared at the entrance every moment, and through the arcade, whole groups were visible. Some of the newcomers, seeing Vinicius coming from the palace, approached him for updates, but he hurried past without answering their questions until Petronius, who had come for news as well, nearly grabbed him and halted him.
Beyond doubt Vinicius would have become enraged at sight of Petronius, and let himself do some lawless act in Cæsar’s palace, had it not been that when he had left Acte he was so crushed, so weighed down and exhausted, that for the moment even his innate irascibility had left him. He pushed Petronius aside and wished to pass; but the other detained him, by force almost.
Without a doubt, Vinicius would have been furious at the sight of Petronius and might have done something reckless in Caesar’s palace, if it hadn’t been for the fact that when he left Acte, he was so crushed, so weighed down, and exhausted, that even his usual temper had abandoned him for the moment. He tried to push Petronius aside and wanted to move past him, but the other held him back, almost by force.
“How is the divine infant?” asked he.
“How's the baby doing?” he asked.
But this constraint angered Vinicius a second time, and roused his indignation in an instant.
But this restriction made Vinicius angry again and instantly fueled his indignation.
“May Hades swallow her and all this house!” said he, gritting his teeth.
“May Hades take her and this whole house!” he said, gritting his teeth.
“Silence, hapless man!” said Petronius, and looking around he added hurriedly,—“If thou wish to know something of Lygia, come with me; I will tell nothing here! Come with me; I will tell my thoughts in the litter.”
“Quiet, unfortunate man!” said Petronius, and glancing around he added quickly, “If you want to know anything about Lygia, come with me; I won’t say anything here! Come with me; I’ll share my thoughts in the litter.”
And putting his arm around the young tribune, he conducted him from the palace as quickly as possible. That was his main concern, for he had no news whatever; but being a man of resources, and having, in spite of his indignation of yesterday, much sympathy for Vinicius, and finally feeling responsible for all that had happened, he had undertaken something already, and when they entered the litter he said,—“I have commanded my slaves to watch at every gate. I gave them an accurate description of the girl, and that giant who bore her from the feast at Cæsar’s,—for he is the man, beyond doubt, who intercepted her. Listen to me: Perhaps Aulus and Pomponia wish to secrete her in some estate of theirs; in that case we shall learn the direction in which they took her. If my slaves do not see her at some gate, we shall know that she is in the city yet, and shall begin this very day to search in Rome for her.”
And putting his arm around the young tribune, he quickly led him out of the palace. That was his main concern, as he had no news at all; but being resourceful and feeling responsible for everything that had happened, he had already taken action despite his anger from yesterday. As they got into the litter, he said, “I’ve instructed my slaves to keep watch at every gate. I provided them with a detailed description of the girl and that giant who carried her away from the feast at Caesar’s—he’s definitely the one who intercepted her. Listen: Aulus and Pomponia might be hiding her in one of their estates; if that’s the case, we’ll find out where they took her. If my slaves don’t spot her at any gate, we’ll know she’s still in the city, and we’ll start searching for her in Rome today.”
“Aulus does not know where she is,” answered Vinicius.
“Aulus doesn’t know where she is,” replied Vinicius.
“Art thou sure of that?”
"Are you sure about that?"
“I saw Pomponia. She too is looking for her.”
“I saw Pomponia. She’s also looking for her.”
“She could not leave the city yesterday, for the gates are closed at night. Two of my people are watching at each gate. One is to follow Lygia and the giant, the other to return at once and inform me. If she is in the city, we shall find her, for that Lygian is easily recognized, even by his stature and his shoulders. Thou art lucky that it was not Cæsar who took her, and I can assure thee that he did not, for there are no secrets from me on the Palatine.”
“She couldn't leave the city yesterday because the gates close at night. Two of my men are watching each gate. One will follow Lygia and the giant, and the other will return immediately to inform me. If she is in the city, we will find her, since that Lygian can easily be recognized by his height and build. You're lucky it wasn't Caesar who took her, and I can assure you it wasn't, because there are no secrets from me on the Palatine.”
But Vinicius burst forth in sorrow still more than in anger, and in a voice broken by emotion told Petronius what he had heard from Acte, and what new dangers were threatening Lygia,—dangers so dreadful that because of them there would be need to hide her from Poppæa most carefully, in case they discovered her. Then he reproached Petronius bitterly for his counsel. Had it not been for him, everything would have gone differently. Lygia would have been at the house of Aulus, and he, Vinicius, might have seen her every day, and he would have been happier at that moment than Cæsar. And carried away as he went on with his narrative, he yielded more and more to emotion, till at last tears of sorrow and rage began to fall from his eyes.
But Vinicius expressed his sorrow even more than his anger, and in a voice choked with emotion, he told Petronius what he had learned from Acte and what new dangers were threatening Lygia—dangers so terrifying that they would need to hide her from Poppæa very carefully, in case she was discovered. Then he bitterly criticized Petronius for his advice. If it hadn’t been for him, everything would have turned out differently. Lygia would have been at Aulus's house, and he, Vinicius, could have seen her every day, and at that moment, he would have been happier than Caesar. As he continued his story, he became more and more overwhelmed with emotion, until tears of sorrow and rage began to fall from his eyes.
Petronius, who had not even thought that the young man could love and desire to such a degree, when he saw the tears of despair said to himself, with a certain astonishment,—“O mighty Lady of Cyprus, thou alone art ruler of gods and men!”
Petronius, who had never imagined that the young man could love and desire so intensely, when he saw the tears of despair, thought to himself, with a sense of astonishment, “O powerful Lady of Cyprus, you alone are the ruler of gods and men!”
Chapter XII
WHEN they alighted in front of the arbiter’s house, the chief of the atrium answered them that of slaves sent to the gates none had returned yet. The atriensis had given orders to take food to them, and a new command, that under penalty of rods they were to watch carefully all who left the city.
WHEN they arrived in front of the arbiter’s house, the head of the atrium told them that none of the slaves sent to the gates had returned yet. The atriensis had given orders to send food to them, and a new order was issued that, under the threat of punishment, they were to closely monitor everyone who left the city.
“Thou seest,” said Petronius, “that they are in Rome, beyond doubt, and in that case we shall find them. But command thy people also to watch at the gates,—those, namely, who were sent for Lygia, as they will recognize her easily.”
“You see,” said Petronius, “that they are definitely in Rome, so we will find them. But also tell your people to keep an eye on the gates—specifically, those who were sent for Lygia, as they will recognize her easily.”
“I have given orders to send them to rural prisons,” said Vinicius, “but I will recall the orders at once, and let them go to the gates.”
“I’ve instructed to send them to rural prisons,” Vinicius said, “but I’ll cancel those orders immediately and let them go to the gates.”
And writing a few words on a wax-covered tablet, he handed it to Petronius, who gave directions to send it at once to the house of Vinicius. Then they passed into the interior portico, and, sitting on a marble bench, began to talk. The golden-haired Eunice and Iras pushed bronze footstools under their feet, and poured wine for them into goblets, out of wonderful narrow-necked pitchers from Volaterræ and Cæcina.
And after writing a few words on a wax-covered tablet, he gave it to Petronius, who instructed to send it immediately to Vinicius's house. Then they went into the inner portico, sat on a marble bench, and started to talk. The golden-haired Eunice and Iras slid bronze footstools under their feet and poured wine into goblets from beautiful narrow-necked pitchers from Volaterræ and Cæcina.
“Hast thou among thy people any one who knows that giant Lygian?” asked Petronius.
“Do you have anyone in your group who knows that giant Lygian?” asked Petronius.
“Atacinus and Gulo knew him; but Atacinus fell yesterday at the litter, and Gulo I killed.”
“Atacinus and Gulo knew him; but Atacinus fell yesterday at the litter, and I killed Gulo.”
“I am sorry for him,” said Petronius. “He carried not only thee, but me, in his arms.”
“I feel sorry for him,” said Petronius. “He carried not just you, but me, in his arms.”
“I intended to free him,” answered Vinicius; “but do not mention him. Let us speak of Lygia. Rome is a sea-”
“I intended to free him,” Vinicius replied; “but let’s not talk about him. Let’s discuss Lygia. Rome is a sea-”
“A sea is just the place where men fish for pearls. Of course we shall not find her to-day, or to-morrow, but we shall find her surely. Thou hast accused me just now of giving thee this method; but the method was good in itself, and became bad only when turned to bad. Thou hast heard from Aulus himself, that he intends to go to Sicily with his whole family. In that case the girl would be far from thee.”
“A sea is just a place where people fish for pearls. Of course, we won’t find her today or tomorrow, but we will find her for sure. You just accused me of giving you this method; but the method was good on its own and only became bad when misused. You’ve heard from Aulus himself that he plans to go to Sicily with his whole family. In that case, the girl would be far from you.”
“I should follow them,” said Vinicius, “and in every case she would be out of danger; but now, if that child dies, Poppæa will believe, and will persuade Cæsar, that she died because of Lygia.”
“I should follow them,” Vinicius said, “and in every case, she would be safe; but now, if that child dies, Poppæa will think, and will convince Caesar, that she died because of Lygia.”
“True; that alarmed me, too. But that little doll may recover. Should she die, we shall find some way of escape.”
“True; that worried me, too. But that little doll might pull through. If she dies, we’ll find a way to escape.”
Here Petronius meditated a while and added,—“Poppæa, it is said, follows the religion of the Jews, and believes in evil spirits. Cæsar is superstitious. If we spread the report that evil spirits carried off Lygia, the news will find belief, especially as neither Cæsar nor Aulus Plautius intercepted her; her escape was really mysterious. The Lygian could not have effected it alone; he must have had help. And where could a slave find so many people in the course of one day?”
Here, Petronius thought for a moment and added, “They say Poppæa follows the Jewish faith and believes in evil spirits. Caesar is superstitious. If we spread the rumor that evil spirits took Lygia, people will believe it, especially since neither Caesar nor Aulus Plautius stopped her; her escape was truly mysterious. The Lygian couldn't have done it alone; he must have had assistance. And where could a slave find that many people in a single day?”
“Slaves help one another in Rome.”
“Slaves support each other in Rome.”
“Some person pays for that with blood at times. True, they support one another, but not some against others. In this case it was known that responsibility and punishment would fall on thy people. If thou give thy people the idea of evil spirits, they will say at once that they saw such with their own eyes, because that will justify them in thy sight. Ask one of them, as a test, if he did not see spirits carrying off Lygia through the air, he will swear at once by the ægis of Zeus that he saw them.”
“Sometimes, people pay for that with their blood. It's true they support each other, but not at the expense of others. In this case, it was understood that responsibility and punishment would fall on your people. If you give your people the notion of evil spirits, they will immediately claim they’ve seen them with their own eyes, because that will justify their actions in your eyes. Ask one of them as a test if he didn’t see spirits carrying Lygia away through the air, and he will swear by Zeus's shield that he saw them.”
Vinicius, who was superstitious also, looked at Petronius with sudden and great fear.
Vinicius, who was also superstitious, looked at Petronius with sudden and intense fear.
“If Ursus could not have men to help him, and was not able to take her alone, who could take her?”
“If Ursus couldn't have anyone to help him, and couldn't take her by himself, who could take her?”
Petronius began to laugh.
Petronius started laughing.
“See,” said he, “they will believe, since thou art half a believer thyself. Such is our society, which ridicules the gods. They, too, will believe, and they will not look for her. Meanwhile we shall put her away somewhere far off from the city, in some villa of mine or thine.”
"Look," he said, "they'll believe it, since you're half a believer yourself. That's how our society is; it mocks the gods. They will believe too, and they won't search for her. In the meantime, we'll hide her away somewhere far from the city, in one of my villas or yours."
“But who could help her?”
"But who can help her?"
“Her co-religionists,” answered Petronius.
“Her fellow believers,” answered Petronius.
“Who are they? What deity does she worship? I ought to know that better than thou.”
“Who are they? What god does she worship? I should know that better than you.”
“Nearly every woman in Rome honors a different one. It is almost beyond doubt that Pomponia reared her in the religion of that deity which she herself worships; what one she worships I know not. One thing is certain, that no person has seen her make an offering to our gods in any temple. They have accused her even of being a Christian; but that is not possible; a domestic tribunal cleared her of the charge. They say that Christians not only worship an ass’s head, but are enemies of the human race, and permit the foulest crimes. Pomponia cannot be a Christian, as her virtue is known, and an enemy of the human race could not treat slaves as she does.”
“Almost every woman in Rome honors a different deity. It’s almost certain that Pomponia raised her child in the faith of the god she worships; I don’t know which one that is. One thing is clear, though: no one has seen her make an offering to our gods in any temple. They have even accused her of being a Christian, but that can't be true; a domestic court cleared her of that charge. They claim that Christians not only worship a donkey’s head but also are enemies of humanity and allow the most vile crimes. Pomponia cannot be a Christian, as her virtue is well-known, and someone who is an enemy of humanity wouldn’t treat slaves as she does.”
“In no house are they treated as at Aulus’s,” interrupted Vinicius.
“In no house are they treated like they are at Aulus’s,” interrupted Vinicius.
“Ah! Pomponia mentioned to me some god, who must be one powerful and merciful. Where she has put away all the others is her affair; it is enough that that Logos of hers cannot be very mighty, or rather he must be a very weak god, since he has had only two adherents,—Pomponia and Lygia,—and Ursus in addition. It must be that there are more of those adherents, and that they assisted Lygia.”
“Ah! Pomponia told me about some god who must be quite powerful and merciful. Where she has set aside all the others is her business; it’s enough that her Logos can’t be very strong, or rather, he must be a rather weak god since he has only two followers—Pomponia and Lygia—and Ursus as well. There must be more followers, and they helped Lygia.”
“That faith commands forgiveness,” said Vinicius. “At Acte’s I met Pomponia, who said to me: ‘May God forgive thee the evil which thou hast done to us and to Lygia.’”
“That faith commands forgiveness,” said Vinicius. “At Acte’s I met Pomponia, who said to me: ‘May God forgive you for the harm you’ve done to us and to Lygia.’”
“Evidently their God is some curator who is very mild. Ha! let him forgive thee, and in sign of forgiveness return thee the maiden.”
"Clearly, their God is some curator who's really lenient. Ha! Let him forgive you, and as a sign of that forgiveness, return the maiden to you."
“I would offer him a hecatomb to-morrow! I have no wish for food, or the bath, or sleep. I will take a dark lantern and wander through the city. Perhaps I shall find her in disguise. I am sick.”
“I would give him a huge offering tomorrow! I don't care about food, or a bath, or sleep. I’ll grab a flashlight and roam around the city. Maybe I'll spot her in disguise. I'm feeling so unwell.”
Petronius looked at him with commiseration. In fact, there was blue under his eyes, his pupils were gleaming with fever, his unshaven beard indicated a dark strip on his firmly outlined jaws, his hair was in disorder, and he was really like a sick man. Iras and the golden-haired Eunice looked at him also with sympathy; but he seemed not to see them, and he and Petronius took no notice whatever of the slave women, just as they would not have noticed dogs moving around them.
Petronius looked at him with pity. He had dark circles under his eyes, his pupils were shining with fever, his unshaven beard created a dark line on his sharply defined jaw, his hair was messy, and he really looked like a sick man. Iras and the golden-haired Eunice also looked at him with sympathy, but he seemed completely unaware of them, and he and Petronius ignored the slave women, just like they would have ignored dogs wandering nearby.
“Fever is tormenting thee,” said Petronius.
“Fever is tormenting you,” said Petronius.
“It is.”
“Yeah, it is.”
“Then listen to me. I know not what the doctor has prescribed to thee, but I know how I should act in thy place. Till this lost one is found I should seek in another that which for the moment has gone from me with her. I saw splendid forms at thy villa. Do not contradict me. I know what love is; and I know that when one is desired another cannot take her place. But in a beautiful slave it is possible to find even momentary distraction.”
“Then listen to me. I don't know what the doctor has prescribed for you, but I know how I would act if I were you. Until this lost one is found, I would look for something else to fill the void left by her. I saw some amazing people at your villa. Don’t argue with me. I know what love is; and I understand that when someone is truly wanted, no one else can take their place. But with a beautiful slave, you can find even a brief distraction.”
“I do not need it,” said Vinicius.
“I don’t need it,” said Vinicius.
But Petronius, who had for him a real weakness, and who wished to soften his pain, began to meditate how he might do so.
But Petronius, who genuinely cared for him and wanted to ease his suffering, started thinking about how he could accomplish that.
“Perhaps thine have not for thee the charm of novelty,” said he, after a while (and here he began to look in turn at Iras and Eunice, and finally he placed his palm on the hip of the golden-haired Eunice). “Look at this grace! for whom some days since Fonteius Capiton the younger offered three wonderful boys from Clazomene. A more beautiful figure than hers even Skopas himself has not chiselled. I myself cannot tell why I have remained indifferent to her thus far, since thoughts of Chrysothemis have not restrained me. Well, I give her to thee; take her for thyself!”
“Maybe you don’t find her as captivating as I do,” he said after a moment (and here he started to look at Iras and Eunice in turn, finally resting his hand on the hip of the golden-haired Eunice). “Just look at this elegance! Just a few days ago, Fonteius Capiton the younger offered three amazing boys from Clazomenae for her. Even Skopas hasn’t carved a more stunning figure than hers. I honestly can’t explain why I’ve been so indifferent to her until now, especially since thoughts of Chrysothemis haven’t held me back. Well, I’m giving her to you; take her for yourself!”
When the golden-haired Eunice heard this, she grew pale in one moment, and, looking with frightened eyes on Vinicius, seemed to wait for his answer without breath in her breast.
When the golden-haired Eunice heard this, she went pale in an instant, and, gazing with fearful eyes at Vinicius, seemed to hold her breath as she waited for his answer.
But he sprang up suddenly, and, pressing his temples with his hands, said quickly, like a man who is tortured by disease, and will not hear anything,—“No, no! I care not for her! I care not for others! I thank thee, but I do not want her. I will seek that one through the city. Give command to bring me a Gallic cloak with a hood. I will go beyond the Tiber—if I could see even Ursus.”
But he suddenly jumped up, pressing his temples with his hands, and said quickly, like someone tortured by illness who refuses to listen to anything, “No, no! I don’t care about her! I don’t care about others! Thank you, but I don’t want her. I will search for that one in the city. Have someone bring me a Gallic cloak with a hood. I will go beyond the Tiber—if I could just see Ursus.”
And he hurried away. Petronius, seeing that he could not remain in one place, did not try to detain him. Taking, however, his refusal as a temporary dislike for all women save Lygia, and not wishing his own magnanimity to go for naught, he said, turning to the slave,—“Eunice, thou wilt bathe and anoint thyself, then dress: after that thou wilt go to the house of Vinicius.”
And he rushed off. Petronius, realizing that he couldn't stay in one spot, didn't try to stop him. However, taking his rejection as a temporary dislike for all women except Lygia, and not wanting his generosity to go unappreciated, he turned to the slave and said, "Eunice, you’ll bathe and get yourself ready, then put on some clothes: after that, you’ll go to Vinicius' house."
But she dropped before him on her knees, and with joined palms implored him not to remove her from the house. She would not go to Vinicius, she said. She would rather carry fuel to the hypocaustum in his house than be chief servant in that of Vinicius. She would not, she could not go; and she begged him to have pity on her. Let him give command to flog her daily, only not send her away.
But she fell to her knees in front of him and with her hands together begged him not to make her leave the house. She said she wouldn’t go to Vinicius. She would rather carry fuel to the heating system in his house than be the head servant in Vinicius’s place. She wouldn't, she couldn't go; and she pleaded with him to have mercy on her. Let him order her to be whipped every day, but just don’t send her away.
And trembling like a leaf with fear and excitement, she stretched her hands to him, while he listened with amazement. A slave who ventured to beg relief from the fulfilment of a command, who said “I will not and I cannot,” was something so unheard-of in Rome that Petronius could not believe his own ears at first. Finally he frowned. He was too refined to be cruel. His slaves, especially in the department of pleasure, were freer than others, on condition of performing their service in an exemplary manner, and honoring the will of their master, like that of a god. In case they failed in these two respects, he was able not to spare punishment, to which, according to general custom, they were subject. Since, besides this, he could not endure opposition, nor anything which ruffled his calmness, he looked for a while at the kneeling girl, and then said,—“Call Tiresias, and return with him.”
And trembling with fear and excitement, she reached out her hands to him, while he listened in disbelief. A slave daring to ask for relief from a command, one who said “I won’t and I can’t,” was something so unusual in Rome that Petronius could barely believe his ears at first. Finally, he frowned. He was too refined to be harsh. His slaves, especially in matters of pleasure, enjoyed more freedom than others, as long as they performed their duties exceptionally and respected his will as if it were divine. If they failed in these respects, he was not hesitant to punish them, which was the norm. Additionally, he couldn’t tolerate opposition or anything that disturbed his peace, so he looked at the kneeling girl for a moment before saying, “Call Tiresias and come back with him.”
Eunice rose, trembling, with tears in her eyes, and went out; after a time she returned with the chief of the atrium, Tiresias, a Cretan.
Eunice stood up, shaking, with tears in her eyes, and left; after a while, she came back with the head of the atrium, Tiresias, a Cretan.
“Thou wilt take Eunice,” said Petronius, “and give her five-and-twenty lashes, in such fashion, however, as not to harm her skin.”
“Take Eunice,” said Petronius, “and give her twenty-five lashes, but do it in a way that doesn’t hurt her skin.”
When he had said this, he passed into the library, and, sitting down at a table of rose-colored marble, began to work on his “Feast of Trimalchion.” But the flight of Lygia and the illness of the infant Augusta had disturbed his mind so much that he could not work long. That illness, above all, was important. It occurred to Petronius that were Cæsar to believe that Lygia had cast spells on the infant, the responsibility might fall on him also, for the girl had been brought at his request to the palace. But he could reckon on this, that at the first interview with Cæsar he would be able in some way to show the utter absurdity of such an idea; he counted a little, too, on a certain weakness which Poppæa had for him,—a weakness hidden carefully, it is true, but not so carefully that he could not divine it. After a while he shrugged his shoulders at these fears, and decided to go to the triclinium to strengthen himself, and then order the litter to bear him once more to the palace, after that to the Campus Martius, and then to Chrysothemis.
When he finished speaking, he walked into the library, and, sitting down at a table made of rose-colored marble, he started working on his “Feast of Trimalchion.” But the escape of Lygia and the illness of the baby Augusta weighed heavily on his mind, preventing him from focusing for long. That illness, in particular, was important. Petronius realized that if Cæsar believed Lygia had cursed the baby, he might be held responsible too, since the girl had been brought to the palace at his request. However, he was confident that during their first meeting, he could somehow demonstrate how ridiculous that idea was; he also counted a bit on the secret weakness Poppæa had for him, although she hid it well, it wasn't so hidden that he couldn't pick up on it. After a while, he shook off these worries and decided to head to the triclinium to gather his strength, then he would order the litter to take him back to the palace, followed by a trip to the Campus Martius, and then to Chrysothemis.
But on the way to the triclinium at the entrance to the corridor assigned to servants, he saw unexpectedly the slender form of Eunice standing, among other slaves, at the wall; and forgetting that he had given Tiresias no order beyond flogging her, he wrinkled his brow again, and looked around for the atriensis. Not seeing him among the servants, he turned to Eunice.
But on his way to the dining room at the entrance to the corridor for servants, he unexpectedly spotted the slender figure of Eunice standing with the other slaves by the wall. Forgetting he had only instructed Tiresias to punish her, he frowned again and looked around for the steward. Not seeing him among the servants, he turned to Eunice.
“Hast thou received the lashes?”
"Have you received the lashes?"
She cast herself at his feet a second time, pressed the border of his toga to her lips, and said,—“Oh, yes, lord, I have received them! Oh, yes, lord!” In her voice were heard, as it were, joy and gratitude. It was clear that she looked on the lashes as a substitute for her removal from the house, and that now she might stay there. Petronius, who understood this, wondered at the passionate resistance of the girl; but he was too deeply versed in human nature not to know that love alone could call forth such resistance.
She threw herself at his feet again, pressed the edge of his toga to her lips, and said, “Oh, yes, my lord, I have received them! Oh, yes, my lord!” Her voice carried joy and gratitude. It was obvious she saw the lashes as a way to avoid being sent away from the house and that now she could stay. Petronius, who understood this, was amazed by the girl’s passionate resistance; but he was too familiar with human nature not to realize that only love could inspire such defiance.
“Dost thou love some one in this house?” asked he.
"Do you love someone in this house?" he asked.
She raised her blue, tearful eyes to him, and answered, in a voice so low that it was hardly possible to hear her,—“Yes, lord.”
She lifted her blue, tear-filled eyes to him and replied in a voice so soft that it was barely audible, “Yes, my lord.”
And with those eyes, with that golden hair thrown back, with fear and hope in her face, she was so beautiful, she looked at him so entreatingly, that Petronius, who, as a philosopher, had proclaimed the might of love, and who, as a man of æsthetic nature, had given homage to all beauty, felt for her a certain species of compassion.
And with those eyes, with her golden hair tossed back, showing both fear and hope on her face, she was so beautiful. She looked at him so pleadingly that Petronius, who as a philosopher had declared the power of love and as someone who appreciated beauty had always honored it, felt a certain kind of compassion for her.
“Whom of those dost thou love?” inquired he, indicating the servants with his head.
“Which of those do you love?” he asked, nodding toward the servants.
There was no answer to that question. Eunice inclined her head to his feet and remained motionless.
There was no answer to that question. Eunice lowered her head to his feet and stayed still.
Petronius looked at the slaves, among whom were beautiful and stately youths. He could read nothing on any face; on the contrary, all had certain strange smiles. He looked then for a while on Eunice lying at his feet, and went in silence to the triclinium.
Petronius glanced at the slaves, including some attractive and dignified young men. He couldn't make out any emotions on their faces; instead, they all wore peculiar smiles. He then focused for a moment on Eunice, who was resting at his feet, and silently made his way to the dining room.
After he had eaten, he gave command to bear him to the palace, and then to Chrysothemis, with whom he remained till late at night. But when he returned, he gave command to call Tiresias.
After he finished eating, he ordered to be taken to the palace, and then to Chrysothemis, with whom he stayed until late at night. But when he got back, he instructed to call Tiresias.
“Did Eunice receive the flogging?” inquired he.
“Did Eunice get whipped?” he asked.
“She did, lord. Thou didst not let the skin be cut, however.”
“She did, my lord. You didn’t let them cut the skin, though.”
“Did I give no other command touching her?”
“Did I not give any other orders about her?”
“No, lord,” answered the atriensis with alarm.
“No, sir,” the atriensis replied, alarmed.
“That is well. Whom of the slaves does she love?”
"That's good. Which of the slaves does she love?"
“No one, lord.”
“No one, my lord.”
“What dost thou know of her?”
“What do you know about her?”
Tiresias began to speak in a somewhat uncertain voice:
Tiresias started to speak with a somewhat unsure tone:
“At night Eunice never leaves the cubiculum in which she lives with old Acrisiona and Ifida; after thou art dressed she never goes to the bath-rooms. Other slaves ridicule her, and call her Diana.”
“At night, Eunice never leaves the room where she lives with old Acrisiona and Ifida; once you’re dressed, she never goes to the bathrooms. Other slaves make fun of her and call her Diana.”
“Enough,” said Petronius. “My relative, Vinicius, to whom I offered her to-day, did not accept her; hence she may stay in the house. Thou art free to go.”
“Enough,” said Petronius. “My relative, Vinicius, whom I offered her to today, did not accept her; so she can stay in the house. You are free to go.”
“Is it permitted me to speak more of Eunice, lord?”
“Is it okay for me to talk more about Eunice, my lord?”
“I have commanded thee to say all thou knowest.”
"I have ordered you to say everything you know."
“The whole familia are speaking of the flight of the maiden who was to dwell in the house of the noble Vinicius. After thy departure, Eunice came to me and said that she knew a man who could find her.”
“The whole family is talking about the escape of the young woman who was supposed to live in the house of the noble Vinicius. After you left, Eunice came to me and said she knew a guy who could track her down.”
“Ah! What kind of man is he?”
“Ah! What sort of guy is he?”
“I know not, lord; but I thought that I ought to inform thee of this matter.”
“I don’t know, my lord; but I thought I should let you know about this.”
“That is well. Let that man wait to-morrow in my house for the arrival of the tribune, whom thou wilt request in my name to meet me here.”
"That's fine. Let that man wait tomorrow in my house for the arrival of the tribune, who you will ask in my name to meet me here."
The atriensis bowed and went out. But Petronius began to think of Eunice. At first it seemed clear to him that the young slave wished Vinicius to find Lygia for this reason only, that she would not be forced from his house. Afterward, however, it occurred to him that the man whom Eunice was pushing forward might be her lover, and all at once that thought seemed to him disagreeable. There was, it is true, a simple way of learning the truth, for it was enough to summon Eunice; but the hour was late, Petronius felt tired after his long visit with Chrysothemis, and was in a hurry to sleep. But on the way to the cubiculum he remembered—it is unknown why—that he had noticed wrinkles, that day, in the corners of Chrysothemis’s eyes. He thought, also, that her beauty was more celebrated in Rome than it deserved; and that Fonteius Capiton, who had offered him three boys from Clazomene for Eunice, wanted to buy her too cheaply.
The atriensis bowed and left. But Petronius started to think about Eunice. At first, it seemed obvious to him that the young slave wanted Vinicius to find Lygia just so she wouldn't be forced out of his house. However, it later occurred to him that the man Eunice was pushing forward might be her lover, and suddenly that thought upset him. There was, of course, a straightforward way to find out the truth—he could just summon Eunice—but it was late, Petronius was tired after his long visit with Chrysothemis, and he wanted to get some sleep. On his way to the cubiculum, he remembered—though he wasn't sure why—that he had noticed wrinkles at the corners of Chrysothemis’s eyes that day. He also thought her beauty was more renowned in Rome than it deserved, and that Fonteius Capiton, who had offered him three boys from Clazomene for Eunice, was trying to buy her too cheaply.
Chapter XIII
NEXT morning, Petronius had barely finished dressing in the unctorium when Vinicius came, called by Tiresias. He knew that no news had come from the gates. This information, instead of comforting him, as a proof that Lygia was still in Rome, weighed him down still more, for he began to think that Ursus might have conducted her out of the city immediately after her seizure, and hence before Petronius’s slaves had begun to keep watch at the gates. It is true that in autumn, when the days become shorter, the gates are closed rather early; but it is true, also, that they are opened for persons going out, and the number of these is considerable. It was possible, also, to pass the walls by other ways, well known, for instance, to slaves who wish to escape from the city. Vinicius had sent out his people to all roads leading to the provinces, to watchmen in the smaller towns, proclaiming a pair of fugitive slaves, with a detailed description of Ursus and Lygia, coupled with the offer of a reward for seizing them. But it was doubtful whether that pursuit would reach the fugitives; and even should it reach them, whether the local authorities would feel justified in making the arrest at the private instance of Vinicius, without the support of a pretor. Indeed, there had not been time to obtain such support. Vinicius himself, disguised as a slave, had sought Lygia the whole day before, through every corner of the city, but had been unable to find the least indication or trace of her. He had seen Aulus’s servants, it is true; but they seemed to be seeking something also, and that confirmed him in the belief that it was not Aulus who had intercepted the maiden, and that the old general did not know what had happened to her.
THE NEXT morning, Petronius had just finished getting dressed in the unctorium when Vinicius arrived, summoned by Tiresias. He knew that no news had come from the gates. Instead of reassuring him, this information just added to his worry, as it made him think that Ursus might have taken her out of the city right after she was taken, probably before Petronius's slaves started watching the gates. It's true that in autumn, when the days get shorter, the gates close fairly early; but they also open for people leaving, and quite a few people do exit. There were also other ways to get past the walls, well-known to slaves wanting to escape the city. Vinicius had sent his men out to all the roads leading to the provinces, to watchmen in the smaller towns, announcing a pair of runaway slaves, with detailed descriptions of Ursus and Lygia, along with a reward for capturing them. But it was uncertain whether that search would find the fugitives; and even if it did, whether the local authorities would feel justified in making the arrest at Vinicius's personal request, without backing from a pretor. In fact, there hadn't been time to get such support. Vinicius himself, disguised as a slave, had searched for Lygia all day the day before, through every part of the city, but had found no sign or trace of her. He had seen Aulus’s servants, it’s true; but they seemed to be looking for something as well, which strengthened his belief that it wasn't Aulus who had taken the girl and that the old general had no idea what had happened to her.
When Tiresias announced to him, then, that there was a man who would undertake to find Lygia, he hurried with all speed to the house of Petronius; and barely had he finished saluting his uncle, when he inquired for the man.
When Tiresias told him that there was a man who would take on the task of finding Lygia, he rushed to Petronius's house. He had just finished greeting his uncle when he asked about the man.
“We shall see him at once, Eunice knows him,” said Petronius. “She will come this moment to arrange the folds of my toga, and will give nearer information concerning him.”
“We’ll see him right away; Eunice knows him,” said Petronius. “She’ll come right now to adjust the folds of my toga and will provide more details about him.”
“Oh! she whom thou hadst the wish to bestow on me yesterday?”
“Oh! Is she the one you wanted to give to me yesterday?”
“The one whom thou didst reject; for which I am grateful, for she is the best vestiplica in the whole city.”
“The one you rejected; for which I am thankful, because she is the best outfit in the whole city.”
In fact, the vestiplica came in before he had finished speaking, and taking the toga, laid on a chair inlaid with pearl, she opened the garment to throw it on Petronius’s shoulder. Her face was clear and calm; joy was in her eyes.
In fact, the attendant arrived before he had finished speaking, and taking the toga, she placed it on a chair decorated with pearls, then opened the garment to drape it over Petronius’s shoulder. Her face was clear and calm; joy shone in her eyes.
Petronius looked at her. She seemed to him very beautiful. After a while, when she had covered him with the toga, she began to arrange it, bending at times to lengthen the folds. He noticed that her arms had a marvellous pale rose-color, and her bosom and shoulders the transparent reflections of pearl or alabaster.
Petronius looked at her. To him, she appeared very beautiful. After a while, when she had draped him with the toga, she started to adjust it, occasionally bending to smooth out the folds. He noticed that her arms had a stunning pale rose color, and her chest and shoulders had a translucent sheen like pearl or alabaster.
“Eunice,” said he, “has the man come to Tiresias whom thou didst mention yesterday?”
“Eunice,” he said, “has the man come to Tiresias that you mentioned yesterday?”
“He has, lord.”
“He does, lord.”
“What is his name?”
“What's his name?”
“Chilo Chilonides.”
“Chilo Chilonides.”
“Who is he?”
"Who’s he?"
“A physician, a sage, a soothsayer, who knows how to read people’s fates and predict the future.”
“A doctor, a wise person, a fortune teller, who understands how to read people’s destinies and forecast what’s to come.”
“Has he predicted the future to thee?”
“Has he predicted the future for you?”
Eunice was covered with a blush which gave a rosy color to her ears and her neck even.
Eunice was blushing, which made her ears and neck turn a rosy color.
“Yes, lord.”
"Yes, my lord."
“What has he predicted?”
“What did he predict?”
“That pain and happiness would meet me.”
“That pain and happiness would come together for me.”
“Pain met thee yesterday at the hands of Tiresias; hence happiness also should come.”
"Pain met you yesterday through Tiresias; so happiness should come as well."
“It has come, lord, already.”
"It's here, my lord."
“What?”
“Wait, what?”
“I remain,” said she in a whisper.
“I’m here,” she said in a whisper.
Petronius put his hand on her golden head.
Petronius placed his hand on her golden head.
“Thou hast arranged the folds well to-day, and I am satisfied with thee, Eunice.”
“You’ve arranged the folds nicely today, and I’m pleased with you, Eunice.”
Under that touch her eyes were mist-covered in one instant from happiness, and her bosom began to heave quickly.
Under that touch, her eyes instantly filled with happy tears, and her chest began to rise and fall quickly.
Petronius and Vinicius passed into the atrium, where Chilo Chilonides was waiting. When he saw them, he made a low bow. A smile came to the lips of Petronius at thought of his suspicion of yesterday, that this man might be Eunice’s lover. The man who was standing before him could not be any one’s lover. In that marvellous figure there was something both foul and ridiculous. He was not old; in his dirty beard and curly locks a gray hair shone here and there. He had a lank stomach and stooping shoulders, so that at the first cast of the eye he appeared to be hunchbacked; above that hump rose a large head, with the face of a monkey and also of a fox; the eye was penetrating. His yellowish complexion was varied with pimples; and his nose, covered with them completely, might indicate too great a love for the bottle. His neglected apparel, composed of a dark tunic of goat’s wool and a mantle of similar material with holes in it, showed real or simulated poverty. At sight of him, Homer’s Thersites came to the mind of Petronius. Hence, answering with a wave of the hand to his bow, he said,—
Petronius and Vinicius walked into the atrium, where Chilo Chilonides was waiting. When he saw them, he gave a slight bow. A smile crossed Petronius's face when he remembered his suspicion from yesterday that this man might be Eunice’s lover. The person in front of him couldn’t possibly be anyone’s lover. There was something both disgusting and absurd about his remarkable figure. He wasn’t old, but his dirty beard and curly hair were streaked with gray here and there. He had a thin stomach and hunched shoulders, making him appear hunchbacked at first glance; above that hump sat a large head with a face that resembled both a monkey and a fox; his gaze was sharp. His yellowish skin was dotted with pimples; his nose, completely covered with them, suggested a possible overindulgence in drinking. His ragged clothing—a dark goat wool tunic and a similar mantle with holes—betrayed either real or feigned poverty. Seeing him reminded Petronius of Homer’s Thersites. So, in response to his bow, he waved his hand and said, —
“A greeting, divine Thersites! How are the lumps which Ulysses gave thee at Troy, and what is he doing himself in the Elysian Fields?”
“A greeting, divine Thersites! How are the bruises that Ulysses gave you at Troy, and what is he doing in the Elysian Fields?”
“Noble lord,” answered Chilo Chilonides, “Ulysses, the wisest of the dead, sends a greeting through me to Petronius, the wisest of the living, and the request to cover my lumps with a new mantle.”
“Noble lord,” replied Chilo Chilonides, “Ulysses, the wisest of the dead, sends a greeting through me to Petronius, the wisest of the living, and asks that I cover my lumps with a new mantle.”
“By Hecate Triformis!” exclaimed Petronius, “the answer deserves a new mantle.”
“By Hecate Triformis!” exclaimed Petronius, “the answer deserves a new mantle.”
But further conversation was interrupted by the impatient Vinicius, who inquired directly,—“Dost thou know clearly what thou art undertaking?”
But further conversation was interrupted by the impatient Vinicius, who asked directly, “Do you clearly know what you are getting into?”
“When two households in two lordly mansions speak of naught else, and when half Rome is repeating the news, it is not difficult to know,” answered Chilo. “The night before last a maiden named Lygia, but specially Callina, and reared in the house of Aulus Plautius, was intercepted. Thy slaves were conducting her, O lord, from Cæsar’s palace to thy ‘insula,’ and I undertake to find her in the city, or, if she has left the city—which is little likely—to indicate to thee, noble tribune, whither she has fled and where she has hidden.”
“When two wealthy families in two grand mansions can’t stop talking about something, and half of Rome is buzzing about it, it’s not hard to figure out,” replied Chilo. “The night before last, a girl named Lygia, particularly Callina, who was raised in the house of Aulus Plautius, was intercepted. Your slaves were taking her, my lord, from Caesar’s palace to your 'insula,' and I will find her in the city, or, if she has left the city—which is unlikely—I will let you know, noble tribune, where she has gone and where she is hiding.”
“That is well,” said Vinicius, who was pleased with the precision of the answer. “What means hast thou to do this?”
“That’s great,” said Vinicius, who was happy with the accuracy of the answer. “What method do you have to do this?”
Chilo smiled cunningly. “Thou hast the means, lord; I have the wit only.”
Chilo smiled slyly. “You have the resources, my lord; I only have the smarts.”
Petronius smiled also, for he was perfectly satisfied with his guest.
Petronius also smiled, as he was completely happy with his guest.
“That man can find the maiden,” thought he. Meanwhile Vinicius wrinkled his joined brows, and said,—“Wretch, in case thou deceive me for gain, I will give command to beat thee with clubs.”
“That guy can find the girl,” he thought. Meanwhile, Vinicius furrowed his brows and said, “You scoundrel, if you trick me for profit, I will order you to be beaten with clubs.”
“I am a philosopher, lord, and a philosopher cannot be greedy of gain, especially of such as thou hast just offered magnanimously.”
"I am a philosopher, my lord, and a philosopher shouldn't be greedy for profit, especially for what you have just generously offered."
“Oh, art thou a philosopher?” inquired Petronius. “Eunice told me that thou art a physician and a soothsayer. Whence knowest thou Eunice?”
“Oh, are you a philosopher?” Petronius asked. “Eunice told me that you are a doctor and a fortune teller. How do you know Eunice?”
“She came to me for aid, for my fame struck her ears.”
"She came to me for help because she had heard about my reputation."
“What aid did she want?”
“What help did she want?”
“Aid in love, lord. She wanted to be cured of unrequited love.”
“Aid in love, my lord. She wished to be healed from her unrequited love.”
“Didst thou cure her?”
"Did you cure her?"
“I did more, lord. I gave her an amulet which secures mutuality. In Paphos, on the island of Cyprus, is a temple, O lord, in which is preserved a zone of Venus. I gave her two threads from that zone, enclosed in an almond shell.”
“I did more, my lord. I gave her an amulet that guarantees mutual love. In Paphos, on the island of Cyprus, there’s a temple, my lord, that houses a belt of Venus. I gave her two strands from that belt, wrapped in an almond shell.”
“And didst thou make her pay well for them?”
“And did you make her pay well for them?”
“One can never pay enough for mutuality, and I, who lack two fingers on my right hand, am collecting money to buy a slave copyist to write down my thoughts, and preserve my wisdom for mankind.”
“One can never pay enough for connection, and I, who am missing two fingers on my right hand, am raising money to hire a slave copyist to write down my thoughts and preserve my wisdom for humanity.”
“Of what school art thou, divine sage?”
"What school are you from, wise sage?"
“I am a Cynic, lord, because I wear a tattered mantle; I am a Stoic, because I bear poverty patiently; I am a Peripatetic, for, not owning a litter, I go on foot from one wine-shop to another, and on the way teach those who promise to pay for a pitcher of wine.”
“I’m a Cynic, lord, because I wear a worn-out cloak; I’m a Stoic, because I endure poverty with patience; I’m a Peripatetic, since I don’t have a vehicle, I walk from one bar to another, and along the way, I teach those who agree to pay for a jug of wine.”
“And at the pitcher thou dost become a rhetor?”
“And at the pitcher, you become a speaker?”
“Heraclitus declares that ‘all is fluid,’ and canst thou deny, lord, that wine is fluid?”
“Heraclitus says that ‘everything is in flux,’ and can you deny, my lord, that wine is fluid?”
“And he declared that fire is a divinity; divinity, therefore, is blushing in thy nose.”
"And he said that fire is a god; so, that means, there's a divine quality in your nose."
“But the divine Diogenes from Apollonia declared that air is the essence of things, and the warmer the air the more perfect the beings it makes, and from the warmest come the souls of sages. And since the autumns are cold, a genuine sage should warm his soul with wine; and wouldst thou hinder, O lord, a pitcher of even the stuff produced in Capua or Telesia from bearing heat to all the bones of a perishable human body?”
“But the divine Diogenes from Apollonia said that air is the essence of everything, and the warmer the air, the more perfect the beings it creates, and from the warmest comes the souls of wise individuals. Since autumns are cold, a true sage should warm their soul with wine; would you, O lord, stop a pitcher of even the stuff produced in Capua or Telesia from warming all the bones of a mortal body?”
“Chilo Chilonides, where is thy birthplace?”
“Chilo Chilonides, where were you born?”
“On the Euxine Pontus. I come from Mesembria.”
“On the Black Sea. I come from Mesembria.”
“Oh, Chilo, thou art great!”
“Oh, Chilo, you are great!”
“And unrecognized,” said the sage, pensively.
“And unrecognized,” said the wise one, thoughtfully.
But Vinicius was impatient again. In view of the hope which had gleamed before him, he wished Chilo to set out at once on his work; hence the whole conversation seemed to him simply a vain loss of time, and he was angry at Petronius.
But Vinicius was impatient again. Given the hope that sparkled in front of him, he wanted Chilo to get started on his work right away; as a result, the whole conversation seemed to him just a pointless waste of time, and he was upset with Petronius.
“When wilt thou begin the search?” asked he, turning to the Greek.
“When will you start the search?” he asked, turning to the Greek.
“I have begun it already,” answered Chilo. “And since I am here, and answering thy affable question, I am searching yet. Only have confidence, honored tribune, and know that if thou wert to lose the string of thy sandal I should find it, or him who picked it up on the street.”
“I’ve already started,” Chilo replied. “And since I’m here, answering your friendly question, I’m still looking. Just trust me, respected tribune, and know that if you lost the string of your sandal, I would find it, or the person who picked it up in the street.”
“Hast thou been employed in similar services?” asked Petronius.
"Have you worked in similar roles?" asked Petronius.
The Greek raised his eyes. “To-day men esteem virtue and wisdom too low, for a philosopher not to be forced to seek other means of living.”
The Greek looked up. “Today, people value virtue and wisdom too little, for a philosopher not to be compelled to find other ways to make a living.”
“What are thy means?”
“What are your means?”
“To know everything, and to serve those with news who are in need of it.”
"To know everything and to help those who need information."
“And who pay for it?”
“And who pays for it?”
“Ah, lord, I need to buy a copyist. Otherwise my wisdom will perish with me.”
“Ah, Lord, I need to hire a scribe. Otherwise, my knowledge will die with me.”
“If thou hast not collected enough yet to buy a sound mantle, thy services cannot be very famous.”
“If you haven’t gathered enough yet to buy a decent cloak, your services can’t be that well-known.”
“Modesty hinders me. But remember, lord, that to-day there are not such benefactors as were numerous formerly; and for whom it was as pleasant to cover service with gold as to swallow an oyster from Puteoli. No; my services are not small, but the gratitude of mankind is small. At times, when a valued slave escapes, who will find him, if not the only son of my father? When on the walls there are inscriptions against the divine Poppæa, who will indicate those who composed them? Who will discover at the book-stalls verses against Cæsar? Who will declare what is said in the houses of knights and senators? Who will carry letters which the writers will not intrust to slaves? Who will listen to news at the doors of barbers? For whom have wine-shops and bake-shops no secret? In whom do slaves trust? Who can see through every house, from the atrium to the garden? Who knows every street, every alley and hiding-place? Who knows what they say in the baths, in the Circus, in the markets, in the fencing-schools, in slave-dealers’ sheds, and even in the arenas?”
"Modesty holds me back. But remember, my lord, today there aren't as many benefactors as there used to be; it used to be just as enjoyable to cover a service in gold as it was to eat an oyster from Puteoli. No; my contributions are significant, but people's gratitude is minimal. Sometimes, when a valuable slave escapes, who will find him if not my father's only son? When there are inscriptions against the divine Poppæa on the walls, who will point out who wrote them? Who will unearth verses against Caesar at the book stalls? Who will reveal what’s being said in the homes of knights and senators? Who will deliver letters that the writers won’t trust to slaves? Who eavesdrops on news at the doors of barbers? For whom do wine shops and bakeries keep no secrets? In whom do slaves place their trust? Who can see through every house, from the atrium to the garden? Who knows every street, every alley, and hiding spot? Who hears what’s said in the baths, at the Circus, in the markets, in fencing schools, in slave traders’ huts, and even in the arenas?"
“By the gods! enough, noble sage!” cried Petronius; “we are drowning in thy services, thy virtue, thy wisdom, and thy eloquence. Enough! We wanted to know who thou art, and we know!”
“By the gods! That's enough, wise sage!” shouted Petronius; “we are overwhelmed by your services, your goodness, your knowledge, and your eloquence. Enough! We wanted to know who you are, and now we do!”
But Vinicius was glad, for he thought that this man, like a hound, once put on the trail, would not stop till he had found out the hiding-place.
But Vinicius was happy because he believed that this man, like a hound once put on a scent, wouldn’t stop until he had uncovered the hiding place.
“Well,” said he, “dost thou need indications?”
“Well,” he said, “do you need any clues?”
“I need arms.”
“I need weapons.”
“Of what kind?” asked Vinicius, with astonishment.
"Of what kind?" Vinicius asked, astonished.
The Greek stretched out one hand; with the other he made the gesture of counting money.
The Greek extended one hand while using the other to mime counting money.
“Such are the times, lord,” said he, with a sigh.
“Such are the times, my lord,” he said with a sigh.
“Thou wilt be the ass, then,” said Petronius, “to win the fortress with bags of gold?”
“You’ll be the fool, then,” said Petronius, “to take the fortress with bags of gold?”
“I am only a poor philosopher,” answered Chilo, with humility; “ye have the gold.”
“I’m just a poor philosopher,” Chilo replied humbly, “you have the gold.”
Vinicius tossed him a purse, which the Greek caught in the air, though two fingers were lacking on his right hand.
Vinicius threw him a purse, which the Greek caught mid-air, even with two fingers missing on his right hand.
He raised his head then, and said: “I know more than thou thinkest. I have not come empty-handed. I know that Aulus did not intercept the maiden, for I have spoken with his slaves. I know that she is not on the Palatine, for all are occupied with the infant Augusta; and perhaps I may even divine why ye prefer to search for the maiden with my help rather than that of the city guards and Cæsar’s soldiers. I know that her escape was effected by a servant,—a slave coming from the same country as she. He could not find assistance among slaves, for slaves all stand together, and would not act against thy slaves. Only a co-religionist would help him.”
He lifted his head and said, “I know more than you think. I didn’t come here empty-handed. I know that Aulus didn’t capture the girl because I’ve talked to his servants. I also know she’s not on the Palatine, since everyone is focused on the infant Augusta. And maybe I can even guess why you prefer to search for the girl with my help instead of relying on the city guards and Caesar’s soldiers. I know that her escape was carried out by a servant—a slave from her homeland. He couldn’t get help from other slaves because they all stick together and wouldn’t act against your slaves. Only someone who shares his beliefs would help him.”
“Dost hear, Vinicius?” broke in Petronius. “Have I not said the same, word for word, to thee?”
“Do you hear me, Vinicius?” interrupted Petronius. “Haven’t I said the exact same thing to you?”
“That is an honor for me,” said Chilo. “The maiden, lord,” continued he, turning again to Vinicius, “worships beyond a doubt the same divinity as that most virtuous of Roman ladies, that genuine matron, Pomponia. I have heard this, too, that Pomponia was tried in her own house for worshipping some kind of foreign god, but I could not learn from her slaves what god that is, or what his worshippers are called. If I could learn that, I should go to them, become the most devoted among them, and gain their confidence. But thou, lord, who hast passed, as I know too, a number of days in the house of the noble Aulus, canst thou not give me some information thereon?”
“That’s an honor for me,” said Chilo. “The young woman, my lord,” he continued, turning back to Vinicius, “definitely worships the same deity as that most virtuous Roman lady, the true matron, Pomponia. I’ve also heard that Pomponia was tried in her own home for worshipping some foreign god, but I couldn’t find out from her slaves which god that was or what his followers are called. If I could find that out, I would go to them, become the most devoted among them, and earn their trust. But you, my lord, who I know have spent several days in the home of the noble Aulus, can’t you give me some information about it?”
“I cannot,” said Vinicius.
“I can't,” said Vinicius.
“Ye have asked me long about various things, noble lords, and I have answered the questions; permit me now to give one. Hast thou not seen, honored tribune, some statuette, some offering, some token, some amulet on Pomponia or thy divine Lygia? Hast thou not seen them making signs to each other, intelligible to them alone?”
“You’ve asked me a lot about different things, noble lords, and I’ve answered your questions; now let me ask one. Haven’t you seen, honored tribune, some statuette, offering, token, or amulet with Pomponia or your divine Lygia? Haven’t you seen them making signs to each other, which only they understand?”
“Signs? Wait! Yes; I saw once that Lygia made a fish on the sand.”
“Signs? Hold on! Yes; I remember once Lygia drew a fish in the sand.”
“A fish? A-a! O-o-o! Did she do that once, or a number of times?”
“A fish? A-a! O-o-o! Did she do that once, or multiple times?”
“Only once.”
“Just this once.”
“And art thou certain, lord, that she outlined a fish? O-o?”
"And are you sure, my lord, that she drew a fish? O-o?"
“Yes,” answered Vinicius, with roused curiosity. “Dost thou divine what that means?”
“Yes,” answered Vinicius, with awakened curiosity. “Do you know what that means?”
“Do I divine!” exclaimed Chilo. And bowing in sign of farewell, he added: “May Fortune scatter on you both equally all gifts, worthy lords!”
“Do I have a vision!” exclaimed Chilo. And bowing as a sign of farewell, he added: “May Fortune shower you both equally with all gifts, honorable lords!”
“Give command to bring thee a mantle,” said Petronius to him at parting.
“Tell them to bring you a cloak,” Petronius said to him as they were parting.
“Ulysses gives thee thanks for Thersites,” said the Greek; and bowing a second time, he walked out.
“Ulysses thanks you for Thersites,” said the Greek; and bowing a second time, he walked out.
“What wilt thou say of that noble sage?” inquired Petronius.
“What will you say about that noble sage?” asked Petronius.
“This, that he will find Lygia,” answered Vinicius, with delight; “but I will say, too, that were there a kingdom of rogues he might be the king of it.”
“This, that he will find Lygia,” Vinicius replied happily; “but I will also say that if there were a kingdom of rogues, he could be its king.”
“Most certainly. I shall make a nearer acquaintance with this stoic; meanwhile I must give command to perfume the atrium.”
“Of course. I will get to know this stoic better; in the meantime, I need to instruct to scent the atrium.”
But Chilo Chilonides, wrapping his new mantle about him, threw up on his palm, under its folds, the purse received from Vinicius, and admired both its weight and its jingle. Walking on slowly, and looking around to see if they were not looking at him from the house, he passed the portico of Livia, and, reaching the corner of the Clivus Virbius, turned toward the Subura.
But Chilo Chilonides, wrapping his new cloak around him, held up the purse he got from Vinicius in his palm, enjoying both its weight and its jingle. He walked slowly, glancing around to make sure no one was watching him from the house. He passed the portico of Livia, and when he reached the corner of the Clivus Virbius, he turned toward the Subura.
“I must go to Sporus,” said he to himself, “and pour out a little wine to Fortuna. I have found at last what I have been seeking this long time. He is young, irascible, bounteous as mines in Cyprus, and ready to give half his fortune for that Lygian linnet. Just such a man have I been seeking this long time. It is needful, however, to be on one’s guard with him, for the wrinkling of his brow forebodes no good. Ah! the wolf-whelps lord it over the world to-day! I should fear that Petronius less. O gods! but the trade of procurer pays better at present than virtue. Ah! she drew a fish on the sand! If I know what that means, may I choke myself with a piece of goat’s cheese! But I shall know. Fish live under water, and searching under water is more difficult than on land, ergo he will pay me separately for this fish. Another such purse and I might cast aside the beggar’s wallet and buy myself a slave. But what wouldst thou say, Chilo, were I to advise thee to buy not a male but a female slave? I know thee; I know that thou wouldst consent. If she were beautiful, like Eunice, for instance, thou thyself wouldst grow young near her, and at the same time wouldst have from her a good and certain income. I sold to that poor Eunice two threads from my old mantle. She is dull; but if Petronius were to give her to me, I would take her. Yes, yes, Chilo Chilonides, thou hast lost father and mother, thou art an orphan; therefore buy to console thee even a female slave. She must indeed live somewhere, therefore Vinicius will hire her a dwelling, in which thou too mayest find shelter; she must dress, hence Vinicius will pay for the dress; and must eat, hence he will support her. Och! what a hard life! Where are the times in which for an obolus a man could buy as much pork and beans as he could hold in both hands, or a piece of goat’s entrails as long as the arm of a boy twelve years old, and filled with blood? But here is that villain Sporus! In the wine-shop it will be easier to learn something.”
“I need to go see Sporus,” he said to himself, “and pour out a little wine for Fortuna. I’ve finally found what I’ve been searching for all this time. He’s young, quick to anger, generous as Cyprus's mines, and willing to give up half his fortune for that Lygian linnet. This is exactly the kind of person I’ve been looking for. However, I need to be cautious with him because the frown on his face doesn’t promise anything good. Ah! Today, the wolf cubs are in charge of the world! I’d worry less about Petronius. Oh gods! But being a procurer pays better these days than being virtuous. Ah! She drew a fish in the sand! If I know what that means, may I choke on a piece of goat cheese! But I will know. Fish live underwater, and searching underwater is harder than on land, so he’ll pay me separately for this fish. One more purse like that, and I could throw away the beggar's wallet and buy myself a slave. But what would you say, Chilo, if I suggested you buy not a male but a female slave? I know you; I know you’d agree. If she were beautiful, like Eunice for example, you would feel young again near her and at the same time have a good and steady income from her. I sold poor Eunice two threads from my old cloak. She’s dull; but if Petronius gave her to me, I would take her. Yes, yes, Chilo Chilonides, you’ve lost your parents, you’re an orphan; so buy yourself a female slave for comfort. She must live somewhere, so Vinicius will rent her a place, where you can also find shelter; she needs clothes, so Vinicius will pay for those; and she needs to eat, so he’ll support her. Oh! What a tough life! Where are the days when you could buy as much pork and beans as you could hold in both hands for just a little coin, or a piece of goat’s entrails as long as a twelve-year-old boy's arm, filled with blood? But here comes that villain Sporus! In the wine shop, it’ll be easier to find out more.”
Thus conversing, he entered the wine-shop and ordered a pitcher of “dark” for himself. Seeing the sceptical look of the shopkeeper, he took a gold coin from his purse, and, putting it on the table, said,—“Sporus, I toiled to-day with Seneca from dawn till midday, and this is what my friend gave me at parting.”
Thus chatting, he walked into the wine shop and ordered a pitcher of "dark" for himself. Noticing the skeptical look from the shopkeeper, he took a gold coin from his purse and, placing it on the table, said, "Sporus, I worked with Seneca today from dawn until noon, and this is what my friend gave me when we parted."
The plump eyes of Sporus became plumper still at this sight, and the wine was soon before Chilo. Moistening his fingers in it, he drew a fish on the table, and said,—“Knowest what that means?”
The round eyes of Sporus grew even rounder at this sight, and the wine was soon in front of Chilo. Wetting his fingers in it, he drew a fish on the table and said, “Do you know what that means?”
“A fish? Well, a fish,—yes, that’s a fish.”
“A fish? Well, a fish—yeah, that’s a fish.”
“Thou art dull; though thou dost add so much water to the wine that thou mightst find a fish in it. This is a symbol which, in the language of philosophers, means ‘the smile of fortune.’ If thou hadst divined it, thou too mightst have made a fortune. Honor philosophy, I tell thee, or I shall change my wine-shop,—an act to which Petronius, my personal friend, has been urging me this long time.”
“You're so boring; you dilute the wine so much that you could catch a fish in it. This is a symbol that, in the language of philosophers, means ‘the smile of fortune.’ If you had figured it out, you could have made a fortune too. Respect philosophy, I’m telling you, or I’ll change my wine shop—which my friend Petronius has been pushing me to do for a while now.”
Chapter XIV
FOR a number of days after the interview, Chilo did not show himself anywhere. Vinicius, since he had learned from Acte that Lygia loved him, was a hundred times more eager to find her, and began himself to search. He was unwilling, and also unable, to ask aid of Cæsar, who was in great fear because of the illness of the infant Augusta.
FOR several days after the interview, Chilo didn't appear anywhere. Vinicius, having learned from Acte that Lygia loved him, was a hundred times more eager to find her and started searching on his own. He was both unwilling and unable to ask for help from Cæsar, who was very concerned due to the illness of the infant Augusta.
Sacrifices in the temples did not help, neither did prayers and offerings, nor the art of physicians, nor all the means of enchantment to which they turned finally. In a week the child died. Mourning fell upon the court and Rome. Cæsar, who at the birth of the infant was wild with delight, was wild now from despair, and, confining himself in his apartments, refused food for two days; and though the palace was swarming with senators and Augustians, who hastened with marks of sorrow and sympathy, he denied audience to every one. The senate assembled in an extraordinary session, at which the dead child was pronounced divine. It was decided to rear to her a temple and appoint a special priest to her service. New sacrifices were offered in other temples in honor of the deceased; statues of her were cast from precious metals; and her funeral was one immense solemnity, during which the people wondered at the unrestrained marks of grief which Cæsar exhibited; they wept with him, stretched out their hands for gifts, and above all amused themselves with the unparalleled spectacle.
Sacrifices at the temples weren’t effective, neither were prayers and offerings, the skills of doctors, or all the enchantments they finally resorted to. Within a week, the child passed away. A wave of mourning swept through the court and Rome. Cæsar, who had been overjoyed at the child's birth, was now consumed by despair and, isolating himself in his chambers, refused to eat for two days. Even though the palace was filled with senators and dignitaries rushing in with expressions of sorrow and sympathy, he turned away everyone who came to see him. The senate gathered for an extraordinary session where the deceased child was declared divine. It was decided to build a temple in her honor and appoint a special priest to serve her. New sacrifices were made in other temples to honor her memory; statues of her were created from precious metals; and her funeral turned into an immense ceremony, during which the people were astonished by Cæsar’s unrestrained grief. They wept with him, reached out for offerings, and most of all, were entertained by the extraordinary scene.
That death alarmed Petronius. All knew in Rome that Poppæa ascribed it to enchantment. The physicians, who were thus enabled to explain the vanity of their efforts, supported her; the priests, whose sacrifices proved powerless, did the same, as well as the sorcerers, who were trembling for their lives, and also the people. Petronius was glad now that Lygia had fled; for he wished no evil to Aulus and Pomponia, and he wished good to himself and Vinicius; therefore when the cypress, set out before the Palatine as a sign of mourning, was removed, he went to the reception appointed for the senators and Augustians to learn how far Nero had lent ear to reports of spells, and to neutralize results which might come from his belief.
That death shocked Petronius. Everyone in Rome knew that Poppæa claimed it was due to magic. The doctors, who were then able to demonstrate the futility of their efforts, backed her up; the priests, whose sacrifices were ineffective, did the same, along with the sorcerers, who were terrified for their lives, and the people as well. Petronius was relieved that Lygia had escaped; he had no desire to harm Aulus and Pomponia, and he wanted good for himself and Vinicius. So when the cypress tree placed in front of the Palatine as a sign of mourning was taken away, he went to the gathering set for the senators and Augustians to find out how much Nero had listened to stories of magic, and to counter any fallout that might arise from his belief.
Knowing Nero, he thought, too, that though he did not believe in charms, he would feign belief, so as to magnify his own suffering, and take vengeance on some one, finally, to escape the suspicion that the gods had begun to punish him for crimes. Petronius did not think that Cæsar could love really and deeply even his own child; though he loved her passionately, he felt certain, however, that he would exaggerate his suffering. He was not mistaken. Nero listened, with stony face and fixed eyes, to the consolation offered by knights and senators. It was evident that, even if he suffered, he was thinking of this: What impression would his suffering make upon others? He was posing as a Niobe, and giving an exhibition of parental sorrow, as an actor would give it on the stage. He had not the power even then to endure in his silent and as it were petrified sorrow, for at moments he made a gesture as if to cast the dust of the earth on his head, and at moments he groaned deeply; but seeing Petronius, he sprang up and cried in a tragic voice, so that all present could hear him,—“Eheu! And thou art guilty of her death! At thy advice the evil spirit entered these walls,—the evil spirit which, with one look, drew the life from her breast! Woe is me! Would that my eyes had not seen the light of Helios! Woe is me! Eheu! eheu!”
Knowing Nero, he thought that even though he didn’t believe in charms, he would pretend to believe in them to amplify his own suffering and take revenge on someone, ultimately to deflect the suspicion that the gods were punishing him for his crimes. Petronius didn’t think that Caesar could truly and deeply love even his own child; although he loved her intensely, he was sure he would exaggerate his suffering. He was right. Nero listened with a blank expression and fixed eyes to the comfort offered by knights and senators. It was clear that, even if he was in pain, he was more focused on how his suffering would be perceived by others. He was acting like a Niobe, putting on a show of parental grief, like an actor performing on stage. Even then, he couldn’t maintain his silent, almost frozen sorrow; at times he made a gesture as if to throw dust on his head, and at other moments he groaned heavily. But when he saw Petronius, he leaped up and exclaimed in a dramatic voice loud enough for everyone to hear, “Alas! And you are guilty of her death! At your suggestion, the evil spirit entered these walls—the evil spirit that, with a single glance, drained the life from her! Woe is me! Would that my eyes had never seen the light of Helios! Woe is me! Alas! Alas!”
And raising his voice still more, he passed into a despairing shout; but Petronius resolved at that moment to put everything on one cast of the dice; hence, stretching out his hand, he seized the silk kerchief which Nero wore around his neck always, and, placing it on the mouth of the Imperator, said solemnly,—“Lord, Rome and the world are benumbed with pain; but do thou preserve thy voice for us!”
And raising his voice even louder, he broke into a desperate shout; but Petronius decided then and there to go all in. So, reaching out, he grabbed the silk handkerchief that Nero always wore around his neck and, placing it over the Emperor's mouth, said earnestly, “My lord, Rome and the world are paralyzed with suffering; but please keep your voice for us!”
Those present were amazed; Nero himself was amazed for a moment. Petronius alone was unmoved; he knew too well what he was doing. He remembered, besides, that Terpnos and Diodorus had a direct order to close Cæsar’s mouth whenever he raised his voice too much and exposed it to danger.
Those who were there were shocked; even Nero was surprised for a moment. Petronius alone stayed composed; he knew exactly what he was doing. He also remembered that Terpnos and Diodorus had direct orders to silence Cæsar whenever he spoke too loudly and put himself at risk.
“O Cæsar!” continued he, with the same seriousness and sorrow, “we have suffered an immeasurable loss; let even this treasure of consolation remain to us!”
“O Caesar!” he continued, with the same seriousness and sorrow, “we have suffered an immense loss; let this treasure of comfort remain with us!”
Nero’s face quivered, and after a while tears came from his eyes. All at once he rested his hands on Petronius’s shoulders, and, dropping his head on his breast, began to repeat, amid sobs,
Nero's face trembled, and after a moment, tears started to flow from his eyes. Suddenly, he placed his hands on Petronius's shoulders and, resting his head on his chest, began to repeat, through his sobs,
“Thou alone of all thought of this,—thou alone, O Petronius! thou alone!”
“Only you thought of this,—only you, O Petronius! only you!”
Tigellinus grew yellow from envy; but Petronius continued,—
Tigellinus turned yellow with envy, but Petronius kept going,—
“Go to Antium! there she came to the world, there joy flowed in on thee, there solace will come to thee. Let the sea air freshen thy divine throat; let thy breast breathe the salt dampness. We, thy devoted ones, will follow thee everywhere; and when we assuage thy pain with friendship, thou wilt comfort us with song.
“Go to Antium! That’s where she was born, that’s where joy will come to you, and solace will find you. Let the sea air refresh your divine voice; let your chest soak in the salty mist. We, your devoted ones, will follow you wherever you go; and when we ease your pain with our friendship, you’ll comfort us with your song.
“True!” answered Nero, sadly, “I will write a hymn in her honor, and compose music for it.”
“True!” replied Nero, sadly, “I’ll write a song in her honor and create the music for it.”
“And then thou wilt find the warm sun in Baiæ.”
"And then you will find the warm sun in Baiae."
“And afterward—forgetfulness in Greece.”
“And then—memory loss in Greece.”
“In the birthplace of poetry and song.”
“In the place where poetry and song originated.”
And his stony, gloomy state of mind passed away gradually, as clouds pass that are covering the sun; and then a conversation began which, though full of sadness, yet was full of plans for the future,—touching a journey, artistic exhibitions, and even the receptions required at the promised coming of Tiridates, King of Armenia. Tigellinus tried, it is true, to bring forward again the enchantment; but Petronius, sure now of victory, took up the challenge directly.
And his cold, gloomy mindset faded away gradually, like clouds moving off the sun; then a conversation started that, while filled with sadness, was also filled with plans for the future—talking about a journey, art exhibitions, and even the events needed for the upcoming visit of Tiridates, King of Armenia. Tigellinus did try to bring up the enchantment again, but Petronius, now confident of victory, directly took on the challenge.
“Tigellinus,” said he, “dost thou think that enchantments can injure the gods?”
“Tigellinus,” he said, “do you think that magic can harm the gods?”
“Cæsar himself has mentioned them,” answered the courtier.
“Caesar himself has mentioned them,” replied the courtier.
“Pain was speaking, not Cæsar; but thou—what is thy opinion of the matter?”
“Pain was speaking, not Caesar; but you—what do you think about it?”
“The gods are too mighty to be subject to charms.”
“The gods are too powerful to be affected by spells.”
“Then wouldst thou deny divinity to Cæsar and his family?”
"Then would you deny divinity to Caesar and his family?"
“Peractum est!” muttered Eprius Marcellus, standing near, repeating that shout which the people gave always when a gladiator in the arena received such a blow that he needed no other.
“It's done!” muttered Eprius Marcellus, standing nearby, echoing the shout that the crowd always gave when a gladiator in the arena took such a hit that he needed no further action.
Tigellinus gnawed his own anger. Between him and Petronius there had long existed a rivalry touching Nero. Tigellinus had this superiority, that Nero acted with less ceremony, or rather with none whatever in his presence; while thus far Petronius overcame Tigellinus at every encounter with wit and intellect.
Tigellinus chewed on his own anger. He and Petronius had long been rivals over Nero. Tigellinus had the advantage that Nero was less formal, or really not formal at all, around him; but so far, Petronius had bested Tigellinus in every encounter with his wit and intelligence.
So it happened now. Tigellinus was silent, and simply recorded in his memory those senators and knights who, when Petronius withdrew to the depth of the chamber, surrounded him straightway, supposing that after this incident he would surely be Cæsar’s first favorite.
So it happened now. Tigellinus was quiet and just kept in his mind the names of those senators and knights who, when Petronius moved to the back of the room, immediately gathered around him, thinking that after this, he would definitely become Cæsar’s top favorite.
Petronius, on leaving the palace, betook himself to Vinicius, and described his encounter with Cæsar and Tigellinus.
Petronius, after leaving the palace, went to Vinicius and talked about his meeting with Caesar and Tigellinus.
“Not only have I turned away danger,” said he, “from Aulus Plautius, Pomponia, and us, but even from Lygia, whom they will not seek, even for this reason, that I have persuaded Bronzebeard, the monkey, to go to Antium, and thence to Naples or Baiæ and he will go. I know that he has not ventured yet to appear in the theatre publicly; I have known this long time that he intends to do so at Naples. He is dreaming, moreover, of Greece, where he wants to sing in all the more prominent cities, and then make a triumphal entry into Rome, with all the crowns which the ‘Græculi’ will bestow on him. During that time we shall be able to seek Lygia unhindered and secrete her in safety. But has not our noble philosopher been here yet?”
“Not only have I kept danger away,” he said, “from Aulus Plautius, Pomponia, and us, but also from Lygia, whom they won’t pursue, even for the reason that I’ve convinced Bronzebeard, the monkey, to go to Antium, and then to Naples or Baiæ, and he will go. I know he hasn’t dared to make a public appearance at the theater yet; I’ve known for a long time that he plans to do so in Naples. He’s also dreaming of Greece, where he wants to perform in all the major cities, and then make a grand entrance into Rome, with all the crowns that the ‘Græculi’ will give him. During that time, we’ll be able to look for Lygia without interruption and hide her safely. But hasn’t our esteemed philosopher been here yet?”
“Thy noble philosopher is a cheat. No; he has not shown himself, and he will not show himself again!”
“Your noble philosopher is a fraud. No; he hasn't revealed himself, and he won't reveal himself again!”
“But I have a better understanding, if not of his honesty, of his wit. He has drawn blood once from thy purse, and will come even for this, to draw it a second time.”
“But I understand him better now, if not his honesty, then definitely his cleverness. He's already taken money from you once and will come again to take even more.”
“Let him beware lest I draw his own blood.”
“Let him be careful or I might spill his own blood.”
“Draw it not; have patience till thou art convinced surely of his deceit. Do not give him more money, but promise a liberal reward if he brings thee certain information. Wilt thou thyself undertake something?”
“Don’t draw it; be patient until you’re completely sure of his deception. Don’t give him more money, but promise a generous reward if he brings you good information. Will you take on something yourself?”
“My two freedmen, Nymphidius and Demas, are searching for her with sixty men. Freedom is promised the slave who finds her. Besides I have sent out special persons by all roads leading from Rome to inquire at every inn for the Lygian and the maiden. I course through the city myself day and night, counting on a chance meeting.”
“My two freedmen, Nymphidius and Demas, are looking for her with sixty men. The slave who finds her will be granted freedom. Additionally, I have sent out specific people on all routes from Rome to ask at every inn about the Lygian and the girl. I’m roaming the city myself, day and night, hoping for a chance encounter.”
“Whenever thou hast tidings let me know, for I must go to Antium.”
"Whenever you have any news, let me know, because I need to go to Antium."
“I will do so.”
"I'll do that."
“And if thou wake up some morning and say, ‘It is not worth while to torment myself for one girl, and take so much trouble because of her,’ come to Antium. There will be no lack of women there, or amusement.”
“And if you wake up some morning and say, ‘It’s not worth it to stress myself over one girl and go through all this trouble because of her,’ come to Antium. There will be no shortage of women or fun there.”
Vinicius began to walk with quick steps. Petronius looked for some time at him, and said at last,—“Tell me sincerely, not as a mad head, who talks something into his brain and excites himself, but as a man of judgment who is answering a friend: Art thou concerned as much as ever about this Lygia?”
Vinicius started walking quickly. Petronius watched him for a while and finally said, “Tell me honestly, not like someone who's lost their mind and is talking nonsense, but as a reasonable person speaking to a friend: Are you still as worried about Lygia as you were before?”
Vinicius stopped a moment, and looked at Petronius as if he had not seen him before; then he began to walk again. It was evident that he was restraining an outburst. At last, from a feeling of helplessness, sorrow, anger, and invincible yearning, two tears gathered in his eyes, which spoke with greater power to Petronius than the most eloquent words.
Vinicius paused for a moment and looked at Petronius as if he had never seen him before; then he started walking again. It was clear that he was holding back an emotional outburst. Finally, overwhelmed by feelings of helplessness, sadness, anger, and an intense longing, two tears formed in his eyes, conveying more to Petronius than the most eloquent words ever could.
Then, meditating for a moment, he said,—“It is not Atlas who carries the world on his shoulders, but woman; and sometimes she plays with it as with a ball.”
Then, after thinking for a moment, he said, “It’s not Atlas who carries the world on his shoulders, but a woman; and sometimes she toys with it like it's a ball.”
“True,” said Vinicius.
“True,” Vinicius said.
And they began to take farewell of each other. But at that moment a slave announced that Chilo Chilonides was waiting in the antechamber, and begged to be admitted to the presence of the lord.
And they started to say goodbye to each other. But just then, a servant announced that Chilo Chilonides was waiting in the waiting room and requested to be let in to see the lord.
Vinicius gave command to admit him immediately, and Petronius said,—“Ha! have I not told thee? By Hercules! keep thy calmness; or he will command thee, not thou him.”
Vinicius ordered that he be admitted right away, and Petronius said, “Ha! Didn’t I tell you? By Hercules! Stay calm; otherwise, he’ll be the one giving orders, not you.”
“A greeting and honor to the noble tribune of the army, and to thee, lord,” said Chilo, entering. “May your happiness be equal to your fame, and may your fame course through the world from the pillars of Hercules to the boundaries of the Arsacidæ.”
“A greeting and honor to the noble tribune of the army, and to you, lord,” said Chilo, entering. “May your happiness match your fame, and may your fame spread throughout the world from the pillars of Hercules to the borders of the Arsacidæ.”
“A greeting, O lawgiver of virtue and wisdom,” answered Petronius.
“Hello, oh lawmaker of virtue and wisdom,” replied Petronius.
But Vinicius inquired with affected calmness, “What dost thou bring?”
But Vinicius asked with affected calmness, “What do you bring?”
“The first time I came I brought thee hope, O lord; at present, I bring certainty that the maiden will be found.”
“The first time I came, I brought you hope, O lord; now, I bring certainty that the maiden will be found.”
“That means that thou hast not found her yet?”
"Does that mean you haven't found her yet?"
“Yes, lord; but I have found what that sign means which she made. I know who the people are who rescued her, and I know the God among whose worshippers to seek her.”
“Yes, my lord; but I have figured out what that sign she made means. I know who the people are who saved her, and I know the God whose followers we should look for her among.”
Vinicius wished to spring from the chair in which he was sitting; but Petronius placed his hand on his shoulder, and turning to Chilo said,—“Speak on!”
Vinicius wanted to jump up from the chair he was sitting in; but Petronius put his hand on his shoulder and turned to Chilo, saying, "Go ahead!"
“Art thou perfectly certain, lord, that she drew a fish on the sand?”
“Are you absolutely sure, my lord, that she drew a fish in the sand?”
“Yes,” burst out Vinicius.
“Yes,” exclaimed Vinicius.
“Then she is a Christian and Christians carried her away.” A moment of silence followed.
“Then she is a Christian, and Christians took her away.” A moment of silence followed.
“Listen, Chilo,” said Petronius. “My relative has predestined to thee a considerable sum of money for finding the girl, but a no less considerable number of rods if thou deceive him. In the first case thou wilt purchase not one, but three scribes; in the second, the philosophy of all the seven sages, with the addition of thy own, will not suffice to get thee ointment.”
“Listen, Chilo,” said Petronius. “My relative has set aside a substantial amount of money for you to find the girl, but you'll also face some serious consequences if you deceive him. In the first situation, you’ll be able to hire not just one, but three scribes; in the second, the wisdom of all seven sages, along with your own, won’t be enough to help you.”
“The maiden is a Christian, lord,” cried the Greek.
“The girl is a Christian, my lord,” shouted the Greek.
“Stop, Chilo. Thou art not a dull man. We know that Junia and Calvia Crispinilla accused Pomponia Græcina of confessing the Christian superstition; but we know too, that a domestic court acquitted her. Wouldst thou raise this again? Wouldst thou persuade us that Pomponia, and with her Lygia, could belong to the enemies of the human race, to the poisoners of wells and fountains, to the worshippers of an ass’s head, to people who murder infants and give themselves up to the foulest license? Think, Chilo, if that thesis which thou art announcing to us will not rebound as an antithesis on thy own back.”
“Stop, Chilo. You're not a dull man. We know that Junia and Calvia Crispinilla accused Pomponia Græcina of admitting to the Christian superstition; but we also know that a domestic court cleared her of those charges. Do you really want to bring this up again? Do you want to convince us that Pomponia, and with her Lygia, could be part of the enemies of humanity, the ones who poison wells and fountains, the worshippers of an ass’s head, the people who murder infants and indulge in the worst immoral behavior? Think about it, Chilo, whether the argument you’re making now won’t come back to bite you.”
Chilo spread out his arms in sign that that was not his fault, and then said,—“Lord, utter in Greek the following sentence: Jesus Christ, Son of God, Saviour.” [Iesous Christos, Theou Uios, Soter.]
Chilo spread his arms to show it wasn't his fault, and then said, “Lord, say this sentence in Greek: Jesus Christ, Son of God, Savior.” [Iesous Christos, Theou Uios, Soter.]
“Well, I have uttered it. What comes of that?”
“Well, I’ve said it. What does that lead to?”
“Now take the first letters of each of those words and put them into one word.”
“Now take the first letters of each of those words and combine them into one word.”
“Fish!” said Petronius with astonishment. [Ichthus, the Greek word for “fish.”]
“Fish!” Petronius exclaimed in surprise. [Ichthus, the Greek word for “fish.”]
“There, that is why fish has become the watchword of the Christians,” answered Chilo, proudly.
“There, that’s why fish has become the symbol for Christians,” answered Chilo, proudly.
A moment of silence followed. But there was something so striking in the conclusions of the Greek that the two friends could not guard themselves from amazement.
A moment of silence followed. But there was something so striking in the conclusions of the Greek that the two friends couldn't help but be amazed.
“Vinicius, art thou not mistaken?” asked Petronius. “Did Lygia really draw a fish for thee?”
“Vinicius, are you sure about that?” asked Petronius. “Did Lygia really draw a fish for you?”
“By all the infernal gods, one might go mad!” cried the young man, with excitement. “If she had drawn a bird for me, I should have said a bird.”
“By all the hellish gods, one might go insane!” exclaimed the young man, filled with excitement. “If she had drawn a bird for me, I would have said a bird.”
“Therefore she is a Christian,” repeated Chilo.
“Therefore she is a Christian,” Chilo repeated.
“This signifies,” said Petronius, “that Pomponia and Lygia poison wells, murder children caught on the street, and give themselves up to dissoluteness! Folly! Thou, Vinicius, wert at their house for a time, I was there a little while; but I know Pomponia and Aulus enough, I know even Lygia enough, to say monstrous and foolish! If a fish is the symbol of the Christians, which it is difficult really to deny, and if those women are Christians, then, by Proserpina! evidently Christians are not what we hold them to be.”
“This means,” said Petronius, “that Pomponia and Lygia poison wells, murder children in the streets, and indulge in all kinds of debauchery! Ridiculous! You, Vinicius, spent some time at their house; I was there briefly too, but I know Pomponia and Aulus well enough, and I even know Lygia enough to say this is monstrous and foolish! If a fish is the symbol of Christians, which is hard to deny, and if those women are Christians, then, by Proserpina! it’s clear that Christians are not what we think they are.”
“Thou speakest like Socrates, lord,” answered Chilo. “Who has ever examined a Christian? Who has learned their religion? When I was travelling three years ago from Naples hither to Rome (oh, why did I not stay in Naples!), a man joined me, whose name was Glaucus, of whom people said that he was a Christian; but in spite of that I convinced myself that he was a good and virtuous man.”
“You speak like Socrates, my lord,” replied Chilo. “Who has ever examined a Christian? Who has learned about their religion? When I was traveling three years ago from Naples to Rome (oh, why didn't I stay in Naples!), a man named Glaucus joined me, and people said he was a Christian; but despite that, I convinced myself that he was a good and virtuous man.”
“Was it not from that virtuous man that thou hast learned now what the fish means?”
“Isn’t it from that good person that you’ve learned what the fish means?”
“Unfortunately, lord, on the way, at an inn, some one thrust a knife into that honorable old man; and his wife and child were carried away by slave-dealers. I lost in their defence these two fingers; since, as people say, there is no lack among Christians of miracles, I hope that the fingers will grow out on my hand again.”
“Unfortunately, my lord, on the way, at an inn, someone stabbed that honorable old man; and his wife and child were taken by slave dealers. I lost these two fingers in their defense; since, as people say, there’s no shortage of miracles among Christians, I hope that my fingers will grow back.”
“How is that? Hast thou become a Christian?”
“How is that? Have you become a Christian?”
“Since yesterday, lord, since yesterday! The fish made me a Christian. But see what a power there is in it. For some days I shall be the most zealous of the zealous, so that they may admit me to all their secrets; and when they admit me to their secrets, I shall know where the maiden is hiding. Perhaps then my Christianity will pay me better than my philosophy. I have made a vow also to Mercury, that if he helps me to find the maiden, I will sacrifice to him two heifers of the same size and color and will gild their horns.”
“Since yesterday, my lord, since yesterday! The fish made me a Christian. But look at how powerful that is. For a few days, I’ll be the most passionate of the passionate, so they’ll let me in on all their secrets; and once I'm in on their secrets, I’ll find out where the maiden is hiding. Maybe then my Christianity will benefit me more than my philosophy. I’ve also made a vow to Mercury that if he helps me find the maiden, I’ll sacrifice two heifers of the same size and color to him and gild their horns.”
“Then thy Christianity of yesterday and thy philosophy of long standing permit thee to believe in Mercury?”
“Then your Christianity from yesterday and your long-standing philosophy allow you to believe in Mercury?”
“I believe always in that in which I need to believe; that is my philosophy, which ought to please Mercury. Unfortunately (ye know, worthy lords, what a suspicious god he is), he does not trust the promises even of blameless philosophers, and prefers the heifers in advance; meanwhile this outlay is immense. Not every one is a Seneca, and I cannot afford the sacrifice; should the noble Vinicius, however, wish to give something, on account of that sum which he promised—”
“I always believe in what I need to believe; that's my philosophy, which should please Mercury. Unfortunately (you know, worthy lords, how suspicious he is), he doesn’t trust the promises of even the most blameless philosophers and prefers to have the payment upfront; meanwhile, this cost is huge. Not everyone is a Seneca, and I can’t afford the sacrifice; however, if the noble Vinicius wants to contribute something based on the amount he promised—”
“Not an obolus, Chilo!” said Petronius, “not an obolus. The bounty of Vinicius will surpass thy expectations, but only when Lygia is found,—that is, when thou shalt indicate to us her hiding-place. Mercury must trust thee for the two heifers, though I am not astonished at him for not wishing to do so; in this I recognize his acuteness.”
“Not a penny, Chilo!” said Petronius, “not a penny. Vinicius's reward will exceed your expectations, but only when we find Lygia—that is, when you tell us where she's hiding. Mercury needs to trust you for the two heifers, though I can't blame him for not wanting to; I see his point.”
“Listen to me, worthy lords. The discovery which I have made is great; for though I have not found the maiden yet, I have found the way in which I must seek her. Ye have sent freedmen and slaves throughout the city and into the country; has any one given you a clew? No! I alone have given one. I tell you more. Among your slaves there may be Christians, of whom ye have no knowledge, for this superstition has spread everywhere; and they, instead of aiding, will betray you. It is unfortunate that they see me here; do thou therefore, noble Petronius, enjoin silence on Eunice; and thou too, noble Vinicius, spread a report that I sell thee an ointment which insures victory in the Circus to horses rubbed with it. I alone will search for her, and single-handed I will find the fugitives; and do ye trust in me, and know that whatever I receive in advance will be for me simply an encouragement, for I shall hope always for more, and shall feel the greater certainty that the promised reward will not fail me. Ah, it is true! As a philosopher I despise money, though neither Seneca, nor even Musonius, nor Cornutus despises it, though they have not lost fingers in any one’s defence, and are able themselves to write and leave their names to posterity. But, aside from the slave, whom I intend to buy, and besides Mercury, to whom I have promised the heifers,—and ye know how dear cattle have become in these times,—the searching itself involves much outlay. Only listen to me patiently. Well, for the last few days my feet are wounded from continual walking. I have gone to wine-shops to talk with people, to bakeries, to butcher-shops, to dealers in olive oil, and to fishermen. I have run through every street and alley; I have been in the hiding places of fugitive slaves; I have lost money, nearly a hundred ases, in playing mora; I have been in laundries, in drying-sheds, in cheap kitchens; I have seen mule-drivers and carvers; I have seen people who cure bladder complaints and pull teeth; I have talked with dealers in dried figs; I have been at cemeteries; and do ye know why? This is why; so as to outline a fish everywhere, look people in the eyes, and hear what they would say of that sign. For a long time I was unable to learn anything, till at last I saw an old slave at a fountain. He was drawing water with a bucket, and weeping. Approaching him, I asked the cause of his tears. When we had sat down on the steps of the fountain, he answered that all his life he had been collecting sestertium after sestertium, to redeem his beloved son; but his master, a certain Pansa, when the money was delivered to him, took it, but kept the son in slavery. ‘And so I am weeping,’ said the old man, ‘for though I repeat, Let the will of God be done, I, poor sinner, am not able to keep down my tears.’ Then, as if penetrated by a forewarning, I moistened my finger in the water and drew a fish for him. To this he answered, ‘My hope, too, is in Christ.’ I asked him then, ‘Hast thou confessed to me by that sign?’ ‘I have,’ said he; ‘and peace be with thee.’ I began then to draw him out, and the honest old man told me everything. His master, that Pansa, is himself a freedman of the great Pansa; and he brings stones by the Tiber to Rome, where slaves and hired persons unload them from the boats, and carry them to buildings in the night time, so as not to obstruct movement in the streets during daylight. Among these people many Christians work, and also his son; as the work is beyond his son’s strength, he wished to redeem him. But Pansa preferred to keep both the money and the slave. While telling me this, he began again to weep; and I mingled my tears with his,—tears came to me easily because of my kind heart, and the pain in my feet, which I got from walking excessively. I began also to lament that as I had come from Naples only a few days since, I knew no one of the brotherhood, and did not know where they assembled for prayer. He wondered that Christians in Naples had not given me letters to their brethren in Rome; but I explained to him that the letters were stolen from me on the road. Then he told me to come to the river at night, and he would acquaint me with brethren who would conduct me to houses of prayer and to elders who govern the Christian community. When I heard this, I was so delighted that I gave him the sum needed to redeem his son, in the hope that the lordly Vinicius would return it to me twofold.”
“Listen up, esteemed lords. The discovery I’ve made is significant; although I haven’t found the maiden yet, I’ve figured out how I need to search for her. You’ve sent freedmen and slaves all over the city and into the countryside; has anyone given you a clue? No! I’m the only one who has. I’ll tell you more. Among your slaves, there could be Christians whom you know nothing about, because this superstition has spread everywhere; and instead of helping you, they may betray you. It’s unfortunate that they see me here; so, noble Petronius, please ask Eunice to stay quiet; and you too, noble Vinicius, spread a rumor that I’m selling you an ointment that guarantees victory in the Circus for horses rubbed with it. I will search for her alone, and I’ll find the fugitives by myself; you can trust me, and know that whatever I receive in advance will just motivate me, because I’ll always hope for more, and it’ll make me even more certain that the promised reward won’t fail me. Ah, it’s true! As a philosopher, I look down on money, even though neither Seneca, nor Musonius, nor Cornutus despise it, even though they haven’t lost fingers defending anyone and can write and leave their names for posterity. But apart from the slave I plan to buy, and Mercury, to whom I’ve promised heifers,—and you know how expensive cattle have become these days,—the search itself requires a lot of money. Just listen to me patiently. My feet have been injured from walking so much these last few days. I’ve gone to wine shops to talk with people, to bakeries, butcher shops, olive oil dealers, and fishermen. I’ve run through every street and alley; I’ve been in the hiding places of runaway slaves; I’ve lost nearly a hundred ases playing mora; I’ve visited laundries, drying sheds, and cheap kitchens; I’ve met mule drivers and carvers; I’ve talked to people who treat bladder issues and pull teeth; I’ve spoken with dried fig vendors; I’ve even been to cemeteries; and do you know why? So I could identify a fish everywhere, look people in the eyes, and hear what they might say about that sign. For a long time, I didn’t learn anything until I saw an old slave at a fountain. He was drawing water with a bucket and crying. When I approached him, I asked why he was upset. After we sat on the fountain steps, he told me he’d spent his life saving sestertii to buy his beloved son’s freedom, but his master, a man named Pansa, accepted the money but kept the son enslaved. ‘And so I’m weeping,’ said the old man, ‘for although I say, Let the will of God be done, I, a poor sinner, can’t hold back my tears.’ Then, as if hit with a premonition, I dipped my finger in the water and drew a fish for him. He replied, ‘My hope is in Christ too.’ I then asked, ‘Did you confess to me with that sign?’ ‘I have,’ he said; ‘and peace be with you.’ I started to draw him out, and the honest old man told me everything. His master, Pansa, is a freedman of the great Pansa; he brings stones by the Tiber to Rome, where slaves and workers unload them from boats and take them to buildings at night to avoid blocking the streets during the day. Many Christians work among those people, including his son; since the work was too much for his son, he wanted to buy his freedom. But Pansa preferred to keep both the money and the slave. As he told me this, he began to cry again; and I mixed my tears with his—tears came easily to me because of my kind heart and the pain in my feet from walking so much. I also complained that, having just come from Naples a few days ago, I knew no one in the brotherhood and had no idea where they gathered for prayer. He was surprised that Christians in Naples hadn’t given me letters to their brethren in Rome; but I explained that the letters were stolen from me on the road. Then he told me to come to the river at night, and he would introduce me to brethren who would lead me to prayer houses and the elders who govern the Christian community. When I heard this, I was so thrilled that I gave him the amount he needed to redeem his son, hoping that the noble Vinicius would repay me double.”
“Chilo,” interrupted Petronius, “in thy narrative falsehood appears on the surface of truth, as oil does on water. Thou hast brought important information; I do not deny that. I assert, even, that a great step is made toward finding Lygia; but do not cover thy news with falsehood. What is the name of that old man from whom thou hast learned that the Christians recognize each other through the sign of a fish?”
“Chilo,” Petronius interrupted, “in your story, falsehood is just beneath the surface of truth, like oil on water. You've brought important information; I won't deny that. In fact, I believe we've made significant progress in finding Lygia, but don’t disguise your news with lies. What is the name of the old man from whom you learned that Christians recognize each other by the sign of a fish?”
“Euricius. A poor, unfortunate old man! He reminded me of Glaucus, whom I defended from murderers, and he touched me mainly by this.”
“Euricius. A poor, unfortunate old man! He reminded me of Glaucus, whom I defended from murderers, and he moved me mostly for this reason.”
“I believe that thou didst discover him, and wilt be able to make use of the acquaintance; but thou hast given him no money. Thou hast not given him an as; dost understand me? Thou hast not given anything.”
“I believe that you found him and will be able to use the connection; but you haven't given him any money. You haven't given him a dime; do you understand? You haven't given anything.”
“But I helped him to lift the bucket, and I spoke of his son with the greatest sympathy. Yes, lord, what can hide before the penetration of Petronius? Well, I did not give him money, or rather, I gave it to him, but only in spirit, in intention, which, had he been a real philosopher, should have sufficed him. I gave it to him because I saw that such an act was indispensable and useful; for think, lord, how this act has won all the Christians at once to me, what access to them it has opened, and what confidence it has roused in them.”
“But I helped him lift the bucket, and I spoke about his son with the greatest sympathy. Yes, my lord, what can escape the insight of Petronius? Well, I didn’t give him money, or rather, I did, but only in spirit, in intention, which, if he were a true philosopher, should have been enough for him. I did it because I realized that such an act was necessary and beneficial; think about it, my lord, how this act has instantly gained me the trust of all the Christians, what doors it has opened to them, and what confidence it has inspired in them.”
“True,” said Petronius, “and it was thy duty to do it.”
“True,” Petronius said, “and it was your responsibility to do it.”
“For this very reason I have come to get the means to do it.”
"For this exact reason, I've come to get what I need to make it happen."
Petronius turned to Vinicius,—“Give command to count out to him five thousand sestertia, but in spirit, in intention.”
Petronius turned to Vinicius, “Have him count out five thousand sestertii, but do it in spirit and 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.”
“I’ll give you a young man,” said Vinicius, “who will take the necessary amount; you’ll tell Euricius that the young man is your slave, and you’ll hand over this money to the old man in the young man’s presence. Since you’ve brought important news, you’ll get the same amount for yourself. Come for the young man and the money this evening.”
“Thou art a real Cæsar!” 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. Fax vobiscum! pax! pax! pax!”
"You're a real Cæsar!" said Chilo. "Please, my lord, let me dedicate my work to you; but also allow me to come just for the money this evening, since Euricius told me that all the boats have been unloaded, and that new ones won't arrive from Ostia for a few days. Peace be with you! This is how Christians say goodbye to one another. I’m going to buy myself a female slave—actually, I meant to say a male slave. Fish are caught with bait, and Christians with fish. God be with you! Peace! Peace! Peace!"
Chapter XV
PETRONIUS to VINICIUS:
“I send to thee from Antium, by a trusty slave, this letter, to which, though thy hand is more accustomed to the sword and the javelin than the pen, I think that thou wilt answer through the same messenger without needless delay. I left thee on a good trail, and full of hope; hence I trust that thou hast either satisfied thy pleasant desires in the embraces of Lygia, or wilt satisfy them before the real wintry wind from the summits of Soracte shall blow on the Campania. Oh, my Vinicius! may thy preceptress be the golden goddess of Cyprus; be thou, on thy part, the preceptor of that Lygian Aurora, who is fleeing before the sun of love. And remember always that marble, though most precious, is nothing of itself, and acquires real value only when the sculptor’s hand turns it into a masterpiece. Be thou such a sculptor, carissime! To love is not sufficient; one must know how to love; one must know how to teach love. Though the plebs, too, and even animals, experience pleasure, a genuine man differs from them in this especially, that he makes love in some way a noble art, and, admiring it, knows all its divine value, makes it present in his mind, thus satisfying not his body merely, but his soul. More than once, when I think here of the emptiness, the uncertainty, the dreariness of life, it occurs to me that perhaps thou hast chosen better, and that not Cæsar’s court, but war and love, are the only objects for which it is worth while to be born and to live.
“I’m sending you this letter from Antium through a trusted servant. Even though you’re more accustomed to the sword and javelin than the pen, I believe you’ll reply through the same messenger without unnecessary delay. I left you on a good path, full of hope; so I trust that you’ve either fulfilled your desires in the arms of Lygia or will do so before the biting winter wind from the peaks of Soracte hits Campania. Oh, my Vinicius! May your guide be the golden goddess of Cyprus; and may you, in turn, be the teacher of that Lygian Aurora, who is eluding the sun of love. Always remember that marble, though valuable, is nothing on its own and gains true worth only when crafted into a masterpiece by a sculptor’s hand. Be that sculptor, my dear! Loving isn’t enough; one must know how to love; one must know how to teach love. While even common people and animals experience pleasure, a true man stands apart in that he transforms love into a noble art. By appreciating it, he understands its divine value, making it present in his mind and satisfying not just his body, but his soul. More than once, when I reflect on the emptiness, uncertainty, and dreariness of life, I think that perhaps you’ve made the better choice, that not Cæsar’s court, but war and love, are the only worthy pursuits for which it is worthwhile to be born and to live.”
“Thou wert fortunate in war, be fortunate also in love; and if thou art curious as to what men are doing at the court of Cæsar, I will inform thee from time to time. We are living here at Antium, and nursing our heavenly voice; we continue to cherish the same hatred of Rome, and think of betaking ourselves to Baiæ for the winter, to appear in public at Naples, whose inhabitants, being Greeks, will appreciate us better than that wolf brood on the banks of the Tiber. People will hasten thither from Baiæ, from Pompeii, Puteoli, Cumæ, and Stabia; neither applause nor crowns will be lacking, and that will be an encouragement for the proposed expedition to Achæa.
"You were lucky in war, now be lucky in love too; and if you're curious about what people are doing at Caesar's court, I'll keep you updated from time to time. We're living here in Antium, nurturing our heavenly voices; we still hold the same hatred for Rome, and we're thinking about heading to Baiae for the winter to show ourselves in Naples, where the locals, being Greeks, will appreciate us more than that wolf pack along the Tiber. People will hurry there from Baiae, Pompeii, Puteoli, Cumae, and Stabiae; there won't be a shortage of applause or crowns, and that will motivate us for the planned trip to Achaea."
“But the memory of the infant Augusta? Yes! we are bewailing her yet. We are singing hymns of our own composition, so wonderful that the sirens have been hiding from envy in Amphitrite’s deepest caves. But the dolphins would listen to us, were they not prevented by the sound of the sea. Our suffering is not allayed yet; hence we will exhibit it to the world in every form which sculpture can employ, and observe carefully if we are beautiful in our suffering and if people recognize this beauty. Oh, my dear! we shall die buffoons and comedians!
“But what about the memory of baby Augusta? Yes! We're still mourning her. We're singing our own amazing hymns, so incredible that the sirens are hiding in the deepest caves of Amphitrite out of jealousy. But the dolphins would listen to us if they weren't drowned out by the sound of the sea. Our pain isn't eased yet; so we’ll show it to the world in every way sculpture can express, and see if we are beautiful in our suffering and if people notice this beauty. Oh, my dear! We'll end up as fools and jesters!”
“All the Augustians are here, male and female, not counting ten thousand servants, and five hundred she asses, in whose milk Poppæa bathes. At times even it is cheerful here. Calvia Crispinilla is growing old. It is said that she has begged Poppæa to let her take the bath immediately after herself. Lucan slapped Nigidia on the face, because he suspected her of relations with a gladiator. Sporus lost his wife at dice to Senecio. Torquatus Silanus has offered me for Eunice four chestnut horses, which this year will win the prize beyond doubt. I would not accept! Thanks to thee, also, that thou didst not take her. As to Torquatus Silanus, the poor man does not even suspect that he is already more a shade than a man. His death is decided. And knowest what his crime is? He is the great-grandson of the deified Augustus. There is no rescue for him. Such is our world.
“All the Augustans are here, both men and women, not counting ten thousand servants and five hundred female donkeys, whose milk Poppæa uses for her baths. Sometimes it’s even cheerful here. Calvia Crispinilla is getting old. It’s said she has begged Poppæa to let her bathe right after her. Lucan slapped Nigidia in the face because he suspected her of having an affair with a gladiator. Sporus lost his wife in a dice game to Senecio. Torquatus Silanus has offered me four chestnut horses for Eunice, which will win the prize for sure this year. I wouldn’t accept! And thanks to you, too, for not taking her. As for Torquatus Silanus, the poor guy doesn’t even realize he’s more of a shadow than a man now. His death is certain. And do you know what his crime is? He’s the great-grandson of the deified Augustus. There’s no saving him. Such is our world."
“As is known to thee, we have been expecting Tiridates here; meanwhile Vologeses has written an offensive letter. Because he has conquered Armenia, he asks that it be left to him for Tiridates; if not, he will not yield it in any case. Pure comedy! So we have decided on war. Corbulo will receive power such as Pompeius Magnus received in the war with pirates. There was a moment, however, when Nero hesitated. He seems afraid of the glory which Corbulo will win in case of victory. It was even thought to offer the chief command to our Aulus. This was opposed by Poppæa, for whom evidently Pomponia’s virtue is as salt in the eye.
“As you know, we've been waiting for Tiridates to arrive; meanwhile, Vologeses has sent a disrespectful letter. Since he has taken over Armenia, he insists that it should be handed over to him for Tiridates; if not, he won’t give it up at all. It's utterly ridiculous! So we’ve decided to go to war. Corbulo will be given authority similar to what Pompeius Magnus had during the war with the pirates. However, there was a moment when Nero hesitated. He seems worried about the glory that Corbulo will gain if we win. There was even a suggestion to give the main command to our Aulus. This was opposed by Poppæa, who clearly finds Pomponia’s virtue quite irritating.”
“Vatinius described to us a remarkable fight of gladiators, which is to take place in Beneventum. See to what cobblers rise in our time, in spite of the saying, ‘Ne sutor ultra crepidam!’ Vitelius is the descendant of a cobbler; but Vatinius is the son of one! Perhaps he drew thread himself! The actor Aliturus represented Oedipus yesterday wonderfully. I asked him, by the way, as a Jew, if Christians and Jews were the same. He answered that the Jews have an eternal religion, but that Christians are a new sect risen recently in Judea; that in the time of Tiberius the Jews crucified a certain man, whose adherents increase daily, and that the Christians consider him as God. They refuse, it seems, to recognize other gods, ours especially. I cannot understand what harm it would do them to recognize these gods.
“Vatinius told us about an incredible gladiator fight that's going to happen in Beneventum. Just look at how far cobblers have come in our time, despite the saying, ‘Ne sutor ultra crepidam!’ Vitelius is a cobbler's descendant, but Vatinius is the son of one! Maybe he even stitched shoes himself! The actor Aliturus played Oedipus brilliantly yesterday. I casually asked him, since he's Jewish, if Christians and Jews are the same. He replied that Jews have an everlasting religion, while Christians are a new group that recently started in Judea. He mentioned that during Tiberius's time, Jews crucified a man whose followers keep growing, and that Christians see him as God. Apparently, they refuse to acknowledge other gods, especially ours. I can't comprehend what harm it would do them to accept those gods.”
“Tigellinus shows me open enmity now. So far he is unequal to me; but he is, superior in this, that he cares more for life, and is at the same time a greater scoundrel, which brings him nearer Ahenobarbus. These two will understand each other earlier or later, and then my turn will come. I know not when it will come; but I know this, that as things are it must come; hence let time pass. Meanwhile we must amuse ourselves. Life of itself would not be bad were it not for Bronzebeard. Thanks to him, a man at times is disgusted with himself. It is not correct to consider the struggle for his favor as a kind of rivalry in a circus,—as a kind of game, as a struggle, in which victory flatters vanity. True, I explain it to myself in that way frequently; but still it seems to me sometimes that I am like Chilo, and better in nothing than he. When he ceases to be needful to thee, send him to me. I have taken a fancy to his edifying conversation. A greeting from me to thy divine Christian, or rather beg her in my name not to be a fish to thee. Inform me of thy health, inform me of thy love, know how to love, teach how to love, and farewell.”
“Tigellinus is openly hostile to me now. Up until now, he hasn’t been my equal; but he does have the advantage in that he values his life more and is a bigger jerk, which brings him closer to Ahenobarbus. Sooner or later, these two will get on the same page, and then it’ll be my turn. I’m not sure when that’ll happen; I just know that given the current situation, it will happen; so I’ll let time pass. In the meantime, we have to find ways to keep ourselves entertained. Life wouldn’t be so bad on its own if it weren’t for Bronzebeard. Thanks to him, sometimes a guy feels disgusted with himself. It’s not accurate to think of the battle for his favor as a kind of competition in a circus—or a game where winning boosts your ego. Sure, I often rationalize it that way; but sometimes it feels like I'm just like Chilo and not better in any way. When he’s no longer needed by you, send him my way. I’ve grown fond of his enlightening conversations. Please send my regards to your divine Christian, or rather ask her for me not to be a nuisance to you. Let me know how you are, tell me about your love life, learn to love, show how to love, and goodbye.”
VINICIUS to PETRONIUS:
VINICIUS to PETRONIUS:
“Lygia is not found yet! Were it not for the hope that I shall find her soon, thou wouldst not receive an answer; for when a man is disgusted with life, he has no wish to write letters. I wanted to learn whether Chilo was not deceiving me; and at night when he came to get the money for Euricius, I threw on a military mantle, and unobserved followed him and the slave whom I sent with him. When they reached the place, I watched from a distance, hidden behind a portico pillar, and convinced myself that Euricius was not invented. Below, a number of tens of people were unloading stones from a spacious barge, and piling them up on the bank. I saw Chilo approach them, and begin to talk with some old man, who after a while fell at his feet. Others surrounded them with shouts of admiration. Before my eyes the boy gave a purse to Euricius, who on seizing it began to pray with upraised hands, while at his side some second person was kneeling, evidently his son. Chilo said something which I could not hear, and blessed the two who were kneeling, as well as others, making in the air signs in the form of a cross, which they honor apparently, for all bent their knees. The desire seized me to go among them, and promise three such purses to him who would deliver to me Lygia; but I feared to spoil Chilo’s work, and after hesitating a moment went home.
"Lygia hasn't been found yet! If it weren't for the hope that I'll find her soon, you wouldn't be getting this reply; when a man is fed up with life, he doesn't want to write letters. I wanted to see if Chilo was not deceiving me; so at night, when he came to collect the money for Euricius, I threw on a military cloak, and discreetly followed him and the slave I sent with him. When they reached the location, I watched from a distance, hidden behind a column, and confirmed that Euricius was indeed real. Below, dozens of people were unloading stones from a large barge and stacking them on the bank. I saw Chilo approach them and start talking to an old man, who eventually fell at his feet. Others gathered around them, shouting in admiration. Right before my eyes, the boy handed a purse to Euricius, who, upon receiving it, started praying with his hands raised, while a second person was kneeling beside him, clearly his son. Chilo said something I couldn’t hear and blessed the two kneeling there, as well as others, making signs in the shape of a cross in the air, which they seem to honor, as everyone knelt down. A desire came over me to go among them and promise three such purses to whoever would bring me Lygia, but I was afraid of ruining Chilo’s plans, so after hesitating for a moment, I went home."
“This happened at least twelve days after thy departure. Since then Chilo has been a number of times with me. He says that he has gained great significance among the Christians; that if he has not found Lygia so far, it is because the Christians in Rome are innumerable, hence all are not acquainted with each person in their community, and cannot know everything that is done in it. They are cautious, too, and in general reticent. He gives assurance, however, that when he reaches the elders, who are called presbyters, he will learn every secret. He has made the acquaintance of a number of these already, and has begun to inquire of them, though carefully, so as not to rouse suspicion by haste, and not to make the work still more difficult. Though it is hard to wait, though patience fails, I feel that he is right, and I wait.
“This happened at least twelve days after your departure. Since then, Chilo has visited me several times. He says he has become quite important among the Christians; that if he hasn’t found Lygia yet, it’s because there are so many Christians in Rome, so not everyone knows every person in their community and cannot be aware of everything happening in it. They are also careful and generally reserved. However, he assures me that when he speaks to the elders, known as presbyters, he will uncover every secret. He has already met a number of them and has started to ask them questions, though cautiously, so as not to raise any suspicion and complicate matters further. Even though it’s hard to wait and my patience is wearing thin, I believe he’s right, and I will wait.”
“He learned, too, that they have places of meeting for prayer, frequently outside the city, in empty houses and even in sand-pits. There they worship Christ, sing hymns, and have feasts. There are many such places. Chilo supposes that Lygia goes purposely to different ones from Pomponia, so that the latter, in case of legal proceedings or an examination, might swear boldly that she knew nothing of Lygia’s hiding place. It may be that the presbyters have advised caution. When Chilo discovers those places, I will go with him; and if the gods let me see Lygia, I swear to thee by Jupiter that she will not escape my hands this time.
“He also learned that they have places to meet for prayer, often outside the city, in empty houses and even in sand pits. There, they worship Christ, sing hymns, and have feasts. There are many such places. Chilo thinks that Lygia intentionally goes to different ones from Pomponia so that if there are any legal issues or questioning, Pomponia can confidently swear that she knows nothing about Lygia’s hiding spot. It’s possible that the presbyters have advised caution. When Chilo finds those places, I will go with him; and if the gods allow me to see Lygia, I swear to you by Jupiter that she will not escape my grasp this time.”
“I am thinking continually of those places of prayer. Chilo is unwilling that I should go with him; he is afraid. But I cannot stay at home. I should know her at once, even in disguise or if veiled. They assemble in the night, but I should recognize her in the night even. I should know her voice and motions anywhere. I will go myself in disguise, and look at every person who goes in or out. I am thinking of her always, and shall recognize her. Chilo is to come to-morrow, and we shall go. I will take arms. Some of my slaves sent to the provinces have returned empty-handed. But I am certain now that she is in the city, perhaps not far away even. I myself have visited many houses under pretext of renting them. She will fare better with me a hundred times; where she is, whole legions of poor people dwell. Besides, I shall spare nothing for her sake. Thou writest that I have chosen well. I have chosen suffering and sorrow. We shall go first to those houses which are in the city, then beyond the gates. Hope looks for something every morning, otherwise life would be impossible. Thou sayest that one should know how to love. I knew how to talk of love to Lygia. But now I only yearn; I do nothing but wait for Chilo. Life to me is unendurable in my own house. Farewell!”
“I keep thinking about those places of prayer. Chilo doesn’t want me to go with him; he's scared. But I can’t stay home. I would recognize her right away, even if she’s in disguise or veiled. They meet at night, but I would still know her in the dark. I would recognize her voice and movements anywhere. I’ll go myself in disguise and watch everyone coming in and out. I’m always thinking about her, and I’ll know her. Chilo is coming tomorrow, and we’ll go. I’ll bring weapons. Some of my slaves sent to the provinces came back empty-handed. But I’m sure she’s in the city, maybe even not far away. I’ve visited many houses pretending I want to rent them. She would be much better off with me; where she is, so many poor people live. Besides, I won’t spare anything for her sake. You wrote that I’ve made a good choice. I chose suffering and sorrow. We’ll first go to the houses in the city, then beyond the gates. Hope looks for something every morning, or else life would be unbearable. You say that one should know how to love. I knew how to talk about love to Lygia. But now I only long for her; I do nothing but wait for Chilo. Life is unbearable for me in my own house. Farewell!”
Chapter XVI
BUT Chilo did not appear for some time, and Vinicius knew not at last what to think of his absence. In vain he repeated to himself that searching, if continued to a certain and successful issue, must be gradual. His blood and impulsive nature rebelled against the voice of judgment. To do nothing, to wait, to sit with folded arms, was so repulsive to him that he could not be reconciled to it in any way. To search the alleys of the city in the dark garb of a slave, through this alone, that it was useless, seemed to him merely a mask for his own inefficiency, and could give no satisfaction. His freedmen, persons of experience, whom he commanded to search independently, turned out a hundred times less expert than Chilo. Meanwhile there rose in him, besides his love for Lygia, the stubbornness of a player resolved to win. Vinicius had been always a person of this kind. From earliest youth he had accomplished what he desired with the passionateness of one who does not understand failure, or the need of yielding something. For a time military discipline had put his self-will within bounds, but also it had engrafted into him the conviction that every command of his to subordinates must be fulfilled; his prolonged stay in the Orient, among people pliant and inured to slavish obedience, confirmed in him the faith that for his “I wish” there were no limits. At present his vanity, too, was wounded painfully. There was, besides, in Lygia’s opposition and resistance, and in her flight itself, which was to him incomprehensible, a kind of riddle. In trying to solve this riddle he racked his head terribly. He felt that Acte had told the truth, and that Lygia was not indifferent. But if this were true, why had she preferred wandering and misery to his love, his tenderness, and a residence in his splendid mansion? To this question he found no answer, and arrived only at a kind of dim understanding that between him and Lygia, between their ideas, between the world which belonged to him and Petronius, and the world of Lygia and Pomponia, there existed some sort of difference, some kind of misunderstanding as deep as an abyss, which nothing could fill up or make even. It seemed to him, then, that he must lose Lygia; and at this thought he lost the remnant of balance which Petronius wished to preserve in him. There were moments in which he did not know whether he loved Lygia or hated her; he understood only that he must find her, and he would rather that the earth swallowed her than that he should not see and possess her. By the power of imagination he saw her as clearly at times as if she had been before his face. He recalled every word which he had spoken to her; every word which he had heard from her. He felt her near; felt her on his bosom, in his arms; and then desire embraced him like a flame. He loved her and called to her.
BUT Chilo did not show up for a while, and Vinicius didn’t know what to think about his absence. He repeatedly told himself that searching, if done continuously and successfully, had to be gradual. His blood and impulsive nature rebelled against that reasoning. Doing nothing, waiting, and sitting with his arms crossed was so repulsive to him that he couldn't come to terms with it. Searching the city's alleys disguised as a slave seemed to him just a way to hide his own ineffectiveness, and it gave him no satisfaction. His freedmen, who had experience and whom he directed to search independently, turned out to be a hundred times less skilled than Chilo. Meanwhile, alongside his love for Lygia, a stubbornness like that of a determined player grew in him. Vinicius had always been the type to act this way. From a young age, he had achieved what he wanted with the passion of someone who does not understand failure or the need to give anything up. Military discipline had briefly kept his self-will in check, but it had also instilled in him the belief that every command he issued must be followed; his long stay in the East, among people who were pliant and accustomed to servitude, reinforced his belief that there were no limits to his “I wish.” Right now, his pride was also deeply wounded. Moreover, Lygia’s defiance and flight, which he couldn’t understand, felt like a riddle to him. He pondered this riddle intensely. He felt that Acte had spoken the truth and that Lygia was not indifferent. But if that was the case, why had she chosen wandering and suffering over his love, his affection, and a comfortable life in his grand home? He found no answer to this question and only reached a vague understanding that there was some fundamental difference, some kind of misunderstanding as deep as an abyss, separating him from Lygia, from their viewpoints, from the world that belonged to him and Petronius and the world of Lygia and Pomponia. It seemed to him that he would lose Lygia, and with that thought, he lost the last bit of balance that Petronius had hoped to maintain in him. At times, he didn’t know whether he loved Lygia or hated her; he only understood that he had to find her, and he would rather the earth swallow her than not see and possess her. With the power of imagination, he envisioned her as clearly as if she were right in front of him. He recalled every word he had said to her and every word he had heard from her. He felt her presence; he felt her on his chest, in his arms; and then desire wrapped around him like a flame. He loved her and called out to her.
And when he thought that he was loved, that she might do with willingness all that he wished of her, sore and endless sorrow seized him, and a kind of deep tenderness flooded his heart, like a mighty wave. But there were moments, too, in which he grew pale from rage, and delighted in thoughts of the humiliation and tortures which he would inflict on Lygia when he found her. He wanted not only to have her, but to have her as a trampled slave. At the same time he felt that if the choice were left him, to be her slave or not to see her in life again, he would rather be her slave. There were days in which he thought of the marks which the lash would leave on her rosy body, and at the same time he wanted to kiss those marks. It came to his head also that he would be happy if he could kill her.
And when he believed that he was loved, that she might willingly do everything he wanted, a deep and endless sorrow overwhelmed him, and a strong tenderness filled his heart, like a powerful wave. But there were also moments when he turned pale with rage and took pleasure in imagining the humiliation and torment he would inflict on Lygia when he found her. He didn’t just want her; he wanted her as a battered slave. Yet, he also realized that if given the choice to be her slave or never see her again, he would choose to be her slave. There were days when he thought about the marks the whip would leave on her soft skin, and at the same time, he wanted to kiss those marks. It also crossed his mind that he would feel happy if he could kill her.
In this torture, torment, uncertainty, and suffering, he lost health, and even beauty. He became a cruel and incomprehensible master. His slaves, and even his freedmen, approached him with trembling; and when punishments fell on them causelessly,—punishments as merciless as undeserved,—they began to hate him in secret; while he, feeling this, and feeling his own isolation, took revenge all the more on them. He restrained himself with Chilo alone, fearing lest he might cease his searches; the Greek, noting this, began to gain control of him, and grew more and more exacting. At first he assured Vinicius at each visit that the affair would proceed easily and quickly; now he began to discover difficulties, and without ceasing, it is true, to guarantee the undoubted success of the searches, he did not hide the fact that they must continue yet for a good while.
In this pain, suffering, uncertainty, and turmoil, he lost his health and even his looks. He became a cruel and unfathomable master. His slaves, and even his freedmen, approached him in fear, and when he punished them without reason—punishments as ruthless as they were undeserved—they began to secretly resent him; and he, aware of this and of his own loneliness, took more revenge on them. He managed to keep himself in check only around Chilo, afraid that he might stop his investigations; the Greek, noticing this, began to gain power over him and became more demanding. At first, he assured Vinicius during each visit that everything would proceed smoothly and quickly; now, he started to uncover challenges, and while he still guaranteed the inevitable success of the searches, he did not hide the fact that they would need to continue for quite a while.
At last he came, after long days of waiting, with a face so gloomy that the young man grew pale at sight of him, and springing up had barely strength to ask,—“Is she not among the Christians?” “She is, lord,” answered Chilo; “but I found Glaucus among them.” “Of what art thou speaking, and who is Glaucus?” “Thou hast forgotten, lord, it seems, that old man with whom I journeyed from Naples to Rome, and in whose defence I lost these two fingers,—a loss which prevents me from writing. Robbers, who bore away his wife and child, stabbed him with a knife. I left him dying at an inn in Minturna, and bewailed him long. Alas! I have convinced myself that he is alive yet, and belongs in Rome to the Christian community.”
At last he arrived, after many days of waiting, with such a gloomy expression that the young man turned pale upon seeing him, and as he jumped up, he barely had the strength to ask, “Is she not among the Christians?” “She is, my lord,” Chilo replied, “but I found Glaucus among them.” “What are you talking about, and who is Glaucus?” “It seems you've forgotten, my lord, that old man I traveled with from Naples to Rome, and for whom I lost these two fingers in defense— a loss that stops me from writing. Robbers took away his wife and child and stabbed him. I left him dying at an inn in Minturna and mourned him for a long time. Alas! I have convinced myself that he is still alive and is part of the Christian community in Rome.”
Vinicius, who could not understand what the question was, understood only that Glaucus was becoming a hindrance to the discovery of Lygia; hence he suppressed his rising anger, and said,—“If thou didst defend him, he should be thankful and help thee.”
Vinicius, who couldn’t grasp what the question was, only realized that Glaucus was getting in the way of finding Lygia; so he held back his growing anger and said, “If you defended him, he should be grateful and help you.”
“Ah! worthy tribune, even gods are not always grateful, and what must the case be with men? True, he should be thankful. But, unhappily, he is an old man, of a mind weak and darkened by age and disappointment; for which reason, not only is he not grateful, but, as I learned from his co-religionists, he accuses me of having conspired with the robbers, and says that I am the cause of his misfortunes. That is the recompense for my fingers!”
“Ah! worthy tribune, even gods aren’t always thankful, so what can we expect from people? True, he should be grateful. But sadly, he’s an old man, with a mind weakened and clouded by age and disappointment. Because of this, he’s not only ungrateful, but as I learned from his fellow believers, he blames me for conspiring with the robbers, claiming that I’m the reason for his misfortunes. That’s my reward for my efforts!”
“Scoundrel! I am certain that it was as he says,” replied Vinicius.
“Scoundrel! I’m sure it’s just as he says,” replied Vinicius.
“Then thou knowest more than he does, lord, for he only surmises that it was so; which, however, would not prevent him from summoning the Christians, and from revenging himself on me cruelly. He would have done that undoubtedly, and others, with equal certainty, would have helped him; but fortunately he does not know my name, and in the house of prayer where we met, he did not notice me. I, however, knew him at once, and at the first moment wished to throw myself on his neck. Wisdom, however, and the habit of thinking before every step which I intend to take, restrained me. Therefore, on issuing from the house of prayer, I inquired concerning him, and those who knew him declared that he was the man who had been betrayed by his comrade on the journey from Naples. Otherwise I should not have known that he gives out such a story.”
“Then you know more than he does, my lord, because he only suspects that it was like that; still, that wouldn't stop him from calling on the Christians and taking cruel revenge on me. He definitely would have done that, and others would surely have helped him; but luckily, he doesn’t know my name, and he didn’t notice me in the house of prayer where we met. However, I recognized him right away, and at that moment, I wanted to embrace him. But wisdom and my habit of thinking before I act held me back. So, after leaving the house of prayer, I asked about him, and those who knew him said he was the man who had been betrayed by his companion on the journey from Naples. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have known he tells such a story.”
“How does this concern me? Tell what thou sawest in the house of prayer.”
“How does this concern me? Tell me what you saw in the house of worship.”
“It does not concern thee, lord, but it concerns me just as much as my life. Since I wish that my wisdom should survive me, I would rather renounce the reward which thou hast offered, than expose my life for empty lucre; without which, I as a true philosopher shall be able to live and seek divine wisdom.”
“It doesn’t concern you, my lord, but it concerns me just as much as my life. Since I want my wisdom to outlast me, I’d rather give up the reward you’ve offered than risk my life for meaningless money; without that, I can live as a true philosopher and pursue divine wisdom.”
But Vinicius approached him with an ominous countenance, and began in a suppressed voice,—“Who told thee that death would meet thee sooner at the hands of Glaucus than at mine? Whence knowest thou, dog, that I will not have thee buried right away in my garden?”
But Vinicius approached him with a threatening expression and started in a quiet voice, “Who told you that death would come to you sooner from Glaucus than from me? How do you know, dog, that I won’t have you buried right away in my garden?”
Chilo, who was a coward, looked at Vinicius, and in the twinkle of an eye understood that one more unguarded word and he was lost beyond redemption.
Chilo, who was a coward, looked at Vinicius and, in the blink of an eye, realized that one more careless word and he was done for.
“I will search for her, lord, and I will find her!” cried he, hurriedly.
“I'll search for her, my lord, and I will find her!” he exclaimed urgently.
Silence followed, during which were heard the quick breathing of Vinicius, and the distant song of slaves at work in the garden.
Silence fell as the quick breaths of Vinicius echoed, along with the distant songs of slaves working in the garden.
Only after a while did the Greek resume his speech, when he noticed that the young patrician was somewhat pacified.
Only after a while did the Greek continue his speech when he noticed that the young noble was a bit calmer.
“Death passed me, but I looked on it with the calmness of Socrates. No, lord, I have not said that I refuse to search for the maiden; I desired merely to tell thee that search for her is connected now with great peril to me. On a time thou didst doubt that there was a certain Euricius in the world, and though thou wert convinced by thine own eyes that the son of my father told the truth to thee, thou hast suspicions now that I have invented Glaucus. Ah! would that he were only a fiction, that I might go among the Christians with perfect safety, as I went some time since; I would give up for that the poor old slave woman whom I bought, three days since, to care for my advanced age and maimed condition. But Glaucus is living, lord; and if he had seen me once, thou wouldst not have seen me again, and in that case who would find the maiden?”
“Death passed by me, but I looked at it with the calmness of Socrates. No, my lord, I haven’t said that I won’t look for the maiden; I just wanted to tell you that searching for her now brings great danger to me. Once you doubted that there was a certain Euricius in the world, and even though you were convinced by your own eyes that my father’s son was telling you the truth, you now have doubts that I made up Glaucus. Ah! If only he were a fiction, so I could go among the Christians without any fear, like I could a while ago; I would give up for that the poor old slave woman I bought three days ago to take care of my old age and injuries. But Glaucus is real, my lord; and if he had seen me once, you wouldn’t have seen me again, and then who would find the maiden?”
Here he was silent again, and began to dry his tears.
Here he was quiet again and started to dry his tears.
“But while Glaucus lives,” continued he, “how can I search for her?—for I may meet him at any step; and if I meet him I shall perish, and with me will cease all my searching.”
“But as long as Glaucus is alive,” he continued, “how can I look for her? I could run into him at any moment, and if I do, I’ll be doomed, and my search will end with me.”
“What art thou aiming at? What help is there? What dost thou wish to undertake?” inquired Vinicius.
"What are you aiming for? What help is there? What do you want to do?" Vinicius asked.
“Aristotle teaches us, lord, that less things should be sacrificed for greater, and King Priam said frequently that old age was a grievous burden. Indeed, the burden of old age and misfortune weighs upon Glaucus this long time, and so heavily that death would be to him a benefit. For what is death, according to Seneca, but liberation?”
“Aristotle teaches us, my lord, that we should sacrifice fewer things for more important ones, and King Priam often said that old age is a heavy burden. Truly, the weight of old age and misfortune has been pressing down on Glaucus for a long time, so much so that death would be a relief for him. Because what is death, as Seneca said, but freedom?”
“Play the fool with Petronius, not with me! Tell what thy desire is.”
“Don’t mess around with Petronius, do it with me! Just say what you want.”
“If virtue is folly, may the gods permit me to be a fool all my life. I desire, lord, to set aside Glaucus, for while he is living my life and searches are in continual peril.”
“If being virtuous is foolishness, then I hope the gods let me be a fool for life. I want, my lord, to put aside Glaucus, because while he’s alive, my life and searches are always in danger.”
“Hire men to beat him to death with clubs; I will pay them.”
“Get some guys to beat him to death with clubs; I’ll pay them.”
“They will rob thee, lord, and afterward make profit of the secret. There are as many ruffians in Rome as grains of sand in the arena, but thou wilt not believe how dear they are when an honest man needs to employ their villainy. No, worthy tribune! But if watchmen catch the murderers in the act? They would tell, beyond doubt, who hired them, and then thou wouldst have trouble. They will not point to me, for I shall not give my name. Thou art doing ill not to trust in me, for, setting aside my keenness, remember that there is a question of two other things,—of my life, and the reward which thou has promised me.”
“They will rob you, my lord, and then profit from the secret. There are as many criminals in Rome as there are grains of sand in the arena, but you won’t believe how expensive they are when an honest man needs to use their wrongdoing. No, noble tribune! But if the guards catch the murderers in the act? They would definitely tell who hired them, and then you’d have a problem. They won’t name me, because I won’t reveal my identity. You’re making a mistake by not trusting me, because aside from my sharpness, remember that it’s also about two other things—my life, and the reward you promised me.”
“How much dost thou need?”
“How much do you need?”
“A thousand sestertia, for turn attention to this, that I must find honest ruffians, men who when they have received earnest money, will not take it off without a trace. For good work there must be good pay! Something might be added, too, for my sake, to wipe away the tears which I shall shed out of pity for Glaucus. I take the gods to witness how I love him. If I receive a thousand sestertia to-day, two days hence his soul will be in Hades; and then, if souls preserve memory and the gift of thought, he will know for the first time how I loved him. I will find people this very day, and tell them that for each day of the life of Glaucus I will withhold one hundred sestertia. I have, besides, a certain idea, which seems to me infallible.”
“A thousand sestertia; pay attention to this: I need to find trustworthy criminals, guys who will take the advance payment and won’t leave a trace behind. Good work needs good pay! Also, a little extra for my sake would help to dry the tears I’ll shed out of pity for Glaucus. I swear to the gods how much I love him. If I get a thousand sestertia today, in two days, his soul will be in Hades; and then, if souls have memory and the ability to think, he’ll finally realize how much I loved him. I’ll find people today and tell them that for every day of Glaucus's life, I’ll withhold one hundred sestertia. I also have a plan that seems foolproof to me.”
Vinicius promised him once more the desired sum, forbidding him to mention Glaucus again; but asked what other news he brought, where he had been all the time, what he had seen, and what he had discovered. But Chilo was not able to tell much. He had been in two more houses of prayer,—had observed each person carefully, especially the women,—but had seen no one who resembled Lygia: the Christians, however, looked on him as one of their own sect, and, since he redeemed the son of Euricius, they honored him as a man following in the steps of “Christ.” He had learned from them, also, that a great lawgiver of theirs, a certain Paul of Tarsus, was in Rome, imprisoned because of charges preferred by the Jews, and with this man he had resolved to become acquainted. But most of all was he pleased by this,—that the supreme priest of the whole sect, who had been Christ’s disciple, and to whom Christ had confided government over the whole world of Christians, might arrive in Rome any moment. All the Christians desired evidently to see him, and hear his teachings. Some great meetings would follow, at which he, Chilo, would be present; and what is more, since it is easy to hide in the crowd, he would take Vinicius to those meetings. Then they would find Lygia certainly. If Glaucus were once set aside, it would not be connected even with great danger. As to revenge, the Christians, too, would revenge but in general they were peaceful people.
Vinicius promised him once again the amount he wanted, insisting that he not mention Glaucus anymore. He then asked what other news Chilo had, where he had been all this time, what he had seen, and what he had discovered. But Chilo couldn't share much. He had visited two more places of worship, carefully observing everyone, especially the women, but hadn’t seen anyone resembling Lygia. However, the Christians viewed him as one of their own, and since he had redeemed the son of Euricius, they respected him as a follower of “Christ.” He also learned from them that a significant lawgiver named Paul of Tarsus was in Rome, imprisoned due to accusations from the Jews, and he intended to meet this man. What pleased him most was the possibility that the chief priest of the entire sect, who had been a disciple of Christ and was entrusted with governing all Christians, could arrive in Rome at any moment. All the Christians clearly wanted to see him and hear his teachings. There would be some major gatherings, at which he, Chilo, would be in attendance; and more importantly, since it was easy to blend in with the crowd, he could take Vinicius to those gatherings. Then they would surely find Lygia. If they could just put Glaucus aside, it wouldn’t even be that dangerous. As for revenge, the Christians might seek it, but generally, they were peaceful people.
Here Chilo began to relate, with a certain surprise, that he had never seen that they gave themselves up to debauchery, that they poisoned wells or fountains, that they were enemies of the human race, worshipped an ass, or ate the flesh of children. No; he had seen nothing of that sort. Certainly he would find among them even people who would hide away Glaucus for money; but their religion, as far as he knew, did not incite to crime,—on the contrary, it enjoined forgiveness of offences.
Here, Chilo started to express, with some surprise, that he had never seen them engage in debauchery, poison wells or fountains, be enemies of humanity, worship a donkey, or eat the flesh of children. No, he hadn’t seen anything like that. Sure, he might find a few among them who would hide Glaucus for money; but their religion, as far as he knew, didn’t promote crime—on the contrary, it encouraged forgiveness of offenses.
Vinicius remembered what Pomponia had said to him at Acte’s, and in general he listened to Chilo’s words with pleasure. Though his feeling for Lygia assumed at times the seeming of hatred, he felt a relief when he heard that the religion which she and Pomponia confessed was neither criminal nor repulsive. But a species of undefined feeling rose in him that it was just that reverence for Christ, unknown and mysterious, which created the difference between himself and Lygia; hence he began at once to fear that religion and to hate it.
Vinicius remembered what Pomponia had told him at Acte’s, and overall, he enjoyed listening to Chilo’s words. Even though his feelings for Lygia sometimes seemed like hatred, he felt relieved when he heard that the religion she and Pomponia practiced was neither criminal nor disgusting. However, a vague feeling arose in him that it was that same reverence for Christ, unknown and mysterious, that created the divide between him and Lygia; consequently, he started to fear that religion and resent it.
Chapter XVII
FOR Chilo, it was really important to set aside Glaucus, who, though advanced in years, was by no means decrepit. There was considerable truth in what Chilo had narrated to Vinicius. He had known Glaucus on a time, he had betrayed him, sold him to robbers, deprived him of family, of property, and delivered him to murder. But he bore the memory of these events easily, for he had thrown the man aside dying, not at an inn, but in a field near Minturna. This one thing he had not foreseen, that Glaucus would be cured of his wounds and come to Rome. When he saw him, therefore, in the house of prayer, he was in truth terrified, and at the first moment wished to discontinue the search for Lygia. But on the other hand, Vinicius terrified him still more. He understood that he must choose between the fear of Glaucus, and the pursuit and vengeance of a powerful patrician, to whose aid would come, beyond doubt, another and still greater, Petronius. In view of this, Chilo ceased to hesitate. He thought it better to have small enemies than great ones, and, though his cowardly nature trembled somewhat at bloody methods, he saw the need of killing Glaucus through the aid of other hands.
FOR Chilo, it was really important to set aside Glaucus, who, although older, was far from weak. There was a lot of truth in what Chilo had told Vinicius. He had known Glaucus before; he had betrayed him, sold him to robbers, stripped him of his family and possessions, and left him for dead. But he took these memories lightly, since he had abandoned the man dying, not in an inn, but in a field near Minturna. What he hadn't predicted was that Glaucus would recover from his wounds and come to Rome. So, when he saw him in the house of worship, he was truly scared and, for a moment, considered giving up the search for Lygia. However, Vinicius scared him even more. He realized he had to choose between the fear of Glaucus and the wrath of a powerful patrician, who would undoubtedly have the backing of an even greater ally, Petronius. Given this, Chilo stopped hesitating. He decided it was better to face small enemies than big ones, and even though his cowardly nature shuddered at violent methods, he recognized that he needed to have Glaucus killed with the help of others.
At present the only question with him was the choice of people, and to this he was turning that thought of which he had made mention to Vinicius. Spending his nights in wine-shops most frequently, and lodging in them, among men without a roof, without faith or honor, he could find persons easily to undertake any task, and still more easily others who, if they sniffed coin on his person, would begin, but when they had received earnest money, would extort the whole sum by threatening to deliver him to justice. Besides, for a certain time past Chilo had felt a repulsion for nakedness, for those disgusting and terrible figures lurking about suspected houses in the Subura or in the Trans-Tiber. Measuring everything with his own measure, and not having fathomed sufficiently the Christians or their religion, he judged that among them, too, he could find willing tools. Since they seemed more reliable than others, he resolved to turn to them and present the affair in such fashion that they would undertake it, not for money’s sake merely, but through devotion.
Right now, the only thing on his mind was who to choose for the task, and he was mulling over that idea he had mentioned to Vinicius. He often spent his nights in taverns and stayed among people who had no home, no faith, or honor. It was easy to find individuals willing to take on any job, even easier to find others who, once they caught a whiff of cash on him, would start the work but then, after getting paid upfront, would threaten to turn him in to the authorities to extort even more money. Lately, Chilo had also developed a distaste for the exposed figures lurking around questionable places in Subura or across the Tiber. Measuring everything by his own standards and not really understanding the Christians or their beliefs, he thought that he could find willing helpers among them too. Since they seemed more reliable than the rest, he decided to approach them and present the situation in a way that would inspire them to take it on, not just for money, but out of devotion.
In view of this, he went in the evening to Euricius, whom he knew as devoted with whole soul to his person, and who, he was sure, would do all in his power to assist him. Naturally cautious, Chilo did not even dream of revealing his real intentions, which would be in clear opposition, moreover, to the faith which the old man had in his piety and virtue. He wished to find people who were ready for anything, and to talk with them of the affair only in such a way that, out of regard to themselves, they would guard it as an eternal secret.
Given this, he went to see Euricius in the evening. He knew that Euricius was completely devoted to him and would do everything possible to help. Naturally cautious, Chilo didn't even think about revealing his true intentions, which would directly conflict with the old man's faith in his piety and virtue. He wanted to find people who were up for anything and discuss the matter in such a way that, out of self-interest, they would keep it a secret forever.
The old man Euricius, after the redemption of his son, hired one of those little shops so numerous near the Circus Maximus, in which were sold olives, beans, unleavened paste, and water sweetened with honey, to spectators coming to the Circus. Chilo found him at home arranging his shop; and when he had greeted him in Christ’s name, he began to speak of the affair which had brought him. Since he had rendered them a service, he considered that they would pay him with gratitude. He needed two or three strong and courageous men, to ward off danger threatening not only him, but all Christians. He was poor, it was true, since he had given to Euricius almost all that he owned; still he would pay such men for their services if they would trust him and perform faithfully what he commanded.
The old man Euricius, after getting his son back, rented one of those small shops that are so common near the Circus Maximus, where they sold olives, beans, unleavened dough, and sweetened water, catering to the spectators coming to the Circus. Chilo found him at home setting up his shop, and after greeting him in Christ’s name, he started talking about the matter that brought him there. Since he had done them a favor, he believed they would repay him with gratitude. He needed two or three strong and brave men to protect against the danger that threatened not just him, but all Christians. It was true that he was poor, as he had given Euricius nearly all that he owned; still, he would pay those men for their services if they would trust him and carry out what he asked.
Euricius and his son Quartus listened to him as their benefactor almost on their knees. Both declared that they were ready themselves to do all that he asked of them, believing that a man so holy could not ask for deeds inconsistent with the teaching of Christ.
Euricius and his son Quartus listened to him as their benefactor almost on their knees. Both said they were ready to do whatever he asked, believing that a man so holy couldn't request anything against the teachings of Christ.
Chilo assured them that that was true, and, raising his eyes to heaven, he seemed to be praying; in fact, he was thinking whether it would not be well to accept their proposal, which might save him a thousand sestertia. But after a moment of thought he rejected it. Euricius was an old man, perhaps not so much weighted by years as weakened by care and disease. Quartus was sixteen years of age. Chilo needed dexterous, and, above all, stalwart men. As to the thousand sestertia, he considered that—thanks to the plan which he had invented—he would be able in every case to spare a large part of it.
Chilo confirmed that it was true, and, looking up to the heavens, he appeared to be praying; in reality, he was contemplating whether it would be wise to accept their offer, which could save him a thousand sestertii. However, after a moment of reflection, he decided against it. Euricius was an old man, perhaps not so much weighed down by age as by worry and illness. Quartus was sixteen years old. Chilo needed skilled and, above all, strong men. As for the thousand sestertii, he figured that—thanks to the plan he had devised—he would still be able to save a significant portion of it.
They insisted for some time, but when he refused decisively they yielded.
They argued for a while, but when he firmly refused, they gave in.
“I know the baker Demas,” said Quartus, “in whose mills slaves and hired men are employed. One of those hired men is so strong that he would take the place, not of two, but of four. I myself have seen him lift stones from the ground which four men could not stir.”
“I know the baker Demas,” Quartus said, “who has slaves and hired workers at his mills. One of those hired workers is so strong that he could do the work of not two, but four. I’ve actually seen him lift stones from the ground that four men couldn’t even move.”
“If that is a God-fearing man, who can sacrifice himself for the brotherhood, make me acquainted with him,” said Chilo.
“If that’s a God-fearing man who can sacrifice himself for his brothers, let me know who he is,” said Chilo.
“He is a Christian, lord,” answered Quartus; “nearly all who work for Demas are Christians. He has night as well as day laborers; this man is of the night laborers. Were we to go now to the mill, we should find them at supper, and thou mightest speak to him freely. Demas lives near the Emporium.”
“He’s a Christian, my lord,” Quartus replied. “Almost everyone who works for Demas is a Christian. He has both night and day workers; this guy is one of the night crew. If we went to the mill now, we’d find them having dinner, and you could talk to him without any problem. Demas lives close to the Emporium.”
Chilo consented most willingly. The Emporium was at the foot of the Aventine, hence not very far from the Circus Maximus. It was possible, without going around the hill, to pass along the river through the Porticus Æmilia, which would shorten the road considerably.
Chilo agreed without hesitation. The Emporium was at the base of the Aventine, so it wasn't too far from the Circus Maximus. It was possible, without going around the hill, to go along the river through the Porticus Æmilia, which would significantly shorten the distance.
“I am old,” said Chilo, when they went under the Colonnade; “at times I suffer effacement of memory. Yes, though our Christ was betrayed by one of his disciples, the name of the traitor I cannot recall at this moment—”
“I’m old,” Chilo said as they walked under the Colonnade; “sometimes I experience memory loss. Yes, even though our Christ was betrayed by one of his disciples, I can’t remember the name of the traitor right now—”
“Judas, lord, who hanged himself,” answered Quartus, wondering a little in his soul how it was possible to forget that name.
“Judas, man, who hung himself,” replied Quartus, a bit surprised in his mind that it was possible to forget that name.
“Oh, yes—Judas! I thank thee,” said Chilo.
“Oh, yes—Judas! Thank you,” said Chilo.
And they went on some time in silence. When they came to the Emporium, which was closed, they passed it, and going around the storehouse, from which grain was distributed to the populace, they turned toward the left, to houses which stretched along the Via Ostiensis, up to the Mons Testaceus and the Forum Pistorium. There they halted before a wooden building, from the interior of which came the noise of millstones. Quartus went in; but Chilo, who did not like to show himself to large numbers of people, and was in continual dread that some fate might bring him to meet Glaucus, remained outside.
And they walked in silence for a while. When they reached the Emporium, which was closed, they passed it and went around the storehouse where grain was distributed to the people. They turned left toward houses that lined the Via Ostiensis, stretching up to Mons Testaceus and the Forum Pistorium. There, they stopped in front of a wooden building, from which the sound of millstones could be heard. Quartus went inside, but Chilo, who didn’t want to be seen by large crowds and was always worried that fate might make him run into Glaucus, stayed outside.
“I am curious about that Hercules who serves in a mill,” said he to himself, looking at the brightly shining moon. “If he is a scoundrel and a wise man, he will cost me something; if a virtuous Christian and dull, he will do what I want without money.”
“I’m curious about that Hercules who works in a mill,” he said to himself, gazing at the bright shining moon. “If he’s a jerk and clever, it’ll cost me something; if he’s a good Christian and slow-witted, he’ll do what I want without any payment.”
Further meditation was interrupted by the return of Quartus, who issued from the building with a second man, wearing only a tunic called “exomis,” cut in such fashion that the right arm and right breast were exposed. Such garments, since they left perfect freedom of movement, were used especially by laborers. Chilo, when he saw the man coming, drew a breath of satisfaction, for he had not seen in his life such an arm and such a breast.
Further meditation was interrupted by the return of Quartus, who came out of the building with another man, wearing just a tunic called “exomis,” styled so that his right arm and right chest were exposed. Such clothing, which allowed for complete freedom of movement, was particularly worn by laborers. When Chilo saw the man approaching, he took a breath of satisfaction, as he had never seen an arm and chest like that in his life.
“Here, lord,” said Quartus, “is the brother whom it was thy wish to see.”
“Here, my lord,” said Quartus, “is the brother you wanted to see.”
“May the peace of Christ be with thee!” answered Chilo. “Do thou, Quartus, tell this brother whether I deserve faith and trust, and then return in the name of God; for there is no need that thy gray-haired father should be left in loneliness.”
“May the peace of Christ be with you!” replied Chilo. “You, Quartus, ask this brother if I deserve faith and trust, and then come back in the name of God; for there’s no need for your gray-haired father to be left alone.”
“This is a holy man,” said Quartus, “who gave all his property to redeem me from slavery,—me, a man unknown to him. May our Lord the Saviour prepare him a heavenly reward therefor!”
“This is a holy man,” said Quartus, “who gave away all his belongings to free me from slavery—me, a man he didn't even know. May our Lord the Savior grant him a heavenly reward for that!”
The gigantic laborer, hearing this, bent down and kissed Chilo’s hand.
The huge worker, hearing this, leaned down and kissed Chilo’s hand.
“What is thy name, brother?” inquired the Greek.
“What’s your name, brother?” asked the Greek.
“At holy baptism, father, the name Urban was given me.”
"At my baptism, Dad, the name Urban was given to me."
“Urban, my brother, hast thou time to talk with me freely?”
“Urban, my brother, do you have time to talk with me openly?”
“Our work begins at midnight, and only now are they preparing our supper.”
“Our work starts at midnight, and only now are they getting our dinner ready.”
“Then there is time sufficient. Let us go to the river; there thou wilt hear my words.”
"Then we have enough time. Let's go to the river; there you will hear what I have to say."
They went, and sat on the embankment, in a silence broken only by the distant sound of the millstones and the plash of the onflowing river. Chilo looked into the face of the laborer, which, notwithstanding a somewhat severe and sad expression, such as was usual on faces of barbarians living in Rome, seemed to him kind and honest.
They went and sat on the bank, in a silence broken only by the distant sound of the millstones and the splash of the flowing river. Chilo looked at the laborer’s face, which, despite having a somewhat harsh and sad expression typical of barbarians living in Rome, seemed kind and genuine to him.
“This is a good-natured, dull man who will kill Glaucus for nothing,” thought Chilo.
“This is a well-meaning, boring guy who will kill Glaucus for no reason,” thought Chilo.
“Urban,” inquired he then, “dost thou love Christ?”
“Urban,” he asked then, “do you love Christ?”
“I love him from the soul of my heart,” said the laborer.
“I love him with all my heart,” said the laborer.
“And thy brethren and sisters, and those who taught thee truth and faith in Christ?”
“And your brothers and sisters, and those who taught you truth and faith in Christ?”
“I love them, too, father.”
“I love them too, Dad.”
“Then may peace be with thee!”
“Then may peace be with you!”
“And with thee, father!”
“And with you, dad!”
Again silence set in, but in the distance the millstones were roaring, and the river was plashing below the two men.
Again, silence settled in, but in the distance, the millstones were rumbling, and the river was gently splashing below the two men.
Chilo looked with fixed gaze into the clear moonlight, and with a slow, restrained voice began to speak of Christ’s death. He seemed not as speaking to Urban, but as if recalling to himself that death, or some secret which he was confiding to the drowsy city. There was in this, too, something touching as well as impressive. The laborer wept; and when Chilo began to groan and complain that in the moment of the Saviour’s passion there was no one to defend him, if not from crucifixion, at least from the insults of Jews and soldiers, the gigantic fists of the barbarian began to squeeze from pity and suppressed rage. The death only moved him; but at thought of that rabble reviling the Lamb nailed to the cross, the simple soul in him was indignant, and a wild desire of vengeance seized the man.
Chilo stared intently into the bright moonlight and, with a slow and controlled voice, began to talk about Christ’s death. It felt like he wasn’t just speaking to Urban, but was instead recalling that death, or sharing some secret with the sleepy city. There was something both touching and impressive about this moment. The laborer was in tears; and when Chilo started to groan and lament that during the Savior’s suffering there was no one to protect him, even if not from crucifixion, then at least from the insults of the Jews and soldiers, the huge fists of the barbarian tightened with both pity and suppressed anger. The death itself moved him; but thinking about that crowd mocking the Lamb nailed to the cross ignited a sense of indignation in his simple soul, and an intense desire for vengeance overtook him.
“Urban, dost thou know who Judas was?” asked Chilo, suddenly.
“Urban, do you know who Judas was?” asked Chilo, suddenly.
“I know, I know!—but he hanged himself!” exclaimed the laborer.
“I know, I know!—but he killed himself!” exclaimed the laborer.
And in his voice there was a kind of sorrow that the traitor had meted out punishment to himself, and that Judas could not fall into his hands.
And in his voice, there was a kind of sadness that the traitor had brought punishment upon himself, and that Judas was beyond his reach.
“But if he had not hanged himself,” continued Chilo, “and if some Christian were to meet him on land or on sea, would it not be the duty of that Christian to take revenge for the torment, the blood, and the death of the Saviour?”
“But if he hadn't hanged himself,” Chilo continued, “and if a Christian were to encounter him on land or at sea, wouldn’t it be that Christian’s duty to seek revenge for the suffering, the blood, and the death of the Savior?”
“Who is there who would not take revenge, father?”
“Who wouldn't want to get revenge, dad?”
“Peace be with thee, faithful servant of the Lamb! True, it is permitted to forgive wrongs done ourselves; but who has the right to forgive a wrong done to God? But as a serpent engenders a serpent, as malice breeds malice, and treason breeds treason, so from the poison of Judas another traitor has come; and as that one delivered to Jews and Roman soldiers the Saviour, so this man who lives among us intends to give Christ’s sheep to the wolves; and if no one will anticipate the treason, if no one will crush the head of the serpent in time, destruction is waiting for us all, and with us will perish the honor of the Lamb.”
“Peace be with you, faithful servant of the Lamb! Sure, it’s okay to forgive wrongs done to us; but who has the right to forgive a wrong done to God? Just like a serpent gives rise to another serpent, malice breeds malice, and betrayal leads to more betrayal, from the poison of Judas another traitor has emerged; and just as he handed the Savior over to the Jews and Roman soldiers, this man who lives among us plans to hand Christ’s flock over to the wolves; and if no one steps in to stop the betrayal, if no one crushes the head of the serpent in time, destruction is waiting for us all, and with us, the honor of the Lamb will perish.”
The laborer looked at Chilo with immense alarm, as if not understanding what he had heard. But the Greek, covering his head with a corner of his mantle, began to repeat, with a voice coming as if from beneath the earth,—“Woe to you, servants of the true God! woe to you, Christian men and Christian women!”
The laborer stared at Chilo with huge shock, as if he couldn’t comprehend what he had just heard. But the Greek, pulling a corner of his cloak over his head, started to repeat in a voice that seemed to come from deep underground, “Woe to you, servants of the true God! Woe to you, Christian men and women!”
And again came silence, again were heard only the roar of the millstones, the deep song of the millers, and the sound of the river.
And once again there was silence, only the roar of the millstones, the deep song of the millers, and the sound of the river could be heard.
“Father,” asked the laborer at last, “what kind of traitor is that?”
“Dad,” the worker finally asked, “what kind of traitor is that?”
Chilo dropped his head. “What kind of traitor? A son of Judas, a son of his poison, a man who pretends to be a Christian, and goes to houses of prayer only to complain of the brotherhood to Cæsar,—declaring that they will not recognize Cæsar as a god; that they poison fountains, murder children, and wish to destroy the city, so that one stone may not remain on another. Behold! in a few days a command will be given to the pretorians to cast old men, women, and children into prison, and lead them to death, just as they led to death the slaves of Pedanius Secundus. All this has been done by that second Judas. But if no one punished the first Judas, if no one took vengeance on him, if no one defended Christ in the hour of torment, who will punish this one, who will destroy the serpent before Cæsar hears him, who will destroy him, who will defend from destruction our brothers in the faith of Christ?”
Chilo lowered his head. “What kind of traitor? A son of Judas, a son of his poison, a man who pretends to be a Christian and goes to places of worship just to complain about the brotherhood to Caesar,—claiming that they won't acknowledge Caesar as a god; that they poison wells, kill children, and want to wipe out the city, so that not one stone is left standing on another. Look! In a few days, an order will be given to the soldiers to throw old men, women, and children into prison and lead them to their deaths, just like they did with the slaves of Pedanius Secundus. All of this has been caused by that second Judas. But if no one punished the first Judas, if no one sought revenge on him, if no one stood up for Christ during his torment, who will punish this one, who will stop the serpent before Caesar hears him, who will take him down, who will protect our brothers in the faith of Christ from destruction?”
Urban, who had been sitting thus far on a stone, stood up on a sudden, and said,—“I will, father.”
Urban, who had been sitting on a stone until now, suddenly stood up and said, “I will, father.”
Chilo rose also; he looked for a while on the face of the laborer, lighted up by the shining of the moon, then, stretching his arm, he put his hand slowly on his head.
Chilo got up too; he looked for a moment at the worker's face, illuminated by the bright moon, then, reaching out, he gently placed his hand on his head.
“Go among Christians,” said he, with solemnity; “go to the houses of prayer, and ask the brethren about Glaucus; and when they show him to thee, slay him at once in Christ’s name!”
“Go among Christians,” he said seriously, “go to the places of worship and ask the brethren about Glaucus; and when they show him to you, kill him immediately in Christ’s name!”
“About Glaucus?” repeated the laborer, as if wishing to fix that name in his memory.
“About Glaucus?” repeated the worker, as if trying to remember that name.
“Dost thou know him?”
"Do you know him?"
“No, I do not. There are thousands of Christians in Rome, and they are not all known to one another. But to-morrow, in Ostrianum, brethren and sisters will assemble in the night to the last soul, because a great apostle of Christ has come, who will teach them, and the brethren will point out to me Glaucus.”
“No, I don’t. There are thousands of Christians in Rome, and they don’t all know each other. But tomorrow night in Ostrianum, brothers and sisters will gather until the last person arrives, because a great apostle of Christ is here to teach them, and the brothers will introduce me to Glaucus.”
“In Ostrianum?” inquired Chilo. “But that is outside the city gates! The brethren and all the sisters,—at night? Outside the city gates, in Ostrianum?”
“In Ostrianum?” Chilo asked. “But that's outside the city gates! The brothers and all the sisters—at night? Outside the city gates, in Ostrianum?”
“Yes, father; that is our cemetery, between the Viæ Salaria and Nomentana. Is it not known to thee that the Great Apostle will teach there?”
“Yes, father; that is our cemetery, between the Via Salaria and Nomentana. Don’t you know that the Great Apostle will be teaching there?”
“I have been two days from home, hence I did not receive his epistle; and I do not know where Ostrianum is, for I came here not long since from Corinth, where I govern a Christian community. But it is as thou sayest,—there thou wilt find Glaucus among the brethren, and thou wilt slay him on the way home to the city. For this all thy sins will be forgiven. And now peace be with thee—”
“I’ve been away from home for two days, so I didn’t get his letter; and I have no idea where Ostrianum is, since I just got here from Corinth, where I lead a Christian community. But you’re right—there you’ll find Glaucus among the brethren, and you’ll kill him on your way back to the city. For this, all your sins will be forgiven. Now, may peace be with you—”
“Father—”
“Dad—”
“I listen to thee, servant of the Lamb.”
"I listen to you, servant of the Lamb."
On the laborer’s face perplexity was evident. Not long before he had killed a man, and perhaps two, but the teaching of Christ forbids killing. He had not killed them in his own defence, for even that is not permitted. He had not killed them, Christ preserve! for profit. The bishop himself had given him brethren to assist, but had not permitted him to kill; he had killed inadvertently, for God had punished him with too much strength. And now he was doing grievous penance. Others sing when the millstones are grinding; but he, hapless man, is thinking of his sin, of his offence against the Lamb. How much has he prayed already and wept? How much has he implored the Lamb? And he feels that he has not done penance enough yet! But now he has promised again to kill a traitor,—and done well! He is permitted to pardon only offences against himself; hence he will kill Glaucus, even before the eyes of all the brethren and sisters, in Ostrianum to-morrow. But let Glaucus be condemned previously by the elders among the brethren, by the bishop, or by the Apostle. To kill is not a great thing; to kill a traitor is even as pleasant as to kill a bear or a wolf. But suppose Glaucus to perish innocently? How take on his conscience a new murder, a new sin, a new offence against the Lamb?
The laborer's face showed clear confusion. Not long ago, he had killed a man, maybe two, but Christ's teachings forbid killing. He didn’t kill them in self-defense, which isn't allowed either. He definitely didn’t kill them for personal gain. The bishop had given him companions to help, but hadn’t allowed him to kill; he had killed unintentionally because God had given him too much strength. And now he was doing severe penance. Others sing while the millstones grind, but he, poor man, is consumed by thoughts of his sin, of his wrongdoing against the Lamb. How much has he prayed and cried? How much has he begged the Lamb? And he feels he hasn’t done enough penance yet! But now he has promised again to kill a traitor—and he’s justified in that! He can only pardon offenses against himself, so he will kill Glaucus, right in front of all the brethren and sisters, in Ostrianum tomorrow. But Glaucus needs to be condemned first by the elders among the brethren, the bishop, or the Apostle. Killing isn’t a big deal; killing a traitor is just as satisfying as killing a bear or a wolf. But what if Glaucus dies innocently? How can he bear the guilt of a new murder, a new sin, a new offense against the Lamb?
“There is no time for a trial, my son,” said Chilo. “The traitor will hurry from Ostrianum straightway to Cæsar in Antium, or hide in the house of a certain patrician whom he is serving. I will give thee a sign; if thou show it after the death of Glaucus, the bishop and the Great Apostle will bless thy deed.”
“There’s no time for a trial, my son,” Chilo said. “The traitor will rush from Ostrianum straight to Caesar in Antium, or he’ll hide in the house of a certain patrician he’s serving. I’ll give you a sign; if you show it after Glaucus's death, the bishop and the Great Apostle will bless your deed.”
Saying this, he took out a small coin, and began to search for a knife at his belt; having found it, he scratched with the point on the sestertium the sign of the cross; this coin he gave to the laborer.
Saying this, he took out a small coin and started looking for a knife on his belt; once he found it, he scratched the sign of the cross on the coin with the point. He then handed the coin to the laborer.
“Here is the sentence of Glaucus, and a sign for thee. If thou show this to the bishop after the death of Glaucus, he will forgive thee the killing which thou hast done without wishing it.”
“Here is Glaucus's sentence, and a sign for you. If you show this to the bishop after Glaucus's death, he will forgive you for the killing you did without intending to.”
The laborer stretched out his hand involuntarily for the coin; but having the first murder too freshly in his memory just then, he experienced a feeling of terror.
The laborer reached out his hand for the coin without thinking; but with the memory of the first murder still fresh in his mind, he felt a wave of fear.
“Father,” said he with a voice almost of entreaty, “dost thou take this deed on thy conscience, and hast thou thyself heard Glaucus betraying his brethren?”
“Father,” he said, his voice almost pleading, “do you take this act on your conscience, and have you heard Glaucus betraying his peers yourself?”
Chilo understood that he must give proofs, mention names, otherwise doubt might creep into the heart of the giant. All at once a happy thought flashed through his head.
Chilo realized he needed to provide evidence and mention names, or else uncertainty could settle in the heart of the giant. Suddenly, a great idea struck him.
“Listen, Urban,” said he, “I dwell in Corinth, but I came from Kos; and here in Rome I instruct in the religion of Christ a certain serving maiden named Eunice. She serves as vestiplica in the house of a friend of Cæsar, a certain Petronius. In that house I have heard how Glaucus has undertaken to betray all the Christians; and, besides, he has promised another informer of Cæsar’s, Vinicius, to find a certain maiden for him among the Christians.”
“Listen, Urban,” he said, “I live in Corinth, but I’m originally from Kos; and here in Rome, I’m teaching a servant girl named Eunice about the Christian faith. She works as a wardrobe assistant in the home of a friend of Caesar’s, a guy named Petronius. In that house, I’ve heard that Glaucus is planning to betray all the Christians; plus, he’s promised another informant for Caesar, Vinicius, to find a certain girl among the Christians.”
Here he stopped and looked with amazement at the laborer, whose eyes blazed suddenly like the eyes of a wild beast, and his face took on an expression of mad rage and threat.
Here he paused and stared in disbelief at the worker, whose eyes suddenly burned like those of a wild animal, and his face twisted into a look of crazed anger and menace.
“What is the matter with thee?” asked Chilo, almost in fear.
“What's wrong with you?” asked Chilo, almost in fear.
“Nothing, father; to-morrow I will kill Glaucus.”
“Nothing, Dad; tomorrow I will kill Glaucus.”
The Greek was silent. After a while he took the arm of the laborer, turned him so that the light of the moon struck his face squarely, and examined him with care. It was evident that he was wavering in spirit whether to inquire further and bring everything out with clearness, or for that time to stop with what he had learned or surmised.
The Greek was quiet. After some time, he grabbed the laborer's arm, turned him so the moonlight hit his face directly, and looked at him closely. It was clear that he was torn between wanting to ask more questions and clarify everything or deciding to leave it at what he had discovered or guessed.
At last, however, his innate caution prevailed. He breathed deeply once and a second time; then, placing his hand on the laborer’s head again, he asked, in an emphatic and solemn voice,—“But in holy baptism the name Urban was given thee?”
At last, though, his natural caution took over. He took a deep breath once and then again; then, placing his hand on the worker’s head again, he asked, in a serious and weighty tone, “But in holy baptism, you were given the name Urban?”
“It was, father.”
"It was, Dad."
“Then peace be with thee, Urban!”
“Then peace be with you, Urban!”
Chapter XVIII
PETRONIUS to VINICIUS:
“Thy case is a bad one, carissime. It is clear that Venus has disturbed thy mind, deprived thee of reason and memory, as well as the power to think of aught else except love. Read some time thy answer to my letter, and thou wilt see how indifferent thy mind is to all except Lygia; how exclusively it is occupied with her, how it returns to her always, and circles above her, as a falcon above chosen prey. By Pollux! find her quickly, or that of thee which fire has not turned into ashes will become an Egyptian sphinx, which, enamored, as ‘tis said, of pale Isis, grew deaf and indifferent to all things, waiting only for night, so as to gaze with stony eyes at the loved one.
"Your situation is serious, my dear. It's obvious that Venus has clouded your mind, taken away your reason and memory, and left you unable to think about anything but love. If you read your response to my letter for a moment, you'll see how indifferent you are to everything except Lygia; how completely your thoughts are focused on her, always returning to her, circling around her like a falcon over its chosen prey. By Pollux! Find her quickly, or what remains of you that the fire hasn't turned to ash will become like an Egyptian sphinx, which, it's said, fell in love with pale Isis, becoming deaf and indifferent to everything else, waiting only for night to gaze with unblinking eyes at the one it loves."
“Run disguised through the city in the evening, even honor Christian houses of prayer in thy philosopher’s company. Whatever excites hope and kills time is praiseworthy. But for my friendship’s sake do this one thing: Ursus, Lygia’s slave, is a man of uncommon strength very likely; hire Croton, and go out three together; that will be safer and wiser. The Christians, since Pomponia and Lygia belong to them, are surely not such scoundrels as most people imagine. But when a lamb of their flock is in question they are no triflers, as they have shown by carrying away Lygia. When thou seest Lygia thou wilt not restrain thyself, I am sure, and wilt try to bear her away on the spot. But how wilt thou and Chilonides do it? Croton would take care of himself, even though ten like Ursus defended the maiden. Be not plundered by Chilo, but be not sparing of money on Croton. Of all counsels which I can give this is the best one.
“Run through the city in disguise in the evening, even visiting the Christian places of worship with your philosopher friends. Anything that brings hope and passes the time is commendable. But for my friendship’s sake, do just this one thing: Ursus, Lygia's slave, is probably a very strong man; hire Croton, and go out together as a group of three; that will be safer and smarter. The Christians, since Pomponia and Lygia are connected to them, are certainly not the scoundrels that most people think. But when it comes to one of their own, they don’t joke around, as they’ve shown by taking Lygia away. When you see Lygia, I’m sure you won’t be able to hold back, and you’ll try to take her right then and there. But how will you and Chilonides manage that? Croton will look after himself, even if there were ten men like Ursus protecting her. Don’t let Chilo take advantage of you, but don’t hesitate to spend money on Croton. Of all the advice I can give you, this is the best.”
“Here they have ceased to speak of the infant Augusta, or to say that she perished through witchcraft. Poppæa mentions her at times yet; but Cæsar’s mind is stuffed with something else. Moreover, if it be true that the divine Augusta is in a changed state again, the memory of that child will be blown away without trace. We have been in Naples for some days, or rather in Baiæ. If thou art capable of any thought, echoes of our life must strike thy ear, for surely Rome talks of naught else. We went directly to Baiæ, where at first memories of the mother attacked us, and reproaches of conscience. But dost thou know to what Ahenobarbus has gone already? To this, that for him even the murder of his mother is a mere theme for verses, and a reason for buffoonish tragic scenes.
“Here they’ve stopped talking about the baby Augusta or claiming she died from witchcraft. Poppæa still brings her up sometimes, but Caesar is focused on something else. Besides, if it’s true that the divine Augusta has changed again, the memory of that child will fade away completely. We’ve been in Naples for a few days, or rather in Baiæ. If you’re capable of any thought, you must have heard echoes of our lives, because surely Rome is talking about nothing else. We went straight to Baiæ, where at first we were hit with memories of the mother and feelings of guilt. But do you know what Ahenobarbus is up to now? He’s treating the murder of his mother as just a topic for poetry and a reason for ridiculous tragic plays.”
“Formerly he felt real reproaches only in so far as he was a coward; now, when he is convinced that the earth is under his feet as before, and that no god is taking vengeance, he feigns them only to move people by his fate. He springs up at night sometimes declaring that the Furies are hunting him; he rouses us, looks around, assumes the posture of an actor playing the role of Orestes, and the posture of a bad actor too; he declaims Greek verses, and looks to see if we are admiring him. We admire him apparently; and instead of saying to him, Go to sleep, thou buffoon! we bring ourselves also to the tone of tragedy, and protect the great artist from the Furies. By Castor! this news at least must have reached thee, that he has appeared in public at Naples. They drove in from the city and the surrounding towns all the Greek ruffians, who filled the arena with such a vile odor of sweat and garlic that I thank the gods that, instead of sitting in the first rows with the Augustians, I was behind the scenes with Ahenobarbus. And wilt thou believe it, he was afraid really! He took my hand and put it to his heart, which was beating with increased pulsation; his breath was short; and at the moment when he had to appear he grew as pale as a parchment, and his forehead was covered with drops of sweat. Still he saw that in every row of seats were pretorians, armed with clubs, to rouse enthusiasm if the need came. But there was no need. No herd of monkeys from the environs of Carthage could howl as did this rabble. I tell thee that the smell of garlic came to the stage; but Nero bowed, pressed his hand to his heart, sent kisses from his lips, and shed tears. Then he rushed in among us, who were waiting behind the scenes, like a drunken man, crying, ‘What were the triumphs of Julius compared with this triumph of mine?’ But the rabble was howling yet and applauding, knowing that it would applaud to itself favors, gifts, banquets, lottery tickets, and a fresh exhibition by the Imperial buffoon. I do not wonder that they applauded, for such a sight had not been seen till that evening. And every moment he repeated: ‘See what the Greeks are! see what the Greeks are!’ From that evening it has seemed to me that his hatred for Rome is increasing. Meanwhile special couriers were hurried to Rome announcing the triumph, and we expect thanks from the Senate one of these days. Immediately after Nero’s first exhibition, a strange event happened here. The theatre fell in on a sudden, but just after the audience had gone. I was there, and did not see even one corpse taken from the ruins. Many, even among the Greeks, see in this event the anger of the gods, because the dignity of Cæsar was disgraced; he, on the contrary, finds in it favor of the gods, who have his song, and those who listen to it, under their evident protection. Hence there are offerings in all the temples, and great thanks. For Nero it is a great encouragement to make the journey to Achæa. A few days since he told me, however, that he had doubts as to what the Roman people might say; that they might revolt out of love for him, and fear touching the distribution of grain and touching the games, which might fail them in case of his prolonged absence.
“Previously, he only felt real guilt as much as he was a coward; now, convinced that the ground is as solid beneath him as ever and that no god is seeking revenge, he pretends to feel guilt just to elicit sympathy for his situation. He occasionally jumps up at night, claiming the Furies are after him; he wakes us up, looks around, strikes the pose of an actor playing Orestes, and poorly at that; he recites Greek verses and checks to see if we are impressed. We seem to admire him; instead of telling him, 'Go to sleep, you clown!' we also adopt a tragic tone and protect the great artist from the Furies. By Castor! You must have heard that he's appeared publicly in Naples. They brought in from the city and nearby towns all the Greek lowlifes, who filled the arena with such a terrible smell of sweat and garlic that I thank the gods I was backstage with Ahenobarbus instead of sitting in the front rows with the VIPs. And would you believe it, he was genuinely scared! He took my hand and pressed it to his heart, which was racing; his breathing was shallow; and when it was time for him to go out, he turned as pale as a sheet, his forehead slick with sweat. Yet he noticed that every row of seats was filled with pretorians, armed with clubs, ready to stir up excitement if necessary. But there was no need. No pack of monkeys from the outskirts of Carthage could scream like that crowd. I tell you, the smell of garlic wafted to the stage, but Nero bowed, pressed his hand to his heart, blew kisses, and shed tears. Then he stumbled in among us waiting backstage, like a drunk, shouting, ‘What were Julius's triumphs compared to my triumph?’ But the crowd continued to howl and cheer, knowing they were cheering for favors, gifts, banquets, lottery tickets, and another show from the Imperial jester. I can't blame them for applauding; such a spectacle hadn’t been seen until that evening. And every moment, he repeated: ‘Look at the Greeks! Look at the Greeks!’ Since that evening, I've felt his resentment toward Rome growing. Meanwhile, special messengers were rushed to Rome to announce the triumph, and we expect thanks from the Senate any day now. Right after Nero's first performance, a strange thing happened: the theater suddenly collapsed, but just after the audience had left. I was there and didn’t see even one body pulled from the ruins. Many, even among the Greeks, see this as the gods' anger because Caesar's dignity was disrespected; he, on the other hand, interprets it as divine favor, with his song and those who listen to it under their clear protection. Thus, there are offerings in all the temples and abundant thanks. For Nero, it’s a huge encouragement to visit Achaea. Just a few days ago, he mentioned he was worried about what the Roman people might think; they might revolt out of love for him and fear over the grain supply and the games, which might be at risk if he were gone too long.”
“We are going, however, to Beneventum to look at the cobbler magnificence which Vatinius will exhibit, and thence to Greece, under the protection of the divine brothers of Helen. As to me, I have noted one thing, that when a man is among the mad he grows mad himself, and, what is more, finds a certain charm in mad pranks. Greece and the journey in a thousand ships; a kind of triumphal advance of Bacchus among nymphs and bacchantes crowned with myrtle, vine, and honeysuckle; there will be women in tiger skins harnessed to chariots; flowers, thyrses, garlands, shouts of ‘Evoe!’ music, poetry, and applauding Hellas. All this is well; but we cherish besides more daring projects. We wish to create a species of Oriental Imperium,—an empire of palm-trees, sunshine, poetry, and reality turned into a dream, reality turned into the delight of life only. We want to forget Rome; to fix the balancing point of the world somewhere between Greece, Asia, and Egypt; to live the life not of men but of gods; not to know what commonness is; to wander in golden galleys under the shadow of purple sails along the Archipelago; to be Apollo, Osiris, and Baal in one person; to be rosy with the dawn, golden with the sun, silver with the moon; to command, to sing, to dream. And wilt thou believe that I, who have still sound judgment to the value of a sestertium, and sense to the value of an as, let myself be borne away by these fantasies, and I do this for the reason that, if they are not possible, they are at least grandiose and uncommon? Such a fabulous empire would be a thing which, some time or other, after long ages, would seem a dream to mankind. Except when Venus takes the form of Lygia, or even of a slave Eunice, or when art beautifies it, life itself is empty, and many a time it has the face of a monkey. But Bronzebeard will not realize his plans, even for this cause, that in his fabulous kingdom of poetry and the Orient no place is given to treason, meanness, and death; and that in him with the poses of a poet sits a wretched comedian, a dull charioteer, and a frivolous tyrant. Meanwhile we are killing people whenever they displease us in any way. Poor Torquatus Silanus is now a shade; he opened his veins a few days since. Lecanius and Licinus will enter on the consulate with terror. Old Thrasea will not escape death, for he dares to be honest. Tigellinus is not able yet to frame a command for me to open my veins. I am still needed not only as elegantiæ arbiter, but as a man without whose counsel and taste the expedition to Achæa might fail. More than once, however, I think that sooner or later it must end in opening my veins; and knowest thou what the question will be then with me?—that Bronzebeard should not get my goblet, which thou knowest and admirest. Shouldst thou be near at the moment of my death, I will give it to thee; shouldst thou be at a distance, I will break it. But meanwhile I have before me yet Beneventum of the cobblers and Olympian Greece; I have Fate too, which, unknown and unforeseen, points out the road to every one.
“We're going to Beneventum to check out the cobbler's display that Vatinius will put on, and then we're heading to Greece, protected by the divine brothers of Helen. I’ve observed one thing: when a person hangs around craziness, they start to lose their sanity too and even find some allure in silly antics. Greece and the voyage on a thousand ships; it’s like a grand procession of Bacchus among nymphs and bacchantes adorned with myrtle, vine, and honeysuckle; there will be women in tiger skins pulling chariots; flowers, thyrses, garlands, shouts of ‘Evoe!’ music, poetry, and the applause of Greece. All of that sounds great, but we also have bolder plans. We want to establish a kind of Eastern Empire—a realm of palm trees, sunshine, poetry, turning reality into a dream, making life purely delightful. We want to forget Rome; to find the center of the world somewhere between Greece, Asia, and Egypt; to live not like mere mortals but like gods; to be unaware of ordinary life; to sail in golden ships under purple sails across the Archipelago; to be Apollo, Osiris, and Baal all in one; to be rosy at dawn, golden at noon, silver at night; to command, to sing, to dream. And can you believe that I, who still have a clear head about what a sestertium is worth and sense for an as, let myself be swept away by these fantasies, doing so because, even if they’re unattainable, at least they’re magnificent and unique? Such a marvelous empire would one day seem like a dream to humankind after many ages. Unless Venus appears as Lygia or even as the slave Eunice, or when art enhances it, life itself feels empty, often resembling a monkey's face. But Bronzebeard won’t bring his plans to fruition, for in his fantastic kingdom of poetry and the East, there's no room for betrayal, mediocrity, and death; and within his poetic facade lies a miserable comedian, a dull charioteer, and a trivial tyrant. Meanwhile, we’re eliminating anyone who annoys us in any way. Poor Torquatus Silanus is now just a shade; he opened his veins a few days ago. Lecanius and Licinus will assume their consulships with dread. Old Thrasea won’t escape death for daring to be honest. Tigellinus isn't able yet to come up with a command for me to open my veins. I'm still necessary as a judge of elegance, but also as a person whose insight and taste are crucial for the expedition to Achaea. Yet, I wonder if eventually, it’ll lead to me opening my veins; and do you know what my concern will be then? That Bronzebeard shouldn’t get my treasured goblet, the one you know and admire. If you’re near at the moment of my death, I’ll give it to you; if you’re far away, I’ll break it. But for now, I still have Beneventum of the cobblers and Olympian Greece ahead of me; I have Fate too, which, unknown and unforeseen, shows the way for everyone.”
“Be well, and engage Croton; otherwise they will snatch Lygia from thee a second time. When Chilonides ceases to be needful, send him to me wherever I may be. Perhaps I shall make him a second Vatinius, and consuls and senators may tremble before him yet, as they trembled before that knight Dratevka. It would be worth while to live to see such a spectacle. When thou hast found Lygia, let me know, so that I may offer for you both a pair of swans and a pair of doves in the round temple of Venus here. Once I saw Lygia in a dream, sitting on thy knee, seeking thy kisses. Try to make that dream prophetic. May there be no clouds on thy sky; or if there be, let them have the color and the odor of roses! Be in good health; and farewell!”
“Take care and deal with Croton; if you don’t, they’ll take Lygia from you again. When Chilonides is no longer needed, send him to me wherever I am. I might make him a second Vatinius, and even the consuls and senators might tremble before him just like they did before that knight Dratevka. It would be worth living to see such a sight. Once you find Lygia, let me know so I can offer both of you a pair of swans and a pair of doves at the round temple of Venus here. I once saw Lygia in a dream, sitting on your lap and wanting your kisses. Try to make that dream come true. May there be no clouds in your sky; and if there are, may they be as colorful and fragrant as roses! Stay healthy, and goodbye!”
Chapter XIX
BARELY had Vinicius finished reading when Chilo pushed quietly into his library, unannounced by any one, for the servants had the order to admit him at every hour of the day or night.
BARELY had Vinicius finished reading when Chilo slipped quietly into his library, making no noise as usual, since the servants were instructed to let him in at any hour, day or night.
“May the divine mother of thy magnanimous ancestor Æneas be full of favor to thee, as the son of Maia was kind to me.”
“May the divine mother of your noble ancestor Æneas be favorable to you, just as the son of Maia was kind to me.”
“What dost thou mean?” asked Vinicius, springing from the table at which he was sitting.
“What do you mean?” asked Vinicius, jumping up from the table where he was sitting.
Chilo raised his head and said, “Eureka!”
Chilo lifted his head and exclaimed, “Eureka!”
The young patrician was so excited that for a long time he could not utter a word.
The young noble was so excited that he couldn't speak for a long time.
“Hast thou seen her?” asked he, at last.
“Have you seen her?” he asked at last.
“I have seen Ursus, lord, and have spoken with him.”
"I've met Ursus, my lord, and I've talked with him."
“Dost thou know where they are secreted?”
“Do you know where they are hidden?”
“No, lord. Another, through boastfulness, would have let the Lygian know that he divined who he was; another would have tried to extort from him the knowledge of where he lived, and would have received either a stroke of the fist,—after which all earthly affairs would have become indifferent to him,—or he would have roused the suspicion of the giant and caused this,—that a new hiding-place would be found for the girl, this very night perhaps. I did not act thus. It suffices me to know that Ursus works near the Emporium, for a miller named Demas, the same name as that borne by thy freedman; now any trusted slave of thine may go in the morning on his track, and discover their hiding place. I bring thee merely the assurance that, since Ursus is here, the divine Lygia also is in Rome, and a second news that she will be in Ostrianum to-night, almost certainly—”
“No, my lord. Someone else, in their arrogance, would have revealed to the Lygian that they knew who he was; another might have tried to force him to tell where he lived, and would have either received a punch—which would have made him indifferent to all worldly matters—or stirred the giant's suspicion, leading to the girl being hidden again, perhaps even tonight. I did not act that way. It's enough for me to know that Ursus works near the Emporium at a mill run by a man named Demas, the same name as your freedman. Any trusted slave of yours can follow his trail in the morning and find their hiding place. I'm only here to assure you that, since Ursus is here, the divine Lygia is also in Rome, and I have another piece of news: she will most likely be at Ostrianum tonight.”
“In Ostrianum? Where is that?” interrupted Vinicius, wishing evidently to run to the place indicated.
“In Ostrianum? Where’s that?” interrupted Vinicius, clearly eager to head to the place mentioned.
“An old hypogeum between the Viæ Salaria and Nomentana. That pontifex maximus of the Christians, of whom I spoke to thee, and whom they expected somewhat later, has come, and to-night he will teach and baptize in that cemetery. They hide their religion, for, though there are no edicts to prohibit it as yet, the people hate them, so they must be careful. Ursus himself told me that all, to the last soul, would be in Ostrianum to-night, for every one wishes to see and hear him who was the foremost disciple of Christ, and whom they call Apostle. Since among them women hear instruction as well as men, Pomponia alone perhaps of women will not be there; she could not explain to Aulus, a worshipper of the ancient gods, her absence from home at night. But Lygia, lord, who is under the care of Ursus and the Christian elders, will go undoubtedly with other women.”
"An old underground chamber between the Via Salaria and Nomentana. That high priest of the Christians, whom I mentioned to you and whom they are expecting later, has arrived, and tonight he will teach and baptize in that cemetery. They keep their faith hidden because, although there aren’t any laws against it yet, the people despise them, so they have to be cautious. Ursus himself told me that everyone, without exception, will be at Ostrianum tonight because everyone wants to see and hear him who was the top disciple of Christ, and whom they call the Apostle. Since among them women receive instruction just like men, Pomponia might be the only woman not attending; she can’t explain to Aulus, a worshiper of the old gods, why she’s out at night. But Lygia, my lord, who is under the care of Ursus and the Christian leaders, will definitely go with other women."
Vinicius, who had lived hitherto in a fever, and upheld as it were, by hope alone, now that his hope seemed fulfilled felt all at once the weakness that a man feels after a journey which has proved beyond his strength. Chilo noticed this, and resolved to make use of it.
Vinicius, who had been living in a constant state of anxiety and sustained only by hope, now that his hope seemed to be realized, suddenly felt the exhaustion that comes after a journey that has pushed a person to their limits. Chilo noticed this and decided to take advantage of it.
“The gates are watched, it is true, by thy people, and the Christians must know that. But they do not need gates. The Tiber, too, does not need them; and though it is far from the river to those roads, it is worth while to walk one road more to see the ‘Great Apostle.’ Moreover they may have a thousand ways of going beyond the walls, and I know that they have. In Ostrianum thou wilt find Lygia; and even should she not be there, which I will not admit, Ursus will be there, for he has promised to kill Glaucus. He told me himself that he would be there, and that he would kill him. Dost hear, noble tribune? Either thou wilt follow Ursus and learn where Lygia dwells, or thou wilt command thy people to seize him as a murderer, and, having him in thy hand, thou wilt make him confess where he has hidden Lygia. I have done my best! Another would have told thee that he had drunk ten cantars of the best wine with Ursus before he wormed the secret out of him; another would have told thee that he had lost a thousand sestertia to him in scriptoe duodecim, or that he had bought the intelligence for two thousand; I know that thou wouldst repay me doubly, but in spite of that, once in my life—I mean, as always in my life—I shall be honest, for I think, as the magnanimous Petronius says, that thy bounty exceeds all my hopes and expectations.”
“The gates are indeed watched by your people, and the Christians are aware of that. But they don’t really need gates. The Tiber doesn’t need them either; and even though it's a bit of a trek from the river to those roads, it’s worth taking one more road to see the ‘Great Apostle.’ Besides, they might have a thousand ways to get beyond the walls, and I know they do. In Ostrianum, you’ll find Lygia; and even if she’s not there, which I refuse to believe, Ursus will be there because he promised to kill Glaucus. He told me himself that he would be there and that he would kill him. Do you hear me, noble tribune? Either you follow Ursus and find out where Lygia lives, or you order your men to capture him as a murderer, and once you have him, you’ll make him confess where he has hidden Lygia. I’ve done my best! Another person might have told you that he drank ten cantars of the finest wine with Ursus before he managed to extract the secret from him; someone else might have said he lost a thousand sestertia to him in scriptoe duodecim, or that he paid two thousand for the information; I know you would repay me generously, but despite that, at least once in my life—I mean, just like always—I’m going to be honest, because I believe, as the generous Petronius says, that your generosity goes beyond all my hopes and expectations.”
Vinicius, who was a soldier and accustomed not only to take counsel of himself in all cases, but to act, was overcome by a momentary weakness and said,—“Thou wilt not deceive thyself as to my liberality, but first thou wilt go with me to Ostrianum.”
Vinicius, a soldier used to relying on his own judgment in every situation and taking action, was momentarily weak and said, “You won't fool yourself about my generosity, but first, you’ll come with me to Ostrianum.”
“I, to Ostrianum?” inquired Chilo, who had not the least wish to go there. “I, noble tribune, promised thee to point out Lygia, but I did not promise to take her away for thee. Think, lord, what would happen to me if that Lygian bear, when he had torn Glaucus to pieces, should convince himself straightway that he had torn him not altogether justly? Would he not look on me (of course without reason) as the cause of the accomplished murder? Remember, lord, that the greater philosopher a man is, the more difficult it is for him to answer the foolish questions of common people; what should I answer him were he to ask me why I calumniated Glaucus? But if thou suspect that I deceive thee, I say, pay me only when I point out the house in which Lygia lives; show me to-day only a part of thy liberality, so that if thou, lord (which may all the gods ward from thee), succumb to some accident, I shall not be entirely without recompense. Thy heart could not endure that.”
“I, to Ostrianum?” Chilo asked, clearly not wanting to go there. “I promised you, noble tribune, that I would show you Lygia, but I didn’t promise to take her away for you. Just think about what would happen to me if that Lygian bear, after tearing Glaucus to pieces, suddenly convinced himself he hadn’t done it justly. Wouldn’t he blame me (even though it wouldn’t be fair) as the reason for the murder? Remember, lord, the smarter someone is, the harder it is for them to answer the silly questions from ordinary people; how would I respond if he asked me why I slandered Glaucus? But if you suspect that I’m deceiving you, then only pay me when I show you the house where Lygia lives; just give me a taste of your generosity today, so that if you, lord (may the gods protect you from this), happen to face some misfortune, I won’t be left entirely without reward. Your heart wouldn’t be able to handle that.”
Vinicius went to a casket called “area,” standing on a marble pedestal, and, taking out a purse, threw it to Chilo.
Vinicius approached a box called “area,” which was placed on a marble pedestal, and, taking out a purse, tossed it to Chilo.
“There are scrupula,” said he; “when Lygia shall be in my house, thou wilt get the same full of aurei.”
“There are scruples,” he said; “when Lygia is in my house, you will get the same filled with gold coins.”
“Thou art Jove!” exclaimed Chilo.
"You are Jove!" exclaimed Chilo.
But Vinicius frowned.
But Vinicius was frustrated.
“Thou wilt receive food here,” said he; “then thou mayest rest. Thou wilt not leave this house till evening, and when night falls thou wilt go with me to Ostrianum.”
“You will get food here,” he said; “then you can rest. You won’t leave this house until evening, and when night falls, you will go with me to Ostrianum.”
Fear and hesitation were reflected on the Greek’s face for a time; but afterward he grew calm, and said,—“Who can oppose thee, lord! Receive these my words as of good omen, just as our great hero received words like them in the temple of Ammon. As to me, these ‘scruples’” (here he shook the purse) “have outweighed mine, not to mention thy society, which for me is delight and happiness.”
Fear and doubt showed on the Greek's face for a while; but then he relaxed and said, “Who could go against you, my lord! Take my words as a good sign, just like our great hero did in the temple of Ammon. For me, these ‘scruples’” (he shook the purse) “have outweighed my concerns, not to mention that being with you brings me joy and happiness.”
Vinicius interrupted him impatiently, and asked for details of his conversation with Ursus. From them it seemed clear that either Lygia’s hiding-place would be discovered that night, or he would be able to seize her on the road back from Ostrianum. At thought of this, Vinicius was borne away by wild delight. Now, when he felt clearly sure of finding Lygia, his anger against her, and his feeling of offence almost vanished. In return for that delight he forgave her every fault. He thought of her only as dear and desired, and he had the same impression as if she were returning after a long journey. He wished to summon his slaves and command them to deck the house with garlands. In that hour he had not a complaint against Ursus, even. He was ready to forgive all people everything. Chilo, for whom, in spite of his services, he had felt hitherto a certain repulsion, seemed to him for the first time an amusing and also an uncommon person. His house grew radiant; his eyes and his face became bright. He began again to feel youth and the pleasure of life. His former gloomy suffering had not given him yet a sufficient measure of how he loved Lygia. He understood this now for the first time, when he hoped to possess her. His desires woke in him, as the earth, warmed by the sun, wakes in spring; but his desires this time were less blind and wild, as it were, and more joyous and tender. He felt also within himself energy without bounds, and was convinced that should he but see Lygia with his own eyes, all the Christians on earth could not take her from him, nor could Cæsar himself.
