Quo Vadis: A Narrative of the Time of Nero
beautiful as a beautiful vision, but also very dear, and, putting her
lips to her dark hair, she kissed it.
But Lygia slept on calmly, as if at home, under the care of Pomponia
Græcina. And she slept rather long. Midday had passed when she opened
her blue eyes and looked around the cubiculum in astonishment. Evidently
she wondered that she was not in the house of Aulus.
“That is thou, Acte?” said she at last, seeing in the darkness the face
of the Greek.
“I, Lygia.”
“Is it evening?”
“No, child; but midday has passed.”
“And has Ursus not returned?”
“Ursus did not say that he would return; he said that he would watch in
the evening, with Christians, for the litter.”
“True.”
Then they left the cubiculum and went to the bath, where Acte bathed
Lygia; then she took her to breakfast and afterward to the gardens of
the palace, in which no dangerous meeting might be feared, since Cæsar
and his principal courtiers were sleeping yet. For the first time in
her life Lygia saw those magnificent gardens, full of pines, cypresses,
oaks, olives, and myrtles, among which appeared white here and there a
whole population of statues. The mirror of ponds gleamed quietly; groves
of roses were blooming, watered with the spray of fountains; entrances
to charming grottos were encircled with a growth of ivy or woodbine;
silver-colored swans were sailing on the water; amidst statues and trees
wandered tame gazelles from the deserts of Africa, and rich-colored
birds from all known countries on earth.
The gardens were empty; but here and there slaves were working, spade in
hand, singing in an undertone; others, to whom was granted a moment
of rest, were sitting by ponds or in the shade of groves, in trembling
light produced by sun-rays breaking in between leaves; others were
watering roses or the pale lily-colored blossoms of the saffron. Acte
and Lygia walked rather long, looking at all the wonders of the gardens;
and though Lygia’s mind was not at rest, she was too much a child yet to
resist pleasure, curiosity, and wonder. It occurred to her, even, that
if Cæsar were good, he might be very happy in such a palace, in such
gardens.
But at last, tired somewhat, the two women sat down on a bench hidden
almost entirely by dense cypresses and began to talk of that which
weighed on their hearts most,--that is, of Lygia’s escape in the
evening. Acte was far less at rest than Lygia touching its success. At
times it seemed to her even a mad project, which could not succeed.
She felt a growing pity for Lygia. It seemed to her that it would be
a hundred times safer to try to act on Vinicius. After a while she
inquired of Lygia how long she had known him, and whether she did not
think that he would let himself be persuaded to return her to Pomponia.
But Lygia shook her dark head in sadness. “No. In Aulus’s house,
Vinicius had been different, he had been very kind, but since
yesterday’s feast she feared him, and would rather flee to the Lygians.”
“But in Aulus’s house,” inquired Acte, “he was dear to thee, was he
not?”
“He was,” answered Lygia, inclining her head.
“And thou wert not a slave, as I was,” said Acte, after a moment’s
thought. “Vinicius might marry thee. Thou art a hostage, and a daughter
of the Lygian king. Aulus and Pomponia love thee as their own child; I
am sure that they are ready to adopt thee. Vinicius might marry thee,
Lygia.”
But Lygia answered calmly, and with still greater sadness, “I would
rather flee to the Lygians.”
“Lygia, dost thou wish me to go directly to Vinicius, rouse him, if he
is sleeping, and tell him what I have told thee? Yes, my precious one, I
will go to him and say, ‘Vinicius, this is a king’s daughter, and a dear
child of the famous Aulus; if thou love her, return her to Aulus and
Pomponia, and take her as wife from their house.’”
But the maiden answered with a voice so low that Acte could barely hear
it,--
“I would rather flee to the Lygians.” And two tears were hanging on her
drooping lids.
Further conversation was stopped by the rustle of approaching steps, and
before Acte had time to see who was coming, Poppæa Sabina appeared in
front of the bench with a small retinue of slave women. Two of them held
over her head bunches of ostrich feathers fixed to golden wires; with
these they fanned her lightly, and at the same time protected her from
the autumn sun, which was hot yet. Before her a woman from Egypt, black
as ebony, and with bosom swollen as if from milk, bore in her arms
an infant wrapped in purple fringed with gold. Acte and Lygia rose,
thinking that Poppæa would pass the bench without turning attention to
either; but she halted before them and said,--“Acte, the bells sent by
thee for the doll were badly fastened; the child tore off one and put it
to her mouth; luckily Lilith saw it in season.”
“Pardon, divinity,” answered Acte, crossing her arms on her breast and
bending her head.
But Poppæa began to gaze at Lygia.
“What slave is this?” asked she, after a pause.
“She is not a slave, divine Augusta, but a foster child of Pomponia
Græcina, and a daughter of the Lygian king given by him as hostage to
Rome.”
“And has she come to visit thee?”
“No, Augusta. She is dwelling in the palace since the day before
yesterday.”
“Was she at the feast last night?”
“She was, Augusta.”
“At whose command?”
“At Cæsar’s command.”
Poppæa looked still more attentively at Lygia, who stood with bowed
head, now raising her bright eyes to her with curiosity, now covering
them with their lids. Suddenly a frown appeared between the brows of
the Augusta. Jealous of her own beauty and power, she lived in continual
alarm lest at some time a fortunate rival might ruin her, as she had
ruined Octavia. Hence every beautiful face in the palace roused her
suspicion. With the eye of a critic she took in at once every part of
Lygia’s form, estimated every detail of her face, and was frightened.
