Quo Vadis: A Narrative of the Time of Nero
servants, he did not raise the least difficulty in taking them to the
palace, but wondered rather that there should be so few. He begged
haste, however, fearing lest he might be suspected of want of zeal in
carrying out orders.
The moment of parting came. The eyes of Pomponia and Lygia were filled
with fresh tears; Aulus placed his hand on her head again, and after a
while the soldiers, followed by the cry of little Aulus, who in defence
of his sister threatened the centurion with his small fists, conducted
Lygia to Cæsar’s house.
The old general gave command to prepare his litter at once; meanwhile,
shutting himself up with Pomponia in the pinacotheca adjoining the oecus,
he said to her,--“Listen to me, Pomponia. I will go to Cæsar, though
I judge that my visit will be useless; and though Seneca’s word means
nothing with Nero now, I will go also to Seneca. To-day Sophonius,
Tigellinus, Petronius, or Vatinius have more influence. As to Cæsar,
perhaps he has never even heard of the Lygian people; and if he has
demanded the delivery of Lygia, the hostage, he has done so because some
one persuaded him to it,--it is easy to guess who could do that.”
She raised her eyes to him quickly.
“Is it Petronius?”
“It is.”
A moment of silence followed; then the general continued,--“See what it
is to admit over the threshold any of those people without conscience or
honor. Cursed be the moment in which Vinicius entered our house, for
he brought Petronius. Woe to Lygia, since those men are not seeking a
hostage, but a concubine.”
And his speech became more hissing than usual, because of helpless rage
and of sorrow for his adopted daughter. He struggled with himself some
time, and only his clenched fists showed how severe was the struggle
within him.
“I have revered the gods so far,” said he; “but at this moment I think
that not they are over the world, but one mad, malicious monster named
Nero.”
“Aulus,” said Pomponia. “Nero is only a handful of rotten dust before
God.”
But Aulus began to walk with long steps over the mosaic of the
pinacotheca. In his life there had been great deeds, but no great
misfortunes; hence he was unused to them. The old soldier had grown more
attached to Lygia than he himself had been aware of, and now he could
not be reconciled to the thought that he had lost her. Besides, he felt
humiliated. A hand was weighing on him which he despised, and at the
same time he felt that before its power his power was as nothing.
But when at last he stifled in himself the anger which disturbed his
thoughts, he said,--“I judge that Petronius has not taken her from
us for Cæsar, since he would not offend Poppæa. Therefore he took her
either for himself or Vinicius. Today I will discover this.”
And after a while the litter bore him in the direction of the Palatine.
Pomponia, when left alone, went to little Aulus, who did not cease
crying for his sister, or threatening Cæsar.
Chapter V
AULUS had judged rightly that he would not be admitted to Nero’s
presence. They told him that Cæsar was occupied in singing with the
lute-player, Terpnos, and that in general he did not receive those whom
he himself had not summoned. In other words, that Aulus must not attempt
in future to see him.
Seneca, though ill with a fever, received the old general with due
honor; but when he had heard what the question was, he laughed bitterly,
and said,--“I can render thee only one service, noble Plautius, not to
show Cæsar at any time that my heart feels thy pain, or that I should
like to aid thee; for should Cæsar have the least suspicion on this
head, know that he would not give thee back Lygia, though for no other
reason than to spite me.”
He did not advise him, either, to go to Tigellinus or Vatinius or
Vitelius. It might be possible to do something with them through money;
perhaps, also, they would like to do evil to Petronius, whose influence
they were trying to undermine, but most likely they would disclose
before Nero how dear Lygia was to Plautius, and then Nero would all the
more resolve not to yield her to him. Here the old sage began to speak
with a biting irony, which he turned against himself: “Thou hast been
silent, Plautius, thou hast been silent for whole years, and Cæsar does
not like those who are silent. How couldst thou help being carried
away by his beauty, his virtue, his singing, his declamation, his
chariot-driving, and his verses? Why didst thou not glorify the death
of Britannicus, and repeat panegyrics in honor of the mother-slayer,
and not offer congratulations after the stifling of Octavia? Thou art
lacking in foresight, Aulus, which we who live happily at the court
possess in proper measure.”
Thus speaking, he raised a goblet which he carried at his belt, took
water from a fountain at the impluvium, freshened his burning lips, and
continued,--“Ah, Nero has a grateful heart. He loves thee because thou
hast served Rome and glorified its name at the ends of the earth; he
loves me because I was his master in youth. Therefore, seest thou, I
know that this water is not poisoned, and I drink it in peace. Wine in
my own house would be less reliable. If thou art thirsty, drink boldly
of this water. The aqueducts bring it from beyond the Alban hills, and
any one wishing to poison it would have to poison every fountain in
Rome. As thou seest, it is possible yet to be safe in this world and to
have a quiet old age. I am sick, it is true, but rather in soul than in
body.”
This was true. Seneca lacked the strength of soul which Cornutus
possessed, for example, or Thrasea; hence his life was a series of
concessions to crime. He felt this himself; he understood that an
adherent of the principles of Zeno, of Citium, should go by another
road, and he suffered more from that cause than from the fear of death
itself.
