Quo Vadis - Henryk Sienkiewicz (best ereader under 100 .txt) 📗
- Author: Henryk Sienkiewicz
- Performer: -
Book online «Quo Vadis - Henryk Sienkiewicz (best ereader under 100 .txt) 📗». Author Henryk Sienkiewicz
I do not like that style, Marcus, and do thou guard against it. Know
that Tigellinus is Cæsar’s pander; but know also that if I wanted the
girl for myself now, looking thee straight in the eyes, I would say,
‘Vinicius! I take Lygia from thee and I will keep her till I am tired
of her.”
Thus speaking, he began to look with his hazel eyes straight into the
eyes of Vinicius with a cold and insolent stare. The young man lost
himself completely.
“The fault is mine,” said he. “Thou art kind and worthy. I thank thee
from my whole soul. Permit me only to put one more question: Why didst
thou not have Lygia sent directly to my house?”
“Because Cæsar wishes to preserve appearances. People in Rome will talk
about this,—that we removed Lygia as a hostage. While they are
talking, she will remain in Cæsar’s palace. Afterward she will be
removed quietly to thy house, and that will be the end. Bronzebeard is a
cowardly cur. He knows that his power is unlimited, and still he tries
to give specious appearances to every act. Hast thou recovered to the
degree of being able to philosophize a little? More than once have I
thought, Why does crime, even when as powerful as Cæsar, and assured of
being beyond punishment, strive always for the appearances of truth,
justice, and virtue? Why does it take the trouble? I consider that to
murder a brother, a mother, a wife, is a thing worthy of some petty
Asiatic king, not a Roman Cæsar; but if that position were mine, I
should not write justifying letters to the Senate. But Nero writes.
Nero is looking for appearances, for Nero is a coward. But Tiberius was
not a coward; still he justified every step he took. Why is this? What
a marvellous, involuntary homage paid to virtue by evil! And knowest
thou what strikes me? This, that it is done because transgression is
ugly and virtue is beautiful. Therefore a man of genuine æsthetic
feeling is also a virtuous man. Hence I am virtuous. To-day I must
pour out a little wine to the shades of Protagoras, Prodicus, and
Gorgias. It seems that sophists too can be of service. Listen, for I
am speaking yet. I took Lygia from Aulus to give her to thee. Well.
But Lysippus would have made wonderful groups of her and thee. Ye are
both beautiful; therefore my act is beautiful, and being beautiful it
cannot be bad. Marcus, here sitting before thee is virtue incarnate in
Caius Petronius! If Aristides were living, it would be his duty to come
to me and offer a hundred minæ for a short treatise on virtue.”
But Vinicius, as a man more concerned with reality than with treatises
on virtue, replied,—“Tomorrow I shall see Lygia, and then have her in
my house daily, always, and till death.”
“Thou wilt have Lygia, and I shall have Aulus on my head. He will
summon the vengeance of all the infernal gods against me. And if the
beast would take at least a preliminary lesson in good declamation! He
will blame me, however, as my former doorkeeper blamed my clients but
him I sent to prison in the country.”
“Aulus has been at my house. I promised to give him news of Lygia.”
“Write to him that the will of the ‘divine’ Cæsar is the highest law,
and that thy first son will bear the name Aulus. It is necessary that
the old man should have some consolation. I am ready to pray
Bronzebeard to invite him tomorrow to the feast. Let him see thee in
the triclinium next to Lygia.”
“Do not do that. I am sorry for them, especially for Pomponia.”
And he sat down to write that letter which took from the old general the
remnant of his hope.
ONCE the highest heads in Rome inclined before Acte, the former favorite
of Nero. But even at that period she showed no desire to interfere in
public questions, and if on any occasion she used her influence over the
young ruler, it was only to implore mercy for some one. Quiet and
unassuming, she won the gratitude of many, and made no one her enemy.
Even Octavia was unable to hate her. To those who envied her she seemed
exceedingly harmless. It was known that she continued to love Nero with
a sad and pained love, which lived not in hope, but only in memories of
the time in which that Nero was not only younger and loving, but better.
It was known that she could not tear her thoughts and soul from those
memories, but expected nothing; since there was no real fear that Nero
would return to her, she was looked upon as a person wholly inoffensive,
and hence was left in peace. Poppæa considered her merely as a quiet
servant, so harmless that she did not even try to drive her from the
palace.
But since Cæsar had loved her once and dropped her without offence in a
quiet and to some extent friendly manner, a certain respect was retained
for her. Nero, when he had freed her, let her live in the palace, and
gave her special apartments with a few servants. And as in their time
Pallas and Narcissus, though freedmen of Claudius, not only sat at
feasts with Claudius, but also held places of honor as powerful
ministers, so she too was invited at times to Cæsar’s table. This was
done perhaps because her beautiful form was a real ornament to a feast.
