Quo Vadis by Henryk Sienkiewicz (ebook reader macos TXT) 📕

yesterday?”

“He has, lord.”

“What is his name?”

“Chilo Chilonides.”

“Who is he?”

“A physician, a sage, a soothsayer, who knows how to read people’s fates

and predict the future.”

“Has he predicted the future to thee?”

Eunice was covered with a blush which gave a rosy color to her ears and

her neck even.

“Yes, lord.”

“What has he predicted?”

“That pain and happiness would meet me.”

“Pain met thee yesterday at the hands of Tiresias; hence happiness also

should come.”

“It has come, lord, already.”

“What?”

“I remain,” said she in a whisper.

Petronius put his hand on her golden head.

“Thou hast arranged the folds well to-day, and I am satisfied with thee,

Eunice.”

Under that touch her eyes were mist-covered in one instant from

happiness, and her bosom began to heave 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,—

“A greeting, divine Thersites! How are the lumps which Ulysses gave

thee at Troy, and what is he doing himself 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.”

“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?”

“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.”

“That is well,” said Vinicius, who was pleased with the precision of the

answer. “What means hast thou to do this?”

Chilo smiled cunningly. “Thou hast the means, lord; I have the wit

only.”

Petronius smiled also, for he was perfectly satisfied 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.”

“I am a philosopher, lord, and a philosopher cannot be greedy of gain,

especially of such as thou hast just offered magnanimously.”

“Oh, art thou a philosopher?” inquired Petronius. “Eunice told me that

thou art a physician and a soothsayer. Whence knowest thou Eunice?”

“She came to me for aid, for my fame struck her ears.”

“What aid did she want?”

“Aid in love, lord. She wanted to be cured of unrequited love.”

“Didst thou 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.”

“And didst thou 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.”

“Of what school art thou, divine 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.”

“And at the pitcher thou dost become a rhetor?”

“Heraclitus declares that ‘all is fluid,’ and canst thou deny, lord,

that wine is fluid?”

“And he declared that fire is a divinity; divinity, therefore, is

blushing in thy 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?”

“Chilo Chilonides, where is thy birthplace?”

“On the Euxine Pontus. I come from Mesembria.”

“Oh, Chilo, thou art great!”

“And unrecognized,” said the sage, pensively.

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.

“When wilt thou begin the search?” asked he, 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.”

“Hast thou been employed in similar services?” 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.”

“What are thy means?”

“To know everything, and to serve those with news who are in need of

it.”

“And who pay for it?”

“Ah, lord, I need to buy a copyist. Otherwise my wisdom will perish

with me.”

“If thou hast not collected enough yet to buy a sound mantle, thy

services cannot be very famous.”

“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?”

“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!”

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.

“Well,” said he, “dost thou need indications?”

“I need arms.”

“Of what kind?” asked Vinicius, with astonishment.

The Greek stretched out one hand; with the other he made the gesture of

counting money.

“Such are the times, lord,” said he, with a sigh.

“Thou wilt be the ass, then,” said Petronius, “to win the fortress with

bags of gold?”

“I am only a poor philosopher,” answered Chilo, with humility; “ye have

the gold.”

Vinicius tossed him a purse, which the Greek caught in the air, though

two fingers were lacking 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.”

“Dost hear, Vinicius?” broke in Petronius. “Have I not said the same,

word for word, to thee?”

“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?”

“I cannot,” 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?”

“Signs? Wait! Yes; I saw once that Lygia made a fish on the sand.”

“A fish? A-a! O-o-o! Did she do that once, or a number of times?”

“Only once.”

“And art thou certain, lord, that she outlined a fish? O-o?”

“Yes,” answered Vinicius, with roused curiosity. “Dost thou divine 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!”

“Give command to