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

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.”

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.”

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?”

“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.”

“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.”

“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.”

“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.”

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.”

“What dost thou 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.”

“I sympathize with thee, O Cæsar; and with me earth and sea, not

counting Vinicius, who deifies thee in his soul.”

“He, too, has always been dear to me,” said Cæsar, “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.”

“The Imperator does not choose wives for his soldiers. What good is my

permission to Vinicius?”

“I have told thee, O lord, that he deifies thee.”

“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.”

“But I told Tigellinus that the gods are not subject to evil charms.

Thou rememberest, divinity, his confusion and thy exclamation, ‘Habet!’”

“I remember.”

Here he turned to Vinicius,—“Dost thou love her, as Petronius says?”

“I love her, lord,” replied Vinicius.

“Then I command thee to set out for Rome tomorrow, and marry her.

Appear not again before my eyes without the marriage ring.”

“Thanks to thee, lord, from my heart and soul.”

“Oh, how pleasant it is to make people happy!” said Nero. “Would that I

might do nothing else all my 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.”

“I am willing,” said Cæsar. “I could refuse nothing to thee 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.

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.

The page returned soon with a golden casket. Nero opened it and took

out a necklace of great opals.

“These are jewels worthy of this evening,” said he.

“The light of Aurora is playing in them,” answered Poppæa, convinced

that the necklace was 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.”

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.

Vinicius gave thanks for the gift, approached Petronius, and asked,—

“How shall I thank thee for what thou hast done this day for me?”

“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.”

“No,” said Vinicius; “now I am perfectly at rest.”

“May Fortune favor thee! But be careful, for Cæsar is taking his lute

again. Hold thy breath, listen, and shed tears.”

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.

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.

Nero frowned.

“Pardon, divine Imperator,” said Phaon, with panting voice, “there is a

conflagration in Rome! The greater part of the city is in flames!”

At this news all sprang from their seats.

“O gods! I shall see a burning city and finish the Troyad,” said Nero,

setting aside his lute.

Then he turned to the consul,—“If I go at once, shall 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.”

A moment of silence followed, which was broken by the cry of Vinicius,—

“Væ misero mihi!”

And the young man, casting his toga aside, rushed forth in his tunic.

Nero raised his hands and exclaimed,—

“Woe to thee, sacred city of Priam!”