Vinicius interrupted him impatiently and asked for details about his conversation with Ursus. From what he heard, it became clear that either Lygia’s hiding place would be found that night, or he would be able to capture her on the way back from Ostrianum. The thought of this filled Vinicius with wild joy. Now that he was sure he would find Lygia, his anger towards her and feelings of offense almost disappeared. In return for that joy, he forgave her every fault. He thought of her only as beloved and yearned for, and it felt as if she were returning from a long journey. He wanted to call his slaves and order them to decorate the house with garlands. In that moment, he didn’t even hold a complaint against Ursus. He was ready to forgive everyone everything. Chilo, who he had previously felt a certain repulsion towards despite his services, seemed to him for the first time both amusing and unusual. His house felt radiant; his eyes and his face lit up. He began to feel youthful again, experiencing the pleasure of life. His earlier gloomy suffering had not given him a full understanding of how much he loved Lygia. He realized this for the first time now that he hoped to be with her. His desires stirred within him like the earth warming up in spring, but this time they were less blind and wild, and more joyful and tender. He also felt boundless energy within himself and was convinced that if he could just see Lygia with his own eyes, no one on earth, not even Cæsar, could take her from him.
Chilo, emboldened by the young tribune’s delight, regained power of speech and began to give advice. According to him, it behooved Vinicius not to look on the affair as won, and to observe the greatest caution, without which all their work might end in nothing. He implored Vinicius not to carry off Lygia from Ostrianum. They ought to go there with hoods on their heads, with their faces hidden, and restrict themselves to looking at all who were present from some dark corner. When they saw Lygia, it would be safest to follow her at a distance, see what house she entered, surround it next morning at daybreak, and take her away in open daylight. Since she was a hostage and belonged specially to Cæsar, they might do that without fear of law. In the event of not finding her in Ostrianum they could follow Ursus, and the result would be the same. To go to the cemetery with a crowd of attendants was impracticable,—that might draw attention to them easily; then the Christians need only put out the lights, as they did when she was intercepted, and scatter in the darkness, or betake themselves to places known to them only. But Vinicius and he should arm, and, still better, take a couple of strong, trusty men to defend them in case of need.
Chilo, encouraged by the young tribune’s excitement, found his voice again and started giving advice. He told Vinicius that he shouldn’t see the situation as settled and needed to be extremely cautious, or all their efforts might come to nothing. He urged Vinicius not to take Lygia from Ostrianum. They should go there wearing hoods and hiding their faces, only watching everyone present from a dark corner. When they spotted Lygia, it would be safest to follow her from a distance, see which house she entered, surround it the next morning at dawn, and take her away in broad daylight. Since she was a hostage and specifically belonged to Caesar, they could do that without fearing any legal consequences. If they didn’t find her in Ostrianum, they could follow Ursus, and the outcome would be the same. Going to the cemetery with a large group of attendants was not a good idea—it could easily draw attention to them. Then the Christians could just turn off the lights, like they did when she was captured, and scatter into the darkness or retreat to places only they knew. But Vinicius and Chilo should arm themselves and, even better, bring along a couple of strong, trustworthy men to protect them if needed.
Vinicius saw the perfect truth of what he said, and, recalling Petronius’s counsel, commanded his slaves to bring Croton. Chilo, who knew every one in Rome, was set at rest notably when he heard the name of the famous athlete, whose superhuman strength in the arena he had wondered at more than once, and he declared that he would go to Ostrianum. The purse filled with great aurei seemed to him much easier of acquisition through the aid of Croton.
Vinicius recognized the truth in what he said, and remembering Petronius’s advice, he instructed his slaves to fetch Croton. Chilo, who was familiar with everyone in Rome, felt reassured when he heard the name of the famous athlete, whose extraordinary strength in the arena he had admired more than once, and he stated that he would go to Ostrianum. The bag filled with valuable aurei seemed much easier to obtain with Croton’s help.
Hence he sat down in good spirits at the table to which, after a time, he was called by the chief of the atrium.
So he sat down in a good mood at the table to which, after a while, he was called by the head of the atrium.
While eating, he told the slaves that he had obtained for their master a miraculous ointment. The worst horse, if rubbed on the hoofs with it, would leave every other far behind. A certain Christian had taught him how to prepare that ointment, for the Christian elders were far more skilled in enchantment and miracles than even the Thessalians, though Thessaly was renowned for its witches. The Christians had immense confidence in him—why, any one easily understands who knows what a fish means. While speaking he looked sharply at the eyes of the slaves, in the hope of discovering a Christian among them and informing Vinicius. But when the hope failed him, he fell to eating and drinking uncommon quantities, not sparing praises on the cook, and declaring that he would endeavor to buy him of Vinicius. His joyfulness was dimmed only by the thought that at night he must go to Ostrianum. He comforted himself, however, as he would go in disguise, in darkness, and in the company of two men, one of whom was so strong that he was the idol of Rome; the other a patrician, a man of high dignity in the army. “Even should they discover Vinicius,” said he to himself, “they will not dare to raise a hand on him; as to me, they will be wise if they see the tip of my nose even.”
While eating, he told the slaves that he had gotten a miraculous ointment for their master. Even the worst horse, if rubbed on its hooves with it, would leave every other one far behind. A Christian had taught him how to make that ointment, because the Christian elders were much more skilled in enchantments and miracles than even the Thessalians, though Thessaly was famous for its witches. The Christians had a lot of faith in him—anyone who knows what a fish symbolizes understands that. As he spoke, he looked closely into the eyes of the slaves, hoping to spot a Christian among them to inform Vinicius. But when that hope faded, he turned to eating and drinking a lot, not holding back on praising the cook, and saying he would try to buy him from Vinicius. His happiness was only dimmed by the thought that at night he would have to go to Ostrianum. He comforted himself, though, thinking he would go in disguise, in the dark, and with two men; one of whom was so strong that he was the idol of Rome, and the other a patrician, a man of high rank in the army. “Even if they find Vinicius,” he thought, “they won’t dare lay a hand on him; as for me, they’d be smart just to catch a glimpse of me.”
He fell then to recalling his conversation with the laborer; and the recollection of that filled him again with delight. He had not the least doubt that that laborer was Ursus. He knew of the uncommon strength of the man, from the narratives of Vinicius, and those who had brought Lygia from Cæsar’s palace. When he inquired of Euricius touching men of exceptional strength, there was nothing remarkable in this, that they pointed out Ursus. Then the confusion and rage of the laborer at mention of Vinicius and Lygia left him no doubt that those persons concerned him particularly; the laborer had mentioned also his penance for killing a man,—Ursus had killed Atacinus; finally, the appearance of the laborer answered perfectly to the account which Vinicius had given of the Lygian. The change of name was all that could provoke doubt, but Chilo knew that frequently Christians took new names at baptism.
He then started to remember his conversation with the laborer, and the thought of it filled him with joy again. He had no doubt that the laborer was Ursus. He was aware of the man’s incredible strength from the stories by Vinicius and those who brought Lygia from Caesar’s palace. When he asked Euricius about men with extraordinary strength, it was no surprise that they pointed out Ursus. The laborer's confusion and anger at the mention of Vinicius and Lygia made it clear that those people were important to him; the laborer also mentioned his penance for killing a man—Ursus had killed Atacinus. Finally, the appearance of the laborer matched perfectly with what Vinicius had described about the Lygian. The change of name was the only thing that raised doubts, but Chilo knew that Christians often took new names at baptism.
“Should Ursus kill Glaucus,” said Chilo to himself, “that will be better still; but should he not kill him, that will be a good sign, for it will show how difficult it is for Christians to murder. I described Glaucus as a real son of Judas, and a traitor to all Christians; I was so eloquent that a stone would have been moved, and would have promised to fall on the head of Glaucus. Still I hardly moved that Lygian bear to put his paw on him. He hesitated, was unwilling, spoke of his penance and compunction. Evidently murder is not common among them. Offences against one’s self must be forgiven, and there is not much freedom in taking revenge for others. Ergo, stop! think, Chilo, what can threaten thee? Glaucus is not free to avenge himself on thee. If Ursus will not kill Glaucus for such a great crime as the betrayal of all Christians, so much the more will he not kill thee for the small offence of betraying one Christian. Moreover, when I have once pointed out to this ardent wood-pigeon the nest of that turtle-dove, I will wash my hands of everything, and transfer myself to Naples. The Christians talk, also, of a kind of washing of the hands; that is evidently a method by which, if a man has an affair with them, he may finish it decisively. What good people these Christians are, and how ill men speak of them! O God! such is the justice of this world. But I love that religion, since it does not permit killing; but if it does not permit killing, it certainly does not permit stealing, deceit, or false testimony; hence I will not say that it is easy. It teaches, evidently, not only to die honestly, as the Stoics teach, but to live honestly also. If ever I have property and a house, like this, and slaves in such numbers as Vinicius, perhaps I shall be a Christian as long as may be convenient. For a rich man can permit himself everything, even virtue. This is a religion for the rich; hence I do not understand how there are so many poor among its adherents. What good is it for them, and why do they let virtue tie their hands? I must think over this sometime. Meanwhile praise to thee, Hermes! for helping me discover this badger. But if thou hast done so for the two white yearling heifers with gilded horns, I know thee not. Be ashamed, O slayer of Argos! such a wise god as thou, and not foresee that thou wilt get nothing! I will offer thee my gratitude; and if thou prefer two beasts to it, thou art the third beast thyself, and in the best event thou shouldst be a shepherd, not a god. Have a care, too, lest I, as a philosopher, prove to men that thou art non-existent, and then all will cease to bring thee offerings. It is safer to be on good terms with philosophers.”
“Should Ursus kill Glaucus,” Chilo thought to himself, “that would be even better; but if he doesn’t, that will be a good sign, showing how hard it is for Christians to commit murder. I painted Glaucus as a true traitor to all Christians, comparing him to Judas; I was so persuasive that even a stone might have felt moved to fall on Glaucus's head. Still, I barely got that Lygian bear to lay a paw on him. He hesitated, didn’t want to, talked about his penance and guilt. Clearly, murder isn’t typical among them. Personal offenses must be forgiven, and there’s not much freedom in seeking revenge for others. So, wait! Think, Chilo, what could happen to you? Glaucus isn’t free to take revenge on you. If Ursus won’t kill Glaucus for the grand betrayal of all Christians, he definitely won’t kill you for the minor offense of betraying one Christian. Besides, once I point out to this eager wood-pigeon where that turtle-dove is, I’ll wash my hands of everything and head to Naples. The Christians also talk about a kind of hand washing; it’s clearly a way for someone involved with them to wrap things up decisively. What great people these Christians are, and how badly others speak of them! Oh God! Such is the justice of this world. But I admire that religion, as it forbids killing; yet if it forbids killing, it certainly forbids stealing, deceit, and false testimony, so I wouldn't say it’s easy. It clearly teaches not just to die honorably, like the Stoics say, but to live honorably too. If I ever have a property and a house like this, and as many slaves as Vinicius, maybe I'll be a Christian as long as it’s convenient. After all, a rich man can afford everything, even virtue. This is a religion for the wealthy; so I don’t get why so many poor folks follow it. What good is it for them, and why do they let virtue limit them? I need to think about this sometime. In the meantime, praise to you, Hermes! for helping me find this badger. But if you did it for the two young heifers with gilded horns, I don’t know you. Be ashamed, O slayer of Argos! Such a clever god as you should have known you’d gain nothing! I’ll offer you my thanks; and if you prefer two animals to that, you’re the third animal yourself, and in the best case, you should be a shepherd, not a god. And be careful, too, or I might, as a philosopher, prove to people that you don’t exist, and then no one will bring you offerings. It’s safer to stay on good terms with philosophers.”
Speaking thus to himself and to Hermes, he stretched on the sofa, put his mantle under his head, and was sleeping when the slave removed the dishes. He woke,—or rather they roused him,—only at the coming of Croton. He went to the atrium, then, and began to examine with pleasure the form of the trainer, an ex-gladiator, who seemed to fill the whole place with his immensity. Croton had stipulated as to the price of the trip, and was just speaking to Vinicius.
Speaking like this to himself and to Hermes, he settled onto the sofa, propped his cloak under his head, and was dozing off when the servant cleared the dishes. He woke up—or more accurately, they woke him—only when Croton arrived. He went to the atrium and started to admire the impressive physique of the trainer, an ex-gladiator, who seemed to dominate the entire space with his size. Croton had discussed the price of the trip and was just talking to Vinicius.
“By Hercules! it is well, lord,” said he, “that thou hast sent to-day for me, since I shall start to-morrow for Beneventum, whither the noble Vatinius has summoned me to make a trial, in presence of Cæsar, of a certain Syphax, the most powerful negro that Africa has ever produced. Dost thou imagine, lord, how his spinal column will crack in my arms, or how besides I shall break his black jaw with my fist?”
“By Hercules! It’s good, my lord,” he said, “that you called for me today, since I’ll be leaving tomorrow for Beneventum, where the noble Vatinius has summoned me to demonstrate, in front of Caesar, a certain Syphax, the strongest black man that Africa has ever produced. Do you think, my lord, about how his spine will snap in my grip, or how I will shatter his jaw with my fist?”
“By Pollux! Croton, I am sure that thou wilt do that,” answered Vinicius.
“By Pollux! Croton, I'm sure you'll do that,” answered Vinicius.
“And thou wilt act excellently,” added Chilo. “Yes, to break his jaw, besides! That’s a good idea, and a deed which befits thee. But rub thy limbs with olive oil to-day, my Hercules, and gird thyself, for know this, you mayst meet a real Cacus. The man who is guarding that girl in whom the worthy Vinicius takes interest, has exceptional strength very likely.”
“And you will do great,” added Chilo. “Yes, breaking his jaw too! That’s a good idea and a deed that suits you. But today, my Hercules, make sure to rub your limbs with olive oil and get ready, because know this, you might encounter a real Cacus. The man guarding the girl that the worthy Vinicius is interested in likely has exceptional strength.”
Chilo spoke thus only to rouse Croton’s ambition.
Chilo said this only to spark Croton's ambition.
“That is true,” said Vinicius; “I have not seen him, but they tell me that he can take a bull by the horns and drag him wherever he pleases.”
“That's true,” said Vinicius; “I haven't seen him, but I've heard that he can grab a bull by the horns and pull it wherever he wants.”
“Oi!” exclaimed Chilo, who had not imagined that Ursus was so strong. But Croton laughed, from contempt. “I undertake, worthy lord,” said he, “to bear away with this hand whomever thou shalt point out to me, and with this other defend myself against seven such Lygians, and bring the maiden to thy dwelling though all the Christians in Rome were pursuing me like Calabrian wolves. If not, I will let myself be beaten with clubs in this impluvium.”
“Hey!” exclaimed Chilo, who hadn’t realized Ursus was so strong. But Croton laughed, out of disdain. “I promise, my good lord,” he said, “to carry away whoever you point out with this hand, and with this other hand defend myself against seven of those Lygians, and bring the maiden to your home even if all the Christians in Rome were chasing me like Calabrian wolves. If I don’t, I’ll let myself be beaten with clubs right here in this pool.”
“Do not permit that, lord,” cried Chilo. “They will hurl stones at us, and what could his strength effect? Is it not better to take the girl from the house,—not expose thyself or her to destruction?”
“Don't let that happen, my lord,” cried Chilo. “They will throw stones at us, and what can his strength do? Isn't it better to take the girl from the house—to protect both you and her from harm?”
“This is true, Croton,” said Vinicius.
“This is true, Croton,” Vinicius said.
“I receive thy money, I do thy will! But remember, lord, that to-morrow I go to Beneventum.”
“I accept your money, and I’ll do your bidding! But remember, my lord, that tomorrow I’m heading to Beneventum.”
“I have five hundred slaves in the city,” answered Vinicius.
“I have five hundred slaves in the city,” Vinicius replied.
He gave them a sign to withdraw, went to the library himself, and sitting down wrote the following words to Petronius,—
He signaled for them to leave, went to the library himself, and sitting down wrote the following words to Petronius,—
“The Lygian has been found by Chilo. I go this evening with him and Croton to Ostrianum, and shall carry her off from the house to-night or to-morrow. May the gods pour down on thee everything favorable. Be well, O carissime! for joy will not let me write further.”
“The Lygian has been discovered by Chilo. I’m going this evening with him and Croton to Ostrianum, and I’ll take her away from the house tonight or tomorrow. May the gods shower you with everything good. Take care, my dear! because I’m too joyful to write more.”
Laying aside the reed then, he began to walk with quick step; for besides delight, which was overflowing his soul, he was tormented with fever. He said to himself that to-morrow Lygia would be in that house. He did not know how to act with her, but felt that if she would love him he would be her servant. He recalled Acte’s assurance that he had been loved, and that moved him to the uttermost. Hence it would be merely a question of conquering a certain maiden modesty, and a question of certain ceremonies which Christian teaching evidently commanded. But if that were true, Lygia, when once in his house, would yield to persuasion or superior force; she would have to say to herself, “It has happened!” and then she would be amiable and loving.
Setting the reed aside, he started to walk quickly; for in addition to the overwhelming joy in his heart, he was plagued by a fever. He told himself that tomorrow Lygia would be in that house. He didn’t know how to behave around her, but he felt that if she loved him, he would be her devoted servant. He remembered Acte’s assurance that he had been loved, which deeply moved him. So, it was really just a matter of overcoming a certain shyness on her part and following the rituals that Christian teachings clearly required. But if that was the case, Lygia, once she was in his home, would likely give in to persuasion or even pressure; she would have to think to herself, “It has happened!” and then she would be warm and affectionate.
But Chilo appeared and interrupted the course of these pleasant thoughts. “Lord,” said the Greek, “this is what has come to my head. Have not the Christians signs, ‘passwords,’ without which no one will be admitted to Ostrianum? I know that it is so in houses of prayer, and I have received those passwords from Euricius; permit me then to go to him, lord, to ask precisely, and receive the needful signs.”
But Chilo came along and interrupted these nice thoughts. “My lord,” said the Greek, “this is what I was thinking. Don’t Christians have certain ‘passwords’ that you need to get into Ostrianum? I know they do in places of worship, and I’ve gotten those passwords from Euricius; so please allow me to go to him, my lord, to ask for the specifics and get the necessary passwords.”
“Well, noble sage,” answered Vinicius, gladly; “thou speakest as a man of forethought, and for that praise belongs to thee. Thou wit go, then, to Euricius, or whithersoever it may please thee; but as security thou wilt leave on this table here that purse which thou hast received from me.”
“Well, wise sage,” answered Vinicius, happily; “you speak like a thoughtful person, and for that, you deserve praise. You may go to Euricius or wherever else you’d like; however, as a guarantee, you need to leave that purse you received from me on this table.”
Chilo, who always parted with money unwillingly, squirmed; still he obeyed the command and went out. From the Carinæ to the Circus, near which was the little shop of Euricius, it was not very far; hence he returned considerably before evening.
Chilo, who always disliked spending money, hesitated; still, he followed the order and went out. It wasn't too far from the Carinæ to the Circus, where Euricius’s little shop was located; so he came back well before evening.
“Here are the signs, lord. Without them they would not admit us. I have inquired carefully about the road. I told Euricius that I needed the signs only for my friends; that I would not go myself, since it was too far for my advanced age; that, moreover, I should see the Great Apostle myself to-morrow, and he would repeat to me the choicest parts of his sermon.”
“Here are the signs, my lord. Without them, they wouldn’t let us in. I’ve asked thoroughly about the route. I told Euricius that I only needed the signs for my friends; that I wouldn’t go myself since it was too far for my age; and that, by the way, I would be seeing the Great Apostle tomorrow, and he would share with me the best parts of his sermon.”
“How! Thou wilt not be there? Thou must go!” said Vinicius.
“How! You won’t be there? You have to go!” said Vinicius.
“I know that I must; but I will go well hooded, and I advise thee to go in like manner, or we may frighten the birds.”
“I know I have to; but I’ll go with my hood up, and I suggest you do the same, or we might scare the birds.”
In fact they began soon to prepare, for darkness had come on the world. They put on Gallic cloaks with hoods, and took lanterns; Vinicius, besides, armed himself and his companions with short, curved knives; Chilo put on a wig, which he obtained on the way from the old man’s shop, and they went out, hurrying so as to reach the distant Nomentan Gate before it was closed.
In fact, they quickly got ready, as darkness had fallen over the world. They wore Gallic cloaks with hoods and grabbed lanterns; Vinicius also armed himself and his companions with short, curved knives. Chilo put on a wig he had picked up from the old man’s shop, and they hurried out to reach the distant Nomentan Gate before it closed.
Chapter XX
THEY went through the Vicus Patricius, along the Viminal to the former Viminal gate, near the plain on which Diocletian afterward built splendid baths. They passed the remains of the wall of Servius Tullius, and through places more and more deserted they reached the Via Nomentana; there, turning to the left, towards the Via Salaria, they found themselves among hills full of sand-pits, and here and there they found graveyards.
THEY walked through the Vicus Patricius, along the Viminal to the old Viminal gate, close to the open area where Diocletian later constructed impressive baths. They passed the remnants of the wall built by Servius Tullius, and as they moved through increasingly desolate areas, they arrived at the Via Nomentana; there, turning left towards the Via Salaria, they found themselves surrounded by hills filled with sand pits, and scattered graveyards here and there.
Meanwhile it had grown dark completely, and since the moon had not risen yet, it would have been rather difficult for them to find the road were it not that the Christians themselves indicated it, as Chilo foresaw.
Meanwhile, it had completely grown dark, and since the moon hadn’t risen yet, it would have been pretty difficult for them to find the road if the Christians themselves hadn’t pointed it out, as Chilo had predicted.
In fact, on the right, on the left, and in front, dark forms were evident, making their way carefully toward sandy hollows. Some of these people carried lanterns,—covering them, however, as far as possible with mantles; others, knowing the road better, went in the dark. The trained military eye of Vinicius distinguished, by their movements, younger men from old ones, who walked with canes, and from women, wrapped carefully in long mantles. The highway police, and villagers leaving the city, took those night wanderers, evidently, for laborers, going to sand-pits; or grave-diggers, who at times celebrated ceremonies of their own in the night-time. In proportion, however, as the young patrician and his attendants pushed forward, more and more lanterns gleamed, and the number of persons grew greater. Some of them sang songs in low voices, which to Vinicius seemed filled with sadness. At moments a separate word or a phrase of the song struck his ear, as, for instance, “Awake, thou that sleepest,” or “Rise from the dead”; at times, again, the name of Christ was repeated by men and women.
In fact, on the right, on the left, and in front, dark figures were visible, making their way carefully toward sandy hollows. Some of these people carried lanterns, covering them as much as possible with their cloaks; others, who knew the path better, walked in the dark. Vinicius’s trained military eye could tell, by their movements, which were younger men and which were older, who used canes, as well as women wrapped tightly in long cloaks. The highway police and villagers leaving the city clearly took those night wanderers for laborers headed to sand-pits, or grave-diggers who occasionally held their own ceremonies at night. However, as the young patrician and his attendants pushed forward, more and more lanterns glimmered, and the crowd grew larger. Some of them quietly sang songs that seemed filled with sadness to Vinicius. At times, a single word or phrase from the song caught his attention, like “Awake, thou that sleepest,” or “Rise from the dead”; at other moments, he heard the name of Christ repeated by both men and women.
But Vinicius turned slight attention to the words, for it came to his head that one of those dark forms might be Lygia. Some, passing near, said, “Peace be with thee!” or “Glory be to Christ!” but disquiet seized him, and his heart began to beat with more life, for it seemed to him that he heard Lygia’s voice. Forms or movements like hers deceived him in the darkness every moment, and only when he had corrected mistakes made repeatedly did he begin to distrust his own eyes.
But Vinicius paid a little attention to the words because it occurred to him that one of those dark figures could be Lygia. Some people passing by said, “Peace be with you!” or “Glory be to Christ!” but unease took hold of him, and his heart began to race, as it felt like he heard Lygia’s voice. Shapes or movements similar to hers misled him in the darkness constantly, and only after he corrected his repeated mistakes did he start to doubt his own eyesight.
The way seemed long to him. He knew the neighborhood exactly, but could not fix places in the darkness. Every moment they came to some narrow passage, or piece of wall, or booths, which he did not remember as being in the vicinity of the city. Finally the edge of the moon appeared from behind a mass of clouds, and lighted the place better than dim lanterns. Something from afar began at last to glimmer like a fire, or the flame of a torch. Vinicius turned to Chilo.
The path felt long to him. He knew the neighborhood well, but couldn’t recognize anything in the dark. Every moment they passed a narrow passage, a section of wall, or some stalls that he didn’t recall being nearby. Finally, the moon peeked out from behind a cloud, illuminating the area better than the faint lanterns. From a distance, something started to shine like a fire or the flicker of a torch. Vinicius turned to Chilo.
“Is that Ostrianum?” asked he.
“Is that Ostrianum?” he asked.
Chilo, on whom night, distance from the city, and those ghostlike forms made a deep impression, replied in a voice somewhat uncertain,—“I know not, lord; I have never been in Ostrianum. But they might praise God in some spot nearer the city.”
Chilo, who was deeply affected by the night, the distance from the city, and those ghostly figures, replied in a somewhat hesitant voice, “I don’t know, my lord; I’ve never been to Ostrianum. But they might be praising God somewhere closer to the city.”
After a while, feeling the need of conversation, and of strengthening his courage, he added,—“They come together like murderers; still they are not permitted to murder, unless that Lygian has deceived me shamefully.”
After a while, feeling the need for conversation and to boost his courage, he added, “They come together like criminals; still, they aren’t allowed to commit murder unless that Lygian has horribly deceived me.”
Vinicius, who was thinking of Lygia, was astonished also by the caution and mysteriousness with which her co-religionists assembled to hear their highest priest; hence he said,—“Like all religions, this has its adherents in the midst of us; but the Christians are a Jewish sect. Why do they assemble here, when in the Trans-Tiber there are temples to which the Jews take their offerings in daylight?”
Vinicius, who was thinking of Lygia, was also struck by the caution and secrecy with which her fellow believers gathered to hear their highest priest; so he said, “Like all religions, this one has its followers among us; but the Christians are a Jewish sect. Why do they gather here when there are temples across the Tiber where the Jews bring their offerings in broad daylight?”
“The Jews, lord, are their bitterest enemies. I have heard that, before the present Cæsar’s time, it came to war, almost, between Jews and Christians. Those outbreaks forced Claudius Cæsar to expell all the Jews, but at present that edict is abolished. The Christians, however, hide themselves from Jews, and from the populace, who, as is known to thee, accuse them of crimes and hate them.”
“The Jews, my lord, are their fiercest enemies. I've heard that, before the current Caesar’s reign, there was almost a war between Jews and Christians. Those conflicts led Claudius Caesar to expel all the Jews, but that edict has since been lifted. However, the Christians still keep to themselves, hiding from both the Jews and the general public, who, as you know, accuse them of crimes and bear them ill will.”
They walked on some time in silence, till Chilo, whose fear increased as he receded from the gates, said,—“When returning from the shop of Euricius, I borrowed a wig from a barber, and have put two beans in my nostrils. They must not recognize me; but if they do, they will not kill me. They are not malignant! They are even very honest. I esteem and love them.”
They walked in silence for a while until Chilo, whose fear grew as he moved farther from the gates, said, “On my way back from Euricius's shop, I borrowed a wig from a barber and put two beans up my nose. They can’t recognize me; but if they do, they won’t kill me. They’re not mean! In fact, they’re quite honest. I respect and care for them.”
“Do not win them to thyself by premature praises,” retorted Vinicius.
“Don’t win them over to yourself with flattery too soon,” Vinicius shot back.
They went now into a narrow depression, closed, as it were, by two ditches on the side, over which an aqueduct was thrown in one place. The moon came out from behind clouds, and at the end of the depression they saw a wall, covered thickly with ivy, which looked silvery in the moonlight. That was Ostrianum.
They moved into a narrow dip, flanked on both sides by ditches, with an aqueduct crossing over in one spot. The moon peeked out from behind the clouds, and at the end of the dip, they spotted a wall, densely covered in ivy, which appeared silvery in the moonlight. That was Ostrianum.
Vinicius’s heart began to beat now with more vigor. At the gate two quarryrnen took the signs from them. In a moment Vinicius and his attendants were in a rather spacious place enclosed on all sides by a wall. Here and there were separate monuments, and in the centre was the entrance to the hypogeum itself, or crypt. In the lower part of the crypt, beneath the earth, were graves; before the entrance a fountain was playing. But it was evident that no very large number of persons could find room in the hypogeum; hence Vinicius divined without difficulty that the ceremony would take place outside, in the space where a very numerous throng was soon gathered.
Vinicius’s heart started to race with greater intensity. At the gate, two workers took the signs from them. In a moment, Vinicius and his companions found themselves in a rather spacious area surrounded by a wall. Scattered around were various monuments, and in the center was the entrance to the crypt itself. Below the surface, in the crypt, were graves; in front of the entrance, a fountain was flowing. However, it was clear that only a small number of people could fit inside the crypt; thus, Vinicius easily guessed that the ceremony would occur outside, in the area where a very large crowd was quickly gathering.
As far as the eye could reach, lantern gleamed near lantern, but many of those who came had no light whatever. With the exception of a few uncovered heads, all were hooded, from fear of treason or the cold; and the young patrician thought with alarm that, should they remain thus, he would not be able to recognize Lygia in that crowd and in the dim light.
As far as he could see, lanterns shone next to each other, but many of the people who came had no light at all. Except for a few uncovered heads, everyone was wearing hoods, either out of fear of betrayal or to keep warm, and the young nobleman worried that if they stayed like that, he wouldn't be able to spot Lygia in the crowd and low light.
But all at once, near the crypt, some pitch torches were ignited and put into a little pile. There was more light. After a while the crowd began to sing a certain strange hymn, at first in a low voice, and then louder. Vinicius had never heard such a hymn before. The same yearning which had struck him in the hymns murmured by separate persons on the way to the cemetery, was heard now in that, but with far more distinctness and power; and at last it became as penetrating and immense as if together with the people, the whole cemetery, the hills, the pits, and the region about, had begun to yearn. It might seem, also, that there was in it a certain calling in the night, a certain humble prayer for rescue in wandering and darkness.
But suddenly, near the crypt, some pitch torches were lit and arranged in a small pile. There was more light. After a while, the crowd began to sing a strange hymn, starting softly and then getting louder. Vinicius had never heard such a hymn before. The same longing that had touched him in the hymns whispered by individuals on the way to the cemetery was now present in this song, but with much more clarity and intensity; eventually, it became so deep and vast that it felt like, along with the people, the entire cemetery, the hills, the graves, and the surrounding area had started to long for something. It also seemed like there was a kind of calling in the night, a humble prayer for help amidst wandering and darkness.
Eyes turned upward seemed to see some one far above, there on high, and outstretched hands seemed to implore him to descend. When the hymn ceased, there followed a moment as it were of suspense,—so impressive that Vinicius and his companions looked unwittingly toward the stars, as if in dread that something uncommon would happen, and that some one would really descend to them.
Eyes looking up appeared to see someone far above, up high, and outstretched hands seemed to plead for him to come down. When the hymn ended, there was a moment of suspense—so intense that Vinicius and his friends glanced instinctively at the stars, as if fearing something unusual might occur, and that someone might truly come down to them.
Vinicius had seen a multitude of temples of most various structure in Asia Minor, in Egypt, and in Rome itself; he had become acquainted with a multitude of religions, most varied in character, and had heard many hymns; but here, for the first time, he saw people calling on a divinity with hymns,—not to carry out a fixed ritual, but calling from the bottom of the heart, with the genuine yearning which children might feel for a father or a mother. One had to be blind not to see that those people not merely honored their God, but loved him with the whole soul. Vinicius had not seen the like, so far, in any land, during any ceremony, in any sanctuary; for in Rome and in Greece those who still rendered honor to the gods did so to gain aid for themselves or through fear; but it had not even entered any one’s head to love those divinities.
Vinicius had seen a wide variety of temples in Asia Minor, Egypt, and even in Rome; he had come across many different religions and listened to numerous hymns. But here, for the first time, he witnessed people calling on a divine being with hymns—not to perform a set ritual, but expressing a heartfelt longing, like the genuine affection children feel for their parents. One would have to be blind not to notice that these people not only honored their God but loved him with all their hearts. Vinicius had never seen anything like this before, in any country, during any ceremony, in any sanctuary; because in Rome and Greece, those who still honored the gods did so for personal gain or out of fear, and no one had even thought to love those deities.
Though his mind was occupied with Lygia, and his attention with seeking her in the crowd, he could not avoid seeing those uncommon and wonderful things which were happening around him. Meanwhile a few more torches were thrown on the fire, which filled the cemetery with ruddy light and darkened the gleam of the lanterns. That moment an old man, wearing a hooded mantle but with a bare head, issued from the hypogeum. This man mounted a stone which lay near the fire.
Though he was focused on Lygia and looking for her in the crowd, he couldn't help but notice the strange and amazing things happening around him. In the meantime, a few more torches were tossed onto the fire, filling the cemetery with a warm glow and making the lanterns seem dimmer. At that moment, an old man wearing a hooded cloak but with his head bare emerged from the hypogeum. This man climbed onto a stone that was near the fire.
The crowd swayed before him. Voices near Vinicius whispered, “Peter! Peter!” Some knelt, others extended their hands toward him. There followed a silence so deep that one heard every charred particle that dropped from the torches, the distant rattle of wheels on the Via Nomentana, and the sound of wind through the few pines which grew close to the cemetery.
The crowd swayed in front of him. People near Vinicius whispered, “Peter! Peter!” Some knelt, while others reached out their hands toward him. Then, there was a silence so profound that you could hear every charred piece falling from the torches, the distant clattering of wheels on the Via Nomentana, and the wind rustling through the few pine trees growing near the cemetery.
Chilo bent toward Vinicius and whispered,—“This is he! The foremost disciple of Christ-a fisherman!”
Chilo leaned toward Vinicius and whispered, “This is him! The leading disciple of Christ—a fisherman!”
The old man raised his hand, and with the sign of the cross blessed those present, who fell on their knees simultaneously. Vinicius and his attendants, not wishing to betray themselves, followed the example of others. The young man could not seize his impressions immediately, for it seemed to him that the form which he saw there before him was both simple and uncommon, and, what was more, the uncommonness flowed just from the simplicity. The old man had no mitre on his head, no garland of oak-leaves on his temples, no palm in his hand, no golden tablet on his breast, he wore no white robe embroidered with stars; in a word, he bore no insignia of the kind worn by priests—Oriental, Egyptian, or Greek—or by Roman flamens. And Vinicius was struck by that same difference again which he felt when listening to the Christian hymns; for that “fisherman,” too, seemed to him, not like some high priest skilled in ceremonial, but as it were a witness, simple, aged, and immensely venerable, who had journeyed from afar to relate a truth which he had seen, which he had touched, which he believed as he believed in existence, and he had come to love this truth precisely because he believed it. There was in his face, therefore, such a power of convincing as truth itself has. And Vinicius, who had been a sceptic, who did not wish to yield to the charm of the old man, yielded, however, to a certain feverish curiosity to know what would flow from the lips of that companion of the mysterious “Christus,” and what that teaching was of which Lygia and Pomponia Græcina were followers.
The old man raised his hand, and with the sign of the cross, he blessed everyone present, who all knelt down at the same time. Vinicius and his companions, not wanting to stand out, followed the others’ example. The young man couldn’t fully grasp his feelings right away, because it seemed to him that the man before him was both ordinary and extraordinary, and more importantly, the extraordinary came from the ordinary. The old man didn’t wear a mitre on his head, a crown of oak leaves on his temples, a palm in his hand, or a golden plate on his chest; he didn’t have on a white robe decorated with stars. In short, he had none of the symbols typically worn by priests—whether Eastern, Egyptian, or Greek—or by Roman flamens. Once again, Vinicius was struck by the same difference he felt when listening to the Christian hymns; this “fisherman” didn’t seem like a high priest skilled in rituals but rather like a simple, aged, and deeply respected witness, who had traveled from far away to share a truth he had seen, touched, and believed in as deeply as he believed in existence, and he had come to love this truth precisely because of that belief. Therefore, there was in his face a compelling power that resembled the essence of truth itself. And Vinicius, who had been skeptical and reluctant to fall under the old man's spell, nonetheless felt a feverish curiosity about what would come from the lips of this companion of the mysterious “Christus,” and what the teachings were that Lygia and Pomponia Græcina followed.
Meanwhile Peter began to speak, and he spoke from the beginning like a father instructing his children and teaching them how to live. He enjoined on them to renounce excess and luxury, to love poverty, purity of life, and truth, to endure wrongs and persecutions patiently, to obey the government and those placed above them, to guard against treason, deceit, and calumny; finally, to give an example in their own society to each other, and even to pagans.
Meanwhile, Peter started to speak, and he spoke from the start like a father teaching his children how to live. He urged them to give up excess and luxury, to embrace poverty, a pure life, and truth, to patiently endure wrongs and persecution, to obey the government and those in authority, to be watchful against treason, deceit, and slander; finally, to set an example for each other in their own community and even for non-believers.
Vinicius, for whom good was only that which could bring back to him Lygia, and evil everything which stood as a barrier between them, was touched and angered by certain of those counsels. It seemed to him that by enjoining purity and a struggle with desires the old man dared, not only to condemn his love, but to rouse Lygia against him and confirm her in opposition. He understood that if she were in the assembly listening to those words, and if she took them to heart, she must think of him as an enemy of that teaching and an outcast.
Vinicius, for whom good was only what could bring Lygia back to him, and evil everything that got in their way, was both hurt and angry by some of the advice given. He felt that by insisting on purity and fighting against desires, the old man was not only condemning his love but also encouraging Lygia to turn against him and strengthen her opposition. He realized that if she were in the gathering hearing those words, and if she took them seriously, she would see him as an enemy of that teaching and an outcast.
Anger seized him at this thought. “What have I heard that is new?” thought he. “Is this the new religion? Every one knows this, every one has heard it. The Cynics enjoined poverty and a restriction of necessities; Socrates enjoined virtue as an old thing and a good one; the first Stoic one meets, even such a one as Seneca, who has five hundred tables of lemon-wood, praises moderation, enjoins truth, patience in adversity, endurance in misfortune,—and all that is like stale, mouse-eaten grain; but people do not wish to eat it because it smells of age.”
Anger took hold of him at this thought. “What have I heard that’s new?” he thought. “Is this the new religion? Everyone knows this; everyone has heard it. The Cynics preached poverty and cutting back on needs; Socrates talked about virtue as an old lesson and a good one; the first Stoic you meet, even someone like Seneca, who has five hundred lemon-wood tables, praises moderation, encourages truth, patience in tough times, and resilience in hardship—but all of that feels like old, stale grain; people don’t want to accept it because it smells musty.”
And besides anger, he had a feeling of disappointment, for he expected the discovery of unknown, magic secrets of some kind, and thought that at least he would hear a rhetor astonishing by his eloquence; meanwhile he heard only words which were immensely simple, devoid of every ornament. He was astonished only by the mute attention with which the crowd listened.
And besides anger, he felt disappointment because he was expecting to uncover some kind of unknown, magical secrets, and thought he would at least hear a speaker who was impressive in his eloquence; instead, he only heard words that were extremely simple and lacking any embellishment. The only thing that amazed him was the silent attention with which the crowd listened.
But the old man spoke on to those people sunk in listening,—told them to be kind, poor, peaceful, just, and pure; not that they might have peace during life, but that they might live eternally with Christ after death, in such joy and such glory, in such health and delight, as no one on earth had attained at any time. And here Vinicius, though predisposed unfavorably, could not but notice that still there was a difference between the teaching of the old man and that of the Cynics, Stoics, and other philosophers; for they enjoin good and virtue as reasonable, and the only thing practical in life, while he promised immortality, and that not some kind of hapless immortality beneath the earth, in wretchedness, emptiness, and want, but a magnificent life, equal to that of the gods almost. He spoke meanwhile of it as of a thing perfectly certain; hence, in view of such a faith, virtue acquired a value simply measureless, and the misfortunes of this life became incomparably trivial. To suffer temporally for inexhaustible happiness is a thing absolutely different from suffering because such is the order of nature. But the old man said further that virtue and truth should be loved for themselves, since the highest eternal good and the virtue existing before ages is God; whoso therefore loves them loves God, and by that same becomes a cherished child of His.
But the old man kept talking to the people who were deeply listening—he told them to be kind, poor, peaceful, just, and pure; not so they could have peace in this life, but so they could live forever with Christ after death, in joy and glory, in health and delight, like no one on earth has ever experienced. And here Vinicius, though initially skeptical, couldn’t help but notice that there was still a difference between the old man’s teaching and that of the Cynics, Stoics, and other philosophers; because they promoted good and virtue as reasonable and the only practical things in life, while he promised immortality—not some kind of miserable existence beneath the earth, full of suffering, emptiness, and lack, but a magnificent life, nearly equal to that of the gods. He spoke of it as if it were perfectly certain; thus, with such faith, virtue gained immeasurable value, and the hardships of this life became incredibly trivial. Suffering temporarily for limitless happiness is entirely different from suffering simply because that’s how nature works. But the old man also said that virtue and truth should be cherished for their own sake, since the highest eternal good and the virtue that existed before time is God; therefore, whoever loves them loves God, and by that same love becomes one of His beloved children.
Vinicius did not understand this well, but he knew previously, from words spoken by Pomponia Græcina to Petronius, that, according to the belief of Christians, God was one and almighty; when, therefore, he heard now again that He is all good and all just, he thought involuntarily that, in presence of such a demiurge, Jupiter, Saturn, Apollo, Juno, Vesta, and Venus would seem like some vain and noisy rabble, in which all were interfering at once, and each on his or her own account.
Vinicius didn't fully grasp this, but he remembered from what Pomponia Græcina had told Petronius that, according to Christians, God is one and all-powerful. So, when he heard again that God is completely good and just, he couldn't help but think that, in the presence of such a creator, Jupiter, Saturn, Apollo, Juno, Vesta, and Venus would come off as just a loud, petty crowd, all trying to assert themselves for their own reasons.
But the greatest astonishment seized him when the old man declared that God was universal love also; hence he who loves man fulfils God’s supreme command. But it is not enough to love men of one’s own nation, for the God-man shed his blood for all, and found among pagans such elect of his as Cornelius the Centurion; it is not enough either to love those who do good to us, for Christ forgave the Jews who delivered him to death, and the Roman soldiers who nailed him to the cross, we should not only forgive but love those who injure us, and return them good for evil; it is not enough to love the good, we must love the wicked also, since by love alone is it possible to expel from them evil.
But he was most astonished when the old man said that God is universal love too; therefore, anyone who loves people is following God’s ultimate command. However, it’s not enough to just love people from your own country, because the God-man sacrificed himself for everyone and even found among non-believers those chosen by him, like Cornelius the Centurion. It’s also not enough to love only those who are good to us; Christ forgave the Jews who sent him to his death and the Roman soldiers who nailed him to the cross. We should not only forgive but also love those who hurt us, and respond to evil with kindness. It’s not enough to love the good; we must love the wicked too, because it’s only through love that we can drive out the evil within them.
Chilo at these words thought to himself that his work had gone for nothing, that never in the world would Ursus dare to kill Glaucus, either that night or any other night. But he comforted himself at once by another inference from the teaching of the old man; namely, that neither would Glaucus kill him, though he should discover and recognize him.
Chilo thought to himself that his efforts had been in vain, and that Ursus would never have the guts to kill Glaucus, not tonight or any other night. But he quickly reassured himself with another lesson from the old man: that Glaucus wouldn’t kill him either, even if he found out who he was.
Vinicius did not think now that there was nothing new in the words of the old man, but with amazement he asked himself: “What kind of God is this, what kind of religion is this, and what kind of people are these?” All that he had just heard could not find place in his head simply. For him all was an unheard-of medley of ideas. He felt that if he wished, for example, to follow that teaching, he would have to place on a burning pile all his thoughts, habits, and character, his whole nature up to that moment, burn them into ashes, and then fill himself with a life altogether different, and an entirely new soul. To him the science or the religion which commanded a Roman to love Parthians, Syrians, Greeks, Egyptians, Gauls, and Britons, to forgive enemies, to return them good for evil, and to love them, seemed madness. At the same time he had a feeling that in that madness itself there was something mightier than all philosophies so far. He thought that because of its madness it was impracticable, but because of its impracticability it was divine. In his soul he rejected it; but he felt that he was parting as if from a field full of spikenard, a kind of intoxicating incense; when a man has once breathed of this he must, as in the land of the lotus-eaters, forget all things else ever after, and yearn for it only.
Vinicius didn’t think there was anything new in the old man's words, but he was astonished and asked himself, “What kind of God is this? What kind of religion is this? What kind of people are these?” Everything he just heard didn’t seem to fit in his mind. To him, it was a bizarre jumble of ideas. He felt that if he wanted to follow that teaching, he would have to burn all his thoughts, habits, and character—his entire being up to that point—turn them to ashes, and then fill himself with a completely different life and an entirely new soul. The idea of a religion telling a Roman to love Parthians, Syrians, Greeks, Egyptians, Gauls, and Britons, to forgive enemies, to repay evil with good, and to love them seemed insane. Yet, he also sensed that within that madness was something more powerful than all philosophies he had encountered. He thought that because it seemed mad, it was impractical, but because of its impracticality, it was divine. In his heart, he rejected it; yet, he felt as if he were leaving behind a field full of spikenard, an intoxicating incense; once someone has breathed it in, it becomes impossible to forget everything else and they can only yearn for it.
It seemed to him that there was nothing real in that religion, but that reality in presence of it was so paltry that it deserved not the time for thought. Expanses of some kind, of which hitherto he had not had a suspicion, surrounded him,—certain immensities, certain clouds. That cemetery began to produce on him the impression of a meeting-place for madmen, but also of a place mysterious and awful, in which, as on a mystic bed, something was in progress of birth the like of which had not been in the world so far. He brought before his mind all that, which from the first moment of his speech, the old man had said touching life, truth, love, God; and his thoughts were dazed from the brightness, as the eyes are blinded from lightning flashes which follow each other unceasingly.
He felt that there was nothing genuine in that religion, and that reality, in comparison, was so trivial that it wasn't worth thinking about. Expanses of some sort, of which he had been previously unaware, surrounded him—certain vastnesses, certain clouds. The cemetery began to feel to him like a gathering place for madmen, but also like a mysterious and terrifying place where, on a mystical bed, something was being born that had never existed in the world before. He recalled everything the old man had said about life, truth, love, and God from the very first moment they spoke, and his thoughts were overwhelmed by the brilliance, like how eyes are blinded by constant lightning flashes.
As is usual with people for whom life has been turned into one single passion, Vinicius thought of all this through the medium of his love for Lygia; and in the light of those flashes he saw one thing distinctly, that if Lygia was in the cemetery, if she confessed that religion, obeyed and felt it, she never could and never would be his mistress.
As is common with people whose lives revolve around a single passion, Vinicius reflected on all of this through his love for Lygia; and in the clarity of those moments, he realized one important thing: if Lygia was in the cemetery, if she embraced that faith, followed it, and truly felt it, she could never and would never be his lover.
For the first time, then, since he had made her acquaintance at Aulus’s, Vinicius felt that though now he had found her he would not get her. Nothing similar had come to his head so far, and he could not explain it to himself then, for that was not so much an express understanding as a dim feeling of irreparable loss and misfortune. There rose in him an alarm, which was turned soon into a storm of anger against the Christians in general, and against the old man in particular. That fisherman, whom at the first cast of the eye he considered a peasant, now filled him with fear almost, and seemed some mysterious power deciding his fate inexorably and therefore tragically.
For the first time since meeting her at Aulus’s, Vinicius felt that even though he had found her, he wouldn’t be able to have her. He hadn’t thought anything like this before, and he couldn’t explain it to himself then; it wasn’t so much a clear realization as it was a vague sense of irreparable loss and misfortune. An alarm rose within him, quickly transforming into a storm of anger directed at the Christians in general, and at the old man in particular. That fisherman, whom he’d initially dismissed as just a peasant, now filled him with almost a sense of dread, appearing as some mysterious force that was deciding his fate inescapably and tragically.
The quarrymen again, unobserved, added torches to the fire; the wind ceased to sound in the pines; the flame rose evenly, with a slender point toward the stars, which were twinkling in a clear sky. Having mentioned the death of Christ, the old man talked now of Him only. All held the breath in their breasts, and a silence set in which was deeper than the preceding one, so that it was possible almost to hear the beating of hearts. That man had seen! and he narrated as one in whose memory every moment had been fixed in such a way that were he to close his eyes he would see yet. He told, therefore, how on their return from the Cross he and John had sat two days and nights in the supper-chamber, neither sleeping nor eating, in suffering, in sorrow, in doubt, in alarm, holding their heads in their hands, and thinking that He had died. Oh, how grievous, how grievous that was! The third day had dawned and the light whitened the walls, but he and John were sitting in the chamber, without hope or comfort. How desire for sleep tortured them (for they had spent the night before the Passion without sleep)! They roused themselves then, and began again to lament. But barely had the sun risen when Mary of Magdala, panting, her hair dishevelled, rushed in with the cry, “They have taken away the Lord!” When they heard this, he and John sprang up and ran toward the sepulchre. But John, being younger, arrived first; he saw the place empty, and dared not enter. Only when there were three at the entrance did he, the person now speaking to them, enter, and find on the stone a shirt with a winding sheet; but the body he found not.
The quarrymen again, unnoticed, added torches to the fire; the wind stopped rustling in the pines; the flames rose steadily, with a thin point stretching toward the stars, which twinkled in a clear sky. Having mentioned Christ's death, the old man now spoke only of Him. Everyone held their breath, and a silence fell that was deeper than the one before, making it almost possible to hear the beating of hearts. That man had witnessed it! He recounted it as if every moment was etched in his memory so vividly that if he closed his eyes, he could still see it. He shared how he and John had sat, for two days and nights in the upper room, without sleeping or eating, in agony, sorrow, doubt, and fear, with their heads in their hands, thinking He was dead. Oh, how heartbreaking that was! The third day had come, and the light filled the room, yet he and John were still in the chamber, without hope or comfort. How the urge to sleep tormented them (for they hadn't slept the night before the Passion)! They then stirred and began to mourn again. But just as the sun rose, Mary Magdalene rushed in, breathless and with disheveled hair, crying, “They have taken away the Lord!” Hearing this, he and John jumped up and ran to the tomb. However, John, being younger, got there first; he saw the place empty and hesitated to go in. Only when there were three at the entrance did he, the one speaking to them, enter and find a linen cloth lying on the stone; but the body he did not find.
Fear fell on them then, because they thought that the priests had borne away Christ, and both returned home in greater grief still. Other disciples came later and raised a lament, now in company, so that the Lord of Hosts might hear them more easily, and now separately and in turn. The spirit died within them, for they had hoped that the Master would redeem Israel, and it was now the third day since his death; hence they did not understand why the Father had deserted the Son, and they preferred not to look at the daylight, but to die, so grievous was the burden.
Fear fell over them then because they thought the priests had taken Christ away, and they both returned home even more heartbroken. Other disciples came later and raised a lament together so that the Lord of Hosts might hear them more easily, and then separately, step by step. Their spirits were crushed because they had hoped the Master would redeem Israel, and now it was the third day since his death; they couldn't understand why the Father had abandoned the Son, and they preferred not to face the daylight, wishing instead to die under the weight of their sorrow.
The remembrance of those terrible moments pressed even then from the eyes of the old man two tears, which were visible by the light of the fire, coursing down his gray beard. His hairless and aged head was shaking, and the voice died in his breast.
The memory of those painful moments brought two tears to the old man's eyes, which shone in the firelight as they rolled down his gray beard. His bald, aged head shook, and he could barely speak.
“That man is speaking the truth and is weeping over it,” said Vinicius in his soul. Sorrow seized by the throat the simple-hearted listeners also. They had heard more than once of Christ’s sufferings, and it was known to them that joy succeeded sorrow; but since an apostle who had seen it told this, they wrung their hands under the impression, and sobbed or beat their breasts.
“That man is speaking the truth and is crying because of it,” Vinicius thought to himself. The simple-hearted listeners were also overcome with sorrow. They had heard about Christ’s sufferings more than once and knew that joy followed sorrow; but since an apostle who had witnessed it said this, they wrung their hands in despair and sobbed or beat their chests.
But they calmed themselves gradually, for the wish to hear more gained the mastery. The old man closed his eyes, as if to see distant things more distinctly in his soul, and continued,—“When the disciples had lamented in this way, Mary of Magdala rushed in a second time, crying that she had seen the Lord. Unable to recognize him, she thought him the gardener: but He said, ‘Mary!’ She cried ‘Rabboni!’ and fell at his feet. He commanded her to go to the disciples, and vanished. But they, the disciples, did not believe her; and when she wept for joy, some upbraided her, some thought that sorrow had disturbed her mind, for she said, too, that she had seen angels at the grave, but they, running thither a second time, saw the grave empty. Later in the evening appeared Cleopas, who had come with another from Emmaus, and they returned quickly, saying: ‘The Lord has indeed risen!’ And they discussed with closed doors, out of fear of the Jews. Meanwhile He stood among them, though the doors had made no sound, and when they feared, He said, ‘Peace be with you!’
But they gradually calmed down, as the desire to hear more took over. The old man closed his eyes, almost as if trying to see distant things more clearly in his mind, and continued, “After the disciples had lamented in this way, Mary of Magdala rushed in a second time, crying that she had seen the Lord. Not recognizing him, she thought he was the gardener: but He said, ‘Mary!’ She exclaimed, ‘Rabboni!’ and fell at his feet. He told her to go to the disciples, and then he disappeared. However, the disciples didn't believe her; and when she cried from joy, some scolded her, while others thought that grief had affected her mind, since she also mentioned seeing angels at the tomb. They ran back to the tomb again and found it empty. Later that evening, Cleopas arrived with another follower from Emmaus, and they quickly reported, ‘The Lord has truly risen!’ They were discussing this behind closed doors, fearing the Jews. Meanwhile, He stood among them, despite the doors being locked, and when they were afraid, He said, ‘Peace be with you!’”
“And I saw Him, as did all, and He was like light, and like the happiness of our hearts, for we believed that He had risen from the dead, and that the seas will dry and the mountains turn to dust, but His glory will not pass.
“And I saw Him, just like everyone else, and He was like light, and like the joy of our hearts, because we believed that He had risen from the dead, and that the seas would dry up and the mountains would turn to dust, but His glory will never fade away."
“After eight days Thomas Didymus put his finger in the Lord’s wounds and touched His side; Thomas fell at His feet then, and cried, ‘My Lord and my God!’ ‘Because thou hast seen me thou hast believed; blessed are they who have not seen and have believed!’ said the Lord. And we heard those words, and our eyes looked at Him, for He was among us.”
“After eight days, Thomas Didymus put his finger in the Lord’s wounds and touched His side. Then Thomas fell at His feet and said, ‘My Lord and my God!’ The Lord replied, ‘You believe because you have seen me; blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed!’ We heard those words, and we looked at Him, for He was among us.”
Vinicius listened, and something wonderful took place in him. He forgot for a moment where he was; he began to lose the feeling of reality, of measure, of judgment. He stood in the presence of two impossibilities. He could not believe what the old man said; and he felt that it would be necessary either to be blind or renounce one’s own reason, to admit that that man who said “I saw” was lying. There was something in his movements, in his tears, in his whole figure, and in the details of the events which he narrated, which made every suspicion impossible. To Vinicius it seemed at moments that he was dreaming. But round about he saw the silent throng; the odor of lanterns came to his nostrils; at a distance the torches were blazing; and before him on the stone stood an aged man near the grave, with a head trembling somewhat, who, while bearing witness, repeated, “I saw!”
Vinicius listened, and something amazing happened inside him. For a moment, he completely lost track of where he was; he began to lose his grip on reality, on measure, on judgment. He found himself facing two impossibilities. He couldn’t believe what the old man was saying; and he felt that he would either have to be blind or give up his own reasoning to accept that the man who said “I saw” was lying. There was something in the old man’s movements, in his tears, in his whole presence, and in the details of the story he told, which made any doubt impossible. To Vinicius, it felt like he was dreaming at times. But around him, he saw the silent crowd; the smell of lanterns filled his nostrils; in the distance, torches were burning; and in front of him on the stone stood an elderly man by the grave, his head shaking slightly, who, while bearing witness, kept repeating, “I saw!”
And he narrated to them everything up to the Ascension into heaven. At moments he rested, for he spoke very circumstantially; but it could be felt that each minute detail had fixed itself in his memory, as a thing is fixed in a stone into which it has been engraved. Those who listened to him were seized by ecstasy. They threw back their hoods to hear him better, and not lose a word of those which for them were priceless. It seemed to them that some superhuman power had borne them to Galilee; that they were walking with the disciples through those groves and on those waters; that the cemetery was turned into the lake of Tiberius; that on the bank, in the mist of morning, stood Christ, as he stood when John, looking from the boat, said, “It is the Lord,” and Peter cast himself in to swim, so as to fall the more quickly at the beloved feet. In the faces of those present were evident enthusiasm beyond bounds, oblivion of life, happiness, and love immeasurable. It was clear that during Peter’s long narrative some of them had visions. When he began to tell how, at the moment of Ascension, the clouds closed in under the feet of the Saviour, covered Him, and hid Him from the eyes of the Apostles, all heads were raised toward the sky unconsciously, and a moment followed as it were of expectation, as if those people hoped to see Him or as if they hoped that He would descend again from the fields of heaven, and see how the old Apostle was feeding the sheep confided to him, and bless both the flock and him.
And he told them everything that happened up until the Ascension into heaven. Sometimes he paused, because he spoke in great detail; but it was clear that every little detail was etched in his memory, like something carved into stone. Those who listened were filled with joy. They pushed back their hoods to hear him better, not wanting to miss a single word of what was priceless to them. They felt as though some supernatural force had transported them to Galilee; that they were walking with the disciples through those groves and along those waters; that the cemetery had turned into the Sea of Tiberias; that on the shore, in the morning mist, stood Christ, just as He did when John, peering from the boat, said, “It is the Lord,” and Peter jumped in to swim, eager to fall at the beloved feet. The faces of those present showed boundless enthusiasm, a forgetfulness of life, and immense happiness and love. It was evident that during Peter’s long story, some of them had visions. When he began to recount how, at the moment of Ascension, the clouds gathered beneath the Savior’s feet, covered Him, and concealed Him from the Apostles’ sight, all heads instinctively tilted toward the sky, as if they were waiting, hoping to see Him again or wishing that He would descend from the heavens to witness how the old Apostle was tending the sheep that had been entrusted to him, and bless both the flock and him.
Rome did not exist for those people, nor did the man Cæsar; there were no temples of pagan gods; there was only Christ, who filled the land, the sea, the heavens, and the world.
Rome didn’t exist for those people, nor did Caesar; there were no temples of pagan gods; there was only Christ, who filled the land, the sea, the heavens, and the world.
At the houses scattered here and there along the Via Nomentana, the cocks began to crow, announcing midnight. At that moment Chilo pulled the corner of Vinicius’s mantle and whispered,—“Lord, I see Urban over there, not far from the old man, and with him is a maiden.”
At the houses scattered along the Via Nomentana, the roosters started to crow, marking midnight. At that moment, Chilo tugged at the corner of Vinicius’s cloak and whispered, “Sir, I see Urban over there, not far from the old man, and with him is a young woman.”
Vinicius shook himself, as if out of a dream, and, turning in the direction indicated by the Greek, he saw Lygia.
Vinicius shook himself awake, as if from a dream, and, turning toward the direction the Greek pointed, he saw Lygia.
Chapter XXI
EVERY drop of blood quivered in the young patrician at sight of her. He forgot the crowd, the old man, his own astonishment at the incomprehensible things which he had heard,—he saw only her. At last, after all his efforts, after long days of alarm, trouble, and suffering, he had found her! For the first time he realized that joy might rush at the heart, like a wild beast, and squeeze it till breath was lost. He, who had supposed hitherto that on “Fortuna” had been imposed a kind of duty to accomplish all his wishes, hardly believed his own eyes now and his own happiness. Were it not for that disbelief, his passionate nature might have urged him to some unconsidered step; but he wished to convince himself first that that was not the continuation of those miracles with which his head was filled, and that he was not dreaming. But there was no doubt,—he saw Lygia, and an interval of barely a few steps divided them. She stood in perfect light, so that he could rejoice in the sight of her as much as he liked. The hood had fallen from her head and dishevelled her hair; her mouth was open slightly, her eyes raised toward the Apostle, her face fixed in listening and delighted. She was dressed in a dark woollen mantle, like a daughter of the people, but never had Vinicius seen her more beautiful; and notwithstanding all the disorder which had risen in him, he was struck by the nobility of that wonderful patrician head in distinction to the dress, almost that of a slave. Love flew over him like a flame, immense, mixed with a marvellous feeling of yearning, homage, honor, and desire. He felt the delight which the sight of her caused him; he drank of her as of life-giving water after long thirst. Standing near the gigantic Lygian, she seemed to him smaller than before, almost a child; he noticed, too, that she had grown more slender. Her complexion had become almost transparent; she made on him the impression of a flower, and a spirit. But all the more did he desire to possess that woman, so different from all women whom he had seen or possessed in Rome or the Orient. He felt that for her he would have given them all, and with them Rome and the world in addition.
Every drop of blood in the young nobleman quivered at the sight of her. He forgot the crowd, the old man, and his own shock at the incomprehensible things he had heard; he could see only her. At last, after all his efforts, after long days of anxiety, trouble, and pain, he had found her! For the first time, he realized that joy could hit the heart like a wild animal, squeezing the breath away. He, who had until then believed that “Fortuna” had a duty to fulfill all his desires, could hardly believe his own eyes or his own happiness. If it weren't for that disbelief, his passionate nature might have pushed him to take impulsive action; but he wanted to convince himself first that this wasn’t just another one of the miracles that filled his mind and that he wasn’t dreaming. But there was no doubt—he saw Lygia, and only a few steps separated them. She stood in perfect light, allowing him to enjoy her presence as much as he wanted. The hood had fallen from her head, leaving her hair tousled; her mouth was slightly open, her eyes lifted toward the Apostle, her face fixed in rapt attention and delight. She wore a dark woolen cloak, like a common person, but Vinicius had never seen her more beautiful; and despite the turmoil inside him, he was struck by the nobility of her exquisite patrician features, contrasting with her almost slave-like attire. Love swept over him like a flame, vast and mixed with an incredible feeling of longing, reverence, honor, and desire. He felt the joy her presence brought him; he drank her in like life-giving water after a long thirst. Standing next to the tall Lygian, she seemed smaller than before, almost like a child; he also noticed that she had grown more slender. Her complexion had become nearly transparent; she struck him as both a flower and a spirit. But all the more did he yearn to possess this woman, so different from all the women he had seen or had in Rome or the East. He felt that for her, he would have given them all up, along with Rome and the world itself.
He would have lost himself in gazing, and forgotten himself altogether, had it not been for Chilo, who pulled the corner of his mantle, out of fear that he might do something to expose them to danger. Meanwhile the Christians began to pray and sing. After a while Maranatha thundered forth, and then the Great Apostle baptized with water from the fountain those whom the presbyters presented as ready for baptism. It seemed to Vinicius that that night would never end. He wished now to follow Lygia as soon as possible, and seize her on the road or at her house.
He would have lost himself in staring and completely forgotten everything, if it hadn't been for Chilo, who tugged at his cloak, worried that he might do something to put them in danger. Meanwhile, the Christians started to pray and sing. After a while, Maranatha boomed, and then the Great Apostle baptized those presented by the presbyters as ready for baptism with water from the fountain. Vinicius felt like that night would never end. He now wanted to follow Lygia as soon as possible and catch her on the road or at her house.
At last some began to leave the cemetery, and Chilo whispered,—“Let us go out before the gate, lord, we have not removed our hoods, and people look at us.”
At last, some started to leave the cemetery, and Chilo whispered, “Let’s go out before the gate, my lord, we haven’t taken off our hoods, and people are staring at us.”
Such was the case, for during the discourse of the Apostle all had cast aside their hoods so as to hear better, and they had not followed the general example. Chilo’s advice seemed wise, therefore. Standing before the gate, they could look at all who passed; Ursus it was easy to recognize by his form and size.
Such was the case, for during the Apostle's talk, everyone had taken off their hoods to hear better, and they hadn’t followed the common practice. Chilo’s advice seemed smart, therefore. Standing by the gate, they could see everyone who passed by; it was easy to recognize Ursus by his shape and size.
“Let us follow them,” said Chilo; “we shall see to what house they go. To-morrow, or rather to-day, thou wilt surround the entrances with slaves and take her.”
“Let’s follow them,” said Chilo; “we’ll see which house they go to. Tomorrow, or rather today, you’ll have slaves surround the entrances and take her.”
“No!” said Vinicius.
“No!” Vinicius exclaimed.
“What dost thou wish to do, lord?”
“What do you want to do, my lord?”
“We will follow her to the house and take her now, if thou wilt undertake that task, Croton?”
“We will follow her to the house and take her now, if you’re willing to take on that task, Croton?”
“I will,” replied Croton, “and I will give myself to thee as a slave if I do not break the back of that bison who is guarding her.”
“I will,” replied Croton, “and I will give myself to you as a servant if I don’t take down that bison who is guarding her.”
But Chilo fell to dissuading and entreating them by all the gods not to do so. Croton was taken only for defence against attack in case they were recognized, not to carry off the girl. To take her when there were only two of them was to expose themselves to death, and, what was worse, they might let her out of their hands, and then she would hide in another place or leave Rome. And what could they do? Why not act with certainty? Why expose themselves to destruction and the whole undertaking to failure?
But Chilo begged and pleaded with them by all the gods not to go through with it. Croton was meant only for defense against an attack if they were spotted, not to kidnap the girl. Trying to take her when there were just two of them would risk their lives, and even worse, they might lose her, and then she could escape to another place or leave Rome altogether. What could they do? Why not play it safe? Why put their lives on the line and jeopardize the entire plan?
Though Vinicius restrained himself with the greatest effort from seizing Lygia in his arms at once, right there in the cemetery, he felt that the Greek was right, and would have lent ear, perhaps, to his counsels, had it not been for Croton, to whom reward was the question.
Though Vinicius held himself back with all his might from grabbing Lygia in his arms right there in the cemetery, he realized the Greek was right and might have listened to his advice, if it hadn't been for Croton, who was all about the reward.
“Lord, command that old goat to be silent,” said he, “or let me drop my fist on his head. Once in Buxentum, whither Lucius Saturnius took me to a play, seven drunken gladiators fell on me at an inn, and none of them escaped with sound ribs. I do not say to take the girl now from the crowd, for they might throw stones before our feet, but once she is at home I will seize her, carry her away, and take her whithersoever thou shalt indicate.”
“Lord, tell that old goat to shut up,” he said, “or I’ll drop my fist on his head. Once in Buxentum, where Lucius Saturnius took me to a play, seven drunken gladiators jumped me at an inn, and none of them walked away without broken ribs. I’m not saying we should grab the girl from the crowd now, because they might throw stones at us, but once she’s home, I’ll take her, carry her away, and go wherever you tell me.”
Vinicius was pleased to hear those words, and answered,—“Thus let it be, by Hercules! To-morrow we may not find her at home; if we surprise them they will remove the girl surely.”
Vinicius was happy to hear those words and replied, “Absolutely, by Hercules! Tomorrow, we might not find her at home; if we catch them off guard, they’ll definitely send the girl away.”
“This Lygian seems tremendously strong!” groaned Chilo.
"This Lygian feels incredibly strong!" groaned Chilo.
“No one will ask thee to hold his hands,” answered Croton.
“No one will ask you to hold his hands,” answered Croton.
But they had to wait long yet, and the cocks had begun to crow before dawn when they saw Ursus coming through the gate, and with him Lygia. They were accompanied by a number of other persons. It seemed to Chilo that he recognized among them the Great Apostle; next to him walked another old man, considerably lower in stature, two women who were not young, and a boy, who lighted the way with a lantern. After that handful followed a crowd, about two hundred in number; Vinicius, Chilo, and Croton walked with these people.
But they had to wait a while longer, and the roosters had started crowing before dawn when they saw Ursus coming through the gate, along with Lygia. They were accompanied by several other people. Chilo thought he recognized the Great Apostle among them; next to him walked another old man, much shorter in stature, two older women, and a boy who was carrying a lantern to light the way. Following that small group was a crowd of about two hundred people; Vinicius, Chilo, and Croton walked with them.
“Yes, lord,” said Chilo, “thy maiden is under powerful protection. That is the Great Apostle with her, for see how passing people kneel to him.”
“Yes, my lord,” said Chilo, “your maiden is under strong protection. That is the Great Apostle with her; look how people are kneeling to him as they pass by.”
People did in fact kneel before him, but Vinicius did not look at them. He did not lose Lygia from his eyes for a moment; he thought only of bearing her away and, accustomed as he had been in wars to stratagems of all sorts, he arranged in his head the whole plan of seizure with soldierly precision. He felt that the step on which he had decided was bold, but he knew well that bold attacks give success generally.
People actually knelt before him, but Vinicius didn't pay attention to them. He kept his eyes on Lygia, thinking only about taking her away. Having been in wars and used to all kinds of strategies, he mapped out his plan for doing so with military precision in his mind. He understood that the step he had decided to take was daring, but he also knew that bold actions usually lead to success.
The way was long; hence at moments he thought too of the gulf which that wonderful religion had dug between him and Lygia. Now he understood everything that had happened in the past, and why it had happened. He was sufficiently penetrating for that. Lygia he had not known hitherto. He had seen in her a maiden wonderful beyond others, a maiden toward whom his feelings were inflamed: he knew now that her religion made her different from other women, and his hope that feeling, desire, wealth, luxury, would attract her he knew now to be a vain illusion. Finally he understood this, which he and Petronius had not understood, that the new religion ingrafted into the soul something unknown to that world in which he lived, and that Lygia, even if she loved him, would not sacrifice any of her Christian truths for his sake, and that, if pleasure existed for her, it was a pleasure different altogether from that which he and Petronius and Cæsar’s court and all Rome were pursuing. Every other woman whom he knew might become his mistress, but that Christian would become only his victim. And when he thought of this, he felt anger and burning pain, for he felt that his anger was powerless. To carry off Lygia seemed to him possible; he was almost sure that he could take her, but he was equally sure that, in view of her religion, he himself with his bravery was nothing, that his power was nothing, and that through it he could effect nothing. That Roman military tribune, convinced that the power of the sword and the fist which had conquered the world, would command it forever, saw for the first time in life that beyond that power there might be something else; hence he asked himself with amazement what it was. And he could not answer distinctly; through his head flew merely pictures of the cemetery, the assembled crowd, and Lygia, listening with her whole soul to the words of the old man, as he narrated the passion, death, and resurrection of the God-man, who had redeemed the world, and promised it happiness on the other shore of the Styx.
The road was long, and at times he thought about the gap that the incredible religion had created between him and Lygia. Now he understood everything that had happened before, and why it occurred. He was insightful enough for that. Lygia was someone he hadn’t truly known before. He had seen her as a remarkable young woman, someone who ignited his feelings; now he realized her faith set her apart from other women, and his hopes that passion, desire, wealth, or luxury would win her over were just illusions. Ultimately, he recognized what he and Petronius hadn’t grasped: the new faith infused something unknown into her soul that didn’t exist in his world. Even if Lygia loved him, she wouldn’t sacrifice her Christian beliefs for him, and if she experienced pleasure, it was entirely different from the pleasure sought by him, Petronius, Caesar's court, and all of Rome. Any other woman he knew might become his lover, but that Christian would only be his victim. When he considered this, he felt anger and intense pain, realizing that his anger was useless. He thought taking Lygia was possible; he was almost confident he could win her, but he also knew that in light of her faith, his courage meant nothing, his strength was meaningless, and he could achieve nothing through it. That Roman military tribune, who believed that the power of the sword and fist that had conquered the world would control it forever, was seeing for the first time in his life that there might be something beyond that power; thus, he questioned what it was with astonishment. He couldn’t find a clear answer, only fleeting visions of the cemetery, the gathered crowd, and Lygia, deeply engaged as she listened to the old man recount the passion, death, and resurrection of the God-man, who had redeemed the world and promised happiness on the other side of the Styx.
When he thought of this, chaos rose in his head. But he was brought out of this chaos by Chilo, who fell to lamenting his own fate. He had agreed to find Lygia. He had sought for her in peril of his life, and he had pointed her out. But what more do they want? Had he offered to carry the maiden away? Who could ask anything like this of a maimed man deprived of two fingers, an old man, devoted to meditation, to science, and virtue? What would happen were a lord of such dignity as Vinicius to meet some mishap while bearing the maiden away? It is true that the gods are bound to watch over their chosen ones,—but have not such things happened more than once, as if the gods were playing games instead of watching what was passing in the world? Fortune is blindfold, as is well known, and does not see even in daylight; what must the case be at night? Let something happen,—let that Lygian bear hurl a millstone at the noble Vinicius, or a keg of wine, or, still worse, water,—who will give assurance that instead of a reward blame will not fall on the hapless Chilo? He, the poor sage, has attached himself to the noble Vinicius as Aristotle to Alexander of Macedon. If the noble lord should give him at least that purse which he had thrust into his girdle before leaving home, there would be something with which to invoke aid in case of need, or to influence the Christians. Oh, why not listen to the counsels of an old man, counsels dictated by experience and prudence?
When he thought about this, chaos surged in his mind. But Chilo pulled him out of this turmoil, lamenting his own fate. He had promised to find Lygia. He had searched for her at great risk, and he had pointed her out. But what more do they want? Had he offered to kidnap the girl? Who could ask something like that of a disabled man missing two fingers, an old man devoted to contemplation, science, and virtue? What would happen if a lord of such dignity as Vinicius encountered trouble while taking the girl away? It’s true that the gods are supposed to protect their chosen ones—but haven’t similar things happened more than once, as if the gods were playing games instead of watching over the world? Fortune is blind, as it's well known, and doesn’t see even in daylight; what must it be like at night? Let something happen—let that Lygian bear throw a millstone at the noble Vinicius, or a barrel of wine, or even worse, water—who can guarantee that instead of praise, blame won’t fall on the unfortunate Chilo? He, the poor wise man, has latched onto the noble Vinicius like Aristotle to Alexander the Great. If the noble lord would at least give him that purse he stuffed into his belt before leaving home, there would be something to call for help if needed or to influence the Christians. Oh, why not heed the advice of an old man, advice born from experience and wisdom?
Vinicius, hearing this, took the purse from his belt, and threw it to the fingers of Chilo.
Vinicius, hearing this, took the purse from his belt and tossed it to Chilo's hands.
“Thou hast it; be silent!”
“You have it; be quiet!”
The Greek felt that it was unusually heavy, and gained confidence.
The Greek thought it was unusually heavy and felt more confident.
“My whole hope is in this,” said he, “that Hercules or Theseus performed deeds still more arduous; what is my personal, nearest friend, Croton, if not Hercules? Thee, worthy lord, I will not call a demigod, for thou art a full god, and in future thou wilt not forget a poor, faithful servant, whose needs it will be necessary to provide for from time to time, for once he is sunk in books, he thinks of nothing else; some few stadia of garden land and a little house, even with the smallest portico, for coolness in summer, would befit such a donor. Meanwhile I shall admire thy heroic deeds from afar, and invoke Jove to befriend thee, and if need be I will make such an outcry that half Rome will be roused to thy assistance. What a wretched, rough road! The olive oil is burned out in the lantern; and if Croton, who is as noble as he is strong, would bear me to the gate in his arms, he would learn, to begin with, whether he will carry the maiden easily; second, he would act like Æneas, and win all the good gods to such a degree that touching the result of the enterprise I should be thoroughly satisfied.”
“My whole hope lies in this,” he said, “that Hercules or Theseus accomplished even more difficult feats; what is my closest friend, Croton, if not Hercules? I won’t call you a demigod, worthy lord, because you are a full god, and in the future, you won’t forget a poor, loyal servant who occasionally needs support, since once he gets buried in books, he forgets everything else; a little piece of garden land and a small house, even with just a tiny portico for shade in the summer, would suit such a generous giver. In the meantime, I’ll admire your heroic deeds from a distance and pray to Jupiter to watch over you, and if necessary, I’ll make such a fuss that half of Rome will rally to help you. What a miserable, rough road! The olive oil has run out in the lantern; and if Croton, who is as noble as he is strong, were to carry me to the gate in his arms, he would first find out if he could easily carry the maiden; secondly, he would act like Aeneas and win over all the good gods to such an extent that I would be thoroughly satisfied with the outcome of the venture.”
“I should rather carry a sheep which died of mange a month ago,” answered the gladiator; “but give that purse, bestowed by the worthy tribune, and I will bear thee to the gate.”
“I’d rather carry a sheep that died of mange a month ago,” replied the gladiator. “But if you give me that purse, which was given by the worthy tribune, I’ll take you to the gate.”
“Mayst thou knock the great toe from thy foot,” replied the Greek; “what profit hast thou from the teachings of that worthy old man, who described poverty and charity as the two foremost virtues? Has he not commanded thee expressly to love me? Never shall I make thee, I see, even a poor Christian; it would be easier for the sun to pierce the walls of the Mamertine prison than for truth to penetrate thy skull of a hippopotamus.”
“May you knock the big toe off your foot,” replied the Greek; “what benefit do you get from the teachings of that respectable old man, who called poverty and charity the two greatest virtues? Hasn’t he told you clearly to love me? I see that I’ll never make you, not even a poor Christian; it would be easier for the sun to break through the walls of the Mamertine prison than for truth to break into your thick skull.”
“Never fear!” said Croton, who with the strength of a beast had no human feeling. “I shall not be a Christian! I have no wish to lose my bread.”
“Don’t worry!” said Croton, who, with his beastly strength, had no human emotions. “I won’t become a Christian! I have no desire to lose my livelihood.”
“But if thou knew even the rudiments of philosophy, thou wouldst know that gold is vanity.”
“But if you knew even the basics of philosophy, you would know that gold is worthless.”
“Come to me with thy philosophy. I will give thee one blow of my head in the stomach; we shall see then who wins.”
“Come to me with your philosophy. I’ll give you a punch in the stomach; we’ll see who wins then.”
“An ox might have said the same to Aristotle,” retorted Chilo.
“An ox could have said the same to Aristotle,” replied Chilo.
It was growing gray in the world. The dawn covered with pale light the outlines of the walls. The trees along the wayside, the buildings, and the gravestones scattered here and there began to issue from the shade. The road was no longer quite empty. Marketmen were moving toward the gates, leading asses and mules laden with vegetables; here and there moved creaking carts in which game was conveyed. On the road and along both sides of it was a light mist at the very earth, which promised good weather. People at some distance seemed like apparitions in that mist. Vinicius stared at the slender form of Lygia, which became more silvery as the light increased.
The world was turning gray. The dawn illuminated the outlines of the walls with a pale light. The trees along the roadside, the buildings, and the gravestones scattered here and there started to emerge from the shadows. The road was no longer completely empty. Market vendors were heading toward the gates, leading donkeys and mules loaded with vegetables; creaking carts on the road carried game. A light mist hung just above the ground, suggesting good weather ahead. People in the distance looked like ghosts in that mist. Vinicius watched the slender figure of Lygia, which appeared more silvery as the light grew stronger.
“Lord,” said Chilo, “I should offend thee were I to foresee the end of thy bounty, but now, when thou hast paid me, I may not be suspected of speaking for my own interest only. I advise thee once more to go home for slaves and a litter, when thou hast learned in what house the divine Lygia dwells; listen not to that elephant trunk, Croton, who undertakes to carry off the maiden only to squeeze thy purse as if it were a bag of curds.”
“Lord,” said Chilo, “I would offend you if I tried to predict when your generosity will run out, but now that you've compensated me, I can’t be accused of speaking only for my own benefit. I advise you once again to return home for slaves and a litter, once you find out where the divine Lygia lives; don't listen to that greedy braggart, Croton, who intends to take the girl just to drain your wallet as if it were a sack of cheese.”
“I have a blow of the fist to be struck between the shoulders, which means that thou wilt perish,” said Croton.
"I have a punch to throw between your shoulders, which means you'll be done for," said Croton.
“I have a cask of Cephalonian wine, which means that I shall be well,” answered Chilo.
“I have a barrel of Cephalonian wine, so I’ll be just fine,” replied Chilo.
Vinicius made no answer, for he approached the gate, at which a wonderful sight struck his eyes. Two soldiers knelt when the Apostle was passing; Peter placed his hand on their iron helmets for a moment, and then made the sign of the cross on them. It had never occurred to the patrician before that there could be Christians in the army; with astonishment he thought that as fire in a burning city takes in more and more houses, so to all appearances that doctrine embraces new souls every day, and extends itself over all human understandings. This struck him also with reference to Lygia, for he was convinced that, had she wished to flee from the city, there would be guards willing to facilitate her flight. He thanked the gods then that this had not happened.
Vinicius didn't respond as he approached the gate, where a stunning sight caught his eye. Two soldiers knelt as the Apostle walked by; Peter placed his hand on their metal helmets for a moment before making the sign of the cross over them. It had never occurred to him before that there could be Christians in the army; he was astonished to think that, just like fire spreading through a burning city, this faith seemed to reach and include more souls every day, expanding its influence over all human minds. This also reminded him of Lygia, as he was convinced that if she wanted to escape the city, there were guards who would help her do so. He then thanked the gods that this had not happened.
After they had passed vacant places beyond the wall, the Christians began to scatter. There was need, therefore, to follow Lygia more from a distance, and more carefully, so as not to rouse attention. Chilo fell to complaining of wounds, of pains in his legs, and dropped more and more to the rear. Vinicius did not oppose this, judging that the cowardly and incompetent Greek would not be needed. He would even have permitted him to depart, had he wished; but the worthy sage was detained by circumspection. Curiosity pressed him evidently, since he continued behind, and at moments even approached with his previous counsels; he thought too that the old man accompanying the Apostle might be Glaucus, were it not for his rather low stature.
After they had passed empty spots beyond the wall, the Christians started to spread out. So, it was necessary to follow Lygia from a distance and more cautiously, so as not to draw attention. Chilo began to complain about his wounds and pains in his legs, trailing further and further behind. Vinicius didn’t mind this, believing that the cowardly and incompetent Greek wouldn’t be needed. He would have even allowed him to leave if he wanted to; but the wise man was held back by caution. Curiosity clearly pushed him to stay behind, and at times he even came closer with his earlier advice; he also thought that the old man with the Apostle might be Glaucus, if not for his rather short stature.
They walked a good while before reaching the Trans-Tiber, and the sun was near rising when the group surrounding Lygia dispersed. The Apostle, an old woman, and a boy went up the river; the old man of lower stature, Ursus, and Lygia entered a narrow vicus, and, advancing still about a hundred yards, went into a house in which were two shops,—one for the sale of olives, the other for poultry.
They walked for quite a while before reaching the Trans-Tiber, and the sun was just about to rise when the group around Lygia broke up. The Apostle, an elderly woman, and a boy headed up the river; the shorter old man, Ursus, and Lygia entered a narrow street, and after walking another hundred yards, they went into a house that had two shops—one selling olives and the other selling poultry.
Chilo, who walked about fifty yards behind Vinicius and Croton, halted all at once, as if fixed to the earth, and, squeezing up to the wall, began to hiss at them to turn.
Chilo, who was walking about fifty yards behind Vinicius and Croton, suddenly stopped as if he were stuck to the ground. He pressed against the wall and started hissing at them to turn.
They did so, for they needed to take counsel.
They did that because they needed to discuss it.
“Go, Chilo,” said Vinicius, “and see if this house fronts on another street.” Chilo, though he had complained of wounds in his feet, sprang away as quickly as if he had had the wings of Mercury on his ankles, and returned in a moment.
“Go, Chilo,” Vinicius said, “and check if this house is on another street.” Chilo, even though he had complained about injuries to his feet, took off as quickly as if he had Mercury’s wings on his ankles and came back in no time.
“No,” said he, “there is but one entrance.”
“No,” he said, “there's only one entrance.”
Then, putting his hands together, he said, “I implore thee, lord, by Jupiter, Apollo, Vesta, Cybele, Isis, Osiris, Mithra Baal, and all the gods of the Orient and the Occident to drop this plan. Listen to me—”
Then, putting his hands together, he said, “I beg you, lord, by Jupiter, Apollo, Vesta, Cybele, Isis, Osiris, Mithra, Baal, and all the gods of the East and the West to abandon this plan. Hear me—”
But he stopped on a sudden, for he saw that Vinicius’s face was pale from emotion, and that his eyes were glittering like the eyes of a wolf. It was enough to look at him to understand that nothing in the world would restrain him from the undertaking. Croton began to draw air into his herculean breast, and to sway his undeveloped skull from side to side as bears do when confined in a cage, but on his face not the least fear was evident.
But he suddenly stopped when he saw that Vinicius’s face was pale with emotion, and his eyes were shining like a wolf's. Just looking at him made it clear that nothing in the world would stop him from going through with it. Croton began to take deep breaths and swayed his undeveloped head from side to side like bears do when they’re stuck in a cage, but there was no hint of fear on his face at all.
“I will go in first,” said he.
“I'll go in first,” he said.
“Thou wilt follow me,” said Vinicius, in commanding tones.
"You will follow me," said Vinicius, in a commanding tone.
And after a while both vanished in the dark entrance.
And after a bit, both disappeared into the dark entrance.
Chilo sprang to the corner of the nearest alley and watched from behind it, waiting for what would happen.
Chilo dashed to the corner of the nearest alley and watched from behind it, waiting to see what would happen.
Chapter XXII
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 tenants. 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 names of occupants, 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.
ONLY inside the entrance did Vinicius realize the full extent of the challenge ahead. The house was large, spanning several floors, one of the many built in Rome for rental profit; typically, they were constructed so quickly and poorly that hardly a year went by without some of them collapsing on their tenants. Real hives, too tall and too narrow, filled with rooms and small spaces where too many poor people squeezed in. In a city where many streets lacked names, these houses had no numbers; the owners left rent collection to slaves, who, not required by the city government to provide names of residents, often didn’t know them themselves. Finding someone by asking in such a house could be quite difficult, especially when there was no gatekeeper.
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 part, were worn, rent, or patched.
Vinicius and Croton arrived at a narrow, corridor-like passage surrounded on all sides, creating a sort of common atrium for the entire house, featuring a fountain in the center with water flowing into a stone basin set in the ground. All the walls had internal stairways, some made of stone and others of wood, leading to galleries that had entrances to living quarters. There were also living quarters on the ground level; some had wooden doors, while others were only separated from the yard by woolen screens. Most of these screens were worn, torn, or patched.
The hour was early, and there was not a living soul in the yard. It was evident that all were asleep in the house except those who had returned from Ostrianum.
The hour was early, and there wasn't a single person in the yard. Clearly, everyone in the house was asleep except for those who had come back from Ostrianum.
“What shall we do, lord?” asked Croton, halting.
“What should we do, boss?” asked Croton, stopping.
“Let us wait here; some one may appear,” replied Vinicius. “We should not be seen in the yard.”
“Let’s wait here; someone might show up,” Vinicius replied. “We shouldn’t be seen in the yard.”
At this moment, 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 in his hand, and approached the fountain.
At that moment, he found Chilo’s advice practical. If there were a few dozen slaves around, it would be easy to take control of the gate, which appeared to be the only exit, search all the rooms at once, and eventually get to Lygia’s. Otherwise, Christians, who were definitely present in that house, might alert others that people were looking for her. Given this, asking strangers was risky. Vinicius paused to consider whether it might be better to retrieve his slaves. Just then, from behind a screen that concealed a more distant room, a man came out with a sieve in his hand and walked toward the fountain.
At the first glance the young tribune recognized Ursus.
At first glance, the young tribune recognized Ursus.
“That is the Lygian!” whispered Vinicius.
"That's the Lygian!" Vinicius whispered.
“Am I to break his bones now?”
“Should I break his bones now?”
“Wait awhile!”
“Hold on a minute!”
Ursus did not notice the two men, as they were in the shadow of the entrance, and he began quietly to sink in 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.
Ursus didn’t notice the two men, as they were in the shadows by the entrance, and he started quietly rinsing the vegetables in the sieve. It was clear that after spending the entire night in the cemetery, he was getting ready to prepare a meal. After a while, he finished washing; he took the wet sieve and disappeared behind the screen. Croton and Vinicius followed him, thinking they would go straight to Lygia’s place. They were greatly surprised when they saw that the screen led to another dark corridor, not to her lodgings, and at the end was a small garden with a few cypress trees, some myrtle bushes, and a little house attached 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 Cæsar. Vinicius would declare himself then to the guards, and summon their assistance.
Both immediately realized that this was a fortunate situation for them. In the courtyard, all the tenants could gather; the privacy of the little house made their plan easier. They would quickly set aside their protector, or rather Ursus, and reach the street just as quickly with the captured Lygia; then they would take matters into their own hands. It was likely that no one would confront them; if they were attacked, they would claim that a hostage was escaping from Caesar. Vinicius would then identify himself to the guards and call for their help.
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.
Ursus was just about to enter the small house when the sound of footsteps caught his attention; he stopped, saw two people, placed his sieve on the railing, and turned to face them.
“What do ye want here?” asked he.
“What do you want here?” he asked.
“Thee!” said Vinicius.
"You!" said Vinicius.
Then, turning to Croton, he said in a low, hurried voice:
Then, turning to Croton, he said in a quiet, rushed voice:
“Kill!”
"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.
Croton charged at him like a tiger, and in an instant, before the Lygian could think or realize who was attacking him, Croton had him locked in his steel-like arms.
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 Ostrianum.
Vinicius was too sure of the man's unnatural strength to wait for the fight to finish. He rushed past the two, dashed to the door of the small house, pushed it open, and found himself in a somewhat dim room, lit by a fire burning in the chimney. A flicker of this fire shone directly on Lygia’s face. Sitting by the fire was the old man who had traveled with the young girl and Ursus on the road from Ostrianum.
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 had not the power. 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.
Vinicius burst in so suddenly that before Lygia could recognize him, he had grabbed her by the waist and, lifting her, sprinted toward the door again. The old man blocked the way, that was true; but pressing the girl against his chest with one arm, Vinicius pushed him aside with his other free arm. The hood fell from his head, and at the sight of that face, which she knew and which looked terrifying at that moment, Lygia felt her blood run cold from fear, and her voice caught in her throat. She wanted to call for help, but couldn't. Her desire to grip the door and fight back was equally futile. Her fingers slid along the stone, and she would have fainted if not for the horrifying scene that met her eyes when Vinicius charged 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.
Ursus was holding in his arms a man who was completely bent over, his head hanging and his mouth covered in blood. When he saw them, he hit the man's head again with his fist, and in the blink of an eye, he lunged toward Vinicius like a furious wild animal.
“Death!” thought the young patrician.
"Death!" thought the young noble.
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.
Then he heard, as if in a dream, Lygia's scream, “Don't kill!” He felt something, like a thunderbolt, force the arms that were holding Lygia apart; then the ground spun around him, and the light of day faded from his eyes.
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 Cæsar’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 young tribune’s method was unwise; considering, however, Croton’s terrible strength, he admitted that it might succeed, and thought, “If it go hard with him, Vinicius can carry the girl, and Croton clear the way.” Delay grew wearisome, however; the silence of the entrance which he watched alarmed him.
Chilo, hidden around the corner of the house, was waiting to see what would happen, as curiosity battled with fear inside him. He thought that if they managed to take Lygia, he would be in good standing with Vinicius. He no longer feared Urban, as he was sure Croton would kill him. He figured that if a crowd started gathering in the currently empty streets—if Christians or anyone else tried to resist—he, Chilo, would speak to them as if he were representing authority, acting on Cæsar’s orders, and if necessary, he would call in the guards to help the young patrician against the unruly crowd—thus earning himself more favor. Deep down, he felt that the young tribune’s approach was reckless; however, considering Croton’s incredible strength, he acknowledged that it might work, thinking, “If it gets tough for him, Vinicius can take the girl, and Croton can clear the way.” The wait became tiresome, though; the silence of the entrance he was watching made him uneasy.
“If they do not hit upon her hiding-place, and make an uproar, they will frighten her.”
“If they don’t find her hiding place and cause a scene, they’re going to scare 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.
But this idea wasn't unpleasant; because Chilo realized that in that case, he would be needed by Vinicius again and could extract a nice sum of sestertii from the tribune once more.
“Whatever they do,” said he to himself, “they will work for me, though no one divines that. O gods! O gods! only permit me-”
“Whatever they do,” he said to himself, “they will work for me, even if no one realizes it. Oh gods! Oh gods! just let me-”
And he stopped suddenly, for it seemed to him that some one was bending forward through the entrance; then, squeezing up to the wall, he began to look, holding the breath in his breast.
And he suddenly paused, sensing that someone was leaning in through the entrance; then, pressing himself against the wall, he began to peek, holding his breath.
And he had not deceived himself, for a head thrust itself half out of the entrance and looked around. After a while, however, it vanished.
And he hadn't deluded himself, because a head poked out halfway from the entrance and scanned the area. After a while, though, it disappeared.
“That is Vinicius, or Croton,” thought Chilo; “but if they have taken the girl, why does she not scream, and why are they looking out to the street? They must meet people anyhow, for before they reach the Carinæ there will be movement in the city—What is that? By the immortal gods!”
"That's Vinicius, or Croton," Chilo thought. "But if they have taken the girl, why isn't she screaming, and why are they looking out at the street? They must encounter someone eventually, because before they get to the Carinæ, there will be some activity in the city—What is that? By the immortal gods!"
And suddenly the remnant of his hair stood on end.
And suddenly the rest of his hair stood straight up.
In the door appeared Ursus, with the body of Croton hanging on his arm, and looking around once more, he began to run, bearing it along the empty street toward the river.
In the doorway stood Ursus, with Croton's body draped over his arm, and after glancing around one last time, he started to run, carrying it down the deserted street toward the river.
Chilo made himself as flat against the wall as a bit of mud.
Chilo pressed himself flat against the wall like a piece of mud.
“I am lost if he sees me!” thought he.
“I'll be in trouble if he sees me!” he thought.
But Ursus ran past the corner quickly, and disappeared beyond the neighboring house. Chilo, without further waiting, his teeth chattering from terror, ran along the cross street with a speed which even in a young man might have roused admiration.
But Ursus quickly dashed around the corner and vanished behind the nearby house. Chilo, not wanting to wait any longer, his teeth chattering from fear, sprinted down the cross street with a speed that could have impressed even a young man.
“If he sees me from a distance when he is returning, he will catch and kill me,” said he to himself. “Save me, Zeus; save me, Apollo; save me, Hermes; save me, O God of the Christians! I will leave Rome, I will return to Mesembria, but save me from the hands of that demon!”
“If he spots me from far away when he's coming back, he’ll catch me and kill me,” he thought. “Please help me, Zeus; help me, Apollo; help me, Hermes; help me, God of the Christians! I’ll leave Rome, I’ll go back to Mesembria, but save me from that monster!”
And that Lygian who had killed Croton seemed to him at that moment some superhuman being. While running, he thought that he might be some god who had taken the form of a barbarian. At that moment he believed in all the gods of the world, and in all myths, at which he jeered usually. It flew through his head, too, that it might be the God of the Christians who had killed Croton; and his hair stood on end again at the thought that he was in conflict with such a power.
And that Lygian who had killed Croton looked to him at that moment like some kind of superhuman being. As he ran, he thought that he might be a god who had taken on the appearance of a barbarian. At that moment, he believed in all the gods of the world and all the myths he usually mocked. It also crossed his mind that it could be the God of the Christians who had killed Croton; and his hair stood on end again at the thought that he was up against such a force.
Only when he had run through a number of alleys, and saw some workmen coming toward him from a distance, was he calmed somewhat. Breath failed in his breast; so he sat on the threshold of a house and began to wipe, with a corner of his mantle, his sweat-covered forehead.
Only after he had run through several alleys and spotted some workers approaching him from a distance did he start to feel a bit calmer. He was out of breath, so he sat on the doorstep of a house and began to wipe the sweat off his forehead with a corner of his cloak.
“I am old, and need calm,” said he.
“I’m old and need peace,” he said.
The people coming toward him turned into some little side street, and again the place round about was empty. The city was sleeping yet. In the morning movement began earlier in the wealthier parts of the city, where the slaves of rich houses were forced to rise before daylight; in portions inhabited by a free population, supported at the cost of the State, hence unoccupied, they woke rather late, especially in winter. Chilo, after he had sat some time on the threshold, felt a piercing cold; so he rose, and, convincing himself that he had not lost the purse received from Vinicius, turned toward the river with a step now much slower.
The people walking toward him turned into a side street, and once again the area was empty. The city was still asleep. In the morning, things started moving earlier in the wealthier parts of town, where the servants of rich households had to get up before dawn; in areas where free citizens lived, supported by the state's funds, they woke up later, especially in winter. After sitting on the threshold for a while, Chilo felt a sharp chill, so he got up and, assuring himself that he hadn’t lost the purse he got from Vinicius, headed toward the river with a much slower pace.
“I may see Croton’s body somewhere,” said he to himself. “O gods! that Lygian, if he is a man, might make millions of sestertia in the course of one year; for if he choked Croton, like a whelp, who can resist him? They would give for his every appearance in the arena as much gold as he himself weighs. He guards that maiden better than Cerberus does Hades. But may Hades swallow him, for all that! I will have nothing to do with him. He is too bony. But where shall I begin in this case? A dreadful thing has happened. If he has broken the bones of such a man as Croton, beyond a doubt the soul of Vinicius is puling above that cursed house now, awaiting his burial. By Castor! but he is a patrician, a friend of Cæsar, a relative of Petronius, a man known in all Rome, a military tribune. His death cannot pass without punishment. Suppose I were to go to the pretorian camp, or the guards of the city, for instance?”
“I might find Croton’s body lying around somewhere,” he thought to himself. “Oh gods! That Lygian, if he can even be called a man, could make millions in sestertii in just one year; if he choked Croton, like a puppy, who could stand against him? They’d pay as much in gold for every time he appeared in the arena as he weighs. He protects that girl better than Cerberus guards Hades. But let Hades take him for all I care! I want nothing to do with him. He’s too scrawny. But where should I start with this? Something terrible has happened. If he’s broken the bones of someone like Croton, there's no doubt Vinicius’s soul is suffering above that cursed house right now, waiting for a proper burial. By Castor! he’s a patrician, a friend of Caesar, a relative of Petronius, a recognized figure all over Rome, a military tribune. His death can't go unpunished. Should I go to the pretorian camp or the city guards, perhaps?”
Here he stopped and began to think, but said after a while,—“Woe is me! Who took him to that house if not I? His freedmen and his slaves know that I came to his house, and some of them know with what object. What will happen if they suspect me of having pointed out to him purposely the house in which his death met him? Though it appear afterward, in the court, that I did not wish his death, they will say that I was the cause of it. Besides, he is a patrician; hence in no event can I avoid punishment. But if I leave Rome in silence, and go far away somewhere, I shall place myself under still greater suspicion.”
Here he paused and started to think, then said after a moment, “Woe is me! Who took him to that house if not me? His freedmen and slaves know that I went to his house, and some of them know why. What will happen if they suspect that I purposely pointed him to the house where he met his death? Even if it turns out in court that I didn’t want him dead, they’ll say I caused it. Plus, he’s a patrician; so no matter what, I can’t escape punishment. But if I leave Rome quietly and go far away, I’ll put myself under even more suspicion.”
It was bad in every case. The only question was to choose the less evil. Rome was immense; still Chilo felt that it might become too small for him. Any other man might go directly to the prefect of the city guards and tell what had happened, and, though some suspicion might fall on him, await the issue calmly. But Chilo’s whole past was of such character that every closer acquaintance with the prefect of the city or the prefect of the guard must cause him very serious trouble, and confirm also every suspicion which might enter the heads of officials.
It was bad no matter what. The only question was choosing the lesser evil. Rome was enormous; still, Chilo felt it might become too small for him. Any other person could go straight to the city guard’s prefect and share what had happened, and even if some suspicion fell on them, they could wait for the outcome calmly. But Chilo’s entire past was such that any closer interaction with the city prefect or the guard’s prefect would lead to serious trouble for him and confirm any suspicion that might occur to the officials.
On the other hand, to flee would be to confirm Petronius in the opinion that Vinicius had been betrayed and murdered through conspiracy. Petronius was a powerful man, who could command the police of the whole Empire, and who beyond doubt would try to find the guilty parties even at the ends of the earth. Still, Chilo thought to go straight to him, and tell what had happened. Yes; that was the best plan. Petronius was calm, and Chilo might be sure of this, at least, that he would hear him to the end. Petronius, who knew the affair from its inception, would believe in Chilo’s innocence more easily than would the prefects.
On the other hand, running away would just confirm Petronius's belief that Vinicius had been betrayed and murdered through a conspiracy. Petronius was a powerful man who could control the police across the entire Empire, and he would undoubtedly try to track down the guilty parties, even to the ends of the earth. Still, Chilo considered going directly to him and explaining what had happened. Yes; that seemed like the best plan. Petronius was calm, and Chilo could be sure of one thing: he would listen to him until the end. Petronius, who knew about the situation from the very beginning, would be more likely to believe in Chilo's innocence than the prefects would.
But to go to him, it was needful to know with certainty what had happened to Vinicius. Chilo did not know that. He had seen, it is true, the Lygian stealing with Croton’s body to the river, but nothing more. Vinicius might be killed; but he might be wounded or detained. Now it occurred to Chilo for the first time, that surely the Christians would not dare to kill a man so powerful,—a friend of Cæsar, and a high military official,—for that kind of act might draw on them a general persecution. It was more likely that they had detained him by superior force, to give Lygia means to hide herself a second time.
But to approach him, it was essential to know for sure what had happened to Vinicius. Chilo didn’t have that information. He had seen, it’s true, the Lygian taking Croton’s body to the river, but nothing more. Vinicius could be dead; however, he might also be injured or held captive. Now, for the first time, it crossed Chilo’s mind that the Christians would probably not dare to kill such a powerful man—a friend of Caesar and a high-ranking military official—because that could lead to a widespread backlash against them. It seemed more likely that they had captured him by force to give Lygia a chance to escape once again.
This thought filled Chilo with hope.
This thought filled Chilo with hope.
“If that Lygian dragon has not torn him to pieces at the first attack, he is alive, and if he is alive he himself will testify that I have not betrayed him; and then not only does nothing threaten me, but—O Hermes, count again on two heifers—a fresh field is opening. I can inform one of the freedmen where to seek his lord; and whether he goes to the prefect or not is his affair, the only point being that I should not go. Also, I can go to Petronius, and count on a reward. I have found Lygia; now I shall find Vinicius, and then again Lygia. It is needful to know first whether Vinicius is dead or living.”
“If that Lygian dragon hasn’t torn him to shreds at the first attack, he’s alive, and if he’s alive, he’ll confirm that I haven’t betrayed him; and then not only am I in no danger, but—oh Hermes, count again on two heifers—a new opportunity is opening up. I can tell one of the freedmen where to find his lord; whether he decides to go to the prefect or not is up to him, the important thing is that I should not go. Also, I can approach Petronius and expect a reward. I’ve found Lygia; now I’ll find Vinicius, and then Lygia again. It’s essential to first know whether Vinicius is dead or alive.”
Here it occurred to him that he might go in the night to the baker Demas and inquire about Ursus. But he rejected that thought immediately. He preferred to have nothing to do with Ursus. He might suppose, justly, that if Ursus had not killed Glaucus he had been warned, evidently, by the Christian elder to whom he had confessed his design,—warned that the affair was an unclean one, to which some traitor had persuaded him. In every case, at the mere recollection of Ursus, a shiver ran through Chilo’s whole body. But he thought that in the evening he would send Euricius for news to that house in which the thing had happened. Meanwhile he needed refreshment, a bath, and rest. The sleepless night, the journey to Ostrianum, the flight from the Trans-Tiber, had wearied him exceedingly.
Here it hit him that he could go at night to the baker Demas and ask about Ursus. But he quickly dismissed the idea. He didn't want anything to do with Ursus. He could reasonably think that if Ursus hadn't killed Glaucus, he had been warned, clearly, by the Christian elder to whom he had confessed his plan—warned that it was a dirty business, influenced by some traitor. In any case, just the thought of Ursus made Chilo shiver. But he considered sending Euricius in the evening for news from the house where the incident occurred. In the meantime, he needed some food, a bath, and rest. The sleepless night, the trip to Ostrianum, and the escape from the Trans-Tiber had truly worn him out.
One thing gave him permanent comfort: he had on his person two purses,—that which Vinicius had given him at home, and that which he had thrown him on the way from the cemetery. In view of this happy circumstance, and of all the excitement through which he had passed, he resolved to eat abundantly, and drink better wine than he drank usually.
One thing provided him lasting comfort: he had two purses on him—one that Vinicius had given him at home, and the other that had been thrown to him on the way from the cemetery. Considering this fortunate situation, and all the excitement he had gone through, he decided to eat a lot and drink better wine than usual.
When the hour for opening the wine-shop came at last, he did so in such a marked measure that he forgot the bath; he wished to sleep, above all, and drowsiness overcame his strength so that he returned with tottering step to his dwelling in the Subura, where a slave woman, purchased with money obtained from Vinicius, was waiting for him.
When the time finally came to open the wine shop, he did so so eagerly that he completely forgot about the bath; all he wanted was to sleep, and exhaustion took over, making him stagger back to his home in the Subura, where a slave woman bought with money from Vinicius was waiting for him.
When he had entered a sleeping-room, as dark as the den of a fox, he threw himself on the bed, and fell asleep in one instant. He woke only in the evening, or rather he was roused by the slave woman, who called him to rise, for some one was inquiring, and wished to see him on urgent business.
When he entered a room as dark as a fox's den, he threw himself onto the bed and fell asleep instantly. He only woke up in the evening, or more accurately, he was awakened by the slave woman, who called him to get up because someone was asking for him and wanted to see him about something urgent.
The watchful Chilo came to himself in one moment, threw on his hooded mantle hastily, and, commanding the slave woman to stand aside, looked out cautiously.
The alert Chilo snapped back to reality, quickly put on his hooded cloak, and, telling the slave woman to step aside, peered out carefully.
And he was benumbed! for he saw before the door of the sleeping-room the gigantic form of Ursus.
And he was frozen in place! because he saw the massive figure of Ursus standing in front of the bedroom door.
At that sight he felt his feet and head grow icy-cold, the heart ceased to beat in his bosom, and shivers were creeping along his back. For a time he was unable to speak; then with chattering teeth he said, or rather groaned,—
At that sight, he felt his feet and head turn icy cold, his heart stopped beating in his chest, and shivers ran down his back. For a moment, he couldn't speak; then, with chattering teeth, he said—or rather groaned,—
“Syra—I am not at home—I don’t know that—good man-”
“Syra—I’m not home—I don’t know that—good man—”
“I told him that thou wert at home, but asleep, lord,” answered the girl; “he asked to rouse thee.”
“I told him you were home, but asleep, my lord,” the girl replied; “he asked to wake you up.”
“O gods! I will command that thou—”
“O gods! I will command that you—”
But Ursus, as if impatient of delay, approached the door of the sleeping-room, and, bending, thrust in his head.
But Ursus, seeming impatient with the wait, walked up to the door of the bedroom and bent down to stick his head in.
“O Chilo Chilonides!” said he.
"O Chilo Chilonides!" he said.
“Pax tecum! pax! pax!” answered Chilo. “O best of Christians! Yes, I am Chilo; but this is a mistake,—I do not know thee!”
“Peace be with you! Peace! Peace!” Chilo replied. “Oh, greatest of Christians! Yes, I am Chilo; but this is a misunderstanding—I don’t know you!”
“Chilo Chilonides,” repeated Ursus, “thy lord, Vinicius, summons thee to go with me to him.”
“Chilo Chilonides,” Ursus said again, “your master, Vinicius, calls you to come with me to him.”
Chapter XXIII
A PIERCING pain roused Vinicius. At the first moment he could not understand where he was, nor what was happening. He felt a roaring in his head, and his eyes were covered as if with mist. Gradually, however, his consciousness returned, and at last he beheld through that mist three persons bending over him. Two he recognized: one was Ursus, the other the old man whom he had thrust aside when carrying off Lygia. The third, an utter stranger, was holding his left arm, and feeling it from the elbow upward as far as the shoulder-blade. This caused so terrible a pain that Vinicius, thinking it a kind of revenge which they were taking, said through his set teeth, “Kill me!” But they paid no apparent heed to his words, just as though they heard them not, or considered them the usual groans of suffering. Ursus, with his anxious and also threatening face of a barbarian, held a bundle of white cloth torn in long strips. The old man spoke to the person who was pressing the arm of Vinicius,—“Glaucus, art thou certain that the wound in the head is not mortal?”
A sharp pain woke Vinicius up. At first, he couldn’t understand where he was or what was happening. He felt a loud ringing in his head, and his eyes were clouded, as if covered by fog. Slowly, though, he became aware again and finally saw through that fog three people leaning over him. Two of them he recognized: one was Ursus, and the other was the old man he had shoved aside when he took Lygia away. The third person, a complete stranger, was holding his left arm and feeling it from the elbow up to the shoulder blade. This caused such excruciating pain that Vinicius, thinking they were getting revenge on him, gritted his teeth and said, “Kill me!” But they seemed to ignore his words, as if they didn’t hear him or considered them just the usual groans of pain. Ursus, with his worried yet intimidating barbarian expression, held a bundle of white cloth torn into long strips. The old man spoke to the person pressing on Vinicius's arm, saying, “Glaucus, are you sure the head wound isn’t fatal?”
“Yes, worthy Crispus,” answered Glaucus. “While serving in the fleet as a slave, and afterward while living at Naples, I cured many wounds, and with the pay which came to me from that occupation I freed myself and my relatives at last. The wound in the head is slight. When this one [here he pointed to Ursus with his head] took the girl from the young man, he pushed him against the wall; the young man while falling put out his arm, evidently to save himself; he broke and disjointed it, but by so doing saved his head and his life.”
“Yes, worthy Crispus,” Glaucus replied. “While I was a slave serving in the fleet, and later while living in Naples, I treated many wounds, and with the earnings from that work, I finally freed myself and my family. The head wound is minor. When this one” [he pointed to Ursus] “took the girl from the young man, he shoved him against the wall; as the young man fell, he reached out to break his fall, and in doing so, he broke and dislocated his arm, but he managed to protect his head and save his life.”
“Thou hast had more than one of the brotherhood in thy care,” added Crispus, “and hast the repute of a skilful physician; therefore I sent Ursus to bring thee.”
“You’ve taken care of more than one member of the brotherhood,” Crispus added, “and you’re known as a skilled physician; that’s why I sent Ursus to get you.”
“Ursus, who on the road confessed that yesterday he was ready to kill me!”
“Ursus, who on the way admitted that yesterday he was ready to kill me!”
“He confessed his intention earlier to me than to thee; but I, who know thee and thy love for Christ, explained to him that the traitor is not thou, but the unknown, who tried to persuade him to murder.”
“He told me about his intention sooner than he told you; but I, knowing you and your love for Christ, explained to him that you’re not the traitor, but the stranger who tried to convince him to commit murder.”
“That was an evil spirit, but I took him for an angel,” said Ursus, with a sigh.
"That was a wicked spirit, but I mistook him for an angel," Ursus said with a sigh.
“Some other time thou wilt tell me, but now we must think of this wounded man.” Thus speaking, he began to set the arm. Though Crispus sprinkled water on his face, Vinicius fainted repeatedly from suffering; that was, however, a fortunate circumstance, since he did not feel the pain of putting his arm into joint, nor of setting it. Glaucus fixed the limb between two strips of wood, which he bound quickly and firmly, so as to keep the arm motionless. When the operation was over, Vinicius recovered consciousness again and saw Lygia above him. She stood there at the bed holding a brass basin with water, in which from time to time Glaucus dipped a sponge and moistened the head of his patient.
"Another time you'll tell me, but right now we need to focus on this injured man." With that, he started to set the arm. Even though Crispus splashed water on his face, Vinicius kept fainting from the pain; however, that turned out to be a good thing, since he didn’t feel the discomfort of getting his arm back in place or the setting process. Glaucus secured the limb between two pieces of wood, which he tied quickly and tightly to keep the arm still. Once the procedure was finished, Vinicius regained consciousness and saw Lygia above him. She was standing by the bed holding a brass basin with water, into which Glaucus periodically dipped a sponge to moisten the head of his patient.
Vinicius gazed and could not believe his eyes. What he saw seemed a dream, or the pleasant vision brought by fever, and only after a long time could he whisper,—“Lygia!”
Vinicius stared in disbelief. What he saw felt like a dream or a beautiful illusion brought on by fever, and only after a while could he whisper, “Lygia!”
The basin trembled in her hand at that sound, but she turned on him eyes full of sadness.
The bowl shook in her hand at that sound, but she looked at him with eyes full of sadness.
“Peace be with thee!” answered she, in a low voice.
“Peace be with you!” she replied softly.
She stood there with extended arms, her face full of pity and sorrow. But he gazed, as if to fill his sight with her, so that after his lids were closed the picture might remain under them. He looked at her face, paler and smaller than it had been, at the tresses of dark hair, at the poor dress of a laboring woman; he looked so intently that her snowy forehead began to grow rose-colored under the influence of his look. And first he thought that he would love her always; and second, that that paleness of hers and that poverty were his work,—that it was he who had driven her from a house where she was loved, and surrounded with plenty and comfort, and thrust her into that squalid room, and clothed her in that poor robe of dark wool.
She stood there with her arms outstretched, her face filled with pity and sadness. But he looked at her, as if trying to capture her image so that even after he closed his eyes, the image would linger there. He noticed her face, now paler and smaller than before, her dark hair, and the ragged dress of a working woman; he stared so intently that her pale forehead began to take on a rosy hue under his gaze. At first, he thought he would love her forever; and then he realized that her paleness and poverty were because of him—that he was the one who had forced her out of a home where she was loved, surrounded by abundance and comfort, and into that shabby room, dressing her in that worn dark wool garment.
He would have arrayed her in the costliest brocade, in all the jewels of the earth; hence astonishment, alarm, and pity seized him, and sorrow so great that he would have fallen at her feet had he been able to move.
He would have dressed her in the most expensive brocade, with all the jewels of the world; so, shock, fear, and compassion overwhelmed him, along with such intense sorrow that he would have collapsed at her feet if he could have moved.
“Lygia,” said he, “thou didst not permit my death.”
“Lygia,” he said, “you didn’t let me die.”
“May God return health to thee,” she answered, with sweetness.
“May God restore your health,” she replied, kindly.
For Vinicius, who had a feeling both of those wrongs which he had inflicted on her formerly, and those which he had wished to inflict on her recently, there was a real balsam in Lygia’s words. He forgot at the moment that through her mouth Christian teaching might speak; he felt only that a beloved woman was speaking, and that in her answer there was a special tenderness, a goodness simply preterhuman, which shook him to the depth of his soul. As just before he had grown weak from pain, so now he grew weak from emotion. A certain faintness came on him, at once immense and agreeable. He felt as if falling into some abyss, but he felt that to fall was pleasant, and that he was happy. He thought at that moment of weakness that a divinity was standing above him.
For Vinicius, who was aware of both the wrongs he had done to her in the past and the ones he had recently wanted to inflict, there was real comfort in Lygia’s words. In that moment, he forgot that her words could represent Christian teachings; he only felt that a loved woman was speaking, and in her response, there was a special tenderness, a goodness that felt almost otherworldly, which deeply moved him. Just as he had previously felt weak from pain, he now grew weak from emotion. A certain faintness washed over him, both immense and pleasant. He felt like he was falling into an abyss, but it felt good, and he felt happy. In that moment of vulnerability, he sensed that a divine presence was watching over him.
Meanwhile Glaucus had finished washing the wound in his head, and had applied a healing ointment. Ursus took the brass basin from Lygia’s hands; she brought a cup of water and wine which stood ready on the table, and put it to the wounded man’s lips. Vinicius drank eagerly, and felt great relief. After the operation the pain had almost passed; the wound and contusion began to grow firm; perfect consciousness returned to him.
Meanwhile, Glaucus had finished cleaning the wound on his head and had applied some healing ointment. Ursus took the brass basin from Lygia’s hands; she brought over a cup of water and wine that were ready on the table and offered it to the wounded man’s lips. Vinicius drank eagerly and felt a huge sense of relief. After the procedure, the pain had almost disappeared; the wound and bruise started to heal, and he regained full awareness.
“Give me another drink,” said he.
“Give me another drink,” he said.
Lygia took the empty cup to the next room; meanwhile Crispus, after a few words with Glaucus, approached the bed saying,—
Lygia carried the empty cup to the next room; meanwhile, Crispus, after exchanging a few words with Glaucus, approached the bed saying,—
“God has not permitted thee, Vinicius, to accomplish an evil deed, and has preserved thee in life so that thou shouldst come to thy mind. He, before whom man is but dust, delivered thee defenceless into our hands; but Christ, in whom we believe, commanded us to love even our enemies. Therefore we have dressed thy wounds, and, as Lygia has said, we will implore God to restore thy health, but we cannot watch over thee longer. Be in peace, then, and think whether it beseems thee to continue thy pursuit of Lygia. Thou hast deprived her of guardians, and us of a roof, though we return thee good for evil.”
“God has not allowed you, Vinicius, to commit a wrong act, and has kept you alive so that you would come to your senses. He, who sees man as nothing but dust, handed you defenseless into our care; yet Christ, whom we believe in, instructed us to love even our enemies. So we’ve treated your wounds, and as Lygia has said, we will pray to God to restore your health, but we can no longer guard you. So be at peace, and consider whether it is right for you to keep pursuing Lygia. You have taken away her protectors, and us our shelter, even though we repay you with kindness for your wrongs.”
“Do ye wish to leave me? inquired Vinicius.
“Do you wish to leave me?” Vinicius asked.
“We wish to leave this house, in which prosecution by the prefect of the city may reach us. Thy companion was killed; thou, who art powerful among thy own people, art wounded. This did not happen through our fault, but the anger of the law might fall on us.”
“We want to leave this house, where the city prefect might come after us. Your companion was killed; you, who have power among your people, are injured. This wasn't our fault, but the anger of the law could come down on us.”
“Have no fear of prosecution,” replied Vinicius; “I will protect you.”
“Don’t worry about getting in trouble,” Vinicius replied; “I will keep you safe.”
Crispus did not like to tell him that with them it was not only a question of the prefect and the police, but of him; they wished to secure Lygia from his further pursuit.
Crispus didn't want to tell him that it wasn't just about the prefect and the police, but also about him; they wanted to protect Lygia from his continued pursuit.
“Lord,” said he, “thy right arm is well. Here are tablets and a stilus; write to thy servants to bring a litter this evening and bear thee to thy own house, where thou wilt have more comfort than in our poverty. We dwell here with a poor widow, who will return soon with her son, and this youth will take thy letter; as to us, we must all find another hiding-place.”
“Lord,” he said, “your right arm is fine. Here are some tablets and a stylus; write to your servants to bring a litter this evening and take you to your house, where you'll be more comfortable than in our situation. We live here with a poor widow, who will be back soon with her son, and this young man will deliver your letter; as for us, we need to find another hiding place.”
Vinicius grew pale, for he understood that they wished to separate him from Lygia, and that if he lost her now he might never see her in life again. He knew indeed that things of great import had come between him and her, in virtue of which, if he wished to possess her, he must seek some new methods which he had not had time yet to think over. He understood too that whatever he might tell these people, though he should swear that he would return Lygia to Pomponia Græcina, they would not believe him, and were justified in refusing belief. Moreover, he might have done that before. Instead of hunting for Lygia, he might have gone to Pomponia and sworn to her that he renounced pursuit, and in that case Pomponia herself would have found Lygia and brought her home. No; he felt that such promises would not restrain them, and no solemn oath would be received, the more since, not being a Christian, he could swear only by the immortal gods, in whom he did not himself believe greatly, and whom they considered evil spirits.
Vinicius turned pale because he realized they wanted to separate him from Lygia, and if he lost her now, he might never see her again. He understood that significant issues had come between them, and if he wanted to be with her, he’d need to come up with some new strategies that he hadn’t had time to think about yet. He also realized that no matter what he told these people, even if he swore he would return Lygia to Pomponia Græcina, they wouldn’t believe him and were justified in their disbelief. Besides, he could have done that before. Instead of searching for Lygia, he could have gone to Pomponia and sworn he would stop pursuing her, and she would have found Lygia and brought her home. No; he sensed that such promises would not convince them, and no serious oath would be accepted, especially since, not being a Christian, he could only swear by the immortal gods, whom he didn’t really believe in and whom they regarded as evil spirits.
He desired desperately to influence Lygia and her guardians in some way, but for that there was need of time. For him it was all-important to see her, to look at her for a few days even. As every fragment of a plank or an oar seems salvation to a drowning man, so to him it seemed that during those few days he might say something to bring him nearer to her, that he might think out something, that something favorable might happen. Hence he collected his thoughts and said,—
He desperately wanted to influence Lygia and her guardians in some way, but that required time. It was crucial for him to see her, to look at her for even just a few days. Just like a drowning man clings to every piece of wood or an oar as a chance for salvation, he felt that during those few days he might say something to draw him closer to her, that he could come up with something, that something good might happen. So, he gathered his thoughts and said,—
“Listen to me, Christians. Yesterday I was with you in Ostrianum, and I heard your teaching; but though I did not know it, your deeds have convinced me that you are honest and good people. Tell that widow who occupies this house to stay in it, stay in it yourselves, and let me stay. Let this man [here he turned to Glaucus], who is a physician, or at least understands the care of wounds, tell whether it is possible to carry me from here to-day. I am sick, I have a broken arm, which must remain immovable for a few days even; therefore I declare to you that I will not leave this house unless you bear me hence by force!”
“Listen up, Christians. Yesterday I was with you in Ostrianum, and I heard your teaching; but even though I didn’t realize it, your actions have shown me that you are honest and good people. Tell the widow who lives in this house to stay put, you all stay here, and let me stay too. Let this man [he turned to Glaucus], who is a doctor or at least knows how to care for wounds, tell whether it’s possible to move me from here today. I’m unwell, I have a broken arm that needs to stay still for a few days; so I’m telling you, I won’t leave this house unless you drag me out!"
Here he stopped, for breath failed in his breast, and Crispus said,—“We will use no force against thee, lord; we will only take away our own heads.”
Here he stopped, struggling to catch his breath, and Crispus said, “We won't use any force against you, my lord; we'll just take our own heads.”
At this the young man, unused to resistance, frowned and said,—“Permit me to recover breath”; and after a time he began again to speak,—“Of Croton, whom Ursus killed, no one will inquire. He had to go to-day to Beneventum, whither he was summoned by Vatinius, therefore all will think that he has gone there. When I entered this house in company with Croton, no one saw us except a Greek who was with us in Ostrianum. I will indicate to you his lodgings; bring that man to me. On him I will enjoin silence; he is paid by me. I will send a letter to my own house stating that I too went to Beneventum. If the Greek has informed the prefect already, I will declare that I myself killed Croton, and that it was he who broke my arm. I will do this, by my father’s shade and by my mother’s! Ye may remain in safety here; not a hair will fall from the head of one of you. Bring hither, and bring in haste, the Greek whose name is Chilo Chilonides!”
At this, the young man, unused to being challenged, frowned and said, “Let me catch my breath.” After a moment, he continued, “No one will ask about Croton, who Ursus killed. He had to go to Beneventum today, as Vatinius summoned him, so everyone will assume he went there. When I entered this house with Croton, the only person who saw us was a Greek who was with us in Ostrianum. I’ll show you where he’s staying; bring him to me. I’ll make him keep quiet; he’s getting paid by me. I’ll send a letter to my place saying that I also went to Beneventum. If the Greek has already told the prefect, I'll claim that I killed Croton myself and that he broke my arm. I swear on my father’s spirit and my mother’s! You can stay safe here; not a hair on any of your heads will be harmed. Hurry and bring me the Greek named Chilo Chilonides!”
“Then Glaucus will remain with thee,” said Crispus, “and the widow will nurse thee.”
“Then Glaucus will stay with you,” said Crispus, “and the widow will take care of you.”
“Consider, old man, what I say,” said Vinicius, who frowned still more. “I owe thee gratitude, and thou seemest good and honest; but thou dost not tell me what thou hast in the bottom of thy soul. Thou art afraid lest I summon my slaves and command them to take Lygia. Is this true?”
“Think about what I'm saying, old man,” Vinicius said, his frown deepening. “I owe you my thanks, and you seem kind and honest; but you’re not sharing what’s really in your heart. Are you worried that I might call my slaves and order them to take Lygia? Is that what it is?”
“It is,” said Crispus, with sternness.
“It is,” Crispus said confidently.
“Then remember this, I shall speak before all to Chilo, and write a letter home that I have gone to Beneventum. I shall have no messengers hereafter but you. Remember this, and do not irritate me longer.”
“Then keep this in mind, I will speak to Chilo in front of everyone and write a letter home saying I’ve gone to Beneventum. You will be my only messenger from now on. Remember this, and don’t annoy me any longer.”
Here he was indignant, and his face was contorted with anger. Afterward he began to speak excitedly,—
Here he was furious, and his face was twisted with rage. Then he started to speak animatedly,—
“Hast thou thought that I would deny that I wish to stay here to see her? A fool would have divined that, even had I denied it. But I will not try to take her by force any longer. I will tell thee more: if she will not stay here, I will tear the bandages with this sound hand from my arm, will take neither food nor drink; let my death fall on thee and thy brethren. Why hast thou nursed me? Why hast thou not commanded to kill me?” He grew pale from weakness and anger.
“Did you think I would deny that I want to stay here to see her? A fool would’ve figured that out, even if I tried to deny it. But I won’t try to force her anymore. I’ll tell you more: if she doesn’t stay here, I’ll rip the bandages off my arm with this good hand, and I won’t eat or drink; let my death be on you and your brothers. Why did you care for me? Why didn’t you just tell them to kill me?” He grew pale from weakness and anger.
Lygia, who had heard all from the other room and who was certain that Vinicius would do what he promised, was terrified. She would not have him die for anything. Wounded and defenceless, he roused in her compassion, not fear. Living from the time of her flight among people in continual religious enthusiasm, thinking only of sacrifices, offerings, and boundless charity, she had grown so excited herself through that new inspiration, that for her it took the place of house, family, lost happiness, and made her one of those Christian maidens who, later on, changed the former soul of the world. Vinicius had been too important in her fate, had been thrust too much on her, to let her forget him. She had thought of him whole days, and more than once had begged God for the moment in which, following the inspiration of religion, she might return good for his evil, mercy for his persecution, break him, win him to Christ, save him. And now it seemed to her that precisely that moment had come, and that her prayers had been heard.
Lygia, who had heard everything from the other room and was certain that Vinicius would keep his promise, was terrified. She would never want him to die for anything. Wounded and defenseless, he sparked her compassion, not fear. Living among people consumed by religious fervor, thinking only of sacrifices, offerings, and endless charity, she had become so inspired that it replaced her sense of home, family, and lost happiness, transforming her into one of those Christian women who, later on, changed the very essence of the world. Vinicius had been too significant in her life, too deeply connected to her, for her to forget him. She had thought about him for days and had more than once prayed to God for the moment when, inspired by her faith, she could return good for his wrongs, show him mercy for his persecution, break him down, lead him to Christ, and save him. And now it felt like that moment had finally arrived, and that her prayers had been answered.
She approached Crispus therefore with a face as if inspired, and addressed him as though some other voice spoke through her,—“Let him stay among us, Crispus, and we will stay with him till Christ gives him health.”
She approached Crispus with an inspired look on her face and spoke to him as if another voice was coming through her, “Let him stay with us, Crispus, and we’ll be with him until Christ heals him.”
The old presbyter, accustomed to seek in all things the inspiration of God, beholding her exaltation, thought at once that perhaps a higher power was speaking through her, and, fearing in his heart, he bent his gray head, saying,—“Let it be as thou sayest.”
The old priest, used to looking for God’s inspiration in everything, saw her greatness and immediately thought that maybe a higher power was speaking through her. Feeling a bit fearful, he lowered his gray head and said, “Let it be as you say.”
On Vinicius, who the whole time had not taken his eyes from her, this ready obedience of Crispus produced a wonderful and pervading impression. It seemed to him that among the Christians Lygia was a kind of sibyl or priestess whom they surrounded with obedience and honor; and he yielded himself also to that honor. To the love which he felt was joined now a certain awe, in presence of which love itself became something almost insolent. He could not familiarize himself, however, with the thought that their relations had changed: that now not she was dependent on his will, but he on hers; that he was lying there sick and broken; that he had ceased to be an attacking, a conquering force; that he was like a defenceless child in her care. For his proud and commanding nature such relations with any other person would have been humiliating; now, however, not only did he not feel humiliated, but he was thankful to her as to his sovereign. In him those were feelings unheard-of, feelings which he could not have entertained the day before, and which would have amazed him even on that day had he been able to analyze them clearly. But he did not inquire at the moment why it was so, just as if the position had been perfectly natural; he merely felt happy because he remained there.
On Vinicius, who had been watching her the whole time, Crispus's immediate obedience created a striking and widespread impression. It seemed to him that among the Christians, Lygia was a sort of oracle or priestess, and they surrounded her with respect and reverence; he found himself drawn into that reverence as well. To the love he felt now added a sense of awe, which made love itself feel almost audacious. He couldn't wrap his head around the fact that their relationship had changed: that now she wasn’t dependent on his will, but he was on hers; that he was lying there sick and broken; that he had stopped being the one to attack and conquer; that he was like a defenseless child in her care. For someone with his proud and commanding nature, such a relationship with anyone else would have felt humiliating; however, he not only didn’t feel humiliated, but he was also grateful to her as if she were his sovereign. These feelings were new to him, feelings he couldn’t have imagined just the day before, and that would have astonished him even that day if he had been able to analyze them clearly. But in that moment, he didn’t question why it was so; it felt perfectly natural to him, and he simply felt happy to be there.
And he wished to thank her with gratefulness, and still with a kind of feeling unknown to him in such a degree that he knew not what to call it, for it was simply submission. His previous excitement had so exhausted him that he could not speak, and he thanked her only with his eyes, which were gleaming from delight because he remained near her, and would be able to see her—to-morrow, next day, perhaps a long time. That delight was diminished only by the dread that he might lose what he had gained. So great was this dread that when Lygia gave him water a second time, and the wish seized him to take her hand, he feared to do so. He feared!—he, that Vinicius who at Cæsar’s feast had kissed her lips in spite of her! he, that Vinicius who after her flight had promised himself to drag her by the hair to the cubiculum, or give command to flog her!
And he wanted to thank her with genuine gratitude, mixed with a feeling he didn’t quite understand, but it was really just submission. His earlier excitement had left him so worn out that he couldn’t find the words, and he thanked her only with his eyes, which sparkled with joy simply because he was near her and would be able to see her—tomorrow, the next day, maybe for a long time. That joy was only lessened by the fear of losing what he had gained. This fear was so intense that when Lygia offered him water a second time, he wanted to take her hand, but hesitated. He hesitated!—he, Vinicius, who had kissed her lips at Caesar’s feast despite her objections! He, Vinicius, who had promised himself to drag her by her hair back to the cubiculum after her escape or have her flogged!
Chapter XXIV
BUT he began also to fear that some outside force might disturb his delight. Chilo might give notice of his disappearance to the prefect of the city, or to his freedmen at home; and in such an event an invasion of the house by the city guards was likely. Through his head flew the thought, it is true, that in that event he might give command to seize Lygia and shut her up in his house, but he felt that he ought not to do so, and he was not capable of acting thus. He was tyrannical, insolent, and corrupt enough, if need be he was inexorable, but he was not Tigellinus or Nero. Military life had left in him a certain feeling of justice, and religion, and a conscience to understand that such a deed would be monstrously mean. He would have been capable, perhaps, of committing such a deed during an access of anger and while in possession of his strength, but at that moment he was filled with tenderness, and was sick. The only question for Vinicius at that time was that no one should stand between him and Lygia.
BUT he also started to worry that some outside force might disrupt his happiness. Chilo could inform the local prefect or his freedmen at home about his disappearance; and if that happened, the city guards might invade his house. It crossed his mind that he could order Lygia to be seized and locked up in his house, but he felt he shouldn’t do that, and he wasn’t capable of it. He could be tyrannical, arrogant, and corrupt when needed; he could be merciless, but he wasn’t Tigellinus or Nero. His time in the military had left him with a sense of justice, and a sense of morality that made him realize such an act would be incredibly low. Maybe he could have committed such an act in a fit of rage while feeling powerful, but in that moment, he was overwhelmed with affection and felt unwell. The only thing Vinicius cared about at that time was that no one should come between him and Lygia.
He noticed, too, with astonishment, that from the moment when Lygia had taken his part, neither she herself nor Crispus asked from him any assurances, just as if they felt confident that, in case of need, some superhuman power would defend them. The young tribune, in whose head the distinction between things possible and impossible had grown involved and faint since the discourse of the Apostle in Ostrianum, was also not too far from supposing that that might take place. But considering things more soberly, he remembered what he had said of the Greek, and asked again that Chilo be brought to him.
He was also surprised to see that ever since Lygia had supported him, neither she nor Crispus had asked him for any guarantees, as if they were sure that some supernatural force would protect them if needed. The young tribune, whose ability to distinguish between what was possible and impossible had become blurred since the Apostle spoke in Ostrianum, was even beginning to think that might actually happen. But on second thought, he recalled his comments about the Greek and asked again for Chilo to be brought to him.
Crispus agreed, and they decided to send Ursus. Vinicius, who in recent days, before his visit to Ostrianum, had sent slaves frequently to Chilo, though without result, indicated his lodgings accurately to the Lygian; then writing a few words on the tablet, he said, turning to Crispus,—“I give a tablet, for this man is suspicious and cunning. Frequently when summoned by me, he gave directions to answer my people that he was not at home; he did so always when he had no good news for me, and feared my anger.”
Crispus agreed, and they decided to send Ursus. Vinicius, who in recent days, before his visit to Ostrianum, had often sent slaves to Chilo without success, gave the Lygian clear directions to his lodging. Then, writing a few words on the tablet, he said to Crispus, “I'm giving you this tablet because this man is suspicious and clever. Whenever I called for him, he would tell my people he wasn't home; he did this every time he didn't have good news for me and was worried about my anger.”
“If I find him, I will bring him, willing or unwilling,” said Ursus. Then, taking his mantle, he went out hurriedly.
“If I find him, I’ll bring him, whether he likes it or not,” said Ursus. Then, grabbing his cloak, he hurried out.
To find any one in Rome was not easy, even with the most accurate directions; but in those cases the instinct of a hunter aided Ursus, and also his great knowledge of the city. After a certain time, therefore, he found himself at Chilo’s lodgings.
Finding anyone in Rome wasn't easy, even with the best directions; but in those situations, Ursus's hunter instincts helped him, along with his extensive knowledge of the city. After a while, he finally arrived at Chilo's place.
He did not recognize Chilo, however. He had seen him but once in his life before, and moreover, in the night. Besides, that lofty and confident old man who had persuaded him to murder Glaucus was so unlike the Greek, bent double from terror, that no one could suppose the two to be one person. Chilo, noticing that Ursus looked at him as a perfect stranger, recovered from his first fear. The sight of the tablet, with the writing of Vinicius, calmed him still more. At least the suspicion that he would take him into an ambush purposely did not trouble him. He thought, besides, that the Christians had not killed Vinicius, evidently because they had not dared to raise hands on so noted a person.
He didn’t recognize Chilo, though. He had only seen him once before, and that was at night. Plus, the proud and self-assured old man who had convinced him to kill Glaucus was so different from the Greek, who was now cowering in fear, that no one could think they were the same person. Chilo, noticing that Ursus regarded him as a complete stranger, stopped feeling so scared. The sight of the tablet, with Vinicius’s writing, eased his mind even more. At least he wasn’t worried anymore that Ursus would lead him into a trap on purpose. He also thought that the Christians hadn’t killed Vinicius, clearly because they hadn’t dared to harm such a prominent figure.
“And then Vinicius will protect me in case of need,” thought he; “of course he does not send to deliver me to death.”
“And then Vinicius will protect me if I need help,” he thought; “of course, he wouldn’t send me to my death.”
Summoning some courage, therefore, he said: “My good man, has not my friend the noble Vinicius sent a litter? My feet are swollen; I cannot walk so far.”
Summoning some courage, he said, “Excuse me, sir, hasn't my friend the noble Vinicius sent a litter? My feet are swollen; I can't walk that far.”
“He has not,” answered Ursus; “we shall go on foot.”
“He hasn’t,” replied Ursus; “we’ll go by foot.”
“But if I refuse?”
“But what if I say no?”
“Do not, for thou wilt have to go.”
“Don’t, because you’ll have to leave.”
“And I will go, but of my own will. No one could force me, for I am a free man, and a friend of the prefect of the city. As a sage, I have also means to overcome others, and I know how to turn people into trees and wild beasts. But I will go, I will go! I will only put on a mantle somewhat warmer, and a hood, lest the slaves of that quarter might recognize me; they would stop me every moment to kiss my hands.”
“And I will go, but only if I choose to. No one can force me because I’m a free man and a friend of the city’s prefect. As a wise person, I have ways to get the better of others, and I know how to transform people into trees and wild animals. But I will go, I will go! I’ll just put on a warmer cloak and a hood so that the people from that area won’t recognize me; they would stop me every moment to kiss my hands.”
He put on a new mantle then, and let down a broad Gallic hood, lest Ursus might recognize his features on coming into clearer light.
He put on a new cloak and pulled down a wide Gallic hood so that Ursus wouldn't recognize his face when he came into clearer light.
“Where wilt thou take me?” asked he on the road.
“Where are you taking me?” he asked on the road.
“To the Trans-Tiber.”
“To the Trans-Tiber.”
“I am not long in Rome, and I have never been there, but there too, of course, live men who love virtue.”
“I haven't been in Rome long, and I've never been there before, but there are certainly people there who value virtue.”
But Ursus, who was a simple man, and had heard Vinicius say that the Greek had been with him in Ostrianum, and had seen him with Croton enter the house in which Lygia lived, stopped for a moment and said,—“Speak no untruth, old man, for to-day thou wert with Vinicius in Ostrianum and under our gate.”
But Ursus, who was a straightforward guy, heard Vinicius say that the Greek had been with him in Ostrianum and had seen him enter the house where Lygia lived with Croton. He paused for a moment and said, “Don’t lie, old man, because today you were with Vinicius in Ostrianum and under our gate.”
“Ah!” said Chilo, “then is your house in the Trans-Tiber? I have not been long in Rome, and know not how the different parts are named. That is true, friend; I was under the gate, and implored Vinicius in the name of virtue not to enter. I was in Ostrianum, and dost thou know why? I am working for a certain time over the conversion of Vinicius, and wished him to hear the chief of the Apostles. May the light penetrate his soul and thine! But thou art a Christian, and wishest truth to overcome falsehood.”
“Ah!” said Chilo, “so your house is in the Trans-Tiber? I haven’t been in Rome long and don’t know how the different areas are named. That’s true, my friend; I was by the gate and begged Vinicius, in the name of virtue, not to go in. I was in Ostrianum, and do you know why? I’m working on converting Vinicius and wanted him to hear the chief of the Apostles. May the light fill his soul and yours! But you are a Christian and want truth to triumph over falsehood.”
“That is true,” answered Ursus, with humility.
"That's true," Ursus said humbly.
Courage returned to Chilo completely.
Courage fully returned to Chilo.
“Vinicius is a powerful lord,” said he, “and a friend of Cæsar. He listens often yet to the whisperings of the evil spirit; but if even a hair should fall from his head, Cæsar would take vengeance on all the Christians.”
“Vinicius is a powerful lord,” he said, “and a friend of Caesar. He often listens to the whispers of the evil spirit; but if even a single hair falls from his head, Caesar would take revenge on all the Christians.”
“A higher power is protecting us.”
“A higher power is looking out for us.”
“Surely, surely! But what do ye intend to do with Vinicius?” inquired Chilo, with fresh alarm.
“Surely, surely! But what do you plan to do with Vinicius?” Chilo asked, feeling a new wave of alarm.
“I know not. Christ commands mercy.”
“I don’t know. Christ asks for mercy.”
“Thou hast answered excellently. Think of this always, or thou wilt fry in hell like a sausage in a frying-pan.”
“You’ve answered perfectly. Keep this in mind, or you’ll suffer in hell like a sausage in a frying pan.”
Ursus sighed, and Chilo thought that he could always do what he liked with that man, who was terrible at the moment of his first outburst. So, wishing to know what happened at the seizing of Lygia, he asked further, in the voice of a stern judge,—“How did ye treat Croton? Speak, and do not prevaricate.”
Ursus sighed, and Chilo realized that he could always manipulate that man, who was frightening when he first lost his temper. So, wanting to know what happened during the capture of Lygia, he pressed on, in the tone of a strict judge,—“How did you handle Croton? Speak honestly, and don’t make excuses.”
Ursus sighed a second time. “Vinicius will tell thee.”
Ursus sighed again. “Vinicius will tell you.”
“That means that thou didst stab him with a knife, or kill him with a club.”
“That means that you stabbed him with a knife, or killed him with a club.”
“I was without arms.”
“I had no arms.”
The Greek could not resist amazement at the superhuman strength of the barbarian.
The Greek couldn't help but be amazed by the barbarian's incredible strength.
“May Pluto—that is to say, may Christ pardon thee!”
“May Pluto—that is to say, may Christ forgive you!”
They went on for some time in silence; then Chilo said:
They sat in silence for a while; then Chilo said:
“I will not betray thee; but have a care of the watches.”
“I won’t betray you; but be careful with the watches.”
“I fear Christ, not the watches.”
“I’m afraid of Christ, not the watches.”
“And that is proper. There is no more grievous crime than murder. I will pray for thee; but I know not if even my prayer can be effective, unless thou make a vow never to touch any one in life with a finger.”
“And that's right. There's no worse crime than murder. I will pray for you; but I don’t know if my prayer will even help, unless you promise to never harm anyone again.”
“As it is, I have not killed purposely,” answered Ursus.
“As it is, I haven’t killed on purpose,” answered Ursus.
But Chilo, who desired to secure himself in every case, did not cease to condemn murder, and urge Ursus to make the vow. He inquired also about Vinicius; but the Lygian answered his inquiries unwillingly, repeating that from Vinicius himself he would hear what he needed. Speaking in this way, they passed at last the long road which separated the lodgings of the Greek from the Trans-Tiber, and found themselves before the house. Chilo’s heart began to beat again unquietly. From dread it seemed to him that Ursus was beginning to look at him with a kind of greedy expression.
But Chilo, who wanted to protect himself in every situation, continued to condemn murder and urged Ursus to make the vow. He also asked about Vinicius, but the Lygian answered his questions reluctantly, repeating that he would hear what he needed from Vinicius himself. In this way, they finally made their way down the long road that separated the Greek's lodgings from the Trans-Tiber and arrived at the house. Chilo’s heart began to pound anxiously again. Out of fear, it seemed to him that Ursus was starting to look at him with a kind of hungry gaze.
“It is small consolation to me,” said he to himself, “if he kills me unwillingly. I prefer in every case that paralysis should strike him, and with him all the Lygians,—which do thou effect, O Zeus, if thou art able.”
“It doesn’t comfort me much,” he said to himself, “if he kills me against his will. I would rather that paralysis take him, and all the Lygians with him—so make it happen, Zeus, if you can.”
Thus meditating, he wrapped himself more closely in his Gallic mantle, repeating that he feared the cold. Finally, when they had passed the entrance and the first court, and found themselves in the corridor leading to the garden of the little house, he halted suddenly and said,—“Let me draw breath, or I shall not be able to speak with Vinicius and give him saving advice.”
Thus thinking, he pulled his Gallic cloak tighter around him, saying that he was afraid of the cold. Finally, after they had walked through the entrance and the first courtyard, and found themselves in the hallway leading to the garden of the little house, he suddenly stopped and said, “Let me catch my breath, or I won’t be able to talk to Vinicius and give him helpful advice.”
He halted; for though he said to himself that no danger threatened, still his legs trembled under him at the thought that he was among those mysterious people whom he had seen in Ostrianum.
He stopped; because even though he told himself that no danger was present, his legs still shook at the thought of being among those mysterious people he had seen in Ostrianum.
Meanwhile a hymn came to their ears from the little house.
Meanwhile, a hymn reached their ears from the small house.
“What is that?” inquired Chilo.
“What’s that?” Chilo asked.
“Thou sayest that thou art a Christian, and knowest not that among us it is the custom after every meal to glorify our Saviour with singing,” answered Ursus. “Miriam and her son must have returned, and perhaps the Apostle is with them, for he visits the widow and Crispus every day.”
“You say you’re a Christian but don’t know that it’s our tradition to praise our Savior with singing after every meal,” replied Ursus. “Miriam and her son must be back, and maybe the Apostle is with them, since he visits the widow and Crispus every day.”
“Conduct me directly to Vinicius.”
“Take me straight to Vinicius.”
“Vinicius is in the same room with all, for that is the only large one; the others are very small chambers, to which we go only to sleep. Come in; thou wilt rest there.”
“Vinicius is in the same room with everyone since that’s the only big one; the others are tiny rooms that we only use for sleeping. Come in; you’ll be able to rest there.”
They entered. It was rather dark in the room; the evening was cloudy and cold, the flames of a few candles did not dispel the darkness altogether. Vinicius divined rather than recognized Chilo in the hooded man. Chilo, seeing the bed in the corner of the room, and on it Vinicius, moved toward him directly, not looking at the others, as if with the conviction that it would be safest near him.
They walked in. The room was pretty dim; the evening was overcast and chilly, and the flickering candles didn’t fully chase away the darkness. Vinicius sensed more than saw that the hooded man was Chilo. Chilo, spotting Vinicius on the bed in the corner, headed straight for him without glancing at the others, as if sure that being close to him would be the safest choice.
“Oh, lord, why didst thou not listen to my counsels?” exclaimed he, putting his hands together.
“Oh, Lord, why didn’t you listen to my advice?” he exclaimed, putting his hands together.
“Silence!” said Vinicius, “and listen!”
“Silence!” said Vinicius, “and pay attention!”
Here he looked sharply into Chilo’s eyes, and spoke slowly with emphasis, as if wishing the Greek to understand every word of his as a command, and to keep it forever in memory.
Here he gazed intently into Chilo's eyes and spoke slowly and deliberately, as if he wanted the Greek to grasp every word like a command and remember it forever.
“Croton threw himself on me to kill and rob me, dost understand? I killed him then, and these people dressed the wounds which I received in the struggle.”
“Croton attacked me to kill and rob me, you understand? I killed him then, and these people treated the wounds I got in the struggle.”
Chilo understood in a moment that if Vinicius spoke in this way it must be in virtue of some agreement with the Christians, and in that case he wished people to believe him. He saw this, too, from his face; hence in one moment, without showing doubt or astonishment, he raised his eyes and exclaimed,—“That was a faith-breaking ruffian! But I warned thee, lord, not to trust him; my teachings bounded from his head as do peas when thrown against a wall. In all Hades there are not torments enough for him. He who cannot be honest must be a rogue; what is more difficult than for a rogue to become honest? But to fall on his benefactor, a lord so magnanimous—O gods!”
Chilo realized right away that if Vinicius was speaking this way, it had to be because of some agreement with the Christians, and in that case, he wanted people to believe him. He could tell this just by looking at his face; so without a hint of doubt or surprise, he lifted his eyes and exclaimed, “What a faithless scoundrel! But I warned you, my lord, not to trust him; my advice just bounced off him like peas thrown against a wall. There aren't enough torments in all of Hades for him. Anyone who can't be honest must be a crook; and what could be harder for a crook than to become honest? But to turn against his benefactor, a lord so generous—O gods!”
Here he remembered that he had represented himself to Ursus on the way as a Christian, and stopped.
Here he remembered that he had introduced himself to Ursus on the way as a Christian, and paused.
“Were it not for the ‘sica,’ which I brought, he would have slain me,” said Vinicius.
“Without the ‘sica’ that I brought, he would have killed me,” said Vinicius.
“I bless the moment in which I advised thee to take a knife even.”
“I cherish the moment when I suggested you take a knife instead.”
Vinicius turned an inquiring glance on the Greek, and asked,—“What hast thou done to-day?”
Vinicius gave the Greek a curious look and asked, "What have you done today?"
“How? What! have I not told thee, lord, that I made a vow for thy health?”
“How? What! Didn't I tell you, my lord, that I made a vow for your health?”
“Nothing more?”
“Is that it?”
“I was just preparing to visit thee, when this good man came and said that thou hadst sent for me.”
“I was just getting ready to visit you when this kind man came and said that you had sent for me.”
“Here is a tablet. Thou wilt go with it to my house; thou wilt find my freedman and give it to him. It is written on the tablet that I have gone to Beneventum. Thou wilt tell Demas from thyself that I went this morning, summoned by an urgent letter from Petronius.” Here he repeated with emphasis: “I have gone to Beneventum, dost understand?”
“Here’s a tablet. You’ll take it to my house and give it to my freedman. It says on the tablet that I’ve gone to Beneventum. You’ll tell Demas from you that I left this morning, called by an urgent letter from Petronius.” He emphasized: “I’ve gone to Beneventum, do you understand?”
“Thou has gone, lord. This morning I took leave of thee at the Porta Capena, and from the time of thy departure such sadness possesses me that if thy magnanimity will not soften it, I shall cry myself to death, like the unhappy wife of Zethos [Aedon turned into a nightingale] in grief for Itylos.”
"You've gone, my lord. This morning I said goodbye to you at the Porta Capena, and ever since your departure, I've been filled with such sadness that if your kindness doesn't ease it, I might cry myself to death, like the unfortunate wife of Zethos, mourning for Itylos."
Vinicius, though sick and accustomed to the Greek’s suppleness, could not repress a smile. He was glad, moreover, that Chilo understood in a flash; hence he said,
Vinicius, although unwell and used to the Greek's flexibility, couldn't help but smile. He was also pleased that Chilo got it instantly; so he said,
“Therefore I will write that thy tears be wiped away. Give me the candle.” Chilo, now pacified perfectly, rose, and, advancing a few steps toward the chimney, took one of the candles which was burning at the wall. But while he was doing this, the hood slipped from his head, and the light fell directly on his face. Glaucus sprang from his seat and, coming up quickly, stood before him.
“Therefore, I will write that your tears be wiped away. Hand me the candle.” Chilo, now completely calmed down, got up and walked a few steps toward the chimney, taking one of the candles that was burning on the wall. But as he did this, his hood slipped off his head, and the light fell directly on his face. Glaucus jumped from his seat and quickly moved to stand in front of him.
“Dost thou not recognize me, Cephas?” asked he. In his voice there was something so terrible that a shiver ran through all present.
“Don't you recognize me, Cephas?” he asked. There was something so terrible in his voice that a shiver ran through everyone present.
Chilo raised the candle, and dropped it to the earth almost the same instant; then he bent nearly double and began to groan,—“I am not he—I am not he! Mercy!”
Chilo lifted the candle and nearly immediately dropped it to the ground; then he doubled over and started to groan, “I’m not him—I’m not him! Please!”
Glaucus turned toward the faithful, and said,—“This is the man who betrayed—who ruined me and my family!”
Glaucus turned to his supporters and said, “This is the guy who betrayed me—who destroyed me and my family!”
That history was known to all the Christians and to Vinicius, who had not guessed who that Glaucus was,—for this reason only, that he fainted repeatedly from pain during the dressing of his wound, and had not heard his name. But for Ursus that short moment, with the words of Glaucus, was like a lightning-flash in darkness. Recognizing Chilo, he was at his side with one spring, and, seizing his arm, bent it back, exclaiming,—“This is the man who persuaded me to kill Glaucus!”
That history was known to all the Christians and to Vinicius, who hadn’t figured out who Glaucus was—only because he kept fainting from the pain while his wound was being treated and hadn’t heard his name. But for Ursus, that brief moment, with Glaucus's words, felt like a flash of lightning in the dark. Recognizing Chilo, he sprang to his side in an instant, grabbed his arm, and bent it back, shouting, “This is the guy who convinced me to kill Glaucus!”
“Mercy!” groaned Chilo. “I will give you—O lord!” exclaimed he, turning his head to Vinicius, “save me! I trusted in thee, take my part. Thy letter—I will deliver it. O lord, lord!”
“Help!” groaned Chilo. “I’ll give you—Oh no!” he exclaimed, turning his head to Vinicius, “save me! I believed in you, support me. I’ll deliver your letter. Oh no, no!”
But Vinicius, who looked with more indifference than any one at what was passing, first because all the affairs of the Greek were more or less known to him, and second because his heart knew not what pity was, said,—“Bury him in the garden; some one else will take the letter.”
But Vinicius, who watched everything with more indifference than anyone else, first because he was somewhat familiar with all the Greek's affairs, and second because he had no understanding of pity, said, “Bury him in the garden; someone else will take the letter.”
It seemed to Chilo that those words were his final sentence. His bones were shaking in the terrible hands of Ursus; his eyes were filled with tears from pain.
It felt to Chilo like those words were his last judgment. His bones were trembling in the brutal grip of Ursus; his eyes were brimming with tears from the pain.
“By your God, pity!” cried he; “I am a Christian! Pax vobiscum! I am a Christian; and if ye do not believe me, baptize me again, baptize me twice, ten times! Glaucus, that is a mistake! Let me speak, make me a slave! Do not kill me! Have mercy!”
"By your God, please have mercy!” he shouted. “I’m a Christian! Peace be with you! I’m a Christian; and if you don’t believe me, baptize me again, baptize me twice, ten times! Glaucus, you’re making a mistake! Let me talk, make me a slave! Just don’t kill me! Have mercy!”
His voice, stifled with pain, was growing weaker and weaker, when the Apostle Peter rose at the table; for a moment his white head shook, drooping toward his breast, and his eyes were closed; but he opened them then, and said amid silence,—
His voice, choked with pain, was getting weaker and weaker when the Apostle Peter stood up at the table; for a moment, his white head trembled, leaning toward his chest, and his eyes were shut; but then he opened them and spoke in the silence,—
“The Saviour said this to us: ‘If thy brother has sinned against thee, chastise him; but if he is repentant, forgive him. And if he has offended seven times in the day against thee, and has turned to thee seven times, saying, “Have mercy on me!” forgive him.’”
“The Savior said this to us: ‘If your brother has sinned against you, correct him; but if he is truly sorry, forgive him. And if he has offended you seven times in one day and comes back to you seven times, saying, “Have mercy on me!” forgive him.’”
Then came a still deeper silence. Glaucus remained a long time with his hands covering his face; at last he removed them and said,—“Cephas, may God forgive thy offences, as I forgive them in the name of Christ.”
Then there was an even deeper silence. Glaucus kept his hands over his face for a long time; finally, he took them away and said, “Cephas, may God forgive your wrongs, just as I forgive them in the name of Christ.”
Ursus, letting go the arms of the Greek, added at once:
Ursus, releasing the Greek’s arms, quickly added:
“May the Saviour be merciful to thee as I forgive thee.”
“May the Savior be merciful to you as I forgive you.”
Chilo dropped to the ground, and, supported on it with his hands, turned his head like a wild beast caught in a snare, looking around to see whence death might come. He did not trust his eyes and ears yet, and dared not hope for forgiveness. Consciousness returned to him slowly; his blue lips were still trembling from terror.
Chilo fell to the ground and, propped up by his hands, turned his head like a wild animal caught in a trap, scanning his surroundings to see where danger might emerge. He still didn’t trust his eyes and ears and didn’t dare hope for mercy. His awareness came back to him gradually; his blue lips were still shaking from fear.
“Depart in peace!” said the Apostle, meanwhile.
"Leave in peace!" said the Apostle, meanwhile.
Chilo rose, but could not speak. He approached the bed of Vinicius, as if seeking protection in it still; for he had not time yet to think that that man, though he had used his services and was still his accomplice, condemned him, while those against whom he had acted forgave. This thought was to come to him later. At present simply astonishment and incredulity were evident in his look. Though he had seen that they forgave him, he wished to bear away his head at the earliest from among these incomprehensible people, whose kindness terrified him almost as much as their cruelty would have terrified. It seemed to him that should he remain longer, something unexpected would happen again; hence, standing above Vinicius, he said with a broken voice,—
Chilo got up but couldn’t speak. He walked over to Vinicius's bed, almost as if he was still looking for protection there; he hadn’t yet had the time to realize that this man, even though he had relied on him and was still his accomplice, had condemned him, while those he had wronged had forgiven him. That realization would come later. Right now, all that showed on his face was shock and disbelief. Even though he saw that they had forgiven him, he wanted to get away from these bewildering people as quickly as possible—whose kindness scared him almost as much as their cruelty would have. He felt that if he stayed any longer, something unexpected would happen again; so, standing over Vinicius, he said in a shaky voice, —
“Give the letter, lord,—give the letter!”
“Give me the letter, my lord—give me the letter!”
And snatching the tablet which Vinicius handed him, he made one obeisance to the Christians, another to the sick man, pushed along sidewise by the very wall, and hurried out through the door. In the garden, when darkness surrounded him, fear raised the hair on his head again, for he felt sure that Ursus would rush out and kill him in the night. He would have run with all his might, but his legs would not move; next moment they were perfectly uncontrollable, for Ursus stood near him really.
And grabbing the tablet that Vinicius handed him, he bowed once to the Christians, another to the sick man, squeezed past the wall, and rushed out the door. In the garden, as darkness closed in around him, fear made his hair stand on end again, as he was convinced that Ursus would come out and kill him at night. He wanted to run with all his strength, but his legs wouldn't move; the next moment, they were completely out of his control because Ursus was actually standing nearby.
Chilo fell with his face to the earth, and began to groan: “Urban—in Christ’s name”—
Chilo fell face down on the ground and started to moan, “Urban—in the name of Christ—”
But Urban said: “Fear not. The Apostle commanded me to lead thee out beyond the gate, lest thou might go astray in the darkness, and, if strength failed thee, to conduct thee home.”
But Urban said: “Don’t worry. The Apostle told me to take you out beyond the gate so you don’t get lost in the dark, and if you feel weak, to guide you back home.”
“What dost thou say?” asked Chilo, raising his face. “What? Thou wilt not kill me?”
“What do you say?” asked Chilo, lifting his face. “What? You won't kill me?”
“No, I will not; and if I seized thee too roughly and harmed a bone in thee, pardon me.”
“No, I won’t; and if I grabbed you too hard and hurt a bone, forgive me.”
“Help me to rise,” said the Greek. “Thou wilt not kill me? Thou wilt not? Take me to the Street; I will go farther alone.”
“Help me up,” said the Greek. “You won’t kill me, right? You won’t? Take me to the street; I’ll go further by myself.”
Ursus raised him as he might a feather, and placed him on his feet; then he conducted him through the dark corridor to the second court. From there was a passage to the entrance and the street. In the corridor Chilo repeated again in his soul, “It is all over with me!” Only when he found himself on the street did he recover and say, “I can go on alone.”
Ursus lifted him gently and set him on his feet; then he led him through the dark hallway to the second courtyard. From there, there was a way to the entrance and the street. In the hallway, Chilo kept thinking to himself, “It’s all over for me!” Only when he reached the street did he regain his composure and say, “I can go on by myself.”
“Peace be with thee.”
"Peace be with you."
“And with thee! and with thee! Let me draw breath.”
“And with you! And with you! Let me catch my breath.”
And after Ursus had gone, he breathed with a full breast. He felt his waist and hips, as if to convince himself that he was living, and then moved forward with hurried step.
And after Ursus left, he took a deep breath. He felt his waist and hips, as if to reassure himself that he was alive, and then walked forward quickly.
“But why did they not kill me?” And in spite of all his talk with Euricius about Christian teaching, in spite of his conversation at the river with Urban, and in spite of all that he had heard in Ostrianum, he could find no answer to that question.
“But why didn’t they kill me?” And despite all his discussions with Euricius about Christian teachings, despite his conversation at the river with Urban, and despite everything he had heard in Ostrianum, he couldn’t find an answer to that question.
Chapter XXV
NEITHER could Vinicius discover the cause of what had happened; and in the bottom of his soul he was almost as much astonished as Chilo. That those people should treat him as they had, and, instead of avenging his attack, dress his wounds carefully, he ascribed partly to the doctrine which they confessed, more to Lygia, and a little, also, to his great significance. But their conduct with Chilo simply went beyond his understanding of man’s power of forgiveness. And the question thrust itself into his mind: Why did they not kill the Greek? They might have killed him with impunity. Ursus would have buried him in the garden, or borne him in the dark to the Tiber, which during that period of night-murders, committed by Cæsar himself even, cast up human bodies so frequently in the morning that no one inquired whence they came. To his thinking, the Christians had not only the power, but the right to kill Chilo. True, pity was not entirely a stranger to that world to which the young patrician belonged. The Athenians raised an altar to pity, and opposed for a long time the introduction of gladiatorial combats into Athens. In Rome itself the conquered received pardon sometimes, as, for instance, Calicratus, king of the Britons, who, taken prisoner in the time of Claudius, and provided for by him bountifully, dwelt in the city in freedom. But vengeance for a personal wrong seemed to Vinicius, as to all, proper and justified. The neglect of it was entirely opposed to his spirit. True, he had heard in Ostrianum that one should love even enemies; that, however, he considered as a kind of theory without application in life. And now this passed through his head: that perhaps they had not killed Chilo because the day was among festivals, or was in some period of the moon during which it was not proper for Christians to kill a man. He had heard that there are days among various nations on which it is not permitted to begin war even. But why, in such a case, did they not deliver the Greek up to justice? Why did the Apostle say that if a man offended seven times, it was necessary to forgive him seven times; and why did Glaucus say to Chilo, “May God forgive thee, as I forgive thee”?
Vinicius couldn’t figure out why things had happened the way they did; deep down, he was just as shocked as Chilo. He wondered why those people treated him the way they had, and instead of seeking revenge for his attack, they carefully treated his wounds. He attributed this partly to their beliefs, mostly to Lygia, and a bit to his own importance. However, their behavior towards Chilo completely baffled his understanding of human forgiveness. The question popped into his mind: Why didn’t they kill the Greek? They could have done it without any consequences. Ursus could have buried him in the garden or secretly taken him to the Tiber, which, during that time of night murders—even carried out by Caesar himself—often washed up human bodies in the morning, so no one questioned where they came from. From his perspective, the Christians not only had the ability to kill Chilo but the right to do so. It was true that compassion wasn’t entirely absent in the world the young patrician belonged to. The Athenians even built an altar to pity and resisted for a long time the introduction of gladiatorial games in Athens. In Rome, the conquered were sometimes granted mercy, like Calicratus, king of the Britons, who was captured during Claudius’s reign and was treated generously enough to live freely in the city. But to Vinicius—and probably to everyone—revenge for a personal wrong felt deserved and justified. Ignoring it went against his nature. True, he had heard in Ostrianum that one should love even one’s enemies; he saw that as a kind of theory that didn’t apply in real life. Now a thought crossed his mind: perhaps they hadn’t killed Chilo because it was a festival day, or it fell during a phase of the moon when Christians shouldn’t take a life. He had heard that some cultures have days on which it’s forbidden to start a war. But if that were the case, why didn’t they turn the Greek over to justice? Why did the Apostle say that if someone wrongs you seven times, you should forgive them seven times, and why did Glaucus tell Chilo, “May God forgive you as I forgive you”?
Chilo had done him the most terrible wrong that one man could do another. At the very thought of how he would act with a man who killed Lygia, for instance, the heart of Vinicius seethed up, as does water in a caldron; there were no torments which he would not inflict in his vengeance! But Glaucus had forgiven; Ursus, too, had forgiven,—Ursus, who might in fact kill whomever he wished in Rome with perfect impunity, for all he needed was to kill the king of the grove in Nemi, and take his place. Could the gladiator holding that office to which he had succeeded only by killing the previous “king,” resist the man whom Croton could not resist? There was only one answer to all these questions: that they refrained from killing him through a goodness so great that the like of it had not been in the world up to that time, and through an unbounded love of man, which commands to forget one’s self, one’s wrongs, one’s happiness and misfortune, and live for others. What reward those people were to receive for this, Vinicius heard in Ostrianum, but he could not understand it. He felt, however, that the earthly life connected with the duty of renouncing everything good and rich for the benefit of others must be wretched. So in what he thought of the Christians at that moment, besides the greatest astonishment, there was pity, and as it were a shade of contempt. It seemed to him that they were sheep which earlier or later must be eaten by wolves; his Roman nature could yield no recognition to people who let themselves be devoured. This one thing struck him, however,—that after Chilo’s departure the faces of all were bright with a certain deep joy. The Apostle approached Glaucus, placed his hand on his head, and said,—“In thee Christ has triumphed.”
Chilo had done him the worst wrong that one person could do to another. Just thinking about how he would react to someone who killed Lygia made Vinicius's heart boil, like water in a pot; there were no punishments he wouldn't inflict in his rage! But Glaucus had forgiven; Ursus had too—Ursus, who could easily kill anyone he wanted in Rome without facing consequences, since all he needed to do was take out the king of the grove in Nemi and take his place. Could the gladiator who got that role only by killing the previous "king" resist the man who Croton couldn't resist? The answer to all these questions was clear: they did not kill him out of a kindness so profound that nothing like it had existed in the world until then, and out of a deep love for others that urged them to forget themselves, their wrongs, their happiness and suffering, and live for others. Vinicius heard about the rewards those people would get in Ostrianum, but he couldn't quite grasp it. He sensed, however, that a life tied to the duty of giving up everything good and rich for the sake of others must be miserable. So, at that moment, his thoughts about the Christians were mixed with great astonishment and a hint of contempt. He felt they were like sheep that would eventually be preyed upon by wolves; his Roman nature couldn't accept people who allowed themselves to be consumed. Still, one thing stood out to him—after Chilo's departure, everyone’s faces lit up with a deep joy. The Apostle went up to Glaucus, placed his hand on his head, and said, “In you, Christ has triumphed.”
The other raised his eyes, which were full of hope, and as bright with joy as if some great unexpected happiness had been poured on him. Vinicius, who could understand only joy or delight born of vengeance, looked on him with eyes staring from fever, and somewhat as he would on a madman. He saw, however, and saw not without internal indignation, that Lygia pressed her lips of a queen to the hand of that man, who had the appearance of a slave; and it seemed to him that the order of the world was inverted utterly. Next Ursus told how he had conducted Chilo to the street, and had asked forgiveness for the harm which he might have done his bones; for this the Apostle blessed him also. Crispus declared that it was a day of great victory. Hearing of this victory, Vinicius lost the thread of his thought altogether.
The other person lifted his eyes, which were filled with hope and shone with joy like he had just experienced some amazing, unexpected happiness. Vinicius, who could only understand joy or delight that came from revenge, looked at him with a feverish stare, somewhat like he was looking at a madman. However, he noticed, with growing anger inside, that Lygia pressed her queen-like lips to the hand of that man, who seemed to be a slave, and it felt to him that everything was completely upside down. Then Ursus explained how he had taken Chilo to the street and had asked for forgiveness for any harm he might have caused him; the Apostle blessed him for that. Crispus announced that it was a day of great victory. Hearing about this victory, Vinicius completely lost his train of thought.
But when Lygia gave him a cooling draught again, he held her hand for a moment, and asked,—“Then must thou also forgive me?”
But when Lygia gave him a refreshing drink again, he held her hand for a moment and asked, “So, do you have to forgive me too?”
“We are Christians; it is not permitted us to keep anger in the heart.”
"We're Christians; we shouldn't allow anger to stay in our hearts."
“Lygia,” said he, “whoever thy God is, I honor Him only because He is thine.”
“Lygia,” he said, “whoever your God is, I respect Him only because He is yours.”
“Thou wilt honor Him in thy heart when thou lovest Him.”
"You will honor Him in your heart when you love Him."
“Only because He is thine,” repeated Vinicius, in a fainter voice; and he closed his eyes, for weakness had mastered him again.
“Only because He is yours,” repeated Vinicius, in a weaker voice; and he closed his eyes, as weakness had taken over him again.
Lygia went out, but returned after a time, and bent over him to learn if he were sleeping. Vinicius, feeling that she was near, opened his eyes and smiled. She placed her hand over them lightly, as if to incline him to slumber. A great sweetness seized him then; but soon he felt more grievously ill than before, and was very ill in reality. Night had come, and with it a more violent fever. He could not sleep, and followed Lygia with his eyes wherever she went.
Lygia left but came back after a while and leaned over him to see if he was asleep. Vinicius, sensing her presence, opened his eyes and smiled. She gently placed her hand over his eyes, as if to encourage him to rest. A wave of warmth washed over him, but soon he felt even worse than before and was truly sick. Night had fallen, bringing with it a stronger fever. He couldn't sleep and kept watching Lygia with his eyes wherever she moved.
At times he fell into a kind of doze, in which he saw and heard everything which happened around him, but in which reality was mingled with feverish dreams. It seemed to him that in some old, deserted cemetery stood a temple, in the form of a tower, in which Lygia was priestess. He did not take his eyes from her, but saw her on the summit of the tower, with a lute in her hands, all in the light, like those priestesses who in the night-time sing hymns in honor of the moon, and whom he had seen in the Orient. He himself was climbing up winding steps, with great effort, to bear her away with him. Behind was creeping up Chilo, with teeth chattering from terror, and repeating, “Do not do that, lord; she is a priestess, for whom He will take vengeance.” Vinicius did not know who that He was, but he understood that he himself was going to commit some sacrilege, and he felt a boundless fear also. But when he went to the balustrade surrounding the summit of the tower, the Apostle with his silvery beard stood at Lygia’s side on a sudden, and said:
At times he would drift into a kind of doze, where he could see and hear everything happening around him, but reality blended with feverish dreams. It felt like he was in some old, abandoned cemetery where there was a tower-shaped temple, with Lygia as the priestess. He kept his eyes on her as she stood at the top of the tower, holding a lute, surrounded by light, like those priestesses he had seen in the East who sing hymns to the moon at night. He was climbing winding steps with great effort, trying to take her away with him. Chilo was creeping up behind him, his teeth chattering in fear, saying, “Don’t do that, lord; she’s a priestess, and He will take revenge.” Vinicius didn’t know who that He was, but he understood that he was about to commit some kind of sacrilege, and he felt a deep, endless fear as well. But when he reached the balustrade at the top of the tower, the Apostle suddenly appeared beside Lygia, his silver beard glowing.
“Do not raise a hand; she belongs to me.” Then he moved forward with her, on a path formed by rays from the moon, as if on a path made to heaven. He stretched his hands toward them, and begged both to take him into their company.
“Don’t raise a hand; she’s mine.” Then he stepped forward with her, on a path illuminated by the moonlight, as if walking to heaven. He reached out his hands to them and pleaded for both to let him join them.
Here he woke, became conscious, and looked before him. The lamp on the tall staff shone more dimly, but still cast a light sufficiently clear. All were sitting in front of the fire warming themselves, for the night was chilly, and the chamber rather cold. Vinicius saw the breath coming as steam from their lips. In the midst of them sat the Apostle; at his knees, on a low footstool, was Lygia; farther on, Glaucus, Crispus, Miriam, and at the edge, on one side Ursus, on the other Miriam’s son Nazarius, a youth with a handsome face, and long, dark hair reaching down to his shoulders.
Here he woke up, became aware, and looked in front of him. The lamp on the tall stand shone dimmer, but still gave off enough light. Everyone was sitting around the fire, warming themselves, because the night was chilly and the room quite cold. Vinicius could see their breath coming out like steam from their lips. In the middle of them sat the Apostle; at his feet, on a low footstool, was Lygia; further on were Glaucus, Crispus, Miriam, and on one side sat Ursus, while on the other was Miriam’s son Nazarius, a young man with a handsome face and long, dark hair that fell to his shoulders.
Lygia listened with eyes raised to the Apostle, and every head was turned toward him, while he told something in an undertone. Vinicius gazed at Peter with a certain superstitious awe, hardly inferior to that terror which he felt during the fever dream. The thought passed through his mind that that dream had touched truth; that the gray-haired man there, freshly come from distant shores, would take Lygia from him really, and take her somewhere away by unknown paths. He felt sure also that the old man was speaking of him, perhaps telling how to separate him from Lygia, for it seemed to him impossible that any one could speak of aught else. Hence, collecting all his presence of mind, he listened to Peter’s words.
Lygia listened with her eyes fixed on the Apostle, and everyone turned their heads toward him as he spoke quietly. Vinicius looked at Peter with a kind of superstitious fear, not much different from the terror he felt during his fever dream. He couldn't shake the thought that his dream had touched upon some truth; that the gray-haired man there, just arrived from faraway places, would really take Lygia away from him and lead her off on some unknown journey. He was also convinced that the old man was talking about him, maybe even explaining how to separate him from Lygia, because it seemed impossible that anyone would be discussing anything else. So, gathering all his focus, he listened intently to Peter's words.
But he was mistaken altogether, for the Apostle was speaking of Christ again.
But he was completely wrong, because the Apostle was talking about Christ again.
“They live only through that name,” thought Vinicius.
“They exist only because of that name,” thought Vinicius.
The old man was describing the seizure of Christ. “A company came, and servants of the priest to seize Him. When the Saviour asked whom they were seeking, they answered, ‘Jesus of Nazareth.’ But when He said to them, ‘I am He,’ they fell on the ground, and dared not raise a hand on Him. Only after the second inquiry did they seize Him.”
The old man was describing the arrest of Christ. “A group showed up, along with the priest's servants, to take Him. When the Savior asked whom they were looking for, they replied, ‘Jesus of Nazareth.’ But when He said to them, ‘I am He,’ they fell to the ground and did not dare touch Him. It was only after the second question that they arrested Him."
Here the Apostle stopped, stretched his hands toward the fire and continued:—“The night was cold, like this one, but the heart in me was seething; so, drawing a sword to defend Him, I cut an ear from the servant of the high-priest. I would have defended Him more than my own life had He not said to me, ‘Put thy sword into the sheath: the cup which my Father has given me, shall I not drink it?’ Then they seized and bound Him.”
Here the Apostle paused, reached his hands toward the fire and continued:—“The night was cold, just like this one, but my heart was boiling; so, grabbing a sword to protect Him, I cut off an ear from the servant of the high priest. I would have defended Him even more than my own life if He hadn’t told me, ‘Put your sword away: should I not drink the cup my Father has given me?’ Then they grabbed Him and bound Him.”
When he had spoken thus far, Peter placed his palm on his forehead, and was silent, wishing before he went further to stop the crowd of his recollections. But Ursus, unable to restrain himself, sprang to his feet, trimmed the light on the staff till the sparks scattered in golden rain and the flame shot up with more vigor. Then he sat down, and exclaimed:
When he finished speaking, Peter put his hand on his forehead and fell silent, wanting to pause his flood of memories before continuing. But Ursus, unable to hold back, jumped to his feet, adjusted the light on the staff until sparks flew like golden rain, and the flame blazed more brightly. Then he sat down and shouted:
“No matter what happened. I—”
“No matter what happened, I—”
He stopped suddenly, for Lygia had put her finger to her lips. But he breathed loudly, and it was clear that a storm was in his soul; and though he was ready at all times to kiss the feet of the Apostle, that act was one he could not accept; if some one in his presence had raised hands on the Redeemer, if he had been with Him on that night—Oi! splinters would have shot from the soldiers, the servants of the priest, and the officials. Tears came to his eyes at the very thought of this, and because of his sorrow and mental struggle; for on the one hand he thought that he would not only have defended the Redeemer, but would have called Lygians to his aid,—splendid fellows,—and on the other, if he had acted thus he would have disobeyed the Redeemer, and hindered the salvation of man. For this reason he could not keep back his tears.
He stopped abruptly because Lygia had put her finger to her lips. But he breathed heavily, and it was obvious that he was in turmoil; even though he was always willing to show his respect for the Apostle, he couldn't accept that action. If someone had raised their hands against the Redeemer in his presence, if he had been with Him that night—oh! splinters would have come flying from the soldiers, the priests' servants, and the officials. Tears filled his eyes at the mere thought of it, and because of his grief and inner conflict; on one hand, he believed he wouldn't just have defended the Redeemer, but would have called on brave men like Lygia’s to help—great guys—but on the other hand, if he had acted that way, he would have disobeyed the Redeemer and obstructed mankind's salvation. That’s why he couldn’t hold back his tears.
After a while Peter took his palm from his forehead, and resumed the narrative. But Vinicius was overpowered by a new feverish, waking dream. What he heard now was in his mind mixed up with what the Apostle had told the night previous in Ostrianum, of that day in which Christ appeared on the shore of the sea of Tiberius. He saw a sheet of water broadly spread out; on it the boat of a fisherman, and in the boat Peter and Lygia. He himself was moving with all his might after that boat, but pain in his broken arm prevented him from reaching it. The wind hurled waves in his eyes, he began to sink, and called with entreating voice for rescue. Lygia knelt down then before the Apostle, who turned his boat, and reached an oar, which Vinicius seized: with their assistance he entered the boat and fell on the bottom of it.
After a while, Peter moved his hand away from his forehead and continued the story. But Vinicius was overwhelmed by a new feverish, waking dream. What he was hearing now mixed in his mind with what the Apostle had told him the night before in Ostrianum, about the day when Christ appeared on the shore of the Sea of Tiberius. He envisioned a wide expanse of water; on it was a fisherman’s boat, with Peter and Lygia in the boat. He was struggling with all his strength to reach that boat, but the pain in his broken arm kept him from getting there. The wind whipped waves into his face; he began to sink and called out desperately for help. Lygia then knelt before the Apostle, who turned his boat and grabbed an oar, which Vinicius reached for: with their help, he climbed into the boat and collapsed on its bottom.
It seemed to him, then, that he stood up, and saw a multitude of people sailing after them. Waves covered their heads with foam; in the whirl only the hands of a few could be seen; but Peter saved the drowning time after time, and gathered them into his boat, which grew larger, as if by a miracle. Soon crowds filled it, as numerous as those which were collected in Ostrianum, and then still greater crowds. Vinicius wondered how they could find place there, and he was afraid that they would sink to the bottom. But Lygia pacified him by showing him a light on the distant shore toward which they were sailing. These dream pictures of Vinicius were blended again with descriptions which he had heard in Ostrianum, from the lips of the Apostle, as to how Christ had appeared on the lake once. So that he saw now in that light on the shore a certain form toward which Peter was steering, and as he approached it the weather grew calmer, the water grew smoother, the light became greater. The crowd began to sing sweet hymns; the air was filled with the odor of nard; the play of water formed a rainbow, as if from the bottom of the lake lilies and roses were looking, and at last the boat struck its breast safely against the sand. Lygia took his hand then, and said, “Come, I will lead thee!” and she led him to the light.
It felt to him that he stood up and saw a crowd of people sailing after them. Waves covered their heads with foam; in the chaos, only a few hands could be seen. But Peter rescued the drowning over and over, pulling them into his boat, which seemed to grow larger, as if by magic. Soon, it was filled with crowds as numerous as those gathered in Ostrianum, and then even more. Vinicius wondered how they all fit and worried they might sink. But Lygia reassured him, pointing to a light on the distant shore they were sailing toward. These vivid images in Vinicius's mind mixed with the accounts he had heard in Ostrianum from the Apostle about how Christ had appeared on the lake once. So, in that light on the shore, he saw a certain form toward which Peter was steering. As they got closer, the weather calmed, the water smoothed out, and the light grew brighter. The crowd began to sing sweet hymns; the air was filled with the scent of nard; the water created a rainbow, as if lilies and roses were peeking up from the bottom of the lake, and finally, the boat gently hit the sand. Lygia took his hand then and said, “Come, I will lead you!” and she guided him toward the light.
Vinicius woke again; but his dreaming ceased slowly, and he did not recover at once the sense of reality. It seemed for a time to him that he was still on the lake, and surrounded by crowds, among which, not knowing the reason himself, he began to look for Petronius, and was astonished not to find him. The bright light from the chimney, at which there was no one at that time, brought him completely to his senses. Olive sticks were burning slowly under the rosy ashes; but the splinters of pine, which evidently had been put there some moments before, shot up a bright flame, and in the light of this, Vinicius saw Lygia, sitting not far from his bedside.
Vinicius woke up again, but his dreams faded slowly, and he didn't immediately regain his sense of reality. For a while, he thought he was still at the lake, surrounded by crowds, and for some reason, he began searching for Petronius, surprised that he couldn't find him. The bright light from the fireplace, which was empty at that moment, snapped him back to reality. Olive sticks were burning slowly beneath the rosy ashes; however, the pieces of pine, which had clearly been added just moments before, flared up with a bright flame. In that light, Vinicius saw Lygia, sitting not far from his bedside.
The sight of her touched him to the depth of his soul. He remembered that she had spent the night before in Ostrianum, and had busied herself the whole day in nursing him, and now when all had gone to rest, she was the only one watching. It was easy to divine that she must be wearied, for while sitting motionless her eyes were closed. Vinicius knew not whether she was sleeping or sunk in thought. He looked at her profile, at her drooping lashes, at her hands lying on her knees; and in his pagan head the idea began to hatch with difficulty that at the side of naked beauty, confident, and proud of Greek and Roman symmetry, there is another in the world, new, immensely pure, in which a soul has its dwelling.
The sight of her touched him to the core. He remembered that she had spent the night before in Ostrianum and had spent the entire day caring for him. Now, when everyone else had gone to rest, she was the only one awake. It was clear that she must be tired because her eyes were closed as she sat still. Vinicius couldn't tell if she was asleep or lost in thought. He looked at her profile, her drooping lashes, her hands resting on her knees, and in his pagan mind, the difficult idea began to form that alongside the naked beauty, confident and proud of its Greek and Roman symmetry, there exists another kind of beauty in the world, one that is immensely pure, where a soul resides.
He could not bring himself so far as to call it Christian, but, thinking of Lygia, he could not separate her from the religion which she confessed. He understood, even, that if all the others had gone to rest, and she alone were watching, she whom he had injured, it was because her religion commanded her to watch. But that thought, which filled him with wonder for the religion, was disagreeable to him. He would rather that Lygia acted thus out of love for him, his face, his eyes, his statuesque form,—in a word for reasons because of which more than once snow-white Grecian and Roman arms had been wound around his neck.
He couldn't bring himself to call it Christian, but when he thought of Lygia, he couldn't separate her from the faith she practiced. He even realized that if everyone else had gone to rest and she alone was staying up, the one he had hurt, it was because her faith required her to keep watch. But that realization, which filled him with admiration for her faith, was unsettling to him. He would have preferred if Lygia acted this way out of love for him—his face, his eyes, his sculptural physique—in other words, for the same reasons that had caused pure Grecian and Roman arms to wrap around his neck more than once.
Still he felt all at once, that, were she like other women, something would be lacking in her. He was amazed, and knew not what was happening in him; for he saw that new feelings of some kind were rising in him, new likings, strange to the world in which he had lived hitherto.
Still, he suddenly felt that if she were like other women, she would be missing something. He was astonished and didn't understand what was happening to him; he realized that new feelings were emerging within him, new attractions, strange to the world he had lived in until now.
She opened her eyes then, and, seeing that Vinicius was gazing at her, she approached him and said,—“I am with thee.”
She opened her eyes and, noticing that Vinicius was looking at her, she walked over to him and said, "I'm with you."
“I saw thy soul in a dream,” replied he.
"I saw your soul in a dream," he replied.
Chapter XXVI
NEXT morning he woke up weak, but with a cool head and free of fever. It seemed to him that a whispered conversation had roused him; but when he opened his eyes, Lygia was not there. Ursus, stooping before the chimney, was raking apart the gray ashes, and seeking live coals beneath them. When he found some, he began to blow, not with his mouth, but as it were with the bellows of a blacksmith. Vinicius, remembering how that man had crushed Croton the day before, examined with attention befitting a lover of the arena his gigantic back, which resembled the back of a Cyclops, and his limbs strong as columns.
The next morning, he woke up feeling weak but clear-headed and without a fever. It seemed like a whispered conversation had disturbed his sleep, but when he opened his eyes, Lygia was gone. Ursus, bent over the fireplace, was sifting through the gray ashes, looking for live coals underneath. When he found some, he started to blow on them, not with his mouth but like a blacksmith using bellows. Vinicius, recalling how that man had defeated Croton the day before, studied his massive back, which looked like a Cyclops's, and his limbs that were as strong as columns.
“Thanks to Mercury that my neck was not broken by him,” thought Vinicius. “By Pollux! if the other Lygians are like this one, the Danubian legions will have heavy work some time!”
“Thank you, Mercury, for not letting him break my neck,” thought Vinicius. “By Pollux! If the other Lygians are anything like this one, the Danubian legions are in for a tough time soon!”
But aloud he said, “Hei, slave!”
But he said out loud, “Hey, slave!”
Ursus drew his head out of the chimney, and, smiling in a manner almost friendly, said,—“God give thee a good day, lord, and good health; but I am a free man, not a slave.”
Ursus pulled his head out of the chimney and, smiling almost warmly, said, “May God grant you a good day, sir, and good health; but I am a free man, not a slave.”
On Vinicius who wished to question Ursus touching Lygia’s birthplace, these words produced a certain pleasant impression; for discourse with a free though a common man was less disagreeable to his Roman and patrician pride, than with a slave, in whom neither law nor custom recognized human nature.
On Vinicius, who wanted to ask Ursus about Lygia’s birthplace, these words created a somewhat pleasant impression; talking with a free but common man was less uncomfortable for his Roman and patrician pride than speaking with a slave, who neither law nor custom saw as truly human.
“Then thou dost not belong to Aulus?” asked he.
“Then you don't belong to Aulus?” he asked.
“No, lord, I serve Callina, as I served her mother, of my own will.”
“No, my lord, I serve Callina, just as I served her mother, because I choose to.”
Here he hid his head again in the chimney, to blow the coals, on which he had placed some wood. When he had finished, he took it out and said,—“With us there are no slaves.”
Here, he hid his head back in the chimney to fan the coals, on which he had placed some wood. When he was done, he took it out and said, “With us, there are no slaves.”
“Where is Lygia?” inquired Vinicius.
“Where's Lygia?” Vinicius asked.
“She has gone out, and I am to cook food for thee. She watched over thee the whole night.”
"She has gone out, and I'm going to make food for you. She took care of you all night."
“Why didst thou not relieve her?”
“Why didn’t you help her?”
“Because she wished to watch, and it is for me to obey.” Here his eyes grew gloomy, and after a while he added:
“Because she wanted to watch, and I must obey.” Here his eyes became dark, and after a while, he added:
“If I had disobeyed her, thou wouldst not be living.”
“If I had disobeyed her, you wouldn’t be alive.”
“Art thou sorry for not having killed me?”
“Are you sorry for not having killed me?”
“No, lord. Christ has not commanded us to kill.”
“No, sir. Christ hasn't commanded us to kill.”
“But Atacinus and Croton?”
“But Atacinus and Croton?”
“I could not do otherwise,” muttered Ursus. And he looked with regret on his hands, which had remained pagan evidently, though his soul had accepted the cross. Then he put a pot on the crane, and fixed his thoughtful eyes on the fire.
“I couldn’t do anything else,” Ursus muttered. He looked regretfully at his hands, which still showed signs of being pagan, even though his soul had embraced the cross. Then he placed a pot on the crane and fixed his thoughtful gaze on the fire.
“That was thy fault, lord,” said he at last. “Why didst thou raise thy hand against her, a king’s daughter?”
"That was your fault, my lord," he finally said. "Why did you raise your hand against her, a king's daughter?"
Pride boiled up, at the first moment, in Vinicius, because a common man and a barbarian had not merely dared to speak to him thus familiarly, but to blame him in addition. To those uncommon and improbable things which had met him since yesterday, was added another. But being weak and without his slaves, he restrained himself, especially since a wish to learn some details of Lygia’s life gained the upper hand in him.
Pride surged in Vinicius at first because a common man and a barbarian had not only dared to speak to him so casually but also scolded him. This added to the unusual and unexpected events that had happened to him since yesterday. However, feeling weak and without his slaves, he held back, especially as a desire to learn more about Lygia's life took precedence in his mind.
