Books: Quo Vadis A Narrative of the Time of Nero

H >> Henryk Sienkiewicz >> Quo Vadis A Narrative of the Time of Nero

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But Domitius Afer, a hardened criminal and informer, was
indignant at the discourse, and through indignation spilled
Falernian over his whole tunic. He had always believed in the
gods. People say that Rome will perish, and there are some even
who contend that it is perishing already. And surely! But if that
should come, it is because the youth are without faith, and without
faith there can be no virtue. People have abandoned also the strict
habits of former days, and it never occurs to them that Epicureans
will not stand against barbarians. As for him, he -- As for him, he
was sorry that he had lived to such times, and that he must seek in
pleasures a refuge against griefs which, if not met, would soon kill
him.

When he had said this, he drew toward him a Syrian dancer, and
kissed her neck and shoulders with his toothless mouth. Seeing
this, the consul Meminius Regulus laughed, and, raising his bald
head with wreath awry, exclaimed, -- "Who says that Rome is
perishing? What folly! I, a consul, know better. Videant consules!
Thirty legions are guarding our pax romana!"

Here he put his fists to his temples and shouted, in a voice heard
throughout the triclinium, -- "Thirty legions! thirty legions! from
Britain to the Parthian boundaries!" But he stopped on a sudden,
and, putting a finger to his forehead, said, -- "As I live, I think
there are thirty-two." He rolled under the table, and began soon to
send forth flamingo tongues, roast and chilled mushrooms, locusts
in honey, fish, meat, and everything which he had eaten or drunk.

But the number of the legions guarding Roman peace did not
pacify Domitius.

No, no! Rome must perish; for faith in the gods was lost, and so
were strict habits! Rome must perish; and it was a pity, for still life
was pleasant there. Caesar was gracious, wine was good! Oh, what
a pity!

And hiding his head on the arm of a Syrian bacchanal, he burst
into tears. "What is a future life! Achilles was right, -- better be a
slave in the world beneath the sun than a king in Cimmerian
regions. And still the question whether there are any gods -- since
it is unbelief -- is destroying the youth."

Lucan meanwhile had blown all the gold powder from Nigidia's
hair, and she being drunk had fallen asleep. Next he took wreaths
of ivy from the vase before him, put them on the sleeping woman,
and when he had finished looked at those present with a delighted
and inquiring glance. He arrayed himself in ivy too, repeating, in a
voice of deep conviction, "I am not a man at all, but a faun."

Petronius was not drunk; but Nero, who drank little at first, out of
regard for his "heavenly" voice, emptied goblet after goblet toward
the end, and was drunk. He wanted even to sing more of his verses,
-- this time in Greek,-- but he had forgotten them, and by mistake
sang an ode of Anacreon. Pythagoras, Diodorus, and Terpnos
accompanied him; but failing to keep time, they stopped. Nero as a
judge and an aesthete was enchanted with the beauty of
Pythagoras, and fell to kissing his hands in ecstasy. "Such beautiful
hands I have seen only once, and whose were they?" Then placing
his palm on his moist forehead, he tried to remember. After a
while terror was reflected on his face.

Ah! His mother's -- Agrippina's!

And a gloomy vision seized him forthwith.

"They say," said he, "that she wanders by moonlight on the sea
around Baiae and Bauli. She merely walks, -- walks as if seeking
for something. When she comes near a boat, she looks at it and
goes away; but the fisherman on whom she has fixed her eye dies."

"Not a bad theme," said Petronius.

But Vestinius, stretching his neck like a stork, whispered
mysteriously, -- "I do not believe in the gods; but I believe in
spirits -- Oi!"

Nero paid no attention to their words, and continued, -- "I
celebrated the Lemuria, and have no wish to see her. This is the
fifth year -- I had to condemn her, for she sent assassins against
me; and, had I not been quicker than she, ye would not be listening
to-night to my song."

"Thanks be to Caesar, in the name of the city and the world!" cried
Domitius Afer.

"Wine! and let them strike the tympans!"

The uproar began anew. Lucan, all in ivy, wishing to outshout him,
rose and cried, -- "I am not a man, but a faun; and I dwell in the
forest. Eho-o-o-oo!" Caesar drank himself drunk at last; men were
drunk, and women were drunk. Vinicius was not less drunk than
others; and in addition there was roused in him, besides desire, a
wish to quarrel, which happened always when he passed the
measure. His dark face became paler, and his tongue stuttered
when he spoke, in a voice now loud and commanding, -- "Give me
thy lips! To-day, to-morrow, it is all one! Enough of this!

