Quo Vadis: A Narrative of the Time of Nero by Henryk Sienkiewicz (nonfiction book recommendations .txt) 📕

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.”

A time of silence followed, which was broken at last 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?”

“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.”

Tigellinus was confused; but Nero, as if wishing to change the conversation, added after a while,—

“Summer is passing. Oh, what a stench there must be in that Rome now! And still we must return for the summer games.”

“When thou dismissest the Augustians, O Cæsar, permit me to remain with thee 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.”

“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.”

“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.”

“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.”

“Who can foresee to what the madness of Ahenobarbus 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.”

“But I pity thee, 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.”

“And now I am longing for 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!”

“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.”

“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.”

“This very day she asked me what I was doing in Rome, though my departure was secret.”

“Perhaps she gave command to set spies on thee. Now, however, even she must count 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