When he had calmed himself, therefore, he inquired about the war of the Lygians against Vannius and the Suevi. Ursus was glad to converse, but could not add much that was new to what in his time Aulus Plautius had told. Ursus had not been in battle, for he had attended the hostages to the camp of Atelius Hister. He knew only that the Lygians had beaten the Suevi and the Yazygi, but that their leader and king had fallen from the arrows of the Yazygi. Immediately after they received news that the Semnones had set fire to forests on their boundaries, they returned in haste to avenge the wrong, and the hostages remained with Atelius, who ordered at first to give them kingly honors. Afterward Lygia’s mother died. The Roman commander knew not what to do with the child. Ursus wished to return with her to their own country, but the road was unsafe because of wild beasts and wild tribes. When news came that an embassy of Lygians had visited Pomponius, offering him aid against the Marcomani, Hister sent him with Lygia to Pomponius. When they came to him they learned, however, that no ambassadors had been there, and in that way they remained in the camp; whence Pomponius took them to Rome, and at the conclusion of his triumph he gave the king’s daughter to Pomponia Græcina.
Once he calmed down, he asked about the war between the Lygians and Vannius and the Suevi. Ursus was happy to talk but couldn't add much new information beyond what Aulus Plautius had shared before. Ursus hadn't been in battle because he was looking after the hostages at Atelius Hister's camp. He only knew that the Lygians had defeated the Suevi and the Yazygi, but their leader and king had fallen to the arrows of the Yazygi. Right after they got the news that the Semnones had started setting fire to the forests on their borders, they rushed back to take revenge, leaving the hostages with Atelius, who initially treated them with royal honors. Later, Lygia's mother passed away. The Roman commander didn't know what to do with the child. Ursus wanted to take her back to their homeland, but the road was dangerous due to wild animals and tribes. When news arrived that a Lygians' delegation had visited Pomponius offering help against the Marcomani, Hister sent him with Lygia to Pomponius. However, when they got there, they found out that no ambassadors had been present, so they stayed in the camp, from where Pomponius took them to Rome. At the end of his triumph, he gave the king’s daughter to Pomponia Græcina.
Though only certain small details of this narrative had been unknown to Vinicius, he listened with pleasure, for his enormous pride of family was pleased that an eye-witness had confirmed Lygia’s royal descent. As a king’s daughter she might occupy a position at Cæsar’s court equal to the daughters of the very first families, all the more since the nation whose ruler her father had been, had not warred with Rome so far, and, though barbarian, it might become terrible; for, according to Atelius Hister himself, it possessed an immense force of warriors. Ursus, moreover, confirmed this completely.
Though Vinicius already knew most of the details in this story, he listened with pleasure because his immense family pride was happy that an eyewitness had verified Lygia’s royal lineage. As a king’s daughter, she could hold a position at Caesar’s court comparable to that of the daughters of the highest families, especially since the nation her father ruled had not fought against Rome yet, and although it was considered barbarian, it had the potential to be formidable. According to Atelius Hister himself, it had a vast army. Ursus also completely backed this up.
“We live in the woods,” said he, in answer to Vinicius, “but we have so much land that no man knows where the end is, and there are many people on it. There are also wooden towns in the forest, in which there is great plenty; for what the Semnones, the Marcomani, the Vandals, and the Quadi plunder through the world, we take from them. They dare not come to us; but when the wind blows from their side, they burn our forests. We fear neither them nor the Roman Cæsar.”
“We live in the woods,” he replied to Vinicius, “but we have so much land that no one knows where it ends, and there are many people living on it. There are also wooden towns in the forest, where there is plenty to go around; for what the Semnones, the Marcomani, the Vandals, and the Quadi steal across the world, we take from them. They don’t dare come to us; but when the wind blows in their direction, they burn our forests. We fear neither them nor the Roman Caesar.”
“The gods gave Rome dominion over the earth,” said Vinicius severely.
“The gods granted Rome control over the earth,” Vinicius said sternly.
“The gods are evil spirits,” replied Ursus, with simplicity, “and where there are no Romans, there is no supremacy.”
“The gods are evil spirits,” Ursus replied simply, “and where there are no Romans, there is no power.”
Here he fixed the fire, and said, as if to himself,—“When Cæsar took Callina to the palace, and I thought that harm might meet her, I wanted to go to the forest and bring Lygians to help the king’s daughter. And Lygians would have moved toward the Danube, for they are virtuous people though pagan. There I should have given them ‘good tidings.’ But as it is, if ever Callina returns to Pomponia Græcina I will bow down to her for permission to go to them; for Christus was born far away, and they have not even heard of Him. He knew better than I where He should be born; but if He had come to the world with us, in the forests, we would not have tortured Him to death, that is certain. We would have taken care of the Child, and guarded Him, so that never should He want for game, mushrooms, beaver-skins, or amber. And what we plundered from the Suevi and the Marcomani we would have given Him, so that He might have comfort and plenty.”
Here he started the fire and said to himself, “When Cæsar took Callina to the palace, and I worried that she might be in danger, I wanted to go into the forest and bring the Lygians to help the king’s daughter. The Lygians would have headed toward the Danube because they are good people, even though they're pagans. I would have shared 'good news' with them. But as it stands, if Callina ever comes back to Pomponia Græcina, I will bow down to her for permission to join them; because Christ was born far away, and they haven't even heard of Him. He knew better than I where He should be born; but if He had been born in the world with us in the forests, we definitely wouldn’t have tortured Him to death. We would have cared for the Child and protected Him so that He would never lack for game, mushrooms, beaver skins, or amber. And everything we took from the Suevi and the Marcomani, we would have given to Him so that He could have comfort and abundance.”
Thus speaking, he put near the fire the vessel with food for Vinicius, and was silent. His thoughts wandered evidently, for a time yet, through the Lygian wildernesses, till the liquid began to boil; then he poured it into a shallow plate, and, cooling it properly, said,—“Glaucus advises thee, lord, to move even thy sound arm as little as possible; Callina has commanded me to give thee food.”
Thus speaking, he placed the vessel with food for Vinicius near the fire and fell silent. His thoughts were clearly wandering for a while, lost in the Lygian wilderness, until the liquid began to boil; then he poured it into a shallow plate and, after letting it cool down, said, “Glaucus advises you, my lord, to move your good arm as little as possible; Callina has instructed me to feed you.”
Lygia commanded! There was no answer to that. It did not even come to Vinicius’s head to oppose her will, just as if she had been the daughter of Cæsar or a goddess. He uttered not a word, therefore; and Ursus, sitting near his bed, took out the liquid with a small cup, and put it to his mouth. He did this so carefully, and with such a kindly smile, that Vinicius could not believe his own eyes, could not think him the same terrible Titan who the day before had crushed Croton, and, rushing on him like a storm, would have torn him to pieces but for Lygia’s pity. The young patrician, for the first time in life, began to ponder over this: What can take place in the breast of a simple man, a barbarian, and a servant?
Lygia commanded! There was no response to that. It didn't even occur to Vinicius to oppose her wishes, as if she had been the daughter of Caesar or a goddess. He didn't say a word, and Ursus, sitting by his bed, gently took out the liquid with a small cup and brought it to his mouth. He did this so carefully, with such a warm smile, that Vinicius could hardly believe his eyes; he couldn't reconcile this with the terrifying Titan who had crushed Croton the day before, who had rushed at him like a storm and would have torn him apart if it weren't for Lygia's compassion. For the first time in his life, the young patrician began to wonder: What goes on in the heart of a simple man, a barbarian, and a servant?
But Ursus proved to be a nurse as awkward as painstaking; the cup was lost among his herculean fingers so completely that there was no place left for the mouth of the sick man. After a few fruitless efforts the giant was troubled greatly, and said,—“Li! it would be easier to lead an aurochs out of a snare.”
But Ursus turned out to be a nurse as clumsy as he was careful; the cup was so completely lost among his huge fingers that there was no way for the sick man to drink from it. After a few unsuccessful attempts, the giant became very troubled and said, “Wow! It would be easier to lead an aurochs out of a trap.”
The anxiety of the Lygian amused Vinicius, but his remark did not interest him less. He had seen in circuses the terrible urus, brought from wildernesses of the north, against which the most daring bestiarii went with dread, and which yielded only to elephants in size and strength.
The anxiety of the Lygian amused Vinicius, but his remark didn’t interest him any less. He had seen in circuses the terrifying urus, brought from the wilds of the north, which even the bravest bestiarii faced with fear, and that only elephants rivaled in size and strength.
“Hast thou tried to take such beasts by the horns?” inquired he, with astonishment.
“Have you tried to grab those animals by the horns?” he asked, astonished.
“Till the twentieth winter passed over me, I was afraid,” answered Ursus; “but after that it happened.”
“Until I turned twenty, I was afraid,” Ursus replied; “but after that, things changed.”
And he began to feed Vinicius still more awkwardly than before.
And he started to feed Vinicius even more clumsily than before.
“I must ask Miriam or Nazarius,” said he.
“I need to ask Miriam or Nazarius,” he said.
But now Lygia’s pale face appeared from behind the curtain.
But now Lygia’s pale face peeked out from behind the curtain.
“I will assist directly,” said she. And after a while she came from the cubiculum, in which she had been preparing to sleep, as it seemed, for she was in a single close tunic, called by the ancients capitium, covering the breast completely, and her hair was unbound. Vinicius, whose heart beat with more quickness at sight of her, began to upbraid her for not thinking of sleep yet; but she answered joyously,—“I was just preparing to sleep, but first I will take the place of Ursus.”
“I'll help directly,” she said. After a bit, she came out of the room where she had been getting ready to sleep, since she was in a simple, close-fitting tunic, called by the ancients capitium, that covered her completely, and her hair was down. Vinicius, whose heart raced at the sight of her, started to scold her for not thinking about sleep yet; but she replied happily, “I was just getting ready to sleep, but first I’ll take Ursus’s place.”
She took the cup, and, sitting on the edge of the bed, began to give food to Vinicius, who felt at once overcome and delighted. When she inclined toward him, the warmth of her body struck him, and her unbound hair fell on his breast. He grew pale from the impression; but in the confusion and impulse of desires he felt also that that was a head dear above all and magnified above all, in comparison with which the whole world was nothing. At first he had desired her; now he began to love her with a full breast. Before that, as generally in life and in feeling, he had been, like all people of that time, a blind, unconditional egotist, who thought only of himself; at present he began to think of her.
She picked up the cup and, sitting on the edge of the bed, started to feed Vinicius, who felt both overwhelmed and thrilled at the same time. When she leaned in close, the warmth of her body enveloped him, and her loose hair fell onto his chest. He paled from the intensity of the moment; but in the confusion and rush of emotions, he realized that her presence was unparalleled and cherished above everything else, making the rest of the world feel insignificant. At first, he had simply desired her; now, he started to truly love her with all his heart. Before that, like most people of his time, he had been a blind, self-centered egotist who only thought about himself; now, he began to consider her.
After a while, therefore, he refused further nourishment; and though he found inexhaustible delight in her presence and in looking at her, he said,—“Enough! Go to rest, my divine one.”
After a while, he stopped wanting to eat more; and even though he found endless joy in being with her and looking at her, he said, “That’s enough! Go get some rest, my beautiful one.”
“Do not address me in that way,” answered Lygia; “it is not proper for me to hear such words.”
“Don’t talk to me like that,” Lygia replied; “it’s not appropriate for me to hear those words.”
She smiled at him, however, and said that sleep had fled from her, that she felt no toil, that she would not go to rest till Glaucus came. He listened to her words as to music; his heart rose with increasing delight, increasing gratitude, and his thought was struggling to show her that gratitude.
She smiled at him and said that she couldn't sleep, that she felt no tiredness, and that she wouldn’t rest until Glaucus arrived. He listened to her words like music; his heart swelled with growing joy and gratitude, and he was trying to find a way to express that gratitude to her.
“Lygia,” said he, after a moment of silence, “I did not know thee hitherto. But I know now that I wished to attain thee by a false way; hence I say, return to Pomponia Græcina, and be assured that in future no hand will be raised against thee.”
“Lygia,” he said after a moment of silence, “I didn’t know you until now. But I realize that I wanted to win you over in the wrong way; so I’m asking you to go back to Pomponia Græcina, and know that from now on, nothing will threaten you.”
Her face became sad on a sudden. “I should be happy,” answered she, “could I look at her, even from a distance; but I cannot return to her now.”
Her expression suddenly turned sad. “I should be happy,” she replied, “if I could see her, even from afar; but I can't go back to her now.”
“Why?” inquired Vinicius, with astonishment.
"Why?" asked Vinicius, astonished.
“We Christians know, through Acte, what is done on the Palatine. Hast thou not heard that Cæsar, soon after my flight and before his departure for Naples, summoned Aulus and Pomponia, and, thinking that they had helped me, threatened them with his anger? Fortunately Aulus was able to say to him, ‘Thou knowest, lord, that a lie has never passed my lips; I swear to thee now that we did not help her to escape, and we do not know, as thou dost not, what has happened to her.’ Cæsar believed, and afterward forgot. By the advice of the elders I have never written to mother where I am, so that she might take an oath boldly at all times that she has no knowledge of me. Thou wilt not understand this, perhaps, O Vinicius; but it is not permitted us to lie, even in a question involving life. Such is the religion on which we fashion our hearts; therefore I have not seen Pomponia from the hour when I left her house. From time to time distant echoes barely reach her that I am alive and not in danger.”
“We Christians know from Acte what’s going on at the Palatine. Haven’t you heard that Caesar, soon after I fled and before he left for Naples, summoned Aulus and Pomponia, thinking they helped me, and threatened them with his wrath? Thankfully, Aulus was able to tell him, ‘You know, my lord, that I’ve never told a lie; I swear to you now that we didn’t help her escape, and like you, we don’t know what happened to her.’ Caesar believed him and later forgot. Following the elders' advice, I’ve never told my mother where I am, so she can confidently swear she has no knowledge of my whereabouts. You might not understand this, O Vinicius; but we are not allowed to lie, even when it concerns life and death. That’s the faith we hold dear; thus, I haven’t seen Pomponia since I left her home. Occasionally, distant whispers barely reach her that I’m alive and safe.”
Here a longing seized Lygia, and her eyes were moist with tears; but she calmed herself quickly, and said,—“I know that Pomponia, too, yearns for me; but we have consolation which others have not.”
Here, Lygia felt a deep longing, and her eyes were wet with tears; but she quickly composed herself and said, “I know that Pomponia also misses me, but we have comfort that others do not.”
“Yes,” answered Vinicius, “Christ is your consolation, but I do not understand that.”
“Yes,” replied Vinicius, “Christ is your comfort, but I don’t get that.”
“Look at us! For us there are no partings, no pains, no sufferings; or if they come they are turned into pleasure. And death itself, which for you is the end of life, is for us merely its beginning,—the exchange of a lower for a higher happiness, a happiness less calm for one calmer and eternal. Consider what must a religion be which enjoins on us love even for our enemies, forbids falsehood, purifies our souls from hatred, and promises happiness inexhaustible after death.”
“Look at us! We don’t have separations, pain, or suffering; and if they do come, they just turn into joy. And death, which for you is the end of life, is just the start for us—trading a lower happiness for a higher one, a happiness that’s less peaceful for one that’s calm and eternal. Think about what kind of religion teaches us to love even our enemies, prohibits lying, cleanses our souls of hatred, and promises endless happiness after death.”
“I heard those teachings in Ostrianum, and I have seen how ye acted with me and with Chilo; when I remember your deeds, they are like a dream, and it seems to me that I ought not to believe my ears or eyes. But answer me this question: Art thou happy?”
“I heard those teachings at Ostrianum, and I've seen how you treated me and Chilo; when I think about your actions, they feel like a dream, and it seems I shouldn't trust my ears or eyes. But answer me this question: Are you happy?”
“I am,” answered Lygia. “One who confesses Christ cannot be unhappy.” Vinicius looked at her, as though what she said passed every measure of human understanding.
“I am,” Lygia replied. “Anyone who confesses Christ cannot be unhappy.” Vinicius looked at her, as if what she said was beyond the limits of human understanding.
“And hast thou no wish to return to Pomponia?”
“And do you have no desire to go back to Pomponia?”
“I should like, from my whole soul, to return to her; and shall return, if such be God’s will.”
“I really want to go back to her with all my heart; and I will, if that’s what God wants.”
“I say to thee, therefore, return; and I swear by my lares that I will not raise a hand against thee.”
“I tell you, so return; and I swear by my household gods that I won’t lift a finger against you.”
Lygia thought for a moment, and answered,—“No, I cannot expose those near me to danger. Cæsar does not like the Plautiuses. Should I return—thou knowest how every news is spread throughout Rome by slaves—my return would be noised about in the city. Nero would hear of it surely through his slaves, and punish Aulus and Pomponia,—at least take me from them a second time.”
Lygia thought for a moment and replied, “No, I can’t put my loved ones in danger. Caesar doesn't like the Plautiuses. If I return—you know how every piece of news spreads through Rome via slaves—my return would definitely get around the city. Nero would surely hear about it from his slaves and punish Aulus and Pomponia, or at the very least, take me away from them again.”
“True,” answered Vinicius, frowning, “that would be possible. He would do so, even to show that his will must be obeyed. It is true that he only forgot thee, or would remember thee, because the loss was not his, but mine. Perhaps, if he took thee from Aulus and Pomponia, he would send thee to me and I could give thee back to them.”
“True,” replied Vinicius, frowning, “that could happen. He would do it, just to prove that his will must be followed. It’s true that he only forgot you, or would remember you, because the loss wasn’t his, but mine. Maybe if he took you from Aulus and Pomponia, he would send you to me, and I could return you to them.”
“Vinicius, wouldst thou see me again on the Palatine?” inquired Lygia.
“Vinicius, will you see me again on the Palatine?” Lygia asked.
He set his teeth, and answered,—“No. Thou art right. I spoke like a fool! No!”
He gritted his teeth and replied, “No. You’re right. I spoke like an idiot! No!”
And all at once he saw before him a precipice, as it were without bottom. He was a patrician, a military tribune, a powerful man; but above every power of that world to which he belonged was a madman whose will and malignity it was impossible to foresee. Only such people as the Christians might cease to reckon with Nero or fear him,—people for whom this whole world, with its separations and sufferings, was as nothing; people for whom death itself was as nothing. All others had to tremble before him. The terrors of the time in which they lived showed themselves to Vinicius in all their monstrous extent. He could not return Lygia to Aulus and Pomponia, then, through fear that the monster would remember her, and turn on her his anger; for the very same reason, if he should take her as wife, he might expose her, himself, and Aulus. A moment of ill-humor was enough to ruin all. Vinicius felt, for the first time in life, that either the world must change and be transformed, or life would become impossible altogether. He understood also this, which a moment before had been dark to him, that in such times only Christians could be happy.
And suddenly he saw a bottomless cliff ahead of him. He was an elite member of society, a military officer, a powerful man; but above all the power he had in his world was a madman whose whims and hatred were impossible to predict. Only people like the Christians could stop worrying about Nero or be afraid of him — people for whom this entire world, with all its divisions and suffering, meant nothing; people for whom death itself meant nothing. Everyone else had to live in fear of him. The horrors of the time they lived in hit Vinicius with full force. He couldn't return Lygia to Aulus and Pomponia, fearing that the monster would remember her and direct his wrath at her; for the same reason, if he took her as his wife, he might put her, himself, and Aulus at risk. A moment of anger could ruin everything. Vinicius felt, for the first time in his life, that the world either had to change and transform, or life would become completely unbearable. He also realized, which was unclear to him just moments before, that only Christians could find happiness in such times.
But above all, sorrow seized him, for he understood, too, that it was he who had so involved his own life and Lygia’s that out of the complication there was scarcely an outcome. And under the influence of that sorrow he began to speak:
But above all, grief took hold of him, because he realized that it was he who had tangled his own life and Lygia’s in such a way that there was hardly any way out. And influenced by that grief, he started to speak:
“Dost thou know that thou art happier than I? Thou art in poverty, and in this one chamber, among simple people, thou hast thy religion and thy Christ; but I have only thee, and when I lacked thee I was like a beggar without a roof above him and without bread. Thou art dearer to me than the whole world. I sought thee, for I could not live without thee. I wished neither feasts nor sleep. Had it not been for the hope of finding thee, I should have cast myself on a sword. But I fear death, for if dead I could not see thee. I speak the pure truth in saying that I shall not be able to live without thee. I have lived so far only in the hope of finding and beholding thee. Dost thou remember our conversations at the house of Aulus? Once thou didst draw a fish for me on the sand, and I knew not what its meaning was. Dost thou remember how we played ball? I loved thee then above life, and thou hadst begun already to divine that I loved thee. Aulus came, frightened us with Libitina, and interrupted our talk. Pomponia, at parting, told Petronius that God is one, all-mighty and all-merciful, but it did not even occur to us that Christ was thy God and hers. Let Him give thee to me and I will love Him, though He seems to me a god of slaves, foreigners, and beggars. Thou sittest near me, and thinkest of Him only. Think of me too, or I shall hate Him. For me thou alone art a divinity. Blessed be thy father and mother; blessed the land which produced thee! I should wish to embrace thy feet and pray to thee, give thee honor, homage, offerings, thou thrice divine! Thou knowest not, or canst not know, how I love thee.”
“Do you know that you’re happier than I am? You live in poverty, and in this one room, surrounded by simple people, you have your faith and your Christ; but all I have is you, and when I was without you, I felt like a beggar without a home or food. You mean more to me than the entire world. I searched for you because I couldn’t live without you. I didn’t want feasts or sleep. If it hadn’t been for the hope of finding you, I would have thrown myself on a sword. But I’m afraid of death because if I die, I can’t see you. I’m telling the truth when I say that I won’t be able to live without you. Until now, I’ve only lived in the hope of finding and seeing you. Do you remember our conversations at Aulus's house? Once you drew a fish in the sand for me, and I didn’t understand what it meant. Do you remember how we played ball? I loved you then more than life itself, and you had already begun to sense that I loved you. Aulus came, frightened us with Libitina, and interrupted our talk. Pomponia, when we parted, told Petronius that God is one, all-powerful and all-merciful, but it didn’t even occur to us that Christ was your God and hers. If He brings you to me, I will love Him, although He seems to me a god of slaves, foreigners, and beggars. You sit near me and think only of Him. Think of me too, or I will hate Him. To me, you alone are divine. Blessed be your father and mother; blessed the land that gave you life! I wish to embrace your feet and pray to you, to honor you, to pay you tribute, you who are thrice divine! You don’t know, or can’t know, how much I love you.”
Thus speaking, he placed his hand on his pale forehead and closed his eyes. His nature never knew bounds in love or anger. He spoke with enthusiasm, like a man who, having lost self-control, has no wish to observe any measure in words or feelings. But he spoke from the depth of his soul, and sincerely. It was to be felt that the pain, ecstasy, desire, and homage accumulated in his breast had burst forth at last in an irresistible torrent of words. To Lygia his words appeared blasphemous, but still her heart began to beat as if it would tear the tunic enclosing her bosom. She could not resist pity for him and his suffering. She was moved by the homage with which he spoke to her. She felt beloved and deified without bounds; she felt that that unbending and dangerous man belonged to her now, soul and body, like a slave; and that feeling of his submission and her own power filled her with happiness. Her recollections revived in one moment. He was for her again that splendid Vinicius, beautiful as a pagan god; he, who in the house of Aulus had spoken to her of love, and roused as if from sleep her heart half childlike at that time; he from whose embraces Ursus had wrested her on the Palatine, as he might have wrested her from flames. But at present, with ecstasy, and at the same time with pain in his eagle face, with pale forehead and imploring eyes,—wounded, broken by love, loving, full of homage and submissive,—he seemed to her such as she would have wished him, and such as she would have loved with her whole soul, therefore dearer than he had ever been before.
As he spoke, he placed his hand on his pale forehead and closed his eyes. His emotions had no limits in love or anger. He spoke with passion, like a person who, having lost control, has no desire to hold back in words or feelings. But his words came from deep within his soul, and they were genuine. It was clear that the pain, ecstasy, desire, and admiration built up inside him had finally burst forth in an unstoppable flood of words. To Lygia, his words sounded blasphemous, yet her heart started to race as if it would burst through her tunic. She couldn’t help but feel pity for him and his suffering. She was touched by the way he honored her with his words. She felt cherished and elevated beyond measure; she sensed that this unyielding and dangerous man now belonged to her, body and soul, like a slave; and that feeling of his submission and her own power brought her joy. Her memories flooded back in an instant. He was once again that magnificent Vinicius, as beautiful as a pagan god; he, who in Aulus's house had spoken to her of love, awakening her heart, which had been childlike at that time; he from whom Ursus had rescued her at the Palatine, much like saving her from flames. But at that moment, with ecstasy and also with pain on his eagle-like face, with his pale forehead and pleading eyes—wounded, broken by love, loving, full of admiration and submissive—he appeared to her as she had always wanted him, and as she would have loved with all her soul, making him dearer than he had ever been before.
All at once she understood that a moment might come in which his love would seize her and bear her away, as a whirlwind; and when she felt this, she had the same impression that he had a moment before,—that she was standing on the edge of a precipice. Was it for this that she had left the house of Aulus? Was it for this that she had saved herself by flight? Was it for this that she had hidden so long in wretched parts of the city? Who was that Vinicius? An Augustian, a soldier, a courtier of Nero! Moreover he took part in his profligacy and madness, as was shown by that feast, which she could not forget; and he went with others to the temples, and made offerings to vile gods, in whom he did not believe, perhaps, but still he gave them official honor. Still more he had pursued her to make her his slave and mistress, and at the same time to thrust her into that terrible world of excess, luxury, crime, and dishonor which calls for the anger and vengeance of God. He seemed changed, it is true, but still he had just said to her that if she would think more of Christ than of him, he was ready to hate Christ. It seemed to Lygia that the very idea of any other love than the love of Christ was a sin against Him and against religion. When she saw then that other feelings and desires might be roused in the depth of her soul, she was seized by alarm for her own future and her own heart.
All of a sudden, she realized that there could come a moment when his love would sweep her away like a whirlwind; and when she felt this, she sensed the same thing he had a moment earlier—that she was standing at the edge of a cliff. Was this why she had left Aulus's house? Was this why she had escaped by fleeing? Was this why she had hidden for so long in the miserable parts of the city? Who was that Vinicius? An Augustian, a soldier, a courtier of Nero! Plus, he participated in Nero's debauchery and madness, as evidenced by that feast she could not forget; and he went with others to the temples, offering gifts to despicable gods, whom he likely did not believe in, yet he still gave them official respect. Even more troubling, he had pursued her to make her his slave and mistress, while also dragging her into that horrible world of excess, luxury, crime, and dishonor that calls for God's wrath and judgment. He seemed different, it's true, but he had just told her that if she cared more about Christ than about him, he would be willing to hate Christ. It seemed to Lygia that the very thought of loving anyone other than Christ was a sin against Him and against her faith. When she then realized that other feelings and desires could stir deep within her soul, she became alarmed for her own future and her heart.
At this moment of internal struggle appeared Glaucus, who had come to care for the patient and study his health. In the twinkle of an eye, anger and impatience were reflected on the face of Vinicius. He was angry that his conversation with Lygia had been interrupted; and when Glaucus questioned him, he answered with contempt almost. It is true that he moderated himself quickly; but if Lygia had any illusions as to this,—that what he had heard in Ostrianum might have acted on his unyielding nature,—those illusions must vanish. He had changed only for her; but beyond that single feeling there remained in his breast the former harsh and selfish heart, truly Roman and wolfish, incapable not only of the sweet sentiment of Christian teaching but even of gratitude.
At that moment of inner conflict, Glaucus showed up. He had come to tend to the patient and monitor his health. In an instant, anger and impatience were clear on Vinicius's face. He was frustrated that his conversation with Lygia had been interrupted; when Glaucus asked him about it, he responded with almost open disdain. True, he quickly reeled himself back in, but if Lygia believed that what he had heard at Ostrianum might have softened his tough demeanor, those hopes must have faded. He had only changed for her; beyond that one feeling, the old, harsh, selfish heart remained in him, genuinely Roman and predatory, unable to feel not just the gentle sentiments of Christian teaching but even gratitude.
She went away at last filled with internal care and anxiety. Formerly in her prayers she had offered to Christ a heart calm, and really pure as a tear. Now that calmness was disturbed. To the interior of the flower a poisonous insect had come and began to buzz. Even sleep, in spite of the two nights passed without sleep, brought her no relief. She dreamed that at Ostrianum Nero, at the head of a whole band of Augustians, bacchantes, corybantes, and gladiators, was trampling crowds of Christians with his chariot wreathed in roses; and Vinicius seized her by the arm, drew her to the quadriga, and, pressing her to his bosom, whispered “Come with us.”
She finally left, overwhelmed with worry and anxiety. In her past prayers, she had given Christ a heart that was calm and truly pure like a tear. Now that calmness was shattered. A poisonous insect had invaded the interior of the flower and started to buzz. Even sleep, despite having gone two nights without it, didn’t bring her any relief. She dreamed that at Ostrianum, Nero, leading a whole group of Augustians, bacchantes, corybantes, and gladiators, was trampling crowds of Christians with his chariot decorated in roses; and Vinicius grabbed her arm, pulled her to the quadriga, and, holding her close, whispered, “Come with us.”
Chapter XXVII
FROM that moment Lygia showed herself more rarely in the common chamber, and approached his couch less frequently. But peace did not return to her. She saw that Vinicius followed her with imploring glance; that he was waiting for every word of hers, as for a favor; that he suffered and dared not complain, lest he might turn her away from him; that she alone was his health and delight. And then her heart swelled with compassion. Soon she observed, too, that the more she tried to avoid him, the more compassion she had for him; and by this itself the more tender were the feelings which rose in her. Peace left her. At times she said to herself that it was her special duty to be near him always, first, because the religion of God commands return of good for evil; second, that by conversing with him, she might attract him to the faith. But at the same time conscience told her that she was tempting herself; that only love for him and the charm which he exerted were attracting her, nothing else. Thus she lived in a ceaseless struggle, which was intensified daily. At times it seemed that a kind of net surrounded her, and that in trying to break through it she entangled herself more and more. She had also to confess that for her the sight of him was becoming more needful, his voice was becoming dearer, and that she had to struggle with all her might against the wish to sit at his bedside. When she approached him, and he grew radiant, delight filled her heart. On a certain day she noticed traces of tears on his eyelids, and for the first time in life the thought came to her, to dry them with kisses. Terrified by that thought, and full of self-contempt, she wept all the night following.
FROM that moment, Lygia appeared less often in the common room and visited his bedside less frequently. But she didn't find peace. She noticed that Vinicius watched her with pleading eyes, waiting for every word she said as if it were a favor. He was suffering but didn’t dare complain, fearing it would push her away. She realized that she alone was his source of happiness. Compassion filled her heart. Soon she realized that the more she tried to stay away from him, the more compassion she felt, which in turn made her feelings for him even stronger. Peace eluded her. Sometimes she told herself that it was her duty to stay close to him—first, because God's teachings urge returning good for evil; second, because talking to him might draw him toward her faith. But her conscience reminded her that she was only tempting herself; it was simply her love for him and his charm that drew her in, nothing more. So she lived in a constant struggle, which grew more intense each day. At times, it felt like a net was wrapping around her, and the more she tried to escape, the more ensnared she became. She had to admit that seeing him had become a necessity for her, his voice was growing dearer, and she had to fight hard against the desire to sit by his side. When she approached him and saw him light up, her heart swelled with joy. One day, she noticed traces of tears on his eyelids, and for the first time, the thought crossed her mind to dry them with kisses. Terrified by that thought and filled with self-loathing, she cried throughout the following night.
He was as enduring as if he had made a vow of patience. When at moments his eyes flashed with petulance, self-will, and anger, he restrained those flashes promptly, and looked with alarm at her, as if to implore pardon. This acted still more on her. Never had she such a feeling of being greatly loved as then; and when she thought of this, she felt at once guilty and happy. Vinicius, too, had changed essentially. In his conversations with Glaucus there was less pride. It occurred to him frequently that even that poor slave physician and that foreign woman, old Miriam, who surrounded him with attention, and Crispus, whom he saw absorbed in continual prayer, were still human. He was astonished at such thoughts, but he had them. After a time he conceived a liking for Ursus, with whom he conversed entire days; for with him he could talk about Lygia. The giant, on his part, was inexhaustible in narrative, and while performing the most simple services for the sick man, he began to show him also some attachment. For Vinicius, Lygia had been at all times a being of another order, higher a hundred times than those around her: nevertheless, he began to observe simple and poor people,—a thing which he had never done before,—and he discovered in them various traits the existence of which he had never suspected.
He was as patient as if he had made a vow to be so. Whenever his eyes flashed with annoyance, stubbornness, or anger, he quickly held those feelings back and looked at her with worry, as if to ask for forgiveness. This affected her even more. She had never felt so deeply loved as she did then; and thinking about it made her feel both guilty and happy at the same time. Vinicius had also changed a lot. In his talks with Glaucus, he was less proud. It often crossed his mind that even that poor slave doctor and that foreign woman, old Miriam, who cared for him, and Crispus, whom he saw lost in prayer, were still human beings. He was surprised by these thoughts, but they came to him often. After a while, he found he liked Ursus, with whom he would talk for entire days; he could discuss Lygia with him. The giant, for his part, had endless stories, and while doing the simplest tasks for the sick man, he began to show him some affection too. To Vinicius, Lygia had always felt like someone from a different world, a hundred times better than everyone around her; yet he started to notice the simple and poor people—a thing he had never done before—and he discovered traits in them that he had never realized existed.
Nazarius, however, he could not endure, for it seemed to him that the young lad had dared to fall in love with Lygia. He had restrained his aversion for a long time, it is true; but once when he brought her two quails, which he had bought in the market with his own earned money, the descendant of the Quirites spoke out in Vinicius, for whom one who had wandered in from a strange people had less worth than the meanest worm. When he heard Lygia’s thanks, he grew terribly pale; and when Nazarius went out to get water for the birds, he said,—“Lygia, canst thou endure that he should give thee gifts? Dost thou not know that the Greeks call people of his nation Jewish dogs?”
Nazarius, however, he couldn't stand, because it seemed to him that the young guy had dared to fall in love with Lygia. He had held back his dislike for a long time, it's true; but once, when he brought her two quails that he had bought in the market with his own money, the descendant of the Quirites spoke up in Vinicius, who believed that someone from a foreign people was worth less than the meanest worm. When he heard Lygia thank him, he turned pale; and when Nazarius went out to get water for the birds, he said, “Lygia, can you really accept gifts from him? Don’t you know that the Greeks call people from his nation Jewish dogs?”
“I do not know what the Greeks call them; but I know that Nazarius is a Christian and my brother.”
“I don’t know what the Greeks call them, but I know that Nazarius is a Christian and my brother.”
When she had said this she looked at Vinicius with astonishment and regret, for he had disaccustomed her to similar outbursts; and he set his teeth, so as not to tell her that he would have given command to beat such a brother with sticks, or would have sent him as a compeditus [A man who labors with chained feet] to dig earth in his Sicilian vineyards. He restrained himself, however, throttled the anger within him, and only after a while did he say,—“Pardon me, Lygia. For me thou art the daughter of a king and the adopted child of Plautius.” And he subdued himself to that degree that when Nazarius appeared in the chamber again, he promised him, on returning to his villa, the gift of a pair of peacocks or flamingoes, of which he had a garden full.
When she said this, she looked at Vinicius with surprise and regret because he had gotten her used to not reacting that way; he clenched his teeth to keep from telling her that he would have ordered someone to beat such a brother with sticks or have sent him as a laborer with chained feet to dig in his Sicilian vineyards. He held back his anger, though, and after a while, he said, “I'm sorry, Lygia. To me, you are the daughter of a king and the adopted child of Plautius.” He managed to calm himself so much that when Nazarius returned to the room, he promised him a pair of peacocks or flamingos from the garden when he got back to his villa.
Lygia understood what such victories over himself must have cost him; but the oftener he gained them the more her heart turned to him. His merit with regard to Nazarius was less, however, than she supposed. Vinicius might be indignant for a moment, but he could not be jealous of him. In fact the son of Miriam did not, in his eyes, mean much more than a dog; besides, he was a child yet, who, if he loved Lygia, loved her unconsciously and servilely. Greater struggles must the young tribune have with himself to submit, even in silence, to that honor with which among those people the name of Christ and His religion was surrounded. In this regard wonderful things took place in Vinicius. That was in every case a religion which Lygia believed; hence for that single reason he was ready to receive it. Afterward, the more he returned to health, the more he remembered the whole series of events which had happened since that night at Ostrianum, and the whole series of thoughts which had come to his head from that time, the more he was astonished at the superhuman power of that religion which changed the souls of men to their foundations. He understood that in it there was something uncommon, something which had not been on earth before, and he felt that could it embrace the whole world, could it ingraft on the world its love and charity, an epoch would come recalling that in which not Jupiter, but Saturn had ruled. He did not dare either to doubt the supernatural origin of Christ, or His resurrection, or the other miracles. The eye-witnesses who spoke of them were too trustworthy and despised falsehood too much to let him suppose that they were telling things that had not happened. Finally, Roman scepticism permitted disbelief in the gods, but believed in miracles. Vinicius, therefore, stood before a kind of marvellous puzzle which he could not solve. On the other hand, however, that religion seemed to him opposed to the existing state of things, impossible of practice, and mad in a degree beyond all others. According to him, people in Rome and in the whole world might be bad, but the order of things was good. Had Cæsar, for example, been an honest man, had the Senate been composed, not of insignificant libertines, but of men like Thrasea, what more could one wish? Nay, Roman peace and supremacy were good; distinction among people just and proper. But that religion, according to the understanding of Vinicius, would destroy all order, all supremacy, every distinction. What would happen then to the dominion and lordship of Rome? Could the Romans cease to rule, or could they recognize a whole herd of conquered nations as equal to themselves? That was a thought which could find no place in the head of a patrician. As regarded him personally, that religion was opposed to all his ideas and habits, his whole character and understanding of life. He was simply unable to imagine how he could exist were he to accept it. He feared and admired it; but as to accepting it, his nature shuddered at that. He understood, finally, that nothing save that religion separated him from Lygia; and when he thought of this, he hated it with all the powers of his soul.
Lygia realized how much those victories over himself must have cost him, but the more he achieved them, the more her heart was drawn to him. However, his worth in relation to Nazarius was less than she thought. Vinicius might feel indignant for a moment, but he couldn't be jealous of him. To Vinicius, the son of Miriam was not much more than a dog; besides, he was still a child who, if he loved Lygia, loved her without truly understanding it. The young tribune would have to face even greater struggles within himself to accept, even silently, the honor with which the name of Christ and His religion was regarded among those people. In this respect, remarkable changes were happening in Vinicius. For Lygia, this was a religion she believed in; therefore, for that reason alone, he was willing to accept it. As he grew healthier, he recalled all the events that had taken place since that night at Ostrianum, and all the thoughts that had come to him during that time. The more he reflected, the more astonished he became at the extraordinary power of that religion, which transformed people's souls at their core. He realized there was something unique about it, something that hadn’t been present on earth before, and he felt that if it could spread throughout the world and infuse it with love and compassion, a new era would begin, reminiscent of when not Jupiter, but Saturn had reigned. He didn’t dare to question the divine origin of Christ, His resurrection, or the other miracles. The eyewitnesses who spoke of them were too credible and detested falsehood too much for him to think they were lying about events that had truly happened. Ultimately, Roman skepticism allowed disbelief in the gods but accepted miracles. Thus, Vinicius faced a kind of marvelous enigma he couldn’t solve. On the other hand, that religion seemed to him to be against the current state of affairs, impractical, and utterly mad. He thought people in Rome and around the world might be immoral, but the existing order was good. If, for example, Caesar were an honest man and the Senate made up of principled individuals like Thrasea, what more could one want? Roman peace and dominance were beneficial; social distinctions were fair and proper. Yet, that religion, in Vinicius's view, would dismantle all order, all supremacy, and every distinction. What would happen to Rome's power and authority then? Could Romans stop ruling, or recognize a whole group of defeated nations as their equals? That idea had no place in the mind of a patrician. Personally, that religion clashed with all his beliefs and habits, his entire character and outlook on life. He simply couldn’t envision how he could exist if he accepted it. He both feared and admired it; but when it came to acceptance, his very nature recoiled. He eventually understood that nothing but that religion stood between him and Lygia; and thinking about this made him loathe it with every fiber of his being.
Still he acknowledged to himself that it had adorned Lygia with that exceptional, unexplained beauty which in his heart had produced, besides love, respect, besides desire, homage, and had made of that same Lygia a being dear to him beyond all others in the world. And then he wished anew to love Christ. And he understood clearly that he must either love or hate Him; he could not remain indifferent. Meanwhile two opposing currents were as if driving him: he hesitated in thoughts, in feelings; he knew not how to choose, he bowed his head, however, to that God by him uncomprehended, and paid silent honor for this sole reason, that He was Lygia’s God.
Still, he admitted to himself that it had given Lygia an exceptional and mysterious beauty that had stirred, in addition to love, feelings of respect and admiration, making her someone he cherished above all others in the world. Then he felt a renewed desire to love Christ. He realized clearly that he had to either love or hate Him; he couldn't stay neutral. Meanwhile, he felt torn between two opposing forces: he wavered in his thoughts and emotions; he didn't know how to decide. However, he lowered his head to that incomprehensible God and paid silent respect, solely because He was Lygia’s God.
Lygia saw what was happening in him; she saw how he was breaking himself, how his nature was rejecting that religion; and though this mortified her to the death, compassion, pity, and gratitude for the silent respect which he showed Christ inclined her heart to him with irresistible force. She recalled Pomponia Græcina and Aulus. For Pomponia a source of ceaseless sorrow and tears that never dried was the thought that beyond the grave she would not find Aulus. Lygia began now to understand better that pain, that bitterness. She too had found a being dear to her, and she was threatened by eternal separation from this dear one.
Lygia noticed what was happening to him; she saw how he was breaking apart, how his true self was rejecting that faith. Although it hurt her deeply, her feelings of compassion, pity, and gratitude for the quiet respect he had for Christ drew her to him with undeniable strength. She remembered Pomponia Græcina and Aulus. For Pomponia, the constant sorrow and unending tears came from the thought that she would not find Aulus after death. Lygia began to understand that pain and bitterness more clearly. She too had found someone she cared about, and she faced the threat of being separated from this beloved person forever.
At times, it is true, she was self-deceived, thinking that his soul would open itself to Christ’s teaching; but these illusions could not remain. She knew and understood him too well. Vinicius a Christian!—These two ideas could find no place together in her unenlightened head. If the thoughtful, discreet Aulus had not become a Christian under the influence of the wise and perfect Pomponia, how could Vinicius become one? To this there was no answer, or rather there was only one,—that for him there was neither hope nor salvation.
At times, she truly deceived herself, believing that his heart would embrace Christ’s teachings; but these illusions couldn’t last. She knew him too well. Vinicius a Christian!—These two ideas just couldn’t exist together in her uninformed mind. If the thoughtful and cautious Aulus hadn’t become a Christian under the guidance of the wise and perfect Pomponia, how could Vinicius? There was no answer to this, or rather only one—he had no hope or salvation.
But Lygia saw with terror that that sentence of condemnation which hung over him instead of making him repulsive made him still dearer simply through compassion. At moments the wish seized her to speak to him of his dark future; but once, when she had sat near him and told him that outside Christian truth there was no life, he, having grown stronger at that time, rose on his sound arm and placed his head on her knees suddenly. “Thou art life!” said he. And that moment breath failed in her breast, presence of mind left her, a certain quiver of ecstasy rushed over her from head to feet. Seizing his temples with her hands, she tried to raise him, but bent the while so that her lips touched his hair; and for a moment both were overcome with delight, with themselves, and with love, which urged them the one to the other.
But Lygia watched in fear as the sentence of condemnation hanging over him, instead of making him unappealing, made him even more dear to her out of compassion. At times, she felt the urge to talk to him about his dark future; but once, when she had sat next to him and told him that outside of Christian truth there was no life, he, having become stronger at that moment, lifted himself on his good arm and suddenly rested his head on her knees. “You are life!” he said. In that moment, breath caught in her chest, her clarity faded, and a wave of ecstasy washed over her from head to toe. Grasping his temples with her hands, she tried to lift him, but leaned down so her lips brushed his hair; and for a moment, both were overwhelmed with joy, with each other, and with love that drew them together.
Lygia rose at last and rushed away, with a flame in her veins and a giddiness in her head; but that was the drop which overflowed the cup filled already to the brim. Vinicius did not divine how dearly he would have to pay for that happy moment, but Lygia understood that now she herself needed rescue. She spent the night after that evening without sleep, in tears and in prayer, with the feeling that she was unworthy to pray and could not be heard. Next morning she went from the cubiculum early, and, calling Crispus to the garden summer-house, covered with ivy and withered vines, opened her whole soul to him, imploring him at the same time to let her leave Miriam’s house, since she could not trust herself longer, and could not overcome her heart’s love for Vinicius.
Lygia finally got up and rushed away, a fire in her veins and a dizziness in her head; but that was the last straw that overflowed the cup already filled to the brim. Vinicius didn't realize how much he would have to pay for that happy moment, but Lygia understood that she now needed saving. She spent the night after that evening unable to sleep, in tears and in prayer, feeling unworthy to pray and believing she couldn't be heard. The next morning, she left her small room early and, calling Crispus to the garden shed, covered in ivy and dried vines, poured her heart out to him, asking him to help her leave Miriam’s house, since she could no longer trust herself and couldn’t shake off her love for Vinicius.
Crispus, an old man, severe and absorbed in endless enthusiasm, consented to the plan of leaving Miriam’s house, but he had no words of forgiveness for that love, to his thinking sinful. His heart swelled with indignation at the very thought that Lygia, whom he had guarded since the time of her flight, whom he had loved, whom he had confirmed in the faith, and on whom he looked now as a white lily grown up on the field of Christian teaching undefiled by any earthly breath, could have found a place in her soul for love other than heavenly. He had believed hitherto that nowhere in the world did there beat a heart more purely devoted to the glory of Christ. He wanted to offer her to Him as a pearl, a jewel, the precious work of his own hands; hence the disappointment which he felt filled him with grief and amazement.
Crispus, an old man, strict and filled with endless enthusiasm, agreed to the plan of leaving Miriam’s house, but he couldn't find any words of forgiveness for what he viewed as a sinful love. His heart swelled with anger at the mere thought that Lygia, whom he had protected since her flight, whom he had loved, whom he had guided in the faith, and whom he now saw as a pure white lily flourishing in the field of Christian teaching untouched by any worldly influence, could harbor a love in her heart other than divine. He had always believed that nowhere in the world was there a heart more fully devoted to the glory of Christ. He wanted to present her to Him as a pearl, a jewel, a precious creation of his own making; thus, the disappointment he felt filled him with sorrow and shock.
“Go and beg God to forgive thy fault,” said he, gloomily. “Flee before the evil spirit who involved thee bring thee to utter fall, and before thou oppose the Saviour. God died on the cross to redeem thy soul with His blood, but thou hast preferred to love him who wished to make thee his concubine. God saved thee by a miracle of His own hands, but thou hast opened thy heart to impure desire, and hast loved the son of darkness. Who is he? The friend and servant of Antichrist, his copartner in crime and profligacy. Whither will he lead thee, if not to that abyss and to that Sodom in which he himself is living, but which God will destroy with the flame of His anger? But I say to thee, would thou hadst died, would the walls of this house had fallen on thy head before that serpent had crept into thy bosom and beslimed it with the poison of iniquity.”
“Go and ask God to forgive your mistake,” he said gloomily. “Run away from the evil spirit that entangled you and will lead you to complete ruin, and before you oppose the Savior. God died on the cross to save your soul with His blood, but you chose to love the one who wanted to make you his mistress. God saved you through a miracle of His own hands, but you have opened your heart to unclean desires and have loved the son of darkness. Who is he? The friend and servant of the Antichrist, his partner in crime and debauchery. Where will he lead you, if not to that abyss and to that Sodom in which he himself lives, a place that God will destroy with the flames of His anger? But I tell you, I wish you had died; I wish the walls of this house had fallen on your head before that serpent crept into your heart and tainted it with the poison of sin.”
And he was borne away more and more, for Lygia’s fault filled him not only with anger but with loathing and contempt for human nature in general, and in particular for women, whom even Christian truth could not save from Eve’s weakness. To him it seemed nothing that the maiden had remained pure, that she wished to flee from that love, that she had confessed it with compunction and penitence. Crispus had wished to transform her into an angel, to raise her to heights where love for Christ alone existed, and she had fallen in love with an Augustian. The very thought of that filled his heart with horror, strengthened by a feeling of disillusion and disappointment. No, no, he could not forgive her. Words of horror burned his lips like glowing coals; he struggled still with himself not to utter them, but he shook his emaciated hands over the terrified girl. Lygia felt guilty, but not to that degree. She had judged even that withdrawal from Miriam’s house would be her victory over temptation, and would lessen her fault. Crispus rubbed her into the dust; showed her all the misery and insignificance of her soul, which she had not suspected hitherto. She had judged even that the old presbyter, who from the moment of her flight from the Palatine had been to her as a father, would show some compassion, console her, give her courage, and strengthen her.
And he was carried away more and more, for Lygia’s actions filled him not only with anger but also with disgust and contempt for human nature in general, and specifically for women, whom even Christian truth couldn't rescue from Eve’s weakness. To him, it didn’t matter that the young woman had remained pure, that she wanted to escape from that love, or that she had admitted it with remorse and regret. Crispus had wanted to turn her into an angel, to elevate her to a level where only love for Christ existed, yet she had fallen for an Augustian. Just the thought of that filled his heart with horror, fueled by a sense of disillusionment and disappointment. No, he could not forgive her. Words of horror burned his lips like hot coals; he struggled not to let them out, but he shook his skinny hands over the terrified girl. Lygia felt guilty, but not to that extent. She thought that even leaving Miriam’s house would be a victory over temptation and would lessen her wrongdoing. Crispus crushed her spirit, revealing all the misery and insignificance of her soul, which she had previously been unaware of. She had even hoped that the old presbyter, who had been like a father to her since she fled from the Palatine, would show some sympathy, comfort her, give her strength, and support her.
“I offer my pain and disappointment to God,” said he, “but thou hast deceived the Saviour also, for thou hast gone as it were to a quagmire which has poisoned thy soul with its miasma. Thou mightst have offered it to Christ as a costly vessel, and said to Him, ‘Fill it with grace, O Lord!’ but thou hast preferred to offer it to the servant of the evil one. May God forgive thee and have mercy on thee; for till thou cast out the serpent, I who held thee as chosen-”
“I offer my pain and disappointment to God,” he said, “but you have deceived the Savior too, because you have gone into a swamp that has poisoned your soul with its toxins. You could have offered it to Christ as a valuable vessel and said to Him, ‘Fill it with grace, O Lord!’ but you chose to give it to the servant of evil instead. May God forgive you and have mercy on you; for until you cast out the serpent, I who saw you as chosen-”
But he ceased suddenly to speak, for he saw that they were not alone. Through the withered vines and the ivy, which was green alike in summer and winter, he saw two men, one of whom was Peter the Apostle. The other he was unable to recognize at once, for a mantle of coarse woollen stuff, called cilicium, concealed a part of his face. It seemed to Crispus for a moment that that was Chilo.
But he suddenly stopped talking when he realized they weren't alone. Through the dried-up vines and the ivy, which stayed green in both summer and winter, he saw two men, one of whom was Peter the Apostle. The other man was harder to recognize at first because a rough wool cloak, called cilicium, covered part of his face. For a moment, Crispus thought it might be Chilo.
They, hearing the loud voice of Crispus, entered the summer-house and sat on a stone bench. Peter’s companion had an emaciated face; his head, which was growing bald, was covered at the sides with curly hair; he had reddened eyelids and a crooked nose; in the face, ugly and at the same time inspired, Crispus recognized the features of Paul of Tarsus.
They, hearing Crispus's loud voice, walked into the summer house and sat on a stone bench. Peter’s friend had a thin face; his balding head was framed by curly hair on the sides; his eyelids were red, and he had a crooked nose. In the ugly yet somehow inspired face, Crispus recognized the features of Paul of Tarsus.
Lygia, casting herself on her knees, embraced Peter’s feet, as if from despair, and, sheltering her tortured head in the fold of his mantle, remained thus in silence.
Lygia knelt down and hugged Peter’s feet, as if in despair, and, hiding her pained head in the fold of his cloak, stayed silent.
“Peace to your souls!” said Peter.
“Peace to your souls!” Peter said.
And seeing the child at his feet he asked what had happened. Crispus began then to narrate all that Lygia had confessed to him,—her sinful love, her desire to flee from Miriam’s house,—and his sorrow that a soul which he had thought to offer to Christ pure as a tear had defiled itself with earthly feelings for a sharer in all those crimes into which the pagan world had sunk, and which called for God’s vengeance.
And seeing the child at his feet, he asked what had happened. Crispus then started to tell everything that Lygia had revealed to him—her sinful love, her desire to escape from Miriam’s house—and his sadness that a soul he had hoped to offer to Christ, pure as a tear, had tainted itself with earthly feelings for someone involved in all the crimes that the pagan world had fallen into, which demanded God’s wrath.
Lygia during his speech embraced with increasing force the feet of the Apostle, as if wishing to seek refuge near them, and to beg even a little compassion.
Lygia, while he spoke, clung more tightly to the Apostle's feet, as if trying to find shelter there and pleading for even a bit of mercy.
But the Apostle, when he had listened to the end, bent down and placed his aged hand on her head; then he raised his eyes to the old presbyter, and said,—“Crispus, hast thou not heard that our beloved Master was in Cana, at a wedding, and blessed love between man and woman?”
But the Apostle, after he finished listening, leaned down and put his old hand on her head; then he looked up at the elderly presbyter and said, “Crispus, didn't you hear that our beloved Master was at a wedding in Cana and blessed the love between man and woman?”
Crispus’s hands dropped, and he looked with astonishment on the speaker, without power to utter one word. After a moment’s silence Peter asked again,—“Crispus, dost thou think that Christ, who permitted Mary of Magdala to lie at his feet, and who forgave the public sinner, would turn from this maiden, who is as pure as a lily of the field?”
Crispus’s hands fell, and he stared in disbelief at the speaker, unable to say a word. After a moment of silence, Peter asked again, “Crispus, do you think that Christ, who allowed Mary of Magdala to sit at his feet and forgave the sinner, would turn away from this girl, who is as pure as a lily in the field?”
Lygia nestled up more urgently to the feet of Peter, with sobbing, understanding that she had not sought refuge in vain. The Apostle raised her face, which was covered with tears, and said to her,—“While the eyes of him whom thou lovest are not open to the light of truth, avoid him, lest he bring thee to sin, but pray for him, and know that there is no sin in thy love. And since it is thy wish to avoid temptation, this will be accounted to thee as a merit. Do not suffer, and do not weep; for I tell thee that the grace of the Redeemer has not deserted thee, and that thy prayers will be heard; after sorrow will come days of gladness.”
Lygia urgently snuggled closer to Peter's feet, sobbing and realizing that she hadn't turned to him in vain. The Apostle lifted her tear-stained face and said to her, “As long as the eyes of the one you love are closed to the truth, stay away from him so he doesn't lead you to sin. But pray for him, and remember, there’s no sin in your love. Since you want to dodge temptation, this will be seen as a virtue. Don’t suffer and don’t cry; I assure you, the grace of the Redeemer has not left you, and your prayers will be answered. After sadness will come days of joy.”
When he had said this, he placed both hands on her head, and, raising his eyes, blessed her. From his face there shone a goodness beyond that of earth.
When he said this, he put both hands on her head and looked up to bless her. There was a goodness shining from his face that was beyond anything earthly.
The penitent Crispus began humbly to explain himself; “I have sinned against mercy,” said he; “but I thought that by admitting to her heart an earthly love she had denied Christ.”
The remorseful Crispus started to explain himself humbly, “I have sinned against mercy,” he said; “but I believed that by allowing an earthly love into her heart, she was turning away from Christ.”
“I denied Him thrice,” answered Peter, “and still He forgave me, and commanded me to feed His sheep.”
“I denied Him three times,” Peter replied, “and yet He still forgave me and told me to take care of His sheep.”
“And because,” concluded Crispus, “Vinicius is an Augustian.”
“And because,” Crispus concluded, “Vinicius is an Augustian.”
“Christ softened harder hearts than his,” replied Peter.
“Christ softened hearts harder than his,” replied Peter.
Then Paul of Tarsus, who had been silent so far, placed his finger on his breast, pointing to himself, and said,—“I am he who persecuted and hurried servants of Christ to their death; I am he who during the stoning of Stephen kept the garments of those who stoned him; I am he who wished to root out the truth in every part of the inhabited earth, and yet the Lord predestined me to declare it in every land. I have declared it in Judea, in Greece, on the Islands, and in this godless city, where first I resided as a prisoner. And now when Peter, my superior, has summoned me, I enter this house to bend that proud head to the feet of Christ, and cast a grain of seed in that stony field, which the Lord will fertilize, so that it may bring forth a bountiful harvest.”
Then Paul of Tarsus, who had been quiet until now, pointed to himself and said, “I am the one who persecuted and hurried Christ's followers to their death; I am the one who, during Stephen's stoning, held the clothes of those who did it; I am the one who wanted to wipe out the truth everywhere on earth, and yet the Lord chose me to spread it in every land. I have spread it in Judea, Greece, the Islands, and in this godless city, where I first lived as a prisoner. And now, when Peter, my superior, has called me, I enter this house to lower my proud head to the feet of Christ and plant a seed in that rocky ground, which the Lord will nourish so that it can yield a rich harvest.”
And he rose. To Crispus that diminutive hunchback seemed then that which he was in reality,—a giant, who was to stir the world to its foundations and gather in lands and nations.
And he stood up. To Crispus, that tiny hunchback looked like what he truly was—a giant, destined to shake the world to its core and unite lands and nations.
Chapter XXVIII
PETRONIUS to VINICIUS:—“Have pity, carissime; imitate not in thy letters the Lacedemonians or Julius Cæsar! Couldst thou, like Julius, write Veni, vidi, vici (I came, I saw, I conquered), I might understand thy brevity. But thy letter means absolutely Veni, vidi, fugi (I came, I saw, I fled). Since such a conclusion of the affair is directly opposed to thy nature, since thou art wounded, and since, finally, uncommon things are happening to thee, thy letter needs explanation. I could not believe my eyes when I read that the Lygian giant killed Croton as easily as a Caledonian dog would kill a wolf in the defiles of Hibernia. That man is worth as much gold as he himself weighs, and it depends on him alone to become a favorite of Cæsar. When I return to the city, I must gain a nearer acquaintance with that Lygian, and have a bronze statue of him made for myself. Ahenobarbus will burst from curiosity, when I tell him that it is from nature. Bodies really athletic are becoming rarer in Italy and in Greece; of the Orient no mention need be made; the Germans, though large, have muscles covered with fat, and are greater in bulk than in strength. Learn from the Lygian if he is an exception, or if in his country there are more men like him. Should it happen sometime to thee or me to organize games officially, it would be well to know where to seek for the best bodies.
PETRONIUS to VINICIUS:—“Have mercy, my dear; don’t try to write like the Spartans or Julius Caesar! If you could, like Julius, write Veni, vidi, vici (I came, I saw, I conquered), I might get your brevity. But your letter really comes across as Veni, vidi, fugi (I came, I saw, I fled). Since such an ending is totally out of character for you, since you’re wounded, and because unusual things are happening to you, your letter needs more context. I could hardly believe my eyes when I read that the Lygian giant killed Croton as easily as a Caledonian dog would kill a wolf in the mountains of Ireland. That man is worth his weight in gold, and it’s entirely up to him to become a favorite of Caesar. When I get back to the city, I need to get to know that Lygian better and have a bronze statue of him made for myself. Ahenobarbus will be bursting with curiosity when I tell him it’s a natural likeness. Truly athletic bodies are becoming rare in Italy and Greece; there’s no need to mention the East; the Germans, although large, have muscles covered in fat and are bulkier than strong. Find out from the Lygian if he’s an exception or if there are more men like him back home. If either of us ever gets the chance to organize games, it would be good to know where to look for the best bodies.”
“But praise to the gods of the Orient and the Occident that thou hast come out of such hands alive. Thou hast escaped, of course, because thou art a patrician, and the son of a consul; but everything which has happened astonishes me in the highest degree,—that cemetery where thou wert among the Christians, they, their treatment of thee, the subsequent flight of Lygia; finally, that peculiar sadness and disquiet which breathes from thy short letter. Explain, for there are many points which I cannot understand; and if thou wish the truth, I will tell thee plainly, that I understand neither the Christians nor thee nor Lygia. Wonder not that I, who care for few things on earth except my own person, inquire of thee so eagerly. I have contributed to all this affair of thine; hence it is my affair so far. Write soon, for I cannot foresee surely when we may meet. In Bronzebeard’s head plans change, as winds do in autumn. At present, while tarrying in Beneventum, he has the wish to go straightway to Greece, without returning to Rome. Tigellinus, however, advises him to visit the city even for a time, since the people, yearning overmuch for his person (read ‘for games and bread’) may revolt. So I cannot tell how it will be. Should Achæa overbalance, we may want to see Egypt. I should insist with all my might on thy coming, for I think that in thy state of mind travelling and our amusements would be a medicine, but thou mightst not find us. Consider, then, whether in that case repose in thy Sicilian estates would not be preferable to remaining in Rome. Write me minutely of thyself, and farewell. I add no wish this time, except health; for, by Pollux! I know not what to wish thee.”
"But praise the gods of the East and the West that you came out of that situation alive. You've escaped, of course, because you're a patrician and the son of a consul; but everything that has happened amazes me greatly— that cemetery where you were among the Christians, their treatment of you, Lygia's subsequent escape; finally, that unique sadness and unease that comes through in your brief letter. Please explain, because there are many things I don’t understand; and if you want the truth, I’ll tell you plainly that I don’t understand the Christians, you, or Lygia. Don’t be surprised that I, who care for few things on earth aside from myself, ask you so eagerly. I’ve played a part in this whole affair of yours; so it’s my affair too. Write soon, because I can’t predict when we’ll meet again. In Bronzebeard’s mind, plans change like the wind in autumn. Right now, while staying in Beneventum, he wants to head straight to Greece without returning to Rome. However, Tigellinus advises him to visit the city even briefly, since the people, overly eager for his presence (read 'for games and bread'), might revolt. So I can’t say how this will play out. If Achæa tips the balance, we might want to look at Egypt. I would insist with all my might on your coming, as I believe traveling and our pastimes would be healing for your state of mind, but you might not find us. So consider whether resting in your Sicilian estates might not be better than staying in Rome. Write me in detail about yourself, and goodbye. I don’t add any wishes this time except for health; for, by Pollux! I don’t know what else to wish for you."
Vinicius, on receiving this letter, felt at first no desire to reply. He had a kind of feeling that it was not worth while to reply, that an answer would benefit no one in any way, that it would explain nothing. Discontent, and a feeling of the vanity of life, possessed him. He thought, moreover, that Petronius would not comprehend him in any case, and that something had happened which would remove them from each other. He could not come to an agreement with himself, even. When he returned from the Trans-Tiber to his splendid “insula,” he was exhausted, and found for the first days a certain satisfaction in rest and in the comfort and abundance about him. That satisfaction lasted but a short time, however. He felt soon that he was living in vanity; that all which so far had formed the interest of his life either had ceased to exist for him or had shrunk to proportions barely perceptible. He had a feeling as if those ties which hitherto had connected him with life had been cut in his soul, and that no new ones had been formed. At the thought that he might go to Beneventum and thence to Achæa, to swim in a life of luxury and wild excess, he had a feeling of emptiness. “To what end? What shall I gain from it?” These were the first questions which passed through his head. And for the first time in life, also, he thought that if he went, the conversation of Petronius, his wit, his quickness, his exquisite outlining of thought, and his choice of apt phrases for every idea might annoy him.
Vinicius, upon receiving this letter, initially felt no urge to respond. He sensed that replying was pointless, that an answer wouldn’t help anyone, and that it wouldn’t clarify anything. He was overcome with discontent and a feeling of the futility of life. He also thought that Petronius wouldn’t understand him anyway, and that something had happened to distance them from each other. He couldn’t even reconcile his own thoughts. When he returned from the Trans-Tiber to his lavish “insula,” he felt drained and for the first few days found some comfort in rest and the luxury surrounding him. However, that satisfaction was short-lived. He quickly realized he was living in emptiness; everything that had once interested him either no longer mattered or had shrunk to something barely noticeable. He felt as if the ties that had once connected him to life had been severed within him, and no new ones had formed. The thought of going to Beneventum and then to Achæa, to immerse himself in a life of luxury and hedonism, left him feeling hollow. “What’s the point? What will I gain from it?” These were the first questions that crossed his mind. For the first time in his life, he also thought that if he went, Petronius’s conversation, wit, quickness, refined thoughts, and perfect choice of words for every idea might actually irritate him.
But solitude, too, had begun to annoy him. All his acquaintances were with Cæsar in Beneventum; so he had to stay at home alone, with a head full of thoughts, and a heart full of feelings which he could not analyze. He had moments, however, in which he judged that if he could converse with some one about everything that took place in him, perhaps he might be able to grasp it all somehow, bring it to order, and estimate it better. Under the influence of this hope, and after some days of hesitation, he decided to answer Petronius; and, though not certain that he would send the answer, he wrote it in the following words:—
But being alone was starting to get to him. All his friends were with Caesar in Beneventum, so he had to stay home by himself, his mind filled with thoughts and his heart full of feelings he couldn’t understand. Still, there were times when he felt that if he could talk to someone about everything he was experiencing, maybe he could sort it all out and make sense of it. Fueled by this hope, and after a few days of waiting, he decided to reply to Petronius; and even though he wasn’t sure he would actually send it, he wrote it in these words:—
“It is thy wish that I write more minutely, agreed then; whether I shall be able to do it more clearly, I cannot tell, for there are many knots which I know not myself how to loosen. I described to thee my stay among the Christians, and their treatment of enemies, among whom they had a right to count both me and Chilo; finally, of the kindness with which they nursed me, and of the disappearance of Lygia. No, my dear friend, I was not spared because of being the son of a consul. Such considerations do not exist for them, since they forgave even Chilo, though I urged them to bury him in the garden. Those are people such as the world has not seen hitherto, and their teaching is of a kind that the world has not heard up to this time. I can say nothing else, and he errs who measures them with our measure. I tell thee that, if I had been lying with a broken arm in my own house, and if my own peoples, even my own family, had nursed me, I should have had more comforts, of course, but I should not have received half the care which I found among them.
“It’s your wish that I write in more detail, so fine; whether I can do it more clearly, I can’t say, because there are many knots that I don’t even know how to untangle myself. I told you about my time with the Christians, and how they treat their enemies, among whom they rightly counted both me and Chilo; finally, about the kindness with which they cared for me and the disappearance of Lygia. No, my dear friend, I wasn’t spared because I’m the son of a consul. Such considerations don’t matter to them, since they even forgave Chilo, although I urged them to bury him in the garden. They are people the world has never seen before, and their teachings are something the world hasn’t heard until now. I can say nothing more, and anyone who tries to measure them by our standards is mistaken. I tell you that if I had been lying with a broken arm in my own house, and if my own people, even my own family, had cared for me, I would have had more comforts, of course, but I wouldn’t have received half the care I found among them.”
“Know this, too, that Lygia is like the others. Had she been my sister or my wife, she could not have nursed me more tenderly. Delight filled my heart more than once, for I judged that love alone could inspire the like tenderness. More than once I saw love in her look, in her face; and, wilt thou believe me? among those simple people then in that poor chamber, which was at once a culina and a triclinium, I felt happier than ever before. No; she was not indifferent to me—and to-day even I cannot think that she was. Still that same Lygia left Miriam’s dwelling in secret because of me. I sit now whole days with my head on my hands, and think, Why did she do so? Have I written thee that I volunteered to restore her to Aulus? True, she declared that to be impossible at present, because Aulus and Pomponia had gone to Sicily, and because news of her return going from house to house, through slaves, would reach the Palatine, and Cæsar might take her from Aulus again. But she knew that I would not pursue her longer; that I had left the way of violence; that, unable to cease loving her or to live without her, I would bring her into my house through a wreathed door, and seat her on a sacred skin at my hearth. Still she fled! Why? Nothing was threatening her. Did she not love me, she might have rejected me. The day before her flight, I made the acquaintance of a wonderful man, a certain Paul of Tarsus, who spoke to me of Christ and His teachings, and spoke with such power that every word of his, without his willing it, turns all the foundations of our society into ashes. That same man visited me after her flight, and said: ‘If God open thy eyes to the light, and take the beam from them as He took it from mine, thou wilt feel that she acted properly; and then, perhaps, thou wilt find her.’ And now I am breaking my head over these words, as if I had heard them from the mouth of the Pythoness at Delphi. I seem to understand something. Though they love people, the Christians are enemies of our life, our gods, and our crimes; hence she fled from me, as from a man who belongs to our society, and with whom she would have to share a life counted criminal by Christians. Thou wilt say that since she might reject me, she had no need to withdraw. But if she loved me? In that case she desired to flee from love. At the very thought of this I wish to send slaves into every alley in Rome, and command them to cry throughout the houses, ‘Return, Lygia!’ But I cease to understand why she fled. I should not have stopped her from believing in her Christ, and would myself have reared an altar to Him in the atrium. What harm could one more god do me? Why might I not believe in him,—I who do not believe overmuch in the old gods? I know with full certainty that the Christians do not lie; and they say that he rose from the dead. A man cannot rise from the dead. That Paul of Tarsus, who is a Roman citizen, but who, as a Jew, knows the old Hebrew writings, told me that the coming of Christ was promised by prophets for whole thousands of years. All these are uncommon things, but does not the uncommon surround us on every side? People have not ceased talking yet of Apollonius of Tyana. Paul’s statement that there is one God, not a whole assembly of them, seems sound to me. Perhaps Seneca is of this opinion, and before him many others. Christ lived, gave Himself to be crucified for the salvation of the world, and rose from the dead. All this is perfectly certain. I do not see, therefore, a reason why I should insist on an opposite opinion, or why I should not rear to Him an altar, if I am ready to rear one to Serapis, for instance. It would not be difficult for me even to renounce other gods, for no reasoning mind believes in them at present. But it seems that all this is not enough yet for the Christians. It is not enough to honor Christ, one must also live according to His teachings; and here thou art on the shore of a sea which they command thee to wade through.
“Know this, too, that Lygia is like the others. Had she been my sister or my wife, she could not have cared for me more tenderly. I felt immense joy more than once, because I believed that only love could inspire such tenderness. Time and again, I saw love in her gaze, in her expression; and, would you believe me? among those simple people in that modest room, which served as both a kitchen and a dining area, I felt happier than ever before. No; she was not indifferent to me—and even today I can’t think she was. Still, that same Lygia left Miriam’s home in secret because of me. Now I sit for whole days with my head in my hands, wondering, Why did she do that? Have I told you that I offered to return her to Aulus? It’s true, she said that was impossible for now, because Aulus and Pomponia had gone to Sicily, and because news of her return spreading from house to house through slaves would reach the Palatine, and Caesar might take her away from Aulus again. But she knew I wouldn't pursue her anymore; that I had turned away from violence; that, unable to stop loving her or to live without her, I would bring her into my home through a decorated door and place her on a sacred mat by my hearth. Yet she ran away! Why? Nothing was threatening her. If she didn’t love me, she could have rejected me. The day before she left, I met an amazing man, a certain Paul of Tarsus, who spoke to me about Christ and His teachings with such conviction that every word he said seemed to turn all our societal foundations to dust. That same man visited me after her departure and said: ‘If God opens your eyes to the light and removes the barrier from them as He did from mine, you will understand that she acted rightly; and perhaps you will find her again.’ Now I'm wrestling with these words, as if I heard them from the Oracle of Delphi. I feel like I understand something. Although they love people, Christians are enemies of our way of life, our gods, and our wrongdoings; that's why she ran from me, as from someone who belongs to our society, whom she would have to share a life deemed criminal by Christians. You might say that since she could reject me, she didn’t need to flee. But what if she loved me? In that case, she wanted to escape from love. Just thinking about this makes me want to send slaves into every alley in Rome, commanding them to shout, ‘Return, Lygia!’ But I can’t grasp why she fled. I wouldn’t have stopped her from believing in her Christ, and I would even have built an altar to Him in the atrium. What harm could one more god do me? Why shouldn’t I believe in him,—I who don’t have much faith in the old gods? I am certain that Christians don’t lie; and they say He rose from the dead. A person can't rise from the dead. That Paul of Tarsus, who is a Roman citizen, but a Jew who knows the old Hebrew texts, told me that the coming of Christ was foretold by prophets for thousands of years. All these are extraordinary events, but isn’t the extraordinary all around us? People still talk about Apollonius of Tyana. Paul’s assertion that there is one God, not a multitude of them, seems reasonable to me. Perhaps Seneca shares this view, and many others before him. Christ lived, gave Himself to be crucified for the salvation of the world, and rose from the dead. All of this is perfectly clear. Therefore, I don’t see why I should insist on thinking otherwise, or why I shouldn’t build an altar to Him if I’m willing to build one to Serapis, for example. It wouldn’t be hard for me to renounce other gods either, since no rational mind believes in them anymore. But it seems that all this is still not enough for the Christians. Honoring Christ isn’t enough; one must also live according to His teachings; and here you are at the edge of a sea that they require you to wade through.”
“If I promised to do so, they themselves would feel that the promise was an empty sound of words. Paul told me so openly. Thou knowest how I love Lygia, and knowest that there is nothing that I would not do for her. Still, even at her wish, I cannot raise Soracte or Vesuvius on my shoulders, or place Thrasymene Lake on the palm of my hand, or from black make my eyes blue, like those of the Lygians. If she so desired, I could have the wish, but the change does not lie in my power. I am not a philosopher, but also I am not so dull as I have seemed, perhaps, more than once to thee. I will state now the following: I know not how the Christians order their own lives, but I know that where their religion begins, Roman rule ends, Rome itself ends, our mode of life ends, the distinction between conquered and conqueror, between rich and poor, lord and slave, ends, government ends, Cæsar ends, law and all the order of the world ends; and in place of those appear Christ, with a certain mercy not existent hitherto, and kindness, opposed to human and our Roman instincts. It is true that Lygia is more to me than all Rome and its lordship; and I would let society vanish could I have her in my house. But that is another thing. Agreement in words does not satisfy the Christians; a man must feel that their teaching is truth, and not have aught else in his soul. But that, the gods are my witnesses, is beyond me. Dost understand what that means? There is something in my nature which shudders at this religion; and were my lips to glorify it, were I to conform to its precepts, my soul and my reason would say that I do so through love for Lygia, and that apart from her there is to me nothing on earth more repulsive. And, a strange thing, Paul of Tarsus understands this, and so does that old theurgus Peter, who in spite of all his simplicity and low origin is the highest among them, and was the disciple of Christ. And dost thou know what they are doing? They are praying for me, and calling down something which they call grace; but nothing descends on me, save disquiet, and a greater yearning for Lygia.
“If I promised to do so, they would feel that the promise was just empty words. Paul told me that directly. You know how much I love Lygia, and you know there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her. Still, even if she wished it, I can’t lift Soracte or Vesuvius on my shoulders, or hold Thrasymene Lake in my hand, or turn my eyes blue like those of the Lygians. If she wanted it, I could want the change, but it’s beyond my ability. I’m not a philosopher, but I’m not as dull as I have seemed to you, perhaps more than once. I’ll say this: I don’t know how the Christians live their lives, but I know that where their religion begins, Roman rule ends, Rome itself ends, our way of life ends, the distinction between conquered and conqueror, between rich and poor, lord and slave, ends; government ends, Caesar ends, law and all order in the world ends; and in their place comes Christ, with a certain mercy that was not there before, and kindness that goes against human nature and our Roman instincts. It’s true that Lygia means more to me than all of Rome and its power; I would let society vanish if I could have her in my home. But that’s another matter. Just agreeing in words isn’t enough for the Christians; a person has to truly feel that their teachings are the truth, with nothing else in their soul. But, I swear by the gods, that’s beyond my reach. Do you understand what that means? There’s something in me that shudders at this religion; and even if my lips praised it, if I tried to follow its teachings, my soul and reason would say I do it out of love for Lygia, and that without her, nothing on earth could be more repulsive. And strangely, Paul of Tarsus gets this, and so does that old magician Peter, who, despite his simplicity and humble origins, is the greatest among them and was a disciple of Christ. And do you know what they’re doing? They’re praying for me and asking for something they call grace; but nothing comes to me except unease and an even greater longing for Lygia."
“I have written thee that she went away secretly; but when going she left me a cross which she put together from twigs of boxwood. When I woke up, I found it near my bed. I have it now in the lararium, and I approach it yet, I cannot tell why, as if there were something divine in it,—that is, with awe and reverence. I love it because her hand bound it, and I hate it because it divides us. At times it seems to me that there are enchantments of some kind in all this affair, and that the theurgus, Peter, though he declares himself to be a simple shepherd, is greater than Apollonius, and all who preceded him, and that he has involved us all—Lygia, Pomponia, and me—with them.
"I've told you that she left secretly, but when she left, she left me a cross made from boxwood twigs. When I woke up, I found it by my bed. I keep it now in the lararium, and I go to it often; yet I can't explain why, as if there's something divine about it—approaching it with awe and reverence. I love it because she crafted it with her hands, and I hate it because it separates us. Sometimes, it feels like there are some kind of enchantments in all of this, and that the theurgus, Peter, who claims to be just a simple shepherd, is more powerful than Apollonius and all those before him, and that he has entangled all of us—Lygia, Pomponia, and me—with him."
“Thou hast written that in my previous letter disquiet and sadness are visible. Sadness there must be, for I have lost her again, and there is disquiet because something has changed in me. I tell thee sincerely, that nothing is more repugnant to my nature than that religion, and still I cannot recognize myself since I met Lygia. Is it enchantment, or love? Circe changed people’s bodies by touching them, but my soul has been changed. No one but Lygia could have done that, or rather Lygia through that wonderful religion which she professes. When I returned to my house from the Christians, no one was waiting for me. The slaves thought that I was in Beneventum, and would not return soon; hence there was disorder in the house. I found the slaves drunk, and a feast, which they were giving themselves, in my triclinium. They had more thought of seeing death than me, and would have been less terrified by it. Thou knowest with what a firm hand I hold my house; all to the last one dropped on their knees, and some fainted from terror. But dost thou know how I acted? At the first moment I wished to call for rods and hot iron, but immediately a kind of shame seized me, and, wilt thou lend belief? a species of pity for those wretched people. Among them are old slaves whom my grandfather, Marcus Vinicius, brought from the Rhine in the time of Augustus. I shut myself up alone in the library, and there came stranger thoughts still to my head; namely, that after what I had heard and seen among the Christians, it did not become me to act with slaves as I had acted hitherto—that they too were people. For a number of days they moved about in mortal terror, in the belief that I was delaying so as to invent punishment the more cruel, but I did not punish, and did not punish because I was not able. Summoning them on the third day, I said, ‘I forgive you; strive then with earnest service to correct your fault!’ They fell on their knees, covering their faces with tears, stretching forth their hands with groans, and called me lord and father; but I—with shame do I write this—was equally moved. It seemed to me that at that moment I was looking at the sweet face of Lygia, and her eyes filled with tears, thanking me for that act. And, proh pudor! I felt that my lips too were moist. Dost know what I will confess to thee? This—that I cannot do without her, that it is ill for me alone, that I am simply unhappy, and that my sadness is greater than thou wilt admit. But, as to my slaves, one thing arrested my attention. The forgiveness which they received not only did not make them insolent, not only did not weaken discipline, but never had fear roused them to such ready service as has gratitude. Not only do they serve, but they seem to vie with one another to divine my wishes. I mention this to thee because, when, the day before I left the Christians, I told Paul that society would fall apart because of his religion, as a cask without hoops, he answered, ‘Love is a stronger hoop than fear.’ And now I see that in certain cases his opinion may be right. I have verified it also with references to clients, who, learning of my return, hurried to salute me. Thou knowest that I have never been penurious with them; but my father acted haughtily with clients on principle, and taught me to treat them in like manner. But when I saw their worn mantles and hungry faces, I had a feeling something like compassion. I gave command to bring them food, and conversed besides with them,—called some by name, some I asked about their wives and children,—and again in the eyes before me I saw tears; again it seemed to me that Lygia saw what I was doing, that she praised and was delighted. Is my mind beginning to wander, or is love confusing my feelings? I cannot tell. But this I do know; I have a continual feeling that she is looking at me from a distance, and I am afraid to do aught that might trouble or offend her.
“You wrote in my last letter that I seemed troubled and sad. I am sad because I've lost her again, and I'm uneasy because something has changed within me. Honestly, nothing is more repulsive to me than that religion, yet I don't recognize myself since meeting Lygia. Is it magic, or is it love? Circe transformed people’s bodies by touching them, but my soul has been altered. No one but Lygia could have done that—or rather, Lygia through the beautiful religion she follows. When I came home from the Christians, nobody was waiting for me. The slaves thought I was in Beneventum and wouldn't be back soon, so the house was in chaos. I found the slaves drunk and throwing a feast for themselves in my triclinium. They were more concerned about facing death than seeing me, and would have been less scared by it. You know how firmly I manage my household; every last one of them dropped to their knees, and some even fainted from fear. But do you know what I did? At first, I wanted to call for rods and hot iron, but then a wave of shame hit me, and believe it or not, I felt a kind of pity for those wretched people. Among them were old slaves that my grandfather, Marcus Vinicius, brought from the Rhine during Augustus's reign. I locked myself away in the library, and then even stranger thoughts crossed my mind: after everything I heard and saw among the Christians, I shouldn't treat slaves the way I always had—they're people too. For days, they moved around in mortal fear, thinking I was just waiting to come up with a more brutal punishment, but I didn't punish them because I couldn't bring myself to do it. On the third day, I called them to me and said, ‘I forgive you; let your sincere service be a way to make up for your mistake!’ They fell to their knees, covering their faces with tears, stretching out their hands amidst groans, and called me lord and father; but I—shame on me—was just as moved. At that moment, I felt like I was looking at Lygia's sweet face, her eyes filled with tears, thanking me for my mercy. And, oh the shame! I even felt moisture on my own lips. Do you know what I’ll confess to you? That I can’t live without her, that being alone is painful, that I am truly unhappy, and my sadness is deeper than you realize. But regarding my slaves, one thing caught my attention. The forgiveness they received did not make them arrogant, nor did it weaken my authority; in fact, they have never been more eager to serve me than they are out of gratitude. They don’t just serve; they seem to compete to anticipate my wishes. I'm sharing this with you because, the day before I left the Christians, I told Paul that society would crumble because of his religion, like a barrel without hoops, and he replied, ‘Love is a stronger hoop than fear.’ Now I see that, in some cases, he may be right. I’ve noticed this with my clients too, who rushed to greet me when they heard I was back. You know I've never been stingy with them; but my father treated clients arrogantly on principle and taught me to do the same. However, when I saw their tattered cloaks and hungry faces, I felt a surge of compassion. I ordered food to be brought to them and chatted with them—calling some by name, asking about their wives and children—and again, I saw tears in their eyes; once more it felt like Lygia was watching what I was doing, pleased and happy. Is my mind starting to slip, or is love muddling my feelings? I can't tell. But I do know this; I constantly feel that she is watching me from afar, and I'm scared to do anything that might upset or offend her.”
“So it is, Caius! but they have changed my soul, and sometimes I feel well for that reason. At times again I am tormented with the thought, for I fear that my manhood and energy are taken from me; that, perhaps, I am useless, not only for counsel, for judgment, for feasts, but for war even. These are undoubted enchantments! And to such a degree am I changed that I tell thee this, too, which came to my head when I lay wounded: that if Lygia were like Nigidia, Poppæa, Crispinilla, and our divorced women, if she were as vile, as pitiless, and as cheap as they, I should not love her as I do at present. But since I love her for that which divides us, thou wilt divine what a chaos is rising in my soul, in what darkness I live, how it is that I cannot see certain roads before me, and how far I am from knowing what to begin. If life may be compared to a spring, in my spring disquiet flows instead of water. I live through the hope that I shall see her, perhaps, and sometimes it seems to me that I shall see her surely. But what will happen to me in a year or two years, I know not, and cannot divine. I shall not leave Rome. I could not endure the society of the Augustians; and besides, the one solace in my sadness and disquiet is the thought that I am near Lygia, that through Glaucus the physician, who promised to visit me, or through Paul of Tarsus, I can learn something of her at times. No; I would not leave Rome, even were ye to offer me the government of Egypt. Know also, that I have ordered the sculptor to make a stone monument for Gulo, whom I slew in anger. Too late did it come to my mind that he had carried me in his arms, and was the first to teach me how to put an arrow on a bow. I know not why it was that a recollection of him rose in me which was sorrow and reproach. If what I write astonish thee, I reply that it astonishes me no less, but I write pure truth.—Farewell.”
“So it is, Caius! But they've changed my soul, and sometimes I feel good for that reason. Other times, I'm tormented by the idea that my manhood and energy have been taken from me; that, maybe, I'm useless, not just for advice, for judgment, for gatherings, but even for battle. These are undeniable spells! And I've changed so much that I tell you this, too, which came to me when I was lying wounded: if Lygia were like Nigidia, Poppæa, Crispinilla, and our divorced women, if she were as vile, as heartless, and as cheap as they are, I wouldn't love her the way I do now. But since I love her for what sets us apart, you can imagine the chaos rising in my soul, in what darkness I'm living, why I can't see certain paths ahead of me, and how far I am from figuring out what to do first. If life can be compared to a spring, in my spring, turmoil flows instead of water. I live in the hope that I’ll see her again, sometimes it even seems to me that I surely will. But what will happen to me in a year or two, I don't know, and I can't predict. I won't leave Rome. I couldn't bear the company of the Augustians; and besides, the only comfort in my sadness and unease is the thought that I am near Lygia, that through Glaucus the physician, who promised to visit me, or through Paul of Tarsus, I can learn something about her sometimes. No; I wouldn’t leave Rome, even if you offered me the governorship of Egypt. Also, know that I’ve asked the sculptor to make a stone monument for Gulo, whom I killed in anger. It came to me too late that he carried me in his arms and was the first to teach me how to draw an arrow on a bow. I don’t know why a memory of him came back to me that was filled with sorrow and reproach. If what I write surprises you, I reply that it surprises me just as much, but I’m writing pure truth.—Farewell.”
Chapter XXIX
VINICUS received no answer to this letter. Petronius did not write, thinking evidently that Cæsar might command a return to Rome any day. In fact, news of it was spread in the city, and roused great delight in the hearts of the rabble, eager for games with gifts of grain and olives, great supplies of which had been accumulated in Ostia. Helius, Nero’s freedman, announced at last the return in the Senate. But Nero, having embarked with his court on ships at Misenum, returned slowly, disembarking at coast towns for rest, or exhibitions in theatres. He remained between ten and twenty days in Minturna, and even thought to return to Naples and wait there for spring, which was earlier than usual, and warm. During all this time Vinicius lived shut up in his house, thinking of Lygia, and all those new things which occupied his soul, and brought to it ideas and feelings foreign to it thus far. He saw, from time to time, only Glaucus the physician, every one of whose visits delighted him, for he could converse with the man about Lygia. Glaucus knew not, it is true, where she had found refuge, but he gave assurance that the elders were protecting her with watchful care. Once too, when moved by the sadness of Vinicius, he told him that Peter had blamed Crispus for reproaching Lygia with her love. The young patrician, hearing this, grew pale from emotion. He had thought more than once that Lygia was not indifferent to him, but he fell into frequent doubt and uncertainty. Now for the first time he heard the confirmation of his desires and hopes from strange lips, and, besides, those of a Christian. At the first moment of gratitude he wished to run to Peter. When he learned, however, that he was not in the city, but teaching in the neighborhood, he implored Glaucus to accompany him thither, promising to make liberal gifts to the poor community. It seemed to him, too, that if Lygia loved him, all obstacles were thereby set aside, as he was ready at any moment to honor Christ. Glaucus, though he urged him persistently to receive baptism, would not venture to assure him that he would gain Lygia at once, and said that it was necessary to desire the religion for its own sake, through love of Christ, not for other objects. “One must have a Christian soul, too,” said he. And Vinicius, though every obstacle angered him, had begun to understand that Glaucus, as a Christian, said what he ought to say. He had not become clearly conscious that one of the deepest changes in his nature was this,—that formerly he had measured people and things only by his own selfishness, but now he was accustoming himself gradually to the thought that other eyes might see differently, other hearts feel differently, and that justice did not mean always the same as personal profit.
VINICUS got no response to this letter. Petronius didn’t write back, clearly thinking that Cæsar might order a return to Rome at any moment. In fact, news of this was circulating in the city and caused great joy among the crowd, eager for games with free grain and olives, which had been stockpiled in Ostia. Helius, Nero’s freedman, finally announced the return in the Senate. But Nero, having boarded ships at Misenum with his court, was returning slowly, stopping at coastal towns to rest or attend theater performances. He stayed in Minturna for ten to twenty days and even considered going back to Naples to wait for spring, which was arriving earlier than usual and was warm. During all this time, Vinicius remained shut up in his house, thinking about Lygia and all those new feelings and ideas that were consuming him. He only saw Glaucus the physician from time to time, and each visit thrilled him because he could talk to Glaucus about Lygia. Although Glaucus didn’t know where she had taken refuge, he assured Vinicius that the elders were watching over her closely. Once, moved by Vinicius’s sadness, he told him that Peter had scolded Crispus for reproaching Lygia about her love. Upon hearing this, the young patrician turned pale with emotion. He had suspected several times that Lygia had feelings for him, but he often fell into doubt and uncertainty. Now, for the first time, he heard his hopes and dreams confirmed by someone else, and moreover, a Christian. In his initial surge of gratitude, he wanted to rush to Peter. However, when he learned that Peter wasn’t in the city but teaching nearby, he begged Glaucus to go with him, promising to make generous donations to the poor community. He also thought that if Lygia loved him, then any obstacles would disappear, as he was ready at any moment to honor Christ. Glaucus, although he urged him repeatedly to get baptized, wouldn’t guarantee that he would win Lygia immediately, saying that one must desire the faith for its own sake, out of love for Christ, not for personal gain. “You need to have a Christian soul too,” he said. And Vinicius, although every setback frustrated him, was starting to realize that Glaucus, as a Christian, was saying what he needed to say. He hadn’t fully grasped yet that one of the deepest changes in him was that, in the past, he measured people and things by his own self-interest, but now he was gradually becoming accustomed to the idea that others might see and feel differently, and that justice didn’t always mean getting personal benefits.
He wished often to see Paul of Tarsus, whose discourse made him curious and disturbed him. He arranged in his mind arguments to overthrow his teaching, he resisted him in thought; still he wished to see him and to hear him. Paul, however, had gone to Aricium, and, since the visits of Glaucus had become rarer, Vinicius was in perfect solitude. He began again to run through back streets adjoining the Subura, and narrow lanes of the Trans-Tiber, in the hope that even from a distance he might see Lygia. When even that hope failed him, weariness and impatience began to rise in his heart. At last the time came when his former nature was felt again mightily, like that onrush of a wave to the shore from which it had receded. It seemed to him that he had been a fool to no purpose, that he had stuffed his head with things which brought sadness, that he ought to accept from life what it gives. He resolved to forget Lygia, or at least to seek pleasure and the use of things aside from her. He felt that this trial, however, was the last, and he threw himself into it with all the blind energy of impulse peculiar to him. Life itself seemed to urge him to this course.
He often wanted to see Paul of Tarsus, whose words intrigued and unsettled him. He mentally prepared arguments to challenge his teachings and resisted him in thought; still, he wanted to see and hear him. However, Paul had gone to Aricium, and since Glaucus’s visits had become less frequent, Vinicius was completely alone. He started wandering through the back streets near the Subura and the narrow lanes of the Trans-Tiber, hoping that he might catch a glimpse of Lygia, even from a distance. When that hope faded too, weariness and impatience began to rise in his heart. Finally, the moment came when his old nature surged back, like a wave returning to the shore from which it had pulled away. He felt foolish for no reason, that he had filled his mind with thoughts that only brought sadness, and that he should just accept what life has to offer. He decided to forget Lygia, or at least to seek pleasure and enjoyment in things other than her. He realized that this trial was the last one, and he threw himself into it with all the impulsive energy he was known for. Life itself seemed to push him in this direction.
THE APPIAN WAY. From the painting by G. Boulanger.
THE APPIAN WAY. From the painting by G. Boulanger.
The city, torpid and depopulated by winter, began to revive with hope of the near coming of Cæsar. A solemn reception was in waiting for him. Meanwhile spring was there; the snow on the Alban Hills had vanished under the breath of winds from Africa. Grass-plots in the gardens were covered with violets. The Forums and the Campus Martius were filled with people warmed by a sun of growing heat. Along the Appian Way, the usual place for drives outside the city, a movement of richly ornamented chariots had begun. Excursions were made to the Alban Hills. Youthful women, under pretext of worshipping Juno in Lanuvium, or Diana in Aricia, left home to seek adventures, society, meetings, and pleasure beyond the city. Here Vinicius saw one day among lordly chariots the splendid car of Chrysothemis, preceded by two Molossian dogs; it was surrounded by a crowd of young men and by old senators, whose position detained them in the city. Chrysothemis, driving four Corsican ponies herself, scattered smiles round about, and light strokes of a golden whip; but when she saw Vinicius she reined in her horses, took him into her car, and then to a feast at her house, which lasted all night. At that feast Vinicius drank so much that he did not remember when they took him home; he recollected, however, that when Chrysothemis mentioned Lygia he was offended, and, being drunk, emptied a goblet of Falernian on her head. When he thought of this in soberness, he was angrier still. But a day later Chrysothemis, forgetting evidently the injury, visited him at his house, and took him to the Appian Way a second time. Then she supped at his house, and confessed that not only Petronius, but his lute-player, had grown tedious to her long since, and that her heart was free now. They appeared together for a week, but the relation did not promise permanence. After the Falernian incident, however, Lygia’s name was never mentioned, but Vinicius could not free himself from thoughts of her. He had the feeling always that her eyes were looking at his face, and that feeling filled him, as it were, with fear. He suffered, and could not escape the thought that he was saddening Lygia, or the regret which that thought roused in him. After the first scene of jealousy which Chrysothemis made because of two Syrian damsels whom he purchased, he let her go in rude fashion. He did not cease at once from pleasure and license, it is true, but he followed them out of spite, as it were, toward Lygia. At last he saw that the thought of her did not leave him for an instant; that she was the one cause of his evil activity as well as his good; and that really nothing in the world occupied him except her. Disgust, and then weariness, mastered him. Pleasure had grown loathsome, and left mere reproaches. It seemed to him that he was wretched, and this last feeling filled him with measureless astonishment, for formerly he recognized as good everything which pleased him. Finally, he lost freedom, self-confidence, and fell into perfect torpidity, from which even the news of Cæsar’s coming could not rouse him. Nothing touched him, and he did not visit Petronius till the latter sent an invitation and his litter.
The city, sluggish and empty from winter, began to come back to life with the hope of Cæsar's imminent arrival. A grand welcome was prepared for him. In the meantime, spring had arrived; the snow on the Alban Hills had melted away under the warm winds from Africa. The gardens were filled with violets. The Forums and the Campus Martius buzzed with people enjoying the increasingly warm sun. Along the Appian Way, the typical route for drives outside the city, a procession of lavishly decorated chariots had started. Excursions were being made to the Alban Hills. Young women, claiming to worship Juno in Lanuvium or Diana in Aricia, left their homes to seek adventures, social gatherings, and fun outside the city. One day, Vinicius spotted the magnificent chariot of Chrysothemis among the impressive chariots, led by two Molossian dogs; it was surrounded by a throng of young men and older senators who were stuck in the city. Chrysothemis, driving her four Corsican ponies, spread smiles and lightly tapped her golden whip; but when she noticed Vinicius, she halted her horses, invited him into her chariot, and then took him to a party at her house that lasted all night. At that party, Vinicius drank so much that he couldn’t remember how he got home; however, he recalled that when Chrysothemis brought up Lygia, he was offended and, while drunk, poured a goblet of Falernian wine over her head. Upon reflecting on this soberly, he felt even angrier. But a day later, Chrysothemis, clearly having forgotten the incident, visited him at his house and took him to the Appian Way again. Then she had dinner at his home and confessed that not only had Petronius become tiresome to her long ago, but so had his lute player, and that her heart was now free. They spent a week together, but the relationship didn’t seem promising for the long term. After the Falernian incident, Lygia’s name was never mentioned, yet thoughts of her lingered in Vinicius's mind. He constantly felt as if her eyes were watching his face, which filled him with fear. He suffered and couldn’t shake the thought that he was bringing sadness to Lygia, or the regret that thought stirred within him. Following an initial scene of jealousy from Chrysothemis over two Syrian maidens he had acquired, he dismissed her rather rudely. Although he didn't immediately stop indulging in pleasure and freedom, he pursued them out of spite towards Lygia. Eventually, he realized that thoughts of her never left him; she was the root cause of both his destructive and positive actions, and nothing else truly occupied his mind but her. Disgust and then exhaustion engulfed him. Pleasure had become repulsive, leaving only feelings of guilt. It struck him as miserable, and this last feeling overwhelmed him because in the past, he had regarded everything that brought him joy as good. Ultimately, he lost his freedom and self-assurance, descending into complete lethargy, which even the news of Cæsar's coming could not awaken him from. Nothing affected him, and he didn’t visit Petronius until the latter sent an invitation along with his litter.
On seeing his uncle, though greeted with gladness, he replied to his questions unwillingly; but his feelings and thoughts, repressed for a long time, burst forth at last, and flowed from his mouth in a torrent of words. Once more he told in detail the history of his search for Lygia, his life among the Christians, everything which he had heard and seen there, everything which had passed through his head and heart; and finally he complained that he had fallen into a chaos, in which were lost composure and the gift of distinguishing and judging. Nothing, he said, attracted him, nothing was pleasing; he did not know what to hold to, nor how to act. He was ready both to honor and persecute Christ; he understood the loftiness of His teaching, but he felt also an irresistible repugnance to it. He understood that, even should he possess Lygia, he would not possess her completely, for he would have to share her with Christ. Finally, he was living as if not living,—without hope, without a morrow, without belief in happiness; around him was darkness in which he was groping for an exit, and could not find it.
When he saw his uncle, although he was greeted with happiness, he answered his questions reluctantly. However, his feelings and thoughts, kept in check for so long, finally erupted and poured out in a rush of words. Once again, he recounted in detail the story of his search for Lygia, his life among the Christians, everything he had heard and seen there, everything that had gone through his mind and heart; and in the end, he expressed that he had fallen into chaos, where calm and the ability to discern and judge were lost. Nothing, he said, attracted him, nothing was enjoyable; he didn’t know what to hold on to or how to act. He felt ready to both honor and persecute Christ; he grasped the greatness of His teachings, but he also felt an overwhelming aversion to it. He realized that even if he were to have Lygia, he wouldn't completely possess her, as he would have to share her with Christ. Ultimately, he was living as if he weren’t alive—without hope, without a future, without believing in happiness; around him was darkness in which he was searching for an escape, but couldn’t find it.
Petronius, during this narrative, looked at his changed face, at his hands, which while speaking he stretched forth in a strange manner, as if actually seeking a road in the darkness, and he fell to thinking. All at once he rose, and, approaching Vinicius, caught with his fingers the hair above his ear.
Petronius, while telling this story, glanced at his altered face and at his hands, which he stretched out oddly while speaking, as if he were trying to find a path in the dark, and he started to reflect. Suddenly, he stood up and walked over to Vinicius, reaching out to touch the hair above his ear.
“Dost know,” asked he, “that thou hast gray hairs on thy temple?”
“Do you know,” he asked, “that you have gray hairs at your temples?”
“Perhaps I have,” answered Vinicius; “I should not be astonished were all my hair to grow white soon.”
“Maybe I have,” Vinicius replied. “I wouldn't be surprised if all my hair turned white soon.”
Silence followed. Petronius was a man of sense, and more than once he meditated on the soul of man and on life. In general, life, in the society in which they both lived, might be happy or unhappy externally, but internally it was at rest. Just as a thunderbolt or an earthquake might overturn a temple, so might misfortune crush a life. In itself, however, it was composed of simple and harmonious lines, free of complication. But there was something else in the words of Vinicius, and Petronius stood for the first time before a series of spiritual snarls which no one had straightened out hitherto. He was sufficiently a man of reason to feel their importance, but with all his quickness he could not answer the questions put to him. After a long silence, he said at last,—
Silence followed. Petronius was a sensible man, and he often reflected on the human soul and life itself. Generally, life in the society they lived in could be either outwardly happy or unhappy, but internally it remained at peace. Just like a lightning strike or an earthquake could demolish a temple, misfortune could shatter a life. Yet, in essence, life consisted of simple and harmonious lines, devoid of complexity. However, there was something else in Vinicius's words, and for the first time, Petronius confronted a series of spiritual tangles that no one had untangled before. He was rational enough to recognize their significance, but despite his keen intellect, he couldn't provide answers to the questions raised. After a long silence, he finally said,—
“These must be enchantments.”
"These must be spells."
“I too have thought so,” answered Vinicius; “more than once it seemed to me that we were enchanted, both of us.”
“I've thought that too,” Vinicius replied. “More than once, it felt like we were both under a spell.”
“And if thou,” said Petronius, “were to go, for example, to the priests of Serapis? Among them, as among priests in general, there are many deceivers, no doubt; but there are others who have reached wonderful secrets.”
“And if you,” said Petronius, “were to go, for example, to the priests of Serapis? Among them, as with priests in general, there are certainly many deceivers; but there are also others who have uncovered amazing secrets.”
He said this, however, without conviction and with an uncertain voice, for he himself felt how empty and even ridiculous that counsel must seem on his lips.
He said this, but without conviction and with an unsure voice, because he realized how empty and even ridiculous that advice must sound coming from him.
Vinicius rubbed his forehead, and said: “Enchantments! I have seen sorcerers who employed unknown and subterranean powers to their personal profit; I have seen those who used them to the harm of their enemies. But these Christians live in poverty, forgive their enemies, preach submission, virtue, and mercy; what profit could they get from enchantments, and why should they use them?”
Vinicius rubbed his forehead and said, “Enchantment! I've seen sorcerers who used hidden and underground powers for their own gain; I've seen those who used them against their enemies. But these Christians live in poverty, forgive their enemies, and preach submission, virtue, and mercy; what benefit could they gain from enchantments, and why would they use them?”
Petronius was angry that his acuteness could find no reply; not wishing, however, to acknowledge this, he said, so as to offer an answer of some kind,—“That is a new sect.” After a while he added: “By the divine dweller in Paphian groves, how all that injures life! Thou wilt admire the goodness and virtue of those people; but I tell thee that they are bad, for they are enemies of life, as are diseases, and death itself. As things are, we have enough of these enemies; we do not need the Christians in addition. Just count them: diseases, Cæsar, Tigellinus, Cæsar’s poetry, cobblers who govern the descendants of ancient Quirites, freedmen who sit in the Senate. By Castor! there is enough of this. That is a destructive and disgusting sect. Hast thou tried to shake thyself out of this sadness, and make some little use of life?”
Petronius was frustrated that his sharpness had no response; not wanting to admit this, he said, as a way to respond, “That’s a new sect.” After a while, he added, “By the divine presence of the Paphian groves, how everything harms life! You might admire the goodness and virtue of those people, but I tell you they’re bad because they are enemies of life, just like diseases and death itself. As it stands, we have enough of these enemies; we don’t need Christians added to the mix. Just count them: diseases, Caesar, Tigellinus, Caesar’s poetry, cobblers who rule over the descendants of ancient Quirites, freedmen who sit in the Senate. By Castor! there’s enough of this. That’s a destructive and disgusting sect. Have you tried to shake off this sadness and make a little use of life?”
“I have tried,” answered Vinicius.
"I've tried," answered Vinicius.
“Ah, traitor!” said Petronius, laughing; “news spreads quickly through slaves; thou hast seduced from me Chrysothemis!”
“Ah, traitor!” Petronius exclaimed with a laugh. “News travels fast among slaves; you’ve stolen Chrysothemis from me!”
Vinicius waved his hand in disgust.
Vinicius waved his hand in annoyance.
“In every case I thank thee,” said Petronius. “I will send her a pair of slippers embroidered with pearls. In my language of a lover that means, ‘Walk away.’ I owe thee a double gratitude,—first, thou didst not accept Eunice; second, thou hast freed me from Chrysothemis. Listen to me! Thou seest before thee a man who has risen early, bathed, feasted, possessed Chrysothemis, written satires, and even at times interwoven prose with verses, but who has been as wearied as Cæsar, and often unable to unfetter himself from gloomy thoughts. And dost thou know why that was so? It was because I sought at a distance that which was near. A beautiful woman is worth her weight always in gold; but if she loves in addition, she has simply no price. Such a one thou wilt not buy with the riches of Verres. I say now to myself as follows: I will fill my life with happiness, as a goblet with the foremost wine which the earth has produced, and I will drink till my hand becomes powerless and my lips grow pale. What will come, I care not; and this is my latest philosophy.”
“In every case I thank you,” said Petronius. “I’ll send her a pair of slippers embroidered with pearls. In my language as a lover, that means, ‘Walk away.’ I owe you a double thank you—first, you didn’t take Eunice; second, you’ve freed me from Chrysothemis. Listen to me! You see before you a man who has gotten up early, bathed, feasted, been with Chrysothemis, written satires, and even sometimes mixed prose with verses, but who has been as tired as Cæsar and often unable to break free from dark thoughts. And do you know why that was? It was because I sought from afar what was close. A beautiful woman is always worth her weight in gold; but if she loves too, she’s priceless. You won’t buy such a one with Verres’ riches. I tell myself this now: I will fill my life with happiness, like a goblet with the finest wine the earth has produced, and I will drink until my hand becomes weak and my lips grow pale. What comes next, I don’t care; and this is my latest philosophy.”
“Thou hast proclaimed it always; there is nothing new in it.”
“You’ve always said that; there’s nothing new about it.”
“There is substance, which was lacking.”
“There is substance, which was missing.”
When he had said this, he called Eunice, who entered dressed in white drapery,—the former slave no longer, but as it were a goddess of love and happiness.
When he finished speaking, he called Eunice, who entered wearing white drapery—no longer a former slave, but like a goddess of love and happiness.
Petronius opened his arms to her, and said,—“Come.”
Petronius opened his arms to her and said, "Come."
At this she ran up to him, and, sitting on his knee, surrounded his neck with her arms, and placed her head on his breast. Vinicius saw how a reflection of purple began to cover her cheeks, how her eyes melted gradually in mist. They formed a wonderful group of love and happiness. Petronius stretched his hand to a flat vase standing at one side on a table, and, taking a whole handful of violets, covered with them the head, bosom, and robe of Eunice; then he pushed the tunic from her arms, and said,—
At this, she ran up to him, sat on his knee, wrapped her arms around his neck, and rested her head on his chest. Vinicius noticed a blush of purple start to spread across her cheeks and saw her eyes slowly glaze over with emotion. They looked like a perfect picture of love and happiness. Petronius reached for a flat vase on the table, took a handful of violets, and draped them over Eunice's head, chest, and robe. Then he pushed the tunic off her arms and said,—
“Happy he who, like me, has found love enclosed in such a form! At times it seems to me that we are a pair of gods. Look thyself! Has Praxiteles, or Miron, or Skopas, or Lysias even, created more wonderful lines? Or does there exist in Paros or in Pentelicus such marble as this,—warm, rosy, and full of love? There are people who kiss off the edges of vases, but I prefer to look for pleasure where it may be found really.”
“Happy is he who, like me, has discovered love in such a beautiful form! Sometimes it feels like we’re a pair of gods. Just look at yourself! Has Praxiteles, Miron, Skopas, or even Lysias created lines more stunning than these? Or does any marble from Paros or Pentelicus compare to this—warm, rosy, and brimming with love? Some people might kiss the edges of vases, but I prefer to seek out pleasure where it can truly be found.”
He began to pass his lips along her shoulders and neck. She was penetrated with a quivering; her eyes now closed, now opened, with an expression of unspeakable delight. Petronius after a while raised her exquisite head, and said, turning to Vinicius,—“But think now, what are thy gloomy Christians in comparison with this? And if thou understand not the difference, go thy way to them. But this sight will cure thee.”
He started to kiss her shoulders and neck. She was overwhelmed with a shiver; her eyes opened and closed, showing an expression of indescribable pleasure. After a while, Petronius lifted her beautiful head and said to Vinicius, “But seriously, what do your gloomy Christians compare to this? And if you don’t see the difference, then go back to them. But this sight will heal you.”
Vinicius distended his nostrils, through which entered the odor of violets, which filled the whole chamber, and he grew pale; for he thought that if he could have passed his lips along Lygia’s shoulders in that way, it would have been a kind of sacrilegious delight so great that let the world vanish afterward! But accustomed now to a quick perception of that which took place in him, he noticed that at that moment he was thinking of Lygia, and of her only.
Vinicius flared his nostrils, taking in the scent of violets that filled the entire room, and he grew pale; for he thought that if he could glide his lips along Lygia’s shoulders like that, it would be such a sacrilegious pleasure that he wouldn’t care if the world disappeared afterward! But now aware of his feelings, he realized that at that moment he was thinking of Lygia, and only her.
“Eunice,” said Petronius, “give command, thou divine one, to prepare garlands for our heads and a meal.”
“Eunice,” Petronius said, “please, my goddess, tell them to get garlands for our heads and prepare a meal.”
When she had gone out he turned to Vinicius.
When she left, he turned to Vinicius.
“I offered to make her free, but knowest thou what she answered?—‘I would rather be thy slave than Cæsar’s wife!’ And she would not consent. I freed her then without her knowledge. The pretor favored me by not requiring her presence. But she does not know that she is free, as also she does not know that this house and all my jewels, excepting the gems, will belong to her in case of my death.” He rose and walked through the room, and said: “Love changes some more, others less, but it has changed even me. Once I loved the odor of verbenas; but as Eunice prefers violets, I like them now beyond all other flowers, and since spring came we breathe only violets.”
“I offered to set her free, but do you know what she said?—‘I would rather be your slave than Cæsar’s wife!’ And she refused to agree. So, I set her free without her knowing. The pretor helped me by not insisting on her being present. But she doesn’t know she’s free, and she also doesn’t realize that this house and all my jewels, except for the gems, will belong to her if I die.” He stood up and walked around the room, then said: “Love changes some people more, others less, but it has even changed me. I used to love the smell of verbenas; but since Eunice prefers violets, I now like them the most of all flowers, and since spring arrived, we only breathe in violets.”
Here he stopped before Vinicius and inquired,—“But as to thee, dost thou keep always to nard?”
Here he stopped in front of Vinicius and asked, “But what about you, do you always stick to nard?”
“Give me peace!” answered the young man.
“Give me peace!” replied the young man.
“I wished thee to see Eunice, and I mentioned her to thee, because thou, perhaps, art seeking also at a distance that which is near. Maybe for thee too is beating, somewhere in the chambers of thy slaves, a true and simple heart. Apply such a balsam to thy wounds. Thou sayest that Lygia loves thee? Perhaps she does. But what kind of love is that which abdicates? Is not the meaning this,—that there is another force stronger than her love? No, my dear, Lygia is not Eunice.”
“I wanted you to meet Eunice, and I brought her up because you, too, might be searching for something close while looking from afar. Maybe there's a true and genuine heart beating somewhere among your servants. Use that as a healing balm for your wounds. You say that Lygia loves you? Maybe she does. But what kind of love gives up? Doesn’t that mean there’s something stronger than her love? No, my friend, Lygia is not Eunice.”
“All is one torment merely,” answered Vinicius. “I saw thee kissing Eunice’s shoulders, and I thought then that if Lygia would lay hers bare to me I should not care if the ground opened under us next moment. But at the very thought of such an act a certain dread seized me, as if I had attacked some vestal or wished to defile a divinity. Lygia is not Eunice, but I understand the difference not in thy way. Love has changed thy nostrils, and thou preferrest violets to verbenas; but it has changed my soul: hence, in spite of my misery and desire, I prefer Lygia to be what she is rather than to be like others.”
“All of it is just one big torment,” Vinicius replied. “I saw you kissing Eunice's shoulders, and at that moment, I thought that if Lygia would show me hers, I wouldn’t care if the ground opened up beneath us. But just thinking about that made me feel a certain fear, as if I were attacking a virgin or trying to dishonor a goddess. Lygia isn't Eunice, but I don’t see the difference the same way you do. Love has changed your outlook, and you prefer violets to verbenas; but it has changed my soul: so, despite my misery and desire, I’d rather Lygia be who she is than be like everyone else.”
“In that case no injustice is done thee. But I do not understand the position.”
"In that case, no injustice is done to you. But I don't understand the situation."
“True, true!” answered Vinicius, feverishly. “We understand each other no longer.”
“That's right, that's right!” Vinicius replied excitedly. “We no longer understand each other.”
Another moment of silence followed.
A moment of silence followed.
“May Hades swallow thy Christians!” exclaimed Petronius. “They have filled thee with disquiet, and destroyed thy sense of life. May Hades devour them! Thou art mistaken in thinking that their religion is good, for good is what gives people happiness, namely, beauty, love, power; but these they call vanity. Thou art mistaken in this, that they are just; for if we pay good for evil, what shall we pay for good? And besides, if we pay the same for one and the other, why are people to be good?”
“May Hades take your Christians!” shouted Petronius. “They have troubled you and destroyed your sense of life. May Hades consume them! You’re wrong to think their religion is good, because good is what brings people happiness—beauty, love, power; but they label these as vanity. You’re also wrong to believe they are just; for if we repay good with evil, what do we give for good? And besides, if we pay the same for both, why should people even try to be good?”
“No, the pay is not the same; but according to their teaching it begins in a future life, which is without limit.”
“No, the pay isn’t the same; but according to their belief, it starts in a future life that is limitless.”
“I do not enter into that question, for we shall see hereafter if it be possible to see anything without eyes. Meanwhile they are simply incompetents. Ursus strangled Croton because he has limbs of bronze; but these are mopes, and the future cannot belong to mopes.”
“I’m not getting into that question right now, as we’ll see later if it’s even possible to see anything without eyes. For now, they’re just incompetent. Ursus killed Croton because he had bronze limbs; but these people are just wasting space, and the future can’t belong to people like that.”
“For them life begins with death.”
“For them, life starts with death.”
“Which is as if one were to say, ‘Day begins with night.’ Hast thou the intent to carry off Lygia?”
“It's like saying, ‘Day starts with night.’ Do you plan to take Lygia away?”
“No, I cannot pay her evil for good, and I swore that I would not.”
"No, I can't repay her wrongdoing with kindness, and I promised I wouldn't."
“Dost thou intend to accept the religion of Christ?”
“Do you plan to accept the religion of Christ?”
“I wish to do so, but my nature cannot endure it.”
"I want to do that, but I just can't bring myself to."
“But wilt thou be able to forget Lygia?”
“But will you be able to forget Lygia?”
“No.”
“Nope.”
“Then travel.”
“Then go travel.”
At that moment the slaves announced that the repast was ready; but Petronius, to whom it seemed that he had fallen on a good thought, said, on the way to the triclinium,—“Thou has ridden over a part of the world, but only as a soldier hastening to his place of destination, and without halting by the way. Go with us to Achæa. Cæsar has not given up the journey. He will stop everywhere on the way, sing, receive crowns, plunder temples, and return as a triumphator to Italy. That will resemble somewhat a journey of Bacchus and Apollo in one person. Augustians, male and female, a thousand citharæ. By Castor! that will be worth witnessing, for hitherto the world has not seen anything like it!”
At that moment, the slaves announced that the meal was ready; but Petronius, who thought he had a great idea, said on the way to the dining room, “You’ve traveled a part of the world, but only as a soldier rushing to his destination without stopping along the way. Come with us to Achaea. Caesar hasn’t given up on the trip. He’ll stop everywhere, sing, receive crowns, loot temples, and return to Italy in triumph. That will be like a journey of Bacchus and Apollo combined. Augustus, both men and women, a thousand lyres. By Castor! That will be worth seeing because the world hasn’t witnessed anything like it!”
Here he placed himself on the couch before the table, by the side of Eunice; and when the slaves put a wreath of anemones on his head, he continued,—“What hast thou seen in Corbulo’s service? Nothing. Hast thou seen the Grecian temples thoroughly, as I have,—I who was passing more than two years from the hands of one guide to those of another? Hast thou been in Rhodes to examine the site of the Colossus? Hast thou seen in Panopeus, in Phocis, the clay from which Prometheus shaped man; or in Sparta the eggs laid by Leda; or in Athens the famous Sarmatian armor made of horse-hoofs; or in Euboea the ship of Agamemnon; or the cup for whose pattern the left breast of Helen served? Hast thou seen Alexandria, Memphis, the Pyramids, the hair which Isis tore from her head in grief for Osiris? Hast thou heard the shout of Memnon? The world is wide; everything does not end at the Trans-Tiber! I will accompany Cæsar, and when he returns I will leave him and go to Cyprus; for it is the wish of this golden-haired goddess of mine that we offer doves together to the divinity in Paphos, and thou must know that whatever she wishes must happen.”
Here he settled on the couch in front of the table next to Eunice, and when the servants placed a wreath of anemones on his head, he continued, “What have you seen in Corbulo’s service? Nothing. Have you explored the Greek temples thoroughly, like I have—I who spent over two years moving from one guide to another? Have you been to Rhodes to check out the site of the Colossus? Have you seen in Panopeus, in Phocis, the clay from which Prometheus shaped man, or in Sparta the eggs laid by Leda, or in Athens the famous Sarmatian armor made of horse hooves, or in Euboea the ship of Agamemnon, or the cup that was modeled after Helen’s left breast? Have you seen Alexandria, Memphis, the Pyramids, the hair that Isis tore from her head in sorrow for Osiris? Have you heard the shout of Memnon? The world is vast; everything doesn’t end at the Trans-Tiber! I will travel with Caesar, and when he returns, I will part ways with him and go to Cyprus; for it is the wish of my golden-haired goddess that we offer doves together to the deity in Paphos, and you must know that whatever she desires must happen.”
“I am thy slave,” said Eunice.
“I am your slave,” said Eunice.
He rested his garlanded head on her bosom, and said with a smile,—“Then I am the slave of a slave. I admire thee, divine one, from feet to head!”
He rested his adorned head on her chest and said with a smile, “Then I am the servant of a servant. I admire you, divine one, from your feet to your head!”
Then he said to Vinicius: “Come with us to Cyprus. But first remember that thou must see Cæsar. It is bad that thou hast not been with him yet; Tigellinus is ready to use this to thy disadvantage. He has no personal hatred for thee, it is true; but he cannot love thee, even because thou art my sister’s son. We shall say that thou wert sick. We must think over what thou art to answer should he ask thee about Lygia. It will be best to wave thy hand and say that she was with thee till she wearied thee. He will understand that. Tell him also that sickness kept thee at home; that thy fever was increased by disappointment at not being able to visit Naples and hear his song; that thou wert assisted to health only by the hope of hearing him. Fear no exaggeration. Tigellinus promises to invent, not only something great for Cæsar, but something enormous. I am afraid that he will undermine me; I am afraid too of thy disposition.”
Then he said to Vinicius, “Come with us to Cyprus. But first, remember that you need to see Caesar. It’s not good that you haven’t met him yet; Tigellinus is ready to use this against you. He doesn’t personally hate you, it’s true; but he can’t really like you, especially since you’re my sister’s son. We’ll say that you were sick. We need to think about how you’ll respond if he asks about Lygia. It’s best to just wave your hand and say that she was with you until you got tired of her. He’ll get that. Also, tell him that being sick kept you home; that your fever got worse because you were disappointed about not being able to visit Naples and hear his performance; that you only got better thanks to the hope of hearing him. Don’t worry about exaggerating. Tigellinus promises to come up with something not just remarkable for Caesar, but something huge. I’m worried he’ll undermine me; I’m also concerned about your temperament.”
“Dost thou know,” said Vinicius, “that there are people who have no fear of Cæsar, and who live as calmly as if he were non-existent?”
“Do you know,” said Vinicius, “that there are people who aren’t afraid of Caesar and live as if he doesn’t even exist?”
“I know whom thou hast in mind—the Christians.”
“I know who you're thinking about—the Christians.”
“Yes; they alone. But our life,—what is it if not unbroken terror?”
“Yes; just them. But our life—what is it if not constant fear?”
“Do not mention thy Christians. They fear not Cæsar, because he has not even heard of them perhaps; and in every case he knows nothing of them, and they concern him as much as withered leaves. But I tell thee that they are incompetents. Thou feelest this thyself; if thy nature is repugnant to their teaching, it is just because thou feelest their incompetence. Thou art a man of other clay; so trouble not thyself or me with them. We shall be able to live and die, and what more they will be able to do is unknown.”
“Don’t mention your Christians. They don’t fear Caesar, probably because he hasn’t even heard of them; in any case, he knows nothing about them, and they matter to him as much as dry leaves. But I’m telling you they are useless. You feel this yourself; if their teachings don’t sit well with you, it’s just because you sense their ineptitude. You are made of different stuff; so don’t bother yourself or me with them. We will be able to live and die, and what else they can do is anyone’s guess.”
These words struck Vinicius; and when he returned home, he began to think that in truth, perhaps, the goodness and charity of Christians was a proof of their incompetience of soul. It seemed to him that people of strength and temper could not forgive thus. It came to his head that this must be the real cause of the repulsion which his Roman soul felt toward their teaching. “We shall be able to live and die!” said Petronius. As to them, they know only how to forgive, and understand neither true love nor true hatred.
These words hit Vinicius hard; and when he got home, he started to think that maybe the kindness and compassion of Christians were signs of their weakness of spirit. He felt that strong and resolute people couldn't forgive so easily. It occurred to him that this might be the real reason for the aversion his Roman soul felt toward their teachings. “We can live and die!” said Petronius. As for them, they only know how to forgive and don't understand true love or true hate.
Chapter XXX
Cæsar, on returning to Rome, was angry because he had returned, and after some days was filled anew with a wish to visit Achæa. He even issued an edict in which he declared that his absence would be short, and that public affairs would not be exposed to detriment because of it. In company with Augustians, among whom was Vinicius, he repaired to the Capitol to make offerings to the gods for an auspicious journey. But on the second day, when he visited the temple of Vesta, an event took place which changed all his projects. Nero feared the gods, though he did not believe in them; he feared especially the mysterious Vesta, who filled him with such awe that at sight of the divinity and the sacred fire his hair rose on a sudden from terror, his teeth chattered, a shiver ran through his limbs, and he dropped into the arms of Vinicius, who happened there behind him. He was borne out of the temple at once, and conveyed to the Palatine, where he recovered soon, but did not leave the bed for that day. He declared, moreover, to the great astonishment of those present, that he deferred his journey, since the divinity had warned him secretly against haste. An hour later it was announced throughout Rome that Cæsar, seeing the gloomy faces of the citizens, and moved by love for them, as a father for his children, would remain to share their lot and their pleasures. The people, rejoiced at this decision, and certain also that they would not miss games and a distribution of wheat, assembled in crowds before the gates of the Palatine, and raised shouts in honor of the divine Cæsar, who interrupted the play at dice with which he was amusing himself with Augustians, and said:
Caesar, upon returning to Rome, was upset that he had come back, and after a few days, he felt a renewed desire to visit Achaea. He even issued a decree stating that his absence would be brief and public affairs wouldn’t suffer because of it. Accompanied by the Augustians, including Vinicius, he went to the Capitol to make offerings to the gods for a safe journey. But on the second day, when he visited the temple of Vesta, an event occurred that changed all his plans. Nero feared the gods, even though he didn't truly believe in them; he especially feared the enigmatic Vesta, who filled him with such dread that upon seeing the goddess and the sacred fire, his hair stood on end from terror, his teeth chattered, a shiver ran through his body, and he collapsed into Vinicius's arms, who happened to be behind him. He was immediately carried out of the temple and taken to the Palatine, where he quickly recovered but didn’t get out of bed that day. Additionally, much to the surprise of those present, he announced that he would postpone his journey since the goddess had secretly warned him against rushing. An hour later, it was proclaimed throughout Rome that Caesar, noticing the somber faces of the citizens and moved by love for them, like a father for his children, would stay to share in their fate and joys. The people, delighted by this decision and certain they wouldn’t miss any games or a distribution of wheat, gathered in large numbers outside the Palatine gates, shouting praises for the divine Caesar, who paused his dice game with the Augustians and said:
“Yes, there was need to defer the journey. Egypt, and predicted dominion over the Orient, cannot escape me; hence Achæa, too, will not be lost. I will give command to cut through the isthmus of Corinth; I will rear such monuments in Egypt that the pyramids will seem childish toys in comparison; I will have a sphinx built seven times greater than that which is gazing into the desert outside Memphis; but I will command that it have my face. Coming ages will speak only of that monument and of me.”
“Yes, I need to postpone the journey. Egypt, and the predicted control over the East, can't avoid me; therefore, Achæa won’t be forgotten either. I will order the cutting of the isthmus at Corinth; I will create monuments in Egypt that will make the pyramids look like children's toys in comparison; I will have a sphinx built seven times larger than the one staring into the desert outside Memphis; but I will insist that it has my face. Future generations will only talk about that monument and me.”
“With thy verses thou hast reared a monument to thyself already, not seven, but thrice seven, times greater than the pyramid of Cheops,” said Petronius.
"With your verses, you’ve already built a monument to yourself, not seven, but three times seven times bigger than the pyramid of Cheops," said Petronius.
“But with my song?” inquired Nero.
“But what about my song?” Nero asked.
“Ah! if men could only build for thee a statue, like that of Memnon, to call with thy voice at sunrise! For all ages to come the seas adjoining Egypt would swarm with ships in which crowds from the three parts of the world would be lost in listening to thy song.”
“Ah! if only people could create a statue for you, like the one of Memnon, that could call out your voice at sunrise! For all time, the seas near Egypt would be filled with ships carrying crowds from all over the world, captivated by your song.”
“Alas! who can do that?” said Nero.
“Wow! Who can do that?” asked Nero.
“But thou canst give command to cut out of basalt thyself driving a quadriga.”
“But you can command to have yourself carved out of basalt driving a chariot.”
“True! I will do that!”
"Definitely! I'll do that!"
“Thou wilt bestow a gift on humanity.”
“You will give a gift to humanity.”
“In Egypt I will marry the Moon, who is now a widow, and I shall be a god really.”
“In Egypt, I will marry the Moon, who is now a widow, and I will truly be a god.”
“And thou wilt give us stars for wives; we will make a new constellation, which will be called the constellation of Nero. But do thou marry Vitelius to the Nile, so that he may beget hippopotamuses. Give the desert to Tigellinus, he will be king of the jackals.”
“And you will give us stars for wives; we will create a new constellation, which will be called the constellation of Nero. But marry Vitelius to the Nile, so that he can produce hippopotamuses. Give the desert to Tigellinus; he will be the king of the jackals.”
“And what dost thou predestine to me?” inquired Vatinius.
“And what do you have planned for me?” asked Vatinius.
“Apis bless thee! Thou didst arrange such splendid games in Beneventum that I cannot wish thee ill. Make a pair of boots for the sphinx, whose paws must grow numb during night-dews; after that thou will make sandals for the Colossi which form the alleys before the temples. Each one will find there a fitting occupation. Domitius Afer, for example, will be treasurer, since he is known for his honesty. I am glad, Cæsar, when thou art dreaming of Egypt, and I am saddened because thou hast deferred thy plan of a journey.”
“Apis bless you! You organized such amazing games in Beneventum that I can't wish you anything bad. Make a pair of boots for the sphinx, whose paws must get cold during the night dew; after that, you'll make sandals for the Colossi that line the paths in front of the temples. Everyone will find a suitable job there. Domitius Afer, for instance, will be the treasurer since he's known for his honesty. I’m happy, Caesar, when you dream of Egypt, and I'm sad because you've put off your travel plans.”
“Thy mortal eyes saw nothing, for the deity becomes invisible to whomever it wishes,” said Nero. “Know that when I was in the temple of Vesta she herself stood near me, and whispered in my ear, ‘Defer the journey.’ That happened so unexpectedly that I was terrified, though for such an evident care of the gods for me I should be thankful.”
“Your mortal eyes saw nothing, because the deity becomes invisible to whoever it wants,” said Nero. “When I was in the temple of Vesta, she herself stood next to me and whispered in my ear, ‘Postpone the journey.’ It happened so suddenly that I was frightened, though for such clear concern from the gods for me, I should be grateful.”
“We were all terrified,” said Tigellinus, “and the vestal Rubria fainted.”
“We were all scared,” Tigellinus said, “and the vestal Rubria passed out.”
“Rubria!” said Nero; “what a snowy neck she has!”
“Rubria!” Nero exclaimed; “she has such a snowy neck!”
“But she blushed at sight of the divine Cæsar—”
“But she blushed at the sight of the divine Caesar—”
“True! I noticed that myself. That is wonderful. There is something divine in every vestal, and Rubria is very beautiful.
“True! I noticed that too. That’s wonderful. There’s something divine in every vestal, and Rubria is really beautiful.”
“Tell me,” said he, after a moment’s meditation, “why people fear Vesta more than other gods. What does this mean? Though I am the chief priest, fear seized me to-day. I remember only that I was falling back, and should have dropped to the ground had not some one supported me. Who was it?”
“Tell me,” he said, after thinking for a moment, “why do people fear Vesta more than other gods? What does that mean? Even though I’m the chief priest, I was overcome with fear today. I only remember that I was about to fall back, and I would have hit the ground if someone hadn’t caught me. Who was it?”
“I,” answered Vinicius.
"I," replied Vinicius.
“Oh, thou ‘stern Mars’! Why wert thou not in Beneventum? They told me that thou wert ill, and indeed thy face is changed. But I heard that Croton wished to kill thee? Is that true?”
“Oh, you ‘stern Mars’! Why weren’t you in Beneventum? They told me you were sick, and your face really does look different. But I heard that Croton wanted to kill you? Is that true?”
“It is, and he broke my arm; but I defended myself.”
“It is true, and he broke my arm; but I defended myself.”
“With a broken arm?”
"With a fractured arm?"
“A certain barbarian helped me; he was stronger than Croton.”
“A particular barbarian helped me; he was stronger than Croton.”
Nero looked at him with astonishment. “Stronger than Croton? Art thou jesting? Croton was the strongest of men, but now here is Syphax from Ethiopia.”
Nero looked at him in disbelief. “Stronger than Croton? Are you joking? Croton was the strongest man, but here comes Syphax from Ethiopia.”
“I tell thee, Cæsar, what I saw with my own eyes.”
“I’m telling you, Caesar, what I saw with my own eyes.”
“Where is that pearl? Has he not become king of Nemi?”
“Where is that pearl? Has he not become the king of Nemi?”
“I cannot tell, Cæsar. I lost sight of him.”
“I can’t say, Caesar. I lost track of him.”
“Thou knowest not even of what people he is?”
“You don’t even know what kind of people he is from?”
“I had a broken arm, and could not inquire for him.”
“I had a broken arm, so I couldn't ask for him.”
“Seek him, and find him for me.”
“Look for him and find him for me.”
“I will occupy myself with that,” said Tigellinus.
“I'll take care of that,” said Tigellinus.
But Nero spoke further to Vinicius: “I thank thee for having supported me; I might have broken my head by a fall. On a time thou wert a good companion, but campaigning and service with Corbulo have made thee wild in some way; I see thee rarely.
But Nero continued to speak to Vinicius: “I appreciate the support you've given me; I could have seriously hurt myself in a fall. Once, you were a great companion, but your time in the field and your service with Corbulo have made you a bit reckless; I hardly see you anymore.
“How is that maiden too narrow in the hips, with whom thou wert in love,” asked he after a while, “and whom I took from Aulus for thee?”
“How is that girl too narrow in the hips, whom you were in love with,” he asked after a while, “and whom I took from Aulus for you?”
Vinicius was confused, but Petronius came to his aid at that moment. “I will lay a wager, lord,” said he, “that he has forgotten. Dost thou see his confusion? Ask him how many of them there were since that time, and I will not give assurance of his power to answer. The Vinicius are good soldiers, but still better gamecocks. They need whole flocks. Punish him for that, lord, by not inviting him to the feast which Tigellinus promises to arrange in thy honor on the pond of Agrippa.”
Vinicius was confused, but Petronius stepped in to help him at that moment. “I’ll bet you, my lord,” he said, “that he has forgotten. Do you see his confusion? Ask him how many there have been since then, and I can’t guarantee he’ll be able to answer. The Vinicius are good soldiers, but even better at being gamecocks. They need entire flocks. Punish him for that, my lord, by not inviting him to the feast that Tigellinus promises to throw in your honor at the pond of Agrippa.”
“I will not do that. I trust, Tigellinus, that flocks of beauty will not be lacking there.”
“I won’t do that. I trust, Tigellinus, that there will be no shortage of beauty there.”
“Could the Graces be absent where Amor will be present?” answered Tigellinus.
“Could the Graces be missing where Love will be present?” answered Tigellinus.
“Weariness tortures me,” said Nero. “I have remained in Rome at the will of the goddess, but I cannot endure the city. I will go to Antium. I am stifled in these narrow streets, amid these tumble-down houses, amid these alleys. Foul air flies even here to my house and my gardens. Oh, if an earthquake would destroy Rome, if some angry god would level it to the earth! I would show how a city should be built, which is the head of the world and my capital.”
“I'm so tired,” said Nero. “I've stayed in Rome because the goddess wants me to, but I can't stand the city. I'm going to Antium. I'm suffocated in these cramped streets, surrounded by these crumbling houses and alleys. Even the nasty air reaches my home and my gardens. Oh, if only an earthquake would wipe out Rome, if some furious god would flatten it! I'd show how a city should be built, one that is the heart of the world and my capital.”
“Cæsar,” answered Tigellinus, “thou sayest, ‘If some angry god would destroy the city,’—is it so?”
“Caesar,” replied Tigellinus, “you say, ‘If some angry god would destroy the city,’—is that true?”
“It is! What then?”
“It is! What now?”
“But art thou not a god?”
“But aren’t you a god?”
Nero waved his hand with an expression of weariness, and said,—“We shall see thy work on the pond of Agrippa. Afterward I go to Antium. Ye are all little, hence do not understand that I need immense things.”
Nero waved his hand with a tired look and said, “We'll see your work on Agrippa's pond. After that, I'm heading to Antium. You're all small-minded, so you don't get that I need grand things.”
Then he closed his eyes, giving to understand in that way that he needed rest. In fact, the Augustians were beginning to depart. Petronius went out with Vinicius, and said to him,—“Thou art invited, then, to share in the amusement. Bronzebeard has renounced the journey, but he will be madder than ever; he has fixed himself in the city as in his own house. Try thou, too, to find in these madnesses amusement and forgetfulness. Well! we have conquered the world, and have a right to amuse ourselves. Thou, Marcus, art a very comely fellow, and to that I ascribe in part the weakness which I have for thee. By the Ephesian Diana! if thou couldst see thy joined brows, and thy face in which the ancient blood of the Quirites is evident! Others near thee looked like freedmen. True! were it not for that mad religion, Lygia would be in thy house to-day. Attempt once more to prove to me that they are not enemies of life and mankind. They have acted well toward thee, hence thou mayst be grateful to them; but in thy place I should detest that religion, and seek pleasure where I could find it. Thou art a comely fellow, I repeat, and Rome is swarming with divorced women.”
Then he closed his eyes, making it clear that he needed some rest. In fact, the Augustians were starting to leave. Petronius went out with Vinicius and said to him, “You’re invited to join in the fun. Bronzebeard has decided not to go on the trip, but he’ll be crazier than ever; he’s settled into the city like it’s his own home. Try to find some enjoyment and forgetfulness in these crazinesses too. Well! We have conquered the world, and we have the right to have some fun. You, Marcus, are a very handsome guy, and that’s part of why I have a soft spot for you. By the Ephesian Diana! If you could see your strong brows and your face that shows the ancient blood of the Quirites! Others around you look like freedmen. It’s true! If it weren’t for that crazy religion, Lygia would be in your house today. Try again to show me that they aren’t enemies of life and humanity. They’ve treated you well, so you can be grateful to them; but in your position, I would hate that religion and look for pleasure wherever I could find it. You’re a good-looking guy, I’ll say it again, and Rome is full of divorced women.”
“I wonder only that all this does not torture thee yet?”
“I just wonder why all this doesn’t torture you yet?”
“Who has told thee that it does not? It tortures me this long time, but I am not of thy years. Besides, I have other attachments which are lacking thee. I love books, thou hast no love for them; I love poetry, which annoys thee; I love pottery, gems, a multitude of things, at which thou dost not look; I have a pain in my loins, which thou hast not; and, finally, I have found Eunice, but thou hast found nothing similar. For me, it is pleasant in my house, among masterpieces; of thee I can never make a man of æsthetic feeling. I know that in life I shall never find anything beyond what I have found; thou thyself knowest not that thou art hoping yet continually, and seeking. If death were to visit thee, with all thy courage and sadness, thou wouldst die with astonishment that it was necessary to leave the world; but I should accept death as a necessity, with the conviction that there is no fruit in the world which I have not tasted. I do not hurry, neither shall I loiter; I shall try merely to be joyful to the end. There are cheerful sceptics in the world. For me, the Stoics are fools; but stoicism tempers men, at least, while thy Christians bring sadness into the world, which in life is the same as rain in nature. Dost thou know what I have learned? That during the festivities which Tigellinus will arrange at the pond of Agrippa, there will be lupanaria, and in them women from the first houses of Rome. Will there be not even one sufficiently beautiful to console thee? There will be maidens, too, appearing in society for the first time—as nymphs. Such is our Roman Cæsardom! The air is mild already; the midday breeze will warm the water and not bring pimples on naked bodies. And thou, Narcissus, know this, that there will not be one to refuse thee,—not one, even though she be a vestal virgin.”
“Who told you that it doesn’t? It’s been bothering me for a long time, but I’m not your age. Besides, I have other interests that you lack. I love books, and you don’t care for them; I love poetry, which frustrates you; I love pottery, gems, and a ton of things that you don’t appreciate; I have a pain in my back that you don’t have; and, finally, I’ve found Eunice, but you haven’t found anything like that. For me, my home is enjoyable, filled with masterpieces; I can never make you into a man with an appreciation for beauty. I know that in life, I’ll never find anything beyond what I’ve already discovered; you yourself don’t realize that you keep hoping and searching. If death were to come for you, with all your bravery and sadness, you would be shocked that you have to leave this world; but I would accept death as a necessary part of life, fully convinced that there’s nothing in the world I haven’t experienced. I won’t rush, nor will I waste time; I’ll just try to be happy until the end. There are cheerful skeptics in the world. For me, the Stoics are foolish; but stoicism does help temper people, while your Christians bring sadness to the world, which is like rain in nature. Do you know what I’ve learned? That during the celebrations Tigellinus is planning at the pond of Agrippa, there will be brothels with women from Rome’s finest families. Will there be even one beautiful enough to comfort you? There will also be young women making their debut in society—like nymphs. Such is our Roman Empire! The air is already mild; the midday breeze will warm the water without causing blemishes on bare skin. And you, Narcissus, know this: there won’t be a single one to refuse you—not one, even if she’s a vestal virgin.”
Vinicius began to strike his head with his palm, like a man occupied eternally with one thought.
Vinicius started to hit his head with his palm, like someone who's been stuck on one thought forever.
“I should need luck to find such a one.”
“I would need luck to find someone like that.”
“And who did this for thee, if not the Christians? But people whose standard is a cross cannot be different. Listen to me: Greece was beautiful, and created wisdom; we created power; and what, to thy thinking, can this teaching create? If thou know, explain; for, by Pollux! I cannot divine it.”
“And who did this for you, if not the Christians? But people whose symbol is a cross can’t be different. Listen to me: Greece was beautiful and produced wisdom; we created power; and what, in your opinion, can this teaching create? If you know, explain; because, by Pollux! I can’t figure it out.”
“Thou art afraid, it seems, lest I become a Christian,” said Vinicius, shrugging his shoulders.
“Looks like you’re worried that I might become a Christian,” said Vinicius, shrugging his shoulders.
“I am afraid that thou hast spoiled life for thyself. If thou canst not be a Grecian, be a Roman; possess and enjoy. Our madnesses have a certain sense, for there is in them a kind of thought of our own. I despise Bronzebeard, because he is a Greek buffoon. If he held himself a Roman, I should recognize that he was right in permitting himself madness. Promise me that if thou find some Christian on returning home, thou wilt show thy tongue to him. If he be Glaucus the physician, he will not wonder.—Till we meet on the pond of Agrippa.”
"I’m afraid you’ve ruined life for yourself. If you can’t be a Greek, at least be a Roman; own it and enjoy it. Our craziness makes some sense because there’s a bit of our own thinking in it. I can’t stand Bronzebeard because he’s just a Greek clown. If he saw himself as a Roman, I’d appreciate that he had the right to be crazy. Promise me that if you meet any Christians on your way home, you’ll stick out your tongue at them. If it’s Glaucus the physician, he won’t be surprised.—Until we meet at Agrippa’s pond."
Chapter XXXI
PRETORIANS surrounded the groves on the banks of the pond of Agrippa, lest over-numerous throngs of spectators might annoy Cæsar and his guests; though it was said that everything in Rome distinguished for wealth, beauty, or intellect was present at that feast, which had no equal in the history of the city. Tigellinus wished to recompense Cæsar for the deferred journey to Achæa, to surpass all who had ever feasted Nero, and prove that no man could entertain as he could. With this object in view, while with Cæsar in Naples, and later in Beneventum, he had made preparations and sent orders to bring from the remotest regions of the earth beasts, birds, rare fish, and plants, not omitting vessels and cloths, which were to enhance the splendor of the feast. The revenues of whole provinces went to satisfy mad projects; but the powerful favorite had no need to hesitate. His influence grew daily. Tigellinus was not dearer than others to Nero yet, perhaps, but he was becoming more and more indispensable. Petronius surpassed him infinitely in polish, intellect, wit; in conversation he knew better how to amuse Cæsar: but to his misfortune he surpassed in conversation Cæsar himself, hence he roused his jealousy; moreover he could not be an obedient instrument in everything, and Cæsar feared his opinion when there were questions in matters of taste. But before Tigellinus, Nero never felt any restraint. The very title, Arbiter Elegantiarum, which had been given to Petronius, annoyed Nero’s vanity, for who had the right to bear that title but himself? Tigellinus had sense enough to know his own deficiencies; and seeing that he could not compete with Petronius, Lucan, or others distinguished by birth, talents, or learning, he resolved to extinguish them by the suppleness of his services, and above all by such a magnificence that the imagination of Nero himself would be struck by it. He had arranged to give the feast on a gigantic raft, framed of gilded timbers. The borders of this raft were decked with splendid shells found in the Red Sea and the Indian Ocean, shells brilliant with the colors of pearls and the rainbow. The banks of the pond were covered with groups of palm, with groves of lotus, and blooming roses. In the midst of these were hidden fountains of perfumed water, statues of gods and goddesses, and gold or silver cages filled with birds of various colors. In the centre of the raft rose an immense tent, or rather, not to hide the feasters, only the roof of a tent, made of Syrian purple, resting on silver columns; under it were gleaming, like suns, tables prepared for the guests, loaded with Alexandrian glass, crystal, and vessels simply beyond price,—the plunder of Italy, Greece, and Asia Minor. The raft, which because of plants accumulated on it had the appearance of an island and a garden, was joined by cords of gold and purple to boats shaped like fish, swans, mews, and flamingoes, in which sat at painted oars naked rowers of both sexes, with forms and features of marvellous beauty, their hair dressed in Oriental fashion, or gathered in golden nets. When Nero arrived at the main raft with Poppæa and the Augustians, and sat beneath the purple tent-roof, the oars struck the water, the boats moved, the golden cords stretched, and the raft with the feast and the guests began to move and describe circles on the pond. Other boats surrounded it, and other smaller rafts, filled with women playing on citharæ and harps, women whose rosy bodies on the blue background of the sky and the water and in the reflections from golden instruments seemed to absorb that blue and those reflections, and to change and bloom like flowers.
PRETORIANS surrounded the groves by Agrippa’s pond to prevent too many spectators from bothering Cæsar and his guests; although it was said that everyone in Rome known for wealth, beauty, or intellect was at that feast, which was unmatched in the city’s history. Tigellinus wanted to make it up to Cæsar for the postponed trip to Achæa, to outdo anyone who had ever entertained Nero, and to show that no one could host a feast like he could. With this goal in mind, while with Cæsar in Naples and later in Beneventum, he made preparations and sent orders to gather from the farthest corners of the earth exotic animals, birds, rare fish, and plants, not forgetting the vessels and fabrics that would enhance the lavishness of the feast. Entire provinces bled resources to fulfill extravagant plans; but the powerful favorite had no reason to hesitate. His influence grew daily. Tigellinus wasn’t yet closer to Nero than others, but he was becoming increasingly essential. Petronius was far superior to him in style, intelligence, and wit; he knew how to entertain Cæsar better in conversation, but unfortunately he was also more entertaining than Cæsar, which sparked Cæsar's jealousy. Moreover, he couldn't always be a compliant tool, and Cæsar feared his judgment on matters of taste. But before Tigellinus, Nero felt no limitations. The very title, Arbiter Elegantiarum, awarded to Petronius, irritated Nero’s pride—who else had the right to that title but himself? Tigellinus was savvy enough to recognize his shortcomings; realizing he couldn’t compete with Petronius, Lucan, or others distinguished by lineage, talent, or education, he decided to overshadow them with the flexibility of his services and above all with such extravagance that even Nero would be awed. He planned to host the feast on a massive raft made from gilded wood. The edges of this raft were adorned with exquisite shells from the Red Sea and the Indian Ocean, shells glimmering with rainbow hues and pearls. The banks of the pond were lined with clusters of palms, lotus groves, and blooming roses. Among these were hidden fountains of fragrant water, statues of gods and goddesses, and gold or silver cages filled with multicolored birds. In the center of the raft stood a huge tent—or more accurately, just the roof of a tent—made of rich purple fabric resting on silver columns; beneath it were tables shining like suns, laden with Alexandrian glass, crystal, and priceless vessels—the spoils of Italy, Greece, and Asia Minor. The raft, which appeared like an island and a garden due to the plants accumulating on it, was tied by golden and purple cords to boats shaped like fish, swans, seagulls, and flamingos, with naked rowers of both sexes, whose beautiful forms and features dazzled, their hair styled in an Eastern fashion or gathered in golden nets. When Nero arrived at the main raft with Poppæa and the Augustians, and sat under the purple tent-roof, the oars splashed in the water, the boats moved, the golden cords tightened, and the raft with the feast and guests began to glide and make circles on the pond. Other boats surrounded it, along with smaller rafts filled with women playing the lyre and harp, whose rosy bodies against the blue sky and water, and in the reflections from golden instruments, seemed to absorb that blue and those reflections, transforming and blooming like flowers.
From the groves at the banks, from fantastic buildings reared for that day and hidden among thickets, were heard music and song. The neighborhood resounded, the groves resounded; echoes bore around the voices of horns and trumpets. Cæsar himself, with Poppæa on one side of him, and Pythagoras on the other, was amazed; and more especially when among the boats young slave maidens appeared as sirens, and were covered with green network in imitation of scales, he did not spare praises on Tigellinus. But he looked at Petronius from habit, wishing to learn the opinion of the “arbiter,” who seemed indifferent for a long time, and only when questioned outright, answered,—“I judge, lord, that ten thousand naked maidens make less impression than one.”
From the groves along the riverbank, and from the incredible buildings constructed for that day and hidden in the brush, music and singing filled the air. The surroundings echoed with sound; the groves resonated with the voices of horns and trumpets. Caesar himself, with Poppaea on one side and Pythagoras on the other, was astonished; especially when young slave girls appeared among the boats like sirens, covered in green netting to mimic scales. He praised Tigellinus without holding back. But he glanced at Petronius out of habit, wanting to gauge the opinion of the “arbiter,” who had seemed indifferent for a long time. Only when directly asked did he respond, “I believe, my lord, that ten thousand naked maidens have less impact than one.”
But the “floating feast” pleased Cæsar, for it was something new. Besides, such exquisite dishes were served that the imagination of Apicius would have failed at sight of them, and wines of so many kinds that Otho, who used to serve eighty, would have hidden under water with shame, could he have witnessed the luxury of that feast. Besides women, the Augustians sat down at the table, among whom Vinicius excelled all with his beauty. Formerly his figure and face indicated too clearly the soldier by profession; now mental suffering and the physical pain through which he had passed had chiselled his features, as if the delicate hand of a master had passed over them. His complexion had lost its former swarthiness, but the yellowish gleam of Numidian marble remained on it. His eyes had grown larger and more pensive. His body had retained its former powerful outlines, as if created for armor; but above the body of a legionary was seen the head of a Grecian god, or at least of a refined patrician, at once subtle and splendid. Petronius, in saying that none of the ladies of Cæsar’s court would be able or willing to resist Vinicius, spoke like a man of experience. All gazed at him now, not excepting Poppæa, or the vestal virgin Rubria, whom Cæsar wished to see at the feast.
But the “floating feast” pleased Caesar because it was something new. Moreover, the dishes served were so exquisite that even Apicius's imagination would have struggled to keep up with them, and there were so many types of wine that Otho, who used to serve eighty, would have wanted to hide in embarrassment if he had witnessed the luxury of that feast. Alongside the women, the Augustians gathered at the table, among whom Vinicius stood out with his beauty. Previously, his appearance had clearly indicated his profession as a soldier; now, the mental suffering and physical pain he had endured had sculpted his features, as if a delicate hand of a master artist had shaped them. His complexion had lost its former darkness, but the yellowish tint of Numidian marble remained. His eyes had become larger and more contemplative. His body still had its strong shape, as if made for armor; yet above the body of a legionary was a face like that of a Grecian god, or at least a refined patrician, both subtle and striking. Petronius, saying that none of the ladies at Caesar’s court would be able or willing to resist Vinicius, spoke from experience. All eyes were now on him, including Poppæa and the vestal virgin Rubria, whom Caesar wanted to see at the feast.
Wines, cooled in mountain snow, soon warmed the hearts and heads of the guests. Boats shaped as grasshoppers or butterflies shot forth from the bushes at the shore every moment. The blue surface of the pond seemed occupied by butterflies. Above the boats here and there flew doves, and other birds from India and Africa, fastened with silver and blue threads or strings. The sun had passed the greater part of the sky, but the day was warm and even hot, though in the beginning of May. The pond heaved from the strokes of oars, which beat the water in time with music; but in the air there was not the least breath of wind; the groves were motionless, as if lost in listening and in gazing at that which was happening on the water. The raft circled continually on the pond, bearing guests who were increasingly drunk and boisterous.
Wines, chilled in mountain snow, quickly warmed the hearts and minds of the guests. Boats designed like grasshoppers or butterflies emerged from the bushes at the shore every moment. The blue surface of the pond looked like it was filled with butterflies. Above the boats, doves and other birds from India and Africa flew by, tied with silver and blue threads or strings. The sun had moved across most of the sky, yet the day was warm and even hot, despite being early May. The pond rippled from the strokes of oars, which matched the beat of the music; however, there wasn't a breath of wind in the air. The groves were still, as if lost in listening and watching what was happening on the water. The raft kept circling on the pond, carrying guests who were becoming increasingly drunk and rowdy.
The feast had not run half its course yet, when the order in which all sat at the table was observed no longer. Cæsar gave the example, for, rising himself, he commanded Vinicius, who sat next to Rubria the vestal, to move. Nero occupied the place, and began to whisper something in Rubria’s ear. Vinicius found himself next to Poppæa, who extended her arm and begged him to fasten her loosened bracelet. When he did so, with hands trembling somewhat, she cast at him from beneath her long lashes a glance as it were of modesty, and shook her golden head as if in resistance.
The feast was only halfway through when the seating arrangement at the table fell apart. Cæsar led the way; he got up and ordered Vinicius, who was sitting next to the vestal Rubria, to move. Nero took his place and started whispering something in Rubria’s ear. Vinicius ended up next to Poppæa, who reached out her arm and asked him to fix her loose bracelet. As he did, his hands shaking a little, she looked at him from under her long lashes with a hint of modesty and shook her golden head as if to resist.
Meanwhile the sun, growing larger, ruddier, sank slowly behind the tops of the grove; the guests were for the greater part thoroughly intoxicated. The raft circled now nearer the shore, on which, among bunches of trees and flowers, were seen groups of people, disguised as fauns or satyrs, playing on flutes, bagpipes, and drums, with groups of maidens representing nymphs, dryads, and hamadryads. Darkness fell at last amid drunken shouts from the tent, shouts raised in honor of Luna. Meanwhile the groves were lighted with a thousand lamps. From the lupanaria on the shores shone swarms of lights; on the terraces appeared new naked groups, formed of the wives and daughters of the first Roman houses. These with voice and unrestrained manner began to lure partners. The raft touched the shore at last. Cæsar and the Augustians vanished in the groves, scattered in lupanaria, in tents hidden in thickets, in grottos artificially arranged among fountains and springs. Madness seized all; no one knew whither Cæsar had gone; no one knew who was a senator, who a knight, who a dancer, who a musician. Satyrs and fauns fell to chasing nymphs with shouting. They struck lamps with thyrses to quench them. Darkness covered certain parts of the grove. Everywhere, however, laughter and shouts were heard, and whispers, and panting breaths. In fact Rome had not seen anything like that before.
Meanwhile, the sun, getting bigger and redder, slowly sank behind the tops of the trees; most of the guests were completely drunk. The raft moved closer to the shore, where groups of people dressed as fauns or satyrs were seen among clusters of trees and flowers, playing flutes, bagpipes, and drums, with maidens representing nymphs, dryads, and hamadryads. Finally, darkness set in, accompanied by drunken shouts from the tent, praising Luna. At the same time, the groves lit up with a thousand lamps. From the brothels on the shores shone swarms of lights; on the terraces, new naked groups appeared, made up of the wives and daughters of prominent Roman families. They began to call out and invite partners freely. The raft finally reached the shore. Cæsar and the Augustians disappeared into the groves, scattering into brothels, into tents hidden in the bushes, and into grottos deliberately arranged among fountains and springs. Madness took over; no one knew where Cæsar had gone; no one knew who was a senator, who was a knight, who was a dancer, or who was a musician. Satyrs and fauns chased after nymphs while shouting. They struck lamps with their thyrses to extinguish them. Darkness covered certain parts of the grove. Everywhere, however, there were sounds of laughter and shouts, whispers, and panting breaths. In fact, Rome had never seen anything like this before.
Vinicius was not drunk, as he had been at the feast in Nero’s palace, when Lygia was present; but he was roused and intoxicated by the sight of everything done round about, and at last the fever of pleasure seized him. Rushing into the forest, he ran, with others, examining who of the dryads seemed most beautiful. New flocks of these raced around him every moment with shouts and with songs; these flocks were pursued by fauns, satyrs, senators, knights, and by sounds of music. Seeing at last a band of maidens led by one arrayed as Diana, he sprang to it, intending to examine the goddess more closely. All at once the heart sank in his bosom, for he thought that in that goddess, with the moon on her forehead, he recognized Lygia.
Vinicius wasn't drunk, like he had been at the feast in Nero's palace when Lygia was there; instead, he was energized and enchanted by everything happening around him, and eventually, a wave of pleasure washed over him. He dashed into the forest, running with the others, checking out which dryads looked the most beautiful. New groups of them raced by him every moment, cheering and singing; these groups were chased by fauns, satyrs, senators, knights, and the sounds of music. Finally, spotting a group of maidens led by one dressed as Diana, he rushed over, eager to take a closer look at the goddess. Suddenly, his heart dropped because he thought he recognized Lygia in that goddess, with the moon on her forehead.
They encircled him with a mad whirl, and, wishing evidently to incline him to follow, rushed away the next moment like a herd of deer. But he stood on the spot with beating heart, breathless; for though he saw that the Diana was not Lygia, and that at close sight she was not even like her, the too powerful impression deprived him of strength. Straightway he was seized by such yearning as he had never felt before, and love for Lygia rushed to his breast in a new, immense wave. Never had she seemed so dear, pure, and beloved as in that forest of madness and frenzied excess. A moment before, he himself wished to drink of that cup, and share in that shameless letting loose of the senses; now disgust and repugnance possessed him. He felt that infamy was stifling him; that his breast needed air and the stars which were hidden by the thickets of that dreadful grove. He determined to flee; but barely had he moved when before him stood some veiled figure, which placed its hands on his shoulders and whispered, flooding his face with burning breath, “I love thee! Come! no one will see us, hasten!”
They surrounded him in a chaotic swirl, clearly trying to entice him to join them, then darted away like a herd of deer. But he remained in place, heart racing and breathless; for although he realized that Diana was not Lygia, and that up close she didn’t even resemble her, the overwhelming feeling drained him of strength. Instantly, he was hit by a yearning he had never experienced before, and love for Lygia surged in his chest in a new, powerful wave. She had never seemed so precious, pure, and beloved as in that wild forest of madness and excess. Moments earlier, he had craved that experience and the shameless abandon of the senses; now he felt disgust and revulsion. He sensed that disgrace was suffocating him; his chest craved fresh air and the stars obscured by the dense underbrush of that dreadful grove. He resolved to escape; but just as he moved, a veiled figure appeared before him, placing its hands on his shoulders and whispering, flooding his face with hot breath, “I love you! Come! No one will see us, hurry!”
Vinicius was roused, as if from a dream.
Vinicius woke up, as if from a dream.
“Who art thou?”
“Who are you?”
But she leaned her breast on him and insisted,—“Hurry! See how lonely it is here, and I love thee! Come!”
But she leaned against him and insisted, "Hurry! Look how lonely it is here, and I love you! Come!"
“Who art thou?” repeated Vinicius.
"Who are you?" repeated Vinicius.
“Guess!”
"Take a guess!"
As she said this, she pressed her lips to his through the veil, drawing toward her his head at the same time, till at last breath failed the woman and she tore her face from him.
As she said this, she pressed her lips to his through the veil, pulling his head closer to her at the same time, until finally the woman ran out of breath and pulled her face away from him.
“Night of love! night of madness!” said she, catching the air quickly. “Today is free! Thou hast me!”
“Night of love! Night of madness!” she exclaimed, catching her breath. “Today is free! You have me!”
But that kiss burned Vinicius; it filled him with disquiet. His soul and heart were elsewhere; in the whole world nothing existed for him except Lygia. So, pushing back the veiled figure, he said,—
But that kiss overwhelmed Vinicius; it filled him with unease. His soul and heart were in a different place; in the entire world, nothing mattered to him except Lygia. So, pushing away the veiled figure, he said,—
“Whoever thou be, I love another, I do not wish thee.”
“Whoever you are, I love someone else, I don't want you.”
“Remove the veil,” said she, lowering her head toward him.
“Take off the veil,” she said, lowering her head toward him.
At that moment the leaves of the nearest myrtle began to rustle; the veiled woman vanished like a dream vision, but from a distance her laugh was heard, strange in some way, and ominous.
At that moment, the leaves of the closest myrtle started to rustle; the veiled woman disappeared like a dream, but her laughter echoed from a distance, oddly unsettling and foreboding.
Petronius stood before Vinicius.
Petronius faced Vinicius.
“I have heard and seen,” said he.
“I have heard and seen,” he said.
“Let us go from this place,” replied Vinicius.
“Let’s leave this place,” replied Vinicius.
And they went. They passed the lupanaria gleaming with light, the grove, the line of mounted pretorians, and found the litters.
And they went. They passed the brothels shining with light, the grove, the line of mounted guards, and found the litters.
“I will go with thee,” said Petronius.
“I'll go with you,” said Petronius.
They sat down together. On the road both were silent, and only in the atrium of Vinicius’s house did Petronius ask,—“Dost thou know who that was?”
They sat down together. On the road, both were silent, and only in the atrium of Vinicius's house did Petronius ask, "Do you know who that was?"
“Was it Rubria?” asked Vinicius, repulsed at the very thought that Rubria was a vestal.
“Was it Rubria?” Vinicius asked, disgusted at the mere thought of Rubria being a vestal.
“No.”
“Nope.”
“Who then?”
"Who is it then?"
Petronius lowered his voice. “The fire of Vesta was defiled, for Rubria was with Cæsar. But with thee was speaking”—and he finished in a still lower voice, “the divine Augusta.”
Petronius lowered his voice. "The fire of Vesta has been tarnished, because Rubria was with Caesar. But with you was speaking"—and he finished in an even quieter voice, "the divine Augusta."
A moment of silence followed.
A moment of silence passed.
“Cæsar,” said Petronius, “was unable to hide from Poppæa his desire for Rubria; therefore she wished, perhaps, to avenge herself. But I hindered you both. Hadst thou recognized the Augusta and refused her, thou wouldst have been ruined beyond rescue,—thou, Lygia, and I, perhaps.”
“Caesar,” Petronius said, “couldn’t hide his desire for Rubria from Poppæa; so she probably wanted to get back at him. But I stopped you both. If you had recognized the Augusta and turned her down, you would have been doomed, Lygia, and I might have been too.”
“I have enough of Rome, Cæsar, feasts, the Augusta, Tigellinus, and all of you!” burst out Vinicius. “I am stifling. I cannot live thus; I cannot. Dost understand me?”
“I've had my fill of Rome, Caesar, the feasts, the Augusta, Tigellinus, and all of you!” Vinicius shouted. “I feel suffocated. I can't live like this; I just can't. Do you understand me?”
“Vinicius, thou art losing sense, judgment, moderation.”
"Vinicius, you are losing your sense, judgment, and moderation."
“I love only her in this world.”
“I love only her in this world.”
“What of that?”
"What about that?"
“This, that I wish no other love. I have no wish for your life, your feasts, your shamelessness, your crimes!”
“This, that I desire no other love. I have no desire for your life, your celebrations, your lack of shame, your wrongdoings!”
“What is taking place in thee? Art thou a Christian?”
“What’s happening with you? Are you a Christian?”
The young man seized his head with both hands, and repeated, as if in despair,—“Not yet! not yet!”
The young man grabbed his head with both hands and exclaimed in despair, “Not yet! Not yet!”
Chapter XXXII
PETRONIUS went home shrugging his shoulders and greatly dissatisfied. It was evident to him that he and Vinicius had ceased to understand each other, that their souls had separated entirely. Once Petronius had immense influence over the young soldier. He had been for him a model in everything, and frequently a few ironical words of his sufficed to restrain Vinicius or urge him to something. At present there remained nothing of that; such was the change that Petronius did not try his former methods, feeling that his wit and irony would slip without effect along the new principles which love and contact with the uncomprehended society of Christians had put in the soul of Vinicius. The veteran sceptic understood that he had lost the key to that soul. This knowledge filled him with dissatisfaction and even with fear, which was heightened by the events of that night. “If on the part of the Augusta it is not a passing whim but a more enduring desire,” thought Petronius, “one of two things will happen,—either Vinicius will not resist her, and he may be ruined by any accident, or, what is like him to-day, he will resist, and in that event he will be ruined certainly, and perhaps I with him, even because I am his relative, and because the Augusta, having included a whole family in her hatred, will throw the weight of her influence on the side of Tigellinus. In this way and that it is bad.” Petronius was a man of courage and felt no dread of death; but since he hoped nothing from it, he had no wish to invite it. After long meditation, he decided at last that it would be better and safer to send Vinicius from Rome on a journey. Ah! but if in addition he could give him Lygia for the road, he would do so with pleasure. But he hoped that it would not be too difficult to persuade him to the journey without her. He would spread a report on the Palatine then of Vinicius’s illness, and remove danger as well from his nephew as himself. The Augusta did not know whether she was recognized by Vinicius; she might suppose that she was not, hence her vanity had not suffered much so far. But it might be different in the future, and it was necessary to avoid peril. Petronius wished to gain time, above all; for he understood that once Cæsar set out for Achæa, Tigellinus, who comprehended nothing in the domain of art, would descend to the second place and lose his influence. In Greece Petronius was sure of victory over every opponent.
PETRONIUS went home feeling frustrated and disillusioned. He realized that he and Vinicius no longer understood each other, that they had completely drifted apart. Petronius had once had a strong influence over the young soldier. Vinicius looked up to him in everything, and often just a few sarcastic comments from Petronius were enough to hold Vinicius back or push him forward. But now, none of that remained; Petronius sensed that trying his old tactics would be pointless, as his wit and irony would fall flat against the new values that love and the unfamiliar world of Christians had instilled in Vinicius. The seasoned skeptic knew he had lost the key to Vinicius's heart. This realization left him feeling dissatisfied and even fearful, especially after the events of that night. “If the Augusta's feelings aren't just a passing phase but a lasting desire,” Petronius thought, “then one of two things will happen—either Vinicius won't resist her, and he could easily find himself in trouble, or, more likely today, he will resist, and if that happens, he will definitely be doomed, and perhaps I will be too, just because I’m related to him, and because the Augusta, having included his family in her animosity, will use her influence to support Tigellinus. Whichever way you look at it, it’s bad.” Petronius was a brave man and wasn’t afraid of death; but since he expected nothing good from it, he had no desire to provoke it. After much thought, he finally decided it would be better and safer to send Vinicius away from Rome on a trip. Oh! But if he could also send Lygia along with him, he would be more than happy. Yet he hoped it wouldn’t be too hard to convince him to go without her. He planned to spread a rumor among the elites of Rome that Vinicius was sick to protect both him and himself from danger. The Augusta didn’t know whether Vinicius recognized her; she might think he didn’t, so her pride hadn’t taken much of a hit yet. But that could change in the future, and it was crucial to avoid threats. Petronius wanted to buy time above all; he knew that once Caesar left for Achaea, Tigellinus, who had no understanding of art, would fall to a lower rank and lose his influence. In Greece, Petronius was confident he could triumph over any adversary.
Meanwhile he determined to watch over Vinicius, and urge him to the journey. For a number of days he was ever thinking over this, that if he obtained an edict from Cæsar expelling the Christians from Rome, Lygia would leave it with the other confessors of Christ, and after her Vinicius too. Then there would be no need to persuade him. The thing itself was possible. In fact it was not so long since, when the Jews began disturbances out of hatred to the Christians, Claudius, unable to distinguish one from the other, expelled the Jews. Why should not Nero expel the Christians? There would be more room in Rome without them. After that “floating feast” Petronius saw Nero daily, both on the Palatine and in other houses. To suggest such an idea was easy, for Nero never opposed suggestions which brought harm or ruin to any one. After mature decision Petronius framed a whole plan for himself. He would prepare a feast in his own house, and at this feast persuade Cæsar to issue an edict. He had even a hope, which was not barren, that Cæsar would confide the execution of the edict to him. He would send out Lygia with all the consideration proper to the mistress of Vinicius to Baiæ, for instance, and let them love and amuse themselves there with Christianity as much as they liked.
Meanwhile, he decided to watch over Vinicius and encourage him to go on the journey. For several days, he kept thinking that if he could get an order from Caesar to expel the Christians from Rome, Lygia would leave with the other followers of Christ, and then Vinicius would go too. There would be no need to persuade him after that. It was a possibility. In fact, not long ago, when the Jews caused trouble out of hatred for the Christians, Claudius, unable to tell them apart, expelled the Jews. So why wouldn’t Nero expel the Christians? There would be more space in Rome without them. After that “floating feast,” Petronius saw Nero daily, both on the Palatine and at other locations. Bringing up such an idea was easy because Nero never opposed proposals that caused harm or ruin to anyone. After careful consideration, Petronius devised a complete plan. He would host a feast at his own home and use it as an opportunity to persuade Caesar to issue the order. He even had a hopeful thought, which wasn’t unfounded, that Caesar would trust him to carry out the order. He would send Lygia away with all the respect due to Vinicius’s mistress to Baiæ, for instance, and let them love and enjoy their Christianity there as much as they wanted.
Meanwhile he visited Vinicius frequently, first, because he could not, despite all his Roman selfishness, rid himself of attachment to the young tribune, and second, because he wished to persuade him to the journey. Vinicius feigned sickness, and did not show himself on the Palatine, where new plans appeared every day. At last Petronius heard from Cæsar’s own lips that three days from then he would go to Antium without fail. Next morning he went straightway to inform Vinicius, who showed him a list of persons invited to Antium, which list one of Cæsar’s freedmen had brought him that morning.
Meanwhile, he visited Vinicius often, partly because he couldn't shake off his attachment to the young tribune despite all his Roman self-absorption, and partly because he wanted to convince him to go on the trip. Vinicius pretended to be sick and didn’t appear on the Palatine, where new plans popped up every day. Finally, Petronius heard directly from Cæsar that he would definitely be going to Antium in three days. The next morning, he went straight to inform Vinicius, who showed him a list of people invited to Antium, which one of Cæsar’s freedmen had brought him that morning.
“My name is on it; so is thine,” said he. “Thou wilt find the same at thy house on returning.”
“My name is on it; so is yours,” he said. “You’ll find the same at your house when you get back.”
“Were I not among the invited,” replied Petronius, “it would mean that I must die; I do not expect that to happen before the journey to Achæa. I shall be too useful to Nero. Barely have we come to Rome,” said he, on looking at the list, “when we must leave again, and drag over the road to Antium. But we must go, for this is not merely an invitation, it is a command as well.”
“If I weren't among the invitees,” replied Petronius, “it would mean I have to die; I don’t expect that to happen before the trip to Achæa. I'm going to be too useful to Nero. We've just arrived in Rome,” he said, glancing at the list, “and now we have to leave again and make the trip to Antium. But we have to go, because this isn’t just an invitation, it’s also a command.”
“And if some one would not obey?”
“And what if someone doesn’t want to obey?”
“He would be invited in another style to go on a journey notably longer,—one from which people do not return. What a pity that thou hast not obeyed my counsel and left Rome in season! Now thou must go to Antium.”
“He would be invited in a different way to go on a journey much longer—one from which people do not come back. What a shame that you didn’t follow my advice and leave Rome in time! Now you have to go to Antium.”
“I must go to Antium. See in what times we live and what vile slaves we are!”
“I need to go to Antium. Look at the times we live in and how we’ve become such vile slaves!”
“Hast thou noticed that only to-day?”
“Did you just notice that today?”
“No. But thou hast explained to me that Christian teaching is an enemy of life, since it shackles it. But can their shackles be stronger than those which we carry? Thou hast said, ‘Greece created wisdom and beauty, and Rome power.’ Where is our power?”
“No. But you’ve told me that Christian teaching is harmful to life because it restricts it. But can their restrictions be stronger than the ones we bear? You said, ‘Greece created wisdom and beauty, and Rome power.’ Where is our power?”
“Call Chilo and talk with him. I have no desire to-day to philosophize. By Hercules! I did not create these times, and I do not answer for them. Let us speak of Antium. Know that great danger is awaiting thee, and it would be better, perhaps, to measure strength with that Ursus who choked Croton than to go there, but still thou canst not refuse.”
“Call Chilo and talk to him. I’m not in the mood to think deeply today. By Hercules! I didn’t create these times, and I’m not responsible for them. Let’s discuss Antium. Just know that a great danger is waiting for you, and it might be better to go up against that Ursus who choked Croton than to head there, but still, you can’t refuse.”
Vinicius waved his hand carelessly, and said,—“Danger! We are all wandering in the shadow of death, and every moment some head sinks in its darkness.”
Vinicius waved his hand dismissively and said, “Danger! We’re all wandering in the shadow of death, and every moment, someone gets lost in that darkness.”
“Am I to enumerate all who had a little sense, and therefore, in spite of the times of Tiberius, Caligula, Claudius, and Nero, lived eighty and ninety years? Let even such a man as Domitius Afer serve thee as an example. He has grown old quietly, though all his life he has been a criminal and a villain.”
“Should I list everyone who had some common sense and, despite the times of Tiberius, Caligula, Claudius, and Nero, lived to be eighty or ninety years old? Let a person like Domitius Afer be an example for you. He has aged peacefully, even though he has been a criminal and a villain his entire life.”
“Perhaps for that very reason!” answered Vinicius.
“Maybe that's exactly why!” replied Vinicius.
Then he began to glance over the list and read: “Tigellinus, Vatinius, Sextus Africanus, Aquilinus Regulus, Suilius Nerulinus, Eprius Marcellus, and so on! What an assembly of ruffians and scoundrels! And to say that they govern the world! Would it not become them better to exhibit an Egyptian or Syrian divinity through villages, jingle sistra, and earn their bread by telling fortunes or dancing?”
Then he started to look over the list and read: “Tigellinus, Vatinius, Sextus Africanus, Aquilinus Regulus, Suilius Nerulinus, Eprius Marcellus, and so on! What a group of thugs and villains! And to think that they run the world! Wouldn’t it suit them better to showcase an Egyptian or Syrian god throughout the villages, shake sistra, and make a living by reading fortunes or dancing?”
“Or exhibiting learned monkeys, calculating dogs, or a flute-playing ass,” added Petronius. “That is true, but let us speak of something more important. Summon thy attention and listen. I have said on the Palatine that thou art ill, unable to leave the house; still thy name is on the list, which proves that some one does not credit my stories and has seen to this purposely. Nero cares nothing for the matter, since for him thou art a soldier, who has no conception of poetry or music, and with whom at the very highest he can talk only about races in the circus. So Poppæa must have seen to putting down thy name, which means that her desire for thee was not a passing whim, and that she wants to win thee.”
“Or showing off smart monkeys, calculating dogs, or a flute-playing donkey,” added Petronius. “That might be true, but let’s talk about something more important. Pay attention and listen. I mentioned on the Palatine that you’re sick and can’t leave the house; yet your name is still on the list, which means someone doesn’t believe my stories and has made sure of this. Nero doesn’t care about it, since to him you’re just a soldier who knows nothing about poetry or music, and with you, at most, he can only talk about races in the circus. So Poppæa must have arranged to keep your name on the list, indicating that her interest in you isn’t just a passing fancy and that she actually wants to win you over.”
“She is a daring Augusta.”
"She's a bold Augusta."
“Indeed she is daring, for she may ruin herself beyond redemption. May Venus inspire her, however, with another love as soon as possible; but since she desires thee thou must observe the very greatest caution. She has begun to weary Bronzebeard already; he prefers Rubria now, or Pythagoras, but, through consideration of self, he would wreak the most horrible vengeance on us.”
“She's definitely bold, because she could end up ruining herself for good. Hopefully, Venus will bless her with another love soon; but since she wants you, you need to be extremely careful. She's already starting to tire Bronzebeard; he now favors Rubria or Pythagoras, but out of self-interest, he would unleash the most terrible revenge on us.”
“In the grove I knew not that she was speaking to me; but thou wert listening. I said that I loved another, and did not wish her. Thou knowest that.”
"In the grove, I didn't realize she was talking to me; but you were listening. I said I loved someone else and didn't want her. You know that."
“I implore thee, by all the infernal gods, lose not the remnant of reason which the Christians have left in thee. How is it possible to hesitate, having a choice between probable and certain destruction? Have I not said already that if thou hadst wounded the Augusta’s vanity, there would have been no rescue for thee? By Hades! if life has grown hateful to thee, better open thy veins at once, or cast thyself on a sword, for shouldst thou offend Poppæa, a less easy death may meet thee. It was easier once to converse with thee. What concerns thee specially? Would this affair cause thee loss, or hinder thee from loving thy Lygia? Remember, besides, that Poppæa saw her on the Palatine. It will not be difficult for her to guess why thou art rejecting such lofty favor, and she will get Lygia even from under the earth. Thou wilt ruin not only thyself, but Lygia too. Dost understand?”
“I beg you, by all the infernal gods, don’t lose the last bit of reason that the Christians have left in you. How can you hesitate when faced with a choice between likely and certain destruction? Haven't I already said that if you'd hurt the Augusta's pride, there would be no way to save you? By Hades! If life has become unbearable for you, it's better to open your veins right now or throw yourself onto a sword, because if you offend Poppæa, a much worse death could await you. It used to be easier to talk to you. What matters to you specifically? Would this situation cause you to lose something, or keep you from loving your Lygia? Remember, too, that Poppæa saw her on the Palatine. It won’t be hard for her to figure out why you’re rejecting such a grand favor, and she could take Lygia even from the depths of the earth. You’ll not only ruin yourself, but Lygia as well. Do you understand?”
Vinicius listened as if thinking of something else, and at last he said,—
Vinicius listened as if he was thinking about something else, and finally he said,—
“I must see her.”
"I need to see her."
“Who? Lygia?”
“Who? Lygia?”
“Lygia.”
“Lygia.”
“Dost thou know where she is?”
"Do you know where she is?"
“No.”
“No.”
“Then thou wilt begin anew to search for her in old cemeteries and beyond the Tiber?”
“Then you will start searching for her again in old cemeteries and beyond the Tiber?”
“I know not, but I must see her.”
“I don’t know, but I have to see her.”
“Well, though she is a Christian, it may turn out that she has more judgment than thou; and it will certainly, unless she wishes thy ruin.”
"Well, even though she’s a Christian, she might have better judgment than you do; and it definitely will, unless she wants to see you fail."
Vinicius shrugged his shoulders. “She saved me from the hands of Ursus.”
Vinicius shrugged. "She rescued me from Ursus."
“Then hurry, for Bronzebeard will not postpone his departure. Sentences of death may be issued in Antium also.”
“Then hurry, because Bronzebeard won't delay his departure. Death sentences might be given in Antium too.”
But Vinicius did not hear. One thought alone occupied him, an interview with Lygia; hence he began to think over methods.
But Vinicius didn’t hear. One thought consumed him: an interview with Lygia; so he started to consider his options.
Meanwhile something intervened which might set aside every difficulty. Chilo came to his house unexpectedly.
Meanwhile, something happened that could resolve all the issues. Chilo unexpectedly showed up at his house.
He entered wretched and worn, with signs of hunger on his face and in rags; but the servants, who had the former command to admit him at all hours of the day or night, did not dare to detain him, so he went straight to the atrium, and standing before Vinicius said,—“May the gods give thee immortality, and share with thee dominion over the world.”
He came in looking miserable and exhausted, with signs of hunger on his face and dressed in rags; but the servants, who had been instructed to let him in at any hour of the day or night, didn't dare to stop him. So he went straight to the atrium and stood in front of Vinicius and said, “May the gods grant you immortality and share dominion over the world with you.”
Vinicius at the first moment wished to give the order to throw him out of doors; but the thought came to him that the Greek perhaps knew something of Lygia, and curiosity overcame his disgust.
Vinicius initially wanted to order him to be thrown out; however, the thought crossed his mind that the Greek might know something about Lygia, and curiosity won out over his disgust.
“Is that thou?” asked he. “What has happened to thee?”
“Is that you?” he asked. “What happened to you?”
“Evil, O son of Jove,” answered Chilo. “Real virtue is a ware for which no one inquires now, and a genuine sage must be glad of this even, that once in five days he has something with which to buy from the butcher a sheep’s head, to gnaw in a garret, washing it down with his tears. Ah, lord! What thou didst give me I paid Atractus for books, and afterward I was robbed and ruined. The slave who was to write down my wisdom fled, taking the remnant of what thy generosity bestowed on me. I am in misery, but I thought to myself: To whom can I go, if not to thee, O Serapis, whom I love and deify, for whom I have exposed my life?”
“Evil, oh son of Jove,” Chilo replied. “Real virtue is something no one cares about anymore, and a true sage should be grateful for even this: that once every five days, he has enough to buy a sheep’s head from the butcher, to gnaw on in a cramped space, washing it down with his tears. Ah, lord! What you gave me, I spent on books from Atractus, and then I was robbed and left with nothing. The servant who was supposed to record my wisdom ran away with the last of your generosity. I’m in despair, but I thought to myself: Where else can I turn, if not to you, oh Serapis, whom I adore and worship, for whom I’ve risked my life?”
“Why hast thou come, and what dost thou bring?”
“Why have you come, and what do you bring?”
“I come for aid, O Baal, and I bring my misery, my tears, my love, and finally the information which through love for thee I have collected. Thou rememberest, lord, I told thee once how I had given a slave of the divine Petronius one thread from the girdle of the Paphian Venus? I know now that it helped her, and thou, O descendant of the Sun, who knowest what is happening in that house, knowest also what Eunice is there. I have another such thread. I have preserved it for thee, lord.”
“I come for help, O Baal, and I bring my pain, my tears, my love, and finally the information I've gathered out of love for you. You remember, my lord, I once told you how I gave a slave of the divine Petronius one thread from the girdle of the Paphian Venus? I now know that it helped her, and you, O descendant of the Sun, who knows what's going on in that house, also know that Eunice is there. I have another thread like that. I've saved it for you, my lord.”
Here he stopped, on noticing the anger which was gathering on the brows of Vinicius, and said quickly, so as to anticipate the outburst,—
Here he paused when he noticed the anger building on Vinicius's brow and said quickly to head off the outburst,—
“I know where the divine Lygia is living; I will show thee the street and the house.”
“I know where Lygia is living; I’ll show you the street and the house.”
Vinicius repressed the emotion with which that news filled him, and said,—“Where is she?”
Vinicius pushed down the emotion that the news brought him and asked, "Where is she?"
“With Linus, the elder priest of the Christians. She is there with Ursus, who goes as before to the miller, a namesake of thy dispensator Demas. Yes, Demas! Ursus works in the night; so if thou surround the house at night, thou wilt not find him. Linus is old, and besides him there are only two aged women in the house.”
“With Linus, the older Christian priest. She’s there with Ursus, who goes as usual to the miller, a namesake of your steward Demas. Yes, Demas! Ursus works at night; so if you check around the house at night, you won’t find him. Linus is old, and besides him, there are only two elderly women in the house.”
“Whence dost thou know all this?”
“Where do you know all this from?”
“Thou rememberest, lord, that the Christians had me in their hands, and spared me. True, Glaucus was mistaken in thinking that I was the cause of his misfortunes; but he believed that I was, poor man, and he believes so yet. Still they spared me. Then be not astonished, lord, that gratitude filled my heart. I am a man of former, of better times. This was my thought: Am I to desert friends and benefactors? Would I not have been hard-hearted not to inquire about them, not to learn what was happening to them, how health was serving them, and where they were living? By the Pessinian Cybele! I am not capable of such conduct. At first I was restrained by fear that they might interpret my wishes incorrectly. But the love which I bore them proved greater than my fear, and the ease with which they forgive every injustice lent me special courage. But above all I was thinking of thee, lord. Our last attempt ended in defeat; but can such a son of Fortune be reconciled with defeat? So I prepared victory for thee. The house stands apart. Thou mayst give command to thy slaves to surround it so that not a mouse could escape. My lord, on thee alone it depends to have that magnanimous king’s daughter in thy house this very night. But should that happen, remember that the cause of it is the very poor and hungry son of my father.”
“Do you remember, my lord, that the Christians had me in their grasp and chose to spare me? It's true that Glaucus was wrong to think I was the reason for his troubles; he believed that I was, poor man, and he still believes it. Yet, they held back from hurting me. So, don't be surprised, my lord, that gratitude filled my heart. I’m a man from better times. I thought, should I abandon friends and benefactors? Wouldn't it be heartless not to check on them, to find out what’s happening to them, how they are doing, and where they are living? By the Pessinian Cybele! I can't act that way. At first, I held back because I was afraid they might misunderstand my intentions. But the love I had for them was stronger than my fear, and their willingness to forgive any wrongs gave me special courage. Above all, I was thinking of you, my lord. Our last attempt ended in failure, but can a person like you be satisfied with defeat? So, I prepared victory for you. The house is isolated. You can order your slaves to surround it so tightly that not even a mouse could escape. My lord, it’s entirely up to you to have that generous king’s daughter in your home tonight. But if that happens, remember that the cause is the very poor and hungry son of my father.”
The blood rushed to Vinicius’s head. Temptation shook all his being again. Yes; that was the method, and this time a certain one. Once he has Lygia in his house, who can take her? Once he makes Lygia his mistress, what will be left to her, unless to remain so forever? And let all religions perish! What will the Christians mean to him then, with their mercy and forbidding faith? Is it not time to shake himself free of all that? Is it not time to live as all live? What will Lygia do later, save to reconcile her fate with the religion which she professes? That, too, is a question of inferior significance. Those are matters devoid of importance. First of all, she will be his,—and his this very day. And it is a question, too, whether that religion will hold out in her soul against the world which is new to her, against luxury, and excitements to which she must yield. All may happen to-day. He needs only to detain Chilo, and give an order at dark. And then delight without end! “What has my life been?” thought Vinicius; “suffering, unsatisfied desire, and an endless propounding of problems without answer.” In this way all will be cut short and ended. He recollected, it is true, that he had promised not to raise a hand against her. But by what had he sworn? Not by the gods, for he did not believe in them; not by Christ, for he did not believe in him yet. Finally, if she feels injured, he will marry her, and thus repair the wrong. Yes; to that he feels bound, for to her he is indebted for life. Here he recalled the day in which with Croton he had attacked her retreat; he remembered the Lygian’s fist raised above him, and all that had happened later. He saw her again bent over his couch, dressed in the garb of a slave, beautiful as a divinity, a benefactress kind and glorified. His eyes passed to the lararium unconsciously, and to the little cross which she left him before going. Will he pay for all that by a new attack? Will he drag her by the hair as a slave to his cubiculum? And how will he be able to do so, since he not only desires but loves her, and he loves her specially because she is as she is? All at once he felt that it was not enough for him to have her in the house, it was not enough to seize her in his arms by superior force; he felt that his love needed something more,—her consent, her loves and her soul. Blessed that roof, if she come under it willingly; blessed the moment, blessed the day, blessed his life. Then the happiness of both will be as inexhaustible as the ocean, as the sun. But to seize her by violence would be to destroy that happiness forever, and at the same time to destroy, and defile that which is most precious and alone beloved in life. Terror seized him now at the very thought of this. He glanced at Chilo, who, while watching him, pushed his hands under his rags and scratched himself uneasily. That instant, disgust unspeakable took possession of Vinicius, and a wish to trample that former assistant of his, as he would a foul worm or venomous serpent. In an instant he knew what to do. But knowing no measure in anything, and following the impulse of his stern Roman nature, he turned toward Chilo and said,—
The blood rushed to Vinicius's head. Temptation shook him to his core again. Yes; this was the way, and this time it was certain. Once he has Lygia in his house, who can take her? Once he makes Lygia his mistress, what will be left for her, other than to stay that way forever? Let all religions perish! What will the Christians mean to him then, with their mercy and restrictive faith? Isn’t it time to free himself from all that? Isn’t it time to live like everyone else? What will Lygia do later, except reconcile her fate with the religion she practices? That’s a minor concern. Those things are unimportant. First of all, she will be his—and today! And it’s also a question of whether that religion will hold up in her soul against the new world, against luxury, and the temptations she must give in to. Anything could happen today. He just needs to keep Chilo around and give an order after dark. And then endless pleasure! “What has my life been?” thought Vinicius; “suffering, unfulfilled desire, and endless questions with no answers.” This way, everything will be cut short and resolved. He remembered that he had promised not to raise a hand against her. But what had he sworn by? Not by the gods, as he didn’t believe in them; not by Christ, as he didn’t believe in him yet. Besides, if she feels wronged, he could marry her and make things right. Yes; he feels obligated, because he owes her his life. He recalled the day he and Croton had attacked her refuge; he remembered Lygia’s fist raised above him and everything that happened afterward. He saw her again, leaning over his couch, dressed like a slave, beautiful like a goddess, a kind and exalted benefactor. His eyes drifted to the lararium unconsciously, and to the little cross she left him before leaving. Will he repay all that with a new attack? Will he drag her by the hair like a slave to his room? And how could he do that, since he not only desires her but loves her, and loves her especially for who she is? Suddenly, he realized that it wasn’t enough just to have her in his house, it wasn’t enough to seize her in his arms by force; he felt that his love needed something more—her consent, her love, and her soul. Blessed that roof, if she comes under it willingly; blessed the moment, blessed the day, blessed his life. Then their happiness will be as endless as the ocean, as the sun. But to take her by force would be to destroy that happiness forever, and at the same time to ruin and defile what is most precious and beloved in life. Terror seized him at the thought of this. He glanced at Chilo, who, while watching him, scratched himself uneasily under his rags. In that instant, Vinicius was filled with a deep disgust and a desire to crush this former assistant of his, like a filthy worm or venomous snake. In a flash, he knew what to do. But without any restraint, following the intense impulse of his stern Roman nature, he turned to Chilo and said,—
“I will not do what thou advisest, but, lest thou go without just reward, I will command to give thee three hundred stripes in the domestic prison.”