But the general interrupted these reflections full of grief.
“Noble Annæus,” said he, “I know how Cæsar rewarded thee for the care
with which thou didst surround his years of youth. But the author of
the removal of Lygia is Petronius. Indicate to me a method against him,
indicate the influences to which he yields, and use besides with him all
the eloquence with which friendship for me of long standing can inspire
thee.”
“Petronius and I,” answered Seneca, “are men of two opposite camps; I
know of no method against him, he yields to no man’s influence. Perhaps
with all his corruption he is worthier than those scoundrels with whom
Nero surrounds himself at present. But to show him that he has done an
evil deed is to lose time simply. Petronius has lost long since that
faculty which distinguishes good from evil. Show him that his act is
ugly, he will be ashamed of it. When I see him, I will say, ‘Thy act is
worthy of a freedman.’ If that will not help thee, nothing can.”
“Thanks for that, even,” answered the general.
Then he gave command to carry him to the house of Vinicius, whom he
found at sword practice with his domestic trainer. Aulus was borne away
by terrible anger at sight of the young man occupied calmly with fencing
during the attack on Lygia; and barely had the curtain dropped
behind the trainer when this anger burst forth in a torrent of bitter
reproaches and injuries. But Vinicius, when he learned that Lygia had
been carried away, grew so terribly pale that Aulus could not for even
an instant suspect him of sharing in the deed. The young man’s forehead
was covered with sweat; the blood, which had rushed to his heart for a
moment, returned to his face in a burning wave; his eyes began to shoot
sparks, his mouth to hurl disconnected questions. Jealousy and rage
tossed him in turn, like a tempest. It seemed to him that Lygia,
once she had crossed the threshold of Cæsar’s house, was lost to him
absolutely. When Aulus pronounced the name of Petronius, suspicion flew
like a lightning flash through the young soldier’s mind, that Petronius
had made sport of him, and either wanted to win new favor from Nero by
the gift of Lygia, or keep her for himself. That any one who had seen
Lygia would not desire her at once, did not find a place in his head.
Impetuousness, inherited in his family, carried him away like a wild
horse, and took from him presence of mind.
“General,” said he, with a broken voice, “return home and wait for me.
Know that if Petronius were my own father, I would avenge on him the
wrong done to Lygia. Return home and wait for me. Neither Petronius nor
Cæsar will have her.”
Then he went with clinched fists to the waxed masks standing clothed in
the atrium, and burst out,--“By those mortal masks! I would rather kill
her and myself.” When he had said this, he sent another “Wait for me”
after Aulus, then ran forth like a madman from the atrium, and flew to
Petronius’s house, thrusting pedestrians aside on the way.
Aulus returned home with a certain encouragement. He judged that if
Petronius had persuaded Cæsar to take Lygia to give her to Vinicius,
Vinicius would bring her to their house. Finally, the thought was no
little consolation to him, that should Lygia not be rescued she would be
avenged and protected by death from disgrace. He believed that Vinicius
would do everything that he had promised. He had seen his rage, and he
knew the excitability innate in the whole family. He himself, though he
loved Lygia as her own father, would rather kill her than give her
to Cæsar; and had he not regarded his son, the last descendant of his
stock, he would doubtless have done so. Aulus was a soldier; he had
hardly heard of the Stoics, but in character he was not far from their
ideas,--death was more acceptable to his pride than disgrace.
When he returned home, he pacified Pomponia, gave her the consolation
that he had, and both began to await news from Vinicius. At moments when
the steps of some of the slaves were heard in the atrium, they thought
that perhaps Vinicius was bringing their beloved child to them, and
they were ready in the depth of their souls to bless both. Time passed,
however, and no news came. Only in the evening was the hammer heard on
the gate.
After a while a slave entered and handed Aulus a letter. The old
general, though he liked to show command over himself, took it with a
somewhat trembling hand, and began to read as hastily as if it were a
question of his whole house.
All at once his face darkened, as if a shadow from a passing cloud had
fallen on it.
“Read,” said he, turning to Pomponia.
Pomponia took the letter and read as follows:--
“Marcus Vinicius to Aulus Plautius greeting. What has happened, has
happened by the will of Cæsar, before which incline your heads, as I and
Petronius incline ours.”
A long silence followed.
Chapter VI
PETRONIUS was at home. The doorkeeper did not dare to stop Vinicius, who
burst into the atrium like a storm, and, learning that the master of
the house was in the library, he rushed into the library with the same
impetus. Finding Petronius writing, he snatched the reed from his hand,
broke it, trampled the reed on the floor, then fixed his fingers into
his shoulder, and, approaching his face to that of his uncle, asked,
with a hoarse voice,--“What hast thou done with her? Where is she?”
Suddenly an amazing thing happened. That slender and effeminate
Petronius seized the hand of the youthful athlete, which was grasping
his shoulder, then seized the other, and, holding them both in his one
hand with the grip of an iron vice, he said,--“I am incapable only in
the morning; in the evening I regain my former strength. Try to
escape. A weaver must have taught thee gymnastics, and a blacksmith thy
manners.”
On his face not even anger was evident, but in his eyes there was a
certain pale reflection of energy and daring. After a while he let