Quo Vadis - Henryk Sienkiewicz (best ereader under 100 .txt) 📗

Chapter XIV

FOR a number of days after the interview, Chilo did not show himself

anywhere. Vinicius, since he had learned from Acte that Lygia loved

him, was a hundred times more eager to find her, and began himself to

search. He was unwilling, and also unable, to ask aid of Cæsar, who was

in great fear because of the illness of the infant Augusta.

 

Sacrifices in the temples did not help, neither did prayers and

offerings, nor the art of physicians, nor all the means of enchantment

to which they turned finally. In a week the child died. Mourning fell

upon the court and Rome. Cæsar, who at the birth of the infant was wild

with delight, was wild now from despair, and, confining himself in his

apartments, refused food for two days; and though the palace was

swarming with senators and Augustians, who hastened with marks of sorrow

and sympathy, he denied audience to every one. The senate assembled in

an extraordinary session, at which the dead child was pronounced divine.

It was decided to rear to her a temple and appoint a special priest to

her service. New sacrifices were offered in other temples in honor of

the deceased; statues of her were cast from precious metals; and her

funeral was one immense solemnity, during which the people wondered at

the unrestrained marks of grief which Cæsar exhibited; they wept with

him, stretched out their hands for gifts, and above all amused

themselves with the unparalleled spectacle.

 

That death alarmed Petronius. All knew in Rome that Poppæa ascribed it

to enchantment. The physicians, who were thus enabled to explain the

vanity of their efforts, supported her; the priests, whose sacrifices

proved powerless, did the same, as well as the sorcerers, who were

trembling for their lives, and also the people. Petronius was glad now

that Lygia had fled; for he wished no evil to Aulus and Pomponia, and he

wished good to himself and Vinicius; therefore when the cypress, set out

before the Palatine as a sign of mourning, was removed, he went to the

reception appointed for the senators and Augustians to learn how far

Nero had lent ear to reports of spells, and to neutralize results which

might come from his belief.

 

Knowing Nero, he thought, too, that though he did not believe in charms,

he would feign belief, so as to magnify his own suffering, and take

vengeance on some one, finally, to escape the suspicion that the gods

had begun to punish him for crimes. Petronius did not think that Cæsar

could love really and deeply even his own child; though he loved her

passionately, he felt certain, however, that he would exaggerate his

suffering. He was not mistaken. Nero listened, with stony face and

fixed eyes, to the consolation offered by knights and senators. It was

evident that, even if he suffered, he was thinking of this: What

impression would his suffering make upon others? He was posing as a

Niobe, and giving an exhibition of parental sorrow, as an actor would

give it on the stage. He had not the power even then to endure in his

silent and as it were petrified sorrow, for at moments he made a gesture

as if to cast the dust of the earth on his head, and at moments he

groaned deeply; but seeing Petronius, he sprang up and cried in a tragic

voice, so that all present could hear him,—“Eheu! And thou art guilty

of her death! At thy advice the evil spirit entered these walls,—the

evil spirit which, with one look, drew the life from her breast! Woe is

me! Would that my eyes had not seen the light of Helios! Woe is me!

Eheu! eheu!”

 

And raising his voice still more, he passed into a despairing shout; but

Petronius resolved at that moment to put everything on one cast of the

dice; hence, stretching out his hand, he seized the silk kerchief which

Nero wore around his neck always, and, placing it on the mouth of the

Imperator, said solemnly,—“Lord, Rome and the world are benumbed with

pain; but do thou preserve thy voice for us!”

 

Those present were amazed; Nero himself was amazed for a moment.

Petronius alone was unmoved; he knew too well what he was doing. He

remembered, besides, that Terpnos and Diodorus had a direct order to

close Cæsar’s mouth whenever he raised his voice too much and exposed it

to danger.

 

“O Cæsar!” continued he, with the same seriousness and sorrow, “we have

suffered an immeasurable loss; let even this treasure of consolation

remain to us!”

 

Nero’s face quivered, and after a while tears came from his eyes. All at

once he rested his hands on Petronius’s shoulders, and, dropping his

head on his breast, began to repeat, amid sobs,

 

“Thou alone of all thought of this,—thou alone, O Petronius! thou

alone!”

 

Tigellinus grew yellow from envy; but Petronius continued,—

 

“Go to Antium! there she came to the world, there joy flowed in on thee,

there solace will come to thee. Let the sea air freshen thy divine

throat; let thy breast breathe the salt dampness. We, thy devoted ones,

will follow thee everywhere; and when we assuage thy pain with

friendship, thou wilt comfort us with song.

 

“True!” answered Nero, sadly, “I will write a hymn in her honor, and

compose music for it.”

 

“And then thou wilt find the warm sun in Baiæ.”

 

“And afterward—forgetfulness in Greece.”

 

“In the birthplace of poetry and song.”

 

And his stony, gloomy state of mind passed away gradually, as clouds

pass that are covering the sun; and then a conversation began which,

though full of sadness, yet was full of plans for the future,—touching

a journey, artistic exhibitions, and even the receptions required at the

promised coming of Tiridates, King of Armenia. Tigellinus tried, it is

true, to bring forward again the enchantment; but Petronius, sure now of

victory, took up the challenge directly.

 

“Tigellinus,” said he, “dost thou think that enchantments can injure the

gods?”

 

“Cæsar himself has mentioned them,” answered the courtier.

 

“Pain was speaking, not Cæsar; but thou—what is thy opinion of the

matter?”

 

“The gods are too mighty to be subject to charms.”

 

“Then wouldst thou deny divinity to Cæsar and his family?”

 

“Peractum est!” muttered Eprius Marcellus, standing near, repeating that

shout which the people gave always when a gladiator in the arena

received such a blow that he needed no other.

 

Tigellinus gnawed his own anger. Between him and Petronius there had

long existed a rivalry touching Nero. Tigellinus had this superiority,

that Nero acted with less ceremony, or rather with none whatever in his

presence; while thus far Petronius overcame Tigellinus at every

encounter with wit and intellect.

 

So it happened now. Tigellinus was silent, and simply recorded in his

memory those senators and knights who, when Petronius withdrew to the

depth of the chamber, surrounded him straightway, supposing that after

this incident he would surely be Cæsar’s first favorite.

 

Petronius, on leaving the palace, betook himself to Vinicius, and

described his encounter with Cæsar and Tigellinus.

 

“Not only have I turned away danger,” said he, “from Aulus Plautius,

Pomponia, and us, but even from Lygia, whom they will not seek, even for

this reason, that I have persuaded Bronzebeard, the monkey, to go to

Antium, and thence to Naples or Baiæ and he will go. I know that he has

not ventured yet to appear in the theatre publicly;