Caesar took thee from Auius to give thee to me, dost understand?
To-morrow, about dusk, I will send for thee, dost understand?
Caesar promised thee to me before he took thee. Thou must be
mine! Give me thy lips! I will not wait for to-morrow, -- give thy
lips quickly."

And he moved to embrace her; but Acte began to defend her, and
she defended herself with the remnant of her strength, for she felt
that she was perishing. But in vain did she struggle with both
hands to remove his hairless arm; in vain, with a voice in which
terror and grief were quivering, did she implore him not to be what
he was, and to have pity on her. Sated with wine, his breath blew
around her nearer and nearer, and his face was there near her face.
He was no longer the former kind Vinicius, almost dear to her
soul; he was a drunken, wicked satyr, who filled her with repulsion
and terror. But her strength deserted her more and more. In vain
did she bend and turn away her face to escape his kisses. He rose
to his feet, caught her in both arms, and drawing her head to his
breast, began, panting, to press her pale lips with his.

But at this instant a tremendous power removed his arms from her
neck with as much ease as if they had been the arms of a child, and
pushed him aside, like a dried limb or a withered leaf. What had
happened? Vinicius rubbed his astonished eyes, and saw before
him the gigantic figure of the Lygian, called Ursus, whom he had
seen at the house of Aulus.

Ursus stood calmly, but looked at Vinicius So strangely with his
blue eyes that the blood stiffened in the veins of the young man;
then the giant took his queen on his arm, and walked out of the
triclinium with an even, quiet step.

Acte in that moment went after him.

Vinicius sat for the twinkle of an eye as if petrified; then he sprang
up and ran toward the entrance crying, -- "Lygia! Lygia!"

But desire, astonishment, rage, and wine cut the legs from under
him. He staggered once and a second time, seized the naked arm of
one of the bacchanals, and began to inquire, with blinking eyes,
what had happened. She, taking a goblet of wine, gave it to him
with a smile in her mist-covered eyes.

"Drink!" said she.

Vinicius drank, and fell to the floor.

Thegreater number of the guests were lying under the table; others
were walking with tottering tread through the triclinium, while
others were sleeping on couches at the table, snoring, or giving
forth the excess of wine. Meanwhile, from the golden network,
roses were dropping and dropping on those drunken consuls and
senators, on those drunken knights, philosophers, and poets, on
those drunken dancing damsels and patrician ladies, on that society
all dominant as yet but with the soul gone from it, on that society
garlanded and ungirdled but perishing.

Dawn had begun out of doors.

Chapter VIII

No one stopped Ursus, no one inquired even what he was doing.
Those guests who were not under the table had not kept their own
places; hence the servants, seeing a giant carrying a guest on his
arm, thought him some slave bearing out his intoxicated mistress.
Moreover, Acte was with them, and her presence removed all
suspicion.

In this way they went from the triclinium to the adjoining
chamber, and thence to the gallery leading to Acte's apartments.
To such a degree had her strength deserted Lygia, that she hung as
if dead on the arm of Ursus. But when the cool, pure breeze of
morning beat around her, she opened her eyes. It was growing
clearer and clearer in the open air. After they had passed along the
colonnade awhile, they turned to a side portico, coming out, not in
the courtyard, but the palace gardens, where the tops of the pines
and cypresses were growing ruddy from the light of morning. That
part of the building was empty, so that echoes of music and sounds
of the feast came with decreasing distinctness. It seemed to Lygia
that she had been rescued from hell, and borne into God's bright
world outside. There was something, then, besides that disgusting
tricliium. There was the sky, the dawn, light, and peace. Sudden
weeping seized the maiden, and, taking shelter on the arm of the
giant, she repeated, with sobbing, -- "Let us go home, Ursus! home,
to the house of Aulus."

"Let us go!" answered Ursus.

They found themselves now in the small atrium of Acte's
apartments. Ursus placed Lygia on a marble bench at a distance
from the fountain. Acte strove to pacify her; she urged her to sleep,
and declared that for the moment there was no danger, -- after the
feast the drunken guests would sleep till evening. For a long time
Lygia could not calm herself, and, pressing her temples with both
hands, she repeated like a child, -- "Let us go home, to the house of
Aulus!"

