Quo Vadis: A Narrative of the Time of Nero

but he cared little. On the contrary, he rejoiced at the thought of crossing Nero’s plans and those of Tigellinus, and determined to spare in the matter neither men nor money. Since in Antium Paul of Tarsus had converted most of his slaves, he, while defending Christians, might count on their zeal and devotion. The entrance of Eunice interrupted his thoughts. At sight of her all his cares and troubles vanished without a trace. He forgot Cæsar, the disfavor into which he had fallen, the degraded Augustians, the persecution threatening the Christians, Vinicius, Lygia, and looked only at her with the eyes of an anthetic man enamoured of marvellous forms, and of a lover for whom love breathes from those forms. She, in a transparent violet robe called “Coa vestis,” through which her maiden-like form appeared, was really as beautiful as a goddess. Feeling herself admired meanwhile, and loving him with all her soul, ever eager for his fondling, she blushed with delight as if she had been an innocent maiden. “What wilt thou say to me, Charis?” asked Petronius, stretching his hands to her. She, inclining her golden head to him, answered,--“Anthemios has come with his choristers, and asks if ‘tis thy wish to hear him.” “Let him stay; he will sing to us during dinner the hymn to Apollo. By the groves of Paphos! when I see thee in that Coan gauze, I think that Aphrodite has veiled herself with a piece of the sky, and is standing before me.” “O lord!” “Come hither, Eunice, embrace me with thy arms, and give thy lips to me. Dost thou love me?” “I should not have loved Zeus more.” Then she pressed her lips to his, while quivering in his arms from happiness. After a while Petronius asked,-- “But if we should have to separate?” Eunice looked at him with fear in her eyes. “How is that, lord?” “Fear not; I ask, for who knows but I may have to set out on a long journey?” “Take me with thee-” Petronius changed the conversation quickly, and said,-- “Tell me, are there asphodels on the grass plot in the garden?” “The cypresses and the grass plots are yellow from the fire, the leaves have fallen from the myrtles, and the whole garden seems dead.” “All Rome seems dead, and soon it will be a real graveyard. Dost thou know that an edict against the Christians is to be issued, and a persecution will begin during which thousands will perish?” “Why punish the Christians, lord? They are good and peaceful.” “For that very reason.” “Let us go to the sea. Thy beautiful eyes do not like to see blood.” “Well, but meanwhile I must bathe. Come to the elæothesium to anoint my arms. By the girdle of Kypris! never hast thou seemed to me so beautiful. I will give command to make a bath for thee in the form of a shell; thou wilt be like a costly pearl in it. Come, Golden-haired!” He went out, and an hour later both, in garlands of roses and with misty eyes, were resting before a table covered with a service of gold. They were served by boys dressed as Cupids, they drank wine from ivy-wreathed goblets, and heard the hymn to Apollo sung to the sound of harps, under direction of Anthemios. What cared they if around the villa chimneys pointed up from the ruins of houses, and gusts of wind swept the ashes of burnt Rome in every direction? They were happy thinking only of love, which had made their lives like a divine dream. But before the hymn was finished a slave, the chief of the atrium, entered the hall. “Lord,” said he, in a voice quivering with alarm, “a centurion with a detachment of pretorians is standing before the gate, and, at command of Cæsar, wishes to see thee.” The song and the sound of lutes ceased. Alarm was roused in all present; for Cæsar, in communications with friends, did not employ pretorians usually, and their arrival at such times foreboded no good. Petronius alone showed not the slightest emotion, but said, like a man annoyed by continual visits,-- “They might let me dine in peace.” Then turning to the chief of the atrium, he said, “Let him enter.” The slave disappeared behind the curtain; a moment later heavy steps were heard, and an acquaintance of Petronius appeared, the centurion Aper, armed, and with an iron helmet on his head. “Noble lord,” said he, “here is a letter from Cæsar.” Petronius extended his white hand lazily, took the tablet, and, casting his eye over it, gave it, in all calmness to Eunice. “He will read a new book of the Troyad this evening, and invites me to come.’ “I have only the order to deliver the letter,” said the centurion. “Yes, there will be no answer. But, centurion, thou mightst rest a while with us and empty a goblet of wine?” “Thanks to thee, noble lord. A goblet of wine I will drink to thy health willingly; but rest I may not, for I am on duty.” “Why was the letter given to thee, and not sent by a slave?” “I know not, lord. Perhaps because I was sent in this direction on other duty.” “I know, against the Christians?” “Yes, lord.” “Is it long since the pursuit was begun?” “Some divisions were sent to the Trans-Tiber before midday.” When he had said this, the centurion shook a little wine from the goblet in honor of Mars; then he emptied it, and said,-- “May the gods grant thee, lord, what thou desirest.” “Take the goblet too,” said Petronius. Then he gave a sign to Anthemios to finish the hymn to Apollo. “Bronzebeard is beginning to play with me and Vinicius,” thought he, when the harps sounded anew. “I divine his plan! He wanted to terrify me by sending the invitation through a centurion. They will ask the centurion in the evening how I received him. No, no! thou wilt not amuse thyself overmuch, cruel and wicked prophet. I know that thou wilt not forget the offence, I know that my destruction will not fail; but if thou think that I shall look into thy eyes imploringly, that