“I won’t follow your advice, but so you don’t leave without proper punishment, I’ll order that you receive three hundred lashes in the home prison.”
Chilo grew pale. There was so much cold resolution in the beautiful face of Vinicius that he could not deceive himself for a moment with the hope that the promised reward was no more than a cruel jest.
Chilo turned pale. There was such a cold determination in Vinicius's beautiful face that he couldn’t fool himself for even a second into thinking that the promised reward was anything more than a cruel joke.
Hence he threw himself on his knees in one instant, and bending double began to groan in a broken voice,—“How, O king of Persia? Why?—O pyramid of kindness! Colossus of mercy! For what?—I am old, hungry, unfortunate—I have served thee—dost thou repay in this manner?”
Hence he dropped to his knees in an instant, hunched over and started to groan in a shaky voice, “How, O king of Persia? Why?—O pyramid of kindness! Colossus of mercy! For what?—I am old, hungry, unfortunate—I have served you—do you repay me in this way?”
“As thou didst the Christians,” said Vinicius. And he called the dispensator.
“As you did with the Christians,” said Vinicius. And he called the steward.
But Chilo sprang toward his feet, and, embracing them convulsively, talked, while his face was covered with deathly pallor,—“O lord, O lord! I am old! Fifty, not three hundred stripes. Fifty are enough! A hundred, not three hundred! Oh, mercy, mercy!”
But Chilo jumped to his feet and, clutching them tightly, pleaded, his face pale as death—“Oh lord, oh lord! I'm old! Fifty, not three hundred stripes. Fifty is enough! A hundred, not three hundred! Oh, mercy, mercy!”
Vinicius thrust him away with his foot, and gave the order. In the twinkle of an eye two powerful Quadi followed the dispensator, and, seizing Chilo by the remnant of his hair, tied his own rags around his neck and dragged him to the prison.
Vinicius kicked him away and gave the command. In the blink of an eye, two strong Quadi rushed after the dispensator, grabbing Chilo by what was left of his hair, tying his own rags around his neck, and dragging him to the prison.
“In the name of Christ!” called the Greek, at the exit of the corridor.
“In the name of Christ!” shouted the Greek, at the end of the hallway.
Vinicius was left alone. The order just issued roused and enlivened him. He endeavored to collect his scattered thoughts, and bring them to order. He felt great relief, and the victory which he had gained over himself filled him with comfort. He thought that he had made some great approach toward Lygia, and that some high reward should be given him. At the first moment it did not even occur to him that he had done a grievous wrong to Chilo, and had him flogged for the very acts for which he had rewarded him previously. He was too much of a Roman yet to be pained by another man’s suffering, and to occupy his attention with one wretched Greek. Had he even thought of Chilo’s suffering he would have considered that he had acted properly in giving command to punish such a villain. But he was thinking of Lygia, and said to her: I will not pay thee with evil for good; and when thou shalt learn how I acted with him who strove to persuade me to raise hands against thee, thou wilt be grateful. But here he stopped at this thought: Would Lygia praise his treatment of Chilo? The religion which she professes commands forgiveness; nay, the Christians forgave the villain, though they had greater reasons for revenge. Then for the first time was heard in his soul the cry: “In the name of Christ!” He remembered then that Chilo had ransomed himself from the hands of Ursus with such a cry, and he determined to remit the remainder of the punishment.
Vinicius was left alone. The recent order energized him and filled him with excitement. He tried to gather his scattered thoughts and organize them. He felt a sense of relief, and the victory he achieved over himself brought him comfort. He believed he had made significant progress toward Lygia and deserved some kind of reward. At first, it didn’t even cross his mind that he had wronged Chilo, whipping him for the very actions for which he had previously rewarded him. He was still too much of a Roman to be bothered by another person's suffering, focusing instead on one miserable Greek. Even if he had thought about Chilo’s pain, he would have justified his decision to punish such a villain. But he was thinking of Lygia and told her: I won’t repay your good with evil; and when you learn how I dealt with the man who tried to persuade me to harm you, you will be grateful. However, he paused at that thought: Would Lygia commend his treatment of Chilo? The religion she followed demanded forgiveness; indeed, Christians forgave wrongdoers, even when they had greater reasons to seek revenge. Then, for the first time, he felt the echo within him: “In the name of Christ!” He recalled that Chilo had freed himself from Ursus with that very cry and resolved to lessen the remainder of the punishment.
With that object he was going to summon the dispensator, when that person stood before him, and said,—“Lord, the old man has fainted, and perhaps he is dead. Am I to command further flogging?”
With that object, he was about to call for the dispensator when that person appeared and said, “Lord, the old man has fainted, and he might be dead. Should I order more flogging?”
“Revive him and bring him before me.”
“Bring him back and bring him to me.”
The chief of the atrium vanished behind the curtain, but the revival could not have been easy, for Vinicius waited a long time and was growing impatient, when the slaves brought in Chilo, and disappeared at a signal.
The head of the atrium disappeared behind the curtain, but the comeback couldn’t have been easy, because Vinicius waited a long time and was getting impatient, when the slaves brought in Chilo and left at a signal.
Chilo was as pale as linen, and down his legs threads of blood were flowing to the mosaic pavement of the atrium. He was conscious, however, and, falling on his knees, began to speak, with extended hands,—“Thanks to thee, lord. Thou art great and merciful.”
Chilo was as pale as linen, and blood was streaming down his legs onto the mosaic pavement of the atrium. He was conscious, though, and, dropping to his knees, he began to speak, with his hands outstretched—“Thank you, my lord. You are great and merciful.”
“Dog,” said Vinicius, “know that I forgave thee because of that Christ to whom I owe my own life.”
“Dog,” Vinicius said, “know that I forgave you because of that Christ to whom I owe my own life.”
“O lord, I will serve Him and thee.”
“O Lord, I will serve Him and You.”
“Be silent and listen. Rise! Thou wilt go and show me the house in which Lygia dwells.”
“Be quiet and listen. Get up! You will go and show me the house where Lygia lives.”
Chilo sprang up; but he was barely on his feet when he grew more deathly pale yet, and said in a failing voice,—“Lord, I am really hungry—I will go, lord, I will go! but I have not the strength. Command to give me even remnants from the plate of thy dog, and I will go.”
Chilo jumped up, but he was barely standing when he turned even paler and said in a weak voice, “Lord, I’m really hungry—I’ll go, lord, I’ll go! But I don’t have the strength. Just order someone to give me even the scraps from your dog’s plate, and I’ll go.”
Vinicius commanded to give him food, a piece of gold, and a mantle. But Chilo, weakened by stripes and hunger, could not go to take food, though terror raised the hair on his head, lest Vinicius might mistake his weakness for stubbornness and command to flog him anew.
Vinicius ordered that he be given food, a piece of gold, and a cloak. But Chilo, weakened by beatings and hunger, was unable to get the food, afraid that Vinicius might misinterpret his weakness as defiance and order him to be whipped again.
“Only let wine warm me,” repeated he, with chattering teeth, “I shall be able to go at once, even to Magna Græcia.”
“Just let wine warm me,” he said again, his teeth chattering, “and I’ll be able to go right away, even to Magna Græcia.”
He regained some strength after a time, and they went out.
He got some strength back after a while, and they went out.
The way was long, for, like the majority of Christians, Linus dwelt in the Trans-Tiber, and not far from Miriam. At last Chilo showed Vinicius a small house, standing apart, surrounded by a wall covered entirely with ivy, and said,
The journey was long, because, like most Christians, Linus lived in the Trans-Tiber area, not far from Miriam. Eventually, Chilo pointed out a small house to Vinicius, set apart and enclosed by a wall completely covered in ivy, and said,
“Here it is, lord.”
“Here it is, my lord.”
“Well,” said Vinicius, “go thy way now, but listen first to what I tell thee. Forget that thou hast served me; forget where Miriam, Peter, and Glaucus dwell; forget also this house, and all Christians. Thou wilt come every month to my house, where Demas, my freedman, will pay thee two pieces of gold. But shouldst thou spy further after Christians, I will have thee flogged, or delivered into the hands of the prefect of the city.”
“Well,” said Vinicius, “go on your way now, but first listen to what I have to say to you. Forget that you have served me; forget where Miriam, Peter, and Glaucus live; forget this house, and all Christians too. You will come every month to my place, where Demas, my freedman, will pay you two pieces of gold. But if you try to look for Christians again, I will have you whipped or handed over to the city prefect.”
Chilo bowed down, and said,—“I will forget.”
Chilo bowed and said, "I will forget."
But when Vinicius vanished beyond the corner of the street, he stretched his hands after him, and, threatening with his fists, exclaimed,—“By Ate and the Furies! I will not forget!”
But when Vinicius disappeared around the corner of the street, he reached out his hands after him and, shaking his fists, shouted, “By Ate and the Furies! I won’t forget!”
Then he grew faint again.
Then he fainted again.
Chapter XXXIII
VINICIUS went directly to the house in which Miriam lived. Before the gate he met Nazarius, who was confused at sight of him; but greeting the lad cordially, he asked to be conducted to his mother’s lodgings.
VINICIUS went straight to the house where Miriam lived. In front of the gate, he ran into Nazarius, who looked confused to see him; but he greeted the young man warmly and asked to be shown to his mother's place.
Besides Miriam, Vinicius found Peter, Glaucus, Crispus, and Paul of Tarsus, who had returned recently from Fregellæ. At sight of the young tribune, astonishment was reflected on all faces; but he said,—“I greet you in the name of Christ, whom ye honor.”
Besides Miriam, Vinicius found Peter, Glaucus, Crispus, and Paul of Tarsus, who had recently returned from Fregellæ. When they saw the young tribune, everyone looked surprised; but he said, “I greet you in the name of Christ, whom you honor.”
“May His name be glorified forever!” answered they.
“May His name be praised forever!” they replied.
“I have seen your virtue and experienced your kindness, hence I come as a friend.”
“I’ve seen your goodness and felt your kindness, so I’m here as a friend.”
“And we greet thee as a friend,” answered Peter. “Sit down, lord, and partake of our refreshment, as a guest.”
“And we greet you as a friend,” answered Peter. “Please, sit down, my lord, and enjoy our refreshments as our guest.”
“I will sit down and share your repast; but first listen to me, thou Peter, and thou Paul of Tarsus, so that ye may know my sincerity. I know where Lygia is. I have returned from before the house of Linus, which is near this dwelling. I have a right to her given me by Cæsar. I have at my houses in the city nearly five hundred slaves. I might surround her hiding-place and seize her; still I have not done so, and will not.”
“I will sit down and share your meal; but first listen to me, you Peter and you Paul of Tarsus, so that you can understand my sincerity. I know where Lygia is. I just came from the house of Linus, which is close to this place. I have a right to her granted to me by Caesar. I have nearly five hundred slaves in my houses in the city. I could surround her hiding place and take her; still, I haven’t done that and won’t.”
“For this reason the blessing of the Lord will be upon thee, and thy heart will be purified,” said Peter.
“For this reason, the Lord's blessing will be on you, and your heart will be cleansed,” said Peter.
“I thank thee. But listen to me further: I have not done so, though I am living in suffering and sadness. Before I knew you, I should have taken her undoubtedly, and held her by force; but your virtue and your religion, though I do not profess it, have changed something in my soul, so that I do not venture on violence. I know not myself why this is so, but it is so; hence I come to you, for ye take the place of Lygia’s father and mother, and I say to you: Give her to me as wife, and I swear that not only will I not forbid her to confess Christ, but I will begin myself to learn His religion.”
“Thank you. But listen to me more: I haven’t acted that way, even though I’m living in pain and sadness. Before I met you, I would have definitely taken her and held her against her will; but your goodness and your faith, even though I don’t share it, have changed something in me, so I don’t resort to violence. I don’t even know why this is, but it is. That’s why I come to you, to take the place of Lygia’s father and mother, and I say to you: Give her to me as my wife, and I swear that not only will I not stop her from following Christ, but I will even start learning His faith myself.”
He spoke with head erect and decisively; but still he was moved, and his legs trembled beneath his mantle. When silence followed his words, he continued, as if wishing to anticipate an unfavorable answer,—
He spoke confidently with his head held high; yet he was still shaken, and his legs trembled under his cloak. When silence followed his words, he pressed on, as if trying to preempt an unwelcome response,—
“I know what obstacles exist, but I love her as my own eyes; and though I am not a Christian yet, I am neither your enemy nor Christ’s. I wish to be sincere, so that you may trust me. At this moment it is a question of life with me, still I tell you the truth. Another might say, Baptize me; I say, Enlighten me. I believe that Christ rose from the dead, for people say so who love the truth, and who saw Him after death. I believe, for I have seen myself, that your religion produces virtue, justice, and mercy,—not crime, which is laid to your charge. I have not known your religion much so far. A little from you, a little from your works, a little from Lygia, a little from conversations with you. Still I repeat that it has made some change in me. Formerly I held my servants with an iron hand; I cannot do so now. I knew no pity; I know it now. I was fond of pleasure; the other night I fled from the pond of Agrippa, for the breath was taken from me through disgust. Formerly I believed in superior force; now I have abandoned it. Know ye that I do not recognize myself. I am disgusted by feasts, wine, singing, citharæ, garlands, the court of Cæsar, naked bodies, and every crime. When I think that Lygia is like snow in the mountains, I love her the more; and when I think that she is what she is through your religion, I love and desire that religion. But since I understand it not, since I know not whether I shall be able to live according to it, nor whether my nature can endure it, I am in uncertainty and suffering, as if I were in prison.”
“I know what challenges are out there, but I love her like my own eyes; and even though I’m not a Christian yet, I’m not your enemy or Christ’s. I want to be honest, so that you can trust me. Right now, it’s a matter of life and death for me, yet I’m telling you the truth. Some might say, Baptize me; I say, Enlighten me. I believe that Christ rose from the dead because people who love the truth and saw Him after He died say so. I believe, because I have seen it myself, that your religion brings about virtue, justice, and mercy—not the crimes that you are accused of. I haven’t known much about your religion until now—just a little from you, a little from your works, a little from Lygia, and a little from our conversations. Still, I have to repeat that it has changed me. Before, I held my servants with an iron fist; I can’t do that anymore. I knew no compassion; now I do. I used to love pleasure; just the other night I ran away from Agrippa’s pond because I was so disgusted I could hardly breathe. Before, I believed in the power of force; now I’ve abandoned that. Know that I don’t recognize myself. I’m revolted by feasts, wine, singing, citharas, garlands, the court of Caesar, naked bodies, and every crime. When I think of Lygia, pure like snow in the mountains, I love her more; and when I think of her as a reflection of your religion, I love and desire that religion. But since I don’t understand it, and I don’t know if I can live by it, or if my nature can handle it, I’m left in doubt and pain, as if I were in prison.”
Here his brows met in wrinkle of pain, and a flush appeared on his cheeks; after that he spoke on with growing haste and greater emotion,—
Here, his brows furrowed in pain, and a flush appeared on his cheeks; after that, he spoke with increasing urgency and deeper emotion,—
“As ye see, I am tortured from love and uncertainty. Men tell me that in your religion there is no place for life, or human joy, or happiness, or law, or order, or authority, or Roman dominion. Is this true? Men tell me that ye are madmen; but tell me yourselves what ye bring. Is it a sin to love, a sin to feel joy, a sin to want happiness? Are ye enemies of life? Must a Christian be wretched? Must I renounce Lygia? What is truth in your view? Your deeds and words are like transparent water, but what is under that water? Ye see that I am sincere. Scatter the darkness. Men say this to me also: Greece created beauty and wisdom, Rome created power; but they—what do they bring? Tell, then, what ye bring. If there is brightness beyond your doors, open them.”
“As you can see, I’m tormented by love and uncertainty. People tell me that in your religion there’s no room for life, human joy, happiness, law, order, authority, or Roman rule. Is that true? People say you’re mad; but tell me yourselves what you offer. Is it a sin to love, to feel joy, to want happiness? Are you enemies of life? Must a Christian be miserable? Must I give up Lygia? What is truth in your eyes? Your actions and words seem clear, but what lies beneath that clarity? You see that I am genuine. Clear away the darkness. People also say this to me: Greece created beauty and wisdom, Rome created power; but what do you bring? So tell me, what do you offer? If there’s light beyond your doors, open them.”
“We bring love,” said Peter.
"We bring love," Peter said.
And Paul of Tarsus added,—“If I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am become sounding brass.”
And Paul of Tarsus added, “If I speak in the languages of people and of angels, but don’t have love, I’m just a noisy gong.”
But the heart of the old Apostle was stirred by that soul in suffering, which, like a bird in a cage, was struggling toward air and the sun; hence, stretching his hand to Vinicius, he said,—“Whoso knocketh, to him will be opened. The favor and grace of God is upon thee; for this reason I bless thee, thy soul and thy love, in the name of the Redeemer of mankind.”
But the heart of the old Apostle was moved by that suffering soul, which, like a bird in a cage, was struggling for air and sunlight; so he reached out to Vinicius and said, “Whoever knocks will have the door opened for them. God's favor and grace are upon you; for this reason, I bless you, your soul, and your love, in the name of the Redeemer of humanity.”
Vinicius, who had spoken with enthusiasm already, sprang toward Peter on hearing this blessing, and an uncommon thing happened. That descendant of Quirites, who till recently had not recognized humanity in a foreigner, seized the hand of the old Galilean, and pressed it in gratitude to his lips.
Vinicius, who had already spoken with excitement, rushed over to Peter upon hearing this blessing, and something unusual happened. That descendant of the Quirites, who until recently had not acknowledged humanity in a foreigner, grabbed the hand of the old Galilean and pressed it gratefully to his lips.
Peter was pleased; for he understood that his sowing had fallen on an additional field, that his fishing-net had gathered in a new soul.
Peter was happy because he realized that his efforts had reached another area, that his fishing net had caught a new soul.
Those present, not less pleased by that evident expression of honor for the Apostle of God, exclaimed in one voice,—“Praise to the Lord in the highest!”
Those who were there, equally delighted by that clear show of respect for the Apostle of God, all exclaimed together, “Praise be to the Lord in the highest!”
Vinicius rose with a radiant face, and began,—“I see that happiness may dwell among you, for I feel happy, and I think that ye can convince me of other things in the same way. But I will add that this cannot happen in Rome. Cæsar is going to Antium and I must go with him, for I have the order. Ye know that not to obey is death. But if I have found favor in your eyes, go with me to teach your truth. It will be safer for you than for me. Even in that great throng of people, ye can announce your truth in the very court of Cæsar. They say that Acte is a Christian; and there are Christians among pretorians even, for I myself have seen soldiers kneeling before thee, Peter, at the Nomentan gate. In Antium I have a villa where we shall assemble to hear your teaching, at the side of Nero. Glaucus told me that ye are ready to go to the end of the earth for one soul; so do for me what ye have done for those for whose sake ye have come from Judea,—do it, and desert not my soul.”
Vinicius got up with a bright smile and said, “I can see that happiness can be found among you, because I feel happy, and I believe you can convince me of other things in the same way. But I should mention that this can't happen in Rome. Caesar is headed to Antium, and I must go with him, as it's an order I've received. You know that not obeying means death. But if I've gained your favor, come with me to share your truth. It will be safer for you than for me. Even in that huge crowd, you can share your message right in Caesar's court. They say that Acte is a Christian, and there are even Christians among the pretorians, because I've seen soldiers kneeling before you, Peter, at the Nomentan gate. In Antium, I have a villa where we can gather to hear your teachings, right next to Nero. Glaucus told me that you would go to the ends of the earth for just one soul, so please do for me what you have done for those for whom you came from Judea—do it, and don’t abandon my soul.”
Hearing this, they began to take counsel, thinking with delight of the victory of their religion, and of the significance for the pagan world which the conversion of an Augustian, and a descendant of one of the oldest Roman families, would have. They were ready, indeed, to wander to the end of the earth for one human soul, and since the death of the Master they had, in fact, done nothing else; hence a negative answer did not even come to their minds. Peter was at that moment the pastor of a whole multitude, hence he could not go; but Paul of Tarsus, who had been in Aricium and Fregellæ not long before, and who was preparing for a long journey to the East to visit churches there and freshen them with a new spirit of zeal, consented to accompany the young tribune to Antium. It was easy to find a ship there going to Grecian waters.
Hearing this, they started to discuss it, imagining the joy of their religion’s victory and the importance it would have for the pagan world if an Augustian, from one of the oldest Roman families, converted. They were truly willing to travel to the ends of the earth for just one soul, and since the death of the Master, they had done nothing but that; so the thought of a negative response didn’t even cross their minds. At that moment, Peter was leading a large crowd, so he couldn’t go; but Paul of Tarsus, who had recently been in Aricium and Fregellæ and was planning a long trip to the East to visit churches and inspire them with renewed zeal, agreed to accompany the young tribune to Antium. It was easy to find a ship headed for Greek waters there.
Vinicius, though sad because Peter, to whom he owed so much, could not visit Antium, thanked him with gratitude, and then turned to the old Apostle with his last request,—“Knowing Lygia’s dwelling,” said he, “I might have gone to her and asked, as is proper, whether she would take me as husband should my soul become Christian, but I prefer to ask thee, O Apostle! Permit me to see her, or take me thyself to her. I know not how long I shall be in Antium; and remember that near Cæsar no one is sure of to-morrow. Petronius himself told me that I should not be altogether safe there. Let me see her before I go; let me delight my eyes with her; and let me ask her if she will forget my evil and return good.”
Vinicius, feeling sad because Peter, to whom he owed so much, couldn't visit Antium, thanked him sincerely. He then turned to the old Apostle with his final request. "Knowing Lygia's home," he said, "I could have gone to her and asked, as is proper, if she would accept me as her husband if my soul becomes Christian. But I prefer to ask you, O Apostle! Allow me to see her, or take me to her yourself. I don't know how long I'll be in Antium, and remember that near Caesar, no one is sure about tomorrow. Petronius himself told me that I wouldn’t be completely safe there. Let me see her before I leave; let me enjoy the sight of her, and let me ask her if she will forget my wrongs and return kindness."
Peter smiled kindly and said,—“But who could refuse thee a proper joy, my son?”
Peter smiled kindly and said, "But who could deny you a true joy, my son?"
Vinicius stooped again to Peter’s hands, for he could not in any way restrain his overflowing heart. The Apostle took him by the temples and said,—“Have no fear of Cæsar, for I tell thee that a hair will not fall from thy head.”
Vinicius bent down again to Peter's hands, unable to contain his overflowing emotions. The Apostle took him by the temples and said, "Don't be afraid of Caesar, because I promise you that not a single hair will fall from your head."
He sent Miriam for Lygia, telling her not to say who was with them, so as to give the maiden more delight.
He sent Miriam to get Lygia, asking her not to reveal who was with them, to give the young woman more joy.
It was not far; so after a short time those in the chamber saw among the myrtles of the garden Miriam leading Lygia by the hand.
It wasn't far, so after a little while, those in the room saw Miriam leading Lygia by the hand through the myrtles in the garden.
Vinicius wished to run forth to meet her; but at sight of that beloved form happiness took his strength, and he stood with beating heart, breathless, barely able to keep his feet, a hundred times more excited than when for the first time in life he heard the Parthian arrows whizzing round his head.
Vinicius wanted to run to her, but as soon as he saw her beloved figure, joy overwhelmed him, and he stood there with a racing heart, breathless, barely able to stay on his feet, a hundred times more thrilled than when he first heard the Parthian arrows whizzing around his head.
She ran in, unsuspecting; but at sight of him she halted as if fixed to the earth. Her face flushed, and then became very pale; she looked with astonished and frightened eyes on those present.
She ran in, unaware; but when she saw him, she stopped as if rooted to the spot. Her face turned red, then very pale; she looked at the people there with wide, frightened eyes.
But round about she saw clear glances, full of kindness. The Apostle Peter approached her and asked,—“Lygia, dost thou love him as ever?”
But around her, she saw warm looks, full of kindness. The Apostle Peter approached her and asked, “Lygia, do you still love him?”
A moment of silence followed. Her lips began to quiver like those of a child who is preparing to cry, who feels that it is guilty, but sees that it must confess the guilt.
A moment of silence passed. Her lips started to tremble like a child's about to cry, knowing it’s wrong, but realizing it has to admit the wrongdoing.
“Answer,” said the Apostle.
“Answer,” said the Apostle.
Then, with humility, obedience, and fear in her voice, she whispered, kneeling at the knees of Peter,—“I do.”
Then, with humility, obedience, and fear in her voice, she whispered, kneeling at Peter's knees, “I do.”
In one moment Vinicius knelt at her side. Peter placed his hands on their heads, and said,—“Love each other in the Lord and to His glory, for there is no sin in your love.”
In one moment, Vinicius knelt beside her. Peter placed his hands on their heads and said, “Love each other in the Lord and for His glory, because there’s no sin in your love.”
Chapter XXXIV
WHILE walking with Lygia through the garden, Vinicius described briefly, in words from the depth of his heart, that which a short time before he had confessed to the Apostles,—that is, the alarm of his soul, the changes which had taken place in him, and, finally, that immense yearning which had veiled life from him, beginning with the hour when he left Miriam’s dwelling. He confessed to Lygia that he had tried to forget her, but was not able. He thought whole days and nights of her. That little cross of boxwood twigs which she had left reminded him of her,—that cross, which he had placed in the lararium and revered involuntarily as something divine. And he yearned more and more every moment, for love was stronger than he, and had seized his soul altogether, even when he was at the house of Aulus. The Parcæ weave the thread of life for others; but love, yearning, and melancholy had woven it for him. His acts had been evil, but they had their origin in love. He had loved her when she was in the house of Aulus, when she was on the Palatine, when he saw her in Ostrianum listening to Peter’s words, when he went with Croton to carry her away, when she watched at his bedside, and when she deserted him. Then came Chilo, who discovered her dwelling, and advised him to seize her a second time; but he chose to punish Chilo, and go to the Apostles to ask for truth and for her. And blessed be that moment in which such a thought came to his head, for now he is at her side, and she will not flee from him, as the last time she fled from the house of Miriam.
WHILE walking with Lygia through the garden, Vinicius shared briefly, with genuine emotion, what he had recently confessed to the Apostles—that deep anxiety within him, the changes he had experienced, and that overwhelming longing that had clouded his life since the moment he left Miriam’s home. He admitted to Lygia that he had tried to forget her but couldn't. He thought about her day and night. That small cross made of boxwood twigs she had left reminded him of her—he had placed it in the shrine and revered it instinctively as something sacred. His longing grew stronger with each moment because love was more powerful than he was and had completely captured his soul, even when he was at Aulus's house. The Fates weave the thread of life for others; but love, yearning, and sadness had woven it for him. His actions had been wrong, but they stemmed from love. He had loved her when she was at Aulus's house, when she was on the Palatine, when he saw her in Ostrianum listening to Peter speak, when he went with Croton to rescue her, when she watched over him while he was ill, and when she abandoned him. Then came Chilo, who discovered her whereabouts and urged him to take her again; but he chose to punish Chilo and go to the Apostles to seek the truth and her. And blessed be that moment when such a thought crossed his mind, for now he is by her side, and she will not run away from him, as she did the last time she escaped from Miriam's house.
“I did not flee from thee,” said Lygia.
“I didn’t run away from you,” said Lygia.
“Then why didst thou go?”
“Then why did you go?”
She raised her iris-colored eyes to him, and, bending her blushing face, said,—“Thou knowest—”
She lifted her violet-colored eyes to him and, lowering her flushed face, said, “You know—”
Vinicius was silent for a moment from excess of happiness, and began again to speak, as his eyes were opened gradually to this,—that she was different utterly from Roman women, and resembled Pomponia alone. Besides, he could not explain this to her clearly, for he could not define his feeling,—that beauty of a new kind altogether was coming to the world in her, such beauty as had not been in it thus far; beauty which is not merely a statue, but a spirit. He told her something, however, which filled her with delight,—that he loved her just because she had fled from him, and that she would be sacred to him at his hearth. Then, seizing her hand, he could not continue; he merely gazed on her with rapture as on his life’s happiness which he had won, and repeated her name, as if to assure himself that he had found her and was near her.
Vinicius was silent for a moment, overwhelmed with happiness, and then started to speak again, gradually realizing that she was completely different from Roman women and resembled only Pomponia. Besides, he couldn’t clearly explain this to her because he couldn’t define his feelings—there was a new kind of beauty coming into the world through her, a beauty that had never existed before; a beauty that wasn’t just a statue but a spirit. He told her something that made her really happy—that he loved her precisely because she had run away from him, and that she would be sacred to him at his home. Then, taking her hand, he couldn’t go on; he just gazed at her with joy, feeling that he had found his life's happiness, and he repeated her name, as if to reassure himself that he had found her and was close to her.
“Oh, Lygia, Lygia!”
“Oh, Lygia!”
At last he inquired what had taken place in her mind, and she confessed that she had loved him while in the house of Aulus, and that if he had taken her back to them from the Palatine she would have told them of her love and tried to soften their anger against him.
At last he asked what was going on in her mind, and she admitted that she had loved him while at Aulus's place, and that if he had taken her back to them from the Palatine, she would have told them about her love and tried to ease their anger toward him.
“I swear to thee,” said Vinicius, “that it had not even risen in my mind to take thee from Aulus. Petronius will tell thee sometime that I told him then how I loved and wished to marry thee. ‘Let her anoint my door with wolf fat, and let her sit at my hearth,’ said I to him. But he ridiculed me, and gave Cæsar the idea of demanding thee as a hostage and giving thee to me. How often in my sorrow have I cursed him; but perhaps fate ordained thus, for otherwise I should not have known the Christians, and should not have understood thee.”
“I swear to you,” Vinicius said, “that it never crossed my mind to take you away from Aulus. Petronius will tell you sometime that I mentioned to him how much I loved you and wanted to marry you. ‘Let her anoint my door with wolf fat, and let her sit by my fire,’ I said to him. But he just laughed at me and suggested to Caesar that he demand you as a hostage and give you to me. How many times in my sorrow have I cursed him; but maybe it was fate’s plan, because otherwise I wouldn’t have met the Christians, and wouldn’t have understood you.”
“Believe me, Marcus,” replied Lygia, “it was Christ who led thee to Himself by design.”
“Believe me, Marcus,” Lygia replied, “it was Christ who brought you to Him on purpose.”
Vinicius raised his head with a certain astonishment.
Vinicius lifted his head in surprise.
“True,” answered he, with animation. “Everything fixed itself so marvellously that in seeking thee I met the Christians. In Ostrianum I listened to the Apostle with wonder, for I had never heard such words. And there thou didst pray for me?”
“True,” he replied, animatedly. “Everything worked out so wonderfully that in looking for you, I encountered the Christians. In Ostrianum, I listened to the Apostle in amazement, because I had never heard such words. And it was there that you prayed for me?”
“I did,” answered Lygia.
"I did," replied Lygia.
They passed near the summer-house covered with thick ivy, and approached the place where Ursus, after stifling Croton, threw himself upon Vinicius.
They walked past the summer house, which was covered in thick ivy, and got closer to the spot where Ursus, after dealing with Croton, threw himself onto Vinicius.
“Here,” said the young man, “I should have perished but for thee.”
“Here,” said the young man, “I would have died if it weren't for you.”
“Do not mention that,” answered Lygia, “and do not speak of it to Ursus.”
“Let’s not talk about that,” Lygia replied, “and don’t bring it up with Ursus.”
“Could I be revenged on him for defending thee? Had he been a slave, I should have given him freedom straightway.”
“Could I really take revenge on him for defending you? If he had been a slave, I would have set him free right away.”
“Had he been a slave, Aulus would have freed him long ago.”
“もし彼が奴隷なら、アウルスはとっくに彼を解放していただろう。”
“Dost thou remember,” asked Vinicius, “that I wished to take thee back to Aulus, but the answer was, that Cæsar might hear of it and take revenge on Aulus and Pomponia? Think of this: thou mayst see them now as often as thou wishest.”
“Do you remember,” Vinicius asked, “that I wanted to take you back to Aulus, but the response was that Caesar might hear about it and seek revenge on Aulus and Pomponia? Consider this: you can see them now as often as you want.”
“How, Marcus?”
"How, Marcus?"
“I say ‘now,’ and I think that thou wilt be able to see them without danger, when thou art mine. For should Cæsar hear of this, and ask what I did with the hostage whom he gave me, I should say ‘I married her, and she visits the house of Aulus with my consent.’ He will not remain long in Antium, for he wishes to go to Achæa; and even should he remain, I shall not need to see him daily. When Paul of Tarsus teaches me your faith, I will receive baptism at once, I will come here, gain the friendship of Aulus and Pomponia, who will return to the city by that time, and there will be no further hindrance, I will seat thee at my hearth. Oh, carissima! carissima!”
“I say ‘now,’ and I think you’ll be able to see them without any danger when you are mine. If Cæsar hears about this and asks what I did with the hostage he gave me, I’ll say ‘I married her, and she visits Aulus's house with my consent.’ He won’t stay long in Antium because he wants to go to Achæa; and even if he does stay, I won’t need to see him every day. When Paul of Tarsus teaches me your faith, I’ll get baptized right away, come here, win the friendship of Aulus and Pomponia, who will have returned to the city by then, and there won’t be any more obstacles. I’ll seat you at my hearth. Oh, dearest! dearest!”
And he stretched forth his hand, as if taking Heaven as witness of his love; and Lygia, raising her clear eyes to him, said,—
And he reached out his hand, as if to take Heaven as a witness of his love; and Lygia, looking up at him with her clear eyes, said,—
“And then I shall say, ‘Wherever thou art, Caius, there am I, Caia.’”
“And then I’ll say, ‘Wherever you are, Caius, there I am, Caia.’”
“No, Lygia,” cried Vinicius, “I swear to thee that never has woman been so honored in the house of her husband as thou shalt be in mine.”
“No, Lygia,” Vinicius exclaimed, “I promise you that no woman has ever been so cherished in her husband’s home as you will be in mine.”
For a time they walked on in silence, without being able to take in with their breasts their happiness, in love with each other, like two deities, and as beautiful as if spring had given them to the world with the flowers.
For a while, they walked in silence, unable to fully embrace their happiness, in love with each other, like two gods, as beautiful as if spring had gifted them to the world along with the flowers.
They halted at last under the cypress growing near the entrance of the house. Lygia leaned against his breast, and Vinicius began to entreat again with a trembling voice,—“Tell Ursus to go to the house of Aulus for thy furniture and playthings of childhood.”
They finally stopped under the cypress tree near the entrance of the house. Lygia leaned against him, and Vinicius started to plead again with a shaky voice, “Tell Ursus to go to Aulus's house for your furniture and childhood toys.”
But she, blushing like a rose or like the dawn, answered,—“Custom commands otherwise.”
But she, blushing like a rose or like the early morning, replied, “Tradition says otherwise.”
“I know that. The pronuba [The matron who accompanies the bride and explains to her the duties of a wife] usually brings them behind the bride, but do this for me. I will take them to my villa in Antium, and they will remind me of thee.”
“I know that. The matron who accompanies the bride usually brings them behind her, but do this for me. I will take them to my villa in Antium, and they will remind me of you.”
Here he placed his hands together and repeated, like a child who is begging for something,—“It will be some days before Pomponia returns; so do this, diva, do this, carissima.”
Here he put his hands together and repeated, like a kid who is asking for something, —“It'll be a few days before Pomponia gets back; so please do this, diva, please do this, carissima.”
“But Pomponia will do as she likes,” answered Lygia, blushing still more deeply at mention of the pronuba.
“But Pomponia will do what she wants,” responded Lygia, blushing even more at the mention of the pronuba.
And again they were silent, for love had begun to stop the breath in their breasts. Lygia stood with shoulders leaning against the cypress, her face whitening in the shadow, like a flower, her eyes drooping, her bosom heaving with more and more life. Vinicius changed in the face, and grew pale. In the silence of the afternoon they only heard the beating of their hearts, and in their mutual ecstasy that cypress, the myrtle bushes, and the ivy of the summer-house became for them a paradise of love. But Miriam appeared in the door, and invited them to the afternoon meal. They sat down then with the Apostles, who gazed at them with pleasure, as on the young generation which after their death would preserve and sow still further the seed of the new faith. Peter broke and blessed bread. There was calm on all faces, and a certain immense happiness seemed to overflow the whole house.
And once again they fell silent, as love started to take their breath away. Lygia leaned against the cypress, her face pale in the shadow, like a flower, her eyes half-closed, her chest rising and falling with life. Vinicius changed in expression, turning pale. In the quiet of the afternoon, they could only hear their hearts beating, and in their shared bliss, the cypress, the myrtle bushes, and the ivy of the summer house transformed into their paradise of love. But Miriam appeared in the doorway, inviting them to the afternoon meal. They then sat down with the Apostles, who looked at them with joy, like the younger generation that, after their deaths, would continue to nurture and spread the seed of the new faith. Peter broke and blessed the bread. Calmness was present on all faces, and an immense happiness seemed to fill the entire house.
“See,” said Paul at last, turning to Vinicius, “are we enemies of life and happiness?”
“Look,” Paul finally said, turning to Vinicius, “are we really enemies of life and happiness?”
“I know how that is,” answered Vinicius, “for never have I been so happy as among you.”
“I get that,” Vinicius replied, “because I've never been as happy as I am with you all.”
Chapter XXXV
ON the evening of that day Vinicius, while returning home through the Forum, saw at the entrance to the Vicus Tuscus the gilded litter of Petronius, carried by eight stalwart Bithynians, and, stopping it with a sign of his hand, he approached the curtains.
ON the evening of that day, Vinicius, while walking home through the Forum, spotted the golden litter of Petronius at the entrance to the Vicus Tuscus, carried by eight strong Bithynians. He stopped it with a wave of his hand and approached the curtains.
“Thou hast had a pleasant dream, I trust, and a happy one!” cried he, laughing at sight of the slumbering Petronius.
“You had a nice dream, I hope, and a good one!” he exclaimed, laughing at the sight of the sleeping Petronius.
“Oh, is it thou?” said Petronius, waking up. “Yes; I dropped asleep for a moment, as I passed the night at the Palatine. I have come out to buy something to read on the road to Antium. What is the news?”
“Oh, is that you?” said Petronius, waking up. “Yeah; I dozed off for a moment since I spent the night at the Palatine. I came out to get something to read on the way to Antium. What’s the news?”
“Art thou visiting the book-shops?” inquired Vinicius.
"Are you visiting the bookstores?" Vinicius asked.
“Yes, I do not like to bring disorder into my library, so I am collecting a special supply for the journey. It is likely that some new things of Musonius and Seneca have come out. I am looking also for Persius, and a certain edition of the Eclogues of Vergilius, which I do not possess. Oh, how tired I am; and how my hands ache from covers and rings! For when a man is once in a book-shop curiosity seizes him to look here and there. I was at the shop of Avirnus, and at that of Atractus on the Argiletum, and with the Sozii on Vicus Sandalarius. By Castor! how I want to sleep!”
“Yes, I really don’t like to create chaos in my library, so I’m gathering a special collection for the trip. It looks like some new works by Musonius and Seneca have come out. I’m also on the lookout for Persius and a specific edition of the Eclogues by Vergilius that I don’t have. Oh, I’m so tired; my hands hurt from all the covers and rings! Once you’re in a bookstore, curiosity just takes over, making you want to look around. I went to Avirnus’s shop, then to Atractus’s on the Argiletum, and to the Sozii on Vicus Sandalarius. By Castor! I just want to sleep!”
“Thou wert on the Palatine? Then I would ask thee what is it to be heard there? Or, knowest what?—send home the litter and the tubes with books, and come to my house. We will talk of Antium, and of something else.”
“Were you on the Palatine? Then I’d like to ask what it’s like to be heard there? Or, you know what?—send home the litter and the books, and come to my place. We’ll talk about Antium and some other things.”
“That is well,” answered Petronius, coming out of the litter. “Thou must know, besides, that we start for Antium the day after to-morrow.”
"That's good," Petronius replied, stepping out of the litter. "You should also know that we're leaving for Antium the day after tomorrow."
“Whence should I know that?”
"Where should I know that from?"
“In what world art thou living? Well, I shall be the first to announce the news to thee. Yes; be ready for the day after to-morrow in the morning. Peas in olive oil have not helped, a cloth around his thick neck has not helped, and Bronzebeard is hoarse. In view of this, delay is not to be mentioned. He curses Rome and its atmosphere, with what the world stands on; he would be glad to level it to the earth or to destroy it with fire, and he longs for the sea at the earliest. He says that the smells which the wind brings from the narrow streets are driving him into the grave. To-day great sacrifices were offered in all the temples to restore his voice; and woe to Rome, but especially to the Senate, should it not return quickly!”
"In what world are you living? Well, I’ll be the first to share the news with you. Yes; get ready for the day after tomorrow morning. Peas in olive oil haven’t helped, a cloth around his thick neck hasn’t helped, and Bronzebeard is hoarse. Given this, there’s no time to waste. He curses Rome and its atmosphere, along with everything it stands for; he would love to flatten it or set it on fire, and he’s eager to get to the sea as soon as possible. He says the smells that the wind brings from the narrow streets are driving him to his grave. Today, great sacrifices were made in all the temples to restore his voice; and woe to Rome, but especially to the Senate, if it doesn’t come back quickly!"
“Then there would be no reason for his visit to Achæa?”
“Then there wouldn’t be any reason for his visit to Achæa?”
“But is that the only talent possessed by our divine Cæsar?” asked Petronius, smiling. “He would appear in the Olympic games, as a poet, with his ‘Burning of Troy’; as a charioteer, as a musician, as an athlete,—nay, even as a dancer, and would receive in every case all the crowns intended for victors. Dost know why that monkey grew hoarse? Yesterday he wanted to equal our Paris in dancing, and danced for us the adventures of Leda, during which he sweated and caught cold. He was as wet and slippery as an eel freshly taken from water. He changed masks one after another, whirled like a spindle, waved his hands like a drunken sailor, till disgust seized me while looking at that great stomach and those slim legs. Paris taught him during two weeks; but imagine to thyself Ahenobarbus as Leda or as the divine swan. That was a swan!—there is no use in denying it. But he wants to appear before the public in that pantomime,—first in Antium, and then in Rome.”
“But is that the only talent our divine Cæsar has?” Petronius asked with a smile. “He'd take part in the Olympic Games, not just as a poet with his ‘Burning of Troy,’ but also as a charioteer, musician, athlete—even as a dancer—and would win every crown meant for the victors. Do you know why that guy lost his voice? Yesterday, he wanted to outdo our Paris in dancing and performed for us the story of Leda, during which he worked up a sweat and caught a cold. He was as wet and slippery as an eel just pulled from the water. He changed masks one after another, spun around like a top, waved his arms like a drunken sailor, until I felt sick just looking at that big belly and those skinny legs. Paris trained him for two weeks; but just imagine Ahenobarbus as Leda or the divine swan. That was truly a swan!—there’s no denying it. But he wants to perform that pantomime for the public—first in Antium, and then in Rome.”
“People are offended already because he sang in public; but to think that a Roman Cæsar will appear as a mime! No; even Rome will not endure that!”
“People are already upset because he performed in public; but to imagine a Roman Caesar acting like a mime! No; even Rome won't accept that!”
“My dear friend, Rome will endure anything; the Senate will pass a vote of thanks to the ‘Father of his country.’ And the rabble will be elated because Cæsar is its buffoon.”
“My dear friend, Rome can handle anything; the Senate will give a vote of thanks to the ‘Father of his country.’ And the crowd will be thrilled because Cæsar is their clown.”
“Say thyself, is it possible to be more debased?”
"Tell me, is it possible to be more lowly?"
Petronius shrugged his shoulders. “Thou art living by thyself at home, and meditating, now about Lygia, now about Christians, so thou knowest not, perhaps, what happened two days since. Nero married, in public, Pythagoras, who appeared as a bride. That passed the measure of madness, it would seem, would it not? And what wilt thou say? the flamens, who were summoned, came and performed the ceremony with solemnity. I was present. I can endure much; still I thought, I confess, that the gods, if there be any, should give a sign. But Cæsar does not believe in the gods, and he is right.”
Petronius shrugged. “You’re living at home by yourself, thinking about Lygia and Christians, so maybe you don’t know what happened two days ago. Nero publicly married a man named Pythagoras, who dressed as a bride. That really goes beyond craziness, doesn’t it? What do you think? The flamens they called in came and conducted the ceremony with all seriousness. I was there. I can take a lot, but honestly, I thought that if the gods exist, they should show some kind of sign. But Caesar doesn’t believe in the gods, and he’s got a point.”
“So he is in one person chief priest, a god, and an atheist,” said Vinicius.
“So he is, in one person, a chief priest, a god, and an atheist,” said Vinicius.
“True,” said Petronius, beginning to laugh. “That had not entered my head; but the combination is such as the world has not seen.” Then, stopping a moment, he said: “One should add that this chief priest who does not believe in the gods, and this god who reviles the gods, fears them in his character of atheist.”
"True," Petronius said, starting to laugh. "I hadn't thought of that; but this combination is unlike anything the world has seen." Then, pausing for a moment, he added: "It's worth noting that this chief priest who doesn't believe in the gods, and this god who mocks the gods, actually fears them in his role as an atheist."
“The proof of this is what happened in the temple of Vesta.” “What a society!”
“The proof of this is what happened in the temple of Vesta.” “What a society!”
“As the society is, so is Cæsar. But this will not last long.”
“As the society is, so is Caesar. But this won’t last long.”
Thus conversing, they entered the house of Vinicius, who called for supper joyously; then, turning to Petronius he said,—“No, my dear, society must be renewed.”
Thus talking, they entered Vinicius's house, where he happily called for supper; then, turning to Petronius, he said, “No, my friend, we need to refresh our social life.”
“We shall not renew it,” answered Petronius, “even for the reason that in Nero’s time man is like a butterfly,—he lives in the sunshine of favor, and at the first cold wind he perishes, even against his will. By the son of Maia! more than once have I given myself this question: By what miracle has such a man as Lucius Saturninus been able to reach the age of ninety-three, to survive Tiberius, Caligula, Claudius? But never mind. Wilt thou permit me to send thy litter for Eunice? My wish to sleep has gone, somehow, and I should like to be joyous. Give command to cithara players to come to the supper, and afterward we will talk of Antium. It is needful to think of it, especially for thee.”
“We won’t renew it,” Petronius replied, “mainly because during Nero’s time, a person is like a butterfly—he thrives in the bright light of favor, and at the first sign of trouble, he disappears, whether he likes it or not. By Maia’s son! I’ve asked myself more than once: How on earth has someone like Lucius Saturninus lived to be ninety-three, surviving Tiberius, Caligula, and Claudius? But never mind that. Can I send your litter for Eunice? My desire to sleep has vanished, and I’d like to be happy. Please tell the cithara players to come for dinner, and afterward we can discuss Antium. It’s important to think about it, especially for you.”
Vinicius gave the order to send for Eunice, but declared that he had no thought of breaking his head over the stay in Antium.
Vinicius ordered someone to call Eunice, but said he wasn’t going to stress about staying in Antium.
“Let those break their heads who cannot live otherwise than in the rays of Cæsar’s favor. The world does not end on the Palatine, especially for those who have something else in their hearts and souls.”
“Let those struggle who can’t live without being in Cæsar’s good graces. The world doesn’t revolve around the Palatine, especially for those who have other things in their hearts and souls.”
He said this so carelessly and with such animation and gladness that his whole manner struck Petronius; hence, looking for a time at him, he asked,—“What is taking place in thee? Thou art to-day as thou wert when wearing the golden bulla on thy neck.”
He said this so casually and with such enthusiasm and happiness that his whole demeanor caught Petronius's attention; so, after watching him for a moment, he asked, “What’s going on with you? You’re just like you were when you wore the golden bulla around your neck.”
“I am happy,” answered Vinicius. “I have invited thee purposely to tell thee so.”
“I’m happy,” Vinicius replied. “I invited you on purpose to say that.”
“What has happened?”
"What’s going on?"
“Something which I would not give for the Roman Empire.”
“There's nothing I wouldn't trade for the Roman Empire.”
Then he sat down, and, leaning on the arm of the chair, rested his head on his hand, and asked,—“Dost remember how we were at the house of Aulus Plautius, and there thou didst see for the first time the godlike maiden called by thee ‘the dawn and the spring’? Dost remember that Psyche, that incomparable, that one more beautiful than our maidens and our goddesses?”
Then he sat down, leaning on the arm of the chair, resting his head on his hand, and asked, “Do you remember how we were at Aulus Plautius's house, where you first saw the goddess-like maiden you called ‘the dawn and the spring’? Do you remember Psyche, that incomparable one, more beautiful than our maidens and our goddesses?”
Petronius looked at him with astonishment, as if he wished to make sure that his head was right.
Petronius stared at him in disbelief, as if he wanted to confirm that he was thinking clearly.
“Of whom art thou speaking?” asked he at last. “Evidently I remember Lygia.”
“Who are you talking about?” he finally asked. “I clearly remember Lygia.”
“I am her betrothed.”
“I’m her fiancé.”
“What!”
"Seriously!"
But Vinicius sprang up and called his dispensator.
But Vinicius jumped up and called for his steward.
“Let the slaves stand before me to the last soul, quickly!”
“Let all the slaves stand before me, down to the last one, now!”
“Art thou her betrothed?” repeated Petronius.
“Are you her fiancé?” repeated Petronius.
But before he recovered from his astonishment the immense atrium was swarming with people. Panting old men ran in, men in the vigor of life, women, boys, and girls. With each moment the atrium was filled more and more; in corridors, called “fauces,” voices were heard calling in various languages. Finally, all took their places in rows at the walls and among the columns. Vinicius, standing near the impluvium, turned to Demas, the freedman, and said,—
But before he could get over his shock, the huge atrium was packed with people. Out of breath, old men rushed in, along with energetic young men, women, boys, and girls. With every passing moment, the atrium became more and more crowded; in the corridors, known as “fauces,” voices could be heard calling out in different languages. Eventually, everyone took their places in rows along the walls and among the columns. Vinicius, standing near the impluvium, turned to Demas, the freedman, and said,—
“Those who have served twenty years in my house are to appear tomorrow before the pretor, where they will receive freedom; those who have not served out the time will receive three pieces of gold and double rations for a week. Send an order to the village prisons to remit punishment, strike the fetters from people’s feet, and feed them sufficiently. Know that a happy day has come to me, and I wish rejoicing in the house.”
“Those who have served twenty years in my household are to appear tomorrow before the magistrate, where they will be granted their freedom; those who haven't completed their time will receive three gold coins and double rations for a week. Send an order to the village jails to lift any punishments, remove the shackles from people's feet, and ensure they are well-fed. Understand that a joyful day has arrived for me, and I want to celebrate in the house.”
For a moment they stood in silence, as if not believing their ears; then all hands were raised at once, and all mouths cried,—“A-a! lord! a-a-a!”
For a moment, they stood in silence, as if they couldn't believe what they heard; then all hands went up at once, and everyone shouted, “A-a! Lord! A-a-a!”
Vinicius dismissed them with a wave of his hand. Though they desired to thank him and to fall at his feet, they went away hurriedly, filling the house with happiness from cellar to roof.
Vinicius waved them off. Even though they wanted to thank him and kneel at his feet, they left quickly, filling the house with joy from the basement to the roof.
“To-morrow,” said Vinicius, “I will command them to meet again in the garden, and to make such signs on the ground as they choose. Lygia will free those who draw a fish.”
“Tomorrow,” Vinicius said, “I will order them to meet again in the garden and make whatever signs they want on the ground. Lygia will free those who draw a fish.”
Petronius, who never wondered long at anything, had grown indifferent, and asked,—“A fish, is it? Ah, ha! According to Chilo, that is the sign of a Christian, I remember.” Then he extended his hand to Vinicius, and said: “Happiness is always where a man sees it. May Flora strew flowers under thy feet for long years. I wish thee everything which thou wishest thyself.”
Petronius, who never lingered on anything for too long, had become indifferent and said, “A fish, huh? Oh, right! According to Chilo, that’s a sign of a Christian, I remember.” Then he reached out his hand to Vinicius and said, “Happiness is always where a person sees it. May Flora scatter flowers at your feet for many years. I wish you everything you wish for yourself.”
“I thank thee, for I thought that thou wouldst dissuade me, and that, as thou seest, would be time lost.”
"I thank you, because I thought you would try to talk me out of it, and that, as you can see, would be a waste of time."
“I? Dissuade? By no means. On the contrary, I tell thee that thou art doing well.”
“I? Dissuade? Not at all. On the contrary, I tell you that you are doing well.”
“Ha, traitor!” answered Vinicius, joyfully; “hast forgotten what thou didst tell me once when we were leaving the house of Pomponia Græcina?”
“Ha, traitor!” Vinicius replied cheerfully. “Have you forgotten what you told me once when we were leaving Pomponia Græcina's house?”
“No,” answered Petronius, with cool blood; “but I have changed my opinion. My dear,” added he after a while, “in Rome everything changes. Husbands change wives, wives change husbands; why should not I change opinions? It lacked little of Nero’s marrying Acte, whom for his sake they represented as the descendant of a kingly line. Well, he would have had an honest wife, and we an honest Augusta. By Proteus and his barren spaces in the sea! I shall change my opinion as often as I find it appropriate or profitable. As to Lygia, her royal descent is more certain than Acte’s. But in Antium be on thy guard against Poppæa, who is revengeful.”
“No,” Petronius replied calmly, “but I’ve changed my mind. My dear,” he added after a moment, “everything changes in Rome. Husbands swap wives, wives swap husbands; so why shouldn’t I change my opinions? There was almost a point where Nero was going to marry Acte, whom they claimed was from a royal lineage for his sake. Well, he would have had a decent wife, and we would have had a decent Augusta. By Proteus and his empty seas! I’ll change my opinion as often as it seems right or beneficial. As for Lygia, her royal background is more certain than Acte’s. But in Antium, watch out for Poppæa; she’s vengeful.”
“I do not think of doing so. A hair will not fall from my head in Antium.”
“I’m not planning on doing that. Not a single hair will fall from my head in Antium.”
“If thou think to astonish me a second time, thou art mistaken; but whence hast thou that certainty?”
“If you think you can surprise me a second time, you’re wrong; but where do you get that confidence?”
“The Apostle Peter told me so.”
“The Apostle Peter told me that.”
“Ah, the Apostle Peter told thee! Against that there is no argument; permit me, however, to take certain measures of precaution even to this end, that the Apostle Peter may not turn out a false prophet; for, should the Apostle be mistaken, perchance he might lose thy confidence, which certainly will be of use to him in the future.”
“Ah, the Apostle Peter told you! There's no arguing with that; however, let me take some precautions to ensure that the Apostle Peter doesn’t turn out to be a false prophet. If he’s mistaken, he might lose your trust, which would definitely be helpful to him in the future.”
“Do what may please thee, but I believe him. And if thou think to turn me against him by repeating his name with irony, thou art mistaken.”
"Do what you like, but I trust him. And if you think you can sway me against him by saying his name sarcastically, you're mistaken."
“But one question more. Hast thou become a Christian?”
“But one more question. Have you become a Christian?”
“Not yet; but Paul of Tarsus will travel with me to explain the teachings of Christ, and afterward I will receive baptism; for thy statement that they are enemies of life and pleasantness is not true.”
“Not yet; but Paul of Tarsus will travel with me to explain the teachings of Christ, and afterward I will be baptized; for your claim that they are enemies of life and happiness is not true.”
“All the better for thee and Lygia,” answered Petronius; then, shrugging his shoulders, he said, as if to himself, “But it is astonishing how skilled those people are in gaining adherents, and how that sect is extending.”
“All the better for you and Lygia,” replied Petronius; then, shrugging his shoulders, he said, almost to himself, “But it’s amazing how skilled those people are at gaining followers, and how that group is expanding.”
“Yes,” answered Vinicius, with as much warmth as if he had been baptized already; “there are thousands and tens of thousands of them in Rome, in the cities of Italy, in Greece and Asia. There are Christians among the legions and among the pretorians; they are in the palace of Cæsar itself. Slaves and citizens, poor and rich, plebeian and patrician, confess that faith. Dost thou know that the Cornelii are Christians, that Pomponia Græcina is a Christian, that likely Octavia was, and Acte is? Yes, that teaching will embrace the world, and it alone is able to renew it. Do not shrug thy shoulders, for who knows whether in a month or a year thou wilt not receive it thyself?”
“Yes,” Vinicius replied, sounding as enthusiastic as if he had already been baptized. “There are thousands and tens of thousands of them in Rome, throughout Italy, and in Greece and Asia. There are Christians among the legions and the pretorians; they are even in Caesar’s palace. Slaves and citizens, poor and rich, commoners and nobles, all profess that faith. Did you know that the Cornelii are Christians, that Pomponia Græcina is a Christian, and that Octavia probably was one too, along with Acte? Yes, that teaching will spread throughout the world, and it alone has the power to renew it. Don't dismiss it, because who knows whether in a month or a year you'll embrace it yourself?”
“I?” said Petronius. “No, by the son of Leto! I will not receive it; even if the truth and wisdom of gods and men were contained in it. That would require labor, and I have no fondness for labor. Labor demands self-denial, and I will not deny myself anything. With thy nature, which is like fire and boiling water, something like this may happen any time. But I? I have my gems, my cameos, my vases, my Eunice. I do not believe in Olympus, but I arrange it on earth for myself; and I shall flourish till the arrows of the divine archer pierce me, or till Cæsar commands me to open my veins. I love the odor of violets too much, and a comfortable triclinium. I love even our gods, as rhetorical figures, and Achæa, to which I am preparing to go with our fat, thin-legged, incomparable, godlike Cæsar, the august period-compelling Hercules, Nero.”
“I?” said Petronius. “No, by the son of Leto! I won’t take it; even if it contained the truth and wisdom of gods and men. That would require effort, and I’m not into effort. Labor demands self-denial, and I won’t deny myself anything. With your nature, which is like fire and boiling water, something like this might happen at any moment. But me? I have my gems, my cameos, my vases, my Eunice. I don’t believe in Olympus, but I create my own version of it here on earth; and I will thrive until the arrows of the divine archer hit me, or until Caesar orders me to cut my veins. I love the scent of violets way too much, and a cozy triclinium. I even love our gods, as fancy expressions, and Achaea, which I’m getting ready to visit with our plump, thin-legged, unmatched, godlike Caesar, the majestic, time-defying Hercules, Nero.”
Then he was joyous at the very supposition that he could accept the teaching of Galilean fishermen, and began to sing in an undertone,—
Then he felt happy at the thought that he could accept the teachings of Galilean fishermen, and started to sing softly,—
“I will entwine my bright sword in myrtle, After the example of Harmodius and Aristogiton.”
“I'll wrap my shining sword in myrtle, following the example of Harmodius and Aristogiton.”
But he stopped, for the arrival of Eunice was announced. Immediately after her coming supper was served, during which songs were sung by the cithara players; Vinicius told of Chilo’s visit, and also how that visit had given the idea of going to the Apostles directly,—an idea which came to him while they were flogging Chilo.
But he paused, as Eunice's arrival was announced. Right after she arrived, dinner was served, with songs performed by the lyre players; Vinicius shared about Chilo’s visit and how that encounter inspired him to go directly to the Apostles—an idea that struck him while they were whipping Chilo.
At mention of this, Petronius, who began to be drowsy, placed his hand on his forehead, and said,—“The thought was good, since the object was good. But as to Chilo, I should have given him five pieces of gold; but as it was thy will to flog him, it was better to flog him, for who knows but in time senators will bow to him, as to-day they are bowing to our cobbler-knight, Vatinius. Good-night.”
At the mention of this, Petronius, who was starting to feel drowsy, put his hand on his forehead and said, “It was a good idea since the goal was good. But about Chilo, I should have given him five gold coins; however, since you wanted to punish him, it was better to do that because who knows, maybe one day senators will respect him, just like today they are respecting our cobbler-knight, Vatinius. Good night.”
And, removing his wreath, he, with Eunice, prepared for home. When they had gone, Vinicius went to his library and wrote to Lygia as follows:—
And, taking off his crown, he and Eunice got ready to head home. After they left, Vinicius went to his library and wrote to Lygia as follows:—
“When thou openest thy beautiful eyes, I wish this letter to say Good-day! to thee. Hence I write now, though I shall see thee tomorrow. Cæsar will go to Antium after to-morrow,—and I, eheu! must go with him. I have told thee already that not to obey would be to risk life—and at present I could not find courage to die. But if thou wish me not to go, write one word, and I will stay. Petronius will turn away danger from me with a speech. To-day, in the hour of my delight, I gave rewards to all my slaves; those who have served in the house twenty years I shall take to the pretor to-morrow and free. Thou, my dear, shouldst praise me, since this act as I think will be in accord with that mild religion of thine; secondly, I do this for thy sake. They are to thank thee for their freedom. I shall tell them so to-morrow, so that they may be grateful to thee and praise thy name. I give myself in bondage to happiness and thee. God grant that I never see liberation. May Antium be cursed, and the journey of Ahenobarbus! Thrice and four times happy am I in not being so wise as Petronius; if I were, I should be forced to go to Greece perhaps. Meanwhile the moment of separation will sweeten my memory of thee. Whenever I can tear myself away, I shall sit on a horse, and rush back to Rome, to gladden my eyes with sight of thee, and my ears with thy voice. When I cannot come I shall send a slave with a letter, and an inquiry about thee. I salute thee, divine one, and embrace thy feet. Be not angry that I call thee divine. If thou forbid, I shall obey, but to-day I cannot call thee otherwise. I congratulate thee on thy future house with my whole soul.”
“When you open your beautiful eyes, I want this letter to say Good day! to you. So, I’m writing now, even though I’ll see you tomorrow. Caesar will go to Antium the day after tomorrow—and I, alas! have to go with him. I’ve already told you that not obeying would risk my life—and right now, I can’t find the courage to die. But if you don’t want me to go, just write one word, and I’ll stay. Petronius will protect me with a speech. Today, during my moment of joy, I rewarded all my slaves; those who have served in the household for twenty years, I will take to the praetor tomorrow and free. You, my dear, should praise me for this, as I believe it aligns with your gentle beliefs; and I’m doing it for your sake. They will give thanks to you for their freedom. I’ll make sure to tell them tomorrow so they can appreciate you and honor your name. I surrender myself to happiness and to you. God grant that I never see freedom. May Antium be cursed, and the journey of Ahenobarbus! I am thrice and four times happier not being as wise as Petronius; if I were, I might be forced to go to Greece. In the meantime, the moment of separation will make my memories of you even sweeter. Whenever I can pull myself away, I’ll hop on a horse and rush back to Rome, to enjoy the sight of you and hear your voice. When I can’t come, I’ll send a slave with a letter and to ask about you. I greet you, divine one, and embrace your feet. Don’t be upset that I call you divine. If you forbid it, I will obey, but today I can’t call you anything else. I wholeheartedly congratulate you on your future home.”
Chapter XXVI
IT was known in Rome that Cæsar wished to see Ostia on the journey, or rather the largest ship in the world, which had brought wheat recently from Alexandria, and from Ostia to go by the Via Littoralis to Antium. Orders had been given a number of days earlier; hence at the Porta Ostiensis, from early morning, crowds made up of the local rabble and of all nations of the earth had collected to feast their eyes with the sight of Cæsar’s retinue, on which the Roman population could never gaze sufficiently. The road to Antium was neither difficult nor long. In the place itself, which was composed of palaces and villas built and furnished in a lordly manner, it was possible to find everything demanded by comfort, and even the most exquisite luxury of the period. Cæsar had the habit, however, of taking with him on a journey every object in which he found delight, beginning with musical instruments and domestic furniture, and ending with statues and mosaics, which were taken even when he wished to remain on the road merely a short time for rest or recreation. He was accompanied, therefore, on every expedition by whole legions of servants, without reckoning divisions of pretorian guards, and Augustians; of the latter each had a personal retinue of slaves.
It was known in Rome that Caesar wanted to visit Ostia on his trip, specifically to see the largest ship in the world that had recently brought wheat from Alexandria, and from Ostia he would travel along the Via Littoralis to Antium. Orders had been given several days earlier; so, at the Porta Ostiensis, crowds made up of the local underclass and people from all over the world gathered from early morning to catch a glimpse of Caesar’s entourage, which the Roman population could never see enough of. The journey to Antium was neither hard nor long. The place itself, filled with opulent palaces and villas, offered everything one could need for comfort and even the most exquisite luxury of the time. However, Caesar had a habit of taking along everything he enjoyed on his travels, from musical instruments and household items to statues and mosaics, even when he only planned to stay on the road for a short time to rest or relax. Therefore, every trip he took included entire legions of servants, not to mention divisions of pretorian guards and Augustians, each of whom had their own personal group of slaves.
Early on the morning of that day herdsmen from the Campania, with sunburnt faces, wearing goat-skins on their legs, drove forth five hundred she-asses through the gates, so that Poppæa on the morrow of her arrival at Antium might have her bath in their milk. The rabble gazed with delight and ridicule at the long ears swaying amid clouds of dust, and listened with pleasure to the whistling of whips and the wild shouts of the herdsmen. After the asses had gone by, crowds of youth rushed forth, swept the road carefully, and covered it with flowers and needles from pine-trees. In the crowds people whispered to each other, with a certain feeling of pride, that the whole road to Antium would be strewn in that way with flowers taken from private gardens round about, or bought at high prices from dealers at the Porta Mugionis. As the morning hours passed, the throng increased every moment. Some had brought their whole families, and, lest the time might seem tedious, they spread provisions on stones intended for the new temple of Ceres, and ate their prandium beneath the open sky. Here and there were groups, in which the lead was taken by persons who had travelled; they talked of Cæsar’s present trip, of his future journeys, and journeys in general. Sailors and old soldiers narrated wonders which during distant campaigns they had heard about countries which a Roman foot had never touched. Home-stayers, who had never gone beyond the Appian Way, listened with amazement to marvellous tales of India, of Arabia, of archipelagos surrounding Britain in which, on a small island inhabited by spirits, Briareus had imprisoned the sleeping Saturn. They heard of hyperborean regions of stiffened seas, of the hisses and roars which the ocean gives forth when the sun plunges into his bath. Stories of this kind found ready credence among the rabble, stories believed by such men even as Tacitus and Pliny. They spoke also of that ship which Cæsar was to look at,—a ship which had brought wheat to last for two years, without reckoning four hundred passengers, an equal number of soldiers, and a multitude of wild beasts to be used during the summer games. This produced general good feeling toward Cæsar, who not only nourished the populace, but amused it. Hence a greeting full of enthusiasm was waiting for him.
Early that morning, herdsmen from Campania, with sunburned faces and wearing goatskin leggings, drove five hundred female donkeys through the gates so that Poppæa could bathe in their milk the day after her arrival in Antium. The crowd watched with both delight and mockery as the long ears of the donkeys swayed in the clouds of dust, listening with enjoyment to the cracking of whips and the loud calls of the herdsmen. After the donkeys passed, groups of young people rushed out, carefully swept the road, and covered it with flowers and pine needles. Among the crowd, people whispered proudly that the entire road to Antium would be decorated with flowers from local gardens or ones bought at high prices from vendors at the Porta Mugionis. As the morning went on, the crowd grew larger. Some had brought their whole families and, to pass the time, spread out food on stones meant for the new temple of Ceres, enjoying their meal under the open sky. There were groups led by those who had traveled; they talked about Caesar's current trip, his future travels, and travel in general. Sailors and old soldiers shared amazing stories from distant campaigns about lands never seen by a Roman. Those who stayed home, never venturing beyond the Appian Way, listened in awe to incredible tales of India, Arabia, and the archipelagos around Britain, where, on a small island inhabited by spirits, Briareus had imprisoned the sleeping Saturn. They heard about the hyperborean regions with frozen seas and the hisses and roars the ocean makes when the sun sinks into its bath. Such stories were easily believed by the crowd, trusted even by scholars like Tacitus and Pliny. They also talked about the ship that Caesar was to inspect—a ship that had brought enough wheat to last two years, not counting the four hundred passengers, an equal number of soldiers, and a multitude of wild animals for the summer games. This created a wave of goodwill toward Caesar, who not only fed the people but entertained them. As a result, an enthusiastic welcome awaited him.
Meanwhile came a detachment of Numidian horse, who belonged to the pretorian guard. They wore yellow uniforms, red girdles, and great earrings, which cast a golden gleam on their black faces. The points of their bamboo spears glittered like flames, in the sun. After they had passed, a procession-like movement began. The throng crowded forward to look at it more nearly; but divisions of pretorian foot were there, and, forming in line on both sides of the gate, prevented approach to the road. In advance moved wagons carrying tents, purple, red, and violet, and tents of byssus woven from threads as white as snow; and oriental carpets, and tables of citrus, and pieces of mosaic, and kitchen utensils, and cages with birds from the East, North, and West, birds whose tongues or brains were to go to Cæsar’s table, and vessels with wine and baskets with fruit. But objects not to be exposed to bruising or breaking in vehicles were borne by slaves. Hence hundreds of people were seen on foot, carrying vessels, and statues of Corinthian bronze. There were companies appointed specially to Etruscan vases; others to Grecian; others to golden or silver vessels, or vessels of Alexandrian glass. These were guarded by small detachments of pretorian infantry and cavalry; over each division of slaves were taskmasters, holding whips armed at the end with lumps of lead or iron, instead of snappers. The procession, formed of men bearing with importance and attention various objects, seemed like some solemn religious procession; and the resemblance grew still more striking when the musical instruments of Cæsar and the court were borne past. There were seen harps, Grecian lutes, lutes of the Hebrews and Egyptians, lyres, formingas, citharas, flutes, long, winding buffalo horns and cymbals. While looking at that sea of instruments, gleaming beneath the sun in gold, bronze, precious stones, and pearls, it might be imagined that Apollo and Bacchus had set out on a journey through the world. After the instruments came rich chariots filled with acrobats, dancers male and female, grouped artistically, with wands in their hands. After them followed slaves intended, not for service, but excess; so there were boys and little girls, selected from all Greece and Asia Minor, with long hair, or with winding curls arranged in golden nets, children resembling Cupids, with wonderful faces, but faces covered completely with a thick coating of cosmetics, lest the wind of the Campania might tan their delicate complexions.
Meanwhile, a group of Numidian cavalry from the praetorian guard arrived. They wore bright yellow uniforms, red sashes, and large earrings that shimmered on their dark skin. The tips of their bamboo spears sparkled like flames in the sunlight. After they passed, a crowd began to surge forward to get a closer look, but divisions of praetorian foot soldiers formed lines on both sides of the gate to block access to the road. Ahead were wagons carrying tents in purple, red, and violet, along with tents made of white as snow as woven byssus; there were also oriental carpets, citrus wood tables, mosaic pieces, kitchen utensils, and cages with birds from the East, North, and West, destined for Caesar’s table, along with vessels of wine and baskets of fruit. Fragile items were carried by slaves, so hundreds of people were seen on foot, transporting vessels and bronze statues from Corinth. Some were designated for Etruscan vases, others for Grecian ones, and others for golden or silver items, or Alexandrian glass. These were protected by small groups of praetorian infantry and cavalry; each division of slaves was overseen by taskmasters holding whips with lead or iron tips instead of snaps. The procession, filled with men carrying various objects with seriousness and care, resembled a grand religious ceremony; the resemblance only grew stronger as musical instruments for Caesar and the court were carried by. Harps, Grecian lutes, Hebrew and Egyptian lutes, lyres, formingas, citharas, flutes, long swirling buffalo horns, and cymbals were all visible. As one gazed at that sea of instruments glistening in gold, bronze, precious stones, and pearls under the sun, it was easy to imagine that Apollo and Bacchus were on a journey around the world. Following the instruments were lavish chariots filled with acrobats and dancers, both male and female, arranged artistically, each holding a wand. After them came slaves for indulgence, featuring boys and little girls chosen from all of Greece and Asia Minor, with long hair or winding curls styled in golden nets, children resembling Cupids, with stunning faces, yet their features were thickly coated with cosmetics to protect their delicate skin from the Campania breeze.
And again appeared a pretorian cohort of gigantic Sicambrians, blue-eyed, bearded, blond and red haired. In front of them Roman eagles were carried by banner-bearers called “imaginarii,” tablets with inscriptions, statues of German and Roman gods, and finally statues and busts of Cæsar. From under the skins and armor of the soldier appeared limbs sunburnt and mighty, looking like military engines capable of wielding the heavy weapons with which guards of that kind were furnished. The earth seemed to bend beneath their measured and weighty tread. As if conscious of strength which they could use against Cæsar himself, they looked with contempt on the rabble of the street, forgetting, it was evident, that many of themselves had come to that city in manacles. But they were insignificant in numbers, for the pretorian force had remained in camp specially to guard the city and hold it within bounds. When they had marched past, Nero’s chained lions and tigers were led by, so that, should the wish come to him of imitating Dionysus, he would have them to attach to his chariots. They were led in chains of steel by Arabs and Hindoos, but the chains were so entwined with garlands that the beasts seemed led with flowers. The lions and tigers, tamed by skilled trainers, looked at the crowds with green and seemingly sleepy eyes; but at moments they raised their giant heads, and breathed through wheezing nostrils the exhalations of the multitude, licking their jaws the while with spiny tongues.
And once again, a cohort of huge Sicambrians appeared, their blue eyes, beards, and blond and red hair standing out. In front of them, Roman eagles were carried by banner-bearers known as “imaginarii,” along with
Now came Cæsar’s vehicles and litters, great and small, gold or purple, inlaid with ivory or pearls, or glittering with diamonds; after them came another small cohort of pretorians in Roman armor, pretorians composed of Italian volunteers only;* then crowds of select slave servants, and boys; and at last came Cæsar himself, whose approach was heralded from afar by the shouts of thousands.
Now came Caesar’s chariots and litters, big and small, in gold or purple, inlaid with ivory or pearls, or sparkling with diamonds; after them came another small group of praetorians in Roman armor, made up solely of Italian volunteers; then crowds of chosen slave servants and boys; and finally, Caesar himself arrived, his approach announced from a distance by the cheers of thousands.
[* The inhabitants of Italy were freed from military service by Augustus, in consequence of which the so-called cohors Italica, stationed generally in Asia, was composed of volunteers. The pretorian guards, in so far as they were not composed of foreigners, were made up of volunteers.]
[* The people of Italy were exempted from military service by Augustus, which led to the formation of the so-called cohors Italica, typically stationed in Asia, consisting of volunteers. The praetorian guards, unless they were made up of foreigners, were made up of volunteers as well.]
In the crowd was the Apostle Peter, who wished to see Cæsar once in life. He was accompanied by Lygia, whose face was hidden by a thick veil, and Ursus, whose strength formed the surest defence of the young girl in the wild and boisterous crowd. The Lygian seized a stone to be used in building the temple, and brought it to the Apostle, so that by standing on it he might see better than others.
In the crowd stood the Apostle Peter, who wanted to see Cæsar at least once in his life. He was with Lygia, whose face was concealed by a thick veil, and Ursus, whose strength provided the best protection for the young girl in the wild and noisy crowd. The Lygian picked up a stone meant for building the temple and handed it to the Apostle, so he could stand on it and get a better view than everyone else.
The crowd muttered when Ursus pushed it apart, as a ship pushes waves; but when he carried the stone, which four of the strongest men could not raise, the muttering was turned into wonderment, and cries of “Macte!” were heard round about.
The crowd murmured when Ursus pushed it apart, like a ship pushing through waves; but when he lifted the stone that four of the strongest men couldn't budge, the murmurs turned into awe, and shouts of “Macte!” filled the air.
Meanwhile Cæsar appeared. He was sitting in a chariot drawn by six white Idumean stallions shod with gold. The chariot had the form of a tent with sides open, purposely, so that the crowds could see Cæsar. A number of persons might have found place in the chariot; but Nero, desiring that attention should be fixed on him exclusively, passed through the city alone, having at his feet merely two deformed dwarfs. He wore a white tunic, and a toga of amethyst color, which cast a bluish tinge on his face. On his head was a laurel wreath. Since his departure from Naples he had increased notably in body. His face had grown wide; under his lower jaw hung a double chin, by which his mouth, always too near his nose, seemed to touch his nostrils. His bulky neck was protected, as usual, by a silk kerchief, which he arranged from moment to moment with a white and fat hand grown over with red hair, forming as it were bloody stains; he would not permit epilatores to pluck out this hair, since he had been told that to do so would bring trembling of the fingers and injure his lute-playing. Measureless vanity was depicted then, as at all times, on his face, together with tedium and suffering. On the whole, it was a face both terrible and trivial. While advancing he turned his head from side to side, blinking at times, and listening carefully to the manner in which the multitude greeted him. He was met by a storm of shouts and applause: “Hail, divine Cæsar! Imperator, hail, conqueror! hail, incomparable!—Son of Apollo, Apollo himself!”
Meanwhile, Caesar appeared. He was sitting in a chariot pulled by six white Idumean stallions, which were shod in gold. The chariot resembled a tent with open sides, designed so that the crowds could see Caesar. Several people could have fit in the chariot, but Nero, wanting all attention on himself, passed through the city alone, accompanied only by two deformed dwarfs at his feet. He wore a white tunic and a toga of amethyst color, which cast a bluish hue on his face. A laurel wreath adorned his head. Since leaving Naples, he had noticeably gained weight. His face had become broad; a double chin hung beneath his jaw, making his mouth, always too close to his nose, seem to almost touch his nostrils. His thick neck was typically covered with a silk scarf, which he adjusted frequently with a white, chubby hand covered in red hair, creating what looked like bloody stains; he refused to let hairdressers remove this hair, as he had been told it would cause his fingers to tremble and affect his lute playing. Boundless vanity was evident on his face, along with boredom and distress. Overall, it was a face that was both frightening and trivial. As he moved forward, he turned his head from side to side, occasionally blinking and listening intently to how the crowd greeted him. He was met with a storm of shouts and applause: “Hail, divine Caesar! Imperator, hail, conqueror! Hail, incomparable!—Son of Apollo, Apollo himself!”
When he heard these words, he smiled; but at moments a cloud, as it were, passed over his face, for the Roman rabble was satirical and keen in reckoning, and let itself criticise even great triumphators, even men whom it loved and respected. It was known that on a time they shouted during the entrance to Rome of Julius Cæsar: “Citizens, hide your wives; the old libertine is coming!” But Nero’s monstrous vanity could not endure the least blame or criticism; meanwhile in the throng, amid shouts of applause were heard cries of “Ahenobarbus, Ahenobarbus! Where hast thou put thy flaming beard? Dost thou fear that Rome might catch fire from it?” And those who cried out in that fashion knew not that their jest concealed a dreadful prophecy.
When he heard these words, he smiled; but sometimes a shadow passed over his face, because the Roman crowd was sharp and critical, even towards great victors, even those they loved and respected. It was known that once, during Julius Caesar's entry into Rome, they shouted: “Citizens, hide your wives; the old libertine is coming!” But Nero’s extreme vanity couldn't handle any criticism; meanwhile, in the crowd, among the cheers, there were shouts of “Ahenobarbus, Ahenobarbus! Where have you hidden your flaming beard? Are you afraid that Rome might catch fire from it?” And those who made such jokes didn’t realize that their words held a terrible prophecy.
These voices did not anger Cæsar overmuch, since he did not wear a beard, for long before he had devoted it in a golden cylinder to Jupiter Capitolinus. But other persons, hidden behind piles of stones and the corners of temples, shouted: “Matricide! Nero! Orestes! Alcmæon!” and still others: “Where is Octavia?” “Surrender the purple!” At Poppæa, who came directly after him, they shouted, “Flava coma (yellow hair)!!” with which name they indicated a street-walker. Cæsar’s musical ear caught these exclamations also, and he raised the polished emerald to his eyes as if to see and remember those who uttered them. While looking thus, his glance rested on the Apostle standing on the stone.
These voices didn't really upset Cæsar, since he didn't have a beard. Long ago, he had dedicated it in a golden cylinder to Jupiter Capitolinus. But others, hiding behind piles of stones and temple corners, shouted: “Matricide! Nero! Orestes! Alcmæon!” and some more yelled: “Where's Octavia?” “Hand over the purple!” At Poppæa, who followed him closely, they yelled, “Flava coma (yellow hair)!!” which referred to a street-walker. Cæsar's keen ear picked up these shouts as well, and he brought the polished emerald to his eyes as if to see and remember those who spoke them. While looking like that, his gaze landed on the Apostle standing on the stone.
For a while those two men looked at each other. It occurred to no one in that brilliant retinue, and to no one in that immense throng, that at that moment two powers of the earth were looking at each other, one of which would vanish quickly as a bloody dream, and the other, dressed in simple garments, would seize in eternal possession the world and the city.
For a while, the two men stared at each other. No one in that dazzling group, and no one in that vast crowd, realized that at that moment, two forces of the earth were facing each other—one would disappear quickly like a nightmare, while the other, in simple clothing, would claim the world and the city for eternity.
Meanwhile Cæsar had passed; and immediately after him eight Africans bore a magnificent litter, in which sat Poppæa, who was detested by the people. Arrayed, as was Nero, in amethyst color, with a thick application of cosmetics on her face, immovable, thoughtful, indifferent, she looked like some beautiful and wicked divinity carried in procession. In her wake followed a whole court of servants, male and female, next a line of wagons bearing materials of dress and use. The sun had sunk sensibly from midday when the passage of Augustians began,—a brilliant glittering line gleaming like an endless serpent. The indolent Petronius, greeted kindly by the multitude, had given command to bear him and his godlike slave in a litter. Tigellinus went in a chariot drawn by ponies ornamented with white and purple feathers, They saw him as he rose in the chariot repeatedly, and stretched his neck to see if Cæsar was preparing to give him the sign to go his chariot. Among others the crowd greeted Licinianus with applause, Vitelius with laughter, Vatinius with hissing. Towards Licinus and Lecanius the consuls they were indifferent, but Tullius Senecio they loved, it was unknown why, and Vestinius received applause.
Meanwhile, Caesar had passed, and right behind him, eight Africans carried a magnificent litter with Poppæa inside, who was despised by the public. Dressed in amethyst like Nero, with heavy makeup on her face, she sat still, lost in thought, indifferent, looking like a beautiful yet wicked goddess being paraded. Following her was a whole entourage of male and female servants, and then a line of wagons filled with clothes and supplies. The sun had noticeably moved below midday when the procession of the Augustans began—a dazzling line sparkling like an endless serpent. The laid-back Petronius, warmly greeted by the crowd, had ordered to be carried in a litter along with his godlike slave. Tigellinus rode in a chariot pulled by ponies adorned with white and purple feathers. They noticed him as he frequently rose in the chariot, stretching his neck to see if Caesar was getting ready to signal for him to proceed in his chariot. Among others, the crowd cheered for Licinianus with applause, laughed at Vitelius, and hissed at Vatinius. They were indifferent to the consuls Licinus and Lecanius, but they inexplicably loved Tullius Senecio, and Vestinius received applause.
The court was innumerable. It seemed that all that was richest, most brilliant and noted in Rome, was migrating to Antium. Nero never travelled otherwise than with thousands of vehicles; the society which accompanied him almost always exceeded the number of soldiers in a legion. [In the time of the Cæsars a legion was always 12,000 men.] Hence Domitius Afer appeared, and the decrepit Lucius Saturninus; and Vespasian, who had not gone yet on his expedition to Judea, from which he returned for the crown of Cæsar, and his sons, and young Nerva, and Lucan, and Annius Gallo, and Quintianus, and a multitude of women renowned for wealth, beauty, luxury, and vice.
The court was massive. It felt like all the wealthiest, most brilliant, and notable people in Rome were heading to Antium. Nero always traveled with thousands of vehicles; the company he kept often outnumbered the soldiers in a legion. [In the time of the Cæsars, a legion always had 12,000 men.] So, Domitius Afer showed up, along with the frail Lucius Saturninus; and Vespasian, who hadn't yet gone on his expedition to Judea, from which he returned to claim the crown of Cæsar, along with his sons, young Nerva, Lucan, Annius Gallo, Quintianus, and a crowd of women known for their wealth, beauty, luxury, and vice.
The eyes of the multitude were turned to the harness, the chariots, the horses, the strange livery of the servants, made up of all peoples of the earth. In that procession of pride and grandeur one hardly knew what to look at; and not only the eye, but the mind, was dazzled by such gleaming of gold, purple, and violet, by the flashing of precious stones, the glitter of brocade, pearls, and ivory. It seemed that the very rays of the sun were dissolving in that abyss of brilliancy. And though wretched people were not lacking in that throng, people with sunken stomachs, and with hunger in their eyes, that spectacle inflamed not only their desire of enjoyment and their envy, but filled them with delight and pride, because it gave a feeling of the might and invincibility of Rome, to which the world contributed, and before which the world knelt. Indeed there was not on earth any one who ventured to think that that power would not endure through all ages, and outlive all nations, or that there was anything in existence that had strength to oppose it.
The crowd's attention was focused on the harness, the chariots, the horses, and the unique outfits of the servants, representing all the different peoples of the world. In that display of pride and grandeur, it was hard to know where to look; both the eyes and the mind were dazzled by the shine of gold, purple, and violet, by the sparkle of gemstones, the shimmer of brocade, pearls, and ivory. It felt like the very rays of the sun were melting away in that overwhelming brilliance. And although there were plenty of impoverished people in the crowd, with hollow stomachs and hunger in their gazes, the spectacle fueled not just their desire for enjoyment and envy but also brought them joy and pride, as it embodied the strength and invincibility of Rome, a power supported by the world, before which the world bowed down. Truly, there was no one on earth who dared to think that this power wouldn't last through the ages, outlive all nations, or that there was anything that could stand against it.
Vinicius, riding at the end of the retinue, sprang out of his chariot at sight of the Apostle and Lygia, whom he had not expected to see, and, greeting them with a radiant face, spoke with hurried voice, like a man who has no time to spare,—“Hast thou come? I know not how to thank thee, O Lygia! God could not have sent me a better omen. I greet thee even while taking farewell, but not farewell for a long time. On the road I shall dispose relays of horses, and every free day I shall come to thee till I get leave to return.—Farewell!”
Vinicius, riding at the back of the group, jumped out of his chariot when he spotted the Apostle and Lygia, whom he had not expected to see. Greeting them with a bright smile, he spoke quickly, like someone who has no time to waste, “Have you come? I can’t thank you enough, Lygia! God couldn’t have sent me a better sign. I greet you even as I’m saying goodbye, but not a goodbye for long. I’ll arrange for fresh horses along the way, and every free day I’ll come to see you until I’m allowed to return. —Farewell!”
“Farewell, Marcus!” answered Lygia; then she added in a lower voice: “May Christ go with thee, and open thy soul to Paul’s word.”
“Goodbye, Marcus!” Lygia replied; then she added in a softer voice: “May Christ be with you and open your heart to Paul’s message.”
He was glad at heart that she was concerned about his becoming a Christian soon; hence he answered,—
He was happy to know that she cared about him becoming a Christian soon; so he replied,—
“Ocelle mi! let it be as thou sayest. Paul prefers to travel with my people, but he is with me, and will be to me a companion and master. Draw aside thy veil, my delight, let me see thee before my journey. Why art thou thus hidden?”
“Okay! Let it be as you say. Paul prefers to travel with my people, but he is with me and will be a companion and guide for me. Please lift your veil, my love, let me see you before my journey. Why are you hiding like this?”
She raised the veil, and showed him her bright face and her wonderfully smiling eyes, inquiring,—
She lifted the veil and revealed her radiant face and her beautifully smiling eyes, asking,—
“Is the veil bad?”
"Is the veil harmful?"
And her smile had in it a little of maiden opposition; but Vinicius, while looking at her with delight, answered,—
And her smile had a hint of youthful defiance; but Vinicius, gazing at her with pleasure, replied,—
“Bad for my eyes, which till death would look on thee only.”
“Bad for my eyes, which until death will look only at you.”
Then he turned to Ursus and said,—
Then he turned to Ursus and said,—
“Ursus, guard her as the sight in thy eye, for she is my domina as well as thine.”
“Ursus, protect her like your own sight, because she is my lady as well as yours.”
Seizing her hand then, he pressed it with his lips, to the great astonishment of the crowd, who could not understand signs of such honor from a brilliant Augustian to a maiden arrayed in simple garments, almost those of a slave.
Grabbing her hand, he kissed it, to the great surprise of the crowd, who couldn't comprehend such a gesture of respect from a notable Augustian towards a girl dressed in plain clothes, almost resembling those of a servant.
“Farewell!”
"Goodbye!"
Then he departed quickly, for Cæsar’s whole retinue had pushed forward considerably. The Apostle Peter blessed him with a slight sign of the cross; but the kindly Ursus began at once to glorify him, glad that his young mistress listened eagerly and was grateful to him for those praises.
Then he left quickly, since Cæsar’s entire group had moved ahead quite a bit. The Apostle Peter blessed him with a small sign of the cross; but the friendly Ursus immediately started to praise him, happy that his young lady listened intently and appreciated him for the compliments.
The retinue moved on and hid itself in clouds of golden dust; they gazed long after it, however, till Demas the miller approached, he for whom Ursus worked in the night-time. When he had kissed the Apostle’s hand, he entreated them to enter his dwelling for refreshment, saying that it was near the Emporium, that they must be hungry and wearied since they had spent the greater part of the day at the gate.
The group moved on and disappeared into clouds of golden dust; they watched it for a long time until Demas the miller came up, the one for whom Ursus worked at night. After kissing the Apostle’s hand, he invited them to come to his home for some refreshments, saying it was close to the Emporium, and that they must be hungry and tired since they had spent most of the day at the gate.
They went with him, and, after rest and refreshment in his house, returned to the Trans-Tiber only toward evening. Intending to cross the river by the Æmilian bridge, they passed through the Clivus Publicus, going over the Aventine, between the temples of Diana and Mercury. From that height the Apostle looked on the edifices about him, and on those vanishing in the distance. Sunk in silence he meditated on the immensity and dominion of that city, to which he had come to announce the word of God. Hitherto he had seen the rule of Rome and its legions in various lands through which he had wandered, but they were single members as it were of the power, which that day for the first time he had seen impersonated in the form of Nero. That city, immense, predatory, ravenous, unrestrained, rotten to the marrow of its bones, and unassailable in its preterhuman power; that Cæsar, a fratricide, a matricide, a wife-slayer, after him dragged a retinue of bloody spectres no less in number than his court. That profligate, that buffoon, but also lord of thirty legions, and through them of the whole earth; those courtiers covered with gold and scarlet, uncertain of the morrow, but mightier meanwhile than kings,—all this together seemed a species of hellish kingdom of wrong and evil. In his simple heart he marvelled that God could give such inconceivable almightiness to Satan, that He could yield the earth to him to knead, overturn, and trample it, to squeeze blood and tears from it, to twist it like a whirlwind, to storm it like a tempest, to consume it like a flame. And his Apostle-heart was alarmed by those thoughts, and in spirit he spoke to the Master: “O Lord, how shall I begin in this city, to which Thou hast sent me? To it belong seas and lands, the beasts of the field, and the creatures of the water; it owns other kingdoms and cities, and thirty legions which guard them; but I, O Lord, am a fisherman from a lake! How shall I begin, and how shall I conquer its malice?”
They went with him, and after resting and having something to eat at his house, they headed back to the area across the Tiber River only in the evening. Planning to cross the river at the Æmilian Bridge, they walked through the Clivus Publicus, making their way over the Aventine, between the temples of Diana and Mercury. From that elevated spot, the Apostle looked at the buildings around him and those fading into the distance. Lost in thought, he reflected on the vastness and power of the city where he had come to share the word of God. Until now, he had witnessed the rule of Rome and its legions in various lands he had traveled, but those were just fragments of the power, which that day he saw embodied in the person of Nero for the first time. That city, vast, predatory, greedy, unchecked, rotten to its core, and invulnerable in its almost superhuman strength; that Cæsar, a murderer of brothers, a killer of mothers, a slayer of his wife, led a following of bloody specters just as numerous as his court. That debauched fool, yet also the leader of thirty legions, and through them, the master of the whole world; those courtiers draped in gold and scarlet, uncertain about tomorrow, but still more powerful than kings—altogether, it seemed like a nightmarish kingdom of injustice and evil. In his humble heart, he wondered how God could grant such unimaginable power to Satan, allowing him to dominate the earth, to reshape, overturn, and crush it, to extract blood and tears from it, to whip it like a storm, to assault it like a tempest, to consume it like fire. And his Apostle-heart was troubled by these thoughts, and in his spirit, he spoke to the Master: “O Lord, how should I begin in this city to which You have sent me? It encompasses seas and lands, the wild animals and the creatures of the waters; it possesses other kingdoms and cities, guarded by thirty legions; but I, O Lord, am just a fisherman from a lake! How should I start, and how can I overcome its wickedness?”
Thus speaking he raised his gray, trembling head toward heaven, praying and exclaiming from the depth of his heart to his Divine Master, himself full of sadness and fear.
Thus speaking, he raised his gray, shaking head toward the sky, praying and crying out from the depths of his heart to his Divine Master, who was also filled with sadness and fear.
Meanwhile his prayer was interrupted by Lygia.
Meanwhile, Lygia interrupted his prayer.
“The whole city is as if on fire,” said she.
“The whole city feels like it's on fire,” she said.
In fact the sun went down that day in a marvellous manner. Its immense shield had sunk half-way behind the Janiculum, the whole expanse of heaven was filled with a red gleam. From the place on which they were standing, Peter’s glance embraced large expanses. Somewhat to the right they saw the long extending walls of the Circus Maximus; above it the towering palaces of the Palatine; and directly in front of them, beyond the Forum Boarium and the Velabrum, the summit of the Capitol, with the temple of Jupiter. But the walls and the columns and the summits of the temples were as if sunk in that golden and purple gleam. The parts of the river visible from afar flowed as if in blood; and as the sun sank moment after moment behind the mountain, the gleam became redder and redder, more and more like a conflagration, and it increased and extended till finally it embraced the seven hills, from which it extended to the whole region about.
That day, the sun set in an incredible way. Its massive orb dipped halfway behind the Janiculum, filling the sky with a red glow. From where they stood, Peter could see vast stretches of land. A little to the right, they spotted the long walls of the Circus Maximus; above it towered the grand buildings on the Palatine. Directly in front, beyond the Forum Boarium and the Velabrum, was the peak of the Capitol, topped with the temple of Jupiter. The walls, columns, and temple tops seemed to be submerged in that golden and purple glow. The parts of the river visible from a distance looked like they were flowing with blood; and as the sun sank lower behind the mountain, the glow grew redder and more like a fire, expanding until it finally covered the seven hills and spread out to the entire surrounding area.
“The whole city seems on fire!” repeated Lygia.
“The whole city looks like it’s on fire!” Lygia said again.
Peter shaded his eyes with his hand, and said—
Peter shielded his eyes with his hand and said—
“The wrath of God is upon it.”
“The anger of God is upon it.”
Chapter XXXVII
VINCIUS to LYGIA:
“The slave Phlegon, by whom I send this letter, is a Christian; hence he will be one of those to receive freedom from thy hands, my dearest. He is an old servant of our house; so I can write to thee with full confidence, and without fear that the letter will fall into other hands than thine. I write from Laurentum, where we have halted because of heat. Otho owned here a lordly villa, which on a time he presented to Poppæa; and she, though divorced from him, saw fit to retain the magnificent present. When I think of the women who surround me now and of thee, it seems to me that from the stones hurled by Deucalion there must have risen people of various kinds, altogether unlike one another, and that thou art of those born of crystal.
“The slave Phlegon, who is bringing you this letter, is a Christian; so he will be one of those who receives freedom from you, my dear. He is an old servant of our household, so I can write to you with complete confidence, knowing that this letter won’t end up in the wrong hands. I’m writing from Laurentum, where we’ve stopped because of the heat. Otho used to own a grand villa here, which he once gave to Poppæa; and she, although divorced from him, chose to keep the impressive gift. When I think of the women around me now and of you, it feels like the people who emerged from the stones thrown by Deucalion must have been of various kinds, all different from one another, and that you are one of those born of crystal."
“I admire and love thee from my whole soul, and wish to speak only of thee; hence I am forced to constrain myself to write of our journey, of that which happens to me, and of news of the court. Well, Cæsar was the guest of Poppæa, who prepared for him secretly a magnificent reception. She invited only a few of his favorites, but Petronius and I were among them. After dinner we sailed in golden boats over the sea, which was as calm as if it had been sleeping, and as blue as thy eyes, O divine one. We ourselves rowed, for evidently it flattered the Augusta that men of consular dignity, or their sons, were rowing for her. Cæsar, sitting at the rudder in a purple toga, sang a hymn in honor of the sea; this hymn he had composed the night before, and with Diodorus had arranged music to it. In other boats he was accompanied by slaves from India who knew how to play on sea-shells while round about appeared numerous dolphins, as if really enticed from Amphitrite’s depths by music. Dost thou know what I was doing? I was thinking of thee, and yearning. I wanted to gather in that sea, that calm, and that music, and give the whole to thee.
“I admire and love you with all my heart, and I want to talk only about you; so I have to hold myself back and write about our journey, what’s happening to me, and news from the court. Well, Caesar was a guest of Poppaea, who secretly prepared a magnificent reception for him. She invited only a few of his favorites, and Petronius and I were among them. After dinner, we sailed in golden boats over the sea, which was as calm as if it were sleeping, and as blue as your eyes, oh divine one. We rowed ourselves because it clearly pleased the Augusta that men of consular rank, or their sons, were rowing for her. Caesar, sitting at the helm in a purple toga, sang a hymn in honor of the sea; he composed it the night before and arranged the music with Diodorus. In other boats, he was accompanied by Indian slaves who could play music on sea-shells while numerous dolphins appeared around us, as if truly lured from Amphitrite’s depths by the music. Do you know what I was doing? I was thinking of you and yearning. I wanted to gather that sea, that calm, and that music, and give it all to you.
“Dost thou wish that we should live in some place at the seashore far from Rome, my Augusta? I have land in Sicily, on which there is an almond forest which has rose-colored blossoms in spring, and this forest goes down so near the sea that the tips of the branches almost touch the water. There I will love thee and magnify Paul’s teaching, for I know now that it will not be opposed to love and happiness. Dost thou wish?—But before I hear thy answer I will write further of what happened on the boat.
"Do you wish for us to live somewhere by the sea, far from Rome, my Augusta? I have land in Sicily, where there's an almond forest that blooms with pink flowers in spring, and this forest reaches so close to the sea that the tips of the branches nearly touch the water. There, I will love you and celebrate Paul’s teachings, because I now understand that they won't contradict love and happiness. Do you want that?—But before I hear your answer, I’ll continue writing about what happened on the boat."
“Soon the shore was far behind. We saw a sail before us in the distance, and all at once a dispute rose as to whether it was a common fishing-boat or a great ship from Ostia. I was the first to discover what it was, and then the Augusta said that for my eyes evidently nothing was hidden, and, dropping the veil over her face on a sudden, she inquired if I could recognize her thus. Petronius answered immediately that it was not possible to see even the sun behind a cloud; but she said, as if in jest, that love alone could blind such a piercing glance as mine, and, naming various women of the court, she fell to inquiring and guessing which one I loved. I answered calmly, but at last she mentioned thy name. Speaking of thee, she uncovered her face again, and looked at me with evil and inquiring eyes.
“Soon the shore was far behind us. We saw a sail in the distance, and suddenly a debate started about whether it was just a fishing boat or a big ship from Ostia. I was the first to figure out what it was, and then Augusta said that for my eyes nothing was hidden, and, suddenly covering her face with a veil, she asked if I could still recognize her. Petronius quickly replied that it was impossible to see even the sun behind a cloud; but she joked that only love could blind such a sharp gaze as mine, and started asking about different women at court, trying to guess who I was in love with. I replied calmly, but eventually, she mentioned your name. When she talked about you, she uncovered her face again and looked at me with a wicked, probing gaze."
“I feel real gratitude to Petronius, who turned the boat at that moment, through which general attention was taken from me; for had I heard hostile or sneering words touching thee, I should not have been able to hide my anger, and should have had to struggle with the wish to break the head of that wicked, malicious woman with my oar. Thou rememberest the incident at the pond of Agrippa about which I told thee at the house of Linus on the eve of my departure. Petronius is alarmed on my account, and to-day again he implored me not to offend the Augusta’s vanity. But Petronius does not understand me, and does not realize that, apart from thee, I know no pleasure or beauty or love, and that for Poppæa I feel only disgust and contempt. Thou hast changed my soul greatly,—so greatly that I should not wish now to return to my former life. But have no fear that harm may reach me here. Poppæa does not love me, for she cannot love any one, and her desires arise only from anger at Cæsar, who is under her influence yet, and who is even capable of loving her yet; still, he does not spare her, and does not hide from her his transgressions and shamelessness.
“I really appreciate Petronius, who turned the boat at that moment, which shifted everyone's attention away from me; if I had heard any hostile or mocking words about you, I wouldn’t have been able to hide my anger and would have had to fight the urge to smash that wicked, malicious woman’s head with my oar. You remember the incident at Agrippa’s pond that I told you about at Linus’s house on the night before I left. Petronius is worried about me, and today again he urged me not to hurt the Augusta’s pride. But Petronius doesn’t understand me; he doesn’t realize that, apart from you, I find no pleasure, beauty, or love, and that I feel nothing but disgust and contempt for Poppæa. You’ve changed my soul so much that I wouldn’t want to go back to my old life now. But don’t worry about me here. Poppæa doesn’t love me because she’s incapable of loving anyone, and her desires only stem from her anger at Cæsar, who is still under her influence and even capable of loving her; still, he doesn’t hold back from her and doesn’t hide his wrongdoings and shamelessness.”
“I will tell thee, besides, something which should pacify thee. Peter told me in parting not to fear Cæsar, since a hair would not fall from my head; and I believe him. Some voice in my soul says that every word of his must be accomplished; that since he blessed our love, neither Cæsar, nor all the powers of Hades, nor predestination itself, could take thee from me, O Lygia. When I think of this I am as happy as if I were in heaven, which alone is calm and happy. But what I say of heaven and predestination may offend thee, a Christian. Christ has not washed me yet, but my heart is like an empty chalice, which Paul of Tarsus is to fill with the sweet doctrine professed by thee,—the sweeter for me that it is thine. Thou, divine one, count even this as a merit to me that I have emptied it of the liquid with which I had filled it before, and that I do not withdraw it, but hold it forth as a thirsty man standing at a pure spring. Let me find favor in thy eyes.
"I'll tell you something that should put your mind at ease. When Peter left, he told me not to be afraid of Caesar, because not a single hair would fall from my head; and I believe him. Something inside me says that everything he said has to happen; since he blessed our love, neither Caesar, nor all the forces of the underworld, nor fate itself, can take you away from me, O Lygia. When I think about this, I feel as happy as if I were in heaven, which is the only place that's calm and joyful. But what I mention about heaven and fate might upset you, a Christian. Christ hasn’t washed me clean yet, but my heart is like an empty cup, ready for Paul of Tarsus to fill it with the sweet teachings you believe in—the sweeter because it comes from you. You, divine one, consider it a virtue that I've emptied it of the previous things that filled it, and I'm not pulling back; instead, I’m offering it like a thirsty man at a pure spring. Let me win your favor."
“In Antium my days and nights will pass in listening to Paul, who acquired such influence among my people on the first day that they surround him continually, seeing in him not only a wonder-worker, but a being almost supernatural. Yesterday I saw gladness on his face, and when I asked what he was doing, he answered, ‘I am sowing!’ Petronius knows that he is among my people, and wishes to see him, as does Seneca also, who heard of him from Gallo.
“In Antium, my days and nights will be spent listening to Paul, who gained such influence over my people right from day one that they gather around him constantly, viewing him not just as a miracle worker but as someone almost supernatural. Yesterday, I noticed happiness on his face, and when I asked what he was up to, he replied, ‘I am sowing!’ Petronius is aware that he’s with my people and wants to meet him, as does Seneca, who heard about him from Gallo."
“But the stars are growing pale, O Lygia, and ‘Lucifer’ of the morning is bright with growing force. Soon the dawn will make the sea ruddy; all is sleeping round about, but I am thinking of thee and loving thee. Be greeted together with the morning dawn, sponsa mea!”
“But the stars are fading, O Lygia, and the morning ‘Lucifer’ is shining brighter. Soon the dawn will color the sea red; everything around is asleep, but I'm thinking of you and loving you. Greetings to you with the morning light, my bride!”
Chapter XXXVIII
VINICIUS to LYGIA:
“Hast thou ever been in Antium, my dear one, with Aulus and Pomponia? If not, I shall be happy when I show this place to thee. All the way from Laurentum there is a line of villas along the seashore; and Antium itself is an endless succession of palaces and porticos, whose columns in fair weather see themselves in the water. I, too, have a residence here right over the sea, with an olive garden and a forest of cypresses behind the villa, and when I think that the place will sometime be thine, its marble seems whiter to me, its groves more shady, and the sea bluer. Oh, Lygia, how good it is to live and love! Old Menikles, who manages the villa, planted irises on the ground under myrtles, and at sight of them the house of Aulus, the impluvium, and the garden in which I sat near thee, came to my mind. The irises will remind thee, too, of thy childhood’s home; therefore I am certain that thou wilt love Antium and this villa.
"Have you ever been to Antium, my dear, with Aulus and Pomponia? If not, I’ll be excited to show you this place. All along the coast from Laurentum, there’s a line of villas by the sea, and Antium itself is full of beautiful palaces and porticos, their columns reflecting in the water on nice days. I also have a house here right by the sea, with an olive grove and a cypress forest behind the villa, and when I think that this place will someday be yours, the marble looks whiter to me, the groves seem shadier, and the sea appears bluer. Oh, Lygia, how wonderful it is to live and love! Old Menikles, who takes care of the villa, planted irises beneath the myrtles, and looking at them reminds me of Aulus's house, the impluvium, and the garden where I sat beside you. The irises will remind you of your childhood home; that’s why I’m sure you’ll love Antium and this villa."
“Immediately after our arrival I talked long with Paul at dinner. We spoke of thee, and afterward he taught. I listened long, and I say only this, that even could I write like Petronius, I should not have power to explain everything which passed through my soul and my mind. I had not supposed that there could be such happiness in this world, such beauty and peace of which hitherto people had no knowledge. But I retain all this for conversation with thee, for at the first free moment I shall be in Rome.
“Right after we got there, I had a long talk with Paul at dinner. We talked about you, and then he taught. I listened for a long time, and I can only say this: even if I could write like Petronius, I wouldn't have the ability to explain everything that went through my soul and mind. I never thought there could be such happiness in this world, such beauty and peace that people had no idea about until now. But I’m saving all this for a conversation with you, because as soon as I have a free moment, I'll be in Rome.”
“How could the earth find place at once for the Apostle Peter, Paul of Tarsus, and Cæsar? Tell me this. I ask because I passed the evening after Paul’s teaching with Nero, and dost thou know what I heard there? Well, to begin with, he read his poem on the destruction of Troy, and complained that never had he seen a burning city. He envied Priam, and called him happy just for this, that he saw the conflagration and ruin of his birthplace. Whereupon Tigellinus said, ‘Speak a word, O divinity, I will take a torch, and before the night passes thou shalt see blazing Antium.’ But Cæsar called him a fool. ‘Where,’ asked he, ‘should I go to breathe the sea air, and preserve the voice with which the gods have gifted me, and which men say I should preserve for the benefit of mankind? Is it not Rome that injures me; is it not the exhalations of the Subura and the Esquiline which add to my hoarseness? Would not the palaces of Rome present a spectacle a hundredfold more tragic and magnificent than Antium?’ Here all began to talk, and to say what an unheard tragedy the picture of a city like that would be, a city which had conquered the world turned now into a heap of gray ashes. Cæsar declared that then his poem would surpass the songs of Homer, and he began to describe how he would rebuild the city, and how coming ages would admire his achievements, in presence of which all other human works would be petty. ‘Do that! do that!’ exclaimed the drunken company. ‘I must have more faithful and more devoted friends,’ answered he.
“How could the earth fit in the Apostle Peter, Paul of Tarsus, and Caesar all at once? Tell me this. I ask because I spent the evening after Paul’s teaching with Nero, and do you know what I heard there? Well, to start, he read his poem about the destruction of Troy and complained that he had never witnessed a burning city. He envied Priam and called him lucky just for that—he got to see the fire and ruin of his hometown. Then Tigellinus said, ‘Speak a word, O divinity, I will take a torch, and by morning you shall see Antium in flames.’ But Caesar called him a fool. ‘Where,’ he asked, ‘would I go to breathe the sea air and protect the voice with which the gods have gifted me, and which people say I should preserve for the benefit of mankind? Is it not Rome that harms me? Is it not the fumes of the Subura and the Esquiline that contribute to my hoarseness? Wouldn’t the palaces of Rome create a spectacle a hundred times more tragic and magnificent than Antium?’ At this, everyone started talking about what an unimaginable tragedy it would be to see a city like that—a city that had conquered the world—turned into a heap of gray ashes. Caesar declared that then his poem would surpass the songs of Homer, and he began to imagine how he would rebuild the city, and how future generations would admire his feats, in comparison to which all other human accomplishments would seem insignificant. ‘Do that! Do that!’ shouted the drunken crowd. ‘I must have more faithful and devoted friends,’ he replied.”
“I confess that I was alarmed at once when I heard this, for thou art in Rome, carissima. I laugh now at that alarm, and I think that Cæsar and his friends, though mad, would not dare to permit such insanity. Still, see how a man fears for his love; I should prefer that the house of Linus were not in that narrow Trans-Tiber alley, and in a part occupied by common people, who are less considered in such a case. For me, the very palaces on the Palatine would not be a residence fit for thee; hence I should wish also that nothing were lacking thee of those ornaments and comforts to which thou art accustomed from childhood.
“I admit I was really worried when I heard this, because you’re in Rome, my dear. I laugh now at that worry, and I believe that Caesar and his friends, although they’re crazy, wouldn’t dare allow such madness. Still, it shows how much a man fears for his love; I would prefer if Linus’s house wasn’t in that narrow alley across the Tiber, in a part filled with ordinary people, who often aren't treated well in situations like this. For me, even the grand palaces on the Palatine wouldn’t be a suitable home for you; therefore, I would also want you to have all the luxuries and comforts you’ve been used to since childhood.”
“Go to the house of Aulus, my Lygia. I have thought much here over this matter. If Cæsar were in Rome, news of thy return might reach the Palatine through slaves, turn attention to thee, and bring persecution, because thou didst dare to act against the will of Cæsar. But he will remain long in Antium, and before he returns slaves will have ceased to speak of thee. Linus and Ursus can be with thee. Besides, I live in hope that before Palatine sees Cæsar, thou, my goddess, shalt be dwelling in thy own house on the Carinæ. Blessed be the day, hour, and moment in which thou shalt cross my threshold; and if Christ, whom I am learning to accept, effects this, may His name be blessed also. I shall serve Him, and give life and blood for Him. I speak incorrectly; we shall serve Him, both of us, as long as the threads of life hold.
"Go to Aulus's house, my Lygia. I’ve thought a lot about this. If Cæsar were in Rome, news of your return could reach the Palatine through slaves, draw attention to you, and lead to persecution because you dared to go against Cæsar’s wishes. But he will be in Antium for a while, and by the time he comes back, the slaves will have stopped talking about you. Linus and Ursus can be with you. Besides, I hold on to the hope that before the Palatine sees Cæsar, you, my goddess, will be living in your own house on the Carinæ. Blessed be the day, hour, and moment when you cross my threshold; and if Christ, whom I’m learning to embrace, makes this happen, may His name be blessed too. I will serve Him and give my life and blood for Him. I misspoke; we will serve Him, both of us, as long as we have life."
“I love thee and salute thee with my whole soul.”
“I love you and greet you with all my heart.”
Chapter XXXIX
Unsus was taking water from a cistern, and while drawing up a double amphora, with a rope, was singing a strange Lygian song in an undertone, looking meanwhile with delighted eyes at Lygia and Vinicius, who, among the cypresses in Linus’s garden, seemed as white as two statues. Their clothing was not moved by the least breeze. A golden and lily-colored twilight was sinking on the world while they were conversing in the calm of evening, each holding the other by the hand.
Unsus was drawing water from a cistern, and while pulling up a double amphora with a rope, he was singing a strange Lygian song softly, glancing with joy at Lygia and Vinicius, who, surrounded by the cypresses in Linus’s garden, looked as white as two statues. Their clothes didn't flutter in the slightest breeze. A golden and pale twilight was settling over the world as they chatted in the peaceful evening, each holding the other's hand.
“May not some evil meet thee, Marcus, because thou hast left Antium without Cæsar’s knowledge?” asked Lygia.
“Could some trouble come your way, Marcus, since you left Antium without telling Caesar?” Lygia asked.
“No, my dear,” answered Vinicius. “Cæsar announced that he would shut himself in for two days with Terpnos, and compose new songs. He acts thus frequently, and at such times neither knows nor remembers aught else. Moreover, what is Cæsar to me since I am near thee and am looking at thee? I have yearned too much already, and these last nights sleep has left me. More than once, when I dozed from weariness, I woke on a sudden, with a feeling that danger was hanging over thee; at times I dreamed that the relays of horses which were to bear me from Antium to Rome were stolen,—horses with which I passed that road more swiftly than any of Cæsar’s couriers. Besides, I could not live longer without thee; I love thee too much for that, my dearest.”
“No, my dear,” Vinicius replied. “Cæsar announced that he would shut himself away for two days with Terpnos to write new songs. He does this often, and during those times he neither knows nor cares about anything else. Besides, what does Cæsar matter to me when I'm close to you and can look at you? I’ve already longed for you too much, and sleep has escaped me these last few nights. More than once, when I dozed off from exhaustion, I suddenly woke up feeling like something was threatening you; sometimes I even dreamed that the horses meant to take me from Antium to Rome were stolen—horses that could get me there faster than any of Cæsar’s messengers. I can't live without you any longer; I love you too much for that, my dearest.”
“I knew that thou wert coming. Twice Ursus ran out, at my request, to the Carinæ, and inquired for thee at thy house. Linus laughed at me, and Ursus also.”
“I knew you were coming. Twice, Ursus ran out, as I asked, to the Carinæ and checked for you at your house. Linus laughed at me, and so did Ursus.”
It was, indeed, evident that she had expected him; for instead of her usual dark dress, she wore a soft white stola, out of whose beautiful folds her arms and head emerged like primroses out of snow. A few ruddy anemones ornamented her hair.
It was clear that she had been expecting him; instead of her usual dark dress, she was wearing a soft white stola, from which her arms and head emerged like primroses breaking through the snow. A few bright red anemones decorated her hair.
Vinicius pressed his lips to her hands; then they sat on the stone bench amidst wild grapevines, and inclining toward each other, were silent, looking at the twilight whose last gleams were reflected in their eyes.
Vinicius pressed his lips to her hands; then they sat on the stone bench among wild grapevines, leaning toward each other, silent, watching the twilight as its final rays reflected in their eyes.
The charm of the quiet evening mastered them completely.
The charm of the peaceful evening completely captivated them.
“How calm it is here, and how beautiful the world is,” said Vinicius, in a lowered voice. “The night is wonderfully still. I feel happier than ever in life before. Tell me, Lygia, what is this? Never have I thought that there could be such love. I thought that love was merely fire in the blood and desire; but now for the first time I see that it is possible to love with every drop of one’s blood and every breath, and feel therewith such sweet and immeasurable calm as if Sleep and Death had put the soul to rest. For me this is something new. I look on this calmness of the trees, and it seems to be within me. Now I understand for the first time that there may be happiness of which people have not known thus far. Now I begin to understand why thou and Pomponia Græcina have such peace. Yes! Christ gives it.”
“How peaceful it is here, and how beautiful the world is,” said Vinicius in a soft voice. “The night is incredibly still. I feel happier than I ever have before. Tell me, Lygia, what is this? I never imagined there could be such love. I thought love was just a fire in the blood and desire; but now, for the first time, I see that it's possible to love with every drop of one's blood and every breath, and feel such sweet and immeasurable calm as if Sleep and Death had put the soul to rest. This is something new for me. I look at the calmness of the trees, and it seems to be within me. Now I understand for the first time that there may be happiness that people haven't known until now. Now I begin to understand why you and Pomponia Græcina have such peace. Yes! Christ gives it.”
At that moment Lygia placed her beautiful face on his shoulder and said,—“My dear Marcus—” But she was unable to continue. Joy, gratitude, and the feeling that at last she was free to love deprived her of voice, and her eyes were filled with tears of emotion.
At that moment, Lygia rested her beautiful face on his shoulder and said, “My dear Marcus—” But she couldn’t continue. Joy, gratitude, and the realization that she was finally free to love took away her voice, and her eyes were filled with tears of emotion.
Vinicius, embracing her slender form with his arm, drew her toward him and said,—“Lygia! May the moment be blessed in which I heard His name for the first time.”
Vinicius wrapped his arm around her slim figure, pulled her close, and said, “Lygia! May the moment be blessed when I heard His name for the first time.”
“I love thee, Marcus,” said she then in a low voice.
“I love you, Marcus,” she said quietly.
Both were silent again, unable to bring words from their overcharged breasts. The last lily reflections had died on the cypresses, and the garden began to be silver-like from the crescent of the moon. After a while Vinicius said,
Both were silent again, unable to find the words from their overwhelmed hearts. The last lily reflections had faded on the cypresses, and the garden began to shimmer with a silver glow from the crescent moon. After a while, Vinicius said,
“I know. Barely had I entered here, barely had I kissed thy dear hands, when I read in thy eyes the question whether I had received the divine doctrine to which thou art attached, and whether I was baptized. No, I am not baptized yet; but knowest thou, my flower, why? Paul said to me: ‘I have convinced thee that God came into the world and gave Himself to be crucified for its salvation; but let Peter wash thee in the fountain of grace, he who first stretched his hands over thee and blessed thee.’ And I, my dearest, wish thee to witness my baptism, and I wish Pomponia to be my godmother. This is why I am not baptized yet, though I believe in the Saviour and in his teaching. Paul has convinced me, has converted me; and could it be otherwise? How was I not to believe that Christ came into the world, since he, who was His disciple, says so, and Paul, to whom He appeared? How was I not to believe that He was God, since He rose from the dead? Others saw Him in the city and on the lake and on the mountain; people saw Him whose lips have not known a lie. I began to believe this the first time I heard Peter in Ostrianum, for I said to myself even then: In the whole world any other man might lie rather than this one who says, ‘I saw.’ But I feared thy religion. It seemed to me that thy religion would take thee from me. I thought that there was neither wisdom nor beauty nor happiness in it. But to-day, when I know it, what kind of man should I be were I not to wish truth to rule the world instead of falsehood, love instead of hatred, virtue instead of crime, faithfulness instead of unfaithfulness, mercy instead of vengeance? What sort of man would he be who would not choose and wish the same? But your religion teaches this. Others desire justice also; but thy religion is the only one which makes man’s heart just, and besides makes it pure, like thine and Pomponia’s, makes it faithful, like thine and Pomponia’s. I should be blind were I not to see this. But if in addition Christ God has promised eternal life, and has promised happiness as immeasurable as the all-might of God can give, what more can one wish? Were I to ask Seneca why he enjoins virtue, if wickedness brings more happiness, he would not be able to say anything sensible. But I know now that I ought to be virtuous, because virtue and love flow from Christ, and because, when death closes my eyes, I shall find life and happiness, I shall find myself and thee. Why not love and accept a religion which both speaks the truth and destroys death? Who would not prefer good to evil? I thought thy religion opposed to happiness; meanwhile Paul has convinced me that not only does it not take away, but that it gives. All this hardly finds a place in my head; but I feel that it is true, for I have never been so happy, neither could I be, had I taken thee by force and possessed thee in my house. Just see, thou hast said a moment since, ‘I love thee,’ and I could not have won these words from thy lips with all the might of Rome. O Lygia! Reason declares this religion divine, and the best; the heart feels it, and who can resist two such forces?”
“I know. Barely had I stepped inside, barely had I kissed your dear hands, when I saw in your eyes the question of whether I had received the divine teachings you follow, and whether I had been baptized. No, I am not baptized yet; but do you know, my flower, why? Paul said to me: ‘I’ve convinced you that God came into the world and offered Himself to be crucified for its salvation; but let Peter wash you in the fountain of grace, he who first blessed you.’ And I, my dearest, want you to witness my baptism, and I want Pomponia to be my godmother. This is why I am not baptized yet, even though I believe in the Savior and His teachings. Paul has convinced me, has converted me; and how could it be any different? How could I not believe that Christ came into the world, since He, who was His disciple, says so, and Paul, to whom He appeared? How could I not believe that He is God, since He rose from the dead? Others saw Him in the city, on the lake, and on the mountain; people saw Him whose lips have never known a lie. I began to believe this the first time I heard Peter in Ostrianum, for I said to myself back then: In the whole world, any other man might lie except this one who says, ‘I saw.’ But I feared your religion. It seemed to me that your religion would take you away from me. I thought there was no wisdom or beauty or happiness in it. But today, knowing what I do, what kind of person would I be if I didn’t want truth to prevail over falsehood, love over hatred, virtue over wrongdoing, faithfulness over betrayal, mercy over vengeance? What sort of person would he be who wouldn’t choose and wish the same? But your religion teaches this. Others desire justice too; but your religion is the only one that makes a man’s heart just, and pure like yours and Pomponia’s, faithful like yours and Pomponia’s. I would be blind not to see this. But if additionally Christ God has promised eternal life, and happiness as vast as the might of God can give, what more could one wish? If I were to ask Seneca why he advocates for virtue if wickedness brings more happiness, he wouldn’t be able to say anything sensible. But I know now that I should be virtuous, because virtue and love come from Christ, and because, when death closes my eyes, I will find life and happiness, I will find myself and you. Why not love and accept a religion that not only speaks the truth but also conquers death? Who wouldn’t prefer good over evil? I thought your religion opposed happiness; meanwhile Paul has convinced me that it not only doesn’t take away, but that it gives. All this hardly fits in my head; but I feel that it is true, for I have never been so happy, nor could I be, had I taken you by force and possessed you in my house. Just see, you said a moment ago, ‘I love you,’ and I couldn’t have gotten those words from your lips with all the power of Rome. O Lygia! Reason declares this religion divine and the best; the heart feels it, and who can resist two such forces?”
Lygia listened, fixing on him her blue eyes, which in the light of the moon were like mystic flowers, and bedewed like flowers.
Lygia listened, focusing her blue eyes on him, which in the moonlight looked like enchanting flowers, glistening like petals.
“Yes, Marcus, that is true!” said she, nestling her head more closely to his shoulder.
“Yes, Marcus, that’s true!” she said, snuggling her head closer to his shoulder.
And at that moment they felt immensely happy, for they understood that besides love they were united by another power, at once sweet and irresistible, by which love itself becomes endless, not subject to change, deceit, treason, or even death. Their hearts were filled with perfect certainty that, no matter what might happen, they would not cease to love and belong to each other. For that reason an unspeakable repose flowed in on their souls. Vinicius felt, besides, that that love was not merely profound and pure, but altogether new,—such as the world had not known and could not give. In his head all was combined in this love,—Lygia, the teaching of Christ, the light of the moon resting calmly on the cypresses, and the still night,—so that to him the whole universe seemed filled with it.
And at that moment, they felt incredibly happy because they realized that, besides love, they were connected by another force that was sweet and irresistible, making love itself eternal, unaffected by change, deceit, betrayal, or even death. Their hearts were filled with complete certainty that, no matter what happened, they would continue to love and belong to each other. For that reason, a profound peace settled in their souls. Vinicius also felt that this love was not just deep and pure, but entirely new—something the world had never known and could not provide. In his mind, everything came together in this love—Lygia, the teachings of Christ, the calm moonlight resting on the cypresses, and the quiet night—so that to him, the entire universe seemed filled with it.
After a while he said with a lowered and quivering voice: “Thou wilt be the soul of my soul, and the dearest in the world to me. Our hearts will beat together, we shall have one prayer and one gratitude to Christ. O my dear! To live together, to honor together the sweet God, and to know that when death comes our eyes will open again, as after a pleasant sleep, to a new light,—what better could be imagined? I only marvel that I did not understand this at first. And knowest thou what occurs to me now? That no one can resist this religion. In two hundred or three hundred years the whole world will accept it. People will forget Jupiter, and there will be no God except Christ, and no other temples but Christian. Who would not wish his own happiness? Ah! but I heard Paul’s conversation with Petronius and dost thou know what Petronius said at the end? ‘That is not for me’; but he could give no other answer.”
After a while, he said in a quiet, shaking voice: “You will be the soul of my soul and the dearest person in the world to me. Our hearts will beat as one, and we will share one prayer and one gratitude to Christ. Oh my dear! To live together, to honor the sweet God together, and to know that when death comes, our eyes will open again, like after a pleasant sleep, to a new light—what could be better? I only wonder why I didn't see this before. And do you know what I’m thinking now? That no one can resist this faith. In two hundred or three hundred years, the whole world will accept it. People will forget Jupiter, and there will be no God except Christ, and no temples but Christian ones. Who wouldn’t want their own happiness? Ah! But I heard Paul’s conversation with Petronius, and do you know what Petronius said at the end? ‘That is not for me’; but he didn’t have any other answer.”
“Repeat Paul’s words to me,” said Lygia.
“Say Paul’s words to me again,” said Lygia.
“It was at my house one evening. Petronius began to speak playfully and to banter, as he does usually, whereupon Paul said to him: ‘How canst thou deny, O wise Petronius, that Christ existed and rose from the dead, since thou wert not in the world at that time, but Peter and John saw Him, and I saw Him on the road to Damascus? Let thy wisdom show, first of all, then, that we are liars, and then only deny our testimony.’ Petronius answered that he had no thought of denying, for he knew that many incomprehensible things were done, which trustworthy people affirmed. ‘But the discovery of some new foreign god is one thing,’ said he, ‘and the reception of his teaching another. I have no wish to know anything which may deform life and mar its beauty. Never mind whether our gods are true or not; they are beautiful, their rule is pleasant for us, and we live without care.’ ‘Thou art willing to reject the religion of love, justice, and mercy through dread of the cares of life,’ replied Paul; ‘but think, Petronius, is thy life really free from anxieties? Behold, neither thou nor any man among the richest and most powerful knows when he falls asleep at night that he may not wake to a death sentence. But tell me, if Cæsar professed this religion, which enjoins love and justice, would not thy happiness be more assured? Thou art alarmed about thy delight, but would not life be more joyous then? As to life’s beauty and ornaments, if ye have reared so many beautiful temples and statues to evil, revengeful, adulterous, and faithless divinities, what would ye not do in honor of one God of truth and mercy? Thou art ready to praise thy lot, because thou art wealthy and living in luxury; but it was possible even in thy case to be poor and deserted, though coming of a great house, and then in truth it would have been better for thee if people confessed Christ. In Rome even wealthy parents, unwilling to toil at rearing children, cast them out of the house frequently; those children are called alumni. And chance might have made thee an alumnus, like one of those. But if parents live according to our religion, this cannot happen. And hadst thou, at manhood’s years, married a woman of thy love, thy wish would be to see her faithful till death. Meanwhile look around, what happens among you, what vileness, what shame, what bartering in the faith of wives! Nay, ye yourselves are astonished when a woman appears whom ye call “univira” (of one husband). But I tell thee that those women who carry Christ in their hearts will not break faith with their husbands, just as Christian husbands will keep faith with their wives. But ye are neither sure of rulers nor fathers nor wives nor children nor servants. The whole world is trembling before you, and ye are trembling before your own slaves, for ye know that any hour may raise an awful war against your oppression, such a war as has been raised more than once. Though rich, thou art not sure that the command may not come to thee to-morrow to leave thy wealth; thou art young, but to-morrow it may be necessary for thee to die. Thou lovest, but treason is in wait for thee; thou art enamoured of villas and statues, but to-morrow power may thrust thee forth into the empty places of the Pandataria; thou hast thousands of servants, but to-morrow these servants may let thy blood flow. And if that be the case, how canst thou be calm and happy, how canst thou live in delight? But I proclaim love, and I proclaim a religion which commands rulers to love their subjects, masters their slaves, slaves to serve with love, to do justice and be merciful; and at last it promises happiness boundless as a sea without end. How, then, Petronius, canst thou say that that religion spoils life, since it corrects, and since thou thyself wouldst be a hundred times happier and more secure were it to embrace the world as Rome’s dominion has embraced it?’
“It was at my house one evening. Petronius started to joke around and tease, as he usually does, and Paul said to him: 'How can you deny, wise Petronius, that Christ existed and rose from the dead, since you weren't in the world at that time, but Peter and John saw Him, and I saw Him on the road to Damascus? Let your wisdom first show that we are liars, and only then deny our testimony.' Petronius replied that he had no intention of denying, for he knew many incomprehensible things occurred that trustworthy people affirmed. 'But discovering some new foreign god is one thing,' he said, 'and accepting his teachings is another. I have no desire to learn anything that might distort life and ruin its beauty. It doesn’t matter whether our gods are true or not; they are beautiful, their rule is pleasant for us, and we live without worry.' 'You are willing to reject the religion of love, justice, and mercy out of fear of life's burdens,' Paul responded; 'but consider, Petronius, is your life really free of anxieties? Look, neither you nor anyone among the wealthiest and most powerful knows when he goes to sleep at night that he might not wake up to a death sentence. But tell me, if Caesar professed this religion that promotes love and justice, wouldn't your happiness be more assured? You’re worried about your pleasure, but wouldn’t life be more joyful then? Regarding life’s beauty and decorations, if you have built so many beautiful temples and statues for wicked, vengeful, adulterous, and unfaithful gods, imagine what you could do in honor of one God of truth and mercy? You’re content because you are wealthy and living in luxury; yet it could have been possible for you to be poor and abandoned, despite coming from a great family, and then it would truly be better for you if people acknowledged Christ. In Rome, even wealthy parents, unwilling to deal with raising children, often abandon them; these children are called alumni. And chance could have made you an alumnus, just like one of them. But if parents follow our religion, this cannot happen. And if, at a young age, you had married a woman you loved, your wish would be for her to remain faithful until death. Meanwhile, look around at what happens among you, the depravity, the shame, the trade-offs in the fidelity of wives! Indeed, you yourselves are shocked when a woman appears whom you call 'univira' (of one husband). But I tell you that women who carry Christ in their hearts will not betray their husbands, just as Christian husbands will remain faithful to their wives. But you are not sure of rulers, fathers, wives, children, or servants. The whole world trembles before you, and you tremble before your own slaves, knowing that at any moment a terrible revolt against your oppression might arise, a revolt that has happened more than once. Though you are rich, you can't be certain that you won’t be ordered to leave your wealth tomorrow; you are young, but tomorrow it may be necessary for you to die. You love, but betrayal lies in wait for you; you are enamored with villas and statues, but tomorrow power might cast you into the desolate places of Pandataria; you have thousands of servants, but tomorrow those servants may let your blood flow. And if that’s the case, how can you be calm and happy, how can you live in pleasure? But I proclaim love, and I proclaim a religion that commands rulers to love their subjects, masters to love their slaves, slaves to serve with love, to be just and merciful; and ultimately it promises happiness as vast as an endless sea. So, Petronius, how can you say that this religion ruins life, since it corrects and since you yourself would be a hundred times happier and more secure if it embraced the world as Rome’s dominion has embraced it?’”
“Thus discussed Paul, and then Petronius said, ‘That is not for me.’ Feigning drowsiness, he went out, and when going added: ‘I prefer my Eunice, O little Jew, but I should not wish to struggle with thee on the platform.’ I listened to Paul’s words with my whole soul, and when he spoke of our women, I magnified with all my heart that religion from which thou hast sprung as a lily from a rich field in springtime. And I thought then: There is Poppæa, who cast aside two husbands for Nero, there is Calvia Crispinilla, there is Nigidia, there are almost all whom I know, save only Pomponia; they trafficked with faith and with oaths, but she and my own one will not desert, will not deceive, and will not quench the fire, even though all in whom I place trust should desert and deceive me. Hence I said to thee in my soul, How can I show gratitude to thee, if not with love and honor? Didst thou feel that in Antium I spoke and conversed with thee all the time as if thou hadst been at my side? I love thee a hundred times more for having escaped me from Cæsar’s house. Neither do I care for Cæsar’s house any longer; I wish not its luxury and music, I wish only thee. Say a word, we will leave Rome to settle somewhere at a distance.”
“Paul said this, and then Petronius replied, ‘That’s not for me.’ Pretending to be sleepy, he left, and as he was going, he added, ‘I prefer my Eunice, oh little Jew, but I wouldn’t want to argue with you on the stage.’ I took in Paul’s words with all my being, and when he talked about our women, I fully appreciated the faith you come from, blossoming like a lily in a rich field in spring. And I thought then: There’s Poppæa, who discarded two husbands for Nero, there’s Calvia Crispinilla, there’s Nigidia, and almost all the women I know, except for Pomponia; they played with trust and promises, but she and my own will not betray, will not deceive, and will not extinguish the fire, even if everyone I trust were to abandon and deceive me. So I said to you in my heart, How can I show my gratitude to you, if not with love and respect? Did you feel that in Antium I spoke and interacted with you as if you were right next to me? I love you a hundred times more for having rescued me from Caesar’s house. I’ve lost interest in Caesar’s house; I don’t want its luxury and music, I only want you. Just say the word, and we’ll leave Rome to find a place far away.”
Without removing her head from his shoulder, Lygia, as if meditating, raised her eyes to the silver tops of the cypresses, and answered,—“Very well, Marcus. Thou hast written to me of Sicily, where Aulus wishes to settle in old age.” And Vinieius interrupted her with delight.
Without moving her head from his shoulder, Lygia, as if in thought, looked up at the silver tops of the cypresses and replied, “Alright, Marcus. You wrote to me about Sicily, where Aulus wants to settle in his old age.” Vinicius interrupted her with joy.
“True, my dear! Our lands are adjacent. That is a wonderful coast, where the climate is sweeter and the nights still brighter than in Rome, odoriferous and transparent. There life and happiness are almost one and the same.”
“It's true, my dear! Our lands are next to each other. That coastline is amazing, with a sweeter climate and even brighter nights than in Rome, fragrant and clear. There, life and happiness almost feel like one and the same.”
And he began then to dream of the future.
And he started to dream about the future.
“There we may forget anxieties. In groves, among olive-trees, we shall walk and rest in the shade. O Lygia! what a life to love and cherish each other, to look at the sea together, to look at the sky together, to honor together a kind God, to do in peace what is just and true.”
“There we can forget our worries. In the groves, among the olive trees, we will walk and relax in the shade. Oh Lygia! What a life it would be to love and cherish each other, to gaze at the sea together, to gaze at the sky together, to honor a kind God together, and to peacefully do what is right and true.”
Both were silent, looking into the future; only he drew her more firmly toward him, and the knight’s ring on his finger glittered meanwhile in the rays of the moon. In the part occupied by the poor toiling people, all were sleeping; no murmur broke the silence.
Both were silent, gazing into the future; only he pulled her closer to him, and the knight’s ring on his finger sparkled in the moonlight. In the area where the struggling workers lived, everyone was sleeping; not a sound disturbed the silence.
“Wilt thou permit me to see Pomponia?” asked Lygia.
“Will you let me see Pomponia?” asked Lygia.
“Yes, dear one. We will invite them to our house, or go to them ourselves. If thou wish, we can take Peter the Apostle. He is bowed down with age and work. Paul will visit us also,—he will convert Aulus Plautius; and as soldiers found colonies in distant lands, so we will found a colony of Christians.”
“Yes, dear one. We will invite them to our house, or we can go to them ourselves. If you want, we can bring Peter the Apostle along. He is weighed down with age and work. Paul will also visit us—he will convert Aulus Plautius; and just as soldiers establish colonies in faraway lands, we will establish a colony of Christians.”
Lygia raised her hand and, taking his palm, wished to press it to her lips; but he whispered, as if fearing to frighten happiness,—“No, Lygia, no! It is I who honor thee and exalt thee; give me thy hands.”
Lygia raised her hand and, taking his palm, wanted to press it to her lips; but he whispered, as if afraid of scaring away happiness, “No, Lygia, no! It’s me who honors you and lifts you up; give me your hands.”
“I love thee.”
“I love you.”
He had pressed his lips to her hands, white as jessamine, and for a time they heard only the beating of their own hearts. There was not the slightest movement in the air; the cypresses stood as motionless as if they too were holding breath in their breasts.
He had kissed her hands, pale as jasmine, and for a while they only heard the sound of their own hearts beating. There was not a single movement in the air; the cypress trees stood still as if they were holding their breath, too.
All at once the silence was broken by an unexpected thunder, deep, and as if coming from under the earth. A shiver ran through Lygia’s body. Vinicius stood up, and said,—“Lions are roaring in the vivarium.”
Suddenly, the silence was shattered by an unexpected thunder, deep and as if it came from beneath the earth. A shiver ran through Lygia’s body. Vinicius stood up and said, “The lions are roaring in the zoo.”
Both began to listen. Now the first thunder was answered by a second, a third, a tenth, from all sides and divisions of the city. In Rome several thousand lions were quartered at times in various arenas, and frequently in the night-time they approached the grating, and, leaning their gigantic heads against it, gave utterance to their yearning for freedom and the desert. Thus they began on this occasion, and, answering one another in the stillness of night, they filled the whole city with roaring. There was something so indescribably gloomy and terrible in those roars that Lygia, whose bright and calm visions of the future were scattered, listened with a straitened heart and with wonderful fear and sadness.
Both started to listen. Now the first thunder was followed by a second, a third, a tenth, from all directions of the city. In Rome, several thousand lions were often kept in different arenas, and frequently during the night, they approached the bars, leaning their massive heads against them, expressing their longing for freedom and the wild. They began this way on this occasion, and, responding to one another in the stillness of night, they filled the entire city with their roars. There was something indescribably dark and terrifying in those roars that made Lygia, whose bright and calm visions of the future were shattered, listen with a tight heart and a mix of wonder, fear, and sadness.
But Vinicius encircled her with his arm, and said,—“Fear not, dear one. The games are at hand, and all the vivaria are crowded.”
But Vinicius wrapped his arm around her and said, “Don’t worry, my dear. The games are coming up, and all the animal enclosures are full.”
Then both entered the house of Linus, accompanied by the thunder of lions, growing louder and louder.
Then both entered Linus's house, followed by the roaring of lions, getting louder and louder.
Chapter XL
IN Antium, meanwhile, Petronius gained new victories almost daily over courtiers vying with him for the favor of Cæsar. The influence of Tigellinus had fallen completely. In Rome, when there was occasion to set aside men who seemed dangerous, to plunder their property or to settle political cases, to give spectacles astounding by their luxury and bad taste, or finally to satisfy the monstrous whims of Cæsar, Tigellinus, as adroit, as he was ready for anything, became indispensable. But in Antium, among palaces reflected in the azure of the sea, Cæsar led a Hellenic existence. From morning till evening Nero and his attendants read verses, discoursed on their structure and finish, were delighted with happy turns of expression, were occupied with music, the theatre,—in a word, exclusively with that which Grecian genius had invented, and with which it had beautified life. Under these conditions Petronius, incomparably more refined than Tigellinus and the other courtiers,—witty, eloquent, full of subtile feelings and tastes,—obtained pre-eminence of necessity. Cæsar sought his society, took his opinion, asked for advice when he composed, and showed a more lively friendship than at any other time whatever. It seemed to courtiers that his influence had won a supreme triumph at last, that friendship between him and Cæsar had entered on a period of certainty which would last for years. Even those who had shown dislike previously to the exquisite Epicurean, began now to crowd around him and vie for his favor. More than one was even sincerely glad in his soul that preponderance had come to a man who knew really what to think of a given person, who received with a sceptical smile the flattery of his enemies of yesterday, but who, either through indolence or culture, was not vengeful, and did not use his power to the detriment or destruction of others. There were moments when he might have destroyed even Tigellinus, but he preferred to ridicule him, and expose his vulgarity and want of refinement. In Rome the Senate drew breath, for no death sentence had been issued for a month and a half. It is true that in Antium and the city people told wonders of the refinement which the profligacy of Cæsar and his favorite had reached, but every one preferred a refined Cæsar to one brutalized in the hands of Tigellinus. Tigellinus himself lost his head, and hesitated whether or not to yield as conquered, for Cæsar had said repeatedly that in all Rome and in his court there were only two spirits capable of understanding each other, two real Hellenes,—he and Petronius.
In Antium, Petronius was racking up new wins almost every day against courtiers competing for Caesar's favor. Tigellinus's influence had completely collapsed. In Rome, whenever there was a need to remove people seen as a threat, seize their assets, resolve political issues, put on extravagant, tasteless shows, or indulge Caesar's bizarre cravings, Tigellinus, clever and up for anything, was indispensable. But in Antium, surrounded by palaces glittering in the blue sea, Caesar lived a Greek-style life. From morning to night, Nero and his entourage read poetry, discussed its form and style, reveled in clever wordplay, and immersed themselves in music and theater—in short, everything that Greek creativity had produced and used to enrich life. Under these circumstances, Petronius, far more refined than Tigellinus and the other courtiers—witty, articulate, and filled with subtle feelings and tastes—naturally stood out. Caesar sought his company, valued his opinions, asked for advice when composing, and showed more warmth than ever before. It seemed to the courtiers that his influence had finally achieved a major victory, and that the friendship between him and Caesar had entered a promising phase that would last for years. Even those who previously disliked the sophisticated Epicurean began flocking to him, eager for his approval. Many were genuinely pleased that power had shifted to someone who truly understood people, who met the insincere flattery of his former enemies with a skeptical smile, yet who, either from laziness or refinement, wasn't vindictive and didn't use his power to harm others. There were times he could have eliminated Tigellinus, but he preferred to mock him and reveal his crudeness and lack of sophistication. In Rome, the Senate could finally breathe easy since no death sentences had been issued for a month and a half. It's true that stories circulated in Antium and the city about the shocking level of decadence Caesar and his favorite had reached, but everyone preferred a sophisticated Caesar to one brutalized under Tigellinus's influence. Tigellinus himself was losing his grip and hesitated over whether to concede defeat, for Caesar had repeatedly said that in all of Rome and his court, there were only two minds capable of truly understanding each other—he and Petronius.
The amazing dexterity of Petronius confirmed people in the conviction that his influence would outlive every other. They did not see how Cæsar could dispense with him,—with whom could he converse touching poetry, music, and comparative excellence; in whose eyes could he look to learn whether his creation was indeed perfect? Petronius, with his habitual indifference, seemed to attach no importance to his position. As usual, he was remiss, slothful, sceptical, and witty. He produced on people frequently the impression of a man who made light of them, of himself, of Cæsar, of the whole world. At moments he ventured to criticise Cæsar to his face, and when others judged that he was going too far, or simply preparing his own ruin, he was able to turn the criticism suddenly in such a way that it came out to his profit; he roused amazement in those present, and the conviction that there was no position from which he could not issue in triumph.
The incredible skill of Petronius reinforced the belief that his influence would last longer than anyone else's. People wondered how Cæsar could manage without him—who else could he talk to about poetry, music, and excellence; who could he turn to for insights on whether his work was truly perfect? Petronius, with his usual indifference, seemed to downplay the importance of his role. He was consistently lazy, skeptical, and witty. He often gave off the vibe of someone who didn’t take others, himself, Cæsar, or the world seriously. Occasionally, he dared to critique Cæsar directly, and when others thought he was overstepping or digging his own grave, he had a knack for twisting his critiques so they ended up being beneficial for him; he amazed those around him and left them convinced that there was no situation from which he couldn't emerge victorious.
About a week after the return of Vinicius from Rome, Cæsar read in a small circle an extract from his Troyad; when he had finished and the shouts of rapture had ended, Petronius, interrogated by a glance from Cæsar, replied,—
About a week after Vinicius came back from Rome, Cæsar read a passage from his Troyad to a small group. When he finished and the cheers of excitement died down, Petronius, meeting Cæsar's gaze, responded—
“Common verses, fit for the fire.”
“Common verses, suitable for the fire.”
The hearts of those present stopped beating from terror. Since the years of his childhood Nero had never heard such a sentence from any man. The face of Tigellinus was radiant with delight. But Vinicius grew pale, thinking that Petronius, who thus far had never been drunk, was drunk this time.
The hearts of everyone there stopped from fear. Since his childhood, Nero had never heard such a sentence from anyone. Tigellinus’s face was shining with joy. But Vinicius turned pale, thinking that Petronius, who had never been drunk until now, was drunk this time.
Nero, however, inquired in a honeyed voice, in which more or less deeply wounded vanity was quivering,—
Nero, however, asked in a sweet voice, in which a wounded sense of pride was barely hidden,—
“What defect dost thou find in them?”
“What flaw do you see in them?”
“Do not believe them,” said Petronius, attacking him, and pointing to those present; “they understand nothing. Thou hast asked what defect there is in thy verses. If thou desire truth, I will tell thee. Thy verses would be worthy of Virgil, of Ovid, even of Homer, but they are not worthy of thee. Thou art not free to write such. The conflagration described by thee does not blaze enough; thy fire is not hot enough. Listen not to Lucan’s flatteries. Had he written those verses, I should acknowledge him a genius, but thy case is different. And knowest thou why? Thou art greater than they. From him who is gifted of the gods as thou art, more is demanded. But thou art slothful,—thou wouldst rather sleep after dinner than sit to wrinkles. Thou canst create a work such as the world has not heard of to this day; hence I tell thee to thy eyes, write better!”
“Don’t listen to them,” Petronius said, confronting him and gesturing toward the people around them. “They don’t know anything. You asked what’s wrong with your verses. If you want the truth, here it is. Your verses could stand alongside those of Virgil, Ovid, or even Homer, but they don’t live up to your potential. You’re not in a position to write like that. The fire you describe doesn’t burn brightly enough; your passion isn’t intense enough. Don’t be swayed by Lucan’s flattery. If he had written those lines, I’d recognize him as a genius, but your situation is different. And do you know why? You’re greater than they are. From someone as gifted by the gods as you are, more is expected. But you’re lazy—you’d rather nap after lunch than put in the work. You have the ability to create something the world has never seen; that’s why I’m telling you directly, write better!”
And he said this carelessly, as if bantering and also chiding; but Cæsar’s eyes were mist-covered from delight.
And he said this without thinking, like he was joking around and teasing; but Cæsar’s eyes were filled with joy.
“The gods have given me a little talent,” said he, “but they have given me something greater, a true judge and friend, the only man able to speak the truth to my eyes.”
“The gods have given me a bit of talent,” he said, “but they’ve given me something even more important, a true judge and friend, the only person who can tell me the truth.”
Then he stretched his fat hand, grown over with reddish hair, to a golden candelabrum plundered from Delphi, to burn the verses. But Petronius seized them before the flame touched the paper.
Then he reached out his chubby hand, covered in reddish hair, to grab a golden candelabrum stolen from Delphi, to burn the verses. But Petronius snatched them away before the flame could touch the paper.
“No, no!” said he; “even thus they belong to mankind. Leave them to me.”
“No, no!” he said. “They still belong to humanity. Leave them to me.”
“In such case let me send them to thee in a cylinder of my own invention,” answered Nero, embracing Petronius.
“In that case, let me send them to you in a cylinder of my own design,” answered Nero, hugging Petronius.
“True; thou art right,” said he, after a while. “My conflagration of Troy does not blaze enough; my fire is not hot enough. But I thought it sufficient to equal Homer. A certain timidity and low estimate of my power have fettered me always. Thou hast opened my eyes. But knowest why it is, as thou sayest? When a sculptor makes the statue of a god, he seeks a model; but never have I had a model. I never have seen a burning city; hence there is a lack of truth in my description.”
"You're right," he said after a moment. "My burning of Troy doesn't burn brightly enough; my fire isn't hot enough. But I thought it would be enough to match Homer. A certain shyness and low self-esteem have always held me back. You've opened my eyes. But do you know why it's like you say? When a sculptor creates a statue of a god, they look for a model; but I've never had one. I've never seen a city on fire; that's why my description lacks authenticity."
“Then I will say that only a great artist understands this.”
"Then I'll say that only a great artist gets this."
Nero grew thoughtful, and after a while he said,—“Answer one question, Petronius. Dost thou regret the burning of Troy?”
Nero became pensive, and after a moment he said, “Answer me this, Petronius: Do you regret the burning of Troy?”
“Do I regret? By the lame consort of Venus, not in the least! And I will tell thee the reason. Troy would not have been consumed if Prometheus had not given fire to man, and the Greeks made war on Priam. Æschylus would not have written his Prometheus had there been no fire, just as Homer would not have written the Iliad had there been no Trojan war. I think it better to have Prometheus and the Iliad than a small and shabby city, which was unclean, I think, and wretched, and in which at best there would be now some procurator annoying thee through quarrels with the local areopagus.”
“Do I have regrets? By the lame companion of Venus, not at all! And I’ll tell you why. Troy wouldn’t have fallen if Prometheus hadn’t given fire to humanity, and the Greeks hadn’t waged war on Priam. Æschylus wouldn’t have written his Prometheus if there was no fire, just like Homer wouldn’t have written the Iliad if there was no Trojan war. I believe it’s better to have Prometheus and the Iliad than a small and shabby city, which I think was dirty and miserable, where at best you'd just have some official bothering you with disputes from the local council.”
“That is what we call speaking with sound reason,” said Nero. “For art and poetry it is permitted, and it is right, to sacrifice everything. Happy were the Achæans who furnished Homer with the substance of the Iliad, and happy Priam who beheld the ruin of his birthplace. As to me, I have never seen a burning city.”
"That's what we call speaking with sound reasoning," Nero said. "For art and poetry, it's okay, even necessary, to give up everything. How fortunate were the Achæans who provided Homer with the material for the Iliad, and how fortunate was Priam to witness the destruction of his homeland. As for me, I've never seen a city on fire."
A time of silence followed, which was broken at last by Tigellinus.
A period of silence followed, which was finally interrupted by Tigellinus.
“But I have said to thee, Cæsar, already, command and I will burn Antium; or dost thou know what? If thou art sorry for these villas and palaces, give command to burn the ships in Ostia; or I will build a wooden city on the Alban Hills, into which thou shalt hurl the fire thyself. Dost thou wish?”
“But I've already told you, Caesar, just give the order and I'll burn Antium; or you know what? If you're worried about these villas and palaces, order me to burn the ships in Ostia; or I'll build a wooden city on the Alban Hills, and you can throw the fire yourself. Do you want that?”
“Am I to gaze on the burning of wooden sheds?” asked Nero, casting a look of contempt on him. “Thy mind has grown utterly barren, Tigellinus. And I see, besides, that thou dost set no great value on my talent or my Troyad, since thou judgest that any sacrifice would be too great for it.”
“Am I really supposed to watch wooden sheds burn?” Nero asked, looking at him with disdain. “Your mind has become completely empty, Tigellinus. And it’s clear that you don’t think much of my talent or my Troyad, since you believe that any sacrifice would be too much for it.”
Tigellinus was confused; but Nero, as if wishing to change the conversation, added after a while,—
Tigellinus was confused; but Nero, as if wanting to change the topic, eventually said,—
“Summer is passing. Oh, what a stench there must be in that Rome now! And still we must return for the summer games.”
“Summer is coming to an end. Oh, what a terrible smell there must be in Rome right now! And yet, we still have to go back for the summer games.”
“When thou dismissest the Augustians, O Cæsar, permit me to remain with thee a moment,” said Tigellinus.
“When you dismiss the Augustians, O Caesar, please let me stay with you for a moment,” said Tigellinus.
An hour later Vinicius, returning with Petronius from Cæsar’s villa, said,—“I was a trifle alarmed for thee. I judged that while drunk thou hadst ruined thyself beyond redemption. Remember that thou art playing with death.”
An hour later, Vinicius, returning with Petronius from Caesar’s villa, said, “I was a bit worried about you. I thought that while you were drunk, you had messed things up for yourself beyond repair. Just remember that you’re toying with death.”
“That is my arena,” answered Petronius, carelessly; “and the feeling that I am the best gladiator in it amuses me. See how it ended. My influence has increased this evening. He will send me his verses in a cylinder which—dost wish to lay a wager?—will be immensely rich and in immensely bad taste. I shall command my physician to keep physic in it. I did this for another reason,—because Tigellinus, seeing how such things succeed, will wish surely to imitate me, and I imagine what will happen. The moment he starts a witticism, it will be as if a bear of the Pyrenees were rope-walking. I shall laugh like Democritus. If I wished I could destroy Tigellinus perhaps, and become pretorian prefect in his place, and have Ahenobarbus himself in my hands. But I am indolent; I prefer my present life and even Cæsar’s verses to trouble.”
“That’s my arena,” Petronius replied casually. “And the fact that I’m the best gladiator in it makes me laugh. Look at how it turned out. My influence has grown tonight. He’ll send me his poems in a scroll that—do you want to bet?—will be incredibly extravagant yet totally tacky. I’ll instruct my doctor to put medicine in it. I did this for another reason—because Tigellinus, seeing how well these things work, will definitely want to copy me, and I can only imagine what will happen. The moment he tries to be clever, it’ll be like watching a Pyrenean bear trying to tightrope walk. I’ll laugh like Democritus. If I wanted to, I could probably take Tigellinus down and become the praetorian prefect in his place, and have Ahenobarbus right in my grasp. But I’m lazy; I prefer my current life and even Caesar’s poems to all that hassle.”
“What dexterity to be able to turn even blame into flattery! But are those verses really so bad? I am no judge in those matters.”
“What skill to be able to turn even criticism into compliments! But are those verses really that terrible? I’m not an expert in those things.”
“The verses are not worse than others. Lucan has more talent in one finger, but in Bronzebeard too there is something. He has, above all, an immense love for poetry and music. In two days we are to be with him to hear the music of his hymn to Aphrodite, which he will finish to-day or to-morrow. We shall be in a small circle,—only I, thou, Tullius Senecio, and young Nerva. But as to what I said touching Nero’s verses, that I use them after feasting as Vitelius does flamingo feathers, is not true. At times they are eloquent. Hecuba’s words are touching. She complains of the pangs of birth, and Nero was able to find happy expressions,—for this reason, perhaps, that he gives birth to every verse in torment. At times I am sorry for him. By Pollux, what a marvellous mixture! The fifth stave was lacking in Caligula, but still he never did such strange things.”
“The verses aren’t worse than others. Lucan has more talent in one finger, but Bronzebeard has something too. He has, above all, an immense love for poetry and music. In two days, we’ll be with him to hear the music of his hymn to Aphrodite, which he’ll finish today or tomorrow. We’ll be in a small circle—just me, you, Tullius Senecio, and young Nerva. As for what I said about Nero’s verses, that I treat them like Vitelius treats flamingo feathers after feasting, that’s not true. Sometimes they are eloquent. Hecuba’s words are touching. She complains about the pains of childbirth, and Nero managed to find happy expressions—maybe because he gives birth to every verse in agony. Sometimes I feel sorry for him. By Pollux, what a marvelous mix! The fifth stanza was missing in Caligula, but still, he never did such strange things.”
“Who can foresee to what the madness of Ahenobarbus will go?” asked Vinicius.
“Who can predict how far Ahenobarbus’s madness will go?” asked Vinicius.
“No man whatever. Such things may happen yet that the hair will stand on men’s heads for whole centuries at thought of them. But it is that precisely which interests me; and though I am bored more than once, like Jupiter Ammon in the desert, I believe that under another Cæsar I should be bored a hundred times more. Paul, thy little Jew, is eloquent,—that I accord to him; and if people like him proclaim that religion, our gods must defend themselves seriously, lest in time they be led away captive. It is true that if Cæsar, for example, were a Christian, all would feel safer. But thy prophet of Tarsus, in applying proofs to me, did not think, seest thou, that for me this uncertainty becomes the charm of life. Whoso does not play at dice will not lose property, but still people play at dice. There is in that a certain delight and destruction of the present. I have known sons of knights and senators to become gladiators of their own will. I play with life, thou sayest, and that is true, but I play because it pleases me; while Christian virtues would bore me in a day, as do the discourses of Seneca. Because of this, Paul’s eloquence is exerted in vain. He should understand that people like me will never accept his religion. With thy disposition thou mightst either hate the name Christian, or become a Christian immediately. I recognize, while yawning, the truth of what they say. We are mad. We are hastening to the precipice, something unknown is coming toward us out of the future, something is breaking beneath us, something is dying around us,—agreed! But we shall succeed in dying; meanwhile we have no wish to burden life, and serve death before it takes us. Life exists for itself alone, not for death.”
“No man at all. These things might still happen, so much so that just thinking about them could make someone's hair stand on end for centuries. But that's exactly what intrigues me; and even though I get bored more than once, like Jupiter Ammon in the desert, I believe that under another Caesar I’d be bored a hundred times more. Paul, your little Jew, is eloquent—I’ll give him that; and if people like him keep spreading that religion, our gods need to step up and defend themselves, or they might end up being captured. It’s true that if Caesar, for instance, were a Christian, everyone would feel safer. But your prophet from Tarsus didn’t realize that for me, this uncertainty is what makes life interesting. Anyone who doesn’t play dice won’t lose anything, yet people still gamble. There’s a certain thrill and destruction in the here and now. I’ve seen sons of knights and senators become gladiators by choice. You say I play with life, and that’s true, but I play because it brings me joy; while Christian virtues would bore me in a day, just like Seneca’s discourses do. Because of this, Paul’s eloquence is wasted. He should understand that people like me will never accept his religion. With your mindset, you might either hate the name Christian or jump into being one right away. I recognize, while yawning, the truth in what they say. We are insane. We’re rushing toward the edge, something unknown is approaching us from the future, something is collapsing beneath us, something is dying around us—agreed! But we will manage to die; in the meantime, we have no desire to weigh down life, and we’ll serve death before it claims us. Life exists for its own sake, not for death.”
“But I pity thee, Petronius.”
“But I feel for you, Petronius.”
“Do not pity me more than I pity myself. Formerly thou wert glad among us; while campaigning in Armenia, thou wert longing for Rome.”
“Don’t feel sorry for me more than I feel sorry for myself. Once, you were happy with us; while fighting in Armenia, you were longing for Rome.”
“And now I am longing for Rome.”
“And now I really want to go to Rome.”
“True; for thou art in love with a Christian vestal, who sits in the Trans-Tiber. I neither wonder at this, nor do I blame thee. I wonder more, that in spite of a religion described by thee as a sea of happiness, and in spite of a love which is soon to be crowned, sadness has not left thy face. Pomponia Græcina is eternally pensive; from the time of thy becoming a Christian thou hast ceased to laugh. Do not try to persuade me that this religion is cheerful. Thou hast returned from Rome sadder than ever. If Christians love in this way, by the bright curls of Bacchus! I shall not imitate them!”
“True; you’re in love with a Christian priestess who lives across the Tiber. I’m not surprised by this, nor do I blame you. What surprises me more is that despite a faith you describe as a sea of happiness, and a love that’s about to flourish, sadness hasn’t left your face. Pomponia Græcina is always deep in thought; ever since you became a Christian, you’ve stopped laughing. Don’t try to convince me that this religion is joyful. You’ve come back from Rome more solemn than ever. If this is how Christians love, by the bright curls of Bacchus! I won’t follow their lead!”
“That is another thing,” answered Vinicius. “I swear to thee, not by the curls of Bachus, but by the soul of my father, that never in times past have I experienced even a foretaste of such happiness as I breathe to-day. But I yearn greatly; and what is stranger, when I am far from Lygia, I think that danger is threatening her. I know not what danger, nor whence it may come; but I feel it, as one feels a coming tempest.”
"That’s another thing,” Vinicius replied. “I swear to you, not by the curls of Bacchus, but by my father's soul, that I have never before felt even a hint of the happiness I feel today. But I long for more; and strangely enough, when I’m away from Lygia, I feel that danger is looming over her. I don’t know what kind of danger or where it might come from, but I sense it, just like you feel an approaching storm.”
“In two days I will try to obtain for thee permission to leave Antium, for as long a time as may please thee. Poppæa is somewhat more quiet; and, as far as I know, no danger from her threatens thee or Lygia.”
“In two days, I will try to get you permission to leave Antium for as long as you want. Poppæa is a bit more calm, and as far as I know, there's no danger from her that threatens you or Lygia.”
“This very day she asked me what I was doing in Rome, though my departure was secret.”
“This very day she asked me what I was doing in Rome, even though my departure was a secret.”
“Perhaps she gave command to set spies on thee. Now, however, even she must count with me.”
“Maybe she ordered someone to watch you. Now, though, she has to deal with me.”
“Paul told me,” said Vinicius, “that God forewarns sometimes, but does not permit us to believe in omens; hence I guard myself against this belief, but I cannot ward it off. I will tell thee what happened, so as to cast the weight from my heart. Lygia and I were sitting side by side on a night as calm as this, and planning our future. I cannot tell thee how happy and calm we were. All at once lions began to roar. That is common in Rome, but since then I have no rest. It seems to me that in that roaring there was a threat, an announcement as it were of misfortune. Thou knowest that I am not frightened easily; that night, however, something happened which filled all the darkness with terror. It came so strangely and unexpectedly that I have those sounds in my ears yet, and unbroken fear in my heart, as if Lygia were asking my protection from something dreadful,—even from those same lions. I am in torture. Obtain for me permission to leave Antium, or I shall go without it. I cannot remain. I repeat to thee, I cannot!”
“Paul told me,” said Vinicius, “that sometimes God gives us a warning, but doesn’t let us believe in omens. So, I try to stay away from that belief, but I can’t shake it off. I’ll tell you what happened to lighten the burden on my heart. Lygia and I were sitting side by side on a night as calm as this, making plans for our future. I can’t express how happy and at peace we were. Then suddenly, lions started roaring. That’s common in Rome, but since then, I haven’t found any peace. It feels like that roaring was a threat, almost a warning of misfortune. You know I’m not easily scared; however, that night, something happened that filled the darkness with dread. It hit me so suddenly and unexpectedly that I still hear those sounds in my ears, and there's this constant fear in my heart, as if Lygia is asking for my protection from something horrible—even from those lions. I’m in agony. Please help me get permission to leave Antium, or I’ll go without it. I can’t stay. I’m telling you, I can’t!”
“Sons of consuls or their wives are not given to lions yet in the arenas,” said Petronius, laughing. “Any other death may meet thee but that. Who knows, besides, that they were lions? German bisons roar with no less gentleness than lions. As to me, I ridicule omens and fates. Last night was warm and I saw stars falling like rain. Many a man has an evil foreboding at such a sight; but I thought, ‘If among these is my star too, I shall not lack society at least!’” Then he was silent, but added after a moment’s thought,—“If your Christ has risen from the dead, He may perhaps protect you both from death.”
“Children of consuls or their spouses aren’t fed to lions in the arenas yet,” said Petronius, laughing. “You might meet another kind of death, but not that one. Who knows, anyway, if they were actually lions? German bison roar just as softly as lions do. As for me, I scoff at omens and fate. Last night was warm, and I saw stars falling like rain. Many people get a bad feeling from such a sight; but I thought, ‘If one of them is my star too, at least I won’t be alone!’” Then he was quiet but added after a moment’s thought, “If your Christ has risen from the dead, maybe He’ll protect you both from death.”
“He may,” answered Vinicius, looking at the heavens filled with stars.
“He might,” Vinicius replied, gazing at the star-filled sky.
Chapter XLI
NERO played and sang, in honor of the “Lady of Cyprus,” a hymn the verses and music of which were composed by himself. That day he was in voice, and felt that his music really captivated those present. That feeling added such power to the sounds produced and roused his own soul so much that he seemed inspired. At last he grew pale from genuine emotion. This was surely the first time that he had no desire to hear praises from others. He sat for a time with his hands on the cithara and with bowed head; then, rising suddenly, he said,—
NERO played and sang a hymn he had written himself for the “Lady of Cyprus.” That day, his voice was strong, and he felt that his music truly captivated everyone listening. This feeling gave such strength to his performance and stirred his soul so much that he seemed inspired. Eventually, he became pale from real emotion. This was definitely the first time he didn't want to hear praise from others. He sat for a while with his hands on the cithara and his head bowed; then, suddenly standing up, he said,—
“I am tired and need air, Meanwhile ye will tune the citharæ.”
“I’m tired and need some fresh air. In the meantime, you all play the instruments.”
He covered his throat then with a silk kerchief.
He then covered his throat with a silk scarf.
“Ye will go with me,” said he, turning to Petronius and Vinicius, who were sitting in a corner of the hall. “Give me thy arm, Vinicius, for strength fails me; Petronius will talk to me of music.”
“Come with me,” he said, turning to Petronius and Vinicius, who were sitting in a corner of the hall. “Give me your arm, Vinicius, because I'm feeling weak; Petronius will discuss music with me.”
They went out on the terrace, which was paved with alabaster and sprinkled with saffron.
They stepped out onto the terrace, which was covered in alabaster and sprinkled with saffron.
“Here one can breathe more freely,” said Nero. “My soul is moved and sad, though I see that with what I have sung to thee on trial just now I may appear in public, and my triumph will be such as no Roman has ever achieved.”
“Here I can breathe more easily,” Nero said. “My soul is stirred and feels melancholy, even though I see that with what I just performed for you, I can now appear in public, and my triumph will be greater than anything any Roman has ever accomplished.”
“Thou mayst appear here, in Rome, in Achæa. I admire thee with my whole heart and mind, divinity,” answered Petronius.
"You can show up here, in Rome, in Achaea. I admire you with all my heart and mind, divine one," answered Petronius.
“I know. Thou art too slothful to force thyself to flattery, and thou art as sincere as Tullius Senecio, but thou hast more knowledge than he. Tell me, what is thy judgment on music?”
“I know. You’re too lazy to flatter yourself, and you’re as sincere as Tullius Senecio, but you know more than he does. Tell me, what’s your opinion on music?”
“When I listen to poetry, when I look at a quadriga directed by thee in the Circus, when I look at a beautiful statue, temple, or picture, I feel that I comprehend perfectly what I see, that my enthusiasm takes in all that these can give. But when I listen to music, especially thy music, new delights and beauties open before me every instant. I pursue them, I try to seize them; but before I can take them to myself, new and newer ones flow in, just like waves of the sea, which roll on from infinity. Hence I tell thee that music is like the sea. We stand on one shore and gaze at remoteness, but we cannot see the other shore.”
“When I listen to poetry, when I watch a chariot driven by you in the arena, when I admire a beautiful statue, temple, or painting, I feel like I fully understand what I see, and my excitement encompasses everything they offer. But when I listen to music, especially your music, new delights and beauties reveal themselves to me every moment. I chase after them, trying to grasp them; but before I can hold onto one, new and even newer ones come flooding in, just like waves from the sea that roll in from the horizon. So, I tell you that music is like the ocean. We stand on one shore and look out into the distance, but we can’t see the other side.”
“Ah, what deep knowledge thou hast!” said Nero; and they walked on for a moment, only the slight sound of the saffron leaves under their feet being heard.
“Ah, what deep knowledge you have!” said Nero; and they walked on for a moment, with only the soft sound of the saffron leaves under their feet being heard.
“Thou hast expressed my idea,” said Nero at last; “hence I say now, as ever, in all Rome thou art the only man able to understand me. Thus it is, my judgment of music is the same as thine. When I play and sing, I see things which I did not know as existing in my dominions or in the world. I am Cæsar, and the world is mine. I can do everything. But music opens new kingdoms to me, new mountains, new seas, new delights unknown before. Most frequently I cannot name them or grasp them; I only feel them. I feel the gods, I see Olympus. Some kind of breeze from beyond the earth blows in on me; I behold, as in a mist, certain immeasurable greatnesses, but calm and bright as sunshine. The whole Spheros plays around me; and I declare to thee” (here Nero’s voice quivered with genuine wonder) “that I, Cæsar and god, feel at such times as diminutive as dust. Wilt thou believe this?”
“You’ve captured my thoughts,” Nero finally said; “that's why I now say, as always, in all of Rome, you’re the only one who truly understands me. My views on music align with yours. When I play and sing, I discover things I didn’t know existed in my realm or the world. I am Caesar, and the world belongs to me. I can do anything. But music reveals new kingdoms, new mountains, new seas, and new joys I’ve never known before. Often, I can’t name them or fully grasp them; I just feel them. I sense the gods; I see Olympus. There’s a breeze from beyond the earth that washes over me; I glimpse certain vastnesses, but they’re peaceful and bright like sunshine. The entire Spheros surrounds me; and I swear to you” (here Nero’s voice shook with genuine awe) “that I, Caesar and god, feel at those moments as small as dust. Will you believe this?”
“I will. Only great artists have power to feel small in the presence of art.”
“I will. Only great artists have the ability to feel insignificant in the presence of art.”
“This is a night of sincerity; hence I open my soul to thee as to a friend, and I will say more: dost thou consider that I am blind or deprived of reason? Dost thou think that I am ignorant of this, that people in Rome write insults on the walls against me, call me a matricide, a wife-murderer, hold me a monster and a tyrant, because Tigellinus obtained a few sentences of death against my enemies? Yes, my dear, they hold me a monster, and I know it. They have talked cruelty on me to that degree that at times I put the question to myself, ‘Am I not cruel?’ But they do not understand this, that a man’s deeds may be cruel at times while he himself is not cruel. Ah, no one will believe, and perhaps even thou, my dear, wilt not believe, that at moments when music caresses my soul I feel as kind as a child in the cradle. I swear by those stars which shine above us, that I speak the pure truth to thee. People do not know how much goodness lies in this heart, and what treasures I see in it when music opens the door to them.”
"This is a night of honesty; so I open my heart to you like a friend, and I’ll say more: do you think I’m blind or out of my mind? Do you believe I’m unaware that people in Rome write insults on the walls about me, call me a matricide, a wife-murderer, see me as a monster and a tyrant just because Tigellinus got a few death sentences against my enemies? Yes, my dear, they see me as a monster, and I know it. They’ve accused me of such cruelty that sometimes I wonder, ‘Am I really cruel?’ But they don’t understand that a person’s actions can be cruel at times while he himself is not. Ah, no one will believe me, and maybe even you, my dear, won’t believe that in moments when music soothes my soul, I feel as gentle as a child in a cradle. I swear by the stars shining above us that I’m telling you the plain truth. People don’t realize how much kindness is in this heart, and what treasures I see when music unlocks the door to them."
Petronius, who had not the least doubt that Nero was speaking sincerely at that moment, and that music might bring out various more noble inclinations of his soul, which were overwhelmed by mountains of egotism, profligacy, and crime, said,—“Men should know thee as nearly as I do; Rome has never been able to appreciate thee.”
Petronius, who had no doubt that Nero was being genuine at that moment, and that music could reveal more noble aspects of his character that were buried under layers of selfishness, excess, and wrongdoing, said, “People should understand you as well as I do; Rome has never been able to appreciate you.”
Cæsar leaned more heavily on Vinicius’s arm, as if he were bending under the weight of injustice, and answered,—
Cæsar leaned more heavily on Vinicius’s arm, as if he were bending under the weight of injustice, and answered,—
“Tigellinus has told me that in the Senate they whisper into one another’s ears that Diodorus and Terpnos play on the cithara better than I. They refuse me even that! But tell me, thou who art truthful always, do they play better, or as well?”
“Tigellinus has told me that in the Senate they are whispering to each other that Diodorus and Terpnos play the cithara better than I do. They won’t even give me that! But tell me, you who always speak the truth, do they play better or just as well?”
“By no means. Thy touch is finer, and has greater power. In thee the artist is evident, in them the expert. The man who hears their music first understands better what thou art.”
“Not at all. Your touch is more refined and carries more weight. In you, the artist stands out; in them, the expert does. The person who hears their music first understands better what you truly are.”
“If that be true, let them live. They will never imagine what a service thou hast rendered them in this moment. For that matter, if I had condemned those two, I should have had to take others in place of them.”
“If that’s true, let them live. They’ll never realize what a favor you’ve done for them right now. Besides, if I had condemned those two, I would have had to take others in their place.”
“And people would say, besides, that out of love for music thou destroyest music in thy dominions. Never kill art for art’s sake, O divinity.”
“And people would say, besides, that out of love for music you destroy music in your lands. Never kill art for art’s sake, O divine one.”
“How different thou art from Tigellinus!” answered Nero. “But seest thou, I am an artist in everything; and since music opens for me spaces the existence of which I had not divined, regions which I do not possess, delight and happiness which I do not know, I cannot live a common life. Music tells me that the uncommon exists, so I seek it with all the power of dominion which the gods have placed in my hands. At times it seems to me that to reach those Olympian worlds I must do something which no man has done hitherto,—I must surpass the stature of man in good or evil. I know that people declare me mad. But I am not mad, I am only seeking. And if I am going mad, it is out of disgust and impatience that I cannot find. I am seeking! Dost understand me? And therefore I wish to be greater than man, for only in that way can I be the greatest as an artist.”
“How different you are from Tigellinus!” Nero replied. “But you see, I am an artist in everything; and since music reveals to me realms I never imagined, areas I don’t possess, joy and happiness I’ve never known, I cannot live a normal life. Music shows me that the extraordinary exists, so I pursue it with all the power that the gods have given me. Sometimes it seems to me that to reach those divine worlds, I must do something no one has done before—I must exceed the limits of humanity in good or evil. I know people call me crazy. But I’m not crazy; I’m just searching. And if I am going crazy, it’s out of frustration and impatience that I can’t find it. I am searching! Do you understand me? And that’s why I want to be greater than man, because that’s the only way I can be the greatest as an artist.”
Here he lowered his voice so that Vinicius could not hear him, and, putting his mouth to the ear of Petronius, he whispered,—“Dost know that I condemned my mother and wife to death mainly because I wished to lay at the gate of an unknown world the greatest sacrifice that man could put there? I thought that afterward something would happen, that doors would be opened beyond which I should see something unknown. Let it be wonderful or awful, surpassing human conception, if only great and uncommon. But that sacrifice was not sufficient. To open the empyrean doors it is evident that something greater is needed, and let it be given as the Fates desire.”
Here he lowered his voice so Vinicius couldn’t hear him and, leaning close to Petronius, he whispered, “Do you know that I condemned my mother and wife to death mainly because I wanted to make the biggest sacrifice possible at the doorway to an unknown world? I thought that afterward something would happen, that doors would open and I’d see something unknown. Whether it was amazing or terrifying, something beyond human understanding, I just wanted it to be significant and extraordinary. But that sacrifice wasn’t enough. It’s clear that something greater is needed to open the heavenly doors, and let it be given as fate decides.”
“What dost thou intend to do?”
“What do you intend to do?”
“Thou shalt see sooner than thou thinkest. Meanwhile be assured that there are two Neros,—one such as people know, the other an artist, whom thou alone knowest, and if he slays as does death, or is in frenzy like Bacchus, it is only because the flatness and misery of common life stifle him; and I should like to destroy them, though I had to use fire or iron. Oh, how flat this world will be when I am gone from it! No man has suspected yet, not thou even, what an artist I am. But precisely because of this I suffer, and sincerely do I tell thee that the soul in me is as gloomy as those cypresses which stand dark there in front of us. It is grievous for a man to bear at once the weight of supreme power and the highest talents.”
"You'll see sooner than you think. In the meantime, be assured that there are two Neros—one that people know, and the other an artist, whom you alone know. If he kills like death or is frenzied like Bacchus, it's only because the dullness and misery of ordinary life suffocate him. I would like to destroy that world, even if it means using fire or iron. Oh, how dull this world will be when I'm gone! No one has suspected yet, not even you, what an artist I am. But because of this, I suffer, and I honestly tell you that my soul is as gloomy as those dark cypresses standing in front of us. It is painful for a man to carry both the weight of supreme power and the highest talents."
“I sympathize with thee, O Cæsar; and with me earth and sea, not counting Vinicius, who deifies thee in his soul.”
“I feel for you, Cæsar; and so do the earth and the sea, not counting Vinicius, who worships you in his heart.”
“He, too, has always been dear to me,” said Cæsar, “though he serves Mars, not the Muses.”
“He’s always been important to me too,” said Caesar, “even though he serves Mars, not the Muses.”
“He serves Aphrodite first of all,” answered Petronius. And suddenly he determined to settle the affair of his nephew at a blow, and at the same time to eliminate every danger which might threaten him. “He is in love, as was Troilus with Cressida. Permit him, lord, to visit Rome, for he is dying on my hands. Dost thou know that that Lygian hostage whom thou gavest him has been found, and Vinicius, when leaving for Antium, left her in care of a certain Linus? I did not mention this to thee, for thou wert composing thy hymn, and that was more important than all besides. Vinicius wanted her as a mistress; but when she turned out to be as virtuous as Lucretia, he fell in love with her virtue, and now his desire is to marry her. She is a king’s daughter, hence she will cause him no detriment; but he is a real soldier: he sighs and withers and groans, but he is waiting for the permission of his Imperator.”
“He serves Aphrodite first of all,” replied Petronius. And suddenly he decided to take care of his nephew’s situation right away and eliminate any dangers that might threaten him. “He’s in love, just like Troilus was with Cressida. Please, my lord, let him visit Rome, because he’s suffering. Do you know that the Lygian hostage you gave him has been found, and Vinicius, when he left for Antium, left her in the care of a certain Linus? I didn’t bring this up with you because you were busy writing your hymn, which was more important than anything else. Vinicius wanted her as a lover; but when he discovered she was as virtuous as Lucretia, he fell in love with her virtue, and now he wants to marry her. She’s the daughter of a king, so she won’t bring him any trouble; but he’s a true soldier: he sighs and pines away and groans, but he’s waiting for his commander’s permission.”
“The Imperator does not choose wives for his soldiers. What good is my permission to Vinicius?”
“The Imperator doesn’t choose wives for his soldiers. What good is my permission to Vinicius?”
“I have told thee, O lord, that he deifies thee.”
“I have told you, my lord, that he idolizes you.”
“All the more may he be certain of permission. That is a comely maiden, but too narrow in the hips. The Augusta Poppæa has complained to me that she enchanted our child in the gardens of the Palatine.”
“All the more he can be sure of permission. She’s a lovely young woman, but her hips are too narrow. Augusta Poppæa has told me that she captivated our child in the gardens of the Palatine.”
“But I told Tigellinus that the gods are not subject to evil charms. Thou rememberest, divinity, his confusion and thy exclamation, ‘Habet!’”
"But I told Tigellinus that the gods are not affected by evil spells. You remember, divine one, his confusion and your exclamation, 'Got it!'"
“I remember.”
"I remember."
Here he turned to Vinicius,—“Dost thou love her, as Petronius says?”
Here he turned to Vinicius, “Do you love her, like Petronius says?”
“I love her, lord,” replied Vinicius.
“I love her, my lord,” replied Vinicius.
“Then I command thee to set out for Rome to-morrow, and marry her. Appear not again before my eyes without the marriage ring.”
“Then I order you to leave for Rome tomorrow and marry her. Don’t show up in front of me again without the wedding ring.”
“Thanks to thee, lord, from my heart and soul.”
“Thank you, my lord, from the bottom of my heart.”
“Oh, how pleasant it is to make people happy!” said Nero. “Would that I might do nothing else all my life!”
“Oh, how nice it is to make people happy!” said Nero. “I wish I could do nothing else for my entire life!”
“Grant us one favor more, O divinity,” said Petronius: “declare thy will in this matter before the Augusta. Vinicius would never venture to wed a woman displeasing to the Augusta; thou wilt dissipate her prejudice, O lord, with a word, by declaring that thou hast commanded this marriage.”
“Please grant us one more favor, oh divine one,” said Petronius: “make your will known in this matter before the Empress. Vinicius would never dare to marry a woman whom the Empress disapproves of; you could easily change her mind, oh lord, with a single word by declaring that you have ordered this marriage.”
“I am willing,” said Cæsar. “I could refuse nothing to thee or Vinicius.”
“I’m willing,” said Caesar. “I could refuse nothing to you or Vinicius.”
He turned toward the villa, and they followed. Their hearts were filled with delight over the victory; and Vinicius had to use self-restraint to avoid throwing himself on the neck of Petronius, for it seemed now that all dangers and obstacles were removed.
He turned toward the villa, and they followed. Their hearts were filled with joy over the victory; and Vinicius had to hold himself back from throwing his arms around Petronius, because it now felt like all dangers and obstacles were gone.
In the atrium of the villa young Nerva and Tullius Senecio were entertaining the Augusta with conversation. Terpnos and Diodorus were tuning citharæ.
In the atrium of the villa, young Nerva and Tullius Senecio were entertaining the Augusta with conversation. Terpnos and Diodorus were tuning citharæ.
Nero entered, sat in an armchair inlaid with tortoise-shell, whispered something in the ear of a Greek slave near his side, and waited.
Nero came in, sat down in a tortoise-shell inlaid armchair, whispered something to a Greek slave beside him, and waited.
The page returned soon with a golden casket. Nero opened it and took out a necklace of great opals.
The page quickly returned with a golden box. Nero opened it and pulled out a necklace made of stunning opals.
“These are jewels worthy of this evening,” said he.
“These are jewels fit for this evening,” he said.
“The light of Aurora is playing in them,” answered Poppæa, convinced that the necklace was for her.
“The light of dawn is shining on them,” replied Poppæa, sure that the necklace was meant for her.
Cæsar, now raising, now lowering the rosy stones, said at last,—“Vinicius, thou wilt give, from me, this necklace to her whom I command thee to marry, the youthful daughter of the Lygian king.”
Cæsar, now lifting, now lowering the rosy stones, finally said, “Vinicius, you will give this necklace from me to the girl I command you to marry, the young daughter of the Lygian king.”
Poppæa’s glance, filled with anger and sudden amazement, passed from Cæsar to Vinicius. At last it rested on Petronius. But he, leaning carelessly over the arm of the chair, passed his hand along the back of the harp as if to fix its form firmly in his mind.
Poppæa’s stare, filled with rage and surprise, shifted from Cæsar to Vinicius. Finally, it landed on Petronius. He, casually leaning over the arm of the chair, ran his hand along the back of the harp as if trying to solidify its shape in his mind.
Vinicius gave thanks for the gift, approached Petronius, and asked,—“How shall I thank thee for what thou hast done this day for me?”
Vinicius expressed his gratitude for the gift, went over to Petronius, and asked, “How can I thank you for what you've done for me today?”
“Sacrifice a pair of swans to Euterpe,” replied Petronius, “praise Cæsar’s songs, and laugh at omens. Henceforth the roaring of lions will not disturb thy sleep, I trust, nor that of thy Lygian lily.”
“Offer a pair of swans to Euterpe,” Petronius replied, “celebrate Caesar’s songs, and ignore any bad omens. From now on, I hope the roaring of lions won’t disturb your sleep, nor that of your Lygian lily.”
“No,” said Vinicius; “now I am perfectly at rest.”
“No,” said Vinicius; “now I feel completely at peace.”
“May Fortune favor thee! But be careful, for Cæsar is taking his lute again. Hold thy breath, listen, and shed tears.”
“May luck be on your side! But be careful, because Caesar is picking up his lute again. Hold your breath, listen, and cry.”
In fact Cæsar had taken the lute and raised his eyes. In the hall conversation had stopped, and people were as still as if petrified. Terpnos and Diodorus, who had to accompany Cæsar, were on the alert, looking now at each other and now at his lips, waiting for the first tones of the song.
In fact, Caesar had picked up the lute and looked up. In the hall, conversation had ceased, and everyone was as silent as if they were frozen. Terpnos and Diodorus, who were supposed to accompany Caesar, were on edge, glancing at each other and then at his lips, waiting for the first notes of the song.
Just then a movement and noise began in the entrance; and after a moment Cæsar’s freedman, Phaon, appeared from beyond the curtain. Close behind him was the consul Lecanius.
Just then, there was some movement and noise at the entrance, and after a moment, Cæsar’s freedman, Phaon, came in from behind the curtain. Right behind him was the consul Lecanius.
Nero frowned.
Nero scowled.
“Pardon, divine Imperator,” said Phaon, with panting voice, “there is a conflagration in Rome! The greater part of the city is in flames!”
“Excuse me, divine Imperator,” said Phaon, breathlessly, “there’s a fire in Rome! Most of the city is on fire!”
At this news all sprang from their seats.
At this news, everyone jumped up from their seats.
“O gods! I shall see a burning city and finish the Troyad,” said Nero, setting aside his lute.
“O gods! I’m going to witness a city in flames and put an end to the Trojan saga,” said Nero, putting down his lute.
Then he turned to the consul,—“If I go at once, shall I see the fire?”
Then he turned to the consul, “If I leave now, will I see the fire?”
“Lord,” answered Lecanius, as pale as a wall, “the whole city is one sea of flame; smoke is suffocating the inhabitants, and people faint, or cast themselves into the fire from delirium. Rome is perishing, lord.”
“Lord,” Lecanius replied, as pale as a wall, “the entire city is engulfed in flames; smoke is suffocating the residents, and people are fainting or throwing themselves into the fire out of madness. Rome is dying, my lord.”
A moment of silence followed, which was broken by the cry of Vinicius,—
A moment of silence followed, which was broken by Vinicius's shout,—
“Væ misero mihi!”
"Whoa, poor me!"
And the young man, casting his toga aside, rushed forth in his tunic. Nero raised his hands and exclaimed,—
And the young man, throwing off his toga, ran out in his tunic. Nero raised his hands and exclaimed,—
“Woe to thee, sacred city of Priam!”
“Woe to you, sacred city of Priam!”
Chapter XLII
VINICIUS had barely time to command a few slaves to follow him; then, springing on his horse, he rushed forth in the deep night along the empty streets toward Laurentum. Through the influence of the dreadful news he had fallen as it were into frenzy and mental distraction. At moments he did not know clearly what was happening in his mind; he had merely the feeling that misfortune was on the horse with him, sitting behind his shoulders, and shouting in his ears, “Rome is burning!” that it was lashing his horse and him, urging them toward the fire. Laying his bare head on the beast’s neck, he rushed on, in his single tunic, alone, at random, not looking ahead, and taking no note of obstacles against which he might perchance dash himself.
VINICIUS barely had time to tell a few slaves to follow him; then, hopping on his horse, he sped off into the deep night along the deserted streets toward Laurentum. Overwhelmed by the shocking news, he had plunged into a kind of frenzy and confusion. At times, he couldn't clearly comprehend what was going on in his mind; he just sensed that disaster was riding with him, sitting behind his shoulders, yelling in his ears, “Rome is burning!” It was whipping his horse and him, driving them toward the flames. Resting his bare head against the horse’s neck, he took off in his simple tunic, alone, recklessly, not looking ahead, and ignoring any obstacles he might crash into.
In silence and in that calm night, the rider and the horse, covered with gleams of the moon, seemed like dream visions. The Idumean stallion, dropping his ears and stretching his neck, shot on like an arrow past the motionless cypresses and the white villas hidden among them. The sound of hoofs on the stone flags roused dogs here and there; these followed the strange vision with their barking; afterward, excited by its suddenness, they fell to howling, and raised their jaws toward the moon. The slaves hastening after Vinicius soon dropped behind, as their horses were greatly inferior. When he had rushed like a storm through sleeping Laurentum, he turned toward Ardea, in which, as in Aricia, Bovillæ, and Ustrinum, he had kept relays of horses from the day of his coming to Antium, so as to pass in the shortest time possible the interval between Rome and him. Remembering these relays, he forced all the strength from his horse.
In the calm of the night, the rider and the horse, bathed in moonlight, looked like a vision from a dream. The Idumean stallion, with his ears back and neck stretched out, raced like an arrow past the still cypress trees and the white villas hidden among them. The sound of hooves on the stone pavement stirred dogs here and there; they barked at the unusual sight and then, caught up in the excitement, began howling and lifted their heads toward the moon. The slaves rushing to catch up with Vinicius quickly fell behind, as their horses were far less capable. After racing like a storm through the sleeping town of Laurentum, he headed toward Ardea, where, like in Aricia, Bovillæ, and Ustrinum, he had arranged for relays of horses since his arrival in Antium, ensuring that he could cover the distance between Rome and himself as quickly as possible. Remembering those relays, he pushed his horse to the limit.