Ursus was ready. At the gates stood pretorians, it is true, but he
would pass them. The soldiers would not stop out-going people.
The space before the arch was crowded with litters. Guests were
beginning to go forth in throngs. No one would detain them. They
would pass with the crowd and go home directly. For that matter,
what does he care? As the queen commands, so must it be. He is
there to carry out her orders.

"Yes, Ursus," said Lygia, "let us go."

Acte was forced to find reason for both. They would pass out, true;
no one would stop them. But it is not permitted to flee from the
house of Caesar; whoso does that offends Caesar's majesty. They
may go; but in the evening a centurion at the head of soldiers will
take a death sentence to Aulus and Pomponia Graecina; they will
bring Lygia to the palace again, and then there will be no rescue
for her. Should Aulus and his wife receive her under their roof,
death awaits them to a certainty.

Lygia's arms dropped. There was no other outcome. She must
choose her own ruin or that of Plautius. In going to the feast, she
had hoped that Vinicius and Petronius would win her from Caesar,
and return her to Pornponia; now she knew that it was they who
had brought Caesar to remove her from the house of Aulus. There
was no help. Only a miracle could save her from the abyss, -- a
miracle and the might of God.

"Acte," said she, in despair, "didst thou hear Vinicius say that
Caesar had given me to him, and that he will send slaves here this
evening to take me to his house?"

"I did," answered Acte; and, raising her arms from her side, she
was silent. The despair with which Lygia spoke found in her no
echo. She herself had been Nero's favorite. Her heart, though good,
could not feel clearly the shame of such a relation. A former slave,
she had grown too much inured to the law of slavery; and, besides,
she loved Nero yet. If he returned to her, she would stretch her
arms to him, as to happiness. Comprehending clearly that Lygia
must become the mistress of the youthful and stately Vinicius, or
expose Aulus and Pomponia to ruin, she failed to understand how
the girl could hesitate.

"In Caesar's house," said she, after a while, "it would not be safer
for thee than in that of Vinicius."

And it did not occur to her that, though she told the truth, her
words meant, "Be resigned to fate and become the concubine of
Vinicius."

As to Lygia, who felt on her lips yet his kisses, burning as coals
and full of beastly desire, the blood rushed to her face with shame
at the mere thought of them.

"Never," cried she, with an outburst, "will I remain here, or at the
house of Vinicius, -- never!"

"But," inquired Acte, "is Vinicius hateful to thee?"

Lygia was unable to answer, for weeping seized her anew. Acte
gathered the maiden to her bosom, and strove to calm her
excitement. Ursus breathed heavily, and balled his giant fists; for,
loving his queen with the devotion of a dog, he could not bear the
sight of her tears. In his half-wild Lygian heart was the wish to
return to the tridinium, choke Vinicius, and, should the need come,
Caesar himself; but he feared to sacrifice thereby his mistress, and
was not certain that such an act, which to him seemed very simple,
would befit a confessor of the Crucified Lamb.

But Acte, while caressing Lygia, asked again, "Is he so hateful to
thee?"

"No," said Lygia; "it is not permitted me to hate, for I am a
Christian."

"I know, Lygia. I know also from the letters of Paul of Tarsus, that
it is not permitted to defile one's self, nor to fear death more than
sin; but tell me if thy teaching permits one person to cause the
death of others?"

"Then how canst thou bring Caesar's vengeance on the house of
Aulus?" A moment of silence followed. A bottomless abyss
yawned before Lygia again.

"I ask," continued the young freedwoman, "for I have compassion
on thee -- and I have compassion on the good Pomponia and
Aulus, and on their child. It is long since I began to live in this
house, and I know what Caesar's anger is. No! thou art not at
liberty to flee from here. One way remains to thee: implore
Vinicius to return thee to Pomponia."

But Lygia dropped on her knees to implore some one else. Ursus
knelt down after a while, too, and both began to pray in Caesar's
house at the morning dawn.

Acte witnessed such a prayer for the first time, and could not take
her eyes from Lygia, who, seen by her in profile, with raised hands,
and face turned heavenward, seemed to implore rescue. The dawn,
casting light on her dark hair and white peplus, was reflected in
her eyes. Entirely in the light, she seemed herself like light. In that
pale face, in those parted lips, in those raised hands and eyes, a
kind of superhuman exaltation was evident. Acte understood then
why Lygia could not become the concubine of any man. Before the
face of Nero's former favorite was drawn aside, as it were, a corner
of that veil which hides a world altogether different from that to
which she was accustomed. She was astonished by prayer in that
abode of crime and infamy. A moment earlier it had seemed to her
that there was no rescue for Lygia; now she began to think that
something uncommon would happen, that some aid would come,
-- aid so mighty that Caesar himself would be powerless to resist
it; that some winged army would descend from the sky to help that
maiden, or that the sun would spread its rays beneath her feet and
draw her up to itself. She had heard of many miracles among
Christians, and she thought now that everything said of them was
true, since Lygia was praying.