Cæsar for that matter had long since ceased to count with any
appearances in his choice of company. At his table the most varied
medley of people of every position and calling found places. Among them
were senators, but mainly those who were content to be jesters as well.
There were patricians, old and young, eager for luxury, excess, and
enjoyment. There were women with great names, who did not hesitate to
put on a yellow wig of an evening and seek adventures on dark streets
for amusement’s sake. There were also high officials, and priests who
at full goblets were willing to jeer at their own gods. At the side of
these was a rabble of every sort: singers, mimes, musicians, dancers of
both sexes; poets who, while declaiming, were thinking of the sesterces
which might fall to them for praise of Cæsar’s verses; hungry
philosophers following the dishes with eager eyes; finally, noted
charioteers, tricksters, miracle-wrights, tale-tellers, jesters, and the
most varied adventurers brought through fashion or folly to a few days’
notoriety. Among these were not lacking even men who covered with long
hair their ears pierced in sign of slavery.
The most noted sat directly at the tables; the lesser served to amuse in
time of eating, and waited for the moment in which the servants would
permit them to rush at the remnants of food and drink. Guests of this
sort were furnished by Tigellinus, Vatinius, and Vitelius; for these
guests they were forced more than once to find clothing befitting the
chambers of Cæsar, who, however, liked their society, through feeling
most free in it. The luxury of the court gilded everything, and covered
all things with glitter. High and low, the descendants of great
families, and the needy from the pavements of the city, great artists,
and vile scrapings of talent, thronged to the palace to sate their
dazzled eyes with a splendor almost surpassing human estimate, and to
approach the giver of every favor, wealth, and property,—whose single
glance might abase, it is true, but might also exalt beyond measure.
That day Lygia too had to take part in such a feast. Fear, uncertainty,
and a dazed feeling, not to be wondered at after the sudden change, were
struggling in her with a wish to resist. She feared Nero; she feared
the people and the palace whose uproar deprived her of presence of mind;
she feared the feasts of whose shamelessness she had heard from Aulus,
Pomponia Græcina, and their friends. Though young, she was not without
knowledge, for knowledge of evil in those times reached even children’s
ears early. She knew, therefore, that ruin was threatening her in the
palace. Pomponia, moreover, had warned her of this at the moment of
parting. But having a youthful spirit, unacquainted with corruption,
and confessing a lofty faith, implanted in her by her foster mother, she
had promised to defend herself against that ruin; she had promised her
mother, herself and also that Divine Teacher in whom she not only
believed, but whom she had come to love with her half-childlike heart
for the sweetness of his doctrine, the bitterness of his death, and the
glory of his resurrection.
She was confident too that now neither Aulus nor Pomponia would be
answerable for her actions; she was thinking therefore whether it would
not be better to resist and not go to the feast. On the one hand fear
and alarm spoke audibly in her soul; on the other the wish rose in her
to show courage in suffering, in exposure to torture and death. The
Divine Teacher had commanded to act thus. He had given the example
himself. Pomponia had told her that the most earnest among the
adherents desire with all their souls such a test, and pray for it. And
Lygia, when still in the house of Aulus, had been mastered at moments by
a similar desire. She had seen herself as a martyr, with wounds on her
feet and hands, white as snow, beautiful with a beauty not of earth, and
borne by equally white angels into the azure sky; and her imagination
admired such a vision. There was in it much childish brooding, but
there was in it also something of delight in herself, which Pomponia had
reprimanded. But now, when opposition to Cæsar’s will might draw after
it some terrible punishment, and the martyrdom scene of imagination
become a reality, there was added to the beautiful visions and to the
delight a kind of curiosity mingled with dread, as to how they would
punish her, and what kind of torments they would provide. And her soul,
half childish yet, was hesitating on two sides. But Acte, hearing of
these hesitations, looked at her with astonishment as if the maiden were
talking in a fever. To oppose Cæsar’s will, expose oneself from the
first moment to his anger? To act thus one would need to be a child
that knows not what it says. From Lygia’s own words it appears that she
is, properly speaking, not really a hostage, but a maiden forgotten by
her own people. No law of nations protects her; and even if it did,
Cæsar is powerful enough to trample on it in a moment of anger. It has
pleased Cæsar to take her, and he will dispose of her. Thenceforth she
is at his will, above which there is not another on earth.
“So it is,” continued Acte. “I too have read the letters of Paul of
Tarsus, and I know that above the earth is God, and the Son of God, who
rose from the dead; but on the earth there is only Cæsar. Think of this,
Lygia. I know too that thy doctrine does not permit thee to be what I
was, and that to you as to the Stoics,—of whom Epictetus has told me,—
when it comes to a choice between shame and death, it is permitted to
choose only death. But canst thou say that death awaits thee and not
shame too? Hast thou heard of the daughter of Sejanus, a young maiden,
who at command of Tiberius had to pass through shame
Comments (0)