Beyond Ardea it seemed to him that the sky on the northeast was covered with a rosy reflection. That might be the dawn, for the hour was late, and in July daybreak came early. But Vinicius could not keep down a cry of rage and despair, for it seemed to him that that was the glare of the conflagration. He remembered the consul’s words, “The whole city is one sea of flame,” and for a while he felt that madness was threatening him really, for he had lost utterly all hope that he could save Lygia, or even reach the city before it was turned into one heap of ashes. His thoughts were quicker now than the rush of the stallion, they flew on ahead like a flock of birds, black, monstrous, and rousing despair. He knew not, it is true, in what part of the city the fire had begun; but he supposed that the Trans-Tiber division, as it was packed with tenements, timber-yards, storehouses, and wooden sheds serving as slave marts, might have become the first food of the flames.
Beyond Ardea, he saw a rosy light in the northeastern sky. It could be dawn since it was late, and in July, daybreak happened early. But Vinicius couldn't help but cry out in rage and despair, for he thought it was the glare of a fire. He recalled the consul’s words, “The whole city is one sea of flame,” and for a moment, he felt like madness was really closing in on him, as all hope of saving Lygia or even reaching the city before it turned to ashes had vanished. His thoughts raced faster than the galloping stallion, darting ahead like a dark, monstrous flock of birds that stirred up despair. He didn't know exactly where in the city the fire started; however, he assumed that the Trans-Tiber area, filled with tenements, timber yards, warehouses, and wooden sheds acting as slave markets, might have been the first to ignite.
In Rome fires happened frequently enough; during these fires, as frequently, deeds of violence and robbery were committed, especially in the parts occupied by a needy and half-barbarous population. What might happen, therefore, in a place like the Trans-Tiber, which was the retreat of a rabble collected from all parts of the earth? Here the thought of Ursus with his preterhuman power flashed into Vinicius’s head; but what could be done by a man, even were he a Titan, against the destructive force of fire?
In Rome, fires happened often, and during these fires, acts of violence and theft were committed just as frequently, especially in areas inhabited by a struggling and semi-wild population. What could possibly occur in a place like the Trans-Tiber, which was a refuge for a mob gathered from all over the world? The image of Ursus, with his extraordinary strength, flashed through Vinicius's mind; but what could one person, even if he were a giant, do against the destructive power of fire?
The fear of servile rebellion was like a nightmare, which had stifled Rome for whole years. It was said that hundreds of thousands of those people were thinking of the times of Spartacus, and merely waiting for a favorable moment to seize arms against their oppressors and Rome. Now the moment had come! Perhaps war and slaughter were raging in the city together with fire. It was possible even that the pretorians had hurled themselves on the city, and were slaughtering at command of Cæsar.
The fear of slave uprising felt like a nightmare that haunted Rome for years. It was said that hundreds of thousands were reminiscing about the days of Spartacus and just waiting for the right moment to take up arms against their oppressors and the city. Now that moment had arrived! Maybe chaos and bloodshed were erupting in the city along with the flames. It was even possible that the praetorians had attacked the city and were killing at the orders of Caesar.
And that moment the hair rose from terror on his head. He recalled all the conversations about burning cities, which for some time had been repeated at Cæsar’s court with wonderful persistence; he recalled Cæsar’s complaints that he was forced to describe a burning city without having seen a real fire; his contemptuous answer to Tigellinus, who offered to burn Antium or an artificial wooden city; finally, his complaints against Rome, and the pestilential alleys of the Subura. Yes; Cæsar has commanded the burning of the city! He alone could give such a command, as Tigellinus alone could accomplish it. But if Rome is burning at command of Cæsar, who can be sure that the population will not be slaughtered at his command also? The monster is capable even of such a deed. Conflagration, a servile revolt, and slaughter! What a horrible chaos, what a letting loose of destructive elements and popular frenzy! And in all this is Lygia.
And at that moment, his hair stood on end from fear. He remembered all the talks about burning cities that had been brought up repeatedly at Caesar’s court; he recalled Caesar’s complaints about having to describe a burning city without ever having seen a real fire; his scornful response to Tigellinus, who had suggested burning Antium or a fake wooden city; and finally, his complaints about Rome and the filthy streets of the Subura. Yes, Caesar has ordered the city to be set on fire! He alone has the authority to give such an order, just as Tigellinus is the only one who can carry it out. But if Rome is burning at Caesar’s command, who can be certain that the people won’t be slaughtered at his request too? This monster is capable of such a thing. Destruction, a slave revolt, and slaughter! What a terrible chaos, what a release of destructive forces and mob madness! And in all of this is Lygia.
The groans of Vinicius were mingled with the snorting and groans of his horse; the beast, running on a road which rose continually toward Aricia, was using the last of its breath. Who will snatch her from the burning city; who can save her? Here Vinicius, stretching himself entirely on the horse, thrust his fingers into his own hair, ready to gnaw the beast’s neck from pain.
The groans of Vinicius were mixed with the snorts and grunts of his horse; the animal, running on a road that kept climbing toward Aricia, was using the last of its strength. Who will rescue her from the burning city; who can save her? Here Vinicius, lying flat on the horse, dug his fingers into his own hair, ready to gnaw the beast’s neck out of pain.
At that moment a horseman, rushing also like a whirlwind, but in the opposite direction, toward Antium, shouted as he raced past, “Rome is perishing!” and on he went. To the ears of Vinicius came only one more expression: “Gods!” the rest was drowned by the thunder of hoofs. But that expression sobered him,—“Gods!”
At that moment, a horseman, charging like a whirlwind but heading the other way toward Antium, shouted as he sped past, “Rome is falling!” and continued on. Vinicius only caught one more word: “Gods!” The rest was drowned out by the thunder of hooves. But that word brought him back to reality—“Gods!”
Vinicius raised his head suddenly, and, stretching his arms toward the sky filled with stars, began to pray.
Vinicius suddenly lifted his head, stretched his arms toward the star-filled sky, and began to pray.
“Not to you do I call whose temples are burning, but to Thee! Thou Thyself hast suffered. Thou alone art merciful! Thou alone hast understood people’s pain; Thou didst come to this world to teach pity to mankind; then show it now. If Thou art what Peter and Paul declare, save for me Lygia, take her in Thy arms, bear her out of the flames. Thou hast the power to do that! Give her to me, and I will give Thee my blood. But if Thou art unwilling to do this for me, do it for her. She loves Thee and trusts in Thee. Thou dost promise life and happiness after death, but happiness after death will not pass away, and she does not wish to die yet. Let her live. Take her in Thy arms, bear her out of Rome. Thou canst do so, unless Thou art unwilling.”
“I'm not calling out to you, whose temples are burning, but to You! You Yourself have suffered. You alone are merciful! You alone understand people’s pain; You came to this world to teach compassion to humanity; so show it now. If You are what Peter and Paul say, save Lygia for me, take her in Your arms, carry her away from the flames. You have the power to do that! Give her to me, and I will give You my blood. But if You’re not willing to do this for me, do it for her. She loves You and trusts in You. You promise life and happiness after death, but happiness after death won't go away, and she doesn’t want to die yet. Let her live. Take her in Your arms, carry her out of Rome. You can do it, unless You don’t want to.”
And he stopped, for he felt that further prayer might turn to a threat; he feared to offend Divinity at the moment when he needed favor and mercy most. He was terrified at the very thought of that, and, so as not to admit to his head a shade even of threat, he began to lash his horse again, especially since the white walls of Aricia, which lay midway to Rome, gleamed up before him in the moonlight.
And he stopped, realizing that if he kept praying, it might start to sound like a demand; he was afraid of upsetting God just when he needed kindness and forgiveness the most. The very idea of that terrified him, so to avoid even a hint of a threat in his thoughts, he started to whip his horse again, especially since the white walls of Aricia, which were halfway to Rome, shone brightly in the moonlight.
After a time he rushed at full speed past the temple of Mercury, which stood in a grove before the city. Evidently people knew of the catastrophe, for there was an uncommon movement in front of the temple. While passing, Vinicius saw crowds on the steps and between the columns. These people holding torches were hastening to put themselves under protection of the deity. Moreover the road was not so empty or free as beyond Ardea. Crowds were hurrying, it is true, to the grove by side-paths, but on the main road were groups which pushed aside hurriedly before the on-rushing horseman. From the town came the sound of voices. Vinicius rode into Aricia like a whirlwind, overturning and trampling a number of persons on the way. He was surrounded by shouts of “Rome is burning!” “Rome is on fire!” “May the gods rescue Rome!”
After a while, he sprinted past the temple of Mercury, which stood in a grove outside the city. It was clear that people were aware of the disaster, as there was an unusual commotion in front of the temple. As he passed by, Vinicius saw crowds on the steps and between the columns. These people, carrying torches, were rushing to find safety under the deity’s protection. Furthermore, the road was busier and more crowded than it had been beyond Ardea. While many were hurrying to the grove along side paths, groups on the main road quickly stepped aside as the horseman raced by. From the town came the sound of voices. Vinicius rode into Aricia like a whirlwind, knocking over and trampling several people along the way. He was surrounded by shouts of “Rome is burning!” “Rome is on fire!” “May the gods save Rome!”
The horse stumbled, but, reined in by a powerful hand, rose on his haunches before the inn, where Vinicius had another beast in relay. Slaves, as if waiting for the arrival of their master, stood before the inn, and at his command ran one before the other to lead out a fresh horse. Vinicius, seeing a detachment of ten mounted pretorians, going evidently with news from the city to Antium, sprang toward them.
The horse stumbled, but pulled in by a strong hand, reared up on his hind legs in front of the inn, where Vinicius had another horse waiting. Slaves, as if anticipating their master's arrival, stood in front of the inn, and at his command, hurried one after the other to bring out a fresh horse. Vinicius, spotting a group of ten mounted praetorians, clearly heading with news from the city to Antium, rushed toward them.
“What part of the city is on fire?” inquired he.
“What part of the city is on fire?” he asked.
“Who art thou?” asked the decurion.
"Who are you?" asked the decurion.
“Vinicius, a tribune of the army, an Augustian. Answer on thy head!”
“Vinicius, an army tribune, an Augustan. Answer for yourself!”
“The fire broke out in the shops near the Circus Maximus. When we were despatched, the centre of the city was on fire.”
“The fire started in the stores near the Circus Maximus. By the time we were sent out, the heart of the city was ablaze.”
“And the Trans-Tiber?”
"And the Trans-Tiber River?"
“The fire has not reached the Trans-Tiber yet, but it is seizing new parts every moment with a force which nothing can stop. People are perishing from heat and smoke; all rescue is impossible.”
“The fire hasn’t reached the Trans-Tiber yet, but it’s taking over new areas every moment with a force that nothing can stop. People are dying from heat and smoke; any rescue is impossible.”
At this moment they brought the fresh horse. The young tribune sprang to his back and rushed on. He was riding now toward Albanum, leaving Alba Longa and its splendid lake on the right. The road from Aricia lay at the foot of the mountain, which hid the horizon completely, and Albanum lying on the other side of it. But Vinicius knew that on reaching the top he should see, not only Bovillæ and Ustrinum, where fresh horses were ready for him, but Rome as well: for beyond Albanum the low level Campania stretched on both sides of the Appian Way, along which only the arches of the aqueducts ran toward the city, and nothing obstructed the view.
At that moment, they brought the fresh horse. The young tribune jumped onto its back and took off. He was now riding towards Albanum, leaving Alba Longa and its beautiful lake on his right. The road from Aricia was at the foot of the mountain, which completely blocked the horizon, along with Albanum on the other side. But Vinicius knew that once he reached the top, he would see not only Bovillæ and Ustrinum, where fresh horses were waiting for him, but also Rome: beyond Albanum, the flat landscape of Campania stretched out on both sides of the Appian Way, where only the arches of the aqueducts led toward the city, and there was nothing blocking the view.
“From the top I shall see the flames,” said he; and he began to lash his horse anew. But before he had reached the top of the mountain he felt the wind on his face, and with it came the odor of smoke to his nostrils. At the same time the summit of the height was becoming gilded.
“From the top, I’ll see the flames,” he said, and he urged his horse on again. But before he got to the top of the mountain, he felt the wind on his face, bringing the smell of smoke to his nose. At the same time, the summit was starting to glow.
“The fire!” thought Vinicius.
“Fire!” thought Vinicius.
The night had paled long since, the dawn had passed into light, and on all the nearer summits golden and rosy gleams were shining, which might come either from burning Rome or the rising daylight. Vinicius touched the summit at last, and then a terrible sight struck his eyes.
The night had faded a long time ago, dawn had turned into daylight, and on all the nearby peaks, there were golden and pink flashes of light that could have come from either a burning Rome or the morning sun. Vinicius finally reached the top, and then a horrifying sight met his gaze.
The whole lower region was covered with smoke, forming as it were one gigantic cloud lying close to the earth. In this cloud towns, aqueducts, villas, trees, disappeared; but beyond this gray ghastly plain the city was burning on the hills.
The entire lower area was shrouded in smoke, creating what looked like a massive cloud hovering just above the ground. In this cloud, towns, aqueducts, villas, and trees vanished; but beyond this gray, eerie landscape, the city was ablaze on the hills.
The conflagration had not the form of a pillar of fire, as happens when a single building is burning, even when of the greatest size. That was a long belt, rather, shaped like the belt of dawn. Above this belt rose a wave of smoke, in places entirely black, in places looking rose-colored, in places like blood, in places turning in on itself, in some places inflated, in others squeezed and squirming, like a serpent which is unwinding and extending. That monstrous wave seemed at times to cover even the belt of fire, which became then as narrow as a ribbon; but later this ribbon illuminated the smoke from beneath, changing its lower rolls into waves of flame. The two extended from one side of the sky to the other, hiding its lower part, as at times a stretch of forest hides the horizon. The Sabine hills were not visible in the least.
The fire didn't look like a single pillar of flames, like when just one building is burning, no matter how big it is. Instead, it formed a long band, kind of like the dawn sky. Above this band was a wave of smoke, sometimes completely black, other times a rosy color, at moments resembling blood, and occasionally swirling in on itself. In some spots, it puffed up, while in others, it was compressed and writhing, like a snake unwinding and stretching out. This massive wave sometimes seemed to cover the band of fire, which then appeared as thin as a ribbon; but later, this ribbon would light up the smoke from underneath, transforming its lower layers into rolling flames. The two stretched from one side of the sky to the other, hiding the lower part, much like how a stretch of forest can obscure the horizon. The Sabine hills were completely out of sight.
To Vinicius it seemed at the first glance of the eye that not only the city was burning, but the whole world, and that no living being could save itself from that ocean of flame and smoke.
To Vinicius, it looked at first glance that not just the city was on fire, but the entire world, and that no one could escape that sea of flames and smoke.
The wind blew with growing strength from the region of the fire, bringing the smell of burnt things and of smoke, which began to hide even nearer objects. Clear daylight had come, and the sun lighted up the summits surrounding the Alban Lake. But the bright golden rays of the morning appeared as it were reddish and sickly through the haze. Vinicius, while descending toward Albanum, entered smoke which was denser, less and less transparent. The town itself was buried in it thoroughly. The alarmed citizens had moved out to the street. It was a terror to think of what might be in Rome, when it was difficult to breathe in Albanum.
The wind picked up strength from the direction of the fire, bringing the smell of burning things and smoke, which started to obscure even nearby objects. Daylight had arrived, and the sun illuminated the peaks surrounding Lake Albano. But the bright golden morning rays looked reddish and sickly through the haze. As Vinicius made his way down towards Albanum, he entered smoke that grew thicker and less transparent. The town itself was completely enveloped in it. The worried citizens had crowded into the streets. It was terrifying to think about what might be happening in Rome when it was hard to breathe in Albanum.
Despair seized Vinicius anew, and terror began to raise the hair on his head. But he tried to fortify himself as best he might. “It is impossible,” thought he, “that a city should begin to burn in all places at once. The wind is blowing from the north and bears smoke in this direction only. On the other side there is none. But in every case it will be enough for Ursus to go through the Janiculum gate with Lygia, to save himself and her. It is equally impossible that a whole population should perish, and the world-ruling city be swept from the face of the earth with its inhabitants. Even in captured places, where fire and slaughter rage together, some people survive in all cases; why, then, should Lygia perish of a certainty? On the contrary, God watches over her, He who Himself, conquered death.” Thus reasoning, he began to pray again, and, yielding to fixed habit, he made great vows to Christ, with promises of gifts and sacrifices. After he had hurried through Albanum, nearly all of whose inhabitants were on roofs and on trees to look at Rome, he grew somewhat calm, and regained his cool blood. He remembered, too, that Lygia was protected not only by Ursus and Linus, but by the Apostle Peter. At the mere remembrance of this, fresh solace entered his heart. For him Peter was an incomprehensible, an almost superhuman being. From the time when he heard him at Ostrianum, a wonderful impression clung to him, touching which he had written to Lygia at the beginning of his stay in Antium,—that every word of the old man was true, or would show its truth hereafter. The nearer acquaintance which during his illness he had formed with the Apostle heightened the impression, which was turned afterward into fixed faith. Since Peter had blessed his love and promised him Lygia, Lygia could not perish in the flames. The city might burn, but no spark from the fire would fall on her garments. Under the influence of a sleepless night, mad riding, and impressions, a wonderful exaltation possessed the young tribune; in this exaltation all things seemed possible: Peter speaks to the flame, opens it with a word, and they pass uninjured through an alley of fire. Moreover, Peter saw future events; hence, beyond doubt, he foresaw the fire, and in that ease how could he fail to warn and lead forth the Christians from the city, and among others Lygia, whom he loved, as he might his own child? And a hope, which was strengthening every moment, entered the heart of Vinicius. If they were fleeing from the city, he might find them in Bovillæ, or meet them on the road. The beloved face might appear any moment from out the smoke, which was stretching more widely over all the Campania.
Despair gripped Vinicius again, and fear started to raise the hairs on his neck. But he tried to brace himself as best he could. “It’s impossible,” he thought, “that a city could ignite in multiple places at once. The wind is blowing from the north and carrying smoke in this direction only. There’s none on the other side. Regardless, all it takes is for Ursus to get through the Janiculum gate with Lygia to save themselves. It's equally impossible for an entire population to perish and for the world’s greatest city to vanish along with its people. Even in places under siege, where fire and slaughter rage together, some people always survive; so why would Lygia definitely die? On the contrary, God watches over her, He who conquered death." With this reasoning, he began to pray again and, following his usual habits, made grand vows to Christ, promising gifts and sacrifices. After rushing through Albanum, where most of the inhabitants were on rooftops and in trees watching Rome, he began to feel calmer and regained his composure. He also remembered that Lygia was protected not just by Ursus and Linus, but by the Apostle Peter. At the mere thought of this, he felt a fresh sense of comfort. To him, Peter was an incomprehensible, almost superhuman being. Ever since he first heard him at Ostrianum, an incredible impression had lingered—he had written to Lygia at the start of his stay in Antium that every word the old man spoke was true, and would reveal its truth in time. The closer relationship he formed with the Apostle during his illness enhanced that impression, turning it into firm belief. Since Peter had blessed his love and promised him Lygia, she couldn't perish in the flames. The city might burn, but no spark from the fire would touch her clothes. After a sleepless night, wild riding, and overwhelming feelings, a thrilling exhilaration took hold of the young tribune; in that moment, everything felt possible: Peter could command the flames, parting them with a word, and they could walk through a fire without being harmed. Furthermore, Peter could see future events; surely, he anticipated the fire and would have warned and guided the Christians out of the city, including Lygia, whom he cherished like his own child. Hope, growing stronger with every moment, filled Vinicius’s heart. If they were escaping the city, he could find them in Bovillæ or encounter them on the road. The beloved face could appear at any moment from the smoke that was spreading across all of Campania.
This seemed to him more likely, since he met increasing numbers of people, who had deserted the city and were going to the Alban Hills; they had escaped the fire, and wished to go beyond the line of smoke. Before he had reached Ustrinum he had to slacken his pace because of the throng. Besides pedestrians with bundles on their backs, he met horses with packs, mules and vehicles laden with effects, and finally litters in which slaves were bearing the wealthier citizens. Ustrinum was so thronged with fugitives from Rome that it was difficult to push through the crowd. On the market square, under temple porticos, and on the streets were swarms of fugitives. Here and there people were erecting tents under which whole families were to find shelter. Others settled down under the naked sky, shouting, calling on the gods, or cursing the fates. In the general terror it was difficult to inquire about anything. People to whom Vinicius applied either did not answer, or with eyes half bewildered from terror answered that the city and the world were perishing. New crowds of men, women, and children arrived from the direction of Rome every moment; these increased the disorder and outcry. Some, gone astray in the throng, sought desperately those whom they had lost; others fought for a camping-place. Half-wild shepherds from the Campania crowded to the town to hear news, or find profit in plunder made easy by the uproar. Here and there crowds of slaves of every nationality and gladiators fell to robbing houses and villas in the town, and to fighting with the soldiers who appeared in defence of the citizens.
This seemed more likely to him, as he encountered more and more people who had left the city and were heading to the Alban Hills; they had escaped the fire and wanted to get beyond the smoke. Before he reached Ustrinum, he had to slow down because of the crowd. In addition to pedestrians carrying bundles on their backs, he saw horses with packs, mules, and vehicles loaded with belongings, and finally litters carried by slaves for the wealthier citizens. Ustrinum was so crowded with refugees from Rome that it was hard to get through. In the market square, under temple porticos, and in the streets were swarms of fugitives. Here and there, people were setting up tents where entire families could take shelter. Others camped out under the open sky, shouting, calling on the gods, or cursing their fate. In the chaos, it was tough to ask about anything. The people Vinicius approached either didn’t respond or, with bewildered eyes, said that the city and the world were coming to an end. New groups of men, women, and children arrived from the direction of Rome every moment, adding to the disorder and noise. Some, lost in the crowd, desperately searched for those they had lost; others fought for a place to camp. Half-wild shepherds from Campania gathered in town to hear news or find opportunities for easy plunder amid the uproar. Here and there, groups of slaves of various nationalities and gladiators began robbing houses and villas in the town, clashing with soldiers who came to defend the citizens.
Junius, a senator, whom Vinicius saw at the inn surrounded by a detachment of Batavian slaves, was the first to give more detailed news of the conflagration. The fire had begun at the Circus Maximus, in the part which touches the Palatine and the Cælian Hill, but extended with incomprehensible rapidity and seized the whole centre of the city. Never since the time of Brennus had such an awful catastrophe come upon Rome. “The entire Circus has burnt, as well as the shops and houses surrounding it,” said Junius; “the Aventine and Cælian Hills are on fire. The flames surrounding the Palatine have reached the Carinæ.”
Junius, a senator whom Vinicius saw at the inn surrounded by a group of Batavian slaves, was the first to provide more detailed news about the fire. The blaze started at the Circus Maximus, near the Palatine and the Cælian Hill, but spread with an incomprehensible speed, engulfing the entire center of the city. Never since the time of Brennus has Rome faced such a terrible disaster. “The whole Circus has burned down, along with the shops and houses nearby,” said Junius; “the Aventine and Cælian Hills are on fire. The flames surrounding the Palatine have reached the Carinæ.”
Here Junius, who possessed on the Carinæ a magnificent “insula,” filled with works of art which he loved, seized a handful of foul dust, and, scattering it on his head, began to groan despairingly.
Here Junius, who had an impressive “insula” on the Carinæ filled with artistic masterpieces he cherished, grabbed a handful of filthy dust and, throwing it on his head, began to groan in despair.
But Vinicius shook him by the shoulder: “My house too is on the Carinæ,” said he; “but when everything is perishing, let it perish also.”
But Vinicius shook him by the shoulder: “My house is also on the Carinæ,” he said; “but when everything is falling apart, let it fall apart too.”
Then recollecting that at his advice Lygia might have gone to the house of Aulus, he inquired,—
Then remembering that, based on his suggestion, Lygia might have gone to Aulus's house, he asked,—
“But the Vicus Patricius?”
“But what about the Vicus Patricius?”
“On fire!” replied Junius.
"On fire!" responded Junius.
“The Trans-Tiber?”
"The Trans-Tiber?"
Junius looked at him with amazement.
Junius stared at him in disbelief.
“Never mind the Trans-Tiber,” said he, pressing his aching temples with his palms.
“Forget about the Trans-Tiber,” he said, pressing his throbbing temples with his hands.
“The Trans-Tiber is more important to me than all other parts of Rome,” cried Vinicius, with vehemence.
“The Trans-Tiber means more to me than any other part of Rome,” Vinicius exclaimed passionately.
“The way is through the Via Portuensis, near the Aventine; but the heat will stifle thee. The Trans-Tiber? I know not. The fire had not reached it; but whether it is not there at this moment the gods alone know.” Here Junius hesitated a moment, then said in a low voice: “I know that thou wilt not betray me, so I will tell thee that this is no common fire. People were not permitted to save the Circus. When houses began to burn in every direction, I myself heard thousands of voices exclaiming, ‘Death to those who save!’ Certain people ran through the city and hurled burning torches into buildings. On the other hand people are revolting, and crying that the city is burning at command. I can say nothing more. Woe to the city, woe to us all, and to me! The tongue of man cannot tell what is happening there. People are perishing in flames or slaying one another in the throng. This is the end of Rome!”
"The way is via the Portuensis, close to the Aventine; but the heat will suffocate you. The Trans-Tiber? I don't know. The fire hasn't reached it; but whether it’s still safe right now, only the gods know." Here Junius hesitated for a moment, then said quietly, "I know you won’t betray me, so I’ll tell you this is no ordinary fire. People weren’t allowed to save the Circus. When houses started burning in all directions, I heard thousands of voices shouting, 'Death to those who save!' Certain individuals ran through the city, throwing burning torches into buildings. Meanwhile, people are rebelling, claiming the city is burning by order. I can't say anything more. Woe to the city, woe to us all, and woe to me! Words can't express what’s happening there. People are dying in flames or killing each other in the chaos. This is the end of Rome!"
And again he fell to repeating, “Woe! Woe to the city and to us!” Vinicius sprang to his horse, and hurried forward along the Appian Way. But now it was rather a struggling through the midst of a river of people and vehicles, which was flowing from the city. The city, embraced by a monstrous conflagration, lay before Vinicius as a thing on the palm of his hand. From the sea of fire and smoke came a terrible heat, and the uproar of people could not drown the roar and the hissing of flames.
And again he kept repeating, “Woe! Woe to the city and to us!” Vinicius jumped on his horse and rushed along the Appian Way. But now it was more like pushing through a river of people and vehicles pouring out of the city. The city, engulfed in a huge fire, lay before Vinicius as if it was in the palm of his hand. From the sea of fire and smoke came an awful heat, and the chaos of the crowd couldn’t drown out the roar and hissing of the flames.
Chapter XLIII
As Vinicius approached the walls, he found it easier to reach Rome than penetrate to the middle of the city. It was difficult to push along the Appian Way, because of the throng of people. Houses, fields, cemeteries, gardens, and temples, lying on both sides of it, were turned into camping places. In the temple of Mars, which stood near the Porta Appia, the crowd had thrown down the doors, so as to find a refuge within during night-hours. In the cemeteries the larger monuments were seized, and battles fought in defence of them, which were carried to bloodshed. Ustrinum with its disorder gave barely a slight foretaste of that which was happening beneath the walls of the capital. All regard for the dignity of law, for family ties, for difference of position, had ceased. Gladiators drunk with wine seized in the Emporium gathered in crowds, ran with wild shouts through the neighboring squares, scattering, trampling, and robbing the people. A multitude of barbarians, exposed for sale in the city, escaped from the booths. For them the burning and ruin of Rome was at once the end of slavery and the hour of revenge; so that when the permanent inhabitants, who had lost all they owned in the fire, stretched their hands to the gods in despair, calling for rescue, these slaves with howls of delight scattered the crowds, dragged clothing from people’s backs, and bore away the younger women. They were joined by slaves serving in the city from of old, wretches who had nothing on their bodies save woollen girdles around their hips, dreadful figures from the alleys, who were hardly ever seen on the streets in the daytime, and whose existence in Rome it was difficult to suspect. Men of this wild and unrestrained crowd, Asiatics, Africans, Greeks, Thracians, Germans, Britons, howling in every language of the earth, raged, thinking that the hour had come in which they were free to reward themselves for years of misery and suffering. In the midst of that surging throng of humanity, in the glitter of day and of fire, shone the helmets of pretorians, under whose protection the more peaceable population had taken refuge, and who in hand-to-hand battle had to meet the raging multitude in many places. Vinicius had seen captured cities, but never had his eyes beheld a spectacle in which despair, tears, pain, groans, wild delight, madness, rage, and license were mingled together in such immeasurable chaos. Above this heaving, mad human multitude roared the fire, surging up to the hill-tops of the greatest city on earth, sending into the whirling throng its fiery breath, and covering it with smoke, through which it was impossible to see the blue sky. The young tribune with supreme effort, and exposing his life every moment, forced his way at last to the Appian Gate; but there he saw that he could not reach the city through the division of the Porta Capena, not merely because of the throng, but also because of the terrible heat from which the whole atmosphere was quivering inside the gate. Besides, the bridge at the Porta Trigenia, opposite the temple of the Bona Dea, did not exist yet, hence whoso wished to go beyond the Tiber had to push through to the Pons Sublicius, that is, to pass around the Aventine through a part of the city covered now with one sea of flame. That was an impossibility. Vinicius understood that he must return toward Ustrinum, turn from the Appian Way, cross the river below the city, and go to the Via Portuensis, which led straight to the Trans-Tiber. That was not easy because of the increasing disorder on the Appian Way. He must open a passage for himself there, even with the sword. Vinicius had no weapons; he had left Antium just as the news of the fire had reached him in Cæsar’s villa. At the fountain of Mercury, however, he saw a centurion who was known to him. This man, at the head of a few tens of soldiers, was defending the precinct of the temple; he commanded him to follow. Recognizing a tribune and an Augustian, the centurion did not dare to disobey the order.
As Vinicius approached the walls, he realized it was easier to reach Rome than to get into the heart of the city. The Appian Way was crowded, making it hard to push through. On both sides, houses, fields, cemeteries, gardens, and temples had been turned into makeshift camps. In the temple of Mars, near Porta Appia, the crowd had broken down the doors to find shelter during the night. In the cemeteries, larger monuments were claimed, leading to battles fought in their defense, often resulting in bloodshed. The chaos at Ustrinum was just a hint of what was happening at the city walls. All respect for the law, family ties, and social status had vanished. Gladiators, intoxicated and gathered from the Emporium, flooded the nearby squares, yelling wildly, trampling people, and robbing them. A multitude of captured barbarians, available for sale in the city, escaped from their booths. For them, the burning and destruction of Rome represented the end of their slavery and a chance for revenge; while permanent residents, who lost everything in the flames, cried out desperately for help, these former slaves reveled in the chaos, dragging clothes from people's backs and abducting young women. They were joined by long-serving slaves in the city, wretches dressed only in woolen belts, frightening figures rarely seen during the day, whose existence in Rome was hardly suspected. This wild and chaotic crowd—Asiatics, Africans, Greeks, Thracians, Germans, Britons—howled in every language, convinced that they had finally earned their freedom after years of suffering. Amidst the chaotic mass of humanity, against the backdrop of flames and daylight, the helmets of the praetorians stood out, providing shelter for the more peaceful citizens, who had to confront the raging crowd in hand-to-hand combat at several points. Vinicius had witnessed captured cities before, but he had never seen a scene where despair, tears, pain, groans, chaotic joy, madness, rage, and lawlessness collided in such overwhelming disorder. Above this frantic sea of humanity, the fire roared as it surged toward the hilltops of the greatest city on earth, sending its fiery breath into the chaotic crowd and enveloping it in smoke, obscuring the blue sky. The young tribune, with supreme effort and at great risk to his life, finally made his way to the Appian Gate; however, he found he could not enter the city through the Porta Capena, not just because of the crowd, but also due to the intense heat that warped the air around the gate. Furthermore, the bridge at Porta Trigenia, across from the temple of the Bona Dea, did not yet exist, so anyone wanting to cross the Tiber had to navigate to the Pons Sublicius, meaning they had to go around the Aventine through an area now engulfed in flames. That was impossible. Vinicius understood he needed to turn back towards Ustrinum, leave the Appian Way, cross the river below the city, and head to the Via Portuensis, which led straight to the Trans-Tiber. This was challenging because of the escalating chaos on the Appian Way. He would have to carve a path for himself, even if it meant using a sword. Vinicius had no weapons; he had left Antium just as news of the fire reached him at Cæsar’s villa. However, at the fountain of Mercury, he saw a familiar centurion. This man, leading a few dozen soldiers, was defending the temple precinct; he ordered Vinicius to follow. Recognizing the tribune and an Augustian, the centurion did not dare to disobey.
Vinicius took command of the detachment himself, and, forgetting for that moment the teaching of Paul touching love for one’s neighbor, he pressed and cut the throng in front with a haste that was fatal to many who could not push aside in season. He and his men were followed by curses and a shower of stones; but to these he gave no heed, caring only to reach freer spaces at the earliest. Still he advanced with the greatest effort. People who had encamped would not move, and heaped loud curses on Cæsar and the pretorians. The throng assumed in places a threatening aspect. Vinicius heard voices accusing Nero of burning the city. He and Poppæa were threatened with death. Shouts of “Sanio,” “Histrio” (buffoon, actor), “Matricide!” were heard round about. Some shouted to drag him to the Tiber; others that Rome had shown patience enough. It was clear that were a leader found, these threats could be changed into open rebellion which might break out any moment. Meanwhile the rage and despair of the crowd turned against the pretorians, who for another reason could not make their way out of the crowd: the road was blocked by piles of goods, borne from the fire previously, boxes, barrels of provisions, furniture the most costly, vessels, infants’ cradles, beds, carts, hand-packs. Here and there they fought hand to hand; but the pretorians conquered the weaponless multitude easily. After they had ridden with difficulty across the Viæ Latina, Numitia, Ardea, Lavinia, and Ostia, and passed around villas, gardens, cemeteries, and temples, Vinicius reached at last a village called Vicus Alexandri, beyond which he crossed the Tiber. There was more open space at this spot, and less smoke. From fugitives, of whom there was no lack even there, he learned that only certain alleys of the Trans-Tiber were burning, but that surely nothing could resist the fury of the conflagration, since people were spreading the fire purposely, and permitted no one to quench it, declaring that they acted at command. The young tribune had not the least doubt then that Cæsar had given command to burn Rome; and the vengeance which people demanded seemed to him just and proper. What more could Mithridates or any of Rome’s most inveterate enemies have done? The measure had been exceeded; his madness had grown to be too enormous, and the existence of people too difficult because of him. Vinicius believed that Nero’s hour had struck, that those ruins into which the city was falling should and must overwhelm the monstrous buffoon together with all those crimes of his. Should a man be found of courage sufficient to stand at the head of the despairing people, that might happen in a few hours. Here vengeful and daring thoughts began to fly through his head. But if he should do that? The house of Vinicius, which till recent times counted a whole series of consuls, was known throughout Rome. The crowds needed only a name. Once, when four hundred slaves of the prefect Pedanius Secundus were sentenced, Rome reached the verge of rebellion and civil war. What would happen to-day in view of a dreadful calamity surpassing almost everything which Rome had undergone in the course of eight centuries? Whoso calls the Quirites to arms, thought Vinicius, will overthrow Nero undoubtedly, and clothe himself in purple. And why should he not do this? He was firmer, more active, younger than other Augustians. True, Nero commanded thirty legions stationed on the borders of the Empire; but would not those legions and their leaders rise up at news of the burning of Rome and its temples? And in that case Vinicius might become Cæsar. It was even whispered among the Augustians that a soothsayer had predicted the purple to Otho. In what way was he inferior to Otho? Perhaps Christ Himself would assist him with His divine power; maybe that inspiration was His? “Oh, would that it were!” exclaimed Vinicius, in spirit. He would take vengeance on Nero for the danger of Lygia and his own fear; he would begin the reign of truth and justice, he would extend Christ’s religion from the Euphrates to the misty shores of Britain; he would array Lygia in the purple, and make her mistress of the world.
Vinicius took charge of the detachment himself, and for a moment, he forgot Paul’s teaching about loving one’s neighbor. He pushed through the crowd in a way that was deadly for many who couldn’t move aside in time. He and his men were met with curses and a rain of stones, but he ignored them, focused only on reaching more open spaces as quickly as possible. Still, he advanced with great effort. People who had settled there refused to budge, hurling loud insults at Cæsar and the praetorians. The crowd threatened to become aggressive at times. Vinicius heard voices blaming Nero for burning the city. He and Poppæa were threatened with death. Shouts like “Sanio,” “Histrio” (buffoon, actor), and “Matricide!” echoed around. Some yelled to drag him to the Tiber; others insisted that Rome had been patient enough. It was clear that if a leader emerged, these threats could turn into outright rebellion at any moment. Meanwhile, the anger and despair of the crowd turned against the praetorians, who couldn’t move through the crowd either because the road was blocked by piles of goods thrown in from the previous fire—boxes, barrels of food, expensive furniture, vessels, cradle beds, carts, and hand-packages. Here and there, they fought hand-to-hand, but the praetorians easily defeated the unarmed masses. After struggling to ride across the Via Latina, Numidia, Ardea, Lavinia, and Ostia, and passing around villas, gardens, cemeteries, and temples, Vinicius finally reached a village called Vicus Alexandri, beyond which he crossed the Tiber. There was more open space here, and less smoke. From the many fleeing people there, he learned that only certain alleys across the Tiber were on fire, but nothing would withstand the rage of the flames since people were intentionally spreading it and stopping anyone from putting it out, claiming they were doing it on orders. The young tribune had no doubt that Cæsar had commanded the burning of Rome, and the revenge the people demanded seemed right and just to him. What more could Mithridates or any of Rome's worst enemies have done? The limits had been crossed; his madness had grown too vast, making life unbearable for the people because of him. Vinicius believed that Nero's time had come, and that the ruins into which the city was falling should and would bury the monstrous fool along with all his crimes. If someone could be brave enough to lead the desperate people, changes could happen in a few hours. Dark and vengeful thoughts began to race through his mind. But what if he did that? The house of Vinicius, which had recently counted several consuls, was known throughout Rome. The crowds needed just a name. Once, when four hundred slaves of the prefect Pedanius Secundus were sentenced, Rome almost erupted in rebellion and civil war. What would happen today given the awful disaster that surpassed almost everything Rome had faced in eight centuries? Whoever calls the Quirites to arms, Vinicius thought, would surely overthrow Nero and claim the purple for himself. And why shouldn’t he do this? He was stronger, more active, and younger than the other Augustians. True, Nero commanded thirty legions stationed on the Empire’s borders; but would those legions and their leaders not rise at the news of the burning of Rome and its temples? In that case, Vinicius could become Cæsar. It was even whispered among the Augustians that a soothsayer had predicted the purple for Otho. How was he any less than Otho? Perhaps Christ Himself would aid him with His divine power; maybe that inspiration was His? “Oh, I wish it were!” Vinicius exclaimed in his mind. He would take revenge on Nero for the danger to Lygia and his own fear; he would start the reign of truth and justice, spreading Christ's religion from the Euphrates to the misty shores of Britain; he would dress Lygia in purple and make her the ruler of the world.
But these thoughts which had burst forth in his head like a bunch of sparks from a blazing house, died away like sparks. First of all was the need to save Lygia. He looked now on the catastrophe from near by; hence fear seized him again, and before that sea of flame and smoke, before the touch of dreadful reality, that confidence with which he believed that Peter would rescue Lygia died in his heart altogether. Despair seized him a second time when he had come out on the Via Portuensis, which led directly to the Trans-Tiber. He did not recover till he came to the gate, where people repeated what fugitives had said before, that the greater part of that division of the city was not seized by the flames yet, but that fire had crossed the river in a number of places.
But these thoughts, which had surged in his mind like sparks from a burning building, faded away like those sparks. First and foremost was the need to save Lygia. He now faced the catastrophe up close; fear gripped him again, and confronted with that sea of flames and smoke, the confidence he had that Peter would rescue Lygia completely vanished. Despair overwhelmed him once more when he reached the Via Portuensis, which led directly to the Trans-Tiber. He didn’t regain his composure until he arrived at the gate, where people echoed what earlier fugitives had said: that most of that part of the city was not yet in flames, but that fire had crossed the river in several places.
Still the Trans-Tiber was full of smoke, and crowds of fugitives made it more difficult to reach the interior of the place, since people, having more time there, had saved greater quantities of goods. The main street itself was in many parts filled completely, and around the Naumachia Augusta great heaps were piled up. Narrow alleys, in which smoke had collected more densely, were simply impassable. The inhabitants were fleeing in thousands. On the way Vinicius saw wonderful sights. More than once two rivers of people, flowing in opposite directions, met in a narrow passage, stopped each other, men fought hand to hand, struck and trampled one another. Families lost one another in the uproar; mothers called on their children despairingly. The young tribune’s hair stood on end at thought of what must happen nearer the fire. Amid shouts and howls it was difficult to inquire about anything or understand what was said. At times new columns of smoke from beyond the river rolled toward them, smoke black and so heavy that it moved near the ground, hiding houses, people, and every object, just as night does. But the wind caused by the conflagration blew it away again, and then Vinicius pushed forward farther toward the alley in which stood the house of Linus. The fervor of a July day, increased by the heat of the burning parts of the city, became unendurable. Smoke pained the eyes; breath failed in men’s breasts. Even the inhabitants who, hoping that the fire would not cross the river, had remained in their houses so far, began to leave them; and the throng increased hourly. The pretorians accompanying Vinicius remained in the rear. In the crush some one wounded his horse with a hammer; the beast threw up its bloody head, reared, and refused obedience. The crowd recognized in Vinicius an Augustian by his rich tunic, and at once cries were raised round about: “Death to Nero and his incendiaries!” This was a moment of terrible danger; hundreds of hands were stretched toward Vinicius; but his frightened horse bore him away, trampling people as he went, and the next moment a new wave of black smoke rolled in and filled the street with darkness. Vinicius, seeing that he could not ride past, sprang to the earth and rushed forward on foot, slipping along walls, and at times waiting till the fleeing multitude passed him. He said to himself in spirit that these were vain efforts. Lygia might not be in the city; she might have saved herself by flight. It was easier to find a pin on the seashore than her in that crowd and chaos. Still he wished to reach the house of Linus, even at the cost of his own life. At times he stopped and rubbed his eyes. Tearing off the edge of his tunic, he covered his nose and mouth with it and ran on. As he approached the river, the heat increased terribly. Vinicius, knowing that the fire had begun at the Circus Maximus, thought at first that that heat came from its cinders and from the Forum Boarium and the Velabrum, which, situated near by, must be also in flames. But the heat was growing unendurable. One old man on crutches and fleeing, the last whom Vinicius noticed, cried: “Go not near the bridge of Cestius! The whole island is on fire!” It was, indeed, impossible to be deceived any longer. At the turn toward the Vicus Judæorum, on which stood the house of Linus, the young tribune saw flames amid clouds of smoke. Not only the island was burning, but the Trans-Tiber, or at least the other end of the street on which Lygia dwelt.
Still, the Trans-Tiber was filled with smoke, and crowds of people trying to escape made it harder to reach the interior of the area since those who had spent more time there had salvaged larger amounts of goods. The main street was completely packed in many places, and around the Naumachia Augusta, large heaps were piled up. Narrow alleys, where smoke had thickened, were simply impassable. Thousands of residents were fleeing. On his way, Vinicius saw astonishing sights. More than once, two streams of people going in opposite directions collided in a narrow passage, stopping each other, and men fought hand-to-hand, striking and trampling one another. Families lost each other in the chaos, and mothers desperately called for their children. The young tribune felt a chill at the thought of what must be happening closer to the fire. Amid shouts and cries, it was hard to ask about anything or understand what was being said. At times, new columns of thick, black smoke rolled toward them from beyond the river, so heavy that it hung low to the ground, obscuring houses, people, and everything else, much like night falls. But the wind created by the fire blew it away again, prompting Vinicius to push further toward the alley where Linus's house stood. The heat of a July day, intensified by the flames consuming parts of the city, became unbearable. The smoke stung his eyes; it was hard to breathe. Even the residents who had remained in their homes, hoping the fire wouldn't cross the river, began to flee, and the crowd grew larger by the hour. The praetorians accompanying Vinicius stayed behind. In the crush, someone struck his horse with a hammer; the animal lifted its bloody head, reared up, and refused to listen. The crowd recognized Vinicius as an Augustan because of his rich tunic, and cries erupted around him: “Death to Nero and his arsonists!” This was a moment of grave danger; hundreds of hands reached out toward Vinicius; but his panicked horse carried him away, trampling people as it moved, and the next moment a fresh wave of black smoke rolled in, enveloping the street in darkness. Seeing he couldn’t ride past, Vinicius jumped down and sprinted on foot, slipping along walls and sometimes pausing until the fleeing crowd passed him. He mentally told himself that these were futile efforts. Lygia might not even be in the city; she could have escaped. Finding her in that crowd and chaos would be like searching for a needle in a haystack. Still, he wanted to reach Linus's house, even at the cost of his own life. Every now and then he stopped to rub his eyes. Tearing off the edge of his tunic, he covered his nose and mouth with it and ran on. As he neared the river, the heat became unbearable. Vinicius, knowing the fire had started at the Circus Maximus, initially thought that the heat came from its ashes and from the nearby Forum Boarium and the Velabrum, which must also be ablaze. But the heat continued to intensify. An old man on crutches, the last person Vinicius noticed fleeing, shouted: "Don't go near the bridge of Cestius! The whole island is on fire!" It was impossible to be mistaken any longer. At the turn toward the Vicus Judæorum, where Linus's house stood, the young tribune saw flames amid clouds of smoke. Not only was the island burning, but the Trans-Tiber—or at least the other end of the street where Lygia lived—was also in flames.
Vinicius remembered that the house of Linus was surrounded by a garden; between the garden and the Tiber was an unoccupied field of no great size. This thought consoled him. The fire might stop at the vacant place. In that hope he ran forward, though every breeze brought not only smoke, but sparks in thousands, which might raise a fire at the other end of the alley and cut off his return.
Vinicius remembered that Linus's house was surrounded by a garden; between the garden and the Tiber was a small, empty field. This thought comforted him. The fire might stop at the vacant spot. With that hope, he hurried forward, even though every breeze carried not just smoke, but thousands of sparks that could ignite a fire at the other end of the alley and block his way back.
At last he saw through the smoky curtain the cypresses in Linus’s garden.
At last, he saw through the smoky haze the cypress trees in Linus's garden.
The houses beyond the unoccupied field were burning already like piles of fuel, but Linus’s little “insula” stood untouched yet. Vinicius glanced heavenward with thankfulness, and sprang toward the house though the very air began to burn him. The door was closed, but he pushed it open and rushed in.
The houses beyond the empty field were already on fire like stacks of fuel, but Linus's small "insula" remained unharmed for now. Vinicius looked up at the sky in gratitude and ran toward the house even as the air started to scorch him. The door was closed, but he managed to push it open and dashed inside.
There was not a living soul in the garden, and the house seemed quite empty. “Perhaps they have fainted from smoke and heat,” thought Vinicius. He began to call,—
There wasn't a single person in the garden, and the house felt completely empty. "Maybe they passed out from the smoke and heat," Vinicius thought. He started to call—
“Lygia! Lygia!”
“Lygia! Lygia!”
Silence answered him. Nothing could be heard in the stillness there save the roar of the distant fire.
Silence replied. The only sound in the stillness was the roar of the distant fire.
“Lygia!”
"Lygia!"
Suddenly his ear was struck by that gloomy sound which he had heard before in that garden. Evidently the vivarium near the temple of Esculapius, on the neighboring island, had caught fire. In this vivarium every kind of wild beast, and among others lions, began to roar from affright. A shiver ran through Vinicius from foot to head. Now, a second time, at a moment when his whole being was concentrated in Lygia, these terrible voices answered, as a herald of misfortune, as a marvellous prophecy of an ominous future.
Suddenly, he heard that ominous sound again from the garden. It was clear that the animal enclosure near the temple of Esculapius on the nearby island was on fire. In this enclosure, all kinds of wild animals, including lions, started to roar in fear. A chill ran through Vinicius from head to toe. Once again, at a moment when all his thoughts were focused on Lygia, these dreadful noises acted as a harbinger of trouble, a strange prophecy of a dark future.
But this was a brief impression, for the thunder of the flames, more terrible yet than the roaring of wild beasts, commanded him to think of something else. Lygia did not answer his calls; but she might be in a faint or stifled in that threatened building. Vinicius sprang to the interior. The little atrium was empty, and dark with smoke. Feeling for the door which led to the sleeping-rooms, he saw the gleaming flame of a small lamp, and approaching it saw the lararium in which was a cross instead of lares. Under the cross a taper was burning. Through the head of the young catechumen, the thought passed with lightning speed that that cross sent him the taper with which he could find Lygia; hence he took the taper and searched for the sleeping-rooms. He found one, pushed aside the curtains, and, holding the taper, looked around.
But this was a quick thought, as the roar of the flames, even more terrifying than the growls of wild animals, forced him to focus on something else. Lygia didn’t respond to his calls; she might be unconscious or trapped in that burning building. Vinicius rushed inside. The small atrium was empty and filled with smoke. As he felt for the door that led to the bedrooms, he noticed the flickering flame of a small lamp. Moving closer, he saw the lararium, which had a cross instead of lares. Under the cross, a candle was burning. A thought shot through the mind of the young catechumen like lightning: that cross had sent him the candle to help him find Lygia; so he took the candle and searched for the bedrooms. He found one, pushed aside the curtains, and, holding the candle, looked around.
There was no one there, either. Vinicius was sure that he had found Lygia’s sleeping-room, for her clothing was on nails in the wall, and on the bed lay a capitium, or close garment worn by women next the body. Vinicius seized that, pressed it to his lips, and taking it on his arm went farther. The house was small, so that he examined every room, and even the cellar quickly. Nowhere could he find a living soul. It was evident that Lygia, Linus, and Ursus, with other inhabitants of that part, must have sought safety in flight.
There was no one there, either. Vinicius was sure he had found Lygia’s bedroom, because her clothes were hanging on hooks in the wall, and on the bed lay a capitium, a close-fitting garment worn by women. Vinicius grabbed it, pressed it to his lips, and took it with him as he moved on. The house was small, so he quickly checked every room, even the cellar. He couldn’t find a single person. It was clear that Lygia, Linus, Ursus, and the other residents in that area must have fled for their safety.
“I must seek them among the crowd beyond the gates of the city,” thought Vinicius.
“I need to look for them in the crowd outside the city gates,” thought Vinicius.
He was not astonished greatly at not meeting them on the Via Portuensis, for they might have left the Trans-Tiber through the opposite side along the Vatican Hill. In every case they were safe from fire at least. A stone fell from his breast. He saw, it is true, the terrible danger with which the flight was connected, but he was comforted at thought of the preterhuman strength of Ursus. “I must flee now,” said he, “and reach the gardens of Agrippina through the gardens of Domitius, where I shall find them. The smoke is not so terrible there, since the wind blows from the Sabine Hill.”
He wasn't too surprised that he didn't run into them on the Via Portuensis since they might have taken the other route through Vatican Hill. At least they were safe from fire. He felt a weight lift off his chest. He recognized the serious danger involved in fleeing, but he felt reassured by Ursus's extraordinary strength. “I have to get away now,” he said, “and make my way to the gardens of Agrippina through the gardens of Domitius, where I’ll find them. The smoke isn't as bad there since the wind is coming from Sabine Hill.”
The hour had come now in which he must think of his own safety, for the river of fire was flowing nearer and nearer from the direction of the island, and rolls of smoke covered the alley almost completely. The taper, which had lighted him in the house, was quenched from the current of air. Vinicius rushed to the street, and ran at full speed toward the Via Portuensis, whence he had come; the fire seemed to pursue him with burning breath, now surrounding him with fresh clouds of smoke, now covering him with sparks, which fell on his hair, neck, and clothing. The tunic began to smoulder on him in places; he cared not, but ran forward lest he might be stifled from smoke. He had the taste of soot and burning in his mouth; his throat and lungs were as if on fire. The blood rushed to his head, and at moments all things, even the smoke itself, seemed red to him. Then he thought: “This is living fire! Better cast myself on the ground and perish.” The running tortured him more and more. His head, neck, and shoulders were streaming with sweat, which scalded like boiling water. Had it not been for Lygia’s name, repeated by him in thought, had it not been for her capitium, which he wound across his mouth, he would have fallen. Some moments later he failed to recognize the street along which he ran. Consciousness was leaving him gradually; he remembered only that he must flee, for in the open field beyond waited Lygia, whom Peter had promised him. And all at once he was seized by a certain wonderful conviction, half feverish, like a vision before death, that he must see her, marry her, and then die.
The time had come for him to think about his own safety because the river of fire was getting closer and closer from the direction of the island, and thick smoke almost completely covered the alley. The candle that had lit his way in the house was blown out by the draft. Vinicius rushed into the street and ran full speed toward the Via Portuensis, where he had come from; the fire seemed to chase him with its scorching breath, surrounding him with bursts of smoke and showering him with sparks that fell on his hair, neck, and clothes. Parts of his tunic started to smolder, but he didn’t care—he just ran on, trying to avoid suffocating in the smoke. He could taste soot and burning in his mouth; it felt like his throat and lungs were on fire. Blood rushed to his head, and for a moment, everything—even the smoke—seemed red to him. Then he thought, "This is real fire! I’d be better off lying down and dying." The running became increasingly torturous. His head, neck, and shoulders were drenched in sweat that felt like boiling water. If it hadn't been for Lygia's name that he kept repeating in his mind, and the piece of cloth he wrapped around his mouth, he would have collapsed. Moments later, he could no longer recognize the street he was running on. His awareness was fading; he only remembered that he needed to escape, because Lygia, whom Peter had promised him, was waiting for him in the open field beyond. Suddenly, he was struck by a profound sense of certainty, almost feverish like a vision before death, that he had to see her, marry her, and then die.
But he ran on as if drunk, staggering from one side of the street to the other. Meanwhile something changed in that monstrous conflagration which had embraced the giant city. Everything which till then had only glimmered, burst forth visibly into one sea of flame; the wind had ceased to bring smoke. That smoke which had collected in the streets was borne away by a mad whirl of heated air. That whirl drove with it millions of sparks, so that Vinicius was running in a fiery cloud as it were. But he was able to see before him all the better, and in a moment, almost when he was ready to fall, he saw the end of the street. That sight gave him fresh strength. Passing the corner, he found himself in a street which led to the Via Portuensis and the Codetan Field. The sparks ceased to drive him. He understood that if he could run to the Via Portuensis he was safe, even were he to faint on it.
But he kept running like he was drunk, swaying from one side of the street to the other. Meanwhile, something changed in that monstrous fire that engulfed the giant city. Everything that had just been glowing suddenly erupted into a vast sea of flames; the wind had stopped carrying smoke. The smoke that had filled the streets was blown away by a wild swirl of hot air. This whirl carried millions of sparks, so Vinicius felt like he was running through a fiery cloud. However, he could see ahead much better, and just when he thought he might collapse, he spotted the end of the street. That sight gave him renewed strength. As he turned the corner, he found himself on a street leading to the Via Portuensis and the Codetan Field. The sparks stopped pushing him forward. He realized that if he could make it to the Via Portuensis, he would be safe, even if he fainted right there.
At the end of the street he saw again a cloud, as it seemed, which stopped the exit. “If that is smoke,” thought he, “I cannot pass.” He ran with the remnant of his strength. On the way he threw off his tunic, which, on fire from the sparks, was burning him like the shirt of Nessus, having only Lygia’s capitium around his head and before his mouth. When he had run farther, he saw that what he had taken for smoke was dust, from which rose a multitude of cries and voices.
At the end of the street, he saw a cloud again that seemed to block his way out. “If that’s smoke,” he thought, “I can’t get through.” He ran with the last bit of strength he had left. Along the way, he took off his tunic, which was on fire from the sparks and burned him like the shirt of Nessus, leaving him with only Lygia’s scarf around his head and over his mouth. As he ran further, he realized that what he had mistaken for smoke was actually dust, rising up with a chorus of cries and voices.
“The rabble are plundering houses,” thought Vinicius. But he ran toward the voices. In every case people were there; they might assist him. In this hope he shouted for aid with all his might before he reached them. But this was his last effort. It grew redder still in his eyes, breath failed his lungs, strength failed his bones; he fell.
“The crowd is looting houses,” Vinicius thought. But he ran towards the voices. There were people there; they might help him. With this hope, he shouted for help with all his strength before he reached them. But this was his last effort. His vision blurred, breath escaped his lungs, and he felt weakness in his bones; he collapsed.
They heard him, however, or rather saw him. Two men ran with gourds full of water. Vinicius, who had fallen from exhaustion but had not lost consciousness, seized a gourd with both hands, and emptied one-half of it.
They heard him, or more accurately, they saw him. Two men were running with gourds full of water. Vinicius, who had collapsed from exhaustion but was still conscious, grabbed a gourd with both hands and poured out half of it.
“Thanks,” said he; “place me on my feet, I can walk on alone.”
“Thanks,” he said; “just help me up, I can walk on my own.”
The other laborer poured water on his head; the two not only placed him on his feet, but raised him from the ground, and carried him to the others, who surrounded him and asked if he had suffered seriously. This tenderness astonished Vinicius.
The other worker poured water over his head; they not only helped him to his feet, but lifted him up off the ground and carried him to the others, who gathered around him and asked if he was seriously hurt. This kindness surprised Vinicius.
“People, who are ye?” asked he.
“Who are you people?” he asked.
“We are breaking down houses, so that the fire may not reach the Via Portuensis,” answered one of the laborers.
“We're tearing down houses so that the fire doesn't reach Via Portuensis,” replied one of the workers.
“Ye came to my aid when I had fallen. Thanks to you.”
"You helped me when I was down. Thank you."
“We are not permitted to refuse aid,” answered a number of voices.
"We can't refuse to help," several voices replied.
Vinicius, who from early morning had seen brutal crowds, slaying and robbing, looked with more attention on the faces around him, and said,—
Vinicius, who had witnessed violent crowds killing and stealing since early morning, focused more intently on the faces around him and said,—
“May Christ reward you.”
“May Christ bless you.”
“Praise to His name!” exclaimed a whole chorus of voices.
“Praise His name!” a whole chorus of voices exclaimed.
“Linus?” inquired Vinicius.
“Linus?” Vinicius asked.
But he could not finish the question or hear the answer, for he fainted from emotion and over-exertion. He recovered only in the Codetan Field in a garden, surrounded by a number of men and women. The first words which he uttered were,—
But he couldn't finish the question or hear the answer, because he fainted from emotion and exhaustion. He only regained consciousness in the Codetan Field in a garden, surrounded by several men and women. The first words he said were,—
“Where is Linus?”
"Where's Linus?"
For a while there was no answer; then some voice, known to Vinicius, said all at once,—
For a while, there was no response; then a voice that Vinicius recognized suddenly said,—
“He went out by the Nomentan Gate to Ostrianum two days ago. Peace be with thee, O king of Persia!”
“He went out through the Nomentan Gate to Ostrianum two days ago. Peace be with you, O king of Persia!”
Vinicius rose to a sitting posture, and saw Chilo before him.
Vinicius sat up and saw Chilo in front of him.
“Thy house is burned surely, O lord,” said the Greek, “for the Carinæ is in flames; but thou wilt be always as rich as Midas. Oh, what a misfortune! The Christians, O son of Serapis, have predicted this long time that fire would destroy the city. But Linus, with the daughter of Jove, is in Ostrianum. Oh, what a misfortune for the city!”
“Your house is definitely burned, my lord,” said the Greek, “for the Carinæ is in flames; but you will always be as rich as Midas. Oh, what bad luck! The Christians, son of Serapis, have been predicting for a long time that fire would destroy the city. But Linus, along with the daughter of Jove, is in Ostrianum. Oh, what a disaster for the city!”
Vinicius became weak again.
Vinicius got weak again.
“Hast thou seen them?” he inquired.
"Have you seen them?" he asked.
“I saw them, O lord. May Christ and all the gods be thanked that I am able to pay for thy benefactions with good news. But, O Cyrus, I shall pay thee still more, I swear by this burning Rome.”
“I saw them, oh lord. Thank Christ and all the gods that I can repay your kindness with good news. But, oh Cyrus, I promise to give you even more, I swear by this burning Rome.”
It was evening, but in the garden one could see as in daylight, for the conflagration had increased. It seemed that not single parts of the city were burning, but the whole city through the length and the breadth of it. The sky was red as far as the eye could see it, and that night in the world was a red night.
It was evening, but in the garden, you could see as clearly as in daylight because the fire had grown. It felt like not just parts of the city were burning, but the entire city from end to end. The sky was red as far as the eye could see, and that night in the world was a red night.
Chapter XLIV
Light from the burning city filled the sky as far as human eye could reach. The moon rose large and full from behind the mountains, and inflamed at once by the glare took on the color of heated brass. It seemed to look with amazement on the world-ruling city which was perishing. In the rose-colored abysses of heaven rose-colored stars were glittering; but in distinction from usual nights the earth was brighter than the heavens. Rome, like a giant pile, illuminated the whole Campania. In the bloody light were seen distant mountains, towns, villas, temples, mountains, and the aqueducts stretching toward the city from all the adjacent hills; on the aqueducts were swarms of people, who had gathered there for safety or to gaze at the burning.
Light from the burning city filled the sky as far as the eye could see. The moon rose large and full from behind the mountains, and, caught by the brightness, turned the color of heated brass. It seemed to gaze in astonishment at the once-great city that was now falling apart. In the rose-colored depths of the sky, pink stars sparkled; but unlike in a typical night, the earth was brighter than the heavens. Rome, like a massive structure, lit up the entire Campania. In the bloody glow, distant mountains, towns, villas, temples, and aqueducts leading toward the city from the nearby hills were visible; on the aqueducts, crowds of people had gathered for safety or to watch the fire.
Meanwhile the dreadful element was embracing new divisions of the city. It was impossible to doubt that criminal hands were spreading the fire, since new conflagrations were breaking out all the time in places remote from the principal fire. From the heights on which Rome was founded the flames flowed like waves of the sea into the valleys densely occupied by houses,—houses of five and six stories, full of shops, booths, movable wooden amphitheatres, built to accommodate various spectacles; and finally storehouses of wood, olives, grain, nuts, pine cones, the kernels of which nourished the more needy population, and clothing, which through Cæsar’s favor was distributed from time to time among the rabble huddled into narrow alleys. In those places the fire, finding abundance of inflammable materials, became almost a series of explosions, and took possession of whole streets with unheard-of rapidity. People encamping outside the city, or standing on the aqueducts knew from the color of the flame what was burning. The furious power of the wind carried forth from the fiery gulf thousands and millions of burning shells of walnuts and almonds, which, shooting suddenly into the sky, like countless flocks of bright butterflies, burst with a crackling, or, driven by the wind, fell in other parts of the city, on aqueducts, and fields beyond Rome. All thought of rescue seemed out of place; confusion increased every moment, for on one side the population of the city was fleeing through every gate to places outside; on the other the fire had lured in thousands of people from the neighborhood, such as dwellers in small towns, peasants, and half-wild shepherds of the Campania, brought in by hope of plunder. The shout, “Rome is perishing!” did not leave the lips of the crowd; the ruin of the city seemed at that time to end every rule, and loosen all bonds which hitherto had joined people in a single integrity. The mob, in which slaves were more numerous, cared nothing for the lordship of Rome. Destruction of the city could only free them; hence here and there they assumed a threatening attitude. Violence and robbery were extending. It seemed that only the spectacle of the perishing city arrested attention, and restrained for the moment an outburst of slaughter, which would begin as soon as the city was turned into ruins. Hundreds of thousands of slaves, forgetting that Rome, besides temples and walls, possessed some tens of legions in all parts of the world, appeared merely waiting for a watchword and a leader. People began to mention the name of Spartacus, but Spartacus was not alive. Meanwhile citizens assembled, and armed themselves each with what he could. The most monstrous reports were current at all the gates. Some declared that Vulcan, commanded by Jupiter, was destroying the city with fire from beneath the earth; others that Vesta was taking vengeance for Rubria. People with these convictions did not care to save anything, but, besieging the temples, implored mercy of the gods. It was repeated most generally, however, that Cæsar had given command to burn Rome, so as to free himself from odors which rose from the Subura, and build a new city under the name of Neronia. Rage seized the populace at thought of this; and if, as Vinicius believed, a leader had taken advantage of that outburst of hatred, Nero’s hour would have struck whole years before it did.
Meanwhile, the terrible fire was spreading to new parts of the city. It was impossible to deny that someone's criminal hands were igniting the flames, as new blazes kept flaring up in areas far from the main fire. From the heights on which Rome was built, the flames poured into the densely packed valleys filled with homes—five and six-story buildings overflowing with shops, booths, and makeshift wooden amphitheaters for various shows; and finally, wooden storerooms filled with olives, grain, nuts, and pine cones that fed the neediest citizens, along with clothing that was sometimes distributed to the crowds huddled in narrow alleys thanks to Caesar’s generosity. In those places, the fire found plenty of flammable materials, erupting almost like a series of explosions, taking over entire streets with astonishing speed. People camped outside the city or stood on the aqueducts could tell from the color of the flames what was burning. The fierce winds carried thousands and millions of burning walnut and almond shells into the air, shooting up like countless bright butterflies, bursting with a crackling sound, or drifting to other parts of the city, landing on aqueducts and fields beyond Rome. Any thought of rescue seemed pointless; chaos grew by the moment, as on one side, the city's residents fled through every exit, while on the other, the fire attracted thousands from nearby areas, including small-town dwellers, farmers, and wild shepherds from Campania, all hoping for plunder. The shout, “Rome is collapsing!” echoed among the crowd; the city’s destruction seemed to shatter all authority and loosen the ties that had kept people unified. The mob, mainly made up of slaves, cared nothing for Rome’s power. The city’s downfall could only free them, prompting some to adopt threatening stances. Violence and robbery were spreading. It felt like the unfolding spectacle of the city’s demise diverted attention and temporarily held back what would soon be a horrific slaughter following its ruin. Hundreds of thousands of slaves, oblivious to the fact that Rome controlled numerous legions scattered across the globe, appeared to be waiting for a signal and a leader. People started mentioning Spartacus, but he was long gone. Meanwhile, citizens gathered and armed themselves with whatever they could find. Outrageous rumors circulated at all the gates. Some claimed that Vulcan, under Jupiter’s command, was destroying the city with fire from beneath the earth; others said Vesta was taking revenge for Rubria. Those who believed such stories didn’t care about saving anything and rushed to the temples, pleading for the gods’ mercy. However, the most common claim was that Caesar had ordered Rome to be burned to rid himself of the stench from the Subura and to build a new city named Neronia. Rage consumed the populace at this thought; and if, as Vinicius believed, a leader had seized on that wave of anger, Nero’s downfall would have come years sooner than it actually did.
It was said also that Cæsar had gone mad, that he would command pretorians and gladiators to fall upon the people and make a general slaughter. Others swore by the gods that wild beasts had been let out of all the vivaria at Bronzebeard’s command. Men had seen on the streets lions with burning manes, and mad elephants and bisons, trampling down people in crowds. There was even some truth in this; for in certain places elephants, at sight of the approaching fire, had burst the vivaria, and, gaining their freedom, rushed away from the fire in wild fright, destroying everything before them like a tempest. Public report estimated at tens of thousands the number of persons who had perished in the conflagration. In truth a great number had perished. There were people who, losing all their property, or those dearest their hearts, threw themselves willingly into the flames, from despair. Others were suffocated by smoke. In the middle of the city, between the Capitol, on one side, and the Quirinal, the Viminal, and the Esquiline on the other, as also between the Palatine and the Cælian Hill, where the streets were most densely occupied, the fire began in so many places at once that whole crowds of people, while fleeing in one direction, struck unexpectedly on a new wall of fire in front of them, and died a dreadful death in a deluge of flame.
It was also said that Caesar had lost his mind, commanding the Praetorians and gladiators to attack the people and cause a mass slaughter. Others swore by the gods that wild animals had been released from all the arenas at Bronzebeard’s command. People claimed to have seen lions with flaming manes, along with enraged elephants and bison, trampling crowds. There was some truth to this; in certain areas, elephants, spotting the approaching fire, had broken free from their enclosures and, in a panic, ran away from the flames, wreaking havoc like a storm. Public estimates suggested that tens of thousands had died in the fire. In reality, many lives were lost. Some, having lost all their possessions or their loved ones, willingly threw themselves into the flames out of despair. Others suffocated from the smoke. In the heart of the city, between the Capitol on one side and the Quirinal, Viminal, and Esquiline on the other, as well as between the Palatine and the Caelian Hill, where the streets were most crowded, fires ignited in so many locations at the same time that entire groups of people, trying to flee in one direction, unexpectedly ran into another wall of fire ahead of them, meeting a horrific fate in the flood of flames.
In terror, in distraction, and bewilderment, people knew not where to flee. The streets were obstructed with goods, and in many narrow places were simply closed. Those who took refuge in those markets and squares of the city, where the Flavian Amphitheatre stood afterward, near the temple of the Earth, near the Portico of Silvia, and higher up, at the temples of Juno and Lucinia, between the Clivus Virbius and the old Esquiline Gate, perished from heat, surrounded by a sea of fire. In places not reached by the flames were found afterward hundreds of bodies burned to a crisp, though here and there unfortunates tore up flat stones and half buried themselves in defence against the heat. Hardly a family inhabiting the centre of the city survived in full; hence along the walls, at the gates, on all roads were heard howls of despairing women, calling on the dear names of those who had perished in the throng or the fire.
In fear, distraction, and confusion, people didn’t know where to run. The streets were blocked with debris, and many narrow passages were simply shut off. Those who found refuge in the markets and squares of the city, where the Flavian Amphitheatre would later stand, near the Temple of the Earth, near the Portico of Silvia, and further up, at the temples of Juno and Lucinia, between Clivus Virbius and the old Esquiline Gate, died from the heat, surrounded by a sea of flames. In areas untouched by the fire, hundreds of bodies were later found, burned to a crisp, while some unfortunate souls struggled to lift flat stones and half-buried themselves in a desperate attempt to shield against the heat. Hardly any family living in the city center survived completely; thus, along the walls, at the gates, and on all the roads, the cries of desperate women could be heard, calling out the beloved names of those who had died in the chaos or the flames.
And so, while some were imploring the gods, others blasphemed them because of this awful catastrophe. Old men were seen coming from the temple of Jupiter Liberator, stretching forth their hands, and crying, “If thou be a liberator, save thy altars and the city!” But despair turned mainly against the old Roman gods, who, in the minds of the populace, were bound to watch over the city more carefully than others. They had proved themselves powerless; hence were insulted. On the other hand it happened on the Via Asinaria that when a company of Egyptian priests appeared conducting a statue of Isis, which they had saved from the temple near the Porta Cælimontana, a crowd of people rushed among the priests, attached themselves to the chariot, which they drew to the Appian Gate, and seizing the statue placed it in the temple of Mars, overwhelming the priests of that deity who dared to resist them. In other places people invoked Serapis, Baal, or Jehovah, whose adherents, swarming out of the alleys in the neighborhood of the Subura and the Trans-Tiber, filled with shouts and uproar the fields near the walls. In their cries were heard tones as if of triumph; when, therefore, some of the citizens joined the chorus and glorified “the Lord of the World,” others, indignant at this glad shouting, strove to repress it by violence. Here and there hymns were heard, sung by men in the bloom of life, by old men, by women and children,—hymns wonderful and solemn, whose meaning they understood not, but in which were repeated from moment to moment the words, “Behold the Judge cometh in the day of wrath and disaster.” Thus this deluge of restless and sleepless people encircled the burning city, like a tempest-driven sea.
And so, while some people were begging the gods for help, others were cursing them because of this terrible disaster. Old men were seen coming from the temple of Jupiter Liberator, raising their hands and shouting, “If you’re a liberator, save your altars and the city!” But despair was mainly directed at the old Roman gods, who the people believed should be taking better care of the city. They had shown themselves powerless, and so were insulted. Meanwhile, on the Via Asinaria, when a group of Egyptian priests appeared, carrying a statue of Isis that they had rescued from the temple near the Porta Cælimontana, a crowd rushed towards the priests, attached themselves to the chariot, and dragged it to the Appian Gate. They seized the statue and placed it in the temple of Mars, overpowering the priests of that god who dared to resist them. In other places, people called on Serapis, Baal, or Jehovah, whose followers poured out of the alleys around the Subura and the Trans-Tiber, filling the fields near the walls with shouts and chaos. Their cries had a triumphant tone; so, when some citizens joined in to glorify “the Lord of the World,” others, outraged by this joyful shouting, tried to shut it down with violence. Here and there, hymns were heard, sung by young men, old men, women, and children—wonderful and solemn hymns whose meaning they didn’t understand, but which repeatedly echoed the words, “Behold, the Judge comes in the day of wrath and disaster.” Thus, this tidal wave of restless and sleepless people surrounded the burning city, like a storm-driven sea.
But neither despair nor blasphemy nor hymn helped in any way. The destruction seemed as irresistible, perfect, and pitiless as Predestination itself. Around Pompey’s Amphitheatre stores of hemp caught fire, and ropes used in circuses, arenas, and every kind of machine at the games, and with them the adjoining buildings containing barrels of pitch with which ropes were smeared. In a few hours all that part of the city, beyond which lay the Campus Martius, was so lighted by bright yellow flames that for a time it seemed to the spectators, only half conscious from terror, that in the general ruin the order of night and day had been lost, and that they were looking at sunshine. But later a monstrous bloody gleam extinguished all other colors of flame. From the sea of fire shot up to the heated sky gigantic fountains, and pillars of flame spreading at their summits into fiery branches and feathers; then the wind bore them away, turned them into golden threads, into hair, into sparks, and swept them on over the Campania toward the Alban Hills. The night became brighter; the air itself seemed penetrated, not only with light, but with flame. The Tiber flowed on as living fire. The hapless city was turned into one pandemonium. The conflagration seized more and more space, took hills by storm, flooded level places, drowned valleys, raged, roared, and thundered.
But neither despair, nor cursing, nor songs helped at all. The destruction felt as unstoppable, complete, and merciless as Fate itself. Around Pompey’s Amphitheatre, stores of hemp caught fire, along with ropes used in circuses, arenas, and all kinds of games, as well as nearby buildings containing barrels of tar used for treating the ropes. In just a few hours, that part of the city, beyond which lay the Campus Martius, was illuminated by bright yellow flames to the point that for a moment, the spectators, only half aware due to fear, felt that in the total destruction, the order of night and day had been lost and that they were witnessing sunshine. But soon a monstrous bloody glow overshadowed all other flames. From the sea of fire, gigantic columns shot up toward the heated sky, which spread at their tops into fiery branches and plumes; then the wind carried them away, turning them into golden threads, hair, and sparks, sweeping them over the Campania toward the Alban Hills. Night became even brighter; the air seemed filled not just with light, but with flame. The Tiber flowed like living fire. The unfortunate city had become a complete hell. The fire spread further and further, conquered hills, flooded flat areas, drowned valleys, raged, roared, and thundered.
Chapter XLV
MACRINUS, a weaver, to whose house Vinicius was carried, washed him, and gave him clothing and food. When the young tribune had recovered his strength altogether, he declared that he would search further for Linus that very night. Macrinus, who was a Christian, confirmed Chilo’s report, that Linus, with Clement the chief priest, had gone to Ostrianum, where Peter was to baptize a whole company of confessors of the new faith. In that division of the city it was known to Christians that Linus had confided the care of his house two days before to a certain Gaius. For Vinicius this was a proof that neither Lygia nor Ursus had remained in the house, and that they also must have gone to Ostrianum.
MACRINUS, a weaver, whose home Vinicius was taken to, washed him and provided him with clothes and food. Once the young tribune had fully regained his strength, he announced that he would search for Linus that same night. Macrinus, who was a Christian, confirmed Chilo’s information that Linus, along with Clement the chief priest, had gone to Ostrianum, where Peter was set to baptize a whole group of believers of the new faith. In that area of the city, it was known among Christians that Linus had entrusted the care of his home two days prior to a man named Gaius. For Vinicius, this was evidence that neither Lygia nor Ursus had stayed at the house, and that they must have gone to Ostrianum as well.
This thought gave him great comfort. Linus was an old man, for whom it would be difficult to walk daily to the distant Nomentan Gate, and back to the Trans-Tiber; hence it was likely that he lodged those few days with some co-religionist beyond the walls, and with him also Lygia and Ursus. Thus they escaped the fire, which in general had not reached the other slope of the Esquiline. Vinicius saw in all this a dispensation of Christ, whose care he felt above him, and his heart was filled more than ever with love; he swore in his soul to pay with his whole life for those clear marks of favor.
This thought brought him great comfort. Linus was an old man, for whom it would be difficult to walk daily to the distant Nomentan Gate and back to the Trans-Tiber; so it was likely that he stayed with some fellow believer beyond the walls for those few days, along with Lygia and Ursus. This way, they escaped the fire, which generally had not spread to the other side of the Esquiline. Vinicius saw all this as a sign from Christ, whose care he felt surrounding him, and his heart swelled with more love than ever; he vowed to dedicate his entire life in gratitude for those clear signs of favor.
But all the more did he hurry to Ostrianum. He would find Lygia, find Linus and Peter; he would take them to a distance, to some of his lands, even to Sicily. Let Rome burn; in a few days it would be a mere heap of ashes. Why remain in the face of disaster and a mad rabble? In his lands troops of obedient slaves would protect them, they would be surrounded by the calm of the country, and live in peace under Christ’s wings blessed by Peter. Oh, if he could find them!
But he hurried even more to Ostrianum. He wanted to find Lygia, Linus, and Peter; he would take them far away, to some of his lands, even to Sicily. Let Rome burn; in a few days, it would just be a pile of ashes. Why stay in the middle of chaos and a crazy mob? In his lands, groups of loyal slaves would keep them safe, they would be surrounded by the tranquility of the countryside, and live peacefully under Christ’s protection blessed by Peter. Oh, if only he could find them!
That was no easy thing. Vinicius remembered the difficulty with which he had passed from the Appian Way to the Trans-Tiber, and how he must circle around to reach the Via Portuensis. He resolved, therefore, to go around the city this time in the opposite direction. Going by the Via Triumphatoris, it was possible to reach the Æmilian bridge by going along the river, thence passing the Pincian Hill, all the Campus Martius, outside the gardens of Pompey, Lucullus, and Sallust, to make a push forward to the Via Nomentana. That was the shortest way; but Macrinus and Chilo advised him not to take it. The fire had not touched that part of the city, it is true; but all the market squares and streets might be packed densely with people and their goods. Chilo advised him to go through the Ager Vaticanus to the Porta Flaminia, cross the river at that point, and push on outside the walls beyond the gardens of Acilius to the Porta Salaria. Vinicius, after a moment’s hesitation, took this advice.
That wasn't easy. Vinicius recalled how hard it had been to get from the Appian Way to the Trans-Tiber, and how he had to go around to reach the Via Portuensis. So, he decided to navigate the city this time in the opposite direction. By taking the Via Triumphatoris, he could reach the Æmilian bridge by following the river, then passing the Pincian Hill, all of the Campus Martius, outside the gardens of Pompey, Lucullus, and Sallust, to finally head toward the Via Nomentana. That was the quickest route; however, Macrinus and Chilo advised against it. It's true that the fire hadn't affected that part of the city, but all the market squares and streets could be packed tightly with people and their goods. Chilo recommended going through the Ager Vaticanus to the Porta Flaminia, crossing the river there, and continuing outside the walls past the gardens of Acilius to the Porta Salaria. After a moment of hesitation, Vinicius decided to take this advice.
Macrinus had to remain in care of his house; but he provided two mules, which would serve Lygia also in a further journey. He wished to give a slave, too; but Vinicius refused, judging that the first detachment of pretorians he met on the road would pass under his orders.
Macrinus had to take care of his home, but he provided two mules that would also help Lygia on her next journey. He wanted to give her a slave as well, but Vinicius turned it down, thinking that the first group of praetorians he encountered on the road would be under his command.
Soon he and Chilo moved on through the Pagus Janiculensis to the Triumphal Way. There were vehicles there, too, in open places; but they pushed between them with less difficulty, as the inhabitants had fled for the greater part by the Via Portuensis toward the sea. Beyond the Septimian Gate they rode between the river and the splendid gardens of Domitius; the mighty cypresses were red from the conflagration, as if from evening sunshine. The road became freer; at times they had to struggle merely with the current of incoming rustics. Vinicius urged his mule forward as much as possible; but Chilo, riding closely in the rear, talked to himself almost the whole way.
Soon he and Chilo moved through the Pagus Janiculensis to the Triumphal Way. There were vehicles in open areas, but they navigated between them more easily since most of the locals had fled toward the sea via the Via Portuensis. Beyond the Septimian Gate, they rode along the river and the beautiful gardens of Domitius; the tall cypresses were scorched from the fire, looking like they were glowing in the evening sun. The road became clearer; at times they only had to deal with the flow of incoming locals. Vinicius urged his mule forward as much as he could, while Chilo, riding close behind, talked to himself almost the entire way.
“Well, we have left the fire behind, and now it is heating our shoulders. Never yet has there been so much light on this road in the night-time. O Zeus! if thou wilt not send torrents of rain on that fire, thou hast no love for Rome, surely. The power of man will not quench those flames. Such a city,—a city which Greece and the whole world was serving! And now the first Greek who comes along may roast beans in its ashes. Who could have looked for this? And now there will be no longer a Rome, nor Roman rulers. Whoso wants to walk on the ashes, when they grow cold, and whistle over them, may whistle without danger. O gods! to whistle over such a world-ruling city! What Greek, or even barbarian, could have hoped for this? And still one may whistle; for a heap of ashes, whether left after a shepherd’s fire or a burnt city, is mere ashes, which the wind will blow away sooner or later.”
“Well, we’ve left the fire behind, and now it’s heating our shoulders. Never has there been so much light on this road at night. Oh Zeus! If you won’t send down heavy rain on that fire, you must not love Rome, that’s for sure. No human power can put out those flames. Such a city—a city that Greece and the whole world served! And now the first Greek who comes along can roast beans in its ashes. Who could have expected this? And now there will be no more Rome, nor Roman rulers. Whoever wants to walk on the ashes when they’re cool and whistle over them can do so without fear. Oh gods! Whistling over such a world-ruling city! What Greek, or even barbarian, could have dreamed of this? And still, one can whistle; because a pile of ashes, whether it’s from a shepherd’s fire or a burned city, is just ashes, which the wind will blow away sooner or later.”
Thus talking, he turned from moment to moment toward the conflagration, and looked at the waves of flame with a face filled at once with delight and malice.
Thus talking, he turned every now and then toward the fire and looked at the waves of flames with a face that showed both enjoyment and spite.
“It will perish! It will perish!” continued he, “and will never be on earth again. Whither will the world send its wheat now, its olives, and its money? Who will squeeze gold and tears from it? Marble does not burn, but it crumbles in fire. The Capitol will turn into dust, and the Palatine into dust. O Zeus! Rome was like a shepherd, and other nations like sheep. When the shepherd was hungry, he slaughtered a sheep, ate the flesh, and to thee, O father of the gods, he made an offering of the skin. Who, O Cloud-compeller, will do the slaughtering now, and into whose hand wilt thou put the shepherd’s whip? For Rome is burning, O father, as truly as if thou hadst fired it with thy thunderbolt.”
“It will be destroyed! It will be destroyed!” he continued, “and will never exist on this earth again. Where will the world send its wheat now, its olives, and its money? Who will extract gold and tears from it? Marble doesn’t burn, but it crumbles in fire. The Capitol will turn to dust, and the Palatine will become dust. Oh Zeus! Rome was like a shepherd, and other nations were like sheep. When the shepherd was hungry, he slaughtered a sheep, ate the meat, and offered the skin to you, oh father of the gods. Who, oh Cloud-compeller, will do the slaughtering now, and into whose hand will you place the shepherd’s whip? For Rome is burning, oh father, just as if you had set it on fire with your thunderbolt.”
“Hurry!” urged Vinicius; “what art thou doing there?”
“Hurry!” urged Vinicius; “what are you doing there?”
“I am weeping over Rome, lord,—Jove’s city!”
“I am crying over Rome, lord—Jove’s city!”
For a time they rode on in silence, listening to the roar of the burning, and the sound of birds’ wings. Doves, a multitude of which had their nests about villas and in small towns of the Campania, and also every kind of field-bird from near the sea and the surrounding mountains, mistaking evidently the gleam of the conflagration for sunlight, were flying, whole flocks of them, blindly into the fire. Vinicius broke the silence first,—
For a while, they rode in silence, listening to the roar of the flames and the sound of birds flapping their wings. Doves, which had nests around the villas and in the small towns of Campania, along with all kinds of field birds from near the sea and the nearby mountains, were clearly mistaking the bright light of the fire for sunlight, flying in large flocks right into the blaze. Vinicius was the first to break the silence—
“Where wert thou when the fire burst out?”
“Where were you when the fire broke out?”
“I was going to my friend Euricius, lord, who kept a shop near the Circus Maximus, and I was just meditating on the teaching of Christ, when men began to shout: ‘Fire!’ People gathered around the Circus for safety, and through curiosity; but when the flames seized the whole Circus, and began to appear in other places also, each had to think of his own safety.”
“I was heading to my friend Euricius, who ran a shop near the Circus Maximus, and I was just thinking about the teachings of Christ when people started shouting, ‘Fire!’ A crowd gathered around the Circus for safety and out of curiosity, but when the flames engulfed the entire Circus and began spreading to other areas, everyone had to focus on their own safety.”
“Didst thou see people throwing torches into houses?”
“Did you see people throwing torches into houses?”
“What have I not seen, O grandson of Æneas! I saw people making a way for themselves through the crowd with swords; I have seen battles, the entrails of people trampled on the pavement. Ah, if thou hadst seen that, thou wouldst have thought that barbarians had captured the city, and were putting it to the sword. People round about cried that the end of the world had come. Some lost their heads altogether, and, forgetting to flee, waited stupidly till the flames seized them. Some fell into bewilderment, others howled in despair; I saw some also who howled from delight. O lord, there are many bad people in the world who know not how to value the benefactions of your mild rule, and those just laws in virtue of which ye take from all what they have and give it to yourselves. People will not be reconciled to the will of God!”
“What have I not seen, O grandson of Aeneas! I’ve seen people carving a path through the crowd with swords; I’ve witnessed battles, the remains of people trampled on the pavement. Ah, if you had seen that, you would have thought that barbarians had captured the city and were butchering it. People around cried that the end of the world had come. Some lost their minds completely and, forgetting to escape, stupidly waited until the flames consumed them. Some were bewildered, others howled in despair; I even saw some who howled in delight. Oh lord, there are many terrible people in the world who don’t know how to appreciate the gifts of your gentle rule, and those just laws under which you take from everyone what they have and give it to yourselves. People will not accept the will of God!”
Vinicius was too much occupied with his own thoughts to note the irony quivering in Chilo’s words. A shudder of terror seized him at the simple thought that Lygia might be in the midst of that chaos on those terrible streets where people’s entrails were trampled on. Hence, though he had asked at least ten times of Chilo touching all which the old man could know, he turned to him once again,—
Vinicius was too caught up in his own thoughts to notice the irony in Chilo’s words. A wave of terror hit him at the mere thought that Lygia might be caught up in that chaos on those awful streets where people’s guts were trampled. So, even though he had asked Chilo at least ten times about everything the old man knew, he turned to him once more,—
“But hast thou seen them in Ostrianum with thy own eyes?”
“But have you seen them in Ostrianum with your own eyes?”
“I saw them, O son of Venus; I saw the maiden, the good Lygian, holy Linus, and the Apostle Peter.”
“I saw them, oh son of Venus; I saw the maiden, the good Lygian, holy Linus, and the Apostle Peter.”
“Before the fire?”
“Before the fire?”
“Before the fire, O Mithra!”
“Before the fire, O Mithra!”
But a doubt rose in the soul of Vinicius whether Chilo was not lying; hence, reining his mule in, he looked threateningly at the old Greek and inquired,—
But Vinicius started to doubt whether Chilo was telling the truth; so he pulled on the reins of his mule, gave the old Greek a hard stare, and asked, —
“What wert thou doing there?”
"What were you doing there?"
Chilo was confused. True, it seemed to him, as to many, that with the destruction of Rome would come the end also of Roman dominion. But he was face to face with Vinicius; he remembered that the young soldier had prohibited him, under a terrible threat, from watching the Christians, and especially Linus and Lygia.
Chilo was puzzled. It seemed to him, like it did to many others, that the downfall of Rome would also mean the end of Roman rule. But he was standing right in front of Vinicius; he recalled that the young soldier had strictly forbidden him, under a serious threat, from watching the Christians, particularly Linus and Lygia.
“Lord,” said he, “why dost thou not believe that I love them? I do. I was in Ostrianum, for I am half a Christian. Pyrrho has taught me to esteem virtue more than philosophy; hence I cleave more and more to virtuous people. And, besides, I am poor; and when thou, O Jove, wert at Antium, I suffered hunger frequently over my books; therefore I sat at the wall of Ostrianum, for the Christians, though poor, distribute more alms than all other inhabitants of Rome taken together.”
“Lord,” he said, “why don’t you believe that I love them? I really do. I was in Ostrianum, as I’m half a Christian. Pyrrho has taught me to value virtue more than philosophy; that’s why I connect more and more with virtuous people. Plus, I’m poor; and when you, O Jove, were in Antium, I often went hungry over my books. That’s why I sat by the wall of Ostrianum, because the Christians, even though they’re poor, give out more charity than all the other people in Rome combined.”
This reason seemed sufficient to Vinicius, and he inquired less severely,—
This reason seemed enough for Vinicius, and he asked less harshly,—
“And dost thou not know where Linus is dwelling at this moment?”
"And don't you know where Linus is living right now?"
“Thou didst punish me sharply on a time for curiosity,” replied the Greek.
"You punished me harshly once for my curiosity," replied the Greek.
Vinicius ceased talking and rode on.
Vinicius stopped talking and kept riding.
“O lord,” said Chilo, after a while, “thou wouldst not have found the maiden but for me, and if we find her now, thou wilt not forget the needy sage?”
“O Lord,” Chilo said after a while, “you wouldn’t have found the maiden without me, and if we find her now, you won’t forget the needy sage?”
“Thou wilt receive a house with a vineyard at Ameriola.”
"You will receive a house with a vineyard in Ameriola."
“Thanks to thee, O Hercules! With a vineyard? Thanks to thee! Oh, yes, with a vineyard!”
“Thank you, Hercules! With a vineyard? Thank you! Oh, yes, with a vineyard!”
They were passing the Vatican Hill now, which was ruddy from the fire; but beyond the Naumachia they turned to the right, so that when they had passed the Vatican Field they would reach the river, and, crossing it, go to the Flaminian Gate. Suddenly Chilo reined in his mule, and said,—
They were now passing Vatican Hill, which was glowing from the fire; but beyond the Naumachia, they turned right, so that after passing Vatican Field, they would reach the river and, crossing it, head to the Flaminian Gate. Suddenly, Chilo pulled back on his mule and said,—
“A good thought has come to my head, lord!”
“A great idea just popped into my head, my lord!”
“Speak!” answered Vinicius.
"Go ahead!" answered Vinicius.
“Between the Janiculum and the Vatican Hill, beyond the gardens of Agrippina, are excavations from which stones and sand were taken to build the Circus of Nero. Hear me, lord. Recently the Jews, of whom, as thou knowest, there is a multitude in Trans-Tiber, have begun to persecute Christians cruelly. Thou hast in mind that in the time of the divine Claudius there were such disturbances that Cæsar was forced to expel them from Rome. Now, when they have returned, and when, thanks to the protection of the Augusta, they feel safe, they annoy Christians more insolently. I know this; I have seen it. No edict against Christians has been issued; but the Jews complain to the prefect of the city that Christians murder infants, worship an ass, and preach a religion not recognized by the Senate; they beat them, and attack their houses of prayer so fiercely that the Christians are forced to hide.”
“Between the Janiculum and Vatican Hill, beyond Agrippina’s gardens, there are excavations where stones and sand were taken to build the Circus of Nero. Listen, my lord. Recently, the Jews, of whom, as you know, there’s a large number in Trans-Tiber, have started to cruelly persecute Christians. You remember that during the time of the divine Claudius, there were such disturbances that Caesar had to expel them from Rome. Now, after their return, and feeling safe thanks to Augusta’s protection, they are bothering Christians more than ever. I know this because I’ve seen it. No edict against Christians has been issued; however, the Jews complain to the city prefect that Christians murder infants, worship a donkey, and preach a religion not recognized by the Senate; they beat them and attack their places of worship so violently that Christians are forced to hide.”
“What dost thou wish to say?” inquired Vinicius.
“What do you want to say?” Vinicius asked.
“This, lord, that synagogues exist openly in the Trans-Tiber; but that Christians, in their wish to avoid persecution, are forced to pray in secret and assemble in ruined sheds outside the city or in sand-pits. Those who dwell in the Trans-Tiber have chosen just that place which was excavated for the building of the Circus and various houses along the Tiber. Now, when the city is perishing, the adherents of Christ are praying. Beyond doubt we shall find a countless number of them in the excavation; so my advice is to go in there along the road.”
“This, my lord, is that synagogues are openly present in the Trans-Tiber, while Christians, trying to avoid persecution, have to pray in secret and gather in ruined sheds outside the city or in sand-pits. Those living in the Trans-Tiber have chosen that very spot that was dug up for the construction of the Circus and various houses along the Tiber. Now, as the city is falling apart, the followers of Christ are praying. Without a doubt, we'll find countless numbers of them in the excavation; so my suggestion is to head in there along the road.”
“But thou hast said that Linus has gone to Ostrianum,” cried Vinicius impatiently.
“But you said that Linus has gone to Ostrianum,” cried Vinicius impatiently.
“But thou has promised me a house with a vineyard at Ameriola,” answered Chilo; “for that reason I wish to seek the maiden wherever I hope to find her. They might have returned to the Trans-Tiber after the outbreak of the fire. They might have gone around outside the city, as we are doing at this moment. Linus has a house, perhaps he wished to be nearer his house to see if the fire had seized that part of the city also. If they have returned, I swear to thee, by Persephone, that we shall find them at prayer in the excavation; in the worst event, we shall get tidings of them.”
“But you promised me a house with a vineyard at Ameriola,” Chilo replied. “That’s why I want to search for the girl wherever I think she might be. They might have gone back to the Trans-Tiber after the fire started. They could have gone around the outside of the city, just like we are now. Linus has a house there; maybe he wanted to be closer to it to see if the fire affected that part of the city too. If they’ve returned, I swear to you, by Persephone, that we’ll find them praying in the excavation; at the very least, we’ll get news of them.”
“Thou art right; lead on!” said the tribune.
“You're right; go ahead!” said the tribune.
Chilo, without hesitation, turned to the left toward the hill.
Chilo promptly turned left toward the hill.
For a while the slope of the hill concealed the conflagration, so that, though the neighboring heights were in the light, the two men were in the shade. When they had passed the Circus, they turned still to the left, and entered a kind of passage completely dark. But in that darkness Vinicius saw swarms of gleaming lanterns.
For a while, the slope of the hill hid the fire, so that, even though the nearby heights were lit up, the two men were in the shade. After passing the Circus, they turned left again and entered a completely dark passage. But in that darkness, Vinicius saw swarms of shining lanterns.
“They are there,” said Chilo. “There will be more of them to-day than ever, for other houses of prayer are burnt or are filled with smoke, as is the whole Trans-Tiber.”
“They're there,” said Chilo. “There will be more of them today than ever, because other places of worship are burned or filled with smoke, just like the entire Trans-Tiber.”
“True!” said Vinicius, “I hear singing.”
“True!” Vinicius said, “I can hear singing.”
In fact, the voices of people singing reached the hill from the dark opening, and the lanterns vanished in it one after the other. But from side passages new forms appeared continually, so that after some time Vinicius and Chilo found themselves amid a whole assemblage of people.
In fact, the sound of people singing echoed up the hill from the dark opening, and the lanterns disappeared into it one by one. However, from side passages, new figures kept appearing, so after a while, Vinicius and Chilo found themselves surrounded by a large crowd.
Chilo slipped from his mule, and, beckoning to a youth who sat near, said to him,—“I am a priest of Christ and a bishop. Hold the mules for us; thou wilt receive my blessing and forgiveness of sins.”
Chilo got off his mule and, gesturing to a nearby young man, said to him, “I’m a priest of Christ and a bishop. Please hold the mules for us; you will receive my blessing and forgiveness of sins.”
Then, without waiting for an answer, he thrust the reins into his hands, and, in company with Vinicius, joined the advancing throng.
Then, without waiting for a reply, he handed the reins to him and, along with Vinicius, joined the crowd that was moving forward.
They entered the excavation after a while, and pushed on through the dark passage by the dim light of lanterns till they reached a spacious cave, from which stone had been taken evidently, for the walls were formed of fresh fragments.
They entered the excavation after some time and made their way through the dark passage by the faint light of lanterns until they arrived at a large cave, from which stone had clearly been removed, as the walls were made up of fresh fragments.
It was brighter there than in the corridor, for, in addition to tapers and lanterns, torches were burning. By the light of these Vinicius saw a whole throng of kneeling people with upraised hands. He could not see Lygia, the Apostle Peter, or Linus, but he was surrounded by faces solemn and full of emotion. On some of them expectation or alarm was evident; on some, hope. Light was reflected in the whites of their upraised eyes; perspiration was flowing along their foreheads, pale as chalk; some were singing hymns, others were repeating feverishly the name of Jesus, some were beating their breasts. It was apparent that they expected something uncommon at any moment.
It was brighter there than in the hallway because, besides candles and lanterns, torches were lit. By their light, Vinicius saw a crowd of people kneeling with their hands raised. He couldn't see Lygia, the Apostle Peter, or Linus, but he was surrounded by serious faces filled with emotion. Some showed clear signs of anticipation or fear; others had hope. The light reflected in the whites of their lifted eyes; sweat was running down their foreheads, pale as chalk; some were singing hymns, others were urgently repeating the name of Jesus, and some were hitting their chests. It was clear they were expecting something extraordinary at any moment.
Meanwhile the hymn ceased, and above the assembly, in a niche formed by the removal of an immense stone, appeared Crispus, the acquaintance of Vinicius, with a face as it were half delirious, pale, stern, and fanatical. All eyes were turned to him, as though waiting for words of consolation and hope. After he had blessed the assembly, he began in hurried, almost shouting tones,—
Meanwhile, the hymn stopped, and above the crowd, in a space created by the removal of a huge stone, appeared Crispus, the friend of Vinicius, with a face that looked almost delirious, pale, serious, and fanatical. All eyes focused on him, as if waiting for words of comfort and hope. After he blessed the crowd, he began in quick, nearly shouting tones,—
“Bewail your sins, for the hour has come! Behold the Lord has sent down destroying flames on Babylon, on the city of profligacy and crime. The hour of judgment has struck, the hour of wrath and dissolution. The Lord has promised to come, and soon you will see Him. He will not come as the Lamb, who offered His blood for your sins, but as an awful judge, who in His justice will hurl sinners and unbelievers into the pit. Woe to the world, woe to sinners! there will be no mercy for them. I see Thee, O Christ! Stars are falling to the earth in showers, the sun is darkened, the earth opens in yawning gulfs, the dead rise from their graves, but Thou art moving amid the sound of trumpets and legions of angels, amid thunders and lightnings. I see Thee, I hear Thee, O Christ!”
"Repent for your sins, because the time has come! Look, the Lord has sent down destructive flames on Babylon, the city of indulgence and wrongdoing. The moment of judgment has arrived, the moment of anger and destruction. The Lord has promised to return, and soon you will see Him. He won't come as the Lamb who shed His blood for your sins, but as a terrible judge who will cast sinners and nonbelievers into the abyss. Woe to the world, woe to sinners! There will be no mercy for them. I see You, O Christ! Stars are falling to the ground, the sun is darkened, the earth opens into huge chasms, the dead rise from their graves, but You are moving among the sound of trumpets and legions of angels, amidst thunder and lightning. I see You, I hear You, O Christ!"
Then he was silent, and, raising his eyes, seemed to gaze into something distant and dreadful. That moment a dull roar was heard in the cave,—once, twice, a tenth time, in the burning city whole streets of partly consumed houses began to fall with a crash. But most Christians took those sounds as a visible sign that the dreadful hour was approaching; belief in the early second coming of Christ and in the end of the world was universal among them, now the destruction of the city had strengthened it. Terror seized the assembly. Many voices repeated, “The day of judgment! Behold, it is coming!” Some covered their faces with their hands, believing that the earth would be shaken to its foundation, that beasts of hell would rush out through its openings and hurl themselves on sinners. Others cried, “Christ have mercy on us!” “Redeemer, be pitiful!” Some confessed their sins aloud; others cast themselves into the arms of friends, so as to have some near heart with them in the hour of dismay.
Then he fell silent and, lifting his eyes, seemed to stare into something far away and terrifying. At that moment, a dull roar echoed in the cave—once, twice, and again—while in the burning city, entire streets of partially burned houses began to collapse with a loud crash. Most Christians took those sounds as a clear sign that the terrible hour was nearing; the belief in the imminent second coming of Christ and the end of the world was widespread among them, and the city’s destruction only reinforced it. Fear gripped the crowd. Many voices echoed, “The day of judgment! Look, it is coming!” Some covered their faces with their hands, thinking that the earth would shake to its core, that creatures from hell would burst forth through its cracks and attack the sinners. Others cried out, “Christ, have mercy on us!” “Redeemer, be merciful!” Some openly confessed their sins; others threw themselves into the arms of friends, seeking a heart close to them in this moment of dread.
But there were faces which seemed rapt into heaven, faces with smiles not of earth; these showed no fear. In some places were heard voices; those were of people who in religious excitement had begun to cry out unknown words in strange languages. Some person in a dark corner cried, “Wake thou that sleepest!” Above all rose the shout of Crispus, “Watch ye! watch ye!”
But there were faces that looked blissfully heavenly, with smiles that felt otherworldly; these showed no fear. In some areas, voices could be heard; these belonged to people who, caught up in religious fervor, began shouting unknown words in unfamiliar languages. Someone in a dark corner called out, “Wake up, you who are sleeping!” Above all, Crispus shouted, “Stay alert! Stay alert!”
At moments, however, silence came, as if all were holding the breath in their breasts, and waiting for what would come. And then was heard the distant thunder of parts of the city falling into ruins, after which were heard again groans and cries,—“Renounce earthly riches, for soon there will be no earth beneath your feet! Renounce earthly loves, for the Lord will condemn those who love wife or child more than Him. Woe to the one who loves the creature more than the Creator! Woe to the rich! woe to the luxurious! woe to the dissolute! woe to husband, wife, and child!”
At times, there was silence, as if everyone was holding their breath, waiting for what would happen next. Then came the distant rumbling of parts of the city collapsing into ruins, followed by groans and cries: “Give up your worldly wealth, because soon there will be nothing beneath your feet! Give up your earthly loves, because the Lord will condemn those who love their spouse or child more than Him. Woe to those who love the creation more than the Creator! Woe to the rich! Woe to the lavish! Woe to the morally corrupt! Woe to husband, wife, and child!”
Suddenly a roar louder than any which had preceded shook the quarry. All fell to the earth, stretching their arms in cross form to ward away evil spirits by that figure. Silence followed, in which was heard only panting breath, whispers full of terror, “Jesus, Jesus, Jesus!” and in places the weeping of children. At that moment a certain calm voice spoke above that prostrate multitude,—
Suddenly, a roar louder than any that had come before shook the quarry. Everyone dropped to the ground, stretching their arms out in a cross shape to protect themselves from evil spirits by that figure. A silence fell, broken only by heavy breathing, terrified whispers of “Jesus, Jesus, Jesus!” and, in some places, the sobbing of children. At that moment, a calm voice rose above the crowd lying on the ground,—
“Peace be with you!”
"Peace be with you!"
That was the voice of Peter the Apostle, who had entered the cave a moment earlier. At the sound of his voice terror passed at once, as it passes from a flock in which the shepherd has appeared. People rose from the earth; those who were nearer gathered at his knees, as if seeking protection under his wings. He stretched his hands over them and said,—
That was the voice of Peter the Apostle, who had entered the cave a moment earlier. At the sound of his voice, fear instantly faded, like it does when a shepherd appears to a flock. People got up from the ground; those who were closer gathered at his knees, as if looking for safety under his wings. He spread his hands over them and said,—
“Why are ye troubled in heart? Who of you can tell what will happen before the hour cometh? The Lord has punished Babylon with fire; but His mercy will be on those whom baptism has purified, and ye whose sins are redeemed by the blood of the Lamb will die with His name on your lips. Peace be with you!”
“Why are you troubled in heart? Who of you can predict what will happen before the time comes? The Lord has punished Babylon with fire; but His mercy will be on those who have been purified by baptism, and you whose sins are redeemed by the blood of the Lamb will die with His name on your lips. Peace be with you!”
After the terrible and merciless words of Crispus, those of Peter fell like a balm on all present. Instead of fear of God, the love of God took possession of their spirits. Those people found the Christ whom they had learned to love from the Apostle’s narratives; hence not a merciless judge, but a mild and patient Lamb, whose mercy surpasses man’s wickedness a hundredfold. A feeling of solace possessed the whole assembly; and comfort, with thankfulness to the Apostle, filled their hearts, Voices from various sides began to cry, “We are thy sheep, feed us!” Those nearer said, “Desert us not in the day of disaster!” And they knelt at his knees; seeing which Vinicius approached, seized the edge of Peter’s mantle, and, inclining, said,—
After Crispus's harsh and unforgiving words, Peter's words came as a soothing relief to everyone there. Instead of feeling fear of God, they were filled with love for God. They discovered the Christ they had come to love from the Apostle’s stories; not a harsh judge, but a gentle and patient Lamb, whose mercy far surpasses human wickedness. A sense of comfort spread through the entire crowd, and gratitude towards the Apostle filled their hearts. Voices began to rise from different areas, crying out, “We are your sheep, feed us!” Those closer begged, “Don’t abandon us in our time of trouble!” They knelt at his feet; seeing this, Vinicius moved closer, grabbed the edge of Peter’s cloak, and said,—
“Save me, lord. I have sought her in the smoke of the burning and in the throng of people; nowhere could I find her, but I believe that thou canst restore her.”
“Save me, Lord. I’ve looked for her in the smoke of the flames and in the crowd of people; I couldn’t find her anywhere, but I believe that you can bring her back.”
Peter placed his hand on the tribune’s head.
Peter placed his hand on the speaker's head.
“Have trust,” said he, “and come with me.”
“Trust me,” he said, “and come with me.”
Chapter XLVI
The city burned on. The Circus Maximus had fallen in ruins. Entire streets and alleys in parts which began to burn first were falling in turn. After every fall pillars of flame rose for a time to the very sky. The wind had changed, and blew now with mighty force from the sea, bearing toward the Cælian, the Esquiline, and the Viminal rivers of flame, brands, and cinders. Still the authorities provided for rescue. At command of Tigellinus, who had hastened from Antium the third day before, houses on the Esquiline were torn down so that the fire, reaching empty spaces, died of itself. That was, however, undertaken solely to save a remnant of the city; to save that which was burning was not to be thought of. There was need also to guard against further results of the ruin. Incalculable wealth had perished in Rome; all the property of its citizens had vanished; hundreds of thousands of people were wandering in utter want outside the walls. Hunger had begun to pinch this throng the second day, for the immense stores of provisions in the city had burned with it. In the universal disorder and in the destruction of authority no one had thought of furnishing new supplies. Only after the arrival of Tigellinus were proper orders sent to Ostia; but meanwhile the people had grown more threatening.
The city kept burning. The Circus Maximus was in ruins. Entire streets and alleyways in the areas that sparked first were collapsing as well. After each collapse, pillars of flame shot up to the sky for a while. The wind had shifted and was now blowing fiercely from the sea, carrying flames, embers, and ash toward the Cælian, Esquiline, and Viminal hills. Despite the chaos, the authorities were working on rescue efforts. Under the orders of Tigellinus, who rushed back from Antium three days earlier, houses on the Esquiline were demolished so the fire could burn itself out in the open spaces. However, that was only done to save what was left of the city; saving what was already on fire was out of the question. They also needed to prevent further fallout from the disaster. Countless riches had been lost in Rome; all the citizens' possessions had disappeared; hundreds of thousands were left destitute outside the walls. Hunger began to affect this crowd on the second day because the massive stores of food in the city had burned along with it. In the widespread chaos and loss of authority, no one had considered getting new supplies. Only after Tigellinus arrived were proper orders sent to Ostia; by then, the people had become increasingly restless.
The house at Aqua Appia, in which Tigellinus lodged for the moment, was surrounded by crowds of women, who from morning till late at night cried, “Bread and a roof!” Vainly did pretorians, brought from the great camp between the Via Salaria and the Nomentana, strive to maintain order of some kind. Here and there they were met by open, armed resistance. In places weaponless crowds pointed to the burning city, and shouted, “Kill us in view of that fire!” They abused Cæsar, the Augustians, the pretorians; excitement rose every moment, so that Tigellinus, looking at night on the thousands of fires around the city, said to himself that those were fires in hostile camps.
The house at Aqua Appia, where Tigellinus was staying for now, was surrounded by crowds of women who cried out from morning until late at night, “Bread and shelter!” The pretorians, brought in from the big camp between the Via Salaria and the Nomentana, struggled to keep some kind of order. They encountered open, armed resistance here and there. In some areas, unarmed crowds pointed to the burning city and shouted, “Just kill us in front of that fire!” They hurled insults at Caesar, the Augustians, and the pretorians; the excitement grew with every moment, so much so that Tigellinus, looking at the thousands of fires around the city at night, thought to himself that those were fires in enemy camps.
Besides flour, as much baked bread as possible was brought at his command, not only from Ostia, but from all towns and neighboring villages. When the first instalment came at night to the Emporium, the people broke the chief gate toward the Aventine, seized all supplies in the twinkle of an eye, and caused terrible disturbance. In the light of the conflagration they fought for loaves, and trampled many of them into the earth. Flour from torn bags whitened like snow the whole space from the granary to the arches of Drusus and Germanicus. The uproar continued till soldiers seized the building and dispersed the crowd with arrows and missiles.
Besides flour, as much bread as possible was brought on his orders, not just from Ostia, but from all the towns and nearby villages. When the first delivery arrived at night at the Emporium, the crowd broke down the main gate toward the Aventine, grabbed all the supplies in the blink of an eye, and created a huge uproar. In the light of the fire, they fought for loaves, trampling many of them into the dirt. Flour from ripped bags covered the entire area from the granary to the arches of Drusus and Germanicus like fresh snow. The chaos continued until soldiers stormed the building and scattered the crowd with arrows and projectiles.
Never since the invasion by the Gauls under Brennus had Rome beheld such disaster. People in despair compared the two conflagrations. But in the time of Brennus the Capitol remained. Now the Capitol was encircled by a dreadful wreath of flame. The marbles, it is true, were not blazing; but at night, when the wind swept the flames aside for a moment, rows of columns in the lofty sanctuary of Jove were visible, red as glowing coals. In the days of Brennus, moreover, Rome had a disciplined integral people, attached to the city and its altars; but now crowds of a many-tongued populace roamed nomad-like around the walls of burning Rome,—people composed for the greater part of slaves and freedmen, excited, disorderly, and ready, under the pressure of want, to turn against authority and the city.
Never since the invasion by the Gauls led by Brennus had Rome seen such a disaster. People in despair compared the two fires. But during Brennus' time, the Capitol remained intact. Now the Capitol was surrounded by a terrible ring of flames. The marble didn't catch fire, but at night, when the wind occasionally pushed the flames aside, the rows of columns in the high sanctuary of Jupiter looked like glowing coals. Furthermore, during Brennus’ days, Rome had a disciplined and unified populace, loyal to the city and its sacred places; but now, crowds of diverse people wandered like nomads around the burning walls of Rome—mostly made up of slaves and freedmen, chaotic and disorderly, and ready, under the pressure of hunger, to rise against authority and the city.
But the very immensity of the fire, which terrified every heart, disarmed the crowd in a certain measure. After the fire might come famine and disease; and to complete the misfortune the terrible heat of July had appeared. It was impossible to breathe air inflamed both by fire and the sun. Night brought no relief, on the contrary it presented a hell. During daylight an awful and ominous spectacle met the eye. In the centre a giant city on heights was turned into a roaring volcano; round about as far as the Alban Hills was one boundless camp, formed of sheds, tents, huts, vehicles, bales, packs, stands, fires, all covered with smoke and dust, lighted by sun-rays reddened by passing through smoke,—everything filled with roars, shouts, threats, hatred and terror, a monstrous swarm of men, women, and children. Mingled with Quirites were Greeks, shaggy men from the North with blue eyes, Africans, and Asiatics; among citizens were slaves, freedmen, gladiators, merchants, mechanics, servants, and soldiers,—a real sea of people, flowing around the island of fire.
But the sheer size of the fire, which scared everyone, somewhat weakened the crowd's resolve. After the fire, famine and disease could follow; to make matters worse, the intense July heat had arrived. Breathing was unbearable in the air scorched by both fire and sun. Night didn’t bring any respite; instead, it felt like hell. During the day, a horrific and foreboding scene unfolded. In the center, a vast city on the hills had turned into a raging volcano; surrounding it, as far as the Alban Hills, stretched an endless camp made up of sheds, tents, huts, vehicles, bales, packs, and fires, all covered in smoke and dust, illuminated by sunlight filtered through the smoke—everything filled with roars, shouts, threats, hatred, and fear, creating a monstrous crowd of men, women, and children. Among the Romans were Greeks, shaggy-haired northerners with blue eyes, Africans, and Asians; within the citizens were slaves, freedmen, gladiators, merchants, workers, servants, and soldiers—a true sea of humanity, swirling around the island of fire.
Various reports moved this sea as wind does a real one. These reports were favorable and unfavorable. People told of immense supplies of wheat and clothing to be brought to the Emporium and distributed gratis. It was said, too, that provinces in Asia and Africa would be stripped of their wealth at Cæsar’s command, and the treasures thus gained be given to the inhabitants of Rome, so that each man might build his own dwelling. But it was noised about also that water in the aqueducts had been poisoned; that Nero intended to annihilate the city, destroy the inhabitants to the last person, then move to Greece or to Egypt, and rule the world from a new place. Each report ran with lightning speed, and each found belief among the rabble, causing outbursts of hope, anger, terror, or rage. Finally a kind of fever mastered those nomadic thousands. The belief of Christians that the end of the world by fire was at hand, spread even among adherents of the gods, and extended daily. People fell into torpor or madness. In clouds lighted by the burning, gods were seen gazing down on the ruin; hands were stretched toward those gods then to implore pity or send them curses.
Various reports stirred this sea like wind does a real one. These reports were both good and bad. People talked about huge supplies of wheat and clothing being brought to the Emporium and given away for free. It was also said that provinces in Asia and Africa would be stripped of their wealth at Cæsar’s command, and the treasures gained would be given to the people of Rome so that everyone could build their own homes. However, it was also rumored that the water in the aqueducts had been poisoned; that Nero planned to destroy the city, wipe out all its people, and then relocate to Greece or Egypt to rule the world from a new location. Each report spread like wildfire, and each one was believed by the masses, stirring up hope, anger, terror, or rage. Eventually, a kind of fever took hold of those migrating thousands. The belief among Christians that the world would end in fire gained traction even among worshippers of other gods, spreading each day. People fell into lethargy or madness. In the skies lit by flames, gods were seen looking down on the destruction; hands were raised to those gods to plead for mercy or to hurl curses at them.
Meanwhile soldiers, aided by a certain number of inhabitants, continued to tear down houses on the Esquiline and the Cælian, as also in the Trans-Tiber; these divisions were saved therefore in considerable part. But in the city itself were destroyed incalculable treasures accumulated through centuries of conquest; priceless works of art, splendid temples, the most precious monuments of Rome’s past, and Rome’s glory. They foresaw that of all Rome there would remain barely a few parts on the edges, and that hundreds of thousands of people would be without a roof. Some spread reports that the soldiers were tearing down houses not to stop the fire, but to prevent any part of the city from being saved. Tigellinus sent courier after courier to Antium, imploring Cæsar in each letter to come and calm the despairing people with his presence. But Nero moved only when fire had seized the “domus transitoria,” and he hurried so as not to miss the moment in which the conflagration should be at its highest.
Meanwhile, soldiers, with the help of some locals, continued to tear down houses on the Esquiline and the Cælian, as well as in the area across the Tiber; these areas were therefore largely saved. However, in the city itself, countless treasures accumulated over centuries of conquest were destroyed; priceless works of art, magnificent temples, and the most treasured monuments of Rome’s history and glory. They anticipated that barely a few parts of Rome would remain on the outskirts, and that hundreds of thousands of people would be left homeless. Some spread rumors that the soldiers were demolishing houses not to put out the fire, but to ensure that no part of the city could be saved. Tigellinus sent message after message to Antium, begging Caesar in each letter to come and reassure the despairing people with his presence. But Nero only acted when the fire had reached the “domus transitoria,” and he rushed to ensure he wouldn't miss the moment the blaze reached its peak.
Meanwhile fire had reached the Via Nomentana, but turned from it at once with a change of wind toward the Via Lata and the Tiber. It surrounded the Capitol, spread along the Forum Boarium, destroyed everything which it had spared before, and approached the Palatine a second time.
Meanwhile, the fire had reached the Via Nomentana but quickly shifted direction due to a change in the wind towards the Via Lata and the Tiber. It surrounded the Capitol, spread across the Forum Boarium, destroyed everything it had previously spared, and approached the Palatine again.
Tigellinus, assembling all the pretorian forces, despatched courier after courier to Cæsar with an announcement that he would lose nothing of the grandeur of the spectacle, for the fire had increased.
Tigellinus gathered all the praetorian forces and sent one messenger after another to Caesar to let him know that he wouldn’t miss any of the spectacle's grandeur, as the fire had grown larger.
But Nero, who was on the road, wished to come at night, so as to sate himself all the better with a view of the perishing capital. Therefore he halted, in the neighborhood of Aqua Albana, and, summoning to his tent the tragedian Aliturus, decided with his aid on posture, look, and expression; learned fitting gestures, disputing with the actor stubbornly whether at the words “O sacred city, which seemed more enduring than Ida,” he was to raise both hands, or, holding in one the forminga, drop it by his side and raise only the other. This question seemed to him then more important than all others. Starting at last about nightfall, he took counsel of Petronius also whether to the lines describing the catastrophe he might add a few magnificent blasphemies against the gods, and whether, considered from the standpoint of art, they would not have rushed spontaneously from the mouth of a man in such a position, a man who was losing his birthplace.
But Nero, who was traveling, wanted to arrive at night to better indulge himself in watching the doomed city. So, he stopped near Aqua Albana and called for the tragedian Aliturus to join him in his tent. Together, they worked on his posture, expression, and gestures; he argued with the actor about whether, at the words “O sacred city, which seemed more enduring than Ida,” he should raise both hands or hold one down while lifting the other. This debate seemed more important to him than anything else at the time. Finally, around nightfall, he consulted with Petronius about whether he could add a few grand blasphemies against the gods to the lines describing the disaster, wondering if, from an artistic perspective, they wouldn't naturally come from someone in his situation, a man who was losing his homeland.
At length he approached the walls about midnight with his numerous court, composed of whole detachments of nobles, senators, knights, freedmen, slaves, women, and children. Sixteen thousand pretorians, arranged in line of battle along the road, guarded the peace and safety of his entrance, and held the excited populace at a proper distance. The people cursed, shouted, and hissed on seeing the retinue, but dared not attack it. In many places, however, applause was given by the rabble, which, owning nothing, had lost nothing in the fire, and which hoped for a more bountiful distribution than usual of wheat, olives, clothing, and money. Finally, shouts, hissing, and applause were drowned in the blare of horns and trumpets, which Tigellinus had caused to be sounded.
Finally, he arrived at the walls around midnight with his large entourage, made up of various groups of nobles, senators, knights, freedmen, slaves, women, and children. Sixteen thousand praetorians, lined up like soldiers along the road, ensured the peace and safety of his entrance and kept the excited crowd at bay. The people cursed, shouted, and booed when they saw the procession but didn’t dare to attack. In many areas, however, some of the crowd cheered, as they had lost nothing in the fire and were hoping for a better distribution than usual of wheat, olives, clothing, and money. Eventually, the shouts, hissing, and applause were drowned out by the sound of horns and trumpets that Tigellinus had ordered to be played.
Nero, on arriving at the Ostian Gate, halted, and said, “Houseless ruler of a houseless people, where shall I lay my unfortunate head for the night?”
Nero, upon reaching the Ostian Gate, stopped and said, “Homeless leader of a homeless people, where am I supposed to rest my unfortunate head for the night?”
After he had passed the Clivus Delphini, he ascended the Appian aqueduct on steps prepared purposely. After him followed the Augustians and a choir of singers, bearing citharæ, lutes, and other musical instruments.
After he passed the Clivus Delphini, he climbed the Appian aqueduct on steps that had been specially built for this purpose. Following him were the Augustians and a choir of singers, carrying citharas, lutes, and other musical instruments.
And all held the breath in their breasts, waiting to learn if he would say some great words, which for their own safety they ought to remember. But he stood solemn, silent, in a purple mantle, and a wreath of golden laurels, gazing at the raging might of the flames. When Terpnos gave him a golden lute, he raised his eyes to the sky, filled with the conflagration, as if he were waiting for inspiration.
And everyone held their breath, waiting to hear if he would say something important that they needed to remember for their own safety. But he stood there, serious and quiet, in a purple cloak and a crown of golden laurel leaves, watching the fierce flames. When Terpnos handed him a golden lute, he looked up at the sky, filled with fire, as if he were waiting for inspiration.
The people pointed at him from afar as he stood in the bloody gleam. In the distance fiery serpents were hissing. The ancient and most sacred edifices were in flames: the temple of Hercules, reared by Evander, was burning; the temple of Jupiter Stator was burning, the temple of Luna, built by Servius Tullius, the house of Numa Pompilius, the sanctuary of Vesta with the penates of the Roman people; through waving flames the Capitol appeared at intervals; the past and the spirit of Rome was burning. But he, Cæsar, was there with a lute in his hand and a theatrical expression on his face, not thinking of his perishing country, but of his posture and the prophetic words with which he might describe best the greatness of the catastrophe, rouse most admiration, and receive the warmest plaudits. He detested that city, he detested its inhabitants, beloved only his own songs and verses; hence he rejoiced in heart that at last he saw a tragedy like that which he was writing. The verse-maker was happy, the declaimer felt inspired, the seeker for emotions was delighted at the awful sight, and thought with rapture that even the destruction of Troy was as nothing if compared with the destruction of that giant city. What more could he desire? There was world-ruling Rome in flames, and he, standing on the arches of the aqueduct with a golden lute, conspicuous, purple, admired, magnificent, poetic. Down below, somewhere in the darkness, the people are muttering and storming. But let them mutter! Ages will pass, thousands of years will go by, but mankind will remember and glorify the poet, who in that night sang the fall and the burning of Troy. What was Homer compared with him? What Apollo himself with his hollowed-out lute?
The people pointed at him from afar as he stood in the bloody light. In the distance, fiery serpents hissed. The ancient and most sacred buildings were ablaze: the temple of Hercules, built by Evander, was on fire; the temple of Jupiter Stator was burning, the temple of Luna, constructed by Servius Tullius, the house of Numa Pompilius, the sanctuary of Vesta with the household gods of the Roman people; through the flickering flames, the Capitol occasionally appeared; the past and spirit of Rome was burning. But he, Cæsar, stood there with a lute in his hand and a theatrical expression on his face, not thinking of his dying country, but of his stance and the prophetic words that could best describe the magnitude of the catastrophe, evoke the most admiration, and earn the loudest applause. He despised that city, he hated its people, loved only his own songs and verses; so he rejoiced in his heart that he finally witnessed a tragedy like the one he was writing. The poet was happy, the performer felt inspired, the seeker of emotions was thrilled by the horrific scene, and thought with excitement that even the destruction of Troy was nothing compared to the fall of that giant city. What more could he want? There was world-dominating Rome in flames, and he, standing on the arches of the aqueduct with a golden lute, stood out, dressed in purple, admired, magnificent, poetic. Down below, somewhere in the darkness, the people were grumbling and raging. But let them grumble! Ages will pass, thousands of years will go by, but humanity will remember and celebrate the poet who, that night, sang the fall and burning of Troy. What was Homer compared to him? What was Apollo himself with his hollowed-out lute?
Here he raised his hands and, striking the strings, pronounced the words of Priam.
Here he raised his hands and, plucking the strings, recited the words of Priam.
“O nest of my fathers, O dear cradle!” His voice in the open air, with the roar of the conflagration, and the distant murmur of crowding thousands, seemed marvellously weak, uncertain, and low, and the sound of the accompaniment like the buzzing of insects. But senators, dignitaries, and Augustians, assembled on the aqueduct, bowed their heads and listened in silent rapture. He sang long, and his motive was ever sadder. At moments, when he stopped to catch breath, the chorus of singers repeated the last verse; then Nero cast the tragic “syrma” [A robe with train, worn especially by tragic actors] from his shoulder with a gesture learned from Aliturus, struck the lute, and sang on. When at last he had finished the lines composed, he improvised, seeking grandiose comparisons in the spectacle unfolded before him. His face began to change. He was not moved, it is true, by the destruction of his country’s capital; but he was delighted and moved with the pathos of his own words to such a degree that his eyes filled with tears on a sudden. At last he dropped the lute to his feet with a clatter, and, wrapping himself in the “syrma,” stood as if petrified, like one of those statues of Niobe which ornamented the courtyard of the Palatine.
“O home of my ancestors, O beloved cradle!” His voice, carried by the open air amidst the roar of the fire and the distant murmurs of thousands crowding, sounded remarkably weak, uncertain, and soft, like the buzzing of insects. But the senators, dignitaries, and Augustians gathered on the aqueduct lowered their heads and listened in silent admiration. He sang for a long time, and his tune grew increasingly sorrowful. At times, when he paused to catch his breath, the chorus of singers repeated the last line; then Nero threw off the tragic “syrma” [A robe with train, worn especially by tragic actors] from his shoulder with a gesture learned from Aliturus, struck the lute, and continued to sing. When he finally finished the composed lines, he began to improvise, looking for grand comparisons in the scene around him. His expression began to shift. Although he was not genuinely affected by the destruction of his country’s capital, he was thrilled and touched by the emotion of his own words to the point where tears suddenly filled his eyes. Eventually, he dropped the lute to his feet with a clatter, and wrapping himself in the “syrma,” stood as if frozen, like one of those statues of Niobe that decorated the courtyard of the Palatine.
Soon a storm of applause broke the silence. But in the distance this was answered by the howling of multitudes. No one doubted then that Cæsar had given command to burn the city, so as to afford himself a spectacle and sing a song at it. Nero, when he heard that cry from hundreds of thousands, turned to the Augustians with the sad, resigned smile of a man who is suffering from injustice.
Soon, a storm of applause shattered the silence. But in the distance, it was met with the howling of crowds. No one doubted then that Caesar had ordered the city to be burned, just to give himself a spectacle and sing a song about it. When Nero heard that cry from hundreds of thousands, he turned to the Augustians with the sad, resigned smile of someone suffering from injustice.
“See,” said he, “how the Quirites value poetry and me.”
“Look,” he said, “how much the Quirites appreciate poetry and me.”
“Scoundrels!” answered Vatinius. “Command the pretorians, lord, to fall on them.”
“Scoundrels!” Vatinius replied. “Tell the praetorians, my lord, to attack them.”
Nero turned to Tigellinus,—
Nero turned to Tigellinus,—
“Can I count on the loyalty of the soldiers?”
“Can I rely on the soldiers' loyalty?”
“Yes, divinity,” answered the prefect.
“Yes, divine,” answered the prefect.
But Petronius shrugged his shoulders, and said,—
But Petronius shrugged and said—
“On their loyalty, yes, but not on their numbers. Remain meanwhile where thou art, for here it is safest; but there is need to pacify the people.”
“On their loyalty, yes, but not on their numbers. In the meantime, stay where you are, because it's safest here; but we need to calm the people down.”
Seneca was of this opinion also, as was Licinus the consul. Meanwhile the excitement below was increasing. The people were arming with stones, tent-poles, sticks from the wagons, planks, and various pieces of iron. After a while some of the pretorian leaders came, declaring that the cohorts, pressed by the multitude, kept the line of battle with extreme difficulty, and, being without orders to attack, they knew not what to do.
Seneca shared this view, as did Licinus the consul. Meanwhile, the tension below was escalating. The crowd was gathering stones, tent poles, sticks from the wagons, planks, and various pieces of metal. After some time, a few of the Praetorian leaders arrived, stating that the cohorts, overwhelmed by the crowd, were struggling to maintain their formation and, having received no orders to engage, were uncertain about what to do.
“O gods,” said Nero, “what a night!” On one side a fire, on the other a raging sea of people. And he fell to seeking expressions the most splendid to describe the danger of the moment, but, seeing around him alarmed looks and pale faces, he was frightened, with the others.
“O gods,” said Nero, “what a night!” On one side a fire, on the other a chaotic sea of people. And he started looking for the most extravagant words to describe the peril of the moment, but, seeing alarmed faces and pale looks around him, he felt scared, just like everyone else.
“Give me my dark mantle with a hood!” cried he; “must it come really to battle?”
“Give me my dark cloak with a hood!” he shouted; “is it really going to come to a fight?”
“Lord,” said Tigellinus, in an uncertain voice, “I have done what I could, but danger is threatening. Speak, O lord, to the people, and make them promises.”
“Lord,” said Tigellinus, in a hesitant voice, “I’ve done what I can, but danger is looming. Please, my lord, speak to the people and make them promises.”
“Shall Cæsar speak to the rabble? Let another do that in my name. Who will undertake it?”
“Should Cæsar talk to the crowd? Let someone else do it in my place. Who will take it on?”
“I!” answered Petronius, calmly.
“I!” replied Petronius, calmly.
“Go, my friend; thou art most faithful to me in every necessity. Go, and spare no promises.”
"Go, my friend; you’ve been so loyal to me in every need. Go, and don’t hold back on any promises."
Petronius turned to the retinue with a careless, sarcastic expression,—
Petronius turned to the group with a nonchalant, sarcastic look,—
“Senators here present, also Piso, Nerva, and Senecio, follow me.”
"Senators present, including Piso, Nerva, and Senecio, follow me."
Then he descended the aqueduct slowly. Those whom he had summoned followed, not without hesitation, but with a certain confidence which his calmness had given them. Petronius, halting at the foot of the arches, gave command to bring him a white horse, and, mounting, rode on, at the head of the cavalcade, between the deep ranks of pretorians, to the black, howling multitude; he was unarmed, having only a slender ivory cane which he carried habitually.
Then he slowly walked down the aqueduct. Those he had called came after him, a bit hesitant but with a growing confidence from his calm demeanor. Petronius stopped at the base of the arches and ordered a white horse to be brought to him. Once mounted, he rode at the front of the procession, flanked by the deep ranks of praetorians, toward the dark, howling crowd. He was unarmed, carrying only a slender ivory cane as he usually did.
When he had ridden up, he pushed his horse into the throng. All around, visible in the light of the burning, were upraised hands, armed with every manner of weapon, inflamed eyes, sweating faces, bellowing and foaming lips. A mad sea of people surrounded him and his attendants; round about was a sea of heads, moving, roaring, dreadful.
When he rode up, he urged his horse into the crowd. All around, lit by the flames, were raised hands holding all kinds of weapons, wild eyes, sweaty faces, and shouting, frothing mouths. He and his attendants were engulfed by a chaotic sea of people; all around was a turbulent mass of heads, shifting, roaring, terrifying.
The outbursts increased and became an unearthly roar; poles, forks, and even swords were brandished above Petronius; grasping hands were stretched toward his horse’s reins and toward him, but he rode farther; cool, indifferent, contemptuous. At moments he struck the most insolent heads with his cane, as if clearing a road for himself in an ordinary crowd; and that confidence of his, that calmness, amazed the raging rabble. They recognized him at length, and numerous voices began to shout,—
The protests grew louder and turned into a deafening roar; poles, forks, and even swords were waved over Petronius. People reached out for his horse's reins and for him, but he rode on; cool, indifferent, and contemptuous. Occasionally, he would tap the most arrogant heads with his cane, as if creating a path for himself through a regular crowd; and that confidence of his, that calmness, left the angry mob stunned. Eventually, they recognized him, and many voices began to shout,—
“Petronius! Arbiter Elegantiarum! Petronius! Petronius!” was heard on all sides. And as that name was repeated, the faces about became less terrible, the uproar less savage: for that exquisite patrician, though he had never striven for the favor of the populace, was still their favorite. He passed for a humane and magnanimous man; and his popularity had increased, especially since the affair of Pedanius Secundus, when he spoke in favor of mitigating the cruel sentence condemning all the slaves of that prefect to death. The slaves more especially loved him thenceforward with that unbounded love which the oppressed or unfortunate are accustomed to give those who show them even small sympathy. Besides, in that moment was added curiosity as to what Cæsar’s envoy would say, for no one doubted that Cæsar had sent him.
“Petronius! Arbiter Elegantiarum! Petronius! Petronius!” was heard from every direction. As that name echoed, the faces around grew less frightening, and the chaos felt less brutal: that refined nobleman, although he had never sought the approval of the masses, remained their favorite. He was considered a kind and generous man; his popularity had especially grown after the incident involving Pedanius Secundus, when he advocated for lessening the harsh punishment that condemned all the slaves of that prefect to death. The slaves especially adored him ever since, with the deep affection typically shown by the oppressed or unfortunate toward those who offer even a hint of sympathy. Additionally, there was a sense of curiosity about what Cæsar’s envoy would say, as everyone was certain that Cæsar had sent him.
He removed his white toga, bordered with scarlet, raised it in the air, and waved it above his head, in sign that he wished to speak.
He took off his white toga with the red trim, held it up in the air, and waved it above his head to signal that he wanted to speak.
“Silence! Silence!” cried the people on all sides.
“Quiet! Quiet!” shouted the people all around.
After a while there was silence. Then he straightened himself on the horse and said in a clear, firm voice,—
After a while, there was silence. Then he sat up straight on the horse and said in a clear, firm voice,—
“Citizens, let those who hear me repeat my words to those who are more distant, and bear yourselves, all of you, like men, not like beasts in the arena.”
“Citizens, let those who hear me share my words with those who are farther away, and conduct yourselves, all of you, like human beings, not like animals in the arena.”
“We will, we will!”
"We will, we will!"
“Then listen. The city will be rebuilt. The gardens of Lucullus, Mæcenas, Cæsar, and Agrippina will be opened to you. To-morrow will begin the distribution of wheat, wine, and olives, so that every man may be full to the throat. Then Cæsar will have games for you, such as the world has not seen yet; during these games banquets and gifts will be given you. Ye will be richer after the fire than before it.”
“Then listen. The city will be rebuilt. The gardens of Lucullus, Mæcenas, Cæsar, and Agrippina will be opened to you. Tomorrow will start the distribution of wheat, wine, and olives, so that everyone can be satisfied. Then Cæsar will host games for you, like nothing the world has seen before; during these games, there will be feasts and gifts for you. You will be wealthier after the fire than you were before.”
A murmur answered him which spread from the centre in every direction, as a wave rises on water in which a stone has been cast. Those nearer repeated his words to those more distant. Afterward were heard here and there shouts of anger or applause, which turned at length into one universal call of “Panem et circenses!!!”
A murmur responded, spreading outward from the center like a wave on water after a stone has been thrown in. Those closest repeated his words to those further away. Soon, shouts of anger and applause broke out here and there, eventually merging into one loud call of “Bread and circuses!!!”
Petronius wrapped himself in his toga and listened for a time without moving, resembling in his white garment a marble statue. The uproar increased, drowned the roar of the fire, was answered from every side and from ever-increasing distances. But evidently the envoy had something to add, for he waited. Finally, commanding silence anew, he cried,—“I promised you panem et circenses; and now give a shout in honor of Cæsar, who feeds and clothes you; then go to sleep, dear populace, for the dawn will begin before long.”
Petronius wrapped himself in his toga and listened for a while without moving, looking like a marble statue in his white garment. The noise intensified, overshadowing the sound of the fire, echoing from all around and from ever-greater distances. But clearly, the envoy had more to say, so he waited. Finally, regaining silence, he shouted, “I promised you bread and games; now give a shout in honor of Caesar, who feeds and clothes you; then go to sleep, dear citizens, because dawn will come soon.”
He turned his horse then, and, tapping lightly with his cane the heads and faces of those who stood in his way, he rode slowly to the pretorian ranks. Soon he was under the aqueduct. He found almost a panic above, where they had not understood the shout “Panem et circenses,” and supposed it to be a new outburst of rage. They had not even expected that Petronius would save himself; so Nero, when he saw him, ran to the steps, and with face pale from emotion, inquired,—
He turned his horse and lightly tapped the heads and faces of those in his path with his cane as he rode slowly toward the pretorian ranks. Soon, he was beneath the aqueduct. He found almost a state of panic above, as they hadn't understood the shout “Panem et circenses” and thought it was just another outburst of anger. They hadn’t even expected Petronius to save himself; so when Nero saw him, he rushed to the steps and, his face pale with emotion, asked, —
“Well, what are they doing? Is there a battle?”
“Well, what are they doing? Is there a fight?”
Petronius drew air into his lungs, breathed deeply, and answered,—“By Pollux! they are sweating! and such a stench! Will some one give me an epilimma?—for I am faint.” Then he turned to Cæsar.
Petronius took a deep breath and said, “By Pollux! They're sweating! And what a stench! Can someone hand me an epilimma? I'm feeling faint.” Then he turned to Caesar.
“I promised them,” said he, “wheat, olives, the opening of the gardens, and games. They worship thee anew, and are howling in thy honor. Gods, what a foul odor those plebeians have!”
“I promised them,” he said, “wheat, olives, the opening of the gardens, and games. They celebrate you again and are shouting in your honor. Gods, what a terrible smell those commoners have!”
“I had pretorians ready,” cried Tigellinus; “and hadst thou not quieted them, the shouters would have been silenced forever. It is a pity, Cæsar, that thou didst not let me use force.”
“I had the Praetorians ready,” shouted Tigellinus; “and if you hadn’t calmed them down, the shouters would have been silenced for good. It’s a shame, Caesar, that you didn’t let me use force.”
Petronius looked at him, shrugged his shoulders, and added,—
Petronius looked at him, shrugged his shoulders, and added,—
“The chance is not lost. Thou mayst have to use it to-morrow.”
“The chance isn't lost. You might have to use it tomorrow.”
“No, no!” cried Cæsar, “I will give command to open the gardens to them, and distribute wheat. Thanks to thee, Petronius, I will have games; and that song, which I sang to-day, I will sing publicly.”
“No, no!” shouted Cæsar, “I will order the gardens to be opened for them and give out wheat. Thanks to you, Petronius, I will have games; and that song I sang today, I will perform it publicly.”
Then he placed his hands on the arbiter’s shoulder, was silent a moment, and starting up at last inquired,—
Then he put his hands on the arbiter’s shoulder, stayed silent for a moment, and finally asked,—
“Tell me sincerely, how did I seem to thee while I was singing?”
“Honestly, how did I come across to you while I was singing?”
“Thou wert worthy of the spectacle, and the spectacle was worthy of thee,” said Petronius.
“You were worthy of the show, and the show was worthy of you,” said Petronius.
“But let us look at it again,” said he, turning to the fire, “and bid farewell to ancient Rome.”
“But let’s take another look,” he said, turning to the fire, “and say goodbye to ancient Rome.”
Chapter XLVII
THE Apostle’s words put confidence in the souls of the Christians. The end of the world seemed ever near to them, but they began to think that the day of judgment would not come immediately, that first they would see the end of Nero’s reign, which they looked on as the reign of Satan, and the punishment of God for Cæsar’s crimes, which were crying for vengeance. Strengthened in heart, they dispersed, after the prayer, to their temporary dwellings, and even to the Trans-Tiber; for news had come that the fire, set there in a number of places, had, with the change of wind, turned back toward the river, and, after devouring what it could here and there, had ceased to extend.
THE Apostle’s words instilled confidence in the hearts of the Christians. The end of the world seemed to be approaching, but they started to believe that the day of judgment wouldn't come right away. Instead, they thought they would first witness the end of Nero’s rule, which they saw as the reign of Satan and God's punishment for Cæsar’s crimes, which were begging for retribution. Strengthened in spirit, they dispersed to their temporary homes after the prayer, even moving to the Trans-Tiber; for news had arrived that the fire, set in several places, had, with the change of wind, turned back toward the river and, after consuming what it could here and there, had stopped spreading.
The Apostle, with Vinicius and Chilo, who followed him, left the excavation also. The young tribune did not venture to interrupt his prayers; hence he walked on in silence, merely imploring pity with his eyes, and trembling from alarm. Many approached to kiss Peter’s hands, and the hem of his mantle; mothers held out their children to him; some knelt in the dark, long passage, and, holding up tapers, begged a blessing; others, going alongside, sang: so there was no chance for question or answer. Thus it was in the narrow passage. Only when they came out to broader spaces, from which the burning city was in view, did the Apostle bless them three times, and say, turning to Vinicius,—
The Apostle, along with Vinicius and Chilo who were following him, also left the excavation. The young tribune didn’t dare interrupt his prayers, so he walked silently, just pleading for compassion with his eyes and trembling with fear. Many people came up to kiss Peter’s hands and the edge of his cloak; mothers held out their children to him; some knelt in the dark, long passage, holding up candles and asking for a blessing; others walked alongside him singing. So there was no opportunity for questions or answers. This was how it was in the narrow passage. It was only when they reached wider spaces, where the burning city was visible, that the Apostle blessed them three times and said, turning to Vinicius,—
“Fear not. The hut of the quarryman is near; in it we shall find Linus, and Lygia, with her faithful servant. Christ, who predestined her to thee, has preserved her.”
“Don’t worry. The quarryman’s hut is nearby; in it, we will find Linus and Lygia, along with her loyal servant. Christ, who meant for her to be with you, has kept her safe.”
Vinicius tottered, and placed his hand against the cliff. The road from Antium, the events at the wall, the search for Lygia amidst burning houses, sleeplessness, and his terrible alarm had exhausted him; and the news that the dearest person in the world was near by, and that soon he would see her, took the remnant of his strength from him. So great a weakness possessed him on a sudden that he dropped to the Apostle’s feet, and, embracing his knees, remained thus, without power to say a word.
Vinicius stumbled and put his hand against the cliff. The journey from Antium, what happened at the wall, searching for Lygia among the burning houses, his lack of sleep, and his intense fear had worn him out; and the news that the most important person in his life was nearby, and that he would soon see her, drained the last bit of strength from him. He felt such sudden weakness that he fell to the Apostle’s feet, embraced his knees, and stayed there, unable to say a word.
“Not to me, not to me, but to Christ,” said the Apostle, who warded off thanks and honor.
“Not to me, not to me, but to Christ,” said the Apostle, who deflected thanks and praise.
“What a good God!” said the voice of Chilo from behind, “but what shall I do with the mules that are waiting down here?”
“What a good God!” said Chilo's voice from behind, “but what am I supposed to do with the mules that are waiting down here?”
“Rise and come with me,” said Peter to the young man.
“Get up and come with me,” Peter said to the young man.
Vinicius rose. By the light of the burning, tears were visible on his face, which was pale from emotion. His lips moved, as if in prayer.
Vinicius stood up. In the glow of the fire, tears were noticeable on his face, which was pale from emotion. His lips moved, almost as if he were praying.
“Let us go,” said he.
“Let’s go,” he said.
But Chilo repeated again: “Lord, what shall I do with the mules that are waiting? Perhaps this worthy prophet prefers riding to walking.”
But Chilo said again, “Lord, what should I do with the mules that are waiting? Maybe this respected prophet prefers riding instead of walking.”
Vinicius did not know himself what to answer; but hearing from Peter that the quarryman’s hut was near by, he said,—
Vinicius didn’t know how to respond; but after hearing from Peter that the quarryman’s hut was nearby, he said,—
“Take the mules to Macrinus.”
“Take the mules to Macrinus.”
“Pardon me, lord, if I mention the house in Ameriola. In view of such an awful fire, it is easy to forget a thing so paltry.”
“Excuse me, my lord, if I bring up the house in Ameriola. Given such a terrible fire, it's understandable to overlook something so trivial.”
“Thou wilt get it.”
"You will get it."
“O grandson of Numa Pompilius, I have always been sure, but now, when this magnanimous prophet also has heard the promise, I will not remind thee even of this, that thou hast promised me a vineyard. Pax vobiscum. I shall find thee, lord. Pax vobiscum.”
“O grandson of Numa Pompilius, I've always been sure, but now that this generous prophet has also heard the promise, I won't even remind you that you promised me a vineyard. Peace be with you. I will find you, my lord. Peace be with you.”
They answered, “And peace with thee.”
They replied, "And peace be with you."
Then both turned to the right toward the hills. Along the road Vinicius said,
Then both turned right toward the hills. Along the road, Vinicius said,
“Lord, wash me with the water of baptism, so that I may call myself a real confessor of Christ, for I love Him with all the power of my soul. Wash me quickly, for I am ready in heart. And what thou commandest I will do, but tell me, so that I may do it in addition.”
“Lord, cleanse me with the waters of baptism so I can truly call myself a follower of Christ because I love Him with all my heart. Cleanse me quickly, for I am willing and ready. I will do whatever you ask, just let me know what it is so I can fulfill it.”
“Love men as thy own brothers,” answered the Apostle, “for only with love mayst thou serve Him.”
“Love men like your own brothers,” replied the Apostle, “for only with love can you serve Him.”
“Yes, I understand and feel that. When a child I believed in the Roman gods, though I did not love them. But I so love Him the One God that I would give my life for Him gladly.” And he looked toward the sky, repeating with exaltation: “For He is one, for He alone is kind and merciful; hence, let not only this city perish, but the whole world, Him alone will I confess and recognize.”
“Yes, I get that and I feel it too. When I was a child, I believed in the Roman gods, but I didn’t love them. But I love Him, the One God, so much that I would gladly give my life for Him.” And he looked up at the sky, repeating with enthusiasm: “For He is one, for He alone is kind and merciful; so let not just this city perish, but the whole world—I will only confess and acknowledge Him.”
“And He will bless thee and thy house,” concluded the Apostle.
“And He will bless you and your family,” concluded the Apostle.
Meanwhile they turned into another ravine, at the end of which a faint light was visible. Peter pointed to it and said,—
Meanwhile, they turned into another ravine, at the end of which a faint light was visible. Peter pointed to it and said,—
“There is the hut of the quarryman who gave us a refuge when, on the way from Ostrianum with the sick Linus, we could not go to the Trans-Tiber.”
“There is the hut of the quarryman who offered us shelter when, on the way from Ostrianum with the sick Linus, we couldn’t go to the Trans-Tiber.”
After a while they arrived. The hut was rather a cave rounded Out in an indentation of the hill, and was faced outside with a wall made of reeds. The door was closed, but through an opening, which served for a window, the interior was visible, lighted by a fire. Some dark giant figure rose up to meet them, and inquired,—“Who are ye?”
After a while, they arrived. The hut was more like a cave carved into the side of the hill, with a wall made of reeds on the outside. The door was shut, but through a gap that served as a window, the inside was visible, illuminated by a fire. A dark, towering figure rose to greet them and asked, “Who are you?”
“Servants of Christ,” answered Peter. “Peace be with thee, Ursus.”
“Servants of Christ,” Peter replied. “Peace be with you, Ursus.”
Ursus bent to the Apostle’s feet; then, recognizing Vinicius, seized his hand by the wrist, and raised it to his lips.
Ursus bent down to the Apostle's feet; then, seeing Vinicius, grabbed his hand by the wrist and brought it to his lips.
“And thou, lord,” said he. “Blessed be the name of the Lamb, for the joy which thou wilt bring to Callina.”
“And you, my lord,” he said. “Blessed be the name of the Lamb, for the joy you will bring to Callina.”
He opened the door then, and entered. Linus was lying on a bundle of straw, with an emaciated face and a forehead as yellow as ivory. Near the fire sat Lygia with a string of small fish, intended evidently for supper. Occupied in removing the fish from the string, and thinking that it was Ursus who had entered, she did not raise her eyes. But Vinicius approached, and, pronouncing her name, stretched his hand to her. She sprang up quickly then; a flash of astonishment and delight shot across her face. Without a word, like a child who after days of fear and sorrow had found father or mother, she threw herself into his open arms.
He opened the door and walked in. Linus was lying on a pile of straw, with a gaunt face and a forehead as yellow as ivory. Near the fire sat Lygia, working on a string of small fish that were clearly meant for dinner. Focused on removing the fish from the string and thinking it was Ursus who had come in, she didn’t look up. But Vinicius moved closer, said her name, and reached out to her. She quickly sprang up; a look of surprise and joy crossed her face. Without saying a word, like a child who had finally found their parent after days of fear and worry, she threw herself into his welcoming arms.
He embraced her, pressed her to his bosom for some time with such ecstasy as if she had been saved by a miracle. Then, withdrawing his arms, he took her temples between his hands, kissed her forehead and her eyes, embraced her again, repeated her name, bent to her knees, to her palms, greeted her, did her homage, honored her. His delight had no bounds; neither had his love and happiness.
He held her close, wrapping her in his arms for a while with such joy as if she had been saved by a miracle. Then, pulling back a bit, he cradled her face in his hands, kissed her forehead and her eyes, embraced her once more, repeated her name, bowed down to her knees, to her hands, greeted her, paid his respects, honored her. His happiness knew no limits; neither did his love and joy.
At last he told her how he had rushed in from Antium; had searched for her at the walls, in the smoke at the house of Linus; how he had suffered and was terrified; how much he had endured before the Apostle had shown him her retreat.
At last, he told her how he had hurried in from Antium; how he had searched for her at the walls, in the smoke at Linus's house; how he had suffered and was scared; how much he had gone through before the Apostle had shown him where she was hiding.
“But now,” said he, “that I have found thee, I will not leave thee near fire and raging crowds. People are slaying one another under the walls, slaves are revolting and plundering. God alone knows what miseries may fall yet on Rome. But I will save thee and all of you. Oh, my dear, let us go to Antium; we will take a ship there and sail to Sicily. My land is thy land, my houses are thy houses. Listen to me! In Sicily we shall find Aulus. I will give thee back to Pomponia, and take thee from her hands afterward. But, O carissima, have no further fear of me. Christ has not washed me yet, but ask Peter if on the way hither I have not told him my wish to be a real confessor of Christ, and begged him to baptize me, even in this hut of a quarryman. Believe, and let all believe me.”
“But now,” he said, “now that I’ve found you, I won’t leave you near the fire and the crowds. People are killing each other outside the walls, slaves are rebelling and looting. Only God knows what other horrors might still come to Rome. But I will save you and all of us. Oh, my dear, let’s go to Antium; we can catch a ship there and sail to Sicily. My land is your land, my homes are your homes. Listen to me! In Sicily, we’ll find Aulus. I’ll return you to Pomponia and then take you back from her afterward. But, oh my dearest, don’t be afraid of me anymore. Christ hasn’t saved me yet, but ask Peter if I haven’t told him on the way here that I want to be a true confessor of Christ and begged him to baptize me, even in this quarryman’s hut. Believe, and let everyone believe me.”
Lygia heard these words with radiant face. The Christians formerly, because of Jewish persecutions, and then because of the fire and disturbance caused by the disaster, lived in fear and uncertainty. A journey to quiet Sicily would put an end to all danger, and open a new epoch of happiness in their lives. If Vinicius had wished to take only Lygia, she would have resisted the temptation surely, as she did not wish to leave Peter and Linus; but Vinicius said to them, “Come with me; my lands are your lands, my houses your houses.” At this Lygia inclined to kiss his hand, in sign of obedience, and said,—
Lygia listened to these words with a bright smile. The Christians, who had previously lived in fear and uncertainty due to Jewish persecutions and later from the chaos caused by the disaster, saw a trip to peaceful Sicily as a way to escape all danger and start a new chapter of happiness in their lives. If Vinicius had only wanted to take Lygia, she surely would have resisted the temptation, as she didn't want to leave Peter and Linus behind; but Vinicius told them, "Come with me; my lands are your lands, my homes are your homes." At this, Lygia leaned in to kiss his hand as a sign of obedience and said,—
“Where thou art, Caius, there am I, Caia.”
“Where you are, Caius, there I am, Caia.”
Then confused that she had spoken words which by Roman custom were repeated only at marriage, she blushed deeply, and stood in the light of the fire, with drooping head, in doubt lest he might take them ill of her. But in his face boundless homage alone was depicted. He turned then to Peter, and continued,—
Then, realizing she had said words that were only spoken at weddings according to Roman tradition, she blushed deeply and stood in the firelight with her head down, worried that he might be offended by them. But all he showed on his face was endless admiration. He then turned to Peter and continued,—
“Rome is burning at command of Cæsar. In Antium he complained that he had never seen a great fire. And if he has not hesitated at such a crime, think what may happen yet. Who knows that he may not bring in troops, and command a slaughter? Who knows what proscriptions may come; who knows whether after the fire, civil war, murder, and famine may not come?
“Rome is burning at the command of Caesar. In Antium, he mentioned that he had never seen a big fire. And if he hasn’t held back from such a crime, think about what might happen next. Who knows if he might bring in troops and order a massacre? Who knows what kind of purges might occur; who knows if, after the fire, we might not face civil war, murder, and famine?”
“Hide yourselves, therefore, and let us hide Lygia. There ye can wait till the storm passes, and when it is over return to sow your grain anew.”
“Get yourselves out of sight, and let’s hide Lygia. You can wait there until the storm blows over, and once it’s done, come back and plant your crops again.”
Outside, from the direction of the Vatican Field, as if to confirm his fears, distant cries were heard full of rage and terror. At that moment the quarryman entered, the master of the hut, and, shutting the door hastily, he cried,—
Outside, from the direction of Vatican Field, as if to confirm his fears, distant screams filled with rage and terror echoed. At that moment, the quarryman, the owner of the hut, rushed in, quickly shutting the door and shouted, —
“People are killing one another near the Circus of Nero. Slaves and gladiators have attacked the citizens.”
“People are killing each other near the Circus of Nero. Slaves and gladiators have attacked the citizens.”
“Do ye hear?” said Vinicius.
"Do you hear?" said Vinicius.
“The measure is full,” said the Apostle; “and disasters will come, like a boundless sea.” Then he turned, and, pointing to Lygia, said, “Take the maiden, whom God has predestined to thee, and save her, and let Linus, who is sick, and Ursus go with you.”
“The measure is full,” said the Apostle; “and disasters will come, like a boundless sea.” Then he turned, and, pointing to Lygia, said, “Take the maiden, whom God has destined for you, and save her, and let Linus, who is sick, and Ursus go with you.”
But Vinicius, who had come to love the Apostle with all the power of his impetuous soul, exclaimed: “I swear, my teacher, that I will not leave thee here to destruction.”
But Vinicius, who had come to love the Apostle with all the intensity of his passionate soul, exclaimed: “I swear, my teacher, that I won’t leave you here to face destruction.”
“The Lord bless thee for thy wish,” answered Peter; “but hast thou not heard that Christ repeated thrice on the lake to me, ‘Feed my lambs’?”
“May the Lord bless you for your wish,” Peter replied, “but haven’t you heard that Christ said to me three times on the lake, ‘Feed my lambs’?”
Vinicius was silent.
Vinicius stayed quiet.
“If thou, to whom no one has confided care over me, sayest that thou wilt not leave me to destruction, how canst thou wish me to leave my flock in the day of disaster? When there was a storm on the lake, and we were terrified in heart, He did not desert us; why should I, a servant, not follow my Master’s example?”
“If you, to whom no one has entrusted my care, say that you won’t abandon me to ruin, how can you expect me to leave my flock in a time of crisis? When there was a storm on the lake and we were filled with fear, He did not forsake us; why should I, a servant, not follow my Master’s example?”
Then Linus raised his emaciated face and inquired,—
Then Linus lifted his thin face and asked, —
“O viceregent of the Lord, why should I not follow thy example?”
“O vicegerent of the Lord, why shouldn’t I follow your example?”
Vinicius began to pass his hand over his head, as if struggling with himself or fighting with his thoughts; then, seizing Lygia by the hand, he said, in a voice in which the energy of a Roman soldier was quivering,—
Vinicius started to run his hand through his hair, as if battling with himself or grappling with his thoughts; then, taking Lygia’s hand, he said, in a voice trembling with the energy of a Roman soldier,—
“Hear me, Peter, Linus, and thou, Lygia! I spoke as my human reason dictated; but ye have another reason, which regards, not your own danger, but the commands of the Redeemer. True, I did not understand this, and I erred, for the beam is not taken from my eyes yet, and the former nature is heard in me. But since I love Christ, and wish to be His servant, though it is a question for me of something more than my own life, I kneel here before thee, and swear that I will accomplish the command of love, and will not leave my brethren in the day of trouble.”
"Hear me, Peter, Linus, and you, Lygia! I spoke as my human reason told me to; but you have a different perspective, which is about more than just your own danger—it's about the commands of the Redeemer. True, I didn't fully understand this, and I was wrong because I still have the beam in my eye, and my old nature is still present in me. But since I love Christ and want to be His servant, even though this is about more than just my own life, I kneel here before you and swear that I will fulfill the command of love and will not abandon my brothers and sisters in their time of trouble."
Then he knelt, and enthusiasm possessed him; raising his hands and eyes, he cried: “Do I understand Thee, O Christ? Am I worthy of Thee?”
Then he knelt, and excitement took over him; raising his hands and eyes, he cried: “Do I understand You, O Christ? Am I worthy of You?”
His hands trembled; his eyes glistened with tears; his body trembled with faith and love. Peter took an earthen vessel with water, and, bringing it near him, said with solemnity,—
His hands shook; his eyes sparkled with tears; his body quaked with faith and love. Peter picked up a clay pot filled with water and, bringing it close, said seriously,—
“Behold, I baptize thee in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Amen.”
“Look, I baptize you in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.”
Then a religious ecstasy seized all present. They thought that some light from beyond this world had filled the hut, that they heard some superhuman music, that the cliffs had opened above their heads, that choirs of angels were floating down from heaven, and far up there they saw a cross, and pierced hands blessing them.
Then a wave of religious excitement took hold of everyone there. They felt as if a light from another realm had filled the hut, that they were hearing some divine music, that the cliffs had parted above them, that choirs of angels were descending from heaven, and high above, they saw a cross, with hands that had been pierced, blessing them.
Meanwhile the shouts of fighting were heard outside, and the roar of flames in the burning city.
Meanwhile, the sounds of fighting could be heard outside, along with the roar of flames in the burning city.
Chapter XLVIII
CAMPS of people were disposed in the lordly gardens of Cæsar, formerly gardens of Domitius and Agrippina; they were disposed also on the Campus Martius, in the gardens of Pompey, Sallust, and Mæcenas, in porticos, tennis-courts, splendid summer-houses, and buildings erected for wild beasts. Peacocks, flamingoes, swans, ostriches, gazelles, African antelopes, and deer, which had served as ornaments to those gardens, went under the knives of the rabble. Provisions began to come in now from Ostria so abundantly that one might walk, as on a bridge, over ships, boats, and barges from one bank of the Tiber to the other. Wheat was sold at the unheard-of low price of three sestertia, and was given gratis to the indigent. Immense supplies of wine, olives, and chestnuts were brought to the city; sheep and cattle were driven in every day from the mountains. Wretches who before the fire had been hiding in alleys of the Subura, and were perishing of hunger in ordinary times, had a more pleasant life now. The danger of famine was averted completely, but it was more difficult to suppress robbery, murder, and abuses. A nomadic life insured impunity to thieves; the more easily since they proclaimed themselves admirers of Cæsar, and were unsparing of plaudits wherever he appeared. Moreover, when, by the pressure of events, the authorities were in abeyance, and there was a lack of armed force to quell insolence in a city inhabited by the dregs of contemporary mankind, deeds were done which passed human imagination. Every night there were battles and murders; every night boys and women were snatched away. At the Porta Mugionis, where there was a halting-place for herds driven in from the Campania, it come to engagements in which people perished by hundreds. Every morning the banks of the Tiber were covered with drowned bodies, which no one collected; these decayed quickly because of heat heightened by fire, and filled the air with foul odors. Sickness broke out on the camping-grounds, and the more timorous foresaw a great pestilence.
Camps of people were set up in the grand gardens of Caesar, which used to belong to Domitius and Agrippina; they were also based on the Campus Martius, in the gardens of Pompey, Sallust, and Maecenas, in porticos, tennis courts, fancy summer houses, and buildings made for wild animals. Peacocks, flamingos, swans, ostriches, gazelles, African antelopes, and deer that used to decorate those gardens fell prey to the mob. Supplies started flooding in from Ostia to the point where one could walk on ships, boats, and barges from one side of the Tiber to the other. Wheat was sold at the incredibly low price of three sestertii and was given for free to those in need. Huge amounts of wine, olives, and chestnuts were brought into the city; sheep and cattle were driven in daily from the mountains. Those who had previously been hiding in the backstreets of Subura and were starving during normal times now had a better life. The threat of famine was entirely avoided, but it became harder to control theft, murder, and exploitation. A wandering lifestyle gave thieves a free pass; it was easier for them to claim they were supporters of Caesar and to cheer for him whenever he appeared. Furthermore, when, due to the circumstances, the authorities were rendered ineffective, and there was a lack of armed forces to suppress the chaos in a city filled with society's outcasts, unimaginable acts occurred. Every night there were battles and murders; every night boys and women were taken away. At the Porta Mugionis, where herds from Campania would arrive, clashes happened that resulted in hundreds of deaths. Every morning, the banks of the Tiber were strewn with drowned bodies that no one collected; they decomposed quickly due to the heat amplified by fires, filling the air with terrible smells. Illness broke out in the encampments, and the more fearful predicted a massive plague.
But the city burned on unceasingly. Only on the sixth day, when the fire reached empty spaces on the Esquiline, where an enormous number of houses had been demolished purposely, did it weaken. But the piles of burning cinders gave such strong light yet that people would not believe that the end of the catastrophe had come. In fact the fire burst forth with fresh force on the seventh night in the buildings of Tigellinus, but had short duration for lack of fuel. Burnt houses, however, fell here and there, and threw up towers of flame and pillars of sparks. But the glowing ruins began to grow black on the surface. After sunset the heavens ceased to gleam with bloody light, and only after dark did blue tongues quiver above the extended black waste, tongues which rose from piles of cinders.
But the city continued to burn relentlessly. Only on the sixth day, when the fire reached the vacant areas on the Esquiline, where a large number of houses had been intentionally destroyed, did it start to weaken. However, the heaps of burning cinders still cast such a bright light that people couldn’t believe the catastrophe was finally over. In fact, the fire erupted with renewed intensity on the seventh night in the buildings of Tigellinus, but it was brief due to a lack of fuel. Burnt houses collapsed here and there, sending up towers of flames and showers of sparks. But the smoldering ruins began to turn black on the surface. After sunset, the sky stopped shining with a bloody light, and only after dark did blue flames flicker above the vast black wasteland, flickers that arose from the heaps of cinders.
Of the fourteen divisions of Rome there remained only four, including the Trans-Tiber. Flames had consumed all the others. When at last the piles of cinders had been turned into ashes, an immense space was visible from the Tiber to the Esquiline, gray, gloomy, dead. In this space stood rows of chimneys, like columns over graves in a cemetery. Among these columns gloomy crowds of people moved about in the daytime, some seeking for precious objects, others for the bones of those dear to them. In the night dogs howled above the ashes and ruins of former dwellings.
Of the fourteen districts of Rome, only four remained, including the Trans-Tiber. Flames had destroyed all the others. Once the piles of ash settled, a vast area stretched out from the Tiber to the Esquiline, gray, bleak, and lifeless. In this area stood rows of chimneys, resembling monuments over graves in a cemetery. Among these remnants, somber groups of people wandered during the day, some looking for valuable items, others searching for the remains of their loved ones. At night, dogs howled over the ashes and ruins of what were once homes.
All the bounty and aid shown by Cæsar to the populace did not restrain evil speech and indignation. Only the herd of robbers, criminals, and homeless ruffians, who could eat, drink, and rob enough, were contented. People who had lost all their property and their nearest relatives were not won over by the opening of gardens, the distribution of bread, or the promise of games and gifts. The catastrophe had been too great and unparalleled. Others, in whom was hidden yet some spark of love for the city and their birthplace, were brought to despair by news that the old name “Roma” was to vanish, and that from the ashes of the capital Cæsar would erect a new city called Neropolis. A flood of hatred rose and swelled every day, despite the flatteries of the Augustians and the calumnies of Tigellinus. Nero, more sensitive than any former Cæsar to the favor of the populace, thought with alarm that in the sullen and mortal struggle which he was waging with patricians in the Senate, he might lack support. The Augustians themselves were not less alarmed, for any morning might bring them destruction. Tigellinus thought of summoning certain legions from Asia Minor. Vatinius, who laughed even when slapped on the face, lost his humor; Vitelius lost his appetite.
All the generosity and support that Caesar showed to the people didn't put a stop to the bad talk and anger. Only the group of thieves, criminals, and homeless were satisfied, as they could eat, drink, and steal enough. Those who had lost all their possessions and loved ones weren’t swayed by the opening of gardens, the sharing of bread, or the promise of games and gifts. The disaster had been too massive and unprecedented. Others, who still had a bit of love for the city and their homeland, fell into despair upon hearing that the old name "Rome" would disappear and that from the ruins of the capital, Caesar would build a new city called Neropolis. A wave of hatred grew stronger every day, despite the flattery from the Augustians and the slander from Tigellinus. Nero, more sensitive than any previous Caesar to public opinion, worried that in the gloomy and deadly battle he was fighting with the nobles in the Senate, he might not have their support. The Augustians were equally anxious, knowing that any morning could bring their downfall. Tigellinus considered calling in certain legions from Asia Minor. Vatinius, who would laugh even when slapped, lost his sense of humor; Vitelius lost his appetite.
Others were taking counsel among themselves how to avert the danger, for it was no secret that were an outburst to carry off Cæsar, not one of the Augustians would escape, except, perhaps, Petronius. To their influence were ascribed the madnesses of Nero, to their suggestions all the crimes which he committed. Hatred for them almost surpassed that for Nero. Hence some began to make efforts to rid themselves of responsibility for the burning of the city. But to free themselves they must clear Cæsar also from suspicion, or no one would believe that they had not caused the catastrophe. Tigellinus took counsel on this subject with Domitius Afer, and even with Seneca, though he hated him. Poppæa, who understood that the ruin of Nero would be her own sentence, took the opinion of her confidants and of Hebrew priests, for it had been admitted for years that she held the faith of Jehovah. Nero found his own methods, which, frequently terrible, were more frequently foolish, and fell now into terror, now into childish delight, but above all he complained.
Others were discussing among themselves how to avoid the danger, as it was no secret that if there was an outburst that took Caesar away, not one of the Augustians would escape, except maybe Petronius. They were blamed for Nero's madness and for all the crimes he committed. The hatred for them almost exceeded that for Nero himself. So, some began to work to distance themselves from the responsibility for the city's burning. But to clear themselves, they also had to clear Caesar from suspicion, or no one would believe they weren’t behind the disaster. Tigellinus consulted on this matter with Domitius Afer and even with Seneca, despite his dislike for him. Poppæa, who realized that Nero's downfall would mean her own doom, sought the opinion of her confidants and some Hebrew priests, as it had been known for years that she followed the faith of Jehovah. Nero came up with his own methods, which were often terrible but more often foolish, and he fluctuated between terror and childish delight, but above all, he complained.
On a time a long and fruitless consultation was held in the house of Tiberius, which had survived the fire. Petronius thought it best to leave troubles, go to Greece, thence to Egypt and Asia Minor. The journey had been planned long before; why defer it, when in Rome were sadness and danger?
Once, there was a long and unproductive meeting at Tiberius's house, which had survived the fire. Petronius thought it would be better to avoid the troubles in Rome and head to Greece, then to Egypt and Asia Minor. The trip had been planned long ago; why put it off when Rome was filled with sadness and danger?
Cæsar accepted the counsel with eagerness; but Seneca when he had thought awhile, said,—
Cæsar eagerly accepted the advice; however, after thinking for a moment, Seneca said,—
“It is easy to go, but it would be more difficult to return.”
“It’s easy to leave, but it would be harder to come back.”
“By Heracles!” replied Petronius, “we may return at the head of Asiatic legions.”
“By Heracles!” Petronius exclaimed, “we could come back leading the Asian legions.”
“This will I do!” exclaimed Nero.
“This I will do!” shouted Nero.
But Tigellinus opposed. He could discover nothing himself, and if the arbiter’s idea had come to his own head he would beyond doubt have declared it the saving one; but with him the question was that Petronius might not be a second time the only man who in difficult moments could rescue all and every one.
But Tigellinus disagreed. He couldn’t figure anything out himself, and if the arbiter’s idea had occurred to him, he definitely would have claimed it as the brilliant solution; but for him, the issue was that Petronius shouldn’t be the only person who could save everyone in tough situations a second time.
“Hear me, divinity,” said he, “this advice is destructive! Before thou art at Ostia a civil war will break out; who knows but one of the surviving collateral descendants of the divine Augustus will declare himself Cæsar, and what shall we do if the legions take his side?”
“Hear me, God,” he said, “this advice is dangerous! Before you reach Ostia, a civil war will start; who knows, maybe one of the surviving descendants of the divine Augustus will claim the title of Cæsar, and what will we do if the legions support him?”
“We shall try,” answered Nero, “that there be no descendants of Augustus. There are not many now; hence it is easy to rid ourselves of them.”
“We’ll try,” Nero replied, “to ensure there are no descendants of Augustus. There aren’t many left; so it’s easy to get rid of them.”
“It is possible to do so, but is it a question of them alone? No longer ago than yesterday my people heard in the crowd that a man like Thrasea should be Cæsar.”
“It’s possible to do that, but is it just up to them? Just yesterday, my people heard in the crowd that someone like Thrasea should be Caesar.”
Nero bit his lips. After a while he raised his eyes and said: “Insatiable and thankless. They have grain enough, and they have coal on which to bake cakes; what more do they want?”
Nero bit his lips. After a while, he looked up and said, “Never satisfied and ungrateful. They have enough grain, and they have coal to bake bread; what more do they want?”
“Vengeance!” replied Tigellinus.
"Revenge!" replied Tigellinus.
Silence followed. Cæsar rose on a sudden, extended his hand, and began to declaim,—
Silence fell. Cæsar suddenly stood up, raised his hand, and started to speak—
“Hearts call for vengeance, and vengeance wants a victim.” Then, forgetting everything, he said, with radiant face: “Give me the tablet and stilus to write this line. Never could Lucan have composed the like. Have ye noticed that I found it in a twinkle?”
“Hearts seek revenge, and revenge demands a victim.” Then, forgetting everything, he said with a beaming face: “Hand me the tablet and stylus to write this line. Lucan could never have crafted something like this. Did you notice that I came up with it in an instant?”
“O incomparable!” exclaimed a number of voices. Nero wrote down the line, and said,—
“O incomparable!” several voices shouted. Nero noted down the line and said,—
“Yes, vengeance wants a victim.” Then he cast a glance on those around him. “But if we spread the report that Vatinius gave command to burn the city, and devote him to the anger of the people?”
“Yes, revenge needs a target.” Then he looked at the people around him. “But what if we spread the rumor that Vatinius ordered the city to be burned, and turn the people's rage against him?”
“O divinity! Who am I?” exclaimed Vatmius.
“O divine one! Who am I?” exclaimed Vatmius.
“True! One more important than thou is demanded. Is it Vitelius?”
“That's true! Someone more important than you is needed. Is it Vitelius?”
Vitelius grew pale, but began to laugh.
Vitelius turned pale but started to laugh.
“My fat,” answered he, “might start the fire again.”
"My fat," he replied, "might reignite the fire."
But Nero had something else on his mind; in his soul he was looking for a victim who might really satisfy the people’s anger, and he found him.
But Nero had something else on his mind; deep down, he was searching for a victim who could truly appease the people's anger, and he found him.
“Tigellinus,” said he after a while, “it was thou who didst burn Rome!” A shiver ran through those present. They understood that Cæsar had ceased to jest this time, and that a moment had come which was pregnant with events.
“Tigellinus,” he said after a moment, “it was you who burned Rome!” A chill ran through those present. They realized that Caesar was no longer joking and that a moment had arrived filled with significance.
The face of Tigellinus was wrinkled, like the lips of a dog about to bite.
The face of Tigellinus was wrinkled, like the lips of a dog ready to snap.
“I burnt Rome at thy command!” said he.
“I burned Rome at your command!” he said.
And the two glared at each other like a pair of devils. Such silence followed that the buzzing of flies was heard as they flew through the atrium.
And the two stared at each other like a couple of demons. The silence that ensued was so thick that you could hear the buzzing of flies as they flew through the atrium.
“Tigellinus,” said Nero, “dost thou love me?”
“Tigellinus,” said Nero, “do you love me?”
“Thou knowest, lord.”
"You know, my lord."
“Sacrifice thyself for me.”
"Sacrifice yourself for me."
“O divine Cæsar,” answered Tigellinus, “why present the sweet cup which I may not raise to my lips? The people are muttering and rising; dost thou wish the pretorians also to rise?”
“O divine Caesar,” Tigellinus replied, “why offer me the sweet cup that I can't raise to my lips? The people are grumbling and getting restless; do you want the pretorians to rise up too?”
A feeling of terror pressed the hearts of those present. Tigellinus was pretorian prefect, and his words had the direct meaning of a threat. Nero himself understood this, and his face became pallid.
A sense of dread weighed on everyone there. Tigellinus was the head of the praetorian guard, and his words clearly implied a threat. Nero realized this too, and his face turned pale.
At that moment Epaphroditus, Cæsar’s freedman, entered, announcing that the divine Augusta wished to see Tigellinus, as there were people in her apartments whom the prefect ought to hear.
At that moment, Epaphroditus, Caesar’s freedman, walked in and announced that the divine Augusta wanted to see Tigellinus because there were people in her chambers that the prefect needed to hear.
Tigellinus bowed to Cæsar, and went out with a face calm and contemptuous. Now, when they had wished to strike him, he had shown his teeth; he had made them understand who he was, and, knowing Nero’s cowardice, he was confident that that ruler of the world would never dare to raise a hand against him.
Tigellinus bowed to Caesar and left with a calm, contemptuous expression. Now, when they had tried to attack him, he had shown his teeth; he had made them realize who he was, and knowing Nero's cowardice, he was sure that the ruler of the world would never dare to lay a hand on him.
Nero sat in silence for a moment; then, seeing that those present expected some answer, he said,—
Nero sat quietly for a moment; then, noticing that everyone around him was waiting for a response, he said,—
“I have reared a serpent in my bosom.”
“I have raised a snake in my heart.”
Petronius shrugged his shoulders, as if to say that it was not difficult to pluck the head from such a serpent.
Petronius shrugged his shoulders, as if to say that it wasn’t hard to take the head off such a serpent.
“What wilt thou say? Speak, advise!” exclaimed Nero, noticing this motion. “I trust in thee alone, for thou hast more sense than all of them, and thou lovest me.”
“What will you say? Speak, give me your advice!” exclaimed Nero, noticing this motion. “I trust in you alone, because you have more sense than all of them, and you love me.”
Petronius had the following on his lips: “Make me pretorian prefect, I will deliver Tigellinus to the people, and pacify the city in a day.” But his innate slothfulness prevailed. To be prefect meant to bear on his shoulder’s Cæsar’s person and also thousands of public affairs. And why should he perform that labor? Was it not better to read poetry in his splendid library, look at vases and statues, or hold to his breast the divine body of Eunice, twining her golden hair through his fingers, and inclining his lips to her coral mouth? Hence he said,—
Petronius had the following on his lips: “Make me the captain of the guard, and I'll hand Tigellinus over to the people and calm the city in a day.” But his natural laziness won out. Being captain meant carrying the burden of Caesar's presence and managing countless public matters. Why should he take on that work? Wasn’t it better to read poetry in his beautiful library, admire vases and statues, or hold the divine body of Eunice close, twirling her golden hair between his fingers and leaning in to kiss her coral lips? So he said,—
“I advise the journey to Achæa.”
“I recommend the trip to Achaea.”
“Ah!” answered Nero, “I looked for something more from thee. The Senate hates me. If I depart, who will guarantee that it will not revolt and proclaim some one else Cæsar? The people have been faithful to me so far, but now they will follow the Senate. By Hades! if that Senate and that people had one head!—”
“Ah!” replied Nero, “I expected more from you. The Senate hates me. If I leave, who’s to say they won’t rebel and declare someone else as Caesar? The people have been loyal to me so far, but now they’ll side with the Senate. By Hades! if only that Senate and those people had one head!”
“Permit me to say, O divinity, that if thou desire to save Rome, there is need to save even a few Romans,” remarked Petronius, with a smile.
“Let me say, O divine one, that if you want to save Rome, you need to save even a few Romans,” Petronius said with a smile.
“What care I for Rome and Romans?” complained Nero. “I should be obeyed in Achæa. Here only treason surrounds me. All desert me, and ye are making ready for treason. I know it, I know it. Ye do not even imagine what future ages will say of you if ye desert such an artist as I am.”
“What do I care for Rome and the Romans?” Nero complained. “I should be followed in Achæa. Here, only betrayal surrounds me. Everyone is abandoning me, and you are preparing for treason. I know it, I know it. You don’t even realize what future generations will say about you if you turn your back on an artist like me.”
Here he tapped his forehead on a sudden, and cried,—
Here he suddenly tapped his forehead and exclaimed,—
“True! Amid these cares even I forget who I am.”
“True! With all these worries, I even forget who I am.”
Then he turned to Petronius with a radiant face.
Then he turned to Petronius with a bright smile.
“Petronius,” said he, “the people murmur; but if I take my lute and go to the Campus Martius, if I sing that song to them which I sang during the conflagration, dost thou not think that I will move them, as Orpheus moved wild beasts?”
"Petronius," he said, "people are grumbling; but if I grab my lute and head to the Campus Martius, if I sing that song I performed during the fire, don’t you think I’ll move them, just like Orpheus moved wild animals?"
To this Tullius Senecio, who was impatient to return to his slave women brought in from Antium, and who had been impatient a long time, replied,—
To this, Tullius Senecio, who was eager to get back to his slave women brought in from Antium and had been waiting for a long time, replied,—
“Beyond doubt, O Cæsar, if they permit thee to begin.”
“Without a doubt, O Cæsar, if they let you start.”
“Let us go to Hellas!” cried Nero, with disgust.
“Let’s go to Greece!” Nero exclaimed, filled with disgust.
But at that moment Poppæa appeared, and with her Tigellinis. The eyes of those present turned to him unconsciously, for never had triumphator ascended the Capitol with pride such as his when he stood before Cæsar. He began to speak slowly and with emphasis, in tones through which the bite of iron, as it were, was heard,—
But at that moment, Poppæa showed up, along with Tigellinus. Everyone in the room turned their eyes to him without thinking, because no triumphator had ever approached the Capitol with such pride as he did when he stood before Caesar. He began to speak slowly and forcefully, with a tone that had a sharp edge to it, as if you could almost hear the bite of iron.
“Listen. O Cæsar, for I can say: I have found! The people want vengeance, they want not one victim, but hundreds, thousands. Hast heard, lord, who Christos was,—he who was crucified by Pontius Pilate? And knowest thou who the Christians are? Have I not told thee of their crimes and foul ceremonies, of their predictions that fire would cause the end of the world? People hate and suspect them. No one has seen them in a temple at any time, for they consider our gods evil spirits; they are not in the Stadium, for they despise horse races. Never have the hands of a Christian done thee honor with plaudits. Never has one of them recognized thee as god. They are enemies of the human race, of the city, and of thee. The people murmur against thee; but thou hast given me no command to burn Rome, and I did not burn it. The people want vengeance; let them have it. The people want blood and games; let them have them. The people suspect thee; let their suspicion turn in another direction.”
“Listen, O Caesar, for I can say: I have found! The people want revenge; they don’t desire just one victim, but hundreds, thousands. Have you heard, my lord, who Christ was — he who was crucified by Pontius Pilate? And do you know who the Christians are? Haven't I told you about their crimes and filthy rituals, about their predictions that fire would bring about the end of the world? People hate and distrust them. No one has ever seen them in a temple, as they view our gods as evil spirits; they aren’t in the Stadium, since they look down on horse races. Never have a Christian's hands honored you with applause. None of them has acknowledged you as a god. They are enemies of humanity, the city, and of you. The people are grumbling against you; but you haven’t given me any command to burn Rome, and I didn’t burn it. The people want revenge; let them have it. The people want blood and games; let them have those. The people are suspicious of you; let their suspicions turn elsewhere.”
Nero listened with amazement at first; but as Tigellinus proceeded, his actor’s face changed, and assumed in succession expressions of anger, sorrow, sympathy, indignation. Suddenly he rose, and, casting off the toga, which dropped at his feet, he raised both hands and stood silent for a time. At last he said, in the tones of a tragedian,—
Nero listened in amazement at first, but as Tigellinus went on, his actor’s face changed, showing different expressions of anger, sadness, sympathy, and outrage. Suddenly, he got up, threw off his toga, which fell at his feet, raised both hands, and stood silent for a while. Finally, he spoke in the voice of a dramatic actor,—
“O Zeus, Apollo, Here, Athene, Persephone, and all ye immortals! why did ye not come to aid us? What has this hapless city done to those cruel wretches that they burnt it so inhumanly?”
“O Zeus, Apollo, Hera, Athena, Persephone, and all you immortals! Why didn’t you come to help us? What has this unfortunate city done to those cruel wretches that they burned it down so inhumanely?”
“They are enemies of mankind and of thee,” said Poppæa.
“They are enemies of humanity and of you,” said Poppæa.
“Do justice!” cried others. “Punish the incendiaries! The gods themselves call for vengeance!”
"Do what's right!" shouted others. "Punish the arsonists! Even the gods are demanding payback!"
Nero sat down, dropped his head to his breast, and was silent a second time, as if stunned by the wickedness of which he had heard. But after a while he shook his hands, and said,—
Nero sat down, lowered his head to his chest, and fell silent again, as if shocked by the evil he had heard about. But after a moment, he shook his hands and said,—
“What punishments, what tortures befit such a crime? But the gods will inspire me, and, aided by the powers of Tartarus, I will give my poor people such a spectacle that they will remember me for ages with gratitude.”
“What punishments and tortures fit such a crime? But the gods will inspire me, and with the help of the powers of Tartarus, I will give my poor people a spectacle they'll remember for ages with gratitude.”
The forehead of Petronius was covered with a sudden cloud. He thought of the danger hanging over Lygia and over Vinicius, whom he loved, and over all those people whose religion he rejected, but of whose innocence he was certain. He thought also that one of those bloody orgies would begin which his eyes, those of an æsthetic man, could not suffer. But above all he thought: “I must save Vinicius, who will go mad if that maiden perishes”; and this consideration outweighed every other, for Petronius understood well that he was beginning a game far more perilous than any in his life. He began, however, to speak freely and carelessly, as his wont was when criticising or ridiculing plans of Cæsar and the Augustians that were not sufficiently æsthetic,—
The sudden tension showed on Petronius’s forehead. He worried about the danger facing Lygia and Vinicius, whom he cared for, as well as all those people whose faith he dismissed but for whom he recognized their innocence. He also thought about the violent orgies that would start soon, which his sensitive nature couldn’t bear. But above all, he thought, “I have to save Vinicius; he’ll go crazy if that girl dies.” This concern outweighed everything else, as Petronius knew he was stepping into a game much riskier than anything he had faced before. Still, he began to speak freely and casually, as he usually did when criticizing or mocking the plans of Caesar and the Augustians that lacked enough aesthetic value—
“Ye have found victims! That is true. Ye may send them to the arena, or array them in ‘painful tunics.’ That is true also. But hear me! Ye have authority, ye have pretorians, ye have power; then be sincere, at least, when no one is listening! Deceive the people, but deceive not one another. Give the Christians to the populace, condemn them to any torture ye like; but have courage to say to yourselves that it was not they who burnt Rome. Phy! Ye call me ‘arbiter elegantiarum’; hence I declare to you that I cannot endure wretched comedies! Phy! how all this reminds me of the theatrical booths near the Porta Asinaria, in which actors play the parts of gods and kings to amuse the suburban rabble, and when the play is over wash down onions with sour wine, or get blows of clubs! Be gods and kings in reality; for I say that ye can permit yourselves the position! As to thee, O Cæsar, thou hast threatened us with the sentence of coming ages; but think, those ages will utter judgment concerning thee also. By the divine Clio! Nero, ruler of the world, Nero, a god, burnt Rome, because he was as powerful on earth as Zeus on Olympus,—Nero the poet loved poetry so much that he sacrificed to it his country! From the beginning of the world no one did the like, no one ventured on the like. I beseech thee in the name of the double-crowned Libethrides, renounce not such glory, for songs of thee will sound to the end of ages! What will Priam be when compared with thee; what Agamenmon; what Achilles; what the gods themselves? We need not say that the burning of Rome was good, but it was colossal and uncommon. I tell thee, besides, that the people will raise no hand against thee! It is not true that they will. Have courage; guard thyself against acts unworthy of thee,—for this alone threatens thee, that future ages may say, ‘Nero burned Rome; but as a timid Cæsar and a timid poet he denied the great deed out of fear, and cast the blame of it on the innocent!’”
“You’ve found victims! That’s true. You can send them to the arena or dress them in ‘painful tunics.’ That’s true too. But listen to me! You have authority, you have guards, you have power; so at least be honest when no one else is around! Fool the public, but don’t deceive each other. Hand the Christians over to the crowds and condemn them to whatever tortures you want; but have the guts to admit to yourselves that they didn’t burn Rome. Ugh! You call me ‘arbiter elegantiarum’; well, I have to say I can’t stand pathetic comedies! Ugh! This all reminds me of the little theaters near Porta Asinaria, where actors play gods and kings to entertain the local crowd, and when the play ends, they wash down their onions with sour wine or take blows from clubs! Be real gods and kings; I say you can handle that position! As for you, O Cæsar, you’ve threatened us with the judgment of future ages; but think about it, those ages will judge you too. By the divine Clio! Nero, ruler of the world, Nero, a god, burned Rome because he was as powerful on earth as Zeus on Olympus—Nero the poet loved poetry so much that he sacrificed his country for it! No one has ever done anything like that before; no one has dared! I beg you, in the name of the double-crowned Libethrides, don’t give up that kind of glory, because songs about you will echo through the ages! How will Priam compare to you? What about Agamemnon? What about Achilles? What about the gods themselves? We don’t need to say that the burning of Rome was good, but it was monumental and extraordinary. I also tell you that the people won’t raise a hand against you! That’s a lie. Be brave; protect yourself from actions unworthy of you—because what truly threatens you is that future ages might say, ‘Nero burned Rome; but as a cowardly Cæsar and a cowardly poet he denied the great act out of fear and shifted the blame onto the innocent!’”
The arbiter’s words produced the usual deep impression on Nero; but Petronius was not deceived as to this, that what he had said was a desperate means which in a fortunate event might save the Christians, it is true, but might still more easily destroy himself. He had not hesitated, however, for it was a question at once of Vinicius whom he loved, and of hazard with which he amused himself. “The dice are thrown,” said he to himself, “and we shall see how far fear for his own life outweighs in the monkey his love of glory.”