“That is simply a nymph,” thought she, “and ‘twas Venus who gave birth
to her.” On a sudden this came to her mind which had never come before
at sight of any beauty,--that she herself had grown notably older!
Wounded vanity quivered in Poppæa, alarm seized her, and various fears
shot through her head. “Perhaps Nero has not seen the girl, or, seeing
her through the emerald, has not appreciated her. But what would happen
should he meet such a marvel in the daytime, in sunlight? Moreover she
is not a slave, she is the daughter of a king,--a king of barbarians,
it is true, but a king. Immortal gods! she is as beautiful as I am, but
younger!” The wrinkle between her brows increased, and her eyes began to
shine under their golden lashes with a cold gleam.
“Hast thou spoken with Cæsar?”
“No, Augusta.”
“Why dost thou choose to be here rather than in the house of Aulus?”
“I do not choose, lady. Petronius persuaded Cæsar to take me from
Pomponia. I am here against my will.”
“And wouldst thou return to Pomponia?”
This last question Poppæa gave with a softer and milder voice; hence a
sudden hope rose in Lygia’s heart.
“Lady,” said she, extending her hand to her, “Cæsar promised to give
me as a slave to Vinicius, but do thou intercede and return me to
Pomponia.”
“Then Petronius persuaded Cæsar to take thee from Aulus, and give thee
to Vinicius?”
“True, lady. Vinicius is to send for me to-day, but thou art good, have
compassion on me.” When she had said this, she inclined, and, seizing
the border of Poppæa’s robe, waited for her word with beating heart.
Poppæa looked at her for a while, with a face lighted by an evil smile,
and said,--“Then I promise that thou wilt become the slave of Vinicius
this day.” And she went on, beautiful as a vision, but evil. To the ears
of Lygia and Acte came only the wail of the infant, which began to cry,
it was unknown for what reason.
Lygia’s eyes too were filled with tears; but after a while she took
Acte’s hand and said,--“Let us return. Help is to be looked for only
whence it can come.” And they returned to the atrium, which they did not
leave till evening.
When darkness had come and slaves brought in tapers with great flames,
both women were very pale. Their conversation failed every moment. Both
were listening to hear if some one were coming. Lygia repeated again and
again that, though grieved to leave Acte, she preferred that all should
take place that day, as Ursus must be waiting in the dark for her then.
But her breathing grew quicker from emotion, and louder. Acte collected
feverishly such jewels as she could, and, fastening them in a corner
of Lygia’s peplus, implored her not to reject that gift and means of
escape. At moments came a deep silence full of deceptions for the ear.
It seemed to both that they heard at one time a whisper beyond the
curtain, at another the distant weeping of a child, at another the
barking of dogs.
Suddenly the curtain of the entrance moved without noise, and a tall,
dark man, his face marked with small-pox, appeared like a spirit in the
atrium. In one moment Lygia recognized Atacinus, a freedman of Vinicius,
who had visited the house of Aulus.
Acte screamed; but Atacinus bent low and said,--“A greeting, divine
Lygia, from Marcus Vinicius, who awaits thee with a feast in his house
which is decked in green.”
The lips of the maiden grew pale.
“I go,” said she.
Then she threw her arms around Acte’s neck in farewell.
Chapter X
THE house of Vinicius was indeed decked in the green of myrtle and ivy,
which had been hung on the walls and over the doors. The columns were
wreathed with grape vine. In the atrium, which was closed above by a
purple woollen cloth as protection from the night cold, it was as clear
as in daylight. Eight and twelve flamed lamps were burning; these were
like vessels, trees, animals, birds, or statues, holding cups filled
with perfumed olive oil, lamps of alabaster, marble, or gilded
Corinthian bronze, not so wonderful as that famed candlestick used by
Nero and taken from the temple of Apollo, but beautiful and made by
famous masters. Some of the lights were shaded by Alexandrian glass,
or transparent stuffs from the Indus, of red, blue, yellow, or violet
color, so that the whole atrium was filled with many colored rays.
Everywhere was given out the odor of nard, to which Vinicius had grown
used, and which he had learned to love in the Orient. The depths of the
house, in which the forms of male and female slaves were moving, gleamed
also with light. In the triclinium a table was laid for four persons.
At the feast were to sit, besides Vinicius and Lygia, Petronius
and Chrysothemis. Vinicius had followed in everything the words of
Petronius, who advised him not to go for Lygia, but to send Atacinus
with the permission obtained from Cæsar, to receive her himself in the
house, receive her with friendliness and even with marks of honor.
“Thou wert drunk yesterday,” said he; “I saw thee. Thou didst act with
her like a quarryman from the Alban Hills. Be not over-insistent, and
remember that one should drink good wine slowly. Know too that it is
sweet to desire, but sweeter to be desired.”
Chrysothemis had her own and a somewhat different opinion on this point;
but Petronius, calling her his vestal and his dove, began to explain the
difference which must exist between a trained charioteer of the Circus
and the youth who sits on the quadriga for the first time. Then, turning
to Vinicius, he continued,--“Win her confidence, make her joyful, be
magnanimous. I have no wish to see a gloomy feast. Swear to her, by
Hades even, that thou wilt return her to Pomponia, and it will be thy
affair that to-morrow she prefers to stay with thee.”
Then pointing to Chrysothemis, he added,--“For five years I have acted