Lygia rose at last, with a face serene with hope. Ursus rose too,
and, holding to the bench, looked at his mistress, waiting for her
words.

But it grew dark in her eyes, and after a time two great tears rolled
down her checks slowly.

"May God bless Pomponia and Aulus," said she. "It is not
permitted me to bring ruin on them; therefore I shall never see
them again."

Then turning to Ursus she said that he alone remained to her in the
world; that he must be to her as a protector and a father. They
could not seek refuge in the house of Aulus, for they would bring
on it the anger of Caesar. But neither could she remain in the
house of Caesar or that of Vinicius. Let Ursus take her then; let
him conduct her out of the city; let him conceal her in some place
where neither Vinicius nor his servants could find her. She would
follow Ursus anywhere, even beyond the sea, even beyond the
mountains, to the barbarians, where the Roman name was not
heard, and whither the power of Caesar did not reach. Let him take
her and save her, for he alone had remained to her.

The Lygian was ready, and in sign of obedience he bent to her feet
and embraced them. But on the face of Acte, who had been
expecting a miracle, disappointment was evident. Had the prayer
effected only that much? To flee from the house of Caesar is to
commit an offence against majesty which must be avenged; and
even if Lygia succeeded in hiding, Caesar would avenge himself
on Aulus and Pomponia. If she wishes to escape, let her escape
from the house of Vinicius. Then Caesar, who does not like to
occupy himself with the affairs of others, may not wish even to aid
Vinicius in the pursuit; in every case it will not be a crime against
majesty.

But Lygia's thoughts were just the following: Aulus would not even
know where she was; Pomponia herself would not know. She
would escape not from the house of Vinicius, however, but while
on the way to it. When drunk, Vinicius had said that he would send
his slaves for her in the evening. Beyond doubt he had told the
truth, which he would not have done had he been sober. Evidently
he himself, or perhaps he and Petronius, had seen Caesar before
the feast, and won from him the promise to give her on the
following evening. And if they forgot that day, they would send for
her on the morrow. But Ursus will save her. He will come; he will
bear her out of the litter as he bore her out of the triclinium, and
they will go into the world. No one could resist Ursus, not even
that terrible athlete who wrestled at the feast yesterday. But as
Vinicius might send a great number of slaves, Ursus would go at
once to Bishop Linus for aid and counsel. The bishop will take
compassion on her, will not leave her in the hands of Vinicius; he
will command Christians to go with Ursus to rescue her. They will
seize her and bear her away; then Ursus can take her out of the city
and hide her from the power of Rome.

And her face began to flush and smile. Consolation entered her
anew, as if the hope of rescue had turned to reality. She threw
herself on Acte's neck suddenly, and, putting her beautiful lips to
Acte's cheek, she whispered:

"Thou wilt not betray, Acte, wilt thou?"

"By the shade of my mother," answered the freedwoman, "I will
not; but pray to thy God that Ursus be able to bear thee away."

The blue, childlike eyes of the giant were gleaming with
happiness. He had not been able to frame any plan, though he had
been breaking his poor head; but a thing like this he could do, --
and whether in the day or in the night it was all one to him! He
would go to the bishop, for the bishop can read in the sky what is
needed and what is not. Besides, he could assemble Christians
himself. Are his acquaintances few among slaves, gladiators, and
free people, both in the Subura and beyond the bridges? He can
collect a couple of thousand of them. He will rescue his lady, and
take her outside the city, and he can go with her. They will go to
the end of the world, even to that place from which they had come,
where no one has heard of Rome.

Here he began to look forward, as if to see things in the future and
very distant.

"To the forest? Al, what a forest, what a forest!"

But after a while he shook himself out of his visions. Well, he will
go to the bishop at once, and in the evening will wait with
something like a hundred men for the litter. And let not slaves, hut
even pretorians, take her from him! Better for any man not to come
under his fist, even though in iron armor, -- for is iron so strong?
When he strikes iron earnestly, the head underneath will not
survive.

But Lygia raised her finger with great and also childlike
seriousness.

"Ursus, do not kill," said she.