The arbiter’s words had the usual strong effect on Nero; however, Petronius saw clearly that what he had said was a desperate measure that could, if luck was on their side, save the Christians, but could also just as easily lead to his own ruin. Still, he didn’t hesitate, as it was about Vinicius, whom he loved, and the risky situation that he found entertaining. “The dice have been rolled,” he thought to himself, “and we’ll see if his fear for his own life surpasses his desire for glory.”
And in his soul he had no doubt that fear would outweigh.
And deep down, he was sure that fear would win out.
Meanwhile silence fell after his words. Poppæa and all present were looking at Nero’s eyes as at a rainbow. He began to raise his lips, drawing them to his very nostrils, as was his custom when he knew not what to do; at last disgust and trouble were evident on his features.
Meanwhile, silence fell after his words. Poppæa and everyone present were staring into Nero's eyes like they were a rainbow. He started to lift his lips, pulling them up to his nostrils, which was his usual reaction when he didn’t know what to do; eventually, disgust and confusion became clear on his face.
“Lord,” cried Tigellinus, on noting this, “permit me to go; for when people wish to expose thy person to destruction, and call thee, besides, a cowardly Cæsar, a cowardly poet, an incendiary, and a comedian, my ears cannot suffer such expressions!”
“Lord,” shouted Tigellinus, noticing this, “please let me go; because when people want to put you in danger and call you a cowardly Caesar, a cowardly poet, a firestarter, and a joker, I can't stand to hear that!”
“I have lost,” thought Petronius. But turning to Tigellinus, he measured him with a glance in which was that contempt for a ruffian which is felt by a great lord who is an exquisite.
“I have lost,” thought Petronius. But turning to Tigellinus, he sized him up with a glance that showed the contempt for a thug that a refined nobleman feels.
“Tigellinus,” said he, “it was thou whom I called a comedian; for thou art one at this very moment.”
“Tigellinus,” he said, “you're the one I called a comedian; because you’re acting like one right now.”
“Is it because I will not listen to thy insults?”
“Is it because I won't listen to your insults?”
“It is because thou art feigning boundless love for Cæsar,—thou who a short while since wert threatening him with pretorians, which we all understood as did he!”
“It’s because you’re pretending to have endless love for Caesar— you, who just a little while ago were threatening him with your guards, which we all understood, just like he did!”
Tigellinus, who had not thought Petronius sufficiently daring to throw dice such as those on the table, turned pale, lost his head, and was speechless. This was, however, the last victory of the arbiter over his rival, for that moment Poppæa said,—
Tigellinus, who didn't think Petronius was bold enough to roll dice like those on the table, turned pale, panicked, and couldn't speak. However, this was the final win for the arbiter over his rival, for at that moment Poppæa said,—
“Lord, how permit that such a thought should even pass through the head of any one, and all the more that any one should venture to express it aloud in thy presence!”
“Lord, how can you allow such a thought to even cross anyone's mind, and especially that someone would dare to say it out loud in your presence!”
“Punish the insolent!” exclaimed Vitelius.
"Punish the disrespectful!" exclaimed Vitelius.
Nero raised his lips again to his nostrils, and, turning his near-sighted, glassy eyes on Petronius, said,—
Nero lifted his lips to his nostrils once more and, turning his near-sighted, glassy eyes to Petronius, said,—
“Is this the way thou payest me for the friendship which I had for thee?”
“Is this how you repay me for the friendship I had for you?”
“If I am mistaken, show me my error,” said Petronius; “but know that I speak that which love for thee dictates.”
“If I'm wrong, point out my mistake,” said Petronius; “but understand that I'm speaking what my love for you tells me.”
“Punish the insolent!” repeated Vitelius.
“Punish the disrespectful!” repeated Vitelius.
“Punish!” called a number of voices.
“Punish!” shouted several voices.
In the atrium there was a murmur and a movement, for people began to withdraw from Petronius. Even Tullius Senecio, his constant companion at the court, pushed away, as did young Nerva, who had shown him hitherto the greatest friendship. After a while Petronius was alone on the left side of the atrium, with a smile on his lips; and gathering with his hands the folds of his toga, he waited yet for what Cæsar would say or do.
In the atrium, there was a quiet buzz and people started to pull away from Petronius. Even Tullius Senecio, his constant companion at court, stepped back, as did young Nerva, who had shown him the most friendship until now. After a while, Petronius found himself alone on the left side of the atrium, a smile on his face; and gathering the folds of his toga with his hands, he continued to wait for what Cæsar would say or do.
“Ye wish me to punish him” said Cæsar; “but he is my friend and comrade. Though he has wounded my heart, let him know that for friends this heart has naught but forgiveness.”
"Do you want me to punish him?" said Caesar; "but he is my friend and companion. Even though he has hurt me, he should know that this heart has nothing but forgiveness for friends."
“I have lost, and am ruined,” thought Petronius.
"I've lost everything and I'm done for," thought Petronius.
Meanwhile Cæsar rose, and the consultation was ended.
Meanwhile, Caesar got up, and the discussion was over.
Chapter XLIX
PETRONIUS went home. Nero and Tigellinus went to Poppæa’s atrium, where they were expected by people with whom the prefect had spoken already.
PETRONIUS went home. Nero and Tigellinus went to Poppæa’s atrium, where they were expected by people the prefect had already spoken to.
There were two Trans-Tiber rabbis in long solemn robes and mitred, a young copyist, their assistant, together with Chilo. At sight of Cæsar the priests grew pale from emotion, and, raising their hands an arm’s length, bent their heads to his hands.
There were two Trans-Tiber rabbis in long, serious robes and miters, a young copyist, their assistant, along with Chilo. When they saw Caesar, the priests turned pale with emotion and, raising their hands to shoulder level, bowed their heads towards his hands.
“Be greeted, O ruler of the earth, guardian of the chosen people, and Cæsar, lion among men, whose reign is like sunlight, like the cedar of Lebanon, like a spring, like a palm, like the balsam of Jericho.”
“Greetings, O ruler of the earth, protector of the chosen people, and Caesar, lion among men, whose reign is like sunlight, like the cedar of Lebanon, like a spring, like a palm, like the balsam of Jericho.”
“Do ye refuse to call me god?” inquired Nero.
“Do you refuse to call me god?” Nero asked.
The priests grew still paler. The chief one spoke again,—
The priests became even paler. The chief one spoke again,—
“Thy words, O lord, are as sweet as a cluster of grapes, as a ripe fig,—for Jehovah filled thy heart with goodness! Thy father’s predecessor, Cæsar Caius, was stern; still our envoys did not call him god, preferring death itself to violation of the law.”
“Your words, O Lord, are as sweet as a bunch of grapes and a ripe fig—because Jehovah has filled your heart with goodness! Your father’s predecessor, Caesar Caius, was strict; yet our envoys didn't call him a god, choosing death itself over breaking the law.”
“And did not Caligula give command to throw them to the lions?”
“And didn’t Caligula order them to be thrown to the lions?”
“No, lord; Cæsar Caius feared Jehovah’s anger.”
“No, my lord; Caesar Caius feared the wrath of God.”
And they raised their heads, for the name of the powerful Jehovah gave them courage; confident in his might, they looked into Nero’s eyes with more boldness.
And they lifted their heads, for the name of the mighty Jehovah gave them courage; confident in his strength, they looked into Nero's eyes with greater boldness.
“Do ye accuse the Christians of burning Rome?” inquired Cæsar. “We, lord, accuse them of this alone,—that they are enemies of the law, of the human race, of Rome, and of thee; that long since they have threatened the city and the world with fire! The rest will be told thee by this man, whose lips are unstained by a lie, for in his mother’s veins flowed the blood of the chosen people.”
“Do you accuse the Christians of burning Rome?” asked Caesar. “We, lord, accuse them of this alone—that they are enemies of the law, of humanity, of Rome, and of you; that long ago they threatened the city and the world with fire! The rest will be explained by this man, whose lips are not tainted by a lie, for in his mother’s veins flowed the blood of the chosen people.”
Nero turned to Chilo: “Who art thou?”
Nero turned to Chilo, “Who are you?”
“One who honors thee, O Cyrus; and, besides, a poor Stoic-”
"One who honors you, O Cyrus; and, besides, a poor Stoic-"
“I hate the Stoics,” said Nero. “I hate Thrasea; I hate Musonius and Cornutus. Their speech is repulsive to me; their contempt for art, their voluntary squalor and filth.”
“I hate the Stoics,” said Nero. “I hate Thrasea; I hate Musonius and Cornutus. Their way of speaking disgusts me; their disdain for art, their choice to live in squalor and filth.”
“O lord, thy master Seneca has one thousand tables of citrus wood. At thy wish I will have twice as many. I am a Stoic from necessity. Dress my stoicism, O Radiant One, in a garland of roses, put a pitcher of wine before it; it will sing Anacreon in such strains as to deafen every Epicurean.”
“O Lord, your master Seneca has one thousand citrus wood tables. If that’s what you want, I’ll have twice as many. I’m a Stoic out of necessity. Adorn my stoicism, O Radiant One, with a garland of roses, set a pitcher of wine in front of it; it will sing Anacreon in such a way that it will drown out every Epicurean.”
Nero, who was pleased by the title “Radiant,” smiled and said,-“Thou dost please me.”
Nero, who liked the title "Radiant," smiled and said, "You make me happy."
“This man is worth his weight in gold!” cried Tigellinus.
“This guy is worth his weight in gold!” shouted Tigellinus.
“Put thy liberality with my weight,” answered Chilo, “or the wind will blow my reward away.”
“Put your generosity with my worth,” answered Chilo, “or the wind will blow my reward away.”
“He would not outweigh Vitelius,” put in Cæsar.
“He wouldn’t outweigh Vitelius,” said Caesar.
“Eheu! Silver-bowed, my wit is not of lead.”
“Alas! With my silver bow, my intellect is sharp, not dull.”
“I see that thy faith does not hinder thee from calling me a god.”
“I see that your faith doesn’t stop you from calling me a god.”
“O Immortal! My faith is in thee; the Christians blaspheme against that faith, and I hate them.”
“O Immortal! I believe in you; the Christians speak against that belief, and I despise them.”
“What dost thou know of the Christians?”
“What do you know about the Christians?”
“Wilt thou permit me to weep, O divinity?”
“Will you let me cry, oh deity?”
“No,” answered Nero; “weeping annoys me.”
“No,” Nero replied, “crying annoys me.”
“Thou art triply right, for eyes that have seen thee should be free of tears forever. O lord, defend me against my enemies.”
"You are completely right, because eyes that have seen you should be free of tears forever. Oh lord, protect me from my enemies."
“Speak of the Christians,” said Poppæa, with a shade of impatience.
“Talk about the Christians,” said Poppæa, with a hint of impatience.
“It will be at thy command, O Isis,” answered Chilo. “From youth I devoted myself to philosophy, and sought truth. I sought it among the ancient divine sages, in the Academy at Athens, and in the Serapeum at Alexandria. When I heard of the Christians, I judged that they formed some new school in which I could find certain kernels of truth; and to my misfortune I made their acquaintance. The first Christian whom evil fate brought near me was one Glaucus, a physician of Naples. From him I learned in time that they worship a certain Chrestos, who promised to exterminate all people and destroy every city on earth, but to spare them if they helped him to exterminate the children of Deucalion. For this reason, O lady, they hate men, and poison fountains; for this reason in their assemblies they shower curses on Rome, and on all temples in which our gods are honored. Chrestos was crucified; but he promised that when Rome was destroyed by fire, he would come again and give Christians dominion over the world.”
"It will be at your command, O Isis," replied Chilo. "From a young age, I dedicated myself to philosophy and sought the truth. I looked for it among the wise sages of old, in the Academy in Athens, and in the Serapeum in Alexandria. When I heard about the Christians, I thought they were forming a new school where I could discover some truths; unfortunately, I got to know them. The first Christian I encountered, due to some cruel fate, was a man named Glaucus, a physician from Naples. From him, I eventually learned that they worship a certain Chrestos, who promised to wipe out all people and destroy every city on earth, but would spare them if they helped him eliminate the children of Deucalion. For this reason, O lady, they hate mankind and poison water sources; for this reason, in their gatherings, they curse Rome and all the temples where our gods are honored. Chrestos was crucified, but he promised that when Rome was destroyed by fire, he would return and grant Christians power over the world."
“People will understand now why Rome was destroyed,” interrupted Tigellinus.
"People will understand now why Rome was destroyed," Tigellinus interrupted.
“Many understand that already, O lord, for I go about in the gardens, I go to the Campus Martius, and teach. But if ye listen to the end, ye will know my reasons for vengeance. Glaucus the physician did not reveal to me at first that their religion taught hatred. On the contrary, he told me that Chrestos was a good divinity, that the basis of their religion was love. My sensitive heart could not resist such a truth; hence I took to loving Glaucus, I trusted him, I shared every morsel of bread with him, every copper coin, and dost thou know, lady, how he repaid me? On the road from Naples to Rome he thrust a knife into my body, and my wife, the beautiful and youthful Berenice, he sold to a slave-merchant. If Sophocles knew my history—but what do I say? One better than Sophocles is listening.”
“Many people already understand this, my lord, because I go around the gardens, I visit the Campus Martius, and I teach. But if you listen until the end, you'll understand my reasons for revenge. Glaucus the physician didn't tell me at first that their religion preached hatred. On the contrary, he told me that Chrestos was a good god, and that love was the foundation of their faith. My sensitive heart couldn't resist such a truth; so I grew to love Glaucus, I trusted him, I shared every piece of bread and every coin with him, and do you know, lady, how he repaid me? On the road from Naples to Rome, he stabbed me, and my wife, the beautiful and young Berenice, he sold to a slave trader. If Sophocles knew my story—but what am I saying? Someone even greater than Sophocles is listening.”
“Poor man!” said Poppæa.
"Poor guy!" said Poppæa.
“Whoso has seen the face of Aphrodite is not poor, lady; and I see it at this moment. But then I sought consolation in philosophy. When I came to Rome, I tried to meet Christian elders to obtain justice against Glaucus. I thought that they would force him to yield up my wife. I became acquainted with their chief priest; I became acquainted with another, named Paul, who was in prison in this city, but was liberated afterward; I became acquainted with the son of Zebedee, with Linus and Clitus and many others. I know where they lived before the fire, I know where they meet. I can point out one excavation in the Vatican Hill and a cemetery beyond the Nomentan Gate, where they celebrate their shameless ceremonies. I saw the Apostle Peter. I saw how Glaucus killed children, so that the Apostle might have something to sprinkle on the heads of those present; and I saw Lygia, the foster-child of Pomponia Græcina, who boasted that though unable to bring the blood of an infant, she brought the death of an infant, for she bewitched the little Augusta, thy daughter, O Cyrus, and thine, O Isis!”
“Whoever has seen the face of Aphrodite is not poor, lady; and I see it right now. But back then, I looked for comfort in philosophy. When I got to Rome, I tried to connect with Christian leaders to seek justice against Glaucus. I thought they would force him to give back my wife. I met their chief priest; I got to know another one named Paul, who was imprisoned in this city but was released later; I met the son of Zebedee, Linus, Clitus, and many others. I know where they lived before the fire, and I know where they gather. I can point out one excavation on Vatican Hill and a cemetery beyond the Nomentan Gate, where they hold their shameless ceremonies. I saw the Apostle Peter. I witnessed how Glaucus killed children so that the Apostle would have something to sprinkle on those present; and I saw Lygia, the foster-daughter of Pomponia Græcina, who bragged that, although she couldn’t bring the blood of an infant, she brought about the death of a child because she cursed little Augusta, your daughter, O Cyrus, and yours, O Isis!”
“Dost hear, Cæsar?” asked Poppæa.
“Do you hear, Caesar?” asked Poppæa.
“Can that be!” exclaimed Nero.
"Can that be?!" exclaimed Nero.
“I could forgive wrongs done myself,” continued Chilo, “but when I heard of yours, I wanted to stab her. Unfortunately I was stopped by the noble Vinicius, who loves her.”
“I could forgive wrongs done to me,” continued Chilo, “but when I heard about yours, I wanted to stab her. Unfortunately, I was stopped by the noble Vinicius, who loves her.”
“Vinicius? But did she not flee from him?”
“Vinicius? But didn’t she run away from him?”
“She fled, but he made search for her; he could not exist without her. For wretched pay I helped him in the search, and it was I who pointed out to him the house in which she lived among the Christians in the Trans-Tiber. We went there together, and with us thy wrestler Croton, whom the noble Vinicius hired to protect him. But Ursus, Lygia’s slave, crushed Croton. That is a man of dreadful strength, O Lord, who can break a bull’s neck as easily as another might a poppy stalk. Aulus and Pomponia loved him because of that.”
“She ran away, but he looked for her; he couldn’t live without her. For miserable pay, I helped him search, and I was the one who showed him the house where she lived among the Christians across the Tiber. We went there together, along with your wrestler Croton, whom the noble Vinicius hired for protection. But Ursus, Lygia’s slave, overpowered Croton. That guy is incredibly strong, Lord, able to snap a bull’s neck as easily as someone else might snap a poppy stalk. Aulus and Pomponia admired him because of that.”
“By Hercules,” said Nero, “the mortal who crushed Croton deserves a statue in the Forum. But, old man, thou art mistaken or art inventing, for Vinicius killed Croton with a knife.”
“By Hercules,” Nero said, “the guy who took down Croton deserves a statue in the Forum. But, old man, you’re either mistaken or making things up, because Vinicius killed Croton with a knife.”
“That is how people calumniate the gods. O lord, I myself saw Croton’s ribs breaking in the arms of Ursus, who rushed then on Vinicius and would have killed him but for Lygia. Vinicius was ill for a long time after that but they nursed him in the hope that through love he would become a Christian. In fact, he did become a Christian.”
“That’s how people slander the gods. Oh lord, I actually saw Croton’s ribs breaking in Ursus’s arms, who then charged at Vinicius and would have killed him if it weren’t for Lygia. Vinicius was sick for a long time after that, but they took care of him hoping that through love he would become a Christian. And he did become a Christian.”
“Vinicius?”
“Vinicius?”
“Yes.”
“Yeah.”
“And, perhaps, Petronius too?” inquired Tigellinus, hurriedly.
“Maybe Petronius as well?” Tigellinus asked quickly.
Chilo squirmed, rubbed his hands, and said,—
Chilo fidgeted, rubbed his hands, and said,—
“I admire thy penetration, O lord. He may have become one! He may very well have become one.”
“I admire your insight, my lord. He might have become one! He very well might have become one.”
“Now I understand why he defended the Christians.”
“Now I get why he stood up for the Christians.”
Nero laughed: “Petronius a Christian! Petronius an enemy of life and luxury! Be not foolish; do not ask me to believe that, since I am ready not to believe anything.”
Nero laughed: “Petronius a Christian! Petronius an enemy of life and luxury! Don’t be ridiculous; don’t ask me to believe that, because I’m not ready to believe anything.”
“But the noble Vinicius became a Christian, lord. I swear by that radiance which comes from thee that I speak the truth, and that nothing pierces me with such disgust as lying. Pomponia Græcina is a Christian, little Aulus is a Christian, Lygia is a Christian, and so is Vinicius. I served him faithfully, and in return, at the desire of Glaucus the physician, he gave command to flog me, though I am old and was sick and hungry. And I have sworn by Hades that I will not forget that for him. O lord, avenge my wrongs on them, and I will deliver to thee Peter the Apostle and Linus and Clitus and Glaucus and Crispus, the highest ones, and Lygia and Ursus. I will point out hundreds of them to you, thousands; I will indicate their houses of prayer, the cemeteries, all thy prisons will not hold them! Without me ye could not find them. In misfortunes I have sought consolation; hitherto in philosophy alone, now I will find it in favors that will descend on me. I am old, and have not known life; let me begin.”
"But the noble Vinicius has become a Christian, my lord. I swear by the light that comes from you that I speak the truth, and nothing fills me with more disgust than lying. Pomponia Græcina is a Christian, little Aulus is a Christian, Lygia is a Christian, and so is Vinicius. I served him faithfully, and in return, at the request of Glaucus the physician, he ordered me to be flogged, even though I'm old and was sick and hungry. And I have sworn by Hades that I won't forget that for him. O lord, avenge my wrongs against them, and I will hand over to you Peter the Apostle, Linus, Clitus, Glaucus, and Crispus, the highest among them, along with Lygia and Ursus. I will point out hundreds, thousands of them to you; I'll show you their places of worship, the cemeteries; all your prisons couldn't hold them! Without me, you couldn't find them. In my misfortunes, I've sought comfort; until now, only in philosophy, but now I will find it in the favors that will come to me. I'm old and haven't really experienced life; let me begin."
“It is thy wish to be a Stoic before a full plate,” said Nero.
“It’s your wish to be a Stoic before a full plate,” said Nero.
“Whoso renders service to thee will fill it by that same.”
“Whoever serves you will be repaid in kind.”
“Thou art not mistaken, O philosopher.”
"You are not mistaken, O philosopher."
But Poppæa did not forget her enemies. Her fancy for Vinicius was, indeed, rather a momentary whim, which had risen under the influence of jealousy, anger, and wounded vanity. Still the coolness of the young patrician touched her deeply, and filled her heart with a stubborn feeling of offence. This alone, that he had dared to prefer another, seemed to her a crime calling for vengeance. As to Lygia, she hated her from the first moment, when the beauty of that northern lily alarmed her. Petronius, who spoke of the too narrow hips of the girl, might talk what he pleased into Cæsar, but not into the Augusta. Poppæa the critic understood at one cast of the eye that in all Rome Lygia alone could rival and even surpass her. Thenceforth she vowed her ruin.
But Poppæa didn’t forget her enemies. Her attraction to Vinicius was really just a passing whim, brought on by jealousy, anger, and hurt pride. However, the indifference of the young patrician affected her deeply and filled her heart with a stubborn sense of offense. The mere fact that he had dared to choose someone else felt like a crime that needed revenge. As for Lygia, she hated her from the very first moment when the beauty of that northern lily unsettled her. Petronius, who joked about the girl’s too narrow hips, could say whatever he liked to Caesar, but not to Augusta. Poppæa the critic realized instantly that in all of Rome, Lygia was the only one who could rival and even surpass her. From that point on, she swore to bring about her downfall.
“Lord,” said she, “avenge our child.”
“Lord,” she said, “take revenge for our child.”
“Hasten!” cried Chilo, “hasten! Otherwise Vinicius will hide her. I will point out the house to which she returned after the fire.”
“Hurry!” yelled Chilo, “hurry! Otherwise Vinicius will keep her hidden. I’ll show you the house she went back to after the fire.”
“I will give thee ten men, and go this moment,” said Tigellinus.
“I'll give you ten men and go right now,” said Tigellinus.
“O lord! thou hast not seen Croton in the arms of Ursus; if thou wilt give fifty men, I will only show the house from a distance. But if ye will not imprison Vinicius, I am lost.”
“O Lord! You haven't seen Croton in Ursus's arms; if you give me fifty men, I will only show the house from a distance. But if you won’t imprison Vinicius, I'm done for.”
Tigellinus looked at Nero. “Would it not be well, O divinity, to finish at once with the uncle and nephew?”
Tigellinus looked at Nero. “Wouldn't it be a good idea, your Majesty, to deal with the uncle and nephew once and for all?”
Nero thought a moment and answered,—
Nero paused for a moment and replied,—
“No, not now. People would not believe us if we tried to persuade them that Petronius, Vinicius, or Pomponia Græcina had fired Rome. Their houses were too beautiful. Their turn will come later; to-day other victims are needed.”
“No, not now. People wouldn't believe us if we tried to convince them that Petronius, Vinicius, or Pomponia Græcina had set Rome on fire. Their homes were too beautiful. Their time will come later; today other victims are needed.”
“Then, O lord, give me soldiers as a guard,” said Chilo.
“Then, oh lord, give me soldiers for protection,” said Chilo.
“See to this, Tigellinus.”
"Take care of this, Tigellinus."
“Thou wilt lodge meanwhile with me,” said the prefect to Chilo.
“Stay with me for now,” said the prefect to Chilo.
Delight beamed from the face of the Greek.
Delight shone on the Greek's face.
“I will give up all! only hasten!—hasten!” cried he, with a hoarse voice.
“I’ll give up everything! Just hurry!—hurry!” he shouted, his voice rough.
Chapter L
ON leaving Cæsar, Petronius had himself borne to his house on the Carinæ, which, being surrounded on three sides by a garden, and having in front the small Cecilian Forum, escaped the fire luckily. For this cause other Augustians, who had lost their houses and in them vast wealth and many works of art, called Petronius fortunate. For years it had been repeated that he was the first-born of Fortune, and Cæsar’s growing friendship in recent times seemed to confirm the correctness of this statement.
ON leaving Caesar, Petronius had himself carried to his house on the Carinae, which, surrounded on three sides by a garden and facing the small Cecilian Forum, fortunately escaped the fire. For this reason, other Augustians who had lost their homes along with substantial wealth and numerous pieces of art considered Petronius lucky. For years, people had said he was favored by Fortune, and Caesar’s increasing friendship with him lately seemed to support this claim.
But that first-born of Fortune might meditate now on the fickleness of his mother, or rather on her likeness to Chronos, who devoured his own children.
But that first-born of Fortune might think now about how unpredictable his mother is, or more accurately, how she resembles Chronos, who ate his own children.
“Were my house burnt,” said he to himself, “and with it my gems, Etruscan vases, Alexandrian glass, and Corinthian bronze, Nero might indeed have forgotten the offence. By Pollux! And to think that it depended on me alone to be pretorian prefect at this moment. I should proclaim Tigellinus the incendiary, which he is really; I should array him in the ‘painful tunic,’ and deliver him to the populace, protect the Christians, rebuild Rome. Who knows even if a better epoch would not begin thus for honest people? I ought to have taken the office, simply out of regard for Vinicius. In case of overwork I could have surrendered command to him, and Nero would not have even tried to resist. Then let Vinicius baptize all the pretorians, nay, Cæsar himself; what harm could that be to me? Nero pious, Nero virtuous and merciful,—this would be even an amusing spectacle.”
"If my house were burned down," he said to himself, "and with it my gems, Etruscan vases, Alexandrian glass, and Corinthian bronze, Nero might actually forget the offense. By Pollux! And to think it was up to me alone to be the pretorian prefect at this moment. I should accuse Tigellinus of arson, which he really is; I should put him in the 'painful tunic' and hand him over to the people, protect the Christians, and rebuild Rome. Who knows, maybe this could start a better era for honest people? I should have taken the position, simply out of respect for Vinicius. If things got too busy, I could have handed over command to him, and Nero wouldn’t have even tried to argue. Then let Vinicius baptize all the pretorians, even Caesar himself; what harm would that do to me? Nero the pious, Nero the virtuous and merciful—this would even be an entertaining sight."
And his carelessness was so great that he began to laugh. But after a time his thoughts turned in another direction. It seemed to him that he was in Antium; that Paul of Tarsus was saying to him, “Ye call us enemies of life, but answer me, Petronius: If Cæsar were a Christian, and acted according to our religion, would not life be safer and more certain?”
And he was so carefree that he started to laugh. But after a while, his thoughts shifted. It felt to him like he was in Antium, and Paul of Tarsus was saying to him, “You call us enemies of life, but answer me, Petronius: If Caesar were a Christian and followed our faith, wouldn’t life be safer and more assured?”
And remembering these words, he continued: “By Castor! No matter how many Christians they murder here, Paul will find as many new ones; for he is right, unless the world can rest on scoundrelism. But who knows that this will not be the case soon? I myself, who have learned not a little, did not learn how to be a great enough scoundrel; hence I shall have to open my veins. But in every case it must have ended thus, and if not thus, in some other way. I am sorry for Eunice and my Myrrhene vase; but Eunice is free, and the vase will go with me. Ahenobarbus will not get it, in any event! I am sorry also for Vinicius. But, though I was bored less of late than before, I am ready. In the world things are beautiful; but people are so vile for the greater part that life is not worth a regret. He who knew how to live should know how to die. Though I belong to the Augustians, I was freer than they supposed.” Here he shrugged his shoulders. “They may think that my knees are trembling at this moment, and that terror has raised the hair on my head; but on reaching home, I will take a bath in violet water, my golden-haired herself will anoint me; then after refreshment we will have sung to us that hymn to Apollo composed by Anthemios. I said once to myself that it was not worth while to think of death, for death thinks of us without our assistance. It would be a wonder if there are really Elysian fields, and in them shades of people. Eunice would come in time to me, and we should wander together over asphodel meadows. I should find, too, society better than this. What buffoons, tricksters, a vile herd without taste or polish! Tens of Arbiters Elegantiarum could not transform those Trimalchilons into decent people. By Persephone! I have had enough!”
And remembering these words, he continued: “By Castor! No matter how many Christians they kill here, Paul will find just as many new ones; he’s right, unless the world can depend on scoundrels. But who knows? That might become the case soon. I myself, who have learned quite a bit, didn’t learn how to be a ruthless enough scoundrel; so I’ll have to end it myself. But it must have ended this way in every case, or if not this way, in some other one. I feel bad for Eunice and my Myrrhene vase; but Eunice is free, and the vase will go with me. Ahenobarbus won’t get it, though! I also feel sorry for Vinicius. But even though I’ve been bored less lately than before, I’m ready. In the world, things are beautiful; but people are mostly so vile that life isn’t worth regretting. He who knows how to live should know how to die. Though I belong to the Augustians, I was freer than they thought.” Here he shrugged his shoulders. “They might think my knees are shaking right now, and that fear has raised the hair on my head; but when I get home, I’ll bathe in violet water, and my golden-haired one will anoint me; then after I refresh myself, we’ll hear Anthemios’s hymn to Apollo sung. I once told myself it wasn’t worth thinking about death, because death thinks about us without our help. It would be amazing if there really are Elysian fields, with shades of people. Eunice would eventually come to me, and we’d wander together over asphodel meadows. I’d find society much better than this. What clowns, tricksters, a shameful crowd with no taste or refinement! Not even a dozen Arbiters Elegantiarum could turn those Trimalchilons into decent people. By Persephone! I’ve had enough!”
And he noted with astonishment that something separated him from those people already. He had known them well earlier, and had known what to think of them; still they seemed to him now as farther away and more deserving of contempt than usual. Indeed, he had had enough of them!
And he was shocked to realize that something had already put a distance between him and those people. He had known them well before and had formed opinions about them; yet now, they seemed more distant and more worthy of contempt than ever. In fact, he was done with them!
But afterward he began to think over his position. Thanks to his acuteness, he knew that destruction was not threatening him directly. Nero had seized an appropriate occasion to utter a few select, lofty phrases about friendship and forgiveness, thus binding himself for the moment. “He will have to seek pretexts, and before he finds them much time may pass. First of all, he will celebrate the games with Christians,” said Petronius to himself; “only then will he think of me, and if that be true, it is not worth while to take trouble or change my course of life. Nearer danger threatens Vinicius!”
But afterward, he started to reconsider his situation. Thanks to his sharpness, he realized that he wasn't in immediate danger. Nero had taken the opportunity to deliver some carefully chosen, grand remarks about friendship and forgiveness, temporarily tying his hands. “He'll have to come up with excuses, and by the time he does, a lot of time could pass. First, he'll hold the games with the Christians,” Petronius thought to himself; “only after that will he think about me, and if that's true, it’s not worth the hassle or changing my way of life. Vinicius is the one in more danger!”
And thenceforth he thought only of Vinicius, whom he resolved to rescue. Four sturdy Bithynians bore his litter quickly through ruins, ash-heaps, and stones with which the Carinæ was filled yet; but he commanded them to run swiftly so as to be home at the earliest. Vinicius, whose “insula” had been burned, was living with him, and was at home, fortunately.
And from then on, he only thought about Vinicius, whom he was determined to save. Four strong Bithynians quickly carried his litter through the ruins, piles of ash, and debris that still filled the Carinæ. He told them to run fast so they could get home as soon as possible. Vinicius, whose apartment building had burned down, was living with him and was fortunately at home.
“Hast seen Lygia to-day?” were the first words of Petronius.
“Have you seen Lygia today?” were the first words of Petronius.
“I have just come from her.”
"I just came from her."
“Hear what I tell thee, and lose no time in questions. It has been decided this morning at Cæsar’s to lay the blame of burning Rome on the Christians. Persecutions and tortures threaten them. Pursuit may begin any instant. Take Lygia and flee at once beyond the Alps even, or to Africa. And hasten, for the Palatine is nearer the Trans-Tiber than is this place.”
“Hear what I’m saying, and don’t waste time asking questions. It was decided this morning at Caesar’s to blame the Christians for the burning of Rome. They’re facing persecution and torture. The hunt could start at any moment. Take Lygia and escape right away, even beyond the Alps or to Africa. And hurry, because the Palatine is closer to the Trans-Tiber than this place.”
Vinicius was, indeed, too much of a soldier to lose time in useless queries. He listened with frowning brows, and a face intent and terrible, but fearless. Evidently the first feeling of his nature in presence of peril was a wish to defend and give battle.
Vinicius was definitely too much of a soldier to waste time on pointless questions. He listened with furrowed brows and an intense, fierce expression, but without fear. Clearly, his first instinct when facing danger was a desire to defend and fight back.
“I go,” said he.
"I'm going," he said.
“One word more. Take a purse of gold, take weapons, and a handful of thy Christians. In case of need, rescue her!”
“Just one more thing. Take a bag of gold, grab some weapons, and gather a few of your fellow Christians. If necessary, save her!”
Vinicius was in the door of the atrium already.
Vinicius was already at the entrance of the atrium.
“Send me news by a slave!” cried Petronius.
“Send me news by a servant!” shouted Petronius.
When left alone, he began to walk by the columns which adorned the atrium, thinking of what had happened. He knew that Lygia and Linus had returned after the fire to the former house, which, like the greater part of the Trans-Tiber, had been saved; and that was an unfavorable circumstance, for otherwise it would have been difficult to find them among throngs of people. Petronius hoped, however, that as things were, no one in the Palatine knew where they lived, and therefore in every case Vinicius would anticipate the pretorians. It occurred to him also that Tigellinus, wishing to seize at one attempt as many Christians as possible, would extend his net over all Rome. “If they send no more than ten people after her,” thought he, “that giant Lygian will break their bones and what will it be if Vinicius comes with assistance?” Thinking of this he was consoled. True, armed resistance to the pretorians was almost the same as war with Cæsar. Petronius knew also that if Vinicius hid from the vengeance of Nero, that vengeance might fall on himself; but he cared little. On the contrary, he rejoiced at the thought of crossing Nero’s plans and those of Tigellinus, and determined to spare in the matter neither men nor money. Since in Antium Paul of Tarsus had converted most of his slaves, he, while defending Christians, might count on their zeal and devotion.
When he was alone, he started walking by the columns that decorated the atrium, thinking about what had happened. He knew that Lygia and Linus had returned to their old house after the fire, which, like most of the Trans-Tiber area, had been spared; and that was a bad sign, as it would have been harder to find them among the crowds otherwise. Petronius hoped, though, that since no one in the Palatine knew where they were living, Vinicius would be ahead of the pretorians in any situation. He also realized that Tigellinus, wanting to capture as many Christians as possible all at once, would spread his net over all of Rome. “If they send only ten people after her,” he thought, “that giant Lygian will crush them, and what will happen if Vinicius shows up with backup?” Thinking about this gave him some comfort. True, armed resistance against the pretorians was almost like waging war against Cæsar. Petronius also knew that if Vinicius was hiding from Nero’s revenge, that vengeance could fall on him too; but he didn’t care much. On the contrary, he felt pleased at the thought of thwarting Nero’s plans and those of Tigellinus, and he decided to spare neither men nor money for this cause. Since Paul of Tarsus had converted many of his slaves in Antium, he could count on their enthusiasm and loyalty while defending the Christians.
The entrance of Eunice interrupted his thoughts. At sight of her all his cares and troubles vanished without a trace. He forgot Cæsar, the disfavor into which he had fallen, the degraded Augustians, the persecution threatening the Christians, Vinicius, Lygia, and looked only at her with the eyes of an anthetic man enamoured of marvellous forms, and of a lover for whom love breathes from those forms. She, in a transparent violet robe called “Coa vestis,” through which her maiden-like form appeared, was really as beautiful as a goddess. Feeling herself admired meanwhile, and loving him with all her soul, ever eager for his fondling, she blushed with delight as if she had been an innocent maiden.
The entrance of Eunice interrupted his thoughts. Just seeing her made all his worries and troubles disappear. He forgot about Cæsar, the bad reputation he’d gotten, the fallen Augustians, the persecution looming over the Christians, Vinicius, Lygia, and instead focused solely on her, seeing her through the eyes of a passionate man captivated by stunning beauty, and a lover who feels love radiating from that beauty. She wore a sheer violet robe called “Coa vestis,” which highlighted her youthful form, and was truly as beautiful as a goddess. Aware of his admiration and loving him deeply, longing for his affection, she blushed with joy as if she were an innocent girl.
“What wilt thou say to me, Charis?” asked Petronius, stretching his hands to her.
“What will you say to me, Charis?” asked Petronius, reaching out his hands to her.
She, inclining her golden head to him, answered,—“Anthemios has come with his choristers, and asks if ‘tis thy wish to hear him.”
She tilted her golden head towards him and replied, “Anthemios has arrived with his singers and wants to know if you'd like to hear him.”
“Let him stay; he will sing to us during dinner the hymn to Apollo. By the groves of Paphos! when I see thee in that Coan gauze, I think that Aphrodite has veiled herself with a piece of the sky, and is standing before me.”
“Let him stay; he’ll sing to us the hymn to Apollo during dinner. By the groves of Paphos! When I see you in that Coan gauze, I think Aphrodite has covered herself with a piece of the sky and is standing in front of me.”
“O lord!”
“OMG!”
“Come hither, Eunice, embrace me with thy arms, and give thy lips to me. Dost thou love me?”
“Come here, Eunice, hug me, and give me your lips. Do you love me?”
“I should not have loved Zeus more.”
“I shouldn't have loved Zeus more.”
Then she pressed her lips to his, while quivering in his arms from happiness. After a while Petronius asked,—
Then she kissed him, trembling in his arms with happiness. After a while, Petronius asked,—
“But if we should have to separate?”
“But what if we have to separate?”
Eunice looked at him with fear in her eyes.
Eunice looked at him, fear in her eyes.
“How is that, lord?”
"How's that, my lord?"
“Fear not; I ask, for who knows but I may have to set out on a long journey?”
“Don’t worry; I’m asking because who knows, I might have to go on a long journey?”
“Take me with thee-”
“Take me with you-”
Petronius changed the conversation quickly, and said,—
Petronius quickly shifted the conversation and said,—
“Tell me, are there asphodels on the grass plot in the garden?”
“Hey, are there asphodels in the grassy area of the garden?”
“The cypresses and the grass plots are yellow from the fire, the leaves have fallen from the myrtles, and the whole garden seems dead.”
“The cypress trees and the grass are burned yellow, the leaves have dropped from the myrtles, and the entire garden looks lifeless.”
“All Rome seems dead, and soon it will be a real graveyard. Dost thou know that an edict against the Christians is to be issued, and a persecution will begin during which thousands will perish?”
“All of Rome seems dead, and soon it will truly be a graveyard. Do you know that a decree against the Christians is about to be issued, and a persecution will start during which thousands will die?”
“Why punish the Christians, lord? They are good and peaceful.”
“Why punish the Christians, my lord? They are kind and peaceful.”
“For that very reason.”
“For that reason.”
“Let us go to the sea. Thy beautiful eyes do not like to see blood.”
“Let’s go to the sea. Your beautiful eyes don’t like to see blood.”
“Well, but meanwhile I must bathe. Come to the elæothesium to anoint my arms. By the girdle of Kypris! never hast thou seemed to me so beautiful. I will give command to make a bath for thee in the form of a shell; thou wilt be like a costly pearl in it. Come, Golden-haired!”
“Well, in the meantime, I need to take a bath. Come to the oil room to anoint my arms. By the belt of Aphrodite! You've never seemed so beautiful to me. I’ll order a bath to be made for you in the shape of a shell; you’ll look like a precious pearl in it. Come, Golden-haired!”
He went out, and an hour later both, in garlands of roses and with misty eyes, were resting before a table covered with a service of gold. They were served by boys dressed as Cupids, they drank wine from ivy-wreathed goblets, and heard the hymn to Apollo sung to the sound of harps, under direction of Anthemios. What cared they if around the villa chimneys pointed up from the ruins of houses, and gusts of wind swept the ashes of burnt Rome in every direction? They were happy thinking only of love, which had made their lives like a divine dream. But before the hymn was finished a slave, the chief of the atrium, entered the hall.
He went out, and an hour later, both of them, wearing garlands of roses and with misty eyes, were relaxing at a table set with gold dishes. They were served by boys dressed as Cupids, they drank wine from goblets adorned with ivy, and listened to a hymn to Apollo sung to the sound of harps, under the direction of Anthemios. What did it matter to them if around the villa, chimneys rose from the ruins of buildings, and gusts of wind scattered the ashes of burned Rome everywhere? They were happy, focusing only on love, which had made their lives feel like a divine dream. But before the hymn was finished, a slave, the chief of the atrium, entered the hall.
“Lord,” said he, in a voice quivering with alarm, “a centurion with a detachment of pretorians is standing before the gate, and, at command of Cæsar, wishes to see thee.”
“Lord,” he said, his voice shaking with worry, “a centurion with a group of praetorians is standing at the gate and, on Caesar's orders, wants to see you.”
The song and the sound of lutes ceased. Alarm was roused in all present; for Cæsar, in communications with friends, did not employ pretorians usually, and their arrival at such times foreboded no good. Petronius alone showed not the slightest emotion, but said, like a man annoyed by continual visits,—
The music and the sound of lutes stopped. Everyone there felt a sense of alarm; because Caesar typically didn’t involve the praetorians in conversations with friends, and their arrival at such moments signaled trouble. Only Petronius remained completely unaffected, casually saying like someone irritated by constant interruptions,—
“They might let me dine in peace.” Then turning to the chief of the atrium, he said, “Let him enter.”
“They might let me eat in peace.” Then turning to the head of the atrium, he said, “Let him in.”
The slave disappeared behind the curtain; a moment later heavy steps were heard, and an acquaintance of Petronius appeared, the centurion Aper, armed, and with an iron helmet on his head.
The slave vanished behind the curtain; a moment later, heavy footsteps were heard, and Petronius's acquaintance, the centurion Aper, appeared, armed and wearing an iron helmet.
“Noble lord,” said he, “here is a letter from Cæsar.”
“Noble lord,” he said, “here’s a letter from Caesar.”
Petronius extended his white hand lazily, took the tablet, and, casting his eye over it, gave it, in all calmness to Eunice.
Petronius casually extended his pale hand, grabbed the tablet, and, after glancing at it, calmly handed it to Eunice.
“He will read a new book of the Troyad this evening, and invites me to come.’
“He's going to read a new book from the Troyad this evening and wants me to come.”
“I have only the order to deliver the letter,” said the centurion.
“I only have the order to deliver the letter,” said the centurion.
“Yes, there will be no answer. But, centurion, thou mightst rest a while with us and empty a goblet of wine?”
“Yes, there will be no answer. But, centurion, you might rest a while with us and enjoy a glass of wine?”
“Thanks to thee, noble lord. A goblet of wine I will drink to thy health willingly; but rest I may not, for I am on duty.”
"Thank you, noble lord. I'll gladly drink a glass of wine to your health; but I can't rest, as I'm on duty."
“Why was the letter given to thee, and not sent by a slave?”
“Why was the letter given to you, and not sent by a servant?”
“I know not, lord. Perhaps because I was sent in this direction on other duty.”
“I don’t know, my lord. Maybe it’s because I was sent this way for another task.”
“I know, against the Christians?”
“I know, against the Christians?”
“Yes, lord.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Is it long since the pursuit was begun?”
“Has it been a long time since the pursuit started?”
“Some divisions were sent to the Trans-Tiber before midday.” When he had said this, the centurion shook a little wine from the goblet in honor of Mars; then he emptied it, and said,—
“Some units were sent to the Trans-Tiber before noon.” After saying this, the centurion poured a little wine from the goblet as a tribute to Mars; then he drank it all and said,—
“May the gods grant thee, lord, what thou desirest.”
“May the gods grant you, lord, what you desire.”
“Take the goblet too,” said Petronius.
"Take the cup too," said Petronius.
Then he gave a sign to Anthemios to finish the hymn to Apollo.
Then he signaled to Anthemios to complete the hymn to Apollo.
“Bronzebeard is beginning to play with me and Vinicius,” thought he, when the harps sounded anew. “I divine his plan! He wanted to terrify me by sending the invitation through a centurion. They will ask the centurion in the evening how I received him. No, no! thou wilt not amuse thyself overmuch, cruel and wicked prophet. I know that thou wilt not forget the offence, I know that my destruction will not fail; but if thou think that I shall look into thy eyes imploringly, that thou wilt see fear and humility on my face, thou art mistaken.”
“Bronzebeard is starting to mess with me and Vinicius,” he thought as the harps played again. “I see his game! He wants to scare me by sending the invitation through a centurion. They’ll ask the centurion later how I reacted to him. No, no! You won't have too much fun at my expense, cruel and wicked prophet. I know you won't forget the offense, and I know my downfall is certain; but if you think I’ll look into your eyes pleadingly, that you’ll see fear and submission on my face, you’re mistaken.”
“Cæsar writes, lord,” said Eunice, “‘Come if thou hast the wish’; wilt thou go?”
“Caesar writes, my lord,” said Eunice, “‘Come if you want’; will you go?”
“I am in excellent health, and can listen even to his verses,” answered Petronius; “hence I shall go, all the more since Vinicius cannot go.”
“I’m in great health and can even listen to his poetry,” Petronius replied. “So I’ll go, especially since Vinicius can’t.”
In fact, after the dinner was finished and after the usual walk, he gave himself into the hands of hairdressers and of slaves who arranged his robes, and an hour later, beautiful as a god, he gave command to take him to the Palatine.
In fact, after dinner was done and after the usual stroll, he allowed himself to be taken care of by hairdressers and servants who adjusted his robes, and an hour later, looking stunning like a god, he instructed them to take him to the Palatine.
It was late, the evening was warm and calm; the moon shone so brightly that the lampadarii going before the litter put out their torches. On the streets and among the ruins crowds of people were pushing along, drunk with wine, in garlands of ivy and honeysuckle, bearing in their hands branches of myrtle and laurel taken from Cæsar’s gardens. Abundance of grain and hopes of great games filled the hearts of all with gladness. Here and there songs were sung magnifying the “divine night” and love; here and there they were dancing by the light of the moon, and the slaves were forced repeatedly to demand space for the litter “of the noble Petronius,” and then the crowd pushed apart, shouting in honor of their favorite.
It was late, and the evening was warm and peaceful; the moon was shining so brightly that the torchbearers walking in front of the litter extinguished their flames. On the streets and among the ruins, crowds of people were pushing through, intoxicated with wine, adorned with garlands of ivy and honeysuckle, holding branches of myrtle and laurel taken from Caesar’s gardens. There was an abundance of grain and the hope of great games filled everyone’s hearts with joy. Here and there, songs were sung celebrating the “divine night” and love; occasionally, people were dancing in the moonlight, and the slaves had to repeatedly ask for space for the “noble Petronius’s” litter, after which the crowd parted, cheering for their favorite.
He was thinking of Vinicius, and wondering why he had no news from him. He was an Epicurean and an egotist, but passing time, now with Paul of Tarsus, now with Vinicius, hearing daily of the Christians, he had changed somewhat without his own knowledge. A certain breeze from them had blown on him; this cast new seeds into his soul. Besides his own person others began to occupy him; moreover, he had been always attached to Vinicius, for in childhood he had loved greatly his sister, the mother of Vinicius; at present, therefore, when he had taken part in his affairs, he looked on them with that interest with which he would have looked on some tragedy.
He was thinking about Vinicius and wondering why he hadn't heard from him. He was an Epicurean and a self-centered person, but while spending time with Paul of Tarsus and Vinicius, and hearing about the Christians every day, he had changed a bit without realizing it. A certain influence from them had touched him; this had planted new ideas in his mind. Besides himself, he began to care about others; in addition, he had always felt a connection to Vinicius because he had deeply loved his sister, Vinicius's mother, when they were kids; so now, as he got involved in Vinicius's matters, he viewed them with the same interest he would have had for a tragedy.
Petronius did not lose hope that Vinicius had anticipated the pretorians and fled with Lygia, or, in the worse case, had rescued her. But he would have preferred to be certain, since he foresaw that he might have to answer various questions for which he would better be prepared.
Petronius didn’t lose hope that Vinicius had managed to get ahead of the praetorians and escaped with Lygia, or, at the very least, had saved her. But he would have preferred to know for sure, as he anticipated that he might need to answer a number of questions for which he would be better prepared.
Stopping before the house of Tiberius, he alighted from the litter, and after a while entered the atrium, filled already with Augustians. Yesterday’s friends, though astonished that he was invited, still pushed back; but he moved on among them, beautiful, free, unconcerned, as self-confident as if he himself had the power to distribute favors. Some, seeing him thus, were alarmed in spirit lest they had shown him indifference too early.
Stopping in front of Tiberius's house, he got out of the litter and after a bit, walked into the atrium, which was already filled with Augustians. Yesterday’s friends, surprised that he was invited, stepped back; but he walked among them, looking beautiful, relaxed, and confident, as if he had the power to grant favors himself. Some, noticing him like this, felt uneasy as they worried they might have shown him indifference too soon.
Cæsar, however, feigned not to see him, and did not return his obeisance, pretending to be occupied in conversation. But Tigellinus approached and said,
César, however, pretended not to see him and didn't acknowledge his greeting, acting as if he were engrossed in conversation. But Tigellinus stepped forward and said,
“Good evening, Arbiter Elegantiarum. Dost thou assert still that it was not the Christians who burnt Rome?”
“Good evening, Arbiter Elegantiarum. Do you still claim that it wasn't the Christians who burned Rome?”
Petronius shrugged his shoulders, and, clapping Tigellinus on the back as he would a freedman, answered,—
Petronius shrugged his shoulders and patted Tigellinus on the back like he would a freedman, and replied,—
“Thou knowest as well as I what to think of that.”
“You know as well as I do what to think about that.”
“I do not dare to rival thee in wisdom.”
“I don’t dare to compete with you in wisdom.”
“And thou art right, for when Cæsar reads to us a new book from the Troyad, thou, instead of crying out like a jackdaw, wouldst have to give an opinion that was not pointless.”
“And you’re right, because when Cæsar reads us a new book from the Troyad, you, instead of squawking like a jackdaw, would have to give an opinion that isn’t pointless.”
Tigellinus bit his lips. He was not over-rejoiced that Cæsar had decided to read a new book, for that opened a field in which he could not rival Petronius. In fact, during the reading, Nero, from habit, turned his eyes involuntarily toward Petronius, looking carefully to see what he could read in his face. The latter listened, raised his brows, agreed at times, in places increased his attention as if to be sure that he heard correctly. Then he praised or criticised, demanded corrections or the smoothing of certain verses. Nero himself felt that for others in their exaggerated praises it was simply a question of themselves, that Petronius alone was occupied with poetry for its own sake; that he alone understood it, and that if he praised one could be sure that the verses deserved praise. Gradually therefore he began to discuss with him, to dispute; and when at last Petronius brought the fitness of a certain expression into doubt, he said,—
Tigellinus bit his lips. He wasn't too thrilled that Caesar had decided to read a new book, as it put him in direct competition with Petronius. During the reading, Nero instinctively glanced at Petronius, trying to gauge his reactions. Petronius listened, raised his eyebrows, and occasionally nodded in agreement, becoming more attentive at times as if to ensure he heard correctly. Then he offered praise or criticism, asked for corrections, or suggested smoothing out certain lines. Nero realized that while others showered exaggerated praise, it was mainly about their own interests; only Petronius was truly engaged with poetry for its own sake. He was the only one who truly understood it, and if he praised something, it definitely deserved praise. Gradually, Nero began to engage him in discussion and debate; and when Petronius finally questioned the suitability of a certain phrase, he said,—
“Thou wilt see in the last book why I used it.”
"You'll see in the last book why I used it."
“Ah,” thought Petronius, “then we shall wait for the last book.”
“Ah,” thought Petronius, “then we’ll wait for the last book.”
More than one hearing this said in spirit: “Woe to me! Petronius with time before him may return to favor and overturn even Tigellinus.” And they began again to approach him. But the end of the evening was less fortunate; for Cæsar, at the moment when Petronius was taking leave, inquired suddenly, with blinking eyes and a face at once glad and malicious,—
More than one person hearing this thought to themselves: “Oh no! Petronius still has time to regain favor and even outdo Tigellinus.” They started to approach him again. But the end of the evening was less fortunate; because Caesar, just as Petronius was saying goodbye, suddenly asked, with blinking eyes and a face that was both happy and spiteful,—
“But why did not Vinicius come?”
“But why didn't Vinicius show up?”
Had Petronius been sure that Vinicius and Lygia were beyond the gates of the city, he would have answered, “With thy permission he has married and gone.” But seeing Nero’s strange smile, he answered,—
Had Petronius been certain that Vinicius and Lygia were outside the city gates, he would have replied, “With your permission, he has married and left.” But noticing Nero's odd smile, he responded,—
“Thy invitation, divinity, did not find him at home.”
“Your invitation, divine one, didn’t reach him at home.”
“Say to Vinicius that I shall be glad to see him,” answered Nero, “and tell him from me not to neglect the games in which Christians will appear.”
“Tell Vinicius that I’m looking forward to seeing him,” Nero replied, “and let him know not to miss the games where Christians will take part.”
These words alarmed Petronius. It seemed to him that they related to Lygia directly. Sitting in his litter, he gave command to bear him home still more quickly than in the morning. That, however, was not easy. Before the house of Tiberius stood a crowd dense and noisy, drunk as before, though not singing and dancing, but, as it were, excited. From afar came certain shouts which Petronius could not understand at once, but which rose and grew till at last they were one savage roar,—
These words worried Petronius. He felt they were about Lygia directly. Sitting in his litter, he ordered them to take him home even faster than in the morning. However, that wasn't easy. In front of Tiberius's house stood a large, noisy crowd, just as drunk as before, though not singing and dancing, but rather agitated. From a distance, certain shouts reached Petronius, which he couldn't immediately understand, but they grew louder until they merged into one fierce roar,—
“To the lions with Christians!”
“Feed Christians to the lions!”
Rich litters of courtiers pushed through the howling rabble. From the depth of burnt streets new crowds rushed forth continually; these, hearing the cry, repeated it. News passed from mouth to mouth that the pursuit had continued from the forenoon, that a multitude of incendiaries were seized; and immediately along the newly cleared and the old streets, through alleys lying among ruins around the Palatine, over all the hills and gardens were heard through the length and breadth of Rome shouts of swelling rage,—
Rich groups of courtiers pushed through the loud crowd. From the burnt streets, new crowds kept rushing out; they heard the shouts and echoed them. News spread quickly that the chase had been going on since the morning, that many arsonists had been caught; and immediately, along both the newly cleared and old streets, through alleys among the ruins around the Palatine, across all the hills and gardens, shouts of rising anger could be heard throughout Rome,—
“To the lions with Christians!”
"Throw Christians to the lions!"
“Herd!” repeated Petronius, with contempt; “a people worthy of Cæsar!” And he began to think that a society resting on superior force, on cruelty of which even barbarians had no conception, on crimes and mad profligacy, could not endure. Rome ruled the world, but was also its ulcer. The odor of a corpse was rising from it. Over its decaying life the shadow of death was descending. More than once this had been mentioned even among the Augustians, but never before had Petronius had a clearer view of this truth that the laurelled chariot on which Rome stood in the form of a triumphator, and which dragged behind a chained herd of nations, was going to the precipice. The life of that world-ruling city seemed to him a kind of mad dance, an orgy, which must end. He saw then that the Christians alone had a new basis of life; but he judged that soon there would not remain a trace of the Christians. And what then?
“Herd!” Petronius repeated with disdain; “a people worthy of Caesar!” He started to consider that a society built on strength, cruelty that even barbarians couldn't comprehend, on crimes and wild excess, couldn't last. Rome ruled the world, but it was also its sore. The smell of decay was rising from it. The shadow of death was creeping over its fading life. This had been mentioned before among the Augustians, but Petronius had never before seen so clearly the truth that the laurelled chariot representing Rome as a triumphant power, dragging behind it a chained mass of nations, was headed for disaster. To him, the life of that world-dominating city felt like a frenzied dance, an orgy, which had to come to an end. He realized then that the Christians alone had a new foundation for life; but he thought that soon there would be no trace left of the Christians. And then what?
The mad dance would continue under Nero; and if Nero disappeared, another would be found of the same kind or worse, for with such a people and such patricians there was no reason to find a better leader. There would be a new orgy, and moreover a fouler and a viler one.
The crazy spectacle would carry on under Nero; and if Nero were to vanish, another just like him or even worse would take his place, because with such a populace and such aristocrats, there was no hope of finding a better leader. There would be another party, and it would be dirtier and more disgusting than before.
But the orgy could not last forever, and there would be need of sleep when it was over, even because of simple exhaustion.
But the party couldn’t go on forever, and there would be a need for sleep when it ended, simply because everyone would be exhausted.
While thinking of this, Petronius felt immensely wearied. Was it worth while to live, and live in uncertainty, with no purpose but to look at such a society? The genius of death was not less beautiful than the genius of sleep, and he also had wings at his shoulders.
While contemplating this, Petronius felt extremely exhausted. Was it worth living, and living in uncertainty, with no goal other than to observe such a society? The essence of death was no less beautiful than the essence of sleep, and it too had wings at its shoulders.
The litter stopped before the arbiter’s door, which was opened that instant by the watchful keeper.
The litter came to a halt outside the arbiter’s door, which was immediately opened by the attentive keeper.
“Has the noble Vinicius returned?” inquired Petronius.
“Has the noble Vinicius come back?” asked Petronius.
“Yes, lord, a moment ago,” replied the slave.
“Yes, sir, just a moment ago,” replied the servant.
“He has not rescued her,” thought Petronius. And casting aside his toga, he ran into the atrium. Vinicius was sitting on a stool; his head bent almost to his knees with his hands on his head; but at the sound of steps he raised his stony face, in which the eyes alone had a feverish brightness.
“He hasn’t saved her,” thought Petronius. Throwing off his toga, he dashed into the atrium. Vinicius was sitting on a stool, his head bent almost to his knees with his hands gripping his head; but at the sound of footsteps, he lifted his expressionless face, where only his eyes showed a feverish brightness.
“Thou wert late?” asked Petronius.
"You're late?" asked Petronius.
“Yes; they seized her before midday.”
"Yeah; they grabbed her before noon."
A moment of silence followed.
A moment of silence ensued.
“Hast thou seen her?”
"Have you seen her?"
“Yes.”
“Yeah.”
“Where is she?”
“Where's she?”
“In the Mamertine prison.”
"In Mamertine prison."
Petronius trembled and looked at Vinicius with an inquiring glance. The latter understood.
Petronius shook and glanced at Vinicius with a questioning look. The latter got it.
“No,” said he. “She was not thrust down to the Tullianum [The lowest part of the prison, lying entirely underground, with a single opening in the ceiling. Jugurtha died there of hunger.] nor even to the middle prison. I paid the guard to give her his own room. Ursus took his place at the threshold and is guarding her.”
“No,” he said. “She wasn’t thrown down to the Tullianum nor even to the middle prison. I paid the guard to give her his own room. Ursus took his spot at the entrance and is keeping an eye on her.”
“Why did Ursus not defend her?”
“Why didn’t Ursus protect her?”
“They sent fifty pretorians, and Linus forbade him.”
“They sent fifty praetorians, and Linus told him not to.”
“But Linus?”
“But Linus?”
“Linus is dying; therefore they did not seize him.”
“Linus is dying; so they didn’t capture him.”
“What is thy intention?”
"What is your intention?"
“To save her or die with her. I too believe in Christ.”
“To save her or die with her. I also believe in Christ.”
Vinicius spoke with apparent calmness; but there was such despair in his voice that the heart of Petronius quivered from pure pity.
Vinicius spoke with a calm demeanor, but there was so much despair in his voice that Petronius's heart trembled with genuine pity.
“I understand thee,” said he; “but how dost thou think to save her?”
“I get it,” he said; “but how do you plan to save her?”
“I paid the guards highly, first to shield her from indignity, and second not to hinder her flight.”
“I paid the guards well, first to protect her from disgrace, and second not to obstruct her escape.”
“When can that happen?”
"When can that occur?"
“They answered that they could not give her to me at once, as they feared responsibility. When the prison will be filled with a multitude of people, and when the tally of prisoners is confused, they will deliver her. But that is a desperate thing! Do thou save her, and me first! Thou art a friend of Cæsar. He himself gave her to me. Go to him and save me!”
“They said they couldn’t hand her over to me right away because they were worried about the responsibility. When the prison gets overcrowded and the count of prisoners gets messed up, they will let her go. But that’s a desperate situation! Please save her, and save me first! You are a friend of Caesar. He himself gave her to me. Go to him and help me!”
Petronius, instead of answering, called a slave, and, commanding him to bring two dark mantles and two swords, turned to Vinicius,
Petronius didn't answer. Instead, he called over a servant and told him to bring two dark cloaks and two swords, then turned to Vinicius.
“On the way I will tell thee,” said he. “Meanwhile take the mantle and weapon, and we will go to the prison. There give the guards a hundred thousand sestertia; give them twice and five times more, if they will free Lygia at once. Otherwise it will be too late.”
“On the way, I'll tell you,” he said. “In the meantime, take the cloak and weapon, and let's head to the prison. There, give the guards a hundred thousand sestertii; offer them two or even five times that if they will release Lygia immediately. Otherwise, it will be too late.”
“Let us go,” said Vinicius.
“Let's go,” said Vinicius.
After a while both were on the street.
After a bit, both of them were out on the street.
“Now listen to me,” said Petronius. “I did not wish to lose time. I am in disfavor, beginning with to-day. My own life is hanging on a hair; hence I can do nothing with Cæsar. Worse than that, I am sure that he would act in opposition to my request. If that were not the case, would I advise thee to flee with Lygia or to rescue her? Besides, if thou escape, Cæsar’s wrath will turn on me. To-day he would rather do something at thy request than at mine. Do not count on that, however. Get her out of the prison, and flee! Nothing else is left. If that does not succeed, there will be time for other methods. Meanwhile know that Lygia is in prison, not alone for belief in Christ; Poppæa’s anger is pursuing her and thee. Thou hast offended the Augusta by rejecting her, dost remember? She knows that she was rejected for Lygia, whom she hated from the first cast of the eye. Nay, she tried to destroy Lygia before by ascribing the death of her own infant to her witchcraft. The hand of Poppæa is in this. How explain that Lygia was the first to be imprisoned? Who could point out the house of Linus? But I tell thee that she has been followed this long time. I know that I wring thy soul, and take the remnant of thy hope from thee, but I tell thee this purposely, for the reason that if thou free her not before they come at the idea that thou wilt try, ye are both lost.”
"Listen to me," said Petronius. "I didn’t want to waste time. I’m in trouble starting today. My life is hanging by a thread, so I can’t do anything with Caesar. Worse, I’m sure he would go against what I ask. If that weren’t true, would I tell you to run away with Lygia or to save her? Besides, if you escape, Caesar’s anger will turn on me. Today, he’d rather do something for you than for me. But don’t count on that. Get her out of prison and flee! There’s no other option left. If that doesn’t work, there will be time for other plans. In the meantime, know that Lygia is in prison, not just for believing in Christ; Poppæa’s anger is after her and you. You offended the Augusta by rejecting her, remember? She knows she was turned down for Lygia, whom she has hated from the very beginning. In fact, she tried to ruin Lygia before by blaming her witchcraft for the death of her own baby. Poppæa is behind this. How else can you explain that Lygia was the first to be imprisoned? Who could have pointed out Linus’s house? But I tell you, she has been followed for a long time. I know I’m squeezing your soul and taking away what little hope you have left, but I’m telling you this on purpose, because if you don’t free her before they catch on to what you’re trying to do, you’re both doomed."
“Yes; I understand!” muttered Vinicius.
"Yes; I get it!" muttered Vinicius.
The streets were empty because of the late hour. Their further conversation was interrupted, however, by a drunken gladiator who came toward them. He reeled against Petronius, put one hand on his shoulder, covering his face with a breath filled with wine, and shouted in a hoarse voice,—
The streets were empty because it was late. Their conversation was interrupted by a drunk gladiator who stumbled over to them. He leaned against Petronius, placed a hand on his shoulder, and shouted with a voice thick from wine,—
“To the lions with Christians!”
“Feed Christians to the lions!”
“Mirmillon,” answered Petronius, quietly, “listen to good counsel; go thy way.”
“Mirmillon,” replied Petronius softly, “listen to good advice; just go.”
With his other hand the drunken man seized him by the arm,—
With his other hand, the drunk man grabbed him by the arm,—
“Shout with me, or I’ll break thy neck: Christians to the lions!” But the arbiter’s nerves had had enough of those shouts. From the time that he had left the Palatine they had been stifling him like a nightmare, and rending his ears. So when he saw the fist of the giant above him, the measure of his patience was exceeded.
“Shout with me, or I’ll break your neck: Christians to the lions!” But the judge's nerves were fed up with those shouts. Ever since he had left the Palatine, they had been suffocating him like a bad dream and tearing at his ears. So when he saw the giant's fist above him, he'd reached his limit.
“Friend,” said he, “thou hint the smell of wine, and art stopping my way.”
“Friend,” he said, “you smell like wine and you're blocking my path.”
Thus speaking, he drove into the man’s breast to the hilt the short sword which he had brought from home; then, taking the arm of Vinicius, he continued as if nothing had happened,—
Thus speaking, he drove the short sword he had brought from home deep into the man's chest; then, taking Vinicius's arm, he continued as if nothing had happened,—
“Cæsar said to-day, ‘Tell Vinicius from me to be at the games in which Christians will appear.’ Dost understand what that means? They wish to make a spectacle of thy pain. That is a settled affair. Perhaps that is why thou and I are not imprisoned yet. If thou art not able to get her at once—I do not know—Acte might take thy part; but can she effect anything? Thy Sicilian lands, too, might tempt Tigellinus. Make the trial.”
“Caesar said today, ‘Tell Vinicius to be at the games where Christians will be featured.’ Do you understand what that means? They want to turn your suffering into a spectacle. That’s a done deal. Maybe that's why you and I aren't in prison yet. If you can’t get her right away—I don’t know—Acte might help you; but can she really do anything? Your Sicilian lands might also attract Tigellinus. Give it a try.”
“I will give him all that I have,” answered Vinicius.
“I'll give him everything I have,” Vinicius replied.
From the Carinæ to the Forum was not very far; hence they arrived soon. The night had begun to pale, and the walls of the castle came out definitely from the shadow.
From the Carinæ to the Forum wasn't very far; so they arrived quickly. The night had started to lighten, and the walls of the castle emerged clearly from the shadows.
Suddenly, as they turned toward the Mamertine prison, Petronius stopped, and said,
Suddenly, as they faced the Mamertine prison, Petronius stopped and said,
“Pretorians! Too late!”
"Too late, Pretorians!"
In fact the prison was surrounded by a double rank of soldiers. The morning dawn was silvering their helmets and the points of their javelins.
In fact, the prison was surrounded by two rows of soldiers. The morning light was reflecting off their helmets and the tips of their javelins.
Vinicius grew as pale as marble. “Let us go on,” said he.
Vinicius turned as pale as marble. “Let’s keep going,” he said.
After a while they halted before the line. Gifted with an uncommon memory, Petronius knew not only the officers, but nearly all the pretorian soldiers. Soon he saw an acquaintance, a leader of a cohort, and nodded to him.
After a while, they stopped before the line. With an impressive memory, Petronius recognized not only the officers but almost all the Praetorian soldiers. Soon, he spotted a familiar face, a leader of a cohort, and nodded to him.
“But what is this, Niger?” asked he; “are ye commanded to watch the prison?”
“But what is this, Niger?” he asked. “Have you been ordered to guard the prison?”
“Yes, noble Petronius. The prefect feared lest they might try to rescue the incendiaries.”
“Yes, noble Petronius. The prefect was worried that they might try to save the arsonists.”
“Have ye the order to admit no one?” inquired Vinicius.
“Do you have the order to admit no one?” Vinicius asked.
“We have not; acquaintances will visit the prisoners, and in that way we shall seize more Christians.”
“We haven't; visitors will come to see the prisoners, and through that, we'll capture more Christians.”
“Then let me in,” said Vinicius; and pressing Petronius’s hand, he said, “See Acte, I will come to learn her answer.”
“Then let me in,” said Vinicius; and gripping Petronius’s hand, he said, “Look for Acte, I’m going in to find out her answer.”
“Come,” responded Petronius.
"Come," said Petronius.
At that moment under the ground and beyond the thick walls was heard singing. The hymn, at first low and muffled, rose more and more. The voices of men, women, and children were mingled in one harmonious chorus. The whole prison began to sound, in the calmness of dawn, like a harp. But those were not voices of sorrow or despair; on the contrary, gladness and triumph were heard in them.
At that moment, beneath the ground and beyond the thick walls, singing could be heard. The hymn, initially low and muffled, grew louder. The voices of men, women, and children blended into one harmonious chorus. The entire prison began to resonate, in the calm of dawn, like a harp. But these were not voices of sorrow or despair; on the contrary, they conveyed joy and triumph.
The soldiers looked at one another with amazement. The first golden and rosy gleams of the morning appeared in the sky.
The soldiers looked at each other in disbelief. The first golden and pink rays of morning began to appear in the sky.
Chapter LI
THE cry, “Christians to the lions!” was heard increasingly in every part of the city. At first not only did no one doubt that they were the real authors of the catastrophe, but no one wished to doubt, since their punishment was to be a splendid amusement for the populace. Still the opinion spread that the catastrophe would not have assumed such dreadful proportions but for the anger of the gods; for this reason “piacula,” or purifying sacrifices, were commanded in the temples. By advice of the Sibylline books, the Senate ordained solemnities and public prayer to Vulcan, Ceres, and Proserpina. Matrons made offerings to Juno; a whole procession of them went to the seashore to take water and sprinkle with it the statue of the goddess. Married women prepared feasts to the gods and night watches. All Rome purified itself from sin, made offerings, and placated the Immortals. Meanwhile new broad streets were opened among the ruins. In one place and another foundations were laid for magnificent houses, palaces, and temples. But first of all they built with unheard-of haste an enormous wooden amphitheatre in which Christians were to die. Immediately after that consultation in the house of Tiberius, orders went to consuls to furnish wild beasts. Tigellinus emptied the vivaria of all Italian cities, not excepting the smaller ones. In Africa, at his command, gigantic hunts were organized, in which the entire local population was forced to take part. Elephants and tigers were brought in from Asia, crocodiles and hippopotamuses from the Nile, lions from the Atlas, wolves and bears from the Pyrenees, savage hounds from Hibernia, Molossian dogs from Epirus, bisons and the gigantic wild aurochs from Germany. Because of the number of prisoners, the games were to surpass in greatness anything seen up to that time. Cæsar wished to drown all memory of the fire in blood, and make Rome drunk with it; hence never had there been a greater promise of bloodshed.
The shout, “Christians to the lions!” echoed louder throughout the city. At first, no one doubted that they were truly responsible for the disaster, and no one wanted to doubt it, since their punishment would provide great entertainment for the crowd. Still, the belief spread that the disaster wouldn’t have been so terrible without the anger of the gods; for this reason, “piacula,” or purifying sacrifices, were ordered in the temples. Following the advice of the Sibylline books, the Senate decreed solemn ceremonies and public prayers to Vulcan, Ceres, and Proserpina. Women made offerings to Juno; a whole procession went to the seashore to collect water and sprinkle it on the statue of the goddess. Married women prepared feasts for the gods and held night vigils. All of Rome sought purification from sin, made offerings, and sought to appease the Immortals. Meanwhile, new wide streets were created among the ruins. Here and there, foundations were laid for magnificent houses, palaces, and temples. But first, they hurriedly constructed an enormous wooden amphitheater where Christians would be killed. Immediately after that meeting in Tiberius's house, orders were sent to consuls to provide wild animals. Tigellinus cleared out the animal enclosures of all Italian cities, including the smaller ones. In Africa, he organized massive hunts that forced the entire local population to participate. Elephants and tigers were brought in from Asia, crocodiles and hippos from the Nile, lions from the Atlas Mountains, wolves and bears from the Pyrenees, savage hounds from Ireland, Molossian dogs from Epirus, bison and massive wild aurochs from Germany. Due to the large number of prisoners, the games were set to be more spectacular than anything seen before. Cæsar wanted to erase all memory of the fire with blood and drown Rome in it; thus, there had never been a greater promise of violence.
The willing people helped guards and pretorians in hunting Christians. That was no difficult labor for whole groups of them camped with the other population in the midst of the gardens, and confessed their faith openly. When surrounded, they knelt, and while singing hymns let themselves be borne away without resistance. But their patience only increased the anger of the populace, who, not understanding its origin, considered it as rage and persistence in crime. A madness seized the persecutors. It happened that the mob wrested Christians from pretorians, and tore them to pieces; women were dragged to prison by the hair; children’s heads were dashed against stones. Thousands of people rushed, howling, night and day through the streets. Victims were sought in ruins, in chimneys, in cellars. Before the prison bacchanalian feasts and dances were celebrated at fires, around casks of wine.
The willing people helped the guards and soldiers hunt down Christians. That wasn’t hard work for the large groups that camped with the rest of the population in the gardens and openly shared their faith. When surrounded, they knelt and, while singing hymns, let themselves be taken away without fighting back. But their patience only fueled the anger of the crowd, who, not understanding its source, saw it as rage and stubbornness in wrongdoing. A frenzy overtook the persecutors. The mob seized Christians from the guards and tore them apart; women were dragged to prison by their hair; children’s heads were smashed against stones. Thousands of people stormed through the streets, howling, day and night. They searched for victims in ruins, chimneys, and cellars. Before the prison, wild feasts and dances were celebrated around fires, with barrels of wine.
In the evening was heard with delight bellowing which was like thunder, and which sounded throughout the city. The prisons were overflowing with thousands of people; every day the mob and pretorians drove in new victims. Pity had died out. It seemed that people had forgotten to speak, and in their wild frenzy remembered one shout alone: “To the lions with Christians!” Wonderfully hot days came, and nights more stifling than ever before; the very air seemed filled with blood, crime, and madness.
In the evening, there were loud roars that sounded like thunder, echoing throughout the city. The prisons were packed with thousands of people; every day, the mob and soldiers brought in new victims. Compassion had vanished. It felt like people had forgotten how to speak, and in their madness, they remembered only one chant: “To the lions with Christians!” Extremely hot days arrived, and nights were more suffocating than ever; the very air felt saturated with blood, crime, and insanity.
And that surpassing measure of cruelty was answered by an equal measure of desire for martyrdom,—the confessors of Christ went to death willingly, or even sought death till they were restrained by the stern commands of superiors. By the injunction of these superiors they began to assemble only outside the city, in excavations near the Appian Way, and in vineyards belonging to patrician Christians, of whom none had been imprisoned so far. It was known perfectly on the Palatine that to the confessors of Christ belonged Flavius, Domitilla, Pomponia Græcina, Cornelius Pudens, and Vinicius. Cæsar himself, however, feared that the mob would not believe that such people had burned Rome, and since it was important beyond everything to convince the mob, punishment and vengeance were deferred till later days. Others were of the opinion, but erroneously, that those patricians were saved by the influence of Acte. Petronius, after parting with Vinicius, turned to Acte, it is true, to gain assistance for Lygia; but she could offer him only tears, for she lived in oblivion and suffering, and was endured only in so far as she hid herself from Poppæa and Cæsar.
And that extreme cruelty was met with an equally strong desire for martyrdom—the confessors of Christ faced death willingly, or even sought it out until they were held back by the strict orders of their superiors. Following these orders, they began to gather only outside the city, in the catacombs near the Appian Way, and in vineyards owned by wealthy Christians, none of whom had been imprisoned so far. It was well known on the Palatine that the confessors of Christ included Flavius, Domitilla, Pomponia Græcina, Cornelius Pudens, and Vinicius. However, Cæsar himself was worried that the crowd would not believe such people had burned Rome, and since convincing the crowd was of utmost importance, punishment and revenge were postponed until later. Others mistakenly thought that those patricians were saved by Acte's influence. After parting with Vinicius, Petronius did turn to Acte to seek help for Lygia, but she could offer him only tears, as she lived in oblivion and suffering, and was tolerated only as long as she kept herself hidden from Poppæa and Cæsar.
But she had visited Lygia in prison, she had carried her clothing and food, and above all had saved her from injury on the part of the prison-guards, who, moreover, were bribed already.
But she had visited Lygia in prison, she had brought her clothes and food, and above all had protected her from harm by the guards, who were already being paid off.
Petronius, unable to forget that had it not been for him and his plan of taking Lygia from the house of Aulus, probably she would not be in prison at that moment, and, besides, wishing to win the game against Tigellinus, spared neither time nor efforts. In the course of a few days he saw Seneca, Domitius Afer, Crispinilla, and Diodorus, through whom he wished to reach Poppæa; he saw Terpnos, and the beautiful Pythagoras, and finally Aliturus and Paris, to whom Cæsar usually refused nothing. With the help of Chrysothemis, then mistress of Vatinius, he tried to gain even his aid, not sparing in this case and in others promises and money.
Petronius, unable to shake the thought that if it weren't for him and his plan to take Lygia from Aulus's house, she probably wouldn't be in prison right now, and wanting to outsmart Tigellinus, spared no time or effort. Over a few days, he met with Seneca, Domitius Afer, Crispinilla, and Diodorus, hoping to connect with Poppæa; he also spoke to Terpnos and the lovely Pythagoras, and finally Aliturus and Paris, to whom Caesar usually granted anything. With the help of Chrysothemis, who was then the mistress of Vatinius, he even tried to enlist his support, not holding back on promises and money in this and other attempts.
But all these efforts were fruitless. Seneca, uncertain of the morrow, fell to explaining to him that the Christians, even if they had not burned Rome, should be exterminated, for the good of the city,—in a word, he justified the coming slaughter for political reasons. Terpnos and Diodorus took the money, and did nothing in return for it. Vatinius reported to Cæsar that they had been trying to bribe him. Aliturus alone, who at first was hostile to the Christians, took pity on them then, and made bold to mention to Cæsar the imprisoned maiden, and to implore in her behalf. He obtained nothing, however, but the answer,—
But all these efforts were pointless. Seneca, unsure of what tomorrow would bring, started explaining to him that the Christians, even if they hadn’t burned Rome, should be wiped out for the sake of the city—in short, he justified the upcoming slaughter for political reasons. Terpnos and Diodorus took the money and did nothing in return. Vatinius reported to Caesar that they had been trying to bribe him. Only Aliturus, who had initially been against the Christians, felt sorry for them and boldly mentioned the imprisoned girl to Caesar, begging for her release. However, he got nothing in return but the response,—
“Dost thou think that I have a soul inferior to that of Brutus, who spared not his own sons for the good of Rome?”
“Do you think that my soul is less than Brutus's, who didn't hesitate to sacrifice his own sons for the sake of Rome?”
When this answer was repeated to Petronius, he said,—
When this answer was repeated to Petronius, he said,—
“Since Nero has compared himself to Brutus, there is no salvation.”
“Since Nero has compared himself to Brutus, there’s no way out.”
But he was sorry for Vinicius, and dread seized him lest he might attempt his own life. “Now,” thought the arbiter, “he is upheld by the efforts which he makes to save her, by the sight of her, and by his own suffering; but when all means fail and the last ray of hope is quenched, by Castor! he will not survive, he will throw himself on his sword.” Petronius understood better how to die thus than to love and suffer like Vinicius.
But he felt sorry for Vinicius, and a sense of dread overwhelmed him at the thought that he might try to take his own life. “Right now,” the arbiter thought, “he is sustained by his efforts to save her, by seeing her, and by his own pain; but when all options are gone and the last glimmer of hope fades, by Castor! he won’t be able to go on, he will stab himself with his sword.” Petronius understood better how to die in that way than to love and suffer like Vinicius.
Meanwhile Vinicius did all that he could think of to save Lygia. He visited Augustians; and he, once so proud, now begged their assistance. Through Vitelius he offered Tigellinus all his Sicilian estates, and whatever else the man might ask; but Tigellinus, not wishing apparently to offend the Augusta, refused. To go to Cæsar himself, embrace his knees and implore, would lead to nothing. Vinicius wished, it is true, to do this; but Petronius, hearing of his purpose, inquired,—
Meanwhile, Vinicius did everything he could think of to save Lygia. He visited the Augustians and, once so proud, now begged for their help. Through Vitelius, he offered Tigellinus all his Sicilian estates and anything else the man might want; but Tigellinus, apparently not wanting to upset the Augusta, refused. Going to Caesar himself, falling to his knees and begging, would lead nowhere. Vinicius did want to do this; however, Petronius, hearing of his plan, asked,—
“But should he refuse thee, or answer with a jest or a shameless threat, what wouldst thou do?”
“But if he refuses you, or responds with a joke or an outrageous threat, what would you do?”
At this the young tribune’s features contracted with pain and rage, and from his fixed jaws a gritting sound was heard.
At this, the young tribune's face tightened with pain and anger, and a grinding sound escaped from his clenched jaws.
“Yes,” said Petronius, “I advise thee against this, because thou wouldst close all paths of rescue.”
“Yes,” said Petronius, “I advise you against this because you would close off all paths of rescue.”
Vinicius restrained himself, and passing his palm over his forehead, which was covered with cold sweat, replied,—
Vinicius held himself back, and wiping his forehead, which was slick with cold sweat, replied,—
“No, no! I am a Christian.”
“No, no! I’m Christian.”
“But thou will forget this, as thou didst a moment ago. Thou hast the right to ruin thyself, but not her. Remember what the daughter of Sejanus passed through before death.”
“But you will forget this, just like you did a moment ago. You have the right to ruin yourself, but not her. Remember what the daughter of Sejanus went through before she died.”
Speaking thus he was not altogether sincere, since he was concerned more for Vinicius than for Lygia. Still he knew that in no way could he restrain him from a dangerous step as well as by telling him that he would bring inexorable destruction on Lygia. Moreover he was right; for on the Palatine they had counted on the visit of the young tribune, and had taken needful precautions.
Speaking this way, he wasn't completely sincere, as he cared more about Vinicius than Lygia. Still, he knew that the best way to stop him from making a dangerous decision was to say that he would bring inevitable harm to Lygia. Besides, he was right; on the Palatine, they had expected the young tribune's visit and had taken necessary precautions.
But the suffering of Vinicius surpassed human endurance. From the moment that Lygia was imprisoned and the glory of coming martyrdom had fallen on her, not only did he love her a hundred times more, but he began simply to give her in his soul almost religious honor, as he would a superhuman being. And now, at the thought that he must lose this being both loved and holy, that besides death torments might be inflicted on her more terrible than death itself, the blood stiffened in his veins. His soul was turned into one groan, his thoughts were confused. At times it seemed to him that his skull was filled with living fire, which would either burn or burst it. He ceased to understand what was happening; he ceased to understand why Christ, the Merciful, the Divine, did not come with aid to His adherents; why the dingy walls of the Palatine did not sink through the earth, and with them Nero, the Augustians, the pretorian camp, and all that city of crime. He thought that it could not and should not be otherwise; and all that his eyes saw, and because of which his heart was breaking, was a dream. But the roaring of wild beasts informed him that it was reality; the sound of the axes beneath which rose the arena told him that it was reality; the howling of the people and the overfilled prisons confirmed this. Then his faith in Christ was alarmed; and that alarm was a new torture, the most dreadful of all, perhaps.
But Vinicius's suffering went beyond what any person could bear. From the moment Lygia was imprisoned and the glory of her upcoming martyrdom fell upon her, he not only loved her a hundred times more, but he began to regard her in his heart with almost religious reverence, as if she were a superhuman being. Now, the thought of losing this being he loved so deeply and revered so highly, along with the possibility of her facing tortures worse than death itself, made his blood run cold. His soul became one long groan, and his thoughts became jumbled. At times, it felt as if his head was filled with living fire that would either burn him or explode. He no longer understood what was happening; he couldn't grasp why Christ, the Merciful, the Divine, did not come to help His followers; why the grim walls of the Palatine did not collapse into the earth along with Nero, the Augustians, the Praetorian camp, and that entire city of crime. He believed it couldn’t possibly be this way; everything his eyes witnessed—causing his heart to break—felt like a nightmare. But the roars of wild beasts reminded him it was reality; the sounds of the axes, rising beneath the arena, told him it was real; the howling of the crowd and the overcrowded prisons confirmed it. Then his faith in Christ began to falter; and that doubt became a new torment, perhaps the most dreadful of all.
“Remember what the daughter of Sejanus endured before death,” said Petronius to him, meanwhile.
“Remember what Sejanus's daughter went through before she died,” Petronius said to him in the meantime.
Chapter LII
AND everything had failed. Vinicius lowered himself to the degree that he sought support from freedmen and slaves, both those of Cæsar and Poppæa; he overpaid their empty promises, he won their good will with rich gifts. He found the first husband of Poppæa, Rufus Crispinus, and obtained from him a letter. He gave a villa in Antium to Rufius, her son by the first marriage; but thereby he merely angered Cæsar, who hated his step-son. By a special courier he sent a letter to Poppæa’s second husband, Otho, in Spain. He sacrificed his property and himself, until he saw at last that he was simply the plaything of people; that if he had pretended that the imprisonment of Lygia concerned him little, he would have freed her sooner.
AND everything had fallen apart. Vinicius lowered himself to the point where he sought help from freedmen and slaves, both of Cæsar and Poppæa; he overpaid their empty promises and won their good will with generous gifts. He found Poppæa’s first husband, Rufus Crispinus, and got a letter from him. He gifted a villa in Antium to Rufius, her son from the first marriage; but this only angered Cæsar, who despised his stepson. He sent a letter to Poppæa’s second husband, Otho, in Spain, via a special courier. He sacrificed his property and himself, until he finally realized he was just a pawn in their games; that if he had acted like the imprisonment of Lygia didn’t bother him much, he would have freed her sooner.
Petronius saw this, too. Meanwhile day followed day. The amphitheatre was finished. The “tesseræ” were distributed,—that is, tickets of entrance, to the ludus matutinus (morning games). But this time the morning games, because of the unheard-of number of victims, were to continue for days, weeks, and months. It was not known where to put the Christians. The prisons were crammed, and fever was raging in them. The puticuli—common pits in which slaves were kept—began to be overfilled. There was fear that diseases might spread over the whole city hence, haste.
Petronius noticed this as well. Meanwhile, days went by. The amphitheater was complete. The tickets for the morning games were handed out. But this time, the morning games were scheduled to last for days, weeks, and months due to the unprecedented number of victims. They didn't know where to put the Christians. The prisons were overcrowded, and fever was spreading among the inmates. The puticuli—common pits where slaves were held—were starting to overflow. There was concern that diseases could spread throughout the entire city, prompting urgency.
All these reports struck the ears of Vinicius, extinguishing in him the last hope. While there was yet time, he might delude himself with the belief that he could do something, but now there was no time. The spectacles must begin. Lygia might find herself any day in a cuniculum of the circus, whence the only exit was to the arena. Vinicius, not knowing whither fate and the cruelty of superior force might throw her, visited all the circuses, bribed guards and beast-keepers, laying before them plans which they could not execute. In time he saw that he was working for this only,—to make death less terrible to her; and just then he felt that instead of brains he had glowing coals in his head.
All these reports hit Vinicius hard, snuffing out his last hope. While there was still time, he could fool himself into thinking he could do something, but now time was up. The spectacles had to begin. Lygia could end up in a holding area of the circus any day, from where the only exit led to the arena. Vinicius, not knowing where fate and the cruelty of those in power might lead her, visited all the circuses, bribed guards and animal keepers, presenting them with plans they couldn’t carry out. Eventually, he realized he was only working towards one thing—to make death less frightening for her; and in that moment, he felt not thoughts, but burning coals in his head.
For the rest he had no thought of surviving her, and determined to perish at the same time. But he feared lest pain might burn his life out before the dreadful hour came. His friends and Petronius thought also that any day might open the kingdom of shadows before him. His face was black, and resembled those waxen masks kept in lararia. In his features astonishment had grown frigid, as if he hid no understanding of what had happened and what might happen. When any one spoke to him, he raised his hands to his face mechanically, and, pressing his temples, looked at the speaker with an inquiring and astonished gaze. He passed whole nights with Ursus at Lygia’s door in the prison; if she commanded him to go away and rest, he returned to Petronius, and walked in the atrium till morning. The slaves found him frequently kneeling with upraised hands or lying with his face to the earth. He prayed to Christ, for Christ was his last hope. Everything had failed him. Only a miracle could save Lygia; hence he beat the stone flags with his forehead and prayed for the miracle.
For the rest, he had no intention of outliving her and decided he would die at the same time. But he was afraid that pain might take his life before the awful moment arrived. His friends and Petronius also thought that any day could open the gates to the afterlife for him. His face was dark and resembled those wax masks kept in shrines. His features looked frozen in astonishment, as if he didn’t understand what had happened or what might happen next. When someone spoke to him, he would mechanically raise his hands to his face, press his temples, and look at the person with a questioning and shocked expression. He spent entire nights with Ursus outside Lygia’s prison door; if she told him to go away and rest, he would go back to Petronius and pace around the atrium until morning. The slaves often found him kneeling with his hands raised or lying with his face to the ground. He prayed to Christ, as Christ was his last hope. Everything else had failed him. Only a miracle could save Lygia; thus, he pounded the stone floor with his forehead and prayed for that miracle.
But he knew enough yet to understand that Peter’s prayers were more important than his own. Peter had promised him Lygia, Peter had baptized him, Peter had performed miracles, let him give aid and rescue.
But he knew enough to understand that Peter’s prayers were more important than his own. Peter had promised him Lygia, Peter had baptized him, Peter had performed miracles; let him provide help and salvation.
And a certain night he went to seek the Apostle. The Christians, of whom not many remained, had concealed him now carefully even from other brethren, lest any of the weaker in spirit might betray him wittingly or unwittingly. Vinicius, amid the general confusion and disaster, occupied also in efforts to get Lygia out of prison, had lost sight of Peter, he had barely seen him once from the time of his own baptism till the beginning of the persecution. But betaking himself to that quarryman in whose hut he was baptized, he learned that there would be a meeting outside the Porta Salaria in a vineyard which belonged to Cornelius Pudens. The quarryman offered to guide him, and declared that he would find Peter there. They started about dusk, and, passing beyond the wall, through hollows overgrown with reeds, reached the vineyard in a wild and lonely place. The meeting was held in a wine-shed. As Vinicius drew near, the murmur of prayer reached his ears. On entering he saw by dim lamplight a few tens of kneeling figures sunk in prayer. They were saying a kind of litany; a chorus of voices, male and female, repeated every moment, “Christ have mercy on us.” In those voices, deep, piercing sadness and sorrow were heard.
One night, he went to find the Apostle. The Christians, of whom there were hardly any left, had hidden him carefully even from other believers, fearing that some of the weaker ones might betray him, either knowingly or unknowingly. Vinicius, amidst the general chaos and turmoil, focused on getting Lygia out of prison and had lost track of Peter; he had barely seen him since his own baptism until the start of the persecution. However, he went to the quarryman whose hut served as the place of his baptism and learned that there would be a meeting outside the Porta Salaria in a vineyard owned by Cornelius Pudens. The quarryman offered to guide him and said he would find Peter there. They set out around dusk, passed beyond the wall, and through fields overgrown with reeds until they reached the vineyard in a wild and isolated spot. The meeting was held in a wine shed. As Vinicius approached, he could hear the murmuring of prayer. Upon entering, he saw a few dozen figures kneeling in prayer, illuminated by dim lamplight. They were chanting a kind of litany; a chorus of voices, both male and female, repeatedly cried out, “Christ, have mercy on us.” In those voices, one could sense deep, piercing sadness and sorrow.
Peter was present. He was kneeling in front of the others, before a wooden cross nailed to the wall of the shed, and was praying. From a distance Vinicius recognized his white hair and his upraised hands. The first thought of the young patrician was to pass through the assembly, cast himself at the Apostle’s feet, and cry, “Save!” but whether it was the solemnity of the prayer, or because weakness bent the knees under Vinicius, he began to repeat while he groaned and clasped his hands: “Christ have mercy!” Had he been conscious, he would have understood that his was not the only prayer in which there was a groan; that he was not the only one who had brought with him his pain, alarm, and grief. There was not in that assembly one soul which had not lost persons dear to the heart; and when the most zealous and courageous confessors were in prison already, when with every moment new tidings were borne about of insults and tortures inflicted on them in the prisons, when the greatness of the calamity exceeded every imagination, when only that handful remained, there was not one heart there which was not terrified in its faith, which did not ask doubtfully, Where is Christ? and why does He let evil be mightier than God? Meanwhile they implored Him despairingly for mercy, since in each soul there still smouldered a spark of hope that He would come, hurl Nero into the abyss, and rule the world. They looked yet toward the sky; they listened yet; they prayed yet with trembling. Vinicius, too, in proportion as they repeated, “Christ have mercy on us!” was seized by such an ecstasy as formerly in the quarryman’s hut. Now from the depths they call on Him in the profoundness of their sorrow, now Peter calls on Him; so any moment the heavens may be rent, the earth tremble to its foundations, and He appear in infinite glory, with stars at His feet, merciful, but awful. He will raise up the faithful, and command the abysses to swallow the persecutors.
Peter was there, kneeling in front of the others at a wooden cross nailed to the wall of the shed, praying. From a distance, Vinicius recognized his white hair and his raised hands. The young patrician’s first thought was to walk through the crowd, throw himself at the Apostle’s feet, and cry, “Save me!” But whether it was the seriousness of the prayer or because weakness brought him to his knees, he began to groan and clasp his hands, repeating, “Christ, have mercy!” If he had been aware, he would have realized he wasn’t the only one praying with a groan; he wasn’t the only one carrying pain, fear, and sorrow. Every person in that assembly had lost someone dear to them; and with the most zealous and courageous confessors already in prison, with news of insults and tortures being reported daily, as the scale of the disaster grew beyond imagination, and only that small group remained, there wasn’t a heart among them that wasn’t shaken in its faith, wondering, Where is Christ? Why does He allow evil to be stronger than God? Meanwhile, they desperately begged Him for mercy, as each soul still held onto a flicker of hope that He would come, cast Nero into the abyss, and take charge of the world. They still looked to the sky, still listened, still prayed with trembling. Vinicius, too, as they repeated, “Christ, have mercy on us!” was overcome by the same ecstasy he once felt in the quarryman’s hut. Now from the depths, they called on Him in their profound sorrow, now Peter called on Him; at any moment, the heavens could split open, the earth could shake to its core, and He could appear in infinite glory, with stars at His feet, merciful yet fearsome. He would lift up the faithful and command the depths to swallow their persecutors.
Vinicius covered his face with both hands, and bowed to the earth. Immediately silence was around him, as if fear had stopped further breathing on the lips of all present. And it seemed to him that something must happen surely, that a moment of miracle would follow. He felt certain that when he rose and opened his eyes he would see a light from which mortal eyes would be blinded, and hear a voice from which hearts would grow faint.
Vinicius covered his face with both hands and bowed to the ground. Instantly, there was silence around him, as if fear had stilled everyone’s breath. It felt to him like something was bound to happen, that a moment of miracle would come. He was sure that when he got up and opened his eyes, he would see a light that would blind mortal eyes and hear a voice that would make hearts faint.
But the silence was unbroken. It was interrupted at last by the sobbing of women. Vinicius rose and looked forward with dazed eyes. In the shed, instead of glories not of earth, shone the faint gleam of lanterns, and rays of the moon, entering through an opening in the roof, filled the place with silvery light. The people kneeling around Vinicius raised their tearful eyes toward the cross in silence; here and there sobbing was heard, and from outside came the warning whistles of watchmen. Meanwhile Peter rose, and, turning to the assembly, said,
But the silence was unbroken. Finally, it was interrupted by the sobs of women. Vinicius stood up and looked ahead with dazed eyes. In the shed, instead of otherworldly glories, there was the faint glow of lanterns, and beams of moonlight streaming in through a gap in the roof filled the space with a silvery light. The people kneeling around Vinicius raised their tear-filled eyes toward the cross in silence; occasionally, sobbing could be heard, and from outside came the warning whistles of watchmen. Meanwhile, Peter stood up and, turning to the crowd, said,
“Children, raise your hearts to the Redeemer and offer Him your tears.”
“Kids, lift your hearts to the Savior and give Him your tears.”
After that he was silent.
He was silent after that.
All at once was heard the voice of a woman, full of sorrowful complaint and pain,—
All of a sudden, a woman's voice was heard, filled with sorrow and pain—
“I am a widow; I had one son who supported me. Give him back, O Lord!” Silence followed again. Peter was standing before the kneeling audience, old, full of care. In that moment he seemed to them decrepitude and weakness personified. With that a second voice began to complain,
“I’m a widow; I had one son who took care of me. Please bring him back, O Lord!” Silence fell once more. Peter stood before the kneeling crowd, looking old and burdened by worry. In that moment, he seemed to represent frailty and vulnerability. Then a second voice started to voice its complaints,
“Executioners insulted my daughter, and Christ permitted them!”
“Executioners disrespected my daughter, and Christ allowed it!”
Then a third,—
Then a third—
“I alone have remained to my children, and when I am taken who will give them bread and water?”
“I’m the only one left for my kids, and when I’m gone, who will provide them with food and water?”
Then a fourth,—
Then a fourth,—
“Linus, spared at first, they have taken now and put to torture, O Lord!”
“Linus, who was spared at first, has now been taken and is being tortured, O Lord!”
Then a fifth,
Then a fifth,
“When we return to our houses, pretorians will seize us. We know not where to hide.”
“When we get back to our homes, the guards will catch us. We don't know where to hide.”
“Woe to us! Who will protect us?”
“Woe to us! Who will keep us safe?”
And thus in that silence of the night complaint after complaint was heard. The old fisherman closed his eyes and shook his white head over that human pain and fear. New silence followed; the watchman merely gave out low whistles beyond the shed.
And so, in the silence of the night, complaints echoed one after another. The old fisherman closed his eyes and shook his white head at the human pain and fear. Another silence settled in; the watchman just let out soft whistles beyond the shed.
Vinicius sprang up again, so as to break through the crowd to the Apostle and demand salvation; but on a sudden he saw before him, as it were, a precipice, the sight of which took strength from his feet. What if the Apostle were to confess his own weakness, affirm that the Roman Cæsar was stronger than Christ the Nazarene? And at that thought terror raised the hair on his head, for he felt that in such a case not only the remnant of his hope would fall into that abyss, but with it he himself, and all through which he had life, and there would remain only night and death, resembling a shoreless sea.
Vinicius jumped up again to push through the crowd to the Apostle and ask for salvation; but suddenly he saw what seemed like a cliff ahead of him, and the sight drained his strength. What if the Apostle admitted his own weakness, claiming that the Roman Caesar was more powerful than Christ the Nazarene? The thought filled him with terror, making his hair stand on end, because he realized that in that case, not only would the last bit of his hope tumble into that abyss, but so would he, along with everything that gave him life, leaving only darkness and death, like an endless sea.
Meanwhile Peter began to speak in a voice so low at first that it was barely possible to hear him,—
Meanwhile, Peter started to speak in a voice that was so low at first that it was hard to hear him,—
“My children, on Golgotha I saw them nail God to the cross. I heard the hammers, and I saw them raise the cross on high, so that the rabble might gaze at the death of the Son of Man. I saw them open His side, and I saw Him die. When returning from the cross, I cried in pain, as ye are crying, ‘Woe! woe! O Lord, Thou art God! Why hast Thou permitted this? Why hast Thou died, and why hast Thou tormented the hearts of us who believed that Thy kingdom would come?’
“My children, at Golgotha I saw them nail God to the cross. I heard the hammers, and I saw them raise the cross up high so that the crowd could watch the death of the Son of Man. I saw them pierce His side, and I saw Him die. As I left the cross, I cried in pain, just like you are now, ‘Woe! Woe! O Lord, You are God! Why have You allowed this? Why did You die, and why have You tormented the hearts of those of us who believed that Your kingdom would come?’”
“But He, our Lord and God, rose from the dead the third day, and was among us till He entered His kingdom in great glory.
“But He, our Lord and God, rose from the dead on the third day and was with us until He entered His kingdom in great glory.
“And we, seeing our little faith, became strong in heart, and from that time we are sowing His grain.”
“And we, realizing our little faith, grew strong in spirit, and since then, we've been sowing His seeds.”
Here, turning toward the place whence the first complaint came, he began in a voice now stronger,—
Here, turning toward the source of the first complaint, he started speaking in a voice that was now stronger,—
“Why do ye complain? God gave Himself to torture and death, and ye wish Him to shield you from the same. People of little faith, have ye received His teaching? Has He promised you nothing but life? He comes to you and says, ‘Follow in my path.’ He raises you to Himself, and ye catch at this earth with your hands, crying, ‘Lord, save us!’ I am dust before God, but before you I am His apostle and viceregent. I speak to you in the name of Christ. Not death is before you, but life; not tortures, but endless delights; not tears and groans, but singing; not bondage, but rule! I, God’s apostle, say this: O widow, thy son will not die; he will be born into glory, into eternal life, and thou wilt rejoin him! To thee, O father, whose innocent daughter was defiled by executioners, I promise that thou shalt find her whiter than the lilies of Hebron! To you, mothers, whom they are tearing away from your orphans; to you who lose fathers; to you who complain; to you who will see the death of loved ones; to you the careworn, the unfortunate, the timid; to you who must die,—in the name of Christ I declare that ye will wake as if from sleep to a happy waking, as if from night to the light of God. In the name of Christ, let the beam fall from your eyes, and let your hearts be inflamed.”
“Why do you complain? God willingly endured torture and death, and you expect Him to protect you from the same fate. People of little faith, have you truly embraced His teachings? Has He promised you nothing but life? He comes to you and says, ‘Follow my path.’ He lifts you up, yet you cling to this earth, crying, ‘Lord, save us!’ I am dust before God, but to you, I am His messenger and representative. I speak to you in the name of Christ. Before you lies not death, but life; not torment, but endless joy; not tears and suffering, but singing; not captivity, but freedom! I, God’s messenger, declare this: O widow, your son will not die; he will enter into glory, into eternal life, and you will be reunited with him! To you, O father, whose innocent daughter was violated by executioners, I promise that you will find her purer than the lilies of Hebron! To you, mothers, from whom they are taking your children; to you who lose fathers; to you who complain; to you who will witness the death of loved ones; to you, the weary, the unfortunate, the fearful; to you who must face death — in the name of Christ, I proclaim that you will awaken as if from sleep to a joyful rise, as if from night to the light of God. In the name of Christ, may the burden be lifted from your eyes, and may your hearts be kindled.”
When he had said this, he raised his hand as if commanding, and they felt new blood in their veins, and also a quiver in their bones; for before them was standing, not a decrepit and careworn old man, but a potentate, who took their souls and raised them from dust and terror.
When he said this, he raised his hand as if giving a command, and they felt new energy in their veins and a shiver in their bones; for standing before them was not a frail and worn-out old man, but a powerful ruler, who uplifted their spirits from despair and fear.
“Amen!” called a number of voices.
“Amen!” called multiple voices.
From the Apostle’s eyes came a light ever increasing, power issued from him, majesty issued from him, and holiness. Heads bent before him, and he, when the “Amen” ceased, continued:—
From the Apostle’s eyes came an ever-increasing light, power flowed from him, majesty radiated from him, and holiness. Heads bowed before him, and he, when the “Amen” faded, continued:—
“Ye sow in tears to reap in joy. Why fear ye the power of evil? Above the earth, above Rome, above the walls of cities is the Lord, who has taken His dwelling within you. The stones will be wet from tears, the sand steeped in blood, the valleys will be filled with your bodies, but I say that ye are victorious. The Lord is advancing to the conquest of this city of crime, oppression, and pride, and ye are His legions! He redeemed with His own blood and torture the sins of the world; so He wishes that ye should redeem with torture and blood this nest of injustice. This He announces to you through my lips.”
“You sow in tears to reap joy. Why fear the power of evil? Above the earth, above Rome, above the walls of cities is the Lord, who lives within you. The stones will be soaked with tears, the sand stained with blood, the valleys will be filled with your bodies, but I tell you that you are victorious. The Lord is moving forward to conquer this city of crime, oppression, and pride, and you are His army! He redeemed the world's sins with His own blood and suffering; now He desires that you redeem this place of injustice with suffering and blood. This He declares to you through my words.”
And he opened his arms, and fixed his eyes upward; the hearts almost ceased to beat in their breasts, for they felt that his glance beheld something which their mortal sight could not see.
And he opened his arms and looked up; their hearts almost stopped beating in their chests because they sensed that his gaze was seeing something beyond what their human eyes could perceive.
In fact, his face had changed, and was overspread with serenity; he gazed some time in silence, as if speechless from ecstasy, but after a while they heard his voice,—
In fact, his face had changed and was filled with serenity; he stared silently for a while, as if he was speechless from joy, but after some time, they heard his voice,—
“Thou art here, O Lord, and dost show Thy ways to me. True, O Christ! Not in Jerusalem, but in this city of Satan wilt Thou fix Thy capital. Here out of these tears and this blood dost Thou wish to build Thy Church. Here, where Nero rules to-day, Thy eternal kingdom is to stand. Thine, O Lord, O Lord! And Thou commandest these timid ones to form the foundation of Thy holy Zion of their bones, and Thou commandest my spirit to assume rule over it, and over peoples of the earth. And Thou art pouring the fountain of strength on the weak, so that they become strong; and now Thou commandest me to feed Thy sheep from this spot, to the end of ages. Oh, be Thou praised in Thy decrees by which Thou commandest to conquer. Hosanna! Hosanna!”
"You are here, O Lord, and you show me your ways. It's true, O Christ! Not in Jerusalem, but in this city of Satan will you establish your capital. Here, through these tears and this blood, you wish to build your Church. Here, where Nero rules today, your eternal kingdom is to stand. Yours, O Lord! And you command these fearful ones to lay the foundation of your holy Zion with their bones, and you command my spirit to take charge of it, and of the peoples of the earth. And you are pouring out the fountain of strength on the weak, so they become strong; and now you command me to feed your sheep from this place, to the end of ages. Oh, be praised in your decrees by which you command us to conquer. Hosanna! Hosanna!"
Those who were timid rose; into those who doubted streams of faith flowed. Some voices cried, “Hosanna!” others, “Pro Christo!” Then silence followed. Bright summer lightning illuminated the interior of the shed, and the pale, excited faces.
Those who were shy stood up; into those who questioned, waves of belief poured in. Some voices shouted, “Hosanna!” others, “For Christ!” Then there was silence. Bright summer lightning lit up the inside of the shed and the pale, excited faces.
Peter, fixed in a vision, prayed a long time yet; but conscious at last, he turned his inspired face, full of light, to the assembly, and said,—
Peter, lost in a vision, prayed for a long time; but finally aware, he turned his radiant, inspired face to the assembly and said,—
“This is how the Lord has overcome doubt in you; so ye will go to victory in His name.”
“This is how the Lord has put your doubts to rest, so you will achieve victory in His name.”
And though he knew that they would conquer, though he knew what would grow out of their tears and blood, still his voice quivered with emotion when he was blessing them with the cross, and he said,—
And even though he knew they would win, even though he understood what would come from their tears and blood, his voice still shook with emotion as he blessed them with the cross, and he said,—
“Now I bless you, my children, as ye go to torture, to death, to eternity.”
“Now I bless you, my children, as you head toward torture, death, and eternity.”
They gathered round him and wept. “We are ready,” said they; “but do thou, O holy head, guard thyself, for thou art the viceregent who performs the office of Christ.”
They gathered around him and cried. “We are ready,” they said; “but you, O holy one, take care of yourself, for you are the representative who fulfills the role of Christ.”
And thus speaking, they seized his mantle; he placed his hands on their heads, and blessed each one separately, just as a father does children whom he is sending on a long journey.
And as he spoke, they took his cloak; he put his hands on their heads and blessed each one individually, just like a father would do for his children before sending them off on a long journey.
And they began at once to go out of the shed, for they were in a hurry, to their houses, and from them to the prisons and arenas. Their thoughts were separated from the earth, their souls had taken flight toward eternity, and they walked on as if in a dream, in ecstasy opposing that force which was in them to the force and the cruelty of the “Beast.”
And they immediately started leaving the shed because they were in a hurry to get home, then to the prisons and arenas. Their minds were far from the ground, their souls had soared toward eternity, and they walked as if in a dream, in ecstasy, resisting the force within them against the power and cruelty of the “Beast.”
Nereus, the servant of Pudens, took the Apostle and led him by a secret path in the vineyard to his house. But Vinicius followed them in the clear night, and when they reached the cottage of Nereus at last, he threw himself suddenly at the feet of the Apostle.
Nereus, Pudens' servant, took the Apostle and led him along a hidden path in the vineyard to his house. However, Vinicius followed them under the bright night sky, and when they finally arrived at Nereus' cottage, he suddenly fell at the Apostle's feet.
“What dost thou wish, my Son?” asked Peter, recognizing him.
“What do you want, my Son?” asked Peter, recognizing him.
After what he had heard in the vineyard, Vinicius dared not implore him for anything; but, embracing his feet with both hands, he pressed his forehead to them with sobbing, and called for compassion in that dumb manner.
After what he had heard in the vineyard, Vinicius didn’t dare to ask him for anything; instead, he hugged his feet with both hands, pressed his forehead against them while crying, and silently begged for compassion.
“I know. They took the maiden whom thou lovest. Pray for her.”
“I know. They took the girl you love. Pray for her.”
“Lord,” groaned Vinicius, embracing his feet still more firmly,—“Lord, I am a wretched worm; but thou didst know Christ. Implore Him,—take her part.”
“Lord,” groaned Vinicius, clutching his feet even more tightly, “Lord, I am a miserable worm; but you knew Christ. Please implore Him—take her side.”
And from pain he trembled like a leaf; and he beat the earth with his forehead, for, knowing the strength of the Apostle, he knew that he alone could rescue her.
And from the pain, he shook like a leaf; and he slammed his forehead against the ground, for, understanding the Apostle's strength, he realized that only he could save her.
Peter was moved by that pain. He remembered how on a time Lygia herself, when attacked by Crispus, lay at his feet in like manner imploring pity. He remembered that he had raised her and comforted her; hence now he raised Vinicius.
Peter felt a surge of compassion. He recalled a time when Lygia, under attack from Crispus, had fallen at his feet, pleading for mercy. He remembered how he had lifted her up and offered her comfort; so now, he lifted Vinicius.
“My son,” said he, “I will pray for her; but do thou remember that I told those doubting ones that God Himself passed through the torment of the cross, and remember that after this life begins another,—an eternal one.”
“My son,” he said, “I will pray for her; but remember that I told those who doubt that God Himself went through the pain of the cross, and keep in mind that after this life, another begins—an eternal one.”
“I know; I have heard!” answered Vinicius, catching the air with his pale lips; “but thou seest, lord, that I cannot! If blood is required, implore Christ to take mine,—I am a soldier. Let Him double, let Him triple, the torment intended for her, I will suffer it; but let Him spare her. She is a child yet, and He is mightier than Cæsar, I believe, mightier. Thou didst love her thyself; thou didst bless us. She is an innocent child yet.”
“I know; I’ve heard!” Vinicius replied, catching his breath with his pale lips. “But you see, my lord, I can’t! If blood is needed, ask Christ to take mine—I’m a soldier. Let Him double or triple the suffering meant for her; I’ll endure it, but let Him spare her. She’s still a child, and I believe He is mightier than Caesar, much mightier. You loved her too; you blessed us. She’s still just an innocent child.”
Again he bowed, and, putting his face to Peter’s knees, he repeated,—
Again he bowed, and, placing his face on Peter’s knees, he repeated,—
“Thou didst know Christ, lord,—thou didst know Him. He will give ear to thee; take her part.”
“You knew Christ, lord—you knew Him. He will listen to you; support her.”
Peter closed his lids, and prayed earnestly. The summer lightning illuminated the sky again. Vinicius, by the light of it, looked at the lips of the Apostle, waiting sentence of life or death from them. In the silence quails were heard calling in the vineyard, and the dull, distant sound of treadmills near the Via Salaria.
Peter closed his eyes and prayed sincerely. The summer lightning lit up the sky once more. Vinicius, by that light, gazed at the Apostle's lips, waiting for a verdict of life or death from him. In the silence, quails could be heard calling in the vineyard, along with the dull, distant sound of treadmills near the Via Salaria.
“Vinicius,” asked the Apostle at last, “dost thou believe?”
"Vinicius," the Apostle finally asked, "do you believe?"
“Would I have come hither if I believed not?” answered Vinicius.
"Would I have come here if I didn't believe?" Vinicius replied.
“Then believe to the end, for faith will remove mountains. Hence, though thou wert to see that maiden under the sword of the executioner or in the jaws of a lion, believe that Christ can save her. Believe, and pray to Him, and I will pray with thee.”
“Then believe until the end, for faith can move mountains. So, even if you see that girl facing the executioner's sword or in the jaws of a lion, believe that Christ can save her. Believe, and pray to Him, and I will pray with you.”
Then, raising his face toward heaven, he said aloud,—
Then, looking up toward the sky, he said out loud,—
“O merciful Christ, look on this aching heart and console it! O merciful Christ, temper the wind to the fleece of the lamb! O merciful Christ, who didst implore the Father to turn away the bitter cup from Thy mouth, turn it from the mouth of this Thy servant! Amen.”
“O merciful Christ, look at this aching heart and comfort it! O merciful Christ, calm the storm for the lamb! O merciful Christ, who asked the Father to take away the bitter cup from Your lips, take it away from this Your servant! Amen.”
But Vinicius, stretching his hand toward the stars, said, groaning,—
But Vinicius, reaching out his hand toward the stars, said, groaning,—
“I am Thine; take me instead of her.”
"I belong to you; take me instead of her."
The sky began to grow pale in the east.
The sky started to lighten in the east.
Chapter LIII
VINICIUS, on leaving the Apostle, went to the prison with a heart renewed by hope. Somewhere in the depth of his soul, despair and terror were still crying; but he stifled those voices. It seemed to him impossible that the intercession of the viceregent of God and the power of his prayer should be without effect. He feared to hope; he feared to doubt. “I will believe in His mercy,” said he to himself, “even though I saw her in the jaws of a lion.” And at this thought, even though the soul quivered in him and cold sweat drenched his temples, he believed. Every throb of his heart was a prayer then. He began to understand that faith would move mountains, for he felt in himself a wonderful strength, which he had not felt earlier. It seemed to him that he could do things which he had not the power to do the day before. At moments he had an impression that the danger had passed. If despair was heard groaning again in his soul, he recalled that night, and that holy gray face raised to heaven in prayer.
VINICIUS, after leaving the Apostle, headed to the prison with a heart filled with hope. Deep down, despair and fear were still trying to take hold; but he pushed those feelings aside. It seemed impossible that the intercession of God's representative and the power of his prayer would be in vain. He was afraid to hope; he was afraid to doubt. “I will trust in His mercy,” he told himself, “even if I saw her in the jaws of a lion.” And with that thought, even though his soul trembled and cold sweat dripped down his forehead, he believed. Every beat of his heart became a prayer. He began to realize that faith could move mountains because he felt a newfound strength within himself that he hadn't experienced before. It felt like he could accomplish things he couldn’t have done the day before. Sometimes, he even felt like the danger had passed. When despair started to creep back into his heart, he remembered that night and that holy gray face looking up to heaven in prayer.
“No, Christ will not refuse His first disciple and the pastor of His flock! Christ will not refuse him! I will not doubt!” And he ran toward the prison as a herald of good news.
“No, Christ won’t turn away His first disciple and the shepherd of His flock! Christ won’t turn him away! I won’t doubt!” And he rushed toward the prison like a messenger of good news.
But there an unexpected thing awaited him.
But there was an unexpected thing waiting for him.
All the pretorian guards taking turn before the Mamertine prison knew him, and generally they raised not the least difficulty; this time, however, the line did not open, but a centurion approached him and said,—
All the Praetorian guards taking shifts in front of the Mamertine prison recognized him, and usually, they didn't raise any objections; however, this time, the line didn't part, and a centurion came up to him and said,—
“Pardon, noble tribune, to-day we have a command to admit no one.”
“Sorry, honorable tribune, today we have orders to not let anyone in.”
“A command?” repeated Vinicius, growing pale.
“A command?” Vinicius repeated, going pale.
The soldier looked at him with pity, and answered,—
The soldier looked at him with sympathy and replied,—
“Yes, lord, a command of Cæsar. In the prison there are many sick, and perhaps it is feared that visitors might spread infection through the city.”
“Yes, my lord, it's a command from Caesar. There are many sick people in the prison, and maybe there’s a worry that visitors could spread the infection throughout the city.”
“But hast thou said that the order was for to-day only?”
"But did you say that the order was just for today?"
“The guards change at noon.”
“The guards switch at noon.”
Vinicius was silent and uncovered his head, for it seemed to him that the pileolus which he wore was of lead.
Vinicius was quiet and removed his hat, because it felt to him like the cap he wore was made of lead.
Meanwhile the soldier approached him, and said in a low voice,
Meanwhile, the soldier walked up to him and said in a quiet voice,
“Be at rest, lord, the guard and Ursus are watching over her.” When he had said this, he bent and, in the twinkle of an eye, drew with his long Gallic sword on the flag stone the form of a fish.
“Rest easy, my lord, the guard and Ursus are keeping watch over her.” After saying this, he bent down and, in the blink of an eye, drew the shape of a fish on the flagstone with his long Gallic sword.
Vinicius looked at him quickly.
Vinicius glanced at him quickly.
“And thou art a pretorian?”
"And you are a praetorian?"
“Till I shall be there,” answered the soldier, pointing to the prison.
“Until I get there,” replied the soldier, pointing to the prison.
“And I, too, worship Christ.”
“And I also worship Christ.”
“May His name be praised! I know, lord, I cannot admit thee to the prison, but write a letter, I will give it to the guard.”
“May His name be praised! I know, my lord, I can’t let you into the prison, but I’ll write a letter and give it to the guard.”
“Thanks to thee, brother.”
"Thanks to you, bro."
He pressed the soldier’s hand, and went away. The pileolus ceased to weigh like lead. The morning sun rose over the walls of the prison, and with its brightness consolation began to enter his heart again. That Christian soldier was for him a new witness of the power of Christ. After a while he halted, and, fixing his glance on the rosy clouds above the Capitol and the temple of Jupiter Stator, he said,—
He shook the soldier’s hand and walked off. The pileolus no longer felt heavy. The morning sun rose over the prison walls, and with its brightness, comfort began to fill his heart again. That Christian soldier was a fresh testament to the power of Christ for him. After a moment, he stopped, gazing at the pink clouds above the Capitol and the temple of Jupiter Stator, and said,—
“I have not seen her to-day, O Lord, but I believe in Thy mercy.”
“I haven't seen her today, O Lord, but I trust in Your mercy.”
At the house he found Petronius, who, making day out of night as usual, had returned not long before. He had succeeded, however, in taking his bath and anointing himself for sleep.
At the house, he found Petronius, who, as usual, was making day out of night and had returned not long ago. However, he had managed to take his bath and get ready for sleep.
“I have news for thee,” said he. “To-day I was with Tullius Senecio, whom Cæsar also visited. I know not whence it came to the mind of the Augusta to bring little Rufius with her,—perhaps to soften the heart of Cæsar by his beauty. Unfortunately, the child, wearied by drowsiness, fell asleep during the reading, as Vespasian did once; seeing this, Ahenobarbus hurled a goblet at his step-son, and wounded him seriously. Poppæa fainted; all heard how Cæsar said, ‘I have enough of this brood!’ and that, knowest thou, means as much as death.”
“I have news for you,” he said. “Today I was with Tullius Senecio, who was also visited by Caesar. I don’t know why Augusta decided to bring little Rufius with her—maybe to win Caesar over with his looks. Unfortunately, the child, tired and sleepy, dozed off during the reading, just like Vespasian did once. When Ahenobarbus saw this, he threw a goblet at his step-son and seriously injured him. Poppæa fainted; everyone heard Caesar say, ‘I’ve had enough of this lot!’ and, you know, that means only one thing: death.”
“The punishment of God was hanging over the Augusta,” answered Vinicius; “but why dost thou tell me this?”
“The punishment of God was hanging over Augusta,” Vinicius replied; “but why are you telling me this?”
“I tell thee because the anger of Poppæa pursued thee and Lygia; occupied now by her own misfortune, she may leave her vengeance and be more easily influenced. I will see her this evening and talk with her.”
“I’m telling you this because Poppæa’s anger is after you and Lygia; now that she’s dealing with her own problems, she might drop her revenge and be more open to persuasion. I’ll meet her this evening and talk to her.”
“Thanks to thee. Thou givest me good news.”
“Thank you. You give me good news.”
“But do thou bathe and rest. Thy lips are blue, and there is not a shadow of thee left.”
“But go take a bath and get some rest. Your lips are blue, and there's barely any trace of you left.”
“Is not the time of the first ‘ludus matutinus’ announced?” inquired Vinicius.
“Isn’t the time for the first ‘ludus matutinus’ announced?” Vinicius asked.
“In ten days. But they will take other prisons first. The more time that remains to us the better. All is not lost yet.”
“In ten days. But they'll hit other prisons first. The more time we have, the better. All is not lost yet.”
But he did not believe this; for he knew perfectly that since to the request of Aliturus, Cæsar had found the splendidly sounding answer in which he compared himself to Brutus, there was no rescue for Lygia. He hid also, through pity, what he had heard at Senecio’s, that Cæsar and Tigellinus had decided to select for themselves and their friends the most beautiful Christian maidens, and defile them before the torture; the others were to be given, on the day of the games, to pretorians and beast-keepers.
But he didn’t believe this; he knew very well that ever since Aliturus’s request, Caesar had come up with that grand-sounding answer where he compared himself to Brutus, there was no way to save Lygia. Out of pity, he also kept to himself what he had heard at Senecio’s—that Caesar and Tigellinus had decided to pick the most beautiful Christian maidens for themselves and their friends and violate them before the torture; the others were to be given, on the day of the games, to the pretorians and beast-keepers.
Knowing that Vinicius would not survive Lygia in any case, he strengthened hope in his heart designedly, first, through sympathy for him; and second, because he wished that if Vinicius had to die, he should die beautiful,—not with a face deformed and black from pain and watching.
Knowing that Vinicius wouldn’t survive Lygia no matter what, he deliberately nurtured hope in his heart, first out of sympathy for him; and second, because he wanted Vinicius to die beautifully if he had to die—not with a face twisted and darkened by pain and suffering.
“To-day I will speak more or less thus to Augusta,” said he: “‘Save Lygia for Vinicius, I will save Ruflus for thee.’ And I will think of that seriously.
“To-day I will speak more or less like this to Augusta,” he said: “‘Save Lygia for Vinicius, I will save Ruflus for you.’ And I will think about that seriously.”
“One word spoken to Ahenobarbus at the right moment may save or ruin any one. In the worst case, we will gain time.”
“One word spoken to Ahenobarbus at the right moment can make or break anyone. At the very least, we’ll buy ourselves some time.”
“Thanks to thee,” repeated Vinicius.
“Thanks to you,” repeated Vinicius.
“Thou wilt thank me best if thou eat and sleep. By Athene! In the greatest straits Odysseus had sleep and food in mind. Thou hast spent the whole night in prison, of course?”
“You'll thank me the most if you eat and sleep. By Athena! In the toughest times, Odysseus thought about sleep and food. You spent the whole night in prison, right?”
“No,” answered Vinicius; “I wished to visit the prison to-day, but there is an order to admit no one. Learn, O Petronius, if the order is for to-day alone or till the day of the games.”
“No,” Vinicius replied. “I wanted to visit the prison today, but there’s a rule that no one can go in. Find out, Petronius, if this rule is just for today or if it’s until the day of the games.”
“I will discover this evening, and to-morrow morning will tell thee for what time and why the order was issued. But now, even were Helios to go to Cimmerian regions from sorrow, I shall sleep, and do thou follow my example.”
“I'll find out this evening, and I’ll let you know tomorrow morning why the order was given and for how long. But now, even if Helios were to wander off to the land of shadows out of grief, I’m going to sleep, and you should do the same.”
They separated; but Vinicius went to the library and wrote a letter to Lygia. When he had finished, he took it himself to the Christian centurion who carried it at once to the prison. After a while he returned with a greeting from Lygia, and promised to deliver her answer that day.
They parted ways, but Vinicius headed to the library and wrote a letter to Lygia. Once he was done, he took it himself to the Christian centurion, who immediately took it to the prison. After some time, he came back with a message from Lygia and promised to deliver her reply that day.
Vinicius did not wish to return home, but sat on a stone and waited for Lygia’s letter. The sun had risen high in the heavens, and crowds of people flowed in, as usual, through the Clivus Argentarius to the Forum. Hucksters called out their wares, soothsayers offered their services to passers-by, citizens walked with deliberate steps toward the rostra to hear orators of the day, or tell the latest news to one another. As the heat increased, crowds of idlers betook themselves to the porticos of the temples, from under which flew from moment to moment, with great rustle of wings, flocks of doves, whose white feathers glistened in the sunlight and in the blue of the sky.
Vinicius didn’t want to go home, so he sat on a stone and waited for Lygia’s letter. The sun was high in the sky, and crowds of people flowed through the Clivus Argentarius to the Forum, as usual. Vendors shouted about their goods, fortune tellers offered their services to passers-by, and citizens walked purposefully toward the rostra to hear the day’s speakers or share the latest news with each other. As the heat increased, groups of idle people gathered under the porches of the temples, from where flocks of doves flew out with a great rustle of wings, their white feathers sparkling in the sunlight and against the blue sky.
From excess of light and the influence of bustle, heat, and great weariness, the eyes of Vinicius began to close. The monotonous calls of boys playing mora, and the measured tread of soldiers, lulled him to sleep. He raised his head still a number of times, and took in the prison with his eyes; then he leaned against a Stone, sighed like a child drowsy after long weeping, and dropped asleep.
From too much light and the distractions of noise, heat, and exhaustion, Vinicius's eyes started to shut. The repetitive calls of boys playing games and the steady footsteps of soldiers lulled him to sleep. He lifted his head a few more times, scanning the prison with his eyes; then he leaned against a stone, sighed like a child who has been crying for a long time, and fell asleep.
Soon dreams came. It seemed to him that he was carrying Lygia in his arms at night through a strange vineyard. Before him was Pomponia Græcina lighting the way with a lamp. A voice, as it were of Petronius called from afar to him, “Turn back!” but he did not mind the call, and followed Pomponia till they reached a cottage; at the threshold of the cottage stood Peter. He showed Peter Lygia, and said, “We are coming from the arena, lord, but we cannot wake her; wake her thou.” “Christ himself will come to wake her,” answered the Apostle.
Soon dreams came. It felt like he was carrying Lygia in his arms at night through a strange vineyard. In front of him was Pomponia Græcina, lighting the way with a lamp. A voice that sounded like Petronius called to him from a distance, “Turn back!” but he ignored the call and followed Pomponia until they reached a cottage; at the door of the cottage stood Peter. He showed Peter Lygia and said, “We are coming from the arena, lord, but we cannot wake her; you wake her.” “Christ himself will come to wake her,” the Apostle replied.
Then the pictures began to change. Through the dream he saw Nero, and Poppæa holding in her arms little Ruflus with bleeding head, which Petronius was washing and he saw Tigellinus sprinkling ashes on tables covered with costly dishes, and Vitelius devouring those dishes, while a multitude of other Augustians were sitting at the feast. He himself was resting near Lygia; but between the tables walked lions from out whose yellow manes trickled blood. Lygia begged him to take her away, but so terrible a weakness had seized him that he could not even move. Then still greater disorder involved his visions, and finally all fell into perfect darkness.
Then the images started to shift. In the dream, he saw Nero and Poppæa holding little Ruflus in her arms, his head bleeding, which Petronius was washing. He witnessed Tigellinus sprinkling ashes on tables filled with expensive dishes, and Vitelius wolfing down those dishes, while a crowd of other Augustians sat at the feast. He was resting near Lygia, but lions with blood dripping from their yellow manes walked between the tables. Lygia pleaded with him to take her away, but an overwhelming weakness gripped him, leaving him unable to move. Then even more chaos filled his visions, and eventually, everything descended into total darkness.
He was roused from deep sleep at last by the heat of the sun, and shouts given forth right there around the place where he was sitting. Vinicius rubbed his eyes. The street was swarming with people; but two runners, wearing yellow tunics, pushed aside the throng with long staffs, crying and making room for a splendid litter which was carried by four stalwart Egyptian slaves.
He was finally awakened from a deep sleep by the warmth of the sun and the shouts coming from right around where he was sitting. Vinicius rubbed his eyes. The street was packed with people, but two runners in yellow tunics were parting the crowd with long staffs, shouting and clearing a path for a magnificent litter carried by four strong Egyptian slaves.
In the litter sat a man in white robes, whose face was not easily seen, for he held close to his eyes a roll of papyrus and was reading something diligently.
In the litter sat a man in white robes, whose face was not easy to see, for he was holding a scroll of papyrus up to his eyes and reading something intently.
“Make way for the noble Augustian!” cried the runners.
“Make way for the noble Augustian!” shouted the runners.
But the street was so crowded that the litter had to wait awhile. The Augustian put down his roll of papyrus and bent his head, crying,—
But the street was so crowded that the trash had to wait a bit. The Augustian put down his scroll of papyrus and bowed his head, crying,—
“Push aside those wretches! Make haste!”
“Move aside those miserable people! Hurry up!”
Seeing Vinicius suddenly, he drew back his head and raised the papyrus quickly.
Seeing Vinicius out of nowhere, he pulled back his head and quickly raised the papyrus.
Vinicius drew his hand across his forehead, thinking that he was dreaming yet.
Vinicius wiped his forehead, believing that he was still dreaming.
In the litter was sitting Chilo.
In the litter was sitting Chilo.
Meanwhile the runners had opened the way, and the Egyptians were ready to move, when the young tribune, who in one moment understood many things which till then had been incomprehensible, approached the litter.
Meanwhile, the runners had cleared the path, and the Egyptians were set to move when the young tribune, who in an instant grasped many things that had been unclear until then, walked over to the litter.
“A greeting to thee, O Chilo!” said he.
“A greeting to you, O Chilo!” he said.
“Young man,” answered the Greek, with pride and importance, endeavoring to give his face an expression of calmness which was not in his soul, “be greeted, but detain me not, for I am hastening to my friend, the noble Tigellinus.”
“Young man,” the Greek replied, with pride and a sense of importance, trying to make his face look calm even though he wasn’t feeling it inside, “I greet you, but don’t hold me up, as I’m on my way to see my friend, the noble Tigellinus.”
Vinicius, grasping the edge of the litter and looking him straight in the eyes, said with a lowered voice,—
Vinicius, holding the edge of the stretcher and looking him right in the eyes, said in a quiet voice,—
“Didst thou betray Lygia?”
“Did you betray Lygia?”
“Colossus of Memnon!” cried Chilo, with fear.
“Colossus of Memnon!” shouted Chilo, scared.
But there was no threat in the eyes of Vinicius; hence the old Greek’s alarm vanished quickly. He remembered that he was under the protection of Tigellinus and of Cæsar himself,—that is, of a power before which everything trembled,—that he was surrounded by sturdy slaves, and that Vinicius stood before him unarmed, with an emaciated face and body bent by suffering.
But there was no threat in Vinicius's eyes, so the old Greek’s fear quickly faded. He remembered that he was under the protection of Tigellinus and Cæsar himself—that is, a power that made everything else tremble—that he was surrounded by strong slaves, and that Vinicius stood before him unarmed, with a thin face and a body bent by suffering.
At this thought his insolence returned to him. He fixed on Vinicius his eyes, which were surrounded by red lids, and whispered in answer,—
At this thought, his arrogance came back. He locked his gaze on Vinicius, his eyes framed by red lids, and whispered in response,—
“But thou, when I was dying of hunger, didst give command to flog me.”
"But you, when I was starving, ordered me to be whipped."
For a moment both were silent; then the dull voice of Vinicius was heard,—
For a moment, both were quiet; then Vinicius's dull voice broke the silence,—
“I wronged thee, Chilo.”
"I wronged you, Chilo."
The Greek raised his head, and, snapping his fingers which in Rome was a mark of slight and contempt, said so loudly that all could hear him,—
The Greek looked up and, snapping his fingers—a gesture of disdain and disrespect in Rome—said loudly enough for everyone to hear,—
“Friend, if thou hast a petition to present, come to my house on the Esquiline in the morning hour, when I receive guests and clients after my bath.”
“Friend, if you have a request to make, come to my house on the Esquiline in the morning, when I welcome guests and clients after my bath.”
And he waved his hand; at that sign the Egyptians raised the litter, and the slaves, dressed in yellow tunics, began to cry as they brandished their staffs,—
And he waved his hand; at that sign, the Egyptians lifted the litter, and the slaves, wearing yellow tunics, started to cry as they waved their staffs,—
“Make way for the litter of the noble Chilo Chilonides! Make way, make way!”
“Clear a path for the offspring of the great Chilo Chilonides! Clear a path, clear a path!”
Chapter LIV
LYGIA, in a long letter written hurriedly, took farewell to Vinicius forever. She knew that no one was permitted to enter the prison, and that she could see Vinicius only from the arena. She begged him therefore to discover when the turn of the Mamertine prisoners would come, and to be at the games, for she wished to see him once more in life. No fear was evident in her letter. She wrote that she and the others were longing for the arena, where they would find liberation from imprisonment. She hoped for the coming of Pomponia and Aulus; she entreated that they too be present. Every word of her showed ecstasy, and that separation from life in which all the prisoners lived, and at the same time an unshaken faith that all promises would be fulfilled beyond the grave.
LYGIA, in a long letter written in a hurry, said goodbye to Vinicius forever. She knew that no one was allowed to enter the prison and that she could only see Vinicius from the arena. She asked him to find out when the Mamertine prisoners would be called and to be at the games because she wanted to see him one last time in life. There was no fear in her letter. She wrote that she and the others were looking forward to the arena, where they would find freedom from imprisonment. She hoped for the arrival of Pomponia and Aulus and urged that they be there too. Every word of hers expressed joy, reflecting the separation from life that all the prisoners experienced, but at the same time, an unwavering belief that all promises would be kept beyond the grave.
“Whether Christ,” wrote she, “frees me in this life or after death, He has promised me to thee by the lips of the Apostle; therefore I am thine.” She implored him not to grieve for her, and not to let himself be overcome by suffering. For her death was not a dissolution of marriage. With the confidence of a child she assured Vinicius that immediately after her suffering in the arena she would tell Christ that her betrothed Marcus had remained in Rome, that he was longing for her with his whole heart. And she thought that Christ would permit her soul, perhaps, to return to him for a moment, to tell him that she was living, that she did not remember her torments, and that she was happy. Her whole letter breathed happiness and immense hope. There was only one request in it connected with affairs of earth,—that Vinicius should take her body from the spoliarium and bury it as that of his wife in the tomb in which he himself would rest sometime.
“Whether Christ,” she wrote, “frees me in this life or after death, He has promised me to you through the words of the Apostle; so I am yours.” She urged him not to mourn for her and not to let himself be overwhelmed by pain. Her death was not the end of their marriage. With the trust of a child, she reassured Vinicius that right after her suffering in the arena, she would tell Christ that her fiancé Marcus was still in Rome, that he was missing her with all his heart. And she thought that Christ might allow her soul, perhaps, to return to him for a moment, to let him know that she was alive, that she didn’t remember her suffering, and that she was happy. Her whole letter radiated happiness and great hope. There was only one request in it regarding earthly matters—that Vinicius should take her body from the spoliarium and bury it as his wife in the tomb where he would eventually rest.
He read this letter with a suffering spirit, but at the same time it seemed to him impossible that Lygia should perish under the claws of wild beasts, and that Christ would not take compassion on her. But just in that were hidden hope and trust. When he returned home, he wrote that he would come every day to the walls of the Tullianum to wait till Christ crushed the walls and restored her. He commanded her to believe that Christ could give her to him, even in the Circus; that the great Apostle was imploring Him to do so, and that the hour of liberation was near. The converted centurion was to bear this letter to her on the morrow.
He read this letter with a heavy heart, but at the same time, he found it hard to believe that Lygia could be killed by wild animals, and that Christ wouldn’t show mercy on her. Yet, in that very thought were hope and faith. When he got home, he wrote that he would come to the walls of the Tullianum every day, waiting for Christ to break down the walls and bring her back to him. He urged her to believe that Christ could reunite them, even in the Circus; that the great Apostle was pleading with Him to do just that, and that the moment of freedom was close. The converted centurion was to deliver this letter to her the next day.
But when Vinicius came to the prison next morning, the centurion left the rank, approached him first, and said,—
But when Vinicius arrived at the prison the next morning, the centurion stepped away from the ranks, approached him first, and said,—
“Listen to me, lord. Christ, who enlightened thee, has shown thee favor. Last night Cæsar’s freedman and those of the prefect came to select Christian maidens for disgrace; they inquired for thy betrothed, but our Lord sent her a fever, of which prisoners are dying in the Tullianum, and they left her. Last evening she was unconscious, and blessed be the name of the Redeemer, for the sickness which has saved her from shame may save her from death.”
“Listen to me, my lord. Christ, who has given you light, has shown you kindness. Last night, a freedman of Caesar and those of the prefect came to choose Christian maidens for disgrace; they asked for your fiancée, but our Lord gave her a fever, which is causing prisoners to die in the Tullianum, and they left her alone. Last evening, she was unconscious, and blessed be the name of the Redeemer, for the illness that has protected her from shame may also save her life.”
Vinicius placed his hand on the soldier’s shoulder to guard himself from falling; but the other continued,—
Vinicius put his hand on the soldier’s shoulder to keep himself steady; but the soldier kept going,—
“Thank the mercy of the Lord! They took and tortured Linus, but, seeing that he was dying, they surrendered him. They may give her now to thee, and Christ will give back health to her.”
“Thank the mercy of the Lord! They captured and tortured Linus, but when they saw he was dying, they let him go. They might give her to you now, and Christ will restore her health.”
The young tribune stood some time with drooping head; then raised it and said in a whisper,—
The young tribune stood for a while with his head down; then he lifted it and said quietly,—
“True, centurion. Christ, who saved her from shame, will save her from death.” And sitting at the wall of the prison till evening, he returned home to send people for Linus and have him taken to one of his suburban villas.
“That's right, centurion. Christ, who saved her from disgrace, will save her from death.” And sitting by the prison wall until evening, he went home to send someone for Linus and have him taken to one of his suburban villas.
But when Petronius had heard everything, he determined to act also. He had visited the Augusta; now he went to her a second time. He found her at the bed of little Rufius. The child with broken head was struggling in a fever; his mother, with despair and terror in her heart, was trying to save him, thinking, however, that if she did save him it might be only to perish soon by a more dreadful death.
But when Petronius had heard everything, he decided to take action as well. He had visited the Augusta; now he went to see her again. He found her at the bedside of little Rufius. The child, with a broken head, was battling a fever; his mother, filled with despair and fear, was trying to save him, believing that even if she did save him, it might only be to face a more terrible fate soon after.
Occupied exclusively with her own suffering, she would not even hear of Vinicius and Lygia; but Petronius terrified her.
Focused solely on her own pain, she wouldn’t even think about Vinicius and Lygia; but Petronius scared her.
“Thou hast offended,” said he to her, “a new, unknown divinity. Thou, Augusta, art a worshipper, it seems, of the Hebrew Jehovah; but the Christians maintain that Chrestos is his son. Reflect, then, if the anger of the father is not pursuing thee. Who knows but it is their vengeance which has struck thee? Who knows but the life of Rufius depends on this,—how thou wilt act?”
“You’ve offended,” he said to her, “a new, unknown deity. You, Augusta, seem to be a follower of the Hebrew Jehovah; but Christians believe that Chrestos is his son. So consider whether the father’s anger is not after you. Who knows if it’s their vengeance that has come upon you? Who knows if Rufius’s life depends on how you will act?”
“What dost thou wish me to do?” asked Poppæa, with terror.
“What do you want me to do?” asked Poppæa, feeling terrified.
“Mollify the offended deities.”
"Appease the offended deities."
“How?”
“How?”
“Lygia is sick; influence Cæsar or Tigellinus to give her to Vinicius.”
“Lygia is sick; persuade Caesar or Tigellinus to hand her over to Vinicius.”
“Dost thou think that I can do that?” asked she, in despair.
“Do you think I can do that?” she asked, in despair.
“Thou canst do something else. If Lygia recovers, she must die. Go thou to the temple of Vesta, and ask the virgo magna to happen near the Tullianum at the moment when they are leading prisoners out to death, and give command to free that maiden. The chief vestal will not refuse thee.”
“You can do something else. If Lygia gets better, she has to die. Go to the temple of Vesta and ask the high priestess to be near the Tullianum when they are leading prisoners out to their execution, and order her to free that girl. The chief vestal won’t say no to you.”
“But if Lygia dies of the fever?”
“But what if Lygia dies from the fever?”
“The Christians say that Christ is vengeful, but just; maybe thou wilt soften Him by thy wish alone.”
“The Christians say that Christ is vengeful but just; maybe you can sway Him with just your wish.”
“Let Him give me some sign that will heal Rufius.”
“Let Him give me a sign that will heal Rufius.”
Petronius shrugged his shoulders.
Petronius shrugged.
“I have not come as His envoy; O divinity, I merely say to thee, Be on better terms with all the gods, Roman and foreign.”
“I haven’t come as His messenger; O deity, I just say to you, Get along better with all the gods, both Roman and foreign.”
“I will go!” said Poppæa, with a broken voice.
“I will go!” said Poppæa, her voice trembling.
Petronius drew a deep breath. “At last I have done something,” thought he, and returning to Vinicius he said to him,—
Petronius took a deep breath. “Finally, I’ve accomplished something,” he thought, and turning back to Vinicius, he said to him,—
“Implore thy God that Lygia die not of the fever, for should she survive, the chief vestal will give command to free her. The Augusta herself will ask her to do so.”
“Pray to your God that Lygia doesn’t die from the fever, because if she survives, the chief vestal will order her release. The Augusta herself will ask her to do that.”
“Christ will free her,” said Vinicius, looking at him with eyes in which fever was glittering.
“Christ will free her,” Vinicius said, looking at him with feverish eyes.
Poppæa, who for the recovery of Rufius was willing to burn hecatombs to all the gods of the world, went that same evening through the Forum to the vestals, leaving care over the sick child to her faithful nurse, Silvia, by whom she herself had been reared.
Poppæa, who was ready to make sacrifices to all the gods in the world for Rufius' recovery, walked through the Forum that same evening to see the vestals, leaving the sick child in the care of her loyal nurse, Silvia, who had raised her.
But on the Palatine sentence had been issued against the child already; for barely had Poppæa’s litter vanished behind the great gate when two freedmen entered the chamber in which her son was resting. One of these threw himself on old Silvia and gagged her; the other, seizing a bronze statue of the Sphinx, stunned the old woman with the first blow.
But on the Palatine, a sentence had already been passed against the child; as soon as Poppæa’s litter disappeared behind the large gate, two freedmen entered the room where her son was resting. One of them lunged at old Silvia and silenced her, while the other grabbed a bronze statue of the Sphinx and knocked the old woman out with the first hit.
Then they approached Rufius. The little boy, tormented with fever and insensible, not knowing what was passing around him, smiled at them, and blinked with his beautiful eyes, as if trying to recognize the men. Stripping from the nurse her girdle, they put it around his neck and pulled it. The child called once for his mother, and died easily. Then they wound him in a sheet, and sitting on horses which were waiting, hurried to Ostia, where they threw the body into the sea.
Then they went over to Rufius. The little boy, suffering from a fever and unresponsive, unaware of what was happening around him, smiled at them and blinked with his lovely eyes, as if trying to recognize the men. They took the nurse's belt and wrapped it around his neck, then pulled it tight. The child called out for his mother once and died peacefully. After that, they wrapped him in a sheet, and mounted the waiting horses, rushing to Ostia, where they threw the body into the sea.
Poppæa, not finding the virgo magna, who with other vestals was at the house of Vatinius, returned soon to the Palatine. Seeing the empty bed and the cold body of Silvia, she fainted, and when they restored her she began to scream; her wild cries were heard all that night and the day following.
Poppæa, not finding the great virgin, who was with other vestals at Vatinius's house, quickly returned to the Palatine. Spotting the empty bed and the lifeless body of Silvia, she fainted, and when they revived her, she started screaming; her frantic cries were heard all that night and the following day.
But Cæsar commanded her to appear at a feast on the third day; so, arraying herself in an amethyst-colored tunic, she came and sat with stony face, golden-haired, silent, wonderful, and as ominous as an angel of death.
But Caesar ordered her to show up at a feast on the third day; so, dressing in an amethyst-colored tunic, she arrived and sat there with a blank expression, golden-haired, silent, striking, and as foreboding as a death angel.
Chapter LV
BEFORE the Flavii had reared the Colosseum, amphitheatres in Rome were built of wood mainly; for that reason nearly all of them had burned during the fire. But Nero, for the celebration of the promised games, had given command to build several, and among them a gigantic one, for which they began, immediately after the fire was extinguished, to bring by sea and the Tiber great trunks of trees cut on the slopes of Atlas; for the games were to surpass all previous ones in splendor and the number of victims.
BEFORE the Flavii built the Colosseum, most amphitheaters in Rome were mainly made of wood, which is why nearly all of them burned during the fire. But Nero, in preparation for the promised games, ordered several to be constructed, including a massive one. As soon as the fire was put out, they started bringing in large tree trunks cut from the slopes of Atlas by sea and along the Tiber; these games were meant to be more spectacular and have more victims than any before.
Large spaces were given therefore for people and for animals. Thousands of mechanics worked at the structure night and day. They built and ornamented without rest. Wonders were told concerning pillars inlaid with bronze, amber, ivory, mother of pearl, and transmarine tortoise-shells. Canals filled with ice-cold water from the mountains and running along the seats were to keep an agreeable coolness in the building, even during the greatest heat. A gigantic purple velarium gave shelter from the rays of the sun. Among the rows of seats were disposed vessels for the burning of Arabian perfumes; above them were fixed instruments to sprinkle the spectators with dew of saffron and verbena. The renowned builders Severus and Celer put forth all their skill to construct an amphitheatre at once incomparable and fitted for such a number of the curious as none of those known before had been able to accommodate.
Large areas were set aside for people and animals. Thousands of workers labored on the structure around the clock. They built and decorated tirelessly. Stories circulated about columns inlaid with bronze, amber, ivory, mother-of-pearl, and exotic tortoise-shells. Canals filled with icy water from the mountains, running alongside the seats, were designed to keep the building comfortably cool, even in the hottest weather. A massive purple canopy provided shade from the sun. Among the seating were containers for burning Arabian perfumes; above them were devices that sprinkled the audience with a mist of saffron and verbena. The famous builders Severus and Celer used all their talents to create an amphitheater that was unique and able to accommodate more curious spectators than any before it.
Hence, the day when the ludus matutinus was to begin, throngs of the populace were awaiting from daylight the opening of the gates, listening with delight to the roars of lions, the hoarse growls of panthers, and the howls of dogs. The beasts had not been fed for two days, but pieces of bloody flesh had been pushed before them to rouse their rage and hunger all the more. At times such a storm of wild voices was raised that people standing before the Circus could not converse, and the most sensitive grew pale from fear.
So, on the day when the morning games were set to start, crowds of people were waiting from dawn for the gates to open, happily listening to the roars of lions, the deep growls of panthers, and the howls of dogs. The animals hadn’t eaten for two days, but chunks of bloody meat had been shoved in front of them to heighten their anger and hunger even more. At times, the uproar was so intense that those standing outside the Circus couldn’t talk to each other, and the most sensitive among them turned pale with fear.
With the rising of the sun were intoned in the enclosure of the Circus hymns resonant but calm. The people heard these with amazement, and said one to another, “The Christians! the Christians!” In fact, many detachments of Christians had been brought to the amphitheatre that night, and not from one place, as planned at first, but a few from each prison. It was known in the crowd that the spectacles would continue through weeks and months, but they doubted that it would be possible to finish in a single day those Christians who had been intended for that one occasion. The voices of men, women, and children singing the morning hymn were so numerous that spectators of experience asserted that even if one or two hundred persons were sent out at once, the beasts would grow tired, become sated, and not tear all to pieces before evening. Others declared that an excessive number of victims in the arena would divert attention, and not give a chance to enjoy the spectacle properly.
As the sun rose, hymns that were both powerful and soothing filled the area of the Circus. The crowd listened in awe and exchanged remarks, saying, “The Christians! The Christians!” In reality, many groups of Christians had been brought to the amphitheater that night, not from a single location as originally planned, but from several different prisons. The crowd knew that the events would continue for weeks and months, but they doubted that all the Christians meant for that one day could be dealt with in just one go. The sound of men, women, and children singing the morning hymn was so overwhelming that experienced spectators claimed that even if one or two hundred people were sent out at once, the animals would tire, become full, and not rip everyone apart before evening. Others argued that having too many victims in the arena would distract from the entertainment and wouldn’t allow anyone to fully enjoy the show.
As the moment drew near for opening the vomitoria, or passages which led to the interior, people grew animated and joyous; they discussed and disputed about various things touching the spectacle. Parties were formed praising the greater efficiency of lions or tigers in tearing. Here and there bets were made. Others however talked about gladiators who were to appear in the arena earlier than the Christians; and again there were parties, some in favor of Samnites, others of Gauls, others of Mirmillons, others of Thracians, others of the retiarii.
As the time approached for opening the vomitoria, or the passages leading to the inside, people became excited and cheerful; they talked and debated about different aspects of the event. Groups formed, praising the lions or tigers for being more effective at tearing. Here and there, bets were placed. Others, however, discussed the gladiators who would appear in the arena before the Christians; and once again, there were factions, some supporting the Samnites, others the Gauls, others the Mirmillons, others the Thracians, and others the retiarii.
Early in the morning larger or smaller detachments of gladiators began to arrive at the amphitheatre under the lead of masters, called lanistæ. Not wishing to be wearied too soon, they entered unarmed, often entirely naked, often with green boughs in their hands, or crowned with flowers, young, beautiful, in the light of morning, and full of life. Their bodies, shining from olive oil, were strong as if chiselled from marble; they roused to delight people who loved shapely forms. Many were known personally, and from moment to moment were heard: “A greeting, Furnius! A greeting, Leo! A greeting, Maximus! A greeting, Diomed!” Young maidens raised to them eyes full of admiration; they, selecting the maiden most beautiful, answered with jests, as if no care weighed on them, sending kisses, or exclaiming, “Embrace me before death does!” Then they vanished in the gates, through which many of them were never to come forth again.
Early in the morning, larger and smaller groups of gladiators started arriving at the amphitheater, led by masters known as lanistæ. Not wanting to tire themselves out too early, they came in unarmed, often completely naked, sometimes holding green branches or wearing flower crowns, young, attractive, bathed in the morning light, and full of life. Their bodies, glistening with olive oil, looked as strong as if they were carved from marble, delighting those who appreciated sculpted forms. Many gladiators were recognized by name, with shouts of, “Hey, Furnius! Hey, Leo! Hey, Maximus! Hey, Diomed!” Young women looked at them with eyes full of admiration; the gladiators, choosing the prettiest maidens, replied with playful banter, as if they had no worries, blowing kisses or exclaiming, “Give me a hug before death takes me!” Then they disappeared through the gates, many of them never to return.
New arrivals drew away the attention of the throngs. Behind the gladiators came mastigophori; that is, men armed with scourges, whose office it was to lash and urge forward combatants. Next mules drew, in the direction of the spoliarium, whole rows of vehicles on which were piled wooden coffins. People were diverted at sight of this, inferring from the number of coffins the greatness of the spectacle. Now marched in men who were to kill the wounded; these were dressed so that each resembled Charon or Mercury. Next came those who looked after order in the Circus, and assigned places; after that slaves to bear around food and refreshments; finally, pretorians, whom every Cæsar had always at hand in the amphitheatre.
New arrivals attracted the attention of the crowds. Behind the gladiators came men called mastigophori—armed with whips, their job was to lash and motivate the fighters. Next, mules pulled rows of vehicles toward the spoliarium, piled with wooden coffins. People were amused by this sight, interpreting the number of coffins as a sign of the grand event. Then, men entered who were there to finish off the wounded, dressed to look like Charon or Mercury. Following them were officials responsible for maintaining order in the Circus and assigning seats; after that came slaves carrying food and drinks; finally, there were pretorians, always nearby in the amphitheater at every Caesar's command.
At last the vomitoria were opened, and crowds rushed to the centre. But such was the number of those assembled that they flowed in and flowed in for hours, till it was a marvel that the Circus could hold such a countless multitude. The roars of wild beasts, catching the exhalations of people, grew louder. While taking their places, the spectators made an uproar like the sea in time of storm.
At last, the exits were opened, and crowds rushed to the center. But so many people had gathered that they kept pouring in for hours, making it incredible that the Circus could fit so many. The roars of the wild animals, mixed with the scents of the crowd, grew louder. As they found their seats, the spectators created a noise like the ocean during a storm.
Finally, the prefect of the city came, surrounded by guards; and after him, in unbroken line, appeared the litters of senators, consuls, pretors, ediles, officials of the government and the palace, of pretorian officers, patricians, and exquisite ladies. Some litters were preceded by lictors bearing maces in bundles of rods; others by crowds of slaves. In the sun gleamed the gilding of the litters, the white and varied colored stuffs, feathers, earrings, jewels, steel of the maces. From the Circus came shouts with which the people greeted great dignitaries. Small divisions of pretorians arrived from time to time.
Finally, the city’s prefect arrived, flanked by guards, and after him came a steady procession of the litters belonging to senators, consuls, praetors, aediles, government officials, palace staff, praetorian officers, patricians, and elegant ladies. Some litters were accompanied by lictors carrying maces bundled with rods; others were followed by groups of slaves. The sun reflected off the gilded surfaces of the litters, the white and colorful fabrics, feathers, earrings, jewels, and the steel of the maces. From the Circus, cheers erupted as the crowd welcomed the high-ranking officials. Small groups of praetorians arrived intermittently.
The priests of various temples came somewhat later; only after them were brought in the sacred virgins of Vesta, preceded by lictors.
The priests from different temples arrived a bit later; only after them were the sacred virgins of Vesta brought in, followed by the lictors.
To begin the spectacle, they were waiting now only for Cæsar, who, unwilling to expose the people to over-long waiting, and wishing to win them by promptness, came soon, in company with the Augusta and Augustians.
To kick off the event, they were just waiting for Cæsar, who, not wanting to keep the crowd waiting too long and hoping to impress them with his punctuality, arrived quickly with the Augusta and Augustians.
Petronius arrived among the Augustians, having Vinicius in his litter. The latter knew that Lygia was sick and unconscious; but as access to the prison had been forbidden most strictly during the preceding days, and as the former guards had been replaced by new ones who were not permitted to speak with the jailers or even to communicate the least information to those who came to inquire about prisoners, he was not even sure that she was not among the victims intended for the first day of spectacles. They might send out even a sick woman for the lions, though she were unconscious. But since the victims were to be sewed up in skins of wild beasts and sent to the arena in crowds, no spectator could be certain that one more or less might not be among them, and no man could recognize any one. The jailers and all the servants of the amphitheatre had been bribed, and a bargain made with the beast-keepers to hide Lygia in some dark corner, and give her at night into the hands of a confidant of Vinicius, who would take her at once to the Alban Hills. Petronius, admitted to the secret, advised Vinicius to go with him openly to the amphitheatre, and after he had entered to disappear in the throng and hurry to the vaults, where, to avoid possible mistake, he was to point out Lygia to the guards personally.
Petronius arrived among the Augustians, carrying Vinicius in his litter. Vinicius knew that Lygia was sick and unconscious; however, since access to the prison had been strictly forbidden in the days leading up to this, and the previous guards had been replaced by new ones who weren’t allowed to talk to the jailers or share any information with those asking about the prisoners, he wasn’t even sure if she was among the victims marked for the first day of the games. They might send out even a sick woman for the lions, even if she was unconscious. But since the victims were to be sewn into wild animal skins and sent to the arena in groups, no spectator could be sure that one more or less wouldn’t be among them, and no one could recognize anyone. The jailers and all the staff of the amphitheater had been bribed, and there was an agreement with the beast handlers to hide Lygia in some dark spot and hand her over at night to one of Vinicius's confidants, who would take her straight to the Alban Hills. Petronius, aware of the secret, advised Vinicius to go with him openly to the amphitheater, and after he entered, to vanish into the crowd and hurry to the vaults, where, to avoid any possible mistakes, he would need to point out Lygia to the guards personally.
The guards admitted him through a small door by which they came out themselves. One of these, named Cyrus, led him at once to the Christians. On the way he said,—
The guards let him in through a small door they used themselves. One of them, named Cyrus, immediately took him to the Christians. On the way, he said,—
“I know not, lord, that thou wilt find what thou art seeking. We inquired for a maiden named Lygia, but no one gave us answer; it may be, though, that they do not trust us.”
“I don’t know, my lord, if you will find what you’re looking for. We asked for a girl named Lygia, but no one responded; perhaps it’s because they don’t trust us.”
“Are there many?” asked Vinicius.
"Are there a lot?" asked Vinicius.
“Many, lord, had to wait till to-morrow.”
“Many, my lord, had to wait until tomorrow.”
“Are there sick ones among them?”
“Are there any sick people among them?”
“There were none who could not stand.”
“There was no one who couldn't stand.”
Cyrus opened a door and entered as it were an enormous chamber, but low and dark, for the light came in only through grated openings which separated it from the arena. At first Vinicius could see nothing; he heard only the murmur of voices in the room, and the shouts of people in the amphitheatre. But after a time, when his eyes had grown used to the gloom, he saw crowds of strange beings, resembling wolves and bears. Those were Christians sewed up in skins of beasts. Some of them were standing; others were kneeling in prayer. Here and there one might divine by the long hair flowing over the skin that the victim was a woman. Women, looking like wolves, carried in their arms children sewed up in equally shaggy coverings. But from beneath the skins appeared bright faces and eyes which in the darkness gleamed with delight and feverishness. It was evident that the greater number of those people were mastered by one thought, exclusive and beyond the earth,—a thought which during life made them indifferent to everything which happened around them and which could meet them. Some, when asked by Vinicius about Lygia, looked at him with eyes as if roused from sleep, without answering his questions; others smiled at him, placing a finger on their lips or pointing to the iron grating through which bright streaks of light entered. But here and there children were crying, frightened by the roaring of beasts, the howling of dogs, the uproar of people, and the forms of their own parents who looked like wild beasts. Vinicius as he walked by the side of Cyrus looked into faces, searched, inquired, at times stumbled against bodies of people who had fainted from the crowd, the stifling air, the heat, and pushed farther into the dark depth of the room, which seemed to be as spacious as a whole amphitheatre.
Cyrus opened a door and entered what seemed to be a huge chamber, but it was low and dark, with light coming in only through grated openings that separated it from the arena. At first, Vinicius couldn't see anything; he only heard the murmur of voices in the room and the shouts of the crowd in the amphitheater. But after a while, as his eyes adjusted to the dimness, he saw groups of strange figures resembling wolves and bears. Those were Christians dressed in animal skins. Some were standing, while others were kneeling in prayer. Here and there, he could tell from the long hair flowing over the skins that the victim was a woman. Women, looking like wolves, held children wrapped in equally shaggy coverings. But beneath those skins, bright faces and eyes shone with delight and intensity in the darkness. It was clear that most of these people were consumed by one thought, exclusive and otherworldly—a thought that made them indifferent to everything happening around them. When Vinicius asked some of them about Lygia, they looked at him as if waking from a dream, unable to answer; others smiled, placing a finger on their lips or pointing to the iron grating through which bright streams of light entered. However, some children were crying, scared by the roars of beasts, the howling of dogs, the chaos of the crowd, and the sight of their parents resembling wild animals. As Vinicius walked alongside Cyrus, he looked into faces, searched, inquired, and occasionally stumbled over the bodies of people who had fainted from the crowd, the stifling air, and the heat, pushing further into the dark depths of the room, which felt as vast as an entire amphitheater.
But he stopped on a sudden, for he seemed to hear near the grating a voice known to him. He listened for a while, turned, and, pushing through the crowd, went near. Light fell on the face of the speaker, and Vinicius recognized under the skin of a wolf the emaciated and implacable countenance of Crispus.
But he suddenly stopped because he thought he heard a familiar voice near the grate. He listened for a moment, turned around, and pushed through the crowd to get closer. Light illuminated the speaker's face, and Vinicius recognized the gaunt and relentless features of Crispus beneath a wolf's skin.
“Mourn for your sins!” exclaimed Crispus, “for the moment is near. But whoso thinks by death itself to redeem his sins commits a fresh sin, and will be hurled into endless fire. With every sin committed in life ye have renewed the Lord’s suffering; how dare ye think that that life which awaits you will redeem this one? To-day the just and the sinner will die the same death; but the Lord will find His own. Woe to you, the claws of the lions will rend your bodies; but not your sins, nor your reckoning with God. The Lord showed mercy sufficient when He let Himself be nailed to the cross; but thenceforth He will be only the judge, who will leave no fault unpunished. Whoso among you has thought to extinguish his sins by suffering, has blasphemed against God’s justice, and will sink all the deeper. Mercy is at an end, and the hour of God’s wrath has come. Soon ye will stand before the awful Judge in whose presence the good will hardly be justified. Bewail your sins, for the jaws of hell are open; woe to you, husbands and wives; woe to you, parents and children.”
“Mourn for your sins!” Crispus shouted, “for the moment is near. But whoever thinks that dying can redeem their sins is committing a new sin and will be cast into endless fire. With every sin you commit in life, you have renewed the Lord’s suffering; how can you think that the life awaiting you will make up for this one? Today, both the righteous and the sinner will die the same death; but the Lord will find His own. Woe to you, the claws of the lions will tear your bodies apart; but not your sins or your reckoning with God. The Lord showed enough mercy when He allowed Himself to be nailed to the cross; after that, He will only be the judge, leaving no fault unpunished. Anyone among you who thinks they can erase their sins through suffering has blasphemed against God’s justice and will fall even deeper. Mercy has come to an end, and the hour of God’s wrath has arrived. Soon you will stand before the terrifying Judge, in whose presence the good will hardly be justified. Mourn for your sins, for the jaws of hell are wide open; woe to you, husbands and wives; woe to you, parents and children.”
And stretching forth his bony hands, he shook them above the bent heads; he was unterrified and implacable even in the presence of death, to which in a while all those doomed people were to go. After his words, were heard voices: “We bewail our sins!” Then came silence, and only the cry of children was audible, and the beating of hands against breasts.
And reaching out his bony hands, he waved them over the bowed heads; he was fearless and relentless even in the face of death, to which all those doomed people were soon to go. After his words, voices were heard: “We mourn our sins!” Then there was silence, and only the cries of children could be heard, along with the sound of hands pounding on chests.
The blood of Vinicius stiffened in his veins. He, who had placed all his hope in the mercy of Christ, heard now that the day of wrath had come, and that even death in the arena would not obtain mercy. Through his head shot, it is true, the thought, clear and swift as lightning, that Peter would have spoken otherwise to those about to die. Still those terrible words of Crispus filled with fanaticism that dark chamber with its grating, beyond which was the field of torture. The nearness of that torture, and the throng of victims arrayed for death already, filled his soul with fear and terror. All this seemed to him dreadful, and a hundred times more ghastly than the bloodiest battle in which he had ever taken part. The odor and heat began to stifle him; cold sweat came out on his forehead. He was seized by fear that he would faint like those against whose bodies he had stumbled while searching in the depth of the apartment; so when he remembered that they might open the grating any moment, he began to call Lygia and Ursus aloud, in the hope that, if not they, some one knowing them would answer.
The blood in Vinicius's veins turned cold. He, who had put all his hope in Christ's mercy, now heard that the day of judgment had arrived, and even dying in the arena would not bring him mercy. His mind raced with the thought, swift and clear as lightning, that Peter would have said something different to those facing death. Still, those chilling words from Crispus filled that dark chamber with its grating, beyond which lay the field of torture. The closeness of that torture and the crowd of victims lined up for death filled him with dread and panic. Everything felt horrifying, a hundred times more terrifying than the bloodiest battle he had ever fought. The smell and heat began to suffocate him; cold sweat poured down his forehead. He was gripped by the fear that he might faint like those whose bodies he had stumbled over while searching in the depths of the room; so when he remembered they might open the grating at any moment, he started calling out for Lygia and Ursus, hoping that, if not them, someone who knew them would respond.
In fact, some man, clothed as a bear, pulled his toga, and said,—
In fact, a guy dressed as a bear pulled his toga and said, —
“Lord, they remained in prison. I was the last one brought out; I saw her sick on the couch.”
“Lord, they stayed in prison. I was the last one taken out; I saw her sick on the couch.”
“Who art thou?” inquired Vinicius.
“Who are you?” asked Vinicius.
“The quarryman in whose hut the Apostle baptized thee, lord. They imprisoned me three days ago, and to-day I die.”
“The stone worker in whose hut the Apostle baptized you, my lord. They locked me up three days ago, and today I die.”
Vinicius was relieved. When entering, he had wished to find Lygia; now he was ready to thank Christ that she was not there, and to see in that a sign of mercy. Meanwhile the quarryman pulled his toga again, and said,—
Vinicius felt a sense of relief. When he entered, he had hoped to find Lygia; now he was ready to thank Christ that she wasn’t there, seeing it as a sign of mercy. Meanwhile, the quarryman adjusted his toga again and said,—
“Dost remember, lord, that I conducted thee to the vineyard of Cornelius, when the Apostle discoursed in the shed?”
“Do you remember, my lord, that I took you to Cornelius's vineyard when the Apostle was speaking in the shed?”
“I remember.”
"I remember."
“I saw him later, the day before they imprisoned me, He blessed me, and said that he would come to the amphitheatre to bless the perishing. If I could look at him in the moment of death and see the sign of the cross, it would be easier for me to die. If thou know where he is, lord, inform me.”
“I saw him again, the day before they locked me up. He blessed me and said he would come to the amphitheater to bless those who were dying. If I could see him at the moment of death and witness the sign of the cross, it would make it easier for me to die. If you know where he is, lord, please let me know.”
Vinicius lowered his voice, and said,—
Vinicius lowered his voice and said, —
“He is among the people of Petronius, disguised as a slave. I know not where they chose their places, but I will return to the Circus and see. Look thou at me when ye enter the arena. I will rise and turn my face toward them; then thou wilt find him with thy eyes.”
“He’s with the people of Petronius, pretending to be a slave. I don’t know where they’ve picked their spots, but I’m going back to the Circus to check it out. Look at me when you enter the arena. I’ll stand up and turn my face toward them; then you’ll spot him.”
“Thanks to thee, lord, and peace be with thee.”
“Thank you, my lord, and peace be with you.”
“May the Redeemer be merciful to thee.”
“May the Redeemer be kind to you.”
“Amen.”
“Amen.”
Vinicius went out of the cuniculum, and betook himself to the amphitheatre, where he had a place near Petronius among the other Augustians.
Vinicius left the underground passage and made his way to the amphitheater, where he had a spot near Petronius among the other members of the Augustians.
“Is she there?” inquired Petronius.
"Is she here?" asked Petronius.
“No; she remained in prison.”
“No; she stayed in prison.”
“Hear what has occurred to me, but while listening look at Nigidia for example, so that we may seem to talk of her hair-dressing. Tigellinus and Chilo are looking at us now. Listen then. Let them put Lygia in a coffin at night and carry her out of the prison as a corpse; thou divinest the rest?”
“Hear what’s happened to me, but while you’re listening, take a look at Nigidia for example, so it seems like we’re talking about her hair. Tigellinus and Chilo are watching us now. So listen up. Let them place Lygia in a coffin at night and take her out of the prison like she’s dead; can you guess the rest?”
“Yes,” answered Vinicius.
"Yes," Vinicius replied.
Their further conversation was interrupted by Tullius Senecio, who, bending toward them, asked,—
Their conversation was interrupted by Tullius Senecio, who, leaning toward them, asked,—
“Do ye know whether they will give weapons to the Christians?”
“Do you know if they will give weapons to the Christians?”
“We do not,” answered Petronius. “I should prefer that arms were given,” said Tullius; “if not, the arena will become like butcher’s shambles too early. But what a splendid amphitheatre!”
“We don’t,” replied Petronius. “I would rather they give out weapons,” said Tullius; “if not, the arena will turn into a slaughterhouse too soon. But what a magnificent amphitheater!”
The sight was, in truth, magnificent. The lower seats, crowded with togas were as white as snow. In the gilded podium sat Cæsar, wearing a diamond collar and a golden crown on his head; next to him sat the beautiful and gloomy Augusta, and on both sides were vestal virgins, great officials, senators with embroidered togas, officers of the army with glittering weapons,—in a word, all that was powerful, brilliant, and wealthy in Rome. In the farther rows sat knights; and higher up darkened in rows a sea of common heads, above which from pillar to pillar hung festoons of roses, lilies, ivy, and grapevines.
The scene was truly stunning. The lower seats, packed with people in white togas, looked like fresh snow. In the gilded box sat Caesar, wearing a diamond necklace and a golden crown; next to him was the beautiful but solemn Augusta, surrounded by vestal virgins, high officials, senators in embroidered togas, and army officers with shining weapons—essentially, all the powerful, glamorous, and wealthy people in Rome. In the back rows were knights, and higher up, a sea of common folks filled the seats, all beneath garlands of roses, lilies, ivy, and grapevines that hung from pillar to pillar.
People conversed aloud, called to one another, sang; at times they broke into laughter at some witty word which was sent from row to row, and they stamped with impatience to hasten the spectacle.
People talked out loud, called to each other, sang; sometimes they burst into laughter at a clever remark that was passed from row to row, and they stamped their feet in impatience to speed up the show.
At last the stamping became like thunder, and unbroken. Then the prefect of the city, who rode around the arena with a brilliant retinue, gave a signal with a handkerchief, which was answered throughout the amphitheatre by “A-a-a!” from thousands of breasts.
At last, the stamping sounded like thunder, constant and unrelenting. Then the city prefect, who rode around the arena with an impressive entourage, signaled with a handkerchief, and was met with a resounding “A-a-a!” from thousands of voices throughout the amphitheater.
Usually a spectacle was begun by hunts of wild beasts, in which various Northern and Southern barbarians excelled; but this time they had too many beasts, so they began with andabates,—that is, men wearing helmets without an opening for the eyes, hence fighting blindfold. A number of these came into the arena together, and slashed at random with their swords; the scourgers with long forks pushed some toward others to make them meet. The more select of the audience looked with contempt and indifference at this spectacle; but the crowd were amused by the awkward motions of the swordsmen. When it happened that they met with their shoulders, they burst out in loud laughter. “To the right!” “To the left!” cried they, misleading the opponents frequently by design. A number of pairs closed, however, and the struggle began to be bloody. The determined combatants cast aside their shields, and giving their left hands to each other, so as not to part again, struggled to the death with their right. Whoever fell raised his fingers, begging mercy by that sign; but in the beginning of a spectacle the audience demanded death usually for the wounded, especially in the case of men who had their faces covered and were unknown. Gradually the number of combatants decreased; and when at last only two remained, these were pushed together; both fell on the sand, and stabbed each other mutually. Then, amid cries of “Peractum est!” servants carried out the bodies, youths raked away the bloody traces on the sand and sprinkled it with leaves of saffron.
Usually, a show would start with hunts of wild animals, where various Northern and Southern barbarians excelled; but this time, there were too many animals, so they began with andabates—that is, men wearing helmets with no eye openings, so they fought blindfolded. A group of these men entered the arena together and slashed around randomly with their swords; the whip-wielders with long forks pushed some towards each other to make them fight. The more refined members of the audience looked on with contempt and indifference, but the crowd found amusement in the clumsy movements of the swordsmen. When they accidentally bumped into each other, the audience erupted in laughter. “To the right!” “To the left!” they shouted, often misleading the fighters on purpose. Eventually, some pairs started to grapple, and the struggle turned bloody. The determined fighters tossed aside their shields and, gripping each other's left hands to ensure they wouldn’t let go, fought to the death with their right hands. Whoever fell raised his fingers, begging for mercy with that gesture; but at the start of a spectacle, the audience usually demanded death for the wounded, especially for men whose faces were covered and who were unknown. Gradually, the number of combatants dwindled; and when only two remained, they were pushed together; both fell onto the sand and stabbed each other. Then, amid cries of “Peractum est!”, servants carried out the bodies, and young men raked away the bloody traces on the sand, sprinkling it with saffron leaves.
Now a more important contest was to come,—rousing interest not only in the herd, but in exquisites; during this contest young patricians made enormous bets at times, often losing all they owned. Straightway from hand to hand went tablets on which were written names of favorites, and also the number of sestertia which each man wagered on his favorite. “Spectati”—that is, champions who had appeared already on the arena and gained victories—found most partisans; but among betters were also those who risked considerably on gladiators who were new and quite unknown, hoping to win immense sums should these conquer. Cæsar himself bet; priests, vestals, senators, knights bet; the populace bet. People of the crowd, when money failed them, bet their own freedom frequently. They waited with heart-beating and even with fear for the combatants, and more than one made audible vows to the gods to gain their protection for a favorite.
Now a more important contest was about to take place, generating excitement not only among the crowd but also among the elite; during this event, young aristocrats would make huge bets, often losing everything they owned. Tablets were quickly passed around, listing the names of the favorites and the amount of money each person bet on them. “Spectati”—the champions who had already appeared in the arena and won victories—had the most supporters; however, some gamblers also took significant risks on newer and lesser-known gladiators, hoping to win big if they triumphed. Even Cæsar placed bets; priests, vestals, senators, and knights all participated in the wagering. The general populace placed bets too, and when they ran out of money, they often wagered their own freedom. They waited anxiously, even fearfully, for the fighters, and more than one person made audible promises to the gods for protection for their favorite.
In fact, when the shrill sound of trumpets was heard, there was a stillness of expectation in the amphitheatre. Thousands of eyes were turned to the great bolts, which a man approached dressed like Charon, and amid the universal silence struck three times with a hammer, as if summoning to death those who were hidden behind them. Then both halves of the gate opened slowly, showing a black gully, out of which gladiators began to appear in the bright arena. They came in divisions of twenty-five, Thracians, Mirmillons, Samnites, Gauls, each nation separately, all heavily armed; and last the retiarii, holding in one hand a net, in the other a trident. At sight of them, here and there on the benches rose applause, which soon turned into one immense and unbroken storm. From above to below were seen excited faces, clapping hands, and open mouths, from which shouts burst forth. The gladiators encircled the whole arena with even and springy tread, gleaming with their weapons and rich outfit; they halted before Cæsar’s podium, proud, calm, and brilliant. The shrill sound of a horn stopped the applause; the combatants stretched their right hands upward, raised their eyes and heads toward Cæsar, and began to cry or rather to chant with drawling voice,—
As soon as the sharp sound of trumpets echoed, a hush of anticipation fell over the amphitheater. Thousands of eyes focused on the massive gates, where a man approached dressed like Charon, and in the total silence, he struck three times with a hammer, as if calling forth those hidden behind. Then, both halves of the gate slowly opened, revealing a dark opening, from which gladiators began to emerge into the bright arena. They entered in groups of twenty-five: Thracians, Mirmillons, Samnites, and Gauls, each from their own nation, all heavily armed; and finally, the retiarii, one holding a net and the other a trident. At the sight of them, applause erupted here and there in the stands, quickly building into a thunderous, continuous roar. Excited faces were seen from top to bottom, hands clapping, and mouths shouting. The gladiators circled the arena with a steady, energetic stride, shining in their weapons and elaborate gear; they stopped in front of Caesar’s platform, proud, calm, and stunning. The sharp blast of a horn silenced the applause; the fighters lifted their right hands up, raised their eyes and heads toward Caesar, and began to shout, or rather to chant in a slow, drawn-out manner,—
“Ave, Cæsar imperator! Morituri te salutant!”
“Ave, Caesar! Those who are about to die salute you!”
Then they pushed apart quickly, occupying their places on the arena. They were to attack one another in whole detachments; but first it was permitted the most famous fencers to have a series of single combats, in which the strength, dexterity, and courage of opponents were best exhibited. In fact, from among the Gauls appeared a champion, well known to lovers of the amphitheatre under the name of Lanio, a victor in many games. With a great helmet on his head, and in mail which formed a ridge in front of his powerful breast and behind, he looked in the gleam of the golden arena like a giant beetle. The no less famous retiarius Calendio came out against him.
Then they quickly pushed apart, taking their positions in the arena. They were set to attack each other with their full teams; but first, the most renowned fencers were allowed to have a series of one-on-one fights, showcasing the strength, skill, and bravery of the opponents. From the Gauls stepped forward a champion, well-known to fans of the amphitheater as Lanio, a winner of many contests. With a large helmet on his head and wearing armor that created a ridge on his muscular chest and back, he appeared in the shimmering golden arena like a giant beetle. The equally famous retiarius Calendio faced him.
Among the spectators people began to bet.
Among the crowd, people started to place bets.
“Five hundred sestertia on the Gaul!”
“Five hundred sesterces on the Gaul!”
“Five hundred on Calendio!”
“$500 on Calendio!”
“By Hercules, one thousand!”
“By Hercules, a thousand!”
“Two thousand!”
"2,000!"
Meanwhile the Gaul, reaching the centre of the arena, began to withdraw with pointed sword, and, lowering his head, watched his opponent carefully through the opening of his visor; the light retiarius, stately, statuesque, wholly naked save a belt around his loins, circled quickly about his heavy antagonist, waving the net with graceful movement, lowering or raising his trident, and singing the usual song of the retiarius,—
Meanwhile, the Gaul, reaching the center of the arena, started to back away with his sword pointed, and, lowering his head, kept a close eye on his opponent through the opening in his visor. The light retiarius, graceful and statuesque, completely naked except for a belt around his waist, quickly circled around his heavy opponent, elegantly waving the net, raising and lowering his trident, and singing the usual song of the retiarius,—
“Non te peto, piscem peto; Quid me fugis, Galle?”
“I'm not asking for you, I'm asking for a fish; Why are you running from me, Galle?”
[“I seek not thee, I seek a fish; Why flee from me O Gaul?”]
[“I'm not looking for you, I'm looking for a fish; Why are you running away from me, O Gaul?”]
But the Gaul was not fleeing, for after a while he stopped, and standing in one place began to turn with barely a slight movement, so as to have his enemy always in front, in his form and monstrously large head there was now something terrible. The spectators understood perfectly that that heavy body encased in bronze was preparing for a sudden throw to decide the battle. The retiarius meanwhile sprang up to him, then sprang away, making with his three-toothed fork motions so quick that the eye hardly followed them. The sound of the teeth on the shield was heard repeatedly; but the Gaul did not quiver, giving proof by this of his gigantic strength. All his attention seemed fixed, not on the trident, but the net which was circling above his head, like a bird of ill omen. The spectators held the breath in their breasts, and followed the masterly play of the gladiators. The Gaul waited, chose the moment, and rushed at last on his enemy; the latter with equal quickness shot past under his sword, straightened himself with raised arm, and threw the net.
But the Gaul wasn't backing down; after a while, he stopped and, standing still, began to turn slightly, keeping his enemy always in view. There was something terrifying about his form and enormous head. The spectators understood that the heavy body wrapped in bronze was getting ready for a decisive throw that would determine the battle. Meanwhile, the retiarius jumped toward him and then darted back, making quick moves with his three-pronged fork that the eye could hardly track. The sound of the fork hitting the shield was repeatedly heard, but the Gaul didn't flinch, demonstrating his immense strength. His focus seemed to be on the net circling above his head, like a bad omen. The spectators held their breath and watched the skilled performance of the gladiators. The Gaul waited, picked his moment, and finally charged at his opponent; the latter, equally quick, slipped under his sword, straightened up with his arm raised, and threw the net.
The Gaul, turning where he stood, caught it on his shield; then both sprang apart. In the amphitheatre shouts of “Macte!” thundered; in the lower rows they began to make new bets. Cæsar himself, who at first had been talking with Rubria, and so far had not paid much attention to the spectacle, turned his head toward the arena.
The Gaul, turning where he was, caught it on his shield; then both jumped apart. In the amphitheater, shouts of “Macte!” roared; in the lower rows, people started making new bets. Caesar himself, who at first had been talking with Rubria and hadn’t paid much attention to the show, turned his head toward the arena.
They began to struggle again, so regularly and with such precision in their movements, that sometimes it seemed that with them it was not a question of life or death, but of exhibiting skill. The Gaul escaping twice more from the net, pushed toward the edge of the arena; those who held bets against him, not wishing the champion to rest, began to cry, “Bear on!” The Gaul obeyed, and attacked. The arm of the retiarius was covered on a sudden with blood, and his net dropped. The Gaul summoned his strength, and sprang forward to give the final blow. That instant Calendio, who feigned inability to wield the net, sprang aside, escaped the thrust, ran the trident between the knees of his opponent, and brought him to the earth.
They started to struggle again, so consistently and with such skill in their movements, that it sometimes felt like it was more about showing off than a matter of life or death. The Gaul managed to escape from the net two more times, pushing toward the edge of the arena; those who had bet against him, not wanting the champion to have a moment of rest, shouted, “Keep going!” The Gaul complied and attacked. Suddenly, the retiarius's arm was covered in blood, and his net fell from his hands. The Gaul gathered his strength and lunged forward to deliver the final blow. In that moment, Calendio, who pretended he couldn't wield the net, darted aside, dodged the strike, thrust the trident between the legs of his opponent, and brought him down to the ground.
The Gaul tried to rise, but in a twinkle he was covered by the fatal meshes, in which he was entangled more and more by every movement of his feet and hands. Meanwhile stabs of the trident fixed him time after time to the earth. He made one more effort, rested on his arm, and tried to rise; in vain! He raised to his head his falling hand which could hold the sword no longer, and fell on his back. Calendio pressed his neck to the ground with the trident, and, resting both hands on the handle of it, turned toward Cæsar’s box.
The Gaul tried to get up, but in an instant, he was trapped by the deadly net, getting more tangled with every move of his feet and hands. Meanwhile, the trident struck him repeatedly, pinning him to the ground. He made one last effort, leaning on his arm and attempting to rise; but it was useless! He lifted his falling hand, which could no longer hold the sword, and fell onto his back. Calendio pressed his neck to the ground with the trident, and, resting both hands on its handle, turned toward Caesar’s box.
The whole Circus was trembling from plaudits and the roar of people. For those who had bet on Calendio he was at that moment greater than Cæsar; but for this very reason animosity against the Gaul vanished from their hearts. At the cost of his blood he had filled their purses. The voices of the audience were divided. On the upper seats half the signs were for death, and half for mercy; but the retiarius looked only at the box of Cæsar and the vestals, waiting for what they would decide.
The entire Circus was shaking from the applause and the crowd's cheers. For those who had bet on Calendio, he was more important than Caesar at that moment; but because of this, their hatred for the Gaul disappeared. He had filled their pockets at the cost of his own blood. The audience's voices were mixed. In the upper seats, half the signs were for death and half for mercy; but the retiarius focused only on Caesar's box and the vestals, waiting to see what they would decide.
To the misfortune of the fallen gladiator, Nero did not like him, for at the last games before the fire he had bet against the Gaul, and had lost considerable sums to Licinus; hence he thrust his hand out of the podium, and turned his thumb toward the earth.
To the unfortunate fate of the fallen gladiator, Nero didn't like him, because at the last games before the fire, he had bet against the Gaul and lost a lot of money to Licinus; therefore, he stuck his hand out from the podium and turned his thumb down toward the ground.
The vestals supported the sign at once. Calendio knelt on the breast of the Gaul, drew a short knife from his belt, pushed apart the armor around the neck of his opponent, and drove the three-edged blade into his throat to the handle.
The vestals immediately backed the sign. Calendio knelt on the chest of the Gaul, pulled a short knife from his belt, opened the armor around his opponent's neck, and stabbed the three-edged blade into his throat up to the handle.
“Peractum est!” sounded voices in the amphitheatre.
“It's done!” echoed voices in the amphitheater.
The Gaul quivered a time, like a stabbed bullock, dug the sand with his heels, stretched, and was motionless.
The Gaul trembled for a moment, like a wounded bull, kicked at the sand with his heels, stretched out, and then became still.
Mercury had no need to try with heated iron if he were living yet. He was hidden away quickly, and other pairs appeared. After them came a battle of whole detachments. The audience took part in it with soul, heart, and eyes. They howled, roared, whistled, applauded, laughed, urged on the combatants, grew wild. The gladiators on the arena, divided into two legions, fought with the rage of wild beasts; breast struck breast, bodies were intertwined in a death grapple, strong limbs cracked in their joints, swords were buried in breasts and in stomachs, pale lips threw blood on to the sand. Toward the end such terrible fear seized some novices that, tearing themselves from the turmoil, they fled; but the scourgers drove them back again quickly to the battle with lashes tipped with lead. On the sand great dark spots were formed; more and more naked and armed bodies lay stretched like grain sheaves. The living fought on the corpses; they struck against armor and shields, cut their feet against broken weapons, and fell. The audience lost self-command from delight; and intoxicated with death breathed it, sated their eyes with the sight of it, and drew into their lungs the exhalations of it with ecstasy.
Mercury didn’t need to mess around with heated iron if he were still alive. He was quickly hidden away, and new pairs took the stage. Following them was a clash of entire squads. The crowd was totally into it, giving their all with their voices, hearts, and eyes. They howled, roared, whistled, cheered, laughed, and rallied the fighters, becoming frenzied. The gladiators in the arena, split into two groups, fought with the fury of wild animals; chests collided, bodies tangled in deadly embraces, strong limbs were twisted, swords plunged into chests and bellies, and pale lips sprayed blood onto the sand. By the end, such overwhelming fear gripped some newcomers that they tore themselves away from the chaos and ran, but the whip-wielders quickly drove them back into the fight with lead-tipped lashes. Dark stains spread across the sand; more and more naked and armored bodies lay sprawled like bundles of grain. The living continued to battle on top of the corpses; they struck against armor and shields, cut their feet on shattered weapons, and fell. The audience lost control from sheer thrill; intoxicated by death, they breathed it in, feasted their eyes on it, and drew in its scent with glee.
The conquered lay dead, almost every man. Barely a few wounded knelt in the middle of the arena, and trembling stretched their hands to the audience with a prayer for mercy. To the victors were given rewards,—crowns, olive wreaths. And a moment of rest came, which, at command of the all-powerful Cæsar, was turned into a feast. Perfumes were burned in vases. Sprinklers scattered saffron and violet rain on the people. Cooling drinks were served, roasted meats, sweet cakes, wine, olives, and fruits. The people devoured, talked, and shouted in honor of Cæsar, to incline him to greater bounteousness. When hunger and thirst had been satisfied, hundreds of slaves bore around baskets full of gifts, from which boys, dressed as Cupids, took various objects and threw them with both hands among the seats. When lottery tickets were distributed, a battle began. People crowded, threw, trampled one another; cried for rescue, sprang over rows of seats, stifled one another in the terrible crush, since whoever got a lucky number might win possibly a house with a garden, a slave, a splendid dress, or a wild beast which he could sell to the amphitheatre afterward. For this reason there were such disorders that frequently the pretorians had to interfere; and after every distribution they carried out people with broken arms or legs, and some were even trampled to death in the throng.
