Quo Vadis: A Narrative of the Time of Nero
filled with women playing on citharæ and harps, women whose rosy bodies
on the blue background of the sky and the water and in the reflections
from golden instruments seemed to absorb that blue and those
reflections, and to change and bloom like flowers.
From the groves at the banks, from fantastic buildings reared for
that day and hidden among thickets, were heard music and song. The
neighborhood resounded, the groves resounded; echoes bore around the
voices of horns and trumpets. Cæsar himself, with Poppæa on one side of
him, and Pythagoras on the other, was amazed; and more especially when
among the boats young slave maidens appeared as sirens, and were covered
with green network in imitation of scales, he did not spare praises on
Tigellinus. But he looked at Petronius from habit, wishing to learn the
opinion of the “arbiter,” who seemed indifferent for a long time, and
only when questioned outright, answered,--“I judge, lord, that ten
thousand naked maidens make less impression than one.”
But the “floating feast” pleased Cæsar, for it was something new.
Besides, such exquisite dishes were served that the imagination of
Apicius would have failed at sight of them, and wines of so many kinds
that Otho, who used to serve eighty, would have hidden under water with
shame, could he have witnessed the luxury of that feast. Besides women,
the Augustians sat down at the table, among whom Vinicius excelled all
with his beauty. Formerly his figure and face indicated too clearly
the soldier by profession; now mental suffering and the physical pain
through which he had passed had chiselled his features, as if the
delicate hand of a master had passed over them. His complexion had
lost its former swarthiness, but the yellowish gleam of Numidian marble
remained on it. His eyes had grown larger and more pensive. His body
had retained its former powerful outlines, as if created for armor; but
above the body of a legionary was seen the head of a Grecian god, or at
least of a refined patrician, at once subtle and splendid. Petronius, in
saying that none of the ladies of Cæsar’s court would be able or willing
to resist Vinicius, spoke like a man of experience. All gazed at him
now, not excepting Poppæa, or the vestal virgin Rubria, whom Cæsar
wished to see at the feast.
Wines, cooled in mountain snow, soon warmed the hearts and heads of the
guests. Boats shaped as grasshoppers or butterflies shot forth from the
bushes at the shore every moment. The blue surface of the pond seemed
occupied by butterflies. Above the boats here and there flew doves, and
other birds from India and Africa, fastened with silver and blue threads
or strings. The sun had passed the greater part of the sky, but the day
was warm and even hot, though in the beginning of May. The pond heaved
from the strokes of oars, which beat the water in time with music;
but in the air there was not the least breath of wind; the groves were
motionless, as if lost in listening and in gazing at that which was
happening on the water. The raft circled continually on the pond,
bearing guests who were increasingly drunk and boisterous.
The feast had not run half its course yet, when the order in which all
sat at the table was observed no longer. Cæsar gave the example, for,
rising himself, he commanded Vinicius, who sat next to Rubria the
vestal, to move. Nero occupied the place, and began to whisper something
in Rubria’s ear. Vinicius found himself next to Poppæa, who extended her
arm and begged him to fasten her loosened bracelet. When he did so, with
hands trembling somewhat, she cast at him from beneath her long lashes
a glance as it were of modesty, and shook her golden head as if in
resistance.
Meanwhile the sun, growing larger, ruddier, sank slowly behind the
tops of the grove; the guests were for the greater part thoroughly
intoxicated. The raft circled now nearer the shore, on which, among
bunches of trees and flowers, were seen groups of people, disguised as
fauns or satyrs, playing on flutes, bagpipes, and drums, with groups of
maidens representing nymphs, dryads, and hamadryads. Darkness fell at
last amid drunken shouts from the tent, shouts raised in honor of
Luna. Meanwhile the groves were lighted with a thousand lamps. From the
lupanaria on the shores shone swarms of lights; on the terraces appeared
new naked groups, formed of the wives and daughters of the first Roman
houses. These with voice and unrestrained manner began to lure partners.
The raft touched the shore at last. Cæsar and the Augustians vanished
in the groves, scattered in lupanaria, in tents hidden in thickets,
in grottos artificially arranged among fountains and springs. Madness
seized all; no one knew whither Cæsar had gone; no one knew who was a
senator, who a knight, who a dancer, who a musician. Satyrs and fauns
fell to chasing nymphs with shouting. They struck lamps with thyrses to
quench them. Darkness covered certain parts of the grove. Everywhere,
however, laughter and shouts were heard, and whispers, and panting
breaths. In fact Rome had not seen anything like that before.
Vinicius was not drunk, as he had been at the feast in Nero’s palace,
when Lygia was present; but he was roused and intoxicated by the sight
of everything done round about, and at last the fever of pleasure seized
him. Rushing into the forest, he ran, with others, examining who of the
dryads seemed most beautiful. New flocks of these raced around him every
moment with shouts and with songs; these flocks were pursued by fauns,
satyrs, senators, knights, and by sounds of music. Seeing at last a band
of maidens led by one arrayed as Diana, he sprang to it, intending to
examine the goddess more closely. All at once the heart sank in his
bosom, for he thought that in that goddess, with the moon on her
forehead, he recognized Lygia.