thou wilt see fear and humility on my face, thou art mistaken.” “Cæsar writes, lord,” said Eunice, “‘Come if thou hast the wish’; wilt thou go?” “I am in excellent health, and can listen even to his verses,” answered Petronius; “hence I shall go, all the more since Vinicius cannot go.” In fact, after the dinner was finished and after the usual walk, he gave himself into the hands of hairdressers and of slaves who arranged his robes, and an hour later, beautiful as a god, he gave command to take him to the Palatine. It was late, the evening was warm and calm; the moon shone so brightly that the lampadarii going before the litter put out their torches. On the streets and among the ruins crowds of people were pushing along, drunk with wine, in garlands of ivy and honeysuckle, bearing in their hands branches of myrtle and laurel taken from Cæsar’s gardens. Abundance of grain and hopes of great games filled the hearts of all with gladness. Here and there songs were sung magnifying the “divine night” and love; here and there they were dancing by the light of the moon, and the slaves were forced repeatedly to demand space for the litter “of the noble Petronius,” and then the crowd pushed apart, shouting in honor of their favorite. He was thinking of Vinicius, and wondering why he had no news from him. He was an Epicurean and an egotist, but passing time, now with Paul of Tarsus, now with Vinicius, hearing daily of the Christians, he had changed somewhat without his own knowledge. A certain breeze from them had blown on him; this cast new seeds into his soul. Besides his own person others began to occupy him; moreover, he had been always attached to Vinicius, for in childhood he had loved greatly his sister, the mother of Vinicius; at present, therefore, when he had taken part in his affairs, he looked on them with that interest with which he would have looked on some tragedy. Petronius did not lose hope that Vinicius had anticipated the pretorians and fled with Lygia, or, in the worse case, had rescued her. But he would have preferred to be certain, since he foresaw that he might have to answer various questions for which he would better be prepared. Stopping before the house of Tiberius, he alighted from the litter, and after a while entered the atrium, filled already with Augustians. Yesterday’s friends, though astonished that he was invited, still pushed back; but he moved on among them, beautiful, free, unconcerned, as self-confident as if he himself had the power to distribute favors. Some, seeing him thus, were alarmed in spirit lest they had shown him indifference too early. Cæsar, however, feigned not to see him, and did not return his obeisance, pretending to be occupied in conversation. But Tigellinus approached and said, “Good evening, Arbiter Elegantiarum. Dost thou assert still that it was not the Christians who burnt Rome?” Petronius shrugged his shoulders, and, clapping Tigellinus on the back as he would a freedman, answered,-- “Thou knowest as well as I what to think of that.” “I do not dare to rival thee in wisdom.” “And thou art right, for when Cæsar reads to us a new book from the Troyad, thou, instead of crying out like a jackdaw, wouldst have to give an opinion that was not pointless.” Tigellinus bit his lips. He was not over-rejoiced that Cæsar had decided to read a new book, for that opened a field in which he could not rival Petronius. In fact, during the reading, Nero, from habit, turned his eyes involuntarily toward Petronius, looking carefully to see what he could read in his face. The latter listened, raised his brows, agreed at times, in places increased his attention as if to be sure that he heard correctly. Then he praised or criticised, demanded corrections or the smoothing of certain verses. Nero himself felt that for others in their exaggerated praises it was simply a question of themselves, that Petronius alone was occupied with poetry for its own sake; that he alone understood it, and that if he praised one could be sure that the verses deserved praise. Gradually therefore he began to discuss with him, to dispute; and when at last Petronius brought the fitness of a certain expression into doubt, he said,-- “Thou wilt see in the last book why I used it.” “Ah,” thought Petronius, “then we shall wait for the last book.” More than one hearing this said in spirit: “Woe to me! Petronius with time before him may return to favor and overturn even Tigellinus.” And they began again to approach him. But the end of the evening was less fortunate; for Cæsar, at the moment when Petronius was taking leave, inquired suddenly, with blinking eyes and a face at once glad and malicious,-- “But why did not Vinicius come?” Had Petronius been sure that Vinicius and Lygia were beyond the gates of the city, he would have answered, “With thy permission he has married and gone.” But seeing Nero’s strange smile, he answered,-- “Thy invitation, divinity, did not find him at home.” “Say to Vinicius that I shall be glad to see him,” answered Nero, “and tell him from me not to neglect the games in which Christians will appear.” These words alarmed Petronius. It seemed to him that they related to Lygia directly. Sitting in his litter, he gave command to bear him home still more quickly than in the morning. That, however, was not easy. Before the house of Tiberius stood a crowd dense and noisy, drunk as before, though not singing and dancing, but, as it were, excited. From afar came certain shouts which Petronius could not understand at once, but which rose and grew till at last they were one savage roar,-- “To the lions with Christians!” Rich litters of courtiers pushed through the howling rabble. From the depth of burnt streets new crowds rushed forth continually; these, hearing the cry, repeated it. News passed from mouth to mouth that