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

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 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 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!

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!”

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.

“Hast seen Lygia to-day?” were the first words of Petronius.

“I have just come 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.”

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.

“I go,” said he.

“One word more. Take a purse of gold, take weapons, and a handful of

thy Christians. In case of need, rescue her!”

Vinicius was in the door of the atrium already.

“Send me news by a slave!” cried 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.

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.

“What wilt thou say to me, Charis?” asked Petronius, stretching 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.”

“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.”

“O lord!”

“Come hither, Eunice, embrace me with thy arms, and give thy lips to me.

Dost thou love me?”

“I should not have loved Zeus more.”

Then she pressed her lips to his, while quivering in his arms from

happiness. After a while Petronius asked,—

“But if we should have to separate?”

Eunice looked at him with fear in her eyes.

“How is that, lord?”

“Fear not; I ask, for who knows but I may have to set out on a long

journey?”

“Take me with thee-”

Petronius changed the conversation quickly, and said,—

“Tell me, are there asphodels on the grass plot in 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.”

“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?”

“Why punish the Christians, lord? They are good and peaceful.”

“For that very reason.”

“Let us go to the sea. Thy beautiful eyes do not 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!”

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.

“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.”

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,—

“They might let me dine in peace.” Then turning to the chief of the

atrium, he said, “Let him enter.”

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.

“Noble lord,” said he, “here is a letter from Cæsar.”

Petronius extended his white hand lazily, took the tablet, and, casting

his eye over it, gave it, in all calmness to Eunice.

“He will read a new book of the Troyad this evening, and invites me to

come.’

“I have only 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?”

“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.”

“Why was the letter given to thee, and not sent by a slave?”

“I know not, lord. Perhaps because I was sent in this direction on

other duty.”

“I know, against the Christians?”

“Yes, lord.”

“Is it long since the pursuit was begun?”

“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,—

“May the gods grant thee, lord, what thou desirest.”

“Take the goblet too,” said Petronius.

Then he gave a sign to Anthemios to finish 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