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

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.”

This was true. Seneca lacked the strength of soul which Cornutus

possessed, for example, or Thrasea; hence his life was a series of

concessions to crime. He felt this himself; he understood that an

adherent of the principles of Zeno, of Citium, should go by another

road, and he suffered more from that cause than from the fear of death

itself.

But the general interrupted these reflections full of grief.

“Noble 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.”

“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.”

“Thanks for that, even,” answered 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.

“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.”

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.

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.

When he returned home, he pacified Pomponia, gave her the consolation

that he had, and both began to await news from Vinicius. At moments

when the steps of some of the slaves were heard in the atrium, they

thought that perhaps Vinicius was bringing their beloved child to them,

and they were ready in the depth of their souls to bless both. Time

passed, however, and no news came. Only in the evening was the hammer

heard on the gate.

After a while a slave entered and handed 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.

All at once his face darkened, as if a shadow from a passing cloud had

fallen on it.

“Read,” said he, turning to Pomponia.

Pomponia took the letter and read as follows:—

“Marcus Vinicius to Aulus Plautius greeting. What has happened, has

happened by the will of Cæsar, before which incline your heads, as I and

Petronius incline ours.”

A long silence followed.