The defeated lay dead, nearly every man. Just a few injured ones knelt in the center of the arena, trembling as they stretched their hands towards the crowd, pleading for mercy. The victors were rewarded with crowns and olive wreaths. Then a moment of rest arrived, which, at the command of the all-powerful Caesar, turned into a feast. Perfumes were burned in vases. Sprinklers showered saffron and violet rain on the spectators. Refreshing drinks, roasted meats, sweet cakes, wine, olives, and fruits were served. The crowd devoured the food, chatted, and cheered for Caesar, hoping to win his favor for more generosity. Once their hunger and thirst were satisfied, hundreds of slaves carried around baskets full of gifts, from which boys dressed as Cupids took various items and tossed them into the seats with both hands. When the lottery tickets were handed out, chaos ensued. People surged forward, threw things, trampled one another, cried for help, leaped over rows of seats, and suffocated each other in the terrible crush, as anyone with a lucky number could win a house with a garden, a slave, a lavish outfit, or a wild animal they could later sell to the amphitheater. This caused such disorder that the praetorians often had to step in; after every distribution, they carried out individuals with broken arms or legs, and some were even trampled to death in the crowd.
But the more wealthy took no part in the fight for tesseræ. The Augustians amused themselves now with the spectacle of Chilo, and with making sport of his vain efforts to show that he could look at fighting and blood-spilling as well as any man. But in vain did the unfortunate Greek wrinkle his brow, gnaw his lips, and squeeze his fists till the nails entered his palms. His Greek nature and his personal cowardice were unable to endure such sights. His face grew pale, his forehead was dotted with drops of sweat, his lips were blue, his eyes turned in, his teeth began to chatter, and a trembling seized his body. At the end of the battle he recovered somewhat; but when they attacked him with tongues, sudden anger seized him, and he defended himself desperately.
But the wealthier people didn’t join in the fight for tesseræ. The Augustians entertained themselves with the spectacle of Chilo, making fun of his useless attempts to prove he could handle watching fights and bloodshed like anyone else. But no matter how hard the poor Greek tried—furrowing his brow, biting his lips, and clenching his fists until his nails dug into his palms—it was all in vain. His Greek nature and personal cowardice couldn’t withstand such sights. His face turned pale, beads of sweat formed on his forehead, his lips turned blue, his eyes glazed over, his teeth began to chatter, and his body trembled. By the end of the battle, he managed to regain some composure, but when they started mocking him verbally, a sudden rage took over, and he fought back fiercely.
“Ha, Greek! the sight of torn skin on a man is beyond thy strength!” said Vatinius, taking him by the beard.
“Ha, Greek! The sight of ripped skin on a man is too much for you!” said Vatinius, gripping his beard.
Chilo bared his last two yellow teeth at him and answered,—
Chilo showed his last two yellow teeth and replied,—
“My father was not a cobbler, so I cannot mend it.”
"My dad wasn't a shoemaker, so I can't fix it."
“Macte! habet (Good! he has caught it!)” called a number of voices; but others jeered on.
“Macte! habet (Good! he has caught it!)” called several voices; but others mocked him.
“He is not to blame that instead of a heart he has a piece of cheese in his breast,” said Senecio.
“He's not to blame for having a piece of cheese instead of a heart in his chest,” said Senecio.
“Thou art not to blame that instead of a head thou hast a bladder,” retorted Chilo.
“It's not your fault that instead of a head you have a bladder,” replied Chilo.
“Maybe thou wilt become a gladiator! thou wouldst look well with a net on the arena.”
"Maybe you'll become a gladiator! You'd look good with a net in the arena."
“If I should catch thee in it, I should catch a stinking hoopoe.”
“If I caught you in it, I’d catch a smelly hoopoe.”
“And how will it be with the Christians?” asked Festus, from Liguria. “Wouldst thou not like to be a dog and bite them?”
“And how will it be with the Christians?” asked Festus, from Liguria. “Wouldn't you like to be a dog and bite them?”
“I should not like to be thy brother.”
“I wouldn’t want to be your brother.”
“Thou Mæotian copper-nose!”
"You're a Mæotian copper-nose!"
“Thou Ligurian mule!”
"You're a Ligurian mule!"
“Thy skin is itching, evidently, but I don’t advise thee to ask me to scratch it.”
“Your skin is itching, obviously, but I don’t recommend asking me to scratch it.”
“Scratch thyself. If thou scratch thy own pimple, thou wilt destroy what is best in thee.”
“Scratch yourself. If you scratch your own pimple, you'll ruin what’s best in you.”
And in this manner they attacked him. He defended himself venomously, amid universal laughter. Cæsar, clapping his hands, repeated, “Macte!” and urged them on. After a while Petronius approached, and, touching the Greek’s shoulder with his carved ivory cane, said coldly,—
And in this way, they went after him. He fought back fiercely, while everyone laughed. Cæsar, clapping his hands, shouted, “Macte!” and encouraged them to continue. After a bit, Petronius came over, and, tapping the Greek’s shoulder with his carved ivory cane, said coolly,—
“This is well, philosopher; but in one thing thou hast blundered: the gods created thee a pickpocket, and thou hast become a demon. That is why thou canst not endure.”
“This is true, philosopher; but in one thing you've messed up: the gods made you a pickpocket, and you've turned into a demon. That's why you can't stand it.”
The old man looked at him with his red eyes, but this time somehow he did not find a ready insult. He was silent for a moment; then answered, as if with a certain effort,—
The old man looked at him with his red eyes, but this time he didn't seem to have an insult ready. He was silent for a moment; then answered, as if it took some effort,—
“I shall endure.”
"I will endure."
Meanwhile the trumpets announced the end of the interval. People began to leave the passages where they had assembled to straighten their legs and converse. A general movement set in with the usual dispute about seats occupied previously. Senators and patricians hastened to their places. The uproar ceased after a time, and the amphitheatre returned to order. On the arena a crowd of people appeared whose work was to dig out here and there lumps of sand formed with stiffened blood.
Meanwhile, the trumpets announced the end of the break. People started to leave the areas where they had gathered to stretch their legs and chat. A general movement began, along with the usual arguments over the seats that had been occupied before. Senators and patricians rushed back to their spots. After a while, the noise died down, and the amphitheater returned to order. In the arena, a group of people appeared, tasked with digging out clumps of sand stained with dried blood.
The turn of the Christians was at hand. But since that was a new spectacle for people, and no one knew how the Christians would bear themselves, all waited with a certain curiosity. The disposition of the audience was attentive but unfriendly; they were waiting for uncommon scenes. Those people who were to appear had burned Rome and its ancient treasures. They had drunk the blood of infants, and poisoned water; they had cursed the whole human race, and committed the vilest crimes. The harshest punishment did not suffice the roused hatred; and if any fear possessed people’s hearts, it was this: that the torture of the Christians would not equal the guilt of those ominous criminals.
The moment for the Christians was approaching. However, since this was something new for the crowd and no one knew how the Christians would react, everyone waited with a sense of curiosity. The audience's mood was focused but unwelcoming; they were anticipating extraordinary events. Those who were about to appear had set fire to Rome and its historic treasures. They had tasted the blood of infants, contaminated the water; they had cursed all humanity and committed horrible crimes. Even the most severe punishment didn’t seem enough for the stirred-up hatred, and if there was any fear in people's hearts, it was that the suffering of the Christians wouldn’t match the sins of those dreadful criminals.
Meanwhile the sun had risen high; its rays, passing through the purple velarium, had filled the amphitheatre with blood-colored light. The sand assumed a fiery hue, and in those gleams, in the faces of people, as well as in the empty arena, which after a time was to be filled with the torture of people and the rage of savage beasts, there was something terrible. Death and terror seemed hovering in the air. The throng, usually gladsome, became moody under the influence of hate and silence. Faces had a sullen expression.
Meanwhile, the sun had risen high; its rays, streaming through the purple canopy, filled the amphitheater with a blood-red light. The sand took on a fiery color, and in those glimmers, on the faces of the crowd, as well as in the empty arena that was soon to be filled with the suffering of people and the fury of wild beasts, there was something awful. Death and fear seemed to hang in the air. The crowd, usually joyful, became somber under the weight of anger and silence. Faces wore a gloomy expression.
Now the prefect gave a sign. The same old man appeared, dressed as Charon, who had called the gladiators to death, and, passing with slow step across the arena amid silence, he struck three times again on the door.
Now the prefect signaled. The same old man appeared, dressed as Charon, who had summoned the gladiators to their deaths, and, walking slowly across the arena in silence, he knocked three times on the door again.
Throughout the amphitheatre was heard the deep murmur,—
Throughout the amphitheater, a deep murmur echoed,—
“The Christians! the Christians!”
“The Christians! The Christians!”
The iron gratings creaked; through the dark openings were heard the usual cries of the scourgers, “To the sand!” and in one moment the arena was peopled with crowds as it were of satyrs covered with skins. All ran quickly, somewhat feverishly, and, reaching the middle of the circle, they knelt one by another with raised heads. The spectators, judging this to be a prayer for pity, and enraged by such cowardice, began to stamp, whistle, throw empty wine-vessels, bones from which the flesh had been eaten, and shout, “The beasts! the beasts!” But all at once something unexpected took place. From out the shaggy assembly singing voices were raised, and then sounded that hymn heard for the first time in a Roman amphitheatre, “Christus regnat!” [“Christ reigns!”]
The iron grates creaked; through the dark openings, you could hear the usual shouts of the scourgers, “To the sand!” In an instant, the arena was filled with crowds that looked like satyrs draped in skins. They all rushed in, a bit frantically, and, reaching the center of the circle, knelt down one by one with their heads held high. The spectators, thinking this was a plea for mercy and furious at such cowardice, began to stamp their feet, whistle, throw empty wine bottles, and bones stripped of meat, shouting, “The beasts! The beasts!” But suddenly, something unexpected happened. From the shaggy crowd, singing voices emerged, and then a hymn echoed for the first time in a Roman amphitheater, “Christus regnat!” [“Christ reigns!”]
Astonishment seized the spectators. The condemned sang with eyes raised to the velarium. The audience saw faces pale, but as it were inspired. All understood that those people were not asking for mercy, and that they seemed not to see the Circus, the audience, the Senate, or Cæsar. “Christus regnat!” rose ever louder, and in the seats, far up to the highest, among the rows of spectators, more than one asked himself the question, “What is happening, and who is that Christus who reigns in the mouths of those people who are about to die?” But meanwhile a new grating was opened, and into the arena rushed, with mad speed and barking, whole packs of dogs,—gigantic, yellow Molossians from the Peloponnesus, pied dogs from the Pyrenees, and wolf-like hounds from Hibernia, purposely famished; their sides lank, and their eyes bloodshot. Their howls and whines filled the amphitheatre. When the Christians had finished their hymn, they remained kneeling, motionless, as if petrified, merely repeating in one groaning chorus, “Pro Christo! Pro Christo!” The dogs, catching the odor of people under the skins of beasts, and surprised by their silence, did not rush on them at once. Some stood against the walls of the boxes, as if wishing to go among the spectators; others ran around barking furiously, as though chasing some unseen beast. The people were angry. A thousand voices began to call; some howled like wild beasts; some barked like dogs; others urged them on in every language. The amphitheatre was trembling from uproar. The excited dogs began to run to the kneeling people, then to draw back, snapping their teeth, till at last one of the Molossians drove his teeth into the shoulder of a woman kneeling in front, and dragged her under him.
Astonishment gripped the spectators. The condemned sang with their eyes raised to the canopy above. The audience saw pale faces that seemed inspired. Everyone understood that these people weren't asking for mercy; they appeared not to notice the Circus, the audience, the Senate, or Caesar. “Christus regnat!” became louder, and in the seats high above, among the rows of spectators, more than one person wondered, “What’s happening, and who is this Christus that those about to die keep mentioning?” Meanwhile, a new gate was opened, and into the arena rushed packs of dogs—huge, yellow Molossians from the Peloponnesus, spotted dogs from the Pyrenees, and wolf-like hounds from Hibernia, all purposely starved; their sides were gaunt, and their eyes were bloodshot. Their howls and whines filled the amphitheater. When the Christians finished their hymn, they knelt in silence, frozen as if turned to stone, merely repeating in one strained chorus, “Pro Christo! Pro Christo!” The dogs, catching the scent of humans beneath the animal skins and taken aback by their silence, didn’t attack immediately. Some pressed against the walls of the boxes, as if wanting to join the spectators; others ran around, barking furiously, as if chasing an invisible prey. The crowd grew angry. A thousand voices started calling out; some howled like wild beasts, some barked like dogs, and others urged them on in every language. The amphitheater shook with the noise. The excited dogs began to rush toward the kneeling people but then pulled back, snapping their jaws, until finally, one of the Molossians bit into the shoulder of a woman kneeling in front of him and dragged her down.
Tens of dogs rushed into the crowd now, as if to break through it. The audience ceased to howl, so as to look with greater attention. Amidst the howling and whining were heard yet plaintive voices of men and women: “Pro Christo! Pro Christo!” but on the arena were formed quivering masses of the bodies of dogs and people. Blood flowed in streams from the torn bodies. Dogs dragged from each other the bloody limbs of people. The odor of blood and torn entrails was stronger than Arabian perfumes, and filled the whole Circus.
Tens of dogs charged into the crowd, trying to break through it. The audience stopped howling to pay closer attention. Among the barking and whining, the sad voices of men and women could be heard: “For Christ! For Christ!” But in the arena, there were trembling piles of bodies—both dogs and people. Blood streamed from the mangled bodies. Dogs pulled the bloody limbs of people from each other. The smell of blood and ripped entrails was stronger than Arabian perfumes and filled the entire Circus.
At last only here and there were visible single kneeling forms, which were soon covered by moving squirming masses.
At last, there were only a few kneeling figures visible, but they were quickly swallowed up by writhing crowds.
Vinicius, who at the moment when the Christians ran in, stood up and turned so as to indicate to the quarryman, as he had promised, the direction in which the Apostle was hidden among the people of Petronius, sat down again, and with the face of a dead man continued to look with glassy eyes on the ghastly spectacle. At first fear that the quarryman might have been mistaken, and that perchance Lygia was among the victims, benumbed him completely; but when he heard the voices, “Pro Christo!” when he saw the torture of so many victims who, in dying, confessed their faith and their God, another feeling possessed him, piercing him like the most dreadful pain, but irresistible. That feeling was this,—if Christ Himself died in torment, if thousands are perishing for Him now, if a sea of blood is poured forth, one drop more signifies nothing, and it is a sin even to ask for mercy. That thought came to him from the arena, penetrated him with the groans of the dying, with the odor of their blood. But still he prayed and repeated with parched lips, “O Christ! O Christ! and Thy Apostle prayed for her!” Then he forgot himself, lost consciousness of where he was. It seemed to him that blood on the arena was rising and rising, that it was coming up and flowing out of the Circus over all Rome. For the rest he heard nothing, neither the howling of dogs nor the uproar of the people nor the voices of the Augustians, who began all at once to cry,—
Vinicius, who at the moment when the Christians rushed in, stood up and turned to signal to the quarryman, as he promised, the direction in which the Apostle was hidden among Petronius's people, sat down again and, with a dead expression, continued to stare with vacant eyes at the horrific scene. At first, the fear that the quarryman might have been wrong and that Lygia could be among the victims completely froze him; but when he heard the voices shouting, “Pro Christo!” and saw the torture of so many victims who, in their final moments, confessed their faith and their God, another feeling took hold of him, stabbing him like the worst pain, yet it was irresistible. That feeling was this—if Christ Himself died in agony, if thousands are suffering for Him now, and if a sea of blood is being shed, then one more drop means nothing, and it’s even a sin to ask for mercy. That thought came to him from the arena, filling him with the groans of the dying and the scent of their blood. Yet still, he prayed and repeated with dry lips, “O Christ! O Christ! and Thy Apostle prayed for her!” Then he lost sense of himself, oblivious to where he was. It seemed to him that the blood in the arena kept rising and rising, overflowing out of the Circus and spreading out over all of Rome. For the rest, he heard nothing—neither the howling of dogs nor the chaos of the crowd nor the voices of the Augustinians, who suddenly began to cry,—
“Chilo has fainted!”
“Chilo passed out!”
“Chilo has fainted!” said Petronius, turning toward the Greek.
“Chilo has passed out!” said Petronius, turning toward the Greek.
And he had fainted really; he sat there white as linen, his head fallen back, his mouth wide open, like that of a corpse.
And he had actually fainted; he sat there pale as a sheet, his head leaning back, his mouth wide open, like that of a dead body.
At that same moment they were urging into the arena new victims, sewed up in skins.
At that same moment, they were pushing new victims into the arena, stitched up in skins.
These knelt immediately, like those who had gone before; but the weary dogs would not rend them. Barely a few threw themselves on to those kneeling nearest; but others lay down, and, raising their bloody jaws, began to scratch their sides and yawn heavily.
These [dogs] knelt right away, just like those who came before them; but the tired dogs didn’t attack them. Only a few jumped on the ones kneeling closest; the others just lay down, lifting their bloody jaws, and started to scratch their sides and yawn deeply.
Then the audience, disturbed in spirit, but drunk with blood and wild, began to cry with hoarse voices,—
Then the audience, unsettled but fueled by bloodlust and frenzy, started to shout with hoarse voices,—
“The lions! the lions! Let out the lions!”
“The lions! The lions! Release the lions!”
The lions were to be kept for the next day; but in the amphitheatres the people imposed their will on every one, even on Cæsar. Caligula alone, insolent and changeable in his wishes, dared to oppose them, and there were cases when he gave command to beat the people with clubs; but even he yielded most frequently. Nero, to whom plaudits were dearer than all else in the world, never resisted. All the more did he not resist now, when it was a question of mollifying the populace, excited after the conflagration, and a question of the Christians, on whom he wished to cast the blame of the catastrophe.
The lions were to be kept for the next day; but in the arenas, the crowd imposed their will on everyone, even on Caesar. Caligula, who was arrogant and unpredictable in his desires, was the only one who dared to oppose them, and there were times when he ordered people to be beaten with clubs; but even he often gave in. Nero, who valued applause more than anything in the world, never resisted. He certainly didn’t resist now, especially when it involved soothing the public, who were riled up after the fire, and when it came to blaming the Christians for the disaster.
He gave the sign therefore to open the cuniculum, seeing which, the people were calmed in a moment. They heard the creaking of the doors behind which were the lions. At sight of the lions the dogs gathered with low whines, on the opposite side of the arena. The lions walked into the arena one after another, immense, tawny, with great shaggy heads. Cæsar himself turned his wearied face toward them, and placed the emerald to his eye to see better. The Augustians greeted them with applause; the crowd counted them on their fingers, and followed eagerly the impression which the sight of them would make on the Christians kneeling in the centre, who again had begun to repeat the words, without meaning for many, though annoying to all, “Pro Christo! Pro Christo!”
He signaled to open the tunnel, and immediately the crowd calmed down. They heard the creaking of the doors behind which the lions were kept. At the sight of the lions, the dogs huddled together with low whines on the opposite side of the arena. One by one, the lions entered the arena, massive and tawny with large, shaggy heads. Cæsar himself turned his tired face toward them and held an emerald up to his eye to see better. The Augustans applauded them; the crowd counted the lions on their fingers, eagerly anticipating the reaction they would evoke from the Christians kneeling in the center, who had started to repeat the words, meaningless to many but irritating to all, “Pro Christo! Pro Christo!”
But the lions, though hungry, did not hasten to their victims. The ruddy light in the arena dazzled them and they half closed their eyes as if dazed. Some stretched their yellowish bodies lazily; some, opening their jaws, yawned,—one might have said that they wanted to show their terrible teeth to the audience. But later the odor of blood and torn bodies, many of which were lying on the sand, began to act on them. Soon their movements became restless, their manes rose, their nostrils drew in the air with hoarse sound. One fell suddenly on the body of a woman with a torn face, and, lying with his fore paws on the body, licked with a rough tongue the stiffened blood: another approached a man who was holding in his arms a child sewed up in a fawn’s skin.
But the lions, despite being hungry, didn't rush towards their prey. The bright light in the arena blinded them, and they squinted as if in a daze. Some stretched their yellowish bodies lazily; others yawned widely, almost as if they wanted to display their deadly teeth to the crowd. However, as the smell of blood and dismembered corpses, many of which lay on the sand, started to reach them, their behavior became agitated. Soon, their movements grew restless, their manes lifted, and their nostrils flared as they inhaled deeply. One suddenly pounced on a woman with a torn face, laying his forepaws on her body, and licked the dried blood with his rough tongue; another approached a man cradling a child wrapped in a fawn's skin.
The child, trembling from crying, and weeping, clung convulsively to the neck of its father; he, to prolong its life even for a moment, tried to pull it from his neck, so as to hand it to those kneeling farther on. But the cry and the movement irritated the lion. All at once he gave out a short, broken roar, killed the child with one blow of his paw, and seizing the head of the father in his jaws, crushed it in a twinkle.
The child, shaking from crying and sobbing, clung tightly to its father’s neck; he, wanting to keep it alive even for a moment longer, tried to pull it away so he could hand it to those kneeling farther away. But the crying and the movement annoyed the lion. Suddenly, he let out a sharp, broken roar, killed the child with one swipe of his paw, and then grabbed the father’s head in his jaws, crushing it in an instant.
At sight of this all the other lions fell upon the crowd of Christians. Some women could not restrain cries of terror; but the audience drowned these with plaudits, which soon ceased, however, for the wish to see gained the mastery. They beheld terrible things then: heads disappearing entirely in open jaws, breasts torn apart with one blow, hearts and lungs swept away; the crushing of bones under the teeth of lions. Some lions, seizing victims by the ribs or loins, ran with mad springs through the arena, as if seeking hidden places in which to devour them; others fought, rose on their hind legs, grappled one another like wrestlers, and filled the amphitheatre with thunder. People rose from their places. Some left their seats, went down lower through the passages to see better, and crowded one another mortally. It seemed that the excited multitude would throw itself at last into the arena, and rend the Christians in company with the lions. At moments an unearthly noise was heard; at moments applause; at moments roaring, rumbling, the clashing of teeth, the howling of Molossian dogs; at times only groans.
At the sight of this, all the other lions pounced on the crowd of Christians. Some women couldn't hold back their screams of fear, but the audience drowned them out with cheers, which soon died down as curiosity took over. They witnessed horrifying scenes: heads disappearing entirely in wide jaws, chests ripped apart with one strike, hearts and lungs snatched away; bones crushed under the teeth of the lions. Some lions, grabbing their victims by the ribs or hips, bounded madly around the arena, as if looking for hiding spots to devour them; others fought, reared up on their hind legs, grappled with each other like wrestlers, and filled the amphitheater with chaos. People stood up from their seats. Some left their spots and moved down through the aisles to get a better view, crowding each other tightly. It felt like the excited crowd would finally surge into the arena and tear the Christians apart alongside the lions. At times, an unearthly noise echoed; at other moments, applause rang out; there were roaring, rumbling, the clash of teeth, the howling of large dogs; and at times, only groans.
Cæsar, holding the emerald to his eye, looked now with attention. The face of Petronius assumed an expression of contempt and disgust. Chilo had been borne out of the Circus.
Cæsar, holding the emerald up to his eye, now looked with focus. Petronius's face showed a look of contempt and disgust. Chilo had been carried out of the Circus.
But from the cuniculum new victims were driven forth continually.
But from the curriculum, new victims were continually driven out.
From the highest row in the amphitheatre the Apostle Peter looked at them. No one saw him, for all heads were turned to the arena; so he rose and as formerly in the vineyard of Cornelius he had blessed for death and eternity those who were intended for imprisonment, so now he blessed with the cross those who were perishing under the teeth of wild beasts. He blessed their blood, their torture, their dead bodies turned into shapeless masses, and their souls flying away from the bloody sand. Some raised their eyes to him, and their faces grew radiant; they smiled when they saw high above them the sign of the cross. But his heart was rent, and he said, “O Lord! let Thy will be done. These my sheep perish to Thy glory in testimony of the truth. Thou didst command me to feed them; hence I give them to Thee, and do Thou count them, Lord, take them, heal their wounds, soften their pain, give them happiness greater than the torments which they suffered here.”
From the highest row in the amphitheater, the Apostle Peter looked down at them. No one noticed him, as all eyes were focused on the arena. So he stood up, and just like he had once blessed those destined for imprisonment in Cornelius's vineyard, he now blessed with the cross those who were facing death at the hands of wild beasts. He blessed their blood, their suffering, their lifeless bodies turned into shapeless heaps, and their souls escaping from the bloody sand. Some looked up at him, and their faces lit up; they smiled when they saw the cross high above them. But his heart was broken, and he said, “O Lord! let Your will be done. These my sheep perish for Your glory as a testament to the truth. You commanded me to care for them; so I give them to You, Lord. Please count them, take them, heal their wounds, ease their pain, and grant them happiness greater than the torment they endured here.”
And he blessed them one after another, crowd after crowd, with as much love as if they had been his children whom he was giving directly into the hands of Christ. Then Cæsar, whether from madness, or the wish that the exhibition should surpass everything seen in Rome so far, whispered a few words to the prefect of the city. He left the podium and went at once to the cuniculum. Even the populace were astonished when, after a while, they saw the gratings open again. Beasts of all kinds were let out this time,—tigers from the Euphrates, Numidian panthers, bears, wolves, hyenas, and jackals. The whole arena was covered as with a moving sea of striped, yellow, flax-colored, dark-brown, and spotted skins. There rose a chaos in which the eye could distinguish nothing save a terrible turning and twisting of the backs of wild beasts. The spectacle lost the appearance of reality, and became as it were an orgy of blood, a dreadful dream, a gigantic kaleidoscope of mad fancy. The measure was surpassed. Amidst roars, howls, whines, here and there on the seats of the spectators were heard the terrified and spasmodic laughter of women, whose strength had given way at last. The people were terrified. Faces grew dark. Various voices began to cry, “Enough! enough!”
And he blessed them one by one, crowd after crowd, with as much love as if they were his own children being handed over to Christ. Then Cæsar, whether out of madness or a desire for the event to be more impressive than anything seen in Rome before, whispered a few words to the city prefect. He left the podium and immediately went to the underground area. Even the crowd was stunned when, after a while, they saw the gates open again. This time, all kinds of wild animals were released—tigers from the Euphrates, Numidian panthers, bears, wolves, hyenas, and jackals. The arena was covered like a moving sea of striped, yellow, flax-colored, dark-brown, and spotted fur. A chaos erupted that made it impossible for the eye to catch anything but a terrifying maelstrom of wild animal backs. The scene lost its sense of reality, turning into what felt like a blood-soaked orgy, a nightmarish vision, a gigantic kaleidoscope of madness. The horror escalated. Amid the roars, howls, and whines, the terrified and breathless laughter of women could be heard in the audience, finally overwhelmed. The crowd was filled with fear. Faces turned anxious. Different voices began to shout, “Enough! Enough!”
But it was easier to let the beasts in than drive them back again. Cæsar, however, found a means of clearing the arena, and a new amusement for the people. In all the passages between the seats appeared detachments of Numidians, black and stately, in feathers and earrings, with bows in their hands. The people divined what was coming, and greeted the archers with a shout of delight. The Numidians approached the railing, and, putting their arrows to the strings, began to shoot from their bows into the crowd of beasts. That was a new spectacle truly. Their bodies, shapely as if cut from dark marble, bent backward, stretched the flexible bows, and sent bolt after bolt. The whizzing of the strings and the whistling of the feathered missiles were mingled with the howling of beasts and cries of wonder from the audience. Wolves, bears, panthers, and people yet alive fell side by side. Here and there a lion, feeling a shaft in his ribs, turned with sudden movement, his jaws wrinkled from rage, to seize and break the arrow. Others groaned from pain. The small beasts, falling into a panic, ran around the arena at random, or thrust their heads into the grating; meanwhile the arrows whizzed and whizzed on, till all that was living had lain down in the final quiver of death.
But it was easier to let the beasts in than to drive them back out again. However, Cæsar found a way to clear the arena and provide a new entertainment for the people. In all the pathways between the seats, groups of Numidians appeared, black and majestic, adorned with feathers and earrings, bows in their hands. The crowd sensed what was about to happen and greeted the archers with cheers of excitement. The Numidians approached the railing and, stringing their arrows, began shooting into the crowd of animals. This was truly a new spectacle. Their bodies, sculpted like dark marble, bent backward, flexed the bows, and released arrow after arrow. The sound of the strings and the whoosh of the feathered missiles blended with the howls of the beasts and the gasps of the audience. Wolves, bears, panthers, and people alike fell side by side. Here and there, a lion, suddenly struck by an arrow in his ribs, turned with a flash of movement, his mouth twisted in anger, trying to grab and snap the arrow. Others groaned in pain. The smaller animals, panicking, dashed around the arena chaotically or pressed their heads against the bars; meanwhile, the arrows kept flying until everything alive lay still in the final shudder of death.
Hundreds of slaves rushed into the arena armed with spades, shovels, brooms, wheelbarrows, baskets for carrying out entrails, and bags of sand. They came, crowd after crowd, and over the whole circle there seethed up a feverish activity. The space was soon cleared of bodies, blood, and mire, dug over, made smooth, and sprinkled with a thick layer of fresh sand. That done, Cupids ran in, scattering leaves of roses, lilies, and the greatest variety of flowers. The censers were ignited again, and the velarium was removed, for the sun had sunk now considerably. But people looked at one another with amazement, and inquired what kind of new spectacle was waiting for them on that day.
Hundreds of slaves rushed into the arena carrying spades, shovels, brooms, wheelbarrows, baskets for removing entrails, and bags of sand. They came in wave after wave, and all around the arena, there was a frenzied activity. The space was quickly cleared of bodies, blood, and muck, re-dug, smoothed out, and covered with a thick layer of fresh sand. Once that was done, Cupids ran in, scattering rose petals, lilies, and a wide variety of flowers. The censers were lit again, and the velarium was taken down, as the sun had set quite a bit by now. But the crowd looked at each other in amazement, asking what kind of new show awaited them that day.
Indeed, such a spectacle was waiting as no one had looked for. Cæsar, who had left the podium some time before, appeared all at once on the flowery arena, wearing a purple mantle, and a crown of gold. Twelve choristers holding citharæ followed him. He had a silver lute, and advanced with solemn tread to the middle, bowed a number of times to the spectators, raised his eyes, and stood as if waiting for inspiration.
Indeed, a scene was unfolding that no one expected. Cæsar, who had left the stage a while earlier, suddenly appeared in the flower-filled arena, wearing a purple cloak and a crown of gold. Twelve singers with lyres followed him. He carried a silver lute and walked deliberately to the center, bowing several times to the audience, looking up, and standing as if waiting for inspiration.
Then he struck the strings and began to sing,—
Then he plucked the strings and started to sing,—
“O radiant son of Leto, Ruler of Tenedos, Chilos, Chrysos, Art thou he who, having in his care The sacred city of Ilion, Could yield it to Argive anger, And suffer sacred altars, Which blazed unceasingly to his honor, To be stained with Trojan blood? Aged men raised trembling hands to thee, O thou of the far-shooting silver bow, Mothers from the depth of their breasts Raised tearful cries to thee, Imploring pity on their offspring. Those complaints might have moved a stone, But to the suffering of people Thou, O Smintheus, wert less feeling than a stone!”
“O radiant son of Leto, Ruler of Tenedos, Chilos, Chrysos, are you the one who, in charge of the sacred city of Ilion, could surrender it to Argive anger and allow the sacred altars, which burned continually in your honor, to be stained with Trojan blood? Aged men raised trembling hands to you, O you with the far-shooting silver bow, mothers from the depths of their hearts raised tearful cries to you, begging for mercy for their children. Those pleas might have softened a stone, but to the suffering of the people, you, O Smintheus, were less compassionate than a stone!”
The song passed gradually into an elegy, plaintive and full of pain. In the Circus there was silence. After a while Cæsar, himself affected, sang on,—
The song slowly transformed into a sorrowful elegy, full of sadness and pain. In the Circus, there was silence. After a moment, Cæsar, feeling moved, continued to sing—
“With the sound of thy heavenly lyre Thou couldst drown the wailing, The lament of hearts. At the sad sound of this song The eye to-day is filled with tears, As a flower is filled with dew, But who can raise from dust and ashes That day of fire, disaster, ruin? O Smintheus, where wert thou then?”
“With the sound of your heavenly lyre, you could drown out the mourning, the sorrow of hearts. Today, at the sad sound of this song, my eyes fill with tears, just like a flower is filled with dew. But who can bring back from dust and ashes that day of fire, disaster, and ruin? Oh Smintheus, where were you then?”
Here his voice quivered and his eyes grew moist. Tears appeared on the lids of the vestals; the people listened in silence before they burst into a long unbroken storm of applause.
Here his voice shook and his eyes became watery. Tears formed in the eyes of the young women; the crowd listened quietly before erupting into a long, continuous wave of applause.
Meanwhile from outside through the vomitoria came the sound of creaking vehicles on which were placed the bloody remnants of Christians, men, women, and children, to be taken to the pits called “puticuli.”
Meanwhile, outside through the exits came the sound of creaking vehicles carrying the bloody remains of Christians—men, women, and children—to be taken to the pits called “puticuli.”
But the Apostle Peter seized his trembling white head with his hands, and cried in spirit,—
But the Apostle Peter grabbed his shaking white head with his hands and shouted in spirit, —
“O Lord, O Lord! to whom hast Thou given rule over the earth, and why wilt Thou found in this place Thy capital?”
“O Lord, O Lord! to whom have You given power over the earth, and why will You establish Your capital here?”
Chapter LVI
THE sun had lowered toward its setting, and seemed to dissolve in the red of the evening. The spectacle was finished. Crowds were leaving the amphitheatre and pouring out to the city through the passages called vomitoria. Only Augustians delayed; they were waiting for the stream of people to pass. They had all left their seats and assembled at the podium, in which Cæsar appeared again to hear praises. Though the spectators had not spared plaudits at the end of the song, Nero was not satisfied; he had looked for enthusiasm touching on frenzy. In vain did hymns of praise sound in his ears; in vain did vestals kiss his “divine” hand, and while doing so Rubria bent till her reddish hair touched his breast. Nero was not satisfied, and could not hide the fact. He was astonished and also disturbed because Petronius was silent. Some flattering and pointed word from his mouth would have been a great consolation at that moment. Unable at last to restrain himself, Cæsar beckoned to the arbiter.
The sun was setting, appearing to melt into the red of the evening sky. The show was over. Crowds were leaving the amphitheater and streaming into the city through the exits known as vomitoria. Only the Augustians lingered, waiting for the flow of people to clear. They had all left their seats and gathered at the podium, where Caesar had appeared again to receive admiration. Although the audience had showered him with applause at the end of the performance, Nero was not pleased; he was hoping for a level of enthusiasm that bordered on madness. The hymns of praise sounded in his ears in vain; the vestals kissed his "divine" hand, with Rubria leaning in so far that her reddish hair touched his chest. Nero was not satisfied and couldn’t hide it. He was both shocked and uneasy because Petronius was silent. A flattering remark from him would have been a great comfort at that moment. Finally unable to hold back, Caesar signaled for the arbiter.
“Speak,” said he, when Petronius entered the podium.
“Speak,” he said, as Petronius walked onto the stage.
“I am silent,” answered Petronius, coldly, “for I cannot find words. Thou hast surpassed thyself.”
“I’m silent,” Petronius replied coolly, “because I can’t find the words. You’ve outdone yourself.”
“So it seemed to me too; but still this people—”
“So it seemed to me too; but still this people—”
“Canst thou expect mongrels to appreciate poetry?”
"Can you expect mutts to appreciate poetry?"
“But thou too hast noticed that they have not thanked me as I deserve.”
"But you've noticed that they haven't thanked me like I should be."
“Because thou hast chosen a bad moment.”
“Because you’ve chosen a bad moment.”
“How?”
“How?”
“When men’s brains are filled with the odor of blood, they cannot listen attentively.”
“When guys’ minds are filled with the smell of blood, they can’t pay attention.”
“Ah, those Christians!” replied Nero, clenching his fists. “They burned Rome, and injure me now in addition. What new punishment shall I invent for them?”
“Ah, those Christians!” replied Nero, clenching his fists. “They burned Rome, and now they’re hurting me too. What new punishment should I come up with for them?”
Petronius saw that he had taken the wrong road, that his words had produced an effect the very opposite of what he intended; so, to turn Cæsar’s mind in another direction, he bent toward him and whispered,—
Petronius realized he had gone down the wrong path, that his words had the opposite effect of what he meant; so, to steer Cæsar’s thoughts in a different direction, he leaned in and whispered,—
“Thy song is marvellous, but I will make one remark: in the fourth line of the third strophe the metre leaves something to be desired.”
"Your song is amazing, but I have one comment: in the fourth line of the third verse, the meter could use some improvement."
Nero, blushing with shame, as if caught in a disgraceful deed, had fear in his look, and answered in a whisper also,—
Nero, turning red with shame, as if he had been caught doing something embarrassing, had fear in his eyes and replied in a quiet voice as well,—
“Thou seest everything. I know. I will re-write that. But no one else noticed it, I think. And do thou, for the love of the gods, mention it to no one,—if life is dear to thee.”
"You see everything. I know. I’ll rewrite that. But no one else noticed it, I think. And for the love of the gods, please don’t mention it to anyone—if your life is precious to you."
To this Petronius answered, as if in an outburst of vexation and anger,
To this, Petronius replied, as if he were bursting with annoyance and anger,
“Condemn me to death, O divinity, if I deceive thee; but thou wilt not terrify me, for the gods know best of all if I fear death.”
“Condemn me to death, O deity, if I deceive you; but you won’t scare me, because the gods know better than anyone if I fear death.”
And while speaking he looked straight into Cæsar’s eyes, who answered after a while,—
And while talking, he looked straight into Caesar's eyes, who replied after a moment,—
“Be not angry; thou knowest that I love thee.”
"Don't be angry; you know that I love you."
“A bad sign!” thought Petronius.
“Not a good sign!” thought Petronius.
“I wanted to invite thee to-day to a feast,” continued Nero, “but I prefer to shut myself in and polish that cursed line in the third strophe. Besides thee Seneca may have noticed it, and perhaps Secundus Carinas did; but I will rid myself of them quickly.”
“I wanted to invite you today to a feast,” Nero continued, “but I’d rather shut myself in and refine that damn line in the third strophe. Besides you, Seneca might have noticed it, and maybe Secundus Carinas did too; but I’ll get rid of them quickly.”
Then he summoned Seneca, and declared that with Acratus and Secundus Carinas, he sent him to the Italian and all other provinces for money, which he commanded him to obtain from cities, villages, famous temples,—in a word, from every place where it was possible to find money, or from which they could force it. But Seneca, who saw that Cæsar was confiding to him a work of plunder, sacrilege, and robbery, refused straightway.
Then he called for Seneca and announced that he was sending him to the Italian and other provinces, along with Acratus and Secundus Carinas, to collect money. He instructed Seneca to gather funds from cities, villages, famous temples—in short, from anywhere it was possible to find money or where they could force it. However, Seneca, realizing that Cæsar was entrusting him with a task of plunder, sacrilege, and theft, immediately refused.
“I must go to the country, lord,” said he, “and await death, for I am old and my nerves are sick.”
“I need to go to the countryside, my lord,” he said, “and wait for death, because I am old and my nerves are shot.”
Seneca’s Iberian nerves were stronger than Chilos; they were not sick, perhaps, but in general his health was bad, for he seemed like a shadow, and recently his hair had grown white altogether.
Seneca’s nerves from Iberia were stronger than Chilos'; they weren’t sick, maybe, but overall his health was poor, as he looked like a shadow, and recently his hair had turned completely white.
Nero, too, when he looked at him, thought that he would not have to wait long for the man’s death, and answered,—
Nero also thought that he wouldn't have to wait long for the man's death when he looked at him, and replied,—
“I will not expose thee to a journey if thou art ill, but through affection I wish to keep thee near me. Instead of going to the country, then, thou wilt stay in thy own house, and not leave it.”
“I won’t make you travel if you’re not feeling well, but out of care, I want to keep you close to me. So instead of going to the countryside, you’ll stay in your own home and not leave it.”
Then he laughed, and said, “If I send Acratus and Carinas by themselves, it will be like sending wolves for sheep. Whom shall I set above them?”
Then he laughed and said, “If I send Acratus and Carinas on their own, it will be like sending wolves after sheep. Who should I put in charge of them?”
“Me, lord,” said Domitius Afer.
“Me, my lord,” said Domitius Afer.
“No! I have no wish to draw on Rome the wrath of Mercury, whom ye would put to shame with your villainy. I need some stoic like Seneca, or like my new friend, the philosopher Chilo.”
“No! I don’t want to bring down Mercury's anger on Rome, which you would disgrace with your wickedness. I need a stoic like Seneca, or like my new friend, the philosopher Chilo.”
Then he looked around, and asked,—
Then he looked around and asked,—
“But what has happened to Chilo?”
“But what happened to Chilo?”
Chilo, who had recovered in the open air and returned to the amphitheatre for Cæsar’s song, pushed up, and said,—
Chilo, having healed in the fresh air and come back to the amphitheater for Cæsar’s song, spoke up and said,—
“I am here, O Radiant Offspring of the sun and moon. I was ill, but thy song has restored me.”
“I’m here, O Bright Child of the sun and moon. I was sick, but your song has healed me.”
“I will send thee to Achæa,” said Nero. “Thou must know to a copper how much there is in each temple there.”
"I'll send you to Achaea," Nero said. "You need to know exactly how much there is in each temple there."
“Do so, O Zeus, and the gods will give thee such tribute as they have never given any one.”
“Do this, Zeus, and the gods will give you a tribute like no one has ever received.”
“I would, but I do not like to prevent thee from seeing the games.”
“I would, but I don’t want to stop you from watching the games.”
“Baal!” said Chilo.
"Baal!" Chilo exclaimed.
The Augustians, delighted that Cæsar had regained humor, fell to laughing, and exclaimed,—
The Augustians, happy that Cæsar was in a good mood again, started laughing and shouted,—
“No, lord, deprive not this valiant Greek of a sight of the games.”
“No, my lord, don’t deny this brave Greek the chance to see the games.”
“But preserve me, O lord, from the sight of these noisy geese of the Capitol, whose brains put together would not fill a nutshell,” retorted Chilo. “O first-born of Apollo, I am writing a Greek hymn in thy honor, and I wish to spend a few days in the temple of the Muses to implore inspiration.”
“But keep me safe, oh Lord, from these loud geese of the Capitol, whose combined brains wouldn’t fill a nutshell,” Chilo shot back. “Oh first-born of Apollo, I am writing a Greek hymn in your honor, and I want to spend a few days in the temple of the Muses to seek inspiration.”
“Oh, no!” exclaimed Nero. “It is thy wish to escape future games. Nothing will come of that!”
“Oh, no!” exclaimed Nero. “You want to avoid future games. That won’t work out for you!”
“I swear to thee, lord, that I am writing a hymn.”
"I swear to you, my lord, that I am writing a song."
“Then thou wilt write it at night. Beg inspiration of Diana, who, by the way, is a sister of Apollo.”
"Then you will write it at night. Ask for inspiration from Diana, who, by the way, is Apollo's sister."
Chilo dropped his head and looked with malice on those present, who began to laugh again. Cæsar, turning to Senecio and Suilius Nerulinus, said,—
Chilo hung his head and glared at those around him, who started laughing again. Cæsar turned to Senecio and Suilius Nerulinus and said,—
“Imagine, of the Christians appointed for to-day we have been able to finish hardly half!”
"Just think, out of the Christians assigned for today, we’ve barely managed to finish half!"
At this old Aquilus Regulus, who had great knowledge of everything touching the amphitheatre, thought a while, and said,—
At this old Aquilus Regulus, who knew a lot about everything related to the amphitheater, paused for a moment and said,—
“Spectacles in which people appear sine armis et sine arte last almost as long and are less entertaining.”
“Shows where people appear without weapons and without skill last about as long and are less entertaining.”
“I will command to give them weapons,” answered Nero.
"I'll order them to be given weapons," answered Nero.
But the superstitious Vestinius was roused from meditation at once, and asked in a mysterious voice,—
But the superstitious Vestinius was pulled from his thoughts right away and asked in a mysterious voice,—
“Have ye noticed that when dying they see something? They look up, and die as it were without pain. I am sure that they see something.”
“Have you noticed that when people are dying, they see something? They look up and seem to die without pain. I’m sure they see something.”
He raised his eyes then to the opening of the amphitheatre, over which night had begun to extend its velarium dotted with stars. But others answered with laughter and jesting suppositions as to what the Christians could see at the moment of death. Meanwhile Cæsar gave a signal to the slave torch-bearers, and left the Circus; after him followed vestals, senators, dignitaries, and Augustians.
He looked up at the entrance of the amphitheater, where night was starting to drape its starry curtain. But others responded with laughter and teasing guesses about what the Christians might see at the moment of death. Meanwhile, Caesar signaled the slave torchbearers and left the Circus, followed by vestals, senators, dignitaries, and Augustians.
The night was clear and warm. Before the Circus were moving throngs of people, curious to witness the departure of Cæsar; but in some way they were gloomy and silent. Here and there applause was heard, but it ceased quickly. From the spoliarium creaking carts bore away the bloody remnants of Christians.
The night was clear and warm. Before the Circus, there were crowds of people eager to see Cæsar leave; however, they seemed gloomy and quiet. Occasionally, there was applause, but it quickly died down. From the spoliarium, creaking carts took away the bloody remains of Christians.
Petronius and Vinicius passed over their road in silence. Only when near his villa did Petronius inquire,—
Petronius and Vinicius traveled along their path in silence. It was only when they were close to his villa that Petronius asked, —
“Hast thou thought of what I told thee?” “I have,” answered Vinicius.
“Have you thought about what I told you?” “I have,” answered Vinicius.
“Dost believe that for me too this is a question of the highest importance? I must liberate her in spite of Cæsar and Tigellinus. This is a kind of battle in which I have undertaken to conquer, a kind of play in which I wish to win, even at the cost of my life. This day has confirmed me still more in my plan.”
“Do you really think this isn't a crucial issue for me as well? I have to free her, regardless of Cæsar and Tigellinus. This is a battle I've committed to winning, a game I want to win, even if it costs me my life. Today has made me even more convinced of my plan.”
“May Christ reward thee.”
“May Christ reward you.”
“Thou wilt see.”
"You will see."
Thus conversing, they stopped at the door of the villa and descended from the litter. At that moment a dark figure approached them, and asked,—
Thus talking, they reached the door of the villa and got out of the litter. At that moment, a dark figure came up to them and asked,—
“Is the noble Vinicius here?”
“Is Lord Vinicius here?”
“He is,” answered the tribune. “What is thy wish?”
“He is,” answered the tribune. “What do you wish?”
“I am Nazarius, the son of Miriam. I come from the prison, and bring tidings of Lygia.”
“I’m Nazarius, Miriam’s son. I’ve just come from the prison and I have news about Lygia.”
Vinicius placed his hand on the young man’s shoulder and looked into his eyes by the torchlight, without power to speak a word, but Nazarius divined the question which was dying on his lips, and replied,—
Vinicius put his hand on the young man's shoulder and looked into his eyes by the torchlight, unable to speak, but Nazarius sensed the question that was on his lips and replied,—
“She is living yet. Ursus sent me to say that she prays in her fever, and repeats thy name.”
“She is still alive. Ursus sent me to tell you that she prays through her fever and keeps saying your name.”
“Praise be to Christ, who has power to restore her to me,” said Vinicius. He conducted Nazarius to the library, and after a while Petronius came in to hear their conversation.
“Thank Christ, who can bring her back to me,” said Vinicius. He took Nazarius to the library, and after a while, Petronius walked in to listen to their conversation.
“Sickness saved her from shame, for executioners are timid,” said the youth. “Ursus and Glaucus the physician watch over her night and day.”
“Sickness protected her from shame because executioners are cowardly,” said the youth. “Ursus and Glaucus the doctor take care of her around the clock.”
“Are the guards the same?”
“Are the guards still the same?”
“They are, and she is in their chamber. All the prisoners in the lower dungeon died of fever, or were stifled from foul air.”
“They are, and she is in their room. All the prisoners in the lower dungeon died from fever or suffocated from the bad air.”
“Who art thou?” inquired Petronins.
“Who are you?” asked Petronins.
“The noble Vinicius knows me. I am the son of that widow with whom Lygia lodged.”
“The honorable Vinicius knows me. I am the son of that widow with whom Lygia stayed.”
“And a Christian?”
"And a Christian?"
The youth looked with inquiring glance at Vinicius, but, seeing him in prayer, he raised his head, and answered,—
The young man looked at Vinicius with a questioning glance, but when he saw him praying, he lifted his head and responded,—
“I am.”
"I'm here."
“How canst thou enter the prison freely?”
“How can you enter the prison freely?”
“I hired myself to carry out corpses; I did so to assist my brethren and bring them news from the city.”
“I took a job carrying corpses; I did it to help my fellow people and bring them news from the city.”
Petronius looked more attentively at the comely face of the youth, his blue eyes, and dark, abundant hair.
Petronius examined the attractive face of the young man more closely, noting his blue eyes and thick, dark hair.
“From what country art thou, youth?” asked he.
"Where are you from, kid?" he asked.
“I am a Galilean, lord.”
"I'm a Galilean, lord."
“Wouldst thou like to see Lygia free?”
"Would you like to see Lygia free?"
The youth raised his eyes. “Yes, even had I to die afterwards.”
The young man looked up. “Yeah, even if I had to die afterwards.”
Then Vinicius ceased to pray, and said,—
Then Vinicius stopped praying and said,—
“Tell the guards to place her in a coffin as if she were dead. Thou wilt find assistants to bear her out in the night with thee. Near the ‘Putrid Pits’ will be people with a litter waiting for you; to them ye will give the coffin. Promise the guards from me as much gold as each can carry in his mantle.”
“Tell the guards to put her in a coffin like she’s dead. You’ll find helpers to carry her out at night with you. Near the ‘Putrid Pits’ there will be people with a stretcher waiting for you; you’ll hand them the coffin. Promise the guards from me as much gold as each can carry in his cloak.”
While speaking, his face lost its usual torpor, and in him was roused the soldier to whom hope had restored his former energy.
While he was talking, his face lost its usual dullness, and the soldier inside him, revived by hope, regained his former energy.
Nazarius was flushed with delight, and, raising his hands, he exclaimed,
Nazarius was filled with joy and, raising his hands, he shouted,
“May Christ give her health, for she will be free.”
“May Christ grant her health, for she will be free.”
“Dost thou think that the guards will consent?” inquired Petronius.
“Do you think the guards will agree?” Petronius asked.
“They, lord? Yes, if they know that punishment and torture will not touch them.”
“They, my lord? Yes, if they’re aware that punishment and torture won’t affect them.”
“The guards would consent to her flight; all the more will they let us bear her out as a corpse,” said Vinicius.
“The guards will let her escape; they’ll definitely allow us to carry her out as a body,” said Vinicius.
“There is a man, it is true,” said Nazarius, “who burns with red-hot iron to see if the bodies which we carry out are dead. But he will take even a few sestertia not to touch the face of the dead with iron. For one aureus he will touch the coffin, not the body.”
“There is a guy, it's true,” said Nazarius, “who uses red-hot iron to check if the bodies we carry out are really dead. But he'll take even a few sestertii just to avoid touching the dead person's face with the iron. For one aureus, he’ll touch the coffin, but not the body.”
“Tell him that he will get a cap full of aurei,” said Petronius. “But canst thou find reliable assistants?”
“Tell him that he will get a cap full of gold coins,” said Petronius. “But can you find trustworthy helpers?”
“I can find men who would sell their own wives and children for money.”
“I can find men who would sell their own wives and kids for money.”
“Where wilt thou find them?”
“Where will you find them?”
“In the prison itself or in the city. Once the guards are paid, they will admit whomever I like.”
“In the prison or in the city. Once the guards are paid, they will let in anyone I want.”
“In that case take me as a hired servant,” said Vinicius.
“In that case, hire me as a servant,” said Vinicius.
But Petronius opposed this most earnestly. “The pretorians might recognize thee even in disguise, and all would be lost. Go neither to the prison nor the ‘Putrid Pits.’ All, including Cæsar and Tigellinus, should be convinced that she died; otherwise they will order immediate pursuit. We can lull suspicion only in this way: When she is taken to the Alban Hills or farther, to Sicily, we shall be in Rome. A week or two later thou wilt fall ill, and summon Nero’s physician; he will tell thee to go to the mountains. Thou and she will meet, and afterward—”
But Petronius strongly disagreed. “The praetorians might recognize you even in disguise, and everything would be ruined. Don’t go to the prison or the ‘Putrid Pits.’ Everyone, including Caesar and Tigellinus, must believe she’s dead; otherwise, they’ll order an immediate search. We can only ease their suspicions this way: When she’s taken to the Alban Hills or even further, to Sicily, we’ll be in Rome. A week or two later, you’ll get sick and call for Nero’s doctor; he’ll advise you to go to the mountains. You and she will meet, and afterward—”
Here he thought a while; then, waving his hand, he said,—
Here he thought for a moment; then, waving his hand, he said,—
“Other times may come.”
“Other times might arrive.”
“May Christ have mercy on her,” said Vinicius. “Thou art speaking of Sicily, while she is sick and may die.”
“May Christ have mercy on her,” said Vinicius. “You're talking about Sicily while she is sick and might die.”
“Let us keep her nearer Rome at first. The air alone will restore her, if only we snatch her from the dungeon. Hast thou no manager in the mountains whom thou canst trust?”
“Let’s keep her close to Rome for now. The fresh air alone will help her, if we can just get her out of that dungeon. Don’t you have a reliable caretaker in the mountains?”
“I have,” replied Vinicius, hurriedly. “Near Corioli is a reliable man who carried me in his arms when I was a child, and who loves me yet.”
“I have,” Vinicius replied quickly. “There’s a trustworthy man near Corioli who carried me in his arms when I was a child, and he still loves me.”
“Write to him to come to-morrow,” said Petronius, handing Vinicius tablets. “I will send a courier at once.”
“Write to him to come tomorrow,” said Petronius, handing Vinicius tablets. “I’ll send a courier right away.”
He called the chief of the atrium then, and gave the needful orders. A few minutes later, a mounted slave was coursing in the night toward Corioli.
He called the head of the atrium and gave the necessary orders. A few minutes later, a mounted slave was racing through the night toward Corioli.
“It would please me were Ursus to accompany her,” said Vinicius. “I should be more at rest.”
“It would make me happy if Ursus could go with her,” said Vinicius. “I would feel more at ease.”
“Lord,” said Nazarius, “that is a man of superhuman strength; he can break gratings and follow her. There is one window above a steep, high rock where no guard is placed. I will take Ursus a rope; the rest he will do himself.”
“Lord,” said Nazarius, “that guy is incredibly strong; he can break through barriers and chase after her. There’s a window high up on a steep rock where there’s no guard. I’ll bring Ursus a rope; he’ll handle the rest.”
“By Hercules!” said Petronius, “let him tear himself out as he pleases, but not at the same time with her, and not two or three days later, for they would follow him and discover her hiding-place. By Hercules! do ye wish to destroy yourselves and her? I forbid you to name Corioli to him, or I wash my hands.”
“By Hercules!” said Petronius, “he can do whatever he wants, but not at the same time with her, and definitely not two or three days later, because they would follow him and find her hiding place. By Hercules! Do you really want to ruin yourselves and her? I forbid you to mention Corioli to him, or I’m out.”
Both recognized the justice of these words, and were silent. Nazarius took leave, promising to come the next morning at daybreak.
Both acknowledged the truth of these words and fell silent. Nazarius said goodbye, promising to return the next morning at dawn.
He hoped to finish that night with the guards, but wished first to run in to see his mother, who in that uncertain and dreadful time had no rest for a moment thinking of her son. After some thought he had determined not to seek an assistant in the city, but to find and bribe one from among his fellow corpse-bearers. When going, he stopped, and, taking Vinicius aside, whispered,—
He wanted to wrap things up that night with the guards, but first wanted to stop by and see his mother, who during that uncertain and frightening time was constantly worried about her son. After thinking it over, he decided not to look for help in the city, but to find and pay off someone from his fellow corpse-bearers. As he was about to leave, he paused, took Vinicius aside, and whispered,—
“I will not mention our plan to any one, not even to my mother, but the Apostle Peter promised to come from the amphitheatre to our house; I will tell him everything.”
“I won’t tell anyone about our plan, not even my mom, but the Apostle Peter promised to come from the amphitheater to our house; I’ll tell him everything.”
“Here thou canst speak openly,” replied Vinicius. “The Apostle was in the amphitheatre with the people of Petronius. But I will go with you myself.”
“Here you can speak freely,” Vinicius replied. “The Apostle was in the amphitheater with Petronius's people. But I will go with you myself.”
He gave command to bring him a slave’s mantle, and they passed out. Petronius sighed deeply.
He ordered them to bring him a slave's cloak, and they left. Petronius sighed deeply.
“I wished her to die of that fever,” thought he, “since that would have been less terrible for Vinicius. But now I am ready to offer a golden tripod to Esculapius for her health. Ah! Ahenobarbus, thou hast the wish to turn a lover’s pain into a spectacle; thou, Augusta, wert jealous of the maiden’s beauty, and wouldst devour her alive because thy Rufius has perished. Thou, Tigellinus, wouldst destroy her to spite me! We shall see. I tell you that your eyes will not behold her on the arena, for she will either die her own death, or I shall wrest her from you as from the jaws of dogs, and wrest her in such fashion that ye shall not know it; and as often afterward as I look at you I shall think, These are the fools whom Caius Petronius outwitted.”
“I wished her to die from that fever,” he thought, “since that would have been less terrible for Vinicius. But now I'm ready to offer a golden tripod to Esculapius for her health. Ah! Ahenobarbus, you have the desire to turn a lover’s pain into a show; you, Augusta, were jealous of the maiden’s beauty and would eat her alive because your Rufius has died. You, Tigellinus, would destroy her just to spite me! We’ll see. I tell you that your eyes will not see her in the arena, for she will either die on her own, or I will snatch her away from you like from the jaws of dogs, and do it in such a way that you won’t even know it; and as often as I look at you afterward, I will think, These are the fools whom Caius Petronius outsmarted.”
And, self-satisfied, he passed to the triclinium, where he sat down to supper with Eunice. During the meal a lector read to them the Idyls of Theocritus. Out of doors the wind brought clouds from the direction of Soracte, and a sudden storm broke the silence of the calm summer night. From time to time thunder reverberated on the seven hills, while they, reclining near each other at the table, listened to the bucolic poet, who in the singing Doric dialect celebrated the loves of shepherds. Later on, with minds at rest, they prepared for sweet slumber.
And, feeling pleased with himself, he went to the dining room, where he sat down to dinner with Eunice. During the meal, a reader took turns reading the Idyls of Theocritus to them. Outside, the wind carried clouds from the direction of Soracte, and a sudden storm shattered the tranquility of the calm summer night. Occasionally, thunder rolled over the seven hills, while they, lying next to each other at the table, listened to the pastoral poet, who in the melodic Doric dialect celebrated the loves of shepherds. Later on, feeling relaxed, they got ready for a peaceful sleep.
But before this Vinicius returned. Petronius heard of his coming, and went to meet him.
But before this, Vinicius returned. Petronius heard about his arrival and went to meet him.
“Well? Have ye fixed anything new?” inquired he. “Has Nazarius gone to the prison?”
“Well? Have you fixed anything new?” he asked. “Has Nazarius gone to the prison?”
“He has,” answered the young man, arranging his hair, wet from the rain. “Nazarius went to arrange with the guards, and I have seen Peter, who commanded me to pray and believe.”
“He has,” replied the young man, fixing his hair, which was wet from the rain. “Nazarius went to talk to the guards, and I saw Peter, who told me to pray and have faith.”
“That is well. If all goes favorably, we can bear her away to-morrow night.”
"That's good. If everything goes well, we can take her away tomorrow night."
“My manager must be here at daybreak with men.”
“My manager needs to be here at dawn with the crew.”
“The road is a short one. Now go to rest.”
“The road is short. Now go get some rest.”
But Vinicius knelt in his cubiculum and prayed.
But Vinicius knelt in his room and prayed.
At sunrise Niger, the manager, arrived from Corioli, bringing with him, at the order of Vinicius, mules, a litter, and four trusty men selected among slaves from Britain, whom, to save appearances, he had left at an inn in the Subura. Vinicius, who had watched all night, went to meet him. Niger, moved at sight of his youthful master, kissed his hands and eyes, saying,—
At sunrise, Niger, the manager, arrived from Corioli, bringing with him, as ordered by Vinicius, mules, a litter, and four reliable men chosen from the slaves in Britain, whom he left at an inn in the Subura to maintain appearances. Vinicius, who had been awake all night, went to meet him. Seeing his young master, Niger was touched and kissed his hands and eyes, saying,—
“My dear, thou art ill, or else suffering has sucked the blood from thy face, for hardly did I know thee at first.”
"My dear, you look unwell, or maybe suffering has drained the color from your face, because I hardly recognized you at first."
Vinicius took him to the interior colonnade, and there admitted him to the secret. Niger listened with fixed attention, and on his dry, sunburnt face great emotion was evident; this he did not even try to master.
Vinicius led him to the inner colonnade and revealed the secret. Niger listened intently, and his dry, sunburned face clearly showed his strong emotions, which he didn’t even attempt to hide.
“Then she is a Christian?” exclaimed Niger; and he looked inquiringly into the face of Vinicius, who divined evidently what the gaze of the countryman was asking, since he answered,—
“Then she’s a Christian?” exclaimed Niger; and he looked questioningly into the face of Vinicius, who clearly understood what the countryman's stare was asking, since he replied,—
“I too am a Christian.”
"I'm also a Christian."
Tears glistened in Niger’s eyes that moment. He was silent for a while; then, raising his hands, he said,—
Tears glistened in Niger’s eyes at that moment. He was quiet for a bit; then, raising his hands, he said,—
“I thank Thee, O Christ, for having taken the beam from eyes which are the dearest on earth to me.”
"I thank You, O Christ, for having removed the obstacle from the eyes that are the most precious to me on earth."
Then he embraced the head of Vinicius, and, weeping from happiness, fell to kissing his forehead. A moment later, Petronius appeared, bringing Nazarius.
Then he hugged Vinicius tightly, and, crying tears of joy, started kissing his forehead. A moment later, Petronius showed up, bringing Nazarius with him.
“Good news!” cried he, while still at a distance.
“Great news!” he shouted from afar.
Indeed, the news was good. First, Glaucus the physician guaranteed Lygia’s life, though she had the same prison fever of which, in the Tullianum and other dungeons, hundreds of people were dying daily. As to the guards and the man who tried corpses with red-hot iron, there was not the least difficulty. Attys, the assistant, was satisfied also.
Indeed, the news was good. First, Glaucus the doctor assured Lygia's survival, even though she had the same prison fever that was causing daily deaths among hundreds of people in the Tullianum and other dungeons. As for the guards and the man who tortured corpses with red-hot iron, there was no trouble at all. Attys, the assistant, was pleased as well.
“We made openings in the coffin to let the sick woman breathe,” said Nazarius. “The only danger is that she may groan or speak as we pass the pretorians. But she is very weak, and is lying with closed eyes since early morning. Besides, Glaucus will give her a sleeping draught prepared by himself from drugs brought by me purposely from the city. The cover will not be nailed to the coffin; ye will raise it easily and take the patient to the litter. We will place in the coffin a long bag of sand, which ye will provide.”
“We made openings in the coffin to let the sick woman breathe,” said Nazarius. “The only risk is that she might groan or speak while we pass the guards. But she's very weak and has been lying with her eyes closed since early morning. Plus, Glaucus is going to give her a sleeping potion that he made from the herbs I brought specifically from the city. The lid won't be nailed down, so you can lift it easily and take her to the stretcher. We’ll put a long bag of sand in the coffin, which you will supply.”
Vinicius, while hearing these words, was as pale as linen; but he listened with such attention that he seemed to divine at a glance what Nazarius had to say.
Vinicius, listening to these words, was as pale as a sheet; but he paid such close attention that he seemed to sense right away what Nazarius wanted to say.
“Will they carry out other bodies from the prison?” inquired Petronius.
“Will they take out other bodies from the prison?” Petronius asked.
“About twenty died last night, and before evening more will be dead,” said the youth. “We must go with a whole company, but we will delay and drop into the rear. At the first corner my comrade will get lame purposely. In that way we shall remain behind the others considerably. Ye will wait for us at the small temple of Libitina. May God give a night as dark as possible!”
“About twenty people died last night, and before evening, even more will be dead,” said the young man. “We need to go with a full team, but we'll hang back and fall behind. At the first corner, my friend will pretend to be lame on purpose. That way, we’ll stay behind the others by a good bit. You’ll wait for us at the small temple of Libitina. May God give us the darkest night possible!”
“He will,” said Niger. “Last evening was bright, and then a sudden storm came. To-day the sky is clear, but since morning it is sultry. Every night now there will be wind and rain.”
“He will,” said Niger. “Last night was clear, and then a sudden storm hit. Today the sky is clear, but it's been humid since this morning. Every night from now on, we can expect wind and rain.”
“Will ye go without torches?” inquired Vinicius.
“Are you going without torches?” Vinicius asked.
“The torches are carried only in advance. In every event, be near the temple of Libitina at dark, though usually we carry out the corpses only just before midnight.”
“The torches are only carried at the front. In every event, be near the temple of Libitina at night, although we usually take out the corpses only just before midnight.”
They stopped. Nothing was to be heard save the hurried breathing of Vinicius. Petronius turned to him,—
They stopped. The only sound was Vinicius's quick breathing. Petronius turned to him,—
“I said yesterday that it would be best were we both to stay at home, but now I see that I could not stay. Were it a question of flight, there would be need of the greatest caution; but since she will be borne out as a corpse, it seems that not the least suspicion will enter the head of any one.”
“I said yesterday that it would be best for both of us to stay home, but now I realize I can't. If it were a matter of escaping, we would need to be very careful; but since she will be taken out as a corpse, it seems like no one will suspect anything at all.”
“True, true!” answered Vinicius. “I must be there. I will take her from the coffin myself.”
“That's right!” replied Vinicius. “I have to be there. I will take her out of the coffin myself.”
“Once she is in my house at Corioli, I answer for her,” said Niger. Conversation stopped here. Niger returned to his men at the inn. Nazarius took a purse of gold under his tunic and went to the prison. For Vinicius began a day filled with alarm, excitement, disquiet, and hope.
“Once she’s in my house at Corioli, I’ll take responsibility for her,” said Niger. The conversation stopped here. Niger went back to his men at the inn. Nazarius tucked a purse of gold under his tunic and headed to the prison. For Vinicius, a day filled with fear, excitement, unease, and hope was just beginning.
“The undertaking ought to succeed, for it is well planned,” said Petronius. “It was impossible to plan better. Thou must feign suffering, and wear a dark toga. Do not desert the amphitheatre. Let people see thee. All is so fixed that there cannot be failure. But—art thou perfectly sure of thy manager?”
“The plan should work out because it’s well thought out,” said Petronius. “You couldn’t plan it any better. You need to pretend to be in pain and wear a dark toga. Don’t leave the amphitheater. Let people see you. Everything is set up so there’s no way it can fail. But—are you absolutely sure about your manager?”
“He is a Christian,” replied Vinicius.
“He's a Christian,” Vinicius said.
Petronius looked at him with amazement, then shrugged his shoulders, and said, as if in soliloquy,—
Petronius stared at him in disbelief, then shrugged his shoulders and said, as if talking to himself,—
“By Pollux! how it spreads, and commands people’s souls. Under such terror as the present, men would renounce straightway all the gods of Rome, Greece, and Egypt. Still, this is wonderful! By Pollux! if I believed that anything depended on our gods, I would sacrifice six white bullocks to each of them, and twelve to Capitoline Jove. Spare no promises to thy Christ.”
“By Pollux! look how it spreads and takes hold of people’s souls. In this kind of terror, people would quickly give up all the gods of Rome, Greece, and Egypt. Still, this is amazing! By Pollux! if I thought that anything relied on our gods, I would sacrifice six white bulls to each of them and twelve to Capitoline Jove. Don’t hold back any promises to your Christ.”
“I have given Him my soul,” said Vinicius.
“I've given Him my soul,” Vinicius said.
And they parted. Petronius returned to his cubiculum; but Vinicius went to look from a distance at the prison, and thence betook himself to the slope of the Vatican hill,—to that hut of the quarryman where he had received baptism from the hands of the Apostle. It seemed to him that Christ would hear him more readily there than in any other place; so when he found it, he threw himself on the ground and exerted all the strength of his suffering soul in prayer for mercy, and so forgot himself that he remembered not where he was or what he was doing. In the afternoon he was roused by the sound of trumpets which came from the direction of Nero’s Circus. He went out of the hut, and gazed around with eyes which were as if just opened from sleep.
And they went their separate ways. Petronius went back to his room, but Vinicius went to look at the prison from a distance and then made his way to the slope of Vatican Hill—to that hut of the quarryman where he had been baptized by the Apostle. It seemed to him that Christ would hear his prayers more easily there than anywhere else; so when he found it, he fell to the ground and poured all the strength of his suffering soul into his prayers for mercy, losing himself in the moment so much that he forgot where he was and what he was doing. In the afternoon, he was startled awake by the sound of trumpets coming from the direction of Nero’s Circus. He stepped out of the hut and looked around with eyes as if just opened from sleep.
It was hot; the stillness was broken at intervals by the sound of brass and continually by the ceaseless noise of grasshoppers. The air had become sultry, the sky was still clear over the city, but near the Sabine Hills dark clouds were gathering at the edge of the horizon.
It was hot; the quiet was interrupted now and then by the sound of brass and constantly by the relentless noise of grasshoppers. The air had grown muggy, the sky was still clear over the city, but near the Sabine Hills, dark clouds were forming along the horizon.
Vinicius went home. Petronius was waiting for him in the atrium.
Vinicius went home. Petronius was waiting for him in the living room.
“I have been on the Palatine,” said he. “I showed myself there purposely, and even sat down at dice. There is a feast at the house of Vinicius this evening; I promised to go, but only after midnight, saying that I must sleep before that hour. In fact I shall be there, and it would be well wert thou to go also.”
“I’ve been on the Palatine,” he said. “I went there on purpose and even played dice. There’s a party at Vinicius's house tonight; I promised to go, but only after midnight, saying I needed to sleep before then. The truth is, I’ll be there, and it would be great if you could come too.”
“Are there no tidings from Niger or Nazarius?” inquired Vinicius.
“Are there any updates from Niger or Nazarius?” Vinicius asked.
“No; we shall see them only at midnight. Hast noticed that a storm is threatening?”
“No; we’ll only see them at midnight. Have you noticed that a storm is brewing?”
“Yes.”
“Yeah.”
“To-morrow there is to be an exhibition of crucified Christians, but perhaps rain will prevent it.”
"Tomorrow there's going to be an exhibition of crucified Christians, but maybe the rain will stop it."
Then he drew nearer and said, touching his nephew’s shoulder,—“But thou wilt not see her on the cross; thou wilt see her only in Corioli. By Castor! I would not give the moment in which we free her for all the gems in Rome. The evening is near.”
Then he stepped closer and said, touching his nephew’s shoulder, “But you won’t see her on the cross; you’ll see her only in Corioli. By Castor! I wouldn’t trade the moment we rescue her for all the jewels in Rome. The evening is approaching.”
In truth the evening was near, and darkness began to encircle the city earlier than usual because clouds covered the whole horizon. With the coming of night heavy rain fell, which turned into steam on the stones warmed by the heat of the day, and filled the streets of the city with mist. After that came a lull, then brief violent showers.
In reality, evening was approaching, and darkness started to surround the city earlier than normal because clouds covered the entire horizon. As night fell, heavy rain poured down, turning into steam on the warm stones from the day's heat, filling the city streets with mist. After that, there was a calm, followed by brief but intense downpours.
“Let us hurry!” said Vinicius at last; “they may carry bodies from the prison earlier because of the storm.”
“Let’s hurry!” Vinicius finally said; “they might bring out the bodies from the prison sooner because of the storm.”
“It is time!” said Petronius.
“It's time!” said Petronius.
And taking Gallic mantles with hoods, they passed through the garden door to the street. Petronius had armed himself with a short Roman knife called sicca, which he took always during night trips.
And putting on Gaulish cloaks with hoods, they went through the garden door to the street. Petronius had equipped himself with a short Roman knife called a sicca, which he always carried during nighttime outings.
The city was empty because of the storm. From time to time lightning rent the clouds, illuminating with its glare the fresh walls of houses newly built or in process of building and the wet flag-stones with which the streets were paved. At last a flash came, when they saw, after a rather long road, the mound on which stood the small temple of Libitina, and at the foot of the mound a group of mules and horses.
The city was deserted because of the storm. Occasionally, lightning flashed across the clouds, briefly lighting up the freshly painted walls of newly built or under-construction houses and the wet cobblestones that paved the streets. Finally, a flash revealed the small mound where the tiny temple of Libitina stood, with a group of mules and horses at the base of the hill.
“Niger!” called Vinicius, in a low voice.
“Niger!” Vinicius called softly.
“I am here, lord,” said a voice in the rain.
“I’m here, my lord,” said a voice in the rain.
“Is everything ready?”
“Is everything set?”
“It is. We were here at dark. But hide yourselves under the rampart, or ye will be drenched. What a storm! Hail will fall, I think.”
“It is. We were here when it got dark. But hide under the rampart, or you’ll get soaked. What a storm! I think hail is coming.”
In fact Niger’s fear was justified, for soon hail began to fall, at first fine, then larger and more frequent. The air grew cold at once. While standing under the rampart, sheltered from the wind and icy missiles, they conversed in low voices.
In fact, Niger's fear was justified, because soon hail started to fall, first small, then larger and more frequent. The air turned cold immediately. While standing under the rampart, sheltered from the wind and icy projectiles, they talked in quiet voices.
“Even should some one see us,” said Niger, “there will be no suspicion; we look like people waiting for the storm to pass. But I fear that they may not bring the bodies out till morning.”
“Even if someone sees us,” said Niger, “there won't be any suspicion; we look like people waiting for the storm to pass. But I worry that they might not bring the bodies out until morning.”
“The hail-storm will not last,” said Petronius. “We must wait even till daybreak.”
“The hailstorm won’t last,” said Petronius. “We have to wait until daybreak.”
They waited, listening to hear the sound of the procession. The hail-storm passed, but immediately after a shower began to roar. At times the wind rose, and brought from the “Putrid Pits” a dreadful odor of decaying bodies, buried near the surface and carelessly.
They waited, listening for the sound of the procession. The hailstorm passed, but right after that, a heavy rain started pouring. Sometimes the wind picked up and carried a horrible smell from the "Putrid Pits," where decaying bodies were buried close to the surface and without care.
“I see a light through the mist,” said Niger,—“one, two, three,—those are torches. See that the mules do not snort,” said he, turning to the men.
“I see a light through the mist,” said Niger, “one, two, three—those are torches. Make sure the mules don’t snort,” he said, turning to the men.
“They are coming!” said Petronius.
“They're coming!” said Petronius.
The lights were growing more and more distinct. After a time it was possible to see torches under the quivering flames.
The lights were becoming increasingly clear. After a while, it was possible to see torches flickering under the trembling flames.
Niger made the sign of the cross, and began to pray. Meanwhile the gloomy procession drew nearer, and halted at last in front of the temple of Libitina. Petronius, Vinicius, and Niger pressed up to the rampart in silence, not knowing why the halt was made. But the men had stopped only to cover their mouths and faces with cloths to ward off the stifling stench which at the edge of the “Putrid Pits” was simply unendurable; then they raised the biers with coffins and moved on. Only one coffin stopped before the temple. Vinicius sprang toward it, and after him Petronius, Niger, and two British slaves with the litter.
Niger crossed himself and started to pray. Meanwhile, the somber procession approached and finally stopped in front of the temple of Libitina. Petronius, Vinicius, and Niger quietly moved closer to the rampart, unsure why they had halted. The men had paused only to cover their mouths and faces with cloths to block the overpowering stench that was unbearable near the "Putrid Pits"; then they lifted the biers with coffins and continued on. Only one coffin remained in front of the temple. Vinicius rushed toward it, followed by Petronius, Niger, and two British slaves carrying the litter.
But before they had reached it in the darkness, the voice of Nazarius was heard, full of pain,—
But before they reached it in the darkness, Nazarius's voice was heard, full of pain,—
“Lord, they took her with Ursus to the Esquiline prison. We are carrying another body! They removed her before midnight.”
“Lord, they took her and Ursus to the Esquiline prison. We're carrying another body! They took her away before midnight.”
Petronius, when he had returned home, was gloomy as a storm, and did not even try to console Vinicius. He understood that to free Lygia from the Esquiline dungeons was not to be dreamed of. He divined that very likely she had been taken from the Tullianum so as not to die of fever and escape the amphitheatre assigned to her. But for this very reason she was watched and guarded more carefully than others. From the bottom of his soul Petronius was sorry for her and Vinicius, but he was wounded also by the thought that for the first time in life he had not succeeded, and for the first time was beaten in a struggle.
Petronius, when he got home, was as gloomy as a storm and didn’t even attempt to comfort Vinicius. He realized that freeing Lygia from the Esquiline dungeons was out of the question. He suspected that she had likely been moved from the Tullianum to avoid dying from fever and to escape the arena meant for her. But because of this, she was being watched and guarded more closely than others. Deep down, Petronius felt sorry for her and Vinicius, but he was also hurt by the thought that for the first time in his life, he had failed, and for the first time, he had been defeated in a struggle.
“Fortune seems to desert me,” said he to himself, “but the gods are mistaken if they think that I will accept such a life as his, for example.”
“Luck seems to have left me,” he said to himself, “but the gods are wrong if they think I’ll settle for a life like his, for instance.”
Here he turned toward Vinicius, who looked at him with staring eyes. “What is the matter? Thou hast a fever,” said Petronius.
Here he turned towards Vinicius, who looked at him with wide eyes. “What’s wrong? You have a fever,” said Petronius.
But Vinicius answered with a certain strange, broken, halting voice, like that of a sick child,—“But I believe that He—can restore her to me.”
But Vinicius replied with a peculiar, shaky, stuttering voice, much like a sick child’s, “But I believe that He—can bring her back to me.”
Above the city the last thunders of the storm had ceased.
Above the city, the last rumbles of the storm had stopped.
Chapter LVII
THREE days’ rain, an exceptional phenomenon in Rome during summer, and hail falling in opposition to the natural order, not only in the day, but even at night, interrupted the spectacles. People were growing alarmed. A failure of grapes was predicted, and when on a certain afternoon a thunderbolt melted the bronze statue of Ceres on the Capitol, sacrifices were ordered in the temple of Jupiter Salvator. The priests of Ceres spread a report that the anger of the gods was turned on the city because of the too hasty punishment of Christians; hence crowds began to insist that the spectacles be given without reference to weather. Delight seized all Rome when the announcement was made at last that the ludus would begin again after three days’ interval.
THREE days of rain, something unusual for Rome in the summer, and hail falling unexpectedly, not just during the day but even at night, interrupted the events. People were starting to get worried. A bad grape harvest was predicted, and when one afternoon a lightning strike melted the bronze statue of Ceres on the Capitol, sacrifices were ordered in the temple of Jupiter Salvator. The priests of Ceres spread the word that the gods were angry with the city because of the swift punishment of Christians; as a result, crowds began to demand that the events continue regardless of the weather. Everyone in Rome was thrilled when the announcement was finally made that the games would resume after a three-day pause.
Meanwhile beautiful weather returned. The amphitheatre was filled at daybreak with thousands of people. Cæsar came early with the vestals and the court. The spectacle was to begin with a battle among the Christians, who to this end were arrayed as gladiators and furnished with all kinds of weapons which served gladiators by profession in offensive and defensive struggles. But here came disappointment. The Christians threw nets, darts, tridents, and swords on the arena, embraced and encouraged one another to endurance in view of torture and death. At this deep indignation and resentment seized the hearts of the multitude. Some reproached the Christians with cowardice and pusillanimity; others asserted that they refused to fight through hatred of the people, so as to deprive them of that pleasure which the sight of bravery produces. Finally, at command of Cæsar, real gladiators were let out, who despatched in one twinkle the kneeling and defenceless victims.
Meanwhile, beautiful weather returned. The amphitheater was filled at daybreak with thousands of people. Caesar arrived early with the vestals and the court. The spectacle was supposed to start with a battle among the Christians, who were dressed as gladiators and equipped with various weapons used in combat. But then came disappointment. The Christians threw down their nets, darts, tridents, and swords in the arena, embracing and encouraging each other to endure torture and death. This triggered deep indignation and resentment in the crowd. Some accused the Christians of cowardice and weakness; others claimed they refused to fight out of hatred for the people, wanting to take away the pleasure that comes from witnessing bravery. Finally, at Caesar's command, real gladiators were released, who quickly dispatched the kneeling and defenseless victims.
When these bodies were removed, the spectacle was a series of mythologic pictures,—Cæsar’s own idea. The audience saw Hercules blazing in living fire on Mount Oeta. Vinicius had trembled at the thought that the role of Hercules might be intended for Ursus; but evidently the turn of Lygia’s faithful servant had not come, for on the pile some other Christian was burning,—a man quite unknown to Vinicius. In the next picture Chilo, whom Cæsar would not excuse from attendance, saw acquaintances. The death of Dædalus was represented, and also that of Icarus. In the rôle of Dædalus appeared Euricius, that old man who had given Chilo the sign of the fish; the role of Icarus was taken by his son, Quartus. Both were raised aloft with cunning machinery, and then hurled suddenly from an immense height to the arena. Young Quartus fell so near Cæsar’s podium that he spattered with blood not only the external ornaments but the purple covering spread over the front of the podium. Chilo did not see the fall, for he closed his eyes; but he heard the dull thump of the body, and when after a time he saw blood there close to him, he came near fainting a second time.
When these bodies were removed, the scene unfolded like a series of mythological images—an idea conceived by Cæsar himself. The audience witnessed Hercules engulfed in flames on Mount Oeta. Vinicius had shuddered at the thought that the role of Hercules might be meant for Ursus; however, it was clear that it wasn't his loyal servant’s turn yet, as another Christian was burning on the pyre—a man Vinicius didn’t recognize. In the next scene, Chilo, who Cæsar insisted must attend, spotted some acquaintances. The deaths of Dædalus and Icarus were depicted. Euricius, the old man who had given Chilo the sign of the fish, played Dædalus, while his son, Quartus, took on the role of Icarus. Both were lifted high with clever machinery and then suddenly dropped from an incredible height into the arena. Young Quartus fell so close to Cæsar’s podium that he splattered blood not only on the outer decorations but also on the purple cloth draped over the front of the podium. Chilo didn’t see the fall, as he had closed his eyes; but he heard the dull thud of the body hitting the ground, and when he eventually saw blood nearby, he nearly fainted again.
The pictures changed quickly. The shameful torments of maidens violated before death by gladiators dressed as wild beasts, delighted the hearts of the rabble. They saw priestesses of Cybele and Ceres, they saw the Danaides, they saw Dirce and Pasiphaë; finally they saw young girls, not mature yet, torn asunder by wild horses. Every moment the crowd applauded new ideas of Nero, who, proud of them, and made happy by plaudits, did not take the emerald from his eye for one instant while looking at white bodies torn with iron, and the convulsive quivering of victims.
The images changed quickly. The shameful tortures of young women, violated before death by gladiators disguised as wild beasts, thrilled the hearts of the crowd. They saw priestesses of Cybele and Ceres, they saw the Danaides, they saw Dirce and Pasiphaë; finally, they saw young girls, still innocent, being torn apart by wild horses. The crowd erupted in applause every time Nero came up with a new idea, and he, proud of their cheers and delighted by the applause, didn't take his emerald-studded eye off the scene, watching the white bodies torn by iron and the convulsive movements of the victims.
Pictures were given also from the history of the city. After the maidens they saw Mucius Scævola, whose hand fastened over a fire to a tripod filled the amphitheatre with the odor of burnt flesh; but this man, like the real Scævola, remained without a groan, his eyes raised and the murmur of prayer on his blackening lips. When he had expired and his body was dragged to the spoliarium, the usual midday interlude followed. Cæsar with the vestals and the Augustians left the amphitheatre, and withdrew to an immense scarlet tent erected purposely; in this was prepared for him and the guests a magnificent prandium. The spectators for the greater part followed his example, and, streaming out, disposed themselves in picturesque groups around the tent, to rest their limbs wearied from long sitting, and enjoy the food which, through Cæsar’s favor, was served by slaves to them. Only the most curious descended to the arena itself, and, touching with their fingers lumps of sand held together by blood, conversed, as specialists and amateurs, of that which had happened and of that which was to follow. Soon even these went away, lest they might be late for the feast; only those few were left who stayed not through curiosity, but sympathy for the coming victims. Those concealed themselves behind seats or in the lower places.
Pictures were also shown from the city's history. After the maidens, they saw Mucius Scaevola, whose hand was held over a fire on a tripod, filling the amphitheater with the smell of burnt flesh; but like the real Scaevola, he endured without a sound, his eyes raised and the murmur of prayer on his charring lips. When he passed away and his body was dragged to the spoliarium, the usual midday break followed. Caesar, along with the vestals and the Augurs, left the amphitheater and withdrew to a huge scarlet tent set up specifically for him; in this tent, a lavish meal was prepared for him and the guests. Most of the spectators followed his lead, streaming out to gather in picturesque groups around the tent, resting their tired limbs from sitting so long and enjoying the food served to them by slaves through Caesar's favor. Only the most curious went down to the arena itself, touching with their fingers clumps of sand mixed with blood, discussing as both experts and amateurs what had happened and what was to come. Soon even they left, fearing they might be late for the feast; only a few remained, not out of curiosity, but out of sympathy for the upcoming victims. They hid behind seats or in the lower areas.
Meanwhile the arena was levelled, and slaves began to dig holes one near the other in rows throughout the whole circuit from side to side, so that the last row was but a few paces distant from Cæsar’s podium. From outside came the murmur of people, shouts and plaudits, while within they were preparing in hot haste for new tortures. The cunicula were opened simultaneously, and in all passages leading to the arena were urged forward crowds of Christians naked and carrying crosses on their shoulders. The whole arena was filled with them. Old men, bending under the weight of wooden beams, ran forward; at the side of these went men in the prime of life, women with loosened hair behind which they strove to hide their nakedness, small boys, and little children. The crosses, for the greater part, as well as the victims, were wreathed with flowers. The servants of the amphitheatre beat the unfortunates with clubs, forcing them to lay down their crosses near the holes prepared, and stand themselves there in rows. Thus were to perish those whom executioners had had no chance to drive out as food for dogs and wild beasts the first day of the games. Black slaves seized the victims, laid them face upward on the wood, and fell to nailing their hands hurriedly and quickly to the arms of the crosses, so that people returning after the interlude might find all the crosses standing. The whole amphitheatre resounded with the noise of hammers which echoed through all the rows, went out to the space surrounding the amphitheatre, and into the tent where Cæsar was entertaining his suite and the vestals. There he drank wine, bantered with Chilo, and whispered strange words in the ears of the priestesses of Vesta; but on the arena the work was seething,—nails were going into the hands and feet of the Christians; shovels moved quickly, filling the holes in which the crosses had been planted.
Meanwhile, the arena was leveled, and slaves began to dig holes in neat rows all around, so that the last row was just a few paces away from Caesar’s podium. Outside, the crowd murmured with cheers and applause, while inside, preparations for more tortures were in full swing. The cunicula were opened simultaneously, and in all passages leading to the arena, groups of Christians, naked and carrying crosses on their shoulders, were ushered forward. The entire arena was filled with them. Elderly men, bent under the weight of wooden beams, rushed forward; alongside them were men in their prime, women with loose hair trying to cover their nakedness, young boys, and small children. Most of the crosses, as well as the victims, were adorned with flowers. The amphitheater's attendants struck the unfortunate ones with clubs, forcing them to drop their crosses near the prepared holes and stand in rows. These were to be the ones who the executioners didn’t have time to send out as food for the dogs and wild animals on the first day of the games. Black slaves grabbed the victims, laid them face up on the wood, and hurriedly nailed their hands to the arms of the crosses, ensuring that when the crowd returned after the intermission, all the crosses would be standing. The whole amphitheater echoed with the sound of hammers, which resonated through all the rows, reached the area surrounding the amphitheater, and found its way into the tent where Caesar was hosting his guests and the vestals. There, he drank wine, joked with Chilo, and whispered strange words to the priestesses of Vesta; but in the arena, chaos reigned—nails were being driven into the hands and feet of the Christians, while shovels moved quickly, filling in the holes where the crosses had been planted.
Among the new victims whose turn was to come soon was Crispus. The lions had not had time to rend him; hence he was appointed to the cross. He, ready at all times for death, was delighted with the thought that his hour was approaching. He seemed another man, for his emaciated body was wholly naked,—only a girdle of ivy encircled his hips, on his head was a garland of roses. But in his eyes gleamed always that same exhaustless energy; that same fanatical stern face gazed from beneath the crown of roses. Neither had his heart changed; for, as once in the cuniculum he had threatened with the wrath of God his brethren sewed up in the skins of wild beasts, so to-day he thundered in place of consoling them.
Among the new victims whose time was coming soon was Crispus. The lions hadn’t had a chance to tear him apart; instead, he was designated to the cross. He, always ready for death, was happy at the thought that his moment was nearing. He seemed like a different person, as his gaunt body was completely naked—only a belt of ivy surrounded his hips, and on his head was a crown of roses. But in his eyes always shone that same endless energy; that same intense, stern face looked out from beneath the crown of roses. His heart had not changed either; for, as once in the dungeon he had threatened his brethren sewn up in the skins of wild beasts with the wrath of God, so today he proclaimed fiercely instead of comforting them.
“Thank the Redeemer,” said Crispus, “that He permits you to die the same death that He Himself died. Maybe a part of your sins will be remitted for this cause; but tremble, since justice must be satisfied, and there cannot be one reward for the just and the wicked.”
“Thank the Redeemer,” said Crispus, “that He allows you to die the same death He died. Perhaps some of your sins will be forgiven for this reason; but be wary, because justice must be served, and there can't be one reward for both the good and the bad.”
His words were accompanied by the sound of the hammers nailing the hands and feet of victims. Every moment more crosses were raised on the arena; but he, turning to the crowd standing each man by his own cross, continued,—
His words were accompanied by the sound of hammers driving nails into the hands and feet of victims. With each moment, more crosses were being erected in the arena; but he, turning to the crowd, each person standing by their own cross, continued,—
“I see heaven open, but I see also the yawning abyss. I know not what account of my life to give the Lord, though I have believed, and hated evil. I fear, not death, but resurrection; I fear, not torture, but judgment, for the day of wrath is at hand.”
“I see heaven opening, but I also see the gaping abyss. I don't know what account of my life to give the Lord, even though I have believed and hated evil. I'm not afraid of death, but of resurrection; I'm not afraid of torture, but of judgment, because the day of wrath is coming.”
At that moment was heard from between the nearest rows some voice, calm and solemn,—
At that moment, a calm and solemn voice was heard coming from the nearest rows,—
“Not the day of wrath, but of mercy, the day of salvation and happiness; for I say that Christ will gather you in, will comfort you and seat you at His right hand. Be confident, for heaven is opening before you.”
“Not a day of judgment, but a day of compassion, a day of rescue and joy; for I say that Christ will bring you in, will soothe you and place you at His right hand. Be assured, for heaven is unfolding before you.”
At these words all eyes were turned to the benches; even those who were hanging on the crosses raised their pale, tortured faces, and looked toward the man who was speaking.
At these words, everyone turned their attention to the benches; even those hanging on the crosses lifted their pale, tortured faces and looked at the man who was speaking.
But he went to the barrier surrounding the arena, and blessed them with the sign of the cross.
But he went to the barrier around the arena and blessed them with the sign of the cross.
Crispus stretched out his arm as if to thunder at him; but when he saw the man’s face, he dropped his arm, the knees bent under him, and his lips whispered, “Paul the Apostle!”
Crispus stretched out his arm as if to shout at him; but when he saw the man’s face, he dropped his arm, his knees buckled under him, and his lips whispered, “Paul the Apostle!”
To the great astonishment of the servants of the Circus, all of those who were not nailed to the crosses yet knelt down. Paul turned to Crispus and said,
To the great surprise of the Circus workers, everyone who wasn't nailed to the crosses knelt down. Paul turned to Crispus and said,
“Threaten them not, Crispus, for this day they will be with thee in paradise. It is thy thought that they may be condemned. But who will condemn?
“Don’t threaten them, Crispus, for today they will be with you in paradise. You worry that they might be condemned. But who can condemn?”
“Will God, who gave His Son for them? Will Christ, who died for their salvation, condemn when they die for His name? And how is it possible that He who loves can condemn? Who will accuse the chosen of God? Who will say of this blood, ‘It is cursed’?”
“Will God, who gave His Son for them? Will Christ, who died for their salvation, condemn them when they die for His name? And how can someone who loves condemn? Who will accuse the chosen of God? Who will say of this blood, ‘It’s cursed’?”
“I have hated evil,” said the old priest.
“I have hated evil,” said the old priest.
“Christ’s command to love men was higher than that to hate evil, for His religion is not hatred, but love.”
“Christ’s command to love others was greater than the command to hate evil, because His religion is not about hatred, but about love.”
“I have sinned in the hour of death,” answered Crispus, beating his breast. The manager of the seats approached the Apostle, and inquired,
“I have sinned at the hour of death,” Crispus replied, beating his chest. The seat manager approached the Apostle and asked,
“Who art thou, speaking to the condemned?”
“Who are you, speaking to the condemned?”
“A Roman citizen,” answered Paul, calmly. Then, turning to Crispus, he said: “Be confident, for to-day is a day of grace; die in peace, O servant of God.”
“A Roman citizen,” Paul replied calmly. Then, turning to Crispus, he said, “Be confident, for today is a day of grace; die in peace, O servant of God.”
The black men approached Crispus at that moment to place him on the cross; but he looked around once again, and cried,—
The black men approached Crispus at that moment to put him on the cross; but he looked around one more time and shouted,—
“My brethren, pray for me!”
“Hey everyone, pray for me!”
His face had lost its usual sternness; his stony features had taken an expression of peace and sweetness. He stretched his arms himself along the arms of the cross, to make the work easier, and, looking directly into heaven, began to pray earnestly. He seemed to feel nothing; for when the nails entered his hands, not the least quiver shook his body, nor on his face did there appear any wrinkle of pain. He prayed when they raised the cross and trampled the earth around it. Only when crowds began to fill the amphitheatre with shouts and laughter did his brows frown somewhat, as if in anger that a pagan people were disturbing the calm and peace of a sweet death.
His face had lost its usual sternness; his hard features now showed a sense of peace and kindness. He extended his arms along the arms of the cross to make it easier on himself, and looking up at the sky, he began to pray sincerely. He seemed to feel nothing; when the nails pierced his hands, not a single tremor went through his body, nor did any sign of pain show on his face. He continued to pray as they lifted the cross and trampled the ground around it. Only when crowds started filling the amphitheater with shouts and laughter did his brows furrow slightly, as if upset that a pagan crowd was disturbing the tranquility of a gentle death.
But all the crosses had been raised, so that in the arena there stood as it were a forest, with people hanging on the trees. On the arms of the crosses and on the heads of the martyrs fell the gleam of the sun; but on the arena was a deep shadow, forming a kind of black involved grating through which glittered the golden sand. That was a spectacle in which the whole delight of the audience consisted in looking at a lingering death. Never before had men seen such a density of crosses. The arena was packed so closely that the servants squeezed between them only with effort. On the edges were women especially; but Crispus, as a leader, was raised almost in front of Cæsar’s podium, on an immense cross, wreathed below with honeysuckle. None of the victims had died yet, but some of those fastened earlier had fainted. No one groaned; no one called for mercy. Some were hanging with head inclined on one arm, or dropped on the breast, as if seized by sleep; some were as if in meditation; some, looking toward heaven, were moving their lips quietly. In this terrible forest of crosses, among those crucified bodies, in that silence of victims there was something ominous. The people who, filled by the feast and gladsome, had returned to the Circus with shouts, became silent, not knowing on which body to rest their eyes, or what to think of the spectacle. The nakedness of strained female forms roused no feeling. They did not make the usual bets as to who would die first,—a thing done generally when there was even the smallest number of criminals on the arena. It seemed that Cæsar himself was bored, for he turned lazily and with drowsy expression to arrange his necklace.
But all the crosses were up, so in the arena, it looked like a forest with people hanging from the trees. The sun's rays gleamed on the arms of the crosses and the heads of the martyrs, but the arena was shrouded in deep shadow, creating a kind of dark lattice through which the golden sand sparkled. The whole entertainment for the audience came from watching a slow death unfold. Never before had people seen such a thick crowd of crosses. The arena was so tightly packed that the servants could only squeeze through with difficulty. On the edges, there were mostly women; but Crispus, as a leader, was positioned almost directly in front of Caesar’s podium on a huge cross, adorned below with honeysuckle. None of the victims had died yet, but some who had been nailed up earlier had fainted. No one groaned; no one begged for mercy. Some hung with their heads down on one arm, or fell against their chests as if they had dozed off; some appeared to be in deep thought; and others, looking up at the sky, were quietly moving their lips. In this dreadful forest of crosses, among those crucified bodies, and in that silence of the victims, there was something foreboding. The crowd, filled with joy from the feast, had returned to the Circus shouting but now fell silent, unsure of which body to focus on or what to make of the scene. The sight of the exposed, strained female forms stirred no emotions. They didn’t place their usual bets on who would die first—something typically done even with the smallest number of criminals in the arena. It seemed even Caesar was bored, as he turned lazily with a sleepy look to adjust his necklace.
At that moment Crispus, who was hanging opposite, and who, like a man in a faint or dying, had kept his eyes closed, opened them and looked at Cæsar. His face assumed an expression so pitiless, and his eyes flashed with such fire, that the Augustians whispered to one another, pointing at him with their fingers, and at last Cæsar himself turned to that cross, and placed the emerald to his eye sluggishly.
At that moment, Crispus, who was hanging across from him and had kept his eyes closed like someone who was faint or dying, opened them and looked at Caesar. His face took on a look so unforgiving, and his eyes burned with such intensity, that the Augustus members whispered to each other, pointing at him. Finally, Caesar himself turned to that cross and sluggishly brought the emerald to his eye.
Perfect silence followed. The eyes of the spectators were fixed on Crispus, who strove to move his right hand, as if to tear it from the tree.
Perfect silence followed. The spectators' eyes were fixed on Crispus, who struggled to move his right hand, as if trying to pull it away from the tree.
After a while his breast rose, his ribs were visible, and he cried: “Matricide! woe to thee!”
After a while, his chest rose, his ribs were showing, and he cried: “Matricide! Woe to you!”
The Augustians, hearing this mortal insult flung at the lord of the world in presence of thousands, did not dare to breathe. Chilo was half dead. Cæsar trembled, and dropped the emerald from his fingers. The people, too, held the breath in their breasts. The voice of Crispus was heard, as it rose in power, throughout the amphitheatre,—
The Augustians, hearing this serious insult directed at the lord of the world in front of thousands, didn’t dare to breathe. Chilo was nearly unconscious. Cæsar trembled and dropped the emerald from his fingers. The crowd, too, held their breath. The voice of Crispus was heard as it rose in power throughout the amphitheater,—
“Woe to thee, murderer of wife and brother! woe to thee, Antichrist. The abyss is opening beneath thee, death is stretching its hands to thee, the grave is waiting for thee. Woe, living corpse, for in terror shalt thou die and be damned to eternity!”
“Woe to you, killer of your wife and brother! Woe to you, Antichrist. The abyss is opening up beneath you, death is reaching out for you, and the grave is waiting for you. Woe, living corpse, for in fear you will die and be cursed for eternity!”
Unable to tear his hand from the cross, Crispus strained awfully. He was terrible,—a living skeleton; unbending as predestination, he shook his white beard over Nero’s podium, scattering, as he nodded, rose leaves from the garland on his head.
Unable to pull his hand away from the cross, Crispus struggled painfully. He looked dreadful—a living skeleton; rigid as fate, he shook his white beard over Nero’s podium, scattering rose leaves from the garland on his head as he nodded.
“Woe to thee, murderer! Thy measure is surpassed, and thy hour is at hand!”
“Woe to you, murderer! Your time has come, and your hour is at hand!”
Here he made one more effort. It seemed for a moment that he would free his hand from the cross and hold it in menace above Cæsar; but all at once his emaciated arms extended still more, his body settled down, his head fell on his breast, and he died.
Here he made one last effort. For a moment, it looked like he would break free from the cross and threaten Cæsar with his hand; but suddenly, his thin arms stretched even more, his body slumped down, his head bowed to his chest, and he died.
In that forest of crosses the weakest began also the sleep of eternity.
In that forest of crosses, the weakest also began their eternal rest.
Chapter LVIII
“LORD,” said Chilo, “the sea is like olive oil, the waves seem to sleep. Let us go to Achæa. There the glory of Apollo is awaiting thee, crowns and triumph are awaiting thee, the people will deify thee, the gods will receive thee as a guest, their own equal; but here, O lord—”
“Lord,” said Chilo, “the sea is as smooth as olive oil, the waves appear to be resting. Let’s head to Achaea. There, the glory of Apollo is waiting for you, crowns and triumphs are yours for the taking, the people will make you a god, the deities will welcome you as an equal; but here, oh lord—”
And he stopped, for his lower lip began to quiver so violently that his words passed into meaningless sounds.
And he stopped, because his lower lip started to tremble so much that his words turned into meaningless sounds.
“We will go when the games are over,” replied Nero. “I know that even now some call the Christians innoxia corpora. If I were to go, all would repeat this. What dost thou fear?”
“We will go when the games are over,” Nero replied. “I know that even now some call the Christians harmless bodies. If I were to leave, everyone would repeat this. What are you afraid of?”
Then he frowned, but looked with inquiring glance at Chilo, as if expecting an answer, for he only feigned cool blood. At the last exhibition he himself feared the words of Crispus; and when he had returned to the Palatine, he could not sleep from rage and shame, but also from fear.
Then he frowned but looked at Chilo with a questioning glance, as if waiting for an answer, since he was just pretending to be calm. During the last event, he was actually afraid of Crispus's words; and when he returned to the Palatine, he couldn't sleep because of his anger, shame, and also fear.
Then Vestinius, who heard their conversation in silence, looked around, and said in a mysterious voice,—
Then Vestinius, who silently listened to their conversation, looked around and said in a mysterious tone,—
“Listen, lord, to this old man. There is something strange in those Christians. Their deity gives them an easy death, but he may be vengeful.”
“Listen, lord, to this old man. There is something strange about those Christians. Their god offers them a peaceful death, but he might be vengeful.”
“It was not I who arranged the games, but Tigellinus,” replied Nero, quickly.
“It wasn't me who set up the games, but Tigellinus,” Nero replied quickly.
“True! it was I,” added Tigellinus, who heard Cæsar’s answer, “and I jeer at all Christian gods. Vestinius is a bladder full of prejudices, and this valiant Greek is ready to die of terror at sight of a hen with feathers up in defence of her chickens.”
“True! It was me,” Tigellinus added, having heard Caesar’s response, “and I mock all Christian gods. Vestinius is a bag full of biases, and this brave Greek is ready to die of fear at the sight of a hen puffing up to protect her chicks.”
“True!” said Nero; “but henceforth give command to cut the tongues out of Christians and stop their mouths.”
“True!” said Nero; “but from now on, order that the tongues be cut out of Christians to silence them.”
“Fire will stop them, O divinity.”
“Fire will stop them, oh god.”
“Woe is me!” groaned Chilo.
“Woe is me!” groaned Chilo.
But Cæsar, to whom the insolent confidence of Tigellinus gave courage, began to laugh, and said, pointing to the old Greek,—
But Caesar, encouraged by Tigellinus's bold arrogance, started to laugh and said, pointing to the old Greek,—
“See how the descendant of Achilles looks!”
“Check out what the descendant of Achilles looks like!”
Indeed Chilo looked terribly. The remnant of hair on his head had grown white; on his face was fixed an expression of some immense dread, alarm, and oppression. He seemed at times, too, as if stunned and only half conscious. Often he gave no answer to questions; then again he fell into anger, and became so insolent that the Augustians preferred not to attack him. Such a moment had come to him then.
Indeed, Chilo looked terrible. The little bit of hair he had left was white; his face showed an expression of deep fear, alarm, and distress. At times, he seemed dazed and only half-aware of what was happening. Often he didn't respond to questions; then he would burst into anger and become so rude that the Augustians chose not to confront him. That was the state he was in at that moment.
“Do what ye like with me, but I will not go to the games!” cried he, in desperation.
“Do whatever you want with me, but I will not go to the games!” he shouted in desperation.
Nero looked at him for a while, and, turning to Tigellinus, said,—
Nero stared at him for a moment, then turned to Tigellinus and said,—
“Have a care that this Stoic is near me in the gardens. I want to see what impression our torches will make on him.”
“Be careful that this Stoic is close to me in the gardens. I want to see how our torches will affect him.”
Chilo was afraid of the threat which quivered in Cæsar’s voice. “O lord,” said he, “I shall see nothing, for I cannot see in the night-time.”
Chilo was frightened by the threat that trembled in Caesar's voice. “Oh, my lord,” he said, “I won't see anything, because I can't see in the dark.”
“The night will be as bright as day,” replied Cæsar, with a threatening laugh.
“The night will be as bright as day,” replied Caesar, with a menacing laugh.
Turning then to the Augustians, Nero talked about races which he intended to have when the games were over.
Turning then to the Augustians, Nero talked about the races he planned to hold after the games were over.
Petronius approached Chilo, and asked, pushing him on the shoulder,—
Petronius went up to Chilo and asked, nudging him on the shoulder,—
“Have I not said that thou wouldst not hold out?”
“Have I not said that you wouldn’t last?”
“I wish to drink,” said Chilo, stretching his trembling hand toward a goblet of wine; but he was unable to raise it to his lips. Seeing this, Vestinius took the vessel; but later he drew near, and inquired with curious and frightened face,—
“I want to drink,” said Chilo, stretching his shaking hand toward a goblet of wine; but he couldn’t lift it to his lips. Seeing this, Vestinius took the cup; but later he came closer and asked with a curious and frightened expression,—
“Are the Furies pursuing thee?”
“Are the Furies chasing you?”
The old man looked at him a certain time with open lips, as if not understanding what he said. But Vestinius repeated,
The old man stared at him for a while with his mouth open, as if he didn’t understand what he was saying. But Vestinius repeated,
“Are the Furies pursuing thee?”
“Are the Furies after you?”
“No,” answered Chilo; “but night is before me.”
“No,” Chilo replied, “but night is ahead of me.”
“How, night? May the gods have mercy on thee. How night?”
“How, night? May the gods have mercy on you. How night?”
“Night, ghastly and impenetrable, in which something is moving, something coming toward me; but I know not what it is, and I am terrified.”
“Night, eerie and dense, in which something is moving, something approaching me; but I don't know what it is, and I'm scared.”
“I have always been sure that there are witches. Dost thou not dream of something?”
“I have always been sure that there are witches. Don’t you ever dream of something?”
“No, for I do not sleep. I did not think that they would be punished thus.”
“No, I can’t sleep. I didn’t expect they would be punished like this.”
“Art thou sorry for them?”
“Are you sorry for them?”
“Why do ye shed so much blood? Hast heard what that one said from the cross? Woe to us!”
“Why are you shedding so much blood? Did you hear what that one said from the cross? Woe to us!”
“I heard,” answered Vestinius, in a low voice. “But they are incendiaries.”
“I heard,” Vestinius replied softly. “But they’re troublemakers.”
“Not true!”
"That’s not true!"
“And enemies of the human race.”
“And enemies of humanity.”
“Not true!”
"That's not true!"
“And poisoners of water.”
"And water poisoners."
“Not true!”
"That's not true!"
“And murderers of children.”
“And child murderers.”
“Not true!”
"That's not true!"
“How?” inquired Vestinius, with astonishment. “Thou hast said so thyself, and given them into the hands of Tigellinus.”
“How?” asked Vestinius, astonished. “You said that yourself and handed them over to Tigellinus.”
“Therefore night has surrounded me, and death is coming toward me. At times it seems to me that I am dead already, and ye also.”
“Therefore, night has enveloped me, and death is approaching. Sometimes, it feels like I’m already dead, and you are too.”
“No! it is they who are dying; we are alive. But tell me, what do they see when they are dying?”
“No! They are the ones dying; we are alive. But tell me, what do they see when they die?”
“Christ.”
"Jesus."
“That is their god. Is he a mighty god?”
"That's their god. Is he a powerful god?"
But Chilo answered with a question,—
But Chilo replied with a question—
“What kind of torches are to burn in the gardens? Hast thou heard what Cæsar said?”
“What kind of torches are going to burn in the gardens? Have you heard what Caesar said?”
“I heard, and I know. Those torches are called Sarmentitii and Semaxii. They are made by arraying men in painful tunics, steeped in pitch, and binding them to pillars, to which fire is set afterward. May their god not send misfortune on the city. Semaxii! that is a dreadful punishment!”
“I’ve heard, and I understand. Those torches are called Sarmentitii and Semaxii. They’re made by dressing men in painful tunics soaked in pitch and tying them to pillars, which are then set on fire. May their god spare the city from disaster. Semaxii! That’s an awful punishment!”
“I would rather see it, for there will not be blood,” answered Chilo. “Command a slave to hold the goblet to my mouth. I wish to drink, but I spill the wine; my hand trembles from age.”
“I’d prefer to see it, since there won’t be any blood,” Chilo replied. “Tell a servant to hold the goblet to my lips. I want to drink, but I spill the wine; my hand shakes from old age.”
Others also were speaking of the Christians. Old Domitius Afer reviled them.
Others were also talking about the Christians. Old Domitius Afer criticized them.
“There is such a multitude of them,” said he, “that they might raise a civil war; and, remember, there were fears lest they might arm. But they die like sheep.”
“There are so many of them,” he said, “that they could spark a civil war; and don’t forget, there were concerns that they might take up arms. But they die like sheep.”
“Let them try to die otherwise!” said Tigellinus.
“Let them try to die any other way!” said Tigellinus.
To this Petronius answered, “Ye deceive yourselves. They are arming.”
To this, Petronius replied, "You're fooling yourselves. They're getting ready."
“With what?”
“With what now?”
“With patience.”
"With patience."
“That is a new kind of weapon.”
"That's a new type of weapon."
“True. But can ye say that they die like common criminals? No! They die as if the criminals were those who condemned them to death,—that is, we and the whole Roman people.”
“True. But can you say that they die like common criminals? No! They die as if the criminals were those who sentenced them to death—that is, we and the entire Roman people.”
“What raving!” said Tigellinus.
“What excitement!” said Tigellinus.
“Hic Abdera!” answered Petronius.
"Hic Abdera!" replied Petronius.
[A proverbial expression meaning “The dullest of the dull”—Note by the Author.]
[A saying that means “The dullest of the dull”—Note by the Author.]
But others, struck by the justice of his remark, began to look at one another with astonishment, and repeat,—
But others, taken aback by the fairness of his comment, started to glance at each other in surprise and said, —
“True! there is something peculiar and strange in their death.”
“It's true! There's something odd and strange about their death.”
“I tell you that they see their divinity!” cried Vestinius, from one side. Thereupon a number of Augustians turned to Chilo,—
“I’m telling you, they see their divinity!” shouted Vestinius from one side. At that, several Augustians turned to Chilo,—
“Hai, old man, thou knowest them well; tell us what they see.”
“Hey, old man, you know them well; tell us what they see.”
The Greek spat out wine on his tunic, and answered,—
The Greek spat wine on his tunic and replied, —
“The resurrection.” And he began to tremble so that the guests sitting nearer burst into loud laughter.
“The resurrection.” He started to shake, causing the guests sitting closer to burst out laughing.
Chapter LIX
FOR some time Vinicius had spent his nights away from home. It occurred to Petronius that perhaps he had formed a new plan, and was working to liberate Lygia from the Esquiline dungeon; he did not wish, however, to inquire about anything, lest he might bring misfortune to the work. This sceptical exquisite had become in a certain sense superstitious. He had failed to snatch Lygia from the Mamertine prison, hence had ceased to believe in his own star.
FOR a while, Vinicius had been spending his nights away from home. Petronius thought that maybe he had come up with a new plan and was trying to free Lygia from the Esquiline dungeon; however, he didn’t want to ask about anything for fear of jinxing the effort. This once-skeptical man had become somewhat superstitious. He had failed to rescue Lygia from the Mamertine prison, and as a result, he had stopped believing in his own luck.
Besides, he did not count this time on a favorable outcome for the efforts of Vinicius. The Esquiline prison, formed in a hurry from the cellars of houses thrown down to stop the fire, was not, it is true, so terrible as the old Tullianum near the Capitol, but it was a hundred times better guarded. Petronius understood perfectly that Lygia had been taken there only to escape death and not escape the amphitheatre. He could understand at once that for this very reason they were guarding her as a man guards the eye in his head.
Besides, he didn't expect a favorable outcome for Vinicius's efforts this time. The Esquiline prison, hastily constructed from the cellars of houses torn down to stop the fire, wasn't as terrible as the old Tullianum near the Capitol, but it was definitely much better protected. Petronius understood perfectly that Lygia had been taken there just to avoid death and not to evade the amphitheater. He realized immediately that for this very reason, they were guarding her like someone protects their own eye.
“Evidently,” said he to himself, “Cæsar and Tigellinus have reserved her for some special spectacle, more dreadful than all others, and Vinicius is more likely to perish than rescue her.”
“Clearly,” he said to himself, “Cæsar and Tigellinus have kept her for some kind of special event, more terrifying than anything else, and Vinicius is more likely to die than save her.”
Vinicius, too, had lost hope of being able to free Lygia. Christ alone could do that. The young tribune now thought only of seeing her in prison.
Vinicius had also lost hope of being able to free Lygia. Only Christ could do that. The young tribune now only thought about seeing her in prison.
For some time the knowledge that Nazarius had penetrated the Mamertine prison as a corpse-bearer had given him no peace; hence he resolved to try that method also.
For a while, the fact that Nazarius had gotten into the Mamertine prison as a corpse-bearer had troubled him; so he decided to try that approach too.
The overseer of the “Putrid Pits,” who had been bribed for an immense sum of money, admitted him at last among servants whom he sent nightly to prisons for corpses. The danger that Vinicius might be recognized was really small. He was preserved from it by night, the dress of a slave, and the defective illumination of the prison. Besides, into whose head could it enter that a patrician, the grandson of one consul, the son of another, could be found among servants, corpse-bearers, exposed to the miasma of prisons and the “Putrid Pits”? And he began work to which men were forced only by slavery or the direst need.
The overseer of the “Putrid Pits,” who had taken a huge bribe, finally let him in among the workers he sent each night to the prisons for bodies. The chance of Vinicius being recognized was really low. He was protected by the darkness, the clothing of a slave, and the poor lighting in the prison. Plus, who would ever think that a patrician, the grandson of one consul and the son of another, could be among the workers carrying corpses, exposed to the stench of the prisons and the “Putrid Pits”? And he started doing work that men only did out of slavery or extreme necessity.
When the desired evening came, he girded his loins gladly, covered his head with a cloth steeped in turpentine, and with throbbing heart betook himself, with a crowd of others, to the Esquiline.
When the long-awaited evening arrived, he happily secured his clothing, covered his head with a cloth soaked in turpentine, and with a racing heart made his way, along with a crowd of others, to the Esquiline.
The pretorian guards made no trouble, for all had brought proper tesseræ, which the centurion examined by the light of a lantern. After a while the great iron doors opened before them, and they entered.
The praetorian guards caused no issues, as everyone had their proper passes, which the centurion checked by the light of a lantern. After a while, the massive iron doors opened for them, and they went inside.
Vinicius saw an extensive vaulted cellar, from which they passed to a series of others. Dim tapers illuminated the interior of each, which was filled with people. Some of these were lying at the walls sunk in sleep, or dead, perhaps. Others surrounded large vessels of water, standing in the middle, out of which they drank as people tormented with fever; others were sitting on the grounds, their elbows on their knees, their heads on their palms; here and there children were sleeping, nestled up to their mothers. Groans, loud hurried breathing of the sick, weeping, whispered prayers, hymns in an undertone, the curses of overseers were heard round about it. In this dungeon was the odor of crowds and corpses. In its gloomy depth dark figures were swarming; nearer, close to flickering lights, were visible faces, pale, terrified, hungry, and cadaverous, with eyes dim, or else flaming with fever, with lips blue, with streams of sweat on their foreheads, and with clammy hair. In corners the sick were moaning loudly; some begged for water; others, to be led to death. And still that prison was less terrible than the old Tullianum. The legs bent under Vinicius when he saw all this, and breath was failing in his breast. At the thought that Lygia was in the midst of this misery and misfortune, the hair rose on his head, and he stifled a cry of despair. The amphitheatre, the teeth of wild beasts, the cross,—anything was better than those dreadful dungeons filled with the odor of corpses, places in which imploring voices called from every corner,—
Vinicius saw a large vaulted cellar, leading to a series of others. Dim candles lit up each space, which was crowded with people. Some were lying against the walls, either asleep or perhaps dead. Others gathered around large water containers in the middle, drinking like people suffering from fever; some were sitting on the ground, their elbows on their knees, heads resting in their hands; here and there, children slept curled up next to their mothers. Groans, the hurried breathing of the sick, weeping, whispered prayers, soft hymns, and the curses of overseers echoed around. This dungeon was filled with the smell of bodies and crowds. In its dark corners, shadowy figures moved; closer to the flickering lights, pale, terrified, hungry, and ghastly faces were visible, with dim or fever-bright eyes, blue lips, sweat streaming down their foreheads, and matted hair. In the corners, the sick were moaning loudly; some begged for water; others asked to be led to death. Yet this prison was still less terrible than the old Tullianum. Vinicius felt his legs buckle as he took it all in, and he struggled to breathe. The thought that Lygia was caught in this misery sent chills down his spine, and he stifled a cry of despair. The amphitheater, the jaws of wild beasts, the cross—anything seemed better than these horrible dungeons filled with the stench of corpses, where pleading voices called out from every corner—
“Lead us to death!”
“Guide us to our demise!”
Vinicius pressed his nails into his palms, for he felt that he was growing weak, and that presence of mind was deserting him. All that he had felt till then, all his love and pain, changed in him to one desire for death.
Vinicius dug his nails into his palms because he felt himself getting weak and losing clarity. Everything he had felt up to that point, all his love and pain, transformed into a single desire for death.
Just then near his side was heard the overseer of the “Putrid Pits”,
Just then, the overseer of the “Putrid Pits” was heard nearby.
“How many corpses have ye to-day?”
“How many bodies do you have today?”
“About a dozen,” answered the guardian of the prison, “but there will be more before morning; some are in agony at the walls.”
“About a dozen,” replied the prison guard, “but there will be more by morning; some are suffering at the walls.”
And he fell to complaining of women who concealed dead children so as to keep them near and not yield them to the “Putrid Pits.” “We must discover corpses first by the odor; through this the air, so terrible already, is spoiled still more. I would rather be a slave in some rural prison than guard these dogs rotting here while alive—”
And he started complaining about women who hid their dead children to keep them close instead of giving them up to the “Putrid Pits.” “We have to find the bodies first by their smell; this just makes the already terrible air even worse. I’d rather be a slave in some countryside jail than watch these dogs rotting here while they’re still alive—”
The overseer of the pits comforted him, saying that his own service was no easier. By this time the sense of reality had returned to Vinicius. He began to search the dungeon; but sought in vain for Lygia, fearing meanwhile that he would never see her alive. A number of cellars were connected by newly made passages; the corpse-bearers entered only those from which corpses were to be carried. Fear seized Vinicius lest that privilege which had cost so much trouble might serve no purpose. Luckily his patron aided him.
The supervisor of the pits reassured him, saying that his own work was just as tough. By this point, Vinicius had regained his sense of reality. He started searching the dungeon but looked in vain for Lygia, worrying that he might never see her alive again. Several cellars were linked by newly constructed passages; the grave handlers only entered those from which bodies were supposed to be taken. Panic gripped Vinicius as he feared that the privilege he had worked so hard for might be useless. Fortunately, his patron helped him.
“Infection spreads most through corpses,” said he. “Ye must carry out the bodies at once, or die yourselves, together with the prisoners.”
“Infection spreads most through dead bodies,” he said. “You have to remove the corpses immediately, or you’ll die too, along with the prisoners.”
“There are only ten of us for all the cellars,” said the guardian, “and we must sleep.”
“There are only ten of us for all the cellars,” said the guardian, “and we have to sleep.”
“I will leave four men of mine, who will go through the cellars at night to see if these are dead.”
“I'll leave four of my men to check the cellars at night to see if these are dead.”
“We will drink to-morrow if thou do that. Everybody must be taken to the test; for an order has come to pierce the neck of each corpse, and then to the ‘Putrid Pits’ at once with it.”
“We will drink tomorrow if you do that. Everyone must face the test; for an order has come to pierce the neck of each corpse and then take it straight to the ‘Putrid Pits.’”
“Very well, but we will drink,” said the overseer.
“Alright, but we’re going to drink,” said the overseer.
Four men were selected, and among them Vinicius; the others he took to put the corpses on the biers.
Four men were chosen, including Vinicius; he took the others to place the bodies on the stretchers.
Vinicius was at rest; he was certain now at least of finding Lygia. The young tribune began by examining the first dungeon carefully; he looked into all the dark corners hardly reached by the light of his torch; he examined figures sleeping at the walls under coarse cloths; he saw that the most grievously ill were drawn into a corner apart. But Lygia he found in no place. In a second and third dungeon his search was equally fruitless.
Vinicius was at ease; he was now certain he would find Lygia. The young tribune started by thoroughly checking the first dungeon; he peered into all the dark corners barely illuminated by the light of his torch; he examined figures sleeping against the walls under rough cloths; he noticed that the most critically ill were gathered in a separate corner. But he didn’t find Lygia anywhere. His search in the second and third dungeons was just as unproductive.
Meanwhile the hour had grown late; all corpses had been carried out. The guards, disposing themselves in the corridors between cellars, were asleep; the children, wearied with crying, were silent; nothing was heard save the breathing of troubled breasts, and here and there the murmur of prayer.
Meanwhile, it was getting late; all the bodies had been taken away. The guards, settling in the hallways between the cellars, were asleep; the children, exhausted from crying, were quiet; the only sounds were the troubled breaths and the occasional whisper of prayer.
Vinicius went with his torch to the fourth dungeon, which was considerably smaller. Raising the light, he began to examine it, and trembled all at once, for it seemed to him that he saw, near a latticed opening in the wall, the gigantic form of Ursus. Then, blowing out the light, he approached him, and asked,
Vinicius went with his torch to the fourth dungeon, which was much smaller. Raising the light, he started to look around and suddenly trembled, because it seemed like he saw the massive figure of Ursus near a gridded opening in the wall. Then, extinguishing the light, he moved closer and asked,
“Ursus, art thou here?”
“Ursus, are you here?”
“Who art thou?” asked the giant, turning his head.
“Who are you?” asked the giant, turning his head.
“Dost not know me?”
"Don't you know me?"
“Thou hast quenched the torch; how could I know thee?”
"You've extinguished the light; how could I recognize you?"
But at that moment Vinicius saw Lygia lying on a cloak near the wall; so, without speaking further, he knelt near her. Ursus recognized him, and said,—
But at that moment, Vinicius saw Lygia lying on a cloak near the wall; so, without saying anything more, he knelt down beside her. Ursus recognized him and said,—
“Praise be to Christ! but do not wake her, lord.”
“Praise be to Christ! But don’t wake her, my lord.”
Vinicius, kneeling down, gazed at her through his tears. In spite of the darkness he could distinguish her face, which seemed to him as pale as alabaster, and her emaciated arms. At that sight he was seized by a love which was like a rending pain, a love which shook his soul to its uttermost depth, and which at the same time was so full of pity, respect, and homage that he fell on his face, and pressed to his lips the hem of the cloak on which rested that head dearer to him than all else on earth.
Vinicius, kneeling down, looked at her through his tears. Despite the darkness, he could make out her face, which appeared as pale as alabaster, along with her thin arms. Seeing her like this overwhelmed him with a love that felt like a deep, aching pain, a love that shook him to his core, filled with pity, respect, and devotion, which made him fall on his face and kiss the hem of the cloak where that head, more precious to him than anything else in the world, rested.
Ursus looked at Vinicius for a long time in silence, but at last he pulled his tunic.
Ursus stared at Vinicius silently for a long time, but finally he adjusted his tunic.
“Lord,” asked he, “how didst thou come, and hast thou come here to save her?”
“Lord,” he asked, “how did you get here, and did you come here to save her?”
Vinicius rose, and struggled for a time with his emotion. “Show me the means,” replied he.
Vinicius stood up and fought with his emotions for a while. “Show me how,” he said.
“I thought that thou wouldst find them, lord. Only one method came to my head—”
“I thought you would find them, my lord. Only one way came to my mind—”
Here he turned toward the grating in the wall, as if in answer to himself, and said,—
Here he turned toward the grate in the wall, as if responding to himself, and said,—
“In that way—but there are soldiers outside—”
“In that case—but there are soldiers outside—”
“A hundred pretorians.”
"A hundred Praetorians."
“Then we cannot pass?”
"Then we can't get through?"
“No!”
“No way!”
The Lygian rubbed his forehead, and asked again,—
The Lygian rubbed his forehead and asked again,—
“How didst thou enter?”
“How did you get in?”
“I have a tessera from the overseer of the ‘Putrid Pits.’” Then Vinicius stopped suddenly, as if some idea had flashed through his head.
“I have a token from the supervisor of the ‘Putrid Pits.’” Then Vinicius stopped abruptly, as if a thought had suddenly crossed his mind.
“By the Passion of the Redeemer,” said he, in a hurried voice, “I will stay here. Let her take my tessera; she can wrap her head in a cloth, cover her shoulders with a mantle, and pass out. Among the slaves who carry out corpses there are several youths not full grown; hence the pretorians will not notice her, and once at the house of Petronius she is safe.”
“By the Passion of the Redeemer,” he said quickly, “I’ll stay here. Let her take my token; she can wrap her head in a cloth, cover her shoulders with a cloak, and sneak out. There are a few young slaves among those who carry out corpses, so the guards won’t notice her, and once she’s at Petronius’s house, she’ll be safe.”
But the Lygian dropped his head on his breast, and said,—“She would not consent, for she loves thee; besides, she is sick, and unable to stand alone. If thou and the noble Petronius cannot save her from prison, who can?” said he, after a while.
But the Lygian lowered his head and said, “She wouldn’t agree because she loves you; plus, she’s sick and can’t stand on her own. If you and the noble Petronius can’t help her out of prison, who can?” he added after a moment.
“Christ alone.”
"Only Christ."
Then both were silent.
Then they both were silent.
“Christ could save all Christians,” thought the Lygian, in his simple heart; “but since He does not save them, it is clear that the hour of torture and death has come.”
“Christ could save all Christians,” thought the Lygian, in his simple heart; “but since He does not save them, it is clear that the time of suffering and death has arrived.”
He accepted it for himself, but was grieved to the depth of his soul for that child who had grown up in his arms, and whom he loved beyond life.
He accepted it for himself but was deeply saddened for the child who had grown up in his arms and whom he loved more than anything.
Vinicius knelt again near Lygia. Through the grating in the wall moonbeams came in, and gave better light than the one candle burning yet over the entrance. Lygia opened her eyes now, and said, placing her feverish hand on the arm of Vinicius,
Vinicius knelt down again next to Lygia. Moonlight streamed through the grating in the wall, providing more light than the single candle still flickering by the entrance. Lygia opened her eyes and, resting her feverish hand on Vinicius's arm, said,
“I see thee; I knew that thou wouldst come.”
“I see you; I knew you would come.”
He seized her hands, pressed them to his forehead and his heart, raised her somewhat, and held her to his breast.
He took her hands, pressed them to his forehead and his heart, lifted her a bit, and held her close to his chest.
“I have come, dearest. May Christ guard and free thee, beloved Lygia!” He could say no more, for the heart began to whine in his breast from pain and love, and he would not show pain in her presence.
“I have arrived, my love. May Christ protect and free you, dear Lygia!” He could say no more, as his heart started to ache with pain and love, and he didn’t want to show any pain in her presence.
“I am sick, Marcus,” said Lygia, “and I must die either on the arena or here in prison—I have prayed to see thee before death; thou hast come,—Christ has heard me.”—
“I’m sick, Marcus,” Lygia said, “and I have to die either in the arena or here in prison—I’ve prayed to see you before I die; you’ve come,—Christ has heard me.”
Unable to utter a word yet, he pressed her to his bosom, and she continued,—
Unable to say a word yet, he pulled her close to him, and she kept talking,—
“I saw thee through the window in the Tullianum. I saw that thou hadst the wish to come to me. Now the Redeemer has given me a moment of consciousness, so that we may take farewell of each other. I am going to Him, Marcus, but I love thee, and shall love always.”
“I saw you through the window in the Tullianum. I saw that you wanted to come to me. Now the Redeemer has given me a moment of awareness, so we can say goodbye to each other. I am going to Him, Marcus, but I love you and will always love you.”
Vinicius conquered himself; he stifled his pain and began to speak in a voice which he tried to make calm,—
Vinicius took control of himself; he suppressed his pain and started to speak in a voice he tried to keep steady,—
“No, dear Lygia, thou wilt not die. The Apostle commanded me to believe, and he promised to pray for thee; he knew Christ,—Christ loved him and will not refuse him. Hadst thou to die, Peter would not have commanded me to be confident; but he said, ‘Have confidence!’—No, Lygia! Christ will have mercy. He does not wish thy death. He will not permit it. I Swear to thee by the name of the Redeemer that Peter is praying for thee.”
“No, dear Lygia, you will not die. The Apostle told me to believe, and he promised to pray for you; he knew Christ—Christ loved him and will not turn him away. If you were meant to die, Peter wouldn’t have told me to be confident; but he said, ‘Have confidence!’—No, Lygia! Christ will have mercy. He doesn’t want your death. He won’t allow it. I swear to you by the name of the Redeemer that Peter is praying for you.”
Silence followed. The one candle hanging above the entrance went out, but moonlight entered through the whole opening. In the opposite corner of the cellar a child whined and was silent. From outside came the voices of pretorians, who, after watching their turn out, were playing under the wall at scriptoe duodecim.
Silence fell. The lone candle hanging above the entrance flickered out, but moonlight streamed in through the open space. In the far corner of the cellar, a child cried and then fell quiet. Outside, the voices of soldiers filled the air as they played a game against the wall.
“O Marcus,” said Lygia, “Christ Himself called to the Father, ‘Remove this bitter cup from Me’; still He drank it. Christ Himself died on the cross, and thousands are perishing for His sake. Why, then, should He spare me alone? Who am I, Marcus? I have heard Peter say that he too would die in torture. Who am I, compared with Peter? When the pretorians came to us, I dreaded death and torture, but I dread them no longer. See what a terrible prison this is, but I am going to heaven. Think of it: Cæsar is here, but there the Redeemer, kind and merciful. And there is no death there. Thou lovest me; think, then, how happy I shall be. Oh, dear Marcus, think that thou wilt come to me there.”
“O Marcus,” Lygia said, “Christ Himself called out to the Father, ‘Take this bitter cup away from Me’; still, He drank it. Christ died on the cross, and thousands are suffering for His sake. So why should He spare me? Who am I, Marcus? I’ve heard Peter say he would also die in torture. Who am I compared to Peter? When the praetorians came for us, I feared death and torture, but I don’t fear them anymore. Look at this terrible prison, but I am going to heaven. Think about it: Caesar is here, but there is the Redeemer, kind and merciful. And there is no death there. You love me; just think how happy I’ll be. Oh, dear Marcus, imagine that you will come to me there.”
Here she stopped to get breath in her sick breast, and then raised his hand to her lips,—
Here she paused to catch her breath in her weary chest, and then raised his hand to her lips,—
“Marcus?”
“Marcus?”
“What, dear one?”
"What is it, dear?"
“Do not weep for me, and remember this,—thou wilt come to me. I have lived a short time, but God gave thy soul to me; hence I shall tell Christ that though I died, and thou wert looking at my death, though thou wert left in grief, thou didst not blaspheme against His will, and that thou lovest Him always. Thou wilt love Him, and endure my death patiently? For then He will unite us. I love thee and I wish to be with thee.”
“Don’t cry for me, and remember this—you will come to me. I’ve lived a short life, but God gave me your soul; so I will tell Christ that even though I died and you were watching me die, and even though you were filled with grief, you didn’t turn against His will and that you always loved Him. You will love Him and bear my death patiently, right? Because then He will bring us together. I love you and I want to be with you.”
Breath failed her then, and in a barely audible voice she finished,
Breath escaped her then, and in a barely audible voice, she finished,
“Promise me this, Marcus!”
"Promise me this, Marcus!"
Vinicius embraced her with trembling arms, and said,
Vinicius held her tightly, shaking slightly, and said,
“By thy sacred head! I promise.”
“By your sacred head! I promise.”
Her pale face became radiant in the sad light of the moon, and once more she raised his hand to her lips, and whispered,—
Her pale face glowed in the soft light of the moon, and once again she lifted his hand to her lips and whispered,—
“I am thy wife!”
“I am your wife!”
Beyond the wall the pretorians playing scriptoe duodecim raised a louder dispute; but Vinicius and Lygia forgot the prison, the guards, the world, and, feeling within them the souls of angels, they began to pray.
Beyond the wall, the pretorians playing scriptoe duodecim were having a louder argument; but Vinicius and Lygia forgot the prison, the guards, and the outside world, and, feeling within them the spirits of angels, they began to pray.
Chapter LX
FOR three days, or rather three nights, nothing disturbed their peace. When the usual prison work was finished, which consisted in separating the dead from the living and the grievously sick from those in better health, when the wearied guards had lain down to sleep in the corridors, Vinicius entered Lygia’s dungeon and remained there till daylight. She put her head on his breast, and they talked in low voices of love and of death. In thought and speech, in desires and hopes even, both were removed unconsciously more and more from life, and they lost the sense of it. Both were like people who, having sailed from land in a ship, saw the shore no more, and were sinking gradually into infinity. Both changed by degrees into sad souls in love with each other and with Christ, and ready to fly away. Only at times did pain start up in the heart of Vinicius like a whirlwind, at times there flashed in him like lightning, hope, born of love and faith in the crucified God; but he tore himself away more and more each day from the earth, and yielded to death. In the morning, when he went from the prison, he looked on the world, on the city, on acquaintances, on vital interests, as through a dream. Everything seemed to him strange, distant, vain, fleeting. Even torture ceased to terrify, since one might pass through it while sunk in thought and with eyes fixed on another thing. It seemed to both that eternity had begun to receive them. They conversed of how they would love and live together, but beyond the grave; and if their thoughts returned to the earth at intervals, these were thoughts of people who, setting out on a long journey, speak of preparations for the road. Moreover they were surrounded by such silence as in some desert surrounds two columns far away and forgotten. Their only care was that Christ should not separate them; and as each moment strengthened their conviction that He would not, they loved Him as a link uniting them in endless happiness and peace. While still on earth, the dust of earth fell from them. The soul of each was as pure as a tear. Under terror of death, amid misery and suffering, in that prison den, heaven had begun, for she had taken him by the hand, and, as if saved and a saint, had led him to the source of endless life.
FOR three days, or rather three nights, nothing disturbed their peace. When the usual prison routine was over, which involved separating the dead from the living and the seriously sick from those in better health, when the tired guards had laid down to sleep in the corridors, Vinicius entered Lygia’s cell and stayed there until dawn. She rested her head on his chest, and they spoke softly about love and death. In thought and conversation, in their desires and hopes, they both were unconsciously drifting further away from life, losing their grasp on it. They were like people who, having sailed away from land, no longer saw the shore and were gradually sinking into the unknown. They slowly transformed into sorrowful souls deeply in love with each other and Christ, ready to transcend this world. Only occasionally did pain surge in Vinicius’s heart like a storm, and sometimes hope, sparked by love and faith in the crucified God, flashed within him like lightning; yet each day, he distanced himself more from the earth and surrendered to death. In the morning, as he left the prison, he viewed the world, the city, acquaintances, and vital interests as if through a dream. Everything seemed strange, distant, meaningless, and fleeting. Even the thought of torture lost its terror, as one could endure it while lost in thought and focused on something else. It felt to them both as if eternity was beginning to embrace them. They talked about how they would love and live together, but beyond the grave; and whenever their thoughts briefly returned to the earth, they felt like travelers preparing for a long journey. Moreover, they were surrounded by such silence as if they were in a remote desert far away from civilization. Their only worry was that Christ would not separate them; and with each moment that strengthened their belief that He wouldn’t, they loved Him as the bond uniting them in endless happiness and peace. While still on earth, the dust of the world fell away from them. Each soul was as pure as a tear. Under the shadow of death, amid misery and suffering, in that prison cell, heaven had begun, for she had taken his hand and, as if saved and sanctified, led him to the source of eternal life.
Petronius was astonished at seeing in the face of Vinicius increasing peace and a certain wonderful serenity which he had not noted before. At times even he supposed that Vinicius had found some mode of rescue, and he was piqued because his nephew had not confided his hopes to him. At last, unable to restrain himself, he said,—
Petronius was amazed to see the growing calm and a remarkable serenity on Vinicius's face that he hadn't noticed before. Sometimes, he even thought that Vinicius had discovered some way to be saved, and he felt a bit frustrated that his nephew hadn’t shared his hopes with him. Finally, unable to hold back, he said,—
“Now thou hast another look; do not keep from me secrets, for I wish and am able to aid thee. Hast thou arranged anything?”
“Now you have another expression; don’t hide secrets from me, because I want to and can help you. Have you planned anything?”
“I have,” said Vinicius; “but thou canst not help me. After her death I will confess that I am a Christian and follow her.”
“I have,” said Vinicius; “but you can’t help me. After her death, I will admit that I’m a Christian and will follow her.”
“Then thou hast no hope?”
"Then you have no hope?"
“On the contrary, I have. Christ will give her to me, and I shall never be separated from her.”
“Actually, I have. Christ will give her to me, and I will never be apart from her.”
Petronius began to walk in the atrium; disillusion and impatience were evident on his face.
Petronius started walking in the atrium; disappointment and frustration were clear on his face.
“Thy Christ is not needed for this,—our Thanatos [death] can render the same service.”
“Your Christ isn't needed for this—our death can do the same job.”
Vinicius smiled sadly, and said,—“No, my dear, thou art unwilling to understand.”
Vinicius smiled sadly and said, “No, my dear, you are unwilling to understand.”
“I am unwilling and unable. It is not the time for discussion, but remember what I said when we failed to free her from the Tullianum. I lost all hope, and on the way home thou didst say, ‘But I believe that Christ can restore her to me.’ Let Him restore her. If I throw a costly goblet into the sea, no god of ours can give it back to me; if yours is no better, I know not why I should honor Him beyond the old ones.”
“I am not willing and not able. This isn’t the time for discussion, but remember what I said when we couldn’t free her from the Tullianum. I lost all hope, and on the way home you said, ‘But I believe that Christ can bring her back to me.’ Let Him bring her back. If I throw an expensive goblet into the sea, no god of ours can return it to me; if yours is no better, I don’t see why I should honor Him more than the old ones.”
“But He will restore her to me.”
“But He will bring her back to me.”
Pettonius shrugged his shoulders. “Dost know,” inquired he, “that Christians are to illuminate Cæsar’s gardens to-morrow?”
Pettonius shrugged his shoulders. “Do you know,” he asked, “that Christians are going to light up Cæsar’s gardens tomorrow?”
“To-morrow?” repeated Vinicius.
"Tomorrow?" repeated Vinicius.
And in view of the near and dreadful reality his heart trembled with pain and fear. “This is the last night, perhaps, which I can pass with Lygia,” thought he. So bidding farewell to Petronius, he went hurriedly to the overseer of the “Putrid Pits” for his tessera. But disappointment was in waiting,—the overseer would not give the tessera.
And facing the grim and frightening reality, his heart shook with pain and fear. “This might be the last night I get to spend with Lygia,” he thought. So, saying goodbye to Petronius, he rushed to the overseer of the “Putrid Pits” to get his tessera. But disappointment awaited him—the overseer refused to give the tessera.
“Pardon me,” said he, “I have done what I could for thee, but I cannot risk my life. To-night they are to conduct the Christians to Cæsar’s gardens. The prisons will be full of soldiers and officials. Shouldst thou be recognized, I and my children would be lost.”
“Excuse me,” he said, “I’ve done what I could for you, but I can’t risk my life. Tonight they’re taking the Christians to Caesar’s gardens. The prisons will be full of soldiers and officials. If you’re recognized, my children and I would be in danger.”
Vinicius understood that it would be vain to insist. The hope gleamed in him, however, that the soldiers who had seen him before would admit him even without a tessera; so, with the coming of night, he disguised himself as usual in the tunic of a corpse-bearer, and, winding a cloth around his head, betook himself to the prison.
Vinicius realized it would be pointless to keep pushing. Still, he held onto the hope that the soldiers who had recognized him before would let him in even without a pass; so, as night fell, he once again disguised himself in the garment of a grave-digger, wrapped a cloth around his head, and set off for the prison.
But that day the tesseræ were verified with greater care than usual; and what was more, the centurion Scevinus, a strict soldier, devoted soul and body to Cæsar, recognized Vinicius. But evidently in his iron-clad breast there glimmered yet some spark of pity for misfortunes. Instead of striking his spear in token of alarm, he led Vinicius aside and said,—
But that day, the tokens were checked more carefully than usual; and what’s more, the centurion Scevinus, a strict soldier completely dedicated to Caesar, recognized Vinicius. Yet, deep down in his tough exterior, there seemed to be a glimmer of compassion for those suffering. Instead of sounding his spear as a signal of alarm, he pulled Vinicius aside and said,—
“Return to thy house, lord. I recognize thee; but not wishing thy ruin, I am silent. I cannot admit thee; go thy way, and may the gods send thee solace.”
“Go back to your house, my lord. I know who you are; however, not wanting your downfall, I will keep quiet. I can’t let you in; just leave, and may the gods give you comfort.”
“Thou canst not admit me,” said Vinicius, “but let me stand here and look at those who are led forth.”
“You can't let me in,” said Vinicius, “but let me stand here and watch those who are being taken out.”
“My order does not forbid that,” said Scevinus.
"My order doesn't prohibit that," said Scevinus.
Vinicius stood before the gate and waited. About midnight the prison gate was opened widely, and whole ranks of prisoners appeared,—men, women, and children, surrounded by armed pretorians. The night was very bright; hence it was possible to distinguish not only the forms, but the faces of the unfortunates. They went two abreast, in a long, gloomy train, amid stillness broken only by the clatter of weapons. So many were led out that all the dungeons must be empty, as it seemed. In the rear of the line Vinicius saw Glaucus the physician distinctly, but Lygia and Ursus were not among the condemned.
Vinicius stood at the gate and waited. Around midnight, the prison gate swung open, and rows of prisoners emerged—men, women, and children, all surrounded by armed guards. The night was bright, allowing him to see not just their shapes but also their faces. They walked two by two in a long, gloomy line, the silence only interrupted by the clanging of weapons. There were so many being led out that it seemed all the dungeons must be empty. At the back of the line, Vinicius clearly spotted Glaucus the physician, but Lygia and Ursus were not among the condemned.
Chapter LXI
DARKNESS had not come when the first waves of people began to flow into Cæsar’s gardens. The crowds, in holiday costume, crowned with flowers, joyous, singing, and some of them drunk, were going to look at the new, magnificent spectacle. Shouts of “Semaxii! Sarmentitii!” were heard on the Via Tecta, on the bridge of Æmilius, and from the other side of the Tiber, on the Triumphal Way, around the Circus of Nero, and off towards the Vatican Hill. In Rome people had been seen burnt on pillars before, but never had any one seen such a number of victims.
DARKNESS hadn’t fallen yet when the first waves of people started pouring into Cæsar’s gardens. The crowds, dressed in festive attire and wearing crowns of flowers, were happy, singing, and some were even drunk, excited to see the new, magnificent spectacle. Shouts of “Semaxii! Sarmentitii!” echoed on the Via Tecta, on the bridge of Æmilius, and from across the Tiber, on the Triumphal Way, around the Circus of Nero, and over toward the Vatican Hill. In Rome, people had been burned on pillars before, but never had anyone seen so many victims at once.
Cæsar and Tigellinus, wishing to finish at once with the Christians and also to avoid infection, which from the prisons was spreading more and more through the city, had given command to empty all dungeons, so that there remained in them barely a few tens of people intended for the close of the spectacles. So, when the crowds had passed the gates, they were dumb with amazement. All the main and side alleys, which lay through dense groves and along lawns, thickets, ponds, fields, and squares filled with flowers, were packed with pillars smeared with pitch, to which Christians were fastened. In higher places, where the view was not hindered by trees, one could see whole rows of pillars and bodies decked with flowers, myrtle, and ivy, extending into the distance on high and low places, so far that, though the nearest were like masts of ships, the farthest seemed colored darts, or staffs thrust into the earth. The number of them surpassed the expectation of the multitude. One might suppose that a whole nation had been lashed to pillars for Rome’s amusement and for Cæsar’s. The throng of spectators stopped before single masts when their curiosity was roused by the form or the sex of the victim; they looked at the faces, the crowns, the garlands of ivy; then they went farther and farther, asking themselves with amazement, “Could there have been so many criminals, or how could children barely able to walk have set fire to Rome?” and astonishment passed by degrees into fear.
Cæsar and Tigellinus, wanting to deal with the Christians quickly and prevent the spreading infection from the prisons throughout the city, had ordered all the dungeons emptied, leaving only a few dozen people for the end of the spectacles. So, when the crowds passed through the gates, they were stunned with disbelief. All the main and side streets, winding through dense groves and along lawns, thickets, ponds, fields, and flower-filled squares, were lined with pillars covered in pitch, to which Christians were tied. In higher areas, where trees didn’t block the view, you could see rows of pillars and bodies adorned with flowers, myrtle, and ivy stretching far into the distance, so much so that the closest looked like ship masts, while the farthest appeared as colorful darts or staffs stuck into the ground. The number of them exceeded the expectations of the crowd. One might think an entire nation had been tied to these pillars for the entertainment of Rome and for Cæsar. The throng of spectators paused before individual masts as their curiosity was piqued by the shape or gender of the victim; they stared at the faces, the crowns, the garlands of ivy, then moved on, questioning in amazement, “Could there really be this many criminals, or how could young children barely able to walk have started the fires in Rome?” and their astonishment gradually turned into fear.
Meanwhile darkness came, and the first stars twinkled in the sky. Near each condemned person a slave took his place, torch in hand; when the sound of trumpets was heard in various parts of the gardens, in sign that the spectacle was to begin, each slave put his torch to the foot of a pillar. The straw, hidden under the flowers and steeped in pitch, burned at once with a bright flame which, increasing every instant, withered the ivy, and rising embraced the feet of the victims. The people were silent; the gardens resounded with one immense groan and with cries of pain. Some victims, however, raising their faces toward the starry sky, began to sing, praising Christ. The people listened. But the hardest hearts were filled with terror when, on smaller pillars, children cried with shrill voices, “Mamma! Mamma!” A shiver ran through even spectators who were drunk when they saw little heads and innocent faces distorted with pain, or children fainting in the smoke which began to stifle them. But the flames rose, and seized new crowns of roses and ivy every instant. The main and side alleys were illuminated; the groups of trees, the lawns, and the flowery squares were illuminated; the water in pools and ponds was gleaming, the trembling leaves on the trees had grown rose-colored, and all was as visible as in daylight. When the odor of burnt bodies filled the gardens, slaves sprinkled between the pillars myrrh and aloes prepared purposely. In the crowds were heard here and there shouts,—whether of sympathy or delight and joy, it was unknown; and they increased every moment with the fire, which embraced the pillars, climbed to the breasts of the victims, shrivelled with burning breath the hair on their heads, threw veils over their blackened faces, and then shot up higher, as if showing the victory and triumph of that power which had given command to rouse it.
As darkness fell, the first stars began to twinkle in the sky. Near each condemned person, a slave stood with a torch in hand. When the sound of trumpets echoed through the gardens, signaling that the spectacle was about to start, each slave lit his torch at the base of a pillar. The straw, hidden beneath the flowers and soaked in pitch, ignited instantly with a bright flame that quickly grew, scorching the ivy and reaching up to consume the feet of the victims. The crowd fell silent; the gardens filled with a collective groan and cries of anguish. Some victims, however, lifted their faces to the starry sky and began to sing praises to Christ. The crowd listened. But the hardest hearts were struck with terror when, from smaller pillars, children cried out in high-pitched voices, “Mom! Mom!” A chill ran through even the drunken spectators as they saw little heads and innocent faces twisted in pain, or children fainting in the suffocating smoke. Meanwhile, the flames continued to rise, engulfing new crowns of roses and ivy. The main and side paths were lit up; the clusters of trees, the grassy areas, and the flower-filled squares shone brightly; the water in pools and ponds sparkled, the trembling leaves on the trees glowed pink, and everything was as visible as in daylight. As the smell of burning bodies filled the gardens, slaves sprinkled myrrh and aloes between the pillars, specially prepared for the occasion. In the crowd, shouts broke out here and there—whether expressions of sympathy or excitement, it was unclear; and they grew louder with the fire, which climbed the pillars, enveloped the victims, singed their hair with its scorching breath, covered their blackened faces with veils, and then shot up higher, as if showcasing the victory and triumph of the force that had ordered it to rise.
At the very beginning of the spectacle Cæsar had appeared among the people in a magnificent quadriga of the Circus, drawn by four white steeds. He was dressed as a charioteer in the color of the Greens,—the court party and his. After him followed other chariots filled with courtiers in brilliant array, senators, priests, bacchantes, naked and crowned, holding pitchers of wine, and partly drunk, uttering wild shouts. At the side of these were musicians dressed as fauns and satyrs, who played on citharas, formingas, flutes, and horns. In other chariots advanced matrons and maidens of Rome, drunk also and half naked. Around the quadriga ran men who shook thyrses ornamented with ribbons; others beat drums; others scattered flowers.
At the very start of the event, Caesar appeared among the crowd in a stunning four-horse chariot from the Circus, pulled by four white horses. He was dressed as a charioteer in the Green's colors, reflecting his allegiance to the court party. Following him were more chariots filled with courtiers in vibrant outfits, senators, priests, and intoxicated Bacchantes, naked and wearing crowns, holding wine pitchers and shouting wildly. Alongside them were musicians dressed as fauns and satyrs playing lyres, flutes, and horns. Other chariots carried Roman matrons and maidens, also drunk and partly clothed. Surrounding the chariot were men shaking thyrses decorated with ribbons; some beat drums, while others scattered flowers.
All that brilliant throng moved forward, shouting, “Evoe!” on the widest road of the garden, amidst smoke and processions of people. Cæsar, keeping near him Tigellinus and also Chilo, in whose terror he sought to find amusement, drove the steeds himself, and, advancing at a walk, looked at the burning bodies, and heard the shouts of the multitude. Standing on the lofty gilded chariot, surrounded by a sea of people who bent to his feet, in the glitter of the fire, in the golden crown of a circus-victor, he was a head above the courtiers and the crowd. He seemed a giant. His immense arms, stretched forward to hold the reins, seemed to bless the multitude. There was a smile on his face and in his blinking eyes; he shone above the throng as a sun or a deity, terrible but commanding and mighty.
All that brilliant crowd surged forward, shouting, “Evoe!” on the broadest path of the garden, surrounded by smoke and streams of people. Cæsar, with Tigellinus and Chilo close by, finding entertainment in Chilo's fear, drove the chariot himself. As he moved forward at a slow pace, he glanced at the burning bodies and listened to the cheers of the crowd. Standing on the tall gilded chariot, encircled by a sea of people bowing at his feet, amidst the glow of the fire and wearing the golden crown of a circus champion, he towered above the courtiers and the crowd. He looked like a giant. His massive arms stretched out to hold the reins seemed to bless the multitude. A smile graced his face and sparkled in his blinking eyes; he shone over the crowd like a sun or a god, fearsome yet commanding and powerful.
At times he stopped to look with more care at some maiden whose bosom had begun to shrink in the flames, or at the face of a child distorted by convulsions; and again he drove on, leading behind him a wild, excited retinue. At times he bowed to the people, then again he bent backward, drew in the golden reins, and spoke to Tigellinus. At last, when he had reached the great fountain in the middle of two crossing streets, he stepped from the quadriga, and, nodding to his attendants, mingled with the throng.
At times he paused to carefully observe a young woman whose chest had started to cave in from the flames, or the face of a child contorted by spasms; then he continued on, pulling along a frantic, excited crowd behind him. Sometimes he waved to the people, then he'd lean back, tighten the golden reins, and chat with Tigellinus. Finally, when he reached the grand fountain at the intersection of two streets, he got down from the chariot, nodded to his attendants, and blended in with the crowd.
He was greeted with shouts and plaudits. The bacchantes, the nymphs, the senators and Augustians, the priests, the fauns, satyrs, and soldiers surrounded him at once in an excited circle; but he, with Tigellinus on one side and Chilo on the other, walked around the fountain, about which were burning some tens of torches; stopping before each one, he made remarks on the victims, or jeered at the old Greek, on whose face boundless despair was depicted.
He was welcomed with cheers and claps. The bacchantes, the nymphs, the senators and Augustians, the priests, the fauns, satyrs, and soldiers all gathered around him in a lively circle; but he, with Tigellinus on one side and Chilo on the other, strolled around the fountain, around which dozens of torches were lit; pausing in front of each one, he commented on the offerings or mocked the old Greek, whose face showed an overwhelming despair.
At last he stood before a lofty mast decked with myrtle and ivy. The red tongues of fire had risen only to the knees of the victim; but it was impossible to see his face, for the green burning twigs had covered it with smoke. After a while, however, the light breeze of night turned away the smoke and uncovered the head of a man with gray beard falling on his breast.
At last, he stood before a tall mast decorated with myrtle and ivy. The red flames had only reached the victim's knees, but it was impossible to see his face because the green burning twigs had shrouded it in smoke. After a while, though, the cool night breeze blew the smoke away and revealed the head of a man with a gray beard falling onto his chest.
At sight of him Chilo was twisted into a lump like a wounded snake, and from his mouth came a cry more like cawing than a human voice.
At the sight of him, Chilo curled up like a hurt snake, and from his mouth came a sound that was more like cawing than a human voice.
“Glaucus! Glaucus!”
“Glaucus! Glaucus!”
In fact, Glaucus the physician looked down from the burning pillar at him. Glaucus was alive yet. His face expressed pain, and was inclined forward, as if to look closely for the last time at his executioner, at the man who had betrayed him, robbed him of wife and children, set a murderer on him, and who, when all this had been forgiven in the name of Christ, had delivered him to executioners. Never had one person inflicted more dreadful or bloody wrongs on another. Now the victim was burning on the pitched pillar, and the executioner was standing at his feet. The eyes of Glaucus did nor leave the face of the Greek. At moments they were hidden by smoke; but when the breeze blew this away, Chilo saw again those eyes fixed on him. He rose and tried to flee, but had not strength. All at once his legs seemed of lead; an invisible hand seemed to hold him at that pillar with superhuman force. He was petrified. He felt that something was overflowing in him, something giving way; he felt that he had had a surfeit of blood and torture, that the end of his life was approaching, that everything was vanishing, Cæsar, the court, the multitude, and around him was only a kind of bottomless, dreadful black vacuum with no visible thing in it, save those eyes of a martyr which were summoning him to judgment. But Glaucus, bending his head lower down, looked at him fixedly. Those present divined that something was taking place between those two men. Laughter died on their lips, however, for in Chilo’s face there was something terrible: such pain and fear had distorted it as if those tongues of fire were burning his body. On a sudden he staggered, and, stretching his arms upward, cried in a terrible and piercing voice,—
In fact, Glaucus the physician looked down from the burning pillar at him. Glaucus was still alive. His face showed pain and leaned forward, as if to take a final close look at his executioner, the man who had betrayed him, taken away his wife and children, sent a murderer after him, and who, when all this had been forgiven in the name of Christ, had handed him over to the executioners. Never had one person done such dreadful and bloody wrongs to another. Now the victim was burning on the wooden pillar, and the executioner stood at his feet. Glaucus's eyes never left the face of the Greek. Sometimes they were obscured by smoke; but when the breeze blew it away, Chilo saw those eyes fixed on him again. He stood up and tried to run, but he felt weak. Suddenly his legs felt like lead; an invisible hand seemed to grip him at that pillar with superhuman strength. He was frozen. He sensed that something was overflowing within him, something was giving way; he felt he had reached a limit of blood and torture, that the end of his life was near, that everything was fading away—Cæsar, the court, the crowd— and around him was only a kind of endless, terrifying black void with nothing visible in it, except those eyes of a martyr calling him to judgment. But Glaucus, lowering his head even more, stared at him intently. Those present sensed that something was happening between those two men. Laughter faded from their lips, however, as Chilo’s face showed something horrific: such pain and fear contorted it as if those flames were burning his body. Suddenly he staggered, and, raising his arms upward, cried in a terrible and piercing voice,—
“Glaucus! in Christ’s name! forgive me!”
“Glaucus! For Christ’s sake! Please forgive me!”
It grew silent round about, a quiver ran through the spectators, and all eyes were raised involuntarily.
It became quiet all around, a shiver went through the crowd, and everyone’s eyes were lifted involuntarily.
The head of the martyr moved slightly, and from the top of the mast was heard a voice like a groan,—
The martyr's head moved a bit, and from the top of the mast came a voice that sounded like a groan,—
“I forgive!”
"I forgive!"
Chilo threw himself on his face, and howled like a wild beast; grasping earth in both hands, he sprinkled it on his head. Meanwhile the flames shot up, seizing the breast and face of Glaucus; they unbound the myrtle crown on his head, and seized the ribbons on the top of the pillar, the whole of which shone with great blazing.
Chilo threw himself down, crying out like a wild animal; grabbing dirt with both hands, he tossed it on his head. Meanwhile, flames shot up, engulfing Glaucus’s chest and face; they untied the myrtle crown from his head and grabbed the ribbons at the top of the pillar, which was completely ablaze.
Chilo stood up after a while with face so changed that to the Augustians he seemed another man. His eyes flashed with a light new to him, ecstasy issued from his wrinkled forehead; the Greek, incompetent a short time before, looked now like some priest visited by a divinity and ready to reveal unknown truths.
Chilo stood up after a while, his face so transformed that to the Augustians he seemed like a different person. His eyes sparkled with a newfound light, and ecstasy radiated from his wrinkled forehead; the Greek, who had been incompetent just a short time ago, now looked like a priest touched by a divine presence and ready to share unknown truths.
“What is the matter? Has he gone mad?” asked a number of voices.
“What’s wrong? Has he lost his mind?” asked several voices.
But he turned to the multitude, and, raising his right hand, cried, or rather shouted, in a voice so piercing that not only the Augustians but the multitude heard him,—
But he turned to the crowd and, raising his right hand, shouted in a voice so piercing that not only the Augustians but everyone in the crowd heard him—
“Roman people! I swear by my death, that innocent persons are perishing here. That is the incendiary!”
“People of Rome! I swear on my life that innocent people are dying here. That’s the one to blame!”
And he pointed his finger at Nero.
And he pointed his finger at Nero.
Then came a moment of silence. The courtiers were benumbed. Chilo continued to stand with outstretched, trembling arm, and with finger pointed at Nero. All at once a tumult arose. The people, like a wave, urged by a sudden whirlwind, rushed toward the old man to look at him more closely. Here and there were heard cries, “Hold!” In another place, “Woe to us!” In the throng a hissing and uproar began. “Ahenobarbus! Matricide! Incendiary!” Disorder increased every instant. The bacchantes screamed in heaven-piercing voices, and began to hide in the chariots. Then some pillars which were burned through, fell, scattered sparks, and increased the confusion. A blind dense wave of people swept away Chilo, and bore him to the depth of the garden.
Then there was a moment of silence. The courtiers were stunned. Chilo continued to stand with his outstretched, trembling arm, pointing his finger at Nero. Suddenly, a commotion broke out. The crowd surged like a wave, driven by a sudden gust of wind, rushing toward the old man to get a better look. Here and there, cries could be heard, “Stop!” In another spot, “Woe to us!” Hissing and uproar erupted in the masses. “Ahenobarbus! Matricide! Arsonist!” The chaos grew with every passing moment. The bacchantes screamed in piercing tones and began to hide in the chariots. Then, some pillars, burned through, collapsed, scattering sparks and adding to the confusion. A blind wave of people swept away Chilo, carrying him deep into the garden.
The pillars began to burn through in every direction and fall across the streets, filling alleys with smoke, sparks, the odor of burnt wood and burnt flesh. The nearer lights died. The gardens began to grow dark. The crowds, alarmed, gloomy, and disturbed, pressed toward the gates. News of what had happened passed from mouth to mouth, distorted and increased. Some said that Cæsar had fainted; others that he had confessed, saying that he had given command to burn Rome; others that he had fallen seriously ill; and still others that he had been borne out, as if dead, in the chariot. Here and there were heard voices of sympathy for the Christians: “If they had not burned Rome, why so much blood, torture, and injustice? Will not the gods avenge the innocent, and what piacula can mollify them now?” The words innoxia corpora were repeated oftener and oftener. Women expressed aloud their pity for children thrown in such numbers to wild beasts, nailed to crosses or burned in those cursed gardens! And finally pity was turned into abuse of Cæsar and Tigellinus. There were persons, too, who, stopping suddenly, asked themselves or others the question, “What kind of divinity is that which gives such strength to meet torture and death?” And they returned home in meditation.
The pillars started to burn in every direction and fell into the streets, filling alleys with smoke, sparks, and the smell of burnt wood and flesh. The nearby lights went out. The gardens grew dark. The crowds, alarmed, somber, and unsettled, pushed toward the gates. News of what happened spread from person to person, getting more distorted and exaggerated. Some said that Caesar had fainted; others claimed he had confessed to ordering the burning of Rome; some said he had fallen seriously ill; and others insisted he had been carried out, seemingly dead, in a chariot. Here and there, voices expressed sympathy for the Christians: “If they didn’t burn Rome, then why all this blood, torture, and injustice? Will the gods not avenge the innocent, and what sacrifices can possibly appease them now?” The phrase "innoxia corpora" was repeated more and more. Women openly lamented the children thrown to wild beasts, nailed to crosses, or burned in those cursed gardens! And finally, pity turned into rage against Caesar and Tigellinus. Some people, too, stopped suddenly, pondering the question, “What kind of deity grants such strength to endure torture and death?” And they returned home deep in thought.
But Chilo was wandering about in the gardens, not knowing where to go or where to turn. Again he felt himself a weak, helpless, sick old man.
But Chilo was walking around the gardens, unsure of where to go or where to turn. Once again, he felt like a frail, helpless, sick old man.
Now he stumbled against partly burnt bodies; now he struck a torch, which sent a shower of sparks after him; now he sat down, and looked around with vacant stare. The gardens had become almost dark. The pale moon moving among the trees shone with uncertain light on the alleys, the dark pillars lying across them, and the partly burnt victims turned into shapeless lumps. But the old Greek thought that in the moon he saw the face of Glaucus, whose eyes were looking at him yet persistently, and he hid before the light. At last he went out of the shadow, in spite of himself; as if pushed by some hidden power, he turned toward the fountain where Glaucus had yielded up the spirit.
Now he tripped over partly burnt bodies; now he struck a torch that sent a shower of sparks flying behind him; now he sat down and looked around with a blank stare. The gardens had fallen almost into darkness. The pale moon drifting among the trees cast an uncertain light on the paths, the dark pillars lying across them, and the partially burnt victims turned into shapeless lumps. But the old Greek thought he saw Glaucus's face in the moon, whose eyes were still looking at him, and he hid from the light. Eventually, he stepped out of the shadows against his will; as if pushed by some unseen force, he turned toward the fountain where Glaucus had breathed his last.
Then some hand touched his shoulder. He turned, and saw an unknown person before him.
Then a hand touched his shoulder. He turned and saw a stranger in front of him.
“Who art thou?” exclaimed he, with terror.
“Who are you?” he exclaimed, terrified.
“Paul of Tarsus.”
“Paul the Apostle.”
“I am accursed!—What dost thou wish?”
“I am cursed!—What do you want?”
“I wish to save thee,” answered the Apostle.
"I want to save you," replied the Apostle.
Chilo supported himself against a tree. His legs bent under him, and his arms hung parallel with his body.
Chilo leaned against a tree. His legs were bent beneath him, and his arms hung straight down at his sides.
“For me there is no salvation,” said he, gloomily.
“For me, there’s no salvation,” he said, gloomily.
“Hast thou heard how God forgave the thief on the cross who pitied Him?” inquired Paul.
“Have you heard how God forgave the thief on the cross who showed Him compassion?” Paul asked.
“Dost thou know what I have done?”
“Do you know what I've done?”
“I saw thy suffering, and heard thy testimony to the truth.”
"I saw your suffering and heard your testimony to the truth."
“O Lord!”
"Oh God!"
“And if a servant of Christ forgave thee in the hour of torture and death, why should Christ not forgive thee?”
“And if a servant of Christ forgave you in the moment of suffering and death, why wouldn’t Christ forgive you?”
Chilo seized his head with both hands, as if in bewilderment.
Chilo grabbed his head with both hands, as if in confusion.
“Forgiveness! for me, forgiveness!”
"Forgiveness! I need forgiveness!"
“Our God is a God of mercy,” said Paul.
“Our God is a God of mercy,” Paul said.
“For me?” repeated Chilo; and he began to groan like a man who lacks strength to control his pain and suffering.
“For me?” Chilo repeated, groaning like someone who doesn’t have the strength to handle his pain and suffering.
“Lean on me,” said Paul, “and go with me.”
“Lean on me,” Paul said, “and come with me.”
And taking him he went to the crossing of the streets, guided by the voice of the fountain, which seemed to weep in the night stillness over the bodies of those who had died in torture.
And taking him, he went to the intersection of the streets, guided by the sound of the fountain, which seemed to mourn in the night silence for those who had died in agony.
“Our God is a God of mercy,” repeated the Apostle. “Wert thou to stand at the sea and cast in pebbles, couldst thou fill its depth with them? I tell thee that the mercy of Christ is as the sea, and that the sins and faults of men sink in it as pebbles in the abyss; I tell thee that it is like the sky which covers mountains, lands, and seas, for it is everywhere and has neither end nor limit. Thou hast suffered at the pillar of Glaucus. Christ saw thy suffering. Without reference to what may meet thee to-morrow, thou didst say, ‘That is the incendiary,’ and Christ remembers thy words. Thy malice and falsehood are gone; in thy heart is left only boundless sorrow. Follow me and listen to what I say. I am he who hated Christ and persecuted His chosen ones. I did not want Him, I did not believe in Him till He manifested Himself and called me. Since then He is, for me, mercy. He has visited thee with compunction, with alarm, and with pain, to call thee to Himself. Thou didst hate Him, but He loved thee. Thou didst deliver His confessors to torture, but He wishes to forgive and save thee.”
“Our God is a God of mercy,” repeated the Apostle. “If you were to stand by the sea and throw in pebbles, could you fill its depths with them? I tell you that the mercy of Christ is like the sea, and the sins and faults of humanity sink in it like pebbles in the abyss; I tell you that it is like the sky that covers mountains, land, and seas, for it is everywhere and has no end or limit. You have suffered at the pillar of Glaucus. Christ saw your suffering. Without knowing what tomorrow may bring, you said, ‘That is the incendiary,’ and Christ remembers your words. Your malice and deceit are gone; what remains in your heart is only deep sorrow. Follow me and listen to what I say. I am the one who hated Christ and persecuted His chosen ones. I didn’t want Him, I didn’t believe in Him until He revealed Himself and called me. Since then, He is for me, mercy. He has reached out to you with regret, fear, and pain, to call you to Himself. You hated Him, but He loved you. You handed His followers over to torture, but He wants to forgive and save you.”
Immense sobbing shook the breast of the wretched man, sobbing by which the soul in him was rent to its depths; but Paul took possession of him, mastered him, led him away, as a soldier leads a captive.
Immense sobbing shook the chest of the miserable man, sobbing that tore at his very soul; but Paul took control of him, dominated him, and led him away, like a soldier leads a captive.
After a while the Apostle began again to speak:—
After a while, the Apostle started to speak again:—
“Come with me; I will lead thee to Him. For why else have I come to thee?
"Come with me; I'll take you to Him. Why else would I have come to you?"
“Christ commanded me to gather in souls in the name of love; hence I perform His service. Thou thinkest thyself accursed, but I say: Believe in Him, and salvation awaits thee. Thou thinkest that thou art hated, but I repeat that He loves thee. Look at me. Before I had Him I had nothing save malice, which dwelt in my heart, and now His love suffices me instead of father and mother, wealth and power. In Him alone is refuge. He alone will see thy sorrow, believe in thy misery, remove thy alarm, and raise thee to Himself.”
"Christ commanded me to gather souls in His name for love; that’s why I do His work. You think you’re cursed, but I say: Believe in Him, and salvation is waiting for you. You believe you are hated, but I assure you that He loves you. Look at me. Before I had Him, I had nothing but malice in my heart, and now His love is enough for me, replacing the need for father and mother, wealth, and power. In Him alone is safety. He alone will see your sorrow, understand your pain, ease your worries, and lift you to Himself."
Thus speaking, he led him to the fountain, the silver stream of which gleamed from afar in the moonlight. Round about was silence; the gardens were empty, for slaves had removed the charred pillars and the bodies of the martyrs.
Thus speaking, he led him to the fountain, the silver stream of which shone from afar in the moonlight. All around was quiet; the gardens were empty, as servants had cleared away the burnt pillars and the bodies of the martyrs.
Chilo threw himself on his knees with a groan, and hiding his face in his hands remained motionless. Paul raised his face to the stars. “O Lord,” prayed he, “look on this wretched man, on his sorrow, his tears, and his suffering! O God of mercy, who hast shed Thy blood for our sins, forgive him, through Thy torment, Thy death and resurrection!”
Chilo dropped to his knees with a groan, hiding his face in his hands as he stayed still. Paul looked up at the stars. “Oh Lord,” he prayed, “please see this miserable man, his pain, his tears, and his suffering! Oh God of mercy, who shed Your blood for our sins, forgive him, through Your torment, Your death, and resurrection!”
Then he was silent; but for a long time he looked toward the stars, and prayed.
Then he fell silent; but for a long time, he gazed at the stars and prayed.
Meanwhile from under his feet was heard a cry which resembled a groan,—
Meanwhile, from beneath his feet, a cry was heard that sounded like a groan—
“O Christ! O Christ! forgive me!”
“O Christ! O Christ! please forgive me!”
Paul approached the fountain then, and, taking water in his hand, turned to the kneeling wretch,—
Paul walked up to the fountain and, scooping water in his hand, faced the kneeling person—
“Chilo!—I baptize thee in the name of the Father, Son, and Spirit. Amen!”
“Chilo!—I baptize you in the name of the Father, Son, and Spirit. Amen!”
Chilo raised his head, opened his arms, and remained in that posture. The moon shone with full light on his white hair and on his equally white face, which was as motionless as if dead or cut out of stone. The moments passed one after another. From the great aviaries in the gardens of Domitian came the crowing of cocks; but Chilo remained kneeling, like a statue on a monument. At last he recovered, spoke to the Apostle, and asked,—
Chilo lifted his head, spread his arms wide, and held that position. The moon illuminated his white hair and equally pale face, which was as still as if he were dead or carved from stone. Moments ticked by. From the large aviaries in the gardens of Domitian, the roosters crowed; yet Chilo stayed kneeling, like a statue on a pedestal. Finally, he came to himself, spoke to the Apostle, and asked,—
“What am I to do before death?”
“What should I do before I die?”
Paul was roused also from meditation on the measureless power which even such spirits as that of this Greek could not resist, and answered,—
Paul was also brought out of his thoughts about the immeasurable power that even spirits like that of this Greek couldn't resist, and replied,—
“Have faith, and bear witness to the truth.”
“Have faith, and testify to the truth.”
They went out together. At the gate the Apostle blessed the old man again, and they parted. Chilo himself insisted on this, for after what had happened he knew that Cæsar and Tigellinus would give command to pursue him.
They went out together. At the gate, the Apostle blessed the old man again, and they said their goodbyes. Chilo insisted on this because, after what had happened, he knew that Cæsar and Tigellinus would order a manhunt for him.
Indeed he was not mistaken. When he returned home, he found the house surrounded by pretorians, who led him away, and took him under direction of Scevinus to the Palatine.
Indeed, he was right. When he got home, he found the house surrounded by soldiers, who took him away and led him under the orders of Scevinus to the Palatine.
Cæsar had gone to rest, but Tigellinus was waiting. When he saw the unfortunate Greek, he greeted him with a calm but ominous face.
Cæsar had gone to bed, but Tigellinus was waiting. When he spotted the unfortunate Greek, he greeted him with a calm yet threatening expression.
“Thou hast committed the crime of treason,” said he, “and punishment will not pass thee; but if to-morrow thou testify in the amphitheatre that thou wert drunk and mad, and that the authors of the conflagration are Christians, thy punishment will be limited to stripes and exile.”
“You’ve committed treason,” he said, “and you won’t escape punishment; but if tomorrow you testify in the amphitheater that you were drunk and insane, and that the people responsible for the fire are Christians, your punishment will be limited to whipping and exile.”
“I cannot do that,” answered Chilo, calmly.
“I can't do that,” Chilo replied calmly.
Tigellinus approached him with slow step, and with a voice also low but terrible,—
Tigellinus walked up to him slowly, his voice low yet menacing—
“How is that?” asked he. “Thou canst not, Greek dog? Wert thou not drunk, and dost thou not understand what is waiting for thee? Look there!” and he pointed to a corner of the atrium in which, near a long wooden bench, stood four Thracian slaves in the shade with ropes, and with pincers in their hands.
“How is that?” he asked. “Can’t you, Greek dog? Weren’t you drunk, and don’t you understand what’s waiting for you? Look over there!” He pointed to a corner of the atrium where, near a long wooden bench, four Thracian slaves stood in the shade with ropes and pincers in their hands.
But Chilo answered,—
But Chilo replied,—
“I cannot!”
"I can't!"
Rage seized Tigellinus, but he restrained himself yet.
Rage took hold of Tigellinus, but he held himself back for now.
“Hast thou seen,” inquired he, “how Christians die? Dost wish to die in that way?”
“Have you seen,” he asked, “how Christians die? Do you want to die that way?”
The old man raised his pale face; for a time his lips moved in silence, and he answered,—
The old man lifted his pale face; for a while, his lips moved without sound, and he replied,—
“I too believe in Christ.”
“I also believe in Christ.”
Tigellinus looked at him with amazement. “Dog, thou hast gone mad in fact!”
Tigellinus looked at him in disbelief. "Dude, you've seriously lost it!"
And suddenly the rage in his breast broke its bounds. Springing at Chilo, he caught him by the beard with both hands, hurled him to the floor, trampled him, repeating, with foam on his lips,—
And suddenly, the rage in his chest exploded. He lunged at Chilo, grabbing him by the beard with both hands, threw him to the ground, and stomped on him, shouting with foam at the corners of his mouth,—
“Thou wilt retract! thou wilt!”
"You will retract! You will!"
“I cannot!” answered Chilo from the floor.
“I can’t!” replied Chilo from the floor.
“To the tortures with him!”
"To the torture with him!"
At this command the Thracians seized the old man, and placed him on the bench; then, fastening him with ropes to it, they began to squeeze his thin shanks with pincers. But when they were tying him he kissed their hands with humility; then he closed his eyes, and seemed dead.
At this command, the Thracians grabbed the old man and put him on the bench; then, tying him with ropes to it, they started to squeeze his thin legs with pincers. But while they were tying him, he kissed their hands in a gesture of humility; then he closed his eyes and appeared lifeless.
He was alive, though; for when Tigellinus bent over him and inquired once again, “Wilt thou retract?” his white lips moved slightly, and from them came the barely audible whisper,—
He was alive, though; for when Tigellinus leaned over him and asked once again, “Will you take it back?” his pale lips moved slightly, and from them came the barely audible whisper,—
“I cannot.”
"I can't."
Tigellinus gave command to stop the torture, and began to walk up and down in the atrium with a face distorted by anger, but helpless. At last a new idea came to his head, for he turned to the Thracians and said,—
Tigellinus ordered to stop the torture and started pacing back and forth in the atrium, his face twisted with anger yet feeling powerless. Finally, a new thought struck him, so he turned to the Thracians and said,—
“Tear out his tongue!”
“Rip out his tongue!”
Chapter LXII
THE drama “Aureolus” was given usually in theatres or amphitheatres, so arranged that they could open and present as it were two separate stages. But after the spectacle in the gardens of Cæsar the usual method was omitted; for in this case the problem was to let the greatest number of people look at a slave who, in the drama, is devoured by a bear. In the theatres the role of the bear is played by an actor sewed up in a skin, but this time the representation was to be real. This was a new idea of Tigellinus. At first Cæsar refused to come, but changed his mind at persuasion of the favorite. Tigellinus explained that after what had happened in the gardens it was all the more his duty to appear before the people, and he guaranteed that the crucified slave would not insult him as had Crispus. The people were somewhat sated and tired of blood-spilling; hence a new distribution of lottery tickets and gifts was promised, as well as a feast, for the spectacle was to be in the evening, in a brilliantly lighted amphitheatre.
THE drama "Aureolus" was typically performed in theaters or amphitheaters that were designed to function as if they had two separate stages. However, after the event in Caesar's gardens, this usual setup was changed; the goal was to allow the largest number of people to witness a slave being eaten by a bear in the show. In theaters, the bear role is usually played by an actor in a costume, but this time, the performance had to be real. This was a new idea from Tigellinus. Initially, Caesar refused to attend, but he changed his mind after being persuaded by his favorite. Tigellinus argued that after what happened in the gardens, it was even more important for him to show himself to the people, guaranteeing that the crucified slave wouldn’t insult him like Crispus had. The crowd was somewhat fed up and exhausted from all the violence, so there was a promise of a new distribution of lottery tickets and gifts, along with a feast, since the event was set for the evening in a brightly lit amphitheater.
About dusk the whole amphitheatre was packed; the Augustians, with Tigellinus at the head of them, came to a man,—not only for the spectacle itself, but to show their devotion to Cæsar and their opinion of Chilo, of whom all Rome was then talking.
About dusk, the entire amphitheater was filled; the Augustians, led by Tigellinus, showed up in full force—not just for the spectacle itself, but to demonstrate their loyalty to Caesar and their views on Chilo, who was the talk of all Rome at that time.
They whispered to one another that Cæsar, when returning from the gardens, had fallen into a frenzy and could not sleep, that terrors and wonderful visions had attacked him; therefore he had announced on the following morning his early journey to Achæa. But others denied this, declaring that he would be all the more pitiless to the Christians. Cowards, however, were not lacking, who foresaw that the accusation which Chilo had thrown into Cæsar’s face might have the worst result possible. In conclusion, there were those who through humanity begged Tigellinus to stop persecution.
They whispered to each other that Cæsar, upon returning from the gardens, had gone into a frenzy and couldn’t sleep, that fears and strange visions had come to him; therefore, he announced the next morning his early journey to Achæa. But others disputed this, claiming he would be even more ruthless towards the Christians. However, there were plenty of cowards who feared that the accusation Chilo had hurled at Cæsar could lead to the worst possible outcome. In the end, some, out of compassion, pleaded with Tigellinus to end the persecution.
“See whither ye are going,” said Barcus Soranus. “Ye wished to allay people’s anger and convince them that punishment was falling on the guilty; the result is just the opposite.”
“See where you’re going,” said Barcus Soranus. “You wanted to calm people’s anger and convince them that the guilty were being punished; the result is just the opposite.”
“True!” added Antistius Verus, “all whisper to one another now that the Christians were innocent. If that be cleverness, Chilo was right when he said that your brains could be held in a nutshell.”
“True!” added Antistius Verus, “everyone is now saying among themselves that the Christians were innocent. If that's cleverness, Chilo was right when he said that your brains could fit in a nutshell.”
Tigellinus turned to them and said: “Barcus Soranus, people whisper also to one another that thy daughter Servilia secreted her Christian slaves from Cæsar’s justice; they say the same also of thy wife, Antistius.”
Tigellinus turned to them and said, “Barcus Soranus, people are also whispering to each other that your daughter Servilia hid her Christian slaves from Caesar’s justice; they are saying the same about your wife, Antistius.”
“That is not true!” exclaimed Barcus, with alarm.
"That's not true!" Barcus exclaimed, alarmed.
“Your divorced women wished to ruin my wife, whose virtue they envy,” said Antistius Verus, with no less alarm.
“Your divorced women want to ruin my wife, whose virtue they envy,” said Antistius Verus, equally alarmed.
But others spoke of Chilo.
But others talked about Chilo.
“What has happened to him?” asked Eprius Marcellus. “He delivered them himself into the hands of Tigellinus; from a beggar he became rich; it was possible for him to live out his days in peace, have a splendid funeral, and a tomb: but, no! All at once he preferred to lose everything and destroy himself; he must, in truth, be a maniac.”
“What happened to him?” asked Eprius Marcellus. “He handed them over to Tigellinus himself; he went from being a beggar to being wealthy; he could have lived the rest of his life in peace, had a great funeral, and a tomb. But, no! Suddenly he chose to throw it all away and ruin himself; he must really be insane.”
“Not a maniac, but he has become a Christian,” said Tigellinus.
“Not a maniac, but he’s become a Christian,” said Tigellinus.
“Impossible!” said Vitelius.
"Impossible!" said Vitelius.
“Have I not said,” put in Vestinius, “‘Kill Christians if ye like; but believe me ye cannot war with their divinity. With it there is no jesting’? See what is taking place. I have not burned Rome; but if Cæsar permitted I would give a hecatomb at once to their divinity. And all should do the same, for I repeat: With it there is no jesting! Remember my words to you.”
“Didn't I say,” Vestinius interjected, “‘You can kill Christians if you want; but trust me, you can't fight their God. There's no joking about that.’ Look at what's happening. I haven't burned Rome; but if Caesar allowed it, I'd make a huge sacrifice to their God right now. Everyone should do the same, because I’m telling you: There's no joking about this! Remember what I said.”
“And I said something else,” added Petronius. “Tigellinus laughed when I said that they were arming, but I say more,—they are conquering.”
“And I said something else,” Petronius added. “Tigellinus laughed when I said they were getting ready for battle, but I’ll say more—they're winning.”
“How is that? how is that?” inquired a number of voices.
“How's that? How's that?” several voices asked.
“By Pollux, they are! For if such a man as Chilo could not resist them, who can? If ye think that after every spectacle the Christians do not increase, become coppersmiths, or go to shaving beards, for then ye will know better what people think, and what is happening in the city.”
“By Pollux, they are! If a man like Chilo can’t resist them, who can? If you think that after every show the Christians don’t keep growing, become coppersmiths or start shaving beards, then you’ll understand better what people think and what’s happening in the city.”
“He speaks pure truth, by the sacred peplus of Diana,” cried Vestinius.
“He speaks pure truth, by the sacred peplos of Diana,” shouted Vestinius.
But Barcus turned to Petronius.
But Barcus looked at Petronius.
“What is thy conclusion?”
“What’s your conclusion?”
“I conclude where ye began,—there has been enough of bloodshed.”
“I end where you started—there has been too much bloodshed.”
Tigellinus looked at him jeeringly,—“Ei!—a little more!”
Tigellinus looked at him mockingly, "Hey! Just a bit more!"
“If thy head is not sufficient, thou hast another on thy cane,” said Petronius.
“If your head isn't enough, you've got another one on your cane,” said Petronius.
Further conversation was interrupted by the coming of Cæsar, who occupied his place in company with Pythagoras. Immediately after began the representation of “Aureolus,” to which not much attention was paid, for the minds of the audience were fixed on Chilo. The spectators, familiar with blood and torture, were bored; they hissed, gave out shouts uncomplimentary to the court, and demanded the bear scene, which for them was the only thing of interest. Had it not been for gifts and the hope of seeing Chilo, the spectacle would not have held the audience.
Further conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Cæsar, who took his place alongside Pythagoras. Right after that, the show "Aureolus" began, but not many people were paying attention, as the audience's focus was on Chilo. The spectators, used to blood and torture, were bored; they hissed, shouted insults at the court, and demanded the bear scene, which was the only part that interested them. If it hadn't been for the gifts and the anticipation of seeing Chilo, the performance would not have captivated the audience.
At last the looked-for moment came. Servants of the Circus brought in first a wooden cross, so low that a bear standing on his hind feet might reach the martyr’s breast; then two men brought, or rather dragged in, Chilo, for as the bones in his legs were broken, he was unable to walk alone. They laid him down and nailed him to the wood so quickly that the curious Augustians had not even a good look at him, and only after the cross had been fixed in the place prepared for it did all eyes turn to the victim. But it was a rare person who could recognize in that naked man the former Chilo. After the tortures which Tigellinus had commanded, there was not one drop of blood in his face, and only on his white beard was evident a red trace left by blood after they had torn his tongue out. Through the transparent skin it was quite possible to see his bones. He seemed far older also, almost decrepit. Formerly his eyes cast glances ever filled with disquiet and ill-will, his watchful face reflected constant alarm and uncertainty; now his face had an expression of pain, but it was as mild and calm as faces of the sleeping or the dead. Perhaps remembrance of that thief on the cross whom Christ had forgiven lent him confidence; perhaps, also, he said in his soul to the merciful God,
At last, the moment everyone had been waiting for arrived. Servants from the Circus brought in a wooden cross, low enough that a bear standing on its hind legs could reach the martyr’s chest. Then, two men brought in Chilo, or rather dragged him in, since his leg bones were broken and he couldn't walk on his own. They laid him down and nailed him to the cross so quickly that the curious onlookers didn't even get a good look at him. Only after the cross was set in place did everyone’s eyes turn to the victim. But very few could recognize the naked man as the former Chilo. After the tortures Tigellinus had ordered, there wasn't a single drop of blood left in his face, and only a red stain on his white beard revealed where they had torn out his tongue. His bones were visibly outlined beneath his transparent skin. He also appeared much older, almost frail. Previously, his eyes were filled with anxiety and malice, and his tense face constantly reflected fear and uncertainty; now, his expression showed pain, but it was as gentle and peaceful as the faces of the sleeping or the dead. Perhaps the memory of the thief on the cross whom Christ had forgiven gave him strength; perhaps he too was silently speaking to the merciful God,
“O Lord, I bit like a venomous worm; but all my life I was unfortunate. I was famishing from hunger, people trampled on me, beat me, jeered at me. I was poor and very unhappy, and now they put me to torture and nail me to a cross; but Thou, O Merciful, wilt not reject me in this hour!” Peace descended evidently into his crushed heart. No one laughed, for there was in that crucified man something so calm, he seemed so old, so defenceless, so weak, calling so much for pity with his lowliness, that each one asked himself unconsciously how it was possible to torture and nail to crosses men who would die soon in any case. The crowd was silent. Among the Augustians Vestinius, bending to right and left, whispered in a terrified voice, “See how they die!” Others were looking for the bear, wishing the spectacle to end at the earliest.
“O Lord, I’ve bitten like a poisonous worm; but my whole life has been unfortunate. I’ve starved with hunger, been trampled on, beaten, and mocked. I’ve lived in poverty and deep unhappiness, and now they’re torturing me and nailing me to a cross; but You, O Merciful One, will not reject me in this moment!” Peace noticeably filled his broken heart. No one laughed, for there was something so serene about that crucified man; he seemed so old, so defenseless, so weak, evoking deep pity with his humility, that everyone unconsciously wondered how it was possible to torture and crucify men who would die soon anyway. The crowd was silent. Among the Augustians, Vestinius, bending to look around, whispered in a frightened voice, “Look at how they die!” Others were searching for the bear, hoping the spectacle would end as soon as possible.