They encircled him with a mad whirl, and, wishing evidently to incline
him to follow, rushed away the next moment like a herd of deer. But he
stood on the spot with beating heart, breathless; for though he saw that
the Diana was not Lygia, and that at close sight she was not even like
her, the too powerful impression deprived him of strength. Straightway
he was seized by such yearning as he had never felt before, and love for
Lygia rushed to his breast in a new, immense wave. Never had she seemed
so dear, pure, and beloved as in that forest of madness and frenzied
excess. A moment before, he himself wished to drink of that cup, and
share in that shameless letting loose of the senses; now disgust and
repugnance possessed him. He felt that infamy was stifling him; that
his breast needed air and the stars which were hidden by the thickets of
that dreadful grove. He determined to flee; but barely had he moved
when before him stood some veiled figure, which placed its hands on his
shoulders and whispered, flooding his face with burning breath, “I love
thee! Come! no one will see us, hasten!”
Vinicius was roused, as if from a dream.
“Who art thou?”
But she leaned her breast on him and insisted,--“Hurry! See how lonely
it is here, and I love thee! Come!”
“Who art thou?” repeated Vinicius.
“Guess!”
As she said this, she pressed her lips to his through the veil, drawing
toward her his head at the same time, till at last breath failed the
woman and she tore her face from him.
“Night of love! night of madness!” said she, catching the air quickly.
“Today is free! Thou hast me!”
But that kiss burned Vinicius; it filled him with disquiet. His soul and
heart were elsewhere; in the whole world nothing existed for him except
Lygia. So, pushing back the veiled figure, he said,--
“Whoever thou be, I love another, I do not wish thee.”
“Remove the veil,” said she, lowering her head toward him.
At that moment the leaves of the nearest myrtle began to rustle; the
veiled woman vanished like a dream vision, but from a distance her laugh
was heard, strange in some way, and ominous.
Petronius stood before Vinicius.
“I have heard and seen,” said he.
“Let us go from this place,” replied Vinicius.
And they went. They passed the lupanaria gleaming with light, the grove,
the line of mounted pretorians, and found the litters.
“I will go with thee,” said Petronius.
They sat down together. On the road both were silent, and only in the
atrium of Vinicius’s house did Petronius ask,--“Dost thou know who that
was?”
“Was it Rubria?” asked Vinicius, repulsed at the very thought that
Rubria was a vestal.
“No.”
“Who then?”
Petronius lowered his voice. “The fire of Vesta was defiled, for Rubria
was with Cæsar. But with thee was speaking”--and he finished in a still
lower voice, “the divine Augusta.”
A moment of silence followed.
“Cæsar,” said Petronius, “was unable to hide from Poppæa his desire for
Rubria; therefore she wished, perhaps, to avenge herself. But I hindered
you both. Hadst thou recognized the Augusta and refused her, thou
wouldst have been ruined beyond rescue,--thou, Lygia, and I, perhaps.”
“I have enough of Rome, Cæsar, feasts, the Augusta, Tigellinus, and
all of you!” burst out Vinicius. “I am stifling. I cannot live thus; I
cannot. Dost understand me?”
“Vinicius, thou art losing sense, judgment, moderation.”
“I love only her in this world.”
“What of that?”
“This, that I wish no other love. I have no wish for your life, your
feasts, your shamelessness, your crimes!”
“What is taking place in thee? Art thou a Christian?”
The young man seized his head with both hands, and repeated, as if in
despair,--“Not yet! not yet!”
Chapter XXXII
PETRONIUS went home shrugging his shoulders and greatly dissatisfied.
It was evident to him that he and Vinicius had ceased to understand
each other, that their souls had separated entirely. Once Petronius had
immense influence over the young soldier. He had been for him a model
in everything, and frequently a few ironical words of his sufficed to
restrain Vinicius or urge him to something. At present there remained
nothing of that; such was the change that Petronius did not try his
former methods, feeling that his wit and irony would slip without effect
along the new principles which love and contact with the uncomprehended
society of Christians had put in the soul of Vinicius. The veteran
sceptic understood that he had lost the key to that soul. This knowledge
filled him with dissatisfaction and even with fear, which was heightened
by the events of that night. “If on the part of the Augusta it is not a
passing whim but a more enduring desire,” thought Petronius, “one of two
things will happen,--either Vinicius will not resist her, and he may be
ruined by any accident, or, what is like him to-day, he will resist, and
in that event he will be ruined certainly, and perhaps I with him, even
because I am his relative, and because the Augusta, having included a
whole family in her hatred, will throw the weight of her influence on
the side of Tigellinus. In this way and that it is bad.” Petronius was
a man of courage and felt no dread of death; but since he hoped nothing
from it, he had no wish to invite it. After long meditation, he decided
at last that it would be better and safer to send Vinicius from Rome on
a journey. Ah! but if in addition he could give him Lygia for the road,
he would do so with pleasure. But he hoped that it would not be too
difficult to persuade him to the journey without her. He would spread a
report on the Palatine then of Vinicius’s illness, and remove danger as
well from his nephew as himself. The Augusta did not know whether she
was recognized by Vinicius; she might suppose that she was not, hence
her vanity had not suffered much so far. But it might be different in
the future, and it was necessary to avoid peril. Petronius wished to