Ursus put his fist, which was like a maul, to the back of his head,
and, rubbing his neck with great seriousness, began to mutter. But
he must rescue "his light." She herself had said that his turn had
come. He will try all he can. But if something happens in spite of
him? In every case he must save her. But should anything happen,
he will repent, and so entreat the Innocent Lamb that the Crucified
Lamb will have mercy on him, poor fellow. He has no wish to
offend the Lamb; but then his hands are so heavy.

Great tenderness was expressed on his face; but wishing to
hide it, he bowed and said, -- "Now I will go to the holy bishop."

Acte put her arms around Lygia's neck, and began to weep. Once
more the freedwoman understood that there was a world in which
greater happiness existed, even in suffering, than in all the
excesses and luxury of Caesar's house. Once more a kind of door
to the light was opened a little before her, but she felt at once that
she was unworthy to pass through it.

Chapter IX

LYGIA was grieved to lose Pomponia Graecina, whom she loved
with her whole soul, and she grieved for the household of Aulus;
still her despair passed away. She felt a certain delight even in the
thought that she was sacrificing plenty and comfort for her Truth,
and was entering on an unknown and wandering existence.
Perhaps there was in this a little also of childish curiosity as to
what that life would be, off somewhere in remote regions, among
wild beasts and barbarians. But there was still more a deep and
trusting faith, that by acting thus she was doing as the Divine
Master had commanded, and that henceforth He Himself would
watch over her, as over an obedient and faithful child. In such a
case what harm could meet her? If sufferings come, she will
endure them in His name. If sudden death comes, He will take her;
and some time, when Pomponia dies, they will be together for all
eternity. More than once when she was in the house of Aulus, she
tortured her childish head because she, a Christian, could do
nothing for that Crucified, of whom Ursus spoke with such
tenderness. But now the moment had come. Lygia felt almost
happy, and began to speak of her happiness to Acte, who could not
understand her, however. To leave everything, -- to leave house,
wealth, the city, gardens, temples, porticos, everything that is
beautiful; leave a sunny land and people near to one -- and for
what purpose? To hide from the love of a young and stately knight.
In Acte's head these things could not find place. At times she felt
that Lygia's action was right, that there must be some immense
mysterious happiness in it; but she could not give a clear account
to herself of the matter, especially since an adventure was before
Lygia which might have an evil ending, -- an adventure in which
she might lose her life simply. Acte was timid by nature, and she
thought with dread of what the coming evening might bring. But
she was loath to mention her fears to Lygia; meanwhile, as the day
was clear and the sun looked into the atrium, she began to
persuade her to take the rest needed after a night without sleep.
Lygia did not refuse; and both went to the cubiculum, which was
spacious and furnished with luxury because of Acte's former
relations with Caesar. There they lay down side by side, but in
spite of her weariness Acte could not sleep. For a long time she
had been sad and unhappy, but now she was seized by a certain
uneasiness which she had never felt before. So far life had seemed
to her simply grievous and deprived of a morrow; now all at once
it seemed to her dishonorable.

Increasing chaos rose in her head. Again the door to light began to
open and close. But in the moment when it opened, that light so
dazzled her that she could see nothing distinctly. She divined,
merely, that in that light there was happiness of some kind,
happiness beyond measure, in presence of which every other was
nothing, to such a degree that if Caesar, for example, were to set
aside Poppae, and love her, Acte, again, it would be vanity.
Suddenly the thought came to her that that Caesar whom she
loved, whom she held involuntarily as a kind of demigod, was as
pitiful as any slave, and that palace, with columns of Numidian
marble, no better than a heap of stones. At last, however, those
feelings which she had not power to define began to torment her;
she wanted to sleep, but being tortured by alarm she could not.
Thinking that Lygia, threatened by so many perils and
uncertainties, was not sleeping either, she turned to her to speak of
her flight in the evening. But Lygia was sleeping calmly. Into the
dark cubiculum, past the curtain which was not closely drawn,
came a few bright rays, in which golden dust-motes were playing.
By the light of these rays Acte saw her delicate face, resting on her
bare arm, her closed eyes, and her mouth slightly open. She was
breathing regularly, but as people breathe while asleep.

"She sleeps, -- she is able to sleep," thought Acte. "She is a child
yet." Still, after a while it came to her mind that that child chose to
flee rather than remain the beloved of Vinicius; she preferred want
to shame, wandering to a lordly house, to robes, jewels, and feasts,
to the sound of lutes and citharas.