The bear came into the arena at last, and, swaying from side to side a head which hung low, he looked around from beneath his forehead, as if thinking of something or seeking something. At last he saw the cross and the naked body. He approached it, and stood on his hind legs; but after a moment he dropped again on his fore-paws, and sitting under the cross began to growl, as if in his heart of a beast pity for that remnant of a man had made itself heard.
The bear finally entered the arena, swaying slightly from side to side, its head hung low. It looked around from beneath its brow, as if deep in thought or searching for something. Eventually, it spotted the cross and the naked body. The bear approached, stood on its hind legs, but after a moment, it dropped back down onto its front paws. Sitting beneath the cross, it began to growl, as if a sense of pity for that remnant of a man had stirred in its heart.
Cries were heard from Circus slaves urging on the bear, but the people were silent.
Cries could be heard from the circus workers cheering for the bear, but the crowd stayed quiet.
Meanwhile Chilo raised his head with slow motion, and for a time moved his eyes over the audience. At last his glance rested somewhere on the highest rows of the amphitheatre; his breast moved with more life, and something happened which caused wonder and astonishment. That face became bright with a smile; a ray of light, as it were, encircled that forehead; his eyes were uplifted before death, and after a while two great tears which had risen between the lids flowed slowly down his face.
Meanwhile, Chilo slowly lifted his head and scanned the audience for a while. Eventually, his gaze settled on the highest rows of the amphitheater; his chest moved with more energy, and something remarkable and surprising took place. His face lit up with a smile; it was as if a ray of light encircled his forehead; his eyes were raised towards death, and after a bit, two large tears that had formed between his eyelids rolled slowly down his face.
And he died.
And he passed away.
At that same moment a resonant manly voice high up under the velarium exclaimed,—
At that moment, a deep, powerful voice shouted from high up under the awning—
“Peace to the martyrs!”
"Rest in peace, martyrs!"
Deep silence reigned in the amphitheatre.
Deep silence filled the arena.
Chapter LXIII
AFTER the spectacle in Cæsar’s gardens the prisons were emptied considerably. It is true that victims suspected of the Oriental superstition were seized yet and imprisoned, but pursuit brought in fewer and fewer persons,—barely enough for coming exhibitions, which were to follow quickly. People were sated with blood; they showed growing weariness, and increasing alarm because of the unparalleled conduct of the condemned. Fears like those of the superstitious Vestinius seized thousands of people. Among the crowds tales more and more wonderful were related of the vengefulness of the Christian God. Prison typhus, which had spread through the city, increased the general dread. The number of funerals was evident, and it was repeated from ear to ear that fresh piacula were needed to mollify the unknown god. Offerings were made in the temples to Jove and Libitina. At last, in spite of every effort of Tigellinus and his assistants, the opinion kept spreading that the city had been burned at command of Cæsar, and that the Christians were suffering innocently.
AFTER the show in Caesar’s gardens, the prisons were significantly cleared out. It’s true that people suspected of the Eastern superstition were still being arrested and locked up, but fewer and fewer were being caught—just enough for the upcoming exhibitions that were set to happen soon. People had had enough of the bloodshed; they were becoming increasingly weary and alarmed by the extraordinary behavior of the condemned. Fears similar to those of the superstitious Vestinius took hold of thousands. Among the crowds, stories became more fantastical about the revengeful nature of the Christian God. The spread of prison typhus throughout the city heightened the general fear. The number of funerals was striking, and it was whispered from person to person that new sacrifices were needed to appease the unknown god. Offerings were made at the temples to Jupiter and Libitina. Finally, despite all the efforts of Tigellinus and his team, the belief continued to grow that the city had been set on fire under Caesar’s orders, and that the Christians were suffering unjustly.
But for this very reason Nero and Tigellinus were untiring in persecution. To calm the multitude, fresh orders were issued to distribute wheat, wine, and olives. To relieve owners, new rules were published to facilitate the building of houses; and others touching width of streets and materials to be used in building so as to avoid fires in future. Cæsar himself attended sessions of the Senate, and counselled with the “fathers” on the good of the people and the city; but not a shadow of favor fell on the doomed. The ruler of the world was anxious, above all, to fix in people’s minds a conviction that such merciless punishments could strike only the guilty. In the Senate no voice was heard on behalf of the Christians, for no one wished to offend Cæsar; and besides, those who looked farther into the future insisted that the foundations of Roman rule could not stand against the new faith.
But for this very reason, Nero and Tigellinus were relentless in their persecution. To appease the public, new orders were given to distribute wheat, wine, and olives. To assist property owners, new regulations were introduced to make it easier to build houses; there were also rules regarding the width of streets and materials to be used in construction to prevent future fires. Caesar himself attended Senate meetings and consulted with the "fathers" about the well-being of the people and the city, but no hint of favor was shown to the condemned. The ruler of the world was primarily concerned with instilling in people's minds the belief that such harsh punishments could only befall the guilty. In the Senate, no one spoke up for the Christians, as no one wanted to upset Caesar; further, those who thought ahead believed that the foundations of Roman rule couldn't withstand the new faith.
The dead and the dying were given to their relatives, as Roman law took no vengeance on the dead. Vinicius received a certain solace from the thought that if Lygia died he would bury her in his family tomb, and rest near her. At that time he had no hope of rescuing her; half separated from life, he was himself wholly absorbed in Christ, and dreamed no longer of any union except an eternal one. His faith had become simply boundless; for it eternity seemed something incomparably truer and more real than the fleeting life which he had lived up to that time. His heart was overflowing with concentrated enthusiasm. Though yet alive, he had changed into a being almost immaterial, which desiring complete liberation for itself desired it also for another. He imagined that when free he and Lygia would each take the other’s hand and go to heaven, where Christ would bless them, and let them live in light as peaceful and boundless as the light of dawn. He merely implored Christ to spare Lygia the torments of the Circus, and let her fall asleep calmly in prison; he felt with perfect certainty that he himself would die at the same time. In view of the sea of blood which had been shed, he did not even think it permitted to hope that she alone would be spared. He had heard from Peter and Paul that they, too, must die as martyrs. The sight of Chilo on the cross had convinced him that even a martyr’s death could be sweet; hence he wished it for Lygia and himself as the change of an evil, sad, and oppressive fate for a better.
The dead and the dying were handed over to their families, since Roman law held no punishment for the dead. Vinicius found some comfort in the thought that if Lygia passed away, he would bury her in his family tomb and rest beside her. At that moment, he felt no hope of saving her; he was so engrossed in Christ that he no longer dreamed of any union except an eternal one. His faith had become limitless; to him, eternity felt infinitely truer and more real than the fleeting life he had experienced up to that point. His heart was overflowing with intense enthusiasm. Though still alive, he had transformed into something almost ethereal, desiring complete freedom for himself and wishing the same for another. He envisioned that once free, he and Lygia would take each other’s hand and ascend to heaven, where Christ would bless them and allow them to live in light as peaceful and boundless as the dawn. He simply begged Christ to spare Lygia from the tortures of the Circus and let her drift off peacefully in prison; he felt with absolute certainty that he would die at the same time. Given the sea of blood that had been shed, he didn’t even think it was realistic to hope that she alone would be spared. He had heard from Peter and Paul that they, too, were destined to die as martyrs. Witnessing Chilo on the cross had convinced him that even a martyr's death could be sweet; thus, he wished this for Lygia and himself as a transition from an evil, sad, and oppressive fate to a better one.
At times he had a foretaste of life beyond the grave. That sadness which hung over the souls of both was losing its former burning bitterness, and changing gradually into a kind of trans-terrestrial, calm abandon to the will of God. Vinicius, who formerly had toiled against the current, had struggled and tortured himself, yielded now to the stream, believing that it would bear him to eternal calm. He divined, too, that Lygia, as well as he, was preparing for death,—that, in spite of the prison walls separating them, they were advancing together; and he smiled at that thought as at happiness.
At times, he caught a glimpse of life after death. The sadness that loomed over both their souls was losing its intense bitterness, gradually transforming into a kind of peaceful acceptance of God's will. Vinicius, who once fought against the flow, had struggled and tormented himself, but now he surrendered to the current, believing it would carry him to eternal peace. He sensed that Lygia, just like him, was preparing for death—that, despite the prison walls between them, they were moving forward together; and he smiled at that thought as if it were happiness.
In fact, they were advancing with as much agreement as if they had exchanged thoughts every day for a long time. Neither had Lygia any desire, any hope, save the hope of a life beyond the grave. Death was presented to her not only as a liberation from the terrible walls of the prison, from the hands of Cæsar and Tigellinus,—not only as liberation, but as the hour of her marriage to Vinicius. In view of this unshaken certainty, all else lost importance. After death would come her happiness, which was even earthly, so that she waited for it also as a betrothed waits for the wedding-day.
In fact, they were moving forward with as much understanding as if they had shared thoughts every day for a long time. Lygia felt no desire or hope, except for the hope of life after death. To her, death wasn’t just a freedom from the awful prison walls or from Cæsar and Tigellinus—it was also the moment of her marriage to Vinicius. Given this unwavering certainty, everything else became meaningless. After death would come her happiness, which was even earthly, so she looked forward to it like a bride anticipating her wedding day.
And that immense current of faith, which swept away from life and bore beyond the grave thousands of those first confessors, bore away Ursus also. Neither had he in his heart been resigned to Lygia’s death; but when day after day through the prison walls came news of what was happening in the amphitheatres and the gardens, when death seemed the common, inevitable lot of all Christians and also their good, higher than all mortal conceptions of happiness, he did not dare to pray to Christ to deprive Lygia of that happiness or to delay it for long years. In his simple barbarian soul he thought, besides, that more of those heavenly delights would belong to the daughter of the Lygian chief, that she would have more of them than would a whole crowd of simple ones to whom he himself belonged, and that in eternal glory she would sit nearer to the “Lamb” than would others. He had heard, it is true, that before God men are equal; but a conviction was lingering at the bottom of his soul that the daughter of a leader, and besides of a leader of all the Lygians, was not the same as the first slave one might meet. He hoped also that Christ would let him continue to serve her. His one secret wish was to die on a cross as the “Lamb” died. But this seemed a happiness so great that he hardly dared to pray for it, though he knew that in Rome even the worst criminals were crucified. He thought that surely he would be condemned to die under the teeth of wild beasts; and this was his one sorrow. From childhood he had lived in impassable forests, amid continual hunts, in which, thanks to his superhuman strength, he was famous among the Lygians even before he had grown to manhood. This occupation had become for him so agreeable that later, when in Rome, and forced to live without hunting, he went to vivaria and amphitheatres just to look at beasts known and unknown to him. The sight of these always roused in the man an irresistible desire for struggle and killing; so now he feared in his soul that on meeting them in the amphitheatre he would be attacked by thoughts unworthy of a Christian, whose duty it was to die piously and patiently. But in this he committed himself to Christ, and found other and more agreeable thoughts to comfort him. Hearing that the “Lamb” had declared war against the powers of hell and evil spirits with which the Christian faith connected all pagan divinities, he thought that in this war he might serve the “Lamb” greatly, and serve better than others, for he could not help believing that his soul was stronger than the souls of other martyrs. Finally, he prayed whole days, rendered service to prisoners, helped overseers, and comforted his queen, who complained at times that in her short life she had not been able to do so many good deeds as the renowned Tabitha of whom Peter the Apostle had told her. Even the prison guards, who feared the terrible strength of this giant, since neither bars nor chains could restrain it, came to love him at last for his mildness. Amazed at his good temper, they asked more than once what its cause was. He spoke with such firm certainty of the life waiting after death for him, that they listened with surprise, seeing for the first time that happiness might penetrate a dungeon which sunlight could not reach. And when he urged them to believe in the “Lamb,” it occurred to more than one of those people that his own service was the service of a slave, his own life the life of an unfortunate; and he fell to thinking over his evil fate, the only end to which was death.
And that overwhelming wave of faith, which took away thousands of those first believers from life and carried them beyond the grave, swept away Ursus too. He hadn’t truly accepted Lygia’s death in his heart; however, when day after day he heard news through the prison walls about what was happening in the arenas and gardens, when death appeared to be the common, inevitable fate of all Christians and also their greater good, higher than any human idea of happiness, he didn’t dare to pray to Christ to take away Lygia’s happiness or to postpone it for many years. In his simple, barbaric heart, he thought that more of those heavenly joys would belong to the daughter of the Lygian chief, that she would have more than a whole crowd of simple folks like himself, and that in eternal glory she would sit closer to the “Lamb” than anyone else. He had heard, it was true, that before God, all men are equal; but a lingering belief in his soul made him think that the daughter of a leader, especially one who was the leader of all the Lygians, was not the same as the first slave he might encounter. He also hoped that Christ would allow him to continue serving her. His one secret wish was to die on a cross like the “Lamb” did. But this seemed such overwhelming happiness that he hardly dared to pray for it, even though he knew that in Rome, even the worst criminals were crucified. He figured he would probably be condemned to die by wild beasts instead; and this was his only sorrow. Since childhood, he had lived in dense forests, participating in countless hunts, where thanks to his superhuman strength, he had become famous among the Lygians even before reaching adulthood. This activity had become so enjoyable for him that later, when in Rome and forced to live without hunting, he would go to animal pens and arenas just to see familiar and unfamiliar beasts. The sight of these always stirred in him an irresistible urge to struggle and kill, so now he feared that when facing them in the arena, he would be filled with unworthy thoughts that contradicted a Christian’s duty to die piously and patiently. But in this, he committed himself to Christ and found other, more comforting thoughts. Hearing that the “Lamb” had declared war against the powers of hell and the evil spirits associated with the Christian faith and all pagan deities, he thought that he might serve the “Lamb” well in this battle, and possibly better than others, for he couldn’t help believing that his soul was stronger than those of other martyrs. Eventually, he prayed for whole days, served the prisoners, helped the overseers, and comforted his queen, who sometimes complained that in her short life, she hadn’t been able to do as many good deeds as the renowned Tabitha whom Peter the Apostle had told her about. Even the prison guards, who initially feared his immense strength—since neither bars nor chains could hold him—came to love him for his gentleness. Amazed by his good nature, they asked more than once what caused it. He spoke with such unwavering conviction about the life waiting for him after death that they listened in surprise, seeing for the first time that happiness could reach into a dungeon that sunlight couldn’t touch. And when he encouraged them to believe in the “Lamb,” it occurred to some of them that his service was the service of a slave, his life that of an unfortunate man; and he began to ponder his cruel fate, the only outcome of which was death.
But death brought new fear, and promised nothing beyond; while that giant and that maiden, who was like a flower cast on the straw of the prison, went toward it with delight, as toward the gates of happiness.
But death brought new fear and offered nothing beyond; while that giant and that maiden, who was like a flower thrown onto the straw in the prison, approached it with joy, as if heading toward the gates of happiness.
Chapter LXIV
ONE evening Scevinus, a Senator, visited Petronius and began a long conversation, touching the grievous times in which they were living, and also touching Cæsar. He spoke so openly that Petronius, though his friend, began to be cautious. Scevinus complained that the world was living madly and unjustly, that all must end in some catastrophe more dreadful still than the burning of Rome. He said that even Augustians were dissatisfied; that Fenius Rufus, second prefect of the pretorians, endured with the greatest effort the vile orders of Tigellinus; and that all Seneca’s relatives were driven to extremes by Cæsar’s conduct as well toward his old master as toward Lucan. Finally, he began to hint of the dissatisfaction of the people, and even of the pretorians, the greater part of whom had been won by Fenius Rufus.
ONE evening, Scevinus, a Senator, visited Petronius and started a long conversation about the tough times they were living in and also about Cæsar. He spoke so openly that Petronius, despite being his friend, began to tread carefully. Scevinus complained that the world was acting crazy and unfairly, and that it all must end in a disaster worse than the burning of Rome. He mentioned that even those close to Augustus were unhappy; that Fenius Rufus, the second prefect of the praetorians, was struggling with the terrible orders from Tigellinus; and that all of Seneca’s relatives were being pushed to their limits by Cæsar’s behavior towards both his old master and Lucan. Finally, he started to imply that the people, and even the praetorians—most of whom had been won over by Fenius Rufus—were also unhappy.
“Why dost thou say this?” inquired Petronius.
“Why are you saying this?” asked Petronius.
“Out of care for Cæsar,” said Scevinus. “I have a distant relative among the pretorians, also Scevinus; through him I know what takes place in the camp. Disaffection is growing there also; Caligula, knowest thou, was mad too, and see what happened. Cassius Chærea appeared. That was a dreadful deed, and surely there is no one among us to praise it; still Chærea freed the world of a monster.”
“Out of concern for Cæsar,” said Scevinus. “I have a distant relative in the praetorians, also named Scevinus; through him, I know what’s happening in the camp. Discontent is also growing there; you know Caligula was insane too, and look what happened. Cassius Chærea showed up. That was a terrible act, and surely no one among us would praise it; still, Chærea rid the world of a monster.”
“Is thy meaning as follows: ‘I do not praise Chærea, but he was a perfect man, and would that the gods had given us as many such as possible’?” inquired Petronius.
“Are you saying this: ‘I don’t praise Chærea, but he was a great man, and I wish the gods had given us as many like him as possible’?” Petronius asked.
But Scevinus changed the conversation, and began all at once to praise Piso, exalting his family, his nobility of mind, his attachment to his wife, and, finally, his intellect, his calmness, and his wonderful gift of winning people.
But Scevinus shifted the topic and suddenly started praising Piso, highlighting his family background, his noble character, his devotion to his wife, and, ultimately, his intelligence, composure, and remarkable ability to connect with people.
“Cæsar is childless,” said he, “and all see his successor in Piso. Doubtless, too, every man would help him with whole soul to gain power. Fenius Rufus loves him; the relatives of Annæus are devoted to him altogether. Plautius Lateranus and Tullius Senecio would spring into fire for him; as would Natalis, and Subrius Flavius, and Sulpicius Asper, and Afranius Quinetianus, and even Vestinius.”
“Caesar is childless,” he said, “and everyone sees Piso as his successor. Surely, everyone would wholeheartedly support him in gaining power. Fenius Rufus loves him; Annæus's relatives are completely devoted to him. Plautius Lateranus and Tullius Senecio would jump into fire for him; so would Natalis, Subrius Flavius, Sulpicius Asper, Afranius Quinetianus, and even Vestinius.”
“From this last man not much will result to Piso,” replied Petronius. “Vestinius is afraid of his own shadow.”
“Not much will come from this last guy for Piso,” Petronius replied. “Vestinius is scared of his own shadow.”
“Vestinius fears dreams and spirits,” answered Scevinus, “but he is a practical man, whom people wish wisely to make consul. That in his soul he is opposed to persecuting Christians, thou shouldst not take ill of him, for it concerns thee too that this madness should cease.”
“Vestinius is afraid of dreams and spirits,” Scevinus replied, “but he’s a practical man that people want to make consul wisely. Don’t hold it against him that deep down he’s opposed to persecuting Christians, because you also should care that this madness ends.”
“Not me, but Vinicius,” answered Petronius. “Out of concern for Vinicius, I should like to save a certain maiden; but I cannot, for I have fallen out of favor with Ahenobarbus.”
“Not me, but Vinicius,” Petronius replied. “Because I care about Vinicius, I want to help a certain girl, but I can’t, since I’ve lost Ahenobarbus’s favor.”
“How is that? Dost thou not notice that Cæsar is approaching thee again, and beginning to talk with thee? And I will tell thee why. He is preparing again for Achæa, where he is to sing songs in Greek of his own composition. He is burning for that journey; but also he trembles at thought of the cynical genius of the Greeks. He imagines that either the greatest triumph may meet him or the greatest failure. He needs good counsel, and he knows that no one can give it better than thou. This is why thou art returning to favor.”
“How is that? Don’t you see that Cæsar is coming up to you again and starting to talk? I’ll tell you why. He’s getting ready to go to Achæa, where he’s going to sing his own songs in Greek. He’s eager for that trip, but he’s also nervous about the sharp wit of the Greeks. He thinks he might either achieve the greatest success or face the greatest failure. He needs good advice, and he knows that no one can give it better than you. That’s why you’re regaining his favor.”
“Lucan might take my place.”
"Lucan might take my spot."
“Bronzebeard hates Lucan, and in his soul has written down death for the poet. He is merely seeking a pretext, for he seeks pretexts always.”
“Bronzebeard hates Lucan and has decided that he wants the poet dead. He’s just looking for a reason, because he’s always looking for excuses.”
“By Castor!” said Petronius, “that may be. But I might have still another way for a quick return to favor.”
“By Castor!” Petronius exclaimed, “that could be true. But I might have another way to win back favor quickly.”
“What?”
“What’s happening?”
“To repeat to Bronzebeard what thou hast told me just now.”
"To repeat to Bronzebeard what you just told me."
“I have said nothing!” cried Scevinus, with alarm.
“I haven't said anything!” cried Scevinus, alarmed.
Petronius placed his hand upon the Senator’s shoulder. “Thou hast called Cæsar a madman, thou hast foreseen the heirship of Piso, and hast said, ‘Lucan understands that there is need to hasten.’ What wouldst thou hasten, carissime?”
Petronius put his hand on the Senator’s shoulder. “You’ve called Caesar a madman, you've predicted Piso's inheritance, and you’ve said, ‘Lucan understands that we need to speed things up.’ What do you want to hurry, my dear?”
Scevinus grew pale, and for a moment each looked into the eyes of the other.
Scevinus turned pale, and for a moment, they each looked into each other's eyes.
“Thou wilt not repeat!”
"You won't repeat!"
“By the hips of Kypris, I will not! How well thou knowest me! No; I will not repeat. I have heard nothing, and, moreover, I wish to hear nothing. Dost understand? Life is too short to make any undertaking worth the while. I beg thee only to visit Tigellinus to-day, and talk with him as long as thou hast with me of whatever may please thee.”
“By the goddess of love, I refuse! You know me too well! No; I won’t say it again. I haven’t heard anything, and honestly, I don’t want to hear anything. Do you understand? Life is too short to bother with any commitments. I just ask that you visit Tigellinus today and talk with him as long as you’ve talked with me about whatever you find enjoyable.”
“Why?”
“Why?”
“So that should Tigellinus ever say to me, ‘Scevinus was with thee,’ I might answer, ‘He was with thee, too, that very day.’”
“So if Tigellinus ever says to me, ‘Scevinus was with you,’ I can respond, ‘He was with you, too, that same day.’”
Scevinus, when he heard this, broke the ivory cane which he had in his hand, and said,—“May the evil fall on this stick! I shall be with Tigellinus to-day, and later at Nerva’s feast. Thou, too, wilt be there? In every case till we meet in the amphitheatre, where the last of the Christians will appear the day after tomorrow. Till we meet!”
Scevinus, upon hearing this, smashed the ivory cane he was holding and said, “May all the misfortune go to this stick! I’m meeting with Tigellinus today, and later at Nerva’s feast. You’ll be there too? In any case, we’ll see each other in the amphitheater, where the last of the Christians will show up the day after tomorrow. Until then!”
“After to-morrow!” repeated Petronius, when alone. “There is no time to lose. Ahenobarbus will need me really in Achæa; hence he may count with me.”
“After tomorrow!” repeated Petronius when he was alone. “There’s no time to waste. Ahenobarbus will actually need me in Achæa; so he can count on me.”
And he determined to try the last means.
And he decided to give the last option a try.
In fact, at Nerva’s feast Cæsar himself asked that Petronius recline opposite, for he wished to speak with the arbiter about Achæa and the cities in which he might appear with hopes of the greatest success. He cared most for the Athenians, whom he feared. Other Augustians listened to this conversation with attention, so as to seize crumbs of the arbiter’s opinions, and give them out later on as their own.
In fact, at Nerva’s banquet, Caesar himself requested that Petronius sit across from him, as he wanted to discuss Achæa and the cities where he could expect to succeed the most. He was especially concerned about the Athenians, whom he feared. Other influential guests paid close attention to this conversation, eager to catch bits of the arbiter’s thoughts and later pass them off as their own.
“It seems to me that I have not lived up to this time,” said Nero, “and that my birth will come only in Greece.”
“It feels like I haven't really lived yet,” said Nero, “and that my true life will begin only in Greece.”
“Thou wilt be born to new glory and immortality,” answered Petronius.
"You will be born to new glory and immortality," Petronius replied.
“I trust that this is true, and that Apollo will not seem jealous. If I return in triumph, I will offer him such a hecatomb as no god has had so far.”
“I believe this is true, and I hope Apollo won’t be jealous. If I come back victorious, I’ll give him a sacrifice like no other god has received before.”
Scevinus fell to repeating the lines of Horace:—
Scevinus started repeating lines from Horace:—
“Sic te diva potens Cypri, Sic fratres Helenæ, lucida sidera, Ventorumque regat Pater-”
“Sic te diva potens Cypri, Sic fratres Helenæ, lucida sidera, Ventorumque regat Pater-”
“The vessel is ready at Naples,” said Cæsar. “I should like to go even tomorrow.”
“The ship is ready in Naples,” said Caesar. “I want to leave as soon as tomorrow.”
At this Petronius rose, and, looking straight into Nero’s eyes, said,
At this, Petronius stood up and, looking directly into Nero’s eyes, said,
“Permit me, O divinity, to celebrate a wedding-feast, to which I shall invite thee before others.”
“Please, O divine one, allow me to host a wedding celebration, to which I'll invite you before anyone else.”
“A wedding-feast! What wedding-feast?” inquired Nero.
“A wedding feast! What wedding feast?” Nero asked.
“That of Vinicius with thy hostage the daughter of the Lygian king. She is in prison at present, it is true; but as a hostage she is not subject to imprisonment, and, secondly, thou thyself hast permitted Vinicius to marry her; and as thy sentences, like those of Zeus, are unchangeable, thou wilt give command to free her from prison, and I will give her to thy favorite.”
"That of Vinicius with your hostage, the daughter of the Lygian king. She is currently in prison, it's true; but as a hostage, she isn't supposed to be imprisoned. Also, you yourself allowed Vinicius to marry her; and since your decisions, like those of Zeus, can’t be changed, you will order her release from prison, and I will give her to your favorite."
The cool blood and calm self-possession with which Petronius spoke disturbed Nero, who was disturbed whenever any one spoke in that fashion to him.
The cool demeanor and calm confidence with which Petronius spoke upset Nero, who always felt unsettled when anyone addressed him in that way.
“I know,” said he, dropping his eyes. “I have thought of her and of that giant who killed Croton.”
“I know,” he said, looking down. “I've been thinking about her and that giant who killed Croton.”
“In that case both are saved,” answered Petronius, calmly.
"In that case, both are saved," Petronius replied calmly.
But Tigellinus came to the aid of his master: “She is in prison by the will of Cæsar; thou thyself hast said, O Petronius, that his sentences are unchangeable.”
But Tigellinus came to the aid of his master: “She is in prison because Cæsar ordered it; you yourself have said, O Petronius, that his decisions are final.”
All present, knowing the history of Vinicius and Lygia, understood perfectly what the question was; hence they were silent, curious as to the end of the conversation.
Everyone there, aware of the history between Vinicius and Lygia, understood what the question was; so they remained silent, curious about how the conversation would unfold.
“She is in prison against the will of Cæsar and through thy error, through thy ignorance of the law of nations,” said Petronius, with emphasis. “Thou art a naive man, Tigellinus; but even thou wilt not assert that she burnt Rome, and if thou wert to do so, Cæsar would not believe thee.”
“She is in prison against Caesar's wishes and because of your mistake, due to your ignorance of international law,” Petronius said emphatically. “You are a naive man, Tigellinus; but even you wouldn't claim that she burned Rome, and if you did, Caesar wouldn't believe you.”
But Nero had recovered and begun to half close his near-sighted eyes with an expression of indescribable malice.
But Nero had bounced back and started to partially close his near-sighted eyes with an expression of unspeakable malice.
“Petronius is right,” said he, after a while.
“Petronius is right,” he said after a moment.
Tigellinus looked at him with amazement.
Tigellinus stared at him in disbelief.
“Petronius is right,” repeated Nero; “to-morrow the gates of the prison will be open to her, and of the marriage feast we will speak the day after at the amphitheatre.”
“Petronius is right,” Nero repeated; “tomorrow the prison gates will open for her, and we’ll talk about the wedding feast the day after at the amphitheater.”
“I have lost again,” thought Petronius.
“I lost again,” thought Petronius.
When he had returned home, he was so certain that the end of Lygia’s life had come that he sent a trusty freedman to the amphitheatre to bargain with the chief of the spoliarium for the delivery of her body, since he wished to give it to Vinicius.
When he got home, he was so sure that Lygia’s life had come to an end that he sent a reliable freedman to the amphitheater to negotiate with the head of the spoliarium for her body, as he wanted to give it to Vinicius.
Chapter LXV
Evening exhibitions, rare up to that period and given only exceptionally, became common in Nero’s time, both in the Circus and amphitheatre. The Augustians liked them, frequently because they were followed by feasts and drinking-bouts which lasted till daylight. Though the people were sated already with blood-spilling, still, when the news went forth that the end of the games was approaching, and that the last of the Christians were to die at an evening spectacle, a countless audience assembled in the amphitheatre. The Augustians came to a man, for they understood that it would not be a common spectacle; they knew that Cæsar had determined to make for himself a tragedy out of the suffering of Vinicius. Tigellinus had kept secret the kind of punishment intended for the betrothed of the young tribune; but that merely roused general curiosity. Those who had seen Lygia at the house of Plautius told wonders of her beauty. Others were occupied above all with the question, would they see her really on the arena that day; for many of those who had heard the answer given Petronius and Nerva by Cæsar explained it in two ways: some supposed simply that Nero would give or perhaps had given the maiden to Vinicius; they remembered that she was a hostage, hence free to worship whatever divinities she liked, and that the law of nations did not permit her punishment.
Evening shows, which were rare back then and only held on special occasions, became common during Nero’s reign, both in the Circus and the amphitheater. The wealthy loved them, especially because they were often followed by feasts and drinking parties that lasted until dawn. Although the crowd was already full from the bloodshed, when word spread that the games were ending and that the last of the Christians were going to die in an evening spectacle, a massive audience gathered in the amphitheater. The elites showed up in droves, realizing it wouldn’t be an ordinary event; they knew that Caesar planned to turn Vinicius's suffering into a spectacle. Tigellinus had kept the details of the punishment for the young tribune's fiancée a secret, but that only sparked more curiosity. Those who had seen Lygia at Plautius's house spoke wonders of her beauty. Others were particularly concerned with one question: would they actually see her in the arena that day? Many who heard Caesar's response to Petronius and Nerva interpreted it in two ways: some believed that Nero would give or perhaps had already given the girl to Vinicius; they remembered she was a hostage, thus free to worship any deities she wanted, and that international law didn’t allow for her punishment.
Uncertainty, waiting, and curiosity had mastered all spectators. Cæsar arrived earlier than usual; and immediately at his coming people whispered that something uncommon would happen, for besides Tigellinus and Vatinius, Cæsar had with him Cassius, a centurion of enormous size and gigantic strength, whom he summoned only when he wished to have a defender at his side,—for example, when he desired night expeditions to the Subura, where he arranged the amusement called “sagatio,” which consisted in tossing on a soldier’s mantle maidens met on the way. It was noted also that certain precautions had been taken in the amphitheatre itself. The pretorian guards were increased; command over them was held, not by a centurion, but by the tribune Subrius Flavius, known hitherto for blind attachment to Nero. It was understood, then, that Cæsar wished in every case to guard himself against an outburst of despair from Vinicius, and curiosity rose all the more.
Uncertainty, waiting, and curiosity had captivated all the spectators. Caesar showed up earlier than usual, and as soon as he arrived, people started whispering that something unusual was about to happen. Along with Tigellinus and Vatinius, Caesar had brought Cassius, a centurion of enormous size and incredible strength, whom he only called upon when he wanted a bodyguard—like when he planned nighttime outings to the Subura, where he organized a game called “sagatio,” which involved tossing young women onto a soldier’s cloak as they encountered them. It was also noticed that certain precautions had been implemented in the amphitheater itself. The pretorians had been reinforced, and their command was not held by a centurion but by the tribune Subrius Flavius, who was known for his blind loyalty to Nero. It was clear that Caesar wanted to protect himself against any outburst of despair from Vinicius, and this only increased the curiosity.
Every eye was turned with strained gaze to the place where the unfortunate lover was sitting. He was exceedingly pale, and his forehead was covered with drops of sweat; he was in as much doubt as were other spectators, but alarmed to the lowest depth of his soul. Petronius knew not what would happen; he was silent, except that, while turning from Nerva, he asked Vinicius whether he was ready for everything, and next, whether he would remain at the spectacle. To both questions Vinicius answered “Yes,” but a shudder passed through his whole body; he divined that Petronius did not ask without reason. For some time he had lived with only half his life,—he had sunk in death, and reconciled himself to Lygia’s death, since for both it was to be liberation and marriage; but he learned now that it was one thing to think of the last moment when it was distant as of a quiet dropping asleep, and another to look at the torment of a person dearer to one than life. All sufferings endured formerly rose in him anew. Despair, which had been set at rest, began again to cry in his soul; the former desire to save Lygia at any price seized him anew. Beginning with the morning, he had tried to go to the cunicula to be sure that she was there; but the pretorians watched every entrance, and orders were so strict that the soldiers, even those whom he knew, would not be softened by prayers or gold. It seemed to the tribune that uncertainty would kill him before he should see the spectacle. Somewhere at the bottom of his heart the hope was still throbbing, that perhaps Lygia was not in the amphitheatre, that his fears were groundless. At times he seized on this hope with all his strength. He said in his soul that Christ might take her to Himself out of the prison, but could not permit her torture in the Circus. Formerly he was resigned to the divine will in everything; now, when repulsed from the doors of the cunicula, he returned to his place in the amphitheatre, and when he learned, from the curious glances turned on him, that the most dreadful suppositions might be true, he began to implore in his soul with passionateness almost approaching a threat. “Thou canst!” repeated he, clenching his fists convulsively, “Thou canst!” Hitherto he had not supposed that that moment when present would be so terrible. Now, without clear consciousness of what was happening in his mind, he had the feeling that if he should see Lygia tortured, his love for God would be turned to hatred, and his faith to despair. But he was amazed at the feeling, for he feared to offend Christ, whom he was imploring for mercy and miracles. He implored no longer for her life; he wished merely that she should die before they brought her to the arena, and from the abyss of his pain he repeated in spirt: “Do not refuse even this, and I will love Thee still more than hitherto.” And then his thoughts raged as a sea torn by a whirlwind. A desire for blood and vengeance was roused in him. He was seized by a mad wish to rush at Nero and stifle him there in presence of all the spectators; but he felt that desire to be a new offence against Christ, and a breach of His command. To his head flew at times flashes of hope that everything before which his soul was trembling would be turned aside by an almighty and merciful hand; but they were quenched at once, as if in measureless sorrow that He who could destroy that Circus with one word and save Lygia had abandoned her, though she trusted in Him and loved Him with all the strength of her pure heart. And he thought, moreover, that she was lying there in that dark place, weak, defenceless, deserted, abandoned to the whim or disfavor of brutal guards, drawing her last breath, perhaps, while he had to wait, helpless, in that dreadful amphitheatre, without knowing what torture was prepared for her, or what he would witness in a moment. Finally, as a man falling over a precipice grasps at everything which grows on the edge of it, so did he grasp with both hands at the thought that faith of itself could save her. That one method remained! Peter had said that faith could move the earth to its foundations.
Every eye was fixed, intently watching the spot where the unfortunate lover sat. He was extremely pale, beads of sweat covering his forehead; he was just as uncertain as the other spectators, but deeply alarmed to the core of his being. Petronius didn't know what would happen next; he remained silent, except for asking Vinicius, as he turned away from Nerva, if he was ready for anything and whether he planned to stay for the show. Vinicius answered “Yes” to both questions, but a shudder ran through his entire body; he sensed that Petronius wasn't asking without good reason. For a while, he had been living with only half a life—he had accepted Lygia’s death, thinking it would bring liberation and marriage for both of them; but now he realized that it was one thing to think about the last moment when it felt far away, like a peaceful sleep, and another to witness the agony of someone he loved more than life itself. All the suffering he had gone through before surged back intensely. Despair, which he thought was quiet, began to cry out in his soul again; the old urge to save Lygia at any cost gripped him once more. Starting that morning, he had tried to get to the cunicula to make sure she was there; but the pretorians monitored every entrance, and the orders were so strict that even the soldiers he knew wouldn’t be swayed by pleas or money. It seemed to the tribune that the uncertainty would kill him before he could see the spectacle. Deep down, he still hoped that maybe Lygia wasn’t in the amphitheater, that his fears were unfounded. Occasionally, he clutched this hope with all his might. He told himself that Christ could take her away from prison but wouldn't allow her to be tortured in the Circus. Previously, he accepted divine will in all things; now, after being turned away from the cunicula, he returned to his spot in the amphitheater, and as he noticed the curious stares directed at him, indicating that the worst fears could be true, he began to passionately implore in his soul, almost as if making a threat. “You can!” he repeated, clenching his fists tightly, “You can!” Until now, he hadn't imagined that the moment would be so horrifying. Now, without fully understanding what was going on in his mind, he felt that if he saw Lygia being tortured, his love for God would turn to hatred, and his faith to despair. Yet he was surprised by this feeling, afraid to offend Christ, whom he was pleading for mercy and miracles. He no longer asked for her life; he only wished for her to die before they brought her to the arena, and from the depths of his pain, he repeated in spirit: “Don’t refuse even this, and I will love You even more than before.” And then his thoughts raged like a stormy sea. A desire for blood and vengeance stirred within him. He was overtaken by a wild urge to rush at Nero and silence him in front of all the spectators; but he acknowledged this desire as a new offense against Christ, violating His command. Occasionally, fleeting hopes flashed in his mind that everything which made his soul tremble could be stopped by an all-powerful and merciful hand; but they quickly died out, as if in profound sorrow that He who could obliterate that Circus with one word and save Lygia had abandoned her, even though she trusted and loved Him with all her pure heart's strength. He also thought about her lying there in that dark place, weak, defenseless, alone, subject to the whim or disfavor of cruel guards, possibly drawing her last breath while he had to wait, helpless, in that dreadful amphitheater, not knowing what tortures awaited her, or what he was about to witness. Finally, like a man tumbling over a cliff grasps at anything that might stop his fall, he grasped with both hands the thought that faith alone could save her. That was the one way left! Peter had said that faith could move the earth to its foundations.
Hence he rallied; he crushed doubt in himself, he compressed his whole being into the sentence, “I believe,” and he looked for a miracle.
Hence he gathered himself; he silenced his doubts, he focused his entire being into the phrase, “I believe,” and he waited for a miracle.
But as an overdrawn cord may break, so exertion broke him. The pallor of death covered his face, and his body relaxed. He thought then that his prayer had been heard, for he was dying. It seemed to him that Lygia must surely die too, and that Christ would take them to Himself in that way. The arena, the white togas, the countless spectators, the light of thousands of lamps and torches, all vanished from his vision.
But just like an overstretched cord can snap, so did his efforts wear him out. The pallor of death spread across his face, and his body loosened. In that moment, he believed his prayer had been answered, for he was dying. It seemed to him that Lygia would surely die as well, and that Christ would bring them to Himself in this way. The arena, the white togas, the countless spectators, the light from thousands of lamps and torches, all faded from his sight.
But his weakness did not last long. After a while he roused himself, or rather the stamping of the impatient multitude roused him.
But his weakness didn’t last long. After a bit, he shook himself awake, or rather the stomping of the impatient crowd woke him up.
“Thou art ill,” said Petronius; “give command to bear thee home.”
"You’re unwell," said Petronius; "tell them to take you home."
And without regard to what Cæsar would say, he rose to support Vinicius and go out with him. His heart was filled with pity, and, moreover, he was irritated beyond endurance because Cæsar was looking through the emerald at Vinicius, studying his pain with satisfaction, to describe it afterwards, perhaps, in pathetic strophes, and win the applause of hearers.
And without caring what Caesar would think, he stood up to support Vinicius and leave with him. His heart was filled with pity, and on top of that, he was incredibly frustrated because Caesar was looking at Vinicius through the emerald, watching his pain with satisfaction, probably to describe it later in dramatic verses and earn the applause of the audience.
Vinicius shook his head. He might die in that amphitheatre, but he could not go out of it. Moreover the spectacle might begin any moment.
Vinicius shook his head. He might die in that amphitheater, but he couldn’t leave it. Plus, the show could start at any moment.
In fact, at that very instant almost, the prefect of the city waved a red handkerchief, the hinges opposite Cæsar’s podium creaked, and out of the dark gully came Ursus into the brightly lighted arena.
In fact, just at that moment, the city's prefect waved a red handkerchief, the hinges across from Cæsar's podium creaked, and Ursus emerged from the dark gully into the brightly lit arena.
The giant blinked, dazed evidently by the glitter of the arena; then he pushed into the centre, gazing around as if to see what he had to meet. It was known to all the Augustians and to most of the spectators that he was the man who had stifled Croton; hence at sight of him a murmur passed along every bench. In Rome there was no lack of gladiators larger by far than the common measure of man, but Roman eyes had never seen the like of Ursus. Cassius, standing in Cæsar’s podium, seemed puny compared with that Lygian. Senators, vestals, Cæsar, the Augustians, and the people gazed with the delight of experts at his mighty limbs as large as tree-trunks, at his breast as large as two shields joined together, and his arms of a Hercules. The murmur rose every instant. For those multitudes there could be no higher pleasure than to look at those muscles in play in the exertion of a struggle. The murmur rose to shouts, and eager questions were put: “Where do the people live who can produce such a giant?” He stood there, in the middle of the amphitheatre, naked, more like a stone colossus than a man, with a collected expression, and at the same time the sad look of a barbarian; and while surveying the empty arena, he gazed wonderingly with his blue childlike eyes, now at the spectators, now at Cæsar, now at the grating of the cunicula, whence, as he thought, his executioners would come.
The giant blinked, obviously stunned by the shine of the arena; then he pushed into the center, looking around as if to figure out what he was up against. Everyone in the crowd and most of the spectators knew that he was the one who had killed Croton; so, upon seeing him, a murmur went through every row of seats. In Rome, there were certainly gladiators much larger than the average person, but Roman eyes had never seen anyone like Ursus. Cassius, standing on Cæsar’s podium, looked tiny next to that Lygian. Senators, vestals, Cæsar, the Augustians, and the people watched with the excitement of experts as they admired his massive limbs that were as thick as tree trunks, his chest as wide as two shields put together, and his arms like those of Hercules. The murmur grew louder by the moment. For those crowds, there was no greater pleasure than watching those muscles flex during a fight. The murmur turned into shouts, and eager questions were asked: “Where do people live who can create such a giant?” He stood there in the middle of the amphitheater, naked, looking more like a stone statue than a man, with a composed expression that also carried the sadness of a barbarian; and while surveying the empty arena, he gazed around with his innocent blue eyes, shifting from the spectators to Cæsar, then to the grating of the cunicula, from which, he thought, his executioners would appear.
At the moment when he stepped into the arena his simple heart was beating for the last time with the hope that perhaps a cross was waiting for him; but when he saw neither the cross nor the hole in which it might be put, he thought that he was unworthy of such favor,—that he would find death in another way, and surely from wild beasts. He was unarmed, and had determined to die as became a confessor of the “Lamb,” peacefully and patiently. Meanwhile he wished to pray once more to the Saviour; so he knelt on the arena, joined his hands, and raised his eyes toward the stars which were glittering in the lofty opening of the amphitheatre.
At the moment he stepped into the arena, his simple heart was beating for the last time, hoping that perhaps a cross was waiting for him. But when he saw neither the cross nor the hole where it could be placed, he thought he was unworthy of such a favor—that he would meet death in another way, surely at the hands of wild beasts. He was unarmed and had resolved to die as a confessor of the “Lamb,” peacefully and patiently. In the meantime, he wanted to pray one last time to the Savior; so he knelt in the arena, clasped his hands, and raised his eyes toward the stars that were shining in the high opening of the amphitheater.
That act displeased the crowds. They had had enough of those Christians who died like sheep. They understood that if the giant would not defend himself the spectacle would be a failure. Here and there hisses were heard. Some began to cry for scourgers, whose office it was to lash combatants unwilling to fight. But soon all had grown silent, for no one knew what was waiting for the giant, nor whether he would not be ready to struggle when he met death eye to eye.
That act angered the crowd. They were fed up with those Christians who died without putting up a fight. They realized that if the giant wouldn’t defend himself, the show would be a flop. Hisses were heard here and there. Some started calling for floggers, whose job was to whip fighters unwilling to engage. But soon everyone fell silent, as no one knew what the giant was facing, or if he would be ready to fight when he came face to face with death.
In fact, they had not long to wait. Suddenly the shrill sound of brazen trumpets was heard, and at that signal a grating opposite Cæsar’s podium was opened, and into the arena rushed, amid shouts of beast-keepers, an enormous German aurochs, bearing on his head the naked body of a woman.
In fact, they didn’t have to wait long. Suddenly, the loud blast of trumpets rang out, and at that signal, a gate across from Cæsar’s podium opened. Into the arena charged a massive German aurochs, with the lifeless body of a woman on its head, while shouts from the beast-keepers echoed around.
“Lygia! Lygia!” cried Vinicius.
“Lygia! Lygia!” shouted Vinicius.
Then he seized his hair near the temples, squirmed like a man who feels a sharp dart in his body, and began to repeat in hoarse accents,—
Then he grabbed his hair near the temples, squirmed like someone who feels a sharp pain in their body, and started to repeat in a raspy voice,—
“I believe! I believe! O Christ, a miracle!”
“I believe! I believe! Oh Christ, a miracle!”
And he did not even feel that Petronius covered his head that moment with the toga. It seemed to him that death or pain had closed his eyes. He did not look, he did not see. The feeling of some awful emptiness possessed him. In his head there remained not a thought; his lips merely repeated, as if in madness,—
And he didn't even notice when Petronius draped the toga over his head. It felt like death or pain had shut his eyes. He didn't look, he couldn't see. He was overcome by a sense of dreadful emptiness. His mind was blank; his lips only repeated, as if in madness,—
“I believe! I believe! I believe!”
“I believe! I believe! I believe!”
This time the amphitheatre was silent. The Augustians rose in their places, as one man, for in the arena something uncommon had happened. That Lygian, obedient and ready to die, when he saw his queen on the horns of the wild beast, sprang up, as if touched by living fire, and bending forward he ran at the raging animal.
This time, the amphitheater was quiet. The Augustians stood together, united, because something unusual had occurred in the arena. That Lygian, obedient and prepared to die, when he saw his queen in danger from the wild beast, leaped up as if ignited by fire, and leaning forward, he charged at the furious animal.
From all breasts a sudden cry of amazement was heard, after which came deep silence.
From all around, a sudden gasp of astonishment erupted, followed by a deep silence.
The Lygian fell on the raging bull in a twinkle, and seized him by the horns.
The Lygian jumped on the raging bull in an instant and grabbed him by the horns.
“Look!” cried Petronius, snatching the toga from the head of Vinicius. The latter rose and bent back his head; his face was as pale as linen, and he looked into the arena with a glassy, vacant stare.
“Look!” shouted Petronius, pulling the toga off Vinicius's head. Vinicius stood up and tilted his head back; his face was as pale as linen, and he gazed into the arena with a glassy, vacant expression.
All breasts ceased to breathe. In the amphitheatre a fly might be heard on the wing. People could not believe their own eyes. Since Rome was Rome, no one had seen such a spectacle.
All breath was held. In the amphitheater, a fly could be heard buzzing by. People couldn't believe what they were seeing. Since ancient Rome, no one had witnessed such a sight.
The Lygian held the wild beast by the horns. The man’s feet sank in the sand to his ankles, his back was bent like a drawn bow, his head was hidden between his shoulders, on his arms the muscles came out so that the skin almost burst from their pressure; but he had stopped the bull in his tracks. And the man and the beast remained so still that the spectators thought themselves looking at a picture showing a deed of Hercules or Theseus, or a group hewn from stone. But in that apparent repose there was a tremendous exertion of two struggling forces. The bull sank his feet as well as did the man in the sand, and his dark, shaggy body was curved so that it seemed a gigantic ball. Which of the two would fail first, which would fall first,—that was the question for those spectators enamoured of such struggles; a question which at that moment meant more for them than their own fate, than all Rome and its lordship over the world. That Lygian was in their eyes then a demigod worthy of honor and statues. Cæsar himself stood up as well as others. He and Tigellinus, hearing of the man’s strength, had arranged this spectacle purposely, and said to each other with a jeer, “Let that slayer of Croton kill the bull which we choose for him”; so they looked now with amazement at that picture, as if not believing that it could be real.
The Lygian gripped the wild beast by the horns. The man’s feet sank into the sand up to his ankles, his back arched like a drawn bow, and his head was tucked between his shoulders. His arms bulged with muscles, so much so that his skin almost split from the strain; yet he had halted the bull in its tracks. Both the man and the beast stood so still that the spectators thought they were looking at a painting of a heroic deed by Hercules or Theseus, or a statue carved from stone. But behind that apparent stillness, there was a massive struggle between two powerful forces. The bull's feet buried in the sand just like the man's, and its dark, shaggy body was twisted into what looked like a giant sphere. Which one would give in first, which one would fall first—that was the question for those spectators fascinated by such contests; a question that, at that moment, mattered more to them than their own fates or all of Rome and its dominance over the world. To them, that Lygian was a demigod deserving of admiration and statues. Even Cæsar stood up along with the others. He and Tigellinus, having heard about the man's strength, had set up this spectacle on purpose, scoffing at each other, “Let that killer from Croton take on the bull we picked for him”; so now they watched this scene with astonishment, as if they couldn't believe it was real.
In the amphitheatre were men who had raised their arms and remained in that posture. Sweat covered the faces of others, as if they themselves were struggling with the beast. In the Circus nothing was heard save the sound of flame in the lamps, and the crackle of bits of coal as they dropped from the torches. Their voices died on the lips of the spectators, but their hearts were beating in their breasts as if to split them. It seemed to all that the struggle was lasting for ages. But the man and the beast continued on in their monstrous exertion; one might have said that they were planted in the earth.
In the amphitheater, there were men who had raised their arms and stayed in that position. Sweat covered the faces of others, as if they were fighting the beast themselves. In the Circus, the only sounds heard were the flames in the lamps and the crackle of coal falling from the torches. Their voices faded on the lips of the spectators, but their hearts raced in their chests as if they might burst. To everyone, it felt like the struggle was going on forever. But the man and the beast kept pushing on in their brutal fight; it was as if they were rooted to the ground.
Meanwhile a dull roar resembling a groan was heard from the arena, after which a brief shout was wrested from every breast, and again there was silence. People thought themselves dreaming till the enormous head of the bull began to turn in the iron hands of the barbarian. The face, neck, and arms of the Lygian grew purple; his back bent still more. It was clear that he was rallying the remnant of his superhuman strength, but that he could not last long.
Meanwhile, a low groan-like roar came from the arena, followed by a brief shout from everyone, and then there was silence again. People thought they were dreaming until the massive head of the bull started to turn in the iron grip of the barbarian. The face, neck, and arms of the Lygian turned purple; his back bent even more. It was clear he was summoning the last of his superhuman strength, but he couldn't hold on for long.
Duller and duller, hoarser and hoarser, more and more painful grew the groan of the bull as it mingled with the whistling breath from the breast of the giant. The head of the beast turned more and more, and from his jaws crept forth a long, foaming tongue.
Duller and duller, hoarser and hoarser, more and more painful grew the groan of the bull as it mixed with the whistling breath from the chest of the giant. The beast's head turned more and more, and from its jaws crept out a long, foaming tongue.
A moment more, and to the ears of spectators sitting nearer came as it were the crack of breaking bones; then the beast rolled on the earth with his neck twisted in death.
A moment later, those seated closer heard what sounded like the snap of breaking bones; then the beast collapsed to the ground, its neck twisted in death.
The giant removed in a twinkle the ropes from the horns of the bull and, raising the maiden, began to breathe hurriedly. His face became pale, his hair stuck together from sweat, his shoulders and arms seemed flooded with water. For a moment he stood as if only half conscious; then he raised his eyes and looked at the spectators.
The giant quickly pulled the ropes off the bull's horns and, lifting the girl, started to breathe heavily. His face went pale, his hair was matted with sweat, and his shoulders and arms were drenched. For a moment, he stood there as if only partially aware; then he lifted his gaze and looked at the crowd.
The amphitheatre had gone wild.
The amphitheater had gone wild.
The walls of the building were trembling from the roar of tens of thousands of people. Since the beginning of spectacles there was no memory of such excitement. Those who were sitting on the highest rows came down, crowding in the passages between benches to look more nearly at the strong man. Everywhere were heard cries for mercy, passionate and persistent, which soon turned into one unbroken thunder. That giant had become dear to those people enamoured of physical strength; he was the first personage in Rome.
The walls of the building were shaking from the roar of tens of thousands of people. There hadn’t been this level of excitement since the start of public spectacles. Those sitting in the highest rows descended, crowding the aisles between benches to get a better look at the strong man. Everywhere, cries for mercy echoed, passionate and relentless, which soon merged into a unified thunder. That giant had become beloved by the crowd captivated by physical strength; he was the most important figure in Rome.
He understood that the multitude were striving to grant him his life and restore him his freedom, but clearly his thought was not on himself alone. He looked around a while; then approached Cæsar’s podium, and, holding the body of the maiden on his outstretched arms, raised his eyes with entreaty, as if to say,—
He realized that the crowd was trying to save his life and give him his freedom, but it was clear that his thoughts were not just about himself. He looked around for a moment, then walked towards Caesar’s podium, holding the girl’s body in his outstretched arms and raising his eyes in pleading, as if to say,—
“Have mercy on her! Save the maiden. I did that for her sake!”
“Have mercy on her! Save the girl. I did that for her!”
The spectators understood perfectly what he wanted. At sight of the unconscious maiden, who near the enormous Lygian seemed a child, emotion seized the multitude of knights and senators. Her slender form, as white as if chiselled from alabaster, her fainting, the dreadful danger from which the giant had freed her, and finally her beauty and attachment had moved every heart. Some thought the man a father begging mercy for his child. Pity burst forth suddenly, like a flame. They had had blood, death, and torture in sufficiency. Voices choked with tears began to entreat mercy for both.
The spectators fully grasped what he wanted. At the sight of the unconscious girl, who looked like a child next to the enormous Lygian, emotion swept over the crowd of knights and senators. Her slim figure, as white as if it had been carved from alabaster, her faintness, the terrifying danger from which the giant had saved her, and ultimately her beauty and vulnerability moved everyone’s heart. Some saw the man as a father pleading for mercy for his child. Compassion erupted suddenly, like a flame. They had witnessed enough blood, death, and torture. Tear-choked voices started to plead for mercy for both of them.
Meanwhile Ursus, holding the girl in his arms, moved around the arena, and with his eyes and with motions begged her life for her. Now Vinicius started up from his seat, sprang over the barrier which separated the front places from the arena, and, running to Lygia, covered her naked body with his toga.
Meanwhile, Ursus, cradling the girl in his arms, walked around the arena, pleading for her life with his eyes and gestures. At that moment, Vinicius jumped up from his seat, leaped over the barrier that separated the front seats from the arena, and rushed to Lygia, draping his toga over her exposed body.
Then he tore apart the tunic on his breast, laid bare the scars left by wounds received in the Armenian war, and stretched out his hands to the audience.
Then he ripped open the tunic on his chest, revealing the scars from the wounds he suffered in the Armenian war, and extended his hands to the audience.
At this the enthusiasm of the multitude passed everything seen in a circus before. The crowd stamped and howled. Voices calling for mercy grew simply terrible. People not only took the part of the athlete, but rose in defense of the soldier, the maiden, their love. Thousands of spectators turned to Cæsar with flashes of anger in their eyes and with clinched fists.
At this, the excitement of the crowd exceeded anything seen at a circus before. The audience stomped and yelled. Shouts for mercy became truly frightening. People not only supported the athlete but also stood up for the soldier, the maiden, and their love. Thousands of spectators turned to Caesar with flashes of anger in their eyes and clenched fists.
But Cæsar halted and hesitated. Against Vinicius he had no hatred indeed, and the death of Lygia did not concern him; but he preferred to see the body of the maiden rent by the horns of the bull or torn by the claws of beasts. His cruelty, his deformed imagination, and deformed desires found a kind of delight in such spectacles. And now the people wanted to rob him. Hence anger appeared on his bloated face. Self-love also would not let him yield to the wish of the multitude, and still he did not dare to oppose it, through his inborn cowardice.
But Caesar stopped and hesitated. He had no real hatred for Vinicius, and Lygia's death didn't concern him; he simply preferred to see the maiden's body gored by the bull's horns or torn apart by wild animals. His cruelty, twisted imagination, and twisted desires found a sort of pleasure in such sights. Now the crowd wanted to take something from him. Anger showed on his bloated face. His pride also prevented him from giving in to the will of the masses, yet he didn't dare to oppose them because of his natural cowardice.
So he gazed around to see if among the Augustians at least, he could not find fingers turned down in sign of death. But Petronius held up his hand, and looked into Nero’s face almost challengingly. Vestinius, superstitious but inclined to enthusiasm, a man who feared ghosts but not the living, gave a sign for mercy also. So did Scevinus, the Senator; so did Nerva, so did Tullius Senecio, so did the famous leader Ostorius Scapula, and Antistius, and Piso, and Vetus, and Crispinus, and Minucius Thermus, and Pontius Telesinus, and the most important of all, one honored by the people, Thrasea.
So he looked around to see if any of the Augustians showed signs of death by keeping their fingers down. But Petronius raised his hand and looked at Nero almost defiantly. Vestinius, who was superstitious yet enthusiastic, a man who feared ghosts but not the living, also signaled for mercy. So did Scevinus, the Senator; Nerva; Tullius Senecio; the well-known leader Ostorius Scapula; Antistius; Piso; Vetus; Crispinus; Minucius Thermus; Pontius Telesinus; and most importantly, the one respected by the people, Thrasea.
In view of this, Cæsar took the emerald from his eye with an expression of contempt and offence; when Tigellinus, whose desire was to spite Petronius, turned to him and said,—
In light of this, Cæsar took the emerald from his eye with a look of disdain and offense; when Tigellinus, who wanted to get back at Petronius, turned to him and said,—
“Yield not, divinity; we have the pretorians.”
“Don’t back down, divinity; we have the praetorians.”
Then Nero turned to the place where command over the pretorians was held by the stern Subrius Flavius, hitherto devoted with whole soul to him, and saw something unusual. The face of the old tribune was stern, but covered with tears, and he was holding his hand up in sign of mercy.
Then Nero turned to the spot where Subrius Flavius, the strict commander of the praetorians, had always been completely devoted to him, and saw something unexpected. The old tribune's face was serious, but it was wet
Now rage began to possess the multitude. Dust rose from beneath the stamping feet, and filled the amphitheatre. In the midst of shouts were heard cries: “Ahenobarbus! matricide! incendiary!”
Now anger started to take over the crowd. Dust swirled up from the stomping feet and filled the amphitheater. Amid the shouts were heard cries: "Ahenobarbus! Maternal killer! Arsonist!"
Nero was alarmed. Romans were absolute lords in the Circus. Former Cæsars, and especially Caligula, had permitted themselves sometimes to act against the will of the people; this, however, called forth disturbance always, going sometimes to bloodshed. But Nero was in a different position. First, as a comedian and a singer he needed the people’s favor; second, he wanted it on his side against the Senate and the patricians, and especially after the burning of Rome he strove by all means to win it, and turn their anger against the Christians. He understood, besides, that to oppose longer was simply dangerous. A disturbance begun in the Circus might seize the whole city, and have results incalculable.
Nero was worried. Romans were absolute rulers in the Circus. Previous Caesars, especially Caligula, had at times acted against what the people wanted, which often led to unrest and occasionally violence. However, Nero was in a different situation. First, as a performer and singer, he relied on the people's support; second, he needed their backing against the Senate and the patricians, especially after the fire in Rome. He was determined to win their favor and shift their anger toward the Christians. He also realized that continuing to resist was simply too risky. A disturbance that started in the Circus could spread throughout the entire city, leading to unpredictable consequences.
He looked once more at Subrius Flavius, at Scevinus the centurion, a relative of the senator, at the soldiers; and seeing everywhere frowning brows, excited faces, and eyes fixed on him, he gave the sign for mercy.
He glanced again at Subrius Flavius, at Scevinus the centurion, a relative of the senator, and at the soldiers; noticing frowning brows, anxious faces, and eyes locked on him, he signaled for mercy.
Then a thunder of applause was heard from the highest seats to the lowest. The people were sure of the lives of the condemned, for from that moment they went under their protection, and even Cæsar would not have dared to pursue them any longer with his vengeance.
Then there was a thunderous applause from the highest seats to the lowest. The crowd was certain of the fate of the condemned, because from that moment on, they were under their protection, and even Caesar wouldn't have dared to pursue them with his wrath any longer.
Chapter LXVI
FOUR Bithynians carried Lygia carefully to the house of Petronius. Vinicius and Ursus walked at her side, hurrying so as to give her into the hands of the Greek physician as quickly as possible. They walked in silence, for after the events of the day they had not power to speak. Vinicius so far was as if half conscious. He kept repeating to himself that Lygia was saved; that she was threatened no longer by imprisonment, or death in the Circus; that their misfortunes had ended once and forever; that he would take her home and not separate again from her. This appeared to him the beginning of some other life rather than reality. From moment to moment he bent over the open litter to look on the beloved face, which in the moonlight seemed sleeping, and he repeated mentally, “This is she! Christ has saved her!” He remembered also that while he and Ursus were carrying her from the spoliarium an unknown physician had assured him that she was living and would recover. At this thought delight so filled his breast that at moments he grew weak, and being unable to walk with his own strength leaned on the arm of Ursus. Ursus meanwhile was looking into the sky filled with stars, and was praying.
FOUR Bithynians carefully carried Lygia to Petronius's house. Vinicius and Ursus walked alongside her, hurrying to get her to the Greek physician as quickly as possible. They moved in silence, as the events of the day left them too drained to speak. Vinicius felt almost half-aware. He kept reminding himself that Lygia was safe; she was no longer at risk of imprisonment or death in the Circus; their troubles were over for good; he would take her home and never be apart from her again. This felt more like the beginning of a new life than reality. Every few moments, he leaned over the open litter to gaze at her beloved face, which looked peaceful in the moonlight, and he repeated to himself, “This is her! Christ has saved her!” He also recalled that while he and Ursus were bringing her from the spoliarium, an unknown physician had assured him she was alive and would recover. The thought filled him with such joy that he sometimes felt weak and had to lean on Ursus for support. Meanwhile, Ursus was looking up at the star-filled sky, praying.
They advanced hurriedly along streets where newly erected white buildings shone brightly in the moonlight. The city was empty, save here and there where crowds of people crowned with ivy, sang and danced before porticos to the sound of flutes, thus taking advantage of the wonderful night and the festive season, unbroken from the beginning of the games. Only when they were near the house did Ursus stop praying, and say in a low voice, as if he feared to waken Lygia,—
They rushed along streets where new white buildings gleamed in the moonlight. The city was quiet, except for the occasional groups of people adorned with ivy, singing and dancing in front of porches to the sound of flutes, making the most of the beautiful night and the festive season, which had been ongoing since the start of the games. Only when they got close to the house did Ursus stop praying and say softly, as if afraid to wake Lygia,—
“Lord, it was the Saviour who rescued her from death. When I saw her on the horns of the aurochs, I heard a voice in my soul saying, ‘Defend her!’ and that was the voice of the Lamb. The prison took strength from me, but He gave it back in that moment, and inspired that cruel people to take her part. Let His will be done!”
“Lord, it was the Savior who saved her from death. When I saw her in danger, I heard a voice in my soul saying, ‘Protect her!’ and that was the voice of the Lamb. The prison drained my strength, but He restored it in that moment and moved those harsh people to stand by her. Let His will be done!”
And Vinicius answered,—
And Vinicius replied,—
“Magnified be His name!”
“Blessed be His name!”
He had not power to continue, for all at once he felt that a mighty weeping was swelling his breast. He was seized by an overpowering wish to throw himself on the earth and thank the Saviour for His miracles and His mercy.
He couldn't keep going, because all of a sudden he felt a huge wave of emotion rising in his chest. An overwhelming desire seized him to drop to the ground and thank the Savior for His miracles and kindness.
Meanwhile they had come to the house; the servants, informed by a slave despatched in advance, crowded out to meet them. Paul of Tarsus had sent back from Antium the greater part of those people. The misfortune of Vinicius was known to them perfectly; therefore their delight at seeing those victims which had been snatched from the malice of Nero was immense, and increased still more when the physician Theocles declared that Lygia had not suffered serious injury, and that when the weakness caused by prison fever had passed, she would regain health.
Meanwhile, they arrived at the house; the servants, informed by a slave sent ahead, rushed out to greet them. Paul of Tarsus had sent back most of those people from Antium. They were fully aware of Vinicius's misfortune; consequently, their joy at seeing those who had been saved from Nero’s cruelty was immense, and it grew even more when the doctor Theocles announced that Lygia had not suffered serious injury and that once the weakness from prison fever passed, she would recover.
Consciousness returned to her that night. Waking in the splendid chamber lighted by Corinthian lamps, amidst the odor of verbena and nard, she knew not where she was, or what was taking place with her. She remembered the moment in which she had been lashed to the horns of the chained bull; and now, seeing above her the face of Vinicius, lighted by the mild rays of the lamp, she supposed herself no longer on earth. The thoughts were confused in her weakened head; it seemed to her natural to be detained somewhere on the way to heaven, because of her tortures and weakness. Feeling no pain, however, she smiled at Vinicius, and wanted to ask where they were; but from her lips came merely a low whisper in which he could barely detect his own name.
Consciousness came back to her that night. Waking up in the beautiful room lit by Corinthian lamps, surrounded by the scent of verbena and nard, she had no idea where she was or what was happening to her. She remembered the moment she had been tied to the horns of the chained bull; now, looking up at Vinicius's face, illuminated by the soft light of the lamp, she thought she might no longer be on earth. Her thoughts were jumbled in her weakened mind; it seemed natural to her to be stuck somewhere on the way to heaven because of her suffering and exhaustion. Not feeling any pain, she smiled at Vinicius and wanted to ask where they were, but all that came from her lips was a faint whisper, barely enough for him to make out his own name.
Then he knelt near her, and, placing his hand on her forehead lightly, he said,—
Then he knelt next to her, and, gently placing his hand on her forehead, he said,—
“Christ saved thee, and returned thee to me!”
“Christ saved you and brought you back to me!”
Her lips moved again with a meaningless whisper; her lids closed after a moment, her breast rose with a light sigh, and she fell into a deep sleep, for which the physician had been waiting, and after which she would return to health, he said.
Her lips moved again with a meaningless whisper; her eyelids closed after a moment, her chest rose with a light sigh, and she fell into a deep sleep, for which the doctor had been waiting, and after which she would return to health, he said.
Vinicius remained kneeling near her, however, sunk in prayer. His soul was melting with a love so immense that he forgot himself utterly. Theocles returned often to the chamber, and the golden-haired Eunice appeared behind the raised curtain a number of times; finally cranes, reared in the gardens, began to call, heralding the coming day, but Vinicius was still embracing in his mind the feet of Christ, neither seeing nor hearing what was passing around him, with a heart turned into a thanksgiving, sacrificial flame, sunk in ecstasy, and though alive, half seized into heaven.
Vinicius stayed kneeling beside her, lost in prayer. His heart was overflowing with a love so immense that he completely forgot about himself. Theocles frequently entered the room, and the golden-haired Eunice appeared behind the raised curtain several times; eventually, the cranes in the gardens started to call, announcing the arrival of daybreak, but Vinicius was still mentally embracing the feet of Christ, unaware of everything happening around him, with a heart transformed into a flame of gratitude and sacrifice, immersed in ecstasy, and though alive, he felt half taken up to heaven.
Chapter LXVII
PETRONIUS, after the liberation of Lygia, not wishing to irritate Cæsar, went to the Palatine with other Augustians. He wanted to hear what they were saying, and especially to learn if Tigellinus was devising something new to destroy Lygia. Both she and Ursus had passed under the protection of the people, it is true, and no one could place a hand on them without raising a riot; still Petronius, knowing the hatred toward him of the all-powerful pretorian prefect, considered that very likely Tigellinus, while unable to strike him directly, would strive to find some means of revenge against his nephew.
PETRONIUS, after Lygia was freed, didn’t want to upset Cæsar, so he went to the Palatine with other members of the Augustan elite. He wanted to hear what they were discussing and especially to find out if Tigellinus was planning something new to harm Lygia. It was true that both she and Ursus were under the protection of the people, and no one could touch them without causing a riot; however, Petronius, aware of the pretorian prefect's intense hatred for him, thought it very likely that Tigellinus, while unable to attack him directly, would still try to find some way to get back at his nephew.
Nero was angry and irritated, since the spectacle had ended quite differently from what he had planned. At first he did not wish even to look at Petronius; but the latter, without losing cool blood, approached him, with all the freedom of the “arbiter elegantiarum,” and said,—
Nero was furious and annoyed because the show ended very differently than he had intended. At first, he didn't even want to look at Petronius; but Petronius, staying calm, approached him with the confidence of the “arbiter elegantiarum,” and said,—
“Dost thou know, divinity, what occurs to me? Write a poem on the maiden who, at command of the lord of the world, was freed from the horns of the wild bull and given to her lover. The Greeks are sensitive, and I am sure that the poem will enchant them.”
“Do you know, divine one, what’s happening to me? Write a poem about the maiden who, at the command of the lord of the world, was rescued from the horns of the wild bull and given to her lover. The Greeks are sensitive, and I’m sure the poem will captivate them.”
This thought pleased Nero in spite of all his irritation, and it pleased him doubly, first, as a subject for a poem, and second, because in it he could glorify himself as the magnanimous lord of the earth; hence he looked for a time at Petronius, and then said,—
This thought made Nero happy despite his irritation, and it made him even happier, first, as inspiration for a poem, and second, because it allowed him to celebrate himself as the great ruler of the world; so he looked at Petronius for a moment, then said,—
“Yes! perhaps thou art right. But does it become me to celebrate my own goodness?”
“Yes! maybe you’re right. But is it appropriate for me to celebrate my own goodness?”
“There is no need to give names. In Rome all will know who is meant, and from Rome reports go through the whole world.”
“There’s no need to name names. In Rome, everyone will know who you're talking about, and from Rome, news spreads all over the world.”
“But art thou sure that this will please the people in Achæa?”
“But are you sure that this will please the people in Achaea?”
“By Poilux, it will!” said Petronius.
“By Poilux, it will!” said Petronius.
And he went away satisfied, for he felt certain that Nero, whose whole life was an arrangement of reality to literary plans, would not spoil the subject, and by this alone he would tie the hands of Tigellinus. This, however, did not change his plan of sending Vinicius out of Rome as soon as Lygia’s health should permit. So when he saw him next day, he said,—
And he walked away feeling good, confident that Nero, whose entire life revolved around fitting reality into his literary ambitions, wouldn’t ruin the story, and by doing this, he would restrict Tigellinus’s actions. However, this didn’t alter his intention to send Vinicius out of Rome as soon as Lygia was well enough. So when he saw him the next day, he said,—
“Take her to Sicily. As things have happened, on Cæsar’s part thou art threatened by nothing; but Tigellinus is ready to use even poison,—if not out of hatred to you both, out of hatred to me.”
“Take her to Sicily. Given the current situation, you have nothing to fear from Cæsar; however, Tigellinus is prepared to resort to poison—if not out of hatred for both of you, then out of hatred for me.”
Vinicius smiled at him, and said: “She was on the horns of the wild bull; still Christ saved her.”
Vinicius smiled at him and said, “She was caught in the thick of it; still, Christ saved her.”
“Then honor Him with a hecatomb,” replied Petronius, with an accent of impatience, “but do not beg Him to save her a second time. Dost remember how Eolus received Ulysses when he returned to ask a second time for favoring winds? Deities do not like to repeat themselves.”
“Then honor Him with a big sacrifice,” replied Petronius, sounding a bit impatient, “but don’t ask Him to save her again. Do you remember how Eolus treated Ulysses when he came back to ask for favorable winds a second time? Gods don’t like to be asked the same thing twice.”
“When her health returns, I will take her to Pomponia Græcina,” said Vinicius.
“When she gets better, I’ll take her to Pomponia Græcina,” Vinicius said.
“And thou wilt do that all the better since Pomponia is ill; Antistius, a relative of Aulus, told me so. Meanwhile things will happen here to make people forget thee, and in these times the forgotten are the happiest. May Fortune be thy sun in winter, and thy shade in summer.”
“And you’ll do that even better since Pomponia is sick; Antistius, a relative of Aulus, told me that. In the meantime, things will happen here that will make people forget you, and during these times, the forgotten are the happiest. May Fortune be your sunshine in winter and your shade in summer.”
Then he left Vinicius to his happiness, but went himself to inquire of Theocles touching the life and health of Lygia.
Then he left Vinicius to enjoy his happiness, but went himself to ask Theocles about Lygia's wellbeing and health.
Danger threatened her no longer. Emaciated as she was in the dungeon after prison fever, foul air and discomfort would have killed her; but now she had the most tender care, and not only plenty, but luxury. At command of Theocles they took her to the gardens of the villa after two days; in these gardens she remained for hours. Vinicius decked her litter with anemones, and especially with irises, to remind her of the atrium of the house of Aulus. More than once, hidden in the shade of spreading trees, they spoke of past sufferings and fears, each holding the other’s hand. Lygia said that Christ had conducted him through suffering purposely to change his soul and raise it to Himself. Vinicius felt that this was true, and that there was in him nothing of the former patrician, who knew no law but his own desire. In those memories there was nothing bitter, however. It seemed to both that whole years had gone over their heads, and that the dreadful past lay far behind. At the same time such a calmness possessed them as they had never known before. A new life of immense happiness had come and taken them into itself. In Rome Cæsar might rage and fill the world with terror—they felt above them a guardianship a hundred times mightier than his power, and had no further fear of his rage or his malice, just as if for them he had ceased to be the lord of life or death. Once, about sunset, the roar of lions and other beasts reached them from distant vivaria. Formerly those sounds filled Vinicius with fear because they were ominous; now he and Lygia merely looked at each other and raised their eyes to the evening twilight. At times Lygia, still very weak and unable to walk alone, fell asleep in the quiet of the garden; he watched over her, and, looking at her sleeping face, thought involuntarily that she was not that Lygia whom he had met at the house of Aulus. In fact, imprisonment and disease had to some extent quenched her beauty. When he saw her at the house of Aulus, and later, when he went to Miriam’s house to seize her, she was as wonderful as a statue and also as a flower; now her face had become almost transparent, her hands thin, her body reduced by disease, her lips pale, and even her eyes seemed less blue than formerly. The golden-haired Eunice who brought her flowers and rich stuffs to cover her feet was a divinity of Cyprus in comparison. Petronius tried in vain to find the former charms in her, and, shrugging his shoulders, thought that that shadow from Elysian fields was not worth those struggles, those pains, and those tortures which had almost sucked the life out of Vinicius. But Vinicius, in love now with her spirit, loved it all the more; and when he was watching over her while asleep, it seemed to him that he was watching over the whole world.
Danger no longer threatened her. Though she was gaunt from her time in the dungeon after the prison fever, the foul air and discomfort could have killed her; but now she was receiving the most tender care, and not just plenty, but luxury. At Theocles' command, they took her to the villa's gardens after two days; in those gardens, she stayed for hours. Vinicius adorned her litter with anemones, especially irises, to remind her of the atrium of Aulus's house. More than once, hidden in the shade of spreading trees, they talked about their past sufferings and fears, each holding the other’s hand. Lygia said that Christ had led him through suffering intentionally to transform his soul and draw it to Himself. Vinicius felt this was true, realizing that he no longer had anything of the former patrician who knew no law other than his own desire. Those memories held no bitterness, though. It seemed to both of them that years had passed them by, and the dreadful past lay far behind. At the same time, they felt a calmness they had never known before. A new life filled with immense happiness had enveloped them. In Rome, Cæsar might rage and instill terror in the world—but they felt a guardianship over them a hundred times stronger than his power, and they had no further fear of his wrath or malice, as if he had ceased to be the lord of life or death for them. Once, around sunset, the roar of lions and other beasts reached them from distant menageries. Those sounds used to frighten Vinicius because they were foreboding; now he and Lygia simply looked at each other and turned their eyes to the evening twilight. Sometimes Lygia, still very weak and unable to walk on her own, fell asleep in the garden's tranquility; he watched over her, and while gazing at her sleeping face, he couldn’t help but think that she was not the Lygia he had met at Aulus's house. In fact, imprisonment and illness had somewhat diminished her beauty. When he first saw her at Aulus's house, and later when he went to Miriam’s house to capture her, she was as magnificent as a statue and as lovely as a flower; now her face had grown almost translucent, her hands were thin, her body weakened by illness, her lips pale, and her eyes seemed less blue than before. The golden-haired Eunice who brought her flowers and fine fabrics to cover her feet seemed like a goddess from Cyprus in comparison. Petronius tried unsuccessfully to find her former charms, and, shrugging his shoulders, thought that this shadow from the Elysian fields wasn’t worth the struggles, pains, and tortures that had nearly drained the life out of Vinicius. But Vinicius, now in love with her spirit, cherished it even more; and while watching over her as she slept, it felt to him like he was watching over the entire world.
Chapter LXVIII
NEWS of the miraculous rescue of Lygia was circulated quickly among those scattered Christians who had escaped destruction. Confessors came to look at her to whom Christ’s favor had been shown clearly. First came Nazarius and Miriam, with whom Peter the Apostle was hiding thus far; after them came others. All, as well as Vinicius, Lygia, and the Christian slaves of Petronius, listened with attention to the narrative of Ursus about the voice which he had heard in his soul, and which commanded him to struggle with the wild bull. All went away consoled, hoping that Christ would not let His followers be exterminated on earth before His coming at the day of judgment. And hope sustained their hearts, for persecution had not ceased yet. Whoever was declared a Christian by public report was thrown into prison at once by the city watches. It is true that the victims were fewer, for the majority of confessors had been seized and tortured to death. The Christians who remained had either left Rome to wait out the storm in distant provinces, or had hidden most carefully, not daring to assemble in common prayer, unless in sand-pits outside the city. They were persecuted yet, however, and though the games were at an end, the newly arrested were reserved for future games or punished specially. Though it was believed in Rome no longer that Christians had caused the conflagration, they were declared enemies of humanity and the State, and the edict against them remained in former force.
News of the miraculous rescue of Lygia spread quickly among those Christians who had escaped destruction. Confessors came to see her, the one whom Christ’s favor had clearly been shown. First came Nazarius and Miriam, who had been hiding with Peter the Apostle; then others followed. All, including Vinicius, Lygia, and the Christian slaves of Petronius, listened attentively to Ursus’s account of the voice he heard in his soul, instructing him to fight the wild bull. Everyone left feeling comforted, with the hope that Christ would not let His followers be wiped out on earth before His return on the day of judgment. Their hope sustained them, even though persecution had not yet ended. Anyone identified as a Christian by public announcement was immediately thrown into prison by the city guards. True, the number of victims was fewer, as most confessors had been seized and tortured to death. The remaining Christians had either left Rome to weather the storm in distant provinces or were hiding very carefully, afraid to gather for common prayer except in sand-pits outside the city. They were still being persecuted; although the games had ended, the newly arrested were kept for future games or punished in other ways. Even though it was no longer believed in Rome that Christians had caused the fire, they were still labeled enemies of humanity and the State, and the edict against them remained unchanged.
The Apostle Peter did not venture for a long time to appear in the house of Petronius, but at last on a certain evening Nazarius announced his arrival. Lygia, who was able to walk alone now, and Vinicius ran out to meet him, and fell to embracing his feet. He greeted them with emotion all the greater that not many sheep in that flock over which Christ had given him authority, and over the fate of which his great heart was weeping, remained to him. So when Vinicius said, “Lord, because of thee the Redeemer returned her to me,” he answered: “He returned her because of thy faith, and so that not all the lips which profess His name should grow silent.” And evidently he was thinking then of those thousands of his children torn by wild beasts, of those crosses with which the arena had been filled, and those fiery pillars in the gardens of the “Beast”; for he spoke with great sadness. Vinicius and Lygia noticed also that his hair had grown entirely white, that his whole form was bent, and that in his face there was as much sadness and suffering as if he had passed through all those pains and torments which the victims of Nero’s rage and madness had endured. But both understood that since Christ had given Himself to torture and to death, no one was permitted to avoid it. Still their hearts were cut at sight of the Apostle, bent by years, toil, and pain. So Vinicius, who intended to take Lygia soon to Naples, where they would meet Pomponia and go to Sicily, implored him to leave Rome in their company.
The Apostle Peter didn't go to Petronius's house for a long time, but finally, one evening, Nazarius announced his arrival. Lygia, who could now walk on her own, and Vinicius ran out to meet him and embraced his feet. He greeted them with deep emotion, knowing that not many of the followers Christ had entrusted to him remained, and he felt great sorrow for their fate. When Vinicius said, “Lord, because of you the Redeemer brought her back to me,” he replied, “He brought her back because of your faith, so that not all who profess His name would be silenced.” He was clearly thinking of the thousands of his followers who had been torn apart by wild beasts, the crosses that had filled the arena, and the fiery pillars in the gardens of the “Beast,” as he spoke with great sadness. Vinicius and Lygia also noticed that his hair had turned completely white, his body was hunched, and his face showed as much sadness and suffering as if he had endured all the pain and torment suffered by the victims of Nero’s rage and madness. But they understood that since Christ had endured torture and death, no one could avoid it. Still, their hearts ached at the sight of the Apostle, worn down by years, labor, and pain. So Vinicius, who planned to take Lygia to Naples soon to meet Pomponia and go to Sicily, urged him to leave Rome with them.
But the Apostle placed his hand on the tribune’s head and answered,—
But the Apostle put his hand on the tribune’s head and replied,—
“In my soul I hear these words of the Lord, which He spoke to me on the Lake of Tiberias: ‘When thou wert young, thou didst gird thyself, and walk whither thou wouldst; but when thou shalt be old, thou shalt stretch forth thy hands, and another shall gird thee, and carry thee whither thou wouldst not.’ Therefore it is proper that I follow my flock.”
“In my soul, I hear these words of the Lord that He spoke to me on the Lake of Tiberias: ‘When you were young, you dressed yourself and went wherever you wanted; but when you are old, you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will dress you and take you where you don’t want to go.’ So it’s fitting that I take care of my flock.”
And when they were silent, not knowing the sense of his speech, he added,
And when they were quiet, unsure of what he meant, he said,
“My toil is nearing its end; I shall find entertainment and rest only in the house of the Lord.”
"My hard work is almost done; I'll find joy and peace only in the house of the Lord."
Then he turned to them saying: “Remember me, for I have loved you as a father loves his children; and whatever ye do in life, do it for the glory of God.”
Then he turned to them saying: “Remember me, for I have loved you as a father loves his children; and whatever you do in life, do it for the glory of God.”
Thus speaking, he raised his aged, trembling hands and blessed them; they nestled up to him, feeling that to be the last blessing, perhaps, which they should receive from him.
Thus speaking, he lifted his old, shaking hands and blessed them; they leaned into him, sensing that this might be the last blessing they would ever receive from him.
It was destined them, however, to see him once more. A few days later Petronius brought terrible news from the Palatine. It had been discovered there that one of Cæsar’s freedmen was a Christian; and on this man were found letters of the Apostles Peter and Paul, with letters of James, John, and Judas. Peter’s presence in Rome was known formerly to Tigellinus, but he thought that the Apostle had perished with thousands of other confessors. Now it transpired that the two leaders of the new faith were alive and in the capital. It was determined, therefore, to seize them at all costs, for it was hoped that with their death the last root of the hated sect would be plucked out. Petronius heard from Vestinius that Cæsar himself had issued an order to put Peter and Paul in the Mamertine prison within three days, and that whole detachments of pretorians had been sent to search every house in the Trans-Tiber.
It was meant for them to see him one more time. A few days later, Petronius brought awful news from the Palatine. It had been discovered there that one of Cæsar’s freedmen was a Christian, and on him were found letters from the Apostles Peter and Paul, along with letters from James, John, and Judas. Peter’s presence in Rome had previously been known to Tigellinus, but he thought that the Apostle had died along with thousands of other martyrs. Now it turned out that the two leaders of the new faith were alive and in the capital. As a result, it was decided to capture them at all costs, as it was hoped that their deaths would eliminate the last remnants of the despised sect. Petronius learned from Vestinius that Cæsar himself had ordered the detention of Peter and Paul in the Mamertine prison within three days, and that entire groups of praetorians had been sent to search every house across the Tiber.
When he heard this, Vinicius resolved to warn the Apostle. In the evening he and Ursus put on Gallic mantles and went to the house of Miriam, where Peter was living. The house was at the very edge of the Trans-Tiber division of the city, at the foot of the Janiculum. On the road they saw houses surrounded by soldiers, who were guided by certain unknown persons. This division of the city was alarmed, and in places crowds of curious people had assembled. Here and there centurions interrogated prisoners touching Simon Peter and Paul of Tarsus.
When he heard this, Vinicius decided to warn the Apostle. That evening, he and Ursus put on Gallic cloaks and went to Miriam's house, where Peter was staying. The house was on the edge of the Trans-Tiber part of the city, at the base of the Janiculum. On their way, they saw houses surrounded by soldiers, who were being led by some unknown individuals. This part of the city was on high alert, and in some places, crowds of curious people had gathered. Here and there, centurions questioned prisoners about Simon Peter and Paul of Tarsus.
Ursus and Vinicius were in advance of the soldiers, and went safely to Miriam’s house, in which they found Peter surrounded by a handful of the faithful. Timothy, Paul’s assistant, and Linus were at the side of the Apostle.
Ursus and Vinicius were ahead of the soldiers and made it safely to Miriam’s house, where they found Peter surrounded by a small group of supporters. Timothy, Paul’s assistant, and Linus were by the Apostle’s side.
At news of the approaching danger, Nazarius led all by a hidden passage to the garden gate, and then to deserted stone quarries, a few hundred yards distant from the Janiculum Gate. Ursus had to carry Linus, whose bones, broken by torture, had not grown together yet. But once in the quarry, they felt safe; and by the light of a torch ignited by Nazarius they began to consult, in a low voice, how to save the life of the Apostle who was so dear to them.
At news of the impending danger, Nazarius guided everyone through a secret passage to the garden gate, and then to abandoned stone quarries, a few hundred yards away from the Janiculum Gate. Ursus had to carry Linus, whose bones, broken from torture, had not healed yet. But once they reached the quarry, they felt safe; and by the light of a torch ignited by Nazarius, they started quietly discussing how to save the life of the Apostle who was so dear to them.
“Lord,” said Vinicius, “let Nazarius guide thee at daybreak to the Alban Hills. There I will find thee, and we will take thee to Antium, where a ship is ready to take us to Naples and Sicily. Blessed will the day and the hour be in which thou shalt enter my house, and thou wilt bless my hearth.”
“Lord,” said Vinicius, “let Nazarius lead you at daybreak to the Alban Hills. There, I will meet you, and we will take you to Antium, where a ship is ready to take us to Naples and Sicily. Blessed will be the day and the hour when you enter my home, and you will bless my hearth.”
The others heard this with delight, and pressed the Apostle, saying,
The others heard this with joy and urged the Apostle, saying,
“Hide thyself, sacred leader; remain not in Rome. Preserve the living truth, so that it perish not with us and thee. Hear us, who entreat thee as a father.”
“Stay safe, revered leader; don’t stay in Rome. Protect the living truth, so it doesn’t die with us and you. Listen to us, who plead with you like a father.”
“Do this in Christ’s name!” cried others, grasping at his robes.
“Do this in Christ’s name!” shouted others, reaching for his robes.
“My children,” answered Peter, “who knows the time when the Lord will mark the end of his life?”
“My children,” replied Peter, “who knows when the Lord will determine the end of his life?”
But he did not say that he would not leave Rome, and he hesitated what to do; for uncertainty, and even fear, had been creeping into his soul for some time. His flock was scattered; the work was wrecked; that church, which before the burning of the city had been flourishing like a splendid tree, was turned into dust by the power of the “Beast.” Nothing remained save tears, nothing save memories of torture and death. The sowing had yielded rich fruit, but Satan had trampled it into the earth. Legions of angels had not come to aid the perishing,—and Nero was extending in glory over the earth, terrible, mightier than ever, the lord of all seas and all lands. More than once had that fisherman of the Lord stretched his hands heavenward in loneliness and asked: “Lord, what must I do? How must I act? And how am I, a feeble old man, to fight with this invincible power of Evil, which Thou hart permitted to rule, and have victory?”
But he didn’t say he wouldn’t leave Rome, and he was uncertain about what to do; uncertainty, and even fear, had been creeping into his heart for a while. His followers were scattered; the mission was shattered; that church, which had been thriving like a magnificent tree before the city burned, was now reduced to dust by the power of the “Beast.” All that was left were tears, all that remained were memories of torture and death. The planting had produced a bountiful harvest, but Satan had stomped it into the ground. Legions of angels had not come to help the dying—and Nero was rising in glory over the earth, more terrible and powerful than ever, the ruler of all seas and lands. More than once, that fisherman of the Lord had raised his hands to heaven in solitude and asked, “Lord, what should I do? How should I act? And how, as a weak old man, can I confront this unstoppable force of Evil, which You have allowed to reign and triumph?”
And he called out thus in the depth of his immense pain, repeating in spirit: “Those sheep which Thou didst command me to feed are no more, Thy church is no more; loneliness and mourning are in Thy capital; what dost Thou command me to do now? Am I to stay here, or lead forth the remnant of the flock to glorify Thy name in secret somewhere beyond the sea?”
And he cried out in the depth of his immense pain, repeating in his spirit: “The sheep that You asked me to tend are gone, Your church is gone; loneliness and mourning fill Your city; what do You want me to do now? Should I stay here, or take the remaining flock to honor Your name in private somewhere across the sea?”
And he hesitated, He believed that the living truth would not perish, that it must conquer; but at moments he thought that the hour had not come yet, that it would come only when the Lord should descend to the earth in the day of judgment in glory and power a hundred times greater than the might of Nero.
And he hesitated. He believed that the living truth wouldn’t die, that it had to prevail; but at times he thought that the moment hadn’t arrived yet, that it would only come when the Lord descends to earth on Judgment Day in glory and power a hundred times greater than Nero's might.
Frequently it seemed to him that if he left Rome, the faithful would follow; that he would lead them then far away to the shady groves of Galilee, to the quiet surface of the Lake of Tiberias, to shepherds as peaceful as doves, or as sheep, who feed there among thyme and pepperwort. And an increasing desire for peace and rest, an increasing yearning for the lake and Galilee, seized the heart of the fisherman; tears came more frequently to the old man’s eyes.
Frequently, it felt to him that if he left Rome, the followers would come after him; that he would lead them far away to the shady groves of Galilee, to the calm surface of the Lake of Tiberias, to shepherds as peaceful as doves or sheep, feeding among thyme and pepperwort. An increasing desire for peace and rest, a growing longing for the lake and Galilee, took hold of the heart of the fisherman; tears came more often to the old man’s eyes.
But at the moment when he made the choice, sudden alarm and fear came on him. How was he to leave that city, in which so much martyrs’ blood had sunk into the earth, and where so many lips had given the true testimony of the dying? Was he alone to yield? And what would he answer the Lord on hearing the words, “These have died for the faith, but thou didst flee”?
But at the moment he made his choice, he was suddenly filled with alarm and fear. How could he leave that city, where so much blood of martyrs had soaked into the ground, and where so many voices had given the true testimony of the dying? Was he really the only one to give up? And what would he say to the Lord when hearing the words, “These have died for the faith, but you ran away”?
Nights and days passed for him in anxiety and suffering. Others, who had been torn by lions, who had been fastened to crosses, who had been burnt in the gardens of Cæsar, had fallen asleep in the Lord after moments of torture; but he could not sleep, and he felt greater tortures than any of those invented by executioners for victims. Often was the dawn whitening the roofs of houses while he was still crying from the depth of his mourning heart: “Lord, why didst Thou command me to come hither and found Thy capital in the den of the ‘Beast’?”
Nights and days went by for him in anxiety and pain. Others, who had been torn apart by lions, nailed to crosses, or burned in Caesar's gardens, had found peace in the Lord after moments of suffering; but he couldn’t sleep and felt deeper agony than any created by executioners for their victims. Often the dawn would light up the rooftops while he was still crying from the depths of his grieving heart: “Lord, why did You ask me to come here and establish Your capital in the lair of the ‘Beast’?”
For thirty-three years after the death of his Master he knew no rest. Staff in hand, he had gone through the world and declared the “good tidings.” His strength had been exhausted in journeys and toil, till at last, when in that city, which was the head of the world, he had established the work of his Master, one bloody breath of wrath had burned it, and he saw that there was need to take up the struggle anew. And what a struggle! On one side Cæsar, the Senate, the people, the legions holding the world with a circle of iron, countless cities, countless lands,—power such as the eye of man had not seen; on the other side he, so bent with age and toil that his trembling hand was hardly able to carry his staff.
For thirty-three years after his Master died, he found no peace. With his staff in hand, he traveled the world sharing the “good news.” His strength had been worn out by journeys and hard work, and finally, in the city that was the center of the world, he had built upon his Master’s work, only for one furious breath of wrath to destroy it. He realized he needed to start the fight again. And what a fight it was! On one side stood Caesar, the Senate, the people, the legions controlling the world with an iron grip, countless cities, countless lands—power such as no human eye had ever witnessed; on the other side was him, so worn from age and toil that his shaking hand could barely hold his staff.
At times, therefore, he said to himself that it was not for him to measure with the Cæsar of Rome,—that Christ alone could do that.
At times, he told himself that it wasn't his place to equate himself with the Caesar of Rome—that only Christ could do that.
All these thoughts were passing through his care-filled head, when he heard the prayers of the last handful of the faithful. They, surrounding him in an ever narrowing circle, repeated with voices of entreaty,—
All these thoughts were running through his worried mind when he heard the prayers of the last few faithful. They surrounded him in an ever-shrinking circle, pleading with voices of desperation,—
“Hide thyself, Rabbi, and lead us away from the power of the ‘Beast.’”
“Get out of sight, Rabbi, and help us escape from the power of the 'Beast.'”
Finally Linus also bowed his tortured head before him.
Finally, Linus also lowered his troubled head before him.
“O lord,” said he, “the Redeemer commanded thee to feed His sheep, but they are here no longer or to-morrow they will not be here; go, therefore, where thou mayst find them yet. The word of God is living still in Jerusalem, in Antioch, in Ephesus, and in other cities. What wilt thou do by remaining in Rome? If thou fall, thou wilt merely swell the triumph of the ‘Beast.’ The Lord has not designated the limit of John’s life; Paul is a Roman citizen, they cannot condemn him without trial; but if the power of hell rise up against thee, O teacher, those whose hearts are dejected will ask, ‘Who is above Nero?’ Thou art the rock on which the church of God is founded. Let us die, but permit not the victory of Antichrist over the viceregent of God, and return not hither till the Lord has crushed him who shed innocent blood.”
“O Lord,” he said, “the Redeemer told you to feed His sheep, but they are no longer here or they won’t be here tomorrow; so go where you can still find them. The word of God is still alive in Jerusalem, Antioch, Ephesus, and other cities. What will you accomplish by staying in Rome? If you fall, you’ll just add to the triumph of the ‘Beast.’ The Lord hasn’t set a limit on John’s life; Paul is a Roman citizen, and they can’t condemn him without a trial. But if the forces of hell come against you, O teacher, those whose hearts are heavy will ask, ‘Who is above Nero?’ You are the rock on which the church of God is built. Let us die, but don’t let the victory of Antichrist come over the representative of God, and don’t return here until the Lord has defeated him who shed innocent blood.”
“Look at our tears!” repeated all who were present.
“Look at our tears!” everyone present echoed.
Tears flowed over Peter’s face too. After a while he rose, and, stretching his hands over the kneeling figures, said,—
Tears flowed down Peter's face too. After a bit, he got up and, raising his hands over the kneeling people, said,—
“May the name of the Lord be magnified, and may His will be done!”
“May the name of the Lord be lifted high, and may His will be accomplished!”
Chapter LXIX
About dawn of the following day two dark figures were moving along the Appian Way toward the Campania.
About dawn the next day, two dark figures were making their way along the Appian Way toward Campania.
One of them was Nazarius; the other the Apostle Peter, who was leaving Rome and his martyred co-religionists.
One of them was Nazarius; the other was the Apostle Peter, who was leaving Rome and his fellow martyrs.
The sky in the east was assuming a light tinge of green, bordered gradually and more distinctly on the lower edge with saffron color. Silver-leafed trees, the white marble of villas, and the arches of aqueducts, stretching through the plain toward the city, were emerging from shade. The greenness of the sky was clearing gradually, and becoming permeated with gold. Then the east began to grow rosy and illuminate the Alban Hills, which seemed marvellously beautiful, lily-colored, as if formed of rays of light alone.
The sky in the east was taking on a light green hue, gradually and more clearly bordered at the bottom with saffron. Silver-leafed trees, the white marble of villas, and the arches of aqueducts stretching across the plain toward the city were coming out of the shadows. The green in the sky was slowly clearing and becoming infused with gold. Then the east began to turn rosy, lighting up the Alban Hills, which appeared incredibly beautiful, a lily color, as if made entirely of beams of light.
The light was reflected in trembling leaves of trees, in the dew-drops. The haze grew thinner, opening wider and wider views on the plain, on the houses dotting it, on the cemeteries, on the towns, and on groups of trees, among which stood white columns of temples.
The light reflected off the trembling leaves of the trees and the dew drops. The haze became lighter, revealing broader views of the plain, the houses scattered across it, the cemeteries, the towns, and clusters of trees, among which stood the white columns of temples.
The road was empty. The villagers who took vegetables to the city had not succeeded yet, evidently, in harnessing beasts to their vehicles. From the stone blocks with which the road was paved as far as the mountains, there came a low sound from the bark shoes on the feet of the two travellers.
The road was empty. The villagers who took vegetables to the city hadn’t managed yet, apparently, to train animals to pull their carts. From the stone blocks that paved the road all the way to the mountains, a low sound came from the bark shoes on the feet of the two travelers.
Then the sun appeared over the line of hills; but at once a wonderful vision struck the Apostle’s eyes. It seemed to him that the golden circle, instead of rising in the sky, moved down from the heights and was advancing on the road. Peter stopped, and asked,—
Then the sun came up over the hills; but suddenly a stunning vision caught the Apostle’s eye. It looked to him like the golden circle, instead of rising into the sky, was coming down from the heights and moving along the road. Peter paused and asked,—
“Seest thou that brightness approaching us?”
“Do you see that brightness coming towards us?”
“I see nothing,” replied Nazarius.
“I see nothing,” said Nazarius.
But Peter shaded his eyes with his hand, and said after a while,
But Peter shielded his eyes with his hand and said after a moment,
“Some figure is coming in the gleam of the sun.” But not the slightest sound of steps reached their ears. It was perfectly still all around. Nazarius saw only that the trees were quivering in the distance, as if some one were shaking them, and the light was spreading more broadly over the plain. He looked with wonder at the Apostle.
“Someone is approaching in the sunlight.” But not a single sound of footsteps reached their ears. It was completely quiet all around. Nazarius could only see that the trees were trembling in the distance, as if someone were shaking them, and the light was spreading wider across the plain. He looked at the Apostle with amazement.
“Rabbi! what ails thee?” cried he, with alarm.
“Rabbi! What’s wrong?” he exclaimed, worried.
The pilgrim’s staff fell from Peter’s hands to the earth; his eyes were looking forward, motionless; his mouth was open; on his face were depicted astonishment, delight, rapture.
The pilgrim's staff dropped from Peter's hands to the ground; his eyes were fixed ahead, unmoving; his mouth was open; his face showed a mix of astonishment, delight, and rapture.
Then he threw himself on his knees, his arms stretched forward; and this cry left his lips,—
Then he dropped to his knees, arms stretched out in front of him, and this cry escaped his lips—
“O Christ! O Christ!”
“O Jesus! O Jesus!”
He fell with his face to the earth, as if kissing some one’s feet.
He fell to the ground, as if kissing someone's feet.
The silence continued long; then were heard the words of the aged man, broken by sobs,—
The silence went on for a long time; then the words of the old man were heard, interrupted by his sobs—
“Quo vadis, Domine?”
"Where are you going, Lord?"
Nazarius did not hear the answer; but to Peter’s ears came a sad and sweet voice, which said,—
Nazarius didn't hear the answer; but to Peter’s ears came a sad and sweet voice, which said,—
“If thou desert my people, I am going to Rome to be crucified a second time.”
“If you abandon my people, I’m going to Rome to be crucified a second time.”
The Apostle lay on the ground, his face in the dust, without motion or speech. It seemed to Nazarius that he had fainted or was dead; but he rose at last, seized the staff with trembling hands, and turned without a word toward the seven hills of the city.
The Apostle lay on the ground, his face in the dust, completely still and silent. Nazarius thought he might have fainted or even died; but finally, he got up, grabbed the staff with shaky hands, and without saying a word, headed toward the seven hills of the city.
The boy, seeing this, repeated as an echo,—
The boy, seeing this, echoed back,—
“Quo vadis, Domine?”
"Where are you going, Lord?"
“To Rome,” said the Apostle, in a low voice.
“To Rome,” said the Apostle quietly.
And he returned.
And he came back.
Paul, John, Linus, and all the faithful received him with amazement; and the alarm was the greater, since at daybreak, just after his departure, pretorians had surrounded Miriam’s house and searched it for the Apostle. But to every question he answered only with delight and peace,—
Paul, John, Linus, and all the faithful welcomed him with astonishment; and the concern was even greater, since at dawn, right after he left, soldiers had surrounded Miriam’s house and searched it for the Apostle. But to every question, he responded only with joy and calm,—
“I have seen the Lord!”
"I've seen the Lord!"
And that same evening he went to the Ostian cemetery to teach and baptize those who wished to bathe in the water of life.
And that same evening, he went to the Ostian cemetery to teach and baptize those who wanted to immerse themselves in the water of life.
And thenceforward he went there daily, and after him went increasing numbers. It seemed that out of every tear of a martyr new confessors were born, and that every groan on the arena found an echo in thousands of breasts. Cæsar was swimming in blood, Rome and the whole pagan world was mad. But those who had had enough of transgression and madness, those who were trampled upon, those whose lives were misery and oppression, all the weighed down, all the sad, all the unfortunate, came to hear the wonderful tidings of God, who out of love for men had given Himself to be crucified and redeem their sins.
And from then on, he went there every day, and more people followed him. It seemed like with every tear shed by a martyr, new confessors emerged, and every groan in the arena resonated in thousands of hearts. Caesar was drowning in blood, Rome and the entire pagan world were losing their minds. But those who were tired of sin and madness, those who were oppressed, those whose lives were filled with misery, all the downtrodden, all the sorrowful, all the unfortunate, came to hear the incredible news of God, who out of love for humanity had given Himself to be crucified and redeem their sins.
When they found a God whom they could love, they had found that which the society of the time could not give any one,—happiness and love.
When they discovered a God they could love, they found something that society at the time couldn't offer anyone—happiness and love.
And Peter understood that neither Cæsar nor all his legions could overcome the living truth,—that they could not overwhelm it with tears or blood, and that now its victory was beginning. He understood with equal force why the Lord had turned him back on the road. That city of pride, crime, wickedness, and power was beginning to be His city, and the double capital, from which would flow out upon the world government of souls and bodies.
And Peter realized that neither Caesar nor all his legions could defeat the living truth—that they couldn’t drown it with tears or blood, and that its victory was just beginning. He grasped just as clearly why the Lord had redirected him on the road. That city of pride, crime, wickedness, and power was starting to become His city, and the dual capital from which would flow the governance of souls and bodies to the world.
Chapter LXX
AT last the hour was accomplished for both Apostles. But, as if to complete his service, it was given to the fisherman of the Lord to win two souls even in confinement. The soldiers, Processus and Martinianus, who guarded him in the Mamertine prison, received baptism. Then came the hour of torture. Nero was not in Rome at that time. Sentence was passed by Helius and Polythetes, two freedmen to whom Cæsar had confided the government of Rome during his absence.
At last, the time had come for both Apostles. But, as if to wrap up his mission, the Lord's fisherman managed to win two souls even while imprisoned. The soldiers, Processus and Martinianus, who were guarding him in the Mamertine prison, were baptized. Then came the time for torture. Nero was not in Rome at that moment. The sentence was handed down by Helius and Polythetes, two freedmen to whom Caesar had entrusted the governance of Rome during his absence.
On the aged Apostle had been inflicted the stripes prescribed by law; and next day he was led forth beyond the walls of the city, toward the Vatican Hill, where he was to suffer the punishment of the cross assigned to him. Soldiers were astonished by the crowd which had gathered before the prison, for in their minds the death of a common man, and besides a foreigner, should not rouse such interest; they did not understand that that retinue was composed not of sightseers, but confessors, anxious to escort the great Apostle to the place of execution. In the afternoon the gates of the prison were thrown open at last, and Peter appeared in the midst of a detachment of pretorians. The sun had inclined somewhat toward Ostia already; the day was clear and calm. Because of his advanced age, Peter was not required to carry the cross; it was supposed that he could not carry it; they had not put the fork on his neck, either, so as not to retard his pace. He walked without hindrance, and the faithful could see him perfectly.
The old Apostle had suffered the legal punishment, and the next day he was brought outside the city walls towards Vatican Hill, where he would face the cross as his punishment. The soldiers were surprised by the crowd gathered outside the prison, thinking that the death of an ordinary man, especially a foreigner, shouldn't attract such attention; they didn’t realize that this crowd was not there as onlookers but as supporters, eager to accompany the great Apostle to his execution site. In the afternoon, the prison gates finally opened, and Peter emerged surrounded by a group of soldiers. The sun was already leaning towards Ostia, and the day was bright and calm. Because of his old age, Peter wasn’t required to carry the cross; they assumed he wouldn’t be able to manage it, and they also didn’t place the fork around his neck to avoid slowing him down. He walked freely, and the faithful could see him clearly.
At moments when his white head showed itself among the iron helmets of the soldiers, weeping was heard in the crowd; but it was restrained immediately, for the face of the old man had in it so much calmness, and was so bright with joy, that all understood him to be not a victim going to destruction, but a victor celebrating his triumph.
At times when his white hair appeared among the soldiers' metal helmets, people in the crowd began to cry; but the tears were quickly held back, for the old man's face was so calm and radiated such joy that everyone saw him not as a victim heading for defeat, but as a winner celebrating his success.
And thus it was really. The fisherman, usually humble and stooping, walked now erect, taller than the soldiers, full of dignity. Never had men seen such majesty in his bearing. It might have seemed that he was a monarch attended by people and military. From every side voices were raised,—
And that's how it truly was. The fisherman, who was usually humble and bent over, now walked upright, taller than the soldiers, full of dignity. Men had never seen such majesty in his posture. It might have seemed like he was a king surrounded by supporters and troops. Voices were raised from all around,—
“There is Peter going to the Lord!”
“There goes Peter to the Lord!”
All forgot, as it were, that torture and death were waiting for him. He walked with solemn attention, but with calmness, feeling that since the death on Golgotha nothing equally important had happened, and that as the first death had redeemed the whole world, this was to redeem the city.
All seemed to forget that torture and death were waiting for him. He walked with serious focus, but remained calm, feeling that since the death on Golgotha, nothing as significant had occurred, and that while the first death had redeemed the whole world, this one was meant to redeem the city.
Along the road people halted from wonder at sight of that old man; but believers, laying hands on their shoulders, said with calm voices,—
Along the road, people stopped in awe at the sight of that old man; but believers, placing their hands on their shoulders, spoke in calm voices,—
“See how a just man goes to death,—one who knew Christ and proclaimed love to the world.”
“Look at how a righteous man faces death—someone who knew Christ and shared love with the world.”
These became thoughtful, and walked away, saying to themselves, “He cannot, indeed, be unjust!”
They became thoughtful and walked away, saying to themselves, “He can’t really be unfair!”
Along the road noise was hushed, and the cries of the street. The retinue moved on before houses newly reared, before white columns of temples, over whose summits hung the deep sky, calm and blue. They went in quiet; only at times the weapons of the soldiers clattered, or the murmur of prayer rose. Peter heard the last, and his face grew bright with increasing joy, for his glance could hardly take in those thousands of confessors. He felt that he had done his work, and he knew now that that truth which he had been declaring all his life would overwhelm everything, like a sea, and that nothing would have power to restrain it. And thus thinking, he raised his eyes, and said: “O Lord, Thou didst command me to conquer this world-ruling city; hence I have conquered it. Thou hast commanded me to found here Thy capital; hence I have founded it. This is Thy city now, O Lord, and I go to Thee, for I have toiled greatly.”
Along the road, the noise was muted, and the cries from the street quieted down. The group moved past newly built houses, in front of white columns of temples, under the vast sky, calm and blue. They entered quietly; only occasionally did the soldiers' weapons clatter, or the sound of prayer drift up. Peter heard the latter, and his face lit up with growing joy, as he struggled to take in the sight of thousands of believers. He felt that he had fulfilled his purpose, and he now knew that the truth he had been proclaiming all his life would sweep over everything like a tide, unstoppable. With this thought, he lifted his eyes and said: “O Lord, You commanded me to conquer this world-ruling city; therefore, I have conquered it. You instructed me to establish Your capital here; therefore, I have done so. This is now Your city, O Lord, and I am coming to You, for I have labored greatly.”
As he passed before temples, he said to them, “Ye will be temples of Christ.” Looking at throngs of people moving before his eyes, he said to them, “Your children will be servants of Christ”; and he advanced with the feeling that he had conquered, conscious of his service, conscious of his strength, solaced,—great. The soldiers conducted him over the Pons Triumphalis, as if giving involuntary testimony to his triumph, and they led him farther toward the Naumachia and the Circus. The faithful from beyond the Tiber joined the procession; and such a throng of people was formed that the centurion commanding the pretonians understood at last that he was leading a high-priest surrounded by believers, and grew alarmed because of the small number of soldiers. But no cry of indignation or rage was given out in the throng. Men’s faces were penetrated with the greatness of the moment, solemn and full of expectation. Some believers, remembering that when the Lord died the earth opened from fright and the dead rose from their graves, thought that now some evident signs would appear, after which the death of the Apostle would not be forgotten for ages. Others said to themselves, “Perhaps the Lord will select the hour of Peter’s death to come from heaven as He promised, and judge the world.” With this idea they recommended themselves to the mercy of the Redeemer.
As he walked past the temples, he said to them, “You will be temples of Christ.” Looking at the crowds moving in front of him, he said, “Your children will be servants of Christ”; and he moved forward feeling triumphant, aware of his service, aware of his strength, comforted,—great. The soldiers escorted him over the Pons Triumphalis, as if unintentionally acknowledging his triumph, and they led him further toward the Naumachia and the Circus. The faithful from beyond the Tiber joined the procession; and the crowd grew so large that the centurion in charge of the Praetorians finally realized he was leading a high priest surrounded by believers, and became concerned about the small number of soldiers. But there was no cry of indignation or anger from the crowd. The faces of the men were filled with the significance of the moment, serious and full of anticipation. Some believers, recalling that when the Lord died the earth shook in fear and the dead rose from their graves, thought that now some visible signs would emerge, after which the death of the Apostle would be remembered for ages. Others considered, “Maybe the Lord will choose the moment of Peter's death to come from heaven as He promised, and judge the world.” With this thought, they entrusted themselves to the mercy of the Redeemer.
But round about there was calm. The hills seemed to be warming themselves, and resting in the sun. The procession stopped at last between the Circus and the Vatican Hill. Soldiers began now to dig a hole; others placed on the ground the cross, hammers, and nails, waiting till all preparations were finished. The crowd, continuing quiet and attentive, knelt round about.
But around there was calm. The hills seemed to be soaking up the sun and resting. The procession finally stopped between the Circus and Vatican Hill. Soldiers started to dig a hole; others laid the cross, hammers, and nails on the ground, waiting for all the preparations to be done. The crowd, still quiet and focused, knelt around.
The Apostle, with his head in the sun-rays and golden light, turned for the last time toward the city. At a distance lower down was seen the gleaming Tiber; beyond was the Campus Martius; higher up, the Mausoleum of Augustus; below that, the gigantic baths just begun by Nero; still lower, Pompey’s theatre; and beyond them were visible in places, and in places hidden by other buildings, the Septa Julia, a multitude of porticos, temples, columns, great edifices; and, finally, far in the distance, hills covered with houses, a gigantic resort of people, the borders of which vanished in the blue haze,—an abode of crime, but of power; of madness, but of order,—which had become the head of the world, its oppressor, but its law and its peace, almighty, invincible, eternal.
The Apostle, with his head in the sunlight and golden glow, looked back at the city one last time. Below him, the shining Tiber flowed; beyond that was the Campus Martius; higher up, he could see the Mausoleum of Augustus; further down were the massive baths just initiated by Nero; even lower, Pompey’s theater; and beyond them, scattered in places and hidden in others by various buildings, lay the Septa Julia, a multitude of porticos, temples, columns, grand structures; and finally, far in the distance, hills dotted with houses, a vast gathering place for people, whose edges faded into the blue haze—a home of crime but also of power; of chaos, yet organized—this had become the center of the world, its oppressor but also its law and peace, all-powerful, unbeatable, everlasting.
But Peter, surrounded by soldiers, looked at the city as a ruler and king looks at his inheritance. And he said to it, “Thou art redeemed and mine!” And no one, not merely among the soldiers digging the hole in which to plant the cross, but even among believers, could divine that standing there among them was the true ruler of that moving life; that Cæsars would pass away, waves of barbarians go by, and ages vanish, but that old man would be lord there unbrokenly.
But Peter, surrounded by soldiers, looked at the city like a ruler looks at his kingdom. And he said to it, “You are redeemed and mine!” And no one, not just the soldiers digging the hole to plant the cross, but even the believers, could realize that standing there among them was the true ruler of that living city; that Caesars would come and go, waves of barbarians would pass, and ages would fade away, but that old man would remain the lord there forever.
The sun had sunk still more toward Ostia, and had become large and red. The whole western side of the sky had begun to glow with immense brightness. The soldiers approached Peter to strip him.
The sun had dropped even lower toward Ostia and had turned big and red. The entire western side of the sky had started to shine with intense brightness. The soldiers came closer to Peter to take off his clothes.
But he, while praying, straightened himself all at once, and stretched his right hand high. The executioners stopped, as if made timid by his posture; the faithful held the breath in their breasts, thinking that he wished to say something, and silence unbroken followed.
But he, while praying, suddenly straightened up and raised his right hand high. The executioners stopped, as if intimidated by his stance; the faithful held their breath, thinking he wanted to say something, and an unbroken silence followed.
But he, standing on the height, with his extended right hand made the sign of the cross, blessing in the hour of death,—
But he, standing on the hilltop, extended his right hand to make the sign of the cross, blessing in the moment of death,—
Urbi et orbi! (the city and the world).
Urbi et orbi! (the city and the world).
In that same wonderful evening another detachment of soldiers conducted along the Ostian Way Paul of Tarsus toward a place called Aquæ Salviæ. And behind him also advanced a crowd of the faithful whom he had converted; but when he recognized near acquaintances, he halted and conversed with them, for, being a Roman citizen, the guard showed more respect to him. Beyond the gate called Tergemina he met Plautilla, the daughter of the prefect Flavius Sabinus, and, seeing her youthful face covered with tears, he said: “Plautilla, daughter of Eternal Salvation, depart in peace. Only give me a veil with which to bind my eyes when I am going to the Lord.” And taking it, he advanced with a face as full of delight as that of a laborer who when he has toiled the whole day successfully is returning home. His thoughts, like those of Peter, were as calm and quiet as that evening sky. His eyes gazed with thoughtfulness upon the plain which stretched out before him, and to the Alban Hills, immersed in light. He remembered his journeys, his toils, his labor, the struggles in which he had conquered, the churches which he had founded in all lands and beyond all seas; and he thought that he had earned his rest honestly, that he had finished his work. He felt now that the seed which he had planted would not be blown away by the wind of malice. He was leaving this life with the certainty that in the battle which his truth had declared against the world it would conquer; and a mighty peace settled down on his soul.
On that lovely evening, another group of soldiers was escorting Paul of Tarsus along the Ostian Way to a place called Aquæ Salviæ. Behind him, there was also a crowd of believers he had converted. When he spotted some familiar faces, he stopped to talk with them, as the guards showed him more respect since he was a Roman citizen. Beyond the gate called Tergemina, he encountered Plautilla, the daughter of the prefect Flavius Sabinus. Seeing her youthful face full of tears, he said, “Plautilla, daughter of Eternal Salvation, go in peace. Just give me a veil to cover my eyes when I go to the Lord.” He took it and moved forward with a face that shone with joy, like a worker heading home after a successful day. His thoughts, like Peter’s, were calm and still, just like the evening sky. He gazed thoughtfully at the plain stretching out before him and the Alban Hills bathed in light. He remembered his travels, his hard work, the struggles he had overcome, and the churches he had established in distant lands and across seas. He felt he had earned his rest fairly and that he had completed his mission. He was confident that the seeds he had sown wouldn’t be swept away by the winds of malice. He was leaving this life assured that the truth he championed would prevail against the world, and a profound peace settled over his soul.
The road to the place of execution was long, and evening was coming. The mountains became purple, and the bases of them went gradually into the shade. Flocks were returning home. Here and there groups of slaves were walking with the tools of labor on their shoulders. Children, playing on the road before houses, looked with curiosity at the passing soldiers. But in that evening, in that transparent golden air, there were not only peace and lovingness, but a certain harmony, which seemed to lift from earth to heaven. Paul felt this; and his heart was filled with delight at the thought that to that harmony of the world he had added one note which had not been in it hitherto, but without which the whole earth was like sounding brass or a tinkling cymbal.
The road to the execution site was long, and evening was approaching. The mountains turned purple, gradually fading into the shadows. Flocks of sheep were heading home. Here and there, groups of slaves walked with their tools on their shoulders. Children playing on the road in front of their houses looked curiously at the passing soldiers. But that evening, in the clear golden air, there was not just peace and warmth, but a certain harmony that seemed to rise from the earth to the sky. Paul felt this and was filled with joy at the thought that he had contributed one note to that harmony of the world, a note that had been missing until now, without which the whole earth felt like nothing more than clanging brass or a crashing cymbal.
He remembered how he had taught people love,—how he had told them that though they were to give their property to the poor, though they knew all languages, all secrets, and all sciences, they would be nothing without love, which is kind, enduring, which does not return evil, which does not desire honor, suffers all things, believes all things, hopes all things, is patient of all things.
He remembered how he had taught people about love—how he had told them that even if they gave their possessions to the poor, even if they understood every language, every secret, and all knowledge, they would be nothing without love, which is kind, lasting, does not seek revenge, does not crave recognition, endures everything, believes in everything, hopes for everything, and is patient through everything.
And so his life had passed in teaching people this truth. And now he said in spirit: What power can equal it, what can conquer it? Could Cæsar stop it, though he had twice as many legions and twice as many cities, seas, lands, and nations?
And so his life had been spent teaching people this truth. And now he said in spirit: What power can match it, what can defeat it? Could Caesar stop it, even if he had twice as many legions and twice as many cities, seas, lands, and nations?
And he went to his reward like a conqueror.
And he went to his reward like a champion.
The detachment left the main road at last, and turned toward the east on a narrow path leading to the Aquæ Salviæ. The red sun was lying now on the heather. The centurion stopped the soldiers at the fountain, for the moment had come.
The detachment finally left the main road and turned east onto a narrow path that led to the Aquæ Salviæ. The red sun was now resting on the heather. The centurion stopped the soldiers at the fountain, as the moment had arrived.
Paul placed Plautilla’s veil on his arm, intending to bind his eyes with it; for the last time he raised those eyes, full of unspeakable peace, toward the eternal light of the evening, and prayed. Yes, the moment had come; but he saw before him a great road in the light, leading to heaven; and in his soul he repeated the same words which formerly he had written in the feeling of his own finished service and his near end,—
Paul draped Plautilla’s veil over his arm, planning to cover his eyes with it; for the last time, he lifted those eyes, filled with indescribable peace, toward the eternal light of the evening and prayed. Yes, the moment had arrived; but he saw ahead of him a vast path in the light, leading to heaven; and in his heart, he echoed the same words he had once written when he sensed his own completed service and impending end,—
“I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith. Henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness.”
“I've fought a good fight, I've finished my journey, I've stayed true to my beliefs. From now on, there's a crown of righteousness waiting for me.”
Chapter LXXI
ROME had gone mad for a long time, so that the world-conquering city seemed ready at last to tear itself to pieces for want of leadership. Even before the last hour of the Apostles had struck, Piso’s conspiracy appeared; and then such merciless reaping of Rome’s highest heads, that even to those who saw divinity in Nero, he seemed at last a divinity of death. Mourning fell on the city, terror took its lodgment in houses and in hearts, but porticos were crowned with ivy and flowers, for it was not permitted to show sorrow for the dead. People waking in the morning asked themselves whose turn would come next. The retinue of ghosts following Cæsar increased every day.
ROME had been in chaos for a long time, making the world-conquering city seem on the brink of tearing itself apart due to a lack of leadership. Even before the final moments of the Apostles had passed, Piso’s conspiracy emerged; and then there was such a ruthless elimination of Rome’s elite that even those who revered Nero came to see him as a god of death. A sense of mourning swept through the city, and fear settled in both homes and hearts, yet the porticos were adorned with ivy and flowers because it was not allowed to openly grieve for the dead. People woke up each morning wondering whose turn would be next. The procession of ghosts following Caesar grew larger every day.
Piso paid for the conspiracy with his head; after him followed Seneca, and Lucan, Fenius Rufus, and Plautius Lateranus, and Flavius Scevinus, and Afranius Quinetianus, and the dissolute companion of Cæsar’s madnesses, Tullius Senecio, and Proculus, and Araricus, and Tugurinus, and Gratus, and Silanus, and Proximus,—once devoted with his whole soul to Nero,—and Sulpicius Asper. Some were destroyed by their own insignificance, some by fear, some by wealth, others by bravery. Cæsar, astonished at the very number of the conspirators, covered the walls with soldiery and held the city as if by siege, sending out daily centurions with sentences of death to suspected houses. The condemned humiliated themselves in letters filled with flattery, thanking Cæsar for his sentences, and leaving him a part of their property, so as to save the rest for their children. It seemed, at last, that Nero was exceeding every measure on purpose to convince himself of the degree in which men had grown abject, and how long they would endure bloody rule. After the conspirators, their relatives were executed; then their friends, and even simple acquaintances. Dwellers in lordly mansions built after the fire, when they went out on the street, felt sure of seeing a whole row of funerals. Pompeius, Cornelius, Martialis, Flavius Nepos, and Statius Domitius died because accused of lack of love for Cæsar; Novius Priscus, as a friend of Seneca. Rufius Crispus was deprived of the right of fire and water because on a time he had been the husband of Poppæa. The great Thrasea was ruined by his virtue; many paid with their lives for noble origin; even Poppæa fell a victim to the momentary rage of Nero.
Piso paid the ultimate price for the conspiracy; after him came Seneca, Lucan, Fenius Rufus, Plautius Lateranus, Flavius Scevinus, Afranius Quinetianus, and the reckless companion of Caesar’s reckless behavior, Tullius Senecio, along with Proculus, Araricus, Tugurinus, Gratus, Silanus, and Proximus—who had once been completely devoted to Nero—and Sulpicius Asper. Some were destroyed by their own insignificance, some by fear, some by their wealth, and others by their bravery. Caesar, shocked by the sheer number of conspirators, filled the city with soldiers, treating it like a siege and sending out centurions daily with death sentences for suspected houses. The condemned humiliated themselves with letters full of flattery, thanking Caesar for his sentences and leaving him part of their property to save the rest for their children. It seemed that Nero was pushing limits intentionally to prove to himself how degraded people had become and how long they would tolerate his bloody rule. After the conspirators, their relatives were executed, then their friends, and even simple acquaintances. Residents of grand homes built after the fire felt certain that when they stepped outside, they would see a line of funerals. Pompeius, Cornelius, Martialis, Flavius Nepos, and Statius Domitius died because they were accused of not loving Caesar enough; Novius Priscus was executed for being a friend of Seneca. Rufius Crispus was stripped of his rights because he had once been Poppæa’s husband. The great Thrasea was destroyed by his virtue; many lost their lives due to noble ancestry; even Poppæa fell victim to Nero’s momentary rage.
The Senate crouched before the dreadful ruler; it raised a temple in his honor, made an offering in favor of his voice, crowned his statues, appointed priests to him as to a divinity. Senators, trembling in their souls, went to the Palatine to magnify the song of the “Periodonices,” and go wild with him amid orgies of naked bodies, wine, and flowers.
The Senate bowed before the fearful ruler; they built a temple in his honor, made offerings for his approval, adorned his statues with crowns, and appointed priests to serve him like a god. Senators, quaking with fear, went to the Palatine to praise the song of the “Periodonices,” and indulge with him in wild celebrations filled with naked bodies, wine, and flowers.
But meanwhile from below, in the field soaked in blood and tears, rose the sowing of Peter, stronger and stronger every moment.
But meanwhile from below, in the field drenched in blood and tears, the sowing of Peter grew stronger and stronger with each passing moment.
Chapter LXXII
VINICIUS to PETRONIUS:
“We know, carissime, most of what is happening in Rome, and what we do not know is told us in thy letters. When one casts a stone in the water, the wave goes farther and farther in a circle; so the wave of madness and malice has come from the Palatine to us. On the road to Greece, Carinas was sent hither by Cæsar, who plundered cities and temples to fill the empty treasury. At the price of the sweat and tears of people, he is building the ‘golden house’ in Rome. It is possible that the world has not seen such a house, but it has not seen such injustice. Thou knowest Carinas. Chilo was like him till he redeemed his life with death. But to the towns lying nearer us his men have not come yet, perhaps because there are no temples or treasures in them. Thou askest if we are out of danger. I answer that we are out of mind, and let that suffice for an answer. At this moment, from the portico under which I write, I see our calm bay, and on it Ursus in a boat, letting down a net in the clear water. My wife is spinning red wool near me, and in the gardens, under the shade of almond-trees, our slaves are singing. Oh, what calm carissime, and what a forgetfulness of former fear and suffering! But it is not the Parcæ as thou writest, who spin out our lives so agreeably; it is Christ who is blessing us, our beloved God and Saviour. We know tears and sorrow, for our religion teaches us to weep over the misfortunes of others; but in these tears is a consolation unknown to thee; for whenever the time of our life is ended, we shall find all those dear ones who perished and who are perishing yet for God’s truth. For us Peter and Paul are not dead; they are merely born into glory. Our souls see them, and when our eyes weep our hearts are glad with their joy. Oh, yes, my dear friend, we are happy with a happiness which nothing can destroy, since death, which for thee is the end of everything, is for us only a passage into superior rest.
“We know, my dear, most of what’s happening in Rome, and what we don’t know is shared in your letters. When you throw a stone in water, the wave spreads out in circles; similarly, the wave of madness and malice has reached us from the Palatine. On the road to Greece, Carinas was sent here by Caesar, who looted cities and temples to fill the empty treasury. At the cost of the sweat and tears of the people, he is building the ‘golden house’ in Rome. It’s possible that the world hasn’t seen such a house, but it also hasn’t seen such injustice. You know Carinas. Chilo was similar until he redeemed his life with death. But his men haven’t reached the towns closer to us yet, perhaps because there are no temples or treasures there. You ask if we are out of danger. I respond that we are out of our minds, and let that be enough for an answer. Right now, from the portico where I’m writing, I see our calm bay, and Ursus in a boat, letting down a net in the clear water. My wife is spinning red wool nearby, and in the gardens, under the shade of almond trees, our slaves are singing. Oh, what calmness, my dear, and what forgetfulness of past fears and suffering! But it is not the Fates, as you write, who spin our lives so pleasantly; it is Christ who is blessing us, our beloved God and Savior. We know tears and sorrow, for our faith teaches us to weep for the misfortunes of others; but in these tears is a comfort unknown to you; for whenever our life comes to an end, we will be reunited with all those loved ones who have died and who are dying for God’s truth. For us, Peter and Paul are not dead; they have simply moved into glory. Our souls see them, and when our eyes weep, our hearts are filled with their joy. Oh, yes, my dear friend, we are happy with a happiness that nothing can destroy, since death, which for you is the end of everything, is just a passage into a greater rest for us.”
“And so days and months pass here in calmness of heart. Our servants and slaves believe, as we do, in Christ, and that He enjoins love; hence we love one another. Frequently, when the sun has gone down, or when the moon is shining in the water, Lygia and I talk of past times, which seem a dream to us; but when I think how that dear head was near torture and death, I magnify my Lord with my whole soul, for out of those hands He alone could wrest her, save her from the arena, and return her to me forever. O Petronius, thou hast seen what endurance and comfort that religion gives in misfortune, how much patience and courage before death; so come and see how much happiness it gives in ordinary, common days of life. People thus far did not know a God whom man could love, hence they did not love one another; and from that came their misfortune, for as light comes from the sun, so does happiness come from love. Neither lawgivers nor philosophers taught this truth, and it did not exist in Greece or Rome; and when I say, not in Rome, that means the whole world. The dry and cold teaching of the Stoics, to which virtuous people rally, tempers the heart as a sword is tempered, but it makes it indifferent rather than better. Though why do I write this to thee, who hast learned more, and hast more understanding than I have? Thou wert acquainted with Paul of Tarsus, and more than once didst converse long with him; hence thou knowest better if in comparison with the truth which he taught all the teachings of philosophers and rhetors are not a vain and empty jingle of words without meaning. Thou rememberest the question which he put thee: ‘But if Cæsar were a Christian, would ye not all feel safer, surer of possessing that which ye possess, free of alarm, and sure of to-morrow?’ Thou didst say to me that our teaching was an enemy of life; and I answer thee now, that, if from the beginning of this letter I had been repeating only the three words, ‘I am happy!’ I could not have expressed my happiness to thee. To this thou wilt answer, that my happiness is Lygia. True, my friend. Because I love her immortal soul, and because we both love each other in Christ; for such love there is no separation, no deceit, no change, no old age, no death. For, when youth and beauty pass, when our bodies wither and death comes, love will remain, for the spirit remains. Before my eyes were open to the light I was ready to burn my own house even, for Lygia’s sake; but now I tell thee that I did not love her, for it was Christ who first taught me to love. In Him is the source of peace and happiness. It is not I who say this, but reality itself. Compare thy own luxury, my friend, lined with alarm, thy delights, not sure of a morrow, thy orgies, with the lives of Christians, and thou wilt find a ready answer. But, to compare better, come to our mountains with the odor of thyme, to our shady olive groves on our shores lined with ivy. A peace is waiting for thee, such as thou hast not known for a long time, and hearts that love thee sincerely. Thou, having a noble soul and a good one, shouldst be happy. Thy quick mind can recognize the truth, and knowing it thou wilt love it. To be its enemy, like Cæsar and Tigellinus, is possible, but indifferent to it no one can be. O my Petronius, Lygia and I are comforting ourselves with the hope of seeing thee soon. Be well, be happy, and come to us.”
“And so days and months pass here with peace in my heart. Our servants and slaves believe in Christ just like we do, and that He commands love; so we love one another. Often, when the sun has set or when the moon reflects on the water, Lygia and I reminisce about the past, which feels like a dream; but when I remember how that beloved head faced torture and death, I praise my Lord with all my soul, for only He could save her from those hands, rescue her from the arena, and bring her back to me forever. O Petronius, you have seen the endurance and comfort that this faith provides in times of suffering, the patience and courage in the face of death; so come and witness the happiness it brings in the ordinary, everyday moments of life. Until now, people didn’t know a God they could love, so they didn’t love each other; and that led to their suffering because, just as light comes from the sun, happiness comes from love. Neither lawgivers nor philosophers taught this truth, and it didn’t exist in Greece or Rome; when I say it didn’t exist in Rome, that means the whole world. The dry and cold teachings of the Stoics, to which virtuous people gravitate, may temper the heart like a sword, but they make it indifferent rather than better. But why am I writing this to you, who have learned more and understand better than I do? You knew Paul of Tarsus and spoke with him at length; thus, you know better than I that compared to the truth he taught, all the teachings of philosophers and rhetoricians are just a meaningless clamor of words. You remember the question he asked you: ‘But if Cæsar were a Christian, wouldn’t you all feel safer, more secure in what you have, free from fear, certain of tomorrow?’ You once told me that our teaching was hostile to life; and I now respond that if from the beginning of this letter I had only repeated the words, ‘I am happy!’ I could not have fully conveyed my happiness to you. You might say that my happiness is Lygia. That’s true, my friend. Because I love her immortal soul, and because we both love each other in Christ; for such love knows no separation, no deceit, no change, no aging, no death. As youth and beauty fade, when our bodies deteriorate and death approaches, love will endure because the spirit lasts. Before I understood the light, I would have burned my own house for Lygia; but now I tell you that I didn’t really love her because it was Christ who first taught me to love. In Him lies the source of peace and happiness. It’s not just me saying this; it’s reality itself. Compare your own luxurious life, filled with anxiety, your pleasures that can’t guarantee a future, your hedonism, with the lives of Christians, and you’ll find a clear answer. But to compare more effectively, come to our mountains scented with thyme, to our shady olive groves along the ivy-covered shores. A peace awaits you there, one you haven’t known for a long time, and hearts that truly love you. You, having a noble and good soul, should be happy. Your quick mind can recognize the truth, and once you know it, you will love it. It’s possible to be its enemy like Cæsar and Tigellinus, but no one can be indifferent to it. O my Petronius, Lygia and I are comforted by the hope of seeing you soon. Take care, be happy, and come to us.”
Petronius received this letter in Cumæ, whither he had gone with other Augustians who were following Cæsar. His struggle of long years with Tigellinus was nearing its end. Petronius knew already that he must fall in that struggle, and he understood why. As Cæsar fell lower daily to the role of a comedian, a buffoon, and a charioteer; as he sank deeper in a sickly, foul, and coarse dissipation,—the exquisite arbiter became a mere burden to him. Even when Petronius was silent, Nero saw blame in his silence; when the arbiter praised, he saw ridicule. The brilliant patrician annoyed his self-love and roused his envy. His wealth and splendid works of art had become an object of desire both to the ruler and the all-powerful minister. Petronius was spared so far in view of the journey to Achæa, in which his taste, his knowledge of everything Greek, might be useful. But gradually Tigellinus explained to Cæsar that Carinas surpassed him in taste and knowledge, and would be better able to arrange in Achæa games, receptions, and triumphs. From that moment Petronius was lost. There was not courage to send him his sentence in Rome. Cæsar and Tigellinus remembered that that apparently effeminate and æsthetic person, who made “day out of night,” and was occupied only in luxury, art, and feasts, had shown amazing industry and energy, when proconsul in Bithynia and later when consul in the capital. They considered him capable of anything, and it was known that in Rome he possessed not only the love of the people, but even of the pretorians. None of Cæsar’s confidants could foresee how Petronius might act in a given case; it seemed wiser, therefore, to entice him out of the city, and reach him in a province.
Petronius received this letter in Cumae, where he had gone with other Augustians who were following Caesar. His long struggle with Tigellinus was coming to an end. Petronius already knew he would lose that struggle, and he understood why. As Caesar descended further into the role of a comedian, a fool, and a charioteer, sinking deeper into a sickly, foul, and debased lifestyle, the refined arbiter became a burden to him. Even when Petronius remained silent, Nero saw criticism in his silence; when the arbiter offered praise, he perceived mockery. The brilliant patrician irritated Nero's self-esteem and stirred his jealousy. Petronius's wealth and exquisite art collections became objects of desire for both the ruler and the powerful minister. So far, Petronius was safe because of the journey to Achaea, where his taste and knowledge of all things Greek might be useful. But gradually, Tigellinus convinced Caesar that Carinas surpassed Petronius in taste and knowledge and would be better suited to organize games, receptions, and triumphs in Achaea. From that moment on, Petronius was doomed. They lacked the courage to send him his death sentence in Rome. Caesar and Tigellinus remembered that the seemingly effeminate and aesthetic man, who turned “night into day” and was solely focused on luxury, art, and feasts, had shown incredible diligence and energy when he was proconsul in Bithynia and later as consul in the capital. They viewed him as capable of anything, and it was known that in Rome he had the affection of the people and even of the praetorians. None of Caesar’s trusted advisors could predict how Petronius might act in any situation; it seemed smarter to lure him out of the city and reach him in a province.
With this object he received an invitation to go to Cumæ with other Augustians. He went, though suspecting the ambush, perhaps so as not to appear in open opposition, perhaps to show once more a joyful face devoid of every care to Cæsar and the Augustians, and to gain a last victory before death over Tigellinus.
With this object, he got an invitation to go to Cumae with other Augustians. He went, even though he suspected a trap, maybe so he wouldn't seem openly opposed, maybe to once again show a cheerful face free of worries to Caesar and the Augustians, and to claim one last victory over Tigellinus before death.
Meanwhile the latter accused him of friendship with the Senator Scevinus, who was the soul of Piso’s conspiracy. The people of Petronius, left in Rome, were imprisoned; his house was surrounded by pretorian guards. When he learned this, he showed neither alarm nor concern, and with a smile said to Augustians whom he received in his own splendid villa in Cumæ,—
Meanwhile, the latter accused him of being friends with Senator Scevinus, who was the mastermind behind Piso’s conspiracy. Petronius’s supporters, left behind in Rome, were imprisoned; his house was surrounded by praetorian guards. When he found out about this, he showed no fear or worry, and with a smile, he said to the Augustians whom he welcomed in his own beautiful villa in Cumae,—
“Ahenobarbus does not like direct questions; hence ye will see his confusion when I ask him if it was he who gave command to imprison my ‘familia’ in the capital.”
“Ahenobarbus doesn't like direct questions; so you'll notice his confusion when I ask him if he was the one who ordered my 'familia' to be imprisoned in the capital.”
Then he invited them to a feast “before the longer journey,” and he had just made preparations for it when the letter from Vinicius came.
Then he invited them to a feast "before the longer journey," and he had just finished making arrangements for it when the letter from Vinicius arrived.
When he received this letter, Petronius grew somewhat thoughtful, but after a time his face regained its usual composure, and that same evening he answered as follows:—
When he got this letter, Petronius became a little pensive, but after a while, his expression returned to its usual calm, and that same evening, he replied as follows:—
“I rejoice at your happiness and admire your hearts, for I had not thought that two lovers could remember a third person who was far away. Ye have not only not forgotten me, but ye wish to persuade me to go to Sicily, so that ye may share with me your bread and your Christ, who, as thou writest, has given you happiness so bountifully.
“I’m really happy for you and admire how much you care, because I never thought two lovers could think of someone who’s far away. You haven’t just forgotten me; you want to convince me to come to Sicily so you can share your food and your faith with me, which, as you say, has brought you so much happiness.”
“If that be true, honor Him. To my thinking, however, Ursus had something to do with saving Lygia, and the Roman people also had a little to do with it. But since thy belief is that Christ did the work, I will not contradict. Spare no offerings to Him. Prometheus also sacrificed himself for man; but, alas! Prometheus is an invention of the poets apparently, while people worthy of credit have told me that they saw Christ with their own eyes. I agree with thee that He is the most worthy of the gods.
“If that's true, honor Him. However, I believe Ursus played a part in saving Lygia, and the Roman people had a small role as well. But since you believe that Christ did it all, I won’t argue. Give Him all your offerings. Prometheus sacrificed himself for mankind too; but, sadly, Prometheus seems to be just a creation of poets, while credible people have told me they saw Christ with their own eyes. I agree with you that He is the most deserving of the gods.”
“I remember the question by Paul of Tarsus, and I think that if Ahenobarbus lived according to Christ’s teaching I might have time to visit you in Sicily. In that case we could converse, in the shade of trees and near fountains, of all the gods and all the truths discussed by Greek philosophers at any time. To-day I must give thee a brief answer.
“I remember the question by Paul of Tarsus, and I think that if Ahenobarbus lived according to Christ’s teaching, I might have time to visit you in Sicily. In that case, we could chat in the shade of trees and near fountains about all the gods and all the truths discussed by Greek philosophers at any time. Today, I must give you a brief answer.
“I care for two philosophers only: Pyrrho and Anacreon. I am ready to sell the rest to thee cheaply, with all the Greek and Roman Stoics. Truth, Vinicius, dwells somewhere so high that the gods themselves cannot see it from the top of Olympus. To thee, carissime, thy Olympus seems higher still, and, standing there, thou callest to me, ‘Come, thou wilt see such sights as thou hast not seen yet!’ I might. But I answer, ‘I have not feet for the journey.’ And if thou read this letter to the end, thou wilt acknowledge, I think, that I am right.
“I only care about two philosophers: Pyrrho and Anacreon. I'm ready to sell the rest to you for cheap, along with all the Greek and Roman Stoics. The truth, Vinicius, exists somewhere so high that even the gods can't see it from the top of Olympus. For you, my dearest, your Olympus seems even higher, and from there, you call out to me, ‘Come, you’ll see sights you’ve never seen before!’ I could. But I respond, ‘I don't have the means for the trip.’ And if you read this letter to the end, I think you'll agree that I'm right.”
“No, happy husband of the Aurora princess! thy religion is not for me. Am I to love the Bithynians who carry my litter, the Egyptians who heat my bath? Am I to love Ahenobarbus and Tigellinus? I swear by the white knees of the Graces, that even if I wished to love them I could not. In Rome there are a hundred thousand persons at least who have either crooked shoulders, or big knees, or thin thighs, or staring eyes, or heads that are too large. Dost thou command me to love these too? Where am I to find the love, since it is not in my heart? And if thy God desires me to love such persons, why in His all might did He not give them the forms of Niobe’s children, for example, which thou hast seen on the Palatine? Whoso loves beauty is unable for that very reason to love deformity. One may not believe in our gods, but it is possible to love them, as Phidias, Praxiteles, Miron, Skopas, and Lysias loved.
“No, happy husband of the Aurora princess! Your religion isn’t for me. Am I supposed to love the Bithynians who carry my litter, the Egyptians who heat my bath? Am I to love Ahenobarbus and Tigellinus? I swear on the white knees of the Graces that even if I wanted to love them, I couldn’t. In Rome, there are at least a hundred thousand people who have either crooked shoulders, big knees, skinny thighs, staring eyes, or heads that are too large. Do you want me to love them too? Where am I supposed to find love when it’s not in my heart? And if your God wants me to love such people, why didn’t He give them the forms of Niobe’s children, for example, which you’ve seen on the Palatine? Anyone who loves beauty can’t love deformity for that very reason. One might not believe in our gods, but it’s possible to love them, just as Phidias, Praxiteles, Miron, Skopas, and Lysias did.”
“Should I wish to go whither thou wouldst lead me, I could not. But since I do not wish, I am doubly unable. Thou believest, like Paul of Tarsus, that on the other side of the Styx thou wilt see thy Christ in certain Elysian fields. Let Him tell thee then Himself whether He would receive me with my gems, my Myrrhene vase, my books published by Sozius, and my golden-haired Eunice. I laugh at this thought; for Paul of Tarsus told me that for Christ’s sake one must give up wreaths of roses, feasts, and luxury. It is true that he promised me other happiness, but I answered that I was too old for new happiness, that my eyes would be delighted always with roses, and that the odor of violets is dearer to me than stench from my foul neighbor of the Subura.
"Even if I wanted to go where you would lead me, I couldn't. But since I don't want to, I'm definitely unable to. You believe, like Paul of Tarsus, that on the other side of the Styx you'll see your Christ in some Elysian fields. Let Him tell you Himself whether He would welcome me with my gems, my Myrrhene vase, my books published by Sozius, and my golden-haired Eunice. I find that thought amusing; because Paul of Tarsus told me that for Christ's sake, one must give up wreaths of roses, feasts, and luxury. It's true he promised me other happiness, but I replied that I'm too old for new happiness, that my eyes will always be delighted with roses, and that the smell of violets is more precious to me than the stench from my foul neighbor in the Subura."
“These are reasons why thy happiness is not for me. But there is one reason more, which I have reserved for the last: Thanatos summons me. For thee the light of life is beginning; but my sun has set, and twilight is embracing my head. In other words, I must die, carissime.
“These are the reasons why your happiness isn’t meant for me. But there’s one more reason that I’ve saved for last: Death calls to me. For you, the light of life is just beginning; but my sun has set, and twilight is wrapping around me. In other words, I must die, dear one."
“It is not worth while to talk long of this. It had to end thus. Thou, who knowest Ahenobarbus, wilt understand the position easily. Tigellinus has conquered, or rather my victories have touched their end. I have lived as I wished, and I will die as pleases me.
“It’s not worth talking about this for too long. It had to end this way. You, who know Ahenobarbus, will easily understand the situation. Tigellinus has won, or rather my victories have come to an end. I have lived the way I wanted, and I will die however I choose.”
“Do not take this to heart. No God has promised me immortality; hence no surprise meets me. At the same time thou art mistaken, Vinicius, in asserting that only thy God teaches man to die calmly. No. Our world knew, before thou wert born, that when the last cup was drained, it was time to go,—time to rest,—and it knows yet how to do that with calmness. Plato declares that virtue is music, that the life of a sage is harmony. If that be true, I shall die as I have lived,—virtuously.
“Don’t take this too seriously. No God has promised me immortality, so I'm not surprised. At the same time, you’re wrong, Vinicius, in saying that only your God teaches people how to die peacefully. No. Our world knew, long before you were born, that when the last drop is finished, it’s time to leave—time to rest—and it still knows how to do that calmly. Plato says that virtue is like music and that a wise person’s life is harmonious. If that’s true, I’ll die just as I’ve lived—virtuously.”
“I should like to take farewell of thy godlike wife in the words with which on a time I greeted her in the house of Aulus, ‘Very many persons have I seen, but thy equal I know not.’
“I would like to say goodbye to your amazing wife using the same words I once said to her in Aulus’s house, ‘I’ve seen many people, but I don’t know anyone like her.’”
“If the soul is more than what Pyrrho thinks, mine will fly to thee and Lygia, on its way to the edge of the ocean, and will alight at your house in the form of a butterfly or, as the Egyptians believe, in the form of a sparrowhawk. Otherwise I cannot come.
“If the soul is more than what Pyrrho believes, mine will soar to you and Lygia, on its journey to the edge of the ocean, and will land at your house as a butterfly or, as the Egyptians think, as a sparrowhawk. Otherwise, I can’t come.”
“Meanwhile let Sicily replace for you the gardens of Hesperides; may the goddesses of the fields, woods, and fountains scatter flowers on your path, and may white doves build their nests on every acanthus of the columns of your house.”
“Meanwhile, let Sicily be your gardens of Hesperides; may the goddesses of the fields, woods, and fountains scatter flowers along your path, and may white doves build their nests on every acanthus of the columns of your home.”
Chapter LXXIII
PETRONIUS was not mistaken. Two days later young Nerva, who had always been friendly and devoted, sent his freedman to Cumæ with news of what was happening at the court of Cæsar.
PETRONIUS was correct. Two days later, young Nerva, who had always been friendly and loyal, sent his freedman to Cumæ with updates about what was happening at Caesar's court.
The death of Petronius had been determined. On the morning of the following day they intended to send him a centurion, with the order to stop at Cumæ, and wait there for further instructions; the next messenger, to follow a few days later, was to bring the death sentence.
The death of Petronius was decided. On the morning of the next day, they planned to send him a centurion with orders to stop at Cumæ and wait there for further instructions; the next messenger, arriving a few days later, was to bring the death sentence.
Petronius heard the news with unruffled calmness.
Petronius listened to the news without any sign of distress.
“Thou wilt take to thy lord,” said he, “one of my vases; say from me that I thank him with my whole soul, for now I am able to anticipate the sentence.”
"You will take to your lord," he said, "one of my vases; tell him I thank him with all my heart, because now I can look forward to the sentence."
And all at once he began to laugh, like a man who has came upon a perfect thought, and rejoices in advance at its fulfilment.
And suddenly, he started to laugh, like someone who has just had a brilliant idea and is excited about its eventual success.
That same afternoon his slaves rushed about, inviting the Augustians, who were staying in Cumæ, and all the ladies, to a magnificent banquet at the villa of the arbiter.
That same afternoon, his servants hurried around, inviting the Augustians, who were staying in Cumæ, and all the ladies to a lavish feast at the host's villa.
He wrote that afternoon in the library; next he took a bath, after which he commanded the vestiplicæ to arrange his dress. Brilliant and stately as one of the gods, he went to the triclinium, to cast the eye of a critic on the preparations, and then to the gardens, where youths and Grecian maidens from the islands were weaving wreaths of roses for the evening.
He wrote that afternoon in the library; then he took a bath, after which he ordered the attendants to arrange his outfit. Looking bright and magnificent like one of the gods, he went to the dining room to inspect the preparations, and then to the gardens, where young men and Greek maidens from the islands were weaving rose wreaths for the evening.
Not the least care was visible on his face. The servants only knew that the feast would be something uncommon, for he had issued a command to give unusual rewards to those with whom he was satisfied, and some slight blows to all whose work should not please him, or who had deserved blame or punishment earlier. To the cithara players and the singers he had ordered beforehand liberal pay. At last, sitting in the garden under a beech, through whose leaves the sun-rays marked the earth with bright spots, he called Eunice.
Not a trace of concern was visible on his face. The servants only knew that the feast would be something extraordinary, as he had ordered special rewards for those he was pleased with and some light punishment for those whose work did not meet his expectations or who had previously deserved criticism. He had arranged generous payments in advance for the musicians and singers. Finally, sitting in the garden under a beech tree, where the sunlight created bright spots on the ground through the leaves, he called for Eunice.
She came, dressed in white, with a sprig of myrtle in her hair, beautiful as one of the Graces. He seated her at his side, and, touching her temple gently with his fingers, he gazed at her with that admiration with which a critic gazes at a statue from the chisel of a master.
She arrived, wearing white, with a sprig of myrtle in her hair, beautiful like one of the Graces. He sat her down next to him, and, gently touching her temple with his fingers, he looked at her with the same admiration a critic has when observing a statue carved by a master.
“Eunice,” asked he, “dost thou know that thou art not a slave this long time?”
“Eunice,” he asked, “do you know that you haven’t been a slave for a long time?”
She raised to him her calm eyes, as blue as the sky, and denied with a motion of her head.
She lifted her calm eyes to him, as blue as the sky, and shook her head in denial.
“I am thine always,” said she.
“I am yours always,” she said.
“But perhaps thou knowest not,” continued Petronius, “that the villa, and those slaves twining wreaths here, and all which is in the villa, with the fields and the herds, are thine henceforward.”
“But maybe you don’t know,” Petronius continued, “that the villa, and those slaves making wreaths here, and everything in the villa, along with the fields and the herds, belong to you from now on.”
Eunice, when she heard this, drew away from him quickly, and asked in a voice filled with sudden fear,—
Eunice, when she heard this, pulled away from him quickly and asked in a voice filled with sudden fear,—
“Why dost thou tell me this?”
“Why are you telling me this?”
Then she approached again, and looked at him, blinking with amazement. After a while her face became as pale as linen. He smiled, and said only one word,—
Then she came closer again and looked at him, blinking in disbelief. After a while, her face turned as pale as linen. He smiled and said just one word,—
“So!”
"So!"
A moment of silence followed; merely a slight breeze moved the leaves of the beech.
A moment of silence passed; only a gentle breeze stirred the leaves of the beech.
Petronius might have thought that before him was a statue cut from white marble.
Petronius might have thought he was looking at a statue made of white marble.
“Eunice,” said he, “I wish to die calmly.”
“Eunice,” he said, “I want to die peacefully.”
And the maiden, looking at him with a heart-rending smile, whispered,—
And the young woman, gazing at him with a heartbreaking smile, whispered,—
“I hear thee.”
"I hear you."
In the evening the guests, who had been at feasts given by Petronius previously, and knew that in comparison with them even Cæsar’s banquets seemed tiresome and barbarous, began to arrive in numbers. To no one did it occur, even, that that was to be the last “symposium.” Many knew, it is true, that the clouds of Cæsar’s anger were hanging over the exquisite arbiter; but that had happened so often, and Petronius had been able so often to scatter them by some dexterous act or by a single bold word, that no one thought really that serious danger threatened him. His glad face and usual smile, free of care, confirmed all, to the last man, in that opinion. The beautiful Eunice, to whom he had declared his wish to die calmly, and for whom every word of his was like an utterance of fate, had in her features a perfect calmness, and in her eyes a kind of wonderful radiance, which might have been considered delight. At the door of the triclinium, youths with hair in golden nets put wreaths of roses on the heads of the guests, warning them, as the custom was, to pass the threshold right foot foremost. In the hall there was a slight odor of violets; the lamps burned in Alexandrian glass of various colors. At the couches stood Grecian maidens, whose office it was to moisten the feet of guests with perfumes. At the walls cithara players and Athenian choristers were waiting for the signal of their leader.
In the evening, guests who had attended previous feasts hosted by Petronius, and who knew that even Cæsar’s banquets felt dull and uncivilized in comparison, began to arrive in droves. No one imagined that this would be the last “symposium.” True, many were aware that Cæsar’s anger was looming over the exquisite host, but that had happened so often, and Petronius had frequently managed to deflect it through some clever maneuver or a single bold remark, that no one genuinely believed he was in serious danger. His cheerful face and typical carefree smile reassured everyone of that belief. The beautiful Eunice, to whom he had expressed his wish to die peacefully, and for whom every word he spoke felt like a prophetic statement, exhibited complete calmness in her features, and her eyes had a kind of enchanting glow that could be mistaken for joy. At the entrance to the triclinium, young men with hair styled in golden nets placed rose wreaths on the heads of the guests, reminding them, as was customary, to step over the threshold with their right foot first. The hall had a faint scent of violets, and the lamps were lit in brightly colored Alexandrian glass. By the couches, Grecian maidens were there to anoint the guests' feet with perfumes. Against the walls, cithara players and Athenian singers awaited their leader's signal.
The table service gleamed with splendor, but that splendor did not offend or oppress; it seemed a natural development. Joyousness and freedom spread through the hall with the odor of violets. The guests as they entered felt that neither threat nor constraint was hanging over them, as in Cæsar’s house, where a man might forfeit his life for praises not sufficiently great or sufficiently apposite. At sight of the lamps, the goblets entwined with ivy, the wine cooling on banks of snow, and the exquisite dishes, the hearts of the guests became joyous. Conversation of various kinds began to buzz, as bees buzz on an apple tree in blossom. At moments it was interrupted by an outburst of glad laughter, at moments by murmurs of applause, at moments by a kiss placed too loudly on some white shoulder.
The table service shone with beauty, but it wasn't overwhelming or stifling; it felt completely natural. A sense of joy and freedom filled the hall, mingling with the scent of violets. As the guests arrived, they sensed that there was no threat or pressure looming over them, unlike in Caesar's palace, where a man could lose his life for praises that weren't grand enough or suitable. Upon seeing the lamps, the goblets draped in ivy, the wine chilled on banks of snow, and the exquisite dishes, the guests felt their spirits lift. Conversations of all sorts buzzed around like bees on a blossoming apple tree. At times, the chatter was interrupted by bursts of happy laughter, at times by murmurs of approval, and at times by a kiss placed a little too loudly on a fair shoulder.
The guests, while drinking wine, spilled from their goblets a few drops to the immortal gods, to gain their protection, and their favor for the host. It mattered not that many of them had no belief in the gods. Custom and superstition prescribed it. Petronius, inclining near Eunice, talked of Rome, of the latest divorces, of love affairs, of the races, of Spiculus, who had become famous recently in the arena, and of the latest books in the shops of Atractus and the Sozii. When he spilled wine, he said that he spilled it only in honor of the Lady of Cyprus, the most ancient divinity and the greatest, the only immortal, enduring, and ruling one.
The guests, while sipping wine, let a few drops spill from their cups as an offering to the immortal gods, hoping to gain their protection and favor for the host. It didn't matter that many of them didn’t believe in the gods. Tradition and superstition dictated it. Petronius, leaning close to Eunice, chatted about Rome, the latest divorces, romantic entanglements, the races, and Spiculus, who had recently gained fame in the arena, as well as the latest books available at Atractus and the Sozii. When he spilled wine, he remarked that he was doing it only in honor of the Lady of Cyprus, the oldest, greatest, and only immortal, enduring, and ruling goddess.
His conversation was like sunlight which lights up some new object every instant, or like the summer breeze which stirs flowers in a garden. At last he gave a signal to the leader of the music, and at that signal the citharæ began to sound lightly, and youthful voices accompanied. Then maidens from Kos, the birthplace of Eunice, danced, and showed their rosy forms through robes of gauze. Finally, an Egyptian soothsayer told the guests their future from the movement of rainbow colors in a vessel of crystal.
His conversation was like sunlight that illuminates something new every moment, or like a summer breeze that stirs flowers in a garden. Finally, he signaled the music leader, and at that signal, the citharas started to play softly, accompanied by youthful voices. Then, young women from Kos, Eunice's birthplace, danced and revealed their rosy figures through sheer robes. Lastly, an Egyptian fortune-teller predicted the guests' futures by interpreting the movement of rainbow colors in a crystal vessel.
When they had enough of these amusements, Petronius rose somewhat on his Syrian cushion, and said with hesitation,—
When they were done with these distractions, Petronius shifted slightly on his Syrian cushion and said hesitantly,—
“Pardon me, friends, for asking a favor at a feast. Will each man accept as a gift that goblet from which he first shook wine in honor of the gods and to my prosperity?”
“Excuse me, friends, for asking a favor at a celebration. Will each man accept as a gift the goblet from which he first poured wine in honor of the gods and my success?”
The goblets of Petronius were gleaming in gold, precious stones, and the carving of artists; hence, though gift giving was common in Rome, delight filled every heart. Some thanked him loudly: others said that Jove had never honored gods with such gifts in Olympus; finally, there were some who refused to accept, since the gifts surpassed common estimate.
The goblets of Petronius were shining with gold, precious stones, and the skillful carving of artisans; so, even though giving gifts was common in Rome, joy filled every heart. Some thanked him enthusiastically, while others said that Jupiter had never honored the gods with gifts like these in Olympus; finally, there were some who refused to accept, as the gifts exceeded what anyone could imagine.
But he raised aloft the Myrrhene vase, which resembled a rainbow in brilliancy, and was simply beyond price.
But he held up the Myrrhene vase, which shone like a rainbow and was priceless.
“This,” said he, “is the one out of which I poured in honor of the Lady of Cyprus. The lips of no man may touch it henceforth, and no hand may ever pour from it in honor of another divinity.”
“This,” he said, “is the one I poured out in honor of the Lady of Cyprus. No man's lips shall touch it again, and no hand shall ever pour from it in honor of another deity.”
He cast the precious vessel to the pavement, which was covered with lily-colored saffron flowers; and when it was broken into small pieces, he said, seeing around him astonished faces,—
He threw the precious container onto the pavement, which was covered with light-colored saffron flowers; and when it shattered into small pieces, he said, noticing the astonished faces around him,—
“My dear friends, be glad and not astonished. Old age and weakness are sad attendants in the last years of life. But I will give you a good example and good advice: Ye have the power, as ye see, not to wait for old age; ye can depart before it comes, as I do.”
“My dear friends, be happy and not shocked. Aging and frailty are unfortunate companions in the later years of life. But I’ll give you a great example and some good advice: You have the ability, as you can see, not to wait for old age; you can leave before it arrives, just like I do.”
“What dost thou wish?” asked a number of voices, with alarm.
“What do you want?” asked several voices, alarmed.
“I wish to rejoice, to drink wine, to hear music, to look on those divine forms which ye see around me, and fall asleep with a garlanded head. I have taken farewell of Cæsar, and do ye wish to hear what I wrote him at parting?”
“I want to celebrate, to drink wine, to listen to music, to gaze at those beautiful figures you see around me, and to fall asleep with a garland on my head. I’ve said goodbye to Caesar, and do you want to hear what I wrote him when we parted?”
He took from beneath the purple cushion a paper, and read as follows:—
He pulled out a piece of paper from underneath the purple cushion and read the following:—
“I know, O Cæsar, that thou art awaiting my arrival with impatience, that thy true heart of a friend is yearning day and night for me. I know that thou art ready to cover me with gifts, make me prefect of the pretorian guards, and command Tigellinus to be that which the gods made him, a mule-driver in those lands which thou didst inherit after poisoning Domitius. Pardon me, however, for I swear to thee by Hades, and by the shades of thy mother, thy wife, thy brother, and Seneca, that I cannot go to thee. Life is a great treasure. I have taken the most precious jewels from that treasure, but in life there are many things which I cannot endure any longer. Do not suppose, I pray, that I am offended because thou didst kill thy mother, thy wife, and thy brother; that thou didst burn Rome and send to Erebus all the honest men in thy dominions. No, grandson of Chronos. Death is the inheritance of man; from thee other deeds could not have been expected. But to destroy one’s ear for whole years with thy poetry, to see thy belly of a Domitius on slim legs whirled about in Pyrrhic dance; to hear thy music, thy declamation, thy doggerel verses, wretched poet of the suburbs,—is a thing surpassing my power, and it has roused in me the wish to die. Rome stuffs its ears when it hears thee; the world reviles thee. I can blush for thee no longer, and I have no wish to do so. The howls of Cerberus, though resembling thy music, will be less offensive to me, for I have never been the friend of Cerberus, and I need not be ashamed of his howling. Farewell, but make no music; commit murder, but write no verses; poison people, but dance not; be an incendiary, but play not on a cithara. This is the wish and the last friendly counsel sent thee by the—Arbiter Elegantiæ.”
“I know, Caesar, that you’re eagerly waiting for my arrival, that your true, friendly heart is longing for me day and night. I know you’re ready to shower me with gifts, make me the prefect of the praetorian guards, and tell Tigellinus to be what the gods intended him to be, a mule driver in the lands you inherited after poisoning Domitius. However, forgive me, for I swear by Hades and by the spirits of your mother, your wife, your brother, and Seneca that I cannot come to you. Life is a precious gift. I’ve taken the most valuable jewels from that gift, but there are many things in life that I simply can't tolerate any longer. Please don’t think, I beg you, that I'm offended because you killed your mother, your wife, and your brother; that you burned Rome and sent all the decent people in your kingdom to the underworld. No, grandson of Chronos. Death is part of the human condition; nothing else could be expected from you. But to endure years of your poetry, to see your Domitian-like body on scrawny legs twist in a Pyrrhic dance; to listen to your music, your speeches, your terrible verses, wretched suburban poet—is beyond my ability, and it has sparked in me a desire to die. Rome covers its ears when it hears you; the world scorns you. I can no longer feel shame for you, and I don’t wish to. The howls of Cerberus, though similar to your music, will be less offensive to me, for I have never been friends with Cerberus, and I need not feel ashamed of his howling. Farewell, but don’t make any music; commit murder, but don’t write any verses; poison people, but don’t dance; be an arsonist, but don’t play the lyre. This is the wish and the last friendly advice sent to you by the—Arbiter Elegantiæ.”
The guests were terrified, for they knew that the loss of dominion would have been less cruel to Nero than this blow. They understood, too, that the man who had written that paper must die; and at the same time pale fear flew over them because they had heard such a paper.
The guests were scared because they knew that losing power would have been easier on Nero than this shock. They also realized that the person who wrote that document had to die; at the same time, a cold dread swept over them because they had heard about such a document.
But Petronius laughed with sincere and gladsome joy, as if it were a question of the most innocent joke; then he cast his eyes on all present, and said,—
But Petronius laughed with genuine happiness, as if it were just a harmless joke; then he looked around at everyone there and said,—
“Be joyous, and drive away fear. No one need boast that he heard this letter. I will boast of it only to Charon when I am crossing in the boat with him.”
“Be happy, and push away fear. No one needs to brag that they heard this letter. I’ll only brag about it to Charon when I’m crossing the river with him.”
He beckoned then to the Greek physician, and stretched out his arm. The skilled Greek in the twinkle of an eye opened the vein at the bend of the arm. Blood spurted on the cushion, and covered Eunice, who, supporting the head of Petronius, bent over him and said,—
He signaled to the Greek doctor and extended his arm. The talented Greek quickly opened the vein at the crease of the arm. Blood sprayed onto the cushion and splattered Eunice, who, cradling Petronius's head, leaned over him and said,—
“Didst thou think that I would leave thee? If the gods gave me immortality, and Cæsar gave me power over the earth, I would follow thee still.”
"Did you really think I would leave you? If the gods granted me immortality, and Caesar gave me power over the earth, I would still follow you."
Petronius smiled, raised himself a little, touched her lips with his, and said,—
Petronius smiled, lifted himself slightly, brushed her lips with his, and said,—
“Come with me.”
"Join me."
She stretched her rosy arm to the physician, and after a while her blood began to mingle and be lost in his blood.
She reached out her pink arm to the doctor, and after a moment, her blood started to blend and fade into his.
Then he gave a signal to the leader of the music, and again the voices and cithariæ were heard. They sang “Harmodius”; next the song of Anacreon resounded,—that song in which he complained that on a time he had found Aphrodite’s boy chilled and weeping under trees; that he brought him in, warmed him, dried his wings, and the ungrateful child pierced his heart with an arrow,—from that moment peace had deserted the poet.
Then he signaled the band leader, and once more the voices and lyres filled the air. They sang "Harmodius"; next, Anacreon's song echoed— the one where he lamented finding Aphrodite’s son cold and crying under the trees; how he took him in, warmed him, dried his wings, and the ungrateful kid shot him in the heart with an arrow— from that moment, peace left the poet.
Petronius and Eunice, resting against each other, beautiful as two divinities, listened, smiling and growing pale. At the end of the song Petronius gave directions to serve more wine and food; then he conversed with the guests sitting near him of trifling but pleasant things, such as are mentioned usually at feasts. Finally, he called to the Greek to bind his arm for a moment; for he said that sleep was tormenting him, and he wanted to yield himself to Hypnos before Thanatos put him to sleep forever.
Petronius and Eunice, leaning against each other, looked as stunning as gods, listened with smiles, their faces growing pale. After the song ended, Petronius instructed to serve more wine and food; then he chatted with the nearby guests about light and enjoyable topics, the kind usually discussed at feasts. Finally, he asked the Greek to tie his arm for a moment; he said that sleep was bothering him, and he wanted to give in to Hypnos before Thanatos put him to sleep for good.
In fact, he fell asleep. When he woke, the head of Eunice was lying on his breast like a white flower. He placed it on the pillow to look at it once more. After that his veins were opened again.
In fact, he fell asleep. When he woke up, Eunice's head was resting on his chest like a white flower. He lifted it and placed it on the pillow to admire it one more time. After that, his veins were opened again.
At his signal the singers raised the song of Anacreon anew, and the citharæ accompanied them so softly as not to drown a word. Petronius grew paler and paler; but when the last sound had ceased, he turned to his guests again and said,
At his cue, the singers started singing Anacreon's song again, and the citharas played so softly that they didn't drown out a single word. Petronius became increasingly pale; but when the last note faded away, he turned back to his guests and said,
“Friends, confess that with us perishes—”
“Friends, admit that with us dies—”
But he had not power to finish; his arm with its last movement embraced Eunice, his head fell on the pillow, and he died.
But he couldn't finish; his arm made one last move to wrap around Eunice, his head fell on the pillow, and he died.
The guests looking at those two white forms, which resembled two wonderful statues, understood well that with them perished all that was left to their world at that time,—poetry and beauty.
The guests looking at those two white figures, which looked like two amazing statues, realized that with them faded all that remained of their world at that time—poetry and beauty.
EPILOGUE
AT first the revolt of the Gallic legions under Vindex did not seem very serious. Cæsar was only in his thirty-first year, and no one was bold enough to hope that the world could be freed so soon from the nightmare which was stifling it. Men remembered that revolts had occurred more than once among the legions,—they had occurred in previous reigns,—revolts, however, which passed without involving a change of government; as during the reign of Tiberius, Drusus put down the revolt of the Pannonian legions. “Who,” said the people, “can take the government after Nero, since all the descendants of the divine Augustus have perished?” Others, looking at the Colossus, imagined him a Hercules, and thought that no force could break such power. There were those even who since he went to Achæa were sorry for him, because Helius and Polythetes, to whom he left the government of Rome and Italy, governed more murderously than he had.
At first, the revolt of the Gallic legions under Vindex didn’t seem very serious. Caesar was only 31, and no one was bold enough to believe that the world could be freed so soon from the nightmare that was suffocating it. People remembered that revolts had happened more than once among the legions—they had occurred in previous reigns—rebellions, however, that passed without changing the government; like during Tiberius’s reign, when Drusus put down the revolt of the Pannonian legions. “Who,” the people asked, “can take over after Nero, since all the descendants of the divine Augustus have died?” Others, looking at the Colossus, imagined him as a Hercules and thought that no force could shatter such power. There were even those who, since he went to Achaea, felt sorry for him because Helius and Polythetes, whom he left in charge of Rome and Italy, ruled more brutally than he had.
No one was sure of life or property. Law ceased to protect. Human dignity and virtue had perished, family bonds existed no longer, and degraded hearts did not even dare to admit hope. From Greece came accounts of the incomparable triumphs of Cæsar, of the thousands of crowns which he had won, the thousands of competitors whom he had vanquished. The world seemed to be one orgy of buffoonery and blood; but at the same time the opinion was fixed that virtue and deeds of dignity had ceased, that the time of dancing and music, of profligacy, of blood, had come, and that life must flow on for the future in that way. Cæsar himself, to whom rebellion opened the road to new robberies, was not concerned much about the revolt of the legions and Vindex; he even expressed his delight on that subject frequently. He did not wish to leave Achæa even; and only when Helius informed him that further delay might cause the loss of dominion did he move to Naples.
No one felt secure about their lives or property. The law stopped offering protection. Human dignity and virtue had vanished, family ties were gone, and broken hearts didn’t even dare to hope. Reports came from Greece about Cæsar's unmatched victories, the countless crowns he had earned, and the many opponents he had defeated. The world appeared to be one big party of foolishness and violence; yet at the same time, it was widely believed that virtue and dignified actions had disappeared, that an era of revelry, violence, and excess had begun, and that life was going to continue like this. Cæsar himself, who saw rebellion as an opportunity for more plunder, didn’t seem too worried about the uprising of the legions and Vindex; he even often expressed his enjoyment about it. He didn’t even want to leave Achaea; only when Helius told him that staying longer could lead to losing power did he decide to head to Naples.
There he played and sang, neglecting news of events of growing danger. In vain did Tigellinus explain to him that former rebellions of legions had no leaders, while at the head of affairs this time was a man descended from the ancient kings of Gaul and Aquitania, a famous and tried soldier. “Here,” answered Nero, “the Greeks listen to me,—the Greeks, who alone know how to listen, and who alone are worthy of my song.” He said that his first duty was art and glory. But when at last the news came that Vindex had proclaimed him a wretched artist, he sprang up and moved toward Rome. The wounds inflicted by Petronius, and healed by his stay in Greece, opened in his heart anew, and he wished to seek retribution from the Senate for such unheard-of injustice.
There he played and sang, ignoring the troubling news around him. Tigellinus tried to explain that previous legions’ rebellions had no leaders, but this time it was different; a man from the ancient kings of Gaul and Aquitania, a well-known and seasoned soldier, was in charge. “Here,” Nero replied, “the Greeks listen to me—the Greeks, who truly know how to appreciate art and are deserving of my music.” He insisted that his main duty was to art and glory. But when the news finally reached him that Vindex had called him a pathetic artist, he abruptly stood up and headed toward Rome. The wounds caused by Petronius, which had healed during his time in Greece, reopened in his heart, and he felt the need to seek revenge from the Senate for such unimaginable injustice.
On the road he saw a group cast in bronze, representing a Gallic warrior as overcome by a Roman knight; he considered that a good omen, and thenceforward, if he mentioned the rebellious legions and Vindex, it was only to ridicule them. His entrance to the city surpassed all that had been witnessed earlier. He entered in the chariot used by Augustus in his triumph. One arch of the Circus was destroyed to give a road to the procession. The Senate, knights, and innumerable throngs of people went forth to meet him. The walls trembled from shouts of “Hail, Augustus! Hail, Hercules! Hail, divinity, the incomparable, the Olympian, the Pythian, the immortal!” Behind him were borne the crowns, the names of cities in which he had triumphed; and on tablets were inscribed the names of the masters whom he had vanquished. Nero himself was intoxicated with delight, and with emotion he asked the Augustians who stood around him, “What was the triumph of Julius compared with this?” The idea that any mortal should dare to raise a hand on such a demigod did not enter his head. He felt himself really Olympian, and therefore safe. The excitement and the madness of the crowd roused his own madness. In fact, it might seem in the day of that triumph that not merely Cæsar and the city, but the world, had lost its senses.
On the road, he saw a bronze statue depicting a Gallic warrior being overpowered by a Roman knight; he thought this was a good omen. From then on, whenever he mentioned the rebellious legions and Vindex, it was only to mock them. His entrance into the city was unmatched by anything seen before. He rode in the chariot that Augustus used during his triumph. One arch of the Circus was destroyed to create a path for the procession. The Senate, knights, and countless crowds came out to meet him. The walls shook with the shouts of “Hail, Augustus! Hail, Hercules! Hail, the incomparable divinity, the Olympian, the Pythian, the immortal!” Behind him were carried the crowns and the names of cities where he had triumphed; and on tablets were listed the names of the masters he had defeated. Nero himself was overwhelmed with joy and emotionally asked the Augustians around him, “How does Julius’s triumph compare to this?” The thought that any mortal might dare to challenge such a demigod never crossed his mind. He truly felt like an Olympian, and thus untouchable. The excitement and fervor of the crowd stirred his own madness. In fact, it might have seemed on that day of triumph that not just Caesar and the city, but the whole world had lost its mind.
Through the flowers and the piles of wreaths no one could see the precipice. Still that same evening columns and walls of temples were covered with inscriptions, describing Nero’s crimes, threatening him with coming vengeance, and ridiculing him as an artist. From mouth to mouth went the phrase, “He sang till he roused the Gauls.” Alarming news made the rounds of the city, and reached enormous measures. Alarm seized the Augustians. People, uncertain of the future, dazed not express hopes or wishes; they hardly dared to feel or think.
Through the flowers and the heaps of wreaths, no one could see the edge of the cliff. Still, that same evening, the columns and walls of temples were covered with messages condemning Nero’s crimes, threatening him with impending revenge, and mocking him as an artist. The phrase, “He sang until he stirred the Gauls,” spread from person to person. Disturbing news circulated throughout the city and grew to epic proportions. Panic gripped the Augustians. People, unsure of what the future held, were too stunned to express any hopes or desires; they barely dared to feel or think.
But he went on living only in the theatre and music. Instruments newly invented occupied him, and a new water-organ, of which trials were made on the Palatine. With childish mind, incapable of plan or action, he imagined that he could ward off danger by promises of spectacles and theatrical exhibitions reaching far into the future, Persons nearest him, seeing that instead of providing means and an army, he was merely searching for expressions to depict the danger graphically, began to lose their heads. Others thought that he was simply deafening himself and others with quotations, while in his soul he was alarmed and terrified. In fact, his acts became feverish. Every day a thousand new plans flew through his head. At times he sprang up to rush out against danger; gave command to pack up his lutes and citharæ, to arm the young slave women as Amazons, and lead the legions to the East. Again he thought to finish the rebellion of the Gallic legions, not with war, but with song; and his soul laughed at the spectacle which was to follow his conquest of the soldiers by song. The legionaries would surround him with tears in their eyes; he would sing to them an epinicium, after which the golden epoch would begin for him and for Rome. At one time he called for blood; at another he declared that he would be satisfied with governing in Egypt. He recalled the prediction which promised him lordship in Jerusalem, and he was moved by the thought that as a wandering minstrel he would earn his daily bread,—that cities and countries would honor in him, not Cæsar, the lord of the earth, but a poet whose like the world had not produced before. And so he struggled, raged, played, sang, changed his plan, changed his quotations, changed his life and the world into a dream absurd, fantastic, dreadful, into an uproarious hunt composed of unnatural expressions, bad verses, groans, tears, and blood; but meanwhile the cloud in the west was increasing and thickening every day. The measure was exceeded; the insane comedy was nearing its end.
But he continued to live only in theatre and music. He was preoccupied with newly invented instruments and a new water organ, which was being tested on the Palatine. With a childish mindset, unable to plan or take action, he thought he could fend off danger with promises of shows and theatrical performances far into the future. Those closest to him, seeing that instead of preparing resources and an army, he was merely looking for ways to graphically represent the danger, started to lose their composure. Others believed he was just overwhelming himself and others with quotes while deep down he was anxious and scared. In fact, his behavior became frantic. Each day, a thousand new ideas raced through his mind. At times he would leap up to charge against danger, ordering the packing of his lutes and citharas, arming young slave women as Amazons, and leading the legions east. Other times, he considered ending the Gallic legions' uprising, not through war, but through song; and his soul would laugh at the spectacle that would follow as he conquered the soldiers with music. The legionnaires would surround him with tears in their eyes; he would sing an epinicium to them, after which a golden age would begin for him and for Rome. Sometimes he called for blood; other times he claimed he would be content ruling in Egypt. He remembered the prophecy that promised him power in Jerusalem, and he was moved by the idea that as a wandering minstrel, he would earn his living—that cities and countries would respect him not as Cæsar, the lord of the earth, but as a poet unlike any the world had ever seen. And so he struggled, raged, played, sang, changed his plans, switched his quotes, and turned his life and the world into an absurd, fantastic, dreadful dream, a chaotic hunt filled with unnatural expressions, bad verses, groans, tears, and blood; but all the while, the cloud in the west was growing and thickening every day. The situation had escalated; the insane comedy was approaching its end.
When news that Galba and Spain had joined the uprising came to his ears, he fell into rage and madness. He broke goblets, overturned the table at a feast, and issued orders which neither Helius nor Tigeliinus himself dared to execute. To kill Gauls resident in Rome, fire the city a second time, let out the wild beasts, and transfer the capital to Alexandria seemed to him great, astonishing, and easy. But the days of his dominion had passed, and even those who shared in his former crimes began to look on him as a madman.
When he heard that Galba and Spain had joined the uprising, he was filled with rage and insanity. He smashed goblets, flipped over the table at a feast, and gave orders that neither Helius nor Tigeliinus himself dared to carry out. Killing the Gauls living in Rome, setting the city on fire again, releasing wild beasts, and moving the capital to Alexandria seemed to him grand, shocking, and simple. But his time in power was over, and even those who once participated in his former crimes began to see him as a madman.
The death of Vindex, and disagreement in the revolting legions seemed, however, to turn the scale to his side. Again new feasts, new triumphs, and new sentences were issued in Rome, till a certain night when a messenger rushed up on a foaming horse, with the news that in the city itself the soldiers had raised the standard of revolt, and proclaimed Galba Cæsar.
The death of Vindex and the conflict among the rebel legions seemed to tip the balance in his favor. Again, new celebrations, new victories, and new decrees were announced in Rome, until one night when a messenger rode in on a sweating horse, bringing the news that in the city itself, the soldiers had raised the banner of rebellion and declared Galba Caesar.
Nero was asleep when the messenger came; but when he woke he called in vain for the night-guard, which watched at the entrance to his chambers. The palace was empty. Slaves were plundering in the most distant corners that which could be taken most quickly. But the sight of Nero frightened them; he wandered alone through the palace, filling it with cries of despair and fear.
Nero was asleep when the messenger arrived; but when he woke up, he called out for the night guard who was stationed at the entrance to his chambers in vain. The palace was empty. Slaves were rummaging through the farthest corners to grab whatever they could as fast as possible. But the sight of Nero scared them; he wandered alone through the palace, filling it with cries of despair and fear.
At last his freedmen, Phaon, Sporus, and Epaphroditus, came to his rescue. They wished him to flee, and said that there was no time to be lost; but he deceived himself still. If he should dress in mourning and speak to the Senate, would it resist his prayers and eloquence? If he should use all his eloquence, his rhetoric and skill of an actor, would any one on earth have power to resist him? Would they not give him even the prefecture of Egypt?
At last, his freedmen, Phaon, Sporus, and Epaphroditus, came to help him. They urged him to escape, insisting that there was no time to waste; but he continued to deceive himself. If he put on mourning clothes and addressed the Senate, would they really ignore his pleas and persuasive speech? If he used all his eloquence, his rhetoric, and his acting skills, would anyone on earth be able to resist him? Wouldn't they even give him the governorship of Egypt?
The freedmen, accustomed to flatter, had not the boldness yet to refuse him directly; they only warned him that before he could reach the Forum the people would tear him to pieces, and declared that if he did not mount his horse immediately, they too would desert him.
The freedmen, used to flattery, weren't bold enough to refuse him directly; they only warned him that before he could get to the Forum, the people would tear him apart, and said that if he didn't get on his horse right away, they would leave him too.
Phaon offered refuge in his villa outside the Nomentan Gate. After a while they mounted horses, and, covering Nero’s head with a mantle, they galloped off toward the edge of the city. The night was growing pale. But on the streets there was a movement which showed the exceptional nature of the time. Soldiers, now singly and now in small groups, were scattered through the city. Not far from the camp Cæsar’s horse sprang aside suddenly at sight of a corpse. The mantle slipped from his head; a soldier recognized Nero, and, confused by the unexpected meeting, gave the military salute. While passing the pretorian camp, they heard thundering shouts in honor of Galba. Nero understood at last that the hour of death was near. Terror and reproaches of conscience seized him. He declared that he saw darkness in front of him in the form of a black cloud. From that cloud came forth faces in which he saw his mother, his wife, and his brother. His teeth were chattering from fright; still his soul of a comedian found a kind of charm in the horror of the moment. To be absolute lord of the earth and lose all things, seemed to him the height of tragedy; and faithful to himself, he played the first role to the end. A fever for quotations took possession of him, and a passionate wish that those present should preserve them for posterity. At moments he said that he wished to die, and called for Spiculus, the most skilled of all gladiators in killing. At moments he declaimed, “Mother, wife, father, call me to death!” Flashes of hope rose in him, however, from time to time,—hope vain and childish. He knew that he was going to death, and still he did not believe it.
Phaon provided a safe haven at his villa just outside the Nomentan Gate. After a while, they got on horses, and as they draped a cloak over Nero's head, they raced off toward the edge of the city. The night was beginning to fade. But in the streets, there was a bustle that indicated the unusual nature of the moment. Soldiers, sometimes alone and sometimes in small groups, were scattered throughout the city. Not far from the camp, Cæsar's horse unexpectedly jumped aside at the sight of a corpse. The cloak slipped from Nero's head; a soldier recognized him and, taken aback by the sudden encounter, gave a military salute. As they passed the praetorian camp, they heard loud cheers in honor of Galba. Nero finally realized that his death was imminent. Fear and guilt overwhelmed him. He claimed to see darkness ahead of him in the shape of a black cloud. From that cloud emerged faces of his mother, wife, and brother. His teeth chattered with fear; yet, the performer in him found a twisted kind of allure in the horror of the moment. To be the absolute ruler of the earth and lose everything seemed to him the ultimate tragedy; true to himself, he played the lead role until the end. An obsession with quotes took over him, along with a passionate desire for those around him to remember them for future generations. At times, he expressed a wish to die and called for Spiculus, the most skilled gladiator in executing death blows. At times, he cried out, “Mother, wife, father, summon me to death!” Nevertheless, fleeting flashes of hope sparked within him—hope that was futile and childish. He knew he was heading toward death, yet he still didn't want to believe it.
They found the Nomentan Gate open. Going farther, they passed near Ostrianum, where Peter had taught and baptized. At daybreak they reached Phaon’s villa.
They found the Nomentan Gate open. Moving further, they passed close to Ostrianum, where Peter had taught and baptized. At daybreak, they arrived at Phaon’s villa.
There the freedmen hid from him no longer the fact that it was time to die. He gave command then to dig a grave, and lay on the ground so that they might take accurate measurement. At sight of the earth thrown up, however, terror seized him. His fat face became pale, and on his forehead sweat stood like drops of dew in the morning. He delayed. In a voice at once abject and theatrical, he declared that the hour had not come yet; then he began again to quote. At last he begged them to burn his body. “What an artist is perishing!” repeated he, as if in amazement.
There the freedmen could no longer hide from him the fact that it was time to die. He then commanded them to dig a grave and lie on the ground so they could take accurate measurements. However, when he saw the earth being thrown up, terror gripped him. His chubby face turned pale, and sweat formed on his forehead like morning dew. He hesitated. In a voice that was both pitiful and dramatic, he declared that the hour had not yet come; then he started quoting again. Finally, he pleaded with them to burn his body. "What an artist is perishing!" he repeated, as if in disbelief.
Meanwhile Phaon’s messenger arrived with the announcement that the Senate had issued the sentence that the “parricide” was to be punished according to ancient custom.
Meanwhile, Phaon's messenger arrived with the news that the Senate had handed down the decision that the "parricide" was to be punished according to ancient tradition.
“What is the ancient custom?” asked Nero, with whitened lips.
“What’s the ancient custom?” Nero asked, his lips pale.
“They will fix thy neck in a fork, flog thee to death, and hurl thy body into the Tiber,” answered Epaphroditus, abruptly.
“They will lock your neck in a fork, whip you to death, and throw your body into the Tiber,” answered Epaphroditus, abruptly.
Nero drew aside the robe from his breast.
Nero pulled aside the robe from his chest.
“It is time, then!” said he, looking into the sky. And he repeated once more, “What an artist is perishing!”
“It’s time, then!” he said, looking up at the sky. And he repeated once more, “What a talented artist is dying!”
At that moment the tramp of a horse was heard. That was the centurion coming with soldiers for the head of Ahenobarbus.
At that moment, the sound of a horse’s hooves was heard. That was the centurion arriving with soldiers to capture Ahenobarbus.
“Hurry!” cried the freedmen.
"Hurry!" shouted the freedmen.
Nero placed the knife to his neck, but pushed it only timidly. It was clear that he would never have courage to thrust it in. Epaphroditus pushed his hand suddenly,—the knife sank to the handle. Nero’s eyes turned in his head, terrible, immense, frightened.
Nero held the knife to his neck but only pressed it gently. It was obvious that he would never have the courage to stab himself. Epaphroditus suddenly pushed his hand, and the knife plunged in completely. Nero's eyes rolled back in his head, filled with terror and disbelief.
“I bring thee life!” cried the centurion, entering.
“I bring you life!” shouted the centurion, entering.
“Too late!” said Nero, with a hoarse voice; then he added,—
“Too late!” said Nero, his voice rough; then he added,—
“Here is faithfulness!”
“Here is loyalty!”
In a twinkle death seized his head. Blood from his heavy neck gushed in a dark stream on the flowers of the garden. His legs kicked the ground, and he died.
In an instant, death took hold of him. Blood from his heavy neck flowed in a dark stream onto the garden flowers. His legs thrashed against the ground, and he died.
On the morrow the faithful Acte wrapped his body in costly stuffs, and burned him on a pile filled with perfumes.
On the next day, the devoted Acte wrapped his body in expensive fabrics and burned him on a pile filled with perfumes.
And so Nero passed, as a whirlwind, as a storm, as a fire, as war or death passes; but the basilica of Peter rules till now, from the Vatican heights, the city, and the world.
And so Nero went by like a whirlwind, like a storm, like a fire, like war or death passes; but the basilica of Peter still stands strong from the heights of the Vatican, overseeing the city and the world.
Near the ancient Porta Capena stands to this day a little chapel with the inscription, somewhat worn: Quo Vadis, Domine?
Near the ancient Porta Capena stands a little chapel to this day with the inscription, somewhat worn: Quo Vadis, Domine?
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